Free 7 Sorrow on Sunday by Ann Purser Page B

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.
    *   *   *
    “W HAT DO
YOU
WANT!” D OT N IMMO 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 nailswas 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?”
    As Dot Nimmo drew breath, Lois was able to interrupt. “Of course,” she said. “But first I’d like to see you in my office over the road, cleaned up. And one more thing: I’m not doing this for charity. I shall expect high standards from you, like the rest of my team. And don’t dress for a night in the Butcher’s Arms, please. Quiet, efficient and able to merge into the background. That’s how I like it. Good morning.”
    Lois walked swiftly down the road, and surprised Hazel in the middle of a telephone call. “Who was that?” she said.
    “The Colonel’s lady,” Hazel replied. “Trying to track you down. I didn’t know you were coming in this morning. How are you, after yesterday—especially the evening?”
    “Fresh as a daisy, thanks.” Lois picked up the phone. “What’s Battersby’s number?” she said, and prepared herself for a tale of woe. She hoped Floss hadn’t overstepped the mark and offended the Colonel. “Mind you,” she muttered, “easily done.”
    “What is?” Hazel eyebrows were raised. Mrs. M was in a funny mood today—and what was she doing in Tresham anyway?
    “Yes, it’s Mrs. Meade,” Lois said into the telephone, her fingers crossed. “Gone missing? What do you mean? Yesterday? And he didn’t come home? Is it his day to come to you? And he didn’t turn up? He might be ill . . . Oh, you’ve done that. What else did his mother say? Right. It’s not really anything to do with New Brooms, but I’ll see what I can do.”
    “Who’s missing?” Hazel said.
    “Darren. The