by Ann Purser
“Um, what’s the time?” Alice asked.
“Five minutes past my three hours,” Dot said sharply. Trust should work both ways.
“Oh, I’m not checking up on you,” Alice said hastily. “I was just thinking it is lunchtime and you have a bus ride before you get home. I’d be happy for you to have another coffee and something to keep the wolf from the door. You’ll have to get it yourself, of course.”
Now we’re talking, thought Dot, and slipped off her coat. “Why don’t I get you something nice for lunch, dear,” she said, “and have a bite myself? Save you the trouble of bending and stretching in that lovely kitchen of yours?”
They sat companionably with trays on their laps in the sitting room. Dot had made an appetizing salad for Alice, and a rough sandwich for herself. Alice had a fresh table napkin from the drawer, and Dot had a square of kitchen paper to catch the crumbs.
“How long have you lived in Tresham?” Dot asked conversationally.
“All my life,” Alice said. “But not in this house, of course. My family farmed over towards Waltonby. A large acreage, and father was what I suppose you would call a gentleman farmer. Lovely old house, and we kept horses. Hunting, pony club—all that. My nephew is there now. Unfortunately, my husband and I had no children.”
“Shame,” said Dot. “They can be a comfort. And, then again, they can be a sorrow.”
It was all going to plan, and Alice dutifully asked what experience Dot had suffered. She was told a heart-rending story, including the strange death of Handel in the gravel pit and Haydn’s fatal crash at the roundabout. “He was my only,” Dot said. “The light of me life, and a comfort, as you can imagine, after I lost my husband.”
“How frightful! You poor thing,” said Alice, reaching for a box of chocolates by her chair. “Here, have one of these. They are my comforters, and I eat far too many of them.”
They had two each, and then Alice said, “Whose was the horse that ran in front of your son’s van?”
Dot shook her head mournfully. “Dunno,” she said. “Leastways, I don’t know for sure, but I have my suspicions. All to do with a stupid feud that should’ve been stopped years ago. My Handy—we called him that—was a good husband, but he didn’t forgive nobody who done him a bad turn. Man called Battersby. Nasty piece of work. He refused to pay a bill for work Handy done for ’im. Said it was skimped, and threatened to report him to the police. Handy wrote it off, but he never forgave ’im. What he did was, he made sure nobody else would work for Battersby. It was in Handy’s power, see. Sort of union, his friends. The Tresham Mafia! Made life very difficult for Battersby. Years ago now, but the feud went on.”
Dot looked mistily out of the window, and Alice shook her head in amazement. “Fancy that,” she said. “I had no idea these things were so close to home. How awful for you. D’you know, funnily enough, I knew some people called Battersby.”
Dot’s head jerked round to her. “Did you?” she said.
“Oh, ages ago. Met them through the Conservative Association. You know the sort of thing. Cocktails and bits of sawdust to eat!” She laughed, but Dot did not. She could not believe her luck. Should she ask more questions, tickle the old girl’s memory? No, better to leave it till next time. She might remember more then. Could it be the same Battersbys? It was a common name around Tresham, but you never knew. A morning well spent, she thought as she put on her coat.
“I’ll be off, then,” she said.
“Right, and thank you so much,” said Alice.
“Don’t you get up, dear,” Dot said. “I’ll see meself out. Take care, and don’t do nothing I wouldn’t do!”
Alice heard her cackling down the drive, and smiled. What a treasure she was, and how splendid to find someone so obliging.
THIRTEEN
SEVEN NERVOUSLY EXCITED PEOPLE SETTLED INTO TWO cars outside the shop, and Josie leaned into the driver’s window of the first one. “Have a nice day!” she said to Derek, who had hired a smart Toyota for the purpose. It was the syndicate’s big day, and Josie was not going, in spite of dropping heavy hints.
“I shall be there, of course,” Lois had said. “Your Dad will need me there. But that’ll be it, I’m afraid. We’ll tell you all about it when we get back. Don’t forget to take Jeems for a walk after closing.”
“Don’t worry, me and Gran will take care of everything,” Josie said, and wiped away a tear as she waved to the retreating cars. Please God, she said to herself, don’t let them be disappointed. It was an odd prayer for people about to collect a couple of million, but they looked so apprehensive and somehow vulnerable . . . Still, her mum was usually neither of those things, so they’d be all right.
“Nice of Josie to wave us off,” Lois said. She was sitting in the passenger seat next to Derek, and turned to smile at Matt the plumber and Geoff the publican sitting in the back. “Did you get any sleep last night?” she said.
“Not a lot,” Matt said. “I set the alarm, but didn’t need it. And the wife was making tea at half past five. I feel as if I’ve done a day’s work already.”
“I have,” said Geoff smugly. “Got everything ready for opening time. I’m always an early riser. Must admit, though, I hardly got a wink last night.”
Derek said, “Lois snored all night, as usual.”
“Liar,” Lois said amiably. She was not about to spoil the day by arguing, and they drove steadily on towards Staines, where the unbelievable was about to happen.
* * *
“GEOFF, HAVE YOU GOT THE TICKET?” MATT ASKED suddenly as they were approaching their destination.
“Don’t be ruddy daft,” Geoff replied. “O’ course I’ve got the ticket! Would I come all this way without it?”
He felt in his pocket for his wallet. Then he felt in another pocket. A deadly quiet fell on the car’s passengers. “Um, just a minute,” he said, “it’s here somewhere.”
Derek pulled into a layby. “Better make sure,” he said calmly. “Might have to turn back.”
Now Geoff searched frantically, and finally pulled his leather wallet out of a hidden pocket in his jacket. “Phew!” he said. “I remember putting it there now. Somewhere really safe, I thought.”
“Stupid bugger,” said Matt. “Then you forgot.”
“We all do it,” said Lois soothingly. “Especially when we’re in a bit of a state. Drive on then, love. We’re almost there.”
Derek drove into a development of modern office buildings. The Camelot block blended in with the rest, and from the outside there was nothing to indicate that inside awaited a piece of paper that was going to change their lives. Large, expensive cars were parked all around, and Derek said he was glad they’d not come in a van.
“Oh, I dunno,” Lois said. “Might pick up some business for New Brooms here. Must be thousands of offices need cleaning.”
“Lois!” chorused the others. “Not today of all days!”
A parking space had been reserved for them, and when they pulled up and Derek switched off the engine, all gave a rousing cheer for driver and navigator. They announced themselves into the entry phone, and a security man admitted them. As they walked in, a little uncertainly, he directed them to seats in the reception area, and said that in a few minutes he would take them to see the Camelot representative. They watched in silence as impeccably groomed girls and dynamic young men came and went. Nobody took much notice of them, and they were glad when they were ushered into the lift and escorted upwards.
As the doors opened, Lois saw a smiling, pleasant-faced woman waiting for them, who introduced herself as Debbie. It was the first sign that there was something special about this visit. Debbie was dressed as if for a party, and Lois’s spirits began to rise. But not for long. She was shattered to see that once they had been shown into the windowless room, the door was firmly locked behind them. The group filled the room, and Lois felt a claustrophobic stab. She looked at the framed photographs of happy, smiling faces of past winners, and told herself not to be
an idiot.
“Why’ve you locked the door?” she asked bluntly. “We’re not likely to run away, are we?” It was explained that security was vital, and Camelot would have to carry out a number of checks to make sure the ticket was authentic, and that they were who they said they were.
“Please do help yourselves to coffee and sandwiches,” Debbie said. “You’ve had a long journey, and must be starving.”
Geoff the publican bit into a sandwich and frowned. “We could do better than this,” he whispered to Lois. “Tastes like fish paste.”
Questions were asked, and the group found it difficult to answer with a mouthful of fish paste. Publicity was mentioned. Did they want national publicity or not? It was entirely their choice, and if any of them did not want it, their privacy would be completely protected. They had talked about this in the car, and decided that none of them would mind. “It’d just be a nine-day wonder,” Matt had said. “People know, anyway, so it won’t come as any great surprise.”
The moment came. Debbie presented the cheque to Geoff, the nominee, together with a single bottle of champagne to enliven the photographs. They were given souvenir mugs and pens, and Lois’s eyes widened. “Wow!” she said with heavy irony, as she examined them. They reminded her of a day at the seaside. “Terrific!” she added. “We shall treasure these.”
“Shush!” said Derek.
After that, they got down to business. They were told their money was safely banked, and were advised that the safest option was to leave it where it was until they had decided what they were going to do with it.
“Not for long,” muttered Lois. “We want it where we can get at it.”
“Shush,” whispered Derek.
More advice followed, and they were offered the services of a solicitor or a financial adviser. By this time, the winners’ heads were spinning.
“We can’t take all this in at once,” said Lois. “Don’t forget it’s a first for us!” They were reassured that they could take time to consider all of it, and they would find the help they needed in their winners’ pack. “Out of the blue—it’s you!” the booklet told them, and Lois held it tight for reassurance. She was feeling breathless and wanted desperately to open the door.
At this point, all the lights went out.
“Derek!” Lois’s panic escalated. No windows and a locked door were bad enough, but now they were in pitch darkness.
Debbie’s voice was loud and authoritative. “Sorry about this!” she said. “If this was a crime novel, there’d be a body on the floor when the lights came up!” She laughed, but none of the others did. This was nearly the final straw for Lois.
Finally the lights returned and, shaken and pale-faced, Lois was first out when the door was unlocked. She took a deep breath, and looked down at her hands. She would not have been at all surprised if they had been surreptitiously manacled in the darkness. They went down in the lift in silence, and were then escorted from the building. Lois turned to Debbie and said, “Are you sure it’s safe to let us go now?”
The woman frowned. “Most people say thank you,” she said curtly, and turned to walk away.
* * *
IT WAS NOT UNTIL THEY WERE IN THE CAR AND DRIVING off towards home that the silence was broken by Matt suddenly bursting into raucous laughter. “My God, Lois!” he said. “You were great! Told her straight!”
Derek looked at Lois. “Very embarrassed, I was,” he said. “Sounded like you’d been falsely arrested instead of given a cheque for a couple of million.”
Lois muttered that it had felt a bit like that. Then she turned to the others with a smile and said, “Still, it’s our great day, isn’t it? Why don’t we stop at that pub comin’ up and have a real celebration? We can just about afford it now.”
“Why are we waiting?” chorused the lads, and they pulled into the pub car park in a heady atmosphere of relief and excitement.
FOURTEEN
A FINE SUNSET GREETED THEM AS THEY DROVE INTO LONG Farnden, and Derek was temporarily blinded as they approached their house.
“Stop! Derek, stop!” Lois grabbed the handbrake, and they juddered to a halt.
“What the bloody hell . . . ? I was stopping, Lois! For goodness sake!” His voice tailed off as he looked out of the window into the road in front of him. A barrier of people holding high a banner greeted them. “WELCOME HOME, LUCKY WINNERS!” it declared in huge red letters on what was clearly a white sheet torn into suitable strips. Josie stepped forward.
“Hi, you lot,” she said. “Had a nice day?” They all smiled and nodded, speechless—even Lois, at least for the moment. “Right, well it’s not ended yet,” Josie said. “Dad, will you drive on round to the village hall, and you’ll find everyone there.” She turned to the cheering barrier, and shouted, “Let them through, now! Everyone to the village hall!”
* * *
LATE THAT NIGHT, LOIS AND DEREK COULD NOT SLEEP. But this time it was happy thoughts that kept them awake. “That banner was very well done,” Lois said softly, in case Derek had drifted off at last. He hadn’t.
“Did you hear who done it?” he said. “It was Josie’s Rob. He’s good at graphic art, she said. Whatever that might be.”
“I wonder whose sheet it was,” Lois giggled. “Hope it wasn’t Gran’s.”
“Nope. She said they got it from jumble sale stuff, and it had already been sides-to-middled. Apparently everything was done by the village. Ben’s mother did the catering; Floss’s dad gave the drinks. Her at the Hall gave flowers, and guess who donated the chocs? You’ll never guess.”
“Miss Ivy Beasley,” Lois said.
“How did you know, you old fraud?” Derek turned towards her with a dig in the ribs. In due course, they were celebrating as was entirely appropriate at that moment.
Gran, also lying awake, heard laughter and shouts, and smiled. “What a day! I just wish you were still here to see it,” she whispered to the photograph by her bed. “You’d have been proud of our little gel.” She picked up the photo and put it on the pillow beside her, and then drifted quietly off to sleep.
* * *
NEXT MORNING, GRAN WAS UP BRIGHT AND EARLY, BUT with the tea made and breakfast sizzling in the pan, there was no sound from upstairs. “Mmm, thick heads all round, I reckon,” she muttered to herself, putting the teapot on the Rayburn to keep warm. She sat down to eat a bowl of cornflakes, and picked up the local paper, which had been delivered at its usual early time by a man in a cherry-red van.
“Well I never!” she said, staring at the smiling face of Derek, looking gleefully up at her. She read the accompanying news story, and laughed out loud. “Cheeky devil!” she said, and thought she was justified in calling up from the foot of the stairs that they’d better get up, as they were famous.
Lois appeared in her dressing gown, rubbing her eyes. “What d’you mean, Mum?” she said as she came slowly downstairs.
“Look at this!” said Gran. “And read what Derek says here . . .”
She came to the bit where Derek was reported as saying that he wasn’t all that surprised, as he’d expected it to happen sometime. “We’ve been doing the lottery since God knows when, so I knew we’d come up sooner or later. It’ll come in handy,” he added, with masterly understatement.
Lois gasped. “Can you believe it, Mum?” she said. “He’s so laid back, he’ll fall on his bum sooner or later.” She went upstairs two steps at a time, then Gran heard yells and shrieks, and she sighed.
“Better put the bacon in the oven,” she said, and returned to the kitchen.
* * *
COLLAPSED ON THE BED A BIT LATER, DEREK AND LOIS agreed that it was time to get up. Lois folded the crumpled newspaper, and her eye was caught by a familiar name. “Tresham man involved in tragic accident” the headline announced, and the story described how two teenagers out for a walk in the Municipal Gardens had seen a foot sticking out from under a bush. Investigating, they had seen the body of an old man. At first they thought he must be a h
omeless vagrant, sheltering from the rain. But when the police arrived, he was pronounced dead. The man was later identified as Albert Nimmo, from Gordon Street. He was ninety-eight, and had wandered away from the old folks’ home when nobody was looking. A fatal heart attack had carried him off. “His favourite relative,” Lois read, “Mrs. Dot Nimmo, of Sebastopol Street, who has lately lost her son Haydn in a car smash at the Harrington roundabout, said, ‘We are an ill-starred family.’”
“Derek! Read this,” Lois said, and hastily went to have a shower. “I’ll have to miss breakfast,” she called through the cascading water. “Can you square it with Mum?”
Before Derek had dressed, Lois was shouting goodbye and slamming the door behind her. He heard her van starting up, and then grating gears as she backed out of the drive and was away.
* * *
“WHAT DO YOU WANT!” DOT NIMMO WAS FAR FROM the scrubbed-up creature last seen tackling Lois in New Brooms’ office. Her hair was wild and her eyes sunken, with heavy shadows accentuating the narrowness of her face. No lipstick this morning, and the varnish on her nails was chipped and dirty. The smell wafting under Lois’s nose was overpoweringly awful. Much as she was reluctant to go in, Lois said could she have a word. She was sorry to hear about old Albert. “He was fond of you, wasn’t he?” She couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“Yes. And me of him.” Dot said, swallowing hard. She continued, “Anyway what do you want? I can’t waste time with you this morning. I expect you’ve just come to poke your nose in where it’s not wanted. So say what you’ve got to say, and bugger off.”
Lois took the plunge, hoping against hope that this was not a step that she would live to regret. “I’ve reconsidered your application,” she said formally, “and under the circumstances would like to give you a job. Usual probationary period of four weeks.”
Dot Nimmo stood with narrowed eyes staring at her. “What’re you up to?” she asked suspiciously. “Changing yer mind s’sudden? Still, I’ll take it,” she added hastily. “I know I look a mess right now, but I clean up all right, as you’ve seen. When shall I start? Oh, and by the way, I’ve got another little job a couple of mornings a week. Quality job over in one of them new estates of luxury dwellings. I don’t want to give her up. She’s a nice old gel. I suppose you’ll want to take it over, like, and be responsible an’ that. Well, I don’t mind that. I expect you’re covered for breakages and such like?”