When Poppy's grandfather dies, her father inherits his childhood home in Happy Springs, New Hampshire. He decides to take his three daughters from England on their first trip to the land of his birth to fix up the house as a potential summer home and give Poppy a break from some problems she's been having. He says it's an old house that just needs a little work to restore it back to its full glory. It's going to be fun fixing it up. Poppy isn't so sure...

 

Chapter 5
 
"Hey, wake up sleepyhead we're almost there."

I started awake at my father's words and gentle nudging, the late morning sunshine stinging my eyes as I blinked into wakefulness. Pulling my ear buds free, the soulful sounds of Inna Modja were replaced by Randy Newman. Dad was big on what he called 'real music' but what Fleur called 'grumpy old white guys'. Even though he was in his early 40's, which I guess isn't that old for a dad, his playlists were full of folk songs, Springsteen, Dylan and others. I liked that song from Toy Story but on the whole preferred mum's playlists of A-Ha, Disney songs and 90's Britpop hits if I had to choose one of them for in-car entertainment. With a yawn I peered out of the side window, the rows of regularly spaced trees running parallel to the road like bars.

"I thought you said this person was in Plymouth?" I asked, stretching my arms to work out some kinks from the long drive. "And for the record, it's still freaky that Plymouth isn't on the coast here."

"Did I? Sorry, I meant just outside Plymouth. We're only a couple of miles from her place now," replied my father, glancing down at the satnav built into the dashboard.

"I get things are different here but you need to try and be a little bit more accepting of difference, Pumpkin."

"Me? I'm the poster child for difference," I replied with a derisive snort.

"I hate to disappoint you Poppy but you really are very set in your ways," replied my father with a shake of his head.

"Whatever," I mumbled under my breath.

"And you know full well you aren't any different than any of your sisters to me."

"I'm not sure whether to be flattered or insulted at that statement..."

"Poppy..."

"Okay, okay... flattered," I said, holding my hands up in mock defeat.

"And the other thing?"

"I'm not really that bad about accepting difference am I?"

"I'm just saying, since we arrived here you've taken just about every opportunity that's presented to moan about things that aren't the same as back home. You need to remember that this was my home before I met your mother. All these things that you are so quick to dismiss for being different are part of me. I'm not saying you can't or shouldn't criticise things where the difference warrants it... but maybe you could, to quote Bing Crosby, try to 'ac-cent-tchu-ate the positive'?"
Had I really moaned about everything that was different? Ugghhh. Maybe. Truth be told maybe I didn't really want to be here, any more than I wanted to be back in England. Was I really rejecting a part of my dad when I was so critical of things here? Double Ugghhh. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt my dad's feelings.

"Okay... no promises, but I'll try alright?" I said quietly.

"Good enough, Pumpkin. Good enough," said my dad reaching over to briefly squeeze my shoulder.

"So, how far are we from this therapist? All I can see are trees. What's she live in, some sort of cabin in the woods?" I asked, trying vainly to spot some signs of civilisation beyond the trees lining either side of the road.

"Yes."

"I... what?"

"Yes, she lives in a cabin in the woods."

"I thought you were taking me to some sort of therapist, not the local wise woman," I said with a frown. "Shouldn't therapists have like an office or be based in a hospital or something?"

"Poppy, she's a proper therapist. I'll admit she has a reputation for being a bit unorthodox but she has very good referrals from people I trust. I think her institute has an office somewhere in Plymouth but she does a lot of her work from her cabin. Which is, coincidentally and perhaps not unsurprisingly given it is a cabin, in the woods."

"Well if she sacrifices me to appease some ancient gods I'm soooooo telling mum."

"Pumpkin, it'll be fine. Stop being so melodramatic," chuckled dad.

At the prompting of the female voice on the satnav, dad took a turnoff leaving the smooth asphalt of the road for a rougher finished surface, cracked from weather and age. The ambient light around us dimmed due to the thicker tree canopy. For a dazzling urbanite like myself the thought of so much mother nature in one place was both beautiful and slightly intimidating.

I slid my own iPhone out of my cardigan pocket in response to its gentle vibration, tapping the read message notification with my thumb.

*Fleur: Are you there yet?*

*Poppy: No. Dad taking me to cabin in woods. Concerned I'm going to be sacrificed to appease ancient gods. Send help.*

*Fleur: Don't worry, remind them that sacrifice of virgin was optional in movie! :-p lol*

*Poppy: I'd be safer if you were here. Slut dies first. :-p*

*Fleur: Ouch! Will get you back for that!! Text me when out little sister.*

"Poppy?" asked my father, raising an eyebrow quizzically in response to my giggle.

"Sorry, I was just texting Fleur... So, how did it go with Aunt Kathy?" I asked, raising the question that I'd been dying to ask all weekend but had never found the right moment to.

"Not great," said my father with a sigh. "Not great at all..."

"What did she say?"

"Nothing beyond the basic pleasantries. It's been over twenty years since we've spoken..."

My father trailed off into silence, his face scrunched up in frustration.

"What happened between the two of you?" I asked.

"Stuff..."

"Stuff?"

"Stuff."

"What the fudge is 'stuff'?" I asked, turning in my seat to get a better view of my father. Yes, I said 'fudge'. I'm trying to be a better behaved girl remember. It was fudge or frak. I went with fudge.

"Stuff is... stuff," he replied, his eyes never leaving the road. "Stuff you don't need to worry about."

"Gee... patronising much?" I said, sulkily turning away from him to face out the side window again. "I am a part of this dysfunctional Haas family of yours to, y'know."

"Poppy..."

"Talk to the hand," I replied, in a manner that even I thought was a little petulant sounding. We drove on for a few minutes more in silence before the car came to a halt in the middle of the road. The ratchety creak of the handbrake startled me enough to turn to face my father.

"Stuff... means that some stupid things were said, okay?" said my father, his voice barely audible over the sound of the engine ticking over.

"Just how stupid could it have been that you didn't talk for twenty years?"

"Stupid enough," he said with a heavy sigh. "You have to remember that my childhood was--"

"Norman Bates style freaky?"

"...unconventional," replied my father, emphasising the word. "Dad expected us to rule the world... or at least New Hampshire. I was born into a dynasty to be a prince of the modern age in my father's eyes. Sort of like the Kennedy's but more Dutch Protestant and less Irish Catholic. Of course, it wasn't so much about realising our ambitions as realising his."

"That doesn't sound fun," I said, frowning at the thought of my father's childhood.

What surprised me even more was when I saw my father reach up and dab with the back of his hand at some silently shed tears. My father rarely ever cried.

"It wasn't," said my father, his voice back to a gentle whisper. "And it wasn't the worst part..."

"What wasn't?"

"The worst part... the worst part was that all that narrow mindedness... the vitriol and mistrust... as much as you tried to keep it out..."

"Yes?"

"Some of it got in."

"I... what?" I said, my voice wavering slightly with my uncertainty at how to respond to my father's words.

"Nothing to concern yourself with right now, pumpkin," replied my father, clearing his nose with a man-sized snuffle. "We've got an appointment to keep."

I nodded distractedly as he started the car back on its way down the track. Lost in my thoughts I reflected on my father's words.

"Aunt Libby runs Uncle Samuel's campaign doesn't she?" I asked after a few minutes of driving in silence.

"Well, I think it's more of a partnership," replied my father.

"Would Uncle Samuel be where he is today if it wasn't for Aunt Libby?" I asked, knowing the answer before it was given.

"No," replied my father after a few moments of silence.

"Aunt Kathy is a congresswoman."

"Yes," replied my father, his voice still unnaturally subdued.

"One married someone and helped them win public office, becoming the de facto kingmaker in the process... one holds public office and aspires to greater public office..."

"Yes."

"But you don't... you're different. You don't even run things at home. Mum does all that..."

"I would like to think of it as a partnership," replied my father, a smile returning to his face for the first time since we'd started this conversation.

Yeah right, a partnership in so much as mum sometimes told us to ask our father who would always tell us to do what mum wanted. If dad the power behind the throne in our household he was so far behind it he wasn't just behind the throne he was in a different wing of the palace.

"Dad... it doesn't sound like any of it got into you... I can't imagine Grandpa Haas taking my transition as well as you did?"

"You've got that right," said my father, a frown returning to his face. "I was about Daisy's age when I remember him one night, drunk as a skunk, crowing about the assassination of a man out west. He was ranting about his sort should be barred from public office and how San Francisco needed another fire to cleanse its sins."
If dad was about Daisy's age then it would have put it in the late 1970's and assassinations in San Francisco...

"It was Harvey Milk wasn't it?" I asked. See, I watch serious films. Or the trailers for them...

"Yes... and that was one reason why I was determined you would never meet him. Even as a small child it was obvious you were different. You needed the space to find yourself without the likes of my father sowing the seeds of doubt in your mind about what other people would think, trying to tell you what you felt was wrong."

"You did good," I said, my face flushed red with embarrassment. "I prolly never thank you or mum enough for that."

"You don't need to thank us for doing the right thing Poppy. It's what parents are supposed to do," replied my father. "Anyway, it was never really an issue about your grandfather. He never made any effort to contact me and to be honest, even after he died I never expected to hear from his estate. I thought it would be split between Libby and Kathy... well, maybe more in the favour of Kathy than Libby."

"So why did Grandfather Haas leave us his home? It's a pretty personal thing to leave to the son he didn't talk too."

"I wondered that too," said dad with a grin. "Turns out it wasn't him that did it. It was a condition of mom's will. The house had been put in her name decades ago when I was a child, some sort of tax dodge I think, but in her will she left it in trust for me on the condition that my father be allowed to live in it rent free until his death. I've no idea why. Mom died before I graduated high school and it seems that before your grandfather could get me to sign it over to him we'd had our falling out."

"So when grandfather Haas died..."

"Yeah, I was surprised as anyone. I understand that Kathy was spitting feathers as dad had told her he was leaving pretty much everything to her. I think when his mind started to go he forgot that the house wasn't his to bequeath, something the lawyers had to sort out before we could take possession. Luckily your mom knows people in corporate law over here who knew people who could help."

"We should visit Grandma Haas' grave. To thank her."

"I think that would be nice Poppy," said my father, a warm smile lighting up his face. "We could all go. I never got the chance to introduce my girls to her in life. I can't change that but... we should definitely go. Make a trip of it."

"We could even just go now?" I asked hopefully. "This drive has been very therapeutic. I'm probably cured..."

"Poppy..." warned my father.

"Oh all right, just remember if I get sacrificed I'm going to be cross for the remainder of the day," I said with a theatrical sigh.
 

~o~O~o~
 
The 'Therapy Cabin', which is what I resolved to call it and not what it was actually called, was a respectably sized wooden cabin in a clearing that came with tarmac covered parking bays. Single story with a substantial brick chimney and welcoming looking French doors on the front veranda it actually had quite a homely look to it. Inside was also surprisingly tastefully decorated. No animal heads mounted on the wall, no animal pelts stretched across the floor, no pictures of dogs playing cards. Not even a solitary red neck hillbilly strumming a banjo. Maybe, just maybe, I might even get out of the 'Therapy Cabin' alive.

For information, when I say 'Therapy Cabin' I'm not thinking 80's Saturday morning kids show but a more serious retro 60's show. The 'Therapy Cabin'... A Martin Quinn Production... in Color!...' kind of thing. I can hear it now in the ominous voiceover... 'How does a nightmare begin? For Poppy Haas, aspiring artist and most beautiful of the Haas girls, it began at few minutes past midday on a lost Monday morning looking for a proper therapist she never found. It began with a welcoming sign that gave hope of black coffee... it began with a homely, un-deserted looking cabin and a father too stubborn to turn around and continue their journey... in the weeks to come, Poppy Haas would go back to how it all began many times... da-de-daaaa... da-de-daaaaa...'

"Here's your coffee, Miss Haas... that was white with two sugars right?" asked the receptionist handing me a hot, watery, milky white liquid in a cardboard cup.

"Ummm... thanks," I replied ducking my head. I'd actually asked for black, no sugar but I'd probably mumbled it or something. There's no other way that someone could get an order that wrong right? It had to be at least partly my fault. I'd say that some coffee was better than no coffee but after taking a mouthful I was pretty certain whatever I was drinking had no more been near a coffee bean than... well, something else that hadn't been near a coffee bean.

I put the cup down and returned to the old copy of Cosmo that I'd been thumbing through trying to work out from the quiz what sort of movie heroine I was. I'd been hoping for something a bit Ripleyesque but evidently I was an 'ingénue', which struck me as a big word for a magazine who's previous article was entitled 'Are you a bitch?' but there you are. Once I knew what 'ingénue' meant I'd know whether to be insulted or not.

"Poppy?"

I looked up from the magazine to see my father standing in the doorway of the therapist's consulting room. Next to him was I assumed the therapist. Nearly as tall as my dad, she was smartly dressed in a suit and heels giving very much a CJ Cregg from the West Wing kind of vibe. Wiping sweaty hands on my jeans I stood up and followed the therapist into her room.

"Go get 'em, pumpkin," said my dad, stooping to kiss the top of my head as I passed him. "I'll be outside if you need me."

"Hello, Poppy. We felt it better if this session was a one-to-one with just you and me," she said gesturing for me to sit in one of the leather arm chairs in the room.

"My name is Professor Caroline Marx."

We briefly shook hands before I literally sank into the arm chair. Sitting down beside a large ornate wooden desk that faced out towards the woods, she swivelled her desk chair around to sit facing me. The gap between us was filled with a low coffee table and my flailing legs as I tried - unsuccessfully - to get to grips with the armchair.

"So, your father gave me his view of why you are here but I'd like to hear your perspective if I may?" she asked, picking up a stylus and some sort of tablet pc.

Sitting, or perhaps more accurately, sinking, before the Professor this all finally felt very... real. I recalled the previous therapist my parents had made me go see after Ellie's death. I hadn't wanted to go and the pain of Ellie's loss was still so raw that I hadn't yet worked out how to mask it so my objections had only made my parents all the more determined that I would speak to someone. Fortunately for me, the woman they sent me too was so wet she was virtually a liquid and at the point she'd reached for the glove puppets so we could talk about my feelings 'in safety' I already had her number. It had only been for one session because I had convinced the therapist that I was on the road to being 'okay' and at the time my parents, whatever they may have suspected, had no proof to the contrary.

Okay, so I made the glove puppet bit up but you get the general gist of it.

Now though, I was sitting opposite a full blown professor of brain stuff who came highly recommended by brainy people my dad knew and there wasn't a hint of a puppet in sight. If anyone was going to get me to talk about things it was this woman. It wasn't the framed certificates on the wall that made me think that, it was the look in her eyes. It was like she'd weighed and measured me the moment I'd stepped foot in her office. This woman was confident she was going to break me. She was going to make me talk about Ellie... and I wasn't ready to share my pain yet. It was a burden I deserved to carry and no one was going to take that away from me.
I really needed to be somewhere else.

"Would you believe that I feel amazingly better already and it's all down to the healing powers of the Therapy Cabin? You could put that as an endorsement on your website if it helps?" I said, trying to rise from my seat before the suction from the leather pulled me back down. Leather seats in summer. They might as well have put glue on the upholstery the way they were sticking to me.

"Poppy..."

"I'm fine. Honestly. I'm getting better every day... y'know, time heals and all that. I'm sorry for my dad wasting your time. He's a little over protective," I added.

This time I unsuccessfully tried to use the arms on the armchair for leverage. This sucker didn't want to let me go.

"Poppy..."

Frowning she tapped something on her tablet and proceeded to read from it.

"In the case of the mistaken identity murder of promising young artist Ellie Arundel, Mr Justice Lightfoot sentenced her murderers William Hallis and Joseph Carey, both 22, to 30 years imprisonment each. Carey will be back in court shortly to face a further charges relating to his actions during sentencing when he hurled a series of transphobic insults at Poppy Haas who had been in court to witness the judge's decision. Miss Haas, 17, formerly known as Jacob Haas, had been Hallis and Carey's intended target on the night of Miss Arundel's murder..."

I felt the strength flow from my body as I sank back into the armchair. The memory of Carey screaming insults at me after the judge had announced his sentence caused me to flinch involuntarily as each memory hit me.

"Do you want to try that again?" asked Professor Marx as she looked up from the tablet at me. "Because if you are here to waste my time then I'm very happy to end this session and tell your father that you were unco-operative."

"D-d-don't you have to be nice to me?" I stuttered, shocked at the harshness of her response.

"No. I'm your therapist not your mother," she said in a clearer voice, her stern expression softening slightly. "Poppy, I can tell you've spent far too long bottling things up from our brief conversation so far. It's not surprising to hear from your father that it's beginning to tear you apart. Do you seriously believe you are getting better?"

"Maybe?" I replied, the uncertainty in my voice evident to us both. "I mean, yes."

"Then you won't mind talking about Ellie will you?" asked the Professor.

"I..."

The words seemed to die on my tongue as I struggled and failed to come up with a reason for why I couldn't talk about Ellie without admitting how much doing so hurt.

"Ummm... are you going to ask me about my feelings?" I asked, trying to think back to my last therapy session. I could deal with that conversation, divert the conversation down a pathway I could manage.

"I'm not really bothered about them," replied the professor. "Maybe later. So, how long ago was that article written?"

My shoulders slumped as I realised that short of refusing to answer she wasn't going to give up with this line of questioning. Clenching my fist closed, I dug my finger nails into the palm of my hand to distract me as I replied.

"Uhhh... December... last December..."

"So what, just over six months ago?" asked the Professor, her eyes keeping contact with mine despite the scribbling of her stylus on the tablet.

I nodded my head in reply.

"And how long ago did Ellie die?"

"Murdered. She was murdered. Died makes it sound like it could have been an accident. They spent weeks planning it," I snapped, unsuccessfully trying to suppress my irritation at her words.

"Sorry Poppy," said Professor Marx holding up her hands in a placating gesture. "A poor choice of words on my part. How long ago was she murdered?"

"Nearly a year ago. She was murdered last July."

"Why did they... murder... Ellie?"

"As the article said, they didn't want to murder Ellie. It was me that they had planned to kill. It was me they should have killed..." I said, my voice trailing off into a hoarse whisper. "They even said that at the trial..."

"Who did?"

"Ellie's murderers... it was part of their manslaughter plea. They said that they never intended to kill her, that they meant her no harm... it was me they wanted. Only me."

"It was a hate crime."

"Yes," I snorted. "Though surely all murder is surely a hate crime..."

"So why you? Out of all the thousands of transgirls why you?" asked Professor Marx.

"It was the press exposure for The Exhibition that first put me on their radar."

"The Exhibition?" she replied, mimicking my hard capital 'E' sound quizzically.
Ellie had insisted that we overemphasise the 'E' as if it was a capital because when we were famous artists the art books would refer to it as such. It always used to make me smile the way Ellie discussed our futures. She couched them in the same sort of language you would use when writing the biography of a famous artist.

"Ellie and I... we were part of a local gallery exhibition for promising artists. We were the youngest there. Most of the artists were either at the local college, or an art school or older. We were sixteen and full of our own self-importance. Well, Ellie was. I... I didn't even want to go."

"Why didn't you want to go Poppy?"

"The press and that it was too public."

"That surely is the point of an exhibition... that the public can come?" said Professor Marx, canting her head slightly in curiosity.

"Too public for me. I'd gone 'full time' eight months earlier, the previous September, and since then I had been having some... problems."

"Problems?"

"The school had been pretty good about it and so were the other kids in my classes but there was a small but vocal minority though that weren't so nice. They were kinda okay to my face when others were around but they gave a really bad vibe and, well... outside of class... online... they were showed their true colours."

"How?"

"Every bad hair day, every mistake with my make-up... every outfit that didn't quite work... they were posted online via social media. Everyone is an instant journalist with smart phones these days. Take a picture, upload it and comment on it in 140 characters or less, or whatever. They said it was because I was a boy that I didn't know what I was doing and ignored every bad hair day, make-up mistake and outfit disaster the other girls had..."

"You look pretty passable to me Poppy."

"I guess I wasn't that unpassable then but yeah... I had Mum and Ellie to help me through a steep learning curve. Mostly Ellie... she knew how a girl my age was supposed to look and helped me find her style."

"Surely you mean 'your' style?"

"No, Ellie was fairly opinionated on the issue of what was the best look for me and since she felt her look was best she replicated it with me. We were fairly similar in skin tone, hair colour and the like so mostly it worked."

"You started blockers just after you turned fifteen according to your medical history, right?"

"Yeah, the month after my fifteenth birthday... and hormones the following summer..."

"And the Exhibition was... May last year?" she asked, counting off the months with her fingers.

"First week in May last year."

"And you'll be eighteen this August according to my notes?"

"Yes... the 14th. Why?"

"I was looking to establish the timeline. So, Ellie was murdered what? About two months after the Exhibition give or take?"

"Yes, she was murdered on 10th July."

"So how is the Exhibition linked to Ellie's murder?"

"The local newspaper," I said with a sigh. "They felt the need to make repeated references to my transition in the story on the Exhibition. That story was posted on the newspapers website and Hallis and Carey saw the article and well, the kids at school were also making a thing of it on social media. Ellie said that as long as people were talking about us it was good for our art but..."

"But?"

"She never really got the whole thing about why I just wanted to blend in and disappear. Ellie was a shout it from the rooftop kinda girl and thought I should be proud of being trans. She genuinely believed that diversity was a good thing and should be celebrated, though sometimes I think it was because her life was so vanilla. She never understood that I didn't want to be different, that all I wanted was to live the normal life of a teenage girl. I couldn't give a damn about the rainbow flag an' all that gender theory crap. I'm a girl. I'm not a boy. That's all the gender theory I need to know."

I gave up fighting the chair and sank back into it with the sound of creaking leather filling the room momentarily.

"You... sound a little angry there Poppy..."

"I'm sorry... it's just... if they hadn't made a big deal of my difference in the newspaper Ellie might still be alive. Why does it matter what I was and how I was born? How is it relevant to my art?"

"It's not but then newspapers are less about reporting truths than they are about reporting facts, I guess. To them your gender dysphoria was a fact that they felt needed reporting. The truth was two talented teenagers had a successful art exhibition. The fact was one of them was transsexual."

"Well in that case, I hate facts," I said, sniffling slightly.

"Do you feel up to telling me what happened on the night Ellie was murdered?" asked the Professor, putting her tablet down on the desk. "Just you and me, no notes."
Closing my eyes, I let out a breath I hadn't realised I had been holding.

"I'd prefer not to," I replied.

"Okay."

"O-okay? I stammered, looking up at her warily. Was that all I needed to do to get out of here I wondered. There had to be a catch.

"So how are you finding New Hampshire?" she asked.

"It's... different. Not like the movies."

"Oh? How so?"

"You don't all look like movie stars..." I said, favouring her with an apologetic smile.

"Very few people look like movie stars Poppy and that includes some movie stars without their make-up," she laughed.

"Fair point I guess."

"So how does it feel to find out your dad was a football star?"

"Weird. I mean, I knew he liked the game. He got ESPN back home just to watch it and he insisted on teaching us the rules and how to play. Heath's actually not bad with throwing the ball but then he's really into sport full stop. Football, rugby, cricket... he excels at it all."

"You get on well with your brothers?" asked the Professor.

"Yeah. Mostly, I guess."

"Mostly?"

"Heath had some problems with my transition initially but he's mostly good with it. I think he got some flak at school because when we're out he can be a little... distant. Like he's embarrassed."

"How old is he?"

"Fifteen."

"Fifteen can be a difficult age for a young man trying to find his way in the world at the best of times. I'm sure he'll be fine as he gets older and more confident Poppy. How about your sisters? Any problems with them?"

"No. I get on great with them. Fleur is just... well, don't tell her I said this but she's like the best sister ever."

"And Daisy?"

"Life's never boring with Daisy," I said with a giggle. "You wouldn't be interested in buying a non-sea worthy canoe by any chance?"

"Uh... no," replied the professor looking at me like I had two heads.

"Oh well, looks like dad's going to get his wish to mount it on one of the walls then," I sighed.

"Well, it's been nice meeting you Poppy," she said, rising to her feet.

"Oh... OH! Yeah, um... likewise," I replied, a little stunned. "I'm sorry to have wasted your time."

"No problem. Need a hand there?" she asked, noticing my difficulties in rising from the chair.

"Thanks."

"I do have one last question though Poppy," she said as she grasped my hand.

"Oh... okay?"

"Why didn't you tell Hallis and Carey that you weren't Ellie?"

"I... sorry?"

"The court reporting indicated that Ellie spoke to the two of them for about thirty minutes before they killed... sorry, murdered... her. All the while she was pretending to be you, you were sitting at the same table. You had ample opportunity."

"..."

"Poppy?"

"Because... I didn't want..."

"To be different?" she finished.

I nodded my head, letting my hand slip free from hers.

"What happened that night Poppy," she asked in a quiet voice as she knelt down beside my chair. "Tell me, please."

"It... it was Ellie's idea," I said, finding myself unable to meet the Professor's gaze and instead studying a scuff mark on the side of one of my suede boots. "Hallis had contacted Ellie via her an art website, pretending to be a girl named Halley. He... she... claimed to be also trans and an artist and said how inspiring she found us to be and praised Ellie's and my work. Ellie of course lapped up the adoration."

"And Hallis was able to convince you he was a teenage transgirl artist?" she said with a frown.

"Sort of. 'Halley' claimed to be in her early twenties and at art school. Hallis had taken art at 'A' level and evidently had some promise before whatever it was that makes a person a good person broke in him, so he could talk the art talk. He was also able to fake being trans because... well, I think he was transgender. In serious denial and self-loathing I don't doubt but... well, the stuff he wrote on his 'Halley' art account had me convinced. If nobody ever really talks about those of us who lose our way in transition then even fewer people talk about those of us that become so overwhelmed by anger and grief and loss about our situations that something breaks in them. Hallis was one of those lost souls. If he wouldn't or couldn't transition, then I think in his mind nobody should be allowed to."

"And Carey?"

"Carey was a bully boy pure a simple, not an artistic bone in his body but a fair amount of hops and other less legal substances. He scrubbed up okay though, sort of skater cool. He just about fitted into the art crowd look."

"So how did you all find yourself in that bar together?"

"Ellie had been contacted by the gallery about another exhibition and had persuaded the owner to take a look at some of Halley's work that was on-line. She had some modest talent. The owner had agreed to exhibit one piece by Halley. Ellie was like that... she was a very generous person. She liked to see other people do well and believed that if she could help someone she should. That always confused people... she could be self-absorbed and selfless in alternate breaths."

"She sounds an interesting person."

"Interesting doesn't do her justice."

"So... the bar?" asked the Professor.

"Our work was selected to form the backbone of the exhibition and to celebrate Ellie suggested we paint the town pink to celebrate with a few drinks and a celebratory meal..."

"And Ellie invited Hallis... 'Halley' along?"

"God no, even Ellie wasn't that naive. She'd told Halley we'd meet up at the gallery during the exhibition. Problem was Ellie posted her whole damn life on social media... and Ellie had given Halley access to it," I sighed, my bitterness at the memory palpable. "I'd told her to be more careful... I should have made her adjust her privacy settings. She even posted when we were leaving for the pub. Everyone who followed her account could see it."

"We can't run other people's life for them Poppy," said the Professor squeezing my hand gently. "As much as we might wish we could."

"That's a nice thought but it's not true. I could have made her change the settings if I insisted..."

"So, I'm guessing Hallis and Carey knowing where you were turned up at the bar?" she said, though it was phrased more as a statement than a question. "So what happened that evening Poppy?"
 

~o~O~o~
 
Saturday 10th July, one year previously
"I'm not going if Pete's going to be there Ellie," I whined, readjusting my skirt as I stepped out of the car. "He keeps calling me 'dude' and it's really pissing me off."

"Pete's not going to be there Poppy," laughed Ellie as opened the car door. "He's rehearsing with that band of his for a few more weeks."

"And what about Steve? Or George? They keep trying to talk to me about sports like I'm one of them or something..."

"The big bad boys won't be there Poppy so try and chill eh?" said Ellie. "You need to take a break from being so uptight or you're going to have a heart attack or something."

"Don't worry, they're part of Peter's band Poppy. I hear they've got a gig at the Royal Oak next month," said our driver, Sharon. At least that's what her parents and the school called her. To everyone that matter she was 'Shaznay', as she thought it boosted her musical aspirations by having a more 'interesting' name. Plus it was better than being known as 'Shazza', which was definitely on the wrong side of being chavvy.

"It'll be their first and last gig," laughed the final member of our quartet, Allison. "I got dragged along to listen to a practice the other week and they were truly awful."

"I'm not surprised with Pete on lead vocals. The only note he can hold is the one in his wallet when his round is due," added Shaznay.

"Ohhhh... meow!" giggled Ellie. "Still bitter about the break up? Don't be, you're better off without him."

"Besides, it's Saturday night. We're young, single and carefree... well Poppy apart on the last one... so let's see what other fish we can find in the sea for you," added Allison.

"Hey!" I squealed.

"Leave Poppy alone Allie," admonished Ellie. "She can't help being uptight."

"Hey!"

"Don't take it the wrong way Poppy," laughed Allison putting an arm around my shoulder. "We love you even as uptight as you are."

"What-ev-er," I muttered under my breath as we entered through the main doors of the White Hart.

"I like that dress Ellie," cooed Shaznay. "You've got to let me borrow it sometime. I've got just the shoes for it."

"Then you'll have to ask Poppy," replied Ellie. "I'm borrowing it from her."

"It's only borrowing if you intend to return it," I grumbled. "Your concept of clothing ownership is positively communist."

"Absolutely Comradetteski Poppy. Down with private property and up with communal ownership!" laughed Ellie. "Freedom from material possessions is good for your soul!"

"Is 'comradetteski' even a word?"

"Y'know your problem Poppy? You're never satisfied," said Ellie. "Take that beautiful skirt I picked out for you. Did you ever thank me? Nooooooooooo, it's all 'my legs are cold' or 'it's too short'..."

"Which it is!" I added, tugging at the hem. "You don't have to worry about covering things up the same way I do."

"Oh shush, Poppy. It's fine and really shows off those legs of yours which you're always trying to hide," said Ellie with a dismissive wave of the hand. "If I had legs like yours I'd always be wearing the shortest skirt I could find!"

"By the way, I like the way you've both had your hair done," said Shaznay, taking a moment to admire our new hair styles. Well, my new hair style.

"Ellie talked me into having her style," I said, teasing at some of the end strands of my hair. "I was a little sceptical at first but I kind of like it."

"It's nice. Definitely suits you," added Shaznay.

"Was that the dress you wore to the exhibition Poppy?" asked Allie.

"Yup!" replied Ellie for me. "I was looking at some of the photos we had taken at the Exhibition and I was struck by how great this dress looked."

"On me," I added under my breath.

"That's where I've seen it!" said Allie. "It was the photo they used in the newspaper wasn't it?"

"And on the gallery website, though it's not a good quality picture," added Ellie. "They used a fairly average digital camera at the gallery for their own photos. I've offered to help them with some of their publicity materials this time. You still can't beat a real camera for publicity shots."

"I'll get the first round in if someone grabs us a table?" asked Allie. "Usuals?"

"Yeah, we'll be over there," said Shaznay waving to an empty table by the window. "Have we decided yet whether we're going to the Indian or the Chinese afterwards?"

"Not yet," said Ellie. "I could really go for a curry though..."

"I'm going to the little girls room," I said, tugging again at my skirt hem.

"You look fine Poppy," said Ellie with a sigh. "You don't need to keep checking how you look every five minutes."

"I need to pee."

"What-ev-er... it looks fine Poppy."

The White Hart was the typical maze of a late 19th century public house with poor lines of sight and nothing quite where you expected it. Weaving my way towards the ladies I was already out of sight of the others when someone grabbed my arm and ignoring my squeal of protest slammed me against the wall of the entrance corridor to the toilets.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" hissed Fleur as she brought her flawless made up face close to mine as she pressed me into the wall. "Do mum and dad know you are here? You said you were going round to Allie's..."

If I wasn't struggling to breathe I'd have probably giggled at the incongruous image of my sister in her sexiest tight dress and made up like some sex kitten grasping me in the sort of choke hold that would make a professional wrestler proud. Behind Fleur stood her best friend Martha, who was fidgeting uncomfortably at my sisters behaviour and gave the air of a woman wanting to be elsewhere in a hurry.

"Hey sis," I replied weakly, my eyes watering from the pressure she was applying to my neck.

"Don't 'hey sis' me Poppy," she growled. "Do mum and dad know you are here? And don't even think about lying to me..."

"No," I gasped. "But then they think you're going back to Martha's tonight. What would they say if they knew that rather than being snuggled up on her spare bed that you'd be spending the night in some random stranger's bed?"

"Are you threatening me little brother?" whispered Fleur with real venom as she leaned close to my ear. "Because you so don't want to go there..."

"Fine. If you want me to go home then you can take me," I replied.

"You can get a taxi."

"Nope. You don't take me I don't go ho--"

Any further words were cut off by Fleur applying more pressure to my neck.

"Poppy... shut up. I'm doing this for your safety you little fool. It's dangerous for you to be here. What if someone from school recognises you for fuck's sake? Do you seriously want to be outed to pub full of drunk arseholes?"

"No one will recognise me..."

"Yeah right, that's not what mum said happened at the mall the other week is it? Those kids calling you names..."

"That crowd doesn't hang out here they go to the Royal Oak," I replied, struggling for breath.

"Fleur..." said Martha, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Poppy's with Ellie right?"

Unable to speak I tried to nod as best I could from Fleur's choke hold, grey spots were starting to dance at the edge of my vision.

"It's not like they are here to get hammered or get picked up by a guy is it?"

"You better not be," hissed Fleur with renewed anger.

"It's just a couple of drinks..."

"You're not having anything alcoholic, you're not even seventeen yet."

"Like you never drank at sixteen," I replied, meeting Fleur's gaze as best I could. "I heard what some of the girls at school were saying about you, y'know."

"A lot of that was exaggerated to make me sound cool," said Fleur, her anger deflating a little. "Besides, this isn't about me..."

"No, it's about me," I said, gulping in a deep breath of air as Fleur's choke hold lessened.

"I... I don't want you to make the same mistakes I did... particularly as some of those mistakes could be fatal for you Poppy..."

"I get that Fleur but you need to remember I'm not you," I said softly.

"What the fuck does that mean?"

I let out a strangled cry as Fleur pressed me back into the wall. Hard.

"It means I rarely drink and unlike some I could mention I'm still a virgin," I wheezed, gasping for air.

"You ever say that in front of mum," hissed Fleur. "And I will end you little brother. Maybe I should stay with you while you are here."

"What? No!"

"Yeah... maybe you can stay but we can sit at the next table or something... that way I'll be able to keep any eye on what you and your mates are up too..."

"No, Fleur! I'm not a child!"

"Fleur, c'mon let her go," said Martha, gently tugging at Fleur's arm. "She'll have a few drinks with her friends and they will all be gone by the time this place turns into a meat market... right?"

"Yeah, just a couple of drinks to celebrate the new exhibition and then we'll go for an Indian or something, okay?" I offered.

"Just a couple and then you'll go?" asked Fleur, the uncertainty evident in her voice.

"Yeah... anyway, I promised dad I'd be home by eleven thirty anyway. He thinks we're getting something to eat and then going back to Allie's to watch a DVD. I'll be with Ellie the whole time and we're getting a lift back with Shaznay. Her dad's like super strict about her curfew anyway..."

"See? C'mon, she'll be fine. She's with Ellie, neither of them are stupid enough to go anywhere with any guys... and frankly your brother makes a better looking girl than I do... let her have some fun and let us have some fun without dragging your little bro-- sister along behind us... besides, there is this hawt guy you need me to introduce you too..."

I sagged against the wall as Fleur let herself be pulled away from me by Martha.

"You do as you promised little sister, okay?" shouted Fleur over her shoulder as Martha pulled her towards the stairs for the upper floor of the pub. "And you call me if you get into trouble. My mobile's switched on and in my purse."

I nodded to Fleur, gingerly feeling my neck as I watched her disappear around a corner from view. If that was a product of the self-defence training Fleur took last summer, I needed to get on that course myself I thought ruefully.
 

~o~O~o~
 
Returning to the others after trying everything short of unpicking the hem to lengthen the skirt, I noticed the addition of a few more people around our table. I recognised two of them as girls from our art class but the two guys I couldn't place.

The first was sort of skater boy arty grunge. A couple of tribal tattoos around his muscular biceps poking out from his short sleeve shirt. His fair hair was tipped in black at the fringe and he wore a skin tight t-shirt displaying a picture of Rossetti's 'Proserpine', a painting Ellie had always admired. He was currently showing off his physique to Shaznay who was getting grabby with his biceps.

The second guy was much more slightly built, dressed more casually in jeans and a college sweatshirt emblazoned with the logo of The Ruskin. He was involved in an animated conversation with Ellie that from the way she was gesturing was clearly about art. I tried not to roll my eyes knowing that if this guy knew anything about art then we wouldn't have time to go for that curry after all. Once that girl started on her subject there was no stopping her.

"Ellie! This is Joe and Billy," called out Ellie to me as I approached the table.

"Umm... hi?"

I frowned at Ellie canting by head at her to indicate my confusion as to why she'd called me by her name.

"Billy recognised my picture from the gallery website," she said gesturing at her dress before nodding towards the smaller of the two men. "He thinks I look very sexy in this dress. Even better in person than in the photo on the gallery website."

Ellie stuck her tongue out at me briefly as I took a seat next to her. I found my eyes involuntarily narrowing as I scowled at Ellie.

"You look beautiful too Ellie," offered Billy, lightly clasping my hand in his in greeting. "I'm sure you'd look even more beautiful if you tried smiling more as well."

"Sorry," I replied, ducking my head a little sheepishly.

"That's better," he said smiling.

"Billy is in his second year at The Ruskin and we were talking about our upcoming Exhibition."

"I saw some of the works you exhibited on the gallery's website and was just saying to Poppy how impressed I was by your work."

"Well, Ellie's the real talent," said the 'new' Poppy. "I thought her London skyline in mixed media was truly inspired. Possibly the signature piece of the whole Exhibition."

I tried to avoid rolling my eyes at Ellie's self-promotion. It was at times like this she reminded me of the Zaphod Beeblebrox quote from HHGTTG - 'if there's anything more important than my ego around, I want it caught and shot now.'

"It was an excellent piece. The way she used different materials related to each building was very inspired," he said raising his glass in salutation. "Ellie is very talented."

"Ellie's something all right," I muttered under my breath, raising my own glass in acknowledgement.

"However, and no offence intended here Ellie, for me I think that Poppy's piece entitled 'Hope' was my personal favourite," said Billy.

"Oh, there is absolutely no offence taken," I replied, trying (and failing) not to sound too smug. "I've always said that 'Poppy' needs to be less modest about how talented she is. Tell me more about what you liked about her work..."
 

~o~O~o~
 
As the boys collected headed off to the bar to get the next round in, I collapsed giggling back into my chair. The last half hour or so had turned into an enjoyable game of each of us trying to get Billy to praise our real selves.

"Cow!" laughed Ellie, slapping my arm as she rocked back in her chair. "I can't believe you said that."

"What about 'you' being the real talent?" I giggled. "And me, Ellie, being a mere scribbler in comparison."

"I'm so going to get you back for that," she laughed. "So how has your holiday from being uptight, stressed Poppy been?"

"You... you did this deliberately?"

"Guilty as charged," said Ellie. "And you didn't answer my question."

"It's been... nice," I said smiling. "It was really odd when he talked about trans stuff and he was looking at you. No one has ever not looked at me when trans stuff has been discussed, even when it wasn't about me. It felt... nice... to be normal."

"You are normal, silly," said Ellie, reaching out to hug me. "Look, I know it feels to you like you're always going to be different but you so aren't Poppy. I can see how you could get lost in the maelstrom of transition but trust me, just you wait until we finish school and head off to college and get away from the locals. New part of town, new people... a clean slate."

"That would be nice," I said leaning into the hug. "Though surely you mean a 'new town', The Ruskin is in Oxford."

"We're going to The Slade. We both know you're going to give in sooner or later, so just admit it. We're going to be part of the Bloomsbury set," replied Ellie.

"What-ev-er," I muttered, rolling my eyes even though she couldn't see it. We both knew Ellie was right though. I would give in and agree to The Slade sooner or later.

"Right, well I'm going to go powder my nose. We'll finish the next drink and then ditch the boys and go get a curry, okay?"

"Sounds like a plan."

"Try and stay out of trouble while I'm gone 'Ellie'," she laughed, kissing my cheek as she slid out of my arms.

"You too 'Poppy'," I replied.
 

~o~O~o~
 
"It was fifteen minutes before we realised something was wrong and another five before Ellie was found," I said, meeting Professor Marx's gaze. I dabbed at my eyes with the back of my hands to blot away the tears.

"How many people have you told the full story to Poppy?" she asked.

"You. The police got everything material to the crime. Mum and dad got the summary version. My last shrink was so into talking about my feelings we never even got around to discussing what actually happened."

"And how do you feel Poppy?"

"Lost," I said in a quiet voice. "Like a piece of me is missing. The best piece of me."

"Your father said that you had an emotional moment while in the new house discussing repairs with your sister?"

"Yes. The fireplace needs some work to the surrounding ornamentation."

"How long has it been since you produced any new art Poppy?"

"I've fulfilled all my coursework deadlines," I said with a shrug.

"That wasn't the question, was it Poppy?"

I stared at a print hanging on the wall of Edward Steichen's 'Flatiron Building', which felt a little incongruous with the rural setting of the Therapy Cabin. I'd always wanted to duplicate the feel the photograph had on a more contemporary scene.

"Poppy?"

"Completed works?" I asked turning my attention to the professor again.

"Yes."

"I've started a few sketches but completed works... none. I've been using work that I had done previously for my coursework. I've got a bedroom and part of the garage full of works I've done that the school hasn't seen before so it's not a problem in terms of quantity. I just can't seem to finish anything new..."

"Then that's going to be our goal. I want you to produce a new piece of artwork on a subject of your choosing before you leave for home, okay?" said the professor rising to her feet.

I shrugged, grunting noncommittally.

"What happens if I can't?" I asked quietly.

"I have faith in your Poppy."

"I'll try," I said blushing slightly.

"No, try not. Do. Or do not. There is no try."

"You're quoting Yoda now? What comes next in this session? You'll offer to train me in the ways of the force?" I laughed in disbelief.

"Nope. This is what comes next," said the professor, before slapping me upside the back of the head. "It's not your fault Ellie died. Get over it."

"Hey!" I shouted, rubbing the back of my head.

"Stop whining, your father signed a waiver when you registered allowing me to conduct a range of unorthodox treatments. It's what I'm famous for," she said with a smirk.

"Just think yourself lucky your case doesn't warrant water boarding..."

"You wouldn't..." I replied, my eyes widening as I pushed myself back into the chair.

"You've wallowed in self-pity, bottling all your emotions up for far too long now Poppy. You can't keep blaming yourself for Ellie's death," she said, picking up her tablet again. "You're going to learn how to express all that pent up guilt in a more constructive way before your head explodes. Which by the way if it does during a session I'm billing your father for the cleaning costs. No, given your artistic strengths, that constructive expression will be in the form of an original new piece of artwork."

"I'm fairly certain therapy shouldn't involve a homework component," I grumbled. "Or slapping."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," laughed the professor pulling me to my feet. "Unless you've got anything else to say we'll call it a day. My secretary will arrange a date for your next meeting with me. I'll want you to bring whatever you've done so far with you to that meeting. Okay?"

"Uh... as long as it doesn't involved being slapped again I guess I'm okay with it," I said, cringing slightly.

"Great. Well it's been a useful first session Poppy," said the professor reaching into a glass jar on her desk. "Here's a lollipop for the ride home."

Gingerly accepting the lollipop I let myself be led out to the reception where my dad was waiting and I quickly found myself enveloped in a comforting hug.

"How are you pumpkin?" he asked.

"I'm... I honestly don't know," I said letting out a sigh as I closed my eyes.

"That's the most truthful thing you've said to me since Ellie died," replied my father, tightening his grip. "I'm guessing the session helped?"

"Yes... no... maybe?" I replied. "I got homework and a lollipop. You know that woman is certifiable?"

"I know she's a board certified psychiatrist."

"That's not what I meant."

"She gets good results."

"She's like House if he was a psychiatrist. And a woman."

"Well, he solves his cases in under an hour. Should I be cancelling the second session?" asked dad with a chuckle.

"You know she slapped me?"

"Um... yeah about that. Full disclosure... she said she might."

"What?" I shrieked, pulling back slightly from my father. "You knew?"

"Yeah..."

"I'm seeing that waiver form that you signed and I'm soooooooo telling mom tonight."

"That's fair," said my father. "And I spoke to your mother on my cell phone while you were in the session so she knows."

"And?"

"She says I should do this," replied my father, leaning forward to kiss the top of my head. "I'm sorry pumpkin."

"Well, I guess that makes things okay," I mumbled into his chest as he pulled me into another hug. I loved my father's hugs, they were like the best medicine in the world. That slap might need a few of them before I was recovered.

"According to my lawyer, I'm also authorised to make an offer to buy you pancakes and one item of clothing up to the value of $50 from the mall on the way home as compensation for the slap."

"There could be permanent damage from the slap, y'know?" I said, an unseen sly smile forming.

"Counter offer?" asked my father, trying hard not to smile.

"Pancakes and clothing up to the total value of $100?"

"Poppy..." warned my father. I could feel his chest shake as he tried hard not to laugh.

"There could be bruising and everything..."

"Okay, okay," laughed my father. "Pancakes and a total of $75 on new clothes?"

"Deal!" I said stepping back to extend a hand.

"Deal," replied my father shaking my hand lightly to seal the deal. "Now let's get out of here and go home."

Home.

Happy Springs was full of so many new things I'd forgotten that it also contained something I'd always taken for granted. They say home is where the heart is and my heart never strayed far from my father. I was a daddy's girl and damned proud of it. So right here, right now I guess our house in New Hampshire was home.

"Yes, let's go home," I said, smiling at my dad.
 
End of Chapter 5
 
 
 
Authors Note: Firstly, as always, apologies for the delay in getting a new chapter out. I was full of good intentions before becoming full of flu over Christmas, which I've struggled until recently to properly shake. Still helps cement my reputation as the white rabbit of authors (I'm always late)! :-) Secondly, I've never tried to do something quite so emotive, so it took a lot of rewriting to get the scene with Professor Marx how I wanted, particularly given I had decided when plotting that she would be very much in the maverick doctor vein popular with tv. Hopefully it worked. And finally, thank you for taking the time to read this chapter and hopefully you've enjoyed it. If you enjoyed this chapter, then your comments are always welcome. No reproduction without permission, etc.