by Simon Mayo
Itch felt his mouth go dry, his stomach tighten and his bowels lurch. He had completely forgotten the packages at the bottom of his bag.
Oh help, he thought. This is all my fault.
3
ALONE IN THE house, Itch, shaking, peered again at the computer screen and clicked on DELETE HISTORY. It hadn’t taken long to find the information he was looking for. A search for ‘arsenic gas’ had delivered the information he had dreaded.
What Cake hadn’t told him about the arsenic in the wallpaper is that on exposure to damp conditions it gave off arsine, a gas which had, over the years, caused many deaths. When he read that, Itch thought again of his teacher and three classmates still in hospital. From what the head had said, it didn’t sound too serious, but could anyone be sure? When was the last time the hospital had dealt with arsenic poisoning? Had they even identified the arsenic yet? The only thing that was certain was that he was responsible. If he hadn’t taken his three packages to school – and one of them in particular – none of this would have happened.
After Dr Dart had announced the closing of the school, talking about some kind of ‘poison gas’, Itch had sat staring straight ahead, not hearing or seeing anything else. Jack had asked him if he was OK, fearing that he too was about to be ill again. But Itch didn’t reply. His rucksack was just behind him. He had grabbed it and, excusing himself to Dr Dart, run for the toilets. He had sat down in one of the cubicles with the rucksack on the floor in front of him. He had to get rid of the wallpaper. He had considered his options, but flushing it away there and then had seemed to make the most sense. Opening his rucksack, he piled his school books on the floor and fished out the brown A3 envelope.
The roll of wallpaper inside was damp, mouldy and smelled strongly like garlic. So that’s where the smell in the loft came from, thought Itch, and held his breath. He pulled out the green roll and started to unwind it. He had only looked at it once before, just after he had bought it – a rather boring length of wallpaper with a green floral pattern. Now it was heavier, darker, and thick with mould. He started to tear off strips and flush them down the toilet. Hoping he would remain undisturbed, he ran from cubicle to cubicle, tearing and flushing, until the entire roll had disappeared into the hospital’s drainage system.
Itch had started to feel nauseous again, so he sat down on the final toilet and put his head in his hands. He heard the main door open, and Jack’s voice asked if he was OK. Itch had reassured her and said he would be back out in a minute. With the danger removed and his stomach settling down, he had washed his hands and walked slowly back to the reception area, his rucksack on his back.
Three pupils – Johnny Burnham, Natalie Hussain and Debbie Price – along with Miss Glenacre had been kept in overnight; the rest were allowed to leave. The school and hospital arranged transport home for those whose parents couldn’t pick them up. Jack’s father had driven out; he suggested that Itch should stay with them, but Itch wanted to go home – though he promised to call immediately if he felt ill again. He needed to be on his own to work out what to do next.
He had been aware of little on his journey back to the house save for one question: should he own up? He hated the thought of three classmates and a teacher being in hospital, but at the same time he wondered about the implications of admitting to taking the arsenic wallpaper to school. Not good, he imagined, and certainly the end of his element hunting. Following on so soon after last night’s big bang, his mother would certainly throw the whole collection out. If he didn’t own up to the school, should he own up to Chloe or Jack? He was sure they wouldn’t tell on him, but the risks were high if they let something slip. He needed more information – which was why the first thing he did when he got home was to do an internet search.
With the science clearer in his head, Itch made himself some toast, then went on to some local-news sites. They had only a sketchy outline of what had happened. He scrolled down to a quote from a hospital spokesman, who had said that all four patients were being kept in overnight for observation, that their condition was stable; there would be more information in the morning. Could he wait till tomorrow? Itch wondered. Should he leave an anonymous message at the hospital?
He called Jack, who filled him in on some messages she’d had from friends. All the Year Nines seemed to be OK now, and Debbie, Natalie and Johnny in hospital weren’t any worse. There was no news of Miss Glenacre.
Itch heard his mother’s car turn into the drive – he had to decide now! Hearing her key in the door, he opted for silence … for now. If in the morning his classmates’ condition was no better, he would own up; if they were OK, he would keep quiet. This seemed a logical position, and he started to calm down a bit.
His mother had picked up Chloe from a friend’s, and Itch was heading for the sofa with his toast when she hurried in, dropping her bag on an armchair.
‘Let’s have a look at you.’ His mum sat down, tucking some of her shoulder-length hair behind her ear, and studied him closely. ‘How many times were you sick? You still look pale – although the lack of eyebrows doesn’t help.’ Itch wasn’t sure what that had to do with it, apart from letting him know she hadn’t forgotten.
‘Just the once in the greenhouse, but this is the first time I’ve felt like eating anything.’ He waved his buttered toast at her.
‘Thanks for the longer holidays, Itch,’ said Chloe as she appeared in the doorway. ‘With half term next week, we’ve now got nearly two weeks off!’
‘It’s a pleasure – we did it just for you.’
‘What do you think happened?’ she asked. ‘Someone told me that Johnny Burnham ate a poisonous flower and that was the start of it. Everyone else just joined in.’
‘And how likely does that sound to you? Johnny might be a fool, but he’s not going to start eating flowers in a greenhouse. There might have been some “joining in”, I suppose … it’s difficult to say.’ Itch paused for a moment. There wasn’t a lot he could say now with his mother still hovering, and he hadn’t decided what, if anything, to tell Chloe.
Jude turned on the local TV news. She caught the end of a report showing parents waiting outside the school and the reporter saying that it would remain closed until they found what the gas was and where it had come from. She switched it off again. ‘Well, Itch, you’re the scientist here. What could cause that? If it wasn’t Johnny’s flower, what was it?’
This was not something Itch could cope with just now. He was a hopeless actor, and he didn’t want to start making up theories. He looked down. ‘I dunno, Mum.’
He got up and cleared his plate away. ‘I think I’ll go and lie down for a bit.’ Both Chloe and Jude looked surprised: they had been expecting him to come up with a range of hypotheses about what could have caused the mass sickness. But he didn’t offer any and they didn’t force him.
As he reached the sitting-room door, Jude said, ‘Oh, your dad rang to say he’s coming down tomorrow.’
Itch stopped and turned round. ‘But he’s not due till next weekend – he always says he can’t change his shift patterns.’
‘I know. He does always say that. But he heard about what happened today and has taken compassionate leave. He’s flying down tomorrow and should be here after lunch.’
As Itch climbed the stairs, instead of being excited as he normally was when his father came home, he felt only dread. More explanations, more lying. For some reason, lying to his dad had always been more difficult than lying to his mum.
His bedroom still had that burned smell, even though the window had been open all day. He sat down heavily on the bed, swung his legs up and put both hands behind his head. He was not at all sure that his decision to wait and see was the right one. Who knows? he thought. By the time Dad arrives I might have been arrested and thrown in jail. He was thinking of Googling ‘Youth prison sentences for poisoning’ when Chloe knocked and came in.
‘You all right, Itch? You didn’t look that thrilled to hear that Dad’s coming back.’
‘Go away, I’m sick.’ Itch turned and faced the wall.
‘Yes, but you’re getting better. What’s going on, Itch? Is there—?’
‘I’ve been sick, Chloe, and I’ll chuck up on you if you don’t leave me alone.’
‘Whatever,’ said Chloe, and she turned and left.
The next morning was distinctly cool for May, and a strong onshore wind was making it feel cooler still. Itch had been awake for a while, thinking about his dad’s imminent return. The whole science thing had really started with him. When Itch was ten, his dad had given him an old book he’d found while clearing out Grandpa Joe’s things.
Itch’s grandpa had been ill for a while, and when he died Itch went to help his dad sort out the flat. He’d had hundreds of books, most of which went straight into cardboard boxes and then to the charity shop. But there was one his dad had dusted off and started to flick through. He had handed the book to Itch, smiling.
‘I remember this from when I was young, Itch – you might like it. Grandpa lent it to me to get me interested in chemistry. It worked! It was probably the start of everything for me. I think it’s banned now, though. Too dangerous or something, according to the Americans. Never did me any harm. Though Grandpa might disagree if he was here …’ Itch remembered his dad trailing off, looking sad again. ‘But if you don’t want it,’ he said, ‘just chuck it out with all the others.’
It was a battered, yellowing tome called The Golden Book of Chemistry Experiments by Robert Brent. The fact that it was a banned book had, of course, immediately aroused Itch’s interest. He had never seen anything that was banned before!
It explained how to turn your house into a chemistry lab – where you could get all the ingredients and equipment you needed to perform the experiments. The first page proudly declared that almost every child alive was fascinated by finding out about things.
Well, that’s it, thought Itch. That’s all I want to do – find out about things. However, he had since found out that the book was wrong in one respect at least. Most kids at his school were not interested in finding out about things. Not unless it involved a football or a shoot-’em-up game.
The book concluded with a list of all the 102 elements that had been discovered when the book was published in 1960. When Itch put away his Pokémon cards for what turned out to be the last time, it had seemed totally natural to start collecting everything on that list. He wondered why he hadn’t thought of it before.
The first ones were easy to find. He’d gone for chlorine, calcium and titanium. They were easy because they were there in the room with him. Chlorine was in the bleach from under the sink, calcium in a seashell Chloe had brought home years ago, and titanium in his brother Gabriel’s tongue stud – which he had left in the fruit bowl at Christmas. Gabriel was twenty and in his second year at Warwick University. He came home occasionally, but always seemed keen to leave again at the first opportunity – all the more so when a girlfriend appeared on the scene.
Then came fluorine from the Teflon on an old frying pan, copper from some cable his dad kept in the shed, and nickel in the form of some old coins. Lead had been easy. So was silver – Itch’s mum was always losing earrings. He had found three before breakfast one morning and just decided not to tell her. Chromium was next: he had dis covered that it covered most cutlery.
And so it went on. Once he had found an element he stored it in a shoe box in his cupboard, and put a tick by it on the TABLE OF ELEMENTS IN FULL COLOUR poster that had come with a science magazine, noting where he had got it from. Very soon, however, he needed more room: stuff like the old piece of lead piping took up half a box on its own. More shoe boxes had followed, and within three months of becoming an element hunter, Itch had thirty-two of the 118 elements residing in his wardrobe alongside his shoes and underwear. According to Chloe, it was a close call as to which smelled the most threatening.
Itch’s mum had tried very hard to understand his new hobby. The first time he had put up the poster of the elements in his room she had stood and gazed at it, dirty washing in one hand, a mug of tea for Itch in the other. He followed her eyes as they skipped along the rows and down the columns.
‘It’s like a crossword,’ he said, to break the silence. ‘You can read it horizontally as the atomic numbers get higher, or vertically. The columns of elements are all a bit like each other. Cool, isn’t it?’
‘Er, yes, I suppose so. I don’t think I’ve seen one since I was at school …’
‘Oh, there’s been lots more discovered since then,’ said Itch, and he pointed at the bottom right-hand corner of one section. ‘Copernicum was only discovered in 1996 – that wouldn’t have been there in your day.’
Jude threw her son’s pants and socks at him. ‘You make me sound ancient! For that, I’m keeping the tea.’ And she sipped it slowly, taking in the blocks of letters and numbers. ‘It looks like the plans for a rather odd, unfinished castle. These are like turrets, don’t you think?’ She pointed to the two ends of the table where the columns of blocks were highest.
‘I hadn’t seen it as a castle – no,’ said Itch. ‘More like a map really. Those “turrets” are hydrogen at one end and helium at the other. You see—’
‘And this could be a moat at the bottom,’ interrupted Jude, pointing her mug to two lines of blocks that underlined the ‘castle’.
‘No, it really couldn’t be a moat. Didn’t they teach you anything, Mum?’
She had shrugged and turned to leave. ‘What’s it going to be, this collection of yours, when it’s finished?’
‘It’s not going to “be” anything. It’s just a collection, Mum. You must have collected something when you were young. Dolls, or something?’ They both smiled. ‘Dad has this book which says the table of elements is a collection of everything you can drop on your foot. Does that help?’
His mother smiled a little. ‘In which case I’ll take it up with him. Whenever he gets round to seeing us again. Till then, it’s a castle.’
Itch heard his sister, and a few minutes later his mother, go downstairs. It was only just gone seven, but although school was closed, they were all early risers. Itch was just thinking he might stay in bed till his mother went to work when his door opened and she put her head round.
‘I’m off, Itch – need to be in Exeter by eleven. There’s stuff for sandwiches in the fridge, and some bananas. And’ – she pointed at the cupboard where the boxes of elements were – ‘get that lot in the shed. Maybe Chloe can help you. Call me if you feel ill again, OK? See you tonight.’
‘And good morning to you too,’ said Itch as his mother went back downstairs. He clicked his computer to life and went to the local-news sites he had been checking yesterday. There was no update on the conditions of Johnny, Debbie, Natalie and Miss Glenacre; in fact, no change to the story at all.
He got dressed and went downstairs. Chloe had been watching TV in the lounge, but she came to join him at the kitchen table.
‘I’m feeling fine – before you ask,’ said Itch.
‘If grumpy,’ she muttered. ‘Mum says you have to move your stuff out to the shed today. Any news from the hospital?’
Itch made a grunting noise which sounded negative, so Chloe returned to the television.
Back in his room, Itch took his element collection out of the cupboard and arranged it on the floor. To the casual observer it was a rather unimpressive assortment of rocks, corked bottles, bits of metal and everyday household objects.
Counting across the row nearest his bed, he had:
two clear test tubes;
a battery;
the head of a golf club;
some children’s play putty;
a pencil;
a sandwich bag with some dark soil-like
substance in it;
another clear test tube with a cork in.
However, on his poster Itch had written:
Hydrogen (my own!)
Helium (balloon gas - Chloe’s tenth bir
thday)
Lithium (AA batteries - W H Smith)
Beryllium (found on golf course, hole twelve)
Boron (birthday present)
Carbon (2B pencil - school)
Nitrogen (fertilizer - shed!)
Oxygen (my own! Electrolysis is amazing!)
They were the first eight elements, and they were stored in the first shoe box. Itch was particularly proud of the hydrogen and oxygen, which he had produced himself (his dad’s book had shown how to do it with a few batteries, some copper wire and a flask of water). Into the next shoe box went:
an old frying pan;
a long thin light bulb;
a strip of silvery metallic ribbon;
a brass capsule with a pointy tip;
a small tub of powder;
a computer chip.
As Itch put each one into the box, he said quietly, ‘Fluorine, neon, magnesium, xenon, aluminium, silicon.’
He was irritated by this box’s contents as there was something missing. Ever since he’d started his collection he had been looking for sodium (which should come after neon), but he had struggled. This was because the sodium he wanted was highly reactive and dangerous. You usually only got to see it at school, when his science teacher would remove a small amount from an oily solution in a jar; he would then drop a tiny amount into water, where it would pop and burst into flames. Itch’s birthday was still a month away, but he knew what he wanted, even if he knew he wouldn’t get it. He wanted some sodium. Proper sodium.
He finished packing up his elements and put his stink bombs in the front pocket of his rucksack. His collection all fitted into four boxes and a carrier bag, and he was just about to start moving it to the shed when Chloe called out from downstairs: