particular, ‘No Doctor Malloy.’
‘Give the man a coconut,’ whispered one of the men present to a younger colleague working beside him.
‘Did you say something, Mr Ferguson?’ asked the tall man.
‘I simply agreed with your observation, Professor Hutton’ replied the man who’d made the comment. Both men held eye contact for a moment, the tall man barely disguising his dislike, the older man seemingly inscrutable in the time-honoured tradition of dumb insolence.
‘Are you expecting him in today?’
‘He didn’t say he wasn’t going to be in,’ replied a young, studious looking man, wearing a black tee shirt with the name of a pop group emblazoned across it His white lab coat hung open.
‘I think he was pretty upset after yesterday’s vaccine trial results,’ added a young red haired woman in her early twenties. ‘Coming on top of Ali’s death, I think it was the final straw.’
‘We all have to accept set-backs in our research. It’s part of the job,’ said the tall man. He looked around at the work benches in the lab and muttered, ‘Ye gods, look at the state of this place. You people should take a leaf out of Dr Pearson’s book next door. His staff keep the lab spotless; you won’t find any clutter lying around there.’
‘Not so much as an idea,’ muttered Ferguson.
The tall man’s nostrils flared in patrician anger and he took a deep breath but he said nothing to the offender. ‘Tell Dr Malloy I’d like a word when he comes in.’
As the door closed, the young man in the Tee shirt said to Ferguson, ‘You’re pushing your luck with him.’
‘He’s all front and no substance,’ replied the older man. ’
‘Peter’s right, George’ said the girl. ‘You are pushing your luck. He really doesn’t like this lab.’
‘He can’t do much more to me,’ said the older man. ‘If Steve doesn’t get a new grant I’m out on my arse anyway come Christmas.
‘There must be a good chance Steve’ll get the grant.’
‘Really? Let’s face it. Yesterday’s trial result isn’t exactly going to help it along.’
No one argued.
‘It’s still a bad idea to get up Hutton’s nose. He could still screw up your pension deal.’
‘I guess. But it’s my only pleasure,’ said the older man with a grin.
‘He
‘University’s full of them.’ added Sandra Macandrew, the red haired girl, also a PhD student. ‘Something we have to live with.’
‘And something the British do so well,’ added Pierre LeGrice, visiting post-doctoral research fellow from the Institut Pasteur in Paris. ‘If you look the part and wear the right tie you can go far in this country.’
‘Maybe it’s because the university’s an “equal opportunity employer”,’ suggested Ferguson, the senior technician with the group. ‘Being a brainless balloon is no impediment.’
The door opened and a man wearing dark glasses and black clothes came in. ‘Christ, my head’s got a brass band playing in it,’ he complained by way of greeting.
‘
‘You haven’t been baiting him again, have you?’ asked the newcomer with a look of resigned exasperation.
‘He gave us a lecture on lab tidiness, said we should learn from the Pearson lab next door.’
‘That’ll be the day,’ snorted Steven Malloy, the group leader. ‘But he does have a point. Maybe just a wee tidy up guys?’
‘Okay, we’ll do that while you see the man.’
‘I need some coffee first.’
‘And an aspirin?’ asked Sandra Macandrew.
‘You’re an angel,’ said Malloy waiting until the girl fetched a couple of aspirins from her handbag and handed them to him.’
‘Right, I’ll nip down to the machine and grab me a mouthful of caffeine before seeing Hutton.’
‘Come back with your shield or on it,’ smiled Peter Moore.
‘And whatever he says, don’t deck him. Peter and I would like to get our PhDs,’ added Sandra.
‘And then you can deck him,’ added Peter.
Steven Malloy walked down one flight of stairs and along the corridor to the staff common room. In the lull between morning coffee and lunch time it was empty. There was some coffee left in the Cona flask so he felt the outside; it was cold. He put some coins in the vending machine and selected black, extra strength.
Taking the plastic cup in both hands, he walked over to the window and put the cup down on the ledge while he unwrapped the aspirins from their foil and palmed them into his mouth. He washed them down with the coffee, wincing a little as he almost burned his throat. Two more gulps and he threw the cup in the bin and started out for the director’s office.
The director’s secretary, Hyacinth Chisholm, immaculate as ever in a mauve two-piece suit and smelling of expensive perfume looked him up and down as he entered. She saw a man of medium height, in his mid thirties, dressed in a black polo neck sweater and black corduroy trousers. His glasses sat at an angle thanks to one ear being slightly higher than the other and his nose was crooked. He had a mass of black curly hair that belied his years. She thought he looked like a mop standing the wrong way up.
‘Good Morning Dr Malloy,’ she said, affecting a look at her wrist watch to check that it still was morning.
‘Morning Hyacinth. He wanted to see me.’
‘I’ll see if the professor’s free.’
‘Hyacinth pressed a button on her intercom and said with affected formality, ‘Dr Malloy is here, Professor.’
There was a pause during which Hyacinth remained glued to her intercom as if frozen in a moment in time. It was as if she were about to have some momentous truth revealed to her. When it came, it was, ‘Ask him to come in, would you.’
‘Ah, Steven, I thought it was about time we had a chat. I was looking for you earlier. You weren’t in.’
‘I had rather a lot to drink last night after hearing the trial results. I had a bit of a lie in this morning.’
Professor Paul Hutton, director of the Institute of Molecular Sciences, winced at Malloy’s explanation. He said, ‘It must have been a bitter disappointment to you and your team.’
‘We’ve been working a hundred hours a week on that project for the last eighteen months and we really thought we had it this time, it was going to be the first effective vaccine against AIDS and suddenly it all turns to dust when the animal trial results come out. No protection at all. Absolutely zilch. It was all for nothing and I’ve no idea why.’
‘Perhaps if you had consulted more with your colleagues during the development period, aired your difficulties more, interacted with your colleagues, things might have turned out differently. Group meetings, seminars, that sort of thing are so useful in dealing with problems.’
‘Sure. It would have taken us thirty six months instead of eighteen to get nowhere,’ replied Malloy.
‘Interaction is an essential part of scientific life,’ snapped Hutton.
‘Some people interact so much they do fuck-all else,’ said Malloy. ‘They just spend their days “interacting”.’
Hutton lost his cool. He leaned forward in his seat. ‘Let me tell you, Doctor, I am getting very tired of the attitude of you and your research group in this establishment. Your lack of respect for rules and regulations. You continually fail to deal with paperwork; you don’t make reports when requested. We practically never see any of you at seminars and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you attend a staff meeting at all.’
‘If I did all that there wouldn’t be any time left for research.’
‘Other groups seem to manage and still carry out research programmes.’ Dr Pearson … ‘
‘Dots other people’s ‘T’s and crosses other people’s ‘I’s. I don’t call that research.’
‘His work is well respected … ’
‘Among other scientists who do exactly the same thing. Find a rut and sit in it, make like-minded friends and
