A...ice-cream chime

In his haste exiting the front door, the boy trips on the threshold,
and lands with a whispered thud.

His skinny hands spill silver coins. He grimaces, stifles tears (no
time for such histrionics), and collects the scattered currency in a
series of squats.

The erratic chime has now stopped. Now there is only the tremble of a
generator jarring with the bass purr of a diesel engine.

The boy runs. He sees the van pulling away from the kerb, the "Mind
That Child" lettering getting smaller. His turn of pace is sharp,
cheetah-like. His legs are giving everything. The tune restarts, and
the wobbling musical notes seem to fall off the back of the van like
pebbles.

The driver of the van checks his rear-view mirror, and sees a young
lad, in the colours of the local infant school, sprinting in the same
direction, flailing his arms about.

For a moment the driver's foot hovers over the brake pedal; then,
inexplicably, returns to the accelerator, pressing with a lighter touch
than before. The driver drops a gear to second, and checks his mirror.
The boy is still there. The driver kills the chime, and turns off the
main road. The boy still follows, still keeps up.

Past some ugly breeze-block housing with metal grills guarding tiny
windows.

Checks mirror. Boy still there. Determination.

Buzzing, feeling like every cell in his body is about to burst with
adrenaline, the driver tries to get a grip of his breathing. This is
going to be the first time. The first time for anything is always the
best. The armpits of his rugby shirt are wet. He can smell himself,
mixing with the fumes and the sugary air.

The van comes to a halt on a piece of wasteland, where they razed a pub
and half an estate to the ground. The driver flips the
transparent-plastic hatch door to the side, and steadies himself on a
shelf as he stoops to survey his surroundings. He is not, as far as he
can tell, overlooked. A crumbling wall and a couple of wretched trees,
his friends. He has often wondered...

(...okay it's going to happen stay calm stay calm now don't blow it
stay calm...)

Out of breath, the boy studies the promotional pictures on the side of
the van, as the driver looks down at him, smiling, wondering if there
is such thing as the right moment.