a self. He could not answer the question, what do I do next? He stood in the dark, cradling a little chick, weeping for it, making peeping noises himself.
Please God, make it stop. Please God, just take it away! I'll be good. Just tell me what to do, and I'll do it.
The world is not to be seduced by words. The world stayed the same, waiting for him to act.
Michael remembered the first day they had moved into the arches. Ebru, Emilio, Hugh inspected their well- resourced lab, running around the cold room and the darkroom and the emergency generator like kids. Ebru had kept deferring to him: Michael, where do you want this? She had called him Hoja, which meant teacher or master in Turkish. She would never call him that again.
Michael took a deep breath. A parental voice from somewhere said, Do it, Mikey. Get it over with.
Shafiq was in his box. Ebru and Emilio were together in the front office. Hugh was hunched over the camera. Michael asked to see them in his office in fifteen minutes. He spent those fifteen minutes rehearsing what he was going to say, with his fingers spread out across the top of his desk as if they were roots drawing strength from it.
Their body language alone was enough to wrench his gut. Ebru slouched in, her arms crossed in front of her, her mouth pushed to one side with sour suspicion. Shafiq stood like Prince Charles, erect, his hands clasping each other behind his back as if to stop him hitting someone. His plump face was turned upwards as if absorbing a blow. Emilio looked bored, irritated, impatient. I spent so much time building them up into a kind of family, Michael thought. I've destroyed it.
'There's no good way to say this, so I'll be brief. We've collected enough data which thanks to all your efforts is in super shape, really, it's all recorded, the data entered, everything in cold store… well done… really.'
They were as frozen as the samples. They knew what was coming.
'Which means that the project is entering the home stretch. We still have some slides to photograph, which I see Hugh has well in hand. What we need to do now is just make sure we have enough data, all in order, and then try to turn it into some kind of information. Which I reckon we can do before the end of the calendar year.'
Ebru flicked hair out of her eyes.
'Um. That means the project will end and that I'll be giving you formal notice today. You've been a terrific team, and I wanted you to have the news as soon as I did.'
'You forgot to apply for the grant, didn't you, Michael?' Ebru said it.
'No. I uh took advice from the Research Council. They said it was probably best if we tried to wind the project up as a second grant was highly unlikely.' Michael wiped his mouth.
Was she going to call him a liar as well as incompetent? Ebru hovered for a moment like a hawk over a motorway bank. Then she shrugged and went silent. She couldn't be bothered.
'Any questions?'
There was a beat. Ebru shook her head and murmured, 'No.'
'Well, if you have any, just ask. Ebru, you and I will need to go over all the contracts and make the nuh-non- renewals official. Hugh, there is the photography to continue. Emilio, you and I will need to get going on the data processing.'
Silence.
'I uh, was wondering if people wouldn't like to get together today for a lunch. My treat?'
Never had words of his sounded so much like a creek running dry.
'I would like to say thank you.'
The team glanced at each other. Ebru said it. 'Maybe later, Michael. When the project ends, the last day or something.'
'OK,' said Michael. His hands did something awkward in mid-air. 'OK, thanks, gang.'
They started to file out.
'Oh. One other thing. Um. We really have a lot of data. And I was wondering if we really need, need any more. Which would mean… I want us to set this last batch of chicks free.'
That was enough to make Ebru stop and turn around. 'Oh that is a good idea,' she said, without any tonal variation in her voice.
'Well, they're such beautiful little things, and we've got a lot of data and it just seems such a shame
Oh God, oh no. He could feel his face. It was crumpling at the corners of his mouth, and his cheek was twitching up towards his eyes. He was starting to cry, and he had no real idea why.
It is a very strange sensation to break down in public and for that public to stare back at you stonily, completely unmoved by anything like sympathy. Cry, you bastard, their eyes seemed to say. Cry for your little project.
'We could just let them go, in the park?' He was begging.
Ebru said, 'That is illegal.'
'It'll be an illegal little party.' Michael bounced in his seat, trying to communicate that it would be naughty and fun.
'It's stupid, they'll die, it isn't even kind,' said Ebru and turned and walked out. Shafiq shuffled away. Hugh said, 'I'll get going on the photographs.' Emilio said, smiling but with a direct gaze, 'Whatever you're on, Michael. Stop taking it.'
They processed the chicks without even telling Michael they were doing it. They did it very quickly, and neatly. Michael went into the photography room. Hugh was photographing as before, but Ebru was staining samples.
'Those are fresh,' said Michael.
'We have to do it while they're young, Michael. Otherwise they will be too mature to compare with the other samples.'
'I asked you not to do that.'
'When?' Ebru turned and her gaze challenged him, challenged his right to give any orders at all. 'When did you ask me not to, Michael? We discussed your idea about setting them free and decided it was wrong. And we decided that it was stupid to waste them, and so we follow proper procedure.' Her hand made an involuntary little wave, sweeping him away. 'We will do everything in order, Michael. You don't have to do a thing.'
'I'm very unhappy you did that.'
Ebru held out her hands in something like helplessness. I am helpless to help you, Michael. I am helpless to say anything other than that your unhappiness makes no difference.
Michael had nothing else to do, so he typed all the official notices of non-renewal. He went over the accounts and planned the new expenditure. That is the kind of thing a good little boy does when admonished. There is no coming back from being justly admonished by your staff, and then being defied by them.
He worked alone in his office, deliberately until late. No one popped in to say good night, see you tomorrow. At 8.30 pm he did a round of the lab, turning out a few lights. In the reception box, the night guard was pleased to see him. He was a Londoner, ex-Cockney, a vanishing breed. 'Hello, sir,' he said, perking up. 'I haven't seen you this late in ages. How are you, sir?' He sounded genuinely pleased to see Michael.
'I decided to give up all that staying late.'
'Oh, very wise, sir, very wise. My wife says the same about me at my age. But the money's good, and between you and me, it gets me out from under her feet.'
It was terrible to be treated with friendliness and respect.
The leaves had begun to fall in Archbishop's Park, and they had blown across the street, crunching underfoot. Walking back to Waterloo seemed to take forever; he shuffled with dreamlike slowness. He'd fucked it. He had well and truly fucked it. He stood stricken on the platform at Waterloo, wanting to hide.
He walked back to his old flat near Goodge Street on automatic pilot. He got all the way to looking up at his old window, and seeing his ceiling illuminated through it and a moving shadow, he thought oh good, Phil's home.
Then he realized no, he's not. No one is at home. Home is over, home is gone. My animal brain just walked me back here.
His animal heart stood outside the building yearning upwards at the light on the old ceiling. I want my job back, my beautiful project. I want my partner, my flat, my peace of mind. I want my old life back.
Too late, Michael, you're not going to get it.
The idea of walking back to Goodge Street tube, and going all the way to Camden, made him close his eyes with fatigue. He wondered if he could just ask the Miazgas to let him back in, for ten minutes' snooze. He just
