Sick

had been to threaten legal action if ever such an opinion was voiced in public.

  There was nothing inadequate about him sexually or any other way. His empire building had indeed been a compulsion with him, his humble beginnings instilling in him the need for the security of having more money than a man could spend in a hundred lifetimes. It had been addictive. But his deep contemplations in his bed as his body fought his will to survive, had been an awakening for him. The wealth was his, now. It was time to live and the new body would be the vehicle for his new life. Combined with his money, he would have the pick of the worlds loveliest women.

  As he stared at the handsome young man, surrounded by bubbling green fluid, a finger twitched. Arkwright had said this would happen one day. The body would be like any infant, developing his own independent feelings and reflexes as his consciousness developed. This was the first time anything moved like a hand. Sir Charles smiled.

  There was no downside. Except for the young man in the tank. He was to be harvested like some stupid sheep in the field. Again, in the wee small hours, the minuscule ideas of doubt and possibly even guilt would begin to fester in his mind, to do battle with the logic. The young man had been created by a bunch of clever doctors and scientists whose own knowledge would be rewarded as the world grew up and became used to the idea. They were just this generations pioneers, making the unthinkable possible. This wasn't murder. This was just science. And with that conviction, he would sleep through the night as much as his pain racked body would allow, all thoughts of guilt disappearing as did the shadows of the night as dawn heralded in a new day. This was just science, helping a sick, sick man.

  Two familiar sounds woke him up. The chatter of the ride on mower outside and the knocking on his door by Sue Featherstone.

  'And how are you this morning, Sir Charles?'

  'I was thinking of going jogging later.'

  'Good to see you still have a sense of humour.'

  The pretty tiny blonde, not a day over twenty one, filled his sterile room with her perfume. This was a new one. He was sure he hadn't smelt it before. Her pert breasts, the size of small apples, high and firm, perfect handfulls of treasure, poked out enticingly underneath the tight white T shirt. Until that moment, he hadn't noticed just how large her nipples were.

  'Now. Nurse Spindler says you are to eat more fish. Do you fancy fish today?'

  The only thing he was fancying right then, were apple sized, perky breasts. He made himself look her in the eyes and focused. 'Depends on the fish.'

  'There's a nice mackerel that would go a treat with some creamy mash potato and some fresh veg from the veg patch.'

  For a young woman from Mucklowe, Sue Featherstone was a decent cook. Good basic wholesome food. 'That sounds good to me. So. How's life in Mucklowe, these days?'

  Sue chuckled. Not many sounds delighted him, but her giggles did. 'Well. There was a bit of an altercation in the pub last night. A certain father and son, no less. Turns out they were both seeing the landlady, if you know what I mean. When Billy Hickory the landlord pulled them apart, the son blurted it out in front of everybody. Next thing, the three of them were rolling around on the floor, thumping seven bells out of each other.'

  'Good grief,' he said, wondering how much was the product of an over active imagination. It didn't matter. She could be reading him the telephone book for all he cared. 'Then what happened? Were the police called in?'

  'No. Once they had had enough of hitting each other, Billy packed his wife's bags and threw them and her out on the street. Then Billy locked the door and It was free beer all round. Right. I'll get going on your meal.'

  He watched her walk to the door, noticing as if for the first time, her short but shapely legs and the wiggle in her walk and the denim mini skirt wrapped around her taut buttocks. Alone again, he wondered why he was suddenly seeing her that way. The conclusion he arrived at was the fact she was previously unattainable. With his decrepit old body, she would have never been interested in him. He knew that. And as such, if anything was truly unattainable, he dismissed it from his mind.

  But things were changing. Soon, he was going to have a handsome young body to match his wealth. An irresistible combination for the fair sex. For once he could dare to dream that a delightful young woman like Sue Featherstone would find him attractive. With the new him, it would be entirely possible. She was unmarried, and had never mentioned any boyfriends. She went on dates, he knew, but nothing serious. As he slipped into sleep, he dreamt of Sue, her young breasts caressed by the palms of his hands, only to have that dream interrupted by yet another knock on his door.

  'Nurse Spindler,' he mumbled, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

  'Sir Charles,' Spindler replied, already opening her bag. She didn't ask how he was feeling. She would determine that herself.

  She leaned over him and put the stethoscope to his chest. She didn't smell of perfume. Not like Sue. She had the smell of her profession about her, all antiseptic and chemical. Although twenty years his junior, she would not be starring in his dreams any time soon. He could imagine her large pendulous breasts threatening to destroy her brassiere beneath her nurses uniform. Wasn't a nurse in a uniform supposed to drive red blooded men wild? Spindler must be the exception to that rule, he decided.

  He allowed himself to be prodded and poked, be examined and washed down, have his bags replaced with new ones, watched her record things on her charts as if taking an inventory of his parts, and she not saying a word to him about anything. Not from her would he get humorous titillating gossip about Mucklowe's domestic drama's or even tedious conversation about the weather. To Spindler, he was little more than a piece of meat and to him she would never be more than a super efficient medical professional.

  'Miss Featherstone is cooking fish for you today,' she said as she put her things back in her bag.

  'Mackerel. With our own fresh vegetables.' He was instantly annoyed with himself for sounding as if he was trying to gain her approval. He wasn't. He didn't need it.

  'Good. Very healthy.'

  'The mackerel? I doubt it. It's dead.' The pun was lost on Nurse Spindler.

  'How's the pain?'

  'Very well, thank you. I'll pass on your concern.' Another pun wasted.

  She stared at him with her grey eyes, and he tried to read her thoughts. He got, 'You're dead already, but you refuse to accept the fact.' He forced a smile. 'I got news for you,' he thought right back at her. 'If you only knew it, but behind that wall is a brand new me. One that, if you should be so lucky which you won't, could take you on a marathon love session that would leave you with a smile even on your miserable countenance.' Perhaps Nurse Spindler should have a body transplant? But it wasn't her body that was the problem. Many men would revel in her pendulous breasts, her antiseptic perfume and her ill fitting nurses uniform. They would have to get past her dour demeanour and clinical efficiency to enjoy it though.

  'Enjoy your fish.'

  'I'll do my best.'

  Nurse Spindler left the room with no goodbye's or I'll see you tomorrow, Sir Charles. She was to bedside manner as Hitler had been to world peace. Outside, the ride on mower trundled up and down. It would take at least another hour to finish the acres of lawn. One day, he would be walking on that lawn, his brand new body barefoot, feeling the newly mown grass between his toes. One day. One day.

  'Sorry. I must have drifted off.'

  'No worries. Now. Here's your fish.'

  'That looks good enough to eat,' he said as she placed the tray where he could reach it.

  'I'll leave you to it, then.'

  'No. Please. Stay and keep me company.'

  'Well, if you're sure...?'

  'I am. Unless you have to be somewhere....?'

  Sue dragged up one of the visitors chairs. 'No. I'm all yours.'

  Oh, yes. One day, when you see my new body, growing just behind that wall, to be enjoyed by young ladies like you. One day you will be all mine.

  'Do you have a boyfriend?' Had h
is body been able, he would have kicked himself. 'So sorry. Forgive me. None of my bloody business.'

  She smiled at him. Now there was a smile. Nurse Spindler could learn a lot from that smile. 'That's okay.'

  'I've no right...'

  'Don't be silly. You're just making conversation. And no. I don't have a boyfriend at the moment. Let's face it. Mucklowe is hardly teeming with interesting boys. Actually, I was thinking of going to college.'

  'College?'

  'Don't sound so surprised. I'm not stupid.'

  He stopped, forkful of mackerel halfway to his mouth. 'I never implied you were.' He wanted to reach out and hold her hand. Instead, he filled his mouth.

  'I know. You're too much of a gentleman to do that.'

  'What would you study?'

  'Catering. I'd like to open my own business one day. Lets face it. Mucklowe and the other villages around here deserve something decent to eat when they go for a night out.'

  'True, true. But I'm not sure a catering course will teach you anything. This mackerel is delicious.'

  'Get away with you. Yeah. I'm not a bad cook, but I can be much better.'

  They chatted, Sue doing most of the talking, about the kind of place she would run and the food she would serve. He missed most of the words, eating slowly, watching her lips move, thinking about her breasts under the tight shirt. Then all too soon she was gathering the plates and cutlery.

  'Barry's finished the mowing,' she said. 'I'd better be going.'

  'Of course. Thank you.