Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad
part 73.

I lay on my bed weeping for some time, my little flirtation with happiness had run its course and I was back to being alone. I cursed my body, why did it have to be born male, while me inside it was so female?

Why couldn't I have met Simon in a year or two, I might then have been in a position to enter into a full relationship, from which I would have been able to tell him of my past, assuming the relationship lasted.

Eventually I fell asleep, waking only to go to the loo again. It was midday and I felt dead. I showered after and dressed, drying my hair and using a tiny amount of makeup. I had to go and see Dad, so I had to look tidy for that and I didn't want to worry him with any of my problems.

I wore a skirt, the denim one with a tee shirt and my boots. I don't know why I didn't put on jeans, probably I felt a need to reinforce my femininity to my father. I know he said he accepted me but I wasn't going to give him any chance to change his mind. A skirt gave me confidence to challenge any dissent.

I moped around the house, finding little jobs to do, that Margaret hadn't done. I found more than I expected, tidying this polishing that and finally washing up after my breakfast and lunch - I forced down a sandwich for the latter. I also made a shopping list of things needed like bread and milk. It kept me from crying, keeping my hands busy and trying to occupy my mind when it switched on again. Most of the time it felt dead.

At last two o'clock came and I could go and see my dad. I pulled on the denim jacket and stepped out of the front door. Parked across the drive was a large Volvo.

My immediate reaction was elation, it looked like Simon's car, followed by the realisation that he wasn't in it and then deflation. That was followed by the memory of what had been and was no more. I sank into deeper gloom and seemed unable to sort out what I felt or thought, my mind just stopped.

I don't know how long I stood there, it could have been seconds or minutes. I couldn't go anywhere until his car was moved and he wasn't there. Was he playing tricks with me? I wasn't much in the mood for them if he was. I felt far too frail and would capitulate almost instantly.

Why had he come, to rub salt in the wound? I hoped he hadn't because it wouldn't have been in character. Leastways, not the character I knew and loved. Yes, there's that word, I love him which is why I can't deceive him any longer, however tempting that might be.

Where is he? Why doesn't he show himself and put me out of my misery? I slowly turned to go back into the house and realised I've left my handbag inside with my keys in it. Even if he hadn't parked and blocked me in, I couldn't have gone anywhere. My car keys were in the house along with my house keys. So I couldn't get into the house or the car. I had no money nor my mobile, I had fucked up big time.

Normally, I would have thrown a tantrum and threatened to kill myself for being so stupid, then after the initial exhaustion had passed, I would work out how to sort things out then do it. Now, here, today, I collapsed into tears and slumped onto the front doorstep feeling so down that even the bottom of a mineshaft would be a long climb for me.

I sat sobbing when I saw a pair of legs standing before me. "You okay?" It was a familiar voice.

"No, I've locked myself out and ...."

"Hang on, I'll go and get Margaret's key," I watched as Greg trotted back to his house. He was probably the last person I needed to meet and I had to be careful not to give away any hints that I'd finished with Simon.

Two minutes later, he was back and helping me open the door. "There, are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes, I'll be fine now, thanks so much."

"There seem to be an awful lot of tears for just locking yourself out, are you sure you don't want to come back to our place and I'll make you a cuppa or something stronger?"

That was the last thing I wanted and I played the only trump card I had, I lied. "It's you know, women's troubles," I rubbed my stomach and grimaced. I hoped he would be too polite to offer any sort of advice.

"Oh poor you, fraid I can't help much there, shall I get Margaret to call you when she gets back?"

"No," I said almost too decisively, "I've got some pills inside. I'll take one and it will ease off presently."

"Can I make you some tea, or anything," he asked helping me into my own home.

"No, thank you for your help so far. Please don't say anything to Margaret, I don't want her to think I'm a wimp."

"No, okay, although she has suffered in the past. But don't hesitate to call us if you still feel rough."

"I won't, I think I'll go and lie down for a bit. Thank you so much." Against my better judgement I pecked him on the cheek and he went off feeling satisfied with himself. As soon as he was gone, I shut and locked the door and fell into a heap again.

Where was Simon? It seemed bizarre that his car was there and he wasn't. why was he preventing me from leaving my house, or was he going to repossess his car. If so, then I could use my dad's but I'd have to check the insurance and his Mondeo wasn't as nice as 'my little Merc.'

I think I must have dozed because I awoke to the doorbell ringing. I jumped up and nearly fell over, unaccustomed to the heels in my sleepiness. If that was Simon what should I do? My face must look a mess, because I could feel my eyelashes sticking together.

I couldn't go near the door, because the glass panel would show I was there as I approached it. I needed another viewpoint. I sneaked as stealthily as one can in high heeled boots up the stairs. Then from my parent's bedroom I stole a glance outside. Simon's car was gone, my heart sank. All I could see was a white van of some sort parked in the road.

Could it be someone from Simon wanting to collect the car, or worse could it be Margaret or the dreaded Greg? The doorbell rang again and again, I felt almost a pain go through me with each ring. I didn't want to open the door but I couldn't go on ignoring it.

I carefully descended the stairs and walked to the door. I couldn't make out who was the other side, all I could see was a vague outline through the frosted glass. Almost in a trance my hand reached out and turned the handle, and the door opened.

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Author's note:
I'm away for a week having a short holiday. Normal service will be resumed as soon after as possible (unless Bonzi takes over - he tends to use his noms de plume of Rowling or Hemmingway.)