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.

Laura recalls some of her experiences in this chapter, and quite graphically. I’ve marked them in red in case you prefer to skip.

Chapter 12

Mum and Peter were there when I woke. Neither said much, but I could feel the weight of their hands resting on the casts encasing my body, just I could feel the intensity of the love in their eyes.

“I hope you don’t mind, Mum,” I opened the conversation, “but once I’m back on my feet again, I’m going back to England with Peter.”

“I should hope so too,” she snorted. “I shall miss you of course, but I don’t think I need you now.”

“The doctor suggested there might be a delay once you’re out of the cast,” Peter said.

“Oh yes, he said the same to me. Well, as soon as he gives the all clear.”

“No arguments from me,” Peter said. “The sooner you’re home, the sooner we’ll all be happy.”

“How’s Paul handling this?”

“You know Paul.”

“As bad as that?”

“He went ballistic when I told him what you’d been through. It took me the rest of that call to persuade him not to get on the next flight.”

“Why wouldn’t you want him to?” Mum asked.

“You remember how effeminate I used to be?” Peter answered. “Paul’s so much more. He wouldn’t last ten seconds out here.”

“So what is going to happened after you’re discharged?” Mum asked.

“I shall need somewhere to stay for a week or two,” I said. “I suspect everyone’s expecting me to go home with you. I mean, my clothes are there, I have bed... I’m assuming you don’t have a spare bed in your hotel room, Dad?”

“Just one enormous double which wouldn’t be appropriate. They may start charging double occupancy too and the room’s expensive enough as it is.”

“Well, it would be good to spend a few more days with you before you go,” Mum said hopefully.

There wasn’t much else to talk about, but that was okay. Mum and Peter had enough to catch up on, and it was less tiring just listening.

Most of the next few days went the same way but by the third I was in desperate need of some distraction. The air conditioning had kept me from sweating too much, so the itch wasn’t half so bad as it might have been, but it was driving me out of my skull.

Peter brought in a chess set and we kept a dialogue going throughout. Gerry had taught him initially, but he’d kept with it and improved over the years so he was a pretty decent player and we were actually quite well matched. For a change we decided to discuss the options we could see as the match went on. It meant neither of us made any glaring mistakes and by the time the doctor stuck his head in to call time on us, we could both see we were heading for a stalemate.

“Doctor, are all these monitors necessary?” I asked as Peter packed the game away.

“I suppose not. A few certainly, but not all. Why?”

“I was wondering if it would be possible for my dad to bring in a phone tomorrow so I could videoconference with some people back home.”

“I don’t see why that shouldn’t be possible.” He looked over the machinery, deciding which would still be a good idea to keep on and whether any of them might be sensitive to mobile phones. “I’ll check the adjoining rooms.” Then to Peter, “Bring your phone in tomorrow, but check with me before you turn it on.”

So my last day’s immobility was made bearable by the virtual presence of my other dad. He kept me entertained with stories of the neighbours. Apparently, Mrs Bickerage had slipped while peering over our fence and fallen in one of her rose bushes. No serious injury, except to her dignity, especially when she’d needed Paul’s help to rescue her from her predicament. Paul had been baking for the local fete at the time, and had been wearing the pink gingham apron. Mrs B hadn’t known whether to be grateful or outraged.

Jasper was finally going through the night, much to his mum and dad’s relief. They’d probably missed me almost as much as the dads, and Paul had taken pity on them and sat for them on one evening so they could escape the horrors.

“I don’ know how you coped with that little grizzle-pot,” Paul said shaking his head. “I was walking up and down from the moment they left me with him to the moment they got home.”

“I guess you understand why I was always a bit frazzled after one of those sessions.”

“Sweetheart, you are a saint! I mean you kept going back after the first time. Me, I spent nearly a week trying to avoid them before they cornered me one day and said they probably wouldn’t need me any more. The little tyke – that’s my term for him, uou understand, not theirs. They were a whole lot ruder...”

“They weren’t!”

“Listen, who’s telling this story, you or me?”

It went on in the same vein and had me laughing hard enough that the movements were just about rubbing my body against the inside of the cast. I certainly felt some degree of relief from it, but it raised a little concern with the doctor who sadly cut the session short.

“One more day,” He said. “For peace of mind I think it will be worth it.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow Dad,” I said to Paul, raising a questioning eyebrow on the doctor’s face. He’d probably stopped trying to understand the intricacies of my family relationships though, because he didn’t ask me about it.

Peter and Mum left early promising to be with me early in the morning, and I had an afternoon and evening to endure with renewed irritation all over my body.

Morning arrived along with my family – two members of at least. They kept the small talk going and almost managed to distract me. I was more than ready when the doctor arrived ahead of a machine that looked a lot like a handheld circular saw attached to a cart.

“Looks a little low tech,” I said dubiously.

“And yet it is the best tool for this job. Please close your eyes and permit me to do this.”

I did just that, and for half an hour, listened to the sound and smell of an electric saw cutting through plastic. It came close enough to tickle my skin but never closer. It meant I had to grit my teeth in order to keep from moving, but I could feel the tight grasp of the cast loosening all over.

At long last, the front piece was pulled away and I could move my arms. Before I could attack the multiple itches, now all the worse for being exposed to the air, strong hands closed around my wrists and biceps and lifted me clear of the back piece.

I didn’t have time to object before multiple nurses with rough flannels began to wash me all over and blessed relief flooded through me.

“Relax,” the doctor said, smiling into my eyes . “We have done this before and we know what we are doing. A bath is being prepared for you, and believe me,” he twitched his nose slightly, “you could do with it. We will help you to it shortly. For now, permit my staff to clear away the dead skin and bring you some relief.”

And relief there was. Tempered a little by the expressions on Peter and Mum’s faces as they looked down on me. I barely had the strength to raise my head, but I managed it. My entire body was covered in bruises.

“Shouldn’t they have cleared by now doctor?” I asked.

“The ones from your beating, yes. These are from the surgery. Rolling back the flesh to give access to your damaged bones is a trauma in its own right. A moment’s discomfort.”

I felt an unusual twinge between my legs. The doctor came away with a length of plastic tubing and a bag of yellow liquid which he gave to a nurse to take away.

“Now, when you are ready, I would like you to try and sit up. You have people to help you, so take it slowly and rely on them if you need to.”

It took a while. My whole body felt stiffer than at any other time in my life and it felt like I had almost no muscle left.

“Is there a mirror, doctor?”

“I wouldn’t recommend it. Your body has been through quite an ordeal, as I say, most recently from the reconstructive surgery.”

“Please doctor, I really need to see myself.”

He hesitated, but nodded. One of the nurses – there were a lot of them – hurried from the room and by the time I’d been helped onto unsteady feet and had a light silk robe draped over my shoulders, she returned with a full-length mirror in tow.

I stared at my reflection and let the tears well up. I was skinnier now than ever and covered with so many bruises I looked like an abstract tattooist’s masterpiece. All that I took in my stride. What filled my eyes was the very neat arrangement between my legs. I’d never had much down there in the first place, but now there was a very distinct gap and, quite visible with my pubic area shaved and only beginning to grow back, two neat yet distinct labia.

My breasts were larger too, unless it was an optical illusion from my body having wasted away so much. I cupped them in my hands, my joints moving with an almost painful stiffness.

“Mr Chakrii considered giving you a little help with those,” the doctor said, “but suggested it would be as well to see what change would come from the hormones first. We have continued to administer them intravenously.” He indicate the bag of transparent fluid hanging from a stand and still attached to my arm. “If you will permit me.” He deftly removed the tape holding the cannula in place and slipped it out before I realised what he was doing. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to eat like the rest of us again.”

“Bath first,” I said. “I stink.” I really did.

Not that I could do much other than lie there. It didn’t matter. I was surrounded by nurses who did everything necessary, including washing my hair. It was still short, but just beginning to tickle the nape of my neck.

With everything washed and the bathwater looking decidedly murky, one of the nurses lifted me out as though I weighed no more than a child, which I probably didn’t. Between them, they towelled me down, helped me into a pair of knickers and a fresh cotton nightdress and led me back to my bed, now sporting crisp, fresh sheets.

Apart from the ache in my joints, nothing could have been closer to a taste of heaven. Then a different nurse turned up with a bowl of porridge laced with honey and I found myself looking around for the guy I’d met after I died. It may have been a fancy, but I had a sense that he was standing nearby and smiling.

I managed half the bowl before my stomach began protesting. The nurse wiped my lips with a paper napkin, smiled at me and left with the bowl.

“You are comfortable?” the doctor asked.

“Mum and Dad?”

“I sent them home after you went for your bath. You will be tired.”

“Oh yeah.”

“I shall leave you to sleep. The button to call for assistance, should you need it, is here.”

“Mm, thank you. Doctor?”

“Yes?”

I looked about at the many nurses still scurrying around, doing things.

“I really thought my seventy-two virgins would be men.”

He chuckled. “Sleep now. We will talk more when you wake.”

We did, only for him to explain my new regime, which consisted of eating progressively larger amounts – if you could call an extra half spoonful each day larger – exercising – if you could call covering fifty feet in a very slow, geriatric walk exercise – and sleeping. Lots of sleeping. I spent two more days and nights in the room very slowly regaining my strength.

The first morning I woke early with the dim light of dawn penetrating into the room. I twisted under the sheets, luxuriating in my freedom of movement, stretching gently, exploring the aches filling my body. I thought of how horribly mangled my body had been and how much of a gift it was simply to be able to move like this. I thought of my previous five days consciousness, locked into that cast and unable to move and allowed my imagination to compare it with a lifetime in the crippled shell my body had been. Tears of gratitude and relief filled my eyes.

My hands moved almost without deliberate thought to that space between my legs. It was something I’d been prone to do every morning since Max and Gerald had begun combining into me. Nothing really dodgy about the act. More like the way your tongue explores the space left by a recently lost tooth, or how fingernails will quest after a fresh scab. Only this time there was nothing to find, just a flatness and those soft folds.

The discovery ran through me like an electric shock, thrilling me and filling me with fresh gratitude. The trickle of tears became a flood and I had to take a few calming breaths to keep from sobbing out loud.

I’d wanted to explore the previous day, only I’d never been left alone for a moment. In the privacy of my bed, hidden under thin sheets, I cautiously gathered up the hem of my nightdress and sent questing fingers down the front of my underwear.

Something responded down there. A sort of faint ghost of one of Gerald’s remembered erections. Fingers slipped between soft folds of skin, encountering a small, sensitive nub that had to be all that remained of the tip of my penis. Ice cold tendrils of delight shot through me in all directions and I bit back on a gasp. I had to wonder how close that experience was to a real woman’s, then I chided myself for the thought. I was a real woman, and how could any one woman really compare her own experiences to any other? Like how could we tell that we all saw colour the same way? Me telling Jasper that the picture of an apple in one of his books was red. I’d been taught to recognise the colour as a child and now I was doing the same for him. The commonality was in the communication, not necessarily in how each of us experienced it in our brain.

Except here was I with a unique vantage point. The Gerald in me had experienced the world through two sets of sensory organs. True, colours seemed brighter through Max’s eyes, sounds crisper, tastes more intense with the sweetness of chocolate appealing a great deal more than the fruity sharpness of a good Malbec, but that could simply be the difference in age. Certainly the way I experienced colours now was not so different from the way I remembered.

Someone came into the room. I withdrew my hand from its exploration and rearranged my nightclothes before drying my eyes on the sheets. I sat up, grunting quietly as my aching bones objected to the sudden movement.

“As-salamu alaykum,” the king’s representative said. “Forgive me, I did not mean to wake you.”

“Wa alaykumu s-salam. No forgiveness is necessary. I was awake.”

“It is early, but I have much to do today. The nurses permitted me to see whether you were awake so I could give you the response of the king.” He was having difficulty deciding where to direct his eyes.

I looked around me. There really wasn’t much I could use for a hijab, but I could at least lift up the sheet to cover my shoulders. He gave me a grateful look.

“I imagine this is a little different after your last visit. A body wrapped up in an immobility cast must look the same whether it belongs to a man or a woman.”

He bowed his head a little way. “It occurred to me that since you came into this world as a man, I could continue to think of you as such. This is no longer possible.”

“I am sorry if this causes you difficulty, though I have always thought of myself as female, for the true nature of a thing lies in its heart, and my heart has always been that of a woman. That is why I did not fear to claim to be a woman when the official at the airport saw me to be one. That is why I did not feel it wrong to attend the girls school and work there. Your culture believes men and women should remain apart. I felt, as I have always felt, that I belonged among the women. But for a defect of birth, now corrected, I would never have needed to argue the fact.”

“I have no words to answer you, but I shall consider what you say as I have considered what you told me yesterday.”

“I could ask for nothing more than that you do so, and perhaps that the king might also listen to a woman’s voice?” That last came out as a question. After all, this was the news he had come to deliver.

He smiled. “And so your wish is to be granted. The king has agreed to hear the council of a woman, and if he finds it worthy, to do so more often than once in a year. He has also agreed that, should he find value in what he hears, he will prevail upon his son to do the same. He does this out of obligation to you, that having received such harsh treatment at the hands of our countrymen, he feels we owe you something in return.”

“The king is gracious. It is my hope that he finds a woman’s council to be of profound value.”

“The king would ask if you have someone in mind who might offer such council.”

“I would not presume to suggest someone, though perhaps I might know a person who could offer this advice. Mrs Habib, the principal of the girls school struck me as someone who might be able to speak on this matter.”

“Then I shall contact her as soon as I may. The king wishes to know your intentions once you are well enough to leave this place.”

“My doctor has some concerns that I should recover fully before boarding an aircraft, but I believe if I were to stay, I would sow discord within your land. My nature and my story is known to a great many now and there are those who would despise me because of it. There are also those who have come to know me and see there is no harm in me. I do not wish to be a cause for strife, so I will return to my home country as soon as I am able.”

“This is well. The king would ask for your discretion during the remainder of you stay in this country.”

“Who am I that I should deny the king such a request? Please convey to your king and to your prince my heartfelt thanks for all they have done for me.”

“I shall do so. He has one more gift he wishes you to accept.” He pulled an envelope out of his robes and passed it across.

“May I ask what this is?”

“You may open it and discover for yourself. Though if you prefer, this is an invitation at any time in the future for you to make an appointment with Mr Chakrii to make any adjustments to your appearance you feel are needed or desired. The king will pay for your transportation to Thailand, your accommodation while you are there and the services of Mr Chakrii and his clinic. All you need do is call the number in the envelope and the rest will be arranged for you.”

“And what if I’m happy with the way my body turns out?”

“Then you will be unique amongst women. However, in the unlikely event that this should occur, then you and your parents should at least enjoy a first class trip to Thailand and fourteen nights stay in a five star hotel at the king’s pleasure.”

“The king is most generous.”

“I have always found him to be so. Now, I believe we have concluded our business. Ma’a salama.”

“Ma'a salama.”

The royal representative withdrew only to be replaced by a smiling nurse. She helped me to the toilet, my need for which had been growing in urgency, then brought me a light breakfast , yet again of porridge and honey. The doctor arrived as I was finishing and spoke to me about my next few days’ rehabilitation.

Mum and Peter continued to come daily and provide encouragement and incentive to put some strength back into my muscles. I pushed myself, but only as far as the doctor would permit me. It was enough that he felt ready to discharge me after just a couple more days with the warning not to overexert myself.

I did receive a couple of unexpected visitors over those days, though. Unexpected or no, I had asked for a hijab in case someone like the king’s representative should return. It was as well because my first surprise visitor was Commissioner Ahmad. His expression darkened at the sight of me. Despite the hastily added head covering, my body was still largely one giant bruise.

“The ones who did this to you do not deserve to live.”

“Yet how will evil learn to become good if it is destroyed in the moment it is discovered?” I didn’t feel like explaining my current bruises had been given me by a team of highly skilled surgeons in pursuit of my well-being.

“You possess both wisdom and beauty. How could anyone believe you to be anything but a woman? If it is your wish they be forgiven then I shall strive to forgive them.”

“Forgiveness requires repentance. To forgive an unrepentant soul is to encourage yet more evil.”

“Then...”

“Show them kindness that they might learn from it. In the Bible there is a proverb. If your enemy is hungry, give him food to eat; if he is thirsty, give him water to drink. In doing this, you will heap burning coals on his head, and the Lord will reward you.”

“I do not understand this. Do you show them kindness or pain?”

“As I understand it, the proverb looked back to the time of the Exodus when the People of the Book wandered the desert. At night all tribes would settle and make a fire, but from time to time one family would neglect theirs and let it go out. When this would happen, one of their number would place a basket on their head and run through the surrounding camps where those sitting by their fire would throw hot coals into it. When the runner had enough, he would return to his camp and pour the coals on his family’s fire and so relight it.

“People do evil because they have strayed from the light. To show them kindness is to show them the way back to the light. Whether they elect to take the path is their choice, but at least you have shown them the way.

“Does not Allah love all men and women? Would it not bring him joy to see one lost soul returned to his embrace?”

“Definitely wisdom and beauty. And goodness. I believe I saw through to your true nature on our first encounter.”

“I believe so too, and I thank you for it.”

Other visits were less philosophical. Kadijah Habib came and wept at the sight of me. Despite the tenderness of my body I climbed out of bed and pulled her into a hug, saying, “It’s alright. It will all be alright.”

Despite her reaction to my former nature, she didn’t stiffen but rather leant into the embrace. “How will it be alright? I let this happen to you. How can I be forgiven?”

“Because I forgive you. At the time you saw a young man pretending to be a woman and putting you all at risk. I did not see it that way myself, because all I saw was the woman in me and all I felt was that I belonged with you. I should have thought about how my actions might have affected you, put you all in danger, but I didn’t. It is I who needs to ask your forgiveness.”

“All I ever saw in you was a sister. Then they showed me what you were, and I could see nothing else. Now all I see is my sister again.”

“If it helps, that which they objected to so violently is gone.”

“It doesn’t. You would be my sister regardless. You showed nothing but a sister’s care during all the time you were with us. And now, the king comes to me and asks me to recommend a woman to advise him.”

“The king came?”

“His advisor, but it is the same. He said you suggested me for the task.”

“He wanted me to suggest someone, but what do I know of Saudi women or Saudi culture? You told me once this was your battle, and that only you knew how to fight it, that a foreigner like me might put your cause back decades with a single word.”

“And so you disregarded me completely.” She laughed. “No, I’m pleased you did. Rather than set us back decades, you have put us forward the same.

“The girls have been asking me when you will be coming back.”

“I can’t Kadijah. There are still those who despise me for what I am. If they were to see me welcomed into your school, I hate to think how they would react. I am touched by their feelings though, and I would be grateful for an opportunity to say goodbye before I return to England.”

“And when will this be?”

“In a week, perhaps two. I will be leaving the hospital soon and spending my last days here with my mother. I imagine we’ll be visiting some of my mother’s friends in our neighbourhood. There is one cafe we frequent daily.”

And so they came in small groups. No-one could argue that I was doing anything wrong. As per the king’s request, I kept my arms, legs and head covered and a little makeup went a long way to covering the bruises that remained exposed. Mum and I would head down to the cafe and spend time with her friends, and throughout the day small groups of my former fellow students would come, filled with questions, and so they would leave filled with tears. Tears heal, and theirs restored so much to my soul. For all the hate that had been committed against me, here was love to mend my inner self even as time continued to mend my body.

Mike didn’t say a word to me during all the week and a bit I spent back at the apartment. He’d stop and stare at me most times when we crossed paths, but he never uttered a word. I probably didn’t help much because I spent all the time I was indoors wearing pastel tee shirts and short skirts. Doctor’s orders, you understand, to give my skin as much exposure to the air as I could manage. It put my plethora of bruises on full display, and it may have been this, along with the stiffness when I walked, that upset him. I didn’t much care. I couldn’t remember the last time he’d said anything to me I’d wanted to hear, and if he felt even a little bad about what had happened, then all for the better.

He was at the door on my last day, watching as I struggled with my overstuffed suitcase. I was back in head to toe coverings out of respect for the host nation as well as out of caution because I didn’t want the authorities delaying our departure.

“Thanks,” I told him as I settled the suitcase beside the door.

“What for?”

“It was actually meant sarcastically, but that’s not really going to help either of us, is it? So, how about thanks for not making this week any more difficult than it had to be.”

He snorted a sort of disbelieving laugh. “You know it was me sold you out to them bastards?”

“I suspected, but I wasn’t going to assume.”

“Is that why there’s been a fucking police car opposite my place of work all this week?”

“What? No, I... I don’t know anything about that.”

*My boss is getting fucking nervous. Expecting a raid any day. He says when he finds out who’s fucking responsible, there’ll be hell to pay.

“Mind you, it’s no more than I fucking deserve. I mean I thought it’d sort out this fucking girl thing out once and for all. I didn’t expect them to...” he waved a hand at me. “Not to a kid.”

I shrugged. “Live and learn. I mean it did sort the girl thing out once and for all, didn’t it?”

He winced. Mind you, if there was ever anyone who’d miss his testosterone more...

“You must hate my fucking guts.”

“Actually less now than before.”

“What do you mean? ‘Cos you got what you wanted?”

“No, because of the way you are now. Before, you were all about turning me into what you wanted me to be. You didn’t care about what I wanted. Now, it’s... I don’t know, it feels different.”

“Yeah, well...” Then after a pause, “You still think of him as your dad though, don’t you? Peter I mean.”

“And Paul. Mind you, I could probably make room for three dads if you feel like giving it a go.”

“I don’t know.”

“Think on it then. You know how to get in touch if you change your mind.”

Sometimes the universe has an impeccable sense of timing. The doorbell sounded before he had a chance to respond. I opened the door to reveal a burly individual in a chauffer’s uniform. He picked up my suitcase without effort, leaving me with the slightest twinge of envy, and led the way outside. I paused long enough to give Mum a kiss and a proper hug goodbye.

One final gift from the king saw Peter and me return to England in style. First was the limo which was all air-conditioned and smooth as riding on a cloud. Then there were the first class tickets on the seat next to me. I pulled out my mobile phone and put a call through to Commissioner Ahmad.

“I am busy!” was how he answered his phone.

“Hopefully not that busy.”

“Max!” He’d never got used to my change of name. “Never so busy for you.”

“I wonder if you would be able to pass on my thanks to the king... for the tickets.”

“I do not often have the honour of speaking to the king.”

“But you must surely know one of his assistants.”

“I will do what I can. You are returning to England?”

“I am.”

“My life is about to become less complicated, though I think I shall miss you.”

“And I you. You have been a good friend to me, Commissioner.”

“Perhaps good enough that you would call me by my name. It is Omar.”

“Omar then. You should know my name isn’t Max. That belongs to someone I once was. My mother calls me Laura now.”

“It is a better name. It has a meaning?”

“After a plant, I believe. The bay laurel. Yellow flowers. The leaves are used in Mediterranean cooking.”

“It is good you are named for a flower. It suits you well.”

“May I ask a question?”

“Of course.”

“Do you know anything about the police car that has been parked in front of my father’s place of work this past week?”

“I may have requested from my brother to send it to that place.”

“To what purpose?”

“I have been thinking about what you said, about showing kindness to those who do wrong to you. It is in my mind that your father should worry for a while that the same thing that came to you might be coming for him. Then when you are safely far away from this country, perhaps the police might bring your father to the station. Then once he is fully aware that the same thing could happen to him – perhaps my brother will have some of his policemen surround your father, holding clubs and other weapons. Then at the last, I will appear, or perhaps my brother if he prefers to do this and we will ask your father if he knows what might happen to him. Then when we are sure he is aware, we will tell him why it will not. That it is because you wish to heap coals upon his head. Not to cause him harm, but to show him the way back to the light.”

“Perhaps I might ask you not to be too harsh with him.”

“You are too kind a person, but since it is you who asks, I will consider your request. God be with you, Laura. Allah Ma Akum.”

“Allah Ma Akum, Omar. My time in your country would have been so very different if not for you. I am so very glad to have met you.”

The limo pulled up outside Peter’s hotel, so it was time to end the call. He was waiting out front and climbed in beside me while our driver loaded his suitcase in the boot.

“You’re smiling,” he said doing the Dad states the obvious thing. “Glad to be heading home?”

“Actually a bit down about that,” I said.

“You’re kidding! After everything that happened?”

“A lot of good happened before the bad, Dad. Under different circumstances I think I might have enjoyed living here.”

“Then why the grin?”

“Oh, a number of things.” I showed him the envelope.

“Oh my! I already paid for our tickets though.”

I pointed at the special conditions on the new ones.

“The king respectfully requests you reimburse the holder for any tickets they may already have regardless of your policy or any conditions that may apply. Can he do that?”

“He’s the king. I don’t think many locals ask that question.”

So we had a few hundred extra quid to put towards Christmas as well as first class seats for the trip home. It meant I wasn’t as uncomfortable as I might have been, and the complimentary champagne turned out to be remarkably effective as a pain killer. Even the Max in me didn’t object to the taste.

We were held up at passport control in London because I’d left on one passport and returned using another. Peter had both documents and explained the circumstances of my departure. They confiscated my old one and destroyed it in front of us. It didn’t bother me. The person in that document was dead and gone.

Back home the streets were decorated for the season. Bright lights festooned the neighbourhood and brought cheer to the darkness and the cold.

Paul had the house decorated inside and out and it did me so much good to see home again, and to be reunited with all my family.

I still moved with the cautious, slow gait of an elderly cripple, which made Paul all the more gentle when he greeted me. I hugged him back hard to let him know I wasn’t so delicate. It hurt, but in the best way.

I still didn’t have much of an appetite, which bothered Paul who didn’t need much of a reason to worry. I was also tired so headed for bed as soon as I could. The day had started three hours earlier for Peter and me, so I had an excuse, but it didn’t stop Paul muttering his concerns in my wake as I made my weary way up the stairs.

I stripped naked and stood in front of the wardrobe mirror. The bruises were definitely fading and my boobs were coming on nicely. Still growing if I was any judge – and I was – and my body was beginning to show some distinctly pleasing curves, even on my stick figure body. Twelve days without food while the police had me and two more weeks being fed through a tube in hospital had shrunk my stomach to the size of a walnut. Mum had done her best after I was released, but I hadn’t regained much of an appetite yet.

Best of all was the lack a dick though. They’d had to shave me down there before operating and it would take time for my pubic hairs to grow back, but for now that just meant I had a better view of what I did have.

“Very nice.” Paul had done his stealth creep up the stairs. He hadn’t been around to do anything like that to me in quite a while, so it took me by surprise.

“Aunty Mum!” I screeched, using my all too inadequate twig like arms to cover myself above and below.

“What? You never minded that I saw you naked before.”

“It’s different now.”

“You’re telling me!” he said making an effort to peer round my nicro-barriers. Then he threw up his arms at my shocked response and turned away. “Alright, alright. My little baby got all shy and self-conscious while she was away.”

It wasn’t that, it’s just that I was a girl now and... he was my Aunty Mum. “Fine, you can look if you like.”

He half turned, his eyes tight shut and squinted one eye open.

“They did a damned fine job, sweetie.”

“They did, didn’t they,” I grinned delightedly and gave him a slow twirl.

“Yep. Now get some clothes on, it’s disgusting having you running around the house naked.”

He closed the door, so my stuffed elephant bounced off it rather than him as I’d intended. My joints were still stiff which slowed me down. At least that’s my excuse.

Fresh underwear and a light, loose nightdress set me up for the night. I brushed my teeth and settled down, arms squishing my breasts together and hands between my legs. Nothing erotic you understand, it just drove home how different I was now, enhanced my sense of being… complete.

Christmas day came sooner than expected. One day it was something nearby in the future that I was looking forward to, the next it was Christmas Eve and everyone was filled with an excited anticipation of what the morning would bring.

I woke bright and early to the sound of Paul making impatient noises outside my room. I invited him in so he could help me into the Santa’s little helper outfit he’d bought for today’s bonus activities. I could probably have managed myself but I was still not bending quite as much as I’d have liked.

The costume consisted of a skin tight body stocking in bright greens and yellows with a short tunic dress over the top. It wouldn’t have looked exactly right on the me from several months ago but, skinny as I was, I still had bumps and curves in all the right places. The stiffness meant I didn’t move with the sprightly gay abandon of one of Santa’s helpers, but...

“You look perfect,” Paul lied.

“I don’t.”

“You will when you smile. A smile hides a million blemishes.”

I stood up straight and gave him my best sparkling white grin.

“See? Perfect.”

Peter waited for us in the kitchen, breakfasting on mince pies and coffee.

“You won’t need the padding if you keep on like that,” Paul grumbled at him.

“Happy Christmas to you too,” Peter said and kissed him.

“Mince pie?” Paul offered me the plate. “While there are any left.”

“Do we have time for a present or two before we go?” Peter tried to steer the conversation towards safer waters. “Abri, one each for us, then we’ll do the same for you.”

“Actually, before we get to that, I was wondering if I could ask a question.”

“Sure,” Peter said. Paul sat and turned his full attention to me by way of answer.

“You know when you set me up with documents in the name of Abrielle Lassiter? Was that a lot of work?”

“Quite a lot, yes. Why?”

“I was wondering if I could change my name to Laura.”

“Laura! Why on Earth…?”

Peter put a gentle hand on his significant other’s arm. “I wondered if you might.”

“It’s the name Mum would have chosen for me,” I explained to Paul. “I’d like to respect her wishes. Apart from that, I like Abrielle, but it’s a bit…”

“Pretentious?” Peter asked.

“Maybe.”

“Fabulous?” Paul offered.

“Definitely that, but still a bit much.”

“I’m sure we can sort it out. In the meantime, if you’d prefer us to call you Laura?”

“Yes please.”

“I may still call you Abri from time to time,” Paul said. “Totally by accident of course and not at all because I think it suites you so well. For now, Abrielle sounds like a much better name for an Elf, so could we leave it as is for today?”

“Sure.”

“Well, go fetch your presents then. You’re going to need to get going if you hope to be back for Christmas Dinner.”

We did the exchange. Gold bracelets from me to them, bought in Saudi with the help of one of my friends before we caught the flight home. Not something you were likely to find anywhere in the UK. Much appreciated by them both and bought out of my own earnings from working at the school.

Mine consisted of an exquisite new dress from Paul. The softest fabric imaginable and loose fitting. It would be so comfortable on my tender skin, and definitely just right for Christmas once Abri the Elf went back in the closet. The one Peter gave me turned out to be a brand new MacBook. I’d looked after the one they’d bought me when I started school and it had served me astonishingly well for all the five years I’d used it, albeit a little creaky slow towards the end.

I toned down my exuberance and gave each of them as tight a hug as my aching body would endure.

“You can bring it with us if you like,” Peter offered.

“Thanks, but I’d prefer to talk. I mean we haven’t really since Saudi.”

“As you like.”

“Don’t forget your beard and your stomach,” Paul said to him, handing over a fistful of white fluff and a spare pillow. “I’m aiming to get dinner on the table for two-thirty.”

“It’s what, eight now? That should give us oodles of time.”

I curled into the passenger seat, arranging the seat belt so that it caused me the least discomfort, and just watched Peter drive until we were clear of the town and speeding along on an A road. When he was settled, he glanced across at me.

“So, what did you want to talk about?”

“I keep thinking about that day. I saw you and Paul talking to the park warden then rowing back across the lake.”

“Worst day of my life.”

“Even worse than when your dad kicked you out?”

“So much worse, though maybe not as bad as the day I found you in Jeddah. At first, I was afraid you were going to die, then I was afraid you were going to live.”

I could hear the catch in his voice. If his eyes were brimming like mine it didn’t bode well for a safe journey. I steered the conversation in a safer direction.

“You know that park warden was just one of Mike’s cronies in a borrowed uniform?”

“Not at the time we didn’t. He did a very believable performance of an officious jobsworth. Told us we weren’t to land on the southern bank under any circumstances. I wrote to the council to complain and it was only when they wrote back to say there was no rule stopping boats from coming ashore wherever they liked that we realised we’d been had.”

“It didn’t help us on the day though. We rowed back as fast as we could and then ran, but by the time we made it to the bench, you’d gone.

“I remembered feeling my phone buzz, so checked and there was that link from your app. I clicked it and followed the map to a bush where we found your phone.

“Then I opened up the voice message thing and there you were talking about going to Saudi Arabia. I can’t tell you how terrified I was for you. Someone like you In a place like Saudi Arabia. You wouldn’t last ten seconds.

“We called in the police who were actually pretty decent about it. That app of yours is getting about and they know of it. They treated our concerns seriously and set out in search of the van. Nice try with giving the registration, but Mike’s not that thick.”

“I wouldn’t have held onto the phone much longer anyway. As soon as he chucked me in the back, Lily and Pam cut off my clothes and hair.”

“I know, the police found it and showed us. It would have been easier to follow you if you’d been able to hold onto the phone though.”

“Yes, except the phone would have been left in the van with my other stuff.”

“I suppose. Anyway we Googled flights to Saudi and the only ones leaving that day were from Heathrow, so we hotfooted back to the car and headed straight there. Took a bit of the old Lassiter charm to persuade the lady at the check-in desk to find out which flight you were on.

“You’d already gone through security by that time though, and they wouldn’t let us follow you, even with a chaperone. Some nonsense about us possibly being terrorists. Honestly, can you imagine Paul and me as terrorists?”

I smiled. Too tired and achy to laugh.

“Then you made them bring the phone back to us. We gave you a way out and you wouldn’t take it. Do you have any idea how that made us feel?”

“I’m sorry Dad, I...”

“No! You don’t get it! Paul was beside himself. I was too stunned to know how to react. We’d done everything we could to get you back. Everything! And you... you wouldn’t even take back your damned phone!”

The tears were back. Angry tears this time. I’d never seen him this worked up. But this was why I’d wanted to talk. For all the love and support through my time in hospital, I’d felt something buried deep inside him. I’d never sensed anything like it before – a knowing without knowing why; a certainty without supporting evidence. I’d known it was there like some deep seated boil of the soul, festering inside him, needing to be lanced before it poisoned him.

Logic hadn’t help me find it and logic wasn’t going to help me fix it. I needed... something else. Something deeper.

“Sophie’s choice,” I murmured, looking away from him.

“What?!” he looked across at me, veering across the centreline.

“Dad!” I screamed.

He wrenched at the steering wheel, hauling us back to our side of the road just in time to avoid the oncoming eighteen-wheeler with the angrily blaring horn.

“There’s a layby ahead, Dad. Can we stop.”

“We’re on a schedule.”

“Which we’re not going to keep if you end up killing us! Then how’s Paul going to bloody well feel?”

That was like a face-full of snow for both of us. It shocked us out of the mood for long enough. The layby was one of those that took you behind a stand of trees. Peter pulled into it and stopped.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “You didn’t deserve that.”

“No, I’m sorry. Never drive angry. I shouldn’t...”

I undid my seatbelt and climbed across into his lap. The bruises objected, and the joints protested but I had to do this. I put my arms around his neck and buried my face in his shoulder.

“I put you and Paul through hell,” I said, my words muffled by his plush white collar, “but I couldn’t leave Mum. I wish I could say I figured you and Paul would cope with my decision, but I just didn’t think. You two have been so strong all through the last five years I just took it you for granted and I shouldn’t have.”

“What did you mean Sophie’s choice?”

“You know the film? With Meryl Streep?”

“I’ve never seen it.”

“It’s about a woman in the Second World War who’s sent to Auschwitz with her two children. When she arrives, a German soldier tells her that only one of her children will live. The other will be sent to the gas chamber, but she has to decide which. If she can’t or won’t choose, then both will be killed.”

“That’s horrible.”

“I know.”

“What does she do?”

“Watch the film if you want to find out.” Maybe I was a bit mad at him for nearly killing us.

“That’s not fair.”

“She chooses her son, not because she loves him more, but because she thinks he has the better chance at surviving.

“Me, I couldn’t leave Mum. She wouldn’t have made it on her own. For one thing, Mike as much as threatened me.”

“What do you mean? Threatened you how?”

“I don’t remember exactly what he said, but it was something like, ‘She’s already tried to kill herself once. Whose to say what she’ll do when we get out there.’

“I didn’t want to go, you have to believe me about that, but I couldn’t leave her.”

“And the phone? You could have called us at least.”

“Mike already threw it away once. I didn’t want to give him the opportunity to do so again.

“I wish I could say I thought about what my decision would mean to you and Paul, but all that was on my mind was how Mum needed me. I’m sorry, I...”

“You’d have done the same even if you had thought about what it would do to us.”

“Maybe, but I’d have done things differently afterwards.”

“Yeah, well at least you explained what you were doing and why. You know, you really are going to have to work on your penmanship.”

I hit him, girly style. No intention of inflicting pain – in fact it almost certainly hurt me more. “You try writing something neatly with nothing to lean on and no time to write.”

“Paul and I hated that you chose to go with them, but... I suppose I have to admit I was proud of you for doing so. Maybe even a little grateful. I mean she is my sister.”

“Then what was all that shit about just then?”

“All that shit was about what you put us through. The day after you left was the longest day I’ve ever known. I couldn’t go into work I was so fraught. Paul wouldn’t stop pacing and he started chewing his nails again. Then you finally contacted us, and I have never been so relieved in all my life, except the thought of you masquerading as a girl in a place like that…”

“I was not masquerading.”

“Well, perhaps not, but from their perspective. The chess game was inspired. Got me back into the game for one thing, and it gave me something to look forward to every day. Waking up to a new move every morning, knowing it meant you were alright, having the rest of the day to think about my response. You’re a really good player.”

“Gerald more than Max.”

“It’s been such a long time since you talked about the two of you as separate people.”

“Because we’re not really. It’s a bit the same as with you and Paul. Well, similar anyway We share the same mind and we have access to each other’s memories, so it’s more noticeable for us. There are times when one of us has more experience or greater aptitude than the other, but for the most part it’s like we’re driving this body together.”

“Even when they arrested you?”

“No, that was mainly Gerald. You can’t imagine how unutterably horrible that experience was.”

“I think I have some idea. I’m the one who found you, remember?”

“I’m not sure. First there was the humiliation. Being stripped down to my underwear, being shown off in front of all my friends and colleagues, having that bulge showing for all of them to see. Then being thrown into that van and banging my head. So hard I actually saw stars. I never knew what that meant before, but now I have first-hand experience.

Laura relives some of her experiences, describing them quite graphically. Please skip if you feel inclined.

“After that the beatings. I haven’t the first idea how long they lasted, but it was like they took turns so they could keep them going. All the different kinds of pain. The boots in the groin, those big sticks cracking my bones, those hosepipes like thick whips, bruising everything they touched. Over and over for what felt like hours…”

“As I understand it, it was hours.”

“Then the hours of quiet, lying there with everything hurting, waiting for the next time they would come for me, and every new beating was worse than the last because they were laying bruises on bruises, hitting broken bones to break them worse.” I could feel the tears coursing down my cheeks. “And my groin hurt so badly. Starting off that first day it felt like something burst, then every day after that it hurt so much more, but I had to keep my legs together to stop them from making it worse.

“Then the door opened on that last day and I was expecting horrors all over again, but instead you were there. Impossibly, you were there. You touched me so gently and it still hurt so bad.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it wasn’t… That’s not what I meant. Everything hurt then. It hurt to breathe, it hurt to move, it hurt not to move. Where the ground touched my skin hurt, where the air touched my skin hurt. It’s hardly surprising when you touched me that it hurt.

“It was hard to believe it was over, but everything was different. No more beatings and eventually that blessed injection. I’m just glad you did find me. Max dug in deep inside me like a tic and I just held him and took as much of the pain as I could.”

“When you say you, you mean Gerald.”

I nodded, aware of how soggy I’d made his Santa suit. “This is probably going to shrink,” I snivelled.

He squeezed me. “So I won’t need the cushion.”

A gasp of a laugh escaped me.

“You were right though. I should never have gone, never have stayed over there.”

“And what would have happened to Lisa? No, you did what you felt you had to, and... I don’t know, was it worth it?”

“Not if it means you and Paul are mad at me.”

“I’m not... I guess I don’t get to say that, do I? I buried a lot, Abri... Laura. I didn’t realise how much until... I’m sorry I almost...”

“Yeah, well.” I rubbed at the damp patch. “Maybe not shrinkage, but you’re going to have a definite snot stain there.”

“What Santa worthy of the name doesn’t have snot stains these days?”

“Do you think we could get going again? But, you know, on the right side of the road this time.”

“Not with you sitting on my lap, little girl.”

“Ho ho ho.” I tried to make it deep, but my voice wouldn’t do it.

“That’s my line.” Then with a jovial voice that was deeper, “So little lady, what do you want for Christmas this year?”

“Just to be with my dads.” I kissed him on the cheek and shuffled back into my seat, clicking the seatbelt back into place.

“Then what are we doing out here?”

“We’re out here because Christmas isn’t about what you want; it’s about what you can give. Come on, we still need to get this done and go back home.”

We drove for while in silence, me curled up on the seat and looking at him. The knot was gone from my chest, just like that indefinable something was gone from him.

The silence lasted all of fifteen minutes.

“We could put some Christmas tunes on if you want,” he said.

I shrugged which was all the prompting he needed to turn on the stereo.

“You may want to sort out your face before we get there.”

I pulled down the sun blind and checked my face in the mirror. Definite panda eyes going on. I dug in my handbag for some wipes, then waited till we arrived before repainting my eyes.

We rang the bell and waited.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Collin asked when he opened the door.

“Wishing you a Happy Christmas, Granddad.” I said with a cheery grin. My body twinged at me half way through and I winced.

“Oh, well, yes. I suppose.”

“From me too Dad,” Peter said. “Merry Christmas.” He slipped the sack full of presents off his shoulder and handed it over. Mum and Mike were still in Saudi – whether or not the commissioner’s scare tactics changed Mike’s mind about staying we’d find out on time – but the rest of the family would be here as usual, so we’d catered for everyone.

Nothing fancy you understand. You don’t buy your way back into your family. For Collin and Amy we’d bought a quality frame and filled it with a photograph of me and the dads (Max’s choice of sentence structure, sorry), taken the day Peter and I flew back from the Middle East, but with me covered with enough concealer to hide the bruises. For Pam and Lily I hadn’t been able to resist buying them a hairdressers kit and a sewing kit. Then, because this was an attempt at a peace offering, a box of their favourite chocolates each. For Mandy we’d bought a boxed set of Virginia Woolf. She probably already had it or something like it, so I’d made sure the receipt was tucked in with a scrawled note, ‘In case you already have these.’ Raymond and Russell were archetypal boys with toys so a couple of gimmicky gadgets sorted them out. Perfume for Their significant others and an assortment of generic toys for their sprogs – I mean you can’t go wrong with Lego, can you? The whole lot was topped off with a decent bottle of champagne.

We turned to head back to the car.

“Wait,” Collin said.

We turned back.

“You’ve come all this way. The least we can offer you is a cup of tea and a mince pie.”

“Thank you,” Peter spoke for both of us. “Not a fan of equine oral examinations, but can I ask why?”

“What?” he said.

“Gift horses Granddad. Mouths? Looking in them? We’re both curious. Last time you spoke to us wasn’t exactly on the friendliest terms.”

“No. But that was then and this is now. Lot of water under the bridge since. Come in, unless the, er, the twins being here makes a difference.”

“Either of them have a pair of scissors?” I asked.

“Heh, no. You know, I always thought you were a bit of a wimp, but you have quite a pair of balls on you.”

“Actually I don’t Granddad, not any more.”

“Hmm? Well that’s your affair. Come in, I’ll stick the kettle on.”

We followed him through to the lounge where no-one seemed that happy to see us, Pam and Lily in particular.

“We have visitors everyone, Peter and, er, Abri, er, Abrielle came round with...” He trailed off but put the sack on the coffee table.

“We didn’t get you anything,” Pam (or Lily) said rudely.

“No, we didn’t expect you to,” Peter said, “so open them after we’ve gone. We won’t be staying long. You may want to put this in the fridge though.” Peter pulled the bottle of champagne out the sack and offered it to his dad.

“What are we celebrating?” Lily (or Pam) said.

“Whatever you like,” Peter said. “We have a bottle like it back at home and we’ll all be raising a glass later. I had it in mind to raise mine to having my little girl back safe and sound, but we’ve already celebrated that. Instead I’ll be toasting the first civil conversation I’ve had with my father in a lot of years. Though like I say, I’m curious.”

“Well,” Collin said drawing all eyes to him. “Ever since what happened earlier this year with your sister, I’ve been speaking more often with her. I’ve been worried for her and never more so since she and Mike, and... present company,” he indicated me with a wave of his hand, “moved to Saudi Arabia.”

He paused as Amy came in with a tray of drinks. His idea of putting the kettle on still seemed to be to say it loud enough and expect his wife to comply. Still she was willing. She offered the first to me and the second to Peter. Guest protocol maybe, or perhaps there really was a change in the way they thought of us.

“Lisa told us what happened at the airport and before.” He glowered at the twins who refused to meet his eyes. “She told me how you had a choice on whether to go and you went anyway. I’d tried to persuade Mike not to go, but when he sets his mind to something...”

“A bit like you dear,” Amy said serving him last.

“I suppose. Anyway, we argued about you. Lisa would say what an amazing daughter you were and I’d tell her she was being a prat. You know how agreeable I can be to talk to.”

Prompt for laughter. Everyone obliged.

“So then, more than a month ago she called me up in a state because you’d been taken by the police and no-one would tell her where. Mike was the usual no help whatsoever and it took Amy and me to hold her together. We were looking to fly out to be with her ourselves when we heard Peter had beaten us to it.

“We kept calling Lisa. Daily. Twice daily sometimes, then after two weeks she called us, crying with relief, saying you were okay, or alive at least. The rest is... well I’m sure you know.

“Anyway, when I’ll be raising my glass later it’ll be to the two most courageous members of our family. My granddaughter, Abrielle, who risked her life and almost lost it because her mum needed her…”

“Actually grandad, Mum told me she’d have called me Laura if I’d been born a girl. I kind of prefer it.”

“Then to my immensely brave granddaughter, Laura, and to my son, Peter, who also took a massive risk – I mean I know you went on your own so there was no way they’d know about you and Paul, but if they’d found out from somewhere that you were, you know, you’d have been in as much danger.

“Anyway, thank you for looking after my daughter,” he raised his mug to me, “and thank you for rescuing my granddaughter.”

The mug was raised a second time to Peter and everyone in the room raised their own drinks with a murmured if, in some places, unenthusiastic acknowledgement of the toast. I sipped at my own in embarrassment.

“We thought you’d just want to be on your own this year after what happened,” Amy said looking at Collin for support, “But next year you should come, and bring Paul.”

Peter blinked back tears and looked at me. My own eyes were flooding as I nodded enthusiastically.

We enjoyed a mince pie or two, at least it averaged out that way. I had one and I think Peter had three. It was Christmas; I wasn’t going to tell. Then, with our mugs drained and a quick precautionary visit to the loo – my plumbing didn’t seem as efficient since the operation – we left them to their celebration.

Peter focussed on his driving until we were on the fast country roads while I WhatsApped Paul to tell him we were on our way.

“Who’d a thunk?” Peter mused.

“Mmm?”

“Five years and you nearly being tortured to death. Didn’t take much to change Dad’s mind, did it?”

“Mmm,” I agreed. “Will you share Gerald’s inheritance with him?”

“Your inheritance you mean. Do you want me to?”

“Gerald isn’t around any more, remember? Neither’s Max. We’re just Laura. As for the inheritance, he left it to you along with the letter in which he said the choice was yours.”

“Well, we have more than we need since we sold the old house. Enough to pay your university fees and then some, and we don’t have the expense of your surgery to look forward to.”

“Collin and Amy used to talk about taking a world cruise.”

“Sounds like a Christmas present for next year. What do you think?”

“I think you’re the best dad in the world.”

I curled up on the seat and, because I still had quite a lot of mending to do, I fell asleep.