by James Erith
Archie ran to the door. ‘See you later.’
Kemp winked. ‘Sure.’
KEMP SHOOK HIS HEAD. Those de Lowes are properly nuts. There’s something distinctly odd, unsettling and eccentric about them. If it wasn’t strange scientific experiments or an infatuation with ghosts or girls being brilliant at games designed for men, it was some other random thing, like extraordinary disorganisation, or manic recklessness.
Mr Bellwood re-appeared. ‘Time to lock up the classroom,’ he said. ‘Please gather your things as it won’t re-open until after half term. Make sure you take everything you need.’
Chairs scraped against the floor as the remaining students stood up. Kemp slipped into his overcoat and gathered the contents of his desk, dropping them haphazardly in his bag. He tucked in his chair and headed towards the door with the others.
‘Kemp,’ Mr Bellwood called out, ‘haven’t you forgotten something?’
Kemp looked puzzled.
‘Your coat?’
Kemp hesitated. ‘Oh, yeah. Sorry, wasn’t thinking.’ It was a little odd that Bellwood hadn’t spotted he was wearing his own coat in the first place. Oh well, he’d take it for Archie, and give it back later. He returned to the chair, picked up the coat and put it on over the one he already had on. Then he saw the slip of paper on the desk in Archie’s scrawny handwriting. Kemp scanned it for a second and noticed the underlined location. It must be where he was meeting this so-called ghost. Kemp read it again, folded it up and put it in his pocket.
‘Jolly good,’ said Mr Bellwood running his hand over his chin. ‘Now, let’s go and watch that football match, shall we.’
TWENTY
A STORM IS COMING
Archie tore around the corridor when he almost collided with Daisy. She was talking with her girlfriends.
Archie reddened. ‘Daisy, er sorry, but shouldn’t we be getting ready?’
‘Oh, I thought we had plenty of time.’ She studied her watch. ‘It’s only just gone ten – we’ve got at least half an hour, haven’t we?’
Archie reddened even more and shook his wrist. Stupid watch. ‘Yes. Sure. Right, yeah – of course, er ... whatever.’ It wasn’t going well. Why did he feel so intimidated around groups of girls? Individually they were fine but a pack of them scared him to death. ‘Look, I’m going to see if I can find Isabella. Want to join me?’
‘No. Not really.’
Archie’s face went purple. ‘Please,’ he squeaked.
Daisy caught his eye, turned and addressed the girls. ‘OK ladies,’ she said, ‘I’m off to do battle with those big, bad, beastly boys and kick the house down.’ They shrieked their approval. ‘Wish me luck.’
Each of the girls made a big play of kissing her on her cheek and then broke into a chant;
‘GO, GO Daisy de Lowe! GO, GO Daisy de Lowe! GO, GO Daisy de Lowe! Go Daisy! Go Daisy! GO Daisy …’
Daisy put one hand in the air as she waltzed away, her other fluffed up her wavy blonde hair and she wiggled her hips.
Archie put his head down, trying to ignore his sister, although it was virtually impossible. How would anyone believe Daisy was such a talented footballer when she hung out with the “chicks” and did idiotic dances like this?
As the twins turned the corner the chanting changed to the old Queen anthem: ‘D-D-L, D-D-L, D-D-L – SHE WILL, SHE WILL ROCK YOU!’
‘You coping, Arch?’ she said. ‘You’re very glum-faced.’
‘Moron-faced, more like.’
‘Oh no, what have you done now?’
Archie groaned. ‘Oh, Daisy. I think I’ve done something insanely foolish. I told Kemp about my nightmare. He must think I’ve totally lost the plot. I don’t know why I did it. He’ll probably tell everyone, like he usually does.’ Archie caressed his temples with his fingers. ‘It’s social suicide.’
‘Yup.’ Daisy pinched him playfully on the cheek. ‘When will you ever learn? He’s a jerk and you’re best off keeping well away.’
They found Isabella in the physics lab with Sue, running over an experiment, their heads buried in some calculations.
Daisy was full of bounce. ‘Ready to go, girls?’ she said.
Her jollity didn’t really have the same effect on the science students.
‘Daisy,’ Isabella said, in her most serious tone. ‘I want you to wear these, on your boots.’
Daisy looked at her in amazement. ‘On my bits?’
‘Don’t be so stupid. Your football boots.’
She fingered the rubbery, gooey material. ‘What is it?’
Isabella peeled off her lab glasses. ‘In short, it’s a de-energising unit we’ve created.’
‘A what-erising-humit?’ Daisy said. ‘Why?’
‘Just in case, that’s why.’
‘I don’t understand?’
‘Just do it, will you,’ Isabella demanded. ‘One for each boot.’ She handed her a second one. ‘You too, Archie.’
Archie studied it. ‘What’s it for?’
Isabella squealed. ‘In case either of you gets hit by lightning. It might help, that’s all.’
Archie stuck the strips to the soles of his boots. ‘Aren’t you’re taking this a bit far—’
A huge roll of thunder shook the building. The windows rattled and the children’s hair stood on end. They looked at each other.
Isabella raised her eyebrows. ‘We’re not, Archie. These could save your life—’
‘Where’s that storm glass thing?’ Daisy cut in, her tone serious. ‘I want to see what it’s doing.’
‘Next to Isabella’s desk,’ Sue replied.
Daisy picked it up, studied it and quickly put it down again. ‘I don’t mean to be rude, sciencey nerd folk, but have you analysed this lately?’
Isabella marched over as though it was a complete waste of time. ‘What?’ she snapped.
Daisy put it down. ‘This test tube. Have any of you noticed a) how hot it is, and b) that it’s literally crammed full of crystals moving very, very fast.’
Isabella grabbed it, stared at it for a moment or two before laying it down on the bench. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, Daisy. Yes, it’s a little warm – but so what? As I said, I’m not sure how it works.’
Daisy shrugged. ‘Well, you two know what you’re doing. But I’d keep an eye on that if I were you.’ She stretched out the gooey strip. ‘Can I put this in my hair?’
‘Please, Daisy,’ Isabella said. ‘It must be on the bottom of your shoe. Attach it on the underside of your boot using the Velcro.’ Isabella sounded a little irritated by the intrusion. ‘Now go away – run and get changed or you’ll be late.’
Daisy skipped off, singing to herself and punching the air.
As her footsteps receded down the corridor, Archie picked up the storm glass. Immediately he put it down again. ‘Woah! It really is hot, seriously. Touch it.’
‘I’ve just done that,’ Isabella said.
Sue put her finger to the glass. ‘OW! Scorching!’ she sucked her fingers. ‘Bells, it’s steaming.’
‘A mild expulsion of water vapour, that’s all,’ Isabella said nervously.
‘You think so?’ They started backing away.
‘No, not necessarily.’
The test tube was beginning to glow, steam pouring out of the top.
‘Has anyone added anything to it?’ Isabella asked.
Archie and Sue shook their heads.
The activity in the test tube increased. They could hear the crystals popping against the glass.
‘Get out!’ Isabella yelled. ‘Crickey. It’s going to blow!’
They ran for the door and shut it firmly behind themselves and threw themselves to the floor. Seconds later, the storm glass exploded, sending fragments to every corner of the room.
Sue shivered. ‘What does it mean?’ she asked.
‘I think it means we were right all along.’ Isabella’s voice quaking. ‘For here above us, beginneth the storm from hell.’
‘
It couldn’t be a mistake, could it?’ Sue said – a tinge of desperation in her voice.
‘Possibly,’ Isabella replied, as another roll of thunder boomed and shook the walls. ‘But I very seriously doubt it.’
‘RIGHT, THAT’S IT!’ Isabella said as she barged past Sue. ‘Out of my way!’
‘Where are you off to now?’
‘To see Solomon and have it out with him. This time properly.’
‘Oh no,’ Sue said remembering the last time she’d seen Isabella like this. She’d torn into Mrs Douglas, the science teacher, and ended up being severely reprimanded – and very nearly expelled. ‘I’m coming with you.’
As Isabella marched off, her eyes hard and her chin up, Sue had to run alongside to keep up. They wove through the maze of old school buildings, up worn stone stairs and down dark corridors, until they reached a large, dark brown, studded wooden door that sat below a striking Gothic arch. Opposite this was a small, elegant courtyard with a fountain, like a bird bath, in the middle.
Isabella thumped on the door, the noise echoing back at them. ‘He must be in,’ Isabella said. She turned the handle of the door. It creaked.
‘You can’t just let yourself in,’ Sue whispered.
‘Watch me – I’ll wait for him inside. Then he can’t get away from me.’
‘You’re being ridiculous—’
‘Now then,’ said the familiar voice of Mr Solomon as his head appeared around the door. He pulled it open and peered over the top of his glasses. ‘Isabella, Sue, how nice to see you.’ He smiled a thin and rather fake smile as he studied their faces. ‘Is everything alright – what can I do for you?’
Inside, Isabella saw books piled up on tables and crammed into shelves from the floor to the ceiling and stuffed into every nook and cranny of the room; old reading lamps offered light to large leather armchairs and exercise books with piles of marking were stretched out across the floor. Odd curiosities and portraits of headmasters dotted the walls.
This room of learning had the immediate effect of dampening her temper.
Solomon caught her staring and invited them in. ‘Can I get you both anything – a cup of tea, perhaps?’
Isabella hesitated. ‘No, thanks.’ She turned to Sue as if for encouragement. ‘I’ll, er, get straight to the point if I may. You have to call off the football match.’
‘Whatever for?’ the headmaster replied. ‘You’re not still worried about this storm?’
Isabella reddened a little. ‘Yes, sir. I’m not only worried about it; I’m petrified about it. You see, I ran some programmes on global weather data with specifics exactly like those we have above us, and then I did another experiment which confirmed my suspicions—’
‘How fascinating,’ said Mr Solomon with a plastic smile. ‘Tell me about it?’
‘Well, I built a storm glass – and it has just blown up—’
‘A storm glass?’ Solomon interrupted. ‘A 17th century version of the weather forecast?’ Solomon laughed dryly. ‘I haven’t heard of one of those since I was a student. In fact, I’m sure we had one here once upon a time. It was in a cabinet – as a curiosity. I’ll have to dig it out.’
Isabella frowned. Solomon knew about storm glasses. She felt a rush of uncertainty.
‘You’re concerned about this horrid cloud again, aren’t you Isabella,’ Solomon said gently, noting that he’d unsettled her.
She nodded.
‘Well, rest assured. I am too.’
‘You are?’
‘Indeed. In fact I have just this very minute put the phone down from a conversation with a senior forecaster at the Met Office. According to them, there’s little to worry about. It’s a localised cloud – at worst we may hear several growls of thunder and see a few flashes of lightning and perhaps experience some heavy rain, but nothing unusual for the time of year. And they assured me that it was unlikely to break until this afternoon. Satisfied?’
‘But—’
‘There you have it, Isabella. I’m afraid there’s nothing more to say about the matter. The match is on and the other performances will continue as planned.’ His tone changed. ‘I am particularly busy at the moment organising today’s celebrations before the start of the match, so please don’t pester me with this again. You should know by now that I have everyone’s best interests at heart. Safety, as you are well aware, is my number one priority.’
Isabella stared at the headmaster. He wasn’t telling the truth one bit – she could smell it. ‘Can I ask who you spoke to at the Met Office, sir?’
Solomon paused and glared at her. ‘If you must know, it was a man by the name of Mr Fish.’
With that he ushered them out of the door and shut it firmly behind him.
SOLOMON LEANT on the oak door and listened as their footsteps receded down the corridor. Then he let out a sigh. Had she believed him? He couldn’t be sure. It was hard to read her expression, although he noted there was more of a frown on her face than before.
Why did she keep coming back to him about the storm? Did she really believe there was going to be a disaster? If she did, he thought, it was very over the top.
Solomon picked up his schedule folder and sat down in one of the leather armchairs. Her persistence was admirable, even if it was misplaced. No, no. Nothing was going to stop today going ahead, not a big storm or even a few drops of rain.
Goodness me, he thought, this is Yorkshire, the finest county in all of England – God’s own county they called it – where thunder and lightning went hand in hand with the rough landscapes of the moors and dales.
These kids were getting too soft.
He chuckled to himself. Met Office? He couldn’t think what had made him come up with that nonsense. He simply knew that the only way he’d be able to stop her in her tracks was to throw something scientific back at her.
But why Mr Fish? It was an implausibly good name for a weatherman. In any case, he had a busy morning ahead; press turning up, television and newspapers, new parents and old, and this was his big – and last – chance to showcase everything he had done over the past twenty-five years. The crowning day of his headship.
He smiled and busied himself sorting out the place names for the banquet later on in the old school chamber. It was an evening he’d anticipated for years – and wouldn’t it be sweeter still if they won the football.
How he hoped like mad that sister of hers, Daisy, would play her heart out again. What a player! He’d never seen the like. She was George Best and Pele and Ronaldo blended into one slender pop-tart of a girl – brave as a soldier, tough as leather and as quick and slippery as a salmon.
He sighed and shook his head before returning to the matter of wondering who he should sit next to. Geraldine Forbes. Yes, perfect. The star of Summerdale, the TV soap star famed for her gritty Yorkshire one-liners, but in reality she was a delightful, attractive lady, who had simply the most beautiful green eyes he’d ever seen and lips as full as cushions.
He pictured it in his mind; the hall decorated to the nines in the school’s light blue and scarlet colours, bright candles accentuating the Gothic arched windows and the trophies and cups in gold and silver from the vaults sparkling in the light. Magnificent!
And then there was the menu he’d painstakingly put together over the past three years. He had had a special honour bestowed on him by Her Majesty the Queen for permission to eat swan’s meat. He licked his lips; it was a delicacy he had never tried.
And the wines, carefully selected from all over the world after years of special tastings. It would be a banquet the governors, his friends and exclusive guests, whom he’d handpicked from the cream of local society, would never forget.
And afterwards, he’d make his speech of retirement and receive warm, generous and heartfelt thanks from those whose lives he had touched. Yes, he mused. It was to be his swan song. And he chuckled to himself at the joke – swan song.
Nobody, certainly not Isabella de Lowe, was going to stop it. And then he lau
ghed even harder, his mood turning from happy to jovial. Mr Fish. Ah yes, he thought. There really had been a weather forecaster called Mr Fish, if he recalled correctly. Wasn’t he the one who told the nation there was no storm coming shortly before the devastating storms way back in the nineteen eighties.
Solomon laughed out loud and wiped his brow. Now won’t that be hilarious if Isabella rings up the Met Office and asks for Mr Fish.
Whatever will they think?
TWENTY-ONE
ON THE WAY TO THE GAME
‘Sue, we need a plan,’ Isabella said. ‘Solomon clearly doesn’t want to know, so we’re going to have to either disrupt the match or figure out how to get away—’
Sue couldn’t really face direct action. ‘Away would be best—’
Isabella was on a roll. ‘If I can get Arch and Daisy over the bridge, then I think we’ll be fine. When we get to the lane, the canopy of the tunnel will protect us. It’s you I’m worried about.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes, you.’ Isabella confirmed. ‘How are you going to get out of here? You’ll need to get home fast. Have you ever driven a car?’
‘No. Stop being ridiculous—’
‘I’m not. You could steal one.’
Sue glared at Isabella who shrugged back. ‘Look, Bells, I’ll think of something, OK.’
‘Well thinking isn’t good enough,’ Isabella snapped back. ‘You need a plan. Why don’t you come back with us!’
‘I can’t. My mum wants me home.’
‘Well, in that case, start engaging that brain of yours.’
As the two girls trudged slowly back from the science laboratories in silence they could feel the buzz of the crowd making its way down towards the bridge.
‘Why do I feel so edgy about this match?’ Isabella said as a couple of boys ran past nearly knocking her over. ‘What if Daisy gets a huge kicking and can’t run and they lose and then the storm breaks and she can’t get home? And what about Archie? His mind seems to be all over the place, have you seen him? He looks sick, poor boy. I’m worried he won’t save a thing – he seems even more scatter-brained than usual.’
