Donor, The
Page 18
‘Did you always know I wasn’t the father?’
A hint of panic entered the half-closed slits of her eyes.
‘Oh Will! Will Will Will … What did you say?’
‘The girls aren’t mine.’
Her head slumped towards her chest. She bounced it back up a second later, hearing what he’d said. ‘Really? Wow. You know I wondered about that …’
‘Is it Heath?’
‘Of course it’s Heath. He’s my man, Will. Willy Willy. Can you tap me a tenner?’
‘No, Cynthia.’
‘I’ll give you a blow job. That’s very good value.’ Her head slumped down again. This time, it took twice as long to lift back up and when she did her eyes remained shut. Will let go of her shoulders, laid her on the sofa, put a blanket over her and left.
47
Will couldn’t see Heath until the next day and decided he couldn’t see the girls until he had. How could he? They’d know it was bad news straight away. Not the full extent of it, but he couldn’t face them. No, he needed to speak to Heath Jones first.
‘Hey, guys,’ he said into the answer phone, knowing they’d be at the hospital dialysing. ‘I’m not going to be home tonight. There’s soup in the fridge. Hope everything’s okay. Everything’s good here, just going to see Si in Edinburgh. Need a night out with the boys!’
He didn’t go to Edinburgh. He booked into the Hilton in town, sat on the double bed, drank a half-bottle of whisky and passed out.
*
He hadn’t eaten for twenty-four hours when he arrived in the visits room of the prison the following morning. His hands were shaking. His eyes were red and sore from crying. He put his clenched fists on the table in front of him and waited till the father of his children walked into the room.
‘Well, look who it is.’ Heath said, sitting down opposite him. ‘The poofter.’
Will leant forward and spoke with a stern tone that had grown on him since using it for the first time with the arsehole at the homeless hostel. ‘You are a useless piece of shit, Heath Jones, and I hate you. Before yesterday, the world was a much worse place with you in it and I’d have been glad if you were locked up in here for the rest of your life. But things have changed. Now, you have a purpose. Listen to what I’m going to say …Are you listening? I’m going to do you that favour I owe.’
Heath, taken aback by the change in the poofter said, ‘Whatever.’
‘You are the father of my daughters, Georgie and Kay. You have their genes. And you have the chance to save one of them.’
Heath burst out laughing. ‘Well, how ’bout that!’
‘I’m going to offer you a deal.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Yeah. I’ll help you convince the parole board to let you out. Hell, I’ll make them cry at how selfless and changed you are.’
‘And …’
‘Some tests, an operation, a rest in hospital. That’s all.’
Hmm, Heath bit the nail of his thumb. He imagined his first night of freedom, pure hedonism. He imagined seeing Cynthia again. He imagined having another year in this shithole. ‘You got a pen?
Will gave the pen to Heath and began dictating the words he had composed in his head, being careful not to sound like someone with half a brain.
TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN
I just found out I have two daughters. I didn’t know they were mine till today and I am overjoyed. They are twins. They are sixteen years old. They have their whole lives ahead of them but they are very sick. Both of them are going to die from kidney disease unless I get out and help them. I want to do this to make up for all the bad I’ve done. I want to donate a kidney to Kay, because she is the sickest one. She is a very sweet girl. The man who looked after them is called Will Marion. He visited me and told me the news. I realise now that I have – and I want – responsibilities. I want to save Kay, but most of all, I want to be a father to both the girls, at long last. It gives me a purpose, a reason to live, a reason to be drug free and law abiding. I have been good this last year. I am getting old now. I want to change my life. I want to be a good person. I want to make up for what I done. I am being tested for compatibility immediately. I am also registering as a donor as soon as I have finished this letter in case anything happens to me before I get a chance to be a living donor. If you let me out, I will save a young girl. If you let me out, I will be in hospital for a while and I will not be able to offend. I do not want to anyway. I am a father now.
HEATH JONES
Will took the letter from Heath when he had finished and folded it. ‘We’re going to take this directly to the governor. She’s agreed for us to go to the office now, get the tests organised and have you register as a donor online.’
Heath’s expression changed to one of irritation. He quickly reverted to mock-cooperative and said, ‘Fine. Let’s go.’
Will had indeed organised these things with the governor. He’d phoned before the visit and explained the situation, asking if Heath could be tested for donor compatibility immediately. He also argued that prisons were dangerous places. ‘If anything happens to him, he needs to have registered as a donor.’ The governor, whose elderly mother was on dialysis, empathised and agreed to the last-minute visit. She had already arranged for the prison doctor to conduct the necessary tests and knew how to register online. ‘Of course he has to comply to these things,’ she’d said.
‘Of course.’
Will helped Heath register online in the governor’s office. The thug looked as sweet as he possibly could for the benefit of the woman who might help release him, even wiping a pretend tear from his eye as he talked of his newfound fatherhood. After they had finished he asked Will if he could have a photograph of the girls.
Will didn’t want to give him one, but he also wondered if the sight of their beautiful faces might help Heath feel something, make sure he kept his word. ‘You can have this one,’ Will said, handing over a photograph of the girls on the beach in Arran. They were standing at the edge of the water, bare feet, jeans rolled up, arms around each other, smiling broadly.
Hmm, Will thought, taking one last look at the photograph as he handed it over, Georgie is smiling in that one.
‘When does the board meet?’ Will asked the governor.
‘Tomorrow,’ she said.
‘And if he gets it?’
‘Depends on us and on the criminal justice social-work service. If we have everything in place – all the conditions, like a suitable address, drugs counselling, anger management, whatever else might be considered necessary by the social workers and the Parole Tribunal, then it could be immediate. What I’ll do is check if things are in place. If they are, all we need to do is get the licence drawn up immediately. Considering the urgency of the situation with your daughter, I could make sure this is done as quickly as possible. Of course, you mustn’t get your hopes up. It’s up to the Tribunal to decide. As you know, Heath, any breach of your life licence would mean an immediate recall to custody.’
‘Of course, I understand.’ Heath was still looking at the photograph. Will wanted to punch him in the face. How dare he look at the girls?
‘In that case, Heath, if you are granted parole tomorrow and you’re released immediately, could I come and collect you?’ Will said.
‘Oh, come on. Give me one night with my missus.’
‘Right. One night. Then come to my house – you know where we live. You were a regular visitor there over sixteen years ago. Come to my house around midday.’
48
The Tribunal consisted of three members of the Parole Board for Scotland and a Chairman. Three of them knew Heath well as he had passed the punishment portion of his sentence several years ago and, since then, had repeatedly unimpressed them. His reports, letters and temper were notoriously poor. However, having read the social-work and prison-based reports, the board already felt differently about this year’s application. They had, in fact, enjoyed a lengthy discussion before he arrived in the room. He
’d completed as many courses as a prisoner possibly could, ranging from victim awareness to drugs counselling to anger management to hairdressing. He hadn’t failed a drugs test and had worked in the joinery sheds and in the laundry. He’d even played a minor role in a play in the chapel. But it was his personal letter that clinched the deal.
‘You are going to donate your kidney?’ the younger of the two women said. She was around fifty-five, prim and proper.
‘I am. I’m a perfect match, the doc says. I’ve got a letter here from a Mr Jamieson to say so. You want a look? It just arrived an hour ago.’
The four members of the panel took turns to read the letter Mr Jamieson had written that morning, the crux of which was that Heath’s blood and tissue types were perfectly compatible with those of his twin daughters. Further tests would be required regarding general health and psychological well-being, but it was looking very positive indeed.
‘So I want it done as soon as I can. I have two daughters I didn’t know about. How about that, eh? Here I was, thinking I was a total waste of space, that the world was worse with me in it, and then I discover I’m a dad and that they need me, like in a life-or-death kind of way. I have to make up for lost time, be a father. Save a life. And of course, help with … the one who’ll still need a kidney …’
He’d forgotten her name. Luckily, none of the decision makers noticed.
‘Poor girls,’ he said.
‘And your address has been assessed as suitable by the social worker covering the Govanhill area,’ the other woman said. She was around seventy. Had very short dyed brown hair and no eyebrows.
‘That’s right.’ Heath was still wondering how Cynthia had managed to sit upright during the social worker’s visit. ‘We’re going to get married.’
The board member who used to be a cop spoke next. Heath knew he was a cop because they’d assaulted each other on separate occasions, a year or so apart. The cop had come off worse. ‘On the licence,’ he said, ‘we would want to add conditions.’
‘Of course.’ Heath tried to say Sorry for breaking your nose with his eyes.
‘A condition to attend drugs counselling as directed by your supervising officer, as well as anger management and assistance with work or training.’
‘Excellent,’ Heath said. ‘Soon as I’ve recovered I’d like to get a job. Buy presents for my daughters. Have a nice wedding.’
The vote was unanimous.
The prison worked at breakneck speed.
Heath would be released the following day.
49
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:
Preston,
At 9 a.m. I woke up and went to the bathroom.
I brushed my teeth for two minutes using an egg timer. I got in the shower. I got out. I dried myself.
I got dressed in the bedroom. I went downstairs. I had breakfast, crunchy-nut cornflakes and a glass of water. I watched the morning news in the living room for ten minutes. I rang the prison from the phone in the hall, arranged a visit with you and walked to the bus stop …
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.
50
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!’
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.