Is (10 page)

‘It's a pump, probably for pumping out the water from mines. Driven by steam as you can see.'

‘A Watt is it?' asked Trevor Smart, smugly. ‘A steam pump, Smart. I just told you. You should wash your ears out.'

‘No, I mean is it a Watt steam pump? Ah, it is, there's the label: “Boulton and Watt”. See?'

‘Oh, right. Yes, quite correct Smart.' Mr Phillips sounded pretty narked at Trevor out-smarting him. ‘Yes, this was made by James Watt, inventor of the steam engine. Has anyone heard of James Watt before?'

‘I have, Sir,' yelled out Clever Trev, his glasses steaming over with excitement.

‘I know you have, Smart. Anyone else?'

If anyone had they weren't letting on. Nobody bothered raising their hands at any rate. But that didn't stop Mr Phillips going on and on. Listening to him was really mindnumbing. He could probably patent himself as a cure for insomnia.

‘Here, you see, as that piston is forced in and out by the pressure of steam it pushes that arm there, which causes that huge wheel to rotate. What do you think of that? Morgan?'

Personally I thought it would be a good idea if Mr Phillips was under the huge wheel as it rotated, but I guessed that wasn't the answer he was expecting.

‘Wow,' I said.

‘There's no need to be cheeky, Morgan,' said Mr Phillips curtly. ‘Right, well, let's get on. There's much more to see.'

A chorus of groans met that remark, but on we went. The next room had loads of old trains in it. There was one called the Rocket which JCB nearly wet himself over, he was so excited. I couldn't see why. Rockets were things that a few years before had landed on the moon. This rocket looked like it would have difficulty making a landing on a scrap heap. Opposite it was a really enormous green steam engine. It was pretty impressive, I'll give it that.

The wheels alone were much taller than me. ‘Caerphilly Castle,' said Isabel as she came and stood beside me.

‘Yes, I know,' I replied. ‘It's got the name there, over the wheel.'

‘Beautiful isn't it?' continued Is, and she seemed quite lost for a second.

‘Well, I wouldn't go that far,' I laughed. ‘It's only a steam engine.'

‘No, you're wrong there, Robert,' was all she replied.

It was a funny thing with Isabel. If it had been Mr Phillips or JCB waxing lyrical over a large lump of metal I'd probably have nodded off. But with Is, I found myself drawn in. Somehow she made me see things differently. Perhaps it was because she had such a direct way of speaking it made what she said seem so much more important.

I noticed she almost always looked straight at you when she was speaking too. Most people look away every now and then. Is didn't. She watched your face intently with her dark brown eyes. It could be very disconcerting.

‘It's from the Great Western Railway.'

‘I know that too,' I replied, trying hard not to sound as smug as Clever Trev. ‘It says it there on that truck.'

‘Tender,' she corrected me. ‘It's called a tender.'

‘Tender, then.'

I ran my hand along one of the solid steel bars (connecting rods, so Is informed me) that joined together the enormous wheels we were standing next to.

‘Anyway,' I conceded, ‘I suppose it's more interesting looking than the average InterCity train. Seems a lot bigger than a modern train too.'

‘No, it's not. It's just that you don't usually see trains from this angle. You're normally on the platform.'

‘I suppose you're right. I never thought of that,' I said, continuing to run my hand over the metal.

Suddenly I realised that the whole surface had been covered with grease. My hand was disgusting. ‘Oh, yuk, it's all greasy!' I moaned, turning round as I spoke. ‘Just look at my hand.'

But Is wasn't behind me as I thought. Instead I found myself staring into the beaming face of Kevin Ryder.

‘Your hand's all dirty,' he said, stating the obvious.

‘I know.'

‘That's a steam engine, that is,' he continued.

‘No? Really?' I answered as if surprised. ‘Is that what it is? I thought it was a fire engine.'

This remark took a while to permeate the deep recesses of his skull. But finally he managed to set his razor-sharp brain to work.

‘No, don't be daft! Can't be. Fire engines are red! Don't you know nothing Morgan?'

‘'Spose not,' I answered and walked straight past him towards where the rest of the class were. As I went by the front of the engine, I saw Isabel. She was standing in the tracks right in front of the Caerphilly Castle.

‘See this…' she said. 

‘What?'

‘You were saying how much bigger this looked than a modern train.'

‘Yes?' I replied, wondering where this would lead us.

‘It could have been much, much bigger, you know.'

‘It could?'

‘Mmm, this track here is what they call standard gauge.'

‘So?'

‘Well this is the track width that most railways have now. But imagine how much bigger trains could be if the rails were wider apart. They wouldn't only be bigger; they'd be a lot faster, smoother and loads more comfortable.'

‘Why aren't they then?'

‘Because the people who built most of the railways last century couldn't see beyond the end of their noses, that's why. They really thought that laying tracks this wide was good enough. What idiots!'

The way she spat out the word ‘idiots' quite alarmed me. I could see that she was starting to get carried away again but I made no attempt to rejoin the rest of the class. Instead I found myself watching her mouth intently as she spoke.

‘Only one railway company realised how much better it would be to have a wider gauge. And that was the Great Western. It was originally built with tracks seven feet wide. Can you imagine that? But because all the other railways were like this, the government passed a law that made the Great Western reduce the width of its tracks.'

‘That's stupid.'

‘You're telling me. That was one battle I lost.'

‘What do you mean “one battle you…”' I started saying and then realised what she meant: it was one battle Brunel had lost. That again! The thing with me finding out about her father hadn't changed anything after all. I watched her eyes carefully, looking for clues as to what she was really thinking.

Just then, Kevin went past again and caught sight of us both there between the tracks. A horrible, slimy grin slid over his face.

‘Hello, what're you two up to then? Having a little cuddle by the choo-choos are you?'

I went bright red. Even though I saw a lot of Is, I'd never thought of her as a girlfriend. She was just another mate really.

‘Quiet snog is it?' Kevin persisted.

Is's face hardened and she gave Kevin a look that would terrify the toughest of criminals. Then her face softened and she smiled sweetly.

‘I'm sorry I told you you'd probably come back as an earthworm if you were reborn, Kevin.'

‘That's all right,' Kevin said, scratching his head. He obviously didn't have a clue what she was on about.

‘No it's not,' she replied. ‘It's totally unfair to earthworms. After all, the common earthworm certainly has a lot more virtue than you.' Kevin stared at her, his eyes blinking, not really under- standing what she was saying, as she carried on, ‘I should go away, before I crush you under my heel, you disgusting, ridiculous little boy with your filthy little thoughts. You are quite beneath contempt.'

I gaped at her, and then Kevin.

Kevin looked totally shocked. He stood there, his mouth flapping, with no words coming out. He almost looked like an earthworm. He gave Is and me one last startled look then squirmed and slithered off towards the rest of the group. I burst out laughing.

‘Well that'll teach him!'

‘He's a total waste of oxygen.'

Then she caught hold of my hand. She had never done that before. I just hoped Kevin didn't see us.

‘Come this way,' she said and pulled me through the gap between the Caerphilly Castle and a bright blue diesel engine next to it.

‘But we ought to get back to Mr Phillips,' I protested.

‘Not for a minute. He can wait,' was all she said.

She let go of my hand then and I followed her round the back of the engines. I could hear Mr Phillips chuntering on, somewhere on the other side. We came to some stairs, at the top of which was a sort of balcony which overlooked the rest of the hall. From up there I could see Mr Phillips pointing madly at some old car with most of the class gathered around.

A few others were with Mr Bartholomew looking at an old bicycle, which struck me as a really ridiculous thing to do, but that was old JCB all over. And Clever Trev was completely on his own talking to one of the Science Museum attendants, boring him rigid no doubt.

It was then I recalled something my father had said, that day we went out for a walk: ‘That bridge at Maidenhead I saw. That was on the Great Western Railway too, wasn't it? My dad said so.'

‘That's right.'

‘So was it built for those wider tracks you were talking about then?'

‘Of course. The whole route was laid out for broad gauge. It was the straightest, flattest, fastest, most perfect railway ever built.'

‘Oh, only that good,' I laughed.

She ignored me and carried on. ‘Most of the route from Paddington to Bristol was completely level, or as good as. It was only when we got close to Bristol that there were any hills at all, like at Box.'

‘Box? What Box?' Cardboard box, wooden box, I wondered.

‘The great tunnel at Box. It's on a 1 in 100 incline. Box,' she added, seeing I was still confused, ‘is a place.'

‘Of course it is,' I said, trying to make out I knew all the time.

‘It's near Bath.'

‘Oh, right.'

‘It's nearly two miles long, eight times the length of the Thames tunnel. And, when it was finished, Box tunnel was the longest tunnel ever built. It took more than two and a half years to build.'

‘Slow workers were they?'

‘I'm being serious, Robert.' And she was. When Is was like this, she was in no mood for jokes or sarcasm.

‘The men had to dig it with picks and shovels and blast through the rock with gunpowder. They got through a ton of gunpowder and a ton of candles every week.'

‘What did they need candles for?'

‘To see by, of course. The whole tunnel was built by candlelight – that's all they had. At one point towards the end there were 4000 men and 300 horses labouring night and day on it to complete it on time.'

‘And was it?' I asked. 

‘What?'

‘Completed on time?'

‘Oh, yes,' she said with what seemed like real pride in her voice, ‘in June 1841. But the most amazing thing of all is that, on the 9th of April – if you look from the west end at dawn – you can actually see the sun rising through the tunnel.'

‘Really? How?'

‘The tunnel is aligned exactly with the position the sun will rise that day. It's the only day of the year that it does that. Isn't that amazing?'

‘Well, yes, but I don't understand; what's so special about April the 9th?'

‘It's my birthday.'

‘No, it's not. You told me your birthday is September 15th.'

‘Isambard's birthday. You know what I mean.'

‘Then why did you say it was your birthday?'

‘It is – in a way.'

‘Look, Is – Isabel – you can't go on like this. You've got to get out of this believing you were someone else. Really you have.'

‘I can't “get out of it”, as you say.'

‘Why ever not?'

‘Because it's true!'

I sighed heavily. This was ridiculous. What was happening to her? She just seemed to be getting more and more obsessed with this Brunel thing.

‘Come on upstairs then. There are some other things you must see.'

But I decided enough was enough. ‘I think we should stay with Mr Phillips,' I said firmly. And only then did I realise that Mr Phillips, JCB and everyone else had gone.

‘Come on Is, we'd better catch them up,' I said, in a panic.

‘Why?' she answered, ‘it doesn't matter. We can catch up with them later. They won't miss us.'

‘Of course they will, don't be daft.'

‘Oh, come on, Rob, this won't take two minutes.' And once again, against my better judgement I allowed myself to be taken in by Is and led up two sets of escalators to the second floor.