I stood at the garden gate and looked back at the house for the final time. The front door was shut and the place where I had lived all my life was now closed to me.

The house looked cheerful, what with the Christmas tree with its twinkling and the colourful lights, and the windows decorated with tinsel and holly.

Inside I remembered the derisive laughter of just a few hours before as my hair was hacked off and that hurt more than almost anything else. They wouldn’t miss me, as they really never wanted me.

I picked up my case opened the gate and left.

Snow was falling gently. It was the night before Christmas Eve, a time for looking forward to Christmas Day with the presents, overeating, looking at old films on the TV and having a great time with the family.

The snow crunched underfoot as I walked down the lane that led to the main road. I had walked this lane many times in my fifteen years on this Earth. Up until two years ago, my life had been relatively happy. My parents loved me and understood my need to dress as a girl. It wasn’t a need really, just an outward presentation of who and what I was inside - a girl.

The clothes are nice and a girl likes to look pretty, but clothes are just a dressing as it’s what’s inside that matters and despite the shell of a boy, inside beats the heart and soul of a girl.

I had been seeing a psychiatrist who specialized in “gender issues” as she liked to call it. I had even been able to have blockers so that I didn’t develop as a boy; all this with the blessing of my mum and dad.

I shivered slightly and pulled my thin coat around me. I was dressed in boy mode, wearing jeans, t-shirt, and hooded sweater and that was hateful. At least I had some of my girl clothes in my case and I wouldn’t waste much time changing when I had the chance. Also I was wearing panties and a bra and it helped — a bit.

My long blond hair had been cut off by my stepfather just a few hours ago with his two boys looking on and giving him encouragement. I cried when he cut my hair and told me to ‘man up and forget the girl nonsense’.

Three years - just three years ago, it was me and my mum and dad. They were happy, almost carefree days when I was able to dress as I liked (within reason) and be a part of a happy and stable family. Then on New Years Eve, a drunk driver hit my dad as he was crossing the road on a zebra crossing, killing him instantly and changing both my mums’ and my life overnight.

It took nearly two years for my mum to get over the loss of Dad and try to move on. I wanted her to be happy and I knew that Dad was looking down on us and willing for us to get on with our lives and look forward and not back.

John was Mum’s manager in the estate agency where she worked. He was nice to her when Dad died and he seemed to be genuinely interested in helping her wherever possible. Eventually, he took her out for a meal and one thing led to another and they eventually got married.

John was a divorcee with custody of two boys, twins, about a year younger than me, we were, I suppose and instant largish family. They came to live with us as our house was bigger with four bedrooms. Mum and her husband had one room, the twins another and I kept my old bedroom.

It all went well for a while and although John wasn’t my dad, I thought that he was fond and maybe even loved me in his own way. After all, he had taken me on as a stepdaughter effectively. He knew about my situation and was supportive, even taking me to the doctors and psychiatrist when mum was busy.

George and Robert, the twins, I never really got to see all that much. They were into boy things, soccer in the winter and cricket in the summer mixed with plenty of boy type rough and tumble, things that I just wasn’t interested in. Sometimes they looked at me strangely and I never thought that they got their collective heads around the fact that I was a girl in a boy’s body. They didn’t hassle me and - I think that they were under strict instructions not to cause me trouble or upset me.

I was brought back to the present as I shivered, realising that I wasn’t dressed for an arctic winter.

I was approaching the main road now. It was nine o’clock and very dark on the lane. However the main road had streetlights and I was getting quite near.

I increased my pace, trying not to slip over on the icy path with its thin covering of snow. I had some money and I hoped to catch the last bus into town that should be arriving in about ten minutes, weather and traffic permitting. The bus stop was only just around the corner, but I was worried that it might arrive early for once.

I arrived at the bus stop with a couple of minutes to spare and sat on the hard seat in the shelter. The flashing board said that the bus was running about five minutes late, so I shouldn’t have long to wait.

Once again my mind went back. As I said before, things were ok at first and I think that we all got along ok, despite the elephant in the room that was little me. After about six months into the marriage, Mum went for a mammogram test and then things got bad. She had breast cancer, a fast growing one that had, by the time it was diagnosed, spread around her body.

I didn’t want to think about what happened after that, it was horrible and best left unsaid. The upshot was, my darling mum died just a few months before and after the trauma of her death and funeral, things were never the same again.

Personally, I was devastated, kept myself to myself and spent a lot of time in my bedroom.

The bus arrived and as I sat in the back of the nearly empty bus, I was at least pleased that the heaters were going full blast.

At first, after mum died, we all sort of pulled together in collective grief and then after about a week, cracks started to appear in the remains of what I called my family.

John came into my room one night as I was doing my homework. At the time I was in my nightie and my long hair was scrunchied.

‘Andy, I need to talk to you,’ he said as he sat on the bed. That was strange, as we had hardly spoken a word since the funeral.

‘It’s Amy, John.’

‘Whatever. Look, The twins go to one school and you go to St Peter’s. I have to work and it’s difficult having you going to different schools, what with the school bus not operating for your school anymore due to the damned cutbacks. I haven’t got the time to ferry you to school and back and I think that you should transfer to Becket’s with the twins.’

I looked at him feeling slightly sick. My school had finally accepted that I was transgendered and after a few bad years, I had been accepted as a girl by nearly everyone. It hadn’t been easy and there had been some bad moments with some of the kids who found me hard to accept, but all in all, things weren’t too bad and now he wanted me to change schools and go through all that again.

‘John, I can’t.’

He had wanted me to call him Dad, but I only ever had one and John wasn’t him.

‘You can and you will. It’s all been agreed with the school, you start Monday.’

I was going to start shouting about not been asked and all that, but I didn’t like the look on John’s face and to be honest, I was a bit frightened.

‘D…do they know about me?’

‘Yes.’

‘And they don’t mind me being a girl?’

He paused for a moment and then spoke in a firm voice.

‘That has to stop.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The school does not feel that it is appropriate for you to attend as a girl as it might cause disruption.’

‘But I have been a girl all my life…’

‘Have you.’ He interrupted, I went along with it for Mary’s sake, but to honest, I don’t think that you are a girl. You’re young; you don’t know what you are yet. The law says that you can’t get surgery until at least 18. When you are of age you can do as like, but while you live in my house you do as I say.’

‘It’s my house too.’ I said, looking up into what were now icy blue eyes.

‘Wrong, it’s my house and you have to abide by my rules.’

He stood up and paced the room. This was a John that I had never seen before. Had I ever really known him and had his friendliness and love just been an act?

He turned to me.

‘It has to stop.’ He said firmly.

‘What has to stop?’ I asked, my voice sounding quavery.

‘This dressing as a girl…’

‘But I am a girl!’ I cried.

‘Maybe, but what with everything going on and you starting a new school with stricter morals than St Peter’s, you are to dress as a boy…no arguments, I am your legal guardian and what I say goes.’

I was in tears by now, my life had fallen apart when first my dad and then my mum died.

Now this!

The bus stopped and I looked up. A couple got on and moved down the isle and sat together a few rows in front.

Looking at them, they were about my mum and dads age and I could see by the way they acted that they were very much in love.

That made me tear up again, it didn’t take much at the moment.

The bus moved off and I was back remembering, despite the fact that it was a nightmare that I wanted to forget.

Things at home went from bad to worse. I was forced to pack away all my girls clothes and only wear boy’s stuff. The twins. Although younger than me, were a bit bigger and I was forced to wear their castoffs including a boys school uniform.

Becket’s was a boy’s only school and had a totally different atmosphere to St Peter’s. I hated with a passion the fact that I had to pretend to be a boy at home and at school too. John said that it would be best to cut myself off from my girly ways start being a man.

The twins started sniping at me and bullying me and John seemed to turn a blind eye to their behavior towards me.

The only good thing was that I was allowed to keep my hair long, only if I kept it in a low ponytail.

The trouble was, I was quite feminine in my ways and that led to even more nasty comments and bullying at home and at school.

I must admit that I had thought of running away, but where would I go? I had no relatives, close by. My mum’s sister lived somewhere in Devon and that was miles away. Also I didn’t have an address, just the name of a village, Penmarris, I think it was.

Some weeks passed and if anything, things got worse. It was coming up to Christmas and everyone seemed happy except me.

As we passed the street lights on the way to town, the snow, if anything was getting a little heavier, but it didn’t seem to be laying on the ground much. I shut my eyes and I could see, once again the awful things that led me to being on a bus on the way to the unknown.

It was the last day at school and lessons were a bit lax. That gave time for some of the boys, including George and Robert, to start having some fun at my expense. This ‘fun’ included being kicked, punched, called fag, queer, nancy boy, big girls blouse and other not so nice things.

Eventually it was time to go home and I had to literally run to the bike shed, get my bike and peddle of home before I was caught by those cretins who called themselves “men”.

When I arrived home, I let myself in, grabbed a cake and a can of Pepsi and went up to my room. As I sat on my bed, I winced as someone had kicked me on the behind.

I was getting more than desperate now and contemplating, fleetingly of ending it all. But my mum and dad would have been ashamed of me or at least disappointed that I didn’t see things through. I was fifteen and I wouldn’t have to wait too long before I could get out of this hell hole that was once my happy home and start living as a girl again.

John, when he arrived home tried to get me to go downstairs for my tea. He had brought in some fish and chips from work and as the smell wafted upstairs, I was tempted, but didn’t give in.

As the others didn’t want to know me anyway, I don’t think that they were disappointed that I wasn’t with them.

I watched TV and then after what seemed a long time, went to bed, not forgetting to jam the door with my chair first. The last thing I wanted was to have someone playing a “funny” joke on me as I slept. As an act of defiance, I put on a pink silky nightie first and immediately felt more at peace with myself.

I was in a deep sleep when I heard a bang was roughly awaken by a shout and being yanked out of bed.

‘What the hell are you wearing, you little sod!’

John was standing over me and gripping my arm tightly. Behind him stood the twins and they both had grins on their faces.

‘I told you, no more of this girlie crap. Its bad enough that George and Robert have to put up with taunts at school because of your girly ways, but to do this at home to, despite telling you not to is too much. And that bloody hair, its too fucking long.’

He somehow produced some scissors form his back pocket and before I knew it, He pulled me up by the hair and cut off my ponytail.

‘No!’ I wailed.

‘You are going to act and look like a boy, if it kills you,’ he shouted, as he taunted me with the cut off hair.

I was in tears now. John had been harsh before, but it was almost as if he was another, horrible and very scary man now. It was as if something had snapped inside him and I was the focus of all his anger.

Then he did something that he had never done before. He slapped me around the face.

‘Get that sodding nightdress off, put on some pyjamas. From tomorrow, you are going to be a proper boy or take the consequences.’

I cowered away, thinking that he might hit me again, as, with a look of complete contempt and loathing, he walked out, followed by the delighted twins, slamming the door after them.

I was shivering despite the warmth in the room. Tears were coursing down my face as I tried to pull myself together.

Unbelievably, I heard laughing coming from downstairs. It seemed that the boys thought that all this was hilarious.

Standing up rather shakily, I went over to the mirror and looked at myself. My hair was short and ragged at the back. I had lost my lovely long blond hair. On my face was a large red patch where John had hit me and already, I had a bruise on my arm where I had been gripped and roughly pulled up.

Tearfully, I took my nightie off and changed it for some boy pyjamas and then I just sat on the bed, too numb and shocked to do anything else.

Eventually, I heard the others go to bed; first the twins and then the heavier tread of John. He paused at my door and I held my breath, willing him not to come in. After a moment he passed on and I could hear his bedroom door close, the bedroom that had once been my parents and the one where I had spent the first few months of my life in.

Things gradually quietened down as the others finally went to sleep. I still sat on my bed, not moving and not thinking about much. I was still in shock and felt hurt, confused and humiliated.

Then, deep inside me, I felt anger. I wasn’t wanted or needed here. This house was no longer a home to me with lovely memories, it was just a prison. Slowly a plan came into shape. Once I had decided, I knew in my heart that it was the right move.

I know that I was young, but I was intelligent and knew what I had to do.

I opened my laptop and fired it up. After going on a couple of websites, I put some of my debit card details in and made my arrangements.

I went over to my dressing table and sat down. I wrote a note, stuck it in an envelope and left it on my pillow. Then I got dressed in boy mode, but with panties and tights under my jeans and a cami under my t shirt and sweater as it was cold outside. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. My case was already packed with my girl clothes, makeup and toiletries together with what was left of what I called my girlie pills that stop me from being a he man and spouting hair and muscles all over the place…

After putting on my coat and beanie hat to hide my mutilated locks, I picked up my rucksack which held some personal stuff like my laptop, phone and other essentials, I took one final look around.

On the dressing table was a photo of my parents and me in happier times. I picked it up and put it in my bag. Then finally I looked at my wallet, put it in my pocket, took a deep breath, went over to the door and quietly opened it.

It was dark in the hall and I could hear no noises. I looked at the bottoms of the doors and I could see no lights, so it looked like everyone was asleep. After a final look at my room, I switched the light off, closed the door quietly and went downstairs, missing the creaky step half way down. The last thing I wanted was to be caught now.

And so I left home and found myself on the late bus leading to the town centre.

I recalled what I had put in the note that was addressed to John.

John,

I am leaving home. You and the twins don’t want me and I certainly don’t want anything more to do with you.

Don’t try to find me.

Please note that I have taken some time and dated photos of the injuries done to me by you and have uploaded them to a safe place together with full details of what you have done to me. If you try to come after me, I will tell the police what you have done and pass them the evidence.

I am nearly sixteen now and I intended to leave you after my birthday, but what you have done to me makes me want to go now.

Tell anyone who asks that I have gone away to visit family, although it’s hard to believe that as you and the twins were supposed to be my family.
Tell the school whatever you like; I’m sure they care for me as much as you do. By the time they realise that I am not coming back, I will be too old for them to do anything about it.

I hope that you are satisfied now. I thought that you liked me, even loved me, but I now know that it was all a front.

Amy (not Andy, ever)

I was finally brought back to the present by the driver announcing that we had arrived.

‘Reading Station.’

I was lucky that the bus came this way without having to do any changes.

One of the bookings that I had arranged on my laptop was for a ticket on the first train in the morning for Dowesford, being the closest station to Penmarris, where my aunt lived. I didn’t want to think about what she would say when she saw me. Mum and her weren’t that close and I hadn’t seen her since I was little.

I put all those negative thoughts behind me as I got off the bus. I asked directions to the Travelodge where I had booked a room for the night. I knew that it was near the station and I didn’t want to stay out in the dark, by myself, for any longer than necessary.

A few minutes walk led me to the hotel. I was pleased that it had stopped snowing and if anything it seemed a bit warmer than went I got on the bus earlier.

I rang the bell as the door was locked and a lady answered it.

‘Can I help you?’

‘Yes, I booked a room.’

‘Come in out of the cold love.’ she said beckoning me in with a warm smile.

At last, someone happy to see me.

‘By yourself dear?’ she said as she clicked on her keyboard.

‘Yes, I’m visiting my aunt in Devon.’

I don’t think that she was too impressed at being by myself, but said nothing other than, ‘that’s nice dear.’

A few minutes later I was in the bedroom and could relax for the first time in ages.

I looked down at the clothes that I was wearing with distaste. That was going to have to change and change now. I ran the bath and undressed quickly and after putting some smellies in the bath, I sighed as I sank into the lovely warm water.

You may have realised that I was going to Devon to see my Aunt. She was the only living relative that I knew about now. I hoped that she might help me, but how she would react to seeing someone who she thought of as a nephew turning up as a niece, I would never know. There was a niggle in the back of my mind. She hadn’t come to my mum’s funeral. She had been away abroad when Dad died, so that was understandable, but why wasn’t she at Mum’s one?

Her address had been in Mum’s diary, but John probably had that and no way had I been prepared to sneak in his room to try and find it. Anyway, this was all a spur of the moment thing and if I had planned things better, I would have done a lot of things differently. But I was here now and I was glad to be out of the clutches of that evil beast.

I glanced at my arm. It had a big bruise on it now and it reinforced decision to get away while I could.

I wondered when it would be discovered that I had flown the nest and would John take heed of my warning not to try to find me?

Well, it was no good worrying about that as I had enough on my mind at that moment.

After fifteen minutes, I was getting a bit prunified, so I reluctantly got out and quickly dried myself off. Looking at my hair, I got a bit upset that my lovely long locks had been roughly cut off. How could he do that to me?

In my case, I had a wig, one that I had used some time ago when my hair had been shorter. Mum had bought it for me and it was a very expensive one. I would have to wear that until my hair grew out again. I decided that I would wear it tomorrow.

For now, I was very tired after everything had happened, so I put on a nightie and went to bed, setting my phone alarm for 5 am as the train left at 6.30.

I must have been tired, as I didn’t wake up until my alarm chirped. For a few moments, I didn’t realise where I was, then it all came flooding back. I had run away from home and was going on a long, madcap journey to try to find an aunt who didn’t really know me.

I sighed, staring up at the ceiling and then got up and made myself a cup of tea. As it brewed, I opened my case and tried to decide what to wear. Looking out of the window, it was dry and sunny and it looked like it was going to be a nice day.

I decided on a long denim skirt, thick black tights and my boots. On top, I would wear a training bra, cami and over that my cream Aaron Cable Knit Round Neck Long Sleeve Chunky Jumper — a pressie from Mum and Dad, last Crimbo. It was nice and warm and would be okay under my rather thin coat.

The tea was ready and I drank it quickly, realizing that I didn’t have much time.

After a wash and cleaning my teeth, I got dressed. It was nice to be in girls’ clothes again and audibly breathed a sigh of satisfaction. I covered my jumper with a towel as I applied some makeup. It didn’t wear much, but I was quite good at it and after I had finished I looked more like the girl I knew I was and not some sort of travesty of a boy.

The wig I put on last, after brushing out the inevitable tangles. It was long and straight, a blond colour similar to my natural hair, with a fringe. It was nice but not as nice as my lovely fine hair used to be, but I wasn’t going to be negative any more. My hair would grow again and thinking of the past only upset me.

I glanced at my watch. It was time to go. The hotel didn’t have a restaurant so I hoped to get some sort of snack on the train.

Packing my things I left quickly and then made my way out of the quiet hotel and onto the station.

Not surprisingly, the station, even at that time of day, was quite busy with travellers making journeys to visit loved ones or going on holiday for Christmas. After going to the office and picking up the ticket that I had reserved the previous day, I made my way to platform 1 and waited for the train to arrive. I was always worried when dressed as a girl, that I might be found out or something. It was silly, as I knew that I passed quite well and I hadn’t ever been “clocked” as they say. I know that it was irrational, but despite my being a girl on the inside, outwardly I was still legally classed as a boy and would be until I finally had the surgery needed to make me whole.

A few minutes later the train arrived. For once it was on time and as I made my way on board, I was pleased that I hadn’t overslept!

I deposited my case in the storage area, took my ruckie and quickly found a seat. At least I didn’t have to stand all the way!

I must have been tired as I almost immediately fell asleep again. When I awoke, I asked the old lady sitting next to me where we were,

‘Just past Exeter dear,’ she said.

Wow, I had been asleep for ages and it was only just over half an hour to Dowesford!

My tummy was rumbling a bit and I realized that I had no time to go and get something to eat on the train. I would have to wait and maybe find a MacKie D in Dowesford before I continued on my journey.

The countryside outside was quite pretty moorland and it was getting decidedly hilly. I wondered what Penmarris was like. I had heard of it, of course, but had never been there. Apart from it being a smallish seaside village with a couple of beaches; that was about all I knew about the place. How I would go about finding where my aunt lived was a problem, but compared to what had happened to me over the past few years, it was, I hoped, trivial compared to that.

The announcement came that we were approaching Dowesford, so I got up, said goodbye to the nice old lady and made my way to the luggage area with a few others who were also getting off.

The station wasn’t a large one with only two platforms and as I made my way out of the station, I had a quick look at the timetable at the bus stop. The next bus to Penmarris was about in about an hour’s time so I had plenty of time to have something to eat. Luckily, there was a café opposite the station and I was soon tucking into bacon, eggs, sausages (2) and toast, washed down by a mug of steaming hit tea.

I still had 15 minutes before the bus was due, so thought that I might take the time to have a look at Google Maps on my phone. However, I noticed that I had a couple of text messages and realised that my phone had been on mute. I must have pressed the button accidently.

Both text messages were from John and said the same thing.

Contact me soonest, or else.

What that “or else” meant, I didn’t know or care. I was out of his clutches and no way was I going to respond to him.

I didn’t have any more time to look at my phone, as I wanted to get to the bus stop before bus arrived.

I was the only one waiting for the bus and it was five minutes late. I got on, paid my fare and sat at the back. There were only a few others aboard and I wondered if they were going to the same place as me. Wouldn’t it have been funny if one of those women was my Aunt? Mind you, that was silly as these women were far too old to be her. I think my Aunt, who was Mum’s younger sister, was in her early thirties and by all accounts very pretty.

The bus set off and soon we were going over some pretty moorland. In places, hollows and such like, I could see some snow, so it looked like they had had similar weather to us down there.

It was cold and clear and not a cloud in the sky. We left the moor and then the bus made its way down some country lanes with high hedges, stopping at villages along the way. Several people got on and off and it was nice that everyone had a smile and a nod. Not like Reading where, no one seemed interested in anyone else.

As I got nearer to my destination, I at first became apprehensive and then worried about what would happen. I began to regret having that large meal as I was starting to feel a wee bit sick in the stomach. Would I find my Aunt and if I did, would she welcome me with open arms or send me packing back to John and the Evil Twins?

The bus started climbing a long hill, changing gears down to cope with the gradient. It seemed to go slower and slower as it finally reached the apex and turned sharply left.

I gasped slightly as I saw the sea view and there it was. I knew it without seeing any signpost.

This was Penmarris Cove.

Two lovely golden beaches and a small harbor with boats bobbing about and behind that the village. There were brightly coloured houses and cottages dotted about over the hills, a church with a small steeple towards the back. It was as pretty as a picture and as we descended towards the village, I could see why my Aunt had chosen this place to live.

Soon we were on the quay and picking up my things, I exited the bus and watched it go off to the next village along the coast.

I put my case down and looked around. It was Christmas Eve and there were quite a few people walking around. There were a few shops, an art gallery with a pottery next to it. A tea-room called Bide a Wee While. A pub, a fish and chip shop with heavenly smells completed the picture of a thriving pretty little seaside village. Along to my left was sweet shop and several gift shops which, I assumed, only opened in the summer month’s. Everywhere there were Christmas decorations and lights waving around in the slight breeze. In a large alcove, sheltered from the sea breazes was an enormous Christmas tree covered with hundreds of lights. I was sure at night that it would all look very pretty.

There was the ringing sound of the rigging on the boats in the harbor and a slightly fishy or seaweedy smell coming off the sea. The tide was in and a few hardy souls were walking along the beaches, some with dogs.

The seagulls were making a raucous noise and it all added to the fact that even if I was blind; I would know that I was at the seaside.

I went to the tea-rooms and sat down at a free table.

‘Can I help Miss?’ asked the young girl in the black waitress uniform.

‘Can I have a cup of tea please?’

‘Course love, won’t be a mo.’

She had a broad accent which I assumed was Devonish or Devonian maybe.

As I waited, my phone rang. Looking at who it was, my heart sort of lurched as the name John appeared on the screen. I pressed the stop button, as I wasn’t going to speak to him. As an afterthought, I turned my phone off.

‘Here you are love.’ said the girl as she put down a pot of tea with some sugar and a small jug of milk.

‘Thank you,’ I said smiling.

‘Down ‘ere on holidays then?’

‘Erm no, I’m just visiting my aunt.’

‘’Who be that then?’

‘Abigail Silverton.’

‘Abby, you ‘er niece then?’

‘Yes, do you know her?’

‘Everyone does. She owns the pottery, downalong.’

‘Where does she live?’ I asked eagerly.

‘You should know bein’ kin an that.’

‘I er, lost her address and anyway I want to surprise her.’

It sounded a bit week to me, but there it was.

The girl looked at me slightly suspiciously and then shrugged.

‘Well I don’t think a little thing like you is an axe murder or somethin’ so I’ll tell you. The pottery is closed till after Christmas, so’s the art gallery where Sam works, so you best go to Jellicle Cottage upalong.

‘Where’s Upalong, is that the name of the road?’

She laughed.

‘Silly biddy, it’s the way we speak around ‘ere. I mean up the hill, near the top, turn left, the last cottage on the right. You can’t miss it as the place is crawling with ‘er and Sam’s cats.

‘Thanks.’ I said.

‘No prob.’ She replied smiling and walking away to serve other customers.

I finished my tea as soon as I could and looking at my watch, I could see that it was now nearly 2.30.

‘I’d better go,’ I thought.

I left a tip and did the finger wave thing to the waitress and left the café.

I soon found the lane that I was after and went up it. I wondered who this Sam was. Could she have married this Sam?

It was no good speculating, as I would hopefully know soon enough.

Five minutes walk and I was there. I stood at the gate of Jellicle Cottage, a cat rubbing up against my leg and kindly depositing hair on my skirt.

This was the moment that I had been dreading since I had the idea of going there.

I pushed the gate open, and with the cat running ahead of me, I walked up the path and knocked on the door.

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To Be Continued…

Please leave comments…thanks! ~Sue