Silence fell as the staff unknowingly
experienced their last few moments of innocence. The real reason for their existence was about to be revealed
unto them. A mission that would demand
every ounce of their energy, every moment of their waking lives. There would be no rest for them from
the ceaseless fight. Nor would
their Product Quick Reference Guide sleep in their hand. Not until salvation had been brought to
those poor dumb animals – the customer base.
The lights were switched off.
A Butternut
Communications Production
“Quark Maiden…” Martin mouthed silently
towards Debbie in the darkness.
She didn’t notice.
What you are about to see is based on a
true story. Some names have been
changed to protect identities.
Valerie
instinctively checked that her handkerchief has safely lodged up her left
sleeve as the emotional power of video was unleashed upon them in expertly
crafted slo-mo and monotone, accompanied by a sonorous strings underscore and
echo effect heart beat.
“My name is
Mummy A, from number forty-nine.
I’m just a normal everyday kind of person who used to think that nasty
things happened to other people.
So naturally I tended not to worry overmuch. I was watching Baby A playing in the cul-de-sac through my
kitchen window. Just as I had a
hundred times. It was a lovely
quite neighbourhood, perfect for kids.
Anyway, I only took my eyes off him for a moment to hug Woman A from
next door who had come round to show me a small green dot on a lollipop stick
(Baby B)…”
But what’s
this? Meaningful juxtaposition?
What can a milkman (Milkman A) harmlessly loading up his float and chatting
happily with the local kids (Kids A-D) possibly have to do with Mother A’s
baby? Is he the father of Baby A? Or Baby B for that matter? Either way he’s a real favourite with
the Kids. “Milko, milko” they all
cry as he appears in their street, running to him and clustering round his
legs.
“Oh, alright,”
he says, handing them a bottle of the creamy nourishment that will help them
grow up into strong and healthy girls and boys. “But make sure you share that”, he says, jumping back on his
van and heading round the corner towards number 49.
Martin glanced
at each of the petrified faces around the room and wondered why he was the only
one who still had use of his neck.
His eyes arrived at Debbie to be met by her own. She raised an eye brow almost
imperceptibly and looked back towards the screen just as a slow moving blue and
white object entered the peripheral vision of mother A and headed towards Baby
A who was crouched happily at the bottom of the drive playing with a cigarette
end.
“I saw the
float coming, but just when speed of response was most needed I found myself
being squeezed through an effects generator and was only able to stutter
towards the kitchen door in a strange spastic fashion. I’d never experienced anything like
that before – it’s just tragic that it came upon me when the distance between
my unprotected son and a slow, yet purposeful, dairy product delivery vehicle
was ten feet and closing. I cried
out, but my voice echoed uselessly, drowned out by the heart beat effect that
was now so loud that curtains were twitching three streets away.”
In the general
confusion that followed the audience was denied a clear view of the collision,
being treated instead to a couple of poignant peripheral close ups: Milkman A’s
foot scrapping fruitlessly on the road in an attempt to veer the float from its
fateful course; Neighbour A – only moments earlier enjoying a tranquil barbecue
atop smart new decking - dropping its glass of Leibfraumilch which exploded at
great length over the adjoining York Stone patio.
And then
silence. An eternal silence
punctuated endlessly by the lack of squawking and tearful pleas at four in the
morning. A profound sterility
underlined by no more tightly-tied stink bombs in the wheelie bin.
And then the
inevitable after effects: the blue flashing light strobing across the close,
the coroner sliding upon the frigid drawer and unzipping the oh-so-tiny body
bag. Baby en croute. Lying wreaths on the road, tearing up
the tickets for the Mediterranean cruise (under 3’s travel free…). Throwing the cot onto a bellowing pyre,
followed by the highchair and finally the tiny pair of woolen booties grandma
had knit for the christening.
“Looking back I
should have realised how dangerous the close really was and had Baby A insured
at the earliest opportunity. But
there always seemed to be so many other things to do like responding to squawks
and tearful pleas at four in the morning, depositing tightly tied stink bombs
in the wheely bin and generally worrying myself to death.”
“It’s too late
now for me and Baby A. No wonder
he was intolerant to dairy products.
It was a battle he couldn’t win.
In the end the dairy products took him. All I can do is to urge others not to make the same mistake
as me and Daddy A. Insure your
baby – and any other family members you value highly. It can’t bring them back
but it can make the funeral arrangements a lot more straightforward. And make the mourning more comfortable.
Do it now…”
The picture faded to black. Valerie dabbed her starring eyes and leant forward to read the closing captions:
The picture faded to black. Valerie dabbed her starring eyes and leant forward to read the closing captions:
Baby A was cremated the following
Sunday. Mother A and Daddy A have
since had two more children, Baby B and Baby C.
They’re both fully covered against
critical illness and sudden and unexpected death.
The staff
fidgeted for a moment.
Unaccustomed as they were to dealing with profound emotion in their
workplace they felt strangely naked.
Valerie sobbed loudly and urged Martin to switch off the video.
“My friends,” began Malcolm stretching out his arms in a symbolic embrace of his staff. “We have a job of work to do.”
“My friends,” began Malcolm stretching out his arms in a symbolic embrace of his staff. “We have a job of work to do.”