Minnie Chase Makes a Mistake (24 page)

Her voice sounded surprisingly strong and clear despite the worryingly shaky entrance. 

‘Hello, my name is Minnie Chase. Please accept my apologies,’ she began. ‘I’ve never made a speech before and I’m
incredibly nervous.’ She paused. ‘I’ve… I’ve just tried to drink some Earl Grey tea while the sugar spoon was still in the mug and, well, I poked myself right in the eye, which,’ she tentatively removed her hand to reveal a watery, bloodshot eye, ‘was an incredibly stupid thing to do.’

This released a tinkle of sympathetic laughter that picked up in volume as it rippled through the crowd. Shoulders relaxed and people waited expectantly for Minnie to go on. Minnie picked up on the encouraging expressions on people’s faces and it became clear that she wasn’t facing an angry mob. She inhaled, looked at the teleprompter, paused, inhaled again and then looked away, obviously ignoring it.

Minnie continued. ‘It certainly took my mind off what I was about to do but I don’t personally recommend it. Next time, I’ll attempt to overcome my fear of public speaking by going down the more conventional route…’ with unintentionally perfect timing she paused to lick her lips that were sticking to her teeth, ‘…imagining the audience in their underwear.’

At first, the round of applause surprised her but it was a welcome sound. Minnie took another Bachmann-size breath.

‘You’re still a little bit blurred around the edges, so if anyone wants to wave their hand, at least I’ll know I’m talking in the right direction.’

The whole crowd waved; a sea of hands fluttering in the sunshine. Minnie looked out over the heads and felt tears threaten. She would never be able to explain the feeling later but it was a weirdly emotional moment for someone who rarely cried. The crowd was suddenly united and she was included in this togetherness, no longer an outsider looking in. 

She paused again, looked over the top of the teleprompter and focused on a building in the far distance. It was time to make up her mind. Did she follow the script as instructed by Greene and Levchin or did she apologise in her own way? Her instincts told her to speak from the heart but her brain immediately started to short-circuit at this absurd suggestion, urging her to stick to the planned speech. ‘The heart doesn’t care about consequences,’ roared the brain. ‘Think before you speak.’ Minnie did, she thought about Angie and James George. She had to take responsibility right now because if she didn’t their businesses would be at risk. 

She continued speaking. ‘I unintentionally started with a silly personal apology, but the real reason I’m here, of course, is to make a heartfelt public apology to Mr Ashton Greene, the CEO of Greene Inc.’

She cleared her throat and stared hard at the teleprompter. She paused again. Smiling faces looked back at her. Behind the smiles, though, she could see people who were clearly weighed down with their own struggles, their loved ones standing next to them in a show of support. Minnie looked at the professional speech on the teleprompter, beautifully written and perfectly polished and suddenly knew it was not going to work. It may be perfect for Parker Bachmann but it was not right for her. She had to take a chance on this one. Her decision somehow released the pressure in her chest and she finally got her breathing under control. 

‘I’m deeply sorry for the distress that I caused Mr Greene. I spoke out of turn when I suggested that he had Parkinson’s. Unfortunately, what I thought was a
private
conversation over dinner at The Savoy in London was recorded on a mobile phone and transmitted over the Internet.’

She paused to let this hard fact resonate with the crowd. Bachmann would have been proud. People shook their heads in disgust that someone could do this and then share the footage with the world. 

‘As a result of this unfortunate incident, Greene has been hounded by the world media. People are demanding to know deeply personal details about his life and when this is not forthcoming, um, it seems as though speculation is fair game. Well, I
do
have a direct quote from Mr Greene. He says, “I am not going to be the poster boy for Parkinson’s.” This is something he wants me to make clear. It’s time to turn the spotlight off him.’

She paused.

‘He is right, of course. He is one of the brightest men I know. He understands that Parkinson’s has more than one person’s name on it – it has more than one face. It is something much bigger than Mr Greene. It doesn’t affect one person; it affects millions, including those who watch helplessly when loved ones suffer from the disease. There is no manual for Parkinson’s, no rules for how to live with it. Or for how to live with someone who suffers from it. I look out now and see many faces and I know this to be true.

‘I sincerely wish I could take back what I said on the night at The Savoy.’ Minnie could hear her voice wobble. It was a strange out-of-body experience. ‘I’m not a specialist in Parkinson’s and had no right to pass an opinion on Mr Greene. You are gathered here now because you
want
to be here – voluntary involvement. No one has forced your hand. 

‘I was over-excited about a new piece of technology that could possibly help diagnose the disease. Parkinson’s should be in the media, in forums across the world for the right reasons. To give news about the advancement of research and the pursuit of a cure. To give a voice to the people who
want
to share their stories in order to inspire, educate, help or comfort others.’ 

She cleared her throat and paused to regain her composure. This was the part where she was supposed to discredit the voice-tech software. She searched the crowd and found Sid Zane near the front. He smiled at her, his eyes shining brightly behind his square-framed spectacles. He gave her the thumbs up. 

Minnie chose her next words carefully. ‘Mr Greene was adamant that he does not want to endorse one particular project or programme that is affiliated with the disease. Or care clinic for that matter.’ She didn’t mean to say the last part of the sentence; it just popped into her head. She knew it was wrong to antagonise Levchin. 

She paused long enough to put some distance between Greene and what she was going to say next. She didn’t want her opinion to be confused with Greene’s. She was, however, going to support Sid no matter what the consequences were going to be. ‘I believe that we must keep an open mind. You are gathered here because many of
you
took part in recent research based around this new technology. You helped to make thousands of voice recordings in an effort to speed up diagnosis so we can slow down the disease. We know we can never give up hope when it comes to finding a cure. I think that it is about making your voice heard whether there are faults in it or not. We are experimenting, questioning and striving to overcome something that is currently bigger than we are. Sid Zane wants me to thank you. He emailed everyone who took part in the voice recognition research and asked you to turn up today to show your support. You did more than that – you spread the word and brought more people with you. 

‘This shows me that you support the efforts of all those people: the mathematicians, scientists, neurologists and all the others who want to explore and understand the complexities of the human mind – its greatness and its acute complications.

‘We cannot underestimate the huge emotional impact an illness like this has on someone. I’ve read the emails and it has given me a better understanding of the loneliness of a disease. Unless you have Parkinson’s, or any illness for that matter, you simply cannot understand the diversity of emotions and, at times, the actions of someone who is sick – the denial, the helplessness, the frustration and the rage.’ 

Minnie faltered when she caught the eye of a man in the crowd. He had tears streaming down his face. She swallowed hard and thought about Greene. She had to concentrate and not humiliate him.

‘This symptomatic loneliness can make people retreat further into their own world, taking a solitary path through the universe, unattached to anyone. This route has its appeal because you don’t have to answer questions or pretend to be fine when you are falling apart. 

‘I have permission from Bob Jones, who lives in Connecticut, to share some of his thoughts.’ Minnie didn’t need the email in front of her to remember the words she had read. Greene might have dismissed the printouts but Minnie had read every single one. 

‘Bob says that he hid the fact that he had Parkinson’s from colleagues and friends for almost six years. It was the loneliest time of his life, he admits. He became paranoid and starting lying to family, friends and colleagues. He started drinking heavily and became defensive and aggressive because he didn’t want people to know that he had Parkinson’s. He said he pushed people away when he needed them the most but he couldn’t stop. He became a virtual recluse because he didn’t feel worthy of love – he felt more like a burden than a father, a husband and a son. 

‘He was even prepared to miss his own daughter’s wedding because he didn’t want to make a speech. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to stand up and speak without people realising that something was very wrong. Attending the wedding would mean the game was up. It was his lowest point but it was also his turning point. He couldn’t hurt his daughter, so he finally had to admit that something was wrong. When I emailed him to ask him for permission to share his email with other fellow Parkinson’s sufferers, he said he had one piece of advice. He said, “Don’t wait until you hit your lowest point to face up to Parkinson’s. You will miss out on too much. You don’t die of Parkinson’s, it dies with you, so you might as well live with as much determination and passion as possible.” Thank you for sharing this, Bob.

‘I am a mathematician. I can convert negatives into positives. Because of my mistake people spread gossip about Ashton Greene over the Internet through social media sites, blogs and news portals. Gossip has the potential to inflict devastating harm on someone’s personal life and on their business and career. I sincerely wish I could have spared Mr Greene this pain. 

‘I recently had a lot of time to just sit and think – hours and hours to be precise, which doesn’t happen very often. I’ll spare you the details but it’s rare to get time to truly
think
about how we behave, what we say and how we act. I can’t take back what I said to Ashton Greene at The Savoy. It remains in a cloud above my head and I am aware of it every day. Once words are out, they’re out. But if I am to live with it then I have to try to create something positive from it. Your presence here is one way I will achieve that. You are here because of that technology and the research experiment posted on the Internet by Sid Zane.

‘Finally, Ashton Greene is one of the most well-informed men I know. He has a brilliant mind and an innate business sense that is inspirational and visionary. He is smart and intuitive, which is why I trust him when he says, forget about him, focus on what matters. The fight back against Parkinson’s is not a one-person crusade, it’s a worldwide effort.’

She stopped speaking. It didn’t amount to 10 minutes’ talk time. It probably didn’t even come close but everything that needed to be said, in Minnie’s opinion, had been said. She didn’t once mention Levchin. She didn’t discredit Sid Zane. And she wouldn’t do it differently if she had to do it all over again. 

Her exit pause was drowned out with applause. 

17

Freak radicals

After the speech, with the applause still ringing in her ears, Minnie retreated to the hotdog campaign bus. It had emptied out because Parker Bachmann had seized the moment to rush outside and work the crowd. ‘Good publicity, darling!’ shouted Bachmann with two thumbs up, as she darted past Minnie. ‘I’m going outside to speak to everyone about taking healthcare in a new direction.’ She didn’t seem too bothered that Minnie had spurned the official speech. Minnie had apologised to Greene and evidently this was all that mattered in Bachmann’s book.

Bachmann’s entire staff rushed out in her wake. Minnie practically spun on the spot as the human train charged past. She exhaled. She was alone and, for once, it was a welcome silence. She needed a few moments to contemplate what she had just done. Her career was potentially in tatters as was her reputation. James George would never forgive her if he found out that she could have prevented the demise of Row Reduction. Angie would understand and would be gracious but damage would be done. Minnie thought about Colin the dog. His fate was in Greene’s hands now. 

She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she didn’t noticed someone had slipped into the bus behind her. 

‘You didn’t stick to the script,’ said a voice.

Minnie spun round. Levchin stood in the doorway. Minnie’s eyes flitted beyond him but there was no one else around. He quietly closed the door and took a step further into the bus.

Minnie instinctively took a step back. She was alarmed at his expression. His mouth was stretched across his face; a horribly wide coat-hanger grimace. The strange solar-bright light in his eyes she had previously noted was no longer visible, just bottomless blackness. He started taking quick breaths as though he had smoke damage to the lungs. There were small beads of perspiration glistening on his forehead. Minnie noticed a slight sheen from the silk-weave material on his expensive suit, too. 

Levchin crept forward with soft, threatening footsteps, his bespoke thick-soled shoes silent on the deep-pile carpet. His eyes were fixed unwaveringly on Minnie. ‘It was supposed to be a simple three-point plan,’ he said seething. ‘Deny that Greene had the disease; discredit the voice-recognition research; and last, but not least, recommend Levchin Care Clinics around the world. What part did you not understand?’

‘It was supposed to be a public apology. I did what I thought was right,’ said Minnie.

Levchin stared at Minnie as though
she
was the brain-destroying agent in Greene’s life, not a motor neurone catastrophe. ‘In the medical world, we have a bespoke diagnosis for people like you.’ He paused, exhaling noisily, then spoke in a staccato manner, spitting out each word to get his point across. ‘You are “freak radicals” – individuals who cause untold damage when allowed to get out of control.’