---

 

I stand looking at the door to the changing room, shaking, unable to step forward. Mary, realising that I am no longer behind her, turns and grasps my arm.

“Stop being a dozy mawther and get a move on,” she says dragging me into the room where the other girls are already stripping off and donning their outside P.E. kit. We have hockey again today.

Standing in my usual place, I can’t seem to move. I go to reach for my kit, but instead when I look down at my hand, I find it trembling so badly I can’t open my bag. I close my eyes and focus on my breathing.

“Jasmine, is something wrong?” Mrs Hargreaves asks. I can hear the concern in her voice and the room falls quiet as the other girls stop talking and presumably look in my direction. I still have my eyes closed and the shaking isn’t going away.

“Jasmine?” she asks again, this time her voice is closer and softer.

“I...I...” I stammer trying to answer the question. My legs feel weak and I lower myself onto the bench next to my bag and place my head between my knees, making sure that I only look straight down as I do so.

“Hey, girl, calm down, everything is all right,” Alison says in my ear as she sits beside me and wraps me in a hug, pressing her body into my side. “You’re really shaking, what’s the matter? You haven’t suddenly become shy have you?”

I take some deep breaths before opening my eyes and looking round the room at the enquiring faces. I note that nearly everybody else is now dressed, except for a few girls finishing putting their shoes on.

“I’m sorry; it’s just that this is the first time in here since you all found out about me. I guess I’m overreacting and panicking over nothing,” I answer. “I keep expecting you all to start screaming that you’re being watched by a boy.”

“Stop being stupid,” Anne states from the opposite bench, “you are one of the most girlish girls I have ever met. I still find it hard to believe that you were ever anything else. You certainly look like a girl naked, as we have all seen, and you don’t act like a boy.”

“The way you you’ve been fawning over Josh all gooey-eyed and love struck it’s obvious you’re more into boys than girls,” Janet adds, “so nobody is going to accuse you of being lesbian. Look we all voted for you to be here, so just get on with it.”

“Besides, you’ve already seen us all naked, so we can’t very well moan if you see us again,” Anne says.

I close my eyes again as I feel my cheeks burning. I am sure I’m going bright red. “That’s not quite correct,” I admit in a soft voice.

“If this is about me not being comfortable, then don’t worry,” Julie states from across the room. “It’s my problem if I get seen. I’m not going to get mad if you get a glimpse. I know you have been avoiding looking in my direction so that you don’t catch sight of me.”

Julie pauses for a moment, and then walks up to me with a puzzled look on her face. She stops and turns round on the spot, looking back towards the corner I usually face, and then towards the showers.

“Exactly how many of us would you say you have actually gotten a good look at?” Julie enquires. “Is that the problem, you’re embarrassed because you are unable to look at us?”

“Seven,” I reply softly. “I have been keeping my eyes to the floor or short-focussed on the end of my nose so that everything is blurry.”

“Seven?” Mrs Hargreaves queries in amazement, as everybody realises that is less than a third of the girls present.

“If any of you want to change your minds, this is your opportunity,” I say as I start to strip off my uniform and change into my kit. “I don’t care about who sees me naked, boy or girl. In fact, I’m proud that I look as feminine as I do, as it’s what I want to be. However, I will accept that some of you may be uncomfortable with a male being in the room, no matter how feminine they appear. I’m having difficulty in believing none of you are hostile to my situation. I keep freaking out thinking that I’m bound to be turned on at any second.”

“Does the name Kirsty Bishop mean anything to you?” Charlotte asks.

“No,” I reply, wondering whom this person is.

“I take it nobody has told Jasmine of what was discussed before the ballot?” Charlotte asks, looking round at my friends, who are shaking their heads.

“Around half of the girls here knew Kirsty. She used to attend Harris Middle before she almost died while trying to harm herself in a fit of depression,” Charlotte says. “She had a birthmark on her hip. It was large and noticeable and she was very self-conscious about it. She was teased, but nobody quite realised how bad the joking was affecting her until she flipped and tried to cut it off with a knife. Luckily she was found before she bled to death.”

I notice that a few of the girls are starting to cry as Charlotte continues, “You can’t have that happen to somebody you know without being affected yourself. The net result is that we are a hell of a lot more tolerant of people’s differences than most teenagers are. Lisa told us what happened when she confronted you in the changing rooms. The same thing was starting to happen just now, wasn’t it? You suffer from bouts of depression brought on by panic attacks.”

I nod: she has summed me up reasonably accurately.

“None of us want to see you hurt, and until you said it yourself, most of us couldn’t believe the rumours were true, you are far too girl-like to be a boy,” Diana adds.

“You’ve hurt yourself already, haven’t you?” Susan adds, “I looked up the medical procedures on the Internet. Surgery isn’t performed on people our age unless it is correcting a defect or repairing damage. I’m sure you would have said something if you were intersexed, therefore you must have had some form of damage in order for the doctors to act. Was it self-inflicted?”

I don’t trust my own voice, so I simply nod. I take a few second to regain my composure then answer the question, “Yes, I forced the issue by removing my own testicles. Castration is a practice I have seen performed on farm animals a number of times. It’s not as difficult as you might imagine. There was a case in the newspaper a few months back about a man turning up in a hospital casualty department after removing his own testicles, so I knew it could be done.”

I get the sweatband out of my bag to wrap round my head. My head gets hot under the wig while doing sports, and it isn’t the most comfortable of arrangements. I look around the room at the girls who are now looking in my direction. Except for my shoes, I am almost dressed. I am wearing the school sweater over a sports bra and short skirt over the top of gym knickers to provide some modesty when running around. Reaching into my bag, I pull out the solvent for my wig glue and dab some onto the spots holding my wig on.

“Don’t look so surprised,” I say as I lift the wig from my head and place the sweatband in its place. “I know you all heard the rumour I wear a wig. Well it’s true. There are certain people who only know me as my old self and I still need to be able to present myself as a boy on occasions. I therefore haven’t had opportunity to grow my hair long enough to have a feminine style. I have been wearing the wig to avoid detection, but it isn’t exactly comfortable when playing sports and now the truth is out I might as well forego it.”

“Everybody outside,” Mrs Hargreaves instructs as I finally finish changing.

We walk outside and up onto the hockey field.

“Everybody form a circle please,” Mrs Hargreaves instructs and we comply. “Now everybody turn round so that you are looking away from each other, and close your eyes.”

Mrs Hargreaves pauses and waits for us to get into position before continuing, “You are all now facing away from each other, so nobody can see anybody else. I want you to keep looking away from each other with your eyes closed as I ask the next question. You all voted to allow Jasmine to use the changing facilities. If any of you are uncomfortable with being seen naked by Jasmine, or any other girl, and wish to have alternative arrangements made, please raise your hand now.”

Silence prevails as we all wait for the next instruction.

“Nobody has yet put their hand up. I will take it that everybody is happy with the current arrangement,” Mrs Hargreaves states. “Julie, I know you have expressed the view that you are willing to let Jasmine share the facilities, but would prefer not to be looked at and intend to keep your back to her at all times. Hands up all those who don’t care about being seen naked by Jasmine.”

Mrs Hargreaves chuckles then says, “Would you all be willing to make this show of hands public, please nod if you agree.”

There is a pause before we are instructed to turn round and open our eyes, keeping our arms up if they are raised. We all open our eyes on the count of three and look round at the show of hands. There are only two people who don’t have their hands raised, Julie and myself.

“Now ladies, can we actually get some exercise?” our teacher asks rhetorically before making us complete some highly energetic aerobic warm up movements.

The lesson then proceeds as normal, even if slightly delayed. Nothing further is said about me, and everybody seems to be treating me like any other girl. However, I am still jumpy as we are commanded back to the changing rooms.

Taking a deep breath, I move indoors and proceed to the bench where my bag is sitting. I immediately begin to undress, forcing my fears to the back of my mind. The girls have once again voted to allow me to be here, so it is time to get on with it and see if there are any issues.

I swiftly remove my clothes, aiming to be one of the first into the showers. Mrs Hargreaves has started the water running.

Now that I am not wearing the wig, I don’t need the shower cap. This will make life a lot easier. As my hair is so short, it dries quickly and I can put my wig on virtually straight away without issue.

Holding my head up high and not attempting to divert my eyes, I walk across the room. My towel is hung over my left shoulder and I’m making no effort to hide my body from the eyes of my companions. Placing my towel on the floor near the entrance, I step forward under the nozzles and begin to wash myself.

I am soon joined by other girls as we clean ourselves under the jets of hot water. Now that I’m paying attention to what is going on around me, rather than staring at the wall, I can see the other girls checking me out, taking glances at my modified body. I smile and return the favour by sneaking a few peeks in return.

I step out of the showers and bend down to pick my towel up. As I stand up, I realise there is a naked figure standing right in front of me and I get an eyeful of their body before I realise who it is.

Julie is standing before me, her towel already on the ground against the wall. I immediately divert my eyes and cover them with my hand.

“It’s okay, Jasmine, you can look,” Julie says softly. “If everybody else can accept you for what you are, then it’s about time I did the same. I have no issue with any of the other girls seeing me, so logically you shouldn’t be any different. So let’s just get this awkwardness over and done with and get on with things.”

I open my eyes and look at Julie, who is standing with her head lowered, her cheeks burning red with embarrassment. I take a quick glance at her before replying, “Thanks, it means a lot for me to be accepted, and its one less thing I have to worry about.”

I walk past her and proceed to dry myself off and get dressed in my uniform once more. Nobody is making a fuss, and there seems to be a normal level of background conversation going on around the room.

The bell sounds and we head to our final lesson of the day. I am glad that yet another hurdle has been overcome, and that things are finally working out for me after years of stress and depression.

My mother is on the phone as I enter the kitchen when I arrive home from school. My father is sitting with a cup of coffee, and on seeing me cycling into the yard has made me one while I put my bike away. I quietly sit down so not to interrupt my mothers conversation.

“I’m not sure that is a good idea–”

“That could cause trouble–”

“I know, I know, but is it your place to interfere?”

“You already know Simon’s position on the subject, and it doesn’t directly affect him, only the girls who have to share a changing room–”

“No, I’m not going to get involved.”

“I already have a police caution for disturbing the peace after the incident with Mike, I don’t want to risk another.”

“He definitely can’t risk doing anything to breach probation.”

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon, assuming you haven’t been arrested.”

My mother hangs up the phone then screams in frustration and anger.

“Dare I ask what that was about?” I enquire.

“Susan. She, Janice and Grace are going to picket the school entrance tomorrow morning with leaflets to highlight the disgraceful injustice of your attendance as a girl, not that they know it’s you yet,” she replies. “They were trying to get me and your father involved as well, you presumably caught the tail end of the conversation where I used our previous run-ins as justification for staying out of the way.”

I nod, and then say, “It looks like I will have to be careful about entering school tomorrow. It will feel odd, but it might be best if I attend in trousers. I can hide my hair under my hat, or even not wear the wig until I’m inside. I can put it on in a toilet cubicle. Now that my secret is out, at least around the people I share classes with, it’s not as important if I get caught in boy mode.”

To put it bluntly, Susan can be a vindictive, snobbish, self-righteous bitch when she gets an idea into her head. The problem is that she can be very persuasive when she wants to be, and I have seen the outcome of what can happen.

I firmly believe that part of the problems in our family is down to her influence and that of her cronies. They prejudiced my mother against Mike. She in turn then influenced my father, putting pressure on him to deal with the issue. This led to the fight and my father clouting Mike in a fit of anger, resulting in his arrest. My mother was cautioned at the same time, and she’s using this as an excuse not to get involved.

The root problem is that we are partially financially dependent on the goodwill of our consortium partners. If we have a massive falling out with the other members then that could have serious consequences. It almost happened before. The disdain of Janice and Grace forced Ted Pitcher to pull out of the consortium, sell up and move north. They did not approve when his daughter became pregnant at fifteen and he stood behind her decision to raise the child herself.

There are solid contracts in place between all the farms, but if hostilities break out then things could get very ugly, especially if the courts become involved. The last thing we can afford is to be sued for breach of contract, or sue any of the other partners if they make things difficult for us.

Susan is expecting to take the school by surprise and picket the mothers as they drop their children off, gathering as much support as possible. She is going to be the one getting a shock, because I have an idea forming. It’s time to go on the offensive and counter her move before she can even make it.

“I think it’s time that the terrible trio have a crash course in diversity,” I state. I give an evil-sounding laugh before adding, “I have a cunning plan.”

“As cunning as a fox who's just been appointed Professor of Cunning at Oxford University?” my father asks.

I smile at his reference, “Of course, after all I am the master of the ridiculous.”

“Let’s just discuss your idea before implementation this time,” my father replies. “Your past record shows good imagination, but your reasoning is often lacking in common sense.”

We spend the rest of the evening discussing various options and making phone calls to my friends.

It is with some trepidation that I set off for school in the morning. I am in boy mode again and this will be the first time attending this school dressed this way. I have my earrings covered and my short hair visible. I am wearing a unisex polo shirt, without a bra underneath, and I’m back in trousers. My wig and skirt are in my backpack so that I can put them on when I arrive if I choose.

Susan, Janice and Grace are all going to be outside the school protesting about my attendance. However, they don’t yet know it’s me that they are protesting about and I intend to keep it that way for the time being. While they may well have to find out, I think it best if it is done in a controlled fashion, not in the middle of the street where things could turn nasty.

If I turn up as a girl, I risk being recognised by the protesters. If I turn up as Simon, then it won’t matter if they see me. I have already told my friends that I will be in boy mode so they will know to look out for me. I will ride in on my mountain bike and with my short hair and boy clothing, I hope I won’t be recognised easily. I can change as soon as I arrive.

As I cycle up the road, I am met with a most amusing scene. Standing opposite the school are Susan, Grace, Janice, and several other adults holding placards and trying to distribute leaflets. A police car is parked in front of them and two burly officers are between them and the school, preventing them from harassing any of the students entering the premises.

There is a second protest going on inside the school grounds. About thirty students are also standing with placards, but these ones are in support of LGBTQI students. I always thought the acronym was LGBT, but it appears it’s become fashionable to add a few more letters. Not that I’m going to complain, the more encompassing the better as far as I’m concerned.

The majority of them are from the older years, but I note that most of the girls in my class are also present. Considering we only had a few hours last night to spread the word of what was going to happen and form a counter movement to Susan’s plans, I think the turnout is remarkable.

I pull up about twenty yards from the gates, where Josh is leaning against the wall.

“Just in time to see the fireworks,” he states, “Susan and co have been ordered off the school grounds and the police are making them stay on the opposite side of the road. Mr Henry and some of the teachers are keeping the students from doing anything silly. However, I have just heard from Wendy that she has planned a little surprise of her own with Jill, she is just waiting for your arrival to trigger the distraction so that you can enter the school unnoticed.”

“Dare I ask what this will be, or should I just go ahead and face the consequences?” I ask.

“Wendy is about to come out to her mother to provoke a reaction,” he answers.

I dismount and we start to walk into the school. As we approach the gate, I see Wendy waiting near her mother. On seeing us approaching, she reaches into her pocket, withdraws her phone and presses a few buttons.

“Here we go, she has just texted Jill,” Josh declares.

Jill cycles past us pulling up outside the school gates. She waves at Wendy, who leaves her mother and proceeds to cross the road. I notice that a number of students are now filming the action on mobile phones, probably aware of what will happen next.

Wendy calls out, “See you later, mum,” as she walks up to Jill, which gets the adults attention as she leaves them. Wendy wraps her arms around Jill’s neck, pulling her into a kiss. She returns the embrace and they engage in a sexy display of tonsil tennis, the hoots and calls from the crowd of students catching the attention of the protesting adults.

Taking my opportunity, I mount my bike and cycle past them onto the school grounds. Having passed the crowds I come to a stop and turn to watch.

“Wendy!” Susan screams at her daughter, who ignores her mother’s reaction and continues to snog Jill. Susan then tries to cross the road to intervene, but is prevented from doing so by one of the police officers. This doesn’t go down well and Susan starts to give the officer abuse. This isn’t a good idea as she is promptly arrested for breaching the peace and assaulting a police officer. The crowd cheers the officers as Susan is made to sit in the back of their car.

The five-minute warning bell sounds and Mr Henry asks that the crowd of students disperse. I make my way to the bike sheds to lock my bike up. I consider going into a unisex disabled toilet to change gender. These are normally off-limits to able-bodied students, but I doubt Mr Henry will object to my use today. Thinking about it, I’m actually feeling comfortable in my current clothes, and as girls are allowed to wear trousers and most of my fellow students now know about me anyway, I decide to save time and not bother changing.

I remove my cycle helmet and wrap a silk scarf round my head to cover my hair. The wig is fine, and serves its purpose, but it can make my head hot. Today’s forecast is for an unusually warm autumn day, so I decide to forego the wig in preference for something cooler.

“Jasmine?” Mr Francis asks as I enter the room.

“Is something the matter?” I enquire as I take my seat. The room has fallen silent and all eyes are on me.

“Why the trousers and scarf?” he queries.

“I am sure by now the rumour mill has been in full swing and you all now know who I used to be and what I am,” I reply looking round the room. “The people protesting about me outside the school only know me as Simon, and have yet to be informed of my new identity. They have heard that there is a transsexual student, but not who. Considering Susan Bancroft was hauled away in a police car, I think my decision to arrive in boy mode is justified. Over half the girls in this school wear trousers, so it’s not as if I’m being much different, although admittedly, these are boy’s trousers rather than a girl’s cut. As for the scarf, I normally wear a wig but it can get uncomfortable in warm weather, so I’m wearing this instead. If that’s a problem I will switch back to the wig.”

“Are you bald then?” Jeremy asks from across the room.

I remove the scarf and say, “Not quite, but I do look too masculine with my hair like this and that is something I really hate. I still need to appear as a boy occasionally for safety, and I haven’t been able to grow out my hair yet. Looking at me now would you assume that I’m a girl or a boy?”

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to as it’s obvious what I look like. Having made my point, I tie the scarf back round my head. Mr Francis then starts to call the register.

The day progresses well. I get a few double-takes in my first few lessons and walking the corridors. I decide to change into the skirt at break time as I feel slightly odd dressed in trousers, especially walking into the girls’ toilets which gets a few strange looks from a couple of girls I don’t know. I’m entering with Alison and Mary, who return the looks in a silent dare to say something.

I also take the opportunity to slip a padded bra on underneath my polo shirt. The fabric is rubbing on my sensitive chest and it’s becoming irritating. This also has the added benefit of giving me a more feminine shape.

A few minutes before the lunch break the school secretary appears and asks me to come to the office after the lesson is over.

I make my way to the front desk at the start of the lunch break and I’m shown through to Mr Henry’s office.

“Ah, come in, Jasmine, and have a seat,” he calls as I enter. “The press have picked up on the incident this morning and I would like to issue a statement. I have already spoken to your father and he is satisfied with what I want to say, but I would like you to confirm you are content with it. If you’re not happy with what I’m planning, then I will simply issue a ‘no comments’ statement instead.”

I take the printed page he hands me and I read it:

Accusations have been made regarding a student of Brahms High School. It is alleged that one of the girls attending the school is male and therefore should not be allowed to use the female facilities.

The identity of this minor is not being revealed for reasons of confidentiality and privacy.

This issue has been investigated. The student in question volunteered and underwent a medical examination to determine their physical gender. The exact medical status of the student is confidential, however I can say that the school is satisfied that it is appropriate for the individual to utilise the female facilities.

The girl in question offered to withdraw from using the amenities and this was put to the students directly affected by her presence. A blind ballot was conducted and all the students unanimously supported the student continuing to use the female facilities.

The school therefore formally recognises the student’s gender identity and grants her the full use of the female facilities the same as any other student.

Mr G. Henry, MCMI*.
Headmaster
Brahms High School

There are also a few footnotes referring to the school’s policies on equality and diversity and other sundry information, such as the school’s full address and contact details.

I read the statement a few times before saying, “I have no problem with this, by all means send it out, and thank you again for supporting me.”

I am dismissed and I head to the canteen to pick my lunch up before proceeding to the detention room where I am still fulfilling my sentence for deceiving the school in the first place.

The rest of the day proceeds without incident. There are no protesters outside the school at leaving off time; however, I do find my mother waiting for me. I soon find out why when Wendy comes out and joins us.

Wendy had been brought to school by her mother, and as she was carted off by the police, she can’t come and pick Wendy up. Therefore, Susan called my mother and asked her if she could give Wendy a lift.

I am already sitting in the passenger seat when Wendy comes out of the school. My mother calls her over.

“Wendy, your mother was released with a police caution earlier this afternoon. They have kept her for questioning for most of the morning, much to her annoyance. She has been told that she will be arrested if she comes within five hundred yards of the school. The others have been unofficially cautioned not to return as well, hence why I’m here,” she states pointing to the police car parked on the opposite side of the road watching for trouble.

“Are we going straight to Wendy’s or home first?” I ask my mother, “I need to change back into boy mode before Susan sees me.”

“Wendy is going to be staying with us for tea. Susan will pick her up later this evening. You’ll have to switch to boy mode when we get home until she has visited,” my mother explains. “Wendy, your mother is not in a good mood after being arrested and she’s absolutely livid with you over the stunt you pulled this morning. I thought it prudent to let her calm down a bit before you go home. I have given her a nice soothing massage and she is now lying on the couch with a face pack on.”

We climb in and drive away from the school back to our farm.

I’m instructed to change and then after doing homework, see to the evening meal. Wendy, thankful she doesn’t have to do farm chores due to a lack of a change of clothing, is also going to do homework and assist me with the dinner. My mother heads outside to help my father with the manual labour of seeing to the cattle.

I have already done most of my assignments during the break and lunch detentions, so head upstairs to go back into boy mode, leaving Wendy to do her work on the kitchen table.

I may have to be in boy mode for when Susan turns up, but this isn’t going to stop me from being an exceedingly effeminate boy. I replace my skirt with the tight ‘Daisy Duke’ denim shorts I found. They have now been washed since my rolling around on the barn floor during my breakdown last week.

I take the bra and polo shirt off and replace them with a soft, plain, pale-yellow t-shirt that won’t irritate my chest. I can claim the t-shirt is unisex, and I have worn it on many occasions. However, it’s not a colour I have seen other boys wear.

I put pieces of tape over my earrings and dab on some foundation so that they don’t stand out. To make sure I put a sweatband round my head and deliberately place it low down to cover my ears. I then discard my shoes and socks and swap them for my slippers before descending back to the kitchen.

I take the packet of four chicken breasts out of the fridge that mother picked up on the way to the school, and place them in a frying pan to sear the outside. I find a tin of prunes in the cupboard and grab a couple of pears from the fruit basket. I dissolve a stock cube in half a pint of hot water and top it up to a pint with dry white wine. Adding a large spoonful of flour, I stir the mix while keeping an eye on the chicken.

I transfer the meat into a casserole dish and add the peeled and chopped pears and the contents of the tin of prunes. I then pour the liquid over the top and place it in the oven to casserole for a couple of hours. I proceed to peel and chop some carrots, leeks, and potatoes, setting them aside until it’s time to switch them on later.

There is still some wine left, so I split it between two glasses and hand one to Wendy. The bottle has been in the fridge for a few days and is getting past its best so needs using up. My parents don’t mind me drinking alcohol, as long as it’s in moderation. They work on the principle that if I can have it occasionally now, I can learn control and won’t binge drink when older. I have only been seriously drunk once and that was after the last New Year’s party. We all got rather plastered on bubbly. I slept the worst of the hangover off, but still had a bad headache the next day. It’s the only time I have ever slept until lunchtime, excluding the few times I have been ill, for example when I had chickenpox in primary school.

I get my maths homework out. I have already done half of it, but I need to finish it off. I join Wendy at the table. She is currently working on writing up a geography assignment. We sit and work in silence for a little while.

“Have you thought about how to handle your mother?” I ask Wendy.

“Yes. I’m out of the closet and not going back in. While I like boys, I like girls just as much if not better. I’m at least bisexual if not leaning more towards lesbian. I’m not writing this morning off as some attention-seeking prank,” she replies.

“May I suggest if you are going to have a confrontation you do it here on neutral ground with backup? I made the mistake of confronting my parents alone and it didn’t go well,” I declare.

I haven’t told my friends the exact details of what happened. Especially as my father had to sedate me with a tranquiliser dart fired from an air rifle. That alone would be considered assault and would therefore be a breach of his parole. I swear Wendy to secrecy and then reveal the full details of what happened.

We talk through various scenarios of what could happen. Having gone through such possibilities before I am able to come up with various options of what might occur. We decide a plan of action between us, although it’s mostly going to be winging it in response to how Susan reacts.

My father has offered Wendy our guest room if things go pear-shaped with her mother. He regrets chucking Mike out, and doesn’t want history to repeat itself with Wendy, but is willing this time to help pick up the pieces if things go wrong.

I turn the veg on when my parents come in and head for the showers. My father comes in first, followed a few minutes later by my mother, who has been hosing down the milking shed.

“I thought you were supposed to be in boy mode?” my mother asks when she comes in.

“This is boy mode, or at least tomboy mode considering my primary gender is female,” I reply. “I’ll happily admit I’m a bit of a sissy when it comes to my choice of style.”

My father catches the tail end of the conversation, but doesn’t say anything. He may not like what I do or wear, but it’s my choice and he is willing to give me the leeway on the understanding I have to live with the consequences.

When the veg are almost cooked, I turn the oven off and stick some plates in. Wendy helps me set the table and then my mother dishes the meal out. The liquid has thickened into a nice tasty sauce and the prunes and pears complement the taste of the chicken. Although some people regard it an unusual combination, I quite like it. Wendy is certainly impressed by my cooking.

After clearing the dishes away, we retire to the lounge to watch telly while my father makes a cup of tea. The kettle is just coming to the boil when we hear a car pull up in the yard. Susan comes to the door as my father opens it and beckons her in.

“You must have heard the kettle; I’m just brewing a pot. Would you like one? We have some very nice-looking sticky cakes in lieu of dessert, there is one spare with your name on it,” he states.

We have a tea trolley and my mother has loaded it up with cups, saucers and plates. My father adds the cakes and the pot of tea and all three adults come into the lounge where Wendy and I are sitting together on the couch.

The adults sit down and we watch the local news on the telly. They have already gone through several pieces when an item about our school appears.

“One woman was arrested and four others cautioned this morning after a protest outside a local high school,” the newsreader announces. “They were complaining about the school allegedly allowing a male student to use the female facilities. The school denies that this is the case, stating that the student in question has been examined and deemed female. The student can’t be named for legal reasons.”

I burst out laughing at his declaration. That is not what the news release said. Mr Henry deliberately left it vague and avoided using terms such as transgendered and transsexual. It would appear that the TV station has misinterpreted the statement.

“What’s so funny?” Susan snaps at me.

“If the reporter is correct, then you went to all that effort for nothing,” I say. “How was the police station?”

“That trumped up twat shouldn’t have been trying to interfere in what was effectively a family matter. Don’t think you’re getting away with that little stunt of yours, young lady,” Susan tells Wendy, “You’re grounded and banned from speaking to Jill outside of school.”

“What stunt?” Wendy asks, trying to look puzzled.

“You know exactly what I mean,” Susan angrily states.

“No, I don’t know what you mean,” Wendy replies, “I went over to say hello to Jill, and the next thing I know you’re screaming my name and decking a policeman.”

“Say hello? You were doing a lot more than saying hello! Or do you always greet your friends with such intimacy?” Susan snidely enquires.

“No, only Jill, and she’s a lot more than a friend,” Wendy says with a sigh and a soppy love-struck expression on her face. I can’t help but giggle in a very girly fashion at the sight.

“Welcome to the club,” my father dryly states. “At least you only have one gay child; I have to put up with two. I’m surprised Simon wasn’t snogging his boyfriend as well.”

“Nah, I was busy giving him a blowjob behind the bike sheds,” I reply with a deadpan delivery.

My mother almost sprays her tea across the room, and my father has to pat her on the back as she coughs violently.

“Hey, I’m only joking, we haven’t gone that far yet, and I’m not sure I want to,” I declare, “and I would have kissed him but Wendy and Jill beat us to it.”

“I thought you realised I was bisexual,” Wendy tells her mother. “I specifically asked you if I could sleep with Jill the weekend before last and you said yes, or have you forgotten that you picked me and Simon up from Jill’s before you rushed off to Papworth.”

Susan stutters, trying to find the right words to respond to her daughter, “Are you saying that you’re just fooling around with Jill until you can get yourself properly laid? What’s the matter, are you so insecure that you don’t dare have a boyfriend? Or are you simply determined to wind me up.”

“I have experimented with Jill and enjoyed it. I haven’t been able to go that far with a boy, but I suspect I may like it as well. I’m not sure what my preference is yet, hence why I’m classing myself as bisexual instead of straight or lesbian. I don’t care if you like it or not, that is what I am,” Wendy shouts at her mother. “You are not going to keep me away from Jill. There is no way I am going to accept being grounded because of your bigoted opinions. I have put up with your homophobic claptrap for long enough.”

“While you live in my house you will do what you are told, young lady,” Susan yells back.

“Fine, I’ll move in with Jill then,” Wendy states, “Pay me what you would have been spending on my upkeep and I’ll gladly leave.”

Both mother and daughter are now on their feet and are staring at each other from about a foot apart. My father is standing to one side ready to step between them should either become violent. This is playing out remarkably similar to how Dad and Mike faced up to each other several months ago.

“Fine, hand over your house key,” Susan instructs. “I will deliver your belongings over to Jill tomorrow after school and I’ll set up a direct debit into your bank account. Let’s see how long you survive on your own before you come crawling back asking for forgiveness.”

Wendy reaches into her school bag, which is beside the couch, and removes her door keys. She throws them at her mother who catches them and places them in her pocket.

“Thanks for the tea, I’ll let myself out,” Susan declares as she leaves the room. We hear her leave the house and drive away. We all sit in stunned silence for several minutes.

“Is living with Jill a realistic option?” my father asks.

“Possibly, at least on a short-term basis,” Wendy replies, “Jill’s mother won’t care less. As long as I can pay my keep we will find a way to manage.”

“You can stay here tonight,” states my mother, “It’s getting late and you can make arrangements to move tomorrow, although you are welcome here until you can sort things out. Hopefully your mother might calm down and change her mind.”

“Like you did with Mike?” I ask. “I don’t remember either of you changing your minds. If it wasn’t for Matt’s uncle putting them up for a few weeks, they wouldn’t have had anywhere to live.”

“We never had the opportunity to change our minds. Mike didn’t want to come back,” answers my father. “We could have worked something out, but instead he insisted on pressing charges and filing a restraining order against us.”

“Besides, I doubt your father will be willing to go along with your mother on this,” my mother tells Wendy, “this may well all blow over in a day or two. I will try talking to her again tomorrow.”

I help my mother to make up the guest bed. Wendy borrows a nightdress off my mother and we head off to bed. It has been a very dramatic day.

*MCMI: Member of the Chartered Institute of Management - one of the highest management qualifications in the UK.