The Way Things Happen

 
 
SCHOOL
 
I tried to keep up with Sunday and Monday, but they escaped like sand through my fingers — it was time for school at last.

Tuesdays will always go down in the English history books as the day they start school — the teachers all go back on the Monday and have a confab about all the bad, good, indifferent, new and unusual students. I wondered very slightly which category I came in of the last two.

It seemed I had no need to worry, Wendy and I went together and when the bell rang we traipsed into the house rooms — I was in the same one as Wendy — I know they designed it that way since we were such good friends, I hoped Wendy wouldn’t live to regret volunteering to be my guide and mentor for the first term.

Outside we had been given hugs by classmates as I got introduced and I had been appraised by the more obviously competitive girls as possible rival maybe or dismissed, as the case may be. Since I was pretty average in terms of looks, I was just cannon fodder to most of them. Grist for the mill so to speak.

Our uniforms were good at allowing us to blend, since it covered the minor imperfections of build and development. I just looked like any other girl — which suited me just fine.

Wendy pointed out Jemima and one or two other cowans ( I think that means unbelievers — it’s my term for those who misuse others). Carol joined us briefly but as she was in a different class and house we were unlikely to meet until lunch time.
She had come in with the other girls from the pool (Joanne and Helen) and we all said hello. Joanne gave me another once over but it was only as a comparison — I felt there was no ill favour in it.

Anyway here we are in what the Americans would call ‘home room’ except that it consisted of a few girls from each year to make up the ‘house’ — about 120 girls all up were there.

The house mistress (Miss Watts), better know as ‘Millie’ (I wonder if she had a big sister named mega?), called us all to order with a whistle, stolen I think from the soccer ref. Well it was the first day — we were all boisterous (or is that gurlsterous?).

“Ok, alright, calm down, a little decorum ladies please.” She shushed with her palms and we all sat down and watched her with something less than avid attentiveness.
“Right, I’ll introduce the new girls, starting with the top.

Er, no one in the sixth form, but we have Jenny Holland in the upper fifth, stand up Jenny so we can see you.”
I coloured up and stood up and waved to the mass of bodies around me — suddenly I felt like an imposter — these were all girls…

“Do you want to say a few words Jenny?” Millie asked.

“No thanks Miss, I’m a bit shy, I’ll get to know everyone eventually.” I smiled and sat down hoping I wouldn’t be given further attention. Millie looked over her half moon glasses at me (inscrutable would describe the look — I guess she was in the know) and carried on. “Fourth Form, ok there’s two girls just arriving from Millthorpe, they stood up and one volounteered, “June Craven miss”, the other muttered something but I missed it. So did Millie. “That would be Allison Bride?”

“Yes Miss,” she coloured up worse than me and sat down.
“I understand you’re half sisters?” - I wondered how that could be unless her dad got his wife and his lover pregnant at the same time. Since they were the same age or at least in the same year. A few titters ran round the room as others realised the significance of the ages.

“No miss, I was adopted,” offered the older of the two, June. “I kept my birth mother’s name, she died when I was born.” She looked a little awkward but held her head up. The titters dried up and there were some sad sighs there to replace them.
‘Good for you June, that took courage’. I thought. It also distracted attention from me.

All the new junior year were introduced with little interest shown, but they went the rounds anyway and it meant they were all in the right house by their presence alone.
We were all given the new directives for the year and maps if we were newbies, the book of school rules with the school hymn at the front. One I’d never heard in fact.

I realised that it was all over and we were shuffling out to go to our first class of the new year.

I had not been recognised by anyone nor had I been given a weird look. I started to relax. Wendy linked arms with me and we headed off to the lockers to deposit that which we did not need - well it was an excuse to wander round a bit -

“The toilet block is over there, don’t use that block on the left, that’s where the juniors go and it pongs rotten. I don’t know what they do, but it smells like a baby’s room and a whore’s handbag at the same time.” She also pointed out that the other block was fed from outside with natural ventilation (the end of the block faced onto the games fields) meaning the occasional crafty ciggie was smoked there by those who should know better. They were not very sanitary, but they were heaps better than the ones at the boy’s school that’s for sure. They had been given a lick of paint over the hols and there was no sign of graffiti or knife marks from the frowned upon knife throwing competitions. (Those inside the toilet stayed there in case a knife was on it’s way).

All in all not the mind blast I thought it might be. Just a slightly less abused building with a better smell. (A much better smell).

Each class that first day handed out new books and we had to cover them whilst talking about what we remembered from last term — this was a chance for me to keep quiet and learn the ropes on how to talk and interact with other girls in the class.
An education in itself.
“We were doing calculus last term — anyone remember what the basics were?” The mistress asked.

“Keep your head down and make sure you never got picked to answer a question miss.” Came from a nice looking girl with frameless glasses and an abundance of brown hair. There were a few giggles and ‘miss’ smirked and said, “Oh sure, there’s you Carmen, top of the class — straight A’s since kindergarten, I often wondered how you got there.”

More giggles and then someone volunteered some relevant info and we chatted about it some more. I liked the respect the teacher gave the girls and the respect that was returned — it didn’t happen in Boy’s school — the teacher was seldom respected and he seldom showed any either. I wondered what socialisation skills were lost by the negativity that that bred. That particular answer would certainly have earned a boy several sheets of ‘lines’, or even a taste of the cane (still just legal in that era).

By the end of the day, we’d troughed our lunches, made friends or enemies where we had to or wanted too, picked up a load of reading to make sure we knew the stuff from last year (since I was actually a little ahead, I had no problems with the set tasks and dismissed them from the front of my mind) and settled into our new role as slightly bigger fish in the gene pool. My new found organisational skills as a girl (really — I had no idea how easy it was until I tried) made the logging of homework and assignments easier to track.

Carol, Wendy and I caught one of the many buses back to our suburb and chatted about our day overall — Carol decided that we were more important than her classmates and she told us she’d rather come home with us than go with Helen and Joanne on the other bus. They were a bit out of Carol’s way anyway so it was more reasonable to go with us. We had to pass her gate coming home anyway, even though we didn’t in the morning (circular route)

We were making alliances that would probably last us the rest of our lives if we did but know it. I was comfortable with these two and Helen and Joanne made up the famous five, as it were, for more serious expeditions (like to the next major town or city for shopping or shows — Liverpool in this case.)

For the first time in my life I was part of a set of peers, I was identifiable as one of a group. It happened also to be a slightly elite group being the Girls Grammar School.
(Author’s note, this was before the days of sleepovers in UK and there were only a few malls in some of the more major cities)

We paused at Carol’s gate and hugged, “see you tomorrow, will you be on our bus or will you go on the normal one?” I asked, wondering if she would take the easiest one or meet with us.

“I’ll wait at your stop — it’s easier — the other bus is closer, but it takes a longer route, I’ll only catch that if the heavens open.” Carol wiggled her fingers and closed the gate behind her. We headed home.

I hugged Wendy at the gate, (I got used to that really fast and I felt bonded to the girls because of it) “I’ll give you a ring later if there’s any new news, of course I won’t have a bar of any gossip.” There’s another thing I was getting used to, double-speak.

Mum was in and I got the same hug from her, she held me by the shoulders and looked into my eyes, “so tell me, did everything go OK? No one gave you a hard time?”

I smiled back at her and placed my hands on hers crossing my arms across my chest. “No one thinks I’m anything more than what I appear. I’ve made some new pals and I fit in fine.” I suddenly felt like I had come home — in a different sense to coming home if you understand. I felt like I had found my niche. I snuggled a little closer for a moment wrapping my arms around mum’s waist and clasping them at her back— it’s sometimes really nice to be able to just be loving.

I thought about the day and found that nothing had made me feel bad or sad or anxious. Better by far than boys’ school.

“Thanks mum, I feel much better just being there.”

“Well go and get out of your uniform and we’ll get some tea ready for pop when he gets home — Nigel is still working at the restaurant — he’ll not be home til late. Oh and by the way, you look like you’ve been wearing that uniform for years. That is so funny, I can barely remember what you looked like coming home before.

“It still looks brand new to me, but I know what you mean. The past is lost in a mist that becomes more impenetrable by the day. It makes me happy as well. I don’t really want to remember the bad bits.”

I went up and changed — I stood in my room looking into the full length mirror I felt a rush of blood and my eyes smarted for a moment — a feeling of joy and complex emotions to do with being able to see myself as a normal girl swept over me. I slipped on a T and my jeans — which were fitting me oh so much better than they used to.

School took on an air of normality and I soon got used to the routine — civilised whilst in class and cultured whilst in the company of my peers. Growing up was proving to be a nice thing to do as a girl.

Nigel moving to Gran’s was a lot more traumatic than I expected, and we spent two weekends moving his stuff. It wasn’t really necessary to do it before the move to Australia, but it was a longish way for Nigel to get to Uni from our place and only a bus ride from Gran’s and they had lots of spare space too. Mum had promised to leave her car for him when we left for the Antipodes so he was well chuffed. Not that it was anything more than an A to B sort of car — being a slightly older Morris 1100. But it was a car and not many had their own at uni.

When we’d got all his stuff moved, he treated us to a meal at the restaurant he’d worked at all summer — he got a great discount too.

I got to wear a rather lovely mid thigh dress and Nigel escorted me and Dad escorted mum, I felt pretty good about that and Nigel made me feel quite grown up and almost like his girlfriend — though I’m not sure if that was a compliment. I don’t think that I could ever fancy my brother — I wonder how that works…

Nigel gave me a huge hug and kissed me on the lips (thankfully only a peck, but it was a true acceptance of my reality) and quietly spoke.

“Listen kiddo, I may not have been the best brother in the world, and I put you down a lot as a guy ( he suddenly looked around to check no one had heard — which considering we were stood on the pavement by Gran’s door was rather funny), but you are one hell of a sister and I love you heaps — don’t let anyone hurt you and if some one does, let me know and I’ll make them regret it. Oh and thanks for all the help moving.”

“I can fight my own battles Nige, but thank you,” I was actually quite overcome, he was still holding me in a hug and our faces were only a few inches apart, I kissed him on the mouth, just a sisterly peck and he let me go with a strangely beneficent smile. He regarded me, like he was trying to memorise what I looked like for future reference

Smile.

“Ok, we seem to be better as brother and sister, and that’s really quite astounding, take care little sister, I love you,” he held my right hand in his left and gently squeezed as he let it go. I smiled and turned away before the tears came to my eyes. I was sniffling before I got to the car.

Nige hugged mum and shook dad’s hand and waved as we started up the car and pulled away.

I could see mum’s shoulders shaking from the back seat and put my hand on her shoulder in support, she placed hers on top and sniffed a couple of times. “If you ever have kids, remember this day — when the first one leaves home — it is not easy to let even the male offspring go! I’m certainly not looking forward to you leaving, it seems I only just found you.”

I eventually had to pull my hand back as my back was getting cramped but by then mum was ok.

When we got home, even though Nigel didn’t spend much time there over the last three months, it seemed somehow more empty, and less full of life.

“Mum, can you feel that, like there’s something missing?” I asked as she bustled about making some tea.

She plonked down into the chair nearest her like her legs had been cut off, and burst into tears again, geez am I insensitive or what? I ran over to her and hugged her. “I’m glad you can feel it too, it means a lot to have you here darling,” she put her arm round my waist and hugged me back, “come on let’s get dad a cuppa — he’s probably a bit low too.”

We went through to the lounge with a plate of biscuits and some tea and dad was there with his feet up watching the cricket. Almost asleep too.

I looked at mum and rolled my eyes and shook my head — so did mum — we grinned at each other and sat down noisily — Dad had inadvertently broken the bad mood and we felt much better.

As Wendy, Carol and I got into school on the Monday I told them about Nigel going to uni and they told me that life would be easier from now on. Though I didn’t really understand what they meant. I asked them to explain. Wendy volunteered “there will be less mess, less noise and less smell as the smallest of advantages, there’ll be reasonably sized meals as he hasn’t stolen half for snacks, no one pinching all the biscuits or pop ( soda), no one drinking milk straight from the bottle. There’d be less washing up, less laundry and less tidying in the lounge.

There’ll be no wet smelly kit in the bathroom, no wet seat on the toilet, and no scum in the bath. The bathroom mirror won’t have smears of unidentifiable ick on them.
The doors won’t have hand marks all down the edge.

I started to laugh and before long I was on my knees in hysterics. She was absolutely spot on. I thought of his pongy sneakers in the laundry and the stale smell of sweat from his sports kit.

Whilst it was lovely to have a brother, there were disadvantages too I guess.
I went to the first class with a sense of balance that I hadn’t had til then.

“Hey you, come here.” I looked across the toilet at the only other person there, she was obviously talking to me.

“What?” I looked at her not quite understanding her tone.

“I said come here” she repeated imperiously.

“I should coco,” I answered, dried my hands and walked away from her towards the door. I flicked a look in the mirror at her as I opened the door, she was red faced and had a look of rage and clenched fists. I ignored her.

“You’ll keep missy.” Jemima had noticed me. Strangely I was not in the least concerned.

Jemima had a little clique of not very nice friends. Jemima herself was a lanky girl with a pale complexion, a bit spotty at different times of the month — She was a bit athletic but not overly so, but made one of the forwards for the school hockey team.
Her friends, Melissa, Rachel and Sophi were just a bunch of average to ignorant girls who had sufficient IQ to make the grade — which also made them a bit dangerous.

Sophi the slightly overweight second in command of the group was angry all the time, like she’d been dealt the short straw. Her florid cheeks had all the signs of high blood pressure and stress. I wondered slightly if she was suffering from some form of personality disorder.

I had noticed this crew quite early in the piece as Wendy had pointed ‘Jemima’ out to me in way of a warning that she was a hostile (the boob squeezer mentioned earlier). Which is why I steered clear of her in the toilet. I was not into anger and didn’t want to give anyone a chance of spoiling my time in school.

After the last class was over and Wendy and I reorganised our books at our lockers, Jemima and her cohorts were sauntering past in that special way we all understand as looking for strife. Jemima barged me so I caught my head on the locker door and made it ring. She sniggered and looked me in the eye as I shook my hair back and resumed my stance in front of the locker. I looked her right back in the eye without the slightest fear, which disconcerted her a bit. “Watch where you’re going Jemima,”

I held my head up waiting for the next move, her hand came up to my breast and I caught it before she had a chance to grab me. “Ah ah, boyfriends only I’m afraid.” I jerked her hand so she smacked herself in the breast. Her eyes opened in surprise and she gasped. She stepped back really shocked, “You’re going to regret that, bitch.”

Her friends hadn’t seen the attempted grab or the retaliation and were looking a bit askance, not realising what had happened. Wendy was on the other side of the group so saw even less.

“Listen missy,” I said stepping up and grabbing her by the blouse and swinging her round, crashing her back noisily into the lockers, “where I come from you put up or shut up. If you want to hang one on, MISSY, be prepared for scar tissue and no sports for a month or two, OK?”

Before the red flush had backed off from Jemima’s neck and her friends had had a chance to react, a voice of Authority came over my shoulder. “Miss Holland! my office, NOW! Miss Crouch you may go!” Jemima sniggered as she slunk away. Her friends trailing like hyenas or jackals.

I felt like I’d just made the biggest mistake of my life — I’d used boy tactics in the girls’ school. I thought I’d got it weighed off, obviously I hadn’t.

I looked at Miss Watts as she marched off towards her office, obviously expecting me to follow in her wake. I looked abashed at Wendy, “Wait for me, huh?” she nodded.

I stepped into Miss Watts’ office and the door closed behind me. She was stood quietly behind me. I remained facing her desk as she circled towards her side. She looked less than pleased.
“Sit-t!” she insisted, almost like dog training…..

I moved towards the hard chair and perched on the edge, looking into her face for a sign of what was to come — rage or anger, spite or merciless revenge.

Instead she smiled. My eyes opened a little wider and she smiled a little more.
“I’ve been waiting a long time for someone to do that,” she leaned back grinning.
“I watched her as she planned that attack on you, she was waiting for you , you know.” She confided. “What did you do to offend her?”

“Oh I just ignored her in the toilet earlier” I confided reluctantly, I didn’t really want to fight my conscience as well by ratting on a ‘fellow’ student.

Millie seemed to sense my reluctance to divulge the story, “It doesn’t really matter, she was just trying to assert her authority over a newbie. You’ve busted that one wide open I think, but I have an idea it won’t end there unless you can strip her of her cronies.” Miss Watts was actually plotting — I couldn’t believe it.

“Find a way of converting her friends, and you’ll have stopped in one day something that I’ve been trying to do for five years.

Keep your eyes open on the way home and do some thinking, if you need a hand, or some information or advice, you know where I am.” She paused waiting for the effect of her words. “Off you go now, your friend is waiting. Oh, and try not to make a habit of it.”

I looked at her with open admiration, this was a clever and intelligent woman who had treated me with more respect than anyone in my other school for the last four years.
I didn’t even know if she knew my background. She didn’t look like she was on the point of telling me if she did either.

“Thank you miss, I’ll work on it.” I moved towards the door and she rose and smiled at me again.

“Keep me in the loop, Jenny.” Her voice softened to a friendly confidante’s tone.

“I will, Miss.” I opened the door and left.

Wendy was outside the office pacing up and down like she expected I’d be sent down for ten years hard labour. She was more than surprised that I was out of the office in less than five minutes. She looked at me with eyes like saucers.

“What did you get?” she asked huskily almost tearfully.

“Some advice on how to make sure Jemima isn’t able to get back at me and a big smile,” I grinned at Wendy’s face as her mouth opened like the Mersey tunnel, “You didn’t?” she squealed and hugged me like I was Goddess on a stick.

“Millie reckoned Jem had it coming and was happy to see it happen. She did tell me to keep it low profile though, so mum’s the word, OK?” Wendy nodded. I broke the embrace reluctantly and we turned for home — we had missed the first bus, but that didn’t matter — we’d drop off at Carol’s and tell her the news anyway.

Carol was as incredulous as Wendy had been. I’d taken on Heroine proportions in only a couple of weeks in High School.

“Where do Sophi and Jemima live? I need to see if I can devise some plots to drive a wedge between her and Jemima.”

“Sophi lives in the street behind the car place — um Fletcher’s in George St I think.”
Carol offered. “I’ve seen her there when my dad picks up the car from servicing.”

“Jemima lives down by the park another two blocks over, I think.” Wendy added helpfully.

“Ok, I need to check out the lie of the land, I guess it’ll have to wait for the weekend.”
I thought about the tactics but they needed much more planning and after all, I had plenty of time — I hoped..

“You’re late honey, everything Ok?” The enquiry from mum wafted through as I closed the front door. “Yeah, just had a chat with Miss Watts about a bully at school,”
I attempted to pass it off whilst giving enough information so as to make sure that I’d mentioned it fully.

“Well come on then, tell me all about it,” mum was sat polishing the silver at the table with her apron as if she had nothing better todo. “You already know about it don’t you?”

Mum smirked at me, “sorry pet, I do. I got a call from Millie about 20 mins ago — she thought I should know what the ‘go’ is. I didn’t tell you did I? I was in college with her — we were even in the same digs.”

“I .., wha.., does she know about me?” I asked, somehow I felt violated like a trust had been broken.

Mum nodded, “Yes she knew before school started — it’s one of the reasons you’re in her House. She wanted to make sure you were treated properly.” She looked at me trying to see if I was going to be hurt by the knowledge. I was a bit, though the reasons mollified it somewhat.

“I hope she doesn’t let it slip — God I’d hate the other teachers to know.” I felt choked and a little nauseous that I might have to spend two years being treated like a pariah (if we didn’t end up going to Australia)

“No they don’t know. Millie…” she stopped suddenly “ did you know, we’ve called her that since you were born or before even”. She continued. Millie even did all the name changing for me so that the others wouldn’t see. No one knows except her.”
Mum looked at me for a moment then continued. “Your weak heart is not gong to be much of an excuse after beating up the school bully is it?” Her rueful grin was enough to set me giggling and the tension dissipated quite suddenly as I laughed out loud.

“Well hopefully they won’t put two and two together.” I crossed my fingers and rolled my eyes heavenward in supplication. The headline I had spoken about to Carol and Wendy had it seemed come to pass.

I sensed watchfulness from Jemima and crew whenever I saw them — there were plots hatching, I was convinced, so I kept low profile as much as I could, though I was getting all sorts of slaps on the back for the turning of the tables — and the Chinese Whispers were quite amazing — in one I had actually beaten up Jemima and her cronies all at once — like Superwoman. The fact of my getting off with Miss Watts didn’t ride well with some and I got those back as well. About me blackmailing the staff and stuff — well it went with the gangster image… I just tried to live it all down.
Things quietened down after a day or two …

On the weekend I went down to see where Sophi lived — it was like a terrace that backed onto the car place not terribly salubrious, but clean and tidy and quite respectable, though noisy and smelly from the cars that were being serviced all the time.

It didn’t help — there was nothing I could use here — so I went down to the Park and had a look at that area — well it was as different as chalk and cheese. Jemima’s folks were probably loaded. I wondered why she was so spiteful, she had it all by the looks of the area.

I went home and chatted to mum about it.

“I can’t understand why Jemima would be so awful mum, she seems to be living in the lap of luxury if the area is anything to go by.”

“Well there’s a few things that go with that sort of money — driving ambition can caused neglect and often manipulation goes hand in glove with privilege and power.” Mum added sagely.

“You mean you think Jemima might be oppressed by her parents or bullied the same way she’s bullying the students?” It made sense to me.

“Well, we are the result of our upbringing in many cases. Unless she’s taught different ways of being a person, she’s likely to be like her parents. Good, bad or indifferent”

I reflected on this, found nothing I could relate to and switched track to Sophi.
I explained the difference in standards and the environment.

Mum mused for a minute, “sounds like Sohpi doesn’t get a chance for peace and quiet — perhaps she doesn’t get enough sleep with all those cars revving up all the time. That would sure make me angry.”
I thought about it for a while and decided that I needed more information.

It wasn’t until I was watching the television that night that I got the idea.
The plot was a bit thick but the outcome was someone had committed suicide by gassing themselves in the car. The person was saved but the symptoms of carbon monoxide poisoning were evident — loss of energy, florid complexion and hypertension.
Sophi was being poisoned by the car yard.

I went over the next day and the car yard was still open servicing the vehicles — I looked at Sophi’s house and her bedroom I surmised, was the one that was on the back of the house overlooking the yard — the other two were on the front. The back yard had a high wall which probably stopped a lot of the noise enetering the living room — Sophi’s wndow was open.

The smell of exhaust was pretty bad even though there weren’t too many cars being worked on — then a clatter started up and the two old stock cars were brought out of the shed near the back of Sophi’s — the blue smoke from the old engines was obvious and made me cough just looking at it.

I think I had seen enough. I went home and told mum; dad overheard.
“You mean you think Sophi is being gassed by the car exhausts?” Dad looked a bit incredulous and dismissive.

“It’s all I can think of, you ought to see it.” I urged.
“Ok, I will. Come on, into the car. We’ll go and look right now.” Once dad had a bee in his bonnet it stung him til he moved!

“Well I’m blowed,” he said, watching the roiling blue smoke as it drifted on the wind past Sophi’s house. “I think you may be right, well done my girl” the girl bit sounded good!!!

When we got home dad phoned the fire brigade and asked them to test the fumes at the car yard. They said they’d get round to it, so dad upped the ante. He said he suspected there was a young girl being poisoned by it and they should make it soon. They said they were on their way!!

The next day Sophi wasn’t at school and the group was being a bit quieter without the anger that was generated by her.

The next day Sophi was back and she actually came over to me and she looked loads better — her face was a lot less blotchy and red.
She told me what happened.

The inspectors had come over on the Sunday and tested the air in the yard. Then done a house to house testing the houses for fumes. Sophi’s being at the bottom end in the prevailing wind direction had it worst and her bedroom was the worst in the whole place. She’d just come home at that point and the medico had instantly got her admitted to hospital for treatment — which really amounted to oxygen treatment for 36 hours until her blood count went up.

They had said that she owed her health to a young girl who had reported it. ME!
It was in the midweek rag the next day.

About ten am someone came into the class and asked if I could go to miss Watt’s office. I wondered what was up and expected Millie wanted to chat to me about Sophi.

I was indirectly right, it was about the car yard.
As soon as I got to Millie’s office she ushered me back out and told me we were off to see the headmistress. I looked worried.
“No it’s ok, it’s a nice visit, not a nasty one.” She smiled at me and patted me on the shoulder.

When we were led into the office by the secretary there were two men there as well as the headmistress. Behind me another man came in. I almost felt trapped.
“This is the young lady that found the problem and instigated the checks, Jenny Holland.” The head gestured towards me and before I could even decipher the input, there was a flash of camera and a click.
The man next to me apparently was the Mayor and the other was the Chief Medical Officer of the area. I was not a happy camper. The last thing I wanted was a picture of me in the papers. “Please don’t take any pictures,” I yelled as tears came to my eyes. Suddenly Miss Watts grabbed me to her and shielded my face from the camera.

“That’s enough gentlemen, her wish is for no publicity, that’s good enough for me.”
The Headmistress was a bit stunned. “Miss Watts, I hope you can explain what’s going on?”
“Later Headmistress if that’s Ok, let’s just say that Jenny has good reasons.” Millie whispered to the Head. The Head acquiesced

“Well I hope we can use your name?” The newspaper man quipped, I nodded.
So the “thank you” was all staged and conducted so that my face wasn’t photo’ed.
The Mayor was really nice and said he wished everyone cared as much as I obviously did — Miss Watts just winked at me. The medical officer said he was pleased that I had used my intelligence and connected the symptoms and the cause. “Not many people actually learn anything during TV shows.” He added with a note of dismay.

So I ended up with a pat on the back and Sophi as a pal, but the best thing I had done was disrupt the team of Jemima and nullified her vitriol.

Miss Watts was very happy about the whole affair and relayed via mum that she was really happy that I was such a nice girl and was sure I would make my mark on the school.

Wendy, Carol and I laughed about it all weekend. The pictures in the paper all showed the back of my head or at most just a little of my nose.

I have to admit it was nice to be recognised at least in school, but I didn’t want to be recognised by my old classmates and heckled every time I went anywhere.

I asked Millie what she told the headmistress. “Oh, just that camera flashes had caused a fit when you were younger — it was something to do with the reason you couldn’t do sports. She seemed to be able to accept that. So hopefully, no harm done.”
Miss Watts is NEAT!

I had an appointment with Julie the next Tuesday and she laughed when I recounted the tale of the photos and she asked if I felt I was fitting in ok.

“What do you feel is most important to you in the next few months?” She asked peering at me over her pencil held between her two forefingers.

“I guess working on my Nobel Peace Prize acceptance speech and the Presentation of the OBE at the Christmas Honours.” I spoke softly peering through my eyelashes at her and trying to hold in the grin.

“Seriously now Jenny, this is important. I need to feel how you’re moving forward and I need to be able to write something on your rap sheet.” She advised, but not without the smile.

“Oh, sorry,” I thought you were doing the “how does it make you feel”, bit,” I felt a little embarrassed to be wasting her time, to be honest.

“I guess two things spring to mind: preparing myself mentally for having my operation and being able to get sufficiently ahead in school to be able to not worry about getting behind during it and my recovery.” I managed all in one breath.
Julie scribbled my answer on her pad.
“And you’re not worrying about the operation?” She further enquired.

“Well actually, I think I have it as a point in my life but I don’t think it is that significant. After all, I already have my passport and Birth Certificate and I’ve been reclassified as a female - what I have really is a slight deformity isn’t it?” I looked at her with my quizzy face and tried to get her to answer me.

“Do you feel that you are female already then?” She added, pencil poised.
“Of course, don’t you?”

“Well yes, but it’s not how I feel that’s important here. It’s how you’re coping with the unusual circumstance. How you sleep at night, how you relate to your friends and how you act with your peers and parents. How your brother feels and how you feel about him.”

“I feel normal, like me and probably a normal girl like any other I guess. I know I am not allowed to do any sports but I will be able to next year and I will be able to do most things a normal girl can do, except have babies after that.” I felt a little under the spotlight at that point. It’s difficult to be grilled about who you are sometimes especially when you feel you’ve had to justify yourself time and time again.

“I’m not especially fond of being interrogated really,” I said pouting a bit, “I feel that I have been treated ok up to now, but I also feel that further justification is not only not necessary, but hurtful, maybe even harmful. I really don’t like having to do this.” I looked into her eyes, seeing a little uncertainty about what I meant.

“I don’t mind coming to see you and chatting for a little while so you can see I’m stable and still looking forward to my op, but I also am coming to the belief that your system is too full of hoops to jump through. Why do you feel it is needed to make me feel guilty by asking how I feel all the time?”

I sensed then that I had crossed a line that perhaps I shouldn’t have, I sensed Julie withdrawing and being a bit clinical in her appraisal. She wrote a few lines.

“I’m going to read out what I just wrote this will be going in my report to the surgeon and the other Psychiatrist you will see before your op.”

“Jenny has transitioned better than any case I have yet seen, her maturity and acceptance of her self is astonishing. She is stable and completely at one with her female role.
Any medical professional that is involved should bear in mind that she is in no way to be approached as a transitioning male to female transsexual. She should be regarded as a female with a defect that has to be rectified.” She looked up at me, “Is that a fair assessment?”

I nodded, afraid to use my voice in case it cracked. I smiled through some glistening in my eye.
“That is in fact the truth of the matter, and I’m prepared to back that to the hilt, I should have known better than to keep following guidelines that obviously don’t apply to you.” She looked almost guilty. She rose and asked mum to come in.

“I’m going to see Jenny again, as I said, every month till Christmas. That’s three visits left. Unless there’s some obvious change, I’m not going to do more than log the fact that she attended and remains a normal female awaiting surgery. We will just have a chat each time”

“I feel that sometimes the medical system oversteps the mark and makes the client feel that justice is not being served. I feel that mark has been overstepped in this case — I’m just stating the case as I see it.

Your little girl is lovely and she’s a nice person all the way to the core. You’re a very lucky mum Beth. See you in a month.”

Mum put her arm round me and we walked out of the surgery into the sunshine. I felt like the sand that became concrete beneath my feet over the last months was now bed rock and granite, part of me and a structure on which to build my life