The Virus Man

by Claire Rayner

  In spite of the big breakfast she had shared with Ben, she was ravenous, and she made a couple of cheese sandwiches to eat in the car, and picked up an apple before checking the kitchen was tidy, collecting her handbag and locking the house. She carefully pocketed the back-door key. Peter was always nagging about security; well, she’d done her best, and she jammed a piece of stone from the garden rockery against the side door as she went. It was silly, really; a would-be burglar would only have to pick it up and chuck it away to get access to the back of the house, she told herself, but at least it would slow him down. And she turned to get into the car, but stopped as she heard the phone ringing, muffled, from inside the house.

  She considered for a moment going back, going through the laborious unlocking procedure to answer it, and then turned away. Whoever it was, they would give up long before she got to the phone and nothing was more irritating than having the thing go dead just as you picked it up; let them ring again. Probably only Mark wanting to borrow some money. She glanced at her watch; sure to be Mark. It was his lunch hour and that was the only time he ever tried to get hold of her.

  It wasn’t until she was almost out of the town on the Podgate road that she thought – that couldn’t have been Mark. He knows I’m at work all day. He usually phones there if he wants anything. It couldn’t have been Mark – and then dismissed the telephone she had left ringing in the empty house. It didn’t matter any more. All that mattered was concentrating on driving, on being as fast as she safely could. She felt a deep need to get those animals back to the lab as soon as possible, to get the next trials in hand as fast as possible. I’m getting very like Ben, she told herself wryly. Impatient for answers, impatient to go charging on.

  For the first twelve miles or so through the winding Dorset lanes she thought she was fine, that the three hours’ sleep she had had was enough to stop her feeling weary; she ate one of her sandwiches, but it tasted dry and unappetizing, and she threw the other to the birds in the hedges that were flashing past the car window, and settled down to the last dozen miles doggedly. She’d ask for some coffee when she got there. That would make her feel better, and she could drink it while they put the animals in their boxes and took them out to the boot of the car.

  She got there without mishap, and at first was comforted when she found she was expected. Ben had telephoned to say she was coming and to leave an order for the stock he wanted, and the animals were ready: they had been caught and set in the special boxes with the straw lining and neat airholes, and had only to be loaded into her car boot, while she signed the order form and arranged for the invoice to be sent to Ben. There was no time to ask for coffee or anything else, and she was back at the wheel within ten minutes or so of arriving. And then realized that it would have been wise to stop longer and ask for that coffee. She was more tired than she had realized.

  But the flurry of activity that collecting the animals had caused brought her back to full alertness for a little while, and for five miles or so she drove well, glad to be on her way back with her errand done. The fields that lay on each side of the road that ran ahead of her were flat and brown in the afternoon glow, the last traces of the harvest still showing on some, and the faint blush of green on others showing where winter fodder was growing. Trees, almost naked of leaves now, stood stark and still, not a twig moving in the windless air, which was heavy, a little misty and far from cold, and she pulled over to the side of the road to take off her jacket. The old car’s ventilation wasn’t all it might be these days; she really ought to get it serviced, but meanwhile she had to find some way to cool herself. She opened the car window before she started off again, but had to close it as grit blew in and made her blink, and then found after she had closed it that her eyes were heavy and sandy and keeping them open more difficult than it ought to be.

  The rest of the journey was hell; she tried putting the car radio on at full blast, but even that didn’t help much. The noise just blended with the sound of the engine to make almost a lullaby, and once or twice she felt her neck jerk as her head sank forwards, out of her control.

  She tried talking aloud to herself, to fight off the sleep that hung over her like a great threatening storm cloud, as though the sound of her voice was an actual force that could keep the greyness well away from her, and that worked for a while. But then her mouth felt dry and her tongue clumsy and she couldn’t continue with it, and again she opened her window, preferring gritty streaming eyes and the blast created by her speed to the misery of the fear of sleep.

  It was incredible that in fact she was nearly back at the hospital when it happened. There had been little traffic to worry about in the lanes, but now she was on the main road into the town there was more – lorries and vans and cars making for the motorway – and she had to hold on to the wheel tightly to keep herself on a straight line, for several of them already had their lights on in the early evening dusk, and their glow seemed to draw her veering off to the right, into their paths.

  It was at a narrow part of the road that it happened; yet another lorry came blazing towards her, but this time she didn’t seem able to stop the car from leaning towards it, and she was almost under its wheels, could actually hear its brakes screaming, when she managed to get her sluggish muscles into action again, and wrenched the wheel hard over. The car lurched and then skidded and her seat belt pulled viciously against her breasts, making her gasp for breath, and then held her tightly as the bonnet of the car hit a lamp post and the engine stalled.

  She sat there blankly, staring out at the mess in front of her, aware that the lorry had stopped and that someone was running towards her, but not caring. All she knew was that the animals in the back of the car were safe because she could hear them rustling agitatedly in the back, and that she was no longer threatened with sleep. The impact had woken her completely, and she began to laugh, weakly at first and then more loudly as the lorry driver pulled open her car door and stared in at her.

  13

  ‘You see?’ Hugh said triumphantly. ‘Unless you do something really showy you get nowhere! Just look at this … and this … and this …’

  They looked, glumly. Every one of the papers had frontpage stories about an animal welfare group which had announced it had put poison in chocolate bars and distributed them to shops all over the country, because the makers of the chocolate funded research using animals, and Hugh, jabbing a peremptory forefinger, picked out the most dramatic comments and read them aloud as the others sat and said nothing.

  ‘And what have we got about our activities in the local paper? Sweet bugger all, that’s what! If you’d done as I wanted, we’d be the ones making the headlines, not this bunch of lunatics.’

  ‘They’re not lunatics,’ Tracey said, and they all stared at her, for she rarely said anything very much, though she cried a good deal. ‘I mean, they’ve done no harm to no one, but they’ve got people talking about the poor animals, haven’t they? They haven’t hurt any animals and they haven’t broken into any private property – and I bet they haven’t put poison in the chocolate bars anyway. They’ve only said they have to frighten people and make them think about poor little animals being used to make them.’

  ‘They aren’t using animals to make the chocolate, for God’s sake,’ Hugh said, his temper flaring. ‘Don’t be such a bloody stupid ….’

  ‘Mr Chairman, there are ladies present,’ growled Graham. ‘Mind your tongue.’ And Hugh flicked his eyes at him, and took a sharp breath in through his nose, working at controlling himself.

  ‘It doesn’t matter what they’ve done,’ he said after a moment. ‘I couldn’t care less what they’ve done. All I care about is what we haven’t done. And we haven’t got an atom of publicity for our work, while this other lot have got masses.’

  ‘Then why don’t you join them, if you don’t like the AFB and the way we do things?’ Graham said.

  ‘I do like the AFB. I’m the founder member of this branch, remember! All I’m saying is we�
��ve had our noses wiped and it’s all our own fault. You promised me you’d get us publicity for those photographs I took, and at considerable personal risk I’ll have you know, and all you can tell us now is that you passed ’em on to the papers and that’s the last you know about it! We haven’t even got the pictures to show anyone else! And they were polaroids. No negatives.’

  ‘I made no promises,’ Graham said, unperturbed by Hugh’s sweating anger, seeming almost to enjoy it. ‘I said I’d try, and so I did. It isn’t my fault that the pictures were of so little intrinsic interest. There was no proof in them that these animals there are being ill-treated, is there? It’s not enough for you just to say so ….’

  ‘No proof? What about the dead rabbits? What more proof do you want than that?’

  ‘It’s not enough,’ Graham said with offensive patience. ‘They could have been planted by you. It’d be the first thing they’d think you’d done. We’ve got to do better than that. Those pictures could have been forged somehow, that’s what they’d say. I’m not saying they were, mind you, I’m just trying to show you how newspaper people think.’

  ‘I think it’s time to put it to the vote,’ Hugh said loudly, sick of Graham and his pontification. ‘The motion is that this meeting agrees to put Plan B into action. All those in favour say, “Aye”.’ And he glared first at Tracey and then at Gail, who both said, ‘Aye’, a little tremulously. And then he turned to Dora and Freda, and they stared back at him, in silence.

  ‘Look, Dora,’ he said in as conciliatory a voice as he could muster. ‘I know how you feel about private property and all that, but it isn’t really private property, is it? I mean, it’s on NHS premises and that means it belongs to us, doesn’t it? They take our taxes and they use them to build our hospitals and then they go and use our tax money to put animals to terrible torture in those buildings! We have every right to go in there and deal with the matter. We’re paying for it, after all.’

  Dora’s face cleared and she nodded her head vigorously. ‘He’s right, Freda!’ she said, nudging her neighbour, who still seemed dubious. ‘He’s right, you know. The taxes we pay, we ought to be consulted about how they spend our money. I think he’s right. I’m going to say “aye”.’

  And after a moment Dora mumbled, ‘Aye’, as well and Hugh looked at Graham with his brows raised and his face smooth with satisfaction.

  ‘Well, no need to bother you chaps to say anything, is there?’ Graham stared stolidly back. ‘Because we’ve got a majority for Plan B.’

  ‘Direct action requires unanimous agreement on the part of all Brigade members in the branch,’ Graham said urbanely. ‘You know the constitution perfectly well. So you dp need to hear from us, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Then for heaven’s sake, say something!’ Hugh threw all his caution and his political skills, such as they were, to the wind, well aware that he was being outflanked. ‘Because if we don’t do anything the branch is dead anyway. So if you two want to kill it, then go ahead. I’ll do the bloody job on my own, that’s all.’

  ‘No need,’ Graham said. ‘You can have your ayes from John and me on the understanding that you let us take charge of Plan B. We run the show, not you. We’ve got the experience, you see, laddy.’ He said it so kindly that Hugh’s cheeks burned with fury. ‘We know how to organize these things properly. We’ve been thinking about it a good deal, got some stuff together – a couple of walkie-talkies, very handy that, a few tools, that sort of thing. All we need, once you agree that we’re in charge, is you to bring that camera of yours to get evidence of what we’re doing. Got to have a record of it, of course, or those other lot’ll claim they did it, when the story gets out. As of course it will.’

  ‘Plan B is mine. I developed it, I made the lists, I thought it all out, plotted it ….’

  ‘And very well done too, with a few alterations John and I have made. Not as tactical as it might have been, you see, old boy, not as tactical as it ought to have been. ’Tis now, though. Needed the eye of experience, as John and I both agreed. Right, John?’

  ‘Right,’ said John obediently and looked owlishly at Hugh.

  ‘Oh, sod you!’ Hugh shouted, and when Graham tut-tutted at him lifted his hands as though he were about to strike him; but then subsided, and sat staring at Graham with eyes as malevolent in their gaze as a cat’s at a mousehole.

  ‘All right,’ he said at length. ‘All right. I’ll do what’s best for the branch. I’m above this sort of petty jockeying for position. I care only for the welfare of the group as a whole, not for my own glory.’ He was beginning to feel better by the moment. ‘So as long as you agree to Plan B, I’ll agree that you lead the exercise. On the understanding that this is for this exercise only. Afterwards we return to the status quo, with me as the chairman, appointed by head office, remember.’

  ‘We’ll see about the future when it comes,’ said Graham with a somewhat gnomic air. ‘Now, details. John and I say tomorrow night. Midweek, you see, less likely to be good security. I imagine they lock up more carefully at weekends when the laboratory isn’t operating. So, Wednesday is D Day ….’ And he reached into his briefcase and with great aplomb pulled out his own version of Plan B, over which they all bent, as Hugh sat glowering over his folded arms, refusing, very obviously, to join in. I’ll show the bastard, just wait and see how I’ll show the bastard, he promised himself. Just you wait, Graham Bighead, I’ll get you right into the shit, you see if I don’t.

  The room was one of the most heavily furnished Joe had ever been into in his life, and he’d been in a good many in his time as a leg-man. Against one wall stood a row of ornate birdcages filled with chattering whistling birds which rustled around their enclosed quarters nervously, swinging on fanciful trapezes, dodging round the miniature houses and turreted castles that cluttered their small available space, and filling the room with the smell of their birdseed.

  The room outside the cages looked as cluttered and overequipped as they did; there was a three-piece suite in heavy red mock leather, piled high with multi-coloured cushions. There was a dining table made of blond wood with insets of marquetry just visible under a vast china epergne filled with wax fruit, and six heavily carved chairs in the same marquetry. There were nests of tables, and a glass coffee table, and several stools and foot-rests, and every available surface, including the shelves that filled one wall, was covered with ornaments. There were shepherdesses and shepherds in fluted china, there were winsome kittens and impudent dogs in vivid colours, there were candlesticks and brass dishes and paper flowers and Spanish dancer dolls with net skirts spread wide to show a froth of red frills and musical boxes and bowls of sweets; and Joe stared round and wanted to laugh. It was like falling head first into a shop window on the day of the annual sale.

  ‘Sit down, I’m sure,’ Edna said, and stood hovering as he inserted himself gingerly into an armchair. It was very slippery and cold, and the chill struck up through his buttocks and made it difficult for him to relax, though no sign of that showed on his face as he smiled expansively at Edna.

  ‘Nice place you’ve got here,’ he said, his voice oozing affability. ‘Very cosy.’

  She beamed complacently. ‘Yes, I like a few nice things about me. Makes a house a home, that’s what I always say. Not that the family appreciate it. I get all the nicest things I can from my catalogue, you know, and then the cows never stay home. You got daughters, Mr Lloyd? If you haven’t, don’t bother, that’s all I can say.’

  ‘No children, sad to say, Mrs Laughton. I haven’t been blessed that way.’

  ‘Then good luck to you,’ she said and sat down herself, leaning forwards with her hands on her knees. ‘Now, you wanted to talk to me, you said? From the paper? Have I won that there competition? The one for the Christmas Hamper full of Traditional Good Fayre and all that?’

  ‘Not exactly, Mrs Laughton,’ Joe said. ‘Though you never know, do you? Hasn’t been drawn yet, that hasn’t. They’re still marking the entries, but there’s no know
ing what mightn’t happen. No, I wanted to talk to you about something different.’

  He paused portentously. ‘I was glad I was able to find you, but then we had a record of you on our files.’

  She frowned and pulled back a little. ‘Record? What record?’

  ‘That unfortunate business last month, Mrs Laughton. With Barney’s self-service … er, let me see … a matter of a packet of sausages, three packs of biscuits, a jar of jam and a tin of very expensive top quality red salmon.’

  ‘I never had nothing to do with it!’ she said, trying to be shrill and self-righteous, but producing only a whine. ‘I told them in the court I didn’t.’

  ‘I’m sure, Mrs Laughton, I’m sure you didn’t. When I read the report, I said to myself, there’s more to this than meets the eye, I said. So I won’t publish it.’ He smiled at her with great sweetness. ‘Not yet, I won’t.’

  ‘I was scared it’d get in the paper and I’d lose my little jobs,’ she said, staring at him with her eyes wide and watchful. ‘I was that relieved when it didn’t.’

  ‘Well, Mrs Laughton,’ he said expansively. ‘It’s me you’ve got to thank for that. So I hope I can count on you for a little help with my investigations.’

  ‘What investigations?’ She was comfortable now, suddenly aware of the power of her position, no longer the threatened suppliant, but the useful contact. She even preened a little. ‘What can I do for you, Mr Lloyd?’

  ‘Your little job you mentioned.’