Itch

by Simon Mayo

  ‘We could always go back with Barth if we’re stuck,’ said Jack.

  ‘Let’s hang on a bit longer,’ said Itch. ‘I’m sure there’s a later bus. I’d rather that than another trip with Mr Happy.’ They sat on the bus-stop bench, watching the road for a sign of the next bus.

  ‘I was on Facebook Chat with Debbie last night,’ said Jack. ‘She seems fine now and says that the others are doing OK too. Miss Glenacre had it worst, apparently, but maybe that’s an age thing.’

  Itch felt himself flush and looked intently at the tin ore in his hand again. The subject of the greenhouse hadn’t come up for a couple of days and he was feeling increasingly uncomfortable about not telling Jack what had happened.

  ‘Anyway, the greenhouse is being taken apart. Apparently they are going through all the plants one by one to see what happened, but so far they haven’t found anything. They’ll all be gone by the time we go back on Monday.’

  Itch was just about to explain about the arsenic when four large unmarked white trucks came past in close convoy and turned into the mine works. They didn’t go to the main car park but carried on round to the other car park at the back, out of sight of the road.

  ‘Maintenance?’ said Itch. ‘They’ve all gone round to the area at the back that Barth turned us off. Seems a bit late to be starting work.’

  ‘Must be shift work or something,’ said Jack. ‘Easier to do when there’s no one around.’

  Suddenly Itch spotted a bus coming down the hill. ‘Looks like we don’t need to ask Barth for a lift after all. Hooray for the thirty-two! Come on, Jack – I’ve got something to tell you.’

  5

  JACK LISTENED TO Itch’s confession open-mouthed. The bus journey took around forty minutes, and their hushed conversation had lasted every second of it. When they got off, they stood at the bus stop as Jack went over it all again. In contrast to Chloe, who had guessed some of the story, Jack was totally flabbergasted.

  ‘But that’s so wrong, Itch! You should have told someone! What if the sickness had got worse?’

  ‘Well, I …’ started Itch, taken aback. ‘I wasn’t sure what to do. It was only a small piece of wallpaper, so I thought it would only be a small amount of gas—’

  ‘Oh, come on, Itch – you just didn’t want to be found out. Which is fair enough, but couldn’t you have left an anonymous message at the hospital or something?’

  Itch frowned. He knew he could have left a message, but he had been too scared of being found out. Following on from Chloe’s comments, he was irritated by the criticism. ‘Well, you’ve just stolen a rock from the mines,’ he said, hating himself even as he was saying it.

  ‘What!’ exclaimed Jack. ‘I did that for you! And helping myself to a loose piece of tin is hardly the same as poisoning a class with arsenic.’

  ‘Arsine gas,’ corrected Itch.

  Jack’s mouth was open wide, but nothing came out. Eventually she turned and walked off, calling, ‘Goodbye, Itch,’ angrily over her shoulder. Itch trudged home, his left hand in his pocket, wrapped around the tin.

  Both cousins missed their last day at the mine. Jack texted Itch to say she was too tired, and he rang South-West Mines, leaving a message for Mr Evert. He moped around all morning. He was still mad at Jack for criticizing him, but mainly he was angry with himself. He knew she was right. He sent a text:

  Sorry, Jack. Messed that one up.

  The reply came within ten minutes: OK.

  Saturday morning found Jude Lofte making tea, Chloe at the computer, and Itch at the kitchen table with his toast and his lump of tin ore in front of him.

  ‘A new pet?’ asked Jude.

  ‘Got it at the mine,’ said Itch. He couldn’t think of the circumstances under which his mother might meet Bob Evert, so there seemed no risk in saying how he had come by it. ‘It’s tin. Want to see?’

  His mother wandered over and gave it a cursory glance. ‘Looks harmless enough. But it still stays in the shed, OK? Any homework to do before school on Monday?’ She sat down at the table with her mug, and Chloe joined them with a bowl of cereal.

  Itch had, of course, forgotten that he had history and English homework, and these were two subjects he always struggled with. Writing essays took for ever and he found he could only get them done if a crisis was looming – that crisis usually being ‘needs to be in tomorrow’. By Sunday afternoon it normally felt too scary to leave it any longer and he would get down to it.

  ‘I’m doing it tomorrow, Mum,’ he said. ‘It’ll be fine. Don’t worry. Fancy a surf, Chloe? Swell looked pretty good yesterday.’

  ‘I think that’s the wrong way round,’ said Jude. ‘Homework, then surf. Your priorities are all wrong, Itch.’

  Chloe looked at her brother, then at her mother. ‘What if we make it quick, Mum? The tide’s just right now – it’ll have gone flabby by this afternoon.’

  ‘Really?’ said Jude. She sipped more coffee and looked between the two of them. ‘OK, but some homework before lunch, please.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum,’ said Itch, and they cleared away their breakfast.

  The wind and cloud had given way to some warm sunshine and a slight breeze, but the Atlantic rollers were still swollen. As they walked down towards the beach they could see nine or ten surfers out already.

  ‘Flabby?’ said Itch. ‘Do waves go flabby?’

  ‘No idea,’ said Chloe. ‘It was all I could think of at the time. Worked, though.’

  ‘Yeah, thanks.’

  ‘Why are we doing this?’ asked Chloe. ‘You don’t normally suggest a surf.’

  ‘Mum was building up to a big homework lecture. I wanted to get out and it’s all I could think of. I’ll just paddle about – I’m good at that.’

  They opened the hut and got changed. Itch, still feeling uncomfortable in his brash new wetsuit, let Chloe run ahead of him. The sea was indeed perfect for surfing, with big Atlantic waves lined up and rolling in. New surfers were arriving all the time, and Chloe joined those running into the safe, patrolled area between the red and yellow flags. Itch sat glumly on the rocks, watching his sister catching the waves, and only joined her after fifteen minutes, but by then Chloe was shivering.

  ‘I’ve had enough!’ she called over the roar. ‘I thought you were never coming in! What were you waiting for? Go on – give it a go!’ And she was gone, wading through the water, heading for the beach hut.

  Itch tried a couple of waves, but his timing hadn’t improved and, disappointed with himself as usual, he paddled his way back again.

  As he ambled up the beach, grateful that their dad hadn’t been there, he noticed someone hunched in a deckchair on the paved walkway between the huts and the steps that led down to the beach. The man was staring out to sea, a surfboard doubling as a foot rest. He looked familiar, and as he got closer, Itch realized it was Cake, the mineral seller he had met in St Austell.

  There had been quite a few stalls on the fringes of the fair he and Jack had gone to, but Cake had had the most interesting collection, and Itch had spent hours browsing through his rocks and powders. Cake had told him that he had dropped out of college, where he was studying English, and just ‘drifted, surfed and sold stuff’. He had an occasionally updated Facebook page which told his customers where to find him next, and turned up at fairs and festivals all over the south-west, setting up a small stall with his latest acquisitions. And that had included, of course, the arsenic-infused wallpaper.

  With his board still dripping under his arm, Itch ran over. ‘Hello, Cake. You all right?’

  Cake looked up, beads around his neck and wrists rattling as he shifted in the deckchair. Itch reckoned he was about thirty. He had dark, weathered skin and was wearing grubby knee-length surf shorts, a faded red T-shirt that said MAVERICK’S SURF SHOP, and sandals. He swept his long matted hair away from his squinting eyes.

  ‘All right, Itchingham Lofte! The tall kid with the long name! So this is your patch, is it?’ He coughed and cleared his throat. He had
the coarse, gravelly voice of a heavy smoker, and a London accent straight out of EastEnders. There were three satchels tucked under his chair, along with some chip wrappers and a carton of fruit juice. It occurred to Itch that Cake had probably spent the night on the beach.

  ‘Haven’t seen you for ages,’ said Itch. ‘I need to talk to you. Don’t go anywhere – I’ll just get out of this wetsuit.’ And he ran back to the hut, where Chloe was waiting for him, already changed. ‘Hey, Chloe, hang on a second, I want you to meet this guy.’ Itch darted into the hut and got dressed as quickly as you can when you’re in a wetsuit and a hurry. He grabbed a towel and his rucksack and was rubbing his hair dry as he led his sister over to Cake’s deckchair. ‘Chloe, this is Cake. Cake, Chloe.’

  ‘All right, Chloe? Spit of your brother. Nice to meet you.’

  ‘Nice to meet you too.’ Chloe gave her brother a look which he took to mean, Your weird friend, not mine. ‘You the guy who sold Itch the wallpaper?’ she said.

  ‘Well now, pull up a chair,’ said Cake, pointing to a pile of deckchairs against the wall of the last beach hut. Itch dragged a couple over, set them up and settled himself in one. Chloe stood, leaning on hers.

  ‘Well?’ she said.

  Cake, eyes closed, said, ‘Very rare, that – should have charged your brother more.’

  ‘Are you kidding me?’ said Itch. ‘That wallpaper could have put me in jail! As it is, it put four people in hospital and made all my class sick! You never told me how dangerous it was.’

  ‘And our school got closed,’ said Chloe.

  Cake opened his eyes and closed them again. ‘I heard about that. I did wonder …’ He paused and looked at Itch. ‘The clue, my Lord Itchingham, was in the word “arsenic”. One of the world’s most famous poisons, favoured toxin of numerous Victorian murderers. How come it ended up in school?’

  Itch explained how he had taken it into the greenhouse; how it had caused the vomiting; and how he had flushed it down the toilet.

  ‘Down the bog? What an ignoble end. I shall have to think more carefully before doing business with you in future.’

  Itch was exasperated. ‘Well, what should I have done, then? Dried it out on a radiator and handed it to my art teacher saying, Here, miss, you’ll like this, it’s a piece of famous wallpaper. See those stains? That’s where the arsenic seeped out and poisoned everyone in Miss Glenacre’s class?’

  ‘Whoa, whoa, slow down now, Master Itch,’ said Cake, looking at him now. ‘I’m sorry if I got you into a pickle. But I wasn’t to know you’d be taking it into a steam room, now, was I? There wouldn’t have been enough gas to poison all of you.’ He rubbed his stubbly chin. ‘A few of you, maybe.’

  Itch was flabbergasted. ‘What! I’m telling you, we were all puking everywhere! You should have seen it!’

  Cake sat back and closed his eyes again. ‘I’m trying to think what else I got you. Oh yeah, you wanted that gunpowder I had – that was you, wasn’t it? Please tell me you didn’t take that into the kitchens and set fire to it.’

  Itch smiled at that. ‘All right, fair point,’ he said.

  ‘Have you got a licence for selling this stuff ?’ said Chloe, still standing. ‘There must be an exam or test you have to pass. Or can anyone sell explosives and poison?’

  ‘Chloe! I’ll sort this – really,’ said Itch. He wasn’t surprised she was being tetchy with Cake – she always took his side, in public anyway – but he didn’t want to upset Cake. He not only sold Itch the elements he wanted; he understood why he wanted them in the first place. They had talked at length about other collectors, obscure elements and how to find them.

  Itch had never come across anyone like Cake before. He appeared to have no cares or commitments at all. He laughed his way through most conversations, even when he was being serious, and was always interested in Itch’s stories and opinions. He regularly asked about Itch’s family, though always stayed vague when asked about his own.

  Chloe made a harrumphing noise and looked cross like their mother did, but kept quiet.

  Itch continued. ‘I’ve had to move all my collection into the shed, but I’m down to thirty now that I lost the wallpaper and phosphorus.’ Seeing Cake’s puzzled expression, he explained what had happened in his bedroom.

  ‘I can replace that for you. And I’ve got some other new stuff you might be interested in.’ He indicated the satchels under the chair. ‘What are you going for next?’

  ‘I was thinking of sodium. Or mercury,’ said Itch. ‘But I haven’t got much cash left. I was going to wait for my birthday next month and see what I could afford.’

  Cake leaned forward and reached under his chair for the largest of the three satchels. He undid the two buckles, lifted the leather flap and rummaged around inside. ‘Tell you what, why don’t I give you this as a gesture of good faith and a symbol of our ongoing retail relationship? To help you get over your … wallpaper moment.’ He handed Itch a battered round tin sealed with black masking tape. ‘Just a small amount of phosphorus. Early birthday present. Don’t blow this lot up.’

  ‘Wow, thanks, Cake, that’s fantastic! Can I look?’ Itch was very pleased at this unexpected turn of events and had started to unpeel the tape.

  Cake put his hand on the tin. ‘Open it on your birthday, young man, and if I were you …’ He nodded at the increasing number of people walking past them onto the beach and opening up their beach huts.

  ‘I think what he’s saying, Itch,’ said Chloe, ‘is don’t draw attention to yourself. If you see what I mean.’

  Itch put the still-sealed tin in his rucksack. ‘OK, yeah, you’re right, sorry. Thanks again.’

  ‘No worries. Now, mercury might take some time – I’m sure an old thermometer won’t cut it – but it shouldn’t be a problem. Sodium is easy – usual warnings and precautions required, of course. You could combine both if you wanted – sodium amalgam has mercury in it and is a bit less explosive.’

  Itch laughed. ‘No thanks. I think they are more interesting apart, really.’

  ‘Of course, of course, but more care needed too. Now, let’s see …’ Cake looked in his second satchel. ‘You got uranium ore? I think that’s what this is …’ He took out a rough pebble-sized rock, light brown, almost honeycomb in colour, with patches of darker brown and silver lines through it. ‘There’s a lot of uranium knocking about under Cornwall; they dug it up here for centuries. Any decent element hunter should definitely have some. Take it – it’s quite safe. This stuff is only mildly radioactive.’ He handed it to Itch.

  ‘What does that mean?’ asked Chloe.

  ‘Radioactivity is everywhere,’ said Cake. ‘Usually from potassium. A tiny fraction of it is radioactive, which is why bananas are too.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ said Chloe. ‘Bananas are radioactive?’

  Cake smiled, his face creasing. ‘Good, huh!’

  ‘So uranium is like a bunch of bananas?’ said Chloe, clearly not believing a word.

  ‘Well, no, not exactly, but just as safe. Well, almost, anyway.’ He pointed at the rock. ‘Ten pounds, if you want it – knockdown price for my favourite customer.’

  ‘Is it always this warm?’ asked Itch.

  ‘Just been in the sun, I think.’

  ‘You said you thought it was uranium. It looks darker, more like iron, to me,’ queried Itch.

  ‘Well, I got it from a dealer in Dorset who said he got it from a gob heap there. So I’m surprised because there’s no history of uranium over there, and those lines of silver are different. So maybe it’s something else; maybe it is iron. That’s why it’s cheap, mate – I can’t be sure what it is.’

  ‘What’s a gob heap?’

  ‘Ah. A gob heap. A bony heap. A spoil heap. Stuff that’s chucked out of mines, young Itchingham. It’s not wanted. So me and my mates have a look around and see if we can find anything of interest. And that’s where this came from.’

  ‘OK, deal,’ said Itch, but then realized he had no cash on him. ‘I could
run home and get it,’ he offered.

  Cake shook his head. ‘I’ll get you the mercury and you can pay for both next time.’

  ‘How will this fit in with Mum’s new safety regime?’ asked Chloe.

  ‘Well, it’ll be in the shed,’ said Itch. ‘She won’t have a clue it’s there.’ He was about to leave when he remembered the new piece of tin ore in his rucksack. ‘Have a look at this, Cake – got it this week. Cool, isn’t it?’ He sounded prouder than he had intended but Cake smiled as he turned the tin in his hand.

  ‘Nice piece, nice piece. The tables are turned, my son. You’re showing me stuff. Where’d this come from?’

  ‘From the mine at Provincetown. I’ve been working there this week.’

  Cake held it up to the light. ‘And they just gave it to you? Must be more decent people there than I thought. The guys at the mining school haven’t got a good word to say about them. I’m impressed.’

  Itch was starting to feel uncomfortable again. ‘Yes, they took us on a tour of the mine and it was like a souvenir, I suppose.’ He stood up and put his deckchair back in the pile. ‘We should probably be getting home, Cake. When can I get you the money for the uranium?’

  ‘Well, I’ll be back here on Wednesday – probably right here – that’ll be fine.’

  ‘And maybe with some mercury?’

  ‘And maybe with some mercury, yes. Fine,’ said Cake, and he closed his eyes. That appeared to be that, and Itch picked up his rucksack and he and Chloe jogged home.

  ‘He’s freaky,’ said Chloe.

  ‘He is a bit,’ said Itch, ‘but I like him.’

  ‘I could see you doing that in a few years,’ said Chloe. ‘Giving up a top science job to sell rocks and poisons.’ Itch laughed at that. ‘Does he have family?’ she wondered.

  ‘I ask him, but he never says,’ said Itch.

  ‘Like I said,’ said Chloe. ‘Freak.’