7 Sorrow on Sunday (28 page)

Lois had no energy to argue, and just smiled.

Derek patted his son on the back, and said, “We’re always here to help, lad. You know that. Young James never hesitates if he needs help—mostly financial! And we try to treat you all the same.”

“Our Josie’s doing well, isn’t she?” Douglas said, running his finger round the pudding dish and licking up every creamy drop.

“Very well,” Lois said. “She and Rob are coming up tonight, and Gran has killed the fatted calf for supper. You
are
staying tonight, aren’t you?”

Douglas said he certainly was. He wanted to make sure Lois could be trusted to get better sensibly, and he intended to help his father put on the pressure. “After all,” he said,
“if you’re the target of some local tearaways, I mean to find them and give them a good kick up the arse.”

*   *   *

H
UNTER
C
OWGILL, LIFTING UP HIS OFFICE PHONE TO
ring Lois, was planning a much more draconian punishment for the culprits, when he found them. He had followed up various leads, but they’d come to nothing so far. If only the boy Darren could give them more details of the incident—and Cowgill was sure he had them locked away in his head—then they’d be on the track in no time.

“Hello, is that you Lois? This must be a bad line. You sound very faint.”

“I’m feeling very faint,” Lois said, winking at Douglas. “You haven’t forgotten I’ve had a bad time?”

Cowgill was instantly contrite. “Of course not,” he apologized. “Are you up to a short conversation?”

“Shorter the better,” Lois replied, her voice back to the one Cowgill was used to . . . and loved.

“Believe it or not,” he said, “I am ringing to ask how you are and checking that you’re doing just as the doctor ordered. Not that I have much hope of the latter.”

“I’m fine. Really fine. And even more fine because Douglas is here, and is staying until tomorrow. But don’t ask me to believe you rang just to enquire after my health. As a matter of fact, I was going to get in touch. I’ve remembered something—at least, I’ve dreamed something.”

“Sure you want to talk about it?” Cowgill asked anxiously.

“Anything to help our brave boys in blue. I dreamed the crash, but this time Douglas was in the van with me, and the car coming straight at us. It was old, dark green, and dirty. Maybe I’ll dream it again and see the number plate.”

“Please don’t do that,” Cowgill said. “Not even in the interests of police investigations. The details you dreamed might just be a big help, but no more nightmares, Lois, and that’s an order. Take care, and I’ll be in touch. Bye.” He
looked at the receiver, and blew it a kiss. “Silly old fool,” he said quietly.

Derek’s face was thunderous. “I told that idiot not to telephone any more. Much good it did! Next time, Lois, put him straight on to me.”

“He was only asking how I was. Harmless old policeman, really. But I did need to pass on my dream about the car. It might help.”

Douglas got up from the table and put his arms around her. “Did you really dream it was me in the van, Mum?” Lois nodded. “I wish I had been,” he said darkly, and there was silence among them. Then Douglas shook himself. “Now,” he said briskly, “all hands to the sink. Then a stroll down to the shop. We’ll catch Josie gossiping with the customers. Come on, Dad, you too.”

*   *   *

T
HE DIRTY OLD GREEN CAR HAUNTED
L
OIS.
S
HE
dreamed about it again the next night, and this time, before she blacked out, she saw the back of it as it skidded round and away at top speed. And this time she was sure there were two people in it.

“Still no number plate,” she said to Douglas, as he packed his overnight bag and kissed his mum goodbye.

“Don’t try to remember,” he said. “If it comes back, fine, but if it doesn’t, the police will have other ways of finding those thugs. Or do you still fancy yourself as a part-time gumshoe?”

“What’s a gumshoe, Douglas?” Gran said.

“You’re a telly addict, so you know perfectly well,” Douglas said, giving her a hug. “Thanks for all the lovely food. See you again soon.”

Derek gave his son a manly shake of the hand, and they waved him off in his car.

Lois sighed. “That went quickly, didn’t it?”

“You could’ve been more encouraging for him to settle round here,” Gran said, and Derek added that it wouldn’t be long before he’d be back. Their boy was worried about his mum.

They were all quiet for a minute, then, “Boys!” Lois said suddenly. “They were boys in the car in my dream. Two of them, two boys. It just came back to me. I’ll just run in and give Cowgill a call.”

Derek groaned, and Gran shrugged her shoulders. “I give up,” she said.

“I don’t,” said Derek. “I’ll tell him. Give me his number and I’ll give him a call.”

M
ARGARET
H
ORSLEY HESITATED AT THE ENTRANCE TO
the hospital. She bought a bunch of strange, thornless roses from the kiosk, and went into reception. After all, as one of Dot Nimmo’s clients, she had every right to visit her, she was sure.

“Are you a relative?” the receptionist asked.

“No, but she worked for me before her accident. I was fond of her,” she lied, “and would really like to see her, even if she doesn’t know I’m there.”

“Just take a seat, Mrs. . . . er . . . What is your name?” The receptionist then had a long conversation with someone Margaret presumed was either the doctor or a senior nurse. When the woman said, “All right, then, love, see you later,” she realized she had been foolishly optimistic. The conversation had had nothing to do with Dot Nimmo.

Eventually, Margaret was called over. “You can go to the ward,” the receptionist said sniffily. “But you must stay only five minutes. And make sure you report to staff before and after you go in. Now, if you take the street along there—it’s a corridor but we call it The Street—follow the yellow line until it turns into a green one, then turn first left, then right, and left again, and look for signs to Beddington Ward, you’ll find it easily.”

Head spinning, Margaret set off. She was quickly lost, and in the end a young porter took pity on her and accompanied her all the way. She thanked him profusely, and looked around for a nurse. Not a soul about. She took a step forward to Beddington Ward, and a voice
said, “Just a minute! You can’t go in there without permission.”

“I’m sorry, but I do have permission,” Margaret said meekly. You have to creep to these people, she thought. “I’m Mrs. Horsley.”

The nurse frowned. “Well, I suppose you’d better go in. You’re not another sister, are you?”

“No. Evelyn is her only sister. I just wanted to be by her side for a moment, and to bring these flowers.”

The nurse took away the flowers, and Margaret walked towards Dot’s bed. Margaret’s first thought was that she was a horrible colour. Looks bloodless, poor old thing. And her ghastly blonde hair is showing all the grey roots. She wouldn’t like that. Margaret felt an overpowering urge to giggle. She sat down and looked at her hands, at her wedding ring and the flashy diamond Joe had given her for their tenth anniversary. How had he managed to afford it? She was only too well aware of the state of their finances. She waggled her fingers. Five minutes doing nothing seemed endless. Her thoughts began to wander, and she saw again the boy Darren, humming and trembling, held tight in Auntie’s arms. What had Horace done to him? Nothing would surprise her. Had Joe been involved, too? She would pluck up her courage and ask him. She would ask him if he’d been there when Darren had been so frightened that he ran off and hid for a whole night by himself. The thought of it made her blood boil. “Wicked sods!” she said aloud.

“Sods,” repeated a very faint voice.

“What!” Her heart was thumping. Maybe it had been an echo in this sterile room.

“They’re all sods.” It was a whisper, a breath exhaled with difficulty.

“Nurse!” yelled Margaret. “Come quickly, quickly!”

Two nurses came running. “
Please
, Mrs. Horsley! We must have absolute quiet in here!”

“She spoke, you stupid bitch!” Margaret said, completely out of control. “Dot spoke!”

The nurse who had cautioned her stiffened. “You must leave now,” she said frostily, “and I suggest you pull yourself together. You’ll do no good here.”

The other nurse was bending over Dot, monitoring displays and checking tubes.

“Bye, missus,” whispered the voice.

“Bye, Dot!” said Margaret loudly. “See you soon.” She marched out, her heels clicking on the hard floor, her nose in the air.

After that, hospital staff went into action, and were puzzled that Dot Nimmo said nothing more. Evelyn Nimmo had been sent for, and had said she would come at once. After much gentle encouragement from staff had produced nothing but the blank, apparently unconscious face of Dot, they agreed to wait until Evelyn arrived. Surely she would be able to reach her sister, when a woman who had merely employed her to clean the house had clearly got through. The nurse who heard Dot’s farewell to Margaret was adamant. “She definitely spoke. It was very faint, but it was there,” she said firmly.

Evelyn telephoned Lois straightaway to give her the news. “They said she spoke. Mrs. Horsley was with her, and it wasn’t much. It was when Mrs. H was talking to herself really. She said ‘sods’ loudly, and Dot said ‘They’re all sods.’ Then she said goodbye, so this nurse said.”

“Sounds like Dot all right,” said Lois, feeling ridiculously excited. Dot recovering! She really was an old bag, who would lie through her teeth if necessary, but Lois had respect for her. After all, to survive at all in the underworld she inhabited was an achievement.

A tough old bird, was Dot, and it looked as if she’d won another battle.

“Well, looks like very good news! Let me know how you get on. I’ll be here most of today.”

Evelyn put down the phone, emptied the fruit bowl into a paper bag and set off for the hospital. This time the visitor—a relative, yes—was whizzed up to Beddington Ward.

“Come in, please, Evelyn,” said the young nurse. “Do sit down, and I’ll fetch you a cup of tea. Milk? Sugar?”

Blimey, thought Evelyn, this is a bit different from usual. The tea was brought, and the nurse said she would leave the two of them together. Dot might well respond if only her sister was listening.

Evelyn sipped her tea. “Dot?” she said. “It’s me, Evelyn. How’re you feeling?”

Nothing. Evelyn thought she might just as well read a magazine, and was reaching for one, when a faint whisper reached her. “Bloody awful. What d’you expect?”

Evelyn rushed round to the other side of the bed and knelt down so that her face was close to Dot’s. “Was that you, Dot?”

“Who d’you think? God?”

“Can you see me?”

“Eyes are shut, y’fool. An’ they’re stayin’ shut.”

Footsteps approached, and the doctor came in. “Any luck, Mrs. Nimmo?” he said.

Evelyn looked hard at Dot, and one eye clearly winked.

Evelyn turned to the doctor with a sorrowful face. “Nothing, I’m afraid,” she said. “But I’ll stay here for a while, and see if my darling sister is able to say anything to me. We were so close, you know.”

“Fine. Just ring the bell if she shows any signs of communicating.” Wishful thinking is a wonderful thing, he thought as he retreated.

His footsteps died away down the corridor, and Evelyn turned to Dot. “You old fraud,” she said. She heard the shadow of a cackle. “I suppose it suits you for some goddam reason to stay here? Well, I’ll not give you away. Mind you, you do look bloody awful, so I suppose you are still pretty rocky. Look after yourself, Dot.”

The whispery voice said one more thing. “Goodbye,
darling
sister.”

Evelyn chuckled all the way out of the hospital, ending up in radiology, surgical, eyes, teeth and numerous other irrelevant departments, until with relief she found her way out.

“Might have some of those roses for meself,” she said to the kiosk girl, “by way of a celebration,” she added. Another bereaved wife, the girl thought, and handed over the flowers with a sympathetic smile.