7 Sorrow on Sunday (7 page)

Rob shook his head. “The Ace of Diamonds is a rough place, with a bad reputation. Kids go there to show how big they are. They buy stuff and get high, and then have to be picked up off pavements and sometimes end up in hospital—and occasionally the morgue.”

“Why don’t the police close it down?” Lois could not imagine Joe Horsley in this scene. She had a mental picture of him in tweeds and brogues, bluff and pipe-smoking. No, no, not that one. Anyway, she was sure Derek had said the Domino.

“The Ace is clever. Always got a get-out clause when anything bad comes up.”

“And the other one?” she asked.

“The Domino? Ah, now that’s a different kettle of fish. Smart, with excellent music for dancing, no drugs—not on the surface, anyway—and a good class of customer. They have visiting show-biz stars, often ones who make it to the top later. I used to go there a lot at one time, when I could afford it.” He smiled, gesturing towards the stockroom. “Too many expenses now,” he added.

“Well, you’ve been a help,” Lois said. “I don’t need to bother your expensive partner now. Far be it from me to interrupt a vital part of this money-making business.” She was irritated by his insinuations. She had brought up her daughter to keep an eye on spending, and run an economic household. And what was Rob bringing in? Not a fortune, that was for sure.

“A joke, Lois,” Rob said, seeing her face. “Your Josie is a wonder. I’m sure she’ll be sorry to have missed you. Shall I call her?”

Lois shook her head. “No, not now, thanks. I’ll be getting back. Sorry I can’t be a better customer,” she added, picking up the eggs. “Bye.”

Oops, said Rob to himself, put my foot in it there. Just when I was thinking of popping the question to Josie. I’m not sure I could manage a mother-in-law like Lois. He wondered why she wanted to know about Tresham clubs. Deciding that she was sleuthing again and was not likely to
tell him, he sat on the stool and picked up a paper to read until the next customer came in.

*   *   *

“P
UT THOSE EGGS BEHIND THE OTHER ONES IN THE
larder,” said Gran when Lois returned. “How was Josie?”

“Didn’t see her,” Lois said casually. “Rob was in the shop, and she was busy in the stockroom. I had a chat with him, bought the eggs and came straight home. Happy?”

“I don’t know why you are so difficult,” Gran said. “You had loving parents, were a spoilt only one, and have a very patient, wonderful husband.”

“Not to mention my long-suffering, hard-working mother!” Lois gave her mother a big hug, said some people reckoned she, Lois, was exactly like her mum, and so there was nothing to be done. “I’ll be in my office for an hour or so,” Lois continued. “Paperwork to catch up on.”

Sitting at her desk, Lois looked at her diary. Tomorrow would be market day in Tresham, and usually she and Gran went together. It was a routine outing, and Gran loved it, trawling the market stalls for bargains and meeting old friends. Lois chewed the end of her pen. Could she take Gran into the pub? And then what would she do with her if Joe Horsley was there? Come to that, how could she introduce herself to a perfect stranger without sounding like a middle-aged whore?

She doodled on her pad, then realized she had drawn the face of a heavily made-up, raddled old woman.
Exactly
, she said to herself, screwing up the paper and throwing it in the bin. But wait a minute. If she and Gran decided on a snack lunch at the pub, a special treat, she could keep her ears open for mention of Joe Horsley—maybe at a game of darts, or standing his round. Lunch was more respectable than just a drink, and then she could do some serious eavesdropping, somehow concealing it from Gran. Yep, that was worth a try. If he wasn’t there, nothing would be lost.

The telephone rang. She picked it up, and heard the familiar voice of Cowgill. “Hello, Lois. How are you?”

“If you’ve nothing better to do than enquire after my health, then don’t waste my time,” she answered sharply.

“Only keeping up standards of politeness in the Force,” he said. “You sound fierce. Any reason why I’ve irritated you more than usual?”

“Yes. You have gone too far, Cowgill. You had already asked me to talk to Derek, see if he’d remembered anything extra. Then you go and approach him direct! If you don’t trust me, then we’d better end all this malarkey right now.”

“Slow down, Lois!” he said firmly. “I asked you to talk to Derek about the van crash. My suggestion that he might come in and tell us what he knows about stable thefts is another matter entirely. Fair’s fair, Lois. You must admit that.”

Lois said nothing for a few seconds, and then conceded that he was right. “But I’m working on the thefts, and at the moment it’d be best if you left Derek to me. By the way, have you got any useful info?”

“Nothing beyond speculation at the moment, Lois. But you’ll be first to know if we get something concrete.”

“Like a block of it through the police station window?” she answered. “I should know better than to ask.”

Cowgill chuckled. “I love you, Lois,” he said, but his voice was carefully light. “And have you anything to tell me?”

“Nothing beyond speculation at the moment,” she said, and ignored his declaration of love.

D
OT
N
IMMO, NEAT AND CLEAN AND SMELLING OF CHEAP
scent, left her house by the front door, carefully locking up behind her. She walked past New Brooms with her head down, and turned into the next street. There she waited for a bus to take her into one of the wealthier areas of Tresham, where there were big old houses and tasteful new housing developments. Dot had been there before, but not for a long time.

The bus was full. It was market day, and many people went into town early to catch the bargains and fresh food, and were now on their way home. Women with bulky plastic shopping bags, and young mothers with pre-school children clogged up the aisle when Dot wanted to alight. “Make way!” she said sharply. “Some of us ’ave a livin’ to earn.”

A woman of her own age turned round, and said equally sharply, “Wait yer turn, missus. We’re all gettin’ off here.”

Dot glared at her, but noticed she had an old tapestry bag and work-worn hands. When they were both off the bus, Dot said, “D’you live round ’ere, then?”

“What if I do?”

“Just wondered. I’m lookin’ for work. Cleanin’ work.”

“That’s what I do,” the woman said, warming up slightly. “There’s plenty of work round here. More money than sense, some of these housewives. Still, it’s good fer the likes of us. Now,” she said, looking thoughtful, “I ’eard of somebody needing help. Yes, I got it. That road over there, there’s a new estate of luxury dwellings, as they call ’em. Number three, I think it was. Try there. Can’t remember the name. I’d do it meself, except my week is full up. Good luck, missus.”

Dot reflected that luck seemed to be with her already. The woman wasn’t such a bad old cow, after all. It had begun to rain, and she hurried down the road until she saw what must be the “luxury dwellings.” Number three was off the road, in a large crescent, with a series of big gardens leading to mock-everything houses. Tudor, Georgian, Queen Anne, all cheek by jowl, with coach lamps and statues of nymphs and expensive-looking cars in the driveways.

Dot pressed the bell. It was a while before the door opened slowly. “Yes?” said an elderly woman, leaning on a stick.

Dot stood firmly on the doorstep, and said, “I bin told you’re lookin’ for a cleaner. I’ve come about the job.”

The woman nervously half-closed the door. Dot said, without having planned to do so, “I work for that cleanin’ business in the town. They sent me. A friend of yours got in touch. I’m very respectable and ’ave lots of experience. Would you like me to come in for a minute?” She was quite pleased with this, and wondered if she should have mentioned New Brooms by name. But no, that was too easy to check up on.

With a doubtful look, the woman moved back painfully, and motioned Dot in. “Just for a minute, then,” she said.

Dot moved swiftly, and went ahead into the sitting room. “You just come and sit down, dear,” she said. “Then we can talk comfortably.” Her late husband had once told her she had the tongue of a serpent, and she had taken it as a compliment. “Not many say no to Dot,” he had been fond of saying. Except for that stuck-up Mrs. Meade, of course. Well, she would show her.

After ten minutes or so, Dot and the infirm woman were like old friends. Dot said she could start tomorrow.

“What’s yer name, dear?” Dot asked.

“Mrs. Parker-Knowle,” the smiling woman said. “Just like the chairs.”

Dot laughed heartily. “I do like a lady with a good sense of humour,” she said. They arranged days and times and rates of pay, and then Dot left. “Don’t get up, dear,” she
called from the front door. “And don’t forget, ’ave a key ready for me when I come tomorrow. Oh, and I forgot to say, we get paid direct by the client. So if you need any help gettin’ money from the Post Office ’n that, just let me know.”

Then she was gone. As she walked back to the bus stop, she considered calling at other houses on the way. But perhaps it was best to start with one nice old lady, who would recommend Dot to her friends. And one of her friends might be the one Dot was looking for.

*   *   *

T
HE MARKET IN
T
RESHAM WAS A PRETTY SIGHT WHEN
the sun was out, with blue and white striped awnings over the stalls flapping gently in the breeze. Lois and Gran went across to the flower stall, to buy chrysanthemums for Josie. “Yellow ones, don’t forget,” said Gran. Lois said nothing. They had been buying yellow chrysanths for Josie for years. “I need some new tea towels,” Gran added. “We’ll go to old Bill’s stall by the hamburgers. Are we going to have ours yet?”

“No, I thought we’d treat ourselves today,” Lois said. “I fancied a steak and kidney pie at the pub. How about you?”

Gran’s eyes brightened. “Good idea!” she said. “I might even have a half of Guinness.”

“Well, let’s get the towels first, then it’s pie and chips for two.”

They settled themselves at a table by the window and looked out on to the market square. “We should do this every week,” Gran said, beaming. “Now, are you having a Guinness with me?”

“Better not. I’m driving,” Lois said. “But you have one. Here, let’s look at the menu board, and I’ll order at the bar.”

They were happily shaking brown sauce on to their pies when a knot of farmers drinking at the bar turned round to look at the door. A big man with a ruddy face and thick grey hair came in and approached them. “Morning, Joe,” said two or three of the farmers, and Lois pricked up her ears. Joe was a common enough name, but still . . .

“How’s Margaret?” another said, and Joe replied that she was very well, and just as talkative as ever. “That’s why I come in here,” he said, “to get a bit o’ peace!” They laughed, and the circle closed up, all talking at once.

So it was him, thought Lois. Derek had said his wife’s name was Margaret. She wished she could hear their conversation, but Gran was saying something about puddings. Were they having ice cream or tiramisu? Lois took the opportunity to go back to the bar to order ice creams, and positioned herself next to the men.

One of them turned and looked at her. “Morning, gel,” he said, winking at the others. “Excuse me asking, but ain’t you the one who’s won the lottery? Saw your picture in the paper.” He smiled invitingly.

“If you saw my bank account, you wouldn’t ask me that.” It wasn’t a lie. They hadn’t had a penny of their winnings yet.

“Oh, sorry, me duck. Mistook you for somebody else. Can I buy you a drink?”

Lois shook her head. “I’m driving,” she repeated. “But no offence taken. Are you lot regulars here?” she asked. “That’s my mum over there. She likes to come and shop the old way. Some of the stallholders know her well.”

“Yeah,” said the one called Joe, looking her up and down. “We’re a fixture in this pub on market days. You won’t know Derek Meade, then? He’s the one who won the lottery, and he came and did some electrics for me. I suppose he’ll not be doing that kind of work now?”

Lois shook her head, and began to walk back to her table. She could see Gran staring at her. She must have heard, but she said nothing. Lois had answers ready, but there were no questions.

When they had finished and paid for their meal, they headed for the door. Lois let Gran go first, and hung back for a second or two. “See you next week?” called Joe Horsley. “Is it a date?” Lois smiled faintly, and followed Gran into the market square.

Half an hour passed before they were in the car and
heading back to Farnden. Then Gran said, “What are you up to, Lois?”

“What d’you mean?”

“In the pub. Flirting, at your age! I was ashamed of you. I hope it don’t get back to Derek. I shan’t say anything, but you know how bad news travels.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” Lois tried hard to sound annoyed. “Of course I wasn’t flirting. Just being polite. No harm in a friendly word, you know. And anyway, there were five of ’em. Safety in numbers.”

Gran snorted. “Well, don’t ask me to go there again if you intend to behave like that. We Weedons still have a good name in Tresham. We had enough trouble keeping it when you were young, and I don’t expect to go through all that again.”