Mr. Whippy
By Postcard
Rating: - G. Humour.
Pairings: - None.
Teaser: - Meg discovers a secret about Turnbull. He may be a member of the R.C.M.P. most days, but what is he when he's off duty?
Disclaimer: - The Due South characters in this story are not mine and anything else Due South isn't mine either. I do not mean to infringe on copyrights held by any copyright holders for Due South. Colonel Saunders, Mr. Whippy, Ronald MacDonald and the song 'Teddy Bears Picnic' aren't mine and I do not mean to infringe on any. The story however is mine (copyright August 2000 by Postcard on all original story content.) Any similarities between establishments and places are coincidental. Please do not reproduce for anything other than personal reading without the written consent of author. This story is not written for profit and the author does not give permission for this story to be reproduced for profit.
Author's note: - The idea to this story came to me like a thunderclap when I saw the ice-cream van go past with 'Mr. Whippy' on the side, playing the song 'Teddy Bears Picnic' (what can I say, my mind works in mysterious ways, te he he.) BTW, the 'Stop Inn' that's in my story is not based on any actual place, I just made it up and any similarities are coincidental. Hope you enjoy the story and any constructive comments are welcome at postcard@manutd.com
Slowly standing up from where she'd been sat all morning behind her desk, Inspector Meg Thatcher stretched her cramped muscles. It was lunchtime, however since the 'accident' Meg could no longer prepare her lunch in the consulate kitchen as she always used to do, because basically, the consulate no longer had a kitchen. Thanks to Turnbull, the once gleaming fully fitted kitchen had been reduced to ashes. Meg shook her head in dismay. She had been so livid with Turnbull, that after she had fired him, she had arrested him for arson. Grudgingly, she had had to drop the charges and re-instate him into the R.C.M.P.
Meg briefly closed her eyes as her mind flitted back to that horrible day. That morning, she'd had an appointment and had only left them alone for an hour. One hour, that's all it took for them to manage to burn down the kitchen and nearly the whole of the consulate as well.
She had seen the smoke from six blocks away, but driving happily along, it had never crossed her mind for a second that it would be the consulate that was on fire. She supposed that she could have been in denial!
The scene that had played out before her was still as clear as day in her head. She had been stunned, as she had rounded the corner into the street where the consulate was located, only to be stopped from going any nearer by police vehicles and spectators in the middle of the road.
Upon seeing numerous fire engines and what looked like smoke signals emanating from the roof of the consulate, Meg went into a daze. Watching the smoke billowing out of the consulate, she had exited her car and as if on automatic pilot, she had half staggered to the police cordon. Catching sight of her subordinates stood beside one of the fire engines, Meg finally realised that 'no, Fraser was not trying to communicate with smoke signals to his native friends up north', and that 'yes, the consulate was on fire'. Due to the shock, Meg's legs had given way underneath her. She cringed at the memory of swooning into the arms of a nearby fire fighter.
Intent on getting to her subordinates and practising her right hook on them, Meg had slipped under the cordons, ignoring the shouts from the angry police officers as she pushed past them. Noticing Thatcher approaching, Turnbull had run off, followed closely by Dief. Sheepishly, Fraser had tried to follow after them, but she had managed to catch hold of his lanyard and a firm tug on it, had brought him to her side.
Thanks to the excellent work of the fire fighters, only the kitchen had been turned to charcoal and not the whole consulate.
Meg's stomach rumbled, bringing her mind back to the present day. Picking up her handbag, she walked towards Constable Fraser's office and lightly rapped on his open door.
Fraser looked up from his paperwork to see his Superior Officer standing in the open doorway and immediately jumped up out of his chair to stand to attention.
"I'm just letting you know that I'm off now for my lunch break and so the consulate is in your hands. When I return I expect to find it still intact. Is that clear Fraser?"
"Yes Sir."
She fixed him with a hard look before sarcastically continuing. "Make sure that it doesn't burn down, flood, blow up, be overrun by terrorists or Chicago detectives. I think that you catch my drift!"
"To be fair Sir, it wasn't me who flooded the consulate or set fire to it. It was Constable Turnbull who burnt the consulate kitchen down whilst cooking his ratatouille. And the flood was a freak of nature. Who was to know that there'd be an almighty storm while you were away and that subsequently it would cause the Chicago River to overflow its banks and flood the consulate!"
Meg shook her head. "They may not have been directly your fault constable, but these things always seem to happen when I'm not here and you're in charge. I wonder why that is!"
"These things come to try us Sir!"
"Yes, well nothing better had 'come to try us' while I'm on my lunch break today, understood?" Fraser nodded. Sighing, Meg shook her head and left his office.
Feeling like a change of scene, Meg decided to try a new place to have lunch at today. Walking past 'Stop Inn,' Meg looked in the window and grimaced. There was no way she was eating there; the place was a dive. In Meg's opinion, they had absolutely got the correct name for the place, 'Stop Inn', guaranteed to make you 'stop in' your home for days afterwards with food poisoning.
After walking past several dodgy establishments, Meg decided not to risk it and headed to what had become her usual lunchtime haunt, a little French Caf. Finishing her croissant and coffee, she still had time to kill, and after sitting behind her desk all morning she thought that a walk in the park would be good for her.
Strolling along the path that wound its way between the trees through the park, Meg heard the jingle from a nearby 'Mr. Whippy' ice-cream van.
"If you go down to the woods today, you're sure of a big surprise.
If you go down in the woods today, you'll never believe your eyes.
For every bear that ever there was, has gathered there because,
this is the day the teddy bears have their picnic."
Meg hadn't had an ice cream in ages, and as it was rather a hot sunny day, she decided to treat herself to one. Meg stepped in line behind some children and whilst waiting, she busily scanned the menu on the side of the ice-cream van. Shuffling forward, Meg got the surprise of her life as she looked up into the face of 'Mr. Whippy'.
Not trusting her eyes, Meg blinked, but on opening her eyes, the image before her remained the same. Her mouth dropped open in amazement and her brown eyes went wide. Mr. Whippy's own eyes showed panic.
"Turnbull!?!"
"Erm…yyyes Sir. I'm afraid so."
"What…? I mean…? Why on earth are you an ice-cream man?" The corners of Meg's mouth turned up into a huge amused smile.
"Erm…well, you see Sir, when you fired me after I…er…burnt down the consulate kitchen, I was heading home through the park to my box and I saw a recruitment poster for this job. And well, I've always loved ice cream, so I applied for the job and seeing as no actual cooking is involved, I got the job. There's an added bonus as well Sir."
"And what's that?"
"The ice-cream van doubles as a home."
Meg stifled a laugh and tired to look serious. "I see, so you've erm…kind of gone 'upmarket' then!"
"Yes. I sometimes feel guilty that it's so luxurious compared to my box, but I console myself that it isn't as extravagant as an apartment."
"Turnbull, what I don't understand is, now that you've got your job back in the R.C.M.P., why haven't you given this job up?"
"Oh, I couldn't possibly do that Sir."
"Why not?"
"What would the children do without me? I couldn't let them down."
"I'm sure that a new Mr. Whippy could be found."
"That may be so Sir, but it would confuse the children." Taking in Meg's own confused look, Turnbull explained, "You see Sir, the children are used to me as 'Mr. Whippy' and to replace me with somebody else---well, it just wouldn't do. They could be scarred for life."
"Ah! I think I see. You've become something of an icon! A bit like Ronald MacDonald and Colonel Saunders!"
Turnbull's face lit up into a large smile and he puffed his chest out self-importantly. "Yes. Yes, that's correct Sir."
"So, as your Superior Officer, do I get a free ice cream?" Meg looked at him expectantly.
Turnbull's face turned serious while he thought about it. He didn't really want to refuse her; for fear that she might get mad at him and take it out on him at the consulate. He was already in her badbooks for burning down the consulate kitchen and he didn't want to further annoy her. "Yes, why not Sir!" By giving her free ice cream he thought that it might just go some way towards getting him on her goodside again!
"What will it be Sir?"
"A vanilla ice cream with all of the trimmings, please."
Turnbull eagerly set to work on Thatcher's request. First he got the largest sized cone and then turning the ice cream machine on, an excited gleam shone in his eyes as he watched the ice cream whip in a spiral descent into the cone. After adding the strawberry sauce, he started on his favourite part, the decoration. Taking great care, Turnbull took some sweets and arranged them into a colourful smiley face. Placing a flake into the ice cream, Turnbull handed his work of art over to Thatcher. "There you go Sir. Enjoy."
"Thank you Turnbull. I'm sure I will. " Meg smiled at him. "I must say, you've done a lovely job of decorating the ice cream."
Turnbull blushed and ducked his head. "Thank you kindly Sir."
Meg licked the ice cream. "Ummm, delicious. I'd better be going now. I'll see you later at the consulate."
"Sir?" Turnbull called to her as she turned around to leave.
"Yes Turnbull?"
"Please Sir, don't tell anyone about my giving you the free ice cream, otherwise everyone will want a free one," Turnbull pleaded. "And do you think you…well…I'd appreciate it if we could keep my new job between ourselves," Turnbull begged.
"All right, but it will cost you."
"Oh! Erm…hhhow much?"
"Free ice creams whenever I want them."
"Deal." Turnbull held his hand out to her and Meg shook it, cementing their deal.
"Don't worry, your secrets safe with me---Mr. Whippy."