Page 64 of The Examiner

We followed her through several locked doors that she opened with keypads. The corridors were dark and silent, the air perfectly still and cool. Then she opened another door and ushered us into the darkness. A click and the lights flickered on.

It was set up like a museum, but utterly spotless, not a speck of dust, and no other visitors. A dark cavern, lined up and down with old radios from the earliest days of the technology. Some were sitting on tables and others were sealed in glass cabinets, with gauges and dials monitoring the air. No light and a low temperature, as if they were trying to freeze time.

‘Do you never show anyone this?’ I asked. ‘Is it secret?’

The woman laughed. ‘No,’ she scoffed, ‘it’s not secret. Professor Brian Cox came here a couple of years ago to film a programme for BBC Four. We often invite corporate guests and host internal away-days for the London and Humberside offices. People who work in the communications industry love this place. Feel free to look around, but don’t touch anything. The materials are very old, and the oils in your skin will degrade them. When you’re ready, come back to reception and I’ll have some refreshments for you – we can’t let you eat or drink in here. I’ll make sure the items for your sculpture are ready when you leave.’

With that, she was gone, and we all fanned out around the room to look at the exhibits. Very impressive. I was captivated by a beautiful wooden radio: a Marconiphone Tombstone from 1933, according to the label. I sensed Alyson behind me. ‘The old and new,’ I said. ‘See the digital temperature gauge?’ A square of little red numbers glowed in the relative darkness.

‘That’s a hygrothermograph,’ she said, ‘it measures humidity, not temperature.’ Well, that told me.

I wandered around, fascinated by the displays. The others did the same. But just as I was at the far end of the room, about to turn round and make my way down the other side, there was a commotion by the door. Shouting, the clattering of shoes on a polished floor. More voices. I set off to see what it was, but as soon as it started, it was over and silence resumed. The voices sounded like Ludya and Jonathan, so when I came across Cameron scowling over his phone, I asked him what had happened.

‘Oh, Ludya kicked off about something. I wouldn’t worry about it. You got a signal, Pat?’

It was only Cameron and me in the museum now and it was quieter than ever. The door we had come in through was propped open by a rubber wedge, the only other door firmly closed and locked by a keypad. Ludya, Alyson and Jonathan must all have gone out. I crept a little closer to the door and looked through the crack. Ludya was pacing to and fro, also looking at her phone. Then she glanced up and down the corridor. There was a look on her face I’d never seen before. Focused. Determined. Calm. Usually she’s either bored to the point of couldn’tcare-less or on the brink of emotional meltdown.

‘Seen this, Pat? My cousins had one. Who’d have thought a lurid brick of plastic tat would ever end up in a museum?’ Cameron was looking at a 1987 Philips Roller. But I felt jittery and not sure why, so I wandered back out to the corridor.

‘Everything all right, Ludya?’

‘Yeah, me and Jonathan just had a …’ She trailed off as if something along the corridor had distracted her. I glanced up there myself, tried to see what she was looking at – nothing. ‘But it’s OK now.’

I made my way back to reception and found Jonathan and Alyson already there, waiting.

‘Is Ludya OK?’ I asked. ‘Thought I heard shouting—’

‘Jonathan surprised her, accidentally, and she made it clear that anyone approaching her personal space should announce it, in writing, days in advance.’ Alyson had her cigarettes and matches gripped in her hand. Her face, lips and knuckles were white.

‘Ah, she’s got a lot on her plate, and it must be difficult leaving the kiddies.’

‘I don’t see why,’ Alyson sniffed. ‘Her mum is looking after them.’

There was an awkward silence until the woman appeared and led us to a kitchenette where we found a little spread of sandwiches and cake.

‘Thanks for leaving me alone in Spookyville, mates,’ Cameron boomed. Until then I hadn’t thought the place spooky, but once he said it, a shiver lodged in my spine.

Ludya joined us and I sidled over to give a few words of support.

‘Suffer with anxiety myself, Luds. I’ve jumped a mile in the air when someone’s come up behind me, and the first emotion that floods in after that is anger. I’m sure Jonathan didn’t mean anything.’

She just stared at me, and none of them spoke much the rest of the time we were there.

On our way out we were given not one but four huge bags of old radio components that weighed a ton. Ludya’s people-carrier groaned under the weight. I commented how excited Jem would be, but no one replied. Then Cameron mumbled that it was probably all junk. No one replied.

With the vehicle loaded up, off we went to a pub for dinner, and things gradually returned to normal. Until we arrived at the Travel Inn and the nightmare began. It was only the next day, when Jem found something in the cupboard, that I put the pieces together. Well, some of them.

Jem Badhuri’s Doodle Diary, 17 January 2024:

Eventually, Pat said Alyson and Jonathan got the radio from RD8.

‘Then why hide it?’

He didn’t have an answer. ‘Jem, you’re a good girl, with a very fierce sense of right and wrong, but let’s not say we found it.’

‘But, Patrick,’ I said, ‘it’s perfect for the installation. Let’s see if it works.’

Royal Hastings, University of London Multimedia Art MA *Final Project*