Mum and Dad proved to be really helpful to both of us over the next three weeks as we prepared for our move to Nottingham. This was just as well as there was a lot to do. Dad arranged for Julie’s house in Woodley to be surveyed and the details prepared ready for it to be put on to the market as soon as we had the go-ahead to do so. Although the property market was still somewhat slow, he was confident that it would sell fairly quickly due to its convenient location, and good internal and external condition. He also negotiated with the vendors of the property in Nottingham on our behalf and arranged a date when we could move in. Nevertheless, Julie insisted that she would undertake the legal conveyancing work for her purchase and sale (although once again I had the responsibility for signing the various transfers on her behalf. Dad was a little anxious about this, but I explained that she was a lot more intelligent than she might seem at first meeting, had already dealt with two applications for probate without any problems, and was interested in the idea of training to be a solicitor at some time once her transition was complete.

Mum also came over to Woodley on several occasions over the next week and helped us to decide what we would need to take with us and what we should get rid of. As a result we made several trips to charity shops in town to dispose of both Julian’s and his father’s clothes. As soon as we had decided what furniture would be taken with us, Dad got a second hand furniture dealer that he knew to come round to inspect the remainder and make her an offer. Clare called round on a couple of days when we were not working part-time, and I was glad to see that her knowledge of Julie’s past did not seem to have had any impact on their friendship or how they dealt with one another.

On 14th September we drove to Oxford for the Probate Interview for Julie’s mother. We took Clare along with us for the ride, to keep Julie company whilst I was in the probate office. Once again there were no real problems. After I’d sworn the oath, I explained that I would be leaving to go to University on the 25th and the Registrar promised to do everything she could to speed things up for us. In fact we received the grant on the 16th, and so had plenty of time to do the various financial transactions and put the house on to the market. Mum and Dad even rented a van to take us, our belongings and furniture to Beeston on the 25th. Joe came over to help load the van on the Friday night, which was good of him as he was due to leave Reading himself the next day.

Julie travelled with Dad in the van, to show him the way, whereas I drove with Mum in the Fiesta. I think this trip gave us both an opportunity to get to know one of the crusties a little better. Somewhat to my surprise, I discovered that Mum would have liked to have gone to University herself, but she got involved with my natural father and then fell pregnant with me, and the rest is history. In some respects I’m now doing all of the things that she would have liked to have done; only life got in the way. I do believe that she is really quite proud of me; it’s a pity she could never bring herself to tell me all this before.

My relations with both my parents have improved no end over the last year, and it is definitely a case of absence making the heart grow fonder. Dad seems to have taken to Julie and bends over backwards to be as helpful as he can, and even Mum sees her as a good influence on me, and as likely to curb some of my excesses. As a result we have been back to Bracknell on several occasions, notably at Christmas, Easter and when Julie eventually sold the house in mid-January. They have been up to visit us on a couple of occasions. However we never stay long as there is not a lot of spare room. I’ve have kept in touch with Joe and went out with him once or twice when I came home at Christmas, but we have both found new partners at college. Julie has also stayed in touch with Clare, and both of us regularly contact Susie via Facebook, but inevitably it becomes more difficult to retain day-to-day friendships when you are living in different towns

Soon after we got settled in Beeston Julie began to make enquiries about resuming her education. It didn’t prove to be too difficult to find a local college that would accept her on to an ‘A’ level course, but the academic year had already started by then and so it would be September 2011 before she could begin. In some respects having a one-year gap was no bad thing as it gave her time to establish her new identity as a young woman and begin to assemble the relevant documentation that she would need for her new life. She was eventually able to obtain a national insurance certificate, passport and a provisional driving licence. In each case it was a little more complicated than usual because of her age — the authorities still do not recognize that anyone could be transgendered under the age of eighteen, but in the end they relented. At sixteen she could only have a licence to drive a moped. Fortunately she had no wish to do so, but the licence did provide her with a useful photo id, so that she would be able to open a bank account in her new name. In the meanwhile I’ve been able to undertake any major financial transactions on her behalf in my continuing role of the executor of her parents’ estate. As soon as she had her national insurance card, Julie found herself a part-time job in a local beauty salon, on the basis of her previous experience. It did not pay very well, but she wasn't doing it for the money; she wanted to keep her hand in and enjoyed the work.

Julie has continued to take the hormones each day since we returned from Thailand and her boobs seem to have been growing at a rate of knots. It was as if her body was just waiting for the chemical signal to begin to develop and was now seeking to make up for lost time. She has certainly experienced some physical discomfort and some emotional turmoil in the process, but understands what is going on and accepts it as one of the consequences of being able to achieve her life’s ambition. She has also found herself a private doctor to help oversee her transition. Somewhat to my surprise, she chose a male doctor as I thought a female one might have been more sympathetic to her condition. Apparently the guy started off by telling her to stop taking the hormones until she was eighteen, but she smiled sweetly made it clear that she knew exactly what she was doing, had the support of a psychiatrist, and had no intention of changing her mind. I suspect she may also have fluttered her eyelashes and simpered a little, so that by the end of the interview she had him eating out of her hand.

In fact Julie has become quite a little flirt recently, and I have to be careful about who I invite round to the flat. The few arguments that we have had over the last year derive from my telling her to watch her step and not give guys the wrong idea, after all she is only just over the age of consent, and most of the guys who come sniffing round have no idea of her situation. Julie responds by saying that she knows what she is doing and won’t let things go too far. It’s difficult to stay angry with her as she can put on such a look of wide-eyed innocence when she wants to that disarms any level of annoyance. I suspect she’s just experimenting with her newly-discovered proficiencies as a young woman. She seems to know how to handle guys almost by instinct, and can’t go fifty yards carrying anything heavy without several of them crawling out of the woodwork and fighting off one another to offer her help. I’ve been out with a couple of guys over the last year, but nothing serious, but I have also made lots of friends and take part in University activities.

Broadly speaking Julie and I live in a symbiotic relationship (I got that phrase from one of my University courses — it means ‘mutually beneficial’). We help one another in lots of different ways, but also know when to give the other their privacy. Inevitably there are times when Julie becomes very sad over the loss of her parents, but these never last for long. I know she would love to have had them witness her blossoming into an attractive young woman. At the same time she knows that she cannot get away with playing ‘the little princess’ with me and always pulls her weight with the housework. I sometimes try to keep her ‘girlyness’ in check and inject a little rationality in her behaviour, whilst she sometimes encourages me to experiment more with mine.

So, given all of the above, you may be wondering why I chose the title for my story. It derives from events that took place at the end of August of this year when I asked my sister what she would like to do to celebrate her seventeenth birthday.

‘There’s an ‘End of Summer’ charity ball in town on 3rd September, the theme is ‘twins’, I would love to go, if you will come with me,’ she replied.

‘You want us to go dressed as twins?’

‘Yes, it could be fun! We could both hire the same style of evening dress, I could colour your hair and give you some hair extensions to make it look just like mine, and do our makeup. We would end up looking like one another’

‘Why can’t your hair be made to look like mine?’ I asked suspiciously.

‘I know how to cut and colour hair properly, whereas I wouldn’t trust you anywhere near mine.’

I stuck my tongue out at her but had to agree. I wouldn’t let someone like me anywhere near my hair.

‘Alright, I’ll treat you to your ball tickets as a birthday present but don’t expect me to go over the top with the ‘girlyness’.’

‘That’s exactly what I expect us to do. If you can’t dress up and make yourself look nice for a summer ball, when can you do so?’ she replied.

I put up some token resistance, but the following afternoon we made our way to a dress hire shop at Radcliffe-on-Trent where we both tried on about a dozen different outfits.

‘Do you think my boobs are big enough for me to wear a strapless dress?’ she asked, taking off her bra in the changing room.

I examined her for the first time in several weeks and realized just how much they’d grown recently.

‘You may still need a little discreet padding, but I guess they should be ok.’

‘Great, in that case let’s go for it.

We tried on an identical pair of scarlet evening dresses which seemed to look equally good on both of us.

‘What do you think?’ she asked.

I sighed.

‘Alright, go on then, I suppose, as it is your birthday.’

‘Thanks.’

‘It won’t be too long before you can throw away your falsies altogether,’ I suggested.

‘I am really looking forward to that day, and also this time next year when I shall be en-route to Thailand for my operation.’

‘You certainly know what you want in life.’

‘Will you come with me when I go for my operation?’ she asked.

‘We’ll have to see,’ I replied.

We arranged to collect the dresses the following Friday night, which was the day before the ball. That night I succumbed to my sister’s entreaties and allowed myself to become a blonde with long hair for the first time in my life. Julie firstly coloured my existing hair then sewed in the extensions just as Susie had done for her the previous year. I found these to be a little uncomfortable to begin with but I gradually got used to having them, and when I saw how they looked was pleased to have done so. After that I gave up all opposition to Julie’s plans and the following day we both became true ‘girly girls’, helping each other with a facial, manicure and makeover. Somewhat to my surprise it was quite good fun and was probably worth the time and effort. By the time Julie had finished, I believe we both looked quite special. I didn’t argue when Julie decided to take some photographs of us using the timer on her father’s digital camera. (You can judge for yourself: I am the taller girl on the left of the photo.)

The ‘End of Summer’ ball proved to be really great fun for both of us. I don’t think I’ve ever felt quite so confident in how I looked before, and it is surprising what a difference that makes to how you behave. Guys do treat blondes differently from other girls, beginning with the taxi driver, who helped us both out of the car and told us how nice we looked. (We’d taken a taxi in so that I didn’t have to worry about spoiling my outfit by driving, and could also have a drink during the evening.) Then there was the guy in the street that stopped what he was doing to hold open the door for both of us. Once inside, both Julie and I had guys swarming round us like flies for the whole evening, laughing at our jokes, asking us to dance or offering to get us drinks. Eventually we selected two of the best looking ones and let them give us lifts home in return for a cup of coffee and a little bit of snogging. I quite liked my escort so I gave him my mobile number, and he has promised to ring. I left it to Julie to handle her own guy, after all she is a big girl now and I won’t always be able to look out for her.

Eventually, after her guy had left, Julie knocked on my bedroom door. I was sitting at my dressing table, thinking about the evening and reluctant to get changed.

‘So how does it feel to be a girly girl?’ Julie asked me as she entered the room.

‘In spite of all the time and trouble involved, I can see there are certain advantages,’ I replied. ‘In fact, I may stick with the blonde hair and the extensions for a few weeks, just to see how I get on with them.’