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talk?’ he asked.
    Simmons swivelled slowly round in his chair and looked over his glasses. ‘I suppose I should grab the opportunity while you’re actually here, Gavin. Come in. Sit down.’
    ‘Sounds like I’m in trouble?’
    ‘You were until Mary mentioned that she met you last night on your way to spend the evening in the medical library. If it hadn’t been for that I think I might have been coming round to the view – that everyone else seems to hold around here – that you’ve been doing damn all since you came through the door of my lab two months ago.’
    Gavin gave an exaggerated shrug, but didn’t have time to respond before Simmons continued, ‘The Medical Research Council has given you a three-year postgraduate research studentship on my recommendation – and I don’t have to tell you how stiff the competition was. I’d hate to suffer the embarrassment of being proved wrong …’
    ‘I’ve been thinking,’ said Gavin.
    ‘What about?’
    The tone of Simmons’ voice left Gavin in no doubt that this was not a casual enquiry.
    ‘I’m just about to tell you,’ said Gavin, placing his rucksack on the floor between his legs and bringing out his bits and pieces in an untidy jumble, causing pens and pencils to cascade on to the floor. ‘You wanted me to work on the genetics of membrane architecture … right?’ he said, dropping to his knees to start retrieving things. ‘You suggested trying to mutate a gene we agreed was likely to be a suitable target …’ His voice took on a strained quality as he had to reach under a radiator to retrieve the last pen. ‘Well, it occurred to me that that might be really difficult …’
    ‘I don’t remember suggesting that it would be easy …’ said Simmons , watching the proceedings with a bemused look on his face. He was finding it difficult to remain angry with someone who was behaving like an untrained Labrador puppy in his office.
    ‘Well, it turns out … we don’t need to do that at all,’ said Gavin, finally straightening and getting to his feet. ‘There’s another way.’
    Simmons’ expression was carved in stone, but he was inwardly impressed at the change that had come over Gavin. His usual sullenness had been replaced by an intense, youthful enthusiasm which was a pleasure to see.
    ‘I don’t know if you saw the Grieve and Morton paper in Cell last week, where they mentioned an old anti-cancer drug in passing called Valdevan?’
    ‘The drug that failed because it only worked in the lab and not in people?’
    ‘Yes, but that’s not the point. The authors of the Cell paper mentioned somewhere in the discussion that the probable target for that drug was the gene we spoke about – the S16 gene – the one you asked me to mutate …’
    Simmons examined the notes that Gavin handed over, outlining the proposed chemical action of Valdevan. ‘You do have a point …’ he conceded.
    ‘I’ve been down in the library, trying to find some pictures of cells treated with the drug to see if they show any obvious membrane changes, and I managed to come up with these. Look, I think it’s quite clear. There’s an irregular but definite pinching of the membrane like you thought might happen if we knocked out the S16 gene. See for yourself.’ Gavin presented Simmons with a journal opened and folded back to display a photograph.
    ‘Gosh, I see what you mean,’ agreed Simmons, picking up a magnifying lens from his desk and examining the photograph more closely. ‘It’s not blindingly obvious but it’s there. You know, I think you just may have wiped out some of these yellow cards you’ve been accumulating … if not all of them. This is an excellent piece of investigative work. Well done.’
    Gavin, beaming with pleasure and growing in confidence, leaned towards Simmons and said, ‘If we could get the drug company to give us some Valdevan, we could use that to simulate knocking out the gene and forget all about the hassle of trying to