Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 755 by Angharad

Part 755
I was missing Simon; okay so I wouldn’t admit it to him exactly, but he was rather useful as a distraction in bed. I couldn’t sleep. What if they were right and I did have a problem accepting myself?

I thought I’d done pretty well all told. I mean, I’d been thrown into womanhood at the deep end, from the high board, without a lifebelt, parachute or crash helmet. I know I’d been practicing much of my life, but doing things in private is hardly the same as doing it for real in front of the unsuspecting public.

True, Stella helped me at first, but I was soon flying by myself – was I as natural as Stella kept telling me – or was she just being encouraging? Damn, now I didn’t know. Maybe I wasn’t very good? So did people just humour me? Surely not? Most of them don’t know my history, so are they just being polite when this lumbering person, obviously a man in a dress, comes by. Have I been deluding myself all this time? I thought I looked and acted like an ordinary woman – oh shit! I began to cry quietly to myself. Had I made an awful mistake? And I was not only in possession of a nominally female body, but I was one legally too. Life seemed so cruel – to lure me into a point of no return – then cut the cord, burn the boat or bridge or whatever. I was in deep doo-doo.

I resolved I would apologise to Stella and Tom, ask them to take care of the girls and top myself. I’d scribble a note to Simon, he’d get over me in a few months and I‘d ask him to adopt the girls and help Trish through her transition. I’d also tell him that they needed a mummy, and to get married to someone else. I’d drive out to some cliffs, like Beachy Head and let the car drive over the top – a few moments of terror and I’d be out of my misery and all those people who’d been so kind and polite to me, wouldn’t have to do so any more, they could all then gossip and say how ghastly I’d been, and what a mistake I’d made, which they could always see would end in tragedy. At least I’d get that bit right. I wasn’t a woman, I was an aberrant man – something I couldn’t live with. Pity they found me the night my father beat me, all this could have been avoided – I couldn’t even do that properly.

I stared out of the bedroom window into the stygian gloom. Part of me wanted to do it now and get it over with. But then driving to Sussex in the dark was dangerous and I might have an accident. I laughed at this –going to kill myself and I was worried I might have an accident? What a lovely thing irony was.

However, I changed my mind and decided that I would do it tonight. I dressed quickly, in trousers – only women wear skirts, grabbed my handbag – well I didn’t have enough pockets, did I? Stole downstairs, and collecting my car keys slipped out of the door and into my car.

It was three in the morning. Now then Beachy Head, It’s near um, oh just head east. Eastbourne, that’s the place, get onto the motorway and then down the A27. Hopefully I’ll be able to find it from there. I hadn’t written a note for Simon, but I had my Filofax with me, I could scribble something in there.

I started the car, hoping I had enough fuel – half a tank. Enough? I hoped so I didn’t want to lay too many trails for people to follow. If the car got submerged it could be years before they found it, by which time I’d be long gone as fish food. Maybe I’d do a Thelma and Louise and roar off the cliff, that would give me a chance to hit the water and submerge the car. Good plan, but only if the tide is in. Oh sod it, I’m gonna do it anyway.

I was heading out of Portsmouth towards the motorway when disaster struck. Behind me were flashing blue lights. I couldn’t remember if I had my licence with me. I haven’t been stopped by the police for years and it has to happen now. I could try to outrun them, but it’s probably a big BMW or Jaguar and they’d catch me, and it would just piss them off; better stop. I did.

“Hello, Miss, what are you doing out at this hour of the night?”

“It’s not miss, it’s mister.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m a man, okay?”

“You’re joking?”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to be polite I know you can tell.”

“Okay, Sir, do you have your driving licence with you?” I fiddled in my bag and it was there, I handed it to him. “Is this yours?”

“Yes.”

“It says your name is Catherine Watts, is that correct?”

“If that’s what it says.”

He leant in and took the keys out of the ignition. “Would you step out of the car please, Catherine.” I did as he asked. “Please accompany me to the patrol car and sit in the back.” He opened the door and, in a daze, I complied: I could feel wetness on my face and it wasn’t raining, so I must be crying.

“Yeah, we found the car heading towards the motorway – it’s bloody weird, we’ve got this drop dead gorgeous woman driving it and she claims she’s a man – like who is she trying to fool? Name? Yeah, Watts Catherine, that’s the one is it? Okay I’ll lock up her car and bring her in, see you in a bit.”

“Is there anything you need from your car?”

“No,” I mouthed back and shook my head. I saw the indicators flash indicating he’d locked it. His mate was in the car all the time, but he said nothing just taking surreptitious glances at me – he obviously knew.

They drove me back towards Portsmouth and to my horror but hardly my surprise, he drove into the central police station. Wonderful, now I’d get locked up with all the drunks, looking like this. I was sure to get assaulted.

“This way please, Catherine.” No one ever calls me that. They led me into the building and after taking my details from my driving licence, they took me to an interview room. I suppose they were going to beat me up first then throw me in with the drunks. I got all I knew about the police from watching telly.

A woman walked in. “Hello, Miss Watts, I’m Dr Fisher, one of the police surgeons. Can you give me your name and date of birth?” I told her, sticking with Catherine rather than Charlie, I’d tell her that as soon as she spotted me as an impostor.

“Are you taking any medicines or drugs from your doctor?”

“Oestrogens.”

“You’re on the pill?”

“Yeah, I suppose so,” humour her, it’s the best policy. She wrote something down on a chart.

“Have you a history of any illness?”

“Had a few accidents and been stabbed once.”

“You’re not diabetic or suffer from any illness?”

“No.”

“Okay, what about mental health?” Here we go, she knows, but I’ve decided she can work for it. “Have you suffered from any mental disorder, like depression?”

“No more than anyone else.”

“Are you quite sure?”

“Okay, maybe I have.”

“You see a psychiatrist, don’t you?”

“So?”

“Have you ever had thoughts of killing yourself?”

That did it, she’d read my bloody mind. I broke down and burst into tears. She put a hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay, you’re safe now, young lady.”

Young lady? I suppose she was being polite, she can’t have met too many men who call themselves Catherine. “What’s going to happen to me?”

“I’m going to give you some tablets to help you sleep and your father is coming to get you. He might actually be here. I’ll just check.” She walked to the door and spoke with someone. “Yes, Professor Agnew is here. Come along, and he can take you home.”

“You’re letting me go?”

“Yes, you hadn’t actually committed an offence, had you?”

“Only masquerading as a woman.”

“Catherine, you are a woman, so it’s not a masquerade is it? This is part of your illness.”

“I’m not ill, doctor.”

“No, just overwrought I expect, like so many young mums. Ah, here he is.” I was handed over to Tom, like I was a kid. He looked as if he’d been crying. Wonder what that was about? “Make sure she sees her own doctor tomorrow, and she can take two of these to help her sleep.”

“Thank ye, Doctor, Och, Cathy, we’ve bin sae worried aboot ye.” He wrapped me in a monster hug and led me to the car park.

“What about my car?” I asked suddenly remembering it.

“Och, we’ll get that tomorrow.”