‘Yes,’ said Charles, ‘Hardy made that point very well, but I can’t help feeling that the pendulum has swung too far the other way now.’
‘How do you mean?’ said John without looking at him.
‘I mean the so-called positive discrimination policy some universities have these days. The selection of obviously inferior minds because they happen to come from an ethnic minority, or a disadvantaged background.’
This remark was so obviously pointed that when John’s reply came, it was almost an anti-climax. Still not looking at Charles he said, ‘So the world should be deprived of a potentially brilliant scientist whose only fault is that his parents couldnae afford to have him trained to pass exams.’
‘That’s emotive as well as irrelevant,’ said Charles. ‘The best scientists will always come out on top whatever their backgrounds.’
Now John turned and faced him with a savage grin. ‘You’re dead right there, Charlie-boy, dead right.’
Charles’s face went very still.
Phil said suddenly, ‘I agree with John,’ and we all looked at him. ‘I mean,’ he continued, ‘we should all have the chance to prove ourselves, shouldn’t we? I know I’m glad of the chance Dr Carey’s given me to study for my Master’s degree — ’
‘I wasnae referring to you, laddie,’ said John, shaking his head. ‘We canna have you lab boys tryin’ to make silk purses outa sows’ ears, can we, Charles?’
Phil said hotly, ‘Whatever you think of us, we provide a vital service, don’t we, Sally?’
‘I think,’ she said slowly, ‘that the medics on the wards have become so accustomed to having a good laboratory service that they couldn’t do without us now.’
‘That’s just it!’ cried John. ‘They’re accustomed to you. They havena realized yet that they don’t need you. One day — ’
‘Rubbish!’ said Phil.
‘Oh? Now be serious, Phil, just for a moment. When did you last truly save someone’s life?’
‘Last week,’ he replied defiantly.
‘I saved one, not long ago,’ I said, looking at John.
After a pause he said, ‘An’ you want to tell us about it?’
‘Not particularly.’
‘Oh, tell him,’ said Sally, ‘if it’s a chance to put him in his place.’
I moistened my lips, wishing I hadn’t spoken.
‘It was my neighbour in Watchport, his son, rather. He’s an Italian barber, my neighbour, that is. Got three sons.’ I took a mouthful of beer to gather my thoughts.
‘Anyway, he came to me one night, when I was on call, asking if he should call a doctor for the youngest — hadn’t got used to the NHS, even after five years in this country. Anyway, I told him I wasn’t qualified to give an opinion, and if he was worried, to just get one. But he begged me to look at the boy, so I did.
‘He was barely conscious, delirious and muttering about a terrible pain in his head. As you know, there’s been a lot of meningitis about, and if he had it, there wasn’t much time, so we drove him straight to my hospital. I told the Houseman I’d wait in the lab. Sure enough, some twenty minutes later, some spinal fluid arrived and I ran the fastest batch of tests I’ve done in my — ’
‘Surely,’ interrupted Phil, ‘they had given him Chloramphenicol?’
‘They had.’
‘Then you needn’t have panicked. Chloramphenicol would have taken care of the bacteria, whatever they were.’
‘Listeria?’ I said, reflecting that Phil was now undermining his own case because he couldn’t resist showing off his knowledge.
He gaped at me. ‘He had Listeria meningitis?’
‘I was trying to tell you. I thought they were funny-looking pneumococci when I first looked down the microscope, it wasn’t until I made a wet prep and saw the way they moved that I realized.’
‘If they’d left him on Chloramphenicol,’ said Phil, ‘he’d have died.’
‘Exactly. As it was, they changed to penicillin and he lived — just.’
I looked at John. ‘I’d say it was the laboratory that saved him, wouldn’t you?’
I was half expecting a round of sarcastic applause but all he did was to nod slowly.
‘I take your point,’ he said. He looked up. ‘One of my brothers died of meningitis.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. As I spoke, I realized that his accent hadn’t been anything like so prominent.
‘Well, it does go to prove what I was saying,’ said Phil. ‘Anyway,’ he added quickly, standing up, ‘it’s time we were getting back.’
‘It only proves that the exception proves the rule,’ said John, accent firmly back in place.
As we walked back to the hospital, I thought about Joe and his tragi-comical gratitude, and looked forward to seeing him that evening.
‘I cutta your hair my fren’, for nothing, for ever!’
I grinned to myself — perhaps I’d buy him a drink that night, except that he’d insist on paying.
The trouble was, I didn’t like the way he cut my hair, but was morally obliged to let him-
‘That anecdote you told just now — interestin’.’
‘Eh?’ Jolted out of my reverie, I looked up to see John. ‘Oh, thanks.’
‘I mean it.’ He kept step with me in silence for a moment. ‘I don’t mean to denigrate all medical laboratory staff,’ he said, ‘it’s just that I can’t take bullshit. Makes me react.’
I looked at him, wondering why he was telling me this.
He said, ‘Fancy a beer tonight?’
‘Afraid I can’t,’ I said, wondering why I was suddenly so popular. ‘Going home tonight.’
‘How about next week, then?’
‘Oh, all right,’ I’d said, unable to think of an excuse quickly enough and lacking the moral courage just to say no. Perhaps he’d forget.
But he hadn’t forgotten and that’s how it had begun.
CHAPTER 3
Sleeping in Bile may have more pros in the summer, I thought at about five o’clock, but a definite con is that you can be woken by the morning chorus. Eventually the birds calmed down a bit and I drifted off again until about eight.
It was a beautiful May morning. I washed, had breakfast, and drove to work. I looked into John’s lab first but he wasn’t there and neither Ron or Phil had heard from him.
When I asked Sally whether she had any idea of his whereabouts, she said, ‘Well, he never bothered to tell me anything before, so he’d hardly tell me now, would he?’
‘I hope he’s all right.’
‘Of course he’s all right, it’s not as if this is the first time he’s disappeared for a day or so, is it? Bet you anything he’s in tomorrow.’
‘Hmm.’ I looked up. ‘Are you still free tonight?’
She grinned and nodded.
‘Good,’ I said.
I worked until just after ten, then went for coffee. After I’d poured it, I looked around.
‘Has John Devlin said anything to any of you about where he might be?’ I asked.
Ron said his piece about Mr Devlin’s manners again, otherwise heads were shaken, no’s murmured and eyes lowered.
Except for one pair. Dave, the data-processing man. He stared at me thoughtfully, not bothering to look away when I noticed, so that I was forced to lower my eyes first.
It made me feel uncomfortable for some minutes after.
About half an hour later I was crossing the corridor when my name was called.
‘Can you spare me a moment?’ It was Dr Carey.
‘Certainly.’
He ushered me into his office, closed the door and indicated a chair before sitting down himself.
‘Well, Chris, it’s good to have you back with us again.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, rather surprised. Medical Directors don’t usually notice locum workers.
‘What have you been doing with yourself since we saw you last?’ His square, handsome face seemed to show a genuine interest, but as I briefly told him,
his dark eyes began to glaze over.
‘Well, you’ve certainly kept yourself busy.’ He paused. ‘I — er — believe you knew John quite well, John Devlin?’
‘Yes,’ I said carefully.
‘You’re as close to him as anyone here?’
‘We’ve kept in touch, but perhaps Sally knows him — ’
‘Yes, I know about Sally. Tell me, did he confide in you at all?’
‘In what way?’
‘I’d better explain.’ He placed his fingertips together in thought for a moment. ‘The truth is, I’m in a rather embarrassing position.’ He looked up as he spoke, and something in his eyes gave his face, which was normally open, an evasive, almost closed look. ‘You know that John was doing some work for me on the AIDS virus?’ I nodded. ‘Well, I’m supposed to be giving a progress report on it tomorrow at the Central Laboratory in London. John promised me last week to let me have his results yesterday, but as you know, he’s not here.’ He found my eyes. ‘You haven’t heard anything from him, have you?’
‘I had a letter from him last week, but it implied he would be here.’
‘Did it say anything about his work?’
‘Er — no,’ I lied.
‘I see,’ he said slowly, as though he were trying to read my mind. ‘But you did know that we were working on this project and were going to write it up together?’
‘I believe he mentioned it the last time I was here.’
‘Ah. Well, you see, I have to produce something tomorrow, but I can’t find anything. You wouldn’t by any chance happen to know where he might — er — keep records of his work?’
‘So far as I know, he kept them here. Have you tried his office?’
‘Yes, yes.’ Impatiently. ‘Er — you don’t think he’d have kept them at home, do you?’
‘I honestly don’t know.’ I didn’t, either. ‘He’s never said anything to me about keeping them at home.’ Also true.
What John had actually said to me was that he had hidden them where no one would ever find them.
‘I see,’ said Carey, still gazing at me intently. ‘Well, if you do get any ideas, I’d be grateful if you’d let me know.’
‘Certainly.’ I left his room, still puzzled.
Sally wasn’t around at lunch-time, so I went to the canteen by myself. I was about half way through when a shadow made me look up. It was Philip Snow.
‘Mind if I join you?’ He sat down opposite me.
‘Don’t see you in here very often,’ I said.
‘No.’ He asked me to pass him the salt and after using it, he said, ‘Glad to be back?’ ‘Yes and no.’ He raised his eyebrows at that, so I continued, ‘Well, I didn’t think much of Ron’s reaction yesterday, and I’m rather puzzled about John.’
‘Well, you know Ron.’
‘That’s just it, I don’t. But then again — ’ I smiled — ‘I suppose I don’t really know any of you when it comes to it.’
‘That’s not really surprising, considering the short time you’ve spent here.’
‘Perhaps not.’
I finished my meal quickly, not wanting to prolong the conversation. As I made to go, he said abruptly, ‘I hear you’re taking Sally out tonight?’
‘We’re going for a drink together, yes.’
‘She’s already been hurt enough by John, I don’t want to see her hurt any more.’
‘Neither do any of us, Phil.’
‘You know what I mean.’ He was staring at me with his slightly fanatical expression.
‘Listen, Phil, Sally and I are friends, platonic. I’m not looking for that kind of relationship, and I don’t suppose she is either. Does that put your mind at rest?’
He didn’t answer, just stared disconcertingly, so I got up and left.
The two encounters had shaken me more than I realized, so I went into the pub opposite the hospital for a beer, then took a walk through the back streets beneath the ancient limes, watching the patterns made by the sun in the sappy green leaves and feeling the cobbles pressing through the thin soles of my sandals.
Of the two, Carey bothered me the most — Phil was just jealous.
Carey’s questions had scored close to the truth — how much did he really know? I found myself thinking back to the night John had told me what he was really doing in Oxford and how much it meant to him.
I don’t know why we’d become friends in spite of all his negative traits — no, that’s not true.
But how can I explain?
That second week back in November, I had been out with both him and Charles, and to my surprise, I’d found that I preferred John’s company. He was completely different when he was alone.
I suppose what it boils down to is that he was the first person who’d guessed what I was suffering. He’d been talking in an acerbic but perceptive way about some of our colleagues and was illustrating a point by telling me how Ron had given Ian Lambourne a difficult time when he’d had to get married.
He’d suddenly looked across the table and said, ‘You know what I mean. You’ve been through the hoop too, haven’t you?’
‘Yes,’ I’d replied, and before I knew it, I’d told him everything. It had been an immense relief, like purging a carbuncle.
‘How did you know?’ I’d asked him later.
‘It was in your eyes, man,’ he’d said rather mysteriously. Then: ‘A guy like you doesn’t chuck up a senior post and go on the road without a reason. It was just logical.’
But I always wondered whether it had been some sixth sense, a sympathy between fellow sufferers.
His own story had come out bit by bit. He’d been one of a family of ten, born into the Glasgow sub-culture of Govan, and yet had known from the moment he could think that he was going somewhere.
‘Everyone loves the story of the boy who makes it,’ he’d said in his cups one night, ‘but in reality — ’ he shook his head — ‘it isnae worth it.’
He had been bitterly resented by his schoolmates, friends, brothers, even his father. They’d all tried to hold him back, but he had made it, only to find that he was not really accepted by the group he wanted to be part of.
He’d become engaged to a girl, but she’d broken it off, he claimed after she’d met his family. Imagined or not, it did explain his attitude towards women.
In fact, although I couldn’t sympathize with the way he behaved, I could understand.
One night, the three of us (John and Sally often pressed me to go with them, I think their relationship was at a stage where it needed a third person to hold it together) were in the Turl bar in the centre of town. John had drunk more than Sally and I put together and was in a mean mood.
Sally was giving me another History lesson, this time on the subject of St Frideswide.
‘She was a Saxon maiden. This area was part of Wessex, you know, and was always being attacked by Mercia. One day a particularly rampant Mercian caught Frideswide, but after he’d had his wicked way with her, a bolt of lightning struck him blind.’
‘I thought it was self-abuse that made you go blind,’ interrupted John.
She ignored him. ‘Instead of leaving him to the mercy of the local wolves, she took him to a holy spring and bathed his eyes — ’
‘And lo! he was cured — ’ John again — ‘An’ they married and lived happily ever after.’
‘Yes, you killjoy! And yes! People still visit the spring for its magical properties.’ She turned to me. ‘It’s at Binsey, not far from here.’
‘You must take me to see it, I love old legends — ’
John snorted. ‘St Frideswide! St Legswide, more like. I’ll bet she knew exactly what she was doing, and I’ll bet she never let him forget her saintliness — ’
‘As a matter of fact they had a very good marriage,’ Sally said, winking at me.
‘Marriage! It’s all you women think about. I’ll give it no more than another two generations,’ he said pompously, ‘before the institution of marriage dies out altogeth
er.’
‘Why?’ demanded Sally softly.
‘S’ obvious.’ He took a mouthful of beer. ‘Women get what they want now, more than ever before — right?’
‘Still not enough — ’
‘The priorities of men and women are so different that if they’re both determined to get what they want, they simply can’t live together. QED.’
‘Rubbish,’ I said. ‘All it needs — ’
‘I tell you, women’re all the same. Sally’s no different. They’re attracted by a man’s virility, right? Good breeding stock. An’ when they’ve got him, had their babes, what do they do? They castrate him, cut off what they wanted in the first place. An’ then a bit later, they mock the poor devil for bein’ a eunuch.’
I turned to Sally. ‘You don’t have to take that, you’re worth three of him.’
‘More like five.’
John leaned forward. ‘She takes it,’ he said clearly, ‘’cos I’m good in bed. And you like it, don’t you, Sally?’
Her cheeks reddened, she lowered her face and I could see slits of tears in her closed eyes. Abruptly, she snatched her coat and handbag and was gone.
‘You stupid bastard!’ I said to him. He shrugged.
I went after her down the narrow street, caught her by some railings in the glow of an old-fashioned street lamp. Touched her shoulder.
‘It’s all right, Chris,’ she said, her breath condensing in the freezing air, ‘it’s my fault, it’s me, I’m just so stupid to let it get to me.’
‘Come on, I’ll see you home.’
Without warning, her arms went around my neck and she burst into tears.
She didn’t try to say anything, just cried as I stroked her hair, felt her tears and her warm breath…and the heat rising in my loins.
She stopped as quickly as she’d started and dried her eyes.
‘That’s better. I’m better now, thanks, Chris. Please don’t see me home, go back to John and — ’
‘Not bloody likely!’
‘He needs you more than I do — company, I mean — he’s so lonely, that’s why he’s like he is. Call him a few names if you like, but go back.’
Bad Medicine- A Life for a Life; Bed of Nails; Going Viral Page 23