Deathwatch (8 page)

Unable to stop herself, she flung her arm out in self-defence. It was a reflex action, something Miss Bleakney had told them about, designed to save you from a deadly enemy.

So Cat’s hand hit the insect with the power of a squash racquet. Emily squealed and pushed her seat back. The insect ricocheted violently off the hard table and flew with huge force onto the floor. People screamed. Cat couldn’t see the creature as she was on the other side of the table, but from the sound everyone was making, it was injured. She thought cockroaches were meant to be indestructible. Professor Bryden had already been going on about that.

“Ergh, that’s horrible!” said Alison.

“Do something!” said Bethan.

“Aw, the poor wee thing. Help it someone!”

Professor Bryden rushed round to that side, with a kind of strangled moan. He looked at it. Cat moved so she too could see it. The creature limped away, some of its legs damaged, lopsided now, leaning like a broken toy. Cat felt sick. But it wasn’t her fault – she hadn’t asked to hold the thing.

“Someone pass my bag,” ordered Professor Bryden, his voice tight.

Miss Bleakney hurried to fetch it. Otherwise she was no use at all. She flapped about, trying to get the pupils back to their seats. But she had little success, since this was about the most interesting thing that had happened in a biology lesson since The Explosion, an incident that did not appear in the school prospectus.

With pain on his face, Professor Bryden opened his bag, his movements quick and fluid. He seemed to be making soothing noises towards the creature. He took a brown bottle from his bag. And a glass jar with something white at the bottom.

“Stand back!” he ordered. And when no one did, he raised his voice, shrill now. “Stand back, I said!”

He knelt down beside the patient. Pulled thin rubber gloves onto his hands, flexing his fingers. Tried to open the glass jar. But the lid was too tight and his hands were old-looking, slightly twisted and knobbly as though with arthritis.

“I’ll do it, Sir,” said Marcus.

“No, you won’t. Thank you,” muttered the man. Grimacing with effort, he eventually managed to get the lid off and he then opened the brown bottle. In the lid was a dropper. “Stand back further!” he ordered. Holding it as far as he could from his face, he squeezed the dropper, gathering up some of the liquid in the bottle. He began to drip the clear fluid into the glass jar, where it landed on the hard white substance at the bottom. Carefully, he replaced the lid on the bottle, but not before one drop had landed on the floor. Without fuss, he wiped it with his gloved finger.

“Stand back!” shouted Miss Bleakney now, as if she realized that this could be a dangerous chemical.

Quickly, but gently, he lifted the struggling insect. It hissed viciously as he lowered it into the jar and finally screwed the lid on. In another swift movement, he peeled the gloves from his hands and put them in the hazardous waste container that Miss Bleakney held out for him.

The insect became still. The man put the jar away in his bag, along with the brown bottle.

“Back to your seats everyone,” said Miss Bleakney. She was tight-lipped.

As for Professor Bryden, he looked furious. He was no longer just a silly little man with a shiny head. His eyes were venomous as he looked around the faces: faces that all looked at him.

Silent faces. Of pupils who did not know what to say or think. A strange tension settled on them, a trapped energy, excitement mixed with horror. Cat felt exposed, guilty, yet angry too.

“That should never have happened,” said Professor Bryden, his voice menacing. “That insect need not have died, not at all. Why you need to be frightened of a tiny insect, I simply have no idea. Clearly it had more cause to be frightened of you. And yet it was not. How does that make you feel?” He looked around. Cat was sure he looked mostly at her.

“Quite,” said Miss Bleakney. “But they are only young. Perhaps we…” She stopped. “Now, everyone, I think we should thank Professor Bryden very much for coming in and sharing his knowledge with us.” And she started vigorous clapping. The noise of applause rose strangely into the room, shattering the tension, and now scattered laughter broke out. Miss Bleakney shouted above the noise.

“Quiet, please! Quiet! Marcus, please go to 4M and tell them that they may not come to the lab until I say so. And Rebecca, please go and get one of the cleaners – tell them there’s been a chemical spillage. Quickly, please. No, don’t be silly, Josh, we’re not all doomed. It’s just a precaution.” She ushered them out of the room as fast as possible.

This incident quickly spread around the school. Opinion was divided. For some, the man was a creep and should never have brought live insects into the class. But on several occasions during the morning break, pupils in the year below called Cat a murderer. Why her? Why not whoever had jogged Ailsa, or Emily who’d thrown the creature towards her when she wasn’t ready?

Cat’s friends stuck up for her. The others who’d been in the class didn’t care much whose fault it was. After all, it had been an exciting lesson and something to talk about. And it was only an insect. Danny? He grinned and looked her way at every opportunity. He was thoroughly enjoying himself.

Cat just wanted the day to end.

“Don’t worry. They’ll soon forget about it,” said Marcus. Marcus was sensible like that. And Cat knew he was right. Bethan and Ailsa stayed with her all through school, and she was glad of their loyalty, even though Bethan was somewhat exaggerating the drama of the situation. And Emily had said sorry, though it wasn’t her fault either – Cat knew she would have done just the same.

Then, of course, there were the rumours. Rebecca said she’d seen Professor Bryden coming out of the head’s office, looking furious. One rumour said he was crying. Alison was sure she’d seen him wiping his eyes. When a police car was seen in the school grounds, he’d
obviously
been arrested. When no one could be sure that they’d seen him
in
the car, he’d
obviously
escaped and was now on the run, a dangerous criminal. No matter that the school secretary laughed and said that the police had only been there because they were doing a talk to the juniors: that was
obviously
a cover-up. One rumour said that Miss Bleakney was going to be sacked. She’d been seen coming out of the head’s office too. By the end of the day, Professor Bryden was definitely a paedophile with a criminal record, and a murderer too, a poisoner.

Then there was a rumour that the chemical was chloroform. It put you to sleep, everyone said. It was dangerous. The rumours said it was banned by the government and they might all get cancer. The school should be evacuated.

Isabel even said she felt sick. Mind you, Isabel often felt sick. It got her out of all sorts of things. She was weedy. Fragile. Needed, frankly, to get a life. But then Bethan said she’d felt sick too. When she thought about it, so had Cat, but she didn’t think it was the chemical.

Cat couldn’t shake the incident from her mind. Her skin crawled when she thought of it.

At the end of school, instead of going home with the others as usual, she made some excuse, something about going back to fetch a book. Instead, she went to the biology lab. Knocked on the door.

“Come in.” Miss Bleakney was there, packing her books into a bag. She looked up when Cat came in.

“What can I do for you, Catriona?” Her voice had a touch of frost. She looked tired, too, her make-up almost all dissolved into the sweat of the day.

“I came to say I’m sorry about what happened,” said Cat. “I couldn’t help it. I really hate insects and I thought it was going to land on me when…”

Infuriatingly, Cat felt tears pricking behind her eyes. How stupid! But it had been a hard day. Everything going wrong. And the weekend too. Phiz and the athletics stuff. Life running away from her. Suddenly, she felt weighed down, emotional. With a deep breath, she forced it away.

Miss Bleakney smiled at her, though somewhat weakly. “It wasn’t your fault, Catriona. I take responsibility. Professor Bryden is not used to talking in schools. He should not have had … well, I should have stepped in earlier. I’m just relieved no one… Anyway, no harm done, eh? Now don’t be upset, and don’t think any more of it. Off you go.”

And Cat did, at least partly relieved.

She would put it from her mind.

It was only an insect. Really no big deal. No harm could come from its death.

BACK
in his home, he fumes and shakes, unable to keep still. He had almost been knocked down while riding home on his bicycle, so preoccupied had he been. So angry, so ashamed.

It is all that girl’s fault. Stupid little fool. With her pretty eyes and big hair and make-up. What was she doing in a biology lesson with her hair all dangerously loose round her face like that? Didn’t schools have rules any more?

Pathetic, she was, with her fear of his insects. A huge human with clodhopping feet, who could kill an insect with one swat – and actually had, come to think of it, or more or less. Injured it anyway. He’d only asked her to hold it, for goodness’ sake. In fact, he’d only been trying to help her. He’d seen the fear on her face. He’d thought how good it would be if he could cure her fear. And when he’d tried to, it had all gone wrong.

And the ethyl acetate. How could they criticize him for using it? They didn’t know anything about it. It wasn’t even particularly dangerous to humans or not in those small quantities. He is one of the most experienced scientists ever likely to set foot in that school, accustomed to working with such a chemical; has used it all his working life; has a licence for it, for crying out loud!

Well, had a licence. Yes, it was technically out of date, but does that really matter? He is an eminent scientist. Yes, retired, but once a scientist always a scientist. You don’t lose all your knowledge just because you retire through ill health.

He paces up and down the room. Panic is beginning to rise in his chest. Breathe, breathe, breathe. That’s what his doctor said all those years ago. Breathe slowly and the feelings of panic will go away.

But he is so angry. Justifiably. He’d had to sit in that head teacher’s office and watch her as she told him that the incident was unfortunate and that her first concern was her pupils’ safety. She appreciated, she’d said, that he was not acquainted with the modern rules of engagement with children, and she felt a degree of responsibility, she’d added, and regretted that the biology teacher had not asked him for an Enhanced Disclosure and certain assurances before his visit.

“Enhanced Disclosure?” he’d asked.

“Yes, CRB Disclosure, you may have heard it called. You know…”

“CRB?” he’d asked, none the wiser.

“Criminal Records Bureau. It’s—”

“Criminal! What on earth do you mean by
criminal
? I am no criminal!” He had spat the words at her, blazing, bitter fury boiling inside.

“No, no, no, of course,” she’d replied hurriedly. “It doesn’t imply that at all – really it doesn’t. It’s a legal part of the procedure for making sure that all adults who come in contact with our pupils are appropriate. It’s very—”

“Do you think I am
not
appropriate? Do you think I wished them any harm? I tried to educate them, and you stand there accusing me of…”

“You brought a dangerous chemical into the class,” she’d said, frostily. “Subject to restricted use. Not for use within a school classroom, with no appropriate procedures being followed.”

“Appropriate procedures? I am an expert! I know perfectly well how to handle chemicals. None of your pupils was in any danger at any time. It’s one of the safest chemicals for use in the circumstances.”

“I am very sorry. I appreciate that you have given up your time, and that you meant no harm. But I am sure you will understand—”

“No, I do not. I was trying to educate your pupils, to break down the barriers of their ignorance. Those girls were ridiculous with their fear and that one girl in particular. Of a tiny insect? What have you been teaching them?”

The woman had bristled, though her voice remained steely cold. “I will not have you insult our pupils or the education we provide for them.”

But he would not stop. “I only asked the silly child to hold it. And she agreed; I did not force her. I thought I could cure her fear.”

“There are procedures. You must—”

And now he’d interrupted her. “Besides, if I wished to, I could very easily complain about the fact that many of your pupils had their hair loose in a science laboratory. What sort of ‘procedures’ are these? In my day … oh, what is the use of this? I am leaving now and I do not wish ever to set foot in such a place of ignorance again.”

Now he can barely remember how he’d left the room, presumably picking up his bags. It had been shaming. He had felt sweat dripping down his back.

The museum had been informed. By phone. Immediately. He remembers the woman saying that she would have to do this because a dangerous substance had been brought into school and if she didn’t alert the authorities and his employer, she would be guilty of a “dereliction of duty”. And she had looked at him meaningfully over her narrow spectacles as he left.

Dereliction of duty! How dare she! How dare the woman!

He will not be allowed to talk in a school again – well, do they really think he wants to? But the shame of being told that he may not! The implications!

There’ll be a form somewhere: he can imagine it. A record by his name. “Not suitable for working with children.” As though he were a paedophile!

His armpits are wet. He can smell himself. And his heart will not stop racing. At this rate, he’ll be ill again.

What had he done wrong? The lesson had been going well. He had seen the interest in their eyes. He’d been thinking how well he was doing. He’d even been thinking that perhaps children weren’t so objectionable after all, if you got them on their own territory. Maybe kids were just like insects: you needed to know how to handle them. He’d often been called the insect whisperer; on field trips he’d seemed to know exactly where to find each species. So maybe you just had to learn to be a child whisperer.