Hunted Head

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Sandy had known for weeks that it was probably coming, so the feeling of sickness that struck her on reading the formal notice that her grant was not to be renewed was unexpected. It was also unfair. She was working on the situation; taking steps. There were still a couple of foundations which had not so far sent a form letter regretting that this year’s cash was all committed. And there were several laboratories with the kind of facilities she needed, to which she had not yet had time to apply. She was a damn good technician and had the references to prove it; she was willing to take minimal wages if she could have a couple of yards of bench space and access to a steriliser. It was a bargain for any lab with microorganisms to be looked after. She’d make them see that, if she could just get an interview…

So this was not a catastrophe. Just one more rotten thing in a day that had started with a split fingernail, followed by the sight—no, spectacle of Danny in the cafeteria, sitting between a blonde and a brunette, with a redhead opposite; all three no doubt hanging on his every slurp (anyone who expected words before he had drunk at least two cups of coffee would be out of luck, so early in the day).

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