A Life for a Life (7 page)

8

May 1998–January 1999

I could marry this one…

The thought had come from nowhere and he’d laughed softly at himself as he’d brought the drinks over.

‘Share the joke?’ she’d said as he sat down.

‘Oh, just something in the play,’ he lied, and picked an incident at random from the Stoppard they’d just seen.

He’d had plenty of girlfriends, but never such a thought before. It wasn’t as if she was startlingly pretty, he’d had prettier, but there was something about her face, the way it lit when she smiled, that entranced him…

‘What made you decide to go for medicine?’ she asked. ‘I’ve never met a lab worker who became a doctor before, let alone a pathologist.’

He thought for a moment. ‘I suppose it was when I was doing my part-time degree – did you do that?’

She shook her head. ‘I did mine full-time at university. You were saying…?’

‘Well, I could see the others struggling with stuff I was soaking up – sorry if this sounds big-headed, I thought at the time there must be some catch… but then, when I passed with first class honours having not exactly killed myself studying, I realised I had a facility for exams and decided to push it as far as it would go.’

‘How sickening,’ she said. ‘I’d have been one of the strugglers. But what made you choose medicine?’

He shrugged. ‘I found the human body, its workings, fascinating – it’s why I went into lab work in the first place.’

‘But how did you manage to get into medical school? I thought they only took people who got straight As at school.’

‘They do make exceptions, but it was mostly due to the pathologist where I worked, Dr McCloud.’ He told her how he’d encouraged him, taken the time to show him how to approach the interviews, the kind of answers they liked. ‘I’d never have done it without him.’ He smiled. ‘He had no preconceptions, he took people entirely on their own merits,’

‘You make him sound a bit like JS.’

Fraser smiled again, mirthlessly this time. ‘Aye, maybe he was.’

‘And now it’s all change,’ she said tonelessly.

‘Yeah.’

She said, ‘Have you noticed? Nobody ever seems to talk about him now – it’s almost as though there’s a tacit conspiracy…’

‘I can think of one reason for that.’

She looked at him.

‘Because if it
wasn’t
an accident… Can you remember who the police spent the most time with?’

‘No?’

‘Connie, Ian and Leo. They must have had their reasons for that.’

‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘No, I can’t believe that. Let’s talk about something else.’

Later, when he stopped outside her house, she said, ‘Thanks for a lovely evening, Fraser.’

‘I’d like to see you again.’

‘You will, tomorrow.’

‘That’s not what I meant.’

‘I know.’ She quickly kissed him on the side of the mouth before climbing out of the car.

He watched her go in. She waved as she shut the door.

*

They disagreed about foxhunting, emotional intelligence, hand guns and South American politics.

‘You could always stay the night,’ he suggested.

‘Thank you’ – she smiled that smile – ‘but I think I’ll go home.’

They agreed about Tony Blair, Mozart, the sea and South African politics.

‘Stay with me…’

‘Don’t push me, Fraser.’

Yes, she’d lived with someone before, for nearly a year, investing more than she’d got in return, which was why, when she did stay with him, it was at a time of her own choosing.

*

‘I don’t believe you,’ she said. ‘Show me.’

The one-piece swimming costume clung to her body like sealskin and he suddenly felt a childish desire to show off.

He took several deep breaths, then ducked under the water and began swimming away from her; soon she couldn’t see him for the ripples made by the other swimmers. About half a minute later he bobbed up at the far end of the swimming pool over a hundred feet away. She swam over and joined him. He was still panting.

‘Where did you learn to do that?’ she asked.

‘Used to go swimming a lot.’ He grinned at her between breaths. ‘In Glasgae, if y’ didnae like footba’, there was only swimming left.’

‘Most people prefer to swim
on
the water, not
under
it.’

He shrugged. ‘It’s just something I’ve always liked doing. I did a diving course in Israel a few years ago.’

‘Why Israel?’

‘Why not? It’s hot and the life under the Red Sea is… well, y’ have to see it to believe it.’

‘D’you still go there?’

‘I went last year. Why? Fancy coming with me?’

‘I might.’

Later, in the pub, he asked her about her family. Her father had been a teacher, she told him, her mother too, until they married.

‘Dad could have been a headmaster if he’d been prepared to move, but Mum wouldn’t leave Avon.’

‘Roots?’

‘Deep ones in her case – I’ve lost count of the number of cousins twice removed I’ve got round here.’

‘It didn’t stop your brother moving away – Africa, isn’t it?’

‘Botswana. He’s a teacher too and he loves it there. He comes home every Christmas, burnt to a cinder, but you can see he’s itching to get back.’

‘Older than you?’

She nodded, then looked at him curiously. ‘D’you ever see your family? You never mention them…’

He shrugged and looked away. ‘I try to see my mother at Christmas, but…’

‘Yes?’ she prompted.

‘I know it sounds bad, but she always has my brothers over when I’m there an’ I’m… I’m not comfortable with them. Nor they with me. I don’t really belong there.’

She half smiled. ‘You make it sound as though you’re a refugee from a foreign country.’

‘Have you ever been to Glasgow?’

She shook her head. ‘But I thought it was supposed to be the cultural centre of Europe now,’ she said innocently.

Fraser snorted. ‘Now that would depend on which bit you were in and who you might be listening to. Would you jump at the chance of an invite to a social gathering in St Paul’s?’

‘Aren’t you being rather judgemental?’

He didn’t reply and she said, ‘I suppose not, but every city’s got its dodgy areas, hasn’t it?’

‘Aye, an’ I grew up in one,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s fine well for a person to drive through an’ say, “Oh, what an interesting community”, but they wouldn’t want to live there.’

The bitterness in his voice surprised her, but she didn’t say anything, sensing that he would go on.

‘Remember how I told you I was good at academic work? Well, in the school I went to, that was the quickest way to social oblivion. Even my brothers were embarrassed by me.’ He paused again, then seemed to come to a decision and went on: ‘The only way I could gain any kind of street cred was to prove myself by my deeds out of school. So’ – he took a breath, released it – ‘I joined a gang of joyriders, learned how to break into cars, hot wire the engines an’ drive round like a maniac terrorising people.’

‘How old were you?’

‘Fourteen, fifteen.’

‘Hormones,’ she said. ‘Testosterone.’

He shrugged again. ‘Maybe.’

‘Didn’t you get caught?’

‘Eventually, which was probably the best thing could have happened.’ He smiled without humour. ‘My form teacher came to court and spoke for me and I only got probation. But you know what really got me? The old man whose car I’d stolen had to come to court to give evidence, and when I looked at him, I saw what I’d become. When I promised never to do it again, I meant it,’

‘Did you keep the promise?’

‘Aye. But I had no real friends after that and just lived for the time I could get out.’ He looked up at her. ‘That’s why I don’t belong there an’ hate going back. And yet, I’m not sure I belong here, either.’

‘Yes you do,’ she said, but they both knew what he meant.

*

‘Did you know that Fraser and Frances Templeton are virtually living together?’ Ian watched Connie’s face as he imparted this information.

‘I believe I’d heard a rumour,’ Connie said disinterestedly. ‘I’m glad he’s found his level,’ she added, which told Ian what he wanted to know.

Fraser didn’t care what they thought. He didn’t care about anything else much and it wasn’t until after Frances had moved in with him that he gave Alkovin any more consideration.

It was another suicide attempt, successful this time; a man of fifty who had relapsed after consolidation.

‘I’m sure Fraser’s eyes would have lit up when he heard about it,’ Connie said at the weekly medical meeting, ‘but I think we can agree that this man’s personal life, taken together with the relapse, is explanation enough.’

‘My eyes would never light up for anyone’s death,’ Fraser felt impelled to say. ‘Especially a suicide.’

‘Of
course
not, Fraser. I was joking.’

The meeting moved on, but Fraser noticed that Robert Swann, the junior consultant, had been on the point of saying something and then apparently changed his mind. He was a quiet, almost withdrawn man, younger than Fraser, but they seemed to get on.

Over the next month, Fraser wrote up every case of psychosis in ALL he could find and compared the number with that in myeloid leukaemia, which wasn’t treated with Alkovin. There was a statistically significant increase with ALL.

Then, although he knew he was taking a risk, he contacted his opposite number in Birmingham and asked if he could see the data in their Alkovin trial.

They hadn’t been looking for it in the same way, but there was nevertheless a significantly higher rate of neurological disturbance where Alkovin was used.

He considered approaching one of the higher managers in the Trust, then thought he’d have a better chance of convincing them if he had someone else on his side. He went to see Robert.

‘Forgive me if I’m wrong,’ he fished, ‘but I’ve gained the impression that you might have reservations about the Alkovin situation.’

After a pause, Robert nibbled carefully. ‘Some of the things you’ve come up with have made me wonder once or twice.’ After a pause, he said, ‘Put it this way, Fraser – I can’t see that it would hurt to take a look at it. Use reverse criteria perhaps, assume there is a neurological effect and look for evidence.’

To commit himself or not? Fraser wondered…

‘Well, the fact is, Robert, I’ve done just that. Looked for and found evidence.’

‘
Have
you now? Is that it there?’ He nodded at the sheaf of paper in Fraser’s hands.

‘I’ve made you a copy.’

They went through it together and Fraser told him what he had in mind.

‘I need to think about it,’ Robert said. ‘Can I keep this?’

‘Sure.’

He didn’t keep Fraser waiting long. Late the next morning, he was summoned to Connie’s room. Connie and Ian were there, Fraser’s results in front of them.

‘Robert very sensibly brought this to us,’ she said without preamble. ‘How
dare
you go behind my back, approach other hospitals without my permission?’ She was shaking with anger, he noticed.

He looked straight back at her. ‘I dared because I believe, as did John Somersby, that there is something seriously wrong with Alkovin and—’

‘And we have repeatedly told you that there isn’t. Are you calling us liars?’

‘No,’ he said carefully, ‘I am not, but I believe you to be mistaken.’

‘It is
you
who are mistaken, Fraser. We’ve looked into all the cases you brought to our attention and satisfied ourselves that there was nothing out of the ordinary. We even approached the manufacturers, who have looked into the matter and found nothing. What more do you want?’

‘If that’s a serious question, then an independent enquiry—’

‘Isn’t our word good enough for you? We’ve looked at this long and hard and found absolutely nothing.’

‘And I’ve discovered the same problem in Birmingham.’

‘Exactly!’ Connie said. ‘The same
non
-problem. If you were to examine this’ – she slapped the paper in front of her – ‘properly, case by case, instead of jumping to conclusions, then you would find the same set of explanations.
There is not a problem
.’

Fraser tried to keep his face impassive as he pondered the impossibility of countering such conviction. He was saved from having to say anything by Ian.

‘You know the first aphorism of research, don’t you, Fraser? Any research.’

‘I’m sure you’re about to enlighten me.’

‘If you look for something, you’ll find it. Think about it, Fraser. Once you’d got this idea into your head, you started looking for more cases – and lo! You found them. It’s subjective. What Connie and I see as normal human reactions to a life-threatening disease, you see as evidence of psychosis. Take the time to think about it, ask yourself some honest questions.’