The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2421 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“How did Ms Sharon Stone get my name?”

“Oh, she did it then?” Julie blushed a lovely shade of crimson.

“Is that a rhetorical question?”

“Look, I only cut her hair.”

“And very nice the cut was, too,” I lied, I hadn’t looked beyond the long bleached locks.

“Yeah, well it was quiet and she started talking about all this surgery she’d had and then revealed she used to be a man.”

“You sound as if it was a surprise.”

“It was, I hadn’t spotted her.”

“And why did you tell her about me?”

“I didn’t exactly, she told me she taught at the university and I said my mum did too. She asked who you were in case she knew you—well how was I to know?”

“Go on,” I kept a serious face.

“I said you were a biologist. So she said about one of them making a delightful film about dormice, an’ I said, ‘That’s my mum.’ I didn’t say anything else, honest.”

“I suppose it’s not that hard to find me from that information. Why did you tell her you were trans?”

“I couldn’t believe she was and she didn’t think I was, and it just popped out.”

“Be very careful, next time it could be used against you.”

“There won’t be a next time, don’t worry. She’s good though, isn’t she?”

“Julie, she’s had so much plastic surgery that if she went out in the sun there’d be a danger she’d melt.”

“I thought she looked rather elegant.”

“For a robot.”

“What?” gasped Julie.

“There’s something wrong with her, no one has all that done if they’re normal.”

“I did wonder if she had a surgery fetish.”

“Surgery fetish, unless she has a friend who’s the surgeon, she must be very wealthy or heavily in debt.”

“I think she’s quite well off, Old Etonian, that sort of thing.”

“She’d need to be, she’s had possibly a hundred thousand pounds worth of alterations—that was more than the extension on this house.”

“Crikey, I didn’t think it was that much.”

“There’s barely anything above the knees she hasn’t had altered.”

“And below.”

“I don’t recall her talking about anything there.”

“She had her bunions sorted.”

“Did she indeed?”

“Insisted on showing me, very neat job.”

“I cannot believe anyone who has that much surgery done will ever find true happiness.”

“Why d’you say that, Mum?”

“Trying to achieve perfection.”

“Nothing wrong with that, is there?”

“It’s impossible.”

“Is it, I thought Sharon looked pretty good.”

“She can’t smile or her face would crack.”

“You menopausal or something?” Julie flung at me.

“Very funny.”

“Well you seem exceptionally bitchy today.”

“She asked me if I would become patron of the university LGBT group.”

“When would you have time to do that?”

“That was my main escape route.”

“Not surprised. She didn’t say she was going to see you.”

“She tried to use the fact that I had a trans daughter to involve me in her group.”

“She hasn’t done her homework very well has she?”

“She seemed to imply she thought I was naturally female.”

“She seemed to think that about me as well, she doesn’t have much in the way of recognising other trans people does she?”

“What sort of trans gaydar?”

“Yeah.”

“Having said that, some of the youngsters put on blockers and hormones early, will be indistinguishable from bio females.”

“Not to mention one or two oldies as well,” she smirked at me.

“I can see signs.”

“What, on you?”

“Yes, who else?”

“C’mon then, show me,” Julie dared me.

“My hips are narrow.”

“I’ve seen you in a bikini—they aren’t.”

“My head is too big.”

“No it isn’t, you wear hats and they fit okay.”

“My feet are too big.”

“Rubbish, you take a size six, so do loads of other women.”

“Could she be a plant?”

“What like in dahlia?”

“No you nit, as in pretending to be one thing while really being another, and why?”

“Is this normal paranoia, or special delusional variety.”

“Jules, did you pick up on her being anything but normal and female?”

“No I didn’t ’till she told me.”

“No, neither did I, so what does she want?”

“I dunno.”

We were in my study and I called up the university web page and looked through the departments. In media studies there was no member of that faculty called Sharon Stone.

“Who was she then?”

“I have no idea, nor what she wanted but I suspect she knew who you were and her telling you about herself was total garbage to lull you into a false sense of trust. After all, when someone tells you they’re TS it often causes you to reveal as well, even if you weren’t planning on it. So presumably, she found a couple of leaflets and carried them around to give her credibility. I didn’t see an ID badge, though I don’t always wear mine.”

“What did she want?”

“I have no idea, but there had to be a reason for her wanting to see me, or my office.”

“Gramp’s old office?”

“Yes.”

“Nothing much to see, is there?”

“Not that I’m aware of, but let’s have a word with the font of all knowledge...”

“Ye’re jokin’, ye think she came by tae look inside ma office?”

“I can’t think of anything else.”

“Better speak tae security t’morrow.”

“I will. I think I’ll have a word with the police as well.”

“Aye, guid idea.”

“If we had a photo it would help,” I lamented.

“Ye shud hae ain, there’s CCTV in reception.”

“I was never told about that,” it was too late to stand on my dignity.

“Aye, well we only put it there to see hoo early ye knocked off.”

“I’ll speak with Delia tomorrow.”

“No ye won’t, it’s Saturday t’morrow.”

“Okay I won’t.”

He smiled. “I’ll show ye where thae down loads are.”

“Thanks, Daddy, I knew you’d be useful for something one of theses day.”

“Ye cheeky wee nyaff. Clear off afore I skelp yer lug.”