This chapter describes the run up to Christmas and a delightful Christmas present for Beverly.

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While Judge Elizabeth Porter and the others were busy buying presents for the Christmas house-warming party, Margaret, Sian and I chatted as we added the final touches to the barn conversion.

"When you were alone with her did she say anything or allude to anything?” I pumped Sian.

“She acknowledged that she remembered us.”

“And?” I pressed.

“Well her lesbianism was the elephant in the room. Not that we made an issue of it, in fact I think it brought her closer to us; sisters under the skin and all that. Though she did admit to being shocked to meet us again.”

“I’ll bet. She went white when she first saw you. I’m surprised that Sandie or Mrs Bodkin didn’t notice.”

“I think Sandie suspects something. She kept giving us long looks when they rejoined us.”

“Yeah,” I added, “she said Elizabeth was pussyfooting around you.”

“But did she suspect anything else.” Added Margaret.

“She didn’t allude to anything else. Elizabeth doesn’t come across as outwardly gay so there’s nothing that Sandie can get a handle on.” I said reassuringly.

“I don’t know,” said Margaret, “Sandie’s pretty sharp.”

“Well provided we don’t spill the beans, and we won’t!” added Sian menacingly, “then things should go smoothly.”

“Yeah, provided Elizabeth doesn’t give herself away. She’s pretty demonstrative when she’s fired up. She’s known as hot stuff in the club in Birmingham.”

“Well Birmingham’s a long way from Dorset,” I finished.

“Shit!” Cursed Sian.

“What?” I replied.

“Dorothy and Daisy! The dancers at the club! They’re coming tonight!”

I went cold as Margaret explained further.

“Dammit! They’ll be a disaster if they find out!”

“Go on,” I urged nervously.

“Well, - there are four types of communication on this planet, - tel-ephony, tel-egraphy, tel-epathy and tell Dot.” Declared Sian.

“And they’ll already be on their way.” I surmised gloomily

“You bet. They love a party.”

“Are they really that bad?” I asked.

“They’re known as Dot and Dash the Morse twins. If you want anything broadcasted, tell them.”

“Do they know Elizabeth is a judge?”

“No. Nobody at the club knows except us and her sleeping partner Jane, who isn’t coming tonight.”

“So if none of us or the children call her judge or ‘your honour’, then we could carry it off.” I offered hopefully.

“We’ll have to tell the children to call her Aunty Elizabeth.”

“That should work. I’ll tell the girls now.”

“OK. I’ll warn Elizabeth when she returns.”

We managed to pull it off. Margaret and I explained to the girls that Elizabeth was now our friend and they could call her Aunty Elizabeth, whilst Sian got Elizabeth to one side and warned her that ‘Dot and Dash’ were coming. She told us later that Elizabeth nearly decided to go home there and then.

Fortunately, Elizabeth had splashed out on presents for the children. The presents proved an excellent ‘ice-breaker’ for Elizabeth gave them to the girls immediately after Sian had warned her about Dot and Dash.

On receipt of the ‘early Christmas arrivals’, the materialistic little ‘angels’ had fallen in love with Elizabeth immediately. ‘Aunty Elizabeth’ it became from that moment onwards.

We got around the same problem with Sandie and Mrs Bodkin by explaining that Dot and Daisy were a couple of Margaret, Sian and Sissy’s friends who sailed a bit close to the legal wind in their business affairs, (which was true,) and it might be wise not to let anybody know Elizabeth was a judge. This ploy also worked. Sandie and Mrs Bodkin simply continued calling Elizabeth by her first name.

By nine o’clock the party was in full swing. Fortunately, most of the guests were known and trusted friends who knew not to raise too much of a ruckus or create too much noise. By midnight we were all exhausted and several pr-booked minibuses arrived to ferry the drunken revellers home. Those who’d travelled were staying at Sissy’s hotel. Cars would be collected the following day as and when people recovered.
Just after midnight, I was carrying a sleeping Jennifer across the yard in my arms to her bedroom whilst Sandie followed with the sleeping Beatrice. Elizabeth was a little the worse for wear and Mrs Bodkin had to help her to her room that we had hastily prepared after Sian and Margaret had vacated it earlier that evening. Goodnights were shouted across the yard and eventually peace settled at about one o’clock.

The morning of Christmas Eve dawned very cold, grey and windy. Had there been no wind there would have been a hard frost but the clouds and South-westerly oceanic winds kept the frost at bay. However those same winds were full of moisture and it was very cold.

‘There might even be a bit of snow’ I thought.

I sat on my favourite window seat and contemplated the view. It seemed gone forever where those white snowbound Christmases of my early childhood. I watched a few crows and rooks battling the wind and scratching in the fields for food. ‘They wouldn’t find much at this time of year’ I thought and shivered as I tightened my peignoir around me. ‘Any minute now,’ I thought, ‘the thunder of familiar feet would arrive’.

I slipped back into bed to savour the warmth under the duvet and waited. Eventually, I heard a few muffled voices on the landing and then the children burst through the door. It was nice to savour the old times with just the two of them and me. ‘Them’ however, were bouncing with excitement and keen to try out the presents that ‘Aunty’ Elizabeth had bought. After a quick cuddle they disappeared and later I spotted the four of them playing in the field. They had obviously forgone breakfast to use the wind and fly their kites. Elizabeth had joined them briefly to demonstrate before returning indoors.

Within minutes, four brightly coloured trespassers contrasted brilliantly with the grey sky as the kites dipped and swooped. The crows were not amused and pinioned grumpily away as the stiff breeze buffeted them.

After watching the four children and smiling at their simple pleasures, I finally dressed and plodded down stairs to find the others eating breakfast. I mumbled ‘good morning and nodded to the grey sky outside.

“Looks as though it might snow.” I said as I groped sleepily for the coffee.

“D’you think so.” Asked Sandie

“Hhhmm, hard to say these days, it probably won’t. Global warming and all that.”

“It would be nice if it did.” Observed Elizabeth.

“Not if you get trapped up here. You won’t be able to get home for Christmas.” I replied.

Elizabeth fell silent but I was too sleepy to notice. I simply slumped in a chair nursing my coffee as I contemplated the cold grate. The house was now warming up as the central heating timer clicked on but I still had a grate full of ashes to clear and a new fire to lay for Christmas Eve. The cottage just didn’t seem right without a fire in the grate.

“Will you be having another party?” Asked Sandie.

“Oh yes,” I nodded, “the kids would be utterly devastated if we don’t have some sort of Christmas dinner. Over the past six months, I’ve discreetly established what their real mother used to do and arranged something similar.”

“So you won’t be introducing any of your own little family traditions?” Asked Elizabeth.

I pulled a sad, reflective smile and frowned.

“What family traditions. I never had any family traditions; I never really had any family, leastwise none that I can easily remember, fortunately, Sian and Margaret have a few little traditions with Martina and Chenille so that’ll add to the festivities. It’ll be a novelty for me though.”

“Oh I’m so sorry Bev,” responded Elizabeth as she remembered my history. “It must be bad for you at this time of year.”

“Well thanks to you Liz’ I’ve got a family now so I can start my own new traditions.”

Elizabeth gave a weak smile that told me something of her own regrets. I was about to speak but, Mrs Bodkin interrupted.

“I can remember a few little things that Penny and Bea’s grandmother mentioned.”

My eye’s brightened as I perked up.

“Oh! Goody! What where they?”

“She described them when she was dying and I was frantically making notes. One old Devon recipe she mentioned stirred an old and dimly recollected memory of my own. I’ve got the recipe somewhere.”

I pumped her for further details and she dug out the children’s files to present me with the little recipe. I read it and smiled.

“I think my mother did something like that before I was -, well you know. I remember the pineapple chunks and chopped apples.”

Mrs Bodkin went into more detail and described her own Devonshire mother’s variant of the recipe for the pudding. I took down the details and resolved to buy the ingredients that very morning.

Having drained the coffee pot, I called the children in and prepared them a breakfast before telling them we were going Christmas Eve shopping. Margaret came with us, while Sian tended the horses and she agreed to meet us in town later for lunch in Sissy’s hotel. This was a favourite tradition for Chenille and Martina because it meant they got two Christmas dinners and they had some quality time with their dad. Their excitement was infectious and it spread to Jenny and Bea. Elizabeth, Sandie and Mrs Bodkin were invited to the hotel lunch prior to going their own ways home. I presumed everybody wanted to go home for Christmas.

As a seaman, I knew that nearly every seaman who had a home and family used to hope and pray his ship got him ‘home for Christmas’. I assumed it was the same for everybody else. I knew that I, as ‘the boy without a family, would invariably end up keeping a ‘shore watch’ for the ship if perchance we ended up in a home port over Christmas and the ship was not working. Every man with a home to go to, - went home!

I smiled as I reflected it was now my turn to savour some of the pleasures of Christmas because I, at last had a ‘home to go to! We wrapped warm against the cold then clambered into the Land rover and were soon in high spirits as we bowled down the country roads into Poole.

Every transvestite shares the ‘shopping gene’ with his ‘sisters’ and I was no exception. Even as I indulged my own desires, it was an additional pleasure to study Margaret and the girl’s expressions and smiles of delight as they practiced ‘retail therapy’. I felt it was important for girls to develop those skills that they would take with their last faltering steps to the grave.

Margaret and I smiled as we watched the girls compare styles, try clothes on, compliment each other, criticise each other, argue about what colours suited who as they honed those skills that would serve them so well in adult life. Margaret and I particularly enjoyed Martina’s reactions. He was actually trembling with excitement as he sampled item after item against his soft hairless skin. Margaret turned to me and grinned.

“Is shopping really that good for you trannies as well?” She giggled.

“You bet it is darling! Just look at little Martina, she’s even happier than the girls. For me this is the best therapy ever!” I replied as I held up my own load of presents and bags, “and this is my first ever proper Christmas shopping expedition.”

“Good for you girl. Go for it!” Encouraged Margaret as we burrowed into some loose piles of lingerie stacked up for the pre-Christmas sale.

We spent the whole morning in the mall and it wasn’t until we got outside again that we realised it had started snowing.

“Oooh!” Squealed the girls as one. “Aunty Beverly, is it going to be a white Christmas?”

I studied the snow settling on the pavements and sensed a slight unease. It was not melting.

“Yes girls it might well be if this keeps up. Come on, there’s just a few ingredients I have to get for that recipe Mrs Bodkin gave me, then we can go to Sissy’s for lunch.”

Their excitement was mounting by the minute so they scampered off to put their shopping in the Land rover and then wait for Margaret and me as we picked out the list of ingredients that Mrs Bodkin had given me. Finally Margaret and I joined them in the car park where they were enjoying a brief snowball fight with some boys and girls from the same school class as Jenny and Chenille at school. Even at this young age I noticed Jenny and Chenille were already learning to flirt. Fortunately, the boys were not yet of an age to notice the girl’s interest. Fortunately they also failed to recognise Martina in her girl’s winter clothes as the same Martin in his schoolboy’s uniform. Once Martina realised she was mistaken totally for a girl, she lost all inhibitions and pitched into the snowball fight on the ‘girl’s’ side.

Eventually I called my wards to order and reluctantly they made their farewells to the boys as we lumbered off through the snow. Martina couldn’t stop chattering excitedly as to how he had been mistaken for a girl and he hugged his sisters tight to express his joy.

Fortunately, our Land rover was easily man enough to deal with the few centimetres of snow, but already the dense town traffic was beginning to falter. I reflected ruefully, that with the advent of Global warming, Britain had long since lost the ability to deal with even the slightest trace of snow or frost. Already, cars were slipping and skidding as they caused traffic to back up and jam. Fortunately we just ploughed on towards Sissy’s hotel and arrived to find Sian, Elizabeth, Sandie and Mrs Bodkin preparing the feast.

“Shouldn’t you three be making your way home for Christmas?” I wondered.

“The London trains have stopped running so I’m stuck here,” declared Sandie, “the snow is drifting deeper in the new forest area so the track is blocked between here and Southampton. In Devon the roads are already impassable. None of us can get home.”

I frowned thoughtfully.

I suppose there’s a millimetres of snow on the rails in Hampshire and the white road markings cant be seen through the snow in Devon,” I remarked sarcastically.

“What will you do?” Asked Margaret.

“Well Sissy’s got rooms spare so we’re not stranded.” Declared Sandie. “We’ll spend Christmas here at the hotel.”

“Oh no you won’t” replied Margaret. We’ve got plenty of room at the cottage and masses of food. Come and spend it with us.”

I noticed Elizabeth’s face light up expectantly but I said nothing. Sian confirmed the invitation so I let it stand. Sandie and Mrs Bodkin seemed happier too and I wondered why such people should be content to spend Christmas away from home; especially Sandie, who had children!

‘Surely they had homes to go to’, I wondered.

I thought no more about it as we gleefully sat down to lunch with the rest of the hotel’s party goers.

Sissy entered with her entourage of staff as she processioned the turkey and the trimmings around the seated diners then up to the top of the table. There she took the top seat and she played ‘mine host’.

The turkey was carved up ceremoniously and a full blown traditional Christmas dinner ensued with everybody including the staff seated around the huge communal table.

I found myself sat next to Elizabeth and found her company surprisingly pleasant once the meal was in full swing. I suspected that she had deliberately chosen to sit by me but I had no objections. We chatted about my seafaring life and how I was enjoying my unusual retirement. She was a good listener but I suspected she was really pumping me for information about transvestism and my chosen lifestyle. As the wine flowed she opened up somewhat. I of course, had to remain sober because I would be driving the Land rover back through the snow that evening to our remote cottage. In her cups I learned about Elizabeth’s lonely lifestyle. She lived alone as she was not married and had long since broken with her parents. She didn’t get too drunk however, and she never once intimated the nature of her sexuality. I had to admire the woman’s fortitude for she never once got maudlin.

Despite that, I could ‘listen between the lines’ and determined that she lived a somewhat lonely, isolated life and rarely socialised except in her official capacity as a judge. She spoke of no friends and didn’t name drop, which relieved me and she never once mentioned her sleeping partner. There’s nothing as tiresome as having to listen to somebody trying to impress you by ‘name dropping’ their contacts and acquaintances. Elizabeth would have met many supposedly important people in her capacity as a judge but fortunately her conversation tended towards the more intellectual pursuits.

‘Bit of a blue stocking,’ I thought, ‘but interesting nevertheless.’

Finally we got to talk about ideas and life philosophies. Then she perked up as the conversation around the table became animated and stimulating. By now, apart from the children, she and I were the only sober people at the table though Elizabeth was slightly ‘pie-eyed’.

For me it became amusing to simply sit back and listen to the pearls of wisdom mixed with the gems of crass stupidity as discussions and arguments ranged back and forth. Eventually, as the quality of reasoning and argument deteriorated in direct proportion to the wine, I tired of the company and made an excuse to check on the weather. I returned to declare that we had best be going before the snow got any worse. It was already 15 to 30 centimetres deep and there was no knowing what the roads would be like out of town. Reluctantly the party broke up as Elizabeth and I made sure the children were well prepared for the snow. Sandie was frantically re-organising her arrangements on her mobile as she explained to her husband that she was trapped by the snow. Fortunately they had been going to stay with Sandie’s in-laws in America so her own children would not miss their Christmas. They would simply have missed there mother's 'goodbye' from Heathrow. Sandie’s mother in law had already prepared for her grand-children’s visit.

The drunken adults soon fell into drunken slumbers as we picked our way through the pristine white landscape and the children fell silent with awe. They had never seen snow so deep and white in England before. Elizabeth grinned at me as she studied the children’s awestruck faces.

“They’ll probably never experience anything like this again. Just look at them.”

I glanced in my mirror and nodded to Elizabeth who sat silently studying the girls.

Fortunately the roads were still passable to the Land rover and we arrived at the cottage just as the light was beginning to fail. The children tumbled out and immediately went to check the horses as Elizabeth and I carried the shopping inside. Finally we prodded Margaret, Sian, Sandie and Mrs Bodkin into reluctant wakefulness. Sian went grumbling to check on the horses and the children then returned satisfied that the feeding job was completed and the horses were warm and dry for the night. Finally we were all ensconced in the warm house and free to cock a snook at the worst the snow could throw at us. We had plenty of food and fuel and an evening of fun to look forward to.

Preparations for Christmas Eve had been made earlier in parallel with the party preparations. Food was abundant and the fire was soon roaring in the grate. The children, Elizabeth and I played scrabble as we knelt on the rug beside the fire.

It was an enjoyable intellectual game with scores weighted by the children’s ages. Beatrice won most games whilst Martina came second.

Elizabeth had never enjoyed herself so much and she eagerly told me so later.

By nine o’clock, Elizabeth and I were stiff from kneeling and we creaked to our feet. The scrabble was put away and the children watched a video.

In the kitchen, as we prepared the supper, Elizabeth and I chatted about the scrabble game and the children.

“We’ll have to adjust the handicap system next time.” Grinned Elizabeth. “Jenny and Chenille seemed most put out.”

“Well they can’t have it their own way all the time. The smaller ones must be allowed to win occasionally.”

“Nevertheless. They’re bright little kids,” declared Elizabeth, “some of their vocabulary was good.”

“I could say that we try to be good parents and compensate for our shortcomings, but that would be patronising you or sucking up, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, - it would.” Replied Elizabeth with a knowing smile.

“Can you take those in whilst I finish this?” I asked; keen to get off the subject of parenting.

Elizabeth took the hint and we bent to the task of laying up the supper table.

“Time for supper,” I declared.

The adults squinted sleepily and declined, all declaring themselves to still being stuffed with turkey.

“All the more trifle for us,” I laughed as the children’s eyes widened with delight.

They gathered around the table chattering and arguing as the trifles and puddings soon disappeared. I caught Elizabeth watching them and her eye glistened with, well, envy, I suppose. I smiled back at her and she silently mouthed ‘thank you’.

Eventually, little eyelids started to droop and four sleepy bodies dragged themselves reluctantly to the stairs. Suddenly Sandie realised that the most important part of Christmas Eve was passing her by and she burst into life. She stopped Elizabeth and me at the bottom of the stairs and suddenly burst into a little song about Christmas Eve arriving and climbing the stairs to bed. The words were simple and her excitement was infectious. The children quickly caught the words and started dancing at the bottom of the stairs. Then as they finally learned the whole song, Sandie led the way up to their bedroom like the pied piper.

I had never seen such a thing before nor had Elizabeth and we simply gaped in delight as the children danced and sang all the way to the bedroom and bounced eagerly into their beds.

After firm warnings that Santa only came if good children were sleeping, we finally got them settled and crept downstairs. Later, I found Elizabeth sobbing softly in the utility room where she had gone to be alone. I had missed her as we shared sherry and mince pies.

“What’s wrong?” I whispered as I squeezed her heaving shoulders.

It was obvious that she had been moved by the Christmas Eve celebrations and the children’s excitement.

“This. All this, this is what’s wrong.”

“How?” I asked uncomprehendingly. “How can it be wrong?”

“Oh it’s not wrong like that! No! It’s me, my life, this is what I miss. The children, the fun, Christmas, birthdays all that stuff, even the ponies! I miss it!”

Not knowing what to say, I fell silent. I just let my arm remain draped over her shoulder. What could I say? I suspected it was her ‘clock ticking’ but I kept my counsel. Eventually, her shoulders stopped heaving and she recovered her composure. I took one of the girl’s handkerchiefs from the pile of clean, ironed laundry and pressed it into her hand. She thanked me then bid me go back to the party while she repaired her makeup. I cautioned the others about Elizabeth’s mood but did not explain the cause. We paused in our celebrations until she re-appeared and she finally rejoined us to share in a festive midnight drink. Then Santa Clause arrived and we checked on the children. After the children’s presents were ‘delivered’ Sian Margaret and Elizabeth picked their way through the snow across the yard to their new home in the old barn whilst Sandi, Mr Bodkin and I retired to our regular bedrooms. Showered and suitably dressed I briefly savoured my new silky nightclothes then I was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

I was woken long before dawn by excited squeals as four children’s trebles carried through the stone walls all around the house. They had even opened the window and screamed across the yard to declare it to Sian and Margaret.

“He’s been! He’s been! Mummy! Mummy! Come quick, he’s been!”

I hugged myself joyously as Margaret Sian and Elizabeth scrambled through the snow in their nighties and wellingtons, desperate to catch the first happy scenes of the children opening their presents. We met with Sandie and Mrs Bodkin and knocked on the children’s bedroom door.

“Can we come in?” Called Sian.

“Yes! Yes! He’s been! He’s been!” Squealed the frenetic voices from behind the door.

We entered to find wrapping paper scattered everywhere as four frenzied whirlwinds bounced on the beds with excitement and waved their new presents. Soon order was restored and the girls calmed down as they compared their presents and decided what to do with them and when. Then we all went downstairs to the tree where a mountain of parcels and packages awaited investigation.

“Who wants to be daddy and dish out the presents?” Asked Sian.

Jenny and Bea immediately turned to me and innocently declared that they wanted ‘Skipper’ to play daddy.

The other adults smiled knowingly and nodded agreement. Chenille and Martina looked puzzled until Beatrice finally let the cat out of the bag and enlightened them. Skipper is Miss Beverly. She’s been our mummy now since the summer. The declaration did not sink immediately into Chenille and Martina’s brains. They knew I was a tranny, like their dad but they had no idea that I was also the famous Skipper! I could sense the gears turning slowly, especially in Martina’s head. I glanced nervously towards Sian and Margaret but they smiled reassuringly and motioned me towards the mountain of brightly packaged parcels where ‘daddy’ would have to dole them out.

“What do daddies do?” I asked Mrs Bodkin.

“Just take any parcel and read out the label. Then give it to the name on the label.”
Thus enlightened, I settled by the pile and started handing out the parcels. The idea was that ‘daddy’ would discreetly check the name on each parcel and select names in turn so that each person would receive a parcel and open it before the next person’s turn. It was an easy way to keep order and savour each wave of enjoyment as each child opened her present. I had never experienced any such occasions in my childhood and it was a fantastic occasion. A huge lump formed in my throat.

Finally the pile of presents had disappeared and the wrapping paper had been stuffed into black ‘bin bags’. I had deliberately kept the pony’s presents of food until the last so that the girls could dress and take the titbits out to their pets. As they trampled across the yard through the snow I slumped back smiling into my favourite armchair and savoured my brandy-laced coffee.

“Well that went rather well, “ I chuckled happily to Sian and Margaret as we took a breather before preparing the main Christmas dinner. “ I think the presents seemed to please everybody. Every body got something and everybody’s happy. Let’s raise a glass or two.”

Sandie, Elizabeth and Mrs Bodkin joined us in the drawing room where I poured out a round of Sherries and we faced each other as I made my toast.

“Here’s to the happiest Christmas I’ve ever had. I don’t think there’s anything else that could make me happier. How about you?”

Elizabeth declared that she was happy to share in the occasion and toasted that, as did Sandie and Mrs Bodkin. Then there was a pregnant pause before Sandie and Margaret exchanged smiles and put up their glasses.

“Here’s to the best present anybody could have, and especially for you Beverly.” Declared Sian.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Can you not think of anything that might be really special?” Giggled Margaret.

I racked my brains but utterly failed to think of anything. The day so far had been such a happy event and the children’s smiles had been the best present I could imagine. No, there was nothing else I could think of.

“Gosh you’re a forgetful old biddy aren’t you?” Scolded Sian.

“Why. What have I forgotten?” I begged nervously as I frantically tried to remember some important item that might have been overlooked. I had worked so hard to get everything just right and now it looked as though I had missed some vitally important bit. 'What had I forgotten?' I wondered.

“Can’t you remember?” Demanded Margaret.

“No! No I can’t; what is it? Oh hell! What have I forgotten? I’ve tried everything to make this great Christmas!”

Sandie, Elizabeth and Mrs Bodkin were now also beginning to get nervous.

“Stop teasing her,” ordered Sandie as she sensed my panic rising. “What is it she’s forgotten?”

“Well let’s raise a toast to it then.” Demanded Sian as she shook her head at my hopeless forgetfulness.

Grateful to be let off the hook I nervously agreed to another toast and I immediately recharged the glasses. Then Sian raised her glass and spoke in perfect synchrony with Margaret. It was obvious they had rehearsed their toast.

“Ladies, let us make a toast to Chenille and Martina’s new siblings.”

For a moment I failed to understand then I realised with a gasp what they were talking about.

“Oh! Oh my God! My G -, You -. You’re pregnant!”

“Yes,” added Margaret as she smiled.

“Oh. Sorry. I thought Sian -! Then I faltered again as the dawning struck me. “Oh my God! It’s both of you. Is'nt it?”

Sian and Margaret nodded together and I flung my arms around both of them in ecstasy.

After exhausting my arms with hugging, I relaxed and tearfully proposed another toast. (Yeah, trannies cry when they’re happy, just like girls.)

“Another toast then. Charge your glasses again. No. Wait a minute. I’ve got the proper stuff.”

I dug out a bottle of Champagne and filled everybody’s glass.

“You should use the proper champagne flutes.” Suggested Sandie.

“Oh to heck with that. We toasted Christmas with these so we can toast to fatherhood, the best Christmas present a girl could have.”

“That’s a bit bizarre Bev,” chuckled Margaret, “you’re going to be a daddy and you say it’s the best present a girl could have.”

“Hey. What do I care? Genders are very blurred around here. If I want to be a girly dad then I can.”

“Oh very well then,” conceded Sian.

“Hold on!” Gasped Elizabeth, “are you saying that Beverly’s the father?”

We all turned to face her as we realized that Elizabeth had no idea.

“Oh! Uuuhhmm, yes,” stuttered Margaret “she’s definitely the father. Who else did you think it was?”

Elizabeth paused uncertainly.

“Oh. It’s not important. I just thought that your friend Sissy -, you know; from the hotel.”

“Oh no.” Laughed Sian. “Sissy’s too far gone. Her hormones have totally wiped out her libido. Sissy’s sterile now, or at least, she couldn’t produce enough of what we needed. Beverly here is a much nicer partner. She’s a really pretty girly with a nice little thing. No Elizabeth, you can bet your bottom dollar. , Beverly’s their dad!”

“But you’re lesb -, are you saying you slept with her?” Demanded Elizabeth.

“Of course,” declared Margaret boldly, “wouldn’t any lesbian like to sleep with her, she’s still a pretty girl despite her age and what’s under her frock. Don’t you agree?”

Elizabeth turned pale. Margaret had come pretty close to giving away Elizabeth’s secret. She hesitated as she studied my feminine curves and backtracked. She had her back to Sandie and Mrs Bodkin, but I spotted the interest in Elizabeth’s eyes.

“Well. I suppose if you were a lesbian, yes. I suppose you might.”

“Well, we did.” Finished Sian. “We found her delightful! So ladies -, oh; and daddy, I offer you a toast to Beverly’s approaching fatherhood and our second children.”

“To parenthood!” Added Margaret.

‘To parenthood’, chorused everybody and we drank deep of our champagne. I however, noticed the single tear of wetness in Elizabeth’s eye and realised she was upset by developments. She hid it well though and turned to look out at the snow as she drained her glass and secretly dabbed her eye. The others were too excited to notice as they decided to tell the girls of the impending events.

“I’ll go and get them,” announced Mrs Bodkin as she slipped on her wellies and stepped out across the snow-covered yard.

“If we tell them, then Martina will realise I’m really a boy, I mean a boy who can make babies, a boy who has now become a daddy.” I cautioned.

“So what,” shrugged Margaret, “she just recently learned that Sissy is her daddy so she’s getting perfectly used to this tranny stuff”

“And everybody in Poole knows Sissy’s a transvestite,” added Sian, “They just don’t know that Sissy is Chenille and Martina’s father. Nobody need know that Beverly is the father to these.” She patted her tummy affectionately and grinned at me.

I smiled back but over Sian’s shoulder I noticed Elizabeth still concentrating on the view out of the window. Something was upsetting her and I suspected I knew what it was.