‘And you are?’
‘His girlfriend.’
‘His flatmate.’
Caroline and Tim were invited to take a seat, and gazed unseeingly at the information posters on the walls while they waited. They were eventually asked into another room, where a plain-clothes officer invited them to sit in front of a table. Caroline could see by the expression on his face that he might have bad news to impart, although he began by taking what he called ‘a few details’.
‘Have you any idea what Gavin might have been wearing when he disappeared?’
Tim shrugged but Caroline said, ‘I think maybe his green jumper, probably jeans and a denim jacket.’
This seemed to be what the officer was looking for. He put down his pen and said, ‘I’m so sorry, but the body of a young man was taken from the sea at North Berwick this morning. His clothes match your description.’
Caroline shook her head, as if unable or unwilling to accept what she was hearing. Tim put a tentative arm round her shoulders.
‘I wonder... would you be willing to...?’
Tim nodded.
No one spoke on the rain-swept drive over to the City Mortuary, not even when they got inside. The officer disappeared for a few moments before coming back and gesturing for Caroline and Tim to follow him. They were shown into a room that both of them felt they had seen a million times before on TV and in films. One of the fridge doors was opened and a body tray slid out on to the rails of a waiting trolley. The sheet covering the body was pulled back and the attendant stepped back in practised fashion. The officer nodded to them.
Caroline approached the trolley first, and found herself looking down into Gavin’s cold, pallid face. His eyes were closed. She nodded for the benefit of the officer, and closed her eyes for a moment, as if summoning up strength before bending to kiss Gavin’s forehead. ‘Oh, Gav,’ she sobbed. ‘You stupid... stupid...’
Caroline returned to the flat in Dundas Street, but only to pick up Gavin’s laptop and the copies of the Valdevan paper. Tim suggested that she stay the night, saying that she shouldn’t be alone, but she declined, knowing that she couldn’t bear to be anywhere near the little room where she and Gavin had first made love. She took a taxi over to Pollock Halls, where two classmates helped her through a very long night.
The report of Gavin’s death made it to the papers next day.
Yesterday morning, the body of Gavin Donnelly, a postgraduate student at Edinburgh University Medical School, was taken from the sea at North Berwick in East Lothian. Police believe that he had taken his own life. He was the second student from the same department to have done so in recent months following a fire in which another student was badly injured. The head of the lab in which all three worked is currently believed to be on leave and was unavailable for comment. The head of department, Professor Graham Sutcliffe, described the loss as tragic, saying that Gavin had been a particularly brilliant student who would be sorely missed.
Caroline felt a deep anger inside her as she read the report over and over again. ‘Two-faced, mealy-mouthed bastard,’ she growled. Gradually, her attention moved from Sutcliffe to Frank Simmons, who was ‘on leave’. She turned to Moira, one of the girls who had supported her through the night. ‘I have a favour to ask,’ she said.
‘Anything, Carrie.’
‘You have a car. I have a delivery to make.’
Moira stopped outside the Simmonses’ house and Carrie got out, carrying Gavin’s laptop and the Valdevan paper. ‘I won’t be long,’ she said.
‘Take as long as you need.’
Jenny opened the door. ‘Yes?’
‘I’m Caroline, Gavin’s girlfriend.’
‘Oh, my God. We’ve just read it in the papers. Oh, my dear, what can I say? Come in, please. I don’t know if you know Frank?’
‘Yes, from my classes.’
Jenny led the way into the kitchen, where Frank Simmons was sitting, arms crossed on the table, with the Scotsman open in front of him.
‘It’s Gavin’s girlfriend, Caroline,’ said Jenny softly.
Simmons got to his feet slowly, as if in a trance. He was wondering what fate was about to throw at him now. He gestured with one hand to the paper. ‘Caroline, I wish I could think of something sensible to say... but I can’t. This is absolutely bloody awful. I’m so sorry.’
Jenny ushered Caroline into a chair opposite Simmons, and they both sat down while Jenny made fresh coffee. Although Caroline could see that Simmons was genuinely upset, she also sensed that he was wondering why she was there. ‘I thought you should have these,’ she said, pushing the three copies of the Valdevan paper across the table, and immediately invoking in Simmons memories of Gavin recently doing the same thing.
‘Thanks,’ said Simmons, looking down at the title page, but really wondering what he was going to find in Caroline’s eyes when he looked up. When he did, there was no anger there, only sadness, and something he suspected might be resolve.
Caroline put Gavin’s laptop on the table and said, ‘The paper’s also on the hard drive. You can return the laptop to me when you’ve done whatever you plan to do with it... if anything... and I’ll return it to his folks.’
The if anything hung in the air like an accusation.
‘Thank you,’ said Simmons.
Jenny brought over coffee, but Caroline got to her feet saying, ‘Not for me, thanks, there’s someone waiting outside. I just thought I’d bring these over and tell you, Frank.’
‘Tell me what?’ asked Simmons in trepidation.
‘Gavin didn’t blame you.’
Jenny showed Caroline out, and returned to the kitchen to find Simmons sitting staring at the closed laptop. ‘Are you all right?’
‘No,’ said Simmons quietly, continuing to stare at the laptop.
‘Frank?’
Simmons suddenly smashed his fist down on the table and looked up at Jenny. ‘I am most definitely not all right. We are not going to Australia. We’re not going anywhere. We are staying here. I’ve got too much to do.’
In the silence that followed, it dawned on Simmons that there had been no reaction from Jenny. ‘Well?’ he prompted.
‘It would seem that I’ve just got my husband back,’ said Jenny. ‘And about time too, if I may say so.’
Simmons shook his head. ‘I NEVER EVER AGAIN want to feel the way that girl has just made me feel.’
Jenny stood behind him and put her hands on his shoulders. ‘You did what you did for the noblest of reasons, Frank... as always... and your children and I thank you for it. But maybe this time... the safe option was not the one to go for?’
Simmons squeezed her hand.
‘Anything I can do to help?’
‘I need the names of every scientific or medical correspondent on every national newspaper in the UK. Someone is going to listen.’
Only a small group of people outside immediate family attended the funeral of Gavin Donnelly in Liverpool. When the flowers were removed at the end of the ceremony, attendants were puzzled to find, lying under them, a can of Stella Artois lager and a packet of bacon-flavoured crisps. A short note said,
I won’t play the game either, Gav, I promise.
Love always,
Carrie. xxx.
Author’s Note
Although a work of fiction, Hypocrites’ Isle is based on something that happened to me when I was a researcher in microbial genetics. I was working on the genes determining cell shape in the bacterium E. coli, when I stumbled across the reason why an old antibiotic had failed in practice when, in the research lab, it had appeared to have great promise, and had been given an expensive launch by its manufacturer some twenty years before. I also discovered how it could be used to great effect if it were to be combined in a particular way with other drugs. My hope was that this new technique could be used to clear up a persistent, recurrent, urinary tract infection called pyelonephritis. This condition is nearly always caused by E. coli, and affects a great many people across the world, mainly women. Although not fatal, it often becomes chronic, and many women suffer from recurring infections throughout their lives.