Different

by Tony Butler

  Jay had always assumed that her grandparents had sold the cottage when they moved to Wales.

  “But isn’t there anyone living in it? It can’t have been left standing empty for all these years.”

  “No, Mom and Dad rented it out for six months a year as a holiday home through an agent who paid a caretaker to keep the place up to scratch. They didn’t lease it out this year because your birthday’s in October, so it’s all ready for you to move into.”

  “Whereabouts is Catherstone?” Mary asked. “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “I know it’s where I came from,” Jay said, “but I can’t remember it at all.” She was tempted to tell them about the things she’d learned about herself, but decided that now was not the right time. Everything she’d heard seemed surreal, but she would like to have a look around the village where Tom and Anna had found her, and try and find out more about the fenced off land that they had called The Devil’s Footprint. “Come on, Mary. Let’s get our things together,” she said. “We can ring David later and explain. I’m sure that he wouldn’t mind taking care of things here for us, while we’re away.”

  * * * *

  Jeremy Marchant, the Prime Minister, was dying. He’d been secretly rushed into a private hospital when his stomach pains and diarrhoea had started to re-occur more frequently. Apparently, his kidneys had failed, both of them. He’d listened to lengthy explanations as to how this occasionally happened but, cutting through all the medical mumbo-jumbo and hype, unless he received a kidney transplant within the next few weeks— and with his rare blood type finding a suitable donor was most unlikely—Jeremy would have to go on permanent dialysis.

  So far, only he, his doctor and closest friends knew, but he would have to make a statement to the House and resign this week before the secret was leaked. It was a decision he was loathe to make because there was so much he still had to do, but there was not really any other choice.

  “Prime Minister.” His doctor and friend, Quentin Westland stood by his side. Jeremy had not heard him approach.

  “Quentin?” The doctor looked uneasy as though he’d got something on his mind, something he didn’t want to say. “What is it?”

  “There’s a suitable kidney available, two in fact, but it’s a private clinic and they’re asking for twenty thousand pounds for the pair.”

  Jeremy, who had campaigned long and hard against private hospitals, didn’t hesitate. “I’ll pay it,” he said. “Does the clinic know who I am?”

  “No, sir. Discretion is their speciality. No one will ever know.”

  “Is this one of those black-market organ transplants we’ve been hearing about?”

  “Yes, sir. The donor, a young woman, is a runaway.”

  “If I accept her kidneys, she’ll die, won’t she, Quentin?”

  “Yes, sir, if you take both of them, but you could lead a normal life if you only took one and so could she.”

  “But two would be better?”

  “Obviously, yes, but—”

  “No buts, I’ll have them both! When?”

  “I can arrange it for the end of the week, if you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure. Look, Quentin, if a homeless runaway can save my life, there’s so much more I can do.”

  “Yes, sir. If it’s any consolation, these runaways usually end up dead from drug abuse anyway, and it’s not as though she’s of any real consequence. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll make the necessary arrangements.”

  “What’s the name of the clinic?”

  “The Greystone Foundation, sir.”

  Russell and Janine’s organisation! Jeremy started to laugh, startling his physician. “Arrange it as quickly as you can, Quentin, and in the next few days if possible.”

  After his doctor had gone, the Prime Minister sat deep in thought for a long time and then smiled. He’d issue a press release saying that he was paying a private visit to a dying friend. It wasn’t that far off the truth, the girl was sacrificing her life for his and that made her his very best friend. He would have to find out from Russell whether her other organs could be frozen or something, or perhaps he could have her cloned. Now that he wasn’t going to die, the possibilities seemed endless.

  * * * *

  The village was midway between the town of Rugely and the city of Lichfield. A bypass led the traffic past Catherstone, which lay five miles to the West along a narrow winding road. The village would have been a natural target for tourists if they’d known of its existence, Jay thought. The church, encircled by a dry-stone-wall, and neat rows of weathered gravestones, dominated the centre of the village.

  Opposite the church and on the other side of the narrow main road was a black and white halftimbered pub. Even the shops looked as though they had been trapped in time. There were no neon signs. Every sign was hand painted on wood. Thatched and red tile roofed cottages, all either built of the same sand coloured stone or with walls skilfully painted to match it, clustered behind the pub. There was even a village green complete with a large pond that spread up to the church’s Eastern wall. To the North of the village, a wooden sign pointed to Catherstone Chase and Peter turned the hired car onto the narrow lane that led to the chase.

  “It’s lovely,” Mary said. “Which is your cottage?”

  “I can’t remember. I don’t remember this place at all.”

  “It’s about half a mile along here. We should be able to see it in a minute,” Peter said. “Yes, look. There it is on your right.”

  Jay tried to see something familiar about the thatched black and white timbered cottage with its small front garden and honeysuckle covered fence, but it was as though she’d never set eyes on it before.

  Scott, who’d hardly said a word since they left Wales almost five hours ago, leaned over and squeezed her arm affectionately. “I remember when we came over on your fifth birthday. You used to race me down to the tree at the bottom of the back garden, and you were pretty fast for a girl.”

  Jay forced a smile, trying to hide her apprehension, for here was where it had all begun, and she could almost feel her subconscious straining and trying to awaken her forgotten memories of the past. Peter parked the vehicle in the gravelled driveway and when Scott opened the rear hatch back door to remove their luggage, Troy jumped out and stood wagging his tail furiously.

  “Troy!” Jay cried, dropping to her knees and hugging him as he licked her face in welcome.

  “How did you get in there?” With everything that had happened, Jay had forgotten all about him.

  “He must have sneaked into the back while we were fetching more luggage,” Scott said. “I didn’t realise you had a dog.”

  “I’ve only had him for a couple of days,” Jay said. “A friend of mine gave him to me.”

  Mary tickled the dog’s ear. “Who’s a clever doggy?” she cooed, and Troy wagged his tail furiously.

  “Well, I guess we ought to go inside and make ourselves at home,” Uncle Peter said. He looked at his watch. “I don’t know about you guys but I could do with something to eat, so why don’t we get the luggage inside and then go down to the pub for some lunch?”

  “Sounds good to me,” Scott said. “How about you girls?”

  “Yes, and while we’re in the village I can get some dog food for Troy,” Jay said. Mary nodded in agreement and, after dumping their luggage in the hall, they walked into the village.

  The Boar’s Head must have been one of the oldest buildings in the village, Jay thought. The blackened oak beams that were set into the white plastered walls were bent and twisted with age and, upon entering the building, it was like stepping into another age. Old-fashioned copper lanterns that had been skilfully converted to electricity hung from the walls and from above the bar – a bar the likes of which Jay had never seen before. A great shelf of four-inch thick, eighteen-inch wide oak spanned the length of an alcove. It rested on upright empty wooden barrels, and behind the counter three six-foot diameter oak beer barrels rested on whitewashed brick
work supports. In front of each of these huge barrels. Oldfashioned beer pumps were mounted on a smaller version of the bar counter.

  “Wow, now this is what I call a bar,” Scott said.

  “This is real beer, Scott,” his father warned. “Treat it carefully because from what I remember, it’s strong. What would you girls like?”

  “Mary and I will have half a bitter-shandy,” Jay said.

  They sat at one of the window tables and, when Scott and Peter joined them, ordered a meal. Afterwards, they wandered around the village for a while before returning to the cottage to unpack.

  Mary looked out of the bedroom window that overlooked the back garden and grinned at her. “If we were kids, this garden would be great for playing hide-and-seek in.”

  Jay felt as though she’d been hit by an electric shock and staggered.

  “Are you okay?” Mary sounded worried.

  Jay caught her breath and, wondering what had happened to her, nodded. “I think so,” she said.

  “I just felt a bit strange for a second, that’s all. I think I’ll go outside and get some fresh air.”

  “I think I’m going to have a shower,” Mary said. “If you’re sure you’re alright?”

  “You go ahead, I’ll be fine. I’ll see you later.” Not giving Mary the chance to argue, Jay left their room and ran lightly downstairs. She didn’t need fresh air, but Mary’s mention of Hide-and-Seek had awoken a memory from deep within her subconscious. It was a memory that she couldn’t quite grasp. It was connected with the garden and the game though, she was certain of that. Scott and Peter were in the living room watching a sports programme on the TV when Jay came downstairs and walked into the kitchen. She let herself into the garden and felt a faint stirring of distant memories as she gazed around her. Somehow, she knew that the well-kept lawn on her right had once been Granddad Tom’s vegetable patch. The garden was about a hundred yards long and she stared past the flowering bushes and the fruit trees towards the mighty chestnut tree that dominated the far end. It was huge and its branches spread almost the width of the land. Jay was drawn towards it almost as though it was calling to her. The gnarled greyish-brown bark of its massive trunk intrigued her and she tentatively reached out her hand, touched it and remembered. Jay had been excited because she’d never met Uncle Peter, Aunt Sharon, or her cousin, Scott, and they were going to be flying all the way from over from America to be here in time for her fifth birthday next month. Jay wondered if they’d bring her a present.

  “One-two-three…” Granddad counted as he faced away from her. They were playing hide and seek in the garden and Jay wanted somewhere really good to hide, so she decided to hide behind the huge chestnut tree that spread it’s mighty branches over the bottom of the garden. As she heard Tom drawing nearer, she realised that despite all her efforts he was going to find her and then, somehow, she knew what she had to do. Quickly, she stripped off her clothes and stuffed them under a shrub just in front of her and, pressing her back against the tree, she became. First, her body stiffened and then she could feel her skin changing and by squinting she could see the tip of her nose. It looked wrinkled and cracked and was the colour of the bark of the tree. She wanted to laugh when Tom looked straight at her but didn’t see her and wandered off, hunting for her once more. Jay remained where she was because it felt so good.

  “Jay! Jay!” Granddad’s voice was edged with fear now as he stood in front of her. She realised that she must have had a nap and Tom was frightened for her.

  “Here I am, Granddad!” she cried, stepping away from the tree towards him and stopped as his mouth opened in shock as he saw her. She un- became and stood uncertainly in front of him. Was he mad at her for taking off her clothes?

  “Jay,” he said in a strange voice. “How did you do that?” He dropped onto one knee and held his arms out to her, hugging her when she ran into them. She was so relieved that he wasn’t angry with her. Jay loved her grandparents.

  “How did you do that, Jay?” he asked again.

  What did he mean how did she do that? “I just became,” she said, but could see that he didn’t understand. “Like this,” she said, and laid one of her arms on top of his. She willed herself to become, and slowly the colour of her arm and hand changed until they matched the checkered pattern of his shirt sleeve.

  “Dear God, a Chameleon!” he said in a strange voice, which wasn’t the same strange voice that he’d used before.

  Jay heard the sound of broken glass coming from the cottage and her Grandma screamed in pain.

  “Grandma!” she cried and, pulling herself free of Tom’s arms, she fled up towards the house. Her grandma was lying on her back in the living room and there was blood and broken glass all over the floor. Ignoring the sting of the glass that sliced into the bare flesh of her feet, she ran to Anna and, scooping her up in her arms, carried her towards the lounge.

  “Anna!” Granddad Tom stood in the doorway and stared at her in disbelief as she walked towards him, carrying her grandma.

  “Grandma Anna, fallen over and hurt her head bad,” she said, allowing him to take Anna out of her arms and becoming aware for the first time of the agonising pain in her feet. Looking down, Jay saw that she was standing in a pool of blood – her own. Granddad Tom was laying Grandma down on the sofa and Jay returned to the kitchen, finding a brush pan to clean up the glass. Her feet were feeling better now and they weren’t bleeding anymore.

  Carefully, she brushed the glass into the pan and emptied it in the rubbish bin but she felt thirsty now and poured herself a glass of water and then another. Feeling much better, she started to mop up the blood.

  “Jay?” Tom was using that strange voice again and pointing to her feet. She smiled and nodded.

  “Foots are all better now, Granddad. Is Grandma Anna better now?”

  She went with Tom and her Grandma in the ambulance to the hospital and followed the men who carried Anna inside on something that Tom called a stretcher. They waited until the doctor came out of Grandma’s room and said that Grandma would be alright but would have to be kept in hospital until tomorrow.

  That night as Granddad tucked her into her bed, he had a long talk with her about her special gifts and why she had to keep them secret. Then, kissing her on the forehead, he said, “Always remember, Jay, that people are afraid of anyone who is different, and sometimes hurt them because they’re afraid. Never let them know that you’re different to them.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Russell was disappointed to learn that Janine had gone to check out one of her casinos, the one in Wolverhampton that her brother, Spencer, was managing. Russell didn’t like Spencer much and, if he hadn’t been family, Russell would have fired him years ago.

  Both he and Janine were millionaires now, and it seemed a long time ago since Karen had produced that first baby, and then another fathered by the male they’d found for her. Both babies had been quickly sold to their eagerly awaiting new parents. Karen had been pregnant again when she’d stumbled down a concealed mine shaft and was killed.

  Fortunately, by then there had been another eight girls producing healthy babies fathered by the four males who included Karen’s mate. Each male had two females to service and, as the males knew that if they failed to impregnate their women they’d be killed, they were not adverse to sharing the women with the other males. From Russell’s point of view that was good because there was no reason for any of the group to become jealous.

  A lot had happened in fifteen years, he reflected. Janine had opened several Casinos and his business partner, Henry, had made the political scene.

  The children of the groups that he hadn’t sold and who had been born on The Devil’s footprint knew of no other way of life, accepting their fate without question. Some had been operated on and were missing an eye, a kidney or a liver. Of course, all of the heart and lung donor’s were rotting at the bottom of the swamp. All of the organ donors were operated on in the top floor of the big house which had bee
n transformed into a surgical operating theatre. The recipient of the organ arrived at the theatre with his or her own surgeon, who were too well-paid to worry about the ethics of removing the required body parts from young and healthy patients.

  He was feeling bored. Perhaps he should have a ride over to Birmingham and take care of the hits before he flew out because it would be at least a fortnight before he would be able to return. Russell left the library and went up to his suite of rooms. He’d have a drink and some breakfast before taking Abby to join the others. There was a message waiting for him in the office from the agency – the Ainsworth couple had checked out satisfactorily and had paid the seven and a half thousand pounds deposit into the Foundation’s account.

  Like all prospective couples desperate enough to approach the Greystone Foundation, they had exhausted all the other adoption agencies and the Foundation was their last hope. It was through the Foundation that babies born to women of the three tribes: natural blondes, brunettes and red-heads, were effectively marketed. A miscarriage or a stillborn baby would simply be disposed of in the incinerator and be replaced with one of the healthy babies from the group. The mothers of the dead babies were each given a thousand pounds to help them recover from the trauma, an act that often moved them to tears of gratitude.

  There were on average only twenty babies a year taken from the tribes but, added to the sixty plus born at the Foundation, it produced an income in excess of one and a quarter million pounds per year. It was a pity that most of the babies born at the clinic had to be adopted through a genuine adoption agency, he thought, but the sale of body organs was really taking off now and would soon be making as much, if not more, than the baby business.