Donor, The by Helen FitzGerald Read Free Book Online Page A

planned the visit to coincide with a round at Loch Lomond. As if Will cared about the rentals at the moment. As if it bothered him that Brits were staying home for their holidays this year.
    ‘Thing is, we can’t afford to keep them. Bad time to sell, bottom’s out of the market, over-supply and what not, but I’m afraid we have no option.’
    As Will made him a cup of coffee he wondered if he should throw it over his father’s head. He hadn’t seen him since that phone call, and he wanted to talk about the credit crunch!
    That phone call was the first Will had made after Kay’s diagnosis. He didn’t beat around the bush. He asked his mother outright. ‘Would one or both of you be willing to be tested?’
    After a pause that was long enough to answer his question, Will’s mother said they’d have to talk it over.
    Will’s father emailed two days later. ‘William, we are still thinking about it. Obviously there might be issues because of our age. Have you put the new photographs of the pool on holidaylettings.com?’
    ‘Here you go,’ Will said, recalling the email angrily and placing the mug of Nescafé on the bench. He was throwing it over his father’s head in his head. He hadn’t written this option in his notebook yet, but as he sipped his coffee he decided it would be option no. 2).
    They both drank it as fast as they could while Will answered questions that did not involve being an unemployed single parent with children who might die.
    When he left, Will grabbed his keys and found himself walking around to Linda’s house.
    *
     
    ‘You’re crying,’ Will said when she finally answered the door.
    ‘It’s the tears give it away,’ she said, shutting it behind him.
    Over a bottle of Highland Spring mineral water, they took turns to unload. They both had good reasons to. Linda’s involved a mobile phone that rang at 2155 the previous night. At first, she ignored it, thinking it was the radio or a car alarm. But when it rang again at 2157, she followed the twinkle tone upstairs, into the bedroom, and into the fitted wardrobes she’d paid a handsome joiner a fortune to build, and into a pair of trousers.
    Her husband, the silly moo, had left his phone in his jeans before heading off on business again.
    The phone stopped ringing by the time she found it. She wasn’t the kind to pry into her husband’s business – partly because she wasn’t very interested in him any more and partly because he was bald and fat now and she felt confident that no one would want him.
    WHAT TIME DO YOU ARRIVE ? a text from the same number that had just called read.
    I’VE BEEN WAITING AN HOUR , said the next.
    WHERE R U ?
    I’M WEARING THE PANTIES YOU BOUGHT ME …
    *
     
    It was pretty clichéd, Will supposed, to wipe tears from a crying woman’s cheek then move in for a kiss. Like snogging someone shitfaced at a club. A bad way to start. An accident. But that’s how Will and Linda ended up in bed, with a tear wipe, a kiss and the following request:
    ‘Do you mind if I hit you?’
    Will thought for a moment and then said ‘I’d actually rather you didn’t.’
    ‘You deserve to be hit, fucking a married woman.’
    He turned to face her in bed. So this was the real Linda: scary while naked. He preferred the fully clad version. ‘Do I?’
    ‘You do. You’ve been a very bad boy. If my husband finds out he’ll hit you even harder, might even kill you.’
    ‘Can’t I just feel a bit guilty? Go to confession or something?’
    ‘This is your confession. What have you done, Good Guy?’
    ‘I’ve fucked a married woman, but her husband is cheating …’
    ‘What did you say?’
    ‘Her husband is cheating on her.’
    ‘No, the first bit. Say it again.’
    ‘I fucked a married woman. Please don’t hit me too hard.’
    Linda did not comply with this instruction. She grabbed a wooden spoon from the bedside table and walloped Will full throttle on the balls. Will cried. He wished he’d noticed the wooden spoon