This is an expanded version of a story I posted a few weeks ago. I am lucky to have had suggestions and input from two of the finest writers on this site, Angela Rasch and Emma Anne Tate.

This sixteen-year-old girl was bullying me!

Who would have thought I’d like it?

“Joanne, tomorrow when you shower use your nice soap and make sure you shave properly in the morning. You have to look your best when we go out. Oh, and moisturize tonight.”

I did remember to call the lawyer before knock-off time and confirm our 10.30 appointment on Monday.

She cooked again that evening, nothing flash, but a couple of nice pieces of steak with potatoes mashed to perfection, brussels sprouts and peas from the veggies in the freezer and onion gravy that she whipped up from a packet of stock hiding in my pantry and frozen chopped onions that had been there forever. One of the things they had taught her at school was how to use herbs and spices so the steak was nicely enhanced with garlic and red wine. My meal menu was improving out of sight.

I know it’s supposed to be a no-no, but I drank chardonnay with my meal (James Bond would have a fit!) while she just had water. The ice cream took a hammering too, from her, not from me.

I did the washing up and let her relax in front of the TV. When I finished, we sat together comfortably on the sofa. I nodded off with her head on my shoulder. She woke me with a kiss when she went to bed.

The next morning I did as I was told and used the Dove with my shower and shaved as close as if I was going to see Arpi. I knew my goose was well and truly cooked so I donned a bra with my breast forms and matching panties, black stockings, one of my nice dressing gowns and settled back to await my fate.

That was delayed until she had made our breakfast. Poached eggs with bacon and toast this morning, together with the usual orange juice and coffee. I used the dishwasher to clean up, for the first time in years. When I was on my own I washed up in the sink.

“I’m going to practice the make-up on myself first,” she told me, “So if I get it wrong, I can try again before I do yours. Don’t worry, I do remember what Arpi showed me. Now go away and let me try.”

She disappeared into my second bathroom with lots of the spoils from Priceline. After about twenty minutes I could hear her muttering to herself and then obviously starting afresh, not satisfied with her first attempt. However, after another twenty minutes I heard a little chortle of glee.

She reappeared from her bathroom wearing her wig and looking as fresh as the proverbial daisy. Her make-up was light and she’d used a pale pink lipstick. She was the perfect teenage girl.

“I got it wrong the first time and had to do it again. Arpi did tell me not to use too much,” she said. “Now it’s your turn. Go out on the balcony. I want plenty of light. I’ll bring the cosmetics.”

I sat on one of the high stools outside. The building layout is such that the neighbours can’t see in to where you sit, so I wasn’t worried about being spied on. She put a towel over me before starting her ministrations. She worked on my face for about half an hour and finally declared herself satisfied.

“Go and have a look, Joanne, and see if you like it. If you do, then we’ll do your wig and we can both get dressed. If you don’t, I’ll try again.”

So I went into my bathroom and inspected her handiwork. While possibly not quite up to Arpi’s standards I looked pretty good and would not be ashamed to go out in public. She had learned her lessons well.

She even chose my outfit! The top was a boat-necked tunic in pale blue paired with black leggings and black flats. It wouldn’t attract any attention, just another old lady doing her shopping, at least, that’s what I hoped. I fixed my wig and brushed it out and immediately felt relaxed. I was sure I could get away with this excursion without any problems.

Ali appeared wearing a peasant blouse in duck-egg blue and black capris paired with blue trainers. We weren’t out to knock ‘em dead, just do what we had to do without causing a fuss. A mother (or grandmother…actually I reckoned I could get away with mother!) and daughter doing the weekly shop.

We went down to the garage, got the car and drove to New Farm without any dramas, no neighbours encountered on the way. Even though there were closer shopping centres, this one had everything I needed, banks, post office, fruit and veg shop, pharmacy, newsagent, liquor store etc. etc, which others closer didn’t have. It really was one-stop and anchored by the Coles supermarket, and, most importantly, ample free parking and a friendly bar where I could get a drink.

The first thing I did when we arrived was to go to an ATM and draw out $500, of which I gave Ali $250 plus one of my credit cards, which she could use in Coles. She looked at me aghast.

“I won’t need all this.”

“Wait till you start. That will disappear very quickly!”

“But you’re always spending money on me.”

“No, my dear, I’m spending it on the two of us. We need all the extra food and groceries and you’re not only the chief cook, but you’re also my other half, just in case you hadn’t noticed. I wouldn’t be out here today, dressed like this, if it wasn’t for you.”

So we went into Coles and, sure enough, the costs soon mounted up. Because I had been living alone I had only bought the basics. Now we were into things like spices and sauces, biscuits, cheeses, more frozen veggies (she didn’t like that but I insisted. I think they are the best quality and they last), more eggs and meats in quantities that I hadn’t purchased because of being single. Because it was a week before Christmas the store was packed with seasonal delights like Christmas pudding, ham, turkey and mince pies. I had to laugh when she came back along one aisle loaded down with those delicacies, although we passed on the turkey.

“I thought you didn’t like Christmas.”

“I will if I’m spending it with you.” She suddenly looked panic-stricken. “I can spend it with you, can’t I?”

I couldn’t blame her for feeling insecure. My immediate reaction was to reassure her.

“Of course you can. We have to eat all this, don’t we? I can’t do that without you. Besides, I like your company and you’ll make me happy if you stay.” That was an understatement if ever there was one. I gave her a hug to comfort her.

Nor did we forget non-edible basics like toilet paper, tissues and cleaning agents. We soon had a trolleyful.

And all the while we worked our way through the aisles nobody gave us a second glance. I soon forgot how I was dressed. At the checkout the young girl operating the counter smiled at us and asked if I had Fly-Buys. I said no and she totted up our purchases. No problems.

Finished there, we attacked the fruit shop and that all-important liquor store. The last was my main worry because Mac was a regular there, but they gave no sign of recognizing Joanne. I guess it’s true that people see what they expect to see.

After a couple of hours of that we were off home and, again, no problems with neighbours. We hauled everything into the apartment and loaded the fridge and pantry. I was glad to get my shoes off and sink into the sofa.

Again she tried to give me the unspent money and again I refused it. It seemed like a kind of lucky charm in that while she had it she would not leave me. I did accept my credit card back.

She gave me half an hour to rest and then suggested we go for a walk along the river. “I’ve got you dressed properly. We can’t waste it.”

So that’s what we did. We strolled along the riverbank arm in arm in the same direction that she had taken yesterday. Because it was a summer Saturday the lagoons at Streets Beach were packed with screaming kiddies having fun.

“Isn’t this nice?” said Ali, “totally dope.”

“It brings back memories, good ones,” I replied.

It took me back to the years when I had brought my own grandchildren here and they had frolicked in and out of the water while I sat contentedly watching. Why couldn’t those days have lasted forever?

We continued on, passing the so-called Wheel Of Brisbane. I can’t help sneering mentally at this little baby Ferris wheel when I’ve seen the one in Singapore. Now THAT’s a real Ferris wheel, as Mick Dundee might have said.

“I lived in Singapore for six years. The one there is twice as big as this one.”

“You’ve lived everywhere, Joanne!”

“Not quite,” I laughed, “still a few places to go. And quite a lot where I don’t want to go.”

I had diverted her into The Rainforest before that, another favourite of mine. That’s what Brisbane looked like when the European explorers and settlers arrived two hundred years ago. The original inhabitants had, of course, known it for uncounted hundreds of centuries. When you get under that green canopy the temperature seems to drop five degrees and the ever-present bird noises fill the air. You can’t call it song; it’s the sound of the jungle.

Part of what I appreciate is the raised walkways. You can traverse the area with dry feet. My memories of real rainforest are of wading through mud, slush and puddles, taking off my boots at day’s end to empty out the pinkish water mixed with my blood inside them, removing my socks and burning off the swollen little buggers of leeches with a cigarette. Long-sleeved shirts were an absolute necessity, or they would crawl up your arms onto your body. Do any of you remember the scene in The African Queen where Bogart removes his shirt?

Ali oohed and aahed at the Nepalese Pagoda.

“Look at those carvings; imagine the work that must have gone into them?”

“Yes, I’m glad they kept it here after EXPO.”

“When was that?”

Sic transit gloria!

I had to laugh. “1988, love, before you were born!” I had really enjoyed it. It was my first retirement and we had returned to Brisbane. My wife ended that by telling me I made the place look untidy and to go back to work!

After passing QPAC we turned back. The parkland more or less stops north of there and the public institutional buildings take over. I took her back towards home along the inland route, Little Stanley Street, with the park on one side and the cafes, bars, and souvenir shops on the other. We stopped for a drink at The Ship Inn’s outside area. I had been a regular customer while caring for my wife.

She would doze off in the afternoons and I would use the time to take a break from my domestic duties to go there for a relaxing chardonnay. It was only a five-minute walk from home, so I didn’t have to leave her alone for too long. I wondered if any of the bar-staff who knew Mac would still be there, but Covid had fixed that. I didn’t know any of them.

The pub was reputed to be the oldest in Brisbane (although there were other claimants too). It had been built in 1864 when the South Bank was an industrial area and the coal trains from Ipswich terminated close by. It had been The Railway Hotel then. In the Second World War it had become the meeting and drinking place for the black American soldiers and sailors, who were forbidden from going across the river into the city. Now it was just a pleasant resting place and gastropub in the parklands.

They had a well-deserved reputation for specializing in lamb dishes, and with its proximity to my home I had taken many an evening meal there to avoid my oh-so-basic cooking- for-one at home, and I didn’t have to drive.

We sat outside in the shady beer garden and the pleasant warmth sipping our drinks before heading off on the homeward stretch.

Ali perused their menu as we sat. “Looks interesting. Have you eaten here before?”

“Quite a lot, when I didn’t feel like cooking for myself.”

“Is the food any good?”

“I think so. I like it and it’s better than I can do, and I don’t have to wash up either.”

“I’d like to try it sometime. Can we do that?”

“Sure. I’ll give my chief cook a night off and we’ll see how she likes it. Take a menu with you. It’s got the phone number so we can book if we have to. They’re usually OK during the week though.”

That won me a smile and she tucked the paper into her dilly bag.

We finished our drinks and headed for home.

When we arrived two of my neighbours were just exiting the building but all we exchanged was a cheerful “How ya goin?” and a mutual smile.

Once again I relaxed on the sofa. My little dynamo relaxed with me for a while and then declared that she would make our dinner. I didn’t argue. Today’s exercise and the lack of lunch had made me ready for an evening meal, it being prepared by someone with enthusiasm who knew how to cook was a double bonus. I was delegated to lay the table, which is pretty easy for two, but placemats that hadn’t seen the light of day for several years graced the table and the salt and pepper shakers were the real thing, not the containers from the supermarket. I was severely rebuked for trying to use those.

There’s no respect for age these days.

Tonight we had chicken. What she did was not too difficult but just demanded a different mindset. The major supermarkets actually sell a pre-cooked roast chicken which is delicious on its own and just needed reheating by the time we wanted it for dinner, but she made a gravy with some store-bought stock, and added some spices, olive oil and Italian seasoning. It was the rest of the meal that took the effort, roast brussels sprouts, glazed carrots and roast potatoes. I did not expect Cordon Bleu cooking every night but she seemed to delight in doing it. I couldn’t complain.

So again I was the washer-upperer and the dishwasher earned its keep.

Afterwards we watched TV and relaxed. We talked about what we would do tomorrow. She wanted me to continue as Joanne and I would have loved to but I was wary about being in feminine mode going into Monday. When I’m Joanne my mindset becomes Joanne, not surprising really, seeing how that’s who I really like to be, but all those years of being in ‘stealth’ had made me cautious. I didn’t want to give myself away with careless slips.

But on Monday morning we were going to see my lawyer and I would have to be Mac again. I thought I needed to come down off the high that I had been on for quite a few of the preceding days. It was lovely to have Ali’s companionship, but I thought I should be careful not to get carried away.

That night I cleaned off my make-up and moisturized my face. There was no reason why I couldn’t wear a nice nightie, so I did. I wanted to stay as Joanne for as long as possible. In the morning I dressed as Mac. That just meant shorts and a polo shirt. I could still wear panties, they don’t show through denim. Our breakfast seemed somewhat subdued. I gave my girl a good-morning kiss, but the exuberance of previous days was missing.

After breakfast I told her I had to catch up on some of my computer work and asked what she wanted to do. She said she’d go for a walk, and I watched her go downriver from the balcony this time. There was not so much in that direction under the cliffs. It just ended up in a park near the Story Bridge, pleasant enough but all you could do was turn around and come back. Maybe it was because that stretch wasn’t so well frequented that I felt uneasy. Maybe it was just that things had been going too well.

Something kept niggling at me, that feeling in your gut, not exactly a sixth sense, but that things are going too well and a wheel is about to fall off… that there’s a problem in the offing and I was distracted, unable to concentrate.

I sat in front of the laptop for five minutes but I changed my mind about using it. Instead, I put on my socks and trainers and took a book and went downstairs to sit by the pool where I could watch for her to come home. She wouldn’t see me unless I made myself known, so I wouldn’t be embarrassed by being over-protective but if my fears were realized I would be that much closer to help. I saw her return under the freeway bridge and I was relieved that she was nearly back. Perhaps I had been worried for nothing, jumping at shadows.

Then I saw a man jump out from behind one of the abutments and accost her, grabbing her by the arm. She was obviously not happy. It wasn’t consensual and I could see that he was trying to pull her towards the cars parked close by. She was resisting. I lost the plot.

My instincts had been correct. Without any rational thought I rushed out onto the street, dodging a car as I crossed the road and reached the footpath. I wasn’t going to let my girl be attacked. Luckily I had remembered to bring my phone with me. It’s almost a reflex these days.

The man who was attacking Ali had ahold of her arm and wasn’t about to let go. All I saw was that he was fortyish.

I didn’t wait to find out what he was doing or who he was.

“Let go of her,” I yelled as I reached the footpath next to the river.

“Who the fuck are you,” was the response from the man holding on to her.

“I’m looking after her,” I responded, and switched on my phone. “See this, I’m recording what you do.”

“I’m his father, so fuck off, you pervert.”

I was starting to get mad and people who had been passing by were stopping to see what the problem was.

I was glad I was in Mac mode. I could deal with this. “To start with, let her go. She doesn’t want to go with you.”

“Why don’t you fuck off and mind your own business, grandpa?”

I brought my girl into the fracas. “Ali, who is this man and do you want to go with him?”

“No! I don’t want to go with him. Yes, he’s my father but he’s never shown any interest in me until now. Ow! He’s hurting me.”

Her assailant still had her arm in his grasp.

She was in pain.

“Let her go,” I said, “or you’ll end up in jail. I’ve got all this recorded and we’ve already had the police round to confirm that she’s not my prisoner. Just piss off, dickhead.”

Perhaps he realized that he was on a loser so he let go of her arm while giving me a poisonous glare and the audience who had gathered around to watch the drama gave a muted cheer.

Ali was weeping and I was fucking angry.

“Do you know his car, Ali?”

“Of course.”

“Which one is it.”

She pointed to a silver BMW. “That one.” There was a woman sitting in it. I guessed it was her mother.

I kept the video on the phone going so that I registered the number plate on the car and had a view of her father as he got into it. I kept on recording until he drove away.

Ali was in my arms now, still shaking, tears running down her face.

“It’s all right, love, I’ve got you,” as I steered her across the road to our pool area and sat her down in one of the lounge chairs on the deck.

I caught my breath. I hate to admit it but I’m getting too old for all this excitement. Then I thought about the visit from our two cops the other day. I was going to turn the tables and they were going to earn their money.

I rang the police station and asked to speak to PC Brown or PC Williams. I must have got the desk sergeant, or whatever rank they assigned that duty to these days.

“PC Brown is on duty, sir. May I ask who is calling and what it’s about?”

“My name is John McDougall. She called at my place a couple of days ago and I want to report an attempted abduction.”

The next moment she was on the phone. “Mr. McDougall, how can I help you?”

“Ali Morgan’s parents just tried to abduct her by force. Luckily I was nearby and managed to stop them. It was her father, and her mother was waiting in their car.”

She sounded a bit dubious. “Do you have any evidence?”

“I’ve got a complete video record on my phone and both Ali and I can give statements. Is that enough?”

Her demeanour changed instantly. “Where are you now, sir?”

“We’re at home, by the pool, recovering.”

“Please stay where you are. We’ll be with you in ten minutes. Can you send the video?”

“I’d rather you viewed it on my phone first. I would hate to lose the pictures. I’ve had that happen before. You’re welcome to transfer them to yours once you’ve seen them.”

“OK, we’re on our way.”

I sat down on the long lounge chair with Ali poolside, put my arm around her and stroked her hair, comforting her and wiping away her tears.

“Why can’t they just leave me alone? They don’t want me, only this imaginary son. I’m never going to be him again, not for them, not for anybody.” She leaned into my shoulder and wept.

“It’s OK. The cops are on the way and we’ll put a stop to this.”

Just then I heard the blues and twos coming along the street. Cops love using them, even when there’s no real need. Seconds later the car pulled into the small car park in front of the building. They had definitely beaten ten minutes. Two officers got out, putting their hats on as they did so.

I rose to my feet and waved to let them know where we were and pointed to the entrance leading to the pool. I could already see curious neighbours leaning over their balcony rails.

I saw that today we had scored two WPCs, one being Ms. Brown. She introduced the other girl. “This is PC Sayers.”

“Pleased to meet you, and thanks for coming so quickly. What happened to your other mate?”

She gave a cheerful grin, much friendlier than on her previous visit. This was something she was enjoying. “It’s his day off, lucky sod. We drew the short straws.” She clearly didn’t mean it.

“I suggest we sit over here.” There was a sort-of picnic table and half a dozen chairs at one end of the pool next to the barbecue, roofed over. Sorry, neighbours, it’ll ruin your view. So I pulled Ali to her feet and shepherded her over and the four of us sat to review the event.

I began by showing the two officers the video I had taken.

“Now you’ve seen it you can transfer it to one of your own phones. I was afraid I might lose it if I tried. I’m not great with phones, they’re always much smarter than me.”

They transferred it to both their phones and noted the time and place of the data drop. I was very happy that there were now three copies of the incident.

“So, can we take a statement from each of you?” PC Brown surprised me by putting a hand on Ali’s. Maybe she had been intimidated by her partner’s presence two days ago. “If you feel up to it, dear.”

Suddenly she noticed a huge bruise on Ali’s upper arm. I confess I hadn’t really seen it myself, being more concerned with her general well-being.

“Did your father do this?”

Ali nodded. “He was really hurting me.”

“Liz, we need a photo of this.” Her companion immediately took one on her phone and backed it up with another.

“OK, Mr. McDougall, tell me what happened.” She had a notebook open and a small recorder on the table. WPC Sayers mirrored her actions. They were taking this seriously.

So I described what I had seen and heard, starting with how I had been sitting by the pool waiting for Ali to return from her walk. When I finished she had me speak my name into the recording machine and confirm that this was my statement. I was suddenly very glad that I had been Mac today or this could have been very messy.

When they had finished with me they started in with Ali. There was only sympathy, no hostility.

Her testimony was straightforward. She described how she had gone for a walk and was nearly back home when her father suddenly appeared and grabbed her, trying to drag her to his car, with her resisting, when I had intervened and passers-by had started to notice. He abandoned the attempt when he was told I was filming it and went off in his car, with her mother in the passenger seat.

“You’re absolutely certain it was your father and mother?” This from PC Brown.

“Oh yes.” She pointed at the phone and said,” that’s Neil Morgan.” She let the video run until it got to the car. “That’s his car and that’s my mother, Elizabeth Morgan, sitting inside.”

“Ali Morgan has identified her father as her assailant and her mother as an accomplice.” Both officers agreed.

“I want them charged, jail would be nice, or at least have them issued with a restraining order. This has to stop.” I was fighting hard to calm down.

PC Brown told me, “We’ve got enough evidence to charge Ali’s father, but her mother didn’t DO anything so all we can probably do is issue her with a warning. Look, I’m sorry about the other day. It’s clear now that it was a malicious complaint but we weren’t to know that at the time.”

“Well, it turned out all right, and you were only doing your job, so let’s just let bygones be bygones. Can you give me copies of our statements or, better still, send them to my lawyer? I already organized a meeting with her for tomorrow morning to make sure we weren’t breaking any laws in regard to child welfare and the complications of transgenderism.”

Both officers assured me they could do that and I gave them the name and contact details of my solicitor, with the time of the meeting.

They left, duty done, and a lot more amicably this time.

As for me, I was still simmering. Her father had really got me riled up.

What a prick! Wouldn’t recognize his child as who she was until it threatened to embarrass him. From my very brief telephone interaction with Ali’s mother, it seemed that she was the same. No wonder the poor kid had ended up where I had found her in the shopping mall.

Still, I was going to have some fun at my lawyer’s office in the morning. They would learn not to mess with me.