Free 7 Sorrow on Sunday by Ann Purser Page A

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!”
    *   *   *
    L ATE THAT NIGHT, L OIS AND D EREK 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 ithad 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.
    *   *   *
    N EXT MORNING, G RAN 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.
    *   *   *
    C OLLAPSED ON THE BED A BIT LATER, D EREK AND L OIS 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 homeless 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,