CHAPTER 3
Now, there was a bridge to cross. It would be a necessary one, of course, but it was still daunting. So far, apart from the shock tactics on Sharon and Dave, I hadn’t been out anywhere that might hold people who knew me.

It also left me with a reminder of another dilemma: if I moved into a bungalow, as I was proposing to do, and did so as John, how would the neighbours react to Laura?

That was the decision made, really, I, we needed to start as I intended to go on. Work was another oddity, that Monday morning, after such a decision, getting all dressed up as a man for the day and having to remember to limit my contact with Pete to “hail fellow well met!” rather than “hello, my love”

Laura was fighting hard, but after a stern talking to, and some pouting, she agreed to stay locked away for a little while. I thought I heard a faint chorus of “Are we nearly there, yet?” and the answer, thankfully, was “yes, nearly”

I got some very odd looks in the first lecture on Monday, and later in my two tutorial groups. I realised I was actually engaging with the texts I was analysing, rather than just dissecting them, and in the tutorials I was actually animated. It is hard to describe what the difference is other than by analogy. The anatomist sees a cheetah as a collection of body parts that act in particular ways, the naturalist as a top predator in an ecosystem, the human being as a spectacle of grace and beauty that thrills him or her to the core.

And the gazelle sees it as painful death, of course, but let’s not strain the metaphor.

My approach to literature had always been as the anatomist rather than the lover, and now that I was finally and truly a lover, it took on a life that I had not perceived, and I found myself getting animated as never before. I might even be able to understand Mahler if this kept up, or even my mother’s Sibelius. Wonders beyond imagination.

I had managed to get an appointment the following day from Mary’s office lady, and hoped that my official recognition could soon follow. I was a little surprised that morning to be called into the Faculty Head’s office. He had a pot of coffee brought in, and sat me down in one of his easy chairs.

“John, pardon me for being so blunt, but what exactly is going on?”

“What do you mean, Howard?”

“I need to list it all out? Firstly, some human being seems to have replaced the alien life form that previously worked here. The students are astonished, you actually talk to them in lectures instead of, well, lecturing them. One of them told me your voice cracked when reading some Owen the other day, almost as if you were getting emotionally bloody involved!”

“Yes. ‘Dulce et Decorum’, terribly moving.”

“Exactly! You have never done ‘moved’, nothing ever moves you. And you are coming to work in a car now. What else is going on, I shudder to think”

He paused, looking nervous (see? I can do it now) and then said softly

“What exactly is the relationship between you and Mr Hall, John?”

“Well, he was my best friend in junior school”

“So that is why you kiss each other, then?”

Oh arse. “No, that s not why we kiss each other. People who are in love do that sort of thing occasionally.”

This was moving a little faster than intended, but I trusted Mary to do the necessary thing that afternoon. In for a penny…Howard took a deep breath.

“We have, of course, a full diversity policy at the University and as such no negative inferences or outcome will take place. I note that you have already distanced yourself officially from any involvement in his tuition or assessment, which is excellent. However, if I may be a little personal, neither of you has ever struck me as gay”

“We’re not”

“John, John, I am an old man and very easily confused. Please explain, in short and non-technical words if you will, how you are not gay. Heterosexual gentlemen generally refrain from such activities with each other.”

“We are both heterosexual, Howard, and Pete is most definitely a gentleman”

“Oh. I see”

Howard is a faculty head in a University. Stupidity in such a post tends to be frowned upon.

“Please, please John, explain.”

“Well, my name is actually Laura…”

The explanation was as censored as it had been for Dave and Sharon, but as detailed as necessary. I was astonished to see Howard in tears at the end of it.

“You say he died soon after, the man who did that to you?”

“Yes, he did, thankfully”

“Painfully?”

“No, in his sleep”

“What a great pity. I Have never been a religious man, John, Laura, but I do hope there is a special hell maintained just for his sort. Forgive an old man his emotions, do”

He visibly gathered himself, and I realised that what I had come to terms with was profoundly shocking to any normal person who heard the story cold. No wonder my childish mind had gone for such a long walk.

“Laura, did you say you were meeting your therapist this afternoon?”

“Yes, Howard, at three thirty. She wants to meet Laura, and I anticipate the issue of her official diagnosis of my gender problem. The first step so that I can stop confusing poor faculty heads when I kiss my beloved.”

“Where did you plan to, er, transform yourself? It is just that, well, this is something I will have to deal with, and if you do not mind I would like to discuss with your therapist how best we can assist you. To that end, I live nearby, and you are more than welcome to change there. I will drive, if you wish”

I would have kissed him, but I wanted such a lovely man alive a bit longer. So, when the bitching hour arrived, and after a word with Pete to let him know my plans, I rode alliteratively in Howard’s Saab to his rather posh pad up by the park, where he showed me to a guest room and awaited my appearance.

This was not a day to slap people in the face, more one simply to let them know who I really was. Dressed down, in effect. I wore flats over tan tights below a mid calf skirt and pale green blouse, beneath a forest green wool box jacket. Enough paint to make the point, but not to beat it to death.

Howard drew in a sharp breath when he saw me. “My dear, if your therapist can’t see what is before her, I know a decent optician.”

While changing, I had taken the chance to give Mary a quick call to warn her that Howard would be coming, and to stress that my father’s part should remain secret. We ended up parking next to Pete’s little shoebox so that I could help him out into his chair. We needed to push along his new leg, if only for his own self respect.

Mary had to ask for extra chairs from the office for the two boys, and before we started I noticed a number of envelopes on her desk. Pete and I, perhaps deliberately ostentatiously, sat next to each other and held hands. Mary smiled, just enough to let me see without being unprofessional again.

“Well, Laura, you seem to have come along a bit since our last meeting. You will have guessed that I have already made my decision, and that we have some paperwork to sort, but I want to get a few things cleared up first.

“Howard, where does she stand at work?”

And off we went. Pete was there, solid as ever; Howard expressed all the required policy statements, Mary gave me my certificate.

Run that one again: Mary, with no prompting or fanfare, handed me a letter declaring that I was a woman who needed a couple of adjustments. I can’t really say how well the session went, other than to sit and smile. I had my diagnosis to confirm what I already knew in my heart, I had my man beside me, I had the scrip for the magic pills in my hand, and totally unexpectedly I had my boss next to me nodding in agreement.

Howard left me with Pete in the car park, and we decided to cross another Rubicon up at Hedge End. My head was now spinning, so one more outing could make little difference.

“Are you sure about this, love? These are ex-squaddies, hardly the most tolerant people in the world”

“It has to be done some time, so why not today? Are you telling me now, after all the hoops you have jumped through, that you have doubts?”

“No, but….”

“Exactly. No buts”
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Martin was on the gate again as we drove in, and when I swang my legs out of the van his eyes widened. I was wrestling Pete into his chair, grateful for my flat shoes, when he came over to help.

“Is this a private fancy dress do, or can anyone join in?”

Well….for the first, but certainly not last, time I pulled out Mary’s letter.

“Ah, not what I thought then.”

Pete looked up sharply. “Martin, what exactly DID you think?”

He looked a little embarrassed. “Well, that you two were, you know, a bit crafty butcher sort of thing”

I looked at Pete and did the Mother thing with an eyebrow. He laughed; “I’ll explain that one later”

“No, Martin, neither of us is ‘good with colours’, nor do we ’jump puddles’, and as far as I know none of our friends are called Dorothy. You may also have noticed that I can no longer be described as ‘light on my feet’

“In short, no, we are not gay. Neither of us. Straight. Hetero. On the same bus as you. I’ve been reading the same book as you, Martin, so I know all the terms as well. This is Laura, my fiancée, and we wanted to let the Legion know that I will be leaving them soon, so they can arrange for someone else who needs help to take the room.”

When exactly did that little event happen? Pete caught my frown.

“Look, love, we’re moving in together, so not only does it go with the territory, it makes things a little easier for the rest of the world to grasp”

“That may be the case, Mr Hall, but you will be doing it properly, and I cannot guarantee a positive answer!”

Martin was now laughing. “That settles it for me! Definitely a bloody woman!”