by Simon Mayo
You look old, thought Itch. He was about to tell Watkins that he got the idea for the sawdust fire from one of his lessons but thought maybe it could wait.
The three of them turned back in the direction of the canal. If anything, the rain was settling in and the clouds darkening.
“I can offer tea and cookies,” said Watkins, the rain dripping off his face. “Why don’t we all dry off at the cottage—we’re nearly there anyway.”
“That sounds great—thanks,” said Nicholas. “If you’re sure it’s no trouble.”
“Not at all—it’ll be nice to entertain Itch without him getting kidnapped.”
Mr. Watkins smiled at Itch, but the memory of what Shivvi had put them through was still painful, and Itch’s smile was forced.
“I hope you’ve got plenty of cookies,” said Nicholas, pointing to two figures running toward them along the canal path. Chloe and Jack, struggling with shopping bags and umbrellas, were waving from the lock.
“The more the merrier!” said Watkins, clapping his hands together.
“Hi, Itch! Hi, Uncle Nicholas!” called Jack when they reached the canal. “We guessed you’d be heading this way. Hi, sir! How’s the head? It looks painful….”
Mr. Watkins beamed at Jack. “I’ll be fine. I’m tougher than you’d think, Jack. Follow me; we’re all having tea.” He bustled into his cottage, where he produced towels for everyone. Jack, Itch, and Chloe got the fire going while Watkins and Nicholas talked in the kitchen. A small Christmas tree stood in the corner, lit by a string of flashing reindeer. Every time one of the cousins looked at them, they burst out laughing.
“Those have to be the worst lights ever,” said Chloe quietly—though as it turned out, not quietly enough.
“I can hear rude comments about my lights from a thousand miles away, young lady!” called Watkins’s voice from the kitchen. They all laughed again, and Chloe flushed.
Itch looked around the room. Get Well cards mixed with Christmas greetings along the bookshelves, and a few festive angels hung from lampshades.
“Hasn’t been very Christmassy at home yet, has it?” he said. “What with Mum leaving, tests at the hospital, police visits, and everything.”
Chloe nodded. “I’ve just bought you a present, though. Which you’d better like, as I’ve hardly got enough money left for Gabriel’s now.”
“And it is really cool,” said Jack. “If you don’t want it, I’ll take it!”
Itch was making a face at her when his phone buzzed. He was reading a text from Lucy when his dad came back in.
“Just had a phone call from Colonel Fairnie,” said Nicholas. “He’s been at Lucy’s and wants to come over. Say good-bye, I guess. Mr. Watkins says that’s fine. They’ll be here shortly.”
“Lucy just texted me,” said Itch. He noticed Jack and Chloe grinning but ignored them. He turned to his dad. “Has everything gone from next door then? Can the Cole family move back into their house?”
“I think the Coles are happy where they are by the golf course,” said Nicholas.
“Even after Chloe and I got it blown up?”
“Yes, even after that!”
Mr. Watkins came into the living room carrying the tea tray. “Coming back to school on Monday, Itch? There’s only a few days ’til the end of the semester….”
“S’pose I should. It’ll be strange to just walk in and then walk home again, with no protection. To be honest, I’m dreading it. People like Bruno and Darcy have been waiting to tackle me for months; well, now’s their chance.” He looked glum.
“We’ll watch out for that, Itch. I’ll tell the faculty and talk to the usual suspects. It’ll be fine. We’ll take care of it.”
Watkins sat down heavily in an armchair and cleared his throat. “I should let you know … I’ve decided to take early retirement. I’ll be leaving the Cornwall Academy at Christmas.”
“But sir …!” said Itch and Jack together, but he raised a hand.
“I told Dr. Dart yesterday. I realized in the hospital that I wasn’t sure I wanted to go back. The whole Mary Lee/Shivvi business has shaken me. And the doctors say I need to rest. I need to do all these tests in the new year, apparently. And it’s all a bit much really—” He broke off, eyes filling with tears.
The doorbell rang and he got to his feet, happy for the distraction; Itch and Jack exchanged bleak looks.
The wind and rain followed Colonel Jim Fairnie and Lucy Cavendish into the cottage before Watkins hurriedly shut the door. They stood dripping on the mat and smiled at the assembled company.
“We only walked from my car,” said Fairnie, “but look at us!” He wiped his face with his sleeve.
“Hi, Itch! Jack! Chloe!” Lucy grinned broadly as she peeled off her jacket. She embraced Jack and Chloe.
“Itch, can I have a word?” asked Fairnie. “And before I take my coat off … outside, maybe? We can sit in the car.”
“OK, sure,” said Itch, glancing at the others. He shrugged and grabbed his jacket, which was still soaking wet. “Can I wear yours?” he called to his father.
“Of course,” said Nicholas, coming in and acknowledging Lucy and the colonel. “It’ll be more useful than your flimsy one.”
Itch pulled on his father’s black three-quarter-length coat; it seemed to swallow him up.
“See? A perfect fit.” Nicholas grinned.
Fairnie opened the door and followed Itch outside. The rain was easing up, and they stood looking across the canal to the beach and sea beyond. “I’m going to miss this,” said the colonel. “I love this beach.”
“A beach and a battleground,” said Itch. “That was quite a shootout on those rocks.”
“Yes, that caused quite a stir. Your attackers belonged to a Russian crime syndicate, as it turned out. They were going to drug you and smuggle you out of the country. Great embarrassment that they got so close. MI5 had no idea they were here.”
The rain started up again, and they walked briskly over to Fairnie’s car—parked where Shivvi had left hers just a few days earlier. Itch could still feel the weight of the cesium strapped to his chest, and shivered. Fairnie’s car bleeped and the doors unlocked. Itch slid into the passenger seat.
“I came to say good-bye.” Fairnie shut his door and turned to face Itch, his damp clothes squeaking on the leather seat. “It’s been … quite an adventure.” His face creased into a broad smile, and he wiped the rain from his moustache. The car windows were steaming up, and he started the engine to activate the climate control. “When I was put in charge of your security, I knew it would be risky because what you had found was so extraordinary. And that looking after a student who lived at home and went to the local academy would be … sensitive.”
Itch watched the windshield defog slowly as the warm air blew against the glass.
“And I know we made things difficult for your mother and dad. I’m sorry about that.”
Itch shifted in his seat. “Yeah, well. You know she left, don’t you?”
“Yes,” said Fairnie quietly. “Yes, I heard that. I’m sorry about that too, Itch.”
“Not your fault—and not mine either, apparently.”
They sat watching the rain wash down onto the windscreen for a moment. Then Fairnie spoke again: “I’ve just come from Lucy’s house, as you know. I’ve been talking to her mother. They have quite a story, I can tell you. What did you think when you found out that Lucy was Cake’s daughter?”
Itch laughed. “Amazed. Stunned. Still can’t quite believe it. But it was Lucy who knew about spallation and ISIS. They all knew Cake there. It’s funny, but—” He broke off to clear his tightening throat. “The 126 killed him. He didn’t realize what he had until it was too late, and it killed him. I did my best to dispose of the rocks, but it turned out I hadn’t dealt with them either. Then … then … Cake’s daughter shows up, and because of her and what they did together, we knew what to do.”
“I was relieved to see the results of your medical tests,�
� said Fairnie. “No radiation damage this time.”
“No. Just broken bones, burns, cuts. That kind of thing.”
Fairnie nodded. “Lucy’s mother is quite upset that Lucy didn’t tell her about Cake’s death,” he said. “Understandably, I think.” He paused. “Families are complicated sometimes.”
Itch sighed.
“By the way,” said Fairnie. “Lucy’s room is full of chemicals and powders, you know; drives her mother crazy.” He smiled. “Reminds me of someone.”
Itch nodded and looked slightly awkward. He changed the subject. “It was pretty cool when you showed up at ISIS, by the way. I thought we’d had it. How did you find us?”
“Security cameras at Paddington Station showed us which train you got on. MI5 and ISIS have worked together in the past—it wasn’t difficult to sort that part out. It was Sam Singh who briefed us on spallation, but he doubted you could do it.”
“Well, I wouldn’t have been able to if you hadn’t let me. I thought your job was to get the rocks for the government? I was sure you were going to take the backpack….”
“That was the plan—those were my official instructions. But when the team was tooling up for the ISIS rescue, Kirsten said she had never seen anyone with such determination and courage as you, Itch. Then—and I remember her words exactly—she said, ‘I’m glad the kid is on our side.’ Moz then added that he thought you were right and that maybe no one could be trusted with the 126. So we decided to take a vote.”
“You did what?”
“I know—most irregular. But then everything about this operation has been irregular. We took a vote. And it was unanimous: we would help you if we could. Officially, you’d started the beam before we got there, and it was too late to stop the reaction. That’s what we’ve written in our report, and that’s the way it is….”
A long silence was eventually broken by Itch. “Wow. Thanks, Colonel Fairnie.”
“No worries. ISIS is less happy. They’ve essentially lost a target station; the whole area around the pod is being filled with concrete. There’s so much energy coming off the disintegrating 126 that it was considered the safest option.”
“Oops,” said Itch. “Is it safe?”
“It is now.”
“I’ve done some research,” said Itch, “and I think the 126 breaks up into element 63, which is europium, with assorted bits of promethium and terbium.”
“Can’t say I’ve heard of them, Itch.”
“Well, europium is cool. I’d quite like some of that. It’s next on my list.”
“I’d leave that batch of it alone, if I were you,” said Colonel Fairnie with a smile.
Itch nodded. “And that scientist Tom Oakes was helpful. Basically showed us how to destroy the 126. Will he be OK?”
Fairnie smiled again. “Think so. As you know, he was an old friend of your science teacher, Mr. Hampton. He seemed to know all about you. Given that it’s an official secret, there’s a lot of gossip about you and your discovery.”
“Which doesn’t exist anymore.”
“Precisely.”
“Would you thank the team for me?” said Itch. “I’ll miss them. Particularly at school. We’re going back on Monday and, whatever Mr. Watkins says, I know who’ll take advantage of you guys not being there …”
“I think you’ll be fine,” Fairnie reassured him.
“Trust me,” said Itch. “The second Darcy and company realize you’re gone …”
“I think you’ll be fine,” the colonel repeated.
Itch looked at him, puzzled. “OK … And Flowerdew? What do you know about him?”
Fairnie winced. “Used the tunnels to get away, I’m afraid. Our biggest failure, and one reason why I’m not completely stepping down from this assignment. When he resurfaces again, he’ll find life very difficult; he’s an internationally wanted man.” He handed Itch a card. “Call me anytime you think you might need me.”
Itch gazed at the number.
“And now I need to go,” said Fairnie.
“You’re not coming in again?”
“No. Would you say good-bye for me? You’re the one we came to protect, and I can honestly say it’s been a privilege, Itch. You’re a remarkable kid. Like Kirsten said, I’m glad we’re on the same side.” He held out his hand and Itch shook it.
“Thanks for everything, Colonel Fairnie.”
“I’m sure we’ll meet again.” The colonel smiled.
Itch nodded and got out of the car. He stood and watched as Fairnie drove out of the parking lot, the tail lights bright through the swirling rain. He ran back through the puddles, relieved that no one would query the moistness in his eyes. They all looked up as he ran in and took off Nicholas’s oil-rig coat.
“Where’s Fairnie?” asked Jack.
“He said he had to go. And he asked me to tell you good-bye.”
Jack looked surprised, but Mr. Watkins chose that moment to produce a tray of home-baked cookies.
“A festive favorite,” he said. “I need your reviews, please.”
The smell of cinnamon and chocolate filled the room, and everyone suddenly felt hungry. Watkins passed the tray of cookies around, and it was clear that they were a hit. While the others were discussing the recipe, Lucy came over and sat on the arm of Itch’s chair.
“You OK?” she asked.
“Sure …”
“I got you something. I hope you like it.”
Itch flushed. “Oh. Er. I’m sure—”
Before he knew what was happening, Lucy had put a small, heavy package in his lap. Then she kissed him on the cheek. “Merry Christmas, Itch,” she said.
He froze. Somewhere he registered that Jack and Chloe were grinning and giggling, and that his father and teacher had stopped their conversation. But mainly he was aware that he had gone bright red. He busied himself with unwrapping the present. Inside was a shiny button of a silvery-gray metal-like material. On one side it was almost flat but on the other it tapered to a point.
“It’s silicon,” said Lucy.
Itch heard Chloe whisper, “How romantic!”
He held the silicon up to catch the light from Mr. Watkins’s wacky Christmas tree. It sparkled and gleamed.
“Your mouth’s open, Itch,” Chloe told him.
“It’s beautiful …” he said. “Like a Christmas tree decoration. Where did you get it?”
“It was my dad’s. I found it with his stuff and I thought you should have it.”
The silence in the room was eventually broken by Mr. Watkins.
“More cookies, anyone?”
The rain eased as they all headed back along the cliff path. Nicholas asked to see the silicon. He weighed it in his hand and rubbed its smooth surface.
“A nice gift,” he said. “That must mean a lot to you. Do you have silicon?”
“Yes, but not like this,” said Itch. “And it was Cake’s.”
His father nodded.
“And it was delivered with a kiss,” giggled Chloe.
Itch punched her on the shoulder.
“Still the element collector then?” said his father.
“Of course,” he replied. “What else is there to be?”
Many people made this Itch adventure the wild journey it turned out to be. My high-class, top-of-the-line scientific advisers were, once again, Paddy Regan, professor of nuclear physics at Surrey University, and Andrea Sella, professor of chemistry at UCL. Their advice was, as ever, indispensable. Every school should have a Paddy and an Andrea on call, and then all would be well. It is fair to say that the spallation process (making its debut in fiction, I think) is pretty advanced stuff, and it, along with the numerous bangs and flashes, would not be here without them. Research scientist Dr. Jonathan Speed has joined the ranks too, with comments and the rare ability to make a jelly baby scream.
The STFC Rutherford Appleton Laboratory at Harwell provides the backdrop to the conclusion of the story, and for the purposes of this book I have built them a ne
w (simpler, less secure) facility at no cost to the taxpayer. Lucy Stone, Dr. Martyn Bull, Dr. Chris Frost, and Dr. Andrew Taylor, thanks for your time, tour, and the glimpse of a world where the UK is a world leader.
Gary Gates at the London Fire Brigade made sure my firefighting procedures were up-to-date, and Laura Storm, master scuba diver, generously gave me insight into her extraordinary work. Having access to Gordon Carrera, the BBC’s security correspondent, and Danny Shaw, the BBC’s crime correspondent, was invaluable, and both answered my inquiries when they had far more pressing concerns to attend to. Thanks, guys. Drs. Mary Davies and David Davies honed a few passages of medical ghastliness with wit and, as I recall, Chablis. Bob Digby, senior vice president of the Geographical Association, is still the full-time adviser on all things Cornish. Any mistakes are, of course, all my own. I should have paid more attention.
Thanks to Sam Copeland at RCW for wisdom and perspective. To the team at Random House UK, especially editor and master craftsman Ben Horslen, and Clare Hall-Craggs with Stephanie-Elise Melrose in Publicity for all our wonderful school visits. To Chiggy and Emily Rees Jones at PBJ Management for still being cheerleaders.
And, of course, to my wonderful family. Hilary, Ben, Natasha, and Joe have been my biggest supporters and have cheered for Itch, Jack, and Chloe from the start. Love always.
SIMON MAYO is one of Britain’s best-loved radio broadcasters. He is the host of Drivetime on Radio 2, which features the Radio 2 Book Club. He is also the co-host of Kermode and Mayo’s Film Review on BBC Radio 5 Live. He has also been a parking lot attendant, a breakfast DJ, and a TV quiz-show host. He never had much of an interest in science until a radio talk show brought him into contact with the world’s greatest chemists, physicists, and astronomers. The spell was cast. Simon Mayo lives in London with his family. Itch Rocks is his second novel.
