Johnny Swanson - Eleanor Updale [61]
The Poetry Kit:
I send the verbiage, you make the verse.
3d. per line.
He ran to the advertising office first thing the next day, and managed to get the advertisement into that evening’s edition. The lady behind the counter thought it was one of his auntie’s better ideas. The kit would, she said, make an excellent Christmas present. She was right. The response was immediate and enthusiastic.
By Christmas Eve Johnny was confident that he would be able to pay the rent for the whole of January, right up to the date of his mother’s trial. He was glad about that, but he was tormented by the thought of how Hutch would react if he found out how he had got hold of so much money.
‘I see your auntie is still sewing,’ said Hutch when Johnny presented a pile of postal orders for cashing before the post office closed down for Christmas. ‘That’s good.’
Johnny was on the point of telling him the truth about Ada when a customer came in. Trade was so slow that Hutch could not afford to ignore her, even for a second, and Johnny didn’t want to risk reminding her of ‘the Bloody Barmaid of Stambleton’, so he dived into the stockroom. Yet another chance to own up had come and gone.
Chapter 29
THE PRISON VISIT
In the stockroom, Johnny re-read the letter he had written for Hutch to take to his mother. In it, he apologized for making her so angry on the night they’d last been together, and insisted that the whole terrible mess was his fault. He swore he would do everything he could to get Winnie out of prison. Somehow it didn’t seem right to sign off without wishing her a happy Christmas, even though he knew there was no chance of that for either of them. It was nearly noon. Before long, Hutch would be setting off for the prison. Johnny imagined his mother alone in her cell, wondering whether anyone was doing anything to get her released.
In fact, Winnie was worrying about Johnny. She had no idea what had happened to him after her arrest, and no one would tell her. A lawyer, appointed by the court, had been to see her, but had offered little hope. It was clear that he, like the police, saw her conviction as inevitable. Winnie wondered whether she would ever see Johnny again. She was devastated that their last words to each other had been so harsh, and felt that she had let her son down, even though she was innocent of any crime. She was lonely in her cell, but terrified whenever she was let out to exercise with the other prisoners – even though they kept their distance, assuming that she was capable of killing. Winnie had hardly eaten for nearly a fortnight, and was even skinnier than before. There was no mirror, but she knew that now, more than ever, she matched the description Mr Murray had given the court of the dazed and desperate creature he had seen in the pub on that awful night. Her hair was lank and greasy, and she badly needed a proper wash.
When the prison guard took her into the visiting room, Winnie was surprised to see Hutch, large and embarrassed in his best suit, sitting at a tiny table with his bad leg stretched out to one side; but she was thrilled that at last she would have news of her son.
‘How’s Johnny?’ she blurted out, before correcting herself and adding, politely, ‘It’s so kind of you to come, Mr Hutchinson.’
‘Oh, it’s a pleasure,’ said Hutch automatically. ‘Well, not a pleasure, of course, but you know what I mean.’ There was an awkward pause before he continued. ‘I brought you some food from the shop: a little pork pie and some chocolates. But they were confiscated on the way in.’
‘What a shame. But thank you, anyway. Let’s hope the warders enjoy them.’
Hutch was impressed that she had enough spirit to muster a little joke. He took Johnny’s letter from his pocket. ‘They did let me bring this in. They read it first, of course. They said he’s got lovely handwriting.’
‘Yes, he has, hasn’t he?’ said Winnie. ‘I’m so proud of him.’ She held the envelope against her cheek and cried.
Johnny sat alone in the kitchen, wondering how Hutch was getting on, and wishing