by Cathy Glass
As she waited the front door burst open and Jacob stormed in. Elizabeth knew immediately he was very angry.
‘Don’t believe a word that cow said!’ he thundered, eyes blazing. ‘She’s out to make trouble, and by the sound of it you’ve fallen for it.’
‘No,’ Elizabeth protested, rising from her chair. ‘I wanted to speak to you first, that’s why I tried to call you.’ She looked at him, nostrils flared in anger; he was barely recognizable from the son she’d known. ‘Tell me what happened please, Jacob. It sounds dreadful. I’m so upset.’
‘Will it make any difference?’ he demanded. ‘Or have I been tried and found guilty in my absence? What did the bitch say?’
‘Jacob!’
‘Sorry, but you can see I’m angry. What did she say?’
Elizabeth knew that if she told him exactly what Eloise’s mother had said it would make him angrier still. ‘She said there’d been a problem at the weekend between you and Eloise.’
He met her gaze. ‘And she didn’t tell you what?’
‘Not exactly. No.’
He knew she was lying. The state he’d left Eloise in – screaming and crying and threatening to call the police – she was bound to have told someone, and most likely her mother.
‘I’ll tell you then,’ he said, flopping into an armchair. Elizabeth sat down again, tucking her phone beside her, hoping David wouldn’t choose this moment to call. She could feel her stomach cramp with anxiety as it always did now when Jacob was in the same room as her.
‘Eloise wants us to get back together,’ he said with a sigh of exasperation. ‘That’s why she wanted me to go there at the weekend. She had it all planned. The house to ourselves. A romantic dinner for two, then bed, and everything would be back to how it was. But I can’t do that, Mum,’ he implored. ‘I don’t love her. I thought it was only fair to tell the truth – to be honest and not lead her on.’ He paused and looked at her. Was she believing him? He thought she might be. God, she was gullible.
‘I told her as gently as I could, Mum, believe me, but she went ballistic. Shouting, screaming and crying. She threatened to kill herself if I didn’t take her back. Then she ran into the kitchen and grabbed a knife. I thought she was going to kill herself or me so I wrestled it out of her hand. She was hysterical and I slapped her face to bring her out of it.’
‘So that’s how she got the bruises, and cut to her lip?’ Elizabeth asked sombrely.
He nodded. Clearly she knew more than she was letting on, as he’d guessed. ‘I had to slap her quite hard, but it didn’t help. She continued to throw herself at me, trying to kiss me and hold on to me. She said she’d do anything to get me back. It was embarrassing. Then when she saw that it wasn’t getting her anywhere she said if she couldn’t have me no one else would. She said she’d tell everyone I raped her and ruin my life.’
‘But why would she do that?’ Elizabeth asked, looking at him carefully. ‘It doesn’t make sense.’
‘Jealousy, Mum, the green-eyed monster! I told her there was someone else. I realize now I shouldn’t have done. But at the time I thought it might help her come to terms with our relationship ending. You know, make her see it was over, and that there was no going back. But it didn’t help. She kept crying and shouting that she was going to say I raped her. In the end I left. Staying was making it worse. God knows what she told her mother but whatever it was it wasn’t true. You do believe me, don’t you, Mum?’
Elizabeth nodded thoughtfully. ‘I assumed there would be another explanation. Perhaps I should phone Eloise’s mother and tell her?’
‘No. Don’t do that. Just leave it. She’ll get over it in time.’
‘If that’s what you want.’ She paused. ‘So is there someone else? Or did you just make that up to try and help Eloise?’
He allowed himself to smile. ‘There is someone, Mum. It’s early days yet, but already I like her a lot. She’s a nice girl with a good job in the bank. I’ll bring her home to meet you and Dad when we’ve known each other a bit longer.’
‘I’ll look forward to it,’ Elizabeth said.
‘Great. Well, I’ve had rather a busy day so I think I’d better have a lie-down for a while.’ He came over and kissed the top of her head. ‘Oh, yes, I nearly forgot, the biopsy and all the other test results were fine.’
‘Well, that’s a relief. Thank you for telling me. I’ll tell your father.’ She smiled at him and watched him leave the room.
Plausible, yes, quite believable, Elizabeth thought. Eloise wouldn’t be the first girl to react badly at being dumped. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Convincing and feasible if you didn’t know Eloise as well as she did. A kinder, more generous, dependable, rational, level-headed girl you wouldn’t find. Not in a million years would she have reacted as Jacob had described. So as much as Elizabeth would have liked to believe Jacob she was almost certain he was lying; although she wouldn’t be telling Andrew any of this, not yet anyway.
Chapter Twenty-Four
By the end of Monday evening Elizabeth still hadn’t received a message from David, the PhD student whose research she’d read online, so just before she went to bed she sent another message through Facebook. It reiterated the contents of the first but added that she needed to speak to him urgently in connection with the heart transplant her son had received. The following morning she was disappointed to find there was no reply. Then at 8.30 a.m. while she was in the kitchen washing up the breakfast things and wondering how she could contact him, her mobile rang from a number she didn’t recognize.
‘Hello?’ she answered tentatively.
‘Is that Elizabeth?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s David Burns. You messaged me.’
‘Oh, thank you so much for phoning. Have you got time to talk now or shall I call you back later?’
‘I’ve got thirty minutes now if you’re free. I’m on the train going to work.’
‘Thank you so much,’ she said again, and closed the kitchen door just in case Jacob woke. She didn’t want him overhearing this and Andrew had already left. ‘I thought you might think I was a nutcase and not phone.’
He laughed. ‘Well, I guessed the wife of a reverend was going to be OK.’
‘How did you know that?’ she asked, surprised.
‘You can find out most things on the internet as you’ve discovered. I was surprised you’d come across my thesis. I’d forgotten it was still online. It’s quite old.’
‘Yes, but it’s still the most detailed study I could find on cellular memory and transplants.’
‘That’s probably because it’s a topic no one wants to address. From what you said in your emails about your son I’m assuming you have fresh evidence. But I should tell you that I stopped researching cellular memory once I’d completed my PhD. I now work in a completely different field, researching anaesthetics for a large pharmaceutical company. So I’m afraid I wouldn’t be interested in interviewing you, although I’m sure what you have to say is very interesting.’
‘No, that’s not my reason for contacting you,’ Elizabeth said quickly. ‘I wanted to ask you how likely you thought it was to have a complete personality change after a heart transplant. I don’t just mean changes in lifestyle or food preferences, but a change of personality as though it was a different person.’
There was a short silence before David replied. ‘It’s possible in theory, if you accept CMP. We have proof that cells thrive and reproduce after transplant so it’s a matter of degree – what are the limits? How far can they go? I’ve no idea if it’s possible for the DNA of the donor to completely take over the recipient to the extent of them becoming that person.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Although there’s a very interesting case which you might not have come across. It’s not well documented. A teenage girl whose blood group gradually changed to that of the donor after a liver transplant. Now that is significant. For that to have happened it means that every blood cell in every part of her body was replac
ed by those of the donor. She therefore had his DNA, which is jaw-dropping.’ Elizabeth could hear the excitement in his voice and her hopes rose.
‘So physiologically at least that girl was more like the donor than her old self – pre-transplant,’ he continued. I don’t know if she experienced personality changes, but my guess is she did. She lived in Brazil and her family were very protective of her and didn’t want her used as a guinea pig, or I would have flown out to interview them. But what was even more mind-blowing was that she was able to stop taking the immunosuppressant drugs.’
‘Really!’ Elizabeth gasped, appreciating the significance.
‘Exactly. As far as I’m aware it’s the only case, but it means that her body had become so like the donor’s that it accepted the liver as its own. She was that person. More research needs to be done but she is the living proof that not only does cellular memory exist in humans but it can have a profound and far-reaching effect after transplant surgery.’
‘So why has so little research been done on it?’ Elizabeth asked.
‘Lack of funding and credibility. It’s not easy to persuade an institute that’s already short of funds to back something that affects only a fraction of the population, and which most of the medical world dismisses as hocus-pocus. When I first showed the outline of my thesis to my professor he split his sides laughing. It was only when I showed him the research I’d already done that he allowed me to go ahead. You see, I had a personal interest in exploring cellular memory as well as a professional one.’ He paused and Elizabeth could hear the steady hum of the high-speed train he was on in the background.
‘Yes?’ she prompted.
‘I’d appreciate it if you kept this confidential. It’s not in my thesis and I didn’t tell my professor. But I first became interested in CMP ten years ago when my older sister had a kidney transplant. Almost as soon as she woke up my parents, younger sister and I noticed significant changes in her behaviour. Not just those that could be attributed to someone being grateful for a new lease of life and making the most of it. But fundamental changes to her very personality.’
‘What sort of changes?’ Elizabeth asked.
‘Libby, my sister, had always been overly confident to the point of being domineering and controlling. She was eldest of three and liked to get her own way. She had a successful career in marketing, and didn’t mind who she trod on to get to the top. She was furious when she found out she had kidney disease and really resented the time she wasted on dialysis; she made my parents’ life hell. But then suddenly after the transplant she was a different person, meek, mild, kind and gentle, softly spoken and always putting others first. It was a huge transformation, and for the better.’ He gave a small laugh before continuing.
‘When Libby returned to her flat she was horrified at the amount of material possessions she’d accumulated, and gave many of them away. Then she started going to church – the rest of my family and I aren’t churchgoers – and after a year she converted to Catholicism. The changes in her were so startling that I began to wonder if there was any connection to the transplant. I’d already read some of the stories you see in the newspaper, as I’m sure you have, and had largely dismissed them as fanciful. But I couldn’t dismiss what I’d seen in my sister so I did what you probably did and started researching online, where I found many cases. The next step was obviously to see if my new sister matched her donor. I didn’t tell anyone – my family didn’t talk about it – so I secretly traced the donor. She lived in Ireland. A woman in her forties who’d died of a brain haemorrhage. She’d been a Catholic nun!’
‘Good gracious!’ Elizabeth exclaimed. ‘That’s incredible.’
‘Cellular memory, without a doubt. It can’t be explained any other way. No one in my family was aware of the donor’s identity so you couldn’t put it down to suggestion – a self-fulfilling prophecy where belief causes the behaviour. My sister had made it clear to us and the transplant team she didn’t want to know the identity of the donor so I didn’t tell her.’
‘So you believe it is possible to transfer personality?’
‘Yes, but far more research needs to be done. And it’s not going to happen any time soon. Does this help with your son?’
‘Yes, I think so. Although we’re experiencing the opposite of what you describe with your sister.’
‘In what respect?’
Elizabeth hesitated. She was talking to a stranger, but one who seemed to understand what she was going through having experienced something similar. ‘All the good qualities my son had – and there were many – have gone,’ she said quietly. ‘His behaviour has deteriorated so dreadfully that my husband and I don’t recognize him any more. Although my husband makes excuses for him.’
‘I see,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘How very upsetting for you both. And you’ve ruled out the possibility of any side effects from the medication he’s taking?’
‘Yes, his doctor has.’
‘And your son isn’t depressed? A significant number of transplant patients become depressed after the operation, but it’s usually within the first few weeks.’
‘It’s over three months since Jacob’s transplant, and he’s told his doctor he’s not depressed. I don’t see signs of depression in him either. He’s out and about and doing things. More than he should be.’
‘I see,’ David said thoughtfully. ‘I don’t know what to say. There just isn’t enough research to advise you. Hopefully it will pass in time.’
‘Hopefully,’ Elizabeth said doubtfully. ‘Did you ever come across a case like this in your research?’
‘Not to the same extent you are describing. And the vast majority of changes were for the better. I assumed that was because you’d have to be a decent person to carry a donor card.’
‘But I’m right in saying that if personality traits can be transferred through cellular memory then it must be possible to transplant evil as well as good? As my husband says: If there’s a heaven then there must be a hell.’
‘I wouldn’t know about that,’ David said with a small laugh. ‘I’m not religious. But if we accept CMP, then in theory all personality traits can be transferred – good and bad. Whether that’s what’s happened to your son I’ve no idea, but there’s a way to find out.’
‘How?’
‘Trace the donor. Try to find out what they were like. But think very carefully before you do. I’ve met some families who bitterly regretted that decision. A bit like an adopted child meeting their natural parent and finding they don’t match up to their ideal. And for you it’s a no-win situation.’
‘In what respect?’
‘Well, if the donor was a bad person then you will have to come to terms with their heart living on in your son. And if they were a good person, then you are left with the unhappy conclusion that Jacob has become bad for other reasons.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
Later that Tuesday morning, unbeknown to Elizabeth and most of the other villagers, the police had returned to Mary’s home. Elizabeth only found out at 1 p.m. when she pulled into the lane and saw two police cars parked outside Acorn Cottage. She was on her way to visit Mary in hospital and had stopped off to see if there was any mail to take with her. Perplexed and concerned, she slowly drew to a halt a little behind the second police car. The front door to the cottage was wide open and a young uniformed officer stood just inside, in the lobby. He nodded when he saw her get out.
‘Good afternoon.’
‘Good afternoon. Is everything all right?’ Elizabeth asked, as she started up the front garden path. ‘I’m a friend of Mary’s, the Reverend’s wife. I was going to collect Mary’s mail and take it to her in hospital.’
‘I’m afraid you won’t be able to come in here today,’ he said rather officiously. ‘We’re treating it as a crime scene.’
‘A crime scene? What crime?’ Elizabeth asked, shocked.
‘I can’t say. We’ll know more once Forensics have finished.’
; ‘Forensics? But Mary is in hospital after a fall.’
‘I don’t know any more, ma’am. Sorry for the inconvenience, but we’ll be here for most of the day.’
‘I see,’ Elizabeth said, wondering what could possibly be going on. ‘And you can’t tell me any more?’
‘No. Sorry, ma’am.’
She threw him a polite but restrained thank-you and retraced her steps to her car. She’d phone Andrew to see if he knew what was going on, although he probably would have said when she’d left him working in the study. She decided not to do this in full view of the officer who was still watching her from the door, so she turned the car around and then drove further up where she parked out of sight. Andrew picked up at once.
‘I’ve just been to Acorn Cottage; the police are there with a team of Forensics.’
‘Whatever for?’ he asked. Clearly he didn’t know either.
‘They wouldn’t tell me. I take it you haven’t heard anything?’
‘No. But I’m sure Sid Jenkins will have. Someone must have let them in.’
‘I’ll phone him now. Is Jacob OK?’
‘He’s in his room. I’ll check on him later. Let me know how you get on.’
‘I will.’
As chairman of the parish council, Sid Jenkins would be the most likely person to know why the police had returned to Acorn Cottage. It was a few rings before he answered.
‘Sid, it’s Elizabeth. I’ve just come from Mary’s cottage. I was going to collect her mail and take it to hospital with me, but the police are there. I wasn’t allowed in. Do you know what they’re doing there?’