Only a few feet away from him, on a bench by the wall of the pub, sat Ross, yet another glass of beer in his hand. His eyelids threatened to close, and he forced himself awake. He had come here with a purpose, and although he had seen nothing of Jack Hickson, he must not let himself give up. He shook his head to clear it, and then he saw him. The bugger had got a woman’s wig on! But his profile was unmistakeable. That nose could not belong to anyone else, and certainly not to a woman.
Now wide awake, Ross felt in his pocket. The knife was safely there, and he slid it out of its sheath with trembling fingers, keeping it concealed. He stood up. His plan was working out, and he slowly slipped through the crush of people, towards the front row of watchers, where his quarry stood. He knew exactly what he would do. As the soap boxes neared the finishing line, there would be the usual roaring of voices, and this would give him cover whilst he worked his way to stand next to Jack. He wanted his enemy to know who was about to settle the score, and then, before Jack could move in the dense crowd, he would ram the knife home. In the melee sure to follow, he would scarper as only he knew how.
“They’re off,” shouted the voice on the loud-hailer, and all eyes turned to the track, waiting for the finalists to appear.
FIFTY-EIGHT
DEREK STOOD BY THE FINISHING LINE, WATCHING CAREFULLY to make sure the track was clear. Several of the straw bales had been knocked out of place by the swelling crowds, but were not a serious obstruction. In any case, it was too late now to do anything about it. The cheering was coming down from the start like a tidal wave. Then they were in sight, and Derek frowned. There were only two boxes on the track. The others must have failed soon after the start. So now it was just Jam & Jerusalem desperately trying to edge past Rebellion.
“Age versus youth,” said Kate Adstone at his elbow, and Derek smiled. “Come on, Jack!” he yelled, and then remembered he was supposed to be impartial. Ah, well, in this tumult nobody would have heard him.
When the two were halfway to the finish, Derek saw out of the corner of his eye a movement in the front row of watchers. Several turned angrily to see who was causing a disturbance, and a straw bale was pushed at an angle, leaving a gap between spectators and advancing soap boxes.
“Straighten that bale!” he shouted at the top of his voice, but nobody heard. The soap boxes were close now, both losing speed as the slope flattened out to the finish.
JACK JR. WAS HOLDING HIS BREATH. NEARLY THERE! HE HAD never felt so powerful, so elated. This’ll show ’em!
Then, as his soap box, still in the lead, slowed down to a gentle roll, he saw a face in the crowd that changed everything. It was his enemy, and in a split second Jack saw him rip off a wig from the person next to him, and then he knew them both. It was the man who was his enemy, and the one now without the wig he knew at once was his father.
And all in that split second he saw a knife flash and he turned his wonderful, winning soap box through the gap in the bales into the crowd, straight at his enemy, and scored a direct hit with the sharp nose cone of Rebellion.
FIFTY-NINE
MRS. T-J CRUISED TO THE FINISH, AWARE THAT FOR SOME extraordinary reason, Rebellion had crashed into the barrier. She stepped out of Jam & Jerusalem and accepted Derek’s congratulations, then turned immediately to where she had seen Jack Jr. leave the track. As she walked over, she realised there was no applause, nor was the WI theme tune playing, and nobody sang. In fact, it was eerily quiet.
“What’s going on here?” she said authoritatively, but John Thornbull raised his arms sideways, banning her approach. “Best stay where you are, Mrs. Tollervey-Jones,” he said. “We’re trying to clear a space.”
Then two policemen emerged from the crowd, and in no time had moved curious onlookers out of the way. An ambulance, already on duty in the village in case of need, came screaming down the track, and Mrs. T-J saw to her horror that three blanket-wrapped figures were then loaded on to stretchers and lifted quickly inside. The silence continued until the ambulance had left the village, and then a different kind of noise began. This time it was full of anxious voices and crying children. Some adults were crying unashamedly, too.
“Attention, please,” said a voice over the loudspeakers. “There has unfortunately been an accident on the track, but those involved have been taken to hospital, not thought to be seriously hurt. We are therefore happy to announce that the champion driver of the first Long Farnden grand prix is Mrs. Tollervey-Jones, well-known charity worker and magistrate!”
Somebody tentatively clapped, and slowly others joined in, until a decent reception was given to the worried-looking champion. She made an effort, waved and smiled, and accepted the silver cup, which she had given for the occasion, from her grinning son Robert.
“Well done, Ma,” he said, and kissed her cheek. As he did so, he whispered in her ear that in his opinion the casualties were more than seriously hurt. She nodded, and said that as soon as possible she would be in touch with the hospital to discover the truth.
AS SOON AS LOIS COULD MAKE HER WAY FROM THE SHOP TO THE place where she last saw Paula Hickson, little Frankie in her arms, she saw that she had gone. “Did Mrs. Hickson go with the ambulance?” she asked a stranger.
“Wouldn’t know,” he said. “There was a woman holding a baby, and she screamed and ran when that box went off the course. I think she went down to where it happened.”
Lois retraced her steps, and found Derek with his arms around Paula, and Josie holding the baby. “Douglas has gone to find a policeman to take her in to Tresham,” Derek said. “Only a police car could get through this crush.”
“I can take her,” Lois said. “I left my van outside the village, parked down by Gypsies’ Thicket. Come on, Paula, and you, Josie. It’ll be quicker than waiting for the police.”
“What about the twins?” Paula said.
Lois saw then that the two were standing behind their mother, looking terrified.
“They can come home with me,” said Gran. “Come on, loves, we’ll go and find some ice cream. Everywhere’s sold out, but I’ve got a secret horde in my freezer. We’ll see you later, Lois.”
The twins looked doubtfully at their mother, but she nodded and said they were to go along with Gran. “I’ll soon be back,” she said. Lois shepherded Paula and Josie, still holding Frankie, through the lingering crowds and down to where her van was parked.
PAULA HAD RALLIED A LITTLE, AND SAID WOULD IT BE POSSIBLE TO call the hospital on a mobile and find out if they were all… She dried up here, and Josie looked at her mother. “What d’you think?” she said.
“Probably best to wait, Paula,” Lois said. “Not far now, and you know what mobiles are. The signal will probably fail, and then we’ll get a muddled message, and it could be a really bad thing to do.”
“Okay,” Paula said, and took Frankie from Josie. “He should be in his safety seat,” she added, “but I expect if we get stopped I can say it’s an emergency.”
“We won’t be stopped,” said Lois. “I know a back way to the hospital. Only about five minutes and we’ll be there. Hold on, Paula.”