The whole Lofte family hadn’t all been around one table since Christmas. In spite of the desperate circumstances that had brought them together, they were clearly enjoying Saturday morning breakfast. Nicholas had arrived on Friday evening, after receiving Jude’s emergency email and catching the first available plane. The process of getting hold of him 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 had gotten 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 six foot four. His hair was darker and less wavy than Itch’s but considerably longer.
For the moment the conversation was lighthearted. There was news to catch up on from Gabriel’s university and Nicholas’s oil rig before they could bring themselves to discuss 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 that still lay in the corners where it 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 in the house had been thrown around—cushions, books, CDs, DVDs, forks, food, plates, bedding, all on the floor. Mum’s office was trashed too—the drawers emptied.”
“And my shoes were thrown all over the place,” said Chloe. “My clothes too. Why would they do that?”
Her dad reached out to hold 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 until they finished. We just sat here eating pizza. We were surrounded by pans and food that was scattered all over the place, but we were only allowed to sit and eat. When they left we were too tired to clean 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 forever, but they didn’t find anything.”
“What—they didn’t find anything in your head at all?” asked Gabriel. “That explains a lot.”
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 tell the doctors if you continued to have 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 us clean up. They said they’d be 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 graying at the temples. He was slightly taller than Nicholas, but stooped, as though embarrassed by his height. He wore jeans and, as he always did, a T-shirt with SHOW OF HANDS, his favorite 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’s still sore. 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 there was dried blood on the hospital bandage.
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 had 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 spring break, and I swear if it hadn’t been for Itch’s name, he wouldn’t have had a clue who Itch 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 it 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 actually had words, yes. But this is many years ago and I assumed when the helicopter 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 it to do over again …” said her father.
“How on earth did he get a job at the academy?” wondered Jon. “And as chairman of science too?”
“It’s Greencorps, Jon,” said Nicholas. “They own the rigs, they own the tankers, they own the refineries, they own the gas 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’d like to move 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 most of my collection was chucked around the backyard. I’ve found most of it, apart from my titanium and aluminum, 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 were in my collection than in your ear.”
Another family laugh. Normally his brother’s piercings caused arguments, but not today. I could get used to this, thought Itch.
The day became a procession of visitors. The police came to question Itch about the assault and update the family on the search for Flowerdew. Dr. Dart came with the head of the school board—no doubt because they were worried about legal action. Neighbors 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 EXPERT ATTACKS PUPIL. Students’ 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 continued the clean-up, Jack and Itch went up to his room to start setting it to rights and were joined by Chloe.
“I like having your parents here,” she said, turning to Jack. “They only come around 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 rang 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 crazy 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 cronies 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 of how radioactive it is: it could pollute the marine life. But you’re right about it causing trouble. If only Flowerdew hadn’t attacked me, I could have gotten 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.”
Itch stood up and looked out 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 had been kicked in, and most of its contents scattered around the yard. 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 rehoused in his backpack. 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 backpack 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 the 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 backpack. “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 anymore. 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 92,” 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 onward. That”—he pointed to a photo of another silvery-gray 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 22 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, shouldn’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 gray color and covered with dust and cobwebs. About ten inches long and between two and three inches wide, 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.”