‘We go back and tell your mother how much we both love her, and that you will be carrying on with the new therapy. To do anything else at this stage would be unthinkable.’ John James seemed to take a few moments to consider before saying, ‘Damn this bloody awful disease. Damn it to hell.’
‘Let’s tell Mum.’
John James paused as they reached the door. ‘This Gavin of yours, he sounds like a remarkable chap.’
‘I think so.’
‘The university must be very proud. You must tell me all about him.’
‘Later, Dad.’
Caroline heard the sharp intake of breath when she told Gavin that her dad had found out what they were doing. ‘But it’s all right. We had a long heart-to-heart and it’s all right, really it is.’
‘If you say so,’ said Gavin, finding this hard to believe, but keen to latch on to any good news that was going.
‘I’m going to go ahead with the change of drug tomorrow as planned. She’s due a scan at the hospital in four days time, on Friday. What should we do about that?’
‘Let it go ahead.’
‘Do you think there will be any change by then?’
‘If it works, there should be a dramatic change. If it doesn’t, then nothing.’
‘No in-betweens?’
‘No.’
‘Sounds like Friday’s going to be a pretty big day for all of us.’
‘Yep.’
‘You sound low. Did you sort things out with Frank?’
‘Frank doesn’t have the authority to endorse the paper. He’s given up his position.’
‘Why?’ asked a stunned Caroline.
‘Because the suits blackmailed him into it.’
‘Gavin, I’m so sorry.’
‘I’ll think of something.’
On Friday, Caroline called Gavin as soon as she got back from the hospital. ‘You’re not going to believe this!’ she practically screamed down the phone. ‘There has been a thirty per cent reduction in the size of Mum’s tumour. Thirty per cent!’
‘Brilliant!’
‘It works, Gavin, it works! The staff at the hospital were amazed. They just couldn’t think of an explanation, and I nearly couldn’t keep a straight face. Coming home in the car was just like the old days when I was young and we were coming back from a day at the zoo or the beach; the three of us were laughing and talking.’
‘I’m really glad, Carrie.’
‘So what do we do, more of the same?’
‘It’s important she keeps taking the polymyxin. When is she due to go back to the hospital?’
‘They want to do another scan next week, just to make sure it’s not some kind of weird mistake.’
‘Good. That should tell us what we need to know. The reduction should be greater, but maybe not as big as this week’s.’
‘Forty-eight per cent, Gavin! A forty-eight per cent reduction in the size of the tumour: almost half of it has been destroyed in two weeks! Can you believe it? Oh, my God, I wish we could tell someone.’
‘But we can’t,’ said Gavin. ‘They’d still hang us out to dry and attribute your mother’s recovery to some kind of placebo effect.’
‘So, we just keep on?’
‘Same as before. I take it the hospital will be doing another scan next week?’
‘You bet. They’ve never seen anything like it. One of the nurses said they were going to change the name of the place to Lourdes General.’
Gavin laughed, and Caroline said, ‘It’s been such a long time since I heard you laugh.’
‘It’s good to have reason to.’
‘Dad can’t wait to meet you.’
‘Let’s wait until your mum’s better.’
‘If you say so, but I’d sort of like to see you myself. Maybe I could come up for a couple of days?’
‘That would be great.’
Caroline came up for the Tuesday and Wednesday, and returned home on the Thursday so that she could accompany her mother to the hospital on Friday morning. She called Gavin as arranged when they got back. He knew immediately by the tone of her voice that something was wrong.
‘Gav, the tumour’s stopped reducing in size. In fact, it’s grown a bit. What’s happening?’
‘Oh, shit,’ said Gavin, feeling lead fill his veins. ‘Either the Valdevan didn’t reach all of the tumour cells or some of them have recovered. Either way, the polymyxin isn’t killing them any more.’
‘So what do we do?’
‘We give your mother more Valdevan...’ said Gavin, but his voice had taken on the tone of a distant automaton.
‘But there isn’t enough,’ said Caroline, before realising she was saying what Gavin already knew. Her voice betrayed the hopelessness she now felt. ‘There’s only enough left for a couple of days, not fourteen.’
‘I’m so sorry, Carrie, we only had the one chance.’
‘So Mum’s going to die after all?’
‘There was always that risk.’
‘Oh, Gav... I’m sorry, I can’t speak any more right now...’
The phone went dead, leaving Gavin looking at the wall. All the euphoria felt by Carrie’s family and shared by him had gone... to be replaced by what? This didn’t bear thinking about. Hero to zero didn’t come close. He caught sight of the Nature paper sitting on his bedside table and, to compound his misery, admitted to himself for the first time that it was never going to see the light of day.
Gavin couldn’t remember ever feeling this bad before. He couldn’t find one single thing to feel good about, or offer anything resembling hope. His life had become an endless desert of unhappiness with nothing appearing on any horizon... until it occurred to him that Grumman Schalk might not actually know about the university machinations to neutralise Frank Simmons. After all, it wasn’t something they’d brag about openly.
Gavin rummaged through his notebooks until he found something with a Grumman Schalk letterhead on it. Ironically, it was a copy of the covering letter that had come with the first consignment of Valdevan and had the words ‘not for therapeutic use’ in it. He took the phone number from the heading and called Max Ehrman.
‘Who?’ exclaimed Ehrman, as if he couldn’t believe his ears.
‘Gavin Donnelly, in Edinburgh.’
‘What can I do for you?’ came the guarded response.
‘You can send me some Valdevan.’
Ehrman let out a snort of disbelief, but let a moment pass before saying, ‘I seem to remember making it quite clear that there would be no more Valdevan for a line of research the company feels uncomfortable with. That still stands.’
‘I’m offering you a deal.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Hear me out. It’s my guess that you guys are trying every trick in the book to come up with a new product that simulates the sequential action of Valdevan and polymyxin — one that you can patent?’
Silence.
‘But unless you get really lucky, that’s going to take time,’ continued Gavin. ‘When our paper creates the stir you know it must, your efforts will have been wasted and public opinion will force Valdevan back into production by anyone who cares to make it, now that your patent’s expired. Whatever way you look at it, you’re going to take a mega-buck hit.’
‘You’ve got quite a sense of your own importance.’
‘The deal is... you give me a supply of Valdevan and I’ll pull the paper.’
‘You’re a postgrad student, for God’s sake. You don’t make that sort of call.’
‘I do in this case. No one in the department wants it published — and you know why.’
Gavin took Ehrman’s silence as a positive. He took a deep breath before planting the lie. ‘Frank Simmons has had a nervous breakdown and won’t be back at work for a long time, but he signed the authorisation before he fell ill. That just leaves me. The paper’s sitting in front of me as we speak, all ready to go off. Now, do I pop it in the post, or do you give me what I want?’