Johnny Mackintosh and the Spirit of London Read Online Free Page A

over one entire carriage and from the chatter it sounded as though Johnny would be missing a great day out.
    He was sitting with his forehead pressed against the window, watching the fields flying past outside, with Bentley lying at his feet. Miss Harutunian was next to him on his right, reading a magazine and wearing a navy, what she’d called, “pant suit,” which Johnny found very funny. He knew he should look hisbest for his mum, so had on his own brown suit. The sleeves and legs were too short as Mrs. Irvine had bought it for him a couple of years before. Mr. Wilkins was sitting opposite, taking up both seats and pretending to read the paper, but holding it at an angle so he could keep an eye on Johnny. The shoulders of his faded gray jacket were now covered with white flakes of dandruff that he kept trying to brush off every few minutes, hoping no one noticed.
    Normally, Johnny would have thought that any day away from Castle Dudbury had to be a day well spent—it was surely the dullest place anyone had ever imagined. Today, though, was a double whammy. On the one hand he couldn’t be where he desperately wanted to be—in the Halader House computer room analyzing the signal that Kovac had intercepted the day before. Then, to make matters even worse, he had to go on the soul-destroying trip to St. Catharine’s to sit in a room with a mum who didn’t even know he was there. Life was really unfair.
    Mr. Wilkins lowered his newspaper and started talking to Miss Harutunian. “Most of the staff think Mrs. Irvine’s mad to let the boy visit his mother.”
    Johnny hated it when people talked as though he was invisible. Miss Harutunian ignored the cook and turned the page of her magazine. Mr. Wilkins continued, “You know his father’s in prison—maximum security somewhere. If you ask me, it’d be far better in the long run if he just forgot about them both.”
    Slowly, Miss Harutunian closed her magazine and looked across at Mr. Wilkins. “Exactly how do you figure that?” she asked in a steely voice.
    â€œJust look at the boy—he’s practically a delinquent. But can you blame him? They were hardly good role models. That’s what you social worker types say they need, isn’t it?”
    Johnny’s fingernails were digging into his hands. He was still facing out of the window—next to him he could see his ownreflection becoming redder, while further away he watched Mr. Wilkins shoving his bushy beard forward toward Miss Harutunian. Johnny felt a calming hand from her on his shoulder. She said, “We social workers believe there’s nothing more important for a child than maintaining a close family bond.”
    â€œDon’t you know what they did?” asked the cook. “Both of them? They killed his older brother—in cold blood. Micky.”
    â€œNicky!” snapped Johnny, turning round. “His name was Nicky.”
    Johnny stared defiantly at Mr. Wilkins, who lifted the newspaper in front of his face and hid behind a headline that read “ YARNTON HILL HORROR !” Johnny sensed Miss Harutunian looking at him, but he turned away and stared out of the window again. He missed his family more than anything, but didn’t want to talk about them. He hadn’t seen his dad since he was a little boy and he didn’t want to see his mum like this. He wanted his real mum, the walking, talking, fun one he’d loved as a little boy. But, as he knew that would never happen now, he just wanted to go to the Tower of London with everyone else. Outside, the fields had given way to tower blocks. A giant mural had been painted on the side of one, showing children, several meters tall, playing. Calming down a little he wondered if you were born on Mars, might you actually grow to be that tall because of the low gravity? Soon an announcement came over the tannoy: “We will shortly be arriving at London Liverpool