Read Online Conrad & Eleanor by Jane Rogers - Free Book Online Page A

—’
    â€˜All right, all right. Listen.’
    An owl was calling from the stand of beech trees the other side of the lane; into the silence that followed its call came an answering ‘tu-whit, tu-whoo’ from Paul, and giggles.
    â€˜We ought to chivvy those two to bed.’
    â€˜I’ll make their cocoa. You drag them in.’
    They said no more about it that night, but Con himself raised it the next evening. The fine weather had turned to drizzle, and they’d attempted their first peat fire in the wide sooty kitchen fireplace. It was making a wonderful smell and plenty of smoke but not much in the way of heat. El knelt beside it feeding it dry twigs, trying to conjure a blaze.
    â€˜That research must have already been done, El, it must have been. Christian Barnard and the heart transplants, the drugs they used must have been tested on animals before people —’
    â€˜If they have money to research with monkeys there must be a reason.’
    â€˜But they’ve already moved on to drugs they’re prepared to try on people – why go backwards?’
    â€˜I don’t know. Maybe there’s some other factor?’
    â€˜OK. If we’re both speaking from equal positions of ignorance, then I shall speculate. And I think you should leave that fire to smoulder, that’s what peat does.’
    â€˜But it’s not warm.’
    â€˜Come and sit on my knee. I’ll keep you warm.’
    She remembers the quiet pleasure of that moment, both mental – he was interested, she’d got him hooked, he was starting to chip at the idea – and physical, his long limbs folding her in, warming and holding her, taking charge of her, which was a rare thing now for him to do. She loved it when he was expansive; since Dan, it seemed all energy and initiative must come from her. But now here at last was Con again, chewing on an idea that engaged him, ordering her around, lifting the responsibility of the pair of them off her shoulders.
    â€˜Here, move round a bit. I never met a woman with such a sharp pointy bum.’
    â€˜You’d prefer me fat?’
    â€˜Can’t have too much of a good thing. Now look. The biggest problem the transplant people have is not even rejection, is it?’
    â€˜Shortage of donors.’
    â€˜Exactly. How can they build any kind of success rate, how can they hope to sort out what works from what doesn’t when they’re reliant for their supply of organs on accidents? You never know what’s coming in, what blood group, age, size.’
    â€˜OK. So?’ She could already see where he was going.
    â€˜So are Saul and Brock actually looking at monkey hearts for humans?’
    â€˜I don’t know. Could it work?’
    â€˜It could work in the sense that you could breed them specifically for that; you could prepare the recipient, take the organ from the donor at the most opportune moment – but whether you could make a match I have no idea. Chimps are closest, aren’t they, but I have no idea even how big their hearts are. And I’ve a feeling they’re an endangered species.’
    â€˜If humans reject other human hearts, a monkey heart is even more alien.’
    â€˜Yes, but like I said, you could prepare it; breed it specifically for that purpose. I don’t know anything about monkeys but you could treat the donor heart in advance with drugs that would make its less antigenic to the new host.’
    Eleanor suddenly remembers the funny clicking noise that interrupted him. A tap followed by a rattling click, coming from upstairs. She uncurled from his lap and they both crept up the steep creaky staircase. The door to Paul and Megan’s room, left open when they’d gone to bed, was closed. In the feeble glare of the forty-watt bulb that hung from the landing ceiling, they could see the latch on the door wobbling up and down, clicking, as if manipulated by invisible