The Anvil (6 page)

‘It was as if her face wasn’t there any more,’ he said. ‘It was completely covered with a livid red tumour, a hideous cancer that had eaten her features away. Mercifully she died within a few days when it reached her brain.’

‘How awful,’ whispered Tansy. ‘Was it Cytogerm that did it?’

‘That was the multi-million dollar question. We took samples from the tumour at autopsy but couldn’t classify it. It was different from any other kind of cancer we’d ever come across before. It grew so fast! In cell culture it grew eight times faster than any other reported cell line.’

‘What’s cell culture?’ asked Tansy.

‘We can grow cancer cells in test tubes,’ said MacLean.

Tansy shuddered.

MacLean returned to the story. ‘The clue to the whole thing was the speed of its growth. We had been using a compound which speeded up the growth of healthy tissue and here we were faced with a fast-growing cancer. There had to be a link and it had to be Cytogerm.’

‘Oh no,’ said Tansy.

‘I’m afraid so. Cytogerm was awakening dormant cancer cells and turning them into rampant tumours. Many people have moles or other small blemishes on their skin. They can be localised cancers. We think that was the problem with Elsa Kaufman. She had a mole on her upper lip. It must have been a melanoma. Cytogerm triggered it into uncontrollable growth.’

‘End of Cytogerm?’

‘End of Cytogerm,’ agreed MacLean. ‘Or so I thought.’

Carrie came into the room and announced that she was having trouble with the finishing touches to her snowman. Could she have some help?

Tansy smiled as she realised that the request was actually directed at MacLean. Feminine wiles at the age of five, she thought. She waited for MacLean’s reaction, ready to step in if he showed reluctance but he didn’t. His only concern was in being thought rude at interrupting the conversation. Tansy said, ‘Why don’t you two go out into the garden and I’ll have a think about lunch.’

‘His name’s Mr Robbins,’ said Carrie, ‘but his head won’t stay on.’

MacLean removed the blob of snow that served as Mr Robbins’ head and laid it on the ground. ‘I think it will be easier if we give him a mouth and a nose and eyes while his head is down here. What do you think?’

Carrie was clearly pleased at being asked her opinion. Grown-ups didn’t usually do that. They told you things. ‘Yes,’ she agreed.

‘We need pebbles for his eyes,’ said MacLean and Carrie scampered off to find some while MacLean re-shaped the head.

Carrie returned with a handful of pebbles of various sizes.

‘Well, what do you think?’ asked MacLean.

Carrie put her tongue out to aid concentration and examined the stones to pick out two. ‘These,’ she said.

‘Good choice,’ said MacLean. He inserted the pebbles as eyes.

‘What about his nose?’ asked Carrie.

MacLean thought for a moment then said, ‘If you ask Mummy very nicely she may give you a carrot.’

Carrie’s eyes opened wide at the thought. She dashed into the house and returned in triumph with a carrot, which she handed to MacLean.

‘No,’ said MacLean gently, ‘You do it.’

Carrie pushed the carrot into place and stood back to admire her work.

‘Excellent,’ said MacLean and Carrie flushed with pleasure. He picked up the remaining pebbles and formed them into a grinning mouth for Mr Robbins. Carrie beamed as MacLean lifted the head into place. She ran inside to fetch Tansy who came outside and made admiring noises. Her offer of a cap and scarf for Mr Robbins was eagerly accepted by Carrie.

After lunch Carrie announced her plans for the afternoon. She said to MacLean. ‘I’m going to build a glue house.’

‘A glue house?’ repeated MacLean.

‘Like the Eskimos.’

‘Oh,’ said MacLean softly, ‘an igloo house.’

‘Yes an igloo house,’ Carrie agreed, looking out of the corner of her eye for any sign of ridicule. She didn’t find any.

‘You’ll need snow bricks.’

Carrie looked at him questioningly.

‘We need an empty cardboard box.’

Carrie shot off and came back with two. ‘Can we go now?’ she asked.

‘First the dishes, young lady,’ said Tansy.

Momentary dissent from Carrie gave way to resignation and she buckled down to assisting with the washing up but, as soon as it was finished, she was off out into the garden like a red-wellingtoned greyhound. MacLean showed her the rudiments of snow brick construction and came back inside. Tansy smiled at him and thanked him for being so patient.

‘I enjoyed it as much as she did,’ MacLean confessed.

‘You seemed to suggest that there was more to the Cytogerm story?’ said Tansy.

MacLean nodded and accepted a cup of coffee. ‘Three weeks after the closure of the Cytogerm project I received a letter from the directors. It said simply that a Dr Von Jonek would be calling on me and that I was to afford him every co-operation. Two days later he came to call.’

‘Who was he?’

‘One of the most unpleasant people I’d ever met. He was overbearing, rude and arrogant. He demanded all the research files on Cytogerm and all relevant case histories. I refused, partly because he’d put my back up and I was determined to be as obstructive as possible, but mainly because he wanted the originals as well as copies. He wouldn’t even tell me why he wanted them. He just informed me that I had my orders and that I should obey them. I’m afraid I got rather rude at this point.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Tansy.

‘The next day I was summoned to the Stagelplatz to explain myself. I decided to go on the offensive and went in to the meeting with all guns blazing. The Cytogerm project was the brainchild of my division I insisted and no petty bureaucrat was going to tell me to hand over my files without explaining why.’

‘How did they take that?’ asked Tansy.

They smiled and nodded like these little dogs you see in the backs of cars. They were niceness itself and apologised for Von Jonek’s rudeness. It rather took the wind out of my sails. Von Jonek was the company archivist, they explained. It was unfortunate that he had such an abrupt manner but he simply wanted the information for the company’s records.’

‘I felt pretty stupid and to cover my discomfort I asked innocently where they kept these records. They took this as a sign of disbelief on my part. The temperature suddenly fell ten degrees and all the smiles round the table faded like snow in summer. One of the directors got up and came round from behind the table. He came right up to me and leaned down until his face was less than inches from mine. I could even admire the bridgework on his teeth when he spoke.

‘Dr MacLean,’ he said. ‘I think we’ve finished with you. Get out.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I got out.’

‘Did you have to give them the files?’ asked Tansy.

MacLean smiled ruefully and said, ‘I didn’t get the chance. Shortly afterwards, there was a fire at the clinic. Officially, the records were destroyed.’

‘And unofficially?’

‘The fire was started deliberately.’

‘But why?’

‘To cover up the fact that the clinic had been broken into and all the files on Cytogerm removed.’

‘By the company?’ asked Tansy.

‘I was too stupid to realise that at the time. I thought some outside agency must be interested in Cytogerm. I even reported this to the directors.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Tansy.

‘Oh dear indeed,’ agreed MacLean.

The silence grew long and Tansy said softly, ‘What happened then?’

MacLean sat looking at the floor but not seeing anything as he was forced to rekindle memories that he would much rather have left undisturbed. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘No more.’

Tansy put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. She said, ‘Occupational therapy Doctor.’

‘I’m sorry?’ said MacLean.

‘I’m prescribing occupational therapy for you … an igloo?’

MacLean got the message and nodded. He got up and went out into the garden to help Carrie. Tansy was right about the therapeutic value of physical distraction. MacLean directed all his energy and concentration to the construction of Carrie’s igloo and she was delighted. Grown-ups usually got bored after half an hour and said that they were going for a cup of tea and, in her experience, they seldom came back. The pair of them stayed in the garden until the light became a leaden grey and the orange glow from inside the bungalow beckoned them indoors.

Carrie went off to her room to change her wet clothes and MacLean joined Tansy in the kitchen. ‘I have to go,’ he said.

Tansy did not turn round but she stopped what she was doing. ‘Why?’ she asked.

‘This is not my world,’ said MacLean.

‘Why not?’ asked Tansy.

MacLean found the question difficult. He searched for an answer but only came up with, ‘Because it isn’t. You and Carrie are just two people I bumped into by accident yesterday.’

‘You saved Carrie’s life,’ said Tansy.

‘I happened to be there that’s all,’ said MacLean. ‘There is no obligation on you because of it.’

‘It has nothing to do with obligation,’ said Tansy. ‘You are welcome here in this house. You build snowmen in the garden with my daughter. You sit at our table and by the fire and we like having you here so why rush away? You have nowhere to go … so stay.’

MacLean shook his head. The resolve he had built up while out in the garden had all but gone.

‘Just one more night?’ said Tansy.

MacLean’s stony expression relaxed. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘One more night.’

MacLean found himself being manipulated into telling Carrie a bedtime story but he didn’t resist. He had moved from constantly reminding himself that this was not a real part of his life to momentarily wishing that it were.

With Jack safely back down the beanstalk and everyone living happily ever after he joined Tansy by the fire. She asked, ‘Do you like music?’

‘Yes.’

‘Schubert?’

‘Yes.’

Tansy put on the music and sat down again. She said, ‘The day is over. No more questions. Just relax.’

MacLean sank down deeper into his chair and watched the flames in the fire subside into glowing embers as time passed and the warmth and the music washed over. He was mercifully free of all anguish when the music finally ended and silence filled the room. He was in the margins between sleep and wakefulness when Tansy got up and stretched out her hands towards him. ‘Come,’ she said softly.

MacLean got up and looked questioningly at her.

‘Come,’ she repeated, leading him with both hands to her bedroom. She kicked off her shoes.

MacLean could not take his eyes from her. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said gently. ‘Why?’

Tansy put her finger against his lips and said, ‘No more questions … remember?’ She undid his shirt buttons and kissed his chest lightly while her fingers began to move over his arms and shoulders.

MacLean felt himself shiver slightly at the feel of Tansy’s hair on his skin. As desire grew he tried to find her mouth but she drew back slightly and said, ‘Lie down.’

MacLean lay back on the bed while Tansy stood in front of him and undressed. He was conscious of her body but his eyes never left hers. He was looking for an answer but all he found was a distant smile. Tansy sat astride him and undid his belt buckle then, moving backwards a little on her knees she undressed him completely. MacLean made to take her in his arms but again she stopped him saying, ‘No, lie still.’

Tansy moved her mouth expertly over MacLean’s body until he felt he couldn’t bear it but each time he made to move he was pushed back and told to lie still. The sweat was running freely down his face when Tansy suddenly rolled over on to her back and said, ‘Now; take me now.’

MacLean felt himself penetrate deeply and Tansy’s gasp made him want her all the more. Her soft cries made him thrust himself deeper and harder into her as if driven by a will to hurt her for causing him so much confusion. His head was full of questions but his body insisted they wait. Tansy gasped again and said, ‘Now Dr MacLean, that is what it feels like to be alive … Don’t knock it.’

Post-coital drowsiness washed over MacLean like the waves of some summer ocean. ‘I don’t understand,’ he whispered in Tansy’s ear as he snuggled close to her. ‘Why?’

‘I told you,’ whispered Tansy. ‘I saw Keith in your eyes. Now go to sleep.’ She suffixed what she’d said by burying her fingers in his hair and massaging his scalp gently.

Long after Tansy had taken away her fingers MacLean could still feel them. The affection that had been in them lingered on until exhaustion insisted he close his eyes and sleep.

As the first light of morning, made unnaturally white by the snow outside, crept in through the window, MacLean got up and collected his clothes. He tiptoed out of the bedroom and dressed quickly in the cold of the living room where the fire had gone out. He was putting on his jacket when Tansy spoke from the bedroom. The voice was even and controlled. ‘No sugar in
my
coffee,’ she said.