turned into the High Street, her heart stopped. Halfway down the street, outside her house, she could see a car parked. It was chequered blue and yellow: a police car.
“Oh my God, the kids!” she yelled, and accelerated. Hardly knowing what she did, she rushed into the house, leaving the engine running and the shopping spilling out of the open car door. “Mum!” she screamed. “Mum! Where are you!”
Gran appeared in the kitchen and took her arm. “I’m here, ducky,” she said. “And so are all the kids, all fine.”
“But the police…”
“Sit down, Lois,” Gran said, gently pushing her into a chair. “They’ve come to tell us there’s been an accident. It’s Derek…”
Lois shot to her feet. “Where? What’s happened? Is he…?”
Gran shook her head. “No, he’s not. But he’s very badly hurt, and in the hospital. Now, you’d better have a word with the policeman, if you can manage it.”
It was Keith Simpson, of course, and he had no hesitation in putting his arms round Lois and giving her an unofficial hug. “It’s OK,” he said. “Come on, love, sit down and we’ll have a little chat. Then I’ll take you to see Derek.”
After a minute or two, Lois was composed enough to ask what happened. “The Waltonby crossroads,” he said. “Derek had finished the job at the pub and left early.”
“Whose fault…who hit him?”
“We don’t know yet,” said Keith Simpson. “Hit and run, the bastard. But we’ll get him, don’t you worry. There was a witness…woman on a bike…said it was a big black car, with them smoky windows, so she couldn’t see the driver.”
Lois was deathly white. “Oh no,” she said, “oh my God, not my Derek…”
? Terror on Tuesday ?
Twenty-Nine
Keith Simpson had a hard time persuading Lois that it would be foolish of her to drive to the hospital by herself. She had insisted that she would be perfectly all right, that she could then stay as long as she wanted, and be no further trouble to him. He said she was in no fit state to drive, whatever she might think, and if she didn’t want him to wait, then she could ring for a taxi to take her back home.
“Taxi?” said Lois sharply. “We’re not made of money. No, I’ll get a bus. Or ring for someone to come and get me. Hazel would come,” she added, thinking quickly of likely helpers.
Derek was in intensive care. A senior nurse took over from Keith Simpson, and held on to Lois’s arm as she ushered her in to see him. “Don’t be alarmed at all the paraphernalia,” she had warned, but Lois felt a jolt of panic when she saw him surrounded by tubes and plastic bottles and dripping blood. But it was his face that was the most shocking. That’s not my Derek! was Lois’s first thought, but then she saw that it was. The familiar face, normally so full of colour and life, was paper white. His eyes were closed, and there were bandages everywhere. She choked, and felt the nurse’s hand take hers. “Sit down here for a while.” The calm voice was comforting, and Lois did as she was told.
“Is he asleep…or unconscious?” she whispered.
The nurse smiled. “He’s stable,” she said. “We shall know more later, when he is able to speak to us. It will take time, Mrs Meade, and we must be patient.” Now Lois noticed the heart monitor, with its regular bleeps. She couldn’t bear to look at it, in case it stopped or quickened. “You can touch his hand,” said the nurse, and Lois reached out, resting her hand as lightly as she could on top of Derek’s. It was warm and rough, and so tangible a part of the Derek she loved so much that she could not stop the tears. The nurse patted her shoulder. “A couple of minutes more, and then I should leave him to rest,” she said to the weeping Lois. “It is a shock, my dear,” she added, “but next time you come, you’ll be a great help to him, I’m sure.”
By the time Lois left the hospital and stood in the car park dialling Hazel Reading on her mobile, she had pulled herself together. “Hazel? It’s Lois. I’m at the hospital, and I need a lift home.”
She did not need to say more, as Hazel answered without questions, “I’m on me way, Mrs M. I’ll pick you up outside. See you soon.”
It was twenty or so minutes before Hazel would be in Tresham, and so Lois walked slowly across to where ambulances stood in a row, their drivers chatting quietly. She went up to one at random. “Do you know which one of you picked up my husband? Road accident – Waltonby crossroads – Derek Meade?”
The driver shook his head. “Not me,” he said. “Ask Jim over there.”
“Yeah, it was me,” the driver said. “Sorry, me duck. He was in a nasty mess. But they reckon he’ll be OK. You all right?”
Lois nodded. “Was there anybody else involved?” she said.
“Nobody there but the police by the time we arrived. Mind you,” the driver added, “I think there was a witness. Woman on a bike. The police were talking to her. I think my mate knew who she was.”
“That’s right,” said one of the others. “Lives in Waltonby, friend of my sister. She and her bloke run the pub. Not married, but as good as.”
“Oh, right,” said Lois. She knew her, then. And Derek had often spoken of her as being a nice enough woman, good at the job. “Thanks a lot,” she said to the drivers, and walked across to the bench by the entrance to wait for Hazel. She sat down and closed her eyes, trying to concentrate. She would get those bastards if it was the last thing she did.
“Lois?” It was a familiar voice, a man’s voice. “Are you all right?” It was Hunter Cowgill, looking exceedingly worried.
“If anybody asks me that again, I shall bash them,” Lois replied, reduced to childish threats. She was so tired, she couldn’t think, couldn’t work out what Cowgill was doing in front of her asking stupid questions. “I’m waiting for Hazel,” she said.
“I know,” he replied. “And here she is.”
Hazel’s car pulled up beside Cowgill, and she hopped out quickly. “Mrs M?” she said, “are you…?”
“Don’t ask,” said Cowgill grimly. “She’ll bash you. Just take her home and make sure Gran’s there to look after her. I’ll talk to you later, Hazel. Make sure you take care of her, won’t you?” He leaned over the seated Lois and touched her shoulder. “Sorry, love,” he said. “We’ll get ‘em.” And he walked away to his car, and was gone.
“Did you ring Cowgill?” said Lois, as they drove out of Tresham.
Hazel nodded, her eyes fixed on the road ahead. “I thought it best,” she said. “Hope you’re not cross.”
“Then you know about…?”
Hazel nodded again. “Most of it,” she said. “There’s more to tell, but it can wait. Got to get Derek better first.” They drove on in silence then, and Lois looked blankly out of the windows, seeing nothing.
“Here we are, then,” Hazel said, driving into the Meades’ entrance. Gran was standing watching out for her, and by the time the car stopped, she was at Lois’s door and helping her out.
“Come on, duckie,” she said. “Tea’s ready, and the kids are waiting. They wouldn’t start before you came home. Brave face, now, Lois. That’s my girl.”
¦
“She was amazing, Mum,” said Hazel to Bridie. “Walked into that kitchen, smiled at the kids, told Jamie off for having dirty hands at the table, and ate her entire plateful of tea.”
“Doesn’t surprise me,” said Bridie. “Lois was always the strong one. God help them that done that to Derek.”
“They’re beyond that,” said Hazel flatly. “Only the devil can help them now.”
? Terror on Tuesday ?
Thirty
