The spectral analysis showed it to be perfect.
Even factoring for the expected margin for error, everything looked correct, looked like he could finally deliver what had been demanded of him.
So why did he still have that nagging feeling in the back of his mind.
He hadn’t trusted himself to get it all correct, he never did any more.
It had been a while ago that his ego had been pounded into submission by repeated failures and was now dwarfed by insecurity.
Dr Jeremy Dooley had stood next to him and checked every inch of the equipment over, recalculated the same calculations and rechecked all of the outputs.
He had considered asking Dr. Dooley how sure he was that he hadn’t missed anything.
He had asked Dr Michael Jones if he had the time to triple-check something for him, but Dr Dooley had already spoke to him, and Dr Jones told him to stop wasting everyone’s time.
He thought this was unfair, none of them understood how important this was to him.
The deadline had now arrived, and he could prevaricate no more.
He had to trust his results.
He removed the beaker, following each step-by-step moment carefully and mentally ticking each checkbox in his head as it was completed.
As he was about to leave the lab, he looked back and paused with one foot through the doorway.
He thought something caught his eye, so placed his backpack carefully on the floor and went back.
He checked over each item carefully, everything was as it should be, left as he was supposed to have left it. Nothing was here that shouldn’t be and nothing was missing that should be there.
He got to the end of the corridor before he realised he had left his bag in the doorway.
It was 10 steps back past a flickering striplight to the door to the lab, which was resting ajar against this backpack.
He gingerly opened it. Everything was where it should be inside.
He pulled his right arm through the straps, and then the left arm, feeling the reassuring weight of the foam islulair© on his back.
On the journey back, he kept glancing down at his speedometer, easing his toes upwards the moment the dial flicked up towards 30. He paid no heed to the 3 cars that sped loudly past him, or the 1 drive who shouted something muffled by the rolled-up window between them.
His key turned easily in the lock when he got to his front door. He took this as a good sign, as on a bad day it could take him 3 minutes or more to jiggle the brass key in just the right way for the pins to line up and the lock to give way, allowing the door to swing open.
She was there to greet him in the hallway, his own ceiling light flickering, albeit at a slower frequency than that of the striplight back in the lab corridor.
He counted 3 teeth now missing from the smile that grinned up at him expectantly, one more than the last time he had seen it.
She had a podgy hand held out, grasping at air and he knew it was time.
He fed his arm back through the straps, allowing him to swing the bag round safely into his cradling arms. He zipped back the opening and reached in.
He heard her happy giggle when she first saw it.
The beaker was handed over.
She held it to her mouth and a thin stream of the liquid ran through and into the gap-toothed mouth. She made a small snort, her nose and forehead crinkling, attempting to meet each other somewhere in the middle of her face.
“Sorry Daddy, it’s still too strong. Ask Mummy again tomorrow, she knows how I like it.”