Damien gradually began to understand that his parents were not actively looking for him, was, a good sign. What was troubling was the lack of records that would prove who he really was and whether he had been adopted as he’d been told.

For a brief moment, Damien wanted to go and confront his so-called parents. He needed to know the truth about his background.

“I know what you are thinking. You want the truth?” said Stephanie.

“Wouldn’t you?”

“I would, but there is a right way and a wrong way. The wrong way is to go and confront him without the backing of the law behind you. For all we know, you are already eighteen. What I’d do right now is take a drive past your old home just to check to see that he and your family have not done a runner. If there is something dodgy about your adoption and stuff, then they may decide to up sticks and head off into the night. That would explain the lack of a police report.”

“Can we do that?”

“We can, but only if you are Faye. There is always a chance that they could recognise Damien, whereas Faye looks a lot different. There is no sense in taking unnecessary risks, is there?”

Damien smiled back at Stephanie.

“Are you going to tell Paula?”

“We should. She is the boss, after all.”

“Ok, you can tell her while I make a hash of my makeup.”

Stephanie laughed.
“You will be fine.”

Steph’s words proved correct. Faye took her time but managed to make herself not look like Damien. She only had one female outfit, but it would do for now. The compliments that Stephanie paid her made her feel good for the first time that day.

That good feeling did not last when they drove past Damien’s old home. It was empty, and a ‘To Let’ board was outside.

“They’ve done a runner,” said Stephanie as she pulled over about half a mile later.
Faye was gripping the armrest like a vice and staring straight ahead.
“Everything was a lie, wasn’t it?” she said, fighting to hold back the tears.

“It looks that way, doesn’t it? I think that we should head home and report to Paula and Mr Gold.”

Faye shook her head.
“Can we drive past one more house? It isn’t far.”

“Who lives there?”

“Faith, the girl I was supposed to marry and who told me that she is gay.”

Stephanie managed a smile.
“Ok, tell me where to go.”

“Left at the traffic lights about a mile down the road. Then it is the second right.”

Faith’s house was also empty but had a crude/homemade ‘For Sale’ board nailed to the front gate. The phone number began with “0001”. Right away, that told Faye that they’d gone to the USA.

“They’ve gone as well. Probably to the camp in the USA. Dad… He was talking about taking the whole family and going with Faith’s. That’s when I knew that they would make us marry. The last time we went to the camp, it was guarded by people carrying what looked like machine guns.”

Those last words shocked Stephanie. To someone who has only known a society where guns are the rare exception rather than the rule, she could not imagine what life was like for those in this sect.

Ten minutes later, Stephanie drove past the building that had been the former church. A few people were milling about outside.
“Those are the people for the bible class that is due to start soon,” said Faye.
The building was closed up, and a ‘To Let’ sign had been nailed to the main door.

“I think that it is time for us to get home. At least a few things are a bit clearer.”

Faye just grunted. The frown on her face told Stephanie that she was thinking hard.

That evening, Paula, Stephanie, Faye and Mr Gold talked over the events of the day.

“The fact that your father and the other family have gone is not a good sign. Something must have rattled them into leaving so abruptly. Then, for the other family to disappear at the same time led me to think of one word: ‘panic’. In my legal eyes, there are things that they don’t want to see in the light of day. Faye, do you agree?” said Mr Gold.

“I think that you are right. Why?”

“Faye, you said that you think that they might be in the USA at this ‘Educational Retreat’?”

“That’s the place where they’d run to. They will be amongst friends there.”

“Do you know where this place is?”

Faye shook her head.
“Not exactly. I think it is somewhere in the hills close to the border between Texas and Arkansas. When we went there, we flew to different airports and then drove for hours. It was always dark when we arrived, and with jet lag, I slept a lot. All that I can remember were vehicles in the car park with both Texas and Arkansas licence plates, but there were other cars and trucks from places like Kentucky, Ohio and Alabama.”

“Thanks for that. It will help me build up a picture of both families.”

“Mr Gold, their services on Sunday are live-streamed on YouTube. We would have to go to church in the morning and listen to my father preach about everyone going to hell, and that we were infected by the Devil, so we had to repent for all our sins. Then, in the late afternoon, he would make us watch their service. Those preachers are fantastic showmen, but they are not serving God. They are only lining their pockets.”

“That’s a rather cynical view, Faye,” said Paula.

“In my last year at school, I spent a lot of time in the Public Library working on my coursework. I used their computers as we were not allowed to have them at home. My father had a huge row with the school principal about using computers. The school wanted to send out homework on Facebook, and that is forbidden in the church. Eventually, he compromised and allowed me to use the computers at the Public Library. Once I had finished my homework, I started searching for press articles about the church. 99% of it was not good. Two of the founders had fled with a couple of million back in the 1990s, and the current leaders were regarded as merely modern-day snake oil salesmen. I had to Google that. It all contributed to my falling out with their version of God, which takes a very dim view of anyone who is LGBT.”

There was silence for more than five seconds.

“Faye,” said Mr Gold.
“I have an update on your birth certificate.”

The change of subject was most welcome.
“Your passport used a birth certificate of someone who died aged one from SIDS.”

“SIDS?” remarked Faye.

“Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. It was sometimes labelled as Shaken Baby Syndrome, but this death happened when the child was in hospital with eczema.”

“So, you don’t know who I am or if I am even British?”

“At the moment, that is true. The meeting I had in Oxford was with an official from the Home Office. He’s working from home after breaking his leg badly in a car accident. There is a case open, but I have it in writing that you will not be stateless. The next step is for you to provide a DNA sample so that it can be checked against the national missing persons database.”

A worried look appeared on Faye’s face.
“If I… or the real me was on that list, would it mean that I would have to meet my real parents?”

Mr Gold smiled.
“That, Damien, is entirely up to you. They will be told that their missing child has been found, and the Police will close that part of the case. The case of who took you will remain open. If you are an adult, then it is up to you if you want to contact them. Much like if you were adopted. At eighteen, you have the legal right to find out about your birth parents, but it is your choice if you want to contact them.”

“Thanks. Even more to think about.”

The call ended soon after.
It had been a day when more questions had been asked than answers had been given.

Now that Damien’s parents had flown the coop, there was no reason for Faye to remain hidden. She twisted Stephanie’s arm, and they went shopping at Westfield in Shepherd’s Bush, London. Faye didn’t buy much other than some underwear. That included her first real bra.

“These prices are silly,” she complained.

Stephanie smiled.
“Then we should head towards the discounters,” she remarked as she opened up her phone.

That proved to be far more successful. Stephanie’s car was verging on bursting when they finally headed back to High Wycombe.

Faye paraded her new wardrobe that evening to Paula and Stephanie. The beaming smile on her face told the others that she was in her element.

After dinner, Paula said,
“Now that things are starting to become clearer, it is time to think about the next step in your process.”

She opened her briefcase and pulled out a pile of green folders.

“These folders contain outline details of some possible candidates for the next step. If you remember, we talked about this before things went mad.”

Faye nodded her head.
Paula slid the files across to Faye.

After some hesitation, Faye opened the first folder. After two seconds, she went to the second, third, fourth and fifth folders. When she reached the end, she closed them up and pushed them back to Paula.

“What’s wrong?” asked a surprised Paula.
Off to one side, Stephanie was grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“Paula, I did try to tell you that I fancy women, not men.”

Stephanie said,
“She’s right, Mum; she did, but you were only thinking of one thing.”

A slightly angry Paula looked at her daughter and then at Faye.

Then she laughed and shook her head.

“Ok, ok. I goofed. Mea culpa.”

Then she thought for a while and then pushed the files back towards Faye.

“I know that these are all men, but please take another look at them and their bio. Tell me what features you like and what you don’t like. That will help me choose some possibilities that are a closer match to what you want.”

“It’s not all about what I want, is it? Steph said to me the other day that it is more about how we get on, isn’t it?”

“Yes, that is perfectly true, but I need to be able to start from somewhere. I have some candidates in mind, but most of our clients on that side of the business are men.”

“Ok, I’ll do that. When do you need to know by?”

“Will the day after tomorrow be ok with you?”

“Yes,” replied a grinning Faye.

As she promised, Faye returned the files to Paula with comments on yellow post-it notes. Faye sat at the breakfast table silently while Paula read each one at least twice.

“I have to say, Faye, that you have done a good job with your comments. I have a much clearer picture of the sort of woman that you would be attracted to. Now, my hard work begins.”

“What’s next for me?” asked Faye.

“Until we hear from Mr Gold, we do nothing on that side. Otherwise, Stephanie is to carry on working her magic on you.”

Faye nodded her head.
“There is one thing that bothers me. When we went shopping, and while we didn’t shop at full-priced stores, we spent a lot of money. I went a little over the top, I’m afraid.”

Paula laughed.
“Consider it a learning experience. Where the money is coming from is, as they say, ‘way above your pay grade’. We get handsomely paid for our work because we do it right. The people we introduce are top quality, and so far, we have not made any mistakes. I’ve been doing this for almost fifteen years. We make the introductions, and if things start to take their own path, then we willingly take a step back. I fully expect that it will be the same for you, although it may take a bit longer than normal.”

“Ok, but eventually, I’m going to need at least a couple of outfits that are suitable for a date… and some false breasts if that is not too much trouble. Rolled-up socks can only take me so far.”

Stephanie and Paula grinned at each other. Privately, they were pleased with how Faye was pushing the difficulties with her private life into the background.

Mr Gold arranged for Faye to give a sample of her DNA to the Police. Deep down, Faye hoped that it would not get a hit.

Nothing much happened for ten days. Then, as the saying goes, it never rains, but it pours. They had a visit from Mr Gold. This time, he was not alone.

“This is Detective Inspector Goodman from the Lancashire Constabulary.”

Faye looked scared.
“Don’t worry, Faye, you are not in trouble. Inspector?”

“Faye, I run the missing persons team in the Lancashire Constabulary. Your DNA sent the alarms blaring in my section.”

“Does that mean I’m a British Citizen?” asked Faye.
She was direct and to the point. That was a point that had not been lost on her hosts.

“It does. You were snatched from a car when your mother went into a garage to pay for some petrol. You were nine months old at the time. Your birthday is the twelfth of October. That means in five weeks, you will be nineteen.”

After a brief smile, Faye asked.
“My parents? What was my name?”

“Faye, your parents were Trevor and Jayne Marshall. Your given name was David Fergus Marshall. You were taken a week before your christening.”

“Inspector?” asked Stephanie.
“You said ‘were’. That is past tense.”

The Inspector nodded his head.
“Your mother never got over the incident. She blamed herself for your kidnapping, even though the CCTV clearly showed that the car that the kidnappers used had been following her for several days. A year to the day and at the same hour after you were taken, she walked off the platform at Lancaster Station into the path of a freight train. She was killed instantly.”

“And my father?”

“He died of brain cancer two years ago. He never gave up looking for you. They are buried together in their parish church.”

“So? I’m on my own then?”

“You have an aunt. She was your mother’s sister; other than that, yes, you are.”

The Inspector produced a folder.
“All the details, including the reports from the newspapers of the day, are in here. My contact details are in there as well, so if there is something I can help you with, please contact me. I’m sorry that I could not be the bearer of good news.”

Faye looked down at the folder and nodded her head.

“Faye?” said the Inspector.

She looked at him.

“There was nothing that you or your mother could have done. The people who took you were organised and very professional. Even the number plates of the car that they used were cloned from a North Yorkshire Police car. That shows a very high level of organisation indeed.”

“But why me? There are thousands of babies to choose from?”

The inspector nodded.
“That puzzled me for a bit, but it seems that your real father looked a lot like the man who was to become your father. Looking at least partially like at least one of your parents stops people from suspecting that the children are not who their parents claim them to be. As I said, this kidnapping was well organised and professional. I… We see this as a developing trend, and our current guidelines for investigating these cases always ask that question.”

“Thank you for that, inspector.”

Paula said,
“Inspector, there is one thing that you can do for Faye now that we know the birth name.”

“If I can help, then I will. What do you want me to do?”

Paula took Faye’s hand.
“Want to make Faye legal?”

Her eyes bulged.

“You mean change my name?”

“Exactly.”

“Yes, please.”

“Inspector,” said Faye.
“Will you be a witness to this?”

He smiled.
“With pleasure. At least my visit will not be all bad news.”

Paula produced a template deed poll form. She filled in the birth name and confirmed with the Inspector that it was correct. Then she passed it to Faye.

“Fill in the names that you want and sign it.”

With a huge grin on her face, she filled in Faye Thompson and signed it.

Paula and the Inspector signed the document as witnesses. Then she gave the form to Mr Gold.

Once the Inspector had been shown out, Mr Gold returned with a serious look on his face.

“I took your advice and looked on YouTube. I saw someone who I think might be your father. I bookmarked it.”

Faye looked sad given the recent news.
“He’s not my father, but I would like to see it just to be sure.”

Two minutes later, the four of them watched the broadcast from the previous Sunday.
Faye gasped.
Mr Gold stopped the playback.
“What’s up?”

“That’s not the man who was my father. That’s Faith’s father giving the sermon. The man in the background is the man you want. He’s the man who pretended to be my father.”

They watched the next fifteen minutes of fire and brimstone preaching. The lies that he told were brazen. He reserved the worst damnation for members of the LGBT community. The word erasure was used more than once. It was not an enjoyable viewing.

“Did you have to sit through that every week?” asked Stephanie.

“Twice on Sundays. It is awful. How people can believe this crap is beyond me. Sermons like this made me become a non-believer. How can they worship a pastor who is not preaching what the bible says? He is a fake idol who pretends to have a direct line to God. He is full of bovine excrement that stinks to high heaven. The weak and simple-minded fall for it and send them money, lots of money. I read that one of these crackpot pastors has four private jets at his disposal. All they do is twist the word of God entirely for their own profit. Fuck the lot of them, and I hope that Hell has space for them because that’s where they are going.”

“You could be a preacher… if you carry on like that,” joked Stephanie.

That resulted in a bit of laughter. Even Faye saw the funny side of things.
“Not me,” she countered.

[to be continued]