Totally Insane 37–Liberations.
by Angharad

I couldn’t believe that it had been a whole year since I’d started at Hanky Pankies or Emmeline Pankhurst School for girls. I was a school girl, end of. Well okay, I was a sort of school girl with a few extras and some of the same things–in particular, I noticed that my body shape was changing–had budding breasts the same as Gemma–that sounds as if we shared the same ones–we didn’t we each grew our own and my waist and hips were developing.

My hair was down to the middle of my back despite being trimmed about every five or six months and I stopped feeling like I was anything different to any other girl, except in one place and that felt as if it got any smaller it would disappear altogether. I wouldn’t have minded but I’d have been missing an innie which I’m told would reduce my options later on.

I was thirteen and a teenager. My ’rents had given me an iPad for my birthday when I came top in geography at the end of term exams. Our short sighted teacher, Miss Erskine, insisted on calling me Kelly and half the girls did so as well–this was nearly as bad as my previous institution–but at least they weren’t doubting my sex.

My experience with volcanoes was repeated time after time and I ended up researching and teaching the rest of the class. I also got top in Maths and I began to think I’d possibly go into engineering–design more than doing up nuts and bolts. Although even there I kept up my interest in locks and was asked to do a presentation when we had an Ofsted visit. For those who don’t know, this is the Department of education checking on the quality of the tuition and so forth.

My presentation was done under the guise of design technology and I managed to get a whole pile of slides about early locks from the Romans to modern day digital things. I really had to mug up on those and I doubt I’ll be trying to repair any of those except the press button ones they have on internal doors in shops and hospitals.

The bad news was that we’d had a spate of break-ins in the area in which we live and they all appeared to have the same method of entry–the locks were picked or opened by a key. We had a visit from the police and Daddy ended up speaking with the Chief Constable again.

Whereas before the police had been supportive of me except those two whose kids were involved in the attempt to assault me before Brian broke it up, this time they really frightened me. It appears my reputation for playing with locks and fixing or opening them was growing and I was actually a suspect–I mean, it’s hardly what thirteen year old girls do for fun is it–breaking and entering, I mean. But because I was once a boy, it seems I was a suspect. They even got a search warrant and went through my bedroom and my section of the garden shed–where I had a bench with a vice and some tools.

Daddy was furious–there was no evidence to suggest or link me to any of the crimes and the lock picking was crude to say the least–they left scratches all over the place, I didn’t. They asked me to demonstrate opening a lock at one of the burgled houses–Daddy came with me–it took me two minutes to open the lock and they discovered I hadn’t added any scratches to the several that were on the lock.

I was asked to do it wearing latex gloves but they couldn’t find any small enough and the prints they found at the scenes were indicative of someone with larger hands. Finally we got through to them that it wasn’t me, but we had a few days of worry because of it. Daddy said I wasn’t to do anymore for other people unless I really knew them, then one of his shops had a problem and he asked me to come along and give my thoughts on it.

The shop was the one that I’d visited with him once before, and once again I came away with a bag of cosmetics from Lorraine who was the shop supervisor. They’d had a problem with the lock and had called out the local locksmith–he’d opened it for them but it had got stuck again and the locksmith wanted hundreds of pounds to do it again or more than that to replace the lock.

We arrived in Daddy’s Audi and parked in the rear car park. Then he showed me the lock–it wasn’t the one on the front of the shop, but a rear one to the car park and waste bins–they had some of these locking plastic things that get collected by a large van.

I examined the lock and asked about the scratches on the outside–whoever had done this was very sloppy. Daddy took some photos before I started and then he left me to it while he sent them off to the police by email. The evidence was circumstantial to say the least, but it gave them a suspect and they put a watch on the man and it turned out it was him. He was a useless locksmith anyway, I was better and had no formal training–but that was about to change.

Anyway, back to the shop door lock–I removed it–well Daddy did, I couldn’t budge some of the screws and when I took it apart it showed a great deal of rust inside which was stopping the tumblers working. It was supposed to be brass–but brass with rust? Even I knew that much chemistry.

I soaked it in a light oil and cleaned it up–it took me nearly all afternoon then I refitted it and it worked perfectly–why the locksmith couldn’t have done that, I didn’t know. Daddy made me submit a bill to the shop and cost my labour. That took me nearly as long as the actual lock–I mean, how much do you charge? He showed me the bill from the previous chap and he was charging fifty pounds an hour. I thought that was ridiculous.

Daddy then took me to the locksmith shop, the one which had sent out the bloke to repair it–the one who was the burglar as we later found out–and he showed the owner a set of photographs he’d taken of the lock and how I’d repaired it. He was most impressed, especially for a girl to do it.

“How would you like to work for me occasionally?” he asked me after winking to my dad.

“I wouldn’t, you charge too much.”

He gave me a very queer look and then smiled. “I have a living to make and this place costs a small fortune in rent and rates, plus the cost of the staff.”

Obviously he had a point. He showed me some old locks, broken ones and asked me if I’d seen them before. Of the six he showed me I’d worked on three. He challenged me to fix the other ones. I wasn’t sure if I could and I needed to take them back to my workshop–my shed, or my part of the shed. He asked why I couldn’t do them in his shop. I looked at Daddy who nodded and I went and got my kit.

It turned out he and Daddy knew each other through the golf club, so were standing about chatting while I played with the locks. I was glad I’d worn jeans because I dropped a small spring and I had to scrabble about on the floor to find it. I took an hour to repair them all–one wasn’t too good–but someone had broken a key in it and it needed a whole new barrel. He handed me one and I fitted it.

He smirked and handed a twenty pound note to my dad–they had a bet on apparently–he didn’t think a thirteen year old girl could fix the old locks–I proved him wrong. He offered me a job which I declined, babysitting was bad enough especially with Richard and Davy–I had to take a bag of sweets with me for that one.

Driving home from the locksmith’s shop, Daddy gave me the money he’d won. “You deserve this, he was suitably impressed with you, and he’d still like to have you help him.”

“What when he can’t fix one, you mean?” I asked.

“No I think he meant when he was so busy.”

“I’m in school, Daddy, or have you forgotten?”

“Seeing as I’m likely to get caught for some new uniform soon, no I hadn’t forgotten. I think he was meaning on weekends–but really in the future–you’re too young at the moment.”

“I thought I could get a job with one of your shops?”

“I think you’d enjoy working on locks much more and it’d get you a better wage than we could pay.”

I looked at him quizzically.

“You’d be doing piece work, so I’d ask him to pay you per job not a wage.”

“But I might only get one job.”

“So, do you want to stand around advising old biddies about cutting keys?”

“That might be good fun,” the only keys I’d cut were by hand with files and it takes forever, he had a jig for doing that. Maybe I could save and buy one in time.

He shook his head and took me home–I did a bill with Mummy’s help on the computer, and amazingly the shop paid it. I got a hundred pounds for my efforts.

Mummy was teaching me new housework skills all the time and I helped her most nights to prepare the dinner. Mostly it was good fun and I got to see exactly what we were eating whereas Brian only turned up to eat. He still tried treating me like his personal slave but I wouldn’t play even though he seemed to have accepted me as his sister. Auntie Em is a really good cook and I continued to go there when I had a chance and she showed me all sorts of tricks that Mummy didn’t seem to know about cooking plus of course Sarah was there too. She’s still a lovely baby, well toddler now, and she always squeals with delight whenever I go there.

Philip hasn’t got another girlfriend so he must be satisfied with the old one, viz. me. I’m not sure about his mum, she’s still a bit funny at times–and I don’t mean she cracks jokes–well if she does, yours truly is usually the butt of them.

We, that is Philip and I, were fiddling about on the computer when it peeped to indicate a new email, we were trying to find something about the history of the town and not doing that well. In the end I went into my emails and saw it was one from Gemma.
‘Hi Kylie, have you heard of this band, Lez Zeppelin?
Love, Gem’

“What’s she sending me this for? Plus she can’t even spell it.”

“She’s sent a link and that’s spelt the same,” noticed Philip.

“But I mean who ever hasn’t heard of Led Zep has got to like be dead from the neck up–they’re like the biggest rock band ever.”

“I doubt my mum has ever heard of them,” said Philip.

“Mine has, she’s seen them live, all I’ve got is some DVDs and what’s available on the internet.”

“Click on the link, it sounds like one you haven’t heard of before.”

“Okay, I was going to anyway.” I protested as I clicked on the link. Well, I was blown away–it wasn’t Page, Plant and Bonham but a group of women and they were pretty damn good, at least with Whole Lotta Love everyone knows it, dum dum da dum dum is the base line with brilliant vocals by Plant and guitar riffs by Jimmy. This lot were good. I’ve seen plenty of stuff on YouTube by tribute bands and this had to be amongst the best–and they were women–wow! Never mind playing with locks, I wanna be a chick rock star.

I even became oblivious of Philip for a moment as I started planning what I needed to do. I’d joined the music group because I wanted to learn to play the guitar, unfortunately, Mrs Nelson was no Jimmy Page, she wasn’t even like Segovia unless he had a moustache as well, but she was gradually teaching me the chords,frets and fingerings for classic acoustic guitar. I’d asked Gran an’ Gramps for an electric guitar for Christmas and Gramps told me that if I could play a recognisable tune right through by then on the acoustic, he’d get me one. I’d do it, I knew I’d do it, then I’d need an amp and somewhere to practice.

“Kylie, hello? Anybody in?” Philip tapped me on the head.

“What?” I glanced at him.

“You have been sitting there for the past ten minutes in a daze.”

“Have I?”

“Yes, how about coming out for a walk?”

“Yeah, okay–can we listen to this lot one more time?” I clicked on the link and Lez Zeppelin started again.

“D’you think they were lesbians?” asked Philip as we strolled round the park.

“How would I know? It could just be a play on the name, you know, showing it was a girl band.”

“Yeah, but I find that kinda excitin’ don’t you?”

“Don’t I what?”

“Find the idea of lesbians exciting?”

“What?” I gasped.

“Don’t worry, it’s a boy thing.”

“What is?”

“Never mind.”

“Sometimes I wonder about you, Philip Gonnersal.”

“Wonder what?”

“Never mind.” I gave him back some of his own medicine.

“What have I done now?” He pulled me round to face him.

“Think about what you just said.”

“Oh that, sorreee.”

“I should think so. If I was that way inclined why would I be here with you?”

“I said I was sorry.”

“I mean, it was bad enough being called gay as a boy to have it thrown at me as a girl as well. It’s just too bad.”

“Look, Kylie, I didn’t mean anything, alright? I was–I had this picture–never mind.”

“But I do mind–I’m obviously not good enough for you, Philip.”

“How d’you work that out?”

“From your weird fantasies.”

“Look, I said I’m sorry, you’re my girlfriend–end of.”

“Don’t I get a say in this?” I was really winding him up and serve him right.

“I assumed you were happy with the arrangement.”

“You shouldn’t make assumptions, it’s dangerous.”

“Why?”

“It just is.”

“Can I assume you want an ice cream?”

“You could ask me if I’d like one.”

He rolled his eyes, “Kylie, girlfriend of mine, would you care to have an ice cream?”

“I’d love one, thank you, Philip, are you buying?”

He glowered at me, “You set me up, didn’t you?”

“Who me?” I squealed and he shook his head possibly to protect his ears. Wait till I’m a rock star, I’ll have one of the best squeals–no, screams–in the business.

When Daddy came home I showed him the link Gemma had sent me and he was suitably impressed then he glanced across at the guitar case standing in the corner of my bedroom then back at me. “You’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking, are you?”

I blushed, “That would depend upon what you think I’m thinking,” I replied hedging my bets but pretty sure he’d added two and two and got four.

“You’re not going to try and form your own tribute band, are you?”

“Um–I might be.” I was blushing profusely and feeling like I was having a hot flush.

“Kylie, I have no arguments with you exploring any musical talents you might have, even to copying someone else’s work, though I’d prefer you developed your own. If you’re thinking about doing something like these women, then I suspect neither your mother nor I would be very happy about it.”

“But to be able to do Led Zep stuff would be brill, Daddy. I thought you liked their music?”

“I like their music very much, it’s the idea of having a rock chick for a daughter that worries me, and some of the stories that accompany them.”

“You mean sex, drugs and rock ’n’ roll?”

Now it was his turn to blush, “In a word, yes.”

“It’s just the music, Daddy. I love the music.”

“It’s never just the music, even Jimmy Page had a problem with heroin.”

“But he kicked it, Daddy.”

“Yeah, well I don’t want you to start it let alone kick it–okay?”

“I won’t, Daddy, I promise.”

“Look, sweetheart, it’s easy to promise things when you’re young and genuinely believe them to be true. However, I’ve been around a bit longer than you and seen what happens to people especially when cultural and peer pressures cause them to change.”

“But I won’t, Daddy.”

“I hope not, you’re an adorable kid and I hope you become an equally loveable adult, pity you can’t give lessons to your brother.”

“But Mummy was a rock chick.”

“Yeah, she was but we kept it clean.”

“So will I.”

“I hope so, but the pressures if you were living in that world are phenomenal. Look play your music, form a group if you want but get yourself a proper qualification as well.”

“Like Brian May?”

“I think astrophysicist might be pushing things, but yeah, like him.”

“I was thinking a design engineer.”

“Excellent and do your music as a hobby.”

“Dunno, Daddy, I’ll have to think about it.”

“Okay, sweetheart, you think about it.”

“Would you pay for me to have lessons?” I asked as he was turning to leave.

“For the guitar? Okay but don’t tell Brian. Don’t you have them in school?”

I nodded.

“You know someone better?”

I smirked, “Yeah, Jimmy Page.”

He narrowed his eyes and left, I nearly fell over laughing, then I thought about what he’d said. Had he just scuppered my career before it got started? I was still mulling this over when the doorbell rang. I heard Daddy talking with someone then he called me to come, immediately. What had I done now?

I trotted downstairs and gasped, the Chief Constable was standing in our lounge. “Hello, young lady.”

“Mr Holiday,” I said and took his outstretched hand and squeezed it gently.

“Darling, the police have come to ask you a huge favour,” said my father and I gulped. Surely they weren’t going to ask me to play for a dance or something?

“Uh huh.” In these situations making inane noises serves just as much use as saying something intelligible.

“Kylie,” said the Chief Constable, “we need your special skills.”

Special skills? What special skills do I have the police don’t? “Uh huh.”

“We have a mother and baby trapped in basement flat and the whole thing has collapsed, there’s a locked door but none of my people or the fire service are small enough to get down to it, we think you might be able to. Would you give it a try, we need you to unlock the door as well.”

“You said the site was stabilised?”

“So my advisers say and the fire service agree.”

“So Kylie wouldn’t be in any danger?” asked Daddy.

“No, but we need to get some food and drink to the trapped woman and her baby.”

"Can you do that?"

“Yes, there’s like a sort of tunnel under a large slab of concrete, it’s about five metres long leading to the door.”

“What sort of door is it?” I asked.

“It’s a stable type you can open the top half without the bottom being opened.”

I knew what he meant. “Any idea about the locks?”

“No, probably a Yale type but it could be a mortise.”

“I’ll get my kit.”

“Better put your jeans on, girl,” called Daddy as I ran upstairs. Ten minutes later I was changed and my hair was in a ponytail, and I was holding my small backpack with my tools inside it.

The police driver didn’t hang about and we had sirens blaring as we hammered through the traffic to a house about four miles away which was in the process of falling down.

The senior fire officer was very reluctant for me to go into the hole but on Holiday’s insistence he shone his torch down it. Even for a stick insect like me, it was going to be a tight squeeze. They managed to find a hard hat to fit me and I was wrapped in one of those fluorescent waistcoat things which proclaimed ‘POLICE’.

“Are you sure about this, Kylie?”

“There’s a baby in there, Daddy.”

“Why can’t you just cut through the floor?” he asked the fire officer.

“It could cause the rest of it to collapse, if we could get the door open at least we gain some time by sending some food and drink into them and we can establish voice contact.”

“What about the phone?”

“It’s down and she can’t get a signal on her mobile.”

While they chatted I nodded to one of the firemen and began to edge myself down the tunnel, with a webbing strap attached to my ankle to pull me out if necessary. With a light on the front of my helmet and pushing my bag before me, I slithered along the tunnel. It was like swimming on dry land. Good job I’m not claustrophobic, but when a large spider scuttled across in front of me I stopped for a few seconds. If there were any rats I was out of there. We’d agreed I yell and they pull me out.

It was hot work and progress was slow, partly because I kept banging my head–helmet–on the top of the tunnel, it was very tight, but after what seemed like hours I was at the door, or the top part of it.

Working while lying on your tummy is not easy and it took me several minutes to pick the Yale lock, which was actually a Chubb one. I clicked it open and pushed. It swung open about a foot. “Hello?” I yelled into the darkness.

“Help,” was the reply.

I half slithered into the doorway and could see the woman’s predicament, she was trapped by part of a wall lying on her leg and the baby was in its cot alongside her, but she couldn’t move to get to it.

Going against my instructions I slithered into the room, such as it was. I couldn’t stand up and had to crawl over to them. I handed her a bottle of water they’d given me.

“Take my baby and get him out of here.”

The baby was lying very still and I had a horrible feeling about it. But it was possible that I might be able to get him out so at least the experts could do their thing.

I used my screwdriver to undo the side of the cot and lifted the baby out, he was covered in dust but still breathing. He was quite small so I assumed he was very young.

“You look a bit young to be a copper,” she observed.

“I’m not, I’m a schoolgirl, but the only one small enough to get down here.”

“Pretty brave schoolgirl,” she said sipping the water.

“Pretty dumb if you ask me,” I said and smiled.

“Can you get him out?”

“I’m going to give it my best shot.”

I took the plastic liner out of the broken pedal bin and after wrapping the baby in a cot blanket, shoved him inside to protect him. He still wasn’t moving or saying anything. Then I crawled back to the door and climbed out feet first with the baby in his bucket ahead of me. I left the mother with a torch and a mobile phone and the bottle of water, tied the strap back round my ankle and yelled for them to pull me out slowly as I had the baby.

If the original journey was tough, the return was awful I sort of pulled myself along with my heels helped by gentle tugs on the strap. I was lying on my back holding the baby with one hand, the bucket being between my legs and my bag I was dragging behind my head.

The rescue took nearly an hour–I’m not surprised. The baby was whisked off in an ambulance with lots of noise of sirens and the firemen and police applauded me when I finally emerged from the hole.

I showed them where the mother was relative to the door and how she was trapped by the masonry. The fire officer then agreed they could start to break through the level above to get her out. My job apparently was done. Mr Holiday and the fire chief thanked me. And I got to keep the waistcoat, the press took some photographs because I couldn’t stop them.

Daddy said something to Holiday and he had me whisked away in a police car. Mummy was home when we got back and she was furious with Daddy for putting me at risk, “She’s just a girl, what were you thinking of?”

“I knew she’d be all right and she might have saved two people’s lives, Rose.”

The phone rang and Daddy answered it. “The baby is going to be okay and they’ve just got the mother out. She could lose a leg, and the press are clamouring after our heroine,” he reported to Mummy and me.

“So she could be exposed as a transsexual?”

“The police have refused to identify her, so perhaps we’ll be able to keep it under wraps.”

“Stuart, you live in cloud cuckoo land, some days.”

Me? I left them arguing, they seemed to enjoy it while I went for a long soak in the bath.