Читать книгу The Fetch - Finuala Dowling - Страница 8

William and Fundiswa did not speak as they made their way home after the meeting. At first William kept twisting his head around to see if Nina was about to join them, but eventually he reconciled himself to the truth. She was following Chas and Mrs Fawkes to Midden House, walking away from him, a willing sperm donor.

You could give it any name you liked – pollination, fertilisation, sperm donation – but it was all the same thing. Nature converged on this one imperative. Every sticky, scented flower, every female baboon in oestrus, every teenage girl in shorts, was dressed for the main event. Some species went to town with colourful displays, others were infinitely subtle. Orphium frutescens came to mind, the sea-rose that opened its pores only when it felt the precise vibrational frequency of the carpenter bee.

As they crossed the dry stream bed that bordered the caravan park, William broached the subject that had been preoccupying him. “I want to ask you something in confidence,” he said. “I overheard what Nina said to you earlier, about needing a sperm donor. I’d just like to ask your advice about how I could offer my services. I think I would be the best man for the job.” He reached into the pocket of his shorts and brought out a piece of paper. “I’ve written down some of the reasons why I think Nina should choose me as her sperm donor. First of all: testimonials. My parents told me that I was a radiantly happy baby. The principal of my primary school told them that I had an exceptionally high IQ. My mom’s done the family tree and I can show it to Nina – I think she’ll find my genes satisfactory (the red-haired Celtic stuff got mixed up with solid Flemish stock somewhere along the line). One of my grandfathers was the first man in Liverpool to own a motorbike. Or maybe he was the second man in Liverpool to own a motorbike. What else?”

He consulted his list before continuing.

“Oh, yes. I think I’m quite a good lover. I’m gentle with women. A lot of women don’t get pleasure out of sex but I make a real effort and I always have some chocolate to hand in case of disappointment. I bought a bar of Dairy Milk from Neville earlier today. There’s no history of dread diseases in my family and I think I’m quite normal …”

Fundiswa had stopped walking and was staring at William. He stopped too and looked at her earnestly.

“Anyway, you can see all the other stuff I’ve written here.”

He tried to hand the page to her but she did not take it. Instead, she let out a gasp of indignation, turned on her heel and marched away from him. Then she paused and faced him before speaking.

“How dare you! Quite apart from your impertinence, in even imagining yourself in the same bed as that lovely young girl, is your stupidity! You think you’re such a scientific person with your constellations and your indigenous whatnot! Ha! Do you even know what a sperm donor is? Have you never heard of the expression ‘artificial insemination’? Artificial, William! Do you know what that means? Let me spell it out, Einstein: It doesn’t matter if your grandfather invented the bladdy motorbike, you’re still not going to get to stick your thing into her! For God’s sake, go home and look in the mirror.”

She left William standing there and only looked back when she was outside the gate of Cockle Place. There was something of the outcast baboon in his gait. His shoulders drooped; his big hands dangled.

But Fundiswa was without sympathy. The impudence, she thought. On the very day of her doctor’s warning about how her weight and her blood pressure were a threat to her heart, this madman came to push her over the edge. Calm down, she told herself. Just breathe. Camomile tea. Half a tin of tuna for supper, or maybe just some steamed veg.