At Aunt Greta’s–
Revelation
by Gabi
Chapter 19 of a Continuing Saga…

We scrambled out of bed and went to the bathroom. Farah had the first shower and I followed on. After we had dried ourselves we returned to “my” bedroom.

‘Greta! Freya! Hurry up!’ came a voice from downstairs. ‘Brekky’s ready and we have to go to church this morning.’

I looked at Farah and shrugged; she was frowning and I realised that I was also. I looked round the room; it looked normal–not like it did in 1944. My Barbies were on top of my chest of drawers and the digital clock's numbers were still glowing green.

‘Did I hear right? Did Auntie really call up to Greta and Freya?’ I asked.

‘That’s what I heard, Gabs. It seems a bit screwball to me,’ Farah replied.

‘P’raps Auntie G’s gone starkers-bonkers?’ I suggested.

‘Well, my clothes seem to be my usual ones,’ Farah said. ‘Thank goodness there’s no sign of those ginormous pink bloomers I had to wear as Freya.’

‘You mean your harvest festivals?’ I replied with a giggle.

‘Harvest festivals?’ queried my bemused-looking friend.

‘That’s what Auntie G’s mum used to call them.’

‘But why, for heck sakes?’

‘Because “All is safely gathered in”, as the words of that harvest hymn say,’ I replied.

Stepping into her knickers, Farah giggled and shook her head. ‘I dunno, you Brits sure have some strange words for things; you call panties, knickers, bloomers, harvest festivals, and pants, trousers; it’s like you speak a different language.’

‘For us, the word pants usually means underpants and some people think it’s a bit more polite than knickers.’

‘And to us in the States knickers are what my Dad wears for golf. So do you and Auntie G usually go to church on Sunday?’

‘No, never,’ I replied. ‘That’s why I was wondering if she’d gone starkers-bonkers.’

‘Do you think that p’raps Aunt Fanny could have travelled forward in time?’

‘OhMyGod, Farah, she’d be like the girl who had a Spanish mother and a Jewish father,’ I replied.

She frowned; ‘Eh? I don’t get it.’

‘She wouldn’t know if she was Carmen or Cohen,’ I replied trying to keep a straight face.

Farah looked at me blankly and then, as if a light bulb had illuminated above her head, she began to giggle. ‘I think it’s you who’s gone starkers-bonkers. Where did you hear that terrible joke?’

‘It’s one of my dad’s fave jokes.’

‘Oh, that figures; my dad makes similar ones. What do you usually wear for church?’

‘I dunno,’ I replied. ‘I’ve never been to church as a girl. I suggest we just dress normal and we can change for church after breakfast if we have to.’

‘Good idea. Would you like to borrow my camo Bermudas?’

‘Erm–’ I thought for a moment. ‘–thanks for the offer but I think I’ll wear a skirt. I have to get used to them and I rather like wearing them; they make such a nice change after all those years wearing trousers.’

When we entered the kitchen, Farah was wearing her camo Bermudas and a khaki strappy top and I was in my denim mini with a red crop top. I was relieved to see it was Auntie G who greeted us with, ‘You both look very pretty this morning, girls. Did you have a good night’s sleep without any time-slip shenanigans?’

‘Yes thanks,’ Farah replied, ‘but you sure had us worried when you called up to us as Freya and Greta and telling us we were going to church.’

‘But I haven’t called you yet this morning, my dears,’ Auntie G stated. ‘I was just going to do it when you came down.’

‘But we both heard you,’ I protested. ‘Didn’t we, Farah?’

‘Sure did,’ Farah agreed. ‘You called up to us, “Greta! Freya! Hurry up! Brekky’s ready and we have to go to church this morning”. We both thought it was your mom.’

‘It wasn’t I who called you,’ Auntie G told us, looking perplexed, ‘but those were the very words Mummy used to call up to me on Sunday.’

‘Spoooook-eeee!,’ I said.

‘Sure is,’ Farah agreed. ‘As soon as we saw Gaby’s digital clock we knew we were in our own time, so we wondered if your mom might have time-travelled forward.’

‘Poor Mummy would have hated that,’ Auntie replied. ‘Sit down and help yourselves to cereal–there’s milk and sugar on the table. I know Gabs will have tea, but would you prefer tea or coffee, Farah?’

‘Would it be awful bothersome if I asked for coffee?’

‘No, dear, of course not. I wouldn’t have offered otherwise.’

‘Gee, thanks, Auntie G.’

‘You’re welcome, poppet, especially when you’re so polite.’

Farah blushed.

After our cereal we had a boiled egg and soldiers and then toast and marmalade. We were too intent on eating to talk much, but as we had our last few mouthfuls of toast and marmalade Auntie asked, ‘Now, Gabs, have you forgotten what happens on Friday?’

‘Friday?’ I thought about it for a moment or two.

‘Yes, Friday.’

‘Ooooh,’ I squealed, ‘my birthday! I’ll be twelve.’

‘Wow,’ exclaimed Farah, ‘and it’ll be your very first as a girl, so it must be a really cool girly one to make up for all the ones you’ve missed out on. You should have a slumber party.’

‘Kew-ell,’ I replied. ‘You are sooooo clever to have such a kewl idea. Is a slumber party what we call a sleepover?’

‘Not really, a sleepover is when there are just two of you, but when there are a whole crowd of you we call it a slumber party.’

‘So, your staying here over the weekend is a sleepover?’

‘Yeah, cool.’

‘I think a slumber party’s a brilliant idea. Please, Auntie, d’you think we could have a slumber party?’

‘For you and the girls?’ came the reply. ‘That would be fun for you, wouldn’t it? Do you know what girls do when they have a slumber party, Gabs?’

‘No, but I’m sure Farah, Angela, Lacey, Kristal and Juniper will know.’

‘I think it would be nice if you ask Bryony as well,’ Farah suggested just as the ’phone rang.

‘I’ll get it, Auntie,’ I said, going to answer it. ‘Nine-four-nine-seven-six-three, Gabrielle Chambers speaking.’

‘Oh, hello, Gaby, this is Bryony’s mother.’

‘Oh, hi, Mrs Rose, is she better? Auntie said she’d been taken to hospital.’

‘Yes, I’m speaking from there and she’s going to be fine; thank you for asking, dear. Please may I have a quick word with your auntie?’

‘I’ll just go and get her; hold on, please…oh, and give Bryony my love.’ I put the handset down and returned to the kitchen and told Auntie that Mrs Rose wanted her on the ’phone.

‘Bryony’s mom?’ asked Farah, after Auntie had gone to the telephone.

‘Yes, she was speaking from the hospital.’

‘Bryony’s still there? Oh my gosh she must be real sick.’

‘Yeah, I wonder what’s wrong with her. P’raps Mrs Rose is telling Auntie G.’

‘Yeah. Hey, maybe they’ll let us visit her.’

‘I’d like that,’ I replied, ‘I hope she will be able to come to my slumber party. So what goes on at slumber parties?’

‘Well, we eat, play games, listen to CDs, dance, chat, watch a film on DVD, eat, give each other make-overs and paint our nails, dance, sing, chat, eat, play–’

‘–Okay, I get the idea,’ I interrupted. ‘Do we ever get to bed?’

Farah giggled; ‘For sure we do–but not till it’s quite late. It would not be as much fun otherwise.’

‘If we have our girly-sleepy on Friday night,’ I said, thinking out loud, ‘I could have an ordinary birthday party that Timmy and some of the boys could come to on Saturday or Sunday afternoon.’

‘What, boys only?’ asked Farah.

‘Noooo, ’course not!’ I replied. ‘It’s a good excuse to have two parties and I must have Timmy round. Maybe if we have the slumber party here, the other one could be at home. What DVD do you think the girls would like?’

‘High School Musical,’ replied Farah, without a moment’s hesitation, ‘and then we can sing along and dance as well. And of course you’ll have to be Gabriella.’

‘But I don’t know the words of the songs.’

‘You don’t have to, they come up on the screen–like with a karaoke,’ Farah assured me.

‘Wow, that’s well kewl,’ I exclaimed, as Auntie returned from her ’phone conversation with Bryony’s mum.

‘Well, my dears,’ Auntie began, ‘we’re going to visit Bryony in hospital this afternoon. She’s going to be in there for a few days yet, while they do some tests on her and she wants her B.B.C. friends to visit her. Mrs Rose says that Bryony has something she wants to tell you before you go to school tomorrow morning. You and the other girls are going to be picked up by Mrs Rose’s twin sister, Mrs Farthing, who will have her daughter Penny with her. You should get there by three o’clock. We’ll have our lunch a bit earlier than we usually do on a Sunday–at a quarter past twelve–so you can change into something smart straight afterwards.’

* * *

Our Sunday lunch was typically British and my absolute favourite–roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, sooooo scrummy with just a smidgeon of horseradish sauce and Aunties amazing gravy filling the hollows in the little Yorkshires. For vegetables we had carrots, Brussels sprouts with chestnuts, French beans, buttered parsnips and roast potatoes. For afters we had Auntie G’s home-made chocolate mousse with cream.

Straight after lunch we changed. Farah chose a pleated navy skirt with a long-sleeved sky-blue v-necked top, sheer tights and court shoes while I decided on my hipster bootcut jeans, a short pale orange tee with three-quarter sleeves and my new tan mid-calf boots with one and three-quarter inch heels–kewl, eh?–that Mummy had bought me the last time we went shopping.

We were going to be collected by car: I presumed it would be Mrs Rose and that she would have picked up the other B.B.C. members already. When the doorbell rang, I opened the door. ‘Come in, Mrs Rose,’ I said. ‘We only need to get our handbags.’

‘Actually, I’m Mrs Farthing,’ came the reply. ‘I’m Helen’s twin sister, Brenda. Now from the description I was given, you must be Gabrielle.’

‘Yes, I am, but most people call me Gaby.’ I turned towards Farah. ‘This is Farah who comes from the U.S.A. She’s at school with us and is staying the weekend with me while her parents are away.’

‘Hello, Farah,’ said Mrs Farthing, ‘how are you, dear?’

‘I’m good, thanks, Mrs Farthing. It’s real nice to meet you.’

‘And you too, Farah. Now, Gaby, we have some other girls to collect, I believe?’

‘Yes, another four; I hope you have a big car.’

‘Yes,’ she answered, smiling at us. ‘A people-carrier–a Renault Espace–big enough hold a whole patrol of girl guides.’

‘The Bryony Patrol,’ Farah added with a giggle.

‘Oh, are you a Guide, dear?’

‘Well, sorta; I’m a Girl Scout in the States.’

‘Well, we’d best be off, girls,’ Mrs Farthing said. ‘Gaby, you’d better tell your auntie, so she knows you haven’t been kidnapped.’

‘That’s all right, Helen,’ said Auntie, coming through the door; ‘–oh, you’re not Helen, but you’re so like her you must be her twin–err–’

‘Brenda Farthing,’ she said, shaking hands with Auntie. ‘Hel’s still at the hospital with Bryony. We must go, or my daughter, Penelope, who’s waiting in the car, will think I’ve disappeared in a puff of smoke. Okay, girlies, shall we go?’

* * *

We went out to the car and got in the back where a girl was waiting. She was dressed in a pink jersey dress that just about reached her knees, white frilled ankle socks and pink Nike trainers; her hair was in a ponytail. She was totally Bryony’s double, so no wonder people took them for twins.

‘Penny, darling,’ said her mother, ‘these are two of Bry’s school chums, Gaby, showing her belly-button and the top of her knickers so fashionably, and Farah who comes from America.’

‘Hi! Bryony has told–’ all three of us started in unison and immediately dissolved into a giggle-fit.

‘Now, before you go all hysterical,’ said Mrs Farthing, ‘perhaps you, Gaby, could direct me to Mrs Williamson’s house where we are to collect the other members of your little secret society.’

‘Take the first turning on the right and then the second left; it’s called Letsbeigh Avenue and Angela lives at number 69.’

‘So tell me about your secret society?’ Penny asked. ‘Does it have a name?’

‘Yes,’ replied Farah, ‘the B.B.C.’

‘Like on the telly?’

‘Not quite,’ I said. ‘In this case it stands for the “Bryony Buddies Corps”. There are six of us who are going to protect Bryan at school while he changes into Bryony.’

‘D’you think he’ll do that?’ Penny asked. ‘I know it’s what he wants, ’cause he’s told me lots of times. He really should have been born a girl.’

‘Do you know why she’s in hospital?’ Farah asked, ‘We haven’t been told. I’ve been thinking of her as “she” for a few days now, and she seems so much happier as a girl. I have a friend at school back in the States who is transgendered, and she’s been a different kid since she started coming to school as Nora instead of Aron.’

‘That’s kewl,’ Penny said. ‘So Bry’s problem isn’t new to you?’

‘It was Farah’s idea to set up the B.B.C. for her,’ I chipped in.

‘We did something the same for Nora,’ Farah continued. ‘We got most of the girls and some of the guys in our grade to accept her as herself. It was only some of the jocks who gave her a hard time–oh, and the holy Joes who went around spouting the bible about it being sinful for a boy to put on girls’ raiment; but the school made it very plain that they did not tolerate bullying of any sort from anybody.’

‘I think we’re nearly there, Gaby,’ Mrs Farthing said from the front.

I looked through the windscreen to check. We were just passing the lane end where I was attacked by Quinn and company and gave a little shudder. ‘Just a bit further,’ I said, ‘on the left hand side, just by the second tree.’

‘Gotcha,’ Mrs Farthing confirmed. ‘Gaby, if you’d be so kind as to go and tell them we’re here.’

‘’Course, Mrs Farthing,’ I replied as she drew up beside the curb outside Angela’s house. As soon as she had stopped I got out and hurried up to the front door. I was about to press the bell when the door opened and there was Angela with Kristal, Juniper and Lacey lined up behind her.

‘Hi, Gabs,’ she said. ‘We were looking out for you. Hey, I like those jeans, they’re neat and make you look sooooo kewl; you used to be such a Sioni Dai when you were pretending to be a boy.’

‘I used to be a what?’ I asked.

‘A Sioni Dai; it’s what we say in Wales when someone is a messy or untidy person.’

‘Well, I had to do something to convince everyone I was a boy, didn’t I?’

‘Well you did it very well,’ Juniper said. ‘Who’s that in the car with Farah?

‘Penny,’ I replied. ‘She’s Bryony’s cousin who lives over at Great Shaghorn. Her mum, Mrs Rose’s twin sister is taking us. Oh, hello, Auntie Mary.’

‘Hello, Gaby dear,’ said Mrs Williamson, walking out to the car with us. ‘I just thought I’d come and speak to the lady who’s driving you to the hospital. Don’t you find it a bit chilly, dear, showing so much midriff, and did you know people can see the top of your knickers.’

‘Oh, Mam,’ Angela exclaimed impatiently, ‘of course she’s showing the top of her panties–it’s the fashion, didn’t you know?’

I glanced at Mrs W–she was wearing perplexed expression. ‘When I was your age we did all we could to keep our undies hidden from sight, in case the boys thought we were sluts and made unwelcome approaches. Now, did I hear you say the lady is Bryony’s auntie?’

‘Yes, Auntie Mary. She’s called Mrs Farthing and is Mrs Rose’s twin sister.’

As we got to the car, Penny opened the back door so we could get in and Angela’s mum went to talk to Mrs Farthing, who got out of the car so we couldn’t earwig what they were saying.

Farah and I introduced Penny to everyone as we got in. There were six seats in the back, but Farah and I reckoned we could share one and put the seat belt round both of us.

‘So, Penny,’ Kristal asked, ‘do you know what’s wrong with Bryony?’

‘Well, she’s got the wrong body–’

‘–we know that,’ Lacey interrupted, ‘but we don’t know why she’s in hospital. It all seems very sudden so she must be really-really ill.’

‘She might be there to have her…her…err, you know…’ Juniper said, blushing furiously, ‘…her err…doodah… chopped off.’

‘I don’t think they can do that until she’s eighteen,’ Farah declared. ‘Leastwise they can’t in the States.’

Mrs Farthing was shaking hands with Auntie Mary, who was returning to the house. As she got into the car Mrs F said, ‘Right, girls, let’s introduce ourselves. ‘I’m Penny’s mum and Bryony’s Auntie Brenda.’

While I introduced the other four B.B.C. members, I detected a slight smirk on Penny’s face when I introduced Kristal Ball, Juniper Berry and Lacey Nickerson.

‘I think Bryony’s very lucky to have such a valiant band of supporters,’ Mrs Farthing remarked. ‘All strapped in safely? Ah, Gaby, I think you should come and sit in the front so you can belt up properly.’

As soon as I was strapped in the front seat, Mrs Farthing started the engine and we were off.

‘We were wondering exactly what is wrong with Bryony,’ I ventured. ‘Do you know, Mrs Farthing?’

‘Well, yes I do, actually, but I promised my sister–on pain of death–not to tell you as Bryony insists she wants to tell you herself. I’ve not even been allowed to tell Penny in case she let the cat out of the bag before we got to the hospital. So there’s a strict embargo on it until Bryony tells you herself.’

‘I wonder if it’s something to do with her growing boobs?’ I said.

‘My lips are sealed,’ was all Mrs Farthing would say.

* * *

The ride to the General Hospital did not take long–about ten minutes–but it took a further five to find a suitable parking place. However we did find one and when Mrs Farthing had stuck the Pay and Display parking ticket inside the windscreen, we made our way to the visitors’ entrance.

‘I must say,’ Mrs F grumbled, ‘six pounds to park the so-and-so car for a couple of hours. Daylight robbery if you ask me.’

‘I thought the National Health Service was supposed to provide everything for free,’ I said.

‘Yes, but that does not include parking your car,’ Mrs F replied with a shrug. ‘Come back, Dick Turpin,* all is forgiven.’

‘Dick Turpin?’ I queried.

‘He was an infamous highwayman** who used to hold up travellers and demand all their money and jewellery.’

‘Oh yes, I remember now,’ I confirmed as the doors into the hospital silently slid open at our approach. As soon as we were inside my nose was assailed by that typical hospital smell that is a mixture of floor polish, antiseptic, and boiled cabbage. Mrs Farthing went to the reception desk and I looked for notices pointing to the children’s ward, saw one and started in that direction.

‘And where do you think you’re going, young lady,’ Mrs Farthing said, putting a firm hand on my shoulder to stop me.

‘The children’s ward–it’s this way, look!’ I pointed at the sign.

‘Bryony’s not in the children’s ward, Miss Smarty-Pants,’ came the reply. I had never been called that before and could feel myself blushing. ‘So as you won’t find her there, you’d better come with the rest of us.’

‘Yes, Mrs Farthing. Sorry,’ I said looking down at my feet.

‘That’s all right, love,’ she said, putting an arm round my shoulders and giving me a squeeze. ‘Right now, girlies, come with me and if you’re going to chatter, please keep the volume down–particularly when we get to the ward. Bryony’s in a side room on her own as it’s an adult ward where they don’t normally take anyone as young as she is.’

She led us to the lifts and pressed the button to summon one. It arrived with a “bong” and the doors slid open silently. When we were all in she pressed the button for the third floor which was marked “Victoria Ward”–which rang a bell inside my head for some reason–the doors closed and we had lift-off. After a very short flight the doors opened again and we went out into the lobby outside Victoria Ward. Waiting there for us in her dark blue ward sister’s uniform was Mummy. I then remembered that Victoria was the gynae ward. No wonder Bryony was in a side room all the other patients would be grown-up ladies suffering from what people in polite society coyly referred to as “women’s problems”.

‘Mummy!’ I squealed.

‘Ssshh, not so loud, poppet,’ she said, giving me a quick hug. ‘Did you know the top of your knickers is showing pink above your jeans?’

‘Yes, Mummy, they’re meant to show, it’s the fashion.’

‘Hmmm, well, I’m not at all sure that I approve, young lady,’ she told me before turning to Mrs F. ‘You could only be Bryony’s Aunt Brenda, you’re so like your twin. How do you do? I’m Sister Chambers officially, but this mob–’ she pointed to us– ‘seem to know me better as Auntie Peggy. If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to Bryony’s side room. Such a large group of visitors is highly irregular and normally would be discouraged, so please keep your chatter sotto voce, girls, so as not to disturb the other patients in the main ward. Bryony’s waiting for you and she’s got something she particularly wants to tell you herself.’

‘Auntie Peggy,’ asked Angela, ‘Is Bryony really-really ill?’

‘I’ll let her explain herself,’ Mummy replied. Now before you go into her room you must all sterilise your hands with this alcohol gel.’

‘It won’t make us drunk, will it?’ asked Lacey.

‘I’m not asking you to drink it,’ Mummy replied with a grin, ‘just to rub it on your hands. It’s so you don’t pass any germs from outside the hospital to Bryony. Who’s first?’ I saw she was looking at me so I held out my hands to her while she squirted the gel on them. It was very cold. I rubbed it in and it quickly evaporated, leaving my hands dry and fresh-feeling.

Next up was Penny; ‘Eeeewww, it’s all slimy,’ she exclaimed.

‘Rub it in and it’ll soon evaporate,’ Mummy told her.

When we were all done we were taken to Bryony’s room. She wearing a pretty lilac-coloured nightie and was sitting up in bed with headphones on, watching TV. Her mum was sitting on a chair beside her bed reading a book. She looked up, saw us filing in and tapped Bryony’s shoulder making her look up. When she saw us her face lit up with a beaming smile.

‘Hi, cuz,’ Penny said going over to her. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Good,’ she replied. ‘Oh wow, sooooo many visitors. I never thought they’d let you all in at once. Auntie Brenda, it’s great to see you too. Thank you for bringing everyone to see me.’

‘You’re most welcome, darling,’ her aunt replied, kissing her on the cheek.

‘Now,’ said Mrs Rose, ‘I suggest that my sister and I go and get a cup of tea in the cafeteria and leave you with your friends so you can tell them what’s wrong with you.’

‘Okay, Mummy. See you later, Auntie Bren.’

‘Not if I see you first, honeybunch,’ replied Auntie Brenda, sticking out her tongue at her niece as she and her sister left us girls alone.

‘So, Bry,’ said Penny, ‘what’s wrong with you?’

‘You know I told all of you that I was a girl born into the wrong body? Well it seems that my body is not so wrong after all.’

‘But you’ve got a boy’s body,’ I said.

‘In one way, because I wee through a willie,’ Bryony replied with a giggle. ‘But that’s the only boy thing about me.’ She smiled sweetly, obviously enjoying keeping us on tenterhooks.

Angela, growing impatient, said, ‘Now look yer typsan,*** can’t you come to the point. Why were you rushed to hospital?’

‘Well,’ she said, looking round all of us, ‘I had a rather horrid tummy ache as I was having my first period–’

‘–But how could you be?’ a wide-eyed Lacey interrupted.

‘–as I was saying, I was having my first period and the blood was building up inside me until it started leaking out through my wonky wee willie. I was rushed in here because the doctor originally thought I might have a damaged kidney, but an ultrasound scan showed that inside I have a full set of female organs, except that the opening to my vagina closed up before I was born. So I have really been a girl all my life and my boobs starting to grow was just a sign that I was beginning puppetry–’ She stopped in mid-sentence as I and all the other girls dissolved into helpless laughter.

‘I think you mean puberty, girlfriend,’ Farah managed to say between chortles.

‘I know that,’ said Bryony with a big grin while chalking up an imaginary point in the air.

‘So have they opened you up so you can get rid of the blood?’ I asked.

‘Not yet; the doctor just put a drain-tube in my tummy so the blood can be released. Mummy says the specialist is going to see me tomorrow and decide what’s the best thing to do.’

__________________________________

* Dick Turpin: See http://www.stand-and-deliver.org.uk/highwaymen/dick_turpin.htm

** Highwayman: see also: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Highwayman

*** Typsan: Welsh dialect word meaning stupid girl/woman

To be continued…

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Grateful meows are due once again to Doctor Bonzi and his Mum for their erudite proofing,
advice on Miscellaneous Matters Medical and numerous useful suggestions.
Any mistakes remaining are the entire responsibility of the idiot author.

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