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I meandered through the aisles of one of our local shopping malls looking for inspiration for Christmas gifts a couple of weeks before the big day. But the hole in my heart from my wife’s passing two years earlier hadn’t yet mended and wasn’t going to be patched by buying towels for my daughter-in-law.

My heart just wasn’t in it any more. The generic Christmas Muzak blasting out of the loudspeakers spread through the mall did nothing to lift my spirits.

I gave up on finding anything that would elicit an “Awww! You shouldn’t have!” and headed back to my car. I stopped when I noticed a girl sitting in a corner on one of their hard plastic seats, sobbing her heart out.

Her sandals, short shorts, and a sloppy T-shirt were in disarray -- as was her hair. A faint odor suggested the lack of a recent shower. The white-knuckle death grip she had on the sports bag at her knees indicated it might be her only worldly possession. She oozed desperation.

Normally, I wouldn’t have interfered or intervened in the plight of a teenage girl sitting in a mall. I’m not one of those people who spend my energy wiping other peoples’ noses. In fact, given my former profession, the exact opposite. Yet, there was something that told me that this wasn’t a normal situation. Maybe I was getting old and sentimental, but sometimes your gut rules your head.

I sat close to her but with some distance between us so that I would not appear threatening.

“You OK, love?”

She took the Kleenex without looking at me, and then blew her red nose. Red eyed but without fear she accosted me. “I’m not a whore, if that’s what you think!”

What? “Of course, you’re not a whore.”

“He thought I was.” She pointed to a man in his early thirties, standing next to the entrances to the toilets looking much like a security guard. “He offered me a fifty for sex. I told him that if he didn’t stop bothering me that I would have my father beat him up. I suppose he thinks you’re my father.”

I’m about twenty years too old for that! Grand-dad maybe.

I quickly sized up the situation and got up. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” I walked over to the oaf and got up close.
“Hi! I’m Reverend Ike,” I lied. I had lots of experience at lying. In a world of liars you have to be the best. “First Church of Calathumpia. I hear you’ve been making unsolicited advances.”

His face turned the color of the mall Santa’s suit and his eyes grew to twice their normal size.

“I. . . ahhh . . ..”

“Don’t worry.” I extended my hand in an after-the-service/pre-counting-the-collection gesture of Christian fellowship. “I know you were only doing your job. You don’t appear to be the kind of total creep that would proposition a little girl. That would take an all-out fuckwit. Please excuse my profanity but sometimes The Lord needs to talk plainly to get His message across.”

“Uhmmm . . ..” If there had been a hole for him to scurry off to, he would have.

“I’ll take it from here. Her parents have sent me to gather our lamb and take her back to their loving arms.”

By that time he had already slunk away.

I returned to the still upset girl, confident the security guard would stay far away from us.

“Now, where were we. Oh yeah -- I just saw you crying and wondered if I could help.”

“Why would you care? Nobody can help me.” Big sniffle.

“What about your family?”

Careful. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.

She shook her head ruefully.

“You sound pretty sure of that.” I said, maybe a bit skeptically.

“No-one can help me." That had the ring of teenage drama, after all. She shrugged, conveying a level of despair only the young can manage.

Just then a family came bounding along the aisle, two little kids over the moon about Christmas, singing along to the carols coming through the PA system. As they passed us my tragic young girl’s eyes squeezed shut in what looked like pain.

“Not a fan of Christmas?” I asked.

“You can shove Christmas.” Eyes still shut.

I’d seen the look on her face a hundred times from my son when he’d go catatonic and refuse to communicate (when he was small; he’ s over that now).

Do I have a choice? Why do I want to help you? What am I getting myself into?

Despite my misgivings, I decided to try to calm her down a bit by distracting her from her own misery.

“I’m not Scrooge, and I don’t get bent out of shape with other people enjoying it, but all this Holly Jolly doesn’t do anything for me either, not anymore. Many years ago, when my son was little, we used to do all those Christmassy things: trees and fairy lights and decorations -- presents under the tree on Christmas morning and a visit from Santa during the night. You do those things when you have a little kid.”

A tiny nod encouraged me to continue.

“Neither my wife nor I were particularly religious, so we didn’t do the midnight masses or the carols. Maybe we should have for the sake of the boy. But we did try to make it into something shared with family. I was an only child, so my seasonal experiences weren’t particularly festive.”

She still seemed to be listening, so I kept talking. “Yeah, I got prezzies and we had a tree but mainly I remember our traditional Christmas lunch, after the Christmas pudding my parents went for an afternoon nap.

They left me to read a book or whatever. Sometimes they gave me a small glass of port, maybe thinking it would make me sleep. I don’t think it ever worked.”

“Your parents gave you alcohol?” Her eyes finally opened and she gave me a skeptical look.

Good! This seems to be working.

“A very small glass and they mixed it with a lot of water.” I smiled at her while I lied.

“Good job they weren’t locked up.” It was the most animated thing she’d said so far.

“Different times.” I gave a shrug of my own, wondering when society had become so puritanical.

I reverted to the main point of the conversation.

“Look, wherever you’ve been it hasn’t been the best place for you. I guess you’ve been sleeping rough. Wouldn’t you feel better if you could freshen up? Do you have anywhere to stay?”

Suspicion flared in her eyes. “I’m fine.”

“I never doubted it, but….do you have a place to stay?”

“What’s it to you? Why do you care?”

Fair question, I guess.

“Look,I’m just trying to help,” I replied, as gently as I could.

She stared at me for a long few seconds before admitting, “I’ve been chucked out of my home and I don’t have anywhere to go.”

How can anyone throw a youngster out of her home, unless she’s done something dreadful. This girl doesn’t appear to be the “dreadful” kind.

“Did you do something that made them think you could no longer live there?”

She winced, as if she had bitten into something vile. “Nothing,” she said. “It’s just who I am.”

“Nothing?” I persisted. I didn’t want to lose her but I had to know.

She shook her head. “You wouldn’t want to know.”

“Try me.”

Two giant tears fell from her eyes.

I handed her another tissue.

“I’m trans,” she whispered. “Do you know what that is?”

Why couldn’t it have been anything else? I don’t need to ask any more questions. I know THAT problem.

For the moment, I dodged her question. “Look, how about I take you to my place; we’ll get you settled down and cleaned up and you can decide what you want to do.”

Her suspicion returned with interest. “So I’m supposed to get into a car with a man whose name I don’t even know and let him take me to his place, which could be anywhere?”

“Point taken. You can call me Mac. Here’s my phone.” I handed it to her. “It’s switched on and you can call anybody you like, including the cops, if you think I’m being nasty or threatening. My place is in South Brisbane so I won’t take you too far from here”

She took the phone and looked at me a little less suspiciously.

“OK, here’s what we’ll do. The car park is two floors down, so we go down in the lift. open it and I stand at the back. You can bolt if you don’t like anything. When we hit the carpark you stand aside and I’ll go to my car. I’ll open a back door and get in the driver’s seat and put on my seat-belt, so you get in the back and I can’t do anything. If that’s OK we go to my place in South Brisbane. Oh, and you can take pictures on the phone if you like.”

She must have agreed because she got up and followed me to the lifts, not saying anything more though. The sound of the canned music faded as we went down.

That went as planned. We got into the car and the trip took about ten minutes, mostly in silence, while I concentrated on driving and what she had just revealed.

What are you getting yourself into?

When we arrived, I stopped the car in the small carpark adjacent to my entrance, about fifteen metres from the front door. I escorted her into the building, a block of units, called the lift from wherever it was, shepherded her inside, pressed for my floor, the eleventh, stood back, and told her, “The door to Number 62 is open. Just go in and wait while I park the car. If you don’t like it, get back in the lift, press one and the green button by the front door. You’re away. I’ll be about two minutes.”

A couple of minutes later, car parked and in the garage, I entered my apartment. She was still there, sitting on the sofa, looking calmer, no longer weeping. She hadn’t run, at least.

“Well, did you have a stickybeak while I was downstairs?”

She actually gave a small smile and nodded. It wouldn’t have taken her long to do that. I have two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a laundry, a living room, kitchen and a balcony with a table and four chairs.

“Can I really stay? Just for a little while?”

“Yes, I won’t throw you out. You can tell me when you’re ready to leave. By the way, what’s your name? And how old are you?”

“Ali, and I’m 16.”

“Short for Alison?” I knew it probably wasn’t, but I wanted to get whatever information she was comfortable giving me, while at the same time I wanted to make it clear that I saw her as a girl. Her main problem was that her parents refused to see that they had a daughter.

“No, Alistair. ” The tone of her voice made her feelings about the name clear.

“Well, if you’re happy with Ali, then Ali it is. If you want to be called something different just let me know. Are you still in school?”

“I just finished a couple of weeks ago. Year ten.”

That was a relief – one less thing to worry about. She looked younger, but the puberty fairy hadn’t hit her hard yet. “What do you want to do now?”

She got a pleading look on her face, as young girls do when they really want something. She could do those puppy-dog eyes.

“Please can I have a shower? I feel so grubby.”

“Yeah, of course. Hang on and I’ll get you some towels and some soap. Use the second bathroom and the second bedroom to change. What’ve you got to wear?”

“I’ve got some undies in my bag, but only these shorts and this top.”

I went and got some towels, a dressing gown and some soap, shampoo and conditioner.

She took them and gave me a sideways look. The soap was Dove. The shampoo and conditioner were scented Palmolive, and the dressing gown was unmistakably feminine. She obviously wanted to ask me about them but I wasn’t ready.

“OK, shower first, talk after.”

She disappeared into the bedroom and then into the bathroom, while I went back onto the balcony and wondered what the hell I was doing. She was going to be curious as to why I had unused feminine toiletries in mint condition and the dressing gown was a dead give-away too. I had some choices. I could lie and say they belonged to my wife. The robe I could certainly explain away as being hers, but soap, shampoo and conditioner don’t last for over two years without being used.

I went and sat on one of the veranda chairs and wondered what to do next.

Confession time? Not yet. I wasn’t quite ready to bare my soul.

Half an hour later she came out of the bathroom, wearing the robe and looking fresh and clean, hair washed and combed. She came and joined me on the patio. Even the way she sat was feminine.

How could anybody not see that she was a girl?

She gave me a very direct look. “Well, now are we going to talk?”

“Yes, but you may not like it. When were you thrown out of your home?”

“Two days ago.”

“So where did you sleep last night?”

“I hid in the toilets in the shopping mall and pulled my legs up so the security guard didn’t see me when he checked. He didn’t look very hard.”

I shook my head. “OK, are your parents here in Brisbane? They need to know you are safe.”

“Yes, they’re here, but they won’t want to know.”

“I think they will, and I should tell them. Do you have their phone number?”

“They’ll only want to hear from their 'son', and I’m not him.”

Silently, I agreed, wondering again how could anybody think she was a boy?

Look, this is my house phone. I can ring them and put you on loudspeaker, so you can just let them know you’re all right, or you can just keep your mouth shut, but we need to let them know or they may get the cops involved. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

“No.”

“So give me the number and I’ll call them.”

She reluctantly gave me a number and I keyed it in. A woman answered, just a “Yes.”

“Hello, your child is with me and she just wants you to know she’s OK.”

“What do you mean, 'she'? I have a son, not a daughter. Is Alistair with you?”

“I don’t want to get into a fight, ma’am. I have a young person who goes by the name of Ali sitting next to me. We just want you to know she’s all right.”

“Let me speak to him. Have you abducted him?”

“No, she’s free to leave at any time. Here, you can talk to your child.”

Ali tried to shoo me away but I pushed the phone into her hands.

“Hello, Mum.”

“Alistair, you come home at once and stop this 'girl' nonsense.”

“No, Mum. You threw me out, remember? I’m not coming back.”

“Tell that man to let you go and come home at once.”

“He’s not stopping me, Mum, but I’m not coming home. I’m safe here, safe from you and Dad.” Ali firmly pressed the “Close” button and looked at me. “What if she rings back?”

“We don’t answer. Any call will go to 'Message.’ Then we can reply or not, as we choose. Even if we accept the message we don’t have to talk to them. We can listen to what they say and ignore it if we want. Anyway, that’s done, wasn’t so bad, was it?”

She didn’t disagree – not verbally, anyway – so I went on. “Now let’s get back to the real business. You don’t have anything to wear, right?”

“Only the undies.”

“All right, tomorrow we go shopping and get you some fresh clothes. Can’t have you looking like a tramp, can we?”

“I thought we were gunna talk about you and why you’re helping me.”

“Plenty of time for that. Are you hungry?”

At the mention of food her stomach gave a loud growl.

“I haven’t had anything since the day before yesterday.”

“Pizza OK?”

“Yes please.”

So I rang Domino’s and they were true to their advertised promise and delivered an extra- large Hawaiian within half an hour. She had seven slices while I just had one to keep her company.

We sat and ate in relative silence. She had a glass of orange juice to wash hers down and I had a much-needed glass of chardonnay.

This good-Samaritan bit takes it out of you.

I’m definitely getting too old for this. I haven’t even got to the confession part of our conversation yet.
Since I wasn’t in any hurry to bare my soul, I took her obvious exhaustion as an excuse to delay further discussion
Unsurprising given the events of the day and her sleeping rough the previous night – as my perfect excuse to procrastinate, as if I needed an excuse!

“Let’s postpone the heavy discussion until tomorrow, eh? We’ll go shopping in the morning and get that out of the way first.”

We made the bed in the spare room and I got her a new toothbrush and toothpaste and told her she could go to bed any time and I’d see her in the morning. She surprised me by giving me a big hug and a “Thank you so much,” in my ear.

Smiling inwardly, I left her to do her ablutions and did the washing-up, not that there was much of that.

So then I did my usual computer things, had a couple more glasses of Chardonnay, watched some TV, showered, went to bed and amazingly had a good night’s sleep. Doing the right thing must be good for the soul.

In the morning I didn’t have to wake her. I probably made enough noise just being my usual solitary self. When you’re on your own you no longer have the civilized manners that you should have, so you grunt, fart and belch unconsciously. My wife would have given me a right bollocking had she still been with me.

We passed like ships in the night, having presumably both done our business. She joined me in the kitchen, wearing last night’s dressing gown.

I had my keeping-me-alive pills, orange juice, coffee, and biscuits. There was enough in the fridge for her to have her share of the OJ, a cup of coffee, a couple of boiled eggs and a slice of toast. The milk and sugar just barely made it.

After breakfast she changed back into her shorts and top. Shopping was a necessity. She couldn’t wear the same old things all the time. Silly of me not to have put them in the washing machine and clothes-dryer last night. They were definitely smelly. I suppose you can’t think of everything.

So here I was, still dithering about how much I was going to tell my unexpected guest about my own situation, but that could stay on the back burner for a while. The first priority was to get her a few decent outfits so that she could feel like a young girl should.

I took her back to the same mall at Indooroopilly where I had discovered her the previous day. It’s the closest major mall even though it’s technically Northside. The way the river wraps around our city makes it easily accessible for me. $500 came from the ATM at the nearest bank, and I gave her $300 and pointed her at Target. I’m still old-fashioned enough to like cash. Credit cards are fine until one of your providers goes down. Then you can’t buy anything, particularly when some shops refuse to take cash.
“Will that be enough? Target’s cheap but they’ve got some reasonably good stuff.”

“Oh yes, dope.” She looked down, unable to believe the amount of money in her hand. “You’ve just given me $300. Aren’t you afraid I’ll run off with it?”

I looked her in the eye and saw nothing but honesty there. “You could, but I hope you won’t, and I don’t think you will. I’ll meet you back here in an hour. I’m going to Coles to get some groceries.”

So we parted company and I did wonder if I’d see her again. If she wanted to do a runner now was her chance. It was her choice.

For once I didn’t mind shopping at the supermarket. One of my constant gripes was that they didn’t cater for single people. I know I’m a grumpy old bugger, but it annoyed me to have to throw away unconsumed items because they were too far past their “use by” date. Today I was buying for two and it was almost a pleasure. I hoped she would be there to use it. I bought things I hadn’t had for years, Weetbix, Vegemite, ice cream (!), more milk, more meat, more veggies, replenished the eggs, orange juice and sugar. Even when my wife was still alive she had the appetite of a sparrow for her last few years.

Anyway, shopping done, I walked back to our designated meeting place and, lo and behold, she was already there with half a dozen bags surrounding her. I really was happy to see her, a silent sigh of relief passing my lips.

She tried to offer me about thirty dollars and change.

I almost laughed but restrained myself; I was actually impressed that she hadn’t spent everything I gave her and she offered money back. “Keep it for MacDonalds or something,” I told her. “Did you get everything you need?”

“Oh, yes. They do have some nice stuff.”

I know that. I’ve bought quite a bit there myself. Tell me something I don’t know, girl.

“All right, let’s go home then.”

So that’s what we did. This time we both put our bags on the back seat and she sat with me in front, an obvious sign of trust.

Bugger, I can get used to this very easily.

When we got home she couldn’t wait to show me what she had bought, mostly skirts and tops, some more underwear, a couple of pairs of shorts, some trainers, and a pair of sandals with a kitten heel, all suitable for a teenager. She gave me a private fashion show. She looked lovely in her new outfits and she was just so delighted in having them. I patted myself on the back, money well spent. I wanted to hug her, but I was afraid of getting too familiar.

I have to admit I was a little jealous. I couldn’t help but remember that I had spent my eighteenth and nineteenth birthdays in similar gear, or its forty-plus-years-ago equivalent. Mary Quant, I loved your styles. Miniskirts were us!

I knew the time would come when I could procrastinate no longer. There were clothes in the wardrobe in the second bedroom that could only belong to a woman and women and girls are all curious. I know that because I’m one of them.

Inevitably the question came. “Mac, who are you really?”

Confession time! I knew I had to be honest with her. Shit or get off the pot.

No point in subterfuge anymore. I went and got my computer and called up the fifty-odd pics of me that I liked, the ones that my make-over lady had taken of me properly dressed and made up.

“Ali, have a look at these and you will see why I had to help you yesterday.”

We sat at the table in my living room and she became the first person to see the real me (other than myself and Arpi, my make-over lady) in about forty-five years, or the first who I had let in to my secret. I found myself wishing I hadn’t burnt all the pics from my teenage years in fear of being discovered,but those were the years of paranoia. The nineteen-sixties and seventies were not kind to girls like me.

We sat together and scrolled through my collection. I’m quite proud of them. They say cross-dressing takes ten years off your age and I reckon at least that. But I hate the term “cross-dressing.” I know when I’m dressed right.

Ali took her time viewing my collection and then turned to me with tears in her eyes “Why aren’t you living like this? You’re beautiful. And your name isn’t really Mac, is it?”

Shot down in flames at the first pass.

“Thank you, dear, but I’m well over sixty, so hardly beautiful. Maybe once, many years ago, when I was just a little over your age, but times were different then, much harder. I got scared and went back to being a male, got married, so I had a wife, had a job, had a son, friends even. I couldn’t risk it all to indulge myself. My real name is Joanne. I’ve known that since I was about eleven.”

“But you’re on your own. You could dress how you like.”

“It’s not that simple. I’ve still got a family who don’t know about me. I don’t know how they would react, and don’t want to risk being cut-off from my grandchildren. Yes, I know. I’m a coward.”

I looked at her, trying to gauge her reaction but I couldn’t. Whatever.

She would make up her own mind. Nothing I could do. “Anyway, do you still want to stay with me? You’re welcome, you know?”

“How can I? You’ve spent a ton of money on me already. How can I repay you?”

“We’ll worry about that later. I’ve not got a lot to spend my money on other than basic living expenses, plus Christmas and birthday prezzies for my family and you can help me out there. I’m a bit out of practice in choosing gifts. We have to do some more shopping and I need things for my daughter-in-law and my grandkids. My son’s easy; a good bottle of wine will be all right for him. As for you, you’ll need a computer and a phone. That will be my Christmas present to you.”

“You can’t do that. It’s too much.”

“I can and I will. Let someone spoil you for a change. It’s pretty obvious your family didn’t.”

That’s when I had an idea. “Listen, I bet nobody’s ever given you any real help in being a girl. How about I see if Arpi can fit us in for a session in the next few days?”

“Who’s Arpi?”

“She’s the one who took the photos.”

“What, your make-over lady?”

“Yep, she’s down on the Gold Coast. It’s only an hour’s drive. What do you say?”

“Awesome! I’d love to. What can she do for me?”

“She can make you look gorgeous and show you how to use make-up properly. Let me give her a ring.”

I called Arpi and explained the situation. I asked for a double appointment for me and Ali, the works, a holiday special. She thought it was a great idea and we booked a session for two days later. We’d have to get there by 10.30 and we could have four hours.
Arpi is a specialist in makeovers, make-up and clothing. She actually attended University in Perth and graduated in Beauty Management and Theatrical Cosmetics. She was lucky that her mother recognised that she was transgendered at an early age. She had told me that she could remember wearing dresses at age five. I reckoned she was a miracle worker for what she could do for me.

“Well, I think Ali will be a treat for you,” I told her. “For a change you won’t have to put the make-up on with a trowel.”

She laughed. “You’re not that bloody difficult, Joanne. We’ll make your girl into a star, I promise. Clothes for two as well? See you Thursday.”

All arranged. I knew she would get something age-appropriate for Ali and she already knew what I liked. Her rates were very reasonable, but I usually restricted myself to one visit a month. I was running out of wardrobe space.

So I told my Ali. When did I start thinking of her as MY Ali?

Nobody could have been more excited. A little bit of TLC goes a long way.

“OK, more shopping, and do you like Chinese? We’ll have lunch at Yum Cha. They do authentic Hong Kong and Shanghai.”

“Oh yes! Do they have sweet and sour pork?”

A Westerner’s view of Chinese food!

The couple who owned the place knew me and I would give them the wink to serve us something appropriate and not too ethnic or westernized.

So the next day we went back to our favourite mall and Ali was a great help with the shopping. She picked out some lovely scarves for Kylie, my daughter-in-law, a pair of top-range Nikes for Dixie, my granddaughter, and my grandson Max got a couple of books in the Game Of Thrones (A Song Of Ice And Fire) series. He would enhance his street-cred by reading the dirty bits to his classmates. We got her the promised computer and phone, absolute essentials for teenagers in the modern world. She couldn’t stop gushing.

What did we do before we had mobile phones?

Lunch at Yum Cha and my Hong Kong friends did us proud. I introduced Ali as my niece and they fawned over her, asking what she liked and she loved both the food and the attention. There were a couple of raised eyebrows at “niece” because “uncle” and niece have some less-than-savoury connotations in Hong Kong, but I told them she was actually a grand-niece on my wife’s side of the family. That fixed that.

Of course, food was the main focus, as it is in any Chinese setting, and they made suggestions which were all good. I’m a total sucker for sha lung bao (shanghai dumplings).

“How come you know this restaurant and these people, Joanne? The food was Gucci. I want to be able to cook like that one day.”

“Shush, Ali! Today I’m still Mac. Wait until tomorrow when we go to see Arpi. Then you can call me Joanne.”

Keeping my voice low, I gave her a bit more of my story. “I did start to tell you a bit about me but we didn’t get into detail. After I got married I got jobs all over. I had a couple of years in the Snowy Mountains, five years in Papua New Guinea and a spell in Fiji. I came back to Australia and did another few years in Western Queensland, a bit down near Canberra and then a few more in Mackay in Central Queensland, always following the work and the money.”

“The big break came when I was offered a job in Hong Kong, and I spent twenty years there. That’s how I know these people and why I eat Chinese food. You do like it, don’t you?”

“Yes, it’s awesome, really sick. But what did your wife do?”

“She came with me everywhere, until she got cancer six years ago. Then we came back to Brisbane and I gave up work to look after her. She died a little over two years ago.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s OK, I didn’t tell you much. It’s not something you talk about over lunch.”

She proved her femininity to me, as if it needed it, by reaching across the table and grasping my hand. Only a woman would do that.

That sort of put a damper on the conversation for a few seconds, but I revived it by saying that we should go and get some chocolates, too. So I paid the bill, thanked our hosts for a lovely lunch, and left with a promise that we would return soon. My Cantonese is lousy but I know how to say thank you properly and they indulge my linguistic inadequacies, pleased to have a gweilo make the effort.

So away we went to Woollies. Everybody likes chocolates, don’t they? And they’re easy to gift-wrap. Such a feminine thing, gift-wrapping.

We returned home, at least to MY home, but I was beginning to think of it as OUR home. She was a wonderful addition to my solitude, which I guess I hadn’t appreciated until she came into my life. My son and his wife came to see me maybe once a month, and called me probably once a week, but I knew they had lives of their own to lead, so I didn’t begrudge them. They had kids of their own to look after and jobs to go to. Inevitably, Granddad came second.

That evening I cooked lamb chops with green beans, peas and boiled spuds, not forgetting the mint sauce even though that came straight out of a bottle. She didn’t complain and her plate was clean when we finished except for the bones so maybe I could still cook the basics. I hadn’t forgotten everything. Dessert was just ice-cream, for her, not for me. I used to be able to pack it away when I was her age, but not anymore.

The lass told me she could cook too and she would be happy to show me.

“That’ll be nice. I can only do basics, so you’re welcome to spell me any time.” I resolved to question her further. Maybe I would end up eating decent meals. I guessed that's when I crossed my personal Rubicon. I was thinking of her being with me permanently.

We watched the news on TV and some programme afterwards, which sent me to sleep. She kissed me while I was slumped on the sofa and told me she was going to bed. It felt so nice and normal.

I realized that I had unconsciously been missing human contact. Living on your own is OK but can get old pretty quickly. She was bringing a dose of companionship into my life.

Once again I had a couple of glasses of Chardonnay and played with Big Closet on my computer. That’s how I kept in touch with my friends in the TG community. When I thought about it I had more friends on line than I had in real life and more in common with them. I didn’t have to explain to them who I really was. While I may never have actually met most of them I knew them better than nearly all of the flesh-and-blood characters who I interacted with these days. It didn’t matter that they lived in New Jersey, New Hampshire, Minneapolis, Reno, California or England, they were my friends.

The next morning we were both up quite early. Ali was bouncing up and down with anticipation of our visit to Arpi. A new experience for her and she would get her first real attention as a girl.

Now, I kept my body relatively hairless. Nair is a wonderful product, so I didn’t need to shave anything other than my face, which got special attention when I was going for a make-over. As I got older it was getting harder and harder to get to the bottom of all the nooks and crannies.

My legs, chest and arms were OK but I always wore black stockings, not because my legs were hairy but because varicose veins didn’t enhance the look. I only wore modest heels too, things that I could slip on and off easily and didn’t bother me when I was driving.

Normal long pants and a simple polo shirt meant I didn’t attract any attention when I left home, in case we encountered any of my neighbours going to my car. My bra was inconspicuous under the shirt.

However, it was Ali’s first time so I gave her some tips on what to wear. She had bought some more shorts the other day. They were fine. Naturally she had a bra, which hardly showed under a simple top. She was presenting as a girl anyway so nobody was likely to comment. She didn’t need stockings as her legs were hairless and, in any case, Arpi would produce some nice things for her to wear later on. She had a pair of sandals with about 4 cm heels to wear on the trip down so she was kitted out pretty well. She didn’t have any make-up but she hardly needed any. Her hair was long enough not to cause any comments and I knew Arpi would have some recommendations for that.

So, at about 9.30 we set off for Surfers Paradise. We didn’t encounter any of my neighbours on the way and traffic out of the city at that time of day was always relatively light on a weekday.

We didn’t travel in silence because I decided to pump her for a few more details about herself.

“OK, I’ve come clean about me; now it’s your turn. When did you know you were trans? Where did you go to school? What are your parents like?"

“I went to Indooroopilly State High until a few weeks ago. I’ve got an older sister, she’s 21 and she lives in Canberra now, works for one of the big accountants. I used to borrow her clothes from when I was about eleven, but I knew I wasn’t like other boys from about age eight. Eleven was when I got big enough for most of her stuff to sorta fit. She knows about me and she doesn’t mind. She let me wear some of her clothes until she left home a couple of years ago.”

“But your parents didn’t know? What about the kids at school?”

“I was never strong enough to tell my parents,” She giggled. “I’m a bit like you!”

Ouch!

“The kids at school were mostly cool with me, thought I was a bit weird but being trans is not such a big thing these days. There was a bit of bullying but nothing I couldn’t put up with. Then a few days before I met you my parents caught me dressed in one of my sister’s outfits that she had left behind and went ballistic. We had an enormous row and they told me to be a man or get out of the house. The rest you know.”

A potted history. I could wait for more details. There was some innocuous chit-chat between us afterwards but nothing serious. A bit of sight-seeing on the way to the coast, the Hyperdome at Loganholme, Dreamworld at Coomera and Movieworld close to Helensvale. They all seem to have grown every time you pass them. We hit the Coast proper at Southport and drove along the Broadwater to Surfers Paradise.

We pulled into Arpi’s salon less than an hour later. She operates from an apartment on The Isle of Capri which looks innocuous on the outside and is fabulous on the inside. I’ve never asked her but I think she owns the whole block of four units.
She greeted me with her usual flamboyance. She is, after all, Hungarian Australian, so a little show-woman-ship goes without saying. She can be overwhelming, and I think she scared Ali, practically dragging her up the stairs almost before I had stopped the car.

Ali looked at me in sudden fright.

After I parked the car I rushed up the stairs as fast as I could and entered the salon. Ali was a little calmer now, having realised that she would come to no harm. Arpi was still buzzing with delight. I had never seen her like this.

But then I’d never seen her with a sixteen-year-old to practice on. Most of her clients were middle-aged or older, like me.

While she didn’t tattle I knew that she had customers who were miners from Central Queensland and at least one client from Darwin and more than a couple from New South Wales. There were lots more locals, Gold Coasters and Brisbanites of course. They came from all over to have her practice her skills on the crossdressers, the transvestites and the transgendered.

Quite a few of them posted their “after” pics on Facebook or other outlets as testimonials to her skills in transformations. I’d even done it myself. Nobody was going to recognize me en femme and my identity was well concealed by an alias.

When she had got her effervescent Hungarian soul under control she installed Ali and me on the sofa.

“Now this is how I think we should work today. I think it’s fair to assume that Ali has little or no skill in make-up so what I propose is that I work on you first, Joanne, and I explain everything I’m doing to her to you, Ali. You watch and learn. How does that sound?”

“You’re the wizard, Arpi, sounds fine to me.” That was me.

Ali gulped.

“Then I work on you, Ali. I will show you how to make yourself beautiful.” She laughed. “So easy! You are already lovely. We will list everything I use, so you can buy all the cosmetics and brushes, etcetera, and know you have the right things. Also I think we’ll stick with a wig today. Next time I’ll organize an appointment with a friend of mine and get your hair done, maybe even extensions. We’ll see.”

I looked at my girl. “You OK with all that, Ali?” I wanted her to be relaxed, this was meant to be something good for her, not a nightmare. I squeezed her hand to give her some comfort.

She just smiled and nodded, dumbstruck or awestruck; I couldn’t guess which. It was probably more than a little overwhelming.

“Now,” said Arpi, “let’s get you out of that awful drab, Joanne, so I can get to work on you.”

I obediently went into her changing cum wardrobe room, stripped and put on a dressing gown. I knew what to do. This wasn’t my first rodeo.

Now clad in just a dressing gown and underwear I sat down on the high stool she used for transformations and make-up application and submitted to her wizardry. The only difference today was that she gave Ali a running commentary as to what she was doing, every powder and pad that she applied to my face, every brushstroke, every colour, every tint. She was a teacher with a student and I knew that her student was hanging on her every word.

Ali watched every move. I paid close attention to her, hoping that she was enjoying my transformation; I certainly was.
I could tell that she was mesmerized by the whole process. The only time I couldn’t pay too much attention was when Arpi was doing my eyes and my brows. I always think that that is the most transforming thing between a male face and a female face, other than the lips. A lot of care goes into the colouring and outline of that area around the eyes and the final touches are the application of feminine eyelashes and the wig, but maybe I’m lucky because I don’t have those aggressively male features.

I had brought my favourite wig with me, one that’s not too long, greyish-blonde and easily brushed into a style suitable for a woman of my age. I always feel when that’s complete and the lipstick has been applied, my maleness slips away and, like magic, I feel female through and through. It’s my greatest delight and my greatest downer is when I have to revert to my male persona.

Arpi gave my wig a few measured brushstrokes before sharing a smile with Ali at my transformation. “Just sit there for a couple of minutes, my dear, while I make sure that Joanne likes what I’ve chosen for her to wear and then it’s your turn. Just take off that top. I’ll get you a peignoir to wear while I transform you.”

She took me back into her wardrobe room and produced a light skirt in a lilac shade that fell to about knee level, with just a slight flare, and a paisley top with three-quarter sleeves and a high neckline. It was a lovely combo. The black shoes that I had worn coming went well with it. Arpi also presented me with a new set of earrings, a little dangly but not too much so. I do love earrings. There’s something almost erotic feeling them brush my neck when they’re just that bit below my earlobes.

“I think you might have to do some shopping when we’re finished, so I chose something smart but not TOO eye-catching. What do you think?”

“As usual, Arpi, your taste is fantastic.”

“Of course! I am Arpi! Now you get dressed while I look after the lovely creature outside. Come out when you’re ready.” And with a swish of her gown she was gone. I changed into what she had chosen for me and admired myself in the many mirrors lining the walls of the room.

The outfit she had picked for me bordered on dressy, and smart. It would attract a few looks from other female shoppers but was not over-the -top. It was something that a well-dressed granny would wear while out with her granddaughter. I would be classed as mutton dressed as lamb, by those with a snarky disposition, which would be acceptable for a woman of my apparent age.

I heard her soothing Ali in the next room and whatever she said had a positive result. By the time I rejoined them she was already hard at work with my protégé. Ali was eating it up as every step was explained to her and every brushstroke was applied. Arpi certainly gave her a tutorial in the art of make-up.

She was right in that a sixteen-year-old with nice smooth skin was so much easier to educate than a raddled old queen like me. There was no way that I could do a good job on myself after years of lack of practice. That’s why I came to her. She could make me look like a reasonable facsimile of a middle-aged woman, at least enough so that I could walk around in public without having other women stare at me, nudge each other and burst out laughing or sniggering behind their hands.

Ali, on the other hand, was a beautician's dream. She really didn’t need any heavy application of cosmetics, a little highlighting here and there, on her cheeks, eyebrows trimmed and shaped, some colour around the eyes, and some liner for emphasis, eyelashes mascaraed, a coating of lipstick and a shoulder-length blonde wig and there was no more Alistair to be seen, if ever there had been.

She turned Ali towards the mirror. “Well, my dear, I promised you that you would be beautiful. Have I not succeeded?”

Ali look stunned. After a moment she started to tear up, but Arpi slapped her lightly on the back of her hand.

“Don’t you dare cry. It is not allowed to ruin my artistry. You are easy to work on, but I’m not going to do it twice today.”

Ali’s almost grimace turned into a wide smile and she started to preen, as would any duckling who has just been turned into a swan.

“Oh, thank you, Arpi. I just hope I can remember everything you have shown me.”

“You have my phone number, dahlink. You may call me any time and I will answer your questions. The next time I see you I want you to arrive looking lovely. For today, I will just give you some new clothes, because I expect you are going shopping, and you already look just right for that.”

I had to suppress a giggle at her lapse into a Hungarian accent. She only did that very occasionally when she was excited or happy, or both.

“So now I have two lovely ladies ready to leave me. I think you should go and get the essentials for my beautiful young girl. I promised a list of all the things I used and here it is.” She produced a sheet of paper with a flourish, printed from her computer. “If you are going to Pacific Fair I recommend Priceline on the ground floor. They’re much cheaper than a lot of the fancy shops and they have a very wide range of products. I’m sure you’ll be able to get everything you need there. Tell them Arpi sent you!”

With a build-up like that how could we refuse? We gave air-kisses all round and then went downstairs to my car. I had my drab clothes in a bag and Ali had another bag that contained what Arpi reckoned she should wear next time. I had taken the precaution when we left home to stow a couple of handbags in the car, assuming that we would need them when we were finished.

As we left I made us another appointment for January 4th, assuming that Ali would still be with me. I was nearly certain that she would be.

Pacific Fair is an enormous shopping mall at Broadbeach, about a ten to fifteen minute drive south down the coast from Arpi’s salon. Having Ali with me gave me more confidence than I might normally have had. I should have been her anchor but she was just as much mine. I loved my appointments with Arpi but I enjoyed this one so much more with my young companion.

When I looked at her I could feel tears start to well. She was a lovely young girl and I was so glad that I had had the brainwave to introduce her to Arpi. Sitting there next to me she really made me feel maternal. I was starting to realise that she was the daughter we never had. My wife had a very hard time carrying my son, almost having a miscarriage at one stage.

Fortunately, that didn’t eventuate. He was born a month prematurely and everything turned out all right. But something went haywire in my wife’s reproductive system and she was unable to conceive again.

I broke my introspection by aiming a slightly facetious question at Ali.

“Well, dahlink, are you happy?”

We both giggled like mad. Funny, I only giggle when I’m in girl mode.

“It’s awesome, Joanne. I can’t remember ever feeling this good. I can look at myself and know it’s really me. I’m how I was meant to be.”

If we hadn’t been sitting in the car with seatbelts on she would have been floating a metre off the ground.

“You look Gucci too, sooo good! I told you you were beautiful and it’s true.”

I'm going to have to learn teenspeak.

There is a lot of parking space at Pacific Fair, and on a Thursday afternoon we had no trouble finding a slot close to where I knew Priceline was. They are a nation-wide discount pharmacy chain and do have just about everything in the way of cosmetics, toiletries and appurtenances that a woman could need. They also have very helpful salesladies who will assist you to navigate your way around the shelves and aisles.

Before we entered the lion’s den I took a detour to an ATM and extracted $1000. I wanted no hiccups with questions about the name on my credit card. I would really have to fix that one day soon and get the male name changed to neutral initials.
One of those helpful salesladies pounced on us when we were only a few metres inside the store. “How can I help you ladies, today?”

Normally I would have waved her away, but this time I practised my best female voice (maybe passable, maybe not) and gave her the list. If I passed she didn’t blink, and if I didn’t she didn’t blink either.

The dollar signs illuminated her eyes. Sale! Sale! Sale! She scanned the extensive list, looked at Ali, and smiled. “Most of this is for you, isn’t it, dear?”

Ali smiled shyly and nodded.

“You’ll need a basket.” The saleslady grabbed one of the supermarket style plastic baskets. “Come with me and we’ll get started.”
So we trooped up and down the aisles, picking up an item here and an item there. Inevitably I saw bits and pieces that I needed that weren’t on the list, some nail polish in an attractive fuchsia shade and some acetone to remove it; items totally unrelated, like vitamins that were running low at home, a particular brand of hairspray, shampoo and conditioner that weren’t carried by every store.
We filled every item that Arpi had listed for Ali. Finally, after more than half an hour we arrived at the check-out to pay.

Before our ecstatic saleslady could start totaling up our spoils I played the Arpi card. “Arpi told us to mention her name when we came here. I guess she’s a good customer.”

Our helpful saleslady did a double-take and gave us both a once-over, eyes wide. “You’re clients of hers? I never would have guessed. Yes, she sends a lot of business our way and you get a 10% discount on your purchases.” She shook her head. “She really is good, isn’t she?”

I assumed she was talking about our transformations and gave her a smile in return. That made me feel so good. Ali was easy. She was a natural girl but working on me was like turning a Picasso into the Mona Lisa (well almost, you know what I mean).
“You made it a pleasure, my dear, and I’m sure we’ll come here again next time we’re on the coast.”
So she rang up our purchases and I ended up handing over nearly $600, even with the discount! Not bad for a quick foray into beauty products. It’s not cheap being a girl.

“Do you want to do any more?” I asked Ali.

“No, I think that’s enough. Let’s go home.”

That was the right answer as far as I was concerned. I figured with a bit of luck we could be home by 4:15, since rush-hour traffic peaked at about 4.30 to 5.00. I was always careful driving home en femme. Getting stopped by the cops dressed as a woman was not something I wanted to experience.

As it happened our journey was uneventful. Of course, we both spoke about our day. How could we not?

Ali was still bubbling away and I couldn’t blame her. Every minute she was admiring herself in the small mirror on the sun shade just on top of the windscreen.

“Awesome, isn’t she?’

I laughed. “No more boy for Ali, eh? Now, if we’re going to keep calling you Ali it’s definitely not short for Alistair. You could be Alison Alice or Alicia, Alana or something totally different, but we’ve got to be able to introduce you as a girl. Maybe you want to be Abigail?”

It was her turn to laugh. “I’m used to Ali. I actually like Alicia. Then you can still call me Ali. Yes, I want to be Alicia. I like the sound.”

“No more Alistair, right? I’ve never seen an Alistair in you. As far as I’m concerned you were always a girl and looking at you right now you always will be.”

Then I changed the subject before my eyes blurred up. It’s not good when you’re driving at 100 kilometres an hour.

“Yesterday you said you liked cooking, how is that?”

“I did three years Home Ec at school. It was mostly cookery, although I did learn to sew, too.” She giggled. “I never told mum and dad about that! Anyway, I really liked the cooking part and I think I’m quite good. I wouldn’t mind carrying on with it, maybe even becoming a chef. That would be dope.”

“What made you go for Home Economics?”

“Well, I wasn’t any good at sports and the school let you do it as an alternative to gym, and there was one girl I fancied who was doing it too. Actually all the other girls were nice to me as well. I was the only ‘boy’ in the class. Then, when I got into the swing I found that I liked cooking.”

“OK. I nominate you as chief cook in our place. That way you can contribute to your upkeep.”

“I’d like that, yessir.”

When we came to Yatala I couldn’t resist turning into the Pie Shop. Their pies are famous and justifiably so. I hadn’t had any for ages and they would provide us with a couple of meals over the holidays. We had no trouble at the Drive-Through, the young lass serving us calling us ‘darl’s’.

When I thought about it there were lots of things I hadn’t done for ages. Until the last few days there was only existence, very little actual life.

After that we lapsed into a comfortable silence for a while as we approached the outskirts of Brisbane and took the turnoff to Southbank and home, broken only by her constant bouts with the mirror and smug pouts and puckers. I didn’t have to offload her while I parked the car this time. We both got out and went to the lift lobby with all our bags to ascend to our floor. Now, you can say that at least nine times out of ten we never see anyone else in the lift, but, of course, there we were, two women, or one woman and a girl, and when the elevator stopped who should be in it but one of my next-door neighbours?

He wasn’t someone I was exactly friends with as Mac, more a nodding acquaintance, but we were on civil terms. We probably encountered each other no more than once a month, always in the elevator or the lobby, with a “Hello, how’s it going?”

This could be embarrassing, I thought, but I smiled at him as I pressed for our mutual floor. There was no undue reaction, like a jaw hitting the floor, just a friendly smile in return.

“Good evening,” said Craig. “Are you visiting John?”

Inquisitive bastard. It could have been my neighbour on the other side.

“Yes.” I said, smiling but being as economical with my words as I could without seeming rude.

“Nice guy, good neighbour.” That meant that we didn’t get on each other’s nerves.

Thankfully, we arrived at our floor, which curtailed the conversation. He stood back and let us ladies exit first, holding the “Open” button. I smiled at him again and we took the couple of steps to our front door while he went the opposite way to his. It was just a turn of the doorhandle to open ours. I don’t lock my front door unless I’m going away for an extended time. Our building security is good enough for me. You need a special key to get inside the front door of the building or enter from the carpark and another key to operate the elevator, so I see no need to add a further barrier at my apartment door.

I can’t even go to the rubbish chute without taking an extra key to get back in.

Safely inside, I relaxed. I had survived a trip to The Gold Coast, including a shopping expedition without setting off any alarms. My neighbour Craig was either totally unaware of who I was or was a bloody marvellous actor. The saleslady at Priceline had clearly been taken aback when we revealed that we were Arpi’s clients. I couldn’t have asked for a more confidence-building excursion.
I kicked off my shoes, went to the fridge and got myself a celebratory glass of Chardonnay. I reckoned I had earned it.

Ali, with the exuberance of youth, had begun whipping in and out of her bedroom to show me the outfits that Arpi had selected for her. Naturally, they were all very nice, but teenagers can be exhausting sometimes. I was happy to lie back on the sofa, sip my drink, and make approving noises at each freshly demonstrated combination.

The thought about the daughter we never had surfaced again.

My wife and I had both wanted more children, even after she was unable to bear any more. We tried to adopt but that got tangled up with religious societies, questions about church attendance and hostile home inspections. All of the Adoption Agencies seemed to be affiliated with some kind of religion. After a couple of years we gave it away.

It seemed that they were not that interested in finding homes for children without parents unless the prospective parents fitted into their religious communities. All we could promise was a good home with love in it.

However, I could never forget the look of sheer joy on my wife’s face when she heard she had a granddaughter. She loved both Max and Dixie but there was a special bond between her and Dixie. I shared that bond, even though nobody ever realised it because they never knew that I was a woman too.

Our evening passed happily and contentedly with both of us still en femme. I had intended to cook but we jointly decided to go to a nearby restaurant which did everything from a nice steak to an Asian salad so satisfied most tastes. We didn’t encounter any more neighbours while exiting and re-entering the building.

I suspected that Ali was still trying out her new persona but I didn’t mind because I guess I was kind of reveling in my make-over, too. We got served and ate without drama, the food was better than I could have done without being memorable. The best part was having somebody to share it with, like a sprinkling of fairy dust adding a soupcon of flavour. The waitress politely addressed us as Ms. and Miss and we returned home to clean off our faces and reluctantly undress and go to bed. I got a goodnight kiss and a cuddle, the end to a perfect day.

Tomorrow I would let Ali loose in our kitchen to demonstrate her expertise.

The next morning I was preparing breakfast, still pottering around in a dressing-gown when the intercom at the entrance downstairs buzzed. I turned on the video to ask who it was and saw a uniformed figure.

“Yes, who is it?”

“It’s the police. May we come in?”
******************************

************

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. Eleventh floor.”
Knowing it would take them a couple of minutes to get to my front door, 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.

After making them wait a little I opened the door to find two rather young officers waiting, one male, one female. Their youth reinforced my belief 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?” This from the male PC. He seemed non-confrontational.

“Of course, but you can ask her yourself.” Raising my voice, I yelled, “Ali, 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?” Interesting. The guy took the lead with me, but the WPC is tasked with talking to Ali.

“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 perspective in this matter.

“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 people that don’t want me – that hate 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 when we came back from our shopping trip two days ago so that she could come and go anytime. 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.”

She still looked weepy and uncertain, and “normal” is the best cure for that.

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

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

So she scrambled some eggs, raiding the pantry for spices that had been lying in there for ages. I was engaged 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.

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, since boys generally wouldn’t take it.

“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 ran some searches online concerning the rights of sixteen-year-olds and quickly found official sites with solid information. 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 don’t 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’s 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 I’d reached out to my lawyer and explained that it might be a way to give her an extra layer of protection. Then I said, “What do you think? It’s a quick trip into the City, and Lisa’s not bad as lawyers go.”

“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, though.” I made sure I had both of her eyeballs before continuing. “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 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? Both sides of me – male and female – had loved my wife fiercely. 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.

This sixteen-year-old girl was bullying me!

Who would have thought I’d like it?

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

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

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

I know it’s supposed to be a no-no, but I drank chardonnay with my meal (James Bond would have a fit!) while she just had water.

The ice cream took a hammering too -- from her, not from me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I won’t need all this.”

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

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

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

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

“I thought you didn’t like Christmas.”

“I will if I’m spending it with you.” She suddenly looked panic-stricken. “I can spend it with you, can’t I?”
I couldn’t blame her for feeling insecure. My immediate reaction was to reassure her.“Of course you can. We have to eat all this, don’t we? I can’t do that without you. Besides, I like your company and you’ll make me happy if you stay.” That was an understatement if ever there was one. I gave her a hug to comfort her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve lived everywhere, Joanne!”

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

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

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

Ali oohed and aahed at the Nepalese Pagoda.

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

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

“When was that?”

Sic transit gloria!

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

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

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

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

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

We sat outside in the shady beer garden and the pleasant warmth sipping our drinks and
Ali perused their menu. “Looks interesting. Have you eaten here before?”

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

“Is the food any good?”

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

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

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

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

We finished our drinks and headed for home.

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

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

There’s no respect for age these days.

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

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

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

I thought I needed to come down off the high that I had been on for quite a few of the preceding days. It was lovely to have Ali’s companionship, but I thought I should be careful not to get carried away.

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

After breakfast I told her I had to catch up on some of my computer work and asked what she wanted to do. She said she’d go for a walk, and I watched her go downriver from the balcony this time. There was not so much in that direction under the cliffs. It just ended up in a park near the Story Bridge, pleasant enough but all you could do was turn around and come back. Something kept niggling at me, that feeling in your gut, not exactly a sixth sense, but that things are going too well and a wheel is about to fall off… that there’s a problem in the offing and I was distracted, unable to concentrate.

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

My relief didn’t last. A man sped out from behind one of the abutments and grabbed her arm. She was obviously not happy. It wasn’t consensual and I could see that he was trying to pull her towards the cars parked close by. She was resisting. I lost the plot.
My instincts had been correct. I rushed out onto the street, dodging a car as I crossed the road and reached the footpath. I wasn’t going to let my girl be attacked. Luckily I had my phone with me. It’s almost a reflex these days.

The man who was attacking Ali still had a hard grip on her arm and wasn’t about to let go. All I saw was that he was fortyish.

I didn’t wait to find out what he was doing or who he was. “Let go of her,” I yelled as I reached the footpath next to the river.

He gave me barely a glance before snarling, “Who the fuck are you?” “I’m looking after her,” I responded, and switched on my phone. “See this, I’m recording what you do.”

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

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

I was glad I was in Mac mode. I could deal with this. “She’s sixteen and an adult. If you don’t let her go, I call the police.”

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

I brought my girl into the fracas. “Ali, for the benefit of the recording I’m making for the police, who is this man and do you want to go with him?”

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

She was in pain.

“Last chance, dickhead,” I warned. “We’ve already had the police round to confirm that she’s not my prisoner. Now piss off.”

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

Ali was weeping and I was fucking angry.

“Do you know his car, Ali?”

“Of course.”

“Which one is it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“OK, we’re on our way.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did your father do this?”

Ali nodded. “He was really hurting me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

**********************

When we went to bed that night I gave Ali an extra cuddle and kiss, which I thought she not only deserved but probably needed after the day’s traumatic events. I had barely changed into my nightie when there was a knock on my bedroom door.

“Come in.” Obviously it had to be Ali.

She stood in the doorway looking stricken, pale and afraid.

“What’s wrong, love,” I asked.

“Can I sleep with you tonight? I’m scared.” Suddenly my cocky, self-assured sixteen-year-old was a frightened child.

I knew it would be very wrong to refuse her. Yet I couldn’t help worrying that I would be accused of harbouring Ali for my lecherous purposes. Should I tempt fate? Questions might be asked about a sixty+ year-old sleeping with a sixteen-year-old girl. But her needs were real, and immediate, and I couldn’t turn my back on her. “Of course you can, my dear. Here, you take that side.”

My bed was queen-sized, so there was plenty of room. We climbed in, with me holding out my hand which she clutched desperately. People might think it strange but she needed that reassurance. After the events of the day I could hardly blame her.

As for me I was still simmering inside as a result of her parents’ attack. I didn’t know how much sleep I would get. I turned out the lights and held her hand as gently as I could. After about five minutes her breathing slowed and became regular so I knew she was asleep. Giving comfort to her must have also soothed me too because the next thing I knew I woke up in the morning being spooned by her.

Daylight was squeezing round the edge of the curtains so it must have been later than five a.m. I had slept much better than I expected but I was still burning with righteous indignation,so I got up and did some of my computering. It doesn’t make any noise and allowed her a couple more hours of rest. It’s a great healer.

With the resilience of youth she came awake much calmer than she had been last night and gave me a sleepy smile. That somehow served to blunt the edge of my displeasure, too. My mood lightened.

Now we were both awake it was shower time, so we departed to our bathrooms and did our morning business enjoying the freshness of warm water and scented soaps, although I had to use Imperial Leather today, not Dove.

Since I had to be Mac I dressed slightly more formally in long pants and a business shirt. No need for a jacket in Brisbane’s summer climate. Ali wore some of the clothes that Arpi had given her, a blue denim miniskirt and a pink top decorated with a very colourful multi-tentacled octopus. It had short sleeves, which was good. I wanted Lisa to see the bruise that her father had left on her arm.

Breakfast today included pancakes with maple syrup and bacon. How does she know I love maple syrup? I was allowed to pour orange juice, make coffee and swallow my pills. I didn’t mind; that was probably commensurate with my capabilities. I made a mental note to get her a couple of aprons while we were in town to protect her nice clothes.

And we would probably visit Woollies while we were there. The car park was underneath and I reckoned we would finish our business with Lisa in an hour and a half, or thereabouts.

Woollies is in the basement of the Macarthur Building where the eponymous general had made his headquarters in World War Two after being forced out of the Philippines. He wasn’t well liked as his strategy was to let the Japanese take the whole of our country north of here. It was probably a good idea as long as you weren’t living there.

It’s all been renovated now, of course, and houses specialty shops at ground level and offices above, including those of my lawyer.
It's an easy drive into the city from my place, ten minutes if you dodge the rush hour, so with a 10:30 appointment we had no problems. The Monday before Christmas was thinning the traffic, too. Car parked and up to the 10th floor and we were sat in the reception area five minutes early. Lisa didn’t keep us waiting and we were in her office right on time.

After greeting us with tea, coffee, and biscuits, she introduced herself to Ali and started the proceedings. “Mac, the police have sent me the video you took yesterday and your statements. Do you have anything else?”

“I’ve got the audio I took of their first visit. I didn’t give them this one.” I passed my phone across.

She took a few minutes to look at it. “Not so friendly that time but they didn’t do anything wrong. They didn’t have the full story and we can probably extend the charges to ‘wasting police time.’ It’s obvious from your video of their second visit that the allegations were malicious, and your statements certainly support that.”

“I was hoping we could get the bastard thrown into jail,” I said. “That would stop him.”

“Sorry, I don’t think we could make that stick, but what I can get the cops to try is for a heavy bail for him, assault as well as attempted abduction, a fine, and a restraining order for the pair of them.” Turning to Ali she asked, “Do you know how much your father makes in a year?”

“I’m not sure but I think it’s about two hundred thousand.”

“Right, we’ll ask for bail to be set at that. We probably won’t get it but a hundred thou will make him gulp. Just thinking out loud, I’ll ask for restrictions on alcohol and drugs, too, and maybe even a curfew. Look, I’ve got the two police officers on stand-by so do you mind if we make this a conference call?”

“I don’t, what about you, Ali?” I responded.

She nodded. “Please. I’m looking forward to it.”

Lisa is another ball of fire.

It was the work of a moment to get the police officers on the line. We actually got all three -- PCs Brown, Sayers and Williams. There was a Skype connection so we had video and audio.

Lisa asked them if they were comfortable with that and they said they were as long as they got a copy of the transcript, to which she readily agreed.

She went back to the first visit and even though it didn’t show them in the best light they confirmed that they only had half the story and Ali’s parents hadn’t been telling them the truth. Yes, they had been wasting police time.

Worse, they had lied to them about Ali’s situation, alleging that Alistair had run away from home because he had delusions about being a girl. Brown and Williams were willing to testify to that. They were going to be in the front line at a hearing.

Lisa requested that they ask for an injunction today, a restraining order and bail including a curfew and alcohol and drug abstinence.
It seemed they all would have liked for Ali’s father to have the book thrown at him but knew the restraints of the legal system so agreed to her plan. They also knew that they had a sympathetic magistrate on tap.

Lisa transferred all the data to their phones straight away and added an up-to-date picture of the bruise on Ali’s arm. It was nice to have the cops on side for once. The legal system required that, in this situation, they were the principals. With that done the call with the officers was terminated.

She called in one of her assistants and instructed her to liaise with the police, giving her all the details. The young lady went off to give it her all.

Turning to us she told us we’d better be realistic. “We won’t get all of that today. The best we can hope for is a temporary injunction and a restraining order. The rest will depend on a proper hearing and submissions in court before a magistrate. It’s a pity this happened over the holiday period. We won’t get a full hearing until after New Year.”

“Still, the cops will give them both a fire-and-brimstone warning and let them know in no uncertain terms what will happen to them if there are any further disturbances involving our young lady here. They are as keen as we are to see this arsehole taken down. I’m sure a magistrate will agree.”

She thought for a moment before nodding her head decisively. “With a bit of luck we should have an injunction in place by close of business today.”

That’s why I like her.

“Now, let’s get down to why we’re really here. Ali, I have to ask you some questions that you may not like but you must answer them honestly, and remember, anything you tell me is entirely confidential but I have to record it. It will go no further.” She smiled. “First, are you completely certain you want to be a girl?”

Ali answered immediately. “I don’t WANT to be a girl. It’s not a choice. I am a girl.”

Lisa grinned. “That’s the right answer to my first question. Do you want medical intervention to help change you physically into a girl?”

“I’m not sure, but I’m sure I don’t want to become more male.” She shuddered.

“How about if we got you on to puberty blockers? Do you know what they are? They’ll stop your body changing until you want it to. Would you be OK with that? So far you’re lucky that male puberty hasn’t really hit you.”

“Anything you can do to stop me from becoming hairy and horrible will be fine with me.”

“We can do that. I’ll get it started in a minute.”

She turned to me.

“Mac, where do you stand in all this? Are you OK with everything so far?”

“Look, Lisa, I just want what’s best for Ali, and I want us to be on the right side of the law. We originally came to see you because I didn’t know if there were specific difficulties relating to the transgendered, and the other stuff got in the way.”

“Well, we’ve done what we can about the ‘other stuff’, so a couple of questions for you.” She moved some papers on her desk. “This has to be a new case for me so are you instructing me to proceed with it?”

“Yes, unequivocally. Start a new file or whatever you have to do to make it official and send me the bill.”

“OK, consider it done.” Lisa made a few notes. “You’ll have to apply to be Ali’s guardian to give this legal force, and you’ll both have to agree to this. It won’t officially become legal until next year, but if Ali’s willing you can act in loco parentis in the meantime, that’ll give you some legal standing. OK with you, Ali?”

Ali glowed. “Does that mean she replaces my parents? Awesome!”

Ooops! I hoped that Lisa wouldn’t notice Ali’s slip-up on the pronoun, but I wouldn’t have chosen her as my lawyer if she weren’t both sharp and observant.

A sly smirk passed over her face. “Is there something you’re not telling me, Mac?”

“Nothing important or relevant.” I patted Ali’s hand. “Yes, dear, that’s what it means.” I tried to give her a glare but I don’t think it registered.

“Oka-a-a-y.” Lisa dragged the word out slowly, before turning back to the matter at hand. “Anyway, there’s little difference between the situation for a heterosexual child and a transgender one as far as domicile for a sixteen-year-old is concerned. The main difference is in the treatments available from state to state for transgendered children. There is a clinic at the Royal Brisbane Womens Hospital, but it’s only available to those 17 years or older so Ali doesn’t qualify. Even if the clinic were available, puberty blockers can’t legally be prescribed in Queensland until age eighteen, which is generally too late to be effective.” Seeing the look on Ali’s face, she added, “In New South Wales a general practitioner can do it as long as he or she believes it to be necessary.”

“So what can we do?” I asked.

Lisa tapped her desk with her pen and thought for a moment.

“Well, I think you should get Ali into a programme as soon as possible. Puberty could hit at any time, so how do you feel about a trip to Tweed Heads? I have a friend there who’s a GP and has dealt with TG kids before. I can give her a call right now.”

Tweed Heads is the border town and still actually part of the Gold Coast. One side of the main street is Coolangatta in Queensland and the other side is New South Wales.

Ali and I looked at each other and nodded our agreement.

Lisa picked up her phone and asked for Dr. Gower.

She was answered a few seconds later, after being transferred by a receptionist.

“Hello, Sue.” She apparently was on friendly terms with the person at the other end.

She went on to explain that she had a client in urgent need of the blockers that were not available north of the border and asked for her help. Some further conversation took place and then she asked me if we could make a twelve-noon appointment tomorrow.

Naturally we agreed. Ali was very keen.

Before we concluded our meeting Lisa also gave us the address and contact details for a support group for TG people here in Brisbane. They could do nothing official but provided a friendly, non-threatening voice at the other end of a phone and had regular meetings at locations around the city. Sometimes a friend was all that was needed.

As we were leaving Lisa pulled me aside and gave me that knowing eye.

“Mac, I’m your lawyer. Anything you want to tell me will always be confidential. Do you have a deeper interest in this kid’s transgenderism? We’ve been working together for over two years now. You’re not my normal client, you know.”

My stomach sank. She knows, or at the very least she suspects. Have I been leaving a trail of breadcrumbs? I’m not ready for this. I don’t want to deceive her…. but not yet! Not now!

“Thanks, Lisa, for everything, and Merry Christmas,” I evaded the implied situation.

She gave me a sad smile, “Yes, Merry Christmas. I’ll be in touch with any developments. Take care, both of you.”

Once Ali and I were alone I told her off over her slip in calling me ‘she’ in front of Lisa, but I don’t think I came over as ‘fierce’ enough.

“Sorree, I will try to be more careful; I promise.” She tried to look penitent but it didn’t quite ring true.

We went down to the shops and soon found a pair of aprons in one of the specialty boutiques, nothing too flashy but quite feminine and capable of keeping gravy stains and sticky stuff away from nice clothes. We also bought Ali a swimming costume. That made her smile.

Then we went to Woolworths and did some mundane purchasing for things we had missed before and fillers to tide us over Christmas. They do a mean mince pie and I got an extra dozen even though we had already bought some at rival Coles. I also bought a few packets of chocolate biscuits -- Tim-Tams, dark chocolate of course. Australia’s favorite and very much mine as well.
With our shopping done it was off home again. As I was in male mode I just had to relax into my usual spot on the sofa, but I shucked off my long pants, socks, shoes and business shirt and got back into my second preferred gear of polo shirt and shorts. Of course, I had created a monster by getting Ali a swimming costume. It was a one-piece and she wanted to get it wet, so, next thing we were down at the pool.

That was OK by me. I could sit and watch her enjoying herself while I lay back on one of the poolside chairs with a book and some towels. I pretended to read while I watched her cavort in the water. Of course I should have known it wouldn’t last. No teenager can resist splashing the nearest adult, which was of course me. I stood it for a while and then I grabbed her and surprised the hell out of her by jumping into the pool with her in my arms. I was fully clothed, but even us senior citizens are allowed a little madness occasionally.

Shrieks of laughter. We attracted the attention of our Building Manager, who also thought it was funny. We dried ourselves off enough to go back inside without leaving puddles in the corridors and lifts and went up to our apartment, where we had to get changed.
So later, in dry clothes, we did relax on the sofa, me with one arm around her and her head on my shoulder.

“Thanks for this morning, Joanne. I like Lisa. She made me feel so good.”

“She’s a great person, and very good at her job. She’ll get the best outcome for you, never fear. And you, you little horror, have got to be careful when you call me Joanne.”

“I already said I’m sorry, didn’t I?”

“So why do I have this feeling you really didn’t mean it?”

“I did, honestly!”

I tickled her until she said, “I did, I really did! Stoppit!”

“All right, don’t let it happen again.”

“Nossir!”

That didn’t feel like a real apology either but was probably as good as I was going to get.

Just then. Kylie, my daughter-in-law, called to confirm that everything was copacetic for Christmas lunch, which she had invited me to attend. I hadn’t forgotten, but a reminder is always welcome. It also was my opportunity to ask if I could bring an unexpected guest. Of course, she was curious but I just told her that I had been saddled with a teenage girl as a guest and I didn’t want to leave her sitting on her own while we enjoyed ourselves.

Kylie is a kind soul and she didn’t have any problem cooking for seven instead of six. The ‘seven’ had come about because her mother, Joy, would be down from Toowoomba and would be there for lunch too, so one more was fine. I promised I would give her the full story when we sat down for our lunch.

With that settled I suggested that Ali and I could go and have dinner at The Ship Inn since she had expressed an interest in trying their food and it was a casual stroll up the road. We wouldn’t have to get dressed up.

That suggestion was met with her approval and I didn’t want her slaving over a hot stove every night at home, even if she was the self-appointed chief cook. I rang to check that they weren’t booked out and they weren’t so that was a definite ‘yes.’

At about six o’clock we ambled along the footpath for the five hundred metres to the pub, still in daylight at that time of the year. We sat outside in the pleasant summer warmth and had a nice meal. I had the roast lamb, always a favourite of mine, and she had a chicken salad.

Afterwards she declared that it was OK but she thought she could do better. I asked if she was serious about doing a course at the Technical And Further Education college (“TAFE”) and she said she would really love to. She had tried to convince her parents that it would be a good thing but they weren’t interested. Indifference can be just as devastating as active discouragement.

There’s one just five minutes’ walk further up the road from my place so I told her we would enrol her there when the Christmas-New Year break was over. I realised that I was treating her like I would a daughter, planning her life for her while I really didn’t have the authority to do so. But that was a problem for the future.

Back home we watched a bit of TV and then we both started playing with our computers. Mine was the usual with my TG friends and I did introduce her to my favourite site, mainly because it had many beautiful stories dealing with TG issues, but apart from that I made no attempt to monitor her own usage. She could watch what she wanted to watch.

I did shut her down at about eleven o’clock because we were going to have to drive down to Tweed Heads the next day. It’s about an hour-and-a-half’s journey and this close to Christmas there would likely be heavier-than-normal traffic. I didn’t want us to be late.
At bedtime, she appeared in my room again in her nightie, giving me those puppy dog eyes. I knew what she wanted.

“You can’t make a habit of this, you know.”

“Just for tonight,” she pleaded.

“All right then, just tonight, OK?”

She gave me a smile that would have melted what’s left of all the ice in Antarctica and jumped into my bed in case I changed my mind. I sighed. At least I wouldn’t have any trouble getting her up in the morning.

I set my alarm for seven thirty and climbed into my side, turning out the light. I was asleep in moments and so was she. I was glad she didn’t snore.

Waking up was a repeat. Somehow during the night we had spooned again. I’ll have to get her a teddybear.

Most people wouldn’t understand but I had no sexual feelings for her. The love I felt for her had its own name, ‘agape’. She had opened up my heart and I just wanted her to be as happy as she made me.

The alarm didn’t stir her so I gently shook her awake and sent her off to do her business, shower and get dressed while I did the same.

I told her not to cook this morning and heated up the mince pies we bought yesterday in the microwave while I made the coffee and poured the juice. We sat on the balcony enjoying the view of the river and the city and that was breakfast.

At around nine, Lisa phoned to tell me that the Morgans had been warned off by the police with threats of dire consequences if any harm befell Ali and the magistrate in a late sitting had issued a restraining order forbidding them to approach within one hundred metres of the girl. A temporary bail of $10,000 had been set pending a full court hearing on the first sitting day on January the third. Lisa reckoned all that would keep them in check. The police had done a good job.

I relayed the news to Ali, who declared that they deserved it. The bruise on her arm was still very visible.

At ten, we set off for New South Wales. There was some extra traffic but not enough to cause jams, just slowing things down a little. This time we didn’t go through Surfers but carried on down through Nerang and Tugun, rejoining the coast near the airport. We continued though Kirra and crossed the border at Coolangatta.

The Medical Centre where Dr. Gower was based was in the Tweed Mall just a few hundred metres further on. It had its own car park and we found a space with no trouble. We arrived at about a quarter to twelve and were sitting in the reception area with five minutes to spare.

Dr. Gower was only five minutes late ushering us into her office, pretty good for your average GP. That’s why they call us ’patients.’ She was of an age with Lisa my lawyer and they had attended the same university. After introductions she got down to business.

“Lisa told me about your problems,” she said to Ali. “Sometimes our laws are stupid. I can prescribe you blockers, no problem, but a couple of hundred metres away it’s illegal unless you’re eighteen. They’re not much use when puberty’s already been and gone. I’ll have to give you a quick once-over, so go behind that curtain and take off your top and be ready to drop your shorts.”
She looked at me. “It won’t take long.” And then she pulled the curtain across.

I could hear the instructions and responses and less than ten minutes passed before they both emerged, smiling.
“Well, Ali, you appear to be in good health so I’ll give you a six-month prescription. I took the precaution of ordering in the first dose after talking to Lisa because most pharmacies don’t keep it in stock, so I’ll give you your first injection now and then you only have to get one every three months. I see you’ll be seventeen in nine months so you’ll be legal in Queensland by the time you need a new script. Of course, you can always come back to me if you have to.”

She took a box from a shelf next to her desk and extracted a hypodermic from it, sterilized it and told Ali to roll up her top. Then she swabbed her and injected the drug into her midriff.

“Didn’t hurt, did it?” she asked, grinning.

“Only a little.” With a wince.

She played with her computer and handed me two scripts for the repeats and a pamphlet which I quickly perused. It detailed all the possible side-effects.

“Any problems, just go to your local GP, he or she will be able to take care of them. I’m putting you down as the guardian so you’d better get your situation sorted out as quickly as possible. Enrol Ali on Medicare (the basic government medical insurance) soon. She’ll qualify at sixteen but she’s probably registered on her parents’ card and I gather you don’t want that, so for now it’s on yours.”
It helps to know people who know helpful people. We said our goodbyes to a doctor, who certainly qualified as being helpful, and I paid the bill at the clinic’s cashier desk.

We had a stroll round the mall seeing we were here. New South Wales allows liquor sales in supermarkets (which Queensland doesn't) so I stocked up on chardonnay while I had the chance and bought six bottles of champagne to take with us to our Christmas lunch.

As we headed north again I asked Ali how she felt.

“It’s been so dope since I met you. I know we’ve had problems but every one has been dealt with. And now I’m never going to have to worry about being a boy again. Super.”

“As far as I ever saw, my love, you never had to worry about being a boy, but now you will never have to.”

Her smile was worth a thousand words.

Only four more days to Christmas. Everything was organized so why was I nervous?

Ali was curious about places on the Gold Coast so we stopped at Burleigh Heads on our way back to Brisbane.

Two reasons. One, we were hungry and it was lunchtime, and, two, I found out in conversation with my girl that her education in seafood was woeful.

I asked her if she liked seafood and she answered that she liked fish’n’chips. Well, so do I. Duh!

“I promise you’ll enjoy it.”

So we ended up at the best restaurant in Burleigh Heads overlooking the surf and the pines. Just the view makes it worthwhile and the food’s pretty good.

I
I ordered a plate of oysters natural and some prawns to start with and got her a smoked salmon starter which I thought would be pretty harmless for somebody who didn’t know anything about fish that wasn’t deep-fried.

She eyed off my oysters and prawns in fear. “You don’t want me to eat those, do you?”

I squeezed some lemon juice on an oyster and popped it in my mouth…. delicious. “Just try one. I’ll eat the others.”

She closed her eyes and grimaced as I delivered one to her open mouth.

“Let it rest on your tongue, don’t bite too hard, then swallow,” I instructed her.

She did as I told her. “Hey, that wasn’t too bad,” She smiled as it went down.

“I told you I wouldn’t poison you. They taste a lot better than they look.”

“Can I try another one?”

“Nope! They’re mine, all mine, mwahahahah.” I cackled. “Next time.”

She pouted, a pretty pout. I relented and gave her one more.

Next came the prawns. She didn’t have as much of a problem with those. They look less fearsome and a touch of lemon and pepper really gives them flavour.

Actually I don’t like them that much because I reckon Aussies overcook them. I like steamed prawns the way the Cantonese do them, but you can’t get those here so any prawn tastes OK at worst.

She liked them and I wasn’t about to argue.

I had to show her how to eat the smoked salmon too, with lemon squeezed over it and some capers and onion pieces for garnish.

She really got into that. “That’s scrumptious, Gucci. Why didn’t my parents ever give me some of that?”

A question I couldn’t answer.

For our main course I ordered grilled Moreton Bay bugs. They look like giant cockroaches on the outside, but the meat is pure white, similar to lobster. Personally I like them better.

She watched me avidly while I took my first bite. When I didn’t fall over and die, she took a tentative bite of her own. “Mmmmm! Delish!” Her plate was clean before mine. “Is there more like this?”

“Ali, we haven’t even scratched the surface. I won’t rush you into it but we’ll teach you how good our seafood is. There are plenty of great restaurants in Brisbane and I’ll take you to some of my favourites. It’ll probably have to wait until after Christmas, but just be patient.”

Ali prattled on about these new tastes.

I shook my head as I wondered how her parents could have been so negligent. At least in my case we had been too poor to sample a lot of these delights when I was a kid and in those long-gone days ordinary folk didn’t eat a lot of this stuff. I still remember my mother-in-law sneering about Moreton Bay Bugs as being unfit for human consumption. I had just purchased ten for a dollar, from a roadside pop-up stall in Tweed Heads, the first time I ever saw a bug. She told me I had wasted my money!

When we finished we continued our homeward journey, which took a little more than an hour, going back through Broadbeach and Surfers as we had a few days ago.

Ali asked me if we were going to do anything special over the next couple of days.

“I’ve not got anything planned,” I said. “Why?”

“OK. Can you be Joanne tomorrow?”

“Don’t you like me like this?” I teased her.

“Aargh! You know I do, but I like Joanne better! I’ll help you with your make-up again and maybe help you to do it yourself. If we’re going to stay together I want more Joanne. You know you like it.”

Of course we’re going to stay together. She was right and I didn’t need much urging. I’d have to deal with any fallout from my neighbours but that couldn’t be helped. I owned my apartment so there wasn’t much they could do to me as long as I paid my rates and the Body Corporate charges. Maybe huff and frown their disapproval, I suppose, but I’m old enough that none of that nonsense bothers me.

“OK. If the weather’s good maybe we can go for a walk-through along Southbank again. I admit I love to dress properly and it’s so nice having you with me. The only thing is that this close to Christmas I’ll have to be careful. It’s that time of the year when people drop in unexpectedly. Tomorrow and Thursday are probably all right, but I think I’ll have to be Mac after that. I’m thinking I should take our prezzies over to the kids’ place on Friday to avoid the rush over the weekend.”

There was silence from the passenger seat and then the sound of sobbing.

“What’s wrong, Ali?”

“I haven’t got you anything!” she wailed. I could have told her not to worry, but sometimes emotions just need to run their course a bit. We were nearly home so I let her cry for a couple of minutes while we parked the car. I had to manhandle her into the lift and when we got upstairs she fled into her bedroom, still sobbing.

I followed her in and sat with her on the bed, an arm around her while she cried into my shirt.

“I’m so stupid. After all you’ve done for me I’ve got you nothing. I feel so selfish. No wonder my parents hate me.”

She had no idea how much she had given me from the moment I found a weeping bedraggled girl in that mall only a week or so ago. I had been sleepwalking through my life…. existing, not living. She had woken me from a melancholy dream. What she had given me was something no amount of money could buy, much rarer than gold, frankincense, and myrrh. I had come to life again and I had someone to love, whose happiness made me happy. Who could ask for more?

“Don’t be silly, Ali,” I consoled her. “First, your parents are confused, but I’m sure they don’t hate you. Less important, when I found you, you didn’t have any money, so you couldn’t buy me anything. I didn’t care.”

“But then you gave me all that money and I didn’t even think of getting you anything.” Her grimace spoke of the intense pain she felt.

“Well, we have been a little bit busy and tied up, to say the least. Don’t worry about it.”

I could have told her how I felt but that Aussie reticence silenced me. Or maybe it was just a remnant of maleness. All I could do was hug her. I promised myself I would tell her later. Not too much later.

Then I had a bright idea. “Listen, if you really want to get me something . . . ?” I let the bait dangle for a moment.

“Yeah?”

“Have you seen the movie ‘Dune’? I’ve been promising myself I’ll go and see it but I haven’t got around to it yet. You can get me the DVD and we’ll watch it together, OK? We’ll go to Indooroopilly and you can buy it for me.”

Her tears dried to a snivel. “Will that be enough? It doesn’t seem like much.”

“Hey, it’s the thought that counts, innit?” I knew she didn’t have that much money and as it was a new release it would probably cost fifty bucks or so. We’d be able to get it at JB-HiFi in Indooroopilly. I would take her tomorrow. That would satisfy her anguish at not buying me anything, even though I knew it wasn’t necessary.

While I was on a roll I asked if she was a fantasy fan.

“It depends, I guess.”

“Have you seen ‘Game Of Thrones’? I’ve got the whole series.”

“No, my parents wouldn’t let me watch it. They reckoned it was too dirty.” She shook her head at such nonsense.

“Well, we can watch it together, starting tonight. It’s the best TV series ever. I know you’ll love it. My favourite character is Tyrion Lannister.”

“Who’s he?”

“You’ll find out, although I suspect you’ll be a Daenerys Targaryen fan. She’s a young girl who’s ‘The Mother Of Dragons.’”

“Sounds awesome.”

“It is.”

I had another brainwave. I had bought her a computer and a phone, – utilitarian items that every kid needed these days. But somehow they didn’t seem very intimate. I would get her that teddy bear when we went back to the mall. There was a great toyshop next door to JBs.

I had talked her out of her earlier funk and she was back to being my darling girl.

“Don’t forget to moisturize tonight,” she cautioned me, “And shave really close in the morning. I’ll work on you just like Arpi would. With a few more practises you’ll be able to do your own make-up. Do you know what you want to wear?”

“I thought the black-and-white jersey dress. I don’t think it’s too dressy for a walk through the Parklands, as long as it’s not too hot.”

“Yes, should be all right, but just in case, that white silk blouse with the floaty navy-blue skirt with the red lilies would be OK too.”

We just had sandwiches for tea since we’d had the seafood lunch and she had a cup of tea while I had my chardonnay.

We watched the first couple of episodes of “Game Of Thrones.” I could watch it over and over. The casting for the series was superb. Arya is another of my favourite characters and poor Sean Bean (Ned Stark) was slated for another early demise. He can’t catch a break!

My girl loved it. The first couple of episodes in Series One are just warming up to the real action but they set the scene so well. Arya has already shown her mettle, Daenerys is about to be sold off to the barbarians and Tyrion has shown his strength of character. Peter Dinklage was made for that part and I don’t mean just because he’s a dwarf.

I did as she told me before going to bed, and perhaps because of the teary interlude in the afternoon our good-night embrace seemed more intimate than usual.
One effect she has on me is that I sleep better since she has been with me, and I didn’t let her into my bed tonight. She pouted a little but accepted my edict that she couldn’t make a habit of sleeping with me and kind of slunk off to her own bed with only a little bad grace.

Next morning was another fine day in the paradise of Queensland, maximum expected temperature 29C with a low humidity and not a cloud to be seen.

Breakfast this morning was poached eggs on toast together with the usual orange juice, coffee, and pills for me. We sat out on the balcony again and enjoyed the view while we ate and drank.

Then it was prep time for me. First the shave. How I hate shaving. If only I’d been born a woman I wouldn’t have to do it, at least to my face. I did try to get my beard lasered off, but it evidently doesn’t work on grey hair so that was an epic fail. The alternative of electrolysis was too time-consuming for the limited opportunities I could enjoy en femme. So I grimaced and bore it.

I put on fresh undies, bra and forms, donned a dressing-gown and went out onto the balcony, where she was waiting for me with our magic cosmetics. She went to work on my face and it seemed to me that she was more confident this time and didn’t take so long.
When she had finished she said, “OK, Joanne, go and check my work and see if you’re happy with it.”

Off I trotted to my bathroom, and I swear she had done as good a job on me as Arpi would have done. I decided to go with the skirt and blouse as less formal and attention-getting than the dress. On with a pair of dark thigh-highs to disguise my varicose veins and some near-flat sandals before fitting and fixing my wig. I was ready to go pending approval from Ali.

I twirled into the lounge. “How do I look?”

She smiled. “You scrub up quite well for an old lady.”

“A bit of respect, please, or you’ll earn a spanking. You’re not too big to put across my knee.”

She stuck out her tongue.

“Let’s do the mall first and have our walk later, OK?” I wanted to get her angst over a present for me out of the way and I wanted to have teddy ready for her tonight.

We drove to the mall, still missing the neighbours. It was quite early so if there was the start of a Christmas rush we missed it. I sent her into JB-HiFi to get the video and I went into the toyshop and soon selected a teddy bear about the size of a large puppy who I thought would make a suitable sleeping partner for her. I got the staff to wrap it as anonymously as possible and put it in a bag.
I finished before her and waited outside.

She came out with a few DVDs and CDs. “I hope you don’t mind. I bought some music too.”

It’s such a good store, with a vast selection of everything from computer geekery to giant TVs. No, I didn’t mind.

“What have you got?” She was eyeing my goodie bag.

“None of your business.”

“Come on, let me see.”

“Nope!”

“Aww, spoilsport.”

“Maybe later,” I said, relenting slightly. “Just wait.”

Back to the car and back home. Parked and up to our home. She really wanted to know what I had bought, with that relentless curiosity of the young.

“Don’t you dare peek. It’s not for you,” I lied.

I love it when she pouts.

“Are we going for that walk or what?” I distracted her.

“Oh, all right then, be like that!”

She does an enchanting flounce too.

We exited to the lift and my other neighbour, Kiki, came out from her apartment at the same time. She smiled at Ali and gave me a really quizzical stare. She is a widow whose husband passed away a year ago or so, so I suppose we have a certain empathy.

“Mac? Is that you?”

No point in pretending. “Yes, Kiki, it’s me.”

“You look really nice. Are we going to see more of you like this?”

“I think it’s quite likely, more than likely, probably.”

“Is this young lady responsible?”

“Only indirectly.” I sighed. “I’ve always been this way but I’ve hidden it. You’ll have to call me “Joanne” when I’m dressed like this. This is Ali, by the way, Ali, Kiki.”“Hallo, Joanne. Just so you know, ’Joanne,’ I don’t have a problem with it. If you need to talk some time you know where I live. You never know, I may come and see you!” She smiled as she left the lift at the third floor, where her carpark was.

First hurdle done, only a dozen more to go. Drip, drip, drip.

“She seems nice,” Ali said.

“She is nice. I hope all the others are too.”

We went on our walk without any further incident. It was a lovely day and we lunched at an Italian restaurant in Little Stanley Street. Spaghetti Bolognese didn’t give Ali any conniptions. I’d forgotten how I was dressed. It just felt so normal, my skirt flapping around my knees in a fairly gentle breeze. All those lost years.

That evening I couldn’t keep her curiosity in check and I eventually had to produce her teddy bear.

“This is your sleeping partner from now on, not me.”

She squealed with delight and hugged the bear half to death. “Thank you, but nobody, woman or bear, can replace you. What’s his name?”

“I don’t know if he’s a boy bear or a girl bear. That’s up to you.”

“He’s a boy bear and his name is Mac, MacBear. When he’s naughty I’ll punish him and when he’s good I’ll give him lots of kisses.”

A kid can reduce you to tears sometimes, even if they’re tears of joy.

That night she went off to her own bed without a qualm and when I looked in on her half an hour later she was fast asleep cuddling MacBear. How can a child look so angelic? I was jealous of the bear, but it was necessary to prevent the world from perceiving an unsavoury bond being formed between us.

Next day was rinse and repeat except that we didn’t go to the mall. Joanne was front and centre and we had a relaxing day strolling up to The Ship Inn and then sitting at the pool. Well, I sat and she changed into her cozzie and was in and out of the water. I forbade her from splashing me and she mostly obeyed, with just the occasional drip.

Our Building Managers inquired as to who was the elderly lady sitting by the pool and I confessed to my identity. After the initial shock wore off both Michael and Maree sat and chatted with me for a while.

I answered the inevitable questions and told them I had always been this way but circumstances had prevented me from expressing the real me. They didn’t have a problem with Joanne per se. Their only concern was that I wouldn’t stir up any trouble with the other residents.

I assured them that I had no intention of stirring up trouble and, as long as the others accepted me everything would be fine. I didn’t need any problems.

They asked about Ali and I confirmed that she would reside with me for the foreseeable future. It was none of their business in a way. It was my flat and who resided in it was my business. I saw no reason to share Ali’s transgender status with them.

The next day I went back to being Mac. Word had spread that I had been seen as a woman, or a transvestite or a whatever. You can’t keep a secret in a block of units. I had decided that I didn’t give a shit, as long as nothing spilled over onto Ali.
I only got one hostile reaction, from a guy who I had been reasonably friendly with. I was by the pool and he accused me of being a pedophile.

In a way, I wasn’t surprised. He had always been a bit aggressive.

“Why would you say that, Dave? I’ve never made a move on your family.”

“Don’t you go anywhere near my daughter, OK, or I’ll beat the shit out of you.”

“I wouldn’t even think of it.”

Honestly, I wouldn’t know his daughter if I fell over her.

“Fucking tranny cunt!”

That was his parting shot. He’d evidently decided he didn’t like me. Oh well, there’s always one.

“Why do they hate us?” asked Ali.

“Most don’t. You’ve seen some of the good, like the cops, our lawyer and Dr. Gower. Most don’t care; they’re not interested and just see who they want to see. Kiki doesn’t mind and Craig is oblivious. You just get the odd one like Dave who somehow feel threatened and fear us. All you can do is tread carefully around them.”

“What about YOUR family?”

“That’s MY fear getting in the way. I guess I can be as irrational as anyone else. One of these days I’ll pluck up the courage to tell them.”

Friday I packed my car with all the Yuletide gifts, champagne and wine and ferried them over to Paddington where my kids lived and delivered them so that we wouldn’t have to struggle with them later in the holiday.

That meant that Ali and I could travel in comfort in an Uber and I wouldn’t have to worry about getting behind the wheel after I’d been drinking.

I had deliberately left Christmas Eve free. It’s usually a zoo with everybody doing that last-minute dash for the things they’ve forgotten.

Traffic is a nightmare.

So Ali and I did bugger-all that day. We watched a few more episodes of “Game of Thrones” which she was starting to love, and she cooked a nice simple lunch of sauteed sausages with tomatoes and onions.

We spent a bit of time down at the pool in the afternoon. She told me what a good boy her teddy MacBear had been last night! I was happy for them.

The big day came and we ordered an Uber at about 11.30 to take us over. It’s only a ten minute ride and traffic on Christmas Day is always light so we were ensconced at their place in plenty of time for the festivities, such as they were. Joy had stayed overnight and the rest of them lived there anyway.

Drinks were in order and were duly shared around. They had oysters and Ali eagerly consumed a few. My granddaughter Dixie was as suspicious of them as Ali had been the other day. All the more for me!

Presents were distributed and opened with the usual oohs and aahs and then we got down to the meal. It was traditional turkey, ham and roast vegetables. My son did the carving and we all had more than enough to fill our plates and our stomachs. On to the Christmas pudding and custard. Kylie is a good cook and Joy is as well, so we were all kind of mellow and replete by the time we finished eating.

Nobody had really quizzed Ali during the meal because everybody was busy eating but now that we had finished the interrogation started. I should have been paying more attention. It was all fairly innocent at first and I saw no problem in her telling them that her parents had thrown her out, but then it got on to the fact that she was trans. There was no condemnation of her transgenderism, basically only sympathy, although my grandkids were rapt in her story.

What I didn’t take into account was that she had consumed a couple or maybe more glasses of the champagne that I had brought over. Someone had been filling her glass. When you’re a seasoned drinker like me it is very easy to forget the effect that alcohol can have on someone who is new to it.

I should have seen it coming but I didn’t. The story got to where I had rescued her in the shopping mall and she said how ‘Joanne’ had saved her.

“Who’s Joanne?” Kylie asked.

Ali pointed at me, then realised what she had done and face-palmed.

The silence continued for just a few moments. Pins dropped everywhere. Five faces turned in my direction.
There was no way for me to escape.

Kylie did a very creditable imitation of Pauline Hanson, our home-grown Fascist senator. “Please Explain.” That was what Pauline had asked her interviewer when she was asked if she was xenophobic!

The laser death-stare that accompanied her demand, on the other hand, was straight out of the playbook of Julie Bishop, formerly our Foreign Minister. I didn’t care for Julie’s politics, but I admired how she conveyed strength and steel while at the same time being attractive and demonstrating skill as a fashionista,. I actually thought she would have made a good Prime Minister, but she was operating in the old-boys’ sandpit and never stood a chance.

Kylie’s reaction was the very thing I had been afraid of, the mother wolf baring her fangs, ready to protect her family from an immoral predator.

All this went through my mind while I wondered what to do. My main consideration was to insulate Ali from the fallout.
It really wasn’t her fault. She could have had no conception of what my life had been like. She was a child of her times and I was a child of mine. She may have been sixteen in years but she hadn’t received that education and nurture that young girls almost instinctively absorb in their formative childhood from their mothers. Her emotional development was somewhat lacking.

“Well,” I cleared my throat, ready for battle.

I was beaten to it by my grandchildren. “Does this mean you’re not my Grandy but my Granny?” Nine-year-old Dixie asked in all innocence.

Out of the mouths of babes. In different circumstances I would have laughed myself silly. “Yes dear, in a way.”

“Kewl,” said Max from his pinnacle of thirteen. “Wait ’til I tell the kids at school Grandy is non-binary!”

It seemed that I had a couple of allies. They wouldn’t cast me adrift but in the end they didn’t get a vote. One of my main fears in exposing myself had been that I might be separated from them. Their parents would decide that.

I grinned apprehensively. Kylie is the one I had always been afraid of. A mother’s natural instinct is to protect her children and I always worried that she would think I would harm them and react with hostility.

At least the initial shock seemed to have passed and she stared at me with a neutral face. I hope that is a good sign. I decided that there was no use in prevaricating or pretending. The cat was well and truly out of the bag, so I summoned up every ounce of sang froid that I could.

“It’s true. I’m on the transgender scale, leaning well to the feminine side. I never told you because I was scared of how you would react. Would I have preferred to have been born a girl? Yes. Am I going to take any drastic measures like surgery to make me into a female? No.”

My announcement was met with silence, but the jury was clearly out. After an awkward moment I continued.

“Now that you know, will I appear as a woman in your presence? Very likely. Or if you object I’ll just stay out of your way and you can stay out of mine. You need have nothing to do with me if you don’t want to.”

Kylie was mute. My son, Anthony, stood with his mouth agape. I guess they were absorbing it. I hoped that was the case.

Kylie’s mother, Joy, broke the silence by pushing back her chair and standing. “I don’t want to hear any more. There are only men and women. There are no half-way houses. God doesn’t make mistakes.”

I can’t say I knew her well. She was Kylie’s widowed mother and had always been as nice as pie on the occasions when our paths had crossed. Her hostility came as a total surprise.

Although I suppose I couldn’t blame her for being as much a product of her times as Ali or me. She was a little older than me and had been born and brought up on a farm in rural Queensland, not quite the outback but not far from it. They were social conservatives out there. She probably had no conception about transgender people and had likely never knowingly met one in her life.

“No! I don’t think God makes mistakes. I’m here, just as much as you. My existence is not something I chose or asked for.”

I know I’m neither fish nor fowl; too much of the gentleman to give her the beating that I felt like doing and not enough of a woman to know my next move. Do I dissolve in tears? Sorry, that’s not me. Stomp out of the room? It looks like she’ll beat me to it. I moved between her and Ali to protect the girl, just in case.

“Kylie! Your children don’t need to see or hear this!” She stalked away, pointing at me. “I don’t want anything to do with this THING ever again. Please, Kylie, get “IT” out of this house!” She left and went into another room.

In a strange kind of way her outburst helped to clear the air.

“M-u-u-u-m,” Kylie called to her mother’s back, but to no avail.

Joy’s mind was made up. I assumed she would be true to her word and never speak to me again.

My son Anthony entered the discussion. “Why didn’t you tell us? Why didn’t you tell Mum?”

“I tried, I really did. I know I should have told her before we got married, but I was afraid, and times were different then. I loved your mother and I didn’t want to lose her. After we were married I tried a couple of times but she didn’t want to know, didn’t want to hear it, wouldn’t even discuss it.”

“So you lied to her, all those years,” he accused me.

Joy had spoken for the past and the kids had spoken….I hope....for the future. But we only live in the present, and the present was Anthony. My only son. And his mother, the woman he had loved to pieces.

“No, I didn’t lie to her, I just stayed silent. I loved her with both my male and female selves and concentrated on being a good husband and, I hope, a good father. I didn’t neglect you, did I?”

He didn’t answer that. “Did you cheat on her?”

“No! I never cheated. She was my love. The only ‘other woman’ she ever had to contend with was me, and I kept myself under control. I wasn’t into men, not then, not now. She didn’t know, or if she suspected, she never said anything.”

“I think your mum had to have known,” Kylie mused. “I always suspected.”

“Really?”

Anthony subsided and chewed all that over.

I hoped that we had brought him up well enough to extinguish any prejudices against those who are different.
He had lived with my wife and me in Papua-New Guinea, in Fiji, and had extended holidays over the years in Hong Kong and Singapore so I was pretty sure he had no problems with different races. Some of his best friends at boarding school had been students from overseas. He had even brought a couple home with him for the holidays. We hadn’t focused on gender variations.

Maybe we should have, but it didn’t seem important at the time.

Ali had been weeping softly while all this was going on.

I could do little more than shush her and wanted to get her away from the mess I was in, but I had to let it play out a bit longer. In the middle of all this tension I was trying to think of ways to divert her mind from her faux pas.

Kylie was the key, and she hadn’t said much. I had to know whether she thought the same as her mother. “Where do you stand, Kylie? Can you live with me or not?”

“I don’t know, Mac… or is it ‘Joanne’? I’m confused. I don’t think this is the time or the place to make a decision on all of this. Christmas Day lunch hardly seems appropriate for this discussion.”

She’d at least got over her initial reaction and was considering her attitude. Shaking her head, she said, “Look, I’m sorry about Mum. I didn’t know she was so violently anti-transgender. I thought it was… you know…. just a mild prejudice. She didn’t try to drum her feelings into us when we were kids, but I suppose it was one of those things that just didn’t come up.”

She looked at Ali. “This girl doesn’t deserve to hear that ignorant bigotry. She’s a sweet kid.”

Anthony and Kylie exchanged glances.

I couldn’t detect the meaning of their non-verbal communication.

He’d let Kylie take the lead. Sometimes men do have common sense.

“It’s a lot to digest, maybe too much for here and now.” Kylie said. ” Look, I suggest we think it all over and we can talk amongst ourselves for a bit, not tomorrow, it’s Boxing Day. How about we get together the day after and see what we come up with.”

“Suits me.” I shrugged. “Let’s have lunch at The Ship? That’s sort of neutral ground. We can leave Ali at the building’s pool with Max and Dixie and she can babysit them while we talk and hopefully agree how we’re going to handle this. Bring cozzies.”

Kylie smiled, “Right, 12.30, OK? We’ll come to your place at noon, get the kids set, and walk up the road for lunch. Just one thing, who’s going to meet us?”

“What do you mean?” I was puzzled.

“Will it be Mac or ‘Joanne’? I think, after all these years, we’re entitled to see what we might be letting ourselves in for.”

My mind whirled. What was impossible fifteen minutes ago seemed probable. Maybe it shouldould be Joanne who showed up. If they couldn’t face me en femme then the show was over and we didn’t even need the lunch. On the other hand I might make their dilemma into a victory and my grandchildren would see me, too. If they approved, it would at least be a draw.

Still, I temporized. “I don’t know, I’ll have to think about it. I don’t want to give you too much of a shock. Let’s leave it for now and let me take this poor child home. It’s been pretty traumatic for her. I’m sorry we ruined Christmas lunch.”

The strange thing was, and it had given me hope, that other than from that cow, Joy, there seemed to be no animosity or antipathy towards Ali. I still thought it best to get her out of the frying pan and back to a place of sanctuary.

Nobody argued so I called an Uber and five minutes later we were on our way and back home just ten minutes after that.

Naturally, Ali was feeling guilty and distraught for having once again inadvertently outed me. When we were back on the sofa with her in my arms I told her it was the alcohol that was the cause and we should have been watching for the effects. A couple of glasses of champagne seemed harmless but she wasn’t used to it. There was a saying that explained it all, ‘in vino veritas’!

She asked what that meant.

I told her how wine or any alcoholic drink loosened the tongue. I actually got a giggle out of her.

“I’ll have to be careful in future. I’m always making mistakes and calling you ‘Joanne’ in the wrong places.”

“The problem is almost over, my love. In two days’ time they’ll either accept me or they won’t. In either case I’ll be ‘Joanne’ most of the time after that. My biggest concern is that you are accepted for who you are. In a few more days we’ll be going into court and I’ll be applying to be your guardian. I hope we’re successful and then it won’t matter what anyone thinks.”

“Do you still love me after all the damage I’ve done?” Her face did little to hide her anguish.

“Of course. It was all going to happen anyway. We probably just advanced things by a few days. You’re still my darling girl and I’ve still got to get you into TAFE. I can’t let you stay ignorant about seafood, and there are so many other things we’ve got to do together that we haven’t even thought about yet. I’ll always love you.”

In an attempt to shift her attention away from the subject that was distressing her, I added, “Anyway, tell me about other places where you spent holidays. Your parents couldn’t have left you at home ALL the time.”

“Mostly we went to places with golf courses that Dad liked. We went to Sydney one time when I was about eleven. Mum came too and my sister. But basically, we went shopping and I wanted to get some nice clothes but I couldn’t because I wanted girls’ stuff and I couldn’t tell Mum. Morag knew but she couldn’t help me.”

“When Morag went to Canberra we went down for a few days to make sure she was settled in her new job. It’s a pretty boring place and Mum was cranky because she wanted to play bridge, so I can’t say I enjoyed it. Other than that we really didn’t go anywhere and Dad ignored me nearly all the time. He knew by then that I was never going to be a champion golfer or cricketer.”

I realised that I wasn’t doing very well in trying to elicit memories of good times, but at least she wasn’t thinking about the lunchtime debacle, so I gave up and just held her close.

She snuggled into me and made me feel so wanted. The rest of the day was restful and she gave me the DVD of “Dune” which we watched in the evening. We didn’t need to eat after that lunch.

I still had a couple of glasses of Chardonnay. I told myself it was to settle my nerves. Yeah! Right! One of my colleagues in Hong Kong had a tee-shirt which I always coveted. On the front it said “I’m not an alcoholic! I’m a drunk!” On the back the slogan was, “Alcoholics go to meetings”.

“Dune" is a really good movie. I read the book(s) years ago and saw the first two screen adaptations, but this one was far superior. I can hardly wait for Part 2 to come out. Naturally, Ali was happy that she had been able to give me a Christmas present.

By the time we went to bed she had calmed down and recovered from the day’s events. She took MacBear to bed with her and he evidently helped her to go to sleep. When I looked in on her she was out like a light and the bear was clutched tight in her grasp.
Next morning she was up and at ’em. No cooking for breakfast but a healthy fruit platter, pineapple, melon, orange, grapefruit, blueberries, etc. She said it was to settle yesterday’s overindulgence.

Now I’ve inherited a dietitian!

No sooner had we finished eating and drinking and washing up than she was zipping around the place cleaning.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“Well, I’ve been here nearly two weeks and the place hasn’t been cleaned. Mum used to insist that I helped with the cleaning, laundry, vacuuming and dusting. Once Morag was in Canberra I seemed to be doing all of it, so I just got into the habit. I like it tidy. She was off shopping or playing bridge.”

I couldn’t argue. It seemed like I’d got a maid as well. The only thing I’d been doing was making my bed! I had a man come in once every two weeks to do the heavier stuff like cleaning the bathrooms and doing the floors, but he was on holiday over Christmas and New Year. The poor bugger was going to be out of a job, not that I thought it would bother him. He had plenty of other customers.
Meanwhile, I’d been pondering the upcoming family meeting. I had already determined that it was Joanne who would greet them. I figured it was all or nothing. If they had made up their minds to boycott me, then that was it, better to get it over with and rip off the Band-Aid in one go.

I really wasn’t worried about my grandkids. Joy wouldn’t be there, that was for sure, so I only had to worry about Kylie and Anthony. I got hold of Ali when she had finished her whirlwind actions round the apartment and told her that I wanted to be ‘Joanne’ tomorrow. I needed to be the best possible ‘Joanne’ that I could be so to be sure that my face and make-up was perfect. We had to choose the exact right outfit for me to go to lunch with them….or not, as the case may be.

I think Ali saw this as atonement for yesterday’s mistake.

There is no problem with her doing my face as long as I moisturise and shave closely. Her cosmetic skills are now just about up to Arpi’s standards.

We spent some time discussing what I should wear.

Now Christmas in Brisbane is technically the height of the wet season, but this year the weather had been behaving itself and we were experiencing mainly fine days. I checked the forecast for the following day and it said it would be another like today, blue skies, low humidity and a maximum temperature of about 29C.
That meant I would be able to dress in light summer clothes, so I thought a skirt with some floatiness would give me room to move. Tight would not fit the occasion. We looked in my wardrobe and I had a few which I reckoned would be suitable. Ali had quite a good eye and we settled on one about knee-length with a dark brown background and white flowers to set it off, conservative, suited to my age and the occasion.

I always had to wear dark legwear because sixty-plus legs with varicose veins are not a good look. If not for the veins I thought my legs were pretty good.

That was OK, with a skirt of that length thigh-highs would do and would not be too hot. I also had a nice pair of coffee-coloured sling-backs with a heel of about one-and-a-half-inches that would be suitable for walking up to the pub, if we got that far. I had a matching bag for my bits and pieces.

My underwear would have to be light-coloured. No problem. It was summer after all. I had a high-necked orange blouse that tied with an Alice-bow and had flared three-quarter sleeves that I rather liked. We agreed that it would complement the skirt nicely. I would wear my favourite wig and be a real woman, going to lunch with her family.

That was the plan. We’d see if it worked! Of course, there’s the old saying that no battle plan survives contact with the enemy!

I sat her down and told her she would have a job to do as well. Even if I was declared persona non grata I didn’t want her to suffer. Assuming the best, I would be going off with my son and daughter-in-law for lunch and leaving her with Max and Dixie. While I thought they were on side I wanted to make sure they accepted her. I didn’t want her to be isolated.

So I made sure that she used her skills to cement their connection with her. Cavorting in and around the pool was a start but I told her that the way to their hearts was through their stomachs. If her parents and I were off to the pub she should give them some kid grub to keep them filled and occupied. We had sausages and buns, mustards, tomato, and onions, so hot dogs would be in order. No problem for my girl. She could deliver those in a trice.

Once we had our battle plan in order, we settled down for lunch. I was eating too much and too well since she came into my life. If I wasn’t careful I wouldn’t be able to get into my carefully selected female clothes!

Anyway, we just had tomorrow to worry about first. I didn’t want either of us over-thinking the situation. I wanted us to be cool, calm, and collected.

As if that was going to happen!

The TV news was as bland and uninformative as it always is over the Christmas holiday. Pictures of the Pope giving the message of peace and goodwill get boring when you’ve seen the same thing over and over and they always show a church service in Bethlehem. I haven’t watched the Queen’s Speech in years, although this year it was the King.

Still, we did manage to push the problem to one side by watching several episodes of Game Of Thrones before going to bed.
We were up a little later than the sun. I did the hated shave while Ali did breakfast. I was very careful. Today was not the day to nick myself. Thankfully I didn’t.

She served poached eggs on toast plus the usual orange juice and coffee to make my pills go down.

The one thing I’ll have to teach her is how to make coffee. I like mine VERY strong and the right blend of beans is the basis.

We cleaned up and the dishwasher did its work.

With teeth cleaned and all pearly we went onto the balcony, and she got to work on my face. Back to my bathroom for inspection when she finished and it was as perfect as it could be, so I got dressed in the chosen outfit and fixed my wig. My teeth are great but my hair much less so. Male pattern baldness’R’us.

I went back to the living room and asked her how I looked.

“Gucci! You’re beautiful.”

“Liar!” I’m nervous.

“No, really. You look like a very elegant fifty-year-old lady, better than my mum. Nobody would ever know.”

“I do hope you’re right, my dear.”

I went and sat on the balcony so that I could see their car coming and get a bit of a heads-up. I wanted to look my best when they arrived.

Ali was dressed completely casual since she was going to change shortly to get in the pool. For her it hardly mattered. To my eyes she still looked enchanting and, fingers crossed, my family would think so, too.

The car appeared and I rushed to the full-length mirror in Ali’s bedroom. There was nothing out of place, nothing I could improve on.
When the buzzer sounded I told them to come up. They had keys anyway. To buzz was only politeness. I jammed my front door open with the little wedge that serves to do that, so they would get the full view when they came out of the lift.
If I was going down it would be with all guns blazing.

My grandkids sort of spoiled my big reveal by charging out the instant that the lift-doors opened and then coming to a sudden stop in front of me. It was quite funny.

They looked at me, mouths agape.

“Grandy, is that really you?” Max found his voice first.

“Wow!” Dixie added. “You’re pretty…. for a grandma.”

I couldn’t help laughing. “Maybe you’d better call me ‘Joanne’ when you see me like this.”
By this time Kylie and Anthony had caught up. They did a classic double-take, by which time I had ushered the children into the apartment where Ali was waiting to greet them and there was a group hug between the three kids.

Kylie looked me up and down. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t tell us before. I would have been jealous!”

“Do I look all right?” I guess I was fishing for approval, if not a compliment.

“Silly woman,” Kylie gushed, “you look great. I didn’t want to believe it. I was prepared to hate you, but I can’t.”

My son was still gawping.

“Come in, come in,” I said, getting out of their way so they could get into the unit.

“This is going to take some getting used to,” he said, but there was no hostility in his voice.

“So why don’t we let the kids go down to the pool and we go up to the pub?”

With the immediate crisis averted we agreed to go to The Ship, leaving Ali in control of the juniors. They were down to the changing room before we left and the sound of happy splashing pursued us as we crossed the street. I was sure there would be no problems there.

The three of us walked up the footpath, my son in front. Kylie took my arm in hers. My skirt flapped gently around my knees but I’d already forgotten that this was the first time I would be doing this with them as a woman.

“Now there are no more secrets you’re going to have to come clean on everything,” Kylie demanded.

I almost burst into tears but managed to stop myself from ruining my mascara. All those years, all those fears, melting away. As Roy said in the movie, “Like tears in rain.”

So we got to the pub, sat, and ordered drinks before perusing the menu.

My son broke the brief silence. “You’d better give us chapter and verse and I’ll decide if I forgive you.”
I knew he already had, even if he didn’t know it himself.

“OK. I did start telling you on Christmas Day but we didn’t reach a conclusion. I’ll go back to the very beginning.” I told them how I had realised I was different when I was about eight or nine. That would have been about 1965, and in those days I didn’t have a clue why. There were no personal computers and no internet, I just had this desire, this yearning, to be a girl.

Nobody would have understood in those days and not for many years later. I thought I was a freak until the nineties when the internet began to explain to us what we were, the transgendered.

I went through the various problems that had arisen for me over the years and how I had continued to hide them and live a ’normal’ life so as not to hurt anyone else, until we got to where we are. “I got so used to hiding my feelings that it became a habit.”

Kylie said, “I did have my suspicions about you sometimes because I thought you were sort of too gentle. The way you looked after Saranne when she was sick, but I just thought it was because you loved her.”

“It was because I loved her . It broke my heart when she died.”

“A lot of the life went out of you,” Kylie agreed. “I also noticed, in just one day, that you’re very fond of Ali. She has woken something in you.”

Women are far more perceptive than men.

“You’re half right, but I’m not ‘fond’ of her. I love her. She’s given me back what I was missing. I love her as much as I love you all.”
I realised with a shock that I probably did love Ali more than my children and grandchildren, but I wasn't going to say anything.

Anthony opened up. “Dad, you never tried to push any of this on to me. How did you keep it all bottled up?”

“You learn, son, you learn. You didn’t need to be burdened with my problems. But I don’t think you should be referring to me as ‘Dad’ while I look like this, do you?” I giggled, something I never do when I’m ‘Mac’.

“You’re a bastard, do you know that?” He said with a grin.

“No, I’m a bitch.”

We all had a good laugh. There was no ice left to be broken. My family was one again, with the exception of Joy.
I could do without her. It wasn’t as if we had ever been close. I hoped it wouldn’t upset Kylie too much. It didn’t seem to. I had heard stories over the years that not everything had been rosy between them, but family is family. Her mother had had five children, four girls and a boy, the youngest. Perhaps that means that the bonds between parent and children aren’t so strong. I wouldn’t know.
Lunch over, we walked back to the apartments. This time, Anthony walked arm-in-arm with me on one side and Kylie on the other. It couldn’t get any better.

I told them the rest of Ali’s story and that I was applying for guardianship.

They thoroughly approved; I think because they could see that it would be beneficial for me as well as for her.

We arrived back at the pool and the kids were still enjoying themselves. Ali had fed them with hotdogs and made sure they didn’t drown themselves after eating. It was clear that they loved their new sister.

We chivvied them into changing back into ‘street’ clothes, under protest. After a few minutes upstairs my tribe departed. But not before I got kisses from all of them. That’s the kind of thing you miss when you’re hiding a big secret.

We organized for them to come over to watch the fireworks on New Year’s Eve. There’s no better place to see them than my apartment. We grown-ups would have drinkies while the kids oohed and aahed at the light show. Kylie volunteered to be the designated driver. I was told in no uncertain terms that “Joanne” had to be the hostess.

Having the family over for the fireworks was something I had let go when my wife died. Apathy, I guess. Now the fire was back.
Ali insisted that I should spend the next several days as Joanne and I was on cloud nine. I t didn’t take any pressure for me to agree. She was giving me extra tuition in applying my own make-up and I was getting better. I still relied on her approval.

The fireworks show came and went. The grandkids were as good as gold and Ali did a splendid job looking after them. She was already part of the family. My son and daughter-in-law never indicated that I was anyone but “Joanne”. I had spent nearly all the time before and up to then en femme. We had gone and done a bit of shopping in the meantime. A girl always needs new clothes and especially new shoes and the sales were on.

After New Year we had to come down a bit. On the third of January we were going to have our first court appearance and you never know how those are going to pan out.

The third of January came up and hit us, the first day that justice resumed after the Christmas/New Year break. Our court appointment was for 11 a.m. Lisa had left messages suggesting that we should be at the courthouse an hour earlier as there had been some developments that we needed to know about.

We met her in the antechamber and after a minute or so a middle-aged man approached our little group. She introduced him. “Mac, this is Malcolm Hurst. He is the solicitor for the Morgans, and he has a proposal.”

We shook hands and he gave Ali a seemingly sincere smile. “Look, I’ve been talking to the Morgans over the last few days and they agree that they haven’t exactly been presenting themselves in the best light. After some discussion I was able to point out to them that they might be fighting a losing battle. We are fighting over a sixteen-year-old who can legally choose where she wants to live and who she wants to live with.”

“OK, go on,” I said, keeping my tone and face neutral.

“They know they’ve been hasty and done things that could be interpreted badly.”

“No doubt about that.” That’s why we’re here, I thought.

“I think I’ve persuaded them to change their attitude. I’ve seen the police evidence and told my clients I think they will lose if they follow the path they have taken so far. Criminal and financial consequences could accrue from their actions.”

“So what’s your proposal?”

“If you drop the charges, they will sign an undertaking not to pursue any kind of custody pertaining to the child and to sign an avoidance not to approach the child or hinder her association with you.”

The fact that he had referred to Ali as “her” told me we had won. They had accepted the reality of the situation. They may have been silly and they may have been impulsive and somewhat callous but they weren’t evil. They knew when to fold.

“Look, Mr. Hurst.”

“Malcolm.”

The enemy of my enemy is my friend, but he isn’t quite my friend yet.

“I would need some kind of positive written statement from them that they will support my application for guardianship. I want Ali to feel secure.”

“I think I can manage to get them to agree to that. They really want to put this whole unfortunate business behind them.”

I turned to Lisa. “What do you think? ”

“Mac, subject to a signed agreement I think we should accept the offer with your proviso. It’s technically not up to us to drop the charges. That’s for the police to decide but if we’re not going to pursue the matter, I don’t think they’ll have a problem.”
There is another person involved in all of this. “Ali, will you be happy with that? Basically, they’ll leave you alone and you can carry on living with me? All we have to do is convince the magistrate.”

“That’s fine by me, J…Mac.”

Lisa grinned slyly. “We’ll talk later. First we have to chat with the police and the magistrate. Is that OK with you, Malcolm?”

“Yes, let’s get in there and see if we can sort this mess out.”

We entered the courtroom. Ali’s parents were already there. Malcolm spoke to them briefly and they looked relieved. Then he and Lisa went over to the police, who were ensconced where prosecutors normally sit. There were a few minutes back and forth and everybody seemed to relax.

Nobody likes the tension of court proceedings. I’d been through them many times and it’s never any good for the nerves. If the judge got out of bed on the wrong side that morning even a good case could turn sour.

The magistrate entered a couple of minutes later and we did the usual rising, bowing, and scraping before resuming our seats. I must say she didn’t make a big deal out of it. That gave me heart.

The police wasted no time in telling her that the parties had agreed to waive the charges pending a formal legal agreement.
Malcolm delivered an accurate oral recap of our positions.

She looked at her documents and paused for a few moments. “There is one provision I will be enforcing.” She glared at the Morgans.

“I will be binding you both over to keep the peace. Is that understood?”

They stared at Malcolm like dogs who had been caught digging in the yard.

He answered for them. “Yes, your honour. Thank you.”

“If that is acceptable, I will declare the case closed. I will award costs against the defendants. You may go, but don’t let me see you in here again. I have exercised clemency once, but I won’t be inclined to do so again. What you did was very wrong.”

“Thank you, your honour,” Malcolm said.

Costs would be minimal due to the brevity of the hearing so the Morgans got off very lightly.

We all trooped out into the anteroom. I still didn’t like the Morgans but their counsel had done a good job for them. That was enough.
He and Lisa said they would have the enforcement documents drawn up by close of day.

Lisa, Ali, and I retreated to a corner to discuss the outcome in private.

“Happy?” Lisa asked Ali.

“Yes, all I wanted was for them to leave us alone, so it’s fine. Thanks, Lisa.”

“What about you, Mac, or should I say “Joanne”?” She gave me a huge smirk.

My jaw dropped and I didn’t know what to say. How does she know?

“What do you mean?” I spluttered and groaned. ”Does the whole world know?”
She tittered. “Sorry, I shouldn’t shock you like that but I couldn’t resist.”

Ali broke into laughter. “Sprung!” she snorted. “That’s a gotcha.”

“OK, I surrender, but how did you come to that conclusion?”

“I am a lawyer and I’m used to sussing out things that clients don’t want to tell me. When you acted all cagey a few days ago I knew you were hiding something. You’re not my only client or contact in your apartment block, and news about the new lady sitting by the pool went around like wildfire.I put two and two together and came up with twentytwo!”

“I don’t know whether to hate you or admire you! You’re still my lawyer, though, so you’re bound to secrecy!”

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to tell anybody and I would like to see my client ‘Joanne' sometime soon. Just give me a heads-up when she’s going to appear, OK? I like some light relief.”

“Sneaky bitch. I hate you.”

“That’s no way to speak to your lawyer!”

Ali had been giggling away. “I like Mac but Joanne’s much nicer. I know you’ll like her too.”

I was shaken that my secret identity had been torn to shreds so easily. How did Superman get away with it? Just a pair of glasses and a phone booth? Mind you, it’s bloody hard to find a phone booth these days.

Lisa pulled us back to business. “I’ll send you the agreement later today. I don’t think there will be any problems. Malcolm’s a decent guy and he will have told them of the consequences if they didn’t accept reality.”

“How did you get hold of him?”

“I didn’t. The Morgans hired him. But that was lucky for us, since he’s the sort who’s not afraid to tell his clients the truth, even if it’s not what they would like to hear. There are plenty of others who would milk the case for fees.”

She paused. “I’ve booked you a hearing in the Family Court for your application to be Ali’s guardian. I hope tomorrow’s not too soon. I don’t think it should take too long. Part of today’s agreement is that Ali’s parents will not only not contest your application, they’ll support it. I’m sorry, Ali, but it seems their parental instincts are lacking.”

Ali bit her lip.

“I don’t care. They don’t love me and I don’t love them.” She clutched my arm. “I’ve got somebody I love and I’ve got somebody who loves me.” She gave me a look which melted my heart.

The sooner I get that guardianship the better.

“What time, Lisa?” “10.30. I don’t think it’ll take long, but there might be a few awkward questions, so we’d better have a bit of a coaching session beforehand. Can you meet me at 10? Just one thing, though. Tomorrow there must be no hint of ‘Joanne.’” Turning to Ali, she added, “you be extra careful, you hear?”

Ali looked contrite and nodded.

I absorbed that. “Of course.” I would call Arpi later and put off our appointment with her for a week. Hopefully all the legal stuff would be completed by then.

We concluded our meeting and left Lisa to nut out an agreement with Mr. Hurst. She was going to email a copy to me later on.
We went home and relaxed.

I poured myself the first glass of Chardonnay for the day.

“You drink too much,” my little girl accused.

“Yeah, so?”

“Joanne drinks less. Why is that?”

I found it hard to answer that question. “She doesn’t get as much exposure to alcohol. When my wife died I used the drink to kinda drown my sorrows. It dulled the pain of her absence. I didn’t think about her as much when I’d had a few Chardonnays.”

“Yes, I understand that, but it was more than two years ago, so why are you still doing it?”

“It becomes a habit, I guess, and I like it. Hey! Are you nagging me?” I almost had to laugh. Women can’t resist trying to make you into a better person and I had created my own personal monster.

“I suppose I am. Excessive drinking can’t be good for you.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No. I just think you should slow down a bit.”

“For you, I’ll try, and if I spend more time as Joanne then it won’t be as much of a problem.” I smiled.

“That sounds like something we can agree on. I want you to be Joanne as much as possible and you drink less, OK?”

“Yes, Mum.”

It’s a fact. A man sees his chosen woman as perfection but she sees him as a piece of clay that has to be moulded into the shape that she wishes him to be. A little nagging is part of the process. I hadn’t had anyone to nag me for the last couple of years. It was almost comical. Funny how you can enjoy being nagged, as long as it’s in moderation. Thank you, Oscar Wilde.

The agreement came through and there were no mouse-traps. I showed Ali. She agreed and I sent it back with our acceptance.
The next day we met Lisa again. The Family Court was in the same building, but on a different floor.

Lisa got down to business quickly. “The only unusual things about this application are the circumstances that led up to it, and the brevity of your association. She may want to impose conditions and, of course, there’s always the possibility that she might refuse it, so I’ve got a statement from the police and I’m submitting a copy of the Agreement to the magistrate and a recommendation from me as to your good character and financial ability to support Ali. I also got an affidavit from your son that you’ve been a good parent and it’s notarized. She may want to interview you separately. Some of the questions may seem a little strange as they’re designed for overseas situations, but you’re both Australian citizens so that shouldn’t be a problem.”

She paused to draw a breath. “The major complication is that you haven’t known each other for very long but I think we can swing that with the police evidence, Ali’s parents’ agreement not to contest the case and your son’s testimonial.”

I was never so glad that we had kept the question of my transgenderism out of the mix.

“When you’re questioned just tell the truth. Mac, your financial standing will come up, but you’ve got me to give an affidavit on your behalf. Ali, all you have to do is confirm that you want it. It’s a bit simpler because you’re sixteen so you could actually live on your own if you wanted. The magistrate will want to know that you are going to a loving home of your own free will. For Heaven’s sake, do not mention ‘Joanne!’”

I nodded. “Yeah, Lisa! I’ve got it!”

“You may have to go into some detail, Mac. Don’t be reluctant to emphasize the circumstances of your wife’s death and how devastated you were. I can support that if necessary.”

Our appointed hour came and Lisa left us outside while she found out how the magistrate wanted to handle us. It turned out that she wanted to hear Ali first, so I was left chewing my nails for fifteen minutes while my girl was grilled.

They came out smiling so it obviously wasn’t a hostile interview. Lisa confirmed that all had gone well. No bombs were dropped and so far, so good.

It was my turn in the cauldron. We left Ali sitting on a bench and went into the courtroom. I took the mandatory oath and braced myself. Unlike some of my other experiences in court there was no opposing counsel waiting to tear me to shreds. The magistrate was an elderly lady who immediately set me at ease with her maternal manner.
There were, of course, the usual questions to establish my identity and place of domicile. With those out of the way we got to the nitty-gritty.

She referred to Ali in her desired gender throughout.

Was I financially capable of looking after Alicia? That was easy, with the presence of the solicitor who had assisted me through the maze of probate for the last two years by my side. Yes, I was financially viable. I owned my own apartment and had sufficient income to provide for the girl.

How had I met Ali and when? I described how I had found her at the shopping mall, how she was distraught and I couldn’t bear to leave her there so I had taken her to my home and we had phoned her parents to let them know she was safe.

Then came the question that I was not quite dreading, but hoped I could convince the magistrate of my sincerity.

“Mr. McDougall, that’s a short time on which to base an application for guardianship. Tell me why I should grant your application.”

“Am I permitted to give you some background, Your Honour?”

“If you think it will help me to make up my mind, Mr. McDougall, I’m willing to listen.”

“My wife died a little over two years ago, multiple cancers, and I guess you could describe my life as rudderless since then. We had been married for nearly thirty-five years, happy years, and then I was alone. Life became a sad routine. Then accidentally I bumped into a young girl who needed help. One of those unforeseen circumstances that can change not one, but two, lives. Ali has brought purpose and, yes, happiness back into my life.”

I paused to compose myself.

“I suppose it might seem sudden, Your Honour, but the girl needs someone in her life to properly look after her, and in this short time I have come to care for her. I’ll be more than happy to provide her with a loving home until such time as she decides she wants to strike out on her own. She is, after all, sixteen and will be legally an adult in a couple of years. My care will be temporary but, I would like to think, will assist in her transition from childhood to maturity.”

“Hmmm,” the judge offered. “The police think you’ll be a positive influence. Her parents actually support this application. Your lawyer is in favour. Your son seems to think you were a good father. The girl wants it and I feel you’re a good man.”

Thank goodness!

“Still . . .” She paused for a moment, visibly conflicted, before finishing her thought. “What I’ll do is give you a temporary guardianship for three months. This is unusual, but it’s within my jurisdiction and the circumstances are somewhat unusual too. We seek successful solutions here. You will be on probation of a kind for that period. A condition of the guardianship will be that Child Support Services will have visitation rights every two weeks to your apartment. I want you and Alicia to come before me in three months and tell me if things are working out between you. As long as Child Support approve I’ll make the situation permanent.”

“Thank you, Your Honour, you won’t regret it.”

I couldn’t help myself. I cried in relief. It’s always been my big giveaway.

Lisa and I hurried out of the courtroom to convey the good news to Ali. The poor girl had been waiting with no idea what the outcome would be. She knew as soon as we burst into the ante-chamber with smiles on our faces.

She rushed over to me and gave me a ferocious hug.

“Whoa! Ease off. It’s not a complete victory, my sweet.”

I let Lisa explain the terms on which the magistrate had granted me guardianship but that did nothing to dampen Ali’s ecstasy.

“We’ve won. You know we’ll be happy.”

Lisa cautioned me to be careful not to have Joanne take part in the visitations. “Better to be safe than sorry.”

If you had asked me about all of this four weeks ago I probably would have laughed in your face, the grizzled and cynical construction guy, albeit with his own problems, and a young transgender girl in dire need of a helping hand. Strange what fate deals you, isn’t it?

Anyway, I was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth. A win is a win. A nose in front is as good as five lengths. The bet pays the same. We wouldn’t have any problems making the situation work.

That was a happy day and we still had time to go to lunch. I asked Lisa if she had any unputoffable appointments for the afternoon and she said she didn’t so we went to lunch at a restaurant well-known to me in Fortitude Valley, where they did a nice menu ranging from steaks to Asian salads. I was driving so my “Jiminy Cricket” was very pleased that I only had two small glasses of chardonnay before we dropped Lisa off back at MacArthur Centre and went on home. I had a nap and relaxed after the slightly traumatic events of the morning.

Ali made us some nice sandwiches for our “dinner” with sliced roast beef and salad. It was all we needed.
She tried to persuade me to be Joanne the next day but I refused on the grounds that we had lots of administrative, clerical, and secretarial stuff to get out of the way first. Now that the legal situation was settled, at least temporarily, we had to enrol her in our Medicare scheme, register her new address to coincide with mine and all the other little things you don’t think of until you have to do them all at once.

I wasn’t complaining. I enjoyed having all this purposeful activity to occupy me. I signed her up for a couple of credit cards and put her on to my bank account as a dependent. All of that would take time to come through.

We had a talk about possible gender reassignment and although she wasn’t one hundred per cent sure she wanted surgery we agreed that she should at least talk to a doctor who was familiar with transgender issues and maybe get referred to an endocrinologist for some preliminary examinations. All of these things take time to organize and I was going to have to do some research.

Thank heavens for the internet. What must it have been like for earlier generations?

She wanted to know why I hadn’t done anything about my own transgenderism so I spent some time explaining about my life’s experiences and how there were different degrees along the Bell curve. Some people, like me, could live with the bodies that they were born with, even if it was hard sometimes, while others just couldn’t survive without going the whole way. If they didn’t, they sometimes wrongly concluded that the only answer was death.

Ali was unsure where she was on the scale. I told her she had time to work it out and she had me who understood, whatever decision she came to. I would always be there for her. We left it there for the present.

I had resisted Ali’s entreaties to become “Joanne” the day after our court appearance that gained me a probationary guardianship over her, but I acquiesced the day after for a couple of reasons. Firstly, I owed my lawyer, Lisa, a visit from ‘Joanne’ and there was legitimate business to be conducted with her that concerned both Ali and me.

I rang her the same day.

“I was just going to ring you,” she said, as soon as she picked up.

“Why? What did I do?”

“ Nothing, it's just that we have a fair bit of business to finish. It’s not all over yet.”

“I think we’re on the same wavelength.”

“Well, when am I going to meet Joanne?”

“How about tomorrow?”

“Sounds good, when?”

“Well, I’ve got to give you my best side. How about eleven?”

“I’m free and I’m all agog! Bring Ali too. We’ve got to start on your documentation. Bloody governments and bureaucrats manage to make everything complicated and time-consuming, God bless’em.

“Fees, glorious fees,” she sang. She was totally out of tune.

I knew she was joking. “Don’t give up your day job, Lisa. See you tomorrow.”

I was doing some of my own make-up now, but I still needed Ali’s delicate touch and approval of the finished job. I reckoned it would be some weeks before I would be confident enough to fly solo.

So Ali and I drove to the MacArthur Centre the next day. I wanted to make a good impression on Lisa so I wore a fairly conservative jersey dress in navy blue, high-necked and long-sleeved, knee-length, as befitted a middle-aged business woman. I indulgently allowed myself a pair of nice gold drop earrings and just a thin gold chain necklace. A little bling sets things off. My shoes were also dark blue with a two-inch heel. Christmas weather meant I didn’t need any coat.

I got Ali to wear a denim mini and a white knit top with a pair of kitten-heel sandals. She was worried that it was too formal, but we were going to a law firm.

When we reached the Reception area the girl at the desk rang through to Lisa. She had looked rather puzzled when I told her Mr. McDougall had an appointment.

Lisa came charging out of her office and stopped dead when she saw me.

She looked me up and down. “It really suits you. Why have you been hiding all this time?”

Ali spoke up. “Because she’s a scaredy cat!” She giggled crazily.

“Quiet, shrimp!” I gave her my patented death stare but for some reason it didn’t seem to intimidate her.

Lisa interrupted. “Come on in, we’ll use the conference room and I’ll tell you what I’m thinking.” She parked us inside and disappeared, returning a few seconds later with a laptop and some papers.

“First, let me get a good look at you. Stand up.” She ordered me to rise. “Twirl, girl!”

I did as I was told.

“You really should have done this before,” she said.

“You know I couldn’t. There were too many things that Mac had to do. There still are.”

“That’s why we’re here. We are going to make those things get fewer and fewer. I’m assuming you would like to be Joanne full-time. Is that right?

I sighed. “Yes, but I’ll need your help.”

“All right, but let’s deal with Ali’s situation first. Ali, do you want to be Joanne’s daughter when you can?”

“Yes, if she wants me.”

I jumped in. “Of course I want her. Nothing would make me happier.”

“Well, we can’t really do anything about it until the guardianship issue is settled, so that’s three months away, but I’m assuming it will be settled favourably. Where were you born, Ali?”

“In Melbourne.”

“Good, that makes it easier. The laws in Victoria regarding gender are more liberal than ours in Queensland. You don’t have to have any surgery for a document change. We can get your Birth Certificate changed to show you are female but we’ll have to wait to get your surname changed to match Joanne’s. Do you want to be a McDougall?”

“Of course I do.”

“OK, that’s the easy part. We just have to wait for three months. What we will do is get a few photos to support any changes that we need. We’ll change your Student Card but that’s only important if you go for further education.”

“I’m going to enrol her for TAFE so we will need it,” I interjected.

“All right, good.” She gave me a shit-eating grin and a chortle. “Your turn, ‘Joanne.’ How long do you think ‘Mac’ will be around?”

“I think he’s got to stick around until the guardianship issue is settled. I really don’t want to jeopardise that, but that’s basically one day a fortnight when our Social Services lady comes to visit and check up on us.” After turning it over in my head for a moment, I honestly couldn’t think of anything else that would require me to present as Mac. The thought made me smile. “Other than that one day in fourteen, I could be Joanne full time. There’s paperwork to be done, I know, but that’s why I’ve got you."

I ticked off the particulars. “My kids are OK and I don’t have a problem at the apartments that I can’t handle. I’m sure you can organize changes to bank details and credit cards. I think the only thing I worry about is my Driving Licence. It’s such a basic form of Identity.”

Lisa nodded at my recital, but added, “You’ve missed out one or two. That’s your passport and Medicare, but I can do that too, a few photos today and my signatures to verify your identity, a new application and it’s a matter of weeks away. We don’t have to do anything about Medicare as long as you don’t want to do GRS.”

I shook my head. Nothing so drastic.

She said she could deal with all the Bank-related stuff. “We just need to change your initials to neutral. The banks don’t care as long as they get paid each month. I’ve been dealing with your finances for long enough to know that you don’t have any mortgages or outstanding debts. There are a few minor matters remaining on the probate issues but I don’t see anything too difficult.
“Funnily enough, the Driving Licence is the hardest. You have to do it in person and if you have undergone GRS, you have to have a Certificate to prove it.”

“But I have no intention of doing GRS.” I stated warily.

“No, but if you have to produce your Licence, for whatever reason, it has to match your physical appearance. It is an Identity Document. They will expect to see Joanne McDougall, not John McDougall. I’ll take care of it, but you’ll have to front up to the Department of Main Roads. We’ll go together.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” I grumbled. “Can we deal with it next time I come to see you. They’re just down the street.”
“I think so. I’ll have to get a notarized Stat Dec ready to give them when we go.”

Why is life so complicated? I didn’t know that I had hardly scratched the surface.

We carried on for a while, but I could tell she was somewhat bewitched at seeing me as Joanne. Truth be told, so was I. I was becoming much more comfortable in my feminine persona. Mac was becoming just a necessary prop to my life overall, someone who was needed on the odd occasion. When I turned and caught sight of my reflection in a mirror or a window, that was me, the real me. A dress did suit me and make-up seemed natural. My hair should always have been this way. Pity I didn't have more of it left!

I had always known it. “Joanne” was my default personality.

After a session with a camera our appointment wound down with Lisa insisting that all future meetings should be with Joanne unless there was some emergency dictating otherwise.

I agreed.

Ali and I lunched at one of the several cafes on the ground floor of the MacArthur Centre. No problems, a mother and her daughter having a light meal. Yes, I could pass as a mother to a teenager.

The next couple of weeks passed without incident. We drove down to see Arpi, who gushed over my girl and gave her another lesson in cosmetics although she thought Ali hardly needed it. This time, I went down in full fig. If my neighbours objected I couldn’t care less, but it didn’t become a problem. We didn’t see any of them on the way.

Arpi was delighted that I had gained enough confidence to show myself to the world as the woman that I had always felt like, without her professional intervention.

“I suppose I’ve worked myself out of a job,” she commented.

Both Ali and I assured her that it wasn’t so. We would always come and see her, once a month. We valued her advice and expertise and her bubbly personality.

I got Ali enrolled at the TAFE college just up the road. It turned out that cookery was one of their specialities so it was ten minutes’ walking distance for my girl. The new term started at the beginning of February, so everything was organized for the new season. Lisa had her new papers ready before the start of the term so there were no hassles about whether it was Alistair or Alicia who attended. It was Alicia.

Ali was always pressing me to be Joanne, and I didn’t need much pressing. My five minutes of notoriety around the apartments had passed very quickly, and if I didn’t need to present as Mac for official business I willingly showed myself as Joanne. The only active enemy was neighbour Dave and his displeasure was limited to a snarl when our paths crossed. Several just ignored me or avoided me but most at least gave me a smile when I was Joanne. A few actively engaged me in conversation, wanting to know what kind of strange beast I had become. Some even welcomed me as Joanne, but largely I was treated as just another fixture around the building.

Thirteen days out of every fortnight I was Joanne unless there was some official business that it was essential for Mac to attend to. Lisa and I went to the Department of Main Roads together. She presented the Statutory Declaration to the official at the counter which showed my name to be Joanne and I was duly photographed and issued with a new Drivers Licence. There was no need for a test as I was surrendering my still-valid current licence. The photo wasn’t bad but there was still an ‘M’ for male on the front. Nobody seemed to care.

So our lives settled into a comfortable pattern, broken only by our friendly Social Services lady, Nicole’s, visits. I was deathly afraid of doing anything which might derail the success of the application for guardianship. Now that I was fully alive again, I dreaded returning to the drab existence of the previous two years. Ali had brought me a peace and happiness that I had all but forgotten.
Nicole came round every two weeks to make sure that I was treating Ali right. Mercifully, she turned out to be a very pleasant middle-aged woman who clearly loved her job. She always gave us a day’s notice so we could plan for it to be a “Mac” day. We would chat over a cup of coffee while Ali had some kind of soft drink. She would dutifully inspect the apartment and make time to talk to Ali alone so she could make a fair report.

Having lulled us into a sense of security, however, she turned up one Saturday unannounced, and I answered the door as Joanne. She had sneakily obtained access from our Building Managers, who had innocently allowed her the keys to the lift. They knew who she was, of course.

I gaped when I saw her. I was in full warpaint and a nice black-and-white jersey dress so dissembling was impossible. Ali and I had been planning on going out later. Our probation was due to finish in two weeks. We had come so close!

“Hello, you must be ‘Joanne.’ I’ve been dying to meet you,” she said with a smile.

I must have gobbled like a turkey, at a complete loss for words.

“Well, are you going to invite me in? I’ve always been welcome before.”

I was completely blindsided and could do nothing but stand aside and let her into the flat. She wafted past me like a galleon under full sail. “Won’t you sit down?” She took my arm and shepherded me to one of my own chairs.

I flopped more or less bonelessly into it, still in shock.

“Shall I make us some coffee?” She looked relaxed – even breezy. “I know where everything is.”

I recovered my voice. “Go ahead. I think I need one. Make it strong. All right, what’s this ambush all about?”

“Don’t be like that, Joanne. We can discuss this like civilized people. I mean you no harm. By the way, where’s Ali?”

“She went for a walk, but I bet you knew that.”

“True. I did. I wanted to get you on your own so we can settle things.”

She poured two cups of coffee and brought them over to the table. She knew how much milk and how many sugars I took.

“Now, down to business. I’m not here to crucify you or destroy the relationship between you and Ali. Just the opposite. I’ve observed your interactions over the last two-and-a-half months and I see love, OK?” She smiled. “While your situation may be a bit unusual I’ve been doing this job for twenty years or more. I’ve seen good ones and bad ones, and yours is brilliant.”

“Then why are you putting me through this? I want to know that Ali is safe.”

“She is safe. Trust me. I’m not going to go back to my office and report that she is being subjected to some kind of perverted parental grooming. I know that’s not you, but I want the air between us to be clear. My main task is to observe that the relationship is going well and it is. I also keep my eyes open to what happens in proximity to the relationship, so I have talked to a lot of the people who live here and they all think you’re a good person, well, with the exception of that Dave fellow, but even he is all piss and wind. There’s always one.

“My real message to you is that if Joanne turns up at the, let’s call it the graduation ceremony, for your guardianship, in a couple of weeks, there will be no problems. I will endorse you and my Department will endorse you. It’s up to you how you wish to present. The magistrate is an old sweetie and her only concern is that Ali is happy. Personally I hope it’s Joanne.”

I relaxed at her benediction. “I’ll have to think about it.”

“All right, can I have a smoke? These confrontations always take it out of me.”

“OK, let’s go out on the balcony.” I found a superannuated ashtray and we sat outside. I haven’t smoked for twenty years but I accepted the cigarette she offered me. After coughing and spluttering for a few minutes I stubbed it out. “I guess I’m really over them,” I said.

She laughed.

A little while later we parted with a hug.

I was incredibly relieved, though I still worried that something could go wrong at the hearing.

I wasn’t really being rational about the situation but sometimes your emotions prevent you from seeing things clearly. It was only later that it dawned on me that even if my guardianship was rejected Ali could remain in my care, living with me and giving us both the love and companionship we wished for. What would be missing was only an official recognition of our relationship. However, there were things I could do as a guardian that I would not be eligible to do without that formal stamp of approval, like assistance with any gender-related issues that she would not be able to commence until she was eighteen.

Despite all my foolish worries, the confirmation of my guardianship went off without a hitch. Nicole beamed. “Told you so, but I wish Joanne had attended.”

“Nicole, I just couldn’t take any chances.”

“It’s OK, I do understand, but now you’re home free. Look after her, Joanne. She’s a lovely girl.”

“Thanks, Nicole, and thanks for being a friend.”

“Just doing my job.” She smiled.

After that, “Mac” disappeared. He was no longer needed.

I slipped into my new-found femininity almost without conscious effort. I had always thought of myself as “Joanne” but that was ever tempered by the fact that it had been a temporary interlude, and I would have to return to being “Mac” before very long. Now I didn’t have to do it.

Long repressed desires surfaced. I had always wanted breasts. Now I could actually indulge that wish. In my mind I could feel the heft of a pair on my chest, supported by a pretty bra trimmed with lace. I had no particular antipathy to my male genitals; they had never upset me other than for the need to tuck them to be unobtrusive and without them I would not have had a son. However I was toying with the idea of taking hormones to give me nice boobs. They would cause my genitals to shrink. I could live with that.
I broached the subject with Ali and we discussed the ramifications. If I went ahead with it the hormones might contingently affect my mind as well as my body. She also had to clarify the path to womanhood for herself. Had she made up her mind? Was I being fair to her?

She was surprisingly rational and adult about it all. I had been worried that her emotional maturity had been damaged by the lack of love in her existence with her parents, but the young can often surprise you with their resilience.

We both decided that we needed professional help and guidance before taking any irrevocable steps. Ali, of course was already on blockers, so had several months in which to consider her future. I could commence at any time. I had the advantage that I could probably engage the help of the gender clinic at the Royal Brisbane Hospital while Ali was not eligible until she turned seventeen.
I went back to Lisa to research the facilities and resources I could obtain. As an adult Queenslander there were a lot of psychological and medical services available to me. I just needed a referral from an authorised medical practitioner to access them. Together with Lisa I organized that with a lady at Queensland University, who was a well-known endocrinologist. I underwent a couple of blood tests and an interview with her and voila, I was an outpatient at Royal Brisbane’s gender clinic. As they say, it’s not what you know, it’s who you know. She was very sympathetic and very helpful.

She also examined Ali and pronounced her to be as good a candidate for gender reassignment as could possibly be, but she could not legally recommend her to RBH because of her age.

Something in all of that brought me back to reality. There was no urgency for any treatments for me, but I could accelerate hers. Yes, it was bucking the system, but the system had been put into place by people with no empathy for those who really needed to transition. Their ideal time was before they went through puberty and the rules denied them that opportunity.

I had happiness and contentment with Ali and with my family and overall acceptance in my living arrangements and I was about to jeopardise all of that with a bit of selfishness.

I remembered how my wife had been changed by the effects of hormones during her menopause. For five years she had been really difficult to live with. Mood swings, hot flushes, depression, occasional temper tantrums, all had been hard for me to cope with. And here I was about to subject Ali and my family to the same, all because I wanted a pair of breasts.
I’m used to bending rules, some may say I break them. That’s occasionally been true over the years. There are times when it is easier to seek forgiveness rather than seek permission. So I decided that while I would be the ostensible patient undergoing gender reassignment the real recipient would be Ali. While I would be prescribed the required hormones I would pass them onto her. I realised that dosages and maybe some of the prescriptions might be different. We definitely needed sound medical advice. Self-medication is ill-advised. I utilised my connection with Dr. Sue Gower, who was in a separate jurisdiction. I obtained a tele-appointment with her and told her what the RBH had prescribed for me. I levelled with her about my fear that my mental faculties might be affected and I didn’t want to take that risk. She said that I would be wise not to. All women underwent both physical and mental changes in menopause.

Then I asked her about the possibility of passing the treatments onto Ali. She advised me that if we were in New South Wales she could legally administer hormones to the girl and the safest way would be for us to physically come to see her. Once a month would be preferable. I could line that up with our trips to see Arpi. It sounded like a plan.

If any recriminations arose we would have cover from NSW. Administering the drugs would give her a head start. She would be on her way at seventeen. I know it was technically illegal in Queensland but what could the authorities do about it? We would have to be co-conspirators, but I would make sure that we didn’t overdo it. Even after nine months to a year body change would be minimal.
Once I had taken that decision I felt relaxed. I could look at my reflection in the mirror and know that my happiness was preserved without any harm being inflicted on my immediate circle. I had promised my kids and grandkids that I was not going to embarrass them with any flamboyant transformations. I had already given them enough to cope with.

I had ninety per cent of all the things I ever wished for. Greed for the other ten per cent could bring the whole deal tumbling down. Sometimes it’s better to be satisfied with what you’ve got.

I did succumb to the tortures of facial depilation. Since I wasn’t presenting as Mac very often, I started a course of electrolysis, and I have to say it is as painful as I had been told, but if, after a couple of months of treatment I will no longer have to shave, Yippee!

Kylie rang a couple of weeks before the day to make sure that Ali and I were coming over for Christmas lunch.
Of course we were, we couldn’t miss it. We had already done our shopping. Ali and Kylie both had that magic touch when it came to choosing gifts that their recipients would “Ooh and Aah” and “You shouldn’t have!” over. As Joanne I was allowed on these expeditions to give my seal of approval. I had recovered the enthusiasm which I had lost before I met my girl, my daughter, now.
Apart from the gifts, Ali had baked her own special mince pies. Now an accomplished cook, she has been on 'Master Chef' several times. Apart from her culinary ability, she is an audience favourite, with her stunning good looks, outgoing personality, and beautiful smile. She even does wonderful things with seafood, for which I pat myself on the back. The judges say she has "Star Quality."

Strangely, I have developed a taste for the TV cooking shows.

When the big day came we were greeted with the warmth that can only come from a loving family.
Kisses all round were de rigeur. My grandchildren accept me as their granny without issue. They can’t get enough of Ali – even more so now that she is becoming a TV star -- and she can’t get enough of them. I think if Max was a couple of years older he would be in love with Ali rather than just loving her, if you know what I mean.

Kylie and Anthony have completely adapted to whoever opens the door, be it Mac (not that Mac ever opens it these days) or Joanne. Visits are relaxed affairs and we often lunch, or occasionally have dinner, at the Ship Inn. I have no idea why I was so scared at revealing the real me to them. Stupid!

Kylie’s mom, Joy, had not been seen since the brouhaha three years ago and Kylie never spoke of her in my hearing. Similarly, Ali’s birth-parents had not impinged on our lives since that fateful Christmas -- not a birthday card, a Christmas card or a phone call. We didn’t miss them, but at least they had recognized the error of their ways and complied with the terms of the Agreement we had made with them.

When it was time to distribute the presents, sixteen-year-old Max was thrilled to get a drone and had to be stopped from flying it inside the house. Dixie, our twelve-year-old tearaway, got a Slazenger tennis racket. She was a tennis nut this year. Last year had been water-polo and she would return from their games with split lips and black eyes (yeah, there was blood in the water!) so we are all happy that she now likes tennis. She’ll need watching when she’s a teenager.

Kylie got a beautiful pashmina shawl from Ali (well, I helped a bit, they’re bloody expensive) and I gave her a pair of ballet flats that I knew she had been eyeing off.

Between us we gave Anthony a swish golf-buggy, the push-pull kind, not a ride-on! I had ferried all this gear over a few days before. It’s hard to hide some prezzies on the day!

I received a lovely pair of chandelier ear-rings and Ali won an apron autographed by one of the most famous TV chefs. We knew she would treasure that.

But most precious of all was the love flowing around that table, none of which would have happened without the chance encounter with the girl who is now my adopted daughter.

Nobody has ever said it better than Charles Dickens. As Tiny Tim observed, “God bless us, every one!” That includes MacBear and the family’s puppy, Murphy.

I thank whatever Gods or Goddesses had brought me this wonderful, unexpected Christmas gift, because it must have been divine intervention, a gift which never stops giving. She was mine, and maybe I was hers.