The Might-Have-Been Girl A novel by Bronwen Welsh Copyright 2016

Chapter 23   Two peas in a pod?

The season of 'Dear Brutus' continued, and life developed its own routine. Maybe the terms 'routine' and 'actress' sound like a contradiction, but every occupation has its regular activities. We were performing six evening performances a week, and matinees on Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday, nine in total, quite a heavy workload. However, my bank account was building up nicely and being young I had plenty of energy.

Reggie played football on Saturdays but kept Sundays free so that we could be together. If the weather was good, we would go out somewhere. One Sunday we took a boat down to the Royal Observatory at Greenwich, and like thousands before us and since, took pictures of each other standing astride the Prime Meridian with a foot in each hemisphere. Other Sundays when the weather was bad, we went to the cinema or spent the day in Reggie's flat in Southgate 'playing house' as the saying goes. If Reggie's flatmate Richard was out, this inevitably led to some time together in the bedroom, I think these were our favourite Sundays.

So the weeks passed, until something happened, quite by chance which disturbed the equanimity of my life.

Louise's son Anthony normally came home from school about four-thirty, and I left for the theatre about six o'clock, around the time his mother arrived home. We usually exchanged polite greetings, he went to his room, and I continued with what I was doing, often mundane tasks like ironing. On this particular day, I intended to call at a shop to pick up a dress they had altered for me, so I left about four-thirty just as Anthony arrived home. After visiting the shop, I was heading towards the tube station when I suddenly realised that I had left behind a book that Elspeth had loaned me and that I had promised to return that day so she could take it back to the library.

I had plenty of time, so I turned around, walked back to the house, and let myself in. It was silent, so climbing the stairs I called out “It's only me.” to Anthony, wherever he was. I heard a sort of gasp and a figure rushed along the corridor at the head of the stairs. As I reached the top, I saw Anthony run into the bathroom and lock the door. I saw something else too – he was wearing a dress.

I paused for a moment. What should I do? Should I pretend I hadn't seen anything, or should I speak to him about it? Perhaps if it wasn't for my own special circumstances I would have chosen the former, but in the end I chose the latter. I walked up to the door and knocked softly on it.

“Anthony,” I said.

“Go away!” He was crying.

“It's alright Anthony, really,” I said trying to speak calmly.

“Please go away,” he repeated between sobs.

“I can't pretend I didn't see you, Anthony. I think you should come out and we can talk about it.”

There was silence for about a minute, apart from some loud sniffs.

“Do you promise not to laugh at me?” he said.

“Yes, I promise.”

The door was unlocked and opened about an inch. I understood why he had asked me to promise. He had made an attempt at applying makeup. It might have passed muster in a circus ring, but nowhere else. He had applied some mascara to his eyes and now tears had made black streaks run down his cheeks which were red with excess blusher. Lipstick spilled over his lips, and looked totally grotesque. This was where my experience in acting came in useful. I kept a straight face. Reassured he opened the door wider.

“I know I look like a clown,” he said miserably. I answered indirectly.

“Girls don't instinctively know how to apply makeup, Anthony, they have to be taught. My sister taught me. I remember her first rule was 'less is more'. In other words, makeup is meant to enhance your features, so the less you apply the better.”

Anthony looked a bit calmer. “Would you teach me?” he asked.

“I could teach you, with your mum's permission,” I replied. “But tell me, where did you get the clothes and makeup from?”

“They were things my oldest sister left behind when she moved out,” he replied. “She had so much stuff and maybe she didn't have room for it all.”

That was a relief. I was hoping it wasn't his mother's clothes, and especially not her makeup, although she would almost certainly have noticed if he has used it.

“I know you won't understand,” Anthony continued. (He was calmer, and seemed to be a bit more confident in talking to me now). “Girls can wear anything they like, even clothes that look like ones boys wear, but if I walked down the street wearing a dress, everyone would stare at me and think I was weird.”

“How do you feel when you wear girls' clothes?” I asked. “Have you been doing it for long?”

Anthony blushed. “I've been doing it for a few years now. I don't know what made me start. Maybe it's the feeling I've had for years that I wasn't like the other boys, and I just thought that girls have such nice clothes, and I loved the material and the way they felt when I wore them." It all came out in a rush. “I used to sneak into my sister's room and try her clothes on when everyone was out, but it got much easier when she moved out and left things behind. When I first put on some underwear and a dress, it just felt so 'right' to me. Does that make any sense?”

'Oh Anthony, if you only knew,' I thought to myself. Here I was being a girl, giving advice to someone who was probably a lot more like me than he knew.

Out loud I said “Yes it does,” and then thinking that perhaps I was in danger of giving myself away I added, “This is a secret between you and me, but I happen to know someone who was a boy and is now having treatment because she realises that she should have been born a girl. Do you think you feel that way?”

“Oh yes, I do!” Anthony responded enthusiastically. “But I was afraid to tell anyone because I knew they wouldn't understand. Do you think I could talk to your friend?”

“I don't think that's possible,” I replied. “She swore me to secrecy about her identity, so I've told you as much as I can, but you can talk to me about it if you like.”

“Yes please,” he replied. “I never expected to find someone who could understand and not laugh at me.”

“Anthony, I think you should talk to your mother about how you feel,” I said. “You can't keep this a secret forever; someone else is bound to see you wearing a dress sooner or later. Judging by what my friend said, you should talk to a doctor who specialises in what's called 'gender dysphoria'.”

Anthony looked frightened again. “I don't know how to talk to Mum about it, and especially Dad. He was so pleased to have a son after three daughters. How can I tell him I want to be his daughter too?” He paused. “I don't suppose you would talk to Mum for me?”

What was I getting myself into? However, having come this far, I didn't seem to have much choice.

“Alright, I'll talk to her, but then she will want to talk to you. You know that don't you?”

“Yes, but at least she will get over the initial shock,” he replied.

“Alright. Well, you and your dad play tennis tomorrow morning, don't you? I'll be here and I think your mum will be too, so I'll talk to her then. Be prepared she'll want to talk to you when you come home.”

“I will, and thank you Harriet – you're a real friend.”

I glanced at my watch. “Goodness, it's time I went to the theatre. Are you alright removing your makeup before your mum gets home?”

“Yes, I've got some makeup remover Jeanette left behind.”

“What about eye makeup remover?”

“Is that different?” he asked.

“Well, yes it is. Come on, I'll see if I can find some for you.”

We walked into Jeanette's room and fortunately, I found some eye makeup remover as well as cleansing oil for the skin and wipes to apply it. That was lesson one for Anthony who didn't realise that there are different types of makeup removers.

Once I showed him how to use them, I told him I really had to go, so after returning to my room and picking up the forgotten book which had led to all the drama, I left the house and set off for the theatre.

The following morning I was up at eight-thirty and showered and dressed. Since it was Saturday with a matinee as well as an evening show, I usually took it fairly easy in the morning, maybe tidying my room or catching up on correspondence As I expected, Anthony and his father went off to play tennis, and about eleven o'clock, Louise asked me if I'd like to have a cup of coffee.

After we sat down at the kitchen table, I said to her “I'd like to talk to you about Anthony.”

“Why? What's he done?” She sounded alarmed.

“Nothing. Well, nothing bad anyway. I had better explain.”

So I told her about coming home unexpectedly and seeing Anthony wearing a dress and how we'd had a chat.

“I didn't tell him about me. I'm trying not to tell more people than I have to, and anyway it might seem that I was encouraging him.” I paused and looked at Louise. “You don't seem particularly surprised.”

“Well it was a feeling I had about him,” she said. “He doesn't seem to get on well with the boys at school, in fact, he seems more comfortable in the company of girls. I also noticed that someone had been in Jeanette's room and it could only have been him. What is your impression of him?”

“Yes, I agree with you,” I replied. “I'm sure you know that males dressing as females can either be transvestites or it may be because they are transgendered and feel more comfortable in women's clothes. That's the impression I get about Anthony. I know it's really none of my business, but it might be worth taking him to see a specialist. That's what I did and now I've started treatment.

“I did tell Anthony that after I'd spoken to you, you would want to speak to him. He's very worried about how you, and especially his dad will react to this, so he thought that me speaking to you first would give you time to 'get over the shock' as he put it.”

“Well, despite my suspicions, it is a bit of a shock,” said Louise. “May I ask what sort of treatment you are receiving at present?”

“Yes, I'm taking a drug called Aldactone which is an anti-androgen. The idea is to stop me from developing male characteristics for the time being, until my specialist is sure I am serious about wanting to spend the rest of my life as a woman. It's a reversible medication so if I stopped taking it then the androgens would start working again. Of course I have no intention of changing my mind about becoming a woman. Later I hope to start taking oestrogen, the female hormone, and that is not a reversible step. The final step is surgery, but that can only happen after a couple of years of treatment and living successfully as a woman.”

“I see,” said Louise. “Well thank you for giving me that information. I'm not sure what Bob will think if he ends up with four daughters, but as far as I am concerned, Anthony is my child and I will support him in whatever he wishes to do.”

“I'm glad you see it that way,” I replied. “My mother and sister are supporting me in the same way, and it certainly makes a difference to my well-being. I would hate to be with a family who disapproved of what I'm doing. That would make it very difficult, especially as it's something I feel I have to do. I've heard of trans people who were rejected by their family and committed suicide, and I'm sure you don't want that.”

"Heavens, no!" exclaimed Louise.

We finished our conversation at this point and I prepared a light lunch before heading off to the theatre. I hoped that what I had said was going to help Anthony when he faced his mother later that day.

It was late when I arrived back from the theatre, so I didn't see Anthony until Sunday morning at breakfast. Obviously, that wasn't the right time to find out what he and Louise had said to each other. However, reading the body language between Anthony and his mother I had hopes that all had gone well.

Reggie arrived for our regular Sunday meeting about nine-thirty. The sky was leaden with rain threatening, so when Reggie asked what I'd like to do, I suggested a trip to the cinema. Mark, our director had mentioned at our regular weekly cast meeting that one of the independent cinemas was holding a retrospective of the famous Swedish director Ingmar Bergman's films.

“If you've never seen any of his films, I advise you to do so – the acting is truly amazing,” he said.

I looked up the newspaper and saw that they were screening the 1957 film 'Wild Strawberries' on Sunday afternoon, so after a look around the shops and a light lunch, we went to the cinema.

What can I say? I cried of course. I think Reggie had a lump in his throat too. Featuring the great Swedish director Victor Sjöström in his final acting role, the luminous beauty of Bibi Andersson and Ingrid Thulin and the amazing talents of the many others who worked regularly with Bergman, it was a revelation in ensemble acting. There is something beautiful about the spoken Swedish language too, even though I don't understand a word of it. The film was subtitled of course and I don't find that a problem. If you've never seen it, or any other Bergman film, all I can do, like Mark, is suggest that you do, and if possible with someone you love as I did. We sat there holding hands, spellbound.

After the film, we went for tea before Reggie took me back to the Burton's after another wonderful day with him.

Monday was only an evening performance, so I waited for Anthony to arrive home to find out how things had gone with his mother. I was sitting in the kitchen having a cup of tea when he arrived home.

“Hello Harriet, how are you?” he said smiling. That was a good sign.

“I'm fine Anthony. How about you? How did your chat with your mum go?”

“It went quite well. Thank you so much for paving the way for me. She's had a chat with Dad. I don't think he was so pleased but he usually goes along with her decisions.”

“So is she alright about you dressing as a girl?”

“Yes, so long as it's only at home. She also said it's alright for you to teach me how to use makeup, but I'll have to use my pocket money if I want to buy some more.”

'I think she's done the right thing,' I thought to myself. 'If she forbade him to dress he'd probably do it anyway. This way she'll find out if it's a passing phase or something he is serious about.'

“I don't suppose you've got time to give me a makeup lesson now?” he asked.

I suspected that was coming, so I agreed.

“Let's go up to Jeanette's bedroom and see what makeup she's left,” I said.

We had a look at what was on the dressing table and in the drawers. There was some moisturiser and foundation. I knew that ideally, he shouldn't be using another person's makeup, particularly as it was getting rather old, but I also knew that he was anxious to learn, so I decided that I'd go along with it for the time being and suggest that I buy some new makeup for him to use as his own. I hoped he was given a reasonable amount of pocket money. Good makeup isn't cheap.

“You must always wash your face before applying makeup and then add a little moisturiser.” I said. “Then comes the foundation, and after that some powder, and this is where you use the brush. I see Jeanette left some lip gloss and I suggest that is better than lipstick for a start. It will give you a more natural look.

“By the way, if you are going to dress as a girl, you need a girl's name to go with it. Have you thought of one yet?”

Anthony hesitated. “Well, I've decided on Antonette. What do you think?”

“Yes that's a pretty name and it's close to your boy name so it will be easy for your family to remember.”

So maybe I'd better start using Antonette from now on, and say that 'she' went to the bathroom and washed 'her' face before coming back to the bedroom, where I sat her in front of the dressing table mirror and showed her how to apply the makeup I had selected.

“I think we'll leave the eye makeup for another day,” I suggested once we had finished. “What do you think of what we've done so far?”

She smiled. “Well, it's so much better than what I did the other day. I can't thank you enough.”

“Well, why don't I leave you to get dressed and then I'll see how you look?” I suggested.

I went downstairs and read a magazine for about fifteen minutes until I heard footsteps on the stairs and Antonette came into the room looking nervous.

“That looks really nice,” I said, and in fact she did look quite feminine despite her short hair. I suggested that maybe we could brush that to make it look more like a girl's short hairstyle, so Antonette went upstairs and fetched a brush for me. I did my best and she was pleased with the result.

“Well, are you going to stay dressed until your mum comes home to see what you look like?” I asked.

Antonette blushed “I'm scared,” she said.

“There's no need to, you look really nice,” I said. “It's going to be hard the first time, but I'm sure she will be pleased with the way you look." I noticed that she was wearing slippers. "You're going to need a pair of girl's shoes. I suggest low heels to start with, maybe 'Mary Janes'."

It was time for me to leave for the theatre. As I walked along the road to the station I called Louise on my mobile phone.

“Hi Louise, it's Harriet here. I thought I'd give you a heads up that you'll probably be meeting Antonette for the first time when you get home.”

“Oh hi, Harriet. Thanks for that. How were things when you left?”

“Well she's very nervous, so there's a chance she mightn't appear. We've done a bit of basic makeup, nothing over the top. I think she's learned that lesson.”

Louise laughed. “Well thank you, Harriet. I take it that she doesn't know about your background?”

“I think it's best not to tell her at this stage. Maybe later on if it seems this is something she wants to do on a permanent basis.”

“Well I guess by allowing her to dress, we'll find out in time if it's a passing fancy or not.”

By now I was nearly at the station so we said goodbye and rang off. I wondered if Antonette would still be present when Louise arrived home, but that was entirely up to her.

On Tuesday, I had a matinee as well as an evening performance so it wasn't possible for me to speak to Anthony/Antonette and ask how Monday had gone. I expected to find out the next day, but it was not to be.

About seven o'clock Wednesday morning Louise knocked on my door and told me that my sister Emma was on the phone wanting to speak to me and sounding really upset. I hurriedly got out of bed, put on my dressing gown and ran downstairs to where the phone was located.

To be continued

I would like to acknowledge the assistance of Louise Anne in proofreading the text and giving me a great deal of useful advice about modern-day Britain to incorporate in the story.