CHAPTER 43
The sun was warm on my face as I dozed on a south-facing bench, its heat reflecting back from the honey-coloured stone wall behind me, my backpack heavy against my side. It had been a rather complicated train ride to Hexham, but I was there, and the weather seemed set fine. All I had to do was wait for Mam and Dad, grazing occasionally from the food I had grabbed in Carlisle station as I waited for the little railbus that served the smaller stations. Mick had dropped me at Crewe, where I had caught the Intercity to the place Charlie had taken as his new home. I knew he was now locked up, but I had still felt the back of my neck prickling as I had waited on the platform.

We had always followed the Military Road when in that area, while the train followed the river valley after we had passed Gilsland. I had no idea when exactly Mam and Dad would appear, just a date and the word ‘afternoon’, and I arrived at 1230. I had a personal stereo now, playing cassette tapes, so I simply slipped in Floyd’s ‘Meddle’, set the machine to auto-reverse and pulled the headphones over my ears, losing myself in ‘Echoes’ as I soaked up the warmth.

A few repeats later, and the bench creaked as someone sat next to me, and of course it was Dad, managing to cry and smile as brightly as the sun all at the same time. Mam was standing in front of me, her reaction matching Dad’s as closely as mine did.

I was home again, and the stress of the previous week was melting already. Mam grinned happily as she took both of my hands in hers and drew me to my feet for her own hug.

“Got your stuff ready, love? If not, it’s too late! Get on the road as soon as you’re in, and we are off. You eaten?”

“Picked up some rubbish at Carlisle. Could do with something decent, to be honest”

We settled into the two front seats of the van as Dad started the engine, pulling out of the station car park as we chatted away. Typically, Dad was soon onto the backroads, bypassing the bustle and traffic of the big city to the East and steering us through a series of minor roads, the Northumberland skies huge above us. A short while after we had turned off from a main road, he turned into some cramped parking by the side of a plain stone building whose sign declared it to be the Ox Inn, where we found seats at picnic tables in a tiny space in front of the pub. Dad went to the bar to order us some ‘stottie classics;, which turned out to be sandwiches made from the local round bread things filled with ham and a paste made from boiled lentils Mam said was pease pudding.

The food took ten minutes to come, but a big pot of tea arrived just as Mam started her interrogation in earnest.

“What’s to tell? I got referred to some man called Quayle, down in Wolverhampton, and he put me in touch with a man called Hemmings, down in London”

“What did this Quayle say?”

“What we already knew. I’m a woman, end of”

“Yeah, right, and if there isn’t more, I’m a Bee Gees fan. What else was there?”

I found my tea fascinating just then, but she was my mother, and we had always shared everything.

“He was odd, Mam. Really nasty in the way he asked questions”

Dad muttered “Arsehole”, but I shook my head.

“You know, I don’t think he is. Just seemed to be his way, you know: He was wiping his eyes when he thought I wasn’t looking”

Mam wouldn’t be side-tracked, however.

“What else did he say?”

“That I am clinically depressed”

I sipped my tea for the delay, before saying the rest.

“His words were that I had a broken heart”

Mam barked out a laugh, which held no humour in it, and Dad nodded.

“Not that stupid, then, nor blind, miduck. What about this chap in that London?”

“Ah. Mr Hemmings…”

I had been given an appointment (‘Consultation opportunity’) for the previous Tuesday, and once more, Mick had dropped me early that morning at Crewe, which seemed to be playing a huge role in my life, for the faster train to London’s Euston Station. I found their branch of W.H. Smith and bought an A to Z of the city centre before trying to work out how to use the underground system. Sod that for a game of soldiers, I thought, and set out to walk, as it didn’t look far to Harley Street. I was unsurprised, given the way my life was going, that I ended up at the wrong end of that road, and had to walk what felt like miles to Hemmings’ surgery, office, consulting rooms, whatever.

Harley Street was arrow-straight, almost all of the buildings of the same height, four storeys with black-railed basement wells accessed by steps, even though the buildings were clearly separate constructions. Some in brick, some in limestone, some with dormer windows in what should have been attics, but all shoehorned into a consistent wall of masonry. Mister Hemmings had one of the brick buildings. I paused outside, gathering my courage, then made my entrance.

“Hello. How may I help you?”

“I have an appointment with Doctor Hemmings. Deborah Wells”

The receptionist smiled, and with that looked a lot more welcoming than Maureen had initially been at my local surgery.

“It’s MISTER Hemmings, Madam. Surgeons prefer that title, and it saves confusion with his brother, who actually is Doctor Hemmings. What time is your appointment?”

“Um, half two. I’m a bit early; didn’t trust the trains”

“Have you come far?”

“From the other side of Birmingham, but I’m actually from North Wales…”

I was babbling, and she clearly noticed.

“We have a more discreet waiting area, if you would prefer. Would you care for some tea while you wait?”

If this was the way private medicine operated, I was certainly taken with it. I had my little tape machine with me, something which was quickly becoming habitual, so I slipped in ‘Below the Salt’ for the memories as well as for a lifeline to my family. Sitting in the van, those early days, Mam telling Dad he was never going to compare with Maddy, then the three of us trying our best to prove her wrong.

‘And I don’t give a single pin me boys
What the world thinks of me’

I was away, eyes closed and in my own world, a world I should always have had, if this were a just one, when I felt a touch to my shoulder.

“Miss Wells?”

The receptionist. She smiled again, pointing to my headphones.

“A word to the wise, Miss, but while you can’t hear your own voice when listening on one of those, everyone else can”

“Oh shit! Sorry!”

“Don’t be. You sounded happy just then, if you don’t mind me being a little personal. We get a range of moods in our clients, and it was nice to hear a positive one. Mr Hemmings will be ready for you in ten minutes, so will you please provide us with the usual sample? I will show you where the ladies’ is, and then, if you don’t mind, return to our general waiting area”

I did as requested, noting her ignorance of my status, or perhaps simple tact, in providing me with a female sample bottle. A few minutes later, I was sitting before a neat desk and facing a man who looked to be in his sixties or seventies, as neat as his desk in a blazer and three-coloured striped tie.

“Good afternoon, Miss Wells. How would you prefer me to address you?”

“Friends call me Debbie…”

“Then, if you wish, Debbie it shall be. I have a referral from a Doctor Quayle, but I must emphasise that I am in private practice and that is unlike the NHS in that I charge a reasonable fee for my services. Will that cause any difficulties?”

“I don’t think so, Doct--- er, Mister Hemmings. Got a bit of what you might call an inheritance”

“Fine, fine. What I will propose, then, is that I examine you, we discuss what you desire in the nature of my work, I then tell you what is actually possible, and only then do we discuss the sordid financial aspect. Does that pass muster?”

I nodded, then had a quick flash of memory, of Doctor Nugent’s shock and rage.

“I have a sort of… Things have already been done in that area, Mister Hemmings”

“Fine, fine. We shall address them as we need. Now, Dr Quayle’s referral states that you are a male to female transsexual person who wishes to have their genital aspect rearranged to their personal preference. What can you tell me about…?”

He was gentle, leading me through my sense of self along with my hormone regime, nodding every so often and making little notes on a small pad, before pressing a button on an intercom.

“Imogen, my dear? Would you please join us as a chaperone?”

He smiled across his desk at me.

“I need to examine the area in question, Debbie. Imogen, Nurse Marwood that is, will carry out the usual checks, and then I will ask you to disrobe for the examination. She will operate as an assurance that we observe the necessary proprieties. Ah; here she is”

Blood pressure, pulse, height, weight, a small ample of blood taken, and then I was naked apart from my bra and socks, a sheet draped over me as I lay back on a medical couch with my feet in stirrups. The nurse made a soft grunt as she caught a glimpse of my arse, making a quick gesture towards it with her eyes that Hemmings clearly caught.

“Oh my word. You poor girl. I was given a little warning, naturally, but oh dear. If you are willing, I would wish to examine that area as well. There may be something I can do to assist”

I shook my head.

“Might take me over my limits in funds, Mister Hemmings”

“Not so, Debbie. Please be aware that I have witnessed worse crimes, although I will not minimise your own suffering. The late unpleasantness in Germany…”

He tailed off, and I noticed a vein throbbing in his neck, before he smiled once more.

“We shall examine that area as well, and see what may or may not be necessary. I will not charge for such repair work, although---”

He grinned, suddenly looking twenty years younger.

“Although I will most certainly charge appropriately for the primary work. I will say, however, that whoever treated you for that damage was most skilful”

Thank you”

“No need, Debbie. Merely a professional observation and a tip of my hat in recognition of excellent work. Now, would you please relax; I need to manipulate your penis and testicles…”

I eventually left armed with a letter of recommendation for what he called a colonoscopy, which apparently meant a look up my backside with a camera, which would be recorded on video so he could decide what might be needed.

I ran through all of that for the benefit of my parents, and caught Mam preening, which made Dad laugh.

“No false modesty with you, is there, Duck? Sounds good, Deb. I think Carol will be happy to see you go OK with the local hospital. Be a bloody sight easier than having to go all the way back down to That London. Anyway, back on the road for us, and I think Graham’s got dinner planned for tonight”

And so he had, a whole salmon one of his mates had caught up the coast a bit. Everything was once more as it should be, our van and tent in their usual places as Dad and our host nattered about ‘fettling’, Mam still preening with pride over Hemmings’ compliments, and Graham and a man called Malcolm slumped on the settee, holding hands.