The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1725 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Once we were safely ensconced at home I left Sammi to go and change and then to look after the baby while I had a chat with Jacquie who was sorting some washing helped by my youngest and Puddin’.

I spent a few moments passing the time of the day with her before Sammi came to take over. Then I asked Jacquie to accompany me to my study.

“Oh dear, have I done something wrong, Mummy?” she asked as we entered.

“Have you?” I asked.

“Can’t think of anything.”

“Neither can I,” I agreed.

“Oh, so it’s the wedding.”

“That’s the topic for discussion,” I confirmed.

“Sorry, I don’t want to be a bridesmaid.”

“Fine, I’m not sure I want to be matron of honour.”

She looked at me for a moment, “So have you refused?”

“No, because it means so much to Stella.”

“Oh.”

“I’m not here to try and change your mind, but to understand you a little better if I can.”

“Oh, that could be even more frightening.”

That wasn’t the response I was expecting, I have to admit–but on reflection, it was a reasonable one, given her experience of life so far.

“I frighten you?”

“Not you personally, Mummy.”

“I admit I wasn’t surprised that you turned down Stella.”

“Am I that predictable?”

“No, but if I was asked to be a bridesmaid, I’d have grave qualms about it.”

“I’d have thought you’d have gone for it–isn’t it every little girl’s dream to play a princess and bridesmaid?”

“It might be, and I suspect that’s why Julie’s gone for it, catching up on a missed girlhood.”

“So why didn’t you?” she looked at me questioningly.

“Possibly for the same reason as you. I missed out on a girlhood myself because it wasn’t possible for me to have one. I’m compensating through my children, though I have to be careful not to overdo it. I’m an adult, I can’t revisit childhood however much I’d like to. I’m fortunate that I can live as a woman without too many problems.”

“You live as one because you are one, Mummy, even a blind man could see that.”

“Thank you; now, what are your reasons?”

“I was never asked as a child and then I suddenly had to grow up to survive. I was a woman before I’d even had much childhood–then those...those men–they destroyed me as a woman as well as taking away my childhood.” A tear shimmered as it dribbled down her cheek. I wanted to hug her to tell her that no one would hurt her like that again but I had to wait for her to expunge whatever it was she needed to dump.

“I’m sorry those things happened to you.”

“Words are cheap,” she said talking to someone who appeared to be standing behind me–she was almost in a trancelike state.

“Yes they are, Jacquie, but they are all we sometimes have.”

“They said sorry after they destroyed me as a woman.”

“I’m sure they did, but it didn’t help with the pain, did it?”

“No–nothing ever will.”

“I hope being here with people who love you will help heal some of that pain.”

“Shows how much you know then, doesn’t it?”

“If we’re not helping you, then I ask you to show us how we can help?”

“No one can help me, can they? They can’t replace my ovaries, can they?”

“No–no they can’t, if it were possible I would take you to anyone who could do it for you.”

“Huh–as if you could ever be tested on that.”

“I don’t make empty promises, Jacquie.”

“No, you’re a woman of honour.”

“I try to be–I gave you my word that I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you like you’ve been hurt before. I won’t, but I can’t stop you hurting yourself.”

“No you can’t, can you–what d’you know of such things?”

“Perhaps much more than you give me credit for.”

“I don’t believe you,” another rivulet ran down her cheeks.

“There have been times when I’ve felt pretty badly about myself–even now it happens.”

“What have you got to feel bad about–you’ve landed on your feet here, alright?”

“I feel inadequate, sometimes I feel I’m an impostor a fake. Like you I can’t have children, only unlike you my position is natural, not one of such tragedy.”

“So you’re a fake, who cares?”

“I do. I think you care too–though I’m not sure in what way.”

“Why should I care–I’ve got enough problems of my own?”

“Yes, I understand that.”

“You can’t possibly understand–the way they abused me and ripped out my femaleness. How can you understand the beatings and fights I had to undergo–you were safe in your middle class home and school.”

“I was safer than you, I admit, though I had to survive several beatings from my father as well as the bullies in school. I was made to wear a dress to school and to take part in a play I didn’t want to do.”

“You didn’t want to wear a dress? I thought you did–isn’t that all that you’re about?”

“I admit I wanted to wear dresses to show my femininity to everyone but not so publicly–everyone knew I was a boy–to be made to do it was intended as a humiliation. My father agreed to it because he thought it would cure me of my female ambitions. The headmaster agreed because he was a sadistic bastard and I messed up his ideas of compliance in a boy’s school.”

“They made you do that play?”

“Yes, I refused several times.”

“But the reviews were brilliant–they thought you were a real girl.”

“I conspired with a girl friend to play them at their own game, so instead of wearing the dress all the time, I turned up in her spare uniform–that really pissed them off.”

“Your father beat you up?”

“Several times, the last time so badly I took an overdose and nearly died.” Now it was a point of shame that I let someone get to me so much and nearly finished the job for them.

“You took an overdose–to kill yourself?” She sounded shocked.

“Yes–that was the general idea–I’d had as much pain as I could cope with and I simply wanted it to end. My family had effectively disowned me and I couldn’t cope any more. I was on my own and then I met a wonderful doctor who brought me back from the brink and showed me that life was worth living and I could have a reasonable one as a woman.”

“You were never a boy, Mummy.”

“Sadly I was, or so the historical record shows.”

“It was wrong–you could never have been a boy.”

“Like your record–I knew on meeting you that you could never hurt anyone, least of all a child.”

“Thank you, Mummy.” She threw herself into my arms and sobbed for several minutes, her body shaking with the emotion coursing through her.

“None of us, your new family believe you ever hurt anyone except yourself, and we want to help you deal with the pain–to make it more bearable. No one should have suffered as you did, although I suspect many have. We won’t let anyone hurt you like that again–let us help, let us love you.”

The sobs got louder and more violent, “No one can love me, I’m unlovable, I’m ugly and damaged. I’m so ugly,” she sobbed.

“No angel is ugly, my darling, and you are an angel,” I said and hugged her tightly, my own eyes blurred with tears. “I love you, and so do the rest of the family–we all love you.”

“NO,” she screamed, “No one can love me–not after what they did to me.”

“Yes they can, my darling, my baby, I can love you–a child always looks beautiful to her mother–I can love you if you’ll let me.”

She cried pitifully for several more minutes before she seemed to stop and I realised she’d fallen asleep with exhaustion. I simply sat there and held her until she woke an hour later, still exhausted but I think pleased that she’d tested me and I’d passed somehow.

“I wish you were really my mother,” she said giving me a monster hug.

“Mother is just a title, it’s what we do to earn it that’s the important thing.”