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 8

An uncomfortable silence settled on the car as we drove away from the venue. Paul looked back at me from the front passenger seat but kept his peace. I could feel Peter putting together his lecture as we put miles behind us. I was hungry. The wedding meal had been due to follow the speeches, which meant I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Not something I felt would go down well should I mention it. I waited for my inevitable telling off and marshalled a few responses to what I felt sure was coming.

“What you did back there wasn’t very kind,” Peter said at last.

“Neither was what they did.”

“I’d have paid the money rather than ruin their wedding day, or at least I’d have promised to.”

“In front of witnesses? You’d have been legally obliged to pay. They’d have made sure of it.”

“And it would have been worth it to avoid that unpleasantness. No-one deserves to have their wedding day ruined like that.”

“Even if they deliberately planned to use it to scam you.”

“It’s only money, Abri.”

“No, it isn’t. It’s that they deliberately tried to con you out of it. It’s that they chose to do so on their special day in order to put you in an impossible situation. It’s that they set the whole thing up to make men look bad – you in particular – whatever the outcome. You refuse to pay up, you’re tight and dishonest. You give in and you’re a pushover, especially when they let on that they set the whole thing up. It doesn’t matter whose idea it was, they went along with it and they fully deserve to reap the whirlwind. Harsh on their brides, but the sooner they learn who they’re hitching themselves to, the sooner they can escape from it.

“I made that offer to Mandy and the twins to try and steer them away from rampant misandrism, and they chose to use it as a way to express their hatred of men. I want to be a woman, but I fucking well don’t want to be associated with people who’ll pull a stunt like that.

“Sorry Paul, but that...”

“It’s alright Abri. If ever there was an appropriate use of the f-bomb.”

“I thought you didn’t like bad language.” Peter said.

“I don’t like inappropriate use of language. I don’t like when people say awesome and mean that’s nice, or when they say devastated and mean a bit miffed. Some words need to be reserved for special occasions. But we’re getting off piste here. Abri, you were telling my wonderful but maybe a little too kind and thoughtful man here why that shit show could not have gone any less worse...”

“Paul!”

“No Peter, I’m sorry you were put in that position, and I am so grateful that our daughter was there to step into the breach. Those two are a couple of hideous creatures, whether by their own choice or their mother’s influence, and they deserved what they were just given, even if it was on their wedding day. Especially on their wedding day given that stunt.

“I’m really sorry, but you come from some appalling genetic stock and we’re better off without any of them. I’m only glad there are a few precious nuggets hidden in all the shit, and that I’m lucky enough to have them all in my life. The thing to remember is when you’re panning for gold, after you’ve retrieved the bits worth keeping, you dump the rest of the silt back in the river.”

“They’re my family, Paul. Abri’s too.”

“Pht! People like us don’t have the luxury of confusing genetics with family. Some are lucky, but for those of us who aren’t, family is the people you find, the people who will love you, not some arse-shit-fuck-twats who will try to rob you of half your inheritance in that most heinous way.”

Peter stared straight out the windscreen, focusing on driving. Eventually he let out a breath.

“Okay,” he said uncertainty.

“Any chance we can stop for lunch soon,” I asked. “I don’t have the same reserves you guys have.”

“Did you just call us fat?” Paul said sucking in a grin. “Did she just call us fat?”

“I would never do that,” I said allowing my own smile to creep onto my face. “Cuddly, maybe.”

“You minx!”

“Alright, alright,” Peter laughed. There’s a pub up ahead. I’ve no idea if it does food, but at least we’ll be able to get you a packet of nuts, and I need a drink as long as Paul doesn’t mind driving.

“I had a few more glasses of champagne back at the wedding farce or whatever you want to call it than would make me safe behind the wheel. Why don’t you see if they have a room we can stay in? I mean we’re about twenty grand better off thanks to Abri. It’s not as if we can’t afford it.”

The pub didn’t have rooms and it didn’t do meals, but the barman gave us directions to a place five minutes down the road that offered both. I got my packet of crisps, because Peter felt something was owed for the barman’s assistance, and he got his drink, albeit a little later than planned because five minutes was really fifteen and then we had to check in and drop stuff in our room. Paul, unsurprisingly, had brought an overnight bag for us all, which meant he and Peter were able change into something more comfortable. I was happy in my posh dress even if it meant I was too posh for the place and I had to be careful eating in case I had leaky food.

I wouldn’t have minded a glass of wine to settle my own nerves, but there were laws about that in public places, so I settled for a coke which was probably worse for me than the wine.

Max enjoyed it anyway, and once my stomach was full, I didn’t need any artificial stimulants.

Peter’s phone rang halfway through the meal. He looked at it with growing surprise. “Dad,” he said standing up and putting the phone to his ear. I saw him wince as soon as he did, so I put down my knife and fork and eased the phone out off his hand.

“Hello granddad, it’s Abrielle. We’re eating lunch at the moment so would you mind waiting half an hour? Thank you.” I hung up then put the phone beside me as I sat back down, pulling it out of Peter’s reach just as it rang again. Once more Collin’s name came up.

I answered and put the phone to my ear, then pulled it away and hung up without saying anything. I had time to put a forkful of desperately needed sustenance into my mouth before it rang a third time.

I waited till I’d swallowed before answering, then waited patiently for Collin to take a breath.

“Granddad, we’re eating. Give us half an hour, please. If you call again, I’ll block your number which’ll mean you won’t be able to call him again ever.

“No, he probably doesn’t know how, but I do.

“Oddly enough I was thinking the same thing, Granddad. As I say, call again in half an hour. Oh yes, and if you could be a little less shouty, that would be appreciated.

“No, but if you knew that the only thing someone did when they called you was yell at you, you’d block their number, wouldn’t you?

“Thank you, Granddad. We’ll talk again in a while.”

I hung up and took in another forkful, very much aware of the two people staring at me.

“What?”

“I was thinking the same thing?” Paul asked.

“He said I was being very rude.”

“If you could be a little less shouty?” Peter asked.

“I’m reasonably certain everyone else in the restaurant could hear him despite it not being on hands free. Besides, how are you supposed to hold a conversation with someone if all they do is shout?”

“I think that’s why he does it.”

“And that’s why you have the call end button and the option to block him. This is your phone. You get to choose who you talk to and how.”

“Could you show me how too block someone?”

“Sure. After I’ve finished eating. This is very good, by the way.”

I slid the now quiescent phone back to him.

“Sometimes I forget you’re older than me.”

“Only bits of me, and I’m glad you forget. I missed out on being a young girl before, so I’m kind of keen not to this time round.”

“How does Max feel about it?”

“Totally on board. He would have missed out too, wouldn’t he”

“He doesn’t mind sharing?”

“That might have been a better question to ask four or five years ago.”

“I think we did ask back then. Just not recently.”

I shrugged. “It’s not really sharing. More like becoming each other. You know that song, Two Become One?”

“I thought that was about two people deciding to have sex for the first time,” Paul said.

“Yeah, well maybe. Except when you have sex... No when you make love, which is different, you open yourselves up to each other and you kind of grow into each other. You learn to think the same, feel the same, believe the same. Two bodies, one mind.”

“Now that has to be the Gerald talking,” Peter said, “because Max has never had that kind of experience. The thing is, I didn’t think Gerald did either.”

“Only in my imagination, Peter, but underneath that crusty exterior there always was the heart of a romantic. The thing is, Max and I started off as two minds, one body. What we have isn’t sexual at all, you’ll be glad to know, but it is deeply spiritual. We both kind of died, me more successfully than Max, we both met this guy waiting on the other side...”

“Jesus?”

“Maybe, who knows. He didn’t exactly introduce himself. He was too busy trying to save us, I’d say.”

“Sounds like Jesus.”

“Yeah, but what would a Muslim say, or a Hindu?”

“I suppose.”

“Anyway, Max and I decided a long time ago that we were parts of a whole and belonged together, so we’ve been practicing being each other, or rather being the combination of both of us. We’re pretty much one person now and it’s only rarely that one of us kind of takes over for a bit.”

“What does it feel like?” Paul asked.

“I suspect you know. It’s like what you and Peter have, right down to the constant banter. For Max and me that’s a sort of inner dialogue, but it’s still the bits of him that aren’t entirely part of us rubbing rough edges with the bits of Gerald that are the same. It’s become something we kind of like about being like this. There’s comfort in knowing we have two different perspectives sometimes, and there’s strength in knowing that we are an amalgamation of two people.”

We finished lunch chatting about more mundane matters. Peter and Paul both ordered coffees and I settled on another coke. The Max in me had quite the sweet tooth, or maybe it was the underage body, or perhaps even the hormones. I already had the itchy puffiness I’d been expecting on my chest, so who knew what else was going on.

Eventually, with drinks half drunk, Peter’s phone rang again. We had the place pretty much to ourselves so he put it on speaker phone.

“Hi Dad,” he said with a world weary sigh.

“Don’t you fucking well call me that. You lost the right to call me that when you fucking told me you were a poof.”

“Just so you know, Dad,” complete with pause to make sure he knew it was deliberate, “we’re on hands free, and most of the people in earshot don’t appear to take too kindly to the word poof. One or two are a little young for the courser swear words you like to use as well.”

“So why don’t you take the fucking phone off hands free and speak to me directly?”

“Because I don’t particularly want to talk to you, Dad. You’ve avoided talking to me for, what, seven years now? You even refused to talk to me about Uncle Gerald’s letter...”

“That was a crock of shit, and you know it. Gerald would never have cut me off like that. You poisoned him against me.”

“Yeah, I suppose I did. I turned up on his doorstep because I had nowhere else to go after you kicked me out, and then I answered truthfully when he asked what happened. I guess that’s what it took. You know, when I finished answering his questions, he wanted to come round yours and punch your lights out.”

“Heh. I’d like to have seen him try.”

“That’s what you get from that? Who cares if you were stronger than him or better with your fists? Doesn’t it bother you that he wanted to hit you? Doesn’t it even occur to you that the person who poisoned him against you was you? I sent you the letter, even the bit he addressed to me, so you know damn well why he wrote you out of his inheritance. He also told you what he wanted more than anything else.”

“Yeah, well fat fucking chance of that happening after today. Do you have any idea what kind of fucking mess you left behind when you buggered off today?”

“Actually yes, we do. We were discussing it in the car a while ago. Besides, what do you care? You don’t approve of Lily and Pam’s choices any more than you do mine.”

“That’s not the point! You wrecked your nieces’ weddings over a few quid.”

“No Dad, that’s not what it was about. I had the same initial reaction but was put right by someone very special, and if you’re not going to fact check before you decide to think the worst of me, I don’t see any value in continuing this conversation.

“Please don’t call this number again unless it’s to apologise. If you do, I will block your number.”

“You will pay Mandy’s girls what you owe them.”

“I already did, Dad. You know, between you kicking me out, Mike and Lisa driving their child to the brink of suicide and Mandy turning her girls into a pair of predatory man-haters who don’t even have the conscience to keep from attacking their own family, I think I’m done with you lot.”

“Peter!” Collin growled.

“No, Dad. You’re the one who kicked me out first. Between my memories of Uncle Gerald and the precious girl I get to call my daughter...”

“He’s not a fucking girl!”

“You know Dad, you make it really hard to give a rat’s arse about your opinion on anything. I have this sneaky suspicion that you’re never going to change. You should know that neither am I. Your great niece is, but only in as much as she’s going to become more obviously a girl. Unless and until you’re prepared to deal with that, please don’t bother calling me again.”

He stabbed the end call button and put the phone on silent.

“You’re going to have to show me how to block a number,” he said.

I took the phone. This was more Max’s department, so I gave him free reign over our fingers. He opened up the call log and Collin’s last call then brought up the options. He handed the phone back, pointing at the entry for block number.

“Okay, that seems simple enough. Maybe not just now though.” The phone vibrated in his hand. He stared at it for a moment then put it to his ear. We could both hear a screeching edge to the voice on the other end. He listened for about three seconds then hung up. “That one we can block though.”

“Mandy?” Paul asked.

“Either that or a banshee stole her phone. Can I block someone without them calling me?”

“I’m not sure, but when you receive a call from someone you don’t want to talk to, there should be a drop down menu which includes block call.”

“How did we get by before these things came along?”

“Bongos and smoke signals I think,” Paul answered. “Does anyone fancy going for a walk?”

“You two go,” I said. “I’m about ready for comfortable clothes and see what’s on TV.”

Paul opened his mouth, but Peter held up a hand. “I think you’ve earned it.”

Up in our room, I changed into the jeans and tee-shirt Paul had packed for me. My little fella had, if anything, shrunk further since I’d had the oestrogen shot and patches. It wouldn’t have taken much to tuck it away, but I still found tucking uncomfortable. The jeans were stretchy and tight and the tee-shirt nowhere near long enough to hide the bulge. I didn’t much care though. Honest I didn’t.

The room TV had on demand services from a number of mainstream companies. Max and I scrolled through the usual mix of guns and violence and found an absence of the usual level of interest. On a whim, I started scrolling through the chick flicks, which Max hadn’t wanted anything to do with up until now, and he steered us towards some modern teen retelling of Rapunzel, I think. It was hopelessly mawkish and way too American for my tastes, but neither of us could do anything without the participation of the other and growing into each other meant accepting each other’s preferences. By the time the dads made it back to the room, Max and I were lying on the big bed, our arms wrapped around a pillow and gentle tears trickling from our eyes.

Yeah. The we and me thing. Most of the time it’s just me these days, which is to say the single person Max and I make between us, but there are times when one of us has more to contribute, like Max with the phone settings or Gerald with the honest and uncomfortable appraisal of what had actually happened at Pam and Lily’s wedding. Then the better one of us for the job takes over the driving seat for a while. Then there are times we agree to an activity which is more the choice of one of us than the other. Reading for Gerald, crappy American made for TV films for Max. Those we agree to share, and pleasingly there is a degree of vicarious pleasure to be had. Max ended up being totally caught up in that film which meant I – Gerald – had to let him without spoiling it. So I sat behind his consciousness and rode the roller coaster ride of our artificially augmented hormonal response.

The dads read the room right and backed out. There was half an hour left of the film which was just enough time for them to chase off to a nearby shopping arcade – within walking distance. When they came back it was to find the credits rolling up the screen and me wiping my nose and eyes on my pillow.

“We bought you a gift,” Paul said, throwing me a soft package.

“It’s pink” I said. More an observation than a criticism.

“Nothing wrong with pink,” he huffed. “Why don’t you go and try it on?”

It was deliberately oversized. It hung off one shoulder and the short sleeves hung down below my elbows. Most importantly it came down below my crotch. Apart from the puffy eyes it made me look soooo cute.

I came out of the bathroom and threw my arms around Paul’s neck.

“It’s perfect.”

“Even if it’s pink?” Paull still had a strop on.

“I love pink.”

“I’m sorry sweetie, I wasn’t thinking when I packed. One day those jeans will look spectacular on you.”

“Unless I discover chocolate and give up on trying to look like a girl.”

“You do that and I swear I’ll do the same, and you do not want to see me when I bloat.”

“He’s right, you don’t,” Peter said with a bemused smile. “He’s also... I don’t know. I mean you look fantastic when you do the girl thing, Paul, but it’s not as if you try all the time, is it?”

“That shows what you know. I’m in a constant war against body hair, my eyebrows need daily attention and my skin care regime takes forever.”

“That is true.”

“Tell me you want me to stop and I will.”

“It’s worth every bit of effort you put in, especially when you put on a frock.”

“I didn’t pack one this time, but we could always go back to the shops.”

“You look perfect just as you are and I was hoping we could do something else with the afternoon.”

“Well that would have been easier if our designated driver hadn’t needed something to fortify him at lunchtime.”

“Or if his beautiful husband wasn’t such a lush.”

“Do you want me to step outside for a bit?” I asked.

“Would you?” Paul asked. “I’m feeling a growing need to ravish someone.”

“I may not be gone very long if I don’t find something to do.”

“You are such a mercenary. Here’s forty quid. The shops are that way.”

I barely had time to grab my phone and my trainers before I was unceremoniously kicked out of the room.

The shopping arcade was only a five minute walk away, which was just as well because it really wasn’t worth much more of an effort. I found the shop where Paul had bought my oversize pink tee-shirt, and had to admit he’d bought me the best from a pretty dodgy lot of options. Nothing else in the window appealed enough to encourage me through the door, so I ambled on to the next place.

They were all much of a muchness, a phrase that confused the Max part of me even as it rose from Gerald’s memory. I made a note to include Alice in Wonderland in our near future reading. Still the shops were pretty bland and uninteresting with nothing worth spending Paul’s money on. I was about to head back when a young boy on a bike appeared.

I say young. He was probably only a year or two younger than my age, by which I mean Max’s. The Gerald part was still struggling with being over half a century younger sometimes.

“You’re not from around here,” he said with brash confidence.

“No,” I agreed. “I’m staying at the pub, with my dads.” I pointed somewhat redundantly. There was only one pub in sight.

“Dads?” he snorted. “Don’t you have a mum?”

“Yeah, but she’s a cow, so my uncle adopted me.”

“Along with your real dad?”

“No, he’s a worse arsehole than my mum.”

“Then...”

“My uncle’s gay. Listen, is this interrogation going to last for long, only my dads are expecting me back soon.”

“I bet they’re not. I bet they’re shacked up in their room making gay love.”

No less offensive for being correct. “That’s not very nice,” I told him.

“Doesn’t stop it being true, does it?”

“What if I said, ‘I bet you dad’s having wild passionate sex with your mum behind some tree somewhere?”

“You take that back!” he yelled.

“Alright, I will. But now you know how it feels.

“Look, I’m going to head back now. I’d say nice talking to you, but it wasn’t really.”

“You’re mean.”

“Sometimes, but you were mean first.”

My phone vibrated in my hand. It was Peter.

“’Sup?” I said into it.

“Where are you?” He sounded serious.

“Down by the shops. I was just about to head back.”

“Stay there. We’ll pick you up in a couple of minutes.”

“I thought you’d had too much to drink.”

“We’ll be in a taxi.”

“What’s happening? You’re scaring me.”

“Can it wait till we pick you up?”

“Okay. I’m by the shop where Paul bought my new tee-shirt.”

“I thought I recognised it,” the boy on the bike said. “They only have seriously crappy stuff in there.”

I thought about giving him the finger, but I was the older and more responsible one here and should set an example. I stuck out my tongue at him instead.

“We're on our way. The taxi just arrived.”

I looked toward the pub where my dads were climbing into a grey saloon. “I can see you.” I raised a hand and waved.

“We see you too. Just stay there.”

The car was alongside in less than a minute. I climbed in the back with Paul, ignoring the parting comment from the latest arsehole to impinge on my life.

“What did he say?” Paul asked.

“Probably something homophobic. Come on, tell me what’s going on.”

“Your granddad called,” Pete said from the front seat.

“Again?”

“Yes, but... It’s your mum. She’s been taken to hospital.”

My blood ran cold. I hadn’t been that nice to her at the wedding.

“Because..?” I asked.

“She tried the same thing you did a few years back.”

Blood now freezing.

“Did she...?

“No, they got to her in time. Will you be okay to see her?”

“Yeah, I should think so.”

“Your father will most likely be there.”

“I imagine so. It should be okay.”

“We’ll stay close, don’t you worry.” Paul had his arm around me. I was grateful for the contact. I could feel tears filling my eyes. I mean this was my mum, and it was my fault!

Only was it really? The older and wiser part of myself wanted to argue with the younger and more emotional part. Fortunately it was old and wise enough to leave it at, ‘let’s wait and find out.’

The journey to the hospital took twenty minutes and went via some pretty complex road systems, so it was probably as well we were being driven. Peter hadn’t drunk enough to be so (drunk I mean) but I suspect he would have missed several of the twists and turns. Add to that not having the complication and expense of parking when we arrived at the hospital, this way was definitely quicker and probably not a lot more expensive.

Directions from main reception had us following a coloured line along the floor for what seemed like miles until we arrived on a ward where a familiar if not exactly welcoming face rose to greet us.

“This is your fault, you little cunt,” my father glowered at me. He looked ready to turn violent so I hid behind Paul while Peter stepped in front of us both, ready but reluctant to meet whatever the arsehole had to hand out.

“Way to overreact, dickhead,” Paul said from safely behind his husband.

“Paul, please.”

“What? He’s ready to blame anyone but himself.”

“How do you see this as my fault!” Mike shouted, or at least started to. Heads turned his way, reminding him where he was and he dropped his tone to the level of a menacing hiss.

“Actually, it is mine,” I said, stepping out into the open. “At least partly. But I can’t be what Mum wants me to be, or what you want me to be. The thing is, as far as I can see, you don’t really care. If I can’t be the way you want me to be, you’re happy just to chuck me out on the streets same as granddad did with Peter. Mum’s different though. You don’t know what it’s like for a woman to lose her child.”

“And what would you know, you little pansy.”

“A damned site more than you, you Neanderthal.” Paul coming to my defence again. “She has more empathy than most people I’ve met whereas you've got fuck bloody all.”

“She is not a fucking girl!” Again his voice raised. This time the nurses made moves to intervene.

“Please,” I said. “They’re not going to let us stay if you keep arguing. Can I go in and see her?”

“I don’t know if I should let you after what you said to her earlier.”

“She told you what I said?”

“No, but I could see she was fucking upset. It wouldn’t surprise me if it was that pushed her over the edge.”

“But you don’t know, do you?” Paul carried on bravely in the knowledge that he was protected. “In fact it doesn’t matter so much who pushed her over the edge. What we should be asking is who led her up to it in the first place, and from where I’m standing there’s only one clear candidate for that honour.”

“Why you...”

Peter stood in Mike’s way. I took advantage of the tussle to slip past into Mum’s room...

...which was dark. Curtains drawn, lights off. I couldn’t tell if Mum was awake or asleep.

I perched gently on the bed and rested a hand lightly on her arm.

“Max?” she murmured.

“I’m here Mum.”

“What... What are you wearing?”

“It is a bit tacky, isn’t it. The thing is, Paul packed a pair of skinny jeans for me which don’t do a great job of hiding my thingy. I mean I can tuck it away, but it’s a bit uncomfortable. He also packed a tee-shirt that was a bit short, so he figured this would be better than nothing. I’m not too keen on the sequins, but I don’t mind being a princess.”

“But you’re...”

“Mum, please don’t. I love you, but I have to be me, and this is me.”

“I can’t accept that.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re my mum and I know you love me.”

“Yes, but it’s my son I love, not...”

“Mum, if I’d been born with six fingers or a hair lip, you’d still have loved me just the same, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes of course, but...”

“It wouldn’t bother you that I was deformed?”

“That’s a horrible thing to say. Of course it wouldn’t bother me.”

“Because what matters is the person on the inside.”

“Yes. So why would you say such a wicked thing?”

“Because this is the person on the inside. My ‘deformity’,” I used pauses rather than air quotes, “is that I was born with the body of a boy.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“There is if the person inside is a girl.”

“You’re talking nonsense.”

“You’d like to believe I’m taking nonsense because it makes it easier for you. You’re lucky enough to have a woman’s mind in a woman’s body. I imagine most of the people you know are the same or the male equivalent, so you don’t know any different.

“I don’t know, maybe you do know a few people who’re mixed up like me, but your generation was taught to see us as perverts, people who choose to do something everybody knows is wrong, so it’s hardly surprising people like me all kept hidden back in your day.”

“But if it’s something every one knows is wrong, why would you choose to do it?”

“Because for one thing, those things that everyone knows to be wrong aren’t always wrong.”

“That makes no sense.”

“It wasn’t that long ago that everyone knew that left handed people were favoured by the devil and a lot of left handed people were beaten until they learned to write with their right hands.”

“No, that’s not right.”

“Not anymore, but go back a few generations. Ask your dad about his grandmother. The thing is, a lot of those things everyone knows to be right or wrong are often beliefs that have grown out of prejudice or religious or cultural influence.

“How can you know what motivates people like us when for generations we’ve remained so well hidden no-one has had the opportunity to ask? Or when, on the rare occasion one of us was discovered, that no-one had the inclination to ask?

“What everyone knows on this matter has grown largely from a tendency to be wary of or to dislike anything that’s different, leading to homophobia specifically within religious circles – perhaps where it offers the opportunity to influence people – leading to convenient misinterpretation of religious texts with overwhelming consequences.

“As for choosing to do something we know is wrong,” emphasis on choosing, “if you cared to ask, you’d learn there’s not a lot of choice involved. If you’d take time to learn what medical science has been uncovering in recent years, you’d discover that there are reasons for that lack of choice.”

“None of this is making any sense.”

“Really, Mum? I think you’d just prefer that to be true. You, along with the majority of unaffected people would just rather we kept ourselves hidden from the world like we have until recent decades.”

“Well, I don’t see why you can’t do that.”

I let out a deep sigh and marshalled my thoughts.

"Imagine I was born with my feet on the opposite side to normal. Left foot on the right, right foot on the left. Would you allow me to wear shoes in a way that was comfortable to me even though it looked freakish to ordinary people, or would you expect me to wear them on the same feet as everyone else so I looked normal, even though every step I took would be excruciatingly painful?”

“You’re talking nonsense again, darling. Who ever heard of people with their feet on the wrong side...”

“What makes it the wrong side, Mum? I said opposite to normal. Just because it’s different to the majority doesn’t make it wrong. You never know, maybe there are advantages to having your big toes on the outside.

“Maybe people like that exist, only they hide their difference because they know everyone else will respond badly. I don’t have my feet switched, but I am different in a way that the majority of people don’t want to accept. In the past people like me have learned to live with the discomfort of conformity because people like you aren’t prepared to accept that people can be different.”

“I don’t get this feet backwards thing, dear. What are you trying to say?”

“We’ve all put our shoes on backwards at some stage, right? Maybe when you were a kid, maybe when you weren’t thinking.”

“Well, yes. I suppose.”

“Imagine what it would be like wearing your shoes like that for a whole day.”

“Well I wouldn’t, obviously.”

“Just imagine you didn’t have a choice. You could do it for a day, couldn’t you? It would be uncomfortable, but you could do it.”

“I suppose, but...”

“Imagine you reached the end of that first day and in the comfort of your home, behind closed curtains, you removed your shoes and felt that sense of relief as your feet were removed from their constraints.

“Now imagine that in that moment of relief you realised that you were going to have to do the same the next day, and the next day, and every day for the rest of your life.

“I don’t know, it’s uncomfortable, painful even, but you can adapt to it right? And maybe you choose to, but the discomfort is with you every day as well as the knowledge that it’s never going to get better. After a while it infiltrates every thought you have. It gets in the way of everything else you try to do with your life. Every time you try to put your mind to something new, something you should be able to look forward to, the awareness that everything you do will be accompanied by that same discomfort in your feet. It’d suck the joy out of life, wouldn’t it?

“Under those circumstances, wouldn’t you wonder why you had to keep doing it? I mean, if you wore your shoes in the way that felt most comfortable to you, yeah normal people might be bothered by it at first, but they’d adapt, wouldn’t they? What seems weird today seems less weird tomorrow and eventually they'd accept that some people have their feet backwards and it doesn’t really make much difference to them.

“The shoe thing is about physical discomfort and its something everyone can get their head around. The transgender thing is psychological, but it’s no less real. It gets in the way of, of pretty much everything.

“You remember what Max was like? Sullen, silent, depressed, never achieving well at school.”

“It used to make your father really angry.”

“Ironic since it was largely his bigotry that got in the way of me realising my potential.” I twitched my head to where he continued to argue a little too loudly with Paul.

“He is your father dear.”

“And your husband, but exactly how does that make him right? How does being loud and obnoxious make him right? Are we to do what we’re told by the people who make the most noise? Isn’t that the real nonsense, Mum?

“You know Oscar Wilde, I expect? Someone else my father would never have approved of. Someone who lived in a time when homosexuality was illegal...”

“Quite right too.”

“Again, is that really what you believe? Or have you spent too long living under the same roof as his high and mighty-ness out there? Do you really think that the two people who’ve given me a loving home for the last nearly five years belong in prison because what’s natural for them, being two men in love with each other, feels wrong to people like you and him out there?” I waved at Mike.

“Well, they turned you into this...”

“No Mum, you’re not listening, or not hearing at least. They allowed me the freedom to turn myself into this. You and... my father – I can’t even bear to call him Dad anymore – drove me to the edge of despair, pretty much the same despair that's put you in here right now. Peter and Paul nurtured me and encouraged me to become who I am. Which is to say happy, contented, successful...”

“Successful?”

“I’m sixteen, Mum. Most kids my age have just finished GCSEs. I’ve just finished A levels for the second time round. The way I was with you and... him forcing me to live life your way, I’d barely have any qualifications at all and be looking forward to future on a zero hours contract behind a McBurger Fried Chicken counter asking people if they want to supersize the overly processed crap they just bought. Instead, with freedom to live my own way, I have a scholarship to start university any time I like in the next couple of years, studying pretty much whatever I like of the half dozen A levels that I should have come August.”

“Should have?”

“I already have three grade As in maths, sociology and politics, and I’m expecting three more, in IT, biology and psychology. All of it largely because I get to live the way I feel I should. All because I don’t have to spend every day fighting my nature just so I can conform to somebody else’s idea of normal. All because I feel comfortable enough being this version of me, the true inner me, that I’m able to focus on things that really matter.”

Okay, maybe a lot of my recent success was down to my dual inner nature, but I didn’t need to complicate matters more than they were, and the reason I’d done so well was down to my mind being unfettered by arbitrary restrictions to my behaviour.

“Mum, Oscar Wilde spent a long time in prison because he refused to live the way society tried to force him to. He wrote something that is often quoted in part these days. Do you mind if I share it with you?”

She shrugged uncertainly.

“Selfishness is not living as one wishes to live,” I said recalling the full quote from memory. It had featured in several of my more heartfelt essays. “It is asking others to live as one wishes to live. And unselfishness is letting other people's lives alone, not interfering with them. Selfishness always aims at creating around it an absolute uniformity of type. Unselfishness recognizes infinite variety of type as a delightful thing, accepts it, acquiesces in it, enjoys it. It is not selfish to think for oneself. A man who does not think for himself does not think at all.

“It is grossly selfish to require of one's neighbour that he should think in the same way, and hold the same opinions. Why should he? If he can think, he will probably think differently. If he cannot think, it is monstrous to require thought of any kind from him. A red rose is not selfish because it wants to be a red rose, bit it would be horribly selfish if it wanted all the other flowers in the garden to be both red and roses.”

“You’re trying to confuse me.”

“No Mum, I'm trying to help you understand. You believe what you believe because it’s been rammed down your throat for so long there’s no room for you to form your own opinions.

“Mum, I love you and I want you in my life, but not on his terms. Maybe not on your terms if you insist on sharing them with him.

“I don’t know what drove you to take those pills today, but I’m hoping it’s because something inside you is challenging the way you are, but take it from one who knows, there are better options than killing yourself. If you really feel you can’t stand to carry on living with things the way they are, if you don’t like the way your life is going, then change it, don’t end it! If you don’t like the way people are treating you, ask yourself whether it’s you or them that’s at fault. If it’s you, change yourself; get help if you need to. If it’s them, get away from them.”

“Is that what you did with me?”

“Mum, if you’re trying to make me feel guilty, it’s not going to work. Yes, that is what I did with you, but only after you told a judge you were going to support me then did the exact opposite the moment we were out of the courtroom.

“You gave birth to me, but that doesn’t give you the right to define me. You said you’d accept me and love me even if I had a few minor defects. Guess what Mum, I have a few minor defects and this could be considered one of them, from your perspective at least, and his. You want me to be a part of your life, I’m here and more than willing, but this is the me you’re going to get.”

“What if I can’t accept that? What if the only way I can feel right again is if I have my Max back?”

“I’m right here, Mum. Same person, just different packaging and a hell of a lot happier for it.”

“Yes but...”

“If this is all about trying to turn me back into what I was, then I can’t help you. I can’t live like that. I think I pretty much showed you.”

“And I can’t live with you like this.”

“If I’d succeeded in killing myself, you wouldn’t have had Max in any form. Isn’t this better than that?”

“Yes, but...”

“If you were to manipulate me back into being my old self, I don’t know how long it would take before I started looking for bottles of pills or razor blades, but it would come eventually.

“Mum, I don’t know why you did this to yourself. Only you can answer that and I beg you to answer yourself honestly. If you’re genuinely depressed enough to want to end your life, try and understand why. Get help and see if there isn’t a way out of it that doesn’t involve destroying your only child. If it’s a cry for help, then I heard and I’m here, but like I said, this is the me that’s here, and you know, I think you’ll really like me when you get to know me.

“If this is an attempt to manipulate me though, I’m not sure anyone can help you, least of all me. I’m here now like this, but if it isn’t enough, I could always go.”

“No. Please stay. I do want you here, and I will accept you no matter what.” She glanced out the room at the ongoing argument, now with three nurses working alongside Peter to try and defuse it. From the looks of it, security would be involved soon, then at least we’d have some peace and quiet. “Tell me about yourself. What’s been happening in your life over these last four and a bit years.”

So I did. I told stories about Peter and Paul, how they were constantly bickering, but in a way that revealed how much they cared for each other. I told her about my room and the stack of clothes and toys they’d bought me even before they had found out about Uncle Gerald’s legacy. I told her of the bigger room I had in Gerald’s old house and how I was helping Paul in the garden.”

“I didn’t know you were interested in gardening,” Mum said.

“No, neither did I, but I love all the different types of flower there are and how they can make the whole place look beautiful and different throughout the year. I kind of discovered a love for it once I wasn’t always looking inwards only at my own problems.”

Security arrived. We watched as Mike and Paul were escorted away, still sniping at each other. The nurses explained that Peter had been trying to calm things down so he was permitted to stay. He found a seat and a not dreadfully out of date magazine and sat down to wait.

“Oh dear,” Mum said, watching her husband’s departure.

“I’d have thought you’d be used to that by now.”

“Not really. He usually gets his own way.”

“That’s often the way with loud, obnoxious people. It’s generally easier to give in to them than to keep fighting.”

She looked at me as though I were something utterly alien.

“When did you grow so wise?”

“It’s like I’ve been trying to tell you Mum. This all changed the day I became a girl.”

“You haven’t...” She looked at me with sudden shock.

“No, Mum. The law is clear on what’s allowed at what age. Up until a few weeks ago I was only on the blockers. You know, the drugs the judge told you to get for me. I had the option to start taking female hormones on my sixteenth birthday, but Peter persuaded me to hold off until after my exams, so I only started on those a few weeks ago.

“He was right too. I’ve been feeling quite a bit more emotional since I started on them. I definitely think they would have affected my performance.”

“So what do you mean, since you became a girl?”

“I mean I’ve been living full time as a girl since I moved in with Peter and Paul.”

“Whenever you say their names like that it makes me think of that nursery rhyme. You know the one?”

“Two little dickie birds sitting on a wall?”

“That’s the one. I’m surprised you remember it.”

“It’s amazing what you dredge up from the back of your mind when you’re babysitting a grizzly toddler and looking for ways to distract him.”

“You babysit?”

“For our neighbours three doors down to the left. Every now and then they look a bit frazzled and in need of a night out. Jasper’s a cutie, but he doesn’t sleep that well. The dads only let me offer on Fridays and Saturdays because apparently I get a bit frazzled myself after just one night, and that wouldn’t work on a school night.”

“Do they know about, erm...?”

“My unwanted extra under the skirt? Yeah, I figured it was only fair they should know what they were getting before they agreed.”

“And they don’t mind?”

“Not everyone’s as blinkered as you and your husband, Mum.”

“I wish you wouldn’t...”

“Mum, the way he treated me, he was never my dad. I have two dad's now who show me how he should have been.”

“I bet they spoil you rotten.”

“You’d lose the bet most days, Mum. They love me to bits, but they don’t let me get away with much. Paul hates bad language, except on the rare occasions it’s deserved apparently, and he has very clear ideas on how a young lady should behave.”

“But he’s a man, and he’s gay!”

“So? He says if I have to be a girl, then I’m going to be the best girl I can possibly be. You know they enrolled me in a private girls’ school? Peter knows the headmistress and she offered him a deal. It’s still wicked expensive though.”

“Well, I’m sure they can afford it with Uncle Gerald’s money, and I begin to understand why you’re so keen on pretending to be a girl.”

“Firstly, they arranged the schooling before they knew anything about the inheritance, so you don’t get to dis them like that. They were ready to sacrifice their holiday plans for me.

“Secondly, it’s not pretend and it’s not what you think. Well, maybe a bit, but not for the reasons you think. I get on better with girls, I always have. And I don’t think about them in that way.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes I’m sure. I mean I’ve never had an erection because the drugs kind of stop me from producing any testosterone, so my man bits aren’t developed. Any kind of instinctive attraction of that sort just doesn’t happen.

“That being said, a few of my friends are, you know, kind of experimental? I mean no boys in an all girls school, so why not take the opportunity to explore? One or two of my friends did kind of offer, and I suppose I was curious.”

“Did they know they were kissing a boy?”

“They weren’t. Mum, how many times do I have to tell you I’m not a boy.”

“You just said you still have your boy bits.”

“Which don’t function properly, largely because I don’t want them to and I’ve been taking drugs to make sure they don’t.”

“So, tell me what it felt like to kiss a girl?”

“It was kind of soft and sweet, which was nice, but it wasn’t like kissing a boy.”

“You kissed a boy? When? Where? Why?”

“At the prom, at the prom and because I wanted to.”

“What?”

“The girls’ school holds a joint leaver’s prom with the boys’ school. The two schools invite senior students over to plan the prom once all the GCSEs are over. You don’t have to get involved, certainly not to all the time, but how else are you going to meet someone to go with to the dance?

“Blain was the hooker on their school rugby team. As I understand it, that means he’s the guy who tries to hook the ball out of the scrum, hence the name – nothing to do with prostitution I’m sure you’ll be glad to know. He was smaller than the other guys on the team, which was cool ‘cos I’m small too, and he’s fast and nimble which means he still has all his teeth and no broken nose or cauliflower ears.”

“Did he know about you?”

“Mum, it was a school prom, not a commitment to a lifelong partnership. It turned out neither of us intended to make it last more than the one evening. I had my plans to let him down easy at the end of the dance, but he got there first.”

“Just as well! What if he'd found you out?”

“Not much chance of that, Mum. There’s not much to find, and like I said earlier, it tucks away quite neatly when I take the time.

“So yeah, he asked me to the dance, and Paul bought me this gorgeous dress. I mean there was no way anyone was even vaguely going to suspect I wasn’t all girl dressed like that. Even the friends I’d told about me shook their heads in disbelief when Blain and I made our entrance.

“So, we danced the night away, then the music turned real slow and I kind of melted into his arms, and after the last dance, he cupped my cheek in his hand and pulled me gently into this kiss.

“It was purest magic, Mum. I kind of melted all the way through. Nothing like with Jules or Ali. I felt in control with them, like it was, you know, ‘so, let’s try it and see what it’s like. Mmn, not bad,’ kind of thing. But with Blain it was like floating away on a cloud.

“Until he was done. Then he said something like, ‘it’s been great, Abri, but I have to go.’

“I don’t know if he was trying to get a rise out of me, but I wasn’t about to let him. It was a bit of a shock, but I shook it off and said, ‘okay, bye then,’ in an offhand way and went to find my friends.

“I think that upset him a bit, but that was kind of his own lookout, don't you think?”

“I don’t know what to think. My son kissing a boy. Does that mean you’re like Peter?”

“No Mum, because Peter’s a guy who likes other guys. I’m a girl who happened to be in the wrong queue when they were handing out body parts. I’m not into girls, ‘cos that would make me like Lily and Pam, assuming they are actually like that and not just messed up by their mum.”

“Max!”

“Abri, Mum. Abrielle if you must.”

“I can’t call you that, sweetheart.”

“Well I’m not going to keep responding to Max, so we’d better sort something out. What were you going to call me if I’d been born a girl?”

“It never came up. Your dad wanted to know what we were having from the ultrasound.”

“And I suppose whenever he wants something, he doesn’t give in until he gets it.”

“He’s nothing if not persistent, your dad.”

“He’s not my dad, Mum. My biological parent maybe, but he gave up his right to be my dad nearly five years ago.”

“Do you think the same about me?”

“Yes,” I snapped, but then I was frustrated and angry at how little progress I was making.

“Oh my God!” she sobbed.

Okay, so maybe a little too abrupt. She was in a delicate state after all. I couldn’t really take it back, but maybe...

“The thing I’m trying to decide right now is whether you want to earn that right back.”

“Of course I do! I thought that should be obvious.”

“Why? Because you swallowed half a bottle of sleeping pills?

“Mum, I love you and I don’t want you to die, but I’m not about to give you everything you want because you threatened to end your life. What I’m trying to figure out right now is whether you want to be a part of my life – this life,” I indicated my very pink and girly self, “or whether you’re still trying to manipulate me back into being ‘your Max.’”

“Do you really think so little of me?”

“Says the person who listened to the advice of both medical and legal professionals about what was best for me and still chose to disregard it.”

“...”

“Says the person who’s been talking to me for, I don’t know how long I’ve been here and still refuses to accept I’m a girl.”

“How have I done that?”

“You keep calling me Max. You say I’m pretending to be a girl. You imply that the reason I’m doing so is so I can go to a girls’ school and have my wicked manly way with all the girls there. You fully expect me to have had a snugglefest with some of the girls and you’re okay with that, yet you’re shocked and outraged that I should be intimate with a cute guy – he really was cute, Mum. You accuse me of being a gay bloke because of that. Do I need to go on?

“You asked about my life and I’ve shared it with you. I haven’t deliberately tried to go over the top with the ‘hey look, I’m a girl now’ thing, but it’s all I've been for the past four and a half years, so I haven’t had much else to talk about and it’s like you have deliberately refused to acknowledge any of it.”

“Max...”

“Abri.”

“You have to understand, this is difficult for me.”

“Me too, Mum, because I can’t go back to the way things were. You have to give me something, some indication that you can adapt to this change in me.”

“Laura.” She said it so quietly I barely heard it. “I would have called you Laura.”

I squeezed her hand. “All my documentation has me named Abrielle Lassiter, but there’s room for a middle name. I could add it if you like, and I don’t mind if you call me Laura.”

“Did you hate us so much that you didn’t even keep your family name?”

“Not hate, Mum. It was kind of a way of marking the start of my new life. Besides, Lassiter is still the family name. Just not his. It makes it easier that my name matches Peter’s, and it is your maiden name too. Maybe there is some distaste in there because I want as little as possible to do with Mike Baxter.”

“I see him in your stubbornness you know?”

“I suppose it’s not so surprising that I should inherit something from him. I can live with stubborn.”

“Laura?”

“Yes Mum?”

“I don’t know. I was just trying it out. Laura Lassiter is a bit...”

“Alliterative?”

She smiled, but with a tinge of sadness. “I never expected you to turn out this bright, you know? That sounds like a dreadful thing to say about your own child, doesn’t it, but you learn to be pragmatic about your children, and Max always seemed a little...”

“Preoccupied?”

“I don’t know if that’s quite the word I was looking for, but it’s close enough. The Max I remember never had that sort of vocabulary, or even the potential for it.”

“Which is what I’ve been trying to tell you for... gaah! Is it enough for you to believe that I’m better off like this?”

“I don’t know. I always believed doing this sort of thing was wrong.”

“Because that’s what your dad always said. Most likely what your husband said too.”

“It was one of the reasons I agreed to marry him. You know, we both believed in the same sort of thing?”

“I wonder if you did though. I mean I get that you agreed with granddad. It’s kind of built into us girls to want to please our dads, isn’t it?”

“How do you see that working for you? I mean after the way you've been talking about your father?”

“Well, like I say, he’s only my father in a biological sense, and he never saw me as his daughter, so it doesn’t apply at all. Peter’s the one I really think of as my dad and I know he sees me as his little girl, so it definitely works with him. Sort of the same with Paul, but to a lesser extend because he’s a lot more feminine.”

“He was the one who picked a fight with your... with Mike just now.”

“Yes, but only a verbal fight and only because he felt safe with Peter there.”

“He would have made an impressive woman, wouldn’t he?”

“Yes, but he also makes an impressive gay man, as long as you're okay with that sort of thing.”

“You know, the more I listen to you, the more I begin to wonder.”

“That’s all I’m hoping for.”

“Well, don’t expect it to happen all at once.”

“Hardly, Mum. Just as long as it happens. As long as you’re committed to the journey I’ll be by your side.”

“What about your dad?”

“You mean Mike? I don’t see him changing, or granddad. I’d offer them the same as I’m offering you, but they’d have to show some sign of being prepared to change.”

“No, you’re right. I don’t see that happening.”

“Which puts you in a situation not so different from mine all those years ago. I mean you don’t have the same need to change the way you are, so you probably won’t necessarily have to get away from them, but you will need to find a way to hold onto any newness in the way you see me. I’m guessing they'll try to change you back to their way of thinking, so you’re going to have to come up with a way of dealing with them.”

“I don’t know how I would do that.”

“Well Mum, I’m afraid that’s for you to figure out, because only you know what consequences you’re prepared to live with.”

“Consequences?”

“Like whether you’re ready and willing to disagree openly on your opinion of me with your husband or your dad, or whether it would be better to keep that sort of thing hidden from them. How you deal with their finding out is another matter. Whether it would be better for you to capitulate with them or to escape from them.”

“Do you think it might come to that?”

“I don’t know, Mum. It took me a lot of heartache and soul searching before I decided to distance myself from you and... him. Less so with him, but...”

“I really did mess this up, didn’t I?”

“You were in an impossible situation, Mum, the same as me. When you’re in the middle of a mess like that, just finding a way out is an achievement.

“The nurses have been giving us looks for the past few minutes, and I have been here quite a while. I think I should let you have some rest.”

“Well, you’ve given me a lot to think about. Will you visit me again?”

“Of course, though I don’t know how long they’ll keep you here. I’ll leave my mobile number with the nurse’s station. You let me know when and where and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you Laura.”

“Thank you too, Mum.” I leaned in to give her a kiss on the cheek, then left her touching the spot with a vaguely surprised expression on her face.