7 Sorrow on Sunday Read Online Free PDF

haven’t found it yet, but its owner will.”
    After that, Mrs. Nimmo let rip a string of expletives,some of which even the experienced policeman hadn’t heard. She calmed down slowly, and protested that she would be perfectly all right. “I don’t need no friend wi’ me,” she said firmly. “I ain’t got any friends, anyway. Just tell me what you want me to do. We’ve always known ’ow to cope with bad news. Get on with it, then.” She was still shaking, but refused a cup of tea.
    He stood up, and said that if she was sure she would be all right he’d better be getting back to the station. He’d be in touch very soon. Mrs. Nimmo followed him, and out of earshot, she muttered to herself, “I know who’s behind this, no mistake. He’s bin asking for it, and now he’ll get it, good and proper.”
    *   *   *
    H AYDN N IMMO HAD BEEN TROUBLE SINCE HE WAS born. Arriving late, he was a ten-pounder and nearly split his mother in half. He was a fractious baby, and an unwilling schoolboy, drifting through a series of schools, playing truant and learning as little as possible. Finally, when all the well-meaning helpers had washed their hands of him, he left school and as soon as he could—in fact, before he legally could—he drove any vehicle available to him and his dodgy friends. Whenever there was a job that needed a quick getaway, Haydn was the man. He loved driving, and had passed his driving test first time with flying colours, which was not surprising considering his several years of experience.
    “It was the one thing ’e was good at,” Mrs. Nimmo croaked to her sister Evelyn, who had several hours later heard the news through the grapevine and had come hurrying round to Sebastopol Street.
    “He was a good boy,” she replied, “on the whole. Fancy him dying in a road smash. None of us can believe it. He was so good with cars.”
    “Us” applied to the family Mrs. Nimmo had omitted to mention to the policeman. Generations of Nimmos had lived by their wits, mostly just the wrong side of the law. They were well known to the police, but each maintainedan unwritten family rule that they never talked about each other. When Haydn’s father had drowned in a gravel pit the other side of Long Farnden, though in broad daylight and with—for once—no trace of alcohol in his blood, the family had shaken their heads and remained mute. “Must’ve missed his footin’,” was the most they would say.
    The two sisters were silent for a few minutes. Then Mrs. Nimmo began to fill the kettle. “Cup o’ tea, Evie?”
    Evelyn shook her head quickly. “I must be going, Dot,” she said, glancing at the pile of dirty dishes in the sink. “You know where we are if you need any help.” She paused. “O’ course,” she added, “we all know it couldn’t have been an accident, don’t we?”
    After she had left, Dot Nimmo sat down heavily on the wobbling stool. Apart from a whine from next door’s dog, the house was heavy with a silence that would not be broken by Haydn bouncing through the door, full of news of his day to tell his mother. “Never again,” she whispered to herself. She put her head down on her grubby hands and wept for a long time.

S EVEN

    L OIS HAD EXPECTED TO SEE AN ACCOUNT OF THE ACCIDENT in the local paper the next morning, but there was nothing. Maybe it had happened too late for the early edition.
    “Did you hear about the smash Dad saw yesterday?” she said to Josie, who was up on steps stacking the high shelves in the shop.
    “I’m too busy for gossip this morning,” Josie said. She had had a row with Rob, and was not feeling sociable.
    “Oops!” said Lois. “Well, in that case, do you think I could have a loaf and a pot of raspberry jam? If you’ve got time, that is.”
    Josie laughed in spite of herself, and put the food into her mother’s basket. “Here you are, and a pot of apricot that’s just beyond its sell-by date. Gran’ll eat it. The older the better, as far