“Asking for trouble?”
“Something would be bound to go wrong, your honour. We’re on tight enough staffing as it is these days.”
“I see,” said the judge. “Alright, thank you. How about you, Mrs Choudrey?”
Mrs Choudrey was the National Health Service person.
“Your honour,” she said, “it makes no sense to me for the NHS to take on responsibility for Mr Smith. The man is clearly not sick and does not require medical attention.”
“Indeed,” said the judge. “But after what we just heard from Dr Nichols, do you not think there are some potential health risks for Mr Smith?”
Mrs Choudrey paused for a moment.
“There may be health risks, your honour, but as we have heard, so far they have not manifested. We can all see for ourselves today that the man is perfectly fine. Should a health issue arise, of course a hospital would be the best place for him, but otherwise, I could not justify the expenditure to cover his care—at least not within our existing budgets and mandate.”
“Yet Dr Nichols was very clear that Mr Smith’s condition was requiring of medical research.”
“I would agree, your honour, of course. However, the investigation of such an unusual condition, the only known case, cannot be considered a priority for the NHS. As I say, not within our existing budgets and mandate. Even if the government were to make funds available, I would suggest it would be more appropriate for a university or a private medical research institute to take on that task.”
“Alright,” said the judge. “Thank you, Mrs Choudrey. You may both sit down.”
And both of them sat down.
*****
So it seemed no one wanted me. I felt like a football, being kicked from one end of the field to the other. Then, of course, I discovered that several people wanted me, only I wasn’t sure I wanted them.
Before that though, the judge granted everyone a short break, which turned into a longer break when I realised I needed a wee.
Back in the car with Butter again.
“You know,” he said as we drove off. “I will miss these little trips of ours.”
“Seriously?” I said.
“Yeah.” He nodded. “Gets me away from the desk.”
“I see,” I said. “How about a pit stop this time then?”
He chuckled and shook his head to himself, but actually, good sport that he was turning out to be, he did let me nip out at Tesco’s. It was wonderful to be able to peruse those shelves and get my hands on all those lovely goodies. I restrained myself, of course, not wanting to return to court with arm-loads of nibbles. So a bottle of Coke, a Mars bar, a Snickers and a couple of bags of Monster Munch it was (one for Butter, of course, which he appreciated).
Once I had laid waste to another corner of that poor field, Butter and I stood, eating our snacks by the car.
“I always did like Monster Munch,” he said, munching away on that bag I got him.
“They’re the crisps of choice for freaks,” I said.
“Ah, you’ll be alright.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“You’d be surprised what might happen.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Don’t knock it,” he said, finishing the bag, scrunching it up and chucking it over his shoulder. “Whatever happens now, you’ll be taken care of. You don’t need to worry about that.”
He opened the car door, beckoning for me to get in the other side.
“You know what?” he said when I was inside. “I almost wish I could wake up one day pissing super strong acid.”
“Whatever,” I said.
“I’m serious,” he said. “Work like a dog, I do. And no bloody thanks from anyone, I can tell you that. Being a copper’s not exactly a walk in the park. It would be nice to take some time off for a change, not to have to worry about things.”
“Well, why don’t you a rob a bank then?” I said. “And supposing you don’t get away with it, at least that’ll be your ticket into the slammer hotel. The food isn’t half bad either, you know.”
He seemed lost in thought for a minute, then laughed to himself whimsically. I tucked into the Snickers bar, waiting for him to drive off.
“You’re not going to eat all that crap now, are you?”
I shrugged at him.
“Jesus,” he said, putting the car into gear. “No wonder your gut’s toxic.”
CHAPTER 17
THE FINAL PART OF THE HEARING basically consisted of two blokes slogging it out, trying to prove which one was the cleverest, was richest, could rattle off the longest words and knew the most important people. An oddly conceived effort to woo me and the rest of that crowd in the court. It was kind of like how I remembered university, but let’s not go there.
So in one corner of the dragon’s den stood Daryl. Wiry, nerdy, bespectacled, but wearing a lovely pin-striped suit.
In the other, there was this bloke called Clive. He was much older than Daryl, maybe in his fifties, I’d say, and he let that superiority of years seep out of him in rich smugness.
“It is now time to consider the petitions,” the judge said. “I understand we have two that have gone through the process and passed all the financial, structural and environmental viability thresholds, as well as safety and security tests. Could you both please stand up.”
Daryl now stood up, as did the older bloke I just mentioned. The judge consulted his papers and read off the details. “Mr Clive Woodbridge, on behalf of the Institute for Advanced Materials. And Mr Daryl York, on behalf of . . . Leading Edge Solar Ray Research Materials Ltd, an Omega Group company.”
The judge made a bit of a meal reading off Daryl’s ridiculously long company name, and several people laughed.
“Rather a mouthful, that last one.” He smiled, peering up at everyone over his spectacles. “So, Mr Smith, I should like to make it clear to you now what these petitions mean, as this part will be particularly crucial to you.”
He looked at me, so I stood up.
“Thank you, your honour,” I said.
“That’s alright, Mr Smith. That’s why we’re all here, after all.”
“Okay,” I said.
“You may sit down, Mr Smith. I am simply going to explain, but if you do have any questions, I will be happy to answer them.”
I sat down.
“So, Mr Smith,” he continued. “These two gentlemen have each separately made a petition for further involvement in your case. It is for them to explain the merits of their respective positions, both scientifically and personally for you, and also to the other official parties present who must all reach consensus on any decisions taken today, but I should point out that yours is the deciding vote and you are in no way obligated to accept the requests of either. They are simply here because they wish to be a part of your future, presumably to benefit their own interests, but they are also well aware that your interests as an individual are of prime concern to us here. You must judge what each has to say and decide for yourself whether or not whatever they offer is something that you wish to be involved with in future. Do you understand?”
“I think so,” I said, wondering what it all meant.
“Good,” said the judge. “So without any further delay, let us begin. Mr Woodbridge, you may go first.”
Daryl sat down and now the older bloke, Mr Woodbridge, stepped forwards. Straight away, he actually made me a little uncomfortable, as, rather than talking to the judge like everyone else had done so up until that point, he began by walking to the space between the front tables and where the judge sat and approached me directly.
“Hello, David,” he said with an overbearing smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
He put out his hand for me to shake.
“Hi,” I said, looking up at him, shaking his hand of course, not really feeling at ease, though, and noticing that it was rather sweaty.
“Can I call you Dave?” he said.
“Sure, if you want,” I said
.
“Cool. Cheers, dude,” he said, winking, trying very hard to sound relaxed and trendy, before stepping back and once again addressing everyone as if he was the emcee at a wedding.
Not cool. In that one moment he’d lost me for life. If you’re reading this and even remotely middle-aged, please, for God’s sake, don’t ever try to be “down with the kids” or talk in ways you’re not comfortable just to “be on the level” with the younger generation. They have names for teachers that do that. They always do.
*****
Anyway, this Clive had a lot to talk about. A hell of a lot. There was this new building in particular that he kept banging on about, the Institute for Advanced Materials, which was going to be the best thing since sliced bread, with all kinds of fancy equipment and whatnot, bringing together the best minds in Britain and blah blah blah. He really made a song and dance about the whole thing, dropping all sorts of showy names like Cambridge and something called the National Graphene Innovation Centre and even apparently claiming that his institute would save the country and was a “missing link,” the “critical mass” that would kick-start the “Northern Powerhouse” and the “north’s route-map for productivity.” They had hundreds of millions of pounds from the government that, by the look of his expensive watch and shoes and whatnot, I was sure he was probably skimming off the top of. Nope, I didn’t like this bloke one bit, as you can probably tell, and what’s more, he hardly ever mentioned me or my situation, so I quickly got to the point where I was completely lost. I stopped listening, just wondering when he would finish.
Then he just sort of did finish, and once again, he was looking at me.
“So, Dave,” he said, smiling that awful smile again. “Would you like to come and stay with us in Manchester?”
“Manchester?” I said.
“Yes,” he said. “Close by to the institute. We can provide you with a flat and a stipend and—”
“A stipend?”
Now he was just being silly.
“Yes, Dave,” he said. “Living expenses.”
“Ah,” I said. “So you’re going to pay me?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
“To come and live in Manchester.”
“Yes. It’s a great city.”
If you say so, I thought.
“Do you live there?” I said.
“Me?” He laughed. “Oh, no. I’m based in Cambridge.”
Once again, he seemed to be name-dropping. He pronounced it like it was the be all and end all of the world.
“And what do you want me to do in Manchester?”
“Do?” He seemed to find this funny. “Well, you’ll be helping us with our research.”
“Research into what? My piss?”
He frowned.
“Research into cutting-edge materials, as I have just been explaining.”
“And my piss is cutting-edge, is it?”
I don’t know why, but this bloke wound me up something proper, and I was losing control of my ability to be a polite citizen. The judge was frowning at me now, and the lawyer, Margaret, was staring at me in horror.
“Your urine is certainly worthy of research, yes. And as many have commented, developing a viable containment material is step one in that endeavour.”
He was being serious now, and I could also sense by the way he looked at me—impatiently—that he didn’t like the fact that he had to explain these things to me and that I was the one to make the decision. I got the feeling that, for him, it was a given and that everyone should be very grateful and worship at his feet. To be honest, I just didn’t like his vibe.
“Thanks,” I said, “but I think I’ll pass.”
“David,” Margaret hissed at me from my side.
“What?” I said to her. “I don’t want to go to Manchester. And this bloke isn’t selling it to me. The judge said—”
“Yes, the judge said it was your decision, but you need to hear all the arguments first. This isn’t a game, you know.”
“No, it’s not,” I said. “It’s my flipping life.”
And she just sort of sat back in a huff, putting a finger to her temple like I’d given her a headache.
“Dave.” It was Clive talking again. “Wouldn’t you like the chance to help out in one of the top research institutes in the country? Wouldn’t you like to make a difference and give Britain the edge in this field? It really is cutting-edge stuff.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I get that. I’m just not sure if I’d fit in.”
He laughed. Stupidly, I thought, because it turned me against him even more.
“You don’t have to fit in, Dave,” he said. “You only need to provide us regular samples and undergo some examinations and things.”
“But that’s what I asked you before. What will I do?”
“Do?” He looked really confused now. “Sorry, Dave. I don’t understand.”
“Never mind then,” I said.
“You can do whatever you want, Dave,” he said, scrambling his words out now, clearly worried that his full-proof presentation hadn’t worked as perfectly as he had imagined. “Manchester’s a big university city with lots going on. All kinds of interesting places and culture and things to do for a young man such as yourself.”
He didn’t know me at all, clearly. I wasn’t into big and showy. Never had been.
“Nah,” I said. “I don’t think I’ll like it. I’m not really into big cities and all that.”
“But, Dave, it’s Manchester.”
Now he said the word “Manchester” just like he’d said the word “Cambridge,” and that wound me up too.
“So what?” I said.
“Oh, I give up.”
And do you know he did just that, giving up, turning away from me in disgust. Like a child really.
“Mr Woodridge,” said the judge. “Have you finished with your petition?”
“Dave.” This Clive turned back to me again. “Look, it’s up to you, but you should know this is a really good offer. Most people can only dream of this. Being a part of something like this. Getting paid, being independent, not having to worry—”
“I would have to worry though,” I said. “I’d have to worry where to pee.”
“What do you mean?” he cried, getting all worked up. “I explained about the facilities. We’ll have a specially prepared chemically resistant propylene field right there for you to urinate in.”
“Oh,” I said. “Sorry. I didn’t hear that part.”
I wasn’t sorry, but what with all that waffle he’d been waffling, I genuinely hadn’t heard anything about a “specially prepared chemically resistant propylene field.” Plus, in my defence, I had no idea what that meant.
*****
Daryl was different, of course. I’d never liked him at the doc’s, but he was much changed now. All confident and witty and even a little bit funny—at least the parts that I understood.
“Hello, everyone,” he said, smiling, when it was his turn. “I’m Daryl, founder of Leading Edge Solar Ray Research Materials Ltd. And yes”—he had a cheeky smile—“we are an Omega Group company. I’ll admit it is a long name for a very simple thing, so let me explain a bit about what we do. Dave”—he looked down at me—“I’m going to use big words now. Don’t worry though. I doubt you’ll be the only one who struggles. Personally, I don’t understand half of the terms either, but my team are all extremely clever scientists and it’s one of those areas where you just can’t get away from it.”
“No worries,” I said.
He was being honest at least.
“I’ll get to the part about what I want you to do in a minute, okay?”
“How’s your mum?” I said.
“She’s fine now, Dave,” he said, smiling. “Just fine. Don’t worry.”
“Good,” I said. “She’s a nice lady, you know. A very nice lady.”
*****
I assumed that whatever business and girlfriend troubles Daryl had been havin
g were now history, because he really did seem to be very sparky and in fine form. He launched into an explanation of what his company did, and I couldn’t help being impressed, at least by those parts that made any sense.
“We are a lean and mean research and development machine,” he explained, “with the single-minded aim of developing the space-faring materials of the future. It’s our obsession. We want to be a part of the great project of the twenty-first century, taking man to other planets, safely and successfully. Basically, we’re a bunch of nerds obsessed with space travel, and we’re prepared to put in the work to see our dream of a human-populated solar system take flight. We want nothing more, and nothing less, than to do our bit to help man leap to the stars.”
I listened to him, in something of a dream state myself. Take man to the stars? It was all very inspiring stuff, making me think of a number of my favourite films and TV shows. It was all the more interesting because none of it seemed to have anything to do with my case. It was nice not to have to think about it—for a few minutes, at least.
“Let me explain a little about the Omega Group,” he continued. “For those that don’t know, it’s a network of companies, an information-sharing and investment portal that helps its members achieve their goals collectively. We all want the same thing—a bright future for humanity—and we are not limited by borders or by the horizons of our own limited perspectives. There are members all over the world, from all walks of life. The only requirements are vision, passion, know-how and the zeal of honest, hard work.”
Even the judge seemed a little transfixed by all this.
“Now, to our friend Dave here,” said Daryl. He looked down at me. “I must admit, when we first met, I took a bit of a dislike to you.”
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