This one's not for the faint of heart. Over the course of the story there will be death, suicide attempts, a fair amount of physical and mental abuse, some egregious torture and a hefty dollop of foul language, but hopefully a happy ending. Actually, the last bit's a given since it's me doing the writing, but between here and the end is a rocky road, so please if any of the above is likely to be triggering for you, please, please think twice about reading.

Chapter 10

We travelled cattle class ‘cos Mike was either too cheap or too poor to afford anything better. Being small has some advantages, one of them being when the passengers sitting either side of you are morbidly obese. I had to remind myself I’d been like that not so many years back, the difference being that I had always made an effort not to encroach on any fellow travellers. It wasn’t so easy, but I was just about small enough to avoid having to touch these guys’ sweaty flesh.

On the downside, the hormones were making me more sensitive to smells, especially offensive ones.

The flight was six hours of misery with both my travelling companions hands ‘accidentally’ falling onto me for a quick grope every so often. I kept my own hands in my lap the entire time. I’m not sure if they assumed I was a girl despite my hair and clothes or if they were into boys. Either way I didn’t want any trouble, so I endured in uncomfortable silence.

Mike looked on from his own central aisle seat next to Mum with an amused grin. On the very vaguely plus side it meant he’d probably be in a slightly better mood when we reached our final destination. For all my bravado, I didn’t much care for the thought of him beating me again.

Max’s memories rather than Gerald’s.

King Abdulaziz International was like pretty much any other major airport I’d visited, only on a grander scale. Futuristic with glass everywhere – not that there was much to see though the tall windows in the middle of the night. Vaulted ceilings, tiled floors and clean like only someone with OCD could maintain. The night-time temperatures weren’t that different from the daytime ones we’d left behind, hovering around the upper twenties centigrade – what’s that in old money? Certainly over eighty. Inside the terminal they had the climate control turned up enough that I was shivering from the cold. I knew I’d be glad of the shorts and tee-shirt come the new day, but right then and there I was perishing.

Mike took charge which I didn’t object to for once. Mum and I didn’t have anywhere to escape to now, so best to follow along.

Passport control became the first challenge when the man behind the glass took one look at me then glared angrily at Mike, spouting something unintelligible, at least to us uneducated Brits.

“Sorry, I don’t understand,” Mike said with an uncharacteristically servile voice.

More garbled gobbledegook in what I could only assume was Arabic, this time with a fairly clear gesticulation that we should stand to one side.

Ten minutes of foot tapping – from Mike – brought a khaki uniformed official accompanied by a couple of armed soldiers marching our way. The official waved us into a small room and held out a hand for our passports.

He gave Mum’s and Mike’s a cursory look over before staring at mine for some minutes, glancing back and forth between the photograph and my face.

“This says it is a boy,” he said at last, his voice brusque and no nonsense.

“It is a... I mean he is a boy.”

“No. This is a girl.” He waved a hand at me. “You should know we do not tolerate such depravity in this country.”

“He’s a f... He’s a boy.” Mike reached over and yanked my shorts down. Luckily he didn’t get a handful of my underwear, so I was left standing there in the knickers Pam and Lily had left me wearing, my bits neatly tucked away giving me a flat and very girly front. I added to it by blushing prettily and crouching to hide my embarrassment.

The official glowered at me then at Mike. I retrieved my shorts from around my ankles and pulled them back up.

“In Saudi Arabia, this is a girl whatever you or she may wish to believe. You insult us by bringing her here looking this way.

“There are shops here in the airport. Your wife should buy her something appropriate to wear.”

“My wife is... unwell.”

He glanced at Mum’s vacant expression. “Then you will go and buy for her. A skirt, a tee-shirt that is not for a boy, and a hijab to cover this, this disgrace.” He waved at my hair or lack of it. “Your wife and your daughter will wait here. I will keep your passport until you return.”

He turned to one of his companions and spoke briefly in, as I say, probably Arabic. The soldier guided Mike out of the room.

The official turned to me and stared down from his height advantage. “You cannot dress like this here,” he said. “In your country you may pretend to be a boy if you wish, but here, since Allah has seen fit to make you a girl, it is blasphemous to try to be anything else.”

I wanted to argue, to explain how it had been Mike’s idea, that I mourned the loss of my hair, but something inside suggested a different response.

“Yes sir,” I said quietly, dropping my head in a demure fashion. Maybe it was the hormones, but I didn’t have to try too hard to bring my tears to the surface.

I went over to where Mum stood staring into space and led her to a chair, settling her into it and perching next to her, leaning my head on her shoulder.

“What happened to her?” the official asked not unkindly.

“She had a shock,” I said, “earlier today. At least I think today.”

“It is ten o’clock in the evening in your country. What kind of a shock would do this to a person?”

I didn’t see why I shouldn’t tell him.

“My father paid my cousins to shave my head and dress me like this.”

“Why?”

I shrugged. “He always wanted a boy. I think I’m a disappointment to him.”

“So, this is not your idea?”

There were the tears again. I shook my head and clung to Mum’s arm. I was playing a dangerous game here. If he found out I actual had male body parts his sympathy would turn all the way to anger, but I couldn’t help myself. However he might interpret my physical nature, I knew I was the girl we were discussing here.

“How is it your passport says you are a boy?”

I shrugged. “I have a newer one at home that says I am a girl. This is an old one with a mistake in it.”

He nodded. “It looks old. How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

“Sixteen!”

“I’m a late developer.” I was making good use of my shrug in this conversation.

“Why did he not use your new passport?”

“He doesn’t have it. I’ve lived with my uncle for the past few years because he,” I waved in the rough direction Mike had gone, “has always been so mean to me.”

“Then why do you travel with him today.”

“To look after Mum.” I squeezed her arm. She turned vaguely in my direction in response. More of a reaction than I’d noticed in some hours. “I don’t trust him to do so.”

“You are a good, dutiful daughter. He should be proud of you, not…” he waved his hands just as vaguely at me.

“I don’t know what we’re going to do now we’re here. I tried to persuade him not to bring us because I don’t know how to look after my mother in this place.”

“I will make sure you are taken care of. I have a brother in the police. He will make sure you are visited often to make sure your father does no more of this foolishness. I see he has a work visa in his passport. Are you enrolled in a school here?”

“I don’t know. He just turned up today and gave me the choice. Either come and look after Mum or stay in England in which case if anything happened to her it would be my fault.”

“What might happen to her?”

“I don’t know. She took an overdose of pills about a week ago, so she needs someone around.”

“I agree. It is well that you are here.”

“I don’t know. I don’t mean anything bad by this, sir, but I really don’t want to be here.”

“It will not be so bad, I think. I will make sure you are looked after. Here, I will give you my number in case you need help.”

“I don’t have my phone. He took it and threw it in a bush.”

He stiffened, just as Mike returned with a bulging carrier bag which he thrust at me. I looked around for somewhere to change. My newest friend held up a hand and turned to my father.

“Where are you staying?” he asked.

“I’m not sure what business that is of yours...”

“It is my business because I am making it my business.”

Mike gave him an address which the man copied down. He also photographed all our passports.

“Someone will be checking on you, soon and often after that. You are to enrol your daughter in a girls school and buy for her a mobile phone to replace the one you discarded. It is to be a good quality phone, you understand?”

Mike had gone from angry to defensive to worried in the course of the exchange. He nodded.

“When the police come to your home, and this will be several times every week, sometimes perhaps twice in the same day, they are to find her dressed respectably. Until her hair grows, she is to wear the hijab before the door is opened and each time she goes outside. If I hear any report that she is behaving as a boy or dressing as a boy, or if there is any evidence that she is being treated poorly, then it will be you the police take into custody, do you understand me?”

“Er, but...”

“Do you understand me?”

“Yeah, fine. Alright.”

“I will expect to hear from Max within a day on her new phone. If I don’t, it will be me who comes to your home, and you will not enjoy what I choose to do with you.”

“Okay, okay.”

“Max, if you come through to here you will find a room where you can change.”

With that I was led into a nearby room and left to my own devices.

It didn’t take long. There was a long skirt with an elasticated waist like my shorts and a white plush, faux fur top with three quarter length sleeves. No buttons, zips or ribbons, just pull it all on. The most complicated thing was the hijab, but even that only took a little common sense. Fold in half along its length, drape over the head with uneven lengths hanging down over the shoulders, then wrap the longer length around the back of the neck and arrange the loose folds decoratively. Without a mirror it was hard to see if I had it quite right, but it had to be close.

I put the shorts and spidey shirt back in the bag, checked to make sure my skirt was hanging right and made my reappearance.

The official and his two guards visibly relaxed on sight of me. I rejoined my mum who absent mindedly made a few minor adjustments to the hijab.

“So, we understand each other, I think,” my self-appointed protector said then nodded at one of his guards who opened the door back out to the terminal. “Welcome to Jeddah.” The man handed our passports back to Mike.

I took Mum’s arm and waited for the rather shell-shocked figure of my father to lead us out.

“What the fuck just happened?” he mused once we were relatively alone.

“I believe you were bested by your daughter,” Mum said quietly.

“He’s not... For the last time, we don’t have a fucking daughter. I thought we agreed on that.”

“We did, but I’m coming to realise we were wrong.”

I squeezed Mum’s arm and we exchanged smiles.

“I believe this little plan of your is backfiring on you dear. You can’t force her to look like a boy, because I don’t think that’s possible anymore, and you don’t dare hit her. You brought her to one of the most transphobic and repressive places on Earth in an effort to turn her back into that sad little mouse of a son you pretty much hated anyway, and they’re forcing you into letting her be the girl she really is. I think I finally understand what irony is.”

“When the fuck did you come back into the land of the living anyway?”

“Oh, sometime while you were off buying our little girl these pretty clothes. You really have quite a good eye, you know?”

“Yeah, well shut the fuck up. I think I preferred you when you were catatonic.”

Our cases were the last ones on the carousel. Mike retrieved them just before the baggage handlers removed them ahead of the next flight’s influx. Customs waived us through and we were outside in the warm air.

Mike found us a taxi and half an hour later we arrived at our new home. There wasn’t much to see in the darkness, but the place gave a sense of having more space than you’d expect in a major city. Certainly the apartment was large. Only two bedrooms, but they were a good size.

Mum opened one of the suitcases and rifled through it until she found a couple of white cotton nightdresses. She handed me the shorter one along with an unopened pink toothbrush.

“We’ll go shopping for more appropriate things tomorrow,” she said to me.

“What the fuck?” Mike said.

“You know you use that word a little too often,” Mum told him with an uncommon edge to it.

“You never fucking minded before.”

“I did. I just didn’t say anything. I’d rather you didn’t use words like that in front of our little girl though.”

“He’s a fucking boy, and he’s got fucking pyjamas in the case!”

“She doesn’t look like a boy and according to the official we met at the airport she isn’t one. So, when the police come banging on our door at six o’clock in the morning, how do you propose explaining why our daughter is wearing pyjamas?”

“They wouldn’t...” he trailed off uncertainty. “I fucking don’t like this.”

“Then perhaps you should book us all a flight back home.”

“This is our home now. I’ve got a job here and everything.”

“Everything meaning?”

“What?”

“You have a job here, but what else? What are we supposed to do while our lord and master is out earning us our daily crust?”

“Whatever you fucking like. There’s loads to do around here.”

“And no-one much to do any of it with. You didn’t think to ask how I felt about leaving my friends behind did you?”

“I left my friends too you know?”

“Yes, but that was your choice. You didn't offer me the same courtesy, did you?”

“What the fuck has got into you, woman? Look it’s late. We’ll all feel better after a good night’s sleep. Let the fucking fairy sleep in your spare nightie if he wants.”

He stormed off leaving Mum and me with a quiet moment.

She helped me into the nightdress whereupon I almost disappeared in the folds of thin white cotton.

“You know, you look really cute with short hair,” she said. “I mean, I, I’m not trying to make light of the situation or anything. What Lily and Pam did to you was unforgiveable, and I’m so sorry you got dragged into all this.”

“It’s alright Mum. It’s only hair. It’ll grow back.”

“No, I mean bringing you here, trying to turn you back into a boy. I didn’t know how to stop him.”

“You could have refused to come.”

“He’s my husband.”

“He’s a bully and he’s selfish, and he’s never going to change.”

“Yes, I suppose I can see that now. You could have refused to come too you know?”

“No I couldn’t, not and left you on your own with him. Jeddah’s not as bad as some places in the Middle East, but it’s not a great place to be a western woman on your own, and after last week...”

“I suppose. I am glad you’re here. Not glad you came, if that makes any sense.”

“It does, Mum. I feel the same.”

“Are you fucking coming to bed?” Mike called.

“Well, there goes Mr Romantic. I suppose I’d better head off for my night of indescribable passion.”

I smiled. If she could joke about it like that, she was in a better state of mind than I’d thought.

Bedding was light, which you’d expect given the climate. I settled down for the night luxuriating in the caress of soft cotton. I felt an uncomfortable pinch in my ears and sat up long enough to remove my studs and necklace. A wave of fatigue washed me away into dreamless slumber.

The police didn’t bang on the door at six the next morning; they let us lie in till half past. By the time Mike was out of bed and had the door open, I’d hunted out my hijab and wrapped it onto my head. The cotton of the nightdress was a little thin to be strictly respectable so I hung back until Mum found me and draped a light robe over my shoulders. She placed a hand between my shoulder blades and guided me into the living room where a policeman was speaking loudly to Mike in heavily accented English, or so one presumed.

“You are Max?” he all but shouted at me when I made my appearance.

I nodded little uncertainly.

“You are okay? He does not mistreat you?”

“I'm a little tired,” I said. “We didn’t get to bed until after two o’clock.”

He gave me a close examination that had me pulling my mother’s robe tight about me.

“These are not your clothes.”

“No, my mother leant me a nightdress for tonight. We’re going to go shopping later, I think.”

“This is good. I will come back this evening.”

He left without another word. Mike closed the door firmly behind him, not quite slamming it.

“I’m going back to bed,” he said and disappeared.

“Cup of tea?” Mum asked.

“What? Oh, er yes please.”

“I find I need something to calm my nerves after something like that. I have some camomile. It’s a bit of an acquired taste, but you might appreciate it.”

“Thanks, that’d be great.”

Paul had tried me on camomile after some of my occasional nightmares. I was getting used to the flavour. I needed something right now because my heart was pounding like a jackhammer.

“We’ll have to ask your father for money for the shopping excursion. I thought I had some but it's not in my bag.”

“Oh.” I ducked into my room, returning with the money I’d taken.

“Oh no, you keep that. You never know when you might need an emergency fund.”

“Really? There’s quite a lot here.” Fifties. Maybe ten of them.

“I’m not sure where I’d get it changed anyway. Not at a decent rate. No I need local currency, so that’s going to be your dad’s first job when he gets up.”

“He's not my dad.”

“Honestly, between him insisting you’re not his daughter and you insisting he’s not your dad, it’s like I have no idea who’s version of reality is real.”

“Well you were right about the police visit.” I took a steaming mug from her and breathed in the fumes. My heart rate eased off.

She snorted. “That was hardly difficult. Don’t tell me you didn’t see it coming.”

I shrugged and gave her a searching look.

“What?” she asked after enduring it for a few seconds.

“I was looking for the woman who tried to top herself last week. You know, the one who sat next to me on that park bench yesterday and couldn’t do anything more than cry.”

“She’s still here, just... I don’t know, a bit more aware. Am I making sense?”

“A bit. Are you ready to go home yet?”

“Sorry dear. For better or for worse, that’s the deal. He’s my husband and there’s not much to be done about it. I won’t do anything to hurt you again though, and I won’t let him hurt you either if I can help it.”

“I appreciate that Mum, but it’s you I’m worried about. The only reason I let myself be dragged into this situation is because I want to make sure you’re alright.”

“You don’t have to worry about me, dear.”

“I think we’ll just agree to disagree on that, Mum. You know you don’t have to stay married to him, don’t you?”

“That which the Lord has joined together...”

“The church allows three reasons for divorce, Mum. Adultery, abandonment and abuse, and before you say anything, abuse doesn’t just have to be physical.”

“That’s the thing though, sweetheart, your father has never abused me. Not physically, not mentally, not emotionally.”

“What do you call the way he talked to you earlier?”

“He’s upset. His plans didn’t go the way he wanted, and he has a tendency to lash out after that. He doesn’t mean anything by it.”

“Then why did you agree to all this?”

“I was confused, dear. I think that’s what made me do what I did last week. Your father – you don’t mind me calling him that? – Between your father and your grandfather I had pretty much made up my mind that what you were doing was wrong. You made a lot of sense when you visited me in the hospital, but not enough to overcome years of... of, well, conditioning I suppose.

“I thought bringing you here was for the best, though I suppose there was a part of me that felt it wasn’t. That’s why I was so conflicted about it all. Then I saw what the twins did to you and what your father meant to do to you when we got here, and I began to understand.”

“Understand what, Mum?”

“Well, it was like that quote you shared from Oscar Wilde. Your father and your grandfather have always insisted that they knew best, and they’ve had a tendency to become quite unpleasant when things haven’t gone their way.

“You were different. You only asked, then when your father and I refused to listen over and over again, you gave up believing things could change and... took drastic action. Even after you survived that you still tried to persuade us. Then, when we refused to change, you didn’t insist that we do so. You simply withdrew from us. You never insisted that any of us change, only tried to reason with us.

“After what the twins did, I suppose I saw what your father and grandfather stood for – what I’m ashamed to say I believed as well – for what it was. It’s abuse, plain and simple. It’s what you suggested he might have been doing to me in some form or another, and I suppose I can understand that. After he was so brutal to you, it’s only natural to believe he would be the same with others.

“Laura – or Abrielle if you prefer it – I see you for who you are now, what you tried so hard to show us. Realising it has brought me a lot of peace. If truth be told, I’m quite glad that you’re here with us now, because it gives me a chance to get to know my daughter. Mike may not like it, but he doesn’t have a great deal of choice. Who knows, maybe if he’s forced to live with you for a while, he might just catch a glimpse of the real you.”

“You think so?”

“Not really, no, but stranger things have happened. Have you finished your tea?”

I was surprised to fund that I had.

“Let’s go back to bed for a few hours then. Have some brunch when we wake up, then you can show me how much of a girl you really are.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why, shopping of course.”

There were no more visits from the police to interrupt my sleep. I woke again around eleven to find Mum putting together a brunch of flatbread, salad and cold meat. I washed and slipped into my only girl clothes, wearing my knickers inside out since I had no clean ones. The hijab went on with everything else. Since I expected to be wearing it a lot, it made sense to make it a part of my everyday clothing.

I joined Mum in the kitchen and picked up the plates, knives, forks and glasses she’d put out, laying places on the breakfast bar. There was a sort of tropical fruit juice in the fridge, so I poured out a couple of glasses before taking a sip of mine.

“Anything more I can do?” I asked.

“No, I think that’s about it.”

She passed a few plates across to me, which I set out between the place settings while Mum removed her apron and joined me.

“I assume he’s not here?” Safe-ish assumption since there were only two place settings.

“He had to go into work and familiarise himself with the place. He should be done by three.”

“Couldn’t he take a bit longer?”

She smiled. “We’ll need him to pick us up from the shops. I’ve ordered us a taxi to take us there and I imagine we’ll all be a little tired by three. Besides, we have to enrol you in a school and your d... your father owes you a new mobile phone.”

“I’ve just finished school, Mum.”

“And you’re going to have to start it again. The first semester here begins mid August. There’s a girls school near here on one of the bus routes. The lessons are in Arabic, but that shouldn’t bother you, should it? You already have six A levels, so you can concentrate on learning the language instead.”

“I don’t want to leave you on your own, Mum.”

“I know, but we’ll have a few weeks together before school starts and hopefully by then you’ll see that I’m alright.”

“If you’re not, I’ll be staying home.”

“And get us all in trouble? I should think not. The police have us on their radar now and they expect you to act like a perfect girl, which means demure and obedient. It’s what you want anyway, so it’s what we’re going to give them.”

That was the point when I first realised I was actually going to do this. Crazy as it seemed, risky as it almost certainly was, I couldn’t leave Mum until I was sure she was going to be okay and she certainly wasn’t going to leave with me.

I had my year out and hadn’t committed to anything. I’d wanted to spend the time researching the ways underprivileged people were being let down by the system and joining the fight to help them. Saudi Arabia had a better reputation when it came to women’s rights than most Gulf states, but it was still a long way from showing anything like equality. It was also brutally anti gay and trans. I wasn’t sure what I could do, being in such a vulnerable position, but I was sure I’d find something.

The options for clothing were limited in some ways and wonderfully diverse in others. Pretty much all that was on offer were long dresses and skirts with long sleeved tops, but in lightweight materials that were surprisingly comfortable in the near forty degrees heat. That’s a hundred for you Neanderthals. I’m not going to do the conversions for you anymore. Just double it, take off a tenth and add thirty-two. The different patterns and embroideries meant that pretty much no two outfits were alike.

Mum bought some more respectable clothing as well. We didn’t want the authorities to look too closely at me, and the best way to achieve that was to do more than necessary to conform. Jeddah was pretty relaxed about how women dressed, but covering our knees and elbows as well as our heads went a long way towards keeping the angry looks at bay.

We’d bought me a whole new wardrobe and Mum quite a few necessary accessories and settled for a late lunch at half past two. Neither of us was particularly hungry, but a bottle of cold water and a salad did the trick.

The seating was segregated which put us in the crowded women’s area while the men’s was nearly empty. I wondered if it might be worth suggesting to the cafe owner that he make the women’s area bigger since he seemed to have more female customers, but I didn’t think he’d appreciate advice from a girl, so I kept my mouth shut.

I poured a third of my water over my salad before taking a bite.

“Why did you do that?” Mum asked.

“What are the chances they washed the salad with tap water?” I asked.

“They say the tap water here is safe to drink.”

“In theory, yes, and they may be right. It’s mainly reclaimed from the sea though, so it’s going to taste a little salty. Chances are we’ll acclimate quickly enough, but best not to take chances early on. I don’t want to end up in hospital with my anatomy.”

“No, I suppose not.” She followed my lead.

“I have a favour to ask, Mum.”

“Yes?”

“You know I said I’ve started using oestrogen patches for hormone replacement? They’re pretty much the same as the ones used by menopausal women. Each patch lasts about a week I think. I only have the one I’m using at present. Do you think you could get me some more?”

“I’m not menopausal, dear.”

“I know, but could you say you are, or that you’re getting them for a friend? I’m worried about the changes I’ll go through if I don’t keep taking the hormones.”

“I’ll see what I can manage.”

We finished eating and headed for the spot Mike had agreed to pick us up. He was standing impatiently by the car looking around when we turned up.

“What the fuck are you wearing?”

“Language Mike. We’re doing our best to blend in. You could do the same.”

“Fuck that.”

“You realise how ignorant you sound when you speak like that? Please make an effort not to.”

“This is supposed to be the place where you fu... where you do what I say, not the other way around.”

“Yes, well I’m asking, not telling.”

“We should go.”

Mum sat up front with him giving me the whole back seat to myself. The seats and the metal of the car were hot, but my new clothing afforded me some protection. The long skirts hobbled my movements a little meaning it took a while to sort out how to climb in, but I figured it out before the arsehole totally lost his rag.

“School first,” Mike said.

“Mobile phones first,” Mum corrected him. “We’re both going to need smart phones if we’re going to use public transport.”

“I’m not fucking made of money you know.”

“I thought one of your reasons for coming here was the higher wage.”

“Yeah, well give me a month to earn a bit before you start gouging me.”

“Laura needs a phone at least. The airport official is expecting to hear from her today, remember? We’ll be doing things together so we can get by with one for a few weeks, at least until school starts.”

“Fuck me.”

“Not likely unless you learn to curb your language.”

“I’ve about had enough of your fucking lip, woman.”

“And what do you propose to do about it? I suggest you think clearly before answering.”

“Why Laura?” he asked, neatly sidestepping the issue.

“What Mum wanted to call me if I’d been born with girl bits,” I said.

“But you weren’t, which makes you a fucking boy.”

“Except on the inside I’ve always felt like a girl.” It felt like this was the only conversation I could have with my father.

“We can soon change that.”

“No, you can’t. You tried for twelve years and only succeeded in making me try to kill myself. But that doesn’t make any difference to you, does it? Your way or the wrong way as far as you’re concerned.”

“You mean my way or the highway?”

“No, that’s just a tired old cliché and doesn’t even apply here. If you’d ever offered me the highway, I’d have taken it in a heartbeat.

“What I meant was you can’t conceive of being wrong. You are so adamant that someone born with a penis can’t be a girl that you wouldn’t even talk to me about it. You were ready to let me kill myself rather than accept that you might be wrong. Is it any wonder I don’t think of you as my dad?”

“You fucking little shit...”

“And there you go, only seeing the insults, never giving any thought to whether you might be even a little bit at fault.”

“Stop it, both of you!” Mum interrupted. “Laura, you’re never going to get anywhere with that sort of argument and frankly I’m surprised you’d even try. Mike, we’re stuck in this situation where she has to be our daughter, so you’re going to have to put your feelings away and deal with her as though she always was our little girl. You saw how angry they were when they thought we were trying to pass her off as our son. Can you imagine how they’d react if they found out she actually has male genitalia? And that would land on all of us.”

Mike fell silent after that. I didn’t much care for the thoughtful look on his face, but then he spent more than I was expecting on the phone and I was distracted loading up the various apps I needed. Including the emergency app I’d written, now available for free on the app store.

“No International calls to your uncle on that thing if you don’t want me to confiscate it.”

“Okay.”

WhatsApp installed, Peter’s details added. I had quite a lot of mobile data in the contract and sending text on WhatsApp didn’t use much of it.

‘Hi Dad, it’s Abri.’ Message sent. Three-thirty here meant twelve-thirty in England. He might be on his lunch break.

‘Abri thank God. Are you alright? Where are you?’

‘I’m fine. We’re in Jeddah where everyone thinks I’m a girl despite Pam and Lily cutting off my hair and putting me in shorts and tee-shirt.’

‘We know what happened to you. The airport security guards at Heathrow told us. They wouldn’t let us through to you, I’m sorry.’

‘Yeah, they said as much. Something about the airport beyond security control no longer being under British law or something.’

‘Give me your address. I’m coming to fetch you.’

‘Please don’t. I mean I love you for wanting to, but circumstances have changed.’

“What are you doing?” Mike glanced back at me suspiciously.

“Setting up a few apps. You know, Uber the bus app, that sort of thing.”

“You’d better not be...”

“Concentrate on your driving dear. We don’t want more trouble with the police, do we?”

I went back to my conversation with Peter. ‘We had trouble at the airport because they thought I was a girl trying to pass myself off as a boy. They made Mike buy me a skirt and stuff. Now the police are checking on us to make sure I’m behaving like a girl like I ought. It’s kind of funny in a way. Mike hates it. He brought me here to turn me back into Max and now he has to help me become more of a girl.’

‘Yeah, well be careful. Do you have any idea what they’ll do to you if the find out what you have under your skirt?’

‘Yes, I do, but Mum won’t leave. Marital obligations or some such. I can’t leave her until I’m sure she’s going to be okay, and that might take a few months. It’s not as if I had anything solid lined up for this year anyway.’

‘I want your address anyway. I won’t come unless I think something’s wrong, and I’m going to expect you to contact us every day. I don’t hear from you for twenty-four hours and I’m on a plane to come and fetch you.’

‘Forty-eight hours. I’ll make sure I contact you every day, but I can see the arsehole confiscating the phone for a day if he can think of a way to justify it. If anything goes badly wrong, I’ll make sure Mum calls you.’

‘Will she though?’

‘I believe so. Either that or she’s a much better actress than I thought possible. She says she had an epiphany after what Pam and Lily did to me.’

‘I won’t pretend I like it, but you’re old enough to make your own decisions. Which would be true even if a part of you wasn’t older and wiser than me. Okay, agreed. What’s the address?’

I sent it to him and told him I was setting up my emergency app with his contact details. I then cleared the conversation from the phone in case Mike should check. The rest of the journey had me adding apps that might be useful. They included Facebook which I used to post privately to my friends that I had a new phone and they should link to me on WhatsApp using it. By the time we were at the school I had a bunch of messages from my school friends and Dad’s entry – hidden in plain sight as Petra L – disappeared among the inundation of contacts.

Mike snatched the phone out of my hands as soon as we had parked and hunted through it.

“What’s this?” He held up my well populated WhatsApp contacts list.

“Friends from school.”

“They’re all girl’s names.”

“Duh! It was an all girls school.”

His scowl deepened. “I’ll be keeping an eye on this.”

“Sure, whatever. Do we have WiFi at the apartment? It’ll keep my data usage down and I can make sure I only chat with my mates when I’m at home.”

“We’ll sort something.”

“I’ll most likely need a laptop for school.”

“God’s teeth! I’ve just bought you that phone, what more do you want? Do you think I’m made of money?”

“No, of course not, but... Why don’t we see what the school says.”

We all went in to see the principal, who happened to be a severe, matronly woman who wasn’t at all happy to see Mike with us.

“Usually the mothers make arrangements for their daughters. I prefer not to talk to men.”

“Well I’m here now.”

“Yes. Well, we can make some allowances for expatriates. You are working in the city I believe.”

“Yes, I’m a...”

“I don’t need to know, nor do I wish to. Will your company be paying the fees or will you?”

“I will but...”

“Then all I need from you is an assurance that the fees will be paid promptly and in full.”

She turned to me. “Max is an unusual name for a girl.”

“I know,” I said. “I never liked it, which is why I prefer Laura.”

“Your middle name?”

I looked at Mum. Let it be her lie if she chose to tell it.

“My husband wanted a boy. Max was his idea. Laura was my preference.”

“So we will register you as Maxine Laura Baxter, preferred name Laura. Do you have any qualifications, or should I assume you’re waiting for your GCSE results?”

“I took my GCSEs four years ago. I have A levels in maths, sociology and politics from two years ago, and I’m waiting on results in IT, biology and psychology this year.”

That shut everyone up, Mike especially who had no idea.

“How old are you?” Principal Habib asked.

“I turned sixteen a few months ago. I took most of my GCSEs when I was twelve. Straight A stars. No sorry, I only managed an A in double science. My last lot of A levels were all A’s and I’m hoping for the same this year.”

“You might prove difficult to accommodate. Many men in Saudi Arabia are threatened by successful women and you are already ahead of the game. A young girl with your intelligence might turn a few heads.”

“I’m hoping not. I have it in mind to start university next year, in England.”

Mike made to protest, but Mrs Habib jumped in ahead of him. “Do you mean this September or next?”

“Next. I was planning to take a year out this year, and I wanted to spend it with my mother.”

“So, what can we offer you for one year of study?”

“My mum suggested I should study Arabic, which sounds like a good idea. I’d also be interested in learning some Arabic history.”

“We should be able to manage that. I was wondering if you might be interested in helping some of our girls as well. English of course. I know you only have a GCSE, but you are a native speaker and there is nothing better when it comes to teaching languages. Maths as well would be greatly appreciated. You will benefit from exercising your knowledge, and of course there would be a reduction in your fees, depending on how much time you would be prepared to give to us.”

I looked at Mike who looked very much as though he wouldn’t mind a reduction in what he had to fork out.

“Of course,” I said. “As much as you think would be reasonable. I assume I’ll need a computer?” I wasn’t going to let him get off that easily.

“If you’re going to be helping in the lessons, I don’t see why we can’t make a school laptop available to you. We will have to assess your abilities for ourselves before we agree to anything. Perhaps you could come to the school again in a few days time?”

“Let me know when you’d like me to come in and I’ll be here, though I may need a little help figuring out how.”

She looked at my application form. “There is a direct bus route from your neighbourhood. You pay with your mobile phone.”

“Yes, I already have the app, but knowing where to pick up the bus and where to get off.”

“I’ll make sure you have the details when we ask you to come in. We have a relaxed dress code when the school is in session, so you will only need your hijab for the journey too and fro.”

“I think I’d prefer to keep in the habit of wearing it if that’s not a problem.”

“Of course. Many girls feel the same. Are you Muslim?”

“No, but I think it’s best to respect the cultures you visit.”

“A commendable attitude. I think you will fit in well here. Do you have any special consideration from us?”

“Er,” I looked at Mum.

“Laura is exceedingly shy and self conscious when it comes to her body. We would prefer for her to be excused any physical education and any situations when she might be expected to change in public.”

“This also should be possible. If that’s all, I’ll draw up the paperwork and I’ll be in touch in a few days. Do you have an email address? I only appear to have your father’s here.”

I gave her the Gmail account I’d set up from my phone.

We headed home shortly after that. Another WhatsApp to Peter (or Petra) asking for photographs of my GCSE and first round of A level results to be emailed to me, then clear the cache and start over.

‘I believe I’m white this time, so e4.’

I’d pulled down a chess app that allowed me to record a game manually rather than play the computer. Petra’s reply came back quickly enough.

‘Neat idea, c5.’

Sicilian defence then. This wouldn’t take much thinking, but if I restricted myself to sending a move every morning, then he’d have all day to reply. I could also give some early indication of things going pear shaped by sending an impossible move or maybe just a bad one.

The apartment came with WiFi, so I was able to get online. I kept an eye out for Peter’s email, which arrived around nine-thirty, after he made it home. I saved the images to the phone, made a note of his email address in Petra L’s contact entry and deleted the email. Mike wasn’t super tech savvy, but I didn’t want to risk him finding anything on the phone.

Mum and I enjoyed a quiet few days exploring Jeddah. The two of us, respectably dressed, turned no heads as we wandered around Al Balad, the now uninhabited old town. Rather than hire a guide and incur the wrath of the old skinflint, we invested in a book or two and matched our exploration to our reading. We also investigated our local neighbourhood since it would most likely be where Mum would be spending most of her time, and tried to make a few friends.

There was a degree of reticence at first, but I’ve always found women to be naturally more friendly than men, and this proved to be true of our neighbours. We started off by exchanging greetings with shop keepers and cafe staff, making sure we only addressed the women with our “As-salamu alaykum”. I think they saw how hard we were trying and eventually gave in and spoke back. Not a great many spoke English, so we were limited in who we could build friendships with at first, but it was a start.

There wasn’t much to do in the evenings so, once I’d planned my chess move for Peter, I did a little revision of my maths and English.

When I was invited into the school a few days later, I took the images Peter had sent with me.

“Abrielle Lassiter?” Principal Habib asked.

“I have a poor relationship with my father,” I explained. “I left to live with my Uncle nearly five years ago. I chose the new name to mark the separation and adopted my uncle’s surname. Abrielle means God is my strength. I needed His strength to get me through that transition.”

“And now you are back with him.”

“For my mother’s sake only. She hasn’t been well, so I came to live with her more than him.”

“Within these walls you will hear many stories of daughters estranged from their fathers, but you would be advised not to speak of it outside. Women do not have the best of lives here in Saudi. It is improving by slow degrees, but we are aware that if we were to make a stand we may lose the advances we have made more swiftly than we gained them. In the world we must be second to our husbands, our fathers, even our brothers, but because our culture is separated so much into men and women, we have a place where we may speak freely and dream of a better future. I believe you understand that of which I speak.”

“I am glad of your advise. Outside these walls I will show him as much respect as I can bear to, and I will be cautious who I share my genuine feelings with.”

“Hmm.”

“My English? It is true that the preferred grammar was once to avoid ending a sentence with a preposition, but that was largely the influence of writers who wanted to align the rules of English with those of Latin. Modern versions of Miriam Webster’s English Grammar state that there is no reason to avoid ending a sentence with a preposition. There is an apocryphal story, often attributed to Winston Churchill, that when confronted with this matter, the respondent replied, ‘That’s the sort of nonsense up with which I will not put.’ The intention of the response being to demonstrate how unnecessarily tortured a sentence may become when such rules are applied rigorously.”

“Hmm.” This time there was a definite positive lilt to her response.

“So, these are my credentials. My qualifications if you prefer. As you may have noticed at our last visit, my father was not aware of them, and I do not consider it his business that he sees these proofs. In his eyes, I was an irredeemable waste of effort, and it was only after I came under the gentler and kinder care of my uncle that I came into my element. My father deserves no credit for my accomplishments and within these walls he will not have it.

“I will accept his surname and the name he gave me because it is written on the passport he used to bring me here, but he is not a man worthy of my respect, although I will accept your advice that he should be given it when I am not here in the school.”

“Will you remove your hijab for me please?”

“What you will see is his doing and not mine.”

I took off the head covering.

She stiffened. “I heard something of this,” she said. “He tried to bring you into the country as a boy. Does he not know how dangerous it was to attempt such a thing?”

“I don’t believe he much cared.”

“I have some Mathematics and English questions for you to answer and then the heads of our Maths and English departments will want to discuss your answers.”

“Of course.”

“I would also be interested to discuss your views on feminism at a future time, if you would be willing.”

“It is not my intent to fight the establishment on matters of gender superiority or equality. You said yourself that to do so might jeopardise the progress women have made in this country in recent years and I wouldn’t want to be responsible for damaging such a worthy accomplishment.”

“I shall have to see what I can do to win your trust then. In the meantime your caution reassures me.”

I took the assessments, finding them easy enough. The head of the Maths department didn’t have many questions for me other than to confirm my preference for statistics. It wasn’t that I found the subject easier, just that I expected to make more use of it, so I’d made more of an effort. The head of English and I spent more time speaking. She wanted to query certain nuances that had come out in my own answers which indicated an odd mix between Gerald’s influence and Max’s natural tendency towards youthful expressions and idioms. I didn’t try to explain the idiosyncrasies but described where they came from, giving examples from literature where I could.

They were overall satisfied with my competence and, along with Mrs Habib, invited me to fill pretty much all the empty slots in my timetable and then some. Not as a teacher – I wasn’t qualified for that – but as a teaching assistant. On the plus side, no preparation and no marking so I could focus on my own studies. With the amount they intended to use me it meant Mike had almost nothing to pay. I negotiated with Mrs Habib so that at least part of what I was earning would be paid to me, giving me something of an income and a degree of independence. I even wangled for both Mum and me to be included in the Arabic for beginners course that ran three evenings a week.

Mike made no complaints when the first bill came through so I can only assume he was happy enough with the amount he was being charged. He didn’t much like having to fend for himself every Monday, Wednesday and Friday evening, but Mum and I saw it as payback for him doing the same to us pretty much all the rest of the time.

Over the next three months, our Arabic improved markedly and the circle of friends Mum was building grew in consequence. They found our efforts to speak their language a constant source of amusement and a reason to ease their wariness. They helped us with our pronunciation and vocabulary and by the end of October we were holding reasonable conversations in Arabic and I was able to follow the lessons in Gulf history well enough. Reading and writing the language was a challenge I had yet to master though, so my assessments were verbal, the history teacher not being an Anglophone.

November brought with it a life of comfortable routine. Mike seemed pretty much to accept having me around as a girl, the police visits dropped to almost none, I’d just completed my fourth game of chess with Peter and had just sent off my opening for the fifth, since it was my turn to be white again. My circle of friends had expanded too, with all the girls in the school eager to improve their knowledge and seeing me as a means to do so. I even had those discussions with Mrs Habib once she convinced me of her good intentions.

It felt like nothing could go wrong, which of course meant it was bound to. It happened towards the end of a maths lesson. I was doing the rounds of the class, helping explain the intricacies of bivariate data and Pierson’s correlation coefficients, when a group of policemen appeared at the classroom door. It had a glass window and they were all looking at me.

I reached for my phone and pressed the power button three times. I didn’t have time for more.

“Laura Baxter!” It came out as more of a declaration than a question. They knew who I was so there was no sense in denying it.

***
Next chapter will have the really nasty bits in red and the not very nice bits in darker red so anyone who wants to avoid the serious unpleasantness can do so. You may miss a few minor bits of storyline if you avoid the darker red but nothing critical.

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