CHAPTER 12
Mum was first up on Sunday morning, and brought me and Pete a cuppa as we lay snoring and tangled up, as she described it. As I sat up, she smiled.

“My little girl is starting to get bigger, I see! Now tell me, dear, how many cups for Harriet?”

“Two, I believe, Mum”

“Good-oh. I shall do the necessary”

I looked down, and she was right. There were definitely lumpy bits appearing in my chest, which brought a smile to my own face until I remembered I was due yet another torture session to said face. I was still shaving, though not as often, and it was strange when I went from treated to untreated sections of the skin, the razor speeding up and slowing down. Odd. I cuddled into Pete’s warmth for a bit and realised I could not and did not want to lose these moments, nothing said, no passion, just comfort and love.

Breakfast was at the big table, which was the same as the small table, just pulled out. Harriet looked happy and soppy, Ollie a little haggard. I wondered if he had found it hard to keep up with her; she had a lot of lost time to make up. Just for a moment I wondered if it had been one push too far, and then he smiled at her, and I knew that, at least for now, they were fine.

Astonishingly, Dave was in the kitchen helping my mother with her usual mammoth guest breakfast, while Sharon did teas and coffees. Once we were all served and seated, my mother called for silence.

“I have spent far too many of the last few years sitting here on my own. It is dispiriting to prepare a meal when you are to be its sole consumer. Since my Laura came back, this house has rarely been empty, and that is a wonderful thing. I would like to thank you all for bringing new cheer to an old woman!”

Dave laughed. “Now, Lucy, you know how happy I am to eat free food. Keep serving breakfasts like these and I will abandon my wife and move in with you permanently!”

Harriet whispered in my ear “Already had MY breakfast…..”

“Oh, I had a nightcap…” and we were off, giggling like teenagers.

No wonder Ollie looked so tired.

People dispersed from around ten, Harriet giving Ollie a lift home. If all that had happened was the scratching of a mutual itch, that would be fine, but Harriet’s string of clichés was rather true. Watch and wait.

What to do with the day? What else does a girl do on her day off, but shop?

I can hear the sigh of boredom as I write this, but there were a number of things I needed, not least being a top-up on my medications. There seems to be little difference in Britain these days in shop hours from Monday to Sunday, and there was a huge branch of Addison’s the chemist in Gun Wharf, so off we went on the well-worn track to the foot ferry. Mum was chattering away as we pushed Pete up the ramp, and I realised that she had felt every word she had said over breakfast. It wasn’t just the return of Dad Pete, nor my own rebirth, but a whole mishmash of stuff. There was life n the old house she had rattled around in, there was life in my mother.

I know I have said this before, but it bears repeating. There is always more than one victim for crimes like that of my father. It wasn’t just me; everyone around had been soiled by him, from my mother to our men. Even that miserable bastard of a doctor had been brought lower than he might otherwise have been.

It was a day for better thoughts, though, and after a coffee on the quayside by the Tower, I handed in my prescription at Addison’s, getting a sharp and slightly puzzled look in the process, which pleased me. With a promise to Pete of “no more shoes” (I lie well) we started a trawl through some of the nicer shops. I needed some bras, as after my mother’s observation that morning I had decided to dispense with the plastic and go fully natural. I was rather hopeful about my chest, and I rather think Pete was too.

We worked our way along the racks, Pete looking rather embarrassed.

“This is odd, love, I like this stuff on you, but it just looks so weird hanging up empty”

“Well, I’ll just go and see how a few of them look filled, then!”

I grabbed my handful of bee-sting bras and clattered off to the changing rooms. Some minutes later, feeling rather pleased with the fit, and especially the look, I went out to ask Pete what he thought.

“What the fuck is that man doing in the women’s changing rooms?”

It was a scream, and I almost didn’t recognise the voice. I turned, and there they were, Abigail’s face purple above them. She was waving at the sales assistants.

“Call the fucking police, that’s a queer in a dress trying to perve in the dressing rooms!”

“Abigail, if I were a queer, as you put it, I would have no interest in perving at women, would I? And as a straight woman, just as uninterested”

“Shut the fuck up, you fucking turd burglar! Jay, this is the fucker!”

Oh dear, there was her current paramour, ratty jeans belted below his arse and a grubby T-shirt bearing the rather dreary slogan “You stare at me because I am different, I stare at you because you are all the same”

Listen, son: that is a mass-produced T-shirt….got it?

I was rather amused by this time, and almost missed her next move, which was to throw the contents of a soft-drink cup at Pete. Cow. I leapt at her, but Jay got in the way and Pete went flying out of his chair, and it all got complicated. I felt her kick me in the tit, and by god did it hurt. Pete had got hold of one of his crutches, and was whacking at the Neanderthal, but it was only light alloy and not too effective.

There was another loud scream, and as I struggled to my feet I saw my mother hanging off the back of Abi, tearing a chunk of her hair out, her expression terrifying even to me, I managed to trip Jay up as he went to punch Mum, and suddenly another body slammed into him, hands clawing at his face.

It was Jane. She was quickly followed by Mark, who delivered a few very precise blows that made the bastard collapse, as Jane and Mum, followed by me, piled onto Abi, who I sort of punched in the face. There was a loud shout of “Stop fighting!” and I turned to see two coppers, batons drawn. Mark backed away, hands up.

“I’m in the job, intervened in an assault here”

“Got any ID?”

“Warrant card?”

He went off with one of the coppers. Abi was stupid enough to keep fighting, and in a remarkably quick time was cuffed and stood up. Her friend had obviously been sprayed or struck before, so he just sat on his hands and waited.

Poor Pete was bleeding from the mouth, and his crutch was bent beyond repair. I hugged him, and he winced. “I think I’ve cracked a rib”

Three more police officers had turned up, two of them women, and shortly after some paramedics began attending to poor Pete. They decided he had better go to hospital, as he may have had a broken rib, and I rode in with him. My face and chest hurt badly. Before we left, I checked Mum, who was unhurt but breathing like a train, and then hugged Jane, carefully. She grinned, ruefully.

“Told you I loved you, girl!”

There was a sort of conference between the coppers and the other witnesses, and then the bovine and her mate were arrested. You know, she still wouldn’t shut up. Remember what I sad about students who are unable to learn?

I gave a statement to the police as they worked on Pete, taking a couple of X-rays. The WPC (“No, love, we’re just PC’s these days”) was a nice touch, showing that the police were taking me as I wanted to be seen and not as a bloke in a dress. She efficiently took my statement, and then sat for a talk about our circumstances and the likely outcome.

“Oh, the store girls are all on your side. They had thought it quite sweet the way you were teasing your fiancé, especially with him being in the chair, and they thought t particularly sweet that such a pretty girl was staying with a wounded man”

“Wounded?”

“Yes, one of them recognised him as a soldier from the Legion home. They got a good view of the two attackers, so they are all on your side. Apparently your mother was described as terrifying”

“So what happens now?”

“Let’s see, attack on person in wheelchair, hate crime on transwoman, multiple witnesses to it all, CCTV, any sense and they should plead guilty. Their brief will be advising them of that, I hope. Now, as you are a victim of a hate crime, we can offer you a family support Officer, but I rather gather you have some quite fierce support already”

Oh gods yes.