Thanks as always to Robyn Hood, Emily and Cressar. And to everyone who has commented and kept with the story :)

Part 5 The calm before the storm

Poppy runs her fingers along my newly cut fringe.

"Cool," she says, finding the little kink caused by the way my hair falls, "it suits you, pixie girl." She smiles mischievously knowing that I hate it when she talks to me like I’m a child. "I feel sorry for you, Emmy," she adds.

"Huh?"

"You look hot when you’re cross." She looks me in the eye, making my body go all tingly.

We’re sitting on a bench over looking the lake in Chorlton Water Park. Despite its name there are no water slides in the park because it’s a nature reserve on the edge of the river Mersey in south Manchester. As it’s late December we pretty much have the place to ourselves.

Getting my hair chopped at this time of year perhaps wasn't the best plan. Once Poppy has finished admiring my pixie cut I pull my woolly hat back on.

"What did The Dragon say?" Poppy asks.

I give her a look of disapproval. I’m not sure why there’s so much animosity between Julia and Poppy and I’d hoped it would have disappeared in the fall out from my kidnapping.

"Julia," - I correct myself - "Mum likes it." At least she was happy that she'd talked me down from anything too drastic, which she feared would be me trying to kick against being Emma. I look down at the shopping bags at my feet; I’m trying to find my own look, just like a typical teenager I guess.

The bags are full of Christmas presents for others and clothes for me, all bought from Chorlton's many second hand/charity shops. One bag has a clingy green dress Poppy persuaded me to buy. I doubt I'll ever be able to wear it. When I think how much this stuff would go for in a vintage shop in East London it makes my head spin. I'm surprised no one has thought to start a business buying in Manchester and selling in London; then again, someone probably has.

"So have you got your Mum and the Donaldson's something?" Poppy asks. I know she’s anxious about Christmas as we’ll be apart.

"I've got Richard that shirt, and Mum the necklace you picked out," I tell her.

My finances are tight; the money from my 'Mark' days is tied up in legal wrangling to do with my 'official status'. I don't know too much about it, only that Julia says it will take some time to sort out as there is so little legal precedent in this area.

"Mum’s buying something for the twins, which she'll put my name on. That just leaves George and Greta," I turn away hoping Poppy doesn't notice me blushing slightly when I mention Greta. I think how cool she looks with her long blonde hair.

I keep quiet as Poppy tells me about her family's Christmas plans. I was very touched when Poppy's Dad's invited me to join them in Scotland, but I had to turn them down. After my ordeal a few weeks ago I don't really feel strong enough to spend the holidays with a family I hardly know. Ironically that's what I am doing with the Donaldsons, but at least I'll have Julia there. After spending so many Christmases together, I’m not ready to break with tradition just yet. I watch a robin near the edge of the water as it picks at the half frozen ground. So far the winter has been mild but I wonder what’s in store for the little bird when the cold spell everyone is predicting comes in.

"I said when are you off, cloth ears?" I realise Poppy is speaking to me.

"Oh, sorry Popsicle," the robin is sticking his head in an discarded crisp packet, "my head’s in the clouds. We go on Wednesday. Two days," I add moronically, like she doesn't know when Wednesday is. "How about you?"

"Tonight," she says in a huff. I know she’s feeling anxiety about us being apart, more so than a normal teenage crush, because of recent events. I wish everyone would stop treating me like I'm made of fine bone china.

Poppy has been protective of me since I got back from the London hospital. She comes over every afternoon after school and sits with me. I am impressed with her ability to just be quiet and listen to records, or read and not pressure me into doing anything.

The only time I saw her break was when a right wing politician came on the radio talking about benefit cheats or something and she went into a rant about what a bastard he is. It was almost comical to see her arms moving around in such an animated way. Other than that she has a talent for just letting me be, for which I’m immensely grateful.

"We should do something when we all get back - the whole gang," she says.

I give a little none committal grunt. I'm not sure I’m up to a crowd yet, although I am supposed to be returning to school in the new year anyway. Poppy looks away and her voice goes quiet.

"It's my birthday on the sixth," she says almost in a whisper.

"Oh my GOD! Pops, we've got to celebrate!" Am I squealing? Dear God, I think I am...

Poppy looks happy as she turns around. I guess she must’ve been worrying how I would react. I feel bad; I must’ve been a right moody cow over the last few weeks.

"What do you want to do?" I ask enthusiastically. I see her looking at me strangely then she leans in and kisses me. Her height and the force of the kiss forces me to tilt my head back. I can feel her hand on my leg through the many layers of clothing I am wearing. My body seems to tingle from head to toe. How do girls deal with this? I can hardly sit still.

"What was that for?" I ask feeling all fuzzy and unclear in my head.

"For being so enthusiastic," she smiles, she leans in again and kisses me on the cheek. "You really do have the cheekbones for that hair cut."

I blush. I can only imagine I have gone beetroot red. Poppy puts her arm around me. "I wonder if Dad would let me have a party?"

We talk excitedly, making plans. I want the band to play. We may not be ready, but we could probably get away with just doing a couple of songs. This goes on for quite some time before the dying light and Poppy's need to go home and pack forces us to leave. Even through my warm mittens I can feel the strength of Poppy's fingers as we walk hand in hand. After I have seen her to her door I start to get a minor panic attack about our being separated for a whole week.

We’re driving up separately from the Donaldsons so we can have the use of both cars. I can feel Julia watching me out of the corner of her eye. The traffic was pretty bad coming out of Manchester but now we are on the M6 the route north seems clear. I rest my head against the window closing my eyes and seeing the colours created by the weak December sun coming though my eyelids.

"How are you holding up?" I've come to dread this question. I glance at Julia, who’s trying to look nonchalant.

"I'm okay… recovering," This, I've come to learn, is the safest response. I can see Julia wants more. "Every now and again I completely freak out. This all seems so unreal." I feel myself choke up, raw emotion close to the surface. "Sometimes I imagine I’m back there..." my voice trails off, going very quiet. For a moment I have the urge to break out, to open the car door and fling myself out, desperate to escape, but it passes.

Julia leans over and squeezes my knee. She doesn't say anything. I can see she wants to but I’m glad she doesn't push me.

"Shall we stop at the next service station?" she asks. "Bacon butties for lunch?"

I laugh a little and nod yes. I’m crying. I seem to be doing that a lot recently, only this time it’s out of happiness. I have no idea why I would see motorway service station food as such a treat, but it sounds great.

The cottage is hidden from the road by an old dry-stone-wall. We drive past it several times cursing the sat-nav on Julia's phone before spotting the drive. It’s all worth it when we park and see the view. The hills and the lake stretches out before us. I think I can spot a little boat; I'm not sure which lake it is, though; I'll have to look it up. The water looks dark and forbidding this time of the year but I’m still excited about making a trip down there at some point.

Richard comes out to greet us, smiling broadly. The twins are running around the car trying to get a peek at the presents we’ve brought. Alfie and Oscar look like little Michelin men in their puffer jackets.

"Emmy," asks Oscar, "have you bought me a present?" When I wink at him he grins from ear to ear.

"Any sign of Greta and George?" I hear Julia asking.

"Not yet, it'll be a while," says Richard, "they’re coming all the way from Swansea by train."

"Dear me," Julia replies, "that must take hours. How many changes do they have to make?"

I leave them discussing changing trains at Crewe and go open the boot of the car. The twins help me carry bags into the house, it is sweet how they work together to carry one of the bigger bags. I get a pang of something, maybe nostalgia, but I can't quite put my finger on it.

As we wait for Greta and George to arrive I get settled into my room. It’s the smallest in the cottage, only just big enough for a kid's sized bed. Ruefully I note that I can lie down easily on it. In my past life my feet would hang over the end of any bed smaller than a Queen size. My room is at the end of a corridor, next to it on the left is the double room Greta and George will be sleeping in and on the right is the bedroom the twins will be sharing. My window overlooks a stone pathway that leads down into a clump of trees. The trees are bare, having lost their leaves to autumn a long time ago. I sit on the bed texting Poppy but get frustrated when my phone can't get a signal. I catch a glimpse of myself in the hall mirror. I am wearing my usual skinny jeans and jumper, with a plaid shirt/blouse underneath. I look tomboyish with my pixie cut. I can feel my bra strap pulling at me underneath my clothes; it reinforces how odd I still find this body.

I go downstairs and retrieve my coat. Julia and Richard are in the kitchen discussing what supplies need to be brought. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve and they don't want to have to go out shopping again.

"Don't worry, I'll stop at the big Tesco when I go to pick Greta up," I hear Richard saying.

"That could take hours - Greta and George are going to be knackered," Julia replies.

"Hey guys," I cut in, "I'm heading outside to try and find a better signal." I hold up my phone like they don't know what a mobile looks like.

"Sure sweetheart," says Julia, "just stay close by, we may have to head out in a minute."

With that, I retrieve my duffel coat and Converses and I am gone. There are two paths leading away from the front of the house, one to the left that leads up the hill and one to the right that leads past my bedroom window and down into the trees. I take the one on the left.

I’m walking up the hill with my phone held out in front of me, not really looking where I’m going. I've just got one bar when I trip and stumble on a large rock causing me to topple over. In freefall I roll partway down the hill until a tree stops me.

I get up groaning. I can feel that my left arm is bruised and I’m slightly alarmed to see that there’s a mixture of blood and mud covering my hands. After a few moments searching I’m reassured that Ive only grazed myself. For the next five minutes my heart is in my mouth as I search for my phone. When I do eventually find it I notice the screen is a little chipped, but thankfully it is still functional.

Hobbling a little I make it a bit further up the hill, turn and take a selfie with the lake behind me. It takes a frustratingly long time to send it in a text message to Poppy. When it's done I head back down the hill, this time taking much more care where I’m treading.

"What happened to you?" Julia asks when I step in the door. I look down and see that, while my coat isn't too bad, my jeans are completely caked in mud.

"Took a trip," I say smiling, holding my arms out like a scarecrow. "I lost my footing and slipped," I clarify.

"Staring at that phone no doubt," Julia accuses me shrewdly.

"No," I reply, unconvincingly.

"You better go up and shower," Julia says, rolling her eyes at me.

I head back to my room from the shower feeling a lot better. There's something about hot water and this sensitive skin. My skin is glowing, partly from the heat and partly because I have Poppy on my mind as I wash. Once back in my room I pull out my two suitcases. Girls have so much more to take with them when they go away. Julia packed my bags as I had to go to get checked over by Doctor Fields the day before we left. I don’t think she trusted me to bring everything I would need. She was suspicious I'd deliberately leave behind some part of my feminine grooming regime. Speaking of which, I notice a pink pack of tampons, a delightful reminder of what mother nature has waiting for me in about a week's time.

As I rummage through both the cases I notice something strange; apart from the jeans I wore here I have no trousers at all. Damn Julia, she’s packed dresses, skirts and one pair of very small denim shorts which I guess I'm supposed to wear with thick winter tights. Damn her, I’m going to have to go dressed all girly for the rest of the holidays. This can't be a coincidence.

After looking at the options for a while I settle on the red A-line dress I wore to the restaurant. At least the colour’s festive and it goes with the silly Christmas jumper Esse got me. I laugh a little as I see the dumb looking knitted reindeer smiling back at me. Once dressed I go back downstairs ready to give Julia a piece of my mind, if I can only get her on her own.

All four of them are in the living room, Richard on his mobile (obviously his provider can get better reception up here) and Julia sitting on the floor playing with the twins. As I sit on the sofa I notice Julia giving me an odd look. It takes a few seconds for me to work out that I need to keep my legs together.

"Are you okay, Emma?" asks Richard as he puts his phone away. I must be bright red again.

"Er sure, I just came out of the shower," I stammer. Richard looks unconvinced but lets it go.

"Greta's one stop away from the train station. Who wants to come with me to pick up their sister?" He aims the last bit at the two boys, both of whom shake their head. I don't blame them, it looks frightful out there.

"We need to do some shopping as well," says Julia, looking uncertainly at the two boys.

"Would you prefer to go with Julia?" asks Richard and again they both shake their heads. He looks tired and exasperated. "I guess I can do both..." he starts.

"I could look after the twins," I offer, "I bet they really just want to stay in the warm with me and Sponge Bob" They are mad for Sponge Bob, and who could blame them?

Both boys look hopefully between Richard and myself.

"I don't know..." starts Julia.

"Come on, it'll be fine, you know you can trust me," I say to her trying to assuage her worries.

"I don't know, you haven't been back long, not since your..." she trails off again; I can see even thinking about my kidnapping is bringing her close to tears, which touches me.

"Look, I'm not some fragile little doll. I can handle an hour alone with these two. I am sure they’ll be as good as gold." As if on cue, bothboys look up at Richard and Julia with angelic expressions.

Julia and Richard look at each other, clearly close to folding, so I go for the kill, "One of you doing both the shopping and picking up Greta and George will take ages. It'll be much quicker if one does the shopping and the other goes to the station. Let me help."

Richard shrugs his shoulders. I've won!

"Thanks, Emma," he says before heading out.

As they get ready to leave I slide down on to the floor next to the boys, being careful to keep my legs together this time. Oscar picks up one of his toy cars and drives it over my arms and shoulders, making car noises as he goes. Once I hear the front door closing I turn to them both.

"Okay, what sort of game shall we play," I say with as much enthusiasm as I can muster; I’m determined to prove that I’m up to this.

"Hide and seek!" shouts Oscar, his brother jumping up in agreement almost immediately.

"Okay then, you two go and hide. I'll count to ten and then come and find you!" I say. They both run off in howls of laughter. I put my hands over my eyes and count down from ten in an exaggerated manner. It’s not altogether hard to find them as they’re both cackling like mad. Still, I have to walk around the room a couple of times to make it look less easy.

"Okay," says Oscar, when I've found them both, "now it’s your turn!" and he points at me in an exaggerated manner.

His brother joins in, "You go hide upstairs!"

"Okay," I say, running off.

I can hear them counting (missing a few numbers, the little rascals) as I look for somewhere to hide. In what will be Greta's room I spot an old- fashioned lampshade, the sort with the fussy tassels around the bottom. I figure I'll give the boys a laugh and put it on my head, standing straight like a lamp my hands at my side. I can hear them whispering as they climb the stairs. I smile to myself as they walk from room to room. I know when they have found me because I hear Alfie laughing, then the lampshade being pulled off my head.

Oscar is howling with laughter but Alfie points at me, "That's not what you’re supposed to do!" He sounds annoyed. "Hide properly!" he orders.

"Okay, okay," I say to mollify him, "I'll go and hide again."

The boys stay in Greta's room as I search for somewhere new to hide. I notice the door to their room is open and I spy an old wardrobe, the sort from the 1940s or 50s, with dark wood and a little bronze lock and key. I know it’s where the boys keep their toys and clothes, but seeing as they are all over the floor it must be empty. I climb inside, curling up into a little ball and pulling the door shut, but with just a tiny crack so I can see out.

I sit there a while before I hear their little footsteps. They wander around the room whispering things like, " Look under the bed," and "Under the sheets!" Eventually they get close to the wardrobe. I can hear them whispering and laughing but I can't make out what they’re saying. Alfie comes close to the door, I can see his little face smiling through the crack and I am convinced I am about to be discovered. Then it goes dark. I hear a click and the boys running out in fits of giggles.

It takes me a moment to realise what has happened. I push against the door but it doesn't budge. I give it a harder shove but still nothing. I don't have the strength in either my arms or my legs to break out.

"Help!" I shout, feeling panic taking hold of my body, "please boys, let me out!" Even through the rising fear I hate how pathetic my voice sounds. I’m sure I can feel them their standing just around the doorway.

"Please," I say more as a sob than a word. The wind blows the long curtains and the thin strip of light coming from under the door flickers. A dark part of my mind imagines a man standing on the other side, someone like Luka who threatened to sexually assault me. I know it isn't true but visceral fear has taken over from logic and I begin shouting and screaming and trying to kick out.

Immediately I realise it’s a mistake; I hear the boys running off down the stairs in tears but I can't help myself. I’m crying and shaking and I have to hug myself to try and calm down. I don't know how long it takes but it seems like a very long time indeed.

Finally I am calm enough to take stock of the situation. My emotions are near the surface and likely to explode at any time. I can hear the TV on downstairs and try to call out to Oscar and Alfie but my voice is too weak and I think I must have scared them too much.

I feel like an idiot - if I had stayed calm the boys would have probably let me out in a few minutes, but this reminds me too much of my former captivity. It’s probably only half an hour before I hear the front door opening, but it feels much longer. I’ve had to struggle the whole time to keep from being overwhelmed by irrational fear again.

I hear voices in the hallway, the boys are saying something and then I hear hurried feet on the stairs. It’s only moments before the wardrobe door opens and I see Julia, Greta, George and Richard standing there looking down at me. I must look a complete state with tears running down my eyes. Richard helps me up.

"Did the boys do this to you?" he asks , anger in his voice. I nod, stifling back a tear. "Right, the little buggers!" he says and storms off downstairs.

I’m surprised when Greta takes hold of me and gives me a hug. I feel her breasts pressing into my chin and neck and mine into her flat stomach. It gives me a little jolt of electricity, shutting the panic out of my mind and finally calming me down. After I've settled a little, Julia speaks to me.

"Emma, that was really irresponsible," Huh?! I hadn't expected that.

"Those little buggers locked me in a wardrobe," I say indignantly and I notice Greta and George sliding away. "I had a bloody panic attack!" I'm on a roll now. "I was having flashbacks to the kidnapping."

I see the colour draining from her face; she knows I have hardly spoken directly about my experience.

"I know darling," she says, her voice soft and low but determined as she makes a move to come towards me, "but you shouldn't have got in the wardrobe like that. What if one of the boys had copied you? They could have suffocated before we found them."

I hadn't thought of that and now I feel bad as well as spooked. I can feel my mouth forming a pouty expression and the tears starting again. Then I feel Julia's arms around me.

"It's okay honey, no one expects you to be ready to take on any responsibility just yet. You need to take little steps, one at a time." Her voice is soothing to me and I start to cry again. Partly it’s a release of tension and emotions, but it’s also out of frustration. I shouldn't keep fucking up like this.

We go downstairs where the boys look ashen faced; I guess their dad just let them have it. There are tears all around, but we hug and make up. Alfie and Oscar even let me read them a story. We sit together on the big armchair as I give them my best rendition of the Gruffalo. Stroking Oscar's messy hair de-stresses me and gives me an odd sense of contentment.

Christmas Eve is here and the house is mostly quiet. The boys are being as good as possible, aware that the judgement of Santa is upon them. Richard and Julia are curled up on the sofa both with large glasses of wine.

Greta and George have been upstairs for a little too long on their own. Wrapping presents they claim. None of us has mentioned it but I can tell Richard is more than a little uneasy. When they finally come downstairs I notice George has a different shirt on. Greta is wearing the same jumper dress and tights, only her hair looks a little dishevelled. She looking amazing as always and I note it has an effect on me. Is it arousal, or jealousy, or perhaps both? As she reaches up to put her long blond hair into a ponytail I feel my mind go a little fuzzy.

That makes me think about Poppy, and the fact she'll be sixteen soon. I feel a warmth radiating around my private parts, but also a sense of confusion. What does that mean; is it wrong for me to fancy a sixteen year old? The kidnapping took all discussion of such things off the table but it won't be long before Poppy wants to do more than just kiss and hold hands. With all this going through my mind I haven't noticed that Greta just asked me something.

"Sorry, I didn't catch that," I say.

"Would you like to come to the pub with us?" she says again, looking at Richard and Julia to see if they’re automatically going to object.

"Fine by me," Richard says, looking at Julia; they must have caught the excited look on my face.

"I guess so." She gets up and walks over to the coat stand. I wonder what she’s doing for a moment before she produces a twenty pound note and hands it to Greta.

"Just look after Emma." I begin to protest but Julia stops me. "Not because she isn't responsible, but because she's been through a very traumatic experience recently and anyone would need looking after in the same situation."

I’m mollified a little, although I don't know why Julia couldn't have given me the money. I'm not keen to push it any further as I don't want miss out on drinking with Greta and George. Just going to the pub seems thrillingly adult after three months of enforced teenage life. Once Julia has turned away George leans towards me.

"Do you have any ID?" he asks quietly. The three of us look at the boys playing but they don't seem interested.

"I do," I reply. It's one of the few nods to my former adult self that Julia has let me keep. I suddenly stop and look down at myself. I’m wearing leggings and an old t-shirt of Julia's that’s like a dress on me.

"I've got to change!" I blurt out. George and Greta laugh, I guess at the expression on my face. I can see Julia smiling out of the corner of my eye. No doubt my typical teenage girl response has amused her.

"Try not to be long," George says with a sigh; I can imagine Greta keeps him waiting quite often.

"No more than half an hour," Greta says, squeezing my arm.

"Okay," I say and then hurtle up the stairs.

What to wear? I’m saving the red-blue tartan skirt and black jumper for tomorrow, because they’re comfortable and I just want to be able to veg out and relax. There's that damn PVC mini skirt I got in so much trouble over, but I don't think it's really appropriate for a country pub. Then there's the little green mini dress Poppy made me buy from the second hand shop. It has the look of the 60s to it, which is an era I've always liked. I've not wanted to wear it, fearing how much of my body will be left exposed, but for some reason I have a real desire to impress Greta and her boyfriend. Maybe because they’re a little older than I’m supposed to be I really want their acceptance.

I swallow my fears and go for it. Knickers, bra and black tights all on I slowly pull the dress on over the top of my head. The material is thin and clingy. It holds on to every part of my body, showing no mercy. My breasts jut out and my thighs have never seemed rounder. There's nothing of the tomboy left, just a girl. I check myself in the mirror, not at all sure if I can pull this off.

"You look great." I get a start; I didn't realise Julia was standing there. "Perhaps you should wear this cardigan if you feel a little self conscious about being stared at," she says, handing me a thin black garment that I accept gratefully.

"You made me jump," I say reproachfully. She puts a hand on my arm in reassurance.

"I thought maybe you might need a little help with your make-up," she says. I can see she’s keen to be involved; I guess this is the sort of mother-daughter stuff she has always dreamed of.

"That'd be great," I answer.

"Come with me then," Julia takes my hand and leads me into the bathroom. She sits me down on the toilet with the seat and lid down. She then takes a bag of various make-up stuff from the top of the little cabinet and sits on the edge of the bath.

She makes me hold still while she chooses various different potions and applies them to my face. She keeps up a running commentary on what she’s using, but most of it goes in one ear and out the other. I notice she’s focussing a lot on my eyes. It’s strange feeling the gntle pressure of her brush against my closed eyelids. I hear George calling up for me from downstairs and Julia replying that I’m nearly ready.

"You always tell them you’re nearly ready, no matter what," Julia tells me, clearly enjoying herself.

"I remember," I say with a sly smile and we both laugh.

"Hmm," she says, leaning back to admire her handiwork, "not bad, even if I do say so myself." She smiles and lets me get up to look in the mirror. The tomboy is completely gone; even with the short hair I look completely feminine. I feel both embarrassed and excited.

"Right kiddo," Julia says as she pulls me away, "Cinderella is going to the ball."

She marches me down the stairs where Greta and George are waiting for me. I notice Greta has changed as well and is now wearing a shift dress teamed with small heels. Something about her heels niggles at my competitive urge, maybe because it adds emphasis to my position as the shortest of the group. I am going to have to make do with my Converses.

"Wow," says George, earning himself a little glare from Greta.

"You look amazing," she says generously, "you look like you stepped out of a French film from the 60s!"

"Here," says Julia going over to the coat rack, “you can borrow my spare handbag to keep your things in.” She hands me the bag she uses for special occasions. It's the bag Julia uses for hiding the cigarettes she only smokes when she's really stressed. She thinks I don’t know, but I do.

I've refused having a handbag so far, but this dress doesn't give me any options pocket wise so I accept, putting it over my shoulder once I have my coat and trainers on. Richard is just coming down as we leave. I suspect they are very glad to have a few hours to themselves. I'm not entirely sure how I feel about leaving my ex wife with her new lover.

If you've ever seen the film ‘American Werewolf in London’ then you'll know that scene when the two young American backpackers enter The Slaughtered Lamb to be stared at by the locals. This is how I feel as we enter the Cumbrian Arms. I’m glad of my coat as it feels like all eyes are looking me over. We get carded when George goes to the bar. The barman looks at all three, but spends the most time looking over mine before relenting with a shrug. I feel relieved when we leave the bar with our pints and can go find a quiet corner.

We sit at a little round table, barely big enough to fit us all. I let Greta and George tell me about university. Greta has only completed one term and is still wildly excited about it all. I smile inwardly as I sip my pint; I watch her hands flying around expressing how amazing everything is. She repeatedly reassures me how much better college and university are than school and how she can tell I’m going to love it. George is in his second year and is a little less in awe of the whole experience. He talks about all the great things, but also warns me about dodgy landlords and banks trying to get you hooked on credit cards.

There's a small group of local lads playing pool across the room. I notice that they keep looking over towards Greta and me and I’m glad ofGeorge's presence with his broad shoulders. I’m happy to take a backseat, I find, and as they talk I enjoy watching them interact. Their body language is close; Greta keeps gently touching George, on his arm and knee. George is subtle, but I can see he's angled his body in a way that’s protective of her.

The conversation bubbles along nicely. I only need to ask the odd question, like how they met, and they do all the work. Greta gets up, saying she will go to the toilet then buy the next round. After she's gone, George turns to me.

"Greta is very impressed with you," he says and I feel a little spike of pride.

"Oh I am sure she thinks I'm just some silly girl," I reply, taking another sip of my beer; I’m only halfway down the pint, far behind the other two. I hope George doesn't notice that I am shamelessly fishing for compliments.

"She's told everyone about you at university," he expands, "Oh not about the, you know, terrible thing," - he must have noticed the look of fear on my face – "but about you being out and being so cool," he reassures me. There’s a moment of slight embarrassment that George breaks by asking if I fancied a game of pool. I look around to see if the pool table is free.

The first game goes quickly. George beats me easily as I struggle to come to terms with the difference in height since the last time I played. I also find my breasts get in the way, and that I am too distracted by my short dress rising up when I have to lean over the table. It’s all over before Greta returns from the bar.

"Are you showing off in front of Emmy?" she chides him. She turns to me. "George spent most of his first year in the Student Union's pool room," she explains. He certainly is good, but I want a rematch.

This time I’m a little better, having adjusted to my new height and body shape a bit. I get the impression that George is going easy on me; however, even with him fluffing a few shots I still have two yellow balls on the table when he pots the black.

"Here," he says, handing his cue to Greta, "why don't you two play the next game?"

I'd have rather stood down but Greta seems keen so I stay on. As Greta sorts out the triangle I notice the local lads returning. They seem very interested in the two of us playing. I look over at George and feel a little uneasy when I notice that he's heading towards the toilet.

I am impressed with how confidently Greta ignores them. After I miss an easy shot she comes over and whispers to me, "Don't let them get to you."

I nod and continue. For the next few shots I stay calm and play well. The boys mostly keep out of our way but with the room being small we have to brush by when move around the table. As I squeeze past one lad, who’s tall, wiry and wearing a baseball cap even though he's inside and English, I feel an unmistakable bulge pressing against my arse. I turn around angrily but he holds his hands up in apology.

"Sorry luv, couldn't be helped," he says.I can see smirks on the faces of his friends and I’m left with the age-old quandary for women - do I react and be branded a bitch or do I say nothing and allow him to get away with it?

"No worries," I say with a forced smile, "I didn't feel a thing."

His mates fall about laughing and I see Greta giggling across the table. Still I am relieved when I see George returning from the toilet. Our game takes a while as neither of us is playing very well. After we finish (Greta wins but at least I am on the black) I go and sit down at our table and let the happy couple play. I am pleased to see the group of lads have dispersed and, while I hate any suggestion I am a 'damsel' in need of saving, I am pleased that George is here.

After they finish their first game I wave them on to play a second. I say I need the toilet and inwardly sigh with the knowledge that I'll be using the Ladies again. On the way back I bump into Tall and Wiry again.

"Bitch," he says. I notice he’s very drunk; I look for Greta and George and see them in the distance, but they don't see me.

"Look, just leave me alone," I say ,hoping he'll give up.

"Why do you dress like that if you don't want the attention," with real venom in his voice. He grabs my arm and I am only too aware how much larger he is.

"I'll dress how I like," I say, but he increases his grip."Ow, that hurts!"

I see him laugh disdainfully, and it all boils up. Everything I've been through in the last few months. Jessie, Luka, and all the small indignities. Why should I have to put up with any of it? And now this ignorant fucker is sneering at me like I don't matter. I’ve done it before I even realise.

"Arrgh, you fucking bitch!" I doubt the kick was as hard as all that but he wasn't expecting it and he's too drunk. He clutched his shin and topples backward slamming into a table behind him.

"Don't you dare fucking touch me you little prick!" I scream; the whole pub is looking now. A large man from behind the bar comes and drags Tall and Wiry up off the floor.

"That's the last time, Darren. You’re bared!" Darren tries to protest but the barman turns to me, cutting him off. "Sorry about this miss. Darren’s an alright lad when he's sober but he's an arsehole when he's drunk." Darren tries to speak again but the barman warns him that he'll call his dad.

I watch smugly as Darren is dragged away, the cocky young man reduced to a pleading child. Greta and George are next to me; Greta envelops me in a hug. George looks like he wants to thump someone and I’m pleased to see Darren's mates slinking away.

"Frigging hell, I could do with a fag," Greta says releasing me from her arms, "d’you have any?" she says to George. He shakes his head no, then something occurs to me.

"Hey, I think Mum keeps some spare in her handbag." I grab the bag and rummage around. My hand falls on something plastic and long. Not knowing what it is, I pull it out.

Greta and I stand there staring at the used pregnancy test. Correction - the used, positive pregnancy test.

"Well, now I really do need a smoke," says Greta.

First day back at school. I’m not even through the school gates yet and my nerves are on edge. I walk in with Poppy and Esse, letting them talk as I keep quiet. I can feel the gaze of the parents at the gate following me. Poppy tells me that Mr Dixon had held a special assembly before the Christmas break where he explained what had happened to me and how everyone should look out for me. I know it was done for all the right reasons but now I’m super aware that I am the centre of attention once more.

I see Jessie and her little gang waiting near the entrance to the main school building. They all look my way; Jessie in particular seems to be eyeing me up. They disperse before we get there.

Our form room is as noisy as ever. Most people ignore me, which I’m pleased about. I sit with Poppy near the window discussing all the comings and goings while I've been away. Poppy thinks Peter and Esse maybe starting a thing together.

Mr Hulse silences us all by launching into a long speech about our GCSE exams at the end of the year. I look around my classmates seeing their strained expressions. Even Jessie can't find anything sarcastic to say. It hits me that I’m going to have to take this seriously as well. I doubt they'd let me use my original results from two decades ago when applying to colleges and later universities.

Classes pass easily enough. After being read the riot act over GCSEs by their form tutors most of the kids are subdued. A boy called Cian sits next to me in history; I notice how full his exercise book is compared to my nearly empty one.

When the lunch bell rings I go to find Poppy and the gang. In one of the narrow corridors I am stopped by a short Asian girl, even shorter than me.

"Hi Emma," she says, unable to look directly at me.

"Err hi," I cast around for her name, "Pui?"

I must have guessed correctly because she continues, "I just wanted to say..." she stops, her courage seemingly giving up.

"Is it urgent?" I reply, only too aware my precious lunch break is ticking away.

She looks me directly in the eyes, I see fear there, "I just wanted to say I’m sorry about the whole thing with the lunch table," she says almost in one breathe.

I look her up and down. I hadn't even realised she was one of them.

"Thanks," I say not sure if this is some sort of trick. She breathes out in relief. "Can I ask you why you did it?" She squirms a little under my gaze. "I mean, it's not like I did anything to you."

I can see her thinking about things, "I don't know really," she sighs,"it wasn't about you," she pauses. I can see on her face that she is struggling, "I just wanted to be popular."

"Well, thanks for apologising," I say in what I hope is a genuine voice, "I appreciate it."

"Thanks," she beams at me, "you know, if you want to sit next to me in maths that'd be cool," she finishes and then scurries off before I get the chance to reply.

Tuesday evening and I am waiting for Poppy behind the art block. She has extra life drawing classes that she attends as she is hoping to go on and study Fashion next year.

I have already run home and changed out of my school clothes but even with the thick jumper and duffel coat I can feel the cold wind going through me. I turn around the corner into the little courtyard created where the art block meets the library. Through the windows of the library I spot a group of kids working. I know the library is where they hold the after school detentions. To my amusement I spot Jessie amongst them. I stay out of sight watching them talk. I can't hear them obviously but I enjoy the thought that I’ve had time to go home, change and come back while Jessica has been stuck here.

I see them getting up and realise with a start that they will be coming out soon. I don't want to be caught here so I step inside the door of the art block and wait for them to come past. I think about hiding in the toilets but decide it isn't necessary. There’s no reason for anyone to come in here.

There is a mixture of expressions on the faces of the kids; some look brow beaten and fed up, others relieved to finally be leaving school. Most leave quickly but Jessica sits down on the concrete step opposite where I am hiding. I see her take out a packet of cigarettes and light one. Thankfully she doesn't look forward but glances off to the side, in the direction of the car park. It’s clear she is waiting for someone. She chain-smokes three cigs in a row before the person she is waiting for arrives. It’s a woman in a well-worn rainproof coat. The woman's hair is tied up in a ponytail; her hair looks limp and lifeless. I can't see much of her as she has her back to me but I do notice her movements are slow and clumsy. My guess is that she’s drunk.

I hear only the odd bits of their conversation but I do catch Jessie calling the woman 'Mum'. She fiddles with her mother's coat, readjusting the lapels and straightening out the creases. Her movements are soft and caring. Anyone would think Jessie is the caring parent and not the other way round. I move closer to the little window in the door wanting to see more. I have to lean against to door to peer through. My weight causes the door to open a little making me spring back in fear of being caught. This is the wrong thing to do as it means the door swings back, making a banging noise.

I look up through the little window quickly and see Jessie looking my way. Our eyes meet for a fraction of a second and then I dash away. I wait outside the door of Poppy's class expecting Jessie to appear at any second, but she doesn't.

Eventually Poppy comes out with the rest of her class, six in total. She’s surprised but pleased to find me waiting outside the classroom door. I lie and say it was too cold to wait outside. One of the boys jokes that I wanted to catch a glimpse of the nude model. We all laugh and leave together, Poppy holding my hand.

I half expect Jessie to be waiting for me outside but she has gone. We walk to Peter's house to meet the others. On the way I stay quiet, letting Poppy talk excitedly about the movement drawings they have been doing. My mind is elsewhere, wondering about Jessie and her mother.

As we wait outside Peter's, Poppy pins me against the wall and pretend interrogates me on what I’ve bought her for her birthday; it’s only just over a week away now.