This chapter describes Angela's discovery that Skipper is an effeminate, heterosexual she-male transvestite. It describes in further detail how Angela handles it and starts to move forward with her girls and Skipper.

 

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We arrived outside the school rather early so we settled down in the Land rover and fell to chatting. I felt it gave me a good chance to chat generally with Angela and possible learn a bit more about her. We talked about their life before departing for Australia in their yacht and I managed to garnish useful bits and pieces about the girl’s early childhood. A lot of our chat confirmed the odd snippets that the girls had occasionally touched upon and occasionally we chuckled as I got Angela’s more adult take on incidents that I had only had the kid’s versions of. Eventually we fell to talking about the set-up at the cottage.

“So Sandie’s quite right then, there are no men around,” observed Angela as I noted the relief in her eyes.

“”Well there’s Mr Turpin and his wife and mature daughter on the next farm but that’s nearly a mile away. We hardly see him but to attend to mutual issues concerning our farms and the fields; fences, hedges and that sort of stuff. I rent out nearly all my acreage to him except for the paddocks for the riding school. We recently took some back from him to give the horses some exercise space and we use that land mutually. He’s a good neighbour and we’ve never had a bit of trouble. He belongs to the ‘old fashioned ‘school of country folk and neighbourliness. Live and let live but support each other when there’s trouble around like floods or bad weather or something.
Angela slowly relaxed and unwound a bit as we continued chatting, she tried to apologise for her obsessive attachment to her girls. I smiled as I understood her feelings.

“For heaven’s sake Angela; you’re their mother! Isn’t that what any proper mother would feel after having thought she’d lost her children forever?”

“But am I a proper mother? I mean after abandoning them to the ocean, -“

“You did what you thought best. Nobody can blame you for that.”

“I didn’t want to set them adrift, Sam thought it was best. He gave them all the food and water we could.”

I wondered what I would have done and concluded that it was a frightful dilemma. However, I could see, reading between the lines, that they had argued about what to do. Angela was still traumatised by the decision she and her husband had made. I leaned forward and gave her a hug.

“Look. We none of us can get it right every time. God knows, we’ve all been there. The girls are safe back with you again and you are safe back with them.”

“I’m afraid to let them out of my sight. I mean, even this morning when they left for school, I was tense; I didn’t want them to go, - and that was only to school. I mean what could be more normal than going to school?”

“Your feelings about that would be quite normal, after all think what you’ve been through. If you’ve got issues about it, speak to Sandie again. She’s up here lots of times. She’s almost become a friend. In fact your girls almost think of her as their aunty, she’s here so often.”

“My girls? But I’ve lost them haven’t I?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well you’ve got them now. I’ve lost them haven’t I?”

I shuddered a bit as I anticipated some hateful outburst about being some sort of ‘child snatcher’.

“But you’re living with them. I mean they’re right under your nose.”

“Only as long as I stay on the farm or should I say lodge at your cottage.”

I hesitated. I was always poor at resolving personal stuff. I suppose it was one of the reasons I had stayed at sea all my life. It sort of kept me out of getting entangled in emotional stuff. I had always been terrified of emotional entanglements until I had found the girls. With children, stuff was ‘black and white.’ My relationship with the girls mirrored my own lack of maturity or confidence when dealing with other people. I simply gave Jenny and Beatrice support and care and they gave me unreserved love in return. It was easy to respond to the girl’s affection. The relationship was simple but deep and rewarding. I probably got more out of the relationship than Jenny and Bea did. So long as there was a permanent, safe nurturing adult to attend to their everyday simple needs they were content and took my being there for them for granted. For me the rewards were infinitely greater. Every time I saw them dawdling in the lane as they returned from school, my heart would flip with joy. This was the first time in my life I had ever felt emotional about somebody else. I opened up a bit to Angela.

“You can stay up there at the cottage as long as you like Angela. Your children need you. Only you can give them that feeling of utter security that children so desperately need. Oh I know I can give them every material blessing a child could wish for, but that’s only money. Yes, I love the girls; they’ve brought me infinite joy, but I don’t spoil them; you can see that by the way they have to muck out their own ponies every day, however; I can’t give them what you can give them, their real mummy back. They need you more than you need them. That’s both Sandie’s professional opinion and my feelings about where we are going with the girls. You’ll be staying with your girls, - and they are your girls Angela-, for as long as it takes both for you to get better and for the girls sake. Sandie might not agree with on this next bit but by my calculation, that will be until the girls have grown up and left home as any normal children would. And don’t forget, once everybody feels your cured then you are in charge of your own life again. I decide who stays in my cottage and that decision I base on compassion and needs. The girls will always need you so you can always stay here. Doesn’t that seem fair?

You’ll even have the joy of watching them leave home and possibly even coming home to grand-ma with their own children one day. You’ve got your girls back for life Angela. All you have to do is stay with them, here in as safe an environment as any girls could ask for.”

Angela filled up and burst into tears again. This I could handle. She fell into my arms and between muffled sobs she kept repeating ‘thank you, thank you, thank you’. I realised that for Angela it was all about staying with her beloved girls and the miracle reappearance of them when she had given them up for dead. I made her another offer.

.“You can sleep with the girls in their study any time you wish if you miss their company; you can sleep with them all the time if that’s what it takes girl.”

“It probably will,” she replied ruefully. “It’s difficult to be separated from them now I have them back. I feel so guilty about having to abandon them.”

“Having to abandon them?” I remarked curiously.

“Well. Yes. We were in sight of the Isle of Socotra when we were attacked. We made the girls hide in the life raft and cast it adrift before the attackers got too near. If the pirates let us go, we could recover them again. We decided that because we were in the busy shipping lanes, a ship would be bound to spot the life raft with the girls onboard if we were taken away.”

“Well you were right on that count but a bit flawed in your other reasoning.”

“Why’s that?” Asked Angela.

“Well those are dangerously pirated waters. No ship would ordinarily stop to investigate a life raft. They would have suspected a trap.”

“But surely, a warship or something. We thought -,”

“Well not really my love. The warships are usually going from the Red Sea to the Persian Gulf and they ordinarily pass further north than Socotra close to the Arabian shore. There are several other factors as well.”

“Go on,” pressed Angela.

“Well firstly, a ship can’t just stop like that. When they’re at sea under way, they’re using heavy, black, cheap fuel oil. This needs to be heated and injected into a hot diesel engine, which is OK when the engine is hot and thumping away at normal speed.

When a ship wants to stop and enter port, they change over to a lighter ordinary diesel that burns better at lower temperatures. The engine cools slightly when it stops and starts constantly for manoeuvring into port.
This fuel changeover can take some time and the ship is vulnerable when it slows down. It can’t just dash away like a speedboat if trouble appears. It can take an hour for even a small modest ship to reach full speed again. Those big super-tankers might take as much as a day to squeeze the final knot from say thirteen to fourteen knots. All ships are vulnerable if they’re not protected. They’re sitting ducks for pirates. That’s why ships would be loath to stop and make a big fat target of themselves. That’s why merchant ships have warships, usually with helicopters to protect them. What sort of boat did your kidnappers have?”

“It was a fast patrol craft like the old German ‘E’ boats. It was very fast and had a gun mounted on the front.”

“Exactly, I replied. They mean business and in truth no ship could escape that sort of fast patrol craft no matter what it’s speed was. All ships are paranoid about going into those waters and a life-raft sitting in the water would be almost automatically assumed to be the bait in a trap..”

Without realising it, I had told Angela a hell of a lot more than I should have. But strangely, my remarks also served to bring her out a little bit. She actually described the kidnap, which she had never mentioned in all the time since she had been rescued.

As I listened to her account I suddenly realised I was getting information that doctors and politicians and military men had been desperately seeking for their various remedial purposes. Angela was a major witness in a long established terrorist organisation that had been extorting just about anybody and everybody who had come within their sphere of control. As we sat outside the school in the Land rover, I silently cursed myself for not having some sort of tape recorder handy. As my mind wandered back to that day, she suddenly caught me off guard.

“Do you know how my children were rescued?”

“Yes,” I replied absentmindedly, as images of that fateful day returned to my thoughts.

“Oh Please. Tell me, tell me!”

For a moment my mind froze as I recovered my wits and quickly prepared a true account without revealing my part.

“Uuhm -, well, apparently, their raft was spotted by a modest sized cargo ship that was travelling from South Africa to Iran. It saw them and stopped to pick them up.”

“So why did that one stop and none of the others?”

I pretended ignorance because I was afraid to give too much away. It was getting too close to the bone.

“I don’t know. They say the ship was armed to the teeth; guns and rockets and all sorts of stuff and it was well able to defend itself. Rumour has it from my friends in the city that the little ship wasn’t entirely legitimate itself. It was carrying some suspect stuff for the Iranian’s nuclear programme.”

“Well I’d still like to meet the captain of that ship. He saved my girl’s lives.”

I felt a cold chill growing in my belly. If Angela and her daughters ever got talking about the girl’s rescue, I was sunk, outed, exposed, done for! To make matters worse, the three girls and Martin appeared in the school gateway and immediately galloped excitedly towards us. Angela flung open the car door and dashed down the pavement to meet them. After ecstatic hugs and copious tears of joy, she and the four children returned to the Landrover where I had started the engine in anticipation. They clambered in and fell to chattering about the school day so I relaxed. Talk of the rescue did not arise and our previous conversation died a natural death. Apparently, the girls were still repressing the experience.

We arrived back at the cottage and the children tumbled out after agreeing to meet in the stables. Angela and I took the shopping in then I suggested that we go and watch the girls riding. Within minutes all four children were dressed in their working jodhpurs and blouses as they saddled their horses to go trekking for an hour or so. As they walked their horses out of the yard and up the bridle path towards the Dumplin, Angela turned to me.

“It’s weird to see Martin dressed in girl’s riding clothes. His jodhpurs have a side fastening zip instead of a fly and was that a camisole he had on under his thin girly blouse?”

“Yes. It had bootlace shoulder straps didn’t it?” I replied.

“That’s what drew my attention to it,” Angela declared, “he really does live as a girl then.”

“In the privacy of the cottage, yes. And we normally refer to him as she or her at home. She answers to the name Martina.”

“Will she be changing into a frock later then?” Pressed Angela, taking on board my remarks.

“Oh yes! Definitely. She’s more comfortable in a frock and her sisters are unconcerned about it. They take her transexualism or transvestism for granted.”

“I never realised children could be so adaptable; and at such a young age.”

“Well we explained the situation to the girls and they seemed to take it in their stride. The younger you tell them the less it seems to faze them. Martin is now Martina as far as they are concerned. Sandie explained it all to them and they accepted what Sandie told them. Talking of Sandie, where is she?”
I turned to look for her and saw her emerging from the stables with Sian and Sylvia. She had been discussing stabling a pony for Sandie’s daughter Mary. We met and assembled in the Barn Conversion where Sian prepared supper as we chatted. The clatter of sixteen hooves on the flagstones in the yard, announced the return of the girls so Angela and I helped them unsaddle the ponies while Sian continued cooking. In the stables Angela admired the ponies as she turned to me.

“You’ve been really kind to them.”

“What? The ponies you mean.”

“No, my girls silly! Though I see these ponies are well looked after. What I mean though is how many little girls each get to own their own pony?”

“Well. They needed something after their gran passed on. What with that and everything else they were damned near shot to hell when they came to me.”

“You must have been very brave to take them on,” observed Angela, “what on earth prompted you to take on two young girls at your age?”

“Hey steady on I’m not yet sixty.”

“Exactly. I would have thought that social services would have placed them with a much younger family. A childless couple in their thirties or something.”

“Your mother expressed it her will. They’re much better off here. They want for nothing and they get a lot of loving.”

“I won’t deny that. It’s obvious the girls adore you. It just seems strange that’s all.”

“Well basically, the Social Worker, Mrs Bodkin was having trouble finding a suitable couple who would take on two very unsettled little girls with serious problems after their experiences. When she met me and saw my set up, she decided to give me a whirl. There grandmother was dying so they brought her and the girls up here to see the set up and they fell in love with the place. Things just fell into place after that.”

“Well they’ve landed really lucky here.” She smiled tearfully again as she squeezed my arm gratefully, “I can only say thank you. You’ve done a marvellous job with them.”

“Well in truth I think I’ve had the better side of the bargain. They’ve brought me a lot of pleasure as well.”

With that the girls returned and declared they were going for a bath. They needed one too. They were covered in mud and horse dung from riding and then cleaning down their charges.

“I know,” squealed Chenille, “lets all go and shower in Aunty Beverly’s big bath. There’s room for everybody in there.”

“Ooohh! Can we mummy?” Begged Jennifer.

Angela turned to me looking askance.

“What about Martina?” She whispered urgently.

I shrugged my shoulders. It was difficult to suddenly make an issue of Martina’s gender. The children had never been concerned about it before. It would be unfair to suddenly make it an issue now.

“They do everything else together; including showering. Why not, they’re still only children.”

Angela smiled. Martina was after all the youngest. She turned to Jennifer and nodded.

“OK then. But don’t make a mess and don’t spill any water onto the floor. Keep the shower door shut!”

“Aunty Beverly will have to shampoo our hair,” protested Beatrice. “She doesn’t get soap in our eyes.”

“Your call Bev,” grinned Angela.

There was no escape for me and I had to agree. It would have struck the girls as strange if I refused, seeing as I usually shampooed Jenny and Bea’s hair after they had been riding. Fortunately, Angela did not want to miss any fun so she inadvertently acted as an unwitting chaperone.

After that day it was to become a regular event until Chenille and Jennifer became self-conscious about their budding breasts and other sexual attributes.
That first night however, things went smoothly without any complications and Angela admitted her surprise that Jenny and Bea showed little interest in Martina’s form despite her having some extra bits. They were actually more interested in shampooing Martina’s soft curls and then drying them as they all gathered in the kitchen beside the Aga stove. Once their hair was dry they all scampered up to the bedroom and slipped on their all-in-ones, and long flowing nightdresses then returned to enjoy supper with the adults around the dining room table.

I noticed that Angela just could not take her eyes off Martina as the little transvestite savoured the long silky nightdress that Beatrice had lent her. After we had finished supper, we all retired to the drawing room to watch a video. I noticed Angela inviting Martina to sit on her lap and the ‘girl’ eagerly accepted her invitation. There she kept hugging and kissing Martina as the ‘boy-girl’ savoured the extra attention. Every time a scary bit appeared on the video, Martina would give a little squeak as if to signal that she wanted another hug. Angela happily responded until even Beatrice noticed the extra attention and slid off the settee to go and share Angela’s lap with Martina. As the two girls cuddled up in their long satiny nightdresses, Angela’s face was beatific.

After the video finished, we put the girls to bed. As was their want, they dragged the beds together to form a single giant sized bed and then they all cuddled under a huge king-sized duvet that Jenny kept for such occasions in their own airing cupboard. I read them a story and they played with Angela on the bed for a while but eventually four sweet little heads were asleep on the pillow. Angela smiled as she turned to me.

“They’re beautiful.”

“Yes,” I agreed without hesitation, “have you ever seen a prettier picture?”

“Just look at all that lovely long golden hair on the pillows. It’s hard to tell where one ends and the other begins.”

“I like the sweet innocent smiles. Just look at them, at peace with the world.”

“D’you think Martina will remain at peace?” Asked Angela.

“Provided she’s allowed to follow her heart and her head. Yes. Leastwise, that’s what Sandie says.”

“Will he grow up to be a girl?” Wondered Angela.

“Hard to say,” I offered. “Truth to tell I just don’t know. She could well grow up to be a transexual or a shemale or just a plain ordinary transvestite.”

"A plain, ordinary transvestite! Gosh Beverly your parameters are pretty bizzare."

"Well you know what I mean, as opposed to a transexual or a shemale."

“So what’s that exactly, a shemale?”

“Well it's a slang term really. It's not really a proper medical term. A shemale is a boy with all the external appearances of a girl but, you know, narrow waist, broad hips, breasts and stuff usually brought about by hormone treatment. But under her skirt she still retains a penis, often fully functioning, that is if she's been controlling her hormone treatment properly, under proper medical supervision. Some she-males self medicate and that can lead to problems.”

“So, - well Marina's like a she-male now. I noticed his erection in the shower. Though the girls didn’t seem to notice or mind.”

“They see Martina as their sister. Though they know all about her penis. Children can be very adaptable and caring provided they are shown the right examples.”

“I wish every man could grow up to be a caring gentle shemale. Then there wouldn’t so much rape and violence.”

I felt a shudder of nervous foreboding. ‘Would Angela come to remember those words? If, or rather when, she found out about me’, I wondered.

“I’m afraid that’s never going to happen," I replied, "men are men and it will ever be thus. Do you like Martina?”

“Oh gosh yes. She just so gentle and thoughtful.”

“Yes, we all saw you cuddling her on the settee.”

“Well she’s going to need all the support and love we can give her if she’s going to face the big horrible world.”

“You’re preaching to the converted. Nobody knows that better than us, all of us.”

Angela turned to me and pecked me softly on the lips.

“What was that for?” I smiled.

“For you, for just being you, for being so understanding and tolerant, for being so kind and generous to my girls.”

I smiled and pecked her back lightly on her cheek.

“Come on," I whispered,"we’d better be going down stairs, the others will be wondering.”

“Can I sleep in the adjoining study room tonight?" Begged Angela softly. "It’s just the thought of being so near to my girls and them sleeping so sweet and secure.”

“Of course.” I replied without hesitation. "They're your kids, it's your right!"

She hugged me gratefully and we returned downstairs to the adults where Sandie was preparing to leave.

“Greg’s phoned. He’s on the train from London with William and Mary. They’ll be arriving in thirty minutes. I’m meeting him at the station because the kids are sleepy so ‘he’ll need help carrying them to the new house.”

“Are you happy with your new house?” I asked.

“Well there’s lots to do but it’s a lovely setting.”

“Are you bringing Mary over for a lesson tomorrow?” Asked Sian.

“Yes, and William’s expressed an interest. I’ll have to go or I’ll be late for the train. Byeee!”

With that she was gone and we four remaining adults turned to make our nightcaps before Sian and Margaret returned to their barn. As we sipped our chocolates, Sylvia's car arrived in the yard. I peeped out to see Sylvia arriving home with some girl she had met at the club.

‘Well,’ I thought to myself, ‘it was bound to happen at some time. Sylvia was a very pretty and healthy girl. She had every right to invite a girlfriend back to her apartment.’

Margaret checked if it was OK with me to invite Sylvia in with her new girlfriend. I doubled up with mirth.

“Crickey Marge! You’re behaving like some overbearing father! Sylvia’s an adult girl. She can bring back whoever she likes. Go and get her if you wish. I know that really, you’re just curious.”

Margaret crimsoned up as Sian and Angela joined me in laughter. She huffed with irritation while she called across the yard. Sylvia happily accepted the invite for hot chocolate and joined us around the kitchen table. Her new girlfriend was enchanted to learn of the set up and squeezed Sylvia enviously.

“You’re so lucky. I wish it was like this at home.”

“What, chuckled Sian, you mean all women.”

“Sort of. I wish my dad was, - you know. More understanding.”

We all nodded sympathetically and the girl visibly blossomed before our very eyes. Sylvia also visibly grew in contentment as she realised there was no censure about her life style and choices. They each kissed us goodnight before crossing the yard to Sylvia’s apartment and we exchanged smiles.

“Ah, what it is to be young these days,” I sighed.

Finally we made our ways to bed and I bid Angela ‘goodnight’ as we separated on the landing outside her door

“Sleep well, see you in the morning," I finished as I gave the clear message to Angela that she was quite safe and nothing was going to happen!”

The usual morning 'foot-thunder' woke me as the four girls arrived and clambered into my bed. They were immediately followed by Angela, who formed the other ‘bookend’ as we squeezed the girls between us. I noticed again that Martina had somehow inveigled herself closest to Angela. They were forming a close bond, but I was quite happy for that. If Angela could accept Martina as a ‘shemale’ then there might be hopes for me.

We made plans for the weekend and generally laughed and chatted as the girls fidgeted and squirmed, then we rose reluctantly and prepared the girls for school. It was the last Friday before half-term.

After breakfast, they walked down the lane to the bus stop, and we watched from the yard gate. Angela turned to me as they disappeared around the bend and we could only hear their chattering voices fading away.

“I felt guilty putting Martina back into a boy’s school uniform. She almost winced when the cotton pants and flannel trousers rubbed her legs.”

“Yes. She likes soft and silky like the rest of us girls.” I observed.

“What about his hair, does the school allow it? Does'nt he get bullied about it? I mean -, it’s so long and silky.” Asked Angela concernedly.

I laughed.

“Hello! Earth to Angela! Have you seen some of the other boys? Martina’s is not even the longest. Little Toby Marchwood has long golden curls past his shoulders and he’s the football captain for the school’s team and for the under—eleven’s county team. A more boyish boy you couldn’t find! Out on the soccer pitch he’s as hard as nails and a right little tearaway. Then on Sunday, he looks as innocent as a choirboy in church. He’s got a lovely voice too; he played and sang the part of the Arch Angel Gabriel in the Nativity last Christmas. Then when he gets outside again, it’s all guns, trees and football, football, football.

His mother once told me he likes his hair long because it looks so angelic and gives him a disguise. He's not stupid. He’s one of the worst little tearaways in the school and he rarely gets caught. Yes; Toby Marchwood is like Mc Cavity, the cat. He’s not nasty though and he isn’t a bully. Chenille’s besotted with him because he protects her brother Martina from any bullying about the hair. It follows therefore that Martina also gets protected about his girlish ways because it’s always associated with his hair. Don’t have any fears about Martina’s hair. Anyway, it won’t be an issue next year.”

“Why?”

“All the children are starting as day students at St Angies. That’s a girl’s public school on the other side of the Dumplin hill over there. Sandie’s going through the medical formalities, and Martina will be registered as a child in transition with sexual dysphoria. That means she’ll be dressing as a girl and living full time as a girl.”

“Oh!”

“What d’you mean Oh?” I asked nervously.

“Oh! No. I wasn’t disapproving. I think it’s a wonderful idea. I mean when I dressed her this morning. It was obvious she didn’t like her boy’s uniform.”

“So you approve?”

“Oh absolutely. She’s a wonderful child. I mean’ she’s made it abundantly obvious she wants to live girly style.””

“Well she’s clearly expressed that wish to Sandie and to her parents Margaret and Sian. She’ll probably grow up with all the appearances of a girl,” I cautioned.

“That would be fine,” countered Angela.

“But what happens if she prefers girls? What happens if she turns out to be a transvestite with heterosexual leanings towards another woman?”

“Could that happen?”

“Oh yes, there’s no knowing how she’s going to turn out. In fact I think that’s the most probable outcome. Transvestites are not usually gay, they’re usually heterosexual. Transexual children are much rarer and are often hyper-stressed about their genitalia 'not being right'.

“Oh my gosh! How can that be? Who’d have thought it? Well I am surprised!
Well, at least she won’t be able to force her will and use brute strength on her partner. At least if she loves a girl, they’ll live as equals.”

“Gosh. You surprise me Angela. I would never have thought you would feel like that. Is this because of -, you know -, the kidnap?”

Angela’s face clouded slightly then she smiled as she turned and rested her head on my shoulder.

“I couldn’t tell anybody this, but you’re right. Ever since the rapes and stuff I hate the thought of some horrible big hairy muscular monster forcing his attentions on my body. I think I would prefer to be with a soft hairless gentle girly man like Martina. Does that seem sick to you.”

I gently squeezed her to me and smiled as I struggled to suppress the desperate hopes surging around inside me.

“No Angela. I quite understand. It must have been horrible.”

After such a large dose of sympathy, Angela’s mood changed briefly.

“It’s a pity, Martina wasn’t already grown up.” Giggled Angela.

“Oh come now darling.” I chuckled. “She’s only a child.”

Angela tensed.

“No! No! It’s nothing like that. It would have to be a grown man. Not a child, you didn’t think I could abuse a child like Martina did you?”

“No! I wasn’t insinuating anything like that. I was joking. It was just a figure of speech; a conversational gap filler. Come on, let’s go and have that cup of tea we missed when they were having breakfast.”

Angela made the tea as I buttered a couple of slices of toast then we sat out on the patio to enjoy the summer morning.

“You’ve got a lovely life here,” she observed as we overlooked the town of Poole, the coast and the sea.

“It’s my dream retirement,” I replied. “I’ve worked years for this.”

“Oh you must be so lucky to retire early to all this. What did you do?”

For a moment I froze mentally. I had never prepared for this question. I dare not mention about ships or the sea so I rapidly selected the old favourite of all seafarers who felt they had to hide their profession when trying to impress a girl.

Sailors often had to pretend they were not sailors because ‘decent girls’ would be frightened off by their own prejudices.

“Oh. I travelled in Steel.” I replied airily.

This answer usually closed the issue. Most girls presumed you were some sort of commercial traveller attached to a large steel company. Most sailors left it at that. If any further questions arose, then the job could be glamorised as tales of foreign travel and visits would be weaved into the ‘half-truth’.

“Oh. Was that with shipping then?”

“Yes. Much of it.”

“I thought so. You seemed to know an awful lot about ships when we were talking outside the school.”

I hastily changed tack.

“So. What about your life? Is it OK to ask?”

“Pretty boring really. I worked as a nurse but the money was too poor, then I worked as a cashier in a bank until I met Sam. He seemed to live such a glamorous life what with the boatyard and everything. We got married then he decided to sell up and build boats in Australia. You know the rest.”

I fell silent. It struck me that her husband must have been bloody reckless and stupid to endanger his beautiful wife and children in such dangerous, pirate infested waters. Either that or he had been bloody ignorant. Anybody who sailed the world knew where the pirate hot spots were. However, I did not want to risk hurting Angela, so I kept my counsel.

We finished our tea and I returned to what few domestic chores I had. The cottage had every modern appliance available and my housekeeping tasks were easy. That's why I had plenty of time so spend on my second favourite love after the girls, namely cooking.

As we tidied things away my phone rang. It was the port authority. I stepped back onto the patio and took the call privately. It was nothing important, but I would have to visit the harbour offices that afternoon. Margaret had arranged to join me at the meeting. I explained to Angela.

“I’ve got to pop into town later. D’you want to come?”

“Please. That would be nice.”

“Will you be OK on your own this afternoon? I’ve got some business to attend to.”

“I’m not a cripple or anything,” Angela complained, “mentally I’m getting better every day. In fact I quite fancy a bit of shopping.”

“Retail therapy,” I grinned, “that’s always good for a girl. Come on; bugger the housework lets go now. We can share the rest of the morning and have lunch together.”

Angela couldn’t wait. I dashed upstairs and put on my ‘war paint’ whilst I changed into my two-piece business suit. Angela popped across the yard to get one of her few frocks from the apartment and within an hour we were driving into town. We shopped together during the morning then I took her to Sissy’s for lunch. It was very quiet and Angela never clocked Sissy or read him. Then I left Angela to her own devices as I went to the port authority meeting.

Three o’clock found us together again as we waited for the girls outside the school. The conversation somehow returned to the girl’s rescue and Angela pumped me some more. I pretended ignorance but offered some suppositions that were in fact truths. I knew they were true; I’d been there!

“I suppose, I’ll never know unless or until the girls are prepared to talk.” Concluded Angela dejectedly.

“Why is it so important to you?” I hazarded.

“It’s such a huge part of our lives. They lost their father then and just about everything else. I feel it’s a major building block for us to get back to some semblance of normality. It’s like this huge thing between us.

“Well, Sandie says to tread lightly. I don’t know what to say.”

“Have they ever spoken to you about it?”

“No, never. I answered quite truthfully.”

“That’s a pity; they like you so much and they trust you. The bed thing in the morning is such fun. I just wondered if they ever opened up when you cuddle together.”
I shook my head truthfully. The girls had never spoken of it and I had never raised it. Sandie had given me clear advice on how to handle it if the girls brought it up and I was not to try and go digging around myself because it might have traumatised the girls. Now that Angela was back, I was even more frightened to broach the subject of the rescue. However, what she had said that morning about she-males by the gate in the yard, gave me some comfort.

I would run it by Sandie before hazarding any further step. As my thoughts pre-occupied me, Angela changed the subject.

“You know your lovely satin nightdresses and those sleep suits you wear?”

“Yes.” I replied nervously.

“Where do you get them? I searched high and low through all the shops and saw nothing.”

For a moment I panicked. My sleep suites were a rather private ‘kinky’ item that were a projection of my cross-dressing. The idea of being somehow ‘restricted’ in my bodily functions seemed to me, privately in the darkest secret recesses of my transvestite mind, to add to the feminine condition. I tried to make light of the sleep suites.

“I uuhm, I get them made for me in London. You won’t find them in any local shops.”

“Oh.”

“That sounds like a disappointed ‘Oh’.” I observed.

“Well. They seemed so nice. I could see that the girls love them and I was looking for one in my size.” Finished Angela despondently.

“Well I can easily get some made up.”

“Oooh. That would be nice. They looked so comfortable and rather fetching.”

D’you really want me to order some for you?”

“Ooohh! Could you?”

“You like them do you?”

“Well it was such a picture with you and the girls all lined up like elaborate tropical birds then me on the other end in my dowdy pyjamas.”

“If you give me your sizes, I’ll order them when we get home. I’m going up to London next week and I can collect them then.”

“So that’s why they fit you so well. Are they expensive?”

“Let it be my treat. I must confess, they are a bit expensive but they are nice and you can see how the girls like them.”

“Especially Martina.” Giggled Angela.

“Especially Martina.” I concurred, matching her chuckles.

“Oh. Here they come, look at them , - The charge of the light brigade.”

“Yeah, the ‘Light of my life brigade,’ I riposted with a huge grin.

Angela grinned back and leant over to give me another peck on the cheek. Then she opened the door and gathered them in as they waved drawings in her face. As Angela sat in the middle row of seats, she grinned, as Jenny and Chenille clambered into the front seat then kneeled facing backwards from the front seats, Beatrice and Martin clambered up through the rear doors sat cuddling up either side of Angel in the middle row. The girls explained their paintings .

“Is this me?” Asked Angela as she studied Beatrice’s childish daubs and recognised a crude copy of their yacht.

“Yes.” Smiled Beatrice.

“And what’s this?”

Angela pointed to a black boxy thing with a pointed end.

“It’s the pirates,” declared Jenny in a subdued tone, “we all had art together because
Miss Jackson’s away. She’s our form mistress. We had to do drawings of the best things or the worst things in our lives. Beatrice drew the pirates.”

“Oh dear. That must have felt awful.” I interjected. What did you draw?

“I wasn’t sure what to do. Beatrice and I spoke to Old Fanny Walnut about it. She’s Bea’s form mistress. Beatrice was afraid the pirates might come back but Fanny Walnut said they were all captured when the soldiers rescued Mummy. She suggested we do it together in case Bea was still afraid. Bea drew the bad thing and I drew the good thing to cheer her up.”

“So what did you draw Darling?” Asked Angela, half expecting the answer.

“I did the rescue.”

Jenny took her drawing out of her school bag and Angela studied it. Being eleven now, Jenny’s picture contained lots of detail.

“What’s this?” Asked Angela pointing at a fair facsimile of my ship.

“That’s Skipper’s ship.

“And who’s this?”

“That’s Skipper in his uniform.”

“And this?”

“That’s Billy and Supan in the rescue boat and that’s Uncle Mac by the crane.”

“And what on earth is this?”

“That’s Jesse firing off the gun to frighten the pirates away.”

“Is this how it all happened?”

I felt a cold wave working it’s way up my bowels as the truth came ever closer to the surface. Then the final nemesis arrived. Beatrice piped up.

“Yes. Ask Skipper.”

“Oh I’d love to ask Skipper,” said Angela, “but I don’t know where he is or who he is.”

A pregnant silence descended as Bea fell into a puzzled silence while Jennifer stared at me accusingly.

“Haven’t you told her?”

I wagged my head apologetically, waiting for the axe to fall. Jenny seemed to be weighing things up. She was obviously beginning to realise the implications, but she also had her own problems to resolve. She also had Bea’s feelings to consider for she had seen herself as Bea’s only confidant cum confessor ever since the rescue.

“You should tell her Aunty Bev. It’s not fair if Mummy doesn’t know.”

“What! What doesn’t Mummy know?” Begged Angela.

Jenny looked from Angela to me as tears began to leak.

“I mustn’t tell! It’s a secret. Aunty Beverly’s got a secret.”

“What! What secret darling?” Demanded Angela as her fears began to rise. “What’s this secret?” She demanded of me.

My world had collapsed so I turned with frightened tears to Jenny.

“You tell your mummy darling. She won’t be angry with you or Bea.”

Angela gripped Jenny’s shoulder tightly as her nerves became tense.

“Go on darling. Please tell me. I won’t be angry.”

“Ow you’re hurting me mummy.”

Angela released Jenny like a hot branding iron as she realised her tensions had caused her to grip her own little daughter's slender shoulder so tightly that she had hurt ber. Then Jenny turned to me as she rubbed her shoulder..

“Is it OK to tell? Will Skipper be OK? I don't want to break my promise to Skipper! What shall I do?"

My heart flipped over as I recognised Jenny's distress and utter loyalty. gently I hugged Jenny to me and explained.

“It's OK darling. Skipper will be fine, he's releasing you from your promise right now.” I replied as my heart thundered with dread.

“He won’t have to go away will he?”

“I don’t think so but you’d better tell your mummy.”

Jenny turned to face Angela again then leant over the back of the seat then turned again and hugged me one last time before she finally turned to Angela and tapped
my head as she spoke.

“Skipper’s in here. Skipper’s always been here, inside Aunty Bev’s head. Skipper’s been watching over us ever since the rescue, and after grandma died.”

“What d’you mean in here? In where?” gasped Angela uncomprhendingly.

Again Beatrice piped up to support her older sister as she stood up between the seats and followed her older sister’s example and tapped my head. .

“In there! Skipper’s in there, inside Aunty Beverly’s head. Skipper looks after Aunty Beverly and she looks after us.”

Angela stared at me in utter confusion.

“What do they mean? How can Skipper be inside your head? Is the poor man dead or something? Are they talking of ghosts or something?”

“No.” I replied resignedly. “Skipper is not dead. He’s very much alive.”

For a moment I almost lost my nerve then I croaked out softly.

“I’m Skipper.”

“Angela gasped as she stared at me.”

“What!! You!” You’re, - You're Skipper! You’re the one who rescued them!”

“Yes!” Chorused all four girls as I nodded dejectedly.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, “Yes it was me but I didn’t ask for all this -, this looking after the girls! It wasn’t my idea. It was the girls. They wanted to live with me after their grandmother died. I should have been stronger.”

“What! You’re saying it was you who rescued them. You! But you’re a woma-!” Angela hesitated as a dim light of dawning began to flicker. “You’re saying you’re a man! You’re the man! You’re actually Skipper. The Skipper! The skipper of the ship that saved them!”

I realised that we seemed to be talking at cross-purposes. I was apologising for all the deceptions whilst Angela seemed to be somehow obsessed with the man who saved her girls, her beloved girls.

“Aren’t you angry?” I croaked.

“Angry! Why in God’s name would I ever be angry? You’re the man who saved my girls, my beloved girls.”

“Well -, Uuuhhmm -, yes. But, I -, I -, well look at me. What d’you think I am?”
Angela studied me again then turned again to her daughters as the shocking truth finally started to dawn.

“This is the truth now girls. You’re not pulling my leg. Beverly is really Skipper, the man who rescued you.”

“Yes!” Chorused the girls again. “He’s in there, he's inside Beverly’s head!”
Then Jenny added.

“His uniform’s still in Beverly’s closet! You can check when we get home!”

“And the shirts with the blood stains from our cuts by the nasty nuns.” Added Beatrice. “He keeps them as a sort of memento.”

“What cuts?” Demanded Angela. “What happened?”

“Oh it’s a long story,” I interjected. “I’ll explain when we get home. But you’re not angry are you? Tell me you’re not angry.”

“Angry! God! No! I’m not angry. Why should I be angry! Stunned, shocked overwhelmed, but not angry. Why didn’t you say?”

“I held out my arm and pointed in towards myself to indicate my two piece business suite silk blouse, permed hair and tights and heels.”

“I’d have thought that was obvious. Look at me. I’m a shemale. Surely you can see!”

Angela studied me closely then a slow smile started to spread across her face.

“Well yes. I can see that you’re a woman. I mean -, well you’ve -, well, you’re a woman now aren’t you?”

“I’ll explain when we get home. Be patient.”

“Yes. OK but you’ve -, you’ve had the op, - you know you’ve been -, down there. You know.”

“I’ll wait until we get home. I’ll have Sian and Margaret as chaperones.
Hopefully, Sandie will be there as well. She was bringing her daughter Mary to see the pony she’ll be riding on Saturday.”

A nervous smile spread across Angela’s face then she let out a gasp.

“Oh my God! The girls! They come into your bed in the mornings.”

“Only to cuddle,” I protested defensively. “You saw that this morning. There’s nothing untoward. Look test my arm. It’s a woman’s arm; they cuddle up to a soft curvy woman. I’ll explain further when we get home.”

“This’ll be a gem!” Cackled Angela. “I can’t wait!”

The girls sensed that something important was afoot and a silence settled as I drove the last few miles. When we arrived, Jenny jumped out to open the yard gate and I was relieved to see Sandie’s car parked by my cottage.

“Well I’m glad she’s here. She can explain stuff better than me.”

“I hope so,” remarked Angela tensely, “this is going to be a humdinger!”

The moment we met Sandie at the garden gate, she sensed the inevitable had already happened. I nodded dejectedly as she glanced questioningly at me then turned to Angela.

“So you know then.”

“Yes. The girls gave it away with these.”

Sandie studied the proffered pictures and gasped softly.

“Ah. My God! This is the -, the -,”

“Yes. The kidnap and the rescue.” Declared Angela. “This is Beatrice’s version and this is Jenny’s.”

“Have they talked anymore about it?”

“Only to describe the scene’s in the pictures.”

Sandie smiled as she handed the pictures back to Bea and Jenny.

“Well done girls. D’you want to talk about it to me?”

“Never mind the girls,” protested Angela, “what about Beverly and this -, this Skipper business.”

“That can wait,” declared Sandie bluntly, “These pictures and stuff are much more
important to me. I want the girls to tell me more.”

Angela was about to protest again but the dawning suddenly struck her like a thunderbolt. Sandie was far more concerned for the girls and their newly returned memories of the pirate hijacking! She obviously did not think my transvestism was a danger to the girls.

Angela gave a huff of indignation and stalked into the kitchen while Sandie invited Jenny and Beatrice into the drawing room and closed the door. This was her sign for us to leave them alone and I had to gently restrain Angela’s hand as she moved to open the door and follow them into the room.

Angela stared at me and removed my hand from her forearm but continued holding it as first she gave me a questioning glance. I wagged my head and explained.

“Sandie’s only concern is for the girl’s mental health now. She’s checking to see if these returned memories contain anything traumatic. Honestly Ange with Sandie, it’s all about the girls.”

Angela continued holding my hand for a few seconds as she accepted my explanation. Then she held it up to her own and compared them. Next she studied my fingers and held it up beside hers as she looked me straight in the eye.

“D’you know these are a woman’s hands. They’re so small, look; they’re smaller than mine. How can you have been a man?”

She gently took my hands again then pressed my fingers to her lips and kissed them. I swallowed nervously and hoped this was an indication of some sort of acceptance.

“I was always small.” I ventured. “The change was fairly easy.”

“But -, but -, have you changed all the way?”

“No. I replied softly. I’m still a man down there.”

“But the girls. Do they know? Do they know that you’ve -, you know -, you’ve still got a -, a penis?”

“Yes, but they’ve never seen it.”

“Well I should hope not! What about when you cuddle and stuff, when they come to your bed in the mornings.”

I tugged the waistband of my skirt aside and showed Angela the firm control panty.

“I always wear one of these, even under my nightdress and stuff.”

“What! all the time?”

“All the time.”

“Hell that must be bloody uncomfortable.”

“Yes. As a matter of fact it is. But it’s for the girl’s sake. I’ve always worn it in bed, under my sleep suit. I never wanted to harm the girls or frighten them. They’ve been through enough.”

“Well we all know that.”

“Yes. That’s why Sandie is more concerned with them now than you, or me, or my transvestism. Those pictures are a huge step. That teacher doesn’t realise just how cathartic that art class was. What was her name again?”

Angela giggled.

“Chenille called her Fanny Walnut. God! Aren’t kids cruel? I bet she’s got a face like a wrinkled old prune.”

“Well be as it may. She’s inadvertently unlocked the door. That’s why Sandie’s in there now. This is crunch time for the girls. D’you know, they have never, never mentioned the kidnap or rescue in all these three years.”

Angela fell silent for a moment.

“What! Never?”

“Never!” I replied, “and I’ve never tried to prompt them or try to dig it out of them. Sandie has been adamant about that. Apprently there could have been serious consequences if it was forced out of them. She said it had to come out in there own time.

Angela fell into a thoughtful silence as I poured out the tea.

“We’d better stay handy then, in case my girls need us.”

“You bet’cha! I won’t be moving until I see all three of them walk smiling through that door.”

“Then neither will I,” added Angela.

As we sipped our tea and talked, we waited patiently. Sandie finally invited Angela into the drawing room. She took a tray of tea in with her and I was left on tenterhooks in the kitchen.

Later Jenny and Beatrice came out all smiles. I did not probe for any information but they volunteered anyway. Jenny spoke as I handed her some fruit juice and a wedge of fruitcake.

“Sandie says we can stay with you if we wish. She told mummy that.”

“And what did mummy say?”

“If we want to stay, then she’ll stay. She never wants to leave us.”

“Well that’s good. She's your mummy and mummies always want to stay with their children. Your mummy is a beautiful lady, and she really, really loves you. Do you want to stay?”

They both chorused an emphatic ‘yes’ in perfect synchrony and I felt a wave of relief. The girls still loved me, warts and all.

Eventually, Sandie and Angela reappeared. The girls and I had been preparing a cake because this was what I did best when feeling tense. I turned and looked questioningly.

“Well? What’s the verdict?”

“Angela knows everything.” Replied Sandie.

“And?” I turned to Angela.

“D’you want me to stay here?” She asked.

“Under what terms?” I countered.

“Your terms,” added Sandie.

“Well my terms haven’t changed. The girls still love me and the girls still cuddle me. It’s all about the girls.”

As if to reinforce this truth, Both Jenny and Beatrice wrapped their arms around my waist and hugged me. They buried their faces into my breasts and Jenny declared firmly.

“We want Beverly and we want Skipper.”

“And we want Mummy,” piped up Beatrice earnestly.

“Seems like a fate-accompli to me,” declared Sandie. “You two had better get to like each other. I’m going to see how my daughter Mary, Sylvia and Sian are doing.”

As Sandie stepped towards the door, Angela moved around the kitchen table and extended her hand nervously.

“I’m so sorry. I just didn’t realise. You just want to live as a woman.”

“She is a woman,” charged Jenny, “it’s Skipper that’s gone away to live in Beverly’s head.”

Angela wrapped her arms around us three and sighed.

“That’s a beautiful explanation. I understand that now. I’m so sorry I didn’t understand. Sandie’s explained it now. You’re not a child abuser, you’re not the mad axe-man, your not some horrible criminal, you’re just, - well, - you’re just Beverly.”

“Got it in one,” I sighed as our arms wrapped around each other.

We stood all four of us for several minutes as the girls savoured our conciliation and Angela allowed our soft bodies to enjoy the natural intimacy that women the world over share when their soft curves press together through their flimsy silky clothes. I could sense her readjusting our intimate embrace several times as she reassured herself that my curves were truly feminine and I was definitely one of the sisterhood.

Finally, she released me and gave me a long intimate kiss as she convinced herself that I was not, and never would be a threat.

“Thank you,” I sobbed as I tearfully recognised that she had accepted my feminised condition and lifestyle.

“It’s me that should be thanking you. You’ve saved my children and shown me that everybody has a dream. You’ve achieved yours so now I intend to reach mine. My dream includes you. Let’s do this together.”

I knew what she meant and we shared one last emotional hug before finally separating.
Jenny and Bea sensed that the moment was complete and they tugged at us.

“Can we go and see how Mary is doing with her riding lesson. We want her to join us when we gallop along the Dumplin.”

“That would be lovely,” replied Angela and we stepped across the yard.

Because we were still dressed for town, we stood outside the training arena and watched Sian put Mary and her new pony through their paces. Naturally Jenny and Bea had put on Wellingtons and Joined Sylvia, Chenille and Martina in the training ring to watch more closely. Sandie was still wearing her jeans and stood beside Sylvia as Sian walked Mary and her new pony slowly around on the lunge reign.

We watched for a quarter of an hour then returned to the cottage to make supper. In the yard we met Margaret coming home from her office. She had also been to the meeting of the harbour board but had stayed later for some extra stuff. She had some extra forms for me to sign and brought them home to avoid my having to go in the following Monday.

“Thought I’d save you a journey.”

“Thanks Marge.” I signed off the papers and she stuffed them into her bag then smiled as she spoke to me.

“Big things afoot then Bev.”

“Yes. Mac and Billy have been to see the new ship in Amsterdam. I trust them to have made a good choice. She’s only three years old.”

“So, you’ll be the owner of two ships now then. Congratulations!” Offered Margaret

I heard Angela gasp.

“I thought you were a captain.”

“Owner captain,” corrected Margaret. “Beverly has shares in two ships now.

“Yes.” I added. “Jesse will be taking command of the Speedway for now whilst Billy and Mac get the other one up to scratch. She’s having her purchaser’s dry-docking in Amsterdam next week. I’ll be attending, of course. There will be hull and engine surveys plus other stuff.”

“What are you going to call the new ship?”

“Mac suggested Speedwell. It matches with Speedway, the name of our first ship. Speedwell is also the name of a pretty little blue flower that reminds Mac very much of his childhood home in Scotland. I chose the name Speedway for our first ship so it’s his turn.”

Angela was listening to all this avidly.

“Is the other one, the first ship, the one that rescued my girls?”

“The Speedway; well, - yes, - it is actually.” I replied.

“Oh please,I’d love to see her!”

I smiled at Margaret who remarked.

“She’ll be here on Sunday. Gosh I never thought of that.” Margaret laughed with joy. “Angela will be able to actually walk the decks of the very saviour of her girls.”

“Yes,” I replied as I turned to Angela. I’ve got to go and meet her for this voyage. Jesse’s already taken command and it’s his first voyage as full captain. He’s really pleased with his promotion to captain and Supan has been promoted to first mate. Supan is the one who actually plucked Jenny and Beatrice from the sea as the raft was sinking underneath them. Your daughters are besotted with Supan. It’ll be no problem for you to come down and see the ship. Sunday she’ll be in Poole, have you got suitable clothes, jeans and stuff?”

“I can buy some on Saturday morning.” Angela almost squealed with delight.

"Oh! More shopping, more therapy,” I giggled. “Good, Sunday it is then. The girls love visiting her. It’ll be a nice day out for you.”