Chapter 1

Harvey Horton smiled as he reached the last pile of papers on his desk. A career teacher, next term he was going to start a new job as Assistant Headmaster of the Cotham School in Clifton. It was, for him, a good step up, with the only downside being that his son already attended, starting second year next term.

His eyes were tired after a mammoth session of reviewing the exam results from the previous school year. He had been given the task of looking at all the first-year student records, to give him an idea of that group before he started, as he would be in charge of the first and second years until he was fully informed of the way the school operated. The next batch of first years were still waiting for their results from previous schools, which he would see towards the end of summer.

He stood and went to his kitchenette to make a cup of instant coffee before finishing for the night. With his cup in front of him, he picked up the set of stapled papers that was his son’s record. The last time he had seen his son was three years previous, when he had kissed his wife and driven away to take up a temporary House Master position on the other side of the country. While he was away, she had sued for divorce, citing desertion. He sighed as he thought about that. She had, or so he had learned, been carrying on with one of the local rough boys since Tony had started school.

Tony Horton had been a quiet child, or so he remembered. The boy, now coming up to thirteen, was quiet no longer. In fact, it looked as if Harvey would be seeing him in his office inside the first week of the new term, by the look of the record in front of him. Tony was a troublemaker, and a bully, by the list of detentions that he had racked up. Harvey wasn’t looking forward to his first few months in his new job. If he was lucky, Tony would complain to his mother, and she would send him to another school.

Putting those papers with the others, he turned his attention to the file with the paperwork on the students that weren’t returning next term. It was his job to review their records and forward them to their new schools. Most of those leaving had been in Tony’s class, and he could already understand why they were moving on.

There were ten sets of papers, and he didn’t need the full details of every student, just looking at the results and teacher comments was enough to write a report for the next school, with a comment on their behaviour. He worked through the records until there was just one left.

He glanced at the surname on the front, and it was W.J. Rose. He had seen that name on Tony’s detention record, finding it several times. By reading between the lines, he deduced that Tony had bullied this other student that Tony called Billie-Jean Rose, claiming that it was she that started all the troubles. That made it even worse if Tony was bullying girls.

He looked at the girl’s marks and realised that the school was losing someone who was likely to be going on to tertiary study and a good career. Cotham was a school with a fine record for music studies, and Billie-Jean was already at a high level in piano, violin and woodwind work. Her other subjects were also in the higher grades. He hoped that wherever she went, she would be happy. He summarised the record and made the comment that ‘this girl, Billie-Jean, will go far.’ He put the report in an envelope and addressed it to the administration of the Blue Coat School in Coventry. His eyes were heavy as he turned out the light and finally went to bed.

………………………………….

William John Rose walked quickly away from the Cotham School for the last time. No more would he have to put up with the taunts of Tony Horton and his cohort of bullies. His backpack had all the leftover books that he had been able to salvage from the last time they had been tossed into the mud. His violin and clarinet had already been taken home after the final concert.

William was happy to be walking away, but sad that he was leaving the girls in the orchestra, who had supported him when he was at his lowest. At around the same height and body-mass of the girls, he had been fair game for Tony. He had been used to being called ‘sissy-boy’, or ‘girly-boy’ during the year, but the one that made him smile was the name ‘Billie-Jean’, which Tony had come up with in the second term. The girls had picked it up and it was William’s entry into the circle of friendship of their group at school. It didn’t include him mixing with them outside of school, which made him wonder what that companionship may have been like.

His father had managed to get a good job with Aston Martin at Gaydon, near Coventry, and William would be attending the Blue Coat School next school year. He had looked it up and knew that he would be in a school uniform for the next few years, and the prospect of further study in music excited him.

He walked up the path to his front door, passing the real estate sign which hadn’t taken long to get a sold sticker on it. His father had already put a deposit on another house, halfway between Coventry and his workplace. William had seen the brochure, and it looked a lot better than the ‘quaint period house’ where they now lived. He hoped that his new bedroom will be a bit bigger, and, hopefully, the floor would be flat and level. At the moment, if his bed was shifted a couple of inches, it would rock as he turned over. He knew that someone would have to plane the legs level when it was moved.

Going in, he put his backpack down with a thud and pulled the grey pullover off. It may come in handy on cold days, in the future. Walking into the kitchen he said hello to his mother.

“Hello, Bill, how was your last day?”

“Same old, same old. I got pushed into a wall and had to recover my textbooks from the chicken run. The girls and I did a an acapella piece behind the netball seating and we all did high-fives and hugged.”

“Still telling porkies, as usual. How many girls have you hugged today?”

“There was about ten. Stephanie gave me a kiss on the cheek and wished me well in Coventry.”

“What about your friends in the boy’s side.”

“I’ve told you before, Mum. I have no friends with the boy’s side. There’s just the bullies and those of us that huddle together in fear.”

“Exaggerating again. That school has a policy against bullying.”

“Oh! yes? Tell that to the teachers who sit in their rest room and complain about the noise of kids screaming, thinking that we’re all having fun. I hope Coventry will be better, but I don’t expect it will.”

“Don’t be such a sourpuss! At least we can get the piano out of storage, so you can play at home. We get the keys next week, so we’ll be busy moving. Your father said that your bedroom will be three times the size of this place.”

“That’s good. Maybe it’s the lack of bedroom size that stops me getting as big as the other boys at school. Who knows, I might gain another foot or so by Christmas, then you’ll have to get me new trousers as gifts.”

His mother giggled.

“Go and get changed. I’ve put a plastic bag in your room for all the school things you won’t need. They can go to the op-shop for some other boy.”

“All right, Mum. Don’t bother washing anything. Someone else can get rid of the bloodstains.”

He picked up his backpack as he went to the stairs. In his room, he took everything off, adding the pullover and blazer to the other things for the bag. Naked, he walked into the minuscule bathroom and washed the scratches that were the most problem. He had several on his arms and legs from when he had been pushed into a bramble bush.

Back in his room, he redressed in a shirt and jeans. When he had put on his socks and sneakers, he looked at himself in the mirror that was attached to his door.

“OK, punk. This summer is the summer that you grow into the man that Dad wants you to be. If they play rugby in Coventry, you’ll be the first one picked for the team.”

He winked at himself then giggled.

“Who am I kidding?”

Over the next week, he boxed up his things to be transported to Coventry, reduced his wardrobe by being ruthless with all the things that didn’t fit, or were worn out. At a set time of every day, he spent two hours with his instruments. One day he played the clarinet, another the violin. He also had a Casio electric keyboard and earphones to keep his technique up to scratch, although it was nothing like playing a full-size piano. One thing it did do, was switch it to a rudimentary organ, and he would piggyback his MP3 player into the line and play along with pop songs. His mother would often hear his voice, with no music, as he enjoyed the freedom of song.

Finally, came the day of the move. The house looked almost mournful as it was emptied. When the truck pulled away. They put their cases into his mother’s Ford, did a full tour of the house and garden to make sure that there was nothing missed, and left Bristol for a new life.

They stayed with his father’s parents for a few days, just outside Oxford, a visit that wasn’t full of joy. Then they headed to the new house in the Walkers Orchard Estate, in Stoneleigh Village. It had been chosen as somewhere off the beaten track, halfway between his school in Coventry, and his father’s work at Gaydon. When they arrived, Bill saw that it was a newer house with big rooms.

His father had been living in a hotel for a month or more, and had been happy to see the furniture arrive, so he could live in his own home again. When Bill saw his room, he smiled. It was as large and as flat as he had wished for. The bed had folded cardboard under two legs, but he thought that this was only temporary. The family piano was already in the sitting-room, but in need of tuning.

During the next week, his father went off to work in his company car, though not an Aston Martin, much to Bill’s disappointment, and Bill helped his mother make the house their home, pulling out the little things that made it theirs and putting them out in a good place, then moving them around until his mother was happy.

It didn’t take him long to set up his bedroom with his things in the wardrobe and drawers. The instruments were in set places, and he now had room for a desk, which he and his mother assembled when it had been delivered, along with the office chair. He now had somewhere to put his laptop and do his homework. The best thing, for him, was that his parents had their own bathroom, so he took over the main bathroom, two doors away from his room.

One day, his mother took him to the school to have a quick look around, and to leave their new address with the admin. Then they went shopping for some new things for him, having a hard time, as usual, in finding items that fitted him and was also within his age range. The expected growth spurt wasn’t happening yet.

A few weeks before the term started, his mother came into his room and waved her hand in front of his face as he was trying to keep up with Jon Lord on the organ. He turned everything off as she told him that there was a lady from his new school downstairs. She had brought his school uniform; the basics being supplied and the extras and replacements being the parents responsibility.

“It’s all in the garment bag on your bed. Try it on and come downstairs for inspection.”

She left him to it, and he opened the bag to pull everything out on his bed. When it was all out, he laughed quietly. They had brought a uniform for a girl! Well, if he had to wear it for inspection, then wear it he would! That, he thought, would be the best joke of the summer.

Besides the blue school blazer, there was a couple of white shirts, a couple of blue skirts, and a pullover. In the bottom of the bag were two pairs of shoes in his size, both sensible styles but with Velcro fastening rather than laces, as well as a couple of pairs of socks and leggings in the school colour.

He stripped down to his boxers and started dressing in the clothes. He had a little trouble with the shirt, as the buttons were on the wrong side, The skirt was easier, once he realised that the zip was supposed to be on the side, rather than the front. He sat on his bed and carefully pulled on a pair of the leggings, then put the shoes on.

He left his room and went to the bathroom to see what he looked like. When he saw himself in the mirror, he had to do a double-take. Except for his bushy eyebrows, he looked just like a schoolgirl. He grabbed the electric razor that he hardly ever used and carefully trimmed the eyebrows so they didn’t stand out and ran it over his chin in case there may be an errant hair.

There was a brush on the vanity, so he used that to alter the look of his longish hair into a slightly feminine fall, thinking hard about the girls he knew. He grinned to himself before he left the mirror. As he left the bathroom, he heard his mother calling up for him to hurry up. He went down the stairs and walked into the sitting room.

“Here I am, Mummy. What do you think?”

It was the other woman who spoke first, as his mother was flapping her jaw like a fish.

“You look great, Billie-Jean. That colour really suits you. You’ll fit right in with the other girls. I had a look at your previous results, and you already have a seat in our orchestra.”

His mother had finally found her voice.

“It’s a nice look, for a girl.”

“Isn’t it. We’re quite proud of how our students look. I must run, I have another couple of uniforms to deliver. I hope to see Billie-Jean on the first day of term. I am part of the music side of the classes. Thanks for the cup of tea, Wendy. Billie-Jean, you are allowed a small amount of make-up at school, but don’t go Goth on us.”

Bill stood with a smile on his face as the woman left the house like a whirlwind. His mother came back into the sitting room and sat down.

“Well?”

“Well, what, Mummy?”

“Don’t you Mummy me, you little minx. Where did you get that outfit?”

“It was the one in the garment bag you put on my bed. It has a few other things in it as well, all suitable for girls.”

“Why did she call you Billie-Jean?”

“I don’t know. That’s the name that Tony Horton called me in the second term. It’s what all the girls in the old orchestra called me. Somehow, it must have been sent with my records.”

“You do look cute, but we’ll have to put this right before school starts.”

“Please don’t do that, Mum. What do you see when you look at me and call me cute?”

“With a skirt on and your hair like that, I see a schoolgirl.”

“Exactly. With my height and my body, I fit these clothes. In them, I don’t stand out as a freak. If I go to school like this, I won’t get bullied so much.”

“You and your stories!”

Billie took the jacket off, then pulled the blouse out from the skirt and undid the buttons. As he took it off, he held his arms out and did a slow revolution so that his mother could see the scars and the welts on his body from where he had been hit. His mother was wide-eyed and put her hand to her mouth.

“The stories about bullying were all true?”

“Yes, Mum. They were all true. As a runt schoolboy, I’m fair game for the bullies, and it’s been going on since primary. This is my chance to come home in one piece. This is my chance to be safe and to be part of a group. This is my chance to be a better student. You heard what that woman said. She said that I would fit in with the girls.”

“I’m going to get my phone and take some pictures of you like that. Then, put the blouse back on and also the blazer and I’ll take some more pictures. Then put everything back in the garment bag and hang it in your wardrobe. When your father gets home, say nothing about this and go up to your room after dinner. I’ll talk to him and see what he thinks about the situation. If you are to go to school as a girl, there are other things we will need to do and buy before you can do it successfully.”

“Thanks, Mum.”

When the photos had been taken of his scars and welts, he redressed and posed as he had seen the girls do when they were playing around. His mother took pictures from the front, back, and sides before she sent him back upstairs. He took everything off and carefully put it back into the garment bag, hanging in it in the wardrobe before putting his jeans and shirt on. When he went back down, his mother took one look at him and told him to stand quite still before she went and got her phone to take another picture.

“Now, young lad. Go back up to the bathroom and get your hair looking like a boy again!”

When he looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, he saw what had made her take more pictures. With his hair still brushed as it had been, he still looked like a girl. He brushed it back to its usual way and went back to his bedroom to play some quiet pieces on the clarinet until his father came home.

During dinner, nothing unusual was said, and he helped his mother tidy up and load the dishwasher. She told him to go up to his room and stay there, even if he heard shouting. He gave his mother a hug.

“I hope it doesn’t come to that, Mum. I don’t want to cause friction in the family.”

As he left her, his mother stood there with a bewildered look on her face. Bill had never been one for hugging. Then she remembered him telling her that he had hugged the girls at Clifton. Now, she realised, more than ever, that he needed to be Billie-Jean Rose to preserve his health, as well as his sanity. She picked up her phone and went to talk to her husband.

Bill was in bed, reading a book, when there was a knock on the door. He called for whoever it was to come in. He hadn’t heard any shouting during the evening, for which he was thankful. His father came in and sat on his bed.

“Your mother and I have had an interesting evening. I want you to tell me about how you ended up with those injuries.”

Bill told his father everything, from the name-calling to the pushing and shoving, the damage to his schoolbooks, and then how he had peace and companionship with the girls. His father took a look at some of his injuries.

“Do you want to be a girl?”

“I never thought about it until I wore the uniform, Dad. But, when I saw how I looked, I could tell that it would be the answer to my problems. I’m about to start at a new school, where they already think that I’m a girl called Billie-Jean. Between now and the beginning of term, I have time to get into character. I’ve always been friendly with girls, not in a serious way, but as one of the crowd. I don’t know how I can avoid being found out, but I’m sure that there are ways to hide bits that don’t fit the picture.”

“There are, my son. I’ve seen a few shows in my younger days where men act as women. Done right, it will work. The point is – are you willing to play the part? If you do it, it will have to be twenty-four seven. A whole new wardrobe of clothes, a whole new way of living, a regime of hairdressers, moisturisers, shaving your legs, wearing make-up. I can get ready to go out in ten minutes. It takes your mother that long to decide the look that she wants to have, then another hour to achieve the look she first thought of.”

“I think it will be a bit like learning an instrument. Once you teach your fingers to play the chords, you can do it without having to think about it. I’d like to give it a try, please, Dad. I’m fed up with having drag myself out of bushes.”

“All right. I will get you an appointment with the company clinic as soon as I can. They will give you a good check-over and take some blood to test. I’ll tell them that you’re having problems in regard to your gender. Both you and your mother are covered under my contract, and you will both need to be seen and added to the patient records. If they think that your puberty is racing up, we can’t follow through with the plan. When you get a bit older, they can prescribe blockers to hold puberty off until you finish school.”

“Thanks, Dad. You’re the best.”

“Thank you for being such a talented and clever child. You know that we’ll both love you as much whether you’re Bill or Billie-Jean. Your mother is already thinking about you learning to cook and sew. I will never try to make a man out of you if you don’t want it. You just don’t have the body for that. Goodnight, son. Sleep well and we’ll get things moving. I’m proud of you for taking this so well.”

“It must be in the genes, Dad. I’ve never seen you get flustered since the day you couldn’t get the lawnmower to start. Goodnight, and thank you for listening.”

“I saw the pictures of what those bullies had done to you. There was no way I wouldn’t listen. Don’t stay up reading too late. It’ll be a new start tomorrow.”

His father gave Billie a kiss on the forehead and left the room. Billie put the book on the side and turned out the light. He lay in the dark, with just a hint of moonlight sneaking past the curtains and thought about being able to be happy at school, to have no fears of being shoved into walls or hedges, and to be able to make friends. Just like everything else he did, there would be a lot to learn, but eventually it would be as easy as playing a piece of music.

Marianne Gregory © 2025