Marjory grasped that day's paper, shaking with rage and frustration, 'Frank, you bloody idiot!' Her son, Peter, upset at the fate of his step dad, but ever pragmatic, reasoned with her, 'He must have known the risks.' 'Typical of him. Always a gambler. Only ever saw the gains; never the losses.' 'At least the fee was paid to you; we won't lose the house now.' 'The house wouldn't have been at risk in the first place if it wasn't for the gambling.' 'But he tried to make good, by signing up for the experiment.' 'Being a guinea pig is not a normal way to head a family.' 'Yes, but it's provided for us: The fee for a start, then all the media attention and the film rights.' 'How can you talk of money, when my husband is, is that?' Frank looked back at Marjory, dumbly, and flared his nostrils a few times. 'Mum, there's still a chance the effects could be reversible.' 'A chance? A chance! You're beginning to sound like him now. Just don't say any more. And feed Frank some of that Kale.' Marjory topped up Frank's water bottle, re attached it to the cage, and wept.