by James Erith
Isabella raised her eyebrows. ‘We’re not, Archie. These could save your life—’
‘Where’s that storm glass thing?’ Daisy cut in, her tone serious. ‘I want to see what it’s doing.’
‘Next to Isabella’s desk,’ Sue replied.
Daisy picked it up, studied it and quickly put it down again. ‘I don’t mean to be rude, sciencey nerd folk, but have you analysed this lately?’
Isabella marched over as though it was a complete waste of time. ‘What?’ she snapped.
Daisy put it down. ‘This test tube. Have any of you noticed a) how hot it is, and b) that it’s literally crammed full of crystals moving very, very fast.’
Isabella grabbed it, stared at it for a moment or two before laying it down on the bench. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, Daisy. Yes, it’s a little warm – but so what? As I said, I’m not sure how it works.’
Daisy shrugged. ‘Well, you two know what you’re doing. But I’d keep an eye on that if I were you.’ She stretched out the gooey strip. ‘Can I put this in my hair?’
‘Please, Daisy,’ Isabella said. ‘It must be on the bottom of your shoe. Attach it on the underside of your boot using the Velcro.’ Isabella sounded a little irritated by the intrusion. ‘Now go away – run and get changed or you’ll be late.’
Daisy skipped off, singing to herself and punching the air.
As her footsteps receded down the corridor, Archie picked up the storm glass. Immediately he put it down again. ‘Woah! It really is hot, seriously. Touch it.’
‘I’ve just done that,’ Isabella said.
Sue put her finger to the glass. ‘OW! Scorching!’ she sucked her fingers. ‘Bells, it’s steaming.’
‘A mild expulsion of water vapour, that’s all,’ Isabella said nervously.
‘You think so?’ They started backing away.
‘No, not necessarily.’
The test tube was beginning to glow, steam pouring out of the top.
‘Has anyone added anything to it?’ Isabella asked.
Archie and Sue shook their heads.
The activity in the test tube increased. They could hear the crystals popping against the glass.
‘Get out!’ Isabella yelled. ‘Crickey. It’s going to blow!’
They ran for the door and shut it firmly behind themselves and threw themselves to the floor. Seconds later, the storm glass exploded, sending fragments to every corner of the room.
Sue shivered. ‘What does it mean?’ she asked.
‘I think it means we were right all along.’ Isabella’s voice quaking. ‘For here above us, beginneth the storm from hell.’
‘It couldn’t be a mistake, could it?’ Sue said – a tinge of desperation in her voice.
‘Possibly,’ Isabella replied, as another roll of thunder boomed and shook the walls. ‘But I very seriously doubt it.’
‘Right, that’s it!’ Isabella said as she barged past Sue. ‘Out of my way!’
‘Where are you off to now?’
‘To see Solomon and have it out with him. This time properly.’
‘Oh no,’ Sue said remembering the last time she’d seen Isabella like this. She’d torn into Mrs Douglas, the science teacher, and ended up being severely reprimanded – and very nearly expelled. ‘I’m coming with you.’
As Isabella marched off, her eyes hard and her chin up, Sue had to run alongside to keep up. They wove through the maze of old school buildings, up worn stone stairs and down dark corridors, until they reached a large, dark brown, studded wooden door that sat below a striking Gothic arch. Opposite this was a small, elegant courtyard with a fountain, like a bird bath, in the middle.
Isabella thumped on the door, the noise echoing back at them. ‘He must be in,’ Isabella said. She turned the handle of the door. It creaked.
‘You can’t just let yourself in,’ Sue whispered.
‘Watch me – I’ll wait for him inside. Then he can’t get away from me.’
‘You’re being ridiculous—’
‘Now then,’ said the familiar voice of Mr Solomon as his head appeared around the door. He pulled it open and peered over the top of his glasses. ‘Isabella, Sue, how nice to see you.’ He smiled a thin and rather fake smile as he studied their faces. ‘Is everything alright – what can I do for you?’
Inside, Isabella saw books piled up on tables and crammed into shelves from the floor to the ceiling and stuffed into every nook and cranny of the room; old reading lamps offered light to large leather armchairs and exercise books with piles of marking were stretched out across the floor. Odd curiosities and portraits of headmasters dotted the walls.
This room of learning had the immediate effect of dampening her temper.
Solomon caught her staring and invited them in. ‘Can I get you both anything – a cup of tea, perhaps?’
Isabella hesitated. ‘No, thanks.’ She turned to Sue as if for encouragement. ‘I’ll, er, get straight to the point if I may. You have to call off the football match.’
‘Whatever for?’ the headmaster replied. ‘You’re not still worried about this storm?’
Isabella reddened a little. ‘Yes, sir. I’m not only worried about it; I’m petrified about it. You see, I ran some programmes on global weather data with specifics exactly like those we have above us, and then I did another experiment which confirmed my suspicions—’
‘How fascinating,’ said Mr Solomon with a plastic smile. ‘Tell me about it?’
‘Well, I built a storm glass – and it has just blown up—’
‘A storm glass?’ Solomon interrupted. ‘A 17th century version of the weather forecast?’ Solomon laughed dryly. ‘I haven’t heard of one of those since I was a student. In fact, I’m sure we had one here once upon a time. It was in a cabinet – as a curiosity. I’ll have to dig it out.’
Isabella frowned. Solomon knew about storm glasses. She felt a rush of uncertainty.
‘You’re concerned about this horrid cloud again, aren’t you Isabella,’ Solomon said gently, noting that he’d unsettled her.
She nodded.
‘Well, rest assured. I am too.’
‘You are?’
‘Indeed. In fact I have just this very minute put the phone down from a conversation with a senior forecaster at the Met Office. According to them, there’s little to worry about. It’s a localised cloud – at worst we may hear several growls of thunder and see a few flashes of lightning and perhaps experience some heavy rain, but nothing unusual for the time of year. And they assured me that it was unlikely to break until this afternoon. Satisfied?’
‘But—’
‘There you have it, Isabella. I’m afraid there’s nothing more to say about the matter. The match is on and the other performances will continue as planned.’ His tone changed. ‘I am particularly busy at the moment organising today’s celebrations before the start of the match, so please don’t pester me with this again. You should know by now that I have everyone’s best interests at heart. Safety, as you are well aware, is my number one priority.’
Isabella stared at the headmaster. He wasn’t telling the truth one bit – she could smell it. ‘Can I ask who you spoke to at the Met Office, sir?’
Solomon paused and glared at her. ‘If you must know, it was a man by the name of Mr Fish.’
With that he ushered them out of the door and shut it firmly behind him.
Solomon leant on the oak door and listened as their footsteps receded down the corridor. Then he let out a sigh. Had she believed him? He couldn’t be sure. It was hard to read her expression, although he noted there was more of a frown on her face than before.
Why did she keep coming back to him about the storm? Did she really believe there was going to be a disaster? If she did, he thought, it was very over the top.
Solomon picked up his schedule folder and sat down in one of the leather armchairs. Her persistence was admirable, even if it was misplaced. No, no. Nothing was going to stop today going ahead, not a big s
torm or even a few drops of rain.
Goodness me, he thought, this is Yorkshire, the finest county in all of England – God’s own county they called it – where thunder and lightning went hand in hand with the rough landscapes of the moors and dales.
These kids were getting too soft.
He chuckled to himself. Met Office? He couldn’t think what had made him come up with that nonsense. He simply knew that the only way he’d be able to stop her in her tracks was to throw something scientific back at her.
But why Mr Fish? It was an implausibly good name for a weatherman. In any case, he had a busy morning ahead; press turning up, television and newspapers, new parents and old, and this was his big – and last – chance to showcase everything he had done over the past twenty-five years. The crowning day of his headship.
He smiled and busied himself sorting out the place names for the banquet later on in the old school chamber. It was an evening he’d anticipated for years – and wouldn’t it be sweeter still if they won the football.
How he hoped like mad that sister of hers, Daisy, would play her heart out again. What a player! He’d never seen the like. She was George Best and Pele and Ronaldo blended into one slender pop-tart of a girl – brave as a soldier, tough as leather and as quick and slippery as a salmon.
He sighed and shook his head before returning to the matter of wondering who he should sit next to. Geraldine Forbes. Yes, perfect. The star of Summerdale, the TV soap star famed for her gritty Yorkshire one-liners, but in reality she was a delightful, attractive lady, who had simply the most beautiful green eyes he’d ever seen and lips as full as cushions.
He pictured it in his mind; the hall decorated to the nines in the school’s light blue and scarlet colours, bright candles accentuating the Gothic arched windows and the trophies and cups in gold and silver from the vaults sparkling in the light. Magnificent!
And then there was the menu he’d painstakingly put together over the past three years. He had had a special honour bestowed on him by Her Majesty the Queen for permission to eat swan’s meat. He licked his lips; it was a delicacy he had never tried.
And the wines, carefully selected from all over the world after years of special tastings. It would be a banquet the governors, his friends and exclusive guests, whom he’d handpicked from the cream of local society, would never forget.
And afterwards, he’d make his speech of retirement and receive warm, generous and heartfelt thanks from those whose lives he had touched. Yes, he mused. It was to be his swan song. And he chuckled to himself at the joke – swan song.
Nobody, certainly not Isabella de Lowe, was going to stop it. And then he laughed even harder, his mood turning from happy to jovial. Mr Fish. Ah yes, he thought. There really had been a weather forecaster called Mr Fish, if he recalled correctly. Wasn’t he the one who told the nation there was no storm coming shortly before the devastating storms way back in the nineteen eighties.
Solomon laughed out loud and wiped his brow. Now won’t that be hilarious if Isabella rings up the Met Office and asks for Mr Fish.
Whatever will they think?
21
On The Way To The Game
‘Sue, we need a plan,’ Isabella said. ‘Solomon clearly doesn’t want to know, so we’re going to have to either disrupt the match or figure out how to get away—’
Sue couldn’t really face direct action. ‘Away would be best—’
Isabella was on a roll. ‘If I can get Arch and Daisy over the bridge, then I think we’ll be fine. When we get to the lane, the canopy of the tunnel will protect us. It’s you I’m worried about.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes, you.’ Isabella confirmed. ‘How are you going to get out of here? You’ll need to get home fast. Have you ever driven a car?’
‘No. Stop being ridiculous—’
‘I’m not. You could steal one.’
Sue glared at Isabella who shrugged back. ‘Look, Bells, I’ll think of something, OK.’
‘Well thinking isn’t good enough,’ Isabella snapped back. ‘You need a plan. Why don’t you come back with us!’
‘I can’t. My mum wants me home.’
‘Well, in that case, start engaging that brain of yours.’
As the two girls trudged slowly back from the science laboratories in silence they could feel the buzz of the crowd making its way down towards the bridge.
‘Why do I feel so edgy about this match?’ Isabella said as a couple of boys ran past nearly knocking her over. ‘What if Daisy gets a huge kicking and can’t run and they lose and then the storm breaks and she can’t get home? And what about Archie? His mind seems to be all over the place, have you seen him? He looks sick, poor boy. I’m worried he won’t save a thing – he seems even more scatter-brained than usual.’
‘Well it is the final—’
‘I know that,’ Isabella said. ‘It’s just that I’ve got an awful feeling deep inside me that everything’s going to go wrong.’ Isabella closed her eyes and shook her head. ‘You know, I’m not sure I even like football—’
‘Rubbish. You love it,’ Sue replied, ‘you’re just a little jealous of Daisy like everyone else. Just look at Kemp. He’s dying to play, but he sees Daisy as his barrier. He simply can’t accept that girls can be superior in what is essentially a man’s game. And Daisy’s a babe too, so it’s kind of doubly awful. And that, basically, is why he hates her so much.’
‘But that still doesn’t mean I like football—’
‘Sure, but as you’re her sister and sporty as a mole, it’s natural for you to want her to do well.’ Sue looked up at the sky and her heart seemed to skip a beat. She whistled. ‘It really is the biggest, blackest, purplest, most evil-looking cloud I have ever seen, Bells. Even Solomon’s hilarious floodlights are on. Every time I look up, my whole body starts shaking like a jelly.’
Isabella laughed nervously; she had the exact same feeling too.
Sue inspected her watch, ‘We’ve got five minutes.’ She slowed and grasped Isabella’s arm as if setting herself up to say something important. She stared earnestly into her friend’s eyes. ‘Listen Bells,’ she began, ‘I’ve been meaning to tell you something important—’
‘Really?’ Isabella noticed that her friend had gone a little pale. ‘Did you put the wrong mix in the storm glass—?’
‘No. It’s not about the storm glass ... it’s about—’
‘So you DID—’
‘Bells, I haven’t touched it. In fact I’m quite sure it did what it did perfectly naturally.’ Sue added. ‘It’s about you. It’s personal.’
‘Me?’ Isabella’s mind whirled. ‘You’ve got a boyfriend and you haven’t told me—’
‘For goodness’ sake, you know full well I haven’t got a boyfr—’
‘OK, someone out there fancies me—’
‘NO. Listen, Isabella – it’s got absolutely nothing to do with boys—’
‘You sure?’
‘YES.’
‘Good,’ Isabella said, ‘they’re a waste of—’
‘It’s about you,’ Sue said.
‘Me?’ Isabella said. ‘OMG. You ... fancy ... me?’
Sue shrieked. ‘For crying out loud, Bells, NO! Will you just let me speak.’ She took a deep breath. ‘It concerns YOU, in fact it concerns all of you de Lowes. You, Archie and Daisy. All those things I told you about in my dream, well, there’s more.’
‘More?’
‘Yes! The storm – the rain. You see, I’m pretty sure it’s about you and that in some way you’re linked—’
Isabella was a bit confused. ‘About US?’
‘Listen! SHUT UP, just for a minute.’ Sue tried to compose herself. ‘What I’m trying to say is that—’
Sue heard the long shrill of a whistle and the roar of the crowd. She followed Isabella’s eyes towards the floodlit football pitch.
‘OH NO! We’re late!’ Isabella cried and smacked her hand on her forehead. ‘Your watch must be slow.’
Sue tapped the face of the dial and compared it to the clock on her mobile. ‘Oh help! Sorry.’ But already her friend had gone.
Isabella tore off down the track. What was I thinking? I bet someone’s scored. ‘Come on, keep up!’ she yelled over her shoulder as she took off down the shingle path. She felt Sue draw close. ‘Look, tell me later! I mean it’s not like it’s life or death, is it?’ she yelled.
‘But there are things you absolutely … must … know,’ Sue said, her voice trailing off as she watched Isabella fly away from her at a simply extraordinary speed. In fact she couldn’t remember seeing Isabella run faster in her whole life.
Sue felt sick, the moment lost. Everything in the last hour had started to confirm that what she had seen and heard and felt was going to come true. And if there was even the tiniest chance of this happening, then she absolutely had to tell Isabella everything.
She gritted her teeth. Why was it that every time she tried to say something to her, it never seemed quite the right time – as though there was some kind of force preventing it from happening?
Because the thing was, it really was about life or death.
Kemp reached into his pocket and pulled out the paper with the scribbles Archie had made. He wondered if what Archie had said had any truth in it. Nah, even though Archie banged on about it – as though it really mattered – he was probably nervous about the football or something.
Kemp dismissed it.
Then he wondered if it was an elaborate set-up for a fight with Gus Williams; the work of one of those girls – Daisy or Isabella de Lowe. He could smell them all over this.
Kemp leant against the stone wall outside the school hall and held the paper up. If that Old Man Wood, or whatever his name was, was old enough to play a prank on Archie and give him this old coat to wear, then what were the others capable of?
Maybe that’s what they did up there in the hills; they dreamt up hilarious jokes because they had nothing else to do apart from tell stories and get freaked out by ghosts or the weather. He glanced up. It was ridiculously dark and it was a ridiculously huge cloud. He wondered if Isabella’s experimental madness with barometers might have some foundation.