The Fog - James Herbert [1]
Jessie opened her grocery shop at precisely 8.30 as she had been doing for the past twenty years. Her first customer, Mrs Thackery, wouldn’t be in till 8.45, but to break the routine of early opening would never be considered. Even when Tom, her late husband, had died, the shop had still been opened on the dot of 8.30 and two days later when he’d been buried it was only shut for an hour between 10.00 and 11.00. Jessie enjoyed her morning chat with Mrs Thackery, who always called whether she needed to buy something or not. She’d been a great comfort since Tom had died and never missed her morning cup of tea with Jessie. They never got bored by each other’s gossip; one topic could last two weeks and a death in the village would get them through three.
She waved to Mr Papworth, the butcher across the street who was sweeping the pavement outside his shop. Nice man, Mr Papworth. Much nicer since his wife had left him. That had caused a stir in the village and no mistake, when she’d walked out after six years of marriage. She hadn’t been his sort anyway. Much too young for him, too flighty; couldn’t stand the quiet life. He’d brought her back from his holiday in Bournemouth and after all the years, when everybody had thought him a confirmed bachelor, had announced her as his bride. It could never have lasted, they all knew that at the outset, but he had tried. Still, all that was in the past. His visits from across the road were becoming more and more frequent and the whole village knew what was in the wind and that the butcher’s and grocery shop would eventually become a combined family business. There was no rush; things would take their course.
‘Good morning, Mrs Bundock!’
Her reverie was interrupted by two young voices in unison. She looked down and smiled at little Freddy Graves and his even smaller sister, Clara.
‘Hello, you two. Just off to school?’
‘Yep,’ replied Freddy, craning his neck to look at the jars of sweets on the shelves behind her.
‘And how are you, Clara?’ Jessie beamed at the five-year old who had only recently started school.
‘Fine, thank you,’ came the shy reply.
‘I’m surprised to see you two today. Saturday’s usually your pocket-money day, isn’t it?’
‘Yep. But we polished all Daddy’s boots yesterday, so he gave us a special treat,’ was Freddy’s bright-faced reply. Their father was a policeman whose station was in the next town. He was a gruff-spoken but pleasant man who adored his two children, but dealt with them strictly.
‘Well, what are you going to buy?’ Jessie asked, knowing they wouldn’t have much to spend. ‘You’d better hurry or you’ll miss your bus.’
Clara pointed at the penny-chews and Freddy nodded his head in agreement. ‘Three each, please,’ he said.
‘Well now, penny chews are cheaper on Mondays. You get four each for six p today.’
They beamed up at her as she reached for the jar and took out the sweets.
‘Thank you,’ said Clara as she put three in her pocket and began to unwrap the fourth. Freddy gave Jessie the money, took his four and followed his sister’s example.
‘Bye bye now. Have a nice day!’ she called after them as they ran from the shop, Freddy clutching Clara’s hand.
‘Morning Jessie.’ The postman was leaning his bike up outside the door.
‘Hello, Tom. Something for me?’
‘Airmail, ’spect it’s from your boy,’ he replied, entering the shop. ‘S’going to be another lovely day today. Beautiful clear sky out.’ He handed her the blue and red envelope, noticing the shadow of sadness that seemed to pass over her face. ‘Been in the army nearly a year now, hasn’t he?’
She nodded, studying the stamps on the envelope.
‘Ah well, Jessie, it was only to be expected. Young boy like that. Couldn’t stay cooped up in a village like this all his life, could he? Needed to see places, did Andy. Always liked to get about, always up to some mischief. Having the time of his life now, I reckon.’
She nodded again, sighing as she began to open the envelope.
‘Yes, I suppose you’re right. But I do miss him. He was a good boy.’
The postman shook his head once then shrugged his