Going Viral

by Andrew Puckett

  The trip to Bristol the next day bore no fruit. The Head of Microbiology at Cabot, Professor Lee, was livid with me for not sorting it out with him informally and didn’t bother to hide his feelings. Donna Williams, an attractive woman of around thirty, made a very thorough inspection, which allowed me to poke my nose into every corner I wanted. I found nothing, but that still left the chance that someone may have hidden what they were doing very cleverly.

  Donna found plenty. Security and Safety were both lax, and Prof Lee was likely to be in receipt of some fairly robust scrotal discipline.

  The look he gave me as we left made me hope fervently that the positions would never be reversed. Another day, another enemy…

  Chapter 12

  There were around 25 BTA members in the hall, not counting the committee, Rebecca thought. They were a pretty eclectic lot, more women than men, but the ratio of weird to non-weird was around 50/50 for both sexes.

  There were a couple of women with serious buzz-cuts and others with some fairly uncomfortable looking piercings. There were two men with shaven heads, one with an eagle tattooed atop, and another man who was a dead-ringer for John McCurrick, with long grey hair, even longer bushy sideburns and glasses attached to chain round his neck. Looking at him, Rebecca instinctively realised he must be Ron-the-pain. Next to him was a conventionally dressed gent with a square body, square face and dark hair.

  Marc checked his watch, then banged on the table for silence. Once he’d got it, he presented the minutes of the last meeting and asked if there were any objections. There weren’t, so they moved through Matters Arising and then Marc introduced Rebecca as their new treasurer. He looked at her and she realised that a few words were required…

  ‘I’m very pleased to be joining you,’ she said, ‘and I look forward to meeting you all.’ Pause. ‘Especially those who haven’t paid their subs yet.’

  This got her a laugh, but she wondered afterwards whether it went with the dormouse image she’d cultivated. Oh well, the dormouse that roared...

  Then came the announcement from Craig that he’d persuaded Richard Firlow, the local MP, to chair their forthcoming public discussion on Starvation – The New Slavery?

  Ron-the-pain cheered and clapped, but no one else joined in, although most people seemed pleased. Craig spoke briefly about what a great opportunity it was for BTA to raise its profile and asked for as many as possible to attend.

  ‘On reflection, I thought it best not to invite him along tonight,’ he finished. ‘It would have been a shame to put him off too soon.’

  There were a few laughs, but a woman at the back put up her hand.

  ‘With that particular title,’ she said, ‘aren’t we at risk of trespassing on the Anti-Slavery League’s ground?’

  She was tidily dressed, had long dark hair and a rather attractive face, and Rebecca wondered why she’d felt it necessary to wear two large rings in her upper lip that hung down over her mouth like fangs.

  Craig passed the question to Marc, who said, ‘Thank you, Shirley –’

  Shirley…!

  ‘– but you’ve anticipated the next item on the agenda…’

  It was rather a neat way of moving things on, Rebecca thought, as Marc told them how he’d already cleared it with ASL.

  ‘We’ve invited them to take part, of course, and told them how we’ll support their demonstration in Bristol next month.’ He gave them the details, together with the hope that some of them would go, then moved onto the Treasurer’s report. Rebecca read out the balances and how they were made up, then moved a vote of thanks to Alan for leaving them in so healthy a state.

  As soon as this was carried, she said, ‘May I raise another point at this stage, Mr Chairman?’

  ‘Chairperson,’ called out Shirley.

  ‘Sorry, Mr Chairperson.’

  Marc signalled for her to go ahead. She told the meeting how she’d noticed how much the charity shop had contributed to their funds and had made a point of visiting it herself.

  ‘I’m a sucker for charity shops, anyway,’ she added, looking round… part of her was wondering whether it was such a good idea to bring this up so soon after the police visit, but she felt overall she had to move things along. ‘I do wonder whether we couldn’t make more of it, considering how much it contributes, despite the out-of-centre position and the – er – rather down market quality of the goods.’

  Sophie asked what she had in mind.

  ‘Well, move nearer the centre and try to attract better quality goods?’

  Alan and Hannah were both frowning, but Craig looked interested.

  ‘It’d be worth exploring,’ he said. ‘More funds’d certainly help us generally – not to mention the gratitude of head office for their cut.’

  There were one or two chuckles from the membership at this, which allowed Rebecca to study them without it seeming too obvious.

  The young couple at the front were looking rather worried; the man whispered something to the woman and Rebecca wondered if they were Will and Emma, the tenants of the flat above the shop, in which case, they might well be worried – her eyes moved on…

  Ron-the-pain was studying her, as was the conventional looking gent next to him. Shirley and her man were whispering and a respectable looking woman in the second row who wouldn’t have been out of place at a Conservative Party meeting was nodding in agreement…

  Then Hannah said, ‘While I must applaud our new Treasurer for her initiative, I do wonder whether it would be wise at this point. Isn’t it possible that the shop makes money because it caters for its particular clientele?’

  You had to hand it to Hannah, Rebecca thought, she had no equals when it came to putting the boot in – both physically and metaphorically…

  Alan was nodding thoughtfully, and Sophie said,

  ‘Why don’t we ask Rebecca and someone else to make a study on it and report back to the membership?’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Marc. He looked round… ‘Anyone interested?’

  Ron-the-pain’s hand went up. ‘I will,’ he said.

  ‘Then perhaps the two of you could get together after the meeting.’

  Rebecca made herself smile and nod. Well, I asked for that, she thought – but then again, it might be useful…

  Marc made the Chair’s report, Sophie drew their attention to one or two other events, and then they came to Any Other Business. Rebecca caught the note of resignation in Marc’s voice, and sure enough, Shirley put her hand up.

  But so had the Tory look alike. Shirley jumped up, but Marc said,

  ‘Anne, you were first, I think…’

  Shirley sank sullenly back into her seat as Tory Anne rose from hers.

  ‘There was a rather disturbing report in The Times yesterday – I am right in thinking we send both food and money to the Horn of Africa, aren’t I?’

  ‘You are.’

  ‘Well, they sent in one of their reporters undercover and he says that the food is only going to towns and villages that have a record of supporting the president. It is being actively withheld from those even suspected of not supporting him. This worries me very much – I don’t give my money and time to prop up President M’yonga’s regime. I want to help all the people there.’ She sat down again to a buzz of comment.

  Ron put his hand up. ‘May I reply to this, Chair? As you know, the Horn of Africa’s my speciality.’

  Marc waved for him to go ahead. Ron stood up.

  ‘I read this report as well. It’s one report, by one reporter, in one newspaper… But let’s suppose for a moment that it’s true.’ He paused theatrically. ‘It still means that the food we’ve sent there is feeding hungry people. Of course it should go to everyone, but to be fair, what leader of any country, including ours, wants to succour those who are trying to overthrow him? It may offend our sensibilities,’ he went on, ‘but the fact remains that the people there know what they have to do in order to get the food.’ He sat down again to several cheers as Tory Anne sho
t up.

  ‘I have never in my life heard such weasel words used to justify one of the most vicious dictators in Africa –’

  ‘I’m going to bring this debate to a close,’ Marc cut in. ‘I’m sure some people here sympathise with your position Anne, but we, as a charity, are in no position to do any dictating ourselves. We simply cannot apply conditions to the aid we give, no matter how desirable this may seem.’

  Someone cried out, ‘Why not?’ but Marc said,

  ‘Shirley, you wanted to say something?’

  Shirley stood up and waited until she had everyone’s attention.

  ‘Quite a lot’s been made of our co-operation with The Anti-Slavery League, which of course I applaud. However, our committee have had nothing to say about Open Door, who are holding their own demonstration next month. I happen to know they’ve asked for our support, so why hasn’t this been put to the meeting?’

  There were several of cries of ‘Hear, Hear’, but also a few groans.

  Marc said, ‘It has been discussed at committee level, but we made a collective decision not to refer to it this evening because of its divisive nature.’

  There were cries of ‘Shame’, a couple of people spoke in favour of supporting it, and a couple more against. Then Ron’s conventional companion put up his hand –

  ‘May I say a few words on this, chair?’

  Marc nodded. ‘Go ahead, Malcolm.’

  ‘Anyone who didn’t know how divisive this issue is can be under no illusions now… So let me remind you all of what our organisation stands for. Bristol To Africa. We are about trying to feed and help as many people as we can in Africa. We are not about bringing a lucky few over here. Let Open Door pursue that aim, while we pursue ours.’

  There were quite a few emphatic nods at this, but Shirley came in quickly,

  ‘How dare you refer to them as lucky? I move that as a branch, we give Open Door our wholehearted support, and I furthermore move that we vote on this now.’

  Her companion seconded it, there were several cries of agreement and Rebecca thought that whoever had put Shirley up to this had chosen well.

  Marc, meanwhile, had been looking carefully round the hall…

  Then he said, ‘In the interest of transparency, I’ll allow the vote. All those in favour of Shirley’s motion…’ he repeated it, word for word.

  Eight hands shot up, followed by a ninth, and then a tenth.

  ‘Those against?’

  Six hands were raised, then seven… eight… nine… There was a pause and Shirley was about to speak when a tenth rose, followed by an eleventh.

  ‘Abstentions?’ Marc called, his voice quite steady. Then – ‘The motion falls. Those of you who wish to support Open Door’s demonstration are of course free to do so, but we will not be giving formal support.’

  Shirley got up and walked out, followed by her companion.

  Then Marc declared the meeting closed and people began drifting away. Ron, Malcolm and a couple of others started folding chairs and stacking them.

  Alan was saying to Marc, ‘What I’d like to know is who put her up to it. Was it you, Hannah?’

  ‘No, it was not. The question demeans you, Alan. I abide by committee decisions, whatever my own feelings.’

  Alan slowly nodded, then apologised and some, although not all, of the tension evaporated. Alan went over to speak to Ron and Malcolm, while Hannah and Sophie started folding the tables.

  Craig said quietly to Marc, ‘That was close…’

  Marc glanced at Rebecca, then said, ‘I did a quick count and thought we could do it – especially after Malcolm said his piece.’

  ‘Well, you called it right –’

  Sophie called, ‘Hey you lot, give us a hand,’ and Marc and Craig went to join them.

  Rebecca was about to follow when she saw Alan beckoning her. She went over. Alan said, ‘Rebecca, this is Ron Young, who you’ll be liaising with, and Malcolm North…’

  She shook hands with them. Ron said,

  ‘That was a very interesting suggestion you made, Rebecca, and I’m only too pleased to help…’

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, taking her hand away.

  ‘Shall I come to you?’

  ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘I’ll come to you.’

  They made a date for the next day, then Marc came over and asked them if they were going for a drink.

  Chapter 13

  As they walked the short distance to the pub, Craig fell in beside her. ‘I wonder if I could cadge a lift?’ he said. ‘It’s only a mile or so from here.’

  She hesitated just long enough to let him know she wasn’t a pushover… ‘OK – so long as you don’t want to stay in the pub too long.’

  He smiled – he had a rather sweet smile, she thought – ‘I’ll be glad of the excuse to leave.’ He went on, ‘I wanted a word anyway – I’ve spoken to my boss, but I didn’t want to tell you about it in here –’ He indicated the pub – ‘in front of the others.’

  ‘That bad?’

  ‘Not at all…’

  They went in, he bought her a drink and they sat with the others. Ron fastened onto her and gushed on a bit.

  As soon as she could get a word in, she said, ‘You are Ron Young, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Well, I couldn’t help noticing that you’re one of those who hasn’t paid their subs yet.’

  Malcolm, next to him, laughed and gave him a shove. ‘You walked into that, Ron – and yes –’ he said, turning to Rebecca, ‘I am the Malcolm North who hasn’t paid his either.’ He reached for his wallet and handed her a ten-pound note. ‘Your turn, Ron,’ he said.

  Ron made a show of going through his wallet and extracting a couple of fivers. Rebecca put the money away and said,

  ‘I was interested in your contribution, Ron. It was very eloquent –’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘– but it’s something that’s bothered me in the past. I want to help starving people, but I don’t like the idea of just handing money over to some of the nastier African leaders…’ She tailed off and shrugged.

  ‘Have you ever been to the Horn?’ Ron asked. ‘Or anywhere in Africa?’

  She smiled and shook her head. ‘You have, I take it?’

  ‘I did two years with Voluntary Workers Abroad, oh, a long time ago now. They warned us that we’d be ordered around, sometimes at gunpoint, by some pretty repellent individuals, who’d almost certainly help themselves to the aid we were offering. And that if we wanted to help those in need, we’d better get used to it. We were selected on our ability to do just that.’

  Rebecca tried to say something, but he overrode her.

  ‘You have to understand something about African tradition. The man who becomes Chief, or President – and it is always a man – expects to remain that way until he dies. And his people expect it as well, by and large.

  And if we want to help the needy, the starving,’ he leaned forward… ‘we have to swallow our European pride and work with them. It’s their country, not ours – can’t you understand that?’

  ‘Yes, I think so,’ she said after a pause. ‘And I truly admire you for your detachment. I don’t think I could do that.’

  ‘I had to hold my nose enough times when I was there,’ said Sophie. ‘But he’s right you know, if we really want to help.’

  ‘That’s why these volunteer groups are so careful who they select,’ Ron said. ‘Oddly enough, the Christian groups are usually the best at it, although I don’t approve of them in other ways.’

  There was a short silence and Rebecca thought about how completely Ron shed his clown image when he talked like this… then she noticed Hannah staring at her speculatively…

  Hannah, knowing she had to say something, said, ‘Well, you’ve certainly hit the ground running, Rebecca.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Rebecca said, not at all sure it was a compliment.

  ‘Any luck on the job front yet?’

  ‘I’ve got an intervi
ew at the hospital next week.’

  ‘Oh yes, I thought I saw you there last week – Thursday, wasn’t it?’

  ‘You probably did, I went to see Human Resources – thus the interview.’

  ‘What’s it for? I didn’t think they were taking on anyone at the moment.’

  ‘Clerk in the pay department, and you’re right, they’re not unless they have to.’ It was the best she could think of on the spur… ‘It’s not what I want, but –’ she shrugged, ‘beggars can’t be fussy…’

  ‘No. Well good luck with it.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Rebecca took a mouthful of drink to cover her discomfiture… did Hannah work at the hospital? Could she find out she was lying? She’d have to think of something to cover it…

  Hannah started talking to Sophie; they were natural allies, she thought…

  Marc was talking to Malcolm, while Alan was saying something to Ron. She said to Craig, ‘It was quite a coup, getting the MP to agree… when is the forum?’

  ‘Week after next. Thursday, in the library. Are you coming?’

  ‘Of course. Rather short notice for him, isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh, I’ve been trying to pin him down for weeks. I don’t think he really wants to do it, which is why I didn’t invite him along tonight.’

  ‘Why didn’t he just say no?’

  ‘He does bang on about Foreign Aid, so it wouldn’t look good, would it?’

  Sophie, who’d been listening, put her arm round him. ‘Well, I think you’ve done very well, darling,’ she said.

  ‘I do my best,’ he said plaintively.

  ‘I know, and it’s very good.’ She kissed him on the cheek.

  Rebecca wondered why Sophie felt the need to take the piss out of him all the time, although he did rather set himself up for it… Just another of the currents swirling round this happy pond of altruists.

  Sophie finished her drink and stood up. ‘Love you all to bits though I do, I also have to work.’ She waggled her fingers and left.

  Rebecca would have liked to talk to Malcolm, but he was talking with Marc now, and it would be difficult to break in without seeming pushy… Better cut her losses and see what she could get from Craig. She finished her drink and looked at him. He took the hint, finished his own and they said goodbye – although not before Ron had reminded Rebecca not to forget their meeting.