Walking with Ghosts

insecure. Geordie walked forward on his knees and got up on the bed with her. He put his arms around her and pulled her to him. He tried to turn her face towards him, so he could kiss her, but she pulled away.
    ‘No, Geordie, don’t.’ She kept her face away from him but didn’t move his arm from around her shoulders. ]-je could feel the stiffening of her body beneath the flimsy material of the nightgown. ‘Before I did the test I was fairly sure I’d caught. And then when it was positive, I was glad about it. I’d never thought it would happen, and it was like a confirmation of something. It felt like an achievement, that it was something I’d gone out and done. Like pass a driving test or getting a raise at Christmas. I was going to ring you at work and tell you over the phone.
    ‘But then I thought you wouldn’t like the idea, and the next thing I knew I was crying my eyes out. And everything I’d thought before was swamped. Instead of passing a driving test it seemed more like a biological accident. Something that happens to women whether they want it or not.
    ‘And it’s the kind of thing, you tell the guy, the father, and he waves goodbye and heads for the horizon very bloody quick.’
    Geordie tightened his grip of her. ‘So why am I still here?’
    ‘Because you’re stupid,’ she said. ‘You’re not a real man.’
    He turned her towards him and kissed her wet face. She didn’t resist this time. She laughed between the tears.
    ‘I know it’s your decision,’ he said. ‘But if it was up to me there’d be no question about it. A baby, Christ, Janet, that’d make us into a real family. What’re we gonna call her?’
     
    Marie had the car so Geordie walked to Portland Street. He was twenty minutes early and called in at Cassady’s secondhand record shop to see if he could find some Irish music for Sam. There was a Bonnie Raitt GD playing. A song about an Angel from Montgomery. Geordie knew it wasn’t Irish and knew that Sam’d love it, so he told the guy behind the counter he’d take it.
    The guy smiled. ‘Sorry, it’s mine. Not for sale.’
    ‘You got any more like it?’
    ‘Not here. I’ve got them all at home.’
    ‘What about Christy Moore? Irish singer, you got anything by him?’
    ‘Not on CD. There’s a couple of tapes on the shelf over there.’
    ‘I wanted it on CD,’ Geordie said. ‘Sam’s got a cassette player in the office, but at home he’s only got CDs.’
    The guy shrugged. ‘They’d brighten up the office.’
    Geordie held his hands up and backed away from the counter. ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘You giving me the hard sell, now.’ The guy laughed. ‘D’you want ’em or not?’
    ‘How much?’
    ‘Three-fifty each.’
    ‘All I’ve got,’ Geordie told him, ‘is this valuable gift voucher bearing an engraved portrait of Queen Elizabeth II and personally signed by the Governor of the Bank of England.’ He handed it over the counter. ‘I’m completely at your mercy.’
    The guy put the two cassettes into a brown paper bag and handed Geordie three pounds change. He winked. ‘All the time I spent in salesmen’s school’s beginning to pay off.’ Geordie pocketed the change and left the shop. He took in a lungful of exhaust fumes and followed a zigzag path through the stationary traffic in Gillygate.
    Portland Street was quiet. The house with the shabby curtains at the upstairs window was not particularly inviting, and looked as though it might be unoccupied. He walked down the short path and glanced around. There was no one else in the street.
    He pressed the bell and listened for the ring inside the house, but heard nothing.
    After a moment, though, there were footsteps on the stairs, and the door was opened by a girl with blond hair and a black eye. ‘Doesn’t work,’ she said. ‘The bell. It’s never worked, not as long as I’ve been here.’ She looked past Geordie, up and down the street. ‘D’you wanna come up?’
    ‘I’ve got an appointment to see Miss Prine,’ Geordie said. ‘Joni Prine.’
    ‘Yeah, yeah. That’s me. You’re Geordie Black. I’ve been waiting for you, saw you come down the street. There’s nobody else in, anyway, apart from old crusty knickers at the front.’
    Geordie followed her up the stairs. Her legs were blotchy, but she wore a short skirt so she could share them with the world. She turned to face him on the first landing. ‘Got an eyeful, did you?’
    Geordie blinked and nodded. There was no point in