31.7

 

“I’ll bet.” Roisin frowns. “Wait a moment. Back up a bit. You just said, ‘a donation from a sperm doner.’”

“Yes, so? You didn’t think after two centuries of planning I’d let your mum shag any old bloke?”

“Did you send an angel to magically make her pregnant and give her a virgin birth?”

“Um.” Astaroth narrows his eyes. “Not an angel, no. And not magically impregnated.” He laughs suddenly. “And definitely not a virgin birth. Have you actually met your mum? The locals used to call her ‘Flagpole’ because her knickers came down every night.”

Paul wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Doesn’t everyone’s?”

“I’d give her work as a succubus except she’d treat it like a part-time job.”

Roisin held up a hand to stop him, but he kept going like a stand-up comedian when the green light goes off.

“Your mother’s got a million-dollar body but the trouble is it’s all in loose change.”

“ENOUGH.” Steve’s hands, although still be his thighs, are closed into fists, but his face has gone beetroot red. Roisin is impressed at him facing up to an angel for the second time in an hour but it’s really foolhardy and not necessary for him to defend her mother’s honour. She puts a hand on his arm to defuse the situation and his fists relax as he calms down.

Astaroth holds up his hands in apology. “I’m so sorry.”

Steve nods. “Good.”

“I didn’t know she was your girlfriend.”

“Steve snarls. “Fuck. You.”

“Let’s all calm down.” Roisin glances across at Paul, who has sat in his seat next to the gas fire, seemingly content there was little he could do and the situation was so far out of his control it could be a moon landing and rolls her eyes. He supresses a snicker and looks away. She turns back to the angel. “So the man I called my dad isn’t my dad?”

“No. That’s probably why he left. He tried to raise you as his own, but you were too difficult to accept.”

“Why? I was pretty good as a kid.”

“Yes. Exactly. You were angelic. Do you remember climbing that Poplar tree in Royal Park?”

“The one where I fell and somebody called an ambulance?”

“That’s right. You fell one hundred and twelve feet and how many bones did you break?”

“I’ve never broken a bone.”

“My point exactly.”

Roisin frowns, looking down at the floor. There are considerable fewer fragments than there were last time she studied it, and it gives her a moment to think about the angel’s words. “So who is my father? The sperm doner I mean, and how did you convince Mum to have sex with him.”

“The second question I can answer. You know your own body’s response to an angelic form. Your mother was just the same. Most humans are, of either gender. Show them perfection and they go weak at the baby organs. Apparently it’s not gay if one of you is an angel.”

“I’ll have to remember that loophole.” Steve pretended to write into a notepad.

“The first question, “Azeroth continued after a brief glare at Steve, “I’m afraid I can’t answer. That’s what the ‘anonymous’ in ‘anonymous doner’ means. Just put your mind at rest that it was the very best choice, and I have the proof of that right in front of me, and that your mother wasn’t coerced or taken advantage of in any way. I doubt she even guessed it was an angel.”

“It wasn’t the Holy Spirit, was it? Am I the second coming?”

“I’m not privy to that information. It may have been the second coming, but it could have been the first, third or sixth for all I know.”

“Six?” Paul’s mouth had dropped open. “He had some stamina.”

“I told you he was perfect for the task.” Astaroth winked at him. “I’m sure it would have been more but on the seventh he rested.”

“I thought you said he wasn’t an angel? Now you say he was.” Roisin tried to read him again but he was as honest as a journalist. “What gives?”

“When you said ‘angel’ you were thinking of one of Heaven’s residents. It wasn’t one of those, but it was one of the Elohim. Technically, we’re all angels, only some of us are Fallen.”

“My father was a Fallen angel?”

“We generally refer to then as demons,” Steve’s pursed lips showed distaste, even though, or perhaps because of, his interaction with them.

“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet;”

“I know the quotation, thank you very much.” Steve grimaced. “I fucking wrote it. I wish I had a groat for every time someone used it, though.”