by Simon Mayo
“But it all seems so useless, Jack. Everything we did, and they let Flowerdew go! He’s out there. After all we went through, he’s out there selling the 126.” A few choice oil-rig words, and Itch slumped back into the seat.
The door opened and Fairnie stepped in. “Parents are here, if you’re up to it,” he said. Jack nodded; Itch sighed. “Your family seems to have grown somewhat, Itch. You’d better come and see.”
Itch exchanged glances with Jack and, shrugging, left the room.
Jack’s parents were waiting outside her room, and Itch briefly embraced his uncle and aunt. “Yes, I’m OK!” he said in reply to their expressions of concern. “Look, sorry…. Thanks for coming…. Think Jack’s doing well … I’ll just … see my folks….”
He went back to his own room—and felt like he had walked into one of those surprise parties that you only see on television. Arranged around the bed were his mother, father, sister, and older brother, Gabriel.
“Gabe! Chloe! Hi! Wow—I didn’t know you were all coming….” He hugged his sister first and whispered, “We’ll talk soon.”
She nodded and wiped her eyes. “Brought you some clothes,” she said. “Hope I chose the right stuff.”
Itch smiled, then hugged the rest of his family. “I’m OK really, all things considered,” he told them, and sat down on his bed.
“Let’s have a look at you,” said Jude, and she sat down next to him.
“I know I’ve lost my eyebrows, by the way—just to save you from pointing it out.”
Gabriel laughed. He was tall, of course, with long brown hair tucked behind his ears. “I think you should just shave them off and be done with it. It’ll be your trademark,” he said.
Chloe and Nicholas laughed, but Jude looked sad. “When is this going to stop, Itch? You could have died in that well twice now! Why did you run off when you knew how dangerous it was?”
“Look,” said Itch, “I’m sorry. Mr. Watkins was in trouble and no one would listen, but if I’d known—”
His father stepped in. “I think everyone realizes they should have listened, Itch.” He waited for Jude to say something else, but nothing came.
“You’re not going to spoil Christmas, are you, Itch?” said Gabriel. “Holiday break is just starting, and here we are on another Itch emergency.” Everyone laughed.
“I’ll do my best not to ruin Christmas,” said Itch. “I don’t try to ruin anything, you know. Bad stuff just seems to happen.”
“Yes, but some people invite trouble, Itch.” Jude looked first at her younger son, then at her husband. “I’ll go and get some tea.” And she headed out of the room.
“What was that about?” asked Gabriel.
Itch looked at his dad. “Have you said anything about…?”
“I’ve started.” Nicholas sat down where Jude had been. “It’ll take time.”
Gabriel glanced enquiringly at Chloe, who shrugged. “You’ve started what? What’ll take time?”
The door opened, and Fairnie put his head in and nodded at Nicholas before retreating again.
“You’ve got a visitor,” said Itch’s father. “Next door with Jack. Chloe, you go too—we’ll have our tea here. Go.”
Puzzled, Itch and Chloe got up and walked down the corridor. Chloe opened the door to Jack’s room, and they both walked in. Itch pulled up short. “Lucy? What are you doing here?”
Lucy Cavendish, sitting beside Jack’s bed, smiled awkwardly. “Hello, Itch,” she said. She wore jeans and a black hoodie, her crazy hair tied back with a black band. Her face was still bruised from Shivvi’s attack, but makeup covered some of the damage. She got up when Itch and Chloe came in, and they all stood looking at each other.
“Lucy came up with my parents, Itch,” Jack explained. “She wants to talk to us.”
Itch and Chloe sat on the end of Jack’s bed and Itch turned to Lucy. “Well, you look a whole lot better than when I saw you at the Oscars. How’s the nose?”
Lucy smiled again. “Yes, it’s better than it was. I was a mess, I know, but …” She stared down at the floor for a long time before continuing. “Look, I’ve come to apologize. To all of you. To Jack especially, but all of you. I—” She fell silent and bowed her head; her shoulders started to shake.
She sat down again, and Jack tried to reach an arm out to her; Itch and Chloe waited for her to look up. She found a tissue in her pocket and wiped her eyes, then cleared her throat.
“I’ve come to apologize to all of you for everything. For being awful to you, Itch, and for attacking Jack. For all of it. I can’t believe quite how terrible I was.”
“We couldn’t believe it either,” said Itch. “You were always so nice. There aren’t many people at school who smile at me, so I remember when someone does. And you did. A lot.”
“Yeah, well … my dad was still alive then.”
There was silence in the room.
“Your dad?” said Jack. “I didn’t know he was … didn’t know … well….”
“It’s all right, Jack. You didn’t know. No one knew.” Lucy took a deep breath and looked steadily at Itch. “I’m Cake’s daughter. Cake was my dad.” She bit her lip as tears poured down her face.
Jack, Chloe, and Itch looked at each other in disbelief. Chloe gasped, but Itch spoke first.
“You’re what? You’re Cake’s daughter! Are you sure?”
“Itch!” said Chloe.
Lucy, through the tears, snorted and laughed. “Yes, Itch, I’m sure! He was my dad!”
“Sorry,” said Itch. “It’s just that …”
“I know, I know. It’s true. The hippie dude who spent his time wandering around selling stuff; he was a runaway dad. My runaway dad. He wasn’t around much when I was growing up. Mum says he bolted when I was a baby. I saw him occasionally, and we’d go on trips, but then he’d disappear again. But he made contact with me a few years ago, and we met up whenever he was in town. He’d show me his collection of elements and the weird stuff he’d been trading. I even went out to that horrid camping trailer a few times.”
The Loftes looked at each other, all three remembering the horror of finding Cake’s body at the St. Haven mine.
“He made me promise not to tell anyone, including Mum. Anyway, when I hadn’t heard from him for a while, I went back to the mine and found out what had happened. A woman from the shop told me that three kids had been asking for directions. She thought it was suspicious, so she followed them to the mine.” Lucy reached for her tissue again. “She saw a tall boy and girl and a shorter girl. The woman said she saw a body at the foot of one of the heaps, but the kids ran off, and then the police came.” Lucy blew her nose. “The woman from the shop at the mine said she thought the kids had killed him or had been responsible for his death in some way. I knew it was you guys. I thought … I thought you’d killed my dad.”
She started to cry again, and Jack swung herself out of bed. She put her arm around Lucy, looking at Itch and Chloe. They all had tears rolling down their cheeks.
“It wasn’t us, Lucy—” Jack began.
“I know that now! I talked to your dad, Itch, and he told me what had happened. But before I knew the truth, I was so crazy with grief I needed someone to blame. Every time I saw one of you guys, I imagined Dad lying there with you three all around him. I just had to do something to hurt you back. It sounds stupid saying it like that, but it’s how I felt.”
“I don’t think it sounds stupid,” said Chloe.
Lucy smiled at her, then turned to Itch. “It was so great that you were buying stuff from him, Itch. You were his favorite customer. He was always asking about you….”
Itch didn’t trust himself to speak, and just nodded. Eventually he cleared his throat. “Shivvi … how did you find out her real name? How did you know she was Shivvi, not Mary?”
“I broke into her house. I realized that she was watching the hockey match when I … when I stepped on Jack’s hand. I’m so sorry, Jack!” And the tears started again. Luc
y looked stricken.
“Stand up,” said Jack. For a moment Lucy thought Jack was going to hit her, but she slowly got to her feet. Even before she had straightened fully, Jack hugged her. After a moment of surprise, Lucy put her arms around Jack, and both girls started crying again.
“You were saying …?” said Itch.
“In a minute…” said Chloe in a whisper. “They won’t be long!”
Itch looked puzzled, but waited for the hug to end. “You realized Shivvi was watching the hockey and saw you hurt Jack,” he said. “So you thought it must have been Shivvi who attacked you as some kind of punishment?”
“Yes,” said Lucy. “And when I was in the house, I recognized her cycling gear. Then she was talking to someone in Malay on Skype…. And when she left, I went on her computer…. I know it was stupid to break in…. And I found some sandals with her name on them. She must have had them in prison or something.” She paused for a moment, then went on, “You know the rest.” She smiled weakly.
“When you stood on that chair and pointed at Mary, that was pretty demented,” said Jack. “I thought you’d gone crazy.”
“I had gone crazy …”
“But then you said ‘Shivvi Tan Fook,’ and everything went wild.”
There was a knock, and Fairnie came in. “People to see Itch, I’m afraid. You too, Jack. And the doctors will be keeping you here overnight certainly—maybe for a few days. Your folks have gone to their hotel, but they said they’d be back. I’ll show you where they are, Lucy.” He stood with the door open.
“Can we have one more minute?” asked Jack.
Fairnie nodded and disappeared.
“We have lots to talk about,” she told Lucy.
“We’d love to hear more about your dad,” added Chloe. “If you want to tell us, of course.”
“I’d like that very much,” said Lucy. She hugged Jack and Chloe and then, more awkwardly, Itch.
“You’ll come back, won’t you?” he said.
Lucy pulled her hood over her hair. “Soon as they let me …”
Itch watched the sky lighten around London. Up early, as usual, he felt like he was pacing a cage. The knowledge that the 126 was out there had kept him awake for most of the night. The meetings with the MI5 team hadn’t taken long. Itch repeated his story many times, telling them everything he’d heard about the men with Flowerdew—which wasn’t much. It was clear that they expected Flowerdew to sell the rocks quickly and then leave the country. With radioactive material unaccounted for, specialist army teams were on standby, and the Prime Minister had asked to be kept informed of any developments.
While security was tightened elsewhere, it had disappeared from Itch and Jack’s life. With his secret out and the 126 gone, there was no need for them to be protected from anybody.
Except my mother, thought Itch. He opened the door and headed down the corridor, stopping to look at a picture of some beach huts and then read the names of all the strangely named wards. Walking on, he passed a few nurses and orderlies, who ignored him. Itch smiled. He hadn’t been ignored for ages.
“Itch!” called Jack, peering out of her room. “What are you doing?”
He came back and sat down on her bed. “I was being normal,” he said.
“I doubt that very much,” she told him. “What’s happening, anyway? How did you sleep? You look awful.”
“Thanks. I know. Badly, of course. I kept thinking of Flowerdew and the 126. Eventually I gave up and got out of bed.”
“Why don’t we go for breakfast?” said Jack.
“What?”
“Breakfast. The stuff you eat in the morning. There’ll be loads of places along the river! We could be tourists!”
The idea of the two of them being tourists was so ludicrous that Itch laughed out loud. “Sure! Are we allowed?”
“They want to keep an eye on us, but it isn’t a prison. Just tell that receptionist.” Jack pointed at the woman sitting at a workstation, working her way through piles of paperwork. “Might want to get dressed first, though …”
“Oh yes,” said Itch. “See you outside.”
The blast of cold air as they left the hospital took their breath away. The sun was barely up, and their breath billowed steam out in front of them. They walked, laughing, toward the Thames, enjoying the thrill of knowing that no one was watching them.
“Not sure I’m dressed for this,” said Jack. “Didn’t realize how cold it was.” She’d put all her clothes on, but she still wasn’t warm enough.
Itch was shivering too, and rummaged in his pockets. “I’ve got five pounds. If we see a coffee shop, fine. Otherwise it’s the hospital stuff, OK?”
Jack nodded and they headed along the river bank. A few early dog walkers and joggers passed them. No one paid them any attention. They were chilled but exhilarated. A barge eased its way downstream, passing a police boat heading the other way. Across the river the Houses of Parliament glowed yellow in the weak sun, and Itch was astonished; he had expected everything to look grimy and stark, but early-morning London was quite beautiful.
“I’d race you to the bridge,” he said to Jack, “but everything’s starting to hurt. I’ll sit here for a sec—you go on.”
“No, I’ll join you. I’ll start coughing again in a minute, and my ribs are hurting.”
They sat down on a bench and felt the cold seep through their clothes. They stared across the river, knowing precisely what the other was thinking.
It was Itch who voiced it first. “Still can’t believe Lucy is Cake’s daughter. I mean, I believe her, but I never … all that time …”
“Imagine your dad disappearing,” said Jack, “and then turning up but having to keep it a secret. Did Cake ever talk about family to you?”
“I asked him, but he never said anything. Why didn’t he mention Lucy?”
“Dunno,” said Jack, “but if his reappearance was a secret from Lucy’s mother, it had to be a secret from all of us, I suppose.”
“That time he was sick, the last time we saw him before … he died, he said to you, You remind me … and then stopped. I didn’t really think about it at the time, as he was clearly ill. But he must have meant you reminded him of Lucy.”
“Really?” said Jack. “Can’t see that. We are both girls, I suppose. And about the same age.”
“Yeah, maybe that was it,” said Itch, smiling. He watched as a couple of warmly clad walkers strode past. “They’ve got hats and scarves on. We should get back before we get the flu and have to stay here for Christmas.”
As they started walking back toward the hospital, they looked up at the London Eye, the giant Ferris wheel that dominated the skyline.
“I guess we’re too early for London coffee sellers,” said Jack. “Looks like it’s hospital tea after all…. Itch?” She had continued walking without realizing he was no longer with her. She turned and saw him staring up at the huge white Ferris wheel. Jack recognized the look. She was sure he wasn’t simply admiring a tourist attraction.
Suddenly apprehensive, she walked back to him. “What is it, Itch?”
“Remember we had Flowerdew’s laptop?” said Itch. “When I was on the train to Brighton, I went through his files. Documents, videos, photos—the usual stuff. He had hundreds of photos. Some were of Cornwall and his house. Most were of what I guess was Nigeria—oil rigs, apartments, men in suits, that kind of thing. But there were photos of that too.” He pointed at the Eye.
“Is that such a big deal?” said Jack. “Millions of people take pictures of the Eye.”
Itch shook his head. “No, these weren’t taken from down here on the ground, or from one of the Ferris Wheel seats. They were taken from inside a building, looking out. In those pictures, the Eye was the view from the window.”
They walked on, now staring at the huge gray-brick building adjacent to the Eye.
“They’re apartments, Itch,” said Jack. “Can we go back and talk about this? We are both shivering, and I’m hungry. Come on.�
�� She tugged his arm.
“Here’s the thing, Jack. I recognized the views from his house in Cornwall—we’ve both been there. The Nigerian photos showed posh rooms and stunning views. And then it was London. Smaller rooms, and then views of the Eye.”
Jack started to steer Itch back to St. Thomas’s Hospital, suddenly aware of both the cold and how exposed they were out on the wide Thames path.
“So Flowerdew has an apartment here. Is that what you’re saying?”
They walked on a few more paces before Itch replied, “I think so, Jack, yes. Cornwall, Lagos, London. And I bet he hasn’t run for the ports. If he’s kept the apartment a secret and he needs medical help, I suspect Flowerdew is right here. Right now.”
“Great,” said Jack. “Just great.”
Dr. Benedict Adebayo had received the call at 3:20 a.m. He wasn’t on duty that night, and was both surprised and annoyed to be awakened in the early hours of Sunday morning. He was about to switch off his phone when the words CALLER BLOCKED made him reconsider. The only people he knew who blocked their numbers were his wife and the Nigerian embassy. As his wife was sound asleep next to him, he thought he should take the call. He crept out of the bedroom, shielding the glow from the phone. As soon as he was downstairs, he took the call.
“Yes?”
“It’s Felix. Can you visit a friend of ours? His condition is not life-threatening. Burns, smoke inhalation, that kind of thing.”
“Well, he needs a hospital, then,” said Adebayo.
“Not possible, I’m afraid. He’s at 2223 in the Moorhouse Apartments. Soon as you can. This is from the top, Benedict. Sorry to wake you. Goodnight.”
Dr. Adebayo left a note for his sleeping wife and drove the short distance to the apartments at County Hall. Most of his night calls were to more scary places than this block on the south bank of the Thames, but even here, with late-night stragglers and homeless beggars, he felt vulnerable. Particularly with a case full of medical supplies.
He pressed the buzzer by the entrance, glancing around. London was lit, the Eye was lit, but this doorway was shadowy and smelled of vomit. A rattle from the intercom, then silence.