Donor, The (20 page)

I was delivering a note. It was a very lovely note. Alfred would like it. But he wasn’t gonna get it. This note, it started like this:

The letter was three pages long. I continued to write it on the bus, then finished it in the foyer of the prison. Would this suffice? If I sent him one each day,
outlining
the things he would see if he was watching me, would it be interesting enough? Would he read and re-read? There would be no secret messages, like the ones I dreamt my mother may have sent Heath, but the letter represented the kind of love I had yearned for. Difficult love, involving sacrifice and pain. Would Preston be my love story? I would know as soon as I saw him read my letter. If the answer was yes, then I wouldn’t give a shit about Dad’s tests, Kay getting the goods, me waiting, me living – or not.

I gave the butch woman and the effeminate man at the desk my ID, put my bag in the locker and followed a six-foot uniformed could-be model up the stairs and into the visits area.

Oh, Preston. Why was half his head bald? Without sunglasses, a full head of hair and a hiding place, I just didn’t know him.

‘How you doing?’ I said, sitting opposite him. ‘I brought you a letter.’

Preston was acting very strangely, like he had two tongues in his mouth. Don’t know what the hell was wrong with the guy. He put out his hand and took the envelope. I waited for him to say something, or open it. Instead, he kept looking over at a young prisoner sitting at the table next to the door. Wouldn’t take his eyes off him.

‘Well, open it,’ I said, so he did. Glanced at it for a tenth of a second and put it down.

‘Who are you looking at?’ I asked.

He could hardly speak. Something had happened to his mouth and throat. ‘His name is Jason McVie.’ He mumbled with difficulty, still not looking at me.

What was I thinking? Who was this guy?

‘Jason McVie.’ He didn’t need to say it a second time. Once was enough for me to realise that he was not my love story. He’d already replaced me with an accessible young prisoner. He was just a good-looking stalker guy with a weirded-out mouth.

I paused, sighed, took the letter from him and put it in my pocket.

‘I’m never going to fall in love with you, Preston,’ I said.

Heath was released at 11 a.m. They handed him his
allowance
and belongings and escorted him to the front door.

Every time Heath got out, he rewarded himself with an extraordinary night before heading home to the missus. Things always happened on these nights. Good things. Fun things. Things he’d dreamt about in his cell bunk for however many months or years. This time, he had another element to look forward to. It excited him so much, the fact that the first chapter of this night would involve his newfound daughters, that he almost ran down the driveway and into the off-licence.

Celebratory bottle of whisky in hand, Heath caught the bus into town with three other new releases. The second bus he caught took forty minutes. By the time Heath arrived at the Marion residence, his bottle of whisky was empty.

He’d only been standing opposite the house for a minute when one of the girls came out with her keys and bag. So this was one of his daughters, didn’t know which. Hmm, he thought. Where was she going? He walked fast so he could catch up with her. One step behind now. It made her look around. She checked him out then turned to the front again. She didn’t know who he was at all.

He stood at the bus stop beside her, doing his own checking out. So this is what he could make with his most excellent sperm. Not bad. A bit gloomy and ill looking, but not bad. He probably had at least five others out there somewhere. He wondered if they’d all have blonde hair and – if he did say so himself – a
perfect
physique.

On the bus, he took the seat behind her. She was a strange girl, stared blankly into space. When she got off in the city centre, he got off too.

She went into a bar in the Merchant City. Ah, the other one was there too. The same, but much prettier, softer, somehow. They sat together at a table in the corner of the bar and ordered two vodka and tonics from the waitress.

‘You heard from Dad?’ the pretty one said.

Dad
. The word warmed Heath more than he expected. He was a dad!
Their
dad. These interesting girls were his daughters. He smiled and took a sip of his pint.

‘No. Can’t get hold of him,’ the other one said. ‘This is agony, isn’t it? Must be a nightmare for you.’

‘I thought I was going to fall in love today,’ the gloomy one said.

‘Who with?’

‘That detective guy. He was following me. He’s in prison now. I visited him first thing this morning.’

‘Why’s he in prison?’

‘Stabbed a dealer.’

‘Sounds perfect for you, G, blimey.’

‘I know. I must have been going crazy. But I found him intriguing and elusive. And he was obsessed with me, I suppose. No one’s ever been obsessed with me. It got to my ego. What am I like? Actually wanting a stalker!’

‘How could we not go crazy, eh? God knows we need distractions. I feel awful all the time.’

So the gloomy one was Georgie
, Heath thought. His kidney was for the pretty one, Kay. What would they think of him? Heath wondered. Would they like him? Would they buy him Father’s Day presents?

‘I know. Me too,’ Georgie said.

‘What do you think’s gonna happen?’ Kay asked.

Georgie took her hand, looked her in the eye and said, ‘I reckon Dad’ll be the business and you’ll be brand new and I’ll get one soon too and we’ll go on holiday to Arran to celebrate!’

‘Arran? I thought you hated Arran.’

‘I thought I did too …’

‘Excuse me,’ Heath found himself standing
awkwardly
over their table, ‘I couldn’t help overhearing you like Arran. I have a second cousin who lives there.’

‘Sorry, but we’re having a private discussion,’ Georgie said, a harsh look in her eye.

‘Right,’ Heath felt foolish for the first time since that procurator fiscal had said he was of below
average
intelligence. How had these girls managed to make him feel foolish? He felt his face heat up as he said, ‘No problems’ and returned to his seat.

‘I have a confession,’ Georgie said to Kay.

They hadn’t even blinked as he left. Hadn’t even had the decency to be polite. And all he wanted to do was get to know them a bit before he risked his life for one of them.

‘What?’ Kay asked.

‘I’ve invited Graham for a drink.’

Kay looked horrified, then terrified, then jubilant.

‘It’s about bloody time you two got together. How long have you strung him along for? Look, there he is.’

A boy of around seventeen approached the table. He was a bit of a geek, a lovable type, the type Heath enjoyed knocking the living lovability out of.

Heath, now a little drunk, and angry at how they had dismissed him so coldly, listened to the chat about orchestras and yawned. Boring bastards. How’d he produced such boring bastards? Boring and cruel.  Eventually, Kay and her boyfriend smiled, stood, and left. As they disappeared down the street, both Heath and Georgie saw them link hands. Gloomy Georgie girl smiled.

‘You want a drink?’ Heath asked her, standing over the table again.

‘No thanks,’ she said. She still had no idea who he was. Hadn’t she seen him in the news? Maybe. He’d gained two stone since then, Heath supposed, and gotten older. He didn’t look the same as he used to, but was he so different? He still had it, didn’t he?

‘Oh go on, just one. Your private conversation is over now, isn’t it? We could have a chat,’ he said.

‘Just fuck off, will you?’ she snapped.

‘What did you say to me?’ Heath said. He glared at her. This was her last chance. What she said next would determine her sister’s future.

‘I said fuck off, will you. And now I’m saying fuck off again. You stink, and you’re a creep.’

Heath smiled, then laughed. To think he was going to help these arseholes (did he ever intend to, really?). What was so special about them? Why be attached to these particular sperm?

‘What are you laughing at, weirdo?’

‘Your sister’s gonna be mad with you.’

‘What?’

‘You just sealed her fate.’

Georgie snarled then walked off. Probably assumed he was going to kill her there and then, rather than kill her sister there and then, indirectly.

What next? He hadn’t enjoyed a good mugging in a while.

Three pints later and Heath had found his victim. A pretty lad who thought he was funny. Had three girls laughing at the bar, not realising it was only ’cause he was buying them drinks with all his pretty money. Heath followed him into the toilets. Nothing too fancy, he thought. Just a good simple:

Punch in the face

Kick in the balls

Punch in the face

Kick in the shins

Kick kick kick all over, on the floor.

Nice wallet. Nice and full, funny pretty guy. See how the girls at the bar like you now.

Heath took the wallet and left the Merchant City bar glowing. Tonight was to be his last night in the UK. He’d leave tomorrow, with Cynthia of course. What next?

The prostitutes on Glasgow Green had either gotten older and uglier or he’d forgotten how talentless the city was. He bought two with some of the pretty boy’s money, took them to a room in a cheap hotel and ordered them to:

Stand over me

Other one, you, this in your mouth

Now sit

Bend

Lick

Now just fucking lie there, bitches. The relief in his balls was palpable. He felt happy. The only thing that’d make him happier was the love of his life, his wife-to-be, who would also have heroin waiting for him.

Ah.

*

The night was going well. Heath could really celebrate now. He didn’t have to worry about some stupid
promise
to the poofter and the Parole Board. He got a taxi to Govanhill, walked up the shitey close and into the shitey flat she’d arranged for his release.

The door wasn’t locked. He walked into the hall, into the lounge, and looked upon her. The love of his life. The exciting, dangerous, Cynthia.

‘What the fuck have you done to yourself?’ he asked. She was sprawled on the sofa, wearing a T-shirt and old grey underpants.

‘Heath!’ she said. ‘Come here!’

He sat beside her. God, if she was the earner, they were screwed. He’d certainly have to put the price down.

‘Did you get some gear?’

‘I did. I did, honey. But you took so long! Where have you been?’

She’d fucking used all the gear.

‘You used it all?’

‘I’m sorry, honey. No, I didn’t use it! Will took it. Where were you?’

‘Will took it?’

‘Yeah, he came this morning. Just took it. Said to tell you it was his insurance policy.’

‘Open your eyes,’ he said, grabbing her by the chin. ‘Open your fucking eyes. How can you be sorry with your eyes closed?’

She tried very hard and they did open a little.

‘I ask you to do one thing. One thing!’ He tossed her head down, stood over her, took off his belt and began to hit her with it so that, eventually, she looked much sorrier.

Will checked with the governor and was told that Heath had been released that day. Tomorrow, then, they would meet. Till that time, he avoided the girls, staying in the hotel room, thinking. He called them so they wouldn’t worry. Said the tests were still
underway
, no news yet, and that he was chilling with Si for a bit. They seemed happy for him. ‘Have some fun!’ Georgie said. ‘We’re going to try that too. We’re
going
to head into town today. And tomorrow we’re off to the beach.’

When they were out, Will visited Cynthia and took the heroin she had bought for Heath, knowing he would definitely come to the house as planned if this was the case. He then slipped into the house and rifled through an old box of videotapes until he found the one Cynthia had sent him all those years ago. In the loft was an old video player; he took that too. Wine in hand, he played the tape back in the hotel room.

*

The bathroom door is open. Will is taking a morning piss.
From a slightly hairy bum he squeezes a fart, as he usually does, interrupting the flow only slightly.

He’s channel flicking. The babies are crying but he doesn’t seem to notice …

He’s saying, ‘Hello, gorgeous!’

‘What do you love about me?’ she’s asking from behind the lens.

‘Um …’ he says. ‘Everything.’

‘No, what, exactly, specifically?’ she asks.

‘All of you. You’re great,’ he says.

He’s turning the music down, then up a bit, then down a bit.

He’s reading the arts section then nodding at it, then
shaking
his head at it …

‘Hello, gorgeous,’ he’s saying.

‘Talk to me,’ she says. ‘Tell me something.’

‘Um … What would you like to talk about?’ he replies. 
‘What would you like me to tell you?’ …

Farting over the toilet again.

Channel flicking again …

*

How many times did he watch the film? A dozen? It was morning before he thought that maybe he should stop.

Morning before he realised that this was not him any more, this indecisive man, this scared, malleable piece of inaction.

Morning. The girls were going out today, they’d said, to the beach.

It was time to get dressed.

Time to act.