Itch

by Simon Mayo

  Flowerdew laughed – quietly at first, but then louder and louder, until the driver turned round to check he was all right. ‘Eight! You hear that, Kinch! We have eight of the blighters – and to think I was all excited about just one.’ Flowerdew tore off his cap, folded it away in his pocket and fidgeted with excitement.

  The driver, Kinch, turned again and nodded, smiling at him. It was a smile without knowledge, however; he clearly understood nothing of the significance of what they had just taken, but if his new boss was happy, then so was he.

  As they sped round the back of the mining school, blue and white flashing lights lit the darkness. The Range Rover reached a junction of the service road. Turning right, they were able to watch the three police motorcycles and one paramedic roar into the car park.

  ‘That should keep them all busy for a while,’ said Flowerdew. ‘But just in case, get on the floor.’ He pushed Itch off the seat and Jack followed him down onto the mat. They sat there, surrounded by food wrappers and plastic bottles. ‘Slowly past the cops, please, Kinch. And the medic.’

  Kinch eased the Range Rover out onto the main road, and the two men turned to watch the police by the lobby of the mining school, standing amidst the shattered plates of glass. Both Jack and Itch thought of jumping out or trying to attract attention, but the automatic door locks had already clicked and the car’s glass was all tinted. Itch was relieved to see the medic – Chloe could now finally get the treatment she desperately needed. Leaving her might have been the right thing to do, but he knew he wouldn’t have done it if Mr Watkins hadn’t been there; his teacher would make sure she was OK. Itch also wondered if the police would see off the woman and her two ‘drivers’, but was far from sure. Anyway, he and Jack had troubles of their own now.

  Once clear of the mining school, they tried to sit up again, but Flowerdew shook his head. ‘Stay down there, you two,’ he commanded. ‘Help yourself to some crusts. We waited a long time for you – we got through a lot of supplies, as you can see. I’m sure you’ll find something tasty down there. Oh – and I’ll have your phones, if you would be so kind.’

  The cousins handed them over, and Flowerdew switched both off; then, opening the window next to him, he threw them out as far as he could. Out of sight and earshot of them all, both phones disintegrated on impact with the kerbside granite rocks.

  ‘I was sure you’d end up at West Ridge eventually,’ he told them. ‘You love Watkins, and Watkins loves West Ridge. Where else would you run? You didn’t disappoint, Lofte – though you took your time, I must say. Kinch here was beginning to wonder whether you’d turn up at all.’ The driver shrugged, and Flowerdew went on: ‘We were waiting at the back. As soon as those Audis swept into the car park I guessed they’d flush you out.’

  The car accelerated away from West Ridge but slowed when it reached the smouldering tractor and minibus. The wreckage was still widely scattered across the road but a fire engine had put out the worst of the flames. Small isolated brush fires had sparked on both sides of the road but weren’t preventing an ambulance from making its way slowly around the crash site. The Range Rover waited for it to negotiate the twisted, smouldering rubber and smoking metal. It was followed by two police cars, which flashed their thanks to the waiting driver. Kinch laughed but Flowerdew was not happy.

  ‘They’ll remember us now. You’re an idiot, Kinch.’

  Itch, losing feeling in his right leg, thought, That’s how Flowerdew talks to everybody. It isn’t just us. He glanced at Jack but she had her eyes shut.

  ‘You should know we’ve all been sick,’ he said. ‘And I think Jack is about to be again. Could we sit up on the seats now?’

  Flowerdew laughed. ‘Play with things that are out of your league, Lofte, and you pay the price. In your case, radiation sickness is a very, very high price. How many times?’

  ‘A few times.’

  ‘Hair loss? Reddening skin?’

  Itch wasn’t sure, so said nothing.

  ‘Your eyebrows have gone already – I can see that from here. It’s just a matter of time, I’m afraid.’

  Itch couldn’t be bothered to correct him, and anyway, he now knew all too well what the next signs of sickness were. ‘Where would you like us to be sick?’ he replied, getting cross now, even though he knew that was probably unwise. ‘On your leather seats or on your carpet?’

  ‘How about on each other?’ said Flowerdew, provoking a sneering laugh from Kinch. ‘OK, she can sit up, but you stay down.’

  Itch gave Jack a shove, and she hauled herself up and swapped places with the rucksack, stowing it on the floor beside Itch.

  They sped north, and soon picked up the major roads to head out of Cornwall. But as soon as they had put some distance between them and West Ridge, Flowerdew insisted that Kinch use the satnav to find a route with minor roads. He was still fuming at his driver.

  ‘When they realize the rocks are gone, they’ll be looking for a Range Rover seen leaving the scene, driven by a grinning simpleton with a ponytail.’

  Itch was about to ask where they were going, but twisting round, he saw that the satnav showed an address in West London and a journey time of four hours, forty-five minutes. If they stayed on the B-roads, that would rise to at least six hours. He resumed the posture that was familiar from the times he’d tried to stay up late watching TV: if you don’t move or say anything, everyone will forget you’re there. It hadn’t worked then and it didn’t work now.

  ‘You have no idea how many people will want what we have here,’ said Flowerdew. ‘The contents of that box are worth more than the crown jewels – more than all the Trident submarines this country owns – more than the total earning power of Canada.’ He looked at Jack and Itch. ‘I’ve done my homework, as you can see.’ When this got no response, he kicked Itch in the ribs. Hard. ‘Pay attention, Lofte! You always were one for drifting off.’

  ‘Only in your classes. Sir.’ This cost Itch another kick in the ribs, and he yelped in pain.

  ‘Can I tell you how great that feels, Lofte? After all the pain you’ve caused me, to see you hurt is really rather therapeutic. I liked it last time, but then that fool Watkins interrupted.’ He lashed out again. ‘That’s for Watkins.’

  This time the kick landed lower than the first two, at the base of Itch’s ribcage, and the sharpness of the pain flooded his eyes with tears. His determination not to cry out again made him screw his eyes up tight but the tears rolled down his face.

  ‘A pathetic display, Lofte. You really shouldn’t have stolen my rock, you know. Or broken into my house. I’m sure you’d like to say sorry, wouldn’t you?’ In the time-honoured way of teachers, he added, ‘I’m waiting … I’d like to hear you say sorry.’

  Itch was about to swear at him when he felt Jack’s hand reach for his and, finding it, squeeze gently.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said instead.

  ‘Sorry, sir.’

  ‘Sorry, sir.’

  ‘There. So much better. Now we are all friends again.’ Flowerdew chuckled to himself as Kinch watched in his mirror.

  Jack gradually fell asleep and Itch, with his rucksack to lean on, drifted off too. Itch’s was a fitful doze from which he emerged sweating, nauseous and with his burned hand still throbbing hard. Lying there in the dark, he could see Jack asleep but with her head now on the seat where Flowerdew had been. He had obviously climbed over and was now in the front passenger seat, with the rocks at his feet. He had his laptop open and he was speaking quietly into his phone. Outside it was pitch black. Wherever they were had no street lighting and there appeared to be no traffic, either.

  It was a while before Itch really tuned in to what Flowerdew was saying. Once he had shifted around to ease the circulation in his legs, he found a discarded water bottle under the seat which still had a few mouthfuls in the bottom. He quietly unscrewed the cap and sipped. The temptation to swig noisily was great but he didn’t want to alert Flowerdew and Kinch to the fact that he was awake.

  ‘N
o, Kazeem, listen. Trust me on this. I—’ Flowerdew stopped, clearly interrupted by his caller. After a few moments he spoke again. ‘I’ll send you the data I have. Call me back when you get it.’ He hung up, sent three documents via email and called another number. His greeting was in a language that Itch didn’t recognize; it sounded African. ‘Kedu! It’s Flowerdew. We need to meet up, Benedict. I have a present you should see. Can I send you details? Where to?’ He quickly typed an email address. ‘It’s on its way.’ The same three documents were attached and sent. Flowerdew closed his laptop and rubbed his eyes. ‘Where are we, Kinch?’

  The driver glanced at his satnav. ‘Three miles from Bath. Do you want to stop?’

  ‘No, but perhaps we should disappear for a while. Word is out about our cargo, but we don’t have to be in London till tomorrow night. My old Nigerian friends won’t be in place until then. We need to keep a low profile. The lower the better. Ideas?’

  ‘There was a village called Abbotts a couple of miles back; we drove through it about ten minutes ago. It’s full of second homes, all deserted and not alarmed. We could choose from about eight or nine, I reckon.’

  Flowerdew smiled. ‘It sounds perfect. Do it.’ Then, as much to himself as to Kinch, ‘These beauties change everything. Wars have been fought over less. And even if the authorities get hold of them in the end, nothing can be kept secret for ever. Even with the best intentions, it’s the destructive power and terror these rocks have that’ll win the day. That’s what makes them so valuable.’

  Itch thought it the most chilling thing he had ever heard.

  Kinch said nothing but had already turned round. Within five minutes they were entering Abbotts again. There were a few streetlights, and they saw immaculate stone cottages lining the main street all the way to a church. Kinch pointed to the six or seven with bins outside their gates.

  ‘They’re the ones. Tell-tale sign – bins are empty, but there’s no one at home to wheel them back in. Which do you fancy? You can take your pick.’

  Kinch pulled the Range Rover to the side of the road and Flowerdew wound down the window. He looked up and down the row of well-kept Bath stone cottages, the honey-coloured brick lit only by the occasional security light. All windows were either shuttered or had curtains drawn. He shrugged. ‘They’re all the same. Let’s take the end one.’

  ‘The parking is round the back,’ Kinch told him.

  Flowerdew stared at him. ‘You’ve done this before, haven’t you?’

  Kinch smiled. ‘It’s what you pay me for, isn’t it?’ He switched off the headlights and drove round to the side of the cottages, pulling up in a little service road that ran between the back doors of the cottages and their gardens.

  ‘I’ll be two minutes,’ said Kinch, and slipped out of the car. Watching in the mirror, Flowerdew saw him lean against the back door and insert a number of thin steel objects into the lock. The door opened and Kinch disappeared inside.

  In less than two minutes he had returned. Opening Flowerdew’s door, he said, ‘It’s perfect.’ Nodding at Jack, sprawled on the back seat, and Itch, apparently asleep on his rucksack, he asked, ‘What do we do with them now? You’ve got what you wanted. They’re just … in the way, really.’

  ‘I know. But they know everything. Let’s discuss this inside.’

  Flowerdew picked up his briefcase and the bag containing the lead-lined box, and headed for the end cottage. He left Kinch to rouse Jack and Itch, haul them out of the car and into the house.

  Kinch shut the door behind them, relocking it. He’d put the lights on their lowest setting. They were standing in a small kitchen with an Aga cooker, a pretty farmhouse-style table and chairs, and marble work surfaces. In the corner of the room the door to a large pantry stood open. Assorted supplies were clearly visible inside and Kinch looked hungrily at them.

  ‘Help yourself. I’m going to find somewhere to work,’ said Flowerdew. ‘Bring me a coffee – black, two sugars.’ He turned and was about to walk out of the kitchen into the darkened house when he added, ‘And don’t let them out of your sight. Devious, lying, thieving children need all your attention, Kinch. Clear?’

  Kinch nodded, and Flowerdew left with the bag and his briefcase.

  Itch sat down at the kitchen table but then realized that Jack was swaying where she stood. He went over and steadied her.

  ‘Need a bathroom,’ she said.

  ‘Both follow me,’ Kinch ordered, and led the way up twisting pine stairs to a small landing. In front of them was a bathroom. Itch helped Jack in, found the light cord, kicked the door shut and got her to the toilet just in time. Kinch stood guard outside.

  They stayed in the bathroom for half an hour, partly because Jack was really very ill but also because they hadn’t been able to speak together for a while. After the sickness had passed, they both sat with their backs against the bath.

  ‘Does this carry on or get worse?’ whispered Jack.

  ‘Well, I don’t think we get better without help,’ said Itch, ‘and before you say it, we are sticking together. We left Chloe because she had Watkins. All right?’

  ‘OK,’ said Jack. ‘I wasn’t asleep in the car, you know – I heard Kinch say we were in the way.’ She dabbed her face with a flannel.

  ‘I suppose it’s true. We are in the way now. Massively in the way.’

  ‘And you heard Flowerdew. He said, But they know everything. Which we do.’

  Itch stood up and opened the bathroom cabinet. Finding a tube of antiseptic cream, he smeared some on his burned hand. ‘Apart from who he’s trying to contact,’ he said. ‘It sounds like Greencorps have cut him loose, so he’s calling all his old dodgy mates in the oil business who might be interested in the rocks.’

  ‘Do you think we should assume that whoever comes for the rocks will be bad?’ asked Jack.

  ‘I think that’s a pretty safe bet, yes. The chances of him giving them to any good causes is slim.’

  Jack started laughing, and for a moment Itch thought she’d gone crazy. ‘What’s so funny?’ he said.

  ‘Just the picture of Flowerdew offering eight dangerously radioactive rocks to Oxfam to see if they would be of any use.’

  Itch laughed too. ‘And Oxfam becomes a nuclear power!’

  ‘And bombs Christian Aid!’ said Jack, and they dissolved into giggles.

  This led inevitably to Kinch coming in and taking them downstairs again. It was clear that he had been busy working his way through the pantry. The table was littered with empty crisp packets, biscuit and chocolate wrappers and beer bottles. Kinch’s T-shirt had crisp crumbs all over it from where he had wiped his hands.

  Quietly – presumably so Flowerdew couldn’t hear – he said, ‘If you’re hungry, there’s plenty of stuff.’ He went into the larder again, returning with a large packet of crisps. He chucked it at Itch, who caught it and opened it in one movement. Jack wasn’t that hungry, but she nibbled a few and Itch devoured the rest.

  ‘Any chance of sleeping in a bed?’ he asked.

  Kinch shook his head. ‘Dr Flowerdew said you sleep in the dining room and I guard the door. The windows are locked shut there.’

  Itch shouldered the rucksack and they headed for the dining room. In the gloom they could just make out a large table and some wooden chairs. At the far end there was one armchair with some cushions, and Jack slumped in it, curling up almost immediately.

  Itch put down his rucksack and Kinch, watching him, said, ‘Why do you carry that stuff around with you?’

  ‘What stuff?’

  ‘That stuff in your rucksack. He said to check it for weapons – scissors, knives, that kind of thing. But it’s full of junk.’

  ‘Is that what you told him?’

  ‘I told him there were no weapons – just rubbish and weird boy stuff. He wasn’t interested.’

  ‘Well, I collect things, that’s all. Metals, batteries – that kind of thing.’ Itch was trying to make it sound boring and he clearly succeeded.

&n
bsp; Kinch shrugged his sloping shoulders and left, muttering, ‘Sounds fascinating.’ He closed and locked the door.

  Jack looked as though she really was asleep this time. Itch took a cushion she hadn’t fallen on and made himself a makeshift bed from that, his rucksack and a tablecloth. He expected to fall asleep immediately but found himself still wide awake. He could hear Flowerdew talking somewhere nearby and it focused his mind. He and Jack were in a dangerous situation; and once these people Flowerdew was talking to realized what was on offer, it could only get worse. Whoever ended up with the rocks would not want two witnesses to everything. Itch wondered who these Nigerian friends of Flowerdew’s were, and who they would tell. Before very long, Itch imagined that every mad group of terrorists and bombers would be heading their way. Suddenly, on top of all that, he was aware of the nausea returning.

  He decided not to alert Jack or Kinch, but just sat in the corner of the dark dining room, the tablecloth gathered and ready in his lap, waiting for it to start. When it came, it shook him so violently it left him trembling, exhausted and wet with sweat. When the tablecloth had done its work, he lay down where he was and, silently, started to cry.

  He was woken by Jack talking to him. He clearly hadn’t been asleep long as it was still dark. It was a few moments before he remembered everything that had happened – though the vile taste in his mouth was all the reminder he needed. He was grateful for the cover of darkness to wipe his mouth and eyes with his shirt.

  ‘You’ve been sick again, Itch – you should have told me! Why didn’t you go to the bathroom? I’d have come with you,’ Jack said.

  ‘Yeah, well …’ He couldn’t really be bothered to explain his reasoning. ‘It seemed too much trouble at the time. Sorry about the smell.’ He stood up and went over to the shuttered windows. There was now a sliver of light from a gap above the shutter.

  ‘If I slept through you being ill, I must have been really far gone,’ said Jack. ‘Did I miss anything else?’

  ‘Just Kinch saying he’d been through my rucksack.’ Itch’s voice was thick and rasping.