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 9 of 25 — Disapproval

I went to the hairdresser and beautician for the full works. I had a professional hair cut and style and, although still a little shorter than I would have liked, David had managed to make it appear fuller and had cut it so that it would look good as it grew out.

While all this was happening, Gaynor had appeared from the downstairs beauty shop and was working on my finger and toe nails, giving me a full set of gorgeous sculptured nails which extended a quarter of an inch beyond the tips of my fingers. I didn’t want them any longer because of using the computer; not until I’d got used to them, anyway. After David had finished, Gaynor led me downstairs to complete my treatment; I was finally able to have my eyebrows waxed, giving me lovely fine, high arches.

“I hope that this all works out and that I have a salary next month,” I complained to Jane when she called around later, “my credit card is taking a frightful bashing and I reckon I’ve spent almost a month’s money on getting ready for my debut. At least I’ve already had my ears pierced, and have a wardrobe full of clothes, thanks to a very persuasive girlfriend.”

Jane whistled that evening. “Worth every penny, darling; I thought you were beautiful before but you are an absolute knockout now.”

“Hands off,” I jokingly laughed when she moved to kiss me.

“Oh, poo! Spoilsport!” She pouted, “As much of this was my idea, I should be able to sample the result. Anyway, they’ll welcome you with open arms at work and probably give you a pay rise just for looking so beautiful.”

“I wish,” I commented, embarrassed, but eventually let her have her wicked way.

“There is one more thing which I think you should do now. When you’ve been to the Gender Clinic, you should be starting on a proper dose of hormones and that should start altering your figure a little more. But I think you should get some of those stick-on breast forms in the meantime. They’ll be much better than the chicken fillets that you’ve been using up to now and will give you more confidence because they stick on to you rather than just pop in your bra. Let’s go up to London one day and have them fitted. Get some makeup as well, you know, the stuff that they put around the edges so that you can’t see the join.”

“That makes sense, even though I think you’re obsessed with sex. How about next Saturday?”

“As I’ve said before, I’m obsessed with you. I should be able to manage next Saturday; I’ll make sure that I have the day off and we can go together.”

I was delighted that she was planning on a joint adventure. “That sounds fun. We might even have time to look in Oxford Street.”

“Oh-oh! It didn’t take you long to get the bug!”

“Get the bug?”

“The shopping bug.”

I chuckled. “Well, I’ve something to shop for now, haven’t I?” Then I thought aloud. “I did think about having breast augmentation, you know, implants.”

She cautioned. “You need to be careful about how much you do before seeing the Clinic; they might be upset if you do too much and, at the moment, they might think you’ve been taking high doses of hormones instead of the small dose you have been taking. You don’t want to rock the boat any more than you have already. Anyway, you don’t know how much breast growth will result from the hormones, and you don’t know what cocktail your own body is producing.”

“I see what you mean,” I answered, a little disappointed. “As you say, it might be wiser to talk to someone first.”

“I understand that the stick-on breast forms, together with the makeup for them, are quite realistic and you just need to make sure that you get the right size for your build.”

“Yes, I want something to give my confidence a boost, not cause me embarrassment by standing out too much.”

“I don’t mean to embarrass you, my love, but you already stand out — in my humble opinion, that is.”

“Perhaps you’re biased,” I laughed.

“No perhaps about it,” she said, advancing upon me. “Now, you’re obviously suffering withdrawal symptoms; you’ve not had any police interrogation today.” She grabbed me around the waist and I was again happy to be caught in the strong arms of the law.

Llandudno, North Wales

“Bill, I’ve a letter which you should read. You’d better sit down first and don’t say anything until you’ve read it all.” Ellen Smith handed it to her husband as they shared morning coffee.

“When did this arrive?” he asked, glancing at her.

“A few days ago.”

Bill Smith gave his wife another sidelong glance and then read the letter.

Ellen had a good idea how he would react and readied herself for the explosion. It wasn’t long in coming.

“I knew he was a poof; this girlfriend business is a load of crap,” he sounded off, “Look at him, pansying around in makeup and women’s clothes. He’s always been a failure; he was never interested in sport, and since he’s been old enough, he’s never shown any interest in going into pubs. It’s where men meet their mates, after all. How the hell can I show my face in the local now? If he thinks he’ll get any encouragement from me, or is welcome in this house, he can think again. I’ll be damned if that freak and I will ever again have words — apart from my giving him a good belting and a piece of my mind. Thank God that Peter turned out normal. At least we have two grandchildren. It doesn’t look as if we’ll get any from that pervert. I mean; what girl’s ever going to want that freak?”

Ellen shouted back. “SO VIOLENCE IS YOUR SOLUTION, IS IT?” Then she moderated her voice a little. “It’s been obvious, from when John was a toddler, that something was wrong. I ignored it for years; I’m not going to continue ignoring it.”

Bill tried to interrupt her.

“No! For once in your life you’re going to listen to all I have to say!”

Bill Smith was tempted, as usual, to switch off and just go into the living room and watch television. He saw the look on his wife’s face and thought better of it. “Okay,” he said, heatedly, “Out with it. Are you taking his side?”

“HIS SIDE?” she yelled, “Who said anything about sides and taking sides? That’s our child you’re talking about, our flesh and blood.”

Bill scoffed. “Our child? This is all your fault; you always were soft on the little freak, just because he wore glasses.”

Ellen Smith usually came over as one of the most placid of women but one second after the words were out of his mouth she slapped him hard across the face.

“DON’T YOU DARE CALL HIM A FREAK!” She yelled.

“Ow! That bloody hurt!” Bill felt himself getting redder and, about to lose his temper again, loudly said, “Well, what would you call him then? He’s not good enough to be a son! He’s bloody queer, isn’t he?”

Ellen shouted again. “SIT AND LISTEN FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE!”

Bill tried again. “What’ve you got to say? I suppose you’re going to defend what he’s doing? He’s not all there, is he? I knew he was bloody queer. I tried to get him interested in sport, pubs and all the other things that normal men do, but he just wouldn’t have it. Now look how he’s turned out.”

“NORMAL MEN! TYPICAL! YOU THINK THAT VIOLENCE SOLVES EVERYTHING, AND THAT LIFE REVOLVES AROUND BEER AND SPORT!” Ellen shouted at him, then sat down and put her head in her hands. Tears weren’t far away. This was going to be so difficult.

“I forbid you to see him again until he sees sense,” Bill decided.

“But that’s my child we’re talking about,” she complained.

“And I’m your husband.”

“And I’ve been proud to call you that every day for thirty-five years, but not today. I shouldn’t have to choose between my husband and my child.”

“I’m going to the pub,” Bill fell back on his usual ‘out’ when he didn’t want to discuss something with his wife.

“The problem will still be here when you get back, but I may not be.”

“WHAT! Where will you go?”

“I believe that Jenny has a spare bedroom. Perhaps I’ll go down there for a few days.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort! You’ll go nowhere near that… that… thing!”

“And you’ll stop me seeing my child?”

“SHIT,” Bill shouted and stormed out, slamming the door. Ellen made two telephone calls: one to check train times and one to the South of England. She hurriedly packed a suitcase and then called for a taxi.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

I collected my mother from Winchester station that afternoon. She wore a pale blue cotton dress and open-toed navy shoes with a small wedge heel. She carried a lightweight navy blue jacket and a navy leather shoulder bag and towed a small grey suitcase that she rolled into the booking hall. She stopped and began scanning the crowd.

“Over here, Mummy,” I called.

She glanced around, spotted me and did a double take. “John, is that really you? Oh err, sorry, Jenny.”

“Now Mummy,” I said, quietly as I took her case and guided her to the car park. “As I’ve told you, John was an act; I don’t have to act any more. I’ve always been here, just not legally until now, that’s all.”

“You haven’t called me ‘Mummy’ since you were a small child,” she said, thoughtfully.

“It just seemed right; what a girl would call her mother.”

“Does this mean that you’ll now call your father ‘Daddy’?”

“NO!”

“Oh,” she said, shaking her head.

“He’ll have to earn my trust before I even think about it. ‘Daddy’ is a powerful word, not as powerful as ‘Mummy’ but indicates a closer relationship than that which we presently have. As far as I’m concerned, his only contributions so far have been limited to a sperm when I was born and an erosion of any self-esteem that I might have had.”

”Jenny!”

“I’m right, aren’t I?”

She nodded, ruefully.

It was a very warm day and I was dressed accordingly in a blue floral sundress and navy sandals. I was a few inches taller than my mother but was still a good half a foot shorter than Jane.

My mother pointed to my blue dress. “Great minds think alike,” she said; this went some way to relaxing the initial tension between us. She stopped and stared. For a full minute she stood and examined me. “I can’t get over how natural you look,” she said in wonder, “and that photo doesn’t do you justice.”

“That’s what the girls at work said,” I laughed. “Come on, it’s nearly time for dinner.”

“I thought you’d look like… you know….”

“John in a dress,” I offered, quietly.

“Well, yes.”

“Mummy, you’ve seen the photo.”

“Yes I know but….”

“It’s wonderful that you’ve come to visit but how’s my father?”

My mother’s glum expression spoke volumes; she explained the events of that morning, culminating in her train journey.

“Oh, I see,” I said, forlornly. “Mummy, you’re the best, do you know that?”

“I often wondered where my clothes and makeup went; it took me a while to figure it out. At least I can now see what my daughter looks like.”

“You finally acknowledge that you had a daughter?”

She nodded. “I’m actually quite proud of you. I always thought that you were gay until you put me right.”

“Despite my constant protests that I wasn’t?”

She said, “I always thought that you were in denial and that your father must be right. Bear in mind that we knew little or nothing about your situation; anyone who wasn’t normal must be gay; that was the accepted wisdom when I was younger.”

“Thank you, Mummy, for finally believing in me.” After a short, tearful hug, I said, “Come on, let’s get you home.”

We’d just pulled out of the station car park when my mobile phone rang. I stopped the car, again feeling that warm glow of contentment whenever I heard Jane’s special ring tone and her voice.

“Hello love.”

~ Where are you? ~

“I’ve just collected my mother from Winchester station; she’s visiting for a few days.”

~ WHAT? When did all that develop? ~

“Earlier today.”

~ Can I come round tonight? ~

“Of course you can. Dinner?”

~ I eat at the station ~

“Usual time?”

~ Yes ~

“Love you lots.”

~ Love you more, see you later ~

I asked my mother to hold the phone while I continued the journey home. I said, “Jane is coming around tonight at about seven-thirty.”

“Jane; that’s your policewoman friend, isn’t it?” My mother asked.

“Jane is my girlfriend,” I replied, a little tentatively.

“Is that friend-who-is-a-girl or girlfriend as in romantically linked?”

“Mummy, Jane is my girlfriend, as in partner.”

“So you could have stayed a man and still had a girlfriend after all.”

Was she being deliberately difficult, or is this what mothers do? Do they deliberately put you through the wringer, just to test your feelings? I obviously needed to explain - again - so I stopped the car and turned to her. “Look, Mummy; I am not, and never was, a man; girls knew it and ignored me. My hormones are probably so far out of whack that I couldn’t be a man if I tried. I was registered as male at birth because someone saw some unwanted flesh between my legs, and drew the wrong conclusion. I have always been female up here.” I tapped my head. “Jane and I are girlfriends. She’s not interested in men; she is interested in me, Jennifer Ellen Smith, the woman. Okay?”

“Hmm, very strange and unnatural, if you ask me.”

“Mummy, even if I had been born with all the right girl bits I could still have been interested in girls rather than men. And given what I went through at school, can you really blame me? Give me a chance! I’ve only been legally me for three weeks; I haven’t even got as far as getting all my paperwork correct, let alone working out my sexuality. For most people - for you, my father and Peter for example, it appears not to have been a problem. We don’t usually decide with whom we fall in love; it’s one of those things over which you rarely have any control. I knew when I was a small child that I was female; that was enough to occupy me throughout childhood, adolescence and adulthood up until now. Until March of this year, I wasn’t attracted to anyone; despite my ‘know-it-all’ father’s insistence that I was a gay male, I’m not, and never was, attracted to men or boys. For now at least, I love Jane very much, whether just as the person who helped me to gather the courage to do this, or something more; only time will tell. I’ve been acting a lead role in a horror story virtually all my life. So can we just leave it? Jane is a wonderful, loving, caring friend and, at the moment, she is my life. Without her, I’d probably be dead.”

My mother looked sharply at me.

I continued. “Yes, there wasn’t much to live for. If this hadn’t been possible, you’d probably be down to one child, because I was nearing the end of my rope. The only reason I’ve not committed suicide before now is that I couldn’t find the courage. But doors were closing so fast in my life that it really was only a matter of time.”

“I’m so sorry, love,” My mother gently put her hand on my arm and said, with tears in her eyes, “We haven’t been any kind of support to you over the years, have we? Your father kept comparing you to Peter, and he always made a point of letting you know you never made the grade. We thought it was just a matter of your eyesight or laziness, but we never even considered that you’d have different ambitions and needs. I confess that I didn’t support you either; I suppose that I always thought that your father must be right.”

“Mummy, it wasn’t a matter of wanting to go in a different direction, that’s the way it was; it’s the way my brain was wired. Now, what’s past is gone; let’s live for the future. Please do me the courtesy of giving me time to breathe and the space in which to do it. Everything will eventually fall into place, I’m sure.”

”I’ve been watching you since you picked me up at the rail station. Even your voice fits the woman I see. I can see nothing of John; it’s as though you’ve been there all the time.”

“Mother, I have! Now can we please go home?”

~ O ~

Jane now had her own key and let herself in to the apartment. I introduced them. “Mummy, Jane Dyson; Jane, my mother, Ellen Smith.”

They shook hands; my mother asked, “Jenny tells me that you are a police officer?”

“Detective constable,” Jane replied proudly, as she snaked her arm around my shoulder.

As with most other people, my mother appeared shocked as she said, “I…I understand that you two are…” She didn’t seem to be able to work out what to say and, if she did, then she obviously didn’t want to put it into words.

“Jenny is my girlfriend,” Jane said, giving me a quick kiss.

My mother looked pensive for a few moments but didn’t appear to find this as difficult as I thought she would. Maybe it was easier to slightly detach herself from the situation by rationalizing that I wasn’t her son and therefore these two people were unconnected with her.

“You two go and have a seat in the living room while I clear up the dinner things.” I went to the kitchen and started work. Before too long I heard a buzz of conversation and could make out most of what was being said. It was stilted at first, but Jane seemed to put my mother at ease fairly quickly.

Well, at least they’re talking; that must be a good sign

In The Living Room

“You’ve known Jo…Jenny, what, a few months?” Mummy asked Jane, once they were seated.

“Yes but, in that time, she’s turned my life around. And she has blossomed.”

“Doesn’t it bother you that she was born…you know…?”

“Jenny is all woman in her head and, to a great extent, in her body as well. To me she is a beautiful girl with a birth anomaly that will be corrected as soon as possible. I’m satisfied with that.”

“You obviously think a lot of each other.”

“She is absolutely wonderful. Bright, happy, outgoing, a brilliant cook, there seems to be nothing that she can’t do,” Jane acknowledged. “Did she cook for you this evening?”

“Yes, we had a chicken casserole, it was very tasty.”

“She is amazing. I can’t believe how lucky I am to have found her. My life was really going nowhere. I achieved my degree, joining the police force from university. I worked all the hours I could just to try and erase my childhood memories.” She shivered, hesitating for a moment. “I earned my shift into detective work by pounding a beat for a few years. I couldn’t see what I was going to do after that, other than working for further promotion. I’m not interested in a relationship with a man so being a wife was not an option.

“Then this incident happened and I visited… well, you know who. I knew that there was something I wasn’t being told so I pushed it. I visited another night and met Jenny and that’s when I knew my life had turned around. We went out a few times but, honestly, it was like opening a floodgate. She just went from strength to strength. I’m quite sure that John would eventually have killed himself — the pressure was just too great - but Jenny is so dynamic, full of life and absolutely gorgeous. I really can’t believe that so much has happened in so short a time, and it takes some believing that it’s basically the same person inside. Dorothy Parker is quoted as saying that “men seldom make passes at girls who wear glasses.” Well, this girl thinks that that girl is beautiful.”

My mother said, “I just never appreciated that there was so much hurt in that child of mine, it’s really made me think. I know that John often came home from school with stories of bullying but I thought he was just exaggerating or trying to justify getting into fights. Changing the subject, I suppose that your degree is work related?”

“Yes, I wanted to join the police force since… childhood.” Jane continued. “I have a first-class Honours degree from Buckingham University. It’s a small university and I earned my BA in psychology in two years and have a Masters degree in Criminal Psychology. I also started on a law degree but ran out of patience halfway through as I really wanted to start my police career. I transferred to the CID (Criminal Investigation Department) several years ago.”

“Jo…Jenny told me about the murder - it must have been very traumatic for her to find her neighbour dead?”

“Yes, poor thing. Still, if she hadn’t we probably never would have met.”

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

I re-joined them and the subject moved on to my plans for the return to work. My mother was tired from her journey and, bidding us goodnight, went to bed. She lay awake for a while thinking about her husband. She’d telephoned him when she arrived but he was very brusque. She’d tried to tell him about me but he was disinterested to the point of rudeness. She sighed, settled down and waited a long time for sleep to claim her.

End of part 9