This is an expansion of a story I posted a few weeks ago. It also contains comments and suggestions from two of the most gifted writers on BCTS, Angela Rasch and Emma Anne Tate.

I was a little taken aback at being confronted by the police at a relatively early hour in the morning. It was obvious who had instigated their visit but I hadn’t thought that they would. Ali’s mother’s reaction had in no way been conducive to a reconciliation. A police call this early in the morning was a standard intimidation tactic. Anyway, bluff time.

“Are you sure you’ve got the right unit?” I asked.

“Yes, sir. We’re investigating a complaint about a possible abduction. Is your telephone number 3766 8448.”

“Please say that again. I didn’t quite get it.”

A bit miffed, he repeated the number.

“That’s one of my numbers, yes. I guess you’d better come up. Hang on, I’ll key you in and release the lift. 11th floor.”

I figured it would take them a couple of minutes to get to my front door so I hurriedly changed into a more masculine dressing gown. They wouldn’t be able to see my underwear. I made sure that all the feminine stuff in my bathroom was in drawers and cupboards and out of sight.

I quickly alerted Ali, who had on a pair of girly shorts and a top that Arpi had given her yesterday. Her hair was back to mid-length normal and she wore no make-up, but still looked unmistakeably female.

She started to panic.

“Don’t worry, love. Stay calm and if they question you, just tell the truth. Stay in your bedroom until I call you. I’ll handle it.”

A few seconds later there was a knock on the door. It was a polite knock, not somebody trying to batter the door down. That told me they weren’t all that sure that their mission was absolutely kosher.

I hurried to the door and opened it to find two rather young officers waiting, a male PC and a female PC. That also told me that this was more of a fishing expedition and was low priority in their caseload.

“Come in,” I said. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting visitors so early in the morning.” It was still before seven.

They entered, removing their caps and not looking very comfortable.

“You can sit at the table, or on the sofa or outside on the balcony, whichever you prefer.”

“Can we have a look around, sir?”

“Only when you’ve told me what this is all about. I don’t mind, I’ve got nothing to hide but I think you owe it to me to tell me why you’re here first.”

They rather reluctantly sat at the table and I sat with them.

Don’t mess with us oldies, if you don’t have the ammunition.

“OK, what’s up?”

“Sir, is your name John McDougall?”

“Yes it is, but you knew that already or you wouldn’t be here.”

“Did you call this number two days ago?” The male PC showed me a number written down on his notepad.

“I’ll have to check.” I knew very well that it was but I went and got my housephone and confirmed that it was the number Ali had given me for her home. “Yes, I did.”

Why did you call, sir?” The male PC was taking the lead.

“I had found this distraught youngster at Indooroopilly Shopping Mall. I brought her home here and when she had told me her story I thought it proper that her parents knew she was safe.”

“What was the reaction?”

“I assume it was her mother who answered and she was very abrupt, quite hostile, and insisted that the young person was her son and accused me of abducting her. I denied that and I put the girl on the line. She didn’t want to do it because her parents had thrown her out of their home a couple of days before but I insisted. They had a brief exchange and the girl terminated the call.”

“Why do you keep on calling the boy ‘her’, sir?” This came from the female PC.

“Because she’s transgender and obviously female. That’s how she identifies. You can see for yourself in a minute.”

“Is she free to come and go? You’re not stopping her from leaving?” from the male PC. He seemed non-confrontational.

“Officer, I’ll call her in and you can ask her yourself. Ali,” I yelled, “these officers would like to speak to you.” I figured she had had enough time to compose herself and had heard the conversation anyway, but they wouldn’t be able to accuse me of influencing her.

Ali came into the lounge/living room looking nervous. I got up from the table and told her to sit where I had been sitting and pulled up another chair next to her. I wasn’t going to let her be bullied.

The woman PC smiled unctuously and said, “We’d like to speak with the child alone, sir.”

“I’m sorry, that’s not going to happen. You’re in my home at my invitation. If you like I can record everything said, so that you have a record. Would that be acceptable?”

The young WPC blanched. I knew she wouldn’t like that.

“I don’t think that’s necessary, do you Brian?” She passed the buck to her colleague.

He looked distinctly nervous.

“I promise not to interfere with your interrogation, unless I think it’s really necessary. Ali can speak for herself, but I do think a record is warranted. You still haven’t explained why you’re here, except to imply that I am in some way restraining her. I feel the need to protect myself, just in case my lawyer needs to hear what you have to say.”

“Sir, it’s not an interrogation. We just need to ask a few questions.”

So it WAS a fishing expedition.

“OK, go ahead, but I’m going to record the conversation anyway. If that’s not acceptable I’ll ask you to leave.”

They looked at each other and shrugged. I was leaving them no choice.

“As you wish, Sir.”

I turned on the recorder on my phone and made sure they saw me do it.

The WPC turned to Ali. “Is your name Alistair Morgan?”

“That may be what it says on my Birth Certificate but I answer to Ali and I prefer Alicia.”

“Why are you here, Ali?” It appears the WPC is taking the lead.

“Because my so-called parents threw me out and this gentleman rescued me and offered me a place to stay.”

The female officer got up and walked over to the window and the patio door, looking out on the river and the city. “Nice view,” she said before returning to the table. I think she was using this brief interlude to regain her cool.

“Are you here of your own free will?” She then asked Ali.

Ali smiled. “Of course I am, and before you ask, I’m free to come and go any time I want to.”

“Do you have any ID to prove your age?” The other PC had joined the conversation.

“Wait here”.

She got up and went into her bedroom, returning a few seconds later.

She thrust a plastic card at the male PC. “Here.”

It was a Student Card showing her photograph, name and age at her school, just like a Driver’s Licence. I couldn’t see the detail from where I was sitting but it apparently showed that she was sixteen. It was enough to stop the police in their tracks.

“We would like you to come with us, Alistair, and we’ll take you home,” said the male cop.

Ali’s face got red and I could see she was getting mad. I was proud of her but got ready to restrain her if she went too far.

“You haven’t been listening, have you? First, my name isn’t Alistair. It’s Ali, or Alicia if you want to get formal. My parents threw me out of their house because they didn’t want to acknowledge that I’m their daughter. Why would I go back to somewhere that doesn’t want me and hates me when I’ve got a perfectly good place to stay right here?”

“You want to stay here?” The officer asked in disbelief.

“Yes, I want to stay here. I’m not going with you.”

The WPC opened her notebook. “For the record, you’re not being restrained in any way?”

“No, I’m free to come and go as I wish. Look, I’ve got a full set of keys to the street door of the units, I’ve got the lift control security key and I’ve got the front door key to this unit. What more could I want?”

I had almost forgotten that I’d given her a set of keys so that she could come and go anytime. I gave them to her two days ago when we came back from our shopping trip and I was so glad that she’d remembered. This was the exact right time to wave them in the faces of the two cops.

They looked at each other and the WPC said, “I think we’re done here.”

“Not quite,” I interjected. “First, you asked to look round the flat and I said you could. I want you to do that before you go, so there can be no suspicion of there being anyone else in the apartment. Also, I want you to formally identify yourselves in case there are any questions raised in the future as to who attended this meeting this morning and please give me a number where I can contact you if I need to.”

They didn’t like it but acceded to both requests. Afterwards they acknowledged that they had inspected the apartment and gave their names and ranks and the department from which they had been sent.

The young woman was PC Brown and her colleague was PC Williams.They were based at Woolloongabba just down the road. The contact number was that of the police station. I logged it into my phone together with their names, just in case.

When I let them out I offered an olive branch. “I think you were given a shit job and what I’ve recorded is as much for your protection as mine and the girl’s. I think her parents are probably a pair of obnoxious control freaks and vindictive to boot. We may not have heard the last of this and the recording will prove you did your job. I won’t send anything to my lawyer unless things get nasty. Just so you know, the Assistant Commissioner is a friend of mine too.”

I was lying through my teeth. I did know him but only as a passing acquaintance, no way a friend, but he would know my name from the cocktail party circuit. While I wasn’t famous It would give him pause.

“Oh, and the lady living in the apartment above me here used to be the Lady Mayoress of Brisbane. She still has lots of influence. You must have seen her on TV.” We were also passing acquaintances, greeting each other amicably and exchanging pleasantries in the lift and the lobby. She had always seemed like a nice lady.

I gave them my best threatening smile, years of practice dealing with shonky opponents behind it. “Don’t worry, I’m sure it will all get resolved amicably.”

Neither of them said a word, but both looked a little green around the gills as though they really hoped that would be the case.

I waited for the lift to arrive to take them downstairs, said goodbye and went back inside. No sooner had I closed the door than Ali launched herself at me, crying and clutching at me.

“They can’t take me away, can they? Joanne, tell me they can’t take me away.”

“Shhh, my love.” I cradled her in my arms and stroked her hair. “I won’t let them take you away.” This was the first time I had really held her and it felt good. I reluctantly disentangled myself and went to the balcony in time to see the cop car drive away. No harm in checking.

I smiled at Ali. “You did very well. They were sent here to see what would fall into their arms but they had no evidence of wrongdoing. Your parents made an unsubstantiated claim and it didn’t work. I knew they were on a fishing expedition from the moment I saw them, but we had to let it play through. Cops expect everybody to fold when they see a uniform, other than hardened crims of course. Well, you and I didn’t, and they don’t know what to do when that happens.”

“Why not just tell them to get rooted?”

“Better to let them have their fun. They can be real pains in the arse if they think you’re hiding something.”

“So we’ll be all right then?”

“For a while. I don’t know your parents, but it wouldn’t surprise me if they didn’t try something else. As long as we don’t do anything illegal we’ll be OK. You’re sixteen and they can’t force you to go back to them and I promise you I won’t let anyone take you away from me as long as you want to stay.”

“Dry your eyes, dear. We’ve still got to have breakfast. They interrupted us”

She shooed me out of the kitchen. “I’m chief cook, remember?”

So she scrambled some eggs, adding spices from the pantry which I’d forgotten I had and toasting a few slices of bread and buttering them while the eggs cooked. I was allowed to make the coffee, pour the orange juice and set the table. She did know what she was doing.

So we sat and had breakfast. It’s astounding what some food and a bit of peace and quiet and normalcy will do. While we ate I quizzed her a bit more about how she got into Home Economics, not a usual course for someone like her.

“How did your parents take it?” I asked.

“They didn’t mind, because I told them it was all about cooking. I sort of missed out about telling them the other bits. Mum watches all the cooking shows on TV and there are plenty of men both cooking and judging, so she thought it was useful. I didn’t trigger any warning signs there. Dad just didn’t care.”

“When I started it was because the school allowed you to skip gym as long as you did Home Ec as an alternative and I didn’t want to do gym. I knew I would get bullied.”

“Also, there was one girl I liked. That was a little complicated. I wanted to be like her, and, you know, be her. But when I got into it I really did like cooking and all the other girls were very nice to me. I was the only ‘boy’ in the class.”

That all made sense to me. Been there, done that! Got the Tee shirt.

When we had finished I cleaned up the crockery and cutlery and suggested that she go for a walk. Where I live is on the river and there is a very scenic footpath along the bank leading to parks in both directions with uninterrupted views of the city on the other side of the river. There could be no better evidence that she wasn’t restrained than a stroll in either direction. I didn’t think our two cops would be watching her but you never knew. When she left I made sure she had her phone with her and gave her strict instructions to call me if she was in any way uncomfortable.

“Please be back by eleven thirty, or I’ll have to come looking for you,” I felt very maternal.

She giggled and gave me the finger “Yessir!”…. bloody teenagers!

I watched from my balcony to see her reach the riverbank path and scanned the immediate area to see if there was any sign of the police. There wasn’t, and I hadn’t really expected there to be. I went and got dressed.

Up till now I had been flying by the seat of my pants, well panties actually, if you were aware of what I was wearing, when dealing with the law. I knew the basics but it wasn’t an area I was really familiar with so I wanted to check. I got on to the internet and logged into the sections dealing with the rights of sixteen-year-olds. I was relieved to find that when it came to their legal position I was within the rules. A kid of that age could legally leave home, get a job and be independent. They couldn’t vote, couldn’t drive a car until they were seventeen, and couldn’t drink alcohol. No problems there.

The rights of parents were much foggier. Most of the information assumed that the parents were nice people and that the kids had transgressed in some way and were ungrateful or out of control. There was very little information about parents whose children had run away and for what reasons and I couldn’t find anything on parents who had thrown their child out. There was nothing pertinent to transgendered kids.

No doubt if I had kept digging I would have found something relevant, but one thing I had learned over the years was that if you did not have the time to pursue something specific call in an expert.

So I rang my current lawyer, a nice young lady who had drawn up the Wills for my wife and me and then when my wife had died been involved in the administration and back and forth of all the bureaucratic details of probate. You wouldn’t want to know about that. Even after more than two years we were still dealing with the jobsworths, crossing ‘I’s and dotting ’t’s

When she answered the phone I asked for her help. Her primary field was Family Law, so I told her the situation and asked if she could do anything about it or, if not, recommend someone who could.

I could almost hear her clamp down on the bit over the phone. She was under starter’s orders virtually before I had finished describing the situation. If I had been the jockey, I would have been lucky to hang on to the reins.

“I would love to be involved, Mac. It’s a field that’s been ignored for far too long. Will I be able to talk to the girl?”

“I don’t see why not but I’d like to talk to her first. Assuming she’s OK with it when could you see her?”

“Today’s Friday. How about Monday? We knock off for Christmas and New Year on Thursday, so that gives me three days to cobble something together if we need to.”

“OK, Lisa, I’ll ring you later today to confirm. Let’s say 10.30 on Monday provisionally.”

That’s how we left it until Ali got back from her walk. She did get back before eleven thirty so I had no need to send out a search party. When she returned I took her downstairs to the Reception Desk manned by our Building Managers and introduced her to the couple who looked after the basic needs of the owners and tenants, so that they would know she was my guest. It’s just a courtesy that might prevent any awkward questions about the girl who is staying with me.

Afterwards I asked her about her walk and she gushed about how she had walked up to Streets Beach.

“Did you go swimming there?” she asked.

“No, but I used to take my grandson and granddaughter there when they were little and they loved it. It was great for me too because it’s so safe that looking after them was no problem. I’m amazed that you’ve never been there yourself. Indooroopilly’s quite close.”

“My parents never go anywhere. Dad is only interested in the golf course. When he found out that I couldn’t hit a golf ball and was no good at cricket he gave up on me. The only sport I’m any good at is netball and he sneers at that. Mum only ever goes out to her Bridge Club and does her shopping at Indooroopilly. If it’s not there she’s not interested.”

Then she told how she had gone on to QPAC (Queensland Performing Arts Centre) and the Museums of Queensland and Modern Art and what a lovely suburb it was. I was happy she had enjoyed it.

So then I told her what I had found on the internet and what I had not found. I told her that I had lined up a meeting with my lawyer on Monday as long as she agreed to go. It was in the City so easy to get to. I explained the reasons why I had arranged this and how it would give her an extra layer of protection. So, will we take you to see Lisa on Monday morning? What do you think?”

“If you reckon it’s a good idea, Joanne, let’s do it.”

“It definitely is. Lisa’s pretty good at her job and she’ll give you all the necessary information to fend off trouble. I’ll give you her phone number later so you can call her if there’s any problem. Just one thing between you and me, you’ll have to be careful to call me Mac when I’m in male mode. I love you to call me Joanne but we’ve got to keep it between ourselves most of the time.”

‘I know, but we both know who you really are. It’s difficult sometimes.”

“It’s difficult for me too, ever since I met you. Yesterday with Arpi was wonderful for me and you too, I think. It was really hard for me to revert to being Mac this morning, but we do what we have to do, and this morning, with the cops visiting, proves that.”

She gave me a look full of questions…. ones that came with answers I knew she wouldn’t like.

As gently as I could, I said, “If my own transgenderism comes out, they or your parents will use it as a weapon to demonstrate that I have some kind of sexual motive in having you living with me.”

“What? Are you kidding me? That is so bogan.”

I knew by now that I was hopelessly enmeshed in the current situation. I loved this girl. In less than a week she had captured my heart. I could no more let her go than cut off an arm.

I had a sudden urge to embrace her and opened my arms. She seemed to know what I intended and in a second we were in each other’s arms. I felt a rush of love such as I hadn’t felt since my wife passed away.

I love my son, my daughter-in-law and my grandchildren but this feeling transcended all of that. Somehow, I knew that this was a gift from a heaven which I hadn’t believed in for a long time. My wife’s death had kind of cauterised my ability for human feelings. Isn’t that weird on its own? My male part loved my wife, while my female part did too. The only obstacle between us had been her total refusal to recognize the woman in me. It was a forbidden topic.

When Ali and I came down from our cloud she did what women do. She got practical. I should have expected it.

“Joanne, we have to do some more shopping. You haven’t got a lot of variety in your fridge or in your pantry. We need to stock up on everyday things. Where do you go to get your groceries? I don’t think you go to Indooroopilly every time.”

“No. I do most of my normal shopping at New Farm’s Merthyr Village. It’s got everything I need.”

“All right. Let’s go there tomorrow, but I want to go with Joanne, not with Mac!”

“I can’t do that. They know me over there.” The suggestion horrified me.

“No they don’t. They know Mac, not Joanne. If you go as Joanne nobody will recognize you.” She gave me a hug and a squeeze. “I much prefer Joanne to Mac, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. I’ve been hiding for far too long, but you’re going to have to help me. Do you think you can handle make-up now that Arpi’s shown you how?”

“Might take me a couple of goes to get it right, but I won’t make you look like a clown.” She said with a cheeky grin.

I wondered what I was letting myself in for. It was my turn to gulp.