Valentine's Day

Morning

If anyone had been watching they would have seen the balloon blow in past the town limits. It was a red balloon, shaped like a heart and at its base stretched a silky red thread about two and a half feet long. It was a simple Valentine’s Day balloon. Perhaps it was filled with Helium but any observer would have noticed that rather than rising upwards to be lost in the sky it floated steadily at no great pace five feet off the ground and it moved along despite there being no breeze to speak of. But no one was watching it.

That morning in February was quiet and the town’s rush hour had already died down leaving only a handful of late commuters with an open route to their respective workplaces. One of them was Lawrence, or Larry, McGrady. His mind was filled with all things work-related; shipments, deliveries, liquid fuel, valves, pressure, health and safety procedures. However in thinking through all the tasks and checklists he had to do made him less focused on the road in front of him. Suddenly realising that he was running late he eased his right foot onto the accelerator a little more, a little too much more. Rounding the sloping corner at fifty miles an hour the first thing he noticed was a streak of crimson rush towards the driver’s side of his SUV’s windscreen. Larry swore. The balloon hugged the window, entirely blocking his view of the road. From memory he knew it suddenly turned right not far ahead but he couldn’t see the deadly bend. He sunk the break and lurched the steering wheel to the right. Both axels locked in conjunction with the release of a violent squeak. As the balloon suddenly detached from the jeep the vehicle toppled off the tarmac and spun like a dice over the safety barrier and into a housing estate forty feet below.

Joyce playfully admonished her granddaughter for sucking on the cuddly toy octopus then retreated to the kitchen to prepare the toddler’s breakfast. Oats and carrots was on the menu. No, Sabrina had it yesterday. Pears and carrots will do this morning. She filled a pot with water and set it on the electric oven to boil. Then she rinsed the child’s dish to clear it of dust and looked out the window. As if on queue the red, heart shaped balloon fluttered gently over the garden fence and hovered by the clothesline.
Joyce smiled.
“Sabrina, look!” she said.
Leaving everything as it was she darted outside and grabbed the balloon before it took off again.
“Now, where did you come from?” she asked as she admired it. Taking it by its thread she went and looked over the fence half expecting a pale male teenager to come running in vain pursuit of the wayward balloon, his last minute gift for a girl who didn’t even like him. The neighbouring gardens were empty so she walked round the house. There was no one is sight and she concluded that whoever had lost the balloon was either unaware of its loss or indifferent to it.
“Finders keepers!” she said brightly as she walked back to the kitchen door.
“Sabrina,” she called as she reached for the handle. “Look what I’ve got for you.” The handle was stiff. The door was locked. She tried again, more firmly this time. It didn’t move. Then Joyce peered at the kitchen window and her heart froze. The kitchen was filling with smoke!
“Sabrina!” she screamed letting go of the balloon.
She could see nothing through the smoke except a splurge of dancing yellow. That dammed oven! She’d left it unattended! Joyce furiously pressed down on the door handle repeatedly but it was stuck. Sobbing she raced to the front door. It was sturdier than the back door and had a Yale lock with no knob or handle but she would smash it in whatever it took and no matter how many neighbours saw her. At about the eighth attempt she actually managed to break the lock and she stumbled inside screaming.
“Sabrina!”
From around the side of the house the balloon moved on into the town.

One mile away and half an hour later Louise Mori expertly filled the glass vase with a precise of amount of cold water from the tap. Into it she then gently placed a dozen lilies of assorted colours. They were her favourite flowers. She set the vase on the coffee table, leant towards it, inhaled the aroma then stood back and smiled. They were the first flowers she had bought in three years. In fact they were the first she had bought since Robert had moved in. He had been allergic to them and she had weakly acquiesced to his request, made half-jokingly, that she refrain from any future floral purchases in the interests of the stability of their co-habitation. At the time she had been smitten with him so she had readily made this concession but in return she asked that he stop watching The Simpsons. He was, after all, a man of thirty. It was a promise he kept for a few weeks. The relationship eventually faltered and she had dismissed him a month ago. He had taken her decision much more stoically than she expected but she knew he was still somewhat upset. Yet for her it had been worth it. Gone were The Simpsons, nightly football, the messes he made and his stray socks. Louise had got back a clean house, her flowers and her life. She had remained friends, of sorts, with Robert and he was due to pop round that morning at ten to give her his spare key which apparently he had forgotten to give her when he moved out. No doubt he planned to use it as an opportunity to try and change her mind so she resolved to remain on her guard. It was a typical Robert-esque ploy, act like a bungling yet innocent nice guy whilst hiding an ulterior motive. Nor was it a co-incidence that he had chosen Valentine’s Day to come round. It was his only free day as he would be very busy with work for the rest of the week or so he claimed.
What did I ever see in him apart from his bank balance?
Louise opened the living room window to banish the strong fragrance of the flowers that was becoming too much even for her to cope with. She rued on the wasted three years then consoled herself that it could have been worse. It could have been six years.
I give him the key then after one cup of tea he is out the door, never to be seen again.
No sooner had she finished this thought when the doorbell rang, precisely on the hour of ten. Behind the frosted glass stood the familiar silhouette of Robert. Typical masculine punctuality. He thinks I’ll be pleased that he’s here on time. She noticed Robert was swaying slightly.
Good. He’s nervous.
As she unlocked and pulled open the door she prayed that he hadn’t brought her a Valentine’s Gift.
“Hey!” he said cheerfully steeping inside. He wasn’t carrying either a bunch of roses or a cheap box of chocolates so Louise breathed a little more easily.
“Hi,” she said closing the door.
Move quickly before he hugs you.
She led him silently into the kitchen then stopped, turned and put out her right hand.
“Key,” she said half-smiling.
“Oh,” said Robert fumbling his jacket pocket. “Yes ma’am,” he said placing the key into her palm. As he did so Louise wondered if he had cut a copy of the key.
He wouldn’t be that bad, would he?
“Cup of tea?” she asked briskly.
“Please,” said Robert sitting down at the kitchen table. “Is that flowers I can smell?” he asked.
“Yep,” she said.
Remember, keep all conversation polite yet minimal.
“Yuck!” he said laughing.
Louise ignored him and pretended to focus on pouring milk into her cup. Robert coughed.
“So, what kind are they?” he asked.
As if you even care!
“Lilies,” she answered.
“Ah, your favourite!” he said over enthusiastically.
“That’s right,” she said watching the kettle as it whistled to the boil.
“So where’d you get them?”
Why do men ask so many questions?
“At the florists,” she said with another faux smile.
What a stupid question!
Robert noticed.
“There I was thinking you got them at the butchers!” he chuckled.
“No,” she said stirring the tea.
The ice was now well and truly broken, in Robert’s mind at least.
“So how are you then Louise? Any weird patients?”
“Been a bit busy but I’m fine.”
Louise poured the tea and gave him his cup before sitting down at the table opposite him.
“You?” She asked out of politeness rather than genuine interest. In truth she didn’t care in the slightest.
“Yeah, not bad thanks. Just been focusing on work lately, trying to keep my mind occupied.”
“Good,” said Louise sipping her tea. “How’s your mum?”
“She’s okay. Bit miffed having me back but it won’t be for long. I’ve been looking at houses.”
“That’s good,” said Louise.
Robert laughed softly. There followed what was for Louise a lengthy and utterly banal conversation about the quality of local housing. Robert was interested in a house he had viewed but was worried by the amount of noisy kids on that estate. Another house was too far out of the town. Another had dodgy and inadequate pipes. Louise snatched covert glances at her watch while Robert held forth on topics for which she was devoid of concern.
You could talk for England Robert and still lose!
Her stomach tossed when she eventually realised that he had been talking for nearly three quarters of an hour! At last Robert sighed and said brightly;
“Course, I wouldn’t even need to be looking for a house if you’d take me back!” He broke into an exaggerated, elongated and nervous chuckle. Louise nearly died within but outwardly she avoided looking Robert in the eye and simply reacted with a polite smile. He stopped and looked very awkward.
“I don’t suppose,” he began hesitantly, “you’ll ever change your mind?”
It was Louise’s turn to sigh.
“Look Robert, we’ve been over this. I need to move on. You need to move on. We both do.”
Being a psychologist was useful sometimes. She abandoned any notion of politeness and looked at her watch.
“I hate to do this to you Robert, but I have to see a client at half eleven.”
He smiled faintly and drained his cup.
“Okay,” he said rising. “If you do change your mind, tell me.” He reached out his arms and she reluctantly embraced him.
I will NEVER change my mind.
“There we go,” he said with a wink. “Everyone needs a hug, even a big twerp like me!”
Self-deprecation is NOT funny!
He led the way into the hall and stuck his head into the living room.
“Hope you’re not planning to pull down that wallpaper I put up for you!”
From where she stood, arms folded at the kitchen door, Louise saw Robert’s back straighten abruptly. He looked tense and his expression when he turned to face her had changed from one of mirth to one of guarded disdain. Robert jerked his thumb into the living room.
“What’s this?” he asked abruptly.
Louise frowned and joined him by the living room door. Robert went inside and pointed.
“This!” he said bitterly.
Louise entered the living room and saw, floating by the coffee table, a shiny scarlet Valentine’s balloon in the shape of a heart.
“A fancy balloon and a bunch of flowers Louise. Where did they come from?”
Louise shook her head.
“I got the flowers myself. Remember? But…”
“Bullshit!” said Robert. He glared at Louise. She had never seen him in a mood like this.
“So that’s it!” He raised his voice as he approached her. “You met someone else. That’s why you got rid of me isn’t it?”
Louise’s confusion at the bizarre presence of the balloon had been instantly supplanted with fear; fear of the man she thought she had once loved who was becoming acutely aggressive.
“Robert, clam down,” she pleaded. “I’m telling you I’ve no idea where it came from. It must have blown in through the window!”
“Oh? It must have blown in through the window. As if! Do you think I came up the Thames in a bubble? You’ve had someone on the side all the while, haven’t you? Haven’t you?” he yelled.
“Robert for God’s sake I don’t! If I had got this as a gift I wouldn’t leave it out for you to see. Now, I want you to get out…”
“Bollocks!” he roared.
Louise turned to flee but she was seized and pinned to the wall.
“You were lying to me all this time. That’s the reason you left me! You met someone else!”
Her fear was now being replaced with abject anger and Louise managed to remain calm.
“Robert I’m telling you the truth! Now let go of me or I’ll…”
Robert’s face contorted into a grimace of pure disdain. He raised his right hand and snapped it across her face with a resounding crack. Louise sunk to the floor in shock. Stooping over her he roared with sheer venom:
“You yellow, slanty eyed whore. How dare you! How dare you think I’m so naive as to believe this shit!”
Robert turned and clawed for the balloon but his sudden movement created a momentary draft that caused it to move quickly towards the window. The balloon’s momentum carried it out through the opening and although there was no breeze in the air it went on in a straight, almost purposeful direction. He turned his frenzied gaze on the coffee table. With one lunging kick he sent the glass vase containing Louise’s fresh new Lilies crashing onto the wooden floor.
“Louise!” he said panting. “You’ve made a complete fool of me! You led me along, used me then threw me away like a piece of shit! You ruined my life. Now I’m going to ruin yours.”
But before he could act on this promise his groin was violently impacted from below and he lurched forward before collapsing to his knees. Louise was sorely tempted to administer another blow with her booted stilettos but instead she grabbed her mobile phone and fled from her house.

At the very moment Louise raced out her front door Peter Knowles was scrutinising a series of fluctuating gauges. He was assistant chief plant operator of South East Fuel’s main refinery, the largest such facility in the whole country. Surrounding him in the massive semi-indoor plant were fourteen white spherical vessels each filled to the brim with 2000m3 of liquefied petroleum gas. Linked to each of these were a series of equally massive horizontal pressure values designed to siphon off the refined propane into an additional ten spheres each with a more modest capacity of 1200m3. From there the propane could be transferred onto lorries for distribution to S.E.F’s customers at home and abroad. However all but one of the smaller tanks were now filled to capacity and whilst numerous lorries were waiting be filled up they had to remain on stand by.
“We’ll need to take a sample,” said Ted Bilton crossing his arms. Bilton was the morning shift supervisor and had been on duty since 4 A.M.
“It looks likely,” said Peter adjusting the thick rim of his glasses. He looked up at the sphere immediately above the control terminal. Even though he worked there, often longer than his contractual eight hours a day, the sheer size of the containers always filled him with awe every time he laid eyes on them.
“Which one do we go for?” asked Ted.
“A16,” answered Peter double-checking a dial’s pressure reading. “It can be linked to the half-empty one, C5 outside. If needs be we can siphon off any excess fuel into that one.”
“Right,” said Ted. “Talk about putting all your eggs in one basket.” He nodded upwards to the sphere.
“You don’t need to tell me Ted,” said Peter. “Me and the chief have been urging the board to do something for two years. They’re claiming cutbacks this, recession that.” Peter shrugged.
“Speaking of which,” said Ted looking at his watch that was approaching twelve noon. “Any sign of him?”
Peter shrugged again.
“Valentine’s Day Ted. He probably couldn’t get out the front door with cards!”
“I had the same problem,” laughed Ted.
“Lost your key?”
“Lost my key.”
“If he’s not here by lunch time we’ll give him a call,” said Peter turning serious again.
“Right enough,” said Ted.
“Only he can authorise any redistribution from here with his entry codes,” he said gesturing to the controls. He looked up at the metal walkways that intermingled and crisscrossed the giant valves and spheres. “Otherwise,” he added. “We’ll have to do it by hand. Pray it doesn’t get colder or we’ll have ice up there!” said Peter stabbing his finger into the air.
“How come you don’t have the same codes Peter?” asked Ted.
Peter held up his right hand and rubbed his thumb around his fingers.
“Too expensive mate. The boys upstairs can never envisage situations like this. For them it’s always about the bottom line, about keeping us in the red. They could well afford a safety overhaul but they’d rather get their big fat bonuses.”
“Fat cats don’t let go off the cream easily do they? Anyway I’ll get a couple of lads and we can go up take a look at old number sixteen,” said Ted.
Peter’s mobile phone rang.
“That’ll do,” he said reaching for it then putting it to his ear. “Hello, Peter Knowles.”
Ted called over to two technicians.
“Mike, Chris. Can you spare a minute? We’re going up to sort out this fuel sample.”
He briefed them as to the details. A few minutes later Ted suddenly became aware of Peter standing beside him. Peter, who was always filled with an active enthusiasm, looked grave and downcast.
“What’s up?” asked Ted.
Peter beckoned him over out of earshot of the technicians.
“The police just phoned,” he began. “Larry’s jeep went off the road this morning. He’s dead.”

If anyone had chanced to look, and no one did, they would have seen our much-adventured balloon begin to rise into the air. The sky had been overcast all morning but as the balloon went higher and higher the clouds began to gradually darken. It moved at a remarkable yet not entirely natural speed, arguably attributable to some form of sudden updraft that helped it on its way. The ashen clouds absorbed the balloon and there followed an almost immediate change in their intensity. A deep yet distant rumbling could be heard within them and those few who heard it looked up warily in the expectation of thunder only to see the sky be consumed by a vast dim shadow that seemed to emanate from the very point the balloon had entered the clouds. It spread swiftly across the sky in the same manner that dye stains clear water and as it did the air in and above the town became icy cold. Another deep grumbling echo descended from the clouds and moments later the balloon emerged and floated serenely back down to Earth. With it came the first flakes of a light powdery snow.

This is going to take me all fucking day!
Terry Ambrose surveyed the telegraph pole with cynical contempt. Having spent all morning checking each pole on this particular road just outside town he was fed up, cold and angry. By a process of slow, methodical elimination he now knew that this final pole was the dodgy pole. Terry spat and looked up at it. Pole N.T. 8L 05 13 was the twenty-five foot high piece of cylindrical timber and coaxial cable that had recently been playing up and cutting off N.T’s customers across town. Naturally, out of the eight potential candidates, he had arranged to check this one last!
Still, I’m getting paid for this.
With thirty years experience Terry was regarded by many, including himself, as one of the most proficient engineers on National Telecom’s payroll. Therefore he felt confident that he could quickly repair whatever was wrong with the mechanism housed nearly thirty feet above the ground. Most likely the electrical cable within the insulating membrane had become detached or worn away over the years. He had seen that happen many times on aging poles such as these veritable relics. Management had claimed there was not enough money to replace them but it was Terry’s job to repair, not to complain.

He put on his hardhat and work gloves yet again and retrieved his tool kit, some copper wire and a length of dielectric insulator from the back of his van.
Okay Terry. Let’s go to work.
Trudging over to the pole he reached for the rudimentary, triangular metal rungs and began to climb. It was official N.T. health and safety policy that no employee should engage in potentially dangerous work if they were alone. By scaling a thirty year old, broken down telegraph pole on a winter’s day by himself meant Terry was violating the scope of that policy. However Terry was a hard headed as the pole he now climbed and given his years of experience and depth of expertise he felt justified, even entitled, to flout such regulations if he saw fit to do so. He was entirely confident he could fix whatever the problem was without calling for any assistance. Upon reaching the halfway point Terry became aware of a number of white specks that suddenly appeared on the arms of his dark blue work overalls and gloves. Looking up he saw that the air was filled with similar specks. Snow!
Oh no! Where the bloody hell did this come from?
For perhaps the first time in his career he was actually tempted to abandon a job and come back another time. No one could blame him for that but he was nearly two thirds of the way up the pole and what was is his dad used to say?
When you’re over halfway to somewhere there’s no point turning back! Great advice Dad! Thanks!
With a triumphant sigh he reached the top.
“Nice one Terry, nice one son…”
He promptly fixed the safety strap that looped round his waist to the top rung, giving it a rigourous tug several times over to make ensure it was secure. After a brief rest Terry turned his attention to the two horizontal metal bars that housed a series of nodes that made up the power distributor. The nodes, a series of four metal circles stacked on top of each other, also connected the eight thick telephone cables that dissected each node to the poles before and after this one on either side. It did not take Terry long to diagnose the problem. The cable attached to the node on the lower far right-hand side had come loose from its host. Had Terry looked carefully enough when he was on the ground he would probably have noticed the cable look ever so slightly slack. However the cable running directly above had most likely obscured his view of the fault. Terry made a mental note of this to avoid making the same mistake in the future before contemplating the best way to begin repairs. It wasn’t simply a matter of thrusting the cable back into the assembly. He needed to assess the bronze dielectric wiring immediately beside the node. As he suspected about an inch of it had become exposed meaning it had to be replaced. True it may continue to function for a week, maybe two, but sooner rather than later it would break down altogether. It was Terry’s philosophy to fix something now and get the job over and done with. Safety, of course, always came first. He had to shut down all the electricity running through it before even touching the wire. Thirty-three Kilowatts was nothing on a grand scale but it was enough to fry a man and the brutality of electricity always reigned regardless of experience or skill. The smallest of mistakes could be decisively lethal. Fortunately he did not have to seek out or move to switch off the power. Pole 8L, as the hub for this row of telegraph poles, had its own small junction box. By flicking a switch an engineer could easily cut off the flow of electric in order to affect swift repairs. The junction box was right beneath the distributor’s lower bar. Terry stretched his right arm out to open it but then broke into a laugh.

“Happy Valentine’s Day Terry!”
The balloon descended slowly from above amidst the gently falling snow. When it reached the same height as the pole it stopped some ten feet away. Terry watched, mildly fascinated. It swayed ever so gently as the flakes fell around it. Then it began to move again. Terry’s eyes followed it. It remained at the same distance but it was now orbiting Terry’s position at the top of the pole. Round and round it went in a clockwise motion at no great haste. Terry laughed and shook his head. Had he stopped to check he would have noticed that there was no wind that could cause the balloon to move in such a way.
“You drift to earth my friend and I’ll take you home to the missus,” he called out.
He reached for the junction box but when he opened the small grey door the back of his head was struck by something hard.
“Fuckin’ hell!”
The raw coil he had been holding sprung from his hand and got caught round the disconnected cable. Terry rubbed his head and looked breathlessly around. With the same shocking suddenness his left shoulder then registered a similar pain.
“Christ!” coughed Terry.
This time he saw the balloon. It shot off to the right, paused, then came straight at him. He clung to the top rungs and moved his body to the left. The balloon sailed past. Terry then noticed that there was no wind whatsoever carrying it but this eerie revelation realisation had barely time to sink in for when Terry straightened himself he looked up to see the balloon floating inches in front of his face. Instinctively he raised his left hand and flicked it away. It was like punching a granite boulder. Though the balloon had reacted as balloon’s do when struck the pain it left in his fingers was excruciating. Terry closed his eyes tightly and gingerly felt his left hand with his right. At least one of the fingers was broken. He had to get down right now. But he didn’t. Opening he eyes Terry faintly saw the red shape quickly fill his vision and strike his face. A pain, many times worse than the one in his fingers, overwhelmed his mind. Fatigued, freezing and in agony Terry keeled over and the sudden exertion of weight made the safety strap snap. One of the lower rungs ran a gash through Terry’s right leg but he still had enough desire to live and with his last ounce of strength he grabbed upwards, vainly hoping to catch hold of anything to prevent the fall. His right hand felt something and he wrapped his fingers around it tightly. Looking up he saw his hand grip a cable: the exposed cable. Terry became very warm. Sparks reigned down into his eyes and a dosage of volts surged through him from head to toe. He let go of the cable and the snow encrusted ground leapt up to meet him.
So long.
The summit of the pole erupted like fireworks, spewing forth sparks, cable and shards of steel. As pole 8L caught fire the balloon moved silently away.

Louise clipped up the steps of the police station, went inside and was gratefully relieved to see that her friend Sophie was manning the inquiries desk. It was immediately apparent to Sophie that Louise was in trouble. Though still very shaken Louise had calmed down but was now breathless and footsore from running half a mile to the station. She hadn’t called for the police from her mobile in case doing so had slowed her down. The two friends embraced warmly and Sophie took a good look at her friend.
“Robert?” she asked.
Louise nodded firmly.
At this point Sophie simply thought Louise had arrived for a female shoulder to cry on. Robert had undoubtedly embarrassed her with a “take me back” serenade or presented her with a lavish Valentine’s Day gift. She did not suspect him of behaving in anything other than a civil yet pathetic way.
“He hit me,” said Louise. The memory of the encounter came flooding back and out her eyes.
“He what?”
Louise wiped her eyes.
“He hit me,” she repeated.
“Come on,” said Sophie. She guided Louise into the reception area’s office and sat her down. Imbued with a cup of tea Louise told her all the details of Robert’s visit. When she finished her account of the incident Sophie patted her on the back.
“We’ll need you to make a statement Louise.”
“I’d rather just forget about it,” muttered Louise.
“Louise. He threatened you and hit you. What’s to stop him doing it again?”
“You’re right,” said Louise acquiescing.
Sophie put her arm around Louise’s shoulder soothingly then reached for the phone. She was a dedicated professional and the thought of her friend falling victim to someone like Robert heightened her resolve to take immediate action. But her attention then turned to the light overhead that only partially lit the dim office. It had begun to flicker violently. Then the glass splintered and smashed done onto the floor as the bulb blew with unnatural force. Sophie threw her arms around Louise’s head and at the same time every other electrical appliance in the building and the town went the same way.

Due to the uncommon darkness that had been present for most of the day, combined with the increasing cold, most homes and businesses were lighting and heating up. Lunchtime was fast approaching and the bars, cafes and restaurants braced themselves for a busy influx of customers eager to escape the rapidly falling snow. But all across the town the populace were unaware that the consequences of Terry’s fatal duel with the balloon were about to play out. As pole 8L went up in flames it caused an electrical surge that cascaded through and shorted out every other telegraph pole and subsidiary power relay in the general area. Every house, shop and building that didn’t have its own generator went dark.

Ted Bilton had finished briefing the two engineers when the roar of the rattling claxon resounded throughout the facility. He gripped the clipboard he was holding then raced to the end of the walkway. From this vantage point he could see no visible problem but that didn’t mean there was none. There could a gas or a fuel leak or worse. Workers and technicians were dashing swiftly yet carefully to the exits.
“We’ll evacuate,” he said to the two engineers. The men didn’t need to be told twice. Anyone employed by a company that traded natural explosive commodities, from the lowest secretary to the C.E.O., was briefed extensively on how to react in an emergency. Normally such staff worked in relative proximity to the refinery. The offices were adjacent and within the danger zone of a blast. If the alarm went off you did not hang about waiting for an order to clear out: you got out as fast as your legs could carry you. Ted was hot on their heels and was about to exit when something made him stop and look back.
Talk about Lot’s wife!
Peter Knowles was hunched over the controls checking all the fluctuating instruments and displays.
“You deaf Peter?” shouted Ted.
Above the din Ted clearly heard the thud of Peter’s fist impacting the panel as well as his angry yell.
“This is going to be a shitty afternoon!”

Afternoon

At the same moment that the first peels of the alarm bell rang out on the refinery floor Robert sat down on a much worn park bench and stared at the gravel by his feet. His thumbs and forefingers were intertwined as he fixed his emotionless gaze upon the ground. He no longer felt guilty about what he had done. Instead he was quietly filling up with outright indifference towards absolutely everything. As the minutes past his mind became a blank and while he could see the falling wisps of snow, the yellow gravel and hews of green grass with the dark mass of a pond beyond it none of what he saw registered with Robert. Around him the park was very quiet and suddenly his cold, unblinking eyes scrutinised everything that moved and his brain went quietly to work again. Nearby an elderly couple tossed chunks of stale white loaf to a horde of hungry ducks.
Life is so simple for ducks. I wish I was a duck. I wish I had become a duck when I left school.
Along the path a mother chastised her young son.
Women haven’t a clue how to deal with men of any age.
He was tempted to say so as the woman tugged the boy’s child restraint and led him past Robert but he stayed his tongue.
What a dopey bitch! She should be raped as a punishment.
The self-admonition he had given himself after Louise had run away drifted, almost serenely, back into his mind. He clenched his fists and dug his boots into the gravel.
Why do I need to apologise to a whore who deliberately set out to ruin my life?
The gravel crackled loudly. Turning, the woman lifted the boy and hastened her gait away from Robert. He hadn’t realised he had stabbed the heel of his boot into the gravel not just once but four times!
Save it for Louise’s face.
There was a lot Robert hadn’t told Louise. He hadn’t told her of his anger management counselling sessions or how in June 1993 he had punched a fellow student when she had refused his offer to be his partner at the graduation ball. Nor had he told her, or indeed anyone, of the family friend Stephen who had baby-sited him when he was five. Stephen took him into the bathroom and locked the door even though Robert hadn’t needed to pee. Then Stephen undressed Robert and made him face away. He recalled the sound of a descending zip and a husky groan of perverse satisfaction some minutes later. Robert didn’t care to recall what happened in between. Then there was his mother… In this tortured life of emotional trauma and false dawns of happiness Louise was his redemption. Now their relationship was over. After what he had done that morning Robert could hardly invoke victimhood to defend what he had done or what he planned to do. Something more was needed to push him over the edge completely.

Robert tilted his head up and looked directly ahead. From atop the hedge immediately opposite the heart-shaped Valentine’s balloon floated majestically into view. For a moment Robert forgot all about his problems. He leaned back on the bench and even smiled. Simple yet amusing that Balloon…
Balloon! If that isn’t the same balloon that slut got then the Pope ain’t Papist!
Robert leapt to his feet then bounded after the balloon. His route took him straight across the shallows of the duck pond. Startled by the sudden splashing every fowl in the pond flapped its wings and fled. The elderly woman covered her face and shrieked as she and her husband were enveloped in ducks. Robert stumbled out of the water, his boots and lowers jeans caked in mud and water while the balloon took off into the open park.
“Will you watch it? For God’s sake!” snapped the old man furiously.
“Quack quack!” laughed Robert as he ran off in pursuit.

John Hales had to cancel his lunch, flee from his warm office and stand, shivering, in a makeshift shed in a corner of the expansive grounds occupied by S.E.F. Half a mile away the facility, with its giant white Golf balls used to store the product that had made John rich, stood almost silent with the barely audible alarm bell still ringing. He was not a man easily scared but there was something about the urgency of the evacuation that rankled with him. He wanted answers and he wanted them now. At that moment Peter and Ted entered the shed and shook off the snow that clung to their high-visibility coats and hardhats.
“There’s no immediate danger,” said Peter even before Ted had shut the door. John was an astute enough businessman to know there was more.
“And what’s the bad news?” he asked. He could almost feel the lines of worry ripple across his face.
“Somehow our generators were hit too, cutting off the coolants. It would have to take a heck of a discharge to do that. Don’t ask me what could have done it. Now, we managed to get them back on but the damage has been done.”
Peter, unlike most technically savvy people who tend to skirt the issue, was always brutally honest when it came to explaining things to the boss. When it was a matter of life or death who could blame him? Let John verbally shoot him, the messenger, if he liked.
“As we can’t use the codes to pipe out the fuel we’ll have to do it manually.”
“Why’s that?” asked John. Clearly word of that morning’s accident had not filtered up the ranks. Peter looked at the C.E.O is disbelief.
“Larry McGrady, John,” said Ted reluctantly.
“What about him?”
“He…His car went off the road on his way in this morning,” stammered Ted. It had still not sunk in for either him or Peter. John put his hand to his face.
“God.”
John slowly stretched a hand onto the back of his neck and bowed his head.
“Can we assume the worst?” he said trying to avoid Peter’s haughty gaze.
“I’m afraid so but we need to focus on the job at hand John,” said Ted.
John inhaled long and slowly.
“Alright,” he said calmly. “Tell me exactly what needs to be done.”
“Well,” began Peter, “first we need to secure the generators. Easily done but if we get another shortage…”
John nodded.
“Go on,” he said.
“Second we unload the distribution tanks as fast as possible…”
“The rigs are on standby John. It’ll take three or four hours tops,” said Ted cutting in.
“Third, we need to siphon off the excess fuel into the D.T’s and hopefully that will be it,” concluded Peter.
“Hopefully?” asked John.
“He’s being modest John. Believe me, that’ll be it sorted,” said Ted with a reassuring smile.
John wasn’t entirely convinced.
“Those generators,” he said softly, waving his hand towards the plant. “That’s a mystery.” The generators were state of the art and only three years old. That was brand new in terms of heavy industry.
“As I said they are working fine now but if you can get any specialist in to keep an eye on them for the next few days then I’d do it,” asserted Peter.
“Is there no one here who can do that?” asked John.
“There’d be some,” answered Peter. “But the thing is the generators have never broken down before. And I’ve never seen one break down the way ours did at lunch time. The electricians we have here are the best but their skills are spread out across everything, generators, lights, computers. That’s why we need an expert, someone who knows the heavy equipment. Ideally you’d get whoever installed them!”
“What about Bob? Could he help?” asked Ted.
“Yeah, I’ll make the call,” said John.
“Ted you’d better get the trucks sorted,” said Peter.
Ted looked at John for approval. John nodded.
“Yes. Do whatever needs to be done,” he said. “Is there anything else?”
“Police and fire brigade?” suggested Ted.
“Of course,” said John.
“I’ll make a start with the spheres. This is going to be a bloody all nighter! Come on Ted,” said Peter darting out the shed door.

My old self would have been so proud! Here I am carrying a Valentine’s balloon. All these women will think I’m bringing it to my beautiful girlfriend! See how jealous they all look! But my girlfriend, or ‘gf’, is an Anglo-Japanese bitch and I don’t care what people think!
Robert had actually come to really like the balloon. He thought it interesting that despite having been blown about the town for hours it was still in excellent condition. The balloon had also gone through thorny bushes and emerged unscathed (unlike Robert) and withstood several almighty blows from his fist when he finally managed to grab hold of its tassel when it had settled by a beech tree. He had chased it madly about the park for at least half an hour but rather than destroying it, as he had originally intended, he decided to go back to Louise’s house and present it to her. After all, why destroy a symbol of love no matter who sent it? Even then for the briefest of moments the minute portion of his mind that still possessed some logic had quietly wondered if the balloon was toying with him. If Louise wasn’t at home he would tie it to the front door and leave a note with it.
Hiya babe. Found your balloon. Sorry about earlier! Don’t know what came over me! Give me another chance! Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease! LOL!!!!
The police could also be there looking for him but he didn’t care anymore.
If they are I’ll just punch them.
He was now not far from Louise’s house and as he hadn’t seen any police cars all day he walked leisurely through the falling snow along a broad residential street. A rich, hearty laugh broke the quiet of the early afternoon.
“I knew you’d try and win her back my friend!”
Robert’s mind had been so caught up with events that he had forgotten Cole lived on this street. And there was Cole himself, standing on his doorstep in his hoodie, slippers and track-suit bottoms, barely about to contain his mirth. Robert looked at him warily.
“Oh, Robert! I never thought you’d go for the over the top, flowers, chocolates, take me back, baby method! Never in a million, billion, trillion, gazillion years man!”
Cole shuffled down the steps and up the path to embrace him.
I wonder if black people are scared of snow?
“It’s snowing!” said Robert happily, eyeballing Cole for his reaction.
“Is it?” said Cole feigning surprise. “I thought it was molten lava! God must have dandruff! Look, get inside here and have some rum. Dutch courage, huh?”
“Yeah great!” said Robert following him up the path.

Sophie and the other officers and staff at the police station were in a fluster. First the electricity had gone off then the station had been swamped with calls about either the snow, the power or both.
“Honestly Louise!” she said slamming down the phone. “Some people seem to think the police can control the weather! As if we’re going to arrest a snow storm!”
Louise drained the last of the tea in her cup.
“Sophie you’re up to your eyes here. I better head on.”
“No, I’ll run you home. Just let me log that last call.”
Louise had recovered from the initial shock but her mind had weighed heavily on the events of that morning. As the soothing qualities of the tea fortified her she gradually reasoned that there was no point worrying about Robert. She had to live her life and what better way to start than going straight back to work? Louise had just come to this conclusion when her stomach flipped again.
“Oh God!”
“What now?” asked Sophie.
“I had a client waiting! Shit!”
“Don’t worry I’ll take you now, just finishing.” Sophie’s nimble fingers punched the keyboard faster.
“No, sod it,” she said with a long sigh. “It’s too late now. It’s all that bastard’s fault.” Louise folded her arms and lent her head against the wall in frustration.
“Hey come on it’ll be alright! Just call them and explain what happened.”
“Yeah I will,” said Louise. “Is there anything else you need?”
“No, we’ve taken your statement and that’s me done here,” said Sophie pushing her computer’s keyboard away.

If Cole had suspected that anything was worrying Robert then he naturally attributed it to nerves resulting from his forthcoming romantic endeavour. Robert sat upright in the armchair, holding the balloon in his left hand, with a look of mild contentedness on his face. When Cole entered the living room with two mugs of tea laced with rum he was struck by the oddness of Robert’s posture.
“Hey man,” he scoffed, handing Robert a mug, “the heat’s off, the power is off, so sit back, relax and drink your rum! It’s my Granny’s home recipe. You’re not a child going to see the dentist!”
Cole sat down opposite him.
“Yeah,” chortled Robert softly, “I’m going to see Louise.” He looked up at the balloon which was hovering gently. “And I’m going to give this to her!”
Rum came out Cole’s nose as he spluttered.
“That’s not all you’ll give her, huh?”
Robert laughed and pointed at Cole.
“You’re right, West Indian. I am going to have sexually intercourse with her as well! Ha ha ha! Wooo!”
Cole’s countenance dropped low.
“What?”
Robert let out another exaggerated laugh. Then he raised his mug.
“Cheers big ears!” He proceeded to drink the contents in one long gulp. When he had finished he unleashed a satisfied sigh signifying he was well and truly refreshed. Cole joined him in another hearty laugh.
“Not at all big balls! You’ve well and truly got the jitters son,” he said shaking his head. “You are jittered-out!”
Robert grinned.
“So, Robert. Tell me. Tell me why you’re going after your lady. Inspire me! You are a true gentleman of yesteryear!”
“Well, it’s like this. Well, why do people begin sentences with the word ‘well’? Why don’t they just get to the point? Well, I thought I may as well make peace with her. So, well, I thought I’d go round to her shack and wrap this bastard round her neck!”
Cole frowned. Either the rum wasn’t sitting well with him or maybe it was Robert’s behaviour.
“What are you trying to say man?”
“That I’m one jittered-out mutha fukka!” answered Robert slapping his thighs! The balloon shot to the ceiling and bounced off it before settling above them.
They laughed again.
Robert grinned from ear to ear.
“So what’s it like to be black?” he asked.
“What is it like to be black?” repeated Cole. “Do you know something Robert? I am starting to think that you should know something very important… being black is fantastic!” More raucous laughter followed. Robert tried to think of something else to say, something that would genuinely unnerve Cole but all did was smile. Cole waved his arms gently, as if appealing to an unruly audience to calm down and behave.
“Robert. Robert. Robert. All I will say of this girl of yours and of girls all over the world is this. If they have taught us men anything it is this. One, never go shopping with them. Two, they think we have psychic powers and can read their thoughts and know what they want. That is all crap. So, good luck! The reward is always good! Cheers!” The two men extended their mugs that met with a ‘clink’.
“Chin chin,” said Robert.
“Chin chin old boy, chin chin,” said Cole.
Upon the completion of their toast Robert’s phone rang. With a grunt he sluggishly pulled it out of his back trouser pocket.
“Yeah?” he said gruffly. Cole closed his eyes and eased back in his chair. He listened to Robert’s conversation.
“Speaking. How am I? I am fine and dandy. John Hales. Yes I remember you. How are you? How’s the oil trade? Really? Well, fuck me. How did that happen? Yeah I’m at me mate’s house, he’s some black guy. The powers off. Fucking freezing too. Gonna have to break the sacred heart candles out like Irish Nana used to do. Sorry go on. Yeah, this is Robert. I’ve got a sore head today.”
“Stupid, stupid,” muttered a much amused Cole. Robert listened silently to the chirping voice on the phone for some time.
“Well, that’s real a mess you’ve got over there John and you want me to come over and sort it out for you? Well, I’d love to John. But I won’t. I won’t because you are a paedophile and a big dopey cunt with an ignorant rat-like face and you eat shit for your fucking breakfast you sad excuse for a man. Goodbye!”
Robert stood up like lightening and hurled the phone with such force that it scored a dent in the flaky wallpaper above Cole’s fireplace.
“I’m going to kill that bitch!” he shouted. “I’m going to murder her!”
He then unleashed a yell of utter fury that caused Cole to leap up and grab him by shoulders.
“Jesus man, what the hell is wrong with you?”
Robert continued to yell as loud as he could. Cole backed off as he saw the red veins in Robert’s eyes pulsate with outright malevolence. He raised his hands to cover his ears. After what seemed like five minutes Robert stopped. Cole put his hands on his head and looked at Robert forlornly. He always intoned his words with a careful, almost methodical relish, but this time Cole spoke with a fearful gusto.
“I don’t know what’s happened to you mate. To be honest I’m too drunk to care right now. You should go and come back when you have cooled down a bit, okay?”
“Roger that Jamaican,” said Robert handing him his empty mug. “Your Granny must have pissed in this stuff cos’ it’s gone right through me. Mind if I?” Robert jerked his thumb up the stairs.
“Be my guest. Then go!” said an exhausted Cole.
Robert shuffled over to the living room door
“I am going to shite into thy toilet Mr Cole,” he called back as he trudged up the stairs. “Though if I were you blackie I’d get in your car and get out of here before the town blows up,” he whispered to himself.
If our shit is brown would Cole's shit be white?
Cole sunk to his knees and rubbed his eyes.
“Why did I get up today? Why did I let him in? O’ Lord! I’m going to call the police. I’m going to call them right now before he chops someone up!”
It was Cole’s day off and he was in an uncharacteristic lazy mood, a consequence of drinking his rummed teas. Given the frigid day outside and with the central heating still off he had eagerly drank five of them. Now Cole was feeling more and more nauseas as the liquor flowed through him.
“Stupid, stupid. No more rum, ever again. I swear to almighty God, never again as long as I live!”
A shadow fell across the window that looked out through his coalhouse and into his miniscule back garden. Then a morbid feeling grew within him and he suddenly felt very afraid and vulnerable but he could not tell what caused his fear. He glanced around and saw red coming towards him.

John Hales gaped in disbelief at the phone before setting it down with a vibrating hand. He doubled checked the number his P.A. had given him and he was certain he had dialled it correctly. But he was wasting his time for it was definitely Robert Fletcher’s number and it had definitely been Robert Fletcher’s voice on the end of the line. John had remembered it distinctly for during the job tendering process and installation of the generators he had been in almost daily contact with Robert every day either by phone or in person for six months or more. The accent was characteristically home-county yet with a slight trace of the north country no doubt picked up when Robert spent five years at Manchester University studying electrical engineering. It had definitely been Fletcher.
What could have come over him?
John opted not to try and contact Robert again and made a mental note never to do business with his company ever again. He immediately went to break the news to Peter and Ted that they could expect no help from Robert Fletcher. John could already picture Peter’s obdurate reaction and that made it all the more galling.

It wasn’t the first time that day that a modicum of logical thought attempted to permeate the debilitating chinks in Robert Fletcher’s weakened mind.
Just go home. Forget her.
Perhaps it had been the rum that caused him to actually listen to this thought when it had taken root as he had sat despondently on the toilet.
I thought liquor dulled the senses. It certainly heightens them. (Burp!)
By the time he reached the bottom of the stairs he had promised himself he would apologise to Cole. After that he would tell Cole that he had struck his ex-girlfriend that very morning. Finally he would walk straight to the police station, admit what he had done, face the consequences and pay the price.
A three month suspended sentence or there abouts I should think. I won’t do time and my career will be ruined but there’s more to life than work.
He entered the living room and wondered why Cole was lying on the floor. The top half of his body was out of sight behind the chair Robert had been sitting in earlier while Cole’s legs and feet stretched out and were visible.
“You drop something mate?” asked Robert.
It was strange for him to hear his voice so cool, calm and collected again. Cole didn’t answer him. Robert inched closer and reluctantly peered round the armchair. His friend was lying on his back starring up at the ceiling. Cole’s eyes were dull and dark and his hands groped his neck though they looked sorely limp.
“Cole?”
Robert slowly bent down. He saw a series of red lines streaked across Cole’s throat as if piano wire had been seared against his neck.
“Cole?” repeated Robert, louder this time. “Can you hear me?”
Any second now Cole will come to life again with a disembodied yell. Very funny mate!
Robert waved his hands over Cole’s eyes. They didn’t even seem to reflect the light. Then he slowly moved his hand to touch one of Cole’s arms. His hand sprung back as if it had been stung. Cole’s arm was cold. Robert’s breathing quickened profusely. He put his hands on Cole’s shoulders and shook him gently.
“Cole? Cole? Come on Cole!”
In response Cole’s arms flopped lifelessly to his side. Robert sprang up and lent against the wall.
How long was I sitting on the toilet? How could this have happened?
Jumbled thoughts of guilt, murder and fear intermingled in his mind as Robert fled from the room. With the same suddenness with which he went Robert halted. Then he fell to his knees. In front of his frightened eyes hung a long silky red tassel. The recollection of the marks on Cole’s neck came to mind as he followed the tassel upwards to see it end in the pristine scarlet heart of the balloon. As it caught the light that streamed in through the window it looked immaculate, radiant and aggressively powerful. For the briefest of moments Robert could clearly picture what happened to Cole whilst he was in the bathroom but the horrific realisation of this was not allowed to sink in. As Robert beheld the balloon he felt his heart and mind flooding with a familiar sensation, the same spiteful emotions he had been filled with ever since he first laid eyes on the balloon in Louise’s house five hours before. In an instant it had dislodged his desire to atone and replaced it with an even deeper hunger to inflict chaos and revenge not only upon Louise but for anyone he would come across after he set foot outside Cole’s front door.
I’m on a slippery slope already. I’d better slide to the bottom and enjoy the ride!
Robert rose to his feet as he broke a smile of confidence malevolence. Gently he reached out and took hold of the tassel and carefully wrapped part of it around his right hand. He looked at it like a man in love.
“Thank you,” he said. “Thank you for everything.” Then he planted a tender kiss right in its centre. Robert looked back into the living room.
“Poor Cole,” he said wistfully. “But,” he added turning back to the balloon. “You did the right thing. Now, let’s go and change the world.”

The snow had now been falling steadily for several hours and showed no signs of abating. By mid afternoon the gritters were out, depositing salt on the streets. Though the thick clouds overhead made things dark the refraction of the snow made it seem it was brighter than it actually was. Businesses and schools were considering an early closure while the number of people in the streets began to dwindle for the warmth and safety of their homes. Sophie neither liked driving in the snow or the dark but when she commanded a police car she felt a lot more defiant and confident. Louise sat beside her in the passenger seat.
“I might go out and take some photos in the snow,” she said happily.
“Really? You’re not wise, girl. We’ll get you home and you can get warmed. I wouldn’t go out in this,” said Sophie. “It’s mental!”
“I don’t mind, hardly ever snows round here,” said Louise.
“Well if you do be careful and I don’t just mean about the weather. Remember, Robert could be lurking about,” said Sophie assertively.
“Yeah well if he’s trashed my house he’ll be the one who’ll have to worry about me,” said Louise with relish.
“If he has we’ll add it to the list of charges,” said Sophie. “I’m sorry we had you sitting around the station for so long. If it hadn’t been for the snow I’d have had you home earlier. I’ll be glad to see the end of it!”
“I bet your little girl won’t!”
Sophie raised her eye brows and laughed.
“Oh God, she'll have dragged mum out through it!”
“And made a snowman!” suggested Louise.
“You can bet on it!”
At this Sophie’s phone rang.
“Speak of the devil,” she said glancing at it. “It’s mum. I better take it.” Sophie pulled the police car up to the pavement and answered the call.
“Hello? Brian? I thought you were mum.”
Louise watched with rising trepidation as Sophie’s complexion became ridden with unease.
“Are they alright?” she asked anxiously.
“Oh God,” whispered Louise turning her attention outside. Clumps of snow hit the stationary windscreen.
“I’m going to come straight over,” said Sophie after what seemed for Louise to be an agonisingly long time.
“Sophie?” she asked.
“Louise, can I drop you off here? Mum and Sabrina are in hospital. They’re okay,” said Sophie.
“What happened?”
“Brian said there was a fire at home. Hppened this morning. He’s been trying to get through to me all day,” said Sophie shuddering.
“But they’re okay?”
“Some smoke inhalation he said. Louise I’m sorry but I have to go there now.” Sophie wiped away a tear.
Louise unfastened her seat belt.
“Do you want me to come with you? I don’t mind,” she offered.
“Thanks, but you don’t need this after your day Louise. You’re close to home now, just go on,” said Sophie with a hoarse throat.
“Alright,” said Louise. “Take care.” Louise and Sophie embraced. “Let me know how they are okay?” said Louise opening the door and stepping out into the snow.
“Yeah, I will Louise. Thanks and be careful!”
Louise shut the door and the police car churned up slush in its wake as it shot off into the thickening gloom. She hadn’t walked far when she halted. A man was coming her way.
“Konichi-wa Louise-san!” said Robert.

John Hales walked meekly onto the main work level of the S.E.F refinery and adjusted the mandatory hardhat that had been placed on his head. He always felt mildly intimidated whenever he left the comfort of his office and paid a visit to the floor. The workers would notice him, exchange haughty looks and then give the impression they were working hard either by feigned a look of concentration or moving more quickly. Nonetheless being the head of the company brought with it similar pressures and stresses felt by many of these men as a result of the methodical labour they performed daily. For this reason his employees would always hold John’s respect, admiration and even envy. He approached Peter Knowles and Ted Bilton who were surveying the main control display with varying degrees of worry. John’s body language of itself conveyed his own fears but he straightened himself up and tried to look more serious when the two men turned upon noticing his arrival.
“More bad news,” he said in as low a voice as possible. His tone was unnecessary as the din from the works above drowned out his words meaning no one beyond two meters of his mouth could hear him.
“We can’t get anyone to monitor the generators,” he said with echoes of the bizarrely uncomfortable conversation with Robert still in his mind.
“Eh? Why not?” asked Ted. “What about Bob Fletcher?”
“Bob Fletcher is a very sick man. I called his mobile phone and he let me know what he thought of me. We won’t be using him ever again.”
“What?” asked Ted in disbelief.
“He insulted me,” said John feeling very small. It was like school all over again. Here he was telling tales about another bully.
“Why?” asked Ted again.
“God, how should I know? I asked if he could come over and help us out and he starts this tirade.”
“Are you sure it was him?” asked Ted doubtfully.
“Of course I’m sure,” answered John losing his temper. “I knew his voice. Anyway he’s mad and won’t help us so we’ll need to sort this out ourselves.”
Peter had been listening with growing disdain. S.E.F was a veritable disaster waiting to happen. There had been some iffy moments over the years but this was the worst yet. Hence at that very moment Peter decided to start looking for a new job after he had sorted this mess out. It was as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.
Dubai sounds nice and warm and lucrative plus it doesn’t snow there! But what will SHE say?
“Doesn’t matter,” he said briskly. “Ted, I think you should select one of your guys to help you keep a tight eye on them. Nothing may happen but all the same someone, actually half a dozen techies, should be on constant standby at the generators.”
“Okay I’ll see to it,” said Ted. “I hope you’re going to sue Bob, John.” He still couldn’t believe what John had reported.
“One thing at a time,” said John. “Now, Peter. What about the spheres?”
“Getting there. I’m going to have to climb up there with some guys of my own to engage the manual releases.”
“Do what you have to do,” said John. It was now apparent to him that Peter did not like him very much. “I asked the I.T. department to try and get hold of the codes that Lawrence possessed,” began John falteringly however this half-hearted effort to placate Peter was both too late and unwise. Peter looked squarely at John.
“Look John, I appreciate the effort but they would have been more useful a couple of hours ago,” said Peter abruptly.
Ted tried to save the situation.
“How longs it going to take them John?” he asked.
“They can’t say,” answered John softly feeling ashamed and dissatisfied. He imagined tell what Peter was thinking.
They can’t tell? Then why bother coming down here to tell me something that’s no use to us. Oh, I forgot, you have to be seen to be making an effort, don’t you?
“If they do get them you’ll know straight away believe me.” John no longer felt like the man who had built up the company and crafted it to thrive. He just wanted this day to end.
“I’ll keep trying here anyway,” said Peter encouragingly which made John feel happier suddenly.
“Right,” said Ted, “we’ll go and monitor the turbines.”
“Yeah, any problems tell me at once Ted,” said Peter.
“Will do,” said Ted with a nod to John and with that the man in the suit walked away feeling as down as ever.

With a mixture of self-loathing and a sense of indifferent desperation Louise felt her heart press against her ribs as though it were trying to squeeze out between them. One side of her body burned as she lay prostrate in the snow which continued to pelt down on her head and body. The mild pain she felt showed no signs of increasing yet if she lay any longer she could well pass out in the cold. With her right hand she touched the wall of the side street and made a weak effort to try and get to her feet. As she did so she recalled having been pushed against the same wall only a few minutes before. Robert had called her a gentle whore. He hadn’t used much energy as her precarious footwear was unstable on the icy pavement. The slightest nudge would have sent her over and he had used both hands while clenching his teeth. Now he had gone again, leaving her here. Despite her meandering thoughts she wondered why he had dashed off suddenly. He appeared to be chasing something.
What was it?
Then she remembered.
A heart. A red heart. A red Valentine's heart.
She pictured the event once more. The man had rounded the corner and stopped dead in his tracks. He held a familiar looking balloon. She saw him in profile with the left side of his head facing toward her. Louise thought he looked hypnotised. Then Robert, for it was he, turned to face her and he smiled and said hello. He said he had been looking for her. Her new-found confidence evaporated the moment he laid eyes on her. There followed statements of conflicting logic regarding her sudden presence and his future destiny. After that she had attempted to get away only to find the balloon itself ram right into her face. Dazed, Robert had then flung her down onto the freezing, snowy ground. Now she was on her feet again and her train of thought was levelling out into a more coherent form. Yet foremost on her mind was not her deluded former lover but the object he had been carrying. Some inner instinct, awakened perhaps by her heightened senses and violent confrontations with Robert, seemed to direct her mind to the balloon. It was also as if the very redness of it acted as a visual magnet. To Louise this much at least made sense for she knew from having read psychology that red was the most attractive colour to the human eye and every advertiser on the planet knew this. Just ask Santa Claus for that famous gift-giver’s coat had been green and white before the Coca-Cola company came along and changed it. But there was something much more deeper and inherently unusual for in the few seconds that the balloon came into contact with her face she had heard and felt from within a low repetitive thud, the beating of a heart.

“Come with me son,” ordered Ted to a fairly young man in orange overalls. It was Mike Newtown, a new member of staff at the refinery.
“Where are we going Mr Bilton?” he asked, running up to walk hurriedly alongside the older man.
“I need your help to monitor the turbines,” answered Ted briskly. He beckoned Mike to come closer.
“We’ve gotta keep this hush hush. Panic won’t help matters!”
“What’s wrong?”
“I suppose it won’t hurt to tell you. We have to keep a close eye on our own generators in case the snow gives us trouble.”
“No problem,” said Mike. The job sounded easy enough.
“Otherwise,” continued Ted, “we could be looking at another Feyzin.”
“Feyzin?”
“Feyzin. A town in eastern France, near the city of Lyon. Ever heard of it?”
“Never.”
“Well you should know about it. Everyone working here should!”
“Why?”
“Because son once upon a time in 1966 a very big bang took place at Feyzin: an explosion that killed eighteen people and injured eighty-one.”
“How come?”
“Well, it happened at a refinery not dissimilar to this one. They tried to drain a sample of propane from an LPG sphere but there was a problem with the valves. It was winter and the temperature was low. A valve was opened and it froze. They couldn’t close it and a shit load of vapour spewed out. All it took was the motor of a passing car to ignite it.”
“Jesus,” said Mike, turning pale.
“Indeed,” said Ted. “It’s powerful stuff, LPG. The French had twenty tank spheres of various sizes holding tons of fuel but that’s nothing compared to the amounts we’ve got stored here. Nothing! And if we were to go up it would make what happened at Feyzin look like a Chinese fire cracker!”
Mile now wished he had called in sick as he had initially wanted to do that morning. It was Valentine’s Day after all and he had plans for him and his girl.
“God almighty it’s hot down here,” said Ted wiping his brow with his sleeve. “You’d think someone left the gates of Hell open!”

Meanwhile as the town’s clocks came to the halfway point of the third hour since noon nearly every employer and head teacher decided to write off any hope that their workers or pupils could benefit by remaining on their respective premises. They were all dismissed and parents, partners and assorted loved ones and guardians duly altered their plans. However there were those who could not alter theirs. The members of the town’s Fire Brigade fell under this category. Michael Bristow and his men and women prepared to head out again on what had been an intensely busy day. First there had been a car accident. An SUV had somersaulted off the road and landed on a house in the adjacent estate. Fortunately the house had been empty but the driver of the jeep stood no chance whatsoever. The resulting blaze had barely been extinguished when another house fire was reported. This time they had barely managed to save a toddler and her grandmother. Following that a telegraph pole had exploded causing a widespread electricity failure. There had been a death at the site as well, a technician. Consequently the crews were delayed from a call of high priority. Although no fire had occurred preparations were underway to respond to a potentially massive incident. The location was South East Fuels main refinery and distribution plant and the abbreviation looming at the back of every member of the fire crew’s minds was the high possibility of tackling something called a B-L-E-V-E.

Every trainee recruited to the fire fighting service of any country in the world is familiar with the phenomenon of a boiling liquid expanding vapour explosion. Each will have been briefed on the preventative measures, causes, hazards and appropriate response to this phenomenon. Like John Hales, Peter Knowles, Ted Bilton and many other anxious workers, Michael Bristow was grimly aware that the capacity of the refinery at Feyzin had only been a fraction of what was housed at S.E.F. Michael’s crew of men and women had just arrayed themselves in the fire station’s bay and he called for a hush.
“Alright folks. It’s been a long day, shifts are overlapping and we’re getting tired. Now there are always days like this but I’m asking you all to remain diligent and push the extra mile to see us all through safely. Okay? Good. Let’s load up and head out.”
The crews climbed aboard the two huge fire engines as the station’s doors opened onto the street outside. Sirens blared as they soared out into the darkening day.

Flurries of sleet and snow seemed determined to bury themselves in Robert’s face and eyes as he struggled through the gloom. Over the previous thirty minutes the snow had intensified and with it came a cold and steady wind imbued with a bitter chill. Despite this manifest discomfort Robert was in high spirits.
“Thank you,” he said. “Thank you!”
He still held the balloon which, despite the wind, was motionlessly erect as though it were superimposed from a calm summer’s day. But Robert didn’t notice this as he was too busy thinking about Louise. He had been greatly amused at having come across her completely by chance in the snow-strewn streets and was feeling grateful towards the balloon.
“If I hadn’t chased you round the park and caught you, then carried you to the nigger’s shack then we would never have crossed paths with the oriental slut. So I thank thee’ again. Thank you!”
He stroked the balloon but as he did so it rapidly uncoiled its tassel from around his right hand and sped off.
“No! For fuck’s sake!” shouted Robert.
He began to pursue it but instead stumbled through the thick snow on the ground. Although the air was blowing towards Robert the balloon went headlong into the gale as if the wind was not even there.
“Come back!” he demanded. “You’re indomitable, just like me!” he wailed after it.

The main road out of the town that led to S.E.F. crossed a thick, ugly concrete bridge; an architectural mistake of the nineteen sixties. Movement was slow and the traffic was trickling over the bridge in both directions as it was getting thick with cars and other vehicles whose drivers were all eager to get out of the worsening weather as soon as possible. The eyes of the departing drivers darted to their rear view mirrors when they heard the sound of wailing sirens. Coming towards them were streaks of flashing blue lights denoting vehicles of the emergency services. As per the custom in western countries on the approach of an ambulance, fire engine or police car, the drive’s on the bridge proceeded to give way, that is they moved carefully to the left and stopped to allow the speedy and safe passage of the oncoming vehicle. However the narrow gap they helped form on the bridge would proved to be an unsafe passage yet unlike most motor accidents no human was directly to blame. Michael Bristow gripped the large steering wheel of the fire engine and sucked his teeth as he prepared to gradually reduce the truck’s speed. The tail lights of the cars in front were visible along with the clustered flakes of relentless snow. They were joined without warning by a violent pulse of red that darted in from the right, the suddenness of which forced Michael to sink the break. Ahead of him, from one end of the bridge to the other, a wall of orange fire leapt out of nowhere. He dug his foot onto the break pedal and with more hope than expectation he moved the steering wheel to the right in an effort to halt the careering truck. The effort failed. Instead of slowing the fire engine lurched frightfully in the direction the red light had come. With a last look through the windscreen Michael thought he glimpsed the outline of a bloody heart, hanging serenely in the cold air, devoid of any warmth or goodness. Then the truck capsized. The bridge had become a lot uglier.

Tank A16 rose imposingly like a mammoth golf ball. Its pristine whiteness only appeared to have lost its integrity if one scrutinised it closely enough. Around the many intersecting pipes that joined it at various points were faint traces of stained amber.
Caustic soda. There’s another problem waiting to happen.
Peter Knowles could have spoken this observation aloud and launched into another anti S.E.F. diatribe however he was with young Mike Newton. Over-reacting now would not be good for the lad’s self esteem during such a critical situation. Peter set his hands on his hips and tilted backwards as if trying to peer over the sphere.
“No sweat. Alright Mike,” he said, turning his attention to the pale and lean junior technician. “We’re going climb up to A16 and sort this mess out. Now, tell me you’ve brought a single valve spanner.”
“I have,” said Mike tapping his tool belt. “And double one too,” he added, eager to please.
“I was just about to ask that,” smiled Peter.
He beckoned Mike to the metal ladder that led up to the release point about seventy feet above the refinery floor. Peter decided to forego all the weak jokes he normally subjected younger staff members who accompanied him up the ladder.
Did you hear about the Octopus that was afraid of heights? Thank God I can’t remember the punch line!
Peter cringed. Not so much at the joke but because the ladder’s steps were streaked with thick ice.
This ascent will take some time. Time we don’t have.


Chaos had descended. Mangled vehicles and wounded men and women were strewn across the bridge. The remnants of the overturned fire engine blocked the entire route across it apart from one small gap on the far right-hand side. Through the gap came a buoyant Robert. He took in the madness around him and paused. It was as if he had reverted to his old self for a look of normalcy flooded his face as he surveyed the surrounding tragedy. He put his hand to his face and turned away to lean on the concrete safety rail. The moans and groans and outright screams of the survivors filled his ears so his clenched fists covered them as best he could. Robert closed his eyes tightly as he sought to block out the painful reality. He stayed this way for some time before another siren rose above the mournful din. Looking back he saw an ambulance pull up and a pair of paramedics leap out. Behind them came two police cars.
They’ve found me!
Robert moved on through the human debris towards the far side of the bridge.
“Don’t worry folks the ambulance is here,” he said. When he reached the other side he joined a small group of people appraising the carnage with expressions of abject remorse and horror.
“Better move back folks in case it all goes up,” he said waving his arms. They generally ignored him and he moved on past the small crowd before stopping to take a break at the roadside.
The cops won’t see me over here.
Some instinct compelled Robert to turn around and glance into the thick bushes behind him. There in the darkness was the balloon. An extra layer of crimson ran across its heart, the imprint of a streaked, bloody hand. Robert looked at it coldly then looked back at the accident, then back at the balloon again.
“Louise!” he hissed. “Louise! It’s all her fault! It’s all Louise’s fault, officers!” he shouted to the assembling police crew who either ignored or didn’t hear him. He pointed at the balloon. “You were given to Louise. Louise is responsible for this mess! I should have killed her in the snow! So, balloon! I’m not going to chase you any more. You seem good at fulfilling my destiny so therefore I am going to follow you and let you lead me where you will. But remember, Louise will be punished as soon as we’re done no matter what. She won't forget this Valentine's Day in a hurry! Lead on!”
As soon as Robert had finished speaking the balloon rose and moved slowly away along the side of the road. Robert followed then turned back for a last wistful look at the accident site.
“How could she do such a thing?”

Peter and Mike reached the top of the gantry with heavy sighs of exhausted relief while shuddering at the increasing cold. They were at the halfway point up sphere A-16 but their goal, the pressure valves, were only another twenty foot above them at the end of another, more rickety, ladder.
“You alright mate?” asked Peter to Mike.
“Yeah,” answered the technician. “I love the fresh air me.”
“Good. Me too,” said Peter. “Now, as you know the release valve is on the nearest pipe right up this ladder.”
Peter clasped his hands and exhaled his warm breath into them.
“God it’s freezing up here! Too cold for February!”
“Global Warming, eh?” joked Mike.
“Cooling more like,” said Peter. “Right then.”
He produced a walkie-talkie from his belt.
“Ted, it’s Peter, over.”
“Go ahead, over,” said Ted’s voice over the crackling static.
“Ted, we’re nearly at the valves above to release A16, please inform the others to begin once they’re in position, over,” said Peter.
“Will do, over.”
“This is where you take over Mike,” said Peter brightly. He pointed up at the valve. Mike warily gripped the ladder and shook it to test its integrity. It wobbled only a little.
“I’ll hold it,” said Peter reassuringly as Mike began to climb. Peter put his right foot and both his hands on either side of the ladder. He looked up. Mike was halfway there.
“I know you know how to unloosen it Mike but if you need any help just shout,” he called up.
“It’s okay Mr Knowles,” said Mike. “I’ve done this once before.”
“Okay, just take it nice and slow,” said Peter snatching a look down at the plant floor.
I hope she’s keeping warm. God it’s so cold.
It was only at this point that the odour registered. He had smelt it day in day during his time at S.E.F. but it was more intense now. The familiar smell of propane fuel was worryingly strong up there.
“Mr Knowles!”
Fuck.
“Mr Knowles, hey!”
Jesus, I hope to God this isn’t what I think it is.
But it was. Only then did he pay need to Mike’s panicked calls. He already knew what he was about to be told and with suffocating reluctance finally looked back up towards the pipes above him.
“Mr Knowles, something’s opened it already! The LPG is leaking!”

Evening

After all this….
“Right Mike, get down from there!” snapped Peter fumbling for the walkie-talkie. Before he could switch it on the rasping static broke through.
“Peter,” spluttered Ted’s anxious voice. “fuck’s sake Peter!”
“Yeah?” asked Peter.
“They’re telling me half the spheres are leaking down here. The air’s filling with the gas!” barked Ted.
“It’s been the cold,” yelled Peter. “The flimsy seals have been forced open. God help us they must have been open for the better part of the day!”
Ever since this effing snow started!
“So what do we do?” asked Ted.
“Try and put them back. Though they could be frozen in place now. Tell everyone else to get out and don’t whatever you do light a match!”
“I’m doing it right now Peter, over!”
“Bastards!” hissed Peter. “Utter bastards!”
Mike was too afraid to ask so he looked at Peter for an explanation. The older man obliged.
“The caustic soda around the valves. The cold must have caused it to expand and forced them open,” began Peter.
“But we were going to open them anyways,” said Mike.
“Yeah but we also planned to siphon off the fuel to the D.T’s in a slow gradual release. I’m going up to take a look.”
In spite of the hazard posed by the icy rungs Peter quickly scaled the ladder and examined the opening on the valve.
“It’s been open for a couple of hours at least. Possibly even longer. Assuming all the other spheres have been opened for as long that means half the town is loaded with the LPG.”
“Liquid Petroleum Gas you mean?” asked Mike
“Yes, Liquid Petroleum Gas, highly flammable. If it were to go up.…”
“….it would take out half the town,” said Mike completing the sentence.
“What a day! I can’t take….”
Peter slammed his fist onto the frigid metal railing.

Footsore and weary Louise’s frustration grew when she entered her house some seven hours after she had fled out the front door. It didn’t look as if Robert had done much damage. The wooden floor of the lounge had been devastated by the puddle of water it had absorbed earlier and the front door was bruised with kicks. Apart from that everything was intact. She tidied up and was soon flat out on the sofa nursing a large mug of tea and rubbing her sore stocking feet. From her perspective the day had gone by in a frenzied heartbeat and it was only when she was reclining in the warmth and security of her own home that she remembered she had plans for Valentine’s night: plans involving a soulful, friendly man she had known for some time but had only recently become intimately acquainted with. She produced her phone and searched for a number.

Robert pictured himself as a giant stomping over the landscape. With wild motions he swung his arms to and fro as if laying waste to everything beneath him. Now he imagined playing crazy golf with the refinery’s spheres that had appeared ahead of him. The balloon had been drifting slowly towards them along the road however it had stopped as if it was waiting for Robert to catch up. It was still snowing and the combination of lengthy exposure to the low temperature was perhaps revitalising Robert’s former self. But whenever he laid eyes on the red heart-shaped balloon the embarrassment and rage that had been building up within him towards he ex-girlfriend filled Robert to the brim. For this corrupted reason he was grateful to the balloon but he was now feeling extremely worn and tired. Exhaustion frequently goes hand in hand with giving up on any goal no matter how noble or worthy and although Robert believed this journey through the snow would culminate in some altruistic conclusion his body had other ideas. This physical effect seeped into his mind and rejuvenated whatever flimsy notions of common sense that lingered in the recesses of his rapidly declining sanity. It was like waking up from a rough sleep and having a day of great fulfilment stretching out before him.
This is ridiculous. I am following a stupid balloon. I am a grown man. I need to learn to control my anger.
He was refreshed and alert all of a sudden and was almost overwhelmed with guilt when the memories of his encounters with Louise and telephone call with John Hales came back to him.
Mum would have something to bitch about if she about all this!
A pang of familiar hatred imbued him for a moment. He noticed that the balloon suddenly seemed to pulsate for the briefest of moments as if in response to this thought.
“Fuck this!”
Robert spun round indignantly but the spin became a slide as his feet gave way on the softer snow that lay on the long grass. The next thing he knew Robert was sprawled on his belly, his hands and face burning from contact with the snow. When he hauled himself up the balloon was right in front of him. Robert hopped back startled and almost slipped again. The balloon sprung towards him and as it did he unleashed his right fist. It was like punching concrete. Robert howled and this time he toppled backwards onto the ground. Seconds later he became aware of a tingling sensation as something smooth, thin and silky wrapped itself around his throat. He opened his eyes and saw the balloon directly above his chest. Then its thread tautened sharply and an agonising pressure was administered to his neck. Robert tried to tilt his head forward but the pain was too intense. He grasped for the tassel but touching it now felt like putting one’s fingers on a sharpened blade. As he continued to kick and twist his lungs felt like they were begin crushed and the balloon hovered motionless and calm.
Poor Cole. It killed Cole! It wrapped its tassel around his Goddamn neck and squeezed the Negro life out of him.
Robert gave up. Through his contorted eyes he beheld the balloon. As he did so the grip on his throat loosened.
Please.
The pressure reduced further. The balloon was reciprocating his submission.
I hate Louise. I HATE HER! I HATE HER! I HATE HER!
“I’ll do it! I’ll come!” Somehow his voice got through his bulging lips. The moment it did the balloon’s tassel abruptly uncoiled itself from around his neck and his head thudded back again onto the cold, hard ground.

“And to top it all off the emergency services are at a complete standstill all across the south. Snow’s everywhere! God this is a Chernobyl waiting to happen!” Peter ended his tirade by spitting a substantial glob of phlegm over the safety rail. Mike looked on anxiously. For the past few minutes his boss had been lambasting the company’s poor safety record and the big wigs in charge who had grown rich while men like him, Mike and Ted practically risked their lives to keep this death trap ticking over. And, ironically, Peter usually voted Conservative. Mike, who was already worried, had had enough. He stepped over and grabbed Peter by the shoulders.
“Hey! Peter! Mr Knowles! Come on get a grip! I know we’re up to our eyes but flying off the handle ain’t going to solve anything!”
Mike turned red. Had he gone too far? Peter was grim and silent but after a moment began to nod.
“God, you’re absolutely right Mike. This is what stress does.”
Peter shuffled over and leant forward on the railing.
“If your job does that to you Mike then quit! It’s not worth it no matter what anyone says!”
Using the walkie-talkie Peter was informed by Ted that all the crews were in position to re-seal each tank. Mike climbed back out to the open port.
“Do it one by one. Slowly,” ordered Peter.
Ted gave the order to begin. Peter and Mike who waited as A16 would be the last to attempt re-sealing. Although the lights were on all over the refinery it nonetheless remained thoroughly dim inside. Peter had to focus his weak eyes just to make out the men on the adjacent spheres the nearest of which was twenty-five meters away. Sound travelled easily in that vast work place. Metallic clanks, the closing of doors and the banter of the men was carried all around the plant by its unique acoustics every day. In the tense silence of that winter’s evening the sudden elongated yell of a terrified man was of no particular exception.
“Jesus!” said Peter.
There followed a brief, sickening crushing noise and the panicked yells of workers somewhere far below.
“What was it?” asked Mike from above.
In his heart Peter knew what had happened but didn’t want to say. He flicked on the walkie-talkie.
“Ted! What was that?”
He got static in reply. From below, amidst the yells and heightened talk, he caught the word ‘ambulance’.
“Oh God, Peter!” came Ted’s voice over the radio.
“Yeah?” shouted Peter.
“A lad’s…. come off the top of one of them. He’s….” Ted’s voice was cut off when another scream ripped through the air. There was another crash as something struck a machinery piece on the plant floor.
“Oh my fucking God,” sobbed Ted. “Everyone back now! Get everyone off them!”
The message fizzled out. Mike was completely horrified.
“What the fuck’s happening?” he shouted.
The two men atop the adjacent tank struggled to see what was going on. With a growing sense of dread Peter focused his gaze on them.
“Get off there! Get down! Get down now!” he yelled over to them.
Before they could heed Peter’s order a red shape shot out of the darkness above. It struck one of the men. The impact thrust him into the air as the crimson object vanished as quickly as it had come. A yell from the falling man filled the plant as he was sent plummeting. His colleague scrambled about the top of the sphere before making an unsafe run for the ladder. To Peter’s terrified amazement the engineer then leapt off the edge with flapping arms and legs and sunk, almost majestically, into the depths. Peter did not watch him fall all the way. It was not out of decency but for the fact that the same scarlet shape now hurtled towards him. Then he realised that the man opposite had not jumped by had been knocked from behind by this very thing! Peter swerved rightward and the shape rushed past.
A love heart balloon! What the fuck?
The balloon was out of sight when he looked round.
“Ted, get everyone out right now!” Peter blurted into the walkie-talkie.

Like everyone else on the ground floor Ted was utterly oblivious to the cause of the chaos that had suddenly swept over the plant. He turned his eyes away from the bodies of the two men who had fallen. A multitude of righteous and recriminating thoughts churned through his mind but outwardly he was the calmest man there.
“Right get everyone out. Everyone out!”
More yells and shouts came down from above followed by two ominous crashes.
“Ted, get everyone out right now!” came Peter’s static-ridden voice through the walkie-talkie. Ted was about to respond when further cries of terrified men came down to reach his ears.
What the hell is going on?
He called a few of the men to follow him towards the source. It now seemed to be coming from all around them. It was only when he realised that it was perhaps fool hardy to venture anywhere until they had sorted out the problem that he became deeply unnerved. Had Ted taken just another single step forward rather than pausing where he was he may well have been alright. Any object picks up speed when it falls from a height and human beings are no exception. The crew working on the sphere directly above him had been the latest pair to be attacked and the second of the men was already falling, screaming desperately during the last seconds of his life. When he glanced up Ted briefly caught the blurred orange of the man’s technician’s overalls and a gaping mouth with rows of white teeth. A second and a half later their skulls met and imploded.

“Ted, get back to me over!” said Peter trying and failing to remain calm. He could see men running madly around down on the plant floor.
“Can anyone hear me?” he roared into the radio. He got no answer. “Jesus for fucks…” Peter thumped the railing with his fist. Control of the facility and coordination of all its staff were vital elements of his job and now these virtues were being shattered in front of him as he stood there powerless to intervene. He was so consumed with adrenaline and the stress and tension of working for so long not to mention the deaths he had witnessed that he failed to hear his phone ringing in his pocket. And then Mike was shouting something from above. Peter flung his gaze upward. The balloon swept down from above, its tassel catching the light as it headed straight for Mike. The young technician flailed his arms as he fumbled towards the ladder. Peter watched as the balloon passed him, slowing for about three seconds and as it did Mike unleashed a wail of excruciating pain. Then the balloon, with its tassel flailing, picked up speed and sped off into the surrounding darkness. A stream of liquid from behind Mike leapt down to strike Peter’s face. It trickled down his cheek and chin. Part of it seeped through his lips. It was warm. It was red. It was blood. Peter’s arms reacted madly. Off went his glasses as the blood was smeared across his sweaty face. He blinked profusely as his weak eyes struggled to acquire a visual foothold now that they were devoid of their enabler. On the gantry floor his glasses were drenched in Mike’s blood. Peter reached down for them but as he did his left foot involuntarily shifted, nudging the glasses off the ledge.
“Shit!”
Peter grabbed the railing. He hadn’t heard Mike’s lingering moans after being hit with the jet of blood but now they seemed to reawaken him. Mike was silent now. His gaping mouth resembled a goldfish and his hands twitched intermittently. Peter called out Mike’s name. In response the upper half of Mike’s body tilted forward. Then it detached from his waist and toppled downwards. Peter didn’t move. Mike’s torso passed silently by Peter who was gently showered with tissue, flesh, blood and bone. He leant forward when he felt the vomit gush up his throat and as Mike’s legs and waist clattered onto the gantry immediately ahead of him he coughed out another pile of stomach acid and undigested food. The balloon had scythed through Mike like dental floss through warm butter.

Peter was unable to recall a discernable passage of time. All he felt were his knees pressing against the coarse iron grills of the skywalks floor. Swear words spoken by a man on the plant floor filtered up to his dazed head. He was threatening someone.
“Stay back! Get back of I’ll fucking kill you!”
There followed another scream of agony.
“Well done,” said a calm male voice.
The image of Mike separating replayed quietly in Peter’s mind. He faintly heard booted feet ascending the ladder. Peter swivelled around on the damp slippyness of his stomach contents, turning away from the sight of Mike’s legs. One of the young man’s ribs lay just beside him.

Peter suddenly discovered that he was no longer alone. The man who climbed onto the landing and walked towards him looked like he had had an even worse day than Peter. His clothes were drenched and torn while his neck was laced with fresh scars. Numerous cuts and bruises decorated his face and his right hand looked like it had more than one broken finger. Robert looked calmly at Peter and said hello. Peter instantly sensed that there was something untoward about the newcomer. It was not so much his appearance but the dull insensitivity of his grey blue eyes that troubled Peter’s already shaken mind and for the stranger to have greeted him so matter-of-factly with the sight of human remains nearby made Peter more afraid. He shuffled to the edge of the gantry with bowed head.
“I said, hello!”
Peter steadied himself with the hand rail.
“Right, so the trauma’s preventing you from saying hello. That’s alright.” Robert took in his surroundings.
“You shouldn’t be up here. You might fall off,” said Robert jerking his head to one side. He then whistled a high note that grew gradually lower before curtly clicking his tongue against his lower gum.
“Plop!”
Robert giggled. Peter, already wary, now disliked him and felt as if Robert was anticipating a response.
“Fuck....y....” was all he could muster.
“Don’t swear!” said Robert pointedly.
Peter was irked by Robert’s attitude. He found enough strength to say something more substantive.
“You’re a fucking loon. How’d you do all this?” asked Peter hoarsely.
“Loon? Hah! It wasn’t me.” Robert grinned. “It was my friend!” Robert looked round. Peter followed his gaze and his jaw dropped. Towards them floated the balloon, slowly, majestically and with silent purpose. It halted just a few feet away, its tassel coiling beneath it in an almost seductive fashion. Robert stretched out his hands as if presenting the balloon.
“This is what’s been running the show all day. This is what’s in control. This is the be-all and the end all!” he exclaimed.
Peter’s only thought now was to depart but as he tried to limp past Robert a firm hand was placed on his shoulder.
“Don’t go,” said Robert. “We need you. Please don’t go.” It did not sound like a request. Peter faltered. He just stood there next to Robert hearing only the sound of his long steady exhales.
“Go up there,” said Robert pointing to the pipe where Mike had been sliced in two. “Go up there and open the valve to full.”
“What?” muttered Peter. Despite his frail state he knew what this would mean.
Robert’s hands shot to Peter’s shoulders. He shook him and repeated his demand with malevolent relish.
“Get up there and open the valve to full!”
“What’s this about?” asked Peter dryly. “Who are you?”
“Jesus, why can’t people follow orders?” Robert asked the balloon.
It floated stationary as before, moving up and down on the slightest of rhythms as if the heart was breathing or beating in quiet expectation. Maybe it was his heightened anxieties that led him to the conclusion for in looking at it at such close quarters Peter knew that the balloon, at whatever level of sentience it possessed within its deceptively benign exterior, was burning, burning with both life and hate. At that moment Peter knew that whatever clichéd threats Robert may issue were meaningless and flimsy compared to the guileful watchfulness and other worldly terror housed inside that red heart.
Robert is just its puppet. Robert? Robert.
“Robert!” said Peter.
“Eh?”
“You’re Robert Fletcher.”
Robert’s countenance dropped as low as Mike’s had. He tried to think of something smart to say to hide his surprise.
“Yeah. So what?” It was the best he could muster.
Peter actually smiled a little.
“You installed those generators for us, a few years ago,” said Peter.
“Yeah?” asked Robert softly. Peter felt Robert’s grip lessen and noticed his eyes become more relaxed.
“Don’t you remember me?” asked Peter.
Robert let go off him.
“You’re Peter,” he said smugly, pleased at having remembered. “I didn’t recognise you without you’re er....” Robert pointed to Peter’s head.
“Glasses. Yeah I lost them just now,” explained Peter.
Robert glanced awkwardly around at the balloon as if it were an uninvited guest who must not hear Robert’s forthcoming derision.
“You won’t believe this Peter but this balloon has been manipulating me....”
Peter longed to hear the full tale. He was inclined to believe whatever Robert said but he was forced to interrupt him. When Robert began speaking the balloon moved towards him from behind. As it grew closer Robert looked visibly angrier as he reverted to his deranged self. He convulsed violently,
“I think the... must have sent it”! Robert yelled and clutched his own neck. “What does it matter Peter? Get up there and open the vent right now!”
Peter however was already running along the gantry. Threats and curses followed him as he made his way round the circumference of the huge white sphere. There was another maintenance ladder half way along this path. He had to find it. No sooner had he seen the ladder appear around the bend at the right when there was a roar like a streaking firework. As Peter fell the ladder was engulfed in a shower of sparks. He got up and looked. Smoke and smouldering metal were all that remained of it. Through the mess drifted the balloon. Peter braced himself and stepped away. Then he slipped and fell backwards. As he did so the balloon surged towards him with its lethal tassel flailing. It collided with the side of the tank and sprung away. Peter saw the balloon spin wildly. It seemed to writhe in pain and as he looked a cloud of darkness enveloped it before abruptly fading. Peter was already up and running again. The gantry ran full circle around the sphere and Robert could well be waiting back at the first ladder but it was a chance he had to take. He had to escape even if it meant killing Robert. Soon the ladder was visible ahead of him as he rounded the last corner. Peter was surprised to come across it so quickly but he wasn’t complaining as there was no sign of Robert! Then, for some reason, his pace slowed. His feet were caught on something. Robert screamed when he looked down. A red thread was wound about his ankles. One second later they were pressed together and he was halted. Again Peter fell violently onto the iron walkway. The balloon released itself from Peter’s ankles and moved to block the ladder. Peter heard panting and heavy feet approaching behind him.
“You got him. Well done!” said Robert leaning forward to rest his hands on his knees. “Why didn’t you slice his feet off?” Robert asked the balloon. “Ah, right. You need him to climb up there and open her up. Clever!”
Robert helped Peter up and motioned him towards the other ladder that led up to the pipe. Peter had taken two steps when he dug his heels. Robert sighed.
“Look Peter, you’re going up there whether you like it or not,” he said calmly.
“This is going to end badly for you Robert,” warned Peter softly.
“It already has,” said Robert.
Peter moved to the ladder.
“I’m not doing it,” he said firmly.
“Robert looked long at him. Then he stepped back and reached into his jacket pocket. He drew out his hand and held up a small white cigarette lighter. Robert flicked off the catch at the top and set his right thumb by its ignition cog.
“Do I need to say anything?” he asked.
With a weary sigh Peter set his hands and feet to the rungs and began to climb. He was on the forth rung when his mobile telephone began to ring. He looked down at Robert who sent him a puzzled glance. Peter checked his pockets but they were empty. In any case the familiar ring tone sounded too far away. Robert looked around the ground at his feet then stepped over to where the balloon had floored Peter. Obviously the phone had fallen out of his pocket when the balloon had caught him. It moved to near the base of the ladder. Robert picked up the phone and walked slowly back towards the ladder. Peter wondered who was calling him. John Hale was probably phoning for an update.
He’ll get a shock when Robert answers it!
But Robert looked worried. Peter thought he looked calm though, much more like is old self. Nervously, Robert flipped open the phone and answered it.
“Hello? No he’s busy. I really can’t say. His girlfriend? Yes I’ll tell him you called.”
Peter saw Robert’s face turn red and his eyes glisten.
“Wait,” said Robert to the person on the phone. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for all I’ve done. I loved you. Bye.”
Robert dropped the phone and walked to the edge of the gantry. He straightened his back and stopped crying.
“You’re the luckiest man on Earth Peter,” he said. It was the old Robert, brimming with friendliness and cocky clichés.
“I let this thing take over me,” he said thrusting a finger at the balloon. “And I’ve paid for it. But I’m going to stop it now. Get out Peter,” roared Robert.
He turned to face the balloon then he ran and dived right at it. It sunk to the gantry floor under Robert’s weight but did not burst. Peter watched on. Though eager to act on Robert’s entreaty that he flee he was still at the top of the ladder. Mike’s valve spanner was attached to the outlet bolt. Peter leaned over and shut it tightly. Below came yet another yell. Robert sprawled on top of the balloon. Its tassel had coiled around Robert’s body and was digging into his clothes and skin. To Peter’s nauseated disgust, blood began to seep from where the tassel lay. Seizing a pair of sharp pliers from Mike’s tool kit Peter leapt down the ladder. He raced to the fight, opened the pliers and sunk them into the thread where it joined with the base of the balloon. Robert’s face looked like it had been gashed with gravelled concrete. The balloon convulsed madly and loosened its grip on Robert. Peter again foreswore his own safety and thrust the pliers in for another go. Aware of the attack, the balloon pounced upwards taking Robert, still wrapped around the tassel, with it. Its force of movement was so great and directionless that it smashed right through the vast pipe that Peter had only just sealed. A bursting hiss of compressed gas seeped out through the resulting breach. There was nothing Peter could do now to prevent the leaks, the pipe was beyond repair. He scrambled away as the gas filled the already rancid air. Through it, some twenty feet in the air, he beheld Robert punch and squeeze the balloon. The thread unravelled with ghastly speed and Robert, bruised and bloodied, finally came loose. He made one last, desperate grab at the balloon but he was already falling fast to join the other dead men who lay scattered across the refinery floor far below.

Peter coughed so hard he felt as if his throat had been bathed in vinegar. Sprawling on his backside he had come to rest his back again the hull of the fuel tank. Multiple aches, weariness and the lingering threat of the balloon caused him to lie there waiting in the semi-darkness. Something was now digging into his lower right leg. Exhausted, he shuffled his leg to get rid of it, but then it made a sound. The overture of Die Meistersingers Von Nuremberg, rendered in a digitalised medium, reached his ears. His phone! Robert must have dropped it here. Seconds later the phone was in his hand. The screen read – ‘Louise Mori Calling’.
Louise!
“Hi babe,” he said.
“Peter, thank God! Where are you?”
“I’m still at work. You?”
“Home. I called your phone two minutes ago and Robert, my ex, answered it!”
“Yes I know. He’s.... he was here.”
“Are you alright?”
“Yeah but we’ve had a bit of an accident.”
“Oh God! Listen Peter, Robert attacked me today. He must have found out about us and gone over to threaten you or worse. Just stay away from him.”
“Security’s got him,” lied Peter. “It’s alright.”
The smoke and gas in front of Peter parted and the balloon, looking tattered and dripping with fuel, emerged. Peter felt that intense, unseen eyes were surveying him with disdainful rage.
“Peter, are you okay? You sound out of sorts,” came Louise’s voice over the phone. “What’s this accident?”
“Just a few leaks Louise,” said Peter as he pressed his back to the tank to pivot himself to his feet. “I’m sorting it out. Tell me about Robert,” said Peter not taking his eyes off the balloon. It hovered motionless as before.
“Well, he came round this morning to give me his key and, it’s crazy, a heart balloon, the type you get on Valentine’s Day must have blown in through the window. He got jealous and hit me. He thought a boyfriend had bought it. After I went to the police I met him in the street and he had it with him!”
“The same balloon?” gasped Peter.
“I think so. He’d gone completely mad! Hey, I’m still waiting for your Valentine’s gift,” said Louise coyly.
Peter was unmoved.
“Louise, I don’t know what’s been going on but that balloon is here!”
“What?”
“It’s here, it’s been killing us! Get out of the house now! Get out of town!” Peter could not finish his warning. As the line crackled the balloon shot at him hurling the phone from his hand. Peter dived and rolled to one side. He felt more defiant now and promised himself the balloon would not kill him. It smashed down onto the gantry as Peter was flung to the floor. Standing up, he grabbed for the railing as the gantry listed violently. The balloon had torn a hole right through it and was out of sight! Peter stooped and nabbed his phone before it slid off the edge.
“Louise?” he called into it.
“Peter!” came her panicked voice.
Before he could say anything else the gantry directly beneath him was rocked by a great force, sending him into the air. He held onto the phone for dear life. When his feet struck the gantry he used his free hand to clutch the rail but his weight caused the weakened structure to break apart at the point where it had been intersected by the balloon. Then Peter saw that it was pounding the gantry immediately below him. Each time he tried to climb up it was shaken ruthlessly. He made one last effort to get up to the level part. Anticipating the balloon’s upward thrust he leapt forward as he sensed the listing gantry plummet. The force on his chest and arms was unbearable. Peter clung to the level platform beside the ladder back to the plant floor. The broken metal bit unmercifully into his fingers that red wet with sweat and blood. His grip began to loosen. His phone had landed just beside his left hand. The Meistersingers blurred out once more as the balloon hovered into view above his hands, ready to unleash its final victory. But it did nothing.
Is it gloating? Is it waiting?
Robert could only wait and listen to Wagner’s chimes and feel the discomfort on his hands worsen and worsen.
I want to say goodbye to her. I want that to be the last thing I ever do.
He moved his left hand towards the phone, shifting his right hand to balance his grip. But the right hand touched something that wasn’t either the phone or the shrapnelised ledge of the gantry. His eyes pounced to the small object. It was Robert’s white lighter. Without thinking Peter released his right hand and grabbed it. It sprung open and he set it to the tip of the balloon’s silky tassel still wet with fuel. Then he wheeled the cog and ignited it. A yellow and blue flame sprung up the tassel and engulfed the red heart. It leapt away from Peter in a streak of fire, twisting and turning in a brutal effort to extinguish it. As Peter used his last ounce of strength to haul himself up onto the platform the balloon careered all over the place. Pulsating flames of orange, yellow and of red licked around it as it smashed again the gantry, showering it in sparks and flame.
Peter shook his fist at it and yelled.
“You never saw that coming! Eh?”
With a final act of desperation it tore into the side of tank A16 leaving a long black streak. Peter ducked and covered his head but as he did he looked up one last time at the balloon. It hung still in the air, wrapped in fire, and as Peter watched it shot off into the night sky like a demented rocket. It was gone.

Utterly battered in body and mind Peter lay there on the cold metal. The damage to the tank was beyond repair and the refinery was quickly filling up with lethal amounts of LPG. All around him were modest flames even the smallest of which would suffice to cause a disaster.
So much for preventing another Feyzin.
Peter limped towards the ladder. When he reached it the ladder creaked. The secure bolts, weakened by the balloon’s onslaught, came away from the gantry assembly and the ladder tilted away and clattered down into the dark. Peter’s heart went numb. He leant over the rail and sighed. There was no other way down. This time he called Louise.

‘Peter Knowles Calling’ read the screen on Louise’s phone.
“Hi,” he said. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
“Peter? Are you alright?”
“I’m a bit tired. Could murder a cup of tea.”
“Well come on over and I’ll make you one,” laughed Louise.
“I’d love to. But put some rum in mine.”
“You said something before you got cut off. I didn’t quite catch it.”
“Oh never mind. We always get a poor mobile reception in here.”
“God, you sound shattered. Are you sure you’re alright?”
The surrounding flames burned eagerly and grew in strength as doses of LPG filtered down to kindle them.
It’s only a matter of time. Seconds probably before it....
“Louise,” said Peter. “I’m sorry but....”
Don’t worry her!
“Yes?”
“Just to tell you,” said Peter smiling. “You’re beautiful. Absolutely beautiful! And I hope to see you soon.”
Louise laughed.
“Well, thank you Mr Knowles. You’re not bad looking yourself!”
She’s happy.
“Listen, I have to sort this out. The boss is getting irate.”
The flames burnt closer to him and he ran his arm across his glowing brow.
“Alright, I’ll let you go. Text me later, k?”
Peter’s tears had drenched his face.
“You bet,” he said.
“Bye!” said Louise.
Peter shut the phone and looked up at the sky. The snow clouds had cleared and he could see the bright stars of winter.

The Airbus A380 from Boston was descending. Captain Luke Palmer was ready to breathe again. It was his first time piloting the world’s largest passenger jet and with 853 men, women, children and infants on board made it a greater responsibility than your average transatlantic flight. Two hours from now, he thought happily, I’ll be shaved and showered and eating a descent meal. Thai perhaps, or a pizza from that nice Italiano in the mall at Covent Garden. Some thirty miles or so ahead he could already make out the capital’s lights but there was another amber speck soaring upwards not far away. It was too small to be another aircraft of any size. He told the navigator to check the radar who reported that there was nothing there. Captain Palmer was always very wary but his apprehension was superseded by a cold fear. The light ahead had become a fireball and it was heading directly towards him. And it was moving fast. Too fast.
“Fucking Al-Queda!” he exclaimed pensively.
His First Officer had also been alert to the fireball but what few countermeasures they had at their disposal would have been of little use had the object even been a terrorist's rocket propelled grenade. The flaming balloon was moving fast and its target was vast.

Louise was starting to prepare her mother’s recipe for Takoyaki, deep fried balls of squid meat. Despite the stresses of the day she felt very relaxed. Peter’s kind phone call had certainly helped. The water in the cooking pot was not yet at the boil but she noticed it ripple distinctly. There followed an audible thud some distance away. Followed by another. And Another. Somehow she instinctively knew what had happened. She went outside with quiet trepidation. The night sky was ridden with an orange glow across the horizon. S.E.F was gone. Louise went back inside and calmly finished cooking her dinner. When she had eaten she picked up her mobile phone and called Peter’s number.
Number unavailable.

At ten o’clock Louise switched on the T.V. The bells of Big Ben that heralded the news did little to calm her racing heart.
“Dual tragedy strikes southern England,” said the news reader stoically. She put her hand to her face and listened. The headlines were imprinted on her heart and mind forever:
“Airbus crashes en route to Heathrow: over 800 believed killed. Fuel depot destroyed in massive explosion. 50 workers feared dead. Government not ruling out terrorism while the Prime Minister has....”
Peter….

Night

The motorway was sleeping. Its bright lights had no traffic to illuminate on its empty lanes and the night was swamped in silence. No one was there to see the red, heart-shaped Valentine’s Day balloon move quietly yet purposefully along the hard shoulder of the M4. It showed no signs of wear and tear. No dents, marks or damage besmirched it and its silky tassel and glistening heart were bright, pristine and brand new. As it passed quietly into the night it briefly cast a shadow across a large road sign, the type of sign which is found on all Britain’s motorways. It read: London 20 Miles. The balloon would be there in the morning.


© Ciaran McVeigh 2010