As evening fell, the harsh white lights of the supermarket gave way to golden yellow on the street outside. Ben left before the clean-up was complete. He’d won a wager with one of his coworkers and swept off into the night, chore-free. Great green fields squatted along his path home, dotted with rugby clubs and cricket cages. Winter frost hummed through the air. It hadn’t made it to the footpath, but it was descending at a pace. The wooden fence on the corner of the street went by, and Benjamin turned onto his road. He was comfortable in his routine. If asked, he wouldn’t necessarily tell you he was happy, but more because he’d never stopped to frame his life through that lens. He was comfortable. He liked that.

Ben came to his flat. He fiddled with his keys and made his way inside. It was colder than outdoors. His brief walk had warmed him a little, but the house would drink that in short order. Lights, yellow, dim, tucked behind patterned lampshades. An oil heater buzzed into life. The house grumbled affectionately, a nocturnal creature drawing itself up for the evening ahead. Ben took off his coat. The angel Gabriel was sitting at the dining room table. ‘Who are you?’ asked Ben, and felt silly for asking. The angel’s name was set forth as part of its presence. Ben knew who it was even as he asked the question. ‘Next you’ll be asking what I’m doing here,’ said Gabriel cheerfully. ‘Can I put the kettle on?’ Ben nodded mutely, then caught himself. ‘I’ll do it,’ he said. ‘What will you have?’ The angel nodded approvingly. ‘Hospitality. Your parents must have drilled that into you.’ Ben went through to the kitchen on auto-pilot, waiting for reality to kick into gear. He was certain that it would reassert itself. A joke, a prank. Escaped patient. Just a matter of time. The angel came into the kitchen and looked around. It ducked to peer through the window onto the street. ‘Milk?’ Ben asked. ‘Do you have anything herbal?’ replied the angel, still stooping. Ben shook his head, then realised the angel couldn’t see him. ‘No matter,’ it said. ‘Milk is fine.’ Ben stared at the back of the angel’s head. It must have seen his reflection, heard the rustle of his clothes. He busied himself with the tea. Reality couldn’t be far off now.

‘Rental?’ the angel asked, taking the proffered mug. Ben nodded again. He was happier not to speak. The angel blew on the tea and sighed a little. ‘I was just thinking it could use a bit of paint,’ it said. ‘Something a little less – this.’ It gestured around at the smoker’s cream walls. ‘I don’t really think that’s your place to say,’ said Ben, stung a little. The angel shrugged. It put down the tea. ‘Benjamin Mullen,’ it said, as if its proportions had suddenly grown. Ben was put in mind of a burning bush, of proclamations on mountain tops. He imagined the light dancing around the room, a phantom’s shadow ripping along the walls. He knew that the angel brought a message. ‘Yes?’ he replied. Gabriel outlined the situation in short order. People – or not-people – had been watching. They thought Ben was suitable. They had sent Gabriel with a message, but it didn’t know what it was. ‘When will you know?’ asked Ben. Gabriel shrugged again. ‘I tend to take things as they come,’ it said. ‘What do we do in the meantime?’ Gabriel took a pointed sip of tea. ‘Right,’ said Ben. ‘Let’s get to know each other,’ said Gabriel. ‘That never hurts.’ Ben shuffled in his seat. He felt he should have a notepad. He got up and got one from his nightstand. It was mostly used for recording bad dreams, or for expelling thoughts from his head to help him sleep. It would do perfectly for the angel sitting in his lounge in half-light.

Ben made himself ready, and gestured at Gabriel – come on then. ‘Are you disappointed in your life?’ asked Gabriel promptly. Ben frowned. ‘Should I be?’ he asked. Gabriel shrugged, a gesture Ben could now see meant less ‘I don’t know’ and more ‘I don’t care’. ‘It’s common enough,’ it said. ‘Seemed a reasonable place to start.’ Ben thought about his life. It wasn’t movie material, but he felt dependable and secure. He was proud of where he was. He said so. His breath swelled a little in his chest as he said it. If the angel was here, he must have been doing something right. He’d been noticed. ‘Are you?’ he returned, getting a little ahead of himself. Gabriel didn’t take the bait. ‘I don’t really have expectations,’ it explained. ‘Hard to be disappointed when you can’t get your hopes up.’ Ben’s mind started to pick over the metaphysical implications. ‘Angels don’t have expectations?’ he asked. ‘What about fallen angels?’ Gabriel waved the question away. ‘Do you feel that you are a powerful person?’ Ben accepted the redirect. ‘No. I don’t want to be a powerful person.’ The angel cocked an eyebrow. ‘You don’t want to be powerful, and you’re not. Convenient. Which came first? You never wanted it and so you never took it, or you never had it and persuaded yourself you didn’t care?’ Ben hesitated. ‘I didn’t want to be a lawyer or anything,’ he said. ‘I don’t need to make lots of money.’ ‘But you could have been a lawyer if you wanted?’ prodded Gabriel. Ben thought about it. He spoke carefully. ‘When I was in school there was a girl who wanted to be a lawyer. I remember I didn’t like her. She was very confident. She’d just say things. Assert them.’ ‘You don’t like assertive women?’ asked Gabriel. ‘I don’t like people who act like they know what they’re doing.’ Ben pushed the dregs of his tea around the bottom of his mug. ‘I think I decided I didn’t want to be anything that meant I had to behave like that. I could have done it, but I think I decided not to.’ He felt at ease with this revelation, with disclosing it to Gabriel. ‘It’s very humble,’ said the angel. Ben wondered if he heard sarcasm in its voice. Maybe he was overthinking it.

Gabriel suddenly sprung to its feet. ‘That’s it.’ Ben paused. ‘What’s it?’ ‘We’re done,’ the angel said. ‘No more to say.’ ‘But the message-‘ ‘No message,’ said the angel firmly. ‘You haven’t done anything wrong here, but there’s no message. This happens sometimes. A quick meeting, you see the messenger, and that’s enough. You must be on the right path.’ Ben felt this was happening very suddenly. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, grasping for politeness, ‘but I thought I was going to get something. An instruction. Something to make it all worthwhile.’ ‘All what worthwhile?’ asked the angel, fussing with its things. ‘You said you weren’t disappointed with your life.’ Ben wasn’t, or he hadn’t been when he’d said it. He felt a little pathetic. ‘I don’t like that you’re in my house,’ he said. ‘You came in here and got my hopes up, and now you’re just leaving?’ Gabriel paused at the strained note in Ben’s voice. It looked at him, reassessing. ‘I do struggle with expectations,’ it said. ‘I’m sorry if you wanted something you didn’t get.’ It reached out and cupped his face. Its hand was soft and gentle. ‘Whatever you’re doing seems to be fine. Just keep it up.’ The angel withdrew its hand and clapped. It vanished.

Ben sat in his chair, clutching his dregs. Reality fell like the frost. Ben didn’t move. Who should he tell? What did it mean? All thought of his routine life had fled. He wound himself up thinking about quitting his job and embarking on a crusade, a religious revival. He wondered if the angel was really God’s messenger, or if it was one of the other ones. Keep doing what you’re doing, it had said. Really? Why come and tell him that? Why not just let him get on with it? The disruption had to mean something. Ben went to bed, brain fizzing. He wrote everything down on his notepad. Then he went to sleep. He’d think about it more tomorrow, after work.