7 Sorrow on Sunday by Ann Purser Page B

shh . . .
    It was this sound that Lois heard as she went quickly through the spinney. She stopped and listened. That was no animal or bird. She moved as quietly as she could towards the sound. Then there was a loud cry from the golf course. “Fore!” A man’s voice, which carried through the trees.The hissing stopped, and Lois saw a movement in the thicket. It was Darren Smith, and he could not find his way out through the thorns.
    By the time she reached him, his hands and arms were bleeding, and his jeans were torn in a couple of places. Tears were streaming down his cheeks, and Lois took him by the hand and led him out into a clearing. Then she put her arms around him and hugged him tight. “It’s all right, Darren,” she crooned. “You’re safe now, safe with Lois. We’ll go back home, shall we? Take you back to Mum? She’ll make you a nice cup of tea, and you can tell her about your adventure . . .”
    In this way, she propelled him forward gently and eventually they reached her van, which was parked by the field gate. Darren backed away when she opened the door, but she persuaded him quietly to get inside, and then shut the door. In the driving seat, she pressed the button to lock all the doors. It would be a disaster if Darren tried to jump out whilst they were moving.
    On the way back to Waltonby, she kept up a monologue. She sensed that it didn’t much matter what she said, as long as she kept talking. She was tempted to tell him about the horse riders she had met, just to see his reaction, but decided that it would be cruel, and her first duty was to take the poor lad home to his mother.
    Wycherley Estate, just off Waltonby’s main street, had been built as council houses, but many were now privately owned. Lois wondered how she would tell which was Darren’s house, until she saw a familiar car parked. It was Cowgill’s, and he was standing at the gate, his hand on Mrs. Smith’s shoulder. Lois pulled up slowly, and stopped. Both of them turned to look at her, and then Mrs. Smith’s hand went to her mouth, and she swayed. Lois got out of the car fast.
    “He’s fine, Mrs. Smith!” she called. “Just hungry and thirsty. Looking forward to a nice cup of tea!”
    Cowgill pushed open the gate and put his arm around Darren’s mum. He led her forward, and Lois opened the passenger door and waited.
    “Mum,” Darren said, and struggled out. Mrs. Smith moved towards him, and he was safe at last.
    *   *   *
    A FTER THEY WERE SETTLED INSIDE THE HOUSE, AND Cowgill had arranged to call the next day to talk to them, he and Lois walked down the narrow garden path. A small crowd had gathered outside, and Lois was about to send them packing, when Cowgill put his hand on her arm. “My job, Lois,” he said, and in a steady, authoritative voice advised them to go home. “The Smiths will need your support,” he said, “but not until tomorrow.” The neighbours dispersed, shepherding the staring children across the square of grass and into their own homes.
    “Will the Smiths be all right? Shouldn’t Darren see a doctor?” said Lois anxiously.
    “All taken care of,” Cowgill said. “I’d been preparing Mrs. Smith for what she should do when he turned up,” he added.
    “And if he didn’t turn up?”
    “That too,” said Cowgill. “Now, Lois, I’m afraid I have to ask you to give me an account of how you found him. And also, I fear, I have to ask you why you didn’t tell me you were on his trail?”
    “I wasn’t. I just saw him, in the middle of the road, on my way home from Waltonby.”
    “I’d like you to follow me to the station, please. Then we can get down what you remember, while it is fresh in your mind.” He saw her expression, and added hastily, “That is, if you can manage it right now? Can you ring Derek . . . or Gran?” Before she could reply, he hopped into his car and started the engine.
    “How kind of you, Inspector Cowgill,” Lois muttered to herself, “to