by Simon Mayo
Itch flicked a crust at him and everyone laughed.
‘They argued with Mum about letting me come home, but when she explained about the break-in, eventually they agreed. She was getting quite worked up, weren’t you, Mum?’
‘I think I might have been quite forceful, yes,’ said Jude, recalling the events of Thursday night. ‘But I did promise to get in touch if he went on having headaches or felt sick.’
There was a loud and jaunty knock on the front door.
‘That can only be your brother,’ Jude said to her husband. ‘He and Zoe were here yesterday helping clear up. They said they’d pop back.’
Nicholas went to open the door and returned in conversation with his brother Jon, followed by Jack, and then Zoe Lofte carrying some fresh bread and a large bag of croissants. Jon was four years younger than his brother but looked older; his black hair was greying at the temples. He was, if anything, slightly taller than Nicholas, but stooped slightly, as though embarrassed by his height. He wore jeans and, as he always did, a T-shirt with SHOW OF HANDS, his favourite band, on the front. He smiled when he saw the family.
‘Now that’s a sight for sore eyes! You’re all here and there’s coffee too.’ His voice was lighter than his brother’s and the accent stronger. He greeted them all one by one. ‘Good to see you, Gabriel – glad you could get down. Terrible thing here, terrible thing. How are you this morning, Itch? Your neck still looks bad.’ There were deep red bruises where Flowerdew’s fingers had squeezed it.
‘Yes, it feels rough. It’s the back of my head that hurts the most, though.’ Itch turned his head, and Jack and her mother winced and gasped at the same time. The back of Itch’s head was swollen and still bloodied, despite the treatment and dressing he had received at the hospital. A recently applied antiseptic cream was smeared over most of the swelling but blood was still seeping through where the skin had split.
Jack hugged Gabriel and sat down next to Chloe. Zoe put the croissants on the table and took a seat next to Itch. She was slim and serious-looking, with high cheekbones, and was dressed in three-quarter-length khaki trousers and a white shirt. Her shoulder-length dark brown hair was wet and left a damp patch on Itch’s T-shirt where it brushed against him.
‘Sorry, Itch – early morning swim. Let me look at you.’ Zoe smiled as she peered over the top of her oval-shaped, steel-rimmed glasses. She shook her head slightly and patted Itch on the shoulder. ‘That teacher needs locking up,’ she said. Through full mouths and with nodding heads, it was clear everyone agreed with that.
‘Tell me about him,’ said Nicholas.
‘Of course – you’ve never met him, have you?’ said Jude. ‘You haven’t made a parents’ evening for years …’ After a brief pause she continued, ‘Never heard a good word about him from either parents or children. I saw him before half term, and I swear if it hadn’t been for Itch’s name, he wouldn’t have had a clue who he was.’
‘Correct,’ said Jon. ‘He had no idea who Jack was when we met him. Just told us what they were studying and waved us away.’
‘He’s a jerk,’ Jack confirmed. ‘Everyone has always hated him. It’s clear he can’t stand being a teacher.’
‘We can’t stand him being a teacher, either,’ said Itch.
Nicholas poured some more coffee. ‘Actually, I have met him,’ he said.
‘What?’ said Itch. ‘You’ve met Flowerdew?’
‘I only realized this morning. You described him yesterday while we were clearing the place up a bit and I thought the name rang a bell, but it only clicked this morning. Years ago, when I was on my first rig, there was this curly-haired young idiot who was clearly being given special treatment by the company. They obviously thought very highly of him, as he was being given a crash course in everything. He only stayed a week or so but managed to annoy pretty much everyone in that time.’
‘Yeah, that’s him,’ said Itch.
‘Did you ever speak?’ asked Jack.
‘As I recall we did have words, yes. But this is many years ago and I assumed when the heli copter came to whisk him to his next place of education that it was the last we’d hear of him.’
‘Shame you didn’t push him in the sea,’ said Chloe.
‘If I had my time again …’ said her father.
‘How on earth did he get a job at the academy?’ wondered Jon. ‘And as head of science too?’
‘It’s Greencorps, Jon,’ said Nicholas. ‘They own the rigs, they own the tankers, they own the refineries, they own the petrol stations. Now they sponsor the academy. They run the whole show.’
‘How can you stay working for them, Dad, if they’re so horrible?’ Chloe asked.
Her dad sighed. ‘Basically, there’s no one else. Unless you fancy moving to Russia or Greenland. That’s where they’re recruiting now.’
‘Maybe not,’ said Gabriel. ‘Though Christmas in Greenland might be fun.’ He smeared some marmalade on his toast. ‘Do they think Flowerdew broke in here too? Surely that’s crazy!’
Itch felt the back of his head again. ‘But that’s the point – he is crazy – and vicious too.’
‘So, just to be clear,’ said Jon. ‘The police are working on the theory that Flowerdew broke in here, and then attacked Itch? Really? A teacher?’
‘That’s what they think, Jon, yes,’ said Nicholas.
‘And all over a rock,’ said Gabriel. ‘One of your collection, Mum said. Stolen from him by someone after he took it off you. What is it – gold or something? He must want it very much.’
‘Well, apparently, yes.’ Itch filled his brother in on the history of the radioactive rock – without the bits about breaking into his teacher’s house or about the beach hut. ‘The shed was trashed too, and the bulk of my collection was chucked around the garden. I’ve found most of it, apart from my titanium and aluminium, but they must be out there somewhere.’ He pointed at his brother’s new earring. ‘Looks like you’ve got yourself some new titanium anyway, Gabriel – maybe I could just have that? I’m sure Dad would rather it was in my kit box than in your ear.’
Another family laugh. Normally his brother’s piercings caused arguments, but not today. Itch could get used to this.
* * *
The day became a procession of visitors. The police came to question Itch about the assault and update them on the search for Flowerdew. Dr Dart came with the Chairman of Governors – no doubt because they were worried about legal action. Neighbours and friends called to see if they could help and asked after Itch. Reporters hung around too; local TV and radio were running reports of the assault – the Western Daily Press headline was: TOP TEACHER GOES NUTS. HORROR IN CLASSROOM AS SCIENCE BOFFIN ATTACKS PUPIL. Pupils’ videos of the fight in the classroom had been uploaded to various websites, and stills had been used to illustrate the newspaper article. The front page showed a blurry close-up of a deranged-looking Flowerdew holding the broken flask.
Jon and Zoe bought fish and chips for everyone’s lunch, and while the adults discussed the break-in yet again, Jack and Itch went up to his room, where Chloe joined them, also seeking an escape from grown-up chat.
‘I like having your parents here,’ she said, turning to Jack. ‘They only come round when Dad’s home.’
‘I’m not sure our mums get on that well, really,’ said Jack. ‘They never call each other or anything.’
‘When Dad said we were moving here, Mum never seemed that pleased, did she?’ Itch said to Chloe. ‘It was always Dad’s idea – he just seemed determined to get us out of London.’
‘I don’t remember any of that, really,’ said Chloe, ‘but I do remember Mum was a lot happier once she got her job in town. Maybe things will change now.’
‘Maybe,’ said Jack. The doorbell went again as yet more visitors arrived. ‘I heard the police saying they thought there must have been more than one thief – or whatever it is we are calling them.’
‘Which means Flowerdew had help,’ said Itch. ‘But who would help that
toe-rag? It makes me so mad to think of someone going through all our stuff.’
Jack nodded. ‘The whole thing sucks big time. This rock of yours, Itch, must have magic powers or something. What’s so special about it that Flowerdew, plus his mad friends, would break into your house?’
‘I’m not sure,’ said Itch. ‘But Cake was right, wasn’t he? This is one popular piece of rock. So let’s assume that he and Flowerdew are right and that it is something special – something to do with that Geiger-counter reading and the amount of radioactivity it’s giving off. And also that Flowerdew and his mates are definitely the last people on earth who should get their hands on it.’ He looked at Jack. ‘We need to get it out of the beach hut. Flowerdew obviously doesn’t know we have one, or that would be trashed too and he would have found it. I’ve cycled past a couple of times and it’s fine, but he’ll find out sooner or later.’
‘Can’t you just throw it into the sea or something?’ asked Chloe. ‘Surely it’s caused enough trouble.’
Itch looked downcast. ‘I know. I’ve been thinking about that. Throwing it into the sea isn’t an option because, if it is radioactive, presumably it could pollute the marine life. But you’re right about it causing trouble. If only Flowerdew hadn’t attacked me I could have got it to Mr Watkins by now. But after what happened at school I can’t just hand it over now and say, Oh yeah, sorry, I had it all the time. Flowerdew was right. Sorry you got glassed in the head, Mr Harris.’
He stood up and looked out of his bedroom window. It was a cool day with low cloud and light drizzle. He gazed at what was left of the shed: the door kicked in, and most of its contents scattered around the garden. He had retrieved his element collection over a few hours of searching through the flowers and bushes, and a lot of the smaller items were now temporarily re-housed in his rucksack; most of the larger ones would have to stay outside. He hadn’t yet mentioned to his mother that he’d brought much of his collection back inside, but supposed he should do so soon. The rucksack sat by the side of his bed. He put his hand on it.
‘You know,’ he said, ‘what with the trouble this rock has caused and the gas in the greenhouse, this little collection has caused a lot of grief.’ He sat on his bed and looked at Chloe and Jack. ‘Mass sickness, students and a teacher in hospital, a teacher with glass in his head – that’s quite a price to pay for a hobby, don’t you think?’
Chloe and Jack looked at each other.
‘And now the break-in!’ he continued. ‘The whole house turned upside down and everyone’s things thrown everywhere! That’s my fault too!’
‘But it’s not like you did it on purpose or anything,’ said Chloe. ‘You didn’t know what would happen with the arsenic, and the rock is all Flowerdew’s fault.’
Jack found it hard to disagree with Itch’s logic, even if Chloe was right about Itch not having meant for these things to happen. ‘What do you want to do, Itch?’ she asked him. ‘The rock still needs to be moved – that’s the most important thing.’
Itch looked up at her. ‘You’re right. And you know what I should do? Give it back to Cake. In fact, give it all back to Cake.’ He stood and picked up the rucksack. ‘I’m not sure I want to carry on collecting elements if this is what happens.’
Chloe looked stunned. ‘But you’ve been collecting them for years, Itch. You love this stuff – you can’t just give it all away!’
‘And,’ said Jack, ‘there’s no one else I know with a collection like it. It’s what you do, Itch.’
‘Maybe,’ said Itch, and sat down on the bed again. ‘But let’s get the rock and take it to Cake anyway. He can have it. I don’t want it any more. He’ll know what to do with it.’
Jack was looking at Itch’s new Table of Elements poster. He had replaced the one that had been blown off the wall by the phosphorus explosion, and had again marked off the elements he owned.
‘Where’s uranium, then?’
‘Number ninety-two,’ said Itch without looking up. ‘Bottom line, fourth from the left.’
Jack traced her finger along the final row, stopping at a picture of a piece of silvery-white metal. ‘That doesn’t look like our rock.’ She studied it carefully. ‘Not even close.’ She scanned the assorted photos and pictures that accompanied each of the 118 elements. ‘It looks more like lead … or iron.’
Itch stood up and joined Jack. ‘It’s not like a bird-spotting guide, Jack – but I agree, it doesn’t look like uranium. All the radioactive elements are the high numbers. From eighty-four onwards. That’ – he pointed to a photo of another silvery-grey metal – ‘is polonium. It’s what killed some ex-KGB agent in London.’
‘I assume uranium isn’t quite as nasty,’ said Chloe.
‘No. That’s why the rock must be something else.’
‘Where did you say Cake lived?’ asked Jack.
‘I think it’s out by the St Haven spoil heap,’ said Itch.
‘That’s a number twenty-two bus from the golf course,’ said Jack, ‘and a short walk once you get to St Haven. If you think you’re up to it, Itch.’
‘I’m fine now,’ he told her.
‘Is it safe to just carry the stone there?’ asked Chloe. ‘If it’s as radioactive as you were saying, can’t we put it in a box or something?’
Jack and Itch thought about that one. They had both felt extremely uncomfortable cycling home with it and didn’t relish the prospect of taking it on a bus one bit.
‘It’s in the lead glove, but I wonder if we could make our own lead box too?’ said Itch. He went downstairs, and Jack and Chloe watched from the window as he disappeared into what was left of the shed. He emerged waving a length of pipe in one hand and a mallet in the other.
‘It’s a piece of an old water pipe,’ he said when he came back into the room. ‘Used to be on the roof here. They made them from lead until they realized it was making everyone ill.’
Jack laughed. ‘No, you really wouldn’t want to go around poisoning people, would you?’
Itch smiled weakly. ‘All right, point taken.’
The piece of pipe was a dirty grey colour and covered with dust and cobwebs. About thirty centimetres long and six or seven centimetres across, it was just wide enough for the rock to fit snugly inside. Itch wiped it on his T-shirt and blew down one end, sending a cloud of dust and grit over his bed.
‘Mum will love that!’ said Chloe.
‘I’ll blame Flowerdew.’ Itch put the pipe on the floor. Gently at first, until he had worked out how much force to use, he started to hit one end with the mallet. As the lead started to dent and fold, he turned it slowly. In two minutes he had closed off one end completely.
‘Will it keep the radiation in?’ asked Jack.
This was what Itch had been asking himself as he bashed the pipe: the truth was, he had no idea. He shrugged. ‘Yes. A bit. Don’t know.’
‘Very scientific answer, Itch,’ said Chloe, and they all smiled.
‘Right,’ said Jack. ‘Let’s get that magic rock and catch the next bus to St Haven.’
15
THEY SAT AT the back of the bus. The rock, in its makeshift lead container, was now in a canvas bag and sat on a seat of its own in front of them. There were only four other passengers on the 22 bus heading south towards St Haven and then ultimately Launceston. An elderly couple sat silently at the front, and two middle-aged women were reading books a few rows further back. Nevertheless, all three cousins were silent for most of the journey.
They had recovered the rock easily enough, having checked that they weren’t being followed. Chloe and Jack had stood guard while Itch opened up the beach hut and placed the glove and stone in the tube. He had sealed it with a few more well-aimed blows of the mallet and placed it in a canvas bag that Chloe had found. Carrying his rucksack – which still contained the more fragile elements in his collection – on his back, and the radioactive bag in his hand, Itch felt extremely vulnerable. He couldn’t wait to pass the rock back to Cake.
The road
to the spoil heap took them past the mine in Provincetown, and both Itch and Jack stared at it as they drove by. It looked busy enough for a windy day – plenty of visitors were strolling around the old mine workings. Jack noticed that some white trucks like those they’d seen when they were working there had pulled out in front of the bus.
‘Those trucks again, Itch. We’re in a convoy with them now,’ she said. ‘Never realized a mine needed so much maintenance.’
They continued in procession until they reached a T-junction, where two trucks went one way and two the other. The bus turned left, and as it slowed for the next stop, the pair of trucks they had been following disappeared from view.
‘Nearly there, Chloe,’ said Jack as the bus started up again. ‘Next stop.’
Itch was grateful for his cousin’s local knowledge, which was still so much better than his. He and Chloe were catching up, but there was still no one like Jack for bus route and timetable information. She had never quite stopped being their ‘guide’ to their new Cornish home. Itch had considered trying to dissuade Chloe from joining them, but she had insisted. Glancing across at her by the window, he was wondering if he had made the right decision. She seemed older than her eleven years, but she looked tense and pale. He certainly wasn’t going to let her carry the rock. With any luck they would find Cake, give him the rock and catch the 6.05 bus home. Itch had told his dad they would be back for dinner.
The bus slowed again as they arrived in St Haven, and then stopped. They were the only passengers to get off, and they looked around, wondering where the spoil heap was. St Haven was a tiny, if unremarkable, village with a church and a shop which they could see a few hundred metres ahead. There were a few modern houses on either side of the road, with the older cottages clustered nearer the church. They hadn’t noticed any sign of a spoil heap on the way into the village, so they set off towards the shop to ask directions.
It was about to shut for the day: inside, a tall, middle-aged woman wearing a red and white apron paused with her keys in the door. ‘Sorry – we’re just closing,’ she told them. She looked less than pleased to have this last-minute custom.