The Apothecary

Chapter 4

Spies



I was supposed to take the Underground to Riverton Studios in Hammersmith after school, to see my parents at work. Robin Hood wasn’t on the air yet, but they had built a whole Sherwood Forest in a cavernous, warehouse-like soundstage, and they wanted me to see it. I was walking home to drop my books off, in an ambivalent drizzle, thinking about orange trees and avocados, when I passed the apothecary’s shop on Regent’s Park. Through the window, I saw a familiar sandy head of hair. I stopped to watch through the glare on the glass. Benjamin Burrows was shaking his head angrily and saying something to the kind apothecary.

I pushed the door open just enough to slip in, and stepped behind a row of shelves as if browsing for toothpaste. There was no bell on the door, and Benjamin and the apothecary were too occupied with their argument to notice me. Benjamin wore a leather satchel, like a messenger bag, slung on a long strap across his chest. He didn’t wear a wool cap like most of the other St Beden’s boys did.

“I don’t see why it matters,” he was saying. “Mrs Pratt’s just a nutter who likes being sick.”

“The delivery is still late,” the apothecary said.

“I had things to do.”

“You had things to do here.”

“Poxy things,” Benjamin muttered.

“We still have this shop,” the apothecary said, “through war and through difficult times, because we take care of our customers. Your great-grandfather did it, and your grandfather did it, and people trust us to do it now.”

“But you wanted to be an apothecary, like them,” Benjamin said. “I don’t want to!”

The apothecary paused. “When I was your age, I didn’t want to be one, either.”

“Well, you should’ve got out while you could!” Benjamin said. His anger, which had seemed so fitting against the lunch lady, seemed petulant against his father. If I’d had to guess, in the lunchroom, what Benjamin Burrows’s father might be like, I would never have picked the quiet, methodical apothecary. Benjamin snatched the paper bag off the counter and stormed out the door without seeing me.

I tried to slip out behind a row of shelves, too, without being noticed, but the apothecary said, “Good afternoon. It’s the girl with the 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 be one, just because your father is. That seems very—I don’t know. Nineteenth-century.”

Benjamin slumped back in his seat. “It’s not nineteenth-century, it’s just English,” he said. “There’s an expectation.”

“That you become what your father is?”

“In some cases. In my case. The Society of Apothecaries pays my school fees, and I wouldn’t be at St Beden’s without them. I’d be at some grim secondary modern, getting mullered every day.”

“Mullered?”

“Pounded on. But the Society assumes that if they pay for my school, I’ll become one of them.”

“So why don’t you want to?”

“Because it’s bloody boring! My father’s just a pill-counter!”

“He gave me a powder for homesickness.”

Benjamin looked interested. “Did it work?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe. The hot water bottles did.”

Benjamin’s interest vanished, replaced by contempt. “You see? He sells hot water bottles. And ointments for babies’ nappy rash. It’s so pedestrian. There’s nothing less interesting.”

“So what do you want to be?”

He paused. “I want to live a life of travel and adventure and service to my country.”

“You want to be a soldier?”

He seemed embarrassed to have said so much. “No.”

Then I realised. He had tailed me unseen, and thought my parents were spies. “You want to be a spy!”

He frowned. “If that was true, I couldn’t tell you.”

“I think you just did tell me.”

“Well—I’d like to work for the Secret Intelligence Service,” he admitted. “In some way. But don’t tell anyone.”

I nodded. I guessed the Secret Intelligence Service must be England’s spies. I glanced across the aisle and whispered, “I think that man in the bowler hat heard you.”

He looked quickly to see, but the man was so buried in his book that he wouldn’t have noticed if the train ran off the tracks. Benjamin smiled, relieved. He looked down at his shoes. “It’s just that I’ve never told anyone,” he said.

A garbled voice came over the loudspeakers, announcing Hammersmith Station, and the train started to slow.

“This is my stop,” I said, getting up. I hated to do it. It was the first time in England that I’d felt so happy and comfortable, and I didn’t want to get off the train. Benjamin followed, and we stood facing each other on the platform as people streamed around us. Benjamin’s dark eyes were actually a warm brown, with bright flecks of copper in them, like the scattering of freckles across his nose.

I glanced away, unsettled, and tried to think what to say. It didn’t seem right to invite him to the studio, and my parents would tease me if I showed up with a boy. Across the platform, the train going the other direction pulled in.

“I should go,” Benjamin said. “I still have deliveries to make.”

“Thanks for keeping me company.”

“Listen,” he said. “What are you doing Saturday?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Meet me on the steps of the school at two and I’ll show you Hyde Park.”

“I’ll have to ask.”

“Look, if your parents let you take the Underground alone, they’ll let you go to Hyde Park.” His return train was about to leave.

“Okay,” I said.

“Terrific!” He started across the platform.

I walked away, thinking dizzily that I had a date, when I heard Benjamin’s voice say, “Janie, wait!”

I turned, wondering what I would do if he tried to kiss me.

“I forgot to ask,” he said. “Do you play chess?”