Christina Sweeney-Baird - The End of Men

Will is weeping now. I’ve never made him cry before. It makes the words I want to shout die in my throat. ‘Her mother called me on my mobile. She begged me, she was going to die. No one had given her the chemo in over forty-eight hours. She’s, she’s, I … I just …’ He breaks down into sobs. I so desperately, even through my anger, want to reassure him, hold him and rock him and say it’s OK, no mistake is irreversible, I forgive you.

But this mistake is not reversible. I cannot touch my husband because if he is carrying the virus I might catch it and then our boys will be more likely to get sick. I cannot forgive him if the boys die because of this. A nameless, faceless child in a hospital ward four miles away is not my concern. My boys – Charlie and Josh, with the beginnings of stubble growing across their jaws and hazel eyes and freckles and creased foreheads when they’re concentrating on homework – are my concern. I cannot forgive Will for not putting them first. They are all that matters.

‘Sleep in the garage. Don’t touch anything. Don’t do anything and don’t go anywhere near the boys. If they try to come into the garage scream at them like they’re about to touch a burning hob.’

Will just sobs and nods in response.

‘I love you,’ I say. I remember seeing a woman in A&E a few years ago. She had found her husband hanging from a curtain pole in their bedroom after a vicious fight. She was going into the bedroom to apologise and make up. I never told Will about it but since then, no matter how awful the argument, I’ve always told him I love him before I leave the room. The Plague is making fast work of men. We don’t need to do its job for it.

‘I love you too. I’m sorry.’

I know darling. But I will never forgive you.

‘Hey babe, have you seen this?’

My wife is brandishing an article in the New York Times science section at me. I’m used to her imploring me to read things but this must be the first time in fifteen years that she’s led me to the science section of anything.

‘An outbreak of an aggressive strain of flu has affected tens of thousands across Scotland after originating in Glasgow in early November. There are also reports of outbreaks in London, Manchester, Leeds, Liverpool, Birmingham and Bristol. Anecdotal reports suggest the flu strain only affects men. No women have so far reported suffering the disease. The mortality rate appears to be far higher than for the flu with over 5,000 deaths so far reported.’

Over 5,000 dead? That’s a lot for the flu. And in only a couple of weeks.

‘Wait,’ I say, my brain rewinding. ‘Did you say it only affects men?’

Margot nods decisively. ‘Yep.’

I sit down next of her, my brain turning. ‘Only men? A flu? How bizarre. I’ve never heard of anything like that before.’

‘Neither have I,’ Margot agrees, the difference being that Margot is a professor of Renaissance history who writes romance novels on the side, neither of which are careers in which flu strains are discussed in any great detail unless it’s to almost-but-not-quite fell a romantic hero. In my line of work, by contrast, flu is of utmost importance. If I’ve never heard of a flu disease, or in fact any infectious disease, only affecting men then it probably doesn’t exist, or at least hasn’t been studied before. This could be interesting. I type out an email to my assistant, Ashley, for tomorrow morning.

Ashley,

Seen report tonight in NYT science section about flu in Scotland only affecting men. Can you dig up all research on this asap tomorrow am and bring to me in a binder by 11?

Thx

Lisa

Dr Lisa Michael

Professor of Virology, Head of Virology Department, University of Toronto

‘Nolite Te Bastardes Carborundorum’

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