Secrets

By Susan Heywood

John finds the body of a neighbour who has been murdered. The police detective assigned to the case deduces that John hides a secret - but the detective has secrets of her own.

Part 4 of 25 — Education and Comprehension

Then I found out what she meant by ‘power shopping’. Jane coerced me (not difficult) into a makeover, and then insisted that few women get to age twenty-two without having their ears pierced. I wondered how I could disguise pierced ears at work; maybe some sticking plaster or foundation to cover the holes. I mentioned my misgivings but she quietly pointed out that a lot of men wear earrings. Rather than argue in the shop, I gave in. It wasn’t until the dastardly deed had been done, that I realised that a man might wear one earring - and it’s not usually a glittering diamond stud — but few men wore two.

Jane simply said, “Tell them that your girlfriend persuaded you to have it done.”

I gasped and then smiled, “That will cause some juicy gossip in the office.”

The sign in the shop had said, ‘Ear Piercing While You Wait.’ I chuckled when I recalled a line from one of the stories I’d read; ‘How do they pierce your ears if you don’t wait?’ Then I had a thought.

“Oh no!” I wailed.

“What?”

“My father!”

“What about him?”

“He’ll go ballistic when he sees these.”

“Well, tell him that….”

“I know; my girlfriend persuaded me.”

“Well, I am a friend and I am female; therefore I must be a girlfriend.”

We both giggled at that.

I accepted that I couldn’t turn the clock back. A part of me didn’t want to do so anyway, and Jane was the first person to ever say that she wanted to be my friend.

She said that I could try a different brand of makeup each time we went out. The news that she intended to go out with me again went some way towards calming my fears of the future.

She led me to an upmarket lingerie shop, and picked out a lacy bra and panties set in a delicate pale cream colour, which she insisted was a gift from her.

“I don’t know why you’re purchasing these; I’m the only one who’ll see them,” I protested.

“Maybe, maybe not; but they will make you feel good, and a sexy you is a more confident you. Anyway, heaven forbid that you should have any kind of emergency while we’re out, but at least your lingerie would be neat, clean and would match.”

I chuckled at that, and then said, “That pre-supposes that we’ll go out again.”

“Have you enjoyed today so far?”

I nodded and smiled as a reply.

“I think that smile says it all.”

At her insistence, I modelled a strappy black dress.

“Every girl needs a LBD.”

I must admit it did look and feel wonderful so I smiled and paid for it. Away from the counter, Jane asked, quietly, “Are you wearing any padding, or a corset?”

“No. Since my late-teens, I’ve been a bit fatter in the backside. Working behind a desk can’t help, and I don’t get much exercise, other than walking to and from the office. I have most trouble with trousers; I have to pull the waist in with a belt. Suits for work last some years before they’re worn out, and I have to get a jacket and trousers from different suits so that they have a chance of fitting. I’m not interested in men’s fashions. Firstly, menswear is uncomfortable; secondly, it doesn’t fit anyway. I’ve always thought of that as an oxymoron; menswear and fashion. I’m probably being unfair. Maybe it’s okay if you’re a man; I’m not. It’s no wonder that lots of men wear braces (suspenders) to hold up their trousers; they probably have trouble getting clothes that fit as well. One size definitely doesn’t fit all.”

“What do you wear outside the office?” Jane asked.

“Jeans and a tee. At least in the ladies-wear department, I can find jeans that fit properly; I know that the zip on the jeans is usually on the other side but a long baggy top covers it. I only have enough John clothes to get by for work. I wear jeans and an oversize tee or jumper when I visit the family, or for other things like shopping; they cover a multitude of sins. I get a bit warm in the summer but it saves people asking awkward questions.”

Then we moved on to a number of boutiques where more items were tried on and some purchased.

At a snack bar, Jane left me to order her a sandwich and a cup of tea, while she sat at one of the few remaining tables and put our bags on one of the spare chairs. I was so surprised at being dropped in the deep end that I ordered without hesitation and returned to her, beaming from ear to ear. It felt great having achieved something for myself that day.

“Were you nervous?” she asked.

“I was too busy to be nervous,” I said, giggling.

Whilst we were eating, she asked about my eye problems and I told her about my mother’s German measles; the cataracts with which I was born; the various operations that I’d had and the loss of sight in my left eye.

Finally after visiting a few more shops, I purchased a new duvet set in my favourite mint green, but with a dark green floral design. I also purchased some matching curtains.

Just before leaving the shopping centre, and after a further stop for tea, which I again ordered, I managed to surprise Jane with the bouquet of flowers that I gave her. She simply smiled, said a quiet “thank you” and kissed me on both cheeks.

We staggered back to the car with armfuls of parcels and a very wide and self-satisfied grin on my face. On the way home, we decided to pick up a Chinese Takeaway. She swung the car into a space behind the ‘Lucky Horse’.

I sniggered uncontrollably.

“What’s amusing you?” Jane enquired.

I pointed to the sign, which said “Lucky Horse Parking.”

“What’s so funny about that?”

I eventually ran down. “I just wondered where you’d park an unlucky horse.”

She swatted me on the arm. “Hurry up and get out of the car; I’m hungry.”

Later that evening, after Jane had gone, I sat alone and realised that I’d had the best day in years, probably in my whole life.

~ O ~

Jane became a regular visitor and I thoroughly enjoyed the evenings that she and I spent together. More often than not, I’d cook dinner. We shared an interest in classical music and old movies and my literature and music collections gave us a wide range of discussion topics. We also managed more shopping trips and I really enjoyed these aspects of my new life; I felt that I was now really living, not simply existing, as I was earlier.

~ O ~

I gave up the Cricket Club secretary job; I took great delight in telling Phil Sullivan that I’d no time for it as I now had a girlfriend.

“But we all thought that you’re gay!” he croaked out when I told him.

“All?” I asked, smiling. “How does it feel to be so wrong?” I shook my head; he wandered off, red-faced, presumably to spread the news; I suspect that the whole office knew by lunchtime. Of course, they didn’t know the nature of the girlfriend relationship that I enjoyed. I didn’t even put the usual ‘partner photo’ on my desk until much later.

April 2004

My father, Bill Smith, was tall, broad, fit and still ruggedly handsome despite his years. His skin, especially his face and hands, testified to a life of outdoor physical work. His navy boxing career had also left its marks on his face, which could now best be described as ‘lived in’.

Ellen, my mother, was slim and petite. She still was an attractive woman even though she’d recently celebrated her sixtieth birthday. Her auburn hair, which now bore flecks of grey, looked elegant rather than defined her age. She’d always had flawless skin and I clearly took after her in facial features and build, although I was a few inches taller. She came across as very mild-mannered but that was deceptive; you upset her at your peril.

When my father retired, my parents moved to a semi-detached two-bedroom house in Llandudno, North Wales. I lived and worked in the South of England and tried to visit my parents every month. I considered it a duty; a pleasure it was definitely not.

I missed the March visit because Jane and I were shopping in Southampton; that was much more fun than subjecting myself to a trip to North Wales. My father always lectured me as soon as I arrived, and my mother seemed constantly on about me “settling down”. I obviously didn’t do enough to fit in with their expectations — “it was no wonder that I had no wife or girlfriend.” Their words, not mine.

I elected to go alone; I wasn’t ready to reveal Jane’s identity and I didn’t want to expose her to any aggravation from my father, even though she could doubtless stand up for herself. I went by train, arriving mid-afternoon on the Saturday. As usual, I planned to stay the night and return on the Sunday after lunch and, also as usual, it was a tiring journey. My father, true to form, laid into me the minute I walked through the door.

“What on earth have you done to your ears? You look even more like a queer than you usually do.”

I didn’t bother pointing out to him that gay men don’t always ‘look queer.’ “It was my girlfriend’s idea,” I responded angrily, despite having expected the observation. “She obviously likes them even if you don’t. Just in case you’ve forgotten, I am twenty-two years of age, own my own home, and no longer have to do what you want. And at the risk of repeating myself yet again, I… AM… NOT… INTERESTED… IN… MEN!”

“Bollocks! You’re a raging poof, always have been! Peter’s done alright for himself; you should learn a few lessons from him. Anyway, what’s this rubbish about a girlfriend?”

I was getting increasingly angry with him. “I’ve known Jane for a month or so.”

“I can’t imagine what sort of a girl would put up with you; she must be desperate. You should have joined the navy; they’d have made a man of you. You should grow a beard or something. At least you might then look a bit more like a bloke, instead of some pansy.”

Insensitive bastard!

I really lost my temper and bit back. I was very angry. I said, “I can’t win with you, can I? You’ve kept on at me for years about getting a girlfriend; yet when I do find a woman who wants to be with me, you complain. I won’t tell you anything about Jane, and for good reason. Since I was a child, you’ve treated me as a complete failure. According to you, I’ll never be good for this or that; why can’t I be like my brother; I don’t take enough interest in sport, and all the other things that you insist on telling me that real men do. I’M NOT INTERESTED IN SPORT! You think you know everything but you’re just an ignorant bigot. I feel deeply insulted and if Jane were here I’m sure that she’d also feel the same. Is it any surprise that I didn’t bring her with me? And why on earth would I want to grow a beard, even if I could? I’m quite happy with my face as it is, thank you very much. I know that I’m not the kind of son that you expected or wanted, but that’s your tough luck. Anyway, half my genes came from you, so you’re partly to blame that I didn’t turn out the way you wanted. It seems that you’d rather I lived here, did as I was told, and spent all my money in the pub. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find that you’ve got shares in the brewery. I know that you’ve always despised me and I’ve a good mind not to visit again. It costs me more than a hundred pounds a month for the train and bus fares, just to come here and be insulted; I’m sure that I can find a much better use for the money; in fact, I’ll pay off my mortgage early.” I finished with, “All you think about is yourself; you don’t care about anyone else at all!”

I’d cut him off several times, and didn’t let him get a word in. That was a first; it was usually the other way around. I stormed out, left him watching football on the television and muttering about my ‘failure to be a proper man’. I slammed the door behind me.

~ O ~

The inevitable friction caused by my father’s comments set the tone for the weekend; he glowered at me at every opportunity. My mother seemed pleased to see me but my strained relationship with my father soured the visit, and I was glad to get away.

Just before leaving after Sunday lunch I drew my mother into the kitchen, closed the door and said, firmly, “My father’s been having a go at me since I was a child and I’ve had enough. I can see that I’ve been a huge disappointment to you both, and especially to him. I don’t fit with his image of what a man should be. You’re always on about grandchildren. You can start getting used to the idea that I’m never going to provide you with any.”

She gasped and her hand flew to her mouth.

I continued, with feeling. “That’s not my choice; that’s just the way I was born. Jane is the only friend I’ve got and ours isn’t that kind of friendship. I don’t see why I should start getting involved in things I don’t want to do, just to conform to my father’s opinion of how I should live the rest of my life. Well that’s his hard luck and, if he doesn’t change his attitude, then I’ll have nothing more to do with him. He’s always made it quite clear that I’m a failure; my wishes and ambitions don’t count for anything, and have always been overridden by his. Anyway, if he knew what I really wanted out of life, he’d never speak to me again.” I realised what I’d said in anger and my face went a vivid shade of red.

My mother guided me into the garden, took my arm and said, gently, “As you were growing up, I thought you might be gay. Your father is trying to re-live his life through you and you’re not playing the game. He’s so taken up with his own ambitions that he’s never been interested in your wishes and needs. I wondered if you’d ever got over your problems, but they’ve never gone away, have they. You’re gay, aren’t you?”

I was flabbergasted. “Neither of you cared what I wanted. I knew when I was a toddler that I wasn’t a boy up here,” I tapped my head, “but, when I told you, you both told me not to be so stupid. I learned very quickly to tell you both as little as possible as I was growing up. Anyway, I’d probably have been killed if anyone at school had found out.

“I’ve always done what I was told to do. In my late teens, I just wanted female friends. I was interested in their clothes, makeup, gossip and general girlishness: I wasn’t interested in them as potential partners, and they certainly weren’t interested in me. I wasn’t built right and they bloody knew it. You, and especially my father, seem to be fixated on the idea that I’m looking for a male partner. I’ve no idea where you get that notion from, unless it’s the ‘The Daily Trash’. Most of the men and boys that I’ve known have been boorish and with over-inflated egos, not unlike my father. If he’s an example of a male that I should try to emulate, then I’m definitely better off living alone. I can be interested in any sort of relationship that I like but no one wants me.

“I tried to keep Jenny hidden all my life. As far as I was concerned when I was born, someone made a ghastly mistake: I was born a girl but my body was wrong, and I’m going to pay the price of that mistake for the rest of my life. I’d love to be pregnant, give birth to children and mother them. Unfortunately, I’m not built for it. I don’t want to be a husband and father, and the idea of having sex as a man just makes me feel sick. What’s the point of living?”

“So are you saying you’re not gay, then?”

“NO; I’M NOT A GAY MAN! How many more times do I have to tell you before you believe me?”

“You’ve always been female?” she said.

I nodded.

“But your willy…?”

“It’s a birth defect that I have to use to pee through; it doesn’t belong on a woman.”

“Now it makes sense!” My mother gave a hollow laugh. “I always knew that something was wrong. You were very careful - but not careful enough. There’s your recent appearance and the fact that you haven’t developed as expected. So is there really a girlfriend?”

“I tried to give my father the impression that I was interested in Jane as a man might be; I thought it might shut him up, but it didn’t. Our relationship isn’t boyfriend and girlfriend; it’s more like two girlfriends,” I hastily added, “that is, friend who is a girl.” I didn’t want her to get the wrong idea.

“Two girlfriends? Does she prefer you to be dressed as a girl?”

“Mother; as I said, I’ve always been female. I don’t dress as a young girl; I dress as a twenty-two year old woman; John is the disguise. Jane’s only met John twice, but she and I, that is Jane and Jenny, have been out shopping a few times. She often pops round for dinner and stays for the evening. We usually talk or listen to music or watch old movies.”

”Have I missed something? Do you think of yourself as Jenny, and John as a separate person?”

I was exasperated, and said, vehemently, “Mother! Why have you never listened when I told you anything? What I wanted didn’t seem to matter and, according to you and my father, most of the horrors of childhood never happened! I’ve always been Jenny; John has only ever been an acting role that I’ve had to play in order to stay alive.”

“Hmm, that’s interesting,” My mother said, thoughtfully. “Anyway, how did you meet Jane?”

“She is a police officer, but don’t tell my father, or I’ll never hear the last of it. He’ll probably go off on one about my being a danger to society, or something.”

She seemed shocked. “How on earth did you meet a police officer?”

I briefly recounted the events of the night when Mrs Jones was murdered, the meeting between Jane and me and our shopping adventures.

“Oh, my goodness! Please let me know how things develop. I won’t say anything to your father - I don’t think that he knew about Jenny, at least not after your early childhood - and I think that’s best for now. Don’t worry; I know that’s easy to say, but these things have a habit of working out, you’ll see. It does sound as if this Jane is a good friend. You are my child; I have always loved you and always will love you, whoever you are. I’d like to see a photo of Jenny sometime, maybe on your next visit? Perhaps one of Jane too? So it might be that I really do have the daughter I always wanted? Amazing!”

I was shocked. “You always wanted a daughter?”

“Many mothers do. There’s much more that I could do with a daughter than I could ever do with a son.”

“I never knew that you wanted a girl.”

“I probably mentioned it to your father at some point, but I could hardly discuss it with my you and Peter, could I?”

“Well, you’ve always had Jenny; you just never knew it. At least, you never seemed to realise it.”

“I’ve just had a thought. You’ve always called us Mother and Father; you never called us Mum and Dad — or Mummy and Daddy,” she observed.

“They are terms of endearment and respect; I loved you both as my parents but never felt that I could confide in either of you.”

We hugged and kissed goodbye. I felt closer to her then than ever I had; I considered that, at last, she was beginning to understand me. I was tempted to say that the next visit would be put on hold unless my father mellowed, but I relented when I realised that, in getting back at him, my mother might be hurt. We needed a long ‘mother/daughter’ talk; I needed to ‘phone her when I was home.

I called goodbye to my father, who didn’t even bother to respond — glued to the sport on the television, no doubt - and left for the return journey. I was very tired when I arrived home late that evening and sat for a long time, crying, with my head in my hands. I cried for the relationship with my parents that had been denied me - the situation with my father was unlikely to improve. I’d concluded years ago that my body and my mind didn’t match but chose to deny it in the interests of trying to achieve a quiet life — though for whom I had no real idea; for myself, for my family, or perhaps both? I couldn’t see an end to the torment and wondered how life could be so cruel.

A line from a song in my mother’s ‘Eagles’ collection sprang to mind:

”I don’t know why fortune smiles on some, and lets the rest go free.”

(‘The Sad Café’ by Don Henley/Glen Frey/Joe Walsh/JD Souther)

I eventually telephoned Jane and told her about the disastrous weekend. Perhaps it was unfair that I was inflicting this upon her but I couldn’t think of anyone else to call; I had no other friends. I told her about the worsening relationship with my father and that my mother had always wanted a daughter. I became hysterical and started talking about suicide.

Her response was immediate. “Stay there, I’ll be with you as soon as possible.”

I continued to sit with my head in my hands and cried my eyes out.

Jane arrived just a few minutes later; if she came from anywhere further away than her home, then she must have exceeded the speed limit. She almost had to break down the door to gain my attention. I again sat down and then, with some prompting, tearfully recounted the events in Wales.

“I can’t carry on like this,” I finally said, distraught. ”It isn’t fair on anyone — on you, on my work or on my family. I’ve been a complete failure, and feel like just chucking myself under a train. I almost did while waiting for a connection at Birmingham, but couldn’t screw up the courage. I’m even a failure at that!” I then dissolved into another fit of tears.

She stood up. “YOU SELFISH COW!”

“What?”

“You heard.”

“But...I…”

“You don’t seem to care for anyone else’s feelings,” she said very bluntly. “And you obviously have no thought for the poor train driver.”

She was silent for a while, then said, “In the course of my work I meet many different people. Some people are in a similar situation to that which you are in; some have it much worse — yes, there are people worse off than you are, believe it or not.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say.

“So you go ahead and commit suicide. Suppose that, several months down the line, I meet someone who needs help. What do I say? “Oh, I used to know a girl in a similar situation but she took the easy way out and jumped under a train so, sorry, I can’t help.”” She paused; the silence was deafening.

I was stunned and started to stammer. “Jane, I’m sorry, I never thought…”

She shouted at me. “NO, YOU NEVER THOUGHT. JENNY THIS AND JENNY THAT BUT NEVER “I WONDER HOW ANYONE ELSE MIGHT FEEL?””

I let her words sink in and then started to get up from my chair. “Jane, I’m so sorry, I’ve been so selfish.”

“Yes, you were being FUCKING selfish and I don’t know why I FUCKING BOTHER!” She looked near to tears herself as she shouted at me, stormed into the kitchen and slammed the door.

I was riveted to the chair, I hardly dared breathe. I’d never heard Jane swear. All seemed silent for a few minutes, and then the banging of crockery, kettle and cupboard doors and so on made me fear for my kitchen.

Some time later, she reappeared with two mugs of tea and handed one to me. Had I been a little more observant instead of being wrapped up in my own problems, I’d have seen that she had also been crying — a lot. When I’d known her for longer, I’d know that she very rarely lost her temper — although I was to see her cry again very soon.

“Okay, now what?” She asked, clearly angry.

“Pardon?”

“What are you going to do? I mean positive action, not digging a damned great hole and crawling into it.”

I didn’t know what to say so continued to sit with my head in my hands.

“Right, enough of this! Snap out of it, woman, for goodness sake! Three questions and three straight answers — yes or no. One: do you want to be Jenny with all your heart and soul?”

I wish!

“Yes,” I answered in a whisper.

“I’M NOT CONVINCED!” Jane shouted, “AGAIN! DO YOU WANT TO BE JENNY WITH ALL YOUR HEART AND SOUL?”

I thought of that train at Birmingham. That decided me.

“YES.”

“Two: if you had to stay as John for the rest of your life, would it be a disaster?”

“YES, the thought is completely unbearable, I’d rather die. I’ve tried to satisfy everyone else. Now it’s my turn.”

“Good, we’re getting somewhere at last. Now, before I ask the third question, believe me when I say that I will fully support you if you’ll let me do so.”

She sat down opposite me and I nodded for her to carry on. “Now, question three: would you be willing to undergo whatever it takes, regardless of cost, pain, and time? It might mean losing your job, your home, your family or all three.”

“YES.”

“Are you sure?”

“YES; I’ll get by somehow, but I can’t carry on like this. Thanks to you, I’ve had a taste of real life and it’s in full colour; I don’t want to go back to boring monotony.”

“Are you really sure? It won’t be an easy ride by any means.”

“YES”

“You know what’s involved?”

I nodded. “Yes; I’ve thought about little else for years.”

She stood. “I’ll be back tomorrow evening and I want to see Jenny when I get here.”

“J…Jane,” I asked, tentatively, “Why are you doing this?”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow.” With that, she drained her teacup and walked out. The door crashed shut behind her.

End of part 4