The shopkeeper suddenly seized my arm and hissed, “Runnow!”
“I cant take it anymore!” Antonias voice trembled with fury. “Three years, Vera, three years Ive listened to that drunkard wailing beneath my window! The constable just shrugs. Says nothing can be done unless he actually hurts someone!”
“Youre exaggerating,” Vera adjusted her glasses with a pitying sigh. “Poor Edwards been lost since his wife passed. Hes just a broken man.”
“Broken?” Antonia threw her hands up. “And what of the rest of us? My Tessas in Manchester, struggling alone with two children, your blood pressures through the roofbut do we drink? Do we howl at three in the morning?”
Sophia, silent until now, exhaled heavily. Every gathering at their weathered garden bench in the crumbling housing estate circled back to Edwards antics. Todays tea was no exception.
“Lets talk of something else,” she offered, pouring steaming Earl Grey. “Lovely weather, isnt it? First proper warm day of spring.”
“Quite right,” Vera nodded, accepting her cup. “Always the voice of reason, Sophia. Hows young Peter getting on?”
“Same as ever,” Sophia smiled. “Called yesterday from Londonsome big project wrapping up. Promises to visit for the bank holiday.”
“Thats something,” Antonia muttered, marginally soothed. “You shouldnt be alone so much at your age. All those hours in that musty library…”
“Oh hush,” Sophia waved her off. “Sixty-two isnt ancient. Besides, I love my library. And solitude? Well.” Her gaze drifted. “Fifteen years since Jeremy passed. One adapts.”
The conversation meanderedrising prices, aching joints, grandchildrens school plays. As the teapot emptied, Sophia checked her watch.
“GoodnessI must pop to The Glow-worm before supper. Margaret said theyve decent porridge oats in, same price as last month.”
“Do hurry back,” Vera fretted. “Its not safe at dusk lately. That constable mentioned some gang prowling about.”
“Dont scare her,” Antonia chided. “Sophias got sense. Wont go wandering in the dark.”
After farewells, Sophia hurried home to change. Their estate, all peeling balconies and shadowy alleys, wasnt genteelbut in daylight, with The Glow-worm just five minutes away, what was there to fear?
Swapping slippers for sensible shoes, she grabbed her wheeled shopping bag. Outside, weak sunlight gilded the first daffodils. *Lilacs soon*, she thought, breathing deepthat scent always took her back to childhood.
The Glow-worm was the old-fashioned sort, where the till ladies knew your name. Sophia visited nearly dailymilk one day, biscuits the next.
The bell tinkled as she entered. Only two customers: an elderly man at the meats counter and a young mum in the sweets aisle.
“Afternoon, Margaret,” Sophia greeted the plump, fifty-something shopkeeper. “Any of those oats left? Heard theyre good this batch.”
“Hello, dear! Bottom shelf, third aislejust stocked this morning.”
Nodding, Sophia found the tidy packets, priced fairly. She dropped two in her basket, then browsed the tinned goodsmaybe sardines? Peter always liked those.
Then the air shifted. Margaret, mid-chatter with the old man, fell abruptly silent. Her face paled; her eyes darted.
The bell jingled again. Two men enteredthe first tall and gaunt, cap pulled low; the second shorter, with a face like cold porridge. He stationed himself by the door.
Sophia barely noticed. Until Margaret materialized beside her, clutching her wrist with icy fingers.
“Find everything alright?” she boomed unnaturally, then whispered directly into Sophias ear: “Run. Stockroomout the back. Those men robbed the Spar on Elm Road yesterday. Two women hospitalised.”
Sophia froze. *Nonsense. Broad daylight? In The Glow-worm?* But Margarets terror was unmistakable.
“No thank you,” Sophia replied loudly, then softer: “What about you? The others?”
“Pressed the alarm,” Margaret breathed. “But the police… Go. The mum and childtheyll be fine. *Move!*”
With a nudge toward the “Staff Only” door, Margaret turned away. Heart hammering, Sophia slipped through unseen.
The stockroom was cramped, stacked with crates. She paused, gasping. *Could this be a mistake?* Yet instinct screamed: *Go!*
Edging past boxes, she reached a peeling back door. It stuckthen screeched open, releasing her into a dingy yard. The cold air stunned her.
What now? Home? Too visible. Her mobile was in her abandoned bag. Then she rememberedthe police kiosk, two streets over. Constable Davies would be there.
Half-running, she rehearsed explanations: *Will he believe me? Think Ive gone batty?*
At the kiosk, she nearly collided with Davies himselfa heavyset man locking up.
“Constable! The Glow-wormrobbers! Margaret hit the alarm, but”
Davies face hardened. “When?”
“Just now! Margaret helped me escape. Two menone tall with a cap, the other younger, dead-eyed.”
Davies snatched his radio. “All units, Code Blue! Armed robbery in progress, The Glow-worm, Factory Lane. Immediate backup required!”
To Sophia: “Wait here. *Dont move.*”
Left trembling on the bench, she replayed the soundsthat *pop*. A gunshot? *Margaret. The mum. The old man.*
Sirens wailed. Two squad cars raced past. Time oozed like treacle.
Finally, Davies returned, grim but calmer.
“Everyones fine. Got em bothone inside, the other down the alley. Pistol was just gas, fired at the ceiling. Margaret kept her head. You did right coming straight here.”
“Margaretshes unhurt?”
“Shaken. Giving statements now. Ahyour bag.” He handed over her wheeled trolley.
Everything was therepurse, keys, phone.
Back at the kiosk, Sophia recounted everything: the men, Margarets warning, her escape. Speaking steadied her.
“Who *were* they?” she asked afterwards.
“Wanted for three shop robberies this week,” Davies said. “Bold as brass, daytime jobs. Till money, customers valuables. Last time, a shopgirl fought backbroken cheekbone.”
“Good Lord,” Sophia murmured. “And I thought our town was quiet.”
“Times change,” Davies sighed. “But todaythanks to you and Margarettheyll be locked up proper.”
He walked her home. At the flats, Antonia accosted them:
“Sophia! Saw the policewhat happened?”
“All sorted,” Davies said. “Nabbed some thieves. Your neighbour heres a proper heroine.”
“Rubbish,” Sophia demurred. “Margarets the brave one. Without her…”
Inside, she brewed strong tea, dosed with valerian. The day felt surrealbookish, retired Sophia, caught in a crime drama!
When Peter called that evening, she said nothing of it. But when he mentioned the bank holiday, she surprised herself:
“Could you visit? Ive been… thinking. Too much solitude isnt healthy.”
“Course, Mum,” he said, puzzled. “You alright? You sound different.”
“Just realising something,” she smiled, watching dusk paint the rooftops gold. “Lifes unpredictable, love. You pop out for oatsand who knows what happens next?”
Next morning, The Glow-worm was business as usualjust with a new security guard.
Margaret rushed from behind the counter, embracing her.
“Thank God! Who knows how itd have ended if”
“*You* saved *us*,” Sophia insisted.
“Pfft. Did what anyone would.” Margaret grinned. “Those oats still need paying for. Fancy em?”
“I do,” Sophia laughed. “And something nice for tea. Peters visiting soon.”
Life settled back into its rhythmyet something had shifted. Maybe it was newfound steel in Sophias spine. Or the understanding that even the blandest day could fracture with a whisper: *Runnow.*
Or perhaps just the quiet knowledge that routinethe library, the Glow-worm, the humming kettlewasnt monotony, but a gift. One shed cherish all the more.
