Ruth gave me a quick, apologetic smile and left.

-oOo-

I spent the rest of the afternoon in a dress, enjoying the feel of the material and the sense of being attractive. The television didn't hold its usual appeal, so I hunted through my bookshelf for a book to read. Some time in the dim and distant past, I had bought a copy of Anne of Green Gables in a charity shop. I remembered the odd look the shop assistant had given me, and my stammered explanation that it was a gift for a niece. I don't know if she believed me, but it hardly mattered now as I'd never been back there. I also remembered there being a pretty dress in about my size on one of the hangers, and I wished I'd had the courage to buy it and bugger the consequences. I hadn't of course, and the book had sat on my shelf since then, me never quite finding the right mood to start it.

I read through the afternoon and into the evening. It was a slow start, and unlike any other book I'd read before, but I found myself associating more and more with Anne — and even Marilla to an extent — as the story developed. I remembered trying to watch the film a long time ago and being too annoyed with the Anne's effusive bubbliness. Either it was different reading it, or me no longer suppressing my feminine side allowed me to empathise more with her character. On the whole, I found myself agreeing more with Anne than Marilla, probably because she stood so innocently and steadfastly for her open and unfettered view of the world. I'd lived too long squeezing myself into other peoples' ideas of what was right, and whole-heartedly supported Anne's intensity and abandon.

I'd reached the part where Matthew gives Anne a dress for Christmas, and was gazing into space imagining the puff sleeves and lace collar, when I caught sight of the clock. It was getting on for nine o'clock and I hadn't eaten dinner yet. I had work first thing the next morning and I still had some curls to wash out of my hair and pink varnish to remove from my fingernails.

I grabbed a meal at random out of the freezer, stabbed the lid and chucked it into the microwave. While it was humming, I ducked into the bathroom, undressed and gave my hair a thorough soaking and towelling down.

The bohemian dress — don't you think they're just so romantic? — went back on its hanger in my wardrobe, and I slipped my cotton nightie over my head. Ruth's visit had left me in need of comfort, and Jennifer was the person I most needed to be just then.

The microwave had finished by the time I made my way back to the living room with a bottle of nail varnish remover and some cotton balls that I'd bought as part of my extravaganza the previous day.

The meal wasn't dreadful. Even so, I was going to have to start shopping for, and eating proper food if Jennifer was going to continue to be a part of my life. Despite all the money I'd just spent on clothes, I did want to drop a few dress sizes, and I wasn't going to do that on plastic, mono-sodium glutamate enhanced TV dinners.

I gave my nails a reluctant last look — they really were a very pretty shade of pink — and started working on them with acetone soaked cotton wool. It took longer than I'd anticipated, the hardest part being getting to the few splashes of varnish that had managed to sneak their way under my cuticles. I persevered though and reached a point where I was pretty sure no-one at work would notice the bits I couldn't reach.

My hair had almost dried into an untidy shambles by the time I was done with my nails. A little work with a hair-drier and a brush semi-tamed it, and by the time I'd finished brushing my teeth, I had managed to alter my expression so that Jeremy rather than Jenny looked back at me, despite the nightdress.

-oOo-

“What do you think you look like?” Mr Pendleton could usually rub me up the wrong way without even trying, and today was no exception.

“I'm sorry sir?” The honorific stuck in my throat. If anyone was less deserving of it... Well there was my landlord when you thought about it. But even so...

“Your hair, Jeremy. It's a mess. And what are those things in your ears?”

“They're studs, sir.” I just about managed not to grind my teeth.

“You mean like earrings? I thought those were for women. They look idiotic on you, Jeremy”

What century was this guy from? I mean he wasn't much older than me. I kept my peace, not wanting to aggravate him. A few of my colleagues, standing in a nearby aisle, snickered at his poor attempt at humour. I couldn't be too angry at them; they were just trying to avoid becoming his exalted highness's next target.

“Everyone's entitled to an opinion.” I'd sirred him enough. He noticed though; his whole posture stiffened and his face became pinched with disapproval.

“Well I'm fed up with seeing you wandering around looking like an untidy haystack. It doesn't give a good impression to the customers. Get it cut by the end of the week or I'll have to let you go.”

I wasn't sure if the little tinpot dictator had the authority to actually dismiss me over something like that. Long hair or not, I usually ended up helping more customers than pretty much any two of my colleagues. It wasn't worth mentioning that to Mr P though. He'd most likely want to know how many more people I could help if I looked presentable. Still it smarted. I'd just found a reason for wanting to grow my hair long, and here I was being pressured into having it cut.

Apart from his early morning inspection of the troops, Mr Pendleton preferred to stay off the shop floor, so it was lunchtime when I next encountered him.

“I thought I told you to get rid of those ridiculous earrings.”

“No sir, you didn't.”

“I think you're wrong,” he said with the most ridiculous sing song voice, as though he were talking to a child.

“You told me to get me hair cut,” I only got half an hour for lunch and I did not want to spend it fighting Mr Pedantic, even so I couldn't help myself. “You mentioned that you thought they looked idiotic, but that was it.”

“Well remove them now.”

“If I do, the holes will heal up.”

“Surely that would be a good thing.”

“Not if I want my to keep my ears pierced.”

“Are you refusing to do as I say, Jeremy?”Why he insisted on using my full first name, I have no idea.

“Lindsey and Maddy are both wearing studs in their ears. Lindsey has a nose stud too. I don't hear you insisting they remove theirs.”

“That's because they're women, Jeremy.”

“I know quite a lot of men with pierced ears.”

“And none of them work here.”

We locked gazes, neither of us prepared to back down. Being the subordinate, I could only resort to regulations.

“My contract was quite specific about dress code. I have to wear the uniform, but I don't remember there being any other stipulations. If you can show me where it says men and not women aren't allowed to wear jewellery, I'll take them off.”

He continued to glower at me. Even he wasn't so dense as to miss the not so subtle equality hint. What works one way should work the other though. “Next you'll be wanting to come to work in a dress.” He had picked up on it.

“Only if the girls are allowed to wear one as well.” I refused to be drawn. “If it's all the same with you, I'd like to finish my lunch now.”

He stormed out of the break room, and I didn't see him for the rest of the day.

I punched out mere seconds after knocking off time, and made it home by half five. Once in my flat, I stripped off the hated, cheap uniform and headed straight for the shower. Less than half an hour later, I emerged as Jennifer, wearing a pastel green summer dress. My hair was styled as well as I could manage with my limited resources, and my makeup was more or less respectable. I'd decided to try a clear nail varnish to see if I could get away with it for work, and was feeling pretty pleased with the results when the unholy dissonance of my doorbell tore its way into my revery.

“You know, you could buy one of those wireless doorbells,” Ruth said matter of factly as I opened the door to let her in. “The button part sticks on the door frame with a couple of those sticky pad things, and you can put the receiver anywhere you like inside. Tape over this one and remove the batteries from the bit inside and voilá .”

“You tell me this just a couple of days after I empty my bank account buying clothes?”

“Maybe I'll buy you one as a present one of these days.”

I clasped my hands together beside my cheek. “That's so romantic,” I breathed in my best impression of what I thought Anne Shirley sounded like.

“What?”

“Sorry. Anne of Green Gables. I started reading it yesterday, and it's messing with my mind.”

“You don't have to read it you know?”

“Yeah, but I'm actually enjoying it.”

She shook her head at the notion. “Where's this coffee machine of yours then?”

I dismantled Bertha as far as I could, and separated her into two roughly equal sized boxes. I took the heavier one because, however much Ruth might want to take on the macho role, I still had better developed muscles, if only from carrying about my considerable bulk on a daily basis. The usual, short trip to Sally and Shiv's had us there in good time, and I put Bertha back together while the girls finished cooking and served up.

It was a simpler meal than they usually served, but that was probably for the best. I'm not sure if I could have survived eating their party fare on a daily basis for a month. The portions were smaller than I would normally have served for myself, but I was happy with that too, given my intention to lose weight.

“So how was your day?” Sally asked as we all tucked in. It may have been the polite thing to say, but I suspect she regretted asking by the time I was done. I'm afraid I monopolised the conversation, complaining about work and, in particular, the argument I'd had with my boss about hair and my ear studs.

“I have some smaller studs,” Sally said when she could get a word in edge ways. “I have a pair of silver hearts, some dolphins — although they're larger — some rabbits — also large-ish - and a pair of gold starfish. They might be a little less conspicuous than those.”

Bertha gloppited in the background throughout, finishing more or less as we did. I performed my usual magic while Sally rummaged through her jewellery box, dropping a few select alternatives onto the table as I handed round four cups of my favourite blend.

“Wow, this is amazing,” Sally exclaimed, Siobhan nodding enthusiastic agreement beside her. “You know people would pay good money for coffee like this.”

“Hey,” Ruth piped up, “now there's an idea. You hate your job, so why not give it up and start a coffee shop? You'd be brilliant at it, and as your own boss, you could decide for yourself when you wanted to get your hair cut.”

“Yeah, right.” I was too engrossed comparing the different studs to realise that they were actually being serious.

“Why not Jenny?” Siobhan was always the more sensible one of the group, so when she asked the question, I put down the earrings and paid attention.

“You seriously expect me to give up a paying job...”

“Yeah, but it doesn't pay much does it?”

“And you don't enjoy it, so why not take a chance?”

They were serious.

“Come on Jenny,” Ruth said, “at least look into it. I'll help you put together a business plan if you like.”

They actually were serious.

I know I haven't mentioned this before, but Ruth works for one of the high street banks as a small business advisor. I don't know if she saw this as a way of trying to make things up to me for the way she'd behaved over the weekend, but either way it was a thought. Not to have to put up with his high and all-bloody-mighty excellency, the fuckwit emperor of the shop floor, now there was a dream worth dreaming.

“What would I use for start up capital? After Saturday's shopping spree I quite literally have nothing left. Most small businesses take a year or more before they start making money don't they? How would I live in the meantime?”

“You leave that with me,” Ruth said. “Part of my job is helping small-time entrepreneurs, like you could be, arrange loans. If your business plan is good, and it will be by the time I'm done with it, you'll be more likely to persuade the bank to lend you the money.”

“Even in this day and age? I thought they were all hiding in the back room licking their wounds. You can't borrow money to buy a house these days, how do you think I'm going to get a loan to start up a business, especially when there are big chains to compete with?”

“Because you have something special to offer,” Siobhan said, ganging up with the rest. “This stuff is so much better than Costa Bucks, and that's just with a little machine like that one. I would love to taste what you could achieve with a proper machine.”

“You're all going to have to let me think about this,” I said backing away all but literally. “This is too much, too fast.”

“Okay,” Ruth said. “But we're not letting it drop. You have the week to think it over, then we're going to get back on your case until you either cave or give us a good reason to back down.”

Shit. Shit, shit shit. This was scary, but actually good scary; exciting scary. My three companions moved onto other more banal topics of conversation and I withdrew into my dreams, in which I stood behind the counter of a small coffee shop, wearing a frilly apron over a pretty dress. My hair hung down between my shoulder blades, and my customers smiled back at me as I passed across their orders. A chance to be my own boss. A chance to do things my way. Would it actually work? Could it actually work?

A song drifted across the years to the ears of my imagination. 'Be yourself,' the elephant sang to Tubby the Tuba, 'and do the things that you know best. Be yourself, I think that you'd be happiest by being no-one else but you.'

“But all I know know how to do is oompah.”

Three pairs of curious eyes turned my way. I'd actually spoken out loud.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “I was dreaming.”

“About coffee shops?” Sally asked.

“I thought you were going to let it go.”

“Sorry, you're right. But do think about it won't you? I think it would be so good for you.”

“And we agreed to back off,” Siobhan told her girlfriend.

I tried to join in the conversation, but my dreams beckoned. Before long I excused myself and picked up my coat. Ruth offered to walk me home, but I told her I needed some alone time. I ambled back home slowly. There was a slight chill in the air, and the wind had picked up a little. The cool feeling around my legs and under my skirt was distracting, but only in a way that fed my fantasies. I was vaguely aware of passing a few people on my way home, of one of them looking at me a little closely, a little oddly.

It was still early when I arrived back home. I thought about coffee, and realised I hadn't filled up my Thermos as I'd planned. I made do with a cup of hot chocolate instead, and went to bed early. I tried picking up my book again, but my mind had wandered to far to be able to concentrate on the story, so I switched out the light and watched my ideas dance and swirl around the ballroom of my mind until sleep took me.

-oOo-

“The end of the week Jerry. Haircut or no job, I mean it.” Fuck me, talk about a broken record.

Some of the girls at work kept looking a little curiously at my hands, and in truth the clear varnish had left my nails a little more shiny than usual. I didn't react to their stares though, and none of them had the courage to confront me.

The hair had almost been my undoing though. I'd been too deep in my day dream after I got home to remember to wash it out, and had received something of a shock when I took my first look in the mirror the following morning. Fortunately my hyper-activated mind had woken me early, so I had time to wash out the curls and dry it properly before running for the bus.

The day dragged by pretty much as usual. I dealt with as many customers as usual, which meant I was ahead of my colleagues, but Mr P wasn't around to notice — also as usual. Once or twice, I caught a couple of my fellow workers whispering and pointing my way, but when I approached them they dispersed and refused to be drawn on what they had been discussing. It didn't bother me. In all the time I'd worked there, none of them had made the effort to become friends with me. I guess I'd been just as standoffish so it wasn't all their fault, but the end result was the same — I didn't give a shit what any of them thought.

Home time came and I gratefully punched out and headed for the bus stop. Little niggles through the day had stopped me from thinking further about the coffee shop, but the idea resurfaced on the bus trip home, and right now, with the way I felt about work, it seemed increasingly attractive.

I spent most of the journey trying to come up with some sort of a plan, but I had too little information. Instead I put together a mental check-list of things I needed to find out. I was so absorbed with my thoughts I almost missed my stop.

It was raining as I stepped off the bus, and I sighed dejectedly as I walked the few hundred yards towards the grubby front door of my poky little flat. My life was so far down the crapper I couldn't see daylight any more. Starting middle age, stuck in a dead end job and living in a hole in the ground so deep and dark I was beginning to feel like a cockroach. I had to do something about all this.

The smell of cigarette smoke tickled my nostrils as I stepped through the door. Warily I went further into the living room to find my landlord sitting in my chair watching my television.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I asked him. I'd never had much time for him. He was a crook, his only saving grace being that he was a cheap one.

“Last time I check, I own this place,” he responded laconically, taking a draw from his roll-up. He was a greasy weasel of a man with an unpronounceable name. He had sallow, unhealthy looking skin and a couple of days' grizzled stubble on his chin. His clothing was as shabby as mine at its worst, and his fingers were yellow from too much tobacco.

“Yes, but I'm renting it and that gives me certain rights.”

He Shrugged. “Is nothing in lease says I can't come in.”

“There's nothing in the lease says you can either. Unless you have reason to suspect I'm breaking the conditions of the lease, you have no right to be in here uninvited.”

“Ah, but I have reason,” he said, flipping the TV off and giving me an oily smile. “I see you last night. I not sure it was you at first, but then I see inside your closet...”

“You went into my bedroom?”

“I sure did, and I find your stash of girly-clothes. You disgust me, and I don't want no sexual deviant living in my place. I give you till end of week to move out, and you can fucking forget about your deposit.”

This couldn't be happening.

“On exactly what grounds are you evicting me? There's nothing written down to say I can't keep women's clothing here, and nothing to stop me from dressing how I want.”

“I don't give a shit. You a fucking gender bending poof-shit-fuck, and you get the hell out of my property or I tell your boss what you are.” He pointed at the logo on my shirt. “Not so hard to find out where you work I think, and I not so sure he gonna want bum fucker like you working for him, no?”

The more ignorant the person, the more opinionated, and the less likely to listen. It wasn't worth the effort of arguing with a man like him.

“If you've said what you want to say, I'd like you to leave.” I could barely keep my temper.

“And what if I don't? You call police? I don't think you want them to know what kind of poof-fucker you are.” He ground out his cigarette on the table, damaging the varnish. “But I'm done. Out by Friday or I call your boss, yes?” With that he stalked out of the flat, leaving me seething in a white hot rage.

-oOo-

“Hey, I thought we said you come as Jennifer,” Sally said as she opened the door to me.

“Jennifer didn't feel like coming out this evening.” I was dressed in my best jeans and a halfway decent shirt, and I was still simmering from my recent encounter. “And if you're going to insist, that just makes you as bad as everyone else.”

“Jerry,” Siobhan came through from the kitchen, “what's the matter? What are you talking about.”

“Most of my life, I've been told I should wear nothing but trousers, now you guys insist I wear nothing but skirts. I don't see either of you wearing a dress. If you're going to make it a condition of my coming here, then fuck off and thank you very much.” I turned to leave.

“Jerry, come in and talk to us.” Sally grabbed hold of my arm. I almost jerked it free, but something in her voice stopped me. “We thought being Jennifer was good for you. You've been so much happier since we put you in a dress, and we like you when you're happy. We only insisted because we thought you might need an excuse to dress up every evening, we really don't care how you come though. Please come in and talk to us. Something is obviously upsetting you.”

The angry part of me wanted to lash out and I was so tempted to do so, but deep down I knew I wasn't angry at Sally and Siobhan, who had been nothing but supportive. Another part of me wanted to share the misery of my day, to let it out in a flood of tears instead of a blistering rant. The gentler side won, so I let them pull me inside and I told them what my weasel of a landlord had said to me. They were suitably outraged.

“He has no right,” Siobahn said. Did I remembered her telling me once that she worked for a solicitor who specialised in property law? If so I guessed she should know. “Get me a copy of the lease and I'll see if I can get my boss to tie him up in legalese.”

“Alright, I'll see if I can dig it out, but I'm pretty sure there's nothing in there about right of access for the landlord. It's not going to stop him from telling my boss either way though, is it?”

“It may do if you threaten to prosecute. Regardless of what it says in the lease, I'm pretty sure his coming into the flat today was illegal, and his poking about in your bedroom certainly was. He could end up in a lot of trouble, certainly more than is worth his while making your life miserable. So we can almost certainly get your deposit back for you, maybe a little more if we're lucky. You can put it towards setting up the coffee shop.”

“I haven't even had time to think about the coffee shop yet, and you promised not to push me.” I steered back to the subject in hand. “The thing is he can get over a fine. If he starts telling people about me, then it's like letting the djinni out of the bottle. Once released, there's no putting it back. I'll have to live with people knowing.”

“I hate to point out the obvious here, but what's to stop him from telling people anyway?”

“Eh?”

“Well, I've not met the man, but from what you say, he doesn't sound like the most trustworthy of individuals. Even if you do give in to him and run away, what's to stop him from talking about you? I mean maybe he won't say anything to your boss, but I'm sure he'll tell other people he knows.”

“God, what am I going to do?”

“Stand up to him. Maybe he'll back down.”

“And maybe he'll just get extra vindictive.”

We sat in silence. Sally and Siobhan were out of advice and I was too deep in my misery to say anything for the time being. Sally passed me a tissue, which I took gratefully and dabbed at my leaking eyes. My misery found another way out.

“What's more, my boss at work is insisting I have a hair cut or he's going to sack me.”

There was a stifled giggle. I looked up to see Sally hiding her mouth behind her hand.

“Well he does kind of have a point,” she said.

Siobhan was fighting to keep a straight face as well.

“Is it really that bad?”

“Well, we have managed to style it well enough for you to pass in public a few times, so I can't be too critical, but your split ends do have split ends.”

I grabbed a handful of hair and tried to pull it in front of my eyes. The fringe was the only bit long enough to allow me to do that, and that was too close for me to focus on it. I gave up.

“Well I guess there's no escaping it then, I'll have to get it cut. Do either of you know a decent hairdresser.”

“You could use mine,” Siobhan said. “You know the one just inside the old arcade — Cuts Both Ways? The guy who runs it is called Terry. He's as queer as fish custard — not that I think that would bother you any — but what he can't do with a pair of scissors hasn't been discovered yet. He is absolutely magic with hair, Jerry.”

“Do you think he could squeeze me in this week?”

“Hang on.” She picked up her phone and punched a few buttons. “Terry? Hi, it's Siobhan. Yes, that Siobhan silly. Yes, I have a friend. A bit of an emergency, any chance of this week? Tomorrow at five-thirty?” She looked at me and I nodded. “That's fantastic Terry, you're a real sweetheart.”

Ruth turned up as Siobhan was hanging up her phone.

“Oh. Hi Jerry, I thought...”

“Jenny's taking the night off tonight,” Sally interrupted, worried that I might fly off into another tantrum. There was no danger. I was all cried out, my earlier rage having dissolved in the gentle flow of my tears.

The others updated Ruth on my news, and it was all the three of us could do to stop her from running off to give my landlord what for. Her anger helped. It felt good to know that I had a friend who could be so outraged on my behalf.

The rest of the evening was taken up with planning battle strategies. At least that's what the girls did. I was caught up in my own thoughts. Worry over what I was going to do about my landlord and my boss mainly. I'd always been afraid that letting my girl side free would have unpleasant consequences and it did me no good to be proved right. As evenings went, it was not very productive and, despite everything the girls said and planned, I left feeling low and dispirited.

Ruth walked me home. As usual, she was sensitive to my mood and allowed me my silence. We arrived back at my front door, and I caught a glint of anger rising in her eyes.

“Don't Ruth. It'll only make things worse.” My landlord lived a few doors down the road. I'd pointed the place out to her once and I could see her glancing across at his front door.

“Jerry, you can't let arseholes like that push you around.”

“I don't see that I have much choice,” I said. “If I'm going to get through this, I have to put Jennifer away for a while.”

She looked down at the ground, biting off the words she wanted to say. “Well the choice has to be yours, but I shall miss Jenny if she goes. It's been good to see you smile for a change. You have a lovely smile.”

I managed a weak one for her, but my heart wasn't in it. “Thanks Ruth.”

“You want to thank me, give some serious thought to what you do next. You've been fucking miserable pretty much all the time I've known you, and then we find that letting you be a girl turns things totally around. This is crunch time Jerry. Now you've found something that makes you happy, you can't just throw it away because some dickhead threatens to go public and embarrass you. Promise me you'll really think this through before you do anything rash.”

“Alright,” I agreed, more to get her off my case than because I thought she was right. She stared me in the eyes until I was able to hold her gaze. We both knew I'd do as she asked, regardless of how little I wanted to do it.

“That's my girl,” she said smiling and cupping my cheek. I felt an odd weakness pass through me — a softening and warming of my insides. Like I said, there are times when Ruth knows the exact right words to say.

Despite all my earlier intentions to put Jennifer away for a while, I spent ten minutes in front of the mirror rubbing skin lotions into my hands and face. I'd only been doing it for a few days so far, but I was convinced I could feel and see a difference. I pulled on my long white nightdress and snuggled into bed, warmed by the memory of Ruth's parting words. I would miss feelings like this, and already sensed the old familiar weight resettling itself on my chest. I hugged a pillow tightly and let it soak up my despondent tears.

-oOo-

Next morning I showered and dressed for work as usual. I'd forgotten to bring back a Thermos of coffee again so had to make do with one of the plastic filter coffee things I kept for emergencies. It tasted pretty foul, but it was caffeine.

I tried brushing my hair into a neater state, but had to admit that Sally and Shiv had been right — it was pretty awful. How had I not noticed it before? I tried to make the most of my last look at myself with long hair, but the untidiness of it gave me no pleasure. I let out a sigh and headed out to catch the bus.

Work was a disaster from start to finish. My boss took every opportunity to remind me about my bird's nest hair — which was all the more aggravating now that I knew he was right. My colleagues continued to whisper behind my back, lapsing into an awkward silence whenever I walked near to them. The customers I spoke to seemed okay with the service I provided, at least they did until my boss made an uncharacteristic appearance on the shop floor and started asking about their overall experience in the shop. In most cases it was positive until he asked how they would rate my appearance. Most tried to be kind, but even the vaguest of disparaging remarks had him cocking an eyebrow in my direction.

I've never experienced Chinese water torture, but after that longest of days, I can fully imagine what it must be like. Each incident of petty-minded micromanagement only served to wind me up just a little further until I felt ready to explode. It occurred to me that, even if I fixed my hair, he'd find something else to complain about. When I'd changed my studs for Sally's silver hearts, which were by far the least conspicuous, he'd gone on about how girly they were. There was just no pleasing the man and I couldn't see myself continuing in this place. It had been easier when I'd been depressed because then I'd had no concept of how much better life could be. The way things were going it seemed unlikely that both of us would survive the week, and it was touch and go which of us would make it. Either way, early death through aneurysm or life in prison for homicide — however justified — the outlook looked bleak for me.

I punched out on the dot of five o'clock and was followed out the door by some muttered comment about clock watching. I managed to ignore it, but only because I was done for the day. As I stepped on the bus, I felt my muscles unknotting. It wasn't soon enough to spare me the headache, but it was still a much needed relief.

The shopping arcade was a couple of stops before my usual one and it was just gone quarter past five when the bus pulled into one of a number of bus stops lined up on either side of the main road. I climbed off the bus, along with most of the other passengers, and stopped to look around.

The recession had bitten hard here, and several shop fronts stood empty along the high street. One in particular caught my eye. From its looks, it had been a small café or restaurant. It had a full height glass frontage and space inside for at least a dozen tables, with a decent sized counter along the back that would serve perfectly for what I had in mind, and it was right next to the bus stops. I had never realised, until that moment, how much of a nexus this place was.

I looked around at bored shoppers standing, waiting for their rides home and an idea began to form in my mind. I saw a large TV screen in the window showing regularly updated information on the buses — where they would stop, where they were going, when they were next expected to arrive — all of it regularly updated as the day wore on — a second screen inside the shop showing the same information.

Every successful place has its gimmick, and this could work amazingly well as mine. It wouldn't cost that much to set up and maintain, I was sure, and it would draw commuters to the shop entrance, if only to find out how long they had to wait for their next bus. Once at the doorway, the smell would do the rest. Coffee took seconds to buy and minutes to drink, and who, with tired feet and ten minutes or more to wait, wouldn't be tempted by a decent cuppa? For the first time I began to see possibilities.

It would need a lick of paint, furniture, the large screens and a computer obviously, some decorations, a decent coffee machine... I wandered towards the arcade with ideas cascading through my mind.

-oOo

“I'm sorry, I don't take walk ins.” The sibilant voice belonged to a small, dumpy looking man with tightly curled hair falling almost to his shoulders. It was an unconventional look, but it worked well on him.

“I, er, I have an appointment. I'm Siobhan's friend.”

“Oh Gosh, I'm so sorry,” the S's hissed like a merrily boiling kettle. “When she called I naturally assumed she was asking for a girl friend. Oh my, whatever happened to you?” He stepped away from his current customer, excusing himself for a brief moment, and examined my hair from all sides.

“Nothing,” I said. “But for an unfortunately long time.”

“Yes, I can see that. I should tell you though, that I don't usually do men's hair. There's a men's barbers down the high street that might be a little less expensive.”

I winced inwardly at the thought of additional drain on my already depleted financial reserves, but no, there were some things where you didn't spare any expense.

“I'm not sure he'd be able to do what I have in mind. Shiv said you were a bit of a miracle worker, and that's kind of what I need right now.”

“That's very kind of her I'm sure,” he fingered my frayed tresses distractedly before coming to a decision. “Well I do like a challenge. Please take a seat. I'll be with you in ten minutes. Help yourself to a coffee if you like.” He waved at a jug of filter coffee and a small stack of cups, then returned to his recently abandoned customer.

The coffee was bitter and stale, but it was hot and welcome for all that. I passed my time flipping through magazines, looking for hairstyles to inspire me, but nothing sprang out of the pages. It was more like twenty minutes before the happily chatting Terry escorted yet another smiling customer to the door. I'd seen how much money had exchanged hands at the end of the session and made an effort to persuade myself it was worth it. If he could produce the same sort of results with my hair as he had with the middle aged lady who'd just left, it would be worth it, It really would.

“Right, sorry about that. Took a little longer than anticipated.”

“It's alright. You can't rush perfection.”

He fairly beamed at me. “Well aren't you sweet? I think I'm going to like you a lot. Now tell me what you have in mind.”

I didn't have that clear an idea, but my day's misery at work had set me against my original plan to have it all cropped short. I shared what vague new thoughts I'd had during my wait. He studied me critically for a few minutes then went over to a bookshelf and pulled off a selection of portfolio style books. I'd always assumed they were there to add ambiance to places like this, but it turned out they really had a purpose, which I discovered as Terry introduced me to hairstyle after hairstyle, talking through the ideas he had in mind. Eventually we settled on one we both liked and I surrendered myself to his magic fingers.

Half an hour stretched into an hour, and Terry kept a running banter through the whole thing. I found myself sharing things with him that I would have thought twice about saying to the girls, and it was most wonderfully cathartic. He was an amazing listener, with just the right level of sympathy and humour to lift my spirits. While his fingers washed and cut and did all sorts of unusual things to my hair, his words caressed a soothing balm into my soul until...

“There, all done.”

I had kept my eyes closed through most of the procedure, hardly daring to imagine what the final result would look like. Now was crunch time, and I opened my eyes to meet the new me.

“What do you think?”

I was speechless. My mouth moved, but words tripped over each other in my brain and couldn't make it out. I shook my head trying to express some of the delight I was unable voice, and my new hairstyle jiggled, mirroring the joy I felt.

It was shorter — but then it had to be — by as much as an inch in order to tidy up those frayed ends. It still covered my ears though, and it fell almost to my shoulder at the back. It had a gentle wave to it, and highlights, all of which combined to produce an effect that would look spectacular on Jenny, but also looked passably male on Jerry. Dressed as I was now, I could see my male side looking out, albeit a very metrosexual me. I tried to imagine myself with the party dress I'd worn to the club on Saturday, and my mind's eye could see nothing but Jennifer.

I finally loosened the knots in my layrinx.

“It's perfect.”

“You can't rush perfection,” Terry parroted my words back at me, his face wearing an expression of replete smugness.

“I can't believe how good it looks. Thank you. Thank you so much. How much do I owe you? Anything up to and including my first born.”

“Oh God, please don't joke about such things.” He mentioned a figure which seemed considerably cheaper than the amount he'd charged the woman earlier. “First timer's discount,” he explained to my wary expression. “When you come again, and please, please, do not let it get into that sort of state again. When you come again, Siobhan will have a discount for the referral.”

I handed over the money and surprised us both by giving him a delighted hug.

“Please, sweetie, I'm not into girls. I'd have thought Siobhan would have told you.”

Again that warm feeling. I was sure I hadn't said anything to Terry, but evidently combining my request for this particular hairstyle with some of the things I'd shared, it hadn't been that hard to guess. It still came as a delightful thrill though, when someone saw me as I was — when they recognised the girl inside of me.

I walked out of the arcade feeling like a million dollars — well probably more given the state of the economy. I held my head high and walked with a buoyant stride. I could feel my hair jiggling and swaying as I walked and I was aware of heads turning my way as I passed. Some were a angry or unsure, but enough gave me a cheerful smile as I walked passed. Almost certainly some were laughing at me behind my back, but it still felt like the majority were admiring the way I looked.

I walked the half mile home, deciding to save the few pence it would have cost for the bus ride. I all but beat the bus too. It passed me less than half a minute before I reached the end of my road.

It was getting on for quarter to seven by the time I made it home. I gave Sally and Shiv a call to let them know I was running a bit late and that I'd be with them by about quarter past, then I dived into my bedroom and opened my wardrobe.

-oOo-

I prefer dresses to skirts usually, but this evening needed something to show off my new hair to best advantage. All my earlier plans to pack Jennifer away were gone. Ruth had been right, I was happier this way, and if today had shown me anything it was that I couldn't go back to being Jerry full time.

My life was inevitably going to have people in it who would to try to make me miserable, and they would do so whether I tried to appease them or not. That being the case, I was determined to be who I was inside and the hell with them. After a quick check to make sure I was suitably hairless in all the right places, I slipped on the sexiest underwear I had. It didn't matter that only I knew I was wearing it, that was at least half the point. It made me feel good, so it achieved its purpose, even without being seen by anyone but me.

The rice stocking breasts tucked away under my chest flab — I would have to do something about them as soon as I could afford to — and gave me the usual passable cleavage. I slipped on a pair of the sheerest tights I owned and added a cream silk blouse Siobhan had all but forced me to buy. She'd picked out a a pencil skirt to wear with it, but my arse was way to big to stuff into something so slinky. Instead I'd bought a flowing skirt with black, white and brown feather patterns on it. I finished off with a light brown three quarter length sleeve cardigan.

Jewellery, including dangly earrings, a spritz of perfume and fuck 'em if they smelt it at work tomorrow, a light touch of lipstick and mascara, and Jerry was nowhere to be seen. I felt light enough to fly as I closed the door and turned to walk down the street, only to find Mr Weasel standing at the end of my garden path looking at me with an odd mixture of triumph and disgust.

I couldn't let him pass unchallenged, and I could only think of one thing to say.

“You'll be hearing form my solicitor by the end of the week. Whatever it says in the lease, I have certain rights under the law, and you breached them when you came into the flat without due cause, and especially when you went though my things.”

“Heh. You bluffing. You get out by end of week or else.”

“Without just cause for eviction, I have until the end of the lease, which I believe was due for renewal in a couple of months. I'll accept your intrusion on my privacy yesterday as your giving me notice that the lease won't be renewed, so I'll leave before then, assuming I receive my deposit back.”

“I said no deposit, or I tell your boss about you.”

“You're probably going to do that anyway, so fuck off.” I winced. If there were points to be scored here, I'd lost some by being the first to resort to vulgarity. “If you'll excuse me, I have somewhere to be.”I raised my chin and strode past him, towering over him in my two inch heels.

“Fucking queer,” he muttered as I passed. I held my tongue in an effort to regain some of my lost dignity.

-oOo-