Irish End Games, Books 4-5-6

by Kiernan-Lewis, Susan

  John went into the kitchen to find Gilly noisily adjusting the different pans on the stove.

  “I’m sorry, Gilly. I lost track of time.”

  “Well, that’s all you had to say,” she said, deliberately not looking at him. John knew how she felt. Sometimes it felt good to hold a grudge and when the person you’re holding it against is apologetic, it makes it hard to stay mad. He intended to make it impossible.

  “No, it’s no excuse. You take such good care of me. If all I did every day was just make sure you were happy it wouldn’t be enough for all you’ve done for me.”

  “Oh, go on,” she said, but she was smiling now. “I just know what an idiot you are and how easily you can fall into a ditch and drown.”

  “Yes, that is certainly one of things I’m constantly trying not to do,” John said, attempting to sound simple minded.

  She hit him on the arm and sat down on a kitchen chair. “So where were you that was so enthralling you lost track of time?”

  “You know the delivery kid who brings the milk?”

  Gilly frowned as if trying to place him.

  “Well, never mind. Anyway, I ran into him outside class. His family lives in a commune near town so he took me there. Gilly, it was so interesting.”

  “Really? A commune? Like a religious commune?”

  Now it was John’s turn to frown. “I didn’t see anything like that. But they grow all their own food and they don’t go to doctors or anything. Geordie’s grandmother is an herbalist. It was really cool to see how they live.”

  “Cooler than electric lights and refrigeration?”

  John laughed. “No, you’re right. It’s primitive. But they’ve had very few people get sick with the illness.”

  “And you think that’s because of natural living?”

  “Geordie’s granny says she thinks the plague is what happens when science gets too far away from the natural ways.”

  “You don’t believe that nonsense?”

  “I believe in science,” John said firmly. “But I also know my Aunt Fiona was into homeopathic remedies and they always seemed to work. Geordie said I could bring you out sometime if you wanted to come.”

  “I think I’ll pass. But I’m glad you had fun.”

  *****

  For the next couple of days John went to Heaton’s lab right after classes. He kept an eye out for Geordie but wasn’t surprised when he didn’t see him. Geordie had mentioned that he didn’t usually have loads of free time. As John walked down the stone walkway leading to the science labs from class one afternoon, he recognized Dr. Davis and Dr. White standing at the archway that led into the building, both in white lab coats and both smoking. They watched John approach but continued to talk.

  “You know it was his brother that got him the job. How could it not be?” White said with disgust.

  “Man’s an idiot. He couldn’t find the cure for ripped paper. It’s absurd.” Davis said, between puffs on his cigarette.

  “The worst of it is watching him prance about the lab. As if.” Dr. White eyed John with unconcealed disgust as John passed and entered the building. John knew there were professional rivalries in any professional arena but he was astounded at how personally vicious Heaton’s colleagues were.

  John hurried up the stairs to the lab. As he walked down the hall, he saw Dr. Heaton and Dr. Lynch through the window separating the lab from the hall. He tried to slip inside unobtrusively.

  “Hello, there, John,” Dr. Heaton said. “How was class?”

  “Good.”

  “We’re going to have to convince you to stay longer. Classes will be back full tilt everywhere fairly soon, don’t you think, Dr. Lynch?”

  She shrugged. “The full impact of the disease seems to have skipped Oxford for all intents and purposes. Have you heard anything from London? Is it diminishing elsewhere?”

  Dr. Heaton shook his head. “Daniel says it might not be getting any worse but certainly no better.”

  John knew Dr. Heaton’s brother Daniel had a high political position in British Parliament. He also knew that it was pretty much accepted throughout Oxford that Daniel was the reason Dr. Heaton had gotten the research funding in the first place. If that was true and making or keeping friends in the scientific community in Oxford mattered, then Daniel definitely hadn’t done Dr. Heaton any favors.

  “What is that?” Dr. Lynch came to Dr. Heaton’s bench to peer at the flask he was holding up. “Have you found a vaccine?”

  “No,” Dr. Heaton said. “This is something else.”

  “What stage is it?”

  “Well, as I said, it’s not a vaccine,” Dr. Heaton said patiently.

  “Then what is it?”

  John wanted to interject that Dr. Heaton knew what he was doing but he knew the doc wouldn’t thank him. It was just galling to see how little everyone thought of him.

  “It’s a failure, if you must know.” Dr. Heaton set the flask into a holder and picked up a white bucket and set it on the bench next to him. “Which is why I finally got smart. Ye see, Sandra,” he said with excitement, “it occurred to me that using two buckets like they do in some third world countries to purify water is ideal for the areas in the country without electricity. This way, it’s gravity driven.”

  “I understand the mechanics behind a water purification bucket system,” Lynch said with exaggerated patience. “The problem isn’t the bacteria in the water, it’s the virus, as you well know. Why are you wasting your time with buckets?”

  Dr. Heaton removed his glasses and cleaned them with a soft cloth he had tucked in his top jacket pocket.

  “There are people far smarter than I who are working on the cure for this terrible disease.” He nodded at the bucket. “Until those smarter minds come up with a cure, I’m working on a way to contain it.”

  “You’re working on coming up with a better bucket.”

  John could hear the sarcasm in every syllable of her voice.

  “Exactly,” Dr. Heaton said, clearly oblivious to the insult.

  Dr. Lynch sighed, patted Dr. Heaton on the shoulder and left the lab. Just the way she did it—like it was no good even talking to Dr. Heaton—made John flush with embarrassment for the man. After the door closed behind her, Dr. Heaton turned and stared out the window, his fingers tapping the bucket idly. Every time John looked at the stupid bucket he was filled with an agitation that made him want to pick it up and throw it out the window.

  If the two bastards badmouthing Dr. Heaton on the front steps had seen Dr. Heaton with his bucket, it was no wonder they were having a field day at his benefit. Had the doc totally given up? Did he really think a revision of the bucket system was the answer?

  Even John knew that was lame and he was just a kid.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The drive to the commune was brief, not even twenty minutes in Heaton’s SUV. If it hadn’t been so cold, John would have suggested they walk or even take the bikes he’d found in the garage. But he was probably pushing it to get the doc out of the lab for even a morning. He’d put a note in one of the milk bottles the day before telling Geordie he was maybe coming out the next day with the doc and hoped to meet his grandma.

  Since there was no road leading into the commune, John and Dr. Heaton parked outside on the road. The last time John had been here was early afternoon and the sun had taken the bite out of the wind. Today, the snow and the brisk breeze made every step into the little community a wretched one. Geordie must have been watching for them because they no sooner stepped under a large bower of bare branches at the entrance of the commune when he emerged from the door of the first cottage.

  “Oy, John!” he called. “You made it, mate!”

  “I did,” John said. “Glad you got my message. Is it okay to visit?”

  “Too right,” Geordie said motioning him and Dr. Heaton up onto the porch. They hadn’t gotten two steps toward the porch when John realized that Dr. Heaton had stopped. When John turned to see why, he saw the do
c had picked up a bucket that had been lying on its side on the pathway.

  Dr. Heaton had his reading glasses out and was examining it, frowning intensely. It was a water filtration bucket. John felt a wave of discouragement to see him so focused on it. In the six weeks since John had been accompanying him to the lab and overhearing the other scientists and Sandra Lynch—as well as long talks with Dr. Heaton himself—even John knew that the bacterial part of the infected water wasn’t the problem. So why did the guy keep obsessing about the damn bucket?

  “Dr. Heaton, sir? I wanted you to meet Geordie’s grandmother. The herbalist?”

  “Yes, yes,” Dr. Heaton said, putting the bucket down and tucking his reading glasses back into his top jacket pocket.

  John knew that their visit today was probably the second most ridiculous thing anyone could do to solve a problem of this size but one thing was sure, the first most ridiculous thing had to do with a bucket that everybody had already used and found useless. Besides, John didn’t really think Geordie’s grandma had any magic cures up her sleeve. He really just wanted to unstick the doc from the rut he seemed determined to stay in.

  When he’d suggested the two of them get out of town for a field trip, Dr. Heaton had been happy to oblige. John chose to believe that was because, deep down, the doc didn’t really have confidence in the direction he was going with his research. Sometimes an outing helped clear the brain and restart your engines. John felt that was true when he had something he was trying to figure out. If he left the playing field and went some place totally different, often an answer would present itself. He didn’t dare hope that kind of lightning bolt would strike today. But it couldn’t hurt to try.

  They mounted the steps and John quickly Dr. Heaton to Geordie.

  “So you’re our delivery boy, eh?” Dr. Heaton said. “And here I thought it was the fairies and the little people making the cream and eggs appear every morning.”

  Geordie laughed politely and John blushed at the awkwardness among them.

  “I told Dr. Heaton all about your grandma,” John said. “He’s really keen to meet her.”

  “Oh, well Granny’s always up for company, so you’re welcome, Doc,” Geordie said, as he led them into the cottage.

  Once inside, John shivered in relief from the cold. The cozy little home was just one big room anchored by a large stone fireplace where a blazing fire was burning. He could see the fireplace was also used for cooking, like they did at the compound back in Ireland. Seated by the fire was a dumpling of a little old lady bundled up in blankets and crocheted shawls. Her bright eyes and rosy cheeks made her look like Mrs. Santa Claus.

  Geordie made the introductions and pulled up chairs for everyone in front of the fire. John could see immediately that Dr. Heaton had no real idea of why he was here. He turned and smiled blandly at Geordie’s grandmother.

  “Staying warm, I hope, Granny?” he said.

  John turned to her. “Geordie says you’re a whiz with herbs, Mrs. Bancroft. I’ll bet that’s fascinating.”

  The little old woman’s deep-set eyes crinkled when she smiled.

  “Oh, Geordie said you was a Yank. Sound just like telly, you do. When we had telly, that is. Word is it won’t be long we’ll have it back. But probably not here in the commune. You know we say herbs and pronounce the H but when you say it, it’s silent?”

  “I know,” John said, grinning. “When Geordie first told me you were working with herbs, I thought he was talking about a couple guys named Herbert.”

  Mrs. Bancroft laughed. “So you’re interested in herbs, are you? It only takes the world coming to an end to reinvigorate an interest in the natural botanic arts.”

  “Were you involved in herbal therapies, Mrs. Bancroft?” Dr. Heaton asked politely.

  “Alternative medicine, they called it, don’t you know,” she said affably. “We’ve a little more respect these days but back then—before the bomb—they thought we were all witchdoctors.”

  Geordie stepped away and John leaned in just in case she was hard of hearing. He couldn’t easily judge her age but she looked more like Geordie’s great-grandmother. She might be and he just called her his grandmother.

  “Geordie told me there’s not many people in your group who got the sickness,” John said. He saw Dr. Heaton’s head snap around and he felt the doc’s posture go rigid. Even without looking, John knew he’d overstepped his bounds. Now the doc knew what the visit was about—that John thought he was nuts too with his buckets. His stomach flopped painfully and he wished to hell he’d never suggested the visit.

  “There were one or two,” Mrs. Bancroft said. “I’m not a miracle worker. But I’ll wager we’re faring better than most.” She looked at Dr. Heaton. “Is it still bad out there? The plague?”

  Dr. Heaton cleared his throat. “I’m afraid so.”

  “Tch!” She shook her head and stared into the fire. “There are some saying it’s the natural way. We’ve always had plague, you know.”

  Before John could respond, Geordie returned and set a tray down on the small footstool in front of the fire. On it was a chipped teapot and four cups and saucers.

  “Is it the Dandy tea, Geordie?” his grandmother asked, leaning forward to sniff the fumes coming from the pot.

  “Of course, Granny. Wouldn’t risk getting me ears boxed by bringing the wrong tea. Were you hoping for Earl Grey?”

  “Young scamp,” she said, smiling at him.

  “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of Dandy Tea,” Dr. Heaton said.

  “It’s dandelions,” Geordie said as he poured each cup and handed them around. “We all drink gallons of it.” He handed John his cup and said under his breath, “Mind you, it tastes like donkey piss.”

  “What’s that, Geordie?” Mrs. Bancroft said as she scanned the tray. “No honey?”

  Geordie jumped up to fetch the honey.

  In for a penny, John thought and took a long breath. “I was just wondering if you had any ideas why so few people here were affected by the sickness when it’s all over everywhere outside of here.”

  “Well, we’re very careful to boil our water, of course. And we filter it.”

  “And that’s it?” John asked, ignoring the movement next to him that indicated the doc was about to make their excuses to leave.

  “Pretty much,” she said, shrugging.

  Geordie returned with the honey and spooned a dollop into her cup. “Anyone else?” he asked.

  John and Dr. Heaton both shook their heads.

  “That’s not all, Granny,” Geordie said. He turned to John and Dr. Heaton. “We boil and filter all the water in the commune. Even the stuff we use to wash our clothes with. Can you imagine?”

  “You’re just a lazy little sod,” his grandmother said good-naturedly.

  John and Dr. Heaton laughed but John knew he was in for it once they were alone. He cursed himself for insisting the doc come with him to the commune.

  Oh, well, at least the old lady had a pleasant diversion, he thought.

  *****

  With the fifteen head of slowly ambling cows blocking the road back to Oxford, it occurred to John that it would’ve been faster to walk back home. He and Dr. Heaton sat in the SUV waiting for a slow-moving herd of Holsteins to get out of the way. The tension in the car seemed to be building minute by minute as John agonized over the audacity Dr. Heaton must think he showed to assume the commune could tell them anything about the disease.

  He glanced at Heaton’s profile. The man was concentrating on the road when there was nothing to see or do but hold the steering wheel and sit.

  What was I thinking? A stupid kid? Was I really trying to tell a scientist at Oxford University that there might be a connection between the commune and their lack of sickness? That’s just dumb and one thing is sure, it is not thinking like a scientist.

  Dr. Heaton’s eyes blinked as he stared at the road.

  Was the doc even thinking about John’s crime of arrogance? Maybe he was red
esigning the bucket in his head or something and not even thinking about this embarrassing waste of time…

  “It’s bloody odd how they’ve had so few people sicken,” Heaton said, frowning.

  John felt his pulse quicken. “I guess,” John said.

  Heaton turned to look at him. “The question is, is it something to do with country living? Or what they’re doing at the commune specifically?”

  John felt a flutter of hope that the doc wasn’t mad at him after all.

  “Good question,” he said, hoping not to derail the direction the doc’s thoughts seemed to be heading.

  “May I apologize to you, John?”

  Is he serious?

  “I was unbearably rude. To Mrs. Bancroft and to you.”

  “No you weren’t. I didn’t think you were.”

  “It’s just that I get caught up in my own little world, aye? So many scholars do and to get out like this and gain a fresh perspective, well it’s immeasurably helpful. So forgive me and thank you, lad.”

  John wanted to let out a loud whoop or at least do a fist pump. He settled for a big grin.

  “Do you think it could be like a family trait?” John asked. “The reason they had fewer people sick? Like maybe they have a genetic resistance?”

  “Good question, lad! Very good question.”

  John felt the flush of pride that he usually felt when he was with Dr. Heaton. It was more than just the fact that they seemed to speak the same language although there was certainly that. As long as John had been speaking, he’d had adults become ruffled and unhappy to hear what he had to say—as if a kid shouldn’t talk sense or at least not demonstrate openly that he can.

  And Dr. Heaton was the only person besides John’s father, David, who’d ever listened to him as an equal. He gave weight to John’s opinions and listened with his whole head and heart. And for that, if for nothing else, John knew he loved Finlay Heaton. That probably explained why when he thought about leaving to go find Gavin or to make his way back to the compound—as happy as that thought always made him—it also made him sad. Because now that he’d found Dr. Heaton and Gilly, he wanted them in his life going forward.