Johnny Swanson - Eleanor Updale [54]
As he helped Hutch close up the shop, Johnny worried that the police were ransacking his home and discovering that there was no Auntie Ada.
Hutch noticed his agitation. ‘Are you all right, son?’ he asked. ‘You don’t seem yourself today.’
Johnny wanted to tell him everything, but he didn’t think he should betray the Langfords’ secret to anyone except the police, and he feared that if he told Hutch that he’d lied about his auntie he might lose the only person he had on his side.
‘No. Well. I’m just worried about … Well, you know,’ he said.
‘I understand,’ said Hutch, awkwardly restraining himself from giving Johnny a hug. He took a jar of strawberry jam from a shelf. ‘Here. Take this home to your auntie. She must be worried too, poor thing.’
Johnny took the jar and ran home. The door was still locked, and there was no sign that anyone had been inside. He got a pillow and some of his mother’s clothes, and pulled round the big armchair so that it had its back to the door. He pulled the curtains almost shut, leaving just enough of a gap to satisfy anyone who was determined to look inside. Everything was arranged so that they would think they saw an old woman asleep by the fireplace. He hoped they’d be too polite to try to wake her up.
Chapter 26
THE FARMER
Even with the pretend Auntie Ada in place, Johnny was lonely – perhaps even more lonely than before. Sitting by himself, eating jam straight from the jar with a spoon, he desperately wanted to talk to someone, to tell them what was happening to his mother, and how no one except Hutch believed that she was innocent.
He decided to try again to find Olwen. Although he had met her only once, she’d been on his mind ever since. She’d been kind when everyone else was bullying him, and she hadn’t heard any of the nasty rumours about Winnie. He felt that she would understand. He wanted to write to her, but all he knew was that she was with relatives somewhere in Wales. He remembered that she had lived on a farm outside Stambleton, so next morning he set off to walk there, hoping the farmer would know her new address. It was a harder, colder walk than he had expected, and even when he reached a sign saying NEWGATE FARM (which was nailed to a very old-looking gate), a long track wound its way towards the farmhouse. Johnny was trudging round a corner when a battered van came the other way. He jumped aside, expecting it to pass, but the driver, a weather-beaten man wearing an ill-fitting suit, stopped and spoke to him.
‘Where are you going?’
‘To the farmhouse. I want to talk to the farmer,’ Johnny said.
‘I’m the farmer. What can I do for you? There’s no work here – if you’re looking for work, that is. You seem a bit young for that.’
‘No, I don’t want a job. I’m looking for information. I’m trying to find someone who used to live here.’
‘Well, there’s no one at home. And I’m on my way to a funeral. That’s why I’m all dressed up like this,’ the farmer said, running his finger inside the stiff collar of his shirt. ‘I can’t stop for long, but you can get in if you want, and we can talk in the warm.’
Johnny climbed in and sat beside the farmer. He’d hardly ever been in a car before, let alone a big van like this. It was a real treat. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘It’s nice to get out of the wind. Do you mind if I ask you questions?’
‘Not at all,’ said the farmer. ‘But you’ll have to speak up. I need to leave the engine running, otherwise it could conk out and I might never get it started again. Now, who are you trying to find?’
‘It’s a girl called Olwen. She came to my school in September. But she had to leave again. I think her baby sister