Ken McClure: Hypocrite's Isle

‘It’s an average night out in Liverpool,’ said Gavin, making Simmons laugh out loud. ‘Anyway, I thought I’d just tell you that the experiment is up and running. Mary got me some cell cultures from the Macmillan group after I screwed up big time yesterday.’

‘I heard you’d had problems. It happens to the best of us. Cell culture is more of an art than a science.’

‘Mary’s just given me a master class in aseptic technique.’

‘Good. I’m glad things are starting to move. In the meantime, why don’t you go home and get some rest? There’s nothing much you can do here until the cultures have run their course.’

Despite the discomfort from his injuries, Gavin chose to walk back to the flat. He’d had more than enough comment about his appearance for one day — if not for an entire lifetime — so the prospect of people staring at him on the bus held little attraction. He wrapped his scarf round the lower part of his face, pulled on his woollen hat with the Nike logo on it and kept his head down as he started out on the forty-minute trek.

At a little after five he was the first one home, and the flat was so cold he could see his breath as he went around switching on the heating. He held his hand under the hot water tap in the kitchen for a few seconds before conceding that he’d have to wait a while for the water to heat up for the bath he’d been promising himself all the way home. In the meantime he filled the kettle. A hot cup of tea would help.

Although he’d kept his jacket on, he made the mistake of attempting to bear-hug himself while he waited for it to boil, and paid the price when his ribs protested. The pain, however, served to remind him that he would need to remove the strapping before getting into a bath — something he postponed for a further twenty minutes before doing so in his room, shivering in front of the electric fire as a pile of ribbon bandage built up around his feet.

‘Bloody hell,’ he murmured, seeing the colouring of his torso in the mirror. Five more minutes and he decided that he couldn’t wait any longer for the water heater to do its business. He compromised and settled for a not much hotter than lukewarm bath, although the cold air in the bathroom condensed the steam so quickly that it looked as if the water was hotter than it actually was. He kept changing his position in the tub — an old-style cast-iron job on claw feet that had survived the years to become fashionable again, although the chips in the enamel said that this was an untouched original — to ensure that as much of him was as totally immersed as possible at any one time; a strategy doomed to failure, as there always seemed to be one part of him sticking above the surface getting cold. On top of that there was a price to be paid in pain for each move he made. The best compromise proved to be lying flat on his back with the water lapping round his chin. His knees were exposed, but he kept them warm by filling and discharging the sponge on each in turn. He kept this up until the falling temperature of the water induced a shiver in his body.

Back in his room, his patience was tested to breaking point when it came to reapplying the strapping to his ribs. Restrictions to his arm movements ensured that he kept dropping the free end of the bandage, forcing him to start all over again.

The doorbell rang and provoked an outburst of bad language. ‘If you’re selling anything...’ he muttered as, holding one end of the ribbon and wearing nothing but his jeans, he padded across the cold vinyl floor in the hall and wrenched the front door open. Caroline stood there.

‘I heard what happened,’ she said, trying to work out what strange bondage ritual Gavin was engaged in, but finding it difficult to reach any conclusion in the dim glow from the hall light. ‘I thought I’d come and see how you were.’

Gavin’s anger and frustration disappeared as if by magic. ‘Thanks, that’s really nice of you. Come on in.’

‘I’ve obviously caught you at a bad time...’

‘No, I’ve just had a bath and I’ve been trying to get this damned bandage back on but I’m one hand short of the three you seem to need. I’ve been at it ten minutes already.’

‘Let me help.’

Caroline followed the direction of Gavin’s outstretched arm back to his room and took her jacket off to lay it on the bed before taking charge of the bandaging operation. ‘Maybe you should just stand still and I’ll walk round you.’

Gavin stood in the middle of the floor with his arms stretched out like a shivering Angel of the North .

‘Gosh, they didn’t half make a mess of you,’ said Caroline. She had just seen the damage properly for the first time as he turned to face the light. ‘You look as if you got hit by a train.’

‘Thanks.’

Caroline smiled and continued applying the strapping to his ribs — joking that it felt like some pagan custom involving dancing round a maypole.

‘Don’t go near the castle, young lady, I beg of you,’ mimicked Gavin in Hammer Horror style.

‘At least you look the part,’ said Caroline.

‘You’ll make a great doctor one day,’ said Gavin as she finished. ‘You have a confident touch.’

‘That doesn’t make you great... just confident.’

‘Making people believe you know what you’re doing is half the battle. Look, about last night...’

‘I was upset...’

‘You were right to be. I’m so sorry about your mother too. I had no idea. Do you feel like talking about it?’

Caroline sighed and shook her head in resignation. ‘She had breast cancer three years ago and finished up with radical surgery. She’s been clear ever since but now it’s come back, and this time it’s in her liver.’

Gavin tried to keep his facial expression neutral before finally saying, ‘I’m searching for something positive to say here but I don’t think it’s going to happen. We both know different.’

Caroline nodded. ‘Yep, it’s just a matter of time. God, she’s only forty-seven. It’s not fair.’

She started looking for tissues in her bag as the tears welled up, and sat down on the bed to dab angrily at her eyes as if embarrassed at the involuntary display of emotion.

‘Shit, this must be such a bummer for you,’ said Gavin. ‘I’m really sorry. How’s she taking it?’

‘Better than my dad, he’s falling to pieces. He’s seen it often enough. He knows exactly what’s going to happen to her. Mum doesn’t.’

‘She’s not a medic then?’

Caroline shook her head. ‘She was a geography teacher. That makes her Joe Public as far as cancer’s concerned. Putting up a brave fight will win the day... at least, that’s what she thought last time.’

‘Do you think she’ll jump through all the hoops again?’

Caroline looked at him.

‘Radiation, chemotherapy, surgery... general destruction of the patient in the name of medical science. I think they have the nerve to call it treatment.’

‘Where did that come from?’ asked Caroline, looking shocked.

‘My dad,’ said Gavin. ‘The Big C got him when I was fourteen. At least I think it was the Big C, but it was a close-run thing between that and the medics. He was a big, strong man, but he was five stone wringing wet when they’d finished with him, screaming like a baby when anyone touched him. Sorry, that’s not what you wanted to hear.’

‘You have a point,’ conceded Caroline. ‘Maybe not the one I wanted to hear but... I spoke to Dad about trying to arrange hospice care when things get really bad.’

‘Hospices do a great job,’ Gavin agreed. ‘They help folk keep their dignity right to the end. God, that’s so important. I wish more of them would understand that.’