After a family tragedy, young David decides to live by himself in his home where he can be his true self, Katie. It's almost like a dream as Katie explores her new life.

But it's not easy. Where will she get money? How can an eleven-year-old deal with something as mundane as shopping when at any moment some adult may decide she needs help from police, doctors, teachers or lawyers?

It's lonely, too. Katie needs a friend, but who can she trust with her secret? That she's just a child living in her home, alone?
 

 

 

 

How do I start?

I suppose the beginning is the best place. The beginning of me, that is.

Some of this I remember, other parts I don’t have any recollection of and have pieced together from other people involved. Some of the facts aren't clear to me even now, all these years later and for the sake of continuity, I have included what I think might have happened. You will have to forgive me if that doesn’t make sense but you will understand a bit more when you read about what happened.

I was born in a small, sleepy English village called Chesterton St. Mary. My parents were Sheila and Andrew Peters and I was named after my grandfather, David.

Dad was a solicitor and Mum worked as a teacher at the primary school in the nearest town. That is until I came along and then my mother stayed at home to look after me.

My early years, from what I can remember, were fairly happy times; I started crawling, walking and talking at roughly the normal times and can’t really remember much in the way of bad things happening.

Dad’s business grew as I did. I suppose I didn’t see as much of him as I would like. Being an only child with a father who wasn’t always there, I spent most of the time in the company of my mother. Thinking back, I suppose she was lonely and missed the company of my father as much as I did. Anyway, we did everything together. As I got bigger, I helped her with the chores, went shopping with her, helped or hindered her in the garden and generally had a fairly good time of it.

My mother and father made the decision when I was about four years old that they didn’t like the idea of state education and because there were no decent private schools nearby, they decided that I would be educated at home, at least during my primary school years. I think I was about eight when I wanted to copy my mother. I found a dress in the washing hamper and tried it on. I wanted to be just like my mummy, so I slipped it over my head. I’ll never forget the nice feel of the dress as it slid over my tiny shoulders. Of course it was like a tent on me and as I stumbled out of the bathroom and went to find my mother, I nearly tripped on the long flowing garment.

‘Mummy, mummy, look at me, I’m like you now.’

My mother rushed up the stairs and took one look at me and burst out laughing.

‘Oh honey, you do look funny in that.’

‘Why Mummy?’

‘Well, for one thing it’s far too big for you and for another, boys don’t wear dresses.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because girls are girls and boys are boys. Girls wear dresses and boys wear trousers. It’s the way things are. Girls try to look pretty and boys handsome.’

‘I don’t understand.’

Mummy sighed, ‘I know honey, it’s not easy to explain but have you ever seen any boys in dresses?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘Well, when you get a bit older, you will find as you grow that you start to look different to girls. Daddy will talk to you when that time comes near and then you will understand why girls are different to boys. Now take that dress off before you fall head over heels and go and put your shorts back on.’

I’ll never forget that day because of the feel of the dress and what my mother told me about how different it was being a boy rather than a girl.
I must admit that I remember thinking how unfair it was that I was a boy and not allowed to wear the kind of clothes that my mother wore.

I must admit though, I sometimes raided the wash basket to put on some of my mother’s dresses, panties, tights and other things, behind the locked door, of course.

One day my mother was sorting through her clothes and I noticed that she put some in a plastic sack to be put out with the rubbish.

Needless to say, when my mother was out of the way I had a rummage around the sack and pulled out a blue silky dress, two pairs of panties, and--heavens above--a short pink nylon nightie with matching panties.

I hid my stash on top of my wardrobe and at every opportunity I wore something girly. The dress was far too big for me and the satin panties would fall down unless I wore them under my trousers or shorts; but the thing I liked best was the nightie and frilly panties that came with them. They were silky and soft and made me feel like I was a real girl. I used to wear them under my PJ’s and when I knew that my mother and father had gone to bed (they often went to bed early as my father had to get up very early to go work) I used to take my PJ’s off and snuggle down in my nightie. I was lucky that I was never caught, although I did come close once or twice when I fell asleep and my mother came to wake me in the morning. Luckily, I was well under the bedclothes and she didn’t notice my strange clothes.

Even though I was so young, I realised that it wasn’t just the clothes that made me feel as if I were a girl rather than a boy. It was nothing that I could put my finger on; it was as if I just didn’t feel right. I wasn’t sick or anything, I was a gentle child. I didn’t like rough and tumble games, I would much rather play make-believe games with heroes and heroines than shoot‘em-up games. As I’ve said before, I loved helping my mother around the house and I loved it when she taught me how to cook some cookies.

I saw my father less and less as work took up a lot of his time and, other than my mother, the only friend that I had was the girl next door, Sarah.

Sarah and I used to play at weekends, as she was at school during the week. There were very few other kids of our age nearby and so we sort of became friends by default. There was no one else to play with. I’m sure that if there were other girls around, I would not have had a look in, but there wasn’t, so after a short while we warmed to each other and within a few short weeks we were inseparable.

Sometimes we used to play at her house and sometimes mine. We played all sorts of games, from hide and seek to make up games. One time we pretended that I was the one to save her from a burning building. I was the dashing fireman and saved her and all the teddies and dollies from the burning inferno.

One day when I was about nine or ten, we were at Sarah’s house, playing in her room. My mother and Sarah’s were downstairs doing their favourite pastime, chatting about this, that and goodness knows what.

I looked at Sarah; she was wearing a lovely yellow sundress, which went down to just above her knees.

‘You look pretty in that dress, Sarah.’

Sarah looked up and smiled, ‘You look nice in your shorts and tee-shirt too.’

I looked down at myself and without thinking I said the first thing that came into my head. ‘I hate wearing boy's stuff.’

‘What do you mean? You look okay… for a boy that is.’

I felt my face go red, ‘Oh, never mind let’s play something else.’

But Sarah was like a terrier, she wouldn’t let go.

‘Tell me what you mean.’

‘I can’t, you will laugh at me and then go tell.’

‘I won’t, promise. Look we are best friends, aren’t we?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well then, best friends don’t have secrets, do they?’

‘No, I suppose not.’

'We-ell?’

I looked up at her and saw the warmth of her smile. She was my best friend and I needed to tell someone.

....

{continued in Home, Alone by Susan Brown, on Kindle}

This book was contributed by Susan Brown, all proceeds of sales go to support of BigCloset and the BigCloset Community. Thank you, Susan.