Buyer’s Remorse Chapters 11 - 12 by Maeryn Lamonte Copyright © 2023 Again, nothing terrible. The worst of these chapters is the language.

-oOo-

Chapter 11

“Steven?”

I half expected his usual belligerence, but the face he raised was streaked with tears.

I ran across to him and dropped to my knees, careless of what the rough ground might do to my tights or my skin, and pulled him into a hug.

He clung to me and cried himself out. When he was ready to let go, I eased back.

“What happened?”

“The bastards stole my fucking clothes,” he sniffed returning more to his usual self. It seem fair to overlook the language for now.

“Why do you say bastards? Why more than one?”

“Because they were all fucking laughing at me. The whole fucking team. I’m sorry Mum, but I’m so fucking angry.”

“You have every right to be. Did they take your key too?”

“No, but it doesn’t fit.”

“What do you mean? I checked it this morning.”

“They’ll have changed all the locks,” Charlotte said from behind me. “This explains why he had us dragged off to the courthouse this afternoon even though he didn’t have anything worth bringing against us.” She was stabbing at her phone.

“How long have you been out here, sweetheart?”

“I don't know. Ages.”

“Wouldn’t any of the neighbour’s help?”

He jerked his chin at the house opposite. “Mrs Harris poked her head out to say it served me right, that it was just what I deserved since I was such a horrible kid.” The tears weren’t far below the surface.

I looked across at the same sour faced lady I’d encountered that morning, now wearing a smug grin over the sourness.

“Pot, kettle and black Mrs Harris. Anyone who would leave a child on their doorstep in this state has no right passing judgement on others.”

She huffed and disappeared back inside.

“So how did practice go sweetie?” I asked more to distract him than anything. It was surprisingly effective.

He sniffed and half grinned. “It was actually pretty good. I mean, you know, everyone laughed at us when we came out to start with, but me and the others really started camping it up, and pretty soon they were laughing at what we were doing instead of what we looked like.

“Then we started going through some of the routines I’ve been checking out online, and they’re pretty tough some of them, you know, but we had a bunch of them down by the end of practice.

“That’s when things turned to shit though.”

“Would you try to curb the language a little, please?”

“Okay Mum. Sorry, but you know Mitchel Parker? He was the kid who was going to play right wing when we turned up last week.”

“I remember him.”

“He stood in the doorway and kept telling us we should be using the girls’ changing rooms. Everyone on the team was laughing at us and it took forever for Mr Gibson to get involved. By the time he did, most of the team had gone and someone had sprung my locker. My clothes were gone, but they left my bag.”

“They didn’t do the same to your friends?”

“No. They reckon it’s my fault most of our best players are off the team. Go on, you can say it you like.”

“Say what?”

“That it’s my fault.”

“I’m not sure how much good that would do sweetie, but if you think it, that’s something else.”

“Mum, how are we going to get in our house?” Steven ask.

“We wait.” Charlotte finally stopped talking on her phone and put it back in her handbag. “I just let the judge know what’s happened, and he contacted Mr Simmons’ office. If the people who put in the new door and changed the locks don’t turn up here with a full set of keys for you in the next thirty minutes, you all get to stay the night in a hotel at your dad’s expense, and believe me when I say I know some swanky places.”

“What’s swanky, Mummy?” Michael wanted to know.

“Fancy, darling, and I’m guessing expensive.” I raised an eyebrow at Charlotte.

“You’d better believe it. Hello Steven. That’s a good look on you.”

Steven went sullenly silent. No fight left in him, but not quite ready to capitulate.

“This fish and chip shop nearby, Sandy?”

“Just five minutes walk down that way.”

“So, why don’t you go fetch us something to eat. I’ll wait here for the keys, or whatever. Jake and I will share a large cod and chips between us.”

“Okay. Do you mind if Michael and Steven stay behind?”

“I want to come with you,” Michael said.

I looked at Steven.

“It’s okay Mum. A few more people laughing at me won’t make much of a difference.”

“Okay then. We’ll see you in a few minutes.”

“How much to cover it?” She rummaged for her purse.

“Oh no. This is my turn. I mean it doesn’t make up even a little for all you’ve done, but...”

“Fine. It’s not that big a deal, really.”

“To me it is. Come on kids.”

The charity shop was closed when we reached the precinct. I suggested to Steven that we could look for some clothes for him in Lidl if he wanted. He shook his head. “It’s okay, Mum. I mean they don’t usually have that kind of stuff, and where would I change if they did. Let’s just get the food.”

The kids opted for sausage as usual. I would have preferred to order skate, but that was usually cook on demand and it wouldn’t have been fair on Steven to keep him out in public for longer than necessary. As it was we had to wait for a new batch of chips.

“Sandra! I don’t remember seeing you down here before.”

This was something I’d been dreading since I’d switched bodies. I plastered a smile on my face and turned to confront someone I knew I wouldn’t recognise.

She was a skinny woman, older than me, possibly by about fifteen or twenty years, with a pinched face hiding under several layers of makeup. I disliked her on sight.

“You know how it is,” I said. “We’ve had one of those days.”

“I can tell. I mean why on earth...”

“Look I don’t mean to be rude,” actually, I did, “but I’d rather not do this right now.”

“It’s that no good bum of a husband of yours, isn’t it?”

I’ve always been more than a little irritated by women who take every opportunity to bad-mouth the men in their lives. It’s a sort of gently dripping criticism that seems relatively harmless on the surface but has the capacity, given a little time, to erode all the goodwill out of a relationship. On the other hand, I had to admit the ‘no good bum’ in question hadn’t done himself any favours by me.

“He hasn’t helped,” I admitted, “but he hasn’t been the only contributor either.”

“Well never mind dear, I can see you’re not feeling yourself.” She sniffed and gave my appearance a dismissive once over.

My tights had survived their encounter with the rough ground and I thought I looked pretty good.

“Two cod, two sausage, two large chips?”

Saved by the bell, but I wasn’t going to let it rest at that. I took our order with a smile of thanks then turned back to the neighbourhood gossip with my best concerned expression. “I could say the same about you. I mean, are you sure you’re alright. You look a little peaky.”

I ushered the kids out before she had a chance to react.

Back at the house we found Charlotte arguing with a man in a van. She caught sight of me and waved me over.

Cursing my bulk, I broke into an ungainly trot, which was made all the more clumsy by my inexperience in the low heels as much as by the tendency of parts of my body to want to move in the opposite direction to the rest of me. I was breathing heavily by the time I reached them.

“You Sandy Bush?” the van driver asked, his companion trying, though not too hard, to hide a grin.

“I am Sandra Bush, yes.” Hardly worth fighting for dignity after my recent display of whatever the opposite is of athleticism.

“You got any ID?”

“As it happens.” I hadn’t been able to figure out why my former self had insisted on keeping her driving licence in her purse. As a means of identification it barely worked, though there was just about enough similarity between fat Sandra and slimmer, younger Sandra in the photograph to pass muster. Maybe she’d kept it as a reminder of a promise that had never been fulfilled.

Charlotte took the fish and chips from me while I dived into my mammoth handbag, resurfacing with my purse and the piece of plastic it contained.

“Right. These are yours then.” He handed me a couple of rings of keys. “Front door,” he pointed at one set, “and back. Now if you don’t mind, we gotta get home for the football.”

“Actually, I do mind,” Charlotte said stepping in front of the van. “Sandy, would you please make sure the keys work before these ass-hats leave?”

I obliged, and once I’d successfully unlocked and opened the door, she stepped up to the driver’s window, still positioning herself so he couldn’t pull out.

“Do you mind? We have to go.”

“I just want to make sure you gave us all the keys.”

“Of course I did. What do you think...”

“Because if it turns out you kept a couple back for the person who paid you to do the work, and this later gives someone illegal access to the house, it’ll make you equally guilty of any crimes they commit while on the premises.”

“It’s his house.”

“And he has a restraining order against him, as well as a history of violence against the woman currently living here.”

“Get out of my fucking way or I’ll run you down.”

That was cue enough for me to fish my phone out and start videoing.

For the camera now, because this was evidence, Charlotte repeated herself. “If you have any more keys for the doors and locks you installed at this residence, you are obliged to hand them over, now.”

The driver gave her a look of pure hatred and threw something at her. She turned and stooped to pick them up, giving him just enough room to pull out and speed down the road.

Charlotte walked over and, for the record, showed the two keys in her hand.

“If any more turn up, he’ll be the first person they ask.”

“Do you think...?”

“No. I think the way he was pissed off just now suggests he knew he was beaten. You might still want to get the locks changed even so, just to be safe.”

“I can’t ask your locksmith friend again. He’s been too kind to me.”

“Best I do it then,” she smiled putting the phone to her ear. “My treat.”

“Michael, would you lay the table please. Steven, why don’t you pop upstairs and change while I serve up?”

“It’s okay Mum, I’ll give Michael a hand.”

That earned him a thoughtful look from me, but I wasn’t about to pass up the offer of help. I identified one of the pieces of cod and one packet of chips and put them on a couple of plates for him to take to our guests.

“I don’t have much to offer by way of drinks I’m afraid, but I can do tea, instant coffee, water or milk.”

“Jake and I will both have a tea thank you. Don’t look so surprised, we’re properly acclimated to this country.”

I filled the kettle and put it on to boil. “Milk I would assume then, but sugar?”

“I’ll take mine without. Jake?”

“Three spoons, please?”

“He means one and a half.”

The sausages and most of the chips went onto two more plates which Steven took out for his brother and himself. Michael, who had already handed out cutlery, fished the tomato ketchup out of the fridge and added a liberal dose to his plate before passing it around.

Glasses of water and cups of tea served, I joined them with a few meagre chips and half the other piece of cod.

“How do you expect to survive on that?” Charlie said eyeing my plate.

“I was hoping not to add to the surplus I’m already carrying. Did you see me running just now? If I hadn’t been wearing a bra I’d have two black eyes.”

“Yeah, well you’re putting me off my food.”

“I’m sorry. Maybe once I’ve dropped a couple of dress sizes I’ll let you persuade me to have a little more.” I pealed the batter off the fish and took small bites of the white meat. “What do you think he’ll try next?”

“Your husband? He has to be about played out by now don’t you think? He won’t be able to do much from prison and I doubt he has many friends will do his dirty work for him.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I guess you’ve earned the right to be paranoid after the past few days, but don’t go living your life with one eye over your shoulder.

“Now what I’ve been dying to ask about all evening is Steven. I’m guessing this has something to do with what you said to me earlier about coming to the game on Saturday. Don’t worry, Steven. Jake has a home game this weekend, so we won’t be able to make it, but I mean what gives?”

“It was the other mums’ idea. They weren’t that pleased with Steven and me for our part in getting their boys kicked off the team, and all they could do was rant over what we’d done. We weren’t getting anywhere with the matter we’d come to discuss, so I told them we’d accept any fair punishment they came up with and this is what they chose.”

“Sure, and I heard what you said, Steven, about having your things stolen, but you’re home now, so why are you still wearing that?”

Steven blushed a bright crimson. “I, I, I...”

“I think you’ll find it’s his way of telling Jake he’s sorry for what he did last Saturday. He finds it hard to put an apology into words at times. Besides, a picture paints a thousand words.”

“And you make one pretty little picture in that outfit, don’t you think, Jake?”

Steven’s ears burned a deeper red.

“You’re really doing this to say sorry?” Jake asked.

Steven gave me a sideways look then nodded. Not much of a nod, but recognisably one.

“I shouldn’t have done what I did.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” Charley said. It was easy to see why Jake was so quiet when his mother had so much to say, “but since you seem to recognise that...”

“You do look pretty cute in that outfit,” Jake’s smile was openly friendly, “but you don’t have to keep it on if you don’t want to.”

“I’m still going to have to keep wearing it until I prove I’m sorry though.”

“Yeah, but not here. Not now.”

All plates were empty. Well, except mine. Smaller portion, slower eating, especially since I was dissecting mine and avoiding the more fattening bits.

“Why don’t you two go and get changed for bed?” I suggested.

“Yeah, we should get going too. Thanks for dinner. Let me know if you need anything, otherwise I’ll be in touch about Monday.”

“Monday?”

“You do still want a divorce?”

“Of course. Sorry, I forgot. Do I need to do anything to prepare?”

“A list of complaints wouldn’t hurt. If we can show a pattern of behaviour going back over as much if your marriage as we can, we’ll be in a better position to challenge the prenup.”

“I’m not sure how much I’ll be able to prove, but okay.”

“There was that time Dad pushed you down the stairs,” Steven offered. “You know? When you broke your arm?”

“Weren’t you telling me that I slipped and fell that time?”

“Well, that’s what you told us to say, but Dad did push you.”

“That we can use. Your medical records will show what happened if not why. More like that if you can.”

“I’ll see what I can come up with. Thanks again for today, Charlie. You’re a real godsend.”

“Just doing my job.” The kindly smile said otherwise.

I closed the door on them and headed upstairs to find Steven in his pyjamas with his cheerleader’s uniform folded neatly on the end of his bed. Michael’s clothes were strewn haphazardly about the room with him standing naked holding a pair of pull-ups ready for me to help him.

“You know, I really think you could do this yourself now,” I told him as I held them for him to step into.

“Yes, but I like it when you help me.”

I helped him into the rest of his things and shooed him downstairs to brush his teeth.

“Are you alright, Steven?” I asked when we were alone.

“Yeah, why shouldn’t I be?” He was back to his surly self.

“I don’t know. It’s just that it’s been a bit of an unusual day. I wondered if you wanted to talk about it.”

“What’s to talk about?”

“Well, for one thing, since your school uniform was stolen I suppose you get to choose what you wear to school tomorrow and I’ll talk to Mrs Nullis to make sure you don’t get into trouble.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Steven, I really liked the person you were this evening. Please don’t spoil it now.”

He shrugged.

“And I’ll understand if you don’t want to talk to me about things that are bothering you, but if you do want to talk to someone about something very private, just let me know and I’ll organise it. I’m not prying. I just want you to be okay.”

He looked at me and I thought I could see a hint of tears glistening in his eyes.

“Go brush your teeth.”

“I thought Wednesday was bath night.”

“Yes, but I think we could all do with a break tonight. Any reason why we don’t do it tomorrow?”

He shrugged again. “I have homework for tomorrow.”

“Well, get me your homework diary and I’ll write you an excuse why it’s going to be late.”

“Really?”

“After what you’ve been through today, I think you definitely deserve a bit of a break.”

He disappeared downstairs before I could change my mind.

The kids settled quicker than usual leaving me with a lot of evening to fill. Once more the absence of television meant I had to think of something else to do with my time.

A knock on the door gave me a reprieve.

It turned out to be the locksmith, who spent the next half hour replacing the locks to the doors, front and back. He didn’t ask questions, nor was there an invoice this time. He smiled at me as he left, handing over yet more keys, along with the lock tumblers he’d removed.

My phone was heading towards empty, so I put it on charge. With a view to the last thing Charlotte had asked, I decided to go to the source and called my old number.

“How did you get on in court?” I asked by way of opening the conversation. Not one of my better ideas.

“Two and a half fucking grand and a three year fucking ban. What the fuck’s that about?”

“That sounds a bit harsh, but I don’t know what you’re supposed to have done.”

“I dropped my fucking phone, didn’t I? By the time I found it and picked it up, your fucking car had steered into the opposite fucking lane and I ended up hitting some other fucker head on.”

“How long ago did you take your driving test?”

“I don’t know. Fucking ten years ago or summing. After Steven but before Michael.”

“I’m pretty sure there was a law against using a mobile phone while driving ten years ago.”

“You’re saying it’s my fucking fault?”

“It’s not my place to say who was at fault. I wasn’t there.”

“Too fucking right you weren’t there. Where am I going to find two and a half fucking grand?”

“Well, I’m pretty sure the courts will allow you to pay it in instalments if you can’t pay immediately. You might get something for the car...”

“The car was a fucking right-off.”

“Maybe still worth a hundred quid at a scrap yard. You should be able to claim back something from the road tax and the insurance, maybe another two or three hundred.”

“You’re not fucking helping.”

“I’m sorry. I’m trying.”

“Well, you’re not. What do you want anyway?”

“George has decided he wants a divorce.”

“Yeah? Well good riddance to the fucker, but that puts you in the same boat as me. No income, nowhere to stay. The council will probably take those two fucking brats into care.”

“Not if I can help it.”

“Yeah, well good luck to you. George won’t want nuffin to do with them.”

“That’s what I want to ensure. I’m meeting with him on Monday to discuss the settlement...”

“What settlement. There won’t be no fucking settlement. He made me sign sumffin before we was married so if we ever broke up I’d get nuffin. Why d’you think I stayed with the fucker so long?”

“My lawyer thinks there are ways we can contest that, but he may demand custody just to try and force me into a worse position.”

“What are you talking about? He don’t even like custard.”

“He may have his lawyer fight over which of us gets to keep the kids in the hope that I’ll settle for less.”

“Why would you want to keep them? Nasty fuckers that they are.”

“Well, I certainly can’t leave them in his care, can I?”

“No, I suppose not. Alright, what do you want?”

“A list of things that he did to you. The kids told me about the time he threw you down the stairs and you broke your arm. Maybe we could start with that.”

So for the next hour she spoke to me about all the things, both big and little, that he’d done. I asked a few questions and made a lot of notes. I had more than enough ammunition by the end.

“Thanks, this has been a lot of help. Can I offer you some advice?”

“I get the feeling you’re fucking going to whether I want it or not.”

“Yes, but only because I feel some obligation to help.”

“Go on then, what you gonna say?”

“We all have to work for our living. Your work for the last eleven or twelve years has been to look after your husband and your children, but you still had to work.”

“I suppose.”

“Part of the switch means you now have to find another way of earning money, and you will have to work nine till five Monday to Friday at the very least.”

“I don’t know nuffin though. I didn’t even get any GCSEs.”

“A lot of successful businessmen started out the same. Look, the choice is yours. You can either try and get a job the way I had...”

“I ain’t going back to that fucking Sparks and Clarks place.”

“Sure, like I said, it’s your choice, but there are things you can do.”

“Like?”

“Places like McDonalds and Burger King are usually looking and they pay better to unqualified applicants than you’d get as a trained nurse, plus the hours are better and you get a free lunch.”

“Okay.”

“Or, if you want to keep fitter than you’re doing at the moment, a couple of the nearby gyms offered me a job a while back. I mean you’re pretty good looking...”

“Are you saying you fancy me?”

“Not really. I mean you’re not my type in lots of ways, but you could easily get rid of those few pounds you’ve put on in the last week or so and become a trainer. You never know, you might even pick up an offer of a date or two.”

“What, you mean like with a girl or something? I don’t know how I’d feel about that.”

“Again your choice. You can stay celibate, stay on your own I mean, or you could either go out with women, and you’re in a unique position to understand what women want, or men because there’s nothing wrong with being homosexual these days.

“The choice is yours though. You’re in an ideal position to define who you’re going to be. No-one relies on you, so you can do what you like, and if it’s something you like, you’re more likely to succeed.”

“I suppose.”

“In the meantime, that job with Clarks and Spencer...”

“I told you, I don’t want it.”

“I know, so you won’t mind if I apply for it?”

“Knock yourself out, but they won’t take a loser without any GCSEs.”

“They might if I can prove to them that I can do the job.

“Okay, thanks for tonight. Please give some thought to what I’ve said and call me if you want to talk about anything.”

“I will. What gyms offered you a job?”

I gave him the names of a few places that had approached me, then hung up.

Next I dug out the manual for my sewing machine and went through it with a highlighter. I photographed the pages with the most corrections and started an email addressed to the general info address at my former employer. I told them I’d heard one of their proof-readers had recently quit and asked if there was a possibility of my being considered for the position. I included photographs of parts of the sewing machine manual with the most mistakes and indicated the changes I would make. I followed the protocols I knew they used for checking and assessing, double checked what I’d written – because I knew how much of an annoyance predictive text could be – and sent it off.

It was relatively early still, so I ran myself a bath. My bleeding had all but stopped, which meant that it was nearly decision time regarding whether or not I continued with the contraception.

Probably best to check with a doctor first, in case there might be a problem with stopping abruptly.

Sandra’s choice of bath smellies wasn’t entirely to my taste, being a little overly sweet, so I compensated by using them sparingly. The bath itself did wonders to relax me, giving me the sense of washing away all the unpleasantness of recent days. My hair was overdue for a wash and felt so much better after the third shampoo and rinse. Sandra had chosen to have it cut shorter than I’d have preferred, but it was thick and luxurious with a natural wave to it. I did discover one advantage of keeping it short when the hairdryer – which had turned up during my first attempt to clear the aftermath of George's destruction of the bedroom – made quick work of drying it.

I settled on my makeshift bed on the sofa in the front room with a cup of tea and checked through my phone for my doctor's number. When I found it, it had a link to a website which, when I followed it, gave me the option of booking a phone appointment for the following day. I did so, then put some thought into planning what else I could do with my time. Once the boys were at school, I'd have several hours to fill with anything I wanted to do.

Well not quite. As a priority I had to buy some new clothes, so first stop Nationwide to draw out some money, then a bus trip into town where hopefully I’d find a better selection of shops than the local precinct.

I also needed to get some food in and at least look at costing the replacement of some of the things my husband had destroyed.

With a vague plan in mind, I settled down into a peaceful and uninterrupted night's sleep

…

The next morning Steven appeared in his cheerleader’s uniform. He stared at me as if daring me to challenge him.

“Are you sure?” I asked. “You know they're going to make fun of you.”

“Let them. It can't be worse than yesterday. Besides, you said I could choose what I wanted to wear today.”

“Yes, I know I did. I’m just worried for you.”

“Well, this is the closest thing to a uniform they left me, so if they don’t like it, that's their hard luck.”

I sighed. “Well, I’m not going to stop you, but I really think you should give this some thought...”

“I already did.”

“Okay then. Why don't you get some breakfast while I sort your brother out?”

“Really? That's it?”

“What do you want from me, sweetheart? Personally, I think this is a mistake, but it's yours to make. Whatever happens, I'm here for you, okay?”

“I guess. Mum?”

“Yes sweetie?”

He put his arms around me, at least as far as they could reach, taking me by surprise. I crouched and hugged him back. It only lasted a moment, but it was a special moment.

Michael was sitting blearily on his bed. I led him through the wreckage of my bedroom to the upstairs bathroom and plonked him on the toilet and for once the pull-ups weren't needed.

Afterwards, I lay out his clothes for the day and gave him a kiss. “Let's see how you get on by yourself, shall we?”

From my own vast wardrobe I chose my jeans and the sweatshirt I’d rescued from the cupboard under the stairs. Once I'd finished dressing and brushing my hair I went in to find him clothed but not that happy.

“It feels funny,” he whined.

On a hunch, I told him to take his trousers off, then explained how he had his underpants on backwards. After a short demonstration of how to sort himself out, I led him downstairs, cautioning him not to say anything mean to his brother.

After an uncomfortable moment’s silence, he smiled and told Steven, “I think you look pretty,” and that was that.

I put a change of clothes for my eldest son in a carrier bag, in case he changed his mind, and led the two of them out of the house ten minutes earlier than usual.

There weren't many kids at the school, but they reacted predictably to Steven, pointing and laughing when he approached.

“I'll leave these at reception,” I said showing him the bag, “just in case.”

“I'm not going to change my mind.” He stuck out his chin obstinately.

“Up to you love, but the option’s there if you want it.”

I left him in order to have a word with Mrs Nullis, who was just as predictable in her disapproval.

“I am sorry,” I said. “I'm not sure what's going on in his head at the moment. He won't talk to me about it, at least not yet.

“His father and I are going through a rough patch at present, as I’ve already said, so I don't know, this may just be his way of coping with it. If I could please just ask that you keep an eye on him.”

“We would in any case, Mrs Bush. Do you mind me asking for a few more details about your home situation? It may help us support him better if we know what he’s dealing with.”

“Well, I suppose it’ll be common knowledge soon enough. George has asked for a divorce.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, you really don’t need to be. I mean you have met my husband, haven’t you?”

“Yes, I have had that misfortune. You were right, he did some plumbing work for me a few months ago – made several visits, and still didn’t fix the problem. He charged me a small fortune for making the situation worse.

“Look, it probably isn’t an appropriate thing to say, but if this has anything to do with the changes I’ve noticed in you, then you’re far better off without him.”

“I suppose the two things are related, yes.”

“Alright, I'll see what I can do. It seems I'm going to have to have a word with the football team again today, aren't I? It's a shame though. I really thought we had a shot at the trophy this year.”

“I do seem to be causing you an awful lot of grief lately.”

“Really, you’re not. Steven’s about at an age when children act out and try to establish a bit of independence. It can be a little traumatic at times, and it often has little enough to do with the parents. As long as you continue to keep me informed of what he’s doing, I think we can handle it.

“Besides, we’re an educational establishment and this situation gives us a unique opportunity to teach something about morality and consequences, so it’s not a total loss.

“To be honest, I was pleasantly surprised with Steven yesterday.”

“You were here?”

“I’m the head teacher, Mrs Bush. I don’t have the luxury of going home when the bell rings at the end of the day. Besides, I wanted to make sure there wasn’t any unpleasantness when Steven and his companions made their first appearance. I was impressed with how they handled the situation, especially your son.”

“He told me a little about it. You know, it’s an odd thing...”

“What?”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“You’re a woman, Mrs Bush, you should trust your feelings.”

“Well, it’s just that he seems a totally different child while he’s wearing a skirt.”

“I wondered if it was something like that. Would I be correct in assuming your husband is quite controlling?”

“Is that you trusting your feelings?”

“Maybe a little. I’m no child psychologist, but I’ve worked around children for a long time. I suspect Steven has a lot of suppressed anger, which could explain, though not condone, his action from last weekend. It’s possible that the simple act of putting on girl’s clothes has opened up a softer side of him. You did say it was his idea to wear the skirt today?”

“Yes. I tried to suggest it wouldn’t go well, but it’s his mistake to make.”

“Well, I wouldn’t worry about it too much. I imagine he’s quite confused about his feelings right now, but he’s actually quite a bright lad. He’ll work it out if he’s given the space to do so.

“And with that, I suppose I should get on and do my job.” She pressed a button on a microphone and spoke into it. “Attention everyone. There will be a whole school assembly in the sports hall at nine o’clock. All classes to come to the sports hall at nine o’clock. Thank you.”

She looked a little embarrassed. “Something they have in a lot of American schools. I thought it might be worth trying here, and it really does make it quick and easy to communicate with the whole school.

“Thank you for coming in Mrs Bush. I’m sure we’ll have other chances to chat.”

I took her offered hand – very much a gentler handshake. “I’m sure, and thank you for being so understanding. If there’s a chance of retrieving Steven’s uniform, I’d be grateful. The purse strings are little tight at present and that’s one more expense I’d rather not have to deal with right now.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Chapter 12

Shopping alone wasn’t a great deal more enjoyable as a woman than as a man. On the plus side, I had access to a great many formerly forbidden pleasures such as lacy underwear, floral patterns and delicious smells, but on the minus side, I had my plus size to cope with and not much of the really pretty stuff looked anywhere near good on me. I tried on a pair of jeggings at one stage and the size of my rear end, along with the very visible pantie line showing through, did nothing for my self-esteem. An image flashed through my mind of a very young Matthew Lillard grinning into the camera and saying, “Spandex. It’s a privilege, not a right.” I definitely had not yet earned the privilege.

I tried on a few more things, but my mood was already on a downswing and nothing appealed. I hunted out a coffee shop and bought something to raise my spirits. No pastries. They were tempting, but that was the hardest thing about starting a diet – not giving into habits and temptations. For now coffee would have to be enough, which meant it had to be the right stuff, which meant spending a bit extra.

I found a quiet table and rummaged through my bag, without entirely understanding why. A couple of minutes searching unearthed a business card. It took me a moment to recall how it had come into my possession. I punched the number into my phone.

“Hello?”

The voice was bright and perky, which at least meant I hadn’t woken her up.

“WPC Foyle? This is Sandra Bush. We met a few days ago.”

“Mrs Bush, hello. How are you? Is everything alright?”

“I’m fine, thank you. Everything’s fine. I was just wondering if that offer of friendship was still on the table?”

“Of course. What did you have in mind?”

“Well, I don’t know what shift you’re working right now, but might you be free now?”

“Where are you?”

I told her.

“Give me fifteen minutes. I’m on the bus as we speak.”

“I don’t mean to hijack your day.”

“Of course not. I didn’t have much planned anyway. This’ll be much more enjoyable.”

“I’ll have a coffee waiting for you when you get here.”

“See? It already sounds like a much better day than I had planned.”

The smile and enthusiasm in her voice did a lot to lift me out of my glums. I hung up and finished one coffee and stopped off at the ladies to dispose of it before heading back to the counter to order two more. I didn’t really need more caffeine, but I couldn’t expect her to drink it alone. Besides, there was a difference between need and want, and this was coffee the way it was meant to be drunk.

I spotted her first and waved her over, already smiling at the prospect of a new friend. She was all bubbly enthusiasm and so different from how she had been in uniform. I told her my predicament and she immediately planned out the morning for us, listing out a string of charity shops – which she assured me had better quality donations than most – along with a few of the lower cost but reasonable quality stores.

I’d already blanched a bit at the prices in the one shop I’d visited, so having a companion who also had to clothe herself on a budget was invaluable.

A couple of hours later, with aching feet and equally aching smiles, we found our way to a café with outdoor tables within a short walk of the bus station. I was loaded down with as many bags as I could manage so Angela plonked me down at a table with instructions to guard her own small selection of purchases while she fetched our drinks.

I’d made a significant dent in the amount the court has awarded me from my last appearance, but was pleased with what I had to show for it. Most of the underwear I’d bought was plain, but would do a fair job of holding the wobbles in check. I had a couple of cotton nightdresses – white and lacy and something of an indulgence as they’d come from one of the more expensive shops we’d visited. Most of the rest had come from charity shops with Angie offering encouragement where I’d have been inclined to put things back on the shelf. She certainly had a gift for making me feel good about myself.

Among my spoils, I had a couple of pairs of jeans that didn’t make me look too enormous, and several loose-fitting tops that mercifully covered my shape. That and a few skirts and a dress or two. At least two of the outfits would serve well as interview clothes if ever I was lucky enough to be offered one.

Angie returned with the coffees, which weren’t quite up to the standard from earlier in the morning, but at least they weren’t instant. We chatted amiably for a quarter of an hour before her phone pinged. She glanced at it and lost her happy face.

“Work,” she explained. “One of the downsides of being the only WPC in the precinct. Any time they need a female presence, I get called in.”

“That hardly seems fair.”

“It pays time and a half, and I get time off in lieu, so it’s not that bad. It plays havoc with the social life though, which is maybe why I don’t have one.”

“Well, any time you feel like squeezing in another get together, feel free to call me,” I said. “You turned today around for me, Angie. Thank you.”

“It was a blast for me too. I’ll call you in a day or two and we’ll arrange something else.”

“Don’t forget your things,” I said pointing at her bags. She smiled and grabbed them, and she was gone.

The world seemed a little dimmer without her there, but at least I had space to breathe. I suspected Angie was one of those people to be enjoyed in small doses.

“What’s the matter Sandra? No pastries today?”

I looked up at the speaker and recognised her as one of the mums who’d snubbed me at the Saturday football match. She had some friends sitting, tittering nearby and some of them seemed familiar too. I smiled sweetly and decided not to respond, but instead took a sip of my coffee.

Definitely something to put on the shopping list since I could barely stomach the instant rubbish cluttering up the cupboard at home. At the very least I’d need a French press to go with it, which meant my next stop would have to be a department store. I had a selection of tools on my list too, since I didn’t see myself replacing any of the furniture George had wrecked, so would have to repair what I could. They would be heavy though, so I’d planned to get them last.

The woman who’d spoken to me apparently wasn’t used to being ignored. She sat opposite me. “I didn’t mean that; what I said just now. You do know that don’t you?”

“Why did you say it then?” I asked.

She made goldfish impressions while she was trying to think of a response.

“Look, I know I don’t have a great reputation, and maybe a lot of that is my fault.” Well, original Sandy’s in any case. Every conversation I’d had with her had gone some way towards convincing me she’d been the architect of her own misery. “But if you intend to dislike me, please don’t pretend otherwise.”

Serendipity smiled on me. I had just one last sip of my coffee remaining, which I took before standing and gathering my bags. Whoever my tormentor happened to be gawped at me as I walked off towards the last of my morning’s shopping.

An hour later I collapsed onto a seat on the bus, all my bags of clothes in one hand and a very heavy carrier bag containing a small selection of tools and a brand-new, stainless-steel French press in the other. The bus was barely half full, so I was spared having to share a seat with a stranger.

Halfway home, my phone buzzed at me. I didn’t recognise the number, but that was hardly surprising.

“Hello?”

“Mrs Bush. Doctor Hammond here.” I thought I detected a slightly resigned quality to his tone.

“Oh, hello doctor. Thank you for calling.”

“Well, it’s hardly as if I have a choice in the matter, is it?”

“I suppose not.” Definitely not a happy bunny. I suspected the old Sandy had possibly messed him about in the past. “Well, hopefully I won’t take up much of your time. I wanted to talk to you about my prescription.”

He sighed. “Mrs Bush, we’ve talked about this before. Contraceptives are a very safe form of medicine these days. I can’t say they’re totally without risk as all drugs can have unpleasant side effects, but you’ve been taking these tablets for, what, eleven years now?”

“More or less, apart from the time when we took a break to have Michael...”

“The fact remains, Mrs Bush, that if you were to have an adverse reaction to this drug, we’d know about it by now...”

“That’s not why I called, doctor. You see, my husband and I have decided to part ways and I won’t be needing to take precautions now. I wanted to know if there was any recommended way of coming off the tablets.”

“Oh! When you say part ways, do I understand you to mean, er, divorce?”

“Yes doctor.”

“I’m very sorry.”

“Well, I’m not. I would be grateful for an answer to my question though.”

“Oh, er, no. Just stop taking them. Only are you certain you won’t be needing them again? Because you will be able to conceive from the day you stop taking them, and it will be at least a month before they become effective once you start again.”

“Thank you for the warning doctor, but I’m certain. Are there any side effects I need to be aware of?”

“Nothing in particular. The tablet I prescribed does, on rare occasions, cause, er, I believe the popular term is, er, the munchies, so there’s a small chance you may find it easier to lose weight once you stop taking it, but otherwise your normal cycle will resume almost immediately. If you experienced painful cramps when menstruating, you may also find that a degree of discomfort will return during your period. Otherwise, no.”

“Thank you doctor. You’ve been most helpful.”

“Yes, well, er, Mrs Bush, erm, are you quite alright? It’s just, er...”

“I’m a little less brash? Less vulgar? More polite? I’m fine doctor, simply adjusting to a new freedom after twelve years stuck in a toxic relationship.”

“Ah, yes. Well, er, if you’re sure...”

“It’s good of you to check, doctor, but I doubt there’s any cause for concern.”

“Well, if you experience any more mood changes, especially if they’re abrupt, I’d like you to contact me.”

“I will, Doctor Hammond. Thank you for your time.”

I hung up the phone, aware I was in receipt of a number of sidelong glances from nearby passengers. I reviewed my recent conversation and decided I hadn’t overshared too much, so I smiled sweetly at those about me and went back to watching the world go by.

Back at home I dumped the bags in the living room – very much the limit of what my new body could have carried any distance – and headed back out, this time to walk down to the nearby precinct. I looked into the charity shop, but they had pretty much the same selection of clothes I’d rejected the previous day. I did find a couple of things that would do for an experiment I had in mind, and since the total cost was less than a fiver, I bought them.

The coffee you find in Lidl isn’t my usual first choice, but it’s a massive step up from the instant rubbish I had in the house. The rest of my purchases would go to making something healthy for dinner, though I did invest in a battery-operated milk whisk I found, as ever, in the random shit aisle.

By the time I was back home and had unpacked everything, it was approaching the end of the school day. I allowed myself a moment to relax with a proper coffee, then headed out feeling refreshed and at peace with the world.

My phone buzzed for a second time while I was waiting for the kids to appear. The other mothers had formed their own little clique which, by the number of backs turned to me, did not include me. I didn’t much care for my place in this little corner of society, but it wasn’t something that would be fixed anytime soon. The phone call came as a welcome distraction and I took a few steps away from the gaggle of women to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Mrs Bush? My name is Maximilian Andrews, from Clark’s and Spencer’s?”

I’d met him once or twice at Christmas parties. He was reasonably attractive with a charming smile, but he had a reputation as a cold hearted bastard. Some of my colleagues had referred to him as Max the axe, since he was generally the person the higher-ups turned to when they planned to fire someone.

“I forwarded your email to Mr Clark this morning,” he continued. “He’d like to invite you to an interview. Are you free tomorrow at say two-thirty?”

“Would it be possible to fit it in earlier? Two-thirty might make it a little tight for picking my children up from school.”

“Couldn’t their father do it?”

“I’m sure I could make alternative arrangements if I needed to. I’m just asking if it would be possible to fit in a different time.”

“I’ll ask.” He didn’t sound particularly happy about it.

“Thank you, I’d appreciate it. If it’s not possible, I’ll make something work.”

“Alright then. I’ll call you back shortly.”

And he was gone.

“What’s that about?” a curious voice sounded by my shoulder. I turned to see one of the women I’d bumped into at the coffee shop in town.

I smiled. “I sent in a speculative application for a job last night. They invited me for an interview.”

“Really? Who with?”

“It’s a firm called Clark’s and Spencer’s. They proofread things like manuals for the things you buy in shops.”

“What, you mean like microwaves and stuff?”

“Like that, yes.”

“How did you hear about it?”

“Oh, I know someone who used to work there. I heard one of their people just quit.”

“And you got an interview? That’s really exciting. Did I hear you asking to have the interview at a different time? I don’t think I'd be brave enough to do that. I mean what if they said no?”

“Well, as a firm they have a good reputation for flexibility, and I’ll need that if I’m going to be a working single mum. If they’re not going to offer me any consideration at this stage, I need to know early so I don’t waste my time on them.”

“Single Mum? Does that mean...?”

“It’s going to come out sooner or later. George is divorcing me.”

“Oh my!”

“I think I may have encouraged him somewhat. It’s about time we parted company.”

“Wow! You really are brave. I mean that and the way you dealt with Harriet earlier...”

“You mean at the coffee shop?”

“Mhm?” Complete with nod. Well, one name learned. Now if only...

“Cindy?” one of the other mums called and the woman I was talking to turned. Another name learned. One I’d probably be glad to know.

“I should go,” she said. “If they don’t offer you a different time for the interview, I’d be happy to pick up Steven and Michael. I mean, Steven and Kyle get on well enough together and I’m sure I could keep Michael occupied for an hour or two.”

“Thanks, that’s really thoughtful. Do I have your number?”

“Oh, no, you wouldn’t. Here, what’s yours?”

I reeled off my digits and received a text from her a moment later. The number went into the address book.

“We should do coffee sometime, that is if you want to, of course.”

“I’d really like that. I’ll call you to set something up.”

The kids started appearing. The younger school first which meant Michael charging across the space between us and barrelling into my legs with enough force to set me staggering.

“Careful,” I laughed and stooped to hug him back. “So how was your day?”

“It was fun. We did art again today because I missed it the other day, and I painted a picture of our family.”

He held out the painting for my inspection. It was surprisingly good with all members of the family readily recognisable. He’d drawn his father with an unflatteringly large belly, growling at the world from behind prison bars, meanwhile the three of us stood smiling in front of a house under a sunny sky. Notably both Steven and I had been painted wearing dresses.

“What did your teacher say about it?”

“She wanted to know why Daddy was in jail, and she also said didn’t I have a brother, not a sister.”

“And what did you tell her?”

“That this is the family I wish for.”

“Really? You wish for your father to be in prison?”

“He’s always been mean, so yes.”

“And Steven?”

“I liked him a lot better yesterday when he was wearing a skirt.”

“Well, don’t expect it to last, and just for now, do you mind if we don’t show this to him?”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not sure he really understands what yesterday was about. He’s probably at least as likely to react badly to this as otherwise. I’d really like to give him some space to figure it out. What do you think?”

“Alright Mummy, but do you like it?”

“I absolutely love it, Michael. In a way this is the family I wish for too.”

“Why in a way?”

“Well, for one thing, like you said, your daddy is mean and belongs behind bars. For another, I really liked Steven yesterday too. Which is not to say I wish he was a girl, but I do wish for him to find a bit of peace and joy in his life.”

Some wishes come true, at least in a way. The older kids started to emerge from the secondary school, including Steven, still in his cheerleader’s uniform and very much the centre of attention for a significant proportion of the girls in his year. I’d only known him for a little less than a week, but I would never have suspected him capable of such a bright smile.

By contrast, almost every boy looked more than a little upset. Quite a few of them gave him angry looks as they walked past. One or two looked positively distraught. One of those ran straight into Cindy’s arms and buried his face in her stomach. I suspected I’d hear about it when we met for coffee, but for now it seemed best to let them get on with it.

Steven separated from his circle of admirers and sauntered over. I rolled Michael’s painting up and added it to the mass of things in my enormous handbag.

“You look like you had a good day,” I smiled at him.

“The best. I mean, it didn’t start so great. I got called names a lot and most of my mates poked fun at me...”

“They don’t sound like very good friends.” I started walking towards home with the two of them following.

“Meh. I’d probably have done the same in their place. Anyway, Mrs Nullis called for an assembly first thing. So we’re all sitting there and she calls for all the football team to come up onto the stage. The current football team, she says, not me and the others who got kicked off, and I’m kind of thinking how much it sucks when she announces to us all that someone in the team nicked my uniform yesterday and made it so I had to walk home wearing a skirt.

“Some arsehole shouts out that that's alright 'cos I obviously like it and everyone laughed, only Mr Blackwell saw who it was and he's got himself a week’s lunchtime detention for it.

“Anyway, Mrs N asked for whoever done it to own up, which of course they don’t do, so she walks off stage and comes back with all this pink poofy ballerina stuff, I mean you know, like leotards and tutus and tights and everything, and she gives one outfit to each member of the team and says if she don’t find out who done it very soon, they’ll all be joining us on the cheer team.

“Peter, you know Peter Bellamy? He’s our centre forward. Anyway, Peter steps forward and says it wasn’t right for the whole team to be punished for what a couple of idiots did. He says it was Kyle Martin took my stuff, but it was Mitchell Parker's idea. You remember I said he blocked us from going into the changing room?

“Mrs Nullis takes back all the girly stuff, except for two sets and now Mitchel and Kyle get to cheer with us, except they’re gonna look so much more stupid than us.”

“I thought you were friends with Kyle.”

“Yeah I was, but that was before what he did yesterday.”

“If your positions had been reversed, might you have done the same thing?”

“What do you mean?”

“If it had been Kyle in the cheerleader gear yesterday and you’d still been on the team, might you have nicked his uniform if Mitchell suggested it?”

“Mitchell’s an arsehole.”

“Yes, but even so. Might you have thought it would be a good joke to play on your friend?”

“It was really crappy, what he did to me yesterday, Mum.”

“Language please Steven, and I do understand. But before yesterday you wouldn’t have known that, so maybe it might have seemed like just a bit of harmless fun?”

“Maybe, I don’t know. Why are you defending him?”

“Because I’d hate for you to lose a friend over a silly mistake.”

“Yeah, well I don’t think he’s that happy with me now ‘cos he reckons it’s my fault he gets to wear poofy pink on Saturday.”

“I’m not sure poofy’s a word I like you using either. I think I may have enough material to make a couple more costumes like yours.”

“Not for Mitchell; he’s an arsehole.”

“And not even an arsehole deserves to be the only boy out on the field in a pink tutu. Maybe he’ll be less of an arsehole if someone does something nice for him.”

“I doubt it.”

“Maybe you’re right, but this isn’t about Mitchell. If you’d like me to make a kit for Kyle, so your friend doesn’t have to be quite so embarrassed on Saturday, then I will, and it’ll be up to me if I choose to make another one for the arsehole.”

“Yeah, okay. I don’t think Kyle would ever forgive me if he had to go out there looking like a poo... I mean looking that girly.”

“It looks like you made quite a few new friends today.”

“Yeah.” His dreamy smile was back. “Ann Summers...” he breathed and he was lost in a cloud of memories and pheromones.

“Stevie’s in lo-ove,” Michael sang quietly.

“What if I am?” he replied, but there wasn’t any of the usual aggression in his tone.

My phone buzzed as I was letting us into the house. I told the boys to go upstairs and get changed while I hunted in my bag for it.

“Do I have to, Mum?” Steven asked.

“Just go,” I said and stabbed at the answer call icon. “Hello?”

“Mrs Bush? Maximilian Andrews, from Clark’s and Spencer’s?”

I was hardly likely to forget in the twenty minutes or so since he’d last called.

“Hello Mr Andrews.”

“I’m sorry, I did try to rearrange the time for the interview tomorrow, but Mr Clark has a very busy schedule and two-thirty is the only time he has free.”

“It’s alright Mr Andrews, I’m sure I can sort something out. I’ll see you tomorrow at half two.”

“Alright. You know where we are?”

I answered by telling him the address.

“Until tomorrow then, Mrs Bush.”

“Mum, what’s this?”

I turned to find Steven standing in the doorway, still in the cheerleader kit and holding the dress I’d bought him in the charity shop.

“It’s a choice,” I said. I sat on the sofa and patted the seat next to me. He didn’t move.

“Do you want to turn me into a girl?”

“No sweetie.”

“Then what?”

I sighed and searched for the words. “When you put on those clothes you’re wearing for the first time, how did you feel?”

“I don’t know.” Evasive. Too embarrassed by the truth.

“Did it make you feel kind of soft and warm inside?” I remembered my first time in women’s clothes.

He turned red which was enough of an answer, but he nodded as well.

“Then yesterday at practice, it was kind of way scary because you knew what people would say?”

Again the nod.

“But the warm feeling was still there and after a while you realised you didn’t really care what anyone else thought.”

A shrug this time.

“And when you stopped caring, you started enjoying yourself, which was when you started entertaining the crowd and you became someone to laugh with rather than laugh at, you and your friends that is.”

A shrug and a nod.

“Then a couple of your friends did something that ruined it all, plus your dad locked us out of the house meaning you had to sit on the doorstep for over an hour dressed like a girl. I could see how much that upset you.”

He moved over to the sofa and sat, leaning against me.

“But even then you didn’t want to get changed.”

“You said it was my way of saying sorry to Jake.”

“I know what I said, and pardon me for covering for you. When you went and changed for bed, your personality changed too, did you know that?”

He nodded. “I could feel it. All the anger came back. I didn’t like it.”

“Is that why you put the skirt on again this morning?”

I felt his nod against my side more than saw it.

“That’s kind of what I thought, so when I saw that,” I pointed at the dress in his hands, “I thought maybe you might like something else to try on.

“I’m not trying to turn you into a girl, but if this helps you find that softer, kinder bit of yourself, if it helps to put the angry and unkind part of you to sleep for a while, then it seems like a good thing to me. You can just dress up at home if you like, so you don’t have to try and explain it to a whole bunch of people who won’t understand, and maybe just knowing you have that option when you get home will be enough to stop you feeling so angry the rest of the time.”

“What about Michael?”

“What about him? He’s a kind boy, and if we tell him how important it is not to say anything, he’ll keep your secret.

“I bought him a dress too, just in case he wants to join in with us.”

“What if I, you know, if I end up wanting to be a girl?”

“Do you think that’s likely?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, we’d have to talk to a lot of people who know about these things to be absolutely sure, and we’re a really long way from that, but we can deal with that if we need to.

“You know, we all have a mix of girl and boy in us. Or maybe we don’t really know what we’re doing when we say girls are like this and boys are like that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we say things like girls like to make themselves look pretty and boys like to play football, don’t we?”

“Mhm.”

“Which is the most successful England football team at the moment, men’s or women’s? And how many boys do you know in your school who paint their nails and maybe even wear makeup?

“When we say something is girly or blokey, we only ever mean that it’s more common in girl’s or boys. I’d never have been able to stand up to your dad if I hadn’t found a little bit of ‘manly’,” finger quotes, “aggression.”

“I’m kind of glad you did.”

“Me too. And that’s not something I’d have expected my angry, sulky older son to tell me, so if it takes wearing a skirt to help you find the kinder part of you, then I’m all for it.

“As for whether or not you want to become a girl, I’m not sure I’d be too worried. The way you went all dreamy eyed about this Ann Summers, doesn’t sound very girly, unless you intend to be a lesbian too.”

“Mum!”

“Seriously though, if that is something you think you might want, please talk to me because we could have a word with our doctor and he could maybe give you something to stop you growing and getting all muscley.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“Because if you really did want to be a girl, you wouldn’t want to be broad shouldered and beefy. It’s not a great look in a summer dress, believe me. And maybe the fact that you sound like you can’t wait for those sort of changes means you don’t want to be a girl. So take the time you have now to explore your girly side if you want to, and when you find out where she fits inside you, then become whoever you need to be.”

I stood and he stood with me. “Your choice Steven, or Stevie if you prefer when you’re dressed like that. It’s your life and you have to decide how to live it. The more you grow up the less I’m going to tell you what to do and the more I’m just going to make suggestions. I’m hoping that you’ll trust me enough to at least consider my words before deciding for yourself.

“Now, I do have a request to make. I have a job interview tomorrow and the only time they can do it is at two-thirty, so I’m not likely to be back in time to pick you up. Kyle’s mum has offered to look after you and right now I can’t think of anyone else who could do it. I know things are awkward between you and Kyle right now, but would you be okay if I took Cindy up on her offer?”

“Will you make Kyle one of these?” He lifted the hem of his skirt.

“I’ll even say it was your idea. You know, since he has to be in the cheer squad, this would be so much less mortifying than the alternative.”

“Then sure. I mean even if it doesn’t work out, it’ll only be for an hour or two, right? I could always do my homework.”

“Thanks sweetie, and thank you for the reminder. You have yesterday’s to catch up on as well as any you got today.”

He growled and rolled his eyes.

“It might be more fun to do it in a dress. Either way, I need to wash that tomorrow.”

He ran back upstairs and I called my newest friend.

“Cindy, hi, it’s Sandra. Would I be able to take you up on your offer to pick the boys up tomorrow?”

“I don’t know.” She sounded guarded. “What’s this Kyle’s saying about Steven getting him in trouble and now he’s off the football team too? Not just that but something about a pink skirt?”

“I think your son’s being a little economical with the truth. Has he told you what his part was in all this?”

“Well, no.”

“Perhaps you should ask him about it, and maybe ask him about Steven’s school uniform.”

“Steven’s...? What are you talking about?”

“Why don’t you ask him about it now and I’ll call you back in ten minutes?”

I hung up before she had a chance to respond and headed through to the kitchen to put together some snacks. Banana and apple this time with a plateful of carrot sticks as an alternative.

“Mummy, why’s Steven wearing a dress?” Michael appeared in the doorway.

“It’s something he’s trying to see if it helps him not be so angry all the time.”

“What if I want to wear one too?” The whine was definitely powering up.

“Then it’s a good job I bought you one then, isn’t it?” I pulled it out from the bottom of my bag and offered it to him. “I didn’t know how you'd feel about it, so I didn’t offer it to you straight away, but here you are.”

He ran upstairs and by the time I had my cup of tea and was calling Cindy back, we were all in skirts.

Cindy was all apology and outrage. Apparently mentioning Steven’s uniform had broken through the web of lies and Kyle had tearfully confessed. The uniform had still been in his sports bag with some fairly revolting smelling football gear. “I’m putting it through the washing now, but I’ll drop it round later. I am so sorry about this.”

“Boys will be boys,” I said, perpetrating the most heinous lie given the decidedly un-boy-like behaviour of the two sitting at the table in my dining room.

“Are you sure Steven won’t mind coming round tomorrow? I mean he can’t feel that kindly towards Kyle at the moment.”

“Well, you know what Mrs Nullis has told him to do on Saturday?”

“He did tell me, yes. It serves him right in my opinion.”

“Well, Steven suggested I should make him a skirt like I did for the other boys, you know like the one he was wearing today?”

“Yes, I was wondering about that.”

“His choice, since he didn’t have a school uniform.”

“I can’t apologise enough...”

“I’m not asking you to. But Steven thought it would be a little less embarrassing if Kyle turned up on Saturday wearing an outfit that matched the rest rather than looking like something out of Swan Lake.”

“He has a kind streak in him, that boy.”

“Yes, although I’m only just discovering it myself. If you wait till after nine before coming round, I should have Kyle’s things finished.”

“Thank you, Sandy. I’ll see you later.”

Michael spent the evening playing, pretending his transformers were dolls, while Steven caught up with his homework. This freed me up to put a little effort into food preparation. I’ve never been that keen on cooking, and couldn’t be bothered going to any effort when it was just me I was cooking for, but now I had two sets of young taste buds to work with, the challenge being to introduce them to healthy food that didn’t leave the craving that came from deep fried fast food. I worked from a recipe I found on the internet and came up with something that was a long way from terrible. The boys – or whatever they thought themselves to be – were suspicious at first, but one or two tentative bites soon turned into some highly unladylike manners as the plates emptied in record time and what I’d hoped to keep for tomorrow’s lunch became second helpings for both of them.

The promised bath time followed with the inevitable reluctance from Michael being dealt with by a reminder that girls took cleanliness seriously, at which point his let’s pretend turned a little esoteric with him continuing to act out his girl persona while naked and quite evidently not a girl.

Teeth brushed and in their pyjamas, I sent them up early to bed suggesting they could read for a while before lights out, while I took out my sewing machine and the scraps of spare material. With limited fabric I had to get creative and make one skirt mustard yellow with burgundy pleats, but I was pleased with the final result. I still had a few pairs of underpants and tights from my original work, but only one yellow tee-shirt. Digging through the rags George had made of my clothes I found something close enough to the colour of the skirts that I was able to cut down to a workable crop top in Steven’s size. The contrasting colours and slight difference in design would mark him out as the group leader and he was slender enough still to make it work with a bit more skin showing.

I took the new stuff up and let him have a look. He immediately jumped out of bed and stripped out of his PJs to give the new kit a go.

“I could make this work,” he said with an appreciative nod.

“It’ll be cold.” Probably not necessary to impart that piece of obscure wisdom. The look he gave me confirmed it.

“Okay, back into bed. I’ve a few minor finishing touches to do to the other kit and Cindy’s coming to collect it in twenty minutes.”

“I could have given it to Kyle tomorrow.”

“Yes, but she’s also bringing your school uniform.”

“Oh.” His face fell.

“Sorry, sweetheart, but there is a uniform policy at the school, and you really don’t want to spend too much time in public wearing a skirt, unless you want that to be a part of who you are.”

“What if it is?”

“Then I’d still take it slowly at this stage. We live in an enlightened age, but not everyone got the memo. You don’t want a repeat of what your friends did to you a couple of days ago, do you?”

“I suppose not. Can I take my cheer gear with me tomorrow?”

“I’d rather you didn’t wear it at school tomorrow, if it’s all the same to you.”

“I guess not.” His body language said anything but.

“Mummy, will you read us something?” This from Michael as Steven climbed back into his bunk.

“I suppose I could, but only for ten minutes. Do you have anything you’d like me to read?”

“Not really.” The comics they’d been browsing weren’t really going to work. I had a thought.

“Give me a minute,” I said and went to fetch my phone. A little hunting through the immense number of books on the Project Gutenberg website and I had what I was looking for. “I hope you’ll like this one,” I said and perched on Michael’s bed. “This is the story of the great war that Rikki-tikki-tavi fought single handed, through the bathrooms of the big bungalow in Segowlee cantonment. Darzee, the Tailorbird, helped him, and Chuchundra, the muskrat, who never comes out into the middle of the floor, but always creeps round by the wall, gave him advice, but Rikki-tikki did the real fighting.”

Of course there were interruptions. “What’s a bungalow... a cantonment... a Tailorbird... a muskrat”, all answered with a little help from Google, but soon enough they were drawn into the story, as was I and we’d not gone that far when there was a knock on the door downstairs.

“That’ll be Kyle’s mum, and I don’t have the skirt finished. To be continued.”

Cries of “Oh Mum!” followed me down the stairs, but they settled quickly.

I thanked Cindy for the return of Steven’s uniform, neatly laundered and folded, and offered her a cup of tea while I finished the skirt.

“You’re really good with that,” she said as I worked quickly round the hem.

“It’s not difficult,” I smiled. “I really don’t have much experience with it.” None before a couple of days earlier, unless there was some sort of muscle memory thing going on, but then the old Sandy didn’t seem like much of a clothes maker. Most of her stuff had been store bought with quite a lot of reasonably good repairs here and there. The hardest part had been figuring out how to set it up, but a good read of the manual had sorted that. Once I’d corrected the mistakes.

I finished off and packed the skirt, tee-shirt and tights into a carrier bag.

“I should be getting back,” she said apologetically.”

“It is late. Maybe next week sometime during the day.”

“Well, unless you get that job of course. Good luck with that by the way.”

“Thanks. I’ll call you when I’m on my way to pick them up. Could you remind me where you live?”

She showed me on her phone. “How did people cope before these were invented?”

“I know, tell me about it.”

“Why don’t the three of you stay for tea tomorrow? I mean it’s not much different cooking for six than for three.”

“That’s really kind. It’ll be one less thing to think about.”

“Okay. We usually eat about six-thirty, so let us know if you’re likely to be any later.”

“I shouldn’t imagine I will be. I really do appreciate it, Cindy.”

“I’m grateful for this too. I mean I never thought I’d be thanking someone for making my son a skirt, but...”

We shared a laugh and I let her go. A quick peek into the boys’ room showed them both fast asleep.

Ten minutes to tidy everything away. All the tedious minutiae that I’d struggled to cope with in my former life now seemed to fit in as a natural part of my new one. There was a sense of satisfaction in arranging my environment that made all the effort worthwhile. I picked out the smartest of the clothes I’d bought earlier, made sure all the price tags were removed and hung them up. I’d decide in a while if they needed ironing.

With nothing else to do with the evening, I plugged my phone in to the charger and sat down with it to refresh my memory on aspects of Clark’s and Spencer’s that might come up in the interview.

It had been a long day though and after just ten minutes I was fighting to keep my eyes open. I changed for bed and snuggled down for the night.

The following morning started off with the usual routine. Up, wash, change – casual clothes to start with. Interview clothes could wait. Make lunches, check Steven’s homework diary and sign off on what he’d done, breakfast things onto the table and upstairs to chase them into their clothes.

For the second night in a row, I managed to encourage a rather dopy Michael through to the upstairs bathroom where he did his business without having an accident. Reason enough for praise, for which he gave me a bit of a muzzy smile.

I’d laid out Steven’s uniform for him and he’d dutifully put it on. The dark clouds I’d come to expect from him stayed at a distance, although they were in there at the back of his eyes.

“Your homework diary says you have PE today, so don’t forget your kit.”

“What about my new cheerleading stuff?”

“You shouldn’t need it today. I’ve put your old uniform in another carrier bag for you to give to Mitchell though.”

“He doesn’t deserve it.”

“What he deserves is a chance to make up for being a prat, don’t you think?”

He shrugged, and there was the usual sullenness peaking out from behind.

“Don’t forget Kyle’s mum is picking you up after school. I’ve written a note for both of you, and put them in your bags in case anyone asks. I’ll stop by both schools to let them know. We’ll be eating with Kyle’s family when I come to pick you up, so best behaviour please, and Steven, I’m making you responsible for ensuring Michael doesn’t get left behind.”

“Sure, okay. Did you give Kyle’s mum his cheerleading kit?”

“Yes.”

“Would it be alright if I took mine with me. I mean, he doesn’t know any of the routines, so I thought we might practice them this evening. If I have my gear he’ll be more likely to put his on too.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll put it at the bottom of your school bag, but it stays there until after school, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Right, now breakfast, you two. We’re a little behind today.”

We caught up, but not without me wheezing for breath by the time we reached the school.

I spent the morning doing my refresher research on Clarks and Sparks. Sorry, that’s an in joke. Back when my mother had still been alive and I’d first landed the job, she remarked on how the name of the place was like the retail outlet Marks and Spencer, which she always called Marks and Sparks. Anyway, I read up until I knew more about the place than its founders, ironed my interview clothes, arranged my hair into something resembling a style, and sat down with a cup of tea – didn’t want coffee breath for the interview – for a half hour of quiet before heading out the door for the bus. I’d considered makeup, but I had no idea what I was doing with most of it, so trusted to that clear skin of mine to do the job instead. I did have a go with some lipstick and, after a couple of tries, I felt my efforts had actually improved my appearance.

My phone buzzed. Caller ID said it was Charlotte.

“Hey girlfriend!” I greeted her.

“You don’t call, you don’t write. How the hell have you been?”

“Good thanks. I knew you were busy, so I didn’t want to bother you.”

“I’m never that busy. I was wondering if you had time to get together to go through a few things before we meet your husband and his lawyer on Monday.”

“That’d be great, but not today if you don’t mind. I have a job interview.”

“Hey, that’s amazing. Who with?”

I gave her the details.

“That is so perfect. It shows you as the responsible parent chasing after a source of income to help support your family. Helps our case with getting you custody.”

“I thought you were trying something with that.”

“I am, and now I can factor this into my plan.”

“I don’t have the job yet.”

“No, but you do have the interview. Whether or not you get the job is immaterial. To the case I mean. I’m sure you’ll get it.”

“I hope so. It’s been a while since I had an interview.”

“I didn’t think you ever had a job. Didn’t you get married straight after school?”

Oops. “Yes, but we did some practice interviews at school. Kind of careers lesson sort of thing.”

“Oh. It’s not the same. Just be yourself with these people. They’ll love you.

“Would tomorrow afternoon work for the legal prep?”

“That would be great. Where?”

“My office in the city. I can drop by and pick you up from the school after football.”

“That would be so helpful. Thanks.”

“You got any questions to ask at this interview today?”

“What, like how much they’re going to pay me?”

“Never ask about the salary. You can always walk away if they don’t offer you enough, but it gives the wrong impression if you ask about it. I mean questions about the firm, about different working policies, that sort of thing.”

“I could probably come up with a few.”

“You’ll do great. Okay, see you tomorrow.”

She was gone. What remained of my tea was cold and it was time to leave.

The bus route seemed to go through every road works in the city. I’d deliberately given myself an hour’s leeway, which was just as well as it shrank to half an hour by the time I arrived.

I announced myself at reception and took the indicated seat in the waiting area, until on the dot of two-thirty, a buzzer sounded and the receptionist showed me through to an office with a panel of three interviewers. Max was there, as was Mr Clark. The third was a woman I vaguely recognised but couldn’t name.

Introductions were made, so I learned she was called Jeanette. She simply smiled and shook my hand. Token woman? Seen and not heard? That didn’t seem like the Mr Clark I knew.

“So, Mrs Bush, Thank you for coming in.” Mr Clark was all smiles. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you since we received your email. You do know that manual you sent in isn’t one we proofed?”

“I should hope not. I wouldn’t want to work for anyone who let something like that go to the publishers.”

“It caught my eye though. Very clever idea. What made you think of it?”

“It was one of the things we were taught at school. A prospective employer sees so many CVs, they will only look at yours for a few seconds before deciding what to do with it, so be distinctive. Our teacher told us about a girl who wanted a fashion designer job with Levi jeans, so she sent in her CV hand written on a piece of denim.”

“Did she get the job?”

“I don’t remember, but she definitely got the interview.”

“I’m sure she would have. Now, speaking of CVs, we would like to see your qualifications, obviously.”

“Ah. Well that might be a problem. I made a number of poor choices at school, so I really don’t have any formal qualifications. I’m trying to turn my life around though, and I hoped actions would speak louder than words.”

“You have no qualifications? No GCSEs, nothing?”

“Not a one I’m afraid, but you can see, I can do the work “

“Well, that is if we assume it was you made the corrections to that manual.”

“I suppose there is no way I could prove that, is there? You could always test me here?”

“Why would we do that, Mrs Bush?”

“Because it’ll give you an opportunity to assess my abilities, something which I imagine you’d want to do with someone who actually has some pieces of paper that tell you they can spell and add up.

“Mr Clark, I’m sure I remember reading an interview you gave some time in which you said you had no qualifications when you started out.”

“That’s true, but then no-one would hire me, so I built my own business instead.”

“So what if I’m something like you were back then? Would you rather give me a trial to see what I can do for you, or send me away and wait for me to set up in competition?”

He smiled. “I like this one. Let’s see what she can do.”

There were more questions. What had I been doing since I’d left school? Why was I looking for a job now? Where did I see myself in five years time? All pretty boilerplate.

When it came to the trial, I was given a couple of texts to check alongside one of their teams – one of the better ones I discovered when I found out their names.

I took my time with the work, but still finished well within the allotted time, picking out all the mistakes and offering corrections using the notation I knew they favoured.

When it came to my questions, I asked about the possibility of working from home with flexible hours. I also asked about their equal opportunities policy, which brought a hint of a smile to Jeanette’s face, pretty much the only communication she made.

At the end of three hours, they thanked me for coming in and promised to be in touch. One last handshake all round I found myself back out on the street, waiting for a bus.

I called Cindy to let her know I was on my way, then brought up Charlie’s number

“How’d it go?” she asked.

“Pretty good, I think. They said they’d let me know next week.”

“Great. Listen, you sound like you’re all tapped out, so what say we leave the blow-by-blow till tomorrow?”

“That’d be great, yeah.”

I rang off and stared out the window at the passing traffic for the rest of the journey, arriving at the Martin house shortly after six.

“Success?” she asked.

“I can only hope. ‘We’ll let you know’ I finger quoted. Where are the boys?”

“Up in Kyle’s room.”

“Even Michael?”

“Go on up. You may want to knock before you go in.”

I did as instructed and was greeted by three cheerleaders, one of whom was a little small for the uniform.

“I thought you were going to give that one to Mitchell,” I said pointing at my youngest.

“I tried Mum, but he told me to eff off. He said he wasn’t going to ponce about in any effing skirt and that we were all effing... Well, he used the C word and he called us other mean things as well.”

“It’s true Mrs B. I was there when he tried to give him the kit. Since he didn’t want it, we hung onto it, then Michael asked if he could join in. I hope that was alright.”

I couldn’t tell if it was the clothes, especially Steven showing off his skinny ribs, or that we were guests in someone else’s house, but they really did seem to be overdoing the politeness.

“It’s fine. I suppose we shall see if Mitchell gets out of his punishment tomorrow. I think we’re going to eat really soon, so maybe you should change and wash up.”

“We were hoping we could stay like this,” Steven said.

“It may be a little revealing for mealtime. Mr Martin will be there, remember.”

“Dad’ll see us tomorrow anyway,” Kyle offered. “I was hoping we could get him used to it today.”

“Fine. I suppose I did make that outfit for you Steven, so I don’t really have a right to complain about you wearing it.”

My older son actually smiled and gave me a hug.

Kyle’s dad made something of a joke about feeling a bit outnumbered. It was a dad joke and was given a cursory hahaha, but it worked to break the ice and allowed us to eat without any sense of awkwardness. After tea, both Steven and Michael wanted to stay in costume for the walk home.

“I won’t stop you,” I said, “but you know how many twitching net curtains we have on our street. The more you’re seen like this, the quicker you’ll get yourself a reputation.”

“I already have a reputation, Mum, and I’d rather be the boy in a dress than what Mrs Harris called me the other day.”

“Well, I don’t mind putting her in a snit if you don’t.”

So all three of us walked home in skirts. The curtains twitched as predicted and, following my lead, the boys joined me in waving and smiling at our curious neighbours.

“Can I be a cheerleader tomorrow?” Michael asked when I settled him into bed.

“I don’t see why not. I’ll have to alter it so it fits better, but leave it with me.”

“Can we finish the story tonight?” Steven asked.

I smiled and reached for my phone.

It was some time later with the boys asleep and the necessary adjustments made to Michael’s kit when there was a knock on the door.

I checked my watch. Nine-thirty. Not outlandishly late, but I couldn’t think who might want to call on me at this hour, not without phoning first anyway.

The new door didn’t have a safety chain or a peep-hole, so I resorted to the only other thing I could think of.

“Who is it?” I called.

“Open the fucking door,” came a familiar voice from the other side.

Somewhat reluctantly, I opened it to find the face I’d seen in the mirror for thirty years of my life looking back. Behind it was another familiar figure in a red trilby.