(Content Warning: Deeply unpleasant.)

(I don’t have a new “Warbeck Sisters” chapter finished yet, so this is by way of being a Halloween special.)

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Well, it’s all a soap opera, isn’t it?  It’s all a tawdry little spectacle, and they milk it for all it’s worth.  And the worst thing of all is that we’ve all fallen for it.  Everyone’s hooked.

I’m not sure when the shift happened, when people like them convinced the world that everything they did was breaking news.  Sometimes I’m surprised we don’t get regular updates on when they went to the toilet last.  That’ll be next, mark my words!

But they’ve been like that ever since they got married.  Always having to be the centre of attention.  Every photo sold to Hello magazine.  Putting their children out front like a bunch of china dolls.  You wonder whether there’s anything real left underneath it all.  Probably not.

You saw the picture of them outside the church, right?  Perfectly posed and perfectly turned-out.  They might as well have gone the whole hog and had the entire funeral sponsored by Gucci.  That’ll be next, mark my words!

Like I said, it’s all a soap opera.  I wouldn’t be surprised if they had a whole script prepared in advance, telling them when their voices had to break and when they had to dab their eyes with a tissue.  “A single perfect tear rolling down the grieving mother’s face…”  Do me a favour.

You’d think they were the first people to ever lose a child.  Always talking about their suffering and their heartbreak.  Do you think they’ve given a thought to the thousands of people who’ve had to put up with this plastered across the papers for weeks, and all the horrible memories it’s brought back?  Of course not.  They’re the only ones thar matter.  They don’t need to worry about the little people.

It was disgusting, the things the newspapers printed.  I don’t know how people with children managed to explain it to them.  All those details- the blood, the hammer, the notes from the kidnapper- no-one needed to hear about it.  It was just them filling up more column inches at the expense of the rest of us.

You watch.  They’ll milk this for all it’s worth, then they’ll go away for a bit and come back with a replacement child.  “Baby news to dry our tears,” that sort of thing.  They’ll probably order one out of a catalogue.  They’d probably like to have it assembled from a kit- just like the last one, but with some of the annoying bits taken out.  That’ll be next, mark my words!

What kills me is, there are plenty of people who actually lose children.  Real children.  But do you think they ever stop to think about that?  Of course not.  Empathy?  They don’t know the meaning of the word.

The End