Better Days will Come. Pam Weaver
changing the route. If we had gone the usual way, they’d have got a lot more.’
Constable Higgins frowned. ‘How d’you mean?’
‘I usually go to the end of road and walk up to Station Approach and back by Teville Gate and then I do Tarring Road,’ Grace explained. ‘Charlie persuaded me to go the other way round.’
‘Why did you do that, sir?’ asked Constable Higgins accusingly.
‘I thought she should vary the route,’ Charlie shrugged. ‘For safety’s sake.’
‘Good job you did,’ said Grace. ‘I heard someone shout just before the robber pushed me down.’
‘Mr Warren,’ said Constable Higgins. ‘He’s only just moved into the shop on the corner. He’s already made a statement.’
‘I think I owe my life to him,’ said Grace. ‘I’m sure that man would have kicked me senseless if Mr Warren hadn’t come running.’
‘How much money are we talking about?’ said the constable.
‘About £50,’ said Grace. ‘I only had a few houses to go to. Mrs Oakley, the Parsons, Miss Reeves, Mrs Clements and Mary Minty. Between them they had saved about £7 each through the year. I’d have to look in the books to know exactly how much.’
‘That’s a lot of money,’ said Constable Higgins giving her a disapproving stare.
‘I know,’ Grace sighed.
The constable pursed his lips. ‘You’d be well advised to get everybody to come to you next time, Missus.’
‘There won’t be a next time,’ said Grace bitterly. She leaned forward on the table and laid her head onto her arms.
‘I think my mum needs to get to bed,’ said Rita.
There was a shuffling of chairs and the men got up to go. By the time Uncle Charlie had left, Grace was crying.
‘Does it really hurt that bad, Mum?’
‘No, it’s not that,’ said her mother. ‘It’s the money. I’ve let all those poor people down.’
‘I’m sure they’ll understand, Mum.’
‘They need that money, Rita,’ said Grace. ‘Whether they understand or not isn’t the problem. I’ll have to pay it all back. Dear Lord above, where am I going to get another £50 to replace it?’
Eight
Grace woke with a sore head. She lay for a while going over the events of the previous night. She should have waited and gone on the rounds in daylight but she hadn’t wanted the money in the house overnight. The post office was open on Saturday morning so why hadn’t she drawn the money first thing and done the round in the afternoon? And it would have been far more sensible to do what Constable Higgins had suggested and have everyone come to her. She could see now what a fool she had been.
She ran her tongue over her bottom lip. It felt funny. She climbed out of bed. The room was so cold she could see her own breath. She pulled the eiderdown off the bed and around her shoulders and looked at herself in the dressing table mirror. What a sight. Her right eye was as black as the ace of spades. Her forehead was like an artist’s paint palette, a mixture of red graze and blue bruise with a hint of green and purple, although the egg-sized swelling had gone down. She had a graze at the corner of her mouth and her bottom lip, the cause of her discomfort, was slightly swollen. She looked as if she’d done ten rounds with Bruce Woodcock, the British and Empire heavyweight boxing champion. When she touched her forehead, it hurt like hell.
Grace lowered herself onto the bed again and pulled the old eiderdown tight around her shoulders. Boy, was she stiff. She was supposed to go to the police station to make a proper statement but it was the last thing she wanted to do. Constable Higgins had been confident that they would catch the thief but they didn’t hold out much hope of getting the money back. ‘He’ll have put most of it down his neck long before we catch up with him,’ Higgins said bleakly.
Grace sighed. She would have to go round and see everyone, explain and apologise. She’d promise that no matter how long it took, they would get their money back … not this Christmas but maybe in time for next. She shivered with cold but she wasn’t ready to face the world just yet so she climbed back into bed and tried to work out how much money she could lay her hands on.
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