So there I was sailing along, with my return ticket on the Titanic, totally unaware of such things as the existence of icebergs, let alone my impending impact. It seemed, I had all the mental acuity of ‘Homer Simpson’, at times anyway.

Charlotte’s Tale.
Part 5.
by,
Angharad.

I was blissfully unaware that the Astleys were scheming to manipulate me, which naturally made it that much easier. It seemed that Cinderella was going to the ball whether or not she wanted to, Prince Charming and the Fairy Godmother had decided. Or should that be Prince Charmless and his Ugly Sister!

The event in question was two weeks away, which Jane considered was plenty of time to convince me to go. Although I hadn’t actually described my enjoyment of the attention of boys, she had worked it out for herself, from observation and subtle questioning. If I thought I was sneaky, Jane could give master classes in the subject.

So there I was sailing along, with my return ticket on the Titanic, totally unaware of such things as the existence of icebergs, let alone my impending impact. It seemed, I had all the mental acuity of ‘Homer Simpson’, at times anyway.

Jane decided on a two pronged attack, she inveigled my mother into assisting her, in her pecuniary pursuit. Apparently, she was selling me out for twenty pieces of silver, well twenty quid to be precise. Sadly she didn’t know I had been promised a fiver more, and I didn’t know she was involved other than for her brother’s sake. Certainly, I was oblivious to her potential gain.

I am not sure if this is like the overview of a Whitehall farce or a more sinister spy thriller, in which each of us unaware of the motives of the other. I did not trust Simon, who was using me for his personal ends, and I suppose after my recent emotional battering by Jane, was not entirely happy with her either. What was really sneaky, was the involvement of my mother.

How it came about was like this, Jane was with me on the Sunday morning, doing our usual girl thing up in my bedroom. We had played with each other’s hair style, and under her tutelage, I was doing quite well. We had also done the finger and toenails bit, filing and painting them. Then we moved on to listening to music and talking.

All right, we’re school girls and we chatter incessantly, but it only becomes serious when it’s about boys, or who is doing what with whom! Jane checked out her hunch. “I’ve noticed you when there are boys around, becoming quite the little flirt aren’t we?”

Speechless for a moment, I managed to respond with, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh yes you do, they were all dancing attendance on you, as you flashed your cleavage and bum at them.” She was making comments about my recent enjoyment at the discovery of girl power, which is simply by appearing slightly alluring to boys. At fourteen, this means appearing to have tits and a bum with a possible prospect of them copping a feel at some point, or perhaps a good necking session.

Being somewhat unsure of myself, I suppose I was something of a cock-tease, because I granted no favours, although I did enjoy the attention.

“So I enjoy the attention, and it’s all a game anyway. You play it too.”

“Course I do. But it’s the way you have suddenly become such a player, when a month or so ago, you weren’t interested.”

“So, we all learn new things.” I replied.

“Yeah, but not at the rate you do.”

“It’s alright for you, you’ve had all your life to understand being a girl, I’m still learning the ropes.”

“Which is why you need to go to that dance with Simon.”

“Don’t you start….” At this moment my mother called that lunch was ready. We got up and went down stairs, deeply involved in our discussion. We were still talking when we sat at the table and Jane played her master stroke, well series of them.

“That’s right isn’t it Mrs Church?” she said to my mum who was dishing up the meal from the serving dishes.

“What’s that Jane?”

“Simon has asked Charlotte to go to the school dance.”

“Is that wise?”

“Well we think so.”

“But Charlotte was so unhappy there.”

“Yes but if she goes as Christine, she will be okay. After all Simon knows all about her, so is going to look after her without trying it on, like any other boy would with a pretty girl. It would give her a chance to experience a dance as a girl in relative safety. Then if someone asks her on a later occasion, she’ll have some experience, and know a bit more about being a girl.”

“It has some advantages for Charlotte, what does Simon get out of it?”

At this point, I nearly exposed his bet, but Jane chipped in quickly with a total fabrication of the truth as far as I knew. “Oh that’s easy to tell you. Simon’s previous girlfriend chucked him for another boy, telling him he’d never get another girl to go with him, in time for the dance.”

“So Simon wants Charlotte to go to get back at her.” I knew my mum would be against me becoming involved in such a squabble.

“Not really, He just wants to show that Karen leaving him was less important than she thought. She thought he’d fall apart, he hasn’t, but he hasn’t had any chance to find another girl.”

“I’d have thought Simon would have no problem finding another girl.”

“Normally, I’d agree, but Karen and her new boyfriend planned this to try and make Simon look bad. They either expect he’ll turn up by himself or not go. Either way he would lose lots of face.”

“What’s all this got to do with Charlotte?” asked my mother, and I was sat there with arms folded nodding my agreement.

“Well I think, it would be good experience for her.”

“That doesn’t answer my question Jane. It might well be a good experience for her, but why now, when he could find another girl?”

“Well, there is another reason for asking Christine rather than Charlotte or any other girl. After her rehearsals and the concert, half the boys in the school fancied her, including Karen’s new boyfriend. So Simon turning up with Christine, would stop him looking the fool that Karen and Richard were hoping for.”

“Let me get this straight,” said my mum, “Karen dumped Simon just before the dance to make him look a fool to his friends, because he won’t be able to get as high status a girl friend as she was? Enter Charlotte as Christine, who has a little celebrity status, with Simon, and he turns the tables on Karen and, was it, Richard?”

“Yes, Richard Matthews, you know him don’t you Charlotte?”

“Ugh! Yes I do, he bullied me many times.”

“Apparently he now fancies you. How things change.” She threw this at me with such a beaming smile, I was nearly sick.

“Tough! Yuck.” I pretended to be spitting after kissing such a vile body.

“I’m still not sure that Charlotte or Christine should be involved. How do we know there won’t be any fights or other nastiness?”

“I think that’s very unlikely. Simon sees fighting as very ‘uncool’, and Richard only likes bullying weaker boys. He wouldn’t fight someone his own size in case he got beaten. I’m sure Christine would like to get some of her own back on Richard, wouldn’t you?”

Unfortunately, I was far away, thinking about the last time Matthews beat the crap out of me, or threatened to unless I gave him my lunch money. I was therefore not really listening to Jane’s question.

“Sorry, I was miles away.”

“I said, you’d probably like to get some revenge on Richard Matthews.”

“Yes, I would like that.” At that moment I felt a need to go to the toilet, so missed the rest of the conversation, but it seems in those few minutes, Jane convinced my mother to give her assent. From thence, it was a fait accompli.

The next day, Monday, I went to see my dishy doctor. I dressed as sexily as I could, my mother throwing up her hands in horror. “Charlotte, you look like a tart.”

“I do not.”

“I don’t know what Dr Phillips will think.”

“I do,” I said to myself, feeling a definite fluttering in my heart area.

Thankfully, I go into the doctor on my own these days. Again it was his last appointment slot.

“Hello young lady, how are you?”

“I’m fine thank you doctor.” I said this making eye contact then looking down at the ground, before sneaking peeps back at him. I was flirting unashamedly and he knew it. He also knew he could stop it in an instant.

We chatted on for a few minutes, before red faced, I asked him a question. “Dr Phillips, can I ask you about boys?”

“Course you can,” he smiled back at me. I could die for that smile.

“I don’t know how to say this………..I like being treated as a girl by boys…and I think I like it when they………..like, fancy me.”

“Do you fancy them?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been dreaming about them recently, nice dreams.”

“Do you mean sexy dreams?”
Red as a tomato, I nodded.

“Are you a boy or a girl in these dreams?”

“A girl.” I blushed back, goodness it was hot in here. “Am I gay?”

“I don’t think so Charlotte, I think you’re a perfectly normal adolescent girl, except for a few minor physical anomalies. But hey who’s perfect?”

“Are you sure?”

“Did you dream about boys before?”

“I don’t think so?”

“I think if you were gay, that going to this extreme just to go out with boys, would be unlikely. It’s true that many drag queens are gay, but they parody females. You haven’t, you have become one and so rapidly, I suspect it was always there just waiting to be found. I hate to sound clichéd, but I think you may be the classic transsexual, the girl, and a very lovely one at that, in a boy’s body.”

“So I’m not gay?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“’cos I want to be a normal girl, not a queer boy.”

“Well that’s what I’d say you were.” He paused, “How are you getting on with the hormones?”

“Fine thanks.”

“Right next time you come, I want to do a couple of blood tests and want to see what effects they are having on you physically, so you’ll have to undo your breast thingies. Better have your mother in then too. Anything else?”

“Just one thing, I’ve been asked by my best friend’s brother to go to the school dance with him, as Christine. Do you think I should.”

“I take it he knows the score.”

“Yes he does.”

“Do you like him?”

“He’s okay, I suppose.”

“Will anyone recognise you?”

“Not from before, but they will from the concert.”

“Do you want to go?”

“Yes and no.”

“Why no?”

“I think he may be using me to get back at his old girlfriend.”

“Rather than liking you?”

“He says he likes me.”

“Well it could be a good chance to see if you do like boys, and to get a bit more experience in learning how to deal with them. It will also give you a chance to learn about the rivalry that happens between girls too.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.”

“I suspect from the way they were trying to catch your eye, after the concert, that you enjoyed the attention of boys who previously regarded you with contempt.” I nodded my agreement. “Which is all very well when you are the only pretty young thing there. However, when there are dozens of them, they can be just as pushy as boys, to get the boy they want. So watch out for the girls too, and guard your back.”

“I’m glad I asked you now.”

“After every big social occasion, I get boys and girls in here asking for help to cope with their miseries, because someone’s girl/boyfriend went off with someone else’s. Or some friend stabbed them in the back, by betraying them in front of an enemy or whatever. It’s just like a big soap opera out there, and they expect doctors to sort out the mess.”

I left him musing on my new insight. Was Jane going to the dance, if so, then watch her like a hawk, although, she wouldn’t be a rival for Simon, but what about this Karen girl? Could she get funny? Oh boy, this is so complicated.

My mother was sat reading in the waiting room, with lots of other people and I decided I would have some fun. I walked up to her and in a loud whisper said, “He wants to see you as well next time, I have to have some blood tests to check the baby is alright.” It would have been better had I been in school uniform, however, a dozen pairs of eyes glared at me in disapprobation.

Mum is usually quick on the uptake, and having shot me a glance which read, “I am going to kill you as soon as we get back to the car”, she followed it up with, “We’d better get back, you’ll need to feed little Sophie. Will you have enough milk?”

This took me by surprise, but I nodded nonetheless. She took my arm and we walked out, trying not to laugh until we got outside.

“Your face was a picture,” I said to my mum.

“My face, did you see those a disapproving looks in the waiting room? They all think you’re a teen mum.”

“With your help, they’re convinced I’m a one woman population explosion.” With this we fell about laughing.

“So what did the good doctor tell you.”

I filled her in on the detail as we walked back to the car. “So we don’t need to look for maternity wear?”

“No way!”

“A new dress for the dance?”

“I don’t know if I’m going yet?” I looked out the window of the car, feeling very circumspect.

“You’re going to have to make your mind up very soon.” My mother said firmly. “You’re also going to have to put that boy out of his misery, one way or another.”

“It’ll do him good to wait.” I pouted, continuing to stare out the window.

“Charlotte, that is not a very nice thing to say. I’ve tried to bring you up in a decent manner, but you wouldn’t know it to hear you. I am disappointed.”

“He’s not taking me for my sake. It’s all for his own advantage.”

“He did have the decency to tell you about it.”

“He only told me part of it, Jane told us the rest, and I’m not sure how much I believe it all.”

“I thought Jane was your best friend.”

“So did I.”

“I feel there is an, ‘and’ or a ‘but’ coming.” Said my mother as she carefully steered the car through the traffic into the car park.
“No,” I sighed and continued looking out the window. I had never realised how interesting car parks were. I mean, did you know they are full of parked cars, which is probably where they get their names from.

“Charlotte, are you coming then?”

“Where?” I said, knowing full well where we were.

“To look at a dress for this blessed dance, just in case you go.”

“I don’t know.” I continued examining the car parked next to us.

“Oh for goodness sake, stop messing me about and get out of the car this minute.”

My mother rarely spoke to me like this, so I realised I had pushed her far enough. I didn’t know why I felt so ambivalent about the dance, or was it what Dr Phillips had said, about watching my back with the other girls.

“Can we go for a drink.” I asked Mum, wondering whether it might be a good idea to check out what Dr Phillips had said.

“Surely,” she replied. “It looks quiet in there, shall we go?”

We entered the small café and Mum ordered two coffees. I like the frothy milky stuff they tend to serve there, Mum had a cappuccino.

“What do you need to talk about? This dance I suppose.” She said quietly, blowing on her coffee.

“It was something Dr Phillips said.”

“What did he say?”

“He warned me to be wary of the boys, but also to be wary of the girls because they could stab me in the back.”

“Girls can be catty to each other when in competition over boys, in the same way boys fight over girls. There could be a risk of that if what Jane said was true about Karen. But it’s something you’ll have to learn to deal with. If you don’t, then life in a girl’s school is going to be tough.”

“I’ve always got on better with girls.” I said hoping everyone was wrong.

“That was in a previous life, they probably saw you as non-threatening.”

“You mean, irrelevant.”

“Oh Charlotte, that’s all in the past. Jane is right, this dance could be a real opportunity to leave all that stuff behind and start anew, a bit like the concert was. I think you ought to give it a try.”

I couldn’t tell her about the bet, or my share in the winnings so she would never know the full story, she did have a point. I needed to learn how to interact better, dealing with both boys and girls.

We looked at all the boutiques and chain stores and while we saw lots of nice things, nothing appealed enough for me to want to buy it. Except the lacy tights. I had those.

Finally after two hours we gave up and did the supermarket shop.

When we got home, there was a letter from the education people saying I had passed sufficiently high enough to stay in my age group for the coming year. In some ways I felt relieved. My recent suspicions of Jane had not diminished, so not being too close may be an advantage. However, I couldn’t wait to phone her and tell her later that evening.

She was remarkably effusive in her congratulations, telling me I had done really well, and she was sure I’d like St Margaret’s once I settled in. Then the sixty four dollar question.

“What ‘ya wearing to the dance then?”

“I haven’t said I’m going yet.”

“This is me, Jane, you’re talking to, not Simon or another boy.”

“Yes,” I thought, “That’s part of the problem”

“I can’t go, I haven’t anything to wear.” I used the oldest cliché in the book.

“Yes you have.”

“What then, Miss Smartypants?” I sniped back.

“Who’s been pinching your candy?” came her response.

“Whatd’ya mean?” I demanded.

“You are being so aggressive to me. It’s like talking to a boy.”

This was the second time she had cut me to the quick, and with tears welling up inside me, I put the phone down and ran up to my room.

Mum came up a short while later. “What’s the matter darling?” she put her arm around me and I sobbed on her shoulder. “What ever is the matter?”

“N….no….nothing,” I sobbed.

“Come on, you can tell me. I promise it won’t go any further.”

I sobbed for a few more minutes, before saying, “Jane called me a boy.”

“Did she now. That would explain why she’s phoned twice for you. I wasn’t sure where you were. I expect she wants to apologise.” She hugged me for a little longer, then said, “Come on, dry your eyes and come and help me get the dinner.”

Why that cheered me up, I don’t know, but it did. Doing something with my mum, I suppose. A sort of reversion to infantile comfort states, perhaps, yet it works, or it did for me.

We chatted about anything and every thing, except the recent trauma. She told me that I should learn more about cooking, as I might need it later when I either went to university or got a place of my own. Consequently, that night I learned how to make shepherd’s pie with minced lamb and potatoes and onions.

I had got to the age of fourteen without having peeled an onion, let alone chopping it into minute pieces. I ruined what was left of my mascara and any other make up. I knew onions irritated the eyes but had never experienced it for myself. Mum waited for me to finish before telling me, “If you peel them under water, it doesn’t happen.”

“Now you tell me!” I said laughing with her. “Doesn’t it make it difficult to see what you’re doing?”

“No more than trying to see through the tears, and it doesn’t mess up your makeup.” She hugged me, then wiped away some of the mess with a soft tissue.

“I quite enjoy these mother daughter times.” She said as she hugged me again.

“Me too.” I said as I hugged her back.

Just then the door bell rang. “Who is that I wonder?” said Mum.

“Do you want me to answer it?” I offered.

“No I’ll go. You run up to the bathroom and wash your face. You still look a mess.”

I did as instructed, coming down three or four minutes later. Mum met me in the hall. “Jane is in the sitting room, she tells me she has to apologise to you for something. She has come on her own initiative, I think it best if you go and speak to her. Whether you accept her apology is up to you. Politeness would say you should, however, life sometimes happens outside these courtesies.”

My goodness! Mum allowing me to make my own decision about something. Hell, what do I say to Jane. “Go away, I never want to see you or your stupid brother again.” That was what I felt like saying. She had stabbed me twice now, and that was without any competition for boys, but just to assert her superiority. I knew I couldn’t let her get away with that, privately or publicly at school. My life would be an absolute misery.

Mum had gone back to the kitchen, this was just between Jane and me. I walked into the room. She was sitting on the sofa looking very circumspect.

“Hello,” was all I said.

“I’ve brought you some flowers, and an apology.” She handed me bunch of dahlias obviously from their garden. They were lovely, all colours of the rainbow, some multicoloured.

“Thank you, they’re beautiful.” I said accepting the flowers, “do you usually give flowers to boys?” I quipped.

She blushed, and looking at the floor, she said, “I am sorry Charlotte. I don’t think you are a boy at all.”

“It’s the second time you’ve called me one recently.”

“Is it?, I didn’t realise. I don’t mean to upset you. Will you forgive me?” By now there were tears running down her face and my heart was breaking. “Can we still be friends? Best friends, you know how much I like you.”

“On one condition.” This was difficult, my eyes were not far from filling up themselves.

“What’s that?”

“You never, ever call me a boy again. James is gone. I am Charlotte, a girl.”

“You are my best girlfriend, Charlotte. I agree to your condition.” She then launched herself at me to hug.

“Watch it,” I said, “You’re squashing me dahlias!” With that we started to giggle and two minutes later we were nearly wetting ourselves in a real schoolgirl giggle-fit.

Something I learned that day, just in case it hadn’t already been noted was, life had been very difficult as a small, sensitive boy in a hostile environment. Being a girl, was no easier. At times it seemed much harder. I had no option but to keep trying, however, I was committed to this course of action no matter what. Charlotte was here to stay, that was certain.
The next day Mum phoned St Margaret’s and told them the results of my SATs test. She had quite a conversation with the headmistress, then came to speak to me about it.

“Charlotte, we have to change your name officially.”

“What do you mean? I am officially Charlotte aren’t I?”

“You are effectively, but we have to change your name and documents so the school can get their paper work in order.”

“What does that mean?”

“We have to go and see the solicitor and do a statutory declaration of change of name, and contact some government department to get a change of birth certificate form, which will probably need Dr Phillips to sign.”

“When do we do it?” I shrugged my shoulders, it was no big deal.

“Are you absolutely sure you want to do this, because once we do this it all becomes difficult to undo. It isn’t as final as surgical change, but it’s the next thing to it. So you need to be sure.”

“I am.” I said.

“Please think about what I’m saying. This is important.”

“I have. I am a girl, my name is Charlotte. I can’t go back to being a boy.”

“You could if you really wanted too, but not if we do all this. That’s why you need to be sure.”

“I am sure, besides Dad said he couldn’t cope with me being a boy again, so I have to stay being a girl.”

“When did he say that?” she held me gently at the tops of my arms, looking directly into my eyes.

“Some while ago, we had a long chat. He said it then.”

“Well it’s not true. If you want to go back to being a boy, you can. It won’t be easy, but it is possible.”

“But Dad said….”

“I don’t care what your father said, he was wrong. Now do you want to think about this?” she was still holding me and looking me in the eye. I got the distinct impression she was very uptight about all this official stuff.

“My name is Charlotte, it always will be Charlotte and I am happy that I am your daughter. When do we see the solicitor?”

She hugged me, and there were tears in her eyes. “I’m happy for you to be my daughter too. I am so proud of you, you are such a brave young woman.”

This was just too much for my teenage sensibilities and within moments we were both in tears, though quite why we were crying was a mystery. My dad always blamed everything about my mother on, “hormones”. “It’s her hormones,” he would moan. Maybe it was my hormones too, or the little pills that I got from Dr Phillips, I had cried more since taking them, than I remember before.

“Can I be Charlotte Christine?” I asked my mother.

“You can be anything you want, my darling.” Replied my tearful but smiling mother.

“That would make my initials CCC. Like Chester Cricket Club.” I laughed.

“Or cycling club, or croquet.” She added laughing.

“Croquet, didn’t we used to have a set for that to play in the garden?”

“Gosh that was years ago, I wonder what your father did with that, it could be in the shed or the garage. We’ll have a look later.”

She wiped her tears, looked in the mirror, wiped a bit more then went off to ring the family solicitors, Williams, Barnes and Hardy. “I’ve done it now.” I thought, “I’m going to be officially me. What a load of rubbish, who else can I be? Kylie Minogue? What a load of crap! Who really cares apart from my mother?” I went off to listen to some music.

My dad had a thing about Eva Cassidy, so had some of her CDs. I liked listening to them and singing along with some of them. Fields of Gold, is probably my favourite, though I like, Penny To My Name despite it being essentially a country song, and one that is fast growing on me is Anniversary Song.

So there I was, being Eva Cassidy, playing my tennis racquet as I sang along, when my mother walked in. Apparently she watched me for a few minutes before she interrupted, I was so into the music, that I was oblivious to her presence.

“I’ve spoken to Mr Barnes, who was really helpful. We are going to see him tomorrow, he said he’ll have drawn up the declaration by then. So from tomorrow, you will be Charlotte Christine, officially.”

“Yeah, cool.” I wasn’t that concerned, so what was the big deal?

“Oh,” said my mother, and left me to my tennis guitar.

The meeting with Mr Barnes was okay. He asked me if I was cognizant of what was happening. I told him that I didn’t understand what he was on about, so he rephrased it into English, and I understood. Which apparently, is what he’d asked before, only in Latin or something.

He had actually helped someone do this before, though they were adult, so it was slightly different. We went through the process and I made the declaration before his partner, Mr Hardy, supported by my mum ‘cos I’m a minor. Then he gave us the address we had to write to, to change my birth certificate. Apparently, that’s quite a recent thing and involves the Department of Constitutional Affairs. Dr Phillips told me I have a strong constitution, so it should be alright.

Both the lawyers didn’t believe I’d ever been a boy, which cheered me up a bit. I’ll bet it cost Mum a fortune to see them. Maybe I’ll become a lawyer, I’d like to earn lots of money for doing nothing.

After this we went to the shops again, it was now only a couple of days to the dance and I, as yet, had nothing to wear. We spent three hours looking but it was no better than before. “I might as well wear that black one I wore to the concert.” I told my mum.

“You can’t do that Charlotte, they’ve all seen it before.”

“So what?” I thought, and said, but concluded it with the thought, “yeah, and they liked it!”

“Well, girls can’t wear the same thing twice so close together. It makes you look as if you haven’t got anything else.”

“I haven’t.”

“You know that, and I know it, but no one else does.”

“Oh boy!”

“But only a few of them actually came to the concert, so most of them won’t have seen it. I’ve got some new tights, and I can wear some different jewellery or something.”

“All right, I give in,” said Mum, “let’s go and look at some costume jewellery.”

We ended up in a local boutique, where I got a pile of thin silver bangles, some long earrings, and a couple of silver rings and a long silver and black necklace. I needed to get my ears pierced, but not today, they wouldn’t heal in time for the dance, so the earrings I bought were clip on.

I was happy enough with my bag of swag, and so was Mum. She’d only spent about twenty pounds, a new dress could cost three or four times that, or even more.

“Have you actually told Simon you are going with him yet?” asked my mum.

“No I haven’t. Let him stew a bit longer.”

“What are you going to do if he has found someone else?”

“Send her my sympathies.”

“Charlotte, you are becoming quite nasty at times, despite the efforts we have made to bring you up properly. I’m very disappointed in you. Going to this dance with Simon as a first date was perhaps a better idea than I originally thought. At least he’ll behave himself, unlike many of the others.”

“Only ‘cos he knows about me.” I pouted back at her.

“I think he seems quite a nice boy, and quite good looking too. You could do worse you know.”

“I know him better than you.” I retorted, then realised I could be in danger of saying too much, and losing my twenty five quid as well. If I had to go to this bloody thing, then he could pay me my share of his winnings.

“What does that mean? Is there something I should know?” Mum looked quite concerned. “He doesn’t do drugs, does he?”

“Not as far as I know. I didn’t mean it like that, it’s just you seem to think that Jane and Simon are saints, simply because they don’t run away from your two headed, freaky daughter! They aren’t saints, by a long way.”

“Oh Charlotte, I don’t mean it like that, and I think you know that as well. But you could do a lot worse for a first date. Find yourself with some spotty youth, who seems to be a cross between a gorilla and an octopus, trying to put his hairy mitts all over you.”

“Oh you mean Watson?”

“Wasn’t that the boy at the concert?”

“He seemed nice enough.”

“Oh Mum, he beat me up in front of the whole school and ridiculed me. I’m only going, to make him lose his bet.” “Oh bugger, now I’ve spilled the beans.” I thought to myself.

“What bet would that be?”

I decided to be ‘economical with the truth’ like that politician bloke who wrote those diary things they made into a series on telly. I can’t think of his name, but I used his technique.

“I think Simon was bemoaning his loss of Karen, and he told Watson he had asked me. Watson thought he had no chance, and he bet him a pound he couldn’t.”

“I’d have thought you were worth more than a pound,” chirped my mother, “perhaps you should get them to raise the ante.”

“Raise the what?”

“The ante, the thing they agree to bet.”

“Oh is that what they call it. I thought you were against gambling after what granddad did.”

“I am, but I thought my daughter was worth more than a pound.” At this we both laughed. “I suppose it’s the principle of the thing, is it?”

“It’s a boy thing, I guess.” This was rapidly becoming my answer for any behaviour I didn’t understand. The problem was, the more I said it, the more I believed it. I wondered if boys went round saying, “It’s a girl thing.” I suppose they do, after all they would only say it to me if they were being sarcastic, or I might reply to a question in the same vane. Yes, any irrational behaviour I made from now on, I could excuse as ‘a girl thing’, while equally condemning anything boys did as, ‘a boy thing’. I was glad I got that sorted out.

When we got home, my mother insisted I call Simon. I did, he came to the phone.

“Hello.”

“Hello Simon, it’s Christine.”

“Christine? Christine who?” he sounded puzzled.

“Christine Monk.”

“I don’t know a Christine Monk, do I? Are you good looking?”

“I’m told I am.”

“Well I’d love to meet you some time. You’re not free tomorrow night are you, only I’ve got a spare ticket for a dance, my previous date stood me up.”

“I could be, where is it?” I decided to play along. I half thought he was winding me up.

“At my school. It’s an approved one.”

“What the school or the dance?”

“Either or both.” He began to laugh.

“How do you know me?” It sounded as if he was confused about this.

“I know your sister.”

“You’re not in her class or anything are you?”

“No, Why?”

“Well she’s younger than me and I hate to say it, but if you look too young, then I lose brownie points with the gang, if you know what I mean.”

“Gang, you’re not in a gang are you?”

“Why don’t you like gangs?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never been out with a gang member. Jane didn’t mention a gang.”

“Didn’t she? Oh I’m the leader.”

I had to move the phone from my mouth in case he heard me laughing at him.

“So are you a big, tough guy, then?” I asked innocently.

“Yeah, course.”

“Oh good, I like my men to be proper men.” I smarmed back at him, all the time nearly giving the game away, by wanting to laugh.

“Hurry up Charlotte your tea is ready.” Shouted my mother.

“Charlotte? Who the hell is Charlotte? Oh it’s you is it, Charlotte bloody Church. I might have known. Why are you taking the piss?”

“I thought you wanted to take Christine to the dance.”

“Who is Christine? It was you I asked.”

“Christine is the name I used for the concert, remember?”

“Oh, of course. Was it?” he paused, his mind must have turned to more mush than I previously thought. “Are you coming then?”

“Do you still want me to?”
“I s’pose.”

“Aw thanks for nothing!” I said and put the phone down. I stamped into the dining room. The phone began to ring.

“Can you get that Charlotte?” asked my mother.

“It’s only someone trying to sell something.” I replied.

“How can you possibly know that?”

“They always ring at meal times.”

“Please go and check, it might be your father.”

“It isn’t.”

The phone continued to ring, and in frustration she went herself, huffing and puffing. It rang off just before she got to it. I thought to myself, “Saved by the bell.” It was premature, she did a one four seven one, and obviously pressed three. “Hello, it’s Mrs Church here, did you just call?”

I could only hear half the conversation. “About the dance, yes. Yes, I think so. I’m sure she is. Hang on I’ll just check.” I heard her walking back towards me. “Look darling, are you going to this dance or not? I thought you were.”

“If he asks me nicely, I might.” I pouted.

“After the way you have behaved madam, be thankful he’s still asking you at all!” She snapped at me.

I recoiled in astonishment, it was he who was messing me about. But it’s my fault isn’t it. They always blame the girl, I thought.

“Here, take the phone, tell him you are going. Though why I should let you after the way you’ve messed him about, goodness only knows.”

Speechless, I took the phone from her. “Hello Simon.”

“I think I got my answer from your mother, you naughty girl.” Now he was making full use of my temporary embarrassment. I was not amused.

“Just cut the crap, Astley.” I interrupted.

“Less of that sort of language young lady.” Scolded my mother.

“Gee bloody whiz” I thought to myself. “Somedays, you just can’t win.”

When he managed to finish laughing, he said, “I’ll pick you up at seven, look as good as you did for the concert. Bye.”

“The nerve of the man! Man ha! What a slip of the tongue,” I thought, “next door’s cat is more of a man than he’ll ever be, and he [the cat] has lost his nuts to the vet and a sharp knife.”

Tea that night was a very quiet affair with neither Mum nor I saying anything more than was absolutely necessary. She huffed and puffed and I sulked, big time.

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