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The Legal Stuff: Emma  ©2004 Tanya Allan
 
This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright, in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically. Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Permission is granted for it to be copied and read by individuals, and for no other purpose. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited, and may only be posted to free sites with the express permission of the author.
 
This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental. Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism, and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.
 
The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone. If you wish to take offence, that is your problem.
 
This is only a story, and it contains adult material, which includes sex and intimate descriptive details pertaining to genitalia. If this is likely to offend, then don’t read it.
 
 
Part 1
 
 
“Russell, you are such a wanker!” Mike Paterson told me, as, yet again, I allowed the opposition forwards to get past me and score a goal.

Mike was the goalkeeper, and although I thought he was pretty crappy at the job, I always seemed to be blamed when he let goals in.

He was supposed to be my friend, but I realised that friends were becoming a scarce commodity these days. It wasn’t as if I wanted to be bad at sport, I just seemed to be naturally inept at any team game I had attempted so far.

I loathed rugby. It was an incredibly violent sport, particularly as I seemed to be always on the receiving end of a good pummelling when the referee wasn’t looking. Not being particularly large or strong, it seemed to me to be a sport that favoured the more physical sportsmen.

I loathed cricket, as either larger boys flung exceptionally hard balls at me, intending to maim me, or I spent hours getting bored. I was now beginning to loathe soccer, as I appeared to have two left feet, so no matter where I was on the pitch, everyone ended up blaming me for anything that went wrong. It wasn’t that it wasn’t my fault, it usually was, but I was tired of being useless.

I enjoyed badminton, but I wasn’t allowed to play that. You had to be in the sixth form to take up that one. I loathed cross-country running, because it nearly killed me. However, at least other people didn’t interfere with me physically, or mentally abuse me.

The thing I really adored was music and singing, but needless to say, in the macho world of the public school, this hardly made me flavour of the year!

I still had a perfect treble voice. I had sung many solos in the chapel choir, and the last had been part of Handel’s Halleluiah Chorus. Everyone said that my solos were the finest that they had ever heard, but they still treated me like shit.

I was nearly sixteen, and not large for my age, I was only 5’6”. I was a skinny kid, and much to my embarrassment, my voice had yet to break. I loathed the shower time after games, as I was acutely aware that all the other guys had bigger willies than I did, and most of them were getting hairy.

I had grown a little pubic hair, but my legs and arms were still lacking any masculine hair. I put it down to me being very fair, and my blonde hair, was probably going to spread to all my other parts, so to speak.

Like all fifteen year olds, I was suffering from the usual insecurity problems, including, in my case, a sexual identity crisis. I was not happy at the all-boys boarding school, but when my father died, he had left enough in his will for a ‘good education’. Which meant my mother could send me away for the benefit of sadistic teachers to treat me like shit, while she found a toy-boy in Monaco, where she lived in my father’s villa without a care in the world.

I found that I had few friends and, to be perfectly frank, I was utterly miserable. I was reasonably bright as far as academic work was concerned, but in this establishment, Monksreach Hall, unless you were capable of representing the school in some violent sport or other, then your status was about as low as you could get. Thus, my status and morale were both as low as my socks - at the bottom.

I was an only child, and my mother was a bitch. It sounds horrible, but that’s the only word for her. My father had founded and managed his own company, which was something to do with engineering. He had specialised in some new technique involving aviation design utilising new alloys. I never pretended to understand it, but it had made him a fortune. He had met my mother on holiday in France, and they had married a few months later. She saw in him a golden meal ticket, as he was in his late fifties, while she was twenty-six.

However, she fell pregnant, which was very bad planning on her behalf. My father was delighted, as he had thought he would die childless. When I was born, his joy was complete - a son and heir.

The joy was short lived. I was eight when he died, and my darling Mama packed me off to boarding school almost immediately. My father had, however, left me most of his wealth tied up in trust so my mother couldn’t touch it. He had left her wealthy in her own right, but she resented the fact that I would get anything. She received the interest of the trust, but when I attained the age of twenty-one, I would inherit the lot, leaving her with a reasonable pension. However, his idea of a reasonable pension and hers, were two completely different things. Instead of saving what she had now, and investing for the future, she spent everything, and plotted to take my share as well.

My father had been shrewd enough to see a little of what might happen. After about six or seven years of marriage he had discovered she was having an affair, and this had hurt him deeply. He had worshipped her, and now she had betrayed him. He challenged her, and she had lied. To my father, an honest God-fearing man, this was the ultimate insult, and it started to kill him from the inside.

I was seven at the time, and he took me to his lawyer’s office in London. I don’t remember much, only that it had a funny clock outside, with an eagle above it.

We went into an office with lots of dark wooden panels, and the lawyer did something very strange. He took my fingerprints. I remember it, because afterwards I took ages scrubbing the ink off in the washroom. The soap was the clear amber soap, called Pears, and I still remember the smell to this day.

When I went back to the office, I overheard my father saying, “I wouldn’t put it past her to substitute someone else to try and cheat Russell out of what is rightfully his.” I went in, and the conversation stopped, but I never forgot it. I knew he was talking about my mother.

We went home on the train, and my father was always very kind to me. He said, “Russell, who knows whether I’ll be around to see you when you are twenty-one. But if I’m not, all you have to do is turn up there, prove who you are, and my fortune will be yours.”

A year later, he was dead, and my misery began. My mother made no pretence that I was anything other than an impediment to her social life. My father had no close family upon which she could dump me, and she never admitted to having any family of her own. If she had, they were somewhere in France, and I don’t think she ever was in contact with them. She never talked about them, in any case.

I would return to her in the holidays, and she would employ an endless stream of very nice, but rather ineffectual women to look after me. Monaco was a playground for wealthy adults, and there were other young people, but I tended to keep to my own company. As a result, I became quite used to being on my own, and not very good with other people. My mother and I rarely spoke, and she would parade an equally endless stream of different young men past my bedroom door, every night.

There was one distant cousin of my father, who ran a kennels in Devon, to whom, once discovered, I was frequently sent down to stay with her. She was very nice, but over the years had become more dog than human. I grew to love the company of dogs, as, for a long time, they were my only companions.

There was little love lost between my mother and me, I tried — I really tried, but she just didn’t want to know. By the time I turned eleven, I gave up trying, and that was almost my lowest point.

When I was twelve, I had learned to ignore emotions, and by thirteen, when I was one of the eldest in my prep school, my morale was somewhat restored. Now, having been elevated to senior school, and as one of the lowest of the low, I was back to being bloody miserable again.
 
 
The football game finished, and as usual, they all blamed me for losing. We made our way back, in the rain, to the changing rooms, and I sat on the bench to let everyone take their showers first, again - as usual.

I had my shower, alone, and quickly changed into my school uniform, of grey trousers, grey shirt, house tie, and tweed jacket. I was combing my hair, and Mr McLean, the teacher on duty came in.

“Hurry up, Drysdale. You will be late for tea. And get your hair cut, you look like a girl,” he shouted at me.

“Yes sir,” I said. ‘Bastard,’ I thought.

He walked out again, but I thought of what he had said. I combed my hair back, pulling it together at the back. It was almost long enough to make an eight-inch ponytail, and I had to admit that I did look effeminate. Maybe that was what was wrong; perhaps I should have been born female. I certainly wasn’t hacking it as a boy. The thought had crossed my mind almost daily. I thought that it was only me wanting a different life, but maybe it went deeper.

I had no sexual experience with girls, but then I had hardly had any social experience with girls, for that matter. I had been in all-boys schools since I was eight. I certainly hadn’t even any sexual experience with boys, and wasn’t even aware of any such activity that might have gone on around me.

I often would feel more at home in girls’ company, on those few occasions when I did meet some. I knew I wasn’t gay, the thought of certain physical activities made me squirm, and I never looked at boys like that. I have to admit, I often would fantasise about being a girl, and wearing girl’s clothes, and then, and only then, as a girl, did I look at boys in a different light. That was only in fantasy, as they say, beggars can’t be choosers.

I combed it as I normally did, and went to tea. I sat by myself, as usual, and went over to the common room for our evening study period, called prep. I did my work in a quarter of the time, and read my book. It was a science fiction book by Robert Heinlein, called I will fear no Evil. It was about a very old rich man, who has his brain transplanted into the body of a beautiful young woman. Her soul is still there, and together they have an amazing year. I had read the book several times, and could identify with the central character.

Monksreach Hall had dormitories for the 13 — 14 year olds, and then individual study/bedrooms thereafter, but we could only sleep in them. When we got to the dizzy heights of the lower and upper sixth forms, then we could leave the common room, and could study in our rooms. Still, it was a refuge, and the one place in which I felt safe.

I went to bed that night, and I was about as miserable as I had ever been, I gave a cry to God, which came from the very depths of my soul. “Oh God. If you exist, please do something, anything! I don’t care what. I just need to get away from this place,” Then I dreamed of having my brain transplanted anywhere, as long as it was away form here.
 
 
The next day brought no nice surprises. It was a wet, cold, grey February day, and I woke up with a real sense of depression and gloom. I always tried to wake up before anyone else, because, that way I got a hot shower in peace and quiet.

I ambled along the corridor to the shower room, and stripped off and stepped into one of the six shower cubicles. I just stood under the shower, and enjoyed the feeling of the hot water on the top of my head. I soaped myself, and noticed that my chest seemed very sensitive for some reason, particularly around my nipples. When I washed my willy, it seemed particularly small today, and I reasoned that it was because of the cold weather.

As I was drying off, some of the other boys came for showers, and I managed to scuttle back to my room before they teased me about my small willy. I dressed, and read for a while before breakfast.

The day went as most others before it, except that I seemed to attract more than the usual amount of abuse from staff and boys alike. Once again I surpassed myself on the soccer pitch, which became so bad, that at one point my team captain said, “For God’s sake, Drysdale, why don’t you just fuck off and find some other girls to play with.”

I went bright red, and felt so hurt, but couldn’t show it. In the showers afterwards, the teasing started again. One of the boys pointed to my willy, and made a remark that I missed, but someone else said, “If it wasn’t for that pathetic little thing, he would be a she, because she is growing tits.” I was horrified, but I looked down and noticed that the area around my nipples had swollen slightly.

Once again, I went bright red, and dressed very quickly, by the time I went for tea, I was even more miserable than ever.

I went to bed that night, with my mind in torment. I don’t think I could last another day in this hell. I had never before considered taking my own life, and it was only the thought that my mother would win if I did, that prevented me.

My prayer that night was a real cry from the heart, and I was crying.

“Oh God, I don’t deserve this, make me what I should be, so I don’t get teased, and can live my life as it should be lived.”

I woke up early, it was not yet light, February is a dark month anyway, and so I knew that it could be anything before half past six. I felt funny, but that was nothing new. I got up and went to the bathroom. I stood at the urinal, and fished into my pyjamas for my willy. I couldn’t find it, and I experienced the cold sweats and that sudden lurch of the heart as panic set in.

I pulled my pyjama trousers down, and I stared at what was between my legs. Or rather, what was not between my legs!

I was not very sexually aware, but I had seen enough soft porn photographs to recognise female genitalia when I saw it. I was certainly not used to seeing it on me.

I then woke up enough to realise that something strange was happening up in my chest area as well. Even before I undid the buttons, what I feared became a reality. There, looking as if they were perfectly at home, were two small, but perfectly formed female breasts, with larger nipples and aureoles. When I say small, they looked huge to me, but I suppose they were average for a fifteen-year-old girl.

I still had the problem of requiring a pee. I had the added problem of risking discovery at any second.

I dashed into a cubicle and locked the door. My heart was racing, and I could feel my pulse throbbing in my ears. I now looked at my watch. It was only four am. I pulled down my bottoms again, and opened my shirt. I noticed that my hips seemed wider, and my waist narrower, but maybe that was my imagination.

I sat down, and released whatever I usually released. The sensation was at once familiar, and yet different.

I sat for while, and my mind was racing. What was I to do? Was I dreaming? Would it return to normal if I went back to bed? Could I stay? Should I stay? Should I go? Where would I go? How would I go? What would I do for money? How would I get clothes and food?

It slowly dawned on me that I had received what I had asked for. Now it had, did I want it? The whole scenario was very unreal.

How the hell could I have changed into a girl?

I mean, this sort of thing just couldn’t happen.

Could it?

I had to look again, just in case I had made a mistake.

No, no mistake.

No willy, just a very delicate and soft little slit and, oh shit. I had tits.

I had tits, and whatever, down below, and I was in a boys’ school.

I wasn’t so worried about teasing now, because in a funny sort of way, I’d quite like someone to call me a girl.

Then I could drop my pants and show them.

I knew I couldn’t do that.

It was like a very strange dream.

I knew that I wasn’t dreaming, and if I stayed, I would be discovered, and then the circus would start. The school would call my mother; she would take me to a series of doctors, and try to sue anyone and everyone. She would then try to make money out of me, and I would end up like a freak on a sideshow.

What could I do?

I was beginning to get cold, so I went back to my room.

I sat for a long time, I had pulled the covers around me, and I was trying to keep a hold of my sanity. I was now a girl. I kept repeating this repeatedly. Thinking that, perhaps, if I did it enough, I would eventually come to terms with the fact.

I took my pyjamas off and stood up. I had a small mirror, so could see most of myself, if I stood on the bed. There was no doubt; I was now a girl! The funny thing was that I was actually quite pleased. I was surprised, certainly, but I was not frightened, neither was I worried. It was almost as if I was happy for this to happen.

I tried to bend over and see my new bits, but I would have to be a contortionist to manage that. I explored with my fingers, and having never felt a vagina before, I could only assume that mine was perfectly normal. I felt strange sensations that were very pleasurable, and I became rather excited, so decided to leave it alone for a while.

I then dug out my own clothes. We were allowed a few of these, and I had jeans and tee shirts. I pulled on a pair of briefs, and a couple of tee shirts. I put on a pair of jeans, and noticed that my hips were bigger, as I struggled to get the jeans over them. The waist was slimmer, because I had to put a belt on.

I pulled on a baggy pullover, and my favourite short leather bomber jacket. I put my trainers on, and pulled out my rucksack. I filled it with as many of my own clothes as I could, including socks and wash kit. I dug out my wallet, and noted that I had my cash point card, a phone card, and about  £50 cash. I knew that I had about  £300 in my account, but was aware that  £350 would not last very long.

I had some chocolate and fruit in my locker, so I put that in my bag. I pulled on my black woolly hat, looked round the room that I felt was a prison cell, and walked out.
 
 
Monksreach Hall is about eight miles south of Buckingham, almost midway between Buckingham and Aylesbury.

I had no home in Britain, as my mother inherited the house, but had sold it immediately. The villa in Monaco, however, was part of the trust, and she couldn’t touch that. She could live in it, and indeed was doing so, but that was all.

I crept quietly through the sleeping school, and down the stairs. I walked through the main courtyard, and out the front gate. The main road was about half a mile away, and I reached it uninterrupted. At least it wasn’t raining.

I didn’t know which way to turn, left was Buckingham, I knew no one there, and right was Aylesbury, I knew no one there either. I saw headlights left, so I turned right, away from them.

I started walking. A couple of cars and lorries passed, and I was walking for an hour before the rain started. After another twenty minutes, I was soaked, but I just kept walking. I could see a village about a mile ahead of me.

A car pulled along side of me. It was a blue Vauxhall Astra, and I got worried. I looked at the driver, and saw with some relief that it was a vicar. He looked to be at least fifty, and I had never seen him before.

“What are you doing out in this weather at this time of day?” he asked.

“I missed my lift. I was supposed to get a lift into Aylesbury, so I could catch the train, but I overslept,” I said, with my mind racing. My voice had changed too, the tones were softer and in line with the rest of me.

“You looked soaked, get in, I’ll take you to the station,” he said.

I hesitated, but in the end, the damp lost, and I got into the car.

“What is your name, child?”

“Um, Emma, Emma…er… Pearson,” I said, I had had enough time to think of a name, and this one was the first name that I had liked. I thought Emma was a nice easy name, and I thought an Emma was a fun loving girl with a smile and a sense of humour. As for Pearson, I suppose it was the Pears soap that gave me the idea.

“Hello Emma, I’m Michael Strong, I am the vicar at Little Mudsley. Do you know where that is?” he asked.

“Yes, it’s off to the left somewhere,” I said.

“So, why were you going to the station at this time of day? Shouldn’t you be in school?” he asked the questions that I was dreading.

“I’m sixteen, so I’ve left school and I was going to London for a job interview,” I said, and then I sneezed.

“You must be soaked. Look Emma, I know that this is not exactly the right procedure, but what do you say to a warm bath?”

I was really worried now. I had only been a girl for a matter of a few hours, and here was a randy vicar trying to get me into a bath.

My expression must have shown, because he laughed.

“You misunderstand, I propose to take you to my vicarage, and my wife is there. You can have a bath, while we try to find some clean and dry clothes for you. Our daughter has moved away now, so I am sure that some of her old things are around somewhere,” he said.

My teeth were chattering, so I just nodded, weakly.

He told me that he had been visiting a sick old man, who had died while he was there. He had waited for the doctor and the undertakers, and now he was heading home.

He took the next left, and after about ten minutes, he pulled into the driveway of a big old house. He got out and opened the front door. I was a little scared of getting out. A woman came to the door and I saw them talking, it was she who came over.

She opened the car door. She was in her late forties, and I could see that she had been pretty when a little younger. Now she looked tired and weary. Tired, because of the time of day, and weary, probably because of the trials that life had dished up. Her hair was quite short and beginning to go grey. She was about my height, but a little plump. She had a lovely smile, which seemed to make all her weariness dissipate.

“Hello, I’m Mary. Michael tells me you’re Emma. You look awfully wet, why don’t you come and dry off?” she said, smiling.

I got out of the car and followed her inside. The house had a lovely smell to it, sort of fresh bread and flowers. Clean and warm. For no reason I started to cry. I stood, dripping a puddle of water onto their hall carpet, and cried.

Mary put her arms around me, while I just sobbed and sobbed. Michael took my rucksack, and eventually Mary led me upstairs. She peeled me out of my wet clothes, and they landed on the floor with a damp ‘splat.’ She gave me a huge towelling dressing gown, which smelled of lavender.

I was careful to keep my wallet hidden, and managed to hide it behind the lavatory cistern while she ran the bath.

“Do you want to tell me anything?” she asked.

I shook my head. What could I tell her, she wouldn’t believe it anyway?

“I know that whatever you are running away from may seem horrible, but believe me, you are safe here.”

She turned off the taps.

“There, that should do. Jump in, if you want any more water, just help yourself,” she said.

She left, closing the door, so I went and locked it. I took off my dressing gown and stepped into the bath. There was a full-length mirror on the wall, and I watched as a total stranger stared back at me.

Oh, she had my head, but it was someone else’s body. As I looked, I could see that even my face had changed. My nose seemed a little smaller, my lips a little fuller and my cheekbones seemed a little more pronounced. I used to have a very large Adam’s apple, and that had gone completely. My body was totally alien. My breasts were perfectly formed, and seemed a little bigger even since four o’clock. I noticed the way my whole body just seemed so completely feminine, as it went in and out in all the right places. I sat down in the nice hot bath, and soaped myself all over. The soap, it was Pears, and I instantly remembered our trip to the lawyers.

There was a shampoo bottle on the side, so I shampooed my hair, and rinsed everything off. I got out and dried my wonderful new body so much that I tingled.

I put on the big dressing gown, and went and unlocked the door. Mary came up stairs, and she was carrying a tray. On the tray was a steaming cup of hot chocolate, and a piece of apple pie. She took it into the room opposite.

“Emma, if you come in here, I think I’ve found some clothes for you,” she said.

I followed her into the room. It was a big bedroom, and very pretty. The floral wallpaper was super, and the curtains were green velvet. There was a big bed with a canopy over it, with matching green drapes spreading out from it. There was an antique dressing table with a mirror attached, and some pictures on the walls.

“This was Caroline’s room. She’s our daughter, but now she lives in New Zealand with her husband,” Mary said. “I brought you some hot chocolate and a piece of pie. I thought you might be hungry.”

“Thank you. You’re very kind. I’m sorry if I was rude earlier. I’m a little out of my depth,” I admitted.

“Oh, Emma. Is there anything we can do?” she asked, her face a picture of concern.

“Not really. I’m sort of in a bit of a jam, and I have to get myself out of it. You see, I can’t tell anyone, and even if I did, it wouldn’t help, because no one would believe me,” I said.

“Where are your parents? Won’t they be worried?” she asked, as I sipped the chocolate.

“My father died about seven years ago, and my mother is not living in this country,” I said, quite truthfully.

“Oh that’s terrible,” she said. “How old are you now?”

“I’m sixteen, my birthday is the 4th of February,” I said, managing to squeeze a tear out.

“That’s today,” Mary exclaimed. “You poor little thing. Happy birthday.”

“Thank you. But it is not as bad as it seems. Actually, this is about the happiest birthday I can remember,” I admitted. I had some pie. It was very good.

“Well, I’ve managed to dig out some clothes for you. Caroline is a little bigger than you, in the bust, that is, but I have some of her stuff from when she was your age. It’s silly, but I never throw anything away, you never know when it will come in handy.”

She passed me a pile of clothes, far more than I needed.

“Thank you, you needn’t, I have my own clothes,” I protested.

“Pah. They are all in the drier. And besides, those clothes would only go to Oxfam in any case.” Mary said.

The left me alone, and I looked at the clothes.

There were so many, and all were rather unfamiliar to me.

I selected a bra, and worked out how to put it on, eventually. There were several pairs of plain white knickers, so I put one pair on. I noticed a pair of tights, so I slipped them over my knickers, as that seemed logical. The feel of the sheer tights gave me a little thrill. I put on a plain white blouse, and a black, knee length skirt. There was a black v-neck pullover, so I pulled that over the top. I sat on the bed and finished the pie and chocolate. I saw a hair dryer on the dressing table, so I used it to dry my hair. My hair seemed a little thicker than I remembered, and it was tough to brush. I brushed it back, and tied a black scrunchie band around it in a ponytail.

I opened the top drawer in the dressing table, and noticed that there was a small makeup case there. I opened it and saw a mascara brush, lipstick, eyeliner, and little tubs of different colours.

I used the eyeliner and mascara brush as I had seen them used in commercials. Then I put on a little lipstick. I had to use a tissue to clear up the smudges, and then I got bolder, and dabbed a little blue stuff on each eyelid - not much, but just a little.

The transformation was quite astounding. Gone was the waif, and instead, a very pretty girl looked back at me. She was a very different me, but I smiled, and I felt very good about what I looked like.

I stood up, and gave a little twirl. Something deep inside of me felt really fantastic, and I got a tingle of excitement at seeing myself. It was strange, but it was almost like coming home.

I looked in the cupboard, and found several pairs of shoes. I found a plain black pair, with two-inch heels. They were very elegant, and they fitted perfectly.

I picked up the tray and opened the door. I went down stairs, following the sound of voices. I saw my reflection in the hall mirror, so a knot of excitement hit my stomach.

I found Mary and Michael in the kitchen. The clock showed six o’clock.

I carried the tray over to the sink, in which I washed up the plate and the mug. I dried them up, and asked Mary where they lived.

“Leave them, Emma. Come and sit down. You look an awful lot better now,” she said.

“I feel better. Thank you so much. I hadn’t realised how much I needed help,” I said.

“My, you are a pretty girl. Seeing you now, I feel a little better. When I first saw you, I must confess, I thought you were a lot younger than sixteen. Mary tells me it is your birthday today. Happy birthday,” Michael said.

“Thank you. And thanks for the drink and pie, they were both delicious,” I said, smiling.

“Oh, you look so much prettier when you smile. That is the first one I have seen,” Mary said.

I smiled again, and looked down at my hands.

“So, what are you going to do?” Michael asked. “There is no job in London, is there?”

I shook my head.

“Have you any qualifications?” he asked.

“I have four GCSEs, but I should be taking more this year,” I admitted.

“Should you not go back and take them?” he asked.

“I can’t,” I said, and although I didn’t want to, I started to cry.

Mary came over and put her arm around me. She handed me a tissue, and I dabbed at my eyes. I so loved the make up; I stopped crying so as not to spoil it.

“Why can’t you go back?” she asked.

“You wouldn’t believe me, even if I told you,” I said, and in my frustration, I felt the tears build up again.

“Try us. Please Emma, try to tell us. We are really quite experienced, and very few things surprise us any more,” Michael said.

I looked him and then at Mary. They were good, kind people, and they had an air of love about them. I took a deep breath, and told them the truth. I told them about my father, my mother, the trust, my school, and how I came to be here and how I came to be Emma. I told them how my mother would like to get rid of me so she could inherit. I told them about how miserable I had been, and how desperately I had pleaded with God to work a miracle and make it all better. Now, I believed He had, but I did not want to become a sideshow freak.

When I finished I dug out my damp wallet and showed them Russell’s photograph, and all his cards.

Michael sat looking at the photograph, and then at me. Mary just sat and stared, her mouth slightly open.

“See, I told you that you wouldn’t believe me,” I said.

“Emma, … Russell, no…, Emma, it is not that we don’t believe you, but, well, you’ve certainly surprised us,” Michael said.

They both sat there, not saying anything.

I stood up. “My clothes may be dry now, I will leave these in the bedroom. Thank you for helping me,” I said, I started to leave the kitchen, and Mary came after me. She held me in her arms, and I felt the emotion welling up inside me again. This time I wasn’t able to hold it back and I just sobbed and sobbed, for a long time.

“Sit down, Emma,” said Michael, at last.

I sat, and Mary held my hand.

“Emma, we believe you. I am aware that there are people born with confused genders, and sometimes they turn out to be different to what they believed they were. I don’t know how it happened and I don’t know why it happened, but I believe it happened, but now we have to work out what to do next,” he said.

He stood up and walked over to the kettle, peeped in to check the water level, and switched it on.

“Now, the first thing is you must not use any of those bank cards. They can be traced, and we want to keep you from being traced, until we can decide the best course of action. The second thing is to get you some form of official identity, and that will be rather tricky. But the most important thing will be to get you back into school, so that you don’t miss out on your schooling,” he said.

“We can’t just enroll her in a local school, there will be questions, and we won’t have the right papers,” Mary said.

“I could get a part time job, and perhaps go to college in the evenings,” I suggested.

“I know,” said Mary. “Emma, I used to be a teacher, and was considering going back into teaching. How about if you stay with us, work with me, and get a part time job in the village?”

“I don’t know. What is the point in getting exams, if I don’t exist?” I asked.

“Don’t worry about that,” said Michael. “I have an idea. We have Missionaries who disappear all over the world, and have children in the most awkward places. I will try a little double whammy, and get you registered a little after the fact, and take it from there.”

“How?” I asked.

“Don’t worry about that now. But, I think it might well work,” he said.

“What subjects are you taking at GCSE?” Mary asked.

“I already have English Language, English Literature, Maths, and French. I am going for Spanish, geography, history, RE, Science, IT, and design and technology,” I answered.

“Oh,” she said.

“Is that a problem?” I asked.

“You may be a little out of my league,” she said.

“Most of the stuff is on the internet, so you don’t need much,” I explained.

They looked at each other.

“You do have a computer, don’t you?” I asked.

“Yes,” said Michael, rather hesitantly.

I looked at him.

“We haven’t got it out of the box yet. We promised Caroline to get one, so we could use the Email thingy. But it is rather beyond us,” Mary admitted.

“Show me,” I said.

They took me into his study, and sure enough, there was a very modern PC and all the accessories, still in its box.

It took me about twenty minutes to put it together, and switch it on. It was loaded with Windows XP, and all the other programs were already loaded too. I connected it up to the phone system, and accessed the Internet, utilising one of the service providers that it came with.

“What is Caroline’s email address?” I asked.

Mary gave me a little book, and she had written it next to her daughter’s address.

I sent her an email, saying, “Hello Caroline, we are now on line, and waiting to hear from you. Lots of love Mum and Dad.”

“Does she call you Mum or Mummy?” I asked.

“Mummy,” said Mary.

I altered the message, and sent it.

Michael stood and stared at me.

“It was never that easy?” he asked.

I smiled.

“Look, you teach us about this machine, and we will get you sorted, deal?” Michael said.

“Deal,” I said, and we shook hands on it.

“One thing,” I said.

“What?”

“Russell Drysdale no longer exists,” I said.

“Who is Russell Drysdale, Emma?” said Mary.

I cried again.
 
 
Part 2
 
 
I spent the day showing Mary and Michael, how to use their computer. It was a Thursday, which was Michael’s day off. Just before lunch, he went to bed for a bit. I had forgotten, but he’d spent most of the night beside a dying man.

I became engrossed with the computer, at one point I had forgotten what had happened to me. However, every time I looked down at the keyboard, the sight of my swelling breasts under my clothes reminded me.

I found that being a girl seemed the most natural thing in the world, and I still felt that it was right. Every time I walked anywhere in the house, I would see my reflection somewhere, yet each time I saw myself, I couldn’t help smiling. Then I realised, for the first time for many years, I actually felt happy. It was a truly wonderful feeling!

I loved the feel of my new body, and the clothes were lovely, but I just felt that I belonged.

Mary was very kind, so we talked for hours. I don’t think I had ever talked like this with anyone before. I told her all about my short and rather miserable life, so she told me of hers.

She had once wanted to be an actress and singer. She had gone to drama school, but had soon realised that for everyone that finds success, hundreds never do. She had gone into teaching, so had spent many years teaching English and Drama. She met Michael, who had been the chaplain to one of her schools; they fell in love and eventually married. He hadn’t always been a vicar. He had been in the diplomatic corps at one point, so had been all over the world in various posts. His last posting had been in Africa, and it was there that he had acknowledged his faith and done something about it. On returning to the UK, he had left the corps, gone to Bible College and become a vicar.

They had tried for several children, but only had the one. Due to various problems, Mary had to have a hysterectomy, so they made do with Caroline.

Caroline had been a rather wayward girl, and although now was twenty-six, she had led her parents a merry dance. However, she had met a New Zealander and had gone out to New Zealand to live only quite recently, but I could tell that both Mary and Michael were unhappy about it.

Mary said, “I have to go shopping in Aylesbury. Do you want to come with me?”

I thought for only a second. “I’d love to,” I said.

I dashed up stairs, touched up my makeup and brushed my hair. Again, seeing a very pretty girl in the mirror sent butterflies through my tummy.
 
 
It was a twenty-minute drive to Aylesbury, and we parked in the multi-storey. As we walked through the precinct, I kept seeing my reflection in the windows and heard the tap-tap-tapping of my high heels. I smiled.

Mary noticed, and said, “You look pleased about something.”

“Yes. Oh, Mary, I think I’m happy for the first time in my life.”

Mary looked at my ponytail.

“Why don’t you have your hair done? If you have it cut nicely, it will have a lovely shape as it grows out,” she suggested.

“I’d love to,” I replied, “but I only have  £50, and I don’t want to waste it on something like that.”

“Why don’t you have it on me, in payment for getting our computer on line?” she asked.

“Oh, I couldn’t,” I said.

“Look, Emma. You said that you stand to inherit a lot of money?”

“Yes.”

“Then, why don’t you keep a tally, and if you manage to collect the inheritance, then I’ll let you pay us back?” she asked with a smile. I could tell she didn’t care, but wanted to encourage me.

“And if I don’t?” I asked.

“Then we’ll talk about that when the time comes,” she said.

There was nothing more I could say. I simply nodded and she took me by the arm, and we went to the hairdressers.

It was a grey Thursday afternoon, and the town was very empty, so was the hairdressers.

“Hello, my niece has just come to see us, and I think she could do a lot more with her hair. She wants to grow it, but it needs a nice cut, so that it grows out nicely. Can you do something for her?” Mary said.

The sat me down, while both women talked an alien language for a while. My hair was pulled and combed, and the shape of my head was looked at from every angle. Eventually, a course of action was decided upon, and the girl set to work.

She washed my hair, and while it was wet, she cut it. I thought that huge chunks of hair came off, but as it dried, she styled it. I was very pleased with the result.

It was quite a bit shorter, but shaped very well, setting off my face delightfully. There was still some body at the back, so it felt lovely after she blow-dried it. I looked in the mirror and I thought that it made me seem older. It certainly made me look very pretty. I smiled at myself.

Mary had disappeared to do some shopping, so she came back just as Jenny, the stylist, was finishing up.

“Why, Emma. You look lovely. That is super. You look much older like that,” she said.

I just grinned, I loved how I looked, and I felt so happy it was bubbling up inside me.

Mary paid Jenny and we left the hairdressers. I couldn’t pass a shop window without admiring myself.

“We need to go to the supermarket, if you’re going to be staying with us for a while,” Mary said.

“I don’t want to be any trouble,” I said, feeling rather guilty.

“Emma, don’t be silly. Please understand, we want to help you get straightened out. I’m sure that you won’t eat us out of house and home, and you will be safe with us. So, I don’t want to hear any more about it. Okay?” she said.

“Okay,” I said.

We went to the supermarket, where I pushed the trolley for her. I had never been shopping like this before, so it was a real adventure.

We turned the corner on one aisle and my heart stopped. Coming towards me was Mr McLean - my maths teacher from school. He had been the teacher who had told me that I looked like a girl. I just froze, but he was looking at his list, then at the shelves, and then at his list again.

Mary had gone back for some rice, which we had passed, and I was alone.

I tried an evasive manoeuvre, but Mr McLean pushed his trolley straight into mine, so they crashed together with an embarrassingly loud noise. He looked up, straight at me.

“Oh, I am so sorry, Miss, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” he said, blushing and looking suitably sheepish. A woman came up to him, I recognised his wife, as I had seen her around the school several times.

“Oh, I’m sorry, my dear. He’s utterly useless in these places. I can’t trust him to do anything without mucking it up somehow,” she said.

Neither of them recognised me.

Why should they?

I was a couple of inches taller in my heels, I was a different gender, I looked about three years older and I was very attractive.

I flicked my hair and smiled.

“It’s fine. I’m used to men crashing into me all the time in here. It’s a wonder they are allowed driving licences,” I said, smiling straight at Mr McLean, who went even redder.

Mrs McLean laughed, pulling her husband out of my way. I noticed her glance at my left hand.

“They are a bloody nuisance, and that’s for sure. Are you with your boyfriend?” she asked.

“No, my aunt,” I replied.

“Very wise, never bring a man in here, as they are a liability,” said Mrs McLean with some feeling. She pulled the trolley and her husband away down the aisle.

Mary returned.

“What was all that about?” she asked.

“My maths teacher has just bumped into me,” I told her.

“Did he recognise you?”

I shook my head. “No, but I can’t for the life of me understand why not,” I said laughing.

We finished our shopping, returning without further incident to the car. I was quiet on the way back. I felt so pleased about Mr McLean not having a clue about me. I felt sufficiently confident that I believed that I could walk right through the school like this, and no one would ever realise who I used to be.

“Don’t get too confident. All it takes is one little mistake, or one person a little more on the ball,” Mary said, reading my expressions.

“I know, but I do feel a lot better now. I really enjoyed shopping, I have never done it before,” I said.

She laughed.

“What was your favourite bit?” she asked.

I thought for a moment.

“Just being free and walking around, being me for the first time in my life. I think I just like being me. A girl,” I said.

“Just as well, I don’t think you’ll change back now.”

“Good,” I said. “I wouldn’t want to.”

We arrived back at the manse in Little Mudsley, to find that Michael was out. He had left a note on the hall table.
 
 

GONE OUT. BACK AT 5 PM.

 
 
“I wonder where he’s gone,” Mary said.

I shrugged, helping her put away the shopping.

I went into the study and checked their emails. There was nothing from New Zealand. Mary and I spent some time together with the computer, and I taught her how to access her email system.

I went up to the bedroom in which I had dressed. I looked at myself in the dressing table mirror. My hair was lovely, as it swished when I turned my head. I touched up my makeup, wishing I knew more about such things.

I looked at some of the other clothes that Mary had given me, and couldn’t wait to try them all on. I realised that I was very tired, so I just lay down for a moment. I must have dropped off, because it was dark when I woke up.

I went back downstairs, to find Michael had returned. I heard him talking to Mary.

“I managed to get a birth certificate sorted out. I think I can get her registered through National insurance. It’s amazing what one can do with the right contacts,” Michael was saying

“Oh, Mike, are you sure that this is all right. I don’t want us to do anything that will get us into trouble,” Mary said.

“I can’t see what we’re doing will get us into trouble, we’re just helping a child in a real pickle. It is not as if we’re trying to swindle anyone, are we?” Michael said.

I walked in at this point, and Michael stared at me.

“Is this the same girl that I picked up this morning?” he asked. “My goodness, Emma, what a pretty girl you have turned into.”

“Thank you, Michael. I had my hair done. Do you like it?” I asked.

“Very much. You look lovely. It suits you,” he said.

“Thank you. But I agree with Mary. I don’t want you to do anything that will get you both into any trouble,” I said.

“Listen, while I was attached to a consulate in Uganda, I was the registrar for all the births of British subjects. There was some uprising or coup, so we had to leave in a hurry, and I packed up very quickly. I still have my book of certificates, and I know that many files were damaged or destroyed when the rioters attacked the British Embassy and set it on fire. Therefore, I have created a new person, called Emma Jane Pearson. Born 4th February 1982, daughter to John Pearson, clergyman, and Margaret Pearson, nee Smith, housewife, in Kampala, Uganda.

“I have also done the death certificates of both your parents, from a car accident last year, and your father’s will, leaving you into the care of your father’s dearest friends, the Rev. Michael Strong and Mrs Mary Strong. Here is your certificate of travel, showing that you lost your passport, and that you’re who you say you are, issued by the consulate in Uganda.

“All we have to do is register you with the DSS, and with National Insurance. You and I shall go into Milton Keynes tomorrow, and make you official,” he said.

He made it sound too easy, I was not convinced, but when I looked at the birth certificate, it looked like the genuine article. I said so.

“That is because it is. This is what was used, and to my knowledge still is. The only difference is that there are no records anywhere to prove or disprove that they are genuinely yours,” Michael explained.

“How did you know that I’ve been to Uganda?” I asked.

Mike stared at me.

“I didn’t. When was that?”

“I was about six or seven. We all went, something to do with Daddy attending an international engineering convention. It was only for a week, and I stayed in the hotel pool for most of it. I did see some of Kampala. I don’t remember very much, but perhaps enough,” I said.

I helped Mary prepare dinner, and we had a beef stew, dumplings, cabbage and mashed potatoes. This was followed by some of Mary’s apple pie, and it was the best meal I had ever had.

I did the washing up, and we sat in their sitting room afterwards. I found a book in their bookcase, and spent the evening just sitting reading quietly in the corner.

“Would you like to put on the telly?” Mary asked.

“No thanks,” I said. “I’d rather read.”

After a few minutes, I became aware that they were both watching me.

“What?” I asked, worried.

“Emma, it is very strange, but all your mannerisms and the way you move. It is as if you have always been a girl,” Mary said.

I smiled, brushing my hair back. They both laughed.

“I find it hard to believe you were ever a boy,” Michael said.

“I do too,” I said. “I can honestly say that I’ve never felt so complete and so happy ever before.”

I continued to read, but found that I could hardly keep my eyes open.

“Emma?” Mary said, very gently.

I shook my head, and said, “Yes?”

“Go to bed, dear. Please use Caroline’s room as your own. I’ve put a nightie on the bed. Do you need a toothbrush?” she asked.

I shook my head.

I stood up and went to give Mary a hug. “I can’t thank you enough for everything you have done,” I said.

“That’s alright, dear. It’s quite exciting really. Good night, and sleep well,” she said.

I went over to Michael and hugged him too.

“Thanks Mike. You saved me, did you know that?” I said.

“Only your body, tomorrow your soul,” he joked.

“No, my soul is saved, I can only think that this is all a miracle, and think I must thank God for everything. Goodnight,” I said to him.

I went up to my bedroom and closed the door. I put the bedside light on and switched off the main light. After drawing the curtains, I slowly undressed, standing for a while, naked, enjoying my new body. I sat on my bed and fondled my breasts, finding that they were firm and so round, I cupped them in my hands and stroked them gently. My nipples seemed to harden under my touch, and I had another funny feeling in my tummy. It was like the fluttering of hundreds of tiny butterflies.

I ran my hand down over my smooth flat tummy and into the golden fuzz just below my navel. I kept going, opening my legs, where I explored that wonderful little crevice that nestled between my legs. It was so warm and the skin so smooth, I got a funny feeling as I ran my finger over the slit that covered the opening to my womanhood. I ran my finger a little deeper, and gasped as I touched that little cherry that was my clitoris. I felt guilty that I gave myself such pleasure, but I didn’t stop.

I found that as I rubbed I became moist, so my fingers ran smoother, and the pleasure increased. I got faster and faster, until I experienced an explosion of pleasure that left me moaning and gasping on the bed. I still didn’t stop and kept rubbing myself. With my other hand, I rubbed my nipples, using my hand that was already damp, and changed them round. I brought myself to that wonderful point of orgasm repeatedly, until I lay exhausted on the bed. If any man had walked in at that moment, I think that I would have gladly given myself to him.

I now knew a very little of what it meant to be a woman. I loved it!

I put my nightie on, cleaned my teeth, popped to the bathroom and had a pee. Then I returned to the bedroom and jumped into the nice big bed. My nightie immediately ended up under my armpits, so I wriggled it back under my bum, giggling at the silliness of it.

I turned the light out, and said a little prayer.

“I don’t know why, I don’t now how, I only know I thank you God, from the bottom of my heart,” I said. I must have gone to sleep almost immediately.
 
 
I awoke as the winter sun streamed through my open curtains straight onto my face. Mary was standing watching me as I stretched, yawning.

“Good morning, Emma. It’s nearly ten o’clock. I think you should get up,” Mary said.

“Good morning Mary,” I said.

“How did you sleep?”

“Wonderfully, I can’t remember when I slept as well,” I said, just so glad to be alive.

“Mike is going to Milton Keynes in an hour, so you had better get up and have some breakfast.”

“May I have a shower, please?” I asked.

“Of course, dear,” she said, leaving me alone.

I got up and took my towel into the bathroom, where I took off my nightie and sat on the loo. It had become second nature now, and I could almost believe that I had always been female.

I stepped into the bath, switched the shower on, pulling the curtain round. It was such a pleasure to wash myself all over and even my hair again. I loved the feel of the soap on my body, and I loved smelling clean.

Reluctantly I got out and dried myself off. Wrapping the towel round me, I went back to my room, where I took a closer look at the clothes that Mary had given me. I planned to take my time to choose something different to yesterday.

I put on my bra, which was tighter, so I noticed that my breasts were slightly larger than they had been when I had gone to bed. I put on some clean knickers and a pair of tights. There was a chic brown suede skirt, and a beige silk blouse. I put them on, the skirt was quite tight, and it came down to my knees. There was a slit up the back, to make it easier to walk. I put on a matching suede waistcoat, and a pair of knee length brown suede boots. Then I looked at myself in the mirror. I smiled at the startlingly beautiful girl who looked back at me. I went to the dressing table and used the drier on my hair. It fell neatly into place, and I thought it looked even better than when it had been first cut. My hair was definitely thicker than it had been when I had been a boy.

There was an elderly Cosmo magazine on the dressing table; in it were some makeup tips. After flicking through it, I came to a girl who had similar fair hair and skin to mine. Her eye make up was fantastic, so I attempted to make mine as near as I could to be like hers. It wasn’t bad, but I had some way to go to be good at this. I put on some lipstick, and was pleased with how I looked. The trick seemed to be, not too much, but enough.

I made my bed and tidied up, but as I put things away, I noticed that there was some red nail varnish in the drawer, together with some nail files. I filed my nails to a more feminine point, painting them with the varnish. I made a right muck of the first attempt, so used the varnish remover and started again, more carefully this time. My nails were a little short, but they looked quite good to me.

There was a brown suede knee-length coat in the wardrobe, so I carried it with me. Happy with my appearance, I went downstairs.

I found the couple in the kitchen, and walked in breezily.

“Good morning Mike,” I said.

“Good morning, Emma. My goodness, you look wonderful,” he said.

“Emma, where did you learn to do your make up like that?” Mary asked.

I shrugged, “Nowhere. I’ve never done it before. I just sort of did it. Why, is it terrible?” I asked.

“No, just the opposite. You look very sophisticated. It’s difficult to believe that you have never done it before,” she said.

I grinned. “It’s wonderful, it’s like an incredible adventure, and I don’t know what fun is coming next.”

“Well, have fun and eat some breakfast,” said Mary with a smile.

I poured myself some cornflakes, and milk and sugar.

I sat down and ate.

“Would you like some tea or coffee?” Mike asked.

“No thanks, just a glass of milk, please,” I said.

Mary poured me a glass and watched me drink it all.

I washed up my bowl and glass, putting them away, having seen from where she got them.

“Right, young lady, let’s you and I go into battle, to get you legal,” said Michael.

It was a very cold morning, and the frost made everything white. I put on the coat and followed him out to his car. After scraping off the frost, he drove us into Milton Keynes.

We went from department to department within various offices of the DSS. We filled in forms, signed other forms, and waited for ages. Finally, they gave me a National Insurance number, and a national health card. I breathed a sigh of relief when they returned all my phoney certificates, and we left. It had taken nearly three hours.

Mike took me to the post office, where we picked up a passport application form.

It was now one o’clock.

“What would you like for lunch?” he asked.

I shrugged; it had all been very trying.

“How about a pizza?” he suggested.

“Lovely,” I said. We went to the Pizza Hut, and had their buffet lunch. I made a real pig of myself, so made him laugh.

“You don’t look big enough to have eaten all that,” he said.

I sipped my coke and just relaxed.

“I can’t believe it was that easy. Won’t they check?” I asked.

“Against what? A fire destroyed all the records for Uganda from 1982 to 1993. And the cross filing system is a joke. No, I think there will be a few frowns as they try to match the records, but I don’t foresee a problem.”

He got up and paid, and then we walked to the shopping mall. I had never seen so many shops in one place. We walked round the mall, and all the lovely girls’ clothes shops fascinated me. We went into a department store and just wandered around, looking.

There was a cosmetic counter, where the girls were doing full makeovers free with any purchase of  £15 worth of their products. I went over to them and watched as they made up a girl, who was about twenty.

While I was watching, one of the female assistants came over to me.

“Would you like a full make over?”

“I’d love one, but I haven’t bought anything,” I said.

“How about we do a makeover, and then you choose what fits your complexion and colouring?” she suggested.

“I don’t know, I haven’t an awful lot of money,” I admitted.

“I tell you what, I’ll give you a makeover, and then if you spend only  £10, I’ll call it quits. How about it?”

I looked at Michael. He nodded, so I grinned and said, “Okay.”

I watched as she prepared my face and took off my entire make up, and put on a little foundation.

“You’ve a superb complexion, how old are you?” she asked.

“Sixteen,” I said.

“Really? I thought you were about nineteen.”

“No, it was my birthday yesterday,” I said.

“Happy birthday for yesterday. What’s your name?” she asked, as she moved on to my eyes.

“Emma,” I said.

“Hello Emma, I’m Pamela, but most people call me Pam.”

“Hi Pam,” I said. I noticed Mike walk off, as I thought that he was getting bored.

“Is that your dad?” Pam asked.

“No, my parents died in a car crash in Africa about a year ago. He’s my guardian,” I said.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean anything.”

“That’s all right, I’m sort of okay about it now. I haven’t been here long. I’ve never lived in Britain before. My parents worked in Uganda and lots of other countries,” I lied.

“Cor, what’s it like in Africa?” She asked.

“Hot and smelly, mostly, but there is some of the most spectacular scenery,” I said. “I’m glad to be here, but I do find it cold.”

“I bet you do. Where are you living?”

“Little Mudsley.”

“I know it, its not far, down towards Aylesbury, right?”

“Right,” I said.

“Are you at school, or what?” she asked.

“What, at the moment. I need to find a school, I’m a little out of touch with what’s happening,” I said. “How about you, when did you leave?”

“I’m seventeen, I left last summer. I got this job, and it’s pretty good. I get bored sometimes, but I’m earning some money, so I’ll be able to move out from home soon,” Pam said.

“Did you not want to stay on for A levels?” I asked.

“No, I hated school, it was so boring.”

“I know what you mean, maybe I should just go to college or something,” I said.

“What do you want to do?” she asked, nearly finished with my eyes now.

“I haven’t a clue. Find a rich guy with a villa in Monaco, and live well for the rest of my life. I expect I should like to have lots of kids, so they can all look after me when I’m old and wrinkly,” I said, and Pam giggled.

“Yeah, that sounds good. When you find your guy, make sure he has an older brother,” she said.

“You’re on.” I said, and we both laughed.

“Have you got a boyfriend?” I asked.

“Sort of. He’s a bit of a dweeb though.”

I laughed, “Why go out with him?”

“Because he has a car, and you can’t have a social life without a car,” she said.

I laughed again.

“How about you, any lucky fella?” she asked.

“Not yet, I haven’t had time yet,” I said. Which was true enough.

“Did you leave any behind?”

“No, no one special,” I said. “I once knew a guy called Russell, but he was a bit of a dweeb too.”

We laughed, and she finished up.

I looked in the mirror. She had done a fantastic job. I would never be able to emulate what she had achieved. I said so.

“Nonsense, who did your makeup this morning?” she asked.

“I did, why?”

“It was pretty good, you would have no problem doing this,” she said, and proceeded to show me how to do it properly. I then bought  £15 worth of cosmetics, and she gave me a voucher for another makeover.

“Thanks, I’ll have to come back,” I said.

“That’s the general idea. Look, do you ever get up to MK at the weekend?” Pam asked.

“I’m not sure, I don’t have a dweeb with wheels,” I said, making her grin.

“If ever you do, we could go clubbing,” she said.

“That sounds good. But I don’t know if I could manage it,” I said.

Pam scribbled something on a piece of paper. “Here’s my phone number, if you are free, give me a call, and we can have a chat. I’m always at home between six and eight in the evening.”

“Okay, thanks, I will,” I said. “And thanks for the makeover. It’s brilliant.”

“No problem, it’s so much better doing it for a pretty girl like you, than some of the old tarts I get. See you,” she said.

“See you,” I said, taking my little bag in search of Michael.

He was waiting by the door.

“Every time I see you, you manage to age about two years. At this rate, you’ll be thirty by supper time,” he said, smiling. “You really are a very beautiful girl; I can’t believe that you haven’t always been who you are now.”

I caught my reflection in a long mirror, and I was thrilled with my image. I laughed, saying, “Neither can I.”

We walked past a florist, so I dashed in and bought Mary a lovely bouquet.

“You shouldn’t waste your money on flowers.”

“They’re not a waste, these can say thank you better than ever I could,” I said.

He smiled and shook his head.

We went back to the car, so he drove us home.
 
 
There was a car on the drive when we arrived. Mike did not seem pleased.

“Who is it?” I asked.

“It’s Charles Gregson’s car, Charles is the Chairman of the PCC, and a right royal pain in the proverbial,” he said.

“PCC?”

“Parochial Church Council. It is the committee that helps manage the church’s affairs in this parish. And Charles keeps sticking his oar in,” Mike said.

“Oh,” I said.

We went inside, so I took my coat off, as it was warmer than outside. We found Mary looking much relieved as we walked in.

Charles was holding an empty coffee mug, indicating that he had been here some time.

“Michael, sorry to barge in like this, but we need to talk about the charity event at the end of the month. You promised to find us a singer,” he said. Then he saw me and stood up.

“Charles, this is Emma Pearson. Emma is staying with us after losing her parents in a tragic accident in Uganda. Her father and I were great friends, and her parents wanted us to look after her for a while, until she is settled.

“Emma, this is Charles Gregson, he is Chairman of the PCC,” Mike said.

He shook my hand, and it reminded me of wet fish. His eyes never strayed away from my breasts.

“Delighted, my dear. I’m sorry to hear of your tragic loss. If there is anything I can do to help, please ask,” he said, insincerity oozing from every pore.

I had a sudden thought.

“Mr Gregson, Michael has explained the difficulty over the charity event, and he has asked me whether I could help. I have agreed to sing something from The Messiah, by Handel. I hope that this will be acceptable?” I said.

Mary just gaped at me, and I thought Michael would have a coughing fit.

Charles blinked at me, and smiled, very surprised. I think he was seeking to find fault with Mike, for some reason, and he was more than a little disappointed that he had actually done something.

“Oh, right. Good, splendid. That’s settled. I’m so pleased, well, Emma, welcome aboard. I’m looking forward to hearing your voice. Mike, can you call Cheryl and let her know the details for the publicity?”

“Yes Charles, I certainly will call Cheryl,” Mike said, staring at me.

“Good, right, bye then, thanks for the coffee. I’ll let myself out,” Charles said, and almost ran for the door.

Mike went out with him, closing the door behind him.

“Emma, why did you do that? You can’t take on something like that,” he said.

“Why not, I did it all just before Christmas, listen?” I said, and launched into the first soprano solo, from memory.

I sang it right through, and had to laugh at their expressions. Michael had his mouth open, while Mary was almost in tears.

“That was beautiful,” she said. “Have you always been able to sing like that?”

“Yes, but I think that my range has improved since becoming Emma. I reached some higher notes there, and was able to hold them longer.”

Mike broke into a huge grin.

“I had forgotten all about the bloody charity event, and Charles knew it. Thanks Emma, you’ve helped me out of a real pickle,” he said.

“One good turn deserves another,” I said. Then I remembered the flowers. I rushed out, found them and gave them to Mary.

“These are a little thank you, for being the nearest thing to being this girl’s first mum. I wish I could give you more, but I’m a bit hard up at the moment,” I said, and much to my embarrassment, she burst into tears and hugged me.

To make it worse, I started crying, so then Mike joined us and we had a group hug.

We managed to pull ourselves together and I helped Mary get the supper.

We dined on liver and onions, and it was delicious. Mike decided to celebrate my conception, birth and coming of age, and opened a bottle of wine. I had two glasses, and was feeling very happy.

After supper, we sat round the table, and Michael was looking at me in a very funny way.

“It’s funny, Em, as I know it was only yesterday, but it seems we’ve known you for years. I so nearly drove past you, on the road, but a little voice told me to stop. I nearly disobeyed it, arguing that it was a stupid and foolish thing to do, but the voice was louder. It said, ‘Stop, whoever helps the least of these, also helps me.’ I have to be honest; my faith has taken a bit of a battering of late. Mary knows, but I’ve been in a rut for some years, and there was nothing I seemed to be able to do about it. The rot started when Caroline left us when she was too young, and things got worse when she insisted on marrying a boy we didn’t like. Then against our wishes, she moved all the way across to the other side of the world.

“I felt God was about as far from me as He could be, so I suppose it was reflected in my work. However, since you arrived, it’s almost as if the sun has finally come up, and you bathe us in sunshine in everything you do. I know this sounds silly, but it’s as if you are truly an angel, sent to us by God for some divine purpose.

“So I obeyed the voice, stopped, and your cold, wet little face melted my heart. Thank you for being there, Em. I may have saved you, but you have most definitely saved me.”

Mary started to cry soundlessly, and Michael too. I felt awkward, as I didn’t feel that I was responsible for saving anyone. I couldn’t even save myself.

Michael stood up, kissing me on the forehead.

“I have a sermon to write, Good night, and may God bless you as much as He has me!” He then went to his study and closed the door.

I said goodnight to Mary, and she said, “We’ve nothing planned for tomorrow, I just want to do some cooking, so you don’t have to get up in smart clothes.”

I really liked the clothes, but knew that the suede would stain easily, and appreciated that smart clothes weren’t always practical. “Thanks, goodnight,” I said, and went to bed.
 
 
Part 3
 
 
The next morning, Saturday, I awoke at a little after eight. I had slept well, and I was pleased that I was still a girl. My worst nightmare would be to wake up a boy again, and be back in Monksreach Hall.

I hadn’t and wasn’t; I was a girl, and I was in my lovely bedroom in Little Mudsley. It was snowing hard outside, the cold snap was here with a vengeance. I grinned, as I knew that, back at school, the boys would be out doing cross-country running in weather like this.

I got up and had a shower. Then I dressed in my underwear and a pair of jeans and a tee shirt. My hips were most definitely broader, as I had to lie on the floor and arch my back to get the jeans on. But they did up easily enough. When I looked in the mirror, I saw that they fitted very tightly around my bum, and crotch. There was no doubt as to which gender I now belonged.

The tee shirt was one of my old ones, and it was quite tight. It was incredibly weird to see myself in the same shirt, now I had breasts. I got a little kick out of it. I put on my old trainers, as they were dry now, and applied a little make. I grabbed one of Caroline’s pink fluffy pullovers, and then I went down stairs.

Mary was already up and was washing the kitchen floor. I sat on the stool with my feet folded underneath me, lotus style, to eat my cornflakes.

“Did you sleep well?” she asked.

“Mmm,” I mumbled, nodding with my mouth full.

“Those jeans look a little tight. They don’t leave much for the imagination,” she noted, and I grinned.

She laughed, “I had forgotten what it was like to have a teenage daughter,” she said.

I finished my cornflakes.

“I don’t mean to pry, but what happened with Caroline?” I asked, prying.

Mary finished the floor , putting the mop and bucket away in the utility room. She switched the kettle on and sat next to me.

“It was all rather silly, really. When Caroline was about your age, she went through a rebellious stage. Now I know that most teenagers do, but this was bad. I suppose being the vicar and his wife made it that much worse. Worse, because we had to be this shining light in the community; and worse because she had more to rebel against. I don’t think it can be easy being the daughter of a vicar, as I think everyone expects you to behave well all the time.

“Anyway, it was the eighties, and the punk era hit, so she went at it whole hog. She had the Mohican hair, the body piercing, the gothic makeup, and those terrible clothes. I have to confess; I threw all those clothes out when she left. We used to have terrible rows, as I just didn’t know how to handle it. I loved her dearly, but she just seemed to want to hurt us with every move. I was very depressed, while Mike was very angry at first, and then just very sad.

“I know now that we should have just seen that it was her way of declaring her independence, but we couldn’t see it, then. We should have just ignored the outer images, as awful as they were, and loved the little girl underneath. But as soon as she could, she left home at sixteen, and we didn’t see her for three years. Occasionally she would ring, and we would have a chat, but she never came home.

“Then that terrible day. We got a phone call from the police. They had done a raid on a flat in Hammersmith, and she had been there. She was drugged up on heroin, so they took her to hospital, and she was very ill. We went down and sat by her bed for a week. Not one of her so-called friends came in at all. She looked dreadful; she was just twenty, yet she appeared thirty. She weighed only about six stone and looked simply awful.

“When she was discharged, we drove her home, and she just cried in my arms all the way. Gradually, she got back to being almost her old self, and we felt quite confident about the future. It took six months, but then she started talking about going back to London. She went on about how dull it was here and how dull we were, and that she wanted some excitement in her life.

“Mike suggested she enrol in a college course and get a job. She knew that she needed money to lead a more exciting life, and that at the time she had a few GCSEs, but nothing else. She enrolled in a fabric design course at College, and got an HND. She found herself a job in Milton Keynes, and met this New Zealander, Stewart, Stew to his friends. He was basically bumming round Europe, and was working in a nightclub, behind the bar.

“She fell for him, hook, line and sinker, so when he went home, she went too. She found herself a job, and had a little boy by him. Then and only then did she realise what she had done to us, and we spent hours on the phone. She cried for most of it, but still wouldn’t come home. She felt so guilty, that she actually believed that she would no longer be welcome here. Can you believe it?

“She then had a daughter, and his parents, bless them, suggested that they get married. So they did, but at a registry office, and we were told a week later. I must have cried for ages. We’ve never seen the grandchildren. She sent us photographs, but we’ve never seen them in the flesh.” Mary broke down and started to cry. This was becoming a general pastime in this house. I stood up and hugged her.

“Why don’t you fly out and see them?” I asked.

“With what? Mike doesn’t earn enough, and besides, he’s on thin enough ice here at the moment, any way,” she told me.

Mike, it seemed, was under scrutiny, as he had not really been performing at his best, and with regard to the circumstances, I could understand. However, the world is an unforgiving place, as it expects its professionals to be made of steel.

It all seemed so unfair, so I said as much.

“Who ever said life was fair?” Mary asked. “We just have to make the most of what we get dealt.”

“Then it is time to stack the deck in our favour,” I said.

“If only!” Mary said. “Come on, you can help me do some baking.” She stood up, handing me an apron.

We spent all morning making cakes: big ones, little ones, some with fruit, and some without. It was all very new, but I found it fun.

“I thought that I could get a job in the village, and it would help pay for my keep. I can’t expect you to pay for me,” I told Mary.

“There’s not a lot in the village, what could you do?” she asked.

“I don’t mind. I could work in the pub, washing up or something,” I said.

“Well, I can’t deny the extra cash would come in handy, but I think we need to get you back into school,” Mary said.

“I suppose so,” I said, and I know my voice was hardly expressing boundless enthusiasm.

Michael came back from wherever he had been. He was looking pleased with himself.

“What have you been up to?” Mary asked.

“I have been to Buckingham. I went to see Gwen Teesdale,” he said.

“Oh, why?” Mary asked.

“I had a thought about young Emma here, I explained that she was a talented singer, and she was keen on drama. So I went and asked her advice,” he said, as he put the kettle on. “Something smells jolly nice, what have you two been up to?” he asked.

“Who is Gwen thingy?” I asked.

“Gwen Teesdale runs a small college of performing arts in Buckingham. Her husband Peter had cancer a little while ago, and Mike helped her through a very difficult time. Peter died about six months ago, but she has become a good friend to us. When Mike had a little disagreement with the Bishop, she wrote a lovely letter, which helped him no end,” Mary explained.

“Gwen wants to meet Emma, and would be willing, subject to the interview, to enrol her on the two year diploma course. They tell me that a Teesdale College Diploma is not to be sneezed at,” Mike said.

“It would be expensive,” I observed.

Mike and Mary looked at each other.

“Gwen said that if she is good enough she might offer her a scholarship of up to 75% of the fees.” Mike added.

“That’s still too much. I’ll have to get a job, as I don’t want you to even offer to meet this,” I was quite certain about this.

“Well, let’s cross one bridge at a time. She wants to see you this afternoon. So once we’ve had lunch, I’ll take you there,” Mike said.

We had a snack lunch, and I went up to change. I put on the suede outfit once more, with the boots. I used my new makeup, kept it discreet, and was quite pleased with the result. I was getting better.

It only took about twenty minutes to get to Buckingham, and we had to pass the entrance to Monksreach Hall. It felt peculiar passing so close, yet not having to go back. I looked down the drive but couldn’t see anyone.

The Teesdale College of Performing Arts was an old Manor House, set in its own grounds on the outskirts of Buckingham. It had a lot of ivy growing up the front, and the gardens looked lovely, particularly with the snow on the ground.

Mike parked the car, and we walked in the front door. The hall was huge, with oak panelling and a gorgeous sweeping staircase with ornate banisters.

A woman came out of the side room to the left. She was about sixty, quite tall, about 5’8”, with a neat figure. She was dressed in grey, and was very elegant.

“Hello Michael,” she said, greeting Michael like an old friend. Then she turned to me.

“You must be Emma? I’m so pleased to meet you. Michael tells me that you have a wonderful voice,” she said, shaking my hand.

“Oh, I don’t know, but I have been told that it’s pretty good,” I said smiling.

“Well, let’s go and see. Michael, we shall be about an hour and a half. So wait here if you want, or come back at, say three thirty,” she suggested.

“I’ll go home, thanks Gwen. Emma, I’ll see you later, good luck.”

“Thanks,” I said.

Gwen took me into a long room with the most ornate ceiling. The walls at the ends and on one side were oak panelled, and there were four large casement windows on the other side. Pictures of famous singers and actors and actresses adorned the walls. The floor was highly polished wood, and was a lovely golden brown colour. There was a grand piano at the far end, together with a collection of other orchestral instruments.

“Do you read music, Emma?”

“Yes.”

“Do you play any musical instrument?”

“Yes, I’m almost up to grade four on piano,” I said.

“Well, let’ hear you. See if you can play the piece of music on the piano.”

I sat on the stool, adjusting it so I was comfortable. I looked at the music. It was without a title, and I was not familiar with it. I read the music down the page and tried to imagine how it would sound. I was a rather nice melody, and I looked for clues as to tempo, and feeling. There were none, so then I realised that this was part of the test.

I read the music again, trying to get a feel for it. I looked at my hands, surprising myself as I noticed my red, varnished nails.

I read the music, and began to play. I didn’t look down at my hands, trying to make the piece as lively as I could. I reached the end and stopped. I didn’t think I made a mistake.

“That was lovely, Emma. Tell me, why did you play it at that speed?” Gwen asked.

“I don’t know really. I tried to imagine it faster, but it didn’t seem right. Slower wasn’t right either, as the melody seemed to want to go a little quicker. Also, I could cope with that speed,” I said, as honestly as I could.

“Well, I wrote it, and you played it exactly as I had imagined it. As you guessed, I deliberately left off all directions to see if you had a feel for music. I can tell that you have. Incidentally, that piece is at least a grade five.”

“Oh,” I said, rather pleased.

“Right. Michael tells me that you have sung parts of The Messiah, so I have the music here, shall we see if you’re as good as he says,” she said, handing me the music and words.

For the next hour, I sang my heart out. I sang classical, I sang opera; I sang modern and everything in between. By the end, my throat was getting rather dry.

At last, she closed the piano, saying, “Right, I’ve heard enough. Let’s go and have a cup of tea.” She stood up and I followed her out the way we came in. She gave me no indication as to whether she thought I had done well or badly. She took me into the room she had originally come from. It was a comfortable sitting room, with a large desk at one end.

She showed me to the sofa, and rang a bell, then down sat beside me. A woman came in.

“Yes mum?” she said.

“Ah, Brenda, could we have a pot of tea, please, and bring an extra cup, as the Reverend Strong will be here any minute?”

“Yes mum,” Brenda said, and left.

There was an extensive bookcase along one wall, so I tried to read some of the book titles from where I was seated.

“Do you read a lot?” she asked.

“Yes, I love reading,” I said.

“Anything in particular?”

“Not really, I just love reading anything.”

“Well, we have an extensive library here, and I encourage eclectic tastes. I believe it broadens the mind,” she said.

“Oh,” I said.

“Emma, I have to be honest. When I offered Michael the 75% scholarship, it was because of who he is.”

“Oh,” I said, again.

She laughed. “Don’t look so miserable, child. That was before I heard you sing. You have the most superb voice. I heard the piece you sang from the Messiah only just before Christmas at a local boys’ school. The boy who sang it had the most wonderful voice too, and you reminded me a little of him. Only you have a much richer voice, with a far greater range.

“That, together with your undoubted potential on the piano, has convinced me to offer you a full scholarship. But there is one condition,” she said.

I grinned, as I was ever so pleased. I thought I had better not tell her that the boy had been me. Brenda brought in the tea. Gwen thanked her, and poured me a cup. It was the most lovely porcelain tea service, and felt so fine that I was afraid it would break in my hands.

“The condition is something I always insist upon with my scholarship students. You see, I will need to protect my investment, so I will ask for a contractual agreement with you for a period of five years; beginning on the day that you enrol here. I will undertake all responsibility as your agent for that period, and in return, I will receive 40% of all net profit that you make on performances only, regardless whether you obtain your work through me, the college, or independently. You will find that I will be in a position to greatly assist your career. Should you go and work in a bank, or an estate agent, then I will have no hold over you, but should you sing in a pub, or on a TV show, or get a part in a play or movie, then I will claim.

“Now should you wish to terminate the contract early, due to various unforeseen circumstances, I will negotiate a set fee, dependant upon time elapsed, and the individual circumstances. It is not my intention to cheat anyone out of his or her rightful earnings, but if I spend two years bring you to a high standard, all at my cost, then I have to be able to pull something back.

“I want you to talk it over with Michael, and if you are willing, then you may start this coming Monday. What do you say?” Gwen asked.

I was speechless, as it was far more than I had ever hoped. Before I could answer, Brenda showed Michael into the sitting room.

“Ah, Michael, that was well timed. I had just offered dear Emma a full scholarship and a five year contract as her agent,” Gwen said, pouring him a cup of tea. He sat in an armchair, next to the sofa.

Michael stared at her and then me.

“Is that good?” he asked, rather naively.

“Yes, Michael, it is,” Gwen said, laughing.

“Well, Em, what do you reckon?” he asked.

I smiled and nodded. “It sounds too good to be true,” I said.

Gwen stood up. “Let me show you around, and then we’ll talk as we go,” she said. Michael finished his tea, accompanying us as we went on a tour of the college.

She showed us the students’ rooms, which I thought were much more spacious than I anticipated. All students lived in, so each had their own bedroom. There was a large wardrobe, as it was likely that we would collect a fair amount of costumes as we progressed through the course. There was one bathroom for every four students and a large communal kitchen for the same four, with enough room to sit and eat. There were eight rooms on each corridor, with a maximum of thirty-two students altogether, sixteen boys and sixteen girls. Each corridor had a huge lounge and a games room. The girls were on the second floor and the boys on the third, the top floor. There was a dining room, where all meals were included, but if one wanted to eat in one’s own area one could.

There was a very well appointed, but rather small theatre, a ballroom, and the concert room in which I had had my little test. There was a small, but up-to-date recording studio and finally, a film studio with full video editing suite.

“As you can see, we take ourselves very seriously. In the first year, we give you a thorough grounding in all the performing disciplines. We are not here to be judgemental over each aspect. Everyone is different, so we must recognise that for some the theatre is the objective, and for others a singing career. However, a truly versatile performer can make a success as a singer, a dancer, and an actor or actress in front of either a camera or a live audience. I see no point in limiting one’s chances of success by only being useful in one medium.” Gwen was justifiably proud of her college, and the list of famous performers on the wall proved her success rate.

“In the second year, we allow the student to specialise in their chosen field, so if they want, we can offer some extra time in a second field. Therefore, for example, you might wish to be a singer, but also become proficient in dance. This would give you an advantage when applying for roles on some of the more lively musical shows, where both singing and dancing is required.

“The drama input in the first year, is usually sufficient for most that need some dramatic input, even if their main field is of song or music. We have six students who have come back for a third year, to take their advanced Diploma in another specialised subject of their choice.

“Not including the third year, we are running at twenty-six students at the moment, so there is room for you to join us immediately. You will bring up the girls to fifteen, and the boys are now at eleven. Normally there are sixteen in each year, but we are light in both years at present, due to a couple dropping out. Your year, the first, has eight girls now, with you, and six boys.

“Unusually, we run from January to December, with a Christmas week of concerts, plays, reviews and general fun. I have found that by not following the normal academic year, we actually have an advantage. Primarily, we can pick up those who missed the bus in September, or were reluctant to take a whole year out. In addition, whereas other graduates become available in June, ours are available in December, so I can usually manage to get bookings for the leavers onto shows and pantomimes around the Christmas period.

“We have a very friendly, family orientated atmosphere here, as the emphasis is not on competition but mutual assistance. There is enough competition out there, in the real world, and we do prepare students to fight hard for themselves. However, while they are here, we instil attitudes of giving and selflessness, by sharing our skills in order to assist in mutual development.

“We need to be able to support and encourage each other, yet we do not lie, and we do not sell ourselves short. The world is full of people who lie and cheat, the world of show business is as bad as any other, yet our graduates will be prepared to face critics and admirers in a mature and appropriate manner.”

We had concluded our tour, but as it was Saturday, none of the students was in class, but a few were in the rooms. Everyone seemed very friendly and relaxed. They key element was that everyone here wanted to be here, and was good enough to be here. I felt proud and a little humble to be permitted to come here.

“Mrs Teesdale, thank you for your time. I’ve really loved seeing round, and I would very much like to join your college, so I accept, without question, the contract you propose. I don’t need any time to think about it, and neither do I need to talk it through with Mike. Thank you for considering me worthy of the scholarship. I only hope that I will prove worthy of the faith you have both put in me,” I said.

Gwen smiled at me.

“Oh, Emma, that’s awfully formal, but thank you. We will see you tomorrow evening, which will give you time to settle in. There are no uniforms here and, as you’ve seen, it’s not like school. You will be free to go home every weekend, unless you are putting a show or something. Oh, and please, Emma, call me Gwen,” she said.

With nothing further needing saying, Mike and I left. He drove carefully along the icy roads, but I didn’t say much, as I was very excited with the twist that my life had just undertaken. I was rather getting used to twists now.

I watched Mike as he drove. Something had happened to him over the last couple of days. I know he was tired when we had first met, but his eyes used to have a sort of lifeless look about them. He had a spark in his eyes now, and he had a spring in his step. It was as if he was taking on a new lease of life. He seemed happier, somehow.

We got home, and I considered that I now thought of this house as home. I had only been here for a couple of days, yet it felt like home.

We went in and Mike told Mary my good news. Mary seemed genuinely thrilled, giving me a big hug. When Mike told her that I would be living in, and would be starting tomorrow, she seemed almost disappointed. I sensed that she had found in me another daughter, so rather liked having me around.

I turned to them both and said, “Thank you. Thank you for everything. You have been an answer to prayer, because without you, I don’t know where I would have ended up. Some day, somehow, I will make sure that I can go some way to repay you for your love and kindness. I know that I have not been here for long, but I feel that I have known you for a very long time. So much so, that I feel that this is my home. I feel safe here, and I have found love here for the first time in my life. Would it be alright if I were to come and stay with you at the weekends, and during the holidays?”

Mary crumpled in her chair, openly weeping, and Mike smiled with tears in his eyes.

We enjoyed a subdued meal that evening. It was if we had formed a new bond between us. I now saw in Mary the mother, whom I had never had, and in Mike, the Father I had been denied. I didn’t need to tell them as they seemed to just know, so when I said goodnight, they hugged me as if I were indeed the daughter they had loved and lost.

I undressed, in my room, hanging my clothes in my wardrobe. I put my nightie on and went to sleep in my bed. I was truly happy.
 
 
I woke up on Sunday quite early, and had a shower. There had been another snowfall overnight, and I loved the white view from my window.

I knew that being Sunday, I would have to go to Church, so I dressed up smartly. I put on the black skirt, a white blouse and a pretty, sparkly waistcoat. I put on some thicker tights, as I remembered that most English churches had a tradition of being cold enough to keep everyone awake, but just warm enough to keep them from dying.

At the back of the wardrobe, there was a pair of black leather boots with really quite high heels -about three inches. I thought they looked very smart, but perhaps a little too sexy for church. Tough; I wore them anyway. I had discovered a cool black jacket, so I spent ages getting my makeup just right. I wanted to look a lot older than I really was, without looking tarty or a vamp. My hair was settling down nicely, so it was very little trouble. I’d chipped my nail varnish, so I cleaned them off, and carried the little pot the varnish down to the kitchen with me.

Mary was only just up, so was surprised to see me so early. I kissed her on the cheek and settled down at the kitchen table to do my nails.

She poured me a glass of milk, remembering that I wasn’t keen on tea or coffee.

“Mike is over conducting the eight o’clock communion service,” she told me.

“How many services are there on a Sunday, then?” I asked.

“We normally have three, the eight o’clock communion service, at which only half a dozen usually turn out to. Then the main communion service at ten, and then evensong at six thirty.”

“That seems rather a lot, do you get many in the evening?” I asked.

“It depends on the time of year, and the weather. At Christmas and Easter it picks up, but at this time of year, and as it is so cold, we don’t get many.”

I ate my breakfast, painted my nails and waited for them to dry.

Mike came in, at about nine A.M., looking very vicarish. He had a twinkle in his eye, so I could tell that this was a new vicar and that Little Mudsley had better watch out.

Mary made him a coffee, as he popped a couple of slices of bread into the toaster.

He sat down next to me, munching his toast and marmalade.

Mike finished his coffee and asked me whether I would join the choir for the service.

“Why not? Yes, I’d love to,” I said.

“Come on, let’s go over, and I’ll show you round.”

“How many do you have in the choir?” I asked.

“On a good day, six,” he said.

I put on my coat, and followed Mike round to the church, which was about eighty yards away. It was about nine thirty, and it was really cold.

They had put the heating on in the church. The main part, which was about sixteenth century, was the end with the tower. There were older parts, but most had rebuilt after the civil war in the late seventeenth century.

The pews had hot pipes running under them, and there were some electric heaters in the roof, pointing down. Even so, it was still cold enough to see one’s breath.

Mike took me into the vestry and gave me a white surplice to wear, three other people arrived and Mike introduced me to them.

“Morning troops,” he said. “This is Emma Pearson, she is studying at the Teesdale School of Performing Arts, and has very kindly agreed to add some weight to our numbers this morning. Emma, the rogue in the corner is Edward Carpenter, he is our organist. The girl with the enormous scarf is Cathy Burns, and the man with the red nose is Wally Mitchell. I am hoping that we can scrape a couple more before the service starts.”

I shook hands with the three others. Cathy was a little older than I, and the two men were both over forty.

“Are you planning an anthem this morning, Mike?” Edward asked.

Mike looked at me; I shrugged and nodded. He grinned - he looked very school-boyish when he grinned.

“Why not, Emma will do a solo,” he said.

We quickly selected an anthem that I could manage. Luckily, I had sung a good few in the school chapel, so they were all quite familiar to me.

We had a quick practice, then the congregation started to arrive, so we went back to the vestry. While we waited, two more choir members arrived. They were young girls, Sally who was thirteen, and her sister, Jacquie, who was fourteen.

Once ten o’clock came, we walked out, and the service began. It was very strange singing in such a small choir, but it was fun, and the anthem went well. I was very conscious that my voice seemed very loud, and I could hardly hear anyone else at all. The acoustics in the little church were very good, and I just loved to sing.

Mike’s sermon was not a long one, but his theme was ‘judge not lest ye be judged.’ It held nothing back, so there seemed a bit of squirming in the Gregson pew.

When the communion came, I took the bread and the wine gratefully. It was very meaningful to me, as I was truly a new person, and had a new life ahead of me. As I knelt in front of the altar, I looked at the stained glass window behind it. Christ’s eyes seemed to be looking straight at me. I fancied I saw him smile at me.

After the service, several people came up to me and told me they liked my singing. They were very sweet, so I was happy that I could give something back for Mike and Mary. I saw Mike in deep conversation with a woman, whom I assumed was Cheryl. He waved me over to them.

“Emma, this is the PCC secretary, and my only ally, Cheryl Lamb. Cheryl, this is Emma Pearson. She has brought a little light back to our dark little lives. She has agreed to fill the singing spot for our charity event,” Mike explained.

We talked over what I was willing to sing, and I stated, “Anything.” Therefore, we went through a medley of some classical songs, including part of the Messiah, to some contemporary songs. She agreed to make a poster on her computer, and rushed off to get her roast potatoes on.

Mary came over.

“That solo was simply super, Emma. Thank you,” she said.

“Thanks, it was fun. Can I join the choir for every weekend?” I asked.

“Are you sure?” Mike asked.

“I’m sure, if you will have me?” I said.

“Of course, I didn’t think you would want to,” he said.

“It was fun, perhaps I can persuade some others to join us,” I said.

Mike looked at Mary and just smiled.
 
 
We went back and had a lovely piece of roast lamb. Then after lunch, Mary helped me pack. She gave me an old suitcase that had been in the attic, letting me take as many of Caroline’s clothes as I wanted.

“They are yours now,” she told me, so I hugged her.

She gave me a couple of towels and some other toiletries. Then she sat me on the bed.

“Emma, this is a little awkward for me, but I need to talk to you like a mother for a bit. You’re a maturing young woman, so you can expect a little visit, I suspect very soon.”

I stared blankly at her for a moment.

“Emma, if you aren’t already, you will soon become a sexually fertile girl, so something will happen, and I don’t want you to be frightened or surprised by it,” she said.

My blank expression did not help her, but then it began to dawn on me. I had never even considered having a period. My face must have reflected the penny dropping.

“Oh, thank goodness,” she said, with a nervous laugh. “I feared I might have to go into graphic detail,” she said, handing me a small package.

“I’ve put in some towels, some panty pads and some tampons. I can’t say when you will start, but I don’t suppose it will be too long. I have noticed you develop very fast over the last few days. Somehow your body is catching up with itself,” she told me.

“Does it hurt?” I asked, suddenly rather worried.

“For some it is quite painful, like a bad tummy-ache, but others have no pain at all, so, everyone is different. I used to have a hell of a time. The worst was a sort of sweaty, bloated feeling, and just feeling down,” she said.

“Oh,” I said.

Mary laughed, “Look, don’t worry, all women have it, and to my knowledge, it is rarely fatal.”

I smiled a rather pathetic smile. Maybe being female had its down side.

“And, while we are at this mother — daughter thing. I suppose I had better talk about contraception,” Mary said, clearly becoming embarrassed.

“Oh?” I said again, a little more interested.

“Oh. Indeed,” she said, smiling a little. “Emma, you’re a very pretty girl. Young men like very pretty girls. Young men, and many not-so-young men, want to show their affection to very pretty girls. I know that you’re very new to all this, so it may seem fun and all very exciting. Men of any age can be led straight up any path you want to lead them, but there comes a point where you lose that control, and things can get dangerous. Passion and sexual pleasure get confused with love and affection. You have something very precious, and you really want to save yourself for someone very special, and make sure that your first time is the best it could possibly be. You only have one first time, so make sure that it is very, very special!” Mary said.

I realised that this was the speech she had wanted to give to her own daughter, Caroline, but circumstances had prevented it. I also became aware of how much I had come to mean to this woman, and how much she meant to me. For someone who had never had a mother who cared, and who had always displaced emotions, I suddenly felt a weight of affection and love, that it physically crushed me. Mary really cared.

I reached out a hand to her, which she took and held.

“Thank you,” I said. “Thank you, - Mum.”

I burst into tears, and so did she. We just hugged each other.

Mike came up and found us like that. He stood by the door, but when I saw the look on his face, I cried and laughed some more.

We managed to pull ourselves together, and Mary wiped my face with a tissue. She laughed. “You will have to redo your mascara, it has all run,” she said.

I laughed, but went to the dressing table and wiped my makeup off with some cotton wool and remover. I then made my face up again.

I packed all my makeup and checked round the room, I had very little of my own, yet I felt very well off.

Mike carried my bag downstairs and put it in the car. I put on my suede coat and hugged Mary. However, there was nothing I could say that could express the depth of gratitude that I felt. Yet, I knew that I didn’t have to say anything. She handed me my old rucksack. It still had my chocolate and fruit in it, I laughed.

“That doesn’t belong to me. That belongs to another life,” I said, throwing it into the dustbin.

I got into the car, closed the door and opened the window.

“I will be back next weekend,” I said.” If that’s okay?”

“Of course, this is your home now, Emma,” Mary said.

I waved to her as Mike drove out onto the road. I looked back, to see Mary still standing there, with one hand in the air. I watched until she was out of sight. My new life beckoned.
 
 
Part 4
 
 
“And again!” Gwen’s voice brought me back to reality.

We were having a dance lesson. I had been here a week, and this was the Monday of the second week. Having never been into the more aggressive contact team sports, I now really enjoyed the freedom and discipline of dance, so began to appreciate the versatility of the human body. If kept in shape, that is.

The staff and other students welcomed me warmly, as my story of recent tragedies were accepted and I seemed to just fit in. I had arrived on that Sunday afternoon, when I met a dark girl called Sheri, whom Gwen had asked to help me settle in. She was my age and of mixed parentage. Her looks were extremely exotic. I learned that her father was British and her mother was from Thailand. He had her mother’s petite build and colouring, and her eyes were slightly oriental, but she had the most unusual dark blue irises. I thought she was incredibly pretty.

She took me to my room, and the other two girls in our little cluster drifted in out of curiosity. There was tall Sally, who had wanted to be a ballet dancer, but just grew too tall, and lastly, Simone, who was French, who had the most amazing voice.

We were all around the sixteen/seventeen mark. Simone was the eldest, and I the youngest. I immediately felt that I was among friends.

During the days, our time was very tight, Gwen kept up a strenuous regime, and worked us very hard. In the evenings, she used to give us an hour of preparation for the next day, and then time to relax. We were free to leave the college at any time after six pm, but we had to be back by ten. There was a strict no smoking and no alcohol policy. As we all wanted to keep in shape, and keep our voices as pure as possible, this was not a problem.

Although, I had missed a month of the term, it did not seem to be a disadvantage, at least, not as far as my singing was concerned. I found that I was actually rather ahead of most, with my previous voice coaching. I had a lot to catch up in some of the other subjects.

I found that, despite being not very good at the various sporting activities at Monksreach, I had at least reached a higher level of fitness than some of the others.

I loved every aspect of the college, and all the subjects were interesting and fun. I gradually got to know the others in my year, and a few from the second year. It took me some time to get used to the relaxed and informal atmosphere, but everyone was so helpful and kind.

Mike picked me up on the Friday evening, and I slept right through to nearly eleven o’clock on Saturday morning. I put on the suede outfit, as it was my favourite, and it was warm. I did my make up carefully, and was pleased as to how much easier it was all becoming.

When I eventually reached the kitchen, Mary gave me a hug.

“It’s funny, but I missed you this week,” she said.

“I didn’t have a second to miss anything,” I admitted. “But it’s nice to be home.”

She smiled when I used that word. Then she picked up the local paper and passed it over to me.

“Look at page two,” she said.

I opened up the paper. Staring at me from the page was a photograph of Russell Drysdale, which had been taken about two years ago, when I had first gone to Monksreach.
 
 

MISSING BOY, MYSTERY DEEPENS

Police have circulated details of Russell Drysdale, who went missing about ten days ago from exclusive Monksreach Hall School, south of Buckingham. Russell, just 16, was last seen on Wednesday evening, the 3rd February, and vanished sometime in the night. His mother, Jennifer Drysdale, 42, flew back from her home in Monaco, to add her personal appeal for the lad to return. No reasons are apparent for his disappearance, but foul play has not been totally ruled out. The boy is the only son of the late Charles Drysdale, the multimillionaire industrialist, and as such, police say he could have been the target for kidnappers.However, there has been no contact from the boy or anyone else, and police are appealing for witnesses. He is about 5’5”, thin, with fair hair and blue eyes. He has a prominent Adam’s apple, and is described as a quite shy boy. Detective Sergeant Ron Higgins is heading the case from Aylesbury police Station. He said, “I urge Russell to contact us, and just let us know that he is alive and well. His family is obviously worried, and we need to establish that nothing serious has happened to him.” Any calls to the police on O800 555 111 will be dealt with in strictest confidence.

 
 
“Shit!” I said.

“Emma!” Mary said.

“Oh. Mary, I’m so sorry. It’s just that this really mucks things up,” I was suddenly worried that all the good things that had happened would now be at risk.

“That came out last night. It doesn’t look like you at all,” she said.

I smiled, “So I should think. I’m now a little taller, and stick out in lots of places that I never used to,” I said.

“Mike thinks you ought to call the number and let them know that you’re all right. If your dear mother is really as nasty as you say, although I’m not sure I believe that, but if she is, then it would be in her interests to have you dead. If you contact the police and state that you are alive, and can prove it, then any plans she has to swindle you, will fail. And if she is genuinely worried, then her worst fears would be put to rest,” Mary said.

I snorted at the last bit.

“Can you run me a long way away, so I can call on a public phone box?” I asked.

Mary smiled, and passed me over a little box.

I frowned, and picked it up. I opened it. It was a mobile phone.

“That belonged to a friend of Caroline’s, and she left it behind, ages ago. She is now living in Canada or America, and I am sure she doesn’t even remember having it. It’s a pay-as-you-go phone, so I have kept it up. I rarely use it, but Mike likes me to have it when I’m alone in the car. You can use that, and it’s not traceable to anyone here. Even if it was traceable to Caroline’s friend, I doubt that she would remember where she left it. And if someone asks, I can say that this lad came and asked me if he could make a free call. If anything it would confirm that you are alive and still the old Russell,” she said.

“You’re beginning to develop a rather sneaky criminal mind, Mary,” I told her with a smile.

“You have this effect on us. Mike has become an adept forger, and now you have me thinking ahead,” Mary said, laughing. “But, seriously, Emma, we want you to be responsible. Regardless of your mother’s feeling for you, and whatever her motives, the police are currently spending time and money trying to locate you, and they have better things to do.”

I switched on the phone, and entered the number from the newspaper.

“Crimestoppers, can I help you?” said a woman’s voice.

“It’s about your appeal for Russell Drysdale,” I said, trying to make my voice a much like a boy’s as I could. I began to realise how profound the change that I had undertaken. It was very hard.

“One moment.” There was a click. Then another voice, a man’s, came on the line.

“Hello, I understand you have information about Russell?”

“I am Russell,” I said.

There was a moment’s silence on the other end.

“Okay, would you mind if I asked you a couple of questions, just to make sure?”

“No, ask what you want.”

The man asked me several questions, obviously meant to catch out anyone who was not the real me. I answered them all.

“Okay, I’m satisfied you are who you say you are. Where are you?” he said.

“I’m alive and well, but don’t want to be found at this time.”

“Your mother is worried,” he said.

“No she isn’t, she will be when you tell her I’m alive, because she can’t claim my inheritance,” I said. I then explained all about my unusual family circumstances.

He told me he was Detective Sergeant Higgins, as in the paper. I agreed to contact him again before the end of the month.

“I’d like to meet you in person, just to make sure you’re okay,” he said.

“No, I wouldn’t be happy with that, simply because I’ve sorted out my life. I have no desire to go back to Monksreach, and no desire to have any contact with the woman who gave birth to me. She has made my life a misery ever since I can remember.”

“Russell, you need to know how dangerous the world is out there. There are all sorts of nasty people who could take advantage of you.” He sounded very concerned.

“I know, and I can safely say that where I am now is perfectly safe, in fact a lot safer than anywhere near that woman,” I said.

“Look, send me a letter and put your fingerprints all over it. We took prints from your room at school, so we will know if it is really you. Send it to me at the Aylesbury CID, at the police station in Wendover Road. Okay?”

“Okay,” I said. Then I rang off.

I sat for a moment, my mind in a whirl. I tried to imagine the result of my call. The fact that I was alive should make the police less concerned, but I fully expected them to still keep me on a back burner, just until they could see me in person.

I looked down at myself and smiled. There was no way that they would believe that I was Russell Drysdale.

Mary gave me some paper and an envelope. I took them out of the plastic wrapper, making sure that no one else touched them. I wrote a few lines, and put my hands all over the paper. I suddenly had a thought, if I were truly female; my DNA may have altered slightly, because I would now be XX, and not XY. I didn’t lick the envelope, using water instead.

I addressed it and put a stamp on it. Again, I didn’t lick it. Mary said. “Right, let’s go for a drive.”

We got in the car and drove south. We drove through Aylesbury, ironically, past the police station, and then on past Amersham, Gerrards Cross, and onto the A40 at Denham. We drove into Uxbridge. I posted the letter at a side street pillar-box in Cowley, between Uxbridge and West Drayton.

Mary smiled as I got back into the car.

“There, at least you know that they will not be quite so worried about you now,” she said.

We headed home.

As we passed the Police station in Aylesbury, we were held in a line of traffic. I glanced towards the station. It was set back from the road on the right hand side. There was a pond in front of the main doors, and a car park to the right of the pond. I suddenly saw a familiar figure, my mother. She was standing by the pond, a mobile phone in one hand, and a cigarette in the other. She looked agitated.

“Can I try something?” I asked Mary.

“What?”

“Can you pull into the police car park for a second?”

“Why?”

“I’ll tell you afterwards. Please, it is important to me,” I said.

Mary indicated, pulled out of the line of traffic and into the car park on the right.

She reversed into the bay. My mother was directly in front of me, about twelve yards away. She was tanned and very expensively dressed, with her hair perfectly set, although it was probably artificially coloured. She had a very expensive and luxurious fur coat on.

“That’s my mother!” I said, getting out of the car.

“Emma. Wait!” Mary said, but I was heading towards the woman. I was about 5’9” in my heels, but I knew that she had not taken a close look at me for ages, as I hadn’t seen her for over ten months. Mary followed me, her face anxious.

I went straight up to my mother, and I realised that for the first time in my life, I actually looked down at her.

“Excuse me, is that the main door?” I asked.

She looked at me, up and down. She had a bitter expression on her face.

“Do I look like a fucking street sign? Piss off,” she said, her French accent very obvious, and then resumed the conversation in fluent French on the phone.

“No, they haven’t a fucking clue, the little bastard has just vanished.”

“Oh, some stupid detective. He told me that Russell called him, and doesn’t want me to know where he is. Little fucker, I knew I should have had a fucking abortion.”

I walked slowly towards the police station, and Mary was standing a little way off, with her mouth open. I didn’t realise she could speak, and more importantly, understand French. I went back and collected her.

“Come on, you’ll give the game away,” I said. We went into the office.

I asked about a missing cat, and they were polite but told me they didn’t deal with cats, only dogs, and we left. She was still on the phone. As we passed, she looked at us and then glanced away.

“Look, Raoul, I’m not staying in this stupid little piss-hole any longer. Get your arse over here, and try to find the little bugger. The cops are not going to bother, so if you find him, just get rid of him.”

“I don’t care how you do it. Just make it look like an accident or an overdose. He can just be another sad statistic, and then I can at long last get my hands on the fucking money!” she said.

We got into the car, and Mary was shaking with anger.

“I never believed that anyone could be so evil. She is actually arranging for you to be killed! Oh Emma, I am so sorry, I didn’t believe you. You poor, poor child,” Mary said.

I shrugged, as I wasn’t the least bit surprised.

“Mary, start the car and we had better leave,” I said.

Mary was still shaking as we left the car park. My mother was still on the phone.

“Raoul is her lover. He’s a big bastard, and to my knowledge is perfectly capable of being very nasty. I met him last Christmas. He owns a gym near Menton in the south of France. I didn’t like him, and he didn’t like me. We need to watch out for him, as he’s very shrewd,” I said.

“Why don’t you tell the policeman, Higgins is it? What we have just heard?” she asked.

“I already did,” I said.

“When?” Mary looked shocked.

“In my letter. I told DS Higgins that I would expect her to send Raoul after me, and I fully expected him to have been told to dispose of me so she could inherit,” I said.

“Just how much are we talking about?” she asked.

I looked at her.

“A lot,” I said.

“A million?” she asked.

“More.”

“Ten million?”

“No, more.”

“Twenty?”

“Try five hundred million,” I said.

She went very quiet.

“Most of it is tied up in the various companies and properties, but my trust fund stands at fifteen million alone,” I explained.

“Did you tell the police that?” she asked, she had gone a little pale.

“Oh yes. They love motives,” I said.

“If you died, does she get the lot?”

“I doubt it, as my father has probably left it to his cousin in Devon, or to some charities. In a way I would like to see her face when she realises that she loses everything,” I said.

Mary drove in silence for a while. She stopped in a village and we had a light lunch at a little teashop.

“I still can hardly believe what I just heard. It’s like something from a film or a book,” she said.

I laughed, “My whole life would make a good book, but who would ever believe it?” I said.

We finished lunch, and continued home.

When we got back, a rather concerned looking Mike met us.

“Where did you two get to? I was starting to get worried.”

“Emma contacted the police, because of the bit in the paper. She wrote them a letter, with her fingerprints all over it. We went to Uxbridge to post it. Oh, Mike, you have no idea what happened on the way back,” Mary said.

Mary told him of our encounter with darling mummy. He was as shocked as she had been.

“Oh dear God,” he said. He looked at me, and then he looked worried.

“Told you,” I said, with a smile.

“Oh Emma, I’m so sorry, I didn’t ever think she could be as bad as you made her out to be. What can we do?” he asked.

“Nothing, we just let them alone, and get on with our lives. I will feed information to the detective, and hope that Raoul drops himself in it,” I said.

“But what if he finds you?” Mary asked.

“How? There is no connection to you, to the college, and if my own mother didn’t recognise me, how on earth will some French heavy, who has only seen me once?” I asked.

“I still, think we ought to go to the police,” said Mike.

“No, absolutely not. Mike, we are in the strong position here. We know that Raoul is coming over, so we know that my dear mother is pooing off back to France, and we know that the police don’t really care that much about me. This is my chance to get my own back on her, and if we’re careful, we can let the police do it for us,” I said.

“But how?”

“I haven’t a clue, but as the game goes on, I’ll look for opportunities,” I said.

“All right, Emma, but if things get difficult or dangerous you must go to the police,” Mike said.

“Agreed,” I said.

Mike gave a little smile.

“I feel sort of better about all the trouble we went to, to give you a new identity,” he said.

“It’s very much appreciated,” I said.

I sang in the choir again on the Sunday morning, and Mary took me back to college that evening. It was back to work on Monday.
 
 
I worked hard that week, even managing to completely forget about my mother.

On Thursday, I awoke feeling really awful. When I pulled my duvet off, I had a horrible moment, as I was bleeding.

It took a few seconds to sink in, and then I realised that I was now truly a woman.

I cleaned myself off, and then had fun playing about with tampons. I tried to work out how it fitted, so ended up having to read the leaflet. I went and washed my sheets and nightie in the communal wash area.

Sheri came in while I was there, and saw what I was doing.

“The curse?” she asked.

I nodded.

“Bad luck. It’s a real pain, isn’t it?”

I just nodded again.

We chatted for a bit, as she put her washing in the other machine, then going down for breakfast while the machines did their job.

I felt pretty sluggish all day, and I think it was reflected in my work. At lunchtime, Gwen came over to me.

“Emma, just to let you know I have become aware of your little visitor. Now, one of the key strengths of a professional is the ability to work through such times. I know you feel rotten, but imagine that you have a three-month run on a major production. You can’t alter your standards just for being a woman. So now is the time to start learning how to work through your period. I know it’s hard, as I’ve been there. But you can do it,” she said, in a very gentle and kind tone, but very firmly.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to let you down,” I said.

“You didn’t, dear. The only person you are letting down is yourself. You’ve shown such high commitment and energy in everything so far, it’s very obvious that you’re under the weather,” she said.

I smiled, “I’ll try, but I really feel pretty awful.”

“Good girl. Just do your best,” she said and left me alone.
 
 
The next day, I felt a little better, but had to keep changing my tampons. I was really flooding.

By Saturday, I was much better, and was excited about the fund-raising concert in the church hall that evening. I persuaded Sheri to come and stay, and Mike and Mary made her very welcome.

The concert was in aid of some restoration work on the church. The tower was in dire need of urgent attention, and they needed several thousand pounds to start. The diocese had agreed to match whatever the local church raised, and there was already a few thousand in the kitty.

It was due to start at 7pm, so we had a light supper before. Mary took me upstairs, into her and Mike’s room. She pulled a gorgeous evening dress out of the wardrobe, and asked me to try it on.

It was black and sleeveless, made out of silk and satin, and was simply divine. I slipped it on, but it was a little tight in the bust, so Mary told me she had worn it when she was a lot younger. We were about the same height and, although she was a little plump now, she obviously had been a little thinner than I was. My bust was really quite substantial now, and I thought I looked older than I really was.

I looked at my reflection in her full-length mirror. I was stunned.

“Emma, you look wonderful. It really suits you,” Mary said.

I still had yet to have my ears pierced, and kept putting it off, the coward that I was.

She gave me a pair of clip-on drop earrings, with large pearls. She then placed around my neck a lovely pearl necklace. My crucifix rested between by cleavage, which I decided to leave. She gave me a gold bracelet, taking my boy’s watch off me.

Instead, she gave me a very fine, gold ladies’ watch.

Sheri came and helped me with my makeup and hair, and then I was ready.

We all walked over to the hall together, and I was suddenly very nervous. We went in the back way to the little room that was behind the small stage. There was a band of some of the local lads, playing some recent hits. They were quite good; I peeked round the edge of the stage and saw that the hall was packed.

There were about three hundred people in there, and of all ages. The band played another number and then finished. They came off, and I stood well back out of the way. Sheri was with me, trying to make me feel less nervous. It was silly, as I had often sung in choirs in front of more people that this, but then I remembered that I was just one anonymous member of a large choir.

They had a local magician next, and he was very good. He had everyone spell bound, until he asked for a volunteer.

One of the lads in the band pushed me out onto the stage, so I was suddenly in the limelight.

“Wonderful, I see that we have the most stunning volunteer. Step right up here, pretty lady,” he said.

I stepped forward, a little nervous.

In the centre of the stage was a large box, into which I was placed. I stood in the dark, when the back opened, and the magician’s assistant beaconed for me to follow her. I stepped out and found myself behind the curtain. Meanwhile, the magician opened the box, showing the audience that I was no longer there. He closed it, mumbling something, so I simply stepped back into it. Then he opened the box, and I stepped out and raised both arms.

“Well done,” he muttered, as we both took a bow.

It was my turn next.

Mike stepped forward to the microphone.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, it is with great pleasure that we have with us tonight, on grateful loan from the Teesdale College of Performing Arts, Miss Emma Pearson and her wonderful voice. For those of you that really appreciate her singing, then come to church, as she is the latest member of our choir.”

With a piano accompaniment, I went through my medley of four songs, ending with part of the Messiah, as promised.

It seemed to go down well, and the applause made me feel that I had done all right.

I relaxed then, returning backstage, where Sheri gave me an orange juice. I saw the four band members sitting by the corner. They were going to go on again at the end.

“Which one of you silly sods volunteered me for that silly trick?” I asked.

Three of them looked at the one who was trying to look the most innocent. He was a tall lad, nearly six foot two. He was broad across the shoulders, with short, fair hair. His ears looked as if he played rugby, and he had a very cheeky smile. He was drinking from a water bottle, while the others were drinking beer.

I went over to him, with my hands on my hips.

“Thank you very much. It wasn’t as if I wasn’t nervous enough,” I said.

“I’m sorry, but you looked far too good looking to only come and sing a couple of songs. Which, may I say, I think you did fantastically,” he said, completely unrepentant.

I could not stay cross for long, so despite myself, I smiled.

“Thanks, but I wasn’t impressed,” I said.

“I’m Steve. Steve Roberts,” he said.

“I’m Emma Pearson,” I said.

“I know, I’ve been looking at your name on the poster outside my house for the last couple of weeks,” he said. “I was wondering what you looked like. I’m very pleased to have found out.”

I was a little lost for words. He shuffled up on the bench.

“Sit down, if you like?” he said.

I sat.

“Your band sounded good,” I said.

“It’s all right. We aren’t as professional as you, but we have fun,” he said.

“What do you call yourselves?”

He shrugged, “We haven’t got a name really, just Steve’s Mob. We only do it for fun.”

“Sometimes having fun is the important thing,” I said.

“Too true. So this college you’re at, is it all classical stuff or what?” he asked.

“It’s a little bit of everything. I love any type of singing, but I rather like the idea of drama or even dance.”

“Do you sing any modern stuff?” he asked.

“Of course, I’ll sing anything.”

“Do you know the old Culture Club hit Karma Chameleon?”

“Yes, why?”

“We can play it, but have never had the right person to do the vocals. Do you fancy joining us for the last number?” he asked.

“Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t ask you, if I wasn’t sure,” he said.

“I’d love to, thanks. I have a friend, she has a lovely voice too, can she join us for backing?” I said.

Ten minutes later, I was once again on the stage, where my evening dress was slightly incongruous against their jeans and tee shirts, but they played the music well, and I gave it my best shot. Sheri was thrilled to be part of it and was proficient at backing. I had always been able to memorise lyrics, so as I read music, I find it ever so easy.

We went down a storm, and the applause we received was better than either of our first outings. So much so, that we were forced to do an encore, and I sang Do you really want to hurt me, also by Culture Club.

However, the evening ended, and all of the performers and the organisers took to the stage.

Mike took the microphone once more.

“Many thanks to everyone who took part and supported this event. This event has exceeded my expectations, and I am sure that most of you have enjoyed it as much as I. My thanks to all the performers, and for their time and wonderful talent. They tell me that this evening has raised more than three thousand pounds, and this brings our total to eight thousand to date. Our aim is to reach ten thousand, and with the same again from the diocese, our target of twenty thousand will mean that work can start.

“So I think you can give yourselves a huge round of applause.”
 
 
The audience filed out, until just the organisers and performers remained. Mary and Cheryl appeared with some trays of food from a back room, and then Mike brought some wine and some beer.

He called form some hush, announcing that we were all welcome to stay for food and a drink or two.

I noticed that the drummer had cornered Sheri, and was in deep conversation. She caught my eye, but then she nodded and smiled, she was okay.

Steve came over to me, carrying two plates of food.

“I took the liberty of getting you some food. I would have brought you a drink too, but someone forgot to give me four hands,” he said.

“Thanks, why don’t I get the drinks, and then we can use the four hands we’ve both been given?” I said.

“Great, I’ll just have some water. I have to drive,” he said.

I went and grabbed a bottle of mineral water, and an orange juice for me.

I joined him, sitting on the stage. I was ravenous, so ate everything he’d acquired for me. I became conscious he was staring at me.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

“Not at all, you just never cease to amaze me, that’s all.”

“Why, what have I done?”

“For a starter, you look totally out of this world, you sound so bloody hoity-toity it’s just not true. You sing like an angel, but you eat like my younger brother,” he said.

“Oh,” I said.

“I didn’t mean to be rude, but you belong on the cover of Vogue, and not sitting in some dusty church hall eating chicken legs.”

“It just so happens that I rather like sitting in a dusty church hall eating chicken legs,” I said, finishing another chicken leg.

“Is there a remotest chance that I could see you again?” he asked.

I looked at him.

“That depends,” I said.

He frowned, “On what?”

“On whether your younger brother is quite so critical of female company,” I said, as I jumped off the stage. “Do you want any more to eat?”

He looked at me with a strange expression. Then he shook his head, smiling.

“You are completely unlike any girl I’ve ever met,” he said.

“That doesn’t help. Food?”

“I’ll come with you.” He joined me and we went over to the table.

“How many girls have you met, then?” I asked.

“Enough. And you are unique.”

“I could have told you that,” I said, helping myself to a little of everything.

“How long are you at college?”

“Just until the end of next year. Why?”

“I was wondering how long you would be in the area, that’s all,” he said.

I laughed.

“How about you, what do you do in real life?” I asked.

“I’ve been working on my Dad’s farm, but I’m due to start at police training school soon. I’m joining the Thames Valley Police,” he said, a little guardedly.

“Oh, cool,” I said.

“That’s an unusual reaction,” he told me.

“You told me I was not exactly usual,” I said.

“That’s true.”

“Do you know where you’ll be working?” I asked.

“No, but probably either Aylesbury or Milton Keynes, as I live in the village. My elder brother is a DC in Milton Keynes,” he said.

“DC?”

“Detective Constable. Don’t you watch the Bill?”

“No, I’m not a great one for the telly. I prefer reading. When do you start?”

“I have a date in a few months.”

“How long before you finish training?” I asked.

“The whole thing is two years probation, but I should go independent after six months,” he said.

I finished my plate, and he laughed again.

“Oh, I probably won’t eat for a week,” I told him.

He looked worried, so I said, “Joke. I have quite a large appetite, and because I use up a lot of energy, I don’t have a weight problem, yet.”

“Seriously, can I see you again?” he said.

I looked at him, and he did look serious. So serious that I giggled.

He smiled, “What’s wrong?”

“How old are you Steve?” I asked.

“Nineteen, why?”

“I’m sixteen, I would be delighted to see you again, but as long as you are aware that I am a virgin and fully intend to remain so for a long time,” I said.

He went red.

“I never meant….”

“No, I never said you did. But I thought as long as you were aware of the ground rules, then it’s up to you,” I said.

“What’s up to me?” he said, looking confused.

“If you want to see me again, silly,” I said.

“I do,” he said, frowning.

“Are you sure, you look confused,” I said.

“That’s because you’re slightly more forthright than any girl I’ve ever met. And you are no way only sixteen,” he said.

“Sorry, I can show you my birth certificate if you like,” I said. “Are there any puddings?”

He laughed. “What are you like?” he said.

“Unusual, unique, forthright, hoity-toity, an angel, amazing and I eat like a pig, according to you,” I said.

He went very quiet.

“Have I said something I shouldn’t?” I asked.

“Not at all, do you remember everything that people say to you?”

“Sometimes, if I like that person, or if I really don’t like that person,” I said.

“And which am I?”

“Ah, you’ll have to find that out.”

“When can I see you again?”

I looked at him. He really was very earnest and serious.

“I’ll be home next weekend, I’ve nothing planned on Saturday,” I said.

“When do you get out of college?”

“Friday evening. Why?”

“I could pick you up after college, and we could take in a movie or something?” he suggested.

“That sounds fun.”

“And then on Saturday, you could sing with the band at a gig we’ve planned,” he said, with a sneaky smile.

“Cost you,” I said, without a hesitation.

“Agreed,” he said, also without hesitation, and we shook hands. His hand was dry and warm, and very much bigger than mine. He kept hold of my hand, but I didn’t complain. I liked the feel of his hands, they were warm and dry, and very firm.

I looked at him, as he was going misty on me. He licked his lips.

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“I really like your hand and all, but I wouldn’t mind mine back, when you’ve finished with it,” I said.

He jumped as if startled and looked at our hands. He released my hand, as if I burned him.

“Sorry.”

“That’s okay, it’s not too easy going to the loo attached to a prospective policeman,” I jumped off the stage and went to the loo.

I was just coming out when Sheri came in.

“Are you all right with the drummer, he looks a little heavy?” I asked.

“Talk about the pot and kettle, I thought you were about to start snogging any second,” she said.

“I’ve been invited to sing with the band next Saturday,” I said. “Do you want me to ask if you can join too?”

“No, my dad is picking me up, but if you get any more offers, let me know, it sounds fun.”

I went back out, and the lads were loading up their van. I went outside, it was really cold.

Steve saw me and came over.

“We’ve got to go,” he said.

“Everyone does sometime,” I said.

“Have you a number I can call you on?”

“Not really, there is a payphone in the hall by my room, but I don’t know the number,” I said.

He wrote a number of a piece of paper, and gave it to me.

“That’s my mobile, give me a ring, anytime. I’ll call you back, if you like.”

“Okay, where is the gig, next week?”

“At a hall in Winslow.”

“Okay, I’ll tell some friends, and see if I can encourage a crowd to come.”

“That’d be cool.” He stood there, looking sheepish.

I stretched up, and kissed him on the cheek.

“Bye then,” I said. He held my hand, again. I looked at our hands, and then at him. He pulled me gently towards him. Then he bent towards me ever so slowly, I knew what was coming, so raised my chin and he kissed me on the lips. I felt a surge of emotion, wrapped my arm around his neck, responding to the kiss. Our tongues touched, I explored his mouth, and he did the same to mine. I felt his arm encircle me, as he pulled me closer to his body. I felt control slowly slipping away, so I broke off. He released me, as I stepped back.

“You’ll be one I quite like,” I said. “See you soon.” Then I went back into the hall. I went straight to the loo and repaired my lipstick.
 
 
Sheri and I helped clear up, stacking the chairs away. Then we walked back to the vicarage. It was nearly midnight, so I suddenly felt very tired.

Mary made some hot chocolate and we sat around the kitchen table. We chatted for a while before retiring to bed. I told Sheri that I was singing in the choir in the morning, and she asked if she could join as well. She wasn’t a Christian, but she loved to sing.

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To Be Continued...

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Tanya has a new website where she will display her latest works first and then to BigCloset TopShelf a few weeks later is here at Tanya Allan's Tales .
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The Legal Stuff: Emma  ©2004 Tanya Allan
 
This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright, in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically. Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Permission is granted for it to be copied and read by individuals, and for no other purpose. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited, and may only be posted to free sites with the express permission of the author.
 
This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental. Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism, and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.
 
The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone. If you wish to take offence, that is your problem.
 
This is only a story, and it contains adult material, which includes sex and intimate descriptive details pertaining to genitalia. If this is likely to offend, then don’t read it.
 
 
Part 5
 
 
The service the next day went really well, the choir was now up to eight, and the volume was noticeably increased. I was interested to see that Mike’s pep talk on the last evening had managed to persuade one or two stray sheep back to the fold.

We had a very relaxed day, feeling much refreshed when we were dropped off at the college.

I immediately called a certain mobile phone.

“Hi?”

“Hi Steve.”

“Emma?”

“Who else?”

“Wow, hang on, I’m in the car, just let me pull over,” he said.

There was a bit of background noise, and then he was back.

“Okay, I’m safer now. Thanks for calling back, I wasn’t sure that you would.”

“Oh yeah? How many girls do you kiss and they never call?” I asked.

There was silence.

“Steve?”

“I’m here. Thanks for calling. What’s your number there?”

I gave him the number.

“Look, let me get home, and then I’ll ring you. Ten minutes, tops,” he said.

“Okay.”

Eight minutes later, the phone rang.

“Hi, Emma?”

“I’m sorry Miss Pearson is cleaning the latrines,” I said in an old woman voice.

“Sorry?” said a baffled Steve.

“It’s me, you daft brush,” I said.

“I missed you,” he said.

“Invest in some better sights,” I said.

He laughed. “Are you ever serious?”

“Oh yes. But get real, we’ve only met once, and that was yesterday.”

“I can’t explain it, I have thought about you all day, and most of last night too, if I’m honest,” he said. I felt rather humble to have affected him that hard. I couldn’t think of anything funny to say.

“Emma. Are you still there?”

“I’m here, I couldn’t think of anything funny to say.”

“Thanks for last night,” he said.

“You’re welcome. You’re a great kisser, by the way.”

“How many have you had?”

“Including you?”

“Including me.”

“One.”

“Never!”

“One. I don’t lie, at least not about things like that,” I said.

“How come?”

“It’s a long story, sufficient to say, I’ve had a different life, and I could be described as a late developer. If we get to know each other really well, then I may tell you, but just accept that for now,” I told him.

“If it’s any consolation, you are a pretty good kisser yourself.”

“It’s all in the hormones.”

“What?”

“As soon as you kissed me, I had a rush of who knows what, if I hadn’t stopped, who knows where we would have ended up.”

“So you felt something too?”

“Something like that.”

“I’ll see you on Friday, what sort of movies do you like?” he asked.

“I don’t mind.”

“How about food, what is your favourite?”

“You’ve seen me eat, and you have to ask that?” I asked.

He laughed, “How are you with chopsticks?”

“Awesome. But I have had no fatalities, yet,” I said.

“Why are you so different?”

“Just to be difficult. Do you know where the college is?” I asked him.

“Yes.”

“Okay, I’ll be free from about five o’clock onwards.”

“Okay, I’ll be there at about five. Can you ring me, anytime?” he asked.

“Why? So we can have another moronic conversation?”

“Because I love to hear your voice,” he said.

“You are a soppy sod. Okay, I’ll ring, but don’t expect long conversations, I’m really skint.”

“I’ll ring you straight back, you just ring my mobile for three rings, and I’ll know it’s you,” he said.

“Okay, Bye.”

“Bye.”

I hung up the phone, attempting to analyse what I felt. He made me want to smile, I enjoyed hearing his voice, and I really enjoyed teasing him. I thought that he felt rather more for me that I did for him. I would have to watch it, as I felt he was getting too serious too quickly. But, deep down, I knew that he meant something to me too.
 
 
The week went quickly, and I worked hard. I was really enjoying the course, as there wasn’t a class I disliked. I found all the staff were dedicated, talented and enjoyed their subjects. I got on really well with the other students, and Gwen was right, it was a family atmosphere. Steve rang me every evening at about eight.

I really enjoyed drama, and in our little sessions, I really went at it. I found it easy to pretend to be someone, or something I wasn’t. Probably because I had spent much of my life doing just that. One of the boys in our year was a rather shy boy called Mark Williams. He was quite a gangly guy, although he was only 5’7”, he was very slim. However, although he was an amazing dancer, he was too introverted to get into drama. I liked partnering him in the dance class, as he had a natural flowing rhythm.

I was curled up in a large leather armchair in the library on the Thursday evening, I used to spend lots of time in the library, as I wasn’t a great TV fan, and it was the one place I could get real peace and quiet. I heard the door open, but I was so engrossed in my book, I didn’t even look up.

“Emma, I’m sorry to bother you.”

I looked up, and Mark was standing looking really forlorn in front of me.

“Hi, Mark. What’s the problem?” I asked.

He looked as if he was about to burst into tears.

I put my book down and pointed to the chair next to mine.

“Hey, Markie, sit down. What’s up?”

Mark sat on the arm of the chair, but seemed to be trying hard to control himself.

I leaned over and put my hand on his arm.

“Hey, this is me, you don’t have to hold back, just let it out,” I said.

The tears started, just sort of falling from his eyes, and he struggled to stop them.

I stood up, putting my arm around him, and then the sobs started. He put his face against my shoulder and sobbed his heart out. I just held him and let him cry. He cried for ages, many minutes, but gradually the sobs slowed down, as he ran out of steam.

He lifted his head from my shoulder. His eyes were all red and blotchy.

I saw my jumper was rather damp.

“Now look what you’ve done,” I said, and he gave a weak smile.

“Okay, Mark, tell aunty Emma all about it.”

“I can’t,” he said.

“Course you can. If you bottle it up, you’ll go pop,” I said.

“You don’t understand, I can’t tell this to anyone.” He almost started to cry again.

I began to get an inkling of what he felt. I don’t know why, but I actually felt I could recognise something in him, that I, as Russell, had. Now, I knew that he wasn’t openly gay, we had two gay guys who made no secret of their status, and were good fun, if a little over the top at times. Mark would tend to seek out one of us girls to spend time with, but most of the time, he was rather a loner. He was seventeen, but I knew very little about him.

“Okay, Mark. It’s time to face your demons, and I want you to trust me. I promise that whatever you tell me, will remain strictly between you and me. But first I want to ask you some questions, and these will show you why you can trust me, Okay?”

He nodded.

“Okay, you are a well spoken lad, with a good education. You went to public school, right?”

He nodded.

“You loathed every minute, and you were picked on, for being quiet, not into rugger and the macho side of life. Right?”

He nodded.

“Your parents love you dearly, but you feel you let them down. You’ve probably got an elder brother, who was always really good at everything, right?”

“How did you….?” He started to say. I held my hand up.

“Just bear with me, okay? Your dad wanted you to stick in there, but something happened and you left. I don’t want to know, but your mum probably insisted that you left, and she found this place. Am I any where near the mark?”

“Spot on. How did you know?” he asked.

“Let’s just say I once knew someone very well who suffered life in a similar way,” I said.

“I nearly took my own life. I tried to hang myself with my dressing gown cord,” he said. Then he looked at me. “I’ve never told anyone that.”

“Thank you, Mark, for trusting me. I’ll ask you one question, and if I’m way off, then tell me, as I don’t want to offend you. Okay?” I held his hand.

“Okay.”

“I believe that it has a lot to do with who you are. Or rather, who you wish you were. Now I believe that you aren’t gay, but it relates to your sexuality. Mark, do you feel that you should have been born as a girl?” I asked.

He looked at me for several seconds, but then the tears welled up once more. He looked at his free hand, nibbling his nails. Then he looked at me again.

“Does it show?” he asked.

“No, not to most people, but then, I’m not most people. How long have you felt like this?” I asked him.

“As long as I can remember, certainly since I was about six or so. I thought it would go as I got older. At times, it seems less intense, but not a day goes by without me thinking about it. I’ve never been able to tell anyone before,” he said, letting out a big sigh.

“You’re not alone, Mark, lots of people suffer the same thing, and some can control it and even suppress it. For others, they have to do something about it. For a few, the only answer seems to be to take their own lives, while others turn to drink or drugs. But if dealt with properly, one can achieve a normal life, free of the old worries,” I said.

“I used to think that I was gay, but it had nothing to do with being attracted to other guys. Then I thought that I was a transvestite, as I would get a thrill from dressing up as a girl, but the guilt crippled me. It wasn’t the clothes; it was looking like, and being a girl. I see you, and some of the other girls, and I just want to be like you. I hate myself, but I don’t know if I can take it much longer,” he said.

“Does your mother suspect?” I asked.

“Probably. I think she knows I dressed up in her clothes.”

“And your dad?”

He shook his head.

“What would their reaction be?” I asked.

“I don’t know. My mum would probably be pretty good, but I don’t know about dad.”

“Mark, imagine for a moment that you are a father of two sons. The elder is a fine chap, a real go-getter. The younger is sensitive, intelligent, but rather a wimp compared to his brother. They were brought up the same way, with equal love, and in the same schools. But the younger boy is so unhappy, that he tries to kill himself. Bang, no reason, just goes ahead and tries. Luckily, he doesn’t succeed. How would you feel?”

“I would feel responsible. I would want to know why, what we had done to make him that unhappy. I would want to help him.”

“Don’t you think that your dad would feel just that?” I asked.

He looked at me; his great big eyes started brimming with tears again. He nodded. I squeezed his hand.

I said nothing; it was not my place to tell him how to take the next step. I had had a miraculous intervention, and although I could recommend that prayer could work for Mark, it had to come from him. I had no guarantees.

“It’s easy for you; you’ve always been a girl.”

I just looked at him.

“Don’t assume anything, life is never easy,” I said. I so nearly told him the truth, but I knew the dangers were just too great. Besides there was no point building hope only to dash it.

“I’m sorry. Do you think I have to tell my parents?”

“I don’t think anything, as you’ve got to weigh up your circumstances. If you don’t tell them, what will happen?” I asked.

“My life will go on, and I’ll just get more unhappy. I suppose.”

“Yeah, and there are lots of dressing gown cords,” I said. He nodded.

“And if you tell them, what’s the worst that can happen?”

“I don’t know. I could get thrown out, I suppose.”

“In which case, what would stop you taking the necessary steps to make whatever transition you wanted to?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

“Tell me honestly, is it likely they would chuck you out?”

He shook his head. “They would be embarrassed.”

“And having a son who attempts suicide is not embarrassing then?” I asked.

“I never thought of it like that,” he admitted, with a sad little smile.

“So you’re telling me that the only thing that stands in the way of you seeking some sort of change, is your parents?” I asked.

He nodded.

“If they throw you out, you could change, right?”

“Yes.”

“I they love and support you, you could still change, and keep them in your life. Right?” I asked.

“I suppose. They could try to get me treated.”

“Okay, so they take you to a shrink. What two avenues are left?”

“The shrink cures me, and I no longer feel like this. Or I feel the same.”

“If you are cured, then there is no longer any problem. But if you feel the same?”

“I go for a change,” he said.

“So what do you think you should do?”

“Tell my parents?”

“Don’t ask me. Tell me what you should do,” I asked.

“I should tell my parents.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to tell my parents, Emma,” he said, determination seeping into his voice.

“When Mark, when will you tell them?” I asked.

He looked at me, shrugging as the courage seeped away.

I squeezed his hand.

“How long do you want to be miserable for?” I asked.

“I’d like it to stop now.”

“Then when are you going to tell them?”

“You’re not suggesting I tell them now?” he asked me, horrified.

“I’m not suggesting anything. I just want to know how long you want this all to drag on?” I said.

“But if I call them and tell them now, ……” He trailed off. “What will I say?” he asked.

“Tell the truth. Tell them why you are unhappy; tell them why you tried to kill yourself, and that it was not their fault at all. Tell them you love them and that you want their help and support through whatever has to come. Just be you,” I said, as my heart went out to him.

“And Mark, pray. Pray like you have never prayed before. You would be amazed how prayer can help,” I said.

“Emma?”

“What?”

“Can you be with me when I call them?” he asked.

“Sure. Now?”

“Now,” he said. He stood up.

“Thanks Emma. I mean it, thanks.”

“You haven’t done anything yet, let’s wait and see what happens,” I said.

We left the library and went to the pay phone. He lifted the receiver. He stopped and hesitated.

“Do you want me to push the buttons?” I asked.

He shook his head. He put the money in and pushed the buttons. He looked at me, beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. He was shaking. I held his hand.

“Hello Mum,” he said. “It’s me, Mark.”

“No, I’m fine.”

I squeezed his hand.

“Well actually, I’m not exactly fine. I need to tell you some things, and this is very hard for me.”

“No, just listen. I really need you to just listen. I don’t know how to say these things, but here goes anyway.

“I need to tell you first that I love you both very much, and through everything that has happened, that has never changed. But you need to know that from the outset. I tried to kill myself because I was unhappy. I was unhappy because of me, and not you or anyone or anything else. Oh God, this is so hard.

“I’m still unhappy, and I’m unhappy because of what I am. Oh. MUM. I just want to be a girl. I’m trapped in a body and I life that I hate. I’ve always known this, and I’ve always wanted to be a girl. I have tried, so hard, to be a good son, but I can’t try any longer. I am just so tired. What am I going to do?” He sat on the floor, while I held his hand.

There was silence on the other end of the phone, but then I heard his mother respond with the best words that he could have heard.

“Oh Mark, just know that we love you, and we can get through this together. I am just so glad that you told us, we were going insane trying to work out what was so wrong.”

Mark collapsed, unable to speak. He dropped the telephone, so I caught it.

I heard, “Hello? Hello? Mark?”

“Hello, Mrs Williams, my name is Emma. I’m Mark’s friend, and I’m afraid he’s a little upset, right now. He was so afraid that you would hate him for what he had to tell you, so as you haven’t it’s all become a bit much,” I told her.

“Did he tell you?” she asked me.

“Not really, I sort of guessed, so we talked though his best options. He has been unhappy for so long, I just thought, for his sake, that he should bite the bullet. I’m sorry that it had to come by phone, but it took a while to get him to build up the courage to call,” I said.

“You have no idea how relieved I am to hear him tell us why. His father has almost had a breakdown over it. He has blamed himself.”

“I thought he might have done. I think you ought to call Gwen, and come and pick him up. He really needs an awful lot of love, right now,” I said.

“I’ll do that, and Emma?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. You’re an angel,” she said.

“Hardly, but I’ll stay with him until you get here,” I said. I hung up the phone, and sat on the floor next to Mark.

He’d crumpled where he sat, with his elbows on his raised knees and his face on his arms, just sobbing gently, mainly through relief. This young guy had just been through over ten years of hell, his worst fears were now cast away, and now his demons were partially dispersed. He now had to face his tough future, with love and support, instead of bottling everything up.

We sat on the wooden floor for nearly half an hour, and my bum was getting numb. Gwen came down the corridor, sitting, to my surprise, on the floor next to Mark. She smiled at me, putting her arm around Mark.

“Okay, Mark, what do you say to going somewhere a little comfortable?” she said.

Mark raised his head a little and looked at her, more than a little surprised. He looked at me, and then back at Gwen.

“Your parents will be here in about twenty minutes. Let’s get you a little more with it, all right?” she said.

We helped him to stand, taking him to Gwen’s sitting room. He refused to let go of my hand, so we sat on the sofa together.

Gwen just sat and smiled at him. He was looking rather sheepish, and he kept shaking his head. I knew that he was hearing his mother say, “We love you,” over, and over again.

At last, the doorbell rang, so Gwen motioned me to stay with him, as she got up and went to answer it herself. She did everything so elegantly and gracefully. I was to remember this, so whenever I felt like panicking, I would think how Gwen would do it, and try to emulate her.

I heard voices in the hall. After a couple of minutes the door opened and Gwen returned with a couple, who had to be Mark’s parents. His mother smiled a little uncertainly at me, but his dad’s face was ashen. I honestly thought he was going to have a heart attack or something. I let go of Mark’s hand, and allowed his mother to take my place. He immediately hugged her, and they both burst into tears. His father went on his knees and joined them. Gwen and I left very quietly.

We went to the kitchen, where I made us both a cup of tea. Gwen asked me no questions, and said very little. We drank our tea, and then I made another pot, putting three cups on a tray with some milk and sugar.

We went back to the sitting room, to find them talking in hushed voices.

I put the tray on the table, and was about to leave.

“Emma, please stay,” said Gwen.

“Mr and Mrs Williams, Emma has made some tea, and I think it would be just the thing to get you focussed,” she said.

I poured the tea and I handed them round, even Mark took a cup.

I sat on a chair near the door.

“Now, I only know what you told me on the telephone. Emma has not told me anything, and I haven’t asked her. I believe I have a fair idea as to what has happened, so I accept that your immediate action is to have some time together. Mark has to come to certain decisions, and we need to be kept in the loop. All I will say is that his place here is secure, should he wish to return to us. Moreover, indeed, however he wishes to return to us. Please let us know what you decide.”

They drank their tea, and I could see that Mr Williams was looking considerably better. He took Mark to his room to collect some things, so Mrs Williams came over to where I sat. I stood up.

“Mark told us how you helped him. Thank you,” she said.

“Mark knew what he had to do, he just needed persuading to do it,” I said.

“Well, thank you for persuading him. We now have our child back.”

“Take care of him, he is still hurting,” I said.

“Oh, we will,” She looked at Gwen, who simply smiled at her.

“I really don’t know where to go from here,” she admitted.

“One step at a time,” said Gwen. “And always with love.”

I heard them coming down the stairs. We went into the hall, and Mr Williams came over to me.

“Thank you Emma, for being there for him. You’ve been a good friend.” He then kissed my cheek.

Mrs Williams just hugged me, and Mark threw his arms around me and started crying again.

“Thanks, Emma, I don’t think I could have gone on without you,” he said.

“Go on, and good luck. I’ll pray for you. Keep in touch,” I said, and they left.

I watched them go, but became aware that Gwen was watching me.

“You’re a very complex girl, Emma Pearson,” she said.

“I’m sorry?” I said, genuinely confused.

“Your capacity to care is wonderful, but exactly where does all that wisdom come from in one so young?” she asked.

I smiled, “I’ve been to places that most people never get to go,” I said, as enigmatically as I could. To my surprise, she laughed and clapped her hands.

“Oh. Bravo. What a wonderful line. Emma, you are priceless, I am so glad that Michael brought you to us.”

I had to laugh with her.

“You’ve had a rough evening, so go and get some rest. I know you won’t mention any of this to anyone. I will announce that he had some family problems, and we will let them sort them out. Goodnight, my dear.”

“Goodnight Gwen,” I said, and went up to my room.

It was about eight o’clock as I approached my room, and the payphone rang. I answered it.

“Could I speak to Emma please?” It was Steve’s voice.

“I’m sorry she was arrested early this afternoon for impersonating a human, she is being extradited to Mars tomorrow,” I said, in a silly voice.

“Hi Em, you are a fool,” he said, laughing.

“It takes one to know one,” I said.

“I accept that.”

“How are you?” I asked.

“I’m good. I’m really looking forward to seeing you tomorrow,” he said. I realised that I was looking forward to seeing him.

“Me too,” I admitted.

“Have you asked anyone to the gig, yet?”

“Yes, about six say they are coming, and I was going to phone a girl friend who works in MK,” I said, just remembering Pam from the makeup counter.

“I think there will be quite a few coming.”

“Good. Are we going to get a chance to rehearse?” I asked.

“Yes, if we get together on Saturday afternoon, we have the hall from noon to set up. We can go through our numbers, and if you need any words, we have all the songbooks.”

“That sounds fine. You aren’t expecting me to sing every number, are you?”

“No, you can sing whatever you want to, either as main vocalist or as backing. If you have any other girls interested in backing, then they’re welcome. To be honest, all you have to do is look gorgeous, and that’ll do the trick.”

I laughed, as he was a real soppy sod.

“I love your laugh,” he said.

“Stop getting soppy on me.”

“I’m sorry. It really isn’t like me. I just can’t stop thinking about you.”

“Steve, you’ve only met me once, for goodness sakes.”

“Yeah, and it’s changed my life.”

“My God. Steve, get real on me, I’m very flattered, but you don’t know me.”

“Maybe not, but I’d like to, if you’ll let me?”

I couldn’t help laughing again.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, at five. Sleep well, lover boy.”

“Bye.”

I hung up the phone, and went to my room and found Pam’s phone number. I called her. She was surprised and pleased to hear from me, and was thrilled to hear about the gig. She was working on Saturday morning, but was free for the rest of the day. She said she would persuade her ‘dweeb’ to drive her down to it, and that she would try to get a couple of mates along too.

I went back to my room, and Sheri popped her head round the door.

“Hi Em. What happened with Mark, earlier? I heard that he’s gone home with his parents.”

“Some sort of personal crisis or something,” I said.

“Someone said that you sat with him for hours, and he was very upset,” she said.

“Yup. I did, and he was. I can’t tell you any more at the mo, Sheri. It’s just I promised to say nothing. Just let’s say, he wasn’t a happy bunny, and hopefully, things may get better for him,” I said.

Sheri sat next to me on my bed.

“Mark’s a funny bloke. I never really got to know him,” she said.

“I don’t think he let anyone get to know him, and now I know him better, I can understand why.”

“Are you still doing this gig on Saturday?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Yes, why?”

“My dad phoned, he’s got to do some unexpected business in London, and he won’t get out until Sunday. So I was wondering, is there any chance I could come along?”

“Great. Of course. I only had old Stevie on the phone a few minutes ago, and he was asking whether any of the girls wanted to come and sing. This wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain drummer, would it?” I asked, She reddened and smiled.

“Has daddy really got work to do?”

“Oh, yes, but he would be finished by 3pm, so I thought, why not?” She smiled.

I laughed.

“Have you heard from him?” I asked.

“He phoned me yesterday, so I called him today,” she admitted. “How about Steve?”

“Oh, he calls me every day, and I think the poor sap thinks he is in love,” I said.

“What do you feel for him?”

I shrugged, thinking for a moment.

“He makes me laugh, I like that. He kisses well, and I really like that. I don’t know Sheri, it’s all a bit sudden, and I’ve a lot on my plate at the moment. I don’t really want to get too serious with anyone yet,” I said.

“I think he’s very sexy. And you look good together, as you’re both tall and fair,” Sheri said.

“Stop pairing us off,” I laughed at her.

She laughed as well.

“You do feel something for him,” she teased.

“Maybe,” I admitted. “But it’s still too early.”

“When are you seeing him?”

“He’s picking me up from college on Friday, and then we’re going out for a meal and a movie.”

“Are you staying the night with him, then?”

“Sheri, no, I am not. He lives in the same village, so he’ll drop me off when we go back. Honestly, what do you think I’m like?” I asked.

She shrugged, “You give the impression of being very worldly. How old are you, anyway?”

“I’m only sixteen, and I am not worldly at all,” I admitted.

“No? You’re older than that, with your figure and the way you walk and talk, I thought you were about eighteen?” she said.

I shook my head, “I must have had a rough life,” I said.

“What movie are you going to see?”

“I don’t know, I guess we’ll choose one when we get there. Why do you fancy coming too?”

“Yes, but only if Dave can come.”

“Dave? Is that the Drummer?”

She nodded.

“Why don’t you call him, but make sure he speaks to Steve, he may have other plans,” I suggested

“Okay.” She grinned and went to make the call.

I repainted my toenails while I waited.

Sheri returned all bouncy.

“He was with Steve when I called. They’re happy to make it a foursome. Isn’t that great?” she said.

I was a little relieved, as I got the impression that Steve may try to come on a bit strong. He was nearly twenty, so his expectations may be rather more than I was prepared to deliver. I didn’t want to send the wrong signals, but then I didn’t want to drive him away. Being a girl was rather more difficult than I had first imagined. Particularly when dealing with boys.

Sheri stayed, and we both did our nails. She noticed that I didn’t have my ears pierced, so she suggested that we go and get them done on Saturday morning. I agreed, and I mentioned that Pam might be able to give us both a makeover.

Sheri left me, so I went to bed. It was so lovely going to bed happy, but I wondered what my darling mother was up to.
 
 
Part 6
 
 
We finished our last session by four thirty and, I have to confess, that I was clock watching for the last hour. Steve seems to have had a greater effect on me than I had thought.

I dashed upstairs, putting on a dark tight skirt and tights, then a pretty top, with a low collar. It was still cold, but I wanted to look good. I pulled on my long black boots, and threw on a warm sweater. I tried my old leather jacket on, and it was actually quite sexy. Although a boy’s jacket, it looked really good.

I spent some time getting my makeup just right, and fussed with my hair. It was a little longer now, but I was planning to let it grow.

Sheri popped her head round the door.

“Aren’t you ready yet?” she asked.

“Just finished,” I said, putting some bits in my shoulder bag. I looked at her, thinking she looked stunning. She was wearing a pretty dress and a short coat. She had done her makeup in such a way to accentuate her exotic eyes and very high cheekbones. She had very long black hair, which cascaded half way down her back.

“You look fabulous, Sheri. I love your makeup,” I said.

“You look pretty good, yourself,” she said. I picked up my holdall, and wrapped my long scarf around my neck.

We went down stairs arm in arm.
 
 
Steve was waiting in the car park. He was by a blue Ford Mondeo, obviously his dad’s. Dave was sitting in the car, less inclined to freeze his balls off than Steve was.

Steve was pacing up and down, wearing a path in the gravel. He saw us, his face transforming into a huge grin.

He ran towards me and, I have to confess, my heart had a little flutter as he approached. I don’t know quite what I expected, but he had obviously been bottling something up for the whole week.

Before I knew what had happened, he had wrapped his arms around my waist and lifted me bodily into the air. I put my arms around his neck, partially because that was the only place I could put them, and partly because I wanted to.

I was about to say something rude, but I found that I couldn’t, as he was kissing me. Or rather, I found that we were kissing, as I confess that I was responding somewhat passionately.

In the meantime, Dave had got out of the car, and had given Sheri a shy kiss on the cheek. They were both standing staring at us. I broke off from the kiss, a little reluctantly, as I was enjoying it rather too much.

“Oi. Woah, slow down!” I said.

Steve let me back to planet earth, but still held onto me. I had dropped my bags on the gravel.

“Hi Steve, are you pleased to see me, or what?” I asked.

He just looked at me, kissing me again.

“What. Definitely what,” he said. “You look fantastic. But then, even wearing a bin-bag you’d look great.”

“Flatterer. Are we staying here all day, or are we going to go for something to eat?” I asked.

He reluctantly released me, and put my bags in the car. Sheri already was in the car. She and Dave were sitting in the back.

“Hi Sheri, good to see you. I hear you are going to join us tomorrow after all?” Steve said.

“Yeah, is that okay?”

“That’s brilliant. Are you staying with Emma tonight?” he asked.

“The plan is we both stay at the vicarage tonight and Saturday night, Sheri’s dad will pick her up before lunch on Sunday, and will spend the day with her,” I said.

“Okay, now what first, food or movie?” he asked.

“It’s too early for food, let’s take the movie first, and then have something to eat afterwards,” I suggested.

Steve drove into Milton Keynes, parking the car near the multiplex. We went into the cinema and looked at what was on offer. He kept one large arm wrapped very possessively around me, and it felt good. Dave was a little more restrained, and I noticed that Sheri threaded her arm through his.

“How about Men in Black?” Steve said.

I looked at the blurb, and noted that it was just about to start. To be honest, I wasn’t that bothered, but it looked good.

“Fine by me, Sheri?”

“Okay.”

Steve went and paid for all of us, so I lingered hopefully by the popcorn. He grinned, bought a huge bucket and gave it to me. I kissed him. Dave bought some for him and Sheri to share.

We sat in the middle at the back, and the lights went down just after we settled. I had taken my jacket and pullover off, finding someone’s left arm draped across my shoulders.

I sat and munched my way through the commercials and trailers. Occasionally, Steve would grab a handful of popcorn and munch away. Then the movie started. I loved the opening scene of the bug flying across the desert. When it came to grief on the windscreen of the van, I jumped.

I felt Steve’s arm tighten, as he gently squeezed me. I snuggled against him and kept on munching.

Between us, we demolished the lot. I sat back and enjoyed the film. At some of the squishy and slimy bits, I caught him looking at me. I noticed that Sheri was hiding behind her hands, but I thought it was really cool.

I looked at Steve.

“What?” I whispered.

“You’re really enjoying this aren’t you?”

I nodded. I felt his hand tighten on my shoulder, and I looked at him. His other hand came across and held my face; he leaned across, and kissed me again. I lifted my face and just went with him. I brought my left hand up and curled it around his neck.

I felt all warm and fuzzy and my breasts started to tingle. His hand slipped from my face, to gently cup my left breast, squeezing slightly, and twiddling my nipple. I started to feel very good, so I held his head and kissed him more vigorously.

He left my breast, and I felt his hand on my thigh, as he slipped it up my skirt. Feeling really tarty, I opened my legs, and felt his fingers on the outside of my knickers and tights. He just rubbed me, and I felt myself getting moist.

I dropped my hand to his waist, felt for his zip, and slowly undid it. His coat was covering what we were doing. I ran my hand inside, and his hot and very hard cock filled my hand. It was circumcised, and I ran my thumb over the knob. I felt his fluid seeping out of the little hole, and I grasped it and started to stroke him.

He had managed to get inside my tights and knickers, and his fingers were inside me. I was squirming with pleasure, as he found my clitoris. I would have screamed, if we were not locked together in a kiss. I came, feeling myself all wet. He was moaning and I new he wasn’t far away from coming, so I bent down, and took his cock into my mouth. Just as I wrapped my lips around it, I squeezed his hairy balls, and he shuddered and ejaculated into my mouth. He thrust himself deep into my throat, I nearly gagged, and swallowed his semen. I kept my mouth locked around his cock, until I felt him going soft. Then I came up and he smiled at me, I held his head, and drew him down to me, and kissed him, letting him taste what I had just had to swallow.

His fingers were still inside me, and I came again, then I pulled his hand away. I glanced at Sheri, and she and Dave were so engrossed in each other, they hadn’t seen us.

I looked at the film, but had no idea what had happened. Steve put himself away, and put his arm around my shoulders again.

“I wouldn’t mind a drink,” I whispered to him. He laughed, and got up.

He was back after a little while, and passed me a large paper cup. I was orange Fanta. He also gave me some tissues.

I smiled, “You made the mess, you can wipe it up,” I whispered to him. He started to, and I realised that this was defeating the object, as I was just getting worse every time he touched me. I took them from him and did it myself. I couldn’t believe I had produced so much liquid.

We settled down and watched the film. I just couldn’t believe just how easily that had come to me, and how natural it was. It dawned on me just how easy it would be to have sex, and to fall pregnant.

We ended up at the Chinese restaurant at a little after eight. We ordered a huge set meal, and I lived up to my reputation, and ate like a pig. Sheri, bless her, had a small appetite, but I made up for her. I loved everything, the hors d’oeuvres, the crispy duck and pancakes, all the dishes, and even the green tea at the end. There was not a piece of food sent back to the kitchen.

Steve dropped Dave off first, and then took us to the vicarage. I kissed him, and let my hand linger near his groin.

“Thanks, for everything,” he said.

“You too,” I kissed him again, and then remembered Sheri who was outside waiting for me.

“Pick us up at noon, as I have a couple more meeting us here. So there will be four of us,” I said.

“That’s okay, I’ll have the van. We’ll drop the instruments off and I’ll come and get you straight afterwards,” he said, so I kissed him again. My heart went aflutter again.

“I miss you already,” I said. He just grinned.

“But don’t get any ideas, my ground rules still apply,” I added.

He nodded, “I can live with that,” he said, and grinned.

We watched as they drove away, then, turning, we went into the house.

Mary and Mike were in the sitting room, and were pleased to see us. I gave them both a hug, and we sat and told them all about our week and the evening. I was particularly bubbly, and could hardly stop talking.

Eventually we drifted off to bed. I undressing when Mary knocked on my door, it was open a little, so she came in. I was in my bra and knickers, and she sat on the bed. I took my bra off, slipped on my nightie, and then slipped my knickers off.

“I’m so pleased that your first date went so well,” she said.

“So am I. He’s a nice boy,” I said. It dawned on me that I had given a blowjob to a boy on my first ever date.

My God, what a tart!

“He’s almost twenty. Does he know how old you are?” she asked.

I nodded.

“Sit down Emma. Please.”

I sat next to her, and she took one of my hands.

“It is so lovely that you are such a pretty and bright girl, and that you are having such a wonderful time. However, mistakes happen, and these mistakes completely change lives.

“I know this boy and his family, his mother Joan, and father Ron, and they are very nice. But, I do know that he thinks the world of you. I met his mother yesterday, and she went on and on about how smitten Stephen was. Just don’t let things go too far, too soon. Oh, I’m making a right mess of this,” Mary moaned.

“No you aren’t. I know what you are saying. I like Steve - I like him a lot. I’m not sure I need the complication of a serious relationship now. He makes me laugh, and I feel good with him around. After this evening, I am aware of how easy it would be to let him have sex with me, and I think I would probably really enjoy it. I want to be a singer, not a single mum. I don’t want to have a reputation of opening my legs to any boy who I quite like. I won’t have sex until I am old enough to deal with it, both the emotional aspect, and any consequences. I’m not old enough yet,” I said.

“Would you like me to make an appointment with the doctor, so you can talk about contraception?” Mary said. I realised how hard it must be for her to talk like this to me.

“Mary, thank you, it’s a very kind thought. But no, not yet. I have told Steve my ground rules, and I do trust him. My career must come first, and I need to take care of my mother at some stage,” I said.

“Promise me something?” she said.

“What?” I asked.

“Promise me that if you ever have sex, you take precautions.”

“I promise,” I said.

Mary smiled. “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you, Emma, but I don’t want you to go through what Caroline did.”

“How many abortions did she have?” I asked.

Mary was almost in tears, and she looked at me in surprise.

“Two. How did you know?”

“I didn’t, but it wasn’t hard to figure out,” I said.

“She was fifteen when she fell pregnant the first time. Luckily, I noticed in time, otherwise we would have been too late. She never told us who the father was. I think it was someone local,” Mary said.

“I won’t make the same mistakes, I promise,” I said.

She gave me a hug, and felt me alone.

I was too wound up to sleep, so I took another look at Caroline’s clothes. I wanted something smart for the gig, and so I took everything out of the wardrobe, and put it all on the bed.

I noticed a box on the floor, right at the back of the walk-in wardrobe. I picked it up. It was an old shoebox, and it had an elastic band around it. With my curiosity stimulated, I opened it. There was a small notebook and some letters inside.

Feeling rather a snoop, I read some of the letters. Most were from a boy called Ricky, and he wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box. His writing was poor, but his spelling and grammar were terrible. I guessed that he was about sixteen when he wrote them, and by the dates, she was a little younger.

There was nothing in them which indicated any knowledge or awareness of Caroline’s pregnancy. I put them away, rather bored. Then I looked at the notebook. It was a plain little book, but Caroline had ruled it as a diary. I was looking at the year when she was fifteen, in 1988.

Most of it was dull,
 
 

Friday: argued with dad, he is so stuffy. Saturday: Rained. Sunday: Mum got upset with my new hairstyle. Monday: got a letter from R.

 
 
And so on.

Then I came to another entry:
 
 

Sunday: CG smiled at me again, I think he fancies me. Monday: CG came to see dad, but he looked at my legs. Wednesday: CG suggested I baby sit for them. Friday: Baby-sat for Billy, got  £10. Sunday: CG Touched me. Amazing. Tuesday: Baby-sat.  £10. Wednesday: CG kissed me. Friday: CG told me he loves me. Saturday: CG put his fingers inside me. Wonderful! Sunday: CG’s wife away, I took him a report for Dad. He f****d me...               Amazing...

 
 
It went on, and she recorded seventeen sexual encounters with CG. Then came the entry:
 
 

Wednesday: I am really late. I was sick last night. Thursday: Sick again. I think I’m pregnant. CG said, I couldn’t get pregnant               if I was standing up.

 
 
I suddenly despised CG, and had no idea who he was. He was married, with a child younger than Caroline. I didn’t even know anyone with CG as initials. Oh, yes I did. Charles Gregson - the slime! It all fitted, he was married, had the right aged child, who just happens to be called William, and Charles would require reports from Mike as part of the PCC set up.

I became angry, now I knew.

I read the diary again.
 
 

Saturday: Told CG, he told me it couldn’t have been him, but he had been the               only one. Sunday: went to see CG, he told me that he would tell everyone that I sold               myself to anyone. Monday: Mum found me crying, and guessed. Wednesday: Seen Doctor. Confirmed. Booked at clinic. Tuesday: Clinic. Quick, but feel dreadful. I hate CG. Friday: Saw CG, he gave me  £500. He said he loves me, but couldn’t take the               shock.

 
 
That was enough, as I couldn’t read anymore. I decided to do something about this, but what? What if I was wrong?

I spent sometime thinking about it, and then I devised a wicked plan. I was grinning as I fell asleep.
 
 
I was up early the next morning, and Sheri and I persuaded Mary to take us into Milton Keynes. She didn’t need much persuading, as she quite liked the idea of having a girly shopping morning. We arrived at about nine.

We went straight to see Pam, so we had our makeovers, I even persuaded Mary to have one. Pam was in good form, and was really looking forward to the evening. I was completely skint now, so was looking forward to earning a few quid from the gig. I had my ears pierced, and the popping noise of the needle gun going through my ears will say with me for a very long time.

We did a little shopping, or rather they did, I just watched. It was so frustrating knowing that I was an heir to millions, but I didn’t have a bean.

We were walking back to the car park, when my blood ran cold. Sitting on a bench was Raoul. He was watching everyone closely, or rather he was watching all the young men and boys closely. He glanced at us, each of us in turn. He stared right into my eyes, and I forced myself to laugh at something Sheri said. I noticed his eyes fell to my breasts, and then to my long legs. I was wearing a very short skirt, and he almost dribbled.

Then his eyes were onto the next target, a group of four teen-aged boys, all wearing baseball caps. He had seen me, and immediately discounted me for several reasons. I was so obviously female, I was tall, I was older, and he fancied me. I suddenly felt very confident.

“Hang on a mo, I thought I saw Pam, I just want to tell her something. I’ll catch you up,” I said. They walked off towards the jewellers. I went to a payphone, and dialled 999.

“Emergency, what number are you calling from, and which service please?”

I gave the number, and got through to the police operator.

“Yes, there is a weird guy sitting on a bench in the main Milton Keynes shopping centre, by the Pizza Hut. He is staring at all the young boys, and I think he may be up to no good. He had something in his pocket, I think it might have been a gun,” I said.

The operator tried to get me to stay on the line, and I could see a CCTV camera start to move. I hung up the phone and ran to join the others.

They were looking in a shop window, and I noticed the camera angle reached the telephone box, so I was now fifty yards away.

Sheri was admiring some earrings, so we went into the shop. I was busy watching what was happening outside. Raoul was still on the bench, staring at another small group of boys. Two uniform officers approached him. They were both carrying MP5 Carbines. The control room had sent an armed response vehicle.

It got better, because they challenged Raoul, and his hand flew to his jacket.

I clearly heard the policeman shout, “Armed Police! If you move I will shoot!”

They were both pointing their carbines at Raoul, and the policeman said, “Let me see both hands slowly. Do it now!”

Raoul produced his hands. They were empty.

“On top of your head. Now!”

He complied.

“Stand up. Now!”

He stood.

“Turn away from me. Now!”

He turned.

The other officer handed his colleague his carbine and went round to Raoul’s side. He searched him, pulling out a small black self-loading pistol. He held it up for the camera to monitor.

He concluded the search, placing handcuffs on Raoul. Two unarmed officers approached and took him to an awaiting van. While I watched, a white van pulled up, and a man with a big brief case went to the phone box. He put the case on the ground, and then dusted the phone for fingerprints. I smiled; Russell’s prints were going to be all over it.

“Gosh, how exciting,” said Sheri. All shopping was suspended.

Mary looked at me, frowning. Sheri went back to the earrings, and I said “Raoul.”

Mary’s eyes widened. She looked at the armed officers, as they took off their weapons and got into their police car. Several unarmed officers were speaking to onlookers to see if anyone had called the police.

Sheri bought the earrings and we left the shop. We returned to the car, and headed home again. I was rather quiet, but Sheri was excited about what we had seen.

“I wonder who he was. Do you think he was a terrorist?” she asked.

I shrugged.

“Who knows, but I’m sure it will be on the news or in the papers tomorrow,” Mary said, glancing at me.

When we got home, Sheri went to try on her earrings.

“Can I use your mobile, please Mary?” I asked.

She gave it to me. “Do I want to know?”

I shook my head.

I dialled DS Higgins’ number.

“Hello, DS Higgins?” I asked, making my voice sound boyish.

“Who is this?”

“Did you get the letter?”

“Russell is that you? Yes, I got the letter. I am happy that your prints were on it. I still need to see you.”

“That can’t happen, not while my mother sends hit men after me.”

“What do you mean?”

“The man arrested with a gun, this morning in Milton Keynes, his name is Raoul Cavois, he was sent to kill me by my mother.”

“How do you know?”

“You know I phoned it in. You’ve taken the prints from the phone, so you know I was there. Why else would her lover be loitering near where I went missing, staring at boys all day?”

“Who is he?”

“He runs a gym in Menton in the south of France. He believes that if I am bumped off she stands to inherit at least fifteen million pounds.”

“If you come in, we can protect you.”

“I’m not doing so bad out here, thanks all the same,” I said, and rung off.

Mary was watching me.

“I’d hate to make an enemy out of you,” she said.

I smiled. “Mary, you are the nearest thing to a proper mother that I have ever had. You and Mike mean the world to me, so I’d never ever do anything to put you in danger,” I said. “Have you a photocopier I could use?”

“In Mike’s study, why?”

“Believe me, you really don’t want to know,” I said.

I went into Mike’s study and typed a few lines on the word processor. Being very careful, I printed it off. Then I copied the relevant pages from the notebook, and dug out an envelope. I addressed the envelope, using the computer, and inserted the sheets inside. I put a first class stamp on it, and put it in my bag. I then ensured that all trace of everything was erased from the computer.

I went up and collected a variety of clothes that I wanted to wear for the gig, and admired Sheri’s earrings. It was about twenty past twelve, and Steve arrived in his van. I grabbed my bag, putting everything I thought I needed into a holdall.

“Have a wonderful time,” Mary said, as I hugged her goodbye.

“Thanks. I don’t know what time we will be back.”

She gave me a back door key.

Steve greeted me as if we’d been parted for months, and eventually we set off for Winslow. We all fitted in the front, with me next to Steve. He was clearly quite excited, and he told us why.

“My brother was coming tonight, with some of the lads from work. But they arrested a kidnapper today, and he is part of one of my brother’s jobs.” Steve said.

“Oh yes, what was that all about?” I asked. Knowing the answer.

“Well, there’s this kid, he went missing from his school, a big posh private school. Not far from here, as it happens. Anyway, a few weeks back, he just ups and vanishes, overnight. The school report him missing and contact the mother. His Dad is dead, and his mum is French and a right bitch by all accounts. She lives somewhere in the south of France.

“Anyway she comes over, and the DS meets her in Aylesbury, and she doesn’t want to know. She stands to inherit a bundle if this kid dies. The police run a press release, and the kid phones in on an unlisted mobile. He tells the DS that he is fit and well, and has no intention of going back to school. The DS gives the job to Brian, my brother, and tells him to make local enquiries to trace the boy. Apparently, he was seen just after four am by a lorry driver, heading towards Aylesbury.

“Then, the boy sends a letter to the DS, and his prints are all over it. He alleges that his mother will try to get some French bloke, her lover, to kill him, and make it look like an accident. Well today, the police get a 999 call from a phone box in Milton Keynes, it was anonymous, but they think it was the boy. He states that this French bloke is in Milton Keynes, and he has a gun. The Support Group ARV turns up and sure enough, there is a French bloke with a gun. They interviewed him all day, and he said nothing, but they found his car, a mobile, and loads of documents and photographs, which all linked him with the mother. So now they want the French Police to arrest the mother.”

“Oh. We saw it all,” said Sheri.

“Really?”

“Yeah, didn’t we Emma? We were in the jewellers over the road, and suddenly these police officers with guns came over and shouted at a guy on a bench. It must have been him. We must have walked right past him. We saw them take the gun off him and everything,” she said.

“Did you give your names to the police?” he asked.

“No. We only saw the police arresting the guy, so did hundreds of people. It isn’t everyday you see police with machine guns running about,” I said.

I managed to change the subject, and we were soon pulling up outside the hall. We went in, to find that it was nearly three times the size of the church hall in Little Mudsley. The band was all set up, and there was a reasonable dressing area to the rear of the stage.

Karen, Johanna and Suzy, three of the girls from our year, arrived in Karen’s beaten up old mini. They all looked glamorous, and the guys in the band perked up noticeably.

We went up on the stage, and tried to work out where we were all going to stand. We checked off the numbers we knew, which weren’t a lot, but we had the music and words, placed where we could see them.

For about half the numbers, Sheri and I, Suzy, Karen and Johanna were the backing singers, while Steve sang the main lyrics. But for the other half, I was the main vocalist. We rehearsed those first, and I was pleased. I picked up the lyrics quite fast, as I was reasonably familiar with all the songs anyhow. I placed the songbooks within easy sight, and felt confident that I could manage.

We then rehearsed the rest, working out some simple steps and routines that would give a sexy dimension to our performance.

We then went back and rehearsed the whole lot again, in the order we were going to do them. Steve was grinning at the start, and by the end, we all were, only his grin was very wide.

We had all decided to wear black mini-skirts, and show as much leg as possible. I had a black skirt, with a very tight black top, which left my mid-rift bare. I had a pair of very long elegant fingerless gloves, which came up above my elbows. I planned to wear my long black boots with the high heels and tights.

When we all changed, we found that we had all decided to be in black, and we looked really cool. Our make up from the makeover was fine, and Sheri and I helped the others create some good effects. We had lots of glitter and had a lot of fun with it.

We heard the hall filling up, and I began to get nervous. I looked at the others, and we were all getting a bit jittery. Steve brought over some water, so we had a good drink, the last thing we wanted was to have dry throats.

There had been quite a bit of publicity for the evening, and Steve had put “Emma & the Four ‘M’s” as a backing group, on the posters. The first number was to have a real heavy base rhythm, so I was going to sing it to a bump and grind routine, similar to Kylie Minogue at her raunchiest. It had been written by some of the band, as were several numbers.

I peeped through the curtain, and the place was absolutely packed. The organiser came in, looking really pleased. He saw us and his smile got bigger. “Five minutes,” he said.

We took our places. The stage was in darkness, and we all had our backs to the audience. The curtain went back, and Dave counted us is on the drums, “One, two, three, four”…………….and we were off.

I spun round, and walked right up to the edge of the stage, as the spot hit me, the girls all came in on cue and the band were spot on. The adrenaline flowed, so I just went for it. I sang my heart out, strutting, wiggling, and showing them my boobs. I walked up and down, teasing all the guys at the front. They loved it. I saw Pam in the crowd, about ten feet front from the front, so I gave her a wave. The girls were great, as the simple but very sexy routines looked very slick.

We went straight into the second number, Karma Chameleon, and I thought I did it better than Boy George.

The rest of the gig just flowed and, as we went on, I thought we got better. It was nice to drop back and be part of the backing group for a while, as I was getting exhausted up at the front.

At one point, Steve and I sang a slow duet. We both had to read the words from the sheet, but we were sitting on high stools at the front, and it went really well.

We finished up with a couple of Rock and Roll classics, by which time the whole hall was heaving. The applause when we finished our last number was deafening, and I felt on top of the world. We five girls all came to the front, taking our bows together, and the band joined us, with a guy between each of us.

The slow hand clapping started, so we had to give them one more. We had a quick confab, I suggested a real oldie, and they all grinned. Wes, on base guitar, started us off with a simulated motorcycle engine rev, and I launched into, He was the leader of the pack.

Finally, it was over, and for the first time I looked at the clock. I was one a.m., and I was totally knackered.

A small group of friends were permitted to stay, and Pam and her dweeb and another pair of friends came up to me.

“Hey, Emma. Why didn’t you tell me you were a professional? You were brilliant. You all were,” she said.

“Thanks Pam. Grab a drink,” I said, drinking from a water bottle.

“Emma, this is Paul,” Pam indicated a nice enough looking lad, I didn’t think he was a dweeb.

“Hi Paul. Did you enjoy it?” I asked.

“You were great,” he said, grabbing a bottle of Bud.

Pam introduced me to her friends, whom I instantly forgot. They were very complimentary, but my brain was shutting down, bit by bit.

Steve shouted, “Brian. You made it, man.”

I saw some men walk through the crowd. The front one was obviously Steve’s brother; he was very similar, just a bit stockier. There was another man, much the same age, but tall, and thin, and the man at the back was older, mid thirties, and with short dark hair. He was wearing a leather jacket, and they all had “COP” written all over them.

They walked over to where we were. The older man looked at me and our eyes met. He had icy blue eyes and he looked hard. I met his stare, so he was the one to break away.

“Brian, this is Emma. She’s the girl I was telling you about. Emma, this is my brother, that is Mick Harmon, and the old guy is Ron Higgins.”

They shook my hand, and Ron held my hand rather tightly, I thought. The other girls were introduced, and the party seemed just to take off. I was sitting on the stage, and Ron came over, he had a bottle of beer in his hand.

“Hi, can I get you a drink?” he asked.

I waved my bottle of water at him. “I need to re-hydrate. Booze is not the best thing for me,” I said.

He sat down next to me.

“You were all very good, are you professionals?”

“Not yet, we are all at the Teesdale College of Performing Arts, in Buckingham. Steve and I met at a charity gig at a church hall, and he asked if we would like to add a bit of colour to the event,” I explained.

“I really enjoyed it, but I have to confess, it’s not really my scene,” he said.

“It takes all sorts,” I said.

“How long have you been at college?”

“It’s my first year, of a two year diploma course,” I said, neglecting to mention that I only started in February.

“Are you enjoying it?”

“I love it. There are some great people, and it’s all good fun. How about you, do you like being a detective?” I asked.

“Am I that obvious?” he asked, chuckling.

“I suppose you could have C.I.D. tattooed on your forehead. That would do the trick,” I said.

He laughed.

“Are you married?” I asked.

“Why, are you interested?”

“No, but I like to know about people.”

“What do you think?” he asked.

“You don’t have a ring, but that means nothing, your shirt is ironed, your trousers are ironed, with tramlines, you enjoy drinking from a bottle, when no one is around to complain. Yes, I reckon you are married, and you hate the way she irons your trousers, but it beats the hell out of doing it yourself,” I said.

He looked at me strangely.

“I’m impressed. As it happens, you’re right. Did Steve tell you?”

I laughed and shook my head.

“No, I’ve not heard of you until you were introduced to me,” I said.

“Then you should seriously consider becoming a policewoman,” he said.

I laughed.

“Hardly. But I understand that there was a bit of excitement in Milton Keynes this morning?”

“Oh. What was that then?” he asked guardedly.

“Well, Sheri and I were in a jewellers, when we saw this man being arrested by policemen with guns. I was rather exciting,” I said. I knew that Steve would tell Brian that we were there, and so it would be better coming from me.

Ron looked very interested.

“Where were you when he was arrested?” he asked.

“In the little jewellers. About fifty or sixty yards away. Why?”

“Did you notice the man, or walk past him?”

“Not that I remember, he was just sitting on the bench. Wait a minute, yes, he looked at my legs, and I thought, ‘In your dreams.’ He looked a bit weird.”

“Did he say anything to you?”

“No. He stared at my legs, and then at Sheri’s. Then he seemed more interested in a group of boys. Was he a pervert?” I asked.

“I don’t know, I doubt it. Could you see the phone box from where you were?”

“Is there one? I don’t remember seeing one,” I said.

“I suppose you’ve got a mobile, most young people seemed to be glued to them?”

“No, I can’t afford one. There’s a payphone in college, and besides, Steve is the only sad muppet I would call, and he always calls me. He’s got a mobile,” I said.

Ron fumbled in his jacket.

“If you looked at a photo, could you tell me if you saw this boy near the place you were when the man was arrested?” he asked, handing me a photograph of me. Well, of Russell; it made my skin crawl a little, but I had to smile at the situation.

I held the photo. It was the same one as had been in the paper.

I shook my head. I really had changed, as this was someone very different to the me that I was so enjoying being.

I saw Sheri, I called her over, handing her the photo.

“Ron is looking for this boy. He may be something to do with the man we saw arrested. Did you see him hanging around near there?” I asked.

“Oh. He’s the kid from the papers, the rich kid who went missing from a posh school,” Sheri said.

I pretended to look again.

“Oh yes. He was in the papers a few weeks ago, I remember now,” I said.

We both decided we hadn’t seen him.

“There were loads of kids around, most of the boys were wearing hats,” Sheri said.

“What’s the connection?” I asked.

“I can’t say at the moment, but he may be in danger. If you do see him, call the police,” Ron said.

“What’s his name?” asked Sheri.

“Russell Drysdale. He’s fifteen, but has no family in the country. We think he’s still in the area, but is proving quite resourceful, and to be honest, I quite admire him,” Ron said.

“Poor kid. Has he no money or anything?” asked Sheri.

“He has a bank card, with some money in his account, but hasn’t used it. I think that he is probably being looked after by someone, so they must know who he is.”

“So who or what is he running from?” I asked.

Ron shrugged. “I’m not sure, it could be his mother. She is hardly the loving mother type, or it could just be he was unhappy, and left the school. It’s not the most liberal establishment I’ve ever visited. But I really do think that there is some danger for him. He is line to inherit quite a bundle, so if he should disappear, I don’t think that mummy will be that upset,” Ron had told us nearly everything, and I had to smile.

“What a cow,” said Sheri. “Have you met her?”

“Yes, she came to Aylesbury police station, and she was a hard woman. I expected to have a tearful case on my hands, but not a bit of it. Her first words were, ‘Little bastard, I’ll fucking kill him.’ so she did not immediately endear herself to me. I don’t blame Russell for buggering off, really,” he admitted.

“Do you think he is disguising himself, and just waiting for the fuss to die down?” I asked.

“Probably, but he must come forward eventually, as his mother will go to court to have him declared dead, if no one hears from him for a set period.”

“Has he not been in touch at all?” I asked.

“I’ve spoken to him, and he has sent me letters, with his prints over them. As long as he keeps in contact with me, he should be fine. But I really need to see him, to satisfy a court that he is still alive,” Ron explained.

“So, if I pretended to be him, and claimed the inheritance, I could be rich,” I said.

Ron laughed.

“Emma, you may be a very talented singer, and probably an accomplished actress as well, but somehow you could never convince anyone that you are a boy. I’m sorry, there are some girls who may pass as boys, but you will never be one of them,” he said.

“Oh, I don’t know, I have blonde hair and look a little like him,” I said.

“Yeah, but so do thousands of boys, and they do not have certain physical features that disqualify them straight away,” he said, staring at my breasts.

I folded my arms and giggled.

Steve fought his way through to me, slipping his arm around my shoulders. Ron noticed and nodded slowly.

“Well done, Steve, it was a good show. You all did well. The girls made it special, but you know that, don’t you?” Ron asked.

Steve grinned and nodded. “Yeah, and one girl in particular, right Emma?” he said.

I just smiled.

“How long have you known each other?” Ron asked.

“A couple of months,” Steve said, which was bollocks. It was only about two weeks. If I needed any smoke screen, then Steve was supplying it.

“Well, here’s to you. Success,” Ron said, raising his bottle. We waved our bottles of water at him, and we all laughed. Ron wandered off.

“Do you want some grub, Emma?” Steve asked.

“What do you think?” I said. We both went off in search of food. Once we’d found some, Steve went off to find his brother.

Pam was chatting to Sheri, and the other girls, having found out what Pam did, were asking her all sorts of questions.

I saw her dweeb, Paul, standing by himself, looking a bit lonely. I went over to him.

“Hello Paul, Pam deserted you then?” I asked.

“Hi Emma, yes, they’re into make up and stuff. Not really my area of expertise,” he said.

“What is?”

“What?”

“Your area of expertise, what do you like doing?” I asked.

“I work with my dad, he has a tiling business.”

“Shit. That sounds exciting,” I said sarcastically, but with a smile.

He smiled. “It’s pretty dull, but it pays well.”

“So what do you do for excitement?” I asked.

“I like the movies, I play a little snooker, and sometimes I go fishing,” he said.

Then he looked at me.

“I don’t seem to have much excitement, do I?”

“If you could do anything you wanted to do, right now, anywhere in the world, regardless of cost, what would you do?” I asked him.

He frowned and I caught him having a fleeting look at my breasts.

“Barring anything to do with anyone in this room getting undressed, that is,” I hastily added, and he had the grace to go red.

“I’d like to drive in a rally,” he said, after much thought.

“Why don’t you?” I asked.

“I can’t afford it,” he said.

“No one can go straight in at the top, but there are small local rallies, and you are earning money. Sell your fancy Ford Escort, get a Fiesta, and build your own rally car. Imagine, there you are chatting up a glamorous singer, and she asks you, what do you do for fun? What do you say? ‘I go fishing.’ Or ‘Actually, I have built my own rally car, and I take part in regional rallies.’”

He grinned at me. “Do you think I could?”

“I haven’t a clue, what matters is whether you think you could,” I said.

He nodded.

“I reckon I could, you know. I’d never thought about it before. But I’ve got room in the garage at home, and I’d have to get some more gear. Hey, I really think I could,” he said, getting the most excited I had seen him. Admittedly, I hadn’t seen him for very long, but he was rather more animated now.

I left him, writing down things on the back of an old envelope, and went and sat down to eat my sandwiches and chicken leg.

Steve found me just as I finished. He was grinning as he sat down next to me.

“What are you looking so happy for?” I asked.

“Two reasons, one, we got paid, and here is your cut,” he said handing over an envelope. I opened it and there were ten  £20 notes in it. I started calculating how much to give each of the girls.

“Hey, Emma, I’ve paid the girls, they each got  £100. That’s yours,” he said.

“Really?”

“Yeah, and the second thing is we’ve been booked up for another three gigs, each Saturday for the next three weeks. Are you interested, the other girls are?”

“Of course, where?”

“Next week in Buckingham, the week after that in Milton Keynes, and the one after that back here again. The Milton Keynes hall is twice the size as this,” he said.

“Can I make a suggestion?” I said.

“Anything.”

“We have got to get together during the week for a rehearsal. We need to do at least one a week every week. We managed tonight, but the time we rehearsed was too short. I will ask Mrs Teesdale if you can come into the college and we could use the concert room to rehearse. Okay?” I asked.

“That sounds great. Will we be allowed to?”

“I can but ask.”

He went off to tell the band, so I slipped out, crossed the road and posted a letter.
 
 
We eventually crawled into bed at three a.m. Sheri’s dad was picking her up at nine-thirty from the vicarage, and then there was the church service at ten. I went unconscious.
 
 
Mary woke me up at nine. I managed to drag myself downstairs, and to pour some of the cornflakes into a bowl. I was rather stiff.

“I hear it went well,” Mary said.

“I went brilliantly. I’ve earned my first pay, so I can start repaying you,” I said. I took out the  £200, and counted out  £100.

“That’s for you, I have to give  £80 to Gwen, and I’ll keep  £20 for me. That’s fair,” I said.

“Don’t be silly, you need everything you can get,” Mary said.

“Please take it. I know how tight things are for you. I need very little, and I will be earning some again next week,” I said.

“Emma, I can’t take your money, not when you have so little.”

I simply got up, kissed her, and stuffed the money into her hand.

“That’s the end of this discussion. Look, you have given me so much, let me do a little in return, please?”

She nodded, and said, “Bless you.”
 
 
We went to the morning service, so I sang as well as I could, but I was rather croaky after the previous night. I noticed Charles Gregson and his family. His wife was a rather timid little woman, and their son, William, was a younger version of Charles. This was the lad that Caroline had looked after at the time of the diary.

I tried to imagine his reaction to the package he would receive in a couple of days. I had typed out a simple letter. I knew that what I was doing was blackmail, and that if caught I could face a prison sentence. However, this man had completely ruined three people’s lives. I have no problem with anyone ruining their own life, a waste, but their problem. Nevertheless, to ruin other people’s lives just because you are a selfish bastard, it wasn’t defendable.
 
 

CHARLES GREGSON You don’t know me, but I know you. Find attached photocopies of Caroline Strong’s diary for 1988. We both know you are the CG mentioned. It even mentions your son Billy. This diary will be distributed to everyone you know, and the local press. If you want to prevent your wife and friends finding out what a despicable bastard you are, then you will comply with the following: -               1.               You will resign from the PCC, effective immediately.               2.               You will sell your house, and move at least 100 miles away.               3.               You will donate the sum of  £20,000 to the church fund. Once these three conditions have been complied with, the original notes will be placed into a safe place, and will no longer be a threat to you. However, should you decide to ignore this letter, or at some later date, renege on your undertaking, then the notes will be revealed. A full set of copies has been handed to a solicitor, with instructions to publish should you inform the police, or attempt to trace me. Any contact with the Strong family is forbidden. The past is dead, and so in the past it will remain. Your Nemesis.

 
 
If that didn’t shake him, then nothing would. I worried a little that it wasn’t him, but as I read further parts of the diary, I became convinced I had the right man.
 
 
Mike dropped me back at the college that evening. I had hardly walked in the door, when Steve phoned asking me whether I had asked Gwen about the rehearsal possibilities.

I hadn’t, so I went and knocked on her door.

“Come in.”

I entered, to find her sitting at her desk.

“Ah, Emma. What can I do for you?” she asked.

I took out  £80 and gave it to her.

“I sang with a band last night, and that is your 40%,” I told her.

She looked at it and put it on her desk.

“Thank you. If you hadn’t done this, I should never have known. That was very honourable,” she said.

“Gwen, I have been asked to sing again with the band, as have some of the other girls. Would it be possible for us to use some facilities within the college to rehearse after seven in the evening?” I asked.

“Of course, will the band want to come onto the campus?”

“Yes, if that is alright?” I asked.

She smiled.

“You haven’t mentioned who else is involved,” she said.

I hesitated, I was aware that I had to pay my 40%, but I didn’t know if anyone else was under the same contract.

She must have been reading my mind, for she said. “Emma, you are the only scholarship student, at the moment. However, I will levy a standard charge of  £10 per rehearsal session. It is nominal, but it will keep the status quo.”

I smiled. “Thanks Gwen.”

I left her, and went to phone Steve to tell him the news.
 
 
Part 7
 
 
The week went past quickly, we rehearsed on the first three evenings, and we became very slick. On Wednesday, Wes, the base guitarist, had written some songs, so we mucked about with them. A couple were just the sort into which a strong female vocalist could really sink her teeth. One was called, It’s a pity, but it’s the truth, and another was, I’ll wait, but not forever.

We played about with the music and lyrics, and were practicing the finished versions, when Gwen walked in on the rehearsal.

She sat at the back and just watched. When we finished, she came up to us.

“That was really good, but I have a couple of suggestions,” she said.

Her couple of suggestions ran to about twelve, dealing with everything from my voice, to the drummer’s fill-ins.

Taking what she said into account, we tried again, and the difference was amazing.

Gwen smiled, nodded, and left us to it. We went through another couple of songs, and then we noticed it was ten o’clock. Steve and the others, loaded their stuff onto the van, and I got a quick kiss goodnight. He wanted to linger, but Gwen was watching from her window.

Later, after Steve and the guys had gone, I was in my room, trying to write some lyrics and she sought me out.

She knocked on my door, even though I always left it wide open, unless I was asleep or changing.

“Hello Gwen. Come in, please.”

I chucked some stuff off my armchair, and she sat down. I sat on the bed, with my legs folded underneath me.

“Emma, I just wanted to say that I was very impressed with your rehearsal. The band seems really quite good,” she said.

I smiled, “Thanks, that means a lot, coming from you,” I said.

“Oh, not really. I’m not exactly an expert in the fickle world of popular music, but I think you ought to consider recording a demo CD, and see if you can’t make a few bob.”

“Really. Do you think we could?” I asked.

“Oh yes, if you speak to your young man, then tomorrow I will ask Edward to let you rehearse in the recording studio, and try to record a sample song,” she said. “But, don’t forget, anything you do in here, the college gets 40%.”

“That’s more than fair,” I said.

She stood up and walked over to my desk. I had been sketching some of the girls. The sketches were lying on my desk. She looked through them, and then she turned and smiled at me.

“Is there anything you aren’t good at, Emma?” she asked.

“Rugby, football, and cricket,” I said, without hesitation.

She laughed, “Have you tried them?”

“Yes, and I was hideously awful,” I said, with a smile.

“Then it’s just as well you are a girl, isn’t it?”

“Just a bit,” I admitted with a grin.

“I had a phone call from Mark’s mother, earlier today,” she said.

“Oh, how is he?”

“They have been to a psychiatrist, and she has diagnosed that he has gender Dysphoria. So they are looking at possible avenues open to them,” she said.

“I hope they manage to sort him out. He is such a nice boy,” I said.

“Well, if they go through with what has been recommended, he will turn out to be a nice girl,” she said.

“Really, so they think he is that serious?” I asked.

“It’s very early, but Mrs Williams believes that the only answer is a full blown sex change.”

“That is quite a decision to have to make. Is that what Mark wants?” I asked.

“Yes, it seems to be. I thought that he might need a friend, so I suggested that Mark call you, from time to time. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Not at all, I was going to ask for his number, but didn’t know if I ought to.”

“I think it will be essential for him to have someone he can talk to. Particularly a girl, who is both sympathetic and able to encourage him. You were so good for him the other night, I was very impressed with how you handled him,” she said.

“I’d like that. It’d be fun having him here while he was in transition, wouldn’t it?” I asked.

“It might be a little difficult, but I am sure we could cope.”

“If the trick is to let him, or her, live as normal a life as possible, then I think it would be essential for him, or her, or whatever. I see what you mean,” I said, grinning.

“If only everyone had your fresh approach to life. Goodnight Emma, dear,” she said, leaving me alone once more.

I dashed to the telephone and called Steve’s mobile for three rings. A minute later, he called back and I told him about the recording idea. He was thrilled, so he planned to get the band up to the college as early as he could on the following day, Thursday.

We chatted on about absolute crap for a few minutes, and I rang off. He really was a soppy sod, but I realised that I was becoming rather too attached to him. I liked having him around, but I did not really want to get too serious yet. I didn’t want to hurt him, but we both needed space to live our lives.
 
 
The Thursday rehearsal took place in the small recording studio. Edward Massey was the man in charge, he got the band in first, and they played the two tracks written by Wes. I thought it sounded great, but Edward twiddled some knobs, and made them play both again. Satisfied, he got me, and the backing singers in next, and we put headphones on. We sang along to the music that came through our sets. Again, he made us do them twice.

Edward gave us a thumbs up, and we all went into the big hall to continue with the other numbers, while he mixed the recording, and produced our first demo.

We were just finishing the session and Edward came in.

“Do you want to hear the finished product?” he asked.

We all rushed over to the studio, and sat as he played back the demo. Gwen popped in just as it started. It sounded very good, but I couldn’t believe that it was me singing. It sounded like someone else - someone much older, and when I sang, I’ll wait, my voice sounded really sexy. Everyone was grinning, it was the first time any of us had heard ourselves like this.

When it finished, there was an excited buzz in the room.

Gwen nodded, turning to Steve and the guys, “I think you and I should have a little chat. Girls, could you excuse us please?”

We left and went back to the main hall. We ran through a couple of step routines while we waited. After twenty minutes, the boys appeared.

“Well, what did she want?” I asked, impatiently.

Steve grinned. “We have ourselves an agent. Gwen will deal with the demo, and we have signed a contract with her. She will undertake the negotiations with any interested recording companies, and so we may get something from this after all. She says that if it comes down to it we may just release our own label through the college. But we are in with a chance.”

I was thrilled, but then a thought occurred to me.

“What about your police career?” I asked.

“I’ll still go ahead with that, but if this takes off, I’ll just leave,” he said.

The other guys all had jobs, so were unwilling to throw everything away on a slim chance. They were under no illusions about the difficulties in finding success in this business. If a recording contract was forthcoming, then they could look at things differently, but they were aware that our input made all the difference, and the college bound us.

We said goodnight to the lads, I noticed Wes and Joanna were getting rather close. Sheri and Dave were worse than Steve and I.

I went back to my room, and the pay phone rang. I didn’t think that it wouldn’t be for me, but I answered it anyway.

“Hello, Emma?” said a familiar voice.

“Mark. Is that you?” I was amazed.

“Hi Emma. I just thought I’d call. Is this a bad moment?”

“No, it’s fine. How are you, I’ve been thinking and praying for you?”

“I’m much better, now. I went to see a shrink, and it’s official, I’m a transsexual,” he said.

“Yeah, I thought so. So what happens now?”

“I had another appointment today with the lady shrink, who specialises in such things, and we are going for a transition period, and they will give me small doses of oestrogens to change my body. I’m starting tomorrow.”

“How do you feel about it?”

“Nervous, but excited. By parents have been great, just as you said they would be. I wish I’d told them years ago.”

“Hey, you weren’t to know. Besides, they couldn’t do anything until you were over seventeen in any case,” I said.

“Yeah, I know that now. I just wanted to say thanks. I think I owe you a lot.”

“Hey, what are friends for?” I said.

“Emma, are you busy this weekend?”

“Some of it, why?”

“I was wondering if you would come and stay, if I’m to start being a girl, I’d like a real one to help me, and you are the only one I know.”

“Oh, Mark, that’s really sweet. Look, I am singing in a hall in Buckingham on Saturday night, I was going to stay here over the weekend, rather than go home. But if you like, why don’t I stay with you on Friday, and then you could come to the gig on Saturday, and then either back here, or to your place for Sunday?” I suggested.

“Oh, I don’t know about the gig. I don’t know if I’m ready to go out,” he said.

“Hey Mark, or have you decided on another name yet?”

“Not yet, everything is happening rather fast.”

“Well, we could do that, we could decide who you want to be for the rest of your life,” I said.

“I’d like that.”

“And, you can’t hide away for ever. Look, we don’t need to decide now, would you like to collect me from college on Friday, and we will see what happens on Saturday. If needs be, you could always stay backstage. There are only the five of us from here, and the band. It’s cool,” I said.

“Maybe, but I’ll pick you up at five on Friday, I’ll have my mum’s Polo.”

“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye.”

“Bye, and Emma, thanks.”

I hung up. I called Steve and let him know the change of plans. I just told him a girl friend was in a bit of a jam and needed help. He was okay about it, making slobbery kissing noises down the phone at me. I laughed and hung up.
 
 
The next day was a busy day. We were rehearsing a short one-act play that we had all co-written. I was playing a wayward daughter who had got herself pregnant by the local vicar, and it was all set in her parent’s kitchen. It was rather too close to the Strongs for comfort, but I just tried to put myself in Caroline’s shoes, and the character just took off.

After lunch, we had a tap class, and I really loved tap dancing. Mark had always been good at tap, so I hoped they would let him, or her, come back.

At five o’clock, I was up in my room packing a small holdall, and Gwen appeared.

“Hi Gwen,” I said.

“I see young Mark has arrived. I’ve just had a word with him, and he told me you’re going to stay for the weekend. I think that’s really sweet of you. He needs contact with friends,” she said.

“Yeah, did he tell you why I’m going there?” I asked.

“Yes, it’s quite a moment for him. I know you’ll be kind to him. He needs to get into as normal a life as possible,” she said.

“I suggested he comes to the gig tomorrow night, he can stay behind the scenes, but I think he needs to get confidence and go out as often as he can.”

“I agree. But don’t throw him in the deep end, will you?”

“Not a chance,” I said, with a smile.

“Good girl. Have a lovely weekend, and good luck with the gig.”

“Thanks. We’ll need it,” I said.

“Nonsense. I have a couple of record producers interested, they may be at the back, so do your best,” she said, with a little smile.

“Really? Oh, thanks Gwen. That’s brilliant.”

“Keep it quiet, if the others hear about it they will go to pieces, but I thought you could tell them afterwards. Anyway, have fun, I wish I were your age again.”

“Thanks so much, Gwen,” I said, giving her a hug.

I left my stuff for the gig in my room, as I intended to come here first, and then go on to the hall, which was literally about five hundred yards down the road.

I had my holdall and two carrier bags. As I had scraped together a few bits and pieces from the girls and from the wardrobe department. I wanted to help Mark as much as I could. Then I went down to the car park.

Mark was sitting in his mothers blue VW Polo. I went over and opened the passenger door. I threw my bags in the back and got in.

He was wearing jeans and a jumper, but he looked a lot better than the last time I had seen him.

I kissed his cheek and said, “Hi, Markie. You’re looking good.”

He looked at me. I was wearing my suede outfit. I thought I’d try to look a little smart.

“You always look good, Emma. Thanks for doing this.”

“No problem. I want to.”

He set off, driving very carefully.

“When did you pass your test?” I asked.

“Just after Christmas. But I don’t get out and drive very much,” he admitted.

The Williams’ lived in a village called Eastcote, in Northamptonshire. It was about fifteen minutes from Buckingham.

Mark told me more about his parents’ reaction to his disclosure. There was a little resistance from his father to the seriousness of his condition, and not a little embarrassment. However, they had worked through it, and had contact with a support network. His mother was just relieved to have things cleared up, so just wanted whatever it took to make her child happy.

I felt glad for him. I would never have had any of that, perhaps that was why I was granted the miracle I had experienced. Who knows?
 
 
We arrived at his home, and it was lovely. It was a restored farmhouse, where the house incorporated the old barns and out buildings. It was L shaped and thatched. There was a high wall enclosing the missing L, to form a square yard. Another old outbuilding was now a triple garage, with a small apartment above it. The extensive gardens and orchards were on the south side of the property, and they even had a swimming pool.

“Mark, this is lovely. What does your dad do?” I asked.

“He is a corporate lawyer. He does pretty well,” he said, with a smile.

“I should say so. You have a super home.”

“Thanks.”

Mrs Williams came out to meet us, and she hugged me as if I was a long lost daughter.

“Thanks so much for coming, I think you are about the only friend that Mark has,” she said.

“Nonsense. He has a lot of friends at college, and they have all been asking after him,” I said.

That seemed to cheer them both up, and we went inside.

“Would you like a tea or coffee, Emma?” she asked.

“No thanks, but could I have a glass of milk, please, Mrs Williams?”

“Emma only drinks water or milk, Mummy,” said Mark.

“Emma, please call me Anne,” she said.

I nodded, “Thank you, Anne,” I said.

Mark had a cup of tea, and I drank my glass of milk.

“I understand that today is the big day,” I said, as the conversation reached an awkward pause.

Mark nodded, and Anne said, “Yes, the doctor thinks that Mark ought to begin trying to live as a girl, from now on. Apparently, if he can do it for a year, and the psychiatrist gives approval, then they recommend SRS.”

“I have already started hormone treatment, but it hasn’t started to effect me, yet,” he said, a little nervously.

“What do you say we get organised?” I said.

“How?”

“Well, step one is to put everything that is Mark into a box, and put it away. The day you get back from surgery, you can burn the whole lot. Then, step two, we make you into the person you feel you ought to be, and then, step three, tomorrow morning, we do some therapy,” I said.

“Therapy? That sounds a bit heavy,” said Anne, frowning.

“Shopping, it’s called retail therapy. I thought the three of us could see how your new daughter gets on.”

Anne laughed, and we agreed.

We all went up stairs to Mark’s room, and Anne found an old tea chest.

“That will never be big enough,” I said. “Have you a dozen black bags?”

Mark went and collected the bags.

We spent the next hour emptying his cupboards and drawers. Anne was reluctant to discard some stuff, but I was pretty ruthless.

“Everything from the old life must go. We can’t look back, only forward. Besides, if any second thoughts come up, the bags will still be in the attic,” I told them.

Finally, he only had the clothes he was standing in.

“Step four, on Sunday we redecorate. This is a boy’s room. We go for softer, brighter colours, and some nice sexy curtains,” I said, looking at the rather sombre dark blues and greys.

I went and collected my bags, and asked Anne to leave me with Mark for a while.

She nodded, and went to start supper.

Mark looked very nervous.

“Okay, Mark, get undressed,” I said. He did, and I turned away. I rummaged in the bags, and brought out a plain white bra, and a pair of knickers. I also had a couple of tubes of hair removing cream.

He was standing in his briefs. He was slim and narrow shouldered. He had grown slightly, and was a little taller than me, which made him about 5’7”. He had small feet and wasn’t very hairy.

I handed him the cream. “Spread this on your arms, legs and chest. Take it right down past the tummy button, just above your pubic hair,” I said.

He started to, and said, “Cor, it stinks.”

I laughed. I looked at his face; he was wispy, but no real beard. I rubbed some cream onto his face, and we waited for it to dry. He put on a dressing gown, no cord, I noticed.

“While we wait, what are you going to want to be called?” I asked.

He shrugged, “I hadn’t thought really. What do you think?”

“Well you could go for anything you like, or you could stay with your initials, and go for a first name like Mary, Marcia, Marsha, Mandy, Madeline, Melissa, Marion, Maryanne, or whatever. It really is up to you.”

While he was deciding, I went and ran a bath. Then he went and washed off all the cream, and most of his body hair went with it.

He came back wrapped in a towel, and sat on the bed. His hair was quite short, so I blow dried it, and backcombed it into a more feminine style, and put on some mousse.

“How about Marcia?” he said.

“Okay, Marcia sounds good to me, from now on you will be Marcia. Okay?”

“Yes. I think so.”

Then, I got out a box that Gwen had given to me, as she felt it might help. They were silicone breast forms, with special adhesive, that needed a resin release liquid to remove. I had Marcia lie on her back on the bed. I pasted the adhesive onto the back of the forms and located them directly above her nipples, so they were positioned in approximately the right place. She lay there for a few minutes, and I used some foundation cream to disguise the joins.

While she lay there, I applied a little foundation to her face, covering the little acne that she had. I then put eyeliner round her eyes, and mascara on her eyelashes, which were remarkably long. I put some light blue highlights above the eye on each lid, and just emphasised her eyebrows. She had fair skin, and light brown hair. I outlined her lips with a pencil, and then put on some lipstick. I gave her a touch of blusher on the cheekbones, and sat back and had a look.

The transformation was quite astounding. Mark had been a nice looking boy, nothing special, but Marcia was a striking girl. She would never be beautiful, as her mouth was a little too big, but her eyes were fantastic.

“Are those dry yet?” I asked. I tested the breasts, and they needed a few moments longer.

“Give me your hands,” I said.

I filed and shaped her nails, giving them a coat of plain pale pink varnish. I decided against red varnish, as it was probably too much too soon, and her father would have enough trouble coping with what I was doing in any case.

At last, her breasts were set, and she sat up.

She looked at her small, but very realistic breasts, and giggled, in a very feminine fashion.

“This is bizarre. They feel odd, but right. Do I make sense?” she asked.

“Yes, perfect sense. Now put this on,” I handed her the bra.

I didn’t even have to help her do it up properly, as she had obviously been practising with her mother’s clothes for some time.

I said, “Okay Marcia. This is the awkward bit. If you want me to leave, I will, but you need to push your balls up into your groin, and squeeze your willy between your legs.”

She smiled.

“I’ve been doing that for years.”

She took the white knickers, and put them on. I could not see any telltale bulge, and, apart from rather narrow hips, there was a girl standing in front of me.

I gave her a pair of tights, she slipped them on, and I passed her a pale green turtleneck top and a knee length dark skirt. I had her put the top outside the skirt, and gave her a wide belt to put round her waist. Then I gave her a selection of shoes, none with high heels. I had no idea what size she was, but she found some that fitted.

She stood in front of me, and gave a little twirl. I took her to her mother’s room, where there was a full-length mirror.

She stood, transfixed by her appearance.

“That, that isn’t me?” she said.

“Oh yes, it is.”

“But she’s a girl.”

“Yup, that’s you,” I said, smiling.

Slowly the girl smiled, until the smile threatened to cut her head in two.

“Shall we show your mum?” I suggested.

She nodded, reluctant to leave the mirror.

We went down stairs, and Marcia was suddenly afraid to confront her mother.

“Wait here,” I said. I went into the kitchen, and asked Anne to sit down for a moment.

Then, I called, “Marcia, you can come in now.”

Marcia came in, very shyly, and stood by the door. She looked great, and I would have had difficulty knowing that an unhappy boy called Mark was lurking out of sight.

“Anne, meet Marcia, your daughter,” I said, and held my hand to Marcia.

She took my hand, and I led her to face her mother.

Anne went very pale, and shook her head very slowly. She stood up, and the two embraced. Then, Anne held Marcia at arms length, and looked her up and down, still shaking her head in disbelief.

“You look wonderful. I can’t believe it. To think that underneath you’ve always been this lovely girl. How sad that it has taken this long,” Anne said. Marcia was almost in tears.

“Marcia, no crying, you will make your mascara run,” I said, with a laugh.

She laughed, and the moment was lost.

Anne turned to me.

“Oh Emma, thank you. You’ve done wonders,” she said.

“Not really, it was there all the time, I just helped her bring it to the surface,” I replied.

“How on earth did you manage to get her, you know, her breasts so lifelike?” Anne was clearly quite embarrassed.

“Gwen had some silicone breast forms, and they are literally stuck to her. They are the natural colour, and even have nipples,” I explained.

“I can see that. It is really odd.”

“As the hormones take effect, she should develop her own, and perhaps we can do away with them. In any case, she could always have implants to create the right size,” I said.

“You seem to know an awful lot about all this, how come?” Anne asked.

“I read up on it, I thought I needed to know a bit, so I could help,” I said.

There was the sound of a car in the drive.

“That’ll be Roger,” Anne said.

Marcia looked panicky.

“It’ll be fine. Anne you go and warn him, and we will just sit here as if it is the most normal thing in the world,” I said.

Anne got up, and I sat Marcia down at the kitchen table. I found a magazine of her mother’s, and opened it at random. It was a page on make up. I sat next to her, and we just looked like two teenaged girls looking at a girly magazine. Which is exactly what we were.

We heard voices in the hall, and eventually the door opened and Anne and Roger came in.

Anna sat down next to Marcia, and put her arm round her shoulder.

Roger stared at his new daughter, and swallowed.

“Hello Marcia. Emma, nice to see you again,” he said, I could see the strain on his face.

I stood up, “Hello Mr Williams. It is so nice to be here. Thanks for having me.”

He was staring at his daughter. Marcia looked at him from under her eyelashes.

“Hello Daddy. Emma has helped me a little,” she said.

He laughed.

“A little, she has worked a small miracle. Marcia, you look lovely. I am speechless. Now, Anne I need a drink, can I get anyone else one?” Roger said, and the ice was broken.

Roger held his arms open, and said, “Come here, my little girl,” And Marcia ran to him and they hugged. Anne sat and openly wept, and I confess that I felt somewhat emotional as well. It was a lovely moment.

I quietly left them to it, and went up to my room. I sat on the bed, and reflected on what had just happened. A loving family now surrounded Marcia, and whatever happened, she was safe. I wondered about my mother, and whether the arms of the law were going to ever reach her. Somehow, I doubted it, and felt that our showdown would come when Russell’s 21st birthday was due.

I unpacked my few clothes, and brushed my hair. I never heard Anne come in.

“Emma?” she said.

I spun round, startled.

“I’m sorry, I never heard you,” I said.

“I didn’t mean to startle you. I just wanted to say thank you. You have no idea how much you have helped. I had no idea where to start, I was pretty useless, I’m afraid,” she said.

“Don’t worry. It must be so hard for you all. I haven’t the attachment or the history. I enjoyed doing it. She looks wonderful, doesn’t she?” I asked.

“You called her she, should we do that?”

“Is there any doubt? If she is to succeed, she needs to live a normal life. This means that you and I have to teach her seventeen years worth of girly stuff in a few hours, and days. She must learn to stand, walk, sit, talk and live every minute as a woman. You and I do it naturally, but we need to watch and help her every step of the way.

“My boyfriend moans that I eat like a pig. I do. I take huge mouthfuls and I eat too much too quickly. I have nothing to prove, so if anything, he is attracted to me for being a bit different. Marcia is going to be hypersensitive to the way she looks, and as to how she thinks others will see her. Therefore, we have to be honest and encouraging. She'll get panicky over everything, but needs to gain in confidence as quickly as possible.”

“You mentioned her going to the concert you're singing in tomorrow, is that possible?” Anne asked.

“After seeing how she looks, her only problem will be keeping boys away. Seriously Anne, I think it's not only possible, but it's a way to build up her confidence. Five of us from college are going to be there. Once the girls accept her, then the next step of getting back into college will be easier. I know Gwen would support her, and think what a difference that would make?” I asked.

“I hadn’t dreamed of thinking that far ahead. I'm living each minute as it comes,” Anne admitted.

“Well, she has a hell of a struggle ahead. She just needs all the help she can get,” I said.

“Thanks, Emma, come on down, I think Roger has got over his shock now,” Anne said, smiling.

We went down to find Roger and Marcia talking together in the kitchen. Roger was looking more composed now, and he stood up as we entered, a glass of whisky in his hand.

“Emma, I’m sorry, I didn’t really greet you properly. I was sort of side-tracked. Hello, and thank you.” He came up to me and kissed me on the cheek.

I went and put my hand on Marcia’s shoulder.

“You’ve nothing to thank me for, she has always been there, only now she has been able to come into the open,” I said.

“Can I get you a drink? I’m getting wine for Anne and Marcia,” he asked.

“A glass of wine would be super, thanks,” I said.

Roger disappeared, so turning to Marcia, I said “Well, how was it?”

She smiled, “A bit strained to start with, but then he relaxed and we spoke to each other like nothing had changed, only he was more at ease than he's been for ages. For the first time, Emma, I think this actually might work,” she said.

I stood up and asked Anne if there was anything I could do to help. She had me shredding a cabbage and peeling some potatoes. Marcia peeled and chopped the carrots. Roger came in with the wine, took in the scene of domestic industry, and shook his head.

“Ladies, your wine,” he announced, giving us each a glass.

Then he raised his glass and said, “I should like to propose a toast to our daughter, Marcia, and may she truly find happiness.”

“To Marcia, and happiness,” I said, and we clinked glasses.

We spent a very jolly evening, but Roger managed to drink rather too much, but handled it well. Anne told me that he was the most relaxed he had been in a long time, but I noticed he kept looking at Marcia, when she wasn’t looking at him.

Marcia was relaxed and quite quiet. She smiled a lot, and I began to see feminine characteristics. She began to hold her hands and touch her face in a more lady-like way. She was very at home in her clothes, and it was strange to realise that this was her first time. Her walk was very graceful, and I remembered the dancer. Mark had always been graceful, and now I could see why.

Whereas Marcia was quiet, I was chatty. I was very aware of the strain the family had been under, and I probably talked too much.

I talked about the college, about Steve and the band, and our hopes for a recording contract. I talked a little about my fictitious past, but I worked on the principle, the less lies you tell, the less they can hang you by.

I found out a little about the Williams family. Stewart, the elder brother, was in America, at the Harvard business school. He had graduated with a 2.1 from Oxford, and was doing a business masters at Harvard. He was everything that Mark had not been, and in some small way, this contributed to Marcia’s levels of self-esteem and confidence. Siblings are always compared with each other, and poor Mark had never come up to his brother’s level.

After supper, I asked if I could phone Mike and Mary, just to let them know what was happening at the weekend. They knew I wasn’t coming home, but I thought they would like to know what was planned.

I rang the number, and Mike answered.

“Vicarage, hello?”

“Hi Mike, it’s Emma.”

“Em. How are you?”

“I’m good. I just wanted to tell you I’m staying with my friend Marcia, in Northamptonshire. She will be driving me to the gig tomorrow, and I will stay with her tomorrow night as well. Just so you know.”

“Thanks. We were wondering what you were up to. Is there a number there, in case?”

I told him the number of Marcia’s phone.

“How’s things with you and Mary?” I asked.

“Well, the weirdest thing happened. Do you remember Charles Gregson?”

“Didn’t I meet him at your house once?” I asked.

“Yes, he was the guy from the PCC, not a desperately nice man. Anyway, he and his family have sold up and gone, almost overnight. I got a letter from him, no explanation, just resigning from the PCC. Some personal matter, I understand. But he has donated  £20,000 to the fund. That means the Diocese has to fork out  £30,000. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“That’s great, but why did he do it?” I asked.

“I have no idea. He has left no forwarding address, they’ve moved to Cornwall, for some strange reason. I’ve asked about, and no one seems to know why,” he said.

“How odd,” I said, with my heart racing. Well, that’s what a guilty conscience does!

“Isn’t it? Anyway, Caroline has at last replied to our emails, and she has sent through photographs of the children. Mary is thrilled, and they have been writing reams and reams to each other. Last night, they spoke on the telephone for quite a long time. I think things are being patched up.”

“Good, I’m pleased for you. I have another gig in Milton Keynes on next Saturday, and another in Winslow again the Saturday after that. That will probably be the last, as Stephen is off to police training school the following week,” I said.

“That sound fun. You are quite fond of Stephen, aren’t you?”

“He’s nice, but I’m not going to do anything silly. So tell Mary to stop clucking,” I said, and he chuckled on the other end of the phone.

“Well, have fun, and let us know whether you want to come home next week. You know you are always welcome?”

“I know Mike, and thanks. I’ve got some news about you know who, but I’ll tell you when I see you both next.”
 
 
We rang off, and I was thrilled that my little ploy worked. I needed to make sure that the notebook was removed from circulation. I didn’t want it coming to light at the wrong moment.

It was nearly ten thirty, I was tired, and I knew that we had a full day ahead of us tomorrow.

I went and said good night, and Marcia said she would come up with me. I got a hug from Anne and from Roger. I felt a little awkward, as these people thought I was some sort of miracle worker.

We went up, and Marcia came into my room, and sat on my bed.

“This has been the happiest day of my life,” she said. A tear rolled down her cheek.

“Oh you poor girl,” I said, and embraced her.

“I have never felt like this before, it is as if, suddenly there is a light at the end of the tunnel, and I have a reason to live.”

“I’m pleased.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You could have done, but perhaps not so quickly,” I said.

“What I don’t understand is how you seem to understand me so well.”

“One day, I’ll tell you my story, and you will see why I understand better than you realise,” I said, still reluctant to tell her the truth.

“Will you pray for me?” she asked me.

“Sure, now?” I asked, surprised.

“Whenever. I can’t seem to know what to say.”

“Okay. Listen, Marcia, I don’t know much, but once, when I was at the bottom, I cried out, and my prayer was answered. I wasn’t specific, but the answer I got exceeded any expectations I had. To be honest, I didn’t expect an answer at all.”

“When were you at the bottom? You’ve got so much going for you. I always envied you. You were so confident, you weren’t afraid of anything, and everyone likes you. I wanted to be like you,” she said.

“You’ve only known me a few weeks. But all I can say, at the beginning of February, I was about as low as anyone can be. Dressing gown cord time. And I mean it,” I said, telling her more than I meant to.

“I don’t believe it, not you!” she said.

“Oh, Marcie. I wasn’t always like this. My miracle has made me the person you now know, and see. One day, when it is safe, I promise I will tell you everything, but for now, just trust me. The impossible became reality for me. So lets pray that the improbable can become your reality too.”

“You are so kind. But I know that you could never have been as low as that, you’ve made me feel better anyway, so please pray for me,” she said.

We sat together, I held her hand, and she shut her eyes. I watched her, and I tried to remember the feeling of desperation I felt when I cried out in my pain.

I felt a real fraud. A miracle had happened for me, and yet here was someone who was suffering as much, if not more that I had been. Yet, although I was convinced there was a God, I’m wasn’t certain that He (or She) had anything to do with my miracle.

“Oh God. I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart and soul for what you have done for me. I ask that you look to my friend. She is just as much in need, just as desperate and hurts just as much as I did. I don’t know how you managed to do what you did for me, but I ask you now to do what needs to be done for my friend Marcia. You have always known who she was, deep down, and she has suffered so much. I know that the path she is now on has a goal, and an end of sorts, but grant this girl a miracle. Allow her to be as much a woman, just like her mother. Bless her and allow her to be the mother that could be her destiny. As much as surgeons are skilful, and the ways of man can bring her to a near replication of a woman, cut through all of that, and give her the blessing of womanhood, whole and complete. Just as Jesus brought wholeness and completeness to those who suffered all those centuries ago. Lord, please work a miracle here and in this house. Thank you. Amen,” I finished, not knowing what else I could say.

“Emma?”

“Mmm?”

“Are you telling me that you weren’t as beautiful as you are now?” Marcia looked confused. Fortunately, she had not grasped the depth of my miracle.

“Marcie, I promised I would tell you, and I will. Some miracles are on the outside and others on the inside. Telling you now won’t help either of us. But all I can say, my life is turned around. I have an obligation to help others now, and it is a wonderful obligation,” I said.

“Thanks Emma. I’ve certainly got piece of mind now, and I’ve never had that before,” she said.

“Look, Marcie. I’ll take those thingies off you now,” I said. Referring to her breast forms.

“No, I rather like them. Can’t I keep them tonight?” she asked.

“What happens if you grow your own in the night, two sets is just plain greedy,” I said.

She laughed, but then she saw I was serious.

“You really believe that that is possible?” she asked.

“Why not?” I asked, hardly daring to believe it myself.

“It doesn’t happen. Not like that. The hormones take a long time to build up,” she said.

“Doesn’t it?” I asked.

“All right, but have you enough adhesive for tomorrow?” she asked.

“Yes, but I am hoping we won’t need any.”

“Fat chance,” she said.

She took off her top and bra, exposing her false breasts. They were very lifelike, and I applied the liquid release. They fell off neatly, and I wiped them down and put them in the box. She went and had a wash, and put on a nightie her mother had set aside for her.

I gave her a hug.

“Listen. If it happens, don’t tell anyone, but come and wake me up?” I said.

“If what happens?” she asked.

“You will know,” I said, “Good night Marcie. Sweet dreams.”

She went to bed, a much happier person. I got ready for bed, and sat reading for a while. Then I turned out my light, and went to sleep very quickly.
 
 
It was pitch black, and something was violently shaking me. I forgot where I was, and was afraid. I struggle to wake up, and I reached for the light.

I sat up, Marcie was standing by my bed, and she was shaking.

“Marcie. What is the time?” I asked.

“How did you do it?” she asked.

“Do what?”

“You knew. You knew, didn’t you?”

“Marcie, what did I know?”

She lifted up her nightie, and there it was, or rather, there it wasn’t. Just as it had happened for me. She was now female, in fact, and reality.

“Sit down Marcie,” I said.

She wasn’t listening, and she was almost hysterically pleased.

“MARCIE!” I almost shouted.

She stopped and stared at me.

“Please, sit down,” I said.

She sat on my bed. I reached out, and held her hand.

“Marcia, you need to get real. You are now a woman, but certain responsibilities go with it. For starters, you must deal with this carefully, imagine the fuss if you go public, and the medics want to do hundreds of tests, and the press want photos of you showing your new boobs. It could turn into a circus. So, by all means enjoy your new life, but take care, it could turn into a nightmare,” I said.

It then dawned on her that all the doctors, surgeons, tests and hormones were no longer an issue. She grinned and hugged me. I felt something beneath her nightie.

“See, I told you that you would grow your own. You didn’t believe me, did you?” I asked.

She looked down her front and squealed with delight, she lifted it up to show me. Small, but perfectly formed, she had begun to grow her own breasts.

“They will get bigger in a couple of days. I can’t wait to see your mum’s expression,” I said.

“Emma, I think I know who you really are?” she said, and I had a sudden lurch of panic. How could she have guessed?

“Oh yes?” I said, my heart thumping.

“I should have guessed. You arrived so suddenly, you are so beautiful, you are brilliant at everything, you love everyone, and everyone loves you. You know exactly what is going to happen, and it is so obvious,” she said.

This was a little unexpected, and I now had no idea where she was going with this.

“Go on.”

“Now I know why you have no family, no roots and no past. It is because you haven’t got one, have you?” She asked.

“Marcie, I love you dearly, but I don’t know what you are talking about,” I said, thoroughly confused.

“What was your father’s first name?” she asked, out of the blue.

I had to think, I couldn’t remember what was on the birth certificate, then it came to me.

“John, why?”

“Too slow! What was your mother’s maiden name?”

“Smith. Look Marcie, what are you getting at?” I asked.

“Smith, yeah. Like, I really believe that. Look, you can trust me, and I promise I won’t tell anyone. Besides who would believe me?” she said.

“Marcie, for the love of God, what are you talking about?” I said.

“See. I knew it. You were sent weren’t you?”

“Marcie, if you don’t tell me what you are on about, I will get seriously pissed off,” I said.

“Oh, Emma, I know that you are an angel. Nothing you can say can convince me of anything else. It is the only thing that makes any sense.”

I burst out laughing, and I can remember when I laughed so much. I sat on the floor and laughed until I almost wet myself.

Marcie looked at me, looking worried, then doubtful, and the she smiled.

“Brilliant. That is the best way to deal with the truth. Well, I promise I won’t tell anyone,” she said.

“Oh, Marcie. You’ve got me all wrong. I am anything but an angel,” I said, wiping the tears away from my eyes.

“Oh yes, you are.”

“No, honestly, I’m not.”

“Then tell me the truth.”

“I can’t, not yet.”

“See, you are!” she said.

“Oh, bollocks. Believe what you want. I can see I am not going to convince you anyway,” I said.

“Oh, I’m convinced,” she said. I hit her with my pillow.

She was positively bouncy, but I had to send her back to her room. I had a really busy day planned, and I needed my sleep. I looked at my clock, four a.m., now was that familiar or what?

Marcie couldn’t leave me asleep for long, and she bounced me out of bed at seven o’clock.

“Did you go back to sleep at all?” I asked her grumpily.

“No, I’m far to excited for that. I’m a girl!”

“Yes dear, so am I and I’m bloody knackered,” I said.

I had to examine her boobs, and I had to agree, they had grown a little in the three and a half hours since I had last seen them. Moreover, yes, her hips were wider and her waist was slimmer. It was a case of déjá  vu.

I went and had a shower, in the rather vain hope I would feel refreshed and a bit more alive. It did work, a bit.

I then dressed, and went to Marcia’s room. She was parading naked in front her mirror. I remembered what I felt like, and the environment I found myself at the time. She was incredibly lucky to be in a home where she would be accepted and loved.

I managed to persuade her to get dressed, and I helped her with her makeup. We were both downstairs a little after eight.

Anne was surprised to see us, and Roger was still fast asleep. We had some breakfast, and Marcia was so excited, that Anne eventually asked, “All right, what the hell has made you so wonderfully happy all of a sudden?”

“I’m a girl, Mummy,” she said.

“Yes, I know, dear.” Anne said, patiently.

“No, you don’t understand. I really am a girl. I don’t know how, but I am not a male anymore. I have got girl’s bits, and these are my own, they aren’t rubber,” she said, holding her hands under her breasts.

Anne looked at her, with rather a sad expression.

“Anne, she is right. Something happened in the night. She is a woman now, just like you, and just like me,” I said. “I should know, as she woke me up at four o’clock to show me.”

Anne just looked at me, and then at Marcia. I could tell that she thought that we were playing a trick on her.

“Oh, you are going to have to show her Marcie,” I said, and poured myself a glass of milk.

Marcia simply dropped her knickers and tights, and lifted her skirt.

Anne put her hand to her mouth, and sank into the chair I placed behind her.

“Oh, dear God!” she said.

“Pull them up Marcie, I think she has seen enough,” I suggested.

Marcie pulled her knickers and tights back up, and smoothed her skirt down.

Anne was very pale. She looked at me, “How?” she said.

“Anne, I honestly don’t know. When she went to bed she was Mark, and at four she woke me up and she was most definitely Marcia,” I said.

“I don’t understand. It’s impossible!” she said.

“Anne, if it happened it must be possible. The important thing is not to panic, and not to screw up Marcia’s life. What you have to do is find a sympathetic doctor, and just persuade him or her that Mark must have been a girl all along, and developed late into a normal female. If you make her into some special case, she will be a guinea pig for the medical profession, and she will become a modern day side show freak,” I said, quite heatedly. I had had time to think about this.

Anne nodded, vacantly.

“Right, we have some shopping to do. It will do us all a lot of good. It is best we keep Roger out of the loop, he will only panic and screw it all up,” I said.

Anne nodded, again, still vacantly.

“Come on Anne, you have to drive, as Marcia only has a drivers licence as a male, and no copper would believe what has just happened,” I said. Marcia went and got her bag, and I picked up mine, and put on my coat. Anne was still in shock.

“Oh hell. Marcia, drive, and for pities sake don’t get stopped,” I said. I got Anne into the front passenger seat and jumped into the back. Marcia brought her mother’s handbag, and got in the drivers seat. We were off.

I took Marcia and Anne straight to see Pam. She was pleased to see me, and we chatted about trivial things. I arranged for her to do a makeover for Marcie, and Anne and I went to the coffee shop.

I bought Anne a strong black coffee, and she was coming out of her shock.

“Emma, have I just been dreaming, or did I really see what I think I have?” she asked.

“It was no dream, Anne. You have a real daughter now. It’s what’s called a miracle,” I said.

She looked at me, in a very strange way. I began to feel uneasy, again. What was it with these people?

“You have no parents, they died, Mark, no Marcia, told me?” She asked.

“Yes, in a car crash in Uganda,” I said.

“So you have no family at all, here in England?”

“No, why?” I asked. I had just been here with Marcia, not Anne too?

“Marcia also said that you live with a vicar and his wife, not far from Buckingham?”

“That’s right. Anne, where is this leading?” I asked.

“I know what you are. Oh my God. I never believed, and you’ve been sent to us. I prayed and prayed, all through the pain and troubles, and He sent you! I won’t tell anyone, I promise. How long are you here for?” she said.

I was seriously worried now, as she had clearly flipped as badly as her daughter.

“Anne, take a step back, please. Who, or what, do you think I am?” I asked, dreading the answer.

She looked around, in a conspiratorial manner. She leaned across the table, and whispered.

“You’re an angel. I should have believed. Can you forgive me?” she said.

I smiled, if I had burst out laughing, that would have hurt her.

“Oh Anne. I am not an angel. I promise. Look, I had the curse a week or so ago, would an angel bleed?” I said.

“If you wanted to appear human, you would do anything a human would do,” she said.

“Like mother - like daughter. Oh, Anne, what is it with you two? I had the same silly conversation with Marcie in the middle of the night, and I can tell you I’m not impressed,” I said, getting quite cross now.

“So she can see it too. Well, I promise we won’t tell anyone,” she said.

“Oh, Anne, I am no bloody angel.” I said.

She just smiled. I gave up, they were convinced, and there was nothing I could do about it.

She finished her coffee, and we went and picked up a completely different Marcia. She had bought the  £15 worth of cosmetics, and Pam was pleased, and promised to come to the gig that evening

Marcia was vivacious, and so out-going, it was difficult to imagine she was the same person as yesterday. She had her ears pierced at the same place I had mine done, and then we spent several hours shopping for clothes.

Unlike yours truly, Marcia had access to a lot of money, and she was very generous. She insisted on buying me several skirts and tops, and three pairs of sexy shoes, that I could use on stage. One was a long pair of shiny black boots, which came up above the knees, and had 4” heels. The others were black shoes, one just had high heels, and the other had sexy lacing up the ankle as well.

She also bought me a pair of black leather hot pants, and a leather top to match. Everything I had, she bought similar for herself. The last task was to have her hair done. She had it cut, as I had done, quite short, so that it would grow back nicely.

Anne had relaxed now, and was looking more as if she was on planet earth. She and Marcia kept giving each other knowing smiles, and I felt very amused, but somewhat frustrated.

We got back to their home at noon, and had a quick bite to eat. Roger had gone to play golf, and that was definitely a blessing. I had to get back to Buckingham to help set up, and I suggested Marcia come too. There was no holding her back. She suggested that she do a bit of backing dance for the band, and I just shrugged. It wasn’t up to me.

She and I grabbed some of the clothes we had bought, said goodbye to Anne, and she drove, very carefully, to the college. I went up to my room, and Marcia came too, Sheri and the others were all getting their stuff together.

I was just finishing putting my stuff in a bag, when Sheri popped in.

“Hi Emma, nearly ready?” she asked, and then saw Marcia.

“Hi Sheri, yeah I’m ready. You remember Marcia?” I said.

“Marcia, no. Hi Marcia,” she said, frowning.

“Hi Sheri. You probably don’t recognise me. I used to be called Mark,” she said.

Sheri’s mouth opened and closed a few times, and no sound was forthcoming.

“No flies today?” I asked.

Sheri looked at me, and then at Marcia, who was wearing a low cut top, showing her cleavage in all its glory.

“Emma, what the hell is going on?” Sheri asked.

“It seems that Mark has always been a Marcia, but had a funny condition that masked the truth. It seems that a build up of female hormones kicked in and she is the person you now see before you. That is why she had to leave. It has all been a bit of a shock to the family,” I explained.

Sheri bought it, hook, line and sinker.

She hugged Marcia, and said, “You look really good. Are you okay?”

“I’m brilliant. Its like an angel has worked a miracle,” she said, winking at me. I groaned and rolled my eyes heavenward.

Sheri was out into the corridor, and spread the news in no time. In a matter of minutes there were about ten people in my room, all trying to speak at once.

“Oi!” I yelled. The noise level came down a little.

“Listen. Please don’t talk about this; we don’t want to upset Gwen by getting the media involved. Marcie just wants to get on and live her life. Please give us a little space,” I asked.

Gradually, they left, one by one, each giving Marcia a hug, and being amazingly supportive. Finally, we were alone again, and Gwen was standing by the door. She looked at Marcia, and then at me.

“Emma, I would be obliged if you could give me an explanation as to what has happened,” she said.

“Gwen, I don’t really know, but Marcia, who used to be Mark, has experienced a gender transformation, and is now a normal female. I’m not a doctor, but I think, underneath it all she was always female. There is probably a word for the condition, but I don’t know. I think she would like to come back to college,” I said.

Gwen looked at me, then at Marcia, who was looking rather nervous.

The older woman smiled, and took Marcia by the hand.

“You look so much better, and I am pleased that you are sorted. I will call your parents, and we will discuss your return. But I need to know that the press won’t be bothering us,” she said.

“Oh Gwen, I want to come back. All my friends are here. I hope that the press don’t get hold of this,” Marcia said.

“Good. I’ll ring them this afternoon. You had better get down to the hall. I will see you later, Emma,” she turned and walked out.

Twenty minutes later, we were in the hall, and found Steve and the boys already setting up. The other girls were there, and the atmosphere was exciting. I introduced Marcia to the guys as a dancer, who would give us some extra colour. She had the most amazing long legs, and I could see that they had no problem with that.

We rehearsed the whole list, and in particular, the numbers we had recorded. Marcia just stood next to the backing singers and watched, and then, as the rehearsal moved along, she began to dance quietly off to the side. The Hall’s stage was a prefabricated one, made out of large wooden box like structures. Scaffold poles held up the curtain, and one of these was visible to the left of the stage.

Marcia danced her own pole routine, and at one point the music almost was stopped altogether as the band were distracted by her incredibly sexy pole-dance routine.

We changed into our costumes, I went over the top a bit with the makeup, and was quite heavy with the black around the eyes. I had a lot of silver on the eyelids, with brilliant orange as well. I put the black hot pants and leather top on, with the boots; it brought a few gasps from the other girls. I walked out into the hall, and Steve took one look at me, and started dribbling.

“Fucking Hell, Emma,” he said.

“Thank you so much. A girl really knows when she is appreciated,” I said.

He put his guitar down and came over to me, and put his arms around me.

“You don’t know what you do to me.”

“I know exactly what I do to you. Cool it, I’ve just put my makeup on, and I don’t want it smudged,” I said.

“I promise, what I want to do to you does not involve your face.”

I hit him.

“Down. Ground rule number one. Remember?” I said.

“But I’ll go blind,” he said, rubbing his arm.

“Good,” I said, grinning.

Marcia walked out, and she was dressed in the same way as I, except she had fishnet tights and stiletto shoes. She looked absolutely stunning. She was very slim and very tall, those legs of hers went on forever, and the hot pants left very little to the imagination. There was absolutely no doubt as to her gender now. Steve whistled, so I hit him again, and he grinned and rubbed his arm.

The other girls were all in black, and either in mini skirts or hot pants. We all agreed that we looked hot.

We pulled the curtains back, and waited for the hall to fill up. It was about the same size as Winslow, and there had been many enquiries. The organisers told us it was a sell out, and they were starting to turn people away.

We took our places, and all light was kept out. The curtains were drawn, and I started the first number, still in the dark. The first two lines were slow and sexy, and then it went up-tempo as the band came in with a heavy rhythm, and the lights came up.

As the crowd saw me, there was a roar and a surge forward. As the other girls were lit up, the roar got louder. Marcia was dancing, and some intelligent soul put a spot onto her. The noise of the crowd drowned out the first number.

There was no looking back. We all gave it our best, and I was as raunchy as I could. However, the real star was our new dancer, who captivated many male hearts that night.

Our two songs went down really well, and I began to believe that we could make something from them. I really enjoyed doing the routines with the backing group, and we managed to get several roars from the crowd with some of the sexier stuff.

After six curtain calls, we were ready to drop, but the band launched into a raunchy tune, that would suit a strip show. All the lights were out, except one spot, and Marcia managed to captivate everyone for three minutes with the most sensuous dance I had ever seen. She managed to do things around a scaffold pole that defied reason.

When she finished, and gracefully curled up on the stage, the applause was absolutely deafening,

After the show, we all relaxed, the girls had thoroughly enjoyed their work, and here was still a buzz in the air. The guys were on cloud nine. They had never been so well received before, and even though they were aware that the female additions had helped, everyone was grinning.

The organiser came backstage, and he took Steve to one side to pay him his cut. Two youngish guys came through, and one of the bouncers went to stop them.

“We are from Polymorph Records, we were asked by their agent to come,” the taller one said.

The bouncer looked at Steve, who grinned and waved for them to come through.

I wandered over and was standing next to Steve when they introduced themselves. There was talk of a recording contract, and all manner of things, few of which I understood.

Steve’s expression displayed similar ignorance, and I suggested that we continue the conversation with our agent present. The rather smooth tall guy, Rob Grierson, seemed a little put out that we were being cautious, but I stuck to my guns, and gave him Gwen’s phone number.

One factor that became apparent, any contract was dependant upon the group and all the girls working together.

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To Be Continued...

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Tanya has a new website where she will display her latest works first and then to BigCloset TopShelf a few weeks later is here at Tanya Allan's Tales .
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The Legal Stuff: Emma  ©2004 Tanya Allan
 
This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright, in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically. Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Permission is granted for it to be copied and read by individuals, and for no other purpose. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited, and may only be posted to free sites with the express permission of the author.
 
This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental. Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism, and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.
 
The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone. If you wish to take offence, that is your problem.
 
This is only a story, and it contains adult material, which includes sex and intimate descriptive details pertaining to genitalia. If this is likely to offend, then don’t read it.
 
 
Part 8
 
 
As I left The Teesdale College of performing Arts, three years later, in December 2000, I was nearly nineteen, and an awful lot wiser and more mature.
 
 
The three years had been interesting.

Our recording contract had been quite successful, but short-lived. As the guys were good but not great, and we had our eyes set on other things, we made one album, and managed to get ‘I’ll wait, but not forever’ as a single into the charts. It made number nine, and we performed on Top of the Pops. The following week we dropped to 24^th, and then to obscurity.

Gwen had ensured that we fulfilled our contractual obligations, and we all walked away with a reasonable sum in the bank. I was at last solvent, but was sad when Steve departed to Police Training School. We had become very close, and I had to admit to myself that I loved him.

Marcia returned to the college, and completed her two years with us. Her father managed to obtain the services of an eminent medical professor to explain his daughter’s unique case, and she was able to live her life to her heart’s content. A progressive dance company snapped her up, and as I returned to undertake a third year, she flew to New York for a season on Broadway in a highly acclaimed dance show.

Sheri joined me for the third year, and she and I were the only members of our year to stay on.

I had now completed the Diploma course, and had concentrated on my singing, and musical side, but now I wanted to specialise in drama, as I was keen to broaden my skills base.

I spent my holidays with Mike and Mary, and they treated me as if I were their daughter and they were my parents as far as I was concerned. I watched, as the little church became fuller and fuller every Sunday, until there was rarely any spare room. Mike became a dynamic evangelist, and with a heart for youth. I became increasingly involved in the youth work in the church, and I found I rarely had time to consider my beloved mother.

Due to a lack of hard evidence, Raoul was only charged with firearms offences, and nothing else. They were sufficient to get him a couple of years in prison, but he wasn’t going to go away. The links to my mother were tenuous, and as no crime had actually got beyond the planning stages, the CPS were unwilling to run to the cost of a lengthy and expensive extradition and court case. So she was still free, and living in my house in Monaco.

I maintained my phone links with the police, and went to great lengths to send them postcards with my fingerprints all over them.

When I had my seventeenth birthday, and celebrated my year with Mike and Mary. I applied for, and obtained my provisional drivers licence, and Mike took it upon himself to teach me to drive.

Steve, now 20, completed his course, and he invited me to be his special guest at their celebratory meal before their passing out parade. The meal took place in a large conference suite of a hotel near Birmingham, and it was a very formal affair.

Steve told me that he had booked me a room at the hotel, and I took the train. I caught a taxi to the hotel, to find that he had booked us a double room. It was a lovely room, and as I sat on the big double bed, I realised that I was not disappointed with him. However, I was a little bit ashamed with myself, as I had plans for tonight.

I changed into a lovely long black evening dress, cut low across my bust, and was virtually backless. I had my hair done into ringlets, and my nails were perfect. I spent a long time on my makeup, and was very pleased with the result. I did not think I looked only seventeen.

I went down to the large entrance concourse, and waited for the coach to arrive from the Training School. I was approached by several apparently respectable businessmen, and realised, that if the worst came to the worst, I could always become a high-class whore.

Indeed, I was just fending off yet another potential customer, when the coach arrived. It disgorged a horde newly trained police officers - men and women, and their spirits were running high.

Steve was one of the last off the coach, and he saw me standing there. He stopped, and the guy he was with said something to him. Steve replied without taking his eyes off me. The other guy stared at me, and then made some remark to Steve, who smiled and shook his head.

As I looked at him, I realised how much I had missed him, and how fond I had become of him. I smiled, and he came over to me.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi yourself, is that all I get?” I said, pouting.

“You look fantastic, I can’t believe you are so gorgeous, so stunning,” he said, and held his hands out to me. I put my arms around his neck and looked up at him.

“Don’t you want to kiss me then?” I asked.

He pulled me close to him, and kissed me, amazingly tenderly.

“I have a bone to pick with you,” I said, when we came up for air.

“I know, it’s the room. I’m really sorry, but the rooms are  £100 a night, and I couldn’t afford two. I will sleep on the couch,” he said.

My heart melted, as he probably knew it would. So, I just kissed him, and we went up to the room together.

I sat on the bed and chatted while he changed into his dinner jacket. I had persuaded him to wear a white one, just to be different, and I thought he looked great.

I repaired my make up, and he started nuzzling my neck. I felt shivers of pleasure run through me, and I knew that I would need all my will power, and steel knickers to remain a virgin tonight. It was such a pity that I was fresh out of both!

We went down to the bar for a drink, and he proudly introduced me to all his mates. The guys outnumbered the girls by a third, but as everyone had a partner, the actual party was very evenly matched. I watched Steve, as he looked at all the women, and he leant in close to me, and whispered, “You are by far the most beautiful and sophisticated woman here.”

He went to get the drinks, and I was left with his friend, called Roger, the same man he had been with as he got off the coach.

“So, Steve tells me you are a professional singer, what kind of stuff do you sing?” he asked.

“Anything from classical to rock, or pop. Did Steve tell you we performed on Top of the Pops?” I said.

“Yes, until we all got tired of it, but you were the vocalist, and if I remember right, there were four or five of you, and little camera time was given to Steve and his band.”

“You saw it?”

“Yes, you were very good,” Roger said with a grin. “The black leather mini skirts and sexy boots were very, ah, stimulating.”

I laughed and Steve returned with the drinks.

“What are you two laughing about?” he asked.

“Roger was expressing his considered opinion in relation to the merits of certain fashion statements,” I explained.

“You what?” Steve asked, frowning.

“He likes girls in short skirts,” I said.

Various other colleagues came and talked to us, and I found myself the centre of quite a circle of young men, who had no specific partners, or, were just being nosey.

Steve became quite possessive, and I could see he was experiencing a conflict of emotions. On the one hand, he was very pleased and proud to have a glamorous girl as his partner, and then at the same time, he would rather he able to have her all to himself.

I leaned close to him, and said, “Don’t worry, you will have me all to yourself later,” and smiled suggestively. Careful girl, danger! What the hell, I was young, female, attractive, and it wouldn’t last forever.

We went in and dined on a typical large event meal, good, but not fantastic. Speeches followed, but most people were not interested in them, or too pissed to care.

After the speeches, the disco started, and I never sat down all night. If I wasn’t dancing with Steve, then it was someone else, and I think I danced with most of the intake.

They actually started playing our record, ‘I’ll wait but not forever’, and the poor DJ was really confused by the reaction. Everyone knew that I had sung it, and Steve had played lead guitar.

They made me get up with a microphone and sing along to it. It was hard to do the movements, as I was in a long elegant dress, and not my mini skirt and leather boots. Nevertheless, it was just fun, and everyone seemed to enjoy it.

As I gave the microphone back to the DJ, he asked if I was the Emma on the label. The group was called ‘Steve’s Mob with Emma and the Four Ms’.

“Yes, and that guy there is Steve,” I said, pointing out Steve to him.

He then asked us to sign the record sleeve, and his book of celebrities he took with him.

By 01:00, the party was over, and I was completely knackered. We said goodnight to the few still standing, and went up in the lift to our room. I was conscious of feeling a strange sort of excitement, and I was confused. I wanted to please him, and then I didn’t want to be forced into anything I would regret later.

Steve opened the door, and put on the lights. He threw his jacket onto the bed, and grabbed me round the waist.

“I can’t tell you how proud I was to have you come here this evening. You were so stunning, no one else came close to you,” he said

“You’re biased, there were plenty of very pretty girls here this evening,” I replied.

“Sure there were, but you were by far the most beautiful,” he said, and kissed me.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, and the next thing I knew my dress had slipped to the floor.

I broke away, as I wasn’t wearing a bra.

“Now, now. Rule one,” I said, and covered myself with my crossed arms.

“I love you, Em,” he said, openly and simply.

He looked so helpless; I put my arms around his neck again, and kissed him.

“I know, and I think I love you too. But I am tired, and sweaty, and am going for a shower, are you going to join me?” I heard myself say.

He grinned, and sat on the bed, pulling his shoes off.

Two minutes later, we were naked together in the luxurious shower. He held me close to him, and I had both arms around his neck. We kissed, and I felt his hands stroking my back, and down to my bum. He pulled me tight towards him, and I felt his penis hardening against me. I felt my breasts tingle, and he kissed my nipples, which hardened to the touch. His beard stubble scratched me, and I took hold of the shaving gel, and lathered his face.

I took hold of his razor, and shaved him, which was difficult to do, as his hands were busy fondling every inch of me.

I managed the task, and kissed him to check, that was better. He lathered the soap, I let him wash me all over, and I knew then that tonight I was going to lose my virginity. Importantly, it was because I wanted to.

We got out of the shower, and started drying each other, but I wanted him so badly, that I took him by the hand, and led him to the huge bed.

I pushed him onto the bed, and opened my small evening bag. I took out the three condoms I had bought in Boots earlier that day, and ripped open one of the packets. I rolled the condom onto his engorged penis, and pushed him back onto the bed.

“Emma, I am not forcing you…” he started to say.

I put one finger to his lips, and kissed him passionately. I wanted him so much now it hurt.

I swung my leg across him, so I was kneeling astride him, he kissed my breasts, and I felt for his penis, and helped him slide it into my very damp and hot little hole.

I lowered myself onto him, and felt him slide deep inside me, up to the hilt, I was so turned on that the combination of the visual, the sensual and the mental images, brought me to a plain of experience that was completely new to me. I felt a glow sort of explode deep within me and spread throughout my whole being. I gasped with pleasure as I came as he kept kissing my breasts. I rode him hard and repeated the sensation several times until he gave a huge shudder, thrust deep inside me, and then relaxed.

I slowly slid off him, and noticed that the condom was still intact. He took it off, and threw it in the bin.

I pulled him close to me, and kissed him.

“Thanks, I have wanted you to do that to me for ages,” I said.

“I wanted to do that to you ever since I first saw you,” he admitted.

We snuggled together in the bed, still naked, and just held each other.

“Em?”

“Mmm?”

“I have a confession to make.”

“Oh,” I said, my heart sinking.

“That was my first time too,” he said.

I was very surprised, and looked at him.

“How come?”

“I never found anyone special enough,” he said.

“Am I special, then?”

“Em, you are the most special person in the world. You are like an angel, and I can’t believe you chose me,” he said.

“Don’t you start,” I said, smiling.

“What?” he asked, frowning.

“Nothing, it doesn’t matter. So it looks like I will have to go on the pill,” I announced.

“Are you sure?”

“They don’t make enough of those rubber things to keep us stocked up. And besides, I don’t really trust them,” I said with a grin, and we kissed again.

“Well?” I said.

“Well what?”

“I thought you wanted to sleep on the couch,” I said, and he tickled me.

“Oh Emma. You make me feel so good, I love you so much,” he said.

“Mmm, you only want me for my body,” I said, and giggled when he tickled me again.

He turned the lights out, and we cuddled and I fell asleep in his arms. I was smiling, as I was now a complete woman.

We made love two more times before we finally got up. Both were amazing, and lasted for quite a long time, as we just savoured each other, and he was so tender. I decided that I liked being a woman.

We had breakfast together in the large hotel dining room. I was wearing a white skirt and jacket, with a black silk blouse. I was conscious of the glances I received from most of the males in the room, and revelled in it. Steve just sat and stared at me, dreamy eyed.

“What are you looking like that for?” I asked him.

“I still can’t quite believe that last night was real. I’ve heard so many people tell me that their first time was instantly forgettable, I will never forget last night,” he said, and reached over and took my hand.

“Marry me, Em.”

I smiled, “I am flattered that you’ve asked me, I rather thought you might, but, Steve, although I do love you, I am not ready yet. You are three years older than I am; I haven’t finished my training yet. There is a big world out there, and I have seen very little of it. Ask me again in three years time, if I haven’t conquered the world by then, it won’t be worth conquering,” I said.

He looked disappointed.

“Steve, I am not saying I won’t, because if I still feel as I do today about you, then I will. But we both don’t need the complications of being married this young,” I said, in attempt to make him feel better.

“I know all that Em, but I just want you forever.”

“Sweet Steve, I am yours now, and I will probably still be yours in three years, please, let’s wait, huh?” I said.

He smiled, and squeezed my hand.

“Why are you so bloody sensible, Em?”

“Because that is the way I am.”

We finished breakfast, he caught the coach back to college, and I tagged along for the ride. There were a great many hangovers on the coach, and I was very grateful that I had stuck to orange juice all evening.

It was a great day, and Steve’s Mum and Dad came to watch as well. They were quite surprised to see me, and Steve had forgotten to tell them that I would be there.

Steve’s mum, Joan, seemed to be aware that our relationship had deepened, particularly when she watched how Steve looked at me during the day. During the parade, she cried as she saw her younger son march into the real world.

She turned to me, and said, “You will look after him well, won’t you?”

I thought the comment a little over the top, but smiled and replied, “Of course.”

She took my hand and squeezed it, and just smiled at me.
 
 
He went off to join his station at Aylesbury, and I continued with my studies. As time passed, our feelings for each other became stronger if anything. He still lived at home, and helped convert an old barn, on the farm, into a nice two-bedroom house. I still spent most of my time with Mike and Mary, and despite Steve’s urgent pleas for me to move in with him, I declined.

When I was just eighteen, I passed my driving test on the first attempt. With the savings from various gigs and the record sales, I managed to afford to buy a little second hand Peugeot. I was now independent, and not reliant of everyone to give me lifts everywhere.

The joys of being a Third Year student at the college meant that many restrictions were now lifted. I was able to stay out overnight, and as long as Gwen knew where I was, there was a lot more freedom.

It was strange, because I now chose to remain in college, apart from the odd occasion when I really missed Steve, and just had to see him. I spent most weekends with him, and had been on the pill since just after his passing out ball.

I was in the library one evening in February. It was almost exactly two years to the day since I had walked away from my old life. I was quietly reading when Gwen came in.

“Ah, here you are! I’ve been looking for you, Emma.”

I looked up from my book, and she sat next to me.

“You like it in here, don’t you?” she asked, looking around at the shelves of books.

“I love it. I can escape everything, and lose myself in my latest book.”

She smiled and looked at what I was reading. It was The Lord of the Rings, by Tolkein.

“That’s one of my favourites too. Have you read it before?”

“Several times.”

“Emma, I’ve received an invitation from a local boys’ school to join with their Sixth form in a production of Shakespeare’s A Merchant of Venice. They are studying the play for A level, and decided to put it on in the early summer, just before the A level papers. It seems that in these enlightened times, it isn’t PC to ask boys to pretend to be girls any more. They are desperate for professional influence to improve their dramatic arts unit, and are willing to pay the college for whatever input we can provide. I thought to provide them with any female cast members they needed, and I want you to take the lead role as Portia. I also want you to act as assistant director, to give technical advice as and when they require it.”

I was stunned. It would be good experience, and a change of scene was always welcome.

“I’m flattered you have so much confidence in me. I’d love to. Which school?”

“It is a small public school a few miles south. Monksreach Hall.”

The world stopped.

I couldn’t go back there! That is where I had escaped. It was impossible. I became aware that Gwen was still talking.

“……, So tomorrow, I thought you and I would drive over and meet the Drama master.”

I smiled vacantly, and nodded. Gwen looked at me and frowned.

“Emma, are you all right, dear?”

“I’m fine. Sorry, I was just trying to imaging being trapped inside a boys’ school.”

She laughed.

“Oh, Emma, you are priceless! I would have thought that your young man was enough to keep you going!”

I blushed, and smiled.

“He’ll do,” I said.

I didn’t sleep much that night. My mind was in a whirl. No matter how much I told myself that no one would recognise me, it had been over two years, I still worried. I had such terrible memories of that damn place!

The next morning, I dressed up. I wore a dark knee length skirt, with a pale blue blouse, a dark scarf around my neck, and a matching dark jacket. With stockings and high heel shoes, I know I looked very smart. I spent ages on my makeup, trying to look as sophisticated as I could. My hair was quite long now, and I loved the feel of it swishing across my shoulders and down my back. I think the fact Steve adored it long clinched it, so I put up with the hassle.

I stared at my reflection, trying to see anything of Russell Drysdale. I failed, and began to feel that all my worries were silly. I was Emma Pearson. Russell didn’t exist anymore, except in memories.

It was a ridiculously short drive, and yet it was a lifetime away. As soon as we entered the familiar gates, I had a feeling of dread come over me.

As the main school building appeared as we rounded the bend in the drive, I was surprised. It was so much smaller and more insignificant than I remembered.

It was a mock Victorian building, including phoney battlements and towers at odd places. I had been a wealthy industrialist’s home in the 1920’s, and had become a school after the Second War.

Gwen parked the car outside the front of the school, in a place marked, Reserved for Visitors. We entered through the main front doors, and the headmaster came out of his study to meet us.

George Carstairs-Brown was in his sixties, and looked how a headmaster is expected to look. He was very tall and distinguished, with a shock of white hair, and almost a military bearing. He was wearing an impeccable grey suit, with his academic gown over the top.

“Ah, Gwen. How lovely to see you again. It has been too long!” he said, and kissed Gwen on the cheek. He turned towards me, with one eyebrow raised.

It was so strange. I knew this man so well. I had been in his maths set for three years, and yet he never looked at me like this before.

“George, this is Emma Pearson, one of my most gifted students. Emma, this is George Carstairs-Brown, the headmaster.”

We shook hands, and he smiled at me in rather a lecherous manner.

“Hello Emma. My goodness, it is so good of you to agree to come into the lion’s den. I only hope I can control the boys with such a beautiful girl in their midst,” he said.

“Emma is my top student, having attained her diploma last year, she is undertaking further studies to add to her already impressive portfolio. Emma has agreed to come and be your assistant director, and she will take on the role of Portia. She is a professional musician in her own right, and is an experienced actress,” Gwen explained.

He took us to the theatre, which was empty, and then to one of the sixth form classes. It was so weird, as I would now have been in the sixth form, probably this very class!

He opened the door and preceded us into the class. I heard the sounds of chairs being pushed back as the boys stood. Gwen followed him, and I took up the rear.

Mr Jobbing, the English and Drama master was at the front of the class. I was very conscious of the sound my heels made on the wooden floor, and the fact that every one of the fifteen boys was now staring at me.

The boys sat down, and Mr Carstairs-Brown introduced Gwen and me to the class. One of the boys came up the front with his chair, and put it down for me to sit on. There was already one for Gwen.

I sat down gratefully, and crossed my legs. Every male eye in the room was watching, and I felt the colour rise in my cheeks. I looked at the boy and smiled thanks.

My heart nearly stopped. It was Mike Paterson. The last time I saw him, we played football together. He blushed and smiled, returning to the back of the class, as Gwen stood at the front.

“Good morning. I just want to tell you a little about my college. ……….”

She gave them a quick spiel about the college, as a bit of background. Then, she finished up, and embarrassed the hell out of me.

“This is an exciting opportunity. My companion today, the lovely Emma, is one of my most experienced girls, and she will head the team who will work with you to produce the play. She has spent the last two and a half years studying drama, music and dance, and is more than capable of giving you all the help you need.”

The class broke up, and we walked back to the theatre. The school caterers produced some coffee and tea, and we were introduced to all the boys who were involved in the production.

After a while, I began to relax. I was satisfied that nobody recognised me, and it was actually quite funny the way all the boys competed for my attention.

Mr Jobbing, whose nickname was probably still, ‘Jobbie’, was going to allocate the various roles to the boys at this stage. Gwen suggested that we all start with a read through, and find the character with the most appropriate voice and general delivery for each role.

I read the part of Portia, and gradually the boys settled down and vied for the best role opposite me.

I couldn’t help but smile, for here were all my ex-classmates, who teased me rotten and constantly made my life miserable. Now they were all being so very charming, and trying desperately to impress me. I started to enjoy myself.

The session ended all to quickly, and Gwen and Mr Jobbing invited me to remain as the boys went off to their next class.

We discussed the most appropriate casting, and drew up a plan of action.

“Emma will come down with the other girls on a weekly basis to start, and as the performance dates get closer, she will be here for every day in the last two weeks.”

So, it happened just that way. The following Wednesday, I set off in my little blue Peugeot with Sheri, and three girls from the Diploma course, Julie, Sue and Marion.

We met the class in the theatre, and I introduced the others to Mr. Jobbing and the boys. The reaction of the boys was actually quite funny, as they started to dribble almost immediately.

Mr Jobbing seemed to treat me with a little awe, and allowed me to take an upper hand in the organisation of everything. I had to remind him that I was supposed to be his assistant, and he just grinned, saying that he hoped to pick up some tips from me!

Once we got to know everyone, and it was made clearly apparent that sex was not on the agenda, things worked well. All the parts had been allocated, and everyone was learning their lines well. The part of Shylock, Portia’s father, was given to Mark Paterson, and he made a very good mean bastard.

The weeks whizzed by, and I was also undertaking other projects in the area. I was helping run a drama workshop in Milton Keynes for the youth offending team. I worked with kids who were consistently in trouble, and needed some focus other than crime and mischief in their lives.

I was actually very grateful to Gwen for ridding me of some personal demons. Monksreach was no longer this edifice of doom set squarely in my subconscious. I began to appreciate that my perceptions were distorted by my own misery, and in fact, as schools go, it was actually not that bad.

I began to look forward to my sessions there, and put a lot of effort into helping to produce their play.

We at last reached the time for the dress rehearsal, and the story called for Portia to dress as a man and pretend to be a lawyer. She was defending her lover, against her father, whom the lover owed money, and Shylock was demanding a pound of his flesh in lieu of payment, as he wasn’t able to pay on time.

I was a little nervous dressing as a boy, as I feared someone might recognise me as Russell.

I wore the Elizabethan costume, with the ruff and codpiece, with long maroon tights. I tied my hair back in a tight bun, and wore no makeup at all. My boobs were hemmed in by the tight tunic, and felt somewhat foolish. It felt so wrong trying to look male, but I tried to make all my mannerisms as masculine as I could.

As soon as I walked on stage, I felt very nervous, but it was Mark who dispelled all my fears.

“It’s no good, Emma, nothing would ever convince me you could ever be a man!”

I blushed, smiled, and was able to deliver my most dramatic speech without any problem.

“The quality of mercy is not strained. It drops as gentle rain from heaven…..”

The dress rehearsal was successful. We found some niggling problems with lights and props, and a few of the players missed their cues. I was more than happy with their efforts, and it seemed that Mr Jobbing was too.

As I was leaving the stage, to go and change, Mark approached me.

“Emma, this may sound daft, but did you ever have a relative come here?” he asked, and my heart started to race.

“Here? You mean this school?”

“Yeah. I mean, it may be nothing, but something about you is so familiar. It’s as if I’ve known you for ages. I thought maybe you had a brother, or someone nearer my age who could have been here.”

“No, I haven’t got a brother, and I was brought up in Africa. My parents were Missionaries, and I only recently returned to the UK after they died in a car crash. So, who do I remind you of?”

“I’m not sure. It’s just some of your mannerisms, facial expressions and voice inflection. I mean, please don’t get me wrong, I never saw it before today. But seeing you dressed like a boy reminded me of someone.”

“Oh, well, I hope he was dishy,” I said, trying to make light of it.

Mark smiled and looked slightly sheepish, particularly as I was going into the temporary girl’s dressing room, and he was following me in.

It worried me slightly, and I was ever so pleased to get back into my skirt and blouse. As I applied my makeup, I once again looked for Russell. He wasn’t there, but I suppose as I had tried to act as a boy, some of the old me must have shone through.

Mark was waiting for me outside. He looked at me rather strangely, as I walked over to my car.

“What?” I asked.

He shook his head.

“Nothing. I take back everything I said back there. You look fabulous, and nothing about you now could ever suggest a boy. It must have been your acting, you are even better than I thought.”

I smiled, and saw Sheri and the others coming to meet us.

“Believe me, there’s nothing boyish about me. Ask my boyfriend,” I said.

His face fell a little.

“You have a boyfriend?”

“Yup, he’s a police officer. We’re virtually engaged.”

“Oh, congratulations. He’s a very lucky bloke.”

“I know, and I keep reminding him of it.”

We got in the car and left him looking after us.

“Picked up an admirer?” Sheri asked.

“I think so. I told him about Steve and he’s a bit miffed. Do you know, he thought I looked like a boy, earlier.”

“Well you were dressed as one, and supposed to be one. So, it’s hardly surprising, is it?”

“No, it wasn’t that. He said I looked like someone he knew. A boy at the school.”

“Who?”

I shrugged, and slowed down for a tractor turning into a farmyard.

“He didn’t know. He just said I had the same mannerisms and expressions as this unknown boy.”

“That’s a bit spooky. Did he still think so after you’d changed?”

I smiled. “No, he apologised and took it all back. Still, I’d like to know if I have a male counterpart out there somewhere.”

“Nah, you’re one of a kind, Em!” Sheri said, and I smiled.

I certainly was.

The performances were brilliant. We ran three. The first on the Thursday for the school, and although a couple of things went wrong, no one really noticed and it went fine.

The next two were for parents, and went brilliantly. At the end of each of the performances, Mr Jobbing came on stage, and explained to the audiences that I was the real director, and without my, and the other girls’ input, the play would never have been as good as it was.

It was a real feather in my cap, and to be able to drive away from Monksreach Hall, without a care in the world, made it all very worthwhile.
 
 
I was in my last few months at the college, when I got a letter from Marcia. I was in Steve’s living room as I read it. Steve was strumming on his guitar.

She was having a ball. She had met a wonderful man, and was finally happy. She had danced her way from Broadway to L.A.
 
 

3rd September 2000 Darling Angel Emma,         Words cannot describe my life now. I have gone from about as low as one can ever get, to being on such a high, for so long, that sometimes I think I am living a dream.         As you know, I was really lucky to get a part in the Broadway show, ‘Tap Unlimited’, well, we went on tour, and ended up in L.A., having spent a month in Las Vegas. While we were in Vegas, I started getting flowers and gifts from some unknown admirer. It was nice at first, but then it started getting a bit creepy, so our manager did a little snooping, and it turned out to be a guy called Ron Watson the third.         He is one of the 100 richest men in America, and was addicted to the show. He offered to take me out to dinner, and apologised for upsetting me. He is 32, and a really sweet shy man. Anyway, we had this amazing dinner in his private suite at one of the big casinos. He was a complete gentleman, and never even made a pass at me. He asked if he could see me again, and I told him we would be in L.A. the next week, so it might be difficult.         We arrive at L.A., and there he is, on the first night, standing by my dressing room door with the biggest bunch of roses you have ever seen. He never missed a performance, and when the show finished, he asked me to join him on his yacht for a cruise of the Caribbean. That was six months ago. On a moonlit night, in Tobago bay, he asked me to marry him.         So, Emma, guess what I said?         Yeah, I knew that you would know, so this is an invitation to our wedding. I would very much like you to be my Maid-of Honor. You will get a proper invitation, in due course, as the wedding is due for June, his mother wants a June Wedding. I had thought about getting married over there in England, but it is just not practical, and so we are having it here on Saturday June 23rd 2001.         What I would really like is for you to come and see me. I was thrilled to hear about your record success, and have worked out that you will be finishing college soon. So, take a break, and come and stay.         You know that I owe you so much. My life is like it is because of what you did for me. You are my best friend, and so I would very much like you to be my maid of honour, as they call such silly things over here. Unless, of course, that you have to return to you know where.         How’s Steve? I guess he’s asked you to marry him at least ten times by now. Are you going to? Are you allowed to? Or is it forbidden by You know who? Give my love to him, and bring him over when you come.         I wrote some words for a song, it’s dedicated to you, so if you like it, try to get Steve to help you write the music. I called it, “You are my Angel.”         I must go, please come over; I miss you all so much.                 Lots of love                   Marcia.

 
 
“Marcia sends you her love. She has fallen on her feet. She is marrying some millionaire, and we’ve an open invitation to go and stay with her in L.A.,” I told him.

“Oh yeah, Marcia, she was the one whose legs went on forever,” he said, with a grin.

“She has written some lyrics for a song, do you fancy giving me a hand trying to put it to music?” I asked him.

“Okay, let’s have a butchers,” he said, so I took the sheet of paper over to him.

We played about with it, and decided it was not a fast, up beat style, but a more romantic and meaningful song. In fact, we spent all day on it, and eventually had a rough draft of something that I thought had potential.
 
 
Well, as you know, all that’s history now, and when it reached number 1 in the UK charts, in December 2000, you could have knocked me over with a feather duster. Steve and I had recorded it in the college studio, and Gwen had sent it off to various companies.

Steve accepted that it wasn’t the kind of song that should be sung to a single guitar backing, and was quite happy when I was asked to record it with the college orchestra.

The result was a superb track, and I was delighted when it did the rounds of the companies, just before Christmas.

We had our annual Christmas revue at the college, and many of the leaving students were lucky enough to land jobs and contracts almost immediately. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do, and rather fancied a quiet Christmas, for a change. Steve was working, and was nights over Christmas day and Boxing day.

As I was packing, Gwen came up to my room.

“Emma, this is a sad day for the college, you have really become part of the furniture here.”

“Oh, Gwen. You don’t know how wonderful this place has been for me. I can’t thank you enough for having faith in me, and giving me all the help and support over the last three years.”

“Oh, don’t be silly. Did you know that you are the first scholarship student who has fully reimbursed the college whilst still a student here?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“My percentage of your royalties and fees that you have earned, have more than paid for your courses. I have decided to offer you a new contract, should you wish to retain my services as an agent.”

“Of course, why shouldn’t I?”

“It’s up to you dear, but, I have great hopes for you, so before you leave, pop into the office, and we will go over a few things,” she said, and left me to finish packing.

I took my bags downstairs, and left them in the hall. I saw Steve’s car already in the car park, so I went and knocked on Gwen’s door.

She showed me a new contract, which no longer gave her such a large percentage of my income. It was in fact slightly better than most contracts, so I signed without any qualms.

“I’m so glad you signed, as we can now rip up the old one,” she said, and did just that.

She then smiled, and said, “I have to tell you that your recording of ‘You are my Angel’ has been bought by Polyphon Records, and they want you to meet them in London on Monday morning. It seems, you may have another song in the charts by Christmas.”

I was thrilled, and as it happened, Steve had the Monday off, and we went up together to the recording studio. I recorded the song, again, but this time with a professional session band.

They asked me to record another song, at the same time, and had brought one that I had been working on by myself. I had called it, ‘I ain’t no Angel, I’m a Woman’, and it was a much more up beat song. They liked it as much, and said it would appeal to a broader customer base.

Steve took me back to his house, and we spent the evening chilling out. I had bought two open return tickets for Mike and Mary to go to New Zealand, and wanted to surprise them.
 
 
A week later, on December 16^th, Steve woke me up by calling my mobile. He had insisted that I have a mobile, and got really cross whenever I forgot to turn it on.

“What’s so important?” I asked.

“Congratulations, you’ve reached number one,” he said.

“What,” I asked, not sure if I had heard him right.

“Our song, ‘You are my Angel’, is number one,” he said.

“No. You’re having me on?” I said.

“Turn your radio on, Radio One, right now,” he said.

I fumbled with my radio, and heard myself singing a very familiar tune.

“Shit. I don’t believe it!” I said.

“What more proof do you want? You’re now a celebrity. Marry me,” he said, laughing.

“I’m only eighteen, you have to wait at least two years yet,” I reminded him.

“That’s cheating, you’re nineteen in February.”

I heard the radio DJ say, ”And that is the latest number one sound from the delightful Emma P., I am sure we will hear more from her over the next few weeks and months.”

I giggled, and Steve said, “See, you’ll be on Parkinson next.”

Mike and Mary were completely bemused by the whole affair, and suddenly the telephone never stopped ringing.

I called Marcia in the States, and congratulated her on writing a number one hit. She was over the moon, and told me she would see if she could arrange for release through some of her Ron’s contacts in various radio companies.

The next few weeks became a whirlwind of appearances, and TV shows. It stayed number one for only a week, as the competition was very stiff. However, the other song came creeping in, and hit the number one spot in late January. I now had two in the top ten at once.

Christmas was not the quiet affair I had envisaged, and Steve had been spot on, as I was invited to go onto the Parkinson talk show. I was invited to sing one song, have a chat, and then sing the other number as the show ended.

I duly turned up at Shepherds Bush, and a researcher met me, sat me down, and went through everything that was going to be asked. I was keen to avoid too much on my fictitious past, and concentrated on the college and my aspirations.

I was then given an opportunity to rehearse my numbers with the orchestra, and it was all very daunting. I met Michael Parkinson, and he was charming, and did his best to calm me down. I then changed out of my jeans into a stunning black dress, which had loads of sparkles all over it. Being blonde and quite tall, in my heels, I thought I looked very elegant.

I was very nervous, and was one of three guests; the others were an American actress I’d never heard of, over here to plug her new film, and Billy Connelly, a favourite guest of Parkinson, whom I thought was brilliant. I was to be announced, and then launch into my first number.

I sat in the hospitality room, and watched as the first guest went on. I had been introduced to her, but found her shallow and rather snotty. She was not interested in anyone else, and Billy was rather quiet and down to earth in real life, but we had a good chat, and he helped calm me down a little, before he was announced.

I sat with the researcher, a friendly girl called Sue. She had wanted to be an actress, but found the competition too heavy, so switched to media studies, and was running through a variety of jobs for the BBC.

We got on really well, and she told me that many of the young singers of the day had very little talent, and even less personality.

We were so engrossed in chatting, that she suddenly said, “There’s your cue, you’re on.”

I stepped out onto the area in front of the band, and heard Parky introduce me.
 
 
“And now, a young lady who has recently taken the UK charts by storm, with her first number one hit, ‘You are my Angel’. The delightful Emma Pearson.”

The music started, I just counted myself in, and we were off.

It was strange singing to a small studio audience, with loads of cameras rushing about. In rehearsal, they told me to ignore the cameras, but if one should come in close, then look into the lens, briefly, and then look away.

I managed to get through the song with no disasters, and the studio audience applauded dutifully. I handed the microphone to the soundman, went up to the rostrum, and the man himself greeted me.

“That was lovely, Emma, You seem to really enjoy that,” he said.

“Yes thanks, Michael, I did. I love singing, and I can just really expand myself somehow,” I said.

“Now tell me, you’ve been trained in all forms of singing, from classical to this type of style. Do you have a favourite?”

“Not really, song is such a broad medium of expression that can be used for many kinds of situations. I just love to sing, whether in church on Sunday, or in a large hall heaving with people.”

“Now you mentioned church, your father was a missionary, was he not?”

“Yes Michael, he was, but my parents died in an accident in Africa few years ago, and I have been living with a friend of the family. Now Mike, the friend, is a vicar, and I try to sing in church as often as I can.”

“Do you find a faith is important to you?”

“Oh yes. I often wonder how someone with no faith can ever get the strength up to get out of bed every day. But I accept that there are many different views, and I am content in my personal faith, which, if given an opportunity, I would share, but I don’t force anyone to listen,” I said with a smile.

“Now, you have another song at number one at the moment, which I understand you wrote yourself. Tell me about that, and the one we have just heard.”

“Well, I have this friend called Marcia, who is in the States at the moment. She wrote the lyrics to ‘You are my Angel’, and I co-wrote the music with my boyfriend. I know that Marcia wrote the lyrics for this song to me, as I helped her at a time when she was rather down, so the next song, ‘I ain’t an angel, I’m a woman’, was my answer to her.”

“You had another in the charts a few years ago, did you not?”

“Yes, Steve, my boyfriend, had this band, and some of us at college got together with him and brought out a couple of good little songs. One got into the charts, but the time was not quite right for us.”

“Now, Steve, he is a policeman, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he has been in the police for a couple of years, but he co-wrote the music for ‘I ain’t an Angel’ with me. He is a very good guitarist, but he always wanted to be a copper.”

Billy Connelly made a comment, which I missed, but the audience roared with laughter, and I guessed that it had something to do with coppers.

There was a bit of banter between Billy and Michael, and the laughter continued, and then Michael returned the focus to me.

“So, Emma, what is next for you?”

“Well, I have no real plans, I have heard that ‘I ain’t an angel’, is in the US charts this week, and my agent is looking to book a tour of North America. I have been offered a couple of good parts in some current shows, so I will just wait and see. It’s all very exciting.”

“Well, it certainly is, and I wish you all the very best. You are going to sing us out with ‘I ain’t an angel’, are you not?” he said.

“I certainly am, Michael, and thank you.”

“Thank you, Emma. Ladies and Gentlemen, Miss Emma Pearson,” he said, and I stood up, waved and returned to sing my second song.

It went very well, and I was very relieved when it was over.
 
 
Part 9
 
 
The Michael Parkinson Show was the beginning, and, as you may all be aware, Emma Pearson has now become a household name. At least in those households that boast a male aged between ten and ninety.

I received a call from Gwen shortly after the show, and I was offered shows and gigs that, had I accepted them all, I would have enough work to last until I was eighty.

I took a part in a West End musical show, and that was a good move. It got me known, and I managed to develop the credibility, stamina and reliability, which producers demand these days. I loved the show, and got to make some good friends. The show ran for four months, and at the beginning of May, I took my leave, more experienced, and determined to get into serious drama.

I produced a CD of twelve songs for the record company, and it did very well, and surprisingly, got into the top 20 in the USA. Marcia’s Ron owned several radio companies, and it pays to have friends like Marcia. The producer of a new James Bond movie approached me, through Gwen, and signed me up to sing the title song of the movie. Gwen suggested that I undertake a trip to the USA to promote my CD and get my face known, and thereby increase my chances of exposure to the US market.

I packed Mike and Mary off to New Zealand, and took them to Heathrow, on May 4^th 2001. They were both very different people from those who had selflessly helped me not that long ago. They were keen to get to know their daughter again, and she was now ready for them. I was so pleased for them, and considered them almost my true parents.

I had contacted Marcia, and told her that I would be honoured to be her maid of honour, and found several others from the college had been asked, as had Steve and the band. She was delighted, and squealed with pleasure at the other end of the phone.

With this in mind, I booked up my trip to America, starting on the 28^th May, just after Mike and Mary were due to return. Gwen had decided, just before Christmas that I needed a manager, and she declined the job. She referred me to a friend of hers, a woman called Sophie Stanning, who was an experienced performer in her own right. After a nasty car accident left her severely restricted, she took up the management of young performers, and was exceptionally good at contractual work, and generally arranging things.

She had an office in London, and we sat down and worked things out. She put my financial affairs in order, and I had to admit to not really having a clue how much I had. She worked it all out, and opened various accounts, one for working, one for personal, one for costumes and equipment, and then she had a financial adviser look at the balance of what I had to invest.

He was advising on the stock market, but Sophie wasn’t happy and we decided to invest in property. Therefore, on my behalf, my adviser bought a large piece of land on the outskirts of Aylesbury, which a property development company snapped up, and made me a 600% profit in six months.

Sophie worked out, by the time I was looking to jet out to the States that I was worth about  £1,000,000, with 80% invested in property in the South East of England. I was gob smacked, but delighted, for now my dearest mother could do what she liked, I no longer cared, in fact I looked forward to seeing her disinherited. I was only 19.

America was wonderful. We landed at JFK, having travelled first class on British Airways for the first time, now that I could get used to! Sophie had arranged for some press to be on hand for my arrival, and the whirlwind started.

I had a full schedule ahead of me, with a week in New York, a couple of days in Chicago and then out to California. Chat shows and personal appearances at nightclubs, interspersed with several concerts. Sophie had come with me, and handled the publicity and all the travel and accommodation arrangements, she was proving to be brilliant. She even had great tips on personal presentation and dress.

She was thirty-six, and her husband was a chartered accountant for an international bank, based in Dubai. Although based in the UK, he spent much of the time abroad, so she was delighted to have a break too. They had two daughters, both at boarding school.

I aimed on getting to Marcia’s by June 12^th, and having a rest before the wedding. Steve promised he would fly out some time between the 12^th and the 20^th, depending on his work. He had been warned for Crown Court in June.

I sang on TV, I sang in small venues, and I sang to thousands of people in huge halls, and loved every minute. The Bond movie was released, and so I included that song in all my concerts and TV appearances.

By the time I reached L.A., I was totally knackered, but managed to fulfil my obligations.

My last event was at a huge open-air venue in a vast stadium, with four other singers and bands. The organisers estimated that nearly 100,000 people had bought tickets, and was the largest audience I had ever faced. I had two sessions on the programme.

Just before it started, I was in my trailer, shaking like a leaf, with Sophie trying to calm me down. There was a knock on the door, one of the security men told me that a lady wanted to see me, and she had said that was an old friend.

“Marcia!” I yelled, and went and saw that I was right. She was waiting by the security gate, and was looking fabulous. There was a man with her, very conservatively dressed, looking vaguely uncomfortable and out of place.

She saw me and shrieked, and the security man waved them through.

We hugged and were crying with delight, and eventually she introduced me to the man in her life.

“Ronnie, this gorgeous girl, is my bestest friend in the world, and she is truly an angel. I can’t tell you what a difference she made to my life when I was very low. Emma, this is Ronnie, and he has made my life complete,” she said.

Ron kissed me on both cheeks, in rather Gallic style, and smelled of sandalwood.

I took them back to my trailer, and introduced them to Sophie. I had told her about Marcia, just so she didn’t put her foot in it accidentally.

I changed, so Marcia sat in as I did so. We caught up on each other’s news. I found she had been following my rise through the charts quite closely, and was more up to date with me than I was with her.

She looked beautiful, having filled out a little. She was still slim, but went in and out in a more voluptuous manner. There was absolutely no doubt as to her gender.

“Have you told Ron?” I asked.

“Oh yes, I had to. I told him the official version, as he couldn’t get his head round the truth. Hell Emma, I can’t really, and yet I know what happened,” she said.

I shook my head, as regardless of how often I denied it, she would never be convinced. I was not prepared to share the truth until my family skeletons were well and truly buried.

I was in my favourite short black skirt, and top, showing the usual indecent amount of leg, accentuated with my long high heel boots. I was also wearing long black fingerless gloves, and lots of glitter.

“Wow. Emma, you look fantastic. There will be a sea of erections out there tonight,” she said.

Someone knocked on the trailer door.

“Ten minutes, Miss Pearson,” he said.

“Oh shit. Marcia, wish me luck,” I said.

“Emma, come on, with your contacts, what room have you got for luck? But I do wish you the best, you know I do,” she replied and gave me a huge hug.

I was shaking like a leaf as I went onto the huge stage, and the musicians were all ready. I stood in the wings and heard the announcement and my name. It is the most un-nerving experience to hear your name, and then one hundred thousand people roar.

The stage went pitch black, and strobe lights flashed around the stadium. Then I was centre stage, with my back to the audience, but the spotlight hit me, and I watched the bandleader count the band in with his hand — one, two, three, four…..

……..we were off.
 
 
One hour later, I was on a high. It had been amazing, despite being almost drowned out by the sea of voices, my own voice had lasted, and I had sung my heart out and danced until I was exhausted. I had nothing left to give, and the audience was still clapping and stomping its feet. I was almost completely spent, and drank nearly a litre of water.

“Can you manage one more, honey?” asked the promoter.

I shrugged and nodded.

“Have I got time?”

“Sure, there is only one band to go now. But, at present, it’s you they want.”

“I guess I can then,” I said.

So I quickly changed into a long white sleeveless dress, and the make up girl put my hair up so I looked very sophisticated, as if I were about to attend a formal function. I slipped on two long white gloves and went back out looking as fresh as I could. I felt completely knackered. I whispered the song to the band, and walked to the front of the stage holding the cordless mike.

The applause was absolutely deafening, and I held up my arms. Eventually a hush settled.

“Hey, you Guys, what are you like?” I said, and they cheered themselves.

“I’d like to thank you for being so welcoming to me. I feel so humble to have been able to perform in front of so many people. You have been so wonderful. You have no idea how terrifying it was to walk out in front of so many. Therefore, I’d like to dedicate this last song to my good friend, who is getting married very soon. Poor girl, she is marrying an American, so she needs all my support at this sad time,” There was a huge cheer mingled with laughter, as I realised that I had sounded very English indeed.

“I wrote this with my fella, he’s called Steve, and I miss him dreadfully. So all you girls who have their guys with you right now, appreciate them. Okay?” This got another huge cheer.

I waited for near silence, and looked at the band. They nodded me in and I looked straight at Marcia as I sang, ‘I ain’t an angel, I’m a woman.’

She grinned at me, and I put everything I had left into the song. As I finished, there was a stunning moment of complete silence, and I dropped my hands to my side and bowed my head. They hated it.

The applause started, and built and built, and the cheering began, and got louder, and louder. Until my ears were ringing, and the vibrations of the noise threatened to knock me off my feet.

I slowly looked up, and found that I had a huge smile stuck to my face, and I raised my arms, and I can honestly say that I had never ever felt like this. Nothing could have prepared me to be the focus of that kind of applause, and I knew that if I did nothing else in my life, it was worth it just for this moment.

To see so many people, all standing, applauding, and cheering me, was the single most exhilarating and humbling experience of my life.

I waved my hand towards those hidden heroes, the band, and the applause seemed to move up a notch. Then a little girl walked on and handed me an enormous bouquet of flowers, and I almost burst into tears. I curtseyed to the crowd, waved, and blew kisses to them all, and then I walked off for the last time. I heard the next band start up, and the crowd had a different idol to worship.

Marcia and Ron met me at the bottom of the steps, and we walked back to the trailer together. I gratefully went into the trailer, and noticed that there was a man sitting in my chair chatting to Sophie. I was tired, and rather cross that someone should be there at this time.

Steve stood up with the most enormous grin on his face.

“Bloody Hell, woman, where did that fantastic performance come from?” he said, and Marcia giggled.

“Steve!” I yelled.

“Marcia, you knew?” I growled, as I ran to him and he swept me into his arms. I was crying and laughing. He kissed me, and I felt wonderful.

Eventually we came up for air, and Marcia and Ron were grinning like fools.

“They paid for my flight. I got a few extra days off, and thought I’d come and see you perform,” he told me, holding me tightly.

“I thought you were at Crown Court?” I asked, still numb with surprise.

“I was, but the defendants changed their pleas to guilty. You have no idea how much I missed you, Em,” he said.

I punched him on the arm.

“You know perfectly well that I missed you just as much,” I said, and he kissed me again.

Ron opened a chilled bottle of champagne, and poured out a glass for everyone. I discovered that Steve had arrived just as I went on, and watched me from the wings with Marcia and Ron.

“You looked stunning out there, and they loved you,” he said.

I just grinned; I was still floating on air. I had just experienced the most exhilarating performance of my life, and I had the man I loved with me. Life could get no better than this.

There was a knock on the door, and Sophie opened it. It was the concert promoter, Lou Hutchins. He came in and received some champagne. He came over to me, and gave me a hug.

“Hey girl. That was out of this world. When we booked you, we knew you could sing, but your whole act was amazing. You looked as good as your voice, and you were really great.”

“Thanks Lou, it was an amazing experience. All those people.”

“We have a sales outlet near the exit, there are loads of your albums and singles available. It would be good if you were available to sign some for the fans. As your agent has signed the recording deal, people can order the Video/CD of the concert there as well. I understand that there are photographs available for you to sign. And afterwards there is the party.”

So, along with my friends, I went to a huge hall and spent an hour signing album covers and photographs. I was bowled over by the amount of people who crushed in to try to get close to me, but the enormous bouncers and stewards kept me from being molested. Steve sat next to me with a silly grin on his face, and, every now and again, I would kiss him, just to keep topped up.

It was just so good to see him again. I hadn’t realised how much he meant to me. In the back of my mind, I was seriously considering his proposal for marriage. I knew that there were things in my life that I had to deal with before then. One of them being my inheritance, and the other, my mother.

The party was a blast, but I was not in any mood to appreciate it. I just wanted to get away and be with Steve, and at the earliest opportunity we sneaked off to the trailer, and gave ourselves to each other as only lovers could. As we lay together afterwards, I knew that he was the guy for me.
 
 
Marcia’s wedding was simply wonderful. Her parents came over from the UK, along with a few of her relatives. Her father had found it hard dealing with certain family members, as he had to try to explain that his son actually had been a daughter all along. Such were the prejudices that it was too much for some, and they simply broke contact and refused to have anything to do with them any more.

Anne hugged me as if I was someone special, and even Roger went out of his way to speak to me at some length. They were so proud of their daughter, and somehow they seemed to feel that I was responsible for turning her life around.

Anne introduced me to Marcia’s older brother, Stewart. He was a tall guy, and very good-looking. He was also very self-opinionated and arrogant, and I disliked him almost from the start. He seemed embarrassed of his sister, and when he did speak to her, he seemed to be belittling her achievements. However, Marcia was so high, that she wasn’t going to let him ruin her day.

Sheri, Sally and Simone were all bridesmaids with me, and we really had a hoot. We all got ready together with Marcia, and our dresses were fabulous. Marcia had taken our measurements over the phone and her dressmaker had made them all. We looked like something from Gone with the Wind.
 
 
Marcia looked wonderful. She was not quite so slim as when she had arrived in the States. If anything, her fuller figure made her even more attractive. One of the top Hollywood dress-designers made the dress, and her whole outfit, from her hair to her shoes, was breathtaking. I was a little jealous. Ron’s family was extensive, and very wealthy. As everyone filtered into the church, filling the entire right hand side. Indeed, the few from the UK managed to fill three rows on the left, and the rest was overflow from the groom’s side.

Ron’s mother was the archetypal American Mother-in-law, who was utterly besotted with her new daughter-in-law. She had resigned herself to never seeing her son married, and now he was it was like a dream come true. The fact that Marcia was willing to forgo the usual tradition of getting married in the bride’s hometown, made it even better for her. The whole wedding was lavish in the extreme. Those Brits who made it were completely gob smacked at the details to which money had been thrown.

We followed the bride and her proud father into the church, and it was lovely to see her looking so happy. I was the only person who really appreciated how depressed she had been in her previous life. I vowed to share the truth with her one day.

Marcia asked me to sit in the front pew with her family, and Steve joined me. I have to admit that I almost cried as she took her vows, and Steve squeezed my hand.

“Us next,” he whispered to me.

I looked at him and smiled. Yes, I thought to myself, possibly. However, I had to sort out dear Mummy first.

The reception was held at Ronnie’s mansion in Beverly Hills. Marcia had been living with him for a few months, so was already well known to the neighbours. She had dealt with the truth behind her gender problems months ago with Ronnie, and had leaked a little to the press in such a way as to make it out as some minor cosmetic condition. As a result, she had controlled any press revelations, resulting in no scandal and little interest at a time when the world had more startling news to offer.

The party went on long into the night, and at midnight, the bride and groom left by private helicopter for their honeymoon in Mexico.

Sophie flew home, so Steve and I had a week’s holiday in California. We became even closer in that week, and I realised that he had grown up in the short time we had been apart. He still played his guitar, and slightly regretted joining the police, but he was mature enough to realise that although a good musician, he was never perhaps going to be the best, and he actually loved his new job.

When we finally flew home to England, I had to make some decisions. After all, I was still only nineteen, so I decided to ask Gwen about getting a teaching qualification.

Steve went back to work, and once again asked me to move in with him. I thought about it, and declined. I explained that if we lived together, then the marriage commitment meant less. I wanted the whole package, without compromising. I still stayed with him for most of the time, but I lived with Mike and Mary

Their trip to New Zealand was a great success.

Caroline was the epitome of the middleclass suburban housewife with two young children. Her husband was working as a manager in a restaurant, and all Mary’s fears and reservations were dispelled after a few moments of meeting them.

By the end of the holiday, Caroline had confessed to everything to them, even Charles Gregson’s baby. There was a lot of crying done, as parents and daughter came to a closer relationship once more. The children adored their new grandparents, and they were all terribly sad to leave. Seeds were sown, and I was sure that one or other couple would end up moving to make the family united again. I had my money on Mike and Mary moving there, as there was already Caroline’s In-laws in New Zealand.

Mary had lost weight, and was looking so much happier. As she busied herself in the kitchen, Mike asked me into his study.

“Emma, as you heard, Caroline told us that Charles had got her pregnant, and she had the abortion. I was surprised, yet when we told you, you didn’t bat an eye. Now, I know you, and you are one of the brightest people I know. So, I thought back, and remembered that when Charles moved away, you pretended that you hardly remembered him. That was not like you, so, it got me thinking.

“I think that you knew that Charles was responsible for Caroline’s pregnancy, and my guess is that somehow you managed to blackmail Charles into doing what he did.

“I don’t want to know the details, because what is done is done, but I need to know how you found out.”

I looked at this man, who was the nearest thing to my father. I couldn’t lie to him, so I told him about the diary.

“I was so angry and the damage that man had done to you all, so I wanted him to pay. I didn’t want to destroy him, as he had so nearly done to you, but I wanted him to pay. It was wrong of me, I know, but I decided to deal a new hand of cards to you and Mary,” I said, feeling quite guilty.

“Where is the diary now?”

“Safe,” I said.

He smiled.

“Emma, thanks for caring, but I think it should be destroyed now. The past is now well and truly dealt with. It’s dead,” he said.

I went and retrieved it, and handed it to him. He looked at it and turned it over in his hands. We walked down to the bottom of the garden, where he put it on the bonfire. He then lit the dry twigs and newspaper, and soon the diary was ash.

He put his hand on my shoulder.

“We are now even,” he said, and I grinned.
 
 
Part 10
 
 
The photographer was trying to get us all in the picture. We were all giggling and pushing, and he was having a hard time controlling us.

“Come on, this is your graduation picture, you should be serious,” he said, which made us giggle more.

It had been three hard years, and I was now the proud holder of a BA Ed, specialising in Drama and Music, from De Montfort University, Bedford. I was twenty-two, and it had been Gwen’s advice that I look at a teaching degree, so that I would be able to pass on my skills to others when my singing career came to an end.

I had continued to produce songs, and was making a very reasonable living at singing. However, due to my studies, I had not performed so much as before, and I missed it quite a lot.

I had really enjoyed University, and felt completely vindicated that I had not needed to finish my education at Monksreach Hall. As I posed with Mike and Mary, and then with Steve, in my gown and mortarboard, I ensured that my engagement ring was there for the world to see.

My twenty-first birthday had come and gone. There was a flurry of press interest in the Drysdale Trust, but I had deliberately not upset the status quo by rushing off and claiming what was rightfully mine.

On my twenty-second birthday, Steve had asked me to marry him again, for about the six-hundredth time, and I had simply said, “Yes.”

That evening, I was spending the night with Steve, and I had sat down with him, and put the ring on the table. He looked at the ring, and frowned.

“Steve, it is truth time,” I had said, and the frown deepened.

“My real name isn’t Emma Pearson.”

I then told him the whole story, with the exception of the blackmail of Charles Gregson, I laid myself completely bare before him.

“So, now you know. It’s only fair that you know the truth. If you decide that you have to walk away from me, then I will understand. It will completely devastate me, but I promise I have no hold over you. Regardless of whom I used to be, I am more Emma that I was ever Russell. I just pray that you don’t hate me too much.” I said, trying unsuccessfully to refrain from crying. The stress of holding it all in for so long got the better of me, and I broke down in tears, and fled from the room.

I lay face down on the bed, and wept, partly with relief that I had finally managed to release the truth, and partly out of the fear that he would be angry and stop loving me.

A few moments later, he lay next to me, and I risked a peek at him. He had a silly smile on his face.

“You silly tart. I don’t give a shit about the past, no matter how far fetched it all may be. I have loved you since that first day we met, and you don’t have to doubt that you are 100% Emma. Of course I still love you, but please, never tell anyone else this silly story.”

I just wrapped my arms around him, and wept with pure relief. Needless to say, it led to other things, and I realised how much I loved him.

Later, as we just lay entwined together, he kissed my forehead.

“So, why the charades?” he asked. “Surely there was an easier way?”

I told him about my mother and my inheritance.

“So why didn’t you claim your inheritance when you were twenty-one?”

“Lots of reasons. There was too much press interest, I was afraid that I’d lose you, I was enjoying my studying, and really I didn’t want to change my life.”

“Okay, so what are you going to do?”

I shrugged, as I had no desire to collect my inheritance, as it would mean revealing myself to the world.

“I don’t know. Nothing, I suppose. My mother will try all sorts of tricks, and hopefully she will be disinherited.”

“It is your life. It seems a shame for all that wealth to go to some dog lover.”

I smiled, we talked over various options and in the end, I agreed to try to claim what was mine.

The next day I got a shock, for on the second page of the Daily Telegraph was a photograph of my mother, and a tall young man. The article said:
 
 

MILLIONAIRE'S WIDOW TRIES TO CHEAT HER OWN SON

French born Brigette Drysdale (48) seen here leaving her late husband’s solicitors in the Strand yesterday, after taking a complete stranger to the offices purporting to be her son Russell, who went missing six years ago.     Her late husband, industrialist Charles Drysdale, left most of his fortune to his only son Russell when he died. However, fearing that attempts may be made to cheat him out of the money, Drysdale established certain tests to be met before his son could claim the inheritance.     The first was that he should be over twenty-one and that his finger prints should match those taken when he was seven years old. This last test was unknown to Mrs Drysdale, and she was reported to have been shocked and angry that her late husband did not trust her.     It was rumoured that it was her infidelity that was partially to blame for Charles’s stroke, and subsequent death. The police have been notified and papers are being prepared for the CPS.     Although Russell has never come forward, police state that they have been in constant communication with the boy over the period of time. He claimed that he was in fear of his life, as he thought that his mother would attempt to kill him for the inheritance.     Mrs Drysdale is seriously in debt, and last year attempted to sell a villa in Monaco, that belongs to the estate. Having failed to sell the villa, she tried to falsify the records of the family yacht, and attempted to sell that. Authorities in Monaco seized the yacht, and are holding it for Russell to come forward.     The identity of the young man pretending to be her son is still unknown, but his fingerprints have been handed over to the police.

 
 
Steve saw my dazed expression, and read the article.

“A bloody yacht?” he asked.

I nodded, and he continued to read.

“Decision time, Emma,” he said.

The telephone rang. I knew exactly who it would be, and I was right.

“Hi Mike,” I said.

“You’ve seen it?”

“Yup.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. I think I ought to at least go to the solicitors.”

“I agree. Would you like us to come with you?”

“No thanks. Steve is with me, and this is something I need to do by myself. Besides, I don’t want you to get into trouble.”

“You’ve told Steve?” he asked, surprised.

“As we are going to get married, I felt I owed it to him.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

“Mike?”

“Congratulations. We always thought you would, when did he propose?”

“Just about every day for as long as I can remember, but last evening was the clincher.”

“Do you want to tell Mary, or can I?”

“You tell her. Oh, and Mike?”

“What?”

“Can you marry us, as well as give me away?”

There was silence on the other end, and I realised he was crying.

“Yes, Emma, I’d be honoured to.”

We chatted about likely implications and consequences, and I decided that this must end today.
 
 
Steve drove us up, I was very quiet, and my mind was in a real whirl.

“You look fabulous,” he said.

I had tried to look as elegant and sophisticated as I could. I was wearing a very expensive black and gold outfit I had bought in America. There was no doubting that I was female, short of being actually pregnant, I was about as female as one could look.

We managed to park a short distance away, and I was surprised to see Ron Higgins approach us.

“Steve, thanks for your call. Emma, I understand you have information about Russell Drysdale?” he said.

I looked at Steve, and he shrugged. I smiled and put a hand on his arm to signal that I approved.

“Yes, if you care to come with us, I hope to clear the whole matter up in a few minutes,” I said.

Together with the two policemen, I walked to the solicitors’ offices. I stopped and looked up at the clock, it was exactly as I remembered it, and I had a wave of memories about my father.

“Are you okay, Sweetie?” Steve asked.

“Fine, just a blast from the past,” I said, and Ron frowned.

We went in and the receptionist looked at us.

“Yes, can I help you?” she said.

“Hello, I’d like to speak to the solicitor handling the Drysdale estate,” I said.

“Have you an appointment?”

“No, but I have something very important to tell him, and I won’t be long. Oh, and these gentlemen are from the police,” I said.

“One moment,” she said, and picked up a telephone. She spoke for a few moments, and then looked at me. She was obviously describing me to whoever was on the other end of the phone.

“Mr Carter will be down presently.”

“Thanks.”

A few moments later, a portly man in a pinstripe suit and huge red handkerchief in his breast pocket came out of the door to our left. He was in his sixties and was balding.

“Rupert Carter. You mentioned something about the Drysdale estate?” he was the epitome of the pompous solicitor, with public school accent and flamboyant gestures.

“Hello, yes. I have information about the present whereabouts of Russell Drysdale,” I said.

He looked at me, and snapped his fingers.

“I know you. You’re the singer, Emma Pearson. My sixteen-year old son and has posters of you all over his bedroom wall,” Rupert said.

I smiled, saying nothing.

“Well, come into my office. And your, ah, the officers,” he said.

Once he closed the office door, he invited us to sit in the leather chairs provided.

“Now, Miss Pearson, I am at a bit of a loss to understand why the police are with you.”

“Well, this is Detective Sergeant Ron Higgins, he was the officer who initiated the initial enquiries when Russell left his school. PC Steven Roberts is here as moral support. We are engaged to be married,” I said, and Ron started as if he had been poked with a shark stick.

“Congratulations, but what can you tell me?” he asked.

I looked at Steve, and then Ron, who was frowning. I looked down and took a deep breath.

“Russell ran away from his school because something happened to him. He could no longer stay there due to the, ah, peculiar, um, well I suppose it was the medical condition he had, so he left. A lovely couple, who helped him become the person he is today, found him. His mother actually contracted her lover to kill him, and so he was forced to hide. However, you may have gathered that from the press.

“The police are aware of all this, and indeed the lover, Raoul, was arrested in Milton Keynes armed with a pistol while looking for the boy.

“He adopted a new identity in line with his new persona, and continued his education, and indeed recently graduated from university as a qualified teacher. Yesterday’s newspaper article prompted me to come forward,” I said.

Ron was staring at me as if I’d grown three heads.

“You said that you know Russell’s current whereabouts?” Rupert said.

“I do.”

“Well?”

I looked at Steve and he nodded. Ron was still staring at me intently.

I took a deep breath.

“I am, or rather, I was Russell Drysdale,” I said.

Rupert burst out laughing.

“I can prove it,” I said, and he stopped laughing. Ron was sitting on the edge of his seat, now staring at me with a smile on his face and shaking his head.

“How?”

“I remember coming here when I was seven, and a man took my fingerprints. I also have my wallet and bankcards that I had when I left Monksreach Hall. If you take my fingerprints, I am sure this can be resolved in seconds.”

Rupert stared at me, just blinking.

He stood up and went to a safe, and removed a file.

He took out an inkpad, and a plain piece of A4 paper.

“Would one of you like to do this, I am sure you have more experience than I?” he said to the officers. Steve looked at Ron, so Ron stood up. He came over to me.

“I knew there was something really different about you,” he said.

A few moments later, I was washing my hands in the ladies. I noticed that they still used Pears soap, and I wondered whether it was the same bar. I dried my hands, checked my makeup and returned to the office.

Rupert was comparing the fingerprints to those taken all those years ago.

“Emma, you mentioned a medical condition, what exactly was it?” Ron asked.

I smiled.

“Simple. I woke up one morning and discovered that I had become female. So, I could hardly stay at an all boys’ school anymore, now could I?”

“What, just like that?” asked Ron.

“Well, I guess it took a couple of days, because I noticed that my boy’s stuff seemed to shrink, and I started to grow breasts. I mean, not much, just a sort of slight swelling. Enough for me to be teased in the showers. But that was nothing unusual. But then one morning, I went to the loo, and I was a girl.”

“Well, I’ll be buggered. You were there all the bloody time,” Ron said, and started to laugh.

Rupert handed the prints to Ron.

“They look the same, what do you think?”

Ron looked and I looked, the new ones were larger, but then I had been seven when I had had the first ones taken.

“No doubt. Look at the ridges and whorls on this index finger. An absolute match,” said Ron.

Rupert sat down, and mopped his brow with his large red handkerchief.

“Well, I have to ask you a few questions, this is most extraordinary,” he said, and opened the file again.

“Have you attained any academic qualifications?”

“I have a Diploma from the Teesdale College of dramatic arts, and a BA Ed, from University.”

“Have you taken steps to ensure that you are capable of earning a reasonable living, independent from any family or friends?”

“Over the last three years, my income after tax was in excess of eight hundred thousand pounds. And all my own work,” I said with a smile. “In addition, I have invested in property, and I am not sure how much that is worth.”

“Try a guess.”

“Two million?”

All three men looked at me with somewhat dazed expressions.

“Are you committed to family values and the establishment of a family of your own?”

I looked at Steve, and smiled. He reached out and took my hand.

“We are going to be married in the summer, how much more committed do you need?”

The lawyer smiled and took out a letter and opened it.

“This letter is addressed to this firm, ‘to be opened as and when my natural child meets the criteria stipulated in my will’. It is signed by your late father, Charles Drysdale.”
 
 

If this letter is being read, then I am happy. It means that my child is present and has proved himself worthy to be my heir.         To Russell:         I am so sorry to have put you through this, but I had to be sure. You are the most important person in the world to me, and as such, I have to know that you are equipped to deal with the wealth, which you now inherit.         Your mother is not the person I once thought she was, for I did love her dearly. She has betrayed me, and I fear she will betray you too. I have no doubt that already she is attempting to cheat you out of what is yours, well, there is a proviso to my will, which comes into force as you now assume your birth-right.         As from this moment, she has a pension of twenty thousand pounds a year, until she dies. She has no other benefits, and it is conditional on her having been a good mother to you over the last ten years, or so.         If she attempts anything to cheat you, then as from this moment, she gets nothing.         Wealth brings responsibilities, and great wealth brings great responsibilities. Your life will never be the same, and it is my hope that you will be a good steward of that which you now have. A man’s measure is not what he leaves behind, but what his life said about him.         May God bless you, and I wish I could see you, and be with you now. I love you with all my heart, and pray you have a long and fruitful life.                     Your Father,                 Charles

 
 
I found myself crying. Steve came over and put his arm around me.

“I can hardly remember him,” I said.

“You meant a lot to him,” Rupert said, even his eyes were moist.

“I hope he understands, now that I am his daughter.”

“I’m sure he would.”

There was a long silence.

“So, what happens now?” I asked.

Rupert produced a form, and asked me to sign it, as Russell Drysdale. I did so.

“Then, I have to inform you, that as from this moment, you are now the legal heir to the Drysdale estate, and trust.”

“That sounds very nice, but what does it actually mean?”

“The trust was set up so you would have some capital at twenty-one. This is because all the estate is tied up in property or commercial interests. The trust has been managed by your father’s financial advisers, and is very healthy.”

“How healthy?”

“Twenty million pounds, give or take a few thousand.”

I was very quiet.

“And the estate?”

He took out a single sheet of paper.

“There is your father’s house near Great Missenden in Buckinghamshire. There is a flat in Mayfair, and an apartment in New York. There is the villa in Monaco, and a house in Florida. The yacht is currently at Monte Carlo. The business interests alone amount to about two hundred and fifty million pounds, not including the properties and yacht.”

Ron laughed and stood up. He walked over to the window. Steve looked glazed.

“How long until I have access to the trust?”

“You signed receipt of the trust and the whole estate, and it is yours now. There are one or two administrative details to complete, but they are not too complicated. The big problem is actually your name.”

“My name?”

“You are Russell Drysdale, but you are also Emma Pearson. This is a unique problem.”

“Not necessarily. I have obtained a letter from a doctor, clearly stipulating that I am a perfectly normal fertile female. It is my intention to change my name from Russell Drysdale to Emma Pearson, so as to bring into alignment my two identities.”

“Well, as your late father’s solicitor I am of course at your service, should you wish to continue using this firm’s services. But that is a matter for you,” Rupert said.

“Thanks, I would be more than happy with continuing the arrangement, and if I could leave the matter of my name in your hands, I am sure I can trust you to be discreet. Above everything else, I would dearly love to keep as anonymous as possible about the whole affair. I do not want to draw attention to myself,” I said.

“That might be hard, as you might imagine, there has been considerable press interest in the whole affair.”

“There is no reason for anyone to know that I was once Russell Drysdale,” I said.

Rupert smiled.

“I will do what I can.”

“Thank you. Is there anything else?”

I spent another half an hour signing various documents, and gave him my address at Little Mudsley. He then shook me by the hand, and kissed my cheek.

“Never did I imagine that this case was going to turn out like this. Of course, you mother has successfully disinherited herself from all monies, and is, therefore, as from this moment, penniless.”

I looked at him, and Steve smiled.

“I know she was an absolute cow, but she is still my mother. Can we let her know exactly where she stands, and should a full and public apology be forthcoming, then I should like to give her that pension of twenty thousand a year. However, if she wants to be a greedy cow, and holds out for more, then she can stuff herself. If you excuse my language.”

All three men smiled, and Ron burst out laughing.

“Well, I am more than satisfied that Russell Drysdale is alive and very well. So, I shall have great delight in closing that case. I can see why you stayed quiet; I don’t blame you at all. However, I find it amazing that you were under my nose all the time, and that I spoke to you several times and never realised it. I even remember that conversation when you told me you could dress as a boy and pretend to be yourself. Very smart girl,” he said.

We prepared to leave, and Rupert said, “Your father would be very proud of you. If you were my daughter I would be.”

I kissed him again and thanked him. We then left the office, and the haughty receptionist looked daggers at me, as I had told her I would not be long.

“Mrs Green, Miss Pearson has just become an extra special client, so whenever she calls, please put her through, regardless of whom I may have with me,” he said, so I chuckled as we left the office.

There were some reporters hanging about, obviously waiting for anyone who might look as if they could be involved in the Drysdale inheritance case. One of them recognised me, and shouted out.

“Hey Emma, what ya doing girl?”

I smiled sweetly, and replied, “Just seeing my lawyer about a recording contract. So for whom are you lot waiting?”

“Hoping the Drysdale kid comes to collect his millions,” he said.

“Sorry, it’s just little old me,” I said.

They took a few snaps just for the hell of it, and I noticed Ron and Steve made themselves scarce.

I took my two pet policemen for lunch at Simpsons in the Strand, where we toasted my father. I was still somewhat bemused by the whole thing, and it had yet to sink in that I was now worth over two hundred million pounds.

Steve was very quiet, and I could tell something was brewing.

“What’s the matter, love?” I asked.

“I suppose being a copper’s wife is off the cards now,” he said.

“Not at all. Unless you don’t want me.”

“You know I want you. But you could have anything you want now.”

“Good, because all I want is you,” I said, and Ron made vomit noises.

I kissed Steve, and he started to smile again.
 
 
Ron went his separate way after lunch, and Steve drove me home. We were both quite quiet on the journey, as there was a lot to think about. He dropped me off at Mary and Mike’s, and held me in his arms for a moment. I just liked feeling him hold me. It was so reassuring. He smiled and gave me a kiss.

“It takes some getting used to,” he observed.

“I suppose. But it doesn’t change anything. Life goes on, and I still want to marry you.”

He just held me for a while, and I could see he was trying to see what the wealth really meant.

“Hey, we won’t need a mortgage, and we can have really nice holidays,” I said, and he grinned.

“I could jack in the job, and concentrate on my music,” he said.

“No, you don’t want to do that. I’ll still pursue my career, and so I expect you to do the same. I fully intend to off-load my wealth so it is more manageable.”

“How do you mean?”

“Steve, I don’t need all that wealth. Think what good it could do, if only given half a chance?”

“You’d give it away?” he asked incredulously.

“Why not? We won’t need it.”

“How?”

“I’ll set up a charitable trust, and find worthy causes and support them.”

“Very noble, but how do you select who to give stuff to, and who not to?”

“You have trustees who get together and manage the charity, it would be fun.”

He smiled. “You are truly unique. You inherit more money than most people could even dream about, and then, the same day, you plan how to give it all away.”

“No, I never said all. I only said most,” I said.

He laughed, and kissed me again.

“So, Miss moneybags, how much would you keep?”

“Enough,” I said, and he smiled.
 
 
Over the next few weeks, I was busy sorting through material for a possible new album. I had done very little over the last three years, and I wanted to get back into the swing of things.

The solicitor, Rupert was being busy with my identities. It was proving to be a problem, as I was legally two people, so he was looking at how he could manage to eliminate one, without drawing attention to me, and harming my career, or by getting Mike into trouble. Ron popped in for a visit, and we went through the whole saga with my mother, including her attempt to have me bumped off.

Ron got me to sign some forms, and Mike actually told him how he had managed it. Oh, the pain of a Christian conscience!

Four weeks later, I was recording the new album, and I got a phone call from Rupert.

“Emma, my dear, I have some news. The police have charged your mother and the young man she used to pretend to be you.”

“What with?”

“Attempted deception.”

“What happens now?”

“They are on bail, and will be before the Magistrates in two or three days.”

“My God, what will happen to them?”

“Well, as neither has previous convictions and if they elect to be tried in the magistrates court, who knows. Nevertheless, the court can send them to the Crown court for sentencing. They could get five years in prison.”

“She’ll skip the country,” I said.

“They’ve thought of that. She had to surrender her passport, and there is a security of fifteen thousand pounds. If she buggers off, she loses the lot. But the best bit is the CPS are considering a charge of conspiracy to murder.”

“Will it stick?”

“Probably not, there is very little evidence. Incidentally, her lover, Raoul has recently been sentenced to three years in a French Prison for tax and accounting irregularities. He was only released from the British Prison a year ago after the firearms charges.”

I laughed, and asked him about Mother’s court case.

He told me which court, and the date and time of the hearing. I had not seen her since that day outside Aylesbury Police station.

“Another thing, Russell Drysdale does not exist.”

“How did you manage it?”

“With a great deal of paper sifting. But eventually, using the medical evidence, I have changed Russell Drysdale to Emma Drysdale, quite legally, as he was wrongly identified at birth as a boy. I have checked records, and no one has twigged that Emma Pearson has never existed, all the certificates had been logged as genuine, and you are Emma Pearson.

“However, you are also, Emma Drysdale, and you are the only person I know who has two completely separate apparently legal identities. So, with the cooperation of the police, your friend Ron Higgins was brilliant, we have managed to sort things so that the certificates have been withdrawn, as being utilised as an official cover in order to protect you from assassination. It took a Home Office memo and a note from a very senior police officer to straighten things out. There were questions as to how you managed it, and the police stated that as the danger of you being killed was so great and the amount of capital involved was in excess of two hundred million pounds, so that the security services were involved, and no questions need be asked.

“My task was to then change Emma Drysdale to Emma Pearson, and with Home office approval, we have managed to keep the whole thing classified. The Home office have asked, unofficially, how you managed it, and with a promise of no action being taken, Mike actually explained it and handed over any spare certificates so that it could not be repeated.

“End result: Mike in the clear, you are Emma Pearson, and the heir to the Drysdale estate, which is still highly confidential. The police have cleared up a Missing Person report, and charged your mother with a serious offence and no one is any the wiser.”

“You seem to have earned you rather high fees,” I said, and he chuckled.

“We are very good,” he said, with an upper class snigger.

“You will have to be with complicated clients like me,” I said, laughing.

“Well, anything else?”

I told him about my idea for a charitable trust, and he was quite surprised. I arranged an appointment to see him so we could work out the details.

I went over to see Steve’s parents, as I did quite often, and they accepted me as one of their own. We were planning the wedding in June, and Mike would conduct his last wedding before retirement. He and Mary were determined to go to New Zealand to be close to their grand children. Steve came round on his way home from work, and I was pleased to see him. I told him the news and he was delighted.

“I want to go to court and see what happens to my mother,” I said, and he nodded.

“I thought you might. Are you going to tell her who you are?”

“I don’t know. Probably not, as this way I have control.”

He nodded again.

“Do you want me to come?”

“If you want. You know I always like having you with me.”
 
 
So it was, I sat at the back of the court and watched my mother surrender to the court, and was seated in the dock. The strange young man had been identified as an out of work young actor with a drug problem, whom my mother had persuaded to supply for life if he pretended to be her son. He had told the police everything, and separate lawyers defended each of them, as his evidence further incriminated her.

My mother was looking older. Her crowning glory, her hair, was looking decidedly tatty, and the darker roots were showing, as the dye needed replacing. I could even see a hint of grey at those roots, and her whole demeanour was far less controlled than previously.

Her clothes had been expensive once, and had been smart, but were no longer, nor indeed did they suit her. She wore a light fawn tight skirt that was too short and too tight. Her white blouse showed too much, and the dark jacked displayed all her dandruff. Her white shoes had very high heels, were scuffed and looked rather silly.

The term, ‘mutton dressed as lamb.’ sprang to mind, and her make up appeared to be applied so very thickly that she looked like a middle-aged tart.

She stood when the Magistrates entered, and when asked her name and whether she pleaded guilty or not, she was arrogant and supercilious. She pleaded not guilty, but her co-defendant pleaded guilty.

This caused the lawyers to ask to consult with their clients, and there was a brief exchange of heated whispers.

In the end, the lawyer defending her stood up.

“Your Worships. I regret to inform you that my client has declined to take my advice in this matter, and therefore I am unable to further represent her,” he then started to gather his papers together.

“You useless bastard. You are fired!” my mother shrieked from the dock.

The magistrates ordered her to be quiet, which she refused, and swore at them too.

She turned and looked at everyone at the back of the court. For a brief moment, our eyes locked.

“You fucking ghouls. Piss off, I’m not a fucking freak-show,” she shouted. Her French accent made the offensive swear words seem so ridiculous, somehow.

A police officer and a security guard took hold of her and removed her from the court, and the court was going to hold her for contempt. It then dawned on me that, on top of everything else, she was drunk.

I shook my head, and turned to Steve.

“Let’s go, I’ve seen enough,” I said, and he nodded.

We went over the road to a coffee shop, and he bought me a cup of hot chocolate.

“Well?” he asked.

I shook my head. Tears were not far away.

“It’s so sad, she had the chance to have everything, but blew it. What makes someone become so evil?”

“I don’t think it is evil, just sort of twisted, as if she can’t see what’s right any more,” he said.

“I actually wanted her to turn round and be a mother for me for the first time in her life. I’d have forgiven her everything,” I said, and Steve took my hand.

“I know.”

“I was so alone.”

“I know, but you aren’t now.”

I looked at him, and smiled. I squeezed his hand.

“I know, thanks for being there for me,” I said, and kissed him.

“Hell, you have been there for so many people, and without you, my life would be so dull,” he said, and I stroked his cheek.

“Everyone needs someone. No one should ever be alone. I was alone for far too long, and I was young and it hurt me so much.”

Steve said nothing, as he was aware of how miserable I had been.

“Our children will never be alone,” I said.

He smiled. “Oh yes, are you pregnant?”

“Not yet, but I so want your children.”

“I’m sure we could work out how to acquire them, with a little practice,” he said with a grin. I smiled, and kissed him. I loved him so much.
 
 
Part 11
 
 
My mother was eventually sentenced to two years, but it took six months to reach the crown court for sentencing. The unfortunate lad, Darren, was given community service, and had to attend a drug rehabilitation unit for six months.

By which time I was now Mrs Emma Roberts, and already pregnant with our first child. I conceived on our honeymoon, and it was quite deliberate on my part. I had tasted fame, I had fortune and I now wanted family. Above everything else, I wanted to be a mother, and I was about as happy as I could get.
 
 
Our wedding had been the most fantastic event, and I had to re-run the video to remind myself of everything that happened.

It had been a warm June Saturday, and I woke to the sound of the birds singing in the wisteria outside my bedroom window. I got up and looked out of the window, knowing that it would be for the last time.

Mike and Mary were now all ready to go, and the new vicar was already appointed and would be moving in on the following Friday.

I looked out across the view that had become home to me, and cried a little. It was not out of sadness, but out of a sense of change. I had been so happy since they had taken me in, that wet, bedraggled waif that cold morning all those years ago. They had simply taken me in, no questions asked, and loved me without reservation. I owed them my life.

I had a shower, and slipped on my dressing gown. I went down and found Mary up and busy in the kitchen. We had been very busy for the preceding few days, and the church hall was now prettier than it had ever been.

I had contracted some excellent caterers, and Mary and Joan were eternally grateful that neither of them had to cook.

The wedding was at 2pm, and it was the lull before the storm. I knew exactly where Steve was, and smiled as I watched Mary busy herself about the kitchen.

They were due to leave in the following week, so most of their belongings were in boxes. Much of the furniture was staying, as they were emigrating to New Zealand, and so Mary was just organising everything that was going with them.

I looked at my watch - 8 am. Steve would be meeting the flight from New Zealand as Caroline, her husband and children arrived. I had bought them all tickets, and arranged for them to stay at a super hotel a couple of miles away. They were going to take Mike and Mary with them when they returned, and it was to be a surprise.

I ate my toast, and looked at the paper. There had been mild interest when it was announced that Russell Drysdale had collected his inheritance, and then promptly disappeared. No further information was forthcoming, and the press moved off onto other prey.

In March, shortly after seeing my mother in court, Gwen approached me and offered me a place on the teaching staff at her college. I was actually thrilled and accepted without hesitation. I would be starting after the summer break, and couldn’t wait.

Steve and I found a gorgeous farmhouse just outside Mursley, and I had great pleasure in buying it outright, but in joint names. It was just what we wanted, with five bedrooms in the main house, and an annex in one of the converted barns with another self-contained four bedrooms and a small kitchen/dining room for self-catering if friends wanted to stay. There was a triple garage, as we both had cars now, and Steve wanted to rebuild a thirty year-old MGB roadster.

I preferred my Mazda MX5, and his Golf took him to work every day.

I immediately arranged for the builders and decorators to move in and improve it to our specifications, which included a small recording studio in one of the converted barns. I also insisted on a nursery just off the main bedroom, and we spent April and May getting the furniture.

I asked Sheri, Pam, Marcie, tall Sally, and Simone to be my bridesmaids, and all accepted. We had a real hoot selecting and fitting the dresses. I chose a very old-fashioned satin and lace dress with a full veil and long train. It was utterly gorgeous, and it fulfilled every dream I had ever had. The girls’ dresses were all in gold and pale blue, and they looked stunning.

Marcie emailed across her measurements, and she had just had her second child, she still had a wonderful figure. I hadn’t seen her for ages, and was dying to see her children. Both the girls were my Goddaughters, and the photographs were divine. They were all coming over, and Steve had the farmhouse annex ready for them all.

They arrived a week before the wedding, and had taken over the farm.

Steve and I went to Heathrow to meet them in my future father in law’s birthday present from me, a new Land Rover Discovery TD5.

I stood in Terminal Four, waiting for them to arrive, and then there was this high-pitched shriek.

“Emma!”

Marcia had arrived.

Ron looked a lot more relaxed and casual. He had been rather stiff at his wedding, and I don’t mean in the trouser department, although he probably had been.

Marcia looked utterly fantastic. She had blossomed and motherhood suited her. Ron pushed a toddler in a buggy, and Marcia held a small baby on her hip with practised ease. Both girls were very pretty, just like their mother.

We hugged, and both talked ninety-nine to the dozen from then on.

We packed them all in the car, and drove the hour and a half back home. Marcia fell in love with the farm, as I knew she would, and we were very proud of our home.

Steve was living there all the time, and to be honest, so was I, but tradition dictated that the bride and groom should not spend the night before the wedding together, so we hadn’t.

I stopped taking the pill two months ago, and not said anything. I just wanted a child so badly it almost hurt. Steve had just smiled when he found out.
 
 
I helped Mary with the lunch, and she was so excited.

“It almost makes up for missing Caroline’s wedding,” she said.

“That is sweet of you, but I know that that is one hurt that you will never get over.”

She smiled and sighed.

“No, you are right, but I’d loved to have had them all in the church, just once before we left.”

I smiled and turned away. Mary announced she was going to finish the flowers, and disappeared off to the hall.

I went and put on some jeans and a tee shirt, and my mobile phone rang. It was Steve.

“Hi sweetie. I’m about five minutes away,” he said.

“Everything all right?”

“Yes, do they know?”

“Not a clue. Mary is in the Hall doing the flowers and Mike is in the church, so bring them to the house.”

“Okay, see you soon.”

I watched Steve arrive with the Land Rover. He glanced at my window, and I waved. He gave me the thumbs up sign. I saw Caroline alight from the back with one of the children. Her husband Bruce got out and another child followed. They came to the back door, and I raced down to meet them.

Caroline was a little shorter than I, and now looked rather plump, and a good deal older, but I felt that I was looking at the nearest person I had to a sister.

We stood for a second, just looking at each other.

“Hi Caroline, I’m Emma.”

She nodded.

We embraced, and she held onto me so tight, I was rather surprised.

“I can’t thank you enough for what you have done. You’ve saved us,” she said.

“No, they saved me,” I said, and we both had a little cry.

I met her husband and both children. It seemed unreal that this middle-aged woman was that rebellious teenager all those years ago, and her husband was a wandering lad with no hope or future.

Steve saw Mary coming and gave me a sign, so I sat everyone round the kitchen table, and just sat there as if we were all local friends having a chat.

Mary walked in, carrying a huge bunch of flowers.

“Emma, could you get me a vase for these, please sweetheart?” she said.

“Hello Granny,” said a childish voice of Maryjane.

Mary froze, and lowered the flowers. Then she dropped them and went very white.

I placed a chair behind her, in case, but Caroline was there before me, and just grabbed and hugged her mother.

I sat and watched, as they both wept and laughed at this unexpected and wonderful reunion.

The children jumped on the table, and hugged their grandmother too. I glanced through my tears at Bruce, and saw he was openly crying as well.

After about fifteen minutes, emotions were more or less brought under control, and Mary looked at me.

“Emma, you are so naughty!” she said.

I just smiled. Steve came and put his arm around me.

“She is not naughty, she’s just an angel,” he said and kissed me.

“You can say that again,” said a voice from the door.

Marcia and her family had just arrived, and had brought her parents.

“You see Emma, everyone knows the truth,” said Anne, Marcia’s mother.

I found everyone looking at me.

“What?” I said.

“Go on, admit it, Emma, you’re really an angel, aren’t you?” said Marcia.

I looked at Steve, and he just grinned at me. I had told him about their silly notion, and he had simply nodded and said that he understood why they thought that way.

At that moment, Mike chose to walk in.

He stood and stared in complete disbelief at the scenario that met his eyes.

“Hello Daddy,” Caroline said, and he crumpled in front of us.

Steve and I took Marcia and her clan out, and let Mike and Mary have some time with Caroline.

Gradually, the other girls arrived, so we had an early lunch. I was excited, and then Steve disappeared to get ready. I went up to my room to change. Mary was with me, and she was crying.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“I’m so happy,” she snivelled.

I smiled.

“Did you know they have asked Mike to bless their marriage after your service?” she asked.

“Yes. I suggested it,” I said.

She looked at me. “Emma, are you really an angel?” she asked, perfectly seriously.

I smiled.

“I didn’t think so, but everyone is trying to convince me that I am.”

She smiled, and came and gave me a hug.

“It’s just ever since you came into our lives, everything changed, and got better. I was speaking to Marcia and her mother, and they said the same thing. Even Caroline thinks you are.”

“Sometimes we are used by a higher power,” I said. “Besides, you two have done the same for me. You know that you are really my mother, don’t you?” I said, and she burst into tears again.

I finished dressing despite the tears.

Mary stood back and looked at me.

“You’re such a beautiful girl. Are you happy?”

I nodded. “Absolutely.”

She hugged me.

“I will miss you.”

“I’ll come and visit you all, often,” I said.

“I know. But thank you.”

I smiled.

“We both met each other’s need’s. You gave me love and were a mother to me when I desperately needed one. So it’s only fair that I be your daughter.”

“I couldn’t have wished for a better one,” she said, and we had a final hug, and she went to change.

On returning downstairs, I found the girls all waiting in the dining room for me. They were simply stunning in their dresses, the garlands of flowers in their hair were wonderful, and they all told me that I looked a beautiful bride.

It only took me a couple of minutes to walk over to the church, but it was like a marathon. By the time I got to the door, I was shaking like a leaf when Mike appeared.

He smiled at me, and I wished he was my real father. Mary fussed about with my train, and then looked at me.

“This is the first time I have given away the bride, and married her,” he said with a chuckle.

“Mike, words cannot ever hope to express the thanks I have for what you both did for me. I owe you both my life,” I said.

“Then, let’s call that quits,” he said, as the organ started. I couldn’t back out now, even if I wanted to. Mary kissed my cheek, went in and sat next to her daughter, at the front on the bride’s side.

I took Mike’s proffered arm, and began my last walk as Emma Pearson.
 
 
The church was full.

I recognised many of Steve’s family and friends, and there were all my friends from the Teesdale College, not least Gwen herself. There was a large contingent of police officers, with Ron and others. I just smiled and felt as if I was walking on air. I saw Steve turn and look at me from up by the altar rail.

His smile coincided with a shaft of sunlight, and I smiled back, but I realised that he probably couldn’t see me under my veil.

Mike handed me over, and then took the place of his friend, the vicar of the next parish, who covered the beginning bit.

It all went very smoothly, and we made our responses, I held him tightly, and then Mike asked that dreadful question, “Is there anyone here present who can give any just cause why these two should not be wed?”

Mercifully, there was no reply, we were pronounced man and wife, and I wore my ring with joy and pride.

I lifted my veil from my face, and we kissed. I felt all light-headed, and totally convinced that I was doing the right thing. I loved this man with all my heart, and all my soul.

We went and signed the register, and then we returned for a short, but even more moving ceremony, as Caroline and Bruce had their marriage blessed by Mike. Steve and I stood next to them as witnesses, and then we were all out into the sunshine for the photographs.

“I love you, Mrs Roberts,” Steve said, kissing me.

“I love you too, Mr Roberts,” I replied.

The day went so fast, that I can hardly remember much. The speeches were short and funny, by my decree. However, there was so much charged emotion, that there was hardly a dry eye in the house at some points.

Mike actually gave a speech, it was short, but he made his wife, his daughter and me cry several times.

He ended up thus:

“It is rare in a man’s life to be permitted a glimpse of heaven, so it is with great pleasure and humility that I can make such a claim.

“A few years ago, a young waif came to us in tragic circumstances. Her short life a catalogue of misery, loneliness and disaster. She came to us when we were at the lowest point in our lives, and our family was so split that every day was an effort to struggle through.

“With this waif came a free and wonderful spirit, which touched everyone she met. She brought sunshine where only dark clouds existed, she brought colour where there was none. She brought laughter where there were only tears, and joy where there was sorrow.

“Such was her impact on this family, that I have now blessed the marriage of my prodigal daughter, and I have witnessed the congregation of my little church grow from less than thirty to nearly eighty people. I have had so many witnesses come forward to testify to her magical charm, and I know several people who are convinced she is an angel sent amongst us, to save us from ourselves.

“It has been a joy and a privilege to have been part of your life, and to watch everything you touch turn into blossom and joy, from the deepest depths of my heart, Emma, I thank you.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you, my daughter, the angel, Mrs Emma Roberts.”

I was crying so much, I could hardly see, but I saw everyone rise and toast, “Emma, the angel.”

There was hardly a dry eye in the house, and it took several minutes for us to recover.

I had had enough, so I stood, which was not planned. I took the microphone, and was going to have my reply.

“Friends, and new family,” I said.

“The waif will speak!” shouted Marcia, and there was some laughter.

“I have sat here and heard everyone say such wonderful things about me, and it is making me cry a little, but it is also making me slightly nauseous.

“Marcia and her mother have accused me of being an angel, and now my husband and adopted father are doing the same. I am flattered and pleased that I come over as such a heavenly being, but in truth, I know that I’m not an angel.

“But, what is an angel?” I asked, and paused.

“An angel is a heavenly creature, whose sole purpose is to serve God, and help men when they are in trouble,” I paused again, and Marcia interrupted.

“Everything you’ve said, I agree with, and I still think you are an angel!” she said, and there were many nods of agreement and laughter.

I laughed, but felt frustrated, I knew what I wanted to say, and it was not coming out right.

“If I were an angel, then I should be able to make something miraculous happen on such a day as today. But what has happened is wonderful, but hardly miraculous. I see a family reunited, I see friends gathered and differences forgotten and forgiven. You have done this, not me. Two wonderful people, who dragged me from the pits of despair, and helped me become the person I am today, took me in. I am mortal, I feel pain and sorrow, I feel joy and can laugh, I am not an angel, but I feel very humble that some of you see me as such. But in truth, Mike and Mary are the real angels. Moreover, without them, none of us would be here today.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, Mike and Mary.”

After the toasts, we cut the cake, and the party began.
 
 
I sat and chatted with everyone I could. Pam and her dweeb, Paul, who was now her fiancé, were having a great time. Pam took me aside.

“Emma, I thought your speech was great.”

“Thanks Pam.”

“But I don’t buy it.”

“What?” I asked, confused.

“I don’t know what you did that time you first met Paul, but he is a completely different bloke.”

“Huh?” I said, completely baffled.

“You know he came second in a top class rally, and Renault have just sponsored him to drive for their new team?”

“Good for him. No, I didn’t know. But what is that to do with me?”

“You did something to him, that night. He took me home, and he was quite quiet all the way back, then he turned to me and said, ‘Pam, I have been a real drongo. I’m so sorry, I should have told you that you look so pretty and your dress is stunning, but I was so worried about being a prat, that I was one naturally. I was so proud that you came with me, and I think I love you.’ He then kissed me in a way he had never ever kissed me before, and he has been like that ever since.

“He encouraged me to go to back to college, and then to take courses in massage and fitness, and even to have other boyfriends, but, I came back to him, and he is just wonderful. Therefore, you can deny it all you want, but I know the truth. And thanks, he is gorgeous.”

I looked at her and shook my head sadly, but with a smile.

“Pam, I am so pleased, but I didn’t do anything, he just opened his eyes.”

“Yeah, right,” she said, and gave me a hug. “Whatever you say, Emma, whatever you say.”

Steve came over, and grabbed me round the waist.

“Hiya wife,” he said.

“Hello husband,” I said, and kissed him.

“What are you two talking about?”

“Nothing,” I said.

“She is an angel, isn’t she Steve?” Pam asked.

“Of course. But don’t tell anyone, she hates anyone knowing,” he said, and I hit him.

“Ow. I deserved that, thank you, O Angelic one, for correcting me,” he said, and I pulled my fist back again.

Marcia came over, having overheard.

“Pam, she definitely is, I can prove it,” she said.

“Marcia, no. Please.”

Marcia looked at me.

“Then you have to tell me the truth, you know those secrets you said you would tell me, or otherwise I am going to spill the beans about my miracle.”

“That’s blackmail,” I said, and Steve grinned.

“Steve, do something.”

He held up both hands, palms towards me.

“This is your fight, my love, you got into this, so you have to get out of it.”

“But tell her that I’m not an angel, please.”

He looked right into my eyes.

“I can’t. Because to me, you are.”

“Steve!” I said, frustrated.

“Well?” asked Marcia.

I took her by the arm, and led her to the bench by the churchyard. We sat down.

“Marcia, you know that night when the miracle happened for you?”

“I’ll never forget it. So?”

“I went through exactly the same thing a few weeks before you.”

She stared at me.

“No. You couldn’t have. You could never have been a boy.”

“How do you think I knew how you felt? Because I’d been there. I was at a boys public school, and was as miserable as you. Only my mother hated me, and was to try to bump me off a few weeks later.”

She stared at me, shaking her head.

I told her the whole story, leaving nothing out.

“You’re Russell Drysdale, the missing millionaire?”

“No, I’m Mrs. Emma Roberts, the multi-million heiress. I was Russell Drysdale, in another life.”

“And Steve knows?”

I nodded.

“How many others?”

“Mike, Mary. Steve, Ron Higgins the policeman, and my solicitor.”

“And you trust me that much?”

“Marcia, you are the sister I never had,” I said, and she burst into tears and hugged me for all I was worth.

“I knew I was right asking you to be Godmother to my children,” she said with a grin. “Now I know they will get super presents.”

We laughed, and she continued to shake her head.

“What?” I asked.

“I don’t care, to me you will always be an angel. So, just accept it,” she said, kissed my cheek, and dragged me back to the party.

There was a subtle change, as some of the older generation drifted away at about eight o’clock, and the disco started. I went and changed into a skirt and top, and felt pleased to be out of my dress. It was lovely, but hardly practical, and I had eaten nothing for fear of spilling food down it. I helped myself to a huge plate of food, and Steve joined me.

“Ready?”

“For what?” I asked.

“Your honeymoon.”

I smiled. “You’ve kept it a secret, I can wait a little longer,” I said.

His car was on the drive, absolutely covered in the usual wedding rubbish. Cans and boots, crazy foam and duct tape, the car was a riot of crap.

He looked up, and I saw the lights of an aircraft approaching. Closer and closer, it came, and then it dawned on me, it was a helicopter.

“Go get your case, my love, for your carriage has arrived.”

I ran and got my case, and when I came down, Mike and Mary were waiting with Steve.

“We just want to say goodbye. Emma, we…” Mike broke off, tears streaming down his face. Mary was crying too.

I hugged them both. Words were unnecessary, and would never cover what we wanted to say.

“Enjoy New Zealand. And we will come and have Christmas with you.”

“We’d like that,” Mary said.

“That’s if they will let me fly,” I said, and they all frowned.

“Why?”

“Because I will probably be about six months pregnant by then,” I said.

Steve stared at me with an open mouth, and I laughed.

“No, I’m not, but after tonight, who knows?” I said.

“Oh, Mike, this is for you,” I said, thrusting an envelope into his hands.

The helicopter landed in the adjoining field, we dashed over to it, and I was helped in. We circled the crowd a couple of times, and I dropped my bouquet. Pam caught it, so I smiled. We then headed for the airport.

“What did you give Mike?” Steve asked.

“The deeds of a cottage in New Zealand, just fifteen minutes away from Caroline. I asked Bruce to find it, but I bought it. It was the least I could do.”
 
 
Part 12
 
 
We spent our honeymoon in tropical paradise, in Tobago. I turned golden brown, and we spent most of the time making love, sunbathing, lying on a beach or swimming.

We had two weeks of it, and I knew by the end of the first week that I was pregnant. It was odd. I just felt different, as if my body was changing, and I was humbled to be allowed to bear new life. I told Steve, and he thought I was joking. However, he gradually realised I wasn’t, and treated me very tenderly, until I threatened to beat him soundly.

Once we arrived back, I went to the doctor and he confirmed what I already knew. I was over the moon, so was on the phone to Mary immediately. The fact that I called her first made her cry.

I then told Marcia, Steve’s mother, and anyone else I thought of. My regret was that my own mother was not aware and wouldn’t care even if she did.

It made me curious as to her origins, as all I knew was that she had met my father in the South of France a year before I was born.

I asked Ron to do some digging, but he didn’t have the time, but put me onto a retired police detective who ran his own private investigations company.

George Ruskin was about fifty-five, and looked very unhealthy, but he came with good references from Ron. I met him in his office in Oxford, and gave him as much information as I could. He had my parents’ marriage certificate and all the details about my mother I could find.

“I’ll give you a ring when I find something,” he told me, and I heard nothing more for ages.

I watched my mother being sentenced to a term in prison, and somehow I managed to divorce myself from the dishevelled figure slumped in the dock. I no longer recognised any ties, and I cried for that reason.

Steve took me home in a sombre mood, and he just cuddled me, knowing that words were useless. The phone went and it was George Ruskin.

“I found out where she came from. She was born near Lille, from a poor farming family. Her mother is still alive, but her father died ten years ago. Her elder brother runs the farm, and she has two sisters, both younger and married to local men.

“Her mother is called Helene, and her brother is Jean Brochard. There are loads of kids, and as far as I’m aware, they’ve not heard from your mother since before she got married to your dad.”

“She has a family?” I asked staggered. She had never even hinted that her parents might be alive.

He promised to send me all the details in a report with the invoice. I was in a daze, as here was a family I never knew existed.

“What are you going to do?” Steve asked.

“I don’t know. I can hardly just turn up and announce, hi, I’m your granddaughter.”

“Why not?”

“I’ll write first. Just to let them know.”

Which I did, straight after George’s report arrived, I tried my rusty French and wrote a simple letter introducing myself, and told them I’d like to meet my Grandmá¨re.

A couple of weeks later a letter came back written in a spidery hand. It was from my grandmother. She was shocked and surprised as she thought her daughter was dead. (I hadn’t told them what had happened, so I had something to talk about to them if I ever visited.)

She invited me to go and see them. Steve and I took a long weekend and caught the early ferry from Dover, and drove to Lille.

The farm was just outside a small village. It was rather dilapidated and in need of extensive repair. I could see that it was in full use, and despite the missing slates, the machinery and tractors were relatively new, and the cows seemed in good health.

I was obviously pregnant now, not heavily, but just obvious. I was dressed in a smart dark dress, and my bump was for all to see. Steve parked the car, a new Range Rover, outside the farmhouse, next to a beaten up Citroen. I got out and felt very nervous indeed.

“Seems deserted,” Steve said, just as a terrific yapping started from behind a door.

The door opened, and a small furry creature with more noise than was good for it appeared, and dashed round increasing in pitch and volume. A tall man, with receding hairline and a large paunch appeared. He was wearing a set of faded blue overalls, and a pair of slippers. A pair of heavy work boots lay by the doormat.

“Est-ce que tu es Emma??”

“Oui, je suis Emma, est tu mon oncle Jean?”

He gave me a huge smile and wrapped his enormous arms around me.

“C'est mon mari, Steven,” I said.

He shook Steve’s hand and gave him a hug too.

“Bienvenu. Viens sur, entre,” he said, and ushered us inside.

The interior was completely different from the scruffy outside, and was really lovely and clean and well presented.

I stood in the hall, and a small thin woman dressed in black came from what I found later was the kitchen.

“Mamam, c’est ta fille grande, Emma, d'Angleterre.”

The lady looked at me, burst into tears, and came and embraced me. I could feel she was ever so thin, as I could feel her bones.

“Good God. So, you are Brigette's daughter. I never even knew she was married. Where is she?”

“It’s a very long and not a very happy story,” I said.

"Well, I have made lunch, so you can tell me everything as we eat. Your aunts will be here soon," she replied.

She led us into the large kitchen, which was old fashioned, but well equipped. A simply huge table filled one end, with about fifteen chairs set around it.

Another woman was there, fussing with some pots, she turned as we came in.

“C'est ma femme, ta tante Jeanette,” my uncle told me, and we embraced.

“Oh, ma fille, est-ce que tu attends un bébé?” my grandmother said, noticing my bump.

“Oui, notre premier bébé,” I said.

Steven, who’s French was limited to ordering a couple of beers and a bottle of wine, was left floundering a bit, so I updated him with the conversation.

“Ah, your husband, he does not spik de francais?” my uncle asked in broken English.

“Non,” I said.

“I spik a leetle of the English,” he said and grinned at Steve.

“You like a beer?” he asked, so, grinning back, Steve nodded.

He took Steve off, leaving me with the women. Two more arrived, and these were obviously my mother’s sisters. They brought their husbands, and several children ranging between teenagers and toddlers. The men kissed me, and disappeared, obviously to find the beer or wine.

I told the story of my parents’ marriage, my birth and my father’s premature death. I omitted to disclose my original gender as I thought that would confuse. I then was brutally honest about my treatment at my mother’s hands, which caused mush teeth sucking and tut-tutting.

I then explained about my father’s will and the trust, again not disclosing the rather large monetary figures involved. I then gave them a brief history of my short yet quite successful career to date, and at one point one of my aunts clapped her hands and said, “Aha, est-ce que tu es Emma Pearson, la chanteuse?”

I nodded.

“Oui, je suis Emma Pearson, mais mon nom marié est Emma Roberts.”

The fact that they knew me here surprised me, and they seemed pleased to have someone famous in the family. There was some discussion about the songs that I sang, and they argued about which ones they liked the best.

I then told them about my mother trying to have me killed, and then trying to cheat me out of my inheritance. I finally explained that she had been sentenced to imprisonment just a few weeks ago. My grandmother shook her head and looked really quite cross.

“Your mother was always a very wilful and unpleasant child. She left home as soon as she was sixteen, and went top work down south. I heard that she became pregnant and had an abortion in Marseilles. She moved to Nice after that, and got a job as a hostess in a nightclub. We never heard from her again,” she told me.

“Well, I’m not my mother. And you’re the only family I have left,” I said, and this made her cry.

Lunch was a very noisy and typically French occasion. The wine and beer flowed very freely, so Steve seemed quite content, as the men were practising their English on him, and encouraging him to try his very rusty French.

I never managed to remember everyone’s names, and strangers seemed to arrive throughout the afternoon. Lunch seemed to just turn into dinner, and the party grew. I became aware of a police uniform, and it turns out one of my cousins was a police officer, and he and Steve were the same age. I saw them disappearing out together to look at the French Police car.

Whatever turns one on!

The food was very simple, but wonderful, and in such quantities. I was full before the main course of goose was plonked on the table. When I say goose, there were two, both roasted to a golden brown, and looking as good as they smelled. Then there were tarts and cakes, followed by the most wonderful local cheeses.

I had to tell my story repeatedly, and I felt a little guilty about casting my mother in such a bad light. The truth was told, and the family took me to their heart.

By ten o’clock, some started to drift off, as they had children to get to bed. I was now universally known as ‘Cousin Emma’ so got a hug and a kiss from everyone, even the smallest.

Steve and I had planned to spend the night at a local hotel, but they gave us a very comfortable room, which obviously hadn’t been used for a while, but was still very nice. Steve was just short of being completely intoxicated, so was fast asleep before I got into bed.

The weekend was very successful, so by the time we left they treated me as if I’d been part of the family forever. My grandmother hugged me very tightly, and put a hand on my tummy.

“You look after yourself. That baby is very precious. Mind you come and see me often.”

“I will, I promise.”

She was actually crying, and my uncle gave me a hug and kissed both cheeks, twice.

“Uncle. This may not be the time. But I am quite a wealthy young woman, and I just wondered if there was any way I could help the family?”

He looked at me, and then at his mother, who hadn’t heard.

“Telephone me, when you get home. We are having trouble with the bank, so there is something you could do. But I hate to ask.”

“Uncle. I have more than enough, and I feel that if I am part of this family, then I have a responsibility to help. I will call you. I promise.”

They watched us drive away, and I was sad to be leaving, but pleased to find that I had some family, and that they hadn’t all been like my mother.

“They were a lovely bunch. I hadn’t a clue what the fuck was being said for most of the time, but it was okay.”

“Did the policeman speak English?”

“Yeah, a little, but it was amazing how quickly my school French came back.”

He came to the main road, but turned left instead of right.

“Steve, what are you doing, the coast is the other way?”

“We are not going to the coast. Or not that one anyway.”

“What?”

“I’ve taken a week off. Now I remembered your solicitor saying you had a villa and a yacht in Monaco. So, you and me are going there for a week.”

“You sod. I haven’t packed enough for a week.”

“You’re going to the rich person’s shopping capital, and are complaining that you haven’t any clothes?”

I smiled, as it was a lovely surprise.

He drove fast and well, so we arrived in the evening. He had managed to get the address, and even contacted the housekeeper to say we’d be arriving. I wondered what sort of reception we’d receive, as my mother lived here for so long.

As it happened, I needn’t have worried.

We drove up a sweeping drive through some majestic gates, and stopped in front of the enormous villa. It was off white, just with a tinge of pale pink. The red tiles on the roof and maroon shutters gave it a Mediterranean feel. The Hibiscus and geraniums were all in full bloom, so the scent was heavenly.

The garden was immaculate, and I gathered that mummy dearest hadn’t been here for some time. She had been on bail in the UK for months, restricted to remaining in England until the trial, and was now languishing in Holloway Prison.

As we were still getting out of the car, a liveried butler appeared. He was tall and very smart, his grey hair the only indication of his advancing years.

“Mrs Roberts?”

“Yes?”

“Madam, I am Michael. I was your father’s butler, and I have been managing the house for the last twenty years,” he spoke excellent English, with just a hint of an accent that I could not identify.

“Ah, how nice to meet you Michael. Unfortunately, circumstances precluded me from visiting before this,” I said, and he took my offered hand and raised it to his lips.

“I understand, and, you have my deepest sympathies. The whole situation was most disagreeable.”

He was looking at me very strangely, and as he noted that I was so obviously with child, his frown deepened.

I smiled.

“Dear Michael, you look so confused. You are asking yourself, ‘How on earth did young Russell suddenly become Emma, and is now very pregnant.’ Well, I don’t know how or why I suffered from the strange gender dysfunction, but clearly, someone goofed when I was born. As soon as my hormones started, I became the normal female you see before you. This is my husband Steven, and I understand you spoke with him when he planned this little surprise?”

“Yes Madam. May I say, it is so wonderful to have you both here.”

I smiled, and turned to him.

“Michael, now, please put me out of my misery, where is that accent from?”

“I’m Canadian, Madam, but I’ve lived in Europe all my life.”

“Ah, that’s it. I knew it wasn’t American, but for the life of me, I just couldn’t identify it. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Madam. Have you luggage?”

“I got it, don’t worry,” Steve said, carrying our two cases.

“My dear husband didn’t tell me that we were coming, so I will have to go shopping tomorrow,” I said.

“Ah, that will be so distressing for Madam,” Michael said, perfectly straight-faced.

Steve laughed.

“That’s what I said,” he said, so I hit him.

Michael relieved Steve of one of the bags, and took us inside. The place was immaculate, and I wondered how much damage my mother had done.

“Michael, did my mother ..?”

“Madam, you mother tried many things, however I was able to prevent the serious works of art from being removed by locking them in the vault just after you father died. I also removed the silver, gold and crystal. The items that were left were either reproductions or fakes.”

“I get the impression you two weren’t the best of friends.”

“That’s an understatement, Madam.”

“Michael, we are now in the twenty-first century. Do you think you could call me Emma?”

“I doubt it, Madam.”

I smiled.

“Please?”

“How about Ma’am?”

“Michael, a woman who runs a brothel is a madam, and we call the queen, Ma’am. My name is Emma, please call me Emma, when it is just us, at least.”

“I shall try, m..Emma.”

“Thank you.”

He showed us up to the master bedroom, which was truly magnificent. There was a painting on the wall of two semi naked women, and I was sure it was a famous one.

“Yes, M..Emma, it is the original.”

“Are all the paintings original?”

“Yes, M..Emma. I have replaced everything to exactly how your father liked it.”

“Have you seen the size of bathroom, Em?”

I shook my head, as I was having a moment.

“Michael, what was Daddy like?”

“He was one of the finest men I ever met, Emma. He adored his wife, and when you were born, I had never seen him so happy. He was kind and generous, but a very good businessman, nonetheless. I respected, admired and looked up to him.”

“I only have so few memories of him. I came here a couple of times, and I remember it vaguely. I’d so like to meet him again. I’d like him to know his grandchild,” I said, stroking my bump.

Michael had a tear in his eye.

“I’m sure he’d like to have done both.”

I wiped my eyes, and smiled.

“Well, he’s not, so I just have to accept it. Is there any food in the house, or shall we go out?”

“Dinner has been prepared by my wife, and it will be served in the dining room at your convenience.”

“Michael, have you eaten?”

“No, we will eat after you.”

“Michael, you and your dear wife will eat with us, and we shall join you in the kitchen.”

“Madam.”

“Michael.”

He smiled.

“Thank you, that is most gracious,” he said.

“No, it isn’t. Michael, I’m twenty-two, my husband is twenty-five. You’re old enough to be our parents, or worse. I will not step into a class system in which I don’t belong. I accept that you are paid to undertake your responsibilities, but that doesn’t mean we have to perpetuate an outdated system of “us and them”. If we entertain, then I will accept usual practices, but when it is just us, I will become offended if any barriers exist.”

“Emma, I understand. Unfortunately, your mother..”

“My mother is no longer an issue. She is in prison, and will not be mentioned in this house again,” I said, very firmly.

He smiled.

“Yes Madam,” he said, and I punched him lightly on the arm.

“My grandmother, my mother’s mother, is at this address. Please could you ring the number and ask for my Uncle Jean. I must have a pee, I’ll take it when I get out,” I said, and gave him a piece of paper, and dashed to the loo.

He was talking in French to Jean when I reappeared.

“Your Uncle,” he said, giving me the phone.

“Hello, Uncle Jean?”

“Emma. Thank you for calling. It was not possible to talk earlier. Were you serious about your offer to help?”

“Of course.”

“Well, we have a debt with the bank, and they are talking about foreclosing. Now I have extended it twice, but we are just not making enough to keep all the family. Times are hard, and we make enough to live, but not to pay the interest to the bank as well.”

“How much?”

“Three hundred thousand Euros.”

“Which bank, and the account number?”

He told me and I wrote down the details.

“What is the manger’s name?” I asked.

He told me.

“Consider it done.” I said.

“That easily?”

“Uncle Jean. My mother was a selfish cow, who lived for herself, and no one else. My grandmother worried about her for years, and she never even called. Not once. How can a child do that to her mother? And yet as a mother, she tried to have me killed and then to cheat me out of my father’s money. I am not my mother, and I owe it to my father to put right what wrongs she has done to my grandmother.”

“But, it is a lot of money.”

“Uncle, it’s a drop in the ocean. It is not what you attain that people remember you for, but how you lived your life.”

“Gracious child. How will we repay you?”

“You already have. You gave me a family.”

I sensed he was crying, and so I said goodbye.
 
 
Supper was a little strained to start with, as Michael’s wife, Claudette, a round, jolly woman of about sixty, was clearly unused to having people in her kitchen.

I laid the table, while Steve put the glasses round as Michael opened a bottle of wine. We sat and enjoyed the most superb seafood medley. Fresh fish of about eight varieties and salad, with some exotic and delicious sauces made for a very happy meal. Claudette thawed remarkably quickly, and even managed to call me Emma once.

We helped wash up, after which I kissed Claudette soundly on the cheeks, thanking her for just being there.

We retired to our fabulous bedroom at eleven, standing on the balcony looking out across the sea. The stars were out, and the lights were twinkling on the mastheads of the many boats in the marina. It was a magical scene. Steve wrapped his arms around me, and held the bump with both hands.

“Happy?”

“Mmmmm,” I said, and he kissed my neck. Shivers of pleasure ran down my spine.

I turned and kissed him.

The kiss went on, and I wanted him. I pushed him onto the bed, and started undressing him.

“Emma, careful. The baby.”

“Shh. I claim my marital rights,” I said, and took his growing erection into my mouth.

“Emma!” he said, but made no move to escape.

Firmly, he prised me off before he came and undressed me, kissing every inch of my body until I was naked next to him, and tingling with anticipation.

He was so damn gentle, but he took me to new heights of pleasure as he dutifully impaled me and made slow delightful love to me for ages. We finally slept, curled together naked, with the sea air just gently cooling our bodies.
 
 
I awoke first, the baby was pressed against my bladder, and so I had to go. I slipped out of bed, and found a black silk ladies robe behind the door. I put it on and went to the loo. It was only six o’clock, and the sun was rising across the Principality. I had my pee, and walked out onto the terrace. The air was still, and there were few sounds from the city. I could see vehicles moving up the Grande Corniche behind us, and took in the spectacular views properly for the first time.

I caught my reflection in the glass, and a tall blond young woman looked at me, with a twinkle in her eye and a smile in her heart. I opened the robe, and saw my firm breasts, which had swollen some since I had become pregnant, and the round belly, within which rested my hope.

I was so happy. I closed the robe, looked across the flowers, and thought back to that moment when I discovered that I had become female.

Ever since that moment, my life turned round. From the point of desperation, where I actually considered taking my own life, I had come full circle to the point of giving new life back. I still don’t know how or why it happened, but I offered my daily thanks to the unseen power that allowed it to happen.

A pair of strong arms caught me from behind, and I smiled as my husband nuzzled my neck.

“I missed you,” he said.

I turned and kissed him. He was all scratchy, and needed a shave. I ran the palm of my hand down his cheek, and kissed him again.

“I love you so much,” I said.

“Jolly good job,” he said.

I stripped off my robe, and naked again, turned and dived into the pool.

He followed suit a couple of moments later, and we ended up making love in the shallow end. The buoyancy of the water was wonderful, and I found the whole experience so erotic.

We climbed out, and lay on the grass.

“You are so randy now you’re pregnant,” he said, as he kissed my breasts.

“Are you complaining?” I asked, as he did something very remarkable with his tongue.

“No, not at all. I just adore you, did you know that?” he asked.

“Mmmm. I don’t know what you are doing, but don’t stop,” I said, as he brought me to orgasm, again.

“You are insatiable,” he said.

“Are you still complaining?”

“Would I?” he said, as he took me from behind, and screwed me into submission.

“Oh my God. Steve. YES. Oh Yes. Oh shit. Oh. Oh. Oh.”
 
 
We returned to our room, and had a spa bath together, and yes, we fucked again. I couldn’t get enough of him today, and by the time we went down to breakfast, I was ready to go for a rest.

We had breakfast on the terrace by the pool.

Steve was looking into the filter, and being nosy.

“Do you think pubic hair clogs the system up?” he asked, and I got the giggles.

“Well?”

“I wouldn’t know,” I said. “Look.”

He turned to look at me and I opened my legs. I was wearing a short dress, and no knickers. I had shaved my pubic hair, and so the cool air on my now completely bald fanny, was amazingly erotic.

“Bloody hell. What are you like?” he said, and was by my side very quickly.

He bent down and I felt his tongue brush against the lips, and titillate my clitoris, and I immediately came, and he simple swept me into his arms and carried me to the bedroom.

He placed me on the bed, and buried his face into my groin, letting his tongue reach as far inside my vagina as it would reach. I moaned and clawed his clothes, and he shook off his shorts, and we formed a classic 69 position, and within moments I was swallowing a huge mouthful of delightful semen as he licked my now soaking fanny clean.

We eventually found the energy to dress, and walked the short distance to the Marina. Dad’s yacht was an eighty-foot luxury Sunseeker, which promised to be enormous fun. We shared visions of cruising the Greek islands, and swimming naked in desolate coves.

Oh yes, life looked exceptionally good, and my baby chose that moment to give me a hearty kick.

I kissed my husband, and decided that I liked being Emma very much indeed.
 
 

The End (Of the Beginning)

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