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turned to Clovenhoof and smiled grimly. Clovenhoof kicked the ground with his hooves and sighed.
    “Typical bloody humans, they can’t even spell a simple sign properly.”
    He saw the angel lying on the ground nearby. He hadn’t even finished the job of pulling the wings off the stupid thing. He picked it up.
    “Go on Michael, if you value your wings you need to tell me now.”
    He held the angel to his ear.
    “I’m listening. You can whisper your heartfelt apology if you like.”
    The angel was silent so Clovenhoof pulled off the wings and ground them under his feet with a chuckle.
    “Yes officer, that’s him.”
    Clovenhoof looked up and saw that Santa was pointing him out to a pair of policemen who gently ambled over.
    “Didn’t we take him in yesterday?” said one and Clovenhoof felt a twinge of recognition of the man’s lithe frame and well-tended moustache.
    “Yeah,” said the other. “Some nob turned up and got him out. Must have some influential friends.”
    “He’s a very influential knob,” agreed Clovenhoof.
    “It’s Jeremy, isn’t it?” said the moustache.
    “Yes. It’s Constable 1623, isn’t it?”
    “PC Pearson to you,” he said tucking an arm under Clovenhoof’s.
    Clovenhoof allowed himself to be led away. Santa leaned across as they went through the roped-off area.
    “Something tells me,” he said with a smirk, “that you haven’t been a very good boy this year.”
    Clovenhoof kicked him hard in the shin, and watched the queuing mothers put their hands over the children’s ears and hurry them away from the sound of Santa swearing loudly as he hopped on one foot and rubbed his leg.
     
    They put him in the same cell again. He whiled away the hours sharpening his horns on the breeze block walls until Michael appeared, freshly pressed.
    “Jeremy, there’s really only so many times I can get you out of trouble like this.”
    “How many?”
    “Do you think you might calm down and stop antagonising the good people of earth?”
    “Good people? They’re idiots! There’s more respect for that buffoon in the red suit than there is for the real deal. How stupid would you have to be to encourage children to believe in a creepy old man who’s going to break into your house in the middle of the night?”
    “Yes, I heard you met Santa. Is that where you got your dolly?”
    Michael smirked as he indicated the wingless angel still in Clovenhoof’s hand.
    Clovenhoof looked down at it and swung it by the feet in frustration, smacking the head against the bench. It failed to smash in a satisfying manner, but bounced off, unharmed.
    Michael shook his head in pity, enraging Clovenhoof even more. He started to jump on the doll.
    “Come along, Jeremy. We need to get you home.”
    Clovenhoof froze.
    “Home?”
    “Yes, come on.”
    Clovenhoof was whisked out of the police station, giving PC Pearson a cheery salute of farewell as he passed, and into a waiting taxi.
    “Why do we need a taxi if I’m going home?”
    Michael smiled but said nothing.
    A few minutes later, they pulled up outside a large pre-war house. Clovenhoof recognised it and groaned.
    “Oh no.”
    “You’ll love it.”
    “No, no, no. Why have you brought me back here? This isn’t home. I want to go HOME!”
    “This is your home now. We’ve taken care of all the formalities for you, so you can move straight into flat 2a.”
    “A flat. Are you kidding? A flat! You might as well tell me that you’ve bought me my own ditch. What good is a flat to me?”
    “You’ll be comfortable in there. I’ve checked it all out and you’ve got everything that you need in there. Come on.”
    They went inside and stood at the door to flat 2a.
    “Here’s your key. Shall we go inside?” asked Michael.
    “Don’t want to.”
    Clovenhoof scuffed his hooves and pushed out his bottom lip. There was a clattering of high heels on the stairs above them.
    “On second thoughts,” he said. “Let’s not get held up talking to that