by Simon Mayo
Soon he was the only one left in the lab. Head down and writing as fast as he could, he was just finishing his last paragraph when he heard the lab door shut. He didn’t look up immediately.
Then a voice said, ‘Ah, Lofte. Just who I was hoping to see.’ And Itch felt the blood drain from his face.
He looked up and saw Nathaniel Flowerdew standing at the front of the lab as if he was about to give a lesson. At first glance the teacher appeared the same as ever, with his expensive clothes and jewellery all in place. But his clothes looked crumpled and his hair shot out at all angles, as though he had, until recently, been wearing a hat. His face was flushed, his lips tightly together, almost invisible. He stared at Itch.
‘Hello, sir.’ Itch’s voice sounded tight. He swallowed. ‘You missed your lesson. Are you OK?’
‘Come here.’
‘Pardon?’
‘You heard. Come here.’
Itch got up slowly and walked to the front of the lab.
‘Where is it?’
‘Where’s what, sir?’
Flowerdew put his face right in front of Itch’s. ‘Let’s get to the point. You came to my house last night and stole the rock. I want it back.’ Then, very quietly, ‘And I want it now.’
Itch swallowed again and then cleared his throat. ‘You sent it to Switzerland, sir. You told—’
Before he had finished his sentence Itch felt a large hand around his throat. Flowerdew gave a roar of rage, and Itch was propelled, neck first, back towards the door. Flowerdew pinned him in the corner, out of sight of any passing students or teachers. Itch’s eyes were watering as he stared wide-eyed at his teacher.
‘Crying now, Lofte? Did you think I wouldn’t know it was you?’
The hand round his neck tightened and started to lift him off the ground. He tried to cough, but the grip was too tight and bright lights started to appear in his eyes. Suddenly two Year Tens came into the lab and Flowerdew dropped him.
‘GET OUT!’ he shouted at them, and they jumped, then ran off.
Itch had crumpled and was now sitting slumped in the corner, shaking. Flowerdew knelt down beside him. From his pocket he pulled out a towel. Itch realized that it was the one from Flowerdew’s house that he had wrapped the rock in. He had left it in the shed when he transferred the rock that morning.
Flowerdew saw Itch’s expression change. ‘Yes, I found this in your shed. Looks like mine, doesn’t it? So I’ll ask you again.’ He reached out and grabbed Itch – by the shirt this time. He looked desperate – almost mad. ‘Where is the rock, Lofte?’ He lifted him up till Itch’s head was higher than his own. ‘I need it.’ He banged Itch’s head against the wall. ‘I need it now!’ He banged his head again. Itch cried out this time, and Flowerdew’s other hand swiftly covered his victim’s mouth. ‘No, you’re not calling out. The only thing you’ll say is WHERE YOU PUT THE DAMNED STONE!’
Now the door burst open a second time, and Dr Dart, John Watkins and Chris Hopkins, the physics teacher, all ran in. Dr Dart screamed, ‘Dr Flowerdew!’ and Watkins grabbed Itch while Dart and Hopkins pulled Flowerdew’s hands away from him. More students arrived – two Year Seven girls who started screaming. Then Jim Littlewood and Craig Harris came tearing in. Seeing Dr Dart and Chris Hopkins struggling with a manic Flowerdew, they jumped on the head of science and pinned him against his own desk.
Dr Dart ordered the students to leave immediately. ‘And go to the staff room to get help!’
They left quickly, but another crowd was already gathering outside the lab, staring through the glass. Some started cheering as they watched Mr Watkins, standing in front of Itch, arms outstretched to form a barrier between Itch and Flowerdew. As soon as he thought the head of science was subdued he turned to find his pupil sprawled on the floor. He knelt down and tried to help him up, but misjudged his action so that Itch cried out as his head banged against the wall again.
‘Careful with the boy, John!’ called Dr Dart.
There were gasps from the watching students; every inch of window space was now taken by wide-eyed CA students, many of them with their phones pressed to the glass. A dozen blinking red lights shone into the classroom.
Meanwhile Watkins had removed his jacket and rolled it up to cushion Itch’s head. Itch cried out in pain, and his teacher realized that there was a huge bruise swelling and distorting the back of his head.
‘When you’re finished, Jim, come and check here please,’ he said to their first-aider. But at the moment all the teachers were busy restraining Flowerdew. Hopkins and Harris held his legs while Littlewood pinioned his arms. But they were losing the struggle: Flowerdew was slowly but surely wresting his arms and legs free, yelling and hurling abuse at Itch as he threw his head from side to side.
A chorus of ‘Fight! Fight!’ had started in the corridor. Someone shouted, ‘Detention for Flowerdew!’ as the head of science turned to the head.
‘He stole my rock! He broke into my house! It’s gone and it’s his fault! Search him – it’s here, I know he’s got it!’
Dr Dart, red-faced with fury, shouted back, ‘I’ll do no such thing! Consider yourself suspended immediately! You’ll stay here till the police come!’
‘In which case,’ yelled Flowerdew, ‘I’ll do it!’ And he wrenched his arms free, turned and punched Mr Littlewood on the side of the head. The history teacher fell back, and now Mr Hopkins let go, leaving only the games teacher still with his arms around Flowerdew’s legs. But Mr Harris shoved hard, just as he taught his rugby teams to, and Flowerdew toppled over. As he fell, he grabbed a glass flask from his desk and smashed it on Mr Harris’s head, the shards flying everywhere. To screams and gasps from the watching pupils, blood started to pour through the games master’s hair. He let go of Flowerdew.
Now free of restraints, the chemistry teacher stood and turned to Itch, who was still propped up against the wall, his head cushioned on Mr Watkins’s jacket. Some of the pupils stepped back from the windows. A Year Ten girl shouted, ‘Leave him alone, bully!’
‘Get out of the way, Watkins, or make him turn out his pockets.’ Flowerdew moved towards them, the neck of the broken flask still in his hand.
John Watkins was trembling slightly, but he didn’t flinch and his voice was steady. ‘We knew you were a terrible teacher, Nathaniel, but we never knew you were mad. You do realize you’ll go to prison for this, don’t you? Whatever career you’re hoping for has gone.’
There was applause from the corridor – while Flowerdew advanced on Watkins, more like a street fighter than a chemistry teacher.
‘Leave them alone, for pity’s sake!’ cried Dr Dart.
Flowerdew ignored her. ‘Empty your pockets, Lofte.’
Watched by everyone, Itch took out the contents of his two trouser and three jacket pockets. Harris and Hopkins had no idea what was happening or what they were looking for, but stared at the items anyway – a few coins, three biros and some tissues.
No rock.
The large crowd of pupils watching from the corridor turned as they heard running footsteps. Six members of staff ran into the lab, led by Gordon Carter, the Brigadier. They all stood staring at the extraordinary scene in front of them, but before anyone could react, Flowerdew put his head down and charged. He crashed into maths teacher Sunil Mansoor, and Hilary Briggs from ICT, and pushed his way out of the door. The students scattered as he ran down the corridor.
Mr Harris, his head bleeding, made to follow him, but Dr Dart said, ‘No, Craig, let him go. Just call the police. He’s dangerous. Let him leave the school premises – they can arrest him later. And I suppose we’ll need an ambulance as well. Oh my word …’ And she slumped down in Flowerdew’s chair.
13
JIM LITTLEWOOD AND CRAIG HARRIS took Itch to the first-aid room. It was a basic affair with a low bed, sink and toilet. Two chairs stood by the door and there was a locked medicine cabinet above a small table. Littlewood showed Itch to the bed, but he opted for one of the chairs instead; Mr Harr
is took the other one.
Itch caught sight of his profile in the medicine-cabinet mirror. The bruise on the back of his head was enormous; it looked as though he had a small balloon inflated under his hair. It was pretty shocking, even to Itch; he dreaded to think what his mother would say. The school secretary was trying to get hold of her now.
‘I really think you should lie down, Itch,’ said Mr Littlewood. ‘Bangs on the head should always be taken seriously, and yours looks mighty indeed. Do you have a headache at all?’
‘Actually, yes, I do, sir. And maybe you’re right about the bed.’ Itch was suddenly feeling faint and dizzy, and Littlewood helped him over.
‘The ambulance will be here soon, but let’s hope your mother arrives first.’
‘I’m not sure that I need an ambulance, sir,’ said Itch.
‘Well, one’s coming anyway, and they can check Mr Harris out too while they’re here.’
The games teacher’s hair was thick with matted blood. He sat with an ice pack in one hand and a towel in the other, which he dabbed very gently on the back of his head.
The door opened, and a grim-faced Dr Dart came in, followed by Mr Watkins. ‘How’s he doing, Jim?’ she asked. ‘And how’s that head, Craig?’ She sat on the chair between Itch and Harris.
Jim Littlewood spoke first. ‘OK, I think, but I’ll be happier once the ambulance has been, just to get a proper analysis, to be honest. I’ll go and look out for it.’ He left the crowded first-aid room and Dr Dart turned to Craig Harris.
He looked at the bloody towel in his hand. ‘Oh, it’ll be fine, Dr Dart, really it will. The bleeding has stopped, though they’ll need to make sure there’s no glass in the wound.’
‘Indeed,’ said Dart. There was silence in the little room for a few moments.
‘Can anyone tell me what all that was about?’ asked Harris. ‘What was Flowerdew looking for? How come he was so mad? He’d totally lost it.’
Dr Dart and John Watkins looked at each other, and then at Itch, who had his eyes shut. The head nodded at Watkins, who explained what they knew.
‘The bottom line, however,’ Dart said, ‘is that my head of science has just attacked one of my pupils and several members of my staff. A sackable offence. A criminal offence. The police can make the next move. Apparently he drove off at high speed. I’m sure he won’t get far.’
There was a tentative knock at the door: a small group of students stood outside.
‘We were wondering how Itch is …’ It was Lucy Cavendish and a group of Year Tens, who nodded, peering in.
‘Shaken and bruised, Lucy – the ambulance is on its way,’ said Mr Watkins. ‘Thanks for your concern.’ He smiled reassuringly and eased the door shut.
Itch was wondering what he should do with the rock. He had an all-too-powerful image of it sitting in his beach hut, slowly filling it and the surrounding seafront with radiation. He had expected to be handing the stone over to Mr Watkins, but after Flowerdew’s attack, he wasn’t sure if that was wise. As far as Itch was concerned, he had merely recovered his own property – but would the police see it like that?
Itch considered himself an honest person. His mum and dad had always insisted on him and Chloe telling the truth. Occasionally he had felt the need to be less than direct, even slightly underhand when getting hold of some of the elements for his collection. He had claimed he was eighteen a couple of times, like when getting hold of some xenon. His mother had written the cheque and he had not told her of the age restriction.
Until the incidents of recent days, however, he had always assumed he was the sort who would own up to parents, teachers or the police if he had done something wrong. But he hadn’t owned up to the arsenic affair, and Chloe and Jack had been unimpressed. Now he’d got his stone back. He was convinced he hadn’t done anything really illegal, but everything seemed less clear.
‘Itchingham’s mother is here. And the ambulance is just behind.’ Jim Littlewood had seen Jude Lofte hurrying up the school drive a few moments ago, and before she reached the academy entrance, the ambulance had turned into the drive, its lights flashing. He had run to the first-aid room to pass on the news, surprised to see Mrs Lofte coming up the drive. As far as he knew, they hadn’t been able to find her. They had left messages to call the office at her home and on her mobile but none had been returned.
‘Thank you, Jim,’ said Dr Dart. ‘Stay here with Mr Harris and Itchingham, will you? Mr Watkins, will you come with me, please?’
Down the corridor they could see a clearly agitated Jude Lofte pacing up and down outside Dart’s office. The school secretary, Sarah Hopkins, was trying to calm her and get her to wait in the office. It was Jude who saw the approaching head teacher and head of geography.
‘Dr Dart! Thank heavens! I’ve come straight here without ringing, I’m afraid – I—’
‘Mrs Lofte, do come into my office. I’m so glad you’re here. I’m glad you got our messages after all … I wasn’t sure whether we had got hold of you or not.’
Jude looked confused. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand. What messages? And why are you glad I’m here?’
The two women stood staring at each other for a moment, then Dr Dart ushered Jude and Watkins into her office and closed her door. Everyone remained standing.
‘We were ringing to ask you to come to the school because I’m afraid there has been a nasty incident involving Itchingham. He is OK, we think, but we have called the ambulance as a precaution. And the police are coming too.’
Jude Lofte turned white and reached for Dart’s desk to steady herself. John Watkins grabbed her arm and helped her to a chair. She sat down quickly. ‘An incident? Please tell me it didn’t involve an explosion. Where is he? I need to see him!’
‘You will, Mrs Lofte. Let me just explain what happened.’ Dr Dart was, thought Mr Watkins, impressively calm. ‘Itch is in the first-aid room and Mr Littlewood is with him. I regret to tell you that Dr Flowerdew attacked your son in his lab. He also injured two members of my staff. Itchingham received a number of bangs to the head. Mr Flowerdew ran off, and the police are looking for him. It would be best if the ambulance crew could see Itch as soon as possible—’
‘Bangs to the head from what?’
‘We think it was the wall, Mrs Lofte. His head was … banged against the wall.’
Jude gasped and tears flooded into her eyes. ‘I have to see him,’ she cried. Outside the office they could all hear footsteps running along the corridor – the ambulance crew.
‘Just one thing, Mrs Lofte,’ said Dart. ‘If you didn’t get our messages, why are you here?’
Jude’s eyes welled with tears again. ‘Because our house has been burgled, Dr Dart! Ransacked! I came back from town to find every room gone through – all our possessions scattered everywhere. I told the police I’d be here.’
Jude Lofte, Mr Watkins and the head stood rooted to the spot, all looking at each other, unable to process all the information they had just received. Then, hearing a cry of pain from Itch, Jude ran from the office.
14
THE WHOLE LOFTE family hadn’t all been round one table since Christmas. In spite of the desperate circumstances that had brought them all together, Saturday morning breakfast was clearly being enjoyed. Nicholas had arrived on Friday evening, having received Jude’s emergency email and catching the first available plane. The process of getting hold of Nicholas had become more complicated in the last couple of years; oil-rig health and safety, he had explained, had banned mobile phones.
Itch and Chloe’s elder brother Gabriel had caught a bus down from Coventry and got home near midnight. It was now just after 8 a.m. and, early risers that they were, the Loftes were all sitting in their usual places around the kitchen table. Itch sat opposite Gabriel – it looked as though his elder brother had another piercing in his left ear. That would make a total of four in that ear and three in the other. He was Lofte-tall, of course, but appeared to have stopped growing just shy of his father’s si
x foot four. His hair was darker and less wavy than Itch’s but was considerably longer.
Coffee, juice, toast and cereal were passed around, and for the moment the conversation was light-hearted. There was news to catch up on from Gabriel’s university and Nicholas’s oil rig before they discussed the break-in.
‘You guys know all this, I realize,’ said Gabriel, ‘but I’m playing catch-up here. Mum told me some stuff when she rang – but this …’ He gestured to some of the contents of the kitchen which still lay in the corners of the room where they had been thrown. ‘This is something else. This is shocking. I never realized it was so bad.’
‘You should have seen it when we got back here on Thursday,’ Itch said. ‘Everything had been thrown around – cushions, books, CDs, DVDs, cutlery, food, plates, bedding, all on the floor. Mum’s office was trashed too – the drawers emptied.’
‘And my shoes were thrown everywhere,’ said Chloe. ‘My clothes too. Why would they do that?’
Her dad reached out and held her hand.
‘It was quite late when we got back from the hospital,’ said Jude, ‘but the police were still here. They said it was a crime scene and that we shouldn’t be moving anything till they had finished. We just sat here eating pizza. We were surrounded by pans, and packets of food were scattered all over the place, but we were only allowed to sit and eat. When they left we were too tired to clear up, so we just moved what we needed to get to our beds and started first thing yesterday.’
‘What did the hospital say, Itch?’ asked Gabriel, pointing at his brother’s head with a piece of toast.
‘I had X-rays and all that, which took for ever, but they didn’t find anything.’
‘What – they didn’t find anything in your head at all?’ asked Gabriel. ‘That explains a lot.’