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The Legal Stuff: Emma  ©2004 Tanya Allan
 
This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright, in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically. Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Permission is granted for it to be copied and read by individuals, and for no other purpose. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited, and may only be posted to free sites with the express permission of the author.
 
This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental. Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism, and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.
 
The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone. If you wish to take offence, that is your problem.
 
This is only a story, and it contains adult material, which includes sex and intimate descriptive details pertaining to genitalia. If this is likely to offend, then don’t read it.
 
 
Part 1
 
 
“Russell, you are such a wanker!” Mike Paterson told me, as, yet again, I allowed the opposition forwards to get past me and score a goal.

Mike was the goalkeeper, and although I thought he was pretty crappy at the job, I always seemed to be blamed when he let goals in.

He was supposed to be my friend, but I realised that friends were becoming a scarce commodity these days. It wasn’t as if I wanted to be bad at sport, I just seemed to be naturally inept at any team game I had attempted so far.

I loathed rugby. It was an incredibly violent sport, particularly as I seemed to be always on the receiving end of a good pummelling when the referee wasn’t looking. Not being particularly large or strong, it seemed to me to be a sport that favoured the more physical sportsmen.

I loathed cricket, as either larger boys flung exceptionally hard balls at me, intending to maim me, or I spent hours getting bored. I was now beginning to loathe soccer, as I appeared to have two left feet, so no matter where I was on the pitch, everyone ended up blaming me for anything that went wrong. It wasn’t that it wasn’t my fault, it usually was, but I was tired of being useless.

I enjoyed badminton, but I wasn’t allowed to play that. You had to be in the sixth form to take up that one. I loathed cross-country running, because it nearly killed me. However, at least other people didn’t interfere with me physically, or mentally abuse me.

The thing I really adored was music and singing, but needless to say, in the macho world of the public school, this hardly made me flavour of the year!

I still had a perfect treble voice. I had sung many solos in the chapel choir, and the last had been part of Handel’s Halleluiah Chorus. Everyone said that my solos were the finest that they had ever heard, but they still treated me like shit.

I was nearly sixteen, and not large for my age, I was only 5’6”. I was a skinny kid, and much to my embarrassment, my voice had yet to break. I loathed the shower time after games, as I was acutely aware that all the other guys had bigger willies than I did, and most of them were getting hairy.

I had grown a little pubic hair, but my legs and arms were still lacking any masculine hair. I put it down to me being very fair, and my blonde hair, was probably going to spread to all my other parts, so to speak.

Like all fifteen year olds, I was suffering from the usual insecurity problems, including, in my case, a sexual identity crisis. I was not happy at the all-boys boarding school, but when my father died, he had left enough in his will for a ‘good education’. Which meant my mother could send me away for the benefit of sadistic teachers to treat me like shit, while she found a toy-boy in Monaco, where she lived in my father’s villa without a care in the world.

I found that I had few friends and, to be perfectly frank, I was utterly miserable. I was reasonably bright as far as academic work was concerned, but in this establishment, Monksreach Hall, unless you were capable of representing the school in some violent sport or other, then your status was about as low as you could get. Thus, my status and morale were both as low as my socks - at the bottom.

I was an only child, and my mother was a bitch. It sounds horrible, but that’s the only word for her. My father had founded and managed his own company, which was something to do with engineering. He had specialised in some new technique involving aviation design utilising new alloys. I never pretended to understand it, but it had made him a fortune. He had met my mother on holiday in France, and they had married a few months later. She saw in him a golden meal ticket, as he was in his late fifties, while she was twenty-six.

However, she fell pregnant, which was very bad planning on her behalf. My father was delighted, as he had thought he would die childless. When I was born, his joy was complete - a son and heir.

The joy was short lived. I was eight when he died, and my darling Mama packed me off to boarding school almost immediately. My father had, however, left me most of his wealth tied up in trust so my mother couldn’t touch it. He had left her wealthy in her own right, but she resented the fact that I would get anything. She received the interest of the trust, but when I attained the age of twenty-one, I would inherit the lot, leaving her with a reasonable pension. However, his idea of a reasonable pension and hers, were two completely different things. Instead of saving what she had now, and investing for the future, she spent everything, and plotted to take my share as well.

My father had been shrewd enough to see a little of what might happen. After about six or seven years of marriage he had discovered she was having an affair, and this had hurt him deeply. He had worshipped her, and now she had betrayed him. He challenged her, and she had lied. To my father, an honest God-fearing man, this was the ultimate insult, and it started to kill him from the inside.

I was seven at the time, and he took me to his lawyer’s office in London. I don’t remember much, only that it had a funny clock outside, with an eagle above it.

We went into an office with lots of dark wooden panels, and the lawyer did something very strange. He took my fingerprints. I remember it, because afterwards I took ages scrubbing the ink off in the washroom. The soap was the clear amber soap, called Pears, and I still remember the smell to this day.

When I went back to the office, I overheard my father saying, “I wouldn’t put it past her to substitute someone else to try and cheat Russell out of what is rightfully his.” I went in, and the conversation stopped, but I never forgot it. I knew he was talking about my mother.

We went home on the train, and my father was always very kind to me. He said, “Russell, who knows whether I’ll be around to see you when you are twenty-one. But if I’m not, all you have to do is turn up there, prove who you are, and my fortune will be yours.”

A year later, he was dead, and my misery began. My mother made no pretence that I was anything other than an impediment to her social life. My father had no close family upon which she could dump me, and she never admitted to having any family of her own. If she had, they were somewhere in France, and I don’t think she ever was in contact with them. She never talked about them, in any case.

I would return to her in the holidays, and she would employ an endless stream of very nice, but rather ineffectual women to look after me. Monaco was a playground for wealthy adults, and there were other young people, but I tended to keep to my own company. As a result, I became quite used to being on my own, and not very good with other people. My mother and I rarely spoke, and she would parade an equally endless stream of different young men past my bedroom door, every night.

There was one distant cousin of my father, who ran a kennels in Devon, to whom, once discovered, I was frequently sent down to stay with her. She was very nice, but over the years had become more dog than human. I grew to love the company of dogs, as, for a long time, they were my only companions.

There was little love lost between my mother and me, I tried — I really tried, but she just didn’t want to know. By the time I turned eleven, I gave up trying, and that was almost my lowest point.

When I was twelve, I had learned to ignore emotions, and by thirteen, when I was one of the eldest in my prep school, my morale was somewhat restored. Now, having been elevated to senior school, and as one of the lowest of the low, I was back to being bloody miserable again.
 
 
The football game finished, and as usual, they all blamed me for losing. We made our way back, in the rain, to the changing rooms, and I sat on the bench to let everyone take their showers first, again - as usual.

I had my shower, alone, and quickly changed into my school uniform, of grey trousers, grey shirt, house tie, and tweed jacket. I was combing my hair, and Mr McLean, the teacher on duty came in.

“Hurry up, Drysdale. You will be late for tea. And get your hair cut, you look like a girl,” he shouted at me.

“Yes sir,” I said. ‘Bastard,’ I thought.

He walked out again, but I thought of what he had said. I combed my hair back, pulling it together at the back. It was almost long enough to make an eight-inch ponytail, and I had to admit that I did look effeminate. Maybe that was what was wrong; perhaps I should have been born female. I certainly wasn’t hacking it as a boy. The thought had crossed my mind almost daily. I thought that it was only me wanting a different life, but maybe it went deeper.

I had no sexual experience with girls, but then I had hardly had any social experience with girls, for that matter. I had been in all-boys schools since I was eight. I certainly hadn’t even any sexual experience with boys, and wasn’t even aware of any such activity that might have gone on around me.

I often would feel more at home in girls’ company, on those few occasions when I did meet some. I knew I wasn’t gay, the thought of certain physical activities made me squirm, and I never looked at boys like that. I have to admit, I often would fantasise about being a girl, and wearing girl’s clothes, and then, and only then, as a girl, did I look at boys in a different light. That was only in fantasy, as they say, beggars can’t be choosers.

I combed it as I normally did, and went to tea. I sat by myself, as usual, and went over to the common room for our evening study period, called prep. I did my work in a quarter of the time, and read my book. It was a science fiction book by Robert Heinlein, called I will fear no Evil. It was about a very old rich man, who has his brain transplanted into the body of a beautiful young woman. Her soul is still there, and together they have an amazing year. I had read the book several times, and could identify with the central character.

Monksreach Hall had dormitories for the 13 — 14 year olds, and then individual study/bedrooms thereafter, but we could only sleep in them. When we got to the dizzy heights of the lower and upper sixth forms, then we could leave the common room, and could study in our rooms. Still, it was a refuge, and the one place in which I felt safe.

I went to bed that night, and I was about as miserable as I had ever been, I gave a cry to God, which came from the very depths of my soul. “Oh God. If you exist, please do something, anything! I don’t care what. I just need to get away from this place,” Then I dreamed of having my brain transplanted anywhere, as long as it was away form here.
 
 
The next day brought no nice surprises. It was a wet, cold, grey February day, and I woke up with a real sense of depression and gloom. I always tried to wake up before anyone else, because, that way I got a hot shower in peace and quiet.

I ambled along the corridor to the shower room, and stripped off and stepped into one of the six shower cubicles. I just stood under the shower, and enjoyed the feeling of the hot water on the top of my head. I soaped myself, and noticed that my chest seemed very sensitive for some reason, particularly around my nipples. When I washed my willy, it seemed particularly small today, and I reasoned that it was because of the cold weather.

As I was drying off, some of the other boys came for showers, and I managed to scuttle back to my room before they teased me about my small willy. I dressed, and read for a while before breakfast.

The day went as most others before it, except that I seemed to attract more than the usual amount of abuse from staff and boys alike. Once again I surpassed myself on the soccer pitch, which became so bad, that at one point my team captain said, “For God’s sake, Drysdale, why don’t you just fuck off and find some other girls to play with.”

I went bright red, and felt so hurt, but couldn’t show it. In the showers afterwards, the teasing started again. One of the boys pointed to my willy, and made a remark that I missed, but someone else said, “If it wasn’t for that pathetic little thing, he would be a she, because she is growing tits.” I was horrified, but I looked down and noticed that the area around my nipples had swollen slightly.

Once again, I went bright red, and dressed very quickly, by the time I went for tea, I was even more miserable than ever.

I went to bed that night, with my mind in torment. I don’t think I could last another day in this hell. I had never before considered taking my own life, and it was only the thought that my mother would win if I did, that prevented me.

My prayer that night was a real cry from the heart, and I was crying.

“Oh God, I don’t deserve this, make me what I should be, so I don’t get teased, and can live my life as it should be lived.”

I woke up early, it was not yet light, February is a dark month anyway, and so I knew that it could be anything before half past six. I felt funny, but that was nothing new. I got up and went to the bathroom. I stood at the urinal, and fished into my pyjamas for my willy. I couldn’t find it, and I experienced the cold sweats and that sudden lurch of the heart as panic set in.

I pulled my pyjama trousers down, and I stared at what was between my legs. Or rather, what was not between my legs!

I was not very sexually aware, but I had seen enough soft porn photographs to recognise female genitalia when I saw it. I was certainly not used to seeing it on me.

I then woke up enough to realise that something strange was happening up in my chest area as well. Even before I undid the buttons, what I feared became a reality. There, looking as if they were perfectly at home, were two small, but perfectly formed female breasts, with larger nipples and aureoles. When I say small, they looked huge to me, but I suppose they were average for a fifteen-year-old girl.

I still had the problem of requiring a pee. I had the added problem of risking discovery at any second.

I dashed into a cubicle and locked the door. My heart was racing, and I could feel my pulse throbbing in my ears. I now looked at my watch. It was only four am. I pulled down my bottoms again, and opened my shirt. I noticed that my hips seemed wider, and my waist narrower, but maybe that was my imagination.

I sat down, and released whatever I usually released. The sensation was at once familiar, and yet different.

I sat for while, and my mind was racing. What was I to do? Was I dreaming? Would it return to normal if I went back to bed? Could I stay? Should I stay? Should I go? Where would I go? How would I go? What would I do for money? How would I get clothes and food?

It slowly dawned on me that I had received what I had asked for. Now it had, did I want it? The whole scenario was very unreal.

How the hell could I have changed into a girl?

I mean, this sort of thing just couldn’t happen.

Could it?

I had to look again, just in case I had made a mistake.

No, no mistake.

No willy, just a very delicate and soft little slit and, oh shit. I had tits.

I had tits, and whatever, down below, and I was in a boys’ school.

I wasn’t so worried about teasing now, because in a funny sort of way, I’d quite like someone to call me a girl.

Then I could drop my pants and show them.

I knew I couldn’t do that.

It was like a very strange dream.

I knew that I wasn’t dreaming, and if I stayed, I would be discovered, and then the circus would start. The school would call my mother; she would take me to a series of doctors, and try to sue anyone and everyone. She would then try to make money out of me, and I would end up like a freak on a sideshow.

What could I do?

I was beginning to get cold, so I went back to my room.

I sat for a long time, I had pulled the covers around me, and I was trying to keep a hold of my sanity. I was now a girl. I kept repeating this repeatedly. Thinking that, perhaps, if I did it enough, I would eventually come to terms with the fact.

I took my pyjamas off and stood up. I had a small mirror, so could see most of myself, if I stood on the bed. There was no doubt; I was now a girl! The funny thing was that I was actually quite pleased. I was surprised, certainly, but I was not frightened, neither was I worried. It was almost as if I was happy for this to happen.

I tried to bend over and see my new bits, but I would have to be a contortionist to manage that. I explored with my fingers, and having never felt a vagina before, I could only assume that mine was perfectly normal. I felt strange sensations that were very pleasurable, and I became rather excited, so decided to leave it alone for a while.

I then dug out my own clothes. We were allowed a few of these, and I had jeans and tee shirts. I pulled on a pair of briefs, and a couple of tee shirts. I put on a pair of jeans, and noticed that my hips were bigger, as I struggled to get the jeans over them. The waist was slimmer, because I had to put a belt on.

I pulled on a baggy pullover, and my favourite short leather bomber jacket. I put my trainers on, and pulled out my rucksack. I filled it with as many of my own clothes as I could, including socks and wash kit. I dug out my wallet, and noted that I had my cash point card, a phone card, and about  £50 cash. I knew that I had about  £300 in my account, but was aware that  £350 would not last very long.

I had some chocolate and fruit in my locker, so I put that in my bag. I pulled on my black woolly hat, looked round the room that I felt was a prison cell, and walked out.
 
 
Monksreach Hall is about eight miles south of Buckingham, almost midway between Buckingham and Aylesbury.

I had no home in Britain, as my mother inherited the house, but had sold it immediately. The villa in Monaco, however, was part of the trust, and she couldn’t touch that. She could live in it, and indeed was doing so, but that was all.

I crept quietly through the sleeping school, and down the stairs. I walked through the main courtyard, and out the front gate. The main road was about half a mile away, and I reached it uninterrupted. At least it wasn’t raining.

I didn’t know which way to turn, left was Buckingham, I knew no one there, and right was Aylesbury, I knew no one there either. I saw headlights left, so I turned right, away from them.

I started walking. A couple of cars and lorries passed, and I was walking for an hour before the rain started. After another twenty minutes, I was soaked, but I just kept walking. I could see a village about a mile ahead of me.

A car pulled along side of me. It was a blue Vauxhall Astra, and I got worried. I looked at the driver, and saw with some relief that it was a vicar. He looked to be at least fifty, and I had never seen him before.

“What are you doing out in this weather at this time of day?” he asked.

“I missed my lift. I was supposed to get a lift into Aylesbury, so I could catch the train, but I overslept,” I said, with my mind racing. My voice had changed too, the tones were softer and in line with the rest of me.

“You looked soaked, get in, I’ll take you to the station,” he said.

I hesitated, but in the end, the damp lost, and I got into the car.

“What is your name, child?”

“Um, Emma, Emma…er… Pearson,” I said, I had had enough time to think of a name, and this one was the first name that I had liked. I thought Emma was a nice easy name, and I thought an Emma was a fun loving girl with a smile and a sense of humour. As for Pearson, I suppose it was the Pears soap that gave me the idea.

“Hello Emma, I’m Michael Strong, I am the vicar at Little Mudsley. Do you know where that is?” he asked.

“Yes, it’s off to the left somewhere,” I said.

“So, why were you going to the station at this time of day? Shouldn’t you be in school?” he asked the questions that I was dreading.

“I’m sixteen, so I’ve left school and I was going to London for a job interview,” I said, and then I sneezed.

“You must be soaked. Look Emma, I know that this is not exactly the right procedure, but what do you say to a warm bath?”

I was really worried now. I had only been a girl for a matter of a few hours, and here was a randy vicar trying to get me into a bath.

My expression must have shown, because he laughed.

“You misunderstand, I propose to take you to my vicarage, and my wife is there. You can have a bath, while we try to find some clean and dry clothes for you. Our daughter has moved away now, so I am sure that some of her old things are around somewhere,” he said.

My teeth were chattering, so I just nodded, weakly.

He told me that he had been visiting a sick old man, who had died while he was there. He had waited for the doctor and the undertakers, and now he was heading home.

He took the next left, and after about ten minutes, he pulled into the driveway of a big old house. He got out and opened the front door. I was a little scared of getting out. A woman came to the door and I saw them talking, it was she who came over.

She opened the car door. She was in her late forties, and I could see that she had been pretty when a little younger. Now she looked tired and weary. Tired, because of the time of day, and weary, probably because of the trials that life had dished up. Her hair was quite short and beginning to go grey. She was about my height, but a little plump. She had a lovely smile, which seemed to make all her weariness dissipate.

“Hello, I’m Mary. Michael tells me you’re Emma. You look awfully wet, why don’t you come and dry off?” she said, smiling.

I got out of the car and followed her inside. The house had a lovely smell to it, sort of fresh bread and flowers. Clean and warm. For no reason I started to cry. I stood, dripping a puddle of water onto their hall carpet, and cried.

Mary put her arms around me, while I just sobbed and sobbed. Michael took my rucksack, and eventually Mary led me upstairs. She peeled me out of my wet clothes, and they landed on the floor with a damp ‘splat.’ She gave me a huge towelling dressing gown, which smelled of lavender.

I was careful to keep my wallet hidden, and managed to hide it behind the lavatory cistern while she ran the bath.

“Do you want to tell me anything?” she asked.

I shook my head. What could I tell her, she wouldn’t believe it anyway?

“I know that whatever you are running away from may seem horrible, but believe me, you are safe here.”

She turned off the taps.

“There, that should do. Jump in, if you want any more water, just help yourself,” she said.

She left, closing the door, so I went and locked it. I took off my dressing gown and stepped into the bath. There was a full-length mirror on the wall, and I watched as a total stranger stared back at me.

Oh, she had my head, but it was someone else’s body. As I looked, I could see that even my face had changed. My nose seemed a little smaller, my lips a little fuller and my cheekbones seemed a little more pronounced. I used to have a very large Adam’s apple, and that had gone completely. My body was totally alien. My breasts were perfectly formed, and seemed a little bigger even since four o’clock. I noticed the way my whole body just seemed so completely feminine, as it went in and out in all the right places. I sat down in the nice hot bath, and soaped myself all over. The soap, it was Pears, and I instantly remembered our trip to the lawyers.

There was a shampoo bottle on the side, so I shampooed my hair, and rinsed everything off. I got out and dried my wonderful new body so much that I tingled.

I put on the big dressing gown, and went and unlocked the door. Mary came up stairs, and she was carrying a tray. On the tray was a steaming cup of hot chocolate, and a piece of apple pie. She took it into the room opposite.

“Emma, if you come in here, I think I’ve found some clothes for you,” she said.

I followed her into the room. It was a big bedroom, and very pretty. The floral wallpaper was super, and the curtains were green velvet. There was a big bed with a canopy over it, with matching green drapes spreading out from it. There was an antique dressing table with a mirror attached, and some pictures on the walls.

“This was Caroline’s room. She’s our daughter, but now she lives in New Zealand with her husband,” Mary said. “I brought you some hot chocolate and a piece of pie. I thought you might be hungry.”

“Thank you. You’re very kind. I’m sorry if I was rude earlier. I’m a little out of my depth,” I admitted.

“Oh, Emma. Is there anything we can do?” she asked, her face a picture of concern.

“Not really. I’m sort of in a bit of a jam, and I have to get myself out of it. You see, I can’t tell anyone, and even if I did, it wouldn’t help, because no one would believe me,” I said.

“Where are your parents? Won’t they be worried?” she asked, as I sipped the chocolate.

“My father died about seven years ago, and my mother is not living in this country,” I said, quite truthfully.

“Oh that’s terrible,” she said. “How old are you now?”

“I’m sixteen, my birthday is the 4th of February,” I said, managing to squeeze a tear out.

“That’s today,” Mary exclaimed. “You poor little thing. Happy birthday.”

“Thank you. But it is not as bad as it seems. Actually, this is about the happiest birthday I can remember,” I admitted. I had some pie. It was very good.

“Well, I’ve managed to dig out some clothes for you. Caroline is a little bigger than you, in the bust, that is, but I have some of her stuff from when she was your age. It’s silly, but I never throw anything away, you never know when it will come in handy.”

She passed me a pile of clothes, far more than I needed.

“Thank you, you needn’t, I have my own clothes,” I protested.

“Pah. They are all in the drier. And besides, those clothes would only go to Oxfam in any case.” Mary said.

The left me alone, and I looked at the clothes.

There were so many, and all were rather unfamiliar to me.

I selected a bra, and worked out how to put it on, eventually. There were several pairs of plain white knickers, so I put one pair on. I noticed a pair of tights, so I slipped them over my knickers, as that seemed logical. The feel of the sheer tights gave me a little thrill. I put on a plain white blouse, and a black, knee length skirt. There was a black v-neck pullover, so I pulled that over the top. I sat on the bed and finished the pie and chocolate. I saw a hair dryer on the dressing table, so I used it to dry my hair. My hair seemed a little thicker than I remembered, and it was tough to brush. I brushed it back, and tied a black scrunchie band around it in a ponytail.

I opened the top drawer in the dressing table, and noticed that there was a small makeup case there. I opened it and saw a mascara brush, lipstick, eyeliner, and little tubs of different colours.

I used the eyeliner and mascara brush as I had seen them used in commercials. Then I put on a little lipstick. I had to use a tissue to clear up the smudges, and then I got bolder, and dabbed a little blue stuff on each eyelid - not much, but just a little.

The transformation was quite astounding. Gone was the waif, and instead, a very pretty girl looked back at me. She was a very different me, but I smiled, and I felt very good about what I looked like.

I stood up, and gave a little twirl. Something deep inside of me felt really fantastic, and I got a tingle of excitement at seeing myself. It was strange, but it was almost like coming home.

I looked in the cupboard, and found several pairs of shoes. I found a plain black pair, with two-inch heels. They were very elegant, and they fitted perfectly.

I picked up the tray and opened the door. I went down stairs, following the sound of voices. I saw my reflection in the hall mirror, so a knot of excitement hit my stomach.

I found Mary and Michael in the kitchen. The clock showed six o’clock.

I carried the tray over to the sink, in which I washed up the plate and the mug. I dried them up, and asked Mary where they lived.

“Leave them, Emma. Come and sit down. You look an awful lot better now,” she said.

“I feel better. Thank you so much. I hadn’t realised how much I needed help,” I said.

“My, you are a pretty girl. Seeing you now, I feel a little better. When I first saw you, I must confess, I thought you were a lot younger than sixteen. Mary tells me it is your birthday today. Happy birthday,” Michael said.

“Thank you. And thanks for the drink and pie, they were both delicious,” I said, smiling.

“Oh, you look so much prettier when you smile. That is the first one I have seen,” Mary said.

I smiled again, and looked down at my hands.

“So, what are you going to do?” Michael asked. “There is no job in London, is there?”

I shook my head.

“Have you any qualifications?” he asked.

“I have four GCSEs, but I should be taking more this year,” I admitted.

“Should you not go back and take them?” he asked.

“I can’t,” I said, and although I didn’t want to, I started to cry.

Mary came over and put her arm around me. She handed me a tissue, and I dabbed at my eyes. I so loved the make up; I stopped crying so as not to spoil it.

“Why can’t you go back?” she asked.

“You wouldn’t believe me, even if I told you,” I said, and in my frustration, I felt the tears build up again.

“Try us. Please Emma, try to tell us. We are really quite experienced, and very few things surprise us any more,” Michael said.

I looked him and then at Mary. They were good, kind people, and they had an air of love about them. I took a deep breath, and told them the truth. I told them about my father, my mother, the trust, my school, and how I came to be here and how I came to be Emma. I told them how my mother would like to get rid of me so she could inherit. I told them about how miserable I had been, and how desperately I had pleaded with God to work a miracle and make it all better. Now, I believed He had, but I did not want to become a sideshow freak.

When I finished I dug out my damp wallet and showed them Russell’s photograph, and all his cards.

Michael sat looking at the photograph, and then at me. Mary just sat and stared, her mouth slightly open.

“See, I told you that you wouldn’t believe me,” I said.

“Emma, … Russell, no…, Emma, it is not that we don’t believe you, but, well, you’ve certainly surprised us,” Michael said.

They both sat there, not saying anything.

I stood up. “My clothes may be dry now, I will leave these in the bedroom. Thank you for helping me,” I said, I started to leave the kitchen, and Mary came after me. She held me in her arms, and I felt the emotion welling up inside me again. This time I wasn’t able to hold it back and I just sobbed and sobbed, for a long time.

“Sit down, Emma,” said Michael, at last.

I sat, and Mary held my hand.

“Emma, we believe you. I am aware that there are people born with confused genders, and sometimes they turn out to be different to what they believed they were. I don’t know how it happened and I don’t know why it happened, but I believe it happened, but now we have to work out what to do next,” he said.

He stood up and walked over to the kettle, peeped in to check the water level, and switched it on.

“Now, the first thing is you must not use any of those bank cards. They can be traced, and we want to keep you from being traced, until we can decide the best course of action. The second thing is to get you some form of official identity, and that will be rather tricky. But the most important thing will be to get you back into school, so that you don’t miss out on your schooling,” he said.

“We can’t just enroll her in a local school, there will be questions, and we won’t have the right papers,” Mary said.

“I could get a part time job, and perhaps go to college in the evenings,” I suggested.

“I know,” said Mary. “Emma, I used to be a teacher, and was considering going back into teaching. How about if you stay with us, work with me, and get a part time job in the village?”

“I don’t know. What is the point in getting exams, if I don’t exist?” I asked.

“Don’t worry about that,” said Michael. “I have an idea. We have Missionaries who disappear all over the world, and have children in the most awkward places. I will try a little double whammy, and get you registered a little after the fact, and take it from there.”

“How?” I asked.

“Don’t worry about that now. But, I think it might well work,” he said.

“What subjects are you taking at GCSE?” Mary asked.

“I already have English Language, English Literature, Maths, and French. I am going for Spanish, geography, history, RE, Science, IT, and design and technology,” I answered.

“Oh,” she said.

“Is that a problem?” I asked.

“You may be a little out of my league,” she said.

“Most of the stuff is on the internet, so you don’t need much,” I explained.

They looked at each other.

“You do have a computer, don’t you?” I asked.

“Yes,” said Michael, rather hesitantly.

I looked at him.

“We haven’t got it out of the box yet. We promised Caroline to get one, so we could use the Email thingy. But it is rather beyond us,” Mary admitted.

“Show me,” I said.

They took me into his study, and sure enough, there was a very modern PC and all the accessories, still in its box.

It took me about twenty minutes to put it together, and switch it on. It was loaded with Windows XP, and all the other programs were already loaded too. I connected it up to the phone system, and accessed the Internet, utilising one of the service providers that it came with.

“What is Caroline’s email address?” I asked.

Mary gave me a little book, and she had written it next to her daughter’s address.

I sent her an email, saying, “Hello Caroline, we are now on line, and waiting to hear from you. Lots of love Mum and Dad.”

“Does she call you Mum or Mummy?” I asked.

“Mummy,” said Mary.

I altered the message, and sent it.

Michael stood and stared at me.

“It was never that easy?” he asked.

I smiled.

“Look, you teach us about this machine, and we will get you sorted, deal?” Michael said.

“Deal,” I said, and we shook hands on it.

“One thing,” I said.

“What?”

“Russell Drysdale no longer exists,” I said.

“Who is Russell Drysdale, Emma?” said Mary.

I cried again.
 
 
Part 2
 
 
I spent the day showing Mary and Michael, how to use their computer. It was a Thursday, which was Michael’s day off. Just before lunch, he went to bed for a bit. I had forgotten, but he’d spent most of the night beside a dying man.

I became engrossed with the computer, at one point I had forgotten what had happened to me. However, every time I looked down at the keyboard, the sight of my swelling breasts under my clothes reminded me.

I found that being a girl seemed the most natural thing in the world, and I still felt that it was right. Every time I walked anywhere in the house, I would see my reflection somewhere, yet each time I saw myself, I couldn’t help smiling. Then I realised, for the first time for many years, I actually felt happy. It was a truly wonderful feeling!

I loved the feel of my new body, and the clothes were lovely, but I just felt that I belonged.

Mary was very kind, so we talked for hours. I don’t think I had ever talked like this with anyone before. I told her all about my short and rather miserable life, so she told me of hers.

She had once wanted to be an actress and singer. She had gone to drama school, but had soon realised that for everyone that finds success, hundreds never do. She had gone into teaching, so had spent many years teaching English and Drama. She met Michael, who had been the chaplain to one of her schools; they fell in love and eventually married. He hadn’t always been a vicar. He had been in the diplomatic corps at one point, so had been all over the world in various posts. His last posting had been in Africa, and it was there that he had acknowledged his faith and done something about it. On returning to the UK, he had left the corps, gone to Bible College and become a vicar.

They had tried for several children, but only had the one. Due to various problems, Mary had to have a hysterectomy, so they made do with Caroline.

Caroline had been a rather wayward girl, and although now was twenty-six, she had led her parents a merry dance. However, she had met a New Zealander and had gone out to New Zealand to live only quite recently, but I could tell that both Mary and Michael were unhappy about it.

Mary said, “I have to go shopping in Aylesbury. Do you want to come with me?”

I thought for only a second. “I’d love to,” I said.

I dashed up stairs, touched up my makeup and brushed my hair. Again, seeing a very pretty girl in the mirror sent butterflies through my tummy.
 
 
It was a twenty-minute drive to Aylesbury, and we parked in the multi-storey. As we walked through the precinct, I kept seeing my reflection in the windows and heard the tap-tap-tapping of my high heels. I smiled.

Mary noticed, and said, “You look pleased about something.”

“Yes. Oh, Mary, I think I’m happy for the first time in my life.”

Mary looked at my ponytail.

“Why don’t you have your hair done? If you have it cut nicely, it will have a lovely shape as it grows out,” she suggested.

“I’d love to,” I replied, “but I only have  £50, and I don’t want to waste it on something like that.”

“Why don’t you have it on me, in payment for getting our computer on line?” she asked.

“Oh, I couldn’t,” I said.

“Look, Emma. You said that you stand to inherit a lot of money?”

“Yes.”

“Then, why don’t you keep a tally, and if you manage to collect the inheritance, then I’ll let you pay us back?” she asked with a smile. I could tell she didn’t care, but wanted to encourage me.

“And if I don’t?” I asked.

“Then we’ll talk about that when the time comes,” she said.

There was nothing more I could say. I simply nodded and she took me by the arm, and we went to the hairdressers.

It was a grey Thursday afternoon, and the town was very empty, so was the hairdressers.

“Hello, my niece has just come to see us, and I think she could do a lot more with her hair. She wants to grow it, but it needs a nice cut, so that it grows out nicely. Can you do something for her?” Mary said.

The sat me down, while both women talked an alien language for a while. My hair was pulled and combed, and the shape of my head was looked at from every angle. Eventually, a course of action was decided upon, and the girl set to work.

She washed my hair, and while it was wet, she cut it. I thought that huge chunks of hair came off, but as it dried, she styled it. I was very pleased with the result.

It was quite a bit shorter, but shaped very well, setting off my face delightfully. There was still some body at the back, so it felt lovely after she blow-dried it. I looked in the mirror and I thought that it made me seem older. It certainly made me look very pretty. I smiled at myself.

Mary had disappeared to do some shopping, so she came back just as Jenny, the stylist, was finishing up.

“Why, Emma. You look lovely. That is super. You look much older like that,” she said.

I just grinned, I loved how I looked, and I felt so happy it was bubbling up inside me.

Mary paid Jenny and we left the hairdressers. I couldn’t pass a shop window without admiring myself.

“We need to go to the supermarket, if you’re going to be staying with us for a while,” Mary said.

“I don’t want to be any trouble,” I said, feeling rather guilty.

“Emma, don’t be silly. Please understand, we want to help you get straightened out. I’m sure that you won’t eat us out of house and home, and you will be safe with us. So, I don’t want to hear any more about it. Okay?” she said.

“Okay,” I said.

We went to the supermarket, where I pushed the trolley for her. I had never been shopping like this before, so it was a real adventure.

We turned the corner on one aisle and my heart stopped. Coming towards me was Mr McLean - my maths teacher from school. He had been the teacher who had told me that I looked like a girl. I just froze, but he was looking at his list, then at the shelves, and then at his list again.

Mary had gone back for some rice, which we had passed, and I was alone.

I tried an evasive manoeuvre, but Mr McLean pushed his trolley straight into mine, so they crashed together with an embarrassingly loud noise. He looked up, straight at me.

“Oh, I am so sorry, Miss, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” he said, blushing and looking suitably sheepish. A woman came up to him, I recognised his wife, as I had seen her around the school several times.

“Oh, I’m sorry, my dear. He’s utterly useless in these places. I can’t trust him to do anything without mucking it up somehow,” she said.

Neither of them recognised me.

Why should they?

I was a couple of inches taller in my heels, I was a different gender, I looked about three years older and I was very attractive.

I flicked my hair and smiled.

“It’s fine. I’m used to men crashing into me all the time in here. It’s a wonder they are allowed driving licences,” I said, smiling straight at Mr McLean, who went even redder.

Mrs McLean laughed, pulling her husband out of my way. I noticed her glance at my left hand.

“They are a bloody nuisance, and that’s for sure. Are you with your boyfriend?” she asked.

“No, my aunt,” I replied.

“Very wise, never bring a man in here, as they are a liability,” said Mrs McLean with some feeling. She pulled the trolley and her husband away down the aisle.

Mary returned.

“What was all that about?” she asked.

“My maths teacher has just bumped into me,” I told her.

“Did he recognise you?”

I shook my head. “No, but I can’t for the life of me understand why not,” I said laughing.

We finished our shopping, returning without further incident to the car. I was quiet on the way back. I felt so pleased about Mr McLean not having a clue about me. I felt sufficiently confident that I believed that I could walk right through the school like this, and no one would ever realise who I used to be.

“Don’t get too confident. All it takes is one little mistake, or one person a little more on the ball,” Mary said, reading my expressions.

“I know, but I do feel a lot better now. I really enjoyed shopping, I have never done it before,” I said.

She laughed.

“What was your favourite bit?” she asked.

I thought for a moment.

“Just being free and walking around, being me for the first time in my life. I think I just like being me. A girl,” I said.

“Just as well, I don’t think you’ll change back now.”

“Good,” I said. “I wouldn’t want to.”

We arrived back at the manse in Little Mudsley, to find that Michael was out. He had left a note on the hall table.
 
 

GONE OUT. BACK AT 5 PM.

 
 
“I wonder where he’s gone,” Mary said.

I shrugged, helping her put away the shopping.

I went into the study and checked their emails. There was nothing from New Zealand. Mary and I spent some time together with the computer, and I taught her how to access her email system.

I went up to the bedroom in which I had dressed. I looked at myself in the dressing table mirror. My hair was lovely, as it swished when I turned my head. I touched up my makeup, wishing I knew more about such things.

I looked at some of the other clothes that Mary had given me, and couldn’t wait to try them all on. I realised that I was very tired, so I just lay down for a moment. I must have dropped off, because it was dark when I woke up.

I went back downstairs, to find Michael had returned. I heard him talking to Mary.

“I managed to get a birth certificate sorted out. I think I can get her registered through National insurance. It’s amazing what one can do with the right contacts,” Michael was saying

“Oh, Mike, are you sure that this is all right. I don’t want us to do anything that will get us into trouble,” Mary said.

“I can’t see what we’re doing will get us into trouble, we’re just helping a child in a real pickle. It is not as if we’re trying to swindle anyone, are we?” Michael said.

I walked in at this point, and Michael stared at me.

“Is this the same girl that I picked up this morning?” he asked. “My goodness, Emma, what a pretty girl you have turned into.”

“Thank you, Michael. I had my hair done. Do you like it?” I asked.

“Very much. You look lovely. It suits you,” he said.

“Thank you. But I agree with Mary. I don’t want you to do anything that will get you both into any trouble,” I said.

“Listen, while I was attached to a consulate in Uganda, I was the registrar for all the births of British subjects. There was some uprising or coup, so we had to leave in a hurry, and I packed up very quickly. I still have my book of certificates, and I know that many files were damaged or destroyed when the rioters attacked the British Embassy and set it on fire. Therefore, I have created a new person, called Emma Jane Pearson. Born 4th February 1982, daughter to John Pearson, clergyman, and Margaret Pearson, nee Smith, housewife, in Kampala, Uganda.

“I have also done the death certificates of both your parents, from a car accident last year, and your father’s will, leaving you into the care of your father’s dearest friends, the Rev. Michael Strong and Mrs Mary Strong. Here is your certificate of travel, showing that you lost your passport, and that you’re who you say you are, issued by the consulate in Uganda.

“All we have to do is register you with the DSS, and with National Insurance. You and I shall go into Milton Keynes tomorrow, and make you official,” he said.

He made it sound too easy, I was not convinced, but when I looked at the birth certificate, it looked like the genuine article. I said so.

“That is because it is. This is what was used, and to my knowledge still is. The only difference is that there are no records anywhere to prove or disprove that they are genuinely yours,” Michael explained.

“How did you know that I’ve been to Uganda?” I asked.

Mike stared at me.

“I didn’t. When was that?”

“I was about six or seven. We all went, something to do with Daddy attending an international engineering convention. It was only for a week, and I stayed in the hotel pool for most of it. I did see some of Kampala. I don’t remember very much, but perhaps enough,” I said.

I helped Mary prepare dinner, and we had a beef stew, dumplings, cabbage and mashed potatoes. This was followed by some of Mary’s apple pie, and it was the best meal I had ever had.

I did the washing up, and we sat in their sitting room afterwards. I found a book in their bookcase, and spent the evening just sitting reading quietly in the corner.

“Would you like to put on the telly?” Mary asked.

“No thanks,” I said. “I’d rather read.”

After a few minutes, I became aware that they were both watching me.

“What?” I asked, worried.

“Emma, it is very strange, but all your mannerisms and the way you move. It is as if you have always been a girl,” Mary said.

I smiled, brushing my hair back. They both laughed.

“I find it hard to believe you were ever a boy,” Michael said.

“I do too,” I said. “I can honestly say that I’ve never felt so complete and so happy ever before.”

I continued to read, but found that I could hardly keep my eyes open.

“Emma?” Mary said, very gently.

I shook my head, and said, “Yes?”

“Go to bed, dear. Please use Caroline’s room as your own. I’ve put a nightie on the bed. Do you need a toothbrush?” she asked.

I shook my head.

I stood up and went to give Mary a hug. “I can’t thank you enough for everything you have done,” I said.

“That’s alright, dear. It’s quite exciting really. Good night, and sleep well,” she said.

I went over to Michael and hugged him too.

“Thanks Mike. You saved me, did you know that?” I said.

“Only your body, tomorrow your soul,” he joked.

“No, my soul is saved, I can only think that this is all a miracle, and think I must thank God for everything. Goodnight,” I said to him.

I went up to my bedroom and closed the door. I put the bedside light on and switched off the main light. After drawing the curtains, I slowly undressed, standing for a while, naked, enjoying my new body. I sat on my bed and fondled my breasts, finding that they were firm and so round, I cupped them in my hands and stroked them gently. My nipples seemed to harden under my touch, and I had another funny feeling in my tummy. It was like the fluttering of hundreds of tiny butterflies.

I ran my hand down over my smooth flat tummy and into the golden fuzz just below my navel. I kept going, opening my legs, where I explored that wonderful little crevice that nestled between my legs. It was so warm and the skin so smooth, I got a funny feeling as I ran my finger over the slit that covered the opening to my womanhood. I ran my finger a little deeper, and gasped as I touched that little cherry that was my clitoris. I felt guilty that I gave myself such pleasure, but I didn’t stop.

I found that as I rubbed I became moist, so my fingers ran smoother, and the pleasure increased. I got faster and faster, until I experienced an explosion of pleasure that left me moaning and gasping on the bed. I still didn’t stop and kept rubbing myself. With my other hand, I rubbed my nipples, using my hand that was already damp, and changed them round. I brought myself to that wonderful point of orgasm repeatedly, until I lay exhausted on the bed. If any man had walked in at that moment, I think that I would have gladly given myself to him.

I now knew a very little of what it meant to be a woman. I loved it!

I put my nightie on, cleaned my teeth, popped to the bathroom and had a pee. Then I returned to the bedroom and jumped into the nice big bed. My nightie immediately ended up under my armpits, so I wriggled it back under my bum, giggling at the silliness of it.

I turned the light out, and said a little prayer.

“I don’t know why, I don’t now how, I only know I thank you God, from the bottom of my heart,” I said. I must have gone to sleep almost immediately.
 
 
I awoke as the winter sun streamed through my open curtains straight onto my face. Mary was standing watching me as I stretched, yawning.

“Good morning, Emma. It’s nearly ten o’clock. I think you should get up,” Mary said.

“Good morning Mary,” I said.

“How did you sleep?”

“Wonderfully, I can’t remember when I slept as well,” I said, just so glad to be alive.

“Mike is going to Milton Keynes in an hour, so you had better get up and have some breakfast.”

“May I have a shower, please?” I asked.

“Of course, dear,” she said, leaving me alone.

I got up and took my towel into the bathroom, where I took off my nightie and sat on the loo. It had become second nature now, and I could almost believe that I had always been female.

I stepped into the bath, switched the shower on, pulling the curtain round. It was such a pleasure to wash myself all over and even my hair again. I loved the feel of the soap on my body, and I loved smelling clean.

Reluctantly I got out and dried myself off. Wrapping the towel round me, I went back to my room, where I took a closer look at the clothes that Mary had given me. I planned to take my time to choose something different to yesterday.

I put on my bra, which was tighter, so I noticed that my breasts were slightly larger than they had been when I had gone to bed. I put on some clean knickers and a pair of tights. There was a chic brown suede skirt, and a beige silk blouse. I put them on, the skirt was quite tight, and it came down to my knees. There was a slit up the back, to make it easier to walk. I put on a matching suede waistcoat, and a pair of knee length brown suede boots. Then I looked at myself in the mirror. I smiled at the startlingly beautiful girl who looked back at me. I went to the dressing table and used the drier on my hair. It fell neatly into place, and I thought it looked even better than when it had been first cut. My hair was definitely thicker than it had been when I had been a boy.

There was an elderly Cosmo magazine on the dressing table; in it were some makeup tips. After flicking through it, I came to a girl who had similar fair hair and skin to mine. Her eye make up was fantastic, so I attempted to make mine as near as I could to be like hers. It wasn’t bad, but I had some way to go to be good at this. I put on some lipstick, and was pleased with how I looked. The trick seemed to be, not too much, but enough.

I made my bed and tidied up, but as I put things away, I noticed that there was some red nail varnish in the drawer, together with some nail files. I filed my nails to a more feminine point, painting them with the varnish. I made a right muck of the first attempt, so used the varnish remover and started again, more carefully this time. My nails were a little short, but they looked quite good to me.

There was a brown suede knee-length coat in the wardrobe, so I carried it with me. Happy with my appearance, I went downstairs.

I found the couple in the kitchen, and walked in breezily.

“Good morning Mike,” I said.

“Good morning, Emma. My goodness, you look wonderful,” he said.

“Emma, where did you learn to do your make up like that?” Mary asked.

I shrugged, “Nowhere. I’ve never done it before. I just sort of did it. Why, is it terrible?” I asked.

“No, just the opposite. You look very sophisticated. It’s difficult to believe that you have never done it before,” she said.

I grinned. “It’s wonderful, it’s like an incredible adventure, and I don’t know what fun is coming next.”

“Well, have fun and eat some breakfast,” said Mary with a smile.

I poured myself some cornflakes, and milk and sugar.

I sat down and ate.

“Would you like some tea or coffee?” Mike asked.

“No thanks, just a glass of milk, please,” I said.

Mary poured me a glass and watched me drink it all.

I washed up my bowl and glass, putting them away, having seen from where she got them.

“Right, young lady, let’s you and I go into battle, to get you legal,” said Michael.

It was a very cold morning, and the frost made everything white. I put on the coat and followed him out to his car. After scraping off the frost, he drove us into Milton Keynes.

We went from department to department within various offices of the DSS. We filled in forms, signed other forms, and waited for ages. Finally, they gave me a National Insurance number, and a national health card. I breathed a sigh of relief when they returned all my phoney certificates, and we left. It had taken nearly three hours.

Mike took me to the post office, where we picked up a passport application form.

It was now one o’clock.

“What would you like for lunch?” he asked.

I shrugged; it had all been very trying.

“How about a pizza?” he suggested.

“Lovely,” I said. We went to the Pizza Hut, and had their buffet lunch. I made a real pig of myself, so made him laugh.

“You don’t look big enough to have eaten all that,” he said.

I sipped my coke and just relaxed.

“I can’t believe it was that easy. Won’t they check?” I asked.

“Against what? A fire destroyed all the records for Uganda from 1982 to 1993. And the cross filing system is a joke. No, I think there will be a few frowns as they try to match the records, but I don’t foresee a problem.”

He got up and paid, and then we walked to the shopping mall. I had never seen so many shops in one place. We walked round the mall, and all the lovely girls’ clothes shops fascinated me. We went into a department store and just wandered around, looking.

There was a cosmetic counter, where the girls were doing full makeovers free with any purchase of  £15 worth of their products. I went over to them and watched as they made up a girl, who was about twenty.

While I was watching, one of the female assistants came over to me.

“Would you like a full make over?”

“I’d love one, but I haven’t bought anything,” I said.

“How about we do a makeover, and then you choose what fits your complexion and colouring?” she suggested.

“I don’t know, I haven’t an awful lot of money,” I admitted.

“I tell you what, I’ll give you a makeover, and then if you spend only  £10, I’ll call it quits. How about it?”

I looked at Michael. He nodded, so I grinned and said, “Okay.”

I watched as she prepared my face and took off my entire make up, and put on a little foundation.

“You’ve a superb complexion, how old are you?” she asked.

“Sixteen,” I said.

“Really? I thought you were about nineteen.”

“No, it was my birthday yesterday,” I said.

“Happy birthday for yesterday. What’s your name?” she asked, as she moved on to my eyes.

“Emma,” I said.

“Hello Emma, I’m Pamela, but most people call me Pam.”

“Hi Pam,” I said. I noticed Mike walk off, as I thought that he was getting bored.

“Is that your dad?” Pam asked.

“No, my parents died in a car crash in Africa about a year ago. He’s my guardian,” I said.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean anything.”

“That’s all right, I’m sort of okay about it now. I haven’t been here long. I’ve never lived in Britain before. My parents worked in Uganda and lots of other countries,” I lied.

“Cor, what’s it like in Africa?” She asked.

“Hot and smelly, mostly, but there is some of the most spectacular scenery,” I said. “I’m glad to be here, but I do find it cold.”

“I bet you do. Where are you living?”

“Little Mudsley.”

“I know it, its not far, down towards Aylesbury, right?”

“Right,” I said.

“Are you at school, or what?” she asked.

“What, at the moment. I need to find a school, I’m a little out of touch with what’s happening,” I said. “How about you, when did you leave?”

“I’m seventeen, I left last summer. I got this job, and it’s pretty good. I get bored sometimes, but I’m earning some money, so I’ll be able to move out from home soon,” Pam said.

“Did you not want to stay on for A levels?” I asked.

“No, I hated school, it was so boring.”

“I know what you mean, maybe I should just go to college or something,” I said.

“What do you want to do?” she asked, nearly finished with my eyes now.

“I haven’t a clue. Find a rich guy with a villa in Monaco, and live well for the rest of my life. I expect I should like to have lots of kids, so they can all look after me when I’m old and wrinkly,” I said, and Pam giggled.

“Yeah, that sounds good. When you find your guy, make sure he has an older brother,” she said.

“You’re on.” I said, and we both laughed.

“Have you got a boyfriend?” I asked.

“Sort of. He’s a bit of a dweeb though.”

I laughed, “Why go out with him?”

“Because he has a car, and you can’t have a social life without a car,” she said.

I laughed again.

“How about you, any lucky fella?” she asked.

“Not yet, I haven’t had time yet,” I said. Which was true enough.

“Did you leave any behind?”

“No, no one special,” I said. “I once knew a guy called Russell, but he was a bit of a dweeb too.”

We laughed, and she finished up.

I looked in the mirror. She had done a fantastic job. I would never be able to emulate what she had achieved. I said so.

“Nonsense, who did your makeup this morning?” she asked.

“I did, why?”

“It was pretty good, you would have no problem doing this,” she said, and proceeded to show me how to do it properly. I then bought  £15 worth of cosmetics, and she gave me a voucher for another makeover.

“Thanks, I’ll have to come back,” I said.

“That’s the general idea. Look, do you ever get up to MK at the weekend?” Pam asked.

“I’m not sure, I don’t have a dweeb with wheels,” I said, making her grin.

“If ever you do, we could go clubbing,” she said.

“That sounds good. But I don’t know if I could manage it,” I said.

Pam scribbled something on a piece of paper. “Here’s my phone number, if you are free, give me a call, and we can have a chat. I’m always at home between six and eight in the evening.”

“Okay, thanks, I will,” I said. “And thanks for the makeover. It’s brilliant.”

“No problem, it’s so much better doing it for a pretty girl like you, than some of the old tarts I get. See you,” she said.

“See you,” I said, taking my little bag in search of Michael.

He was waiting by the door.

“Every time I see you, you manage to age about two years. At this rate, you’ll be thirty by supper time,” he said, smiling. “You really are a very beautiful girl; I can’t believe that you haven’t always been who you are now.”

I caught my reflection in a long mirror, and I was thrilled with my image. I laughed, saying, “Neither can I.”

We walked past a florist, so I dashed in and bought Mary a lovely bouquet.

“You shouldn’t waste your money on flowers.”

“They’re not a waste, these can say thank you better than ever I could,” I said.

He smiled and shook his head.

We went back to the car, so he drove us home.
 
 
There was a car on the drive when we arrived. Mike did not seem pleased.

“Who is it?” I asked.

“It’s Charles Gregson’s car, Charles is the Chairman of the PCC, and a right royal pain in the proverbial,” he said.

“PCC?”

“Parochial Church Council. It is the committee that helps manage the church’s affairs in this parish. And Charles keeps sticking his oar in,” Mike said.

“Oh,” I said.

We went inside, so I took my coat off, as it was warmer than outside. We found Mary looking much relieved as we walked in.

Charles was holding an empty coffee mug, indicating that he had been here some time.

“Michael, sorry to barge in like this, but we need to talk about the charity event at the end of the month. You promised to find us a singer,” he said. Then he saw me and stood up.

“Charles, this is Emma Pearson. Emma is staying with us after losing her parents in a tragic accident in Uganda. Her father and I were great friends, and her parents wanted us to look after her for a while, until she is settled.

“Emma, this is Charles Gregson, he is Chairman of the PCC,” Mike said.

He shook my hand, and it reminded me of wet fish. His eyes never strayed away from my breasts.

“Delighted, my dear. I’m sorry to hear of your tragic loss. If there is anything I can do to help, please ask,” he said, insincerity oozing from every pore.

I had a sudden thought.

“Mr Gregson, Michael has explained the difficulty over the charity event, and he has asked me whether I could help. I have agreed to sing something from The Messiah, by Handel. I hope that this will be acceptable?” I said.

Mary just gaped at me, and I thought Michael would have a coughing fit.

Charles blinked at me, and smiled, very surprised. I think he was seeking to find fault with Mike, for some reason, and he was more than a little disappointed that he had actually done something.

“Oh, right. Good, splendid. That’s settled. I’m so pleased, well, Emma, welcome aboard. I’m looking forward to hearing your voice. Mike, can you call Cheryl and let her know the details for the publicity?”

“Yes Charles, I certainly will call Cheryl,” Mike said, staring at me.

“Good, right, bye then, thanks for the coffee. I’ll let myself out,” Charles said, and almost ran for the door.

Mike went out with him, closing the door behind him.

“Emma, why did you do that? You can’t take on something like that,” he said.

“Why not, I did it all just before Christmas, listen?” I said, and launched into the first soprano solo, from memory.

I sang it right through, and had to laugh at their expressions. Michael had his mouth open, while Mary was almost in tears.

“That was beautiful,” she said. “Have you always been able to sing like that?”

“Yes, but I think that my range has improved since becoming Emma. I reached some higher notes there, and was able to hold them longer.”

Mike broke into a huge grin.

“I had forgotten all about the bloody charity event, and Charles knew it. Thanks Emma, you’ve helped me out of a real pickle,” he said.

“One good turn deserves another,” I said. Then I remembered the flowers. I rushed out, found them and gave them to Mary.

“These are a little thank you, for being the nearest thing to being this girl’s first mum. I wish I could give you more, but I’m a bit hard up at the moment,” I said, and much to my embarrassment, she burst into tears and hugged me.

To make it worse, I started crying, so then Mike joined us and we had a group hug.

We managed to pull ourselves together and I helped Mary get the supper.

We dined on liver and onions, and it was delicious. Mike decided to celebrate my conception, birth and coming of age, and opened a bottle of wine. I had two glasses, and was feeling very happy.

After supper, we sat round the table, and Michael was looking at me in a very funny way.

“It’s funny, Em, as I know it was only yesterday, but it seems we’ve known you for years. I so nearly drove past you, on the road, but a little voice told me to stop. I nearly disobeyed it, arguing that it was a stupid and foolish thing to do, but the voice was louder. It said, ‘Stop, whoever helps the least of these, also helps me.’ I have to be honest; my faith has taken a bit of a battering of late. Mary knows, but I’ve been in a rut for some years, and there was nothing I seemed to be able to do about it. The rot started when Caroline left us when she was too young, and things got worse when she insisted on marrying a boy we didn’t like. Then against our wishes, she moved all the way across to the other side of the world.

“I felt God was about as far from me as He could be, so I suppose it was reflected in my work. However, since you arrived, it’s almost as if the sun has finally come up, and you bathe us in sunshine in everything you do. I know this sounds silly, but it’s as if you are truly an angel, sent to us by God for some divine purpose.

“So I obeyed the voice, stopped, and your cold, wet little face melted my heart. Thank you for being there, Em. I may have saved you, but you have most definitely saved me.”

Mary started to cry soundlessly, and Michael too. I felt awkward, as I didn’t feel that I was responsible for saving anyone. I couldn’t even save myself.

Michael stood up, kissing me on the forehead.

“I have a sermon to write, Good night, and may God bless you as much as He has me!” He then went to his study and closed the door.

I said goodnight to Mary, and she said, “We’ve nothing planned for tomorrow, I just want to do some cooking, so you don’t have to get up in smart clothes.”

I really liked the clothes, but knew that the suede would stain easily, and appreciated that smart clothes weren’t always practical. “Thanks, goodnight,” I said, and went to bed.
 
 
Part 3
 
 
The next morning, Saturday, I awoke at a little after eight. I had slept well, and I was pleased that I was still a girl. My worst nightmare would be to wake up a boy again, and be back in Monksreach Hall.

I hadn’t and wasn’t; I was a girl, and I was in my lovely bedroom in Little Mudsley. It was snowing hard outside, the cold snap was here with a vengeance. I grinned, as I knew that, back at school, the boys would be out doing cross-country running in weather like this.

I got up and had a shower. Then I dressed in my underwear and a pair of jeans and a tee shirt. My hips were most definitely broader, as I had to lie on the floor and arch my back to get the jeans on. But they did up easily enough. When I looked in the mirror, I saw that they fitted very tightly around my bum, and crotch. There was no doubt as to which gender I now belonged.

The tee shirt was one of my old ones, and it was quite tight. It was incredibly weird to see myself in the same shirt, now I had breasts. I got a little kick out of it. I put on my old trainers, as they were dry now, and applied a little make. I grabbed one of Caroline’s pink fluffy pullovers, and then I went down stairs.

Mary was already up and was washing the kitchen floor. I sat on the stool with my feet folded underneath me, lotus style, to eat my cornflakes.

“Did you sleep well?” she asked.

“Mmm,” I mumbled, nodding with my mouth full.

“Those jeans look a little tight. They don’t leave much for the imagination,” she noted, and I grinned.

She laughed, “I had forgotten what it was like to have a teenage daughter,” she said.

I finished my cornflakes.

“I don’t mean to pry, but what happened with Caroline?” I asked, prying.

Mary finished the floor , putting the mop and bucket away in the utility room. She switched the kettle on and sat next to me.

“It was all rather silly, really. When Caroline was about your age, she went through a rebellious stage. Now I know that most teenagers do, but this was bad. I suppose being the vicar and his wife made it that much worse. Worse, because we had to be this shining light in the community; and worse because she had more to rebel against. I don’t think it can be easy being the daughter of a vicar, as I think everyone expects you to behave well all the time.

“Anyway, it was the eighties, and the punk era hit, so she went at it whole hog. She had the Mohican hair, the body piercing, the gothic makeup, and those terrible clothes. I have to confess; I threw all those clothes out when she left. We used to have terrible rows, as I just didn’t know how to handle it. I loved her dearly, but she just seemed to want to hurt us with every move. I was very depressed, while Mike was very angry at first, and then just very sad.

“I know now that we should have just seen that it was her way of declaring her independence, but we couldn’t see it, then. We should have just ignored the outer images, as awful as they were, and loved the little girl underneath. But as soon as she could, she left home at sixteen, and we didn’t see her for three years. Occasionally she would ring, and we would have a chat, but she never came home.

“Then that terrible day. We got a phone call from the police. They had done a raid on a flat in Hammersmith, and she had been there. She was drugged up on heroin, so they took her to hospital, and she was very ill. We went down and sat by her bed for a week. Not one of her so-called friends came in at all. She looked dreadful; she was just twenty, yet she appeared thirty. She weighed only about six stone and looked simply awful.

“When she was discharged, we drove her home, and she just cried in my arms all the way. Gradually, she got back to being almost her old self, and we felt quite confident about the future. It took six months, but then she started talking about going back to London. She went on about how dull it was here and how dull we were, and that she wanted some excitement in her life.

“Mike suggested she enrol in a college course and get a job. She knew that she needed money to lead a more exciting life, and that at the time she had a few GCSEs, but nothing else. She enrolled in a fabric design course at College, and got an HND. She found herself a job in Milton Keynes, and met this New Zealander, Stewart, Stew to his friends. He was basically bumming round Europe, and was working in a nightclub, behind the bar.

“She fell for him, hook, line and sinker, so when he went home, she went too. She found herself a job, and had a little boy by him. Then and only then did she realise what she had done to us, and we spent hours on the phone. She cried for most of it, but still wouldn’t come home. She felt so guilty, that she actually believed that she would no longer be welcome here. Can you believe it?

“She then had a daughter, and his parents, bless them, suggested that they get married. So they did, but at a registry office, and we were told a week later. I must have cried for ages. We’ve never seen the grandchildren. She sent us photographs, but we’ve never seen them in the flesh.” Mary broke down and started to cry. This was becoming a general pastime in this house. I stood up and hugged her.

“Why don’t you fly out and see them?” I asked.

“With what? Mike doesn’t earn enough, and besides, he’s on thin enough ice here at the moment, any way,” she told me.

Mike, it seemed, was under scrutiny, as he had not really been performing at his best, and with regard to the circumstances, I could understand. However, the world is an unforgiving place, as it expects its professionals to be made of steel.

It all seemed so unfair, so I said as much.

“Who ever said life was fair?” Mary asked. “We just have to make the most of what we get dealt.”

“Then it is time to stack the deck in our favour,” I said.

“If only!” Mary said. “Come on, you can help me do some baking.” She stood up, handing me an apron.

We spent all morning making cakes: big ones, little ones, some with fruit, and some without. It was all very new, but I found it fun.

“I thought that I could get a job in the village, and it would help pay for my keep. I can’t expect you to pay for me,” I told Mary.

“There’s not a lot in the village, what could you do?” she asked.

“I don’t mind. I could work in the pub, washing up or something,” I said.

“Well, I can’t deny the extra cash would come in handy, but I think we need to get you back into school,” Mary said.

“I suppose so,” I said, and I know my voice was hardly expressing boundless enthusiasm.

Michael came back from wherever he had been. He was looking pleased with himself.

“What have you been up to?” Mary asked.

“I have been to Buckingham. I went to see Gwen Teesdale,” he said.

“Oh, why?” Mary asked.

“I had a thought about young Emma here, I explained that she was a talented singer, and she was keen on drama. So I went and asked her advice,” he said, as he put the kettle on. “Something smells jolly nice, what have you two been up to?” he asked.

“Who is Gwen thingy?” I asked.

“Gwen Teesdale runs a small college of performing arts in Buckingham. Her husband Peter had cancer a little while ago, and Mike helped her through a very difficult time. Peter died about six months ago, but she has become a good friend to us. When Mike had a little disagreement with the Bishop, she wrote a lovely letter, which helped him no end,” Mary explained.

“Gwen wants to meet Emma, and would be willing, subject to the interview, to enrol her on the two year diploma course. They tell me that a Teesdale College Diploma is not to be sneezed at,” Mike said.

“It would be expensive,” I observed.

Mike and Mary looked at each other.

“Gwen said that if she is good enough she might offer her a scholarship of up to 75% of the fees.” Mike added.

“That’s still too much. I’ll have to get a job, as I don’t want you to even offer to meet this,” I was quite certain about this.

“Well, let’s cross one bridge at a time. She wants to see you this afternoon. So once we’ve had lunch, I’ll take you there,” Mike said.

We had a snack lunch, and I went up to change. I put on the suede outfit once more, with the boots. I used my new makeup, kept it discreet, and was quite pleased with the result. I was getting better.

It only took about twenty minutes to get to Buckingham, and we had to pass the entrance to Monksreach Hall. It felt peculiar passing so close, yet not having to go back. I looked down the drive but couldn’t see anyone.

The Teesdale College of Performing Arts was an old Manor House, set in its own grounds on the outskirts of Buckingham. It had a lot of ivy growing up the front, and the gardens looked lovely, particularly with the snow on the ground.

Mike parked the car, and we walked in the front door. The hall was huge, with oak panelling and a gorgeous sweeping staircase with ornate banisters.

A woman came out of the side room to the left. She was about sixty, quite tall, about 5’8”, with a neat figure. She was dressed in grey, and was very elegant.

“Hello Michael,” she said, greeting Michael like an old friend. Then she turned to me.

“You must be Emma? I’m so pleased to meet you. Michael tells me that you have a wonderful voice,” she said, shaking my hand.

“Oh, I don’t know, but I have been told that it’s pretty good,” I said smiling.

“Well, let’s go and see. Michael, we shall be about an hour and a half. So wait here if you want, or come back at, say three thirty,” she suggested.

“I’ll go home, thanks Gwen. Emma, I’ll see you later, good luck.”

“Thanks,” I said.

Gwen took me into a long room with the most ornate ceiling. The walls at the ends and on one side were oak panelled, and there were four large casement windows on the other side. Pictures of famous singers and actors and actresses adorned the walls. The floor was highly polished wood, and was a lovely golden brown colour. There was a grand piano at the far end, together with a collection of other orchestral instruments.

“Do you read music, Emma?”

“Yes.”

“Do you play any musical instrument?”

“Yes, I’m almost up to grade four on piano,” I said.

“Well, let’ hear you. See if you can play the piece of music on the piano.”

I sat on the stool, adjusting it so I was comfortable. I looked at the music. It was without a title, and I was not familiar with it. I read the music down the page and tried to imagine how it would sound. I was a rather nice melody, and I looked for clues as to tempo, and feeling. There were none, so then I realised that this was part of the test.

I read the music again, trying to get a feel for it. I looked at my hands, surprising myself as I noticed my red, varnished nails.

I read the music, and began to play. I didn’t look down at my hands, trying to make the piece as lively as I could. I reached the end and stopped. I didn’t think I made a mistake.

“That was lovely, Emma. Tell me, why did you play it at that speed?” Gwen asked.

“I don’t know really. I tried to imagine it faster, but it didn’t seem right. Slower wasn’t right either, as the melody seemed to want to go a little quicker. Also, I could cope with that speed,” I said, as honestly as I could.

“Well, I wrote it, and you played it exactly as I had imagined it. As you guessed, I deliberately left off all directions to see if you had a feel for music. I can tell that you have. Incidentally, that piece is at least a grade five.”

“Oh,” I said, rather pleased.

“Right. Michael tells me that you have sung parts of The Messiah, so I have the music here, shall we see if you’re as good as he says,” she said, handing me the music and words.

For the next hour, I sang my heart out. I sang classical, I sang opera; I sang modern and everything in between. By the end, my throat was getting rather dry.

At last, she closed the piano, saying, “Right, I’ve heard enough. Let’s go and have a cup of tea.” She stood up and I followed her out the way we came in. She gave me no indication as to whether she thought I had done well or badly. She took me into the room she had originally come from. It was a comfortable sitting room, with a large desk at one end.

She showed me to the sofa, and rang a bell, then down sat beside me. A woman came in.

“Yes mum?” she said.

“Ah, Brenda, could we have a pot of tea, please, and bring an extra cup, as the Reverend Strong will be here any minute?”

“Yes mum,” Brenda said, and left.

There was an extensive bookcase along one wall, so I tried to read some of the book titles from where I was seated.

“Do you read a lot?” she asked.

“Yes, I love reading,” I said.

“Anything in particular?”

“Not really, I just love reading anything.”

“Well, we have an extensive library here, and I encourage eclectic tastes. I believe it broadens the mind,” she said.

“Oh,” I said.

“Emma, I have to be honest. When I offered Michael the 75% scholarship, it was because of who he is.”

“Oh,” I said, again.

She laughed. “Don’t look so miserable, child. That was before I heard you sing. You have the most superb voice. I heard the piece you sang from the Messiah only just before Christmas at a local boys’ school. The boy who sang it had the most wonderful voice too, and you reminded me a little of him. Only you have a much richer voice, with a far greater range.

“That, together with your undoubted potential on the piano, has convinced me to offer you a full scholarship. But there is one condition,” she said.

I grinned, as I was ever so pleased. I thought I had better not tell her that the boy had been me. Brenda brought in the tea. Gwen thanked her, and poured me a cup. It was the most lovely porcelain tea service, and felt so fine that I was afraid it would break in my hands.

“The condition is something I always insist upon with my scholarship students. You see, I will need to protect my investment, so I will ask for a contractual agreement with you for a period of five years; beginning on the day that you enrol here. I will undertake all responsibility as your agent for that period, and in return, I will receive 40% of all net profit that you make on performances only, regardless whether you obtain your work through me, the college, or independently. You will find that I will be in a position to greatly assist your career. Should you go and work in a bank, or an estate agent, then I will have no hold over you, but should you sing in a pub, or on a TV show, or get a part in a play or movie, then I will claim.

“Now should you wish to terminate the contract early, due to various unforeseen circumstances, I will negotiate a set fee, dependant upon time elapsed, and the individual circumstances. It is not my intention to cheat anyone out of his or her rightful earnings, but if I spend two years bring you to a high standard, all at my cost, then I have to be able to pull something back.

“I want you to talk it over with Michael, and if you are willing, then you may start this coming Monday. What do you say?” Gwen asked.

I was speechless, as it was far more than I had ever hoped. Before I could answer, Brenda showed Michael into the sitting room.

“Ah, Michael, that was well timed. I had just offered dear Emma a full scholarship and a five year contract as her agent,” Gwen said, pouring him a cup of tea. He sat in an armchair, next to the sofa.

Michael stared at her and then me.

“Is that good?” he asked, rather naively.

“Yes, Michael, it is,” Gwen said, laughing.

“Well, Em, what do you reckon?” he asked.

I smiled and nodded. “It sounds too good to be true,” I said.

Gwen stood up. “Let me show you around, and then we’ll talk as we go,” she said. Michael finished his tea, accompanying us as we went on a tour of the college.

She showed us the students’ rooms, which I thought were much more spacious than I anticipated. All students lived in, so each had their own bedroom. There was a large wardrobe, as it was likely that we would collect a fair amount of costumes as we progressed through the course. There was one bathroom for every four students and a large communal kitchen for the same four, with enough room to sit and eat. There were eight rooms on each corridor, with a maximum of thirty-two students altogether, sixteen boys and sixteen girls. Each corridor had a huge lounge and a games room. The girls were on the second floor and the boys on the third, the top floor. There was a dining room, where all meals were included, but if one wanted to eat in one’s own area one could.

There was a very well appointed, but rather small theatre, a ballroom, and the concert room in which I had had my little test. There was a small, but up-to-date recording studio and finally, a film studio with full video editing suite.

“As you can see, we take ourselves very seriously. In the first year, we give you a thorough grounding in all the performing disciplines. We are not here to be judgemental over each aspect. Everyone is different, so we must recognise that for some the theatre is the objective, and for others a singing career. However, a truly versatile performer can make a success as a singer, a dancer, and an actor or actress in front of either a camera or a live audience. I see no point in limiting one’s chances of success by only being useful in one medium.” Gwen was justifiably proud of her college, and the list of famous performers on the wall proved her success rate.

“In the second year, we allow the student to specialise in their chosen field, so if they want, we can offer some extra time in a second field. Therefore, for example, you might wish to be a singer, but also become proficient in dance. This would give you an advantage when applying for roles on some of the more lively musical shows, where both singing and dancing is required.

“The drama input in the first year, is usually sufficient for most that need some dramatic input, even if their main field is of song or music. We have six students who have come back for a third year, to take their advanced Diploma in another specialised subject of their choice.

“Not including the third year, we are running at twenty-six students at the moment, so there is room for you to join us immediately. You will bring up the girls to fifteen, and the boys are now at eleven. Normally there are sixteen in each year, but we are light in both years at present, due to a couple dropping out. Your year, the first, has eight girls now, with you, and six boys.

“Unusually, we run from January to December, with a Christmas week of concerts, plays, reviews and general fun. I have found that by not following the normal academic year, we actually have an advantage. Primarily, we can pick up those who missed the bus in September, or were reluctant to take a whole year out. In addition, whereas other graduates become available in June, ours are available in December, so I can usually manage to get bookings for the leavers onto shows and pantomimes around the Christmas period.

“We have a very friendly, family orientated atmosphere here, as the emphasis is not on competition but mutual assistance. There is enough competition out there, in the real world, and we do prepare students to fight hard for themselves. However, while they are here, we instil attitudes of giving and selflessness, by sharing our skills in order to assist in mutual development.

“We need to be able to support and encourage each other, yet we do not lie, and we do not sell ourselves short. The world is full of people who lie and cheat, the world of show business is as bad as any other, yet our graduates will be prepared to face critics and admirers in a mature and appropriate manner.”

We had concluded our tour, but as it was Saturday, none of the students was in class, but a few were in the rooms. Everyone seemed very friendly and relaxed. They key element was that everyone here wanted to be here, and was good enough to be here. I felt proud and a little humble to be permitted to come here.

“Mrs Teesdale, thank you for your time. I’ve really loved seeing round, and I would very much like to join your college, so I accept, without question, the contract you propose. I don’t need any time to think about it, and neither do I need to talk it through with Mike. Thank you for considering me worthy of the scholarship. I only hope that I will prove worthy of the faith you have both put in me,” I said.

Gwen smiled at me.

“Oh, Emma, that’s awfully formal, but thank you. We will see you tomorrow evening, which will give you time to settle in. There are no uniforms here and, as you’ve seen, it’s not like school. You will be free to go home every weekend, unless you are putting a show or something. Oh, and please, Emma, call me Gwen,” she said.

With nothing further needing saying, Mike and I left. He drove carefully along the icy roads, but I didn’t say much, as I was very excited with the twist that my life had just undertaken. I was rather getting used to twists now.

I watched Mike as he drove. Something had happened to him over the last couple of days. I know he was tired when we had first met, but his eyes used to have a sort of lifeless look about them. He had a spark in his eyes now, and he had a spring in his step. It was as if he was taking on a new lease of life. He seemed happier, somehow.

We got home, and I considered that I now thought of this house as home. I had only been here for a couple of days, yet it felt like home.

We went in and Mike told Mary my good news. Mary seemed genuinely thrilled, giving me a big hug. When Mike told her that I would be living in, and would be starting tomorrow, she seemed almost disappointed. I sensed that she had found in me another daughter, so rather liked having me around.

I turned to them both and said, “Thank you. Thank you for everything. You have been an answer to prayer, because without you, I don’t know where I would have ended up. Some day, somehow, I will make sure that I can go some way to repay you for your love and kindness. I know that I have not been here for long, but I feel that I have known you for a very long time. So much so, that I feel that this is my home. I feel safe here, and I have found love here for the first time in my life. Would it be alright if I were to come and stay with you at the weekends, and during the holidays?”

Mary crumpled in her chair, openly weeping, and Mike smiled with tears in his eyes.

We enjoyed a subdued meal that evening. It was if we had formed a new bond between us. I now saw in Mary the mother, whom I had never had, and in Mike, the Father I had been denied. I didn’t need to tell them as they seemed to just know, so when I said goodnight, they hugged me as if I were indeed the daughter they had loved and lost.

I undressed, in my room, hanging my clothes in my wardrobe. I put my nightie on and went to sleep in my bed. I was truly happy.
 
 
I woke up on Sunday quite early, and had a shower. There had been another snowfall overnight, and I loved the white view from my window.

I knew that being Sunday, I would have to go to Church, so I dressed up smartly. I put on the black skirt, a white blouse and a pretty, sparkly waistcoat. I put on some thicker tights, as I remembered that most English churches had a tradition of being cold enough to keep everyone awake, but just warm enough to keep them from dying.

At the back of the wardrobe, there was a pair of black leather boots with really quite high heels -about three inches. I thought they looked very smart, but perhaps a little too sexy for church. Tough; I wore them anyway. I had discovered a cool black jacket, so I spent ages getting my makeup just right. I wanted to look a lot older than I really was, without looking tarty or a vamp. My hair was settling down nicely, so it was very little trouble. I’d chipped my nail varnish, so I cleaned them off, and carried the little pot the varnish down to the kitchen with me.

Mary was only just up, so was surprised to see me so early. I kissed her on the cheek and settled down at the kitchen table to do my nails.

She poured me a glass of milk, remembering that I wasn’t keen on tea or coffee.

“Mike is over conducting the eight o’clock communion service,” she told me.

“How many services are there on a Sunday, then?” I asked.

“We normally have three, the eight o’clock communion service, at which only half a dozen usually turn out to. Then the main communion service at ten, and then evensong at six thirty.”

“That seems rather a lot, do you get many in the evening?” I asked.

“It depends on the time of year, and the weather. At Christmas and Easter it picks up, but at this time of year, and as it is so cold, we don’t get many.”

I ate my breakfast, painted my nails and waited for them to dry.

Mike came in, at about nine A.M., looking very vicarish. He had a twinkle in his eye, so I could tell that this was a new vicar and that Little Mudsley had better watch out.

Mary made him a coffee, as he popped a couple of slices of bread into the toaster.

He sat down next to me, munching his toast and marmalade.

Mike finished his coffee and asked me whether I would join the choir for the service.

“Why not? Yes, I’d love to,” I said.

“Come on, let’s go over, and I’ll show you round.”

“How many do you have in the choir?” I asked.

“On a good day, six,” he said.

I put on my coat, and followed Mike round to the church, which was about eighty yards away. It was about nine thirty, and it was really cold.

They had put the heating on in the church. The main part, which was about sixteenth century, was the end with the tower. There were older parts, but most had rebuilt after the civil war in the late seventeenth century.

The pews had hot pipes running under them, and there were some electric heaters in the roof, pointing down. Even so, it was still cold enough to see one’s breath.

Mike took me into the vestry and gave me a white surplice to wear, three other people arrived and Mike introduced me to them.

“Morning troops,” he said. “This is Emma Pearson, she is studying at the Teesdale School of Performing Arts, and has very kindly agreed to add some weight to our numbers this morning. Emma, the rogue in the corner is Edward Carpenter, he is our organist. The girl with the enormous scarf is Cathy Burns, and the man with the red nose is Wally Mitchell. I am hoping that we can scrape a couple more before the service starts.”

I shook hands with the three others. Cathy was a little older than I, and the two men were both over forty.

“Are you planning an anthem this morning, Mike?” Edward asked.

Mike looked at me; I shrugged and nodded. He grinned - he looked very school-boyish when he grinned.

“Why not, Emma will do a solo,” he said.

We quickly selected an anthem that I could manage. Luckily, I had sung a good few in the school chapel, so they were all quite familiar to me.

We had a quick practice, then the congregation started to arrive, so we went back to the vestry. While we waited, two more choir members arrived. They were young girls, Sally who was thirteen, and her sister, Jacquie, who was fourteen.

Once ten o’clock came, we walked out, and the service began. It was very strange singing in such a small choir, but it was fun, and the anthem went well. I was very conscious that my voice seemed very loud, and I could hardly hear anyone else at all. The acoustics in the little church were very good, and I just loved to sing.

Mike’s sermon was not a long one, but his theme was ‘judge not lest ye be judged.’ It held nothing back, so there seemed a bit of squirming in the Gregson pew.

When the communion came, I took the bread and the wine gratefully. It was very meaningful to me, as I was truly a new person, and had a new life ahead of me. As I knelt in front of the altar, I looked at the stained glass window behind it. Christ’s eyes seemed to be looking straight at me. I fancied I saw him smile at me.

After the service, several people came up to me and told me they liked my singing. They were very sweet, so I was happy that I could give something back for Mike and Mary. I saw Mike in deep conversation with a woman, whom I assumed was Cheryl. He waved me over to them.

“Emma, this is the PCC secretary, and my only ally, Cheryl Lamb. Cheryl, this is Emma Pearson. She has brought a little light back to our dark little lives. She has agreed to fill the singing spot for our charity event,” Mike explained.

We talked over what I was willing to sing, and I stated, “Anything.” Therefore, we went through a medley of some classical songs, including part of the Messiah, to some contemporary songs. She agreed to make a poster on her computer, and rushed off to get her roast potatoes on.

Mary came over.

“That solo was simply super, Emma. Thank you,” she said.

“Thanks, it was fun. Can I join the choir for every weekend?” I asked.

“Are you sure?” Mike asked.

“I’m sure, if you will have me?” I said.

“Of course, I didn’t think you would want to,” he said.

“It was fun, perhaps I can persuade some others to join us,” I said.

Mike looked at Mary and just smiled.
 
 
We went back and had a lovely piece of roast lamb. Then after lunch, Mary helped me pack. She gave me an old suitcase that had been in the attic, letting me take as many of Caroline’s clothes as I wanted.

“They are yours now,” she told me, so I hugged her.

She gave me a couple of towels and some other toiletries. Then she sat me on the bed.

“Emma, this is a little awkward for me, but I need to talk to you like a mother for a bit. You’re a maturing young woman, so you can expect a little visit, I suspect very soon.”

I stared blankly at her for a moment.

“Emma, if you aren’t already, you will soon become a sexually fertile girl, so something will happen, and I don’t want you to be frightened or surprised by it,” she said.

My blank expression did not help her, but then it began to dawn on me. I had never even considered having a period. My face must have reflected the penny dropping.

“Oh, thank goodness,” she said, with a nervous laugh. “I feared I might have to go into graphic detail,” she said, handing me a small package.

“I’ve put in some towels, some panty pads and some tampons. I can’t say when you will start, but I don’t suppose it will be too long. I have noticed you develop very fast over the last few days. Somehow your body is catching up with itself,” she told me.

“Does it hurt?” I asked, suddenly rather worried.

“For some it is quite painful, like a bad tummy-ache, but others have no pain at all, so, everyone is different. I used to have a hell of a time. The worst was a sort of sweaty, bloated feeling, and just feeling down,” she said.

“Oh,” I said.

Mary laughed, “Look, don’t worry, all women have it, and to my knowledge, it is rarely fatal.”

I smiled a rather pathetic smile. Maybe being female had its down side.

“And, while we are at this mother — daughter thing. I suppose I had better talk about contraception,” Mary said, clearly becoming embarrassed.

“Oh?” I said again, a little more interested.

“Oh. Indeed,” she said, smiling a little. “Emma, you’re a very pretty girl. Young men like very pretty girls. Young men, and many not-so-young men, want to show their affection to very pretty girls. I know that you’re very new to all this, so it may seem fun and all very exciting. Men of any age can be led straight up any path you want to lead them, but there comes a point where you lose that control, and things can get dangerous. Passion and sexual pleasure get confused with love and affection. You have something very precious, and you really want to save yourself for someone very special, and make sure that your first time is the best it could possibly be. You only have one first time, so make sure that it is very, very special!” Mary said.

I realised that this was the speech she had wanted to give to her own daughter, Caroline, but circumstances had prevented it. I also became aware of how much I had come to mean to this woman, and how much she meant to me. For someone who had never had a mother who cared, and who had always displaced emotions, I suddenly felt a weight of affection and love, that it physically crushed me. Mary really cared.

I reached out a hand to her, which she took and held.

“Thank you,” I said. “Thank you, - Mum.”

I burst into tears, and so did she. We just hugged each other.

Mike came up and found us like that. He stood by the door, but when I saw the look on his face, I cried and laughed some more.

We managed to pull ourselves together, and Mary wiped my face with a tissue. She laughed. “You will have to redo your mascara, it has all run,” she said.

I laughed, but went to the dressing table and wiped my makeup off with some cotton wool and remover. I then made my face up again.

I packed all my makeup and checked round the room, I had very little of my own, yet I felt very well off.

Mike carried my bag downstairs and put it in the car. I put on my suede coat and hugged Mary. However, there was nothing I could say that could express the depth of gratitude that I felt. Yet, I knew that I didn’t have to say anything. She handed me my old rucksack. It still had my chocolate and fruit in it, I laughed.

“That doesn’t belong to me. That belongs to another life,” I said, throwing it into the dustbin.

I got into the car, closed the door and opened the window.

“I will be back next weekend,” I said.” If that’s okay?”

“Of course, this is your home now, Emma,” Mary said.

I waved to her as Mike drove out onto the road. I looked back, to see Mary still standing there, with one hand in the air. I watched until she was out of sight. My new life beckoned.
 
 
Part 4
 
 
“And again!” Gwen’s voice brought me back to reality.

We were having a dance lesson. I had been here a week, and this was the Monday of the second week. Having never been into the more aggressive contact team sports, I now really enjoyed the freedom and discipline of dance, so began to appreciate the versatility of the human body. If kept in shape, that is.

The staff and other students welcomed me warmly, as my story of recent tragedies were accepted and I seemed to just fit in. I had arrived on that Sunday afternoon, when I met a dark girl called Sheri, whom Gwen had asked to help me settle in. She was my age and of mixed parentage. Her looks were extremely exotic. I learned that her father was British and her mother was from Thailand. He had her mother’s petite build and colouring, and her eyes were slightly oriental, but she had the most unusual dark blue irises. I thought she was incredibly pretty.

She took me to my room, and the other two girls in our little cluster drifted in out of curiosity. There was tall Sally, who had wanted to be a ballet dancer, but just grew too tall, and lastly, Simone, who was French, who had the most amazing voice.

We were all around the sixteen/seventeen mark. Simone was the eldest, and I the youngest. I immediately felt that I was among friends.

During the days, our time was very tight, Gwen kept up a strenuous regime, and worked us very hard. In the evenings, she used to give us an hour of preparation for the next day, and then time to relax. We were free to leave the college at any time after six pm, but we had to be back by ten. There was a strict no smoking and no alcohol policy. As we all wanted to keep in shape, and keep our voices as pure as possible, this was not a problem.

Although, I had missed a month of the term, it did not seem to be a disadvantage, at least, not as far as my singing was concerned. I found that I was actually rather ahead of most, with my previous voice coaching. I had a lot to catch up in some of the other subjects.

I found that, despite being not very good at the various sporting activities at Monksreach, I had at least reached a higher level of fitness than some of the others.

I loved every aspect of the college, and all the subjects were interesting and fun. I gradually got to know the others in my year, and a few from the second year. It took me some time to get used to the relaxed and informal atmosphere, but everyone was so helpful and kind.

Mike picked me up on the Friday evening, and I slept right through to nearly eleven o’clock on Saturday morning. I put on the suede outfit, as it was my favourite, and it was warm. I did my make up carefully, and was pleased as to how much easier it was all becoming.

When I eventually reached the kitchen, Mary gave me a hug.

“It’s funny, but I missed you this week,” she said.

“I didn’t have a second to miss anything,” I admitted. “But it’s nice to be home.”

She smiled when I used that word. Then she picked up the local paper and passed it over to me.

“Look at page two,” she said.

I opened up the paper. Staring at me from the page was a photograph of Russell Drysdale, which had been taken about two years ago, when I had first gone to Monksreach.
 
 

MISSING BOY, MYSTERY DEEPENS

Police have circulated details of Russell Drysdale, who went missing about ten days ago from exclusive Monksreach Hall School, south of Buckingham. Russell, just 16, was last seen on Wednesday evening, the 3rd February, and vanished sometime in the night. His mother, Jennifer Drysdale, 42, flew back from her home in Monaco, to add her personal appeal for the lad to return. No reasons are apparent for his disappearance, but foul play has not been totally ruled out. The boy is the only son of the late Charles Drysdale, the multimillionaire industrialist, and as such, police say he could have been the target for kidnappers.However, there has been no contact from the boy or anyone else, and police are appealing for witnesses. He is about 5’5”, thin, with fair hair and blue eyes. He has a prominent Adam’s apple, and is described as a quite shy boy. Detective Sergeant Ron Higgins is heading the case from Aylesbury police Station. He said, “I urge Russell to contact us, and just let us know that he is alive and well. His family is obviously worried, and we need to establish that nothing serious has happened to him.” Any calls to the police on O800 555 111 will be dealt with in strictest confidence.

 
 
“Shit!” I said.

“Emma!” Mary said.

“Oh. Mary, I’m so sorry. It’s just that this really mucks things up,” I was suddenly worried that all the good things that had happened would now be at risk.

“That came out last night. It doesn’t look like you at all,” she said.

I smiled, “So I should think. I’m now a little taller, and stick out in lots of places that I never used to,” I said.

“Mike thinks you ought to call the number and let them know that you’re all right. If your dear mother is really as nasty as you say, although I’m not sure I believe that, but if she is, then it would be in her interests to have you dead. If you contact the police and state that you are alive, and can prove it, then any plans she has to swindle you, will fail. And if she is genuinely worried, then her worst fears would be put to rest,” Mary said.

I snorted at the last bit.

“Can you run me a long way away, so I can call on a public phone box?” I asked.

Mary smiled, and passed me over a little box.

I frowned, and picked it up. I opened it. It was a mobile phone.

“That belonged to a friend of Caroline’s, and she left it behind, ages ago. She is now living in Canada or America, and I am sure she doesn’t even remember having it. It’s a pay-as-you-go phone, so I have kept it up. I rarely use it, but Mike likes me to have it when I’m alone in the car. You can use that, and it’s not traceable to anyone here. Even if it was traceable to Caroline’s friend, I doubt that she would remember where she left it. And if someone asks, I can say that this lad came and asked me if he could make a free call. If anything it would confirm that you are alive and still the old Russell,” she said.

“You’re beginning to develop a rather sneaky criminal mind, Mary,” I told her with a smile.

“You have this effect on us. Mike has become an adept forger, and now you have me thinking ahead,” Mary said, laughing. “But, seriously, Emma, we want you to be responsible. Regardless of your mother’s feeling for you, and whatever her motives, the police are currently spending time and money trying to locate you, and they have better things to do.”

I switched on the phone, and entered the number from the newspaper.

“Crimestoppers, can I help you?” said a woman’s voice.

“It’s about your appeal for Russell Drysdale,” I said, trying to make my voice a much like a boy’s as I could. I began to realise how profound the change that I had undertaken. It was very hard.

“One moment.” There was a click. Then another voice, a man’s, came on the line.

“Hello, I understand you have information about Russell?”

“I am Russell,” I said.

There was a moment’s silence on the other end.

“Okay, would you mind if I asked you a couple of questions, just to make sure?”

“No, ask what you want.”

The man asked me several questions, obviously meant to catch out anyone who was not the real me. I answered them all.

“Okay, I’m satisfied you are who you say you are. Where are you?” he said.

“I’m alive and well, but don’t want to be found at this time.”

“Your mother is worried,” he said.

“No she isn’t, she will be when you tell her I’m alive, because she can’t claim my inheritance,” I said. I then explained all about my unusual family circumstances.

He told me he was Detective Sergeant Higgins, as in the paper. I agreed to contact him again before the end of the month.

“I’d like to meet you in person, just to make sure you’re okay,” he said.

“No, I wouldn’t be happy with that, simply because I’ve sorted out my life. I have no desire to go back to Monksreach, and no desire to have any contact with the woman who gave birth to me. She has made my life a misery ever since I can remember.”

“Russell, you need to know how dangerous the world is out there. There are all sorts of nasty people who could take advantage of you.” He sounded very concerned.

“I know, and I can safely say that where I am now is perfectly safe, in fact a lot safer than anywhere near that woman,” I said.

“Look, send me a letter and put your fingerprints all over it. We took prints from your room at school, so we will know if it is really you. Send it to me at the Aylesbury CID, at the police station in Wendover Road. Okay?”

“Okay,” I said. Then I rang off.

I sat for a moment, my mind in a whirl. I tried to imagine the result of my call. The fact that I was alive should make the police less concerned, but I fully expected them to still keep me on a back burner, just until they could see me in person.

I looked down at myself and smiled. There was no way that they would believe that I was Russell Drysdale.

Mary gave me some paper and an envelope. I took them out of the plastic wrapper, making sure that no one else touched them. I wrote a few lines, and put my hands all over the paper. I suddenly had a thought, if I were truly female; my DNA may have altered slightly, because I would now be XX, and not XY. I didn’t lick the envelope, using water instead.

I addressed it and put a stamp on it. Again, I didn’t lick it. Mary said. “Right, let’s go for a drive.”

We got in the car and drove south. We drove through Aylesbury, ironically, past the police station, and then on past Amersham, Gerrards Cross, and onto the A40 at Denham. We drove into Uxbridge. I posted the letter at a side street pillar-box in Cowley, between Uxbridge and West Drayton.

Mary smiled as I got back into the car.

“There, at least you know that they will not be quite so worried about you now,” she said.

We headed home.

As we passed the Police station in Aylesbury, we were held in a line of traffic. I glanced towards the station. It was set back from the road on the right hand side. There was a pond in front of the main doors, and a car park to the right of the pond. I suddenly saw a familiar figure, my mother. She was standing by the pond, a mobile phone in one hand, and a cigarette in the other. She looked agitated.

“Can I try something?” I asked Mary.

“What?”

“Can you pull into the police car park for a second?”

“Why?”

“I’ll tell you afterwards. Please, it is important to me,” I said.

Mary indicated, pulled out of the line of traffic and into the car park on the right.

She reversed into the bay. My mother was directly in front of me, about twelve yards away. She was tanned and very expensively dressed, with her hair perfectly set, although it was probably artificially coloured. She had a very expensive and luxurious fur coat on.

“That’s my mother!” I said, getting out of the car.

“Emma. Wait!” Mary said, but I was heading towards the woman. I was about 5’9” in my heels, but I knew that she had not taken a close look at me for ages, as I hadn’t seen her for over ten months. Mary followed me, her face anxious.

I went straight up to my mother, and I realised that for the first time in my life, I actually looked down at her.

“Excuse me, is that the main door?” I asked.

She looked at me, up and down. She had a bitter expression on her face.

“Do I look like a fucking street sign? Piss off,” she said, her French accent very obvious, and then resumed the conversation in fluent French on the phone.

“No, they haven’t a fucking clue, the little bastard has just vanished.”

“Oh, some stupid detective. He told me that Russell called him, and doesn’t want me to know where he is. Little fucker, I knew I should have had a fucking abortion.”

I walked slowly towards the police station, and Mary was standing a little way off, with her mouth open. I didn’t realise she could speak, and more importantly, understand French. I went back and collected her.

“Come on, you’ll give the game away,” I said. We went into the office.

I asked about a missing cat, and they were polite but told me they didn’t deal with cats, only dogs, and we left. She was still on the phone. As we passed, she looked at us and then glanced away.

“Look, Raoul, I’m not staying in this stupid little piss-hole any longer. Get your arse over here, and try to find the little bugger. The cops are not going to bother, so if you find him, just get rid of him.”

“I don’t care how you do it. Just make it look like an accident or an overdose. He can just be another sad statistic, and then I can at long last get my hands on the fucking money!” she said.

We got into the car, and Mary was shaking with anger.

“I never believed that anyone could be so evil. She is actually arranging for you to be killed! Oh Emma, I am so sorry, I didn’t believe you. You poor, poor child,” Mary said.

I shrugged, as I wasn’t the least bit surprised.

“Mary, start the car and we had better leave,” I said.

Mary was still shaking as we left the car park. My mother was still on the phone.

“Raoul is her lover. He’s a big bastard, and to my knowledge is perfectly capable of being very nasty. I met him last Christmas. He owns a gym near Menton in the south of France. I didn’t like him, and he didn’t like me. We need to watch out for him, as he’s very shrewd,” I said.

“Why don’t you tell the policeman, Higgins is it? What we have just heard?” she asked.

“I already did,” I said.

“When?” Mary looked shocked.

“In my letter. I told DS Higgins that I would expect her to send Raoul after me, and I fully expected him to have been told to dispose of me so she could inherit,” I said.

“Just how much are we talking about?” she asked.

I looked at her.

“A lot,” I said.

“A million?” she asked.

“More.”

“Ten million?”

“No, more.”

“Twenty?”

“Try five hundred million,” I said.

She went very quiet.

“Most of it is tied up in the various companies and properties, but my trust fund stands at fifteen million alone,” I explained.

“Did you tell the police that?” she asked, she had gone a little pale.

“Oh yes. They love motives,” I said.

“If you died, does she get the lot?”

“I doubt it, as my father has probably left it to his cousin in Devon, or to some charities. In a way I would like to see her face when she realises that she loses everything,” I said.

Mary drove in silence for a while. She stopped in a village and we had a light lunch at a little teashop.

“I still can hardly believe what I just heard. It’s like something from a film or a book,” she said.

I laughed, “My whole life would make a good book, but who would ever believe it?” I said.

We finished lunch, and continued home.

When we got back, a rather concerned looking Mike met us.

“Where did you two get to? I was starting to get worried.”

“Emma contacted the police, because of the bit in the paper. She wrote them a letter, with her fingerprints all over it. We went to Uxbridge to post it. Oh, Mike, you have no idea what happened on the way back,” Mary said.

Mary told him of our encounter with darling mummy. He was as shocked as she had been.

“Oh dear God,” he said. He looked at me, and then he looked worried.

“Told you,” I said, with a smile.

“Oh Emma, I’m so sorry, I didn’t ever think she could be as bad as you made her out to be. What can we do?” he asked.

“Nothing, we just let them alone, and get on with our lives. I will feed information to the detective, and hope that Raoul drops himself in it,” I said.

“But what if he finds you?” Mary asked.

“How? There is no connection to you, to the college, and if my own mother didn’t recognise me, how on earth will some French heavy, who has only seen me once?” I asked.

“I still, think we ought to go to the police,” said Mike.

“No, absolutely not. Mike, we are in the strong position here. We know that Raoul is coming over, so we know that my dear mother is pooing off back to France, and we know that the police don’t really care that much about me. This is my chance to get my own back on her, and if we’re careful, we can let the police do it for us,” I said.

“But how?”

“I haven’t a clue, but as the game goes on, I’ll look for opportunities,” I said.

“All right, Emma, but if things get difficult or dangerous you must go to the police,” Mike said.

“Agreed,” I said.

Mike gave a little smile.

“I feel sort of better about all the trouble we went to, to give you a new identity,” he said.

“It’s very much appreciated,” I said.

I sang in the choir again on the Sunday morning, and Mary took me back to college that evening. It was back to work on Monday.
 
 
I worked hard that week, even managing to completely forget about my mother.

On Thursday, I awoke feeling really awful. When I pulled my duvet off, I had a horrible moment, as I was bleeding.

It took a few seconds to sink in, and then I realised that I was now truly a woman.

I cleaned myself off, and then had fun playing about with tampons. I tried to work out how it fitted, so ended up having to read the leaflet. I went and washed my sheets and nightie in the communal wash area.

Sheri came in while I was there, and saw what I was doing.

“The curse?” she asked.

I nodded.

“Bad luck. It’s a real pain, isn’t it?”

I just nodded again.

We chatted for a bit, as she put her washing in the other machine, then going down for breakfast while the machines did their job.

I felt pretty sluggish all day, and I think it was reflected in my work. At lunchtime, Gwen came over to me.

“Emma, just to let you know I have become aware of your little visitor. Now, one of the key strengths of a professional is the ability to work through such times. I know you feel rotten, but imagine that you have a three-month run on a major production. You can’t alter your standards just for being a woman. So now is the time to start learning how to work through your period. I know it’s hard, as I’ve been there. But you can do it,” she said, in a very gentle and kind tone, but very firmly.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to let you down,” I said.

“You didn’t, dear. The only person you are letting down is yourself. You’ve shown such high commitment and energy in everything so far, it’s very obvious that you’re under the weather,” she said.

I smiled, “I’ll try, but I really feel pretty awful.”

“Good girl. Just do your best,” she said and left me alone.
 
 
The next day, I felt a little better, but had to keep changing my tampons. I was really flooding.

By Saturday, I was much better, and was excited about the fund-raising concert in the church hall that evening. I persuaded Sheri to come and stay, and Mike and Mary made her very welcome.

The concert was in aid of some restoration work on the church. The tower was in dire need of urgent attention, and they needed several thousand pounds to start. The diocese had agreed to match whatever the local church raised, and there was already a few thousand in the kitty.

It was due to start at 7pm, so we had a light supper before. Mary took me upstairs, into her and Mike’s room. She pulled a gorgeous evening dress out of the wardrobe, and asked me to try it on.

It was black and sleeveless, made out of silk and satin, and was simply divine. I slipped it on, but it was a little tight in the bust, so Mary told me she had worn it when she was a lot younger. We were about the same height and, although she was a little plump now, she obviously had been a little thinner than I was. My bust was really quite substantial now, and I thought I looked older than I really was.

I looked at my reflection in her full-length mirror. I was stunned.

“Emma, you look wonderful. It really suits you,” Mary said.

I still had yet to have my ears pierced, and kept putting it off, the coward that I was.

She gave me a pair of clip-on drop earrings, with large pearls. She then placed around my neck a lovely pearl necklace. My crucifix rested between by cleavage, which I decided to leave. She gave me a gold bracelet, taking my boy’s watch off me.

Instead, she gave me a very fine, gold ladies’ watch.

Sheri came and helped me with my makeup and hair, and then I was ready.

We all walked over to the hall together, and I was suddenly very nervous. We went in the back way to the little room that was behind the small stage. There was a band of some of the local lads, playing some recent hits. They were quite good; I peeked round the edge of the stage and saw that the hall was packed.

There were about three hundred people in there, and of all ages. The band played another number and then finished. They came off, and I stood well back out of the way. Sheri was with me, trying to make me feel less nervous. It was silly, as I had often sung in choirs in front of more people that this, but then I remembered that I was just one anonymous member of a large choir.

They had a local magician next, and he was very good. He had everyone spell bound, until he asked for a volunteer.

One of the lads in the band pushed me out onto the stage, so I was suddenly in the limelight.

“Wonderful, I see that we have the most stunning volunteer. Step right up here, pretty lady,” he said.

I stepped forward, a little nervous.

In the centre of the stage was a large box, into which I was placed. I stood in the dark, when the back opened, and the magician’s assistant beaconed for me to follow her. I stepped out and found myself behind the curtain. Meanwhile, the magician opened the box, showing the audience that I was no longer there. He closed it, mumbling something, so I simply stepped back into it. Then he opened the box, and I stepped out and raised both arms.

“Well done,” he muttered, as we both took a bow.

It was my turn next.

Mike stepped forward to the microphone.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, it is with great pleasure that we have with us tonight, on grateful loan from the Teesdale College of Performing Arts, Miss Emma Pearson and her wonderful voice. For those of you that really appreciate her singing, then come to church, as she is the latest member of our choir.”

With a piano accompaniment, I went through my medley of four songs, ending with part of the Messiah, as promised.

It seemed to go down well, and the applause made me feel that I had done all right.

I relaxed then, returning backstage, where Sheri gave me an orange juice. I saw the four band members sitting by the corner. They were going to go on again at the end.

“Which one of you silly sods volunteered me for that silly trick?” I asked.

Three of them looked at the one who was trying to look the most innocent. He was a tall lad, nearly six foot two. He was broad across the shoulders, with short, fair hair. His ears looked as if he played rugby, and he had a very cheeky smile. He was drinking from a water bottle, while the others were drinking beer.

I went over to him, with my hands on my hips.

“Thank you very much. It wasn’t as if I wasn’t nervous enough,” I said.

“I’m sorry, but you looked far too good looking to only come and sing a couple of songs. Which, may I say, I think you did fantastically,” he said, completely unrepentant.

I could not stay cross for long, so despite myself, I smiled.

“Thanks, but I wasn’t impressed,” I said.

“I’m Steve. Steve Roberts,” he said.

“I’m Emma Pearson,” I said.

“I know, I’ve been looking at your name on the poster outside my house for the last couple of weeks,” he said. “I was wondering what you looked like. I’m very pleased to have found out.”

I was a little lost for words. He shuffled up on the bench.

“Sit down, if you like?” he said.

I sat.

“Your band sounded good,” I said.

“It’s all right. We aren’t as professional as you, but we have fun,” he said.

“What do you call yourselves?”

He shrugged, “We haven’t got a name really, just Steve’s Mob. We only do it for fun.”

“Sometimes having fun is the important thing,” I said.

“Too true. So this college you’re at, is it all classical stuff or what?” he asked.

“It’s a little bit of everything. I love any type of singing, but I rather like the idea of drama or even dance.”

“Do you sing any modern stuff?” he asked.

“Of course, I’ll sing anything.”

“Do you know the old Culture Club hit Karma Chameleon?”

“Yes, why?”

“We can play it, but have never had the right person to do the vocals. Do you fancy joining us for the last number?” he asked.

“Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t ask you, if I wasn’t sure,” he said.

“I’d love to, thanks. I have a friend, she has a lovely voice too, can she join us for backing?” I said.

Ten minutes later, I was once again on the stage, where my evening dress was slightly incongruous against their jeans and tee shirts, but they played the music well, and I gave it my best shot. Sheri was thrilled to be part of it and was proficient at backing. I had always been able to memorise lyrics, so as I read music, I find it ever so easy.

We went down a storm, and the applause we received was better than either of our first outings. So much so, that we were forced to do an encore, and I sang Do you really want to hurt me, also by Culture Club.

However, the evening ended, and all of the performers and the organisers took to the stage.

Mike took the microphone once more.

“Many thanks to everyone who took part and supported this event. This event has exceeded my expectations, and I am sure that most of you have enjoyed it as much as I. My thanks to all the performers, and for their time and wonderful talent. They tell me that this evening has raised more than three thousand pounds, and this brings our total to eight thousand to date. Our aim is to reach ten thousand, and with the same again from the diocese, our target of twenty thousand will mean that work can start.

“So I think you can give yourselves a huge round of applause.”
 
 
The audience filed out, until just the organisers and performers remained. Mary and Cheryl appeared with some trays of food from a back room, and then Mike brought some wine and some beer.

He called form some hush, announcing that we were all welcome to stay for food and a drink or two.

I noticed that the drummer had cornered Sheri, and was in deep conversation. She caught my eye, but then she nodded and smiled, she was okay.

Steve came over to me, carrying two plates of food.

“I took the liberty of getting you some food. I would have brought you a drink too, but someone forgot to give me four hands,” he said.

“Thanks, why don’t I get the drinks, and then we can use the four hands we’ve both been given?” I said.

“Great, I’ll just have some water. I have to drive,” he said.

I went and grabbed a bottle of mineral water, and an orange juice for me.

I joined him, sitting on the stage. I was ravenous, so ate everything he’d acquired for me. I became conscious he was staring at me.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

“Not at all, you just never cease to amaze me, that’s all.”

“Why, what have I done?”

“For a starter, you look totally out of this world, you sound so bloody hoity-toity it’s just not true. You sing like an angel, but you eat like my younger brother,” he said.

“Oh,” I said.

“I didn’t mean to be rude, but you belong on the cover of Vogue, and not sitting in some dusty church hall eating chicken legs.”

“It just so happens that I rather like sitting in a dusty church hall eating chicken legs,” I said, finishing another chicken leg.

“Is there a remotest chance that I could see you again?” he asked.

I looked at him.

“That depends,” I said.

He frowned, “On what?”

“On whether your younger brother is quite so critical of female company,” I said, as I jumped off the stage. “Do you want any more to eat?”

He looked at me with a strange expression. Then he shook his head, smiling.

“You are completely unlike any girl I’ve ever met,” he said.

“That doesn’t help. Food?”

“I’ll come with you.” He joined me and we went over to the table.

“How many girls have you met, then?” I asked.

“Enough. And you are unique.”

“I could have told you that,” I said, helping myself to a little of everything.

“How long are you at college?”

“Just until the end of next year. Why?”

“I was wondering how long you would be in the area, that’s all,” he said.

I laughed.

“How about you, what do you do in real life?” I asked.

“I’ve been working on my Dad’s farm, but I’m due to start at police training school soon. I’m joining the Thames Valley Police,” he said, a little guardedly.

“Oh, cool,” I said.

“That’s an unusual reaction,” he told me.

“You told me I was not exactly usual,” I said.

“That’s true.”

“Do you know where you’ll be working?” I asked.

“No, but probably either Aylesbury or Milton Keynes, as I live in the village. My elder brother is a DC in Milton Keynes,” he said.

“DC?”

“Detective Constable. Don’t you watch the Bill?”

“No, I’m not a great one for the telly. I prefer reading. When do you start?”

“I have a date in a few months.”

“How long before you finish training?” I asked.

“The whole thing is two years probation, but I should go independent after six months,” he said.

I finished my plate, and he laughed again.

“Oh, I probably won’t eat for a week,” I told him.

He looked worried, so I said, “Joke. I have quite a large appetite, and because I use up a lot of energy, I don’t have a weight problem, yet.”

“Seriously, can I see you again?” he said.

I looked at him, and he did look serious. So serious that I giggled.

He smiled, “What’s wrong?”

“How old are you Steve?” I asked.

“Nineteen, why?”

“I’m sixteen, I would be delighted to see you again, but as long as you are aware that I am a virgin and fully intend to remain so for a long time,” I said.

He went red.

“I never meant….”

“No, I never said you did. But I thought as long as you were aware of the ground rules, then it’s up to you,” I said.

“What’s up to me?” he said, looking confused.

“If you want to see me again, silly,” I said.

“I do,” he said, frowning.

“Are you sure, you look confused,” I said.

“That’s because you’re slightly more forthright than any girl I’ve ever met. And you are no way only sixteen,” he said.

“Sorry, I can show you my birth certificate if you like,” I said. “Are there any puddings?”

He laughed. “What are you like?” he said.

“Unusual, unique, forthright, hoity-toity, an angel, amazing and I eat like a pig, according to you,” I said.

He went very quiet.

“Have I said something I shouldn’t?” I asked.

“Not at all, do you remember everything that people say to you?”

“Sometimes, if I like that person, or if I really don’t like that person,” I said.

“And which am I?”

“Ah, you’ll have to find that out.”

“When can I see you again?”

I looked at him. He really was very earnest and serious.

“I’ll be home next weekend, I’ve nothing planned on Saturday,” I said.

“When do you get out of college?”

“Friday evening. Why?”

“I could pick you up after college, and we could take in a movie or something?” he suggested.

“That sounds fun.”

“And then on Saturday, you could sing with the band at a gig we’ve planned,” he said, with a sneaky smile.

“Cost you,” I said, without a hesitation.

“Agreed,” he said, also without hesitation, and we shook hands. His hand was dry and warm, and very much bigger than mine. He kept hold of my hand, but I didn’t complain. I liked the feel of his hands, they were warm and dry, and very firm.

I looked at him, as he was going misty on me. He licked his lips.

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“I really like your hand and all, but I wouldn’t mind mine back, when you’ve finished with it,” I said.

He jumped as if startled and looked at our hands. He released my hand, as if I burned him.

“Sorry.”

“That’s okay, it’s not too easy going to the loo attached to a prospective policeman,” I jumped off the stage and went to the loo.

I was just coming out when Sheri came in.

“Are you all right with the drummer, he looks a little heavy?” I asked.

“Talk about the pot and kettle, I thought you were about to start snogging any second,” she said.

“I’ve been invited to sing with the band next Saturday,” I said. “Do you want me to ask if you can join too?”

“No, my dad is picking me up, but if you get any more offers, let me know, it sounds fun.”

I went back out, and the lads were loading up their van. I went outside, it was really cold.

Steve saw me and came over.

“We’ve got to go,” he said.

“Everyone does sometime,” I said.

“Have you a number I can call you on?”

“Not really, there is a payphone in the hall by my room, but I don’t know the number,” I said.

He wrote a number of a piece of paper, and gave it to me.

“That’s my mobile, give me a ring, anytime. I’ll call you back, if you like.”

“Okay, where is the gig, next week?”

“At a hall in Winslow.”

“Okay, I’ll tell some friends, and see if I can encourage a crowd to come.”

“That’d be cool.” He stood there, looking sheepish.

I stretched up, and kissed him on the cheek.

“Bye then,” I said. He held my hand, again. I looked at our hands, and then at him. He pulled me gently towards him. Then he bent towards me ever so slowly, I knew what was coming, so raised my chin and he kissed me on the lips. I felt a surge of emotion, wrapped my arm around his neck, responding to the kiss. Our tongues touched, I explored his mouth, and he did the same to mine. I felt his arm encircle me, as he pulled me closer to his body. I felt control slowly slipping away, so I broke off. He released me, as I stepped back.

“You’ll be one I quite like,” I said. “See you soon.” Then I went back into the hall. I went straight to the loo and repaired my lipstick.
 
 
Sheri and I helped clear up, stacking the chairs away. Then we walked back to the vicarage. It was nearly midnight, so I suddenly felt very tired.

Mary made some hot chocolate and we sat around the kitchen table. We chatted for a while before retiring to bed. I told Sheri that I was singing in the choir in the morning, and she asked if she could join as well. She wasn’t a Christian, but she loved to sing.

---

 
To Be Continued...