Bad Medicine- A Life for a Life; Bed of Nails; Going Viral

by Puckett, Andrew

  ‘Oh yes, I’d forgotten. Oxford’s your home from home, isn’t it?’

  He smiled. ‘Actually, I am escaping, as from tomorrow. I’ve got a week’s leave.’ ‘Going anywhere?’

  ‘Greece.’

  ‘Lucky chap. I envy you.’

  He looked at me curiously. ‘What brings you back, Chris?’

  ‘Oh, apparently they’re short-staffed again, so they’ve sent for me, via the agency.’ I made a mock bow. ‘At your service, sir. Anyway,’ I said as I saw Carey’s Range-Rover approaching, ‘I’m a bit late, so I’d better get on.’

  ‘We’ll have a drink some time,’ he called after me as I was swallowed by the gloom of two flights of dingy stairs.

  The clock in Reception said 9.20, I was late; they were all in, and all looked round at me as I pushed open the door of the main laboratory.

  Sally’s face showed as much surprise as the others, but at least hers was tinged with pleasure.

  ‘Chris! What are you doing here?’

  ‘Working, I hope. The agency said you needed someone.’

  ‘Yes, but… we didn’t think… ’ She turned to Philip Snow, the section head in that area. He was already coming towards me.

  ‘There must be some mistake, Chris,’ he said in a low voice. ‘We were told it wouldn’t be you.’

  ‘Oh. Does it matter?’

  ‘Not as far as I’m concerned, but… Look, you’d better wait here while I tell Ron.’ He made for the door.

  The others, about ten of them, turned back to their benches and resumed working as I walked over to Sally.

  ‘What was that all about?’

  She shrugged helplessly. ‘Ron said only last week that you weren’t coming back — he seemed so certain about it… ’

  ‘Never mind,’ I said. ‘How’s things?’

  She made a mouth. ‘You know John and I have split up, I suppose?’

  ‘He told me when he wrote a couple of weeks back. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be. I only wish it had happened months ago.’

  ‘When did it happen?’

  ‘Just over a month — ’ She broke off as Ron and Phil came back.

  ‘I’m sorry, Chris,’ said Ron in his strident Yorkshire as he came towards me. ‘It won’t do. You can’t stay here.’

  ‘But you have asked for a locum, haven’t you?’

  ‘I asked for a virologist, we need someone who can culture cells.’

  This was news to me. ‘Well, I’ve done some cell culture… ’

  He was shaking his head. ‘It has to be recent, Chris, not a week ten years ago when you were at college.’

  ‘I’ve just had a month in the Virology Unit in Birmingham,’ I said mildly, ‘culturing cells. I wouldn’t have thought your methods would be that much different here.’

  It was pure luck. Before Birmingham, my knowledge had been pretty much as he’d described.

  I looked at him curiously. Behind his spectacles, his eyes were hunting around and you could feel the rest of the room tuning into us.

  ‘All right,’ he said at last, ‘a week’s trial. But I’m warning you — ’ he held up a pudgy finger — ‘if I find someone more suitable in the meantime, I’m taking them on. Show him where to go, Phil.’ He strode out.

  I turned to Phil in amazement. ‘What on earth’s got into him?’

  He shrugged his lean shoulders. ‘You know what he’s like when he’s got a bee in his bonnet about someone. Come on, I’ll take you to the cell lab. You’ll be working with Ian Lambourne.’

  I turned to Sally. ‘See you later. How about lunch?’

  She smiled and nodded and then I followed Phil into the corridor.

  As we reached the Research Unit where John worked, I said, ‘Excuse me a moment,’ and put my head round the door. John wasn’t there.

  ‘Where is he?’ I asked.

  Phil said quickly, ‘Don’t ask me.’ And then, ‘He’ll be in later, I expect. You know how he pleases himself.’

  Ian and I remembered each other and the work held no surprises, so we settled down quite easily. Unlike bacteria, which can grow almost anywhere, viruses need live mammalian cells in which to grow, so to culture them you have to culture the cells in glass test-tubes first. It’s tricky, but rather tedious work.

  We reached a natural break at around 10.30 and went along to the rest-room. Heads lined the walls, mostly bent over books or magazines, but John’s sandy hair wasn’t among them. I helped myself to coffee and sat down.

  Silence reigned, as usual.

  Most of the faces were familiar or half-familiar, but there were one or two new ones, I noticed.

  ‘Anyone heard anything from John yet?’ I asked.

  Ron spoke. ‘We’ve learned not to expect that kind of courtesy from Mister Devlin.’

  Silence reigned again. I should have remembered, no one liked to speak while Ron was still in the room…

  A pair of eyes that had flickered up when I’d mentioned John’s name remained fastened to me. He was sitting in the corner, a keen-featured man with neat brown hair. He didn’t look away when I glanced at him, but continued to regard me thoughtfully.

  *

  ‘Well, Ron’s certainly got it in for you,’ said Sally an hour or so later over her pie and chips. No slimmer, Sally.

  ‘So what’s new?’ I said gloomily.

  Sally didn’t need to be a slimmer. She had one of those big, gorgeous figures that can take spare flesh. She also had milky skin and wide grey eyes framed with long gold hair.

  ‘No, I mean it,’ she said, ‘I overheard him ’phoning your agency. D’you know what he said?’

  ‘No, but I expect you’re going to tell me.’

  She leaned forward. ‘He was furious with them, called them all sorts of names because they thought he’d asked especially for you, when in fact he’d said he’d take anyone except you.’

  I sat up. ‘Really?’

  ‘Really! He demanded they send someone else immediately, but I gathered they didn’t have anyone. Anyway, I had to move after that because Dr Carey came into the corridor.’

  I said slowly, ‘I know we didn’t get on, but… saying he’d take any locum except me… don’t you think that’s going a bit far?’

  She shrugged. ‘Who can explain the workings of Ron’s mind?’ Then, after a pause: ‘I think, in his mind, he’ll always associate you with John, and you know how he feels about John.’

  ‘Perhaps you’re right.’ I looked up. ‘You’ve no idea where John is, have you?’ She shook her head. ‘I think I’ll look round after work in case he’s at home.’

  ‘Give him all our love if he is.’

  ‘Bitch,’ I said, grinning. Then: ‘Sally, who’s that new bloke, the smallish one who was in the corner of the rest-room? I’ve not seen him before, have I?’

  ‘Oh, that’s Dave, he’s been seconded to us to look at our data-handling system. He came last week, I think, or was it the week before?’ She looked up. ‘Why?’

  ‘No reason. Why don’t you and I go out tonight for a drink?’ I said it impulsively, forgetting about John for a moment because she looked so good.

  ‘I’d love to, but I can’t.’

  ‘New boyfriend?’

  She smiled coquettishly. ‘It depends.’

  ‘Depends on what?’

  ‘What happens tonight.’ She grinned. ‘Tell you what! You can take me out tomorrow and I’ll tell you about it.’

  Shortly after this, we went back to the lab. She’s got her confidence back since leaving John, I thought. Certainly hasn’t taken her long to find a new beau.

  The afternoon passed quickly enough and at five-fifteen I was on my way round to John’s flat. He lived in the rabbit-warren of terraces in the triangle between the Iffley and Cowley Roads, the sort of area that used to be looked down on, but to which the estate agents are now awarding ‘Character’, because it’s more than seventy years old.

  Up two flights of dim lino-covered stairs in a nameless stre
et, to a small landing; I knocked on the dark varnished door.

  No answer.

  I knocked again and said softly, ‘John, it’s me, Chris.’

  Silence.

  I tried the smooth brass handle, but it was locked.

  ‘John, are you all right? Come on, I won’t give you away.’

  The door on the other side landing opened and I turned to see a grey, unshaven face peering like an animal out of its burrow.

  ‘He ain’t there.’

  ‘D’you know where he is?’

  The face seemed to retreat as I approached. ‘No.’

  I thought quickly. ‘When was he last in?’

  ‘Dunno. Friday, I fink.’

  ‘Did he say he was going away?’

  ‘No.’ The door began to close.

  ‘Wait a minute — is there anyone he might have left a message with?’

  ‘Dunno. Landlord mebbe.’

  ‘Where can I find him?’

  ‘Next door. Number free.’ He disappeared as the door clicked shut.

  I thoughtfully descended the stairs and found number ‘free’, the next house, wondering why it is that so many natives of Oxford seem unable to pronounce ‘th’. I knocked.

  Again.

  Not in, or just not answering, it could be either round here.

  I climbed back into Bile and wound down the window. Then pulled out John’s note.

  Dear Chris (it read),

  Thanks for your letter. It’ll be good to see you again, too, except that you’ll have to see me and Sally separately now. Well, I knew it would happen.

  I’m nearly there, Chris, just one more heave! If the bastards’ll give me a little peace, the whole project should be finished by the time you’re here. America, here we come! I’ve had one offer already, but I’m hanging on for a better one. We’ll go out Monday night and celebrate and I’ll tell you all about it.

  John

  Not the letter of someone who’s about to do a bunk, I thought as I put it away. So where was he?

  I drove Bile over to the small car park I’d found last year, sandwiched between the canal and Port Meadow. Beside it was a small piece of waste ground surrounded by willows where I wouldn’t be in anyone’s way. I cooked a meal and slowly ate it before having a wash.

  Then I listened to the radio for a while without paying very much attention, as I stared across the broad sunlit expanse of the meadow. The truth was that I didn’t know what to do with myself. Walk across to the Perch for a drink, perhaps? No, for once I wanted someone to talk to.

  Then I remembered Charles’s suggestion that morning that we have a drink, so I quickly tidied everything away and drove over to where he lodged when he was in Oxford.

  His eyes widened in surprise as he opened the door. ‘Hello, Chris. What can I do for you?’

  ‘You can let me buy you that drink you mentioned this morning.’

  ‘I’m in the middle of packing just at the moment.’ A tiny wave of irritation crossed his face before his customary good manners reasserted themselves. ‘Come on in a moment, I won’t be long.’

  I followed him to his room where a case lay open on the bed.

  ‘Actually, I’ve nearly finished. Sit down over there while I check.’

  I sank into a comfortable armchair while he muttered to himself as he went through the contents of his case.

  ‘That’ll have to do,’ he said, snapping it shut. ‘I’ll come out and have a quick one with you in the local, then I really must go. Got to be up by five tomorrow.’

  His local was just that — about four doors away. I bought a couple of pints of bitter and took them over to where he was sitting.

  ‘Charles, I’m sorry if I came at a bad moment, I should have realized you’d be packing.’

  ‘That’s all right, it was my suggestion. I’m rather glad you came now. Cheers.’ He took a mouthful of beer. ‘Although I can’t think what I’ve done to deserve this honour. I’d have thought you’d have been out with John.’

  ‘He’s not around. He wasn’t at the lab today, didn’t you know?’

  ‘I hadn’t noticed, but then our paths don’t tend to cross much.’

  ‘No, I suppose not.’ I drank some beer myself. ‘Nobody seems to know where he is.’

  ‘He’ll turn up. Like the bad penny he is.’ His voice trembled slightly and I looked up. He compressed his lips in a small gesture of resignation. ‘I’ll be honest, Chris, I’ve never understood how you two got on.’

  ‘Just one of those things.’ I had no intention of trying to explain to Charles something I didn’t really understand myself. ‘Tuesday seems an odd day to start a holiday,’ I said to change the subject.

  ‘It was a cheap last-minute offer. There’s a lull in my work at the moment, so I grabbed it.’

  ‘Don’t blame you,’ I said, a trifle wistfully. ‘What are you doing in the lab at the moment?’

  His face lit up. ‘A field trial of our new HIV antigen test. If it works the way we think it does, it’ll revolutionize HIV serology.’

  I listened with half an ear while he delved into the minutiae of the test and was almost relieved when he said he must be going. He had to go to his flat in London to collect his passport.

  I drove back to the trees. The sun hadn’t yet gone down. I tried to read a book but couldn’t settle to it. My mind was restless with thoughts and my heart seemed filled with anxieties and emotions I couldn’t place.

  Impatiently, I locked up Bile and set out across the Meadow to the river. Stood gazing at the reflection of the poplars in the water while their leaf music washed over me. Upstream, the surface of the river glinted like a ribbon of mercury in the evening light.

  I turned and walked downstream to the bridge, then up past the boatyards on the other bank to the Perch, where I sat drinking in the garden, trying to sort out my thoughts and feelings as the swallows shrilled overhead.

  As the light faded and the bats flitted silently to and fro, such a feeling of unreality took me for a moment that I had to grip my legs to make sure they were really there.

  One year ago I would have been sitting like this in Somerset with Jill. Suddenly then — and now — were a thousand years apart, yet separated by only a paper-thin sheet of glass…

  Glad of the darkness, I buried my face in my hands.

  *

  They say it’s best when death comes quickly. I don’t know. They say that the words that you last spoke together aren’t important. I hope not.

  We’d quarrelled and she’d stormed out of the house. I’d heard the car accelerate furiously away. I didn’t begin to worry until nearly two hours later, by which time she’d been dead for over an hour.

  They tell me she didn’t suffer and sometimes I believe it, but not a minute passes when I wouldn’t give my life to be able to say ‘sorry’.

  I’ve heard it said that luck evens itself out over a lifetime, and I suppose my own life had been pretty cushy until then. Except, perhaps, when my parents died.

  I’d inherited their house in Watchport and had lived there ever since. With no money problems and no other worries, I’d drifted through a life that was maybe a little dull, until Jill had come along and given it the seasoning it needed.

  After she was killed I had, well, medical problems and didn’t go back to work for nearly two months. When I did, they were all terribly sympathetic. Terribly.

  I am — was, rather — a Senior Scientific Officer in a hospital laboratory. I’m good at my job, I like it, but I knew by lunch-time that I couldn’t stay.

  So I signed on with Athena, a London-based agency that handles locum lab workers; bought and equipped Bile and a month later was on the road. Athena have London pretty well covered, so I go anywhere else, Birmingham, Cardiff, Reading, for however long I’m needed. There’s plenty of work. Medical laboratory staff are leaving the profession in droves as the pay and prospects grow worse, and Athena are always having to answer cries for help.

  I’m a nomad, but o
nly a semi-nomad, since I usually go home to Watchport for weekends. I like the life. It’s a good way of keeping people at arm’s length, of being alone when I want to be alone.

  I walked back unsteadily across the Meadow in the moonlight, drank some water and fell into bed.

  But not to sleep. The leaves of the willows outside seemed to carry a message different from the poplars, so I listened, and thought about John and Sally and how we’d met.

  It was certainly different when I’d started locum work, autumn, and getting colder every day. I soon learned how to wrap up warmly though, and to use the shower and canteen at whatever hospital I found myself. Jan. and Feb. were no joke, mind you, and I took hospital accommodation when I could and damn the expense.

  Anyway, the job at the National Microbiology Laboratory in Oxford was my third and I had been looking forward to working somewhere civilized for a change — that’s a laugh!

  It was mid-November, I had arrived early at the lab and Sally was the first person I saw, a flash of gold by the window as she’d turned her head.

  ‘Oh, hello,’ she’d said, ‘you must be the new locum. I’m Sally.’

  ‘Chris.’ I held out my hand.

  She turned back to the window. ‘Look at that. Magic. I never get tired of it.’

  Outside, the sun was rising through the mist over the line of the rooftops. The Dreaming Spires, scattered like chess pieces, seemed to repel the surrounding opalescence with their solidity and yet to belong to it at the same time.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ I murmured. And then after a pause: ‘I don’t think I’d ever get tired of a view like that, either.’ I turned to her with a smile. ‘Do you know what they’re all called?’

  ‘Oh yes. You see that one, trying to look like St Paul’s, that’s the Radcliffe Camera. And over there, rather aloof, is Tom Tower, and next to it, this hospital’s namesake, St Frideswide’s. Or should that be the other way round, the hospital the Cathedral’s namesake?’

  Sally had this wonderful gift of being able to put anyone at ease and soon we were talking like old friends. She asked me where I was staying and I rather self-consciously told her about Bile.

  ‘So you’re a sort of gipsy,’ she said, looking at me with new interest.

  ‘Left the earrings at home today,’ I said apologetically.