7 Sorrow on Sunday by Ann Purser Page A

Derek would say. She accelerated, and thought about Darren.
    Horses. He was very good with horses, and had been at a point-to-point. If someone had wanted to frighten Darren out of his wits, a horse would not be the thing to do it. The Battersbys had horses, and Blanche was known to be very fond of Darren. He was a gentle, silent lad, who walked around with his head down, and worked solidly when he was in their garden.
    Perhaps some of the roughs at the races had thought it would be a joke to have a go at Darren. He would be an easy target. But he was more likely to just run home than retreat into hiding.
    Lois turned into the Battersbys’ drive and pulled up alongside the Colonel’s Range Rover. Everything about the Colonel was threatening, thought Lois. His huge great horses, hisdominating vehicle looming over her, his puce face when in a rage, and his leader-of-men stuff.
    Blanche answered the door. “Come in, Mrs. Meade, please. Nice of you to come round,” she said pleasantly.
    “Best thing
you
could do,” said the Colonel, appearing out of his study and addressing Lois, “is mind your own business. The police have it in hand, and will soon turn up the silly idiot. Frightened of his own shadow, that one. Now, Blanche, if you’re ready, we have an appointment.”
    “Do we?” Blanche turned to him in surprise. “I’d like to have a chat with Mrs. Meade just now.”
    “Dentist,” said the Colonel. “He can fit us in straight away.”
    “But I don’t need—”
    “Don’t stand there wasting time, Blanche. We must be off now. I’ll see you out, Mrs. Meade,” he said, walking to the door and holding it open.
    Lois had no alternative but to leave. As she brushed by Blanche to cross the wide hallway, a whisper reached her ear. “Come this afternoon. He’s out.”
    “Leave it to me, Mrs. Meade,” the Colonel said, as she stepped out into the courtyard. “I shall make sure the police find the lad. They’ll try a bit harder than they have with my tack, I expect. Don’t forget, now, it’s nothing to do with you.”
    “Bollocks to you,” said Lois under her breath. She revved up the van and screeched out of the yard. She was very angry, and decided to take the long way home to give herself time to cool down. She’d get no sympathy from Derek or Gran, who would probably think the same as the Colonel.
    As she left the outskirts of Waltonby village, she drove slowly, mindful of women on horseback. The way she felt, she would really have liked to drive fast with headlights flashing. But she didn’t, and as she came to a straight stretch of road, she kept a curb on her speed. Besides, she could see a figure in the distance, walking towards her in the middle of the road.

S IXTEEN

    D ARREN SAW HER COMING. A T LEAST, HE SAW A CAR COMING, and stood stock still in the middle of the road. Car, not horse. Might be a horse behind it. Might be that man in the car. Better go away. Better run. Another place to hide.
    He darted to the side of the road, then sped back a few yards to where he’d noticed a field gate. He was over it in seconds and running clumsily, but with the speed of panic, across the field and into a spinney where the trees were planted far apart and light came through to the ground below. Over brambles and fallen saplings he dashed, until he came to the other side of the spinney. He was out of breath now, and had a pain in his side. Then he saw a figure pulling a trolley. Darren froze, and stared. The man took a stick out of the trolley, and hit a small white ball into the air.
    Darren did not wait to see where it landed. He was off again, and disappeared into a thicket where the fairway met the spinney. He crouched down, hidden now from sight, and shut his eyes. He would count, to make the time go by. One two three, one two three, one two three, one two three . . . The repetition calmed him down, and he began to hiss, a breathy whistle, as if soothing a crying baby. Shh, shh, shh,