Happy Christmas to all my loyal readers. May 2016 bring you all great blessings.

The Return

By Tanya Allan
Copyright © 2015

The author asserts her moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

All Rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited.

This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental. Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.

The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone.

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A lonely figure stands before her old home, wondering if the woman inside will accept her after all the changes that have occurred.

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The snow was pathetic, really. Less than an inch deep at the most and already melting. The swish of the car tyres told the same story. The roads were already turning what lay there into slush. The sky was grey, the sort of day that never really got light. The wind was bitter, making the temperature feel even lower, despite the damp. The damp actually made it feel colder as it permeated deep into one’s bones.

The girl shivered, pulling her coat tighter. Her feet were freezing, as she was regretting wearing these shoes. She stood on the footway, staring up at the house with all the lights on. A Christmas tree stood in the big bay-window to the left of the front door, and the Christmas wreath hung on the door knocker. Lights were strewn delightfully around the front of the house, giving it an extra festive appearance.

She stood there a while, lost in her memories and unaware of the time passing.

A car pulled up alongside of her.

“Are you all right, miss?” asked a male voice.

There was no reaction, as she was still staring at the house, her mind somewhere, or some-when else.

“Miss?”

That permeated her consciousness. She turned and regarded the owner of the voice with a frown of frustration on her face. She did not change expression as she realised a police officer was regarding her from the warmth of his patrol car. Another officer, a girl, was driving.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Are you lost?”

“No.”

Her monosyllabic tone and curt speech made the officer frown.

“Can I ask what you’re doing here?”

“If you want.”

He began to get slightly cross. She wasn’t showing him the respect he felt he was due. He was twenty years old and had been allowed free on the streets for less than three weeks by himself, and this girl wasn’t conforming to his idea of how someone should react to his presence. He got out of the car and stood up to his six foot two inches. To his surprise, she was almost the same height as he was. He glanced down to see she was wearing stupidly high heels for the weather conditions.

“What’s your name?” he asked, taking out the ubiquitous notebook.

“Why? Have I done something wrong by standing here?”

“No, but...” He glanced at his colleague, but she was seated in the driver’s seat, talking on her mobile phone.

“Do you live around here?” he asked.

She shrugged.

“I suppose you could say that I do, technically.”

“What do you mean?”

She glanced at the house that was now behind her.

“That’s where my parent lives, and I suppose I’m still registered as living there.”

“Parent?”

“One died about four years ago, so I only have one left.”

“So, what are you doing out here?”

“I’ve been away, and I’m not sure I’ll be welcome here anymore.”

“Do you have any identification?” he asked, pleased she was less antagonistic towards him. It was Christmas, and in his short experience, more often than not the time of domestic angst .

She opened her shoulder bag and after a brief rummage produced a driving licence. She passed it to him without a word.

Taking it in his black gloved hand, he inspected it, taking in the girl’s photograph and name.

“Caroline Marchant?”

“If that’s what it says, I must be.”

“What’s your date of birth, please?”

She told him and he checked it on the licence, seeing that the driver number had it deliberately jumbled with an extra 5 within as a special code to denote it belonged to a female. The address was that of the house.

Having no reason to keep it, he passed it back. He was desperately trying to think of something else to ask her when his colleague spoke through the car window.

“Bob; voters’ register states that a Jenny and Caroline Marchant live here,” she said.

Bob nodded, grateful that he now had a way out.

“Okay, thanks Miss Marchant. I hope you patch things up with your mum. It’s not a time for daughters and mums to be fighting. It is Christmas tomorrow, after all.”

Caroline nodded, unwilling to correct him. He didn’t know, did he?

“Take care, and go in and get warm. Happy Christmas,” Bob said, getting back into the warm and dry car.

“Happy Effing Christmas,” Caroline said to the departing car.

She turned and looked at the house once more, sighing deeply. She saw a curtain twitch, so knew that she’d been seen. It was probably the fact the police car drew attention to her.

Bugger!” she said aloud. A passing man glanced in some alarm at her, but saw she was not talking to him.

“Happy Christmas to you too!” he said, sarcastically before hurrying back to his family. She did not hear him.

Wearily, she hitched her bag’s strap up on her shoulder and opened the small garden gate. Eleven paces up to the front door. She knew each one so well. She’d travelled them often enough.

Now she stood in front of the door; the door that was so familiar. She had a key in her coat pocket, but couldn’t bring herself to use it.

She stood there for perhaps two minutes, trying to decide whether to knock or to walk away. If she walked away, she didn’t think she’d ever come back. That was quite appealing.

Finally, she reached out with one hand and was about to knock when the door opened.

‘Oh shit!’ she said to herself.

“Caroline? Oh, my God, it is!”

Caroline stood there, regarding the woman in the doorway. She wasn’t a monster after all. Oh, the words she had used before storming out all those many months ago. ‘Monster’ had been one of the nicer ones.

Caroline had rehearsed this speech so many times, yet now she had to deliver it, her mind and mouth seemed unconnected.

“I..., I came, .. I came to say...I’m so sorry!” she stammered.

The last word was muffled as she burst into tears and the woman embraced her. Both were crying and neither as able to speak. The woman drew her inside and closed the door.

A small terrier snuffled around Caroline’s ankles, and then, as he identified that he knew her, he started jumping up with mounting enthusiasm.

“Benjy still remembers you.” Jenny said.

Caroline smiled through her tears and knelt to stroke the dog.

“You’re soaked, give me your coat. Would you like a hot chocolate?”

Caroline was unsure, but nodded, taking her damp coat off.

She watched as Jenny opened the little cupboard under the stairs and hung the coat up. Jenny was wearing a woollen dress, looking remarkably trim for someone at the dizzy age of forty-eight. She felt some surprise and not a little guilt at having left Jenny when she had needed her most.

“You look good,” she said.

Jenny turned and placed her hands on her hips.

“You think?”

“Yes, you’ve a good figure. How long has it been?”

“Two years in February.”

The guilt threatened to overwhelm Caroline again. Jenny saw it and simply hugged her.

“I’m so sorry!” Caroline wailed. “I just couldn’t cope.”

“It’s all right, honest. I’m just pleased you’re back.”

Caroline just sobbed.

“You are back, aren’t you?” the older woman asked.

Caroline nodded.

“If you still want me?”

“I do. I’m still all the family you have, so we need each other.”

“Can you forgive me?” Caroline asked, as she was unable to forgive herself.

“Of course. I never blamed you. I mean, It’s not every day that your mum dies and then your old dad tells you he’s going to transition to be a woman, is it?”

Caroline simply agreed.