'Mum! There's something wrong with the tv! Mum! MUM!'
'Jacob, I am trying to cook dinner! Stop pressing buttons on the TV remote.'
'But Mum! I didn't do anything, it just stopped playing my channel.'
There was no answer.
'Mum!'
'Mum!!'
'MUM!'
The woman in the kitchen did her best to ignore her son's demanding voice as she tried to get dinner thrown together. He always did this, shouted for her at the top of his voice and then when she came to see what the problem was, it was usually nothing at all.
'Muuuuuuuuum!'
'Jacob, for goodness sake, I am trying to get dinner sorted out. You will just have to wait!' She tried to focus on chopping the vegetables she needed but she couldn't ignore him any more. She slammed the knife down on the chopping board and stalked to the front room, a potato in her other hand.
'What? What is it that is so important I can't make dinner?'
'Look.' The boy pointed to the TV screen.
She read the announcement. The potato fell out of her hand and rolled across the carpet.
******
Do not adjust your radio frequency. This is an emergency message for all residents of the UK.
Chantelle huffed impatiently. All she wanted was to tune to a radio station playing some decent music but everything had someone talking. She cycled through the settings on her car stereo twice before leaving it on what should have been Radio 1. Tutting loudly she indicated to pull out of her drive and start her journey to work. Chantelle wasn't listening to the radio but, the driver of the Ford Mondeo who careered into the back of her as she braked for the junction was. The force of the collision pushed her car out into the path of an oncoming truck. He was listening to the radio as well.
******
Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping!
'Turn off your mobile phones please, you know the rules,' barked Miss Weston, irritated at being interrupted mid-flow. 'Now, if you could all turn to page ten...'
Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping!
'That's it! All phones on the table, please.' Miss Weston stalked up and down the rows of students, making sure all the phones were turned off as she collected them into a large cardboard box which she put on the corner of her desk. 'Right. Page ten.'
Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping!
There was a ripple of nervous laughter amongst the students as Miss Weston flared her nostrils angrily.
'Who's phone is that?'
A shaky hand rose into the air.
'Deborah? Didn't you hand yours in already?'
'Yes, Miss. It was yours, Miss. It came from your bag.'
The girl pointed a finger at the large bag hanging on the back of Miss Weston's chair. The teacher reached over and pulled her phone out. No-one ever messaged her at work. Sliding the home screen open on her phone she was amazed to see at least three notifications on every single social media app she had. That never happened. She went to her text inbox and tapped it open.
This is an emergency text message from the UK government. Please do not ignore.
Claire Buss is a multi-genre author and poet, completely addicted to cake. Find all her books on Amazon. Join the discussion in her Facebook group Buss's Book Stop.
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