You Bet!

Part 6

By Kim Johns

---

 
Of course, the next morning my mother wanted to hear all about the party, and we three sat around the breakfast table discussing how successful it had been, giggling and laughing at the triumphant outcome. It reminded me a bit of the three witches in that Shakespeare play.

Neither Jean nor I mentioned the Laura incident, it seemed best forgotten, although I couldn’t help feeling a little sad — no, make that incredibly wretched - that such a beautiful girl preferred her own sex, especially as I had felt we were getting on so well. However, that was probably because she didn’t realise I was male. Had she worked it out, I would more than likely have been limping home singing soprano.

Eventually Jean, after congratulating me once again on a deception well played, finally decided it was time to make her way home; the remainder of Sunday dragged by, and before I knew it here came Monday and work again!

It was just as well work intervened, keeping my mind busy during the day, because my next few nights were still long, sleepless and worrying. I had difficulty believing what had happened to me over the past seven days. I had been my mother’s daughter, traipsed around publicly dressed in girl’s clothes, seduced my best friend to a point where I had felt obliged to give him a blow job for fear he would realise he was lusting after a bloke, and been so convincing as a female that a lovely, attractive lesbian had been ready and willing to spend time with me!

I was baffled and confused. There was absolutely no doubt in my mind that I had enjoyed spending those moments as a girl, that I had felt really comfortable wearing the light and sensual materials that made up female clothing, and that I had revelled in the different outlook on life that I had begun to feel by mixing with and acting as one of the female gender; so much so that I was beginning to have serious doubts about my own sexuality.

On the other hand, I knew my body still desired Jean - a waste of time after her one-off gift to me because Barry was still king there! — and I continued to enjoy watching other women and fantasising over them. And I still really rated Laura. Had she not been what she was, I could have worshipped at her feet forever. What exactly was it that was wrong with me?

I found myself wandering zombie-like into my mother’s bedroom on more than one occasion, unable to help myself, and staring blindly at the box on top of her wardrobe where we had stored Kim’s clothes, imagining myself once more the belle of the ball.

More than once I had lifted it down and removed the lid, running my hands through the light, sensual fabrics within and inhaling the faint whiff of perfume that still clung to them. It had taken a more than superhuman effort not to succumb to the temptation to dress in them again.

In the evenings I frequently noticed my mother gazing at me from the corner of her eye, although she said nothing. I knew she had noticed my withdrawn and thoughtful behaviour. She made no more mention of my success with the bet, but I had the strangest feeling she was often just a hair’s breadth away from asking me to become Kim again.

What would have been my reaction had she asked? I couldn’t think about it, didn’t dare consider it; my mind wasn’t able to cope with the possibilities that had been brought to life by this simple youthful prank. There was more going on here than met the eye.

I was no Freud, but I was having to try to come to terms with who and what I was, or wanted to be, and my brain, never the best of organs, was struggling with the options that, suddenly, had revealed themselves to me as being available, and dare I say it, desirable.

On the Wednesday evening things came to a head. We had finished clearing up after dinner, and were, as usual, sitting watching the brain-drain machine in the corner of the room, sipping our evening choice of alcoholic tipple.

My mother, again as usual, had been giving me those corner-of-the-eye glances, which I had ignored. I was still immersed in my own deep thoughts, trying to work out the confusion.

“Penny for them.”

I looked up. “What?”

“Penny for your thoughts,” repeated my mother.

“Oh…nothing,” I offered generously.

“Nothing? Has it just been nothing these last few days, then?”

“What do you mean?”

She smiled at me, you know, that motherly smile that suggests she knows far more about your own thoughts than you do.

“John, since the weekend you’ve said no more than two words to me. If you’re not hiding in your bedroom you’re sitting down here, just like tonight, pretending to watch that flickering screen but in reality lost in your own little world! What’s up, doc?”

I shifted uncomfortably. “Oh, nothing really. Just thinking.”

“Anything I can help with?”

Temptation lured me. Should I share my troubles with her? After all, that’s what mothers were for. I was sorely troubled, and I didn’t think she would laugh at me with scorn, but did I really want to bare my soul to her?

“OK,” she said, “How about this? You’ve been obsessed with something since the weekend. Over the weekend you first of all became Kim on Friday night, then Saturday night. I know both evenings went well, because you told me so. But you’ve been thinking a lot about something since then, and it’s worrying you. I deduce, Watson, that it’s something to do with that girl.”

“All right, Holmes,” I said, “You’ve worked out that much; see if you can work out the rest.”

Mum leaned back in her chair and made a lattice-work steeple with her fingers, pursing her lips as she did so. Then she astounded me.

“I think,” she began, “That you enjoyed being Kim for me during the week. I think you were surprised to find you enjoyed being her on Friday and Saturday. I think you miss being her now, and would like to be her again. I also think that you are frightened and don’t understand your longing. You’re afraid you might be turning into a sissy.”

I blushed at her accuracy. “How do you do that?” I asked. “Have you been reading tea-leaves again?”

“Am I right?”

I sighed. “Of course. Mum, I think something’s wrong with me. I keep going to that blasted box in your bedroom and wondering whether to dress up again — wanting, as you so rightly say, to be that damn girl again! Then I think, if I do, what will you say? What will you do? Will you give me a slap and tell me not to be so silly, or laugh like a drain? I’m scared at what I’m feeling.”

“You think I’d make fun of you?”

I shook my head. “Not really. I don’t know. I’m frightened that I’m not normal!”

Mum looked at me with her head on one side. “What’s normal?”

I shrugged.

“If I ask you a question, will you give me an honest answer?”

Where was this leading? I looked at her blankly. “I…think so.”

“OK. Do you really, in your heart of hearts, want to be Kim again?”

My face felt as if it was doing its hot boiler impression again. I think you could have poached an egg on my cheeks. I was silent for a few moments, thinking fiercely. This was honesty time. If I couldn’t tell my mother, who could I tell?

I nodded slowly. “Yes, mum, I think I do.”

“Sure?”

I nodded again. “Sure. Is there something wrong with me? Do you think I’ve gone crazy?”

She placed her drink on the side table and stood up. Holding out her hand she said “Come with me.”

What now? Obediently I stood and took her outstretched hand. She led me out of the room.

In her bedroom, she sat me on the bed, and while I watched in astonishment she lifted down the box containing Kim’s clothes.

“Just remember one thing, John,” she said. “I love you as my son, and I’m proud of you. I also loved you as my daughter Kim, but that is not why I’m doing this. This has to be for you.” She placed the box beside me on the bed. “I’m going to get another drink. I won’t tell you to think hard and long about things because you’ve already been doing that for days, but try and make some sort of a decision. I won’t mind who joins me in the living room, whoever it is will still be my child.”

As I tried to speak she placed a finger on my lips.

“Remember,” she repeated, “This has to be for you.”

She left the room, and I sat and stared at the box. I knew my mother had enjoyed Kim being her daughter, but I was confident that she wasn’t trying to pressure me into repeating the role. She wanted me to be sure in my own mind what it was I really wanted.

But of course, that was the problem. Did I really know what I wanted? Still, I had been brooding for too long. She was right. Time to make up my mind what route I wanted to take here. If I dressed now, I still wouldn’t be burning my male boats. It wasn’t as if there was no turning back. Tomorrow I would still be John again at work. Could I have the best of both worlds? Is that what mum was really trying to tell me?

Hesitantly I rested the palm of my hand on the lid of the box. I could feel two forces at work on me, an imp-sized John on my right shoulder whispering in my ear “Don’t do it; resist. You are what you are,” whilst on my left shoulder a Christmas tree fairy-sized Kim seduced me with “You are what you want to be.”

The lid slipped easily off the box, revealing the clothing within. I gently sifted through those feminine garments, a strange and subtle longing rising from within me to surface in a sudden decision.

I hastily stripped off and stared at my naked body in the full-length mirror. No doubt there. I was unashamedly male in the fullest physical sense of the word, and my penis was quivering at half-mast, excited no doubt by the prospects of what might happen next.

I closed my eyes and reached into the deepest parts of my mind, praying for some sort of divine guidance. None came, but I suddenly knew what I had to do.

I slipped the silky panties on with trembling hands, pulling them around me and, with a little difficulty, arranged my semi-erect member in its hiding place between my legs. Oh, the sensuous feeling as the soft material glided into place over my still-smooth legs! My mind and my vision had become curiously tunnelled, focussed only on the here and now.

With an unaccustomed ease I pulled the matching bra around me and secured it, slipping my arms through the straps and tugging it gently into place. The breast forms were snug against my chest as I slipped them into the bra cups, chill at first but soon warming to body temperature.

Wriggling in what I hoped might, to an outside observer, be construed as a sexy movement, I eased the black tights gently up my legs and over my hips, stretching them securely into my crotch where they provided extra strength in maintaining my manhood firmly out of sight.

The lightest of touches of eye make-up and lipstick, and the shift dress settled easily over my head and around my eager body. It was like coming home again, feeling the familiar yet alien clothing accommodating my bodily desire. I knew Kim had awoken from her light doze and was alert, watching me with interest if not delight.

Slipping the low-heeled shoes on I sat and manipulated the wig into place after brushing it carefully. I made it fast as Jean had shown me, and shook my head. It stayed put. I realised my heart was beating fast, and there was a strange but pleasurable ache in my groin.

A swift rummage discovered the small stud ear-rings, and my fingers fumbled a little with excitement as I fitted them in place. A ring on one finger of each hand, a critical glance into the mirror and a gentle pat to my hair, and here I (Kim) was, back in the world again.

Kim smiled at me, pleased to be here, and I realised just how much I loved her, not in a narcissistic way but as my alter ego, the female side of me.

I stood up and gave an exaggerated twirl and no, my bum didn’t look at all big in the dress! I once more, in fact, looked the babe I had always accepted Kim to be. I revelled in the feeling as the clothes brushed my body, soft, exciting and so right.

I had indeed come home.
 

*          *          *
 
My mother made no comment when I returned to the living room, but the flickering light from the television revealed a sudden moistness in her eyes as she looked up and saw me. She smiled.

“Bring your chair over here, beside mine,” she suggested, “And we can talk.”

I did as she suggested while she poured us both another drink, and then we sat and looked at each other. Mum raised her glass.

“Hello, Kim,” she said.

My own glass tinkled musically against hers, the liquid within swaying slightly at the movement.

“Hello, mum.”

She sighed softly and took a sip, then leaned back in her chair.

“Kim and John, John and Kim,” she half-whispered, staring unseeingly at the ceiling.

“Mum?”

She turned to me earnestly. “It doesn’t matter to me who you want to be,” she said, “You are still my child. If I came home one night to John, then that’s good, and I’m happy. If I came home another night and found Kim, that’s equally as good. Be who you want to be, dear, whenever you want to.”

Her words reassured me. It sounded very much as I had thought — I could indeed have the best of both worlds, John’s and Kim’s. I was silent for a moment. “You don’t think it odd that, as a boy, I would want to dress as a girl?”

A faint smile flickered across her lips. “They are only clothes. You are who you are, and what you wear won’t change that.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

I relaxed in my chair and let the warm, comforting feelings slip over me. I felt so right being Kim. I may not want to be her tomorrow, but that was another day, and Kim had as much of a right to her share of the world as John did. My mother didn’t object, and that was good enough for me. At the moment, this would do. I didn’t want to look ahead to see where it might lead.
 

*          *          *
 
On Thursday I got a phone call from Jean.

“Are you up for Friday night as usual?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I said slowly. “I haven’t heard from either of the guys, but regardless of that I’m wondering whether a meet is going to be an awfully good idea.”

“Well,” she said, “I think they were expecting to hear from you, according to Barry. They assumed that if you did attend the party as planned you’d be on the phone straight away crowing about it.”

“So Barry thinks, because I’ve kept quiet, that I didn’t do it?”

“Yes; he thinks he’s won the bet, and if he thinks that, then so does Harry.”

“Was Barry hassling you about it, then?”

“Of course. He tried all ways to get out of me whether you went or not. I told him he’s got to wait until we all meet up, then he can ask you himself.”

“Bet he didn’t like that.”

“No, but it made him be extra nice to me, trying to get it out of me. Didn’t work, though.”

“So you still think they didn’t make the connection?”

“Connection?”

“You know, I wasn’t there on Friday, but Kim was? A bit like never seeing Superman and Clark Kent at the same time!”

Jean giggled. “Hmm. I know what you mean. Well, I don’t think they did, and knowing Barry, if he had I’m sure he would have said something.”

“I’m still worried. I think Harry might have clicked.”

“Well, you did get rather close to him,” she commented dryly.

“Don’t remind me. I shudder every time I think of it.”

“All I can say about that,” Jean continued, “Is that Harry has been in touch with Barry during the week raving about how great Kim is. He is totally smitten with her. You might have to start looking at wedding dresses!”

“Don’t joke about it,” I said sharply. “He’s really going to get a let-down tomorrow night when we tell him the truth.”

The girl laughed. “Serve him right, the way he’s treated some of his girl-friends in the past. You’ll be standing up for the sisterhood by bringing him down to earth.”

“Yeah, but he’s my mate,” I said. “We ought to have told them Friday night who I really was. I don’t mind telling you, Jeannie, I’m worried as hell about facing Harry.”

There was a silence. Finally, “Yes, I see what you mean. How is Harry going to react when he finds out it wasn’t Kim — a girl — who…pleasured him on Friday night, but his best friend, a bloke?”

“Exactly. I can’t say I’m over the moon about the thought of owning up to that little scene!”

“So you think not turning up will solve it?”

“No, it won’t. I’ve got to see them at some time or another. I just wonder whether it might be better to let them think I didn’t do it.”

“Didn’t do what?”

“Go to the party as a girl.”

“Expensive.”

“What?”

“You’d be committing yourself to buying them both beer for six months.”

“True.” But the least of my worries, I considered silently.

“Also, Harry is going to wonder about the sudden disappearance of Kim.”

“What do you mean?”

“Unless you play a very devious game over the phone or by letter, Kim will, to all intents and purposes, have vanished into thin air.”

I sighed. “Any suggestions?”

“Well, coming out as Kim solves two problems; it shows you won the bet, and it tells Harry that Kim won’t be around any more.”

“It’s more how he’s going to react that worries me. I still can’t believe I did that to him!”

Jean giggled again. “A first for both of you. Well, John, it’s up to you. I don’t know that I can advise you over this one.”

“Just tell me, Jean. If it was your problem, what do you think you’d do?”

There was a pause as I heard her audibly breathe out. Slowly she said “I think personally I’d be inclined to tell the truth and shame the devil. After all, Barry doesn’t know about the…you know…what you did to Harry, unless Harry bragged about it to him, and Harry certainly doesn’t know you told me, unless again you let him know so.”

“Yeah. I’ll have to give it some thought. Some more thought. It’s been on my mind for the past week. OK, I’ll come along on Friday. What I do or say is still up in the air.”

“Oh, and while we’re talking about mates…”

“Go on.”

“I’ve had a couple of calls from Laura during the week.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Indeed. You were going to let her down gently, as I remember.”

“Er, yeah.”

“So what happened? She’s wondering why you haven’t phoned her. Wanted to know if you — Kim — had said anything about her before you went back home.”

“What did you say?”

“I just said you’d always been an odd girl…”

“Ain’t that the truth,” I interrupted.

“…And you never could tell what went on in your mind. I did say I knew you had really liked her.”

“That’s true, until I found out she batted for the other side. Jean, I can’t believe that night. I’d been looking for Miss Right all my life, and when I found her she was Miss Wrong.”

“John, she’s still my friend. She is terribly upset. I think she had been looking for Miss Right as well, and thought you were she. As she tells it, you told a lot of lies about keeping in touch, and of course she’s heard no more.”

I bit my lip. I felt a heel. “What could I do, Jeannie? If I’d got in touch with her, she’d have thought the relationship had a chance of going somewhere, which of course it hasn’t. It’s probably better that she thinks I’m some flaky lesbo who’s let her down badly. She’ll soon forget me.”

“I hope so,” Jean said coldly.

“Hey, Jean, don’t let’s fall out over this. You’re the last person I want to desert me now. I know I’m a shit, and I liked — loved - Laura enough not to want to have hurt her, but there was never going to be an easy way out of this one.”

“I suppose not. You’re probably right. I just don’t like my friends getting hurt.”

“Sorry.”

“OK, enough sackcloth and ashes. Tomorrow night. I’ve already told Barry I’ll meet up with you first and we’ll join them at the pub,” she said.
 

*          *          *
 
To say I was worried about meeting up with Harry on Friday night would be a bit of an understatement. I was firmly convinced that my revelation to him would result in violence, and the frightening thing was that that violence would be directed at me!

I didn’t consider myself a coward, no more than the next guy, but I had never gone out of my way to seek confrontation. I was not looking forward to our next encounter.

Perhaps it was the worry over that, or indeed my still great concerns over my actions in general over the last week, but John decided to go into hiding until he was forced back into the world again.

When my mother arrived home on that Thursday evening it was a rather quiet Kim who greeted her with a drink, the smell of cooking emanating from the kitchen. I seemed to get some form of solace from the simple act of rustling up a meal, a settling of my troubled mind.

“Kim.” My mother acknowledged me.

“Hi, mum.” As I handed her the glass, I impulsively pecked her on the cheek. I felt she had given me an enormous amount of support over the last few days, and I loved her all the more for it.

“You still look a little perturbed,” she remarked, peering at me over the rim of her glass.

I busied myself with some minor washing up. “I’m concerned,” I admitted. “I’m meeting Harry tomorrow, and I’m worried how he’s going to react.”

“Harry and Barry?” She emphasised the addition of the second name, then gave me a shrewd look. “Or just Harry in particular?”

I blushed, sweet little old-fashioned girl that I am. Not, as we all know by now.
“Er, Harry.”

My mum must have collared the franchise on enigmatic smiles. She and the Mona Lisa, anyway. “Something you’ve not told me?”

I turned to face her, swallowing hard. “Mum, there’s a lot I haven’t told you, and a lot you’ll never hear. But yeah, Harry was coming on to Kim on Friday night.”

“OK, so your confession will make him look a bit sick.”

I hesitated. “Trouble is, mum, Kim was coming on to Harry as well.”

“Ah.”

“I told you I thought I wasn’t normal,” I blurted out. “Mum, I fancied Harry! My best mate!” I could feel the water welling up in my eyes as I told her.

She put her arms around me and hugged me. “Oh, my poor dear,” she said, holding me tightly and kissing my forehead. I flung my arms around her.

“Mum, I’m scared! I knew what Harry was doing, I’ve seen him chatting up enough girls to know how he operates, but I was enjoying it! And I felt attracted to him!”

“And did anything happen?”

My embarrassment and shame knew no bounds. I hung my head, feeling like a naughty schoolboy who’s been found out in some wrongdoing. Or should that be schoolgirl?

“We danced together…”

“Just danced?” she probed.

“Mum, he was getting…” How on earth do you tell your mother a guy was getting a hard-on for you?

Her eyes flashed. “Yes, I think I know where you’re going with that! Anything else?”

“He kissed me.”

“What?”

“We went outside and he kissed me, mum.”

She still had her strong, supportive arms sheltering me from my own inner storm. “How did that make you feel?”

I looked into her face. “I liked it. I didn’t want him to stop. I kissed him back!”

“Whoa!” She stepped away from me. “I don’t know if I like the sound of this.”

Face flaming, I knew she would never, ever, hear what really happened in the garden. I wore my shame like a badge, and I swear she realised I was keeping something from her, but it would never pass my lips.

“Just kissing,” I said, eyes averted.

“And you liked it?”

“Does that make me a bad person, mum?”

“It makes you puzzled and confused. It perhaps means we need to talk again. I’m beginning to think that Kim may not have been such a good idea now.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Kim!” I defended her fiercely. “She’s just a girl who’s…discovered boys,” I ended lamely.

“Then perhaps I bought her up the wrong way,” said my mother in a strangely stiff voice. “I hope my daughter’s not going to end up a little tart!”

Those words wounded me, even though I was aware of the truth in them. Salt tears streamed down my hot cheeks. Mum stroked my unhappy face.

“I’ll get changed,” she said. “Then we’ll eat, and after that…we’ll definitely talk!”
 

*          *          *
 
And so we talked, but in fact we didn’t get anywhere.

Mum was very concerned over what I had told her, and began blaming herself for being too enthusiastic when her ‘daughter’ had appeared.

“Hey,” I objected, “You only found out by chance. If you hadn’t come home early that night, you’d never have known anything about it!”

“No, true, but I did. And then — I can’t believe I did it, now — I asked you to dress up just for me! I’m a silly, foolish old woman!”

I put my arm around her shoulders, me being protective now.

“I don’t think your involvement would have made much difference, mum,” I told her. “That box of clothes has been sending out a siren song to me from the top of the wardrobe ever since you put it there on Sunday morning.”

“I should have made Jean take it away with her,” she grumbled. “This stupid bet has changed you from a carefree, fun-loving young man into a confused and confounded worrier!”

“The trouble is,” I pointed out, “Regardless of what happened with Harry, I’m comfortable being Kim. I spend a day at work as John, and when I get home I can chill out by being somebody else if I want to!”

“And I suggested it was perfectly all right for you to do that! I’m having second thoughts now!”

“Even if you changed your mind, it wouldn’t make any difference now. Mum, if you had laughed at me when I was Kim, made fun of me, it just might have made a difference, although I seriously doubt it. But you took it in your stride and accepted me as I was. I know you support me when I’m Kim.”

She gave a heavy sigh. “It’s because I want to know you’re happy,” she told me, “Although I can’t see much happiness in you now.”

“That’s because I’m still confused. I have this strange feeling that there are deeper reasons for what’s happening than just a change of clothes.”

“You don’t…fancy boys…do you?”

My turn to sigh. “Mum, no. I fancy girls, and I wish I could find myself a half-way decent girl like Jean and be happy for the rest of my life, just like in a fairy story. The real trouble is, when I’m Kim, I do like guys. I fancied Harry something rotten on Friday. I couldn’t help myself. As John, he’s just my mate — my best friend. As Kim, he’s an attractive hunk! ”

“Do you think you should talk to someone about this?”

“I’m talking to you…”

“No, I meant someone professional.”

“A doctor? Do you think I’m ill? Or am I losing my mind?”

“Maybe…no, I mean maybe see a doctor, not maybe you’re ill or mad! If you did, you might get a referral to someone who is experienced in dealing with this type of problem.”

“I don’t know, mum. I don’t think I’d be too comfortable discussing my possible sexuality disorders with someone I didn’t know.”

“Perhaps, once you’ve spoken to the guys tomorrow, you should think about getting rid of those clothes for good. It might be a good time for Kim to say a permanent goodbye.”

I smoothed my dress carefully. Maybe she was right. Could I bear to see them go? I didn’t know.

“Let’s see how it goes, mum. The most important thing at the moment is that you don’t fall about kicking your legs in the air with laughter whenever I’m Kim. I appreciate that.”

“All right. But I’m here for you if you need to talk any more about it.”

I hugged her. “I know you are. What would I do without you?”
 

*          *          *
 
On Friday evening Jean and I found ourselves entering another of Barry’s newfound inns. We knew he was already there, having spotted his car in the car-park, and sure enough he and Harry were again ensconced at a corner table.

As Jean and Barry exchanged their ritual peck on the lips, Harry looked at me enquiringly, one eyebrow raised quizzically, tapping the rim of his empty beer glass with his fingernail.

“Guess it must be your round, then,” he told me, a smirk playing over his lips.

I bridled a little at his smug assumption, and then couldn’t help but grin at him. “How do you figure that, then?” I asked him.

Barry sat down next to Jean and drained his own glass. “Come on,” he said, putting it on the table noisily, “We know you didn’t go to the party!”

“What makes you say that?” I queried again.

“Because we know who Jean really went with,” Barry informed me dramatically.

“Oh,” I said, and paused for effect, slowly looking first at Harry, then Barry. “You mean Kim!”

Both my friends’ jaws dropped.

“You met Kim?” asked Harry.

“When?” said Barry.

I smiled. “Why, at Jean’s party!”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Harry sarcastically. “We’re going to need a bit more than just your say-so.”

I looked at him, still smiling. “Well,” I said, “Let’s just say that I thought Kim was a real babe, and that if she hadn’t met you first I reckon we might have had something going for us by now!”

Harry flushed slightly, then looked pleased, his eyes bright. A shadow of doubt crossed his face. “Yeah, but Jean could have told you about Friday night,” he said. His fingernail tapped the rim of his glass again. “Still getting thirsty,” he repeated.

I glanced over at Jean. “Did I or did I not go to your party?”

She nodded emphatically. “Yes, John, you did.”

“Yes,” Barry interjected, “But did you go dressed as a girl?”

“Bazza, they wouldn’t have let me in dressed as a bloke! It was a girly ‘do,’ remember?”

Barry grunted. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered disbelievingly, shaking his head.

“Tell him, Jean,” I said wearily.

She laughed. “Yes, Barry, he did exactly as you asked!”

Barry frowned. “Yeah, but you would say that, wouldn’t you? Not that I think you’d lie to us, Jean, but don’t you think we need a bit more proof than just your word?”

“You didn’t say you wanted anything more than our word,” I pointed out.

“No, but you can’t expect us…” began Harry.

“As it happens,” Jean announced, fumbling in her handbag, “I did take a few photos at the party!”

“You did?” I said, surprised. It crossed my mind then that I had been aware of the occasional flash from a camera now and again throughout that evening, although I hadn’t noticed who had been wielding it.

Jean placed a wallet-sized envelope on the table, and taking the photographs from it passed them one-by-one to Barry, who in turn passed them to Harry, who handed them to me.

All the photographs were crowded with girls, of course, but every one of them had me in my Kim persona in it somewhere. The boys looked at them all in silence.

“Well, I can see plenty of shots of Kim,” commented Harry at last, “But I’m darned if I can spot John anywhere.”

“Yeah,” Barry agreed. “I give up. I think you’re just wasting time before you admit you failed. I’m getting thirstier by the minute.”

Harry nodded. “Me too. Jean, which one is John, assuming he really is here?”

Jean laughed. “You two are really slow. John is in every one of those shots. Look again!”

Half-heartedly Harry and Barry picked up one or two photos again, looking briefly at them before throwing them back on the table in disgust.

“The only person in every snap that I recognise is Kim,” Barry said sulkily as Jean and I grinned at each other.

Harry looked up sharply. “Wait a minute,” he said slowly, picking up one of the shots again and looking carefully at it. Then he looked at me, puzzled. His face was a picture. He believed he had solved the puzzle, but didn’t want his answer to be the truth.

“Have you cracked it?” asked Jean.

“No!” Barry suddenly said loudly as he, too, realised the truth, and then flushed as people looked over at our conspiratorial group. He lowered his voice to a stage whisper. “Are you trying to tell me that Kim is John — or John is Kim?”

Jean nodded, smiling. I sat back quietly, letting them get on with it, although I was covertly watching Harry like a hawk. How was he going to react to this?

It was Harry’s turn to flush as he looked quickly at me. “Are you saying it was you with Jean last Friday night?” he said slowly.

“It was a try-out,” I told him, my voice apologetic. “We wanted you to know what I would look like on the Saturday. Trouble was, we never got around to telling you. We...er...got a bit sidetracked,” I finished lamely.

His mouth was open, a flush had appeared on his cheeks and he was looking at me with a peculiar expression in his eyes. I knew what he was thinking. What was he going to do?

“No, no, no,” Barry shook his head emphatically. “We’d have recognised you. We’ve known you for too many years, haven’t we Harry?”

Harry nodded dumbly, his gaze fixed disbelievingly on my face. He half believed.

“You and Jean have put your heads together over this. She’s told you what happened that night.”

“Yeah!” Harry turned away, relaxed a little and settled back in his seat, looking relieved. “Jean told you about Kim and that she was taking her to the party, so you cooked up this story to make us believe Kim was you!”

Barry nodded his head vigorously. “Yes! Nice try, son. Get your money out! The next round’s on you — and the next, and the next, for six months!” He grinned in triumph.

I shrugged, gazing first at Jean and then Barry, then turned my head and looked Harry in the eye. “In that case, you’d better have this.” I held my closed fist out to him. He automatically held his own hand out, palm upward, and I dropped his ring in it.

A silence enveloped the table as he stared in horror at the object I had handed him. He went pale, looked at me sharply, looked back at the ring, and then flushed a deep red from his neck upwards as he slowly turned to face me again.

“Really you?” he croaked.

I nodded. I didn’t like the look on his face. I sensed things were going badly, but he — they - deserved the truth. I ploughed on. “I could give you chapter and verse if you want. Do you want?”

He hastily shook his head as Barry looked on puzzled and Jean chuckled from deep within her throat.

“Don’t worry, Harry,” I said kindly. “I will keep in touch, you know.”

He flushed again, still staring at the ring, then his chair scraped backwards on the linoleum flooring and he stood up, anger etched in his every movement. “You are a shit,” he told me, reaching for his jacket.

I grasped his arm. “Hang on, Harry,” I said, “It wasn’t my idea to do this. You and Barry started it, thinking it was impossible for me. Now you don’t like it ‘cause I took it all the way!”

He shook my hand away impatiently, anger flaring in his eyes. Startled, I saw his fists clench, and prepared myself for the blow I felt sure was imminent. He looked hard at me, then away again. “But what you did,” he started to say, then stopped.

“That’s for you and me to sort out on our own,” I said. “It’s nothing to do with Jean and Barry. The thing is, I won the bet! Now, you can either be a loser with good grace, or run off and sulk!”

Barry had watched our exchange with curious eyes, aware of the undercurrent of animosity running between us but not knowing why. Now he looked at Harry.

“Did you give Kim that ring?”

Harry turned to him, his tensed frame relaxing slightly as he breathed slowly out through his nostrils and nodded.

Barry grinned. “Well, it looks as if that proves it and John and Jean are right. Bloody hell, you had us all fooled last Friday, I’ve got to admit. You make a great girl! Don’t you think so, Harry?”

Harry sat down again, looking at me. “Yeah,” he said in a low voice. “Great.”

I can’t say that I was particularly thrilled by the strange gleam I noticed in his eyes as he turned away from me. A cold shiver ran down my back. I’d never been psychic, but the future suddenly seemed a strange and lonely place to me, and I had morbid anticipations about what was yet to come.

Harry’s and my business had obviously not been brought to a satisfactory conclusion yet, from either of our points of view.
 

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