by Simon Mayo
Christophe Revere was trying to attract their attention but was hampered by his gag and handcuffs. He flapped his bare feet about like windscreen wipers and made what noise he could with his own socks in his mouth.
‘See what he wants,’ said Leila.
Dada came over and pulled the socks out. ‘What?’ she asked.
Revere coughed and spat out some loose cashmere threads. ‘We can get you Flowerdew,’ he said. ‘If it’s him you want, we should work togeth—’
The socks went back in his mouth. ‘Yeah, sure,’ spat Dada.
‘No, let’s hear what he says,’ said Leila. ‘Let him speak.’
Dada pulled a face and took out the spittle-soaked socks again.
‘We leave you a million dollars,’ said the Greencorps man, pitching again. ‘I can transfer it now if you wish. We accept we did wrong. You can spend it how you like – maybe set up a school or something – and we get you Flowerdew. We have security teams in many countries . . . we’ll find him in the end. Then we’ll call you.’
Aisha had heard enough. She snatched the socks from Dada and pushed them back in his mouth, then spun round to face her friends. ‘They’re oilmen, remember! Oilmen! And oilmen lie! Do you really think any of this will happen?’
From the corner of the room, a woman in skinny jeans and crop top raised a hand. ‘Go ahead, Sade,’ said Leila. ‘We haven’t heard from you yet.’
A slender Nigerian woman stood slowly to make her point. ‘How about this?’ she said. ‘They issue a statement saying they were responsible for the oil spill, the deaths of the workers and Shivvi. They leave two million dollars for a school. And they resign from Greencorps. Then we let them go.’
Leila looked around at her friends. Some were nodding.
‘OK, we vote,’ she said.
5
Cornwall, England
January
The Lofte kitchen was buzzing with the smells and noises of cooking and conversation: Itch and Chloe were taking turns to tell everyone about their South African adventure. Gabriel was nursing his first coffee of the day while their mother, Jude, was assembling a pile of bacon sandwiches. Nicholas, brewing up yet more tea, was waiting for what he assumed would be a slightly amended version of the spoil-heap story when the doorbell rang.
‘Jack!’ shouted Chloe, and ran for the door. She returned hand in hand with their cousin, who was grinning widely.
‘Hi, you guys! I missed you all so much!’ Jack was tall, like all the Loftes – just a centimetre or so shorter than Itch – with black, pixie-style hair. She embraced her aunt and uncle, high-fived Itch and Gabriel over the table, then pulled up a chair. Jude put a mug of steaming tea down in front of her. ‘Well, it sure was quiet without you,’ said Jack, still smiling. ‘Apart from New Year, which got a bit stupid.’
Gabriel spun his laptop round. ‘Do you mean this, Jack?’ He showed a Facebook page that was full of photos: an assortment of partygoers pulling stupid faces, people lying in a garden, then dancing on the beach.
Jack laughed. ‘Yes, that’s some of it! It got worse later, apparently, but I was back home by then.’
‘You should have been with us – we had a riot on New Year’s Eve,’ said Itch. His father shot him a warning glance. ‘We watched the news on the oldest television ever, then Chloe . . . got a rash or something and we went to the local hospital. Which was like a thousand miles away.’ Nicholas returned to the pouring.
Chloe’s skin had been slightly burned by the thorium, but most of the redness had been covered by a combination of clothes, fake suntan – and now, embarrassment.
‘Is it painful, Chloe?’ asked Jude. ‘Dad told me it was probably some weird plants you were playing near . . .’
‘It’s OK – a bit sore. I got some cream.’
‘Let’s see those pictures,’ said Itch, changing the subject. He noticed Jack frowning, but carried on. ‘Oh my God, is that Darcy Campbell dressed as a witch?’
Jack nodded. ‘Suits her, don’t you think? There was a whole coven of them at the party, all waving wands and pretending to have dark powers.’
‘Which in Darcy’s case is almost certainly true,’ said Itch.
Jack laughed and sipped from her mug.
‘Should we ask the police if they want some tea or something?’ asked Nicholas.
‘I’ll do it,’ said Chloe, and headed for the front door.
After Nathaniel Flowerdew’s escape, it had been decided that the local police would provide a ‘presence’ outside the house. In ones and twos, either sitting next door in the Coles’ old house or in their cars, policemen had taken four-hour shifts; Itch thought it must be the most boring police work in the whole of Britain.
‘Two teas, milk, three sugars,’ called Chloe, and Jude reached for more tea bags.
The Lofte family ate and drank their way through brunch until Gabriel got a text and excused himself.
‘Girl trouble, I think,’ said Chloe, after he’d left the kitchen.
‘Really?’ said Itch. ‘How do you know?’
‘He told me. She thinks he’s working too hard; he thinks she’s lazy.’ They started to clear the plates from the table.
‘Well, they should split up, then,’ said Itch. ‘Obvious, isn’t it?’
Everyone laughed. ‘And what would you know about it?’ said Chloe.
‘Well, I was just saying . . .’ said Itch defensively. ‘That’s how it sounds to me.’
‘Well, tell him when he comes in, then. See what happens.’
‘Which reminds me,’ said Jack. ‘Lucy inboxed me. She says sorry she couldn’t come round, she’s doing some boring jobs for her mum. She’ll see us at the CA tomorrow. Maybe come round after.’
‘Why is everyone looking at me?’ asked Itch. ‘Fine with me. That OK with everyone else?’
The others nodded, and Chloe smiled and started on the washing-up. Lucy Cavendish was in the year above Itch and Jack at the Cornwall Academy. Just last month they had discovered that she was the daughter of Cake, Itch’s element dealer who had been killed by the radiation from the rocks of element 126. He had been absent from most of her life, but the knowledge that he had given her about the workings of the ISIS laboratory in Oxfordshire had proved crucial. It was Lucy who had known about spallation, the process by which Itch had managed to destroy the 126, by blasting it with a high-energy proton beam. Or ‘death ray’, as Jack had called it, much to his annoyance. For Christmas, Lucy had given Itch some of her father’s sample of silicon, followed by a kiss on the cheek.
Itch had found himself thinking of that moment many times since then.
When the washing-up was done, Itch was left alone in the kitchen with his mother.
‘Glad you’re back,’ he said, head in a cupboard, putting mugs away.
‘Glad you’re back . . .’ Jude was staring at a steamed-up window.
‘No, really,’ said Itch. He took a deep breath. ‘Dad said you wanted some time or something . . . And that it wasn’t my fault you went away. Or Chloe’s.’
‘No, not really . . .’ There was a pause.
‘Not really? What does that mean?’ said Itch.
‘What I mean is . . .’ Jude sighed again. ‘It’s complicated, Itch, you know . . . Everything was just too much. Your dad hadn’t been on the rigs like he said he had . . . you nearly killed yourself with those rocks . . . and then we had a house full of guns and spies. So . . .’
‘So it was a bit to do with me, then,’ said Itch quietly.
Jude came and put her hand on his shoulder. ‘You’re safe, Itch. Chloe’s safe and we are all together. It feels good like this.’
Itch waited for her to say more, but nothing came. ‘OK,’ he said, and went to find the others. He found Jack in Chloe’s room; his sister was pulling her sweatshirt back on.
‘Just been finding out what really happened on that spoil heap,’ said Jack. ‘Nasty burns.’
‘Yeah . . . Dad went mad with this guy Themba, who’d told us it was all safe,’ It
ch told her. ‘By the time we reached the hospital it was obvious that Chloe wasn’t going to be sick, but the burns needed treating. They getting better, Chloe?’
She nodded and showed him her arm; the redness was fading now. ‘I’m fine. Really. And school tomorrow, so the sweatshirt can cover most of it. And some long socks, I think.’
Itch slumped onto Chloe’s bed. ‘Really? Tomorrow? I thought we had another day.’ He felt his stomach tighten and the butterflies start. ‘That’s so unfair. Was there some work we had to do? I forget . . .’
Jack smiled. ‘Of course you did. But we did miss the end of term, remember.’
‘This term is really going to suck,’ he said. ‘I’m sure people will say all sorts of stuff they never dared to when we had the team with us. Potts and Campbell must be rubbing their hands with excitement.’
Chloe had been packing her school bag, but even she was looking uneasy now. ‘It’ll be odd to start with,’ she agreed, ‘but we actually only had MI5 around for a few weeks. Won’t it be good to get back to normal?’
Jack nodded. ‘Normal would be nice. Give it a few days, Itch, and everyone will have calmed down.’
Itch and Chloe hadn’t walked to school on their own since the summer.
‘This is weird,’ said Chloe as she pulled their front door closed behind them. The day was cold and damp, her breath billowing in clouds as she spoke.
‘Yup,’ said Itch. ‘No one to give us the all clear, no one to ask permission from, no one to check in with.’ He looked around. ‘Where’s the police car, by the way?’
‘Dad said they’re only here sometimes. When they have a car free or something.’
Itch laughed. ‘Don’t see the point then, really.’
They headed down the hill towards the golf course.
‘Do we still need protecting from Flowerdew, Itch?’ Chloe asked. ‘I still have dreams about the ISIS labs, when we were all lined up and the shooting started . . .’
He looked at his sister, and she smiled thinly. ‘I know, that was bad,’ he said, ‘and given that he escaped, then yes, maybe we do still need protecting. He’s still out there somewhere, unless he died of radiation sickness.’
‘Which he so deserves,’ said Chloe.
Itch laughed. ‘Agreed! And I hit him in the face. And he got burned in the fire.’
‘And you poisoned him with the tellurium!’ added Chloe.
Itch was about to deny that the tellurium was poison when his phone rang. A grinning image of their cousin appeared on the screen. ‘Hi, Jack. Happy new term and all that,’ he said grimly.
‘I can see you. Hurry up,’ she said, and hung up.
Looking across the golf course, Itch could see her waving. And next to her, leaning against her bike, was Lucy. She was waving too.
‘Wow, what’s Lucy doing? This isn’t her route to school,’ said Itch as they hurried up the hill.
The girls all hugged, and Lucy – her hair as wild as ever after her cycle to the course – gave Itch a big smile. ‘Happy New Year! How was South Africa? Gabe put some of your pictures on Facebook – looks amazing!’
‘Er, it was great, thanks. How come you guys are here?’
‘Itch!’ said Chloe in a stage whisper. She raised her eyebrows.
‘Oh yeah. Happy New Year too.’ He looked at Chloe again, who just shrugged and smiled. ‘How come you guys are here?’ he tried again.
‘Well,’ said Jack, ‘if the start of term is going to be weird, which it will, I thought we should all arrive together. We might not have Moz, Kirsten and the others, but Itch, Chloe, Lucy and Jack are a pretty good team anyway.’
They all grinned at each other.
‘Nice speech,’ said Lucy as they stepped off the golf course.
‘Thanks,’ said Jack, and they hurried to the academy.
As soon as they turned into the drive, Itch realized things had changed.
6
‘Hey, there’s Lucy!’
‘Hi, Jack!’
‘Look, there’s Itch!’
‘Chloe, over here!’
Even before they reached the front door, they had gained a following of fellow pupils, all eager for stories from their ordeal of the previous month. Most of the details seemed to be known, even if the final showdown at the ISIS labs was still shrouded in some mystery.
‘Did you really burn down a school?’
‘Was Mary Lee a terrorist?’
‘Did she make you a suicide bomber?’
‘Is it true you killed Flowerdew?’
Itch called a loud ‘No!’ to that one as they eased their way down the corridor. Lucy and Chloe peeled off to their respective classrooms, leaving Itch and Jack to get to the 10W form room. Except that it wasn’t 10W any more. They had forgotten that John Watkins, their form teacher for the last two years, had decided to retire with immediate effect. Having been attacked by Shivvi Tan Fook, he had decided to quit.
Jack and Itch stopped at the form-room door, staring at the new plaque. ‘Ten H,’ said Jack. ‘So he really did it. He really did quit.’
‘Who’s the H?’ Itch pushed the door open. The room was already full, but there was considerably less noise than normal. Their appearance caused a few heads to turn; then a small ripple of applause started. As everyone realized who had walked in, the clapping became louder.
Itch and Jack looked at each other in amazement. ‘Is this for us?’ said Jack, blushing. Itch busied himself unpacking his school bag.
In front of them, Ian Steele turned round. ‘Nice work at the school, you guys!’ he said, still applauding. ‘Sounds like some fire you started.’
As Tom Westgate wandered past, he leaned in close. ‘Is it true that Flowerdew killed Mary?’ he said. ‘Or Shivvi whatever-her-name-was?’
Itch nodded. After she escaped from prison, Shivvi Tan Fook had joined the Cornwall Academy as a Year Thirteen student under the alias Mary Lee.
At this, Tom called out, ‘It is true, Natalie!’ At the front of the class, Natalie Hussain opened her mouth wide, and then started typing furiously into her phone. Tom perched on Jack’s desk. ‘Did she try to kill Mr Watkins? Is that why he’s resigned?’
Itch didn’t see any point in denying it, so he nodded again. ‘Yes, she hit him with a baseball bat,’ he said.
Tom whistled. Then the whole class had questions, and Henry Hampton, the head of science, who was standing by the smartboard, had seen enough.
‘OK, guys, thank you! Back to your desks please.’ The American’s voice boomed around the room. ‘Itch, Jack, it’s good to see you back in class. I’m sure you have lots to tell us, but not just now.’ He looked around as everyone shuffled to their desks.
Itch stole a glance at Darcy Campbell and James Potts, who had always led the attacks on him and Jack. They both had their heads down, seemingly deep in a textbook. ‘Wow,’ he said in Jack’s ear. ‘Even the bullies are quiet.’
Jack smiled. ‘Let’s enjoy it. Won’t last.’
‘As you know,’ Hampton continued, ‘Mr Watkins has decided to retire – I’m sure we all, er, understand why.’ Quite a few heads turned to look again at Itch and Jack; they just stared straight ahead. ‘Dr Dart has asked me to take over here as form teacher . . . I know I’m new to the school, but I reckon we’ll get along fine.’ He smiled, then added, ‘As long as you all sign up for my science club!’ He laughed, took registration, then gathered up his papers. ‘Have a nice day!’ he called, and strode out of the room.
‘How come teachers always laugh at their own jokes?’ said Jack as they headed towards ICT. ‘It’s not as if they’re funny or anything.’ They were caught up in a large crowd swelled by Year Seven and Eight pupils.
‘Maybe other teachers find them funny,’ said Itch. ‘Maybe when they’re in the staff room, they spend their time laughing at each other and trying out jokes.’
As the other students crowded round, the questions started again:
‘What happened to the MI5 team, Itch – they were
cool!’ shouted one voice.
‘Is it true they let you fire their guns?’ came another.
‘Was Mary a spy or something?’
Itch felt Jack’s hand on his shoulder. ‘Come on, let’s speed up,’ she said, and steered him through the throng. They arrived at the stairs at the same time as Campbell and Potts, now with fellow Lofte-baiter Bruno Paul. They stood staring at each other; this was the moment Itch had been dreading. With no MI5, no Colonel Jim Fairnie, to give them protection, and with no teachers in sight, they were sitting ducks.
The stairs had always been a flashpoint; it was here that Itch had been slapped, tripped or simply made fun of. Now Potts stood in front of Campbell and Paul, who were waiting for his lead, but they seemed uncertain. Campbell said something to Potts, but he shook his head.
Then Jack whispered in Itch’s ear, ‘We’ve faced a lot worse than them. Next to Flowerdew and Shivvi, they’re not even slightly scary. Come on.’
Itch followed her up the stairs. They climbed in silence; for a few seconds the stairwell was empty, so they could hear the footsteps start behind them.
‘Faster, Jack?’ suggested Itch.
But she shook her head. ‘Slower.’ Within seconds Potts was right behind her.
Itch glanced back. Potts’s eyes narrowed; Darcy Campbell glared. Then a stream of Year Sevens appeared above them, running and shouting on their way down to their next lesson. When they saw the Lofte cousins, they nudged each other and called out.
‘Hi, Itch! Hi, Jack!’
‘Say hi to Chloe!’
‘Add me on Facebook, Itch! Please!’
As they streamed down the stairs, Jack stopped, tugging Itch’s sleeve to keep him with her. Surprised, Itch turned and noticed a sparkle in her eyes. She bent down and retied her shoelace. Itch knew it hadn’t been undone, and guessed Potts did too, but the effect was an instant roadblock.
‘Jack, come on!’ said Itch urgently, afraid she was pushing her luck. Potts, Campbell and Paul, now with others crowding behind them, were backed up behind Itch and Jack, waiting for the Year Sevens to pass or Jack to finish with her laces.
Potts was waiting his turn. He opened his mouth to say something – but shut it again. The shout came from the foot of the stairs.
