Page 65 of A Fresh Start at Bramble Cottage
“I might as well have two while I’m here.” He beamed up at her. “Thank you, my luvver.”
“Do you need a hand to carry your bag?”
“No, no, I can manage, thank you.”
He returned to the counter, chatting comfortably with Brenda as she rang up his purchases. He pulled a coin-purse from his pocket and fumbled for the right change, then nodded goodbye and set off towards his house.
Vicky added some biscuits to her own shopping and went back to the counter.
“Got everything you wanted?” Brenda asked.
“Yes, thanks.”
“I heard your neighbour Bill from up the farm has been having cupcakes with his tea,” Linda remarked archly.
Vicky didn’t need an interpreter to guess the implication. She really shouldn’t be surprised that there was gossip in a small village like this. There was no point arguing about it, but she didn’t want to get involved, so she simply smiled thinly as she tapped her credit card on the reader and packed her purchases into her bag.
In the doorway she paused to put her sunglasses back on... and cried out in horror. “Oh my God! Brenda — phone for an ambulance, quick. Arthur’s had a fall.”
The old man was sprawled on the pavement, his shopping bag spilled over the kerb. She ran to kneel beside him.
“Arthur? Can you hear me? What happened?”
He groaned, trying to lift his head.
“No, don’t try to move.” She took his hand, shocked at how cold it was. “Don’t worry, there’s an ambulance coming.”
Brenda had run out from the shop, followed by Linda. “What happened? Did he trip?”
“I don’t know. Do you have something to cover him with? I know it’s warm, but he could be in shock.”
“I’ll get something.” She bustled back into the shop and was out again a moment later with a tweed coat. “Here.”
“Should we try to get him inside?” Linda suggested.
“No — we shouldn’t try to move him. We don’t know if he might have injured himself. He could have broken a hip or something.” Vague memories of earning her first-aid badge at Guides was coming back to her. She laid her fingertips againstthe pulse point in his neck. “He’s breathing, anyway, though his pulse is a bit weak.”
Linda had collected up his shopping from the ground. “The ambulance will be here in about twenty minutes. I’ll put these things back in the shop.”
Brenda nodded. “Good idea. Someone ought to go to the hospital with him.”
“I can go,” Vicky offered.
“Are you sure?”
“Of course — no problem.”
“That’s very kind of you.” Brenda smiled and held out her hand. “Give me your shopping. I’ll get Beth to bring it up for you later.”
“Okay — thanks.”
“What about his son?” Linda asked. “Someone should get in touch with him — let him know what’s happened.”
Brenda shook her head. “I’ve no idea what his phone number is.”
“We might be able to find out.” Vicky pulled out her phone. “Arthur told me he lives in Canada, and he’s a television producer. And Crocombe isn’t a very common name.” She pulled up the search engine. “He might have a Facebook page, or even be on Wikipedia.” It only took a few minutes’ detective work to track him down. “Ah — I’ve got him. At least his work contact. I’ll send him an email.”
Linda shook her head, bemused, as Vicky tapped in a message. “They’re a marvel, those things. My two have both got them — they’re always trying to show me how to use them, but I can’t be doing with them.”
