Don’t-08

I had no idea how long I sat on my bed with my head in my hands. It was only a quiet knock on the door that stirred me.

“Go away.”

“Craig, please.”

The voice belonged to Jasmine.

“I don’t want to speak to anyone. Please just go away.”

She didn’t go away. Instead, she came into my room and sat on the bed next to me.

“We are so sorry Craig. We just didn’t know how to speak to you. Then… it all just came out. It came out all wrong. There is so much more that we wanted to say to you but we got it wrong. All so very wrong. We are both very sorry for that.”

I didn't answer. I was so wrapped up in my own thoughts and my own failures.

Yasmin then took me by surprise. She kissed me. Not just a peck on the cheek but a full-on kiss on the lips.

“No,” I said after a few seconds.
“This is not right. You are spoken for.”

“I am and so are you.”

I broke away from her grip on me.

“I’m not. I’m a freak as well as a loser. Always have been. Always will be.”

Yasmine shook me hard.

“Stop it with all that self-pity. You have been wallowing in it for far too long. Can’t you step back from that version of you for just a moment and try to think objectively?”

She didn’t wait for me to answer.
“We… that is Jennifer and myself would like you to come and live with us as a woman and… well help us raise our children.”

The word ‘children’ really got my attention.

“Yes, children. Your children.”

“What? No way. There is no way in hell that I’m going to be your housekeeper, cook, bottlewasher and to top it all, mother to your offspring all while you swan off to whatever job you have leaving me virtually a prisoner in whatever tiny cell you deem suitable for me.”

Just for good measure, I added,
“The answer is no, no way in hell so fuck you.”

No matter what they said, I remained resolute on the matter.
The last thing I wanted at that point in time was to be tied down. The prospect of being the third wheel in a relationship didn't rock my boat one little bit.

After a lot of discussion, I persuaded them to put the matter of the future on hold until after the trial. With that all agreed, I went back on the road. They being the Police and CPS needed me to be a good witness and one that had no more dirty little secrets to be revealed in court. Being exposed as a closet tranny was bad enough but manageable as long as I remained a non-person.

I pointed out to them both that it would not be good for the prosecution for me to be seen to be living with two of the Police Officers involved with the case unless I was officially in protective custody but as I wasn’t… they eventually saw the light and agreed to let me go back on the road again. I did agree with their suggestion that it might be better not to return to Shropshire instead, I moved over to the other side of England such as the county of Norfolk.

---

The next nine months were hard. I only ever saw Yasmin in person every three to four weeks apart from Christmas. Jenifer was on the other end of an internet connection but it wasn’t the same.

The winter was wet and I never knew how cold that part of the country could get when the wind came in off the sea. I found a few odd jobs to keep me solvent but other than that, I was on my own except when Yasmin came to visit.

Waking up next to her warm body was very nice but it was hard when she went away again. We had to be careful because I'd been followed a few times by a Private Eye whom it turned out had been employed by Imanuella’s legal team. I was sure that he was there just to try to trip us up.

Yasmin and I met at an old station that had been turned into some holiday lets. It was perfect for us. I would be seen walking an old railway track before and after our secret liaisons. The three of us got together at another holiday home over Christmas. This was miles away from my Norfolk beat. I travelled to the location in Kent under the cover of darkness.

For me, the trial was a total non-event. The CPS decided not to call me as a witness. So much for being essential to the success of the case? That pissed me off no end.

Imanuela was charged with slavery, people trafficking, tax evasion and ten counts of involuntary manslaughter a week after our little journey to Wales. Her organisation was bringing in workers and paying them around £1.00 an hour after all sorts of bogus deductions. Some were forced to work seventy or eighty hours a week and made to live in terrible conditions.

After a two-week trial, the jury spent a little over four hours considering their verdict. Guilty on all accounts. She’d been sentenced to twelve years in prison and stripped of her bogus British Citizenship. All her assets apart from our home had been confiscated under a ‘Proceeds of Crime’ order.

She’d appealed against the verdict but had lost and at the same time had her sentence increased to fifteen years, to serve at least ten years and with a recommendation that she be deported when she was released from jail. To cap it all, the authorities in both Moldova, Ukraine and Romania had all applied for her extradition.

Once it was clear that I was not going to be called, I was able to watch the proceedings. The whole thing brought up a lot of very mixed emotions in me. To see the woman that I loved and who I thought loved me, systematically try to destroy me in open court hurt, especially without being able to respond. Thankfully the prosecution barrister kept objecting. Nevertheless, they dragged what they called my ‘perversion’ up at every opportunity until the judge shut them down.

As soon as the jury was sent out, I took my cue to prepare to hit the road. I made it very clear that there was no long-term future for us as a unit. My problem was that I was currently staying in a Hotel in the middle of Manchester. The trial was being held at the Crown Court. I hated being amongst all those buildings and people and pollution. I had to get away from people and the smell of the city.

That night, I packed my things and after ‘borrowing’ £60.00 from Yasmine’s purse and writing a note explaining what I had done, I left them alone in the Hotel.

The streets were pretty quiet as I stepped out of the Hotel. They should be for 04:00 on a Wednesday morning. I walked the short distance to Manchester Piccadilly Railway Station and looked at the departure board. There was a train for Sheffield at 06:15 where I'd change for the local train to Lincoln. That would do perfectly. I purchased a one-way ticket to Lincoln. I wasn't intending on going that far but I’d decide on the journey where I’d get off.

Once the train had left Stockport, I breathed a sigh of relief. No one other than the ticket inspector had bothered me.

Sheffield Station was a lot busier when we arrived not long after 07:10. I had time for a quick cup of tea before my onward connection left.

I watched the countryside go by and each stop come and go until we reached Retford. That seemed to be a crossroads of some sort which made it a perfect place to get off the train and disappear even though I had a ticket that would take me to Lincoln.

I picked up a copy of the free newspaper, ‘The Metro’ as I walked out of the station. I noticed the date and smiled to myself. It was one year exactly since I’d been told ‘get out of my home and don't even think of coming back'. I'd changed a lot in that time. Being homeless does that to you. While the company of the two women had been good, there was just no way that I could ever see myself with them long term. Everything had been about their wishes. Hardly any mention of mine other than being able to live as a woman had been discussed. I wanted more than that. What that was I didn’t know but I was sure that I’d know it when I found it.

I put the paper into my rucksack and started walking out of town. I chose a south-westerly direction. I knew from my history lessons at school that there were once a lot of coal mines between Retford and Nottingham. That meant lots of old railway lines. On my way out of town, I bought some tins of food and a couple of apples from a supermarket. Those would keep me going for a few days. I topped up my cash reserves with a stop at a Post Office and that was me done.

[three weeks later]
I'd left the small town of Southwell with its magnificent Cathedral or as it is called locally, the 'Minster' early that morning when I was confronted by an immovable barrier. This was the River Trent. After consulting with a man who was cleaning windows at the 'Ferry Inn', I discovered that the nearest bridge was in the direction of Nottingham and that the ferry had ceased operation in 1939 for obvious reasons.

Still feeling slightly disappointed at not being able to cross the river, I carried on along the river bank towards the next crossing that was close to the village of Gunthorpe.

I stopped at the village shop and bought some food before crossing the river. I’d seen a sign for ‘Margidnvm Roman Town’. That seemed as good a place as any to stop for Lunch.

The Roman Town proved to be quite an interesting place. It straddled the old roman road ‘Fosse Way’ which runs from Exeter to Lincoln. After I’d eaten my lunch, I spent a few minutes looking at a map and trying to decide which way to go next when a voice behind me said,

“It won’t get any closer just by looking at it.”

After nearly jumping out of my skin, I turned around.

The voice belonged to a woman.

I managed a smile.

“I saw you in Southwell yesterday.”

I resisted the urge to tell her not to spy on me.

“I was there. Do you have a problem with that?”

She chuckled.
“I’m sorry. I’ve just started a new job as a tour guide for the Council. I need to know all that there is to know about all the places on my patch.”

I relaxed.
“Sorry.”

“There is nothing to be sorry about. I could tell by watching you that you are not the normal man of the road so to speak.”

“That’s my business lady. I’ve had my fill of do-gooders trying to tell me what to do thank you very much.”

She shook her head.
“What I mean to say is that you don’t seem to be drowning yourself with cheap cider. I know that you passed by what the locals call ‘alky alley’ in Southwell yesterday. I’d just left the Minster after talking with the Verger. You walked right past the other homeless people who were drinking themselves silly.”

I knew exactly what she was talking about.

“I have to be going,” I said.

“Where to next?”
“Where are you walking to next?”

“Somewhere away from nosy parkers.”

She laughed.
“Touché. Consider me slapped on the wrist.”

I just glared at her. There was something about her that was very easy on the eye even if…? I told myself not to be silly. The moment I come within three metres of a woman I’m thinking about having a relationship with her. I wasn’t like that before…

I didn’t say another word. Instead, I slung my pack onto my back and walked off. I resisted the urge to turn around.

The nearest road away from the Roman Town headed south. That seemed ok by me. That worked out pretty well as the small town of Bingham was not that far away.

As I walked into the town the rain that had been threatening all day started with a vengeance. The roads were soon awash and I was really glad that I was wearing my waterproofs. I’d put them on about an hour before when I heard the rumble of thunder. I took that as a warning of bad weather to come.

I crossed over the railway close to the local station just as a freight train passed below. Something made me look beyond the town and to my surprise, I saw an overbridge. It looked like there was an old railway right there for me to walk along. That cheered me up no end as I went to the Post Office to get my benefits. £57 a week does not go far if you are drinking it away but I was managing quite well. I bought some fruit and a litre of milk in a small supermarket and headed out of town.

There was an old disused railway just waiting for me to explore and it was going south. Perfect!

For some reason, I turned around only to find that an old Transit van was sliding across the road and it was heading directly for me. There was no time for me to even attempt to get out of the way I briefly felt a lot of pain as it hit me. Then it went dark.

[to be continued]