Annie and her Granny

By Susannah Donim

Steve’s mother runs the secretive Transformations consultancy. This means he has a number of interesting jobs over the years.

Chapter 6 – Maid of All Work

Steve moves in with his girlfriend, but not at all as he would have wanted.

I now moved in with Annie full time. Under better circumstances that would have been great, but she said she would need to call me ‘Granny’ all the time, even when we were alone, because of the danger of giving the game away if she forgot and called me Steve in public. I hated that and found it a little hard to believe, but I couldn’t persuade her otherwise.

Also she said it was hard not to call me Granny seeing that I looked – and increasingly acted – exactly like her. I assumed she was teasing, but I still had to get used to answering to ‘Granny’. I suppose it helped me with my performance, but I really didn’t want to get used to my new life as an elderly lady. It was depressing to have to fasten myself into an old woman’s underwear and zip up her frumpy, floral dresses. Also, I seemed to wearing frilly aprons all day, with my maid’s uniform at work, and then at home sharing the cooking and housework with my granddaughter – I mean, girlfriend.

I grudgingly accepted all this, only insisting on not being Granny in bed, which sadly was still a chaste(ish) affair because of my glued-on prosthesis. At least Annie wasn’t suggesting we sleep in separate bedrooms, which would have really got me worried.

Nevertheless we had to maintain the illusion that we did sleep apart, in case Treacher was parked outside. We kept the curtains at the front of the house closed all the time – nothing suspicious in that, was there? – and switched the bedroom lights on and off realistically. As Granny, I went to bed before ten o’clock most nights, after which I padded next door (in my nightie and bonnet) for a cuddle.

We reviewed my new wardrobe together. Dolly’s clothes were respectable and economical; that is, dowdy. If she had ever tried to be fashionable, she had given up long ago. I saw skirts and dresses, all falling to well below the knee; blouses and sweaters, all with long sleeves; but no trousers at all.

Our morning routine was similar to how it had been when I was Ingrid. Annie particularly enjoyed watching me squeeze myself into Dolly’s stiff shapewear, and was always keen to help.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Granny wearing slacks,” Annie said. “I remember her saying something about pants not suiting her because of her… er, large hindquarters.”

“Huh! Tell me about it,” I said, looking over my shoulder and studying my duplicate of her backside in the wardrobe mirror. “It’s like sitting on a cushion.”

“So – extra comfy then?” she grinned.

“Maybe, but this cushion gets up when I do and follows me around all day, stuck to my backside.”

Annie looked stern. I was disparaging her beloved grandmother.

“Don’t be embarrassed about your big bottom, Granny!” she said. “You have a fine figure for a woman of your age!”

I snorted. She smiled again.

“Oh, come on, I know that’s not really you, silly! Steve has a lovely, sexy little butt. Mind you, there’s something even sexier about seeing you like that…”

I was a little mollified, though a bit puzzled about her last statement. Was my transformation turning my gorgeous girlfriend kinky? I remembered her insistence on watching me put on my lingerie in the mornings when I was my mother…

I changed into one of Dolly’s – my – least frumpy dresses and went downstairs to start supper. I was now every inch an elderly lady in my floral housedress and pinny, cooking for myself and my beloved granddaughter.

* * *

We travelled to and from work together, usually in Annie’s car. I did drive Dolly’s old mini occasionally but I didn’t like it much, and wasn’t comfortable driving in my heels and tight women’s clothes. Whichever car we used, we were soon being followed by the blue Fiesta. We noted his registration number. We also got a good look at Treacher himself over the next few days, hopefully still without him realising we knew he was following us.

We became quite used to him dogging our footsteps. I wondered how he had discovered our place of business in the first place. Harriet certainly wouldn’t have known it. But it would have been easy enough for him to find out where Dolly lived, so he must have followed Annie and me from Dolly’s house the morning after the Ladies’ Pairs Final.

It soon became clear he wasn’t at all interested in Annie. Whenever we separated – for instance, if Annie dropped me at the shops while she went off somewhere else – he invariably followed me. This was good, in that it meant Annie could visit the real Dolly in hospital, but bad because I was under even more pressure to make my impersonation flawless. That meant doing everything Dolly usually did.

It also made me paranoid. What if Treacher intercepted one of the kitchen staff on their way home and bribed or cajoled them into watching me carefully and reporting back to him? Like any small business we suffered frequent turnover of support staff in catering and housekeeping. We stressed the importance of discretion to them, for the benefit of our clients, but we couldn’t expect the same loyalty from people who had only been with us for a short time as we could from the likes of Vera, Sharon, and of course, Dolly.

My paranoia included worrying that Treacher might have broken into Dolly’s house and planted listening devices, despite the burglar alarm which we used rigorously whenever we went out. I asked Fred if he could get hold of a device to ‘sweep’ a building for bugs. He chuckled but obliged, and I used the detector every day when we got home before I allowed myself to break character. I suggested Fred do the same for the company offices, but he didn’t take me seriously.

Annie, Vera, Sharon, Fred and my mother told me everything they knew about Dolly’s life, and Annie quizzed the real Dolly further when she visited her. Between them they managed to put together her weekly routine. She actually led a busier life than I had realised. On Tuesdays I would have to drive myself to the Winter Gardens to play bingo. Wednesday was Bridge, usually with either Ingrid or Fred. Thursday was Dolly’s day off and in the morning she went to a Seniors Swim at the local leisure centre.

On Friday evenings she had a Ballroom Dancing class, which was a bit of a surprise, given what I knew of her knees. Perhaps Vera was right and she had been exaggerating. Also, once a month she did the flowers for the Sunday services at St Marks with her friend, Betty. That was coming up soon, I noted.

None of these activities appealed much, but at least Annie volunteered to come with me. I was concerned that Dolly would have friends at both bingo and dancing. I asked her to pump her grandmother for information about the people she knew – with photos, if possible.

Worst of all, I had to learn to knit. One of the waitresses mentioned that she hadn’t seen me knitting lately. Had I given it up? I muttered something about arthritis in my fingers but realised I was going to have to learn if I wanted to keep my impersonation convincing. Fortunately Vera was a near expert. She said it was ironic because Dolly had taught her how to knit a while ago and now she had to teach Dolly back.

I suppose irony doesn’t actually have to be funny, or maybe I was just finding it hard to see any humour in my situation.

I had to learn a whole new vocabulary: how to cast on and off; plain and purl stitching; how to switch between two balls of wool to make knitwear with patterns of more than one colour; and different kinds of stitch. I found it all much harder than it looked. Maintaining a constant tension in my yarn was particularly difficult. An early exercise was to knit a six inches square of material. The first row was almost exactly six inches, but the last row was less than four, because I had tightened up. I would have to spend every spare moment with my wool and needles. Annie found it hilarious.

At work Dolly enjoyed a privileged position as the boss’s friend as well as her employee, but she was determined to do her bit and not to take advantage. So morning coffee and afternoon tea were her – my – responsibilities exclusively, and in between, I had to fill in wherever I was needed. Everyone recognised the need not to overload such an elderly employee. I was therefore never asked to clean the ovens, which required elbow grease as well as awkward bending down, but I did have to take my turn in cleaning lavatories, which was humiliating and definitely not what I had expected my first paid job to entail.

After a week of this new life, I was beginning to settle into Dolly’s routine. I got used to strapping myself into my tight shapewear to force my flabby, droopy flesh into the form of a respectable matron, and I got used to making up my old, craggy face into something I could stand to look at in the mirror.

I became accustomed to spending my days in stockings, high heels, and a maid’s uniform, at the beck and call of housekeeping staff – dusting, vacuuming, serving in the cafeteria, washing-up, and helping the other girls to make up the rooms when we had clients staying in the overnight accommodation. No one outside our little circle seemed to suspect anything, presumably putting any unusual behaviour on my part down to my recent illness. And I had to do it all with a big smile on my face because Dolly was always so damn cheerful.

When I got home I changed out of that blasted maid’s uniform as soon as I could. Unfortunately none of Dolly’s own clothes were much better. It looked like she hadn’t bought anything new, let alone attractive, for ages. I wondered if my granddaughter might take me shopping at the weekend?

But eventually I began to relax a little and mostly didn’t find being a tea lady and housemaid so bad. I would still have preferred to work with Fred on software development, to vacuuming and scrubbing toilets, but after carrying Dolly’s weight around all day, when five o’clock came round, I was generally too tired to go down to the Bunker and start working on the computers, so Fred had to manage by himself for the moment. In any case, Treacher would be waiting somewhere until I left and was bound to be suspicious if I seemed to be working twelve-hour days.

* * *

The following Tuesday I had to get dressed up smartly to go to bingo. Annie warned me that all the other old ladies there would be merciless to any of their number who didn’t make the best of herself. So I took a little longer over my hair than usual and tried to remember what I knew about evening make-up.

I chose a dark blue dress with white polka dots. It had a lace collar and more lace round the cuffs of its long sleeves. I stood in front of the wardrobe mirror, checking my appearance. I reached up under my skirt to pull my underslip down properly. There was no danger of it showing as the dress came down to well below my knees.

I wore a pearl necklace and matching clip-on earrings, which I thought went well with my dress. I thought I looked nice, but what did I know?

“That dress is lovely on you, Granny,” Annie said, coming up behind me.

“Thank you, dear. It’s just right for an old biddy like me, isn’t it?” I said mournfully.

She must have detected something in my tone. She moved in for a hug.

“Be brave, babe,” she said softly in my ear. “This won’t be for long.”

She couldn’t know that. I sighed. I knew she was only trying to reassure me, but as long as I was stuck being an old lady I couldn’t be with this wonderful woman, at least not as I wanted to be. Suddenly my predicament started to overwhelm me. I found myself struggling to hold back tears. Annie realised I was upset and hugged me tighter.

Comforted a little, I got a grip on myself, pulled free, and managed a smile.

“Come along, Annie dear,” I said in my husky Dolly voice. “We shall be late.”

She helped me on with Dolly’s best coat and a matching round, cloche hat. They were a muted pink colour, and I found a chiffon scarf that went well with my outfit. I stepped into a pair of one-inch heels and picked up my handbag. I was as ready as I would ever be: a little old lady ready for an exciting night out. Bingo – yuck!

Seeing how nervous I was, Annie had volunteered to come along and ‘look after me’. She drove us to the venue. She helped me out of the car and into the hall; hung up my coat; found me a seat; and made me comfortable. Then she went to get me a glass of cider.

“It’s not so bad being an old lady when I have a doting granddaughter to look after me,” I said, when she came back. She laughed and kissed me – on the cheek, of course.

“Look after your handbag now, Granny,” she said, and hung it on the back of my chair.

There were several old dears who knew Dolly by sight, and well enough to exchange a few words with, so I had to try and make ‘old lady conversation’. This began with mutual compliments about our dresses. It soon moved on to enquiries about hair and make-up, then to complaining about our various ailments.

One lady told us all about her varicose veins. Equipped with Vera’s tuition on the subject I was able to commiserate with her and explain how my support stockings helped me with mine. They had me lift my skirt to demonstrate, and told me how good my legs were for a woman of my age.

Fortunately nobody there was a close friend so I survived the evening well enough. The main problem was boredom, at least for me. I enjoyed the chat far more than the bingo and was pleased – though a little embarrassed – to find I had no difficulty fitting in with the group.

Annie told me that if there was ever a slump in the software business, I could have a long and successful career as an old lady. She joined in with the bingo enthusiastically. She won ten pounds on my behalf and got quite excited at times, but I can’t say I understood the appeal.

At a mid-session break I looked out into the car park, and there was the blue Fiesta.

* * *

I played Bridge with Fred on the Wednesday and quite enjoyed myself. A lot of people came up to congratulate me on our success in the Ladies Pairs Final, which was nice. Harriet was conspicuous by her absence. That was a shame in a way because I’d hoped a little friendly conversation with her might have persuaded her to call off her hound. When I got up to hobble to the Ladies half-way through the evening, I saw that he was outside in his damn Fiesta as usual.

When the evening’s results were announced, we had come top of the pairs sitting North-South. Fred hugged me and kissed me on the cheek to celebrate. I couldn’t really object. I suppose he would have done that with the real Dolly, and to do less might have seemed suspicious. Or maybe he’d just forgotten who was under the old lady façade. I was often in danger of forgetting myself.

* * *

On Thursday morning I really didn’t fancy showing off my old lady body at the swimming pool in nothing but a swimsuit, but I came under a lot of pressure from both Annie and my mother to go through with it.

“The trouble is, we don’t know how much of Granny’s routine Treacher has found out,” said Annie. “So if you start doing something she doesn’t, or don’t do something she usually does, you might raise his suspicions.”

My mother weighed in with a completely different argument.

“This will be an excellent test of how effective your ‘old lady’ disguise is,” she argued. “See if anybody notices anything odd about you.”

“But I’ll have to go in the women’s changing rooms. If it isn’t effective, I could be arrested!”

Neither of them seemed to be impressed. I changed tack.

“Can’t you come with me?” I asked Annie.

“It’s for seniors, isn’t it?” she said. “I’m about fifty years too young.”

“We could easily do something about that,” I said eagerly. “This is Transformations. You could see for yourself what it’s like having a flabby tummy, cellulite, and droopy boobs.”

“Hmm, tempting…” she said, “…but I’ll have to pass, I’m afraid. You’re on your own, Granny dear. I’m sure you’ll have a great time.”

I turned to my mother. “You would have two ‘old lady’ test subjects showing themselves off in public.”

“Sorry, Dolly, we’ve got three clients coming in that morning. I need Annie. Have a nice swim.”

The class was at ten o’clock and I turned up at the leisure centre half an hour early. The women’s changing rooms weren’t busy and I soon found an empty cubicle. I undressed and stepped into Dolly’s swimsuit, a black one-piece with a little skirt down to mid-thigh. It had blue flashes forming a trendy abstract design. I pulled the straps up over my shoulders and tugged the back of the costume down to encase my wobbly buttocks properly. I tucked my droopy boobs into the push-up bra. This had a neck hook closure and seemed to lift my breasts up nicely, preventing spillage.

I realised I was showing quite a bit of cleavage – not necessarily a good thing for a woman of my apparent age – but I felt well supported. So far, so good then; the suit seemed to be as effective at keeping me ‘respectable old lady-shaped’ as the stiff shapewear I had just taken off.

I took off my wig and wig cap and stuffed them in the bottom of my bag. I tucked Steve’s unruly mop into an old-fashioned pink ladies’ bathing cap, checking carefully that no strands of brown hair were visible where only grey should be seen. I stepped apprehensively out of the cubicle.

There were a couple of other old ladies chatting over by the washbasins. They had obviously finished their swim and were now restoring their hair and make-up at the mirrors.

I paused to check my appearance. All I saw was Dolly, exactly as I would have expected her to look, with her plump, floppy curves and droopy, wrinkly skin. Even her – my – fat legs had the wrinkles, cellulite and varicose veins they should have had. The other ladies smiled at me as I passed but showed no particular interest. I smiled back, embarrassed at being caught admiring myself, and hobbled through the footbath at the exit to the pool.

It was nearly empty. There were three or four people sedately doing lengths. Both sexes were represented. I put on my goggles and slipped into the water. For someone recently used to the chilly waters off Newquay, the pool was very warm. Fred had assured me that my padding was waterproof and would help me with my buoyancy rather than dragging me down, and so it proved. He was right – my generous boobs and buttocks actually helped me stay afloat. I joined the lengths swimmers, confining myself to a dignified old lady breast stroke. Steve’s energetic freestyle would have looked seriously out of place.

At ten o’clock one of the centre staff came out and blew her whistle. I noticed more elderly people had materialised since I had got in the water. Most of them were still shivering at the edge of the pool, but now gingerly made their way down the steps and into the shallow end.

The class began. There were about a dozen of us. It was a mix of aerobics, physical jerks, and help to improve our strokes, with water safety advice thrown in. There was plenty of opportunity to chat to our neighbours. The jolly lady next to me confided that she was only doing this because her grandchildren were now old enough to learn to swim, and this would give her the opportunity to spend more time with them. I smiled and sympathised.

I glanced up at the viewing gallery, which was a huge glass panel all the way along one wall of the restaurant upstairs. There was Treacher, sitting at a table by the window, drinking coffee and watching all us old ladies carefully. I suspected he wouldn’t be able to work out which of them was me, but I tried to stay in character. Blast the man! How much longer would I have to put up with this?

* * *

On Friday evening I was back at the leisure centre, but now in the sports hall for Ballroom Dancing. Annie helped me get ready. I needed a long dress and evening make-up, both of which were a challenge for me in my present guise, but when she’d finished I didn’t look too bad. I managed to persuade her to come too. We couldn’t dance together, of course, and I was very glad to see there was no man there less than twice her age.

I’m completely tone deaf and knew little about waltzes, foxtrots, quicksteps or tangoes, but Rachel had dragged me along to a couple of Ballroom Dancing classes at Cambridge. I’d quite enjoyed it, despite my ignorance. Mind you, I had never done it in high heels or backwards. I was used to leading, but I found I had learned enough to fake it.

I had several keen partners, all elderly gentlemen. Most of them seemed to know Dolly quite well, and that she couldn’t do any of the more vigorous dances because of her back and knees. The real Dolly had described all the gentlemen she could remember to Annie, and I’d spent ages memorising everything I was supposed to know about them. She particularly warned me of a couple of old rogues with wandering hands, and when I was on the dance floor with them, I spent most of the dance pulling their mitts off my corseted butt and back up to my waist.

One old fool tried to dip me. He soon found that I was heavier than I looked and his back went. We spent several embarrassing minutes locked in position with me nearly horizontal, screaming at him not to let go, until someone came to support me and pull me back up to my feet.

Because of the known average age of the dancers, there was always a St John’s Ambulance crew at the hall, and they took my partner, still locked in position, to Accident and Emergency. Apparently this was a regular occurrence and all in a day’s work for them.

I spent the rest of the evening shuffling backwards round the dance floor to the slower dances, supported by tall, strong men. No one else tried to dip me, and it was all very pleasant.

I thought I caught a glimpse of Treacher in the crowd, but I wasn’t sure. Annie didn’t see him. But the blue Fiesta was in the car park when we left. It followed us home through the town, keeping a few cars back.

* * *

So I found I could survive life as Dolly; more than that, to my surprise I found it was actually becoming comfortable. At first, I had to concentrate hard to slow down my movements and reactions to emulate a septuagenarian of the opposite sex. I had to restrain the twenty-year-old male who would otherwise react too quickly and move too fast. Now, moving slowly like an old lady was becoming instinctive. When I first started trying to act like Dolly, I always had to pause and think ‘what would Dolly do?’ in any situation, but increasingly the right reaction was becoming natural.

My knitting was getting better too, and I reached for it whenever I sat down for a rest. I even got it out in the car to and from work, to Annie’s great amusement. I always seemed to improve quickly when I set myself a project. Dolly had a huge collection of wool with a preponderance of pink, so I decided to knit a cardigan in that colour. I thought I might try a pattern of red and yellow roses on it too, and went to Vera for help. She was surprised and asked whether I wanted to learn to sew as well. I think she was being sarcastic, but it reminded me that there was an old sewing machine in our spare bedroom, and I made a mental note to check it out that evening.

I began to look forward to dancing on Fridays. Some of the old gentlemen were truly charming and two of them asked me out to dinner. For a moment I was tempted – after all, Dolly would probably have accepted, wouldn’t she? – but sanity prevailed. I didn’t need any more complications in my weird life just at the moment, and besides, what would Dolly say when she came out of hospital to find she was in a relationship with an elderly Lothario?

Thinking about that brought me up short. Was I actually starting to adapt to the life of an old lady? At times it seemed like Steve had left and the spirit of Dolly had moved in. Was I actually becoming her? That would hardly be surprising, given my current form and the need to impersonate her completely. It seemed like years since I had been a young man. Was I in danger of losing myself?

Still didn’t like bingo though.

* * *

These sinister thoughts started me worrying about my relationship with Annie.

One night I was sitting at the dressing table in my nightie, sponging off my make-up, and staring sadly at my wrinkled old lady face. Annie was lying on the bed. She had a magazine open in front of her, but she was watching me carefully.

“Are you all right, Granny?” she said, anxiety evident in her voice.

I sighed. “What happened to that nice boy you used to go out with, dear?” I asked her in my Dolly voice. “He hasn’t been around for a while, has he? What was his name? Steve Something? I thought you liked him.”

“I did,” she said, earnestly. “I mean, I do!”

I don’t think she knew whether I was being serious; I’m not sure I did. Maybe she thought Dolly had taken me over completely.

“He’s away for a while doing a really important job,” she rushed on to say, “but he’ll be back soon, and I’ll be waiting for him – however long it takes.”

“That’s nice, dear,” I said, rubbing cold cream into my face. I put on my sleep bonnet and got up to join her in bed. “Now move over and make room for Granny.”

That night I had a horrible nightmare that I had aged fifty years and changed sex. What was worse was that when I woke up, I found that it was true.

* * *

It was now three weeks since I had first been glued into my prosthesis and the adhesive was finally working loose. I arranged with Vera to take it off so that she could clean and disinfect it, and I could do the same to myself.

That all went smoothly but I knew I would have to put the horrid thing back on again before I could leave that night as the faithful Treacher would be waiting outside. Surely he must be getting fed up by now? But I supposed he was on a nice little earner from Harriet and would be in no hurry to give it up. I wondered what he had told her about me. I hoped George would tell my mother if Treacher found out anything significant.

This time I made Vera promise not to glue the body prosthesis back on me. She sympathised and showed me that it could actually be separated into two parts. I allowed her to use adhesive for the top half, so I was still stuck with my bulbous, droopy breasts, flabby tummy, and batwing arms, but I insisted on being able to remove the abdominal section. It was a struggle to get on and off, but that meant it was tight enough to stay up by itself, as long as I didn’t do anything too energetic, which was obviously impossible..

That decision turned out to be fully justified that night, and our resumption of normal(ish) relations was a double celebration. Annie had been to see her real grandmother while Vera was wrestling with the fake one and ‘her’ prosthesis. Dolly was feeling much better. She was starting to get restless stuck in a hospital bed and was keen to get back to her own home, though probably no keener than I was.

“When I saw her today, Granny said she was very grateful for what you’re doing,” said Annie in bed that night. “She would never have asked you to do it if she had known what would happen.”

“And I wouldn’t have agreed, believe me.”

“She just didn’t want to let Ingrid down. She reckons she owes you a big favour. When she gets out of hospital, she’ll look for a way to reciprocate.”

“She said that? ‘Reciprocate’?”

Annie nodded.

“That means ‘to go up and down’, doesn’t it?”

Annie giggled.

“Well perhaps you’d like to go up and down on her behalf?”

Nodding enthusiastically, she pulled up my nightie and reciprocated. A lot.

* * *

With the prospect of no longer being Dolly in sight, albeit in the distance, I finally got round to holding my mother to her promise. She hadn’t mentioned it, obviously hoping I’d forgotten.

“I strongly advise you not to do this, Dolly; I mean, Steven,” she said. “I’m sorry,” she smiled. “Your disguise is so good, it’s easy to forget.”

We were alone in her office, but she too had gotten into the habit of only calling me Dolly, to minimise the risk of mistakes.

“It’s all right,” I said bitterly and, I noticed, in my Dolly voice, “I’m used to it now.”

I was becoming more and more concerned that changing my appearance was changing my persona too. I found myself humming as I hoovered the carpets and polished the furniture and poured the tea. I smiled sweetly and called everyone ‘Dear’. I wasn’t sure I could walk far in Dolly’s shoes without my stick now. I swear I was starting to find it difficult to get up off my knees after cleaning a toilet. So it was quite a shock to be addressed as ‘Steven’ again after three weeks of only answering to ‘Dolly’ or ‘Granny’.

“I promise you really have nothing to gain by meeting him,” my mother continued, “and you might find it upsetting.”

“I’ll take that risk,” I said. “I’m twenty years old, mother.”

At that point I happened to catch sight of the elderly maid in the mirror and realised that my words sounded ridiculous coming from her, but I ploughed on.

“I think I can handle a conversation with my father, even if we haven’t seen each other for more than a decade.”

“Wouldn’t you prefer to meet him when you’re back to being Steven?” she said.

“Maybe, but I need you to give me the details now. I may not be able to wait. It will soon be time for me to go back to college – assuming this Treacher thing is over with by October. If Dad asks about my disguise, I can tell him I’m testing your latest products. Presumably he knows what we do here, so he shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She sighed. “You will need to contact him through a waitress at the Little Café in Royston. It’s opposite the station. Her name is Rita Johnson.” I remembered that was the woman that Nuttall, the Bank Manager, mentioned. “That’s all I can tell you.”

I was pretty sure it wasn’t all she could tell me, but it would be enough, at least for now.

* * *

So that Saturday Annie drove us to Royston. We parked in the station ‘Pay & Display’ car park and Annie paid for a one-hour ticket.

“Here, Granny, hold onto my arm,” Annie said. “I’ll help you up the steps.”

“Thank you, dear,” I said gratefully, in my creaky ‘old lady’ voice.

I struggled up the steep staircase from the car park to the street, mimicking the laborious movements of a fragile female septuagenarian. I moved slowly and painfully, leaning heavily on my walking stick. The ascent was actually a challenge with all my bulky padding, even in only one-inch heels.

“Is he watching?” I asked, in a softer voice, trying not to move my lips.

My spectacles were plain glass but they were still thick and they inhibited my distance vision. Annie took a surreptitious look back over my shoulder.

“Afraid so,” she confirmed. “You need to stay in character.”

This still felt very strange as only last night I had been making love to Annie with a vigour quite incompatible with the elderly lady I appeared to be. The weight of my portly figure had meant she had to go on top, which I found a little humiliating, but there was no doubting her enthusiasm, or her agility. It was the best lovemaking session we’d had in the two months we had been together. I had hoped we were getting serious, but my current circumstances had definitely thrown a spanner in the works. How could I talk of our future together when I was living as a seventy-year-old woman, and her grandmother into the bargain?

We made our way toward the little diner. I pretended to lean on her arm.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” she said. “You’ve only just found out about him. Why not wait till you’re you again?”

“But who knows when that will be?”

We had reached the door of the diner. I looked inside.

“Come on, there’s a table free at the far end,” I said. “I’ll sit with my back to the window, so you can keep an eye out for our friend.”

Annie helped me off with my overcoat. I leaned my stick against the wall and hung my handbag over the arm of my chair. Sweeping my dress underneath me, I sat down, glad to get my extra weight off my feet. I was careful to make sure that my skirt covered my wrinkled legs in their support stockings. My tight shapewear helped me to keep my knees together.

“I’m still amazed at how convincing you are!” Annie said softly, taking the seat opposite me. “You’d have to know my Granny really well to be able to tell that you’re not her.”

“Thank you, dear,” I said, trying to stay in character. “Any sign of you-know-who?”

“I can’t see him at the moment, but I expect he’s watching us from somewhere.”

The tired-looking waitress with the short, fake-looking ginger hair was approaching with a smile and two menus.

“Morning, ladies,” she said brightly. “How are you today?”

I stared at her closely. Her name badge said ‘Rita’. She looked puzzled at my scrutiny, then nervous. I was sure she had recognised me; that is, Dolly. I looked around. There was no one nearby to overhear me.

“We’re fine,” I said in my normal voice. “How are you, Dad?”

* * *

It was seven o’clock that evening. We had spent the day pottering around Royston, which is nearly as interesting as Peterborough, waiting for Rita to get off duty. Now we were at her little one-bedroom flat. She – he – was passing out tea and biscuits.

“I recognised you as Dolly immediately,” he said, “though I hadn’t seen her for years. Your disguise is brilliant! It’s impossible to see a twenty-year-old man under all that. How on earth do you do it?”

“The technology is just an extension of what we’ve been doing for the last four years. Presumably you know about that?”

He nodded. “I do still see Ingrid from time to time. We have to meet at the bank for me to sign documents occasionally. But there must be more to it than that?”

“There is, but the formulation of the skin texture for the flesh pieces – my wrinkles, the bags under my eyes, the dewlap and so on – that’s all down to Annie. She’s a genius with facial prosthetics.”

My girlfriend blushed prettily but didn’t bother with any false modesty.

“When I recognised Dolly, I wondered why you were here, of course,” he said, “but when a young male voice came out of your mouth, I nearly fainted. How did you know who I was? Did Ingrid tell you everything?”

“No, she just said that if I wanted to meet my father, I had to see Rita Johnson first. It wasn’t hard to work out.”

“I’d love to see what you really look like.”

“Oh, here!” said Annie, reaching into her handbag.

She took out a picture we’d had taken at Newquay. We were in our swimsuits. She looked fantastic in her bikini; I looked a little smug to be with her. My father studied it with a strange, lost expression on his face.

“What a great picture!” he said, with a sniff. “You both look so... happy. You do look a lot like me when I was young.”

He fell silent. After a minute, I cleared my throat.

“I assume Mum used to help you dress before you moved out, did she? And that’s how she got started in the business?”

He pulled himself together and returned the picture to Annie.

“Yes. After leaving school she did Business Administration at the local college. Her first job was working in the theatre – backstage. She loved that. She had been in school plays, and she was very good, but she never wanted to be a performer. She didn’t like to be the centre of attention. But the job meant she learned a lot about make-up, costumes, and so on. Anyway, although I was – am – completely hetero, I’ve never been able to resist the urge to cross-dress. She knew I was active in the gay/trans community, but we were in love, and we told ourselves it didn’t matter. After we married, I suggested we use the house as a place where my friends could dress, and she volunteered to help. I think she saw it as a way of keeping us together. We never did anything nasty; no bondage, sado-masochism, or anything. We just helped guys play out their cross-dressing fantasies – being schoolgirls or maids or whatever. All in complete secrecy.”

“So what went wrong?”

“We both changed over time, I suppose.” He sighed. “I realised I couldn’t carry on as a Lord of the Manor who just had an odd hobby. This…” He gestured towards his face and boobs, and swept his hands down his skirt and stockings. “…is who I really am.”

It was ironic. I had no wish to cross-dress, let alone adopt a feminine identity, but somehow I was following in his footsteps anyway, just not in quite so high heels.

“So, are those…” I hesitated. I realised he might not want to answer my impending question in front of Annie.

“Are my breasts real, you mean?” he smiled, apparently not in the least embarrassed. “They’re certainly real to me, but, no. They’re just top-quality forms, and glued on. I haven’t undergone any procedures apart from electrolysis to remove all my body hair. I do take a very mild female hormone – your mother provides it – but it’s only enough to smooth my skin, not to make any major physical changes.”

“But you needed to live as a woman?”

“Not just any woman – I couldn’t be the Lady of the Manor either. There was something else in me. I needed to be a servant – a maid or a waitress, all the time. I think I was uncomfortable with my privilege. I hadn’t earned any of what I owned, so I felt I didn’t deserve it. I needed to start again at the bottom…” He sighed.

“Ingrid did what she could to help me, and persuaded me to stay. I lived as her maid for six months. Then you were born and she needed me even more. It was wonderful for a while. I wore a Nanny’s uniform! That was when I was happiest, I think. I loved taking you to the park in your pram and chatting to the other ladies there about our babies.”

He sighed, a euphoric look on his face. I was impressed at how completely feminine he was, but I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. He’d been living a totally female life for more than twenty years.

“But in the end I had to move out,” he continued sadly. “I couldn’t let myself get attached to you, or you to me. There was no way I could be a proper father to you, and I was terrified that knowing what I was would damage you for life. I left Ingrid with everything – the house, the estate, all our money, and you. She deserved it all. None of this was her fault.”

I was beginning to see what my mother had meant when she said that I had nothing to gain by meeting him. This was a sad story, and it was serving no purpose but to satisfy my curiosity and depress my poor father all over again.

“I found a bedsit in town and used my contacts to find jobs as a cleaner, maid, nanny, whatever,” he continued. “I came back every month or so for a while, dressed as a man, but I couldn’t keep doing that. As you grew, became a toddler, I found it too hard to play with you and then leave. When you started to talk, you would ask about me when I wasn’t there, wanting to know where I was, when I would next be coming. I was starting to become too important to you. We both agreed a clean break was necessary. I didn’t want you to have a pervert in your life, especially not your father...”

We both protested at this description of himself.

“Maybe attitudes have changed,” he admitted, “but we’re talking about nearly twenty years ago, remember. That’s how even I thought of myself back then.”

Silence fell again.

“So is that still how you live?” I asked.

“Yes, I work two jobs now, as a cleaning lady in the mornings and waitress at lunchtime and dinner time. I’m off this evening, in case you were wondering.”

He realised that we were looking around the flat. It was clean and well decorated; very feminine; but very small.

“Ingrid sends me small gifts of money from time to time,” he smiled. “At first I sent them back, then the flat needed a new boiler, then I had a huge bill on my little car. I think Ingrid has always felt guilty that she couldn’t tolerate my… urges. I always try to reassure her that none of it is her fault; that it’s all down to me, and I’m sorry I hurt her, but…” He trailed off.

“I’m just glad Fred was around. He was one of my best friends. I knew I could rely on him to keep an eye on you both. You know he’s gay, I suppose?”

“Yes, though he’s not ‘out’, as such.”

“Silly boy,” said my father, shaking his curly red head.

“Don’t you get lonely?” Annie asked.

“I have an on-off partner, a woman who has just the right sort of kinks to enjoy my company, in bed and out. I’m lucky to have found her, but… well, let’s just say there are reasons why we can’t be together all the time.” We must have been looking sympathetic. “It’s fine, really. We’re not in love or anything.”

He reached for the teapot to give us refills.

“But you haven’t told me why you came as Dolly?” His plump, feminine features darkened. “Are you… like me? Was this Ingrid’s idea, to show me what I had done to our son?”

“Yes, it’s her fault, but no, that’s not why. Actually I had no choice.”

I went on to explain that I wasn’t a cross-dresser, and how my mother had got me involved in testing the technology. It hadn’t occurred to me before that perhaps she was also testing to see if I had inherited transvestism from my father…

I explained my current predicament. He tutted when I got to the part where my mother used emotional blackmail to get me to play in the Ladies’ Pairs. He made me promise to send his best wishes to the real Dolly. Towards the end of the story, when I mentioned we were even now under surveillance, he gasped. He stood up and went to the window. Opening the curtains a tiny crack, he peered through.

“Yes, I can see a blue Fiesta out there. It’s on the other side of the street, about thirty yards down. You’ll need to be careful when you leave.”

“You realise he’ll try and investigate you too now?” I said.

“Let him,” he smiled. “He won’t find anything. Rita’s back story is bomb-proof – birth certificate, National Insurance number, driving licence, even a passport, though I haven’t been abroad since becoming her. Ingrid spent quite a bit of money with her contacts to make sure I’m legit.”

“He may wonder why we’ve come to see you though,” said Annie. “What our relationship could be.”

My father gave that a little thought.

“Well, Dolly and I knew each other well once. She knows all about me. We were close when I was growing up and she was housekeeper at the Manor. She stayed on when Ingrid and I got married. Then my father died and I couldn’t keep the maidservant inside me any longer. Dolly didn’t want to have anything to do with Rita, so she left, and I can’t blame her. We don’t see each other anymore, but we’ve kept in touch – Christmas cards, birthdays, and so on. So we can let Treacher think that Dolly and Rita are old friends.”

“That’s all right then,” I said, “but I may have to come again sometime to make it realistic.”

He smiled. “Fine by me… Dolly.”

We got up to leave.

“Keep the picture, Rita,” said Annie, pushing it across the table to him. “We have the digital version on our computer.”

* * *

When we got home I reported back to my mother for her side of the story.

“Your father’s… compulsions… did make me angry at first,” she said. “I hated pretending to treat him as my maid. It didn’t help that I am physically bigger and stronger than him. He was – is – clearly submissive, but I’m no dominatrix. I loved him. I wanted him to hold me, and comfort me, but he just wanted to wash and iron my clothes and clean the toilets. I don’t know when he stopped loving me, but I eventually stopped loving him. I wouldn’t be the mistress to his housemaid any longer, so he moved out to find someone else who would. I’m happy that he has.”

Her version of the sad story wasn’t exactly the same as his, but I suppose it was close enough. I could see that she felt guilty that her love wasn’t strong enough to tolerate his sexuality.

“What about the house, and the business?” I said.

“Everything is in our joint names – his original name. We still have a joint bank account – separate from the Transformations business account – but he never takes any money from it. I assume he has a personal account in his new name. I don’t know how that works, how he pays tax, deals with the Revenue, and so on. I’m sure he’s not cheating them or anything, but I suspect what he does isn’t strictly legal.”

“So, was making me a test subject for all your transformation techniques anything to do with him?”

“Only insofar as you take after him physically, rather than me, and are therefore an ideal test subject.” I must have looked sceptical. “All right,” she admitted, “maybe I needed to find out whether you had inherited any of his proclivities as well. For my own peace of mind, and because if you did, perhaps I could help you.”

* * *

When Annie and I turned up for work on Monday morning Fred met us inside the front door.

“Ah, there you are, Dolly,” he said. “Mrs Jones and I are out on the patio. When you’ve changed, would you bring us some coffee, please?”

I was about to ask what the hell, when he put a finger to his lips and winked. I choked back my protest. We must have visitors, I assumed.

“Would you like a cup too, Annie?” he said. Without waiting for an answer, he continued, “Bring a cup for Miss Rogers too then, please, Dolly.”

He turned and walked away. Annie shrugged and grimaced at me, then followed him. Feeling more like a skivvy than ever, I went to the kitchen. I put on my maid uniform and made coffee for three. If I was the maid, I reasoned, I wouldn’t be joining them.

When I got out to the patio the three of them were sitting at one of the wrought iron picnic tables arguing quietly but fiercely. Annie looked particularly upset. I put the tray down on the table and reached for the fourth chair.

“Don’t sit down, Dolly,” my mother hissed. “We may be being watched.”

So I stood there, like a maid, with my hands clasped in front of my apron.

“Do you want me to curtsey as well, madam?” I said icily. “Only I don’t know how.”

“Don’t get all huffy, for heaven’s sake, Steve,” said Annie. “The situation’s bad enough already.” I looked at her incredulously. “Please! They have good reason to be cautious.”

“Thank you, Annie,” said Fred. He turned to me. “Steve, when you asked me to get you a bug detector, I laughed, but I actually got two. I gave you one and kept the other. I’ve been sweeping the ground floor areas most mornings, feeling a bit silly, but today I found three listening devices. I apologise; you were right and I was wrong.”

That changed everything. I saw why they were treating me this way. It didn’t make me any less angry, but at least I understood.

“Where were they?”

“One’s in the hallway, which is why I had to act as if you were the actual maid this morning. Sorry about that,” Fred said. “Another was in Vera’s office, presumably because Treacher noticed it’s the biggest consulting room, with the most equipment. The third was in the staff common room. He probably couldn’t get into the photography suite or the Bunker. We keep them both locked, and there’s no sign of tampering. After that, I went through the whole building. It took me ages, but I didn’t find any more bugs.”

“How the hell did he get in?” I asked.

“We don’t know,” Fred said. “I’ve been round the building but I can’t see any signs of tampering with any of the doors or windows. Mind you, there were a couple of upstairs windows open round the back.”

“And I’m afraid we may have forgotten to set the security system,” said my mother.

That seemed quite likely. I had taken over responsibility for doing it since coming back home in May but now I was living at Dolly’s place. Mum might easily have forgotten it was her job again to set the burglar alarm.

“Or he may have an accomplice,” suggested Annie.

The others obviously hadn’t thought of that.

“I’m going to move Vera to another office,” said my mother. “It’s not just that we can’t afford for Treacher to hear anything that suggests Dolly might not actually be Dolly; we can’t have him listening in while she’s working with a client either. It’s a good thing that Vera and Sharon keep their offices tidy. Hopefully he won’t have seen anything that gives away what we do here.”

“Especially in the dark,” Fred added.

“We’ll have to do something about the other bugs though,” said my mother.

“You could put a radio close up to the one in the common room,” I suggested. “That should be enough to make sure he can’t make out anything we’re saying.”

“Good idea, Dolly,” said my mother, emphasising the name, “and maybe we could pile some boxes up against the one in the hall. Oh, this is a damn nuisance!”

“On the bright side, it’s a pretty desperate move by Treacher,” said Fred. “It’s not illegal to follow someone for the purposes of gathering information, as long as you don’t harass them, but this is breaking and entering. He couldn’t have known whether there would be a burglar alarm. Hopefully it means he hasn’t been able to find anything useful about you, and this is his last throw of the dice.”

“You need to tell Dolly here the really bad part,” said my mother.

Fred looked embarrassed, but ploughed on.

“Unfortunately the bug detectors I got are cheapo kit from Amazon. They’re commercially available gadgets, and we can’t be sure they’re good enough to find the most modern listening devices. He may have planted other, more sophisticated bugs. The ones I found may be just decoys. It’s an arms race; if someone comes up with a better bug, then someone else has to develop a better detector. The most recent ones are incredibly expensive and hard to source. I’m working on it, but in the short term we just need to assume he can hear everything we say inside this building, and at Dolly’s place too.”

“That’s why we’re having coffee outside,” said my mother. “Luckily it’s a fine day. And we can’t have the maid sitting down and joining us as an equal because he may be watching from the trees on the other side of the fence…” I turned to scan the horizon. “Don’t look, you idiot!”

“He wouldn’t be able to see us from over there,” I said scathingly. “It must be two hundred yards away.”

It seemed to me they had gone from not taking the problem seriously enough to being utterly paranoid.

“If he can afford bugs, he can probably afford a pair of powerful binoculars,” my mother countered.

“I just hope he can’t lip read,” said Annie. “That’s why we’re sitting with our backs to the fence. You’d better keep to ‘Yes, Madam’ and ‘No, Madam’, if you’re going to stand there.”

“I’m not calling any of you ‘Madam’!” I said through gritted teeth. “Anyway I can’t believe a second-rate dick like him can afford such expensive kit.”

“Probably not,” my mother agreed, “but Harriet can – easily.”

I poured their coffees in silence and reached to take the tray back to the kitchen.

“OK, look,” said Fred, as I turned to go, “I agree we may be over-reacting. But we don’t know what he can see or hear. We’ll figure something out, but for the moment you have to be a hundred per cent Dolly. Everywhere, all the time. Even in the car to and from work. I’ll sweep Annie’s car before you leave tonight, but a car is even easier to bug than a house. You should find somewhere he can’t see you and sweep yours too; I mean Dolly’s mini.”

“I’m sorry about all this, Steven,” said my mother.

“Yeah, well that doesn’t do me a lot of good, does it?”

“It gets worse,” said Annie. “The same applies at home, doesn’t it? He may have planted bugs we can’t detect there too. You know what that means. I’m so sorry.”

“Seems there’s a lot of ‘sorry’ going around, but I’m the one who really has cause to be sorry.”

Annie started to say something, but I stormed back to the kitchen and my new life as a cleaner and tea lady, twenty-four-seven. Suddenly I was a lot less comfortable having to live Dolly’s life without respite, and being treated as her by all my nearest and dearest.

That evening I swept Dolly’s house again and still didn’t find any bugs, but according to Fred that didn’t mean we were safe.

* * *

It was a horrible week. I wasn’t able to be myself at any moment, not even at home. Not only did Annie now treat me as her Granny all the time, but I had to sleep alone too, in case Treacher had bugged our bedrooms without us knowing. I didn’t bother taking my lower half prosthesis off at all now. What would be the point?

I still didn’t think he could have gotten into our house. I had been diligent about locking up and setting the alarm. So I rather resented not being able to sleep with Annie. I would be going back to Cambridge in about three weeks, assuming this ludicrous situation was resolved somehow by then. I might not see her again until nearly Christmas, so I wanted to make the most of the remaining time we had.

My mother’s reasoning was that if Treacher had planted listening devices we didn’t know about, he presumably had done it at about the same time as the ones Fred had found. He wouldn’t take the risk of breaking into either of the buildings twice. So we probably hadn’t been bugged before, but we might have been now.

Whatever. I was now a full-time elderly maid and cleaning lady. With that, I realised I was well on the road to becoming my father: we were both male, heterosexual, and living and behaving as lowly servants of the opposite sex. The only difference between us was that he wanted that, and I didn’t. (Yet?)

* * *

Having left early for the summer, I had to be back in Cambridge by the first day of Full Term, or make arrangements to defer for a year. So as the weekend approached, I was more and more desperate to find some way of bringing my ghastly situation to an end. I was close to giving up, and begging Vera to remove all my prostheses and let me return to being Steve, even if it meant Harriet would win, and even if it meant losing the business.

Another problem was, where could we hold a council of war, given that I was a maidservant and couldn’t be seen sitting down and chatting with my employer and her senior staff? In the end Annie came up with the answer. This was the week when Betty and I were supposed to be doing the flowers at the church for the Sunday services, but she called to say that her husband had booked them a last-minute holiday – a week in Malaga. So Annie volunteered to help me. (That was just as well, as I didn’t know Betty, and knew even less about arranging flowers.)

She checked the routine with the real Dolly. On Saturday afternoon we would go to the florist in the High Street at about five o’clock just before it closed, and collect several baskets of flowers which the owner would have put aside for us. We would take them to the church and put them out in various strategic places – the altar, round the lectern, under the big stained-glass windows, etc. We didn’t actually need to do much flower arranging. The proprietress of the flower shop would have done most of the hard work by packing the baskets tastefully.

The plan was that Annie and I would collect the flowers in her car and drive to the church, presumably with Treacher following. We would leave the car in the church’s tiny car park, go in, and start arranging the flowers. Fred and my mother would park in town and walk to the church, making sure they got there before we and our shadow arrived.

They would find a dark, quiet corner inside and try to stay unobserved. It might be a little more complicated if there were other worshippers present, but we thought this would be unlikely, given the size of the Church of England congregation these days. There was choir practice in the evening but there were no services on Saturday afternoon, so the place was usually empty.

When we were sure that the detective was staying outside, the four of us would find a quiet spot – perhaps in the vestry if the vicar wasn’t around – to have a proper planning session. I looked forward to making my increasingly desperate opinions known. I was not going to become my father!

Saturday came and everything went like clockwork. We picked up the flowers and our tail, and parked in the church precinct, as planned. It took us three trips each to get all the baskets inside, me hobbling painfully as usual. I rather resented Treacher sitting in his car watching and not volunteering to help an old lady.

When we got inside, Fred and Mum were sitting in a pew in a dark corner at the back. You wouldn’t have noticed them if you weren’t looking for them.

Annie and I put the flowers out in record time. She checked the vestry, which was devoid of priests and lay persons. She waved and beckoned us from the door.

“We don’t have long,” Fred began. “Treacher will get suspicious if you spend hours arranging a few flowers, and it’s not as if there’s anything else to do in a church.”

“Praying, maybe?” suggested Annie.

“Never mind all that,” I interrupted angrily. “I cannot – will not – stay as Dolly any longer. I need an escape plan, and if you can’t help me, I’ll just go and break into Vera’s cupboard for the solvent and rip all this crap off myself, and hang the consequences!”

“Sorry, Steve, I should have led with the good news,” said Fred. “Dolly called Ingrid from the hospital this afternoon. She tried to reach you, Annie, but couldn’t get through.”

“They’re talking about her coming home soon,” my mother said. “So we need to discuss how you can ‘hand over’ to her, as it were.”

“I think you’ll have to have an accident,” Fred said, “so that we have a reason to take you to hospital. Presumably Treacher will follow. As far as the staff on Reception are concerned, we’ll all be there to visit Dolly, but…”

“…but when we get there, you can duck into the Ladies,” said my mother.

“While Ingrid, Fred and I go to Granny’s room,” said Annie. “You disappear and she’s back to being my only grandmother.”

She smiled at me, almost as she used to when I had been Steve.

“It could work, I suppose,” I nodded. “But how do I get out of the building without him seeing me? I don’t think I’ll be able to get to the back door or the goods entrance or whatever.”

“Well, it won’t be practical to get all your prosthetics off and turn you back to Steve at the hospital, even if we could find a private room,” said my mother. “But you can take another wig and a change of clothes, maybe some dark glasses. Then you can change in the bathroom and leave by the front door as a completely different old lady.”

Everyone approved of that idea.

“We’ll have to make sure the hospital doesn’t let Treacher in or give him any information – like how long Granny has really been there,” said Annie.

“They won’t usually give out any information of that kind to anyone other than family,” said Fred. “To make sure, we can warn the staff on Reception that Dolly is being stalked by an ambulance-chasing lawyer or something, and not to be fooled by anyone pretending to be a friend or relation.”

“Or emergency services,” I suggested. “He might have some kind of fake documentation.”

There were still some details to thrash out, not least what sort of accident I was going to have, but we were all satisfied the plan was workable; a bit desperate, but workable. We would put it into operation two days before Dolly was due to be released. Any less wouldn’t be realistic for a sudden accident that required hospitalisation. Any sooner – like going ahead right now, for instance – risked giving Treacher time to find a way around hospital security and discover how long Dolly had actually been there. That meant I would have to be Dolly the maid for at least another week.

“Do you think Treacher is looking tired, by the way?” said Annie. “When I came back from the hospital yesterday, I drove past his car and I’m sure he was asleep.”

“Good,” I said. “I hope he drops dead from exhaustion.”

The others looked a little embarrassed at my lack of charity. They clearly hadn’t appreciated how much I was hating my new life as an old lady. Fred cleared his throat.

“I’m not surprised he’s knackered,” he said. “He has to watch you all day, then listen to the bugs’ recordings all night.”

“He probably falls asleep doing that,” said Annie. “He won’t hear anything interesting there, will he?”

All agreed.

“Time we went,” said my mother, looking at her watch.

“There is one other thing,” I said, as the others were getting ready to go. “I know you have a hidden camera in Vera’s room.”

Annie looked surprised.

“How on earth did you…?” Fred began.

“It’s just to protect ourselves in case a client causes… problems,” my mother interrupted.

No doubt she was concerned that I would be angry that they had filmed my various transformations, and she was right, but that wasn’t what was on my mind right now.

“I don’t suppose it was running over last weekend, was it?” I asked.

“It’s triggered by a motion sensor, but Vera sometimes turns it off when she’s alone.” Fred had seen my point of course, and was getting excited. “She did have a client last thing on Friday, so she might not have switched it off before she left. It sends the images to a 2 Terabyte hard disk on the network. I’ll check it out as soon as we get back. Shit! Why didn’t I think of this?”

“I don’t understand,” said Annie. “What’s so important?”

“Fred’s nasty little spy camera just might have caught Treacher planting the bugs over the weekend,” I said. “This could give us leverage if we need it.”

* * *

When our planning session was over, Annie ran me back home, then rushed off to the hospital. As usual I watched her go, ready to text her mobile and warn her if Treacher followed her for a change. I opened the sitting room curtains to give Treacher a good view of the little old lady doing little old lady things. I settled down with my knitting while she was out. I was determined to finish my cardy before going back to being Steve.

When Annie returned she was full of news and dragged me into the little back garden to pass it on without being overheard. In case we were being watched she pretended to do some weeding while I hung out some of my underwear and stockings on the washing line.

Jubilantly she announced that after nearly four weeks Dolly’s doctor judged that her heartbeat was strong and regular; her blood pressure was normal, or at least acceptable; and her sternum was sufficiently healed that they could remove the cast and the wire.

The bad news was that it was likely to be ten days to a fortnight before she could go home. She still needed constant monitoring after such a serious operation, and would need physiotherapy to rebuild her strength. Also, when she did finally come home, she would be under strict instructions to spend most of her time lying down or propped up in an armchair. No heavy lifting; in fact, she wasn’t allowed to raise her arms above her head, as this would put pressure on the knitting breastbone which could open the break up again. This would mean she would need help getting dressed, or even to put her nightie on, so Annie would need to be back home with her. I had an open invitation to join them until it was time for me to go back to college.

“It’ll be nice to have a man about the house for a change,” said Annie, with an ironic smile. “By the way, Fred called me on my mobile. He has some very clear video of Treacher entering Vera’s office at two o’clock on Sunday morning, and planting his listening device behind one of the photographs on her wall.”

* * *

Of course I was disappointed that I would be Dolly for at least another week, but with a definite end in sight, I decided I could stick it out. It would be stupid to ruin everything at the last minute after all I had already put up with and the hard work I had done on my impersonation. Besides I still hadn’t finished the cardigan, and I had to sew the buttons on.

So we were back to the bingo on Tuesday. I won an early round, so I tried to look as if I was enjoying myself. Annie still seemed to love this night out with the elderly women. She warned our neighbours when their numbers were called out if they didn’t notice. She ran round helping the other old dears get their barley wines and halves of cider. Not being young and mobile, I had to sit and watch her, bored out of my mind.

There were a couple of other young women doing similar tasks for their elderly relatives. I mused that if I’d been Millie instead of Dolly I could have helped too. It wasn’t the sort of thing that Steve would have done, so where did that thought come from?

* * *

I played with my mother at the Bridge Club on the Wednesday. We were early and took our usual seats, North-South at Table One, so that as poor old Dolly I didn’t have to move. We were horrified when Jane Campanella joined us, sitting in the East seat. We had nothing against her. We hardly knew her, and liked what we knew, but it meant that Harriet would occupy the West seat when she arrived.

“I never got the chance to congratulate you on your result in the Ladies’ pairs,” she said with a smile. “Harriet said that was the first time you’d qualified for the Final. Well done indeed!”

That was nice of her, I thought. My mother obviously thought so too and ‘reciprocated’. They had a friendly chat while we waited. I kept glancing out of the window into the car park, but there was no sign of a blue Fiesta. Had Treacher given up, or was he assuming he could take a three-hour break while we were here playing Bridge?

I dragged my attention back to their conversation. Mum couldn’t stop herself from suggesting that Jane would have done even better in the Ladies’ Pairs Final if she hadn’t been in harness with Harriet. Jane smiled thinly but was much too diplomatic to comment. Professionals who spoke ill of their clients soon ran out of paying customers.

“You seem to be very interested in the car park, Dolly,” Jane said to me suddenly. “Are you expecting someone?”

I must have been looking out of the window too much. While I struggled to come up with an answer, my mother weighed in crossly.

“We’re being followed,” she said. “There’s a man in a blue Fiesta. He makes Dolly nervous.”

Too right he did. He – and bloody Harriet – were responsible for me spending my summer as an old lady.

“You mean you’re being stalked?”

She sounded sceptical, as well she might. Neither my mother nor I were typical stalking material, not being young and beautiful.

“No, he’s a private detective. Not a very good one either as we spotted him three weeks ago.”

Jane was incredulous. “Why…?” she spluttered. “What…?”

My mother looked at me. I shrugged. I couldn’t see any reason not to tell her. What’s the worst that could happen? She might tell Harriet we’re on to him, but that would surely bring this farce to an end one way or another.

“Harriet hired him,” my mother said. “She couldn’t see how Dolly and I could beat her at the Ladies’ Pairs, and take the third spot in the England pre-Trials. She’s sure we must have been cheating somehow, and she hired that man to follow us to find out how.”

“Follow me, actually,” I said, in my best, croaky whisper. “Ingrid’s a good player, but Harriet thinks I played above myself, and she’s suspicious. We don’t have a hope in the Trials, by the way. We’ll be lucky not to come last.”

“He also broke in and bugged my offices,” added my mother.

“What! Did you go to the police?”

“We don’t really have any proof. We found the listening devices, but we can’t prove who put them there.”

We both knew that was a lie, but there was no way my mother wanted Plod wandering around our place. We’d never see some of our clients again. Also, there might be some advantage in Treacher thinking he had got away with it.

“Well…” Jane was clearly at a loss. “I’ve never heard of such a thing! I thought you were all friends.”

My mother had the grace to look embarrassed.

“‘Friendly rivals’ would be a better description,” I said. “Like Federer and Nadal…?”

Actually that was a bad example. By all accounts Rafa and The Fed were good mates off the court.

“Probably best not to say anything to Harriet,” my mother said. “I’m sure she’ll stop it all soon. There’s nothing for him to find… obviously.”

“Understood,” Jane said, “but I’m not at all happy about this.”

Harriet arrived at that point. She gave us a curt nod, clearly not pleased with Jane’s choice of first-round opponents. She immediately engaged her professional partner in a discussion of a complex area of their bidding system and the friendly conversation came to an end.

It wasn’t a great evening for us. We didn’t do much wrong but neither did most of our opponents. Jane played one hand against us brilliantly; I didn’t expect to get many match points on that board. We finished a little above average. Harriet and Jane came top of the East-West pairs. Perhaps that would satisfy her and persuade her to call off her hound.

But he and that flaming blue Fiesta were back when we left and followed us home.

* * *

Friday was Ballroom Dancing again. I still looked forward to this, despite my continuing misgivings that Annie would find a new partner she preferred. I had raided Dolly’s wardrobe and found a pretty wrap dress she obviously hadn’t worn for years. It was white cotton with a swirly black pattern. Annie said it was quite ‘art nouveau’, but I doubt she really knew what that meant. I certainly didn’t.

Anyway it covered up what it needed to, while making interesting (and misleading) suggestions about what might be underneath. In a moment of madness I had bought a new extra-uplifting longline bra for my big droopy breasts, and I carried my enhanced embonpoint proudly before me onto the dance floor.

When we arrived we were both quickly snapped up by mature gentlemen, my partner being considerably more mature than Annie’s. His name was Gregory. He was tall, at least six inches taller than me, even though I was wearing my highest heels.

“What do you like about Ballroom?” I asked him, by way of making conversation as we swirled around the dance floor.

He considered thoughtfully.

“It’s a wonderful way to get to know someone,” he began. “Dancing closely together is the ultimate expression of romance, forging a human connection. I’m not that good with words, you see, so I take it to the dance floor and get swept away by the music…”

He suited the action to the words and executed a complicated double turn, sweeping me around as if I weighed nothing, which I absolutely didn’t. He was clearly stronger than he looked. As Dolly, with bad knees and a stiff back, I couldn’t cooperate properly, so he was actually lifting me clear of the floor for most of this manoeuvre.

“Not bad for someone who’s not very good with words!” I panted, getting my high heels firmly back on the ground before he – or I – got any more swept away.

“So does that mean you’ll have dinner with me at last?” he asked.

I tried an enigmatic smile. “I wouldn’t rule it out,” I said. “Ask me again next time.”

After all it wouldn’t be me next Friday, and Dolly might like him. Not that she would be attending ballroom dancing for a while yet.

“I certainly will,” he said, with what he thought was a sexy twinkle, but it just looked like there was something wrong with his eye.

He pulled me in closer. We were now dancing cheek-to-cheek. I didn’t resist. That would have been rude, and anyway it was quite nice.

* * *

When we got back I checked my voicemail. There was a message from my mother. George Bairstow had called her to tell her that Jane Campanella had resigned as Harriet’s partner. That meant that we could withdraw from the England Ladies Trials without letting Harriet in!

So Mum had told him that she and I were going to withdraw too, citing my age and state of health. I quickly deleted the voicemail in case Treacher found a way to hack it. Presumably my two friends from Cambridge would take the third spot. If Sheila could control her wilder urges, they should do well.

It felt like things were finally going my way…