Free Theft on Thursday by Ann Purser

stepped out, pulling up her coat collar. The shop was full, with Sharon behind the counter, speedy and efficient. There was no doubt the girl was a worker. Old Mrs. Carr limped in from the back, and Gran felt sorry for her. She was getting past it, without a doubt.
    “Afternoon, Mrs. Weedon.”
    Bother, thought Gran, just my luck to get the old woman. She had hoped Sharon might serve her, and then she could be back home in a few minutes. Her legs still felt shaky, and she was short of breath. “Afternoon,” she said.
    Mrs. Carr settled herself on a high stool, hands on the counter, ready for a chat. “Better now?”
    Here we go, thought Gran. Perhaps if I wander about for a few seconds, I might get Sharon. “Just looking for what I want,” she said, walking away and peering at shelves on the opposite side of the shop.
    Mrs. Carr followed her. “What is it you’re looking for, dear?” she said.
    Gran sighed, and gave in. “Something for indigestion,” she said. “I’m really quite better, but still get a few twinges. Have you got some of my usuals?”
    “Temporarily out of stock,” said Mrs. Carr. “But let’s think. Yes, I’ve got just the thing. Just wait a moment while I get them from the storeroom. Here,” she added, pulling a chair towards Gran, “perch yourself on that while you wait.”
    The shop door jangled on the old bell, and Sandy Mackerras came in. Sharon’s face was the colour of the tomatoes she was weighing. “Hi, Sharon!” he said cheerily. “How’re doing?”
    “Fine, thanks,” she answered, and dropped a tomato, then stepped on it, and in great confusion mopped up the mess.
    Sandy grinned, and turned to Gran. “See what effect I have on the girls, Mrs. Weedon,” he said in a mock whisper.
    Gran sniffed. “Don’t be so sure it was you,” she said. “Young Thornbull’s just been in talking to Sharon—John’s brother—and he’s a real he-man. Anyway,” she added, with a smile to soften the blow, “never trust ginger hair, my mother used to say. You heard that one, Sandy?”
    Discomforted, he went over to the counter and engaged Sharon in a low-voiced conversation. Gran heard the words “Saturday” and “Tresham” and judged from the ecstatic look on the girl’s face that Sandy had asked her for a date. Huh, well, no good could come of that, in Gran’s opinion. He must’ve been stood up. Some smart one with big boobs and plenty of experience would have been his first choice, that’s for sure.
    “Here we are, dear.” Mrs. Carr was returning from the stockroom, carrying a box, from the top of which she was blowing a layer of dust. “Just the thing. My mother used to swear by these. Lucky for you we’ve got some left. Hard to find these days.” She took out a rattling box and handed it to Gran.
    “Never heard of it,” Gran said. “And there’s no price on it.”
    “One pound fifty to you,” said Mrs. Carr, plucking a figure out of the air.
    Gran paid, took the box in its bag and put it in her pocket, and returned slowly up the High Street. Jamie was waiting outside the house. “Where’ve you been, Gran?” he said. “You’re not supposed to be out on your own yet. Mum’ll be furious.”
    “Then we won’t tell her,” Gran said.

F OURTEEN

    M RS . C ARR ’ S REMEDY HAD NOT DONE G RAN MUCH good. She’d sucked one of the big white tablets as instructed, and not only felt no calmer, but the reverse. She’d spent the afternoon trotting up and down stairs, and by the time Lois came in, she had her feet up on the sofa, looking very wan.
    “Just making myself comfortable,” she said, as Lois looked worriedly at her. She had no intention of telling Lois about the tablets. Self-doctoring was not allowed in Lois’s house, and the medicine cabinet in the bathroom held Elastoplast, throat sweets, and not much else.
    “I had a little walk, and managed fine,” Gran lied. “Saw Sandy Mackerras, and he asked about choir practice tonight. I thought I might