Breaking the Ice by Mandy Baggot

well aware of the visit from Mr Radcliffe. She had never seen Dave’s office this tidy - not since his assignation with the confectionary saleswoman. It was surprising that Dave hadn’t mentioned the visit though. She could have bought some flowers, brightened the place up a bit.
    ‘ Please sit down Miss Smith,’ Mr Radcliffe spoke as he entered the room behind her and shut the door.
    Samantha quickly sat down in the chair opposite Dave’s desk and watched Mr Radcliffe almost get swallowed up in Dave’s huge executive leather seat as he eased his small, wiry frame down into it. It was like Tom Thumb trying to sit down on a bouncy castle.
    ‘ Now, I don’t know if you’ve heard the rumours about the changes the council are going to have to make, but I’m here today to carry out an official appraisal. I’d like to try and glean some information from you and your colleagues about the Civic Hall and the service it provides to the community. I’ve also been taking a look at the figures to establish if it’s still a viable entity,’ Mr Radcliffe spoke, looking straight at Samantha.
    ‘ Rumours ?’ Samantha queried, trying desperately to take in what he was telling her.
    ‘ There was an article in one newspaper about the action we might be forced to take, due to a drop in budget for leisure and amenities, and about the possible closure of some facilities. But I want to assure you, as I have assured Mr Gordon and your colleagues, that nothing will be decided until we’ve carried out a full and thorough audit of the situation,’ Mr Radcliffe said.
    ‘ Closure,’ Samantha muttered in no more than a whisper, a feeling of dread overwhelming her.
    Closure! Closure meant the end of something, shutting of doors, boards going up.
    ‘ Nothing’s been decided yet. As I said, I just need to see which of the amenities is the most cash consuming and which establishment is going to prosper with the revised budget we’ve been allocated in the new ten year vision plan,’ Mr Radcliffe told her.
    Samantha felt like she had been stabbed. She could feel the colour draining from her face, her energy ebbing away and a state of paralysis hurriedly creeping over her. Was this what anaphylactic shock was? She’d always wondered. What was next? The inability to breathe? The windpipe closing up? Unconsciousness?
    ‘ I’ve been looking at your sales records, they’re most commendable. But that said, is there anything else, in your opinion that could be done to boost these sales further? Or is there anything here that’s stopping the hall from fulfilling its potential?’ Mr Radcliffe questioned, picking up a pen and preparing to scribble Samantha’s response onto his clipboard.
    She hadn’t heard what he said. She hadn’t been able to listen to anything after he had said ‘closure’. The fear was building. The laughter was rising in her stomach, her stomach was rising in her throat and her heart rate had sped up. She could no longer see Mr Radcliffe’s gold-rimmed glasses, nor his face, or his pin striped suit. In fact the whole room was starting to blur. She felt dizzy, sick, and faint, like someone who had spent too long in a hot tub drinking copious amounts of wine.
    She laughed out loud and gripped her sides and then she coughed and gasped and tried to stand up. She flapped her arms like an aroused ostrich batting its wings and Mr Radcliffe, shocked and alarmed by her reaction, pushed his chair away from the desk and stood up to assist her.
    ‘ Close the Civic Hall? Are you mad?! You can’t close the Civic Hall! That’s the most ridiculous idea I’ve ever heard!’ Samantha screamed, as she gasped for breath and clutched at the handle of the door to Dave’s office. Her windpipe was tightening, she was sure of it.
    ‘ Miss Smith, please sit down. You don’t look at all well, perhaps if you just…’ Mr Radcliffe suggested, coming round the desk to reach her.
    W ith all the effort she had left, she opened the door of