Johnny Swanson - Eleanor Updale [96]
Hutch flinched. ‘That’s enough,’ he said, reminding the man that a child was present.
The reporter cast his eye around the shop and changed the subject. ‘I see you’re getting straight again,’ he said.
Hutch nodded. ‘I suppose you want to use the phone.’
‘No, I haven’t come here to work,’ said the reporter. He took out his wallet and put two £5 notes on the table. ‘I came to contribute towards the repairs, and to give Johnny this.’ He handed over a small parcel, wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. ‘Open it carefully,’ he said. ‘It’s made of glass.’
Johnny tore off the wrapping. It was the photograph of his father, in a beautiful new tortoiseshell frame. Hutch came over to have a look. ‘He was a grand man, your dad,’ he said, holding the picture up alongside Johnny’s face. ‘I can see the likeness. He would have been proud of you.’
‘I should never have taken it,’ said the reporter, ashamed. ‘I’m sorry. Forgive me.’
‘Mum will be pleased to have it back,’ said Johnny curtly. He couldn’t really find it in himself to forgive the theft.
‘Since I’m here, Johnny,’ said the reporter, taking out his notebook, ‘I wonder if there’s anything you’d like to tell me about Mr Bennett? A contact of mine in the police tells me you’ve been very helpful, giving them leads.’
‘I’ve nothing to say,’ said Johnny. ‘I’m not supposed to talk to anyone until after all the trials are over.’
‘He’s right,’ said Hutch, holding the door open. ‘I think it would be best if you kept your distance for the time being, don’t you?’
‘My source had some nice things to say about you too, Mr Hutchinson.’
‘Oh, really?’ said Hutch, surprised.
‘He didn’t go into details, but I gather we have you to thank for that complaint about the advertisements being withdrawn. Reading between the lines, I’d say someone had a word with the man behind PO Box Nine.’
‘I couldn’t possibly comment,’ said Hutch.
‘Of course not. I understand. You have a duty of confidentiality as a postmaster.’
‘Sub-postmaster,’ said Hutch.
‘Let’s not split hairs. If the adverts are going to stop, I thank you.’
Johnny said nothing as the reporter slapped him on the arm in a friendly gesture of farewell. ‘So what’s next for you, son?’ he asked.
‘I’ll be going back to school soon.’
‘And then what? When you leave school? Has this business given you a taste for detective work? Are you going to join the police? Or go into journalism perhaps?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Johnny. ‘I haven’t really thought about it. Maybe I’ll open a shop.’
As the reporter took his leave, Hutch started marking up the papers for the evening delivery round, feeling a glow of almost paternal pride.
Chapter 47
A NEW WORLD
A fortnight later, the new doctor visited again.
‘I think it’s time to send you back to school, old chap,’ he said breezily. ‘You’ll be glad to see all your friends again.’
Johnny tried to look pleased, but he was dreading returning to the playground bullies.
On his first day he deliberately took longer than usual over his paper round, and arrived at school just as the bell was ringing. Mr Murray was standing by the gate, waiting to catch latecomers.
‘Another lucky escape, eh, Swanson?’ he snarled as Johnny ran to his classroom.
Mrs Stiles called the register: ‘Morrison, Noble, Parker, Roberts, Swanson …’
She shushed the titter that ran round the room at the sound of Johnny’s name. ‘That’s enough. Welcome back, Johnny,’ she said, dipping her pen in the inkwell. ‘It’s good to be able to tick you off again. Taylor, Tompkins, Venables …’
At break time, Johnny dawdled into the yard with his head down and waited for the first taunts. To his amazement, he was quickly surrounded by children asking questions about the murder. He had never been so popular.
Albert Taylor broke through the crush and strode towards him. Johnny tried not to flinch, but he expected Taylor to lash out, verbally at least. Taylor reached for his pocket. What would it be? A knuckleduster? A catapult? A knife?
It was a bar of chocolate.