Julie and I must have appeared to be an odd pair on that Sunday afternoon at the beginning of August. Two smart, but sombrely dressed young ladies wearing unsuitable high-heeled shoes, carefully picking their way up the footpath towards the panorama overlooking the Uffington White Horse. I wore my black dress again, and Julie the charcoal grey suit. We each carried a grey cardboard box containing the ashes of one of Julie’s parents, I carried those of our father, and she had those of her mother. When we reached our destination we waited for a suitable moment when not many people were around and then stood next to one another slowly pouring the ashes into the breeze. The gentle wind over the Berkshire downs mingled the ashes together and carried them away towards the White Horse, until there was no sign left on the ground at our feet. We stood and watched for a few minutes each of us lost in our own thoughts, before I turned to Julie to give my sister a hug. There were tears in her eyes, but she wasn’t sobbing.

‘Thank you Jenny, I should be alright now,’ she said. ‘I’ve said goodbye to my parents and am now ready to move on with my life.’

I held her hand as we carefully picked our way back down the footpath to the car park before we made our way back to Woodley. That evening, Julie gave me a nicely framed photograph of my natural father, the first one of him I’d seen.

‘He wasn’t bad looking,’ I commented,

‘I suppose so,’ replied Julie. ‘You appear to have inherited your eyes from him.’

The Letters of Administration for our father’s estate arrived in the post on the Wednesday of the next week. We weren’t due to work on that day, so I drove into Reading in order to present the document to the bank, together with my passport as ID. Julie agreed that it would not be wise for her to come, in case anyone at the bank should recognise her after the recent interview with Julian and myself. Instead, she could now begin the task of winding up her mother’s financial affairs in earnest, completing the various forms and assembling the documents necessary to value her mother’s estate and work out the inheritance tax to be paid. I could then apply for probate on her behalf and she could begin disposing of the assets, selling the house and embarking upon her new life. She was confident that we would be able to do all the paperwork over the next two weeks and then I could have my second probate interview in mid September before I left for Nottingham on the 25th.

Julie provided me with a list of financial transactions to make in Reading including depositing a sizable number of cheques and other payments received, and then transferring a large proportion into her late mother’s account, which was itself frozen, except that it could still receive deposits. I was now directly responsible for what seemed to be huge sums of money, but had, of course, sworn to follow the terms of the will.

Eventually, after all the various deposits, payments, and fees, there remained just over  £60,000, which was to be shared equally between ‘Julian’ and myself. I therefore made the necessary transfers and closed my father’s account. That was the end of his financial affairs on this Earth, just as his bodily remains had been scattered to the four winds. I had the feeling that we were gradually removing all traces of his existence, just as my mother had done from her life many years before. Of course I was more than grateful for the bequest. For the foreseeable future, my sister’s and my own financial problems were at an end. Even if there were problems with her mother’s probate Julie had enough money to keep herself afloat for two or three years. But I wish I’d been allowed to know him, and was glad that I’d asked Julie for something tangible to remember him by.

After I emerged from the bank I went to buy my new iPhone and also looked around the shops for a suitable present to buy for Mum and Dad. Thus it was just about lunch time before I returned to Woodley.

There was no response from Julie as I came in and she was no longer working in the office upstairs, where I’d left her. I assumed she must be in the master bedroom, perhaps trying on some clothes, but there was no response when I knocked at the door and then cautiously opened it. She didn’t appear to be anywhere in the house. I quickly looked in both garages and the back garden, but she was also nowhere to be seen.

‘What has happened to her? Where has she gone? What if someone recognises her?' I asked myself.

There was nothing I could do except wait and hope that she was alright. Eventually, after about half an hour, she breezed in carrying a plastic carrier bag, as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

‘Hi Jen, did everything go alright at the bank?’

‘Where the hell have you been? I’ve been worried sick,’ I said sharply, realising, as I said it, that I was sounding just like my mother used to sound, when I was fifteen years old.

Julie let out a little startled squeak, clearly surprised by my reaction.

‘I only went to the grocery shop to get us some milk and some bread,’ in a rather girlish, self-pitying voice.

‘But what if one of the neighbours had recognised you and it becomes common knowledge in the neighbourhood that Julian is now dressing as a girl?’ There would be Social Workers round in no time and you’d be taken into care, and that’ll be the last you see of your precious hormones until you’re eighteen.’

I realised I was probably being unreasonable as I said it, but continued nevertheless. It was partly my monthly cycle, but I was mainly angry with myself; feeling guilty that in just over six weeks I would be leaving her to fend for herself.

Her eyes began to fill with tears and her lower lip trembled.

‘I’m sorry Jenny, I thought it would be alright as we went out together several times last week and nobody recognised me,’ she responded, clearly hurt by my rebuke.’

‘In any event, I don’t look like Julian now that I’ve long fair hair,’ she continued, still upset but also with a trace of petulance.

I couldn’t help smiling at her very feminine reaction to my anger.

‘I know and I’m sorry that I snapped at you, but it’s different when I’m with you. You might give yourself away on your own,’ I replied a little more gently.

‘Susie lets me go out on my own during my lunch break, and there’s never been any problem,’ she responded sniffing to stop herself from crying.

I wasn’t aware of this; I’d assumed that she took her lunch in the salon.

‘But that’s Wokingham; nobody knows you there.’

‘Not many people in Woodley knew Julian, and only you and Susie know about Julie. Sometimes I get bored and lonely having to stay in the house so much.’

‘Alright, but you did agree to follow my advice,’ I said soothingly.

‘Yes I know, and I’m truly grateful for everything you’ve done for me Jenny. I don’t want to cramp your style or get in the way.

‘You’re not in my way, this is your house and it’s your life. I’m sorry that I got angry, it’s only because I care about you,’ I said giving her a hug.

‘I know you do, but you’ll be leaving in a few weeks and I’ll have to manage on my own,’ she said beginning to sob. ‘You said you were going to help me by pointing out where I go wrong in my attempts to live as a woman, but all you ever say is that I look nice.’

I gave a little laugh.

‘That’s because you do look nice, silly. Perhaps you are a bit too keen on wearing dresses and makeup for my taste, but most of the time you act and look just like a girl.’

‘In that case why can’t I go out on my own?’ she asked sniffing.

I must admit she has a point there.

‘I did say ‘most of the time’. I do notice occasional minor lapses; phrases or gestures that are not quite right.’

‘Then why don’t you point them out to me?’

‘Most of them would seem so petty that it hardly seems worth the trouble to point them out; but you do have a point. Let me have a talk to Susie to see what she thinks and whether we can give you any better feedback or advice on improving your presentation.'

‘Alright then,’ she sniffed.

‘We could go out and buy you some more clothes this afternoon if you like,’ I offered by way of consolation..

‘I’ve enough clothes with the stuff we bought at Oxford thanks,’

She’d clearly hadn’t entirely forgiven my outburst.

I proceeded to tell her about my financial transactions and my purchases to change the subject. I had also intended to tell her about my proposed trip to Nottingham with Joe, but at the last moment I had a change of plan.

‘Julie, how would you fancy coming with me if I were to organise a couple of days to have a look around Nottingham?’ I asked, trying to take her mind off things. ‘I’ll soon have to decide where I’m going to be living when I go up to University.’

‘Wouldn’t you rather go with Joe?’

‘No, I think I’d prefer to go with you on this occasion. This is intended as a ‘fact-finding’ trip and if Joe were to come it might just turn into an excuse for a ‘dirty weekend’. After all, he’s just a bloke and wouldn’t know what to look out for,’ I said, genuinely forgetting about Julie’s origins as I said it.

She coloured and looked away for a moment, but then looked at me shyly.

‘Thank you for saying that. I’d love to go with you,’ she replied.

I smiled and felt a little less like a harpy than I had done of late.

It proved reasonably easy to identify three days together when I wouldn’t have to go in to work, in just over a week’s time. We looked on the Internet and booked a twin room in the Nottingham Travelodge for a couple of nights; not exactly the luxury hotel that I’d originally envisaged but conveniently sited all the same.

Both Julie and I were working the next day; Susie had to come in to Bracknell to meet a supplier. She called in to Bentalls at lunch-time and we had a coffee and sandwiches together at a nearby café.

‘Aren’t you worried about Julie working in salon without you being there to keep an eye on her?’ I asked.

‘Not really, Mum and the other girls are all there.’

‘So nobody realises that she used to be a boy?’

‘I think my mother may have some slight suspicions; she asked about exactly who Julie was, but I told her it was better for her not to delve too deeply if she wanted Julie to continue to work for her. Mum really appreciates having her to help, and the other assistants in the shop all get on well with her and seem to accept her as ‘one of girls’.’

‘Julie is a lovely looking girl and I’m sure she’ll be ok in the long term, but at times there is something slightly out of place about her manner that I can’t quite put my finger on.’

‘I think you’re a little paranoid about her Jen. You’ll have to trust her, particularly as she’s going to be on her own come the end of September.’

I then related the tale about our little spat the previous day.

‘I’d be anxious about leaving any sixteen year old girl to fend for herself, let alone one who used to be a boy,’ I replied. ‘She certainly looks and acts the part these days, but sometimes she gives off clues about her origins. How can we help her, to make sure that she’ll be alright come September.’

‘I’m not sure that she needs that much help. Most of the time I forget that she was ever a young man, and the last few rough edges will soon be removed with a little more experience,’ she replied.

‘Maybe we could work out some way of assessing her performance and giving her some feedback as to how she might improve.’

‘Do you mean by devising some kind of ‘girlyness test’ for her?’ she asked laughing.

I was intrigued by the idea, although I was the last person on earth to see myself as a model of femininity.

‘I’ve seen examples of such tests in teenagers’ magazines, but the’re normally totally mindless or else trying to sell more cosmetics, but the idea could be adapted,’ continued Sue.

‘I suppose we could look at the different aspects of her being able to pass successfully as a young woman, such as her appearance, her speech and conversation, her movements and gestures, how she interacts with people and her background knowledge,’ I said. ‘We could mark them according to an agreed scale and come up with an overall assessment together with comments to identify those areas where she needs to improve her presentation.’

‘It’s an interesting idea, but you’d need to break it down quite a lot further. For example, if you took her appearance, it would need to include such things as body shape, complexion, hair style, use of cosmetics, clothes sense, manicure and pedicure’ etc. etc.’

‘Alright, so we might end up with twenty different things to comment on, but if we could mark and comment upon each aspect of her looks and behaviour, we should come up with a useful overall picture.’

‘She already does very well in some of those areas, and there are others where she wouldn’t be able to do anything, at least not in the short term, for example her body shape, or indeed her height - although in her case that isn’t a problem,’ said Susie.

‘I know, but we would still assess them nevertheless to give her an overall picture of those areas where she successfully she presents herself as a young woman, and those which require more care.’

‘We’ve already helped her in terms of her appearance and general behaviour in public, but successful transition would also depend on how she interacts with men as well. If we’re going to do it properly we would also need to recruit at least one guy on to the team of examiners to give his opinion,’ suggested Susie.

‘Joe has met her and spent a little time with her, and I think I could probably trust him not to freak out or sell the story to the local newspaper,’ I said. ‘However, I’d have to ask Julie’s permission before I said anything to him.’

That night I started to draw up my list of criteria upon which we might judge Julie’s appearance and demeanour and arranged them under different headings. Somewhat to my surprise, my list soon reached thirty and so I was forced to start combining them to get the number down to twenty five. Thus under ‘appearance,’ I listed: height, weight, hair, eyes, lips, ears, neck, and shoulders, hands and fingernails, boobs, waist, hips, legs and her feet. I also included two more abstract things: her general dress sense and her use of cosmetics. Under the second heading: ‘speech and conversation’ I included: voice pitch and timbre, her use of vocabulary, conversational style and her sense of humour. Under the heading ‘posture, movements and gestures,’ I noted how she stood, walked, climbed stairs, sat, her use of hand gestures and her general body language. Finally, we would seek to award a mark of how she interacts with people.

I arranged each of these criteria down one column of a spreadsheet, and added the initials of the person that I thought might judge best. Thus Sue’s would assess her appearance and I would judge her speech and body language. I also added Joe’s initials in those few places where a man’s input might be helpful. Across the top row of the spreadsheet I added labels containing one of five possible descriptors that would help us assess her performance. Thus for each of the criteria she would be judged as ‘manly’, ‘boyish’, ‘androgynous’, ‘girlish’, or ‘womanly’, and then be awarded between 0 and 4 marks accordingly. This would ultimately give her a score out of 100. In the final column there would be space for specific comments.

In addition to the above Susie and I would draw up a test of her background knowledge of information which we would expect any young woman to know, but wouldn’t necessarily expect a guy to do so.

Before saying anything to Julie about my idea, I emailed the spreadsheet to Sue, asking for her comments and also for any suggestions for the written part of the assessment. Half an hour later she telephoned me with a few minor suggestions to the wording.
‘It’s an interesting idea, Julie will undoubtedly do quite well under several of these criteria,’ said Sue.

‘Yes, no doubt helped in part by the pills she’s been taking and her general enthusiasm for all things ‘girly,’ I replied. ‘But that is good, it will boost her confidence whilst directing her attention to where it is most needed.’

‘I’m not sure how well I’d score on such a test,’ added Sue.

‘Me neither, but if you like we could try it out on one another first,’ I suggested.

‘I’d be happy to try it out on you if you wish, but I’m not having you pass judgment on my dress sense or use of cosmetics if you want us to remain friends with one another,’ she replied decisively.

The following day I broached the idea with Julie as we were driving in to work. She was intrigued by the plan and interested to know how she would score.

‘How would you feel if we involved Joe in the process to get the male perspective?’

‘I’m going to have to get used to people knowing all about me — just as long as he doesn’t start telling anyone in authority who might try and stop me from doing what I need to do. Having lived as Julie for nearly a month, I think I would want to kill myself if I had to go back to being Julian again.’

‘Now then young lady, let us not get melodramatic, remember you’ll be sixteen in four weeks time. But at the same time I don’t think you need worry; I’ll make sure he doesn’t tell anyone.’