It was a quiet afternoon in the little market town of Wellingford when the shopgirl suddenly seized my wrist and whispered, «Runnow, quickly!»
«I can’t bear it any longer!» hissed Edna Whitcombe, her voice trembling with indignation. «Three years, Margaret, three years I’ve listened to that drunken fool howling outside my window! And what does Constable Harris do? Nothing! Says he cant act unless the wretch actually harms someone!»
«Now, Edna, youre exaggerating,» Margaret Spencer adjusted her spectacles and gave her neighbour a sympathetic look. «Poor Henry Wilcox is just a lost soul. He hasnt been the same since his wife passed.»
«Lost soul?» Edna threw up her hands. «And what are we, then? My daughter Claras struggling to raise two little ones alone in Coventry, youve your bad knees to mindyet neither of us drowns our sorrows in gin or bellows like a madman at all hours!»
Sarah Wilson, who had been listening in silence, sighed deeply. Every gathering of the ladies in the garden of their weathered old terrace house inevitably turned to the misadventures of Henry Wilcox. Todays tea was no exception.
«Lets talk of something else,» she suggested, pouring the tea. «Isnt the weather lovely? First proper warm day of spring.»
«Quite right,» agreed Margaret, accepting her cup gratefully. «You always were the sensible one, Sarah. Have you heard from young George lately?»
«Oh, the same as ever,» Sarah smiled. «Called yesterday from Londonsaid hes finishing some important project. Promised to visit for the bank holiday.»
«Thats good,» Edna nodded, somewhat soothed. «You shouldnt be on your own so much at your age. And all that dust at the library cant be good for you…»
«Now, Edna,» Sarah waved a hand. «Sixty-two isnt so very old. Besides, I love that libraryits my life. And as for being alone…» She gazed into the distance. «Fifteen years since Arthur passed. One grows accustomed.»
The conversation drifted to gentler topicsrising prices, ailments, children, and grandchildren. When the teapot ran dry, Sarah glanced at her watch.
«Oh dear, I must dash! I wanted to pop into the Lamplight before supper. Mrs. Higgins said theyve proper oats in, still at the old price.»
«Do go,» Margaret encouraged. «Just dont lingerits not safe round here after dark. Constable mentioned some gang causing trouble lately.»
«Dont frighten her,» Edna cut in. «Our Sarahs got senseshe wont go wandering about at night.»
After bidding her friends farewell, Sarah went home to change. Wellingford wasnt the safest placean old market town on the outskirts, with its dimly lit lanes and rows of tired terracesbut in broad daylight, there was little to fear. The Lamplight was only five minutes walk away.
Changed into sturdier shoes and armed with her shopping trolley, Sarah stepped out. The spring sun warmed her face; the first green shoots peeked timidly from the gardens. «The lilacs will be out soon,» she thought, recalling how shed loved their scent as a girl.
The Lamplight was the sort of old-fashioned grocers where the shopkeepers knew every customer by name. Sarah visited nearly every day after work for bread, milk, or whatever else she needed.
The bell tinkled as she entered. The shop was quietjust an elderly gentleman at the counter and a young mother with a child eyeing the sweets.
«Afternoon, Mrs. Cartwright,» Sarah greeted the plump, cheerful shopkeeper. «Heard youve oats in? The ladies said theyre good this batch.»
«Afternoon, Mrs. Wilson!» Mrs. Cartwright beamed. «Aye, just unpacked them. Bottom shelf, third aisle.»
Sarah nodded and made her way over. Sure enough, neat bags of oats sat at a fair price. She took two, then paused to browse further.
As she wandered the aisles, something shifted in the air. Mrs. Cartwrightalways so chattyhad fallen abruptly silent mid-sentence with the elderly customer. Her face had gone pale.
The bell jingled again. Two men enteredthe first tall and wiry, his cap pulled low; the second shorter, with a face like stone, stationing himself by the door.
Sarah paid them little mind. Shoppers came and went. She studied the tinned goods, debating whether to get the pilchardsGeorge had always liked those.
Then she felt someone far too close. Turning, she found Mrs. Cartwright beside her, white as a sheet.
«Find everything alright?» the shopkeeper asked loudlythen seized Sarahs wrist and hissed in her ear, «Run. Through the stockroomout the back. These two robbed the shop on Mill Lane yesterday. Two women ended up in hospital.»
Sarah froze. Broad daylight? In their quiet little Lamplight? But the terror in Mrs. Cartwrights eyes was real.
«Just browsing, thank you,» Sarah replied evenly, then whispered, «What about you? The others?»
«Hit the alarm,» came the strained reply. «But the policell take ages. Gotheyve not seen you. The mother and child should be safe. Go!»
With that, she nudged Sarah toward the staff door.
Heart pounding, Sarah slipped through unnoticed. The stockroom was cramped, stacked high with crates. For a mad moment, she wondered if it were all a mistakebut instinct screamed otherwise.
She edged toward the peeling back door. A loud bang rang outfollowed by a scream. Her hands shook, but she kept moving. The door groaned as she forced it open.
Fresh air hit her face. Now what? Home? But what if they saw her? Call the police? Her phone was in her trolleystill by the counter.
Then she remembered: Constable Harriss post was just two streets over.
She hurried, nearly running. What would she say? Would he believe her?
At the station door, she collided with the constable himselfa heavyset man with weary eyes, locking up.
«Constable!» she gasped. «The Lamplightrobbers! Mrs. Cartwright hit the alarm, but»
His face hardened. «When?»
«Just now! She got me out the back. Two menone tall in a cap, the other younger, odd-looking.»
Harris snatched his radio. «All units, code three! Armed robbery at Lamplight Grocers, Church Street. Immediate response required!»
Then to Sarah: «Wait here.»
Left alone, she sank onto the bench. Her legs wouldnt stop shaking. That banghad it been a gun? What of Mrs. Cartwright? The mother? The old man?
Sirens wailed. One car, then another sped past. Sarah waited, arms wrapped tight around herself.
At last, Harris returned, grim but calm.
«Well?» she demanded. «Are they?»
«All safe,» he assured her. «Got em bothone in the shop, the other down the alley. Your trolleys insideeverythings there.»
«And the bang I heard?»
«Gas pistol,» he said. «Fired at the ceiling to scare folks. Mrs. Cartwright kept her head. So did youcoming straight here was the right move.»
At the station, Sarah gave her statement. The men, it turned out, had robbed two other shops that weekbold as brass in daylight. The last shopgirl whod resisted had been struck in the head.
«Good Lord,» Sarah murmured. «And I thought Wellingford was peaceful.»
«Times change,» Harris sighed. «But thanks to you and Mrs. Cartwright, this lot wont trouble anyone again.»
He walked her home, where a flustered Edna accosted them: «Sarah! Saw the police racing to the Lamplightwhat happened?»
«Alls well,» Harris said. «Robbers caught, no one hurt. And Mrs. Wilson here helped nab them.»
«Hardly,» Sarah demurred. «Mrs. Cartwrights the brave one. If not for her…»
At home, with strong tea and a drop of brandy, Sarah finally relaxed. The days events felt unrealas if theyd happened to someone else. A librarian, a widow, a mothercaught in a crime drama!
When George called that evening, she said nothing of itno need to worry him. But when he mentioned the bank holiday, she surprised herself:
«George… do come. Its been too long. AndI think I ought to see more folk. Just work, home, the shops… its no way to live.»
«Course Ill come,» he said, puzzled. «Butare you alright? You sound different.»
«Just realising something,» she smiled, gazing at the twilight outside. «Lifes unpredictable, George. You never know whats round the corner. Today youre fetching oatstomorrow, anything could happen.»
Next morning, Sarah returned to the Lamplight. Business as usualjust a new guard by the till.
Mrs. Cartwright rushed out to hug her. «Thank you! Who knows how it mightve ended if you hadnt»
«Nonsense,» Sarah said warmly. «You saved us all.»
«Oh, I just did what anyone would,» the shopkeeper brushed it off. «Your oats never got paid for, by the way. Still want them?»
«I do,» Sarah smiled. «And something nice for tea. My sons coming for the holiday.»
Life settled back into its rhythmyet something had shifted. Perhaps it was newfound confidence. Or the understanding that even an ordinary day could turn extraordinary. Or simply knowing how precious each quiet moment wasuntil the next whisper of, «Runnow, quickly!» changed everything again.
