You meant it for evil - 14 by Maeryn Lamonte CAUTION: There are some references to rape and miscarriage in this chapter “Well perhaps you will next time then. Anyway I hope you don't have plans for tonight because as of now you're lined up for a mainstream talk show interview at nine. I'm not sure where at the moment as both ITV and the BBC are bidding for you, and I need to talk to Karen to find out how she wants to handle things. “If I were you I'd clear my diary for the rest of the week too, as I suspect there'll be a few more offers in the pipeline. Wear something nice tonight won't you dear? I'll arrange for a car to pick you up at eight.”

-oOo-
“But for my first guest I would like to welcome a young lady who surprised everyone earlier today when she turned up on the steps in front of Westminster and more or less dared the government to ignore her. A remarkably young lady who has recently stepped into the fashion limelight as the new face of Elle-gance, and by her actions today has proved herself to be so very much more than just a pretty face, ladies and gentlemen please show your welcome for Miss Elizabeth Raeburn.”

The audience thundered their approval, but then with an introduction like that how could they not. I stepped out onto the stage, paused briefly to acknowledge the applause and walked the short distance to the waiting seats.

I had chosen to go with the black dress Sharon had worn for our last excursion to Mike's restaurant. In my opinion it had looked better on her, but it was still a stunning dress and didn't in any way put me to shame. The host of the show half rose out of his seat to give me a peck on the cheek then invited me to take a seat.

“Ooh, good 'ere innit?”

Polite laughter. Almost everyone here had heard my speech in front of parliament and so knew I was no Eliza Dolittle.

“Miss Raeburn, Liz if you don't mind, It's a delight to have you on the show, and looking so lovely in what I can only assume is an Elle-gance dress? May I say you seem remarkably young for someone who's made such an impact on parliament today.”

“That's kind of you to say so David, every woman likes to be told that she's too young. But no, there's no prerequisite for age when addressing issues like this. All you need is to be passionate and not afraid of a bit of hard work. My Birth Certificate says I'm eighteen years old, and I'd like to throw that out to everyone from my generation. If you see something in this world or this country of ours that you know is wrong, then don't let your age be the thing that tells you you can't make a difference.”

“And it seems quite obvious that you are making something of a difference. I don't know if you heard but shortly before the program began, the government made an announcement that they are reviewing their current policies on homelessness in London, based largely on the information you presented to them earlier today.”

We had to wait for the applause to die down before he could get to his point.

“I suppose the questions on everyone's lips have to be what was that information and how did you come by it?”

“Before I answer that, may I say that I respect the government for the efforts they have been making to help the homeless in this city. The funds, time and effort they have thrown at the problem have gone a significant way towards keeping those people alive and helping many of them into a job and a future.

“In recent years though, the government has been trying to keep tabs on the situation by conducting spot surveys. Now it seems to me that there must be something wrong with their methodology because the numbers they have been working with haven't matched the estimate from the charities who deal directly with the people in question. Up until now there hasn't been a systematic way of comparing the two estimates and it seemed to me that if I wanted to the government to take me seriously, I had to show reliable proof that they were wrong.

“For the past few weeks I've been tagging along with pretty much every charitable organisation in London that provides food, bedding or shelter to the homeless and I've been talking with the people they serve. I've written down individual names and collected signatures, then I compared all the data collected to make sure there weren't any, or at least many, duplications. The evidence speaks for itself.”

“It sounds like a phenomenal amount of work.”

“Yes there was a fair bit of effort involved, but then I'm lucky in my job. When I'm not directly involved in a show or a photo-shoot, I have a fair amount of free time to devote to my own interests. Along with means and motive that leaves me ideally situated to do something about it.”

“You mentioned in your speech in front of parliament that you had a few ideas that could help to resolve the homeless issue without costing the government a great deal. Would you care to expand on your ideas.”

“Well you're putting me in danger of going off half-cocked here David. Just today I sent off copies of my proposals to MPs and leading businessmen, all of whose cooperation will be needed to pull this off, and I'm sure that most of them haven't had time to review and ponder those suggestions.”

“A hint even?”

“Very well, in brief the main problem of the homeless is, unsurprisingly, that they don't have a home; that is to say a permanent residence where they can be warm and fed well enough to focus their energies on something other than day to day survival. A permanent residence where they can receive correspondence necessary for them to register with the unemployment office, to provide return addresses for job applications, even to set up a bank account. Without that roof over their heads there is little or no hope of these young people ever digging themselves out of the hole they're in.

“In certain parts of London there are a large number of good sized commercial buildings that are standing empty and slowly becoming derelict through neglect. So why can't we put the homeless people into one of those empty buildings?

“There are two problems that need to be addressed. The first is that the government classifies business properties as non-residential so people are not permitted to live in them. This could easily be solved if parliament were to offer specific one off dispensations for certain buildings to be used for housing. The second problem is that many of the local businesses who own these properties are reticent about letting them be used for such purposes. There's a fear that their tenants might abuse the property, leaving graffiti and damage to the extent that the buildings won't be usable afterwards. On top of that, while the street kids are using the building, the business cannot use it for anything.

“So what we need is an incentive for businesses to allow their properties to be used. In the first case, the damage is being done by the erosion of time and the presence of squatters. It is highly likely that the buildings would be better looked after with young people using them as a home. In the second, the government already allows tax concessions for business donating money to charity, why not consider ways in which those same businesses can donate usage of a building or time in teaching skills as a tax concession?”

“Wow. That seems like a fairly massive undertaking for just one person.”

“It is, but then just one person managed to put together a fairly comprehensive survey of London's down and outs in just a few weeks. Just one person managed to get the government to review their policies on the homeless. Now if just one person can persuade the government to make a few relatively small concessions then inspire enough people to take some responsibility for the problem we face, then we'll be a long way to solving this problem. Street people are to a large extent just like you and me, the only difference being that their power to change their circumstances has been taken away from them. Give them something like this and within no time they will be organising their own sleeping arrangements, cooking their own food, earning their own money. With just a little nudge we can send this thing snowballing.”

“And what makes you so convinced that you can achieve this?”

“My passion. The fact that I care. This matters to me and I will see it through one way or another.”

“Just one last question then Liz, before we will have to move on. Why is it that you are so passionate. I mean we've all heard beauty pageant girls saying they support world peace to the extent that it's become a joke. It's quite obvious this is not the case with you, but where does the fire that drives your convictions come from?”

“Well David, it wasn't that long ago that I first arrived in London. At the time things went badly wrong enough for me that I ended up out on the streets myself.

“Now I was fortunate in that I made friends who helped me back on my feet quite quickly, but I did spend enough time wandering around, freezing cold and miserable, to realise how helpless you are in those circumstances. It didn't seem fair that I should get the lucky break after just a day or so when so many people, a great many of them youngsters about my age, are stuck for years with no way out. I decided that if I could help, I'd do just about anything to make it happen.

“And this starts today ladies and gentlemen. This is just the beginning.”

That earned me another round of applause and gave my host the natural break he needed to bring on his next guest. I did offer one or two comments through the rest of the show and offered my opinion when asked, but for the most part, that was it.

Early next morning Karen came round with an armful of clothes and the instruction that if I was going to appear in public it had to be in Elle-gance and she didn't want me wearing the same thing twice. She was glad of the publicity but, like Ann, a little miffed that I hadn't included her in my plans.

As predicted, the rest of the week left me with little free time to myself as I was ferried to breakfast television studios to radio studios to press releases to evening TV shows. It was a mad week, but thrilling from the point of view of raising the profile of the cause. It also incidentally put pressure on the government and by midweek they caved under impromptu protests outside Westminster and agreed to the concessions I wanted. After that I had businessmen contacting me to arrange meetings where we could discuss the sort of tax breaks they could get. It was a challenge squeezing those encounters into my already busy schedule but I was determined to strike while the iron was hot and somehow by the end of Friday I had the promise of one building, maybe two, and several firms agreeing to adapt, decorate and furnish them for me. I raised the idea of them offering the time of some of their skilled workers as trainers for similar tax concessions, so that the people coming into the centres could learn a profession and, whilst there was some interest, none took up the idea.

The limelight was fading, my moment in the spotlight coming to an end. My fear was that the public would lose interest before my plan was fully established, and in the last few interviews I was granted before the media circus moved on in search of new attractions, I thanked everyone involved for their generosity in pushing things through so quickly, then raised the new idea. The government were prepared to consider things other than money as charitable giving now. How many small businesses out there would be prepared to offer some of their time and skills training up the people in the new centre so that they had skills to offer an employer? It was too new an idea, no-one seemed prepared to be the first. Without it, I would only have provided half of what I wanted. Shelter and a place to start looking for a job was only half the battle here.

It was past eleven on Friday night and I was just stretching out on my sofa with a well-earned glass of wine, trying to attack the problem from different angles in my head, when my buzzer rang. Being late and dark I used the intercom.

“Yes?”

“Er, it's Geoff Miss, you know, the carpets? Sorry to disturb you so late but there's somefing I fink you should see.”

-oOo-
I grabbed my coat and headed down to the front door. I was wearing the same pale yellow linen skirt and jacket and white silk blouse I'd put on for my most recent interview, but Geoff's voice had sounded urgent so I followed him out to his van still dressed in silk and linen.

“So is this Mike's idea?”

“No miss, I ain't seen 'im since I done your place. Is everyfing alright wiv you two?”

“Not particularly, no, but what is you want to show me?”

“I bin talking to some of me mates and they said they seen you.”

No surprise there, I mean I'd just spent several weeks talking to street people, and now this last week with my face on the TV, probably appearing in most of the electrical goods shop windows in London.

“What's unusual about that?”

“No I mean they seen you on the streets.”

“I've spent several weeks on the streets.”

He let out a sigh of frustration.

“No miss. They seen you on the streets wiv them. Not just visiting.”

“Are you saying there's someone living on the streets who looks like me?”

“Yes miss.”

Another sigh, relief this time. But not for myself. A cold feeling was spreading through me.

“But that's impossible.”

“Lot's a things in the world are impossible miss. Doesn't mean they don't happen.”

We drove on into one of London's seedier areas. I began to spot familiar areas and the sense of fear and urgency in me grew. Eventually Geoff pulled up by the side of the road. I jumped out of the van and started running. I knew this place and I had a definite destination in mind. To my knowledge I had never been here except in a dream, but as I turned the corner and I was there. The mounds of filth, the stench of decay, the dim shadows, all as I remembered them.

For a moment all I could see in the dark alley was rubbish, then there was a movement and as if by magic, what I had taken for a pile of refuse resolved itself into the shape of a young girl cradling something in her lap and bent over it as though protecting it.

I ran over and knelt beside her; the ground was sticky and wet. I touched it briefly with my fingers and lifted them to my nose. In the shadows it was too dark to be sure by sight, but the faintly metallic smell was unmistakable. Blood, and so much of it.

The girl barely had strength enough to shiver with the cold. I took off my coat and wrapped it around her shoulders, squeezing them briefly. Looking into her lap I caught sight of what she was holding and for a moment was lost in a cascade of painful memories.

“It's alright. It'll be alright. I'll take care of you now.”

I slipped off my linen jacket and folded it, offering a place for the small object she was cradling. She wouldn't let it go, but it seemed right somehow that it should be treated with reverence. She placed the bloody remains of her child onto the jacket and took the whole bundle to hold.

All this blood, I had to do something. I pulled off my blouse. Silk was highly absorbent.

“I want to put this between your legs, try to stop the bleeding.”

I knew it was a waste of time even as I did it. The bleeding was internal and nothing I could do would stop it. I put my arm around her shoulders and reached gently under her skirt with the blouse. She shuddered slightly then turned towards me.

I heard footsteps behind me and a moment later felt a heavy jacket over my shoulders. I shrugged off my bag and turned to Geoff who was looking lost.

“Get my mobile, dial nine-nine-nine and hold it against my ear.

“Emergency, which service please?”

“Ambulance please.”

“Please hold the line while I connect you.”

Why do we have to be so damned polite in situations like this? I could hear the operator giving my number to someone further down the line, then a new voice was talking to me.

I gave her my location, remembered from the times I'd visited here in my dream, and explained the situation; young girl, late teens; miscarriage, not sure how far along, the foetus about the size of my hand; considerable blood loss, conscious but unresponsive.

The operator stayed on the line, told me that an ambulance had been dispatched and asked me to check a few other things. Breathing shallow and rapid; pulse, not sure I can feel it, oh yes there it is very weak and quite fast; skin cool and clammy, looks a bit pale but not easy to see in this light.

“Right the ambulance should be with you in just a couple of minutes. Lay her down and keep her warm if you can, and raise her legs a few inches. She's resisting, no don't force her if she's that conscious.”

She was calm and efficient, keeping my own hysteria at bay. I could feel helpless tears welling up inside me, but her gentle voice held them back. I held onto the girl, rocking her back and forth gently. Oh God, please let that be the ambulance sirens I hear. The sound drew closer and I heard the slam of doors round the corner. The alley was too narrow for the large vehicle.

“Over here.”

I didn't know if they needed me to call to them, but they came swiftly, eased me out of the way and I was standing helplessly to one side watching the two Day-Glo heroes about their very professional business. I was cold even under Geoff's heavy duty coat and I hugged myself under my breasts, rubbing my arms and only then noticing I was still holding the mobile phone. It was making concerned noises as I held it up to my ear.

“They're here. I'm sorry, they took over and I forgot I was talking to you. No I think everything's going to be alright now. Thank-you.”

I absent-mindedly pressed the end call button and carried on watching as the paramedics very gently took away the tiny burden and lay it to one side still on the folded jacket, then replaced the silk blouse with a sterile pad before lifting the girl onto the stretcher and covering her with a blanket. They picked up the stretcher between them and I stepped forward to retrieve the remains of the girl's baby and followed them. My coat lay discarded and forgotten on the ground.

One of the paramedics took the small bundle from my arms and placed it in the vehicle, then turned back to me.

“You the person who called it in?”

I nodded, only half hearing the question. He looked closely into my face, took my wrist and compared it to his watch.

“I think you'd better come too miss. Incidents like this can be quite traumatic for bystanders like yourself as much as for the patients.”

He looked over my shoulder at Geoff, still looking a bit lost.

“Are you alright sir?”

He nodded dumbly. I offered him back his jacket, exchanging it for my handbag and unwittingly revealing my bra and bare skin again. The paramedic swiftly wrapped a blanket around me and continued his conversation with Geoff.

“I take it that's your van out on the road? When you're ok to drive, you can come down to St Thomas's A&E.”

He helped me up beside his colleague, slammed the door and walked swiftly round to the front. We drove off into the traffic, siren wailing. In just a few minutes, we were pulling into a hospital entrance, leaving a wake of vehicles up on the pavements giving us room to pass.

A gurney appeared at the back of the ambulance and the girl was lifted onto it and wheeled away. A nurse reverently took the small bundle and hurried after them. Lastly I was gently eased into a wheelchair and just as efficiently dispatched to the interior of the hospital. I didn't even have a chance to thank the two ambulance men who had come so quickly.

The wheelchair ride ended beside a bed in a large and busy emergency ward, curtains already drawn around it. I was helped out of the chair and onto the bed, after which the porter gave me a cheerful wave and headed off. I didn't have time to wonder what next to expect because a nurse stepped through the curtains then leaned immediately back out.

“Doctor!”

White coat, stethoscope, harried expression; yep he looked like a doctor.

“Where are you hurt?”

I gave him a blank look. He waved at me and repeated the question more urgently. I looked down to find my bare front and underwear covered in blood. Neurons fired, understanding dawned; I looked up.

“Oh no, this isn't my blood. I found a young girl who'd had a miscarriage and called for an ambulance. The paramedics thought I was in shock or something.”

The doctor gave the nurse an impatient look and disappeared past her bowed head. She pulled on a pair of latex gloves and helped me to strip out of my clothes, explaining that I needed to have all the blood cleaned off me as quickly as possible. She didn't actually use the term AIDS, but the implication hung heavily in the air.

She led me to a bathroom where showered and washed thoroughly, hair included. By the time I was done, what had been left of my clothes were gone and one of those ghastly open backed hospital gowns lay waiting for me along with a pair of knickers that seemed to be made out of paper. The nurse came back with a porter in tow just as I finished dressing — if you can call it that — and between them they whisked me off to a patient lounge somewhere in the bowels of the ancient building.

I won't bother with that dreadful joke about patients having to have patience, but suffice to say that I was left waiting for a long while. My handbag had disappeared with my clothes and none of the staff seemed to know or care anything about it, being altogether too busy about something else. I had more or less decided that this room was a place to put inconvenient people who didn't fit anywhere else in the system, and was beginning to wonder if they had forgotten about me completely when I heard my name called.

I stood up and made my awkward way across the room, trying to keep the flap behind me closed from the jealous eyes of those who still had who knows how long to wait. I found a plump nurse with a clipboard looking anxiously around the room.

“I'm Liz Raeburn.”

“Oh, Miss Raeburn, thank-you. I can take you to see your sister now.”

My what? I know what Geoff had said, but were we really that much alike?

Again there was a wheelchair, litigation culture having robbed unaffiliated individuals of the right to walk around public buildings. I didn't have any complaints in this case though, as long as I was seated I was able to hold onto some dignity.

“Can you tell me how she is?”

“If you don't mind, it would be best to wait for the doctor to say.”

I guess she had a big butt to cover so was being extra cautious. I'm sorry but I wasn't in a particularly charitable mood.

The doctor was in the room reading through her chart when I arrived and was allowed to climb out of my carriage. He turned as I came in a favoured me with a cautious grin and an open palm.

“Miss Raeburn, a pleasure. I've been following your exploits on television this week with a considerable amount of interest.”

“Thank-you. Doctor how Is she?”

“It's too early to tell I'm afraid. Surgery went well, but she lost an awful lot of blood. She's stable for now, but we'll have to wait and see how she is when she wakes up.

“Er, I was wondering if you could help us fill in some of the blanks on her form.”

“Do you mind if we do it later, I'd like to sit with her for a while.”

“Of course, and if there's anything else we can do...”

“There are a couple of things. My handbag seems to have disappeared along with what was left of my clothes. Now I understand that anything that had her blood on it had to be taken away, but the bag has my purse, my phone, a lot of things I'd like to have back if possible. I also need to phone a few people. I know you won't want me using my mobile so would it be possible to have a telephone brought in here?”

“I'll see what can be done.”

He backed out of the room leaving me to look in wonder at my twin, sleeping peacefully in the bed. She was thinner than me to the point of being malnourished, but now that the mud and filth had been washed from her face, she looked almost exactly like me. Mary, why didn't you tell me about this.

The phone arrived a while later along with the contents of my handbag, now jangling in the bottom of a carrier bag. I phoned through to Sharon's flat which went to answer phone, then to her mobile. After a more than usual number of rings a sleepy voice answered, words wrapped around a drawn out yawn.

“Do you know what time it is?”

“No actually, my watch was taken from me. I guess it's going to be late though and I'm sorry to wake you, but I need your help.”

She woke up as I gave her a précis of my evening.

“So if you would be wonderful, please would you dig out Clive's home number for me then get me some proper clothes and come down and find me?”

Arrangements made and number copied down, I dialled the Anderton-Buckley residence. Yet again a sleepy voice answered the phone.

“This had better be good.”

“Clive, this is Liz Raeburn. I'm so sorry to call you this late, but it seems I have a twin sister.”

It worked like a gallon of ice water. Suddenly I was talking to a very alert and very capable man.”

“Tell me.”

And so for the second time in as many minutes I explained what had happened.

“I'm not sure what to do. I mean I've stalled the hospital for now, but they're going to want names and addresses sometime soon, and if they don't tie up with anything on the system, I suspect things are going to get sticky.

“There's no way your resemblance to this girl could be passed off as coincidental?”

“I doubt it. The hospital staff here have made the assumption that we're twins, and I can't blame them. She is my clone Clive, it's uncanny.”

“Ok, here' s what we'll do. Do you have a name for her?”

“Well she's unconscious so I don't know if she has a preference, but I was thinking Emily.”

“Very appropriate. Ok give them Emily as a name and your new date of birth as the same for her. Be vague about the rest. I'm afraid we're going to have to approach your parents Liz.”

“I already have, about a week ago, and they refuse to believe that they had anything to do with bringing me into the world. I doubt they'll be very co-operative about compounding the lie. If it helps, my older brother, Glen, knows and accepts what's happened to me. I'm pretty sure he'd help.”

“Any port in a storm. Can you give me his number?”

I did.

“Right leave it in my hands. We'll have to go with papers being lost while she was on the streets and I'll make sure there's some record of her in the system by the time anyone starts looking.”

“Thanks Clive, you're a star. I hope you don't regret helping me out.”

“Well that depends on just how many more clones of you there are out there doesn't it? For now I don't think anyone would believe us if we tried to tell them the truth and I for one don't want to share a padded cell with you. No objection to the company of course, but I've never been a fan of quilted décor.”

We said our goodbyes and I settled in to wait.

-oOo-
“Liz?”

It was several hours later. Sharon had dropped by with some clothes — chosen more for comfort and warmth than style for which I was grateful — and since the girl in the bed showed no signs of rousing, I had found a comfortable position on an easy chair tucked in the shadows behind the door. I had evidently dozed off and now woke muzzily to the sight of Mike advancing slowly towards the bed.

“Hi Mike, what are you doing here?”

He spun on his heels then did a double take thing that wouldn't have been out of place in a cartoon.

“What? How? Who?”

“It's a long story and if I'm going to tell it I'll need coffee, plus it would be best if we don't disturb her.”

I led him out of the room and down the corridor in search of a vending machine.

“So, at the risk of sounding repetitive, what are you doing here?”

“Oh, er Geoff came round to the restaurant. He wasn't making a lot of sense but he did mention your name and St Thomas's as well as something to do with ambulances and blood. I came over as soon as I could, then I had the devil's own time getting past the interference at the desk. If anyone asks, we're engaged alright? If only for tonight.”

It was more than a bit cheeky but I nodded.

We found a dispenser of beverages, which Mike fed with coins as we each chose a means of torturing our taste buds. There were some seats nearby, empty given the early hour, and I settled down for what I suspected was going to be a long and potentially frustrating explanation.

I mean I could understand Mike's position. In all the time he had known me nothing miraculous had happened other than natural wonder of our feelings for each other. There had been times late at night in recent weeks, when I hadn't been sufficiently exhausted, that I'd played out the things I'd told Mike in my head. They were impossible, mad, ridiculous, unbelievable, so many adjectives to choose from and yet not enough to express fully how they must have seemed from Mikes point of view. But they were real, and I was done with lies in any relationship I might have with this man.

Just having him near was making my legs go week and it took all my will power to stick to my resolve. I took a sip of coffee — surprisingly it wasn't as bad as expected — tossed up a quick prayer and looked him in the eyes.

“So, where do you want to start?”

“How about why didn't you tell me you had a twin sister?”

“Because up until tonight I had no idea. Geoff called round to say he'd heard some of his friends saying they'd spotted me on the streets; not just visiting them, living on them. He took me to the area his mates had indicated and that's where we found her. How come Geoff has friends on the streets?”

“Because not that long ago he used to be one of them himself.”

There was a story here. No reason why I shouldn't trade for my information. I waited for more and eventually he gave in with a long sigh.

“I first met him about a year ago rummaging through the bins behind the restaurant. Apparently they're the places to find the choicest foods because we have to throw stuff out before the sell-by date. Anyway I invited him in, gave him a proper meal and talked to him. He seemed genuine and just down on his luck so decided to help him. He'd been a carpet fitter so I set him up in business, you know second hand van and a little capital to advertise and buy some tools, and he hasn't looked back since. He's already paid me back the money I loaned him at the beginning and still insists he owes me. Quite honestly, seeing him back on his feet has been enough of a reward.”

He seemed a little embarrassed about it all, as though telling me were somehow wrong. He pulled the conversation back to the original topic

“So how come she looks so much like you? I mean any chance you were separated at birth and your parents never told you about it?”

“My parents don't believe I'm their, er, child right now, and no they're not the sort to keep a secret like that. When you do it eats away inside of you every day, and anyone who knows you who has the least bit of discernment sees there's something wrong. You don't get that with my folks, they're at peace with a life that has been very ordinary and very honest up until now.”

“So how do you explain her?”

“Only with a story I've already told you that you've rejected.”

“So what? You're saying that she's another man who's been transformed by this green eyed witch of yours?”

“There is something I haven't told you. It didn't seem relevant at the time and right now I'm not sure if it isn't going to make things worse.”

Now it was his turn to wait me out. Oh well here goes nothing.

“About a week after this change happened to me, ok supposedly — I'm not going to try and persuade you all over again. Anyway it was a Sunday afternoon and I was still tired and disoriented after having spent all of Friday night wandering the streets. You remember, I told you Sharon kicked me out after I told her my unbelievable story? Anyway I had a dream, a nightmare that coincided with my first period. I know I won't talk any more about that, I know it makes men squeamish.

Anyway in the dream I was back out on the streets and some guy who thought I was a whore forced himself on me. Then the dream kind of drifted through months of wandering about, realising I was pregnant, searching for food and trying to stay warm until one evening I felt this terrible pain and collapsed in an alley somewhere and miscarried.

“That's when I woke up screaming. I haven't thought much about it since then, not until Geoff took me out in his van. I began to recognise places I'd never been until he pulled up the van quite close to the alley I remembered from the dream. I ran straight there and found her sitting in a pool of her own blood.

“I can't tell you what to make of that. As long as you're not prepared to accept my miracle story, then I guess this just has to be something else I made up. And as long as you think I'm the sort of person who would make up a story like that, then we remain stuck where we are, don't we?”

The silence stretched out. We were getting good at silence, only this time I was ready to accept his inevitable response. I wasn't ready to wait for it though.

“Look it was kind of you to come down. I don't want to leave her for long so I'm going back to the room. I'd be grateful for the company of you'd like to stay, but you know; your choice.”

I headed back down the corridor, throwing my empty polystyrene cup in a convenient bin on the way. I hadn't taken ten paces before he fell into step beside me.

“Have you spoken to Sharon and Phil yet?”

“I've been trying to avoid thinking about it, and the restaurant's keeping me busy.”

“Are you ahead on your VAT returns yet?”

He laughed quietly, just once.

“Yes I guess I am using work as an excuse not to face this, but Liz, I really don't know how to deal with it.”

“I know, and I don't think any less of you because of it. This is just you being honest with me and I'd rather that than you pretend to believe me. I just wish there was some way I could show you.”

“Why do you keep asking me to talk to Phil and Sharon?”

“Because you know them; Phil at least. Would you say he would go with this if it were a joke?”

“Not to this extent, no. He was always the first to stop a prank at school when the kid we were making fun of started getting upset.”

“Then you trust his opinion.

“He was Ken's best friend for five years; enough time to get to know him well. We had the whole conversation about me trying to prove who I was with me answering questions only he and Ken should have known the answers to. Why don't you ask him how it went?”

There wasn't much else to say so we went back into the room and sat in silence and kept watch.

-oOo-
Sometime in the early hours of the morning a nurse poked her head into the room and coughed gently. Mike and I had both been drowsing in separate chairs and she wanted to know what he was doing here.

“It's alright he's with me.”

I didn't want to give voice to the full cover story. Just too painful to say those words when they weren't true.

The nurse nodded and left. Mike stretched out a few kinks then looked at me with his half smile.

“What?”

“I was wondering if I'd ever get to spend the night with you. Coffee?”

“Yes please.”

He left me shaking my head at his gentle idiocy. I walked over to the bed and took the young girl's hand in mine. She didn't stir; perhaps as well. She looked so peaceful and she only had a mind full of horrors to wake to.

Mike came back with the coffee then stood behind me looking down at her. It may have been the smell of the drinks, I don't know, but she started to move then. Little things at first, the twitch of a nose, the furrowing of a brow. I took her hand again and her eyes fluttered open. She startled back pulling the sheets in front of her mouth, eyes wide like a frightened child.

“It's alright, you're safe. You're in hospital. Do you remember what happened to you?”

“My baby, where's my baby?”

This had to be handled more delicately than I knew how. I asked Mike to fetch a doctor or a nurse. Being slightly more caffeinated than me he thought to press the call button. A few seconds later there was a nurse in the room shooing us out. Less than a minute later a doctor appeared and again the door shut on us. A few moments later there was a loud mournful cry from within the room, which faded a short while later. The doctor stepped out of the room.

“I've given her a sedative. She's very fragile at the moment and needs not to be stressed.”

“You told her about the miscarriage?”

“She was getting agitated because we wouldn't bring the baby to her, it was the lesser of two evils.

“If you wouldn't mind staying with her. She'll most likely be in and out of consciousness but will be calmer if she has a familiar face there when she's awake.”

Mike and I returned to our vigil. She was unconscious again so not much to do right now.

“I've been watching you on the telly this week. You know how to make an impression don't you?”

I shrugged.

“At present all we have is another place for those guys to stay. Unless I can get a few businesses coming in and teaching them skills they can use to get jobs, it'll probably fail like everything else.”

“You shouldn't be so hard on yourself. What you've achieved in just a few weeks, especially the progress you've made this last week, is nothing less than miraculous.”

“Oh so you do believe in miracles then?”

“I believe we make our own miracles.

“Look I know we're not exactly in a good place right now relationship-wise, but if there's anything I can do...”

I wasn't proud. Not that proud anyway.

“Once the centre is open, would you be prepared to take some time out during the day to come down and teach enough cookery to get whoever's interested to sou-chef standard, or whatever the entry level is in a restaurant kitchen? If I can get at least one or two case studies to show that this can work, then I might be able to interest a few more businesses.”

“Well cooking is something they'll benefit from learning even if they don't earn a living at it. Yeah sure, my staff and I are yours for a couple of hours a day, say three days a week?”

That earned him a hug. I sniffed away a tear.

“I knew there was some reason why I hadn't given up on you yet.”

A moan came from the bed and our priorities shifted.

“Hello again. Please relax, you're amongst friends.”

“You look just like me. How is that?”

Her voice was slurred and indistinct.

“I was hoping that you might tell us.”

“What do you mean?”

“I suspect you didn't always look like this.”

She turned her face away.

“You wouldn't believe me if I told you.”

I sighed and looked up at Mike.

“My name used to be Ken.”

She was too drugged to snap her head around, but she did a good job of trying.

“You were a...”

“A man, yes.”

“Oh thank God. Everyone thinks I'm mad. Mind you she said they would. That letter.”

Mike's brow furrowed and he leant forward.

“What do you mean she?”

I'd jiggled enough stones loose. The dam burst and a flood of tears and words poured out as she told her own story.

His name was Darren, he told us, and three months earlier he'd been out partying with some friends when he's met this gorgeous green-eyed redhead. Ok she'd told him she was a lesbian, but he was enough of lady's man that he figured he could change her mind on that. Besides she was too beautiful to waste on other girls.

She'd invited him back to her place, all the while say that she only made out with girls, but leading him on. A real cock-tease he'd thought. Well she'd soon find out what happened when she teased his cock enough.

They'd kissed and this totally impossible weird thing had happened to him. The world got bigger and he changed. She'd flirted with him a while longer saying something about if he wanted to make out with her he had to be a girl. He'd lost it then and run into the bathroom, locked the door, torn off what remained of his clothes and fainted at what he'd seen, or more precisely not seen.

When he came to, he was lying on the cold tiled floor and nothing had changed. That is to say the changes were still there. Somehow he'd been transformed into this girl. He'd screamed then. It hadn't been intended as a scream as such, but that's how it had sounded, and it seemed to feed on itself, taking on a life of its own, getting louder and louder until she had no breath left and he'd collapsed again.

The next time he'd come to his senses, he had managed to keep things enough under control that he'd unlocked the door and gone looking for answers, but the flat was deserted. Eventually he'd found the letter, from what I could tell an exact copy of the one I'd found. He'd felt totally humiliated putting on the girl clothes but his own clothes were gone, even the ones he'd torn off in the bathroom, and with the alternative being to walk around naked with bits he'd never had before juggling all over the place, dressing had seemed the better choice.

He'd stayed in the apartment until gone midday when, as promised in the letter, the police had arrived and arrested him. He'd tried to tell them what had happened and for his troubles had then spent an uncomfortable day and night in a prison cell until a psychiatrist had come to evaluate him. He'd come to his senses enough to realise that he was looking at a future in a padded cell if he kept with his story, so had passed the whole thing off as a joke. Since no further complaint had been brought against him, he had been released a few hours later.

It was the same evening he'd met the creep who wouldn't take no for an answer, and he'd been left torn and bleeding, hurting in both body and soul. The rest of his story was one of compounded miseries, foraging in the bins for food, sleeping on the cold hard ground with nothing but cardboard to keep him from freezing totally, the realisation that he was now pregnant and the confusing mix of horror and attachment that had come with the growing awareness of the life inside him. Most of the time he'd kept away from other people, distrusting their motives, but recently he'd suffered from painful cramps and only just escaped from the people who approached him.

Then — had it only been last night? — the pains had been the worst yet. He'd collapsed on the ground, surrounded by a sticky dampness, and felt something give inside him, come out of him. He'd known somehow what had happened and an anguish he'd never suspected could exist had consumed him. He had vague memories of someone coming, putting a coat around him, giving him something clean on which to place his tiny burden.

“That was you wasn't it?”

I nodded. The dream memories his story had brought to the surface left me without a voice.

“Thank-you.”

The telling of the story had taken everything he had. His hand slackened in mine and his head fell gently back onto the pillow. I nodded at the call button and Mike obliged. A nurse arrived.

“She was awake for a while, but she's so weak. I don't know.”

The nurse eased me out of the way and did some quick checks then ran out of the room. I turned to Mike whose face was a study in astonishment and incredulity.

“You were telling the truth all along?”

I nodded, but my heart was breaking for the poor soul on the bed. He looked like me, but from the way he told the story he was all man inside. I couldn't begin to fathom how terrible these past months must have been for him. Mike took me in his arms and let me cry myself out onto his shoulder. Around us doctors and nurses were moving in on the bed, all efficiency and concern. Mike and I stepped out of the room to give them space to work.

-oOo-
It was some hours later that a doctor came and found us sitting near the vending machine. The expression on his face warned us ahead of time.

“I'm sorry Miss Raeburn. We did everything we could, but it just seemed like she gave up.”

I nodded. A fresh tear trickled down my cheek and I brushed it away. I'd thought I had run out of them.

“There's another thing. The police are here. I'm afraid they want a word with you."