Johnny Swanson - Eleanor Updale [12]
He snuggled under the blanket and started thinking up adverts that might trick the readers of the Stambleton Echo. He wanted to find things people were embarrassed or ashamed about so that, like him, they wouldn’t want to tell the world how they had been swindled.
His own experience that day gave him his first idea: Stop your baby wetting the bed.
He wouldn’t be too greedy. Perhaps he’d only ask one shilling for the answer to that. And the answer would be: Make him sleep in a chair.
Johnny was desperate for morning to come. He couldn’t wait to get started. His legs wriggled uncontrollably every time he thought about the money that stupid people would send him. Somehow, soon after half past three, he finally slipped off to sleep with a smile.
But success didn’t seem quite so certain in the chilly morning mist when, almost too tired to walk, he set off for the shop with his damp shorts chafing against his skin.
Chapter 7
THE LANDLORD
Johnny was glad to see that Hutch was in a good mood, whistling as he unpacked a delivery and stacked cans of tinned peaches into a pyramid on the shelf behind the counter.
‘Hutch?’ said Johnny. ‘Is there any chance you could find me some more work here? I could come on Saturdays if you like, and in the holidays too.’
‘So you’ve had the letter then,’ said Hutch, without looking up.
‘What letter?’ asked Johnny, panicking for a moment at the thought that Hutch might somehow know he’d been fooled into buying the Secret of Instant Height.
‘The rent letter. There were some folk in the pub last night complaining about it. It looks as if he’s gunning for all of you.’
‘Who? Who’s gunning for us?’
‘Young Mr Bennett, up at the big house on the hill. I never liked the boy. Though he’s a man now, of course. Just back from Cambridge University, so they say. He’s inherited everything from his father. The factory, the farm, the whole estate. He owns your house now.’
‘And he’s the one who’s putting up the rent?’
‘Yes. Yours and everyone else’s. He owns an awful lot of property round here. His family always have. But you people on Dagmouth Lane will get the worst of it.’
‘Why us?’
‘Because his father – old Mr Bennett, God rest his soul – kept all your rents specially low. He built those little houses just before the war. He did it to make money, of course. Dagmouth Lane was just a bit of old wasteland then, and he saw a chance to make a profit out of it – renting out homes to factory workers and getting back the wages he paid them. But when the war came, and so many husbands and fathers were killed, he had a change of heart. He made sure Dagmouth Lane went to people like your mother. People who were suffering.’ Hutch took out his handkerchief and blew his nose. Johnny hadn’t noticed that he’d got a cold. ‘Poor Winnie was only a girl then. She and Harry had been married just a few months, and I doubt whether your dad even knew she was expecting you when he went off to fight. After he was killed, Winnie needed a roof over her head, but with you on the way she couldn’t get enough work to pay much rent – so old Mr Bennett let her have the house you live in now. She still had to pay, but much less than that house could have fetched. He did the same for lots of other families. He was a good man.’
‘I know,’ said Johnny. ‘Mum talked about him when he died. But she didn’t expect the rent to go up.’
‘Well, she knew the father, but she doesn’t know the son. He was only a lad in the war. He didn’t have to fight, and he’s not interested in the sacrifice people like your father made. He can only see those houses as a drain on his income. And to be fair, some people could pay a bit more now. Look at Mrs Roberts – she’s married again. Her Alf’s got a good job.’
‘But my mother hasn’t. She has to look after me, and the house, and go out to work. She works all the time. She can’t afford to pay more.’
‘I understand, son,’ said Hutch, more warmly than he had ever spoken