I sat on the sofa and opened the letter carefully, hardly daring to read it. It wouldn't be about BioOne: it must have been sent before Lisa's mother had passed on my message to her. It just might be something about how she was sorry, how she missed me, how she wanted to come back.
Or it might not.
It wasn't.
I read the letter over again, just to make sure I had got it right. A turmoil of emotions bubbled inside me. There was a primal joy that I was going to be a father. That soon an individual human being would be born that I had a part in creating, that was part me.
If I ever saw it.
We hadn't planned it. We hadn't even really talked about children. We had both assumed they were something for the distant future. A potential conflict between us that we wanted to put off.
For each of us the union of different nationalities and religions hadn't been a problem. In fact it had been liberating, freeing us from the different traditions in which we had grown up. But for our future children? I felt a tugging desire to bring up our children with English accents, a public school education and an occasional acquaintance with the Church of England. This wasn't for my own benefit but rather out of a sense of duty to my family. My title, which I had neglected, should be passed on, and with it some of the traditions I had been brought up with. The trouble was, I suspected Lisa had similar, but opposite feelings. Judaism passes through the female line.
Anyway, that was all academic now. Lisa was pregnant. She was going to lay total claim to the baby and keep it in California with her. The irony hurt. I realized that I really was following in my family's traditions, fathering and then abandoning children around the world. Not for the first time, I wondered if I had any brothers or sisters my father hadn't told me about. How could I be so pompous as to get myself hung up on the stupid title? I was a fucked-up Englishman in danger of begetting more fucked-up Englishmen. The kid was lucky to escape me.
Oh, sod it. I didn't care whether my children were English, American, Jewish or Hindi. What I really wanted to do was have a child with Lisa. I knew I would be a good father, and she would be a good mother. I could imagine us all laughing together, the three of us, the baby an as yet unformed blur. We could build a strong happy family together, we really could.
If Lisa ever gave us the chance.
I wanted to spend as little time out on the street as possible, so I ordered a pizza and sat down to write Lisa a letter, care of her mother. I wrote several, tearing each one up, until I was interrupted by the door-buzzer. It was Martinez. I let him in.
'Want some?' I asked him, pointing to the pizza.
He shook his head. 'I stay away from junk food.'
'I'd have thought that was impossible in your job.'
'It's a challenge.'
I glanced at his physique. He did look lean and fit. 'Have a seat. I'm sorry I haven't invited you in before, but I thought you were happier on the street.'
'Yeah. That's what I wanted to talk to you about.'
'Oh, yes?'
'Sergeant Mahoney has called us off. He thinks he can't justify tailing you any more.'
I suddenly felt cold. I hadn't realized how comforting my semi-visible companions had become.
'But doesn't he know someone's trying to kill me?'
'Remember, technically we were putting you under surveillance, not protecting you.'
'Jesus,' I said.
'I shouldn't really be here,' Martinez smiled. 'It's not standard police procedure to inform a suspect that his tail is disappearing.'
'No, I can see that. Thank you. Doesn't Sergeant Mahoney care if I get shot?'
Martinez shrugged.
'He doesn't like me much, does he?'
Martinez shrugged again.
'What about you?'
'I'm just a dumb cop who does what he's told.' Martinez got to his feet. 'But I don't like seeing innocent people getting killed. So, if you get worried about something, give me a call.' He pulled a card out of his wallet and handed it to me. 'And be careful.'
'Thanks,' I said, taking the card. 'I will.'
It was very hard to get to sleep. Whoever had tried to kill me would try again. They were bound to. With my police escort, I had some hope of protection. Now I had none.
It might be that Mahoney had finally crossed me off his suspect list. But through the long night that thought gave me little comfort. Alone in my apartment, it was difficult to fight the fear. I had been very lucky that whoever had tried to shoot me the day before had missed. But they would try again, for sure. There was nowhere to hide. A bullet seemed unavoidable; the only thing I could do to delay it was to lock myself in, and the world out. Pull down the blinds, live on Chinese and pizza deliveries and wait and hope.
I felt small and alone in my bed, our bed. I so desperately wanted Lisa's warm body next to me, her embrace to give me comfort and courage. With her, I felt I could face the likelihood of death. Without her, that night, it was very difficult.
So I was going to be a father! I laughed to myself, a hollow bitter laugh. Who was I kidding? I wouldn't last a week, let alone nine months.
I pulled myself out of bed, and poured myself a Scotch. For a moment the whisky made me feel warm and almost safe. But then I poured it all down the kitchen sink.
Drinking myself into a stupor wouldn't save me. If I wanted to live, if I wanted my child to have a father, even one living thousands of miles away, I would have to do something. Soon.
29
Very early the next morning, I packed a bag and called a cab.
'Where to?' asked the Indian driver.
'Logan Airport.'
The traffic wasn't too bad, and I checked over my shoulder all the way. I didn't think I was being followed, but I couldn't tell. We soon approached the airport. I was so tempted to direct the driver to International Departures and take the first flight to London. I would be safe in England; I wouldn't be much of a threat to anyone three thousand
