Antman (4 page)

'Is money the only reason you won't?'

'Won't what?'

'Won't want me being with you.'

'Of course I only want you, my angel.'

'Tell that to your biological equipment.'

She snorted. That old joke between them reminded her of the gulf between Robin's intellectual brilliance and his incorrigible immaturity in relationships.

'I hate the thought of you leaving me and jetting off five thousand miles to jump into bed with some beautiful young African woman.'

'Darling, I promise you, never. You are, you always have been, the only woman for me.'

'What about Rosie?'

Robin pulled a face.

'You're getting this out of proportion.'

Five years ago, his sporadic affair with Rosie, a temporary laboratory assistant had ended. But it had sputtered on for several months after he and Helen had got together. Helen couldn't quite come to terms with his explanation that this was purely at Rosie's insistence during the closure of their relationship when he was trying to let her down lightly. Helen was then an undergraduate mature student, at a time when he was making the transition from being the star graduate student to appointment as a research assistant.

Rosie had suddenly re-emerged as a bone of contention between them, appearing last month as part of the host team at an international conference Robin was attending at the University of Manchester. Robin had drunk too much and, according to him, she'd turned up outside his hotel room in a thunderstorm in the middle of the night, in hysterics. One thing had led to another.

'It was never more than a physical aberration on my part. She threw herself at me. I was vulnerable, semi-conscious. It's no consolation, I realise, but I was in no fit state to do it when push came to shove.'

'Don't insult my intelligence. God knows why I put up with you, Robin Lovelace. Most women would give you your marching orders.'

*  *  *

The atmosphere between Robin and Helen was decidedly edgy as he drove her to town.

'You don't want me to come with you,' she said.

'No, I thought you wouldn't want to come. Of course I don't mind if you do intend to come with me. I'm just surprised, that's all. You'll be fine at the airport but when we reach the forest you'll need rain clothes,' said Robin.

The struggle between them was like a verbal game. Once he could shift the discussion onto the discomforts of camping in a tropical rain forest, Helen's response was predictable.

'You must be joking. If I knew I had to take a raincoat I wouldn't go in the first place.'

'It's not that awful,' he offered tentatively. 'It may rain every day but it's so hot you'll dry off quickly.'

'Warm showers? You make it sound idyllic. But what does that say about the creepy crawlies – apart  from your ant friends of course – that go with the steaming jungle? Mosquitos?'

'Probably. But you can use nets at night.'

'Stay in during daylight, avoid going out at night, I suppose,' she said sarcastically. 'What about snakes?'

'Very few will bite, and even fewer are fatal.'

'Brilliant. Germs?'

'There's some dysentery and even nastier infections, though provided you take precautions it's rare to be caught out. There are plenty of minor parasites like fleas. In the region where we'll be staying, the people keep them out of their huts by mixing the earth from ant heaps with cow dung and smearing it over the floor every week or so.'

Helen shuddered: 'Spare me the details.'

'Then there are bed bugs,' he continued. 'They like warmer climates, which stimulate them to breed rather more prolifically. They also produce a very oily secretion which stinks so much that most predators, birds for instance, won't touch them. These days there are very effective chemical controls, but if they run out, there's a small black ant which is said to clear every bed bug from a house within a day or two.'

'Very reassuring. And how do I get hold of this ant?'

'Er, in Portugal. Though I believe it's also found in other parts of the world,' he added hastily. 'Don't worry though; when we're on safari we're comparatively safe. They're quite rare in the huts of natives. They seem to prefer a certain level of comfort. Have you heard the old rhyme: "The lightning-bug has wings of gold, the June-bug wings of flame, the bed-bug has no wings at all, but it gets there all the same!" It does like to move with people as they migrate from dwelling to dwelling, along pipes and drains and so on. Some say they arrived with boat loads of emigrants from Europe. So you see, we can't blame all these minor horrors on the natives. We exported more than Christianity to these warmer countries.'

She gave him a withering look: 'Wonderful. Someone should tell the World Health Organisation to base their next strategy on this newly discovered formula for abolishing global disease – non-stop air tickets.'

'It's not quite that simple,' he admitted.

'Nothing bloody is with you. I can tell from this catalogue of horrors you don't want me to go anyway.'

'Yes I do,' he protested weakly.

'We can't afford it. Anyway, I'd cramp your style.'

'That's ridiculous.'

'You can stuff your African bug hunt right where you sit. I'm staying here. I'll stick to coffee shops, shopping and the odd night out. Better than shivering with malaria or finding reptiles in the bed.'

'Isn't that rather an extreme reaction?'

He stopped the car and backed into an alley near the river, at the end of George Street.

'I'll drop you here.'

As Helen got out, she was still responding to his earlier remark:

'Rather extreme,' she mimicked as she got out. 'I'd say it's very controlled, given the stimulus. Isn't that what you scientists say?'

*  *  *

Laura and Helen sat outside the coffee shop in silence for a while. Pedestrians trickled past in skeins and tentatively prodded dockside capstans, remnants of Hull's massive fishing fleet, now consigned to tourist history. Helen used the spoon to play with the frothy milk on the surface of her coffee. It seemed as though they were the only still point and the entire world was passing by in a hurry to be somewhere. Increasing tourism meant Hull's indigenous population was swelled by visitors to the Old Town and mementos of its great fishing history.

'I'll have even less time now,' said Helen, 'with Robin being up to his eyes in the University.'

'I was going to ask you how all that's going,' said Laura.

'The African field trip, or Robin being deputy director?'

'Africa.'

Helen eyed her curiously.

'You knew about it?'

'I thought about you last night, when Tom told me about the grant. Tom was quite upset at losing Robin, having only just secured him as full-time deputy of the Research Centre. I nearly rang. But I had to wait until now. I didn't want to be the first person to break the news.'

'You mean you thought Robin might not tell me last night?'

'Not quite. But I didn't know when. And then I couldn't think of an excuse to ring you very late at night.'

Helen seemed to find this reassuring.

Laura giggled. 'All those well-endowed Africans.'

'That's not a very p.c. remark – surprising, coming from you. Anyway, more than half the families of university staff where they're going have at least one member with HIV AIDS. It's the enemy of promiscuity.'

With characteristic suddenness Laura's flippancy fell away. She was full of regret.

'A thousand apols. I hope I haven't offended you.'

Helen waved her hand. She was one of those women whose gestures conveyed her meaning graphically.

'Forget it, darling. I'll slaughter Robin if he ever takes me for granted again. One thing Robin and I still share though – typical Scots – is we're well balanced. A chip on each shoulder.'

They both laughed. Laura stirred her coffee. She'd anticipated trouble between Robin and Helen for ages. She wished she didn't know so much. It was difficult, hearing snippets from Tom about Robin's flings and being supportive over the past month while Helen went through the trauma of ending her affair with Detlev and what Helen saw as the aftermath of her actions.

'How are you feeling about it?'

'I was pissed off when Robin first told me. I shouted at him.'

'Naturally.'

Helen saw Laura's smile. She returned a somewhat wan smile.

'I've calmed down now.'

Laura licked her spoon reflectively.

'You know, living with an academic at worst is living with a person who isn't there.'

'Tell me about it.'

'At best it's like living with the rest of the research team,' she said. 'You get the body now and again, usually at the wrong time of the month. As for the mind, only between grants.'

'Grunts? You make them sound like animals.'

'I said grants, research grants, darling. But grunts is about right.'

'You said body and mind. What about the heart?'

'What about the heart? Do they have them?'

Since the waiter had brought Helen a glass of fruit juice with ice, she had perked up considerably, despite the warmth. Somehow, this warm, muggy weather in Hull drained her in ways which a far hotter but drier Mediterranean or tropical climate never had.

'You're all right with Tom,' Helen continued. 'He's more reliable than Robin.'

Laura's face displayed her scepticism. At that moment though, she wasn't ready to talk about herself. Helen giggled unexpectedly.

'I'm not at all keen on anything wriggly unless it's chocolate covered. That goes for ants as well.'

'If it's a choice between pleasure and righteousness, go for the pleasure.'

'Every time.' Helen nodded vigorously, slipping off a shoe and wriggling her legs. 'The big ones with the most sweet and genetically modified ingredients are much more fun than the pale, laboratory-bred ones. That goes for people as well.' They both laughed.

That was why you fell for Detlev, Laura thought. He was tall and well-built, in contrast with Robin's more portly, if ardent, sensuousness.

Helen continued. 'I should be so lucky.'

'Seriously though, it'll be an amazing experience I'm sure. But I don't envy you having to face all those creepy crawlies.'

'Robin won't exactly be living in a tent. I've some pictures of the University at home.'

Laura hadn't the heart to share her private thoughts about the venture. On past form, she doubted whether Helen would even get as far as the airport.

*  *  *

Day in day out, Wilkes hardly varied his introduction to different inquests by a single word:

'This is not like a trial court, though there are some similarities. It doesn't have rules of evidence of sufficient rigour to support an investigation into who was responsible for a particular outcome. The purpose of an inquest is not to apportion blame, but merely to find out the facts. The coroner's court attends to four questions: who died, where, when and how the person came by death. As you might expect, the last of these questions takes up most of the time. At the end of these proceedings, I am required to give a verdict, so phrased that it does not determine criminal or civil liability. In the process, a number of witnesses will be called to give evidence. Normally they will have submitted statements. They may read these, or I may simply go through the statement, highlighting the main points and asking questions here and there. There are some statements submitted to be read in the court by people not attending and under Rule 37 of the Coroner's Rules I am required to tell you who these are.'

Tom found his mind wandering. He gazed at those present, trying to imagine what they were thinking and feeling as the coroner listed those giving statements. He was jolted back as Wilkes began to summarise the case.