Something to Declare by Cyclist

Chapter 18

The alarm went off at his side of the bed, but it was me that had to turn the bloody thing off properly; he just hit the snooze button.

I pulled on a sleepshirt and then Mr Fluffy and my slippers and wandered down yawning to the kitchen, hair all over the place. I put the kettle on and then attended to my morning pressures while it heated. Geoff had about fifteen miles to ride to work, so I put a couple of bananananas to one side and dragged out the toaster.

Some day Mr T Pratchett will get his reward for that ear worm, his character who “knew how to start spelling banana but not how to stop”

I took a mug of tea up, but he was already doing his teeth and in the lycra for the run to work. I was going in myself later, to my own workplace, that is, as Nigel had arranged an appointment with the Human Resources Surveyor and the Assistant Director. I didn’t know what strings he had pulled to get her there, but if this was going to work in a way that suited my own needs and hopes, she was the one.

I sent one very nice man off to work with a kiss, standing at the front door in a dressing gown like some sitcom housewife. Life was good. A bowl of cereal, kettle on again, check the mail…there was a knock at the door, and without thinking I answered it.

My next-door neighbour Mrs Woods was standing there. Her eyes widened for an instant, then she smiled.

“You’ve done it, then”

I didn’t remember her being in the bedroom last night….

“Shall I come in, dear?”

I led her into the kitchen in a state of some apprehension. This was such a small village.

“What do we call you then, dear?”

“Stephanie…Steph…”

“We were wondering when you would finally come out from under that disguise. If you are going to hang out your laundry indoors, can I suggest you don’t do it in the conservatory? Same for playing your violin in that Laura Ashley frock. And did you really think nobody has seen you out on the bicycle?”

I did the only thing possible, and offered her a cuppa.

“Thank you dear, now…..is this going to be a long story, and are there any juicy bits? He looks a yummy young man, your chap!”

I gave Mrs Woods–Naomi---an abridged version of things, and she sat through it with no more than a few short questions until I had finished. Then she said, simply and sadly

“Bron would have been so proud of you. If only she had been able to see…”

She dabbed away some tears and then hugged me. The thought of what my mother would have felt shook me. I had assumed that she would have been appalled by my problem, and here was one of her best friends telling me different.

“Now, I need cheering up, and am sure you have lots of pictures to show me from your musical event. I think we need chocolate biccies for this as a special treat, and as you are a girl you will know already of the magical powers of the Brown Stuff! I have some rather nice ones at home, so you get dressed and I will be back in an hour with them. Albert is going to be so pleased!”

Off she went, the quintessential Home Counties retired lady who seemed to take a transsexual appearing next door in her tweed-skirted stride. I showered, under a cap, and dressed in my borrowed skirt and blouse. I would have to see about returning stuff to Jan some day; warm thoughts, could they spare time to come here?

Before Naomi’s return I quickly downloaded the memory cards from camera to computer, selecting “load new” from the menu and returning to the kitchen. By the time she came into the living room I had a tray of tea prepared, cups rather than mugs in deference to my visitor. The biscuits were indeed rather nice ones, and I was able to indulge my taste for white chocolate. I set up the PC for the photos, and talked our way through the scenes. After a while I realised that there were rather more pictures there than I had taken, and that one or more of the others had been borrowing my camera.

The first one was of me gyrating to the Oysters, and then there were several of me playing at the sessions, sweaty and intense, as well as some of me and Geoff being affectionate. I was, of course, blushing, and Naomi was smirking.

“You do know, of course, how proud Bron was of your playing? She often said it was the only time you ever seemed to be other than unhappy. That was her phrase, you know. Never ‘happy’, always that negative slant. That is no longer the case, I see. Stephanie, you should have spoken to your mother, told her what the problem was. One way or another things could have been dealt with.

“You know, apart from the obvious things, you do so remind me of her. Your colouring is exactly the same, but she had rather fewer scars on her legs. And speaking of that, what will you do about the rugby? Not exactly for young ladies now, is it?”

“One last game, Naomi, and my duties and dues are all up to date”

“I see. Well, I must go, but do remember that the village will know at some point. Better to do it on your terms, d’ya hear?”

I saw her out and got changed into my stuff for the meeting with the AD. I was going to use the same tactic I had done with the team as it seemed to be a winning formula. After a short ride on the Spesh road bike I was at work and it was locked away. I pushed my shades onto the top of my head and clopped along to the AD’s office. Her receptionist waved me straight in. Nigel and Mr Kumar were already there, a pot of coffee and a tray of yet more biscuits on a low table. Not as nice as Naomi’s, though.

I was buoyant. So far, everyone who I had told had supported me, without exception. I didn’t know if this was because I was well-liked, or if it was simply a reflection of the Woodruff Conjecture, that people are nice. I felt unworried about this meeting, and after the introductory remarks, and as Nigel covered up by taking a sip of coffee, I took off my jacket. Mr Kumar reacted first, then Vanessa (call me ‘Vanessa’ ) Urquhart the AD

“Bloody fucking god in heaven!”

“Ah.”

Just that? She caught me looking.

“Ms Jones, for I assume that is what this is leading up to, I do not see the need for profanity, nor the need to pass comment without possessing adequate information, but what the sodding hell did you expect Dilip to say?”

We got the basics out of the way, and then settled back to thrash out our tactics. Nigel had come prepared with all the books of instruction regarding diversity at work, the current term for “not hating your colleague because of unimportant things”, but Vanessa waved them away.

“I want to concentrate on practicalities, Nigel. Regardless of my personal viewpoint, and I must say I am not a great lover of the idea that men can or should become women–there, that’s said, we can move on–there are very basic things to sort out here. Locker room, lavatories, and timing.”

“I’ve earmarked one of the small training rooms for Steph to use as a locker and changing room. It has a lock, and paper over the window. She will use the single cubicle toilet in Custody, and I believe we have no firm start date for her transition yet”

“Er, Nigel, I have a suggestion for that last one. I want Geoff at the game, and I would like to take him to the post-match dinner. And if I do that it will not be in drag.”

The meeting wound down, and Vanessa asked me if we could have a personal chat. Nigel looked sharply at me, but I waved him away and Vanessa shut the door as the other two left.

“This s my personal opinion, and not official, and it will in no way influence my treatment of you. Rules are rules. But you are not and never will be a woman. We are born, we suffer daily because we are not men, we have to work twice as hard to go the same distance. You have not been one all your life so you will never truly be one now even if you mutilate yourself surgically”

“No? Well, I was born and suffered daily and was beaten on a daily basis because of what I am. I have lived my entire life thus far in a cell. I know who and what I am, I am going to make that a reality now and with all due respect, I don’t actually give a fuck for your personal opinion”

“Fair point, fairly made”

Suddenly she grinned.

“I always did like you, Steph. Welcome to the world of mindless bigotry”