Johnny Swanson - Eleanor Updale [97]
Detecko. A new nickname – short for detective – a name that played on Johnny’s strengths at last. Taylor didn’t need to spell it out to the others. From now on, anyone caught calling Johnny ‘Quacky’ or ‘Swingson’ would be for it. It was time to let Johnny join in their games.
In the weeks ahead, one of those games got quite nasty, and Johnny was far from proud of his part in it, even though it was exhilarating to be admired by Taylor’s gang. The ill-will against Winnie had found a new home. It was redirected towards Miss Dangerfield. The old lady had never been liked, but now she was not even feared. Johnny did nothing to stop the boys who had once taunted him throwing bricks through her windows and painting LIAR across her front door. Her walking stick was found floating in the duckpond.
‘Poor woman,’ said Winnie as she and Johnny sat over their tea one night. ‘I know what it’s like to have the whole town turn against you. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.’
Johnny pretended his mouth was too full to reply.
In the Easter holidays, a FOR SALE sign went up outside Miss Dangerfield’s house just as a SOLD notice was taken down by the new owner of the Langfords’ across the road. The young doctor had moved in. It was the last straw for Miss Dangerfield. He was unmarried, had a motorbike, and left his bathroom window open. She let the vicar know exactly what she thought of her new neighbour:
‘If I stand on the stool in my bedroom, I can see him with his shirt off when he’s shaving,’ she said. ‘It’s too bad.’
On the day the removal vans came, Johnny climbed the tree in the doctor’s garden to watch – just to make sure that Miss Dangerfield was really going. She was belligerent to the last, haranguing the moving men as they manhandled her furniture across her front garden.
‘Mind that radio-gramophone!’ she squealed. ‘It’s a Lissenola New Era.’
But she had lost her power. The men shrugged, and bumped the wooden cabinet against the gate.
Johnny ran down the hill to the shop to collect the papers for his evening delivery round. He was surprised to find his mother sweeping the floor.
‘Hutch has offered me a job,’ she said. ‘He says I can help out here.’
Hutch looped the bag of papers over Johnny’s shoulder and steered him out onto the pavement. ‘I hope you don’t mind, son,’ he said. ‘You can still do bits and pieces for me too, but I knew your mother needed the work. That doctor asked her if she wanted her old job back at the Langfords’ place. I think we should keep her away from there, don’t you?’
So through the summer, Winnie spent her days at the shop, and sometimes Hutch came round for supper at Johnny’s house. Then, while Johnny did his homework, Winnie and Hutch would go out for walks, or to the pub, where Winnie was now a celebrity, not an outcast. School was better too. Even Mr Murray, seeing that Johnny was growing taller and stronger, included him in teams, and started picking on someone in the year below.
Every now and then Johnny got a new idea for an advert, but he managed to stick to his promise never to place one again. The poet still wrote regularly. For a while Johnny just sent his postal orders straight back, but the man pleaded with him for guidance on his writing, and so Hutch told Johnny that he could reply, so long as he never charged for his advice.
‘Think of him as a pen-pal,’ said Winnie. And that’s what Johnny did.
Olwen wrote to Johnny too. She was still at Craig-y-Nos: stuck there, miserable, living on charity until her uncle was found.
‘Can’t we do something for her?’ asked Johnny over supper one night.
‘I’ve been looking into it,’ said Hutch. ‘I’ve had quite a correspondence with that Professor Campbell of yours. I didn’t want to talk about it in case it all came to nothing, but I think I can tell you now.’
‘What does he say?’ Johnny asked.
Hutch took Winnie’s hand. Johnny blushed at his tenderness and tried not to look. ‘Well,’ said Hutch, ‘it may be possible for me to give Olwen a new home.’
‘That’s wonderful.