The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2731 by Angharad Copyright© 2015 Angharad

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This is a work of fiction any mention of real people, places or institutions is purely coincidental and does not imply that they are as suggested in the story.
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We arrived at Coffee Republic or whatever the café was called and although there were several people in there no one resembled a young mother and a child. I picked what looked like the most private table and Trish and I sat down. The waitress arrived and I asked her to come back as we were expecting someone else shortly, so we’d wait.

Trish spent most of her time looking at a display of cakes, almost drooling in anticipation. I’d decided when Sue and Charlotte arrived I’d have Earl Grey and some lemon drizzle cake, Trish I suspected would go for the gateau, she loves it. I must ask David to do one for us again, all the kids love it, as do I; but I avoid it, especially with cream poured over it. Sadly, Simon doesn’t which is why he’s half a stone heavier than he used to be and I’m not.

I glanced at my watch, it was now twenty five to three and our guests were late. I called the waitress and order tea and cake and Trish had a milk shake and gateau. The order arrived just as a rather harassed young woman, about my age arrived with a child, who was in a skirt but still looked very boyish. I waved and she eventually saw me and dragged her offspring towards us.

“You must be, Cathy,” said Sue, “this is Charlotte.”

“This is Trish,” I said introducing our resident genius. They sat opposite us, Sue opposite me and Charlotte opposite Trish. Charlotte looked a bit overwhelmed, whereas Trish was containing herself very well. I suspected I’d pay for it on the way back with thousands of questions.

They ordered, Charlotte opting for the same as Trish had whilst Sue simply had some bog standard tea and no cake. Mine was adequate rather than good and I suspected I could probably do a better one myself, but then I’m quite good at sponge cakes.

We let them settle down before saying anything more than small talk. “Thank you for agreeing to see me, Cathy.”

“That’s okay, it was either this or school uniform shopping.” Oops, that sounded patronising. “So seeing you was obviously more important.” I hoped I’d rescued the moment but doubted it.

“Is Trish, you know—um...?”

“She was.” I glanced at her and she pretended not to be listening.

“Was?”

“Yes, we tend to see it as a transitional thing and that was several years ago. She’s lived as she is for six years.”

“Goodness, how could you be so sure so early?”

“I trusted what she told me and she hasn’t been wrong yet.” I glanced at her and she shot me a beaming smile. “She said she was a girl, so we let her be one and she hasn’t changed her mind ever since.”

“What about school and things?”

“That was more difficult but she started a new one as a girl and hasn’t looked back, she’s treated as she presents and acts.”

“D’you like school, Trish?” asked Sue.

“’S alright, I s’pose.”

“And everything’s okay as a girl?”

“Yeah, course.”

“What about Charlotte, how are you coping?”

She looked at her mother to rescue her, “We’re still trying to find her a school where it won’t be an issue.”

“I thought the law prevented any of them rejecting a transgender child these days.” It wasn’t my experience but then things are supposed to have moved on.

“They all claim to be full of the children of Polish immigrants.”

“I suppose that is an additional obstacle these days.”

“Can we go outside, Mummy?” asked Trish presumably to avoid being scrutinised any further and perhaps also to spare Charlotte the same, or it could be to enable her to use thumbscrews and the rack without Sue seeing it.

The pub had a small playground so we adjourned to that and I sat and sipped a coffee in the patio garden, while Sue had a bitter lemon. The two girls played on the equipment while we chatted and compared to Charlotte, Trish looked like the real thing and acted like the real thing too.

It transpired that Charlotte had been caught trying on the clothing of her cousin when Sue’s sister had come to visit with her daughter, Sue’s niece. On further enquiry, Charlotte claimed to want to be a girl and was most unhappy as a boy. The discussions that followed caused her husband, Mick, to abandon them as Sue was in favour of allowing Charlotte to dress as a girl for the whole of the summer holidays. This was week number six and she had to decide if she wanted to continue as a schoolgirl, she apparently wasn’t sure. I have to admit I wasn’t either, but then not all schoolgirls are dainty things like Trish, or relatively dainty—but then she is on hormones, albeit low dosage ones.

So far the family doctor had been dealing with them as he suggested a dose of girldom over the holidays might be enough for Charlotte to decide if she wanted to stay or revert back. If she stayed he’d refer her to a children’s gender clinic, like the Tavistock, in London. I silently wished her luck as the waiting times were likely to be long ones.

“Is that what you did?” she asked.

“No, my GP knew someone who had dealt with it more locally.”

“Oh, who’s that?”

“Dr Cauldwell.”

“Is he good?”

“She’s very good.”

She pulled out a notebook and wrote down Stephanie’s name so she could ask her doctor to refer Charlotte to her. She looked at the two girls playing on the swings and said, “You know, I think Charlotte is more relaxed now than she’s been all summer.”

“Because she feels safe, I suspect.”

“Oh, you mean she doesn’t feel safe at home with me?”

“She’s with someone who shares a problem she’s got, but who has dealt with it and resumed a normal life. She feels safe because she trusts Trish as a fellow sufferer but one who has more experience of life as a girl and she’s copying her, if you notice.” We watched and Charlotte was almost mimicking Trish and her actions were looking more naturally female not wooden. “You need to have her interacting with girls so she can learn from them.”

“I’m a girl, too,” complained Sue.

“I know, but they learn quicker from their peer groups. Trish came on in leaps and bounds copying her sisters.”

“Oh, Charlotte is an only child, I’m afraid.”

I was sure that there were groups she could join where she’d be with girls her own age and who’d teach her how to be a girl, simply by copying what they did.

That was the limit of how much help I thought we could be. I had given her an alternative to her GP’s ideas. We parted at half past four and I drove a rather sweaty young woman home.

“Well?” I asked her as we drove home.

“If I had a couple of months I could turn her into a girl...” This child cracks me up, she really does.