Ken McClure - Pandora's Helix

As the brief interview ended and the fat man disappeared inside, Neef checked with Ann Miles that Tracy was ready.

“All ready,” she affirmed. “Shall I show them straight in when they arrive?”

“Please.”

A few moments later, the door opened and the Torrances were ushered in, accompanied by the fat man who introduced himself as Lewis Milligan.

“I represent the Evening Citizen,” announced Milligan. “In this instance, I’m also acting on behalf of Mr and Mrs Torrance.”

“Tracy is all ready for you,” said Neef. “We’re all sorry to see her go. We hope everything goes well for her at the Randolf Clinic.”

“Thank you Doctor,” said Milligan. “I’m sure it will.”

The Torrances seemed content to leave everything to Milligan. They stood in the background with a barely suppressed look of smugness on their faces.

A knock came to the door. Kate Morse came in holding Tracy in her arms. Another nurse stood behind her with a plastic bag containing Tracy’s belongings.

Mrs Torrance made a great show of taking Tracy into her arms and smothering her with affection. Tracy seemed unimpressed, preferring instead to chew a corner of Mr Raggins. As she was hoisted over to her mother’s other shoulder, Tracy dropped the doll and stretched out her arm in silent anguish. Milligan picked it up and eyed it distastefully. “You’re going to have lots of new dollies at the Randolf,” he said in what he imagined were child-friendly tones. Tracy did not respond. When it began to look as if he wasn’t going to return the doll, Kate Morse stepped in and took it from him. She gave it back to Tracy and said to Milligan in tones that threatened to freeze him, “Mr Raggins goes.”

As the party started to troop out of Neef’s office, Mrs Torrance handed Tracy over to her husband, who seemed equally determined to mount a display of affection for the onlookers. Mrs Torrance was the last to leave the room in front of Neef. She paused for a moment to let the others get ahead then turned round to face him. He saw the gimlet eyes that had haunted his dreams the previous night.

“You must really hope she dies,” she hissed.

“You can’t believe that, Mrs Torrance,” said Neef, trying to appear calm when he felt as if he’d been kneed in the groin.

“Stands to reason. If she dies, you were right. If she lives, you were wrong.”

“No one’s infallible, Mrs Torrance. I certainly don’t pretend to be. I would be absolutely delighted to be proved wrong over your daughter. Please believe me.”

Mrs Torrance gave a sneering look of disbelief then left to catch up with the rest.

Neef closed the door of his office and went over to the small wash basin in the corner. He splashed water up into his face for a few moments then rested his hands on the edge of the basin. He saw that they were shaking slightly.

He heard the door open quietly behind him but didn’t turn round. He knew it was Ann Miles.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“With water dripping from his face, he looked at Ann in the mirror and said, “That bloody woman really believes I want her daughter to die.”

“She’s distraught,” said Ann. “She doesn’t know what she’s saying. You have to make allowances. You know that.”

Neef nodded, still with his back to her. He patted his face dry and said, “Sometimes I think my capacity for ‘making allowances’ has been stretched to its limit.”

Ann Miles said, “My husband’s an accountant. He thinks his job is stressful. He doesn’t know the half of it.” With that, she backed out of the door.

Neef’s phone rang. It was Norman Beavis. He would come in to see the Downy boy on the following morning if that was convenient. “I’ve pencilled him into the theatre schedule for Thursday,” said Beavis.

“Good,” said Neef. “I think he’s borderline but see what you think.”

Kate Morse and Lawrence Fielding arrived promptly at four. Lawrence, a sallow skinned, serious looking man, good at his job but lacking in humour, stood aside to let Kate enter first then closed the door behind him with meticulous care before sitting down beside her. He always reminded Neef of a deferential butler but he was a clever man and a good doctor.

“I just wanted to have a word with you both about a proposed trial that would involve our patients.” said Neef.

“Kate said something about Gene Therapy,” said Lawrence.

“That’s right. A company called, Menogen Research have developed a genetically based strategy for tumour treatment. They have satisfied the relevant control bodies and safety committees and obtained permission for human trials to commence. They still have to present their strategy to our own safety and ethics committee but, assuming they cross that hurdle, what do you think?”

“I’m not at all sure what it would involve,” said Kate.

“Nor me,” agreed Lawrence.

“Then we’re all agreed on that,” smiled Neef. “It’s a brand new area for all of us. I’ll know more when I meet the people from Menogen. I think the best we can do in the meantime is agree in principle if we can?”

“I’m all in favour of trying new things, providing they have a reasonable chance of success and aren’t just being used to provide data for some boffin’s pet project,” said Kate.

“There’s the parents to consider too,” said Lawrence. “It’s so easy to give people false hope as soon as you start talking about ‘new treatments’. The words immediately translate into ‘miracle cure’.”

“And our parents are particularly vulnerable,” added Kate. “They’re on a hair trigger to clutch at any straw.”

“Good points,” said Neef. “So we can agree that unless there is a real chance of our patients” condition being significantly improved, I should say, no?”

Both Kate and Fielding nodded.

“Is the treatment itself distressing?” asked Kate.

“I believe not, but that’s something I will verify. The kids have enough on their plate with chemotherapy and radiotherapy. There would have to be a terribly good reason to ask them to cope with anything more.”

Lawrence Fielding said, “I’ve been doing some general reading about Gene Therapy since Kate told me about our possible involvement.”

“Me too,” smiled Neef.

“There seems to be an element of danger involved in it. People keep stressing that it’s an unknown quantity.”

“That’s true,” agreed Neef. “But the major concern seems to centre on the possibility of actually causing cancer in patients undergoing therapy.”

“And ours already have it,” said Kate.

“A strange comfort to take, I admit,” said Neef. “But I do think that the fact that the kids who might be involved in any such trial would probably be the ones with the worst prognoses must play a part in our thinking.”

“Nothing left to lose,” said Fielding.

“Yes,” said Neef.

“As long as that’s not the only consideration,” said Kate. “They are not laboratory animals to be as used as such by these Menogen people.”

“Absolutely not,” said Neef.

Fielding nodded.

“Can I take it then that we’re all in favour of the trial, providing that there is a real chance of tumour regression and that the new treatment does not put our children under unreasonable stress or have any horrendous side effects?”

“Yes,” said Fielding.

“Good. I’ll let you know when I have more details.”

As soon as Kate and Lawrence Fielding had left, Ann Miles came in to report that Andrew D’Arcy had called to say that the people from Menogen Research would be coming the following day. “He wanted to know if you could be free at ten a.m. I told them you could,” said Ann. “I’ve marked it in your diary.”