Hypocrite's Isle

Ten

Gavin was back in the lab by nine next morning, although it was too early, of course, to expect results: he was just checking that the cell cultures were showing no sign of contamination. The fact that they appeared perfectly healthy gave him the peace of mind he was looking for and every reason to take the day off.

The sky was blue and the sunshine perceptibly warm on his cheek as he stood on the pavement outside the medical school and, for once, noticed that there was no wind to speak of in a city that could give Chicago a run for its money. On the spur of the moment he decided that he would go for a walk in the hills. In Edinburgh, he was spoiled for choice: the Braid Hills, Corstorphine Hill, Blackford Hill and the long-extinct volcano, Arthur’s Seat, were all within city limits. On a bigger scale, the Pentland Hills stretched out along the southern boundaries of the city and well into the neighbouring county of West Lothian. He finally opted for the Pentlands because he felt like a longish out-and-back walk rather than a simple up and down.

He bought a couple of sandwiches and a chocolate bar from a sandwich shop at the foot of Lauriston Place and stuffed them into his rucksack as he made his way to the bus stop to catch the number 10 bus at Tollcross. Caroline had mentioned a few weeks ago when talking about Sunday walks that it was easy to get into the Pentlands from Colinton, the leafy suburb in the south-west of the city and the destination of the number 10, although on that particular occasion they had ended up walking by the shores of the Forth at Cramond.

The early view of the hills Gavin got from the top deck as the bus wound its way up Colinton Road whetted his appetite for the walk ahead. There was nothing like a bit of frost and snow for bringing drama and quality to the most mundane of slopes. Two dimensions suddenly became three.

The newsagent’s shop in Colinton Village was open when he got off the bus, so he bought a newspaper and picked up a map of the Pentlands at the same time — they had been placed in a rack near the till. This would now make it much easier to plan his day. As he came out of the shop he noticed that the Colinton Inn was open for business, so it occurred to him that he could not only plan a route, he could have a beer at the same time.

With the folded map in his left hand and his rucksack swung over his right shoulder, Gavin walked up Bonaly Road until the road became a track and the track a path as it wound its way steeply uphill through a pine tree plantation. He paused when he reached the eastern fringes of a small reservoir to check where he was on the map and catch his breath, and noted that if he headed west — up and over Harbour Hill — he would come to a meeting of four paths at a spot marked as Maiden’s Cleugh. This would be as good a place as any to pause and decide on what to do next.

He was breathing heavily by the time he reached the top of Harbour Hill, something that reminded him that he didn’t get enough exercise, although walking to and from the medical school had been doing something to counteract too much beer and crisps in his life. He rested his hands on the boundary fence to take in the impressive view over the city to the Firth of Forth and the hills beyond and found himself wishing that Caroline was standing beside him. It would have been a good moment to share.

He started to feel guilty about enjoying himself so much while Caroline was going through hell, although in reality there was nothing he could do to help. He suspected he was going to feel like this a lot until the inevitable happened, something that led to yet more feelings of guilt as he wished this to be sooner rather than later for everyone’s sake.

As he came down off the hill and joined the main path, he started to meet other walkers and began to feel self-conscious about what he was wearing. They all appeared to be dressed for a major Himalayan expedition in winter — a mobile montage of colourful Gor-Tex strung out across the white landscape. His own attire of denim jacket, jeans and trainers made him feel as if he had turned up at a funeral wearing a red plastic nose — A member of the Pentland Hills mountain rescue team declared Mr Donnelly to be improperly attired for the rigours of the hills at this time of year... A nation shook its head in condemnation...

Gavin sought out a quiet hollow in the hill in which to eat his sandwiches — well back from the path to avoid human contact. As a natural loner this was the usual thing for him to do, but today it made him stop and think. He found himself facing up to the fact that even out here in the hills he felt and behaved like an outsider and, for once, invoking Sartre’s maxim that ‘Hell is other people’ wasn’t working as well as it usually did. It had supported him well through Cambridge, but just recently, the combined efforts of Mary in the lab and Caroline, as well as other kindnesses he had encountered, were exposing flaws in the philosophy. If he wanted his relationship with Caroline to progress — and he did — he would have to do something about changing his outlook. He would not desert his principles, but he would have to consider seeking a happy medium. This was also true in professional relationships. The screw-the-world philosophy had worked throughout his undergraduate years because he had been simply acquiring knowledge that was already accessible without any real need for human contact. Books had told him what he needed to know, and his natural intelligence had enabled him to understand, use and interpret what he’d read.

Postgraduate study, however, was different. Although there was still much to absorb from the scientific knowledge base, he was now a researcher in his own right and therefore expected to increase that knowledge base by contributing to it. While it was not inconceivable that he could do this as a loner, it would be that much more difficult unless he was a genius, and he wasn’t. He smiled wryly as he got to his feet and fastened the straps on his rucksack. Maybe Gavin Donnelly would make some New Year’s resolutions. The thought gave him a fit of the giggles as he started climbing the next hill.

If anything, the view from the top of Bell’s Hill was even better, affording him as it did the sight of the winter sun sparkling off the waters of Threipmuir Reservoir far below and stretching out to the west. The feeling of well-being that he was getting from the physical effort of the climb and the beautiful views was doing much to make this a memorable day. He abandoned his earlier plan to start heading back when he reached the reservoir crossing at Black Springs, and instead continued west on what appeared to be a little-used path along the north side of Black Hill. The new plan was to continue on up to a spot marked on the map as Green Cleugh where he would start heading back via the Red Moss nature reserve.

Later, as he waited for the bus back to town, the fading of the light and the reddening sky signalled the end of the day and reminded Gavin that they had just passed the winter solstice. They were a very long way from spring. The temperature was falling, heralding another frosty night, and grit-spreading vehicles were out on the roads of the city.

Caroline called Gavin to say that she would be back on 30 December, and he was there to meet her at Waverley station when her train pulled in. They walked down Waverley Bridge and turned into Market Street, heading for a coffee shop attached to an art gallery that they often used when they were in town.

‘How’s your mother?’

‘Sick as a dog, hair falling out, becoming more bitter and twisted by the day, just what you’d expect, but let’s not dwell on it,’ said Caroline, clearly uncomfortable at discussing it. ‘Tell me about something else. How have you been getting on?’

‘Okay, I guess.’ Gavin gave a half-hearted smile before diverting his eyes to look down at the table.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing, everything’s fine...’

‘Out with it.’

‘Oh, I’ve got some results I don’t understand and it’s sort of getting to me.’

‘So tell me about it. I need distraction.’

‘Where do I begin?’ exclaimed Gavin, spreading his hands in a gesture of hopelessness. ‘I suppose it all boils down to the results I’m getting this time not being the same as the ones I got last time.’

‘Irreproducible data.’ Caroline intoned it like a death sentence. ‘Not good.’

‘It’s crazy. The results I got first time were exactly the same as the people at Grumman Schalk got but now, suddenly, everything’s different.’

‘So something must have changed.’

‘I had to make up some new cell culture fluid.’

‘There you are then. The cells don’t like it. They’re not growing properly.’

‘But they are. The control cultures are growing and dividing perfectly normally. Trouble is, so are the ones with the drug in them.’

‘You mean Valdevan isn’t killing them any more?’

‘You got it.’

‘Maybe the drug’s gone off... an old solution?’

‘That would be good if it was true,’ agreed Gavin. ‘But the cells are showing membrane damage. The drug’s working okay.’

‘I seem to remember you saying something like that once before. Isn’t that what happens in the body?’

‘Exactly,’ said Gavin. ‘The tumour cells show membrane damage in the body but they don’t die... it’s never happened in the lab before, though.’

Caroline took in the worried look on Gavin’s face and leaned towards him. ‘This may not be all bad,’ she said. ‘Look at it this way. Instead of a bad result, you have — inadvertently, I grant you — created the very problem that exists in the body. What’s more, you’ve done it in the lab which is a much better place to study it, isn’t it?’

‘I suppose...’

‘No suppose about it. You have, haven’t you?’

‘Okay, you could be right.’

‘So wipe that miserable look off your face and let’s start making plans for the fireworks tomorrow. Where shall we go to watch them?’

‘I thought you had tickets for Princes Street?

‘I have and it’s the best place, but we’ll be packed like sardines.’

‘But if it’s ticketed, surely it won’t be too bad?’

‘It was ticketed last year,’ said Caroline. ‘But they give all the sardines tickets. It’s a big television event so the city bosses want the world to see thousands and thousands of people, packed together, convincing the world they’re having a good time.’

‘When they’re not?’

‘The fireworks are brilliant, make no mistake about it, but having drunks slobber over you at midnight, wading through broken glass and having people pee on your shoes tends to detract...’

‘Jesus.’

‘We can watch them from somewhere else if you’d rather,’ said Caroline, seeing the alarm on Gavin’s face. ‘They say the view you get from the Botanic Gardens down at Inverleith is pretty good and it’s not nearly so crowded... or even Blackford Hill? That shouldn’t be too bad.’

‘I think we should head for the heart of the party,’ said Gavin, with a conviction he hoped didn’t sound too false.

‘If you’re sure?’ Caroline sounded far from certain.

‘You bet.’ Inside his head Gavin was already steeling himself for the nightmare ahead and planning a master class in turning the other cheek, but Caroline needed something to cheer her up and she was so looking forward to the fireworks. He mustn’t ruin it with his hatred of crowds. ‘I’ll give you a hand with your stuff back to Pollock Halls.’

‘I’m not going to Pollock,’ said Caroline. ‘I’m staying with Gina, one of my classmates. She’s got a flat in Polwarth Gardens. Two of her flatmates are away and won’t be back until the 3rd.’

‘Well, I think I’m going to go in to the lab for a while,’ said Gavin once Caroline was settled into her room in the Polwarth flat. He was looking out of the third-floor window at the Christmas trees in many of the windows of the flats opposite while she unpacked her rucksack. He felt that they probably reflected their owners every bit as much as the cars parked in the street below, and mentally matched the artificial black one with the minimalist white lighting to the Audi, while the bushy Norway spruce with its flashing coloured lights went with the Fiat Punto.

‘You don’t mind, do you?’

‘Of course not. I think I’ll have a bath, wash my hair, phone home to see how things are, and then have an early night if we’re going to be out partying tomorrow. By the way, Gina’s invited us to a party at her boyfriend’s flat across the street after the fireworks.’

Gavin nodded. ‘Sounds good.’

‘Don’t stay too late,’ said Caroline as she saw Gavin to the door. She reached up and brought his mouth down on hers to give him a long kiss. ‘Thanks, Gavin,’ she said.

‘For what?’

‘Being there.’

‘Well... don’t mention it... I can be there any time... middle of the night no problem, just call me.’

‘G’night, Gavin.’

Gavin caught the 27 bus outside the building and sat up front on the top deck. He was feeling good, mainly because of the spontaneous kiss that Caroline had given him, but also because he was now thinking about what she’d said about his experimental results. The cultures were displaying the behaviour of treated tumour cells in the body and she was right; this would enable him to investigate the problem in the lab, but only if the effect was real. There was still a big question mark over the change. It might well be due to some artefact, and Caroline could still be right about the Valdevan solution not being as active as before. It had been stored in the fridge, but all drug solutions did go off after a time. The membrane changes suggested that it had still been active but the concentration might have dropped slightly. He would have to make up fresh stuff and repeat the experiment.

The bus slowed to a halt as it joined a long queue of traffic in Gilmore Place. At first, Gavin couldn’t see the cause of the problem, but as they inched closer to the junction with Home Street, it became obvious that the pantomime at the King’s Theatre was the cause of the tailback. A string of coaches, delivering school children and pensioners’ outings to the front doors for the evening performance, was causing gridlock. Gavin smiled at the excited looks on the children’s faces as they were herded into reluctant order by accompanying adults. An emotional roller-coaster was in store for them but, in the end, Cinderella would go to the ball, lose her prince, find him again, marry and be happy ever after. The bus driver hit the horn and swore as a small car cut in front of him.

Gavin found the lab cold, dark and unwelcoming. Even the fluorescent lights seemed reluctant to respond and took what seemed an eternity to stutter into life. It made him wonder what the medical school must have been like when gas lighting had been the order of the day, but he quickly reminded himself that a Liverpool paddy wouldn’t have had the chance to find out in those far-off times. In fact, he wouldn’t have had the chance a few years hence, as the medical school and the hospital next door were moving to a new site on the south side of the city. He liked the old building. Fate had been kind in affording him the opportunity.

He lit several Bunsen burners in an attempt to take the chill off the room and settled down to examine his cell cultures. There had been no change during the course of the day. There was still no sign of cell death, although there was marked pinching of the membranes. With a heavy heart he returned them to the incubator and set about making up a fresh solution of Valdevan. Four hours later he had set up the experiment all over again. He had now used up his entire stock of cell cultures. ‘Please God, this time,’ he murmured, as he secured the clasp on the incubator door and set about clearing his bench. He spun round as the lab door opened, startling him. It was the night security man.

‘Will you be stayin’ much longer?’

‘No, just going.’

‘You’ve no’ had much of a Christmas.’