Read Online Donor, The by Helen FitzGerald - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Helen FitzGerald
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things and at the time she felt she ought to try contentment. In the end, though, suburban family life, a mediocre man and two demanding children could never be more than an interesting experiment.
Heath, on the other hand – where was that photograph ? Was it in her money belt? Oh God, she didn’t lose it on the beach, did she? She needed a smoke, she found a smoke, lit it, and emptied the belt of its money, passport and snapshots until the small photograph of Heath took the panic away – oh Heath, he had always been much more than an experiment.
They’d both been fourteen years old when they met at the house in Stoke Newington. He’d been with the foster family for several months – what were their names again? John and Petra? Jane and Peter? – she couldn’t recall because she’d only stayed for a few days.
‘Cynthia, this is Heath. He’s the same age as you!’ Peter or John had said. Heath was already six feet tall. And very good looking. And he had fags.
‘Give us one,’ Cynthia said when her new foster father disappeared into the kitchen.
‘Five new pence,’ he said.
‘A shillin’? Give us a fag, I’ll give you a dance.’
‘Why would I want to see you dance?’
‘Because I’ll do it naked.’
Obviously it was a deal. In the garden shed, Cynthia writhed like a post-pubescent – excited to show off the breasts and hair that had recently sprouted. Her dance moves had been perfected in her previous foster home. The social workers’ vigilant vetting had ensured that no black or mixed-race children were cared for by the white carers, that there was adequate square footage in the house to accommodate orphans of both genders, but it had not delved as far as the magazine drawer in the family room, which housed a fantastic variety of porn.
Heath was in love. He gave Cynthia the first of many cigarettes and so began a beautiful romance. In Heath’s attic bedroom at 2 a.m. that night they took their first acid tab together. At 4 p.m. in Boots the Chemists the following day they stole two packets of condoms and three packets of throat lozenges – they had no intention of using the latter. The day after that they stayed off school together. That night after not going to school they wrote a song, smoked grass, kissed, danced, laughed, touched, screwed …
Oh boy, did they screw. Angrily.
The day after, they ran away.
After that, they were in love and inseparable.
One last year with foster carers – the lovely Meredith, who surprised them by not being afraid of them, even appearing to like them.
After that they formed a band and lived life to the full. They did experiments, dared each other to break boundaries (Take this drug! Sing that song! Break into that shop! Seduce that girl while I watch!).
It was passion, Cynthia supposed. Was it passion to want someone so much that you’re willing to put up with the odd beating? To work for him, sometimes, if there was no money for gear, him keeping watch in the living room while she made money in the bedroom? To worry sometimes, that he might go further than a small fracture, that he might go so far as to kill her?
He spent a total of ninety-five days out of prison between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-three. His offences were mainly serious assaults and drugs charges but his sentences were always extended because of his behaviour inside – rioting, drug use, hostage taking, assaults and one dirty protest.
During these years, Cynthia visited regularly, but when she turned thirty-three she decided to try and go straight. Or was Cynthia becoming an everyday woman with an everyday biological clock?
‘I’ve met someone,’ she told Heath in the visits room of Saughton Prison one rainy November.
‘I dare you to marry him,’ Heath snarled.
So she did, but not because of what Heath said, which was really a warning, but because Will, she thought, might be the answer to her problems. He might wean her off heroin and, more importantly, off
Heath, on the other hand – where was that photograph ? Was it in her money belt? Oh God, she didn’t lose it on the beach, did she? She needed a smoke, she found a smoke, lit it, and emptied the belt of its money, passport and snapshots until the small photograph of Heath took the panic away – oh Heath, he had always been much more than an experiment.
They’d both been fourteen years old when they met at the house in Stoke Newington. He’d been with the foster family for several months – what were their names again? John and Petra? Jane and Peter? – she couldn’t recall because she’d only stayed for a few days.
‘Cynthia, this is Heath. He’s the same age as you!’ Peter or John had said. Heath was already six feet tall. And very good looking. And he had fags.
‘Give us one,’ Cynthia said when her new foster father disappeared into the kitchen.
‘Five new pence,’ he said.
‘A shillin’? Give us a fag, I’ll give you a dance.’
‘Why would I want to see you dance?’
‘Because I’ll do it naked.’
Obviously it was a deal. In the garden shed, Cynthia writhed like a post-pubescent – excited to show off the breasts and hair that had recently sprouted. Her dance moves had been perfected in her previous foster home. The social workers’ vigilant vetting had ensured that no black or mixed-race children were cared for by the white carers, that there was adequate square footage in the house to accommodate orphans of both genders, but it had not delved as far as the magazine drawer in the family room, which housed a fantastic variety of porn.
Heath was in love. He gave Cynthia the first of many cigarettes and so began a beautiful romance. In Heath’s attic bedroom at 2 a.m. that night they took their first acid tab together. At 4 p.m. in Boots the Chemists the following day they stole two packets of condoms and three packets of throat lozenges – they had no intention of using the latter. The day after that they stayed off school together. That night after not going to school they wrote a song, smoked grass, kissed, danced, laughed, touched, screwed …
Oh boy, did they screw. Angrily.
The day after, they ran away.
After that, they were in love and inseparable.
One last year with foster carers – the lovely Meredith, who surprised them by not being afraid of them, even appearing to like them.
After that they formed a band and lived life to the full. They did experiments, dared each other to break boundaries (Take this drug! Sing that song! Break into that shop! Seduce that girl while I watch!).
It was passion, Cynthia supposed. Was it passion to want someone so much that you’re willing to put up with the odd beating? To work for him, sometimes, if there was no money for gear, him keeping watch in the living room while she made money in the bedroom? To worry sometimes, that he might go further than a small fracture, that he might go so far as to kill her?
He spent a total of ninety-five days out of prison between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-three. His offences were mainly serious assaults and drugs charges but his sentences were always extended because of his behaviour inside – rioting, drug use, hostage taking, assaults and one dirty protest.
During these years, Cynthia visited regularly, but when she turned thirty-three she decided to try and go straight. Or was Cynthia becoming an everyday woman with an everyday biological clock?
‘I’ve met someone,’ she told Heath in the visits room of Saughton Prison one rainy November.
‘I dare you to marry him,’ Heath snarled.
So she did, but not because of what Heath said, which was really a warning, but because Will, she thought, might be the answer to her problems. He might wean her off heroin and, more importantly, off
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