BloodGifted (2 page)

Chapter 1

My Birthday

The Present

LAURA

Thou shalt not fear birthdays
, has been my motto for the past few years. And I saw no reason to change it, regardless that this year I was turning that much-dreaded big Five-O.

For anyone else that may have b
een daunting enough, but for me it’s even more so since my family’s pedigree is unique, even weird. It appears there’s something in our genetic makeup that decreases the rate of aging up to forty percent. With me, it’s more like fifty. Lately, it’s become even harder to convince people my unnatural youthful looks have nothing to do with any nip and tuck or a fabulous moisturising crème. And it’s interesting the way women in particular, scrutinise me with almost X-Ray vision trying to spot any evidence of cosmetic surgery. Good luck to them! For one thing, I’m an absolute chicken when it comes to sharp and pointy objects and needles of any kind slip into that category.

But I can understand. Who wouldn’t mind looking twenty-something in their fifties?

I keep a photo from my twenty-fifth birthday in the top drawer of my dressing table. When I turned thirty I took it out and compared the face in the photo to the one staring out at me from the mirror. They were the same. I felt chuffed. Who wouldn’t?

I put that photo away till my fortieth, when I again did my
little facial self-examination, and then this morning on my fiftieth. There was no change. But just to be absolutely sure and prove to myself I wasn’t on some delusional trip, I took my picture on my mobile phone and sent it, together with my twenty-fifth birthday photo, to my aunt Judy, my father’s sister. She and I share the same genetic anomaly and like me, her biological age lags far behind her chronological.

Alt
hough approaching her centenary my aunt appears to be no more that her mid fifties, still slim, little grey, few lines and the picture of health.

It didn’t take long for her to ring me. ‘Happy Birthday Laura, dear. Will I see you at your parents’ tonight?
’

‘Of course! They’re expecting me. I couldn’t possibly disappoint. Besides, it’s tradition!’ I laughed. ‘
Now, I assume you received my text. Tell me I’m not delusional and the photos are the same.’

She laughed lightly. ‘They are the same, so there’s no need to question your state of mind.’

‘That’s a relief. So, how long am I going to look like this? Not that I’m complaining mind, but this is really getting strange and just a little… you know, inconvenient.’

I actually gave up travelling overseas as I could no longer handle the suspicious looks I received from hypersensitive customs officials, not to mention the interrogations and strip searches in little back rooms, all because my passport photo doesn’t match my chronological age. After the last experience I decided it was best to holiday at home, or resort to finding a disreputable solicitor who could provide me with a false birth certificate.

‘Exactly what I’d like to talk to you about,’ my aunt replied.

‘That sounds ominous.’

‘No, no not at all. Everything’s fine dear, and we’ll talk tonight. Now I have to go. Enjoy your day.’ She rang off. Her voice had sounded cheery enough, yet beneath, I sensed a certain undercurrent.

The last time we had “a little talk”
revolved around my delayed maturity. In high school everyone else had hit puberty but me. I was the odd kid out, too self-conscious to tell even my closest friends I still hadn’t gotten my periods. I was in Year Twelve. My mum had prepared me when I was younger, but neither of us expected it to be this late. She had no idea, but Aunt Judy did.

‘That’s normal for us, de
ar,’ she had said. ‘Physically and emotionally you’ll mature far more slowly than everyone else. See it as a plus! When you reach your fifties you’ll still be young in so many ways. What woman wouldn’t want that?’

At the time I didn’t
appreciate the full meaning of her words.

She also explained
our biological inheritance being caused by an unusual gene we possess that gives us our very rare blood type. So rare, in fact, it’s unclassified. She advised me then it would not be a good idea to donate blood.

After that wonderful revelation
I went on a research spree trawling through every medical journal and science book I could find, looking for anything regarding strange blood types, delayed aging, aliens, etcetera. Yes, I seriously considered whether my family were descended from aliens!

My aunt assured me we weren’t. Apart from fishing villages in northern Japan and remote mountain settlements in the Caucasus famous for their centena
rians, there was nothing. Even though those people were long lived, they hadn’t stopped aging.

It looked like I was on my own.

Thinking about my family, one member in each generation who inherited our weird gene lived well beyond their centenary. In fact, they enjoyed double the lifespan of the so-called four-score-and-ten most people were granted. Grandad Owen lived to be one hundred and thirty-two and his father died aged one hundred and forty-seven. They didn’t appear young though. Grandad looked to be at least in his eighties when he died. And he was the only one who had ever travelled overseas, courtesy of the AIF, who sent him straight to the trenches in France during the First World War.

Did that mean my physical appearance would eventually catch up? Surely I wasn’t going to look this young a decade or so from now?
Or would I? I would just have to wait and see.

Admittedly, until a few years ago, I appreciated this advantage as it meant I could date much younger men. Problem is, it got messy when they asked my age. And it’s surprising how many men do. Must be an ego thing,
I concluded long ago.

They never reacted very well
when they coaxed it out of me. On one particular date, the guy excused himself to go to the loo and never came back. Just as well we hadn’t ordered yet otherwise I would have been stuck with the bill.

After that embarrassing episode, I accepted the fact that lying was my o
nly option. The problem is that I don’t lie well and avoiding the subject doesn’t always work. So for the next twelve years, I gave up dating altogether.

Oddly enough, it wasn’t a hard decisio
n to make. As the years roll on the discrepancy between my physical appearance and my chronological age—if things don’t change—will only increase. Who’s to say I won’t end up as a guinea pig in a secret research lab hidden somewhere in the desert? To an ambitious scientist I’m a walking Nobel Prize.

Just as I began to wonder if I should be celebrating this birthday at all, my best friend, Jenny, messaged me. ‘Happy b/day u genetic freak u. C u @ lunch.’

Yep, that’s my best friend. She always knows how to make me smile when I need it. Jenny’s sixteen years my junior, but strangers seeing us together would assume the reverse. So far, it hasn’t affected our friendship and I sincerely hope it never will.

Her dark
hair is still bright and glossy and the occasional grey that dares to appear is ripped out with gusto. There are the beginnings of fine lines around her eyes, but they only accentuate their sparkle whenever she laughs. And Jenny loves to laugh. Her good humour shows even in the most trying circumstances. She’s one of those rare people who have come through life’s difficulties battered, but still able to see the sunshine. It’s a special quality to possess, one I sometimes envy.

I hurried out of my unit to meet her.

The cicadas were humming, the scent of frangipanis filled the air and the sky blazed a sultry azure blue. It’s what I’ve always called a South Pacific day and, in summer, there’s no more glorious place on earth than Sydney with the world’s most beautiful beaches just a twenty-minute drive from my inner-city unit.

Jenny had booked a table at the Bar Oceania at the south end of Coogee. It was a popular spot, so I was lucky to find somewhere to park.

As I got out, I saw that she’d managed to grab one of the sidewalk tables with the nifty umbrella on top. There she sat, sipping an iced tea, looking cool and relaxed in a floaty, pale lilac dress, a smile on her face as she watched kids and adults jostle each other at the nearby gelato bar.

‘They’re doing a roaring trade today,’ I said as I joined her.

‘Reckon. We might get one later on,’ she replied as she rose from her seat to plant a kiss on my cheek. ‘Anyway, Happy Birthday, you. I’ve ordered us some peach flavoured iced tea.’

‘Thanks. When did you arrive?’

‘Ten minutes ago. I wanted to get an outside table. Too nice a day to be indoors,’ she said, pointing to the interior of the café which looked deceptively dark compared to the sharp brightness of our outdoor seating.

The waitress delivered our drinks just as Jenny slid a small pastel-coloured envelope in my direction.
‘Go on, open it.’ Her eyes shone.

‘It’s pointless to say you shouldn’t have, right?’

‘What do you think!’

I smiled and tore open the envelope. Inside was a ticket to the Sydney performance of the Edinburgh Military Tattoo. I may not have a drop of Scottish blood in me, but I shiver with excitement at the sound of bagpipes and a massed pipe band reduces me to jelly.

I jumped out of my seat and gave her a big hug. ‘Jen!’ I exclaimed. ‘I’ve been “uumming” and “aaahing” for the last couple of weeks, trying to
make up my mind whether or not to go to this. It’s so expensive’. I love my job as a teacher, but I certainly didn’t go into the profession to get rich. The last I heard the local garbage collector earned more.

‘Yeah,’ she said, ‘but I know how much you love bagpipes an
d the whole military thing. And guess what?’

Before I could, she produced another ticket from her bag. ‘I’m coming with you,’ she said
, and waved it in my face.

‘Since when are you a fan?’

‘Since I saw the ad on telly. How could I possibly pass up seeing all those gorgeous men in skirts?’

I rolled my eyes. ‘Kilts!’

‘Whatever you say. And who knows, it could be a really windy night and we’ll both find out what’s beneath those things!’ She wriggled her eyebrows at me.

I laughed. ‘You’re incredible and the best friend ever.’

She gave me a huge grin. ‘And don’t you forget it! So I can safely assume Matt hasn’t got you these.’

‘Ha
! He hates bagpipes. Don’t know what he has against them.’

I discr
eetly hid my Holiday In Scotland CDs after he once said they reminded him of copulating cats!

Detective Inspector Matthew Sommers is the man in my life.
We met four months ago and, yes, he knows all about my unusual bloodline. It doesn’t really bother him since I look much younger and that suits him just fine. He stands around six feet and when he smiles a cute dimple forms in his left cheek.

The day we met, he was accompanying a uniformed female constable who came to instruct Grades Five and Six on Traffic Safety. It was part of the Primary school curriculum and that year Matt got the short straw. Usually it’s the uniformed police who do these little s
chool trips, but unfortunately—or fortunately for me—due to staff shortages, long service leaves and illness, one of the detectives had to fill the role. We started chatting over coffee in the staff lunchroom afterwards and then he asked me out to dinner. I had no difficulty accepting.

‘Jen, there’s no way I’d drag him to thi
s. He’d come out of a sense of obligation and sit there with cotton wool stuffed in his ears.’ I shook my head as I tried to picture the scene.

‘You know, it would be almost worth it just to see him.’
We both laughed, when out of the blue Jenny said, ‘You slept with him yet?’

‘
I was wondering when you’d get around to that.’

She grinned.

‘Okay, yes, I finally did it!’

She lifted her glass. ‘C’mo
n, that’s cause for celebration.’ We chinked glasses. ‘I was beginning to think you’d never get rid it. Honestly, Laura, you were turning into the oldest virgin on the planet!’

‘Shhh! Not so loud.
The rest of the world doesn’t have to know!’ I noticed one or two heads turn in our direction.

Matt and I had
been together now for nearly four months and it was only in last few weeks I’d finally succumbed.

‘You did well
to hold out so long.’

I lowered my glass. ‘I didn’t want to sleep with someone just for the
sake of it. You know that. But it’s different with Matt. It’s getting serious.’

‘Well, it must be if he went without sex all these months!’ She laughed.

Matt and I had made love a few times now. He was an attentive and considerate lover, yet I couldn’t achieve fulfilment. Matt said it would take a while for my body to get used it—especially after that painful first time. I hoped it wouldn’t be long, and before Jenny could grill me any further, I changed the subject. ‘You remember my Aunt Judy, Dad’s sister?’

‘Yeah
, yeah—massive gold bangles and chokers. What about her?’