“Mr O’Neill what on earth were you thinking of, have you taken leave of your senses?” the headmaster, Jack Armitage, angrily demanded as he glared at me.“ No matter what the provocation you cannot throw one of your pupils across the classroom.”

“What was I supposed to do?” I glared back at him with no intention of accepting any rebuke from him. “Young Galbraith has been the bane of my life and for most of the other staff this term, he disrupts the classes, is cheeky and sarcastic, and refuses to answer when asked a question. The final straw for me was when he came right up to me face-to-face and sneered that I was not enough of a man to keep him under control. For the record, I did not throw him across the room, all I did was push him away from me and he fell back onto a desk.”

“That’s as may be, we will deal with him separately, but you lost your temper and went way beyond the bounds of what is acceptable. You acted contrary to all your professional training and responsibilities, your lack of any remorse gives me no choice but to suspend you while we investigate the matter further so that the governors can consider your future at this school.”

“I expected more support from you and the other staff, you all know that discipline in this school is a joke, and that many of the pupils run rings around the staff. It is not helped that you that you, with your wishy-washy liberal attitudes, refuse to change things and impose any punishments for unacceptable behaviour. I’m totally fed up with it all and if that is your attitude, then there is no need to suspend me. I resign with immediate effect, there’s no way that I can continue when I have no faith in how you run. or fail to run, the school.”

I slammed his office door as I stormed out and went to collect all my personal belongings. As I left the school I was ignored by virtually everyone, staff and pupils, the only person who came up to me to say goodbye, and that she was really sorry to see me go, was Jacquie Marshall, a close colleague who I had been out on dates with a few times.

“ I’m so sorry Cathal, you have been unfairly treated, that Gavin Galbraith is an evil little b*****, it was about time that someone told him that he goes too far and put him in his place, it’s disappointing that Armitage didn’t support you. Good luck, you’ll need it, it’s unlikely that you will get another teaching post, he will never give you a reference for another post, but maybe now you will get to finish that novel that you have been talking about for ages.” She gave me a kiss on the cheek, wiped away a tear, smiled, and walked away.

The last few months my life at the school had been absolute hell, thanks to Galbraith and his friends, Jacquie was the only thing I would miss about the place. I walked away through the school grounds and through the gate without a backward glance, in many ways glad that I had been put in a position where there was no alternative but to leave.

That period of my life was now over, but back in my apartment, over a glass or two of whiskey, I looked back at how I had got to this stage of my life.

Growing up I had a strange childhood, my parents were professional actors and always away on tour, using the family house as a base when they were appearing in the area, leaving me in the care of my Great-Aunt Margaret, or Auntie Meg as I called her. She was unmarried and lived in ‘Tara’s Lodge’ ,a large Georgian period house just outside the town of Southdale, with a huge garden that bordered onto woodlands and meadows, an ideal playground for a young boy. Being unmarried without children she treated me as if I was her own child, indulged me and made sure that I was happy and did not miss my mother and father too much. I was later told that my parents who were in a group of touring actors, had become involved with a pagan-cult travellers commune, permanently high on drugs and indulging in free love, which Auntie Meg thought was not an ideal life for a child. She refused to let them take me with them and unofficially adopted me and brought me up herself.

Her family a few generations back had been quite wealthy with extensive land and property in County Antrim in Northern Ireland, before relocating to England. Along with what she had inherited, and a trust fund left to me by my grandparents, she had more than enough to keep us both in a very comfortable lifestyle.

Whilst she encouraged me to go and play rough games with the other boys, climb trees, mess about in the nearby streams, and generally enjoy my childhood, she also insisted that I help her about the house. She drummed into me that I needed to learn to look after myself, wash and iron my clothes. learn to sew and do minor repairs to any of my clothes that got damaged when I was out playing, and, above all, learn to cook and bake.

In many ways at times she treated me as if I was a girl and sometimes even dressed me in a skirt and blouse and called me Cathy rather than Cathal when I was doing girly things with her. It had all started with wearing a headscarf to keep my longish hair from my face when baking, and wearing an apron over my shorts, which looked as if I was wearing a skirt, but it soon developed into being dressed in girls’ clothes almost always inside the house.

When I was younger it was all so innocent and I thought nothing of it and just assumed that it was not unusual, but as I grew into my teens I began to realise that it was not conventional and gradually stopped, much to Auntie Meg’s disappointment. After that I developed as any other boy my age, but it was to continue to be in my psyche and have an influence on my later life.

“You may not always have a woman to make sure you eat properly, making a decent meal for yourself will always be necessary.” was something she drummed into me the many times I was in the kitchen with her. Over time I became a quite competent baker and cook and before I went away to university that had become my main domestic chore.

Auntie Meg was not a great lover of television and we spent most evenings reading, meaning that I grew up with a love of books and literature, mainly the classics by Charles Dickens, Robert Louis Stevenson, Anna Sewell, Lewis Carroll, Jane Austen, the Brontë sisters, and Mark Twain, but also some of the ones she had enjoyed as a child, Anne of Green Gables, Malory Towers, What Katy Did, Little Women, Heidi, The Secret Garden, all in all a very eclectic mix that inspired my interest in all sorts of stories, leading me to study literature and creative writing at university, and make my career as a teacher of English Language and Literature.

Although I was now living in an apartment nearer to the school where I taught, or had been teaching, I still visited Auntie Meg regularly and made sure that she was looking after herself in her old age. We hadn’t seen my parents for years, and didn’t know where they were or even if they were still alive, and she was effectively the only relative I had so we continued to be close.

As Jacquie had suggested I spent my time trying to complete my novel ‘Troublesome Times’, a historical period story of life in our home area in Regency England in the early 1800s. Weaving into the lives of a family of farmers, it followed the great social unrest that was sweeping the country in the years following the revolutions in France and America, and the growing industrialisation causing changes in the labour market. This was all at odds with the usual images of aristocratic life and the social whirl from the novels of Austen and the Brontë sisters, but was instead told from the point of view of the lower social classes. I was not happy with it, it was too dry and lifeless and needed a bit of a spark to make it more readable and enjoyable.I was constantly reviewing it and rewriting it, but it still did not click. I was beginning to doubt that I would ever be successful as an author.

I received a formal looking letter one day from my Aunt Meg’s solicitor telling me that she had passed away suddenly, and advising me of the details of her funeral and the time for the reading of her will. It was a major shock to me, she had seemed fit and well for her age on my last visit, only a few weeks earlier, and I had never thought that i would soon be alone in the world.

I was dismayed at her funeral, I was the only family representative there, along with a few friends and neighbours. It was a poor showing really, considering how active she had been in local organisations and community life, but I supposed that at her age most of her contemporaries would already be dead and that she was the last of her era. Her nearest neighbour, Emma Metcalf who I had met a few times at my Auntie’s house, invited me back to hers, along with some of the neighbours, for tea and cakes and we had the usual chats and reminiscing about Auntie Meg. I stayed for a while as I felt it to be my duty, and also to hear some of the memories of her from her friends, but when it later turned to general chat about what was going on in the neighbourhood, I felt it was time to leave and spend some time with my own memories.

“Your Aunt Margaret was a wonderful woman Cathal, you must miss her. Please call me if ever you want to talk about her.” Emma told me as she hugged me goodbye as I left.

A few days later I was in the solicitor’s office, just me, again my parents did not show up. I had thought that, as is often the case, they would turn up in the hope of a legacy for themselves,

“The will is fairly simple Mr. O’Neill, with no other known relatives to take a share as she specifically excluded your parents, apart from a few small bequests to neighbours and carers, all her possessions, substantial bank accounts and investments, including the house, pass on to you. The only significant matter is that for you to totally inherit the house you must use it as your main home and move in permanently for at least 5 years. She states that it was effectively your childhood home and that she would like it to remain in the family. do you agree to that?”

“It couldn’t have come at a better time, I have recently lost my job and am struggling with a new career and trying to work out what to do with my life. It will take a while to sort things out before I move in, but I was always happy there and will be glad to comply.”

Luckily my flat, which was in an up-and-coming area of the town, sold almost as soon as it was put on the market, and within weeks I moved into ‘Tara’s Lodge’. Although most of the furniture and decoration was dated, and reflected Aunie Meg’s tastes, it all went with the classical Georgian features of the building. Most of my more modern things from my flat were moved into what was to become my study and workroom. As well as the house I had been left a a large amount of money and investments which meant that I could continue to write for the foreseeable future without being on the artistic breadline.

I was out in the front garden a few days after moving in trying to tidy it up and get it under control again, it had got a bit overgrown when Auntie Meg could no longer care for it herself or supervise a garden contractor who was supposed to have looked after it, when my neighbour Emma walked up the drive, looking friendly.

“Hi Cathal, I’m so glad that you have decided to live in Tara’s Lodge, your aunt loved this house and I am sure that she would have been delighted to see you living here. You’re obviously busy at the moment, but why not come over later for tea, cake and a chat, and we can get to know each other better?”

As I was still a bit stuck on what to do with my novel, and tired from an afternoon of physical work I was not in the mood for writing, after I finished what I was doing in the garden I went in, got cleaned up and changed, and went over to Emma’s.

“What do you do then Cathal if you don’t mind me asking, you seem to be around a lot and not going out to work.” she asked as we sat and chatted over the tea and cakes.

“I was an English teacher until recently but that all finished just before Auntie Meg died, now I am trying to be an author, but am not being very successful at that either.”

“That sounds so interesting, what sort of stuff do you write, anything I could have read?”

“No, I’m still working on my first novel, a slice of life in the Regency period.”

“Oh super, all Elizabeth Bennett and Emma Woodhouse is it?”

“Far from it, ‘Pride and Prejudice’ and ‘Emma’ are classics, I could never hope to write anything as popular as those. ‘Troublesome Times’ is more down to earth, dealing with the trials and tribulations of a country farming family, and how they are affected by all the social turmoil of the time. It still needs a lot of work before I start looking to publish it.”

“You sound like you are being a bit hard on yourself, you need to have more confidence. If it will help, let me read it and see what I think, you never know, you might be being over-critical. I used to teach English and drama before I got married and John got his job as a TV journalist. He is always on his travels so I have plenty of time on my hands. What do you think?”

“If you don’t mind being bored to death, feel free, I would appreciate a review by someone else. It’s all on my computer, are you ok with a copy of the file or do you want a printed copy?”

“No just put it on a USB stick or memory card, or attach it to an email, saves using all that paper, we’re all supposed to be doing our bit to save the planet nowadays.”

Emma was easy to get on with, she was seriously interested in books and literature generally and specifically in what I was doing and I also enjoyed my time with her chatting about Auntie Meg and my life with her at ‘Tara’s Lodge. It was good to have a break and spend some time socialising, I was becoming a bit of a recluse.

After a week or so, I phoned Emma to see if she had read my novel, or at least as much as I had completed, and invited her over to Tara’s Lodge to talk about it.

“I was last over here just over a week before Margaret died, I’m glad that you have left things more or less as they were, she had the house furnished and decorated in keeping with its age and character, I always felt that it was cosy, comfortable and inviting for such a large property.”

“Thank you Emma, when I was growing up here I never really realised how different it was from the way that most other people lived, it was just my home. When I get myself sorted out and this novel out of my hair, there are a few things that I plan to do, but for the moment everything is staying as it always has been. Since I have mentioned the novel, what did you think of it?”

“To be honest I found it a bit dry and hard to keep an interest in. It seems that you are trying to balance a lot of social and political background with the personal life of the family, but it reads more like a non-fiction record of events whereas I was expecting it to be a bit lighter and more personal. You have to decide what market you are aiming for with the book. If you want it to sell well you need to lighten it up, otherwise it will have very low sales to a specialist group of people who have a particular academic interest in the period. I’m sorry if that sounds a bit blunt but you did ask for an honest opinion when you gave me the copy. You need to mentally put yourself in the minds of the characters, feel their emotions, think how you would react if it was you, relate to your characters and they will spring to life to your readers.”

“Fair enough, I will have a rethink and see what I can do. Have you got time to stay for a chat, the one we had last week lifted my spirits a bit , the world seems a bit lonely after all the hustle and bustle of school life.”

“I’d like it too, with John being away filming so much I am stuck at home a lot. I meet up with some of the other women and girls occasionally and enjoy that, but whenever they arrange social gatherings or visits anywhere I usually give them a miss as I always feel a bit of a gooseberry around them and their husbands.”

“That’’s good, i will go and fetch some cake and biscuits, do you prefer tea or coffee?”

“That was delicious Cathal, were they homemade?”

“Yes, they are fresh made this morning, Auntie Meg insisted that I learned to cook when I was younger and I quite enjoy baking and find it relaxing. Most of my meals I make myself, at least I know what is in them, rather than all the additives and preservatives in commercial products.

“I’ve noticed when I have been here before that there are several photos around the place of a young girl working in the kitchen, so your Aunt obviously enjoyed passing on her skills, was that a relative or friend of yours?”

I blushed deeply and struggled to compose myself while I considered how to reply.

“I’m sorry Cathal have I asked an awkward question, you seem a bit flummoxed?”

“Can I trust you to keep this to yourself?”

“Of course you can, what is the matter?”

I decided to be honest with her and taking a deep breath and staring into her eyes I began my story.

“Actually the girl in the photos is me. When Auntie Meg was teaching me how to bake, I was getting flour all over my clothes so she insisted that I wore an apron. With it wrapped all around me and with me wearing shorts she said that she thought it looked like a skirt and that with my curly collar length hair that I looked a bit like like a girl, we had a laugh about it. Next time I was in the kitchen she again said it looked like a skirt and asked if I would like to try one on, so that we would look a bit more like each other, like the mother and daughter on the front of her baking recipe book. Gradually I was dressed more and more often in girls’ outfits, skirts and blouses, dresses and even knickers. This was only around the house, whenever I went out to school or to play with friends I was always fully dressed in my boys’ clothes. This went on for a few years, until in my early teens, I began to feel uncomfortable and it was all stopped. So there you know now, but please keep it to yourself, it’s not something I want people to know, it could be very embarrassing, and awkward, particularly if I ever decide to go back to teaching.”

“It’s between you and me, but it was not your fault, however I am surprised by what Margaret did.”

“Obviously society now is a bit more open and I found out that I was not alone, the internet is full of stories and videos about people struggling with their gender identity and their transformations. At the time I think that she was just a bit lonely and felt the need for some feminine company. Leaving aside the dressing up, I really enjoyed my time with her and all the things she taught me. I had a much better life with her than i would have had with my parents, and I do not hold it against her.”

“If it’s not too embarrassing a question, do you ever dress up now or wish you could dress up?”

“Until you brought it up I have never really thought about it since it stopped in my teens, so the answer is no, I do not ‘dress up’ as you call it. Can we talk about something else please, I am uncomfortable with this.”

“You said that you could do with company occasionally, I am in a book club and several of us get together regularly to review our book of the month and have a chat, tea, coffee, cakes and sometimes a bottle of wine, would you like to join us next time? It will be my turn to host, so if you don’t like it you can easily leave and come back home. At the moment it is all women, we have had some men before, but they always have other things to do, so you will be more than welcome, a bit of fresh blood and getting a male perspective never does any harm. Margaret used to come over sometimes especially when it was held at my house, you can be her replacement.”

“Thanks for asking Emma, I will give it a try but I can’t guarantee that I will become a regular, let’s just see how it goes.”

A week later, i made my way to Emma’s, and was greeted by her and introduced to the others. Like me and Emma, all were in their thirties or forties and seemed a pleasant welcoming crowd, Jan, Moira and Di were stay-at-home mums with young school-age children, Liz, Elinor and Anne worked part-time from home as call-centre contacts, and Emma introduced me as a former teacher and now an aspiring author, which sparked a lot of interest.

Over the drinks and food they all discussed what the thought of the latest novel by Ann Cleeves, a well known contemporary writer of mystery crime stories with a lot of background personal goings-on, many of which, like Shetland and Vera, had been adapted for TV. I knew and enjoyed a lot of her work and when Emma had told me what their book-of-the-month was I was glad to get a copy so that could contribute to the discussions. As they chatted about the book it became obvious to me that they were following different traits in the story. I had focussed mainly on the crime aspects, whereas most of their interest was on the personal and professional relationships between the main characters and how that interacted with the investigations. It was a bit of an eye-opener for me and I began to realise what Emma had meant when she told me that my novel needed a bit lighter approach, and while listening to them my mind was on how I could modify my work.

Back at home, two things were playing with my mind. Since my last chat with Emma I had been thinking about my childhood dressing up with Auntie Meg, and this was now added to by the comments during the book review about the personal relationships. I began to have dreams about working on my story dressed as a woman to get a more feminine perspective on the events and these dreams played on my mind as a I worked.

It got to the stage that I couldn’t concentrate on my writing and I decided to do something about it. When my mother disappeared she had left a lot of her clothes and things in the cupboards of one of the bedrooms where they had remained untouched ever since, and I went to see if any of them were still fit to wear. Most of the clothes were musty, totally inappropriate, or the wrong size, but I did manage to find a couple of skirts that were wearable along with a few tops and a selection of underwear that once it had a good wash would be usable. I even found a few pairs of sandals that I could squeeze my feet into, so there was enough to see if dressing as a woman could change my views on the characters in the story and make it more appealing to a wider readership.

I put the clothes in the wash and spent the rest of the day getting myself ready, washing and conditioning my hair, shaving my arms, legs and the bits of my body I could easily reach, tossing and turning in my mind thinking about what I was about to do. After a busy day I was quite tired so just moved the washing into the tumble dryer and had an early night.

To be continued.