This chapter addresses Chrissies eventual arrival at Skipper's cottage and then deals with some of the preliminary issues surround Chrissie's adjustments to finding herself in a liberal and all importantly, supportive environment.

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Chrissie’s first night at the cottage was one of the most enjoyable nights I had ever experienced since I had bought the place. She seemed to sort of fill a perfect age gap between the eighteen-year-old Sylvia and the younger girls. As they chattered twenty to the dozen around the table we adults simply sat back and exchanged smiles. Angie and I had what seemed like a ready made, perfectly formed extended family.

The younger girls went to bed at their allotted time while Chrissie stayed up with the adults. I was
particularly glad to see her getting on well with Sylvia.

If ever Chrissie needed a big sister, Sylvia seemed to be filling that void. Eventually Silvia stood up and asked if Chrissie could go with her and listen to some music in her apartment. I exchanged amused glances with Angie, Sian and Margaret and nodded easily. Soon the sound of assorted tracks came emanating from the flat.

Fortunately, Sylvia had the wit to moderate the sound because she knew full well it might upset some of the horses. We adults just slobbed out on assorted settees and let the television wash over us. It was a good
costume drama and we enjoyed it. Eventually Chrissie re-appeared in the kitchen.

“Sylvia had to go to bed. She gets up really early, like five o’clock!”

“So do most of us around here, “Margaret added as she and Sian stood up, switched off the telly then yawned
politically. Chrissie got the message and asked.

“Is it time for bed then?”

“It is for me young lady.” Angie added, “I don’t know what Aunty Bev has planned.

“You go up Angie and check on the girls. I’ve got some notes to catch up on.”

Angie smiled and wagged her head. She loved checking up on the girls and invited Chrissie up to go and look.
Chrissie’s smile widened as Angie warned.

“Don’t make a noise to waken them.”

They crept upstairs and I slipped into my study to attend to some stuff that had been demanding my attention all day. I’m a poor sleeper, (The Sea often does that to a man, especially a ship’s master. Responsibility weighs heavily,) so it was no hardship to spend a couple of hours in the peace and solitude of my study during the small hours preparing my application to the Moroccan authorities for the proposed service to Morocco.

I was an hour into the work when I suddenly felt a pair of hands gently reach around my shoulders. I gave a start then realised they were a pair of fourteen-year-old hands. I gently took the hands and kissed them as I looked up.

“You should be in bed, darling. You’re a growing girl and you need your sleep.”

“She gave me an intense hug and I felt tears soaking into my blouse.”

“What’s the matter now?” I asked her as I twisted around to find her wearing one of Angie’s oversized sleep suites.

“Nothing. I, - I’m, - jus, - just so happy,” she declared between soft sobs. “You called me a girl. Nobody’s ever done that except you and your friends here.”

“Well I’m glad for you. You know I am but this time, the small hours of the morning is really my secret time. Time I hold dear to my privacy. Now I really must get on with this paperwork.”

“Can I sit up with you?”

It was Sunday the next day, a day when I often had a ‘lie in’ as Angie sorted breakfast for the girls before they saw to their ponies.

‘It would do no harm’ I thought, ‘for Chrissie to ‘lie’ in on her first morning of the rest of her life. I nodded towards an occasional arm chair that faced the study window and where I often sat to do my thinking.

“You can sit there, provided you don’t chatter. I really have to get this stuff ready for next week.”

Chrissie smiled gratefully and dragged the armchair around to face my desk; then curled up in it like a pet cat. I felt her eyes boring into me but she did as asked and remained silent. I did not feel in any way distracted or disturbed and I resumed making notes on my laptop. Eventually at three o’clock, I stood up and stretched. To my surprise, Chrissie was still awake.

“Gosh, Kid, don’t you sleep?”

“Don’t you?” Countered Chrissie.

“Yeah, but I’m of a certain age. Older people don’t need much sleep. I get by on a couple of hours a night. Young girls like you really do need their sleep.”

“I like you,” declared Chrissie, as she changed the subject.

“And I like you, love, but I am tired now and I really have to go up now. Are you coming?”

She rubbed her eyes and stepped over to hug me again as we made our way up stairs.

“Can I stay in your room tonight?” She suddenly whispered as I paused to open my door.

I stopped uncertainly.

“Why. What’s wrong with your new room?”

“Oh nothing. It’s brill’ and Auntie Angie says you’re going to put a bathroom in for me soon.”

“That’s true. Is that why you want to stay with me?”

“No. I just want a hug.”

“Well do you think that’s a good idea?”

“My mother never allowed me into her bed. My dad didn’t allow it; he said it was a stupid girly thing.”

I considered her argument. It was true that girls were more tactile than boys and they liked to do pyjama parties and stuff, but I had never ever slept a whole night with another person once I had finally escaped from my brutal childhood. The very thought of somebody else in my bed invoked long suppressed nightmares of rape and abuse. All night sessions were something I had studiously avoided even when taking a prostitute to my bed when I was a young seaman. If they were in my cabin, after consummating the act, the girl was usually unceremoniously dumped on the day settee. Alternatively, if I was in there place, I left as soon as the business was completed.

Now suddenly, a fourteen-year-old transsexual was asking just to share my bed and have cuddles. I was scared and confused. As I paused nervously at the door Chrissie asked why I was hesitating.

“I’m afraid, Chrissie. We are two transsexuals, and it wouldn’t be right.”

“But–but you’re like my–my mother.”

“I’m sorry, Chrissie. It wouldn’t be right. Not tonight, I mean it’s your first night at the house. I’ve got to think about this and ask advice. Besides, I’m not entirely comfortable with sharing my bed with anybody. There’s old stuff in my life that’s left scars. Once you’re older, I’ll explain. Please Chrissie. Try and stay in your own bed tonight. On Monday I’ll speak to Betty and Sandie.”

Chrissie’s head fell and she sloped off dejectedly to her bedroom. I followed her as I recognised she was showing all the signs of a sense of rejection. Inside her room I patted the bed and offered to talk.

She slipped between her sheets while I sat on the side of the bed and we ended up talking long into the rest of night. A lot of demons were put to bed for both of us and Angie told me later that she found us long after sun-up with me still sprawled fully clothed across Chrissies bed while Chrissie was curled up like a cat under her duvet. We were both fast asleep so Angie let sleeping trannies lie. Eventually Chrissie stirred and woke me as she must have wondered what the lump was holding down her duvet.

“Oh. You must have fallen asleep,” Chrissie observed.

“Indeed I must. Crickey! I feel stiff.

I started gently unlocking my joints and tenderly massaging my calves as the inevitable cramps stabbed through the muscles.

“Oow! Damn that hurts. My bloody legs, oow!”

“What’s wrong?

“Oh it’s only cramp, love,” I grimaced as I hobbled tenderly around Chrissie’s bedroom.

Chrissie smiled and watched me for a few moments before her needs overtook her and she minced to my bedroom to use my loo. I hobbled around some more and eventually returned to my room only to have to wait to use my own bathroom. Chrissie was obviously oblivious to my needs so I slipped into the children’s bedroom and availed myself of their lavatory and shower. Eventually Chrissie came looking.

“Are you in there?” She asked, tapping on the other dividing door.

“Yes. I couldn’t use mine.”

She cried ‘sorreeey’ and made her excuses. When I descended down stairs, Chrissie was being served a sort of brunch by Angie.

“Well hello, look who it isn’t!” Grinned Angie, looking poised to interrogate me.

“Not now Angie, have you got a coffee.”

Angie promptly produced a coffee made exactly how I liked it and I smiled gratefully as I cupped the mug in both my hands.

“Oouurgh. That’s better, “I croaked.

“So what happened to you last night?”

“Oh Chrissie and I chatted.”

“What about?”

“Oh, just stuff mostly.”

“Just stuff, harrumphed Angie impatiently.”

“Oh, well, I suppose it was more than just stuff,” I explained. “We put the whole world to rights. Well, - our worlds at least.”

“I can imagine,” countered Angie. “Did you get much off your chest?”

I nodded softly as I took my first sip of coffee.

“We’ve got some common ground; we compared stuff about our sexualities and favoured life styles. Chrissie was excited and relieved to actually be able to talk to somebody who knew what she was going through. She also learned why I sleep alone. I wasn’t going to ever tell her or at least not until she was well old enough to understand but stuff just seemed to come out.”

“Yeah,” replied Angie,” she seemed very quiet when she went out to watch the girls practising with the new ponies.”

“I’m going to speak to Sandie early tomorrow before she gets to work. There’s stuff I want to check out, legal stuff and what-have-you then I want to run stuff by Betty.”

“Is this about her wanting to cuddle up to you in your bed?”

I stared at Angie then down at the floor and sighed softly.

“Yeah. She mentioned it did she.”

“Yeah. I suggested that she come to my bed if she gets lonely or anything.”

I looked up and stared at Angie.

“Well that’s lovely Ange. That might take the pressure off me. She’s still got her bits you know.” I added totally superfluously.

“Of course I know silly, and she still looks like a boy, but she’s a girl in her head. Can’t you accept that?”

“Oh I accept it Ange, nobody understands that bit better than me, but would the rest of the world understand. Is Betty as open-minded as Mrs Bodkin was about Jenny and Beatrice?”

“Well wouldn’t it be better to chat to Mrs Bodkin first. She’s walked the walk with you and she can vouchsafe for you.”

I considered Angie’s words and nodded thoughtfully.

“Yeah, you may be right there. “

“Well phone her now. You’ve got her home number.”

“Nah. She won’t want to be bothered on her day off. It’s Sunday.”

“Don’t be silly. That never stopped you before. Don’t forget, it’s not like Betty and Chrissie. Mrs Bodkin was appointed as your and the girl’s official mentor by the courts and she still is as far as I know. You’re entitled to phone her if you hit the buffers. I’ve spoken to Mrs Bodkin a lot about you. I’ve learned a lot about the hang-ups you had when the girls first came to stay here.”

I took another sip of coffee and stared thoughtfully out of the conservatory windows across the countryside towards Poole.

Angie pressed me again. “Go on. When has its being Sunday ever stopped you before?”

“It’s still Betty’s bag though,” I protested feebly, “Chrissie came to us from Dorset S.S.”

Reluctantly I took Angie’s advice. Mrs Bodkin had proven to be a comfort to me many times during trouble. I took my mobile phone into the dining room and called her. I was pleasantly surprised to hear the familiar voice reply. I had been half expecting to hear her answer phone; after all it was Sunday.

“Hello. Hello, who is it? Oh it’s you Bev. What prompts you to call during the weekend?”

I still hesitated before finally taking the plunge.

“I want some advice.”

“What, about the girls?”

“Eh no, it’s about Chrissie.”

“Well I’m not entitled to advise anything about Chrissie, darling. She’s Betty’s pidgeon.”

“Yes. That’s as maybe but I’ve got a bit of a problem. I’d like to run it by you before I speak to Betty.”

“OK. Go on then.”

I explained the situation and Chrissie’s desire to share cuddles during the night. Mrs Bodkin listened patiently then asked me to go and fetch Chrissie. Angie tactfully excused herself to the practice arena to collect Chrissie while I chatted with Mrs Bodkin. Mrs Bodkin had asked to speak with Chrissie.

Angie returned with Chrissie who was wearing wellingtons and a pair of Sylvia’s jodhpurs. She kicked off the soiled wellingtons in the porch and I handed the phone to her as she came into the dining room. Mrs Bodkin had already advised me that she wanted to speak privately to Chrissie so I slipped into the kitchen. It’s hardly necessary to say I was on tenterhooks.

“Stop fussing, Bev,” Angie scolded me gently. “You’re like a cat on!”

“What are they talking about?”

“Whatever it is it’s not something to hurt you. The woman’s been one of your most loyal friends throughout your whole time with the girls. She wouldn’t say anything against you now.”

“No. I suppose you’re right. Is there any more of that coffee left?”

Angie wagged her head and smiled as she tipped the pot and drained the last drop.

“There. I’ll put a fresh pot on. Calm down, girl!”

The pot took forever to boil but I was finally sitting thoughtfully at the kitchen table nursing the mug while Angie sat beside me rubbing my shoulder.

“Don’t worry, darling. Nothing happened. You were fully dressed when I found you and you’ve done the right thing by speaking about it.”

“What will Chrissie say if they ask her?”

“One thing she can’t say is that anything untoward or unsavoury happened.”

“Yeah. That’s the truth and some.”

My head span eagerly as the dining room door opened and Chrissie emerged. She handed me the phone and leant over to offer me a kiss. I tried to give her a gentle motherly peck but she wrapped her arms around me and squeezed. Mrs Bodkin’s voice squeaked tinnily in my ear.

“Hello! Hello! Is anybody there?”

I brought the phone to my ear and confirmed it was me again.

“Ah, Bev; good. I’ve told Chrissie to phone Betty.”

“What today, Sunday?”

“She’s Chrissie’s case worker. The girl has every right to call her if she’s got a problem.”

“So what problem has Chrissie got? It’s my problem. The girl’s under-aged I’m the one who would be deemed at fault.” I’m also the one with charge of her mental wellbeing.”

“Don’t worry about Chrissie’s wellbeing. She in the best place possible.”

“Not if her carer is sleeping with her she’s not!”

“Look Bev; I know that you never instigated the first move. Chrissie was adamant that she asked you first. All she wanted was a cuddle and some comfort.”

“Well, that’s not going to be. I don’t do bed sharing; - all night that is, you know, - sleeping.”

Mrs Bodkin fell silent. She knew about my problems from childhood. Indeed only Sandie and she did know.

“Well that’s a given Bev. That’s why I’ve advised Chrissie to contact Betty. Once she’s done that, you should get a phone-call from Betty.”

“Well I hope this will work out right. I hope you’ve done the right thing.”

Even as I put my mobile down, I could hear Chrissie in the conservatory talking on her own mobile. I tried eves-dropping but she was guarding her words. Eventually her call ended and she re-entered the drawing room with a smile.

“Mrs Bodkin was right. I phoned Betty and explained. She’s going to call you.”

Almost immediately my phone squealed and I answered as I waved Chrissie out of the drawing room as I confirmed it was Betty on the video call…

“Betty. Yes?”

“Chrissie just phoned.”

“Yes. Mrs Bodkin spoke to her and advised her to speak to you. You’re her case worker.”

“Yes that’s what disappoints me a bit. If I’m Chrissie’s case worker, why did you phone Mrs Bodkin?”

“I was frightened. Maybe I wasn’t thinking it right. I wasn’t sure if it was right to disturb you one your weekend.”

“But you disturbed Mrs Bodkin.”

“Yeah. Well I’ve known her a long time. She’s more my age and she’s like a mother confessor to me. I mean you’re much younger.”

“You mean you trust her more.”

“Well–to be honest, yes. She’s been there for me from day one. I mean I’m still feeling my way with you – and Chrissie for that matter.”

“Well that’s an honest answer and not far from what I wanted to hear. Look, don’t be afraid of Chrissie and don’t be afraid of me. You came highly recommended. The fact that you asked for help and advice says a lot! I’ve spoken to Chrissie and told her to take things a bit easier. Softly, softly catchee monkey. Mother’s often sleep with their daughters. The pillow talk is a valuable part of growing up.”

“Is that definitely how you see us? Mother and daughter.”

“Frankly yes; it’s the nearest description of what you’ve got.”

“Has Sandie told you everything about me, the childhood trauma and stuff, the years in care?”

“She told me what she’s seen in the few remaining notes about your case, you know, the stuff that’s in the learned papers in the medical publications. Your personal records were long ago destroyed. Would you like to talk to me about any issues?”

“I’m not entirely sure it would help. I used to talk about it a lot when I was in my middle years, you know, when I was around thirty and bitterly angry but then I just became a bore. People just tended to avoid me. Real friends I’ve spoken to about it, tranny friends that is, have been sympathetic and supportive but even they tend to get bored after I’ve repeated it countless times. There are just so many parallels amongst our transgendered community that it tends to be ‘run-of-the-mill’ mainstream material. Anyway, I was never able to see my records so I don’t even know the names of the doctors who did the tests and stuff. There’s no requital now. I guess they’re all dead. They were old when I was just a six-year-old kid. I’ll explain it to you if you really want to hear it but I’ve never opened up fully in the last twenty years or so; not even to Sandie. It’s not very nice. It wasn’t very nice.”

“I’d like to hear it one day. Talking about it should help.”

“Yeah, well maybe, maybe not. So what about this Chrissie wanting to sleep in my bed?”

“Well she says she didn’t want to sleep with you in the way everybody might have misinterpreted it. She genuinely just wanted a cuddle and a hug. To sleep in each other’s embrace.”

“Well that’s as bad as, isn’t it? I mean if she’s cuddling up to me in my sleep anything could happen. I mean, I still, you know, have feelings and stuff. Besides there’s no knowing how I might react to waking up and finding somebody in my bed. That abuse stuff’s still going around in my head. It never goes away.”

“What even now?” Asked Betty softly as her voice betrayed her feelings.

“Yeah; it’s a life sentence!”

There was along pause as Betty tried another tack.

“Are you resolute about not trusting psychiatrists?”

“Absolutely. Never again! Never, never again!”

“Not even Sandie?”

“No! No one and that’s an end to it.”

“Chrissie will be disappointed.”

“Chrissie will just have to accept that there are boundaries. If I have to, I’ll even tell her why.”

“That might be good for her. She’ll realise she’s had it a bit easier and it might make her a bit less selfish.”

“Why; d’you think she’s selfish?”

“Well, she’s a bit self-centred. “

“Oh. She didn’t strike me as that. I mean Chrissie’s got huge issues that have completely overtaken her life and when Angie and I first came across her, she couldn’t see a way through. It’s hardly surprising she’s been self centred but she’s improved no end since coming here and that’s after only a day. She tries really hard to be helpful and the girls like her. They’re pretty good judges of character and they’re alert to abusers and threats.”

“Has she spoken to you much about wanting to transition? She talked of nothing else when we were interviewing her.”

“Well that’s hardly surprising is it? It’s the be all and end all of her very existence. To be honest, Betty, I don’t believe you could ever understand the intensity of worry and dread that the onset of an unwanted direction of puberty can cause a transsexual. I mean, you really have to be on the inside looking out. I believe I’ve got a better understanding than you and therefore that’s why Chrissie feels a deep need to get close to me. To somehow absorb a desperately needed femininity that until she met Angie and me, was passing her by. She must have been terrified at the first hair on her chin or the gradual, inexorable appearance of hairs around her male genitalia or, more importantly, the refusal of the much wished for female characteristics to somehow magically appear in lieu of her burgeoning masculinity. It’s no wonder the kid appeared self-centred. Now that Sandie has lit up the road ahead, the girl has had a huge burden lifted from her shoulders.

“She’s a different girl now. You should come out and visit the kid.”

“I’d like that; the whole atmosphere at your farm was almost therapeutic. I came away one seriously relieved woman after seeing her placed.”

“Well I won’t be here tomorrow. I’ve got some business in Poole harbour and then it’s up to London for more
discussions with the Moroccan Embassy. They’ll take several days. Things don’t move quickly with our Muslim
brothers. They spend more time sipping tea and being polite than they ever do actually getting down to deals and stuff. It’s almost as if they’re a bit embarrassed to actually talk money and hard business. Plus of course there’s the issue of my gender. They’re just not sure what to make of me.”

“How do they treat you?”

“Mostly they behave very courteously. One of them was a bit rude at the first meeting and suggested that a man masquerading as a woman was not to be trusted so I immediately told him that by presenting as a woman I was being totally honest. I made no secret of my transgenderism and told him that inside my head I was a woman. Then he charged that if I was a woman then a woman should not be involved in such affairs of business. I immediately asked him about the Prophet Mohammed’s first wife. The others fell about laughing and he’s never mentioned it since. I’ll be busy until Thursday doing the deals and stuff then they close up for Friday–their Sabbath.

“How do you do all that? I mean run the farm, grow the kids, operate a fleet of ships, do the deals and then help with the port operations thing, not to mention everything else.”

“It’s easy, now I’m retired, I’ve got more time.”

There was a deafening silence on the other end of the phone for a moment and then Betty burst out laughing.

“So when will you be available?”

“Friday. I expect to be finished in London by then and I’m meeting the builders for lunch at my cottage to discuss the alterations to the house. You’re welcome to come over any time this week when I’m not there.”

“No Friday it is then. You’re like a breath of fresh air Beverly; perhaps you can squeeze me in on Friday
afternoon. It’ll be nice to meet you again.

“I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you come up for lunch and you can join us all with my builders as we discuss the alterations. Chrissie can demonstrate her culinary skills as learned under Angie. That’s what she’s said she wants to do this week. They’re making the meal while I travel down on the Friday morning train.”

“Oh. I thought you’d have travelled down on Thursday night.”

“No. I’ve got some other business that evening.”

I was going to my favourite club but I didn’t elaborate to Betty. There was no need for anybody to know what I did with myself when alone in London. I was after all, still a single, free adult. Betty either did not realise or was tactful enough not to ask so I let it lie.

Betty continued; “Gosh, you’re so busy, Friday it is then.

“That sounds fine. See you Friday then, byee.”

I snapped my mobile shut and turned to meet Chrissie.

“Can I come up to London with you?”

“No, Ddefinitely not. Not this time anyway. You can come up the week after next with the rest of the girls and Angie when they see me off from Heathrow. I’m flying to Morocco.”

“Huh. It’s alright for some.” She sulked.

“Chrissie, you haven’t even got your new girl passport yet. Would you really like to travel to Morocco with a boy’s passport, with a boy’s name and yet dressed as a girl?”

“Well, – no, – I suppose not.”

“Exactly, let’s learn to walk before we run okay, darling? It will all come together for you from now on, just be patient, kid. Just be patient.”

For a moment I thought she was about to cry but she managed to hold back a stray tear and I opened my arms to invite her in. She flung herself into my arms and sobbed a bit before recovering her composure as she slowly realised that I couldn’t make things move any faster on the transition front. That was all down to the doctors.

Angie came in to find us hugging each other and she nodded sagely as she smiled at me. “Lunch will be about an hour girls, why don’t you go for a walk. The fresh air will do you some good.”

I offered to take Chrissie around the fields and show her the whole of my estate. She perked up at this and we dressed to go out. Once out in the fields we chatted at length about Chrissie’s hopes and plans for her future. Eventually we met the girls coming off the Dumplin and they accompanied us back to the stable yard. Chrissie offered to help them unsaddle the horses while I joined Angie in the kitchen.

“Have a good chat?” Asked Angie.

“Yes, we did actually. The kid really opened up. We should take walks like that more often. Very
therapeutic, very therapeutic indeed.”

Angie just smiled knowingly. “You needed it as much as she did. There’s too much going on in your life.”

“Yeah, tell me about I sighed. It’s a good job I’m retired or I'd never find the time.”

Angie’s belly laugh was the second delightful response to my ironic humour that day.

‘I’d better be careful I thought. I’d be getting another job as the family bloody comedian.’

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  I have just had some extra work dumped upon me in my private life and the next chapter 19 (Nearly complete,) is going to be delayed whilst I attend to these other sissues. Please be patient I can only do so much, what with everything else.
Hope you've enjoyed it all so far and thanks hugely for the lovely comments.

Beverly.