Mr Whippy
AJ Charles
The sky was clear overhead; birds sang, and a pleasant warmth lingered on the air despite the calendar showing April. Life for Tom was simple. At seven-years-old, his days were filled with games with the neighbouring kids or lying as he was now and taking in the afternoon sun. Faintly amongst the chirping of birds, Tom heard a noise so magnificent that it pulled him completely away from the serenity of his sunbaking. Within seconds, he was on his feet and running into the kitchen. He saw his mother standing at the stove, already preparing tonight’s dinner. He leapt up onto a stool, nearly toppling it but catching himself and ensuring to present himself as politely as possible. His mother, having heard him run into the house, enquired without turning from her work. ‘And what would you be after?’ Tom sheepishly replied, ‘I was hoping for a sixpence for Mr Whippy.’
After a moment of contemplation, his mother replied, ‘You can have your sixpence when the rubbish is out.’
Tom was off the stool and out the door in a flash and back inside only a moment later. Sitting again on the stool, he awaited his payment. His mother pulled a sixpence from her pocket and threw it to him. From the moment he was out the door, Tom’s ears pricked like a dog’s as he tried to locate the tell-tale Greensleeves tune on the air. He went left down his street before turning around as the sound faded. Now on track, he travelled down the next street. He must have been at least a single block away from the van. He could almost taste the icecream on his lips as he turned down a side street, expecting to see it parked there. Instead, he found a cul-de-sac.
Tom could hear the engine revving up as the van prepared to pull back onto the road, on the other side of the houses he now faced. Feeling the pressure of time against him, he ran back at full speed. He took the corner at the top of the street; he was running faster than he had ever gone before. He reached the next street and stopped for a moment to listen for the sound of music. At first, he could hear nothing but the thudding of his own heart in his ears. After a few seconds, he heard the tune sing out over his heart. He had gotten ahead of it. He took off again towards the houses that the van was driving towards.
As he ran, he felt heat in the muscles of his legs and the burn of air being pulled into his lungs. He saw other children doing the same from the opposite side of the street. As he neared the intersection, he saw the pink and white of the Mr Whippy van pass him. It slowed down and pulled over on the opposite side of the street from where Tom was slowing down. With the end in sight, Tom stopped, took a breath, and pulled his sixpence out from his pocket. With the van and his hopes so close after running so hard, he couldn’t help it as a smile spread across his face. With his composure regained, Tom stepped out to cross the street.
The kids now standing at the Mr Whippy van heard the blast of a car horn and the screech of tyres. Birds took off from a nearby tree as a synchronised team, before scattering. The sound of the horn ceased.
The world was void of noise, except for the sweet sound of Greensleeves. Tom’s sixpence rolled along the street, coming to rest beneath the van.
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