You meant it for evil - 05 by Maeryn Lamonte “I was getting sort of concerned that you didn’t leave me a message or anything so I figured I’d call. Sorry of this is too early.” “It’s no big, we were just having breakfast.” “We?” “Yeah, Phil and I kind of made a night of it.” “You what?”

-oOo-
“No not like that silly. We found ourselves an all-night café and talked out a few issues. We’re not that far away from the flat if you want to join us for breakfast.

“We’re at a little diner I know. It’s only three… no four stops down on the 7b. The café’s another hundred or so yards down on the opposite side. Called Jan’s diner. I think there’s a bus in about five minutes.”

I dropped the phone, jammed my feet in a new pair of boots, grabbed my coat and bag and was out the door in two.

I had to run, but the bus waited for me. I smiled my appreciation to the bus driver — a woman this time — and found a seat. After four stops the houses and flats gave way to a small industrial complex, most of which seemed to be bays for loading and unloading articulated lorries. At least that explained the need for an all-night diner.

I walked the extra hundred yards and there it was, Jan’s Diner. It was a little shabby on the outside but cheerful and welcoming once you stepped through the door. Sharon jumped up as soon as I entered and ran over to give me a quick hug and a peck on the cheek.

“Wow, that was quick. I wasn’t sure if you’d make it to the bus in time.”

“I would have been quicker if I could. Sharon what were you thinking?”

“Ken, I need you and Phil to talk; I mean really talk. Then you can say what you want to say. Not before though eh?”

I wasn’t happy, but I let her lead me to the table.

“Phil I’d like you to meet Ken.”

Cr@p she’d told him.

“Ken, I’ll order you a coffee and some toast. I’ll be over there talking to Jan if you need me.”

She pointed out the woman behind the counter and headed off leaving us with an awkward silence to overcome.

I settled into the chair next to him and we spent the next few minutes glancing at each other. I was still really angry with him for the way he’d behaved this past week and possibly more than a bit protective of Sharon, so I sat quietly and let him stew. He was nervous, like an overwound clock, fidgeting and unsure where to look.

My coffee and toast arrived and I thanked the waitress cheerfully — point made to Phil: ‘I’m only mad at you.’ I eyed the butter longingly but decided that I needed to develop new habits. Spreading marmalade directly onto the toast I took a small bite. This was probably going to be my hardest battle.

The crunch of the toast seemed to act as a signal to Phil. He shifted in his seat and glanced over at me, mind made up, bullet bit.

“So er, you got er… got changed into a woman then?”

I nodded.

“Er… er, how’s that working out for you?”

The cool thing would have been to shrug, but this was just too funny. I burst out laughing and almost choked on my mouthful of toast.

“What? What?”

Phil was angry. I remembered that feeling. Someone laughs at you and you feel in danger of everyone else doing the same; too much face lost so you react. In the competitive world of being a man it’s not something you can let go easily. Sounds pathetic I know, but it’s part of the hardwiring. I was so glad I didn’t have to worry about that nonsense anymore and took pity on him.

“I’m sorry Phil, but you should replay the last thirty seconds. That was quite a conversation starter.”

He allowed himself a rueful smile and shook his head. The ice was broken.

I took a sip of my coffee — so much nicer than toast without butter — and waited for him to try again. Oh no sunshine, not letting you off the hook just yet. He shook his head and tried again.

“Well look at it from my point of view. This is hardly something you come across every day is it?”

We had other things to discuss, but this was at the foundation of all of them. If Phil didn’t know who I was then my words would carry next to no weight with him.

“No I’m told it’s actually extremely rare. Ok what will convince you?”

“Well I suppose you could tell me something only Ken and I would know.”

“What, you mean like that time you mother took you to visit her sister and your cousins, Anna and Jenny wasn’t it, persuaded you to dress up and play tea parties with them?”

Phil made hissing noises and waved his hands for me to shut up. I hadn’t raised my voice, but there were other people near enough to hear. That loss of face thing again.

“Ok now tell me that there isn’t a part of you that’s saying, ‘I can’t believe that Ken told her.’”

He sat staring at me.

“It doesn’t really matter what I tell you. What are you going to be most likely to believe, that I’m your friend Ken who’s been miraculously transformed into a beautiful teenage girl, or that for some reason you can’t fathom just yet, Ken has told me some the intimate secrets you shared with him so that I can convince you I am him? If you apply Occam’s Razor this isn’t going to work is it?”

He shook his head.

“Ok what do you suggest?”

“We turn it around. Rather than let me spout off from what may well be a well-rehearsed script, why don’t you ask me questions until you’re happy. I mean if we consider the first premise for a moment, Ken might have told me a lot but he couldn’t have told me everything. If I can answer enough of your questions to your satisfaction we start moving into Sherlock Holmes territory.”

“Yeah, when you eliminate the impossible whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. You know you already sound a lot like Ken in the way you talk and reason things out.”

I melted enough to allow him a smile.

“I’ll take that as a complement. Ok do your worst.”

And he did. For the next half hour he grilled me with questions about the experiences we’d shared. Most were straightforward, some were hard and in the end there was only one that I couldn’t answer. I mean I’m not even sure I know the name of the football team he supports let alone the final score in the match we watched with his mates a fortnight back. I hate sports and the only reason I ever went along to those sorts of things was to try and blend in. We argued over that for about a minute before Phil conceded that my answer was more Ken-like than if I had actually known the answer.

He threw up his arms in surrender.

“Ok, ok I give in. I don’t know how but you are Ken. You sure as hell don’t look like him but there is no way anyone else could have known all that.”

It had been fun locking horns with Phil again but now that the foundation had been established there were some things that needed explaining. I reined in any feelings of affection I had for him; this next bit wasn’t going to be as fun.

“You’re sure? I mean I’d hate to go to all this effort then have you pull a uey on me halfway through the next conversation.”

To his credit he paused a moment to give it serious consideration then he shook his head.

“Nope. I mean however hard it is to accept that things like this happen, I can’t believe that anyone except Ken would have been able to answer all those questions. Especially when you factor in the way you answered them, which was not at all like a teenage girl would.”

I stared at him for a few seconds waiting to see if there were any ifs, buts or howevers. He met my gaze and I sighed. First hurdle out of the way.

“Good, because I have a few questions for you now. What the hell were you thinking trying to pick up a prostitute the night after you asked Sharon to marry you?”

I said it louder than I intended and every face in the diner turned our way. Phil ducked his head in shame while I bored into the top of his skull with a furious glare and waited for the rest of the world to lose interest. Eventually all but the most nosey turned back to their respective conversations and Phil murmured a short reply that I didn’t quite catch.

“I’m sorry, what?”

I had tempered my own volume enough that our conversation had gone back to being private. Phil raised his voice slightly, but it was enough to hear. He sounded bitter; regretful.

“I was high.”

“I’m sorry, you were what?”

He sighed.

“I met up with some of the gang from work on Saturday afternoon to celebrate my getting hitched. One of those d! £kheads must have slipped something into my drink.

“I mean I don’t do drugs, you know that, and I only had the one drink because I knew I’d be driving home at the end of the day. When I look back on it I should have figured from the way the rest of the guys were looking at me with bated breath. The weird thing is I didn’t really feel that much different. I could think clearly, talk sensible, walk in a straight line. I felt like the world was mine and I could do no wrong, but I figured that was just the euphoria speaking, I mean the girl I loved had just agreed to marry me.

“There was this bloke in the pub with a comb-over and you know how much of a joke I think those are? As we were leaving the pub I went over to him and ran my hands through his hair until the longer strands were hanging down by his ear. Then I patted him on the top of the head and said straight to his face, ‘baldness is a blessing.’ I couldn’t understand why my friends were laughing so loud.

“We went our separate ways after we left the pub as I had some work to catch up on that afternoon. Sh*! the things I wrote that afternoon. I mean think about what you would say to the people you work with if you suddenly had no inhibitions; that was me. I spent most of Monday chasing after memos I’d sent out. Didn’t quite get them all and had to spend the rest of the week bowing and scraping to make up for them.”

“So you’re telling me that you were under the influence of some drug when you suggested I might want some action?”

He gave me a helpless shrug.

“Do you think I’d have done it otherwise?”

I shook my head, more from disbelief than in response to his question.

“So if you had no inhibitions, how come you were so worried about my threat to tell Sharon?”

“Because, like I said, I could still think clearly. You don’t know what was going through my head just then. It was weird. On one level I couldn’t give a sh*! about the consequences, on another I knew Sharon’d go off the rails if she found out and there was a nagging feeling deep down that I really didn’t want that. In the end just handing over the money seemed the easiest way out, so I did.

“Then I changed my mind, I mean what right did you have to threaten me or to run off with my money, so I parked the car and came after you. When I found those policemen I thought I had you. All I had to do was tell them you’d nicked the money from me and you’d be locked up, I’d have my hundred quid back and be in the clear.”

“And that’s what counts for clear thinking inside that thick skull of yours?”

“Well maybe it was the drugs talking still. I mean you’re right it was a cr@p idea; maybe I only believed I could think clearly. Being hauled off to the nick wasn’t part of the plan and, even though I thought I’d done a good job of landing you in the sh*! when they interviewed me, I obviously wasn’t as convincing as I thought. The same with Sharon, I was certain what I told her would persuade her I was the victim, but she picked up on a few things in what I said and, well you know how that turned out.”

I was confused. I’d been so certain that Phil was the lowest form of pond scum the way he’d treated Sharon, and now here was this remarkably plausible explanation. Part of me was still mad with the way he’d behaved, but there was another part that wanted to believe this, to be able to see my friend as something more than the loser I’d spent the last week believing he was. I tried to see in his eyes if there was any subterfuge, if this were nothing more than a fabrication designed to convince Sharon and now me that he was really one of the good guys. Nothing seemed obvious. He took a deep breath and picked up his story again.

“I think the cops suspected I was on something. They couldn’t prove it, but they decided I needed to sleep things off before they let me back out on the streets. They didn’t have any holding cells, but they left me in one of their interview rooms with a uniform standing outside for the rest of the night.

“My head was clearer when I left the next morning, but by the time I got back to where I’d left the car, it had been towed and, being Sunday, the impound yard was closed. I took the bus home and tried to call Sharon, not that she wanted anything to do with me and who could blame her.

“Monday I went in as early as I could to get hold of the memos I’d posted before anyone else saw them. I still wasn’t early enough and landed myself a real sh*!-storm with my boss. I did get out at lunchtime to collect the car and I won’t tell you how much that cost to get back, except to say that the hundred quid I gave you started to look like small change. The rest of the week I spent doing voluntary overtime and scraping and crawling to the senior partners to try and get back into their good graces, and I still have a long way to go with that. The mates I’d been out drinking with think it’s really funny and have been making jokes all week.”

There was something of his outrage at the injustice of it all in his features, which, if faked, was an impressive piece of acting. I forced myself to remain sceptical.

“So tell me about Thursday night.”

He shook his head at the memory.

“Sh*! did I bollix that up. It was the first evening I managed to get away from work early enough to do something. Sharon still wasn’t taking my calls and I figured I’d better stop phoning if I didn’t want her throwing a restraining order at me. I had it all worked out what I was going to say, then you opened the bl**dy door.

“I guess there was something in me that blamed you for all my troubles. I mean if you hadn’t conned me out of that hundred quid then I’d never have chased after you with those coppers, never spent the night at the station, Sharon would never have found out, my car would never have been towed. I couldn’t believe you were there and I just blew it.

“Then Sharon started going on about where Ken was, I mean you, erm…”

I couldn’t help but smile.

“It’s ok I know it’s confusing.”

“Yeah, anyway I was trying to get things back on track with what I wanted to say to Sharon to patch things up between us and all she would talk about was how Ken was missing and I hadn’t even noticed. In the end she blew a fuse and told me to b#&&er off or she’d call the cops and kicked me out of the flat.

“I didn’t go in to work the yesterday; called in sick and went on a bender. I thought I had blown everything with Sharon and I was a mess. By the time the two of you found me at the club talking to Miss Gorgeous Green-eyes I was more than half p!$$ed.”

“You didn’t look that far gone.”

He scrunched up his nose in a dismissive gesture.

“You know how well I can hold my booze. Besides if you don’t believe me ask Sharon. She spent the first few hours of last night pouring coffee down my throat until I could think clearly enough to talk sensibly.”

We sat in silence for a while; him waiting, me thinking. I mean it seemed plausible.

“So what now? Do you expect things to go back to normal between you and Sharon as though nothing had happened?”

“Oh hell no! I expect to be boot licking and brown nosing for at least a year before she’ll even think about starting to trust me again. But it’ll be worth it.”

This was so much the Phil I had made friends with all those years ago. I wanted to believe this was real, to think he’d just had an amazingly bad week and was coming back from it. Was I an idiot for wanting to trust him? All the tension I’d felt at this confrontation, all the anger I’d felt towards him, all the outrage on behalf of my new friend and flat mate, it all evaporated. Phil must have seen the change because he relaxed as well.

“So this green-eyed girl yesterday, Sharon tells me that if she’d kissed me…”

“…you’d have ended up like this.”

“Well there are worse things.”

“Are you kidding? Remember that afternoon Phillipa spent with Anna and Jenny?”

He shuddered.

“And think about what life would have been like. Even with Sharon and me around to believe you and help get you back on your feet, do you really think you could make the adjustment. All those beautiful girls you might meet who would only want to be friends; guys whose only interest in you would be to get you into bed; having periods…”

His expression fell with each new suggestion until he shuddered and threw his hands up in the air.

“Alright, alright, you’re right, maybe there is nothing worse. So how come you’re dealing with it so well.”

“That’s going to be difficult to explain.”

A waitress was passing and I asked if I could have a refill. Phil declined having already drunk his weeks allowance of caffeine earlier in the night.

“Have you ever heard of a condition called gender dysphoria?”

Phil thought for a moment then shook his head.

“It’s a recognised medical disorder where an individual identifies more strongly with the gender opposite the one to which they were born. Short version boys who feel like they should have been girls and vice versa.”

“So kind of like wimpy guys who end up acting like girls and thinking they’re gay?”

I winced at the crude effort, but it wasn’t intended in any disparaging way; more an indicator on how hard it was for those who identified strongly with their physical gender to understand.

“Actually that comes over as a little insulting as well as a lot wrong. Gender dysphoria is being recognised more and more as a physiological condition rather than a psychological or sociological one. It isn’t that well understood yet, but there is strong evidence to show that in most cases the brain physically develops in a way that’s opposite to the body’s gender. One theory suggests that it might be down to hormone imbalances in the womb. Another study shows a certain gene that hinders the brains ability to absorb testosterone as being present in a significant number of male to female transsexuals. Suffice to say though that the condition exists in various degrees and it is not a matter of choice.”

“And you’re trying to say…”

“That since an early age I have struggled to some small degree with that aspect of my identity, yes.

“I mean I’m not like so many cases I’ve read about, feeling like I should have been a girl since I was four or five years old, but at the same time for as long as I can remember, I’ve been different from other guys.

“I don’t like being competitive, I don’t enjoy sports, especially team ones, either as a player or a spectator. I really do not get what you guys enjoy so much about watching a game of football on telly. I don’t like crude jokes or farting or burping in public. I hate that guys don’t share their problems and I really hate that it feels weird and awkward for guys to give each other a hug and cry on each others’ shoulders.

“It’s easier to admit to this now, but there were times when I would put on a dress or a skirt when I was Ken, just because it helped me to feel more feminine. It embarrassed the hell out of me and I usually felt guilty about it afterwards because I had a fair idea on how you guys would react and I didn’t want to do that to you, but at the same time it was something I had to do from time to time, even if I could only do it behind closed doors with the curtains drawn.

“I guess as close to a parallel as I can get is if you think about the way you felt when you were playing with your cousins. Imagine that you would be expected to dress that way every day and go out in public. You’d hate it wouldn’t you?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Now imagine you found a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt tucked away somewhere. You knew you weren’t supposed to wear them and you knew everyone would cause you grief if they ever found out. Would you still take time out to dress like a guy so you could feel like a guy once in a while?”

He nodded thoughtfully.

“But you say you’re not one of these people who’s felt that strongly since they were four or five?”

“No not really, although as I say I have felt different for all that time, just not specifically female.”

“So how does that work?”

I took a swig of my coffee while I thought that one over.

“I don’t know for sure. It’s something I’ve been trying to understand and I think it’s associated with social expectations.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ok bear with me on this, it might take a while to explain fully.

“Both genders have specific expectation placed on their behaviour. Men are supposed to be confident, self-reliant, competitive, possibly a bit crude, yes?”

He nodded.

“The competitive aspect starts to put restriction on behaviour, because everyone looks to start from the same common base. So, taking clothing for instance, guys, at least in our part of the world, will always wear some form of trousers, some sort of shirt, a pullover or cardigan if it’s cold and maybe a coat or jacket over the top. If I were to turn up wearing anything else, velvet suit, spotty bow tie, shirt with a flower pattern on it, kilt; anything outside the established norm, I’d get laughed at and the humiliation would push me back to toeing the party line.

“Women on the other hand tend to be more supportive of one another, more collaborative. A group of women will go shopping together and develop bonds of friendship suggesting things that might make each other look good. A woman who tries a new hairstyle or changes the style of her clothes is more likely to be met with encouragement than derision and even the fringe fashions, like the tomboy look, are more likely to be tolerated.

“There are reasons for these differences and I have ideas on them, but I don’t want to bore you with them now. I suppose what I’m trying to say is that I didn’t really feel that I fit into either group. I was never one of the lads because I never fit naturally into the sort of things that lad’s like to do together. I wasn’t one of the girls either because social convention dictates how a girl behaves in the presence of a guy and vice versa, so even if I might have wanted to join in as one of the girls, because they saw me as another one of the lads, they never would have let me.

“So I sat on the fringe, not wanting to be one thing, not permitted to be the other. I felt the dichotomy every day but not so strongly that I couldn’t just muddle through the way I was most of the time. I suppose I did always associate more strongly with the female way of life, but never so strongly that I was in danger of either having my body altered to appear more female, or choosing to live as a female full time.

“The long and short of it is that I am content with the transition. Being in this body the way it feels now is a lot like coming home; it feels good. The fact that I’m ten years younger than I was and a stone cold fox to boot is a bonus.”

We sat in silence for a while longer, things feeling a whole lot more companionable than they had when I first arrived. I finished my coffee and excused myself. On my way to the ladies, Sharon caught up with me. The door hadn’t fully closed behind us when she turned to me, all bubble of excitement.

“So, what do you think?”

“Well he’s a bit old for me and not really my taste.”

“Oh you! You know what I mean.”

I grinned at her until she couldn’t hold her pout anymore.

“I think we’d all be in trouble if we weren’t prepared to give each other another chance from time to time. I think the guy I’ve been talking to this morning is more like the Phil I remember than the douche we’ve been dealing with all week. I think he’s being sincere and if you want to he’s probably worth the effort.”

“You really think so?”

I couldn’t quite believe the hope in her eyes. She really missed the guy she’d lost and I found myself desperately hoping for her sake that he was the guy sitting out there in the diner.

“I also think it wouldn’t do either of you any harm for him to earn your trust back for a while, and if he shows any signs of reverting you drop him like a bad habit.”

She gave me a long, tight squeeze.

“Thank-you. I didn’t know if I was deluding myself. I feel so much better knowing you’re ok with it.”

I held her back hoping like mad that I wasn’t giving bad advice, then had to break free as the bodily needs I’d come in here to take care of sought my attention.

-oOo-
Phil was sipping on a glass of water when we returned. He looked up as we approached and smiled.

“You know I’ve always wondered what it is you girls get up to when you go to the loo together. Maybe now’s my chance to find out.”

Sharon gave me a worried look; needlessly. I gave him my sweetest smile as I sat back down in my seat.

“You know Phil I could tell you, but then I’d have to turn you into a girl.”

He laughed, but nervously as though I might actually be able to do it. Sharon sat beside him and took hold of his hand. The look on his face was priceless and I couldn’t help laughing.

“What happened to letting him earn back your trust?”

She shrugged.

“I sort of figured that, you know, if you’re going to forgive it ought to be all the way.”

And they were kissing. I looked on for a few seconds shaking my head and reached the conclusion that they weren’t going to break up anytime soon.

“I’m going for a walk. I’ll see you two lovebirds back at the flat later.”

And with that I picked up my handbag and headed for the door.

-oOo-
I discovered a few things on my way back to the flat: Four stops on the bus is a lot longer by foot, comfortable boots are worth the money and it doesn’t matter how good a start to the day you have, if there are unresolved problems in your life they have a way of insinuating themselves back into your mind given a moment’s idleness.

My mind drifted as I walked. Starting with a vicarious pleasure in how I had left my two friends and a huge sense of relief at Phil’s explanations and returned status, my thoughts drifted over the events of the week until I reached Thursday. Was that really only two days ago? So much had happened in that short space of time.

It wasn’t so much the row I’d had with Sharon or the way she’d chucked me out; all that was water under the bridge: regretted, forgiven, forgotten. What came back to eat at me was the thought that I had no identity in this new life. No qualifications, no birth certificate, no passport, no driving license, no national insurance number.

That last one was the killer. Without an NI number I wouldn’t be able to find work, or at least legitimate work, and without any of the rest I wouldn’t be able to get an NI number.

I started thinking through scenarios of how I could fix things. I couldn’t say I’d lost it, because they’d want some of the other documentation of my life in order to issue me with another. If I said I was running away from abusive parents they’d want to investigate that and I’d have to produce the parents. If I said my documents had been stolen or lost in a fire, they’d want details of where I was born so they could recreate my life.

By the time I’d worried the issue to rags I was almost back to the flat and I had come up with two possible plans of action, and I liked neither of them. I could pretend to be an immigrant into the country whose papers had been stolen, but then I spoke no language other than English and I faced the risk of being deported back to whichever country my fictitious persona came from. Or I could pretend to be an amnesiac victim of a mugging, at which point I would most likely face a long period of doctors doing whatever they could to help me regain my memory and police doing their best to find some family members who could tell me who I was. I wasn’t sure I could pull that off.

I let myself into the flat and collapsed onto the sofa in frustration. Toby came up to see what was wrong, or more likely to see about a good chin rub. I turned on the TV and began channel hopping in the hope of finding something to distract me and ended up watching some ancient rom-com from the nineteen-sixties and giving Toby enough attention that he deigned to remain in my lap and drool all over my jeans.

Morning drifted into afternoon, I made myself a salad for lunch and set about looking for something else to keep my mind off the unsolvable problem. I spent a lot of time looking through Sharon’s wardrobe for things that were too dated or worn or simply weren’t a good colour for her complexion. I worried that she might see it as an invasion of privacy, but we had discussed doing it together so I hoped she’d be ok with it. By late afternoon I’d managed to free up enough space for my things and was arranging the potential cast-offs as neatly as I could in the cramped surroundings when I heard a key in the door.

“Hi Ken, are you there?”

I stuck my head out of the bedroom by way of reply.

“We’ve been shopping.”

Sharon sounded very satisfied with herself and Phil looked like the cat who got the cream. Unfortunately one or two of my frayed nerves chose that moment to snap.

“Well I hope it wasn’t for clothes because there’s not a lot room in here.”

She came through to the bedroom and looked around at the results of my afternoon’s activities. A wave of guilt passed over me.

“I’m sorry I probably should have waited before going through your things.”

Sharon looked at the pile I’d set aside, not quite sure what to say.

“It… it’s just that I couldn’t sit around doing nothing. I’ve been so, so…”

She put her arms around me and held me close. Phil, still keeping to the background, gave me a look that was a complex mix of confusion, concern, envy, with possibly even jealously added to the mix. Eventually Sharon spoke.

“I’m sorry sweetie, we were just so caught up in getting back together I guess we didn’t think. Are you ok?”

Tears were flowing now, an outward sign of my frustration and embarrassment. I wiped them away angrily.

“Yeah I’m ok, I… I just don’t know what I’m going to do next. I mean you guys are back together and I’m glad for you, but I still can’t go back to my old life — wouldn’t want to if I could. But I still can’t do anything about my new life, I mean I don’t exist, at least not officially and it’s been driving me crazy that I can’t figure out how to sort this out.”

“Oh sweetie I had no idea.”

She enveloped me in her arms and indicated to Phil that he should come over as well. He was a little awkward to start with then put his arms round the both of us. I was surprised at how pleasant that felt, how comforting.

“Look, we bought you a few things. Sort of a way of saying thank-you.”

“Thank-you? For what? I didn’t do anything.”

Phil reached for a couple of the bags they’d brought in and handed them to me. Sharon was shaking her head.

“What do you mean didn’t do anything. You gave me something to hold onto when I was thinking the worst of Phil, you stopped him from being turned into a girl and you helped us get back together. That’s hardly not anything.”

Phil handed me the bags and I pulled out two smallish boxes with jeweller’s names on the top. Looking up uncertainly, it took a few nods of encouragement before I opened them.

The first was a watch. Not a chunky practical watch like I used to wear but slim and elegant. I slipped it onto my wrist and stared at it, enjoying the feel of it, the look of it.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It’s nothing much, but I thought it was you. Phil picked the other one. Go on open it.”

The other box was a little smaller. I opened it to find a silver chain attached to the tips of two silver wings and a red stone of some sort where the wings met. My breath caught in my throat. Phil felt an explanation was needed.

“Because you’ve been our guardian angel this week. I know it’s a bit hokey but, you know, I wanted to say thanks. May I?”

I handed him the necklace and held my hair out of the way while he fastened it behind my neck.

“It’s beautiful, they’re both beautiful. Thank-you.”

Before I knew it I had given both Sharon and Phil a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Phil backed off looking uncomfortable.

“I guess it is a bit weird isn’t it?”

He shrugged and nodded. Sharon was already on to new things, looking through the pile of clothes I’d set aside. She came back with a couple of things in her hands.

“You know I think I should let you go through my clothes more often, I haven’t worn any of that stuff in ages and it seriously needs a new home. I don’t know about these though.”

She held up a couple of tops, both of which were in pretty good shape. I took hold of one of them and held it up against her, making a thoughtful face, head tilted to one side, mouth twisted to one side in a kind of pout.

“I didn’t think this was a good colour for you. Makes you look a bit sallow. The other one I wasn’t sure of. It may be just my own personal taste but it’s a bit shapeless; doesn’t do anything for you.”

She held them up against her one after the other and gave herself a critical look in the mirror before turning to Phil, who held up his hands and backed out of the room.

“Oh no, this is one of those moments where a guy can get himself into a lot of trouble and I’ve had way too much of that recently.”

Sharon and I burst out laughing at the very genuine look of fear in his eyes. Sharon gave the two tops a second look over then smiled over at me.

“You know, I think I’m going to take your advice here. Come on let’s go do something about dinner.”

She dropped the clothes carelessly on top of the rest and left the room with me following in her wake.

As usual Sharon took over the kitchen and shooed Phil and me into the lounge with a glass of wine each. It was best to leave her be in these moods, she was happy and the meal usually benefitted from the absence of too many cooks.

Phil and sat at opposite ends of the sofa in silence, exchanging the odd glance. There seemed to be something bothering him. I waited ‘til he was ready. Eventually he couldn’t hold it any longer.

“I can’t do it. I’m sorry but it’s too weird to keep calling you Ken. I mean it… it’s weird strange enough to think you were him, but the name doesn’t suit who you are now. Can’t you do something about changing it?”

Was that all? I had to supress a smile.

“You know I really haven’t given it much thought. Pretty much you and Sharon have been the only people I’ve talked to this past few days and since you already knew me as Ken the name didn’t seem to matter. I mean I’ve had other things on my mind.”

“Well it’s about time you started thinking about it. If you don’t come up with something soon I might just start calling you Barbie.”

I groaned inwardly. Phil’s jokes weren’t good at the best of times.

“Well don’t rush me, it’s an important decision. A friend suggested one to me a couple of days ago and I’m trying to decide if I like it.”

We fumbled around the outside of a few conversation topics, none of which seemed to go anywhere. I remembered this was how I’d felt when Phil had left me alone with Sharon on occasions. Odd how just a physical appearance can change the way people see you and act around you. We were both grateful when Sharon called us to table.

The meal was up to Sharon’s usual standards and conversation was muted for a while as we concentrated on flavours and textures. Phil and I washed up with Sharon watching us from the kitchen table and holding the conversation together. We chatted the evening away, things feeling a lot like old times. Eventually Phil stood up and stretched.

“I guess I should be heading back home if I’m going to be up in time tomorrow.”

I looked quizzically at Sharon who smiled mysteriously.

“Phil’s coming to church with us tomorrow.”

I raised an eyebrow and he shrugged as he slipped his shoes on.

“It’s important to Sharon, it should be important to me.”

Once he’d left, Sharon carried the empty bottle and glasses through to the kitchen.

“You know we’d better get some sleep as well. Don’t want to be late do we?

I looked at my new watch. It was only half past ten but then an early night wouldn’t do either of us any harm. I allowed myself to be lead and drifted off into the arms of Morpheus with surprising ease.

-oOo-
Morning started with an early shower for both of us then a general scurrying about in our underwear. Sharon suggest a smart blue dress with short sleeves and a v-neckline with some light tights and a pair of matching blue shoes. I had to wear my angel wings necklace so she also lent me a red bag which helped to balance the colours. She wore a beige skirt suit with a plain cream blouse. I didn’t realise at the time but she was deliberately dressing in more subdued hues to help me stand out.

We were ready half an hour before we needed to leave and I sat nervously, tugging at me hair until Sharon decided she needed to say something.

“What’s the matter sweetie? It’s only church, I mean no-one’s going to bite your head off you know.”

“I know, it just feels… I don’t know. I mean I was born a boy and now I’m going to church in a dress; it feels disrespectful.”

“Well kiddo there is nothing of the boy left now. I think you should be grateful for the gift you’ve been given and embrace the new you. Personally I think it would be more disrespectful if you went pretending to be a man. I also think he’s happy that you’re going regardless of how you look or feel.”

The nerves subsided a bit.

“Yeah I suppose…”

“Besides if you want to be nervous about something, maybe you should think more about meeting with my friend. You remember the one I said might be able to help you with your job problems?”

“Oh sh… Now you’ve set me off again.”

She hugged me and gave me an encouraging smile.

“You’ll be fine. Just take a few deep breathes and be you when we get there. I can’t imagine a soul not falling instantly in love with you on sight.”

I thought about the shadier characters I’d encountered in my wanderings around the city but I kept those thoughts to myself.

Eventually it was time to leave and we headed out, me grateful to be doing something if only walking.

“Here we are.”

I looked around. Not a spire in sight. I gave Sharon an odd look.

“We use the community centre. Sorry I should have warned you, this is going to be a little different from your expectations.”

Phil was waiting for us at the entrance; wearing a suit and tie, top button done up, hair combed. He really looked handsome and a strange feeling came over me as I realised that I actually did fancy him a little.

This was so weird; I mean I’d never looked at men in that way before. But then again I felt differently about women now. I remembered Sharon’s worried comments when she suggested we share a bed. None of my reaction had even fantasised about us together under the duvet. And that first night with Mary. It had felt so right, so wonderful at the time, but then there was more of the old Ken in me back then. As I thought back on that night I felt a little uneasy about it and promised myself that I would never again do that.

So if I was going to be a heterosexual female for the rest of my life, I supposed I’d have to get comfortable with the idea of being with a man. Not Phil though. Even if he wasn’t spoken for it would be just a bit too weird, and not just because of the age difference.

He held the door for us; something else I was going to enjoy getting used to. Sharon locked arms with him and led us both towards the large sports hall which seemed to be the centre of a lot of activity. Chairs were laid out in front of a sort of stage area, people were milling about with and without musical instruments, and small groups of people were standing around chatting. As we stepped through the door one of a group of people handed me a sheet of and offered me a cheerful, welcoming smile. This was all so odd I was beginning to feel intimidated again. Then I looked down at the sheet.

“You have got to be kidding me.”