Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1780

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The Daily Dormouse.
(aka Bike)
Part 1780
by Angharad

Copyright © 2012 Angharad
All Rights Reserved.
  
-Dormouse-001.jpg

“I hope she’s not in police custody now,” I said to Chief Inspector Hatch.

“No we cautioned her and bailed her, it’s up to the CPS to decide if they want to charge her.”

“I’d like to speak to her.”

“After what she did yesterday?” he sounded surprised.

“Especially after that: I don’t want bad feeling between her and Trish and if I could explain a few things to her, she might feel less angry.”

“A very noble intention, Lady Cameron, but I suspect she’s got other things on her mind–James Watts died this morning.”

“I thought they were separated or divorced?”

“I believe they are, but she appears to be the only one to be taking charge of the funeral. He doesn’t appear to have anyone else rushing to do the job.”

“I’d like to send some flowers from Trish, do we know which undertaker?”

“I expect it’ll be in the local paper, they usually are.”

“If she describes him as father of Patrick, I might try to convince her to practice suttee.”

“What’s a funeral got to do with a hand puppet?”

“Not Sooty, suttee–it’s a Hindu custom of a wife jumping onto her husband’s funeral pyre, outlawed by the British in India.”

“Yeuch, what a horrible way to go.”

“Quite.”

“I take it you were joking?”

“I think heavy irony, sums it up.”

I finished my conversation with the policeman and called the hospital, leaving a message that I wanted to talk to Bernadette Watts and could she call me. I didn’t really expect her to do so, but two hours later my mobile rang and when I answered it, it was her.

“What d’you want with me?”

“First, I wanted to offer my condolences on the death of James.”

“That all?”

“No, I wanted to tell you that neither Trish nor I will press charges, though I can’t speak for the hospital or the security man you hit.”

“What d’you want, gratitude?”

“I wasn’t particularly expecting any.”

“So what d’ya want?”

“I’d actually like to talk to you about Trish.”

“Trish-eepoos–his bloody name is Patrick.”

“It isn’t, it’s been changed to Patricia.”

“How dare you?”

“It was at her behest and agreed by the Gender Identity Panel.”

“He’s eight years old.”

“She–her gender is officially female.”

“What are you–some sort of nutter?”

“She had surgery a year or so ago following an injury to her groin, the surgeon decided that he couldn’t save her genitals and used what he could to fashion a vagina and labia.”

“She’s ’ad a sex-change operation?”

“Effectively, yes.”

“I’m gonna set the police on you–mutilating a boy like that?”

“She did it herself when I told her nothing could be done until she was eighteen.”

“You expect me to believe that fairy tale?”

“Believe what you will, it’s what happened.”

“A likely tale.”

“The police were informed and conducted an investigation.”

“You bought ’em off, like you done yesterday.”

“I did not. Look, I’m trying to help you.”

“An’ ’ow can talkin’ to you ’elp me?”

“At least you might be easier able to understand her.”

“Oh I understand alright, you wanted a girl only you started with my son...”

“I’m sorry you feel that way. In which case I have to ask you to keep away from Trish and the rest of my family.”

She burst into a series of oaths and profanities and I switched off my Blackberry. No matter how hard I try to make things better for everyone, the universe stubbornly refuses to go along with it.

“Who were you talking to, Mummy?”

“Oh, hi, darling,” I felt myself blushing. “Nobody really, why?”

“It wasn’t her, was it?”

“Her?” I played stupid.

“That horrid woman who thinks she still owns me.”

“No one owns you, Trish, you belong to us as a family member, but we belong to you just as much.”

“It was her though, wasn’t it?”

I blushed again, “Yes, I wanted to speak with her to try and explain a bit about gender dysphoria, about the indications that it is biological and not just a whim–it’s still speculative, but she doesn’t know that.”

“What does spec–whatever mean, Mummy?”

“Spec? Oh speculative?”

She nodded.

“It means that it’s an idea which hasn’t been proven beyond all doubt, a sort of educated guess.”

“So, we don’t know if it’s biological, then?”

“D’you understand what I mean by biological?”

“Not really.”

“It means that they suspect that the brains of people with gender problems are different to people who don’t have that sort of problem.”

She looked bewildered.

“Okay, I suspect if they examined your brain, they’d discover that certain parts of it were more like a girl’s than a boy’s. Also, if they examined the same bits in David’s brain, they’d find his was more like a normal man’s than a woman.”

“Did David used to be a girl then?”

I blushed yet again–whoops, unwitting disclosure. “I told you that in confidence, so don’t you tell anyone–okay?”

“Okay,” she seemed taken aback by my insistence on secrecy–why did I have to blab? I’d have to tell David when he came back from shopping. “Is that why he’s so good with Catherine–he used to be a girl?”

“No, I don’t think so, some men are just good with babies and some women aren’t.”

“’Cos of their brains?”

“Ultimately yes, but not in the way you meant.”

“She’s not gonna try and get me back is she?”

“I don’t know what she’s going to do, but she won’t succeed, I promise that.”

“Why did you want to talk to her–she hates me.”

“I don’t believe that, Trish, she’s your mother.”

“So? She used to beat me and then she put me in a home because she didn’t want to know about how I wanted to be a girl.”

“Well she can’t turn you back into a boy, can she?”

“No,” she smirked, “not unless she can make it grow again.” The she looked worried and asked, “She couldn’t do that, could she?”

“No, which is one of the reasons they like children to wait until they’re eighteen before they have surgery–because they like them to be certain as once bits have been taken away, they can’t be put back.”

“Phew, I was worried then, Mummy.” She hugged me and suddenly asked, “The blue light can’t make them go back, can it?”

“No, of course not, why did you think that?”

“And it can’t make me a proper girl, can it?”

“You are a proper girl, Trish, but the light can’t enable you to have babies, no.”

“Pity,” she said and sloped off again.

I settled down to do some work on my doctorate and had only just started when my phone peeped to indicate a text message. I clicked it open expecting it to be Simon or one of the girls, I was wrong.

I’m gonna get U 4 wot U dun 2 my boy.

My fault I suppose for giving her my phone number–I still reported it to the police but asked them to go easy on her. They weren’t very happy.

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