“Neither do I sweetheart, but we must eat. If you don’t, you’ll lose even more of your bust and the pills won’t do their magic, will they?”

“I suppose not.” I allowed her to cajole me out of bed. My skirt was all creased and the belt had rubbed red marks around my small waist. She got me to strip off and put on my jammies and a dressing gown, and to wash my face and hands. When I’d done so, I padded down the stairs in my slippers, to the kitchen. My mother was standing with her back to me doing something at one of the work tops. I walked up behind her and wrapped my arms around her and said, “I love you and I’m sorry I made you cry.”

She turned around and hugged me, “You didn’t, I’m just sad all the time at the moment.”

Charlotte’s Tale 10.
by
Angharad.

I lay drifting in and out of sleep, aware that my mother had entered and watched me several times. I knew my behaviour was becoming erratic and possibly impulsive. It was up and down like a switch-back ride. First thing this morning I had felt so good, but my body let me down, then Mummy tried to help me by sticking it all back again. The throb there had gone away, I wished the pain in my heart would do the same.

“Why are you hurting me?” asked my mother as she sat on the edge of my bed.

I lay there without answering, there was no point in pretending I was asleep because she knew I wasn’t.

“Charlotte, I am trying to help you, but I can’t unless you let me. I know you are hurting deep inside for your daddy, so am I. We need to help each other not fight and hurt each other.”

My response was to lie quite still and feel the scalding tears run from my eyes down my cheeks onto the pillow.

“I’m sorry that your date with Simon didn’t seem to go well. From your attitude, you are blaming me. I don’t know what I did, but I am really sorry. I want you to be happy and I do my best to make it so. But I can’t do it on my own, you have to help me.” She began to cry as well.

Coping with my own pain was as much as I could manage, to cope with hers as well was too much. I couldn’t stand to see her cry, it felt like a knife in my heart. I reached for her hand and squeezed it.

“I’m sorry Mummy, I forget it’s your pain too.”

She leant over and we hugged as only bereft women can, crying in unison until there seemed to be no more tears to cry. My eyes hurt and my head ached and I wished I was dead, because that way the pain would stop. My pain would, but I knew my mother’s would be even greater if I weren’t here with her.

“Come on sweetheart, let’s go and have a cuppa and something to eat.”

“I don’t feel very hungry Mummy,” I said weakly.

“Neither do I sweetheart, but we must eat. If you don’t, you’ll lose even more of your bust and the pills won’t do their magic, will they?”

“I suppose not.” I allowed her to cajole me out of bed. My skirt was all creased and the belt had rubbed red marks around my small waist. She got me to strip off and put on my jammies and a dressing gown, and to wash my face and hands. When I’d done so, I padded down the stairs in my slippers, to the kitchen. My mother was standing with her back to me doing something at one of the work tops. I walked up behind her and wrapped my arms around her and said, “I love you and I’m sorry I made you cry.”

She turned around and hugged me, “You didn’t, I’m just sad all the time at the moment.”

“I know, I am too.”

“Come on, we have to be brave and get on with life, Daddy would have wanted us to. I’ve made us some sandwiches and some tea, you take the plate over to the table and I’ll bring the tea.”

I helped as she requested and we ate silently. After drinking some tea, she gave me some ice cream, and then an apple. It was as much as I could do to force it all down. I seemed to have lost the habit of eating very much and felt so full.

“How does it feel down below now?”

“It’s better than it was, the throbbing has gone, just feels tender.”

“You can wee, can’t you?”

“Yes, that’s okay.”

“Perhaps try your jeans again tomorrow.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

After watching television, for an hour. I couldn’t tell you what the programme was because I wasn’t concentrating on it. The phone rang.

“I’ll get it,” said my mother and went out to the hallway. “It’s for you Charlotte, it’s Mrs Phillips.”

“What does she want?” I mouthed as I went out to the hall. “Hello Mrs Phillips.”

“Hello Charlotte, I wondered how you were.”

“I’m okay,” I said without enthusiasm.

“I understand, my Daddy died when I was about your age, so I know what it feels like.”

How could she know? I accepted her experience was similar, but it was a long time ago.
“I wondered if you remembered I asked you to help with a concert?”

I hadn’t, but then I had problems recalling my name at the present. “Yes I remember now, but I had forgotten. When is it?”

“In two weeks.”

“Oh dear, I don’t know if I’ll be able to do it then. I need to rehearse, we hadn’t even decided what I was going to sing.”

“I heard about the karaoke competition, and I love ‘Fields of Gold’, could you sing that?”

“Who is going to accompany me?”

“I’ve spoken to Mr King, he’s going to ask the lady who did it with you before.”

“What else?”

“The Gershwin and the Schubert. Would that be all right?”

“I’ll need to speak with Mr King to sort out access to a piano.”

“I understand. When will you know, because we’re hoping to organise the tickets and posters in a day or so?”

“Can I call you tomorrow?”

“Of course you can dear.”

“What’s the charity involved?”

“It’s for the people of Darfur, through the Disasters and Emergency Committee.”

“Is that Africa?”

“Yes, it’s a very sad place where all sorts of awful things have happened with civil war and other nastiness, plus famine and drought.”

“Okay, who else is appearing?”

“We have a Welsh male voice choir coming over and I’m hoping that Sir Cliff Richard, might help us. His agent is calling me tomorrow.”

“Cool, he’s old but he’s cute,” I chirped, thinking about being on a bill with Cliff Richard, wow!

“Well he’s in the country at the moment, and I’ve got my fingers crossed.”

“I’ll keep mine crossed too,” I offered. “I know my mum likes him.”

“Lots of older ladies do.”

“Where are you holding it?”

“In the church.”

“That’s okay, I’ve sung there before.”

“Have you?”

I suddenly thought when that was, a carol service with a couple of other schools. I was the best one there, the others were mediocre although, there was a girl from somewhere else who was quite good too, I wonder if she still sings?

“Yeah, it was like a year or two ago.”

“Well I won’t keep you Charlotte. Bryan sends his regards.”

He must be fed up with the sight of me, I thought as I walked back to the lounge and snuggled up to my mother.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, I promised to do a concert for her at the other one.”

“Oh yes, so you did. Are you going to do it?”

“I have to.”

“You don’t have to do anything.”

“Yes I do, I gave my word. I have to do it.”

“That’s different if it was a promise.”

“I’ll have to ring old Kingy up tomorrow and sort out some practice time.”

“I’m sure Mr King will do all he can to help.”

“I hope so. Otherwise I’m stuffed.”

“I don’t think he’ll let that happen.”

We had just got comfy when the phone rang again. “Aw bum!” I said without thinking.

“Don’t be vulgar, Charlotte.” She went to rise to answer it, but I jumped down instead.

“I’ll get it, it’s probably her again to tell me that Take That are coming as well.”

“I thought you liked them?”

“They’re okay, I guess.” I walked to the phone, “Hello?”

“Hi Charlotte.”

“Hi Simon.” My mood upped about three storeys.

“I wondered how you were.”

“I’m better now thanks.”

“That’s good to know, wanna get together tomorrow?”

“Are you gonna wear something waterproof?”

“Will I need to?”

“Only if it rains,” I laughed.

“I think you shrank my shirt this afternoon.”

“Yeah sorry about that.”

“It’s okay, I’m gonna keep it, then when you’re rich and famous I can sell it.”

“Gee thanks, who said I’m gonna be rich and famous?”

“You did.”

“Did I? I don’t remember that. Anyway, the chances are Jane will get it and blackmail me.”

“That about sums up my sister.”

“She was showing her I-pod to me and Karen Brown.”

“When?”

“The other day when you saw me at your house.”

“What was Karen doing here?”

“I dunno, you’ll have to ask Jane?”

“Yeah, I will.”

“Hey, I’m supposed to be doing another concert.”

“Are you, when’s that?”

“I’ll get the date tomorrow, you’ll never guess who’s supposed to be singing as well?”

“I dunno, Rihanna?”

“Don’t be daft, she’s American.”

“Well I don’t know do I, jus’ tell me.”

“Ooh get you, crabby pants.”

“Well are you gonna like tell me, or not?” He sounded irritated, so I back pedalled a little.

“Okay, it’s Cliff Richard.”

“Oh, is that all?”

“Well he is like a big star,” I gushed.

“Yeah for old ladies, he’s like a bit of Jesus freak inn’e?”

“So?”

“Nuthin’ I just thought he was, that’s all. Look I gotta go, what time tomorrow?”

“After lunch, ‘bout two?”

“Yeah ‘kay, where?”

“You wanna collect me from here?”

“ ‘Kay, see ya.” The phone went dead and I stood enjoying the memory of the sound of his voice.

The phone rang again, it made me jump. I picked it up hesitantly in case it was Simon telling me he couldn’t make it.

“He-llo?” I twittered.

“Hello Charlotte it’s Mr King.”

“Hi Mr King, I was going to call you tomorrow.”

“Mrs Phillips rang, can we meet tomorrow afternoon about two?”

I couldn’t believe it. “I can’t Mr King, I have an appointment.” My heart was thumping like a compressor.

“Oh dear, Miss Daws is available then, what about later, say sixish?”

“I could probably do that.” Then I thought, Miss Daws will be expecting to see Chrissie Monk. Damn, I’ll have to fly back from Simon and dye my hair again, unless I do it before then. I’ll also have to use the breast forms. I wondered if we had any glue.

“Okay then sweetheart, see you tomorrow?”

“Where?” I managed to gasp.

“Oh at the school, is that alright?”

“Yeah, I s’pose so.” I put the phone down and felt like unplugging the socket; if anyone else calls tonight, I’m not going to answer it.

Nobody called and I went to bed a little worried about my timetable tomorrow. It was going to be tight unless I met Simon already in disguise, then went on the school afterwards. He was sitting exams, his GCSE ones and he only had to attend when he had an exam. The rest of the time he was supposed to be revising. Which was how he was able to meet me tomorrow.

I eventually slept because I woke up, it was daylight and the clock said seven fifteen. I went to the toilet, the radio was on downstairs so my mother was up and when I crept down the stairs, I could hear the washing machine too. She always seemed to get up early when she was upset.

She was doing something at the sink and I snuck up and wrapped my arms around her, “Love you.”

She jumped and squeaked, “Oh! Oh Charlotte, you made me jump. I love you too. Look I’ve cut my hand, can you get me a plaster from the drawer?”

I ran over to the drawer and brought the box of plasters with me. She was rinsing the cut under the cold tap. I realised I had probably caused her to nick herself. I felt ashamed and began to cry.

“I’m sorry Mummy, that was my fault.”

“It’s alright darling, just help me get a plaster on it.” She dried the area with a piece of kitchen roll and I put a plaster on it. “That’s better.”

“Right do you want to finish the potatoes while I get you some breakfast?”

“Yes okay,” I didn’t have a lot of choice, as it was my fault she couldn’t continue. So I stood and scraped away at the remaining unpeeled spuds. Not my favourite occupation and it can make your hands all dry and yucky.

After finishing them and putting them in a saucepan of cold water, I cleaned out the mess, putting the skins in our compost bucket outside the back door. That gets taken down to the compost bin when it’s full. Usually takes about a week, by which time it pongs a bit. It’s funny when I was James, it didn’t worry me to empty it as one of my chores. Now I don’t really like it, but my mum is busy enough.

I ate my breakfast, and then told her that I had to see Simon and was also going to do a practice at the school at six.

“So are you going straight from Simon to the school?” asked my mother.

“I think I’ll have to, won’t have time to come and change.”

“So you’re going to dye your hair again.”

“I have to, or they’ll recognise me.”

“You’ll have people thinking, Simon is going out with two different girls.”

“So let them think what they like.”

“There is no need to be cheeky, I’m only making an observation dear.”

“Alright, I wasn’t being cheeky, I don’t care what people think.” It wasn’t true. But if I pretended it was, it made me tougher.

I finished my toast and went to shower and transform into the brunette bimbo. I should have warned Simon, I suppose, but didn’t have time. He was doing an exam in the morning, I hoped it went well for him.

I dried my now brown hair, and stuck on the breast forms, concealing their seams as I’d been taught, they looked quite good and part of me felt happy to look this female. I was going to wear my jeans, but instead opted for a denim mini, a white lacy top which had a vee neck and showed some of my charms. To finish I pulled on my ruched boots.

It was a little while since I’d done the makeup, so it took me a time to get it right again. I finished with the long lasting, lip plumping, kiss-proof, waterproof, bullet-proof, non-scaling, boy-magnet, moisturising, sunscreen —UVA & B, insect repelling, lip gloss. Putting on two coats, just to make sure everything worked.

It was pretty well lunchtime by the time I’d finished and I went to help Mum with the meal. She decided as I would be out until after seven, to have our main meal lunch time. She had a chop and I had a quiche with some vegetables. The smell of her chop was quite appetising, but I was determined not to eat meat for a while and see how I got on. It was going to be hard.

We had just finished washing up, when Simon came. My mother answered the door, and inviting him in, said, “Christine will be right down.”

“Who?” he stuttered.

“Hi Si,” I called walking down the stairs.

“Oh it’s back to the future is it?” He smirked.

I pecked him on the cheek and we went off, with I’m sure my mother watching us, I could feel her beady eyes boring into the back of my head, as I held his hand.

“How do you do that?” he asked, “You know the mmm, you know?” He was making hand movements suggesting an expansion in the boob department.

“It’s just the difference different bras can have.”

“I’ll say, yesterday you were like a rake and today, well today, phwoar!”

“What exactly does phwoar mean?”

“It’s a boy word, I can’t translate it into girl terms.” He blushed, but I thought he side stepped it nicely.

“You mean like, you have a cute bum?”

“I do?,” he blushed profusely, “Yeah whatever that means.”

I snorted in response.

He gave me a dirty look, then said, “Sometimes I wonder why I go out with girls?”

“For the phwoar factor, I expect, and….” I grabbed him and kissed him, “it beats kissing boys.”

He grabbed me and kissed me back, “Yeah, it probably does.”

We went to the local park and watched the mothers with young babies, some splashing about in the paddling pool. The sun got quite warm and we sheltered under a tree, the only part of me that was not going to burn were my lips, and that protection had been kissed off earlier. Certainly the boy-magnet worked.

“Do you ever like think, you’d like to have kids?” he said to me, watching some young harassed mother go past with two noxious toddlers.
“I’m only fourteen Si, give me a chance will ya?”

“Yeah, but would you like to be a mother?”

“Dunno, it’s supposed to hurt a lot when they’re born.”

“Yeah but it can’t be that bad, I mean like, some of them have two or three kids.”

“My mum says, that if boys had babies the human race would have become extinct with Adam”

“Ha!” said Simon, “Besides, if boys had babies, they’d be girls, wouldn’t they?”

“Can we talk about something else? I don’t see myself in maternity clothes just yet.” I knew that unless some miracle happened, I wasn’t likely to either. But according to the telly, stem cell research was creating new organs in laboratories, so maybe one day they might be able to implant some ovaries in me and the rest of the baby making equipment. Until then I was going to try not to worry about it.