In this chapter, beverly and Angie get more deeply involved with the Chrissie, the young transexual they rescued on the train. Some of Chrissie's history is revealed.

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I was woken at about two o’clock that same afternoon by Angela banging on my bedroom door.

“Sian woke me with her mobile; we’ll have to go and pick up the children from school. Sian and Sylvia are busy fixing hedges with Mr Turpin the farmer who rents your fields.”

“Oh yes, I yawned sleepily. I remembered something about that.”

“Well we’d best get a move on, we’ll be late. I’d also like to find out what’s happening to that tranny child, Christine.”

“Oh don’t go getting involved with that. You’ve done your duty by the kid; let the professionals get on with it. It’s out of our hands now. Dorset social services are handling all that.”

“I don’t know about that. The kid seemed terrified of his father finding out. You heard what she said. He’s beaten the kid senseless before because of his cross-dressing.”

“Yeah, well that’ll be a matter for the police and the SS.”

“Uhmm not entirely, Bev,” declared Angie softly, “we reported the child as mine, don’t you remember? If the parent’s now report the child as missing, we could end up in shit creek. We’d better go down and sort it out.”

“With whom?” I asked.

“Either the SS, or the Police.”

“I’d let the parent’s stew for a while. Leave it a couple of days or so. Give them sometime to reflect on how their bigotry is affecting their son or daughter, - or whatever.”

“But he’s going under an assumed name.”

“Yes, and that can only strengthen his case. It will be easy for him to say he chose your family name as an alias.”

“But I gave the hospital his name of Hunt, - my name.”

“Well, whatever the legality is, I don’t care. We did the right thing for Chrissie in the end and delivered the kid to the hostel. He’s safe there.”

“Yes, until his real parent’s finally find him. Then the shit will really hit the fan!”

“OK then, if it’s bothering you, then you go down to the hostel and explain why you did it. He’ll corroborate your story and you can confirm that you have treated other cases like this and it’s sometimes ended up in suicide. Just say the boy was desperately distressed and you did what you did to calm him down or he would never have agreed to going to A&E.”

“Well, I suppose that’s plausible. Drop me off at the hostel then and collect me after you’ve picked up the girls.”

I agreed to this and diverted to the hostel first. Angela made her way up the drive as I lumbered off to the school with the Landrover.

After collecting the girls and returning to the hostel I was surprised to see an ambulance with the full set of ‘blues but no twos’ parked outside the main entrance.

I drove up the drive and parked well away from it so as not to block its departure and I told the girls to wait. As I stepped towards the building the ambulance team appeared coming out of the door with Angela and another lady following closely.

Angela looked very distressed which I thought was unusual for her because as a casualty nurse she had displayed considerable aplomb and confidence when treating Christine on the train.

I declared myself to Angela who was definitely worried.

“What’s wrong?” I demanded.

“That poor bloody kid! Her parents checked with the police and they realised that the transvestite that was beaten up on the train was probably their missing child who the father described as ‘a little bloody pervert probably out on the town cross-dressed.’ The police were bringing the parents to check if it was the same kid. They were on their way here now.”

This lady is the warden and she told Christine that some people had reported a missing child who liked to cross dress just before I got here.

“And?”

“Well it’s Chrissie. The poor bitch became hysterical when she learned her parents were coming here. She was terrified of yet another beating and she’s just tried to kill herself!”

“When the warden realised I was not her mother, she tried to stop me from seeing Christine but I pushed my way past her to go and see Chrissie. Her bedroom door was locked and there was no answer.

The stupid Warden tried arguing on the landing that I had no right to be here and she wouldn’t unlock the door with her pass key.

“And?”

When the stupid bitch realised there was no response from Chrissie’s room she finally relented. When we opened the door we found the kid with a polythene bag over her head and she’d stopped breathing.”

“Oh shit!” Is she dead?”

“No thank God! She was unconscious but I found a weak pulse so I gave her M to M. She’s breathing now and a bit confused, I hope to Christ that there’s no brain damage. I’m going with her back to casualty. This stupid warden bitch is now frantically trying to contact the police to avert a meeting between Christine and her parents. It’s a bit bloody late for that.

With these words, Angela leapt into the back of the ambulance as the crew closed the door and set off with all blues and two’s howling. I turned to the shocked warden.

“We told you last night that she didn’t want to see her parents!”

“I know, but I didn’t know the police had traced her identity. Your friend is in big trouble. She told me a pack of lies last night!”

“My friend has saved that kid’s life twice in less than a day! Which is more important?”

“But I was caught on a fork! Damned if I do and damned if I don’t. I had to tell the police we had a young transvestite staying here. This is a council run hostel. If I lied to the police I’d get fired immediately.”

I realised the poor warden’s dilemma. It was not her fault and I cursed loudly as I clambered back into my battle wagon and rumbled off to the A&E emergency ward. When I arrived, I found Angela engaged in furious row with the police and an unknown couple.

“What’s going on?” I asked Angela.

“She doesn’t want to see her parents!” Angie explained both to me and the police as she turned to speak directly to the police.

“She’s so terrified of that man, her own bloody father; that she’s just tried to kill herself! Ask the bloody ambulance crew or the casualty consultant if you don’t believe me. Ask that woman sitting there!” She finished pointing directly at me. “There’s no need to swear, madam. Nobody’s seeing anybody until this business is resolved,” cautioned the police woman.

“Well thank heavens for that! That’s the man!” Angie snapped back, angrily reinforcing her concerns. “He’s her father and the kid is terrified of him!”

“It’s not a she,” roared the man, “It’s a bloody he! Bloody little pervert! You just wait! I’ll, -“

Angela fumed impotently for despite all that had happened; this man was still Christine’s father. Fortunately the E.R ward was fairly quiet for it was mid afternoon on a Tuesday. The shouting attracted the Casualty Consultant Surgeon who peered around the door and looked relieved to see two police men and a police woman stopping things from becoming physical. He beckoned to the police woman.

“Is there a Miss Angela Hunt here? The patient is asking for a Miss Angela Hunt.”

“That’s me!” Angela shouted as the relief caused her voice to crack with emotion. “I’m Mrs Angela Hunt! I’m the one who accompanied Christine from the railway station in the ambulance last night after the earlier attack.”

“Have you got any identification?” continued the Surgeon. Angela ripped her newly acquired driving licence out of her purse and brandished the plastic card to the police.”

“See it’s me! I treated her on the train after the beating she received.”

The police studied the little picture as Christine’s mother’s face greyed with concern. Then the larger policeman nodded to the consultant surgeon.

“Yes this is her! Mrs Angela Hunt.”

“Good,” said the surgeon, “the patient wishes to see you now.”

“Angela almost collapsed with relief but she still had the wit to recommend that the police woman accompany her to Christine’s bed provided the consultant agreed.

The surgeon nodded and the pair were admitted into the Emergency room.

I let out a huge sigh of relief and slumped onto the row of chairs. Christine’s father fumed noisily but her mother realised that I must have something to do with what had happened. She crossed over to me.

“What was that about an assault? What’s been happening?

“I was weary. It had been a long night, and I had not slept during the day and I had my girls sitting in the Landrover wondering what all this was about.

I brushed my hair back wearily as I spoke briefly without pulling my punches. “Your daught, - no, - your child was attacked late last night coming home on the train from Southampton. My gentleman companions stopped the attack but Chris, - your child, - Christopher was badly injured. Angie’s a nurse and she treated Christopher on the train. Then she and I escorted Chrissie here to casualty last night. Your child was cross dressed and demanded to be treated as a girl. She was adamant she did not want her father anywhere near her and she made that abundantly obvious to the duty registrar last night. She’s also made it abundantly obvious again just now by trying to commit suicide! I can’t think of a more powerful statement a child could make!"

Chrissies mother’s face turned ashen but I was too tired to care. The shouting and arguing had stressed me out and I hated confrontation for I was at heart a coward. She tried to ask me more but I’d had enough. I waved her away and stumbled back to my Landrover. Without a word, I drove home to await Angela’s call.

All the way home the girls kept asking what had happened and I explained what I thought fit for their young ears. An hour after arriving home, Angela phoned my mobile.

“Christine’s safe Bev. She’s going to be OK. There doesn’t seem to be brain damage thank Christ, and she’s made it abundantly clear she does not want to see her dad. They allowed her mother in but she just kept breaking down. In the end her crying was causing Christine more distress and she asked for her mother to go. Fortunately, the Surgeon, the theatre sister, the police woman and I all witnessed every single detail. They called in a social worker and Christine’s going to be placed in a safe hostel. They’ve agreed to my seeing her and attending her. The surgeon spoke very highly of our efforts last night and this afternoon. When he learned that I once been a casualty nurse, he even suggested that I apply for a job training with the Ambulance service and he promised me a reference if I need one.” “He’s right Angie" I added. "I didn’t do much last night and I had nothing to do with the plastic bag thing. It was all your work.”

“Well that’s as maybe, we were bloody lucky this afternoon; just seconds from a complete disaster there. Anyway, they are releasing her after three days observation for brain damage and then I’ll be returning to accompany her to her new accommodation. Can you come and collect me or shall I take a cab.

“I’ll come and collect you. I’d like to see Chrissie if I can as well.”

“No problem. See you at the main entrance.”

Sian and Sylvia got dinner going whilst I returned to the hospital.

When I got there, Angela led me up to Christine’s bed. The girl smiled weakly as she recognised me entering. Having established that Chrissie was happy to see me as well, the ward sister left. Angie kissed Chrissie to reassure her then slipped away for some coffee; just like me, Angie was shattered after a traumatic couple of hours.

“It’s Beverly isn’t it?” Whispered Chrissie, “the other woman on the train.”

“Yes darling, well obviously your brain’s working OK. You poor kid, you must have been terrified!”

She nodded and smiled gratefully. I had long ago learned that the last thing suicide recoveries wanted was censure or criticism for their failed efforts. I reassured her that she was safe from her father and that things were in hand to help her through the next few months.

“What will they do with me if I’m not to live with them?”

“We’ll find a solution. Somewhere where the people are sympathetic to your transvestism.”

Christine smiled and we chatted at length about finding a permanent solution to her problems. The more we chatted, the more I began to suspect that Chrissie was a transsexual not a transvestite. Angie returned and we finally wished Chrissie ‘goodnight’. I stopped at the nursing station and had a quiet word with the night sister.

“Mrs Hunt and I will be back at nine tomorrow. I’d like a word with her ward consultant.”

“And you are?”

“We are the women who saved her on the train and saved her this afternoon. You will see from the notes what happened and you’ll see copies of our signed statements to the police and social services in her file.”

“Might I ask what it’s about?”

“Yes. It’s about the rest of Christine’s life!”

She looked at me curiously but realised that my words really meant something and she annotated Christine’s notes to allow us in at eight o’clock in time for the consultant’s morning ward round.

“Thank God at least some nurses have got a bit of nouse,” I thought as Angie and I made our way home.

At eight the next morning we met the consultant for a brief moment as he skirted by Christie’s bed and made a brief check on her condition. Satisfied with her progress he invited us into his office and asked what we wanted.

I explained about Chrissie’s circumstances and he nodded sympathetically.

“Yes. That makes perfect sense. I’ll speak to my colleague later this morning and ask her to visit Christopher.”

“She prefers Christine doctor.”

“I know, and I understand, but I have to maintain the formalities.

At present, the patient is registered to us as a boy but I quite understand your concerns. The problem is that if I refer to her as Christine it could cause confusion and a possible mix up with any medications. There’s enough scope for mix ups as it is, what with false names and what-have-you. I’ll ask my colleague to speak to you over the phone. Are you related?”

“No. But the kid is terrified of her father and her mother provides no support. I think the mother also goes in fear of the father. The police cautioned the father in the casualty waiting room and Mr Patel the Casualty Consultant simply refused to let him see the kid. Social services and the police had a magisterial restraining order served on him until a proper court hearing is arranged.”

“It’s in her file brought up from casualty,” added Angie as she fell back again on her knowledge of hospital procedures.

“Oh right,” replied the consultant, and this court business it’s to do what exactly?” He continued.

“It’s to have Chrissie placed in a safe place because of her transexualism.” I finished.

He nodded thoughtfully and seemed sympathetic. Angela and I made our excuses and left.

“What do you think?” Wondered Angie as we walked across the car park.

“Dunno, I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see. He’s just a bone merchant, I don’t even know if he’ll contact the psychiatrists. I just don’t know where to go forward from here but I’m frightened for the poor little kid.

Why don’t you phone Sandie?” Angie suggested. “Isn’t she high up in the Psychiatric services around here? She might get a better response and precipitate some proper action.”

“Shit! You’re just so right! Good thinking bat-girl,” I grinned as a whole load of stuff was suddenly lifted off my mind.

I phoned Sandie’s mobile and left a message on her answer- phone. It was the following morning before we got a response from Sandie.

“Hello you two, what do I call you now, Batgirl and Robina?”

“Never mind that, have you done anything about Chrissie?” I pressed.

“Yes. Of course I have. The consultant spoke to me yesterday soon after you made your feelings abundantly clear. You made an impression there, especially after he read the full report and learned how you became involved. He was tickled pink over your pretence to be Christine’s parents but when I discussed the case at length he began to see the validity of your points of view. I’m sorry, I revealed that you’re a transvestite who’s close to being a transsexual and that may have been wrong of me, but it gave him some inkling as to the why’s and whereof concerning your intervention and your intensity of feelings, your understanding of the situation and your subsequent persistent input.”

“Crickey Sandie! That’s a mouthful. Is that how you professionals always speak to each other? OK. I’ll forgive you. So what’s to become of the girl?”

“We-ell, she needs a secure, safe and sympathetic environment.”

I was already following Sandie’s drift and I smiled to Angie as I responded in a like manner. Angie was grinning all over her face as she listened into the amplifier on the phone.

“Aa-and?”

“Well. You’ve already demonstrated that you care for the kid. I mean you’ve saved her life twice already.”

“No-oo. That was Angie. So, what else?”

“Well, - would you, - I mean, - would you be prepared to save the kid’s life a third time?”

“I think I know what’s coming. Go on,” I sighed.

“Yes. I thought you might. So is there room for her up on your farm?”

“It’s not a farm, it’s a cottage! If people called it a farm they’d probably start calling it ‘The funny Farm’” I scolded her affectionately.

“Alright, cottage then. Now answer my question. Is there room?”

“You know perfectly well there is. There are two empty dormitories up there besides the spare bedrooms in my cottage and the empty new apartments next to Sian and Margaret. Sian’s only just beginning to sell her idea of trekking for disadvantaged kids to local authorities around all over England. However I don’t think she’ll take kindly to having one stray body taking up one bed in those dormitories. It might prevent her selling the rest of the accommodation to a school or children’s charity or whatever.”

“So it’s no-no then.”

I could sense the disappointment in Sandie’s voice and savoured the depressed silence on the other end of the phone. It was always a pleasure for me to be able to do somebody a good turn and I exchanged a tight little smile with Angie as I let the silence endure thus causing Sandie to stew a bit before finally replying.

“Noo-oo. I didn’t say that. I said it wouldn’t be right for Sian to have her business plans upset by a stray body. There are other spaces available; that is if the social services are prepared to be flexible.”

“Oh Bev! You’re a darling. The social worker down here is throwing back-flips trying to find a solution. She’s at the end of her tether. Will you honestly take the kid under your wing?”

“Why not, we’ve done just about everything else for the poor little bastard.”

“Oh you put it so politely.”

“Yeah. It’s the hoary old seaman in me. He escapes occasionally. When d’you want to progress this stuff?”

“Well she’s to remain on the ward for another two days after her concussion due to asphyxiation, then Social services have to find her emergency accommodation. If you took her in, I’m sure there’s not a social worker on earth who could criticise your set up. If you really feel for the ‘poor bastard’ as you so nicely put it; I’m sure the courts would recommend a more permanent arrangement until the kid reaches her majority.”

“Is Bournemouth on the same judicial circuit as Poole?” I asked.

“I’m not sure. I think it is.”

“Well that might find Elizabeth involved. She handles a lot of the child custody cases.”

“Yes Bev, but she couldn’t take this case anyway; I mean, she knows you, she’s stayed at the cottage.”

“Aye. But she could put in a good word.”

“That’s hardly necessary. Mrs Bodkin from Devon has already done that. Your little set up has attracted quite some interest you know.”

“How come?”

“Well, Christine’s father has been going around stirring up trouble but when Dorset Social services started to check it out they contacted Devon about Jennifer and Beatrice. Mrs Bodkin was singing your praises as high to heaven as she could go, - as was I.”

“Gee thanks. This is the last one then, - OK!”

“Yes Bev.”

“No! I mean it. Enough I say; that’s supposed to be my bloody retirement cottage.”

“Yes Bev.”

I could ‘feel’ Sandie silently laughing as I thumped down the phone and turned to face a grinning Angie.

“Are you really angry with her?” Angie asked.

Her question completely disarmed me and I leant forward to give Angie a kiss full smack on the lips.

“No love, it’s just that, well this is one hell of a retirement isn’t it? What with ships, kids and rock and roll!”

“Yeah,” finished Angie as she gave me a long knowing smile.

We returned to my cottage and I felt compelled to just check out the spare bedrooms.

Angie found me sitting on the bed that Sandie used to use before moving permanently with her family to Bournemouth.

I looked up and smiled as Angie eased her way past the half open door and offered me a cup of tea and a smile.

“This room would do wouldn’t it?” I asked.

“Why not,” Angie replied. It could also have its own little en-suite when my new room is finished next door. It seems stupid not to kill two birds with one stone. It’s got one of the best views on this side as well. Anyway, she’s got a choice of all of the other bedrooms on this side except mine. She can take her pick.”

“Yeah. I suppose that should help her settle, I mean knowing she’s got some sort of control of her life, even if it’s just where she’ll sleep.”

We laid on the bed chatting for the remainder of the morning. I was getting to like Angela. Despite her frequent weepy breakdowns, for which nobody could blame her. She was basically a down to earth practical girl and very intuitive.

I considered her recent past and realised that if she had been prepared to sail a yacht to Australia with her husband she must have been some sort of a toughie. The more I got to know Angie, the more I realised she was a bit of a rough diamond. As a friend, a girl could do a lot worse than Angie.

We chatted all morning while just stretched out on the bed that would be Chrissie’s if she came to stay with us.

At noon we joined Sian and Sylvia for lunch in ‘The West Barn’. The meal was nothing fancy just one of ‘Mummy Sian’s ‘concoctions’ as Chenille loved to call them. Around the table we chatted with Sian and Sylvia.

Sylvia was particularly intrigued. “And this Chrissie, you reckon she’s a tranny?”

“We’re not sure. More probably she’s a transsexual.”

The eighteen-year old Sylvia chuckled.

“Crickey! This place is getting like a human zoo what with all the different species.”

None of us corrected her about her misuse of the word ‘species’; we all knew what she meant and we smiled indulgently. Sylvia was young and a bit naive but we knew her heart was in the right place and that’s what really mattered!.

After lunch I set about some housework but Angie interrupted me.

“I’ll do that. I know you’ve got some work to do about the Amsterdam Trip tomorrow.”

“Christ! Shit! You’re right. With all this bloody excitement, I’d completely forgotten about it.”

“Go on. Go and do your paperwork." She ordered with a smile. "D’you know, we’re going to have to get you a secretary to get you organised.”

I went into my study and beavered away at the paperwork until I heard Sian bringing the girls home from school.