A Time to Heal

by Claire Rayner

  For a moment she saw a vision of Catherine’s face, the morning before they had gone to London for the Trafalgar Square meeting, saw again the way she had looked at her, the expression on her craggy face, and knew what he meant.

  “It would be good to work at Whyborne,” she said after a moment. “It’s an incredible place. Equipment, facilities—incredible.”

  He put his head to one side and looked at her consideringly. “Would it be so good? What about the—well, for want of a better word, what about the morality of it? Rich man’s privilege and all that. Doesn’t that come into it at all?”

  She shrugged a little. “I can’t pretend I’ve ever thought that much about it. Politics—I’m vaguely pink, I suppose—Patty used to call me a bourgeois liberal of the worst sort, but to be honest with you I’ve always found discussions of such things somewhat juvenile. Spotty young men and eager girls with bad cases of sex in the head sitting around in common rooms putting the world to rights with a few easy words. I’ve grown out of it.”

  “Oh, come on! This isn’t politics of that sort! This is something far more fundamental. You can’t tell me you’ve no views either way about the uses of your work—you can’t be so stupid. One way or the other, you have to be involved. No scientist today can possibly go on operating at any sort of worthwhile level without thinking out his own views—”

  “Oh, come off it, Theo! Don’t tell me Ross-Craigie’s thought it out!”

  “Yes he has. He’s a convinced self-seeker driven by cupidity, mainly, with a desperate need to be on top of the heap no matter how crappy a heap it may be, with all the underlying fascism that goes with such an attitude. He’s totally consistent in all he does. He puts William Ross-Craigie first, last and in the middle, and does what’s more profitable for him, every time. But you—you seem to operate in a vacuum sometimes! You’re talking about going to Whyborne just because of some—some misguided emotionalism about George. And about Gordon and his attitude to the future, I grant you that—I saw how deep that particular gibe went—even at the cost of causing yourself all sorts of personal loss. Look, Hattie, I’m not telling you you should stay at Brookbank–far from it. I’m human enough and petty enough and mean enough to want to see Oscar get his comeuppance, and get it he will if you go. I’d also like to see you at Whyborne in order that you get the chance to do the work you’re capable of, and get the rewards—in money and kudos—that you’re entitled to. And I’m not one of your pinkish lefties. I couldn’t care less about the rich-man, poor-man argument. But surely you have some ideas about the morality of it all?”

  She thought for a few moments. “Yes, I’ve got some ideas. Not very well formed perhaps, but—God, but it’s difficult to think about that side of it! Whenever I try, I keep thinking of other things. Of Patty and her damned Ben, and how they’ll get by in Montreal. Of George. He’ll be fit to be moved in another week, and that makes the decision—the final decision so bloody urgent, and Oscar—”

  “Try. It may help you to make the decision more easily,” he said and smiled at her encouragingly.

  “You look like a schoolmaster when you do that. All right, I’ll try. Morality—well, this rich-man, poor-man thing—I’ll tell you this much,” her voice took on a bitter note. “I can’t be the only one who’s lumbered with an old person they loathe, who’s got to make decisions about the life of such a person. Well, if this treatment—and it applies to mine as much as to Ross-Craigie’s—if it’s limited only to people who can pay for it, it’ll at least ensure that the only people who go on and on living into revolting old age are the ones with enough money to pay for the care they need. Rich old men aren’t as heavy a burden as poor ones. God knows I’d rather die myself in my sixties than live to be an albatross like George in my eighties.”

  “A valid point,” Theo said with a fine judicial air. “There’s a case for selection for death, just as there’s a case for selection for birth? Certainly, we’ll soon be at the stage of having to license people to give birth, and it’s logical to suppose that others will have to be hurried on their way a little to make room for the licensed newcomers. And money’s as good a way of selection as any, I suppose. In these egalitarian times, the ones with money tend to be the most capable, the most energetic, so why not?”

  “More schoolmasterish than ever, Theo. Take care or you’ll be looking over the top of your glasses at me.”

  “A delightful thought—almost worth getting glasses for. So, your social conscience could stand up to working at Whyborne. Well—”

  “And on a purely selfish note, it’d be pleasant at the very least to get away from all this trouble with the strikers. No one can enjoy running a gauntlet of pickets in and out of the place—and what it must be costing to run that generator every time they turn off the power—”

  “They’ve only done it twice this week. It could be worse—and Hattie, you’re naïve indeed if you think the striking and the rest of it will be escaped if you go to Whyborne, just as it was naïve of your Sydenham man to think it’d all stop when Ben went. For God’s sake, once you go there, the place’ll be bombarded, because you really will be doing what they merely think you’re doing now. Much as I hate to admit it, I must tell you that any high-minded attempt on your part to cool down that situation will depend on your staying here at Brookbank. But my own feeling is to hell with that—go to Whyborne and sit it out. Sefton won’t be the sort of man to be unduly worried by a few strikers. H’d cheerfully sit out a general strike as long as there was something in it for him.”

  “No doubt. So you think I should stick to my guns, Theo? Go to Whyborne, and forget Oscar?”

  “You could, you know.” He smiled at her with a great warmth. “You do yourself an injustice, you know, my dear. You’ve let Oscar—who you must know can be appallingly destructive when he tries—you’ve let him convince you that you’re totally without attraction for anyone but him. But do be logical, Hattie. If you were so sexually repellent, would he be—would he have been prepared to continue the liaison as long as he has? Would he be so prepared to go on into the future, as he clearly is if you stay here?”

  “Dear Theo, you are kind. But I know the power of habit. And that’s what I am to him. A habit he can break if he needs to.”

  He shook his head. “Such a nonsense. You really are—my silly Hattie, even at your age—about which you seem to be quite ridiculously self-conscious—you’re a handsome woman. You’ve obviously got a lot to offer any man, and you needn’t have any fears that—”

  He stopped sharply and leaned back in his chair, and his face seemed to close up suddenly.

  “I’d better stop. Not only will I not convince you, I might even alarm you more. After all, who am I to assess any woman’s sexual attractiveness?”

  “Theo, please, don’t …” she said, and put out her hand, and at once pulled it back.

  “You see?” he said. “I can’t help you, after all, can I?” He laughed lightly. “Why can’t I face up to reality and see what I really am, hmm, Hattie? I should have a little boy running before me with a sign saying, ‘Thou art but a surgical oaf,’ so that I stop trying to behave like a great wise psychotherapist. I thought you’d feel better if you were encouraged to talk, but as it is—”

  “I do feel better,” she said. “Much better. And I’ve made my decision. Really made it. I’ll go to Whyborne, and put up with–well, I’ll get along without—on my own. The sky won’t fall for want of Oscar. Will it?”

  He smiled then, with an enormous relief. “I’m delighted, Hattie. Really I am. I think you’re going for the wrong reasons, but I’m glad you are. And you’ll see, I’m right. It won’t be so—”

  A waiter was standing hovering behind him, and a little irritably Theo looked up.

  “Mr. Fowler, sir, is the lady with you Dr. Berry?”

  “What? Yes—this is Dr. Berry. Why?”

  “You’re wanted on the telephone, madam. The caller said he was sorry to disturb you, but it is urgent.�
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  “George—” she said and stood up, and Theo too pushed back his chair, and they hurried across the room together, watched by every other diner there, all obviously delighted to find so interesting a happening to exclaim and conjecture upon.

  But it wasn’t Sam Lemesurier’s voice that came clacking out of the telephone.

  “Dr. Berry? I’m so sorry to bother you in the middle of dinner like this, but I just didn’t know what else to do. Catherine’s not here and anyway—well, I think I’d be grateful if you’d come back tonight. I went to check the animal pens as usual, just before going off for the evening you know, and there was the policeman, all right and tight as usual, so no one could have got in—anyway, three of them—the capuchins, you know, not the rats or guinea pigs—three are ill and one of them is dead, poor little thing. And I—well, I know what I think it is, but I’m only a technician after all, so if you could—”

  “I’ll be there soon, John,” she said sharply. “Go back to the pens and stay there, and check every animal that we used, do you understand? I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  18

  THE YOUNG pink policeman put a beaker of tea in front of her, and said loudly, “It’s half past five, Dr. Berry. You ought to drink that and then go to bed. If you’ll forgive my saying so.”

  “You’re very kind,” she said absently, and obediently sipped the tea, which was very dark and very sweet, and then put the beaker down and forgot it at once.

  “John—which one is that? Have you started the RJ series, or are you still on the QI’s?”

  Gently, John slid the syringe needle out of the elbow crook of the small arm strapped to the bench, and flipped over the identity tag that was almost lost in the fur of the animal’s neck. It snapped at him as he moved, baring its teeth in a perfunctory grimace, and then lay quietly, staring up at him with unwinking black eyes.

  “QI 26, this one. I’ll start the RJ series as soon as I’ve got this lot of specimens ready to go back to the unit. Are you ready for this one?—stop it, you little brute. I’ll bite you back, you do that to your John—can you take him from me? Mind yourself now. He’s very put out at losing his beauty sleep—never a thought for poor tired old us, rotten little—over you go then—”

  He moved the animal to her bench, scolding and nattering at it but holding it with a gentleness that it clearly approved of, because it tucked its head down into his neck, and scrabbled against his chest with feet and hands, its tail waving majestically so that it curled under John’s nose and made him scold even more.

  She took her own animal across the room to the far pens, trying not to count up the total, but finding it repeating itself over and over in her mind.

  One dead, and clearly it must have been hit with a particularly virulent form of disease to have succumbed quite so quickly, and three very ill, lying lethargic and dull-eyed in their pens. All from the first series she had treated. And in the same series, seven doubtfuls, some with masses in their abdomens, some with scattered glands in axillae and groins. It was an ominous total.

  She stretched her back wearily as she shut the cage door on the animal she had slipped into its straw-covered sleeping box, and turned to stare across at the working area. On each side of her the cages stretched away into the warm dimness, and she could hear the sleepy chattering of the animals, and the rustling of their straw bedding as some of them rooted around, disturbed by the activity in the big room.

  The working benches were vividly lit, a clearly defined pool of white light centered in front of each of the tall stools. John finished fixing the restrainers on the monkey on her bench, and then turned to peer into the dimness, looking for her.

  “All ready, Dr. Berry—and I don’t think there’s any trouble with this one. He’s a great deal too cheeky altogether to have much wrong with him.”

  She came across the room into the light and smiled at him. “I hope not—my God, John, you look—what time did that man say it was? Your eyes look like—”

  “Pissholes in the snow, as my old grandma used to say, dirty old thing that she was. Ooh, I’m sorry, Dr. Berry—what was I thinking of, talking to you like that? You must be thinking I’m terrible. But there, I’m a bit past it, one way and another, and it just slipped out, as the—there I go again! If I wasn’t going to come out with something worse! It’s getting on for six, since you asked. No point in going to bed now is there? Too early altogether. Another hour, and we’ll have checked the lot. And I don’t know about you, but I couldn’t sleep till I’d got the whole lot of them finished.”

  He looked at her through his red-rimmed eyes, and then his gaze slid away, embarrassed, and she smiled at him, and said, “Thanks, John. I appreciate it. Try not to be too miserable. Not yet anyway.”

  “Well, I’m trying, that I am, but I tell you, I could cry, really I could. I was as sure as sure you’d done it. Really proud of you. Well, I still am, and I know it’s just—I mean, I had such a nasty shock, you see, coming over to feed the little buggers, and there it lay, all stretched out and nasty. Really turned me up, it did. I was so sure, you see, it came as a double shock.”

  “It’s unscientific to be sure till you’ve got your long-term results. You ought to know that by now.” She was examining the animal on the bench, her fingers moving across its belly, reaching into the fur under its outstretched arms, and it gibbered a little as she worked, turning its head from side to side as it tried to reach her restraining hold.

  “Oh, I know that, but you can’t deny, you were sure too, now weren’t you?”

  “I should have known better,” she said, and with the skillful ease of long practice held the monkey’s jaw so that it had to open its mouth in a wide gape, and she could see easily into the gleaming pink cavern with its wickedly white little teeth. “This one’s all right—but I didn’t expect otherwise. He’s from the last series but two—all the recurrences we’ve found are in the first series only. Just over a year.”

  “They are recurrences, I suppose? Or is that a silly question?” John said, and began to make a list of blood test specimens on the laboratory requisition forms, clicking the crimson-filled glass bottles from one metal mesh rack to another as he counted them.

  “Yes,” she said shortly, and went to put the monkey back in its pen before opening the last cage to start on the most recent series, the RJ’s—according to her own code, the series she had treated last spring. For a moment she stood still, remembering the smell of lilac coming in through the open windows of the unit as she and Catherine and John had put the little black creatures, strapped onto their trolleys, into the oxygen chamber, had checked over the results of all the previous series, and let hope and a secret sureness start building.

  Yet hopefully almost sure as she had been she had always expected something like last night. Somewhere deep in her mind she knew the expectation of it had lain, as inevitable as the realization of the hopes had seemed to be.

  She had stood there in the doorway, Theo beside her and the policeman peering over their shoulders looking at John sitting lugubriously on the tall stool and staring down at the small body of the monkey on its enameled white tray. It had lain there, it’s fur looking springy with health in the light, its eyes half-open, and it was almost as though it were alive until she touched it, and felt the cool flaccidity under the fur, saw the head roll lazily, sickeningly, sideways.

  They had put it into the cold room, waiting for daylight and a postmortem examination, and she had taken off her coat and reached for the plastic overall that was waiting beside the bench, tying it on over her black silk grosgrain dress with only a momentary awareness of its incongruity.

  “You aren’t, surely, going to work tonight, Hattie?” Theo standing there in the doorway with his coat collar still pulled up round his ears had seemed as irrelevant as a buzzing fly. “It’s almost midnight!”

  “I won’t be long,” she had said, already moving swiftly, getting out syringes and needles, biopsy trocars and cannulae, bottle
s of local anesthetic. “I really won’t be long—” and for all she knew he had gone immediately or had stayed watching them work for hours, for she had at once forgotten him, had forgotten the policeman, been aware only of herself and John and the monkeys as living and important creatures.

  And now, though she knew academically that some hours had passed, it was as though she had been here only a few minutes, either that or all her life. It was an odd sensation, to be working so smoothly and efficiently inside a body that tried to drag her down with its boring weariness and aching; that she was working well she knew with certainty as she watched her own smooth brown-rubber-gloved hands moving in front of her, saw them check animal after animal, take biopsy specimens from one after another; but that she was achingly desperately tired she knew just as well, for her eyes were hot and sandy, and no doubt looked as red-rimmed as John’s.

  She remembered what he had said about his eyes and giggled suddenly, and he looked at her and said sympathetically, “Like that, is it? I do know—I could positively shriek with it, myself. But that’s the last, Dr. Berry. I’ve got the bloods all ready to go over, so I think I’d better go and get them into the fridge as soon as soon–never do to have all this work wasted just by not getting them preserved right. Shall I come back?”

  “What? Oh—oh, no. No, there’s no more we can do now. Well begin the tests on those as soon as we start in the morning.”

  “Catherine will, you mean. Willing and eager as I am, Dr. Berry, no sight nor sound of me does anybody have a minute before lunchtime. Two o’clock, I’d thought, in my hopeful way—”

  “Oh, yes—yes, of course. Two o’clock will be fine. And—er–John.”

  He looked back at her from the door, his face crumpled with fatigue under his ruffled fair hair, and looking very much older with a tired and waxen expression replacing the pertly eager one he usually wore.