‘Now here’s what is going to happen,’ Elise said. ‘I’m sending a text now to two of my colleagues at the clinic. When they come out they will escort us both inside, with the police essentially keeping the protesters away. They are going to try to shove the flowers on you, taunt you with that horrible slogan of theirs and –’

‘Say one of them takes a picture of me?’ Jackie asked.

‘The police will be there –’

‘But they can’t stop some lunatic right-to-lifer from posting my picture on some site. And if that went viral –’

Out of nowhere one of the women protesters shouted something to the others in the human chain. They all came rushing toward us.

‘Turn the fucking car around,’ Jackie shouted.

‘Too dangerous,’ I shouted back.

By now we were surrounded by this block of protesters, banging their hands on the roof and doors of the car. I heard Jackie dive to the floor. A smart move – because at least two of the people surrounding us had phones out and were taking photos of me and of Elise. The chants were now louder, nastier.

‘Baby killers! … Murderers!’

The cops were pulling the protesters away from us. I started revving the engine, my foot firmly on the brake, but ready to release it and get the fuck out of there as soon as the cops screamed that I could drive off. Elise, hearing the engine revving, yelled:

‘Don’t move until –’

‘You think I’m nuts?’

But I don’t think she heard me – because the banging on the car was now deafening. And terrifying. Especially as there was suddenly a woman on the hood of the car, pounding on the windshield, shaking her other fist at me, calling me a murderer.

No, it was not my wife. When I first saw the line of protesters I scanned them, thinking: what if Agnieska was here today?

She wasn’t there.

But the woman roaring at me through the windshield was well known to me.

It was my wife’s best friend, Teresa. Even when a cop managed to pull her off the hood she flung herself at my door, screaming my name. And telling me:

‘You will die for this.’

thirteen

LATER THAT DAY I received the text message I was dreading: a message from Todor:

Brendan – you need to contact me ASAP.

The voice of authority.

I received the text just after darkness hit Los Angeles. I was elsewhere in the city, still with Elise and that woman, Jackie. She remained hysterical for a long time after the protesters surrounded us. She was smart to have thrown herself to the floor of my car. Not only were several of the protesters wielding smartphones, but some local news cameraman also filmed a segment of my car under siege. And like the demonstrators he also got pictures of myself and Elise.