Hypocrite's Isle

Twenty-three

Gavin had a pint of lager in the Abbotsford after seeing Caroline off at the station. It took the edge off the feeling that their lives would never be the same again, but despite the temptation to go on drinking, he stopped at one. It wasn’t oblivion he needed to embrace right now, it was a sense of purpose. He decided to go home and start typing the paper into his laptop.

Before he could start, he had to decide on which journal the paper should be sent to, because this would determine the format of the text and tables. Frank had mentioned several possibilities at the outset but had not, as far as he knew, come to any firm decision. It didn’t take Gavin long to decide to go for broke and write it up for Nature — one of the most prestigious scientific journals in the world. If Frank disagreed, the text and data would at least be in the computer. It would be easy enough to re-format it for another journal.

He had a couple of copies of Nature among his books and papers, so he looked up the ‘Instructions to Authors’ section in one of them.

Entering the text of the paper was straightforward, but when it came to inserting tables, his progress slowed to a crawl as he struggled to present data in the way the journal stipulated. He was still wrestling with the software when the first of his flatmates, Tim Anderson, arrived home and offered to help. ‘Microsoft Excel is my middle name, Gav.’

Fifteen minutes later, Gavin was biting back the urge to point out to Tim that his first name should be ‘Unable to Use’, as skills learned in the world of life insurance did not translate well to Gavin’s needs. ‘Sorry, mate, I’m stumped.’

It took Gavin another hour back in his own room before things became clear, and the tables could be aligned in the stipulated way.

‘How’s it going?’ asked his flatmate, when he went through to the kitchen to make himself a coffee.

‘Sorted.’

Caroline phoned just after 8 p.m. ‘Mum’s had her first injection. I gave her it while Dad was doing evening surgery.’

‘Does she know exactly what you’re doing?’

‘I told her everything,’ said Caroline. ‘She reacted just like I thought she would: her outlook changed in an instant. Now I understand how easy it is for charlatans to prey on the afflicted. I warned her that there was only the slimmest of chances it would work, and that it had never been tried on anyone before, but she saw the one thing missing from her life — hope — and snatched at it. She’s been like a different woman.’

‘Your dad will wonder what’s going on.’

‘She’s promised to keep it secret. We came to an agreement.’

Gavin was pleased to hear Caroline sounding positive, even optimistic, but this was an unreal situation. He suspected that she hadn’t looked ahead to what might happen if the treatment should fail. The plunge from hope into despair, and possibly bitterness, might well be even more dramatic. He tried broaching the subject.

‘Believe me, I spelled it out to her. I went to enormous lengths to stress how experimental this was. Come on, let’s not talk about failure on the very first day?’

Gavin agreed.

‘What have you been up to?’

Gavin told her of his travails with Microsoft Excel.

‘I’m convinced that half the workforce in this country spend their time trying to solve computer problems,’ said Caroline.

‘And the other half spend their time creating them.’

‘When d’you think you’ll have finished the paper?’

‘Another two or three days, and then I’ll arrange with Jenny to see Frank and get him to look it over it and do the letter.’

‘Do you know how he is?’

‘Jenny didn’t want anyone from the lab calling.’

Gavin’s flatmate took the finished paper to work with him on Thursday morning on a floppy disk, and returned in the evening with three laser-printed copies, courtesy of the insurance company’s professional quality printers. Gavin called Frank’s number and Jenny answered.

‘Jenny, it’s Gavin. How is he?

‘Oh, he’s a lot better, thanks, Gavin. ‘A bit lacking in the joie de vivre department, but that’s only to be expected. I’ve got him doing all the little jobs round the house he’s been avoiding for ages. I guess it’s him you want to speak to...’

‘Hello, Gavin,’ said Frank’s voice.

‘Hi, Frank, I was wondering if we might meet up and have a talk?’

‘I was thinking much the same thing,’ said Simmons. ‘I don’t think I want to sit with the ghosts in the lab right now, so why don’t you come out here, say tomorrow about eleven?’

‘Great, look forward to it.’ Gavin put the phone down slowly, not quite sure what he was feeling. The situation seemed strangely surreal. Frank doing jobs round the house after all that had happened...

‘Everything all right, Gav?’ asked Tim.

‘Sure. Come on; I’ll buy you a beer.’

Gavin felt apprehensive as he got off the bus and walked towards Frank’s house. He felt angry about Frank running off to Australia, but on the other hand he understood how he must be feeling after all that had happened. He liked Frank, and he thought that Frank had come to like him, but he knew their relationship hadn’t developed to a point where they could put all their cards on the table and say exactly what they were feeling. He saw the visit as an exercise in damage limitation. He had his laptop in his rucksack and the three copies of the paper. If all went well and Frank didn’t insist on the paper being submitted to some journal other than Nature — and he couldn’t see why he should, because this was groundbreaking science — he could have everything in the post by that evening. That would be such a good feeling, and if the paper was accepted — which was a much bigger ‘if’ with the experiments not having been duplicated, but still very possible because of the importance of the subject matter — his worries about his doctorate and future career prospects could well be over. He would be out of reach of the Sutcliffes of this world.

Frank opened the door and invited him in, saying that Jenny was at work at the surgery. ‘Coffee?’

‘Thanks. How are you feeling?’ asked Gavin, as he took off his jacket and hung it over the back of a kitchen chair.

‘I’m not sure,’ said Simmons, filling two mugs from a coffee flask. He plonked them down on the table and pushed sugar and milk towards Gavin. ‘A bit numb, I suppose. One minute I have a lab and a research group, the next minute I don’t. I’ve got nothing.’

Gavin gave a nod but did not speak.

‘I keep seeing the look on Mary’s parents’ faces when they saw her lying there. As for Tom’s parents and what they must be going through...’

‘Maybe the least said the better,’ said Gavin, with a hardness that Simmons picked up on. ‘Of course, he meant it for you,’ he said. ‘It’s all such a mess...’

‘I hear you’re off to Australia?’

Simmons nodded, becoming aware of Gavin’s level gaze, and breaking off eye contact to concentrate on stirring his coffee. ‘Jenny has relatives there. Give me a chance to recharge the batteries, that sort of thing.’

‘Professor Sutcliffe wouldn’t allow me to finish off the Valdevan experiments. He’s offered me a change of project.’

Simmons looked down at the table surface. ‘Look, Gavin, I’m sorry.’

Gavin felt anger rise up in him but he kept it in check. ‘There’s still a chance we can get the stuff published without the extra insurance of duplicate results,’ he said, opening his rucksack and bringing out the paper. ‘I’ve written it up for Nature but I could change it if you really wanted.’ He pushed it towards Simmons, who said quietly, ‘Nature’s fine... exactly where it should be.’

‘Then all we need is a covering letter signed by you,’ said Gavin, feeling relieved that a big hurdle had been crossed.

‘Not possible,’ said Simmons.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘In effect... I’ve relinquished my position in the department for the six-month period of my... sabbatical. My grants have been suspended, and so have all my other duties and responsibilities. I no longer have the authority to write such a letter.’

‘You’re kidding,’ said Gavin.

‘’Fraid not.’

‘So what happens to the Valdevan work?’

Simmons shrugged uncomfortably. ‘Who knows? Maybe in six months, attitudes will have changed...’

‘Yeah, right, Frank,’ said Gavin angrily, as latent suspicion rose up inside him. ‘Or should I say, Professor Simmons. Word gets around...’

‘No, it was nothing like that,’ insisted Simmons, as Gavin got up to repack his rucksack.

‘Yeah, right.’ Gavin slung his pack over his shoulder and made to leave.

‘Wait, come back,’ said Simmons as Gavin reached the door.

Gavin turned but remained standing defiantly at the door.

‘You’re not the only one who got mugged.’

Gavin relaxed his grip on the door handle.

‘And not all muggers come from dark alleys,’ said Simmons.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘The night Tom died I was summoned to Old College and given a choice,’ said Simmons. ‘I could either do what I’ve ended up doing, and temporarily relinquish my position, take a six-month break on full pay, and then return to my job to rebuild my career or... they would instigate disciplinary proceedings against me and suspend me from my position pending an investigation. Either way, I was out of the department.’

‘Disciplinary proceedings for what?’ asked Gavin.

‘What I said at the meeting. Apparently it is a serious matter to subject a senior member of the university to sustained verbal abuse.’

‘Christ,’ said Gavin. ‘Where did they dig that one up from?’

‘No prizes for guessing what the outcome of such an investigation would be... they wouldn’t exactly be short of witnesses: the whole department heard. I have a wife, two children and a mortgage. What do you think you would have done in the circumstances?’

Gavin gave a resigned nod. The bottom had just fallen out of his world, and he felt hollow inside. He found it impossible to sustain any one emotion for any length of time. Anger quickly changed to understanding, understanding to pity, pity to suspicion, and back to anger again. ‘Enjoy Australia, Frank,’ he said, as he turned and left.

Simmons, still sitting at the table, held his head in his hands. Was there to be no end to this nightmare? He was just trying to do what was right and yet... it all felt so bloody wrong. After a few moments he had the feeling he wasn’t alone, and looked up to see Jenny standing there.

‘I came in the back door. I heard what you said.’

Simmons tried to decipher her expression, but found it uncomfortably neutral.

Caroline was pleased with the way things had been going. She had explained the rationale behind the dual drug therapy to her mother, and made sure that she appreciated that she would not notice any change in her condition until the second drug came into play after the fourteenth day of Valdevan. This meant that everything was on hold for two weeks, but happily this included her mother’s new-found optimism, which Caroline was hoping her father would ascribe to another remission. It was all to come unstuck, however, on the thirteenth day, when Dr John James came into the bedroom and found Caroline giving her mother an injection.

‘Amazing, only two patients at evening surgery,’ he began. ‘Must be something good on the telly... What are you doing?’

Caroline felt the blood drain from her face.

‘She’s giving me some vitamins,’ said her mother, her voice sounding strained and tight.

‘Vitamins? What on earth for?’ John James strode across the room and looked at the box of vials at Caroline’s side. He snatched up one. ‘Valdevan!’ he exclaimed. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing, giving your mother this?’

Caroline had never seen her father so angry. ‘We have to talk, Dad.’

‘She’s helping me,’ pleaded her mother, becoming upset.

Although furious, John James could see the effect arguing was going to have on his wife, and fought to control himself. ‘We seem to be at cross-purposes here,’ he said. ‘Caroline’s right, my dear; she and I have to talk.’

Caroline and her father went through to his consulting room, where his anger reignited and he hissed, ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing, giving your mother that stuff? A useless drug, taken off the market years ago. Do you realise what upsetting the delicate balance of her chemotherapy could do to her?’

‘Mum’s dying, Dad. No delicate balance of her chemotherapy is going to change that, and you’re jumping to conclusions. I’m not doing what you think I’m doing.’

‘I demand an explanation.’

Caroline gave her father a brief synopsis of Gavin’s research and admitted that she had persuaded him to let her try it out on her mother. ‘The results in the lab were spectacular, Dad, really amazing.’

‘So good you are using your own mother as a guinea pig!’

‘There’s a real chance it will work, and that has to be better than no chance at all, don’t you think?’

‘If there was any chance this nonsense would work it would be all over the medical journals. This is just cruel, heartless rubbish that has given your mother false hope. How could you?’

‘You don’t understand, Dad. Believe me, you don’t understand the half of it,’ pleaded Caroline.

‘I’ve a good mind to report you and this damned boyfriend of yours to the relevant authorities, and let you both take the consequences. Who is his head of department?’

‘Mum asked me to help her...’

‘Don’t pretend your mother forced you into this.’

‘You don’t understand. She asked me to help her die.’

There was a silence in the room that both of them found almost unbearable.

‘I don’t believe you,’ said John James hoarsely.

‘She asked me to help her because she felt she couldn’t ask you...’ said Caroline flatly, knowing the hurt she was causing, but feeling that she had to fight back. ‘She knew you wouldn’t consider it because it isn’t allowed.’ She paused to let the words and the cruel inflection she’d put on them sink in. ‘I thought that persuading Gavin to try out the new therapy would be a better option because... I couldn’t face doing what she wanted me to, and when all’s said and done... Mum has nothing to lose, has she?’

John James’ anger disappeared, and tears started to run down his cheeks. Caroline wanted to put her arms round him but found she couldn’t.

‘What stage are you at?’ croaked James.

‘We’re about to start the second drug tomorrow. She’s already had fourteen days on Valdevan...’

‘I didn’t realise your mother felt like that. She never said anything to me... nothing at all.’

‘Mum knows you love her and would always do your best for her, Dad. There’s no question about that. I just hope that you might come to realise that the same applies to me...’

Both Caroline and her father were in tears as they embraced each other.

‘Well, where do we go from here?’ asked Caroline, wiping her eyes and giving a final sniff as a sign that she was back in control.

‘We go back and tell your mother how much we both love her, and that you will be carrying on with the new therapy. To do anything else at this stage would be unthinkable.’ John James seemed to take a few moments to consider before saying, ‘Damn this bloody awful disease. Damn it to hell.’

‘Let’s tell Mum.’

John James paused as they reached the door. ‘This Gavin of yours, he sounds like a remarkable chap.’

‘I think so.’

‘The university must be very proud. You must tell me all about him.’

‘Later, Dad.’

Caroline heard the sharp intake of breath when she told Gavin that her dad had found out what they were doing. ‘But it’s all right. We had a long heart-to-heart and it’s all right, really it is.’

‘If you say so,’ said Gavin, finding this hard to believe, but keen to latch on to any good news that was going.

‘I’m going to go ahead with the change of drug tomorrow as planned. She’s due a scan at the hospital in four days time, on Friday. What should we do about that?’

‘Let it go ahead.’

‘Do you think there will be any change by then?’

‘If it works, there should be a dramatic change. If it doesn’t, then nothing.’

‘No in-betweens?’

‘No.’

‘Sounds like Friday’s going to be a pretty big day for all of us.’

‘Yep.’

‘You sound low. Did you sort things out with Frank?’

‘Frank doesn’t have the authority to endorse the paper. He’s given up his position.’

‘Why?’ asked a stunned Caroline.

‘Because the suits blackmailed him into it.’

‘Gavin, I’m so sorry.’

‘I’ll think of something.’

On Friday, Caroline called Gavin as soon as she got back from the hospital. ‘You’re not going to believe this!’ she practically screamed down the phone. ‘There has been a thirty per cent reduction in the size of Mum’s tumour. Thirty per cent!’

‘Brilliant!’

‘It works, Gavin, it works! The staff at the hospital were amazed. They just couldn’t think of an explanation, and I nearly couldn’t keep a straight face. Coming home in the car was just like the old days when I was young and we were coming back from a day at the zoo or the beach; the three of us were laughing and talking.’

‘I’m really glad, Carrie.’

‘So what do we do, more of the same?’

‘It’s important she keeps taking the polymyxin. When is she due to go back to the hospital?’

‘They want to do another scan next week, just to make sure it’s not some kind of weird mistake.’

‘Good. That should tell us what we need to know. The reduction should be greater, but maybe not as big as this week’s.’

‘Forty-eight per cent, Gavin! A forty-eight per cent reduction in the size of the tumour: almost half of it has been destroyed in two weeks! Can you believe it? Oh, my God, I wish we could tell someone.’

‘But we can’t,’ said Gavin. ‘They’d still hang us out to dry and attribute your mother’s recovery to some kind of placebo effect.’

‘So, we just keep on?’

‘Same as before. I take it the hospital will be doing another scan next week?’

‘You bet. They’ve never seen anything like it. One of the nurses said they were going to change the name of the place to Lourdes General.’

Gavin laughed, and Caroline said, ‘It’s been such a long time since I heard you laugh.’

‘It’s good to have reason to.’

‘Dad can’t wait to meet you.’

‘Let’s wait until your mum’s better.’

‘If you say so, but I’d sort of like to see you myself. Maybe I could come up for a couple of days?’

‘That would be great.’

Caroline came up for the Tuesday and Wednesday, and returned home on the Thursday so that she could accompany her mother to the hospital on Friday morning. She called Gavin as arranged when they got back. He knew immediately by the tone of her voice that something was wrong.

‘Gav, the tumour’s stopped reducing in size. In fact, it’s grown a bit. What’s happening?’

‘Oh, shit,’ said Gavin, feeling lead fill his veins. ‘Either the Valdevan didn’t reach all of the tumour cells or some of them have recovered. Either way, the polymyxin isn’t killing them any more.’

‘So what do we do?’

‘We give your mother more Valdevan...’ said Gavin, but his voice had taken on the tone of a distant automaton.

‘But there isn’t enough,’ said Caroline, before realising she was saying what Gavin already knew. Her voice betrayed the hopelessness she now felt. ‘There’s only enough left for a couple of days, not fourteen.’

‘I’m so sorry, Carrie, we only had the one chance.’

‘So Mum’s going to die after all?’

‘There was always that risk.’

‘Oh, Gav... I’m sorry, I can’t speak any more right now...’

The phone went dead, leaving Gavin looking at the wall. All the euphoria felt by Carrie’s family and shared by him had gone... to be replaced by what? This didn’t bear thinking about. Hero to zero didn’t come close. He caught sight of the Nature paper sitting on his bedside table and, to compound his misery, admitted to himself for the first time that it was never going to see the light of day.

Gavin couldn’t remember ever feeling this bad before. He couldn’t find one single thing to feel good about, or offer anything resembling hope. His life had become an endless desert of unhappiness with nothing appearing on any horizon... until it occurred to him that Grumman Schalk might not actually know about the university machinations to neutralise Frank Simmons. After all, it wasn’t something they’d brag about openly.

Gavin rummaged through his notebooks until he found something with a Grumman Schalk letterhead on it. Ironically, it was a copy of the covering letter that had come with the first consignment of Valdevan and had the words ‘not for therapeutic use’ in it. He took the phone number from the heading and called Max Ehrman.

‘Who?’ exclaimed Ehrman, as if he couldn’t believe his ears.

‘Gavin Donnelly, in Edinburgh.’

‘What can I do for you?’ came the guarded response.

‘You can send me some Valdevan.’

Ehrman let out a snort of disbelief, but let a moment pass before saying, ‘I seem to remember making it quite clear that there would be no more Valdevan for a line of research the company feels uncomfortable with. That still stands.’

‘I’m offering you a deal.’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Hear me out. It’s my guess that you guys are trying every trick in the book to come up with a new product that simulates the sequential action of Valdevan and polymyxin — one that you can patent?’

Silence.

‘But unless you get really lucky, that’s going to take time,’ continued Gavin. ‘When our paper creates the stir you know it must, your efforts will have been wasted and public opinion will force Valdevan back into production by anyone who cares to make it, now that your patent’s expired. Whatever way you look at it, you’re going to take a mega-buck hit.’

‘You’ve got quite a sense of your own importance.’

‘The deal is... you give me a supply of Valdevan and I’ll pull the paper.’

‘You’re a postgrad student, for God’s sake. You don’t make that sort of call.’

‘I do in this case. No one in the department wants it published — and you know why.’

Gavin took Ehrman’s silence as a positive. He took a deep breath before planting the lie. ‘Frank Simmons has had a nervous breakdown and won’t be back at work for a long time, but he signed the authorisation before he fell ill. That just leaves me. The paper’s sitting in front of me as we speak, all ready to go off. Now, do I pop it in the post, or do you give me what I want?’

‘What are you up to, Donnelly? What’s this about?’

‘It’s straightforward.’

‘You’re treating someone, aren’t you? That’s it. You’re trying out your crazy idea on someone and you’ve run out.’

‘That needn’t concern you. You give me the Valdevan, I pull the paper. That’s the deal. What d’you say?’

‘And if your highly illegal experiment should work — not that I think it will, mind you — you’ll splash it all over the papers.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Who’d print a story like that? Student cures cancer? Jesus.’

‘It must be someone close to you, right?’

‘Like I say, that doesn’t concern you, so what’s it going to be? A few grams of Valdevan or a mega-buck hit for GS?’

‘In the unlikely event of my agreeing to this, where would you want it sent?’

Gavin swallowed and dared to allow himself a small, inward sigh of relief. ‘Send it directly to me at this address.’ He read it out. ‘There’s no need to involve the university. I need therapeutic grade Valdevan in injection vials.’

‘So you are treating someone. You know, Gavin, for such a bright guy...’

‘I need it in two days.’

Gavin put the phone down and spent a long time just looking at the wall in front of him. He’d played the only cards he had left, and he was bluffing. He wondered if Ehrman would check with the university about Frank. Even if he did, being told that Frank was off work might sustain the lie he’d told. He had two days to tough it out. He called Caroline. ‘There’s a chance I can get some more Valdevan,’

‘How?’

‘It’s a long story, but there’s a chance Grumman will change their minds. It should be here in a couple of days if it’s coming, but there’s no guarantee.’

‘Then I won’t say anything to Mum or Dad.’

‘That would be safest. Your mum must be at rock bottom right now?’

‘You could say. I think Dad’s started blaming me again for giving her false hope.’

‘Shit, I’m so sorry.’

‘Gavin... are you all right?’ asked Caroline. ‘I mean, you sound a bit distant?’

‘I’m just tired.’

‘I’ll bet. I wish I could hold you. I miss you, but I don’t think I can come back right now.’

‘I miss you too. I’ll call you the minute the stuff arrives.’

Two days later, Gavin was woken by the sound of mail coming through the letterbox. His flatmates were all out at work and he had a hangover, but his first clear thought was that the postman should have rung the bell. The package from Grumman Schalk should have been too big for the letterbox, and it should have needed a signature for coming express delivery. Alarm bells were ringing inside his head as he got out of bed and padded across the hall in bare feet to pick up the untidy bundle. There was only one letter addressed to him, but it did have the Grumman Schalk logo on it. He took it to the kitchen table and slumped down, staring at the white envelope for a full thirty seconds before summoning up the courage to open it.

‘Tossers,’ growled Gavin, scrunching up the letter and throwing it across the room. ‘Devious, fucking tossers.’ He got up and walked over to the window to stare out at the rain, while gripping the edge of the kitchen sink until his knuckles showed white. The implications of the letter came at him from all angles. Carrie’s mother would now die and, although the suggestion to treat her had been hers, Carrie would always see the extra dimension to her mother’s death as being down to him. Her father was already seeing it that way. The suggestion of ‘therapeutic experimentation’ had been made to the university, and it wouldn’t take Inspector Morse to figure out what had been going on, should they decide to call in the police. The bottom line was very clear as he continued to look at the rain through the tears that were running down his face. You either play the game our way or you don’t play at all...

When Gavin didn’t call about a new supply of Valdevan, Caroline called him, but failed to get an answer. He didn’t respond to either the flat phone or his mobile, and a call to the university revealed that he had not been seen in the department. This was to go on for three days before she became so anxious that she packed a bag and told her father she was going up to Edinburgh to find out what was wrong. Her first port of call was the flat in Dundas Street, where Tim Anderson told her that Gavin had not been home ‘for a couple of days’. He invited her in and offered her coffee when she told him who she was, and said, ‘I thought maybe he had gone south to your place. I understand your mother’s not well.’

‘No. I haven’t managed to contact him since Tuesday.’

‘He seems to have been a bit low lately,’ said Anderson.

‘Could I see his room?’ asked Caroline.

‘Sure, on you go.’

Caroline swallowed as she entered Gavin’s room. Maybe it was what Tim had said, but she was filled with foreboding. Something was dreadfully wrong. Gavin didn’t have much in the way of clothes but most of them seemed to be there, except perhaps for his beloved green jersey, and his denim jacket, which wasn’t hanging on the back of the door. He certainly hadn’t packed up all his belongings and gone off somewhere. His laptop was lying on the floor beside the bed, with what she saw when she picked them up were three copies of the Valdevan paper. She froze when she saw the white envelope that had been lying underneath. It had her name on it. She opened it with trembling fingers.

Caroline’s sobbing attracted Tim, who knocked gently on the half-open door. ‘I couldn’t help but hear...’

Caroline handed him the tear-stained letter. ‘Oh, God, what’s he done?’ she sobbed.

Tim accompanied Caroline to the police station, where they reported Gavin missing and showed the desk sergeant the letter so that they would be taken seriously.

‘And you are?’

‘His girlfriend.’

‘His flatmate.’

Caroline and Tim were invited to take a seat, and gazed unseeingly at the information posters on the walls while they waited. They were eventually asked into another room, where a plain-clothes officer invited them to sit in front of a table. Caroline could see by the expression on his face that he might have bad news to impart, although he began by taking what he called ‘a few details’.

‘Have you any idea what Gavin might have been wearing when he disappeared?’

Tim shrugged but Caroline said, ‘I think maybe his green jumper, probably jeans and a denim jacket.’

This seemed to be what the officer was looking for. He put down his pen and said, ‘I’m so sorry, but the body of a young man was taken from the sea at North Berwick this morning. His clothes match your description.’

Caroline shook her head, as if unable or unwilling to accept what she was hearing. Tim put a tentative arm round her shoulders.

‘I wonder... would you be willing to...?’

Tim nodded.

No one spoke on the rain-swept drive over to the City Mortuary, not even when they got inside. The officer disappeared for a few moments before coming back and gesturing for Caroline and Tim to follow him. They were shown into a room that both of them felt they had seen a million times before on TV and in films. One of the fridge doors was opened and a body tray slid out on to the rails of a waiting trolley. The sheet covering the body was pulled back and the attendant stepped back in practised fashion. The officer nodded to them.

Caroline approached the trolley first, and found herself looking down into Gavin’s cold, pallid face. His eyes were closed. She nodded for the benefit of the officer, and closed her eyes for a moment, as if summoning up strength before bending to kiss Gavin’s forehead. ‘Oh, Gav,’ she sobbed. ‘You stupid... stupid...’

Caroline returned to the flat in Dundas Street, but only to pick up Gavin’s laptop and the copies of the Valdevan paper. Tim suggested that she stay the night, saying that she shouldn’t be alone, but she declined, knowing that she couldn’t bear to be anywhere near the little room where she and Gavin had first made love. She took a taxi over to Pollock Halls, where two classmates helped her through a very long night.

The report of Gavin’s death made it to the papers next day.

Caroline felt a deep anger inside her as she read the report over and over again. ‘Two-faced, mealy-mouthed bastard,’ she growled. Gradually, her attention moved from Sutcliffe to Frank Simmons, who was ‘on leave’. She turned to Moira, one of the girls who had supported her through the night. ‘I have a favour to ask,’ she said.

‘Anything, Carrie.’

‘You have a car. I have a delivery to make.’

Moira stopped outside the Simmonses’ house and Carrie got out, carrying Gavin’s laptop and the Valdevan paper. ‘I won’t be long,’ she said.

‘Take as long as you need.’

Jenny opened the door. ‘Yes?’

‘I’m Caroline, Gavin’s girlfriend.’

‘Oh, my God. We’ve just read it in the papers. Oh, my dear, what can I say? Come in, please. I don’t know if you know Frank?’

‘Yes, from my classes.’

Jenny led the way into the kitchen, where Frank Simmons was sitting, arms crossed on the table, with the Scotsman open in front of him.

‘It’s Gavin’s girlfriend, Caroline,’ said Jenny softly.

Simmons got to his feet slowly, as if in a trance. He was wondering what fate was about to throw at him now. He gestured with one hand to the paper. ‘Caroline, I wish I could think of something sensible to say... but I can’t. This is absolutely bloody awful. I’m so sorry.’

Jenny ushered Caroline into a chair opposite Simmons, and they both sat down while Jenny made fresh coffee. Although Caroline could see that Simmons was genuinely upset, she also sensed that he was wondering why she was there. ‘I thought you should have these,’ she said, pushing the three copies of the Valdevan paper across the table, and immediately invoking in Simmons memories of Gavin recently doing the same thing.

‘Thanks,’ said Simmons, looking down at the title page, but really wondering what he was going to find in Caroline’s eyes when he looked up. When he did, there was no anger there, only sadness, and something he suspected might be resolve.

Caroline put Gavin’s laptop on the table and said, ‘The paper’s also on the hard drive. You can return the laptop to me when you’ve done whatever you plan to do with it... if anything... and I’ll return it to his folks.’

The if anything hung in the air like an accusation.

‘Thank you,’ said Simmons.

Jenny brought over coffee, but Caroline got to her feet saying, ‘Not for me, thanks, there’s someone waiting outside. I just thought I’d bring these over and tell you, Frank.’

‘Tell me what?’ asked Simmons in trepidation.

‘Gavin didn’t blame you.’

Jenny showed Caroline out, and returned to the kitchen to find Simmons sitting staring at the closed laptop. ‘Are you all right?’

‘No,’ said Simmons quietly, continuing to stare at the laptop.

‘Frank?’

Simmons suddenly smashed his fist down on the table and looked up at Jenny. ‘I am most definitely not all right. We are not going to Australia. We’re not going anywhere. We are staying here. I’ve got too much to do.’

In the silence that followed, it dawned on Simmons that there had been no reaction from Jenny. ‘Well?’ he prompted.

‘It would seem that I’ve just got my husband back,’ said Jenny. ‘And about time too, if I may say so.’

Simmons shook his head. ‘I NEVER EVER AGAIN want to feel the way that girl has just made me feel.’

Jenny stood behind him and put her hands on his shoulders. ‘You did what you did for the noblest of reasons, Frank... as always... and your children and I thank you for it. But maybe this time... the safe option was not the one to go for?’

Simmons squeezed her hand.

‘Anything I can do to help?’

‘I need the names of every scientific or medical correspondent on every national newspaper in the UK. Someone is going to listen.’

Only a small group of people outside immediate family attended the funeral of Gavin Donnelly in Liverpool. When the flowers were removed at the end of the ceremony, attendants were puzzled to find, lying under them, a can of Stella Artois lager and a packet of bacon-flavoured crisps. A short note said,