by Heather Allen
Through a crack in the door, Jessie watched the old man as he bent over his workbench. He had his back to her, his white hair standing out in a cloud around his head. On the bench in front of him was an array of phials, test tubes and flasks. An acrid smell drifted through the crack. It tickled Jessie’s nose. As she watched, the old man held a test tube filled with a greenish substance over a flame, then poured it into a flask of clear liquid. The mixture bubbled and frothed, turning bright purple and glowing. The smell was overpowering. Jessica sneezed.
The old man stood up, turned to the door and flung it open. Jessica was already halfway through the hole in the hedge, but it was too late.
“Jessica Smith!” he called, “Come back here!”
Jessie was not in the habit of defying adults, so she obeyed. She returned to stand meekly in front of her next-door neighbour. He frowned down at her.
“Now, I should give you a telling off,” he said.
Jessie’s lower lip wobbled.
“But,” he said, and smiled, “I can’t do that. I was just as curious at your age.”
Jessie could not imagine Mr Adams ever being eight, but she said nothing.
He continued: “What did you see?”
She swallowed and said: “I saw you put the green stuff in the other stuff and it went purple.”
Mr Adams nodded. “Do you want to have a proper look?”
She glanced over at her house on the other side of the hedge, then turned wide eyes back to the old man and nodded
He lowered his voice. “Go on,” he said. “Go and ask your mother first. She won’t mind, she’s known me since she was a little dot.” He chuckled.
Five minutes later, Jessie returned, and Mr Adams let her in.
“Now,” he said, “what do you suppose I’m going to do with this?”
Jessie was looking around the shed. Bunches of herbs and odd-looking roots hung from the rafters, and dusty jars and bottles lined the shelves. She turned to him.
“Hmm?”
“I said, what do you think I’m going to do with this?”
“Don’t know,” said Jessie “Drink it?”
Mr Adams laughed. “No, I’m not going to drink it! It might turn me into a prince!” He laughed, and shook his head. “No, it’s for my arthritis.”
He lifted down an enormous jar of cream, opened the lid, poured the mixture into it and stirred it with a wooden spoon. The result was a faintly glowing purplish gloop.
“Ugh,” said Jessie.
“It’s perfectly safe, I can assure you!” Mr Adams said with a laugh. “Just a few herbs, some things you can get at the pharmacist, and a few…” he coughed, “other ingredients.”
“What other ingredients?”
Mr Adams raised a bony hand to his face and tapped his nose. “That’s for me to know. One day, I might tell you, but not until you’re older, Jessica Smith.”