Johnny Swanson - Eleanor Updale [76]
‘Mrs J. W. Morgan!’ said Johnny, understanding instantly how a fictitious aunt could be useful. ‘I see it all now.’
‘Exactly,’ said Mrs Langford. ‘So that’s it. I’m trapped.’
Johnny jumped in, thrilled that his theory was proving to be correct, and Mrs Langford nodded in agreement as he babbled through the story. ‘He knew where to find you in France, he brought you here so you couldn’t tell anyone about him, and he’s been keeping you prisoner ever since. Which is why you wanted the disguise. You wanted to get away …’
‘Yes. About that, Johnny. I don’t really understand. How are you connected to that advertisement?’
Before Johnny could reply, a man in a white coat strode in through the double doors. He shuffled from foot to foot anxiously, nibbling at his fingernails.
‘Get a move on,’ he said roughly. ‘We haven’t got much time.’ Johnny listened hard. Was this the same man who had threatened him on the phone at the post office? He wasn’t sure. The accent was the same, but no doubt lots of people in Wales spoke like that. The man continued, getting more agitated: ‘One of the nurses held me up. Some nonsense about a girl stealing my coat. I could have done without that, today of all days. Anyway, it’s up to you to make sure this panto starts on time. Are you absolutely sure that everyone is coming?’
‘Yes, of course, Dr Howell,’ said Mrs Langford, and Johnny froze beside her. Now that he’d heard the name, he was certain that he was in the presence of a murderer.
Mrs Langford kept her composure. She took the remaining programmes out of Johnny’s arms. ‘Thank you for your help, son,’ she said, as if he were one of the patients and had simply been lending her a hand. ‘I’ll finish off here. You run along, now.’ She bent down and added in a whisper, ‘Come and find me in the office after the show has started.’
Johnny turned to leave. ‘Of course, Mrs Morgan,’ he said at the top of his voice, trying to give Dr Howell the impression that he was just another inmate. He was grateful to Mrs Langford for giving him a chance to get away from the menacing man; and he was determined to make good use of the time before he saw her again. He set off to find the outside toilets, and Olwen, who would by now be scrubbing them out as her punishment.
Chapter 36
IN THE TOILETS
It wasn’t hard to find the boys’ toilets. Johnny needed only to follow his nose. This might be a hospital, but boys in a hurry could lower the tone of a lavatory anywhere. The smell was familiar from school, and the chilly brick block was very similar to the grim outdoor shack in the playground back in Stambleton. At least here there were electric lights, though all they did was show up the chipped surface of the long porcelain trough that served as a urinal, the rude words and pictures scraped into the peeling paint of the cubicle doors, and the muddy footmarks swirling in the stinking liquid on the grey stone floor. There were even footprints on the ceiling. Johnny worked out how they’d got there. A thick pipe crossed the room high up above the doorway. If you swung on it and kicked really hard, you could hit the roof. He was tempted to have a go, but this was not the time.
Olwen, still in her pyjamas, was in the far corner, on her knees with a bucket, sniffing in time to the rhythm of her scrubbing brush. She didn’t respond to Johnny at first.
‘Olwen?’ he said. ‘It’s me. Johnny. Olwen! I need your help.’
Gradually her scrubbing slowed and she looked up, pushing a stray strand of hair out of her eyes with the back of her wrist. ‘Why should I want to help you? Why should I want to help anyone? All my people are dead, and no one here cares. They don’t even want to know anything about it.’
‘I care, Olwen,’ said Johnny. ‘I really do. And there’s someone else too. She’s bound to want to help you. I tried to tell you before. It’s Mrs Langford, the doctor’s wife from Stambleton. Or widow, I should say.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Do