by Simon Mayo
Running now, Nicholas reached the bed first, his wife just behind, then pulled up, not sure what happened next.
‘He isn’t infectious,’ said the doctor, a small man in his forties with a neat moustache, ‘but you might be. No embracing, I’m afraid. For now. He has a long way to go – he only came round this morning. Please sit.’ Dr Fairnie indicated two seats, one on each side of the bed.
‘Oh, Itch,’ said Jude. ‘What have you done? We’ve been so worried. Look at you!’ She was studying what was left of his hair. It had fallen out in clumps, leaving tufts on top of his head and at the back of his neck. Her hand covered her masked mouth; her eyes sparkled with tears.
‘I know – not pretty,’ said Itch, his voice hoarse. ‘It was a shock to me too.’ They sat in silence, not sure who should speak next. ‘Hi,’ he said.
‘Hi,’ his parents said together through their masks.
After a moment his dad blinked and swallowed hard. ‘Look, son, we are just thrilled you’re OK. I know there’s lots to say, but now isn’t the time. We thought we’d lost you … Love you, son.’ An embrace should have followed, but they had to make do with tears. The doctor handed paper handkerchiefs round and took one himself.
‘What about Chloe and Jack? I’ve asked, but no one will tell me. Are they OK? Please tell me they’re OK.’
Jude looked at Nicholas. ‘Yes, we think,’ he said. ‘Chloe is still in hospital – they want to keep her in for tests but don’t think there’s any lasting damage. Jack is in hospital in London – they’re worried about her immune system. She’s lost her hair too.’ He smiled.
‘My immune system is stuffed, apparently. Dr Fairnie will tell you.’
‘Dr Fairnie will indeed tell you,’ said the doctor, ‘but not just now. We think Itch’ll be fine, but it’s been touch and go. You can have a few more minutes, and then General Keyes needs a word.’
‘General Keyes? Who’s he?’ asked Nicholas.
‘Top man on campus,’ said Dr Fairnie. ‘He’ll explain the, er, security situation.’ The Loftes looked baffled. ‘Two minutes, then.’ And the doctor busied himself checking the monitors.
‘I’m sorry for all of it. Everything,’ said Itch quietly. ‘I was only doing what I thought was right.’
His mother looked like she was about to say something but checked herself. ‘There’s plenty of time for all that,’ she said, smiling thinly.
Itch closed his eyes; he was getting tired. His parents got up to go.
‘Hey, Mum!’ he croaked, feeling his face. ‘At least I kept my eyebrows this time!’
Jude laughed and blew a kiss to her son, then Patty Hammond reappeared to take them both to meet the general.
Dr Fairnie sat down next to Itch. ‘There’s a lot to talk about. Up for it?’ He smiled, his moustache twitching.
Itch nodded. ‘Two questions from me first.’
‘Shoot,’ said Dr Fairnie.
‘How did I get here and how long was I out for?’
‘Well, I can tell you how long you’ve been unconscious, certainly. You’ve been gone a week, Itch. Seven days in all – the first three in Crawley Hospital in Sussex, then you were transferred here to the Mason Military Hospital. We’re part—’
Itch interrupted. ‘Crawley? Where’s that?’ His astonishment was noted by Fairnie. ‘How did I get there?’
‘A real mystery, that one – we were hoping you would help us. Crawley is the nearest hospital to Gatwick Airport. You were left there, Itch, on a stretcher. The receptionists say they looked up, and there you were, laid out by the front door. You were unconscious and in a mess. A real mess. And someone had stuck a radioactive symbol on you. A correct diagnosis, as it turned out.’
Itch was mulling over the implications of what Dr Fairnie was telling him.
Someone had found him.
Despite everything, someone had found him. They had saved his life, certainly, but someone now knew where he had been and, almost certainly, what he had been doing. Everything now depended on who it was and what they intended to do next.
Who knew?
‘We’ve pieced together a lot of the story. We know you acquired a piece of radioactive rock which was then taken by Dr Nathaniel Flowerdew. He analysed it, sending his findings to his old employers at Greencorps. We believe they sent agents to get their hands on it. That’s who you met at the mining school. Jacob Alexander and John Watkins – they’re fine, by the way – told us that you actually had eight rocks altogether. I’ve seen the analysis. Unbelievable. Extraordinary. No wonder everything started to get a little busy.’
‘Hang on,’ said Itch. ‘Are you a real doctor? You sound more like the police or something.’
Dr Fairnie smiled again. ‘Army medic originally. And Intelligence. You’ll be seeing quite a lot of me. Sorry about that.’ Itch motioned for him to carry on. ‘Well, Flowerdew and his sidekick were taken to hospital under arrest after you’d effectively anaesthetized them. Neat trick, that, by the way. And then you and Jack disappeared. When we got hold of your cousin, she was near Marylebone Station in the middle of London—’
‘Wow,’ said Itch quietly.
‘Why “wow”?’ asked Fairnie.
‘Nothing. Go on.’
‘Well, Marylebone Station runs trains to Stratford-upon-Avon, Leamington, Wrexham – places like that. So we assumed you’d gone northwest. But you were totally off-radar until you appeared at Crawley Hospital. They worked on you; then, when you were stable, they transferred you here.’
‘Why?’
Fairnie stood up and checked some of the monitors, adjusted a drip and sat down again.
‘You’re a wanted man, Itch. The most wanted. Seriously, you have no idea; while you have been out cold, the world has come knocking. You had in your possession the most powerful and valuable rocks ever. Of all time. And now you don’t. That’s where everyone gets interested.’ He consulted some notes. ‘But first things first. Did you succeed?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Did you succeed in disposing of the rocks?’
Itch nodded.
‘You’re sure? Because if you failed, we have a potential global catastrophe on our hands. Every government in the world – including Her Majesty’s, by the way – wants to know more.’
‘They’ve gone,’ said Itch. ‘Trust me.’
Fairnie waited for more, but none came. ‘We have tested extensively, of course, for unusual and unexpected radiation levels which might suggest you failed, but have found none.’
‘I didn’t fail.’
‘Good. However, every crime syndicate, every terrorist group you have ever heard of – and many you haven’t – would like to know where you put them. What you’ve done with them.’
‘Wow,’ said Itch again.
‘Precisely,’ said the doctor. ‘Many high-level people – good people – will try to persuade you to tell them. My hunch is they won’t get very far.’
‘I didn’t … do what I did … just to tell everyone. If I’d thought they’d been safe, I could have rung the Prime Minister or someone. The whole point was to keep it secret.’
‘Does Jack know?’
Itch shook his head.
‘Who rescued you?’ asked Fairnie.
‘I have no idea. Really. And they might want to keep quiet about it, don’t you think?’
‘If they are wise, yes. And pray that no one works out who they are.’ Fairnie gathered up his papers. ‘You’ve had enough. I’ll leave you for now. One of my colleagues will stay with you.’
‘What did you mean when you said I’d be seeing quite a lot of you?’ asked Itch.
‘I’ve been put in charge of your security. When you are done here and you’ve had all the blood transfusions, I’m moving to Cornwall. We’re going to be neighbours, Itch. When you decide you do want to tell someone where the rocks are – and I think you will – I’ll be right next door.’
Itch stayed in the military hospital all summer. He had suffered all-ov
er radiation poisoning and burns to his back. He needed a bone-marrow transplant and several blood transfusions as his immune system had been in meltdown, but he recovered more quickly than his doctors had expected.
‘By rights, you should be dead,’ said Fairnie on more than one occasion, ‘but there must have been something unpredictable about the emissions of those rocks. Obviously we don’t know for certain what the long-term effects of exposure to a new element will be. If only we could study them … Where did you say you left them?’
This always made Itch laugh; it had become their running joke. Many senior military men, energy experts and politicians had tried to persuade him to reveal the rocks’ whereabouts. The government’s chief scientific officer had lectured Itch on his duty. Bribes had been offered, or ‘rewards for your gallant effort’, as the Home Secretary had put it. Itch explained over and over that he wouldn’t have risked his life to get rid of them, only to reveal where they were in exchange for a new family house. (He hadn’t told his dad about that one.)
With Jim Fairnie it was different. He knew Itch would never tell where they were, so would just drop ‘Where did you say you put them?’ into their conversation two or three times a day. Itch had come to rely on him since being admitted to the military hospital. He had become adviser, teacher and physiotherapist as well as doctor and guard.
His mum came as regularly as she could; his dad was back on the rig. To his delight, Chloe was able to visit when she was out of hospital; his first visitor after his bone-marrow transplant.
‘Mum, Dad and Gabriel offered to donate some, but they had found a donor already. Apparently it was the Prime Minister who hurried things through.’
‘Another bribe,’ he said.
‘But you won’t tell, will you, Itch?’
‘Course not.’
Chloe looked pale, but her smile was the broadest he’d ever seen. She explained how the police and ambulance crews had taken Watkins, Alexander and her to hospital. Itch then told her as much as he thought was sensible about his story – it didn’t take long.
When Dr Fairnie called that their time was up, Chloe gathered her things together to leave.
‘Itch,’ she said, looking straight at her brother, ‘do you trust him?’
Itch thought about that; he was surprised it hadn’t occurred to him before. He had come to rely on Dr Fairnie for information, advice and news, and he realized that he had accepted his advice and counsel the way he would if Mr Watkins had delivered it.
‘Yes, I suppose I do,’ he said. ‘He’s kind and knowledgeable. He tells the truth, I think. And he’s in charge of my security, so let’s hope he’s good at his job too.’
Chloe smiled, nodded and kissed her brother on the top of his shaved head.
It was a little longer before Jack could visit. Her immune system had also been badly mangled by the radiation, but she had not needed a bone-marrow transplant. They spoke on the phone and messaged each other, but it was three months before she was allowed to make the journey. Steve was the driver in charge, as he had been for all the family visits.
When she walked into the ward – masks and robes no longer needed – they had looked at each other and burst out laughing. They had identical close-cropped haircuts. At first it had been essential to mask the uneven loss of hair, but now they had grown used to it and had decided to keep it just as it was. Jack had lost weight, but the sparkle was back in her eyes.
Conversation hadn’t been easy. Itch had assumed they were being listened to – indeed assumed all their communications were monitored. Any proper chat was going to have to wait, but they made a start.
‘So,’ said Itch. ‘Marylebone Station.’ His voice was flat but he looked amazed. His hand gestures said: How did you manage that?
Jack worked out how to explain what had happened without giving anything away to eavesdroppers.
‘I took a cab. Burned-hair guy had spotted me and was in the cab behind. He’d been following me since … for a while. The traffic was terrible and I was sure he was going to snatch me from the cab. When I saw a school party heading along Baker Street, I jumped out and joined them. Pushed my way into the middle of the students and stayed next to the teacher. Burned-hair man had got out too, but couldn’t exactly take me from there, so he followed from a distance. I decided to tell the teacher that I was being threatened by the man in the leather jacket and could she call for help. She spotted a policeman near Marylebone Station. When she called to him, burned-hair man ran off. Apparently that was when I collapsed and the policeman called for an ambulance.’
‘If he hadn’t followed you, he’d have got me,’ Itch said.
Jack nodded. ‘Guess so.’
‘Jack, I’m sorry for getting you so ill.’
‘Shut up, Itch.’
‘OK. They say they’ll talk to us about any long-term side effects in time.’
‘Yes, they said that to me too,’ said Jack.
‘I hope it was worth it. I think life will be quite different now.’ Itch had explained what Fairnie had told him about the protection he was going to get. ‘I decided on the way to—’ He almost said Brighton but stopped himself at the last minute. They exchanged wide-eyed glances. ‘I decided to try a bit harder with the whole friends thing. That might be tricky now, with all the security. Maybe you could help?’
‘I’ll try, sure. Anyway, at least Potts, Paul and Campbell might leave you alone now,’ said Jack. ‘Maybe they’ll pick on someone their own brain-size.’
‘Well, it’s a start,’ said Itch. He waved as he caught sight of his Uncle Jon and Aunt Zoe. ‘Time to go, Jack – your folks are here. I hope they’re still speaking to me.’
When Fairnie stopped by next, Itch had a science question for him.
‘All the elements at the top end of the table – the high numbers – have only existed in the laboratory for tiny amounts of time. Fractions of a second. There aren’t any photos of elements 114, 115, 116, 117 and 118 because they haven’t existed for long enough. So how come 126 just sat there in lumps for thousands of years? Doesn’t make sense to me.’
The doctor rubbed his moustache thoughtfully. ‘I’m not a chemist, but I have been briefed. Although you are right – all the high-end elements are fantastically unstable – it has been thought for a while that, higher up the table, there exists something called the “island of stability”.’
Itch’s eyes widened. ‘You’ve made that up!’
‘No, really,’ said Fairnie. ‘The island of stability. It’s true. They think it’s possible that a few elements on this “island” could become more stable and decay much more slowly – maybe over millions of years rather than fractions of seconds. I can only imagine, Itch, that your 126 comes from the island.’
‘OK, if you say so,’ said Itch, lying back. ‘Whatever. It sounds like you’ve been reading too many dodgy science websites. Or just made it up.’
‘I’ll get the chief scientific officer to call by again to explain it all, if you like.’
‘No, no, I give in,’ said Itch. ‘I believe you!’
There was one more visitor Itch was waiting for. John Watkins had come up as soon as school broke up for the summer. He looked older but just as boisterously enthusiastic about life. He was someone else Itch thought he needed to apologize to, but Watkins was having none of it.
‘My dear boy. No, no, no. I know it was rough back at the mining school, but I’m so grateful that you showed me those rocks. Everyone – everyone – is talking about them. When colleagues find out I’ve actually seen them, they just flip. I’ve had calls from around the world and even done an interview with National Geographic.’
Itch smiled. Then, looking around as if to check for spies, Watkins coughed to clear his throat and spoke in a loud whisper. ‘You know what happened to South-West Mines, don’t you? Just been nationalized. The government have taken it over.’
‘What? Why?’ Itch was flabbergasted. As Watkins leaned closer, he could smell the tea and cig
arettes.
‘Well, I’ve had this from Jacob – who’s back at the mining school, you know. Apparently Bob Evert had struck gold. Literally. He wasn’t supposed to, but because small amounts had been found at the South Carreg mine nearby, he dug deeper than he was supposed to and found small amounts too. His mate the mayor made sure it kept ticking over as a tourist attraction, while keeping the gold quiet. They had big dreams, Itchingham, and they got greedy. They kept digging. They’d reached extraordinary depths. To hide all the earth and rocks they were bringing up – they obviously couldn’t pile it up at South-West Mines – they hired trucks, vans and lorries to scatter it around the old spoil and slag heaps.’
Itch was now sitting bolt upright in bed, wide-eyed with surprise. ‘The rocks came from South-West Mines! You are kidding! No!’ He stared at nothing in particular and remembered Cake explaining how he had got the rocks from a mate who had been sifting and scouring on another spoil heap. A mate he hadn’t been able to trace since.
‘So that mine we went down must have been a front! That whole “working mine” and tourist-attraction stuff was a con!’
‘Not to start with,’ said Watkins. ‘We think it was genuine until they found the small amounts of gold, and then they spent all their time in the other shaft. They dug for riches, Itch, and found the most valuable rocks in the world – but didn’t realize. Now the mayor has resigned – “to spend more time with his golf clubs” or something – and Evert has retired early so everything will be hushed up. The government boys are in the mine already – no one can get near it. Local news says it’s over “security concerns”, but Jacob says they’re digging for more 126. For the moment, at least, there are only the eight samples you had.’
‘And good riddance,’ said Itch.
‘Yes, yes, as you say. Though Dr Alexander might say “produced when we need them the most”,’ said Watkins.
‘Yes,’ said Itch slowly. ‘He would, wouldn’t he?’
‘Dr Alexander also says that his students always worked with South-West Mines until a few years ago, when relations suddenly soured and they felt unwelcome. Presumably that’s when they found the gold.’