To Fight for a Dream by Tanya Allan     An autobiography is an account of one’s life up to a certain point.   This isn’t my autobiography. It is, however, a fictitious biography of someone very like me, or me if one or two things had happened differently.   This is a WHAT IF scenario plus a lot of wishful thinking.

 
 
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Author's Note:
 
This is a work of fiction, but some of the events, some of the people and most of the feelings and emotions are real. Some of the events were events that I experienced, while others were researched, and others are simply made up.

ALL names have been changed to protect the innocent. In 2005, I first posted an early version of this as a blog on my Yahoo 360 site, but removed it when Yahoo became silly about what they considered indecent. I used a photograph that they believed was for adults only and restricted viewing. I have since rewritten and revised it into its current form.

I know what is real and what isn’t.

I leave it to you to guess and wonder what is real and what isn’t.

Actually, it doesn’t matter, as it should stand alone as a good yarn. Please note, I have maintained my record for happy endings, even though the real ending has yet to be written.

It is tough to fly in the face of convention and social mores. It is tough to break away and to declare that you want to be you, in spite of what the world decrees you should be.

In 2008, the world read of Captain Ian Hamilton of the Parachute Regiment. He turned my fiction into reality by undergoing transition and surgery to become Jan.

I dedicate it to all those who have the courage to go with their convictions; and to those who stand by them, no matter how hard it might be. May God bless you all.

Tanya
Originally written in 2005, revised in 2008.
 
 
The Legal Stuff:To Fight for a Dream  ©2005, 2008 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. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited.
 
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.
 
 
Chapter 6. A New Beginning
 
 
In the event, the American dentist Matt never got back to me. I can’t say I was sad, as it was a complication I could do without. I’d gone into work the next morning as Jane, opening the shop as usual. I was wearing a smart dark skirt, pale blue blouse and jacket, which I removed inside the shop. I’d taken quite a long time over my makeup, trying to recall what the girl in the store had done to me on the previous day.

My hair was too short, but with help from my hairdresser friend Stella, we managed to tease it into a feminine style. I longed for it to grow so I could get it styled properly. I’d seriously thought about a wig, but couldn’t be bothered with the fuss. Stella hardly even changed expression when I dropped in dressed as Jane. She simply smiled and tut-tutted as she trimmed my hair into something that would grow out in a more appropriate way.

I was actually quite surprised that dressing and venturing forth as Jane didn’t affect me sexually. I felt wonderful, but wasn’t in any way aroused. I put it down to the hormones and the fact I didn’t have to prove anything. All my previous attempts at dressing had usually ended in a climax at some point, so it was quite a relief not to even think about it.

It was a damp morning, so I caught the bus. It was only a five-minute ride, but it saved me getting wet. I made myself a cup of tea and busied myself making sure the place was tidy. Every now and again, I dusted and cleaned, so in my persona as Jane, this mundane act seemed to come naturally. Why are men such slobs?

Steven Hayes came into the shop from his workshop.

“Morning Steven,” I said, with a sudden feeling of dread, as I’d completely forgotten about him, so he didn’t know about Jane.

He was closely examining a brochure and never looked up.

“Morning, did I hear the kettle?”

He looked up, blinked a couple of times and looked around the shop.

“Sorry, manners a bit gone, could have sworn you were James. I’m Steven Hayes.”

I passed him his mug of tea.

“I know. I’m Jane.”

“Hello Jane, where’s Jamie?”

“Jamie is no more. I should have told you, sorry.”

“Where’s he gone? Not that I’m complaining, but he never said goodbye. I didn’t know he was leaving, even.”

“Steven, he’s not gone, well he has, in a way. I should have told you. I was James, I’m Jane now.”

He blinked at me, saying nothing. I felt acutely embarrassed, feeling that I had to say something by way of explanation.

“I thought Mark might have said something. I’m starting to live as Jane today. Well, actually, I started last evening, but today is for real.”

“Um, Mark did mention something. I just hadn’t really appreciated what he meant. But…but.. you’re a woman, how?” His voice went all high pitched and squeaky, making me laugh.

I sat him down and explained everything to him. He was fine with it. Well, even if he wasn’t, there wasn’t much he could do about it.

“Does Sal know?” he asked. Sal was his name for his wife, Sarah.

“I haven’t told her yet.”

“Be a love, don’t. I’ll tell her that James has gone and you’ve replaced him. I want to see how long it takes her to put two and two together.”

“That’s wicked, she might not appreciate it.”

“She’ll be fine, besides, it’s my idea, so if she gets cross, then it’ll be my fault.”

He sat drinking his tea and chuckling, as I went to see the first customer of the day. It was an elderly lady wanting some green velvet cushions. We had some in stock, but they were too small for what she wanted. I showed her some samples of material, colours and a price chart.

“We can have them made up for you, and then they should be ready in seven to ten days.”

“Do you deliver?”

“We can deliver, but there is a charge.”

She spent ages looking through the samples, eventually deciding on a colour, and then took forever looking at the sizes and trim we offered. As I was in mid discussion, Sarah came in the back and made herself a tea. Steven was grinning like an idiot, but I couldn’t hear what he said to her.

Finally, the customer made a decision and I took her order, taking her details and deposit. She left the shop, so I returned to the back of the shop from where Sarah was watching me.

“Hello, I hear you’ve stepped into Jamie’s shoes. I’m Sarah, Steven’s better half,” she said, holding out her hand.

I took it, smiling. “Hello Sarah, I feel I almost know you,” I said, causing Steven to chuckle.

She turned on him. “What have you been saying?” she asked, a little crossly.

“Nothing much,” he said, stifling a laugh.

She turned back to me. “I’m sorry, men can be such arses at times. What happened to Jamie? I never knew he was leaving. I only spoke to him yesterday, and he seemed fine. He never mentioned he was leaving. Oh, he left early to see the doctor, is everything all right?”

“Everything’s fine. It’s just that he won’t be coming back, so I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

“Are you his sister? There’s definitely a family resemblance.”

“We’re very close, yes.”

At this point, Steven was sniggering like a baboon in heat. She turned on him again. “Just what the hell is wrong with you? You’re behaving like a real idiot.”

The shop’s bell rang again, so I had to leave them to see to the customers. It was a mother and daughter who’d been in previously. I’d been dealing with their total inability to make a decision. The daughter had initially come in with her husband. They failed to make a decision, so she returned with her mother. The latter obviously had more grandiose ideas as to what her daughter required. I approached them

“Good morning, may I help?”

“Where’s the young man who was here last time we were here?” the mother asked, somewhat imperiously.

“He’s no longer working here. He has, however informed me of everything he was dealing with. Are you Mrs Hotchkiss?” I asked, directing my question to the younger woman.

“Yes, that’s right, and this is…”

“Your mother, yes, James told me about your request. If you step over here, I’ve put together a selection of fabrics that may be nearer your budget,” I said, still directing my remarks towards the daughter.

I led them to the small area set aside for customers to peruse the fabric samples. Once seated in armchairs, I provided them with a small book of more reasonably priced samples.

“Would you like a tea or coffee, while you make your choices?” I asked.

They both accepted my offer and chose coffee. I left them alone and put the kettle on. Sarah was staring at me with her mouth open.

“You told her, then, Steven?”

“Sorry, but I couldn’t help myself. She would never have guessed.”

“I’m making some coffee, would you like one?” I asked.

“No way! There is absolutely no way that you are James!” she stammered.

“Quite right, I’m Jane. Coffee or tea?”

“What? Oh, coffee, please. Now, wait a minute, don’t change the subject. You are not a man!”

I leaned close to her. “Please, keep your voice down, Sarah, it wouldn’t do to let the customers know I’m a transsexual, would it?”

She gaped at me. “My God, you look so, so, so convincing. Steven is perfectly right, for once, I’d never have guessed. How long have you been planning this?”

I looked a little sadly at her. “All my life, but things kept getting in the way.”

“What do I call you?”

“Jane.”

She came over and gave me a hug.

“I think you look great. You must be so brave.”

“No, just committed.”

“Is your family supportive?”

Shaking my head, I told her how things were.

“Oh, you poor soul. Well, you can always come and stay with us if you need some time out. Anyway, you must come to dinner one evening, soon.”

“I’d like that, thanks.”

I made the coffees and returned to my customers. Steve and Sarah left me feeling far happier than I had been earlier. Slowly, good friends helped me build up my confidence. None of the customers suspected, or if they did, they hid it remarkably well. I so loved being Jane that I was getting up earlier and arriving at work up to half an hour before I had to.

I met Suzannah several times over the next few days. She was so off-the-wall, she helped me relax. I had to see my psychiatrist at the end of the first two weeks, as my RLT was supposed to start.

“Bollocks, you’ve already started,” Sue said, as we slowly walked round Harrods one Saturday morning. Mark had a lady who only worked Saturdays, giving me two days off, so I was grateful.

I adored walking round the store, just watching the customers. There were two types; those with money who thought nothing of buying tea bags for five times what you could get them in a supermarket. Then, there were those who had never been to Harrods before and wanted to buy something, but were having difficulty finding something cheap enough.

We walked past the lingerie department, so my eye caught some of the displays of bras and camisoles.

“Do you think I ought to have a boob job done?” I asked.

“Why, won’t yours grow big enough?”

“I don’t know,” I said, shrugging. “I’d just like to have my own. Perhaps if I had small ones, then when I grow a bit, I can either keep them or have them removed. What do you think?”

“Whatever makes you happy.”

“That’s a cop-out, Sue, what would you do?”

“I’ve never had big ones, but I think they’d get in the way. Mind you, they say girls are never happy with their boobs. Those with big ones want small ones, and vice-versa. I always wanted bigger ones, but in my line, there are ways of looking bigger, but never ways of looking smaller without excruciating pain.”

I cupped my bust area on the outside of my top. The breast forms were a C cup, so I would be happy if my real ones ended up the same size.

“Rachel says that even with the hormones, I probably won’t get more than a B cup at best.”

“Then go for a B insert, so when you grow to a B, you’ll be a generous C. Men seem to like big handfuls, as long as they don’t flop about and sag.”

I grinned.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

“This conversation; it is so inconceivable that I’m actually seriously discussing such things. I mean, not that long ago, I was discussing about the best way of killing people!”

“Are you going to stand there, holding your boobs all day, or what?”

We laughed together and retired to the coffee shop.

As we made our way back to her flat later, she stopped me.

“Jane, I know you think you know what you want, but once you go for implants, it is a serious move.”

“I know.”

“Well?”

“I’ve an appointment with Rachel on Tuesday, the day after my supposed RLT start. I’ll speak to her about it.”

Tuesday arrived and I was early for my appointment with Rachel. I read an old copy of Cosmopolitan while I waited. Mark had arranged for Sarah to cover for my two appointments, so I wasn’t worrying about the shop.

She was faintly surprised to see me dressed, but very surprised to see me looking as convincing as I was.

“Gosh, look at you! How have the last couple of weeks been?”

“Fine. I never bothered with the gradual change, so I just went for it from day one.”

“How did you get on with Doctor Green?”

Timothy Green was the psychiatrist who’d been assigned my case. He worked closely with Mr Dennis Granger, the surgeon and specialist in SRS. I had yet to see the latter, as I had to be further down the road before he’d see me. In fact, he was unlikely to see me before Tim Green gave me the green light for the surgery (Sorry, bad pun!). I had, however, seen Catherine Reynolds, Mr Granger’s assistant. She was responsible for liaison with Rachel over my hormone regime and general condition. She was also the person to speak to about implants and minor cosmetic or correctional surgery.

“Tim was fine,” I told Rachel.

Actually, fine was an understatement. It was the main reason I was in such a good mood, so I shared the experience with Rachel.
 

*          *          *
 
I arrived early at Doctor Green’s consulting rooms in an annex behind Bart’s Hospital. Such is my military background that I had reconnoitred the area beforehand, so knew where to go. I was a stickler for being on time, so usually I was a few minutes early to anything, except dinner parties, as it is wholly inappropriate to arrive at the time specified.

I had approached the receptionist, whom, I found out, only had J. Allan in the book.

“Hello, I’m Jane Allan, to see Doctor Green.”

She looked up at me from behind her desk. She was roughly the same age as my mother, so she must be in her late fifties, with almost white hair.

She frowned, looked at the appointment book, shrugged and ticked me off.

“Please take a seat until called, Miss Allan” she said.

I waited for only a couple of minutes, for the doctor came out to personally call me in.

Timothy Green looked like a British Robin Williams in a beard and tweed suit. He appeared to be in his late forties, but he could easily been ten years either side of that estimation. He had a slight Yorkshire accent and, I found out later, a weakness for smoking a pipe, which was forbidden on hospital premises.

He looked round the waiting area, frowned and glanced at me. There were four psychiatrists working in this unit, so I guessed that he assumed I was waiting for one of his colleagues. He said something to the receptionist.

“But Miss Allan is here, Doctor,” the receptionist said, pointing in my direction.

It was a wonderful moment. He gaped at me, seemingly more astounded even than Steven and Sarah had been.

“Right, excellent, do come this way, um, Miss Allan,” he said.

I stood, smoothed my skirt and followed him into his consulting room.

“Please, sit, ah, Miss Allan. You’ve rather wrong-footed me; I’m ashamed to say. Um, may I just confirm that you were referred by doctor Rachel Hemmings?” he asked, as he sat opposite me in a matching armchair.

“Yes, and my real name is James Allan. I didn’t mean to confuse you, but I’m just happier as Jane.”

“I see. Now is this a permanent thing, or just for my benefit?” he asked, the abrupt question offset by a gentle smile.

“How permanent would you like it? I’ve known I was female inside since I was very young, but what with real life, I’ve only been living like this for a couple of weeks.”

He nodded, picking up my notes. I watched with detached amusement as he read them. I waited for him to reach the part about the army and, sure enough, he glanced up with a surprised expression.

“Let me know when you want to analyse the shit out of me.”

He chuckled, but moved on to read Lydia’s assessment, but then he closed the notes.

“Okay, let’s start again. I’m Tim Green, I was supposed to be preparing you to undertake a Real Life Test, but it seems we’re beyond that. Lydia seems quite convinced that you’re doing the right thing. Why don’t we just have a little chat and work out where we stand?”

Chat we did, or rather, I talked while he listened, making a few notes as I spoke. I went through my life in frank detail, occasionally having to answer his questions to clarify specific points of interest.

He then spent some time probing my inner thoughts and feelings. I decided that now was not the time to broach the subject of implants or cosmetic surgery. He was sympathetic, whilst remaining non-judgemental.

“You have to understand, I get many people who are convinced of their position, but often, when it comes down to reality, many just do not fully appreciate the ramifications of full gender transition. That’s why the real life test is the most important feature. If you can make a success of living as a female whilst still physically male, then you have a better than fair chance of making it as a woman.

“I have to say, I’ve met many who have believed they were prepared, but I find your attitude very unusual and refreshing. Sometimes the RLT can last up to two, or even three years. I’m confident we shan’t be as long as that.”
 

*          *          *
 
I finished recounting my experience to Rachel. She smiled, seemingly unsurprised at what I’d told her.

“Well, that’s the important bit done. You’re now away from the starting line and doing well. There’s a lot of ground to cover, and much of it won’t be easy. Are you prepared?”

“I think so. When do you think I’ll be ready for surgery?”

She chuckled again. It was a warm, rich sound.

“Not for at least a year. I want you to be completely stable on your hormones and your body as well developed as possible. I wouldn’t advise surgery until the end of next year at the earliest.”

“That long? I’d hoped for twelve months. I’d read that some only take twelve months.” I was disappointed.

“I’m not in the business of comparing patient with patient. Each person is different. You are a well-developed male in your mid twenties. Many teenagers aren’t so far down the road, so regardless of how well you appear to have adjusted on the outside, your body has a long way to go. There’s a lot more to being a woman that wearing the clothes of walking the walk.”

“I appreciate that, Rachel. I’m just so desperate to reach my life’s goal.”

“Jane, as I told you, you have a lot of ground to cover. The mental side is only one aspect, and it’s great that you seem to be psychologically adapted to this, but you have to be physiologically and socially adapted as well. The last one includes your family and your ability to exist in the world. Staying in a flat above a shop is not the whole world. You have to convince Tim that you can survive everything life can throw at you without suffering a mental breakdown.”

“I’ll be fine,” I protested.

“Jane, I think you probably will be, but I’ve sat here with patients who have thought the same as you, but in the end, they’ve not been ready and had a rethink. Please, let’s do it my way. Eighteen months is a short time to prepare yourself for the rest of your life.”

“I suppose so. I have to admit, my family is a real problem. My father will not accept what I’m doing.”

“That, sadly, is hardly unusual. The previous generation are less accepting over such things. I’m not asking you to do the impossible, but I simply need you to come to terms with their attitudes and just get on with life despite their feelings. Parental acceptance is sometimes the biggest hurdle that transsexuals face. Most want to be accepted, so when they face rejection, the potential for complications such as depressive illnesses are very high.”

I nodded, dismayed at the time factor. It seemed an age.

“Dear Jane, don’t be too downhearted, we will try to fill your year.”

That reminded me, so I steeled myself for the next rejection.

“Um, Rachel, I was asked a question by a girl friend, whom I have been spending some time with recently.”

“Yes?”

“We were buying some clothes, and she noticed my breast forms, well, will I need breast implants?”

“I don’t know. It depends on your development. I think I mentioned to you that some patients actually grow quite respectable breasts, but most tend to be on the small size. Why?”

“I think I’d like my own, before I get the rest done, that is.”

She looked at me from behind her desk.

“And?”

“I don’t want to be recognised by men I served in the army with. I’d like, if possible, to have some facial surgery to make me look less like James.”

She nodded, pursing her lips.

“It’s not cheap.”

“I’m aware of that, but peace of mind is without value. Wouldn’t it be to my advantage to feel more confident to go out and about?”

“You are a sneaky devil, aren’t you?”

“Probably.”

“Okay, now let’s talk about this in more detail. What exactly would you want to have done, and why do you think they are important?”

“Nose, because mine is too big and since I broke it when I was sixteen, it’s always looked awful. My chin is rather too square, and my Adam’s apple, although not huge, is still evident with certain low necklines. I’ve heard that they can tighten the vocal chords to make the voice more female, if that’s right, I’d like to seriously think about it.”

“I’ll refer you to a cosmetic surgeon. However, it’s important that we’ll need Tim to approve any such step. I don’t want you to run before you can walk. Each step like this makes it harder to go back, should you wish to.”

“I don’t ever think I’ll want to go back.”

“You say that now, but you’ll never know what’s just around the corner.”

“Believe me, whatever is around the corner, I go forward.”

I left feeling that I’d taken a significant step forward, but learning that it would take so long was quite demoralising. As soon as I returned to my flat, I gave Suzannah a call. She was out, as her flatmate Lucy told me, she was actually working.

“Where?”

“She went to an audition last week, for some musical that’s been running in the West End for a few years. Anyway, she heard this morning, she’s got a part in the chorus.”

“That’s brilliant, which one?”

“Cats.”

“The Lloyd-Webber one?”

“Yup, good, eh?”

“Wonderful, so when’s she on?”

“Not for a week or so, they’re rehearsing the new members so they’ll be ready for the changeover.”

“Shit, that’s great. Can you ask her to call me when she gets a moment?”

“Sure, Jane, yeah?”

“Yup. She has my number.”

I hung up, suddenly feeling alone and wanting to talk to someone. It was the first of such moments, I was certain it wouldn’t be the last. I made myself some cheese on toast and curled up on the sofa to re-read my favourite book — The Masqueraders by Georgette Heyer. I had found the book when I had been about twelve. I had lost count how often I’d read it.

After a while, I put the book down and opened my journal, writing a few more pages, just bringing my story up to date. I went back to the beginning and started reading what I had already written. Some made me smile, but much brought tears to my eyes. My feelings were very different to events, and so often stories are simply a series of events, where feelings put in brief appearances to augment the storyline. My journal was a series of feelings, interspersed with events to cement them together and give them meaning.

I went to bed that night determined to try something different every day.
 

*          *          *
 
The next morning I awoke feeling depressed. I was unused to the constant mood swings, as they were very different to what I had experienced as James. The feeling continued over the weekend, and I found I had no energy or drive to do anything. I sat and watched the television, just eating sandwiches and feeling miserable, but determined to see it through. The phone rang at eight o’clock on Sunday evening, and to my delight, I found myself talking to Suzannah. My mood swing suddenly turned the corner.
 
 
Chapter 7. Learning to Walk, Before I Run
 
 
Suzannah waved at me as I skied to a stop by the small restaurant at the foot of the slopes. I grinned, kicked off my skis and left them in the rack and I clumped up the few steps to the deck on which she sat. The sun was out and the beautiful people were at play. I was wearing a lime green ski suit and felt sexy and much healthier.

It was April 1985, and Suzannah and I were in Risoul, France on a skiing holiday. It was my first holiday abroad since my RLT started. It was very hard, for I had taken the decision to have breast implants and facial surgery towards the end of 1984. However, the laws in the UK were such that I couldn’t get a passport as a woman, nor could I change my birth certificate. I was legally a male, regardless of what I looked like.

Despite my initial reservations of the length of time before I could have surgery, the first year seemed to have passed very quickly. I settled down as Jane, recording all the physiological and psychological changes I observed in myself as time passed. Work was brilliant, as Steven and Sarah became good friends, inviting me to their flat two or three times a month for dinner. I managed to ask them back to my flat occasionally, trying my hand at cooking properly for the first time. They were polite about my efforts, but Sarah decided to give me a few helpful hints and bought me some useful cookery books for idiots.

Although the shop was never desperately busy, it was busy enough to keep me occupied. Besides, I managed to write articles for several magazines in my down time, from which I earned a little income, but more importantly became known as the writer and journalist, Jane Allan, in certain circles. One of these was a magazine targeting tourists to London. I started by writing an article on eating out in the West End on a limited budget.

The editor liked it and published it, asking me for anything else I could produce. My next series was on shopping, firstly for clothes, then for gifts and finally for luxury goods. Suzannah and I spent much of our spare time walking down little streets and seeking outlets that offered good quality items at a reasonable cost.

The bonus came when a couple of airlines asked me to write for their in-flight magazines, to assist those visitors to Britain to find those parts of Britain that the tourist tours didn’t show. I found myself entering restaurants and pubs all over London and the South East, introducing myself and as a Food and Travel Guide, which resulted in me being treated like royalty by landlords and restaurant owners eager to attract foreign visitors.

Having dithered about having cosmetic surgery and breast enhancement for so long, it was actually a bit of a shock when the medics agreed that I was ready. There was less medical resistance to it as I chose to go private, so lessening the burden on the NHS. I was referred to a surgeon and just went for it. At the end of November 1984 Suzannah accompanied me to the small clinic in West London, and was the first person I saw when I woke up. I desperately wanted the SRS by this stage, as I really detested that vestige of manhood that forever lurked beneath my tight undergarments like a nocturnal mini-monster.

Whilst recovering from the surgery, I had an angry session with Tim, only calming down when I saw his worried face peering through his facial hair. I’d not lost my temper like that for a very long time, but the frustration really got to me, and I think he was able to judge my strength of feelings.

“Why do you think you are so emotional about this?” he asked.

“Emotional? It’s pure frustration at the length of time you medical experts are taking! If I buggered off to Bangkok and had the operation there, you’d be none the wiser.”

“You feel that strongly?”

“Yes I do. Look, I’m sorry I shouted at you, but I really want this.”

“You may think you do, but we have to be convinced it’s the best course for you.”

I sat back, as the tears started. I was almost speechless with frustration.

“What more do I have to do to convince you?”

To my surprise, he smiled.

“Nothing. I think I’m satisfied that the course we’ve set is the right one. I’ve already completed the final assessment and now we just need to refer you to the surgeon.”

“You knew this before I lost it?”

“Yes, but it was interesting.”

“Fuck you, doctor!”

He smiled again. “Oh dear, ever the soldier, eh Jane?”

Once my facial and breast enhancement surgery had been completed, I felt enormously more confident and as a result planned to venture out a lot more. The surgery had been quite unpleasant, but through the discomfort, I held onto the hope that the result would be worth it. It was, and I celebrated by changing my name by deed poll to Jane Allan. I didn’t want to apply for any legal documents, but after telling my bank, which now put Ms. J. Allan on my chequebook, I applied for a new passport, submitted with a letter from the doctor, and had it returned in the name of Jane, but still as a male. It was the same with my driver’s licence. I was Jane Allan, but a male. The British bureaucratic mind is a bugger!

Suzy and I became as close as sisters, and I couldn’t have gone through it without her. She was working again, having injured herself in CATS and had to leave, but picked up another couple of parts in short running TV shows.

We spent Christmas together, as neither of our families was eager to have us. My face was still puffy after my surgery, but my boobs didn’t ache any more. I simply adored them, the feel of their weight, their movement and the sight of them at my lower periphery of vision for most of the time. False breasts had been quite realistic, but, once the soreness had dissipated and the feeling returned to my nipples, I was ecstatic.

I spoke to my mother on the phone for some length on Christmas day, but my heart ached at the hardness of my father towards both of us. She desperately wanted to be there for me, but he had made it crystal-clear that she wasn’t to see me until I changed my mind and saw the light.

I cried on Suzy’s shoulder as we watched some old weepy film on the TV.

“You know what you need?” she asked.

“What?”

“A holiday.”

“At this time of year?”

“Well, there are places to go with sun, like the Canaries.”

“I’m not into lying on a beach. Not yet, anyway.”

“Okay, how about a winter sport holiday?”

“Like skiing?”

“Yeah, why not?”

I hadn’t skied for a while, not since the army. I’d completed an arctic survival course in Scandinavia, and then spent three weeks on a skiing course. I’d skied regularly over a six-year period. I was one sport I thoroughly enjoyed, and saw no reason why being a woman would change that.

I smiled, as suddenly that sounded like a good idea, and I could hide my imperfect body beneath layers of ski clothes.

“That sounds a lovely idea, but when?”

“I’ll pop into the travel agent tomorrow.”

“But my face is still swollen,” I protested.

“We can get some brochures, besides, you’re getting better daily.”

In the event, Suzy managed to get into a show in the West End that ran for twelve weeks, so the earliest date she could get away was just before Easter. By which time I hoped my features would be clear of swelling and puffiness.

By the time it came upon us, I was fine, but was terrified that I would be barred entry to France because I was travelling on a forged passport, but in the event, the bored official barely glanced at it.

We’d flown from Luton to Grenoble on a rainy Monday. It was a very early flight, and I was dressed in baggy sweaters and jeans. Suzy had told me to try to look like a male, but it didn’t work. My shape, my mannerisms, and with my long hair, I just appeared too feminine. In the end, I just went as me, hoping not to be marked as too much of a freak. I’d found a ski-suit in an Oxfam shop and hoped it didn’t smell too much of mothballs.

The plane was full, and I sat wedged between Suzy in the window and a spotty young man from Liverpool who had awful body odour. Having got up very early to catch the flight, I eased my seat back and slept for most of the way.

Queuing up for the Immigration was my worst moment. Suzy and I went forward together, and she handed over both passports to the French officer.

He took them, opened them, glanced at the photographs and then at us, moved them in front of the infrared scanner and gave them back without comment. He was already looking at the next person before I realised we were in.

Our apartment was a tiny single room affair, with a double bed that pulled out of the sofa in the living room. The kitchen was in a cupboard in the same room and the bath was so small one had to sit with one’s knees up by one’s ears. The loo was fun, as the hot water tank was above the cistern, but stuck out so when seated, one had to bend forward so one’s breasts lay across one’s knees.

But it was bright, comfortable and cheerful, with strawberry curtains, cushions and tablemats. We were on a tight budget, so the size didn’t dampen out excitement.

Suzy giggled as we struggled to get the bed sorted out.

“So, after all that we are going to go to bed together!”

“You stick to your own side, my girl,” I said.

She laughed and stuck her tongue out at me.

We gathered in the Pizzeria where the reps gave us a little chat and sorted out our ski passes and equipment hire. There were three reps, Michael, Jenny and Cathy. Michael came over as a very camp young man, whose northern accent caused me to smile whenever he spoke dreadful French. The two girls were fun, but I found out that both had developed relationships with ski instructors, and were far more interested in sneaking off in the evening to be with their boyfriends than to sort out our problems.

They tried to sell me the ski school, so were a bit miffed when I declined. I’d never taken any civilian tests, but I guessed that my standard of skiing was an advanced standard.

Suzy was a beginner. She’d been skiing once before, several years ago, so signed up for a class each morning.

“I’ll teach you, if you want to save your cash?” I offered.

“Don’t be silly, how else will I snare a gorgeous ski instructor?”

“Oh, so now you’ve me in your bed, you don’t want me?” I teased.

She just grinned and signed up.

“For those of intermediate or advanced standard, a ski ranger will take you on a ski trek that takes most of the day. That happens on Wednesday, but I need to know numbers by the end of today,” Michael said.

Shrugging, I signed up for that. I had the next day to familiar myself with the slopes and then it might be fun to go off with a ski party.

We managed to get out onto the slopes for the latter part of Monday afternoon. The main lifts were just a short distance from out little studio apartment. I was pleased my suit didn’t make me look conspicuous, as I saw several that matched it.

I was quite unfit and unused to the specific muscle use that skiing tends to utilise, but it didn’t take me long to get back into the swing of the sport. Initially, I remained with Suzy at the foot on the nursery slope, helping her get to come to terms with the awkwardness of having long planks attached to her feet for the first time. I showed her how to move and go up small slopes, both side edging and forwards. Then I showed her how to snowplough, and had her repeat a simple little routine of going up a small slope and then snowploughing down, until she was able to do it without falling over or collapsing in giggles every minute.

I may not have been as fit as I had been, but, although as a dancer she was fit, poor Suzy found herself using muscles she never knew she had, and went off to sit down at a nearby cafe and have a cold drink. I took the opportunity to go up the tow and have a reasonable ski down blue run.

The exhilaration of skiing came back to me, and I felt the pure enjoyment bubble up inside me as I swished down the slope. The blue run was too tame, so I went up a black run and really went for it.

It all came flooding back, only the last time I’d been a soldier with a heavy pack on my back, together with my personal weapon and all equipment. This time I had a small bum-bag with some lip-salve, sun cream and a pack of tissues. I forgot my problems, and became carried away by the pure pleasure of speed and enjoyment.

I took off over a crest and shot down the last slope towards where Sue was sitting. I adopted a racing crouch as the world whizzed past in a blur, swishing to a graceful stop in a spray of snow at the bottom.

Raising my sunglasses, I waved at Sue who was gaping at me in amazement.

“Wow!” she said.

“Not bad for a beginner,” I teased, taking off my skis and joining her at the small table. A waiter appeared, so I ordered a beer without thinking. I took off my hat and shook out my hair.

“You’ve done this before,” Sue said.

“Once or twice. I was regimental champion for two years running.”

She shook her head. “If only they could see you now.”

“Why?”

“Have you any idea how glamorous you look?”

I glanced at the windows of the café, seeing the reflection of a girl flushed with excitement and the wonder of fresh alpine air. The soldier was well and truly gone. I could hardly see any elements of my old hated self, but the inner fire of determination seemed to hide these from the outside world. I wouldn’t be happy until I was as close to being what I wanted as possible.

I smiled sadly as I sat next to her, loosening my heavy boots.

“You won’t be satisfied until they cut them off, will you?” she asked.

I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak.

She took one of my hands. “No one could ever tell!”

“I know, Suzy. That’s enough!”

The waiter appeared with my beer and we sat watching the afternoon sun go down.

“Are you going up again?” she asked.

“One more, then we’ll head back. Do you want to eat in or out?”

“Oh out, we didn’t come all this way to eat our own crappy food.”

Smiling I went back onto the snow, clicked my boots back into the skis and headed for the chairlift. I slid into the allotted place as a tall man skied alongside me to share the chair.

The chair swung round the turning wheel and we sat as it collected us and hoisted us off up the mountain with our skis dangling.

I watched the breathtaking panorama below as we trundled slowly up.

“You are English, yes?”

I looked at my companion. He was deeply tanned and had fair hair sticking out at the back of his white hat. I could see my reflection in his mirrored sunglasses. His accent wasn’t French, and instantly I remembered Martin, the German exchange student.

“Yes, German?”

“Ja. You speak German?”

Smiling, I shook my head. “No, but your English is good.” Having served in Germany with the British army, I knew a little German, but decided to keep quiet about it for now.

“Danke, I studied for a while in Scotland.”

My heart lurched, but he wasn’t Martin. He told me his name was Oscar, he was a dentist and he had studied at the Dundee Orthodontist College, only a few miles from my parents’ home. What a small world we live in!

“How long have you been here?” he asked.

“We arrived today,” I said.

“You are alone?”

“No, I came with a friend, but she’s a beginner.”

“Ah, she?”

“Yes, she,” I said, smiling in spite of my embarrassment.

“Ah, you ski before?”

“Some. You?”

“I’ve been skiing all my life. Particularly in my gap year.”

“Weren’t you called up for military service?”

“Ja, the army needed dentists too,” he said with a grin.

The lift was nearing the top, so I prepared myself to leave the chair and ski off to the right. As the chair came up to the prepared ramp, our skis touched the snow and we pushed off and skied round to the top of the slope. There were some other tows heading up the mountain in three different directions.

“You go up more?” Oscar asked.

“I wasn’t going to, my friend is alone.”

“She is in the café, ja?”

“Yes.”

“Then she will be safe, I think. Come with me up to the top. You can ski red and black runs, ja?”

“Yes.”

“Then why not?”

I shrugged and simply followed him to the t-bar tow. Once again, we were together, but with the arms of the t-bar behind our bums and pulling us up the slope.

At the top, he skied off to the left and I followed, looping the straps of my ski-poles over my wrists.

“I go slow so you keep up, ja?”

Swishing past him, I grinned. “Try to keep up and I’ll go slow,” I said as I passed him.

I shot off down the first vertical slope. It hadn’t snowed up here for a while, to the slope was quite icy, and my skis slithered over the hard surface as I struggled to edge and control them. I executed a series of short parallel jump turns and found some softer snow to the left of the slope, I felt more secure and put on some speed, glancing back to see Oscar hurtling towards me.

I grinned, as overtaking him had dented his male pride, so I crouched and shot straight down the slope, easing a couple of turns to the less icy piste.

I held him off for half the slope, but as I was executing a turn, he shot past me and I just caught his grin. Now determined to catch him, I took a short cut, off-piste through the trees. I could see him making good headway on a slow dog-leg to the right, so swept back onto the piste just in front of him as we both rose over the second to last crest before the final slope.

He caught me up and we were level as we both took off over the last crest and from there down it was a desperate race. I was skiing much faster than my previous descent, so when we both came to a stop, the snow was sprayed onto the decking of the café. Suzy was covered in snow as I raised my sunglasses.

“Jane! That was fucking unnecessary!” she said, brushing the snow from her hair.

I glanced at Oscar. He was staring at me with something akin to awe on his face.

“What kept you?” I said, grinning.

“You ski very good!” he said, and I got the impression that was one heck of a compliment.

“Nah, just a beginner,” I said.

“Have you ever competed?”

“Not really, not on an international scale at any rate, why?”

“You are very good, you could win medals.”

“I won in-house competitions about five years ago,” I admitted, to which he nodded.

“I thought you were good.”

I looked at Suzy, to see her staring at me with a strange expression.

“You don’t hang about, do you, Jane?” she said.

While I laughed, Oscar skied over to me.

“You go up again, Jane?”

“Not today. I just need a shower and then we’re going out for a meal.”

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know. We only arrived this morning, so don’t know the best places yet.”

“My girlfriend and me, we take you to a pizza, ja?”

“Your girlfriend?” asked Suzy.

“Ja, she is a dentist also, but she has not skied before, so she has been in ski-school all week.”

I relaxed enormously, but in a strange way was a little disappointed.

“There are six of us in the party, Rosa will be pleased to have female company, as she is the only girl in the group.”

“Six! Not all dentists, surely?” I asked.

“We have three dentists , a lawyer, an accountant and Martin is a teacher. We have all been friends for years, except Rosa, that is. I met Rosa at dental clinic.”

“In Dundee?”

He smiled. “No, I did post graduate work there, I did my training in Germany.”

“Ah. So why come here, to France? I’d have thought that Austria or Switzerland would have been closer.”

“There is not much difference in distance for us, but it is cheaper here.”

“Makes sense.”

“All those men with no girlfriends, sounds interesting,” said Suzy, grinning.

“I knew a Martin from Germany, once,” I said, casting my mind back to that smiling face of the first boy who ever kissed me. He was probably gay now, so I tried to dispel the memories and the poignant feelings that were attached to them.

“Where are you staying?” he asked, bringing me back to the present.

Suzy pointed at the small block of apartments.

“Gut! We are in this building here, so why not come here at seven o’clock - Apartment four; it’s the big one.”

With a final smile, Oscar skied off towards his apartment block. Suzy put her skis back on and we made slow progress over to our little studio. After leaving the skis and boots in the special store in the basement, we finally made it to out apartment. After a shower and a cup of tea, we started to change.

“Jane, I can’t believe you, managing to pull within five minutes of arriving here. You’ve put me to shame!”

I stared at my small selection of clothes. I hadn’t packed that much, as I’d not really imagined I’d be that active socially. Eventually, I chose a pair of jeans and a pretty top, under a big pink pullover with a leather jacket on top. Being April, the evenings weren’t as cold as during the winter months, but it was still dipping down to freezing.

“No short skirt?” Suzy asked, as I applied my makeup with nervous hands.

“No. People have a habit of falling into snow after drinking, so I want to be as warm as I can be.”

She chuckled, by I noticed she followed my example and wore jeans.

I was more nervous than I would admit, for I knew that underneath my clothes I was still male and, no matter what happened, I could never form any relationship based on the misconception I was a normal girl, and yet I wasn’t prepared to lie. I just hoped these people would be fun and not looking for anything I couldn’t deliver.

The other reason I was nervous was that someone called Martin was in the party. I told myself, repeatedly, that Martin was a common name and it would never happen that the Martin I met all those years ago would be this one. The last I’d heard was that Martin had gone off to the military before going to university. I hadn’t told him I had joined the army and so contact had been lost.

“Ready?” Suzy asked.

I suppose so.”

“Don’t look like that. It’s all your fault, you know?”

“I know, but it was different out on the slopes.”

“You’ll be fine, there’s absolutely no way that anyone can tell you’re, you know?”

“There’s one way.”

“Okay, but you’re hardly likely to whip down your knickers and shout about it, are you?”

I smiled sheepishly. “I suppose not.”

“Come on, it’ll be fine.”

I followed her out, locking the apartment door as I went.

The Germans were in an enormous apartment, three bedrooms, with a huge lounge/diner with kitchen area, and a wonderful balcony and view of the slopes. Our view of the car park was slightly boring by comparison. In fact, the whole place made our little place seem even smaller and pathetic.

Oscar answered the door, and introduced us to his girlfriend. Rosa was the exact opposite of what I expected. She was an attractive, but petite, dark-haired girl, and not the tall, buxom blonde Aryan I’d imagined.

Her English was not as good as Oscar’s was, but she seemed genuinely pleased to see us.

“A week wiz these men, pah, it is gut dat some more girls come,” she said, making me smile wryly.

“You like a drink, ja?” Oscar asked.

“If we’re going out, will we have time?” Suzy replied.

“Ja, why not? I have a beer, you like Schnapps, perhaps?”

“A beer’s fine, thanks,” I said, and Suzy followed suit.

One by one the other men appeared, each reacting to our presence in different ways.

Martin wasn’t my Martin, no real surprise there. However, he was tall, blond and very hunky. He was full of smiles and relaxed. He helped himself to a beer from the fridge and plonked himself on the sofa next to me. The other three were Rudi and Wilhelm, both dentists, and the accountant Franz. Rudi was short and plump, but his English was excellent. He’d spent two years in America, so had picked up a distinct American accent. He honed in on Suzy and immediately asked for her life history. As soon as he heard she was in show business, he was away.

Wilhelm was tall and thin, with very thick lenses in his glasses. He seemed to regard us with a curious aloofness and more or less ignored us after limply shaking our hands. Franz, however, was of medium build, reasonably good looking with short hair and a very dull sweater on. He looked like an accountant, but gave the impression that he was the shyest member of the group. He blushed furiously as soon as he introduced himself to us, and sat quietly in the corner, smiling vacantly. It was rather an uncomfortable and stilted situation, as I got the impression that things may have been a little strained amongst the group before we arrived. Conversation was a little forced, except for Rudi who was monopolising Suzy in a corner.

“So, Oscar says you are a very good skier,” Martin said to me.

“He’s kind. I’m a little rusty, as I haven’t skied for several years.”

“Nonsense, she is excellent. She raced me down the mountain this afternoon and beat me,” Oscar interrupted.

I blushed, despite myself.

“Where have you been skiing, before this?”

“Scandinavia.”

“Ah, langlauf, ja?”

“Yes, but I’m proficient in both downhill and langlauf. How about you?”

“I start only last year, so am not good yet.”

“Where did you learn English?”

“I go to London for a year in 1980.”

“It’s very good, do you teach English?”

He chuckled. “No, it is not that good.”

“What do you teach?”

“The mathematics and science. What do you do?”

“I manage a shop in London.”

“What kind of shop?”

“Old furniture and furnishings.”

After we all finished the beers, we set off to the restaurant. I found myself walking next to Martin, as he seemed interested in me.

“So, you are not married?”

I laughed. “No, you?”

“I’m, how do you say, betrothed?”

“Engaged.”

“Ja, engaged. I’m engaged. Elise is a teacher too.”

“She didn’t want to come?”

“Ja, she did, but her father is very ill, so she goes to help her mother. He is dying, I think.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I call her every day and promised to be good,” he said, grinning.

The Pizzeria was quite full, but there was a table for eight free. The beers started flowing, so everyone started to relax. I was sitting between Martin and Franz. The service was quite slow, but no one was in a hurry. Slowly a collection of empty beer bottles built up and eventually the pizzas arrived.

The food was great and the company, now they had chilled out, was good fun. Rosa got giggly when drunk and at the end a large round of liqueurs started a drinking game going. I didn’t even attempt to keep up as, in my experience, drinking games inevitably produced no winners, only losers. We left before we got thrown out and moved off to a small bar/night club. By eleven o’clock, most of the Germans were completely pie-eyed, so Suzy and I went back to our little apartment and went to bed.

I lay awake for some time, pleased that as far as the world was concerned, I was a normal woman. I reached between my legs, clasping that which I hated above everything else, and wept.
 
 
Chapter 8. Baptism of Fire
 
 
 
The holiday was a great success. The Germans were fun and, fortunately, not interested in forming any casual, or indeed, lasting relationships. All, that is, except Rudi, whom, I fear, thought he’d fallen in love with Suzy. I skied with Oscar most days, and occasionally with one or other of the ski guides.

We had a light breakfast each morning, then Suzy went off to ski-school while I went off up the mountain with a few of the more advanced skiers. We met for a light lunch and then I’d ski with Suzy and help her with what she’d picked up during the morning session.

We met many English skiers as well, which was just as well, for the Germans left after we’d been there four days. Rudi had expressed undying love for Suzy, who was grateful the passionate little German had finally gone home. I was able to concentrate on my skiing for the last few days, and despite meeting a dishy ski-instructor called Charles on the last evening, I was more than happy to still be unattached at the end.

When we arrived back in Luton, I was tanned, much fitter and feeling a whole lot more confident. However, a snotty young immigration officer brought me back down to earth with a thump, as he threatened to detain me for having a false passport. He actually read my passport and, although I looked like my photograph, there was no way I looked male.

I discovered he was just being bloody-minded for, after I had been taken to a small holding room and produced all the medical evidence and letters, his supervisor told me I was free to go. However, in a few minutes, he had undone all the gains I had made over the last few months. His supercilious sneer would remain in my memory for some time. It highlighted the no-mans land in which I existed until the final surgery put things as right as they could.

Poor Tim had to deal with a tearful Jane when I next attended his room for a consultation. However, rather than put me off my decided course of action, I found myself more determined to complete what I had started.

After I had calmed down and dried up, he shocked and surprised me.

“I’ve spoken to your doctor and the surgeon. We all agree that it would be appropriate that you undertake the SRS this year.”

I gaped at him. “This year?”

“Yes, this year.”

“About bloody time. When?” I asked, making him chuckle.

“Well, it won’t be until the autumn at the earliest, as Mr Simpson has a full schedule until then.”

“The autumn? Why not now?”

“Jane, the surgeon can’t fit you in until later in the year.”

“Then try another bloody surgeon!”

“It doesn’t work that way, and you well know it!”

“Oh Tim, why does it all take so long? Haven’t I passed the Real Life Test?”

“You’ve done very well and convinced me that you are perfectly adapted to your gender choice. I do, however, have one request.”

“Just one?”

“Just one. I believe you should seek closure with your family. It is the one piece of unfinished business that needs your attention.”

“I’ve been in almost daily contact with my mother. It’s only my father, but he just won’t budge. I have tried, honestly, I’ve tried very hard.”

“What exactly is the problem with your father?”

“I’ve gone through this so many times, I thought you wrote everything down, or are you just doodling?”

He smiled. “Humour me.”

I went through all my history with my father again. After I’d finished he looked thoughtful for a moment.

“I think, in the circumstances, that it may be better for you to wait until you’ve had your surgery. Otherwise, he may see that you have a way back, so could feel he could try to emotionally blackmail you into stopping in your tracks and doing what he wants you to do. So, if you present yourself as a woman, with nothing to go back to, he may have to accept you for who you are.”

“Yeah, like that’s likely!”

“Jane, your family is important. They brought you into the world, so they should be given the option to remain close to you for the next part as well, so the effort may be worth it. I’ve seen so many families ripped apart by what you are going through, if there’s a chance to rectify things, it’s worth taking.”

He changed the subject and I was relieved, as my family was a real source of distress.

With my name in the surgeon’s diary, I went to see him for my first appointment three weeks later, in May.

Robert Simpson was the epitome of the eminent surgeon, with pinstripe suit and supercilious arrogance.

I think my appearance surprised him, as he raised his bushy eyebrows as I walked in wearing a figure-hugging summer dress.

“My word, there are no doubts what you need, are there?”

Despite his air of superiority, he was an utter gentleman, conducting a complete examination. It always made me smile when doctors ask you to go behind a screen to strip off and then see you naked anyway.

“You seem very fit,” he said, as he ran his eyes over my body.

“I try to keep fit, but sometimes I find it hard. I just get lethargic.”

“That’ll be the hormones.”

“So I understand. I try to maintain a regime at the gym.”

“You had these enhancements done recently?” he asked, feeling my breasts.

“Just before Christmas.”

“Hmm, why?”

“My life has been a pretence up to now, so I wanted something to reflect the real me.”

“You haven’t stopped growing, so you may need them removed if they get too big.”

“I’m aware of that.”

He simply nodded. “Who did them?”

“Doctor Gorman, at the Pines Clinic.”

“I know of him; he’s done a good job. You’ve a super shape, how long have you been living full time?”

“About a year.”

“Problems?”

“Only with an immigration officer and my father.”

He chuckled, examining my hated genitalia.

“Any pain?”

“Just that they’re still there.”

He smiled again. “When did you last get an erection?”

“Months ago, about ten months.”

“Are you involved with anyone?”

“No. Not for a couple of years.”

“Not that it’s relevant, but was that with a male or a female?”

“You’re right, it’s not relevant, and neither is it any of your business.”

He smiled again. “Let me put it this way, if I’m to give you functioning female genitalia, I need to know whether you need it deep enough to accommodate a male, or that depth isn’t that important. If you get my drift?”

I flushed in embarrassment. “I’d like it as deep as possible, but if you must know, I’ve never had a male homosexual relationship, or even an experience. All my previous relationships were with girls, but since starting this route, I’ve not had a relationship with anyone. However, I fully intend being a heterosexual female. If I’m allowed to, that is.”

“Interesting. I take it your previous relationships were based on other’s expectations rather than inner conviction?”

“Possibly. I have to admit to being somewhat confused over diverse things as sex and gender.”

“I read your file. You served in the army.”

“I did.”

“Parachute Regiment?”

“Correct.”

“So did I, in the Royal Army Medical Corps.”

“When?”

“Before you by a good fifteen years.”

He asked me to roll over onto my side and then did something unpleasant with two fingers up my arse.

“Never had anal sex?” He sounded surprised.

“No. I told you.”

“If a man came into your life today, would you consider it?”

I thought about it for a moment. “Hard to say. Probably not, as I have to admit to not thinking about sex at all. If a man were that foolish, I’d prefer him to wait until I was complete. I may be confused, but I’m not stupid. I’ve read about the disadvantages of abusing your body. I’m proposing to have you surgically abuse it, so I don’t think I want to risk STDs or ruining my sphincter just for a squishy moment.”

“Okay, I’m done,” he announced. “You have a refreshing attitude, but then you aren’t exactly my usual type of patient.”

“No?”

“Go get dressed. You, dear Jane, are one determined young woman, despite those meagre offerings between your legs. Your history shows that you’ve put your heart and soul into trying to do what others expected, with what you were born with. Yet, you still failed to find satisfaction. Are you satisfied now?”

“I will be, when you’ve done the last little bit.”

He nodded. “You know, I think you will be.”

“So, how soon?”

“Well, I’m committed up to October, so I’ll check my diary and get in touch with your GP with a date.”

“That’s five months away!”

“I’ll try to schedule you in as soon as possible.”

I had to be satisfied with that, but I wasn’t happy. I returned to the shop feeling frustrated and impatient. There was light at the end of the tunnel, but it was still too far away for my liking. I called Suzannah, but found she was tied up with her TV series, but Steve and Sarah were wonderful, inviting me back to their flat for dinner that evening.

Life settled back into a routine. Living as Jane was natural now, so everyone who knew met me believed I was a woman. Those few who knew the truth, ignored it and treated me as if I’d always been female.

Mark and Rod were great, allowing me a measure of freedom to run the shop. I’d even travelled to the continent on four occasions, in search of small businesses that were looking to expand into the British Market. Each time I had travelled by plane and taxi, unwilling to risk having an accident as a female on a male’s passport. It was just too much like hard work, and I was desperate to have my final surgery, so I could have that word ‘female’ entered in my official documents.

As a result, I’d introduced a new line of European items, bought in from Germany, France and Italy. I’d found an Italian sofa company that was credible competitor to Parker Knoll, but much more reasonable. The Germans produced a range of high-quality, dark-wood reproduction furniture that seemed to be quite fashionable. While genuine antiques were prohibitively expensive, these were within most people’s price range, and looked smart in modern or traditional settings. While the French ceramics were bright and cheerful, they were also cheaper than some of the more up-market British varieties.

In my time in the shop, my new ranges had brought in a healthy profit, so Mark and Rod concentrated on their specialities by going to auctions and travelling up and down the country in the search of bargains that they could turn into a high return in their other shops. I was finding it hard work having to be in the shop all day and dealing with my foreign suppliers, transport companies and customers on the telephone. My writing sideline seemed to suffer, even though I had an occasional article to write, it was a real effort to find the time. However, being busy is the best way of making time seem to pass faster.
 

*          *          *
 
It was August before I knew it and, despite badgering the surgeon, I still didn’t have a date for my SRS. One Monday morning, I was dealing with a client in the shop when Mark came in. He often popped in on his way somewhere, just to keep in touch and to catch up with what was happening.

Steve and Sarah were in Norfolk, having taken a huge van up to collect some old furniture from a manor house near Kings Lynn. Apparently, an American buyer had bought the old place, including contents, and wanted everything restored. Most of the furnishings were from the 1890-1925 period, and some was even older. He’d advertised his requirements in an Antique furniture magazine, welcoming tenders for the job. Steve had driven up there, taken a look at the items and then he and Sarah had worked out what they thought they could charge.

They submitted their estimate, never believing they had a chance to win the job, but five weeks later, they received a letter accepting their bid and an invitation to go and collect the items that needed restoration.

It was a big job, so a lot of the local trade would have to be shelved, unless we found someone to help them. Mark had done just that, for with him was an older man with a beard and slight paunch and an attractive, plump woman with a lovely smile. I guessed they were both in their late forties or early fifties. I finished with the client and went over to them.

“Ah, Jane, my love. Are you well?” Mark asked, as he kissed my cheek.

“I am, thanks boss. What brings you down to the dungeons, to see your lowly serfs?”

Laughing, he introduced me to the couple.

“This is Jane Allan, my strong right arm and manager of the shop. She’s been with me for over a year now, and I trust her implicitly. Jane, these good people are Robert Musgrove and his wife Julie. Robert has just accepted a post of assistant restorer to Steve, and Julie is willing to work part time in either the rear or front of the shop, wherever there’s a need. They’ve two teenagers at school, so Julie will be working from ten to three every day. They’ll be starting tomorrow.”

We shook hands solemnly and chatted with Mark for a few minutes before he made his excuses and left. The couple looked at me expectedly, so I showed then round the shop and the workshop at the back.

Julie was chatty, I suspected she was nervous, but I gathered that Robert had been in teaching and had left after an unpleasant incident. When she shut up long enough, I managed to get him to speak.

“So, what brings you into this line of work?” I asked him.

“I was teaching at a secondary school in Walthamstow when I was assaulted in the playground. I just had had enough, so I gave in my notice. I’ve always been interested in restoring furniture and taught carpentry for twenty years. I went on a restoration course in Epping, close to where we live, and saw Mr Riley’s advert in a magazine while I was doing the course.”

I smiled at him calling Mark, ‘Mr Riley’. I’d never heard him described as that before. “Do you still live in Essex?”

“Yes, but the tube link is very quick. We may move closer, but the kids are in school out that way, so we shall have to see.”

“How about you, do you commute?” Julie asked me.

“No, I live in the flat above the shop.”

“Aren’t you married?”

I smiled. “No, I’m not married, yet.”

“Can I ask how old you are?”

“You can ask; I’m twenty-eight.”

“I was married before my twentieth birthday, wasn’t I, Rob?”

“Yes dear, you certainly were.”

“Well, I’m still waiting for Mr Right,” I said, feeling awkward.

“Oh you won’t have to wait long, not an attractive girl like you.”

I smiled and led them back to the shop. I found out that Julie was a seamstress and had worked for herself making curtains and cushions from home. She also had worked in a shop when they were first married, so when Rob found out that her skills would be useful in this job, he asked if Mark could use her as well. Mark was delighted, as we desperately needed the help in both quarters - helping Sarah and helping me.

“Will I be able to work in the shop?” she asked me.

“Of course, if you want to. Actually, Sarah will probably have more for you to do than I, but there are some times it becomes quite manic in here. I may have to do a bit of travelling, to look after my suppliers and keep on top of orders, so it will be so helpful to have someone to deal with the shop. We don’t get that many cold callers, so you’ll be able to make curtains and stuff as well as look after the shop.”

“It’s been a while since I last went out to work, but now the girls are older, it’s quite exciting.”

“How old are your girls?”

“Amy is sixteen and Sandra is fourteen. So we’ve our hands full with boyfriends at the moment,” Rob said.

Julie found the kettle and made us a cup of tea, as I answered the phone. It was my contact from the German furniture company.

I’d met Carl Braun in Bonn in June, and he’d taken me to Aachen and shown me around his brother’s factory. Carl actually ran the retail outlet that sold both his brother’s furniture and some stock from other companies. He was in his forties and spoke excellent English. I’d stayed with him and his wife for two nights as we’d worked out a deal.

After the usual pleasantries on the phone, he came straight to the point.

“Jane, I have found another company that wants to expand into London. Would you be interested?”

“What kind of company?”

“They make high quality cabinets for music centres and televisions. Most of the electrical equipment is quite hideous, so they make a variety of cabinets, with or without the electrical components, either as a standard size or to order.”

I was interested, as customers often asked me about such cabinets. The music centres were a thing of the seventies, so the tower systems were beginning to become fashionable, but looked awful in more traditionally furnished homes.

“You say to order, what time-frame are we talking about?”

“It depends, but no longer than six weeks for the more obscure sizes. You’d better speak to the owner.”

“Is he there?” I asked.

“No, but if you come over, you could see for yourself.”

“I’m not planning a trip for a while, can’t he call me?”

“He could, but I thought you’d get a better idea by seeing his factory. He is very interested in getting into the London market, and I know your outlet is ideally placed.”

“We’re not the biggest shop, I’m sure there are more appropriate outlets.”

“His is a small company, just six or seven men, so your turnover would be ideal for him. I know from what you sell from us.”

“Do you sell his cabinets?”

“Some, as I act as an agent for him.”

I didn’t want the hassle of travel, as I just wanted to get my surgery out of the way first. My reluctance seemed to have been evident, for Carl commented.

“There is a Home and Garden Exhibition in Aachen next week, so you could see all the competition,” he suggested.

“I don’t know, I’m very busy,” I said, stalling. Julie handed me my tea and I realised that I was stalling for personal reasons and not professional ones. The smoked glass cabinets currently available in the UK were, quite frankly, crap, so I owed it to Mark and Rod to at least look into viable alternatives.

“Oh, all right. Can you pick me up from the airport again?”

“Ja, of course. I will bring Martin with me so he can tell you of his product.”

My heart lurched at the name, so I told myself to stop being stupid.

“Martin?”

“Ja, Martin Stressler, it is his company.”

I went numb. It couldn’t be the same as my Martin from School, it just couldn’t be. Then I recalled that Martin had lived in the same area.

“W-wh-when?” I stammered.

“The exhibition starts on Saturday and ends the following Saturday. We have some preparation to do, so I suggest tomorrow or Wednesday. I’ll have to call Martin and see when it is best for him.”

I put the phone down, observing that my hand was shaking.

“Are you all right, dear?” Julie asked.

“Yes, fine. It looks like you’ll get your baptism of fire, as I may have to fly to Germany tomorrow or Wednesday. I’d better show you the ropes.”

We spent the rest of the morning showing both of them how the shop ran, how the diary worked and how orders were completed. I had a simple card system with all the suppliers’ details, so orders could be rung through while the client was still in the shop and details confirmed by fax later.

Both Julie and Rob seemed to understand the system, so I let Julie deal with the next customer, a man who wanted an elderly sofa restored and recovered. Rob arranged to met the man at his home and examine the item. They were cheerful and polite, so I felt confident they could cope. I rather hoped that I could have at least one day with them before going to Germany.

Carl rang back to tell me that Wednesday would be best, so I heard myself agree to fly out to meet him and the mysterious Martin. I then rang Mark and told him of my opportunity to go to Germany. He was delighted, for any opportunity to improve sales and increase our share of a very competitive market was a bonus. He even offered to buy my ticket. As it was first class, I didn’t fight him to hard to let him do so.

“Well done, just make sure the new bods get the hang of the shop tomorrow, and have a lovely week.”

The next day saw Julie and Rob get their feet under the table, so to speak. Rob went off to meet his man with the sofa, while Julie handled the shop customers. Steve and Sarah returned at lunchtime, just as Rob returned, so together we all unloaded the huge van of about fifteen bulky items of furniture and several other small pieces, all requiring some love and attention.

Rob discussed his sofa job with Steve, so the pair of them worked out a quote. Steve was delighted with the newcomers, while Sarah was equally relieved to have some help. The American client was demanding a complete replacement of all curtains in the traditional style, so Sarah had taken sample material to get his decision, and now had the marathon task of completing at least thirty-eight sets of curtains initially, with many more at a later date.

At the end of Tuesday, I was satisfied that the shop was in four good sets of hands, and so I booked my flight to Bonn on a Lufthansa flight and was almost giddy with nerves.

I had a simple supper while watching TV in my flat, wondering whether he would be the same Martin and whether he would recognise me. If he didn’t, then I wondered if I should tell him the truth. I packed my suitcase and went to bed.

I didn’t sleep for a very long time. Partly it was excitement, partly fear and partly dread. What if it all went horribly wrong and I lost all the accounts as a result?

Eventually I drifted off to an uneasy sleep.
 
 
Chapter 9. A Surprise
 
 
I was at Heathrow by seven thirty, a good two hours before my flight was due, having been up since before six. I’d showered and dressed, taking more than usual trouble over my makeup and choice of clothes. I went for a smart but sexy look with a tight black skirt, with single slit at the rear, a tight, pale rose sleeveless top and a jacket matching the skirt. I wore seamed stockings and shoes with quite high heels.

I stared at the finished product in my full length mirror, trying desperately to see whether anyone could tell if I was a male, or if I was that James Allan whom I thought was now gone. I hoped and prayed that those who looked at my passport wouldn’t be too critical. It would be such a wonderful day when I could simply have ‘F’ in the correct place.

As it happened, I needn’t have worried, for if the girl on the Lufthansa desk noticed she didn’t bat an eyelid or let on she’d done so. My ticket was waiting for me, in the name of Ms Jane Allan, so who was she to worry about a misprinted r or s. I only had a small suitcase which disappeared swiftly down the maw that was the underbelly of Terminal Two at Heathrow. The Immigration Officer on the desk for departures didn’t even glance at the passport as I whizzed past. He was more interested to see that I had a boarding card.

Once through I went to the first class lounge and pretended to relax before they announced my flight. I drank copious amounts of orange juice, as I felt it was too early to imbibe on the free champagne. I had to go to the loo, where I tried to work out why I was so wound up.

I hadn’t corresponded with Martin for over ten years, and hadn’t seen him for even longer. He would probably not remember me, and he certainly wouldn’t recognise me as that pimply youth with a penchant for dressing up as a girl.

Still, I was very nervous. I finished what I had come to do, and fiddled with my make up, using the washroom mirror. While I was there, a very elegant lady came in. She was a good fifty, but looked wonderful. I was still preening when she came out of her stall. She glanced at me and smiled.

“Haven’t seen him for a long time, eh?”

I gaped at her, nodding vacantly.

“He’ll still love you, men are like that!” she said, as she checked her own makeup.

“How did you know?” I asked, on finding my voice.

“You have the look.”

“The look?”

“The look that tells everyone that you want him to still love you.”

“Oh,” I said, rendered speechless.

She left me alone with my reeling confusion. I stared at my reflection, trying to see this look. I couldn’t see anything.

Eventually, they called the first class passengers to the flight after the rabble had already boarded and were fighting over every square inch of space. The German crew were very efficient, and we were airborne after quite a short time.

I read the in-flight magazine and tried to calm myself down. The food and drinks were very pleasant, but all the drink managed to do was make me need the loo again. The man next to me was a German businessman who tried to make conversation with me, but he and I had neither the language nor the common interests to make a go of it.

The flight wasn’t a long one, so before long we were landing at Bonn. I followed the rabble to the feared Immigration desk. The Immigration officer glanced at my British passport vaguely and waved me through. From there I went to the baggage claim, collected my small case and walked through the EC customs channel. An automatic door opened and I walked out to a sea of faces, all staring at me. My heart lurched as I suddenly feared that everyone knew I was a man dressed as a woman.

No one screamed or pointed at me, so I just kept moving on wooden legs. I saw a large man waving in my direction. It was Carl. I smiled and waved back, making my way through the milling throng to where he was standing. He gave me a hug and kissed my cheek as if we were old friends.

“Ah, Jane, is good to see you. You look very good, ja?”

“I’m fine thanks, Carl. How are you?”

“I’m very well. Now is that all you have?” he said, eying my small case.

“I travel light.”

“Gut, now, where is Martin?” he said, looking around.

My heart lurched again.

“He is here?” I asked, a little more shrill that I meant to. Luckily, Carl didn’t notice.

“Ja, he went to get a coffee. Ah, there he is!” he said, pointing down the concourse.

I followed his pointing finger with my eyes and saw him.

He had changed, but not that much. He was a little bigger, broader but staggeringly handsome. He was better than my dreams. I felt weak at the knees.

“That’s him?” I asked, weakly.

“Ja, you will like him, I think.”

Martin approached, meeting my eyes. I was transfixed, and I found I couldn’t break off my gaze even if I wanted to.

“Ah, Martin, this is my good friend Jane from England. Jane, my colleague, Martin Stressler.”

He held out his hand, so I took it. His hand was huge, warm and dry. His grip was firm but gentle, if that makes sense. Some men try to show you how strong they are by crushing the life out of your fingers. Martin just held my hand, giving it a soft squeeze. Our eyes remained locked.

“Jane, I m very pleased to meet you. I have heard a lot about you from Carl.”

“Likewise,” I mumbled. “Your English is very good.”

“Thank you. I was fortunate to be involved in a school exchange when I was younger. I spent several months at a school in Scotland. You know Scotland, perhaps?”

“A little,” I said, breaking the gaze reluctantly, for Carl was trying to get us to go with him.

Still Martin retained hold of my hand, and I didn’t want him to let go.

“Come! We must go now. Martin, you can talk to her in the car, ja?”

I looked up and he was frowning as he looked at me. I smiled and he released my hand, smiling in return.

We walked out into the hot summer sunshine. The car park was roasting, but fortunately, Carl’s Mercedes was only a short walk from the building, so within minutes we were heading out of the airport towards Aachen. Both men insisted that I sit up front with Carl, and Martin leaned forward so we could speak easier. I caught the scent of his aftershave and felt quite heady.

I told myself to stop living in a dream world. The man was probably married with several children.

“So, Jane, you like Germany?” Martin asked.

“Ja, ich mag Deutschland.”

Carl looked at me sharply. “I didn’t know you could speak German?”

“Es gibt ein Los á¼ber mich, da០Sie noch nicht wissen,” I said. (There's a lot about me that you don't yet know.)

Both men laughed, but I was aware that Martin was frowning again.

“You are very like someone that I once knew, I think?” he said in English.

“Oh?” I said, as calmly as I could, while my heart rate increased a hundredfold.

“I can’t place it, but I will remember who.”

Carl then changed the subject to furniture, so I started to relax a little. However, just being in the same car as Martin was enough to get me going. I had wondered how I’d react, and whether I’d actually manage to feel like a heterosexual woman. Now I knew! The daft thing was, I hadn’t actually thought about sex in a very long time. Being held and cherished, occasionally, but actual sex, rarely. The hormones had reduced not only my sex drive, but also the mental stimulation linked to it.

I wanted him to hold me and kiss me more than anything at this moment, yet I had to maintain polite and interested conversation about furniture.

It took us about an hour to reach the small town where both men worked. They’d arranged for us to have lunch with Carl’s wife, Helga, before heading off to Martin’s small business. I planned to stay at a hotel, but that could come later.

Helga was pleased to see me, remarking on my clothes and looks.

“You look better than last time, have you lost weight?” she asked.

Actually, I had put a little on, but simply smiled and nodded. I wasn’t going to discuss the trials and tribulations of oestrogen, and of the redistribution of body fat.

Lunch was a quiet affair, dominated by Carl’s comments about the furniture business and the possibility of re-unification.

“There is a move to re-unify, if it does, it’ll be the end of our success. The East is so poor that it’ll drag the rest of us into a recession.”

“Do you think they will?” I asked Martin, whom I noticed kept glancing at me.

“Not for a few years. Their government is in trouble, and as long as Gorbachov keeps pulling Russia towards democracy, then East Germany won’t be far behind. I think before 1990, we will see one Germany again.”

“Exciting times, then?”

“Frightening time, more like,” said Carl. “We don’t want or need the East. Best they stay on their own.”

“Ja, but they need us,” said Martin.

“Pah, only because they’ve ruined a perfectly good country.”

I helped Helga with the washing up.

“Martin, he likes you, I think,” she said to me once we were alone.

“You think? Isn’t he married?”

She laughed. “Nein, I don’t think he has ever had a girlfriend, even. There was talk he was gay.”

“Really?”

“But I see how he looks at you, I’m sure that man is not gay. If he is, he is going a good job pretending not to be.”

I flushed and concentrated on drying up the glasses.

“You like him a little too, perhaps?” she asked, glancing at me shrewdly.

I smiled. “Perhaps, a little.”

Who the hell am I trying to kid? I was still in love with the man; or was it simply infatuation, built up by years of daydreams?

After lunch, we went to Martin’s factory. It wasn’t so much a factory, as a large room in an old building. He had half a dozen men working making good reproduction cabinets. The wood was heavy and dark. The weight denoting the quality, as there was walnut, mahogany, oak and some rosewood. Some clients requested leaded-light glass fronts, while others had solid wood doors. There was a smell of wood everywhere, added to the various varnishes and other treatments, it was quite heady. The sheer variety of choice impressed me the most. Eat your heart out MFI, I thought.

Carl had to leave us for a while, promising to be back later. I found myself alone with Martin for the first time. He was enthusiastic about his production team and the products, showing me some finished articles awaiting despatch to the clients. We then retired to his office on the next floor where we talked over prices and transportation costs.

I was impressed with the products, as they were exactly what we needed at a cost we couldn’t match in England. I made a decision to buy his product.

We negotiated for a while, and I agreed to guarantee minimum orders of ten units a months for the first five months. He gave me a base quote, not including special requests. We worked out a deal that included transportation and delivery and I promised to let him have a contract with an initial order on my return to England.

We shook hands and he opened a bottle of sparkling German wine.

“Cheers!” he said as we chinked glasses.

I laughed, pleased to have made such progress on the first day. I was also simply pleased to be with him.

“Ah! I remember. You remind me of a boy I meet at the school in Scotland. Ha, it was so long ago, yet I still remember!”

“That’s met. You met him at the school.” I said, automatically correcting his English.

He went very pale, putting his glass down on the desk. I noticed his hand trembled. I felt detached, calm and somehow above emotion for a change.

“Nein, no! You are not…..”

I said nothing. I needed him to work this out himself.

“It can’t be. You are a woman, but he…. But you look like him, only more beautiful and, and, and a woman. You’re not….”

“Not what?” I asked, innocently, as he was clearly having problems.

“I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head and laughing nervously. “I am stupid. I think for a moment that you were the same person. You see, he used to help me with my English, just like you done.”

“Did, Martin. Just as you did.”

He stared at me again, frowning so deeply that I thought his eyebrows would meet.

“This is not possible!”

“What isn’t?”

“You are a woman, ja?”

“What do you think?”

I watched as he looked down my body, taking time to take in the swell of my very real breasts and obvious cleavage, my slim waist, feminine hips and bottom. His gaze travelled down my legs to my high heels and then back up to my face. I felt exposed and almost naked under his gaze. I hardly dared breathe.

“Jane?”

“Ja?”

“You are Jane?”

“Oh yes, that’s my name.”

“You are Jane Allan?”

I nodded.

“My Jane?”

“Your Jane?”

“I met a girl once. She was the creature of my dreams, for she was hidden away by a cruel twist of fate. For ten years, I have carried her memory, waiting and hoping in vain for her to be set free. Are you my Jane?”

This was unreal. I couldn’t believe he was saying this to me. My Martin had carried me in his dreams, just as I carried him in mine. I wasn’t aware, but I started to cry.

“Ich bin Ihr Jane!” I stammered. “I’ve always been yours!”

He crossed the few feet between us, taking both my hands in his. I was tall in my heels, but I still looked up into his blue eyes.

“How?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“It is miracle, ja?”

“That’s, it is a miracle,” I said, making him smile.

He let go of my hand and raised one finger to my cheek, catching one of my tears. He licked his finger and caressed my hair.

“Tell me, how did this happen?”

I couldn’t get the words out quick enough. I’d rehearsed this speech hundreds of times, yet it all came out in a rush. He pulled me gently to a sofa at one end of the office, where we sat holding hands as I told him my life story.

When I finished, he simply stared into my eyes.

“So, in a few months, you will be a complete woman?”

I nodded.

“I think you complete now, ja?”

I smiled, looking at our clasped hands. “I am now I’ve found you again.”

“Sweet Jane, I have never forgotten our first kiss. Have you?”

I shook my head.

His lips found mine, and this time I was ready, willing and able to respond. I reached up behind his head and held him tightly as we kissed. It was my first real kiss, for, although as James I had kissed, this kiss was the first time I had ever kissed someone with whom I was in love.

I forgot time and the rest of the world, as we simply floated together above everything for several moments of true bliss.

Eventually, we had to breathe, so we broke off. I was still crying, but they were pure tears of relief and happiness.

“We marry now, ja?”

“Oh Martin, we can’t!”

“Then you come and live with me, ja?”

“Not yet, I have things I have to do, like finish what I’ve started.”

“Ah, the operation, ja?”

“Ja.”

“I wait, I am good at waiting.”

Smiling, I kissed him again. It just felt so wonderful to be held by him. Words could never express my feelings at that moment. I knew that any chance of a lasting relationship was not good, but at this moment I was more content than at any time in my life.

“You didn’t really wait for me?” I asked.

“Perhaps not, but I dream of you every night. I didn’t know if I was gay or straight, but in my dreams always you are the girl. I go out with girls, but they are not like you. I try go out with a beautiful boy once, but I find that I was not gay.”

“Oh, Martin, you poor fool.”

“Maybe, but the fool has found his dream, ja?”

“Oh ja, bloody ja!”

A very bemused Carl walked in to find us on the sofa, deep in conversation. That wasn’t the problem, but as we were holding hands, his eyebrows almost took off.

“Mein Gott! That was fast!”

“Jane and I are old friends. We met once in Scotland, many years ago. It took us some time to realise.”

“He was the first boy ever to kiss me,” I said.

“I don’t believe it, how did this happen?”

I looked into Martin’s eyes. “Fate.”

“Luck,” he said, grinning.

The remainder of the day was like a dream. Martin took me to meet his parents, telling them I was the sister of a boy he met at school. His parents were very kind and welcoming. I almost cried, for his father bore me no ill will, despite losing his own parents in the bombing of Germany by the RAF in the war.

My own father would be so bitter if I ever introduced Martin to him. I dropped the thought, as it brought home some dark feelings. I had dinner with them and, as his parents didn’t speak English, I practised my rusty German.

Towards the end of the meal, his mother turned to me and said, “I am so pleased that you are here, we’d almost given up hoping that Martin would ever have a girlfriend.”

“Mother, please!” said Martin, going red.

“Well, it’s true. Jane is the first girl you have ever brought home!”

“I’ve been out with lots of girls.”

“Maybe, but this is the first time you’ve been proud enough to bring one home, that’s all I meant.”

Martin looked at me, smiling through his embarrassment.

“Jane is special.”

I couldn’t contain myself and burst into tears and ran to the bathroom. I know I surprised and shocked them, but the emotion just built up. My emotions, somewhat resembling a rollercoaster, when linked with my hormones, were up and down with out warning. The warmth of this family, their acceptance of m and the stark comparison with my own family were too much for me.

Martin knocked on the bathroom door. Sniffling, I let him in. He simply held me, saying nothing. Strangely, I believe he understood what had set me off.

After a few minutes, I returned with him to the dining room, having first repaired my makeup. I apologised to his parents, explaining that my own family was so different, it caused me problems to be suddenly welcomed into their family without reservation. They were very kind and that almost made me cry again.

Frau Stressler asked where I intended to stay. When I explained I was planning to book into a hotel, she would hear nothing of it, insisting I say with them, in their spare room.

That day had been so perfect, ending with a goodnight kiss from Martin, I thought things would only get worse. I was wrong, as the rest of the week possessed a dream-like quality, whereby I kept expecting to wake up at home.

I spent most of my time with Martin, much to the amusement of his colleagues and workers. At the weekend, together with Carl and a couple of other craftsmen, we went to the home exhibition, where each had small displays of their products,

It was like a miniature version of the Ideal Home Show held in London’s Earl’s Court. While Martin and Carl tried to drum up trade, I wandered the aisles, finding several exhibitors that had products we could use back in London.

For the first time in my life, I actually felt like the person I knew I should always have been. Apart from one minor detail, I was about as happy as I could ever remember. I was more conscious of being British than anything else, but everyone was very understanding and although my German wasn’t brilliant, it got me by.

I joined Martin and Carl for lunch in a local restaurant each day, and was able to relax with them. Carl was still chuckling over the fact Martin and I had met as youngsters, and kept telling everyone we met. Martin was amazingly possessive of me, being tactile and affectionate whenever I was close to him. It was so wonderful to be needed and wanted. This was another first for me, but I had a niggling little doubt about him. I wondered whether it was my hated maleness that attracted him, or my intrinsic female nature. I hoped it was the latter.

On the last evening, he and I had gone out to a small restaurant near his home. I had dressed up for him in a little black dress I’d brought but hadn’t anticipated wearing. There was a sad atmosphere, for I was leaving on a flight the next morning.

“I do not want you to go. I do not want to lose you for so long, this time,” he said.

“I think it may be a good thing, as I need to think and to finish things.”

He frowned. “Good, why?”

“Martin, it has been wonderful meeting you again, but I need space. I’m crazy and mixed up, and I think you are too. You say you dreamed of me, but which me was that? Was it the boy, who dressed as a girl, or the girl inside the boy? Am I a girl to you, or still that boy in girl’s clothes? I need space and time to sort things out in my mind, and I think maybe you do as well.”

“It is true I was confused, for a long time perhaps, but no longer. Jane, you are my girl of my dreams, not a boy. I see you only as what you are, a beautiful girl, no, a beautiful woman!”

I felt the tears building up, so I looked away, desperate not to cry. He had just said the most wonderful thing to me, and so I now didn’t want to leave, but I knew I had to.

“I must leave. I have my work and everything else. But I promise that I will be back and will call you often, okay?”

We enjoyed our last meal together and walked slowly back to his home.

“The next time you come, I will have my own home, and you will come and stay with me.”

I simply smiled as he wrapped his arm around my shoulders.

“You will come back?” he asked, his voice displaying his uncertainty.

“I will, I promise.”

We stopped by a small jewellery shop. I gazed at the rings in the window.

“You would marry me, if you could?” he asked.

I looked up at him, but he was staring straight ahead, at the displays.

“You would want me to?”

He nodded. “Ja, perhaps I would.”

“Just perhaps?” I teased.

He looked at me then, his eyes sad.

“You have always been a girl, so it is unfair that the laws say you cannot be what you are.”

“You would want me?” I repeated.

“Ja, I have always wanted you.”

“Then perhaps I would.”

He laughed then. “See, we Germans do have a sense of humour.”

He kissed me then, in the dark outside a closed shop, miles from London. By that tender kiss, I knew that this man might be the one for me, but would we ever be allowed to be together?
 
 
Chapter 10. Sorting Things Out
 
 
It was raining in London. I was feeling down and in a foul mood, so I actually hoped the same Immigration Officer would try to give me a hard time, so I could vent my wrath on him. He wasn’t so I couldn’t.

I was on the tube for central London within forty minutes of touching down. As I gazed at the window of the train, without seeing either the outside or the reflections, I thought of Martin. He’d driven me to the Airport and held me until I had to go out of the departure gate.

“I love you, Jane.”

“Do you?” I’d asked.

“Ja. I think I always have. Since the first time I saw you.”

“Don’t remind me. I was so ashamed.”

“I saw the girl then, and hoped I would see her again. Now I have, I know that I have always loved her.”

“She loves you too, Martin.”

He smiled then, kissing me on the cheek.

“Best you go, then you can hurry to come back to me.”

I did, reluctantly and not without some tears. But I was now more determined than ever to get things over with.

As soon as I got back to my flat, I rang the surgeon’s secretary. Mr Simpson wasn’t available as he was in America, and he wasn’t expected back until mid September.

Exasperated, I swore and hung up. I went down to the shop to find chaos. Steve and Rob had filled the workshop with restoration jobs, while Julie had brought her sewing machine in and taken a portion of the rear of the shop to make up curtains. Orders had increased as they’d attracted customers by virtue of the fact they could see the work actually completed on the premises. The unfortunate by-product was a cluttered shop and a growing order book.

I rang Mark to tell him about my success in Germany and he agreed to come right over.

“You’re different, today,” Sarah remarked.

“Oh?”

“You seem more relaxed or something.”

“Am I?” I asked, blushing slightly.

She frowned, looking at me quizzically. “Oh my God, you met someone!”

At this point Julie turned round and looked at me.

“About time, it doesn’t do to have an attractive young woman without a gentleman friend.”

Sarah giggled while I went even redder.

“She doesn’t know?” she asked.

“No, and I don’t want her to know.”

“Okay. Mind you, no one would ever tell to look at you!”

“Thanks a bunch.”

“So, what’s he like? Oh, it is a he, is it?”

“Yes, it’s a he, and he’s lovely.”

“Well?”

“His name is Martin and I’ve known him since I was about fifteen.”

“What?” Sarah was somewhat surprised.

“Long story for another time,” I said, as Julie approached.

“Come to dinner tonight!” said Sarah with a grin. “I can’t wait to hear this. Is he English or German?”

“German.”

“The mind boggles. Oh, here comes trouble,” she said, as Mark entered the shop.

Mark was in a good mood, as business was up across the board, as his own and Rod’s shops were doing very well. They were considering buying a cottage in Brittany. I gave him details of Martin’s products, showing him the leaflets I’d brought back from the factory. I also showed him the brochures that I’d collected from the fair.

He sat down and quizzed me in some depth over Martin’s designs and specifications. Fortunately, I had anticipated this and had all the necessary information.

“You’ve been very thorough, it seems just the job.”

“Thanks. I must say, I was impressed, for the quality does appear so much better than the MDF rubbish one gets at the DIY places, yet his prices are very competitive.”

“We should be able to put at least a fifteen percent mark up, after we’ve made allowances for the transportation and such like. What was the chap like?”

“Who, Martin?”

“The chap who owns the business, whatever his name is.”

I was alone in the front of the shop with Mark at this stage, so felt free to tell him the truth. “Martin Stressler. He’s very nice. It was really strange, for I’d met him years ago when I was at school.”

Mark’s eyebrows shot up. “Really, do tell,” he said, grinning.

I did so, while his grin got bigger.

“Well, well, a little romance for our little Jane. How do you feel?”

“If I’m honest, I’m pleased, but a little confused. I mean, what is it about me that attracts him? Is it the male bit I don’t want, or the feminine side?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes, a lot. Mark, I know you’re quite settled and content being a gay man. I’m not a gay man and I have never felt that I was. I am what I am, and I won’t be truly me until I can look at myself naked in the mirror and know that I am as much a woman as I can possibly be. I don’t want to feel that he’s attracted to that boy I used to be.”

“He recognised you?”

“Not at first, only after a few gentle hints.”

“How did he treat you?”

“Wonderfully, he even asked me if I would marry him if I was able to.”

“After a week?” he asked, surprised.

“He didn’t propose, but he was interested if I would. I think.”

Mark laughed at my confusion, as it sounded so strange now I was back.

“Tell me one thing, and be honest?”

“What?”

“In your fantasies, who carries you off and becomes your lover, a faceless man or anyone specific?”

“Someone specific.”

“Has it always been the same person?”

“Not always, but mostly.”

“And?”

“Okay, so it’s been Martin. It was after that first kiss, I suppose.”

“So if he walked through that door and asked you to go and be with him forever, would you go?”

I thought about it.

“No.”

He was surprised again. “No?”

“No, I’m not ready mentally, physically or emotionally. Ask me the same question in a few months, when I’ve had the surgery and perhaps got to know him a little better.”

Mark chuckled and shook his head. “You, dear Jane, are too bloody practical for your own good. Where’s your romantic soul?”

“When you live through a life like mine, romance is for dreams and dreams alone.”

“Everyone dreams, Jane.”

“Yes, but how many have to fight for a dream?”

“Most people.”

“As hard as this?”

“Perhaps not, not everyone, certainly.”

Sarah popped her head round the door from the office. “Jane, phone. Your German.”

I smiled, blushing. The excitement I felt was unwarranted by a simple phone call, or was it?

“Go on, I want to speak to Julie, in any case, “said Mark.

I almost ran to the office and took the phone from Sarah.

“Hi.”

“Jane, I wanted to make sure you got back safely,” Martin said.

“I did, thanks. I’ve spoken to my boss and he likes the pieces. When will you send the first batch across?”

“In ten days, is that all right?”

“Brilliant. Thanks so much,” I said, feeling strangely content simply hearing his voice.

“What for?”

“Not hating me.”

“Why should I?”

“Because of what I am.”

“Do not be stupid. You are the person you should always have been. I must thank you for clearing up my own confusion.”

“Don’t be silly. I still can’t quite believe what happened. It’s like a dream.”

“Nein, dreams are things that you wake up from, we are both awake.”

“Will you thank your parents for me, again. They were so kind.”

He laughed. “They like you. My mother asked me if we are going to get engaged.”

I felt frustration and some anger sweep through me. I fought back the tears.

“Jane?”

“I heard. So you haven’t told her the truth?”

“No, I don’t think she’s ready for the truth, yet.”

“Will you?”

“That depends.”

“On What?”

“On you.”

“Me?” It was my turn to be surprised.

“Ja, of course. If you agree to marry me, then perhaps I’ll have to tell her.”

“Martin, you know we can’t marry!”

“There are ways,” he said enigmatically.

“There may be, but even if we could, I wouldn’t.”

He was silent, so I cursed my big mouth.

“Martin?”

“I am here. Why not?”

“I’m not the right person for you.”

“Allow me to be the judge of that,” he said, his voice sounded slightly hurt and possibly angry.

“I mean, I’m not, not ready.”

“Is it me?”

“No, it’s me. I need to be physically right, mentally clear and emotionally stable. I’m none of them right now.”

“You know I love you?”

“Oh Martin, I know you think you do, but I need to know which me you love!”

“I thought I told you.”

“I need to keep hearing it.”

“I love you, the beautiful woman. Is that better?”

I was almost crying. “Yes, much better. But it doesn’t change things. I need time to get myself sorted.”

“I need to know what you feel about me.”

“You have to ask?”

“Ja, you are not the only one to be confused.”

“Okay, I love you.”

Okay, then I am happy to wait. Just don’t be long.”

“I don’t intend to be.”

“Carl asked me if we were engaged, also.”

“He’s a lovely fool.”

“Jane, I know this is hard for you. It is hard for me too, but for the first time in my life, I am sure of something, so please don’t feel you have to be anything other than you. Ach, I am not making myself understood, I think.”

“No, you are, perfectly clear. As long as the me you want is the same one as I intend to be.”

“I think it is.”

“Thanks for being lovely.”

“I must go, as there is work for us to do. I will call when the first batch is ready for transportation. I’ll get it on a truck overnight to Dover and then to London, okay?”

“Great. I hope I can see you soon.”

“I’m sure something will happen. I have waited a long time for you Jane, so I need to see you again.”

I rang off reluctantly, as some customers entered the shop and life got back to normal.

Dinner with Sarah and Steve that evening allowed me to share the series of events again, for which I was grateful. For each time I recounted the experience, I was able to appreciate it wasn’t a dream and had actually happened.

They, for their part were wonderfully supportive, treating my stresses as if they were minor issues and bringing a lightness to the conversation that I desperately needed. I’d been stewing with my own mental battles for so long that I had a warped view of me and the rest of the world. Was I alone in thinking I was a complete freak?

I wondered how others undergoing transition felt. I was thankful for my job and for people who were able to deal with me and not with the issues I brought along for the ride.

On arriving back at the flat, the phone rang. It was Suzannah.

“Hi stranger.”

“Suzy, hi, God, it’s been ages. How are things?”

“Bloody hectic! You know this business, months spent doing bugger-all, and then so busy you forget to eat and sleep.”

“How’s the filming?”

“Nearly finished the first series. It should be good.”

“What’s it about?”

“A country doctor and his practice, up in the Lake District.”

“What’s your part?”

“I started out as a patient, ended up getting engaged to one of the younger doctors, and finish the series getting run over.”

“Do you live?”

“No one knows. They want to see how the series goes and whether I’m worth keeping on for the next one. It’s all to do with ratings and money.”

“Sounds fun. How’s the money?”

“Okay, not as good as Hollywood, but it pays the bills. Look, I’ve been meaning to ask you, is there any chance I could doss with you for a bit? As Lucy, the girl I’ve been sharing with, wants to move in her boyfriend, so I need to find somewhere else.”

“With me? Of course, from when?”

“I’ve another month up here. If I came down next weekend and moved my stuff into your second bedroom, that’ll take care of the flat.”

“Fine, do you need a hand?”

“No, Lucy is feeling so guilty about asking me to move out, she and Mike will help. Mike has a van.”

“That’s great. It’ll be nice having some company.”

“I won’t be there for a month, sweetie, and if I get that next play in town, I will be away more than I’m there. Anyway, enough of me, how are you?”

“Fine.”

“That’s a cop-out, Jane, and you know it. Really, how are you?”

“I’m really fine. The surgeon has me down for the op in the Autumn, and I’ve a boyfriend.”

“Autumn, huh? That’s good, what? A boyfriend! How? Come on Janey darling, tell Aunty Suzy, what happened?”

I spent nearly an hour on the phone, pouring out my soul to the girl who was like a sister to me.

“Do you love him?” she asked, when I’d finished.

“I think so. God, I’m so bloody confused. I no longer know what I feel. What with the hormones, the mental and emotional stress, I just want to be me. I can do without all this at the moment!”

“Take it one day at a time, darling. If he’s waited for all this time, he can bloody wait a few more weeks.”

“I suppose so. I think I’d be happier if I knew him better. I hardly know him.”

“That’ll come.”

“How about you, found anyone?”

Her rich chuckle echoed down the line. “Sort of.”

“What sort of answer is that?”

“He’s married.”

“Oh. An actor?”

“No, he’s a doctor. He was invited on set as an advisor in how medical things worked. We got talking and one thing led to another.”

“Oh, Suzy, you know better than that!”

“I know, but he claims to be separated.”

“Is he?”

“I think so, but he’s got two kids.”

“How messy. What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know. I come south again in a month, so things may have got sorted one way or the other by then.”

I was conscious that it was after midnight, so ended the call.

“I’ll see you next week when you move in. You take care.”

“Bye”

“Bye”

Putting the phone down, I undressed and got ready for bed. As I sat in bed, reading, I reflected how well adjusted I was to being alone now. I actually looked forward to the little piece of peace and quiet I had here, particularly after a busy day dealing with people and problems all day. With Suzy staying with me for a while, that peace would be shattered. I smiled, for it would help me come to terms with living with someone else. As I snuggled down to sleep, I repeated the words, ‘Frau Jane Stressler’ over and over again.
 
 
Chapter 11. Dangerous Ground
 
 
Summer passed to autumn in a whirlwind of action. Suzannah moved nineteen black bags into my small spare bedroom, had a quick lunch and disappeared back up north to finish shooting her TV series. The shop settled down as the summer rush subsided, but still a lot busier than it had been a year ago. The first truckload of German cabinets arrived and we sold the lot in three weeks, with orders coming in for almost twice the amount.

Both Mark and Martin were delighted. Mark’s relationship with Rod was going through a rocky patch, so his usual calm good-humour was conspicuously absent. I spoke to Martin nearly every day on the telephone, and my feelings for him were growing with each day that passed.

I was in the shop one blustery morning in late September when a very morose Mark came in. Gone was the dapper civil servant, replaced instead by an unshaven and scruffy man who seemed utterly depressed.

“Rod’s left me!” he announced, collapsing in my chair in the small back office. Julie took one look, raised her eyebrows and suddenly found something to do in the shop window.

“Oh, you poor soul, what happened?”

“As you know things weren’t going so well recently. I’d been busy in my shop, and he was the same in his. He was travelling a lot, gathering paintings and stuff, so our lives seemed to drift apart. I suppose I wasn’t as attentive as I should have been, and he found someone else.”

“What’s happening to his shop?”

“He’s keeping it, and all his stock. It’s his share of the business, after all.”

“What about this one, is it half his?”

“No dear, this is all mine.”

I breathed a sigh of relief, for the last thing I needed was to find another home.

I made him a coffee and let him pour out all his woes. It made a real change for me to be listening to other’s problems, so I patiently let him ramble on. Julie looked after the few customers who ventured out on this wet and windy day, so we had time to talk over his problems.

He, too, faced enormously tough feelings from his family, mainly his mother, unlike me. His mother, completely devastated by his lifestyle and sexual leanings, was reluctant to resign herself to never having a grandchild from her one and only son. Her daughter, Mark’s sister, had produced two girls already, but it wasn’t the same.

“Rod won’t even talk to me at the moment, so could you speak to him so we can sort things out?”

I agreed to and, leaving him staring morosely into his coffee cup, I walked round to Rod’s shop.

Rod was looking equally morose and miserable, so I spent an hour listening to all his moans about Mark and their broken relationship.

“Mark says you found someone else?” I said.

“No, I told him that so he’d get jealous and do something other than work.”

I smiled, as they were the nearest thing to a married couple that I knew. It was approaching lunchtime, so I offered to take Rod for some lunch at a local wine bar. While Rod went to the loo, I called Mark and told him to meet us there.

It all worked like a charm. In fact, it was embarrassing, for they both burst into tears and swore eternal love for each other, causing somewhat disquiet amongst the respectable lunch crowd. In the end, I left after having a swift nibble and let them get on with it. Just as I left the wine bar, the heavens opened, drenching me in the short run back to the shop.

Once I returned to the shop, I popped up to my flat, dried my hair and changed clothes. As I sat at my dressing table, I took time to reflect upon the person I was slowly becoming. Physically, I was as close to being the woman I wanted to be as I could. The hormones had changed me more than I could have imagined, particularly in the emotional area. Emotionally and mentally I was at ease with who I now was. I earnestly wanted that final cut, that would sever me from my past, freeing me to face the future. As I thought about it, I realised that I was fooling myself. The cut would remove the last symbol of my past, but one’s past is something that one can never completely remove, even by going to extreme lengths of moving to another country and changing one’s appearance drastically. The cut would bring my physical self in line with the mental and emotional self, but the past would always be with me.

Ghosts of my past would be always present, and I appreciated now why the doctors wanted me to deal with my parents.

I stared into the mirror and tried to see any sign of the old James — the soldier and man.

I suppose the eyes were the same. However, with mascara and eye shadow, I was able to camouflage them, losing those cynical and worldly-wise eyes that had seen too much.

I often wondered if I showed out as a man dressed as a woman. I felt like a woman, and hoped that my past was forgotten. I read of many transsexuals who found it difficult to pass successfully, and each time my heart went out to them. So desperate to be one thing while the old thing hung on and caused so much pain.

Looking down at my modest cleavage, I smiled. It was so silly really, as I would never use these breasts to suckle children, yet they made me feel so much more a woman. I felt a terrible sense of loss, as I’d adore to be able to become pregnant and carry a child, giving birth and becoming a mother. My thoughts turned to Martin, as always, and I felt sorry for him, as we cold never have children together. Once again, I had a deep down conviction that Martin was too young to throw himself away with me, he deserved a real family. Then, I told myself off for being too sensible.

My reverie was broken short by the telephone. It was Julie.

“Mark is back, and he wants you. Are you available?”

“I suppose so, is he alright?”

“He seems to be, he’s carrying a big bunch of flowers.”

“I’ll be right down.”

It took me five minutes, but as soon as I entered the shop, Mark grabbed me and hugged me like a long-lost relative.

“Jane, you are an absolute poppet! Rod and I are back together, and it’s all due to you!” he said, thrusting an enormous bunch of flowers at me.

I attempted to claim no great responsibility, but it was useless, as he was on such a high as to be deaf to what really happened. He ended up dragging me from the shop, to join him and Rod for dinner at a horribly expensive restaurant run by an equally gay friend of his called Carlo.

It was a rather too jolly an evening, but clearly, both my friends were relieved to be over their most serious domestic so far. Half way through the evening, I received an awful shock.

For, at a table on the far side of a restaurant, was a man I knew very well. A powerful man of stocky build and short fair hair, his name was Raymond Carlyle and he’d been a Major in my regiment when I’d been a first Lieutenant. He’d left on an attachment shortly before I was promoted to Captain, so he’d not been with us in the Falklands and I’d never seen him again. He had been a helpful, if somewhat remote man, around fifteen years older than I, so we had not had a great deal to do with each other.

He glared at my companions, observed me and frowned, as if he thought he recognised me. I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me, believing he had instantly ‘made’ me.

Mark and Rod were more than a little drunk and being particularly tactile with each other. Ray’s expression became increasingly distasteful as he observed the obvious homosexual overtones of my friends. I, on the other hand became embarrassed on two counts — one, by my attitude and, two, by the judgemental nature of our society. I didn’t so much blame my erstwhile colleague, for he was as much a victim of the system as all of us, but I pitied his short sightedness. However, what did upset me was my own attitude. As I appeared to be (on the outside at any rate) a ‘normal’ female, I wanted to steer clear of any situation whereby undue attention could be drawn to me or my friends.

The spectacle of two gay and inebriated men in my company was almost too much for me and, as more and more people turned to look, my discomfort grew. I attempted to reason with them, but they’d drunk past the point where reason worked. I was now fearful that one or other would draw attention to me and what I really was.

My embarrassment threatened to burst when Ray Carlyle appeared at our table, sat down on a vacant chair and spoke directly to Mark. Rod was at the giggling helplessly at anything and nothing stage, so it was futile to even attempt to speak to him. Ray spoke quietly and firmly, strangely without any tone of judgement or contempt.

“Please excuse the intrusion, but I have to say that you, sir, are in danger of disgracing yourself. You are also clearly embarrassing this young woman, you’re embarrassing yourself and you’re ruining everyone’s evening. If you had an ounce of decency, you would know when to draw a line and leave this establishment while you can still walk. I must assume you are a friend of the proprietor, for otherwise I would have expected him to have ejected you six or seven drinks ago!”

Mark staggered to his feet and I could see there was going to be a fight if I didn’t intervene. I stood up and pushed him on the chest, causing him to sit back down sharply. Rod giggled uproariously, which caused Mark to join in.

“This man is right, you Mark, have had enough! Shut up Rod, as you’ve more than enough. I think it’s time we got you both home,” I said, losing my temper and at the end of a very short tether.

“Good idea, may I help you?” Ray said.

Carlo appeared, wringing his hands and torn between loyalty to his friends and a desire to keep a respectable and profitable establishment. With the amount of good competition in the area, it wouldn’t take much to lose some very good customers. A scandal involving drunken gay men would cause the local worthies to seek a new venue to patronise.

I made a decision.

“Carlo, call a cab, for I can’t get these two home on foot.”

He smiled with obvious relief, disappearing rapidly out the front door. This part of London is wonderful for cabs, as the theatres and West End is a matter of minutes away.

“Can you get the giggler, while I get this one?” I asked, to which Ray chuckled and hauled Rod to his feet.

“I’m gonna be sick,” Rod announced.

“Not on me, you’re not!” said Ray, propelling him towards the front door.

Taking both Mark’s hands, I got him to his feet. He belched, and grabbed me round the shoulders.

“You’re jus’ wunnerful, Janey darling. You’ll make some man a wunnerful wifeypoos.”

“Behave, Mark, there’s a love.”

He tittered and grabbed my bum.

“Are you sure you don’t fancy a spot of how’s yer father, before you lose those vital bits?” he whispered loudly in my ear.

“Mark, shut up!” I said, heaving him to the front door, much to the relief of the other diners. Raymond’s table companion was an attractive woman, who looked down her nose at me and my friends. I was just glad to get into the fresh air.

Rod had kept his promise and was being sick into the drain in the gutter. Carlo had secured a cab, but the cabbie was justifiably looking quite concerned. Carlo was happy that Mark would settle the restaurant bill later, so I was relieved not to have to pay for that as well.

I gave Mark’s address and had to produce a ten-pound note before he would take us.

“Do you need a hand?” Ray asked.

“No, but thanks anyway. It’s just around the corner.”

“Look, this may sound daft, but have we met?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Are you sure you don’t need a hand, I can help you at the other end.”

“Quite sure, you’ve a charming companion to get back to.”

He laughed. “Oh, her? No, that’s my sister and we’re in the middle of a family argument. Besides, we’ve finished our meal.”

The cabbie wanted us to get there and get out before any more vomit appeared.

“Look, I’m Ray Carlyle. Can I least know your name?”

“Jane Allan.”

The door closed and the cab took off, leaving Ray standing staring after us.

Putting two drunken men, gay or otherwise, to bed was not something I had often had to do, but I simply stripped their trousers off and rolled them into the enormous double bed and left them there. Both were snoring before I closed the door.

I set off to walk back to my flat, conscious that a lone female walking along the evening streets was a potential target to muggers and possibly worse. In a way, I almost wanted someone to try something for I was so tense and angry I wanted to let rip against someone.

So, as I walked, I became aware of another set of footsteps walking in the same direction and behind me. I sped up slightly, as did the other. When I rounded a corner, I literally ran across the road and slowed to a fast walk down the opposite pavement. High heels are not designed for running!

“Jane. Wait up!”

Startled, I turned and saw Ray running after me. With my heart thumping, I waited for him.

“I thought it was you. How come you’re walking alone?” he asked.

“I’ve put Goldilocks and the bear to bed, so I have to go home. I’m not paying for a cab ride of less than a mile. Why are you hanging about waiting?”

“I heard the address, so I hoped to catch you.

“Why?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “My God, you’re direct! May I escort you?”

“What about your sister?”

“Who? Oh, Sarah, she’s gone back to her flat in a huff, so I’m all yours.”

I turned and started to walk, he fell instep beside me. I smiled in spite of myself. Always a soldier.

“You don’t have to, I can take care of myself, you know?”

“I don’t doubt it. I am curious, though?”

“Yes?”

“How did you get into the clutches of those two queers?”

“Those queers, as you delicately put it, are the men who pay my salary. At least one is; the other is his partner.”

“So what do you do?”

“I manage a shop. You?”

“I’m a soldier, I’m afraid.”

“Why say it like that, there’s nothing wrong with being a soldier. Which regiment?”

“Originally I was with Parachute regiment, but I’m on attachment to the staff college at Camberley for a couple of years. Hopefully that will get me through staff rank and my red tabs.”

“So, you’re a Lieutenant Colonel, then?”

He glanced at me. “You’re an army brat?”

I laughed. “No, I had a relative in the army, and he went on about the ranks.”

“Allan, hmm, not Jamie Allan?”

It was one of those moments when everything almost stopped.

“Sorry?” I said, hoping I didn’t look to surprised.

“There was a chap in the Paras with me before the Falklands, James Allan, Jamie to his friends, is he any relation?”

My heart was thumping so loud I thought he must have been able to hear it.

“Come to think of it, there is a remarkable resemblance. He’s not your brother, is he?”

“No, he’s not.”

“Cousin?”

I nodded, not really able to think of a suitable alternative.

“Ah, that explains it. I haven’t seen him for ages, I left the regiment in eighty-one, just before the war, so missed some of it. Mind you, I was otherwise engaged in an equally dangerous area, but less in the public eye.”

“With the SAS?”

He glanced at me, raising an eyebrow.

“Perhaps,” he said, in such a way so as not to encourage further discussion.

“I haven’t seen Jamie for ages. In fact, no one has. I understand he’s left the army,” I said.

“Yes, he left a couple of years ago, according to the regimental newsletter. Any idea what he’s up to?”

“None,” I lied.

“He was a good sort - quiet and competent; the sort of officer the blokes respect. You get as lot of jumped up twerps sometimes, and he was never one of them. He should have stayed in, as he’d be at least a Major by now.”

“I understand he had other plans.”

“Well, horses for courses. Now, what about you? Not married?”

I smiled as we turned into the street where my flat was.

“No, not married.”

“I’m surprised, a good-looker like you.”

I stopped and looked at him. “Flattery is fine, but don’t over-do it.”

“Boyfriend?” he asked, and I thought I detected a hint of hope in his voice.

“I have someone, if that’s what you mean?”

“It is, and I must admit to being disappointed.”

“Why, aren’t you married?” I asked, recalling that he had been when I’d known him.

He looked at me sharply and then relaxed, frowning.

“I was, but we divorced four years ago.”

“Ah, the army incompatible with married life?”

“No, she buggered off with a stock broker with a bigger willy.”

I couldn’t help myself; I burst out laughing.

He smiled, looking pleased with himself. “Actually, Julia buggered off, and he was a stockbroker, but I have no idea about the size of his tackle.”

“Why?”

“Why don’t I have any idea of the size of his bits?”

“No, you silly man, why did she bugger off?”

He shrugged, staring to his front. His eyes took on a far-away look.

“I just think she got tired of me never being there.”

“Children?”

“Two, a girl and boy, both nearly finished school now. Jonathon is eighteen and Sally is sixteen.”

“She has them, I take it?”

He nodded. “I see them a lot, but it’s not the same.”

We reached the door to my flat.

“This is it. Thanks for the military escort, and I’m sorry to dig up so much hurt.”

Ray smiled, but the sadness lurked in his eyes.

“That’s okay. I must admit, I don’t get to share such stuff very often.”

“So you haven’t anyone, then?”

He shook his head.

I rooted around in my bag and found my keys, then put the door key into the lock.

“Jane?”

“Yes?”

“May I see you again?”

I was torn, for I found him charming and funny, but it was dangerous ground.

“My life is rather complicated at the moment. I’m not sure it would be sensible.”

“Oh, since when have I ever been sensible?”

“I don’t know you.”

“I’d like you to, as much as I’d like to get to know you. If you’ll let me, that is.”

I shrugged, feeling suddenly foolish.

“You know where I live. I live above the shop.”

He grinned. “No chance of a night cap?”

“None whatsoever. I just want to go to bed.”

Then, surprising me totally, he leaned forward, kissing me on the lips.

“Goodnight, fair Jane. I shall see you again, and soon!”

---

 
To Be Continued...