By 5 o’clock, Jean-Claude couldn’t stand it any more. Worrying had given him a thumping headache. The lines of tension pulled at the outer corners of his eyes and he knew he looked awful.
His supervisor was concerned.
‘You need to go home, my friend. You’re shaking. What do you think it is?’
‘Sais-pas. I feel really bad, like I’ve taken le poison or something.’
‘Would fish do that to you? Are you allergic?’ The man laughed at his own joke.
Jean-Claude let him have his fun. At least he wasn’t making leaving difficult.
‘I’ll make the time up but I can’t function effectively comme ça,’ he said, gesturing at his clammy forehead.
‘Fair enough - you do look rough. I hope you’re not infectious?’ Steve took a step back.
‘I don’t think so. J’ai mal à la tête and my heart, it is racing.’
‘If you still feel bad tomorrow, ring in and I’ll let them know. Hopefully you’ll sleep it off. I’ll take over with this lot. It’s only the feed tanks to top up now, isn’t it? Go on, off you g0.’
Jean-Claude fled. In his car, he tried and failed to contact Emma. His common sense told him that it was too late, the clone had probably expired by now. He drove home slowly, and went indoors in search of a soothing tisane for his head.
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