Authors: Eleanor Updale
Johnny stopped himself pointing out to Winnie that what she’d done was a kind of lying. ‘Did they know where the Langfords have gone?’ he asked.
‘No. In fact, they hadn’t even noticed that Dr Langford was away. He doesn’t have any work there just now. That case he was helping with … well, I’m afraid the little baby’ – she paused, and tried to break the news kindly – ‘passed away.’
Johnny felt another blow to his stomach. ‘It was Olwen’s baby sister, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes. I’m sorry, Johnny, but I think it must have been.’
‘Does Olwen know? What about her mum and dad? They’re in the sanatorium too, you know.’
‘I wasn’t going to ask about them, was I, Johnny? I don’t even know them. Neither do you. I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with them. You only talked to that Olwen once, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, but I liked her. She was nice to me. We could have been friends. And it must be horrible for her, worrying about her family, all alone and far away.’
‘At least she won’t be ill, if they got her away in time. But listen, Johnny. I’ve got something else to tell you. It turned out that I didn’t have a wasted journey.’
‘What?’
‘Well, as it happens, they
do
need cleaners. I’m going to start work at the sanatorium tomorrow.’
Johnny was horrified. ‘What? You can’t!’
Winnie began to sound enthusiastic. ‘You should see it, Johnny. It’s a really nice place – huge wards, and workshops, a library, a gymnasium, gardens. And it’s good money. They have to pay well there. People are too frightened to go.’
‘Of course they are! And they’re right. It’s dangerous. Dr Langford as good as told me that himself. He told me not to visit. You might get their disease. Phthisis. It’s TB – consumption. You might die. Olwen’s sister died!’
‘I’ve got no choice, Johnny. The rent goes up in a couple of weeks.’
‘But I can get us money,’ said Johnny, desperate to tell her about the advert scam, but terrified of making her as angry as she had been before.
‘You? How? Don’t be silly. I’m the one who should be providing for you.’
‘I won’t let you go to the sanatorium,’ Johnny insisted, throwing in his own bit of news. ‘And anyway, what if the Langfords are back? You can work for them again. Remember? I told you. I saw lights up at the house tonight.’
Now Winnie was angry again, with a rage that had been buried by the fury over Auntie Ada. ‘That’s another thing!’ she yelled. ‘You shouldn’t have gone there. You promised you wouldn’t.’ She was almost crying. ‘Oh, Johnny, what’s happening to you? You’ve lied to Hutch. You’ve invented this silly aunt. You’ve disobeyed me. Don’t we have enough troubles without all this?’
They were both weeping now, and both furious. Johnny picked up the cake and threw it against the wall. His mother jumped to her feet, knocking over her chair. She grabbed her coat from the hook on the back of the door.
‘I’m going out,’ she said. ‘I’m going to look for those lights of yours.’
‘I’ll come too,’ said Johnny, reaching for his jacket.
Winnie pushed him back. ‘Oh no you won’t. I want to be by myself. I may be a while. You get off to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.’
She slammed the door behind her, and strode into the storm.
W
innie stomped up the hill. The wintry rain was even harder than before. In her rage, she’d forgotten her hat and gloves, and she was soaked and freezing before she reached the Langfords’ house. Water was cascading from a gutter above the drainpipe that Johnny had pulled away from the wall nearly a month before. The windows were still tightly shuttered. Winnie rang the bell and thumped the door with her fists; then she went all round the house banging on windows, rattling the back door and peering though the misty glass of the conservatory. She shouted the Langfords’ names, yelled hellos and, as she was overtaken by tears, gave out animal wails of anger. But there was no one there. She wandered aimlessly down the other side of the hill, away from home, towards the shops. She slipped on some mud and landed awkwardly, hurting her wrist as she tried to save herself. Back on her feet, she pushed wet strands of hair out of her eyes, smearing dirt across her face.
There was no one on the streets. They were all warm and snug in their homes – those who weren’t in the pub, of course. Winnie could hear the tinny plink of the piano before she turned the corner and saw the lights. She never went to that pub. She saw enough of the one she worked in, on the other side of town, and she couldn’t afford to be a drinker anyway. But tonight she had a little money in her pocket – the change from her bus fare to the sanatorium. She was cold and unhappy. She pushed open the door. She recognized most of the faces, though she knew none of the people well. Everyone stopped speaking as Winnie walked to the bar, muddy and dripping. Mr Murray from the school was there. Winnie tried not to stare at his hideous wounded face, but she didn’t want to seem repelled by it either.
He was equally thrown by her wild appearance. ‘Good evening, Mrs Swanson,’ he said awkwardly.
Winnie couldn’t reply. She was too shaken by the argument, and too embarrassed by the knowledge of what she must look like, to engage in conversation with one of Johnny’s teachers.
The pub chatter gradually got going again, and the pianist restarted his tune. Everyone ignored Winnie as she huddled in a corner, sobbing, and
struggling to make one little drink last for the rest of the evening.
Johnny went to bed in tears, and listened out for his mother’s return. He wanted to tell her how sorry he was, and he decided that if she wasn’t too angry when she got back, he would try again to stop her going to the sanatorium. If that meant coming clean about the adverts and the money in the rabbit, he would have to do it. He tried to stay awake, but somehow he missed the click of the front door and Winnie’s soft steps on the stair. Very early next morning he was woken by his mother’s voice outside his bedroom.
‘Johnny, I’ve got to go,’ she said. ‘Don’t be late for your paper round.’
It took him a moment to wake properly and get out of bed. By then she had left. He thought she must still be angry. He couldn’t have known that she didn’t want him to see her setting off for her new job looking pale and dishevelled, in a wet and muddy coat.
T
he rain had stopped, and Johnny made it to the shop in good time, prepared to be brave and to apologize to Hutch about Auntie Ada. But Hutch was cheery. He didn’t mention his conversation with Winnie the previous day, and Johnny decided that it must have made much less of an impression on him than it had on her. He decided to leave his explanation until the evening, when the shop was shut and Hutch wasn’t so busy. He got his deliveries done and went to school, where he spent the day mentally rehearsing his speech to Hutch, and thinking of ways to make peace with his mother. By the end of the last lesson, he felt ready to come clean.
As soon as he was outside the school gates, he knew that something strange was going on. There were groups of women gossiping in the street. No one was ever collected from school by their parents, but today Mrs Taylor was there, waiting for Albert and his little sister. She took them aside and started talking in
a frenzied whisper. Albert looked alarmed, but excited. Johnny tried to listen in, but he couldn’t make out any details before Mrs Taylor pulled her children further away. What had happened? Hutch would know. The shop was a great place for news, and as it was early closing day, he would have time to talk. Johnny ran all the way there.
A car was parked outside. Johnny had never seen it before. He peered through its windows. The back seat was covered with clothes, messy papers, maps and empty cigarette packets. Hutch came out. He put his hand on Johnny’s shoulder.
‘I was only looking,’ said Johnny.
‘That’s all right, son,’ said Hutch, in a tone that was meant to reassure him, but was so kind that it gave Johnny a jolt of panic. Hutch steered him towards the shop. ‘Come inside,’ he said. ‘I’ve got something to tell you.’
A man in a brown suit and a soft hat was leaning half in and half out of the wooden telephone booth, just inside the door. He was lighting a cigarette. Johnny noticed it was the same brand as the ones in the car.
‘May I have another word with you, Mr Hutchinson?’ the man called as they went past.
‘I’ll be back with you in a moment, sir. This is my delivery boy. We just need to sort a few things out.’
Johnny didn’t understand. The bag of newspapers was always ready for him, behind the counter. Why was Hutch taking him through to the stockroom?
‘Sit down,’ said Hutch, pointing to a tea chest. ‘Johnny, lad, I’ve got some bad news.’
‘Mum?’ cried Johnny, terrified that something had happened to her at the sanatorium.
‘No, Johnny. I’m sure your mother is all right. It’s Dr Langford, Johnny. I’m very sorry to be the one to tell you this, but I’m afraid Dr Langford has died.’
‘Where? How do you know?’
‘He was found up at his house a couple of hours ago. Miss Dangerfield called the police when she noticed a window had been broken. She thought there might have been a burglary. But when the constable got in to have a look, he discovered the doctor’s body.’
Johnny buzzed with shock, excitement and indignation. ‘So Dr Langford was in there, dead, all this time, while everyone thought he was away? I told you. I said—’
‘Well, no, Johnny. That’s what I thought at first too. But that gentleman out there is a newspaper
reporter, and he’s told me the police are sure that Dr Langford died last night.’
Johnny thought back to the lights he had seen; then his mind started running on. ‘What did he die of? Where’s Mrs Langford? Was she there too?’
Hutch silenced him. ‘Calm down, Johnny. I don’t know many details yet, but I think it’s right for me to tell you this. According to that reporter, the police think that Dr Langford was murdered.’
‘Murdered? How? Why?’
‘I don’t know. The detectives are still up at the house. But I thought that since you knew Dr Langford well, you should hear the news from me.’ Johnny was staring ahead. Hutch wasn’t sure whether he had taken everything in. ‘Would you like me to come home with you to tell your mother?’
‘She won’t be there. She’s working at the sanatorium at Emberley today, and she’s going to go straight on to her job at the pub tonight.’
‘She’ll probably hear about it there, poor woman. I’m so sorry. I know the doctor was very kind to you both.’
Johnny was stunned. He could hear his blood pumping round his ears, and his arms and legs were tingling. He remembered that he was supposed to be
doing his paper round. ‘I’d better go,’ he said, jumping up and strapping on the bag. ‘People will be waiting for their newspapers.’
‘Only go if you’re sure you’re all right,’ said Hutch. ‘But Johnny, I think it will be best if I do the round in the morning. There’s nothing in tonight’s paper, but this business is bound to be all over tomorrow’s. I wouldn’t want you to have to handle the … the details … if you see what I mean.’
Johnny left with the newspapers, and Hutch went to talk to the reporter again. The news was already sweeping the town, and as Johnny passed from house to house, more people spoke to him than usual. Some even came to the door to take the paper from him rather than waiting for it to drop through the letter box. They were all disappointed that the discovery of Dr Langford’s body had come too late to get into print, but they gave Johnny titbits of gossip, and he passed on the rumours as he went. By the end of his round he knew a little more: there were four police cars and an undertaker’s van up at the house; the body still hadn’t been removed; and the neighbours were being questioned.
Even though it meant breaking his promise again, Johnny couldn’t resist climbing the hill to see what
was going on; but a constable was holding back a growing crowd, and it was too dark to see the Langfords’ house at all. So, since he’d finished his deliveries, he turned back towards the shop. He was overtaken by a bicycle racing downhill at speed. For a moment he thought it was Dr Langford, and he recalled those thrilling early morning lifts, perched on the crossbar. But it wasn’t Dr Langford. It was a policeman. That was when it hit him. The charge of shock and excitement that had carried him through the past half-hour drained away. It was replaced by a sad emptiness he had never known before. He would never see Dr Langford again. There had been a murder. Here. In Stambleton. And the victim was someone he knew.
W
hen Johnny got to the bottom of the hill, the policeman’s bicycle was outside the shop. Hutch opened the door and let Johnny in. The reporter was leaning on the counter. The constable was standing stiffly, with his helmet under his arm.
Hutch spoke first. ‘Johnny, the officer wants to have a word with you. Strictly speaking, your mother should be here, but I’ve explained that she’s at the sanatorium. They’ve sent a fast car for her, but I don’t think she’ll arrive for a while. Would you like me to stay with you while the policeman asks you some questions?’
‘Yes,’ said Johnny, taking off his bag. He turned to the officer. ‘Do you know who killed the doctor? Is Mrs Langford all right?’
‘I’m the one asking the questions, son,’ said the policeman. He coughed, and gestured towards the reporter. ‘Would you mind waiting elsewhere, sir?’ he said, and the reporter grumpily went out to sit in his car.
Hutch bolted the door behind him. Then he brought out the high stool from behind the post office grille, and helped Johnny up to sit on it. The policeman put his helmet on the counter and took out his notebook.
‘Now then, Johnny,’ said the policeman, ‘I’m told you knew Dr Langford well?’
‘All my life,’ said Johnny. ‘And my mother is their cleaner.’
‘Yes, your mother. We’ll get to that.’
Johnny wondered what he meant.
‘When were you last at Dr Langford’s house?’
Johnny could feel himself blushing with guilt. ‘Last night,’ he said, looking at his shoes. Hutch let out a sigh. Johnny hoped he wouldn’t tell the policeman that he’d forbidden him to go there.