Judith is first back after lunch. She takes the tubes from the incubator to see if there is growth. Mm. Yes. Most of them are turbid and the most turbid, the ones that have grown best, are the ones at pH 7.6. She adjusts most of the flasks to that pH, and two to 6.5 to see how much difference it makes. She goes looking for the autoclave on the fifth floor and finds it with instructions for use stuck to its door with Durex sticky-tape.

Arthur arrives and helps her carry the flasks up. After studying the instructions closely, they put their flasks, tubes and bottles into the chamber of the instrument and close the vertical door. Judith notices that Arthur takes over the job of clamping it shut. That’s man’s work, obviously. As directed, he screws down opposing clamps, lightly, and finally tightens all ten hard so that the steam can’t escape from the gap.

“It’s easy,” he says, “Same as putting a wheel on a car.” Then, “Oh Lord, my car. I have to rush off.”

Judith raises her eyebrows. “You’ll stay while the autoclave gets up to pressure, won’t you?” She hears herself sounding impatient and is embarrassed, but he keeps mixing personal things with work!

Arthur frowns, obviously anxious to be off. However, he sits by the window and Judith watches, amused, as he pulls at an ear lobe, taps his toe, tightens his tie inside his starched white collar, exercises his neck …

Fortunately, the autoclave was already hot when they started to use it and only takes ten minutes — ten uncomfortable, mute minutes — before the steam starts roaring out. Arthur closes the cock and together they watch the gauge reach 15 lbs pressure, 120 degrees C. Arthur leaves without speaking.

Where’s he going in such a hurry? Is there something wrong with his precious car? Judith tells herself it’s none of her business. She goes to the sixth floor to find Schroedinger’s little book “What is life?”.

An hour later, when she wants to remove the flasks from the autoclave she finds it impossible to loosen the clamps. Arthur is still absent. Blow him! She goes to the second floor and asks Brian to help.

He does, but at the same time, chastens her. “Misused autoclaves blow up. They wreck departments,” he growls. “There’s a departmental rule — always get instruction before using equipment for the first time. Most of the instruments in this department can kill you.”

Judith draws breath to argue that the instructions stuck to the autoclave are clear, but decides against it. Brian leaves her to open the door and remove the flasks. She is glad he has gone before she does, for all the medium that was in the flasks is now pooled in the bottom of the autoclave. It has all boiled up and over. All their flasks are empty. Why? What a waste of time! She’ll have to start again, weighing, dissolving, making to volume, pHing, aliquoting … for once she doesn’t feel like singing while she does it.

Where’s Arthur? He should be here to share the frustration! She extracts a handkerchief from her bosom and wipes away her tears of disappointment.

Downstairs in the lab she finds Simon sitting at his desk, the one adjacent to hers. Until she knows she can trust him she’ll not sit beside him when they are alone. She puts the empty flasks on Arthur’s bench and heads for fresh air.

She finds it under her gum tree. Leaning her forehead against its trunk, she listens to its leaves rustling overhead and, comforted, goes to afternoon tea.

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