CHAPTER 62
The deed poll was something I had been thinking about for some time. It could be said I had been doing so all my life, as my first memories were inextricably linked to feeling wrong, and as I had gradually found out who I was, the name had been obvious.

All I really needed, for the sake of silliness and completion, was a middle name, and that was an obvious one. Tabitha was still with me, but Jessica would be reborn. I approached my regular solicitor, Eric in hand. I couldn’t really call them my family solicitor, as the only thing even remotely connected to a family was my divorce, but they were at least a known factor.

I was surfing a real oceanic roller now, and it was exhilarating. The rush of confidence was taking me places I had only dreamt of, and in the back of my mind a little voice was shouting ‘keep going before the fear comes back’. Mr Ogilvy, my normal shyster, was by luck available, and we were ushered in to his tiny little office. He did a really, really crap job of pretending nonchalance, but at least he tried.

“Do sit down, Mister…Mizz…Price. And perhaps an explanation?”

“Mr Ogilvy, time is moving on, my life is doing the same, and it is necessary to reconcile a few things. I do believe this one is quite simple. I would like to change my name”

He nodded, as if it was all in a typical day’s work, while his eyes flickered about as if he were having difficulty bringing me into focus. There was an almost audible click, and he smoothed out.

“This will appear to explain my previous service to you, Ms Price. I assume you intend to go further than, well, costume and name?”

That was the key. Like all good lawyers, he could smell a potential fee at a thousand paces, and there I was.

“Let me see…you will be looking at some point to redesignate yourself with regards to your birth certificate, employment and tax status, and so forth. You will also need an affidavit of some kind for such things as bank accounts. I do believe there are some bigots about, and a letter from a reputable solicitor can work wonders in such cases. Driving licence, passport–I am sure we can be of some assistance”

“Mr Ogilvy, all I need today is a deed poll to change my name. How long does that take?”

“Ten minutes”

“You are joking!”

“Not at all. I draft it, Cheryl types it, you swear and attest it, and then best practice is to publish a small announcement somewhere, such as a newspaper. I then give you copies to begin the long-winded bit, going round to as many people and places as you can think of to make the change. The actual legal bit is a doddle. I suppose I shouldn’t say that, really…”

It was a doddle, that bit, and I duly swore my name across to Anne Jessica Price. I signed, and then the shakes came. No surprises there; I had felt the tension building all through the morning, through my medical appointments, through the chat with Nev, all of it had led me to a point and a process I had simply not planned, and now the surge of adrenalin, the excitement of burying Adam, was fading, I was losing my confidence rapidly. Who was I, really? A bloke in a dress, trying to be something I was never meant to be?

Eric took my hand. “Cold feet?”

“Sort of…just having a moment, a bit of nerves, aye? Is this right?”

“Remember what you were saying before? Wasted years? You want to go back to that?”

“No, but…”

“Yes, but. Trust me on this one, just this once. There is no way you can go back, not and survive. This is you, and you are not doing it on your own. I can’t imagine you, now, with that old name. You in drag looks and feels wrong. You have to go for it, and now is the best time for everything, because ‘now’ leaves no room for ‘I wish I had” “

He suddenly grinned. “Besides which, do you really fancy upsetting Virginia?”

I laughed at that, and it was suddenly easier, as the shame and pain of the false start I had made came to the front of my memory and waved. Years, wasted, that was what I had been thinking, and here I was planning on wasting more. I lifted my head.

“Right, then. Bank first?”

They were amazingly good at my branch. We were sat in a private room for a start, rather than having to discuss it through a glass screen in public, and as my ID was compared to the deed poll, and to my on-file records, the impossibly sleek if slightly obese girl was all smiling efficiency. I caught myself at that point: slightly obese. Firstly, was there such a thing, and secondly, speaking as somebody who had only recently managed to get herself back from ‘morbidly’ to what I liked to think of, especially around Eric, as ‘sweet and cuddly’, who was I to be so catty? It wasn’t the first time I had found myself looking at other women and making unfavourable (to them) comparisons, and then even that thought took on its own momentum.

Eric was right. I really was who I had always dreamt of, and this was not the right time to run away. It is very difficult to explain the feelings that someone like me has, for they are so much of the time confused and contradictory, tied up with shame and so often despair. That day’s roller-coaster of doubt and certainty was just so typical; I have known since I was old enough to realise the difference that I am not and never have been a boy. Steph told me that it was slightly different for her, that it took a moment of insight to understand what it was that felt so wrong, but in the end it came down to the same thing.

Body blue. Soul pink. Things did not fit. That sounds so simple, and it is in truth as simple as anything can be, but it is the resulting situation that causes the distress. It is no simple matter to admit the truth to yourself, never mind to family or friends. There is the constant worry that you are not really yourself, but someone else, the someone your parents thought they had, just delusional, for that fear eats at you. Are you simply ill, mentally? All through that, your soul is weeping, but when you arrive at the point when you might match life to heart, the other doubts begin their own shouting match.

Bloke in a dress. Shemale. What do you think you look like? There are special shops for YOUR sort. The worst thing, though, is not the nastiness of small-minded shopkeepers but that continuous self-doubt, and without Eric, Ginny, Kirsty, so many others, I knew I would have folded, and now I know for certain that I very nearly failed myself that day as I sat in Ogilvy’s little office.

All the fears that had poisoned my life, from the dreams back to my first guilty attempts to see what I should have looked like, through to my shame when I flushed the last of my illicit pills down the toilet and reached for a different sort of bottle, all of them fought a final losing battle against the touch of my man’s hand on mine and his smile in my eyes.

Deep breaths, Annie. Deep end. Splash, and start swimming.

“Eric, love, time to take a swing by work, then we hit some estate agents, aye?”

“Why work?”

“Bury Adam. I am on a roll, and with you along it is a bloody sight easier.”

The front desk called out the duty Inspector, and this time it was Sam, which was ideal. There were a few mutters from the counter staff, but Sam donated a Look, and then we were back in my little empire. He was as direct as ever.

“Let me guess, Annie, I’ve just lost my best sergeant. Fucking good job I’ve got one just as good to replace him. The Super’s been waiting for this, he’s got all excited at having a chance to play Diversity games, so we already have an application ready for a new warrant. What I need from you is–ah, is that a deed poll letter I see before me? You’ve been a busy girl!”

He dropped the bouncy mood, and sat quiet for just the time it took to try and read my tells.

“Doubts, then?”

I nodded. “It’s not an easy thing, Sam. I am throwing out all of my life, it’s easy to get scared, easy to shy away”

He snorted. “Bollocks are you. Your life isn’t going anywhere, not the past bits. All you are changing is the future, yeah? I get my sergeant back, and one without a hangover every shift. Are you up to a little talk with the boys and girls, right now?”

Deep breaths again. Go for it.

We walked into the main Starship Enterprise custody area, all raised counter and computer terminals, and the support staff were immediately quiet. Den was on duty, and he took one look at my face and nodded, then came over for a hug. His whisper was terse and pointed.

“No more acting, then?”