Ken McClure: Hypocrite's Isle

‘Great... tonight?’

‘No, maybe Friday.’

It was after eleven when Gavin appeared in the lab. Mary’s smile was neutral; Tom just nodded.

‘Professor Sutcliffe was looking for you earlier,’ said Mary.

‘Know why?’

‘It’s usual for postgrad students to be asked to help out with tutorials for the undergrads. It’s supposed to be good for us — teaching experience and all that — something to put on the CV. I think he’s pencilled you in for next Tuesday: microbial respiration.’

‘Well, he can un-pencil me and teach his own students. The lecturers in this department are not exactly overburdened with teaching duties as far as I can see, and that’s what they’re paid for.’

‘If you say so,’ said Mary, giving up and turning away. Tom pretended to be hard at work at his bench.

‘Is Frank in?’ asked Gavin.

‘He’s in his office,’ said Mary.

Gavin knocked on Frank Simmons’ door. ‘Got time to talk?’ he asked.

Simmons swivelled slowly round in his chair and looked over his glasses. ‘I suppose I should grab the opportunity while you’re actually here, Gavin. Come in. Sit down.’

‘Sounds like I’m in trouble?’

‘You were until Mary mentioned that she met you last night on your way to spend the evening in the medical library. If it hadn’t been for that I think I might have been coming round to the view — that everyone else seems to hold around here — that you’ve been doing damn all since you came through the door of my lab two months ago.’

Gavin gave an exaggerated shrug, but didn’t have time to respond before Simmons continued, ‘The Medical Research Council has given you a three-year postgraduate research studentship on my recommendation — and I don’t have to tell you how stiff the competition was. I’d hate to suffer the embarrassment of being proved wrong...’

‘I’ve been thinking,’ said Gavin.

‘What about?’

The tone of Simmons’ voice left Gavin in no doubt that this was not a casual enquiry.

‘I’m just about to tell you,’ said Gavin, placing his rucksack on the floor between his legs and bringing out his bits and pieces in an untidy jumble, causing pens and pencils to cascade on to the floor. ‘You wanted me to work on the genetics of membrane architecture... right?’ he said, dropping to his knees to start retrieving things. ‘You suggested trying to mutate a gene we agreed was likely to be a suitable target...’ His voice took on a strained quality as he had to reach under a radiator to retrieve the last pen. ‘Well, it occurred to me that that might be really difficult...’

‘I don’t remember suggesting that it would be easy...’ said Simmons, watching the proceedings with a bemused look on his face. He was finding it difficult to remain angry with someone who was behaving like an untrained Labrador puppy in his office.

‘Well, it turns out... we don’t need to do that at all,’ said Gavin, finally straightening and getting to his feet. ‘There’s another way.’

Simmons’ expression was carved in stone, but he was inwardly impressed at the change that had come over Gavin. His usual sullenness had been replaced by an intense, youthful enthusiasm which was a pleasure to see.

‘I don’t know if you saw the Grieve and Morton paper in Cell last week, where they mentioned an old anti-cancer drug in passing called Valdevan?’

‘The drug that failed because it only worked in the lab and not in people?’

‘Yes, but that’s not the point. The authors of the Cell paper mentioned somewhere in the discussion that the probable target for that drug was the gene we spoke about — the S16 gene — the one you asked me to mutate...’

Simmons examined the notes that Gavin handed over, outlining the proposed chemical action of Valdevan. ‘You do have a point...’ he conceded.

‘I’ve been down in the library, trying to find some pictures of cells treated with the drug to see if they show any obvious membrane changes, and I managed to come up with these. Look, I think it’s quite clear. There’s an irregular but definite pinching of the membrane like you thought might happen if we knocked out the S16 gene. See for yourself.’ Gavin presented Simmons with a journal opened and folded back to display a photograph.

‘Gosh, I see what you mean,’ agreed Simmons, picking up a magnifying lens from his desk and examining the photograph more closely. ‘It’s not blindingly obvious but it’s there. You know, I think you just may have wiped out some of these yellow cards you’ve been accumulating... if not all of them. This is an excellent piece of investigative work. Well done.’

Gavin, beaming with pleasure and growing in confidence, leaned towards Simmons and said, ‘If we could get the drug company to give us some Valdevan, we could use that to simulate knocking out the gene and forget all about the hassle of trying to induce mutations. We’d save a whole bunch of time and it should be absolutely straightforward.’

‘Brilliant.’

‘Providing the company still has any after all this time,’ said Gavin.

‘Oh, I think they will,’ said Simmons. ‘I’m sure it’s a long time since they made any on a production line, but they’ll certainly still have stocks of it or the ability to make it in pilot quantities.’ Simmons nodded thoughtfully. ‘I think you’ve just made a cracking start to your PhD project.’

‘I was hoping you’d think that,’ said Gavin. ‘I thought I might write to Grumman Schalk and ask for some Valdevan; tell them it’s for research purposes and see what they say?’

‘It might be better coming from me,’ said Simmons.

‘It was my idea,’ said Gavin, causing an electric pause.

‘No one’s denying that, Gavin,’ said Simmons evenly. ‘And a very good one it is too.’ He was taken aback at Gavin’s reaction but managed to remain calm. ‘I just thought that a request from me might carry more weight, that’s all.’

Sensing that he had overstepped the mark, Gavin softened his tone. ‘I’d like to do it if you don’t mind, Frank. Pharmaceutical companies are usually keen to support any research they think might be of potential value to them. After all, today’s PhD students are their future.’

‘Fair enough — although I wouldn’t point that out to them too strongly if I were you,’ said Simmons. ‘And don’t forget to use department headed paper and give them details of your MRC scholarship, otherwise you’ll get a well-deserved flea in your ear.’

‘Okay, boss.’

‘In the meantime, and while you’re thinking about it, perhaps we should assume that Grumman Schalk will come up with the goods, in which case you could start preparing cell cultures so you can begin experiments as soon as it arrives?’

‘Make a good impression in the lab, you mean?’

‘That would be a side-effect of preparing to get a flying start when the drug arrives. Do you have a problem with that?’

‘Guess not.’

‘Good,’ said Simmons. ‘Get started.’

Simmons let out his breath in one long sigh when Gavin left the room. ‘Give me strength,’ he murmured. He was about to resume what he had been doing when another knock came at the door. Jack Martin had been waiting outside.

‘A frank exchange with Gavin?’ he asked.

Simmons nodded.

‘Any further forward?’

‘Yup. He’s no idiot. He’s still a pain in the arse... but no idiot.’

‘Well, that’s progress, I guess. Lorraine was asking if you and Jen would like to come over for dinner on Saturday?’

‘I’m sure we’d love to if we can find a babysitter. Can I get back to you?’

‘Sure.’ Martin looked at his watch. ‘Feel like a pub lunch?’