1989, page 8
‘Gordie tried to quit, but he never managed it. The drug had its claws in his heart. Then he got on Dr Robertson’s drug trial. We were over the moon.’ She’d looked piteously across the table at Allie, trembling fingers clutching her vodka and Coke. ‘I still loved him. In spite of everything. He was my world. I thought the doctors could fix the AIDS, and he’d manage to get off the heroin.’ Her eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them back. ‘He was doing well, Dr Robertson said. And then, boom. Out of nowhere. He took a massive heart attack and that was that.’ She took the last cigarette from her pack and crushed it fiercely. ‘No more Gordie.’
It had been a difficult interview. Allie couldn’t avoid the intensity of Janine’s grief and it ate a hole in her own defences. She’d felt a complicity she couldn’t justify. Journalists were only supposed to empathise for as long as it took them to nail down their story, not to struggle with the emotional response. It seemed to be happening to her more often these days. The interviews she’d done after Lockerbie, the bereaved families she’d spoken to after the M1 air crash weeks later, the frustrations that doctors and community workers had shared with her about the AIDS nightmare – these conversations were leaving her hollowed out and drained. Maybe it was just that her new role was demanding too much of her. Or maybe, as her male colleagues had never tired of insinuating – or saying to her face – women like her just couldn’t take the pressure at the top.
Allie walked back to her car. She knew she’d be welcome back at Sarah Torrance’s, even at this late hour. But after the day she’d had, the thought of light chit-chat over a nightcap or dealing with Meriel’s inquisition over breakfast made her want to lay her head on the steering wheel and weep. If she set off now, she could be home around three in the morning. Six hours’ sleep and she’d be on top of her game again, running her freelances, putting together a news schedule, writing her copy. And arranging to meet Jess to pick her brains about pharmaceutical companies.
It was a plan. Allie was always happiest when she could convince herself she had a plan. She turned the key in the ignition and headed for the apparently random combination of A-roads and motorways that would take her across Scotland to the M6 and home. As she drove, she rummaged one-handed through the box of cassettes she kept in the car, eventually settling for a Scottish mixtape she’d made herself. Aztec Camera, Deacon Blue, The Rezillos, Annie Lennox fronting the Eurythmics, Bronski Beat with wee Jimmy Somerville, the Cocteau Twins. If singing along to that didn’t turn her spirit bright, nothing would.
She reached Carlisle just after midnight and pulled off to fill up with petrol. There was no signal on the mobile, so she called Rona from a phone booth to tell her she’d be home. It took her so long to answer, Allie knew she’d woken her up. Nevertheless, as soon as Rona heard her voice, she perked up. ‘We’ve missed you. Waking up to Germaine just isn’t the same.’
Allie chuckled. ‘I thought I’d better let you know I’m coming home in case you thought we were being burgled. I’ll just crash out in the spare room. I don’t want to disturb you again.’
‘You think you can get into the house undetected? You know the dog’ll wake the neighbourhood. Come to bed, my love. You know you want to.’
She was right. Even after a decade, she was right. ‘OK,’ Allie said. ‘Go back to sleep, I’ll see you later. Love you.’
‘Mmm. Drive like the polis are watching.’
Once she was asleep, Allie knew nothing until Rona woke her with a coffee just before nine. ‘I wish I could sleep like you,’ Rona said. ‘I swear you will sleep through the end of the world.’ She perched on the bed next to Allie, fragrant from her shower. The dog followed, rather less fragrant. ‘We’ve already had a wee jog round the water park.’
Allie groaned. ‘I wish you’d never done that feature about retraining your body.’
‘You do enough running around on the job. And let’s not forget, you are the queen of the dance floor. So how was Edinburgh? Did you get what you needed?’
‘I’ve got the exodus story nailed down, all four corners. And enough of a thread to tug on with the other one. I’ll try to get hold of Jess today, see whether she can pull a rabbit out of a hat for me. I got some great quotes. One woman said to me, “Don’t say this is an Edinburgh problem. We don’t live in Edinburgh, we live in Muirhouse. There’s people lived all their lives here and never walked down Princes Street. Edinburgh’s another planet to us.”’ She sipped her coffee. ‘What about you? What have you got on today?’
‘I’m off across the Pennines to Sheffield to interview Neil Morrissey.’ Seeing Allie’s faint frown, Rona added, ‘He played the biker guy in Boon, remember? He’s in rehearsal at the Crucible for William Tell. I’ve already sold it twice over.’ She kissed Allie then jumped up. ‘I need to get a move on.’
‘Me too,’ Allie sighed. The day had started too early for her. She wrapped herself in her cosy dressing gown and made a list at the breakfast bar while a fresh pot of coffee brewed. Rona passed through like a blonde tornado, and Allie started on her phone calls. Freelances first, then a call to Jess, who was intrigued by the story so far. ‘I don’t know anything about this drug trial,’ she warned. ‘I’ve only heard of Zabre Pharma because one of my colleagues moved there a couple of years ago. I’ll see what I can find out. But it’s always good to have an excuse for lunch.’
Allie couldn’t put off writing her copy any longer. It was always the same with stories she knew didn’t fit the strict parameters of what the newsdesk considered their readers were interested in. The knowledge of the fight ahead always made it hard to get started; she had to make the story powerful enough to strike a knock-out blow against objections. This was one of the few occasions that she missed the few colleagues she’d had camaraderie with over the years. She could have bounced her ideas off Marcus, back in the trainee days, or Danny Sullivan at the Clarion back in Glasgow, their thoughts sharpening her own focus. But these days, she was on her own. She went through to her office and turned on her Amstrad PCW, watching the familiar green letters crawl across the black screen. Deep sigh, then she created a new file.
Scores of seriously ill patients are being forced from their homes because there aren't enough places to treat them. The resulting exodus threatens people all over the UK with the spread of an incurable disease.
That should grab the attention of the newsdesk, she thought. Hopefully without whipping up their knee-jerk anti-AIDS hysteria.
Dozens of Edinburgh patients who are HIV+ and even those who have developed AIDS are abandoning the city because the NHS has turned its back on them. With every passing week, the numbers grow.
They are travelling to cities in England because they believe they have a better chance of medical care there.
James Forrester, 24, left his flat in Muirhouse, Edinburgh for Manchester, where he is now being cared for in a city hospital. He said, 'In Edinburgh, I couldn't get into rehab or any other treatment after I was diagnosed. There were no beds. No spaces.
'What clinics they do have are bursting at the seams. We're just dumped on a scrapheap. If you've not got family or pals to look after you, it's just curtains.
'So I came down here, where nobody knew I was HIV positive. I thought I could escape that feeling that I had a target on my back.' Sadly, James has since developed full-blown AIDS and has only weeks to live.
Gus, 26, fled Edinburgh to escape the stigma of being known as HIV+. He refused to give his surname to preserve the life he's trying to build in Manchester. 'There are no secrets in Muirhouse,' he said. 'But down here, nobody knows I'm HIV positive. I've got a part-time job in a bar, and I go to an outpatient clinic. HIV is a death sentence, but I think I've got a right to a life for as long as I'm able.'
Jackie Green, who runs a support group in the Scottish capital, said, 'How can we call ourselves civilised when we treat sick people like this? Imagine if that was your child, your sibling. How could you bear it?'
Edinburgh doctor Derek Diack has hundreds of HIV+ patients on his books. He explained the problem. 'Edinburgh's always tried to deny it's got an underbelly. They don't want to acknowledge what's going on.
'There's a new campaign group trying to raise money for an AIDS hospice. It's an uphill struggle - most people don't want to be associated with AIDS. But they're determined. Good luck to them.'
Dr Paul Robertson runs the AIDS wards in an Edinburgh hospital. He revealed, 'When they told me I could have a treatment unit, I asked for fifty beds. They gave me four. So we can only take patients in extremis. Before they get to that point, running down south is their last act of defiance.
'Patients don't deserve to be blamed for being ill. They don't deserve to be robbed of what little time they have. If we're going to start treating victims of this illness like they don't matter, where do we stop?'
A spokesman for Lothian Health Board said, 'We don't discriminate against any patients. However, our resources are limited and we have to make difficult decisions about how to allocate them most effectively.'
Allie read through her copy and made a few tweaks. She hoped she’d managed to keep enough of a lid on her sense of outrage to slip past the newsdesk. She saved the story then dialled up the office connection. There was the usual procession of whines, trills and ringtones as the modem connected and started to transmit her story. While it was uploading, she took a quick shower then returned to check it had actually gone. Often, there was interference on the line, which corrupted the process and meant she had to start again. This time, she’d been lucky. Now it was in the lap of the gods.
14
As usual, the pub was busy. Its unique selling point was bread and cheese in copious quantities, which was the main reason Jess always chose it. She’d arrived first and snagged a table in the window, already furnished with two kinds of bread, three different cheeses and two pints of beer. Allie squeezed through the bodies and greeted her with a quick hug. ‘I thought I’d better grab the grub while I could,’ Jess said, nodding towards the crowd around the food service area.
‘Good thinking. The brie I recognise, but the other two?’
‘The green-veined one is Sage Derby. And that’s a smoked cheddar.’
The important business out of the way, they loaded their plates, striking their usual balance between talking and eating. Allie filled Jess in on her trip to Edinburgh; Jess talked about the tempting offer to relocate to Holland. ‘The cheese is a bit naff,’ Allie pointed out.
‘They don’t think so. The guy who was showing me round said, in all sincerity, “Edam does not go off but rather, it hardens, making it a great Dutch cheese to take along as you travel.”’
They both roared with laughter. ‘I’ll remember that next time I’m packing my case. And speaking of abroad, what’s the score with Zabre Pharma?’
Jess carved a slice of brie and applied it to some granary bread as she organised her thoughts. ‘I was barely aware of them before they made Colin Corcoran an offer he couldn’t refuse. Did you ever meet Colin?’
‘Doesn’t ring any bells.’
‘You probably wouldn’t remember even if you had. He’s pretty forgettable. Geek chic in the wardrobe department. He’d last about ten seconds on a dance floor. Early thirties, medium height, receding hairline, the kind of face you’d struggle to recall the day after you’d met him. The most noticeable thing about his appearance is he’s got these big wire-framed glasses, like giant aviator specs. He says it’s so he doesn’t miss anything in the lab, but honestly, they’re that close’ – she held her index finger and thumb a fraction apart – ‘to being goggles.’
Allie chuckled. ‘Definitely no bells ringing. Is he a researcher like you?’
‘We worked on the same projects but he was much more involved in designing the clinical trials process. I think he’s very impressive, actually. He’s good at taking a 360-degree approach to a project. I liked working with him, he was passionate about getting good drugs to market. He lived with his mum, and then she died about eighteen months ago, and he didn’t really know what to do with himself. So when Zabre came calling, he was ripe for the picking.’ Jess speared a chunk of the smoked cheese and nibbled it with tiny bites, like a cartoon mouse. ‘Mm, that’s good.’
‘OK, so they plucked him like a peach. What do they do, this Zabre? What’s their thing?’
‘They bumped along on the generics train for quite a while, then they made a bit of a killing a few years ago with an eczema treatment that worked better than anything else around, especially on kids. It wasn’t a game changer, but it’s been a nice little earner for them. Then when AIDS came along, they realised it was here to stay and they’ve been trying to develop a combination therapy that will slow down the progression from HIV to AIDS.’ Jess drained her glass.
‘Another one?’
‘Just a half, I need to be able to look down a microscope and not see double.’
Allie pushed through the bodies at the bar and returned with a couple of halves of bitter. She picked up the thread of the conversation. ‘That’s pretty much the Holy Grail right now, isn’t it? Stopping the HIV developing into full-blown AIDS?’
The corners of Jess’s mouth turned down. ‘And it’s about as likely to be found as the Holy Grail. The best we can hope for is seriously slowing it down. We just don’t understand enough about how retroviruses work yet. And AIDS is not a sexy disease in terms of attracting either massive amounts of funding or – whisper it – the most brilliant minds.’
‘Really? I’d have thought being the team that cracked this one would be high prestige.’
Jess shrugged. ‘Yes and no. There’s so much stigma attached to it. A lot of people think AIDS victims don’t deserve a cure. The real prestige would come with a breakthrough that would lead to applications for other illnesses.’
‘So Colin bucked the trend and went off to Zabre? Would he have been involved in this aborted trial in Edinburgh?’
Jess shrugged. ‘I’ve no way of knowing.’
‘Where are they based, this Zabre?’
‘Their main production site is in Dusseldorf. But they’ve got an outpost in West Berlin as well.’
‘Dusseldorf I get, but why West Berlin? Does that not create all kinds of supply problems? It’s not like you can just nip down the road with a truckload of drugs.’
Jess seemed uncomfortable with the question. ‘I imagine it’s not entirely straightforward.’
‘So why?’ Allie persisted. Just because Jess was her friend didn’t mean she had to give her an easy ride.
‘OK, so a lot of drug trials get done across the wall.’
‘In East Berlin?’ Allie was taken aback. ‘Why?’
‘Not just in the city, in East Germany generally.’
It felt as if Jess was avoiding the question. ‘But why?’
Jess pushed her plate away. Allie read that as a sign things were getting serious. ‘To do clinical trials properly isn’t cheap. The protocols have to be set up and followed. The patients have to be closely monitored, often residentially. The paperwork has to be done thoroughly. East Germany’s desperate for foreign currency so . . .’
‘Come on down, the price is right?’
‘It’s not just because they’re cheap,’ Jess said. ‘To be blunt, the patients are more used to doing what they’re told, so the drop-out rates are a lot lower.’
Allie scoffed. ‘And the patients are a lot less likely to sue if the wheels come off, right?’
‘I suppose. I don’t have any direct knowledge, we’ve never worked with them.’
‘Is it possible that if a trial was aborted here because of adverse side effects, it might be moved to East Germany? Where it would be easier to body-swerve scrutiny? Sweep the bad things under the carpet?’
Jess sighed. ‘It would be pretty unethical. Like I said, I don’t have any first-hand experience.’ She filled the uneasy silence by returning to the last of her cheese.
‘Are you still in touch with Colin?’
Jess shook her head. ‘He sent me a Christmas card, which kind of surprised me. It’s not like we were friends.’
‘So it wouldn’t be weird if you got in touch with him?’
Jess rolled her eyes. ‘Of course it would be bloody weird. Why would I do that?’
‘You don’t think he was maybe reaching out to you? If he was worried, he might do that?’
‘Allie, he didn’t say, “Help, Jess, I’ve got into something over my head.” He said, “Merry Christmas, let me know if you’re ever in Berlin.” It’s not exactly a bloody cry for help.’
Allie sighed. ‘OK, OK. I don’t suppose he gave you his phone number?’
‘What are you planning, Allie?’ Jess knew her well enough to let her misgivings show.
Allie opened her eyes wide. ‘I’m just interested.’
‘My arse,’ Jess said. ‘You’re going to ring him up and put the fear of God into him.’
Allie grinned. ‘The innocent have nothing to fear from me.’
Jess snorted in derision. ‘Luckily for Colin, all I have is his address.’
Allie held out her hand. ‘Gimme. You know you want to. If there’s anything dodgy going on, you’ve got to want to know. It’s in your interests that your industry cleans up its act. And what about those poor sods in East Germany? You think anybody there gives a flying fuck about them?’
‘You’ve got no basis for thinking there’s anything unethical going on with Zabre.’
