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 10 of 25 — Visitor (Round 2)

“What would you like to do today, Mummy?” I asked on the Wednesday morning as we breakfasted on cereal, toast and tea.

“I’ve no idea.”

“How about Winchester?”

“What’s there?”

“Lots of history and a fair number of shops.”

Winchester was the capital of the ancient kingdom of Wessex; it is still the administrative capital of the county of Hampshire. Winchester was the seat of King Alfred and has a round table on the wall of the Great Hall. The table probably dates from the fourteenth century and may have been made to the order of King Edward the Third. The whole city just exudes history and there is hardly anywhere that doesn’t have a view of some ancient building or other. The cathedral is about a thousand years old and is set in its own large green, an oasis of calm just a stone’s throw away from the bustle of city life.

“Hmm, retail therapy. I never imagined either of my children being particularly interested in that,” she said.

“Well, your daughter is.”

“Can you give me a few minutes to get ready?”

“It might take me a little longer,” I replied.

“Hmm, it seems to me that there’s not that much to do. You appear to be all girl. But I’ll be watching you to make sure you don’t spend too much.”

“After the bashing my credit card has taken over the past few weeks, there’s not much danger of that.”

On the way to the car, she hesitated. “Jenny; I see the way that Jane looks at you. You’re the light of her life, but how much do you really know about her?”

“Not a lot, as it happens. She doesn’t strike me as your average police officer; the first time we went out shopping together, she looked like a catwalk model on her day off. I felt a little out of my depth in her company. And did you see her car?”

“No.”

“That’s no cheap runabout, either.”

My mother had just expressed the same thoughts that Celia had; of course, it could all be totally innocent, but it did get me thinking — not a good thing.

The conversation moved to what we might do at Winchester. We didn’t purchase much but had lots of fun trying clothes on, giggling in one of the many coffee shops, laughing over the antics of other shoppers and generally having a good time.

My mother took my arm as we strolled through the shopping centre. We sat and ate sandwiches as we watched the river flow through the city on its way to join the sea near Southampton. We spent a long time in casual conversation; we had a lot of catching-up to do.

Over lunch, she said, “I’m amazed at just how natural you are. I’ve spent a long time this morning revising my opinions and wondering how you managed to survive for so long. I can’t see anything about you that hints at you ever having been a boy: your mannerisms, speech and vocabulary are quite different — and I thought you might dress like a teenager, but you don’t.”

“Well, I don’t have to act anymore; I can just be myself. And did you really think I’d dress like a teenager?”

“It had crossed my mind.”

“Really! I know I missed out on being a teenage girl, but I’d rather forget my childhood and adolescence, not try to re-live it. That’s not to say that I wouldn’t have loved to have had a teenage girlhood - of course I would.”

After lunch, I took my mother back to the shopping centre. “I know we haven’t discussed it but this is my treat.” I led her to one of the beauty concessions in a big store and asked for a makeover for her. “My mother is a beautiful woman and I’d like you to bring out the best in her.”

“Delighted,” the beautician enthused, sitting Mummy on a stool and starting to work her magic. “You have lovely cheekbones and gorgeous eyes. What a lovely, generous daughter you have and I can certainly see where she gets her looks.”

My mother was so choked up; she didn’t know what to say. She certainly didn’t have it in her to refuse.

After the beautician had finished, I had paid and we walked away with a small stock of cosmetics, my mother turned to me and said, “Darling, I’m overwhelmed. I really do look and feel several years younger. Thank you.”

As we were walking arm in arm back towards the car park, I spotted a lovely turquoise dress in one of the shop windows. I dragged her over to look at it and we oohed and aahed for a minute or so.

She finally sighed and said, “Okay, in we go.”

I grinned and followed her into the shop where an assistant asked her size, handed her the dress and directed her to a changing cubicle. I was hesitant about following her in but she simply said, “Come on, Jenny, you can tell me how it looks.”

A little later, when we had continued on our way, I asked, “Mummy, have you a mobile phone?”

“No, why?”

“Just in case my father gets more difficult.”

“Oh, I see. I’ll sort one out when I get home and let you know the number.”

“No time like the present.” I led her to a shop that sold us one that was on the same network as Jane’s and mine and offered free family calls. “I’ll just get a ‘Pay As You Go’; it will be useful for you as an emergency phone when travelling or….” We both knew what the “or” meant. “If you ring my mobile, it will cost you nothing. When your call credit drops, ring me and I’ll top it up for you. I want to be able to keep in touch with you whatever happens and this is the easiest way.”

My mother cooked minute steaks while I programmed the phone and put it on charge. We then spent a quiet evening watching a film on television and she again tried to speak to my father. The atmosphere was still tense and she was quite certain that he would never come to accept his daughter.

~ O ~

Thursday morning dawned clear and sunny with just a gentle breeze. I suggested over breakfast that we go out for the day.

“That would be nice.”

“Well, I’ve a little surprise for you. How long since you’ve seen my cousin Shirley?”

“More years than I care to remember.”

“Well, would you like to go and see her? I called her on Tuesday evening to make sure they’d be at home today. She knows all about me and is totally accepting. I received a lovely call from her in response to my letter telling the family what I was doing.”

“Oh, I suppose we could go then. It would be nice to see someone from that side of the family after all this time.”

I rang to confirm that we were on our way. Shirley and her family lived in a little village near Salisbury in Wiltshire.

We arrived at the eighteenth century farmhouse at about eleven o’clock and rang the ancient doorbell. A frantic barking noise had me wondering just how many dogs lived at the house. Shirley opened the door and two of the biggest golden retrievers I had ever seen made a beeline for us. They stopped only a few inches away, grinned as only retrievers can, and wagged their tails, seemingly generating enough wind to power the entire village.

“Come here you two!” Shirley yelled, then more quietly to my mother she said,” They’re adult dogs about six years old, but they seem to behave more like six month-old puppies. Anyway, hello Auntie Ellen, hello Jenny, it’s lovely to see you both.”

She gave my mother and me a hug and then, with much effort, she herded the dogs back into the house. “I’ll put the kettle on. You’ll stay to lunch?” It was more of a statement than a question.

“Thank you,” I replied on behalf of us both.

Shirley and I looked at one another and Shirley said, “That photo doesn’t do you justice, you are beautiful just like your mother.”

“Thank you again,” I said, sincerely and tearfully, and we all hugged again.

“Our family is not very good at keeping in touch, is it?” My mother commented.

“No,” Shirley answered, pouring water into the teapot and getting mugs out of the cupboard, “but now we’re back in contact with Jenny, and I know that she lives reasonably nearby, we must meet up more often. Auntie Ellen, how are Uncle Bill and my cousin Peter?”

“Well, your uncle has taken Jenny’s news very badly and accuses her of all sorts of things, all untrue. We’ve not heard from Peter so we don’t know how he reacted to it. Bill is in good health and I presume that Peter and his family are too but I’m not sure how things will develop now that I have accepted that I have a daughter and not a younger son.”

I felt myself well up with tears, and said, “Oh Mummy, you’ve made me so happy, but I do worry especially about my father. I’m sorry to have to say this, Shirley; my father has always despised me since I was a little child. I wasn’t the macho sporting boy he wanted for a second son, you see. Peter excelled at sport, but I was no good at anything.”

“Now hold on, dear,” my mother protested, “You were good at academic subjects — when you were allowed to get on with them. You’re well read, an excellent cook, a lovely, gentle person and I couldn’t have wished for a more caring and loving child. Your father expects everyone to conform to his views and, when they don’t, he flies off the handle.”

Over a cup of tea, Mother heard all the details of Shirley’s diverse family. She laughed. “You’ve had your share of surprises and no mistake.”

“Yes, the children hedged around the subjects quite a lot until Alex and I confronted them. I think they were very surprised that we just said, “So what?” Certainly we’ve had no cause to regret our decision to accept them for what and who they are, and they’ve repaid us a thousand-fold by being the loveliest young people that you could imagine: caring, loving and generous, both to us and to each other. They wouldn’t surprise us if they all sold their separate homes and purchased one together, they’re so close as siblings. And the way they treat us; we couldn’t wish for a happier family. Alex and I consider ourselves to be very fortunate indeed.”

Lunch was a very jolly occasion with Shirley’s husband Alex joining us. He and their son Tim farmed some land nearby and Shirley usually provided both of them with lunch. Tim had taken his partner and their child on holiday so they weren’t there, much to my mother’s and my disappointment. Lucy and her husband, a very successful author, lived in Gloucestershire and Annabelle, her partner and their children lived and worked in an old, rambling farmhouse in Norfolk.

The meal, all home grown, was delicious and there was plenty to go round. Mummy and I were both very full after the hot pot and the homemade apple pie that followed. I noticed that the pie tasted a little different from the one that I had made and I commented to Shirley, who gave me the recipe.

Alex gave me a hug before returning to work. “How on earth did you manage the disguise all these years?” he asked, “You look really good.”

“I managed it by not being selfish enough,” I gave a hollow laugh, “and being scared witless of anyone finding out the truth.”

“Why change now?” he asked, before leaving to resume work.

“Simple: it was just a case of change or die,” I replied, sombrely. “John was never the real me; I got fed up with all the acting and pretence. I was suicidal.”

There was silence for a few moments while this statement sank in.

“Well,” my mother said, quietly, “I’d rather have a live daughter than a dead son any day.”

“Do you miss anything about your old life? How about the father/son relationship?” Shirley asked.

I laughed mirthlessly, “I never had a life, and if you’re referring to my father’s constant sarcasm, unreasonable expectations and frequent put-downs, then no, I don’t miss them at all.”

My mother said, “Surely there must have been some good times.”

I answered her. “Well, if there were, I must have blinked and missed them.”

More tea and chat followed and it was late afternoon before we got away. Hugs and kisses were exchanged, as were promises to keep in touch and visit more regularly in the future. I felt that the visit had gone very well and soon we were heading back home.

My mother said, “Thank you for arranging that visit, I did so enjoy meeting Shirley and Alex again.”

“So did I; I mean, enjoy meeting them properly at last.”

My mother appeared deep in thought for the rest of the journey.

~ O ~

“What time is your train?” I asked before we retired for the night.

“About eleven-thirty. There’s only one change, at Birmingham, and I should be home before six o’clock.”

The evening saw just the two of us relaxing at home. Jane was working. I cooked a couple of trout, as I knew that my mother enjoyed fish. I cooked them in the oven, in foil, with garlic butter and pine nuts, just as I knew she liked them. I served them with some roasted vegetables.

“You’ll get me fat,” she good-naturedly complained.

“Not a chance. You know, I haven’t enjoyed being with you so much as I have this week and I absolutely love cooking for more than just myself.”

“And I’ve enjoyed meeting my daughter for the first time, getting to know her and spending time with her.”

“You weren’t sure to begin with, were you?”

“Well, it did come as a bit of a shock that you went ahead and did it; I never thought you’d have the courage.”

I picked up on that and asked, thoughtfully, “Mummy, just how long have you known about me?”

“Oh,” she replied, “I’ve known there was something wrong since you were a toddler, I suppose. I thought you might be gay.”

“WHAT! I told you often enough that I wasn’t a gay male although, now I’m in love with Jane, I suppose I’m a gay female. But you never said anything to me?”

“I was afraid of upsetting you.”

“And I never said because I thought you’d hate me, and you seemed always to be obsessed with grandchildren,” I said, tearfully.

“I could never hate you,” she responded, gently, “You are my child; I’ve always loved you and just wanted to protect you because you seemed so delicate. Deep in my heart, I think I knew that you would never be a husband and father, but social convention….”

“I love you so much, Mummy,” I said, openly crying and hugging her when she ran out of words.

“And I love you too, and nothing and no one will ever change that, just remember that.”

“I’ll hold on to that thought,” I said, and we sat in companionable silence until we both went to bed.

~ O ~

The next morning, we shared a leisurely breakfast and I made some sandwiches for my mother to eat on the train. I just had to ask, “What about my father?”

Mother sighed. “You know your father; he has his ideas and is, as always, one hundred per cent right. Even a team of wild horses would struggle to shift him.”

“Hmm. Have you heard from Peter?”

“No and that surprises me. Of course it’s possible that he’s telephoned your father direct but I’m sure that he would have spoken to me, even briefly. Perhaps he is just trying to digest the news.”

“Like I can believe that. Still at least I hope I have a mother and I know I have a cousin Shirley. I may not have a father and a brother but I suppose I can live with that if I have to do so - as long as they don’t try to poison anyone else against me. I was afraid that my Father would forbid you to see me.”

“He tried.”

“Really? What did you say?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Thanks Mummy; as I said, you’re the best.”

“Well I’d better be going then.”

“Don’t forget your phone.”

She took it out of her handbag and waved it in the air.

I smiled weakly.

We stood and said our goodbyes. We both cried, not only for the past but also for the uncertain future.

“Okay dear. Now we really must go.”

I dropped her off at Winchester station and, carrying her suitcase, climbed the steps with her onto the platform and gave her a quick hug and kiss. Then, with a heavy heart, I returned to the car and drove home.

She briefly called later to say that she had arrived home safely but didn’t stop to chat. I spent a quiet evening with just my thoughts as Jane was again on late shift.

Llandudno, North Wales

Ellen’s train arrived on time and she was very surprised when Bill met her at the station and kissed her in greeting. She’d called him earlier to tell him which train she would be on and she nodded when he asked if she’d had a good journey. He was silent as he drove home and she was content with that, although she was just waiting for the questions when they did get home and he asked about her trip. He didn’t appear to notice that she’d had a makeover: she felt several years younger.

When he’d parked the car and brought in her suitcase, Bill asked, “Well, how did it go? Did you manage to persuade him to abandon this stupid game and get on with his life as a proper man?”

“You have no idea, have you?” Ellen asked, incredulously. “You think you know it all, but you live in a small black and white world bounded only by the pub, the sport on television and the scandal you read in the paper. You don’t know how real people live or how they feel. I knew that, when she was a small child, she suffered, both physically and mentally; I thought that she might be gay, but that wasn’t the issue at all. Do you realise how often and how close she was to suicide? She was a tormented soul and hated every minute of her childhood. At last she has made some supportive friends, and has found the courage to live as the person her brain, and much of her body, have been telling her that she is since she was a small child.”

“I take it then that you failed?”

“Of course I failed! I failed to persuade that child to carry on living a lie! Jenny isn’t a man. Oh, I know that she might have some male bits between her legs but everything else is female; her thoughts, her mannerisms, her caring nature, even how she relates to other people.”

He harrumphed, “I still can’t see how you can condone this behaviour — and you keep referring to him as ‘she’, I take it that you’re happy with this?”

“I’m not condoning anything and I can’t say I’m happy or sad; I’m just telling it like it is. That child lost the best part of twenty years because of a birth defect. Jenny has been around for a long time and is now an attractive young woman. Apart from what may be between her legs, she is all woman, not effeminate but feminine; there’s a world of difference.”

Ellen went into the kitchen and filled the kettle for a cup of tea. She then had to decide what to give Bill for his dinner.

She asked, “What did you do for meals while I was away?”

“As if you cared. Angela next door provided me with dinners after I told her you’d walked out on me.”

“You bastard! I didn’t walk out on you and you know it! I told you that I was visiting Jenny for a few days: you could easily have managed. There’s meat in the freezer and enough vegetables.”

“Cooking is your job.”

“Oh right!” She said, angrily, hands on hips. “It’s okay for you to be retired and sit on your arse watching television all day, but a woman never retires, does she? It’s obviously one law for you and another for everyone else. I suppose I have to cook, clean and do the laundry for you until I snuff it? What will you do then? Have meals on wheels? Well, let me tell you, Bill Smith, there are going to be some changes and they start happening NOW! I’ll be making a list of jobs for you and I’ll expect you to significantly contribute to this household, rather than sit in front of your precious television and vegetate, or escape to the pub when the going gets tough.”

Bill was about to protest but he shut his mouth again when he saw the firm set of her jaw. Truth be told, He had felt somewhat without direction since he’d retired and could now, amazingly, see his wife’s argument on the subject. He knew that he just slouched about the house but couldn’t seem to raise the energy to do anything. Ellen had been on at him for a while now to find an interest outside the home: she pointed out that he had a lot of skills going to waste and she suggested that he join with others in the pub to form a team, and offer their building and decorating services to the elderly and housebound. He thought about this and realised that she had a point.

The very next morning, he was dragged off to the supermarket to learn how to shop for food.

“It stands to reason,” Ellen stated as they were driving, “You eat at least half the food in the house. So you drive the car to the supermarket and bring back the heavy bags of groceries while I get on with something else.”

“But I don’t know what to get,” he wailed.

“Well it’s about time you learned; after all these years, you surely know what we eat by now,” she responded, acidly.

When they arrived home, she sent him to the pub for a pint. “And make sure to tell Andy, Les and David, and anyone else who might be interested, that you’re starting up ‘The Job Squad’ and you want volunteers — and you want sponsors. And don’t take “NO” for an answer. You can use your sessions at the pub to plan what you’re going to do, have a whip-round to pay for materials and fuel for the cars and you give your time free of charge; the client pays nothing.”

“You’ve thought all this out, haven’t you?”

“Yes I have. I spent a few years teaching primary school children; you lot aren’t much different, except that they were usually better behaved. It’s about time you got off your arse, stopped moping about the house, thought of those less well off than yourself and did something practical about it.”

“You can be a bit sharp when you feel like it, can’t you?” he joked.

“If the cap fits, Bill Smith…”

“Okay, okay, okay, I’ve got the message. I must say that I’ve felt a bit rudderless since I retired and, it’s true, there are a lot of useful, practical skills going to waste.”

Ellen looked up at him and smiled. He loved that smile and it was what had first attracted him.

“You’ll enjoy it once you get started,” she said, giving him a kiss and a cuddle. Both had been somewhat lacking in their lives of late and he realised then just how much he missed those little touches.

“I’ve you to thank for this push, you know.”

“Well, it was my idea,” Ellen said, sarcastically.

“Yes, but when that letter came, you just up and went. John needed you and you dropped everything and jumped on a train.”

“Well, John never really existed, except in body, and Jenny doesn’t need us. That doesn’t mean that she doesn’t love us, as hard as we’ve made it for her to do so. She just wants a family that loves her unconditionally, as all families should. Anyway, does that mean that you are now moving to accepting Jenny?”

“No,” he replied, slowly. “I still can’t help feeling that this is all wrong. You’re obviously all fired up but I think….”

“You’ve not met her,” Ellen interrupted. “That photo doesn’t do her justice. She’s quite different in the flesh. Photos are two-dimensional and don’t tell you anything about the character of the person.”

“What does Peter think?”

“I don’t know; no one’s heard from him yet; they might be on holiday; they usually go away every summer.”

He harrumphed and then went out to the pub.

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

~ O ~

“Well then, what do you think?” Jane asked late on the Saturday afternoon.

“I’d rather have more of my own but I suppose this is the next best thing.” I admitted.

“Yours will grow soon enough.”

“These feel good though.”

“They look good; I couldn’t see the join unless I looked very closely. Anyone who isn’t in the know doesn’t stand any chance at all. Celia was right, you know.”

“What?”

“You are a beautiful woman,” she said, giving me a quick kiss.

“Like I said, you are biased.”

“Like I said, true.”

“Thanks anyway, you didn’t have to do that.”

“Hey, it’s my treat and, from where I’m standing, I can’t think of anything that has given me so much for my money.”

There’s something she’s not telling me; she seems to have a lot more money than I would think a detective constable earns

“We’ll need to take them off every now and then so that I can check on how you’re growing.”

I laughed. “You are obsessed with sex.”

“I’m obsessed with you.”

“Hmmm, I can’t see why.”

“Easy, just look in a mirror. It’s not my fault that your parents produced such a beautiful daughter; I just helped to bring her out of hiding.”

I gave her a playful punch on the arm and we walked back to the Tube station to make our way home.

She’d purchased first class tickets for the train. With the breast forms and lunch, she’d paid out well over a thousand pounds today. Where had it come from?

End of part 10