This is a follow on from The rescue. It explores what happens to Beverly in the following year of her life.

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The rescue 2

Characters.
Beverly Taff. Transvestite
James or Jamie Transgendered kid.
Candice Jamie’s Younger Sister.
Sergeant Williams Hate crime police officer
David Evans Knife-boy. (Son of Dewi Evans.)
Margaret Beckinsale. Jamie and Candice’s mum. (AKA Madge.)
Sandie Beverly’s best Transvestite friend.
Elizabeth Todd Beverly’s next door neighbour.
Jennifer Todd Elizabeth Todd’s daughter. A barrister.(QC.) Beverly’s best female friend & ‘girl next door’ through childhood.
Rastus Elizabeth Todd’s cat (Now owned by Beverly.)
Dewi Evans Bent politician and criminal.
Paul. Beverly’s transvestite Boss.
Calista Pauls Transgendered girlfriend.
Stephanie Jenny and Beverly’s daughter.
Phoebe Paul’s Sister.
Rachel. Jennifer’s new girlfriend. (After Stephanie was born.)

Madge turned slowly as my words sank in.

“Are your serious Bev?”

I nodded just once and pursed my lips thoughtfully before answering.

“Yes. Though I suspect you’ll only want to stay here until your own house is ready again.”

Madge hesitated as she considered my unexpected offer. I hadn’t known that Madge’s own house was a council house until it had been set alight by the arsonist. After having been made homeless under such circumstances, the council would have been bound to supply Madge and her children with alternative housing arrangements. This would have meant her being moved to any house deemed suitable anywhere in the borough. As she considered this scenario I could see her mind clanking away. Even after her original house was repaired, she would be expected to remain in her new home as the council filled her old house with new tenants as per their logistical needs. Provided the council had satisfied their statutory obligations Madge had no legal claim on her old house. She would probably have to stay where she was put.

Madge could find herself on the other side of town; too far to walk to work and the children in another catchment area for another school with all the attendant problems that could bring for Jamie. At least in her current school the transgender issues had now been aired and addressed.

The teaching staff were now alert to the risks to Madge’s child Jamie and there were many parents and pupils sympathetic to Jamie’s situation. In another school in another part of the town Jamie would have to start all over again.

‘Better the devil she knew than the devil she didn’t’, Madge thought.

She asked again to reassure her fears.

“No, - are you really serious Beverly, I mean me living here with both my children?”

“Well, here or next door,” I replied, “You may not know it but Jenny and I inherited Elizabeth’s house and we’re looking for tidy tenants. I’ve been a guest of yours over Christmas and I have to say your house was immaculate. Landlords like tenants that keep their homes clean and Jennie has burdened me with finding suitable tenants. I didn’t know you were council tenants until the fire. I thought you owned the house. Besides, there’s no knowing where the council would re-house you. , I wouldn’t put it past that bastard Dewi Evans to stick his oar in and get you placed in one of the sink estates with all the junkies and criminals.”
Madge looked at me gob-smacked. All council tenants knew where the bad neighbourhoods were and even though our street suffered the daily school mayhem it wasn’t particularly bad in other respects. Her eyes widened with fear as she contemplated how vulnerable she and even more particularly, her ‘daughter’ Jamie would become, walking the streets of one of the sink estates. Councillor Dewi Evans could use his influences to have Madge re-housed in the worst ward in the borough, - the worst street even! My offer now looked infinitely more attractive. The detective sergeant added her observation.

“I’d take the offer Madge but check the rent first.”

I felt a little hurt at this remark. Jennie and I had discussed what to do with the house when her mother’s will had been read in London. We had decided to keep the house and to rent it out.

House prices were depressed at the moment because of ‘the global banking the crisis’ so Jenny was happy to hold on to her half and let the house because she had as good a ‘letting agent’ as she could ask for, - namely me with the other half-share interest in the house.

We had already discussed a ‘ball-park’ figure for rental but we had agreed I could adjust it up or down as I saw fit. Furthermore it meant Jenny also had a ‘room’ at my house in South Wales if she ever found herself advocating in any courts in South Wales. She was finding a lot of work in South Wales because of her bilingualism and her growing reputation. When Jenny came to South Wales, she and her anticipated new child, (our child!) could stay in my spare bedrooms.

“Did you think I would screw Madge for rent?” I asked a little sharply of the detective sergeant for her remark had pierced my armour and wounded me slightly.

She realised that her suggestion had been a little insensitive and apologised with a smile.

“I’m sorry Mister Taff, I didn’t imply that, I was just thinking that Mrs Beckinsale should make sure she gets her sums right. She’s got a lot of unexpected additional expenses to face replacing her stuff and insurance companies are notoriously reluctant to stump up."

“Okay. Sorry, I misread your meaning. Apology accepted and for your information Madge will be paying less than a council rent. Miss Jennifer Todd and I own the house next door outright so there’s no mortgage to cover. Mrs Beckinsale and her children will be safely and securely housed for a very fair rent. Both Miss Todd and I know Mrs Beckinsale to be a good and considerate tenant and they are hard to find. I will be delighted if Madge Beckinsale will rent the house next door."

I saw Madge’s eyes tear up as she turned to give me a hug. Living in Old Mrs Todd’s former home would put her nearer her job and her girls would only have a couple of yards to walk to school. Jamie wouldn’t have to walk any gauntlets because she only had to pass my front door and she was in the school grounds. The logistics for Madge and her children were infinitely better whilst I got a good and friendly neighbour who would continue to maintain the character of the street. Jamie and Candice were beside themselves with joy and they danced a little jig as the woman police officer nodded and smiled. After all the trauma and upheaval of the arson attack, the day had ended as a truly satisfactory day for all of us. It was an ‘ill wind’.
There was another issue in all this upheaval.

At the start of the next academic term, Jamie was starting to ‘Live in the mode’ and she would need all the support and protection she could get. The school and the doctors had decided that starting a new term was the best strategy. From April, Jamie would be attending school as a girl and a very pretty one. She was already wearing girly blouses and sporting a shortish girly hairstyle so the steps to wearing a typical modern-miss micro skirt and black tights would be small ones. Jamie already looked like a girl for her hormones were already kicking in. Her bra was becoming a necessity and was no longer a political statement of wishful thinking.

With our houses being next to the school gates, the few steps past my front door in her short skirt would not expose her to any abuse on the streets and the school was now fully alert to any potential for trouble. They also planned to fit cameras that sighted the street and these would compliment mine. The back-up margin was being doubled.

From the next September, as an upper school pupil, Jamie would be free to use the indoor facilities like the library and upper common rooms during break times where she could readily find safe places with protective friends.

With the housing arrangements sorted out, the detective sergeant left satisfied that the burned out Beckinsales' were safely housed for the night. After she left I called Jenny with the news. Madge also spoke to her and the agreement was sealed. I printed out a tenancy agreement that Jenny had emailed me and by the next morning Madge and her girls were properly and safely housed.

Most importantly, Rastus the cat seemed to approve of the arrangement. That very next morning, Candice had ‘borrowed’ one of his food bowls from my utility room and placed it in the same familiar place that Old Mrs Todd had always kept it. It was the first piece of ‘furniture’ that the Beckinsale's put in the house. Rastus fell into the old routine like an old trouper returning to the stage. I felt slightly betrayed as he forsook my utility room for Madge’s kitchen. God; there’s nothing so fickle as a cat! Mind you he also fell back into the old routine of demanding to be allowed back after getting stuck in my yard so I still found myself visiting Madge every evening to return the old fleabag. The visits however were more than just ‘cat returns’; Madge and I were beginning to hit it off while Jamie had started living full time at home. Well, ‘at home’ was a bit of a misnomer, she spent more time with her sister Candice in my house ‘borrowing’ from my extensive wardrobe and ‘borrowing’ my makeup. In the end I had to be firm with the pair and tell them that it was unhygienic to borrow makeup and we quickly arrived at a ‘compromise’.

Did I say compromise? Well if me being dragged up to Cardiff every Saturday en femme to buy makeup and clothes for two teenaged sisters is a compromise then we reached a compromise. Madge reckoned it was more of a ‘retail mugging’. After the second mugging Madge brought it up as we were driving home.

“Don’t you mind shopping with the girls?” She wondered as Candice and Jamie were comparing purchases in the back.

“I’m a tranny Madge. We’ve got the same ‘retail therapy’ genes as you girls. I probably enjoy shopping for clothes more than you do. The opportunity to be accompanied by a real girl and two teen-agers helps to reinforce my comfort zone. Other women don’t feel so threatened if they see me accompanied by real sisters. I really do enjoy shopping.”

“Yeah, well you’ve got the figure for it,” she replied enviously.

“That’s the cycling darling,” I smiled then added, “though this new job has knocked me back a bit, - plus the Saturday shopping. I don’t get out as much as I like. Anyway you’re one hell of a looker yourself, so what are you envious about?”

Madge visibly ‘grew’ with happiness at my somewhat ‘off the cuff’ remark. She smiled at me and replied.

“Well as summer comes you’ll be able to ride in the evenings,” Madge added, “and one thing, we don’t have much gardening to do. Yours is all concrete apart from the vegetable patch that Harry minds, and mine’s not much more.”

“I confessed to hating gardening. Even my back yard was virtually all concrete except for a few fruit trees standing in their circles of grass surrounded by the concrete yard and the patch right at the bottom that Harry used to grow supplementary vegetables. Madge had a lawn and floral borders at the back but I resolutely refused to be drawn into any sort of gardening.

‘Leave it to the farmers I say, oh, and enthusiasts like Harry.’

Thus we settled into a comfortable existence as Madge and I deepened our friendship and we both realised it was becoming something more. I seemed to be spending every evening over at hers while the girls were more than happy to ‘live’ at mine. I only ever saw them at meal times, Saturday shopping and if they had problems with their homework. Candice and Jamie also realised that Madge and I were getting ‘attached’, they seemed enamoured of the idea but Madge was still technically married. Her husband had moved back to Yorkshire but they had not agreed to a divorce.

On the work front, Madge was happy in her job. Additionally, I had already gained a modest promotion as I demonstrated my skills with a very temperamental furnace by getting it to operate more reliably. The girls at work who prepared the moulds were pleased that there production rates had risen because the furnace was now performing more efficiently and they found the maintenance engineer, - me - to be somebody sympathetic to their concerns like the soot escaping from a leak in the flue and ruining their hair. They had complained about it endlessly but repairs had always proved unsuccessful until I determined the real cause.

The flue balance mechanism was not the correct type and the accelerated flow of overheated gasses caused a hot spot at a bend in the flue where soot kept accumulating and re-igniting. The furnace was losing heat too quickly and the flue elbow joint kept failing, so allowing soot to escape as a fine miasma of fumes and invisible particulates. It made the girl’s hair (and mine) greasy and dirty.

After explaining to the manager we agreed I should come in one weekend and fit the correct flue. That July the new parts arrived and we agreed a weekend during the annual summer ‘down fortnight’ when the factory was closed for maintenance. I went in early Saturday morning and spent the best part of two twelve-hour days with the apprentice getting it right. I even fitted some CO and CO2 detectors plus some thermo-sensors to monitor the flue gasses. The exhaust temperature settings were and always would be critical so my ‘add-ons’ were a welcome addition to environmental controls.

The big boss found me alone on Sunday afternoon with my feet sticking out from under the back of the furnace making some final fittings and adjustments. I had already given the furnace a successful trial run in the morning and sent the young apprentice home. He had a date.

I had not noticed the boss until I slid out from under furnace with a sigh of satisfaction and brushed the ash out of my screwed tight eyes. I sat up as I wiped my face then ran my hands through my long lustrous hair and cursed the filthy soot deposits. I had been forced to take my safety helmet off to scrabble under the back of the furnace and my huge head of hair had escaped from my hairnet. I knew I looked like a chimney sweep crossed with a panda but I was happy the job was done. It was only then that I realised the big boss was looking at me with a puzzled expression then he spoke.

“That hair will need a wash.”

“Yeah. Shampoo and perm I shouldn’t wonder,” I chuckled, thinking I’d made a joke.

“And what about your tights? They’ve got a huge ladder.” He continued.

I felt my stomach churn as my face greyed and I said nothing. I glanced down at my boots and there was no denying it. My overall trouser legs had ridden up and my American Tan tights were clearly displayed. I hadn’t heard him come in to check on the work and my feet had been sticking out from under the furnace for anybody to see. There was nothing I could say; I thought the furnace room would be empty all afternoon. I always knew where my apprentice was cos’ he whistled all the time. It was no bad thing and it always told me if he was around. He was happy to have a ‘boss’ who didn’t keep telling him to be quiet. He had gone home at two so for the remaining afternoon I had finished the job alone.

I had isolated all the relevant circuits, put warning notices on the doors and locked most of them except for the wide double ‘fork-lift’ doors that my apprentice and I had needed left open during the morning to check the pipe-work, electric circuitry and to carry the spare parts with the forklift.

I just had not anticipated the big boss coming down in the afternoon to check. In fact I rarely ever saw him. I usually sorted stuff out with my line manager but my success with the furnace had come to the attention of the board and the chairman had decided to come and meet this new maintenance engineer who had saved the firm so much money and aggro from the female staff.
He continued staring down at my ankles and I debated tugging down my trouser bottoms but decided that would appear ridiculous. Finally he spoke, softly but bluntly.

“Are you a transvestite?”

My heart seemed to stop beating as I swallowed and stared like a paralyzed rabbit at the chairman’s shoes before finally nodding my head.

There was a deafening silence and my head started to spin as I contemplated some sort of referral to collecting my cards. Instead he spoke softly.

“Well thank God for that!”

For a moment I didn’t understand his remark but eventually my brain re-engaged. I looked up nervously as he continued.

“I thought you were one of those bloody hippie types with all that hair.”

I still didn’t get it so he invited me to stand which I did as I ran my blackened fingers through my long filthy hair and sighed fearfully. Then he grinned and I made to speak uncertainly but he interrupted me.

“You don’t get it do you?”

“No.” I swallowed. “I’m sorry sir, I don’t get it at all.”

For an answer he hoisted up his own trouser hems and displayed a pair of black opaque tights or stockings with a diamond pattern that clearly shouted TRANNY!

My heart finally resumed beating again as he smiled and spoke.

“You don’t have to call me sir you know. We’re all sisters under the skin.”

I grinned as tears of relief trickled down my soot smudged face then I finally found my voice as I realised he had made us equal by revealing his, or more properly, our shared needs.

“You bastard! I laughed as he grabbed my filthy hand and squeezed it before replying.

He grinned hugely as we continued vigorously shaking hands then he spoke.

“I’d give you a hug and a kiss but I think you’ll agree Bev, your filthy and this is an expensive suit.”

“Point taken sir.”

“Oh stop calling me sir. My names Paul or Pauline when dressed.”

“How long were you standing there before you spoke?” I asked.

“’Bout five minutes. I couldn’t help smile as I heard you grunting and cursing. Then I noticed your hosiery. Obviously just your every-day working tights I’m thinking. Is it finished now?”

“What, the furnace? Yep. I sent the young apprentice home at lunch time, the back of it was broken. I just need to give it a final run for about an hour or so. While it’s on test, I’ll get washed up and changed. That’s why I sent the young apprentice home early.”

Paul smiled knowingly. It was obvious that I had intended to clean up and shower after the other maintenance men had gone home. The factory was now empty except for us two. He smiled invitingly.

“Good, we can go and have a pint or something after you’ve cleaned up. Can we chat while your changing? D’you mind?”

“So long as it’s just a chat. I’m a hetero tranny.”

“So am I,” Paul replied. I’ve only just started to ‘come out’.”

“What! Don’t you go out, - you know, - to clubs and stuff?”

“No. Do you?” He asked with worry written over his face.

“Hell yes. That’s what we do. I mean since the internet we tee-girls get to meet a lot. I’m going to a friend’s house tonight and I’m taking my new, real girl partner and her two teen-aged children. It’s just a private party and there’ll be about a dozen there for Sandie’s birthday. D’you want to come? Are you able to come?”

He hesitated nervously and I tried to reassure him.

“It’s perfectly safe, we don’t ‘out’ each other and we strictly respect each other’s circumstances. It’s about friendship, support and caring Paul. That’s what us trannies have been seeking for years.”

“Oh amen to that.” Paul agreed. “You don’t know just how right you are! Oh I’d love to come. I can explain why I’ve only just come out.”

“Yes,” I replied thoughtfully, “you can tell us why Pauline has been hiding and where.”

Paul nodded as we stepped into the showers and I started to strip. I felt his eyes studying me then widen with surprise as I removed my quilted, work shirt to reveal a modestly filled bra and matching panties.

“Oh my gosh! You’ve got tits!”

I nodded as I set the shower and started to wash myself down. The filthy soot and ash simply poured off me then he offered to soap my back.

“You’ll ruin that lovely suit,” I cautioned with a grin.

“Stop being silly, I’ll get undressed, I promise not to do anything.”

I rinsed off my face and looked at him trying to make up my mind if it was safe.

“Okay then,” I finally agreed, “but absolutely nothing licentious okay! I don’t do other boys, I’m hetero!”

In a moment Pauline was standing in her own bra, panties and suspender belt supporting her diamond patterned stockings then these quickly came off and she stepped forward to wash my back. As her hands massaged my aching shoulders she sighed.

“You’re lucky; you’ve got very little body hair.” She commented wistfully.

“That’s the hormones,” I replied, “the pity is they don’t destroy the beard.”

“Why don’t you get it lasered?”

“Haven’t got around to it. I suppose I will soon.”

“You should. I’m getting mine done now I’m chairman. Nobody to boss me around anymore. Well not as much anyway.”

I began to get an inkling of Pauline’s dilemma. I knew her dad had recently died and she had finally filled the chairman’s seat as she inherited the business. Her mother and her sister were still alive so I suspected there had been some issue between Paul’s father and Paul’s transvestism. As she soaped my back I decided to ask her bluntly.

“Did your dad disapprove of your cross-dressing?”

“Didn’t he just. He battered me as a kid when they caught me and threatened to hand everything over to my sister if he ever caught me doing it again. From that day until he died I never did it at home.”

“Didn’t you do it at college or something?”

“I didn’t go to college.” Pauline continued. “After high school, my dad put me straight into the business and made me work my way through all the shitty jobs in the factory even though I got good grades at school. His was that old philosophy about not telling a man to do something unless you could do it yourself and had done it. There have been plenty of times when I’ve been where you were today, under that bloody furnace. Neither I nor the old guy you replaced realised the problem with the balance valves and stuff. You’re good. You’ve got my sympathy and you were clever to spot the flue mismatch.

Because my bastard of a father stopped me going to uni I had to do an O.U. degree and that took up a hell of a lot of time. What with working all hours on the factory floor then studying at home and then the fucking socialising with dad’s Round bloody Table and Fucking Freemasonry I’ve never had a decent moment to indulge my own real needs until now.”

“Sounds like shit,” I observed.

“It was. But here I am now, like you in my mid thirties and free to spread my wings. There, that’s your back done.”

“Thanks darling that was pure bliss.”

Pauline smiled at my calling her ‘darling’.

“Is that how you speak to each other?”

“When we’re en-femme darling yes, and you were en-femme before you stripped to wash my back. It’s a tee-gee convention dear.”

“Gosh I’ve got a hell of a lot to learn. D’you know you’re the first other transvestite I’ve ever met.”

“You mean knowingly met,” I joked.

Pauline grinned and stepped out of the shower. I gave my hair one last shampoo then added the conditioner and finally rinsed off. Pauline was already drying herself and stepping into her expensive lingerie. I didn’t mind her borrowing my towel. I had another in my locker and I was only putting on my Lycra slicks anyway to cycle home. Soon we were in the car-park and we decided we didn’t have time for a pint as we both had to get ready for Sandie’s birthday party. Despite his beautiful lingerie he was back in his well cut business suite so he bid me cheerio until later in the evening. We had mobiled Sandie to tell her she had another guest but it was a buffet dance anyway. Sandie was keen to meet Pauline, come one, - come all, was Sandie’s motto.

At home I showered again to remove the sweat from cycling then I really indulged myself and pampered myself before dressing for the party. Candice and Jamie came over as I was choosing my outfit and they eagerly gave me un-necessary advice. Then they raided my wardrobe as always and borrowed some of my stuff. I didn’t really mind for it was a delight to see two teen-aged girls giggling about outfits and arguing about boob sizes. Jamie was really excited to be going once again to one of Sandie’s tranny soirees. She had come to love them and could hardly wait for the third Friday in every month when they came around. This Sunday was a special though, - Sandie’s fortieth birthday. Candice and Jamie had spent all weekend on their own debating what to get Sandie as a birthday present. In the end they bought her her favourite make up.

At six Pauline arrived partially dressed and finished dressing in one of my spare bedrooms. She was also fascinated to learn about Jamie whom I had never mentioned. Jamie smiled at me when she learned that I never talked about my friends outside of my own transgendered circle.

By seven we were all ready and we clambered into my ‘tranny van’. As I drove up to Sandie’s the chatter in the van was like feeding time at the parrot house in the zoo. Pauline was just too excited for words whilst Jamie was in a similar mood. The air hung with anticipation. I actually felt like the ‘old hand’ and I had only been indulging myself for a few years. Leastwise that is outside of the closet. Even Madge and Candice caught the mood for it was after all a party we were going to.
We arrived early because I often helped Sandie with preparations and I parked the van close to her door to let Pauline slip in un-noticed. She was still worried about ‘coming out’ and being seen en-femme for she was still something of a ‘big wheel’ in her local business community what with owning one of the few remaining, successful, manufacturing enterprises in the area. Until she ‘came out’ and she certainly wasn’t ready yet, Pauline had to move with circumspection. We all respected that.

Soon the party was in full swing with Jamie letting her hair down and sharing high junks with her sister Candice in addition to another eighteen-year-old t-girl who spoke of clubbing fun in Cardiff. Both the girls hung on her every word. Sandie and I watched enviously, young tee-gee girls and tee-ess girls were just sooo lucky today.

Pauline was enchanted with the mood and spent the whole evening circulating around our circle of friends and learning as much as she could of the local scene. Sandie and I, being ‘old campaigners’ sat back and savoured the success of her party. At nine Sergeant James the community police officer came and gave a talk about hate crime. We had heard it before but it was refreshing and supportive to hear it again and for others to hear it first time. He stayed until about ten chatting to the ‘girls’ whilst reassuring some that he had no intentions or wishes to know their male identities. He did however make a big fuss about Jamie for Jamie was now well and truly ‘out’. Jamie actually basked in the attentions and particularly savoured sergeant James’s reassurances.

Pauline was relieved at the sergeant’s complete disinterest in male identities for she was not ready yet to come out fully fledged. Sergeant James did not recognise her.

The party ended at one, a little earlier than the Friday get-to-gethers but it was a Sunday and most of us had work in the morning. Pauline chose to stay over at mine for the night and savoured the pleasant hour of chat before we retired to our own beds. She left ‘en-homme’ in the morning and because it was still ‘down fortnight’ I still had another week off. I took the girls up to London and introduced them to some transgendered friends while Madge stayed at home because she was working. It was the first time Jamie and Candice had holidayed without their parents. They also had the pleasure of taking my QC friend Jennifer up on her offer of accommodation so we had free beds right in the middle of the city. A notable saving.

I did not take the girls to any gay clubs because they were under-aged, but Jennifer helped to run an alcohol free, young gay club and they spent most evenings in there. The biggest issue was keeping the drug dealers out, but the club had it more or less in hand. The club was right next door to a major London Police station and that helped deter the dealers. The many in-club cameras and extra street cameras outside the busy police station also acted to deter.

We also took in a couple of shows including ‘The Rocky Horror’ and the girls howled with delight at my indulgence by dressing in my black and red basque. Jamie and even Candice could not resist copying me and they were hugely impressed at the laissez faire attitude of the West End.

A week’s ‘clubbing’ in the big city did wonders for Jamie’s confidence. She came home even more determined to get good grades for college and choose a London University. A few weeks after returning Madge remarked to me one evening in her living room as the girls were next door studying in my spare room and probably raiding my ward-robe, - again!

“I don’t want to know too much of what went on in London Bev but Jamie’s work has shown a marked improvement. She’s really found a purpose for studying and going to college. Up until now she was really apathetic about studying.”

“I just showed how it can be for kids today. We didn’t do anything seriously risky and most of the time Jennifer chaperoned us in the evenings.”

Madge smiled.

“That doesn’t say much does it. She’s lesbian as well isn’t she?”

“Yes, but she’s also a thirty-five-year-old QC and a mother-to-be. Your daughters were safe and yet able to enjoy themselves whilst safely letting their hair down. Jamie needs to gather some confidence; her earlier problems with her transgenderism has knocked her self esteem for six. That week did her no end of good. If her improved academic endeavours reflect that then let’s be thankful.”

Madge sighed and smiled then leaned across to plonk one on my lips. It was her first ever approach and I was slightly taken aback until she sat back. We had hugged quite frequently and occasionally she had lain on the sofa with her head on my skirted lap but this was the very first time she had been so forthright. I looked a little askance at first then she explained.

“My husband has sued for divorce.” She held up a large envelope and smiled. “Here are the papers.”

“Does this mean you’re going for it?” I asked as hope sneaked into my heart.

“I’ll have to ask the girls first. Until Jamie’s transgenderism manifested itself, they both loved their dad; he simply could not accept the situation.”

“If he reconciled himself to Jamie’s needs would you take him back?”

Madge frowned and nodded apologetically as she confessed.

“He was a lovely man until all this stuff blew up. Jamie was stunned and distraught when he reacted so badly. It smashed Jamie’s confidence. Candice was broken hearted when her dad left.”

Madge’s admission that she still had feelings left me confused and uncertain. The tiny shoot of hope died again and I slumped dejectedly on the sofa. Then I got up to make a cup of tea. There seemed little else I could do. Madge sensed my disappointment and picked up her mobile. I knew who she was calling and the familiar voices of the girls answered from next door.

“Girls, can you come over here.”

“Do we have to mum?” Candice whined. “We’re undressed.”

“Well get dressed, it’s important.”

Madge was not usually curt or short with her girls and thus they got the message, something big was brewing. We heard the backdoor unlock followed by the girl’s footfall. They appeared in the drawing room just barely dressed. Their mother’s tone had conveyed urgency.

“What’s wrong mum?” They chorused.

“Sit down girls; we’ve got some serious talking to do.”

“Are you getting married?” Candice asked bluntly.

“No. Well not yet anyway but that’s part of the issue.”

“Is that dad’s divorce?” Jamie asked nervously as she demonstrated her more astute maturity and recognised the legalistic envelope.
Madge held it up and tapped it with her finger.

“You’ve got it in one darling. He says he thinks it’s better if we formalise the separation.”

“Do you want to?” Jamie persisted.

Madge looked at her transgendered daughter and smiled as a tear leaked from her eye.

“In truth darling I’m not sure what I want, - but I want to know what you want.”

“Will I still be able to see him?” Candice asked.

“Of course! I don’t see any reason why not, you’re nearly fifteen and you never had any issues with your father. I presume you still want to see him.”

“Yes and go to stay with him, he’s my dad.”

“If he’s agreeable to that then so am I. Now Jamie, what do you feel?”

“Will he ever accept me? As a daughter that is, as a girl?”

Madge sighed regretfully for she had no answer.

“I just don’t know Jamie. He might become more mellow or accept you once you’ve transitioned but I honestly can’t answer that question.”

“He hurt me that day he hit me. He’d never hit me before. If he still hates me enough to hit me, I dunno.”

“So is that a no or a yes?” Madge pressed.

“It’s a ‘don’t know’ mum. I just don’t know. He never listened to a word when I tried to explain. He never even went to speak to the specialist in London. He left it all to you and then he just walked out. I never thought dad would be like that. You and he had a good thing going and then I went and ruined it, broke it, smashed it! It’d be better if I didn’t exist.”

“Don’t say that, don’t ever say that. You’re my baby and I still love you; - love you like only a mother can.”

Jamie turned to me and asked softly.

“Did your dad hit you Auntie Bev?”

“Uuhhm, no Jamie, he didn’t; but he never found out. He was killed when I was only five and I didn’t really start until I was six. My mum didn’t find out until I was twelve, at least that’s what I think. When she did find out she put it down to my dad dying but I know now it’s something I’m born with, something innate within my head; something that I’ll take to my grave.”

“Was she angry with you?”

“No; - more disappointed than angry but she allowed me to dress up in the house.”
Jamie nodded her understanding then explained further.

“Dad tried to stop me but it didn’t work, finally he was forced to accept the doctor’s letter and that’s when he left. He couldn’t or wouldn’t handle it. I don’t care if he never comes back but I feel sorry for mum. If mum wants a divorce I’m not stopping her.”

Jamie turned to her mother and spread her hands helplessly.

“I just don’t want there to be any more hurt mummy. I’ve put you through enough already.”

Madge reached her arms around her oldest daughter and squeezed her tight.

As always in emotional situations, I felt inadequate, just like the times in casualty, so I resumed making the tea. Candice joined me in the kitchen obviously looking for advice.

“Will I be able to go and see him even if mum says no?”

“You’re mum‘ll never say no darling. She’s already spoken about access and discussed it with me and Jenny. You heard her say you can see your dad whenever you like and stay with him if he’s agreeable.”

“What about keeping his name, he’s a Beckinsale and so am I.”

“That’s no problem darling. Your name is on your birth certificate nobody can take that away from you except you.”

“You mean even if you and mummy got married?”

“Your name is your name Candice. As I said, you decide, you’re old enough and your legal identity is not an issue.”

At these words Candice took her mother the tea. She had been worried and nervous about her relationship with her dad and her hands had been shaking when she carried her mother’s cup. The cup had rattled on the saucer. When she returned to collect her own I dissuaded her and I took the tray with the remaining cups and the biscuits. We all settled on the comfy chairs and drank silently as each of us mulled our thoughts. Finally Madge took the bull by the horns and called for decisions. Firstly she expressed her own thoughts and also revealed more of the letter from her husband.

“He says he’s found a new partner and he’s keen to get a divorce. That’s hurt me and I’ll be happy to separate. He’s prepared to pay the divorce costs and pay maintenance for the girls; at least he recognises his responsibilities to them.”
His finding a ‘new partner’ shocked both the girls. Candice felt angry and betrayed for she had secretly harboured hopes of her parents getting back together. Jamie simply shook her head and stared at the floor. She still felt guilty for precipitating the separation. I simply kept silent, for whatever I said might be deemed to have an ulterior motive. Madge realised we had reached an impasse as far as discussing anything so she called for a vote.

“Divorce or not?” She asked bluntly. “You go first Candice.”

Candice was in two minds. On one hand she wanted her parents to get back together for she still loved her dad but she had also been wounded by the letter. She thought her dad still loved her mum. Tearfully, as the confusion tore her up, Candice reluctantly voted for divorce but it was something she didn’t want. She just wanted to support her wounded mum.
Jamie wanted to abstain but Madge demanded a vote. She voted for a divorce but she hadn’t wanted to demonstrate her anger and hurt towards the man who she felt had abandoned her. No daughter likes to be abandoned by their dad. That was two in favour of divorce.

Madge then turned to me.

“You get a vote as well.”

“Why,” I wondered, “I’m not part of the family.”

“No but it affects you doesn’t it?”

“Does that mean, -“ I asked as she nodded vigorously and interrupted.

“Yes it does. And the girls like you.”

I glanced at the girls who were both studying me with anticipation and expectation. When they caught my eye they both smiled and nodded encouragement.

I hesitated and shifted a bit nervously in my chair. If I voted yes it was tantamount to my proposing. If I voted no it would sound like a rejection and it was obvious that the girls would be disappointed. I tried to wriggle out of it again.

“Are you sure you want me to vote? Won’t it sway your decision?”

“That’s immaterial,” Madge persisted, “the girl’s votes have already affected my decision.”

“Yes but I would be acting selfishly if I voted in my own interests.”

“Duh!” Madge scorned my hesitation. “What are you afraid of?”

“The next step.”

“Which would be?”

“You and I getting spliced, - if the girls agree.”

“Are you prepared to consider that?”

I fell silent. Twenty years of circumspection concerning my transvestism had left its mark. Getting married at thirty six was a huge step for a transvestite, leastwise, I thought so. Madge sensed my reason for hesitation and smiled as she reassured me.

“Helloo! Beverly! This is a wake-up call! I do know you cross dress you know. You almost live in this house cross dressed! My daughters and I’ve been shopping with you cross-dressed for heaven’s sake!”

“Yes,” I paused again, “but are you fully aware of where it goes; into the bedroom and stuff. I sleep in a nightie and I don’t have any male underwear. I might even dress full time in later life, stranger things happen in transvestite’s lives.”

“I’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Look at you; you’re dressed now, by the time you want to dress full time, stuff will probably have moved on. People probably won’t bother. You almost pass now, and your hair’s beautiful. If you lasered your beard and had your face surgically feminised, you’d definitely pass. Besides Beverly, I’ve seen your tits! If I can accept those, there’s not much else that can shock me.”

This last remark decided it for me and I voted for the divorce. Madge smiled and made the vote unanimous. Her husband’s finding another partner in less than a year had seriously hurt her. Her life had been in limbo until the divorce letter.
With the vote decided the mood changed to one of celebration. The girls dialled out for a take-away and I slipped to my own house next door to collect a couple of bottles of wine. When I returned the girls looked hopefully at the bottles and Madge grinned knowingly.

“If you think those are going to loosen my knickers, you’re probably right.”

“Mummeeey! Both Candice and Jamie shrieked with shocked protest, aghast that their mother could be so forward.”

“What?” Madge demanded. “D’you think your mother’s too old for a bit of fun?”

“But Mum!” Jamie cried half embarrassed and half amused at the idea of her mother still indulging in sex. To the seventeen-year-old Jamie, her thirty five year old mother seemed ancient. Far too old for ‘that-sort-of-stuff’. To Candice it seemed even more anachronistic. She had just turned fifteen and the very idea of her mother indulging was just unbelievable. Like her sister Jamie, she also saw her mother as ‘old’! Madge saw me grinning and she quickly turned the tables as she spoke to her daughters.

“D’you see Beverly as too old?”

I knew both girls had something of a crush on me. My beard was light and I looked quite young for my thirty six years. They turned as one and wagged their heads allowing Madge to destroy their pre-conceptions.

“Right you little minxes, if Beverly’s not too old at thirty six, why am I too old at thirty five?”

This completely stumped the girls and they fell silent. She gave me a secretive nod and motioned discreetly with her head towards her bedroom. I frowned and wagged my head. It seemed a bit crass for us to simply abandon the girls and plunge straight into bed. Then Madge frowned and glared at me. I finally realised that the invitation to the bedroom was not for sex, so ‘what else’ I wondered. I followed her upstairs and she cornered me on the landing.

“We’ll sneak over to yours and I can have a make-over. You’ve got far more stuff than me and I’ve seen just how well you scrub up. If you can work magic like that on yourself, you can do something special for me. Are you up to it?”

I hesitated then agreed but qualified my reply.

“I think I can do it. You don’t need much anyway. Your complexion’s in pretty good nick.”

She smirked at me and punched me playfully on the arm.

“Cheeky cow. It’s not as though you’re rebuilding Caerphilly castle or something. Come on, change my look or something. I haven’t put any on since showering this morning."

I was up for this. Madge hardly ever wore slap and I had honed my skills to enable me to pass. Madge and I were fairly similar colours and complexions so I could easily break out some of my unused stuff. (I hated sharing makeup!) Besides, some of her daughters’ slap was lying on the spare bedroom dressing table and they had almost identical complexions to their mum. We sneaked back down stairs and slipped out of the back door over to mine. By the time Madge was ‘done’ the ‘take-away’ was arriving and we joined the delivery boy at the front door as he knocked.

The girls answered to be surprised by their mother holding the take-away box. They were also impressed by the way their mum scrubbed up. I paid the delivery boy and followed Madge into her house. Jamie and Candice were ooohing and aaahing over their mother’s make-over.

“Oh my God mummy, you look fabulous! Jamie squealed as Candice looked at me.

“Did you help her Bev?”

I nodded and smiled.

“It didn’t take much you know. Your mum’s really beautiful or hadn’t you noticed?”

With that Madge almost melted into my arms but I wasn’t finished and I remarked to the girls.

“That’s where you two get your looks from.”

I felt Madge tense a little as she squeezed me a little too hard and muttered a warning.

“All right Casanova, don’t over-egg the pudding!”

The girls grinned and leaned across their mother’s arms to each kiss me on the cheeks. I savoured the pleasure then declared that the food was getting cold. The thought of food will usually grab a healthy teen-ager’s attention, even a girl’s; and the pair were soon sorting out the various portions. The rest of the evening was spent eating and chatting while both daughters kept glancing disbelievingly at their mother. I had to agree, Madge looked a picture and her confidence had been boosted no end.

That night I claimed my willing prize and Madge claimed hers.

In the morning the girls knocked discreetly and Madge allowed them into her bedroom. They sat on the bed and chatted as we devoured the tea and toast they had brought. All in all it was a lovely morning, (it had been a beautiful night.)
After we had showered, I was down stairs when the phone rang. It was Jennifer with information about the Evans’s trial for arson and attempted murder. (Yes, the Police were going for it. It was only by the grace of God that a neighbour coming home had spotted the arsonist running away as the flames from the naphtha bomb had just ignited in the hall.)

“Next Monday. Okay,” I replied, "will I be required to attend all the time?”

“No. You’re an important witness though and you might be called several times if the arguments get complicated.”

“I thought it was an open and shut case, the u-tube evidence and everything.”

“Nothing’s open and shut when somebody like Evans is on trial Bev. He’s a dangerous and powerful man. Take care Bev,” Jenny persisted, “especially on that bike of yours. I still remember the dirty tricks he played on my dad.”

I thought back to the threats Evans had talked about to the arsonist about involving me in an ‘accident’ with my bike. Cyclists were hopelessly vulnerable. I debated going to work in my van for the duration of the trial. After I put the phone down I discussed the issue with Madge. She was adamant; I must use the Van until the man was behind bars.

Monday came around and I attended the first day of court. Evans had used his contacts in the police, the council and the freemasons to avoid being held on remand. He saw me talking to Jennifer and I caught his glare of pure malice. If his threat about ramming me off my bike carried as much certainty and conviction as the hatred in his stare then I had been wise to avoid using the bike. At the break for Lunch, Jennifer emerged to tell me I wouldn’t be needed until the Wednesday at the earliest so I phoned my Line manager to tell him I’d be in that afternoon and for Tuesday as well. I had a brief lunch in the courtroom restaurant with Madge, her girls, Jennifer and her junior then I made my excuses. From my van I didn’t see Evans on his mobile as he spoke slowly and softly with his hand over the mouthpiece.

‘Yes. A transit van, registration number CP 55 OHU. See to it!’

When I got to work, Paul was chatting to my line manager and they both turned to ask how the case went. I told them I hadn’t seen anything and they wanted me in court for Wednesday. Paul nodded and the manager gave me a list of small jobs that needed attention. An easy afternoon’s work. I was outside checking some pressure gauges when Paul rolled up behind me in his ‘other car’ a royal blue Aston-Martin with a stunning dolly bird in the passenger seat.

“Hello Bev. I’d like you to meet Calista my new girlfriend. She’s coming with me to the next Butterflies meeting.”

“All right for some,” I grinned to hide my envy whilst thinking; ‘some people had all the luck, - born with the old silver spoon and also a beautiful girlfriend who seemed to accept Paul’s transvestism.’

He repeated his thanks for my work on the furnace and told me there would be a bonus at the end of the year for my efforts.

Then he drove off with the engine growling leaving me with some compensation for my feelings of envy. At four thirty my jobs were finished and I chatted briefly with my line manager about Tuesday’s programme, then I set off home not noticing the dumper truck pulling out from the line of parked cars. I was on the Jersey Marine roundabout when the attack took place.

The Ford Focus in front was going slowly so I signalled to pull out then realised the dumper truck was blocking my pull out. I cursed because I was forced to slow down to the car’s low speed. For the next half mile I had to trundle along in the traffic queue boxed in by the twat in front doing fifty while the dumper truck struggled to overtake. Then at the turn off for the motorway the Ford Focus suddenly switched lanes and pulled out into the fast lane in front of the dumper truck. That in itself didn’t affect me but then the car slowed down suddenly in front of the truck and forced it to take avoiding action. The dumper truck swerved to the left straight into my van and forced me off the road straight into the cycle underpass approach ramp. My van was tossed over the parapet and flung easily down into the ten foot drop before slamming into the right-angled bend that took the cycle path under the road.

I was out of it. The lorry then swerved back across the road and came to rest across the two carriageways. The driver clambered out of the cab and originally looked as though he was going to see if I was okay but instead he realised the driver in the royal blue Aston Martin behind him had already pulled up short and stopped easily without tailgating into the truck. (High performance cars have high performance brakes as well as high performance engines. If any ordinary family car had been following it would have most certainly tailgated the truck.)

My good fortune was that both the driver and the passenger of the Aston were already clambering over my van before the driver could arrived to ‘Finish me off’ seeing that the job was botched he turned smartly round and climbed into the waiting Ford Focus and sped away, no doubt cursing his luck. I was screaming in agony and hardly recognised Paul as he struggled to free me. His girlfriend also pitched in but it was to no avail, my foot was firmly jammed under the pedals and the bent steering wheel was rammed hard against my ribs. My nose was bleeding but my belt had saved me from flying through the windscreen into the concrete revetment that supported the cycle tunnel. Paul was already dialling nine-nine-nine. I continued whimpering and crying like a baby (I’m a physical coward at heart and I hate pain.) so Paul’s passenger, the beautiful Calista, continued to try and calm me. Fortunately it’s a diesel van so there was no risk of fire and she was able to sit with me as Paul returned to the road to consult with the line of cars backing up behind the truck. Some wanted to move the truck because it seemed okay but Paul was adamant that it was a crime scene and nothing was to move until the emergency services arrived which they did in short order.

Ten minutes found the fire men busily cutting and bending the remains of my precious van free of my broken body while the ambulance men attended to my wounds and the police took Paul and his companion’s statements.

Nobody got the number of the nondescript silver focus. If Paul and his companion had not arrived so quickly the truck-driver’s intention had been to smash me in the head with a metal bar and make it look as though I had struck something solid in the crash. It would have looked like an innocent accidental fatality caused by careless driving and the truck driver would have stayed at the scene making a pretence of remorse and contrition. These butchers obviously knew their stuff and only Paul’s unexpectedly quick intervention had inadvertently saved my life.

The paramedics had given me a powerful sedative and I knew little more until I woke up in hospital yet again with the same casualty consultant turning to look at me as I groaned. He smiled sympathetically.

“This is getting to be a habit.” He grinned.

I grimaced as I tried to scratch my nose and he called the nurse. The effort to move my arm sent sharp pains through my ribs. They moved me gently, very gently and he explained my injuries as the nurse wiped where I asked to ease the various itches.
Now you’ve broken the same ankle that was injured last time. You’re going up to orthopaedics in the morning. You’ve broken several ribs but you’ll no doubt know that. Are you up to talking to the police?

I nodded and hurt my neck and the surgeon grinned again.

“Fortunately there are no serious head or neck injuries but there’s some serious bruising to that neck. Your nose has been gashed but that’s not broken either. You must have struck the soft moulded plastic of the dashboard.”

He turned and ushered in Sergeant James and a woman PC. Sergeant James wasn’t smiling much. I suspected I knew why.

“Have you caught the bastard?”

“No. Did you get a look at him?”

“Only a brief glimpse.” I confessed apologetically.

Sergeant James nodded slowly without showing any disappointment as he introduced the rather attractive WPC.

“Well, this young lady is an excellent artist. She’s not an official identi-kit artist but Charlotte and I have worked well together before. Can you tell her what you remember?

I nodded and she smiled encouragement as I started hesitantly. Firstly she drew a simple oval shape and then made a few suggestions as to where a man’s face might differ. I nodded comprehendingly and described what I could remember. Her hands carefully applied my suggestions and she looked up to show me the picture at every few strokes. I studied it made some suggestions and after several repeats she looked up at me slightly puzzled.

“You’re doing very well, - for a man. Normally only a woman would give this good a description. If you don’t mind me saying so, you’ve got a woman’s eye for detail. You’re good and it makes my job easier.”

I glanced at Sergeant James who simply stared off towards the window and said nothing. His silence told me he had not been tittle-tattling and I silently applauded him for that. I felt a secret thrill that my ‘girly side’ had advanced my case. For once if had given me an advantage and empowered me. Then I ‘came clean’ to the policewoman.

“Uhm, young lady do you not know about me?”

She looked up unconcernedly with the pencil poised ready for the next few strokes as she wagged her head.

“Uuuhmm no. Why is there something I should know?”

“Uhm, yes. I’m partially transgendered. My brain is as much female as it is male, - I think.”

“You think? Don’t you know?” She wondered as she squinted curiously at me.

I was mildly surprised and pleased by her response. She hadn’t reacted with shock or disgust. Simply a direct, logical ‘follow-on- question conceding her legitimate confusion about my ‘partial transgenderism’. It also indicated that she had at least some understanding of the issue. As I hesitated in preparing some sort of description of my condition she shrugged her shoulders.

“Ah well, I suppose it takes all sorts. At least we’ll empathise better now. Can you improve upon the eyes? That’s where us girls get it best.”

She held up the portrait and I smiled my silent thanks. She had included me in the sisterhood even though I was something of a ‘half-between’; - a freak. I made a final suggestion and she smiled with satisfaction as she added the final adjustment. Then having got a reasonable facsimile she took a new sheet of paper and some coloured chalks as she smiled with evident satisfaction and she added.

“This is something extra stemming from your transgenderism. I wouldn’t normally try this with an ordinary man only somebody who was an arty type. However, with your woman’s eye you’ll have a better appreciation of colour, a woman’s appreciation. Let’s try the hair first.”

We repeated the process with the coloured chalks and she finally held up a pretty good impression of what I could remember. Then she surprised me.

“This is very good. Would you like to see what Paul and his partner gave me? They saw him turn abruptly and run away from the scene of the accident.”

I nodded enthusiastically and compared the images. They were good. Sergeant James sat on the bed beside me and nodded with evident satisfaction.

“Excellent work Charlotte. We’ve got something solid to work on here. We’ll bring some mug-shots and photo-fits in tomorrow and see if anything jogs your memory further.

“Yes. I’d like that. D’you want my statement now.”

“Oh Constable Charlotte can take it. I’m keen to get these copied and put about. See you both tomorrow.”

I turned to the young police woman and smiled as she took out of her brief-case a large A4 notebook with numbered pages. I grinned as she placed it on the bedside table.

“What ever happened to the pocket notebooks?” I asked

She grinned.

“I’m not on patrol. I work more and more with Sergeant James especially since my art skills revealed themselves. So shall we?”

Her dedication impressed me and I gave her as detailed a statement as I could remember especially emphasising that it was my firm conviction that it was not ‘an accident’ but that it had been very cleverly staged to look like one. She eyed me sympathetically but offered to discuss it after I’d finished the statement. That done she went away and brought a tray of tea and biscuits to discuss any other issues. I explained how the Focus car had deliberately manoeuvred to obstruct the lorry but the pull-out had been totally un-necessary. She sighed sympathetically.

“There’s no witnesses to support that. Paul and his girlfriend Calista were behind in the Aston and they couldn’t see. To them it had all the appearance of a genuine attempt by the lorry to avoid the Focus car.”

I cursed and sipped my tea however Charlotte had better news.

“He’s guilty of leaving the scene of an accident though, and the Focus driver is guilty as well. It stopped and then scarpered after picking up the lorry-driver. That’s strong evidence of some sort of collusion and that supports your suspicions. However it’s not proof positive.”

I looked at her and tried to keep my cool.

“Oh come on. Any jury would agree they were colluding. Once the bastard realised he couldn’t kill me he was in a jam. He had to get away and his crony in the focus enabled him. It’s an open and shut case.

“Maybe to you but not necessarily a jury. Lawyers can make hay with the term ‘reasonable doubt’!”

I frowned and stared at my injured foot. The bastards had definitely tried to kill me and would probably try again. Charlotte had started packing away her stuff when Jenny appeared in the doorway accompanied by Madge, Jamie and Candice. After reassuring themselves that I appeared to be ‘going to survive’ Jenny started in with the questions. As she was busy recording my answers Paul and Calista arrived with a bouquet of flowers and some chocolates. It gave Jenny an excellent opportunity to compare our statements. She was already preparing to use the new events surrounding the ‘accident’ in the current trial to demonstrate Evans was not only using ‘witness intimidation’ but also ‘witness execution’, to win his case. I discussed the seemingly accidental collision but Jenny did not seem unduly concerned about proving it to be attempted murder, it seemed she was well experienced in persuading juries. Even Charlotte smiled as Jenny explained several alternative strategies she might adopt to win that particular argument. By ten that evening they left with two armed police officers guarding my ward door. I was exhausted and fell asleep after the night nurse finally administered the powerful sedative to knock me out.

Morning found me awake early and on my way down to surgery on my ankle and foot. Noon found me back up on the ward. Madge and the girls visited that afternoon while Paul and Calista came that evening. Calista left to get me some more magazines and it was my first chance to speak to Paul alone since learning of his new partner.

“Well you’re a dark horse. How long has she been around?”

Paul smiled and gave me a secretive little look that suggested ‘confession’.

“Not long,” he replied, “only a couple of weeks after you took me up to Butterflies.”

“She’s a stunning looker and a lovely personality.” I observed, -adding, “She was nice to me when you were sorting out the traffic jam. She’s very caring.”

Paul’s smile widened as he savoured my compliment about his girl.

“She’s had a tough life.”

I nodded as my foot throbbed and I shifted to relieve the pressure. Paul helped me get more comfortable just as Calista returned.

“Here, let me help,”” she offered as she plonked several magazines on the bedside table.

“Thanks,” I replied once I was sitting more upright. “So you’re Paul’s new girl?”

“I’m his first girl,” she replied as she turned to Paul with a smile to confirm her words; “aren’t I darling?”

Paul nodded and squeezed her around the waist as he explained.

“As I said that day by the furnace Bev, My dad tried to map out my life. Now I make my own choices. Calista is my choice of girl.”

I nodded as Calista turned and kissed her boyfriend.

“So will we be hearing wedding bells? I can supply two lovely bride’s maids.”

Paul grinned and a shadow flickered across Calista’s beautiful features. I realised I might have touched upon a delicate subject.

“Uhm, marriage would be some ways off Bev, there’s stuff to sort first.”

Another shadow flickered across Calista’s face followed by a slight frown, She did not seem happy with Paul’s remark. I grinned uncomprehendingly then put my foot firmly into ‘it’.

“Oh family is it. But you’ve said it yourself. You’re your own boss now.”

“Uhm not quite Bev. The deal is this I own forty percent of the family firm and my divorced sister owns thirty percent. My mum owns fifteen percent but the bank still has the remaining fifteen percent holding. It was the original loan that dad started out with and as the firm grew Dad left it to lie as more share issues were opened up to the family. Mum and dad bought them and left some of them in trust until my sister and I reached our majorities. If I offend mum she could make it difficult for me by giving her remaining fifteen percent to my sister.”

“So how would you offend your mum?”

Paul swallowed and glanced at Calista who looked particularly nervous.

“Calista can’t have children. We’ll have to adopt.”

“Oh.” I grasped the significance. When I had first started to work for the company I had learned that with both Paul’s parents it was always about family and the family business.

Paul nodded as a tear escaped Calista’s eye. I quickly reached for a tissue from my bedside table and offered it to her. She took it and quickly mopped it away delicately to avoid messing her immaculate makeup. I smiled reassurance and told her softly that she looked okay. She still checked her compact mirror then agreed with me and smiled as I continued.

“But if Calista can’t have children your sister’s already got two daughters. There are your nieces to leave the business to.”

“Yeah, but Mum wants to see the family name continue in the director’s chair. It was dad’s greatest wish, - you know, - the dynastic thing. It’s all family, family, family with her just as it was with dad. That’s why they were so upset by my transvestism. She wants me to have a son.”

“Then she’s being greedy and selfish, - I want’ can’t always have,” I observed a little crassly for I little realised that Calista would have loved to have children as well.

Paul looked at me then looked at Calista who had started to cry and it was only then that I realised how insensitive I had been.
‘Shit I could be thick sometimes!’ I thought, ‘well not just sometimes it seemed like all the bloody time!’
I apologised to Calista and extended my hands to offer a hug.

“I’m sorry Cally! I’m so, so sorry. I meant that for Paul’s mum not you. She’s a bitch.”

At first she seemed too distraught and gave me a look of pure despair. Then finally she glanced at Paul as though seeking reassurance. Paul smiled, nodded vigorously so after taking a huge breath, Calista explained.
“I can’t have children cos’ I’m not a real girl, I’m still a b-, boy!”

Her declaration might have exploded like an atomic bomb in any other man’s head but in mine it fell directly onto receptive fertile soil. Months of helping dear little Jamie had long ago inured me to any shocks from the so called ‘gender-bender’ quarter. I found the very expression ‘gender-bender’ utterly offensive. Instead of reacting with some sort of expression of surprise or disbelief, my demeanour did not alter at all. I was both proud and pleased that I had not shown any reaction for it gave Calista courage to go forward. I continued extending my arms and with a single nod, I invited her into my embrace. Calista recognised ‘acceptance’ then gave a loud sob of relief and fell into my arms. Paul looked at me through his own tearful eyes and mouthed a silent ‘thank you’ as Calista broke down in a torrent of sobs and tears. So much so that the Staff Nurse came in to check on everything. Paul and I reassured the nurse while Calista continued emitting explosive sobs of pure relief.

“Are you sure she’s okay. She looks very distraught to me.” The Staff Nurse persisted.

“It’s all right nurse,” I repeated, “my friend is just relieved that everything’s okay. She was desperately worried but now she knows it’s okay.”

The nurse studied Calista with some disdain. Everybody knew that my injuries were pretty much ‘run-of-the-mill’ and I had not been in any danger. The nurse obviously thought that Calista was over-reacting to my injuries. I didn’t pursue the issue. My words had not been lies; Calista had been ‘worried about the situation’! It was just a different situation and a bloody sight more important.

I motioned my head to the nurse and asked if Paul could get a tray of tea. She quickly agreed. It was something practical and constructive and I already had this particular nurse down as a ‘doer’ not a touchy-feely empathiser. She was brusque and efficient and that suited me fine. I never wanted for anything when she was on duty. She took Paul away to the little kitchen and organised a pot of tea and biscuits while Calista slowly recovered her composure in my arms. Finally as the sobs subsided she whispered to me.

“You’re nice, now I see why Paul likes you so much. You’ve been good to him by introducing him to the others. Paul’s come on in leaps and bounds and he still talks of your club.”

“It’s not my club Calista, I just help Sandie to organise the soirees.”

“Yes but he talks of it a lot. I’m coming with him on the next night.”

“That’ll be a week Friday. I’m afraid Paul will have to drive my transit van if you want to come up with us. This ankle will be out for eight weeks the doctor said.”

“If he can drive an Aston, he can drive a van!”

“But not like an Aston, I hope.”

We both giggled at the idea and that is how Paul and the nurse found us when they returned with the tray.

“Well you’ve sure recovered quickly young lady.” The nurse observed.

“Yes miss,” Calista conceded, “everything’s going to be okay.

The nurse tut-tutted and left us to our own devices. Paul sat on the bed as Calista poured the tea.

“So what d’you think of her?” Paul asked

“Who? The nurse?” I responded uncomprehendingly.

“No silly, - Calista. D’you approve?”

“Now that’s a silly question Paul. You know all about Jamie so how could I not approve of Calista?”

“Who’s Jamie?” Asked Calista as she handed me my tea.

“She’s another Tee-Gee kid, younger than you; she’s only seventeen. I rescued her from a serious beating.”

“What, there’s another one like me in Swansea?”

“She lives with me in Port Talbot. You’ll meet her next Friday. She comes regularly now.”

“Oh my gosh! Isn’t she too young?”

“No. Sandie runs it as a private party in her own home. No booze is sold and anyway her mum and sister come as well.”

“Crickey It sounds like a family affair.”

“No. It’s not a knitting party. We have a bloody good time, dancing and chatting and stuff.”

“Can’t wait. Are there any other transsexuals?”

“Usually. Out of about fifteen to twenty there are sometimes as many as three or four TS Girls. Sometimes Billy comes up as well, he’s an MtF.”

“Sounds like a really lively bash.”

“It is, but it’s also a support group.” I finished.

“Paul’s my support,” Calista turned and kissed him. “I was just so alone until we met.”

I turned to Paul.

“Yes Paul,” You never did say how you met.”

Paul smiled and blushed.

“I’ve got you to thank for that as well. After Butterflies I got bolder and more confident. It was a Friday night and I was in a gay club in Bristol, cross dressed and feeling very brave but sticking out like a sore thumb. Calista came in alone and it was love at first sight. I went up to her and asked her for a dance, she grinned at me then agreed; - couldn’t believe my luck. We just hit it off straight away. By the end of the evening we were an item. She missed her train so I paid for her taxi and she gave me her phone number.”

Calista now took up the story.

“I left the club knowing I could trust him cos’ he didn’t offer to drive me home or anything like that. He was telling me his intentions were honourable by paying for my taxi because it was his fault I missed the train. We were too engrossed dancing and talking until I realised I had missed my train. It had been one of the best Friday nights of my life.
He phoned me the very next morning. It was lovely, none of this ‘will he — wont he?’ phone stuff. Then he arrived at lunch time to take me to Cribs Causeway Shopping Mall and he turns up in his bloody fabulous, royal blue Aston. What girl could resist that?”

I grinned and hugged myself. It was the sort of love story nearly every tranny dreams of. I added my own few-bob’s-worth.

“And I’ll bet you’ve never enjoyed yourself so much as Saturday shopping with a male partner who enjoys it as much as you.”
Calista’s smile spread into a huge, face-splitting grin.

“He’s lovely. We so love each other.”

“Well I’m very happy for you I, -“

“Right ladies and gentlemen, it’s eight o’clock, visiting is over. Some of the patients need to sleep.” The Staff Nurse interrupted me and smiled as she added. “And you’ll be out in a couple of days. More clubbing I suppose.”

“Not for a while,” Paul added, “that ankle will certainly cramp his style.”

The staff nurse grinned and peeled back the sheet to expose my uninjured foot.

“With nail varnish like that on your toes, I say ‘her style’.”

I grinned and shrugged it off.

“Each to their own staff nurse Thomas, each to their own.”

She smiled then shooed Paul and Calista out of my ward whilst wagging her head and grinning.

The following morning Jenny arrived with Madge and the kids in tow. The judge had suspended the case until I was fit to attend. Jenny and the defence lawyer had spoken to the judge and she was furious at the turn of events. The facts surrounding the ‘accident’ were to be allowed into the case and both sides had been given a week to prepare while I could recover enough to attend as a prime witness. Sergeant James also appeared with Charlotte and some photos plus the good news that they had found some useful DNA on the metal bar on the verge. The idiot hadn’t even taken his tools of intended murder home with him. There was also loads of DNA in the cab of the truck. He had sneezed at some juncture and small gobbets of snot picked off the windscreen corresponded to the DNA on the metal bar. I didn’t envy the forensic team their job.

I studied the identity photographs and identified two probable faces, quite similar enough to please Sergeant James. He nodded with satisfaction and bid farewell. If one of the faces matched the DNA, they had a perfect identity.

One of the faces did. My attacker was picked up in Birmingham before the weekend. He still had a nasty cold and the snot samples taken from his handkerchief matched the samples from the wind-screen. Uchaf fi! Even the microbes matched. Hooray for modern science, I say. More work for Jenny and she was pleased because it got her better known.

She and the police were going for a separate case of attempted murder and hoping to link it to Dewi Evans who was now held on remand. The judge was fairly certain that Evans’s suspected hand in the ‘accident’ had probably broken the terms of his bail to stay away from me. Jenny seemed happy with progress.

I have to hand it to the police. Once they get their teeth into something they won’t let go. When the lorry driver was arraigned before the preliminary hearing one of the court officials vaguely remembered somebody resembling him talking to Dewi Evans outside the courthouse on the first Monday of the trial. She mentioned it to the clerk of the court who promptly reported it to the police. As I have said before, Britain is the world capital for CCTV street coverage and a trawl through the street camera records eventually produced an image of Evans and the driver’s brief meeting. Yet more evidence of possible if not probable collusion. It was all adding up.

A week later when the court re-convened, Jenny was pretty confident. The original jury was recalled and despite the defence objections to possible Jury tampering, the judge had already begun to lose patience. Her whole schedule had been messed up for the rest of her circuit.

The verdict was everything we could have hoped for. The arsonist got five years for attempted murder and Evans got seven with three of them suspended for conspiracy and supplying incendiary materials. The judge had also taken into consideration that it was probable that Evan’s had encouraged his sons and the gang to beat me up earlier. Both his sons had already been ‘sent down’ for their earlier trial. All in all it was a pretty satisfactory conclusion especially as Dewi Evan was automatically excluded from becoming a Councillor for a long time and even then he would have to win his re-election.

Jenny left the courtroom with her reputation enhanced and she smiled at me over the privacy of my dining table when we got home. Madge and the girls were next door preparing something of a celebratory meal while Jenny took her ideas forward. She had some notes for me to study.

“Are you happy with the result of this case?” She asked me as she opened her computer and fetched up the case notes.

“I’m more relieved than happy to tell the truth. Now I can go back to cycling in peace once this foot it better.”

“Now, talking of that foot, you’ve still got damages to claim for the beating you received.”

“I thought the judge addressed that at the sentencing of the sons earlier.”

“That was mainly the criminal injuries award. There’s still civil damages for the so called accident and the lorry-driver’s trial and criminal damages award from that. You’ve got a fair few bob coming to you.”

I smiled and leant across to kiss her and was pleased that she did not withdraw with distaste. Then she patted her swollen belly and smiled.

“Hopefully baby will be born before the next hearings.”

“Then you’ll have to take maternal leave.” I cautioned her.

“I’ve got some good news for you. Madge, Jamie and Candice will be helping with the mothering and you’ve got some fathering to do. I’ll be able to handle the cases. Besides I’m getting cases offered to me from all over South Wales. Now she’s due in a couple of weeks so it’s all about preparations. This house will be an ideal first home for our baby.”

I savoured the term ‘our baby’ and bent down to kiss Jenny again. She gave me an affectionate peck which told me clearly that she really liked me but there was no other attraction there. I felt a little sad but at least I would be sharing fully with the fathering. On the romance front, it looked as though Madge and I might be moving forward while Jenny lived for long spells next door when she was fighting other cases in the various South Wales high courts.

“This is turning out to be one of the best arrangements I could have wished for.” I sighed.

Jenny smiled and nodded.

“And I’ll have two devoted part time helpers in the girls. They treat it as if they’re getting a new sister already. Oh and you’ll be pleased to learn that Calista wants to act as a carer as well. I’ll be paying her full time.”

“Gosh that’s a surprise.

“Why? She’s a girl; you should know that better than anybody.”

“No I didn’t mean it like that, I mean Calista’s set up for life anyway, - what with Landing Paul as a catch.”

“Oh that! Well it’s not all about money Beverly. Calista desperately wants to be a mum and looking after our daughter is a useful first step. You know; - learning mothering skills and stuff.”

And so it came to pass. Jennifer Todd was delivered of a girl child some several weeks later and Calista moved into my house as a live-in adult carer. Paul expressed his concerns suggesting that I might be tempted with having such a stunningly attractive woman about the house but Madge put him right on that score.

“Beverly’s mine Paul,” she told him in no uncertain terms, “and I’ve got two excellent spies to keep tabs on them as well.”

I expressed hurt at the idea that Paul didn’t trust me but Jenny pointed out that it was really a ‘back-handed’ compliment to Calista. In any ‘normal’ situation, a girl as stunningly beautiful as Calista would have really been the cat amongst the pigeons if she lived in another man’s house.

When Calista came to stay and look after baby Stephanie the conduct of the older schoolboys changed dramatically when they lumbered past our house. They already fancied the very attractive Jamie despite it being generally known that she was 'still a boy’, but now there was a new goddess on the block, - Calista and nobody knew of her transgenderism. Seventeen-year-old boys used to loiter and drool hoping to be able to meet Jamie and somehow accrue the aura of glamour that Calista brought to the neighbourhood. Just for Fun, Calista would chat with Jamie each morning just before Jamie stepped the ten yards to the school gates. It was a delight for Jamie and Calista to exercise their magic over the knuckle-rash. Yes, behaviour on the street improved enormously.

I did not see a lot of those improvements for the first few weeks. I tended to be housebound with the complex injuries to my foot. However my immobility served to anchor me to the two houses and that ‘lumbered’ me with many baby-care duties. I certainly earned my stripes. Whenever anybody needed to go out for whatever purpose, old ‘peg-leg-Bev’ could be relied upon to hold the baby, - my own baby, - my own daughter, and she was beautiful!

Eventually, my foot healed (as injuries tend to do,) and I was mobile again. I returned to work regretfully because I had grown so fond of my daughter Stephanie.

Calista had developed a frenetically tight bond with Jamie as both girls lived their female rolls and anticipated their transitions. Each girl gave the other immense mutual support and it was a delight when we drove up to Butterflies in the van to see them sharing their joys. They were more like sisters than Jamie and Candice, indeed Candice once confessed to me ruefully that she seemed to be losing touch with her only sister. I found myself that weekend as Jamie and I shared the baby-sitting, suggesting to Jamie that she should not neglect her younger sister.

After all, Calista was only a baby-minder for a few months until the big issues were passed or more probably when she was scheduled for transition. Calista’s date had not been set yet for she still had some time to live in the roll. She often criticized the medical profession for causing this delay in her life. Calista knew who she was and what she was. She had known almost since she was cognisant of the gender divide. She often fell into long chats and discussions with Jennifer about the seemingly untrammelled powers of the doctors and how they could so destroy a child’s life by delaying transition until sixteen. Jennifer, for all her immense legal acumen once confessed to me it was bloody difficult arguing the case with Calista who had the inside track whilst able being able to call on the undivided support of Jamie. Every time Jennifer found herself straying from the legal straight and narrow to touch upon medical conventions that had so shaped that law she found herself hopelessly outgunned by two sharp witted ‘experts’ with an infinitely more complex and sophisticated understanding of transsexualism than a whole battery of heterosexist physicians.

“Honestly Bev,” Jenny once confessed to me, “those two should be arguing in the house of commons.”

“How would two transgendered girls get themselves elected?” I wondered cynically.

“Oh all right then, the house of lords.”

“Shit, there’re enough misfits, weirdoes, eccentrics and alternative lifestylers in that place without adding transgendered people to the list.”

“Tut, tut, Bev. That’s just pure prejudice.” She scolded me.

I shrank guiltily from her venom. She was absolutely right. The way I had said it came out all wrong. It was something I often seemed to do, - say it the wrong way around.

“No I meant it would only add to the burden of any TG Representative to be saddled with the title lady or lord. People outside of parliament don’t much respect the upper house or its occupants. They’d be constantly making snide remarks about whether a Tee-Gee person is Lord this or Lady that.”

“I see what you mean. But you don’t half get it arse about face sometimes.”

I shrugged. I’d said enough wrong already. ‘Holes and stop digging’ sprang to mind. Jenny smiled and wagged her head as Stephanie guzzled at her breast. Yes Baby Steph was on the breast and Jenny expressed milk during the day then gave it to her at night or Calista fed her with it the following day. I often saw the envy in Calista’s eyes as she prepared and reheated the milk. We even talked about it. I found Calista easy to talk to and envied Paul his companion. Each evening Paul would arrive to collect her and it was obvious they were deeply in love. I could gauge Calista’s mood almost to the minute when Paul texted her to say he was on his way. From a girl envious of Jenny and her motherhood she became the girlfriend anxiously waiting that special someone. There was also the glamour of having her partner pick her up in a glamorous sporty ‘supercar’. Young boys used to loiter at the end of the ‘cul-de-sac’ just to see the car growl purposefully past.

For Calista born in a sink estate in Nottingham then persecuted for her transgenderism through her childhood and youth. It was one huge step up and she had to keep pinching herself that she had found a man, a wonderful man who actually loved her for who she was and not what she was.

After a few months, my foot was healed and I resumed driving the van every month to Butterflies. Despite owning an Aston, Paul and Calista still accompanied us in the van because it added to the occasion as we journeyed collectively and entertained each other. Once or twice even Jenny joined us and brought baby Steph to the party. All the trannies and tee-gee girls went goo-goo over her. The poor girl spent all night in somebody’s arms but she seemed wholly contented. No tears ever escaped her lips when she was in the arms of somebody. Steph was obviously a girl who would grow up to enjoy company and parties.
I mention company because after another year Jenny began to get broody again. I anticipated the call again but it didn’t work out like that. Jenny simply wanted a sibling for her daughter because she had grown up an only child just like me but we had each always hankered for a baby brother or sister. Being childhood friends all the way through school was the nearest Jen and I had ever got to having a brother or sister.

However, I’m getting ahead of myself here, back to events after the Evans’s arson trial.

In the following trial concerning my ‘accident’ Jenny wove her usual Advocacy magic and persuaded the jury that the driver of the Ford Focus had colluded with the lorry driver to cause my crash. The lorry driver got five years for attempted murder while the Focus driver got three for aiding and abetting. My injuries award came to a substantial sum and I was by now a pretty wealthy bachelor. What with owning one and a half houses, an index linked pension from my previous job after nearly twenty years of contributions, plus substantial savings because of my bachelor existence and now the considerable injuries awards and civil damages against the Evans family. I could lay hand to a quarter of a million. No mean sum. Additionally, I had a job.

Once I was fully ‘back in harness’, I bought a brand new van and the girls had tremendous fun helping me fit it out. This time I bought a hi-top because I was tired of stooping while changing. You live and learn. The girls Jamie and Candice were hysterical with amusement when Tony and I tried the changing facilities out whilst parked in a lay-by on the way to butterflies. It says a lot that a fifteen and seventeen year old pair of sisters felt safe changing in the back of a van with two transvestites and a pre-op transsexual. Lawyers and social workers might have had a field day painting some obscene picture of abuse but the truth was the girls were safe and they felt safe. Candice and Jamie treated Calista and Paul like older siblings whilst Jamie felt additionally closer to Calista because of their mutual transgenderism. For me I sometimes drifted into tears of happiness when I saw how happy and gregarious the once reclusive Jamie had become. She and Calista had become virtual sisters and the shopping expeditions to Cardiff now involved three girls, me and Madge. Naturally Jenny accompanied us when she could, which was most weekends. She had three, more than willing helpers to handle baby Stephanie and Calista found as much joy shopping in Mothercare as she did in the Next or New Look. Madge and I just stood back, held each other side by side and wrapped our arms around each other’s waists as we watched our newly formed family indulging themselves in the thing we girls do best, - Retail Therapy. Those times were some of the happiest in my life.

Then as I mentioned earlier Jenny became broody again. She had also met a new partner in Cardiff, - a lawyer who had just been made a partner in a firm of solicitors. She was home with me one Friday afternoon with her girlfriend and they fell to chatting about babies. It was having babies that had brought them together. The girl Rachel was fascinated to meet Stephanie and me for she had been debating how to get herself pregnant. Jenny had suggested me as a safe father who participated in the fathering whilst recognising and accepting the mothers sexuality. Jenny was busy finishing up some notes while I changed Steph’s nappy, cleared away the mess then washed myself up before I fed her. Rachel observed me critically then turned to Jenny.

“He even does the laundry then. You’ve got a good bargain here Jen, he does it rather well. I think he’ll do as the father.”
I grinned and made a pretence of protest at Rachel’s assumptions.

“Hey girl! I’m not just some sort of sperm donor. I have issues with care and access to my kids.”

Jenny chuckled.

“What d’you mean kids? You mean kid don’t you?”

“Yeah,” I grinned provocatively and then smiled at Rachel coquettishly, “but I’m going to have more I hope.”

Rachel grinned and thumped me affectionately on the arm.

“You’re awful but nice. Yeah, you’ll do.”

With that Paul happened by with Calista in preparation for a butterflies night. They came in as we were discussing the preparations for getting both Jenny and Rachel pregnant.

Calista, sharp witted as even and desperate to have a baby she could nurse and call her own suddenly had a brainwave. She hi-jacked me in the kitchen as I was cleaning Stephanie’s baby food spillages off her tray.

“Bev. Does this sound like a bad idea to you?”

“Well I haven’t heard it yet darling, fire away.”

“You know the issues with Paul and his mother about the family lineage and all that crap.”

“Oh don’t I just. Is she still making issues about it?”

Calista nodded and bit her lip before venturing her idea.

“Would Jenny be prepared to have Paul’s baby instead of yours?”

My hands paused over the dishes and I stared out of the window for a moment.

“You mean give Paul an heir to continue the dynasty as it where?”

“Yes. But I want to run it by you before I run it by Jenny. Do you have any objections?”

I had another think as a million thoughts whizzed through my brain. I could see no biological objections, it really depended upon Jenny. I could afford to be magnanimous, Rachel had already agreed to my becoming a father of her child. If Paul had a child by Jenny then it would still be a half sibling to Stephanie as Jenny’s second child. As to Calista bringing the child up well she almost brought Stephanie up as her own already. She virtually lived in my house rearing Steph as Jenny whizzed about the country going from trial to trial. It would be the same scenario but to a lesser degree with Rachel’s baby, my second child. Rachel often accompanied Jenny when clients approached her firm to represent them at court. The cases would be addressed in county courts and high courts all over England and Wales. Having an adult babyminder who was devoted to the children suited Jenny and Rachel’s lifestyle perfectly. I turned and nodded to Calista my provisional agreement if Jenny was agreeable. Calista gave a soft whoop of joy, gave me a passionate kiss on the cheek and immediately presented her idea to Jenny who was sat with Steph on her knee while Rachel sipped her tea with Paul at the dining table. Calista had something of an audience and she was desperately nervous. I half listened from the Kitchen sink.

After a couple of minutes I heard Jenny chuckling. It seemed the idea hadn’t been rejected out of hand. This seemed an ideal time for me to appear.

As I entered the dining room from the kitchen Jenny looked up at me and smiled.

“Are you happy with this?”

“Well in truth I’d prefer to be the father of your second child because I still like you, in fact I love you but that can never be in a carnal way because I respect your sexuality.”

“But you were carnal with me last time when we had Steph.”

“Yes, and I enjoyed it every bit as any man would make love to a woman but I knew you were essentially just giving me a baby and giving yourself that same pleasure of having a baby. You had no feelings towards me as a wife to a husband. You and I have known each other a long time Jenny. I know and understand you. Your heart is with Rachel. Our mutual love is for Steph.” Jenny teared up and Rachel came to hug her as she whispered.

“If that’s the sort of man he is, I definitely want him as the father of my child.”

“Are you going to sleep with him?” Asked Jenny.

Rachel looked at me and pursed her lips before observing.

“He’s not bad looking, just a bit girly. What do you think? Would you be jealous Jen?”

“A bit.”

“You slept with him.” Rachel protested with a knowing smile.

“I was a single girl then. Now we’re an item.”

“You could supervise; you know, in bed, make sure it’s just sex and no emotion.”

Jenny snorted with amusement.

“Bev’s always emotional; she’s on hormones for heaven’s sake.”

I blushed. It was true. I was often very lachrymose and these days, now the spectre of the Evans clan was gone, it was nearly always because of something happy.

Calista now revealed her hopes and wishes.

“You could always go for a turkey baster baby.”

Paul put the mockers on all our musings.

“It would have to be a proper medical thing. They would have to separate the sperm to make sure it was a male child, to please my mum.”

“Oh that’s just plain bloody sexist darling,” I objected to Paul. “Your mum should be happy to just have a child, boy or girl.”

“Yeah,” Paul sighed ruefully, “just try telling the old trout that.”

Calista nodded agreement to emphasise Paul’s dilemma. Jenny frowned then added.

“Are you suggesting a test tube baby with my own egg and all that palaver?”

“Well there’s a clinic in India that separates the sperm and inseminates with an eighty percent chance of the right sex child.”

“And I suppose that would be a boy child with those chauvinistic, sexist Hindu and Muslim primitives.” I added.

Paul shrugged apologetically.

“I’m afraid your right Bev but please don’t knock it too hard. Their chauvinism is my best hope.”

“So you’re saying we have to go to Mumbai.” Jenny frowned.

“Uuhhm no, Calcutta.”

“Jee’ze, that’s even worse isn’t it?! Stuck miles up the Ganges with no sea breezes to cool the city.”

“No the Hooghli actually. It’s one of the main channels of the Ganges delta.” I added.

“Well whatever,” Jenny grinned. “It’s still hot and sticky.”

“The whole of India’s hot and sticky,” Paul added, “especially at this time of the year. But the private hospitals are scrupulously clean. You won’t get better treatment anywhere in the world.” Paul reassured her.

“Well; if it means a holiday I’m sure I can find my way to a trip to India. Best we go for the months of June and July. Those are the best months for holidays for the law.”

“And the hottest months before the monsoon breaks.” Paul cautioned again. “Best time is after the monsoon, October or November.”

“Sorry. No can do," Jenny sighed, "the courts are often at their busiest then. Hot and sticky it’ll have to be.”

“Well don’t say I didn’t warn you. But at least you won’t be heavily pregnant.”

Jenny wagged her head and smiled.

“God! The things you have to do for a bloody boy child. Men! Honestly! All this just to satisfy some old biddy of a mother! I’m glad I’m a bloody lesbian and not marrying into the family.”

Jenny let her observations hang, inviting argument then suddenly realised there was nobody taking on the case. Of the ‘men’ in the room, two were transvestite and already signed up to ‘women’s lib’ while the other two ‘men’ had long since ‘crossed the floor and joined the opposition.’ Jenny suddenly chuckled at herself as she realised she was preaching a Greek sermon.

Paul grinned like a Cheshire Cat. Jenny had tacitly agreed to have his son.

Things moved quickly after that. Paul told his mother of the plan and she rather sniffily conceded that it was better than no grandson at all. The rest of us just could not believe the crass hypocrisy of the woman. She was prepared to sacrifice everything that was precious to her son, just to beget a grandson.

Having learned that the supposedly surrogate mother was a barrister and a queen’s counsel no less, she tried to inveigle Jennifer to her home and then persuade her to marry her son. Jenny gave it to her with both barrels and told her bluntly that she was a manipulative monster. The woman took umbrage and firstly tried to persuade her son Paul that the womb he had chosen belonged to an unsuitable woman.

When this cut no Ice she tried to report Jenny to the Bar Council for unprofessional behaviour. There seemed no end to the woman’s meddling. Having failed at all else she finally offered two thirds of her fifteen percent of the shares to her divorced daughter in some brutal attempt to bully her supposedly wayward son into submission.

Unfortunately she did not know that Calista’s beautiful personality had already won Paul’s divorced sister Phoebe around to Paul’s point of view.

Calista had unknowingly met her future Sister-in-law totally by accident at a coffee shop in Cardiff. She had taken baby Steph for an outing to Mothercare and Jamie had accompanied her. They were quietly finishing their coffees and waiting for Jenny, Madge, Candice and me to meet them. Quite coincidentally, Phoebe happened into the same cafe and saw the baby then went all gooey-eyed. Without a ‘buy-your-leave’ she loomed over Calista and begged to have a closer look at the baby.

Naturally, Calista was very wary at first. She was a girl from the mean streets of Nottingham and she had little understanding of the friendliness of the Welsh. As a transgendered kid her formative experiences had been those of condemnation, censure and subsequent aggression. Reluctantly Calista extended her arms with baby Steph ever so slightly and tipped the wink to Jamie to beware of any sudden moves, if the woman attacked the baby. Jamie grasped Calista’s meaning and cautiously re-arranged her position to be able to block any sudden attack on the infant. Phoebe suddenly found herself able to peer down into the baby’s bright smiling eyes but could get no closer. She sensed the primordial caution in the older ‘mother’ whilst noticing the more obvious protective move by the younger girl and it pained her slightly. Phoebe had only wanted to admire the child but these two women obviously had issues. She decided to try another ploy.

“She’s a beautiful baby. Oh she’s just so pretty. D’you want a cup of coffee? D’you have the time.”

Calista had plenty of time, her stylish heels were not the sort of shoes to go shopping and her feet were hurting. She had gone for coffee to rest her feet and the shoe-conscious Jamie had joined her for much the same podalic reason. The rest of our shopping gang would not be showing up for another half hour.

Calista exchanged a glance with Jamie and then glanced at the door. They had chosen an open seat by the big front window in order to make it easy for us to find them when we came in. Now Calista felt too close to the door and it would be easy for this seemingly friendly Welsh woman to snatch the baby and run. Neither Jamie nor Calista would ever have been able to catch her in their stylish heels. Calista's sharp mind quickly thought through an inoffensive solution and she agreed diplomatically to the coffee invitation.

Calista avoided every chance to cause offence, her transgendered childhood had long ago sensitised her to people’s feelings and subsequent reactions.

“Why yes thank you. A coffee would be lovely. Shall we move away from the door if we’re staying longer? The draught you see, - on the baby’s head.”

“While Phoebe went to purchase the coffees, Calista and Jamie organised the shift of baby-buggy, changing bag, and Baby Steph to a booth deeper inside the cafe where a ‘Snatch’ was virtually impossible. It was one of the ‘booths’ with a table and two high backed seats that sat six people or even eight at a squeeze. Normally teenagers commandeered them but this one had just been vacated.

By the time Phoebe returned with a tray of coffees and some sweet pastries, Calista had organised the seat to allow the woman access to Stephanie whilst having to sit deep in the booth. This forced Jamie to sit on the outside and able to block any untoward move the woman might use to try to snatch the baby. Calista was painfully street wise and very suspicious of a woman being so familiar. She had no idea of how friendly the Welsh could sometimes be, especially when it concerned babies.
Phoebe could now touch, and even hold the baby nestled comfortably in the corner of the booth but she was ‘hemmed in’ by Jamie beside her on the outside seat of the booth while Calista sat opposite with the buggy and bag inside her. Phoebe sensed the wariness of the ‘mother’ but let her offence pass.

She concluded; ‘The woman was not from ‘round—eare’ and obviously unused to Welsh familiarity. She was also very smartly dressed though and obviously not your ‘run-of-the-mill’ unmarried mother.’

“So how do find Cardiff?” Phoebe asked thereby declaring that she realised Calista wasn’t Welsh.

“Well. Friendly, I have to say. People don’t normally walk up to you and offer you coffees.”

“Oh that’s because of the baby. She’s just so-oo beautiful. Just look at those big blue eyes. She’s going to break somebody’s heart when she’s older.”

Calista sensed that the woman was not a threat but she gave Jamie a cautionary glance as she offered baby Steph to be cuddled. The woman couldn’t contain herself and explained that her two were with their grandmother and she was shopping for birthday presents. As Phoebe held the baby in her arms the two quickly fell into conversation. Jamie just kept quiet and only spoke when spoken to. She was itching for the rest of us to join them so that Candice she and I could go clothes shopping on our own.
Finally we arrived en-masse and Calista handed baby Steph back to Jenny explaining that Jenny was her real mum. The seating arrangements were quickly changed as Candice Jamie and I took off to the shops to indulge our retail therapy while Jenny and Madge took their turn to nurse baby Steph. Was that kid ever spoiled! She now had four adult women going daft over her.

A week later Jenny described the events to me as Calista had described them to her.

“Phoebe had suspected that you were ‘not normal’ and she tried to break the subject delicately. Calista gave it to her with both barrels. She’s so in your face these days. Her relationship with Paul has brought her on leaps and bounds.”

“Go on.” I encouraged Jenny.

“Firstly I have to say that by the time we arrived Calista and Phoebe were almost firm friends. You didn’t stop long enough to find out because Jamie wanted to finish shopping. Phoebe only reluctantly surrendered Stephanie to me after Calista explained that I was her real mum. By this time you and the girls had already buggered off. We had only been talking for five minutes after you left when Phoebe intimated her concerns.”

“That older woman, the one who’s just gone off with Jamie. She’s uuhhm very masculine isn’t she?”

Madge and I said nothing but Calista jumped straight in.

“Yes Phoebe,” Calista declares, bold as brass, “that’s Beverly, she’s transgendered.”

I smiled before Jenny continued. Then I interrupted.

“Well it’s no secret is it? I’ve more or less come out.”

Jenny nodded thoughtfully then added.

“Well to tell the truth I didn’t think it was Calista’s part to reveal your transgenderism but I have to give Phoebe credit where it’s due. She didn’t over-react.”

“So what did Calista actually say?”

“Well after bluntly declaring you to be a T G girl she waited for Phoebe to make a remark. Phoebe sat silent for a few moment digesting Calista’s words then she observed that it wasn’t a big deal.”

“Did she mention her own brother Paul? After all she’s known about Paul’s transgenderism since the family rows and beatings when Paul was a young kid.”

“No. There was no mention of Paul that’s why Calista failed to realise that Phoebe and Paul were sister and brother.”

“So what happened next?” I pressed, eager to hear the outcome.”

“Nothing happened right then. They chatted about you as Calista delicately sounded out Phoebe’s views. Once she realised that Phoebe wasn’t judgemental about transgendered people they became quite friendly though Calista never mentioned her own transgenderism.”

“Well there’s hardly a need to is there?” I observed, “Calista passes for s girl on every single count and she’s a very pretty one to boot.”

Jenny gave me a knowing look before continuing.

“Anyway they even agreed to meet up again. They would meet back in Swansea because they had declared they both lived there. They organised a date and time and everything. I didn’t intervene, nor did Madge, we neither of us knew of the connection. Well you know the rest.”

I did indeed know the rest of the saga.

The following Friday afternoon during half term, Phoebe and her young daughters met Calista with Steph in Swansea and they enjoyed a delightful afternoon shopping and going to the Vivian Art Gallery. Then Paul arrived to pick up his girlfriend Calista at four o’clock. Imagine the shock to Phoebe and Paul when he arrived as arranged to pick up Calista and baby Steph only to find that Calista’s new-found friend was his own sister.

It was then that Phoebe realised that Calista was the T G girl about whom her mother had been having all the rows with Paul.

After Jenny had told me that same Friday evening, both Paul and Calista later gave me their versions but they were pretty similar.

When they met that first time, Phoebe’s jaw had sagged to the floor because she had completely assumed that Calista was a real girl working as Stephanie’s full time nanny. At first she was stunned, then apologetic for her own mother’s treatment of Calista then finally supportive all in the space of a few minutes chatting on the pavement while Paul wondered if he would get a parking ticket. It seemed that Phoebe’s take on Paul’s choice of partner had been much more liberal but she had kept her counsel to avoid conflict between her and her domineering mother.

Now that Phoebe realised what a wonderful person Calista was she became fully supportive. So much so, she even offered her young daughter’s services as bride’s maids. As they drove away from that first encounter, Calista told me she had filled up and Paul had to stop to hug her and reassure her. I remembered that Friday with remarkable clarity for Calista had arrived home with red-rimmed eyes. She’d been crying with happiness but she wouldn’t say why until she had spoken to Jenny. That was when Jenny had told me.

The upshot was that when Paul and Phoebe’s mother had tried to drive a wedge between them by offering Phoebe ten percent of the company shares Phoebe had, for the first time in her adult life, stood up to her mother and told her where to put the shares. She even scolded her mother for being so cruel to her brother about his choice of partner. Their mother had been thunderstruck. Her last ‘Ace in the hole’ had been played to no effect. No more would she have dominion over her children. Her tactic of playing brother against sister, son against daughter was finished. Both Phoebe and Paul had Calista to thank for their new-found freedom and unity. Board-room meetings were never to be fraught with tension again.

The only remaining tension between Phoebe and Calista was when would Calista transition? Phoebe’s daughters, just like all little girls, were impatient to be bride’s-maids. Calista decided she would transition after Paul’s sperm had made Jenny pregnant and I had impregnated Rachel via the ‘traditional’ turkey-baster route.

While the babies were ‘incubating’ Calista reckoned she could have the op and recover within six months. Then be ready and able to take over the additional care of two newborns. Calista was nothing if not capable but additionally she had the support of a large extended family. She would only have total care of the babies for the school hours and even then, both Candice and Jamie would make the short step from the school gates during lunch hour to see if their ‘Auntie Cal’ was okay. They both ate at home anyway and usually prepared the meals. They were a pair of excellent ‘additional mothers’.

So our gang’s plans went forward. Paul happily paid for a mass exodus to India during July, immediately after the girls broke up for the summer holidays. Even Phoebe and her daughters came.

‘Who would miss a ride on an elephant and look at tigers?” The little girls declared excitedly.