‘Yes … yes, I must go and see Ben,’ June said, still staring at her. ‘Oh, God, I must go and see Ben. I’ve got to tell him what I’ve done ….’
The excitement was ebbing away now and the knowledge of what she had done came pushing back up through her mind from the depths where she had tried to bury it, bringing waves of cold fear with it. She could see her own hands as though they were someone else’s, see how she had pinched up the flesh of her thigh, how she had set the syringe against the bump and pushed the needle in. She closed her eyes tightly and heard the nurse say anxiously, ‘Now, just take it easy, Mrs Pitman, head between the knees, that’s right …’ as a hard hand pushed her head downwards. ‘You’ll be fine, just take it easy. Everything’s going to be fine ….’
But it isn’t fine, June thought despairingly. It isn’t. I’ve ruined everything, destroyed everything and there’s nothing I can do about it.
She began to cry, deep retching sobs that shook her whole body. There was nothing she could do.
37
It had seemed a mad idea when he’d first suggested it, but now, she thought, as the train came into Minster station only half an hour late, she had to admit he’d been right. What else could she have done over Christmas, after all? Spending it at a health farm had actually made her feel a good deal better. She’d had time to recover physically from her bruises, she’d been able to avoid the hazard of eating too much – always part of the family Christmases in the old days at Purbeck Avenue – and above all she’d been thoroughly drained of any traces of self-pity. Seeing the other people who had nowhere else to spend the holiday, the loneliness, the tedium and the emptiness of other lives, had made her grateful for her own problems. They at least gave her a sense of being a real person with a real life to live, unlike the people she had shared saunas and gymnasia with this past week.
And there had been the freedom from the pressure of the news, too, she thought as she caught a glimpse of a newspaper hoarding for the Advertiser as she came through the ticket barrier. That had been one of the promises the place had made in its brochure. ‘Plenty of video entertainment to choose from,’ the glossy pages had trumpeted. ‘But none of the depression of the bad news at Flinders House during this truly traditional festive season.’ At first she had been appalled by that. How stupid could people be, trying to withdraw from reality to a never-never world where there was only entertainment and cosiness, and none of the real living pain of the here and now? Pretending that a place was Dingley Dell and that all was for the best in the best of all possible worlds didn’t get rid of fear and danger and cruelty and stupidity – and yet it had been comforting to spend a week without a newspaper or a television newscast. She felt fresh and new and agreeably bored. Ready to go back to work.
But still with her mind not fully made up about the new job she had been offered with Ben. It was as though her intelligence had gone into abeyance while she’d been at Hinders: shut away from reality by the place’s policy, she had allowed her own mind to be manipulated away, too, and had given no real thought to what she should do. That decision still lay ahead of her, and she settled herself in the corner of the taxi taking her to the small hotel near the sea front where she had decided to stay until she had finally settled on a flat of her own, and thought – as soon as I can I’ll contact Ben, see how soon we can meet and talk. Maybe he’s already decided for himself, and that has to affect what I do ….
The hotel room was small and dull and devoid of any personality, and that was a relief. Flinders House had been so ferociously tasteful and welcoming that it had been intimidating. Here she could think properly and find herself again, and she unpacked the few clothes she had taken away with her and put them away and then sat down at the small desk in the corner with her bank book and the letters her solicitor had sent her. Before she did anything else she needed to work out her long-term finances, to see what her needs would be. To take the job that was being offered just because of the attraction of the high salary it carried – and though no specific sum had been mentioned, it was obvious it would be high, going by the offer to Ben – would be wrong. She needed to have all the facts clear in her head first so that she made her choices for the right reasons. That was a refreshing and comforting thought. After so many years of not making decisions at all, of having Peter tell her what was to happen to her life, there was a deep pleasure in having to be so definite on her own account.
She emerged from her computations feeling rather light in the head. She was, she decided, very well off. She had known that Peter was a thrifty man who had saved carefully and that the house had gained greatly in value during the years they had lived in it, but she had not expected her share of the spoils salvaged from the wreck of twenty years of marriage to be so substantial; and she looked at the neat columns of figures and the totals they came to with something approaching awe. There was no question of making the wrong decision about jobs on purely financial grounds, that was for certain.
She ate a frugal supper in the bleak hotel dining room, and then, on an impulse, decided to wrap up warmly and walk to the hospital. It was a good half hour’s trudge through the town, but an agreeable one, and regular exercise was something she’d got used to over the past few days; it would be a pity to let her healthy regime go too soon, she told herself as she pulled on boots and a thick coat and gloves. And he might be there, whispered the little voice inside her head, mightn’t he? And you’re aching to see him – but she refused to think about that, and pushed her fists deep into her pockets and started to walk.
It was an agreeable walk though there was a melancholy about it too: the houses she passed with their brightly lit windows were heavily decorated with trees and lights and Santa Clauses pasted to the panes, and the occasional glimpse of family groups inside staring at the flickering bluish screens that occupied the corner of every room she looked into made her feel the pinch of loneliness; and there was another ingredient to the sense of sadness that filled her. She would be leaving this town soon. She knew that, even though she hadn’t yet decided what to do about the new job that hung over her like the shadow of last night’s dreams, impossible to shake off Whether she went north with Ben to work on a defence project – and the thought of that made her cringe inside, a reaction that told her that surely she had, after all, made her decision? – she would not be able to go back to the old days. The comfortable year of working with Ben in that shabby ill-equipped corner of a shabby ill-equipped path. lab in a small provincial hospital was over. No more time would be spent with Castor and Pollux scolding her from their corner cage as she fed the rabbits snuffling and rustling in their pens, no more long hours would pass bent over microscopes or writing reports for Ben. It was over, and her eyelids pricked and she walked faster, bending her head against the sharpness of the winter night, hating herself for being so mawkish. It was as well she was going to see him now, she told herself. She wanted him to be there; not for any emotional reason, but to sort this business out, once and for all. A new year was hovering just over the horizon, a mere handful of hours away. Now was the time to make new plans, settle new decisions, start out on new roads. Yes, she repeated firmly to herself, that’s the only reason I’m hoping he’s there, the only reason I’ve set out like this. It’s because I need to know what’s going to happen to my life. Not because of him, as a person, at all.
The light was on in the corridor that led to the lab, and she pushed open the glass doors and stood there, smelling the familiar scents of pine disinfectant and formaldehyde and laboratory chemicals, and felt a great wash of nostalgia engulf her, and was furious with herself for it. To be nostalgic for the here and now – it was crazy. And yet it wasn’t, because wasn’t this all now part of the past, a yesterday that was just as far away as if it had been years ago? It didn’t matter how far behind you an experience was; once it was over it was dead, and regret for it could be just as poignant within hours of the loss as after years, and she shook her head at her own muddled thinki
ng and moving purposefully went into the lab and across the big shadowed space to the office door beyond. Her heels clacked on the terrazzo as she went and she thought – I hope he hears me. I don’t want to startle him, I want him to be expecting me ….
But he didn’t move as she came in, sitting at his small desk, his head bent over what he was doing, and she stared at him and took a deep careful breath, to control the lift of pleasure the sight of his rumpled hair had created in her, and said as casually as she could, ‘Hello, Ben.’
At first she thought he hadn’t heard her, because he went on sitting in exactly the same posture, and she opened her mouth to speak again, but now he straightened and turned and looked at her, and her words died in her throat. He looked dreadful, and impulsively she moved forwards, pulling off her gloves as she did so, and said urgently, ‘Ben? Whatever is it? You look ghastly – what is it? Are you ill?’
He looked at her for a moment and then smoothed his hands over his head, and then stood up and stayed there at his desk, looking at her awkwardly.
‘Oh, Jessie … I didn’t think you’d … I’m fine. A little tired, because I’m so busy, but you know how it is … did you … was it a good break?’
She stopped short, staring at him, no longer wanting to be near him, and he stared back, his eyes a little red-rimmed as they always were when he was tired, and she said uncertainly, ‘It was fine. Great. Very restful – Ben, what is it?’
He shook his head and looked away from her, down at his desk, and then after a moment sat down a little clumsily. ‘Nothing, Jessie, really. It’s just there’s a lot to do to sort things out ….’
‘I see,’ she said after a moment, and moved away from him to stand leaning against the door jamb, well away from him. He didn’t want her to be near him; that much was very obvious. ‘Then you’re going north?’
‘Going north?’ he said, still not lifting his head.
‘You’re going to work on that defence project?’ She knew her voice was sharp and she couldn’t help it. There was something in her that was growing and she knew it to be disgust and anger, and neither of those were feelings she wanted to direct at him. Not at Ben who had made her feel so good, so sure that she could, after all, find pleasure in a man’s company and a man’s touch.
‘No,’ he said after another pause and this time he did look at her. ‘No, I’m not.’
At once she felt a wave of guilt and closed her eyes and said impulsively, ‘Oh, thank God for that! I’ve been trying so hard to see a way it could be done, and … but I’m so glad. It was a horrible idea, horrible. You can’t let them have your work, and I’m so glad you ….’
‘No one’s going to have my work,’ he said loudly, and she opened her eyes to stare at him. ‘I’m not doing it any more.’
‘You’re … what did you say?’
He took a deep breath and began to speak very rapidly, looking at a point a few inches above her head. ‘Jessie, I had hoped to be able to get a message to you before you came here. I was going to arrange … I thought it would be better if we met outside the hospital so that I could explain properly. It isn’t easy here. It’s damned near impossible ….’ And for a moment he was Ben again, the man she had worked with for so long and had thought she knew so well, instead of the chilly stranger who had been sitting in his place. But it was a momentary change, because now he said in the same rapid, rather high voice, ‘I’m afraid your job here doesn’t exist any more, Jessie. It’s all … there just isn’t a job here for you. I’m very sorry.’
‘You … you’re stopping work here? Where are you going to do it, then?’
‘I’m not,’ he said, and again turned away from her. ‘I’ve decided not to do it at all; I’ve burned the notes, disposed of the last of the 737, destroyed my batch of Contravert, Clough’s destroying the rest and tomorrow they’re collecting Castor and Pollux to take them back to the breeders.’ He lifted his chin and stared at the closed door that led to the animal room. ‘We’ve been short of storage space for the lab’s records for some time, so we’re having that room made over for them. It’ll take a bit of the pressure off the space outside and help us a lot.’
‘But …’ She shook her head, bewildered. ‘You mean you’re not leaving here? Just giving up the research?’
‘I couldn’t have said it more clearly,’ he snapped, and slid his eyes over her face and away again. ‘I’ve spelled it out as simply as I know how. The research is finished so I don’t have a job for you any more. It should be crystal clear.’
There was a long silence as she took it all in, and then she said carefully, ‘I think after all the work I did, I’m entitled to know why.’
‘I’ve decided, that’s all.’
‘No, it isn’t all.’ Again anger was bubbling up in her. ‘It bloody well isn’t all! That work was part of me, too. Those notes you say you burned – I worked on those as much as you did! I was as much part of this project as you. Now, tell me why. I have a right to know. Was it the publicity? The pressure to use it too soon? The epidemic? Was that it? Christ, Ben, I know it was hell, but the worst of it was over! We only had to decide where to go next, that was all! The pressure was easing off ….’
‘Like hell it was!’ he blazed. ‘Like bloody hell it was! Haven’t you seen the publicity this past week? Haven’t you heard what they’re saying ever since Timmy ….’ He stopped and took a deep breath and then said dully, ‘I’m sorry, I’d forgotten. You mightn’t have heard at that. That place made such a point about no newspapers, no TV newscasts ….’
‘What’s happened? What have I missed?’
‘Oh, Jessie, where do I begin?’ And again he rubbed his head with both hands and now he really was back, her Ben again. The cold, shrill, angry man had gone and left a shell of himself behind. ‘It’s June. She … it’s the stupidest thing. I should have realized that she … have you ever thought about weak people, Jessie? How much harm they do just by being what they are? I thought June was weak and feeble and … I’d come to despise her, do you know that? I was sorry for her, and I wanted to take care of her still, but I despised her for being so stupid and helpless. Helpless! Christ, but the power she has is unbelievable. She’s changed everything all on her own. Changed and ruined everything.’
‘You haven’t explained.’
‘She stole some of the Contravert. She gave it to Lyall Davies when Timmy got ill, and she was afraid he had the infection. I don’t know if he actually did have it, though I gather he was quite ill – anyway, Lyall Davies of course used it, with all the fanfare and the noise he could, bloody nearly called the TV cameras in to watch him give the injections. And when it got out that I’d let the stuff be used on my own nephew – oh, Jessie, it’s been hell all week.’
‘Oh, Ben, I ….’ she began, but he shook his head.
‘That’s not all. She took some of the stuff herself. No, don’t ask me why. She gave me some long garbled rigmarole about the risk to Timmy of using it, and feeling better if she took it too and shared the risk – absolute rubbish, believe me – but she did it. And then ….’ He laughed then, a thin ugly little sound. ‘There really has to be some sort of God somewhere, after all. And he hates me, that’s for sure. She’s pregnant, you see. You remember the time Peter first hit you and I told you what happened to me? I did, didn’t I? Well, it doesn’t matter now. Because she’s pregnant and she took some of my Contravert. So there you are. I’ve burned the notes and destroyed it all. What the bloody hell else could I do?’
‘But ….’ She took a deep breath. ‘But Ben, what about the good use of the stuff? What about all those children who might die? Shouldn’t you have kept the Contravert for them?’
‘And expose them to the same risks that June has exposed herself to, and Timmy? If it’s bad for them, it’s just as bad for the children who are ill. Maybe they’d be better off if they died of the bug – who am I to say? Christ, Jessie, what do you think I am? I’m just a bloody pathologist – I’m not a god. It’s not for
me to sort out all these rights and wrongs. I’m not capable of it. Ethics they confuse me. Always have. It’s easier to walk away from the whole problem. I created it – or I might have, we still don’t know for sure this bloody epidemic has anything to do with my animals or my 737 strain – and I can’t solve it, so I’m walking away. It’s not admirable, it’s lousy, and I just don’t care. I’m not capable of caring any more. I’m worn out … leave me alone. I’ve had enough. I’ve had enough ….’
‘Even if more children get ill?’
‘Even if they do. I’ve told you. I can’t handle it any more.’
‘Then let someone else do it. Give the Contravert to another researcher or another doctor and let ….’
‘Another doctor? A Lyall Davies? And what sort of sop to a conscience would that be? I’d still have to sit and watch and wait for the time bomb to explode. Some children might survive, yes – but some might get appalling diseases later. Like the girls whose mothers were given Stilboestrel to prevent them aborting and who died in godawful pain, in their twenties, of cancer – wouldn’t it have been better for them if they’d died in infancy? Wouldn’t it be better if this epidemic now was left to peter out by itself? It will – it has to. They always do.’
‘So you’ll let children die for fear of what might happen ….’
She had to try to understand, had to try to make him understand, but he shook his head, furious again.
‘I’ve told you – I’m not God! If they live or die, that isn’t my responsibility. It wasn’t mine that the 737 escaped in the first place – how could I legislate for a thief stealing animal food and then going to work in a school? How could I protect my work against people like those Animal Freedom Brigaders? My only guilt is that I started the work in the first place. If I hadn’t – well, I did, but now I just have to stand aside and stop meddling. I’ve done enough harm. I don’t want to do any more. Whatever I do now, I do the wrong thing. The way I’ve chosen I believe is the lesser wrong. I can’t be sure – Christ, if only I could! But I’ve tried to do the best I can … now leave me alone.’
The Virus Man Page 37
