The Scissor Man
"Daaaaad, I want a Furby. Everyone else at school has got one." Sammy put the sticky lollipop back into his wet mouth, then wiped some green dribble from his chin with his sleeve.
Mr Melrose put his pen down and sighed. "I've told you already Sammy, I can't afford to get you any more toys just yet. Look at these bills..." and he held up a crinkling sheaf of them. "Money doesn't grow on trees you know."
Sammy took the lollipop out again. "But - they can talk to each other! And sing! Kennie Hamble's has learnt to say 'Pika-chuuuuu' and everything." Sammy's fat face contorted as he almost screamed out the name of the yellow monster.
"I only bought you that new Action Man last week, why don't you play with that?"
"He broke when he skydived from the window, and anyway, he can't TALK. I want a Furby!"
"No, not until I -"
"But look at what they do! And they aren't a lotta money." Sammy snatched up the Argos catalogue and carried it over to the table by one page, which started to rip. He put his snot-green lollipop down on his father's paperwork to grab the catalogue with both hands.
"NO! I will not get you one! Stop being so greedy all the time Sammy!"
"Furby! Furby!" Sammy yelled in pique.
"Right, that's it! You can get up to your room you selfish brat!" Mr Melrose was exasperated, tired, and clutching at straws - then half-remembered something from his childhood. "And if you carry on being so spoilt the Scissor Man will come one dark night when you're alone and cut your fingers off! Yes, that's what he'll do! Now take your lolly and go up to your room."
"I don't want it now, I want a ice-cream!" yelled Sammy as he slammed the door, leaving smudgy fingerprints on the white paint. "I'm not scared of the Scissor Man," he muttered as he headed towards the kitchen for a choc-ice.
Mr Melrose picked up the lollipop, but it tore the paper as he tried to separate it. He threw the lolly across the room in anger, and it stuck to the side of the sofa. Then he put his head on his arms and sobbed.
"I wish you were still here Catrin. I miss you so much."
Mr Melrose was in trouble. It wasn't that he didn't work hard - he did as much overtime as he could, but it still seemed that he and Sammy only just scraped by. He would get in from work and feel that there was still a mountain of things to do. Washing. Bills. Cooking. Shopping. Housework. Sammy alone could take up all his time: he had to be fed, clothed, unclothed, bathed, entertained, bedded, picked up from school or dropped off there, and so on. He had no social life anymore. He was too tired to have one even if he had the time. Or the inclination. But since Catrin died he didn't really want to go out anymore. He didn't want to see the same friends they used to share. It didn't feel right without her. Nothing did.
He had adored her. To him she had been an angel, unable to do any wrong. She had been kind, generous, and caring. She thought of others before herself: she had always been campaigning on local issues, such as protecting the trees in the park, or forming a neighbourhood watch group; she always did his infirm mother's weekly shopping; she wouldn't even eat meat because of the cruelty she said was involved. And she always had a smile for him when he was down - her face would brighten up as she smiled, her blue-grey eyes holding his, and it would be impossible for him not to smile back. And then he would feel better.
But she wasn't there to lift him anymore.
She had been killed by a drunk driver a year ago. A businessman who had decided he was okay after a few drinks at lunchtime, but had turned off a main road too quickly without looking, as Catrin had started to cross towards a friend who had waved from the other side of the road... But he didn't want to think about it again. It was just so unfair. So many people died or were injured that way (how he wished she had only been injured!). Afterwards the world carried on without her, without changing or apparently caring. Her death only mattered to the family left behind; to the rest of society she was a cold statistic. And his life since then seemed to have been stopped; a fuzzy grey freeze-frame of a world was all that was left to him.
