"William!" My father hissed quietly. "Look at the camera!"

"Sorry, dad," I whispered as I turned my attention back to the photographer, who was ready to capture today's visit for posterity. Though in my defence, as an eight-year-old boy, it was natural for me to be distracted by the visitors who came to my grandfather's home — after all, it's not every day that you have your photograph taken with the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh.

My name is William Constable. I was born in Edinburgh on the 15th of May 1998. My father is Robert Constable, who was born in 1964, and his father, my grandfather, was born in 1938 as Malcolm Constable, but is today better known as the 13th Viscount of Dunbar. Hence the royal visit — everyone in the room right now, even those who married into the family, and even the photographer, a cousin of my father, is a descendant of King George III, thanks to one of my distant ancestors marrying one of his granddaughters. And while you might think that it's fun, being a distant cousin of the Queen, it also comes with a lot of responsibilities — and I don't just mean standing still while having your photograph taken.

Everywhere I went, an air of expectation followed me. I had to behave with the proper decorum at all times, I had to be polite and respectful to all those I met, especially my teachers at school — and god forbid my grades should ever drop, especially considering how much my parents were paying for my education. Of course, at home, my parents' wealth (largely a product of their business dealings, though being literal nobility certainly helped their success there) meant that I wanted for nothing — well, nothing material, anyway. And the fact that I had two older brothers, meaning I was unlikely to ever inherit the title of Viscount, did take some of the pressure off me. Or so I thought when I was younger — but I'm getting ahead of myself a bit.

On that balmy summer's day in 2006, I'd had it drilled into me over and over again just how important my grandfather's reception was to not just him, but our entire family. While my grandfather and the Queen weren't strangers, it had been a few years since they'd last met. I didn't quite understand the details at the time, but my father and oldest brother had told me that the company owned by my grandfather and managed by my father- and as such, the source of our wealth- would be helped by the visit, and the better the visit went, the richer we would get.

Of course, as an eight-year-old boy, this message didn't quite sink in as much as my family would've hoped.

While my grandparents entertained Her Majesty, my father regaled His Royal Highness with tales of his service in the Royal Marines, more specifically his deployment to Iraq in the early nineties. My mother and my aunt watched over my sister and my cousins as they listened to my grandparents and watched her majesty with genuine awe in their young eyes. And my brothers and I sat around, minding our behaviour and trying not to incur the wrath of our parents. Needless to say, for three preteen boys, this didn’t last long, and soon my brothers were itching to go outside and explore the grounds of our grandfather’s vast estate. And naturally, as the youngest, I was ‘volunteered’ to ask for permission. I trembled with nerves as I approached my father, as I knew that I was about to make him VERY unhappy.

“D- dad?” I asked nervously, trying to catch my father’s attention as he talked with the husband of the Queen.

“Not now, William, I’m busy,” dad replied, before instantly turning his attention back to the duke. I took a deep breath — I knew that if I returned to my brothers without an answer, they’d just keep sending me back over and over again until I either got the response I wanted- or got told off in front of everyone, royal or not. So, even though I knew it’d get me in trouble, I bit the bullet and persisted, figuring it was better to get it over with quickly rather than draw out my inevitable disciplining.

“Dad? Me, Robert and James were wondering if we could play outside for a bit?” I asked, flinching as my father turned to me with a furious look in his eyes.

“William, this is a very important occasion,” dad said in a quiet hiss. “It won’t hurt you or your brothers to stay indoors and behave yourselves for a couple of hours.” I blinked back tears and nodded as I tried to figure out how I’d tell my brothers the news — and, worse yet, what I’d say when they inevitably sent me back again. What happened next, though, caught me completely off guard — and would stick in my memory for my entire life.

“Oh for heaven’s sake, let them play,” the duke interjected. “Boys their age should play outside more often.”

“…If his highness says it’s okay, then- okay, you can go,” dad said, though his demeanour made it clear that my telling off was merely postponed rather than cancelled altogether.

“Thanks, dad,” I said, before turning and bowing to the older gentleman, just as I’d been taught to do my whole life. “Thank you, your highness.”

I’ll never forget the smile on the duke’s face as he waved me off, obviously believing that he’d done me a great favour. And while my brothers were pleased — and surprised — that we’d been given permission to run around outside, our father was less than pleased — as I soon discovered when we returned to the reception room after bidding farewell to the Queen and the Duke.

“I am very, VERY disappointed in you, William!” dad said as I stood in my grandfather’s lounge, trembling as all of our family looked on. “I told you a thousand times how important today was, and how important it was for you to behave! Luckily, his highness wasn’t TOO offended by your interruption. God knows what would have happened if you’d offended him.” I bit my lip as I tried my hardest not to cry, though the stern, stoic look on my grandfather’s face didn’t help- nor did the looks of amusement on my brothers’ faces.

“And don’t think that the two of you are off the hook,” dad snarled at Robert and James.

“Oh- what?” my oldest brother Robert protested. “We didn’t do anything!”

“I know the two of you put William up to it,” dad chastised my brothers, before turning back to me. “But that doesn’t mean that you get to hide behind that as an excuse. I suppose I have to laugh at the irony of your sister being more mature than all of her older brothers. God knows how much easier my life would be if you were all a little more like her.” I remained silent as I accepted my telling off, even as I gazed over to where my sister was sat, minding her own business. And I remembered one thing above all else — above my shame, above my father’s words, even above meeting the Queen — I remembered wishing that I too could be more like my sister.

I wished that I could be treated with more empathy, rather than being told to 'man up' all the time. I wished that I could play with dolls and tea sets rather than with toy soldiers or footballs. I wished that I could wear the fancy dresses my sister did, or have long hair with ribbons in it. I wished that I could be pretty, and delicate, and loved for who I was, rather than who I was expected to be. I wished that my parents would accept me as a daughter, rather than a son. But I also knew that would never happen. From the second I could talk I was told about the responsibilities I had. Responsibilities to my family and to my title, which included proper behaviour, working hard and always projecting a 'proper' upper class image — specifically, that of a cisgender, heterosexual man.

The confusion this caused my young self cannot be overstated, along with the stress caused by hiding who I truly felt I was on the inside. At primary school, I’d see girls playing hopscotch and dancing and want to join in, only to be told I couldn’t by my brothers. I’d secretly envy their knee-length grey skirts, red cardigans and delicate shoes with silver buckles while hating my own itchy trousers and boring lace-up shoes. I wanted nothing more than to simply BE one of the girls, but I quickly came to understand that no matter what, I couldn’t be, and it was obvious from a young age just why I couldn’t be. However, this didn't stop my feelings from overwhelming me at times, and making me feel that I, as a person — not to mention as a member of my family — was fundamentally 'wrong.’

As time went by and my ‘misdemeanour’ was gradually forgotten about, I came to realise that those feelings — along with my responsibilities — were only going to increase as I got older. At the age of 11, I was sent to a very prestigious boarding school near our home in Edinburgh, the same school my brothers attended. There, my teachers made sure to show me the proper ‘respect’ someone of my family’s wealth and ‘station’ apparently deserved. My fellow pupils, on the other hand….

“Hey, Cont-stable!” One of my classmates, a boy named Miller, asked while his friends sniggered. This was the fourth time my name had been called out at me — with the same emphasis on the first syllable — and it was only my second day at the school.

“What?” I asked, only to frown in confusion as the boy and his friends ran off, laughing uproariously. “…What?”

“Don’t- don’t let them get to you,” my brother James — who was two school years above me- said, having obviously witnessed the confrontation from afar. “They’re just idiots who think they’re being funny.”

“I- I don’t get it, though,” I mumbled as James led me toward the junior years' dining hall.

“No, I didn’t either when I started here,” my brother sighed. “Robert had to explain the joke to me.”

“…What joke?” I continued to ask innocently. “Seriously, I- I don’t get it.”

“Okay,” James said with an almost exasperated sigh as we received our meals and sat down at our usual table. “You know the word- the word ‘count,’ right?” I frowned as James asked his unusual question while ensuring that no one could overhear him, as though he was whispering some kind of evil curse to me.

“Yeah, of course, why?” I asked.

“Don’t say it out loud, but mentally remove the letter ‘o’ from it,” James said. “Do you know that word?”

“…No,” I replied truthfully.

“No, I didn’t either when I started here,” James advised. “It- it’s a rude word. A swear word, and probably the worst one, even worse than the F word.”

“…What F word?” I asked innocently, frowning as my brother sighed and muttered something under his breath.

“N- never mind,” James sighed. “But our surname, right? It sounds a lot like that rude word that begins with a ‘C’ with the word ‘stubble’ on the end. That’s what those idiots are laughing at.”

“That’s not very funny,” I said.

“No, I didn’t think so either,” James sighed. “But you’re going to get a lot of that here. A lot of the other kids are going to be jealous of you because of who our father and grandfather are, so they’re going to try to take it out on you, just like they did me and Robert. So, you’re going to need to make sure you’re on your best behaviour at all times, or dad WILL flip his lid.”

“O- okay,” I mumbled.

“God knows Robert had it really bad last year, before he left,” James said. “One of the other kids started a rumour that he was gay, and I don’t think Robert ever got over that.”

“…Gay?” I asked, earning another exasperated sigh from my brother.

“Never mind,” James said again, even as my head started to spin from all the new words I was learning. “You have been SO sheltered by mum and dad. You- you know what Google is, right?”

“Yeah, I know THAT,” I replied.

“Google ‘gay’ when you get back to your dorm and you have some privacy,” James advised. “Just- just don’t click on the images, and if anyone asks, I never told you to do that, okay?”

“Okay,” I mumbled as we picked at our lunches, the topic not coming up again for the rest of the break period.

When I got back to my dorm at the end of the day, though, I took my brother’s words to heart and booted up my laptop, Googling the topics he told me to and feeling as though a door was opened in my mind to a world I never knew existed.

All throughout my childhood, I’d had several ‘facts’ drummed into me. As members of nobility, we had a responsibility to the ‘underclasses’ — but since we were also innately ‘better’ than them, we had to demonstrate it. We had to uphold the traditions of the land- traditions such as attending church (Church of Scotland, of course), dressing smartly at all times, behaving impeccably at every hour of the day, and that a family consists of a man, his wife, and their children. To my family, the notion that a man could love another man, or that a woman could love another woman was simply not a possibility, even as late as 2009. And yet, as I browsed the internet that night, it felt like my eyes were being opened for the very first time.

My initial search brought me to sites about the more 'political' side of LGBT issues, such as Pride and Stonewall, and it was there that I had my first ever encounter with the word ‘transgender.’ As I read blogs and news stories written by transgender people, I found the words resonating with me in a way I’d never felt before — or even ever expected to feel. I found myself engrossed in their tales of how they felt from an early age that they’d been born into the wrong gender, how they’d envied their siblings or school friends, how they’d imagined and sometimes even dreamed of themselves as their preferred gender, and how they'd even taken steps to realise these dreams — not just ‘extreme’ steps like surgery or hormonal treatment, but simple things like wearing the clothing of the opposite gender out in public, to work or school, or even in private.

As I read the tales, I imagined myself in the place of the writer, wondering what it would be like to live life as a girl, to wear the clothes, or even to simply have any female friends. Throughout my entire childhood, the only kids I hung out with — or even had the opportunity to hang out with — were all boys. At first, they were my brothers’ friends, then classmates from school, then team-mates from school sports teams, but in every instance — bar none — they were boys. And with me just a few weeks into years of a stay in an all-boys’ boarding school, that wasn’t about to change. But finally, I at least had an outlet for my frustration, and more importantly, confirmation that what I felt was not wrong, weird, or deviant. If the internet was to be believed, there were hundreds, thousands, or maybe even millions of people just like me all around the world — and to an eleven-year-old boy, this was even more important than being the descendant of a king.

For the next few weeks, I spent every free moment on the internet, reading the same blogs and sometimes even rereading them over and over again. I joined discussion forums where I would — anonymously, of course — be able to air my feelings, and in return, receive nothing but the love and support I so desperately needed. However, every time I logged onto these forums I felt a twinge of sadness as I knew that eventually, I'd have to log off and shut down my computer, and I’d have to go back to being ‘William’ again. However, with every passing day, ‘William’ felt more and more like a mask that I had to wear simply to keep up appearances — though I’d become so adept at ‘hiding myself’ that no one knew about my internet activity (helped by my learning to delete my browser history every evening,) not my teachers, my schoolmates, or even my family.

Gradually, weeks became months, and months became years. None of my family were particularly tall, but as I started to grow up, I found myself feeling increasingly self-conscious — as though I was growing into a body that simply wasn’t mine. However, in this, I still found myself stuck between a rock and a hard place. At the start of my fifth year in September 2013, I stood 5’ 8”, taller than my mother and the same height as my oldest brother, but shorter than James and most of the players on the rugby team — something they were always quick to remind me of every time we played (or rather, were forced to play.) My chest measured 36” and my waist was 30” — smaller still than most of my classmates- and worst of all, I’d started to grow wispy hair on my face and my chin — something that earned me teasing from my classmates, even those who had facial hair themselves. After I turned sixteen in May 2014, I counted down the days until I left school and would be able to start living life on my own terms — and more to the point, would finally be free to begin to explore my gender identity.

However, any hope I had in that regard would be dashed a few months later at the start of the summer school holiday, when my oldest brother gathered the family at our father’s home in Edinburgh.

“Okay, we’re all here, just as you asked,” dad said as Robert stood before us, nervously wringing his hands. “I’m going to ask ‘what’s so important that we all had to gather here’, but I think I already know, heh!”

“Heh,” Robert chuckled along, his nerves clearly overwhelming him. “Ye- yeah, heh. Like you’ve probably already sussed, I- I’ve asked you all to come here as, for the last 3 months, I’ve been- I’ve been seeing, umm, someone.”

“I knew it,” dad whispered to mum, proud smiles on both their faces. “So, are we actually going to meet her, then?”

“Well- umm, they- they’re just outside,” Robert said, wringing his hands nervously. “Charlie, you- you can come in now.” I rose to my feet along with the rest of my family as the reception room’s double doors swung open, and a tall, slender figure strode up to my brother and gave him a soft, gentle kiss on his lips. Immediately, I felt my anxiety levels rise as our father’s face turned bright red with rage.

“Wh- what the- what the HELL IS THIS!?” Dad bellowed, startling me and nearly bringing tears to my sister’s eyes.

“D- dad, family,” Robert said with as much confidence as he could muster. “This it- this is my boyfriend, Charles. We met in our last year of uni, and we started dating, like I said, at the start of May.”

“H- hi,” Charles said in a gentle London accent. “It- it’s nice to meet you a-“

“What the fuck do you think you’re fucking well doing!?” Dad yelled, completely disregarding our guest as he turned his full rage toward my oldest brother.

“Arabella, William, leave the room,” our mother quietly ordered, but before we’d even taken a step, our brother spoke again.

“No, there’s no reason they should go,” Robert said firmly. “Because what I’ve done is nothing wrong. I. Love. Charlie.”

“And I love Robert,” Charlie said, smiling and staring deep into my brother’s eyes as they linked fingers.

“You stay out of this,” dad sneered dismissively. “Did you even stop-“

“No- just no,” Robert interrupted angrily. “Do NOT talk to him like that, because as far as I’m concerned, he’s part of the family now — at least, part of MY family.”

“HE IS NOT PART OF THIS FAMILY, AND IF YOU CARRY ON THE WAY YOU’RE GOING, YOU WON’T BE EITHER!” dad bellowed into my brother’s face, startling myself and James and nearly bringing tears to my sister’s eyes again. “Did you even stop to consider what effect this- THIS would have on your family? What effect this would have on your future title? Because, boy, one day you will be Viscount, and it is your DUTY to produce an heir!”

“I’m not going to deny who I am just for a title!” Robert snapped back, defiantly disregarding the look of sheer outrage on our father’s face. “James can have it after you for all I care. Besides, much more important people have given up much more prestigious titles for the ones they love.”

“You know what?” Fine,” dad said, his demeanour calming but his mood remaining dark as he sat back down in his armchair as though he was a king dispensing judgement from his throne. “If that’s what you want, then you can have it. Consider yourself disinherited from this day forward. I’ll have my will altered tomorrow, and you. Will. Not. Be. In. It. As far as I’m concerned, I now only have three children. And when you do eventually come crawling back, know that you are going to have to work VERY hard before I will even trust you again.”

“If that’s the way it’s going to be,” Robert said, defiantly kissing Charlie’s hand before continuing, “then fine. If you’re not willing to be part of the 21st century, that’s on you. But know this: I will NOT come crawling back. In fact, the only way I’ll come back at all is if you ask me AND Charlie.”

“You know where the door is,” dad grumbled, not even looking at the couple. “Goodbye.”

Needless to say, I haven’t seen my brother or his boyfriend since that day. I occasionally search through social media to see if I can find them on there, but they’ve kept a sufficiently low profile that I’m not able to find either of them. Either that or they have me blocked on every platform….

Regardless, though, it should go without saying that my father’s rejection of my brother brought to a halt any hopes I had that I might be able to explore my gender identity more freely. In the weeks following Robert’s departure, even as my parents and James refused to even say his name, I re-devoted myself to my studies, reading everything I could and desperately avoiding anything even remotely feminine — which wasn’t easy when Arabella would come every evening dressed in her school uniform, or her girl guides uniform, or a ballet leotard, each time making me more and more envious.

As weeks turned into months and I began applying to universities, though, I found the urge to be a girl building more and more until it occupied my every waking thought. At first, I just began browsing the same websites I used to for a few minutes a day, in the hopes that it would somehow satisfy that ‘urge.’ It didn’t take long for those minutes to become hours, as in addition to websites, I began browsing blogs, Instagram accounts, YouTube accounts — not just LGBT accounts, but cisgender bloggers as well, searching for fashion inspiration. And then, in the summer of 2014, I discovered the TV show — and, more specifically, the TV personality — who would change my life forever.

The show’s name was ‘The Angels’, and the personality’s name was Jamie-Lee Burke.

When I first saw the show recommended on a blog, I hadn’t thought much of it — unsurprisingly, reality shows weren’t popular in our household, and I’d also initially believed them to be shallow nonsense. At first, ‘The Angels’ had seemed no different. It was a show that followed around six young bloggers, all of whom were white, middle-class women, five of whom were blonde, five of whom were from London and none of whom seemed to have any major dilemma in their lives beyond what costumes to wear to their birthday parties or what make of handbag they should buy. Two of them — the aforementioned Jamie and her best friend Charlotte — looked so alike they could even be sisters.

And then I discovered that Jamie-Lee Burke — an absolute beauty by any standards — had begun life as a boy named James Travis, and all of a sudden the spark of hope that I thought had been extinguished forever shone brighter than a supernova.

Over the following few months, I — secretly, of course — studied Jamie’s life just as fervently as I studied for my exams. I absorbed every word from her blog, watched all of her videos, drank in her tales of her transition, of her surgeries and even her relationships with her boyfriends — even if the thought of having a boyfriend myself didn’t appeal to my teenaged self. The more I saw of Jamie, the more she seemed truly indistinguishable from any other girl, and while at first I felt that being like her was a simply unattainable goal, I comforted myself with one simple thought — Jamie herself must’ve felt the same way, once upon a time.

As the months passed, I kept up to date with not just Jamie’s life, but with all of the Angels. I (using an anonymous account so that my family couldn’t track my activity) followed all of their social media accounts, watched every episode of their ITV2 show at least three times and even made notes on their style, their preferred brands — everything they posted online about their lives. Of course, I couldn’t tell any of my family about this. In addition to their response toward Robert’s coming out showing their true feelings toward LGBT issues, they had never made any secret of their disdain for what they considered ‘garbage television’. Reality TV shows, talent shows like ‘Britain’s Got Talent’ and even panel shows like ‘Would I Lie to You’ were all targets of their sneers. Even Arabella, who was 13 when ‘The Angels’ began and was as 'core demographic' as it got, saw those shows — and by extension, the people on them — as beneath her.

However, despite having the same upbringing as my siblings, and despite it being repeatedly drilled into me that as a member of a noble family (not just their own opinion of their self-worth, but an actual legal fact), I had an image to uphold at all times, I simply couldn’t reconcile with the idea of one person being inherently ‘better’ than another. My family, my ‘station’ was simply a result of an accident of birth — and so was the fact that I was born a boy, instead of the girl I should have been. The same applied to Jamie and every other transgender individual in the country, and also to my older brother loving men instead of women. To mock a person for something they have no control over — or worse still, to actively try to prevent them from living their truth — was far more abhorrent to me than watching 'trashy' television.

And yet, as I finished my exams and started to look toward university, I couldn’t shake the feeling that what I was doing — or even what I was, full stop — was wrong. That I’d been given a great gift to be part of a family such as mine, and that I should try harder to shake off the feelings that had become the core of my identity (my hidden identity, anyway.) The more my family denied the existence of my older brother, the more I was being prepared — groomed, even — to take a leadership role in the family business. And the more I had those future responsibilities drilled into my head, the more I tried to convince myself that my feeling, my yearnings, were just a silly phase and that I’d soon get over them. After all, what would the Queen think if she returned to find a woman standing where William used to be?

But still, the harder I tried to deny my feelings, the stronger they grew — and every time I watched an episode of The Angels, I was reminded that there was precisely nothing wrong with how I felt. The only thing that I was doing that was ‘wrong’ was denying myself the opportunity to be the girl I truly felt I was on the inside- denying myself the opportunity to truly live, no matter what my family felt. However, during my entire childhood, I never had so much as the chance to express my feminine feelings in any way other than words on a screen — words that I couldn't even claim under my real name.

All that would change, though, at the end of the summer of 2015, when I finally began studying business and economics at St. Andrews University. Finally, I would have my own room and my own private space where I wouldn’t have any unwanted ‘oversight’ from my parents. Thanks to having my own Amazon account and my own debit card, I would quickly be able to build up a collection of clothes, shoes, make-up, jewellery, even a wig — after all, even if my parents did see my bank statement, who’d question a student making multiple online purchases? After the madness of freshers’ week, when we finally settled onto our courses and started studying for real, I wasted no time ordering my 'collection.' Over the course of the next few days, my packages started to arrive, and with nervous, shaking hands I carefully opened them all… and realised that I had precisely zero idea what I was doing.

Over the previous few years I’d obviously watched every episode of the Angels, followed Jamie-Lee Burke’s social media religiously, as well as the other Angels and countless other bloggers, and I considered myself an expert on their styles and looks… little realising that what worked for them wouldn’t necessarily work for me. The clothes I’d bought were all the wrong size — I’d assumed that as I took a small in men’s sizes, that it’d equal a small in women’s, and I couldn’t so much as pull on a pair of panties without them ripping at the seams. The foundation I’d bought was far too light for even my delicate Scottish skin, the blonde wig didn’t suit me…. As I sat among the pile of feminine delights I’d craved for so long, all I could do was weep, and silently curse at myself for being so foolish to think I’d be able to turn myself into a girl so easily. I didn’t have any idea of what style I wanted to convey, of what attitude I wanted to project, or even who I wanted to really be. Hell, I didn’t even have so much as a name — Willamina? Willie? Billie, even? All of them sounded just wrong to me.

Letting out a pained moan, I stuffed my ‘contraband’ into a plastic bag, ready to be either donated to a charity shop or just straight-up thrown away the following day. As I cried myself to sleep that night, I found myself praying for a miracle — anything to help ease my pain, to help me think that maybe, just maybe, my feelings could somehow be validated.

I didn’t hold out much hope as I went to my first class the following morning. However, as I sat down in my usual seat, I was about to get the surprise that would change my life forever.

“Hi,” the voice said in a soft, almost timid Edinburgh accent. “Is- is anyone sitting next to you?” I looked up to see the owner of the voice, and it was all I could do to stop my jaw from hitting the floor.

Stood before me was possibly the most beautiful woman I had ever seen — and I included all the members of the Angels in that list. The girl was tall — almost the same height as me — and slender but had noticeable curves to her hips and her chest, with long, thick hair in a dark brown colour, flawless lightly tanned skin and deep brown eyes. However, as undeniably beautiful as she was, it was her style that I noticed first. A short, tight black skirt clung to her hips and thighs while translucent black tights covered the rest of her legs and tiny flats with dainty silver buckles covered her feet. A tight, crew-necked t-shirt in light grey covered her torso and gave just a hint of cleavage, while a thin red cardigan covered her arms and her back. Her make-up was subtle, but enhanced her already striking eyes, with matte natural-coloured lipliner and long, clear polished nails completing her look. No doubt, every straight guy in the university would give anything to be with this woman. I was probably the only guy who wanted not just that, but to also BE her. In the seconds after I met her, I decided that everything about her look was something I wanted to see on myself- and truly believed that I COULD see on myself.

“S- sure,” I said, gesturing to the seat next to me and trying not to shudder as she sat down, smoothing her skirt underneath her and crossing one leg tightly over the other. “I- I’m William, by the way.”

“Dina,” the girl said with a shy smile. Yes, I thought to myself as the name resonated with me. Yes, you are. And maybe, just maybe, I could be too….

I took a deep breath to stop my heart from fluttering at the sight of the girl in front of me. Long, shapely legs encased in glossy translucent tights emerged from a tiny, almost skin-tight black skirt. Her curvaceous chest was covered by a thin light grey t-shirt, and tiny flats with delicate bows covered her feet. Her make-up was immaculate, with her face free from any blemishes, her eyebrows shaped to perfection and her mouth enhanced by nude matte lipstick and lipliner. Her hair was long, golden brown and flowing, and the long, fuchsia nails made her fingers look even more slender than they already were.

As I stared at the girl, I actually had to remind myself that what I was staring at was my own reflection.

In the three weeks since I’d met Dina, it had been like I was re-energised, like I’d found a new reason for living. The first thing I’d bought was a tape measure to properly record my correct size, before using every online tool I could find to perfect my make-up look. After ordering new (properly fitting) clothes, including some underwear, a large haul of make-up and other ‘feminine items’ — and wincing at the dent it made in my savings — I spent nearly every free moment I had practising and perfecting applying my make-up, learning how to fasten and unfasten a bra behind my back, and even how to walk, stand and sit like a girl — and not just any girl, but Dina Black.

With very few exceptions, after the end of each day’s lessons, I’d return to my room and spend the next few minutes steadily erasing any trace of masculinity that I possessed. I always started by tucking my 'manhood' underneath a flesh-coloured thong that prevented any 'movement', no matter how 'excited' I got, before pulling on a pair of panties and a matching bra, which I filled with B-cup silicone breast forms. The girdle I wore around my waist was uncomfortable at first, but I quickly learned to tolerate it — especially as it pulled my waist in to give the illusion of real feminine curves, just like Dina’s. After pulling a mesh cap over my hair, I’d set about my make-up. At first, it took me over an hour to get the look just right, though with practice, I’d got that time well down — even if I had got into the habit of reapplying my lipstick and lip-liner multiple times per night! After fixing my wig to my head and brushing it out (though occasionally playing with other hairstyles, such as a high ponytail or a formal updo), I pulled on my outfit, and revelled as I felt myself smothered in pure femininity — and as that look of pure femininity was reflected in my mirror.

I’d do everything I could to stretch ‘girl time’ out for as long as possible- getting back to my room early, skipping extra-curricular activities or socialising, staying up later than I should — anything to cling on to the feeling for as long as possible. At first, I thought that maybe, if I dressed up once, it’d break my ‘obsession.’ If anything, though, the opposite happened. Every second I spent dressed up just made me crave the feeling more and more, made me want to take even further steps to wash away the boy that I once was and perfect the image of the girl that I truly felt I was on the inside.

However, every time I dressed, despite the euphoria, I also felt a twinge of sadness, because I knew that it wouldn’t last. At the end of each evening, I’d have to remove all of my ‘adornments’, hide them away and go back to being plain old ‘William’ again. I’d go to sleep in the same underwear ‘William’ wore during the day and get up and dress as ‘William’ for my classes the following morning — not even daring to wear my gaff or panties under 'William's clothes for fear of being found out somehow. And inevitably, when I’d arrive at class, my anxiety would only grow as I’d meet up with the personification of effortless femininity that was Dina Black.

Obviously, since our first encounter, I’d carefully cultivated a friendship with Dina. We’d work together on most assignments, and on those rare occasions when I wasn’t emulating her in my bedroom, we’d hang out outside of class as well. I’d learned a fair amount about her in that time — obviously, that her surname was Black, that she was from a middle-class family from central Edinburgh, that she had one brother four years younger than her, and that her favourite hobby — which should have been obvious in hindsight — was fashion. In return, she learned virtually nothing about me — though that was understandable, since Dina was the closest (if not only) friend I’d made at university, but I wasn’t the only friend she had — far from it, in fact.

It should come as no surprise that Dina was very popular with the guys at university, but she was also popular among the girls. Outside of classes, wherever she went, she seemed to have her ‘gang’ with her, and always had a smile on her face. In a way, they reminded me of ‘the Angels’ — and, of course, I desperately wished to be the Jamie-Lee to her Charlotte.

However, I didn’t have the courage to so much as leave my room dressed as a girl, let alone hang out with friends — or rather, people I barely knew. Even though many of the other students from my school came to the same university as me, as I went to an all-boys’ school, I obviously couldn’t tell them about ‘girl me’. And as I obviously couldn’t talk to my family about my feelings, it left me with no one I could confide in. Fortunately, though, I always had the one friend I could talk to when I needed to — at least, about things other than my overwhelming desire to be her.

“Hi William!” Dina said with a smile as she sat down next to me, and as always, I drank in the sight of her and her outfit — especially as it was one I’d not seen her wear before.

Rather than her usual skirt and t-shirt combo, on that day she’d opted for a grey and black pinafore-style dress that was a little less tight than her usual attire, but still only barely covered her backside, especially as she sat down. The top that she wore underneath the dress was form-fitting, though, and had a high turtleneck collar and billowy, almost transparent sleeves. As usual, translucent black tights covered her long legs, though instead of flat ballerina pumps, she’d opted for clingy knee-high boots with a flat sole. And, of course, her hair and make-up were immaculate, as were her long, clear polish coated fingernails and the dainty silver necklace fastened around her collar. Naturally, I made a mental note of every part of the outfit so that I could try to replicate it myself later.

“Hi Dina,” I said, mentally fumbling for words as she got out her notepad and textbooks. “Umm… nice dress.”

“Aww, thanks!” Dina said, smiling as she turned to show off the dress’s details to me. “Bought it as an early birthday present for myself, hehe!” Which I’m also going to do, I thought to myself, even though my birthday wouldn’t be for another six months.

“Is it — is it your birthday soon?” I asked innocently, even though I knew from her Facebook page that it was less than a week away.

“Aye, on Saturday,” Dina replied. “Yes, I’m having a party, and yes, you’re invited too, hehe!” I tried not to feel too disheartened by her use of the word ‘too’. “I’ll send you a Facebook message with the details after class. And don’t worry, just because it’s my eighteenth, it doesn’t mean you have to get me anything special, heh.”

“Heh,” I chuckled — thankfully, Dina didn't know that my family was wealthy enough that I could easily have afforded something 'special'. “I- I’ll get you something, though.”

“Thanks,” Dina said with a bashful smile as the lecture began, blissfully unaware that I wasn’t just going to buy her a present, but also one for myself — namely, her entire outfit.

Needless to say, later that afternoon — while wearing my usual outfit of a skirt, clingy top, my wig and my usual make-up — I sourced all of Dina’s outfit online in my size (including the boots, which I was especially excited about) and mentally started to count down the days until the precious items of clothing would arrive.

Before they did, though, I had the small matter of a birthday party to prepare for. Dina’s parents lived just a 15-minute taxi ride from my parents' home, so when Friday evening came, I followed my usual routine of washing all of my ‘contraband’ in the university launderette before locking it away in a suitcase stashed under my bed. As always, I felt my usual sense of anxiety as I left it behind for the weekend — partly out of fear that someone might find it, but more because I knew that for the following 72 hours straight, I was going to have to present as fully male. I’d grown so accustomed to the feeling of femininity, so addicted to it even, that the thought of going without it even for that short a time gnawed at my spirit. After all, there was no guarantee that I’d be able to return to the femininity that I'd become addicted to after the weekend was over.

On that particular weekend, though, I at least had the distraction of the party to look forward to. The e-invitation Dina sent me mentioned that there was a theme to the party, but it didn’t mention what the theme was and stated that guests weren’t obliged to follow the theme, so — after enduring teasing from James and Arabella, of course — I pulled on the comparatively plain shirt, trousers and shoes I'd picked out, grabbed the gift I bought for Dina and jumped into the waiting taxi. A short while later, the taxi pulled up outside the big hotel Dina's family had booked for the occasion and I walked inside, fidgeting nervously as I rang the reception bell. A few seconds later, the receptionist directed me to where the party was taking place, where I was greeted, much to my surprise, by a boy in his early teens wearing a very fancy-looking costume.

“Oh- hi,” a bored-looking boy in his early teens said as he ushered me inside the big ballroom, adjusting his uncomfortable-looking tuxedo.

“Uh- hi, thanks,” I said confusedly. “I thought we weren’t meant to come in a costume?”

“Oh- you’re not, but I am,” the moody teen snorted as I was shown into the ballroom, which was already bustling with Dina’s friends — some I knew from university, a few who were strangers to me. And, of course, the birthday girl herself was sat on the sofa with two of her closest friends — though a smile spread across her face as she got up to greet me, which gave me a good look at her outfit.

Obviously, Dina was wearing a party dress like the other girls, only hers was strapless, a dark bronze colour and had an extremely form-fitting bodice and a short, flared skirt, with a wide white belt wrapped around her cinched-in waist. Her legs were encased in what appeared to be nude-coloured fishnet tights, and she had sparkling black shoes on her feet with a slim three-inch heel — high enough to put her head above mine. Of course, her hair and make-up were immaculate as ever, as were the long, deep gold nails on the ends of her fingers. Her sparkly silver earrings and dainty necklace made her look every bit the princess she was on the night — and every bit the princess I would be when I replicated the outfit in exact detail two weeks later. That evening, though, all belonged to Dina.

“Hi William!” Dina said with a nervous, almost embarrassed giggle as she greeted me with a tentative one-armed hug — which was still enough to get my heart racing. “Honestly, you didn’t have to get me anything,” the birthday girl said as she took my carefully wrapped gift and opened it, revealing the small chocolate box within. “…Thanks, how did you know these were my favourites?”

“Umm- lucky guess, I suppose,” I replied, not wanting to let my friend know just how long I’d spent trawling her Facebook page for gift clues. “I- umm, you said we didn’t need to come in fancy dress?”

“Well — aye, guests don’t,” Dina replied. “It’s more, like, just a ‘thing’ for me and my family. It’ll be obvious in a bit, promise.”

“Okay, if you say so,” I said with a smile that the birthday girl mirrored. “And — and the kid who let me in?”

“My brother,” Dina replied with a cheeky grin, before grimacing again. “Ah- and I should probably introduce you to everyone, heh. This is Alicia and Sian, they’re friends from school who I haven’t seen in ages, heh. Girls, this is William, the guy on my course who I told you about.” She’s talking about me to her friends? I thought to myself. This must be a good sign….

“Nice to meet you,” Alicia said with a devilish grin as she remained seated, while much to my surprise, Sian rose from her seat to greet me with a gentle hug.

“Hi,” Sian said softly, smiling almost nervously as I gazed at her — or more accurately, at her outfit. Like Dina, she wore an expensive-looking dress, but unlike Dina’s, hers had thin straps, was form-fitting down to the bottom of the (almost obscenely short) skirt and was made from a glittery black fabric. She wore matching platform stiletto heels that were much higher than Dina’s (but still her head was only slightly above mine when we were both stood up), while her chocolate brown hair was fancily styled, and her make-up complemented her cute, freckled face perfectly. By any objective standard, Sian was a really attractive young woman — and yet all I could think about was how Dina would look in her outfit — and more to the point, how I’d look in her outfit (something I eventually found out a few weeks later, even if I could barely move in the six inch heels).

“H- hi,” I said, trying not to hyperventilate as Dina smirked and winked at me. “Do you — do you want to, I mean, get something to — to drink?”

“Sure!” Sian says, her smile widening as she leans in close to me en route to where the refreshments have been laid out.

“So, umm…” I say, trying not to come across as TOO nervous. “How long — how long have you known Dina?”

“Really?” Sian asked, her mood immediately darkening. “Five seconds in, and already you’re asking me about other girls?”

“Umm, I- umm…” I babbled, before sighing as the girl grinned devilishly.

“It’s okay, I was just having a bit of fun,” Sian reassured me. “I get it, it IS her party after all, heh. And to answer your question, we’ve been friends since we started secondary school.”

“Whereas I’m just a ‘Johnny Come Lately’?” I asked, smiling as Sian snorts into her drink with laughter.

“Or ‘Willy Come Lately’ in your case,” Sian said, before blushing and almost doubling over with giggles as she realised what she’d said. “Oh- oh god, I don’t mean…“

“I- I get it,” I interrupted, smiling as the girl giggled. “So, umm, wh…“ Before I could speak, though, we were interrupted by loud music — a relief as I genuinely had no idea how I was going to continue that sentence.

“Ah- this is the main event,” Sian explained, her voice rising to an excited squeak. “Dina’s always been a fan of Strictly Come Dancing, even since it started, so we’ve got together and arranged a sort-of theme party. This is why it said ‘fancy dress’, but, like, only for her.”

“Umm, okay,” I replied as we were ushered out of the way to create a space in the middle of the room, while I found myself musing that the Queen was probably never entertained in this way.

“Dina’s favourite this year is Hannah Dexter,” Sian said, not noticing as my eyes immediately widened. “Hehe, you probably don’t even know who Hannah Dexter is, heh!”

…Except I absolutely DID know who Hannah Dexter was. She was a model, she was tall, slim and elegant with long, flowing golden blonde hair and deep blue eyes. She was almost stereotypically beautiful, but more importantly, Hannah was a member of The Angels, making her one of the best friends of Miss Jamie-Lee Burke. Meaning that if Dina was a fan of Hannah, she was a fan of the Angels, which meant that she was a fan — or at least, implicitly approved — of Jamie-Lee, which meant that she was almost certainly an ally to trans people. I felt my heart start to flutter at the prospect, which Sian naturally interpreted as my being interested in her, though as always, I only had eyes for one girl.

Seconds later, though, my heart shattered.

“Eee, here they come!” Sian squeaked excitedly as Dina — still wearing her elaborate dress and heels — walked out into the middle of the room, holding hands with a boy who looked about the same age as us.

“Who’s that?” I asked, frowning as Sian giggled at me.

“That’s her boyfriend, of course!” Sian replied, and it was all I could do not to burst into tears right then and there.

Of course, Dina had a boyfriend. She hadn’t mentioned him when we’d talked in class, but why would she if he’s not on the same course as us? And why on Earth did I assume that a girl as good looking as Dina was single? And, of course, to rub it in, the boyfriend was everything I was not — tall, handsome, athletic… He could probably have his pick of any girl in the world, so it’s no surprise he picked Dina, and she picked him.

…Though, as I quickly reminded myself, tall, handsome and athletic were things I definitely did NOT want to be. I was 5' 8" rather than his 6’ 1” — though this was as tall as I ever wanted to get. I had a flat, smooth belly, which I much preferred to his chiselled six-pack. And I prefer my clean-shaven, 'gentle' facial features to his rugged, stubbly jawline. As much as I wanted to be with Dina, I simply wanted to BE her more. And while I knew — or at least, strongly believed — that those two things were mutually exclusive, having it driven home to me still felt like a knife between my ribs.

“How long have they been going out?” I asked Sian as Dina and her boyfriend began to salsa together.

“About eight months,” Sian replied. “He was at the same school as us too, was on the football and rugby teams.” Of course he was, I thought to myself as I desperately thought of ways to change the topic.

“So, umm…” I mumbled. “Do you — umm, like, are you a fan of these ‘Angels’ too?” That was smooth, I sarcastically thought to myself.

“Sure,” Sian replied with a shrug. “Even if there are no Scottish Angels, heh. Well, not yet, anyway!”

“Yeah,” I chuckled as Dina’s dance routine came to an end and I and the rest of the crowd applauded, while four people at the side of the room (including Dina’s brother) held up paddles with the number ‘18’ written on them. Unsurprisingly, Dina went first toward the judges (who I later learned were all her immediate family,) before skipping back over to where I was stood- or rather, where her close school friends were stood, who I just happened to be with.

“You were AWESOME!” Alicia gushes as she shared a hug with the birthday girl.

“Thanks!” Dina squeaked bashfully before sharing a hug with Sian and then myself — much to her boyfriend’s disapproval.

“Really good,” I said, making Dina blush as her boyfriend tightened his grip on her hand.

“Honestly, if you were on this year’s series, Hannah Dexter wouldn’t stand a chance,” Sian said as the birthday girl blushed an even deeper shade of red.

“I wouldn’t go THAT far,” Dina said with a giggle, before smiling and rolling her eyes as she saw me stood next to her friend. “Ah- sorry, really should introduce the two of you, heh! William, this is my boyfriend Craig, Craig, this is William, the guy on my course I told you about.”

“Ah, right, YOU’RE William,” Craig said as he shook my hand, looking almost relieved — clearly, before he met me, he thought of me as a 'threat' to his relationship, but that stopped when he learned who I was. And I know that I SHOULD have felt offended at the implied slight against my ‘masculinity,’ but deep down inside, all I could think about was how it meant I could 'pass' a lot better than I thought. That, and how the fact that Craig’s other hand was firmly clamped on Dina’s backside meant that ‘being Dina’ was now infinitely more achievable than ‘being with Dina….’

“Nice to meet you,” I said in as polite as I could manage, unconsciously tightening my grip on Sian’s hand as I did.

“Tch, BOYS,” Sian teased, making Craig roll his eyes and me frown with confusion as she, Dina and Alicia all giggled. My frown was also due to be associated with boys in general — though I wasn't about to admit that in front of everyone.

“Don’t worry, Will, that’s just one of their ‘things,’ ” Craig advised me with a sigh as Dina and her friends giggled louder. “Inevitably picked it up from one of the ‘Angels.’ ”

“Oh- shut up, you,” Sian said with a giggle. “You know, boys ARE allowed to watch The Angels?”

“And girls ARE allowed to go and watch Hearts play,” Craig retorted, this time earning eye rolls from the other girls. “Ah- sorry, Will, unless you support Hibs? Or, like, one of the Old Firm?”

“Ah- umm, no,” I replied hesitantly. “Never really followed football, my dad’s from Edinburgh too but never really followed Hearts or Hibs, the same goes for my granddad.” And the truth is, I’d much rather watch every episode of the Angels than a single minute of a football match, I thought to myself.

“See?” Dina teased her boyfriend. “Told you there were SOME boys.”

“Yes, yes, okay,” Craig said, making me smirk — though the smile soon vanished from my face when he punctuated his contrition with a kiss on the birthday girl’s lips. “I’m gonna go get us a drink, okay? It was nice meeting you, Will.”

“Yep, likewise,” I said, trying to control my feelings as the couple walked away, and rationalising to myself that Dina was always out of my league — especially as I wanted to be her just as much as I wanted to be WITH her, and no girl in her right mind would ever accept that. However, as I was soon reminded by the feel of another hand in mine, there was at least someone who was interested in being my girlfriend — or, at the very least, ‘William’s' girlfriend.

“They’re a really cute couple,” Sian said as she slowly led me away from Alicia and to a quieter part of the house.

“Mmm,” I replied, only half paying attention to what my new friend was saying.

“Dina’s always been like that, though,” Sian continued. “All the boys fancying her, heh.” And some of the girls too, I thought to myself. An awkward silence then followed as Sian looked at me expectantly — and despite my mixed-up emotions, a lifetime of behaving exactly the way I was expected to at all times meant I instantly knew exactly what was expected of me.

“You surely have guys chasing after you all the time as well, though?” I ask, Sian’s smile telling me I hadn't put my foot in it.

“Cute ones, sometimes!” Sian replies with a giggle, checking to see we’re alone and unlikely to be interrupted before wrapping her arms around my neck and firmly pressing her lips against mine.

Obviously, this was my first kiss — my first proper kiss, anyway. Attending a private all-boys school sort-of ‘limited my opportunities’, after all. I was excited… but at the same time, I was disappointed. Disappointed that it ended just as quickly as it started, disappointed that it didn’t make me feel the way I expected to feel, but most of all, disappointed that it wasn’t with Dina. And that it was Sian wearing the lipstick, and not me….

Nonetheless, I kissed Sian back, hoping (as it turned out, in vain) that it would elicit the feelings I was desperate to feel. And Sian — while maybe not on Dina’s level — was very pretty. All I could think about, though, was how pretty her dress was — and how pretty it’d look on me.

Sian and I spent the next 15 minutes by ourselves, kissing and occasionally 'exploring' but not going any further, with neither of us having brought any ‘protection’ to the party. Nonetheless, we exchanged phone numbers and social media details with the expectation that we would keep in touch over the rest of the weekend (which we did), and when we returned to the party, I couldn’t help but notice the uncharacteristically wide grin on Dina’s face — a grin that was still present when I sat down next to her for our first lecture the following Monday.

“Hi William,” Dina said in her usual shy, quiet voice — though I could easily detect a 'teasing' undertone.

“Hi Dina,” I replied with a smile. “Great party at the weekend!”

“It was,” Dina giggled. “Thanks for coming, I get it might have been, like, a nervous thing for you, not knowing any of my friends.”

“I enjoyed it,” I replied with a shrug. And I’ve already got the dress and shoes you wore on order, I mentally added.

“I’m glad,” Dina said, before nervously biting her lip. “And I know — I know Sian did, too….”

“Yep,” I replied stoically, before sharing a giggle with my friend. “…And yes, we are seeing each other again, probably this weekend. We can’t see each other during the week as we’re…“

“Both busy with university,” Dina completed my sentence for me. “Yeah, I get it’s probably difficult, going to different unis, heh. But I think you’ll really like Sian.”

“She’s pretty cool, yep,” I said as I willed myself to think about the girl who was apparently my new girlfriend — though all I found myself thinking about was the clingy long-sleeved black top, shiny black tights and skin-tight denim shorts that Dina was wearing.

“If you — if you want somewhere to go, like, with Sian,” Dina said in a voice that was quiet even for her, “yesterday me and Craig — like, as a romantic ‘after birthday’ thing — went to this really nice coffee shop in The New Town. We’d never been there before, and it was really nice.”

“Thanks,” I said as I tried to reconcile my thoughts and my situation in my head.

Any other seventeen-year-old boy would’ve been beyond excited, and I knew deep down that I should have been as well. I’d been set up with a really cute girl who clearly fancied me and was eager to be ‘physical’ as soon as possible, and even if Sian felt like a ‘consolation prize’ for Dina, there was no denying that she was a great girlfriend. And yet, I felt uneasy — anxious, even. Anxious that my family would disapprove of Sian and her lower middle-class upbringing. Anxious that Sian — or worse yet, Dina — would find out about my ‘hobby’. Most of all, though, I was anxious that if I really liked Sian, it’d somehow 'cure' me of my desire to be female — to be 'Dina'. Even worse, there was a part of me that actually wanted that to happen….

For the first week of my relationship with Sian, I devoted myself to being the best boyfriend I could. We texted constantly, we went on dates, I bought her gifts… and still, the urge to become ‘Dina’ only grew. In the second week, after our fourth date, we both lost our virginity. Yet still, the urge to become ‘Dina’ only grew. In the third week, despite my best efforts, and despite all the time we spent together — both ‘intimately’ and otherwise — the urge to become ‘Dina’, as well as the anguish associated with not being her, grew so great that most days, it was all I could think about.

In the fourth week, Sian and I mutually agreed to end our relationship, and that while it had been fun, we would be better off going our separate ways.

Needless to say, my ‘separate way’ was back to my dorm room, and less than an hour after saying goodbye to Sian, I was sat on my bed with a face full of make-up, a long brown wig on my head, a clingy black top covering my 'enhanced' torso and shiny black tights and a tight denim mini skirt covering my legs. And for the first time since meeting Sian, I felt energised — alive, even. From that moment on, I never felt more alive than when all trace of masculinity was gone, and all I could see was the girl that I truly was inside. And the more time went by, the more I found myself craving that feeling every waking second.

In the run up to Christmas, my wardrobe — not to mention my make-up drawer — grew bigger and bigger. I acquired numerous skirts and dresses in various different styles as well as casual tops, formal blouses and even a couple of clingy bodysuits. I had lipsticks in every colour (but, as always, found myself returning to my matte nude colour time and time again,) numerous colours of eyeshadow, foundation, bronzer, even several pairs of fake eyelashes and fake nails in all colours. I spent hours each evening experimenting with my look, trying out different tutorials I saw online, mixing and matching styles — but in the end, I always returned to the style I'd fallen in love with — Dina's style.

When I went home for Christmas, I actually had to rent a storage locker to keep all of my ‘contraband’ safe until I returned in January — though that also meant that at home, there was no release for my tension — and no escape from my family, either.

“So, another Constable at university, then?” My grandfather teased as I and the rest of the family sat in his elaborate drawing room. “How are you finding it, William?”

“Umm, it’s okay,” I replied, trying not to mumble even as I was put on the spot. “It’s a lot more work than I was expecting but I’m, umm, coping.”

“Are you having fun as well?” Granddad asked with a warm smile — which contrasted the look on my father’s face. Even though there was no possible way he knew about my ‘hobby’, I still felt anxious — not to mention frustrated by the fact that as long as I 'practised' my ‘hobby,’ I would have to live with the constant fear of being found out. The memory of what happened to my oldest brother was all the proof I needed that if I was found out, my life would be effectively over. However, despite the risk, despite what I stood to lose if found out, I also knew that there was no way I could ever go without being ‘Dina’ — and even though I was surrounded by my family, and even though the following day was literally Christmas Day, mentally I was counting down the days until I could strip away 'William' and just be 'Dina' once again.

“…Some fun, yep,” I mumbled in reply.

“As long as you’re also studying hard,” dad said in a tone that sounded almost like he was handing down a caution.

“Of course,” I replied, though my father still looked concerned.

“Have you got a girlfriend yet?” My brother asked, making me bite my lip as I started to blush.

“James,” dad said angrily.

“I’m only asking,” James said with a shrug. “The few times I do see William on campus, he’s usually hanging around with a girl.” Despite my best efforts to avoid you whenever we have classes on the same day, I thought to myself.

“…William?” Granddad asked, genuinely curious about the answer.

“…I HAD a girlfriend,” I replied, and much to my surprise, dad actually seemed relieved, though in hindsight, it was obvious why — the memory of what happened to my oldest brother was lingering in his mind just as it was in mine. “It’s not the girl who’s in my class, it was one of her old school friends, we saw each other for a month but just, umm, stopped seeing each other in the end.”

“And you didn’t think to bring her home to meet any of us?” Dad asked accusingly.

“Well, we — we didn’t get THAT far,” I protested, inwardly breathing a sigh of relief as dad seemed to accept my explanation.

“Have you joined any societies yet?” James asked.

“Umm- no,” I replied. “I mean — not yet. I’ve been too busy with…“ doing something I could never tell any of you, I thought silently. “…studying.”

“Well, make sure you at least save some time for fun,” granddad advised. “Your university days are meant to be some of the most memorable of your entire life.” And they already have been, I thought to myself. Even if you wouldn’t approve of my idea of ‘fun….'

The following day, I — along with the rest of my family (well, rest of my family except my oldest brother) — opened presents including shaving kits, deodorant sets, smart men’s clothes, aftershave and all things 'proud and manly.' I acted grateful to my family for all the presents I received, interacted with them and did the things expected of me all throughout the holiday. And a few days later, when I returned to my university dorm (having made a stop off at my storage locker along the way), I wasted no time in forgetting all about my expensive Christmas presents and the week I'd spent with my family. Less than an hour later, I was sat reading up on the following semester’s coursework while wearing a very clingy, very short dark grey sweater dress with a high turtleneck. On my legs were a pair of glossy dark brown tights and the pair of knee-high flat-soled boots I’d fallen in love with earlier in the year, while on my fingernails were false dark-coloured nails, I had a long, golden brown wig on my head and every inch of my face was covered in make-up. As I looked in the mirror, I smiled — every trace of masculinity, every trace of ‘William’ had been systematically erased, and all that was left was ‘Dina.’

It was at that moment — having dressed for the first time in weeks — that I began to realise that 'Dina' really was my 'true' identity. When I was dressed as 'Dina', I wasn't wearing a mask, I was removing one — one I'd had to don for days on end when I was with my family, and one that felt unbearable by the time I was finally able to remove it. One I was dreading having to wear again, even if for the few hours I spent in my classes.

Over the following few weeks, my dressing sessions increased in both frequency and ‘intensity’ as I experimented more with my look. I practised styling my wig into various different styles, including high ponytails, French braids, buns and countless other styles, eventually wearing the wig out completely and necessitating a new one — even though I had allowed my ‘real’ hair to grow longer and longer, while the rest of my body remained completely hairless. I wore skirts and dresses of every style and length, from swishy maxi skirts to micro skirts that barely covered my panties (or as was more often the case, thongs). I experimented more with shapewear, not just with tighter girdles but with longer, full-body girdles, padded bras and even a proper lace-up corset that took a LONG time to get used to. I even started wearing heels — starting out with low heels of no more than 2 inches, but within weeks I was proficient (if not exactly comfortable) with walking in 4-inch stiletto heels.

The heels were an example of how, as I experimented, my style started to ‘drift’ from that of Dina Black. Dina was open about her hatred of wearing heels, whereas I found their undeniable femininity to be a major point in their favour. Similarly, while Dina always let her hair hang loose, I preferred to have mine tied back, either in a plait or a ponytail. And while Dina only wore very subtle eye make-up, I preferred a more ‘defined’ look. We retained our mutual love of short skirts, glossy tights, tight tops and nude matte lipstick, though.

As 2016 progressed, I started to think more and more about actually transitioning, just as Jamie-Lee Burke had. Even though my ‘intensive practice’ meant that I knew how to ‘pass’ well — not just in looks, but in body language, facial expressions and even speech. I spent evenings filled with anxiety over how to approach my (private, of course) GP about getting referred to a counsellor, about how to tell my family (and how to deal with their inevitable rejection) — and most of all, how I’d tell Dina. Our mutual love of the Angels made me confident that she’d accept ‘William’ transitioning, though I was less confident that she’d accept me as another ‘Dina’, especially considering how similar our styles still were.

After the Easter holiday, as I was approaching my own eighteenth birthday, I began seriously thinking about what name I would call myself after I transitioned. However, during our first lesson back, everything was thrown into chaos thanks to Dina.

“Hi Dina,” I said to my friend as she sat down next to me, confusing me with her look of a skinny pair of trousers, a loose-fitting long-sleeved t-shirt and hardly any make-up. I still made plans to emulate the look, of course, but it was so out of the ordinary for my friend I didn't even know how to react.

“Hi William,” Dina said in a voice barely louder than a whisper, which was quiet even by her standards.

“Is- is everything okay?” I asked hesitantly, hoping that my question didn’t make whatever the situation was any worse.

“I- I’m fine, really,” Dina replied — though her tone of voice and body language (not to mention choice of clothes) clearly said otherwise. However, I chose not to pursue it — though whether that was due to empathy or fear of angering my friend, I couldn’t say.

Either way, the lecture started mere moments later, cutting off any opportunity to pry further. Regardless, though, my friend was still upset, and I saw it as my duty to help in any way I could. We headed together toward the university’s dining hall, where I ordered myself my usual sandwich and cake while Dina only had a small chocolate bar. While this was nothing out of the ordinary — Dina was never a big eater — she’d barely taken two bites by the time I finished my meal. I knew that whatever was up, it was big, and I needed to help — if not for Dina’s sake, then for mine.

“Hey,” I whispered. “Are — are you okay, really?” I bit my lip as tears started to form in the corners of my friend’s eyes, and I wasted no time in abandoning my meal and going round to comfort her.

“Can we — can we go somewhere private, please?” Dina whispered. “Can we go to your room, maybe?”

“Oka…“ I immediately replied, before remembering that if we went to my room, I’d have a REALLY hard time explaining why I had a wig and a ton of make-up on my bedside table, and why there were three pairs of tights drying on my radiator. “Actually, umm, my — my room’s kind of a mess right now, got — got, umm, ‘boy stuff’ everywhere, could we- could we go to yours instead?”

“ '…Boy stuff’ is the LAST thing I want to deal with right now,” Dina sobbed, nodding as she led me toward her room. I followed behind awkwardly, wondering whether it would be appropriate to put a comforting arm around her — or even if I should touch her at all. The decision became moot mere moments later, though, when we arrived at Dina’s room — and I had to suppress my excitement at actually being in the room of the girl I fancied so much.

Unsurprisingly, Dina’s room was much like my own in many ways — a single bed, a wardrobe, a dresser and a desk. However, it was the personal touches that stuck out to me. Personal touches such as the pink heart-shaped fairy lights over her bed, the photos of friends and family pinned to the cork board above her desk, and of course the large A2 sized poster of The Angels pinned to her wall. The make-up messily strewn across her dresser made my heart beat faster too — mostly because a large chunk of it was the same brand as the make-up on my own dresser. And, of course, the various garments on display — including a VERY short dark grey denim skirt and a white, high-necked bodysuit with thin black hoops and a very narrow thong bottom. Needless to say, copies of the skirt and the bodysuit were within my wardrobe within a week, and on my own body mere days after that.

Before that could happen, though, I had a friend to tend to — a friend who immediately collapsed on her bed sobbing as soon as we entered the room. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why — and the fact that there were large gaps in the decorations on her walls suggested that Dina had recently removed someone from her life — or, more likely, the other way around.

“It- it’s okay,” I said hesitantly, hoping that I wasn’t about to make things worse with my choice of words. “What do — umm, whatever you need, you just — umm, I’m — I mean, I’m here for you.”

“You could start by persuading the rest of your gender to not suck as much,” Dina moaned, confirming my suspicions — she was no longer in a relationship with Craig. A part of me felt excited — if Dina was single, it meant that she was also available — once she had recovered from her heartbreak, of course. And yet, what she’d said reminded me — in a roundabout way — of why she and I could never be a couple.

‘The rest of your gender,' she’d said. By which she of course meant ‘male.' And while I knew that she had no way of knowing otherwise, I still felt offended by the implication. The implication that no matter how hard I tried, no matter how much effort I put into feminising every aspect of myself, there’d always be that part of me — the ‘core,’ even — that would always remain male. There would always be those who saw me as male, regardless of how I presented myself — and whether I liked it or not, Dina Black would always be one of those people.

As I tried to control my own feelings, a small voice inside my head told me to try to see it as a positive — after all, if Dina saw me as a boy, and she’s now single, it made it all the likelier that she could eventually see me as a boyfriend. All I had to do was let go of the feminine side of my life. However, that was the one thing I knew I could never do under any circumstances, not even a relationship with Dina. Though as I reminded myself, it was a moot point, as even though I was literally related to royalty, I knew deep down that she was way, WAY out of my league….

“Ugh, I- I’m sorry, William,” Dina said, taking several deep breaths to calm herself and wiping the tears from her eyes. “I know it’s hardly your fault that my… heh. That my now-ex felt like he’d had enough.”

“Well, he’s clearly an idiot,” I said, biting my tongue too late to keep the words from slipping out.

“Thanks,” Dina whispered bashfully, almost blushing at my compliment. “Ugh, I’m sorry, I- I should tidy up, got stuff all over the place….” I smiled sympathetically as my friend started rushing around, tidying up her make-up and, much to my dismay, putting away her clothes.

“Honestly, you don’t need to on my account,” I said, trying desperately not to stare as my friend crouched down, exposing the top of her lacy black thong.

“Nah, I- I hate having a messy room, heh,” Dina chuckled tiredly. “Craig was always untidy, never put his stuff away….” I bit my lip as the mention of her ex-s name caused tears to well in her eyes, and I didn’t resist as my friend sat down next to me and quietly wept into my shoulder.

“It’s okay,” I whispered as I wrapped an arm around Dina’s shoulder, even this simple gesture making my whole body tingle. Not least because her top, while tight and form-fitting, was really soft….

“Ugh, I- I’m sorry to have to put this on you, William,” Dina mumbled. “Especially as I know you’re still getting over Sian.” Who? I briefly thought to myself, before remembering about my own breakup mere weeks beforehand.

“It- it’s okay,” I said. “I’m- it- it’s okay, really. Whatever you need, just — just let me know.”

“Thanks,” Dina whispered. “There is — there is, umm, one thing, actually….”

“Name it,” I said with a shrug.

“I could — ugh, never — never mind…” Dina mumbled, her cheeks flushing again.

“No, honestly, whatever it is, I don't mind,” I insisted.

“Would you- would you, umm… sleep here tonight?” Dina asked, making my heart rate increase even as she blushed again. “Oh- umm, I mean- not like- umm, I mean, would you- would you, like, sleep in the same room as me tonight? I need some, umm, some company, but- umm….” I smiled as my distraught friend babbled.

“I don’t mind sleeping on the floor,” I said, smiling as Dina sighed and leaned back onto my shoulder. “Am I — am I really the best person for the job, though?”

“Well, I — ugh, this’ll sound so silly…” Dina moaned, before sighing as I smiled at her to continue. “You’re kinda — you’re kinda like a big sister to me, if that makes sense? And I don’t mean any offence by that, I just…“

“None- no offence taken,” I chuckled. ‘Big sister’ was certainly an improvement over ‘your whole gender sucks,’ I thought to myself, even if it made a relationship with Dina equally unlikely.

My friendship with Dina, though, was never stronger than after that night. As I promised, I slept that night under a blanket on her floor as she tried to rest and take her mind off of Craig. The following morning, I made myself scarce as she got ready for our first lectures — though not before she told me how grateful she was for my friendship. All I could think about, though, was how it had been over 24 hours since I'd last experienced femininity — a feeling that was exacerbated when Dina showed up for the first lecture of the day wearing the same skirt and bodysuit that had been hanging in her room the previous day.

Nonetheless, after that night, things slowly got back to normal. I attended lectures and seminars with Dina in the daytime, and I spent almost every evening emulating her increasingly varied looks. As winter gave way to spring, Dina’s looks became ‘lighter,’ with her usual tight miniskirts giving way to looser skater-style skirts and dresses, and her turtleneck tops and jumpers were steadily replaced by lighter, floatier blouses. On warmer days, she didn’t even wear tights — something that no doubt got the pulses of all the men at the university racing.

…Something that was proved at the start of April when Dina began hanging around with Aaron, a guy from our class. It didn’t take long for rumours to circulate that the two of them were a couple, and it didn’t take long for those rumours to be confirmed when they were spotted snogging in a corridor of the dorms. Initially, of course, I felt jealous of Aaron (as did most of the guys at the university, in all likelihood,) though externally I continued to play the role of the ‘good friend/big sister,’ cheering the couple on as they quickly grew more and more serious. And, of course, it didn’t take me long to remember that Dina and I could never be a couple anyway — especially when I wore the same grey crop top, button-up denim skirt and cork wedges that Dina wore in the first photo she uploaded to Facebook of herself and Aaron.

A few weeks after they became a couple, it was my eighteenth birthday and, while the day itself was, of course, celebrated with a formal meal with my family at my grandfather’s estate, my parents did also let me have a ‘proper’ party the following Saturday. A function room was booked at one of Edinburgh’s most upmarket hotels, and ten of my closest friends from university (as well as James and Arabella, of course), came — which of course meant Dina, and this of course also meant Aaron.

It’s funny how I can remember Dina’s 18th birthday party in vivid detail, while I can barely remember my own. I know there was music, there was dancing, cake and ( alimited amount of) champagne served and James gave me an ‘amusing’ toast, but beyond that most of the night was a blur (and not because of the champagne). Most of it — except, of course, for what Dina wore. Even though I had to buy them for myself after my birthday with my own money, the short-sleeved floral playsuit and chunky-heeled ankle boots brought me more happiness than any of my actual presents — especially as even though I hung out with Dina for most of the party, it meant that I also had to hang out with Aaron for most of it as well. Of course, neither of them minded me being the centre of attention for the night, though I couldn’t help but notice that the two of them disappeared to their own hotel room shortly after the party ended.

With university winding down for the year after my birthday, it gave me more free time to ‘experiment’ with my look and my gender identity, and I took the opportunity to ‘experiment’ with my sexuality as well. I’d long since accepted that I was primarily attracted to girls, but I began to wonder whether or not in order to get the 'full female experience,' I needed to have a boyfriend as well — just like Dina did. Obviously, I wasn’t going to seduce the first boy I came across — I had yet to even leave my room dressed as a girl, let alone go somewhere with a lot of people. Instead, I turned to my Amazon account and ordered myself a few examples of what the website described as 'adult toys,' 'experimenting' with them over the course of the following few weeks. However, all I learned from my ‘experiments’ was that I much, MUCH preferred girls to boys, and while my ‘wardrobe’ was placed back into storage at the end of my first year of university, my ‘toys’ went straight to landfill.

Needless to say, the summer holidays were some of the longest days of my life. Not only was I cut off from my ‘wardrobe’, but I also had no contact with Dina beyond the occasional likes on each other’s Facebook posts — most of hers also inspiring yet more outfit ideas for when I returned to university, even if some of the outfits were just plain black bikinis and the occasional one-piece swimsuit (including a strapless leopard print swimsuit that stayed in my wardrobe for a very long time). Most of my time, of course, was spent with my family on my grandfather’s estate as they grilled me, James and Arabella about our education and our lives. As well as going out of their way to ignore the existence of our oldest sibling.

It came as a blessed relief when I returned to university the following September and reunited with Dina — and of course my wardrobe, which immediately started growing again as early as our first lecture. When Dina arrived dressed in a grey miniskirt, a tight black top with a built-in choker and, as it was autumn again, shiny black tights and flat black ankle booties, I felt my Amazon account immediately call to me. Before the end of the week, I had that exact same outfit covering my body, bringing with it a sense of near euphoria as I felt myself once again be completely smothered by femininity.

Over the following few weeks, I gradually settled back into my studies — both my university course and my ongoing ‘study’ of femininity. As well as emulating Dina’s style, I began to experiment with other styles: smart suits with fitted blazers and short, tight skirts; long, fancy evening gowns; outfits with tight-fitting feminine cut trousers and leggings; lingerie including teddies and basques; and even the odd costume, such as a flight attendant (taking inspiration from the spin-off show of The Angels that was set in an airline), a waitress with a satin blouse, skirt and apron, and even a replica of the same short tartan skirt and knee-high socks my sister wore to school, which I wished I’d been able to wear every day of my school life. The costumes quickly became a big part of my wardrobe in the first few weeks of the school year, as a short while after we returned came the day that my online friends described as ‘the one day that any guy can dress as a girl and no one will take any notice’ — October 31st, aka Halloween.

Neither Dina nor I had celebrated Halloween the previous year, having instead chosen to focus on getting the hang of our studies, but for our second year, we’d been invited to a party by one of our classmates, and we were both eager to attend. And as odd as it sounds, I was almost more excited to see Dina’s costume than I was to wear my own.

…However, four days before Halloween, Dina came into our first lecture of the day wearing a plain (but tight) pair of jeans, a black turtleneck and hiding her face behind her long brown hair and a pair of oversized sunglasses. I knew instinctively at that point that I’d be spending that evening sleeping on her floor.

…Which, of course, is exactly what happened. And with Dina not up for the Halloween party, I didn’t go either, and a part of me was grateful that I ended up not having to muster up the courage to leave my dorm en femme. However, while I was only too happy to play the role of ‘big sister’ once again for Dina, the feeling apparently wasn’t mutual, as two weeks later Dina celebrated her nineteenth birthday with a weekend trip to a health and beauty spa with her friends… but only her female friends. Her accompanying Facebook post and the caption ‘sisters doing it for themselves’ just drove home the fact that when it’s convenient, I’m her ‘honorary big sister’, but at the end of the day, she’d only ever see me as male.

This pattern continued for the remainder of our time at university. Dina would become infatuated with a boy, break up with him a few months later and lean on me for support in the interim, all the while I felt too nervous to seek to be her next boyfriend — not to mention wanting to be her 'big sister' in a much more literal sense. Naturally, this also meant that my relationship with Sian was the first and last that I would have while at university.

By the end of my four years at university, my wardrobe had grown so large that I rented a storage unit all year round simply to keep all the clothes and shoes I hadn’t worn in a while. Many were even given away to charity shops, some were sold on eBay (where I ended up getting a lot of my wardrobe from) but the vast majority remained in storage, ready for when I wanted to wear them again. Some, like the skirt, top and flats I wore on my first ‘successful’ night as a girl, never left my wardrobe except for when I returned home during the holidays.

In summer 2019, Dina and I both graduated (both with upper second class honours degrees), and even though we spent time together at the graduation party, she spent most of her time with her then-boyfriend, discussing her plans to move together to London to start work in the finance sector down there, while I, of course, remained in Edinburgh working for my family’s company. I will admit to shedding a tear when I bade farewell to Dina with a gentle hug — she had, after all, been a part of my life for four years, and would always be an inspiration for me, even if the only time I’d be able to see her face would be on Facebook.

That September, I started work for my family’s company as the financial analyst I was groomed to be from birth, and while the work was hard at first, it brought with it a major positive — the ability to afford my own place. With my family's help, I was able to afford a mortgage on a small flat a few miles from the city centre, and while I was excited to have my independence, what I was most excited about was the ability to have my whole wardrobe under my own roof indefinitely.

Aside from the odd occasion when my family dropped round, I quickly fell into a routine of waking up, going to work, returning home and immediately diving headfirst into the femininity I’d long since become addicted to at university. At weekends, I would even dress on a Friday night, sleep in soft girls' pyjamas or nighties on Friday, Saturday and Sunday night and only return to being ‘William’ as late as possible on Monday morning. The thought of spending an entire day fully made-up, with long, golden brown tresses flowing over my slender body, which was covered with garments like skirts, dresses and blouses kept me going and motivated every day I was sat in the office, wearing the same boring shirt, tie and trousers as the other men. The more time I spent as a woman, the more time I wanted to spend as a woman, and over the months I was living by myself, I started working up the courage to venture outside for the first time ever as a woman… only for that to become a moot point a mere six months after I started working for my family.

“From this evening,” the prime minister announced to the nation on that fateful Monday evening, “I must give the British people a very simple instruction — you must stay at home.” Millions around the country expected, but dreaded, the words that came out of the prime minister’s mouth. To me, however, it ironically opened a door I hadn’t expected in a million years.

I was still wary of Covid, of course, even if rates in Scotland never quite reached the heights they did in London. But less than a week after the lockdown order came through, everyone in the office was given a work laptop and sent to work from home for the foreseeable future. All of my colleagues were upset by the fact that they wouldn’t get to so much as see each other, except for video meetings once per week. I, however, was ecstatic.

In no time whatsoever, my routine of ‘spend all of Friday evening to Monday morning dressed’ became ‘spend all of Tuesday evening to the following Tuesday morning dressed’, with the only ‘concession’ being my regular team meeting over Zoom on Tuesday mornings. I even ‘got into the spirit’ of things on other weekdays, taking inspiration from some of Dina Black's Facebook posts and dressing in smart, formal skirt suits on work days, keeping my wig tied in a professional French braid — though after a few months without a haircut, even my wig started to be surplus to requirements. I spent almost every waking moment dressed and wearing jewellery, perfume and make up, and I went through so much lipstick in particular that even my Amazon subscription had a hard time keeping up. By the time May hit and we had still yet to return to the office, my mind began to turn back to what had occupied so much of my mind during university — making the arrangement permanent and making 'William' a thing of the past.

Of course, even with a private GP, getting an appointment simply to get the ball rolling in the middle of a global pandemic proved to be nearly impossible, and I knew better than to try to self-medicate with hormones. But I also knew that this was a path I could never turn my back on. Every step I took toward femininity felt more ‘right’ than the last. Every time I fastened a bra behind my back, or zipped myself into a leg-hugging skirt, or even applied my favourite lipstick, I felt more and more like the ‘real me’ — not the ‘mask’ I was forced to wear for the first 21 years of my life. However, everyone who knew me only knew the ‘mask’ — and that was going to be the biggest hurdle of all. If my family ostracised my brother for being gay, I stood no chance of being accepted as the woman that I truly was. Sooner or later, I would have to confront them — or rather, come out to them. Which was, of course, another thing that Covid had rendered impossible for the time being.

And yet, the longer the pandemic went on, the more feminine I became. By the middle of June, all of ‘William’s clothes had been consigned to a couple of suitcases underneath my bed, used only for the dreaded Tuesday Zoom calls. I wore nighties to bed, a smart skirt and blouse when working and a casual girls’ t-shirt and short denim skirt or a loose summer dress when not working. At all times while I was awake, I was fully made-up, wore thongs and padded bras, jewellery, nail polish and even perfume. With the help of my growing hair and 'shaping' undergarments, not a single trace of me was in any way masculine — and yet I still wanted more. Every time Dina posted a Facebook photo of herself, I immediately HAD to emulate her look down to the tiniest detail — and I always did.

And then, over summer, her Facebook posts gradually dried up. I of course checked to see that I hadn’t been unfriended, and I hadn’t — she’d just stopped posting. It wasn’t due to a break-up, as her Facebook showed that she was still in a relationship, so I assumed that she was struggling due to the stress of lockdown. I briefly considered messaging her to see if she was okay, but the last thing I wanted was to come across as stalkerish. Besides, if we’d ended up video chatting, it’d have raised a LOT of awkward questions.

However, while Dina’s output dried up, the Angels began posting more and more content to their social media pages, and the number of outfit inspirations I had started to skyrocket. I found myself trawling through not just the Facebook pages, but every social media channel of the Angels, especially Jamie-Lee Burke and Kelly Watson — two women who were born male but fully transitioned, even having gender reassignment surgery, and who exuded effortless femininity every second of the day. If they recommended a dress, a make-up brand or even a pair of tights, I bought it. If they uploaded hair or make-up tutorials, I followed them to the letter. I even invested in several pairs of pink tights and a strappy black leotard in order to follow along with Krystie Fullerton’s ballet videos (which were great exercises and began toning my body, especially my legs.)

Gradually, summer came to an end, and by the middle of September, virtually nothing masculine about me remained. Even with lockdown restrictions easing, everyone kept working from home, which suited me fine — literally when it came to the pencil skirts and fitted blazers I wore on every day (apart from Tuesdays, of course). However, lockdown easing also meant that doctors started to become available for non-Covid reasons.

I bit my lip (which was, of course, coated in my favourite nude matte lipstick) nervously as my laptop pinged to let me know of an incoming call. Even though I’d specifically requested it, this was a man I’d known for several years, but who had only ever known ‘William’. I took a deep breath and answered the call, trying not to flinch at the surprise in the middle-aged man’s eyes.

“Good afternoon, umm- ‘William,’ ” the doctor said in a cautious, almost sneering voice. Good start… I thought to myself.

“Good afternoon, Doctor Douglas,” I replied in the soft, feminine voice I’d been practising for the previous several months.

“I think I can probably guess,” Dr Douglas said, barely suppressing a snort of laughter, “but why don’t you tell me why you’ve requested today’s appointment.”

“I-“ I said, flinching as the words caught in my throat. There I was, about to finally say out loud the words, the proclamation I’ve wanted to say for so long, and yet even with my feminine self on full display, I still struggled to force my vocal chords to make the sounds I wanted. And the longer I pause, the more disapproving my GP’s look became, until I was able to just barely squeak out my words. “I- I want to transition. I want to become a woman, and I have done so for many, many years. I’ve been living more or less full-time as a woman since the start of lockdown, but I want to — I want to, umm, take hormones, and stuff…” I trailed off as I felt my doctor’s eyes boring into my skull, and I bit my lip again as I prayed that I’d conveyed my message successfully.

“I see,” Dr Douglas said stoically. “Does your family know about this?” Needless to say, this was not the question I was hoping to be asked.

“I- umm, I- no,” I stammered in response. “They — umm, they don’t know, no. “They CAN’T know, I thought to myself. “I was hoping, umm, that you — that you could refer me to a counsellor, or a specialist…”

“Well, I can certainly do that,” Dr Douglas said. “And our privacy policy prevents me from telling your family about what you’ve told me today.” But if it wasn’t for that policy, you’d probably rat me out in a heartbeat, I thought to myself. “I can’t prescribe any medication for — for ‘this’, certainly not hormones. But I will make the referral for you. You should hear from someone within about a month, I know they have a waiting list, but you should be seen quickly, at least for an initial, umm, ‘assessment.’ ”

“Thank you,” I whispered as I felt myself start to relax for the first time since the appointment was made.

Needless to say, the next four weeks were some of the longest of my life. As autumn started to draw in my wardrobe changed, with warmer and darker clothes replacing my lighter summer tops and skirts. When the time came for my first call with my counsellor, I ensured that I was as comfortable as possible, while also being as feminine as possible — though as far as I was concerned, those two things were one and the same. My hair was brushed out into a voluminous bob, my face was immaculately made-up as always, and my long fingernails had been sculpted and painted a dark burgundy colour. Two pairs of modest clip-on hoops hung from my earlobes, a dainty silver chain was wrapped around my left wrist and a small heart-shaped pendant hung from my neck, which — like my torso and arms — was covered in a tight, dark grey ribbed turtleneck. A pair of dark, shiny tights covered my legs, while a clingy black mini skirt hung from my hips. A pair of black knee-high boots with a chunky 3” heel completed my look, even though I wasn’t leaving the flat — I hadn’t even worn the boots outside since I’d bought them. But they were part of a look Alice Devry (the ‘Angel’) posted on Instagram last year, and they looked good on her, so I knew they’d look good on me too. A padded bra, a thong and a waist cincher completed my look, and as I looked at myself in the mirror, I smiled at how perfectly feminine I look on the outside, and how feminine I felt in my mind. I hoped — prayed, even — that my meeting would help me feel fully feminine all throughout, both on the outside and the inside.

“Hello, is that… William?” The counsellor- a dignified-looking woman in her mid-forties- asked.

“Umm- yeah…” I replied, conscious of the fact that the way I was presenting myself, ‘William’ would be the last name you’d give me. “H- hi, it’s nice to, umm, meet you.”

“Likewise,” the counsellor replied with a warm smile — a much warmer greeting than my GP gave me. “Before we go any further, let me introduce myself. My name is Doctor Alice Clarke,” Of course you’d be called Alice, I thought to myself as I adjusted my boots. “I’ve worked with young men and women who have questioned their gender identity for over ten years. Your doctor has told me what you’ve told him, about your ambitions for the future and to start transitioning, but I’d like to hear your story in your own words, please.”

“Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath as I relaxed and recounted my story.

I told Dr Clarke all about my life, about my envy of my cousins, my sister, about my childhood dreams of being a girl — and all about Dina as well. I told my counsellor about my infatuation both with Dina and with her life, how I wished to be her, how I’d emulated her style and gradually developed my own. All throughout my story, Dr Clarke sat and listened, never judging — not even when I mentioned my fear at coming out to my family.

“Okay,” Dr Clarke said after I finished my story, while I took several deep breaths to try to control the emotions that had been raging within me. “You’ve given me a lot of information, and it’s fairly obvious even on a first look that your desire to transition isn’t a spur of the moment whim, but comes from somewhere a lot deeper, a lot more ‘real’. Whether or not it’s gender dysphoria, I can’t say for certain without speaking to you more, reviewing your circumstances in more depth. I’m sorry, but you will have to wait longer before I’m confident that hormones would be in your best interest.”

“O- okay,” I mumbled, trying again not to cry.

“Though I will say it’s not a definite ‘no,’ ” Dr Clarke said in an attempt to encourage me. “Though there are two things I need you to do before we proceed down that route.” My heart sank as I let out a long sigh — I immediately knew what one of those things would be.

“I have to come out to my family,” I mumbled into my chest. “Even though I AM an adult in every meaningful way?”

“You need to demonstrate that this is real,” Dr Clarke retorted. “That this is permanent and will not be reversed.”

“And chemically changing my entire body doesn’t demonstrate that?” I asked.

“Of course it does,” Dr Clarke replied. “But as doctors we have to be responsible. We have to ensure that we don’t inadvertently do more harm by prescribing the hormones, and the way we do that is…“

“Making me jump through hoops?” I snorted angrily.

“…Guiding you through the steps necessary to demonstrate your commitment,” Dr Clarke said, visibly annoyed by my indignation. “It’s not just that you’re ready to live life as a woman, but that you’re also ready to fully abandon your male life.”

“I am,” I said confidently.

“Have you chosen a name yet?” Dr Clarke asked, stopping me in my tracks. In all the years I’d embraced femininity, it was something I hadn’t even considered. I was so focused on being a woman, on emulating Dina or the Angels, that I’d not stopped to consider who I would be as — for want of a better way of putting it — a 'legal' woman. When I dressed as Dina, as far as I was concerned, I was ‘Dina’, not ‘William’ or even ‘feminine William’. Even after living more or less full time as a woman for months, I’d never thought about what my own identity would be. Was Dr Clarke right when she implied that my desire to transition wasn’t ‘real’ enough?

“Umm, I- umm, no…” I feebly mumbled.

“That’s okay,” Dr Clarke said reassuringly. “It’s a big decision after all, and not something you should rush into. Have a think about it, and we can talk it through when we speak again in two weeks’ time.”

“Okay,” I said, sitting back and listening as my counsellor explained to me what my ‘program’ would entail.

Needless to say, for the rest of the day, my thoughts were occupied by my identity. I spent the evening experimenting with outfits, make-up and even styling and restyling my hair, hoping that as I looked at myself in the mirror, something would ‘click’. However, every outfit I chose — short skirts, long dresses, even jeans or leggings — reminded me of one person — of Dina. I even experimented with different costumes (it not being lost on me that Halloween was mere days away), including some new acquisitions like a tightly-laced playboy bunny bodysuit or a voluminous princess dress — but still, all I saw was Dina. Frustrated, I changed into my now-regular sleepwear of a plain white nightie and a soft cotton thong, hoping that even this would help, but to no avail.

When I woke up the following morning, though, I saw the Facebook notification that would end up changing my life forever.

As usual, I’d woken up, showered, picked out my outfit for the day (a lacy black bodysuit and a business suit with a short pencil skirt and black tights, as it was a workday) and headed through to my kitchen to prepare breakfast. As usual, I flicked through my iPad, looking at various social media pages to see if there was anything new from Dina — which there wasn’t — or from any of the Angels, which on this particular day, there definitely was.

‘Do you want to be the next Angel?’ The notification — which had been re-posted by many of the Angels’ official pages, including Jamie, Kelly and Hannah — read. ‘Coming next year to Amazon Prime will be an all-new reality show for women aged 18-30 with the ultimate prize — to be the next member of Britain’s most elite model and influencer group. Women of all backgrounds and gender identities are welcome to apply, and no previous modelling or social media experience is necessary. Do YOU have what it takes to be the next Angel?’ There’s only one way to find out, I excitedly thought to myself as I tapped on the link, only to pause.

Sure, the advert SAID that no modelling or social media experience was necessary, but a rank amateur like myself was hardly likely to win the competition. Except I wasn’t a rank amateur. I’d spent most of the previous 5 years modelling clothes for an audience of one — myself. Through hard work and practice, I’d become — in my own opinion, at least — an expert in fashion, in make-up, in walking, talking and even body language of not just a woman, but a model as well. I could emulate any of the Angels’ fashion show and social media videos flawlessly — though as I started to fill in the form, I realised that that was the exact same problem I’d talked about with Dr Clarke the previous night. The Angels weren’t going to look for just another clone of them, they were going to look for something new, something different — hell, they even already had two transgender women in their ranks, a third would be almost surplus to requirements. And then, I was reminded of my family.

I was the third child of four, born with zero expectation of inheriting the title that belonged to my grandfather. I was a ‘spare’, but that gave me the freedom to craft my own identity away from the pressure, the expectations of my family. And yet, I hadn’t. My childhood had been spent in my brothers’ shadows. My life at university — even if she didn’t realise it — was spent in Dina’s shadow. But now, I could be whoever I wanted to be, and the more I thought about it, the more I realised that I wanted to be an Angel. To not just live in Jamie or Kelly’s shadows, but to carve out my own ‘niche’. And even if I didn’t know what exactly that ‘niche’ would be, I reasoned that as I was only 22, I had my entire life to find out. I opened up the application form and began filling it in, only to pause once again.

Unsurprisingly, the first thing the application form asked for was my name, and even in an undoubtedly trans-friendly environment like the Angels, entering the name ‘William Constable’ would raise a few too many eyebrows — especially as I’d already typed ‘William’ onto the form. However, in what turned out to be a serendipitous accident, I realised I’d typed ‘William’ into the ‘surname’ box, not the ‘forename’ box, and at that moment, something clicked in my brain.

“Dina Williams,” I whispered to myself, repeating the name as I headed back to the bathroom and looked at the woman staring at me from the mirror, the name feeling more and more ‘right’ every time I said it. “Dina Williams… Hello, Dina Williams. Britain’s next Angel!” Hopefully, anyway….

Nearly three weeks had passed since I sent in my application form for what had quickly become known as ‘SYWTBAA’ online and, as time went on, I’d begun to put it further and further toward the back of my mind. In between my work, my meetings with Dr Clarke and my increasingly desperate efforts to keep my family in the dark about ‘Dina Williams,’ the idea of becoming Britain’s next ‘Angel,’ which had been a long shot to begin with, started to look more and more like a fairytale. This, however, didn’t stop me from exploring all the delights that being ‘Dina’ had to offer.

My time as ‘William’ was now strictly limited to video calls only. Every other second of the day, I presented as ‘Dina,’ ensuring that the outside matched the inside as closely as possible. I exclusively wore skirts and dresses at home, with only the occasional pair of girly leggings or a jumpsuit for bifurcated variety. I refined my make-up looks more and more, savouring the feeling of erasing my masculinity with every stroke of the brush. My hair continued to grow longer, allowing me to experiment with a greater variety of styles. And I continued to experiment with other aspects of my femininity as well. I tried different breast form and bra sizes, ranging from an A cup all the way up to an F cup, before eventually settling on 34C as ‘my size.’ I tried out padding on my hips and my backside, all while keeping my body totally hair-free below my eyebrows. I even began wearing sanitary pads in my underwear for five days out of every four weeks, such was my commitment to being ‘Dina.’ I found myself going to bed each night (usually wearing a nightie or a cute set of girly pyjamas, of course) giddy with excitement about what feminine delights the following day would bring.

And then, on Monday, the first of March, I got the surprise I hoped for, but never really expected.

‘Dear Miss Williams,’ the email read — the heading of ‘Miss Williams’ sending tingles through my body even as I stood wearing a short nightie, along with breast forms stuck to my chest. ‘We are pleased to offer you an audition for ‘So You Want To Be An Angel?’ on Saturday, the 6th of March 2021, at your chosen location of Edinburgh. Please follow the below link to open the location on Google Maps. We would ask that you attend the audition wearing your usual street clothes and your own make-up. While you will not wear a mask during the audition itself, you will still be required to follow local guidance regarding mask-wearing and social distancing. Your audition will include a series of questions by the Angels themselves via video link about your life and any hobbies or skills you may have. Please have a think about what hobbies you want to showcase to the Angels, and bring along any props or material you feel will assist you, but be aware that crew will not be able to assist you due to covid guidelines.’ I immediately started racking my brain, trying to think of what to take to the audition. Should I do a live make-up demonstration? I wasn’t a bad singer, should I do that instead? Maybe try my hand at stand-up comedy — my brothers had taken me to several shows at the Fringe Festival over the years, much to my parents’ disapproval. Due to my distraction, I almost didn’t notice the next sentence of the letter — though when I did read it, I immediately felt like I'd been punched in the stomach.

‘Please bring along two forms of ID, including one form of photo ID,’ the form read, making my heart sink. While I was committed full time to life as ‘Dina Williams,’ and although I was keeping up with my video sessions with my counsellor and had no intention of returning to life as ‘William Constable,’ the fact was that in the eyes of the law, that was exactly who I was. My driving licence and passport both bore the name ‘William Constable’ with the image of someone who was unquestionably male, and that wasn’t going to change in the few days I had before the audition. Defeated, I slumped down onto my sofa, my feminine adornments feeling more like a 'costume' and less like the 'real me' than ever. As I tossed my phone to one side, though, a thought entered my mind: was this how Jamie and Kelly would’ve reacted to every setback? They must have been in the same place I was during their lives, filling in forms as ‘Jamie’ and ‘Kelly’ when their IDs all said ‘James’ and ‘Kevin.’ It never stopped them from becoming — no, being — successful women. It never stopped them from being Angels. If any one ‘brand’ was likely to understand the journey I was on — or at least, wanted to be on — it was The Angels. I immediately picked my phone back up and wrote a letter explaining my situation before emailing it to Dr Clarke, asking her to sign it and return it in the hope that it would be accepted by the production team at the audition. And even if it wasn’t, I could at least say that I’d tried, and it would act as further evidence to my counsellor that I was sincere in my desire to transition.

…Especially because, as I suddenly realised, in order to attend the audition, I’d need to do the one thing that scared me more than anything else about my potential life as ‘Dina’ — leave the safety of my flat.

For the previous twelve months, going outside (or indeed, not going outside) as ‘Dina’ had been a moot point, as nobody was going outside or meeting up at all for any reason. Virtually all of the latest season of the Angels had been recorded in the models’ homes. However, with lockdown restrictions starting to ease, the streets were gradually getting busier — though I saw this as even more of an excuse to not venture out into them. I’d convinced myself that I never needed to go outside as ‘Dina’ — all of my shopping was delivered during times when I had to be ‘William,’ any exercise outside was done wearing androgynous workout gear and with social gatherings not happening, I didn't even need an excuse to stay at home all day and all night. Working from home was set to continue for the foreseeable future so to all intents and purposes, I was living the same life as any other woman my age, under the circumstances, anyway. Consciously, though, I knew that it wouldn’t last forever — though I had expected to get more than just a few days’ warning.

I put my phone back down and took several deep breaths as I tried to work out what I’d do next. Annoyingly, as it was a Monday, I had a heavier than usual workload — but this also meant that I wasn’t expected to appear on camera at any point. As long as I logged on to the work mainframe at 10am and had everything done by 5pm, no one would’ve questioned anything. Realising that this was the best opportunity I’d get before the audition, I headed through to my bathroom and, with my hands still trembling with nerves, started preparing myself for the unexpected day ahead.

I began as always by brushing my hair, though instead of tying it back, I let it hang over my shoulders, hoping to frame my face better. Trying my hardest to will my hands to stop trembling, I applied my usual concealer and foundation, before carefully applying my favourite mascara, thick eyeliner and bronze-coloured eyeshadow. Of course, my make-up was completed by a thick layer of my favourite nude matte lipstick.

After pulling on my usual padded bra and ‘tucking’ myself into a matching thong, I opened my wardrobe and examined my options. On the million-to-one chance that I was picked to take part in the show, I’d need to convey as ‘natural’ an image as possible, so my usual ‘enhancements’ like hip and buttock pads were left in their drawer, as was my waist cincher — months of exercise had left me slender enough that it wasn’t really needed. While I knew that most models were skinny, not all of the Angels were thin as a rake, reinforcing the 'natural is best' message. I briefly fiddled with my bra, wondering whether or not to shed that as well, before remembering that I didn’t want to be ‘too’ natural — as natural as 'male' was for me, anyway — and it wasn’t like cisgender women didn’t wear padded bras either. I didn’t just want to be ‘natural’, but also ‘naturally feminine’ — just like how I felt on the inside.

As it was still a chilly early spring day, I started with a pair of nearly opaque glossy black tights and a soft, lacy grey camisole. I looked through my drawers for an appropriate skirt to wear — my theme of ‘natural femininity’ meant there was no way I was going to wear trousers or even shorts — eventually settling on a dark grey skirt that ended four inches above my knee and was tight around my buttocks, but not tight enough to betray my ‘tuck.’ Picking out a top, however, took more consideration.

Initially, I’d considered wearing a bodysuit so as to give my ‘tuck’ a bit more assistance, but that plan was quickly abandoned as I’d always struggled with pulling on bodysuits over my head and fastening them at the crotch, which for the same reason meant that I didn’t own any with a turtleneck. This was significant because as I examined myself in my mirror, I suddenly became hyper aware of the lump sticking out of my throat. Obviously, it would need to be covered up or disguised, either by a choker or a turtleneck, and the latter quickly became my preferred option (despite my frustration at having only just applied my make-up). After much deliberation, I eventually settled on a clingy black long-sleeved top with a stretchy turtleneck and a cut-out below that gave the illusion of some cleavage. After pulling on a pair of cute ankle booties with a three-inch heel, I grabbed my handbag, gave my lipstick one final touch up and headed back to my workstation. After logging in and opening my projects, thirty minutes later I stood up, checked my reflection one last time and headed to my front door.

“Okay, ‘Dina,’ ” I whispered to myself. “You’ve got this.” After taking a deep breath, straightening my skirt and pulling on my warm winter coat, I opened my front door and shivered as the cold early Spring air touched my skin. Gingerly, I placed one foot out of the door, marvelling at the sound of my heels touching the outside concrete for the very first time. Feeling reinvigorated at having successfully taken the first step — both figuratively and literally — I locked my door behind me and made what was usually a short walk into the city centre, but on that day felt like a marathon. Not because of my heels, of course — I’d long since learned to comfortably walk in heels of up to five inches, let alone three — but because I was presenting ‘Dina’ to the world for the very first time, and I had no idea how the world would react.

…Though as it turned out, ‘the world’ reacted to ‘Dina’ just as it would any other attractive young woman. Every man I passed glanced in my direction — some furtively and some more overtly, but all seemingly focussing on my long, slender legs. Many of the younger women I passed looked at me with envy, while others studied me, as though they wanted to copy my look. Some even regarded me with the same look as the men did. And, of course, I got plenty of judgemental stares from the older members of society due to the length of my skirt. However, by the time I reached the city centre, even these encounters had started to feel second nature to me, and when I entered the convenience store I’d chosen for my ‘brunch’ (coffee shops and other cafes still being closed due to lockdown,) it didn’t even register for me that I was presenting as the ‘wrong’ gender.

“Anything else?” the girl behind the counter asked with a polite look in her eyes as I placed my coffee and chocolate bar on the counter, her mandatory face mask hiding her professional smile just as my mask was hiding my nervousness. Notably, though, she didn't appear to be remotely 'interested' in 'Dina' the way girls had in the past been 'interested' in 'William.'

“Hi,” I replied, praying that my practised feminine voice passed scrutiny. “That's all, thanks.”

“Sure,” the girl replied. “But,“ — I braced myself for the possibility of being ‘made’ — “if you need a bag, it'll be 10p, I'm afraid.”

“I'm okay,” I said with a smile. “I live not far from here.” I got my purse out of my bag, ready to pay with my card, only to suddenly freeze — my card was still in the name of ‘William Constable,’ after all. Thank God for contactless payment, I thought to myself as I tapped my card, took my drink and my snack and left the café, exhilarated that I’d passed my first ‘test’ with flying colours.

I quickly made my way back home, where I kicked off my heels, dropped my coat and handbag in the hallway and sat down at my workstation, sipping my still-warm drink as I tried to reconcile what had just happened. I’d left my home, ventured out into the ‘real world’ and even interacted with other people, all while dressed as a woman, and no one had so much as batted an eyelid. For the first time, my clothes and make-up weren’t a ‘disguise’, or a ‘costume’ — they were just clothes and make-up. MY clothes and make-up. I wasn’t a man dressing up as a woman — I WAS a woman. The feeling of euphoria I felt was unlike anything I'd ever felt before, and I knew I wanted more. However, I also knew that buying a coffee was a far cry from having to present myself to nine supermodels. Then again, Jamie and Kelly would no doubt have had similar experiences, as all journeys of a thousand miles begin with single steps, after all.

Over the following few days I ventured out of my home more and more, going further each time and interacting with more people each time. Thanks in no small part to my heavily practised make-up look and feminine voice, I was able to ‘pass’ with everyone I interacted with. This is despite the fact that with every day that passed, my audition grew nearer and nearer and I became more and more anxious…

Eventually, Saturday came, and I dragged myself out of a bed that had seen very little rest the previous night. Despite my hands trembling with nerves — even more so than my first venture outside the previous Monday — I was able to shower and remove every trace of hair below my eyebrows without drowning myself or hacking my face to ribbons, before heading back to my bedroom to work on my look for the day.

Naturally, as this was the most important make-up look of my life up to that point, I had carefully laid everything that I’d need out on my dresser the night before and allowed myself plenty of time before the audition to prepare. I started as always with my concealer and foundation, followed by a tiny amount of blusher. I left my bronzer untouched as I wanted to present as ‘natural’ a look as possible, after all. After shaping my eyebrows, I applied a moderate amount of mascara and eyeliner, followed by a light layer of bronze-coloured eyeshadow and, of course, a liberal amount of my favourite matte nude-coloured lipstick. With my face taken care of, I applied a coat of clear, glossy polish to my nails, leaving them to set before pulling on my gaff, a matching padded bra and thong set and a pair of glossy black tights — natural, maybe even plain, but undoubtedly feminine nonetheless. When I turned to face my wardrobe, however, I sighed.

When I went to bed the previous night, I was sure I knew what I wanted to wear to the audition. After laying awake in bed for 15 minutes, I’d begun to have second thoughts. 15 minutes later, third thoughts. And as I stood in front of my bulging wardrobe, I had over a dozen options in mind, including long dresses, long skirts, skirts with splits in the side, short skirts, long-sleeved tops, strapless tops and even a couple of cute playsuits and unitards. All of which had drawbacks — the long dresses were too ‘formal’, the split skirts were too ‘flirty’, the strapless tops were too revealing, the long-sleeved tops not revealing enough, the unitards made me look like a wrestler… In truth, I wanted to wear all of them, but none of them seemed 'appropriate' for the audition….

After taking a deep breath, I tried to rationalise the situation in my mind and work it through logically. The email told me to show up in my everyday street clothes. As the previous few days had proved, that was a long-sleeved top and a short, tight skirt. With a determined look on my face, I pulled on a soft, sleeveless camisole, followed by the same top, skirt and shoes I’d worn when I first ventured out the previous Monday. With my hands still shaking with nerves, I grabbed my printout of the audition email (it had a QR code I had to show at the audition venue,) a facemask and my ID, only pausing to sigh at the information on the front of my ID card before putting everything in my handbag.

“They’ll be understanding,” I tried to reassure myself. “If you tell them you’re ‘Dina’ and not ‘William,’ they’ll have no reason to disbelieve you.” After all, I thought to myself. I believe that I’m Dina, and not William, and that’s what matters most, isn’t it?

Needless to say, every step that brought me closer to the audition venue made me more and more anxious until the point where I was almost hyperventilating as I queued up at the reception desk. I was infinitely grateful that the social distancing rules and mask mandate meant that my trepidation wasn’t TOO obvious to everyone around me. As I fidgeted with the collar of my top, I also prayed that nothing else about me would come across as too obvious to the people around me, either — though when I reached second in the queue, my nerves started to lessen slightly.

“H- hi,” the girl in front of me, a tall, slender blonde-haired girl wearing a long-sleeved denim jumpsuit and platform-heeled sandals, said in a voice barely louder than a whisper. “I’m Sian McAllister, I- I’m here for the audition. I- I’ve got my paperwork…” I bit my lip and waited patiently as Sian got her documents out of her handbag, grimacing as her passport and driving licence unceremoniously dropped to the floor in front of me. Instinctively, I crouched down to help the girl retrieve her possessions, only to pause as the blonde-haired girl also crouched down.

“Ah- sorry,” I said, grimacing as I stood back up. “Keep forgetting that we probably shouldn’t touch each other’s stuff, heh.”

“It’s okay,” Sian mumbled, her cheeks burning as she retrieved her ID and stood back up. It was immediately apparent, though, that her embarrassment wasn’t due to her clumsiness, but due to the fact that the name on her driving licence read ‘Thomas’ rather than ‘Sian.’

“Thank you,” the receptionist said as she took Sian’s ID, only to frown as she looked at the driving licence, deepening the blonde girl’s blushes and increasing my anxiety as I anticipated facing the same problems as my new friend….

“It… umm,” Sian stammered. “I… umm, I- I haven’t had the chance to, umm, update my licence yet….”

“It’s okay,” the receptionist said with a warm smile that not only calmed Sian’s nerves, but mine as well. “Given who you’re auditioning for, I think you’ll be okay, heh!”

“Hehe!” Sian giggled loudly and nervously, before being directed through to a waiting area. Before she disappeared out of sight, though, I stepped up to the reception desk and ensured that I would be heard by the blonde girl.

“My name’s Dina Williams, and I’m here for the auditions too,” I said, handing over my paperwork to be scrutinised. “My… my ID needs updating too.” I smiled as Sian’s eyes widened, before nodding and smiling what I hoped was a supportive smile behind my mask.

“That’s okay,” the receptionist said, smiling the same warm smile behind her mask that she had for Sian. Just follow the blue line on the floor to the waiting area and remember to stay two metres apart from everyone else. You’ll be called through when it’s your turn with the Angels.”

“Thanks,” I whispered nervously as I realised that I was one step closer to my audition and my first meeting with the ‘Angels,’ although my nerves lessened when I headed through the doors to discover Sian waiting for me — two metres away, of course — with a surprised look in her eyes.

“Okay, seriously,” the blonde woman said as we walked together to the waiting area. “I- I’m sorry if I, like, picked up the wrong signals but I- I would NEVER have guessed that you were trans, seriously.”

“Th- thanks, and no offence taken,” I giggled in reply as I brushed a lock of hair away from my face. “I’d never have been able to tell you were, either.”

“Even though I’m 6’ 5” with these on?” Sian snorted as she lifted one foot to show off her heels.

“Supermodels are tall,” I replied with a shrug, earning a giggle from the blonde woman.

“Have… umm, if you don’t mind me asking, ha- have you been transitioning long?” Sian asked, making me grateful for my mask as I bit my lip awkwardly.

“Umm… if by ‘transitioning’ you mean ‘living as a woman,’ then pretty much full-time for eighteen months,” I replied. “If you mean ‘medically transitioning,’ then… kinda, umm… not?” I tried not to blush as the blonde girl’s eyes widened again.

“Wha- really?” Sian asked. “I mean, like, not as a criticism or anything, but- but you’re really- really, like, ‘natural,’ you know?”

“Trust me, it took a LOT of work,” I chuckled as I remembered back to my first, disastrous attempt to be ‘Dina’ all those years ago, and how it seemed like living as a woman would only ever be a pipe dream. And yet there I was, about to audition to be a member of one of, if not THE most prestigious modelling and influencer clique in the country. Even if I didn’t have any modelling or ‘influencing’ experience… “Umm, Sian, do you… do you have any, like, experience? I mean, like, modelling?"

“…I thought you were going to ask if I had any experience medically transitioning,” Sian replied as we entered the waiting room to find that we were the only two there. “But as I asked you, it’s only fair I answer myself, heh, and I’ve been on HRT for three months. Would’ve been longer if not for you-know-what, in the end I had to go private just to get the prescription. But it was well worth the wait. As for modelling… I’ve done a few, umm, photoshoots…” I frowned with confusion as my new friend’s sudden bashfulness.

“…Sian?” I asked cautiously.

“Most of my, like, ‘photoshoots,’ ” Sian said nervously. “They’re kinda… kinda, like, private between me and my boyfriend, heh.”

“Ah,” I said, sharing a giggle with my new friend. “Have you- have you two been together long?”

“We got together just before the pandemic,” Sian replied. “We’re pretty serious, he’s helped me a lot with building my Instagram account too.” Another thing I’m lagging behind on, I thought to myself as I remembered my meagre follower count. “How about you?”

“Currently single,” I replied with a shrug, earning (I assume behind the mask) a sympathetic smile from the blonde woman. “There was a girl while I was at uni, but — yeah.” It took several seconds for me to realise that my wistfulness wasn’t for my actual first girlfriend, even despite the fact that she shared a name with the girl I was talking to, but rather for Dina — the ‘real’ Dina, Dina Black — even though by that point I hadn’t seen her in the flesh in over eighteen months.

“I- I didn’t go to uni, but- yeah,” Sian said, before chuckling. “…Are you SURE you’re not cis?”

“I’m not gonna prove it!” I replied, sharing a loud laugh with my new friend as I found myself relaxing more and more.

It was at that point that I realised that for all that Sian and I had in common — mostly the ‘obvious’ characteristic — and all that we didn’t have in common — she was in a relationship, I was single; she was blonde, I was brunette — it had taken me no time to accept her as a woman, and vice versa. Sian was the first trans woman I ever met in the flesh, and the first person — other than medical professionals — I had come out to. And for the first time ever, I didn’t feel alone. I didn’t feel like a freak, or a weirdo, or an outlier. I felt like an ordinary woman, and I started to truly believe that that was exactly what I was, anatomy and genetics be damned.

“Here, gimme your Instagram name, I’ll follow you if you’ll follow me?” Sian asked, taking her phone out of her bag, pausing as I fidgeted awkwardly.

“I- umm, I have a profile,” I said awkwardly. “But I- I kinda haven’t uploaded anything yet. I- I kinda don’t want my family finding out about me. Well, not yet, anyway. They- they’ve never really approved of social media, heh.”

“Old-fashioned?” Sian asked, smiling (I hope) sympathetically as I nodded. “It’s okay. Though I imagine they’ll be surprised when they see you on the TV… though if they’re THAT old-fashioned they probably won’t watch reality TV either, I take it?”

“That’s the idea,” I said, sharing another giggle with my new friend.

“Well… at least we’ll be able to message, like, if you ever need someone to talk to about, like, the ‘grislier’ bits of transitioning. Or even the ‘girlier’ bits, hehe!”

“I’d like that,” I said, getting my phone out of my bag, logging into the ‘Dina Williams’ account I set up shortly after sending in my application form and exchanging follows with the blonde woman. “You can never have too many friends, right?”

“No prizes for guessing which Angel you’re trying to impress, then!” Sian giggled as another girl entered the room and took a seat at the far end of the room out of earshot of us, before getting her phone out of her bag. However, it was the shiny red long-sleeved top with an elaborate rhinestone pattern that was tucked into her jeans that drew my attention the most, although it didn’t take long to suss out that it wasn’t technically a top. “…And no prizes for guessing that her ‘talent’ is gymnastics, heh.”

“Yep,” I chuckled.

“While I was waiting, I actually saw another girl walk out wearing ballet toe shoes and carrying a tutu,” Sian said. “Hair in a bun, pink tights, the works. Obviously trying to impress Krystie, heh.”

“Probably,” I said with a smirk. “I’m also going to have to look online to see where I can get a leotard like that, heh!”

“I have before, they’re not cheap, proper gymnastics leotards,” Sian informed me. “Do you work currently?”

“Yeah,” I replied. “From home, which has been such a lifesaver. Dunno if I’d have been able to stand going into the office as ‘William’ every day. At least from home I can dress — well, like this, I suppose. Or in a leotard all day if I want, heh.”

“Lucky,” Sian giggled. “I work at M&S, so I have to wear the same uniform every day, and… yeah. They’ve been nothing but supportive of my transition, though. I’m guessing from what you’ve said that your employer doesn’t know about the ‘real you?’ ”

“Ah… no, no they don’t,” I mumbled. “And as my father runs the company, they — well, I doubt they’d be supportive, heh.”

“That’s why ‘girls like us’ need to stick together,” Sian whispered, before squeaking with excitement as one of the researchers appeared at the door.

“Sian McAllister?” The researcher asked, no doubt raising my new friend’s adrenaline levels — and oddly enough, mine as well.

“Good luck,” I whispered as my new friend followed the researcher out into the corridor.

“Thanks, you too!” Sian giggled anxiously. “Bet your girlfriend from uni will regret breaking up with you when she sees you knock ‘em dead onscreen, hehe!”

“Yep!” I squeaked, trying to hide my nerves as the blonde woman disappeared out of sight. And Dina Black will no doubt be surprised to see me on her TV screen having appropriated her name, her style — her face, even…

As I was left alone with my thoughts, I was immediately gripped by a feeling of not just nerves, but something much worse. There I was, sat in an unfamiliar room, wearing clothes and make-up that I technically owned, and had worn countless times, but still felt like they belonged to someone else. Namely, the same girl I hadn’t seen in eighteen months, yet I couldn’t get out of mind even without Sian’s ‘prompt.’ SHE was the one who should have auditioned to be an Angel. She was the one whose effortless femininity drew me in like a bee to nectar. All I would ever be was an imitator of the ‘real’ Dina. Of a ‘real’ woman….

However, as I looked across the room at the gymnast, and over to the newly arrived young woman in her green minidress and dark tights, I tried to remind myself that my ‘feelings’ existed long before I met Dina Black. And if anything, those feelings had only escalated since she left my life. I was living over 160 out of 168 hours a week as a woman for my sake, not for Dina Black’s. I was seeing a counsellor about my feelings of gender dysphoria, not ‘Dina dysphoria.’ And for all I knew, Dina Black’s style could’ve greatly diverged from my own over the past few months — mine has certainly evolved, as my love of playsuits, smart skirts and high-heeled shoes proved. Though there still remained a large part of me that wanted to know what her style had become, and moreover, how I could’ve emulated it….

As I waited, a fourth girl arrived, dressed in a tight black and white striped minidress and took a seat away from me. I briefly considered engaging the other girls in conversation, but quickly decided against it — if they were as nervous as I felt, they wouldn’t want to talk, and the mandated physical distance between us would’ve made conversations a little awkward. Additionally, if the girl in the red leotard had overheard mine and Sian’s conversation, then she'd know that I wasn’t ‘like other girls’ and, in all probability, not like the other three girls, either — though as Sian and I had (hopefully) proved, that was by no means guaranteed. And, as I reminded myself, if they did have a problem with girls like me and Sian, they were the ones who were in the wrong place, not me.

I was lost in thought — ironically, looking through online shops for professional gymnastics leotards — when the researcher for the show returned and said two words that nearly made my heart stop.

“Dina Williams?” The researcher asked, momentarily confusing me before I realised that it was my name that they called — and it was my turn in front of the Angels. With my hands shaking with nerves, I returned my phone to my handbag and approached the young woman, who had an almost sympathetic look on her masked face.

“Nervous?” the researcher asked as we walked down the corridor.

“A- a little,” I replied. “I have NO idea what I’m going to say…”

“Well don’t worry, the girls are all really friendly,” the researcher explained in an attempt to calm my nerves. “Before they start recording, the Angels will introduce themselves. They’ll explain what will happen in the audition, but trust me, you have nothing to be worried about.” Other than what my family will think if they ever see it, I thought. Or Dina Black….

I found myself struggling to concentrate on the researcher’s advice as we approached the small room where the audition would be held and, when the door was opened, I found myself nearly hyperventilating when I saw the nine women on the large screen that had been set up — and more importantly, they saw me.

“Hi!” Charlotte Hartley — the unofficial ‘leader’ of the Angels — said with a warm smile and an enthusiastic wave as I took my place on the marked spot on the floor, unconsciously clasping my hands over my crotch even though my skirt was ‘bulge-free.’

“H- hi,” I said, smiling nervously. “I- I’m Dina, sorry, I’m a little nervous, heh!”

“That’s perfectly understandable,” Viks Benedict said with a smile that matched her fellow ‘Angel’ in warmth. “I hope Sally explained what will happen during the audition?”

“Y- yeah,” I replied. “Though I- I’m not sure it sank in, heh, my mind’s all over the place right now.”

“Honestly, you don’t need to be so nervous,” Krystie Fullerton said with a grin. “All you need to remember is that we effectively have two buttons in front of us, a ‘yes’ and a ‘no.’ A ‘yes’ means you’ve been offered a place in that Angel’s preliminary ‘squad’ — if you’ll forgive the sports term — and a green border will go around their image, while a ‘no’ means that Angel isn’t interested in offering you a spot and their camera will turn off.”

“But don’t take it personally if we say ‘no,’ ” Hannah Dexter explained, oddly looking almost as nervous as I felt despite her fame. “We’d love to accept everyone into the Angels if we could, but our boss would be a bit angry about the extra workload, heh!”

“It- it’s okay,” I said. “Can- can I ask a question before we start, please?”

“Sure,” Charlotte replied.

“How did… if you don’t mind me asking,” I began nervously, “How did Sian do? Th- tthe girl who was in before me, the blonde?”

“Are you two friends?” Alice Devry asked with a wide, almost cheeky grin.

“We… we got talking while we were waiting,” I replied, biting my lip as I pondered whether or not to say what I wanted to — after all, while it was likely that Sian told the Angels about her ‘status,’ I didn’t want to inadvertently ‘out’ her. “We… we have a couple of things in common, that’s all.”

“Okay,” Jamie-Lee Burke said, nodding knowingly and making my heart race — clearly, I’ve made a good impression with her before I’ve even started.

“And we can’t actually tell you how Sian did,” Sally — the researcher — interjected, blushing as the Angels playfully jeered.

“In fairness, that rule is important so we can take each audition ‘in a vacuum,’ ” Viks explained. “And you’ll find out how Sian did when her episode goes out too!”

“…Or I can text her when I get home,” I retorted, earning grins from all nine women.

“Even if the audition doesn’t go well, you’ve both made a new friend,” Kelly Watson said with the same knowing look that Jamie sported moments earlier, again increasing my excitement levels.

“Look out London, here comes Edinburgh’s Angels?” Mary Carter asked in her thick Belfast accent, making all the other women laugh — myself included.

“Okay, think we’re about ready to start,” Sally said as my heart rate reached almost critical levels. “Dina, are you ready?” Barely able to speak, I just nodded and flashed a thumbs-up. “Okay, once I’ve left the room, you can remove your mask, then we’ll start.” I nodded and waited for Sally to leave the room, before removing my mask and placing it on the small table out of shot of the camera. Alright then, I thought to myself. It’s go time….

“Next contestant, please!” Charlotte announced, before mentally counting to five and looking directly at the camera — or rather, at me. “Hi! Can you tell us your name, your age and where you’re from, please?”

“Hi!” I replied, clenching my hands tightly together to keep myself calm. “My name is Dina Williams.” My name IS Dina Williams, I confidently thought as I felt my nerves start to ease. “I’m 22 and I’m from Edinburgh.” All the Angels are still on-screen, I thought anxiously. Good start so far….

“You don’t have much of an accent,” Alice asked. “Did you go to school or university in England, or somewhere else?”

“Ah… no, I went to university in St. Andrews,” I replied, biting my lip nervously — if anything, ‘Dina’s Scottish accent was even more pronounced than ‘William’s.

“What did you study?” Kelly asked.

“Business and economics,” I replied. “I’m currently working as a financial analyst.”

“What do you like to do in your free time?” Krystie asked.

“Pandemic notwithstanding,” Viks interjected, making the blonde dance teacher roll her eyes.

“I like going out, travelling, seeing new places,” I semi-seriously replied, before sensing an opportunity to show off my ‘talent.’ “Recently, though, I’ve been experimenting with different make-up looks.”

“Yeah, we got some of the photos of your looks that you sent with your application,” said Abbey-Gayle Simpson — the youngest of the Angels, but still a few weeks older than me. “And I- I kinda already got two make-up artists in my squad so I- I’m gonna drop out at this point. Sorry.” I tried not to panic as the dark-skinned woman’s screen switched off.

“I’m… going to have to say ‘no’ as well,” Hannah said apologetically. “I’m sure you’re a great girl, but I’m looking for something… different for my team.” Two down, seven to go….

“You’ve claimed your talent as make-up artistry,” Charlotte asked. “No offence, but your look today is kinda… ‘everyday.’ ”

“I was told to come along in my normal clothes and make-up,” I retorted. “This IS what I wear every day.”

“And don’t get me wrong, you do look great,” Charlotte reassured me. “Very cute. But… I’m looking for something a little less… ordinary. Sorry.” I tried not to cry as the megastar’s screen switched off, leaving me with just six Angels remaining.

“Those three maybe aren’t looking closely enough,” Kelly said with a sly grin. “How long have you been doing make-up looks?”

“On and off for a few years,” I replied. “But I seriously got into it during the first lockdown.”

“Do you have any artists you take inspiration from?” Alice asked.

“Other than all of us, of course?” Jamie asked with a giggle.

“Well, obviously, I follow all the Angels on Instagram and TikTok,” I replied, smirking bashfully as the remaining six women playfully giggled. “A few of the American and Australian Angels too. But mostly I just like to experiment, find out what works for me and how I can, like, play with it, enhance it, that sort of thing.”

“Self-taught,” Kelly said with a knowing nod.

“But you don’t upload any of your looks to your social media?” Krystie asked inquisitively.

“Well… umm…” I mumbled as I scrambled to think of an answer. The Angels were primarily an influencer group, and it’s hard to ‘influence’ anyone without an online presence. “My- my family don’t exactly approve of social media, I- I’ve not got, like, much experience with it…”

“That’s… unfortunate,” Krystie said, making my heart sink. Four down… “You’ve got talent, but I can’t afford to spend time coaching you on how to use social media when there are plenty other girls coming through the pipeline with established followings. Sorry.”

“I’m out too, for the same reason, I’m afraid,” Mary said as she and her best friend switched off their screens simultaneously, leaving me with five blank screens and four active screens — but importantly, none of them were green.

“Well, in fairness, they do both have kids,” Kelly said with a chuckle as she continued to smile reassuringly. “And on that note: Jamie? Viks?”

“…If you’ve got a degree from St Andrews, I imagine you probably know your way around a computer,” Viks said. “And the fact that you spent all that time teaching yourself make-up skills… I reckon you can master social media too. Though I’ve not pushed the green button yet as, well, make-up is A talent, sure, and it’s an important one, but — is that all there is to Dina Williams?”

“Umm…” I replied as I racked my brains.

Was that all there was to Dina Williams? I spent so much time developing my look, concentrating on my fashion and make-up that I hadn’t really considered the answer to that question. It’s not like there was that much to ‘William Constable,’ after all. Between my studies and my family obligations, I’d never had time for any real hobbies — not ones that weren’t approved by my family, anyway, like classical music or game shooting. I’d never played a videogame, I’d never attended a football match, or a concert — well, unless you count operas or ballets, anyway. For the past four years, to all intents and purposes, ‘Dina’ WAS my ‘hobby.’ Or rather, ‘William’s hobby. But now that I was ‘Dina,’ what more was there to me? I didn’t have a girlfriend, or even any friends full stop. And if I asked myself the question ‘if I had unlimited money, what would I do right now,’ the answer would inevitably be ‘buy all the clothes, shoes and make-up that I could’ — even though my wardrobes were already bulging.

I was almost ready to admit defeat there and then, give up on the whole ‘Angel’ thing as a pipe dream and go back to trying to figure out how to explain ‘Dina’ to my family when all of a sudden, inspiration hit me. If I had unlimited money, sure, I’d treat myself, but I’d feel obligated to help others who weren’t as fortunate as me — people like Sian, even if she's more 'accepted' than I am. Merely being an Angel would serve as inspiration, the way women like Jamie and Kelly had inspired me — all I had to do was figure out how to put this feeling into words.

“I- I have this desire, to- to help people,” I said, knowing the second the words left my mouth that they wouldn’t impress the four remaining women. “Like… I mean, girls in the same, umm, ‘situation’ as me, they- they might not have friends, or family who accept them, and- and- they need someone, you know?”

“All too well,” Jamie replied with a knowing smile. “But there have already been a lot of girls stood where you are saying the same thing. I’ve no doubt that you’re genuine about what you’re saying, but I’ve no doubt that they were genuine too. And…” Six down, I immediately thought to myself as I tried not to let my shoulders slump. “I think you could be a great inspiration to girls around the world, whether you’re an Angel or not. Don’t give up on your dreams, and definitely don’t give up on trying to help people. But I’m sorry, I’m going to have to say I’m out at this point.” I bit my lip as the famous trans woman smiled and switched off her screen, taking little consolation from the fact that there were still three women left — though that would soon change too.

“I- I have to agree with Jamie,” Alice said. “We only have a limited number of spots in our ‘squads,’ and there were a LOT of applicants, so we have to be really picky about who we keep. If we do this show next year, though, I want to see you again in the auditions — if you aren’t chosen this time, of course!”

“Thanks,” I whispered as the copper-haired woman’s screen also blacked out.

“Don’t be too downhearted by the way it’s going so far,” Viks advised. “I’m probably not supposed to tell you this, but so far we’ve talked to literally hundreds of girls and the vast majority have only had one or two ‘green Angels.’ Nobody’s got all nine yet.”

“I think the highest was six,” Kelly said with a supportive smile. “But more importantly, the two of us are still here. I’m seeing a LOT of potential in you, Dina. You’ve definitely got the look, the attitude and, for want of a better way of putting it, the right amount of ‘respect for hard work.’ I just need a little bit more to fully ‘tip the scales,’ as make-up is totally an important talent, but I need to know a bit more about — well, ‘you.’ An interesting fact, even.” Such as the fact that I’m descended from literal royalty? I thought to myself. My family would be angry enough I’m simply stood here, dressed like this. God knows how they’d react if I ‘invoked the family name….’

“It doesn’t have to be as ‘practical’ as make-up skills,” Viks advised. “It can be anything, something silly, trivial even.”

“Okay,” I said as I racked my brains, trying to remember anything from my youth, anything even that my grandfather taught me — that's it! I know exactly what my 'talent' can be, though opinions will definitely vary on how 'trivial' it is. “I can… if you name any year from 870 AD onwards, I can tell you who was the king or queen of England and Scotland at the time.”

“Okay,” Viks teased. “Bit of a fan of the royal family, are you?”

“My- my family are kinda pro-monarchy,” I replied as I blushed, obviously hiding the ‘real truth.’ ”

“Well, it’s still fun,” Viks chuckled. “I mean, you’re talking to someone literally named ‘Victoria,’ trust me when I saw my parents did NOT pick that name out of thin air, heh!”

“Meanwhile I’m still waiting for the first ever ‘Queen Kelly,’ ” the dark-haired woman said with a mock pout. “Or even the first ever ‘Princess Kelly.’ Of England, anyway, seeing as Monaco’s already got there first!”

“You ARE the ‘first ever Princess Kelly of England,’ ” Viks said, making the oriental girl blush. “But seriously, Dina, we NEED to test this. 1411!”

"Henry IV of England, James I of Scotland," I replied almost instantly.

"...You realise we're going to have to Google this to confirm, right?" Viks asked with an almost shy giggle.

"Already on it," Kelly said, holding up her expensive (and no doubt gifted by the manufacturer in exchange for promoting it) smart phone. "...Spot on. Okay, my turn. 1142!"

"Stephen of England, David I of Scotland," I replied, giggling as Kelly nodded again.

"Okay, that is actually cool," the oriental trans woman giggled.

"Umm... I'm trying to think of a year, heh," Viks said. "My birthday's 21st December, so 2112 wouldn't work, Kelly's is 30th April so 3004 wouldn't work either, heh. What's your birthday, Dina?"

"Umm, May 15th," I replied.

"Slap bang in the middle of Awesome Week?" Kelly asked. "Coincidence?"

"Maybe," Viks replied with a shrug as I wondered what 'Awesome Week' was — but the fact that I was born in the middle of it must surely have been a point in my favour. "But it gives me my last year: 1505."

"Henry VII of England, James IV of Scotland," I replied with a confident grin. Despite my nerves at being put on the spot like this, I actually found myself relaxing more and more, the audition seemingly having turned into an intimate chat between three women — something the remaining two Angels seemingly quickly picked up on.

“I think we’re finally starting to see the real ‘Dina,’ ” Kelly said with a smirk, and I found myself wondering whether or not this was true — while ‘William’ had long since become the mask and ‘Dina’ my real identity, there was always a part of me that felt like I didn’t belong. But as the audition continued, I found myself forgetting all about ‘William,’ even in the context of ‘him’ being just a mask. Being in front of these women, dressed the way I was, presenting the way I was, even speaking the way I was felt more and more normal. Even the excitement normally associated with wearing my mini skirt and my heels seemed to fade, as it was just something women wore, after all. Women like me. Maybe this is who ‘the real Dina’ is, I thought to myself.

“I think you might be right, Miss Watson!” Viks chuckled. “And I definitely do like what I see. There’s room for improvement when it comes to online presence, but there is so, SO much capacity for improvement too. But…” And here it comes again, I thought to myself. “I have a feeling you want Kelly more than me, and I have a feeling Kelly wants you more than me too! Not that you wouldn’t be a great addition to ‘Team Viks,’ but… yeah. Kelly? The ball’s in your court….” I bit my lip nervously as Kelly mimed that she was thinking the decision over, before my jaw dropped as her screen was suddenly outlined in green. I didn’t even notice as Viks winked and switched off her screen, while my new apparent ‘mentor’ giggled.

“Well… welcome to ‘Team Kelly,’ Dina!” Kelly said as I took several deep breaths to calm myself while Sally re-entered the room.

“Congratulations!” The researcher said, before laying a document on the table in front of me. “We just need your signature on this page before we can enter you into the next stage of the competition. It’s just permission to edit and broadcast the audition, that’s all.”

“S- sure,” I said, pausing as I was handed a pen.

“Is there a problem?” Kelly asked, still on-screen.

“Umm, I just… I’ve never actually signed a form as ‘Dina’ before,” I chuckled. “The application was online, and I haven’t changed my name yet by deed poll….”

“Oh, trust me, sister, I have been there,” Kelly reassured me. “It’s something you will need to think about, though….”

“Yep,” I sighed, before signing the name ‘Dina Williams,’ remembering all of the cursive handwriting classes I took when I was younger to make it look as 'formal' as possible. Much to my surprise, though, it didn’t feel wrong, or unnatural, like I was forging another person’s signature — rather, it felt like I was cementing my new identity, literally dotting the 'I's and crossing the 'T's of who 'Dina' was. It was almost as though ‘Dina Williams’ finally became 'legitimate' with the signature.

“Sweet!” Kelly giggled on-screen as Sally took the papers away. “So I’m guessing you’re wondering what happens next, right?”

“Yeah, that’s a safe guess,” I replied, earning a giggle from my new ‘mentor.’ “Will the production company be in touch?”

“If by ‘production company’ you mean ‘me,’ then yes,” Kelly replied. “We — by which I mean, all of us Angels — are taking this competition pretty seriously, as whoever wins is going to end up being, well, part of our everyday lives. So it’s important that we get to know everyone on our squad before deciding who to put into, like, the final competition.”

“Oh- okay,” I said, fidgeting awkwardly.

“Is- is there a problem with that?” Kelly asked, confused by my sudden mood change.

“It’s just… heh,” I replied, my voice quivering. “Before today, the only people who knew about ‘Dina’ were my GP and my gender identity counsellor. Now I’m going to get one on one support from one of the most famous trans women in the country, it- it’s a little bit surreal, heh.”

“I get it,” Kelly said. “You’re not the only girl on my ‘squad’ to have said the same thing. And I will admit, starting your transition in the public eye isn’t exactly ideal, but I wouldn’t have picked you for my ‘squad’ if I thought you weren’t capable of handling it. You — there’s something special about you, Dina. Obviously, you’ve got the looks and the style, but you’ve got a kind of, for want of a better way of putting it, ‘confident humility’ about yourself. I- heh. This is going to sound like ME name dropping now, but- but I met Prince William a couple of years ago at a charity event and I kinda got the same ‘vibe’ from him.” Well, that’d be appropriate, I thought to myself.

“Thanks,” I whispered.

“We’ve got to make a decision by March 24th about who we’re sending through to the show proper,” Kelly explained. “In between then and now I’m going to be calling you — and obviously, you can arrange a call with me whenever you want too — though as I do have other girls in my ‘squad’ you may have to arrange it sometime in advance, heh.”

“Yeah,” I chuckled. “What- what would you, I mean, what should I be focussing on?”

“First and foremost, social media presence,” Kelly replied. “Get your face out there! Build a following, show the world who Dina Williams is and what she can do. Even if you don’t make it into the show proper, it’ll set you up with a nice source of income, and obviously I’ll drop likes on your posts as well to give you a ‘bump’ — but I’m going to be doing this for all the other girls on my squad too.”

“So- so I’ll need to try to stand out from the crowd?” I asked.

“That’s as good a way as any of putting it,” Kelly replied as I tried not to gulp.

Dressing as Dina for the first time, all those years ago, had been nerve-wracking enough. Coming out to a medical professional had been terrifying. And leaving my home for the first time as ‘Dina’ and been almost panic inducing. However, all of these things passed without a hitch. I made it to the audition, made a new friend in Sian and even passed the audition without a hitch. Everyone I met accepted me as the woman I am on the inside. And yet, the idea of putting myself on the internet for all to see was scarier than all of those things put together.

In all of my adventures outside as ‘Dina,’ I’d been able to ‘control the situation,’ for want of a better way of putting it. I had limited the number of people I interacted with and only ventured out of my comfort zone when I believed it was safe to do so. In total, including the Angels, only around twenty people had ever interacted with ‘Dina’ in any meaningful way. By comparison, over twenty thousand people had left ‘likes’ on Kelly’s last Instagram post — and she wasn’t even in it as it was just a photograph of a handbag. And that’s saying nothing of the over four million followers that Kelly has on Instagram, or the over fifteen million people that (each) followed Charlotte and Hannah. Even the ‘least popular’ Angel — Alice — had over a million and a half followers at that point in time. And while the vast majority of their followers were no doubt genuine fans, all it would take it would be one wrong follower to ruin everything, even before I got the opportunity to become an ‘Angel.’ If I started to post photos and videos of ‘Dina Williams’ on Instagram and any of them got back to Dina Black, God only knows how she’d react. While ‘Dina Williams’ looked nothing like ‘William Constable’ when made-up, the whole point of make-up tutorials is that you start without any make-up on — which would definitely give the game away.

On the other hand, as I’d passed my audition, it would no doubt be broadcast (or rather, streamed) and, as I knew that Dina was a fan of the Angels long before meeting me, chances were that she was going to learn about the existence of ‘Dina Williams’ anyway. My only consolation was that my family’s aversion to reality TV and social media meant that I’d be able to dodge that bullet for a little while longer.

“…Okay,” I said, earning a smile from my new ‘mentor.’ “I have a few ideas for videos I could make, make-up tutorials mostly. Unless- unless you have any suggestions?”

“Try to follow what’s trending,” Kelly advised. “Variations on a theme, that sort of thing. It’s March, so maybe something spring-themed? And don’t forget your hashtags too, they’ll give your video the most reach. I’d- I’d also use the hashtag #transisbeautiful. Firstly, because it’s DAMN true, and secondly, because you — if you’re going to be an LGBT influencer, and especially a ‘T’ influencer — you NEED to be, well, ‘up front,’ not hiding away who you really are, or worse yet- heh. What I’m about to say will be ironic, but you- you can’t be seen to be pretending to be something you’re not.”

“…Yeah, definitely feels ironic,” I mumbled, feeling almost relieved as Kelly smiled at me sympathetically — she of all people must have known how I was feeling at that moment. Assuming she closely emulated a friend of hers named ‘Kelly,’ anyway….

“I don’t think there’s a single trans person alive who hasn’t felt that way at some point in their lives,” Kelly whispered. “But we’re not ‘monsters’. We’re not ‘freaks.’ We are gorgeous, successful young women who want to live our lives to the fullest, no matter what anyone else tries to say. Right?”

“Right,” I said with a confident smile as for the first time in my life, I started to feel truly valid.

“I’d love to chat more, but I think we’re due our next audition in a few minutes,” Kelly said with a sad smile. “But we will talk again in the next few days. In the meantime, work on those videos and photos, get your socials up and running and show the world exactly how awesome and girly Dina Williams is, okay?”

“Okay!” I said, smiling before taking a deep breath as Kelly switched off her screen.

And that’s exactly what I did. When I got home, I removed my make-up and filmed half a dozen tutorials ranging from an everyday make-up look to a fancy night out to a 'professional’ office look and many more, while making sure, of course, to change my outfit between each video. After paying for and downloading professional video editing software, I was able to complete my first video by that evening. Before going to bed, I uploaded it, switched my phone to ‘do not disturb’ (as I always do last thing at night) and went to bed without giving it a second thought.

When I woke up the following morning, I checked my Instagram account, and my jaw dropped when I saw the response to my post.

Over 4000 ‘likes’ had been left on my post, and my profile had gained over a thousand new followers in the time I’d been in bed. Unsurprisingly, one of those first likes was from Kelly, whose 'influence' no doubt caused the sudden surge in interest, but the fact that a thousand people — complete strangers, even — started following me, implicitly stating that they wanted more content from me, filled me with excitement. Oddly, though, the main source of the excitement wasn’t the prospect of gaining fame or money, but at the fact that over a thousand people had seen the hashtags #transisbeautiful and #transgender under my post and followed me anyway. Over one thousand people took me at face value — literally, as I’d uploaded a make-up tutorial — and acknowledged me as a woman. However, the high I was on quickly dropped when I started to read the comments.

‘No amount of make-up is disguising that Adam’s Apple,’ one comment read, followed by six ‘crying with laughter’ emojis. Worse yet was how the comment already had 23 ‘likes’ — though my confidence was restored slightly when I saw the first comment that replied to the abusive one.

‘No amount of emojis is disguising that bigotry,’ the comment read — which had received 55 likes.

Thankfully, the majority of the 100+ comments on my video were supportive, but that didn’t stop the occasional ‘that’s a man,’ ‘crossdressing creep’ and ‘freak’ comments from cutting into me — with the knowledge that if I were to join the Angels, or even make it onto the show proper, my public profile would increase, and so would the frequency of those disgusting comments. Before I could gather my thoughts, though, my phone pinged to inform me of a new message, and my smile immediately returned when I saw who it was from.

‘Hey Dina!’ Kelly’s message read. ‘I saw your post last night, thought it was great! A few more along the same lines and you’ll be in a great position for the show, especially with the number of people who liked it!’ Despite my mentor’s enthusiasm, I couldn’t shake the earlier comment from my mind.

‘Not everyone liked it, though,’ I typed.

‘Sadly, you’re always going to get idiots, especially online where they can be anonymous,’ Kelly replied almost instantly. ‘I know it’s tempting to try to hide yourself away from the trolls, but in the end that won’t solve anything.’

‘Because it’ll ruin my chances of making it onto the show proper?’ I asked.

‘Because a person shouldn’t have to hide themselves away and not interact with the world just because they’re trans,’ Kelly clarified. ‘You get morons who accuse girls — and boys — like us of ‘rubbing our transness in their face.’ That’s bullshit, especially when it’s OUR social media pages they’re talking about. Why shouldn’t we be visible and proud? …And also, yes, it’d hurt your chances on the show lol. But I’m not wrong about what I said. Heavenly Talent now manages all my social media content — the public stuff, anyway — but every day I see comments like ‘I’m not transphobic but do I have to see trans issues everywhere I go?’ Newsflash: if you think that way, you ARE transphobic.’ And God knows I know a few people who’ve openly said that in the past, I thought to myself with a shudder as I remembered my family’s repeated public declarations of ‘support’ for LGBT issues contrasted with the way they treated my brother when he came out.

‘100% agree,’ I typed.

‘I thought you might,’ Kelly typed. ‘You’re off to a good start. The video was well-edited and very professional-looking according to our social media team! More of the same, please.’

‘Can do!’ I replied. ‘Not like I have anything else to do at 9am on Sunday morning lol.’

‘Ugh tell me about it,’ Kelly typed with an ‘unamused’ emoji. ‘Normally at this time of the week I’d still be in bed sleeping off the latest party at Charlotte’s house. Lol especially as it would’ve been our chief PA’s birthday party, and I usually have to take a week off to recover from that one!’ I giggled at my mentor’s story and replied with a ‘smiling’ emoji. ‘Anyway, would love to stop and chat but I do kinda have other girls to mentor, sorry!’

‘Not a problem, I thought you might,’ I replied with a ‘waving’ emoji that my mentor reciprocated before leaving the conversation. Feeling rejuvenated, I quickly showered, ate breakfast and applied my make-up before setting up my laptop’s webcam and picking out several outfits for a series of 'get ready with me' videos.

I spent the next three hours videoing myself donning all sorts of looks, including casual outfits of light tops with denim skirts or tight miniskirts; office looks like longer, more fitted skirts and formal blouses; formal outfits with long, slinky dresses and opera gloves; even a few more ‘playful’ outfits with clothes like playsuits and unitards and boots instead of flat or heeled shoes. Every new outfit I created and recorded made me more and more excited, as did the knowledge that thousands of people — including Kelly — would watch and ‘like’ my videos.

However, as I discovered while alternating between editing my next video and checking the response to my first one, Dina Black was not one of those people. Her name didn’t appear anywhere on my ‘likes’ or ‘followers’ list, and while I felt a little disappointed, a part of me also felt oddly relieved. No Dina following me meant no awkward conversations I’d have to have later — though I knew that with every new video I uploaded, the chances of her learning about ‘Dina Williams’ grew higher and higher.

However, me being ‘Dina Williams’ wasn’t about ‘Dina Black,’ it was about me, and what I wanted. No — what I NEEDED. With every video I uploaded, I felt more and more validated in my choice to live as the woman I always felt I was on the inside, and increasingly was on the outside. While my counsellor continued to withhold HRT on the grounds that I wasn’t ‘out’ to my family, my online presence grew ever larger with every video I uploaded. I spent every second of my time when not working either recording a video, editing a video, uploading a video or reading & responding to comments. As my following grew, reaching almost 25 000 followers in my first two weeks on Instagram, the ‘voices of the morons’ (as Kelly put it) were increasingly drowned out by supportive comments and comments explicitly calling out the ‘morons.’ My ‘coaching sessions’ with Kelly continued but quickly came to be her simply telling me to ‘keep up the good work’ — at least, until the call that I received on Monday the 22nd of March, a day that would stick in my memory forever.

“Hey Dina!” Kelly said as she called, rather than sent a text message — something she’d done before, but very infrequently.

“Hi Kelly!” I replied, mirroring the smile of my mentor on my laptop’s screen. “Sorry I can’t stick around long, but I’ve got to get back to work in about ten minutes.”

“That’s okay, this call won’t take long,” Kelly said as a stoic expression fell over her face. Welp, I knew it was a long shot, I thought to myself as I braced myself for disappointment. “As you know, out of the fifteen girls in my ‘squad,’ only one can go through to the competition proper and enter the Angel Mansion for the chance to be the next member of ‘The Angels.’ ” I found myself trying not to frown at how scripted, how unnatural Kelly’s diction had suddenly become. “We all have different criteria for who we want to be our contestant in the Angel Mansion, and I’ve decided, Dina that you…” Here it comes… “…Are going into the Mansion.” My jaw dropped open at the revelation that out of the thousands of models, influencers and — for want of a better way of putting it — ‘real’ girls, Kelly picked me?

“Oh- oh my god!” I squeaked, clasping my hands over my mouth in shock.

“Congratulations!” Kelly cheered as I tried to take stock of the situation.

“S- seriously?” I asked, making my mentor giggle even louder.

“Seriously,” Kelly replied. “I KNEW there was something about you, Dina, and you are, by miles, the hardest working of all the girls on my squad. I know you’ve got what it takes to be the next Angel. So… do you want to be an Angel?” Well, that’s the question, I thought to myself.

In the two weeks since my audition, I’d taken countless steps toward my dream of being a girl — and being ‘Dina.’ In that short space of time, thousands upon thousands of internet users had come to see me unambiguously as ‘Dina.’ All nine Angels unambiguously saw me as ‘Dina,’ and one of them believed in me to the extent that she chose me as ‘her girl’ in a TV show that will be streamed by millions worldwide… and therein laid the problem.

Millions of people watching me on television would inevitably lead to increased scrutiny, and it’d only be a matter of time before my family relationship came out — pun very much not intended. While there would be those in society who’d think nothing of a member of an aristocratic family coming out as trans, there would no doubt be those who would see it as a scandal to my family — or worse yet, who’d see them ostracising me as an even greater scandal. From a very, very young age I’d had it drilled into me that I had responsibilities to my family, to uphold their ideals, their 'family name.' That I should be the perfect son, work hard for the family, find a wife, settle down, continue the bloodline… except I never wanted any of that. I only ever wanted to be a woman, even before meeting Dina Black for the first time. And I’d not just succeeded in that goal, I was thriving. I could never go back to being ‘William,’ to being ‘the good son’ my family expected me to be. Whether or not I appeared on the show, my family would want nothing to do with me — what happened to my oldest brother was proof of that. And if they were going to throw me out anyway, well, why should I feel obligated to them if they clearly weren’t going to be obligated toward me? My only ‘obligation,’ as I saw it, was to be the best woman I could possibly be — and to take every opportunity that came my way that helped me achieve that goal.

“Yes,” I replied with a confident smile. “I want to be an Angel.”

I bite my lip nervously as I watch the countryside whizz by outside my window, partly because this is, by far, the furthest I have ever travelled as ‘Dina,’ but mostly because of what lies ahead of me — and what I’ve left behind me as well.

Immediately after getting off the video call where I accepted Kelly’s invitation to be on ‘So You Want to be an Angel,’ I sent an email to my father requesting annual leave from work. While my father wasn’t happy about me asking for leave around the end of the tax year, he was more sympathetic when I explained it was because of a girl. I, of course, didn’t tell him that the girl in question was myself.

I spent the next few days continuing to build my social media presence, creating videos and queuing them for upload while I was away, in-between discussions with my new ‘mentor’ about what to expect.

“The filming will all take place in a mansion in Lincolnshire,” Kelly had explained to me. “Eliminations will take place every four days, and you’ll be in there for a maximum of 29, after which the winner will be crowned.” Naturally, when I asked for annual leave, I only took two weeks — and even then, I thought that was overly optimistic.

Kelly then went on to explain some of the more ‘technical’ aspects of the show. Firstly, as we’d be ‘bubbling’ we wouldn’t need masks, but would continue to take daily Covid tests. Secondly, the Angels wouldn’t be there in person until the very end, again due to Covid, but would communicate over video, and contestants could leave of their own accord at any time. Thirdly, the mansion itself was a seventeen bedroom listed building that the agency had somehow acquired for just a million and a half pounds. And that was just the start of it. In truth, I barely listened to the infodump — the thing I cared the most about was the fact that, for all the time I would be there (or at least at first,) I’d be with 8 other girls, each of whom had just as much chance of being the next ‘Angel’ as I did, if not more.

My years of being ‘Dina’ meant that I was confident projecting a feminine image online and, to a lesser extent, in public. However, the prospect of presenting myself to eight other women, all of whom would have as big a social media following as I did (if not much, much bigger) and would be actively competing against me was another thing entirely. To say nothing of the fact that said competition was being broadcast on television (well, streaming, but same difference) for millions to watch.

However, as Kelly would remind me many times before filming, she wouldn’t have chosen me as her ‘Angel wannabe’ if she felt I didn’t have what it takes. And as I also needed reminding, I wouldn’t have entered if I felt I didn’t have what it takes. As I strode through the concourse of Waverley station, the gazes of the onlookers were enough to convince me I indeed at least had something 'exceptional' about me. My short black skirt clung tightly to my body and exposed, if not emphasised, my slender legs, encased as they were in translucent black tights, and perched on top of shoes with a three-inch heel. Underneath my designer jacket, my low-cut top with its thin black and white hoops gave the impression of much more on my chest (and much less on my waist, which just served to emphasise my hips more too,) while my golden-brown hair framed an immaculately made-up face. The dark magenta colour on my long, slender fingernails was simply the icing on the cake — and on full display as I pulled my travel case through the station and onto my train… which brings me to right now, and my anxiety increasing with every mile I travel further south. The 'beep' of my phone to inform me of an incoming message is just the distraction I need right now — especially considering who sent it.

‘Hi Dina!’ The message — from Kelly, obviously — reads, ‘Have you set off yet?’

‘Yep!’ I reply. ‘Just passed Berwick Upon Tweed.’

‘Welcome to sunny England,’ Kelly types with a ‘winking’ emoji that makes me giggle. ‘Bricking it yet?’

‘A little nervous, yep,’ I reply. ‘Will you be at the mansion today?’

‘Not in person, but we will video chat today,’ Kelly answers, increasing my nerves — not that the prospect of meeting the woman who’s become both a mentor and a close friend is any less nerve-wracking. After all, she’s never seen me in the flesh either — it may well be that the 'real me' is a pale shadow of the 'screen me.' ‘Once you arrive the production crew will look after you, show you your room and brief you on what the first few days will entail. Did you bring everything you need?’

‘Toiletries, make-up, half my wardrobe, yep,’ I reply with a ‘winking’ emoji of my own.

‘Can’t wait to see the looks you come up with in the mansion,’ Kelly replies. ‘I love your Instagram vids and have even tried out a few looks myself! And I’m sure millions of girls worldwide will too if, or rather, when you win SYWTBAA.’ I allow myself a small giggle behind my facemask at my mentor’s confidence — she’s certainly more confident than I am.

‘I just want to get through the first day first, lol,’ I reply, earning a ‘hugging’ emoji from my mentor.

‘You’ll be fine, honestly,’ Kelly types. ‘For starters, and I shouldn’t tell you this, but I get how it might make you anxious to not know — you won’t be the only trans girl there; I think there are two others. Virtually everyone in the house will be the same age as you and have a similar social media presence to you as well. It will very much be a level playing field and you have just as much a chance as anyone of winning, trust me.’

‘Thanks,’ I type, even though I remain unconvinced.

After a long journey and changes at York and Grantham stations, where I attract even more ‘attention’ from the other travellers, I finally arrive at Skegness station, smiling nervously behind my mask as I see a man in the main entrance holding up a sign with the name ‘Williams’ printed on it.

“Hi, I- I’m Dina Williams,” I say to the smartly dressed man, who smiles and gestures for me to follow him.

“It’s only a brief ride from here to the mansion,” the man explains as he opens the boot of his equally smart black car. “I’m afraid I can’t help with your luggage due to Covid rules; will you be okay?”

“I’ll be fine, thanks,” I reply, stowing my luggage away before elegantly sliding onto the rear passenger seat of the car, trying not to tremble with nerves as we speed through the countryside to our destination. “So, umm, have you... have you picked up any other contestants today?”

“Just you so far,” the driver replies. “I’m actually a runner for the production company, so I wouldn’t be able to tell you even if I had, heh. Confidentiality and all that.”

“Okay, I get that,” I say with a quiet sigh. “Is there... is there anything you CAN tell me?”

“You’ll find everything out when you get there,” the runner replies. “You’ll have a lengthy chat with the producers and a video chat with your mentor before the introductory night; they’ll explain everything to you when the time is right. Don’t want to give anyone an unfair advantage, like.”

“Okay,” I said, clasping my hands nervously over my lap as I try to take in what I was being told, as well as remembering all of the advice Kelly gave me over the past few weeks. On the plus side, I think to myself, at least everyone I’ve come into contact with since leaving Edinburgh has unquestioningly accepted me as a woman — even those like the driver, who’ve not only seen me up close but also heard my voice. Now I just have to convince the eight other girls in the mansion — not to mention the millions who’ll be watching on streaming….

A short while later, after several picturesque miles of Lincolnshire countryside, we arrive at our destination — Well Vale Hall, an impressive-looking mansion seemingly in the middle of nowhere, with acres of land surrounding it. It’s not as big as my grandfather’s estate, but it’s still enough to widen my eyes. As are the two Mercedes and the Maserati parked among the production vans outside.

Before I can process the scene, though, and before I’ve even taken my luggage out of the car boot, I’m approached by a young woman holding an iPad whose facemask proudly displays the logo of the production company.

“Hi, are you Dina?” the young woman asks, smiling as I nod. “Hi, I’m Cassie; I’m one of the junior producers of the show and I’ve just got a few questions to ask before we can get you settled in your room. You’re Kelly’s contestant, aren’t you?”

“Umm, yeah,” I reply. “Sorry, this is — this is a bit overwhelming, heh.”

“First time on television?” Cassie asks, smiling behind her mask as I nod again. “Well, it’ll be fine; you’ll have plenty of time to settle in and plenty of downtime between active recording sessions, heh. There really is no need to be nervous; I mean, it’s not like you’re meeting the Queen, heh.”

“Yeah,” I chuckle nervously as I remember that when I actually DID meet the Queen, it was with my family’s support and approval — and I most definitely wasn’t dressed the way I am now.

As I step into the mansion and am escorted to my bedroom, thoughts of my family make my nerves increase with every step I take. A large part of me wants to run back to the taxi and get on the first train back to Edinburgh and forget all about being an ‘Angel.’ I always have the option of going back to my unsatisfying but comfortable life, pretending to be ‘William’ when dealing with my family and living a quiet, almost hermit-like lifestyle as ‘Dina’ at all other times. Hell, it’s not even like ‘Dina’ isn’t making any money of ‘her’ own — my social media profiles keep going from strength to strength even without actively being an ‘Angel,’ so there’s no reason to believe it’d be any different if I just turned around and left without a further word.

However, as I kick off my heels and drop my suitcase on what will be my bed for at least the next few days, I’m reminded of how hard I worked for this opportunity. I earned this opportunity. I WANT this opportunity. I want the world to know that I am Dina Williams. A beautiful, determined woman who can inspire young girls — and young boys — to be whoever they want to be, no matter their background. I just wish that I didn’t have to choose between this opportunity and my own ‘background….'

“The lead producer for the show will be along in a bit,” Cassie explains as I half-listen. “They’ll explain what you’ll be doing for the first few days, then you’ll have a quick chat with your Angel — which will be recorded, by the way — then tonight it’s the big premiere dinner where you and the other girls will get to know each other.”

“Thanks,” I whisper, taking a deep breath as I sit down on my new bed and examine my room — decently sized, but sparse and impersonal. Obviously, they expect me to decorate it myself while I’m here, even if the only thing I brought with me were my clothes and make-up… thoughts of which immediately bring me to the last thing Cassie said about tonight’s dinner. When it was still a hypothetical thing, I could, in a way, disregard it, but now that it’s been said out loud it’s suddenly dawned on me that in a few hours’ time, I will be presenting Dina Williams in the flesh to eight other women, all of whom will see me as competition, and some of whom might not even view me as a woman.

The fact that Heavenly Talent have a long history with promoting transgender talent comes as some comfort and at least implies that I’m going to be in a ‘safe space’ for as long as I’m in the mansion, but the fact is that, in all likelihood, out of the nine women in this competition, only one will not have breasts. Only one will not have a ‘normal’ amount of oestrogen in their system. Only one will not either have or be on a path toward surgery to have a vagina. The fact that I desperately want all of these things myself will no doubt be irrelevant to many, including countless of those who will watch the show, and quite possibly, many of those in the show. Kelly’s assurance that I won’t be the only trans woman in the show aside, I’ve left myself with a massive disadvantage before the competition has even begun.

However, as my father often told me and my siblings while growing up, just because I’m at a disadvantage, it doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t at least try. ‘William’s’ upbringing meant that everything ‘he’ wanted would be handed to him. ‘Dina’, meanwhile, earned everything ‘she’ wanted through hard work — this opportunity included, as I've reminded myself several times today alone. I’d be letting myself down if I didn’t seize this opportunity with both hands. I’d be letting Kelly down if I didn’t give it my all. And, in an odd way, I’d be letting Dina Black down as well — the one person I don’t know whether or not I want them to watch the show at all….

Once I’m unpacked, Cassie leaves me alone in my room, though not before confiscating my phone, so as in order to cut off any means of me contacting the outside world during my stay in the mansion. Thankfully, the producer stops by a few minutes later to give me yet another infodump about what to expect over the coming few days, before I’m left alone yet again — though again, I’m not alone for long before the TV in my room alerts me that I somehow have an incoming call. I press the button on the remote to accept the call and breathe a sigh of relief as the face of my ‘mentor’ appears on-screen.

“Hey Dina!” Kelly says, almost squeaking with excitement. “Nerves kicking in yet?”

“Nerves kicked in about 2 weeks ago!” I reply, earning a giggle from the dark-haired woman. “But aye, it’s seeming a lot more ‘real’ now, heh.”

“Trust me, you won’t be the only one feeling that way,” Kelly tries to reassure me, even if I only have her word to go on. “Hell, even I’m feeling nervous, heh. We’ve never done anything like THIS before; adding tw- adding a new member to the Angels picked from the general public is — yeah. But the point is, in just a short space of time, I’ve really come to see you as a friend, you know?”

“Thanks, I- I think the same about you,” I reply, causing a warm smile to spread across my mentor, or rather, my friend’s face.

“But the thing is, all the other girls will feel the same way about their housemates,” Kelly advises. “So we’re going to need to talk strategy if you’re going to win! Specifically, this opening evening. First impressions count, after all, and not just on the other housemates but on the audience as well. Us Angels will be picking who stays and who goes, sure, but we're not going to keep someone around who everyone on Twitter hates, if that makes sense. So, with that in mind... what are you planning to wear to this dinner?” I grin as I open my wardrobe and show off the options I brought with me to the mansion, which all thankfully meet with the dark-haired woman's approval. Off to a good start, then....

The lengthy discussion with my ‘mentor’ covered numerous topics relating to the coming few days, and left my head spinning by the end of it. We discussed tactics like how to present myself at the dinner, not coming across as too confrontational, avoiding being too passive, which brands of make-up we both like and even some more personal matters like Kelly’s family (it turns out her father used to work for the governor of Hong Kong and is almost as well-connected as my father.) Eventually, though, the call ends and I take a deep breath before getting ready for my ‘debut.’

During the call, Kelly and I obviously discussed many different ‘looks’ for me to wear at the welcoming dinner, but one in particular stood out for me, and for Kelly, too. The dress I chose has a hemline at the middle of my thigh (like most of my dresses and skirts, in fairness) and has long sleeves but leaves my shoulders completely bare. It’s also very form-fitting, meaning I need to wear shapewear underneath, though no breast forms or even a padded bra — I want to remain as ‘natural’ as possible. I don’t want to answer any awkward questions about where ‘they’ go when I change my clothes, and the curves I get from the shapewear more than make up for it. I still wear a gaff though, obviously, along with a pair of light black control-top tights to ‘help’ there. I rounded out my look with a wide choker and a pair of boots made of a matte black fabric that come to three inches above my knee and have a four-inch heel that’s thicker than a traditional stiletto heel but still very delicate and feminine. My make-up is, of course, immaculate — natural foundation, dark but not heavy mascara and eyeliner and nude eyeshadow along with, of course, a thick layer of my favourite nude matte lipstick (I briefly considered going with red, but wanted my look to be as individual to me as possible). My hair is brushed and sprayed to its maximum volume, my nails are repainted a darker colour to match my dress, and I’m surrounded by a cloud of my sweetest-smelling perfume. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, and yet, as I leave my room to head to the ‘preparation area’ the producers have set up, I still feel nervous. I still have the chance to back out — I could still turn around, head back to Edinburgh, and live my quiet life as ‘Dina’ away from the limelight. I can still try to prepare myself to come out to my family privately, rather than shock them with this ‘appearance.’ The producers have backup contestants for exactly this reason, after all.

However, as I approach the ‘preparation area,’ I find myself feeling emboldened by the smiles of the producers. They clearly want to see me compete for this prize. Out of the thousands of girls who entered the competition, Kelly chose me to be her representative, so she obviously wants to see me compete. And most importantly of all, so do I. The Angels have meant so much to me over the last few years. Kelly and Jamie’s stories have had a strong influence on me and helped me to become the woman I want to be — the woman I am right now in this moment. And it works both ways. Even my own small social media presence is making a difference — young girls have messaged me to tell me how much I’ve helped them both with their looks and in their coming out to their families. To be able to do that on a national, if not global level, all while living independently and freely as Dina and earning vast amounts of money? I’d have to be a fool to turn my back on such an opportunity.

“Ready?” The producer asks me as I remove my facemask (having earlier today tested negative for Covid, like the other girls in the mansion).

“Ready,” I reply, standing in front of the door and adjusting the hem of my dress one last time as a loud countdown plays. When the countdown reaches ‘zero,’ the doors open in front of me, revealing what appears to be a large conference room… and six VERY attractive young women the same age as me.

“Hi!” I squeak, waving nervously as I step into the room and the other women greet me with excited squeals and tight hugs. It takes several minutes for the excitement levels to die down enough for anyone to be understood clearly, but that’s still long enough for me to take away my first impressions of my 'opponents.'

All six of the women present (the other two presumably arriving shortly) are clearly model-esque — tall, slender and very well-dressed in a mixture of dresses similar to mine, longer, more formal knee-length dresses or outfits with short skirts and skimpy tops. They’re all exuding an air of confidence, and while they all appear to be pleased to see me, they’re all clearly sizing me up the same way I am them.

“Come on, come on, sit with us!” The (probably self-appointed) ‘leader’ of the group — a woman the same height as me, with light brown hair and wearing a slinky strapless red dress — says, grabbing my hand and leading me to a large horseshoe sofa in the middle of the room. “So come on, all of us have introduced ourselves to each other already. I’m Aura, I’m 25 and I’m from London!” I smile as Aura sits back with a smug grin on her face — I do in fact already know who she is as she’s in many of the influencer circles I follow. She also has about six times as many followers as I do….

“I- I’ll go next, I guess,” says the woman sat next to Aura, a very attractive and tall young woman with long black hair, wearing a sequined halter neck top and a tight silver-coloured miniskirt. “My name’s Hayley, I’m 23 and I’m originally from Manchester.” I smile as I briefly lock eyes with Hayley before she averts her gaze away from me — though this is enough to reveal the telltale bump on the front of her neck. The same 'bump' I'm disguising with my choker....

“Me next, then!” Announces the next girl, a woman with light brown skin and thick, frizzy black hair, who’s wearing a strapless black minidress with a flared skirt. “My name’s Martha Steadman, I’m also 23 and I’m from Redhill!” I exchange a giggle with Martha as she playfully poses — she seems genuinely friendly.

“I’ll go next,” the next girl says in a thick Geordie accent as she brushes her thick brown hair out of her face and straightens the top of her strapless black and white dress. “My name’s Lilian, but yas can call me Lil, I’m 22 and I’m from the best city in the world, Newcastle-Upon-Tyne!” I smirk as Lil’s ‘announcement’ earns her playful jeers from the other girls, even if they don’t seem to dent her confidence one bit.

“Okay, me next, then,” says the next girl, a very tall — towering over me in heels even when she’s only wearing flats herself — blonde woman wearing glasses, a clingy sleeveless black dress and opaque black tights. “I’m Lydia Dixon, I’m only 20 and I’m originally from London too.”

“That just leaves me, then,” the final girl says in a voice that instantly puts my back up. Like the others, she’s young, tall and beautiful with long, straight dark hair and is wearing a knee-length dress with dark mesh sleeves and decolletage. However, her accent appears to be a poor impersonation of the Queen, while she’s immediately looking down her nose at everyone. I long since lost count of the sheer number of people, both men and women, like her I had to deal with when growing up, and it’s just my luck that I can’t escape the same snobbery here, of all places…. “My name is Michelle Reynolds; I’m 21 and have just graduated from the University of Oxford with a first-class honours degree in Latin.” Which is important how? I think to myself as I force a smile on my face nonetheless. Less than five minutes in, and I’m already playing the game…

“Okay, guess I’m up, then!” I say with a nervous giggle. “I’m Dina, Dina...” Black? Constable? I’ve only answered to my new name for a few months, I’m going to need to be VERY careful not to slip up, especially as this will no doubt be on live TV — “...Williams, I’m 22 and I was born in and currently live in Edinburgh!”

“Aww, I love Edinburgh!” Lil gushes immediately as I finish talking. “Have ya ever been ta the Castle? Went there for a school trip when we were twelve, and it was really fancy in there!”

“Y- yeah, I’ve been a couple of times, heh!” I reply. Wearing something considerably fancier than just a school uniform, I think to myself as I remember all the formal occasions I had to attend there. “It really is beautiful, and so is the whole city, heh.”

“I’m sure you’ll do the city — and the whole of Scotland, of course — proud while you’re in here,” Aura says with a friendly smile as I giggle nervously. Of course, her friendliness could just be an act, a tactic….

I only get a few more minutes to get to know the other girls better, not learning much before the countdown starts again. The other girls instinctively head toward the door to form the ‘welcoming party’ that I got, only with me joining them this time. After the countdown ends, the door opens to reveal yet another pretty young woman, this time a shorter woman (maybe 5’ 4” without heels) with golden blonde hair, dazzling blue eyes and a wide grin on her face. As before, Aura takes the lead with introductions.

“Hello!” Aura gushes, giving the newcomer a tight hug before we all take our turns squeaking our excited introductions. As before, we lead the newcomer toward the 'horseshoe,' where we all introduce ourselves, with me going last even though I am (for some reason) sat next to the newcomer.

“Okay, hey there, y’all,” the newcomer says in a very obvious southern United States accent — something that immediately gets the attention of the rest of the girls.

“Ooh, and I thought it was my accent that was gonna get tongues wagging!” Lil says with a giggle. “I have GOT ta hear more of this story!” Completely sidelining mine, then, I think to myself as I sense my chances of winning getting even smaller, less than half an hour after the start of the competition.

“Ain’t got much to tell, really,” the newcomer continues, her accent continuing to excite everyone. “My name’s Ginny Ward, I’ve jus’ turned 24 an’ ’m from a small town jus’ outside San Antonio, Texas, but for the last couple of years I been livin’ in Oldham, England.”

“Not far from me, then?” Hayley asks, sharing a giggle with our new housemate. “Why did you swap sunny San Antonio for rainy old Oldham?”

“Ah, it- ain’t easy to talk ‘bout,” Ginny says, mumbling bashfully and immediately lowering the mood in the room.

“Well — okay, if it’s personal, and you don’t want to, then that’s okay,” I say with a sympathetic smile. God knows there are a few things I’m not comfortable saying in this setting. “Right, girls?”

“R- right,” Aura says with a nod, clearly irked at me taking ‘leadership’ in this circumstance. “But you said San Antonio, right? Isn’t that where the Alamo is? No offence, Dina, but you have to admit that’s a lot more exciting than Edinburgh Castle!” Touché, I think to myself.

“Heh,” I chuckle as we look toward Ginny.

“Yeah, I- I done been to the Alamo,” Ginny replies. “It ain’t quite as big as y’all might think.”

“And here I was thinking that everything was big in Texas!” Lil teases, giggling as the American girl blushes. “I’ve always wanted ta go there, heh.”

“It… it’s got both good and bad to it,” Ginny says with a giggle. “I just ended up fixin’ to leave and live some other place. I tried Californy, but work and housin’ weren’t there, then a UK friend said they’d let me bunk with them for a bit, so I done come here.”

“America’s loss is our gain,” Martha says, giving the blonde woman a gentle hug. “How long have you been in England, then?”

“Since ‘fore Covid,” Ginny replied. “They let me go, an’ I was watchin’ the Angels ‘til – well, ‘m here!”

“Here you are!” Aura giggles. “And here WE are. Well, all of us minus one, anyway!” As if on cue, the countdown starts again, and the eight of us excitedly head toward the door to greet our final new arrival. As the countdown ends, the door opens to reveal a dark-skinned woman wearing an almost scandalously short black dress and skyscraper heels, who lets out a loud, excited shriek as she sees us all. And, once again, Aura takes the lead with our greetings.

As with Ginny and myself, the usual round of introductions is made, in which we learn that our final housemate is a 25-year-old woman from Birmingham named Marcie. Almost immediately as we finish introducing ourselves, the Tannoy public address system, which had been used for the countdowns, springs to life once again.

“Attention, candidate Angels!” the Tannoy — clearly voiced by Charlotte Hartley, the unofficial ‘leader’ of the Angels — booms throughout the room. “You have now all met, and you are getting to know each other. Before dinner, we have your first mini challenge!”

“Your challenge,” the voice of Hannah Dexter announces, “is to speak to each other and try to guess which candidate has which Angel mentor!”

“We cannot help you with this challenge,” Jamie-Lee Burke says, taking over the Tannoy. “And you may not deliberately lie to or try to deceive each other.”

“You have thirty minutes,” Charlotte announces. “At the end of which, you’ll be called back to your room to give your answer. Whoever guesses the most correctly will get a bonus to help with tomorrow’s first proper challenge!”

“Good luck!” the Angels all yell over the Tannoy, and immediately as they do, the big TV screen in the room — which was blank until now— lights up to show the names and faces of all nine of us, along with a thirty-minute countdown timer.

Naturally, this causes a commotion in the room as everyone starts planning their next move. I, however, can’t help but be drawn to my own photograph in the bottom-left corner of the screen. While I’ve obviously seen my own — or rather ‘Dina Williams’s — face before, it was always in the context of when I was applying my make-up or editing an Instagram or TikTok post — and, in those contexts, my face was always ‘alone.’ On this screen, here and now, I’m grouped in with eight other women, and what strikes me the most is that I’m not ‘out of place.’ On the screen is, without question, the photographs of nine women. Unless you knew what you were looking for, it would be impossible to tell otherwise. And, for the first time ever, when I look at my face, I’m not seeing a ‘Dina Black wannabe’ — I’m seeing, unambiguously, Dina Williams. Certainly not ‘William Constable….’

“Hey Dina!” Martha says, snapping me out of my ‘trance.’ “Still studying everyone’s faces?”

“Ah- yeah, heh,” I reply with a chuckle. “Kinda hard being, like, only the third last to arrive; I don’t get as much chance to familiarise myself, if that makes sense.”

“I get it,” Martha says. “I was the third TO arrive, so I suppose I kinda had a bit of an advantage, heh. Where did you do your audition; did you say it was Edinburgh?”

“Yeah, just down the road from where I live,” I reply. “I was nervous as hell, going — going to the audition, heh.” Also ‘going out of my flat dressed as ‘Dina’ for the first time,’ I think to myself — but that’s something Martha doesn’t need to know right now.

“I was shaking like a leaf all through mine,” Martha confesses. “Heh, I was getting nervous that I’d be the only non-white person here until Marcie arrived. I was a little upset when Malaika left the Angels, but I get that she was homesick, heh. Though before you ask, yes, I was born in England, heh.”

“…It’s the ‘England’ bit that’s most foreign to me, heh,” I retort, earning a giggle from my new friend.

“Okay, touché,” Martha says. “Still though, it means that now, there are only two Angels from an ethnic minority background, and there’s only two girls in here who are from an ethnic minority background….” Ooh, sneaky, I think to myself with a smirk.

“I thought we weren’t allowed to mislead each other?” I ask.

“Who said I was misleading anyone?” Martha retorts. “I was just thinking out loud. Unless you happen to know who Kelly and Abbey-Gayle’s candidates are?”

“That’s for me to maybe know and you to maybe find out,” I say, giggling as my knowing smirk earns an eye roll and a loud giggle from my fellow candidate.

“I guess it’s not like there are any Scottish Angels,” Martha chuckles. “THAT would’ve been a bit of a giveaway.”

“No Scottish Angels… yet,” I say with a confident smirk that gets another giggle as Martha heads away to mingle, while I try to find Hayley — the person I want to talk to the most — only to see that she’s already engrossed in a conversation with Marcie. Before I can take two steps, though, I hear a voice calling me from behind.

“Hey there, Dina!” the unmistakable southern drawl of Ginny says.

“Hey Ginny!” I reply as we walk together toward a couple of comfortable chairs around the side of the room. “I was just talking to Martha about how...“

“They only got two Angels who ain’t white,” Ginny interrupts as we share a smile. “And there ain’t but two who are….” I bite my lip as Ginny trails off — it’s pretty obvious that the ‘only two’ she’s referring to here are Jamie and Kelly. Has she already clocked me THAT easily? Then again, I’ve already ‘clocked’ Hayley — or at least, I think I have. “Oh- oh, no wait, sorry, not two, three who ain’t born in England.”

“Ah- yeah, that’s true, heh!” I chuckle. “Who did you forget about, Mary, Kelly or Abbey-Gayle?”

“I- s‘not important,” Ginny chuckles. “Guess I’m just, like, nervous, ya know!”

“You and me both, heh!” I chuckle.

“But I- I just has to say…” Ginny says, biting her lip nervously. “I- I love your boots! I’ve wanted a pair like that for simply AGES. Y’know, ever since movin’ to ‘rainy old Oldham!’ ”

“Thanks!” I chuckle, stretching out one leg to let the American girl get a better view of my boot. “They’re nothing designer, really, just a pair I got online for £30. The one downside is they’re not very comfortable to wear bare-footed, but that’s not a problem when black tights season in Scotland is about eleven and a half months long, heh.”

“Truth, I learned that!” Ginny chuckles. “My clothes in... yeah.” I bite my lip as Ginny pauses and wistfully stares into the distance for a moment. “I’d just say my- my San Antonio outfits and my Oldham get up are VERY different, ya know? ‘Bout the only boots I ever wore back in Texas was cowboy boots….” Okay… I think to myself, before suddenly a lightbulb comes on in my head. Is Ginny ‘clocking’ me… or is she subtly trying to come out? How should I even try to approach this?

“Ginny, did you — do you ever watch, you know, the American Angels shows?” I ask. “I think they’ve got groups in Los Angeles and New York, don’t they?”

“Ain’tcha heard? New York got ended last year ‘cause of Covid,” Ginny replies. “LA is still goin’, mostly since they added that Jenna Da Silva girl for keeps, but- whew! I live in a place pretty near ruled by our preacher, an’ anything from California — or even Britain — is thought to come from Satan hisself.”

“Yikes,” I say with a grimace, which earns a sad smile from my new friend.

“So, I- I had to go,” Ginny sighs. “I miss Texas, but I- I got to live life on my terms. That simply weren’t, like, possible where I used to live.” Okay, that DEFINITELY confirms it, I think to myself as I feel my defences start to lower.

“I can definitely sympathise with you there,” I say with a sigh, earning a sympathetic smile.

“Ain’t Scotland more liberal than elsewhere round here?” Ginny asks.

“Depends on which Scot you ask, I suppose,” I say with a shrug. “My parents don’t even know I’m in here, heh.”

“Same here,” Ginny chuckles. “I ain’t never — ain’t never felt, like, more ‘far from home,’ yet this feels more like home, if that’s makin’ sense?” I smile as I look around at the other women in the room, glancing again at the big screen and how effortlessly my face fits in with the others — eight total strangers, and yet already somehow a community, of which I’m an equal part for the first time in my life.

“Perfect sense,” I reply, sharing a smile with my new friend as she moves off to mingle with the rest of the crowd. Before I can stand up, though, another member of this new ‘community’ swiftly occupies the empty chair.

“Hey Dina!” Lil practically announces as she fills Ginny’s vacant seat. “Sorry that ya kinda gone from talking with the Belle of the South ta the Angel of the North, heh!”

“I’m sorry, YOU’RE the most northern Angel candidate here?” I retort, thankfully earning a giggle from my rival.

“Okay, touché,” Lil giggles. “But we’d both be the most northern Angel if either of us won, wouldn’t we? Alice being from Stockton-On-Tees, like, just down tha road from me, I mean.”

“True,” I say, before sensing an opportunity as the girl I most want to talk to heads our way — probably not to talk, but perhaps I can change that…. “Hey, Hayley!”

“Come and join the ‘northern powerhouse!’ ” Lil jokes, misreading my motivation for talking to the tall Mancunian woman.

“O- okay, sure!” Hayley giggles as she pulls up a chair and elegantly lowers herself into it. “And I LOVE those boots, Dina!”

“Thanks!” I say, stretching out my leg again for Lil and Hayley to see. “They’re not really any special make, but they go SO well with this dress I just had to!”

“I’ll say!” Lil says, interrupting Hayley before she can speak. “We were just talking about how the Angels need more northern representation — even if to us, ya are kinda ‘southern,’ hehe!”

“Ugh, well, I’ve been called worse, that’s for sure,” Hayley retorts. I bet you have… I think to myself as I try not to stare at her Adam’s Apple, while simultaneously hoping that mine isn’t showing too badly through my choker and wishing that I’d worn a slightly higher-cut dress.

“Well, that’s jealousy for you,” Lil says dismissively. “All I know is that everyone who took the piss out of me at school is now sat at home scratching their arses, while I’m in here getting ready ta be Britain’s next Angel!”

“While all three of us are,” I say, earning another conciliatory nod and giggle from the Geordie woman while I study her for any sign of any ‘tells’ — surely she can’t be trans as well?

“And I suppose — I suppose this is a fun challenge to start us off,” Hayley muses. “Like, we’re kinda competing, but the actual goal is to get to know each other, you know? It’s better than, say…” Asking which among us is trans? I think to myself. “…Trying to figure out, you know, if there are any trans women in here, like in the ‘proper’ Angels.” Okay, now either that's spooky or I've succeeded in reading Hayley 100% correctly.

“Because it wouldn’t matter,” Lil says with a shrug. “Wouldn’t matter to me if none of you all were trans or all eight of you were.” I can probably safely put you in the ‘cis’ column, then, I think to myself as Lil continues. “Anyone coming into this competition ta — what, try ta spread bigotry? Try ta get Jamie and Kelly kicked out? They’re probably not going ta get very far. Trans women ARE women. End of story.”

“Hear hear!” I cheer, sharing a giggle with both of my new friends.

“And obviously,” Lil continues, “any trans women in this competition should NOT feel pressured ta come out, even if asked.”

“Thanks,” Hayley whispers, smiling as Lil stands up and continues to mingle, though the nervous, almost panicked breath that Hayley lets out betrays her anxiety.

“Hayley?” I ask, concerned for my new friend. “Are — are you okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just — heh,” the dark-haired woman replies, “I was so excited in the run-up to this, but now I’m here, well….”

“…It’s a bit of an anticlimax?” I ask.

“No, the opposite!” Hayley chuckles. “I’ve never so much as SEEN a house or an estate like this! It — it’s a bit overwhelming, you know? I mean, I grew up in a 2-bedroom council house in Didsbury, had to share a room with my brother until I was 15, then for the last few years I’ve lived in a tiny one-bedroom flat, and now I’m going to be on TV… It’s a lot, you know?”

“I think the lives of everyone in this room are about to change whether we become ‘Angels’ or not,” I muse aloud, thinking but not saying ‘some more than others.’ It suddenly dawns on me, it’s entirely possible that my conversations with my new housemates so far are being recorded and are being readied for broadcast, meaning there’s no turning back now — ‘Dina Williams’ is now public property. I find myself wondering how my parents would react to their youngest son becoming their oldest daughter — assuming, of course, that they’ll even watch the show. Certainly, there’s very little of ‘William’ in the face of ‘Dina’ on the big screen. I might even go through this whole competition with them being none the wiser. I doubt that Dina Black will miss it, though….

I spend the next twenty minutes talking to the other candidates, mingling around the room and getting to know everyone, even though most conversations are just a repeat of mine and Aura’s. At the end of our ‘time’, the nine of us head back to our rooms, where we submit our guesses, before returning to the main conference room, where a large dinner table was set up during our short absence. I quickly find my seat — which, as luck would have it, is directly between Lydia and Ginny. Once everyone is seated, the screen illuminates with the faces of three ‘Angels’ — Charlotte, Hannah and, most significantly from my perspective, Kelly.

“Good evening, Angel candidates!” Charlotte announces, earning genuine whoops and cheers from us. “By now, you’ll have had a chance to get to know each other a little better, and your first dinner together will be served shortly.”

“But first, we have some results to give out!” Hannah says with an excited giggle. “As you know, we tasked the nine of you with guessing which candidate paired up with which Angel — none of you having seen the auditions, of course, because they were only put up for streaming today.” And THAT’s news, I think to myself, my heart beating faster as I realise that ‘Dina Williams’ is now most definitely public property.

“And the winner of the task,” Kelly says as my anticipation levels rise — is Kelly announcing because I won? “With six out of eight correct guesses, is… Lydia!” I smile politely as the tall, bespectacled girl gasps before giggling excitedly.

“That’s MY girl,” Hannah says proudly as she winks at Lydia, who is obviously ‘her’ candidate and not Viks’s, as I’d originally guessed. “We will reveal your ‘prize’ tomorrow when we announce the first task.”

“But in the meantime, I have a consolation prize for MY girl,” Kelly announces, startling me and attracting my attention (not to mention giving away to everyone the fact that I'm her candidate.) “Aka ‘the only girl whose Angel no one guessed correctly.’ In your own time, Miss Williams!” Blushing, I rise from my seat and do a dainty curtsey as my fellow candidates cheer and playfully heckle me. “We’ve decided that you’ll get a smaller prize for being so enigmatic, hehe! But, like with Lydia, all will be revealed tomorrow!”

“In the meantime, bon appétit!” Charlotte says, before the screen switches off and several formally-dressed waiters bring us our meals — an experience I’m obviously familiar with following years of dinner parties at my grandfather’s estate, but which is clearly a novelty for girls like Hayley and Lil. As I tuck into my hot tomato and basil soup, though, the American girl at my side begins talking to me.

“So… Kelly, then?” Ginny asks, smiling as I blush almost the same colour as my starter.

“So… Abbey-Gayle?” I ask, earning a giggle from the Texan woman.

“Alice, actually,” Ginny replies. “Though I’m kinda surprised someone guessed that right, heh.”

“That’d be me,” Lil says between mouthfuls of pate. “I figured everyone else would guess me for Alice ‘cause of the north-east connection, heh. Kinda like how I guessed Viks for Dina ‘cause you’re both, like, kinda posh.” I try not to comment as I see Michelle shoot a brief glare at Lil — just as I had guessed, she’s actually Viks’ candidate.

“The Di-nigma, heh,” Lydia teases me as I try not to blush. “And for what it’s worth, I had you and Ginny the wrong way round; that’s the only ‘mistake’ I made, heh.”

“You... you picked me for Kelly, then?” Ginny asks, clearly upset at the implication — even though I can't help but feel the same way.

“Y- yeah…” Lydia says. “Because you’re both, umm, born abroad…” I try not to pause as an awkward silence falls over the table, though thankfully, the silence doesn't last long.

“…I’m guessing everyone picked me and Abbey-Gayle together, then?” Marcie asks, smiling as everyone — myself included — can’t return her gaze. “It’s okay, I get it. Part of why I’ve always loved the Angels is the way they try to include EVERYONE. Doesn’t matter if you’re black, or gay…”

“Or- or trans?” Hayley interrupts, triggering another awkward silence. “It’s okay, I don’t mind everyone knowing; I mean, I don’t hide the fact that I’m trans on my TikTok, and I don’t mind everyone knowing that I’m Jamie’s candidate, so — yeah. And I’m okay with you asking any question you want, other than ‘what’s in your pants?’ ”

“I never understood why people were obsessed with ‘that,’ anyway,” Lil muses. “You’d never ask a cis person what’s in their pants, so why is it acceptable ta ask a trans person?”

“Exactly,” Hayley says. “Being trans isn’t all about sex, sex, sex. It’s about not having to hide who I am anymore.”

“Exactly,” I say, before biting my lip and grimacing as I realise that if my being Kelly's candidate hadn't already outed me, my speaking up just now definitely did. “And — yeah. No coincidence that I’m Kelly’s candidate. And I’m happy to answer any questions that aren’t related to my pants either, heh.”

“Well — the two of you definitely prove wrong all the people who say ‘we can always tell,’ ” Martha says, earning smiles from both me and Hayley.

“The three of us, maybe?” Ginny asks, sighing as she blushes. “Ain’t no point hidin’ it now, since I know we’re all friends, ya know? And ain’t no prizes for guessin’ just why I left small-town Texas, right?”

“Well, you’re among friends here,” Martha says to the agreement of the table.

“A toast,” Aura says as she raises her wine glass. “To the nine of us — nine smart, sexy women who would ALL make perfect Angels!”

“To us!” I cheer along with the rest of the women as, for the first time ever, I’m feeling like I — not ‘William Constable’, but Dina Williams — actually belong somewhere.

We spent the next two hours just chatting informally (now that there’s no active competition to win), getting to know everyone and learning a bit about their history. Obviously, Ginny’s tales of Texas stole the show, but we also learned about Hayley’s history and how she started transitioning age 21. We also learned a LOT about Lil’s life growing up in one of the more deprived areas of Newcastle; we learned about the discrimination that Martha and Marcie faced when growing up, and the others learned a bit about my past too — even if I’ve kept the details of my family close to my chest for now.

Thankfully, when it came to my own transition, the others went out of their way to make me feel comfortable and accepted, and were willing to overlook my not being on hormones yet and accepted me for who I am. However, I couldn't help but wonder how much of that was genuine acceptance as opposed to not wanting to risk offending Jamie and Kelly.

Eventually, evening turns to nighttime, and after being advised that we should get an early night by the producers (inferring that we have an early morning tomorrow), we all head back to our rooms — where I’m surprised to learn that my room is right next door to Ginny's.

“Oh- hey there, Dina!” Ginny says with a grin, sliding closer to me as I unlock my door.

“Hey Ginny!” I reply with a smile. “I suppose we’re neighbours, then?”

“Lookin’ like that!” Ginny replies. “I- I was hopin’ to apologise, like, if you thought I meant anything...“

“It — honestly, it’s okay,” I interrupt. “Besides which, what you ‘meant’ was true anyway, heh.”

“Yeah, but it’s kinda bad ‘tis a thing, a’tall,” Ginny says with a sigh. “I knew this place’d be, you know, ‘safe,’ but I was real, real scared of coming out at dinner.”

“Yeah, me too,” I sigh. “But the important thing is that we’re accepted, right?”

“Oh — you betcha,” Ginny replies. “Huh, they ‘cepted me faster’n I accepted myself.”

“I know THAT feeling all too well,” I say with another, heavier sigh. “My — my family doesn’t even know about ‘Dina.’ I don’t even dare come out to them, I mean, ‘face to face.’ I had — well, I mean, I HAVE a brother who came out as gay, and he — yeah. No one in my family’s had any contact with him since my father kicked him out and disinherited him. And I know I’ll be next the next time I see them even if they don’t watch the show, which I know they won’t, but still….”

“Is your family believers?” Ginny asks.

“They go to church every Sunday,” I reply with a shrug. “Or did before Covid, anyway. We were all confirmed Church of Scotland — which is Anglican — but that’s about it.”

“Accordin’ to my folks, you’d be ‘atheist commies,’ ” Ginny snorts. “Our pastor done ruled our town, and iff’n you don’t follow his rules an’ ‘terpretation of the Bible, you could just as well be — aah, I dunno. Grew up m’ whole life bein’ told prayer would fix everythin,’ and I prayed real hard every night that God would stop me feelin’ like this and make me ‘normal,’ but he never did. Durin’ the 2016 election my pastor started haranguing folks to vote for Trump— my folks don’t need no convincin’ of that, by the way, yet he was driving a Continental and livin’ in a big old mansion, so I started thinkin’ he just may be totally full of horseshit.”

“My family’s the same, only they’re...” I say, before biting my lip. I don’t know for certain that there are cameras nearby, but do I want to confess to being nobility THIS early in the competition? “…really big fans of the royal family. As in, obsessively.”

“Ya’ll’d be shocked how many Americans are, too,” Ginny said. “Even Texans! Kinda ironic, iff’n you think ‘bout it. Yet, since I been here, I’ve met lots of Brits who think Trump is just super.”

“Trust me, you won’t find many north of the border,” I say with a smile that my new friend mirrors. “Even within a family as conservative as mine, heh.”

“Fixin’ to make Edinburgh my next road trip, then!” Ginny giggles. “I’m plannin’ to do lots of ‘Texas T-girl visitin’ parts of the UK’ posts for TikTok and Instagram once we ain’t locked down no more, I got along to Manchester an’ Liverpool February last year, ‘til that was that for the series, ya know.”

“I’ll definitely have to check them out when I can,” I reply with a smile. “And if you do make it up to Edinburgh and you need a tour guide, I’d be only too happy to help.”

“I’m thinkin’ I kin be happy sharin’ camera time with another hot gal,” Ginny replies, before giggling and heading to her room. “Y’all sleep well, Dina!”

“G’night, Ginny!” I reply with a giggle, before heading into my room and sighing as I remove my jewellery and ease my feet out of my (sexy, but really uncomfortable) boots. I only have a few minutes to relax and gather my thoughts, though, before my TV pings to notify me of an incoming call from my ‘mentor’ — which I, of course, immediately accept.

“Hey Dina!” Kelly says in an almost teasing voice. “You were REALLY great today! It’s good to see that you’re starting to make friends too, as believe me, that’s going to be a major factor when eliminations start and the other Angels decide who should stay and who should go.”

“Thanks,” I chuckle bashfully. “Can you give me any clues about what to expect tomorrow?”

“Not until they announce the actual task, I’m afraid,” Kelly replies with a sad smile. “All I can say is that for every task, ‘look is everything’ is a good rule to live by. But you’ve made a great start, so keep up the good work!”

“Thanks,” I say again.

“You’ll definitely need some sleep, though,” Kelly says. “So get an early night, get your head down — I know how tricky it can be to sleep in an unfamiliar bed, but if you become one of the Angels, you can expect to travel a lot, so it’s best to get used to it now rather than later. Well, travelling when Covid restrictions are lifted, anyway.”

“I guessed,” I retort, earning a giggle from the dark-haired woman.

“We’ll talk again tomorrow,” Kelly says with a smile. “Get some sleep and remember — you’re doing great!”

“Thanks,” I whisper, waving as the video call ends.

I waste no time in following Kelly’s advice and take off and carefully fold my dress for the provided laundry service before removing my make-up, showering and changing into the soft camisole and shorts that are my preferred pyjamas. Despite Kelly’s caution, though, and despite the fact that I’m hundreds of miles from home with recorded footage streaming soon that will likely burn all the bridges with my family, I ended up getting one of the best night’s sleep of my life.

Maybe it’s because for the first time ever, I know that tomorrow, from the time I get up to the time I go to bed, everyone will accept me and treat me as ‘Dina’ and only ‘Dina.’ No one here even knows the name ‘William Constable’ and, even if they did, they wouldn’t care. Back home — even with lockdown rules in place — there was always an anxiety that my family would find out at any time. But here, now, it genuinely feels like I left that anxiety back in Edinburgh — along with the last lingering traces of ‘William.’

My TV’s alarm wakes me at 7am the following morning, and after a quick wash and brush of my hair, I pull on my silky pink dressing gown and head down to the mansion’s designated breakfast area, where I discover I’m not the first to get up.

“Hi Dina!” Lil says with an overenthusiastic giggle as she tucks into her breakfast alongside Lydia and Martha. “Welcome ta the ‘early birds’ table, hehe!”

“Thanks!” I reply with a genuine smile as I get a cup of coffee and a bowl of cornflakes before joining the three women. “Have you been awake long?”

“I barely slept last night,” Martha confesses with a tired-sounding chuckle. “So anxious about today, heh. Still no idea what the task will be.”

“And we’ve already interrogated Miss ‘got an advantage’ over there,” Lil says, gesturing toward the blushing Lydia. “She has no idea either.”

“If it’s a dance challenge, I imagine one of us might have an advantage, though,” Lydia teases as Martha playfully rolls her eyes.

“I haven’t had a ballet lesson since I was eleven,” the dark-skinned woman retorts. “Yes, I know I’m the candidate of the Angel who owns a chain of dance schools, but still…”

“That’s bound ta be coming at some point, though,” Lil muses.

“I know I packed my pointe shoes, just in case,” Lydia says, making the rest of us giggle.

“Better you than me!” Lil snorts. “Did pointe for precisely six months until my feet screamed at me ta stop, heh. Made my mam and dad angry that they’d wasted all their money on the classes but, hey, if I become an Angel, I can pay them back a hundred times over, heh! How about you, Dina? Did ya ever take — umm….” I bite my lip as Lil falters, having clearly forgotten that when growing up, I wasn’t exactly the right ‘demographic’ for ballet classes.

“It’s okay,” I reassure the Geordie woman. “Actually, I am a bit flattered when people ‘forget’ like that. But to answer your question, no, I have never taken a ballet class.” Other than the times during lockdown, I squeezed myself into a pair of pink tights and a leotard and tried to follow along with Krystie Fullerton’s video classes, but you don’t need to know that right now, I think to myself. “We did occasionally do Highland dancing at bo- at secondary school, though.” No sense in telling them about boarding school either, I think to myself. Not least because I don’t want to be reminded of it either….

“That sounds like it could be cool,” Martha muses. “Maybe we’ll get a ‘show off something from your part of the world’ task. Dunno what I’d do for Redhill, though…”

“And Edinburgh isn’t exactly ‘Highland’,” I say, trying not to grimace as my joke falls flat. “Anyway, whatever today’s challenge is, it’s got to be something that we’d all have an equal chance at, you’d have thought?”

“For the first one?” Lydia replies. “Definitely.” Before the conversation can continue, we’re interrupted when Aura and Michelle arrive, and immediately I feel the atmosphere at the table tense up — especially between the two new arrivals and Lil.

“Good morning!” Martha says in a cheerful voice, clearly sensing the same tension that I am and trying to defuse it. “Sleep well?”

“Very well, thank you,” Michelle replies politely, but the passive-aggression coming from her is almost tangible. “Did I interrupt anything?”

“Just talking about dance classes from when we was younger,” Lil replies, subtly emphasising her obvious accent.

“Oh,” Michelle says. “Did any of you also study ballet at the Royal Academy of Dance?” Do you want a megaphone to announce that any louder? I think to myself.

“I don’t think any of the Angels did either, to be fair,” Lydia says, thankfully lowering the tension in the room, and no doubt frustrating the show’s producers, as I once again wonder if I’ve done the right thing in signing up for this programme. My confidence quickly returns, however, when my new American friend enters the room, a grin spreading across both our faces as we make eye contact with each other.

“Hey ya’ll!” Ginny says as she gets her coffee and breakfast, then sits down next to me. “And I surely do mean ‘hey,’ not ‘howdy,’ don’tcha know. What’re all ya’ll talking ‘bout this mornin’?”

“Well, that brings up a point I’ve been meaning ta ask. Just why is it we don’t get a ‘howdy?’ Is that just for Texans, or what?” Lil asks with a smirk.

“Not a’tall,” Ginny replies. “Howdy is somethin’ we say when we’re bein’ polite, it ain’t for friends.” I share a smile with my new friend as she sips her coffee — we may be directly competing for the same prize, but I have no reason to believe that she isn't sincere when she calls us 'friends.'

“We all are comparing our differing levels of dance education before you arrived,” Michelle replies, making me frown as Ginny blushes at Michelle’s use of ‘we all.’

“I… ain’t got much to contribute there, y’all,” Ginny says quietly.

“Join the club,” I chuckle.

“We were actually talking about what the first task was probably gonna be,” Lil says, clearly attempting to try and reassert control of the conversation.

“And because I’m Krystie’s candidate, one line of conversation led to another,” Martha chuckles. “I kinda think we’ve not got long to find out, though.” I smile and nod along with the rest of the women as the conversation continues, marvelling at, as with last night, just how easily the others have accepted me as a woman just like them. Even when I sit back and let the others take control of the breakfast talk, I still feel included, I feel valued — I feel validated. Once again, eight total strangers have shown me the respect that my family never would….

Eventually, though, breakfast ends and we’re called back to our rooms, where, as expected, my mentor is waiting on my TV screen.

“Hey Dina!” Kelly says with a grin. “Hope you slept well and had a big breakfast; you’re gonna need it today!”

“Yep, I slept like a baby last night, heh,” I reply. “Better than I usually do at home, heh.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Kelly says. “And I’d love to unpack that a bit more with you, but we’ve kinda got a challenge to do, heh! This first challenge is very simple on paper, but there’s a lot going on that you’ll need to get right. The first challenge is… runway fashion show!”

“Okay, that makes sense,” I say, smiling at the thought of doing proper modelling work — though my smile quickly turns into a nervous grimace as Kelly details what it will involve.

Not only will I have to choose my own dress, but I’ll also have to style my own hair, make-up, accessories and shoes. And while this is nothing I haven’t done before, it’s the first time I’ll have done it with a mere thirty-five minutes to plan and prepare, and more importantly, it's also the first time I’ll have been in direct competition with other girls. As Kelly is quick to remind me, social media is, by its very nature, competitive — everyone’s chasing the same number of likes and views, after all — but this is very much taking it to a whole new level.

With the clock ticking from the second Kelly’s call ends, and her unable to help or assist me (that is the ‘advantage’ Lydia won from yesterday’s mini-challenge, incidentally — mine is an additional five minutes on my clock over the other girls), I set to work. First, I open the wardrobe to see the selection of outfits that they provided for me. Inside are dresses of all lengths and colours, co-ord sets and even a few jumpsuits, most of which were picked by Kelly, with a few picked by some of the other Angels as 'red herring' outfits, knowing they wouldn't suit me.

It doesn’t take me long to pick out an outfit — I want a look that's very distinctly different to last night's dress, so I opt for a floor-length gown with a high slit up one side and a mesh panel on the front almost down to my navel. This means I can’t wear a bra with it, not that I was going to anyway, and, with the height of the skirt’s slit, I also leave my legs bare (though I have obviously taken care to ensure they're hair-free). The feature of the dress that really appealed to me, though, was the single left sleeve, which is made of the same mesh material as the decolletage, with the rest of the dress being made of a dark green satin. It doesn’t take me long to find a pair of heels in a matching colour (4.5″ being a bit higher than usual for me, but nothing I can’t cope with,) and set about my make-up look.

Obviously, with a dress of such bold colours, I don't want a subtle look, so I opt for thick eyeshadow and eyeliner, with false eyelashes and foundation to emphasise my facial features — and, of course, plenty of my favourite nude matte lipstick.

With my look almost complete, I grin widely as I slowly step into the dress, shivering with excitement as the cool fabric clings to my body. It’s only once I’ve zipped myself into it, though, that I realise I’ve made a huge mistake.

The dress is clingy, tight against my body, and while I am securely 'tucked' away, the fact is that without any ‘enhancements’ — which would be plainly visible under the mesh panelling of the dress — I don’t have any significant curves for the dress to cling to. Immediately, I flash back to a few weeks after I started university and when I became ‘Dina’ for the first time, before I’d even met the ‘real’ Dina. The dressing up session had ended in disaster, with none of my clothes fitting, my make-up a total mess and me looking every bit the amateur teenaged crossdresser that I then was. Over five years have passed since then, and I’ve applied and reapplied my make-up countless thousands of times and worn more outfits than I even knew existed back then. Physically, however, I’m still the same as I was back then. I may be a little lighter between then and now, and my hair has certainly grown longer, but my chest is flat, my hips narrow and my shoulders, while not ‘broad’ in the usual sense, are certainly wider than any of the other girls in the house — even Ginny or Hayley.

I have, of course, bought clothes before that were ill-fitting, but back then, I could simply package the garment up, return it to the online seller for a refund and wear something else instead. Today, however, that simply isn’t an option, as the countdown timer on my room’s TV screen mercilessly reminds me. I have to be in the mansion’s main conference room in precisely three minutes, ready or not. With a sigh, I give my lipstick a quick touching up and repaint my nails to match my dress before heading out of my room, making it to where the other candidates are waiting with just seconds to spare. Naturally, all of them look amazing — even Hayley, whose choice of an asymmetric black cocktail dress and long gloves puts my efforts to shame. To my surprise, though, only eight of us are present as the clock ticks over to zero — and as I look around, I realise that it’s my American friend who’s still absent.

“Wh- where’s Ginny?” I ask, concerned for my friend. Surely she hasn’t lost her nerve already? Or has she made a faux pas similar to my own? Either way, I feel almost guilty to feel relieved that her tardiness will take the attention away from my outfit choice.

“…Late?” Aura asks, paying more attention to adjusting her hair than actually answering my question. “She knew what the deadline was, same as the rest of us.”

“D’you reckon she’ll get a penalty for it?” Marcie asks. “Like, automatically be in line for the first elimination?”

“Better her than me,” Michelle snorts, before forcing a clearly fake smile on her face as our American ‘colleague’ emerges from the stairway.

“Hey Ginny!” I say, smiling sympathetically to try to relieve her obvious anxiety at her lateness. “What — did you have a problem?” Before my American friend can reply, though, we’re interrupted by the faces of three of our ‘mentors’ appearing on a monitor outside the conference room.

“Hey, Angel candidates!” Hannah says, her screen flanked on either side by Jamie and Alice. “Welcome to your first challenge! I know some of you have modelled on runways before, but for some of you, this will be a new experience. However, it is a skill — and yes, skill is needed to do it — that all Angels need to have. So when you get out there, take your time, don’t rush and don’t panic. You ALL look gorgeous, so let the outfits do the talking!”

“Though on the topic of ‘not rushing,’ ” Alice says as Ginny — her candidate — tries not to blush and I try not to stare at her. “Ginny, I’m afraid you were late for the start of the challenge, and in this line of work, timing is everything.”

“Admittedly, we would normally have a PA on our backs about everything,” Jamie interjects, “but she’s not here right now, so you need to take responsibility for getting yourself ready — especially with Covid still a thing.”

“As such, I’m afraid that Ginny will automatically be in line for elimination following this task,” Hannah says with a sad sigh. “Sorry, but rules are rules.” I bite my lip as I hear a sniff from behind me — it’s obvious that Ginny is taking the news badly. I have a choice of whether to help her or focus on my own competition — and it takes me no time to realise that there's only one choice I can make.

“Hey,” I whisper to the tearful American girl, “it’ll be okay. Just go out there and smash it, okay?” I share a smile with Ginny as she dries her tears and nods, though it’s clear she’s far from convinced.

“For now, though,” Jamie says, “it’s showtime! First to go is Miss Lydia Dixon, so strut your stuff!” The rest of us cheer as the tall bespectacled girl straightens her scandalously short dress and struts onto the catwalk that’s been set up in the conference room.

For the next twenty minutes the other girls take their turns — including Ginny, who just about manages to compose herself enough to walk the runway — before I take my turn. Despite the encouraging cheers of my fellow candidates when my name is called, I still feel self-conscious as I step out onto the catwalk. Even though the ‘audience’ in the room is only long sticks with the faces of various celebrities stuck onto them, there will be thousands of people around the world streaming my performance in a few days’ time. They’ll see me strut and pose just as I’ve done a thousand times on my social media… and they’ll see my masculine body for what it is underneath my dress. What am I even doing here? I think to myself as I blow a playful kiss to the camera before strutting back through the curtain and taking my place with the other women — or rather, just ‘the women’ full stop. They must have seen what I saw this morning, and what every viewer will see when they watch the show. For the first time, I’m wondering if I deserve to be the first candidate to be voted off the show….

“You did great, Dina!” Martha says the second I return to the ‘holding area.’

“Well — I dunno…” I mumble, unconvinced by the dark-skinned woman’s sincerity.

“Well, I do,” Martha says in what sounds like a genuine attempt to reassure me. “I mean, I could kinda tell you were nervous, but you really looked calm and professional out there. Even if you don’t make it to 'Angel' status, you’ve definitely got a job as a model!”

“Thanks,” I whisper.

“Honestly, you really looked like a natural out there,” Ginny reassures me. “Hard to believe — well, you know.”

“Hard to believe that for you, maybe,” I say as my fellow trans woman given my hand a gentle squeeze. “I just — heh. I’ve never felt so ‘exposed,’ you know? Well, I imagine you DO know.”

“I really, really do,” Ginny sighs. “All too well, heh. But trust your Auntie Ginny when she says that you are NOT that boy anymore. You’re not — umm….”

“…Wil-” I say, only for my ‘auntie’ to interrupt me again.

“I don’t need to know what your name WAS,” Ginny insists. “Any more than you need to know what mine WAS. You ARE Dina. And you belong here as much as any of us.”

“Totally,” Lydia says, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder as my anxiety starts to ease.

“Honestly? You are SERIOUS competition,” Marcie says, eliciting a giggle from me as Aura gets ready for her turn on the catwalk. However, while the kind words of my friends help, I don’t think I’ll ever shake the feeling that as much as I wish and as hard as I try — and god knows, I’ve tried — I’m not sure that I’ll ever truly fit in, as an Angel, an Angel candidate, a model or even as a woman. Mainly because at the back of my mind, I’ll always have the knowledge that the ‘real’ Dina is still out there, and may very well be watching this very episode….

After everyone’s had their turn walking for the cameras, we’re ushered into another room in the vast mansion, where photograph after photograph is taken of us — not just individually, but in group shots of all manner of configurations of the nine of us. And while it’s explained to us by the photographer (Heavenly Talent’s in-house photographer and a former ‘Teen Angel’ herself) that the photos aren’t part of the show’s competition, they’re more for publicity, I still can’t help but feel self-conscious — after all, I’m still wearing what is undoubtedly the worst dress I could have chosen. And yet, as I pose (and try my hardest to hide my lack of ‘figure’), I find myself wishing more and more that I didn’t have to take it off….

After a buffet lunch (while still wearing our fancy dresses), the nine of us head back to our rooms to change back into more casual clothes. I had originally planned to change into a ‘traditional Dina’ outfit of a tight top and clingy miniskirt, but after the morning I’ve had, the last thing I want to do is show off what meager curves I have. Instead, I opt for a short-sleeved white bodysuit, black tights and a grey denim dungaree dress with a pair of matching ankle boots, repainting my nails a dark silvery colour to match and marvelling at how effortlessly I can make myself look feminine even in such an otherwise ‘slouchy’ outfit — even if I know that my femininity is, after all, just a mask….

Once I’m changed, my TV alerts me to an incoming call, and when I answer it, as expected, my mentor’s face appears on screen.

“Hi Dina!” Kelly says with a grin that I try to mirror. “First challenge done, hehe!”

“Yep!” I reply with a tired, nervous sigh.

“How d’you think it went?” Kelly asks, her demeanour changing as she picks up on my anxiety.

“It — umm…” I reply, biting my lip as I carefully choose my words. “I think it went okay. I HOPE it did, anyway, but... heh. I regretted my choice of dress the instant I put it on.”

“Yeah…” Kelly says, smiling sympathetically. “That wasn’t one I’d picked out for you. I asked the other Angels, and it was actually Abbey-Gayle who put it in there — not to, like, ‘target’ you specifically, but because it was one she didn’t think would suit her candidate, so she left it to the side and sort-of distributed the ‘rejects’ at random, if that makes sense.”

“A little,” I say. “Heh, picking out a look was always a lot easier when I actually had time to think about it.”

“Which isn’t always the case when you have as much demand for your time as we Angels do,” Kelly retorts. “ It’s surprising how often we have stuff literally couriered to our door and they expect us to have videos filmed and uploaded the same day. Yes, I realise it’s the very definition of ‘first world problem’ to complain about having designer clothes and accessories foisted upon us, and we do have a very good social media team who edit our posts prior to them going up, but we still have to put in the work styling the products, filming the videos, etc.”

“I — I get it,” I sigh. “I always work hard on my social media channels; that is why you picked me as your candidate, isn’t it?”

“100%,” Kelly replies with a smile. “But don’t worry too much. If you’re in the bottom three, I will absolutely fight your corner.”

“How — how does the elimination work again?” I ask. “I know it was originally going to be us candidates picking, but-“

“We — as in, the Angels — will rank your performance in the task from 1-9,” Kelly replies. “Well... 1-8, actually, as it’s assumed that everyone will place their candidate first, as will I. The bottom three based on average rank will go into a sort-of ‘second elimination stage,’ and the nine of us will decide who leaves this time. But don’t. Worry. Okay? Performance on challenges isn’t the only thing we take into consideration when we decide who stays and who goes.”

“O- okay,” I say.

“You are, without doubt, a gorgeous, feminine woman who 100% belongs in this process,” Kelly says firmly. “Don’t let a minor setback knock you, okay? And don’t let it knock your confidence in general, either. Just because your body isn’t an expression of who you are right now, it doesn’t mean that it’ll never be. Don’t let that trick you into thinking that the dream’s impossible, as I’m living proof that it’s not. A person’s body does not define who they really are, and I’m willing to bet that before too long, you’ll have just as sexy and feminine a body as anyone else in there. Don’t stop believing in Dina — I know I won’t.”

“I won’t either,” I whisper. “Thanks.”

“I think you guys have dinner now, then you’re free for the rest of the evening, so try to relax, okay?”

“Trust me, I’m too exhausted to do anything else!” I chuckle.

“I thought you might be,” Kelly says with a giggle. “Take care of yourself, okay? We’ll talk again tomorrow, but no matter what the results of the challenge are, don’t worry too much about what other people think, okay? It’s your life, and your rules.”

“Thanks,” I whisper, smiling as the call ends and I ponder my ‘mentor’s’ words.

‘My life’ and ‘my rules’ are sayings that most definitely didn’t apply to the first twenty-one years of my life. The only thing I had that was truly ‘mine’ were my responsibilities. Kelly hit the nail on the head, though, when she talked about ‘first world problems,’ as that sums up my early life to a T. I had everything a kid could want for when growing up — rich parents, even richer grandparents, a big house, the best school, all of my education paid for — everything except the one thing that I truly wanted. The one thing I could never have. The one thing I felt more guilty about wanting than anything growing up.

It has been less than 24 hours since I arrived at the mansion, and I now know that guilt was entirely misplaced. My feelings are entirely valid, just as valid as Kelly’s, or Jamie’s, or Ginny’s, or Hayley’s — and just because my body is still chemically and anatomically male, it doesn’t make me any less of a woman. After all, Kelly, Jamie, Ginny and Hayley’s bodies were all anatomically and chemically male once upon a time. They all had to take their ‘first steps’ one day or another, just as I’m taking mine now. Admittedly, their ‘first steps’ weren’t quite as ‘public’ as mine….

With a renewed feeling of confidence, I head out of my room to join the other women — OTHER women — for dinner, before the nine of us settle down and relax for the rest of the evening. Heavenly Talent haven’t spared any expense on luxuries for the mansion — the nine of us have access to a hot tub, a sauna, a Nintendo Switch and countless other activities to while away our time. While the hot tub is tempting, my ‘anxiety’ from earlier today makes the prospect of showing off my body in a bikini or even a one-piece swimsuit less than appealing, especially as being immersed in hot water makes it even harder to stay ‘tucked.’ More importantly, though, the person I most want to talk to right now is alone in the lounge’s bar area, mixing a drink for herself.
“Hey Dina!” Ginny says in her distinctive Texan accent as I approach and (as elegantly as possible in my short dress) mount one of the bar stools. “Can I fix y’all a drink?”

“Depends what you’re making,” I reply. “Something strong and sweet would be nice.”

“I like my men the same as y’all’s drinks, then,” Ginny giggles as she mixes me a strong-smelling cocktail.

“Have you- have you got a boyfriend, then?” I ask while sipping my drink.

“Naw, ain’t got one right now,” Ginny replies with a sad smile. “Ain’t been easy to meet guys this here past year, ya know! How ‘bout you, ain’t you got someone special in your life?”

“Nope,” I reply with a sad shake of my head. “There was one girl at university, but-” I’m currently emulating her? I ask myself. Plus, she never got to know how I truly feel about her, and blurting it out on streaming television really isn’t the best way to go about things….

“Ain’t got to say no more,” Ginny says sympathetically as she sips her own cocktail. “Together long?”

“Hardly any time at all,” I reply. “And I- I wasn’t, you know….”

“It was ‘fore Dina?’ ” Ginny asks, as I try not to grimace at the way she worded her question.

“…If anything, there probably wouldn’t be a ‘Dina’ if it wasn’t for her,” I reply.

“Got to be a pretty cool gal, then,” Ginny giggles. “I can’t help but sympathise with her a bit, wantin’ to have her lovers to be a touch more… butch, hehe!”

“The one thing I most definitely am not,” I say with a smug grin.

“Hell no you ain’t!” Ginny playfully cheers, before sighing. “I’m thinkin’ that after this morning, ‘Angel’ is the one thing I ain’t never gonna be, huh? Ain’t no need to guess why I’m drowning my sorrows now!”

“Don’t write yourself off just yet!” I admonish my friend, who blushes and sighs. “If anyone’s at risk of being the first one to go, it’s me. I picked THE worst dress possible….”

“Girlfriend, you looked yummy,” Ginny says with a shrug. “So what if you ain’t got ‘curves?’ You still looked hot, and it looked hot on you.”

“Thanks,” I whisper. “Hopefully it’ll be enough to keep me in here, heh.”

“Yeah, well, at least you ain’t KNOWIN’ you’re in the ‘firin’ line,’ ” Ginny sighs.

“Why — umm, assuming that it’s not a sensitive question, but... why were you late this morning?” I ask.

“…I jus’ had a hard time stoppin’ myself from just picking up my things and literally sprintin’ all the way home,” Ginny sighed. “An’ I ain’t just talkin’ ‘bout Oldham, but all the way to Texas. Once I done put on the dress, applied the make-up an’ looked in the mirror; I — all I was hearin’ was my ma’s sneers and my pa’s anger screaming back at me from the glass. Remindin’ me that no matter what, I- I ain’t never gonna be a ‘real’ woman.”

“I mean no disrespect but- but your parents should be ashamed of themselves,” I say confidently, mentally adding ‘and so should mine’ to the end of my sentence.

“They ain’t never gonna feel ashamed,” Ginny sighs. “Not ‘bout what they do, don’t matter who they done hurt. They done been told that they’re acting accordin’ to God, so it don’t matter what they say or who they hurt, they’re in the right. Everybody asked growing up, ‘what would God think?’ Funny, he seems to b’lieve the exact same way my folks do.”

“Yes, I’ve heard THAT story before,” I snort as I finish my drink and Ginny makes me another. “But what I took away from what Kelly told me is that I shouldn’t be too hung up on what other people think of me. They don’t ‘know’ how God thinks, any more than my parents ‘know’ how the Queen thinks. It’s not selfish to want to be happy, even if what makes you happy is something they want to pretend is somehow immoral, or something.”

“Amen an’ Hallelujah!” Ginny giggles as Hayley and Lydia join us in the bar area.

“Ooh, didn’t realise we had a mixologist with us!” Lydia giggles. “Could you fix me and Hayley a few drinks?”

“Ain’t you but twenty?” Ginny asks the tall woman, who giggles in reply.

“Legal drinking age in England is eighteen, I’m good,” Lydia replies with a cheeky grin.

“Well… okay, but don’tcha know that I can do one better than just make you them cocktails?” Ginny asks with a playful smirk. “How ‘bout I teach y’all a few?” Needless to say, the three of us jump at this invitation, and we spend the rest of the evening learning how to make, and, of course, how to drink Ginny’s fruity creations.

The pounding in my head wakes me the following morning from a dreamless sleep. I’ve never been much of a drinker — my family is too ‘proper’ to tolerate any drunken foolishness, even when I was at university. I spent hardly any of my time going ‘out’ while at university, as the allure of being ‘Dina’ was far more appealing to me. However, despite my hangover, I’m still relieved that I can remember last night’s events. After the cocktail session, the four of us played doubles table tennis — badly, considering our condition at the time — before the mansion’s PA system advised us all to go to bed just after 11pm.

Grateful that I didn’t say or do anything incriminating, I take a quick shower to try to wake myself up properly before pulling on a casual but still feminine look of a dark pink long-sleeved top and a black denim miniskirt. After applying a light layer of make-up, I head downstairs to find several of my housemates already awake and eating breakfast — though many of them also look the worse for wear.

“Morning!” Lil says, giggling as I wince at her voice’s volume. “I see you enjoyed last night’s cocktail making class, then?”

“Maybe a little too much,” I reply as I pour myself a badly needed mug of hot black coffee. “Is Ginny up yet?”

“The mixmistress?” Hayley replies with a giggle that sounds almost as pained as I feel. “Not yet. Which is odd when she made a lot more drinks than she drank, heh.”

“I hope she’s not feeling too down,” Lil muses. “Y’know, about being guaranteed to be in the bottom three and all that.”

“She should have been here on time, then,” Aura says bluntly. “We all had the same time limit, after all. Eight of us made it in time, one didn’t. Those are the rules.”

“She’ll learn from her mistakes, then,” I say as I sit down with the other women.

“If she’s still here,” Aura retorts. “Two days from now, eight of us will still be in the mansion, and one won’t. Those are also the rules.”

“Still though, doesn’t mean she automatically deserves the boot,” Lil muses. “I know it’s the way the show is, but honestly? I’d rather all nine of us stayed to the end.”

“Me too,” I say quietly. After last night, I especially don’t want Ginny to leave, I think to myself. Though if it was a choice between her and me….

Thankfully, we don’t have to wait long for the new, as shortly after breakfast — with all nine of us in attendance, including a very nervous-looking Ginny — we’re summoned to the main conference room, where Charlotte, Hannah and Abbey-Gayle’s ‘Angelic’ faces greet us on the big screen. No Kelly? I think to myself. Maybe this is good news….

“Angel candidates,” Charlotte announces. “The nine of us have finished reviewing the footage of yesterday’s fashion show, and we have each independently nominated three candidates for elimination.”

“As you know,” Hannah continues, “due to arriving late for the fashion show, Ginny is automatically in line for elimination. Sorry, Ginny.” I bite my lip as I glance over at the Texan woman, who is barely holding back tears. “The nine of us separately ranked the remaining eight candidates — apart from our own — from first to last, and then we tallied up the results.”

“And I can reveal,” Abbey-Gayle says, looking almost nervous herself, “that the candidates facing elimination are: Marcie.” I glance over at the dark-skinned woman, who sighs and lowers her head — clearly, she was expecting this. “And… Dina.” I let out an involuntary moan as I feel like someone has punched me in the gut — even though I was expecting it, it doesn’t make the inferred rejection any less painful.

“The other six of you will stay for the second task, guaranteed,” Charlotte says. “Ginny, Marcie and Dina: you will have the chance to speak to your Angel mentors shortly. After that, you’ll face the rest of us for your chance to persuade us why you deserve to remain in the competition. Good luck.” As the call ends, I try not to gulp as I — along with Ginny and Marcie — feel the eyes of everyone else in the room turn toward us.

“Well, this sucks,” Lil sighs sadly. “I mean, we knew someone would be going, but it kinda hits different when you actually hear it, you know?” I know better than you; your name wasn’t even called out, I ruefully think to myself. Before I can say anything, though, they interrupt our conversation with an announcement from the PA system.

“Ginny, Marcie and Dina, please return to your rooms, where your Angel mentors will contact you shortly,” the announcement says and, with the eyes of the room still focussed on me and my cheeks flushing, I — followed by Marcie and Ginny — rise from my seat and head back to my bedroom, where I take a few seconds to compose myself before answering the waiting video call.

“Hi Dina,” Kelly says softly, clearly trying to soothe my feelings. “I’ll be honest, I- I wasn’t really expecting this.”

“I sort of was,” I reply, earning a sympathetic smile from my mentor.

“I know,” Kelly whispers. “But you still only have a one in three chance of being the first to leave. Personally, I’d say you actually have an even better chance of staying, but it all depends on the other Angels and how well you can persuade them.”

“Okay,” I whisper. “Do you — do you have any tips?” I smile as my mentor nods and smiles again.

“As always, look matters,” Kelly replies. “First impressions count, and you’ll need to make an impression from the second you walk into the conference room. But most important is: be yourself. Don’t give the Angels any sob stories, but don’t be too, for want of a better word, ‘aggressive’ either. There’s such a thing as ‘trying too hard,’ and believe me, we saw it thousands of times during the auditions. Talk about your hard work on social media, particularly how you experiment with your style and how you will — and do — learn from your mistakes. Speak from the heart, but also from the brain, if that makes sense.”

“Yeah,” I whisper as, once again, I have to plan an outfit with little to no warning.

After Kelly has imparted some further advice, she leaves me to plan my outfit for the 'persuasion.' Heeding my mentor’s words, I reason that the look I need is stylish, but not entirely formal, so something like a business suit or an evening gown would be inappropriate, but so would the slouchy clothes in which I started the day. After brushing my hair into a loose but playful style, I open my wardrobe and quickly come across the perfect outfit for the job.

Rather than a dress, the outfit is comprised of a bodysuit and a skirt. The bodysuit is grey, ribbed and long-sleeved and has a turtleneck, which simply takes ages to fasten at my crotch, but it also has exposed shoulders, giving a more playful look. The skirt, meanwhile, is short (only covering a few inches of thigh below my backside) and tight and made of a shiny gold-coloured fabric. A pair of black tights and ankle boots with a platform and a chunky 6” heel complete my outfit, and rather than yesterday's sultry make-up look, I opt for a more modest look, toning down the eyeshadow and blush — though obviously I make sure to liberally apply my favourite lipstick. I leave my room feeling ready to take on the world — though eight women whose style and social media far exceeds my own is a much more daunting prospect.

A short while later, the Tannoy calls me to the conference room, and I’m grateful that the route doesn’t take me through where the other candidates are sat — and that I don’t see Marcie or Ginny exiting the room as I enter. As I expected, when I enter the room, the faces of the eight Angels who aren’t my mentor are on the big screen, all looking expectantly in my direction.

“Hi Dina,” Charlotte says in a soft voice that’s clearly meant to make me feel at ease — even though that's the one thing I'm definitely not right now. “Kelly should have already explained to you what’s going to happen. There’ll be a five-minute clock on the screen, and you’ll have that time to tell us why you should still be in the running to be the next Angel.” I nodded and took a deep breath as the clock ticked down to 4:59.

As you would imagine, I didn't waste any of my time. I talked about my love of working hard, my desire to establish myself not just as a brand, but as a person, and the speed with which I not only established my social media presence, but grew and refined it as well. And even though she didn’t need to tell me it, I also followed Kelly’s final, most vital piece of advice — not to denigrate Ginny or Marcie. The Angels are, first and foremost, a group of friends, and they promote friendship, respect and acceptance above all else. Which is a large part of why I admire them so much.

Once my time runs out, I smile and say my goodbyes to the Angels — hopefully not for the last time, but I'm not holding my breath. I head back to the main room where the other candidates are waiting, including, much to my surprise, Marcie and Ginny. I bite my lip as I sit down next to the American girl — while Marcie is wearing a casual but stylish top and skirt similar to my look, Ginny is wearing a short, tight, strapless black cocktail dress, shiny nude tights and stiletto sandals. Her make-up is thick, she has her hair styled high atop her head and she looks like she’s ready for a night out on the town… which goes completely against Kelly’s advice to me.

“Hey,” Aura says softly, giving my hand a quick squeeze as I sit down. “Did it go okay?”

“I hope so,” I reply with a smile that the other girls all share, before I turn to the clearly nervous Ginny and whisper. “Hey, are you okay?” I smile sympathetically as Ginny simply nods in reply — clearly, she feels as pessimistic as I do right now.

Fortunately, we don’t have long to wait, as after roughly an hour of near-silence, the big screen in the room illuminates with the faces of Alice, Abbey-Gayle and Kelly — the ‘mentors’ of the three of us at risk of elimination.

“Angel candidates,” Kelly says, jangling my nerves — if she’s the one making the announcement, it doesn’t bode well for me. “The nine of us have completed our discussion, and we have made our decision as to who will be the first candidate to leave the competition.”

“Marcie,” Abbey-Gayle says, lessening my nerves as my fellow candidate looks on the verge of tears, “the other Angels complimented you on your style and the grace you showed even after you were nominated for elimination.”

“Ginny,” Alice says softly. “The other Angels complimented you on your friendliness and cheerful attitude.”

“Dina,” Kelly says as I listen intently. “The other Angels complimented you on your professionalism and tireless work ethic.” Not exactly as ‘glowing’ as the other two, I think to myself.

“The candidate who will be leaving us is…” Abbey-Gayle says, leading to a pause that feels like it lasts forever.

“…I’m sorry, it’s Ginny,” Alice says, and while I inwardly decompress, my heart still sinks. Not only do I feel bad for my new friend, she was also the closest friend I had in here, and even though I only knew her for a few days, I suddenly feel a lot more alone than I did before. Regardless, I know that's not what's most important now — the feelings of the distraught American girl next to me are.

“Hey,” I whisper as I give the tearful American girl a tight hug. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

“Uh — uh-huh,” Ginny replies between sobs.

“Message me when you get home,” I say. “We — we’ll tour Edinburgh together, I’ll show you the sights, okay?”

“If you ain’t too busy being an Angel, anyway,” Ginny sniffles.

“I’ll never be too busy for a friend,” I whisper before standing aside as the other candidates each give Ginny a tight hug.

“Ginny,” Alice says from the screen. “Please say your goodbyes and get ready to leave the mansion.” I have to blink back tears of my own as Ginny finishes her round of hugs and the main door to the room opens to reveal two smartly dressed men waiting. With a sigh, Ginny heads toward the door, pausing before she reaches it and turning back to face us.

“I — I just want to say that even though it was brief, this has been one of the best experiences of my life,” Ginny says. “Meeting eight amazing women like you has been a privilege and I hope, I really do hope that we all meet again someday. See, I can talk like a Brit, if I wanna. I don’ wanna have to say g’bye to all y’all, but...”

“We’ll miss you!” Lil calls as we all wave our new friend goodbye, many of us — myself included — sighing as the door is closed behind her before returning to our seats.

I should be happy — despite the initial ‘blip,’ I’ve passed the first test and am still in the mansion, still competing to be the next Angel. And yet, I feel sad. I genuinely grew to like Ginny, and my offer of friendship was genuine. I can’t help but also feel nervous — it can’t be a coincidence that a trans girl was the first to go, and losing my closest friend in here has left me short an ally going forward….

“Okay Dina, ya’s up!” Lil says, making me giggle as I approach the table, straightening my casual tank top and short denim skirt before brushing my long hair out of my face. With a determined look, I pick up the ball and the paddle with my immaculately manicured fingers and make my serve, giggling at the noise the hollow plastic sphere makes as it bounces back and forth between myself and Martha.

It’s been two days since Ginny became the first candidate to leave the ‘Angel Mansion’ and, in that time, I’ve made a real effort to get to know the rest of the candidates better.

With Ginny gone, Martha has quickly become my new pseudo ‘best friend’ — we usually eat meals together, we’ve exchanged nail polishes, and I’ve got to learn a lot about her childhood growing up in Redhill and the discrimination she faced for being mixed race. The person I’m probably next closest to is Hayley, who took a while to come out of her shell but is becoming increasingly outgoing and has given me a lot of advice regarding my transition, especially when it comes to HRT.

Lil, Aura and Michelle seem to be stuck in a three-way struggle for ‘alpha girl,’ with Lil currently ‘winning’ because of the sheer force of her personality, while Lydia and Marcie seem to be biding their time, the latter especially following her — well, I suppose our — elimination scare. Technically, I suppose the same could be said of me and, to a lesser extent, Hayley and Martha too — rather than try to be ‘assertive’ like Lil, Aura or Michelle, I’m remaining ‘under the radar’ by focussing on making friends rather than trying to be 'dominant.' Even if in my case, ‘making friends’ means ‘losing embarrassingly at table tennis.’

“Seven-nil!” Martha triumphantly teases as the ball once again whizzes past my left shoulder.

“Maybe I should get a frying pan from the kitchen and play with that,” I sigh as I retrieve the ball and get ready to serve again. “If the next challenge is anything to do with sport, I am in BIG trouble.”

“Weren’t you very sporty at school?” Martha asks, before grimacing as she remembers why I probably wasn’t ‘sporty’ in my school days. “Eesh… sorry, Dina, I keep forgett-“

“It’s okay, honestly,” I interrupt. “Even if I sometimes want to forget myself, heh!”

“Bad?” Martha asks with a sympathetic smile.

“It could’ve been worse,” I reply with a shrug. “Then again, I went to boarding school, so it could’ve been better too, heh.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard a few horror stories,” Martha says with a grimace.

“It wasn’t THAT bad,” I muse. “My brother looked after me for the first few years, and my family is — umm, well, ‘known’ at the school.”

“ 'Known' as in famous or infamous?” Martha asks with a sly grin.

“Who says it wasn’t both?” I reply, before sighing and laughing as the ball bounces straight into my chest. “…Maybe now is the time to admit that no sport is ‘my sport,’ heh.”

“You’re not unfit, though,” Lydia says as she takes the paddle from me while I return to my spot next to the bar, my drink still cold from where I left it.

“Thanks, you’ve got a great body, too!” I reply, smirking and feeling slightly relieved that she took my teasing as intended when the tall bespectacled girl giggles.

“I think we can safely say that none of us would even be here if we weren’t all gorgeous,” Marcie says with a giggle that we all share.

“Only one of us can become an Angel, though,” Lydia sighs as she puts up a much better match against Martha than I managed.

“Yeah, that sucks,” Martha sighs. “You can’t really have eighteen Angels in one group, though.”

“I think the highest any country’s got is fifteen, which I think is Brazil or Spain?” Marcie says.

“Well, one thing for certain is that at the end of this process, there’ll be eight extremely hot models and influencers without a ‘clique’ to belong to,” Martha says with a sly grin that the rest of us quickly pick up on.

“You do know we’ll all probably get kicked out for discussing what I think you want us to discuss, right?” I ask, earning giggles from all of my fellow candidates.

“And maybe let’s focus on trying to win before planning to lose, heh,” Lydia advises as Martha giggles.

“Okay, okay,” Martha concedes. “I’m just saying, you know? I’d be proud to be an ‘Angel’ with any of you girls, even if we can’t actually use the name ‘Angel.’ ”

“Right back atcha,” Marcie giggles as she takes the paddle from Martha and prepares to face Lydia over the ping-pong table.

Even as I head back to the main area of our ‘recreation room,’ I can’t help but feel a wave of pride wash over me. Here I am, genetically male, chemically male and not even out to my family, but these gorgeous models are happy to accept me as one of their own. Of course, a part of me wonders if what they’re saying is just lip service but, even over the course of just five days, I’ve learned enough about my new friends to know that most of the offers of friendship I’ve received are genuine, as genuine as was mine to Ginny.

Of course, there are a few whose motivations are less clear, like Aura, Lil and Michelle, but the one piece of advice Kelly gave me — and that I intend to follow to the letter — was simply to ‘be myself.’ Yes, this competition is essentially a game that needs to be played, but I’ve followed the Angels for long enough to know that they value honesty and openness vastly more than people who try to game the system.

Then again, they did eliminate Ginny — one of the most genuine people I know — first….

After an afternoon of relaxation, which I spend watching and learning hair styling tips from Marcie, the eight of us sit down to our evening meal, though none of us have particularly large appetites. The fact that they eliminated Ginny two days ago means that, while we’ve been able to relax for the last couple of days, our second ‘challenge’ is imminent — and, just like the first one, we have no idea what we’ll be facing. Unsurprisingly, this causes a large amount of speculation throughout dinner with theories including a dance challenge (again,) an acting challenge — and even more outlandish ideas. As with the first challenge, we’re advised to get an early night — advice I follow, even though my anxiety about the following day means that my sleep is fitful, at best.

Nonetheless, my TV’s alarm wakes me from my slumber the following morning, and, after a quick shower, I pull on a plain knee-length dress and head down to the breakfast area. Unsurprisingly, given the circumstances, I'm far from the first one awake.

“Morning, Dina!” Martha says with a smile between sips of her coffee.

“Morning!” I reply with a soft grin. “I take it no one’s heard anything yet about today?”

“Literally everyone’s already asked that,” Lil replies with a smirk that I try not to take personally. “And no, not yet. We reckon we’ll probably hear something after breakfast.”

“Got to give the production crew time to put whatever we need into our wardrobes,” Aura says.

“D’ya suppose every task is gonna be, like, a ‘costume task?’ ” Lil muses out loud.

“We were told during the last task that style is important,” I suggest.

“Well — aye, given that last task was a fashion show, it kinda would be!” Lil retorts, her sneer putting my back up — it’s one I used to be on the receiving end of a lot from my family every time I said or did anything 'unbecoming of my upbringing.' For some reason, it stings even more coming from someone as working class as Lil... “Is it really that important when it’s, like, a cocktail mixing challenge?”

“We’re representing the ‘Angels brand,’ even if we are only candidates at this stage,” Martha replies. “Got to keep up appearances.”

“If ya say so,” Lil replies with a shrug, clearly not happy about Martha and I disagreeing with her. “But there’s six more tasks; ya can’t go too hard too soon, ya know?”

“Seven outfits isn’t THAT many,” I retort, only worsening the Geordie woman’s mood.

“Anyway,” Lydia says in an attempt to lessen the tension at the table, “whatever the challenge is, we’re ready for it, right?”

“Of course,” Lil replies, though I can tell that I’ve overstepped a ‘boundary’ with her somehow — and while we are in direct competition, it's the last thing I need when I'm trying to be part of a group that values friendship above all else.

After breakfast, we head back to our bedrooms where, as with four days ago, we await the details of our next challenge. Thankfully, we don’t have to wait long — and I’m even more thankful that I only had a light breakfast this morning.

“Hey Dina!” Kelly says as I answer her call. “Welcome to challenge two, hehe!”

“Thanks!” I squeak excitedly. “The wait for this one has caused a lot of anxiety, as you might imagine!”

“Yeah, we figured it might, but — got to make great TV, I suppose!” Kelly giggles. “The wait is over, though, as I can reveal that the second challenge is… retro fitness.”

“Speaking of ‘making great TV,’ ” I say with a snort of laughter that my ‘mentor’ echoes.

“Yeah, but fitness IS important,” Kelly retorts. “Krystie owns a dance studio franchise, Mary’s husband manages a gym, Alice’s partner is a PE teacher, Charlotte and Viks have both made very successful vlog series about postpartum fitness regimes… fitness is big business, and to be fair, you’re not exactly out of shape yourself.”

“Thanks,” I say with a light blush. “So… any tips for the challenge?”

“Only that this one isn’t a competition in the way you might think,” Kelly replies cryptically. “Well, that and all previous advice I gave you still applies.”

“Got it,” I say with a smile and a nod.

“Good luck, and I’ll check in with you after the challenge!” Kelly says, before we exchange goodbye waves and the call ends. With her advice still ringing in my ears, I open my wardrobe, which has predictably been stocked with a variety of different styles of workout gear.

Kelly’s not-so-subtle implication that style was important is foremost in my mind, but as I’m examining different styles of leggings and sports bras, I remember the first thing she said — that this was a ‘retro’ fitness challenge. As such, ‘style’ means something completely different this time around. I close the main doors of the wardrobe and open the side cupboard, smiling as I see in front of me a veritable lycra rainbow.

With the clock ticking, I know I need to make a quick decision unless I want to end up suffering the same fate as Ginny last week. And, as I know I’ll need to ‘tuck’ tightly — especially if we’re going to be doing strenuous exercise — I eschew the skimpier workout gear in favour of a dark magenta unitard with thin straps and short legs that show off almost all of my smooth, hairless thighs but keeps my ‘bikini area’ fully under wraps. I smile as I feel the soft fabric stretch over my body, especially my padded sports bra that fits comfortably under the unitard, preventing any repeat of the ‘issue’ that nearly saw me eliminated first. This type of feeling — being soft and delicate, but at the same time powerful, stronger than diamond even — is exactly why I’ve admired the Angels for so long, and is why I’ve devoted my life to chasing that feeling. With time running out, I complete my look with light make-up (but some neon eyeshadow to complement my unitard) before tying my hair into a side ponytail, slipping on a pair of brand-new trainers and heading downstairs to where many of the other girls have congregated — though I’m caught by surprise when I discover that not everyone has had the same idea as me.

“Wow,” Michelle says, and clearly not in a flattering way — her own black leggings, tank top, unmade-up face and tightly braided hair a far cry from my own look. Fortunately, the next face I see is reassurance that I'll have at least one ally in this task.

“Helloooooooo Miss Williams!” Martha giggles as she adjusts the strap of her multicoloured thong leotard and her pink lycra shorts.

“Hello Miss Steadman!” I reply with a giggle as Marcie, Hayley and Aura — all of whom have dressed the same way as Michelle — fidget awkwardly. Before we can say anything further, though, we’re interrupted by the arrival of another one of our housemates.

“Are we all ready ta get fit?” Lil announces as she descends the stairs wearing nothing but a pair of trainers and a black and grey leotard that leaves virtually nothing to the imagination. Unsurprisingly, Michelle and Aura remain stoic, but everyone else lets out a polite laugh, myself included — though this doesn’t stop the Geordie woman from giving me a cold glare as she takes her place next to us as we wait for our final fellow candidate.

“Nice look, Lil!” Martha — ever the peacemaker — says as Lil spins round, showing that her leotard is especially tight across her backside. “Hope Lydia gets here soon, she won’t want to ‘do a Ginny…’ ” I bite my lip at Lil’s implied dig at my American friend — though before I can even think of any retort, we’re joined by the final candidate, who further eases my tension with her outfit choice.

“Hey girls!” Lydia says with a giggle as she skips up to us, her neon pink trainers, lycra shorts and black thong leotard telling us she inferred the same hints about the task that myself, Martha and Lil did. Before we can greet the bespectacled girl, though, we’re interrupted by the mansion’s seemingly omnipresent Tannoy.

“Good morning, Angel candidates!” Abbey-Gayle announces in her soft Jamaican accent as her image appears on the screen outside of the mansion’s main room. “I hope yous’ all warmed up and ready for ya retro fitness challenge! Before we start, we’s thought we’d better get publicity photos of ya all now, as there’s a pretty good chance none of yous’ hair and make-up are going to survive the challenge, hehe! Yous’ all be called out one by one; when ya done, come back here and yous’ won’t have to wait long for the challenge itself!” We all smile as the dark-skinned woman’s image disappears from the screen and a member of the production staff appears from a side door, calling us through one by one for our photoshoot.

The wait to be called passes mostly in silence, with everyone either being too anxious to start a conversation or not wanting to talk and have the producers interrupt. I’m called third and, as with the last photoshoot I did, Katie — Heavenly Talent’s in-house photographer — puts me at ease as I pose for the cameras in my skimpy garment, wondering as always whether my family will see the photos, whether Dina Black will see the photos. For the first time, however, I find myself also wondering whether Ginny will see the photos, and what she’ll think of them. In addition, I can’t help but wonder how many people are watching the show on streaming — the production crew have told us that the show is being streamed 5 days behind recording, and as today is day 6, it means that people have already started to watch life within the house and will already inevitably be picking their favourites. I can’t help but wonder whether there are people out there who are backing ‘Dina Williams’ to win. I can’t help but wonder whether Dina Black is backing ‘Dina Williams’ to win….

After everyone has had their turn in front of Katie’s camera, the eight of us head into the main room, where sets of workout equipment such as weights, skipping ropes, steps and items I've never seen before are arranged in two rows of four facing the big screen. Each of us quickly find our equipment (which has our names on it), and, moments later, the big screen lights up with the images of Angels Krystie, Mary and Hannah, all of whom are in their homes — and, gratifyingly, are all wearing 1980s style aerobics leotards with matching hair and make-up styles. I allow myself a coy grin as Krystie steps forward to begin our workout.

One hour later, as Abbey-Gayle predicted, the eight of us finish our ‘workout’ (which was more like a dance routine with added props) covered in sweat, leaving many of our make-up and hairstyles in ruins. Nonetheless, all of us are on a high after having completed our second challenge — and having kept up with the challenge the whole way, I’m feeling especially confident.

“Well, I hope Heavenly Talent got a good deal on their water rates, as I’m about to shower for a week, hehe!” Lil announces while simultaneously unpicking her leotard wedgie.

“Yep, me too!” Lydia giggles, removing her glasses to wipe the sweat from her brow. I laugh along with the rest of my fellow candidates, but before any of us can speak further, the big screen lights up again — only this time, it’s our ‘introductory Angel’ who speaks.

“Whew, I would NOT want to be in that room right now!” Abbey-Gayle teases us all. “Yous all definitely earned ya shower, but before yous all get cleaned up, ya Angels will want a word with ya all first. Then the rest of the day is yours — we will announce candidates for elimination tomorrow.” Understandably, Abbey-Gayle’s mention that one of us will have to leave tomorrow sours the mood a little, but I try to remain upbeat as I return to my bedroom where I kick off my trainers, untie my ponytail and answer the call that’s waiting on my screen.

“Hey Dina!” Kelly giggles. “That’s challenge two done! How do you think that went?”

“Okay,” I reply with a nod. “Other than really needing a shower, heh.”

“Hehe!” Kelly giggles along with me. “I’ll let you get your shower, don’t worry, but I just wanted to say it’s looking good that you’ll be here for challenge three. You kept up during the workout, you followed and understood the instructions well, and you especially followed and understood the instruction about the ‘style!’ ”

“Thanks,” I chuckle as I adjust the strap of my unitard. “This is surprisingly comfortable, especially around, well, ‘places.’ ” I blush as my mentor smiles sympathetically at me.

“After what you said after the first challenge, I was a little worried,” Kelly says softly. “But you honestly do look great, very natural and feminine. And, most importantly, you kept to the theme of the challenge.”

“Thanks,” I say with a bashful smile.

“But honestly, you are doing great,” Kelly says with a proud smile. “You’ve bounced back well after the first challenge; you’ve definitely got the look and the attitude, and as for any ‘physical inadequacies’ — don’t worry about them. Your body, as it is right now, is only temporary. The real girl inside you is really starting to show her face, and I know I like what I see.”

“Thanks,” I say for the third time, before remembering an earlier thought and biting my lip. “Have — have you streamed episode 1 yet? Only – I’m curious about what everyone thinks about it, such as on social-“

“That — that we’re not allowed to tell you,” Kelly replies. “We can say that, generally, the show is getting positive reviews, but beyond that we can’t really influence — if you’ll excuse the pun — you one way or the other, sorry.”

“I suppose it was worth a try,” I say with a shrug that earns a giggle from my mentor.

“What I CAN tell you,” Kelly continues, “is that while nothing’s guaranteed, I think you can safely celebrate tonight.”

“I intend to,” I chuckle. “After I change and shower, anyway.”

“I think you’ve already been told that every outfit we provide that you wear on-screen is yours to keep after you leave, win or lose,” Kelly reminds me. “I mean, I’m not sure how many different occasions there’ll be to wear the ‘unitard of victory,’ but still….”

“I’m sure I’ll think of one,” I say with a wink that makes my mentor giggle again.

“I’ll leave you to your shower,” Kelly says. “Talk again soon!”

“Bye!” I say, waving as my mentor disappears from the screen.

I waste no time in stripping off the ‘unitard of victory’ and placing it in the laundry, before removing what remains of my make-up and stepping under the very welcome warm water of the shower. Once I’m dry, I reapply a light layer of make-up and perfume before choosing a casual outfit of a long, patterned light blue tank top and a ruffled white skirt. After slipping my feet into a pair of sandals (with a cute wedge heel, of course,) I give my hair one final brush before heading downstairs to the bar area, where, much to my surprise, only two of my fellow candidates are waiting for me.

“Hi Dina!” Lydia says from her position behind the bar as I sit down. “Can I get you anything?”

“What’s available?” I reply with a shrug.

“Anything I remember Ginny teaching me to mix, heh,” Lydia replies with a giggle. “Which isn’t much right now, admittedly, but I asked Hannah if she could get someone to send me, like, a recipe book for cocktails, so I’m hoping to study that tonight? I mean, I HOPE I’m safe from elimination….”

“I know what you mean,” Martha says from the barstool next to me. “I mean, you can’t count your chickens until they’ve hatched and all that, but — you know?”

“I get it, yep,” I say as I sip the cola that Lydia pours for me. “I’m definitely feeling more confident than I did after the last task, then again, given how badly I did in the last task….”

“You’ll be fine, honestly,” Martha says with a warm smile that Lydia mirrors. “It just sucks that 48 hours from now, eight will be down to seven, no matter who goes.”

“Amen to that,” I sigh sadly — god knows if Martha goes, I’m REALLY going to be on my own.

The rest of the girls emerge from their rooms a short while later and join us for lunch — though, given the morning’s exertions and anxiety over tomorrow, no one has much of an appetite. We spent the rest of the afternoon before the (again, light) dinner relaxing, with some girls opting to watch a movie on the big screen, a couple heading back to their rooms to rest and speak to their mentors while the rest — myself included — go for a walk around the mansion’s impressive grounds.

Naturally, as I stroll along with Lydia and Hayley, I’m reminded of my grandfather’s grounds back home. When my siblings and I were younger — under 10 in my case — he’d often take us for walks around the various gardens and woods surrounding his mansion, educating us on the various plant and animal life we’d see along the way. Obviously, I hated this. My brothers would often cajole me into joining them on ‘adventures’ in the woods, which inevitably always got us in trouble with our parents when we returned muddy and with bumps and bruises all over us. Of course, our grandfather would excuse this stating, as always, ‘boys will be boys,’ but as time went on, that saying ended up stinging even more than my father’s rebukes. And, of course, the ironic thing is that, while I’m unlikely to get anywhere near as dirty on this walk, I’m letting my father and grandfather down infinitely more than I did during those childhood ‘adventures….’

After dinner, I return to the mansion’s small bar area where, as promised, Lydia sets up shop behind the bar and starts mixing us some very refreshing looking beverages. Naturally, I ensure I am one of her first ‘customers,’ as does my fellow trans woman.

“What’s this one called?” Hayley asks as she takes a sip of her bright purple concoction.

“That is a 'unicorn kisses,' ” Lydia replies, “only made with added blackcurrant juice. It’s one of Ginny’s recipes that I kinda tweaked a bit, heh.”

“Well, it tastes gorgeous,” Hayley says, giggling as she and Lydia simultaneously blush.

“Dina?” Lydia asks with a giggle. “What’ll you have?”

“Something strong and sweet, please,” I reply with a smile.

“Or in other words, none of my exes,” Hayley replies with a slightly ‘wobbly’ giggle.

“That bad, eh?” Lydia asks.

“Back when I still dated guys, the only ones who’d date me were the meatheads and the borderline incels,” Hayley sighs as Lydia and I listen sympathetically. “Even after I started modelling, even after my Instagram took off, people just couldn’t get past the whole — well, ‘thing.’ ”

“Which is dumb, as you — both of you — are just as gorgeous as anyone else in here or on Instagram,” Lydia says, making both myself and my fellow trans woman blush.

“Thanks,” I whisper as I take a sip of my delicious (but very strong) drink.

“The worst part, though,” Hayley says, her demeanour a lot more ‘open’ than I’ve seen from her in the week that I’ve known her, “wasn’t so much the ‘dating’ bit as the ‘bringing home to meet parents’ bit. Keeping in mind they’d only barely got used to the idea of their son being their daughter until, suddenly, ‘she’ is bringing home a boyfriend, and — yeah. I’ll spare you the gory details, but let’s just say there were a few fireworks.”

“Yep, I can imagine,” I sigh.

“Oh — have you had problems with your folks too?” Hayley asks, smirking as I snort with laughter.

“They don’t even know about ‘Dina,’ ” I reply. “That’s a surprise they’ll get when the show goes out, heh. And that I’ve got waiting for me when I get out of here, too.”

“Are your family a bit conservative, then?” Lydia asks.

“That’s the understatement of the century,” I snort, before reasoning that they probably won’t broadcast what I’m about to say next, and it’s not like I can’t trust Lydia and Hayley to be discreet. “My grandfather, believe it or not, is actually the current Viscount of Dunbar.”

“Wh- really?” Lydia asks, her and Hayley’s jaws dropping. “You... you’re royalty?”

“Not ‘royalty’ as such,” I reply. “Aristocracy, sure, and I am a direct descendant of a king, but I’m not an actual ‘princess.’ Heh, or ‘prince,’ even.”

“Which king?” Hayley asks, before blushing at the 'eagerness' with which she asked her question. “S- sorry, if this is, like, a sensitive topic...“

“It’s okay,” I interrupt with a smile. “And George III, for the record. He’s my six-times great grandfather.”

“Have you met the Queen?” Lydia asks, suddenly hanging on my every word.

“I have,” I reply to my friends’ excitement. “She’s exactly what you’d expect, too, very polite, very nice. So’s Prince Philip, too.”

“SO cool,” Hayley gushes.

“Yeah, well, THEY are,” I snort. “My dad and my granddad, not so much. I’m not in line to become Viscount myself as I’m the — well. I’m technically the third oldest of my father, but as far as he’s concerned, my oldest brother doesn’t exist. And the reason he doesn’t exist is because HE brought a boy home.”

“Ugh,” Hayley says, before cringing. “I- I’m sorry, Dina, I don’t mean your brother, I mean your father — ugh, not like that’s any better….”

“No, I agree with you,” I sigh. “And that’s why I- I never came out to them, not before coming in here. The memory of the way he shouted at Robert, the way his whole face just seemed to turn red, I — ugh…” I bite my lip as tears trickle down my cheeks and Hayley pulls me in for a much-needed hug. “I’m sorry….”

“No — no, it’s okay,” Hayley sighs. “I sometimes forget I’ve had it easier than a lot of other trans girls. And I bet your brother is cool, heh. Have you — like, does he know about ‘Dina?’ ”

“Nope,” I whisper as I shake my head and try to dry my eyes. “I’ve tried looking for him, on social media, I mean, but — yeah. There’s a surprising number of ‘Robert Constable’s’ on Facebook, heh.”

“Is — is that your surname, Constable?” Lydia asks, making me grimace — I HAD hoped to keep that a secret, at least….

“Umm, yeah…” I reply with a grimace. “At birth, I mean. ‘Williams’ is ‘cause my deadname is ‘William,’ and…”

“I — you don’t need to say any more,” Hayley interrupts with a supportive grin. “All we need to know is that your name IS Dina Williams. Right?”

“Absolutely,” Lydia says as she replaces my empty glass with a full one. “And I think you need another one of these, heh. And the company of good friends.”

“Too right,” Hayley says. “I mean, just ‘cause we’re in competition with each other, it doesn’t mean we can’t be friends, right? Assuming an aristocrat is okay with being friends with a working-class girl from Manchester, that is?”

“Better than I would most aristocrats,” I reply, sharing a giggle with my friends as we clink our glasses together.

I let out a long grunt of pain as the throbbing in my skull wakes me the following morning. While my memory of the night is, to say the least, incomplete, I do have memories of Lydia tending the bar until long after dark, with Martha and Marcie coming to join Hayley and I. Cheering, laughter and raucous behaviour was the order of the evening, and while the specifics are ‘blurry,’ I do remember one thing — I’ve never had so much fun, or felt so accepted, in my entire life.

After a long shower to clear my head, I pull on a casual pink t-shirt and short denim skirt, before brushing my hair, applying a light layer of make-up to my face and heading downstairs, where unsurprisingly, many of my housemates are already awake — though even less surprisingly, Hayley, Martha and Marcie aren’t.

“Morning, Dina!” Lydia says in a deliberately high-pitched and loud voice, giggling as I wince.

“Morning, and thanks,” I reply, heading straight to the kitchen to pour myself a mug of black coffee as Aura and Michelle look on disapprovingly, while Lil looks on with bemusement.

“Suffering today?” Lil asks with a smug grin. “I’d have joined ya last night, but I’ve never been a cocktail girl, lager’s more my thing, heh!” I bite my lip as I see Michelle and Aura exchange a knowing look at the Geordie woman’s statement- clearly, they’re NOT lager girls, which comes as no surprise to me.

“Never been much of a drinker full stop,” I reply to Lil’s obvious delight. “I think we — a lot of us needed to let our hair down last night, though.”

“Aye, can’t argue with that!” Lil giggles. “A week cooped up in here — not that we haven’t had a year cooped up at home already, heh.”

“These are pleasant surroundings to be ‘cooped up’ in, though,” Aura muses.

“True, I guess,” Lil chuckles. “Definitely an improvement from my flat, heh.”

“I think we can safely say that most of us have never set foot in a house this big, let alone lived,” Michelle says, making me bite my lip as Lydia casts a knowing glance in my direction.

“Well, regardless, one of us won’t be, come tonight,” Lil sighs. “Which sucks, but it’s the name of the game, I guess.”

“Well regardless,” Lydia says, “I like to think that even after we all get out of here, we’ll at least stay in touch, right? Same applies for Ginny as well. I hope she’s doing okay….”

“Her agent’s probably already been on the phone to every American brand in the north-west, heh,” Lil chuckles. “Just like how I’m gonna be the queen of Tyneside when I get out of here, heh!”

“Or the literal ‘Angel of the North?’ ” Aura asks, triggering a mass giggle as Lil stands up and gracefully curtsies at the suggestion.

However, the respite from the anxiety about the upcoming elimination announcement doesn't last long, especially when our equally hungover housemates come to join us a short while later.

Fortunately, we don’t have to wait long to learn our fate, as shortly after breakfast we’re summoned to the main room, where the faces of Krystie, Abbey-Gayle and Viks greet us on the big screen.

“Angel candidates,” Viks announces in her refined accent. “The nine of us have finished reviewing the footage of yesterday’s retro fitness challenge, and we have each independently nominated the candidates we have nominated for elimination.”

“There was nobody yesterday who arrived late, so there’s nobody automatically in line for elimination this week,” Abbey-Gayle continues.

“I can now reveal,” Krystie says in a serious tone, “that the candidates facing elimination are: Marcie.” I smile sympathetically at the dark-skinned woman as she moans and lowers her head — she’s now been in two challenges and faced elimination both times. But that just makes it even more ominous for me, too….

“Aura,” Krystie continues, prompting a grimace from the brown-haired woman. “And…” Here it comes, I think to myself. “…Michelle.” I almost don’t hear the dark-haired woman’s snort of disgust at her nomination — such is my relief at having survived to face another challenge.

As with last time, the three nominated women head back to their room to talk to their Angel mentors ahead of the ‘persuasion,’ leaving the remaining five of us to wait. Thankfully, as with before, we don’t have to wait long to find out who’s departing — and much to our collective surprise, it’s Michelle who’s voted out of the competition. Obviously, she doesn’t take her elimination well, but after she leaves, life quickly returns to ‘normal,’ with the remaining seven of us huddling around the big screen for another film night (though this time, we give the cocktails a wide berth).

With the excitement of the day behind us, the seven of us return to our rooms for an early night, though before I can get changed into my nightwear, my TV beeps to inform me of an incoming call — unsurprisingly, from my own Angel mentor.

“Hey Dina,” Kelly says with a smile but also a look of concern on her face. “Just checking to see how you’re doing?”

“Umm, I’m okay, thanks,” I reply with a smile. “A bit gutted Michelle had to go, obviously, but we weren’t THAT close, and selfishly, I- I am glad I got through that challenge unscathed.”

“More than ‘unscathed,’ every single one of us ranked you in their top 3,” Kelly tells me, prompting us to share a giggle. “You definitely bounced back great after that first challenge.”

“Thanks,” I whisper.

“I had actually wanted to speak to you earlier, though, about last night,” Kelly says, the look of concern returning to her face.

“Last night?” I ask, confused.

“Some of the things you said about your family, I mean,” Kelly clarifies. “I just — I just wanted to make sure that you were alright, if there was anything I could do, that’s all.”

“Umm, not really,” I reply. “Not unless you can magically make all forms of bigotry disappear, heh.”

“Well, I’m a mixed-race transgender woman living in a predominantly white, conservative country,” Kelly replies, making me blush. “Believe me, I’ve tried.”

“Sorry,” I mumble.

“No — honestly, don’t apologise,” Kelly sighs. “Just ‘cause I’ve had it bad, it doesn’t mean it’s been a walk in the park for everyone else, and girls like us, we — we need to stick together. Support each other.”

“Thanks,” I whisper. “Has — has Alice been in touch with Ginny at all, do you know?”

“I can’t give specifics,” Kelly replies, “but if you’re asking ‘will Angel mentors keep in touch with their candidates after they leave the show,’ the answer is a definite yes, and that applies for us, too.”

“Thanks,” I chuckle.

“And that also applies while you’re on the show,” Kelly reminds me. “If there’s ever anything you need, you ask, okay?”

“I will,” I say with a smile.

“I’ll let you get some sleep now,” Kelly says with a warm smile. “If you ever need anything, especially if it’s just to talk, I’m always here, but it looks like you’ve already made good friends with some of the other candidates.”

“Definitely,” I reply with a smile.

“We’ll talk again soon,” Kelly says. “You’re doing great. Keep up the good work!”

“Thanks,” I say, waving goodbye to my mentor as the call ends.

As I lay in bed that night, I think about how far I have to go — there are still 3 weeks of the competition left, after all — but also about how far I’ve already come. After Ginny’s elimination, I was worried, despite Jamie and Kelly’s presence within the Angels, that they were going to eliminate all the transgender women first. However, not only was I chosen to stay over a cisgender woman — in this case, Michelle — they chose me to stay over three cisgender women. The Angels thought highly enough of me, my skills as an influencer and my identity as a woman, to keep me in this competition. For the first time ever, I’m thinking I might actually win this thing.

Though I’m forced to concede to myself that even if I do win the competition, or even especially if I win it, my family will be no more like to accept ‘Dina Williams.’ And neither will Dina Black….