The Apothecary Page 0,9

homesickness, isn’t it? Did the powder help?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I was thinking about home on my way here. About orange trees. And blue sky.”

The apothecary looked out at the drizzle. “It would be strange not to think about orange trees and blue sky on a day like today,” he said. “No matter what powder you took.”

“And my new school is pretty awful,” I said.

The apothecary laughed. “The man who develops a tincture against the awful new school will win the Nobel Prize. It would be far more useful than the cure for the common cold.”

I smiled. “When you have the tincture, will you give me some?”

“You’ll be the first.”

There was an awkward pause.

“I fear you overheard my argument with my son,” he said.

“A little bit.”

“He’s a very bright, very talented young man, and he would be a fine apothecary, but he has no interest in it.”

“Maybe he’ll change his mind.”

The apothecary nodded. His mind seemed to be elsewhere, so I said good-bye and slipped out the door.

I dropped my books at the flat and set out for Riverton. My father had left elaborate directions to the studio. But as soon as I was in the street, I had the feeling, once again, of being watched. I knew it couldn’t be the marshals—they had no jurisdiction in England. I turned and saw nothing, just the cabs and cars and people walking home.

I ran down the steps of the bomb-battered Underground, weaving around the slow old people with their bags, and hid behind a pillar to see who came down after me. There were housewives and students, and men leaving work early, and then there was Benjamin Burrows, with his incorrigible hair and his bright, curious eyes. I stepped back behind the pillar.

I watched Benjamin look around. He stood on the platform, facing away from me, as if disappointed and unsure what to do next, so I left my hiding place and tapped him on the shoulder.

He turned, startled. Then he smiled as if I’d won a game we’d been playing. “Very good,” he said.

“Why are you following me?”

“Because you interest me.”

That wasn’t the answer I’d expected. I’d never interested a boy before, at least not that I knew of. There were boys in Los Angeles who had been my friends, or the children of my parents’ friends, but I’d never crossed into the land of interest.

“I saw you at school,” he said. “Why’d you come to London in the middle of the term?”

“None of your business.”

“Are your parents in the CIA?”

“What?”

“It’s a simple question,” he said. “Are they spies?”

“No! They’re writers. They’re working for the BBC.”

“That’s a good cover for spying. Are they journalists?”

“They’re television writers.”

He looked puzzled. “Why’d they come to England to do that? There’s much more television in America.”

“Because,” I said, “well—because they believe in the First Amendment.”

Benjamin screwed up his face. “Which one is that again?”

“Freedom of speech.” I was glad to know the answer. “And the press. And, um—religion, I think.”

“But they aren’t journalists,” he said. “So what’s the thing they want to be free to say?”

I realised I didn’t know.

He narrowed his eyes merrily at me. “They aren’t Communists, are they?” he said, teasing.

“No!”

“Then what?”

“I don’t know,” I said, trying to say it like Katharine Hepburn would, as if she didn’t give a fig about anything so ridiculous and petty.

“I don’t care if they are,” he said. “For mind control, Communism has nothing on television. People can listen to The Archers on the wireless and still have a conversation with their families, but once they’ve got a television set, it’s all over.”

I didn’t know what The Archers was, and Benjamin’s confidence made me feel inarticulate and naïve. So I struck out in the only way I could, and said, “Why don’t you want to be an apothecary?”

His manner changed abruptly: He became guarded and annoyed. “How do you know that?”

“Maybe I’m a better spy than you are.”

A train pulled up to the platform, and people spilled out.

I checked the destination. “This is my train,” I said, and I stepped through the open doors.

To my surprise, Benjamin boarded after me. We found two seats facing forward. My heart started pounding.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to Riverton, too,” I said coolly, to hide my confusion.

“You shouldn’t ride the train alone.”

“Why? Because strange boys might follow me?”

“How d’you know I’m supposed to be an apothecary?”

“I was in your father’s shop when you were talking to him,” I said. “But I don’t understand why you have to