by Cenarth Fox
‘Oh no,’ said a voice, and Bernie found himself being surrounded by oranges and lemons. The bells of St Clement’s remained safely in their belfry as a young woman apologised.
‘Sorry,’ she said, trying to gather her runaway fruit. Bernie joined in. ‘Thank you so much,’ she added as Bernie placed some of the cheeky chaps in her cloth bag. One of its straps had broken free, and the pieces of fruit took advantage to make their escape. She put her bag on a bench, and looked around for any pipped stragglers.
‘I think that’s all,’ he said. ‘But I’m afraid your bag needs a service.’
‘I’ll be fine, and thanks again.’
‘You can have one of mine,’ said Bernie, placing the contents of one of his bags in the other, and handing the woman the now empty bag.
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m positive,’ smiled Bernie.
‘Well that’s very kind of you.’
There was a pause as the strangers checked out one another, then Bernie launched into an old Graham Kennedy joke his father taught him.
‘I think you’re supposed to say, “Only fools are positive”.’
The woman didn’t understand.
She thinks I’m a fruitcake.
I am a fruitcake.
Bernie wished he hadn’t started but now felt he had no choice.
‘You said, “Are you sure”, and I said, “I’m positive,” and you’re supposed to say, “Only fools are positive”, then I reply, “Are you sure?”, and you say …’
‘I’m positive,’ said the woman, and they both laughed.
They looked at one another, and Bernie liked what he saw. He had his next line ready but felt that hitting on a woman in the street was uncool.
‘Well, good luck with your fruit carrying. Bye.’
He set off as the woman called, ‘Bye. And thanks again.’
Bernie waved his one free hand and felt good.
It was decision night. Bernie and Madeline had agreed a plan to rescue their parents. Their wonderful mother had dementia, and her caring days were over. Their parents’ world had been turned upside down. It was time to sell the family home, and move the folks into care, together. Their father understood the situation, but the others could only guess as to their mother’s state of mind. The siblings sat in Madeline’s home.
Bernie’s brother-in-law Bruce, known to Bernie as Brutus, was out drinking, so with Maddy’s kids asleep, the siblings got talking.
‘I’ve investigated homes with dementia patients,’ said Madeline.
‘Costs, vacancies, what’s available?’
‘Hang on. We agree that Dad has to be in the same place. But that’s where the problems start.’
‘No wheelchair access?’
‘Just shut up and let me finish.’
‘Sorry.’ Bernie fell silent.
‘Dad’s classified as “high care”. Yes, his brain’s as sharp as a tack but they ask questions about his mobility, if he can manage washing, going to the loo, getting in and out of bed, etc. Dad fails just about everything.’
Madeline’s emotions became too much. She wept in silence.
‘It’s just not fair,’ she whispered.
Bernie waited for her to settle. ‘I know.’ He squeezed her arm.
‘I mean with Dad’s body wrecked, they were fine because Mum looked after him, and loved it. Now God in his wisdom has played funny buggers with her brain, and their lives are a total mess.’ She continued to cry.
‘Do you want me to check some more places?’ asked Bernie.
She recovered. ‘I’ve found two strong possibilities.’ She handed her brother a piece of paper with details of nursing homes.
‘Bloody hell, that one’s in China.’ Madeline began to cry again. ‘Sorry,’ mumbled Bernie, ashamed to be so negative.
Madeline knew her own mind. ‘Dad has to make the final decision.’
‘Of course,’ agreed Bernie.
‘He knows they need fulltime care, but where they go has to be his call. If they have to be separated, he needs to make that decision.’
Bernie thought of his Italian neighbour.
‘If we were southern Europeans, we’d be fighting to have our parents live with us.’ They paused. ‘Why do we call Oz the lucky country?’
They fell silent until Bernie had a thought.
‘Even if they’re in the same place, they may be in different areas.’
Madeline’s head slumped.
Bernie groaned in silence. Hardly helpful, Bernie.
With Maddy’s spirits so low, Bernie hoped a new subject might help.
‘So how is big, bad Brutus?’
Wrong. Madeline gave a gasp of pain, and lapsed into more crying.
‘He still goes out with his mates, drinking and gambling.’ She sobbed.
Bernie felt miserable. What a night.
Let’s have a cosy chat about our seriously ill or disabled parents, or alternatively, let’s have a laugh about a troubled marriage.
They discussed the nursing home option at length, and then agreed to act on their father’s wishes. Neither wanted that conversation.
‘I’ll ring Dad, and tell him we’ll be over tomorrow night. Okay?’
‘Fine,’ nodded Bernie. He stood then stopped. His brain raced. From his pocket, he withdrew a small container with his infamous pixie dust.
‘Listen, Maddy,’ he said, ‘we’ve developed a new drug at work which is not yet on the market. It’s designed to help people think about their behaviour, and how it affects others.’ Madeline stared at him. ‘It may not work, but I thought if Brutus lost interest in boozing, maybe that might help things at home.’
He held out the container. She paused then took it.
‘And this stuff really works?’
Bernie lied. ‘Well, it’s early days but you’ve got nothing to lose.’
‘Do you have any arsenic?’
‘Just stir a small amount in his tea or coffee. But don’t tell him.’
‘I’ll pour the whole lot down his bloody throat,’ she replied. ‘Thanks.’
Bernie departed wondering if he’d soon be in serious trouble.
Have I helped my sister kill her husband? Have I given a work colleague a fatal dose of an unproven drug — my drug?
Back at Labcope next morning, Bernie couldn’t concentrate. He was helping Lois in a joint project but she kept asking for his response.
‘What’s up Bernie? Why are you taking so long?’
‘Sorry, I’m miles away; a bit of trouble at home.’
That was true with his parents facing upheaval, and his sister enduring a shaky marriage. But his main concern was his MCP.
One, possibly two healthy males had ingested his unproven drug. If something bad happened to either man, for Bernie, losing his job and his career would be the least of his worries.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Lois. ‘Anything I can do?’
‘No, thanks,’ replied Bernie cracking on with his work.
After a long pause, Lois spoke. ‘Can I ask you something?’
‘Of course.’
Lois looked serious. ‘I’d like to use my mother as a guinea pig for your conscience drug.’
Wow. Bernie gulped.
‘Right,’ was all he said.
‘Are you shocked? Have I offended you? Do you think I’m being cruel? Tell me, honestly, please.’
‘Ah, shocked, maybe a little; offended, not at all; and cruel, definitely not.’
‘I assume all your ingredients are used in different drugs for the brain, albeit for different reasons. So if I trial it on my mother and it doesn’t work, then hopefully, there’s no harm done.’
Bernie didn’t like the word hopefully.
Lois continued. ‘I think your idea is mind-blowing, Bernie, and if I can help test your theory, I’d like to try.’
‘That’s fantastic. Thank you, Lois, I’m touched.’
‘But it must be a secret, no mention of anything to anyone.’
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br /> ‘Of course,’ replied Bernie, ‘that goes without saying.’
‘You must be frustrated not having found any human guinea pigs.’
Bernie thought about his response.
Should I tell her I have two already?
‘Yes, it is a bit frustrating.’
Lois hesitated. ‘So, can you give me a sample, please; just a small one? I’ll give it to my mother once she’s back home.’
‘Of course, but I must stress the importance of a low dose.’
‘I promise to be extra careful. And I’ll keep notes about her response.’
Bernie hid his panic. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’
‘No notes?’
Bernie shook his head. Lois nodded. From his bag, Bernie produced a small container with a label, MCP Batch 001. He hesitated then held out the container. Lois hesitated then reached out and took it.
‘Thank you.’ She looked at the handwritten label. ‘MCP?’
‘Moral Compass Pill.’
‘Nice title.’ Neither knew what to say next. ‘I guess you’re a little worried,’ said Lois.
‘Perhaps a bit,’ lied Bernie.
‘I mean if you tell the company about your drug, they’ll take total control and, if it works, you’ll probably get nothing financially.’
Bernie nodded. ‘There’s no probably about it.’
‘Is that why you mentioned spies within the company?’
Oh God, thought Bernie. Lois is a spy and she’s setting me up to hand over the formula.
‘No, that’s because I spoke with an experienced scientist who told me about the need for secrecy here at Labcope.’
‘Is that the Hungarian woman I told you about?’
Bernie felt sick. He was supposed to say nothing, yet already he’d mentioned spies and Annuska, the one person who told him that loose lips sink ships.
Annuska will be horrified. Shut up, Bernie.
‘Look, Lois, could we please not talk about the conscience drug while at work … okay?’
Lois saw fear in Bernie’s eyes.
‘Of course, Mum’s the word.’
They looked at one another.
‘Mum indeed,’ said Bernie, ‘guinea pig, Mum.’
There was a pause before they both grinned then laughed and, in the midst of their amusement, the door opened and in came the Hyphen. Lois hid the small container marked MCP Batch 001.
‘Well, I like to see a happy staff.’
The Research and Development team’s laughter vanished.
‘Good morning,’ said both Lois and Bernie.
‘How can we help you, Dr Hetherington-Smythe?’ asked Bernie.
‘You could start by letting me in on your wonderful joke.’
‘Not so much a joke, sir,’ replied Lois. ‘It was more a friendly remark about my dear mother.’
The Hyphen knew he would get no more.
‘I’m telling staff that the next budget will likely have cuts. Unless each department can nominate areas where expenditure might be trimmed, I’ll make the decision for you. Let me know by the end of the week.’
The Hyphen left. His supercilious smile continued grinning until it realised its owner had departed and then, in a panic, it raced after him.
Both R & D scientists now knew one of them was facing the sack.
Bernie went for a walk at lunchtime. He needed fresh air. His parents needed serious assistance. His sister needed saving from her boorish husband, and Bernie needed saving from himself.
His whacky idea about a conscience drug had taken flight. He’d opened a can of worms, and the little buggers were now sprinting in all directions. One named Lois wanted to pop the pill to her mater.
Bloody hell!
Sitting in the lunchtime sunshine did not help. Bernie headed back to work, opened the front door of the Labcope building, and stepped back to allow free passage to a woman making her exit. He smiled, as did she, and then they twigged.
‘Oh, hello,’ said the clumsy fruit carrier from Swan Street.
‘Hello again,’ replied Bernie and stayed outside to chat.
‘You’ll notice I have complete control of my possessions,’ she said, indicating a classy art portfolio.
‘I’m impressed,’ said Bernie. ‘Do you work here? I mean I do, and I’ve never seen you before — apart from the other day I mean.’
‘When I failed lemon juggling.’
They laughed. For the moment, Bernie forgot his worries, and savoured the eyes of his fellow conversationalist.
‘No,’ she continued, ‘I’m a freelance designer, and have been trying to impress your Marketing department with some of my designs but, as usual, I got the standard “thanks but no thanks” answer.’
‘Well if there’s anything I can do,’ added Bernie, a little too quickly. ‘I mean I’m a scientist, but I know one of the guys in Marketing.’
Immediately Bernie felt sick.
What the hell am I saying? The one person in the world, in the universe, I would never introduce a woman to is Josh the Boastard.
‘Gee that’s awesome.’ She held out her free hand. ‘I’m Kate Naismith.’
‘Bernie Slim,’ replied the scientist, sucking in his gut. ‘Let me give you my number.’
She produced her phone, Bernie told her his number, and she added it to her mobile. Bernie kept chatting.
‘If you’d like to give me a call, say, tomorrow, I’ll see if I can get Marketing to give you another chance.’
‘That’s brilliant. And I’ll send you my number, if that’s okay.’
If that’s okay? Whadaya mean, if that’s okay?
‘No problem,’ said Bernie trying to maintain a cool demeanour. ‘No promises, mind, but I’ll certainly give it a go.’
‘Thanks heaps. That’s two favours. Do you believe in reciprocity?’
Being a lapsed Presbyterian, Bernie had doubts about any religion.
‘Sometimes,’ he said, trying to bluff his way out of his ignorance.
‘Well I do, and you’re due a double serve.’ She again held out her hand and they shook. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow, Bernie Slim. Bye.’
She left with Bernie staring after her and wondering.
A double serve of what?
It was hard for Bernie to concentrate on his day job. Things to ponder included a meeting with his parents, his sister’s depression, his colleague wanting to dope her mother, possibly two men walking around with his unapproved drug inside them, and now, Ms Oranges and Lemons promising to give him a double serve of reciprocity.
What’s work?
Needing to pee, he pushed open the door to the Gents, and regretted his move. Josh from Marketing fronted the urinal.
‘Maaaaate,’ he smirked.
Oh no, don’t stand next to him. He’ll want to compare appendages.
Bernie greeted his colleague, and moved to the end of the urinal.
At least he can’t tap me on the shoulder from down here.
‘We can’t go on meeting like this,’ grinned Josh. Bernie forced a grin in reply. Josh finished his discharge, hit the flush button, and moved to the hand basin. He had his back to Bernie.
I’ll pretend I haven’t finished, thought Bernie. He’ll leave and I won’t have to speak to him. There’s no way I’ll introduce him to Kate.
Come on, come on, leave, thought Bernie.
But Josh remained hunched over the basin. Then a weird sound began. It was like someone in pain or certainly in distress.
My God, it’s Josh.
With his face close to the bowl, Josh kept making this unusual howling, moaning, or something.
Bernie zipped his strides and moved. ‘Josh? You okay?’
‘No,’ wailed the Marketing man who slapped the hand basin in frustration. ‘Do I look okay?’
Bernie felt confused. Then a young chemist bowled in.
‘Get out!’ snapped Bernie.
The young chemist looked surprised. ‘But I need a pee.’
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nbsp; ‘Get out!’ roared Bernie, and the bloke went elsewhere.
‘Help me,’ begged Josh. He grabbed Bernie’s white coat. ‘Help me.’
‘Okay. Do you need a doctor? Are you ill?’
‘Something terrible is happening.’
‘I can see you’re upset. But what’s wrong?’
‘I don’t know. I just feel awful. I hate myself. For years I’ve been cheating on my wife, and all of a sudden I feel guilty.’
Bernie became excited. ‘But why feel guilty now?’
‘I don’t know. That’s what makes it so scary. I felt strange last night and worse this morning. Now it’s really bad, and all of a sudden, I can’t forgive myself. And my head feels like it’s going to explode.’
‘Have you told your wife?’
‘Are you mad? She’ll leave me and take the kids.’
‘Are you sure?’
That stopped Josh. He wasn’t sure. ‘No, I’m not sure, but I’ve been unfaithful so many times.’
‘So?’
‘So?’
‘I mean cheating is cheating. Once or many times, it’s all the same.’
Josh struggled. ‘Maybe; what are you trying to say?’
‘Do you have to name every woman?’ Again Josh stopped. ‘If you just say you’ve got to get something off your chest, that you’ve cheated with a woman, that it was a huge mistake, you’re really, really sorry, and beg for her forgiveness, that might be enough.’
Josh changed. He stopped crying. He looked pathetically hopeful. ‘Do you really think so?’
‘Are you sincerely sorry?’
‘I’ve never been so sincere in my whole life.’
‘Then apologise, tell your wife you love her, and promise never to cheat again.’
Josh almost begged for the answer. ‘But will the pain go away?’
‘I don’t know. Is it still bad?’
Josh touched his head. ‘No … no, it’s … better, definitely better.’
Bernie shrugged. ‘It’s worth a try.’ Josh tried to smile. ‘But I think you’ll have to follow your conscience in the future.’
‘Why? Do you know something about this condition?’
Bernie decided to wing it. ‘It’s just a guess but perhaps your cheating caused your conscience to become active, and that caused your pain.’