“Patricia Jenkins said you weren’t my mummy, an’ she said you were just daddy’s bit of hot stuff.”

This is the story of Penny. A closet Transwoman thrust into the outside world 24-7 when she would rather go and hide away. Perhaps the title should be Welcome to Penny’s Paranoid World…

From part Twenty Three
“And are you wearing stockings tonight, Suzy. In this heat?” Trish asked me with a face of total innocence.
Time to be wary here I think. I’m sure I know where this is going. “I might be.”
More giggles from the two adult children in front of me.
“Hey, John.” Trish called to my other half, now over by the drinks trolley getting us both a drink. A non- alcoholic one in my case, I hope. “Are you on a promise tonight? I think your wife is feeling frisky.”
“Aunty Trish! Really.” God. They are worse than the twins. And I know I have just gone red faced.

And now as they say, read on…
Today a slightly unwilling Tiffany is back with her parents. She and the Twins and Em have been inseparable these past three days. I have promised the twins she can come over Friday if her parents agree. Alice and Guy have not seen much of their daughter this holiday. I think she would come home with us if she could, she is enjoying herself so much. They live about twenty miles from us, so I think she will be over for the occasional week-end stay at the farm. I do not think she has many friends back home from what her mother said.

Monday morning Tiffany came over and Alice and Guy joined us for dinner in the evening. At some point the girls took themselves off to their bedroom to play while we adults were being boring by talking. Later when I went to tell Tiffany it was time to go, I came back and beckoned Alice to come and follow me. Putting my finger to my lips to her to not to say anything, I carefully opened the girl’s bedroom door to show her all four girls had apparently put themselves to bed and were fast asleep. I closed the door and we retreated out of their hearing, grinning. The girl’s beds all have pull-out beds under them to double the number of children the villa can sleep when it is rented out. So they had just pulled one out for Tiffany.

“The girls were asking me earlier, if Tiffany could stay for a sleepover.” I told her. “I told them that Tiffany would have to ask you.”

I chuckled. “They had to pull one of the beds out and get the bed sheets from the linen cupboard very quietly so we did not hear them. I’m quite impressed.”

“I’m so sorry, I’ll go and get Tiffany.”

I put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry. This smacks of the Twins planning through and through to me. They were all pretending to be asleep when we looked in. Look, its fine if she stays.”

So an unwilling Tiffany is back with her parents today. They have just picked her up. Guy has arranged for them to go somewhere today as a family. The mini heat-wave has not started to ease yet, so I am wearing a red mini-dress and foot wise, high-heel mules with a sort of fat chisel heel. I have never liked flip-flops, would never wear them as a child. John has arranged a sight-seeing flight along the coast. Evie and Trish have declined the opportunity to take to the air and instead have told me they intend to lounge by the pool and will wave to us as we fly past.

John arranged this little trip yesterday while the rest of us were at the beach. When I got up this morning, Evie and Trish were in the kitchen leaning against the cabinets nursing cups of tea.

“Where’s John.” I asked. But all they could do was grin at me.

“So?”

“So… what?” I said confused.

Evie put her cup down and moved to me smiling. “He’s out in the garage, darling. He’s decided to check over the lawnmower.”

“Oh. Something wrong with it?”

“No. He just seems very pleased with himself today.” Evie added.

Trish joined in grinning, “Lovely big smile he had this morning. Any idea why?”

“Um.” I say. My face is going red. Suddenly my chest is burning.

Then they both gather round me, hugging me.

“Everything fine last night. Nothing more to be afraid of?” continued Evie softly. We talked sometimes when we were alone together about my fear about physical having sex.

I shake my head not wanting to speak.

“Did you enjoy it?” Trish gently asks. I think they are both afraid I will say I did not like it.

I make a little nod of my head.

Evie grins, touching noses with me. “Welcome to the world of womanhood, Suzy. You’ve had a rough ride getting there, but you are now a fully paid-up member of the female race.”

“Mother, lover, friend, the lot.” Trish added, and then they hugged me again.

The kitchen door opens and John steps in and looks up at us. “Arrr, ok - You want me to go out and come back in later.”

“Don’t be silly,” the three of us say. I go and grab his hand, pulling him back in.

“Come on in silly, it’s just a witch’s coven. Nothing to worry about. What do you want for breakfast?”

So here we are again in the airfields little café, this time waiting for our pilot to come and collect us for our fifteen or so minute dash along the Algarve coast and back. I shall not say anything about having been a flying instructor to our pilot. It is ten, twelve years now since I last flew a plane and most likely I will be older than our pilot, he will feel like he is in flight school again thinking I am judging him. Which would not be true, but there you are. Plus there is the age thing. I tend to forget my real age is forty-seven and my flying hours relate to that, but everyone thinks I’m near fifteen years younger and in my early to mid-thirties. So my hours will seem rather a lot for a thirty something woman with three children.

My past seems to get more and more distant. I mentally think thirty-two nowadays, not forty-seven. Especially since waking up from the coma and being an instant mum before I remembered things. And having long hair that is not a wig, wearing dresses and make-up to go to the shops. Keeping house for a family, my girls, my man. So sometimes it is hard to remember how old I really am. It is as if Susan and I have become intertwined together and merged in one shared being. Ok, I know that sounds daft, but their it is.

“Ell-low. You are the Farmers, Oui.”

Yves Montand is standing, smiling, looking down at us. Looking as he did when he played Jean-Pierre Sarti in Grand Prix. When I kind of fell in love with him. Well, it’s a look-a-like Yves Montand, since the real one went to that great film set in the sky a quite a while back now. We may be in Portugal, but our pilot is definitely French and thank-god, older than me.

John gets up and handshakes and man greetings take place before the females in the family are acknowledged. John turns and introduces us.

“My wife Suzy, my daughters Eve, Elizabeth, and Emily.”

“Ello Suzy,” he says with a friendly smile and gentle nod of the head, before turning to the girls and bows to them with a twinkle in his eye. “Good afternoon, Mademoiselles.”

The girls giggle and he instantly becomes their favourite Frenchman.

Walking out across the apron to the aircraft. We cannot see it yet because it is blocked from view by the big Antonov biplane. I find myself walking in front talking aeroplanes with Yves, real name Antoine, with Em holding my hand. Not sure why he is walking with me and Em and not John, but then he does have nice eyes and the thought makes me smile and think. You hussy Suzy Farmer.

“Your husband, he say, before bebes, you were a flying instructor, bizz-jets. Oui?”

So much then, for me keeping quiet about my flying past. Husband of mine has been doing a bit of husband bragging. Or is that wife bragging?

“Yes, but not on biz jets. That was just flying P2. Instructing was on props; single and twins. And then I had other baby’s to care for.” I say grinning, glancing down between us at Em. Hoping he does not ask any more questions.

I do not like lying, I have a thing about it, but I could not be too truthful with big ears down beside me holding my hand listening to everything said.

“Arr, I understand.” he said nodding sagely, and we talked about the twins and singles we had flown over the years. I think he was impressed by my having flown one of Gadhafi’s old SF260Ws back from Africa to the UK.

“I would ave liked to ave flown one of those, never ad the chance.” He said nodding, then added. “Ave you flown the P68?”

I shook my head smiling. “No, always wanted too though. My brother in law in the States has one as well.” I laughed a little. “Can you imagine how frustrating that is?” I added grinning with a quick look at Yves, err, Antoine.

He nodded, grinning himself. “Yes, yes. I can imagine.”

We went round the back of the Antonov and the Dornier next to it. Both quietly sleeping in the sun, to find a Partenavia P68 waiting behind them. With the Pilatus with the New York taxi paint job on the other side of it. Antoine ducked under the left wing to open the passenger door. That done, he looked down to Em, smiling.

“Let me help you in, Mademoiselle.” And helped her up to go through the doorway before looking to me. “Suzy, why don’t you go and settle in the pilot’s seat, and I will join you when I ave your family settled.”

“Ok.” I said surprised and glanced back at John and the twins. John look pleased as punch with himself and the girls had big smiles on their faces as if they were in on a big secret. Hmmm, as Sherlock Homes would say. Things are afoot. Or something like that.

I went round to the starboard side knowing this was not one of Partenavia’s P68’s, but a later model when the company had been taken over by Vulcunair. They brought out a new version with a reviewed cockpit panel and a pilot’s door on the co-pilots side a bit like the doors you have on an Otter or the Pilatus Porter next to us. The door was smaller, but made getting into the pilots seats easier than it had been in the past where you had to squeeze between the club seats in the passenger section to get into the cockpit.

I had expected to be sitting in the back of a Stationair, Cessna’s six seat single engine plane. That along with Cessna’s 172 four seater were the scenic flight operator’s aircraft of choice. And, since we are in a heatwave and I expected to be sitting in the back with the girls while John sat up front with the pilot. I was wearing a mini-dress and high heel mules. Not the sort of things to wear in a cockpit, or getting into one. I am going to have my knees stuck together while trying not to flash my knickers at the pilot as I keep my feet away from the rudder pedals. Let alone getting into the thing.

Going under the wing I saw Eve turfing Em out of the rear bench seat so she and Lizzy could sit beside each other. Naughty, but the twins always sit together and put up a fuss if they can’t. God knows what they will do when they are older if they do not discover that species called ‘boy’ at the same time.

I slipped my mules off and hiked myself up into the cockpit and was glad Yves was not behind me to see.
Except a distant wolf whistle told me I may have been wrong about not being seen by somebody. I know I look good. After all this time of having people look a bit odd at me as a male I now understand why. I was a boy who looked like a girl. People could not understand if I was male or female. That I was female was a relief, but I found it difficult to accept I looked enough like the model in the supermarket magazine that Em thought it was me. But I do sort of accept it in a weird way also and it leaves me feeling profoundly uncomfortable for some reason. Part of me thinks I should be jumping for joy at that, but me, I just want to hide. I do not like people looking at me, even if it is because they think I look good.

Anyway I climbed over into the left hand seat and looked back at Em as I pulled my seat belt on. She was watching me. I smiled.

“You ok, Em?”

Emily smiled and nodded happily to me.
I turned back and scanned the panel. Times have changed. When I was a student pilot I looked longingly in the cockpit of one of these and the basic ‘T’ panel and a jumble of dials all over the place thereafter. Welcome to the wonderful world of 1950s/60s Italy cockpits.

This one is a model P68C and has two flat screens, a PFD and a MFD. Well to be correct the screens are identical, but one is used as the PFD and one the MFD. I flew mostly airplanes with dials, but I had flown ones with MFDs as well. This one has a Garmin 950 set-up with two displays, a PFD (Primary Function Display) and MFD (Multi-Function display), and a much tidier cockpit panel design altogether. The fuel selectors and start buttons are still up in the roof panel. It looks more like the little Biz-jet cockpit I flew in than a twin prop.

With the power off the screens are blank. The small emergency artificial horizon shows the horizon at a crazy angle.

Yves climbed in shutting the Pilot door. I must stop thinking of him with that name or I am going to drop myself in it by say it without thinking. He took a couple of plastic cards on metal rings from the door pocket, giving it to me. Pointing to the cockpit pre-flight check list. I nodded and started. When I got to seats, he motioned me to do mine. Motioning me to bring my feet to the pedals.

Arr-ha, so I will be doing some flying. That is why John and the Twins were grinning their heads-off. Time to be cool and not have a silly grin on my face at the thought of flying again.

I had moved the seat back to give me some leg room and not have my knees up round my chin. When I got to check the parking brake was on, Antoine leant over to glance at my naked painted toes pushing on the rudder pedals and grinned, chuckling to himself. I am not quite use to men doing the ‘Aint’she cute’ doing that’ thing yet. John has pissed me off once or twice clearly thinking it about me, but I am too busy trying to think, what did I do? to retaliate.

Once we had the battery on he pointed over my shoulder to the hanging headphones.

“Ed-phones,” and took his own down, I nodded and put them on.

He turned some switches and his voice came through mine. Which was a good job as the Pilatus Porter had just started up beside us drowning everything else out. He pointed between us.

“Just you, me. Oui. They,” he motioned behind us, “on different link. You see.”

He spoke to John and the girls and got happy grins back.

With the electrics and the screens lit up, the emergency artificial horizon found where level was and settled down. I have always liked watching that happen. It is like the plane finding life within itself.

Antoine went through the engine start procedure for the right engine, nothing unusual there. Without thinking I realised he intends me to do number two, because he is pretty much doing the flying instructor bit on me. I must have grinned or something as he grinned back chuckling and pointing at the starter button, held his hand up to me to hold ready. He made one last check to make sure no one was near or about to walk close by and yelled “CLEAR PROP!” and gave me the thumbs-up to start the right engine for him.

Once the Lycoming is happily running, Antoine motions me to start the left engine.

Oh well, here we go. Move the Mixture control lever to idle cut-off. That’s the one with the red top on it on the right.
Next, over to the left side of the pedestal, move the throttle lever from cut-off to half an inch open. In the middle of them, the blue topped levers set the angle of the propeller blades. All the way forward for now to the fine setting which has the propeller blade flat so it generates no thrust when the engine starts.
Hand up to the roof to switch left magneto on only, and then switch the auxiliary fuel pump on.
Down to the mixture lever and forward to rich until we have the avegas flowing and then back to idle cut-off.

Look out the window to make sure no idiot is standing their ready to get chopped up by the moving prop. Open the flap and yell
“CLEAR PROP”, even if the Pilatus is drowning us out.

Glance back to my finger resting on the red starter button and back to a quick final look out the window and press.

Once the Lycoming starts, move the mixture lever forward to keep the fuel coming. Switch the right magneto on and watch the oil pressure ribbon rise on the MFD.

The Pilatus pulls out past us with a wave to us from the pilot.

“We follow, I ave control.”

As we taxi after the Pilatus keeping an eye on the engine revs and that the T’s & P’s are in the green and that the fuel flow is stabilised. We talk about her take-off speed and how she handles. Antoine talks to the tower in Portuguese. While English is the international language of flying and used to somewhat comical ability to English speaking ears at some international airports. At little local places like this one, they will talk in their own language.

We follow the Pilatus out onto the runway and stop back from her. Antoine touches my bare shoulder.

“Okay, as soon as she lifts-off. We go. You ave control, baby doll.” I turn to him to see him grinning ruefully at me. I nod ok, grinning back. Good job John cannot hear him. I rest my right hand on the throttles. The Pilatus Porter lets his brakes off and five seconds later the tail is up and another two seconds and she has lifted off and climbing away from us at a rate the P68 can only dream of. And that is why the Pilatus Porter is king of STOL aircraft. Beside me Antoine motions forward like he is at the head of the America Cavalry in the wild-west. I think he is enjoying himself.

Brakes-off. Ease the throttles forward. Pass where the Pilatus took off. No chance of us taking-off yet as we gather speed down the runway. At 62 knots gently pull back on the yoke to get an angle of five degrees on the artificial horizon and hold it there. You do not haul the P68 into the air the way you do some aircraft. When we hit 90 knots she flies herself off the ground.

“Ready for trim?” Antoine asks me glancing my way. I nod yes and he moves the chunky flap switch up to bring them in. There is quite a bit of pitch movement on the P68 when retracting the flaps. The same goes when extending them as well. The good thing is both flaps and the elevator trim are worked by the same type of electric motor. So if you operate the electric elevator trim at the same time as you raise or lower the flaps they mostly cancel the pitch change out.

Antoine motions to Port and I bank left and we head south for the coast two miles away levelling off at eight hundred feet, following the Alvor river estuary to the sea in a right-hand boot shape before doing a wide U turn to run back along the coastline. I keep an eye along the beach as if we had both engines fail that’s where I’m putting her down. No way are we going in the water with a high wing aircraft. We would all be joining my mother and Susan before we got out and the girls would never stand a chance. I hear John on his phone. You are not supposed to use them in the air, but I bet he is ringing Evie and Trish. Sure enough when we circle the villa, their they are, on the roof terrace waving to us.

Carrying along the coast we climb to a more comfortable height to give me a chance to glide somewhere safe to land if both engines were to fail. I should say we are not expecting them to do so, but we pilots have an unaccountable desire to stay alive when the engines go kaput. So we plan ahead for the unlikely event ever happening. We continue down the coast till we do a 180 degree turn at Albufoira and start back. This time with Emily and Eve’s window to the coastline.

Yves has been talking to the airfield and tells me we are cleared for a straight in approach. That will keep us away from the landing tandem jumpers. So at Armacao de Pera instead of following the coast as it dips south, we head inland with twelve miles and seven and a half minutes to go to landing. At the moment we are straight and level with 15 degrees of flap, Engine and Mixture set for a hundred and ten knots, nothing like her normal cruise speed. But we have been plodding along so the girls can look at the sea and beaches and folk looking like ants.

Having basically two tv screens instead of a multitude of dials in the cockpit makes for a much tidier and cleaner cockpit panel. The PFD has the flight instrument displays on it. The artificial horizon displays right across the screen, light brown below the horizon and light blue above for the sky. Just like the old mechanical AH, it has moving horizontal lines to show the pitch (angle) of the aircraft. On the left a vertical ribbon shows the airspeed, on the right of the AH the ribbon their shows your height with a further smaller ribbon showing your vertical speed going up and down. Below the AH is the Heading Indicator, a circle with compass degrees marked on it.

Suddenly the noise goes up several decibels as the girls discover a water park over on our right along with demands to go there tomorrow. Three minutes to touch down, now. The Avor airfield has no navigational aids, so flying in is pure mark one eyeball flying.

With the fuel pumps back on for landing, the mixture levers set to full rich, I set the prop levers fully forward to full fine pitch, which adds a bit more drag and the airspeed drops further. As we drop pass 100 knots I lean over and push the flap toggle down to the last position that will put them down to 35 degrees. Ahead of us on the runway there are two planes lined up for take-off. The Dornier Do-28D is in the lead with the Pilatus behind it. As I tell Yves that if I have to abort the landing I will go hard to starboard (right) to clear the runway, the Dornier begins it take-off run. Then the Pilatus starts its run too and is off and climbing away to the right before the Dornier has left the ground, then just before we reach decision height and I have to call Go-around, the Dornier lifts-off and climbs away from the airfield leaving us a clear runway 29 for landing.

We float across the road way at 76 knots indicated air speed and moments later the main wheels are down. Keep the yoke back to keep the nose wheel in the air as the speed drops off till it too gently makes contact with the ground. I lean over and flick the flaps toggle up to bring them in and cannot keep a satisfied grin off my face. I may not have flown for a while, but, girl, you still have it.

Back in the airfield cafe I take Yves hands and kiss him on the cheek. Ok, Antoine on the cheek. But he will always be Yves Montand to me.

“Thank-you. You can’t guess how much I’ve missed doing that.”

He smiles down at me. “Su-zy. It was a pleasure. Anytime you want to come back to work, give me a ring, I give you a job.”

“Thanks, but I have other priorities now.”

As I turn to John. Antoine is laughing, he is being ribbed about the kiss in a multitude of languages. I take John’s his hand in mine, ready to go. “Girls, ready.”

“Well. I guess I know what to get you for your birthday.”

I smile mischievously at him. “What, a dead French actor? I’m not into necrophilia, thank-you very much.”

John sighed with a crooked smile at me as if to say, you just wait till later, lady.

“No, but one might be cheaper than one of those aircraft.”

“Good luck with that,” I laughed, “after Brexit you will have to smuggle him in.”

We are outside now. I turned to face him. “Seriously, that was lovely. Thank-you for doing it. I thoroughly enjoyed myself, but you and the girls are more important to me than flying.”

At the Previa. John un-locks and let the girls in before turning back to me. “Well, in that case we better get married.”

“You asking.”

John nodded. “Just did.”

“What, no bended knee stuff.”

“I’m wearing shorts, were standing on gravel.”

“Pussy,” I say grinning and then shrug my shoulders and move round to my side of the Previa and look at him watching me. “Ok.” I say and get in.

Inside I turn to the girls. “Hey girls, dad just asked me to marry him again. Want to be bridesmaids?”

Zoey MacTavish and I are sitting in my E220 with the engine running, the air-con keeping it nice and cosy inside waiting for the girls to come out from school. We are not leaning against my car bonnet as we have been doing as it is too cold outside to do than now. The mini heatwave we had in Europe when we went to Portugal has been replaced by winter cold.

“So, have you set a date?”

“We are checking with Portmeirion in Wales to see when the Town Hall is available. We want some accommodation as well which makes it even more difficult. It’s so popular.”

“Oh, I like it there. Donald and I went there before April was born.”

The school bell sounded and we waited for the kids to charge out to waiting mums and dads. We got out and joined them.

The twins were first. Seeing Zoey, they yelled Hi Aunty Zoey and made for their favourite spot in E220. The rear facing jump seat in the boot area. April bounced up to us and a hug from her mum. Emily slowly brought up the rear, clearly down in the dumps.

“Ok, sweetie.”

Normally I got a hug from her, but she just nodded and got in the back of the car with April. Zoey and I exchanged glances. Back home she took herself off and sat in the sitting room by herself with a favourite book. But I could tell she was not reading. Just sitting there.

“Do you know what has upset Em,” I asked the twins, in the kitchen, they had settled themselves down at the kitchen table with their current obsession at the moment. Colouring in a book of line drawings of the countryside.

“No, mum.”

Ok. I should start tea, but what is upsetting Em comes first. Except the phone rings.

“Oh, hi Zoey… oh… oh dear. Thanks for telling me… yep, I knew something was up, see you tomorrow... yeah, cheers.” I put the phone down.

Oh fuck. I knew this would happen one day, but hoped they would be a lot older when it came. I gave the twins a little smile.

“Come in with me a minute, will you girls.”

I went into the sitting room and went and sat down next to Em and put my arm around her. That was enough, she just lent into me and burst into tears.

“April told aunty Zoey that one of the girls was being nasty to you today.” I said softly as I cuddled her while the twins stood quietly in front of us, worried at seeing Emily so upset.

“Patricia Jenkins said you weren’t my mummy, an’ she said you were just daddy’s bit of hot stuff.”

I turned her and pulled her up onto my lap and she clung to me as she cried, I held her tight. Oh god, how do I explain this too a little girl who is barely eight years old and has only just found her mum. I looked up at the twins and gave them a little smile and whispered “It’s all right.” To them. And put my arm out and pulled them close in to me. I could see the uncertainty building in their faces now, as well.

“Patricia is young and she does not know what happened. You see, when you were very, very young, mummy got very ill. And she had to go up and be with Jesus for a while. But he could see how unhappy I was and how much I missed my three girls, and took pity on me. You see, in the village granny and granddad live in was a very old lady who was about to join him. She was looked after by her daughter, who was wore out and very tired. So Jesus said she could go too and if I wanted, I could have her body. So I could come back down to you. That was why mummy was a bit muddled up when we first met. Because there was both the lady and me in this body. And we were both confused. But Jesus had told granny what was going to happen. That’s why I had to go to hospital and rest and sleep while lady’s daughter left to go to heaven and I stayed to be with you. That’s why I knew you when I woke-up.”

We all had tears running down our faces now.

“I knew you was, I knew you was.” Em kept repeating sobbing her heart out, but sounding happy. We all had tears running down our faces. I just hugged my girls to me as they hugged me back.

I put the cool flannel on my face for a moment and enjoyed the cool feeling, then headed back for the stairs and forced a smile on my face to check the girls were ready for school.

It was my own fault. They always say to wash them before eating, but a couple of days ago when I was at the supermarket I bought a small pack of grapes to eat on the drive home. Never going to do that again I can tell you. When I got back to the kitchen, Evie was in there and had the girls ready to leave with their coats on. She took one look at me, felt my head and suggested I sit down and she take the girls to school. I should have said, no it’s its fine, I’m ok. But instead I just nodded and sat down.

“So. How long have you been getting sick in the morning?” Was the first thing Evie said to me when she got back from the school run.

“I haven’t been…”

Evie cut me off before I could finish. “The girl’s phoned and told me.” she ginned knowingly at me. “You only have to sneeze and they check it with me. They are very cautious when it comes to your health. They don’t want to lose you again.”

I sighed. I do not want them to worry. “Oh, just a day or two. It’s my own fault, I had some un-washed grapes on the drive back from the supermarket the other day.”

Evie sat down facing me. “You went shopping on Monday, its Friday now… You’ve been sick every morning, haven’t you?”

I pulled a face again. “Just a tummy bug. All I’ve got to do is work my way through it. I’ll be ok in a day or so.”

“Have you seen David?”

I shook my head.

“Don’t tell Trish, please.” I said looking up. “She will tell Malcom as soon as he gets back from the Hospital in the evening and he will be straight up here for what is just a bug.

Evie shook her head and got up and made us both a cup of tea.

“Had anything to eat yet? The girls said you’ve been missing having breakfast with them. ”

I shrugged my shoulders. She went to the fridge and got the butter out and made me a bacon and egg sandwich with the food I had not had for breakfast. Putting it in front of me. “Eat it, believe me. You will feel better.”

“Yes, mother. I said cheekily making her smile. I made an effort, eating it, not wanting to admit feeling sick. But at the same time enjoying it.

“How long have we been back from Portugal?”

Evie asked me sitting down again, and deciding I was not going to answer did it for me.

“What is it? Six, seven weeks, and what momentous thing did you and John start doing there? Mmm… Now let me see, what was it?” Evie was smiling conspiratorly at me.

Ok, yes. I do know what we started doing, but… “Don’t be silly, you know my real age. I’m well past my sell by date where babies are concerned. I haven’t even started having proper periods yet. Probable never will according to the doc’s.”

Evie chuckled. “Yes, I remember, and I’ve got news for you darling, if you think age makes you immune. Your female systems have only just started up. They are full of life. They are teenagers compared to the rest of you, and they are raring to go make Whoopee, baby.”

I groaned and put my head in my hands. “But Malcom said…”

Evie waved a dismissive hand. “Oh piffle, they can be experts on the bodies of women. But we are women, we know our bodies better that anyone else. When it comes to this.”

“But I’ve never even had a period. Well a proper one, anyway.”

Evie could not help herself and said mischievously. “You don’t have half a period. And by all accounts you are not going to get one for a while now.”

I looked up at Evie. “Oh, God. What do I tell John?” I whispered.

Evie laughed and reached over taking my hands in hers. “You do what all women do at this time. You tell him, and like all men he will grin and think how clever he has been, go and tell his father and they will rush-off to the pub first chance they get to tell their mates...”

This brings us to the end of Penny’s World…
However, hopefully Suzy’s life will continue sometime next year in Suzy’s Summer.