You meant it for evil - 18 by Maeryn Lamonte CAUTION: This chapter contains a brief description of attempted suicide. The light on my answerphone flashed a greeting at me as I walked through the door. Just the one message. I dumped my bags on the sofa and pressed play. “Miss Raeburn? Doctor Marston here. Your sisters. I wonder if you could take the time to come and visit tomorrow morning. Rather urgent.”

-oOo-
I grabbed the phone and hit dial back. It was late, but then, with residential patients the place needed staff around the clock. The only questions was were they anywhere near a phone.

The answer was no. After one ring I was transferred to an answer-phone. Please call back between eight thirty in the morning and seven thirty in the evening. I slammed the phone back down in frustration. How was I going to sleep now? Still I did what I could, relaxing bath, quick text to Mike to postpone our lunch arrangements, a note to remind me to call the bruise specialist if I was delayed at the institute, and an early night with my alarm set for five thirty. Fortunately I was more tired than I first thought and dropped off almost immediately, completely oblivious to the world until my alarm went off the next morning.

Normal ablutions, breakfast of tasteless roughage and the essential cup of coffee, and pick out something to wear. Jeans was a given since I was visiting the twins, but I chose a light floaty top with spaghetti straps in bands of mauve to go with it. Definitely a bit girly but comfortable against my still bruised chest. A little foundation to cover the few blemishes that showed above my cleavage, and the same to hide the gradually subsiding marks around my nose and eyes. Jacket, handbag, keys and gone. Close the door quietly so as not to disturb Sharon and sneak down to the car.

“Hi love.”

“Mike, what are you doing here?”

“I thought you might like some company.”

“But it's so early.”

“You think I don't do early? Sandy and James offered to shop for the restaurant today which means I'm free to come with you as long as I get back by five. I'm guessing this won't take longer than six hours, and if it does, you'll most likely want to stay overnight anyway. If we take mine then I can leave on my own if need be.”

“Yeah ok, but how did you know I'd be leaving this early.”

“Oh, that's easy. I called the institute and the voice message told me the opening times. I know it takes a little under two hours to get there from here so that put your most likely departure time between six and half past.”

“You've been waiting here for half an hour? Why didn't you come up?”

He shrugged.

“I want to catch you in the altogether again, besides it's a lovely morning.”

I was surprised at how relieved I was to have him there and, Spanish Inquisition over, favoured him with a long, grateful kiss.

“You even shaved.”

I stroked his smooth chin and we parted long enough to climb into our respective sides of his car.

-oOo-
There was already a fair bit of traffic about, but not enough to slow us down. Mike took a slightly more southerly route to the M25, a more meandering path, but a little swifter with fewer cars than usual on the road. We made good time and by eight fifteen we were easing our way slowly down the tree lined path towards the large brick building.

The institute wasn't all that strict on its opening times and five minutes later we were standing at the reception desk with Doctor Marston walking down the corridor, looking relieved and a little grim at the same time.

“Miss Raeburn. Good of you to come so quickly. And you are?”

He turned his abrupt manner on Mike.

“Er, I'm er, I'm Mike. Mike Paston, Liz's fiancé.”

Doctor Marston continued to stare Mike down until the hint took hold.

“...and, if it's alright with you, I shall take a stroll in the gardens while you two do what you need to.”

The doctor waved an arm towards a glass double door that led out to the garden and Mike flashed me an encouraging smile before stepping through it and out of sight.

“That was a little rude Doctor.”

“Was it? Some news for family only I'm afraid. It's Emily. She tried to commit suicide yesterday.”

“What? I mean how? Wasn't she on suicide watch?”

“Was. Improved so much after your visit, thought it was time to give her more freedom.”

“What happened?”

“Yesterday she made a phone call. Private, no details. After, she asked to go to her room. Orderly found her a short while later. Tried to cut her wrists. Didn't quite have the strength. Might have lost her otherwise.”

“May I see her?”

“Yes. Think that would be a good idea.”

He led me along the corridor to Emily's room.

-oOo-
Paul/Emily was lying on a bed, ankles and wrists held in padded leather restraints and an orderly standing in the room with him. His skin was pale and dark shadows haunted his eyes.

“Hey Em, what the hell happened?”

I kept my voice calm and friendly, lessening any impact my words might have had. She smiled at me weakly.

“Hi Liz. Looks like I really screwed the pooch this time.”

Keep it light Liz, real but light.

“Maybe not the best way to persuade the good doctor that you're safe to be turned loose from this place, I agree.”

I looked up at the orderly and the doctor standing in the doorway.

“Is there any chance we could have some privacy here?”

The orderly looked to Doctor Marston for direction. The doctor looked as though he wanted to stay. Time for a gentle push.

“Look she's calm enough, and even if she wasn't, she's strapped down hand and foot. If I need any help you're just a holler away, what could go wrong?”

Reluctantly the doctor nodded then indicated to the orderly to leave us alone. The door didn't quite shut as they left so I cautioned Paul to keep his voice down.

“Tell me about it?”

“Oh Liz, things were going so well. I felt so much better after your visit, and those clothes you brought. Well they felt a bit weird, but they were so much better than the things I'd been wearing. And talking to you was such a relief as well, to know there was someone who believed me, who knew I was telling the truth, who knew what I'd been through.

“I found I didn't need, didn't want to curl up in the corner of the room. I stopped the rocking, at least stopped doing it so much. I started eating the food they brought me and even talked to the doctor when he came to see me. After a couple of days he let me wander more freely, you know the grounds, the common room, that sort of thing. There's a phone in the common room. I mean the idea of calling anyone was daft; everyone in my life knew me as Paul, not this... this thing that I've become.”

I winced at the way he described himself but stayed quiet.

“But then I figured it might be worth trying my mother. I mean you believed my story, maybe I could persuade her. You know, mother's instincts and all that? So I called her.

“She accused me of being sick and twisted; told me that she was having trouble sleeping as it was, wondering what had happened to her son, and now I call her up with this vicious, ludicrous story. Who would do such a thing?”

I put my arms around him and held his head to my shoulder. It was a bit awkward with the restraints, but we managed to find a comfortable enough position to help release his tears.

“She was crying when she put the phone down on me. My mum's the only family I have left you know, and instead of reassuring her I stoked up the grief and sadness she was already feeling. I'm a freak and I'm all alone; even my mother doesn't recognise me.”

“It's ok Paul I'm here and I'm not going anywhere. You're not alone.”

“But you don't even know me.”

“Maybe better than you think, and even that's improving with each day. And I do care about you. Look if it's any consolation, I tried telling my parents last weekend and it didn't go that well. I was so upset afterwards I nearly drove into the back of a truck.”

“You're just saying that to make me feel better.”

I sat back and pulled the sunglasses off my face.

“Airbags can be a bitch you know.”

“Oh my G... Are you alright?”

I actually laughed.

“Yes Paul, I'm fine. But listen to yourself. If you can care enough about someone else to ask a question like that — someone who, in your own words, you don't even know — then you can't be that far gone. How come you can be so concerned about such a little thing in my life and still get so caught up in your own misery that you try to... er, well, I guess I should ask what exactly did you try to do?”

“It was stupid. I asked to be brought back here after the phone call and I asked to be left alone. It seemed like everything was going wrong, like I'd never be right again, like I was alone in the world and would never have anyone who would care for me, like...”

“Like there was a voice at the back of your head telling you that you were worthless and that you might as well end it there and then?”

“Yeah, exactly like that. How did you know?”

I pointed at my eyes.

“The same voice had me so messed up I did this. You should know it belongs to the same lying arsehole who set this whole thing with Mary in motion.”

“You mean it's real? I thought it was just me.”

I shook my head.

“It gets hard to figure out exactly what is real here, but this much I do know: That voice in the back of your head, the one that tells you you're not worthwhile? Wherever it comes from, it lies. And if you stop listening to it, it goes away. Anyway, you were saying.”

“Well, there's not much else to say. I don't know if you saw my old bed, but the corners of the frame are quite sharp. I tried to tear my wrists open on one of them, but it hurt so much. I managed to go quite deep, but I don't think I even got close to an artery. I think I must have cried out at the pain on about my third try, because a nurse heard me and came into the room, wrestled me to the floor. The next thing I knew I was strapped into this bed with my wrists bandaged up.”

“I'm sorry Paul, I...”

“Look can you not... I mean I know you're doing it to be kind, but Paul is someone who I was. I have to get used to this now, don't I?”

There was a deep bitterness in his voice, swirling just below the resignation. Maybe it would change in time, but it would take a lot of it.

“Emily then.”

I sucked in a deep breath. This was taking a chance and I wasn't sure if I should. Still fools rush in, and I had been doing a fair amount of that recently. Mind you, having had so many recent near disasters from not thinking things through, maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Except that they had worked out eventually, for the most part. Oh sod it, go for it girl.

“Em, would it be such a bad thing to be a girl?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I know you were one of the lads and enjoyed your old life, but in the short while I've known you there's been a few things about you which don't come across as... well as very manly.”

“Well you try having your fucking life turned on its head like mine was and see how you cope.”

The sudden burst of anger was startling, but there was something false about it. It was like he noticed his mask had slipped and he was trying to make up for it by the abrupt showing of bravado. Besides he obviously hadn't thought too clearly about who he was talking to.

“Er, hello? Card carrying member of the magical genderfuck club, me. Remember there is a reason we look like each other.

“Besides, I didn't mean to criticise; I like what I see in you. Everyone has a mix of female and male traits in their personality, it's just that the way our bodies are put together and the expectations society puts on us push us into reinforcing one set or the other. Personally I think it's actually a lot easier to be a woman than a man, and I wonder if you might too if you gave it a chance.”

“At the risk of repeating myself unnecessarily, what do you mean?”

“Well, it seems to me that there are a lot few restrictions to what you can do as a girl. Other girls seem to be supportive whatever you decide. I mean girls get to wear trousers, there are girls who work as mechanics and builders and stuff, there are girls' football teams too.

“Put a guy in a skirt or even a kilt and everyone laughs at him. If a guy wants to do knitting or embroidery, or if he wants to play netball, he gets the piss taken out of him. Guys seem to be a lot quicker to put each other down if they catch each other doing anything that isn't blokey.

“Sure you get guys who do go down that route, and you could argue that a lot of the best fashion designers and women's hairdressers are men, but generally they tend to have something extremely effeminate about their nature, and they get treated differently by both men and women alike. No I'd say generally speaking, if you're mixed up about your gender, if you're anywhere in the in-between, it's a lot easier to be a girl in this world.

“There are extremes I know. I mean take Charley. I don't know if you've met him? The other one like us who got changed by Mary? He's so much of a man inside I think he can cause testosterone to condense out of nothing. People who are so far over to one side have no choice but to reinvent themselves as a member of the opposite physical gender, but I think you and I are a bit in the middle.”

“I'm not mixed up about my gender. I'm a guy. I should be a guy on the outside too.”

I screwed up my face in frustration. Why is it some things are so hard to explain? Preconceptions to strongly held?

“No, listen. The way most people are on the inside is usually a bit of a mix of man and woman. I mean there are different traits that we regard to be more masculine or feminine aren't there? You know aggression and anger are more commonly thought to be male characteristics whereas nurturing gentleness and timidity are thought of as more feminine. Everyone has a mix of feminine and masculine traits. You get girls who are so aggressive they scare the shit out of anyone they meet, and there are guys who shrink into themselves as soon as things get scary; I should know, I was one. I think you're like that; on the inside you're a bit of a mix of both.”

“How so?”

“Well when I first met you, you were huddled in the corner, scared and crying. Understandable given the transformation and possibly the new mix of hormones to get used to, but still not a particularly manly response. Men are supposed to be tough and face up to bad things, regardless of how they feel inside. I mean when I met Charley after being in to see you, he was swearing in my face and threatening me from the outset. All man.

“Please don't take all this the wrong way; I've already told you I like the mix that makes you you, and regardless of what others think, we are the way we are, and we learn to live with it. In your case, you were brought up to believe in yourself as a boy, and you got on with it well enough for the most part; I don't think Mary would have singled you out if you'd been withdrawn and shy. But below the outer show of confidence and being in control, I'm guessing there was a part of you that had to work at it. Am I right?”

He nodded. It wasn't much of a nod, but it was a nod.

“You need the outer show as a guy because so much of what guys are about is competing with each other. Looking for any weakness to exploit, trying to show yourself as confident and invincible so you can rise higher up the pecking order, or at least not slip down it. You don't have to do that anymore. Girls are more in it together. There's almost nothing you can do that's too weird or too wrong with the right group of girls. We look out for each other, share our problems, help each other be the best we can be.

“It's different, there's no doubt about that, but it's a lot easier to fit, even if you still feel more like a bloke inside. You just have to be prepared to let go of who you were and embrace the change.”

“But being a girl is, is...”

“A step down from being a guy? That's the man in you talking. Like I said, being a guy is all about being on top, so we convince ourselves that we are better than girls when there's nothing to suggest that's the truth. Nothing at all. At best guys are different and overall about equal to girls; better at some things, not so good at others. It evens out.”

“What about when guys hit on you? I mean I don't think I could cope with that.”

I wiggled my left hand, in particular the stones on the fourth finger.

“Get one of these. There are a few creeps out there who won't back down even if you say you're engaged to someone, but for the most part you will get left alone, and other blokes will come to your defence against the real slime-balls. The ring doesn't need to be real, it still sends the signal that you aren't available.”

“And what about girls? How do I get around fancying girls?”

“I don't know Emily. In my case it just happened. I think there's a degree of choice in sexual preference, I mean maybe not for everyone. I certainly can't speak for anyone else but me, but while I was a guy, I was happy enough to date women and I always felt attracted and even aroused by them. Now that I'm a girl and embracing my girlhood — ooh, not such a good word, sorry — I find that when I look at guys I see the attractive side of them. It's all about accepting your rightful place in the world. As Ken I made myself squeeze into the role of young man well enough that it seemed natural — even to me — to look at girls as my love interest. Now I'm Liz, it seems natural to look at men in that place.

“It's all about how much you're prepared to let your place in society mould your personality. For me I guess it's easy now because I got used to forcing myself in a way I didn't want to go and now I have what I always wanted so I just go with the flow. I don't know what would have happened if I'd stayed as Ken. Probably got married, had kids and muddled through life feeling I should have been someone else.

“If you find that, while being Emily on the outside, there's still too much of Paul on the inside, then you will have to make your own decision as to how you work things out. It's not really something I would do for myself, but right at the outset of this transition I did spend a night of hot steamy passion with another girl and, well let's just say it's an avenue that may be worth exploring.”

“Are you suggesting I become a lesbian?”

“No, I don't think anyone sets out to 'become' a homosexual. Again I haven't any personal experience for myself so I don't know, but I get the impression it's something you discover about yourself rather than make happen. So if you find out that you're a lesbian, don't be too hard on yourself about it. In a way you're actually being true to the nature you were born with because inside there's still that aspect of your guy self who fancies women.

“And hey, there are some red hot smoking lesbians out there.”

She lay there stunned. Yeah sorry about the whole pronoun thing, but the way things were changing in her mind and attitude, it seemed more likely that Emily would be embracing and developing the feminine side of her personality, so to think of her a girl seemed more appropriate.

“So wadda-ya-say girlfriend? No more of this nonsense with sharp objects and stuff? You hear that voice in your head again or start to doubt yourself, you call me straight away. There aren't many times of the day or night that I will be too busy to talk to you straight away, and you have my promise that even if I can't take your call straight away, I will return it within as short a period of time as I can manage. And with me just a phone call away you should never feel alone or uncared for. Let's get you well and out of here and see what kind of life we can make for you. It will be different from what you had planned as Paul, but I know we can figure something out that'll work for you.”

“You really think so?”

“I know so. I mean I wouldn't do this with Charley. He's all guy no matter what he looks like on the outside, but with you I'm pretty certain we can make this work, even if you end up as a lesbian motor mechanic who plays soccer and rugby on the weekends, it'll be a life you can embrace.”

I knocked gently on the door and Doctor Marston and the orderly came back into the room. I left them alone and after about half an hour Emily walked unsteadily out of the room with the orderly close by and the doctor following behind.

“Wish I knew what you said to her. Amazing the change you achieve in such a short time.”

“She just needs to know that she's not alone and that there's someone out there who loves her and will stick close no matter what. Doctor, I want her to be able to call me any hour of the day or night. I want her to know I care about her and will do anything, interrupt anything, to talk to her and help her find her way.”

“Done.”

“In the phone message you mentioned both my sisters. What's up with Charley?”

“Come. Much easier to show than to explain.”

-oOo-
We found Charley sitting on a bench near a fish pond. His appearance was strikingly different from Emily's and even from the last time I had seen him. He had company.

Mike saw us as we approached and he rose to greet us. His gaze switched back and forth between Charley and me and he shook his head in mute disbelief. He looked like he was going to say something but changed his mind at the last moment and walked past us back towards the main building and the car.

Charley had made a few changes to his appearance. His hair was short and parted in a very boyish style. It didn't go far towards the intended effect as he just looked cuter, and more than a little pixie-like. He was wearing the clothes I had brought the previous weekend and was sitting with his arms folded and his legs spread. There seemed to be a bulge between them. He waved a greeting as we came closer and it seemed that his breasts were significantly smaller.

“Binds her breasts, puts socks down the front of her jeans. Worried.”

“It's ok doctor, I don't think there's any reason to be. Charley was always the most tomboyish of the three of us. I kind of suspected that she had gender identity problems.

“I know, given her other symptoms, that you would feel uncomfortable treating her — or perhaps we should say him — as a gender dysphoric, but I think in Charley's case it would be helpful. I think allowing him to explore his male side would help him deal with the other issues he's faced recently.”

The doctor gave me a long hard look.

“Ever thought of studying medicine Miss Raeburn? You could do a lot of good here.”

I laughed and blushed at the compliment.

“Thank-you doctor, but I'm sure having a sense for what's right for my sisters is a long way from making a decent doctor or psychiatrist. I have things to keep me occupied at the moment so I think I'll decline if you don't mind.”

“Shame. Still, your choice. I'll leave you and, er, Charley to talk.”

The visit with Charley was a lot shorter than the one with Emily and only confirmed my suspicions. He had a very masculine confidence about him, a swagger that bulled through his obviously feminine appearance. The set of his jaw, the deliberate low growl he put into his voice, there was no doubt who or what I was talking to.

We discussed the idea I'd mentioned to Doctor Marston and Charley nodded in agreement. Not so much a solution discovered together as Emily's had been, but an idea suggested, considered and accepted. Charley was in charge here.

He was less than happy with being stuck in female form, but when I asked him how he'd deal if he had an arm or a leg amputated, he shrugged and admitted he'd find a way to adapt. No different here then, except that there was a lot more that modern medicine could do to help him regain what he'd lost. He agreed, reluctantly, that initially there should be no talk of hormones or surgery until the doctor was completely satisfied that this was more than just acting out, but he wanted to change his appearance to seem more male as soon as he could. He listed the things he wanted, men's cut clothes mainly, and something simpler than bandages to squash his breasts into submission, and I told him I'd bring the things he wanted that weekend.

He shook my hand when we parted, but I wasn't going to let him get away with that and gave him a hug and a pack on the cheek.

“Just because you want to be my brother doesn't mean that you get out of a hug and a kiss from me. I'll see you on Saturday, and call me if you think of anything else you need.”

-oOo-
I made my arrangements to visit again on Saturday and made my way out to the car where Mike was waiting quietly. It was getting towards early lunchtime as we headed back towards home, and Mike suggested we stop for a bite. One of the advantages of being in the trade I suppose; he knew quite a few fellow restaurateurs he respected, and at least one had a place that wasn't too far off our way home.

The meal was good; anyone who can make chicken salad appetising earns my respect and appreciation. The company on the other hand was a little off. Mike had driven to the restaurant in silence and, apart from placing the order, hadn't said more than two words since we sat down.

“Something bothering you?”

He looked up, surprised at the interruption to his private musings, and earned himself another gentle prod from me.

“I was wondering why the long, brooding silence.”

“I was thinking about Charley. She looks so much like you, but she's... she's... she's such a guy. I mean I look at you and see the woman I love, I look at her and it's like there's a man trapped inside.”

I left a short pause; in case there was anything he wanted to add. There wasn't.

“In his case there is. Mary mainly targeted arrogant, masculine men. The sort who tend to be selfish and look on women as conquests rather than people. Charley was like that, and mentally still is more than a little. Hopefully he'll learn a little from this that women are people too, but deep down he is and always has been completely male.”

“You call her he...”

“I know, it's kind of confusing. Most people who don't know anything about transgender issues tend to use the pronoun that matches the physical appearance of the person they're talking to. If you have gender identity confusion, or if you meet many people who do, you figure out that they identify more with the gender they feel themselves to be inside. However much Charley may physically and genetically be female, it's like you said, on the inside he is all guy.”

“And it's the same the other way round? When a guy dresses as a girl, it's because on the inside he, I mean she, feels like a girl?”

“Usually yes. There are people who cross dress because they're aroused by the sensual feel of the clothes and the rush they get out of pretending to be something they're not, and there it's probably safe to say that you are dealing with a bloke in a dress. For most though, I think it comes down to having a need to express the stronger feminine side of their personality which they can't do as a man. The clothes help to bring that femininity to the surface, help them to take on what is sort of traditionally a passive, decorative role.”

“It has nothing to do with being gay?”

“I think some gay couples do dress up on occasions with one of them in drag so they can appear straight, but for them underneath the clothes they both know they are the same gender and attracted to each other. To my knowledge and as far as my experience and imagination will take it, a physically male TG will feel like a girl when dressed as a girl and will consider any attraction to men to be heterosexual on their part.”

“I never realised.”

“No, I got that from what you said on Sunday.”

“You must think I'm a narrow minded shit.”

I reached out and put one of my hands on his.

“Uneducated perhaps, not narrow minded.”

“You didn't say anything.”

“You were being honest. It didn't seem the right time to criticise. There was going to be a chance to show you a different perspective and I knew you'd get it when you saw it.”

“Like today you mean?”

“Like today.

“Mike I see deeper than the surface with you, I guess that's why I've had a tendency to share stuff with you that's knocked you off balance. You are, in your heart, a really decent guy. You don't judge people for being different, and you're open to new ideas. I may have fallen for your smile in the first place, but what I'm growing to love more about you each day is the way you handle things that upset your view of the world. It takes you time sometimes, but you're worth the patience.”

He offered me a weak smile; still enough of it there to send molten silk through my veins.

“When was the last time I told you I loved you?”

“Not so long ago that I've forgotten, not so recently that I would object to your doing it again.”

For that I was rewarded with a laugh. He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it.

“Well my dearest, sweetest Liz, I do truly and utterly love you. And I sincerely doubt I deserve you.”

“I think you'll be alright, as long as you never let me find out.”

Insert one of those gooey moments of doe eyed silence that are guaranteed to send any boy aged twelve or under running from the room making gagging noises.

“So what's going to happen with them? Your, er, sisters I mean.”

“Well, for one thing let's not er about it anymore. Regardless of how they or I came to be, they are my sisters, not my er-sisters.

“For the rest, I fully expect Charley to have HRT and surgery to return him to being as much of a guy as can be managed. It's really early days yet, but I don't think he'd accept any other course. By the time we get married I expect he'll be in the middle of his RLT.”

“His what?”

“Real life test. Anyone who's going to transition has to live as a member of the opposite gender for a year before they can have surgery.”

“How do you know so much about this?”

“Just because I wasn't considering it doesn't mean I didn't read about it.”

“Oh. Ok. What about Emily?”

“I'm not sure. It's very early days there, but I suspect she may just turn out to be something of a tomboy. Maybe a lesbian. I don't think she'll need the extent of change that Charley does, but in the end the decision is going to be hers. I'm going to open her eyes to a few possibilities and then let her choose.”

“You give her a female pronoun.”

“Yes, because I think there's enough girl in there to make a go of things as a girl. If she can, she'll have an easier time of things than Charley, which I think she'll need; she's nowhere near as tough.”

“Are you going to invite her to be one of your bridesmaids?”

“I'll probably keep a dress to one side just in case, but we'll have to see won't we?”

Mike paid for lunch and we stepped out into the bright, clear daylight and from there into the comfort of his car. The rest of the trip home passed in silence too, but now Mike wasn't brooding it was a peaceful, relaxing silence.

We made good time and arrived back at my flat by two thirty. Time enough for me to change before going to the bruise therapist. Mike decided he had left his subordinates in charge for long enough and hurried off to see what minor disasters he could discover to convince him of his indispensability. He was an exasperating nut in some ways, but he was my exasperating nut.

I'd had enough of trousers; they reminded me too much of my two doppelgá¤ngers and the troubles they carried with them. I was desperate for something girly so, careless of the bruises still adorning my chest, I picked out the frilliest underwear I had and changed into it. Yes there were wires trying to lift and separate my breasts and yes they did twinge a little, but I wanted to celebrate the beauty I had been given even if Emily and Charley didn't.

I danced over to the wardrobe and shuffled through all the dresses hanging there, settling eventually on the short, midnight blue dress Sharon had bought me in the early days of my change. With all the Elle-gance stuff I had acquired recently it had been neglected a little, and as I slid it into place, I enjoyed an echo of the thrill I had felt the first time I had put it on.

A pair of silvery white tights with a hint of a sparkle in them showed my legs off to good effect, and the patent leather pumps and bag I had finally bought to match the deep blue of the dress finished everything off. I allowed myself five minutes in front of the mirror to hide the visible blemishes — no point going to town on pigments and powders as my therapist would want to see what was underneath in any case — then transferred my necessaries into the dark navy blue handbag and slipped out the door.

Fifteen minutes later I parked in the therapist's car park and sauntered through the door with ten minutes to spare. As with most private clinics, the appointments happened at the given time, so ten minutes later I was sitting in a consulting room, cleaning off my hastily applied war paint with the pack of wet wipes that constituted part of my necessaries.

The very smart and professional looking therapist made appropriate humming and hawing noises as she examined my injuries. Personally I thought there was a large degree of quackery about what she was doing, but since Karen had put me up to this I had decided to see it through with an open mind.

“Yes, healing up nicely. Another massage isn't going to help at this stage, but it seems you've been using the Arnica cream I gave you and taking those vitamins yes? Good. I think we'll give you a little time under a sage tea compress today, maybe send you away with one or two more. Since you're going to ask, I would say that the visible bruising should have largely subsided by the end of the weekend and certainly won't be visible under makeup. You should be fit to work next week”

That would please Karen, though it did seem she was stating the obvious. Still the bruises had healed quicker than expected so maybe there was something to all this. I still had my doubts but I wasn't about to say anything. Maybe later a quiet word in Karen's ear. Still the compresses were soothing; warm and relaxing with a pleasant aroma. Whatever they did to my skin, I wasn't about to object to what they did to my mood.

With the session over, I thanked my 'healer' and hastened off to the ladies to hide my bruises, then from there out to my little yellow car. It was still reasonably early in the afternoon and, with little else to do, I decided to pop in on the shelter to see how Aaron and the others were doing.

-oOo-
“Hi Aaron, how are things?”

The transformed office building looked no less wonderful than the day I'd seen it opened, and if anything, considerably more so. What had originally been a large, open reception area through the main entrance had been converted into a cheerfully painted lounge with comfortable chairs and low tables. The reception was manned by volunteers who dispensed hot drinks and information to anyone who came in. In the original plan there were to have been two receptionists, but now with the space filled to capacity with people off the streets, the main counter was just about holding its own with five volunteers rushing around. To see this common area so filled with people, and to see their eyes showing the signs of hope I hadn’t seen when I met them on the streets, was a real lift.

Aaron turned at my voice and grinned wide enough to tickle his own ears.

“Hi Miss Raeburn, isn't this great?”

“Aaron, how many times do I have to tell you? It's Liz.”

“To quote from Pirates, 'At least once more, Miss Raeburn, as always.'”

“Are you going to show me around? Introduce me to some people?”

Achieving the impossible, Aaron stretched his grin just a little wider before extricating himself from behind the counter.

We did the rounds of the tables. Names offered and as soon forgotten in the sheer numbers of people who greeted me. I asked after the accommodation, the food and the facilities and received the same polite and positive response from all of them. You wouldn't have thought that just a few weeks ago these people were living rough in the gutters and alleys of the city, many of them stinking for having no access to washing facilities for either themselves or their clothes. They had been surly and rude, reacting with bitterness against a society that had rejected them. Here they were a long way from being out of the woods, but at least this promised to be an easy path for a while and heading in the right direction.

“How are the training sessions going?”

“Still a bit slow. We could do with more trainers coming in, but they're well received. All the sessions are over-filled and as far as I can tell, everyone who's taking part is working as hard as they can. We've had a few lazy sods come along for the free ride, but we spot them pretty quick when they don't muck in with the cooking and cleaning. A few of them changed their attitude when we turfed the first lot out, but there are always going to be arseholes and you just deal with them.”

“How about the accommodation?”

“Filled to capacity. We're sleeping about a hundred down here as well. We could do with more space already.”

“Maybe in a couple of weeks. I'm working on another building a couple of streets over. Start planning your decorating crews.

“Any damage here? You know I need to report back to the owners in a week or two about how well their building is being looked after?”

“There's been a bit. Some graffiti, but we caught the sod who was doing that and chucked him out on his ear. Then earlier today we had a bunch of guys kicking in some doors on the seventh floor.”

“What was that about?”

“Seventh is where all the poofs and fairies hang out. Some of the guys here don't like sharing the building with people like that.”

Some of my anger must have leaked out in my expression because he flinched.

“Seventh floor isn't bad. They keep to themselves for the most part so most here don't worry too much. We more or less told the sods that did the damage that if they didn't like who they were sharing with, they were free to leave. A couple of them did and the rest have been less trouble since. We've already bought in the wood and repairing the doors is going to feature in next Monday's woodwork class.”

“What about the people on the seventh floor?”

“They're a bit scared, but they're up there still. They don't socialise much which is why most of this lot leave them alone.”

“Would you take me to see them please?”

“Are you sure miss, they're a bit... you know?”

“Probably better than you think Aaron. I don't take kindly to you referring to them with such vulgarity either. They're as human as the rest of us and probably quite a bit more vulnerable and easily hurt by careless language. You guys have to deal with the rejection of ninety five percent of people in this city on a daily basis. What do you think it's like for them having to deal with your rejection as well?”

There was a dangerous edge to my voice which even I could hear. It put Aaron on the defensive.

“Well, they don't have to dress like they do.”

“Are you sure of that? Come on, take me to them. It's about time you learnt a bit about what they've been through and why.”

The smile was gone, but he still led me up the stairs. The door from the stairwell opened towards us, which meant that the barricade of furniture behind it was more an inconvenience than an obstacle. There was just space enough for us to pick our way through, the intent being to limit rather than prevent access. Curious, apprehensive faces peered out of doorways at our arrival.

There were about three dozen of them, sharing rooms, seeking comfort in company and safety in numbers. Once they'd worked out that Aaron and I were no threat they came all the way out, herding us down the corridor

One of the rooms on this floor had been designed as a conference room and had been converted into a common room rather than a large bedroom. There was no large table anymore and, with the little furniture in the room being limited to beanbags and throw cushions, it was just about possible to fit the full complement into the room without anyone feeling too much like a sardine.

We were crowded towards the centre of the room and scrutinised like some new oddity in a museum. I took the opportunity to do a bit of staring of my own, because there was no question these were an odd bunch.

Generally speaking there are very few women among street people and in small groups of less than a hundred it is common to find none at all. This group was typical in this respect, consisting of thirty to forty people, all of them male; physically at least. Beyond that, they fell into two categories. The smaller was made up of the gay couples. Most of them typically dressed for street people, but many taking advantage of the boxes of clothing supplied by local charities to clean themselves up and add a little colour to their appearances. They stood in obvious pairs, keeping close, and either holding hands or touching in some other way. If the body language hadn't been so explicit I wouldn't have been able to tell them from other people in the building.

The other group made up about two thirds of the whole and were much more distinctive. Some of the charity shops that had provided us with clothes to distribute hadn't registered our request for specifically male clothing, and a number had sent in as many boxes of women's clothing as men's. They didn't go to waste. More than two dozen of the people in the room with us were dressed as women, and with varying degrees of success. They were all reasonably young, in their teens and early twenties for the most part, and they hung back, the shyness of youth compounding their justifiable paranoia.

In the end it was a thirty something year old from the gay group who disentangled himself from his partner and stepped forward as representative. He didn't say anything, but looked at us accusingly, as though we personally were responsible for the earlier attack. Glancing around, I could see anger and fear etched into drawn and tired faces all around me, and for the first time I began to wonder about the wisdom of coming up here without some kind of plan, or at least arranging for backup.

“Erm, hi. I'm Liz and this is Aaron. Aaron was telling me about what happened earlier today and I wanted to come up here to hear your side of things and to see how we can make sure nothing like it happens again.”

I hoped I didn't sound as nervous as I felt. The representative took a step closer, standing head and shoulders taller than me and giving me a close up look of his broad chest and two arms that were bigger around than my thighs. I let out a shuddering breath. I was tempted to reason with him, but some instinct told me to hold off, that this would be better if the initiative came from him; from them. I swallowed down my growing fear and slowly looked up into hazel eyes and finely chiselled features. Come on Liz, something to break the ice. Could that work? I took a chance and forced a quavering smile.

“You know it's a damn shame you're not straight.”