to know today. When Gavin went over to knock on Frank’s door, Mary Hollis called out, ‘He’s not there. Sutcliffe’s called a meeting of senior academic staff.’
‘Was he wearing a Santa suit and carrying a sack?’ asked Gavin sourly.
Mary broke into a smile. ‘And just when I thought you were beginning to mellow …’
‘You’ve not exactly been all sweetness and light yourself these past few weeks if I might say so,’ said Gavin.
‘Fair comment,’ said Mary, her smile fading. ‘Simon and I broke up. He found himself a blonde staff nurse with big tits.’
‘Seems reasonable to me,’ said Gavin with his back to Mary, but he was smiling, looking at the wall, waiting for the come-back.
Mary threw a box of tissues at him but she too managed a small grin. ‘At least everyone knows where they are with you, Gavin. What you see is what you frighteningly get.’
‘But really, I am sorry,’ said Gavin, turning round to face her. ‘You two looked good together, like it was the real thing.’
‘It was for one of us.’
‘I guess this has ruined your Christmas.’
‘We’ll see. I’m going home to Dublin to stay with Mum and Dad. My brother Pat is coming home from Germany, so it’ll be nice to see them all again. I’ll be leaving just after lunch. Tom’s already gone off home to Bristol, and I think Frank said he was heading out to do his Christmas shopping after Sutcliffe’s meeting. He probably won’t be back this side of the New Year.’
‘It’s going to be lonely round here.’
‘You’ve decided to work through the break?’
‘They don’t give you a Nobel Prize for eating Christmas pies.’
‘So that’s where I’ve been going wrong.’
Gavin scribbled a note saying that he would love to come to dinner on Christmas Day and sellotaped it to Simmons’ door.
‘Are you off out?’ asked Mary.
‘Just to an off-licence to get a bottle of wine for Trish. She’s doing me a favour and setting up some human amnion cells for me.’
‘You asked Trish for primary cells the day before we break up and she said yes?’ exclaimed Mary.
‘I told her I’d love her forever and she took pity on me.’
Mary seemed lost for words until she affected an exaggerated shake of the head and came out with, ‘Men are something else.’
‘Cancer doesn’t stop for Christmas.’
‘Neither does bullshit.’
Frank Simmons walked briskly along the corridor, determined for once not to be the last to arrive at the latest departmental meeting called by Professor Graham Sutcliffe. He had no idea what it was about – the memo hadn’t said – but took comfort from the thought that his research group had done nothing lately to upset the smooth running of the department. Apart from that, it didn’t take much for Sutcliffe, who saw communication as a great virtue and an essential element of academic life, to call a meeting. In Simmons’ book this translated into nothing being too trivial to merit endless discussion.
Sutcliffe, wearing a light grey suit with a trouser waist that threatened his armpits and a university tie in deference to his later lunch appointment at Old College with the deans of the faculties, perched his reading glasses on the end of his nose and looked over the top at the people in front of him. He apologised for the short notice in calling the meeting. ‘I understand that several of you have recently received letters from the pharmaceutical company Grumman Schalk, inviting you to apply for funding under a new research support scheme they have just announced?’
Five staff members, including Frank Simmons, agreed that this was so.
‘Good. I thought that might be the case. As soon as I read the company’s press release in Nature , I got in touch with the their administrators to ask for clarification about the wording concerning “special cases” and, without going into too much detail, it would appear that our department would almost certainly be viewed as a special case.
‘Was he wearing a Santa suit and carrying a sack?’ asked Gavin sourly.
Mary broke into a smile. ‘And just when I thought you were beginning to mellow …’
‘You’ve not exactly been all sweetness and light yourself these past few weeks if I might say so,’ said Gavin.
‘Fair comment,’ said Mary, her smile fading. ‘Simon and I broke up. He found himself a blonde staff nurse with big tits.’
‘Seems reasonable to me,’ said Gavin with his back to Mary, but he was smiling, looking at the wall, waiting for the come-back.
Mary threw a box of tissues at him but she too managed a small grin. ‘At least everyone knows where they are with you, Gavin. What you see is what you frighteningly get.’
‘But really, I am sorry,’ said Gavin, turning round to face her. ‘You two looked good together, like it was the real thing.’
‘It was for one of us.’
‘I guess this has ruined your Christmas.’
‘We’ll see. I’m going home to Dublin to stay with Mum and Dad. My brother Pat is coming home from Germany, so it’ll be nice to see them all again. I’ll be leaving just after lunch. Tom’s already gone off home to Bristol, and I think Frank said he was heading out to do his Christmas shopping after Sutcliffe’s meeting. He probably won’t be back this side of the New Year.’
‘It’s going to be lonely round here.’
‘You’ve decided to work through the break?’
‘They don’t give you a Nobel Prize for eating Christmas pies.’
‘So that’s where I’ve been going wrong.’
Gavin scribbled a note saying that he would love to come to dinner on Christmas Day and sellotaped it to Simmons’ door.
‘Are you off out?’ asked Mary.
‘Just to an off-licence to get a bottle of wine for Trish. She’s doing me a favour and setting up some human amnion cells for me.’
‘You asked Trish for primary cells the day before we break up and she said yes?’ exclaimed Mary.
‘I told her I’d love her forever and she took pity on me.’
Mary seemed lost for words until she affected an exaggerated shake of the head and came out with, ‘Men are something else.’
‘Cancer doesn’t stop for Christmas.’
‘Neither does bullshit.’
Frank Simmons walked briskly along the corridor, determined for once not to be the last to arrive at the latest departmental meeting called by Professor Graham Sutcliffe. He had no idea what it was about – the memo hadn’t said – but took comfort from the thought that his research group had done nothing lately to upset the smooth running of the department. Apart from that, it didn’t take much for Sutcliffe, who saw communication as a great virtue and an essential element of academic life, to call a meeting. In Simmons’ book this translated into nothing being too trivial to merit endless discussion.
Sutcliffe, wearing a light grey suit with a trouser waist that threatened his armpits and a university tie in deference to his later lunch appointment at Old College with the deans of the faculties, perched his reading glasses on the end of his nose and looked over the top at the people in front of him. He apologised for the short notice in calling the meeting. ‘I understand that several of you have recently received letters from the pharmaceutical company Grumman Schalk, inviting you to apply for funding under a new research support scheme they have just announced?’
Five staff members, including Frank Simmons, agreed that this was so.
‘Good. I thought that might be the case. As soon as I read the company’s press release in Nature , I got in touch with the their administrators to ask for clarification about the wording concerning “special cases” and, without going into too much detail, it would appear that our department would almost certainly be viewed as a special case.
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