Everyone in Britain can remember where they were when Fluppy died.
This is largely due to the fact that it happened on live television - children's television. The repeats on the news stopped short of the lingering shots of the poor animal's caved-in skull. But one of the tabloids managed to get a screen grab for its front page. In colour. It was an historic moment of the most memorable kind - the nation's favourite puppy killed in front of millions of children on a winter's evening a fortnight before Christmas.
'Quite moving,' Trevor enthused to the camera. The image cut back to a last shot of the coat hanger and tinsel glory of the advent crown, two of the candles burning lazily.
'And next week,' Suze added through her synthetic smile, 'we'll be lighting the third candle.'
'Mmm,' Trevor agreed. 'Can't wait.' He set off towards his next mark on the studio floor. 'But now to movement of a very different kind.' He paused, a split second of horror visible in subsequent freeze-frames as he lost his place on the autocue. 'Now we all remember Newton's first law,' he said at last with some relief.
'Every object continues at rest or in a state of uniform motion unless acted upon by an external force.'
'That's right, Mick,' Trevor said, apparently impressed. 'Though we don't mean school uniform, of course.' His smile twitched as he caught the director's eye, and returned quickly to the script. 'What that really means is that nothing moves unless something makes it move. And once it is moving, it won't stop or change direction unless something else affects it.'
'Like gravity,' Suze chipped in, interposing herself between Trevor and the camera. 'Or friction.'
'Exactly, Suze.' Another camera picked up Trevor as he moved across the studio to where a young man was standing, shy and bemused. A small dog blurred past the young man and hurled itself at Trevor.
Trevor reacted with well-rehearsed surprise and amusement. 'Get down, boy,' he chided gently. 'Fluppy the puppy may be an exception to Newton's law, of course,' he said as he palmed off the dog. 'Did old Isaac have a doggie? Did he, Fluppy?' Trying to make it seem as if Fluppy was indeed travelling in a uniform manner under his own volition, Trevor managed to fling the creature away from him while keeping his balance and his smile.
'But we've got somebody here with us today who can also, it seems, give Newton something to think about.'
'That's right, Trevor.' Mick had joined them and was ushering the young man forwards. If either of them heard the snarl of protestation from Fluppy as Suze held him back, with her hand gripping his collar more forcefully than Isaac Newton would have deemed necessary, they ignored it with well-practised ease. The effect was spoiled only by the startled glance of the young man as he looked across the studio and missed the cue he'd been waiting for all afternoon.
'Isn't that right?' Trevor said, nudging the man.
'Yes,' Mick said, repeating the line they had rehearsed so often that day: 'Our guest this week is someone who has an extraordinary ability. And he's come all the way from Gloucestershire to share it with us.'
'Absolutely, yes,' the young man said quickly. He shuffled nervously as he saw his face stare back at him from a half-dozen monitors. 'I can make things move. Sometimes.' He was supposed to be reading, but his eyes were watering so much he couldn't see the words. 'Though I think Newton would probably say that I'm exerting a force that we can't perceive - rather like gravity.'
'Right,' Mick agreed without missing a beat. 'And it isn't a trick, is it? Not like those spoon-benders and fairground magicians.'
'No, no. Absolutely not.'
'Terrific,' Trevor said. 'Well, we've devised a little demonstration, a sort of test for you.' He paused just long enough for it to be apparent that the young man wasn't going to give the scripted response. 'And Suze has been setting up the apparatus, haven't you, Suze?'
It was not really 'apparatus' and it was not Suze who had set it up. It was a golf ball on a table standing in front of the Charity Totaliser. There was a glass cover over the table, which Suze explained was to make sure there was no tampering with the ball, and to eliminate any chance of a draught. She said that the table was perfectly smooth and level, and she bent down and looked at the camera from beside one of the table legs to show there was nothing underneath.
The guest stood watching her, hands behind his back. He was a slight man, in his early twenties. He was wearing a suit his mother had picked for him and which the television company had paid for. His nose was bulbous and his face round. His eyes, in close-up, could be seen to have large black pupils and irises that were midnight blue. His hair was black as ebony, seeming darker still against his pale skin.
He stood absolutely motionless, as if frozen in time, and stared at the golf ball. He was within reach of the table, but kept his hands clasped behind his back. He was leaning forward slightly, like a swimmer mentally preparing for the dive.
For once, Trevor, Mick and Suze were all silent.
The only movement was from Fluppy the puppy. With a triumphant snarl, he broke free from his handler and raced across the studio, claws clicking on the floor.
Trevor ran to catch him, slipped on a patch of PVA glue which he had spilled earlier, and went flying. Mick stifled a laugh. Suze watched in horrified anticipation as Fluppy headed straight for the table, for the special guest. They all knew Fluppy, they all knew what was about to happen. All except the Special Guest.
He only discovered as the excited animal sank its teeth into the fleshy part of his calf, piercing trousers and skin in a moment.
Since the cameraman knew as well as anyone what was going on, the viewers were spared this sight. Instead they saw this week's guest's face contort in a mixture of rage and pain. His eyes opened wide and his pupils seemed to dilate. The shot changed to a wider view of the studio just in time to show the golf ball hurtle across the table and crash through the glass cover. It missed the young man by inches, and the camera lost it as the ball embedded itself in the studio wall forty feet away.
But there were other things to watch now. The slight man was unmoved, his face fixed in its anger and surprise. Furry Ted flew from his shelf. The table was now covered in shards of glass. They lay like ice crystals across its surface. For a moment the glass was still, then it seemed to shudder as if the table were shaking. People dived for cover as the glass icicles whipped through the air. The standing shelf units wobbled crazily before crashing to the floor. Ornaments, toys, things that Trevor and Mick and Suze had prepared earlier smashed and crumpled. The Advent Crown's candles blew out and it swung angrily on its string. When the string snapped, the crown spun across the studio in a blur of tinsel that glittered in the bright light.
A camera rolled suddenly and heavily into the table, knocking it sideways. Fluppy let go of his victim's leg and leaped back with a frightened yelp as the table struck him.
The enormous Charity Totaliser, almost at the target now, toppled forwards. The huge piece of scenery was shaped like a giant test-your-weight machine complete with a brass bell at the top. But the tube that led up to it was filled with donations from 'Give and Take' TM sales across the country - eighteen thousand, four hundred and eleven silver and gold two-pound coins.
The technical crew was already sheltering under the control room gantry. The Floor Manager was holding on desperately to a fixed piece of scaffolding to save herself from being dragged - somehow - across the studio. The three presenters were curled up on the floor with their hands protecting the backs of their heads from flying glass, objects, anything. Suze was screaming.
One man was standing rigid, immobile, in the eye of the storm.
Camera 3 was against the shattered table, angled downwards. The output from the camera was visible on half a dozen swinging, moving, crashing monitors. It showed Fluppy the puppy staring balefully upwards. It showed, in close-up and perfectly focused, the central tube of the Charity Totaliser smash into the dog's head, coins spilling across the floor in a glittering pile. For a moment, Fluppy's famous ears were still visible in the chaos of coinage. Then the silver and gold stained red, and the Totaliser's backboard knocked the camera sideways to ensure a good view of it crashing down on top of the coins.
Only then did the television screens in the homes of millions of children finally turn black.
***
In the studio, the chaos slowly died away and silence returned. The guest blinked and looked round, as if only now seeing what had happened. Slowly, carefully, he picked his way through the debris and made towards the studio doors.
There was someone standing beside the doors, he noticed. A large man, with his hair cropped short, dressed immaculately in a crisp dark suit that put his own to shame. The man seemed faintly amused by the whole proceedings. He smiled politely. When he spoke, his voice was rich and dark and low.
'It is so good to meet you at last.'
The large man reached out and took his elbow, leading him out of the studio and down the corridor towards the dressing rooms. He spoke as if they had known each other for years, an old friend offering kind advice:
'A word, if I may...?'
The Special Guest said nothing, but allowed the man to follow him into the small dressing room. If the man had something to say, then he would listen. After all, it was unlikely to change his life.
