Donor by Ken McClure Page B

the heart of Glasgow to the banks of the River Clyde and the great shipyards that once built vessels for the world. The huge cranes were still in evidence but the contracts and the jobs had all but gone.
    The street she lived in was quiet, but finding somewhere to park was a problem. Already at that time in the evening, cars were double-parked making negotiation of the area difficult for Dunbar in a car he was not used to and not that familiar with in terms of width when judging the size of gaps it could go through. There was a small piece of waste ground at the end of the second street he inched through. It was actually the frontage of a double lock-up garage with the message NO PARKING, IN CONSTANT USE painted on the doors. The paint was peeling and the padlocks were very rusty, so he took a chance and parked the Rover there. He didn’t think he’d be that long.
    He walked back to Lisa’s street and found the number he was looking for. He pressed the entryphone button.
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘Steven Dunbar. We spoke earlier.’
    The electronic lock released with a loud buzz that made Dunbar think of an electric chair and he entered the building. The entrance hall was well lit and had recently been painted. It was lined with terracotta tubs that would hold pot plants in season. At the moment they held nothing but bare earth. He climbed the stairs quickly to the third floor and found one door ajar. There was no name-plate on it but he assumed this to be the one. He knocked. ‘Miss Fairfax?’
    ‘Come in. I’ll be right with you. The living room’s on your right. Find yourself a seat and sit down.’
    Dunbar closed the door behind him and walked up to the end of the hall and in through the door to his right. He chose to look out of the window rather than sit. Although it was dark outside, the curtains had not been drawn and he could see the lights on the far side of the Clyde like strings of pearls on black velvet. He thought he heard a movement behind him and turned to greet Lisa Fairfax.
    ‘Hello, Miss …’ His eyes widened as a woman in her late seventies came towards him with a wild look in her eyes and her arms outstretched.
    ‘Joshua! You’ve come home,’ she exclaimed, and made to embrace him warmly.
    Dunbar was taken by surprise. He tried to fend her off, gently because she seemed so frail, but she persisted in her attempts to hug him.
    ‘I think there’s been some mistake,’ he offered weakly. He retreated and fell backwards over the arm of a couch – he hadn’t realized it was so close behind him.
    ‘Oh my God,’ exclaimed another woman as she came into the room. ‘Mother, stop that! Stop that at once!’
    Dunbar did his best to recover his composure and looked up into the distressed face of Lisa Fairfax.
    Lisa was in her early thirties, slim, attractive, with shiny jet-black hair tied back and deep, dark eyes that suggested intelligence but at the moment were filled with alarm and embarrassment.
    ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I thought she was still asleep. She suffers from senile dementia.’
    Dunbar nodded and let out his breath in a long sigh. ‘I’m sorry I’m not Joshua,’ he murmured kindly as Lisa put her arms round her mother and led her out of the room, remonstrating with her gently as if she were a small child. She returned alone a few minutes later.
    ‘I’m sorry, I was sure she was asleep, otherwise I’d never have let you come in like that. Can I get you a drink?’
    Dunbar smiled at the progression to social normality. ‘Gin, if you have it.’
    Lisa poured them both a gin and tonic, the slight tremor of her hands still betraying her embarrassment. She handed a tumbler to Dunbar and said, ‘Please sit down.’
    ‘Shouldn’t she be in hospital?’ Dunbar asked.
    ‘She should,’ replied Lisa. ‘But there’s little chance of that these days. Her condition can’t be cured so the hospitals won’t take her. She’s been “returned to the community” after a brief admission