Hostage to Murder. V. McDermid L.

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СКАЧАТЬ inside my skin, you’d maybe comprehend how this is consuming me. I need to try, Lindsay. And I need to try now.’

      Lindsay squeezed her eyes shut. Please, let this not be happening, she thought. ‘I don’t want a child.’ She spoke slowly and deliberately.

      ‘You’d make a great parent.’

      ‘That’s not the issue. The issue is that I don’t want to.’

      ‘But I need to.’

      Lindsay jerked upright, oblivious to the stab of pain in her ankle. ‘So what are you saying? You’re going to go ahead anyway? Regardless of how I feel?’

      Sophie turned away. Her voice was shaky with tears. She feared she was driving Lindsay further from her with everything she said, but she couldn’t keep the churn of emotions secret any longer. ‘Lindsay, if I have to lose you to have the chance of a child, then I’ll do it. This is not about choice, it’s about compulsion. This isn’t some whim, some spur of the moment desire for a designer accessory. It feels like life and death to me.’

      Her words shook Lindsay like a physical blow. She pulled her knees up to her chest, gripping them tightly with her hands. She knew her lover well enough to realize that this was no empty ultimatum. Sophie didn’t play games like that. And she was sufficiently resolute to carry out her stated intention.

      This was the moment Lindsay had always dreaded, ever since the issue of motherhood had first raised its head between them. Her life had been bound to Sophie’s for so long, she couldn’t imagine what it would be without her. She didn’t even want to try. But if she didn’t give in, that would be exactly what she would have to face. ‘I can’t believe you’re making me choose between losing you or having a child with you,’ she choked out.

      ‘I can’t either,’ Sophie said. Her chest hurt, as if she was being physically rent in two. ‘Surely that alone tells you how powerless I feel? I’m in the grip of something I’ve got no control over, and it’s killing me. But I’ve got to try, Lindsay. I’ve got to.’

      ‘I’ve got no choice either then, have I?’ Lindsay said bitterly.

      There was a long silence. Finally Sophie said, ‘You have got a choice. You can stay with me and try to make a family with me and our child. Or you can choose to walk away.’

      Lindsay snorted. ‘Some choice. At least you’ve got a chance of getting something you want out of this. I don’t. Either I lose you, which would break my heart, or I have to be a parent to a child I don’t want. This is emotional blackmail, Sophie.’

      ‘You think I don’t know that? You think I want to behave like this?’ Sophie turned to face Lindsay, tracks of moisture glistening on her cheeks. ‘You think I like myself like this?’

      Lindsay tried to stay resolute, to keep her eyes on the opposite wall. But it was more than she could manage. She slid down the bed and reached for Sophie. ‘You know I can’t leave you,’ she mumbled into Sophie’s hair.

      ‘And you know I don’t want you to. What would be the point in having a baby without you there to share it with?’

      For a long time, they clung to each other, their tears salt against each other’s skin. Then Lindsay leaned back. It was going to be a long night; time they made a start on what had to be said. ‘So. What’s your next step?’ she asked, resignation heavy in her voice.

      Café Virginia was suffering its daily identity crisis in the hiatus between the after-work drinkers and the evening players. The music had shifted into more hardcore dance, making conversation difficult, and there was a strange mixture of outfits on display, from business suits to T-shirts that clung to nipples and exposed midriffs.

      The quietest place in the bar was the corner booth where Rory McLaren ran her business and held court. Nobody else ever sat in the booth, mostly because of the foot-high scarlet neon sign that said RESERVED. Rory had wanted it to say GONNAE FUCK OFF? but Cathy the bar manager had vetoed it on the grounds that it would be too big for the table. Rory was hammering out the finishing touches to a memo on a story proposal for the Herald feature pages, occasionally pausing to sip at her bottle of Rolling Rock. She looked up, sensing company heading her way, and saw a sharp-suited Asian woman with gleaming hair in a shoulder length bob weaving her way through the tables towards her.

      Sandra Singh flopped on to the bench seat opposite Rory, dumping raincoat, handbag and briefcase beside her. ‘That jerk Murray,’ she spat.

      ‘Thought as much,’ Rory said, giving Sandra the quick once-over. ‘Love the earrings.’

      ‘A wee shop in Cambridge. I’m going to kill him, I swear to God. Three weeks hammering out the new format and then this morning it’s, “the network disnae like it.” I tell you, some days I wish I’d never left newspapers.’ She raked in her handbag and came out with a packet of Marlboro Red and a matchbook from last night’s restaurant.

      ‘You don’t mean that.’ Rory leaned out of the booth and waved to the bar, holding up two fingers.

      Sandra’s grin was even sharper than her suit. ‘You’re right, I don’t.’ She sighed. ‘I just wish I did. So, any news?’

      ‘You could say that. Looks like I might have got myself a partner.’

      Sandra snorted smoke. ‘As in, you got laid?’

      Rory’s attempt at dignity wouldn’t have fooled a drunken child of two. ‘Sandra, there’s more to life than sex.’

      Sandra’s laugh attracted every woman in the place. ‘You didn’t get laid, then.’

      ‘I’m talking business here, fool.’

      Sandra nodded acknowledgement to the barmaid, who placed two sweating bottles in front of them. ‘You serious? I thought the whole point of this was being a one-man band?’

      ‘I thought so, yeah. But this one’s really special.’

      Sandra took a long swallow of her beer. ‘So you’re planning on getting laid?’

      Rory shook her head in affectionate exasperation. ‘No. Focus your mind above the waist for once, would you? I’m not looking for a shag, I’m looking to build a business. Listen, do you remember me telling you years back about Lindsay Gordon?’

      Sandra frowned. ‘Lindsay …? Oh, wait a minute. The great lesbian icon hack. The one that turned you on to the beautiful game. This would be that Lindsay Gordon?’

      ‘One and the same. Well, you’ll never guess what happened. You couldn’t write this, people would say, “Yeah, right, and then the Pope said abortion was fine by him.” But this is the absolute, no messing, God’s honest truth.’ Rory gave Sandra the full version of her meeting with Lindsay, punctuated by her friend’s regular interruptions.

      ‘That’s wild,’ Sandra finally said. ‘So she said she’d think about it?’

      ‘That was just for show. You could tell she’s gagging to get back in harness.’

      ‘You wish.’ Sandra finished her cigarette and her beer. ‘Sorry, babe. I’m out of here. In fact, I never was in here. Got a date with a beautiful boy from Radio Clyde.’ She stood up, gathering her universe. СКАЧАТЬ