**Diary Entry, 12th May**
The shop assistant suddenly grabbed my arm and whispered, “Run. Now.”
“I cant take it anymore! Three years, Margaret, three years Ive listened to that drunkards rants under my window!” Patricias voice trembled with fury. “The constable just shrugs. Says theres nothing he can do unless the bloke actually hurts someone!”
“You’re exaggerating, dear,” Margaret adjusted her glasses and gave her neighbour a sympathetic look. “Thomas is just a broken man. Hes never been the same since his wife passed.”
“Broken?” Patricia threw her hands up. “And what about the rest of us? My Sarahs in Manchester, struggling with two kids on her own. Your blood pressures through the roof, and yet *we* dont drink or scream at three in the bloody morning!”
Eleanor, whod been quietly listening, sighed. Every time the women gathered in the courtyard of their old council flats, the conversation turned to Thomas latest escapade. Todays tea was no exception.
“Lets talk about something else,” she suggested, pouring the tea. “Lovely weather todayfirst proper warm day of spring.”
“Too right,” Margaret agreed, accepting her cup gratefully. “Youre always the voice of reason, Eleanor. Hows young James?”
“Oh, same as ever,” Eleanor smiled. “Called from London yesterdaysaid hes finishing up some big project. Promised to visit for the bank holiday.”
“Thats good,” Patricia said, calming slightly. “You shouldnt be alone so much at your age. All that dust in the library cant be good for you.”
“Dont fuss, Pat,” Eleanor waved her off. “Sixty-two isnt ancient. Besides, I love that libraryits my life. And as for being alone…” She gazed into the distance. “Fifteen years since George passed. You get used to it.”
The conversation drifted to safer topicsprices, ailments, children, grandchildren. When the teapot ran dry, Eleanor checked her watch.
“Goodness, Id better go! Wanted to pop into The Sparrow before supper. Heard theyve got decent oats in, still at the old price.”
“Do,” Margaret nodded. “But dont linger. Not safe round here after dark. Constable said theres some gang about.”
“Dont scare her,” Patricia cut in. “Eleanors got sensewont go wandering where she shouldnt.”
After saying her goodbyes, Eleanor headed home to change. The estate wasnt the safestfaded five-storey blocks, dimly lit alleysbut in broad daylight? The Sparrow was just five minutes away.
Switching to more comfortable shoes and grabbing her shopping trolley, she stepped outside. The spring sun warmed her face; the first tender shoots poked through the flowerbeds. *”The lilacs will bloom soon,”* she thought, remembering how shed loved their scent as a girl.
The Sparrow was the sort of old-fashioned corner shop where the assistants knew everyone by name. Eleanor visited nearly every day after workbread one day, milk the next.
The bell jingled as she entered. Only a pensioner at the till and a young mother in the sweets aisle.
“Afternoon, Barbara,” Eleanor greeted the plump, fifty-something shopkeeper. “Any oats in? The girls said theyre good this batch.”
“Hello, Eleanor!” Barbara smiled. “Aye, fresh delivery. Bottom shelf, third aisle.”
Eleanor nodded and headed over. Sure enough, neatly stacked bags at a fair price. She took two, then browsed further.
Then she noticed the shift in the air. Barbara, usually chatty, had gone quiet mid-sentence with the old man. Her face tightened, eyes darting.
The bell rang again. Two men walked in. The firsttall, gaunt, cap pulled lowscanned the shop. The second, shorter with a cold, blank stare, lingered by the door, blocking the exit.
Eleanor paid them little mind. Shops had all sorts. She studied the tinned goods, wondering if James still liked pilchards in tomato sauce.
Then she felt someone close. Turning, she found Barbara inches away, pale as chalk.
“Need help finding anything?” Barbara asked loudlythen seized Eleanors wrist and hissed in her ear, *”Run. Back door, through the stockroom. Those twothey robbed a shop down the road yesterday. Put two women in hospital.”*
Eleanor froze. *”Nonsense! Broad daylight? In our quiet Sparrow?”* But the terror in Barbaras eyes was real.
“No, thank you,” Eleanor replied loudly, then whispered, *”What about you? The others?”*
“Pressed the alarm,” Barbara breathed. “But the policell take ages. Gothey havent spotted you. The mum and babe should be safe. *Move!*”
With a gentle push toward the staff door, Barbara turned away.
Heart pounding, Eleanor slipped through unnoticed.
The cramped stockroom smelled of cardboard and dust. *”Maybe a mistake?”* she thought. But her gut screamed, *”GO!”*
Edging past crates, she reached the peeling back door. It stuckrusted from disusethen screeched open. Fresh air hit her face.
*”Now what?”* Home? Risky if they saw her. Call the police? Her mobile was in her trolleystill by the till.
Then she remembered: the community constables post was two streets over.
Half-walking, half-running, she made her way. *”What do I say? Will he believe me?”*
At the station, she nearly collided with Constable Grahama heavyset man in his forties, locking up.
“Graham! The Sparrowrobbery! Barbara hit the alarm, but”
His face darkened. “When?”
“Just now! Barbara helped me out the back. Two menone tall with a cap, the other younger, dead-eyed.”
Graham snatched his radio. “Dispatch, Code Three! Armed robbery at The Sparrow, High Street. Immediate response!”
To Eleanor: “Wait here. Dont move.”
He lumbered off faster than shed thought possible.
Alone, she sank onto a bench. Her hands shook. *”What was that bang? A gun? Are they hurt?”*
Minutes crawled by. Then sirensfirst one patrol car, then another.
Finally, Graham returned, grim but calmer.
“Well?” Eleanor rushed to him.
“Everyones fine. Got em bothone in the shop, the other down an alley.”
“That noise I heard?”
“Gas pistol. Fired at the ceiling to scare folk. Barbara kept her head. You did right coming straight here.”
“Barbarashes alright?”
“Shaken, but fine. Giving statements now. Ohyour trolley.” He handed it over. “Check if alls there.”
Wallet, keys, phoneuntouched.
“Come inside,” Graham said. “Need your statement. Then Ill walk you home. You could use a cuppalook at you trembling.”
At the station, Eleanor recounted everythingthe men, Barbaras warning, her escape. Saying it aloud steadied her.
“Who were they?” she asked afterward.
“Wanted for three shop heists this week,” Graham said. “Bold as brass, daylight jobs. Till money, valuables. Last time, a clerk fought backgot a concussion for it.”
“Lord,” Eleanor murmured. “And here I thought our little town was safe.”
“Times change,” Graham sighed. “But thanks to you and Barbara, theyre done for now.”
He walked her home as promised. At the flats, Patricia rushed over.
“Eleanor! Saw the police racing to The Sparrow! What happened?”
“Alls well,” Graham said. “Thieves caught, no one hurt. Eleanor here helped nab em.”
“Hardly,” Eleanor flushed. “Barbaras the hero. If not for her”
At home, strong tea and valerian steadied her nerves. The day felt surreallike itd happened to someone else. A librarian, a widow, a mothersuddenly in the middle of a crime drama?
When James called that evening, she said nothing of itno need to worry him. But when he mentioned the bank holiday, she surprised herself:
“James, lovecould you come? Its been too long. And… I think I need more company. Just work-home-shop every dayits no life.”
“Course, Mum,” he said, puzzled. “You alright? Sound different.”
“Just realised something,” she smiled, gazing at the twilight over the rooftops. “Lifes unpredictable, son. You go out for oats, and the next thinganything could happen.”
Next day, she returned to The Sparrow. Business as usualjust a new security guard by the till.
Barbara spotted her and rushed over, hugging her tight.
“Thank you! Who knows how itd have ended if you hadnt”
“*You* saved *us*,” Eleanor said, touched.
“Pfft. Just did what anyone would. Ohyour oats never got paid for. Still want em?”
“Please,” Eleanor laughed. “And something nice for tea. James is visiting.”
Life settled back into rhythmyet something had shifted. Maybe it was the quiet confidence she now carried. Or the knowledge that even the most ordinary day could twist into something extraordinary. Or simply this: how precious the quiet, predictable moments areuntil someone whispers, *”Run. Now.”*
**Lesson learned: The ordinary is fragile. Cherish it.**
