Tom never realised that arriving home early would change his life for ever...

Changes

Chapter 1

By Susan Brown

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I arrived home tired, irritable and in need of a drink. Parking the car in the drive next to Olivia’s, my feet crunched up the gravel drive, to the front door.

The journey home had been its normal horrendous stop-start on the M25. I had been doing it for seven years now and things hadn’t improved despite the road widening schemes.

Working eight plus hours in the office for a company that cared little for me or my co-workers, left me jaded at the end of each day and the journey just added to the fun that was now my life.

As I opened the front door, all I wanted was a hug a kiss and a cheery smile from my wife, and then I would go upstairs to change into a dress or something at least a lot more feminine than the shapeless man’s suit I had to wear at the office.

Olivia used to love my dressing; we had great times in and out of bed and we had a network of friends that shared our type of lifestyle. All that gradually ended about a year ago now. Olivia started to go cold on me and stopped going to events; finally withdrawing into herself. We hadn’t had sex in ten months now and we were gradually drifting apart; I didn’t know what to do about it. I loved my wife and I would do almost anything to turn our lives around I tried to discuss things with her, but she refused to talk about it–only saying that living with me was like having a lesbian relationship and she had to think things through. I even said that I would stop dressing, but she gave me a pitying smile, knowing as I do that it wouldn’t work.

Walking up to the front door, I fished the keys out of my pocket. Arriving home early meant that neither of us would be tired. She worked at the local library and was normally home by 4.30 at the latest. Perhaps for once, we could discuss our problems without being too knackered to have a meaningful conversation.
 
 
The reason I had finished a bit early today was that I had some work to do at home prior to a meeting, early tomorrow at a London hotel. Our company liked meetings and I spent large amounts of my time attending them. Nothing was ever done or decided at these meeting. Some of my colleagues really enjoyed going to them–business networking, it’s called. I found nearly all of them boring and the only thing that seemed to happen was the exchange of a large number of business cards with people who wanted to sell themselves and didn’t really listen to what you were saying.

I opened the door and said, ‘Hello?’

It was quiet; maybe she was upstairs somewhere.

I went up the carpeted stairs and had a look in the bathroom, all was quiet. I was just about to shout hello again, when I heard some giggling from the spare bedroom.

Going over to the door quietly with a smile on my face, thinking that I might surprise Olivia, I opened it…

The smile wiped off my face as I saw her naked on the bed with a man astride her. They didn’t realise I was there–being in the throes of energetic and noisy sex. The man was about my age–30, and was slim with blond hair. I could have gone over to them, confronted them and made a hell of a row, but I didn’t. I looked at them for a few moments feeling numb and confused and then quietly closed the door.

Going to our bedroom, I took down two suitcases, I packed a large selection of clothes, shoes and other necessities and then, picking up some personal stuff from the safe, I left the room, passing the spare bedroom as I heard some more giggles and moans–they were oblivious to the world and my presence. I tried not to picture my wife in bed with somebody else, just wondering how long she had been cheating on me. Going downstairs, I picked up my wallet, phone and keys from the kitchen table and went out; closing the door behind me for what I knew would be the last time.

Driving off, I glanced at the house in the rear view mirror. I had tears in my eyes, I loved her but she no longer loved me. It wasn’t fair and life–as far as I was concerned–stank.

Not knowing where to go, I just drove. After about an hour, I found myself on a dual carriageway coming up to a roundabout, I saw a Little Chef restaurant and pulled in.

I sat a table and waited for a coffee and toasted teacake, I wasn’t hungry but hoped that putting something in my stomach might make the sick feeling I had, go away.

My phone rang. Picking it up, I saw that it was Olivia.

‘Hello?’

‘Tom, where are you.’

'On my way to a meeting, I’m going to be away for a few days.’

‘You didn’t tell me.’

And you didn’t tell me you were shagging another bloke in our house.

‘I left a message on the answer machine.’

‘You know that’s playing up. When will you be home?’

‘Not sure yet ’cause it’s a big deal and I’m needed to smooth things over.’

‘Oh…when will you let me know?’

‘Know what?’

‘When you are coming home?’

Does it matter, you have another man now, why don’t you go and make love to him again!

‘I’m not sure; I’ll let you know as soon as I do.’

‘It’s funny, I thought I heard your car in the drive but when I got to the window, nothing was there.’

‘Look, I’ve got to go now; I’ll contact you when I can.’

‘Tom, are you all right, you sound a bit funny.’

Not half as funny as you did as he screwed you!

‘I…I’m fine; just tired. I have to go now, bye.’

‘Okay, drive safely, Bye.’

As if you care!

I switched the phone off, not wanting to have any more calls and ate my tea cake. After finishing that and my drink, I paid my bill and was soon back in the car.

I sat there for ages, unable to decide what to do. My marriage was finished and I was in a job that I hated. Still in shock, numb at the events of the last few hours, I was probably not in the best frame of mind to make any sort of decision about my life–but I did, anyway.

I was a bit old fashioned and didn’t have a satnav, just a good old road atlas. I opened it at the page that showed the whole of the UK mainland, shut my eyes and jabbed my finger down on the page. Opening my eyes I smiled because my finger had landed in the middle of the North Sea.

Trying again, I looked where my finger had landed this time and smiled, South Devon, near the Cornish border, Penmarris Cove. It looked like a small fishing village–that would be where I would try to rebuild my life.

‘That’ll do.’ I said, starting the car and following the signposts that said West Country.

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To Be Continued...

Please leave comments...thanks!
My thanks also go out to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing and pulling the story into shape!~Sue

It took thirty minutes to get on the motorway that leads down to Devon and the West Country–plenty of time to think about what I should do. I know I wasn’t thinking straight–the shock of my wife and her betrayal would probably haunt me for the rest of my life...

Changes

Chapter 2

By Susan Brown

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Previously…

Trying again, I looked where my finger had landed and smiled, South Devon, near the Cornish border–Penmarris Cove. It looked like a small fishing village–that would be where I would try to rebuild my life.

‘That will do.’ I said starting the car and following the signposts that said West Country.

And now the story continues…

It took thirty minutes to get on the motorway that leads down to Devon and the West Country–plenty of time to think about what I should do. I know I wasn’t thinking straight–the shock of my wife and her betrayal would probably haunt me for the rest of my life. At first I blamed myself for being transgendered, but my wife came into the marriage with eyes wide open. I told her on the second date, who and what I was. She seemed to get a buzz out of my far from normal gender identity. The one thing she was concerned about was whether I took the final step and had SRS, but I said that I had no intention of doing that and she seemed quite happy with my response.

We had a lovely white wedding at a little church near Maidstone in Kent, where she had been born. The only down side for me was that I wasn’t the one wearing the wedding gown.

The service was traditional; the only difference being that we both read the famous poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, taking turns to read each wonderful line. I felt a lump in my throat as I remembered the words:

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, --- I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! --- and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

I had to stop in a lay-by for a few minutes get myself back together again–but after I pulled myself together and gave myself a good talking to, I continued on, as I still had a long way to travel.

As the car sped its way toward my destination, I wondered whether I should have screamed and shouted when I caught them naked in our house on one of our beds; but, what was the point? She obviously didn’t find me enough for her, so she went elsewhere for love; or was it just the sex? For all I knew he was the milkman, plumber or whatever. Shouting, screaming and fighting wouldn’t have changed anything. Our marriage was over and beyond repair once she decided that I wasn’t what she wanted any more.

We were so happy at first, doing everything together and enjoying adventurous sex. We liked to ‘do it’ in lots of different places. Including on a train, a mile up in the air, on a ship, (we liked to travel). We never managed a bus, but probably would have done given time. Where was I? Oh yes–we made love in a field, on top of a cliff and even in the car park of our local pub; you get the message, we enjoyed life to the full. It wasn’t just the sex, we loved going to the theatre and concerts, eating out, parties–all things a loving couple like to do together. Then it all started to unravel about a year ago and I always thought that it was my fault. Had I gone too far with my dressing? Every evening and at weekends, I spent dressed as a girl. Every night, I went to bed in silky nighties and this seemed to help heighten our lovemaking for a while. Olivia only saw me dressed as a male on the occasions that I needed to be–going to work or other functions that required me to be en drab.

Sighing, I came out of my reverie as I took the slip road to the M4; traffic was quite heavy even here as the rush hour was in full swing. There was quite a lot of stop start traffic and once again, as I didn’t have to concentrate on driving at speed, I returned to my thoughts.

Sinking into a bit of self-pity; I remembered the good times. Tears streaked down my face as I remembered the first time we made love. I was a virgin and I think she was. I’m not so sure now as she seemed to be a bit of an expert and you don’t learn everything reading books. Anyway, for me the experience was lovely–the culmination of the love we had for each other…

The road seemed to clear miraculously ahead and soon I was up to speed again. Concentrating on the traffic and the road ahead meant that my disturbing thoughts were put in the background. A good thing really as the last thing I wanted to do was start crying again at nearly eighty miles an hour!

I drove for nearly two hours and it was getting dark now. I saw the sign warning that a service area was one mile ahead and decided to have a break and do something else too.

Pulling up at a parking bay, quite a way from anyone else–it was not very full as it was a weekday and getting a bit late. I switched off the engine and shut my eyes for a moment.

I must have dropped off because when I looked at the clock on the dashboard, half an hour had passed. There were no cars near me and I was relatively alone. Looking at my drab suit, I grimaced, hating the sight of it and the feel of the shirt and tie, tight against my neck. I made a decision then, one that had been at the back of my mind ever since I saw Olivia and him. Taking off my jacket, I threw it on the back seat. My tie followed.

Looking around to make sure that I was still unobserved, I got out of the car and then going to the boot, opened it. I had brought no male clothing with me as subconsciously, I suppose, I had decided that I no longer wanted to be seen as a male in any way shape or form. The dichotomy of trying to live a dual life hadn’t worked for me or Olivia, so I made the decision.

Opening a case, I pulled out a pink sweatshirt and grey jogging pants, putting them on the back seat. Returning to the boot, I rummaged around the case for the other things that I needed. There was a selection of bras and my breast forms, I picked out a white bra, some pink sports socks and my white trainers with pink edging that had been jammed down the side of the case when I hurriedly packed it. I now had all I needed and shut the boot. Looking around, another car had parked about 30 yards away and I waited for the couple to get out of their car and walk hand in hand towards the services building before I continued with my plan, such as it was.

I sat in the back of the car–plenty of room in a 5 series BMW, luckily–and after checking that all was clear, I got changed. Off came my shirt and I immediately put on the bra and placed the rather cold breast forms next to my hairless skin. After a small adjustment of the straps, I was okay. Then I put on the sweatshirt. With one eye on possible sightseers, I removed my trousers; I was wearing a pair of pink satin panties already, so I didn’t have to change them.

I pulled up the jogging pants, not easy in a car but with a certain amount of Houdini-like contortions, I managed to put them on. Finally, I put on my pink socks and trainers and then I was done–well that bit was anyway. It was quite dark now and I only had the lights of the parking area to guide me, I took out the brush form the glove compartment and gave my longish blond hair a good brush pulling the hair back and concentrating on the tangled end bits. Then taking a pink scrunchie that had been around the handle of the brush, I put my hair up in a pony tail. The mirror wasn’t too good, so I didn’t see if my hair was okay but as the first thing that I was going to do was go into the ladies loo, I didn’t worry about it.

I didn’t shave much, being light skinned and blond, so I just put a bit of foundation on and squinting in the small vanity mirror, put on some pink lippy. A few minutes later, after picking up my shoulder bag, I locked the car and walked towards the bright lights of the service area, feeling a bit like a jogger in my outfit but, hopefully looking the part.

Not wanting to hang around, I went straight to the ladies–something I had only done twice before–but hell I was the new me now, all girl and proud of it. I had to assert myself no matter how much of a coward I felt deep inside. Heart thumping, I pushed the swing doors open.

As soon as I walked in, without looking to left or right, I went to an empty stall, shut the door, pulled down my joggers and panties and sat down. Sighing with relief, I let it all go, making sure that my wayward and now unwanted appendage was pointing downward–Unwanted, that was a thought, did I really want to go all the way now?

I didn’t want to go there so I finished the business and after wiping myself carefully and taking my courage in both hands, I unbolted the door and went out, certain that thousands of women would stop and stare at me.

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To Be Continued...

Please leave comments...thanks!
My thanks also go out to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing and pulling the story into shape!~Sue

It wasn’t quite what I thought. There were no screams, shouts of horror or women fainting at the sight of me,...

Changes

Chapter 3

By Susan Brown

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Previously…

As soon as I walked in, without looking to left or right, I went to an empty stall, shut the door, pulled down my joggers and panties and sat down. Sighing with relief, I let it all go, making sure that my wayward and now unwanted appendage was pointing downward–Unwanted, that was a thought, did I really want to go all the way now?

I didn’t want to go there so I finished the business and after wiping myself carefully and taking my courage in both hands, I unbolted the door and went out, certain that thousands of women would stop and stare at me.

And now the story continues…

It wasn’t quite what I thought. There were no screams, shouts of horror or women fainting at the sight of me, just several women washing their hands, doing their hair or touching up their makeup. It was busy with people coming and going all the time. It was busy, busy, busy!

Sighing with relief, I went to the corner basin and washed my hands. Sneakily I looked around to see if anyone was paying attention, but no, they were more interested in themselves than anyone else.

I saw in the mirror that my hair should be re-scrunchied as I was a bit lopsided in the ponytail department. I quickly took off the scrunchie, brushed my hair back and then put it back up again, nice and straight. My makeup didn’t look too bad so I just touched up my lipstick and powdered my slightly shiny nose. Studying at my reflection with a critical eye, I wouldn’t win any beauty contests, but on the other hand, I did look more or less female and that was good enough for me.

I left the ladies and went to McDonalds, passing quickly as the smell of the burgers made me feel slightly sick. There was a small counter selling filled rolls so I ordered a BLT* and a coffee and took them to a corner table.

The place wasn’t all that busy so I was able to eat in relative peace. Mind you, my heart felt a sort of stabbing pain when I saw a couple walk by, hand in hand and sit down not ten feet from me. However, they had eyes only for each other; the smiles, laughs and whispers, showed all too clearly what they had–and I had lost.

Looking away, I concentrated on my snack. I had to be positive. No good would come of my wallowing in self pity. Now I was not concentrating on driving, my thoughts turned not at what had happened a few short hours ago, but what I was going to do about it now–it being my life.

Sipping my coffee, I wondered about the ramifications of my running away from my responsibilities. My plan, such as it was, was simple–run as fast as I can. Not a very good or imaginative one in the circumstances. It was a scheme that it had certain flaws; even I, in my bruised and battered state could see that.

Rubbing my eyes, I felt quite weary. It was nearly nine o’clock and I still had at least a three-hour drive before I reached my destination and even then, I would have to sleep in the car because most places would almost certainly be shut up for the night.

The service area had a Travelodge hotel attached to it so I decided to see if there were any vacancies. Picking up my shoulder bag, I left the service building and went next door to the hotel reception.

There was no sign of anyone at reception so I rang the bell on the desk.

A few minutes later a woman came out from the office and smiled at me. She was, according to the badge pinned to her bosom, Tracey–receptionist.

‘Can I have a room for the night?’

‘Yes, Madam; for how many?’

‘One please.’

‘Smoking or non-smoking?’

‘Non-smoking.’

‘Will you require calling in the morning?’

‘No thanks.’

‘That will be forty-nine pounds please.’

I nearly gave her my credit card but as it had my male name on it; it would probably give the game away and might conceivably make her phone the police.

Luckily, I had fifty pounds so I gave her the cash. I know that they don’t normally inspect cards closely these days, as we just stick the card in the slot and put in the pin number, but knowing my luck at the moment, something would go pear-shaped.

‘Right, Madam, you’re in room one-two-five on the first floor; here’s your key. You are entitled to a discount of five pounds off your breakfast if you go to the Little Chef next door. You must vacate your room by 10 o’clock. I hope you enjoy your stay.’

I returned her plastic smile and took the key.

Returning to my car, I picked up my suitcases, computer bag and other bits and pieces, and struggled back to the hotel. Where was a bell boy when you needed one? Not that a place like this ever went as far as employing someone like that–too posh.

Struggling with my cases–on wheels luckily–and my bags, I managed to find room 125 and let myself in.

I sank down on the surprisingly comfortable bed and shut my eyes for a few minutes.

Half an hour later, I woke up, not quite knowing where I was; then it came back to me with a rush.

I had not realised how tired I was and was glad that I decided to break my journey, perhaps I would be fresher tomorrow.

I opened one of the cases and pulled out a few things. Picking up the remote, I switched the TV on; it was the news–full of the doom and gloom of British politics and little else. The country was going to rack and ruin and the newsreader seemed to be enjoying telling us all about it.

Deciding that a bath would be in order, I entered the bathroom and turned on the taps. I took off all my clothes and made sure that my hair was safely in a shower cap. I know I was going to have a bath, but I always sink a bit under the waves and I did not want the back of my hair wet.

It was great to relax in a nice warm bath. I had found some pink bubble bath, so I was covered in nice strawberry-smelling suds. All my knots unravelled as the tension eased out of my muscles. I must have fallen asleep, as I woke up suddenly as the bath water started to get cold. I stood up, pulled out the plug and got out; luckily I wasn’t too pruney in the skin department and began to dry myself with a big fluffy towel.

I slipped on my long peach satin nightie, brushed my hair, cleaned the remnants of any makeup off my face, put on some cold cream to help keep my face as beautiful as the girl in the advert–well she said it helped and it must be true as it was on the TV–and then I sat on the bed. I wasn’t very tired any more. The TV was droning on, local bulletin now, even more depressing than the national news, I noticed.

I switched the TV off and picked up my computer bag, unzipping it and taking out my notebook–a must for an up-and-coming ex-company executive like me.

I was in a wi fi area so when I switched the computer on, I was able to get a reasonable signal. I checked my email; there were about fifteen spams plus one from the office and another from Olivia. Not wanting to read anything from Olivia at the moment, I opened the one from the office. It was just a confirmation of the meeting I was supposed to attend the next day.
I clicked the reply button and just said that I would not be able to attend as I was sick. I told them I was having stress problems and that I would contact HR in a few days.
Then, somewhat reluctantly, I opened the email from Olivia.

Tom,
What’s happening and why is your phone switched off? Please ring me when you get this as we need to talk.
Olivia

I didn’t reply and just shut the email down.

On a whim, I Googled, Penmarris Cove.

There wasn’t much about it, just a small website with a few pages. It was evidently a fishing village, as I had thought, but there were only two fishing boats left using the tiny harbour, so it wasn’t exactly Grimsby. There was one pub, a post office-cum-village shop, a small primary school, a gift shop, an iron monger’s, a fish and chip shop and a general store. The population was five hundred at the last census and it appeared that the main source of income was tourism in the summer months, when the village’s population tripled–if the weather was good. There were a few small sandy beaches at either end of the cove, imaginatively named East Beach and West Beach and from the grainy pictures on the website, it all looked picturesque and rather pretty.

‘Yes.’ I thought to myself, ‘A nice place to hide away and be myself,’

Smiling, I shut the computer down then went to the bathroom, brushed my teeth and had a wee. Switching off all the lights with the exception of the one on the bedside cabinet, I slipped under the sheets and just stared at the ceiling. As far as I was concerned, today was the end of my old life and tomorrow was the beginning of my new one.

BLT* Bacon lettuce and tomato roll

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To Be Continued...

Please leave comments...thanks!
My thanks also go out to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing and pulling the story into shape!~Sue

The next morning I awoke with the sun on my face, coming through a chink in the curtains where they had not been closed fully.

Rubbing my eyes, I reached over and looked at my watch; it was ten past eight. I had a good stretch and a yawn, feeling rested and ready to face the new day...

Changes

Chapter 4

By Susan Brown

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Previously…

Smiling, I shut the computer down then went to the bathroom, brushed my teeth and had a wee. Switching off all the lights with the exception of the one on the bedside cabinet, I slipped under the sheets and just stared at the ceiling. As far as I was concerned, today was the end of my old life and tomorrow was the beginning of my new one.

And now the story continues…

The next morning I awoke with the sun on my face, coming through a chink in the curtains where they had not been closed fully.

Rubbing my eyes, I reached over and looked at my watch; it was ten past eight. I had a good stretch and a yawn, feeling rested and ready to face the new day.

Getting out of bed, I stretched again and padded over to the dressing table, checked the kettle for water and switched it on. Feeling a bladder situation occurring, I used the toilet and then washed the sleep out of my eyes. By the time I had done all this, the kettle had switched itself off.

I made myself a cup of coffee with the granules and milk provided and then went back to bed. Switching on my computer, I clicked on Google Maps and had a look at the route I ought to take to sunny Devon. It looked straightforward enough and, if I didn't stop, I reckoned I would be on the road for about three hours.

I checked my emails–more out of habit than any real need. Apart from a couple of spams regarding enlarging my penis, and telling me for a fact that I had won a timeshare in Spain, there was one from Olivia.

After pausing over the button for a moment, I sighed and opened it.

Tom, where are you? Why have you switched your phone off and why didn’t you answer my previous email and texts?

Why have you taken so many girls clothes away with you. What is going on? You aren’t at the hotel where your meeting is yet.

Please ring me urgently, we REALLY need to talk.

Olivia.

No “Love Olivia”, I noted as I closed her email. Did she want to tell me about her infidelity? I felt as if I didn’t know her–she wasn’t the person I thought I had married. I hadn’t decided what say to her yet and was going to wait until I arrived at my destination and settled in. Mind you, there may not be anywhere to stay, but I would cross that bridge when I came to it. It wouldn’t hurt for her to wonder where I was for a few more hours.

Drinking my coffee, I felt a certain peace. I was doing what I wanted–without any outside influences. For most of my life, I had taken into consideration what others wanted and not looked after my own interests. It was kind of liberating, lying on this bed like this in my silky feminine nightie, planning my future. It had taken the breakdown of my marriage to get where I now was and, sad as I was that things had happened the way they had, anything I did from now on was down to me and me alone. So I would go down to Devon and would try to make a life for myself without being held back by work or messy relationships.

I was lucky in a way because financially, I was in quite a good situation. When my mother died, she left her large, rambling house to me. I sold the house and it netted 250K and the money nestled in several different accounts–all in my name. Olivia wasn’t interested in my money and had always been of independent means; in fact my job was working at her father’s business, although now I think it was a mistake to have worked for him. The house we had lived in was bought by her parents as a wedding present–another tie which I could have done without. I sometimes felt like a kept man or girl. Olivia didn’t need to work, but she did anyway–at the local library. It made her feel useful.

I was never very happy in the job. All the other employees thought that I was there was only because my father-in-law owned the place –true really. Olivia thought that I should work in a real job and of course, me being the person I was, I went along with her wishes. Maybe I was too submissive and should have put my foot down and done what I wanted with my life and not just gone with the flow.

My real passion was painting. Watercolours mainly, but some oils too. I had gone to university at Bath. I was the traditional art student, a bit scruffy–when not dressed en femme, of course as I had to keep up with the perceived persona. I had a talent and could make my brushes dance on the canvas. I had a good eye and could remember faces and scenes and was able to reproduce these accurately from memory rather well.

I had met Olivia at university–at one of those end of term things. She was studying social science and I hadn’t seen her before. It was lust at first site and we found ourselves in bed that night and more or less from then on we were an item. First it was just the fun of it all and then things got heavy and we fell in love. Nine months later we were married and the rest, as they say, is history.

Olivia had loved my paintings and drawing and thought that I was really talented–but she thought it wasn’t a real job. If Van Gogh had sold only one painting while he was alive, what chance did I have amongst the thousands of painters trying to scrape a living from their art?

I suppose I was under her spell and my wishes receded into the background. In the end, I gave in, as I always did, and joined the family business. Well it was now time for me to leave the family business and start living my own life.

I had a shower and washed my hair. Using a razor, I shaved my armpits and legs, not that they needed much shaving as I always managed to keep on top of that sort of thing. Using the dryer I found in one of the drawers, I dried my hair, then brushed it until it shone, and put it in a ponytail. Finally, I shaved my face with a new wet razor, luckily I was blond and the hair was somewhat sparse.

I had remembered to take some of my clothes out of my case to stop them creasing and when I opened the wardrobe door; I pondered about what I should wear. It was quite bright and sunny outside and I wanted to look as feminine as possible, so I pulled out my yellow strappy sun dress and layed it on the bed. Next I searched around for a white bra and panty set–I didn’t want to wear tights because I felt they would be too hot on a day like this, so I decided that white sandals were the answer to the footwear problem.

I pulled on the panties and then the bra, placing my breast forms inside and arranging them so they looked okay.

Then I went to the bathroom to put on my makeup. The lighting was good in there so I was able to put my face on quite easily. I was good at makeup; it must be the artistic side of my nature. I had fair skin and so I only put on the minimum of foundation. Heavy makeup would draw unwanted attention to me, so I was careful not to use striking colours: light blue eyeshadow and light use of eyeliner and mascara made my blue eyes look a little bigger but not over the top. I plucked a few eyebrow hairs to give them more shape and then used a pencil to help define the shape a bit more, giving them more of an arched look.

I looked rather pale, so I brushed some pink blusher on my cheeks. Finally, I used a lip liner pencil to improve my lip shape before filling in with my favourite pink lip gloss.

I slipped the dress over my head making sure not to get any contact with my face–the last thing I wanted was makeup on my dress. Then I took the scrunchie out and brushed my hair. Finally I put on my sandals and I was ready.

Looking at the full length mirror on the door, I could see that I didn’t look too bad, quite pretty really, in a plain sort of way. I was thin, about five foot eight, nice legs and my breast area looked okay as the forms definitely gave me the shape and look I wanted. No Adam’s apple to speak of, for which I was thankful. The only downside was that my hips and bum looked painfully small for a woman and not quite right, but I couldn’t do anything about that–yet.

I was blessed with a soft voice and I could raise the register a bit so that it sounded acceptably feminine. One of the standing jokes at work was when anyone rang me they weren’t sure if they was speaking to a man or woman!

Altogether, I think that anyone looking at me would be hard pressed to call me a man and that was the way I wanted it to stay.

Looking at my wrist watch I saw that it was nine o’clock. I was lucky that I always carried the watch in my shoulder bag, together with other emergency jewellery like clip-on ear rings, necklaces and the like–just in case of emergencies.

After leaving the hotel, I went to the Little Chef and made use of my  £5 off coupon. Not knowing when I would be eating again, I had a full English breakfast and a pot of tea. No one paid any attention to me other than a quick smile from the waitress as she showed me to my table and a rather lecherous grin from the chef as I walked in.

After my rather filling breakfast, I returned to my room, did a few running repairs to my face, packed and twenty minutes later, I was on my way. I stopped off at the petrol station first to fill up and buy a bag of Murray Mints to suck on the journey and then I was off again on the road to Devon. Next stop, sun, sea and dressed crab.

---

 
To Be Continued...

Please leave comments...thanks!
My thanks also go out to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing and pulling the story into shape!~Sue

I stopped only once more at a service area for a quick cappuccino and loo break, as I was eager to get to my destination...

Changes

Chapter 5

By Susan Brown

---

 
 
Previously…

After my rather filling breakfast, I returned to my room, did a few running repairs to my face, packed and twenty minutes later, I was on my way. I stopped off at the petrol station first to fill up and buy a bag of Murray Mints to suck on the journey and then I was off again and on the road to Devon. Next stop, sun, sea and dressed crab.

And now the story continues…

The road is long
With many a winding turn
That leads us to who knows where
Who knows where…
The Hollies

I stopped only once more at a service area for a quick cappuccino and loo break, as I was eager to get to my destination.

As I drove towards the West Country, gradually I felt a weight lifting from my shoulders. I was listening to Dido on my CD and singing along. By nature, I am a happy, positive person and it was only the events of the last few days that made me realise that I had not been very happy for a while now. All that was going to change; if Penmarris Cove didn’t work out, then I would stick my finger on the map again and find somewhere that would.

‘The world is my oyster.’ I thought. ‘Who said that?’

I shrugged my shoulders and drove on. Eventually, the M5 turned into the A38 and the roads changed from major to minor ones. I had to consult my maps on a number of occasions and wished that I had a satnav, perhaps I would buy one now that I was going to strange new places.

A few of the roads were rather narrow and bendy, often there were walls or hedges lining them so one couldn’t see past the bends. I nearly had a heart attack twice. First when I nearly went into the back of a tractor that was doing about one mile an hour behind some sheep and the other time, when a tour bus came around the corner and we came within a gnat’s whisker from having a head on collision.

Anyway, shortly after that I was out into more or less open countryside that looked like moorland , so I was able to pull myself together a bit.

I was about five miles from Penmarris Cove, as the crow flies, when my car started to feel a bit strange and the steering became heavy. I pulled into the side of the road and got out. Going around to the front, I found that the offside tyre had started to go flat.

‘O hell!’ I muttered under my breath, thinking it must be a slow puncture.

Here I was, stuck on what was now a lonely road, with a flat tyre. I could ring the AA, I supposed. Taking my mobile out of my bag, I switched it on only to be told that there was no service. Stamping my foot in a ladylike manner and muttering unladylike oaths, I pondered over what I should do.

Okay, probably you think I should roll up my sleeves, get the spare out of the boot, spit on my hands and change the wheel.

There is something that I’m ashamed of. I don’t know how to change a wheel or do anything remotely mechanical with a car. People might scoff, but I have never been remotely interested in cars that way. Cars are for getting into at one place and getting out of at another. I could put petrol in it and once, Olivia took an afternoon off to show me how to do the oil and water thingy, but that was it–the end of my expertise. Anyway, I had a BMW and things like that were not supposed to happen to them, you know, Vorsprung durch Technik and all that stuff.

I sat in the car, wondering what to do next. Mind you this was a delightful spot, the moorland sloped away gently to the distance, birds were twittering the way they do; there was a slight breeze that helped cool the air slightly and it all looked rather cheerful.

After a few minutes, I decided that I ought to try to do something, so I looked at my map and remembered a signpost I had passed about half a mile back that said Penmarris, so I was on the right road. It was a lovely day, so how long would it take me to walk there and get help from a garage or something?

I grabbed my shoulder bag, put on some sunglasses, locked the car and set off down the road. The going was good and the road reasonably flat; the breeze wasn’t strong and I felt good wearing my thin sundress. After about twenty minutes, my left heel broke; although low heeled, as I walked, I still had a distinct tendency to list to port.

Several cars passed but they were going rather fast and didn’t stop. I thought about showing some leg and tossing my hair back, but for some reason I didn’t think that, in the circumstances, it would be wise–or appropriate.

To counteract my “dot and carry” gait, I broke the heel off my other shoe and continued on my way. The sandals weren’t really designed for hiking, especially in their distressed state and I began to wonder about the advisability of wearing them in the first place.

Then–to add to my joy–it started to cloud over and the wind freshened. I had just about reached the edge of the moorland and the road meandered down through some woods. It was getting decidedly dark as the clouds gathered and so I sheltered under a tree, as it had begun to rain, gently but rather persistently. My mobile bleeped several times and I flipped the lid open to see that I had no less than ten texts and six messages. There was one bar on the strength meter so I took a chance and rang for help.

‘118118 what number?’

‘AA please.’

‘Sales, technical support, roadside assistance or administration?’

‘Roadside assistance please.’

‘Would you like us to connect you?’

‘Yes please.’

‘Please be advised that you will incur a charge for this connection. If you are ringing from a mobile phone, the connection charge will be considerably more than it would be from a landline.’

‘Do you agree that you wish us to connect you?’

‘Yes please!’

‘Would you like us to send you a text with the number?’

‘Yes, no, I don’t care, just put me through!’

‘Certainly, please hold, while you are waiting is there anything else I can help you with?’

‘No thank you.’ I said taking deep breaths and thinking calming thoughts.

‘Just putting you through; have a nice d……’

I lost the signal–the ’phone went as dead as a dodo.

‘Oh HELL!’

It was raining harder now and my hair was becoming wet even under the tree. My sun dress that had felt so thin and cool in the summer sun now felt like a wet rag and my sandals didn’t do much for my feet either. As for my wet panties and bra–no I didn’t want to think about that. I could have stayed there, had a bit of a cry, or even lost my temper, but I didn’t.

I decided to carry on down the road towards Penmarris, avoiding the puddles wherever possible. Occasionally I looked at my phone and noted that I still had no signal.

The rain was bucketing down now, and the wind started to blow quite hard. I shivered in my thin dress and wondered if it was possible to die of exposure in June. Suddenly I heard a car horn from behind and nearly jumped out of my skin. Turning around, I saw an old Rover; behind the wheel was a man and a lady. They drew up beside me and the lady wound down the window.

‘Hello, dear, want a lift? You seem a bit wet.’

I just nodded, my teeth chattering with the cold.

‘Jump in the back, dear.’

I pulled open the door and got into the back seat. I was immediately attacked by a large dog who proceeded to try to dry me with its tongue.

‘Sandy, get off the lady. SANDY!’

Sandy got off me and sort of flopped down next to me, giving me an occasional lick of encouragement and the doe eyed look of a Labrador who’s been naughty.

‘Here, wipe your face, dear.’ The lady handed me a towel that smelt suspiciously of dog and then, after I had dried myself as much as possible, I noticed that we had set off again. The people in front were a couple in their early thirties I would say; she was wearing a summer frock and he–the driver–was wearing a dog collar. It didn’t need a big jump in imagination to realise that the vicar and his wife were doing the Samaritan thing with me.

I wasn’t given much time to think as I was then given an interrogation that would have given the Gestapo a run for their money. The vicar’s wife asked most of the questions whilst the vicar just beamed beatifically at me in the mirror.

‘My dear, why were you in the road like that, David could have run you over.’

‘Sorry, my car broke down and I was going for help.’

‘Was that your BMW back up on the moor?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh dear, never mind, Mr Potts will sort it out for you. What is your name, dear?’

I didn’t have a girl’s name and had never used one; I didn’t think Olivia ever wanted to call me anything but Tom, so Tom I was.

‘Erm, Samantha Smart.’ I said, off the top of my head.

‘Well I’m Jocasta, rotten name but parents, you know? This is David and you can probably guess that as he wears his collar back to front, he’s the vicar of Penmarris for his sins. Are you here for a holiday?’

I was warming up now as the warmth from the car’s heater penetrated my cold bones.

‘I don’t know yet. I might move down this way. This trip was a sort of exploratory one.’

‘Are you alone?’

‘I am now.’

‘Oh…marriage probs?’

‘Sort of.’

‘’Nuff said. Look, have you anywhere to stay?’

‘I thought that I’d fix something up when got to the village.’

‘Bit tricky at this time of year, most places are chocker. Look, you can stay with us tonight, can’t she, David, and you can sort yourself out tomorrow.’

‘I don’t want to be any trouble…’

‘It’s no trouble is it, dear, we’ve got plenty of room at the vicarage and you need to get out of those wet clothes.’

‘Thank you, you are very kind.’

Once again, the vicar beamed beatifically at me and his wife also beamed at me; then, as if by some sort of miracle, the rain stopped and the sun shone through a break in the clouds just as we crested the brow of a hill.

There below us, in all its picturesque glory, lay Penmarris Cove.

---

 
To Be Continued...

Please leave comments...thanks!
My thanks also go out to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing and pulling the story into shape!~Sue

Oh,’ I gasped in wonder.

‘Yes, dear, it still gets us that way too.’

The photos on the internet didn’t do it justice. David pulled over to the side and we got out to look. I was still wet from the rain, but I paid little attention as I took in the beautiful scene before me....

Changes

Chapter 6

By Susan Brown

---

 
 
Previously…

The vicar beamed at me beatifically and his wife also beamed at me and then as if by some sort of miracle, the rain stopped and the sun shone through a break in the clouds just as we crested the brow of a hill.

There, below us in all its picturesque glory lay Penmarris Cove.

And now the story continues…

‘Oh,’ I gasped in wonder.

‘Yes, dear, it still gets us that way too.’

The photos on the internet didn’t do it justice. David pulled over to the side and we got out to look. I was still wet from the rain, but I paid little attention as I took in the beautiful scene before me.

Before us, the road descended steeply to the fishing village. There were several houses and cottages just to the right and left of us. These had a great view down to the sea and across the cove. The cove itself was more or less of crescent shaped, with the village at the centre, its small harbour sheltering the boats from the weather. Each end of the cove was a stretch of sandy beach that looked totally unspoilt by the tourist trade that I knew the village relied on. At the far end of both beaches, were low cliffs that helped to keep out the westerly winds that had caused so many problems for ships and boats for hundreds of years.

There were a fair number of people on the beaches, but no way could you call them crowded. Numerous houses, scattered on the hills among trees and bushes, commanded splendid views of the sea. From our high viewpoint, I could see the centre of the village appeared to be crammed with small stone or cob cottages lining narrow, winding lanes. On the quayside I noticed a pub, a couple of shops and what looked like a few restaurants, with people sitting at tables outside. Others were strolling on the quayside watching the comings and goings of the boats in the harbour.

The sea was an incredibly deep azure blue and looked very tranquil after the winds and rains earlier. There were several yachts and dinghies just outside the harbour but still under the relative shelter of the cove, the white sails, contrasting with the wonderful colour of the sea.

The church was over the other side of the cove from us, its spire tall and slightly lopsided, not as bad as the leaning tower of Pizza, but going that way.

Jocasta touched my arm and I jumped slightly from my reverie.

‘Shall we get home so you can get out of those wet things?’

I nodded, not saying anything.

We got back into the car and soon we took a left fork in the road that led across the top of the cove, past some gorgeous thatched cottages, a small primary school and children’s park and playground and then entered the drive of a large Victorian house near the church called St Petroc’s Vicarage.

Jocasta and I got out but David stayed in the car.

‘If you let me have your car keys, Samantha, I’ll sort out your car, and arrange for it brought here for you,’ he offered. I rummaged in my handbag, found the keys and passed them to him. Before I had a chance to thank him he was driving through the gates.

‘Come along in, dear, before you catch your death of cold.’

As we approached the front door of the imposing Victorian house, a couple of dogs came and said ‘hello,’ to us; one was a yorkie and the other a spaniel. I bent down and gave both of them a bit of a fuss. Looking around I couldn’t see Sandy, the lab who had obviously decided to stay in the car with David.

After we had said our hellos to the dogs we were allowed to walk around the back and enter the house via the kitchen.

‘Jen, Phillipa, I’m home; and we’ve got company,’ Jocasta bellowed in a voice that would be heard clear across the cove in a full gale.

In reply came the pounding of feet on stairs and two girls, one, I would say about twelve the other ten, skidded in the room. They looked quite like their mother with button noses and dark hair; both were wearing jeans and t-shirts and had their hair up in high ponytails.

They stopped dead when they saw me and the elder one just said, ‘Hello,’ rather shyly.

‘Hi,’ I said smiling.

‘This is Samantha, girls; she’s staying the night. Her car broke down and we rescued her. Samantha, the taller one is Jennifer but she hates it so we all call her Jen and the sprogette is Phillipa.’

‘I am not a sprogette, Mummy, I’m nearly as tall as Jen.’

‘I’m three inches taller than you and…’

‘Girls, girls, don’t argue when we have company. Have you both finished your homework?’

They looked at each other, giggled and with a wave, galloped back upstairs like a herd of baby elephants.

Jocasta just shook her head and looked at me. ‘Girls!’

‘Are you sure it’s no bother?’ I asked.

‘What?’

‘My staying here tonight.’

‘Of course not. Now, I’ll just show you to your room and sort out some clothes for you. I’m a bit bigger than you, but I’m sure I can find something from my diet days that ought to fit you fairly well. I’m sure you’d like to have a shower.’

I followed her upstairs and was shown into a pleasant room that overlooked the garden to the cove and the sea. It was a neat, tidy room with flowered wallpaper, a high ceiling, a double bed with an eiderdown, a couple of wooden wardrobes, a chest of drawers, a padded chair and a dressing table.

‘I hope you’ll be comfortable here, Samantha.’

‘It’s lovely.’ I said crossing to the window, ‘and the view, it’s really gorgeous; thanks sooo much for letting me stay.’

‘That’s all right. Nothing much happens here and it’s great to have another woman to chat to.’

I wondered if she would feel the same way if she knew my secret but then mentally shrugged as I had already decided that no one needed to know about me and it wasn’t as if I was going have any sort of relationship here.

I heard a slight thump-thump-thump sound coming from the hallway.

Jocasta frowned and said, ‘excuse me a minute.’

Looking out of the window, I wondered if my fickle finger of fate had chosen correctly when my digit found this place on the map. It seemed so right and so very pleasant. I hoped that the dream that I had about starting again would turn into reality. David and Jocasta, not forgetting the girls and the dogs, all seemed so pleasant and welcoming. I knew that it’s in a vicar’s job description to be nice and everything but I had a feeling in my tummy that I had made the right decision to come all the way down here. It was up to me whether I make a success of my adventure or slink away with my metaphorical tail between my legs. I giggled at that thought as I already had an appendage between my legs, held in place and out of sight by a gaff!

I heard some mumble shouts coming from down the hall and a definite reduction in the volume of thumping noise, so I assumed that the girls had been asked to turn the music down. Shivering slightly, I remembered that I was supposed to have a shower and get into some clean clothes. Just then Jocasta returned.

‘Sorry about that; daughters, eh? Right here are a few things that should fit you together with a towel. Use the smellies and stuff in the bathroom and I’ll see you in the kitchen for a cuppa later, okay?’

‘Okay and thanks.’

With a bright smile she left me to it.

I took the things into the bathroom and stripped off. Shivering slightly, I was soon in the shower warming up and washing the rain and dirt off me. Using the divinely scented shower gel, I was soon clean and feeling human again. I washed my hair with the sweet-smelling shampoo and then applied conditioner that made my hair feel nice and soft.

Using the fluffy towel, I dried myself, put on the robe and returned to the bedroom. I had to be careful because I didn’t want anyone to see my suspiciously flat chest.

Once back in the bedroom with the door firmly closed, I dried my hair using a hairdryer thoughtfully left for me. It took some time for my hair to dry as it was as long as it had ever been, but eventually the job was done, I put on my bra which, by now, was dry and slipped in my breast forms. I had some glue in my bag, they came with the breast forms when I bought them. Maybe, now that I was going to be Samantha all the time, I would take the opportunity to attach them more permanently.

Picking up the clean panties from the bed I put them on and then the white blouse and blue skirt. The skirt went down to my calf and was a bit “Mrs Vicar-ish”, but I had no cause for complaint as I was not into mini skirts anyway!

Brushing my hair took a few moments and then I fished around in my handbag for some makeup. It took just a few minutes to put my face on and as I brushed the lipstick on, I sighed with relief because I now looked the part again. I was never sure how feminine I looked without makeup so wearing some gave me more confidence to be my true self.

There was a knock on the door.

‘Come in.’

Jocasta put her head around the door.

‘Are you decent?’

I almost said, ‘no,’ but held myself back.

‘Yes, thanks for the clothes.’

‘That’s all right. Sorry I couldn’t find a bra that would fit you; I’m a bit big in that department. David has phoned me, Mr Potts the mechanic has taken your car to the garage and will bring back your cases. Did you know that your spare tyre was bald?’

‘No my wi…friend usually looked after the car. I just get in the thing and drive.’

‘Well, Mr Potts said that he will order the tyres as he doesn’t have ones like that in stock. He should have the car sorted by tomorrow some time. I said that you will be staying here. Is that all right?’

‘As long as it’s no trouble; you have done such a lot for me.’

‘Nonsense, it was nothing and as I said before, it’s nice to have some company of a woman roughly my own age. What with the girls and the large number of over-seventies we have around here, it really is refreshing to have someone like you around.’

‘If only you knew.’ I thought.

‘Well, are you ready for a cup of tea?’

‘Yes please.’

I followed her downstairs and soon we were sitting at the kitchen table drinking tea and biting into an enormous wedge of Victoria sponge cake.

Just after my second bite, the herd of elephants came thundering downstairs again and burst into the kitchen.

‘Mummy, Jen’s being a pest again…’

The girls were wearing riding gear, horse-riding that is. I pitied the poor horses riding around here as there didn’t seem to be much in the way of flat places as it was all hilly.

‘Phillipa, you beast, you’re always being nasty…’

‘GIRLS,’ shouted Jocasta and then, in a quieter voice, ‘What have I said about arguing and in front of a guest?’

They looked suitably sorry and I smiled at them and gave them a quick wink whilst their mother was distracted. They of course giggled and carried on giggling as they left the kitchen.

‘Be back in two hours or no tea.’

‘Yes, Mummy.’

Jocasta smiled. ‘They’re a bit of a handful but deep down they’re good girls.’

‘I’m sure they are.’ I replied.

We sipped our tea for a few moments relishing the silence.

Jocasta looked at me and was about to say something, but stopped herself as the doorbell rang.

‘Excuse me,’ she said, getting up. She returned a few minutes later with a man in dirty overalls.

‘This is Mr Potts, he wants a word.’

Mr Potts looked about eighty and somewhat doddery. If he was the mechanic, I would have the car checked again after he finished with it–but perhaps I was being unkind and rather ageist. He looked at me and smiled.

‘’Er be er purty li’l maid.’

‘Pardon?’ I said as he looked me up and down.

'Ah be bleaized d'zee ye.'

‘Sorry.’ I shrugged and looked at Jocasta and raised my eyebrows

Then he proceeded to talk to me; the problem was I only understood every fifth or sixth word of his broad Devon/Cornish accent and Jocasta with a grin as wide as a Cheshire cat had to translate.

‘He says that you have problems with one of your brake cylinders, it’s leaking.’

‘Oh does that mean that the engine’s knac…I mean broken?’

‘No the engine isn’t knackered, dear, just the thing that stops the car when it’s moving; you know, brake pedal, the thing you press when you stop the car. That’s connected to the wheel brakes and that’s what needs mending.’

‘I’m not simple you know,’ I said smiling, ‘I’m just not very mechanically minded. So what happens now?’

Mr Potts mumbled something that sounded like sprockets and manglewurzles, I think.

‘He said that he has to send for the parts and it will take a few days.’

‘Okay, I’m not going anywhere much anyway, I’ll have to wait for it to be fixed then.’

Mr Potts who could evidently understand English even if he didn’t speak my version of it, doffed his cap gave me a toothy grin and waddled out of the kitchen.

Jocasta and I looked at each other and burst out laughing.

‘I think I’m going to need evening classes in Devonish if that’s what it’s called!’ That set us off again. As soon as we had had calmed down a bit, we had another cup of tea out of the huge pot, and things got back to relative normality. ‘Do they all speak like that down here?’

‘Mr Potts is about the worst case of it. He thinks that Exeter is abroad and has never strayed far from home his whole life. When he was born, everyone spoke like that, but now, it’s not so bad. What with people coming into the area from the outside and everything the dialect has been diluted somewhat. Of course, TV has a lot to answer for as the kids pick up more from that and their friends than their elderly relatives, so understanding most people isn’t too much of a problem.’

Jocasta took a sip from her cup and then looked at me somewhat inquisitively.

‘So Samantha, what is it that you’re running away from?’

---

 
To Be Continued...

Please leave comments...thanks!
My thanks also go out to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing and pulling the story into shape!~Sue

I glanced at Jocasta, her kind face looking concerned. Was I that obvious, I wondered?

Changes

Chapter 7

By Susan Brown

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Previously…

Jocasta took a sip from her cup and then looked at me somewhat inquisitively.

‘So Samantha, what is it that you’re running away from?’

And now the story continues…

I glanced at Jocasta, her kind face looking concerned. Was I that obvious, I wondered?

With tears welling up in my eyes, I gulped, then told her, hesitantly, a version of the truth. Naturally, I was unable to tell her everything–I had only just got to know her, and I wasn’t very big on trusting anybody at present.

‘I–I caught my other half in bed with someone else. I arrived home early and–and found them hard at it in the spare bedroom. They were so busy, they didn’t notice me. I didn’t stop: just packed a few things and walked out.’

‘Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry,’ said Jocasta taking hold of my hand, you must have been devastated.’

She gave my hand a squeeze then went to fetch a box of tissues, for which I thanked her.

‘So how and why did you decide to come here?’

Laughing through my tears, I explained how I had closed my eyes and plonked my finger on the map, deciding to let fate take a hand in the future.

‘Well, that’s a novel way of choosing a destination,’ she laughed, ‘so have you spoken to your partner since you walked out?’

I shook my head.

‘Will you?’

‘Probably, but not yet.’

‘No chance of a reconciliation?’

‘No; things haven’t been going well for a long time and this was the final straw that…’

Just then there was a noise of a door opening and then David walked in. He took one look at us and seemed to backtrack.

‘Sorry, girl talk. Erm…I’ll take your things upstairs, erm sorry, in all the kafuffle I’m afraid I’ve forgotten your name?’

‘Samantha.’

‘Oh yes, of course, silly me. Right, okay, erm, anyway, I’ll leave you two girls to continue your chinwag.’ And with that, he beat a hasty retreat.

‘His heart’s in the right place but he normally leaves this sort of thing to me. Anyway, I can tell that you’re still terribly upset by it; just remember, I’m always here, even if it’s only for a shoulder to cry on.’

‘Thanks, I really appreciate that. Look, I think I could do with a little walk to collect my thoughts, is it okay if I go out?’

‘My dear girl, you don’t need to ask; just come and go as you please.’

‘Thanks, I’ll go and get some shoes then I think I’ll take a stroll down to the harbour.’

‘Okay, I’ll have to start getting tea prepared soon. Any likes or dislikes? Are you a veggie or vegan?’

‘No, I’ll eat most things that aren’t actually moving on the plate.’

‘Thank The Lord for that, my two girls are so fussy, you wouldn’t believe it. Sometimes I swear they think I’m poisoning them!’

‘What time is tea?’

‘About six-thirty.’

‘I’ll be back before then.’

‘Okay, see you later then, dear.’

I went upstairs to my room. My cases were on the floor by the bed. Opening the one I knew had some shoes in, I put on some white sandals with next to no heels. I didn’t want a repetition of my mishaps earlier! Looking at the things in my cases reminded me that I need to go clothes shopping–sooner rather than later.

Before leaving, a glance in the dressing-table mirror showed that my makeup needed repairing, particularly around my eyes. Ten minutes later, I left the house, passed through the quiet graveyard and out into the lane.

Any clouds there had been had now vanished and the sky was clear and very blue. Being an artist, I have an interest in colour and really appreciated the clean and clear atmosphere and strong bright sunlight; so unlike London, which isn’t exactly free of atmospheric pollution.

French impressionists and neo-impressionists liked to go to the south of France because of the pollution-free light and everything here looked as sharp as a pin. As I strolled down the lane, everything I observed appeared to give me some inspiration. The dark recesses of my artist’s mind stirred and began to come to the surface. I decided there and then–no more office work for me and those oh so boring meetings; I would return to my first loves–painting and drawing.

Many of the houses I passed were whitewashed with brightly-painted doors, using all the colours of the rainbow. Some of the dwellings had neat gardens with low hedging or walls, others just opened on to the lane. The whole place had a clean and well looked-after air to it. As if the inhabitants really cared about how the village was kept.

I passed various people who either nodded or said hello; this was so much friendlier than I was used to. The seagulls wheeled about in the sky or sat on roofs making their normal raucous sounds. It was very seasideish–if that’s a word–and it brought back memories of happier times as a child, when we went to the seaside with my mum and dad.

Even at that young age, I wished that I was like Dawn, my sister who was a year younger than me. She got to wear pretty summer dresses while I was stuck with yucky shorts and t-shirts. We were very close then–Dawn and I–and I miss her a lot.

As she grew older, Dawn blossomed into an outgoing and vivacious person–the life and soul of the party. When I first went out with Olivia, she tried to be supportive but there were definite problems between the girls. She didn’t like Olivia and Olivia felt the same about Dawn. They never hit it off and me being rather stubborn, took the side of my wife.

Shaking my head free of these negative thoughts, I noticed that as I got nearer the harbour, there were more people and cars passing. The lane was pretty narrow and more than once I had to squeeze myself up against a wall to let a car go by. These roads were narrow for a horse and cart, let alone a car or lorry.

Obviously many in the crowd were holidaymakers; others I took to be locals, I’m no expert, but holidaymakers seem to dress differently. The sun was still warm but getting cooler by the minute which was nice as it had been very hot today. My two cups of tea had taken their toll and I needed a wee. Luckily there was a Ladies by the harbour wall and I was able to nip in there to do the necessary. It felt perfectly natural for me to be walking about as a woman. When I lived at home; the only times I went out en femme was when we went to an occasional transgender meeting. Olivia wasn’t keen on my having a female name so I had to be addressed as Tom, although the girls in the group laughingly called me Thomasina when Olivia was out of earshot.

I suppose it sounds as if I was under Olivia’s thumb and, in retrospect, probably was. At the time it seemed so natural and normal to fall in with her wishes. I was in love and they say love is blind. Well I must have been and look where it had got me?

I strolled along the quay, absorbing all the sights and the sounds. It was a busy, vibrant place with crowds of adults and children doing the same as me. There was a small kiosk selling Devon ice cream so I had a 99, which is a cone with ice cream and a chocolate flake stuck in it–yummy!

There was a pleasant seat near the edge of the quay so I sat there licking my ice cream and watching the boats bobbing about on the water. Some children in a rubber dinghy were rowing from one side to the other and having great fun, their bright yellow life jackets, contrasting against the blue of the water. Once again it brought back memories of my childhood when Dawn and I did exactly the same sort of thing. We messed about in boats, went rock-pooling and did the sand castle thing.

She had married a business executive some years ago and lived, strangely enough, not far away in Tavistock; they had a son and daughter of 6 and 8 respectively. I hadn’t spoken to her for ages so perhaps the time had come to mend some bridges. She knew about my dressing and had always been very supportive. My parents, sadly gone now, never really understood that side of me but loved me all the same.

I was wakened from of my retrospection when a man sat next to me on the bench. He was wearing a shirt and tie and looked a bit warm. I guessed he was in his late twenties or early thirties.

‘Do you mind?’ he asked

I shook my head.

We smiled at each other and then I continued licking my ice cream and people-watching.

‘That ice cream looks rather good. I think I might get one in a minute.’

‘Yes, it’s divine on a hot day like this.’

‘Mmm, it is hot, isn’t it? Are you here just for the day?’

I looked at him.

‘No, I’m staying for a while, you?’

‘I live here; gorgeous isn’t it?’

‘Wonderful.’

‘I’m Brian Sinclair–the local GP for my sins.’

‘Samantha Smart–artist, I suppose.’

‘Artist eh? Interesting–oh, you’re staying at the Vicarage with David and Jocasta.’

I looked at him with surprise.

‘H–How did you know that?’

He laughed at my expression.

‘The village grapevine; everyone knows about everything here almost before it happens. If I deliver a baby, it’s two to one that the whole village will know its sex and weight before I’ve cut the cord.’

Omygawd, what hope have I got to keep my secret? I looked around with suspicion, is everyone aware of who I am?

‘Don’t worry, until people put a face to a name, you’re just a tourist and I won’t tell anyone, hypocritic oath, you know.’

‘Isn’t that supposed to be Hippocratic oath?’

‘Probably,’ he said laughing, ‘Anyway if you’re staying a while you’ll need to sign on with me as your doctor. Or you could use my partner.’

‘Who’s he?’

‘She, and she’s my wife, Marcia.’

‘Are there any secrets between you?’

‘Only professional ones.’

‘You’re lucky.’

‘I suppose I am. Anyway, work calls; nice meeting you, Samantha, no doubt we’ll bump into each other again.’

He got up and as I said, ‘goodbye,’ he walked off briskly.

‘He seemed nice.’ I thought as I finished my ice cream.

I got up and ambled along the quay until I came to some steps leading down to the beach. I went down to the beach and took my sandals off. My feet felt wonderful as walked across the soft white sand to the shore, about forty yards away. The sand was still warm from the sun and felt wonderful as the grains squidged between my toes. There were several families on the beach with deck chairs, picnic hampers, blankets, buckets and spades, windbreaks–the list is endless. There was a gentle breeze and it felt pleasant as it wafted up and around my thin skirt. I love the smell of the sea, it’s so invigorating it freshens you up.

Deciding that my feet needed a treat, I hitched my shirt up a bit and waded into the sea, but only up to my ankles because the water was surprisingly cold. ‘Ooh!’ I squealed.

Once over the shock, I meandered along the shoreline, my feet sinking slightly into the wet sand as the water lapped over them. It was so peaceful and any tension that I had had drifted away with the slowly receding tide. As I sauntered, I considered my situation.

To me, this place was a dream come true, attractive, picturesque, quaint were all words that could describe the cove. The people I had met so far were very friendly, if slightly inquisitive. I would have to be very careful to hide my plumbing defect, otherwise I don’t know if I could stay there and I very much wanted to. Also, I couldn’t put off talking to Olivia much longer and I decided that I would speak to her tonight. I wasn’t sure what I was going to say yet, but I would worry about it when the time came.

Glancing at my watch, I decided to turn back. I didn’t want to lose brownie points for getting back late for tea!

Climbing back up the hill was harder going than coming down. As I puffed up the hill, it was clear that I was badly out of shape and decided there and then to get myself a bit fitter.

A woman with a young boy and a dog passed me by and I smiled at them. ‘Evening,’ I gasped as we crossed.

‘Hello, Samantha, welcome to the village,’ said the lady as she passed by with her dog straining at the leash with the little boy holding her hand and sucking strongly on a lollypop.

Ten steps further on I realised that she had called me by name and wondered how it came to be that she knew me?

---

 
To Be Continued...

Please leave comments...thanks!
My thanks also go out to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing and pulling the story into shape!~Sue

I was blowing quite heavily as I reached the vicarage, Jocasta was outside watering a flower basket.

Looking up, she smiled, ‘Well, you look worn out, Samantha.’

Changes

Chapter 8

By Susan Brown

---

 
 
Previously…

Climbing back up the hill was harder going than coming down. As I puffed upwards, it was clear that I was badly out of shape and decided there and then to get myself a bit fitter.

A woman with a young boy and a dog passed me by and I smiled at them. ‘Evening,’ I
gasped as we crossed.
‘Hello, Samantha, welcome to the village,’ said the lady as she passed by with her dog straining at the leash with the little boy holding her hand and sucking strongly on a lollypop.

Ten steps further on I realised that she had called me by name and wondered how it came to be that she knew me?

And now the story continues…

I was blowing quite heavily as I reached the vicarage, Jocasta was outside watering a flower basket.

Looking up, she smiled, ‘Well, you look worn out, Samantha.’

‘Am…a…bit.’ I gasped.

‘Well, if you go for long walks along the cliff tops, you will soon get your puff back.’

‘I hope so,’ I said regaining my breath a bit.

‘Tea will be in about fifteen minutes, the girls are having a shower; an absolute must after being around horses. Did you have a nice walk?’

‘Yes, it’s so lovely here. I’m sure I chose the right place to live.’

‘So you’ve decided then?’

‘Yes, if I can find somewhere suitable.’

‘Buying or renting?’

‘Renting to start with, then buying if everything works out.’

‘That’s lovely; I was only saying to Amy Venters a few minutes ago that I hoped that you’d settle here.’

‘Was she a lady with a dog and a little boy?’

‘Yes, that’s her. I pointed you out to her when I saw you coming up the hill. Was that okay?’

‘Of course; I just wondered how she knew my name–that solves a mystery. You didn’t speak a Doctor Sinclair by any chance?’

‘Yes, Brian popped round to see hubby for a few minutes, I may have mentioned it, why?’

‘Nothing–anyway, I had better go and clean up for tea, see you in a minute.’

‘Okay, dear.’

Up in my room I changed into a clean frock; it was a yellow strappy number and was nice and cool. When I had touched up my makeup and hair, I was done. I didn’t bother with eye makeup as I wasn’t doing anything special and anyway, after a ’phone call to Olivia, it might get smudged.

I will have to careful what I say, because Jocasta is a bit gossipy! I thought as I went back downstairs.

We had tea in the dining room; the girls were already seated and were doing the usual sibling rivalry bit.

‘Phillipa, it was your fault that Poppy stamped on Miss Marple’s rose bed.’

‘Wasn’t–don’t blame me or Poppy; if you could keep your pony under control, she wouldn’t have panicked; Now Rosie, she’s a well behaved pony…’

‘GIRLS!’

They both stopped and looked up. I don’t think that they had realised that I had entered the room.

‘Sorry, Mummy.’ They said in unison.

I had to suppress a giggle as I sat down. David smiled at me as I sat opposite him.

‘Sorry about that, they do go on a bit.’

‘We don’t,’ said Jen crossly, ‘It’s just that she always thinks she’s right.’

‘I do not–well I am most of the time but that’s not the point…’

‘GIRLS, enough, you’re giving me a headache. Samantha doesn’t want to hear you two wittering on about who is better than whom!’

‘It’s alright, honestly; don’t worry about me, it’s nice to hear about your ponies and things.’

‘Don’t get them started on the ponies again. You mustn’t encourage them. Right who wants some mash with their sausages?’

We had a pleasant tea and the conversation did revolve around ponies, gymkhanas and all things, well, horsey.’

It was nice. David didn’t say much–he just beamed at everyone. Jocasta tried to hold an intelligent conversation with me but had to give it up as a bad job and just shrugged her shoulders. I just like being with a family that obviously loved each other. It was such a family that I most missed. I would have loved to have had children, but Olivia was reluctant. She wanted to have a life before being saddled with nappies and such, and after a while, we had stopped talking about it.

Now I reckon it was a blessing in disguise that we didn’t have kids as our marriage had gone sour and, indubitably, they would have suffered.

After finishing tea, I said that I was feeling a bit tired after the events of the day and I went to my room, for a nap.

Taking off my sandals, I rubbed my, still aching, feet. I think a blister was forming on the side of my foot and wondered whether it would get any worse.

I decided to lie down on the bed and shut my eyes for a while. After what seemed like a moment later, I woke up to the sound of a door banging somewhere. Glancing at my watch, I noticed it was nearly nine o’clock!

Stretching, I got up and went to the window. It was getting darker outside, and I remembered the promise I made to myself to ring Olivia.

Because walls have ears and I didn’t want my conversation to be overheard; I put on a cardigan and my sandals– luckily, the blister hadn’t got any worse–then after popping my head around the sitting room door to inform Jocasta that I was going out for some fresh air, I went outside.

On the other side of the garden was a bench, I sat down and contemplated what I would say to Olivia. I couldn’t think what to say so I just speed-dialled the home number and played it by ear, as they say.

It rang a few times and then it was answered.

‘Hello?’

‘It’s me.’

‘Tom! Where the hell have you been, I’ve been worried about you?’

‘I needed to get away.’

‘Why?’

‘I needed to think things through.’

‘What do you mean, think things through?’

‘Olivia, do you still love me?’

‘What a daft question; why do you ask?’

I noted that she answered a question with another question.

‘Is there anyone else?’ I asked.

‘Of course not; what sort of woman do you think I am?’

I took a deep breath. It was obvious to me what sort of woman she was and what I had to say next.

‘So when I came home early and saw you naked in bed having sex with another man, it wasn’t important and he isn’t someone that you were in love with. Did you pay for it then, was he a prostitute?

There was silence for a moment and I wondered if she had hung up and then I could hear here rather laboured breathing.

‘Look, Tom, I can explain, I have needs–’

‘You do? I don’t want to hear it. As far as I am concerned, we are finished; goodbye, Olivia.’

I stabbed the disconnect button and just sat there. The phone went again; looking at the number I saw that it was Olivia. Switching the phone off, I put it in my cardigan pocket and just stared off into the distance. I don’t know why I didn’t cry. I had this ache in my chest and the back of my eyes felt hot but I didn’t cry.

As I sat there watching the sun slowly disappear below the horizon: I felt it echoed my life, as it disappeared, the final vestiges of my old life disappeared with it. Tomorrow was a new dawn and I would make the most of things. I would divorce Olivia and start afresh. But why did I ache so much?

It was getting dark now and I could see lights go on around the cove. The sea reflected the dying rays of the sun and seemed almost on fire in places. Down in the harbour, I could see a fishing boat go out, its lights already on as it left the safe haven and went out into the lonely–and sometimes treacherous–sea. Not this night though, as the stars were coming out and only a gentle breeze ruffled the trees. It must be a hard life being a deep sea fisherman. I wondered if their wives looked out to sea, wondering sometimes, if their loved ones would ever return, when the weather was rough.

I heard a noise behind me, looking around, I noticed David.

‘Hello,’ he said,’ I love this spot.’

‘Yes, it’s so peaceful and lovely.’

‘May I sit down?’

‘Of course.’ I moved over to give him some room.

‘I hope you don’t mind my saying, but you seem somewhat troubled.’

‘Am I that obvious?’

‘Not really, but sometimes I pick up the signs, despite what Jocasta says. Is there anything I can do?’

‘You have been so kind to me already.’

‘No I haven’t, but look, remember if you need a chat you know where I am.’

‘Thanks.’

‘I know it can be hard sometimes to talk about things, especially personal things that affect our lives, but it helps to talk, you know. Look, I’ll leave you in peace, but remember what I said and if you find it difficult to talk to me, Jocasta will always lend a sympathetic ear and neither of us are judgemental.’

He put a hand on my shoulder and then returned to the house.

By now the sun had disappeared and I could see more lights dotted around. Stars were visible in the sky and the waxing moon could be seen just above the horizon; it’s reflected glow shimmering on the darkening sea.

I nearly jumped as I felt something wet and slippery lick my hand. Looking down I saw the trusting face of Sandy, the lab. Her face looked up at me with enquiring eyes full of expression.

‘I haven’t got any treats.’ I said as she put her head on my lap.

Then she licked me again, perhaps sensing that I was unhappy.

Then the floodgates opened and I cried: I cried for the wasted years; the times I thought I was happy, the loss of love and so many other things.

Sandy didn’t move, she was there for me, non-judgemental and trusting. You didn’t have to put on a face for a dog, they accepted you for what and who you were.

After a while I stopped crying. It was funny, but I felt much better, as if a pressure valve had been released. Sandy looked at me again, licked my hand, woofed once and then went somewhere to have a sniff, her job done.

Looking up, I gasped. There were so many stars in the clear dark sky. It was so wonderful that my heart lifted to the heavens.

I had to be positive.

‘Right Samantha, no more snivelling. Pull yourself together girl.’

I had a tissue in my pocket so I wiped my eyes, glad that I hadn’t bothered to use mascara or eye shadow, so no panda eyes, thank goodness! ‘Clever girl.’

I got up and with a last look around the cove and a deep breath; I went back into the house.

I could hear heavy breathing behind me and realised that Sandy was being my little shadow tonight. As I walk in the kitchen, the other two dogs came up and said hello. Jocasta was baking or something and she looked up from her kneading or whatever and looked at me.

‘Hi, Samantha; everything okay?’

‘Perfect thanks; I must go and see an estate agent tomorrow.’

‘I know just the lady,’ she replied

‘I thought you might!’

---

 
To Be Continued...

Please leave comments...thanks!
My thanks also go out to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing and pulling the story into shape!~Sue

It was the birds that wakened me the next morning–about two thousand seagulls appeared to be perched on the roof and they all had something to say!


Changes

Chapter 9

By Susan Brown

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Previously…

Right, Samantha, no more snivelling. Pull yourself together girl.’

I had a tissue in my pocket so I wiped my eyes, glad that I hadn’t bothered to use mascara or eye shadow, so no panda eyes, thank goodness! ‘Clever girl.’

I got up and with a last look around the cove and a deep breath,; I went back into the house.

I could hear heavy breathing behind me and realised that Sandy was being my little shadow tonight.

As I entered the kitchen, the other two dogs came up and said hello. Jocasta was baking or something and she looked up from her kneading or whatever and looked at me.

‘Hi, Samantha; everything okay?’

‘Perfect thanks; I must go and see an estate agent tomorrow.’

‘I know just the lady,’ she replied.

‘I thought you might!’

And now the story continues…

It was the birds that wakened me the next morning–about two thousand seagulls appeared to be perched on the roof and they all had something to say!

Yawning, I glanced at my watch; it was seven-thirty, quite early for me really. Normally when I wasn’t going to work I would lie in until at least half past eight, but this was not an ordinary morning. Today I had loads to do.

Picking up the note pad I had borrowed from the ever-inquisitive Jocasta, I looked at the list of things to do that I planned to make a start on this very day.

1. Get up and go for a brisk walk before breakfast.
2. After a healthy breakfast, go and see the estate agent (Jocasta’s friend, Millie).
3. Look at properties (hopefully).
4. Find somewhere I would love to live in. (a girl has to dream!).
5. Speak to solicitor re divorce, (does Jocasta have a solicitor friend? I bet she does).
6. See if the car is okay and confirm when I will get it back–Take J with me to interpret.
7. Go and see the girls’ ponies. (I rashly agreed to go with them before going to bed.)
8. Buy a new mobile.
9. Arrange to have my banking transferred down here.
10. Sleep.

Looking over the list, I wondered if I would get a fraction of that done today. When I said goodnight to Jocasta, she said that she would help me today. I wondered if she knew what she was letting herself in for.

I got out of bed, donned my dressing gown and padded across the hall to the bathroom. It was pretty quiet so I assumed everyone here to be late risers.

Following a quick shower, I returned to my room, put on my panties and bra and slipped in my breast forms. One of the things I wanted to do today was stick them on, but I didn’t include that on the list in case it was seen by someone else; maybe I would have time later.

Checking the weather through the window it looked a bit cloudy and blowy, so I put on a t-shirt and my boot cut jeans, pulled some trainers out of my bag, put on some sports socks and then the trainers. I wouldn’t win any fashion contests, but no way was I going to walk along a windy cliff in a LBD!

I had a waterproof anorak in my case–one of those that folded up and went into a little bag. Looking at the weather, I decided to take it–just in case.

I glanced in the mirror and grimaced; I couldn’t go out without my face on. So I applied some makeup quickly, but not too much because I wasn’t going clubbing and sometimes less is more, if you know what I mean.

Brushing my hair, I wondered if I should go to a salon for what my mum called a hair-do. Nodding my head, I added it to my things to do list and, before I could think of anything else, picked up my purse and the anorak and went downstairs.

As entered the kitchen, the dogs bounded over and sort of mobbed me.

‘Hi, everyone, don’t bark too loudly, you’ll wake the family.’

I would have adored to take them all for a walk, but doubted I could control that many dogs and anyway, I hadn’t a clue where their leads were kept, so with many whispered apologies, I escaped out of the back door and into the lane.

I followed the signs that said; South West Coast Path National Trail and found myself climbing a long, narrow lane, with hedges either side. The sun was still hidden by clouds but I was getting decidedly warm from my exertions. Still, being an intrepid if, rather breathless soul, I continued on my way.

The signs told me to climb over a stile and follow the edge of a field, so that’s what I did, along a cinder path for about two hundred yard. Then the bay suddenly came into view and I caught my breath. I was at the farthest end of the cove and I had a great view of the village and harbour. Being much higher up, everything looked smaller–obvious really. I could see the church and was surprised how far away it was. The sea was not as blue today as there wasn’t much of a reflection from the sky, but it still looked enchanting.

Seagulls were wheeling down below me and I felt like I was on top of the world figuratively and literally.

From my high vantage point, I could see that Penmarris wasn’t a very big village and the houses and cottages at this distance looked all jammed together and rather small–it all gave a meaning to the term, old-world.

The coastal path was well used, judging by the state of the path; well worn with ridges in places. I followed it and was all too aware of the jagged rocks below. I was away from Penmarris Bay now and the cliffs were shear. The sea was choppier today with lots of white horses. I sat on one of the bench seats dotted along the way and watched the waves crash over the rocky outcrops. The sea was white with foam and the sound of waves was refreshing and invigorating. There were low bushes and pretty plants in flower all around me. I decided that I would come up here when I wanted some peace and quiet, with my sketch book and try to recapture the breathtaking scenes before me.

Checking my watch, I remembered I had plenty to do today, so reluctantly made my way back to the vicarage.

I passed several people walking up the path as I returned, some with dogs and others just strolling and taking in the fresh sea air. Everyone said, ‘hello,’ or nodded and it was nice to see the friendliness of everyone.

It didn’t take me long to return to the vicarage as it was all downhill and I smiled as I heard the dogs and constant chatter of the children as I approached the kitchen door.

Everyone looked up as I came in and said hello. The dogs did the same in their own way and almost instantly I was sitting down with a steaming mug of tea cradled in my hands.

All thoughts of a healthy breakfast were dashed when a plate was put in front of me that defied belief.

There were two sausages and eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms, several rashers of bacon, sauté potatoes, fried bread and a round slice of sausagy-looking stuff, about three inches in diameter that I did not recognise.

‘B–but I can’t possibly manage to eat all this!’ I gasped. ‘And what’s this?’ I added pointing to the “sausage thingy”.

‘Of course you can, a little stick insect like you. You need feeding up. Oh and that’s Devonshire or Dartmoor Hogs Pudding–a local speciality.* We buy it from Mr Tregeagle, our butcher, who “hand-knits” it himself, here in Penmarris.

‘It’s gorgeous,’ Jen added. ‘We all love it.’

‘But, Jocasta, think of all the calories and my arteries!’

‘You need lagging up, my girl. We’ve a lot to get through today so eat up and stop whinging.’

Casting my eyes around me, I noticed that everyone had the same mega-meal. I wondered why they weren’t all overweight with a diet like this. I didn’t want to rock the boat so I just gave in and ate up. Mind you it was gorgeous, especially the hogs pudding which was absolutely delicious.

The girls were wearing their school uniform comprising a white blouse, grey pleated skirt, striped tie and blazer. They soon Hoovered up the food and were gone with a quick goodbye and a peck on the cheek for everyone–including me, which was nice. They were to catch the school bus at the top of the lane and were almost running late.

Then David had to sort out some wedding arrangements, so that just left Jocasta and me. After loading the dish washer, I went upstairs to change. The clouds had broken and the sun was out. I needed to wear something a little less hot.

Amongst my things, I found a peach halter dress. Slipping off my jeans and t-shirt, I quickly changed and put on my white sandals. I felt much cooler after that and in next to no time, I was back in the kitchen waiting for Jocasta to appear.

The front door bell rang. I could hear Jocasta calling from upstairs asking if I wouldn’t mind answering it.

I pulled the heavy door open and there in front of me stood a rather forbidding looking woman I took to be in her late sixties. She wore a twin set and pearls, had an enormous handbag and her hat was something with dead bird feathers in it. I was rather surprised that she didn’t have a fox fur, but that was probably because the temperature was now in the low seventies.

‘And you are?’ demanded the apparition.

‘Pardon?’ I said.

‘Your name, girl; are you stupid?’

‘Erm, Samantha Smart.’

‘I don’t know you.’

‘No.’

‘Why don’t I know you? I know everyone in the village.’

‘I…I’m new.’

‘Oh, some sort of help are you?’

She said “help” as though I was something nasty that she had stepped on. I was beginning to become somewhat annoyed.

‘No, I’m just staying here for a few days.’

‘Staying here?’ she said in a voice similar to way that Dame Edith Evans declaimed, “A HAND-bag,” in The Importance of Being Ernest.**

‘Yes, for a few days, while I find my own place.’

‘I wasn’t told. I don’t know…’

‘Ah, Lady Fairbairn, you’ve met Samantha, I see.’

‘Hmm. Well I have very little time today, Jocasta so I’ll come to the point. I’m not happy with the flowers.’

‘Flowers?’

‘Yes, Mrs Crowland’s arrangements in the church will just not do. We don’t want to end up like St Winifred’s, do we?’

‘No, Lady Fairbairn, I’ll speak to Gillian later.’

‘Mmm,’ she said looking me up and down as though I was not quite the thing.

‘Well, I’ll know you the next time we meet, Miss err…’ she said in a voice that still showed mega-disapproval. I wondered if she realised my secret, somehow, those eyes looked like they had x-ray vision or something.

She sailed off down the path, like a galleon under full sail, leaving me with my mouth wide open and Jocasta quietly giggling behind me.

‘What do you think of her?’

‘Stuck up Bit…sorry.’

‘I know what you think, but you’d be surprised. Believe it or not, under that tough rhino hide, she’s a bit of a sweetie, although it took nearly a year and the fact that Phillipa fell off her pony and ended up in hospital for us to find it out. But I won’t influence you as you’ll soon discover who’s who and be able make your mind up for yourself.’

‘Okaaaay!’ I said without much conviction.

Shortly after that, we left the vicarage and headed towards the harbour. We were going to meet Jocasta’s estate agent friend.

It took us about half an hour longer than it should have done to get where we were going, because Jocasta had to stop every few yards to pass the time of day with friends and acquaintances. If I wasn’t known by everyone when we departed the vicarage, I was certainly known by a goodly portion of the populace, either directly or indirectly, by the time we were sitting drinking coffee outside the Copper Kettle on Harbour Wharf.

The place was getting busy with holidaymakers, slick with sun cream and weighed down with beach furniture, rubber rings, buckets and spades and other detritus, making their way to the beaches. I like people-watching and there were lots to look at as we sipped our drinks.

‘Hello, girls,’ said a cheerful voice.

I looked up, squinting in the sunshine and saw a youngish woman, blond, thin, wearing sun glasses and a woman’s business suit, but with her jacket on her arm, looking down at us.

‘Hi, Millie, this is Samantha.’

She sat down at the table.

‘Hello, Samantha,’ she said smiling, ‘how are you?’

‘Fine thanks.’

‘Well, Jo, what can I do for you?’

‘Not me, Samantha here; she’s looking for somewhere to rent.’

She looked at me.

‘Okay, I’m your girl. Do you want short or long term?’

‘Long term, I think, but I’m not sure you can find exactly what I want.’

‘Hang on a mo,’ she looked around and caught the eye of a waitress.

‘Connie, love, may I have a coke please?’

‘Okay, Millie, with or without ice?’

‘With please.’

‘Coming up.’

Millie returned her attention to me. ‘Right, I’m all ears, what exactly are you looking for?’

‘Well…’

_________________________
* http://www.legendarydartmoor.co.uk/hoggs_pudd.htm
** http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oyuoUwxCLMs

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To Be Continued...

Please leave comments...thanks!
My thanks also go out to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing and pulling the story into shape!~Sue

‘I’m looking for a cottage, but as I’m an artist, I need a room I can use as a studio; so it needs to have good light.’

Changes

Chapter 10

By Susan Brown

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Previously…

‘Well, Jo, what can I do for you?’ Millie asked.

‘Not me, Samantha here; she’s looking for somewhere to rent.’

She looked at me.

‘Okay, I’m your girl. Do you want short or long term?’

‘Long term, I think, but I’m not sure if you can find exactly what I want.’

‘Hang on a mo,’ she looked around and caught the eye of a waitress.

‘Connie, love, may I have a coke please?’

‘Okay, Millie, with or without ice?’

‘With please.’

‘Coming up in a mo.’

Millie returned her attention to me. ‘Right, I’m all ears, what exactly are you looking for?’

‘Well…’

And now the story continues…

‘I’m looking for a cottage, but as I’m an artist, I need a room I can use as a studio; so it needs to have good light.’

‘Well, there aren’t many places for rent just now. By the way, do you want to stay in the cove?’

‘Yes, if that’s possible.’

‘Right. Let me make a few calls and I’ll get back to you. May I have your mobile number?’

I gave it to her.

‘I may be changing my ’phone; I keep getting nuisance phone calls.’

‘That’s a bummer; I got that for a while, some creep who was into heavy breathing. Anyway if you do change your number, let me know.’

‘So, do you think that you can find something for Samantha, Millie?’

‘I hope so; it’s just that at this time of year a lot of the properties are holiday lets.’

‘I’m sure you’ll do your best,’ I said.

We lingered there for a little longer, Millie trying to tap me for more information about myself, but I wasn’t giving much away. Then her mobile rang and with a mouthed ‘goodbye’, she shot off down the quay.

‘What do you think of her, Samantha?’

‘She seems nice, but a bit nosey.’

‘I know what you mean, not like me.’ We looked at each other and laughed.

‘I wonder how Mr Potts is doing with my car?’

‘Well, I think he said a few days for the part to come in, but we could ring him.’

‘Can you? I don’t speak-a-da-lingo.’

‘Er’s a praper maid right enuv.’

‘Pardon?’

She just laughed and then pulled out her ’phone.

‘Hello, Mr Potts? It’s Jocasta…the vicar’s wife…that’s right I’m ringing up about my friend’s BMW…Yes, okay right….mmm. Okay, thanks, I’ll tell her.’ She pressed the off key. ‘The car will be ready tomorrow afternoon as long as the part arrives when it was promised.’

‘Oh good, not that I need it just at the moment.’

‘Right-oh, what next?’ She looked at me expectantly.

I fished out my list and a pen, crossing out a few things; then took a deep breath.

‘A solicitor, do you know one?’

‘Erm…right; is this about your marriage?’

‘Yes, but I feel that we need to talk; let’s go for a walk and find somewhere quiet.’

She cast a puzzled look in my direction, then, after paying the bill, we got up and made our way towards the far end of the beach where there were some rocks. As we walked, I thought about what I would say to her.

I had realised for some time that I couldn’t live a lie. I wanted people to accept me for what I am, a girl–but born with the wrong bits. I know I had said, even to myself sometimes that I was just a cross-dresser and that I had no inclination to go any further. But I had been kidding myself. I wanted to be a woman and not just dress like one. I realised that I had these feelings, even as a child, but they were suppressed when I was young and this continued into my marriage. Olivia had said that she had needs–well so do I; I had the need to draw a line under my previous sham of an existence and move forward.

We found a pleasant spot and, sitting on the sand with our backs leaning against some smooth rocks, we made ourselves comfortable. There were quite a number of people on the beach but, fortunately, none within earshot of us.

‘Well, Samantha, as I said before, I’m here for you. I know I haven’t known you for long, but I consider you as a friend and friends help each other. I’m a bit of a gossip, but never about personal things, so anything you say will stay between ourselves, unless you want me to talk to, say, David about it.

I took a deep breath, my heart was pounding.

‘I…I’m not as I seem.’

‘What do you mean? Are you a mad axe murderer or something?’

‘Not quite, but you might not want to know me in a few minutes.’

‘I don’t–’

‘Please let me speak before I lose my courage. I—I—I’m t—transgendered.’

‘What! I don’t understand…I mean, why would a pretty thing like you want to be a man?’

‘You’ve got it wrong, I am–well physically anyway–a man.’

There was a sharp intake of breath and for once Jocasta was dumstruck. I stood up and looked down at her. She seemed bewildered to say the least.

‘I’ll go and pack,’ I said. Turning away, I began to make my way towards the back of the beach, my eyes stinging with tears.

‘WAIT!’

I found myself being grabbed by my arm. ‘Where are you going?’

‘Well, I had to tell you and now I know.’

‘Know what?’

‘How you feel about me.’

She pulled at me.

‘Don’t be a silly girl, come and sit down again–please.’

Reluctantly, I allowed myself be dragged back to the rocks; sitting down, I waited for Jocasta to speak.

‘You’re a cow.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ I said looking at her frowning face.

‘You–I should hate you, how is it possible for someone born a male to look so pretty?

‘I’m not pretty.’

‘Yes you are, and if you don’t realise it, just take the word of someone who would die to look as attractive as you. Being a vicar’s wife doesn’t make me not want to be beautiful. I wasn’t brought up in a nunnery, you know. I was a school teacher before I married David; plain Jane I used to be, and things haven’t got much better. I wear mumsie clothes and try to be a pillar of the community–as the good vicar’s wife should–and there’s you, with lovely legs, nice body and a beautiful face. If you wore a sack you would still be pretty.’

‘Jocasta, you are pretty; I must admit that you dress a bit old, but that could be changed and I bet you don’t go to the salon much. Look I must get my hair done in the next few days–come with me and we’ll have David drooling over his cornflakes–anyway, sorry.’

‘What for?’

‘Assuming that I was the only one with issues.’

‘We all have issues, my dear. Now, tell Auntie Jocasta everything: what has been going on, exactly?’

I related the story of my life with Olivia, the job with her father and the strains and cracks that had been appearing prior to the collapse of my marriage.

‘So, let me get this straight; Olivia married you, knowing full well about your cross-dressing and then gradually began to pressureise you, making you do things that you didn’t want to. Then to add insult to injury, she brought a man into your home and made love to him on one of your beds?’

I nodded, too distressed to speak. Talking about it had opened up some rather unpleasant wounds.

‘So, have you come here to escape?’

‘No’, I sniffed, ‘I came here to begin a new life. What do you think, then?’

‘About what?’

‘Me: should I go or should I stay?’

‘Stay, of course. If I have to go to a salon I’ll need someone braver than me to hold my hand, I’m not going in there by myself!’

We talked some more. It was wonderful to get things off my chest and Jocasta was as good a listener as she was a talker. Then came the thorny issue.

‘Should I tell anyone else?’

‘About what?’

‘You know,’ I waved my hand over my body, ‘about me.’

‘It’s up to you, but looking as good as you do, people won’t believe it. I’m not going to make your mind up for you but if I were you, I would stay. As far as I’m concerned you’re a girl, regardless of what's between your legs. We are pretty broad minded here anyway, you have to be when you see some holidaymakers–grown men in long baggy shorts and their bottoms hanging out when they bend over–now that’s a sight for sore eyes, I don’t think! Why is it when people go on holidays, all dress sense flies out of the window?’

I smiled weakly at that.

‘Then there’s Miss Silverton.’

I stared at her blankly, trying to keep up with her change of direction.

‘Miss Silverton has lived in the village all her life. When she was born, she was a he.’

‘So she’s like me?’

‘Sort of, she’s a hermaphrodite and was brought up as a boy until she was 14. It had become obvious by then that she didn’t look much like a he, I think the growing breasts were a bit of a give away, and so tests were done and her life changed, as it were.’

‘How old is she?’

‘She she must be in mid thirtees now. Never married and lives for her twelve cats. She has a cottage up at the top of our lane. We have to be careful not to run any of her cats over when we pass and, naturally, our dogs have a problem with the moggies.

‘Then there’s Stuart and Michael,’ she continued.

‘What's wrong with them?’

‘Oh they’re the gay couple who run the tackle shop; you couldn’t find a more loving and devoted couple.’

‘Tackle shop?’ I queried, my mind on the verge of boggling.

‘Yes, fishing tackle, what other tackle is there?’

‘Mmmm, well anyway getting back to the subject; I don’t quite get your drift.’ I said, not quite understanding what she was getting at.

‘What I’m trying to say is that we’re a tolerant community, the only two species we can’t stand are double glazing salesmen and people who give out parking tickets.’

I laughed at that.

‘So you don’t think that I’d be drummed out of Penmarris?’

‘Not a chance. Look, I think it might be an idea if we tell David and the girls. Then you can gauge the reaction of others before you fully out yourself as it were. What d’you think?’

What did I have to lose? Either the folk of Penmarris would accept me for who I am or it wouldn’t be worth living here.

‘Okay,’ I said, making up my mind and being decisive for once. Just then, my phone chirped.

‘HI, Samantha, it’s Millie. Look, I may have found a place for you, it’s old Mr Mogg’s place. He’s gone into a home now as he can’t do much, poor old chap. Anyway, my sister’s best friend knows one of the carers at the home and she mentioned that Mr Mogg is worried that no one is living in his cottage. So it might be all right for you to stay there. Do you want me to make enquiries?’

‘Yes please.’

‘All right; if I get the go ahead I’ll ring you back and make arrangements for you to view.’

‘That would be fantastic. Thank you for all your help.’

‘That’s okay, see you.’

The phone went dead. She seemed to be a bit of a live wire, that Millie!

‘Good news?’

‘Yes, Millie said that a Mr Mogg has a cottage that might suit me.’

‘Albert Mogg; yes, he’s 85 and has moved into care because it’s closer to the Crab and Lobster’

‘Crab and Lobster, What's that, a restaurant?’

‘No the local pub the other side of the quay,’

‘Right; so does everyone know about everyone here?’

‘Pretty much; we look out for each other but give people privacy if they want it. Now old Mrs Tyler, no one knows what she gets up to. The kids think she’s a witch, but that’s because she has a black cat and grows herbs.’

‘This place is seriously weird, but I love it!’ We both laughed and then, noticing the time, stood up. I still had things to do.

‘So,’ I said as we walked back up the beach, ‘do you know of a good solicitor?’

‘Well you could use Phillip Jenkins, but he’s more into your wills and probate. His daughter Katie is the one to see. She’s the divorce queen.’

‘Are there a lot of divorces here?’

‘Two in the past year.’

‘That’s not many.’

‘It is for around here. Look, let’s go and see if she’s in her office.’

We made our way along the quay and up the little High Street. I call it High Street, but it was only slightly wider than the other roads in the village. It had a butchers shop, a bakery, a paper shop, the post office and, above the undertakers, the solicitors–Bentley, Bentley, Letwynd and Fartworth–worth a bit of a smile, that one.

Sadly they were closed.

‘Never mind, you can ring them later.’

‘Okay.’ I replied, ‘I’m not that concerned, I was married for years I’m sure another few days won’t make much difference.’

‘That’s the ticket. The way you’re going, you’ll be as laid back has the rest of us soon.’

‘True,’ I laughed.

I had wanted to sort out another mobile, but as that would have meant a trip into the nearest town and the fact that I was car-less, meant that another of the items on my list went on the back burner.

We had lunch in the Crab and Lobster, a ploughman’s lunch and white house wine, a nice combination, then it was back to the vicarage because Jocasta was having a young wives meeting there.

Not being a young wife, I went up to my bedroom and checked my list. I was able to cross off a few things, but not many. I wasn’t that concerned as there was always another day. My life up to now had revolved around lists, appointments and schedules–another thing that obviously needed changing.

Just then my mobile chirped.

I picked it up and didn’t recognise the number, it was a mobile one. I just shrugged and pressed the go button.

‘Hello, Tom, it’s Nigel.’ Oh my God, Olivia’s Dad!

‘Hi, Nigel.’ I replied, hesitantly.

‘What the HELL is going on?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Don’t sorry me. I get a phone call from Olivia, and she says that you’ve run off somewhere. HR informed me that you were sick. So, I repeat what the hell is going on?’

‘It’s private. I need some space.’

‘Space–you can stuff your space. Olivia is angry with you and so am I. You have responsibilities, young man, and you need to get your arse into gear and get back to your wife and work. I don’t pay you good money to fuck off whenever you want. I don’t run a holiday camp here, you know. If you want to get on with me, you will get back home, apologise to your wife and start behaving like a man and not shirk your responsibilities.’

I had come to the boil slowly while he was speaking and I surprised myself as I replied; ‘Nigel, I have no intention of coming back..’

‘What the fu–’

‘You’ve had your say, so listen to me. Did your precious daughter tell you why I left? She was having sex in my house on one of my beds, not with me, but with another man. The only reason I worked for you was because it made Olivia happy for me to have what she termed a proper job. She busted up this marriage, not me. I resign with immediate effect and you can tell your daughter that I am commencing divorce proceedings citing her adultery as the cause. Oh, and by the way, I have an excellent photograph of her having sex with her lover on my ’phone so if you want publicity, tell her to contest–goodbye.’

I threw the ’phone out of the open window and fell on the bed, sobbing.

It had been a strange day–and yet somehow liberating.

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To Be Continued...

Please leave comments...thanks!
My thanks also go out to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing and pulling the story into shape!~Sue

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Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy
Sunshine in my eyes can make me cry
Sunshine on the water looks so lovely
Sunshine almost always makes me high
Sunshine almost all the time makes me high
Sunshine almost always…
John Denver

Previously…

‘Nigel, I have no intention of coming back..’

‘What the fu–’

‘You’ve had your say, so listen to me. Did your precious daughter tell you why I left? She was having sex in my house on one of my beds, not with me, but with another man. The only reason I worked for you was because it made Olivia happy for me to have what she termed a proper job. She busted up this marriage, not me. I resign with immediate effect and you can tell your daughter that I am commencing divorce proceedings citing her adultery as the cause. Oh, and by the way, I have an excellent photograph of her having sex with her lover on my ’phone so if you want publicity, tell her to contest–goodbye.’

I threw the ’phone out of the open window and fell on the bed, sobbing.

It had been a strange day–and yet somehow liberating.

And now the story continues…

There was a gentle knock on the door.

‘Please leave me alone.’

‘Samantha, it’s me–Jo. Please let me come in.’

I would never be able to forget how kind she and her family had been to me, so I took a deep breath, wiped my eyes with a tissue, had a look at the horror in the mirror and then, with a sigh, opened the door.

Jocasta was standing there looking concerned.

‘Oh Lord, what’s happened?’

I promptly burst into tears again as I sat down on the bed. I couldn’t believe how emotional I had been lately. I seemed to cry very easily.

Jocasta put her arm around me.

‘Want to talk about it?’

‘You…you, must be f—f—fed up with me. I’ve b—brought nothing but tr—trouble.’

‘Nonsense, my dear, you aren’t any trouble and anyway, I like to help. Now, tell Auntie Jo all about it…’

I told her about the phone call from Olivia’s father.

‘You’re kidding me?’

‘Do I look like I’m kidding?’

‘No–No, you don’t. Now listen, Samantha, you need a good talking too, so pin back your ears or what Jen, rather crudely, calls your lug ’oles and listen. I’m not normally judgemental and I know that I have only heard your side of things, and you may well have been a pain to live with but I know that it takes two to make an argument. But and this is a big but, I cannot see any reason for you to reproach yourself over this. Olivia knew the score about you when you married, and ever since, you have gone along with her wishes–to keep a happy marriage. Then she goes and does something totally disgusting to you and she’s angry. Then her father, who appears to be a nasty piece of work, immediately takes her side and treats you like dirt. If I were you, I would get out of that marriage as soon as you can and as this is coming from a vicar’s wife, I don’t say that lightly.’

‘It must be partly my fault; I didn’t live up to her expectations. I obviously wasn’t man enough for her…’

‘Enough of that rubbish. Let me make this clear and I’m sorry if I’m being forward in this. You–are–not–to–blame. The victim often thinks that it’s their fault. You’ve been kind and loving and have gone the extra mile to make things work in your marriage. Not everyone is aggressive and forward. You are sweet and sensitive and your femininity shines through. Olivia is what gives us women a bad name sometimes; demanding, manipulative and downright nasty. Judging by what you have said of her father, I can see where she gets it from. What’s her mother like?’

‘She died shortly after Olivia was born.’

‘So, her entire life’s been influenced by her nasty, vindicate, spiteful father. I don’t know if I pity her, but not knowing her, I can’t give an opinion. Anyway, Samantha, don’t feel responsible for this because it’s you who’s the victim in this and not her.’

I don’t know…’

‘Well I do. Look, it doesn’t do you any good to beat yourself up over this. You have to move on otherwise it will take you over and consume you. Do you want that?’

I shook my head.

‘Right, dear, dry your eyes and we’ll go out for a walk. I find that the sea air here has mysterious restorative qualities. On top of that I rather fancy a G&T with a nice view.’

‘What about your mothers’ meeting?’ I sniffed.

‘It was a young wives’ meeting, dear, and was only a quick natter about the next bring and buy sale.’

‘Oh.’

‘Right, you’ve got ten minutes and then we’re going down the village for a drink. You’ll like our local.’

‘What, the Crab and Lobster?’

‘God no, that’s full of ancient locals around the age of ninety and even I can’t understand a word of what they’re talking about sometimes. Do you know that they still scatter sawdust on the floor? No, we’ll go to the Toad and Tart, it’s–’

‘The what?’

She laughed, ‘don’t ask; no one knows where the name came from; I think one of the previous landlords, back in the mists of time, had a strange sense of humour!’

She left me to tidy myself up. Gazing at my red eyes in the bathroom mirror, reminded me how upset I had been over the conversation with Nigel. I wiped off my rather smeary makeup, then washed my face, splashing water in my eyes to help get rid of the puffiness. After drying myself with a fluffy towel, I quickly reapplied my makeup.

Fifteen minutes later, looking almost human, I was downstairs again and, in no time at all, Jocasta and I were heading down to the village. The way things were going, I would get healthy rather quickly with all this walking!

‘Right,’ said Jocasta as we set off, ‘Pack up your troubles for a little while and let’s just enjoy ourselves.’

‘Okay.’ I replied smiling somewhat doubtfully.

Once again as we followed the steepish lane leading down to the village. We were accosted by several people who wanted to chat and I could see how the village gossip spread like wildfire.

Eventually we arrived on the quay and turned right. Not having been in this direction before, I took in the scene with interest. There were a few gift shops, a restaurant called the Lobster Pot, a fish and chip shop that should have been banned because the smell wafting out of it was mouth-watering in the extreme. I promised myself that I would have some cod and chips complete with salt and vinegar as soon as I had settled in. You can’t beat fish and chips out of newspaper, sitting somewhere with pleasant view and this place had more than most.

I had cheered up considerably, as you can probably tell. Then I stopped.

‘What?’ said Jocasta as she was in the middle of trying to persuade me against cod in favour of haddock for environmental reasons.

‘My phone.’

‘What about it?’

‘Erm, I chucked it out of the bedroom window after my little chat with my delightful father-in-law.’

‘Oh, right.’

‘Millie might be trying to contact me about the cottage.’

‘Don’t worry, if she can’t get you, she’ll ring me.’

‘That’s good.’

‘We had better look for your phone when we get back; it’s probably on the lawn somewhere.’

‘Okay.’ I said as we turned a corner and climbed some stone steps that led to yet another narrow lane. I was out of puff again but Jocasta seemed unaffected. After passing several small cottages with front doors leading directly off the street, we turned another corner.

I stopped, as there in front of us was a pub–the Toad and Tart. I had thought that Jocasta was joking but there it was as large as life.

It looked rather old, the bricks were worn in places and the building had a slightly tilted look to it. The church had a steeple that was leaning slightly and so did this. It looked like the area suffered from a degree of subsidence and I suppose being at the edge of the sea didn’t help much. It wasn’t very large as pubs go, but was on two levels. We walked through the very low doorway, built for when the patrons were a lot smaller. Immediately in front of us was a bar, with several people nursing drinks and talking. The man behind the bar, who I took to be the landlord, looked up from drying glasses and smiled. It went quiet as everyone turned to stare at us. But only for a second as we got a series of hellos. Everyone seemed to know Jocasta and apparently any friend of hers was a friend of theirs.

‘I hope we’ll see you all in church on Sunday?’

There was something of a pregnant pause after which everyone seemed to be inspecting their drinks rather closely.

Jocasta and I looked at each other and giggled as we moved past the drinkers and went up a flight of wooden stairs.

At the top was another, smaller, bar and a terrace. There were fewer people here but I paid little attention until I was led out on the terrace–where there was a superb view of the whole cove. The beach was in front us, with clean golden sand that glinted almost white in the sun. To the left was the quay with large crowds doing the holidaymaker thing. The harbour had a plethora of boats, large and small, rising and falling to the gentle swell. Further away, the other beach looked rather more crowded than earlier. It was a picture postcard scene and I rather wished I had brought my sketchbook with me.

I sat at one of the tables and surveyed the scene while Jocasta fetched our drinks.

The ever-present seagulls were making their cacophonous presence felt around the harbour as a fishing boat came in, it’s diesel motor chugging as it approached the quay. The birds were obviously in the right place at the right time as things were being thrown off the boat and into the harbour. Being a bit squeamish, I didn’t really want to know what those things were.

Soon, Jocasta returned with our drinks and a packet of cheese and onion crisps each.

‘Drink that,’ she ordered.

‘Yes, Miss.’

I sipped the ice cold gin and tonic and I’m glad to say it hit the right spot almost immediately.

‘Mmm.’ I said appreciatively.

‘So, what d’you think of the Toad and Tart?’

‘Gorgeous, but I can’t get over the name.’

‘You get used to it.’ she replied laughing.

‘It is lovely here.’

‘Yes, as far as we know, there’s been a pub on this site since the thirteenth century. We think this one was built sometime in the seventeenth century. Evidently it was a smugglers inn at one time; there’s a passage that leads down to the rocks on the other side of the cove. Rumour has it that the excise men never managed to catch anyone smuggling tea, brandy, gin, rum and tobacco, mainly because the local squire, who just happened to be an ancestor of Lady Fairbairn was in on it. There are caves and tunnels everywhere leading to some of the old cottages. They must have been wild times then.’

‘It sounds like it. What’s it like here in the winter?’

‘It’s beautiful in a different way. Oh, we get our fair share of storms, bringing in extra high tides and ships in distress, but apart than that, the cove is comparatively sheltered so we manage to avoid the worst of it.’

We sat there for another hour, watching people playing, bathing or just sleeping on the beach. It was restful and helped me relax. Mind you the three G&T’s probably helped!

Eventually and reluctantly we finally left and made our, slightly tiddley, way back to the vicarage. It seemed to be getting easier going up that hill, maybe I was getting stronger? We arrived back just before four o’clock. The girls were due back from school, but they wouldn’t be stopping as they had to go to the stables to exercise their ponies.

David was in his study writing his next sermon and Jocasta had to do something about the parish magazine, so I went out to the garden to search for my phone. All three dogs came out and helped–or was that hindered–me?

Eventually I found it and was impressed by how far I had thrown it. Picking it up, I was surprised to discover it was still working and that I had a message.

I pressed the button, dreading that it might be from Olivia or Nigel, but it was from Millie.

Pls ring me
Millie

‘A girl of few words.’ I thought. I rang her back using the card she had given me.

‘Hi Millie? It’s Samantha.’

‘Hi, thanks for getting back. I couldn’t get you on your mobile and Jo’s wasn’t answering. We have funny reception in this area. Anyway, I’ve spoken to old Mr Mogg–God, he’s hard work–deaf as a post and more interested in staring down my cleavage than talking about his cottage. Anyway, I finally got his attention and he said that it was alright to look at his place. I have the keys, so do you fancy meeting me there?’

‘Yes, that’ll be fine, but how do I get there?’

‘Go down the hill from the Vicarage, take the first left and then second right; it’s about a hundred yards from the junction. I’ll meet you there in twenty minutes, okay?’

‘Fine, I’ll see you there.’

Jocasta had gone down to the shops and David was still sorting out his sermon, so I went to have a look at Mr Mogg’s cottage on my own. As I made my way down the hill, I wondered what the cottage would be like and if it would be the answer to my dreams?

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To Be Continued...

Please leave comments...thanks! ~Sue

My thanks go to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing and pulling the story into shape.

There is a Toad and Tart and it's not in Devon but in St Thomas in the US Virgin Islands.

http://www.toadandtart.com/

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Making your way in the world today takes everything you've got.
Taking a break from all your worries, sure would help a lot.

Wouldn't you like to get away?

Sometimes you want to go

Where everybody knows your name,
and they're always glad you came.
You wanna be where you can see,
our troubles are all the same
You wanna be where everybody knows
Your name.

Theme from Cheers.

Previously…

Jocasta had gone down to the shops and David was still sorting out his sermon, so I went to have a look at Mr Mogg’s cottage on my own. As I made my way down the hill, I wondered what the cottage would be like and if it would be the answer my dreams?

And now the story continues…

Millie’s directions were spot on and I spotted her waving to me in the distance as I walked down the narrow lane to meet her.

I marvelled at how lovely everything was. I felt as if I was living a travelogue. Through gaps between the cottages I could catch glimpses the blue sea. How was it that there were not more visitors? This place oozed pure Devon charm. Maybe it’s one of those places where visitors are sworn to secrecy about its charms, vaguely like The Mousetrap by Agatha Christie where you aren’t supposed to tell anyone that *********** did it.

Then I felt something wet splodge on my shoulder.

‘Thanks a lot,’ I shouted at the seagull as it wheeled away after landing it’s bomb with the deadly accuracy of an exocet missile.

‘Hi, Samantha, found it okay then?’

‘Yes, it’s great here, isn’t it?’ I said wiping my shoulder clean with a tissue. ‘Apart from the aerial assaults.’

‘Mmm, you should see what it’s like when they are protecting their eggs. By the way, you missed a bit.’ She pointed at some white stuff that had dribbled down my back.

‘Yukk.’

In next to no time, I was cleaned up, focussed and ready again. This was the new Samantha, ready willing and able to be decisive. A girl to be reckoned with.

‘Here we are,’ said Millie, pointing at the cottage. ‘Now I must to enter my Estate Agent mode, so here goes. Cove Cottage is a truly idyllic coastal cottage in wonderful Devon. The cottage which dates back to the mid-1700s, is steeped in local history. The property is set in a wonderful elevated position above Penmarris Cove on the western coast. End of spiel; shall we go in?’

While she had been speaking, I looked at the front of the cottage; it was whitewashed, with the front door painted bright blue. It was on two levels and appeared to be reasonably well looked after and decidedly old-world. The roof was slated and looked as if it had been replaced recently. I wondered how windy it got up here in the winter?

I followed Millie through the small garden, up the steps and into the entrance hall. To the left was a kitchen, which wasn’t modern but a real farmhouse-type kitchen, no flat pack kitchen this; real wood and solid too. It was nice and bright and I loved the welsh dresser (or should that be a Devon dresser?) standing against one wall.

Millie sailed on saying that I could have a good nose around after she gave me the official tour of inspection. To the right of the entrance hall was the sitting room, which was slightly larger than the kitchen and had a couple of comfy-looking overstuffed armchairs and a leather sofa in the corner. The fireplace was open and appeared to have been well used. It all looked really cosy.

‘Have a look at this.’ said Millie standing by the picture window.

I gasped. The view was really something. There was a garden about 50 feet long, sloping downwards, mainly lawn but with several flower beds full of pretty, colourful flowers. Beyond that there was an uninterrupted view of the harbour and quay. I could see both beaches from this fairly central location and it was all a bit much. I sensed my eyes pricking–it was love at first sight. It was so cosy and sweet, it looked beautiful and everywhere was tidy, clean and obviously well cared for…

But no, I had to be strong. No more wimpy Tom; this was Samantha, the hard-headed business type person who needed to weigh everything up and make a decision based on cold hard facts…

‘I’ll take it.’ I said, immediately forgetting my resolve and just melting.

Millie smiled. ‘Have a good look around first. You haven’t seen upstairs yet.’

I followed her up the steep stairs to the landing on the first floor. She first took me to the left, along the landing and pointed out the bathroom, which wasn’t large, but had been retiled few years before and was good enough for little me. Then continuing on, she showed me into the bedroom. There were windows on three sides, so I had a view of the lane, along the cove and down the garden, to the quay and the sea beyond.

‘Wow,’ I said under my breath.

Dragging my eyes away from the spectacular view, I looked around the room and noticed that the furniture was a bit old and I would have to change the bed or at least the mattress, but other than that, it was perfect. Turning back, I sighed; fancy waking up to this view.

‘Come on, I’ve another room to show you.’

We went back along the landing and to another room.

‘Ooh!’ I gasped and that was no understatement.

It seems that he used it as a junk room because it was full of boxes, books and magazines and hadn’t been dusted like the other rooms for some time. It was about the same size as the other bedroom and had a similar window arrangement, except the view out to sea, was enhanced by the fact that where there was just a wall with a window in it in the bedroom - in this room, the whole of that side was a series of wide floor to ceiling windows.

The light was absolutely fantastic. It was exactly what I was looking for in a studio. Yes, it needed tidying up and the stuff in it moved, but I could see in my mind’s eye that this was it.

‘Oh, Millie, it’s gorgeous.’

‘Yes; it is lovely, isn’t it? Mrs Pearson comes in three times a week to do the housework and Mr Pearson does the gardening, so it’s always kept nice. What do you think? Have you changed your mind, do you still like it?’

‘Like it? Like it? I adore it. To hell with being sensible, grown up and level headed, where do I sign on the dotted line?’

‘Don’t you want to know the terms?’ she said, laughing at my obvious enthusiasm.

‘Oh, okay, I suppose I do need to know.’

‘Well, it’s seven fifty a calendar month, three months in advance; is that okay?’

I thought that it was very reasonable considering its idyllic location.

‘Yes, that’s fine, but how long can I stay. It would break my heart if I had to move out after a short while.’

‘Between you and me, Mr Mogg will never move back in. He’s getting frail and he doesn’t like all the stairs, so he won’t be coming back. He doesn’t have any relatives to whom he would leave the property, so he intends to sell the property and donate the proceeds to McMillan Cancer Support. I might add that the Moggs are a long lived family and he will probably last a good many years yet.’

‘So why doesn’t he sell it now and give them the money straight away?’

‘His solicitor advised him hang on because it’s a good investment and will only appreciate in value.’

‘I don’t have to worry then?’

‘No, if you still want it, I can make all the arrangements.’

‘When can I move in?’

‘As long as you have the deposit and sign a few forms, a few days at most.’

‘That’s wonderful.’ I exclaimed and then thought for a moment. ‘Any chance on having first refusal on the sale, if and when it comes?’

‘I’ll ask. I might be able to do a deal if you are willing to go over the current valuation.’

‘I expect its valued quite high.’

‘It won’t be cheap.’

‘I’ll have to get painting then, won’t I?’

We both laughed and carried on having a look around.

A short while later, Millie had to shoot off but she left me the key, saying that if she needed it, she would come for it. Having the key made me feel like it was my place already. I couldn’t imagine an estate agent in London leaving a customer the key before signing on the dotted line, but this was Penmarris where everyone knows your name.

I had a good look around and worked out in my mind’s eye how I would have my studio. I was brought out of my day dream but my ’phone chirping–It was Olivia. My heart sank and I came crashing back to Earth.

‘Hello, Olivia,’ I said neutrally.

‘Tom, where are you?’

‘Does it matter?’

‘Of course it does. Has Daddy spoken to you yet?’

‘Yes,’

‘And?’

‘And what?’

‘Are you coming back yet?’

‘No–I haven’t changed my mind.’

‘Look, why are you being like this. I apologise, all right? It was wrong for me and Roger–’

‘–So his name is Roger is it? Friend or someone you picked up?’

‘Why are you speaking like this; you don’t normally talk to me like that? He works at the library if you really want to know. Look, I had a few drinks and so had he. We got carried away, it was stupid…we didn’t know what we were doing…’

‘But you have NEEDS, Olivia, you told me that before. How many times have you had those needs since we have been married?’

There was silence.

‘Well?’

‘’I’m sorry.’ she whispered and the phone went dead.

I took a deep breath. Was she sorry, I mean really sorry? I didn’t know or even care. I had been hurt by the one person in my life that I had loved and she had betrayed me and let me down. It was the end– finis.

The ’phone rang again and with a sigh I looked at the screen. It wasn’t Olivia, it was Jocasta.

‘Hi, Jo.’

‘Samantha…you sound down. Isn’t the cottage what you want?’

‘Yes, it could have been made for me.’

‘But?’

‘But, I have just had an upsetting conversation with my soon-to-be ex.’

‘Well?’

‘Well, she said that she was sorry and virtually admitted that she had done it before.’

‘Right, stay there, I’m coming straight down.’

‘What about the girls, David, tea and things.’

‘They can cope; they aren’t totally useless in the kitchen. Correction; David is, he could burn water, but the girls are in the Guides so they can cook as long its beans on toast or something. Anyway there are things in the freezer they can nuke in the microwave. I’ll be with you in ten minutes.’

I went to the long window, realised that it was a patio door, not just a window and noticing a handle, pulled it open. Outside there was a small balcony with railings; I just stood there, breathing in the fresh sea air and gradually calming down. I refused to think about my phone call from Olivia, it was too negative. It only re-affirmed my decision to divorce her. I hoped that my bluff about the photo I said I took would make things easy for me. I felt the slight breeze ruffle my dress gently against my bare legs and my hair drifted across my eyes. It felt so right; my being here, dressed like this. But I didn’t want to just look like a girl and feel like one inside any more. The crisis in my life had made me focus on what I wanted to be–a whole woman. I would add to my list something else. See a doctor about transitioning.

I was brought out of my introspective reverie by a knock on the front door. Taking a deep breath, I went downstairs to answer it. Jocasta stood there beaming at me.

‘Hello, Sam, may I come in?’

I smiled as she passed me and I closed the door. I had noticed a gaggle of women on the other side of the road looking at us and knew that it had already spread that Samantha was here to stay.

‘Well, I haven’t been here for a few years, ever since Doris died in fact. Doris was old Mr Mogg’s wife. It’s been done up a bit and of course Mr and Mrs Pearson look after the place. Will you keep them on?’

‘Probably,’ I said as we sat in the living room.

‘Now, what’s this about Olivia?’

‘I don’t really want to talk about it but…’

I told her everything and–as usual–started blubbing again. I might have to go and see Doctor Sinclair and get an anti crying pill if things continued like this. Mind you, after I got it all off my chest, I felt much better.

‘You really need to see the solicitor.’

‘I think that I ought to go to someone outside the village.’

‘Why?’

‘Everyone knows everything about everyone here.’

‘You haven’t met Katie Jenkins yet. She is about our age and used to work for a large firm of solicitors up in London. I did say that there had only been two divorces here in the last year, but Katie has loads of experience as a top flight solicitor dealing with marital breakdowns. She wouldn’t admit that it was Tuesday unless she had a signed affidavit countersigned by a judge. She would never say anything to anyone about her clients’ affairs without prior agreement.’

‘Why is she here then and not in London?’

‘Why are you here?’

‘Oh.’

‘Yes, oh. She might tell you about it one day. Look, it’s getting a bit late now but I’ll give her a ring. If I can arrange it, would tomorrow be okay?’

I nodded, wanting to get things moving. I wanted the pain of my marriage breakdown to end as soon as possible.

Jocasta, pulled out her ’phone and speed dialled the number.

‘Hi, Katie? Jo. Hi, hon, how are you? Tell me about it. Look my friend Samantha…yes, that’s the one, she needs some urgent advice. Will you be around tomorrow morning? Great. Okay, I’ll tell her. Byee.’

‘Eleven o’clock tomorrow morning all right?’

‘Sure. Thanks for sorting that.’

‘No problem; ’tis what friends are for. Now put that on the back burner and tell me. Are you taking this place?’

‘Yes, it’s wonderful. If it wasn’t for my marital problems, I’d think life was getting close to perfect. I’m sure someone’s looking down on me to help me find the cove, you and this blissful cottage.’

‘Well, someone is looking down on you, or he had better be, otherwise my darling hubby would be out of a job. So what next?’

‘I need a mattress and bed linen.’

---

To Be Continued...

Please leave comments...thanks! ~Sue

My thanks go to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing and pulling the story into shape.

---

 
 

Don't tell me what it's all about,
'Cause I've been there and I'm glad I'm out,
Out of those chains, those chains that bind you
That is why I'm here to remind you

What do you get when you fall in love?
You get enough tears to fill an ocean
That's what you get for your devotion.
I'll never fall in love again.
I'll never fall in love again.

Burt Bacharach / Hal David

Previously…

I nodded, wanting to get things moving. I wanted the pain of my marriage breakdown to end as soon as possible.

Jocasta, pulled out her ’phone and speed dialled the number.

‘Hi, Katie? Jo. Hi. hon, how are you? Tell me about it. Look my friend Samantha…yes, that’s the one, she needs some urgent advice. Will you be around tomorrow morning? Great. Okay, I’ll tell her. Byee.’

‘Eleven o’clock tomorrow all right?’

‘Sure. Thanks for sorting that.’

‘No problem; ’tis what friends are for. Now put that on the back burner and tell me. Are you taking this place?’

‘Yes, it’s wonderful. If it wasn’t for my marital problems, I’d think life was getting close to perfect. I’m sure someone’s looking down on me to help me find the cove, you and this blissful cottage.’

‘Well someone is looking down on you, or he had better be otherwise my beloved hubby would be out of a job. So what next?’

‘I need a mattress and bed linen.’

And now the story continues…

Surprisingly enough, not much else happened that day, except that on the way back from my cottage–my cottage, sounds soooo nice–Jo and I couldn’t resist the inviting smell of the fish and chip shop. It was fabulous, sitting on the harbour wall with cod–they were out of haddock–and chips in paper with just the right amount of salt and vinegar, trying to avoid being mugged by the ever present dive-bombing seagulls.

Whilst waiting for the fish and chips to be freshly cooked, Jocasta borrowed the Yellow Pages and gave me the number of a bed shop located in a nearby town. I managed to ring them and ordered a mattress, some pillows and plain white bed linen, taking the chance that my instructions regarding a deep, comfortable mattress would be carried out. Jocasta assured me that they were a good shop with a high reputation for quality and I should have no worries about what they would supply. It was arranged that the stuff would be delivered to the cottage the next morning at half past nine, so I had to make sure that I would be there to take delivery. I hoped they wouldn’t be late as I was seeing Katie the solicitor at eleven.

The evening passed quietly and I slept well. Next morning I was back at the cottage, waiting for the mattress to arrive. I had spoken to Millie and she said that it was okay to sort out the mattress and take delivery. She was going to see Mr Mogg later and get him to sign a few forms. She gave me the estate agents account number and sort code for transferring funds to pay the deposit. Then while I waited for the van to arrive, I phoned my bank. Of course, it’s all centralised now so you don’t ever speak to a branch just someone faceless.

I gave the faceless bank person my personal details including what I had for breakfast that day and then got down to the reason for my call.

‘Firstly, I have changed my address.’ I gave her my details.

‘Right, now I need to transfer some funds to my estate agent, I need that done straight away–how much? Talk about pound of flesh. Okay please do it.’

As I put the phone down, I wondered why the banks were in so much trouble; they give daylight robbery a bad name.

There was a knock on the door and I went downstairs to answer it. Two men in flat caps stood there.

‘Ms Smart?’ asked left hand flat cap.

‘That’s me.’ I answered brightly.

‘We have a delivery,’ said right hand flat cap, handing me a large carrier bag–it was the pillows, sheets and things.

‘Thanks.’

Soon, they were struggling up the narrow stairs with the unwieldy mattress and both flat caps fell off before they finally managed to get it into the bedroom. I learned a few Devonian swearwords that might come in useful at some time or other.

‘Thank you so much.’

‘No problem,’ said one flat cap-less person.

‘Thanks,’ said the other one as I gave them a tip.

They went downstairs and after picking up their caps and placing them carefully on their heads, they were off.

Across the lane, I saw several ladies nattering and I gave them a little wave and went back inside.

I was going to change the mattress myself, but didn’t want to tempt fate, just in case everything went pear shaped and I wasn’t for some reason able to have the cottage.

I shifted a few boxes around in what I now called my Studio and wondered if there was anywhere else that I could stash them as they would be in the way once my artistic juices began flowing.

I glanced at my watch. It was a quarter to eleven, and I had places to go and things to do, so I locked up and made my way down to the High Street to meet Katie.

There were a few people in the lane so I said, ‘hi,’ as I passed them. I wondered how many centuries it would take for me to be considered a local? Mind you, I was being unfair as everyone had been nice since I had arrived.

Jocasta had offered to come with me to the solicitors, but I decided that this was one thing I had to do alone.

As I stood outside the solicitors’ door, I took a deep breath and entered. It was cooler inside and darker. My eyes took a moment to adjust as I walked up the carpeted staircase to the top where a sign said Please come in. I knocked on the solid wooden door and went in.

There was a girl behind a desk typing on a keyboard.

‘Fercrisaek,’ she said at her screen, then looking up she smiled, saying, ’awright ’en aree?’

‘Pardon?’

‘Oh, sorry, I’m practicing my Devon accent for the Midsummer Fair–long story; may I help you?

‘I have an appointment with Katie?’

‘Right, erm, Ms Smart?’

‘That’s me.’

‘Please take a seat, I’ll see if she’s free.’

I sat down on one of the padded chairs that lined the walls á  la doctor’s surgery. There were several doors and she went to one in the corner, knocked and entered.

As I looked round the office, I felt slightly uncomfortable as it appeared I was being stared at by several old, and no doubt deceased, men in the portraits on the walls.

The door opened again and the girl came out.

‘She’s free now; would you like to go in?’

As I entered, a tall, rather elegant, lady stood up and shook my hand.

‘Samantha? Great to see you. Come and sit down and we can have a chat.’ She pointed to a couple of easy chairs so we sat down and made ourselves comfortable.

She was quite attractive, with long black hair, wearing a silk blouse and grey tailored skirt. Every bit the busy solicitor.

‘May I offer you some coffee?’

I shook my head. Now I came to it, I was decidedly nervous.

‘Okay then, how may I help you?’

By now I was extremely nervous. Could I trust her? I had to trust her; I had no choice if I wanted to get this over quickly.

‘I–I want to know how I can get a divorce.’

‘I’m so sorry to hear that. Is there no chance?’

‘N—no.’ I took a deep breath and looked at her. ‘Is this confidential?’

‘Naturally. I won’t say or do anything you don’t wish me to. Look, I can see that you’re upset, that’s obvious. I think you should tell me everything so that I can advise the best way forward.’

I looked at her; she seems nice and I don’t think that she would laugh or treat me like I was something she got on her shoe; oh hell… I shut my eyes, not wanting to see her reaction to what I was about to say.

‘First of all, my legal name is Tom Smart. I—I’m transgendered.’

I cracked an eye open. She hadn’t fainted and there weren’t screams of disgust. In fact she didn’t look any different.

‘You don’t seem shocked.’ I said, being brave and opening the other eye.

‘No. Surprised yes, as you don’t look much like a Tom to me. I can see that you’re surprised by that.’

‘I suppose I am. I’ve come to expect prejudice everywhere I go and I’m very surprised that, as yet, I haven’t found any here.’

‘In every community there are people who don’t accept others for what, or should I say, who they are, but this community is better than many I could think of. Now, tell me your story and let’s see if I can help sort things out for you.’

I told her about finding my wife having sex with a man in our house and my subsequent flight to this lovely place and also the conversations that I had with my wife and her odious–or should that be odourous?–father.

‘So, let me get this straight, she owns your house?’

‘Yes, it was given to her by her father when we got married.’

‘Not to both of you as a wedding present?’

‘No.’

‘Strange. And you worked for her father too?’

‘Yes.’

‘What do you want out of this, Samantha?’

‘I…I want to start afresh–with no baggage.’

‘Do you intend to stay as Samantha?’

‘Yes, I want to go the whole way and have surgery.’

‘Have you discussed this with anyone?’

‘Only Jocasta, so far.’

‘You must speak to a doctor and probably a trick-cyclist too.’

‘I know; I’ll add it to my list of things to do.’

‘Would you like me to sort out a change of name for you? It would simplify matters when it goes to court.’

‘Yes please, if you don’t mind.’

‘No prob. We’ll sort out a deed poll for you–it’s not difficult. Now, getting down to basics, do you wish to make a claim on the matrimonial home?’

‘I can’t it’s Olivia’s–“Daddy” gave it to her.’

‘You are married and in the eyes of the law, you are entitled to a fair percentage of the property.’

‘Am I?’

‘Well, the law states that when a married couple divorce, the matrimonial property should be shared fairly between them. When a divorce action is raised, either party can ask the court for orders to achieve this fair sharing. This could be payment of a sum of money, known as a capital sum, a transfer of property, such as the matrimonial home, or a pension share, is that clear so far?’

‘Yes, I think so.’

‘The matrimonial property comprises of all assets owned by a couple, whether individually or jointly, at the date of separation, which have been acquired during the marriage other than by way of gift or succession from a third party. So anything which you owned before the marriage or which you acquired after the date of separation is not included. Look we can go into this in a bit more detail at another time; it’s an awful lot to take in.’

‘I don’t know if I want a fight. I have some money of my own that came to me when my parents died. Olivia would probably want to claim some of that knowing her.’

‘How much is involved?

‘About 250K.’

‘And the house, how much is that worth?’

‘I don’t know, but it’s a large house in affluent area, probably close to half a million.’

‘Daddy must be rich?’

‘Very.’

‘And did your father-in-Law give Olivia any money?’

‘Yes, but I don’t know how much, I think it may have been some sort of tax dodge or other.’

Katie stared at me for a moment.

‘It could get messy you know. If your father-in-law has financial muscle, he would almost certainly bring in some big guns to fight the case. Also, when it’s known that you are now a woman–or transitioning if you like–it could all come out in court and there would almost certainly be publicity.’

‘I just want to begin again; if that means losing out financially, then I will. I don’t want her, or her father’s money.’

She looked at me for a moment a slight smile playing on her painted lips.

‘Hang on a minute, I’m dying for a cuppa–tea or coffee?’

‘Tea, please.’

‘Okay, I won’t be a moment.’

She left me to my thoughts and my, weren’t they heavy thoughts?

I didn’t need an Einstein moment to realise that Olivia, trying to contact me and the bullying of her father was because they didn’t want me to get a divorce on my terms. Olivia stood to lose quite a bit. I didn’t know how much as she kept her money apart from mine. In fact come to think of it, it was her idea that we did it that way. I remembered her saying at the time that it would give us independence. A funny term for people who had just got married?

Why did she marry me? Did she love me? I thought she did. Now, I’m not so sure. Perhaps I was just part of some elaborate game she played. How many lovers did she have while we were married?

It was rather like a jigsaw puzzle, where you just get all of the pieces to fit. The times that she went away on librarian courses or visiting friends–was that a sham? Was I just a token husband to her that fulfilled some sort of kinky need–a bloke that dressed up as a girl, did that turn her on? Was that what she thought I was, something to play with?

I took a deep breath, I felt hot as if I was going to faint. I didn’t have proof, but I knew in my heart of hearts that it was the truth–I had been used, probably all of our married life. A fire started to burn inside me and I felt an anger that I thought I never possessed. I had wasted ten whole years of my life on someone who had used–and yes, abused me.

I heard the door open as Katie returned. ‘Here we are a nice cup of… Why, Samantha, what’s the matter?’ she asked.

‘I–I’ve changed my mind, I want to fight for what’s mine. Could we get an investigator to find out what’s been going on behind my back? If she wants a fight, then she’ll get one. I want to start my life afresh, but until this is out of the way, I can’t live in peace. Anyway, if I win, it might help pay for my cottage.’

Whoever said I can’t be assertive and make decisions?

---

To Be Continued...

The Cove By Liz Wright

Please leave comments...thanks! ~Sue

My thanks go to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing and pulling the story into shape.

---

 
 

And I see your true colours
Shining through
I see your true colours
And that's why I love you
So don't be afraid to let them show
Your true colours
True colours are beautiful,
Like a rainbow...

Billy Steinberg and Tom Kelly

Previously…

‘I—I’ve changed my mind, I want to fight for what’s mine. Could we get an investigator to find out what has been going on behind my back? If she wants a fight then she will get one. I want to start my life afresh, but until this is out of the way, I can’t live in peace. Anyway if I win, it might help pay for my cottage. ’

Whoever said I can’t be assertive and make decisions?

And now the story continues…

Sitting outside the Copper Kettle on the quayside, drinking coffee, I reflected on my meeting with Katie.

She seemed somewhat surprised at my about-face regarding the divorce. She wanted to establish that I was making the right decision and went over the consequences several times.

The quay was jam-packed with holidaymakers and I wondered if any of them had problems like I did. Then I smiled at my self-centredness. Everybody had problems–even down to that little kid who had dropped his ice cream and started screaming for another one.

Katie had tried to dissuade me from going down the messy route, divorce-wise but when she saw that this girl was not for turning, she leaned back in her chair and smiled.

‘Well, I’ve done my job explaining the pitfalls and wanted to test your resolve. That’s why I was a bit heavy with you; I’m delighted to say you passed with flying colours. For the record, I’m absolutely sure you made the right decision. You have a right to a share in the matrimonial home and any other property that was received, given or bought during your marriage. I will make a few enquiries and we’ll go from there. Does your wife have a solicitor?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘I’ll write to her asking for the details and informing her of your intention to divorce her. Also, I have a private investigator friend who lives in London: she has done some discreet work for me in the past and this sort of thing is right up her street. Leave things with me and I’ll set the ball rolling. Also, I’ll prepare the paperwork regarding your name change, so it’s Samantha Smart; any middle name?’

I thought for a moment and then remembered what my mother said to me once regarding what I would be called, had I been born a girl.

‘Katharine, with a K and A R in the middle.’

‘That’s a lovely name; so it’s Samantha Katharine Smart–it has a pleasant ring to it.’

I thought so too.

Sipping my drink, I smiled. Katie was a nice woman and very friendly. None of your cold, formal handshakes after the interview; a kiss on the cheek and a hug followed by a promise to meet up some time for a girlie chat–now that’s a solicitor that I could be friends with.

‘May I sit here?’

I looked up and saw that it was a man, youngish about twenty-five or so. There weren’t many free seats so I just smiled and nodded.

I continued my people watching as he ordered a cold drink from the waiter.

‘Hot, isn’t it?’

I looked at him, and smiled.

‘Yes, very.’

‘Here on holiday?’

‘No, I live here.’

I had a warm squishy feeling in my tummy when I said that. I did live here and I loved it.

‘I’m here on holiday. It’s a lovely place isn’t it?’

‘Wonderful.’

‘I’m Stuart.’

‘Hello, Stuart.’

‘Yes, I rented a cottage around the other side of the bay; it’s a lovely view from there.’

‘Yes, there are beautiful views all around the bay, you should walk along the coastal path, there are some gorgeous spots up there.’

I looked at him. He was quite good looking with dark hair hazel eyes, smallish nose and a rakish smile. He was quite thin but looked like he was fit and worked out a lot. What did jar my senses was that he was wearing a loud Hawaiian shirt flying open to show a hairy chest (yeuch) and tight six-pack with tight shorts presumably to show how well endowed he is down below.

I quickly put on my sunglasses as the glare from his shirt threatened to eclipse the sun.

His drink arrived and he took a sip. ‘So, what’s a nice girl like you doing in a lovely place like this?’

I looked at him incredulously.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Mmm, that reaches the spot,’ he sighed after taking another sip of his drink. ‘I'm sorry, I didn’t catch your name?’

‘That was because I didn’t tell you.’

‘Maybe, you’d like to have dinner with me tonight. I know I’m being terribly forward; sorry about that, but I’m a bit impulsive, and I know we would get on like a house on fire.’

‘Well that would be a big problem here because the fire brigade is based about ten miles away; so thanks, but no thanks. I’m afraid I have to go now; nice to meet you.’

‘But–’

I stood up and, with a wave, strode off down the quayside.

I was soon hidden by the throng so I slowed down and just strolled along, smiling to myself. I reckoned I must be reasonably passable as I had just foiled an attempt at being picked up by a guy. I was aware of the signs: he wasn’t just chatting me up, he wanted something more–much more than I was willing to give.

I went down the steps quaintly called Granny’s Teeth* and found a quiet spot on the beach by some rocks. The sand around my toes felt gorgeous and as I looked out to sea, I wished I could go sailing like that couple in the boat about a hundred yards out in the cove. It must be really exhilarating.

I wondered if Stuart had picked up anyone else yet? He seemed nice but more than a bit over the top. He certainly needed to brush up on his chat up lines–corny or what? I wasn’t into men and anyway even if I was, I was going through what is clearly going to be a messy divorce and the last thing I wanted was man complications.

Thinking of sex, reminded me of good times in and out of bed with Olivia. I wondered if she enjoyed things as much as I did or was that all a sham too?

My ’phone chirped; it was Millie, the estate agent.

‘Hi, Millie.’

‘Hello, Sam, look, all the paperwork’s sorted out. I pulled a few strings and then let Mr Mogg stare down my cleavage until he signed the docs and agreed that you can move in when you’re ready. In theory, the money won’t be in his account until early next week, but I don’t think that he’s bothered about that, he was more interested in something else–dirty old man and him 85 and all.’

‘I call that dedication beyond the bounds of duty,’ I replied and we both laughed; I wondered if there was something in the water here. It certainly wasn’t bromide.

‘Look I have to shoot off–I’ve got to go and see man about a potting shed. ’Bye.’

Potting shed? I wondered if that was another way of saying “see a man about a dog”?

I replaced my phone in my bag and leant back against the warm rocks, closing my eyes and letting the heat seep into me. So much had happened in the last few days that I hadn’t had time to think.

I had discovered my wife in bed with someone else and ran off down to the wilds of Devon. Then I had been taken in by a lovely family in a location that was idyllic. I had managed to find a cottage which was gorgeous and just ideal for me to be able to use as a studio. Yes, I had begun a new life, was divorcing my wife, acquired some real friends and had just avoided being picked up by a man. Not bad for a few days. I kind of wished that I could have breather so I could recharge my batteries.

I must have fallen asleep, because I was suddenly jolted awake by someone licking my foot. My eyes snapped open and there was Sandy, looking at me with expectant eyes. At her feet was a well used frisbee and I knew what that was for. Glancing around, I noticed Jen and Phillipa running towards me, wearing swimming cozzies that were wet.

‘Hi, Samantha, fancy a swim?’ Jen asked chirpily.

‘Don’t be silly, Jen, she can’t swim in a dress.’ Phillipa retorted.

‘Well she might be wearing a cozzy under it. I don’t–’

‘–Girls, girls, don’t argue over me. Are you having a nice time?’

‘Yes,’ replied Phil, ‘it’s like great on the beach.’

‘Why aren’t you at school?’

‘Half day, teachers meeting or something. Sandy, don’t do that–it’s not nice! Look, see you later. Jen you get the frisbee and I’ll throw it…’

They dashed off down the beach squealing and shouting, leaving me smiling and maybe a bit shell-shocked. I wondered where the other dogs were, probably too lazy in this heat to do anything remotely like exercise: I knew how they felt.

Yawning, I looked at my watch; it was nearly two o’clock, where had the time gone?

I got up, brushed the sand off my dress, picked up my bag and sandals and ambled to the steps leading to the quay. I sat on the bottom “tooth”, removed the sand from between my toes and, after putting on my sandals, I climbed the steps to the quay. On an impulse I decided that instead of going to the vicarage, I would go to the cottage so, as I was feeling a bit peckish, I bought a sandwich and a bottle of orange juice to have when I got home. Home, a splendid word that. I had only just rented the place and I was already calling it home.

A few minutes later, I let myself into the cottage and went upstairs to the studio. Pulling open the doors, I put a rather rickety wooden chair on the small balcony and carefully sat on it.

As I munched my sandwich, I surveyed the scene before me. The first thing that I would paint would be the view from here, I thought as I gazed down at the village and everything below.

There was a gentle breeze that felt cool and refreshing against my lightly clothed body. Looking down at the dress, it reminded me that I needed to go shopping in town and I wondered if Jocasta fancied going, perhaps tomorrow. Then a puff of wind blew a few stray hairs across my eyes, reminding me that I had agreed to go to the salon with her. It seemed that things were going to be busy for me over the next few days.

My ’phone chirped. I always jumped when that happened as I never knew if it might be Olivia or her frightful father. But it was Dawn–my sister.

‘Hello?’

‘Tom?’

‘Dawn, is that really you?’

‘Yes, it’s me,’ she laughed, ‘how are you?’

‘I—I’m okay.’

‘Your voice sounds different–higher.’

‘Yes.’

‘Look, we haven’t spoken for a while, have we?’

‘No, I’m sorry about that, it’s my fault.’

‘Not really–I just couldn’t abide Olivia and I’m afraid I took it out on you. I’ve just had a very strange phone call from her. She wanted to know where you were, so I said I hadn’t a clue. She told me that you had some problems but wouldn’t go into it. What’s wrong, Tom?

I thought for a moment but didn’t want to talk about it on the ’phone, preferring to tell her face to face.

‘I can’t really speak about it much just now, but can we meet up?’

‘Where are you?’

‘Penmarris.’

‘Gorgeous place: I took the kids there last year. D’you want to meet there?’

‘What about the kids? What I have to say…well, it could be awkward.’

‘No prob. They’re with Nanny and Granddad for a couple of days and hubby’s away on boring business so I’m free as a bird for the next few days.’

‘When can you come then?’

‘Well, you’re only an hour’s drive away, so shall I throw a few things in a case and come? I’m sure I can put up somewhere.’

‘That would be wonderful; do you know the Toad and Tart?’

She laughed. ‘Yes; great pub with a great name. Shall we meet at say, sixish?’

‘Fantastic. See you then.’

Dawn seemed to hesitate.

‘You’re dressed as a girl aren’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Thought so; I could always tell; your voice is different when you dress. This is all a bit heavy isn’t it?’

‘Yes.’ I sniffed.

‘Okay, hon, I’ll see you soon, ’Byeee.’

‘Mmm. ’Bye.’

I switched off my ’phone. Here was I, all happy at finding a new life and everything and yet I was still hurting so badly from my marriage break up. I wondered how long it would take for the ache in my heart to go away.

---

To Be Continued...

The Cove By Liz Wright

Please leave comments...thanks! ~Sue

My thanks go to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing and pulling the story into shape.

_________________________
* Granny’s Teeth actually exist on the Cobb at Lyme Regis in Dorset.
See: http://onedog.co.uk/dorsetdays/lyme_regis_dorset_the_cobb.htm

---

 
 

She's out of my life
She's out of my life
And I don't know whether to laugh or cry
I don't know whether to live or die
And it cuts like a knife
She's out of my life

Michael Jackson/Josh Groban

Previously…

Dawn seemed to hesitate.

‘You’re dressed as a girl, aren’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Thought so; I could always tell; your voice is different when you dress. This is all a bit heavy isn’t it?’

‘Yes.’ I sniffed.

‘Okay, hon, I’ll see you soon, ’Byeee.’

‘Mmm. ’Bye.’

I switched off my ’phone. Here was I, all happy at finding a new life and everything and yet I was still hurting so badly from my marriage break up. I wondered how long it would take for the ache in my heart would go away.

And now the story continues…

‘Hi, Jocasta, are you in the middle of anything?’ The reception on my mobile wasn’t great, but what can you expect in the wilds of Devon?

‘No, only rolling some pastry. Is everything all right?’

‘Yes, fine thanks. The cottage is mine so I can move in when I like. I was thinking, is it okay for me to stay with you one more night and start afresh at the cottage tomorrow?’

‘You can stay as long as you like, dear, but is the cottage ready for you to live in yet? I mean is it clean and do you have everything you need?’

‘Probably not, but I’ve gotta to start somewhere. Look, Jo, my sister, Dawn, rang me a short while ago and I’m meeting her in the pub at around six. I didn’t want to say much to her on the ’phone so we’re going to have a good old chinwag when she comes.’

‘Is she going to stay overnight?’

‘Yes, why?’

‘Has she got anywhere to stay?’

‘Not yet, I think she’s going to sort things out when she gets here.’

‘We’ll put her up for the night, if you like?’

‘Are you sure, Jo? I seem to be taking over your life.’

‘Oh, I think this is all frightfully exciting. We don’t get much excitement here. Watching someone paint a front door is a bit of an event here. Anyway, I’m dying to meet your sister. I want to get all the dirt about you when you were a child. There’s plenty of room in this old vicarage…’

‘I was a perfect child, I’ll have you know,’ I interrupted her.

‘I bet you were, dear, but I’d prefer an unbiased opinion.’

‘Dawn’s not unbiased.’

‘Anyway, drag her back here after your drinking binge, but remember that the doors are locked after midnight.’

‘Yes, mum.’

‘Don’t you “yes, mum” me, young lady, I’m only two years older than you.’

‘Okay, sis, see you later.’ I heard her giggle as she disconnected.

I looked around and did a bit of tidying. Then I remembered a ’phone number that Millie had given me.

I picked up my ’phone.

‘I must change this ’phone.’ I thought to myself for the umpteenth time.

Dialling the number, I waited for a few moments.

‘Hello?’

‘Mrs Pearson? You don’t know me, I’m Samantha Smart…’

‘Oh yes, m’dear; you’m staying with Vicar and his family and have just taken over Albert Mogg’s cottage…’

I laughed. ‘So you do know me?’

‘Yes, m’dear.’

‘Well, I understand that you and Mr Pearson looked after the cottage for Mr Mogg?’

‘Mmm, ‘e’s a strange old stick, got a temper like a Torpoint chicken.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Never mind, m’dear,’

‘Well, erm. I was going to ask if you wouldn’t mind continuing?’

‘Ow much?’

‘Pardon?’

‘Ow much yer payin, m’ducks?’

‘How much am I paying? What did Mister Mogg pay you?’

‘Five pun.’

‘Five pounds, was that an hour?’

‘Yes’m.’

‘I’ll pay you six pounds an hour; and your husband?’

‘Same’m.’ God this is hard work; I’ll have to take evening classes.

‘I’ll pay the same for him for doing the outside; the same times as you had before. Is that okay?’

‘Yes’m.’

This was so difficult.

‘Look, Mrs Pearson, I’ll get the vicar’s wife to ring you. Is that okay?’

‘Yes’m.’

I said goodbye and wiped my fevered brow. I hadn’t time to spend all night struggling with someone who could not speak my sort of English, so I took the coward’s way out and rang Jocasta.

‘Jo?’

‘Yes’m?’

‘Don’t you start. I’ve just had a sort of conversation with Mrs Pearson, I have agreed that she should carry on, but I did want her to come and help tidy when I move in tomorrow but we have a language problem.’

‘Yes her dialect can be as thick as clotted cream but I do wonder if she puts it on a bit sometimes. Do you want me to speak to her?’

‘Could you? That would be great. Look I have to rush because I’m meeting my sister in a couple of hours and I need to change…’

‘But you’ve no clothes at the cottage.’

‘Oh hell–Sorry, Jo.’

‘That’s all right, dear. Look, why don’t you come back here? It isn’t really practical for you to get ready at the cottage now, is it?’

‘I suppose…’

‘You sound like the girls, if they don’t get their way–all whiney. You know it makes sense, dear.’

‘Okay, I’ll be there in a few minutes.’

‘Good girl.’

I could hear her giggle as she put the ’phone down and I smiled; I was sounding like a little girl who had lost her dolly.

As I made my way back to the vicarage, I wondered what Dawn would think of me and what I had done. I wanted to make a good impression for my sister. She had seen me before, but things were different now and the last thing I wanted was for her to see a man dressed as a woman.

I wondered what vitriolic poison Olivia had put in her ear. Did she just stick to the facts or had she metaphorically stuck the knife in?

Arriving at The Vicarage, I went through the back door into the kitchen–it was never locked–to find Jocasta sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea reading a magazine.

‘Hi, Jo.’

She looked up and smiled.

‘Hi, yourself. Things seem to be going rather quickly for you at the moment.’

‘I know, I’m dying for a normal day where nothing much happens. Perhaps when I’ve settled in at the cottage, things might calm down.’

‘I wouldn’t bank on it. I’ve spoken to Mrs P and she is going to be at the cottage at about seven in the morning…’

‘Seven, but that’s the middle of the night.’

‘Don’t over dramatise. We country folk start early and finish early, it’s our way.’

‘I thought you came from Birmingham originally?’

‘Yes, but it’s the osmosis–’

‘–Osmosis?’

‘Yes, it gets under the skin. You start off all urbane and streetwise and then you come to a place like this. You mustn’t fight it, just assimilate.’

‘Is this a secret Borg colony and am I experiencing a strange yet wonderful episode of Star Trek?’

‘You like it too? We are soulmates–but as you haven’t much time to get ready, I suggest that you beam up to your room and get moving or you’ll be late.’

‘But the engines canna take it, Captain.’

‘You’re as mad as me. My mum told me never to marry a vicar as I would get bats in the belfry. Now off you go before The Klingons arrive.’

‘You mean?’

‘Yes, Jen and Phillipa.’

We giggled like schoolgirls and I rushed upstairs to get ready.

At twenty past six, I was waiting for Dawn outside the Toad and Tart. I was wearing a nice frock I had borrowed from Jo. It wasn’t at all mumsie, being a Dorothy Perkins knee length grey silk dress with a slightly plunging neckline. It looked lovely and the overall look was enhanced by the fact that I had attached my breastforms using the glue provided and was able to hide the joins with the judicial use of makeup. It felt a bit strange having the breastforms actually as part of me, but I liked the weight and the feeling that it gave me. I hoped that when I grew my own I would feel even better. I had washed my hair and brushed it until it shone. It felt soft and nice, but I definitely needed to go to the salon. I had taken a lot of trouble putting on my makeup and don’t think I have ever done a better job. I felt very girlie and despite my problems, I was very pleased with the way I looked.

To finish things off, I had also borrowed some black high-heeled shoes from Jo, and my stocking-clad legs looked slim and, to my biased view, rather nice. So here I was waiting at a table outside the pub, dressed as nice as I could be, scanning the crowd for my sister whom I hadn’t seen for over two years.

I wondered if she would forgive me for not contacting her for so a long time. I know she said that everything was okay over the ’phone, but face to face–

Then I saw her–she hadn’t changed a bit. As always, she was beautiful, and dressed so elegantly, an old fashioned word but the truth in her case. Our eyes met and she recognized me immediately. I stood up and hurried over to her. She opened her arms and we embraced like we used to before all the bad things happened.

We both cried and I’m sure the village had yet more to gossip about as we tried as hard as possible to make up for lost time.

‘Oh, honey, you look lovely.’

‘So do you, Dawn. Oh, I’ve missed you sooo much.’

We found a quiet spot up on the balcony, overlooking the tranquil harbour, our glasses of chardonnay before us as we caught up with each other’s news.

She showed me photos of her gorgeous children. I still wasn’t used to being an auntie and I hoped that I would have them as regular visitors as quickly as possible.

Once we had caught up on each other’s general gossip–boring to everyone but family–we got down to the serious business of the day.

Dawn gazed at me and sipped her drink. ‘Samantha Katharine Smart: that’s a nice name.’

‘I like it.’

‘Mmm, it suits you. Are you going to stay as Samantha or are you going back to being Tom in the future?’

‘No, this is me, warts and all. Now I’m Samantha, I’m staying Samantha. In fact I’m going to see a doctor and get the ball rolling to make me as much of a whole woman that I can be.’

‘You are serious, aren’t you? I thought you were a crossdresser: that’s what you told me and our parents.’

‘That’s what I thought–superficially, but deep down in my heart, I knew that it wasn’t enough. I hate labels anyway and I didn’t want to pin myself down by labelling myself too definitely, so I just said I was a crossdresser. I even fooled myself that what I was doing was just getting enjoyment out of wearing girls’ clothes; but I was kidding myself. I wanted to be a girl, I am a girl and no amount of internal questioning is going to change that. Oh, it’s coming out all jumbled up, but you know what I mean.’

She smiled and nodded.

‘So what happened between you and Olivia?’

I told her everything–the lot. About Olivia’s betrayal and my subsequent decision to start afresh in Penmarris and everything that had happened since my arrival.

‘You don’t do things by halves do you? I never thought that you had it in you. Let’s face it, love, Olivia can be domineering–just like her sod of a father. You were the submissive one in that relationship. I tried to warn you, but love is blind. Anyway, when Olivia rang me, she asked where you were. I think she assumed that you would come running to me and was rather surprised that you hadn’t. She said something about a misunderstanding––’

‘–Misunderstanding? I don’t think you could misunderstand the fact that they were humping like randy rabbits–in my house, not a hotel or anywhere like that–but the home where we had lived all our married life together. The bitch.’

‘It doesn’t sound as if you’re going to give her a second chance.’

‘No way, José. I might have done, but she lied to me about it when I spoke to her on the ’phone, and… and she was breathing heavily. I bet she had him in bed with her again and they had just–just–’

I broke down in tears. I thought I’d been getting over it, the shock and the betrayal, but the wounds were too deep and too recent. How long would I have to go on beating my brains out over this?

Dawn hugged me and after a while, I calmed down. Luckily, the balcony where we were was empty apart from us, so my display of emotions wouldn’t get around the village–I hoped. There were always telescopes and binoculars I suppose…

I wiped my eyes as Dawn went for more supplies. Looking in the little mirror of my compact, I made some repairs. It was lucky that I had used some “industrial strength” mascara today, thinking things might get a bit emotional and, it being waterproof, the damage was minimal.

Dawn returned with more wine and two packets of Hedgehog flavour crisps,* a revival of an old brand by an enterprising local farmer who had a glut of potatoes. Half the proceeds from sales going to St Tiggywinkles–of course.**

‘Feeling better, sis?’ Dawn asked.

‘Yes, thanks. I find I cry a lot at the moment.’

‘Not surprising really, after what you’ve been through. Look, I agree absolutely that you should take Olivia to the cleaners. A vast proportion of your adult life has gone into making her happy and all she’s done is throw it back in your face. I bet your investigator will dig up loads of juicy secrets that neither she nor her sodding father want you to know about. You’ve been used and abused and she should pay through the nose for it.’

‘Oh God, what a mess.’

‘Divorce always is, but you must try to stay positive. Moving down to this delightful village and starting afresh is a very positive step. Your share of the money from our parents’ house will give you stability and help to free you from money worries. You’ll be able to be the artist you always wanted to be. It was a crying shame that selfish cow made you stop painting.’

‘Thanks, Dawn.’

‘What for?’

‘For being here for me.’

‘I’ve lost you once, sis, and I’m not going to lose you again. Anyway it’s always handy having a babysitter fairly local. Hayley and Timothy always like a new victim to practice their evil wiles on.’

‘They aren’t that bad, are they?’

‘No, it just seems like it.’

We both laughed, and then my ’phone rang. The smile disappeared from my face as soon as I recognized the number, it was Nigel–my soon-to-be-ex-father-in-law.

‘It’s Nigel. Should I answer it?’

‘He’ll just keep trying if you don’t. You know what he’s like.’

Taking a deep breath, I pressed the button.

‘Hello?’

‘It’s Nigel.’

‘Yes?’

‘I have spoken to Olivia and I can only say that if I had known that she was going to marry a sodding pervert, I would’ve stopped the wedding.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘You bastard; dressing up as woman and forcing her to have sex with you wearing women’s clothes. Fucking mental cruelty, that’s what I call it. And to think I had you working in my company with all those impressionable young girls, I ought to string you up by what balls you have–’

I threw the phone away. It was a good throw and it landed with a most satisfying plop in the harbour.

‘What did he say?’

‘Things I don’t want to repeat.’

‘How do you feel?’

‘I ought to feel scared, angry, confused and terrified, but I don’t–not any more. That ’phone call just confirmed what I guess I knew when all this blew up in my face–Olivia is a lying, cheating bitch and her father’s a foul-mouthed, bullying tyrant. If they want a fight, they’ll get it.’

‘That’s my girl, you go get ’em!’

---

To Be Continued...

The Cove By Liz Wright

Please leave comments...thanks! ~Sue

My thanks go to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing and pulling the story into shape.

_________________________
* http://www.hedgehogsaspets.com/hedgehog-crisps/
** http://www.sttiggywinkles.org.uk/

---

 
 

Some things in life are bad,
They can really make you mad.
Other things just make you swear and curse.
When you're chewing on life's gristle,
Don't grumble, give a whistle,
And this'll help things turn out for the best, and...
Always look at the bright side of life
Always look on the light side of life

Eric Idle/Monty Python

Previously…

‘What did he say?’

‘Things I don’t want to repeat.’

‘How do you feel?’

‘I ought to feel scared, angry, confused and terrified, but I don’t–not any more. That ’phone call just confirmed what I guess I knew when all this blew up in my face–Olivia is a lying, cheating bitch and her father’s a foul-mouthed, bullying tyrant. If they want a fight, they’ll get it.’

‘That’s my girl, you go get ’em!’

And now the story continues…

We headed for the car park where Dawn had left her car to make sure that it was okay to leave it overnight. We had both had a few drinks and the last thing she wanted was to be breathalysed.

After speaking to the night car park attendant and slipping him a fiver, the car was left over in the corner right by the sign that said, ‘Please Park Prettily.’

It was dusk by now and the dim glow of the street lights were all we had to guide us on our way, that and the fact that the church was floodlit and could be seen from most places in the cove. Being out in the open air had started to do things with my head and the ground started to feel as if I was on the deck of an ocean going yacht, making me a little unsteady on Jocasta’s borrowed heels.

We were at the slightly giggly stage as we walked up the hill carrying Dawn’s overnight bag. We kept nattering about things we did as children, like the time when we both got told off at Christmas for going downstairs and opening our presents at three in the morning.

Eventually we arrived at the Vicarage and went in using the kitchen door. David and Jocasta were in there and looked up as we walked in.

‘David, Jocashta, this is my Dishter, Shawn, I mean, my Shishter, Dawn.’ I was feeling distinctly woozy.

‘Hello, Dawn,’ Jocasta said, a slight smile playing on her lips for some reason.

‘Hi,’ David added, waving his hand vaguely in our direction.

‘Come through to the sitting room,’ Jo suggested.

‘That’sh where you shit.’ I said, giggling to Dawn.

David went very red in the face for some reason, mumbled something about letting the dogs out and shot through the door leaving the rest of us to go into the other room.

I flopped down with a sigh, feeling strangely light-headed.

The others made themselves comfortable and then began chatting as if I wasn’t there.

‘So, Dawn, what do you think about Samantha then?’

She looked at me and I grinned back.

‘She still can’t hold her drink; three small glasses of wine and she’s nearly under the table.’

‘Excush me. I’m here, you know, and anyhoo, how can I drink under the table, I would shpill it.’

They both looked at each other and chuckled. I couldn’t understand why they were laughing because I didn’t think I’d said anything funny.

They carried on talking and I wasn’t paying much attention. I must have fallen asleep as I vaguely remember waking up and helping Dawn upstairs to bed. She must have been a bit tipsy as she was swaying about rather a lot.

The next thing I knew, it was morning and for some reason the light was very bright through the curtains and I had a splitting headache. I heard a banging and realised it was the incredibly loud ticking from my watch that still appeared to be attached to my wrist. I blearily looked at the time. My eyes–well one of them anyway–focused and I saw the time: half past eleven–Blimey.

Looking under the bed covers, I noticed I was wearing my satin nightie, but couldn’t remember getting undressed. There were no signs of Dawn or anyone else and the house seemed decidedly quite. Then I remembered: I was supposed to be at the cottage by seven. Mrs Pearson wouldn’t be happy that I was super-late and I had wanted to make a good impression with her. I stumbled out of bed.

‘Bugger.’ I exclaimed as I stubbed my toe on the bed post; this was not a good start to the day. My head felt as if extensive building work was taking place inside, involving pneumatic drills, sledge hammers and some explosives. My tongue felt like an Axminster carpet–a shag pile one at that, and now my toe had suffered extensive trauma. I limped out of the bedroom and went to the bathroom. After Mother Nature had been sorted out, I stepped into the shower and turned it on.

‘Bugger, bum.’

The water was freezing and then I remembered to turn the knob thingy and the water got too hot.

‘Shhhhhhugar.’

Add hyperthermia and being boiled alive to my growing list of ailments and you can see that I was far from being a happy bunny.

I dried myself off, slipped on my nightie again; after all, I didn’t want to frighten the life out of the kids, and was back in the bedroom in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. Mind you there wasn’t anyone about, including the kids who, thinking about it, must have been long gone to school by now.

Glancing out of the window, I wondered who had switched off the sun; when I went to have my shower a few minutes earlier, there had been wall to wall sunshine, but now clouds had gathered and it was looking positively gloomy. I realised things were bad when I saw a seagull flapping it’s wings like mad and getting nowhere.

'Great.’ I thought, ‘what a day to move. Where is everyone? It’s so quiet I can hear my heart thumping.’

As it looked like a bit of a rough day, I put on some jeans and a sweater, white socks and trainers–sort of business like for the things I had to do today. A quick brush of hair and scrunchiefication, followed by a minimal application of makeup and I was ready. I had a couple of paracetamol to settle my aches and pains and then I felt almost semi human and ready to face the day.

Downstairs, I entered the empty kitchen and wondered if this was what it was like on board the Marie Celeste?

I had some cornflakes and burnt some toast and then, grabbing my cagoule I made my way down the path to the lane. It started to drizzle and get rather windy–well it would, wouldn’t it? So I struggled with my cagoule which, for the uninitiated, is a rain jacket that goes over your head–in theory. Have you ever tried to get a thin nylon thingy on when the wind is howling and the rain soaking you to the skin? Eventually, I got the correct arms in the right holes and my head in the only hole left and it was on. Instantly I regretted the fact that it was yellow and could be seen for miles on a foggy day. Here was me trying to blend in and be a cool local and there was I looking as yellow as a banana and more tripperish than a day-tripper.

As I made my way to the cottage, I noticed a few folk walking around; you know, the hardy types that would never allow a bit of rain and a force 10 gale get in the way of their holiday? I assume the locals were a bit less silly as I didn’t see anyone who remotely looked like a local as I struggled along. Unbelievably, there were actually two kids carrying buckets and spades obviously heading for the beach. If medals were awarded for optimism, they would get them with gold leaf clusters.

The rain got heavier and the wind freshened and I was almost blown over by several gusts. Looking up, I swear I saw a seagull flying in reverse gear. When I could see it through the torrential rain, the sea looked choppy and rather scary. I thought that this place was tranquil and calm; this was just about as tranquil and calm as the first morning of the January sale at Harrods.

I turned into the lane leading to the cottage and wondered if Mr and Mrs Pearson had bothered to come. I bet there are old wives tales that predict such weather and living here for half a century gives a sixth sense about impending climatic disasters. Perhaps some of the old timers might even cast the runes. There again, there’s always the weather forecast on radio, TV and the internet to go by.

I arrived at the cottage and struggled up the wet steps to the front door. With water dripping off my dainty nose, I rummaged in my handbag for the key. I knew I had put it in there last night, but as I searched through, even to those hidden depths that rarely saw the light of day, I still couldn’t find it. Then, unexpectedly, the front door opened, giving me such a shock that I nearly dropped my bag on the wet step.

A lady was standing there, she had on a housecoat and had a duster in her hand and looked as if she knew how to use it.

‘Awright ’en aree?’

‘Pardon?’ I shouted as the hurricane appeared to be increasing in force. I wondered when we would finally be in the eye of the storm–I could do with a break.

‘Pizen dawn in’it?’

I gave up trying to understand what the hell she was saying and I just wanted to get out of the tropical rain storm before I drowned or got a pruney face.

‘Mrs Pearson?’ I yelled.

‘Oh ar, ’m.’

‘I’m Samantha Smart?’

‘Yes ’m?’

‘Can I come in, then?’

‘Ah be bleaized d’zee ye, comalong in.’

She stood aside and I took that to mean that I could actually go into my own–if only rented–cottage and I gratefully went past her, up the steps and into the kitchen.

My gob was well and truly smacked when I discovered Dawn, Jocasta, David, Millie, Jennifer and Phillipa all holding some sort of drink in their hands and looking at me with smiles on their faces.

‘SURPRISE.’ they shouted.

I was dripping on the linoleum, doing my celebrated impression of a flabberghasted wet banana. My mouth was opening and closing like a codfish, as I hadn’t a clue what to say.

Over the welsh dresser was draped a banner, saying, ‘Welcome Home Samanth’.

Jen came over, looking cross. ‘Sorry about the banner, Samantha, we ran out of paint. Phillipa said we had enough, but I knew–’

‘–You pig, Jen, I never said any such thing. I said–’

‘Girls, do shut up. Samantha doesn’t want to hear your bickering all the time,’ Jocasta scolded them, before turning to me and smiling. ‘The kids have the day off school again, something to do with the teachers being too busy with paperwork to teach. Anyway, how’s the head?’

‘Numb; I—I don’t understand–’

‘Well, Dawn told me last night that after a binge–’

‘I did not binge–’

‘Please–alright after having a teeny-weeny bit too much drinky-poos, you normally sleep for hours and wake up half dead. She explained that anything stronger than David's watered-down communion wine does strange things to you. We all felt that you would not be in a fit state–physically or mentally–to do much here today and we knew that you had your heart set on staying here tonight so I did a bit of ringing around and got things organised. We’ve been here since seven this morning and tidied things up a bit. We hope you like what we’ve done.’

Dawn came over and held my hand.

‘Sorry, sis, I told her all your deep dark secrets like how you can’t hold your drink and that sucked your thumb until you were twenty–’

‘–I didn’t, erm I was eighteen, but never mind that now. What have you done?’

‘We think you’ll like it. There wasn’t too much to do as Mrs Pearson had kept the place very nicely, but I know you were worried about your studio, so come and see–’

Jen and Phillpa started giggling and the others smiled as I went past them following Dawn upstairs and along the corridor to the studio. The door was closed.

‘Right, close your eyes, sis,’ Jo ordered.

In trepidation I shut my eyes, dreading what they might have done; paint the walls pink to reflect my girlie character? Put up net curtains to cover the wonderful windows? New carpets perhaps…I shuddered at that one…no I didn’t know what…

‘Open your eyes, Sam…’

I cracked my eyelids and then snapped my eyes open wide. ‘Ooooh.’

All the boxes and junk had gone. The cheap, stained carpet that had covered the floor had also vanished. Now, there were floorboards that were smooth had been polished and now shone splendidly. There were some shelves that had been put up and the large cupboard that was in the corner had been cleaned and emptied. There were a few spot lamps dotted around the room and three strip lights had been put up to take the place of the old dangling bulbs. Even though it was dark and wet outside, the lights made the place look light and airy–ideal for portraiture.

I felt like a kid in a sweet shop, I didn’t know what to look at next. I kept glancing towards Jennifer and Phillipa–they were standing to one side, giggling and prodding each other. They looked like they wanted to burst and I wondered what they were up to.

I continued to look around. It was just about the ideal studio and I couldn’t believe how much work had been done in so short a time. It was like one of those makeover programmes on TV where for some reason or other there is only a short time to make lots of things happen.

Along one wall, a work surface would come in useful in sooo many ways. On it were a couple of sketch pads and a pencil box. The leather settee from downstairs had been brought up and put against the back wall, ideal for when I needed a break…

Jennifer and Phillipa were giggling again and then they stepped away from each other and behind them was–an easel!

‘Oh,’ I gasped, when I saw it; it was a studio easel and just like the one I used to have when I lived with my parents. I sat down on the sofa suddenly. It was all a bit much and–guess what–I cried, not from the sadness of all that had happened with my wife and the lost dreams, but with happiness that I had found this place, all my new friends and my darling sister.

Dawn came and sat down beside me as the others made a sort of dignified retreat.

‘You like?’

‘Oh yes, Dawn. It—It’s just what I’ve always wanted: a place of my own and somewhere to draw and paint. Thank you so much.’

‘You don’t have to thank me, that’s what sisters are for when they aren’t arguing and engaging in sibling rivalry. Anyway, you should thank Jocasta; she arranged everything. Mrs Pearson got Mr Pearson and a few of his mates to come around here last night after you were comatose to strip the wooden floor, do the electrics and the carpentry. Then all the rest of us came this morning and did the rest. The bed’s made up and the fridge is stocked so you don’t even have to go shopping.

‘Oh, sis, this is—is–magnificent!’

‘Yes, and you have wonderful friends. Where we live is okay, but the community here is something else. I’m going to try to persuade my other half to come and live here. I’d like to be near you and with the beaches for the kids, I think the quality of life here would be worth the upheaval.’

‘Oh, Sis, it would be marvellous if you moved here.’

‘We’ll see. I’ll work hard on Adrian. The distance to his office is about the same to here as it is to where we live at present, but as I say, we’ll see. Now we’re all going to disappear. Shall we meet up at the pub at lunch time?’

‘What about the awful weather?’

‘What awful weather?’

‘Look outside, it’s–’

I stood up and went to the window. It was like a huge curtain opening; the clouds were rolling away, the rain had ceased, the wind had dropped and the seagulls were flying the right way up again. The sun was shining strongly and I could actually see steam coming off the roofs and pavements as everything dried quickly. Soon there would be no trace of the awful weather and Penmarris would be back in smiling business.

I turned back to Dawn and smiled. ‘I do like it here. Yes, I’ll meet you at the pub. Will Jocasta, Millie and David be there?’

‘I’ll ask them in a minute or two.’

‘Thank them for me, will you? I’ll do it properly later.’

‘Okay,’ she said, kissing my cheek and making to go.

‘Dawn.’

‘Yes, hon?’

‘I’d better not drink any alcohol, had I?’

‘Better not, sister dear.’

---

To Be Continued...

The Cove By Liz Wright

Please leave comments...thanks! ~Sue

My thanks go to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing and pulling the story into shape.

---

 
 

Can't buy me love, everybody tells me so
Can't buy me love, no no no, no

Lennon/McCartney

Previously…

I turned back to Dawn and smiled. ‘I do like it here. Yes, I’ll meet you at the pub. Will Jocasta, Millie and David be there?’

‘I’ll ask them in a minute or two.’

‘Thank them for me, will you? I’ll do it properly later.’

‘Okay,’ she said, kissing my cheek and making to go.

‘Dawn.’

‘Yes, hon?’

‘I’d better not drink any alcohol, had I?’

‘Better not, sister dear.’

And now the story continues…

We had a great time at the pub and I didn’t feel the need to drink alcohol as I was drunk on happiness.

Today had started badly, what with my ailments–admittedly self inflicted–and the weather. Things had changed dramatically when I saw my new home. It was lovely to see my friends, all new, who I hadn’t even known existed a few days ago and my long-lost and now found sister and the fact that they did all those wonderful things for me.

When I lived in London, if you got a nod and a smile from anyone, it was, to say the least, considered strange and here it was the complete opposite. I had found so many friends in a short space of time and I really felt that I had landed on my feet by coming to Penmarris. We sat at a table overlooking the picturesque harbour with everyone laughing, smiling and having good conversation.

I thanked everyone profusely for all their help and promised them all a free painting, the subject of their own choosing when I had got my things sorted.

‘Don’t forget, you need a new mobile,’ Dawn reminded me.

‘I know, but at least my soon-to-be ex-relatives can’t contact me just now.’

‘Well you’ll have to talk to them or their lawyers at some stage,’ Jo remarked.

‘I don’t think so, Katie, my solicitor said that everything can now go through her and I don’t have to speak to anyone I don’t want to. It’s nice that they can’t get to me if you know what I mean.’

‘Yes, they are both what David would call “challenging”.’

‘Would I say that, dear?’ David enquired.

‘Yes, my love. You’re too good for this world sometimes; you see the good in everyone.’

‘Not necessarily, I spoke strongly to Ernie, the milkman the other day when he left full cream rather than semi-skimmed milk and if that paper boy doesn’t stop scrunching the newspapers through the letterbox like he does, I’ll have words to say to him; and him a choir boy too.’

We girls glanced at each other and laughed. David didn’t see the joke for some reason.

A few hours later, everyone had gone home except Dawn and I.

‘You’ve had a hectic time of it this week, Sam.’

‘Yes, and it’s still only Wednesday,’ I replied smiling.

After promising to meet up in a few days time and saying a tearful goodbye with lots of sisterly hugs, Dawn got in her car and left. I sauntered back up the hill leading up to the cottage. There were a few people strolling around in the fine evening air and we nodded or exchanged greetings.

It was good that I actually felt I was in a place where I belonged and marvelled at the fact that I had only been here for a few days and yet it felt like I had lived here for ages.

I let myself into the cottage and switched on the lights. Leaving my bag and keys in the hall, I went to the kitchen and made myself some cocoa.

Sipping my hot drink, I just wandered from room to room, thinking about any changes I might like to make. To be honest, it looked pretty fine to me, but I wanted to add my own personal touches that would reinforce the fact that it was my home now. It was such a delightful place, it was so homely and I felt even after the short time I had been there, that it was mine; but it needed more erm... Samantharisation and pictures. Well I could remedy that, I would bring the pictures from the house and…

Then I remembered…

My paintings and drawings were at my old house. I couldn’t just turn up and take them, could I and did I really want to see Olivia again? No I didn’t. I would have to speak to Katie about it. Maybe I could come to some arrangement through Katie that my personal belongings be picked up by someone and brought here. It was all too upsetting to think of at present, after such a wonderful day.

David had kindly brought my bags and cases over earlier so I didn’t have to go back to the Vicarage to collect them myself. I smiled at the thought of David and Jocasta. They were the ideal couple in my eyes. David gave the impression of being slightly hen-pecked, but I knew that their marriage was based on trust, understanding and a bit of give and take–now that is the way to run a marriage?

Tomorrow, I had agreed to go into town with Jocasta to visit the salon and do a bit of shopping. Checking through my list of things to do, I was able to cross a few things off, but not much. Then impulsively I tore up the list as it was out of date and anyway, I was a free spirited lass, what need did I have for such a thing as lists, unless they were shopping lists ’cause they were different.

I sat down on the rickety chair on the balcony. My feet were aching as I had been wearing heels and it felt good to sit down and rub my stockinged feet. The sky was clear and the sun close to disappearing over the horizon of the deep azure blue of the sea. Lights were coming on around the cove as people settled down to an evening around the TV or to do other more interesting things.

Olivia and I rarely watched TV; we’d had a full and happy life or so I had thought, up until a year ago. Then it all seemed to unravel and we spent more time watching TV than doing more meaningful things.

I shook my head; I didn’t want today to end on negative thoughts. I turned my thoughts back to when I had arrived at the cottage to be surprised by everyone helping me. Now that was nice and positive.

After finishing my drink, I got up and went to the kitchen. I was just washing the mug, when I heard a knock on the front door. I went to open it.

‘Hello, David.’

‘Hi, Samantha, may I come in?’

‘Of course.’

I let him in and we went into the sitting room.

‘Sorry to call so late, but Jo thought that you might need this.’ He handed me a mobile phone.

‘Now that your other phone is in the harbour, and there isn’t a land-line working in the cottage yet, we thought you might like to borrow it until you’ve fixed yourself up with a new one. Its pay-as-you-go and there’s about five pounds left on it.’

‘Oh thanks, David; it’s really kind of you.’

‘Don’t mention it; all part of the parish service, you know.’

‘Well I believe that it’s above and beyond the call of service.’

We both laughed.

‘Well I’d better go now.’

‘Thanks again, David.’

‘That’s okay.’ As he went out, he hesitated for a moment at the front door.

‘Samantha, is there no way that you can reconcile with Olivia?’

‘I don’t think so, David. I think the marriage died as soon as she decided that I wasn’t enough for her.’

He looked sad.

‘I’m sorry to hear that. As a fully paid member of the God Squad, I believe that marriage is sacred and everything should be done to make things work. As a member of the human race though, I know that we don’t all live in some sort of bubble and things don’t always work out the way we wish. Remember, we are all your friends and if you need help, just ask.’

That made me feel a bit weepy so I just gave him a big hug and whispered, ‘Thank you.’

He got all flustered then and I giggled as I waved goodbye. I don’t think he knew how to deal with things like that.

The first thing I did was to ring Jocasta. ‘Hi, Jo, thanks for the phone, you’re a darling.’

‘No problem; I thought you needed lines of communication and all that jazz.’

‘So, looking forward to the salon?’

‘’Can I have gas and air?’

We chuckled at that.

‘You must have been to a salon before?’

‘Yes, when I was a kid. Mummy used to drag me in to have a clipping, but the smell, I cannot stand the chemical smell and those torture instruments. Do you know that they put your head in an oven and bake your hair?’

‘I don’t think it’s that bad nowadays. Not many women have perms and I think that is where the smell comes from and anyway, think of it as an adventure. If you go home looking smashing, David won’t want to keep his hands off you.’

‘Hmm,’ said Jo, sounding less than convinced.

‘What are you a girl or a mouse?’

‘Eek!’

We tittered and then after a few more minutes of girlie chat–something that I love to do, now that I had joined the club full time as it were, we said our goodbyes and I went to get ready for bed.

I undressed, cold creamed my face of makeup and then had a wonderfully relaxing bath. I didn’t have any bubble bath–something that would be rectified when we went shopping tomorrow–but it was pleasant and my aches and pains soon started easing. Looking down at my wet pink body, I noticed that my false breasts would need the edges sorted out, as the makeup I had used to blend in with the surrounding area had washed off. I would have to use waterproof makeup for that.

I would go to the doctors tomorrow and sign up if I had time in my busy schedule. I would see, erm what was her name? Oh yes, Marcia Sinclair, as I would have to talk about rather personal matters and I preferred lady doctors anyway. I hoped that she would be supportive and not judgemental about my condition and position.

I wondered what I would look like without my penis and scrotum. I pushed everything back between my legs and then closed them. Mmm nicer, much nicer, I thought as I imagined having a brand spanking new vagina down there. Oh I enjoyed having sex as a man and it was kind of handy having a penis for that purpose, well it had to be good for something, but I didn’t have any hang-ups over losing it.

The only thing I wanted to have if and when I had SRS was some sort of sensation down there. I wanted to enjoy being a woman. Reading on the internet, it could be hit and miss and the luck of the draw to have meaningful sensations down there, but I intended to have the best surgery money or the national health could get–well, that was the idea, anyway.

All this made me think about my sexual orientation. I wasn’t into men, I knew that. I suppose I was a latent lesbian. Olivia had turned me on in so many different ways before all the awfulness started. I hoped that I would find someone who would make the fireworks explode for me again.
David and Jo had loads of clubs and groups that they were involved in and I giggled at the thought of asking David if there was a lesbian contact group in the village.

I was getting rather water logged by now, so I pulled the bath plug, dried myself off, and put on my favourite nightie that just happened to be one that I had bought off eBay. It was a double nylon baby doll that went down to mid thigh and was pink with a sweet pink bow. It came with matching panties and I adored it. Okay, it was old fashioned and everything, but it was so girlie and I loved it to bits.

I made sure that all the lights were off in the rest of the cottage and that all the windows and doors were locked, then picking up my laptop, I slipped under the covers and fired her up.

As soon as I put the dongle in and got a signal, I checked my emails: there were two from Olivia and one from Nigel. I ignored those for the moment, not sure that I wanted to even open them.

There were several that offered things like Viagra and penis enlargement, something that I wanted the complete opposite off. Then it appeared that someone in Nigeria wanted me to give him my bank account details so that he could send me tons of money. I deleted all of those spam emails and that left a couple of personal ones from people I knew on a few of the forums I belonged to.

Opening them, I saw that there wasn’t anything of much importance except one from Julie, a long time cyber friend who had transitioned a couple of years ago.

‘Hi Thomasina,

What’s up? You haven’t been on the forum for ages. PM me when you have time.
Love hugs and kisses.

Julie
XXXX

I put it in the saved folder for action tomorrow when I wasn’t so tired and then went back to my inbox.

Heart thumping I opened the first one from Olivia.

Tom,

Look we do need to talk. Daddy is shouting and it’s all getting rather horrible. You don’t really want a divorce do you? It was nice for a while wasn’t it?

Call me, please

Olivia

I then opened the second one which had been sent earlier today.

Tom,

You must ring me. I have just got a letter from a solicitor about all this nonsense. Look I’m sure that we can sort things out without a solicitor. Okay, I’ve been a naughty girl, but you can forgive me can’t you? We can start again and maybe if you don’t like working for Daddy I can find something else for you to do.

Ring me please as I can’t get you on your phone some reason.

Olivia.

‘Still trying to run my life.’ I thought, shaking my head in amazement. I was little bit upset now and I didn’t want to be upset, not today and not now.

I opened up Nigel’s email.

Tom,

My daughter received a letter today regarding a divorce. I could say things that we would both regret but I am a reasonable man.

I understand from Olivia that she knew of your perversions before you got married. How she can stomach that sort of thing I will never know and how you can pretend to be a woman defies belief. But, she still wants you for some reason so I have a counter proposal that I am sure you will accept.

Drop the divorce and I will give you some money for you to start up your own business. You can understand why I do not want you working for me anymore… not with your strange habits and everything. If you do this, we will say no more about all the unpleasantness. What you and Olivia do in the privacy of her own house is up to you, but I don’t want to see you prancing about as a woman in my presence though and I’m sure you can understand why.

Consider what I have said as if you do go down the divorce route, things will come out that would embarrass you in the extreme.

By the way, your phone appears to be switched off. Get it fixed so we can talk about it, if needed.

Nigel.

I shut down my computer and switched off the light. I thought that I would have been more upset than I actually was; I was a bit, but not as much as had I expected. Pondering on it for a few moments I realised why I wasn’t upset. Olivia and Nigel were in my past and I wanted to close the book on my past. I had lived my life through them up to now and I was living my own life now and making my own decisions.

Olivia’s desperation and Nigel’s blatant and biased bribery had left an extremely sour taste in my mouth, and I wanted nothing to do with them anymore. I would take copies of the emails to Katie tomorrow and let her deal with them. I was determined never to speak to Olivia or Nigel again if at all possible and with that happy thought, I turned over and went fast asleep.

---

To Be Continued...

The Cove By Liz Wright

Please leave comments...thanks! ~Sue

My thanks go to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing and pulling the story into shape.

---

 
 

People--people who need people
Are the luckiest people in the world,
We're children, needing other children
And yet letting our grown-up pride
Hide all the need inside,
Acting more like children
Than children.

Merrill, Robert; Styne, Jule

Previously…

I shut down my computer and switched off the light. I thought that I would have been more upset than I actually was; I was a bit, but not as much as had I expected. Pondering on it for a few moments I realised why I wasn’t upset. Olivia and Nigel were in my past and I wanted to close the book on my past. I had lived my life through them up to now and I was living my own life now and making my own decisions.

Olivia’s desperation and Nigel’s blatant and biased bribery had left an extremely sour taste in my mouth, and I wanted nothing to do with them anymore. I would take copies of the emails to Katie tomorrow and let her deal with them. I was determined never to speak to Olivia or Nigel again if at all possible and with that happy thought, I turned over and went fast asleep.

And now the story continues…

Occasionally, you wake up, and don’t know where you are or are confused and disorientated. However, when I wakened on the first morning in my own little cottage home there was a smile on my face. I knew exactly where I was and as the sunlight through the chink in the curtains fell directly on my face. I was truly happy.

I yawned and stretched. No after-binge headache today–I had been a good girl last night and was “tea total”; well not strictly tea total more cola, coffee, hot chocolate and tea total. I tittered to myself at that. I was beginning to sound a bit ditzy!

Checking my watch I discovered that it was seven o’clock, all bar a few minutes. That was early for me as I didn’t normally surface until much later when I wasn’t working in that dreadful job.

‘It must be the sea air,’ I thought, ‘that and the seagull’s early morning alarm calls.’

I got out of the warm bed and found it was slightly cool in the bedroom–the heat of the sun not yet working its magic, but I didn’t mind. Padding from the bedroom and into the bathroom, I sat on the loo and did the necessary. After washing my hands, I looked at myself in the mirror.

‘Not a bad face,’ I thought critically. I wouldn’t win a beauty contest, but at least I looked reasonably girlie with my thin face, button nose and eyes that were big and blue. My hair looked like a seagull had nested in it so I gave it a good brushing, glad that I would be going to the salon later with Jocasta. I smiled at the thought of Jocasta and the salon. Despite my slight protests, I was really looking forward to it, but Jo, she didn’t like the idea at all. If she had her hair properly styled and not half covering her face, it would make all the difference. Under that curtain, there was a very pretty face peering out.

I went downstairs and made myself a coffee. Taking the steaming mug back upstairs, I decided to sit on the balcony and look out on the harbour and sea beyond. I was lucky that the position of the balcony meant that I wasn’t overlooked by anyone. It was nice to pull the heavy curtains back, letting the warming sun stream in, allowing me to just stand there and take in the lovely and picturesque scenery. The garden looked particularly lovely this morning and I decided I should get a book about which flower was which–with plenty of pretty pictures and words of one syllable because, as a former city-dweller, anything more complicated than a rose stretched my knowledge of flowers to the extreme.

I hadn’t bothered with my dressing gown as I was quite warm. My thin nylon nightie felt wonderful as it brushed against my smooth skin, catching whispers of the gentle breeze as it wafted gently off sea. I sighed and sat down on the chair and took a sip of my coffee.

It was gorgeous here. I could really get used to waking up early every morning and doing just this–weather permitting of course. It probably wouldn’t be appropriate when there was a force 8 gale or raining cats and dogs; but still, when I could, I would try to get up early and make full use of the day whenever possible.

I finished my coffee and just sat there in my own little world, smiling. I looked lazily to my left where there was a colourful bed of plants. I wasn’t interested in that, but I was interested in the fact that there was a man standing there, ogling me! Here was I, virtually naked in a diaphanous nightie, staring at a man in my garden.

With a small ‘eek,’ I scuttled inside, shut the door and closed the curtains. With my heart pounding nineteen to the dozen, I was all of a quiver.

Then Samantha, the strong, brave, decisive girl took over and–I rang the police.

Maybe a word of explanation is needed here: the police force of Penmarris Cove, according to that fount of all knowledge, Jocasta, is one PC Len Troughton who lives in a cottage that doubles as a police station, down by the quay. Crime wasn’t rife in Penmarris except when dogs fowled the footpaths or young kids ‘borrowed’ sweets from Mrs Pickles Sweet Emporium; not forgetting Billy Bates, of course, the local drunk who always spends Saturday nights locked in one of the bedrooms that serve as the jail, for being drunk and disorderly in charge of a dog.

The only major crime in living memory was when there was a fiddle going on involving a tombola/bingo ring several years ago. The perpetrators got away with no less than fifty pounds before being caught and sentenced to one month’s community service. Dark days for Penmarris and the community had only just managed to get over the scandal.

PC Len, was a local who knew almost everyone. His usual form of punishment was of a practical nature, such as a clip round the ears of cheeky kids and a swift kick up the backside to erring male adults. Women who caused problems were dealt with by his wife, Deirdre, who used the village grapevine to broadcast transgressions. Strangely enough the crime rate among the women of Penmarris was virtually zero.

Anyway, I rang the local “police station”.

‘Hello?’

‘Yes’m’

Is that PC Troughton?’

‘Yes’m.’

‘I have an intruder in my garden.’

‘You’m Samantha Smart?’

‘Yes.’

‘That be Arthur then.’

‘Arthur?’

‘Yes’m.’

‘W…Who’s Arthur?’

‘Arthur Pearson.’

‘Oh, Mr Pearson, Mrs Pearson’s husband?’

‘Yes’m.’

‘So he isn’t lurking ready to pounce on me then?’

‘No’m, not with his lumbago, like.’

‘Oh…sorry to call you.’

‘’S’all right’m.’

He put the ’phone down and I could tell by his voice that Mrs PC Troughton would have a lot to tell the ladies at the next Women’s Institute Morning. How was it that everyone knew so much about everyone? I wondered how long it would take for the whole community to know about me and everything that had happened in my complicated life?

Feeling a bit foolish, I rushed to the bathroom, had a quick wash–no time for a shower–then slipping on a t-shirt, Capri pants and sandals, I went downstairs and out into the garden.

Mr Pearson was doing strange things with a hoe, so I tried to avert my eyes from the plant decapitation that he was involved in and just said, ‘Hello.’

He was puffing on a pipe and by the smell of it, he had filled it with seagull droppings. There was a bit of a fog around him, caused by the smoke, but I could just about see his bristled and lined face.

He sort of squinted at me . ‘Miss’m?

‘Erm–I’m Samantha.’

‘Yes’m.’

He was peering at me myopically through the smoke of his pipe. I was glad that the gentle breeze took the smoke away from me; otherwise I might have needed a gas mask. I breathed a bit of a sigh of relief, as I realised that Mr Pearson couldn’t see much further than the end of his nose.

‘Erm–cup of tea?’

‘Yes’m’

‘Another man of few words.’ I thought, as I made him his tea (‘four sugars, ’m’) I wondered what sort of conversations he had with his wife. Short and to the point, I presumed.

‘Sex’m?

‘Allright m’dear.’

I giggled at that rather naughty thought and took the mug of tea and a couple of shortcake biscuits down to him.

‘Thanks’m’

‘Don’t mention it.’

‘Ye be er purty li’l maid,’ he said squinting at me.

‘Erm–thanks.’

'Ah be bleaized d'zee ye.'

‘Right, okay, well I have to go out now. Thanks again, byee.’

I went back indoors and wondered if the dirty old sexagenarian was as blind as he seemed.

As I sat eating my cornflakes, I wondered why he had started work so early? I shrugged thinking that it must be a country thing; you know up with the lark–around here the seagull–and in bed at sunset.

‘Anyway, enough wool gathering,’ I thought. I was a girl with a mission. I washed up my breakfast things–nothing as modern as a dish washer here–so I left the crocks to drain, went upstairs to the studio, grabbed a sketchbook and my pencils and went for a walk, taking my cagoule, just in case. The weather here could change from bright sunshine to raging torrent in a blink of an eye and it was wise to be prepared.

I went up the lane to the style, climbed over and followed the signs that led to the West Coast Path.

With a lot of puffing and panting, I eventually arrived at the top and began walking along the path which followed the cliff edge until I reached to side of the cove. There was a bench seat there and on it was a brass plaque that said, ‘To my Darling Rachel, she loved this spot.’

With a lump in my throat I sat down. The seat overlooked the whole cove with the harbour, the quay and the two beaches. I could see why Rachel loved it, I did too!

Soon I was sketching the scene. My pencil flew across the paper as my hand took control of me. It was always like this. I had been worried that I might have forgotten my skills. It had been so long–too long really–since I had flexed my artistic muscles like this.

I took in the scene before me, imprinting it not only on the paper but in my mind. I could picture myself in the depths of winter in my fantastic studio, painting this scene from memory. While it was wild, windy and wet outside, I would recall with my paints the lovely summer’s day when I sat on Rachel’s seat, drinking in the view and putting on canvas what she had seen.

After an hour, I remembered that I had to get a move on. I was going into town with Jocasta and we had things to do and places to go. I put my traps together and hurried down the path. It was easier going downhill and I was soon back at the cottage. Mr Pearson must have finished, as there was no sign of him except the strange smell of his tobacco–or whatever it was.

I had a quick shower, changed into a white top and black skirt and then had a slice of toast and marmalade and a cup of coffee. Just as I finished, there was a knock on the door.

‘Hi, Jo,’

‘Hello, yourself. Are you ready for the torture?’

‘What shopping?’

‘Wash your mouth out, girl, we’ll have no such blasphemy here; whatever would David think. No, the hairdresser, where sane people fear tread.’

‘It sounds like you have a phobia.’

‘I have, it’s known in medical circles as salon phobia.’

‘You really are scared.’

‘Yes.’

‘Would you care to elaborate?’

‘Not on your carpet.’

‘Don’t joke about it, tell Auntie Samantha.’

We sat at the kitchen table, with the inevitable cups of tea. It took her a few moments to collect her thoughts. I could see she was upset. It was strange; I hadn’t seen Jo like this before.

‘I was a young girl and was taken to the hairdresser's by Mummy. I was quite excited because, previously, she she had always cut my hair; but as I was getting older, she said that I needed to get my hair cut professionally. I thought that it was great and very grown up to have my hair styled like an adult. Anyway, we went to the salon that Mummy always used. As soon as I walked in, the smell hit me–ammonia or something; anyway, as we sat waiting, I looked through some magazines and chose the style I wanted. Mummy poo-pooed a few as being far too old and unsuitable for an eleven-year-old girl, but eventually we found a style we both liked.’

She paused for a moment to have another sip of tea. I noticed that her hand was shaking slightly.

‘Well anyway, the time came for me to have my hair done. I had it washed by a junior: that was good, as my hair smelt rather nice after the conditioner had been put on. Mummy had gone off to have her hair styled and I was led over to a chair and sat down.

As I listened to Jocasta, I had thought at first that she was joking, perhaps pulling my leg, but this wasn’t the case and she seemed to find it hard to continue.

‘Go on,’ I encouraged.

‘Well, this young girl came over and I showed her the picture of the style I wanted. She seemed a bit nervous for some reason but I was caught up with the “salon experience” and didn’t take much notice at the time. Anyway, she began cutting my wet hair and kept glancing at the picture in the magazine. I was looking at myself in the mirror imagining how glamorous and grown up I would look when my hair was done and whether I could persuade Mummy to let me have some makeup–to complete the picture, when across the other side of the salon, there was a huge crash. Someone had dropped something.’

She stopped and gulped down some more tea, almost like it was a whisky to give her strength to continue.

‘The stylist’s hand holding the scissors jumped at the noise and I felt a stabbing pain in my ear. I screamed, the girl screamed and when I put my hand to my ear, I discovered I was bleeding badly. I fainted and didn’t know any more until I woke up in hospital.’

‘W…what?’

Jocasta lifted her hair away from the left side of her face and I saw her ear lobe was jagged and torn.

‘Oh, Jo.’

‘Yes, she had done this to me and I had fainted with shock. It turns out that she was newly qualified and had only worked there for three months. I was the second person that she had been allowed to work on unsupervised.’

‘What happened?’ I asked.

‘Well, she got the sack, we got an out of court settlement and I have dreaded going anywhere near a salon ever since.’

She had tears in the corner of her eyes and I knew that this had affected her a great deal. It might sound silly to someone without feelings but I could see that she was still suffering and would do every time she looked in the mirror.

‘Why are you coming with me then?’

She sniffed and smiled.

‘Because I must get over this and exorcise the demon; just like you are getting over painful things by being positive. I need someone who can help me with this and I feel you fit the bill admirably, don’t you think?’

‘I’m not special.’

‘Yes you are, girl, but you don’t realise it yet. Why do you think everyone is falling over backwards to help you?’

‘My happy smiling and willing personality?’ I joked.

‘Exactly…’

‘I was only joking.’

‘That’s it. You don’t realise that when people see you, they see someone determined to get over their problems and overcome obstacles like your wife and father-in-law trying to ruin your life. If you can do it then so can I. Shall we go?’

‘Yes, but I want you to promise me something?’

‘What?’

‘That you go and see the doctor and he refers you to a plastic surgeon. I cannot believe that your parents didn’t insist on it when the accident happened or why it has not occurred to you since.’

‘It happened a long time ago and plastic surgery wasn’t even considered by me or my parents. I have always had long hair and you couldn’t see my ears anyway.’

‘That’s a feeble excuse, Jo. Now, are you going to be a good girl and do what Samantha says?’

She smiled doubtfully and just said, ‘Okay,’ in a small voice.

‘Don’t sulk, Jo, or you won’t have any lunch.’

We looked at each other and giggled.

---

To Be Continued...

The Cove By Liz Wright

Please leave comments...thanks! ~Sue

My thanks go to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing and pulling the story into shape.

---

 
 

And you may find somebody kind to help and understand you
Someone who is just like you and needs a gentle hand to
Guide them along

So, maybe I'll see you there
We can forget all our troubles, forget all our cares and go

Downtown, things'll be great when you're
Downtown, don't wait a minute more,
Downtown, everything's waiting for you

Petula Clark*

Previously…

‘Yes, but I want you to promise me something?’

‘What?’

‘That you go and see the doctor and he refers you to a plastic surgeon. I cannot believe that your parents didn’t insist on it when the accident happened or why it has not occurred to you since.’

‘It happened a long time ago and plastic surgery wasn’t even considered by me or my parents.
I have always had long hair and you couldn’t see my ears anyway.’

‘That’s a feeble excuse, Jo. Now, are you going to be a good girl and do what Samantha says?’

She smiled doubtfully and just said,’ Okay,’ in a small voice.

‘Don’t sulk, Jo, or you won’t have any lunch.’

We looked at each other and giggled.

And now the story continues…

Dowesford, the nearest large town was over the border in Cornwall. We managed to get through passport checks and customs at the border post without a full body search (joke) and were soon on the straightish road leading into a town which was about twenty miles from home–I liked that, home; it really felt like home.

Large towns in Cornwall would be small ones anywhere else, the county not being the centre of much industry nowadays. Dowesford owed its origins to the tin mines in the area, now long disused. Now it catered more for tourists, it being on the edge of the moors. It didn’t boast–if that’s the word for it–a modern flashy shopping centre, it still had a traditional High Street with small lanes leading to more shops. It was a busy place and it was market day, making parking a bit of a nightmare. But Jocasta with her church connections managed to find a spot in St Mark’s car park; it was handy her being married to a vicar.

We ambled along the busy High Street, window shopping as we went and making notes of the shops we wanted to visit after the hairdersser’s.

We arrived at the salon about fifteen minutes before the time of our appointment. Jo was very reluctant to go in and I had to take her across to Penny’s Pantry for tea and a sticky bun before I could persuade her to enter the salon.

‘Look, Jo, your accident was just that–an accident. You’re more likely to get George Clooney come up to you and snog your tonsils out than have another accident like that.’

Jo looked wistful at the metaphorical image I had painted for her and it distracted her away from her worries for at least ten seconds. I used the distraction to continue.

‘Remember, we are doing this because I want to look beautiful, or as beautiful as an ugly ducking like me can, and you want to do something that you haven’t been able to do since you were eleven; so let’s do it.’

Before she changed her mind, we crossed the road and entered the hairdresser’s before you could say supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. It wasn’t a large salon, having just six stations. Two of them were occupied. The smell wasn’t too bad, a bit chemically but not so as to make your eyes water. The lady behind the reception desk looked up and smiled.

‘Good morning, ladies, may I help you?’

‘We made an appointment?’

‘Samantha Smart and Jocasta Gotobed–’

‘Oh yes. Please do take seat, ladies. Your stylists won’t be a moment.

We sat down and I held Jo’s hand. I couldn’t care less if anyone looking thought we might be ‘close’ in the biblical sense.

Jo’s hand was slightly clammy and I hoped things would move along quickly, before she bolted out the door. Luckily, a few seconds later we were helped into two hairdressing cape thingies and led over to our seats by two women wearing pink smocks. I was pleased to see that they were not youngsters and I hoped Jo would have more confidence because of it. I looked up at the woman who was looking after me, the name on her chest said, “Julie”.

‘Erm, Julie,’ I whispered.

Looking puzzled, she frowned as if to say, ‘This one’s behaving weird’, but bent down so she could hear my whispers.

‘Sorry, it’s just that I’m worried about my friend. She had a terrible experience at a salon when she was a young girl and she’s worried about something awful happening now.’

‘Don’t worry, Miss; Marcia–the manager–is looking after her, she’s the best. Look, I’ll catch her attention and let her know your friend has a problem.’

‘Would you? Oh, thank you so much.’

Julie went to Marcia and called her away for a moment and they disappeared out the back. I looked at Jo and gave her the thumbs up and she smiled back rather weakly.

After a few moments, the two stylists returned. Soon I was having my hair washed and not noticing what was going on over the other side of the room. I thought that it was a good sign that I couldn’t hear any screaming.

It felt wonderful having my hair washed and conditioned by an expert. Julie had gentle hands and I was almost mesmerised by it all. As soon as she had finished she asked me the question.

How would you like your hair, Miss Smart?’

‘I—I don’t know. To tell you the truth this is a first time for me.’

She began messing about with my hair and frowning. ‘It’s a bit shaggy and the split ends have splits in them. Whoever cut it before did you no favours. Look, do you want glam, high maintenance or practical stylish and not too much messing about in the morning?

‘Erm–the second one.’

‘Very wise. Right sit back and think happy thoughts while I do something to repair this bomb site.’

‘You don’t have much of a bedside manner, do you?’

‘Well, I took all the courses about how to talk to clients and everything and then I came out into the real world. Most women want to know the score and the ones that don’t, won’t listen anyway. Right where are my shears–’

She cut, shaped, cut again, put some gunge on my hair, washed it again, trimmed, cut and did things with instruments which would look more at home in a Frankenstein movie. About half way through, a younger girl came over and got to grips with my nails. Judging by her expression and because she kept tut-tutting, I don’t think she was any too impressed with my nails or their condition.

They wanted to do my toe nails but I declined as I have tickly feet and I didn’t want to wet myself in a public place. Occasionally I stole a glance at Jo, but was unable to see her face. Marcia appeared to be making animated conversation with her and smiling a lot, so I hoped things were going well. Shortly afterwards some curtains were pulled around where Jo was, so I couldn’t see what was happening.

When I was younger, I used to go to the barber’s–in boy mode, that is–most barbers had a fixed amount of things that they talked about, the first being the weather, the second football/cricket/rugby/horse-racing and Wimbledon when our latest prodigy was being beaten, as usual. Then after showing the you back of your head in a hand-held mirror, it was ‘something for the weekend sir?’ and that was it.

It must be different for women. Julie and I talked about everything from fashion, love life, the latest picture we had seen, possible mutual friends, where I lived (‘ooh that’s nice.’); where she lived (where?), musical tastes and a plethora of other subjects. All the time she was making her magic with my hair. I had my face away from the mirror and I had no idea what she was doing, but there was certainly a lot of hair flying about and wondered if I might turn into a Sigourney Weaver lookalike–now that was an alien thought.

The manicurist had made my hands look much better and my nails looked lovely. They wanted to put talons on me, but I explained that I was an artist and needed shortish nails. I ended up with nails longer than before but still practical.

Julie finished with a blow dryer, teasing and tugging my hair this way and that. She told me to close my eyes she spray bombed me with hair spray; it got up my nose and on my tongue so that wasn’t very nice. However, I’m big girl, so I can take it. Eventually she finished and I was allowed to see myself. I was really worried what I would look like having given Julie carte blanche.

‘Ooh.’ I squealed looking at my reflection. My hair looked gorgeous; it had been lightened slightly making it a sort of light strawberry blonde colour and not the dirty variety that I was used to. I had a fringe that went across my eyebrows. The hair was styled in what I think is called a bob. It finished just above my shoulders and flicked inwards. As I moved my head, my hair swayed prettily. It looked and felt divine.

‘Oh, Julie, you’re an absolute marvel,’ I gushed.

‘Thank you, Miss, I did my best with it. I’m glad you like the style.’

I stood up and Julie helped me take the cape off. I couldn’t stop gazing at myself and the way my hair swished when I moved made me feel wonderful. I glanced acoss at Jocasta and saw that the curtains were still around her station, so I couldn’t see what was going on. Julie saw my concern.

‘Don’t worry; sometimes people prefer a bit of privacy when they have their hair done. I suggested to Marcia that she pull the curtains so your friend wouldn’t feel self-conscious.’

I went over and paid for the work done. It wasn’t cheap, but it was well worth it and I remembered to give Julia a generous tip.

‘Thank you, Miss,’ she laughed, bobbing a curtsy. ‘You can come back any time.’

I sat down in the waiting area and picked up a magazine, going straight to the letters page. I got engrossed in worried Pauline from Peckham and her thrush problem; I was interested because I worried about seagulls dive-bombing me. Anyway, I was interrupted as I heard a cough.

I looked up and there was Jocasta. Not the Jocasta whose hair hid her face, but a new Jocasta, all smiles with long dark wavy hair, that covered her ears but not her face. She looked years younger and her smile told its own story.

‘Wow, Jo, you look absolutely fabulous.’

‘So do you; that style really suits you.’

We said our goodbyes and thanks to Marcia and Julie and made our way down the road to a coffee shop on the corner that we had noticed earlier.

We ordered a couple of lattes and Danish pastries and as soon as we had sat down, began swapping stories of our salon experiences.

‘I was petrified,’ Jo told me. ‘I know it’s silly, but I am what I am. Anyway Marcia was a perfect angel and put my mind completely at ease. She explained exactly what she was doing and as she worked her magic, I told her what had happened when I was a girl–she was shocked and could hardly believe it. She gave me the card of a plastic surgeon she used on her nose job. She said that he is the best in the area and was sure that he would be able to sort out my ear. I love my hair; it makes me feel like a new woman and my nails–d’you think that they’re too red?’

‘No there’re fine, look at mine.’

After oohing and ahing for a while in an orgy of mutual appreciation, we finished our lattes and pastries and then were out, hitting the shops running.

The first thing was to find a mobile ’phone shop. As we went in a spotty youth came over and ogled us. As he was half our age and he kept staring at our chests, I’m not sure if we felt flattered–anyway enough of that. I asked the important question.

‘I’d like to buy a ’phone, what would you recommend?’

Immediately, he slipped into sales mode. ‘We have 3g, T mobile, Virgin, Vodaphone packages either PAYG or contract. Some contracts include free texts and internet connection. You can play music or surf the net, take pictures and play games, You can–’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Err, yeah?’

‘I want a ’phone,not a multi media centre. Do you have one that actually makes ’phone calls?’

‘Yeah, but don’t you want to take pictures, play games, text or go on the internet?’

‘No, I want a ’phone. Texts would be useful but I don’t want any of that other rubbish. Oh, and I don’t like touch screens or buttons that are too small for your fingers either.’

‘I—I’ll see what I can find,’ he said walking off and looking a bit shell shocked at my blasphemy.

I glanced at Jo. She seemed somewhat amused and her eyebrows were raised.

‘What?’

‘Well, the poor boy was only trying to help.’

‘And staring at my chest most of the time, I wouldn’t mind but these girls aren’t home grown.’

‘He wasn’t to know that.’

‘Was I too hard on him?’

‘I’m sure he’ll get over it with therapy.’

I managed to buy a ’phone that did everything I wanted and we left the lad somewhat bemused, but at least he had a sale under his studded belt.

We continued our quest by visiting several clothes shops. I forget how many things we tried on; there were dresses, tops, skirts, capri’s, including some things we wouldn’t be seen dead in, but tried on anyway. We finished up laden with carrier bags. We found lingerie shop and I went panty mad and bought ten pairs together with matching bras .I also bought some naughty but nice cami’s a couple of teddies and some drop dead gorgeous nighties. Then we returned to the car and put what we had bought in the boot. Then it was show–I mean shoe–time and we wore out our feet trying lots of shoes and boots, the net result being, more bags in the car boot.

We had a very late lunch in a pub down by the river. I had steak and kidney pie and Jo had scampi. It was pleasant in the pub, sort of cosy and no rush to eat our food. By now we were virtually shopped out and needed something of a breather after all our exertions. I was glad I hadn’t worn shoes with much of a heel. Even in these shoes my feet were aching. Mind you it had been lovely trying on all those super and not so super things. It kind of reminded me that men’s clothes were sooo boring. Women have so much more choice.

In the centre of town there was a big store called Hadley’s that we hadn’t explored yet. It was one of those department stores on several floors. We decided we would look in there after lunch and then call it a day. After finishing our coffee and mints, we were straining at the leash and made our way to Hadley’s.

The ground floor was mainly women’s clothing, but to be honest, it seemed to be aimed at the older woman and anyway, I had enough clothes to keep me going for a while–unless, of course I found That Special Dress that I couldn’t not have.

I noticed a nice little cocktail number that I lusted after, all black and filmy, but I couldn’t buy it. What was the point? I would have no reason to use it and anyway it wasn’t practical and the price–it cost enough to feed a family of four for three months. As we made our way to another department, the smell hit us. The clash of fragrances from the different perfume counters was enough to overpower the senses.

It was laid out so different manufacturers of perfumes and cosmetics each had their own displays and counters.

Lurking around each counter were one or two women. They all had one thing in common, they smelt divine and every one of them had a flawless complexion from the makeup they were selling.

Olivia’s favourite pastime was to get a makeover done by these experts and it seemed like a good idea to me. Obviously my time with her hadn’t been wasted completely.

Recognising a good thing when I saw it, I dragged Jo around the various displays. I became aware of the predatory look in the eyes of some of the cosmeticians as we made up our minds as to which counter to try. In the end, I plumped for one pair that didn’t look as desperate for the trade as the others did. In seconds, we were being made over as if there was no tomorrow.

While Jo was put into the tender hands of Tracey, I was at the mercy of Veronica, a young girl who, under all her makeup, looked about twenty. However she knew her stuff and did a skin test on me. Evidently I had uneven skin tones which sounded nasty and made me want to call the doctor, but it turns out that it’s very common and easily hidden by the miraculous foundation she was just about to apply.

I was quite new to this facet of womanhood and it was fascinating how Veronica’s makeup can evidently turn one’s face into something that wouldn’t look out of place on the cover of Vogue. Even the night cream they could supply would help remove the appearance of fine lines. As for the face scrub; well who needed face lifts when you could enhance your beauty by applying magic cream regularly.

All the time she was giving me the hard sell as she applied various types of makeup. After the foundation, she set it using a huge brush and some translucent powder. I wasn’t sure how the powder would be translucent but who am I to argue?

Next she concentrated on my eyes: first, eye liner which made me nervous as I only had two eyes and I wanted to keep them both–thank you very much. She plucked out several thousand eyebrow hairs, making me wonder if she had a sadistic streak as her smile never faltered for a moment. Judging by the ‘ow’s’ coming from the other end of the counter, it seemed that Jo was receiving a similar torture.

Then eye shadow, ‘several shades to help enhance and beautify madam’s wonderful eyes.’

While she applied mascara, she explained that the special formulation made my eye lashes four times thicker, making me wonder if I would take off if I batted them too much.

Finally after she set everything again using the translucent powder, she attacked my lips. Lip liner first–to give madam’s lips some shape and prepare them for the luscious lip gloss–stays on for hours and needs chipping off at bedtime. She didn’t actually say that, but you get the drift.

I wondered how much of a clown I would look. Finally, when she had finished, she whipped off the cape and spun the stool around so that I could see the full glory of her creation. It looked like me in a vague sort of way. I knew it had to be me because if it wasn’t, it was a trick mirror. All my unkind thoughts about Veronica faded away. I knew that underneath, I wasn’t particularly pretty. Let’s face it I was born a man, an effeminate looking man with a thin face, nice eyes, small turned up nose and no discernable Adams Apple, but like this, with the makeup properly applied I looked…quite beautiful. I thought I was good at applying makeup, but I wasn’t in the same league as this. I appreciate art and what she did was paint a canvas–a skin canvas–but nevertheless it was something that I would love to be able to do properly.

I turned to her and smiled.

‘Thank you, Veronica, you’ve made me look beautiful.’

‘Yes, you do look lovely. I’m please that you like it.’

‘I only wish that I could apply makeup the way you can.’

‘You should come to some of our beauty classes, they’re held once a fortnight at the leisure centre. I’ll give you a leaflet before you go. Now, I’ve put together some of the things that I have used today should you wish to purchase them.’

There was a box, full of cosmetics and yes, I did buy them. It was worth it and let’s face it I could afford to pamper myself a little. I fully intended to take lessons too, so the money wouldn’t be wasted. After saying goodbye to Veronica, I wondered over to Jocasta who was facing away from me, buying a box of things that looked suspiciously similar to mine.

She said, ‘’Bye,’ to Tracey, turned around and then saw me at the same time as I saw her. It must have been some sort of karma as both together, we said, ‘Oh My God!’

Her face looked beautiful and absolutely flawless, her eyes looked Bambi-like and her lips were full and inviting. With her new hairstyle and everything, I wondered if David might need artificial respiration after seeing his beloved looking so glamorous.

As we left the store, arm in arm looking I think, the best we could ever look, The Dress caught my eye again. I could hear it calling me and it was no good, a few minutes later, I left with it, determined to wear it at the first posh do I was invited too.

As we returned to St Marks to collect the car, we both kept looking at our reflections in shop windows and I think we even turned a few heads.

Yes, it had been a splendid day’s shopping–I hoped the first of many.

* http://www.absolutelyrics.com/lyrics/view/petula_clark/downt...

---

To Be Continued...

The Cove By Liz Wright

Please leave comments...thanks! ~Sue

My thanks go to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing and pulling the story into shape.

We arrived back in Penmarris rather later than we hoped. I had wanted to see Katie about those emails I had received from Olivia and Nigel, but now that would have to wait until the morning.

Changes

Chapter 20

By Susan Brown

---

 
 
Previously…

As we left the store, arm in arm looking, I think, the best we could ever look, The Dress caught my eye again. I could hear it calling me and it was no good, a few minutes later, I left with it, determined to wear it at the first posh do I was invited too.

As we returned to St Marks to collect the car, we both kept looking at our reflections in shop windows and I think we even turned a few heads.

Yes, it had been a splendid day’s shopping–I hoped the first of many.

And now the story continues…

We arrived back in Penmarris rather later than we hoped. I had wanted to see Katie about those emails I had received from Olivia and Nigel, but now that would have to wait until the morning.

Jo had kindly dropped me off and helped me cart my bags into the cottage. Then after a quick hug and kiss on the cheek, she went off home. I wondered what reaction she would get from David and the girls when she arrived home all glammed up. She promised to ring me later to let me know. I had given her my new mobile number so there was no excuse not to keep me updated.

After putting the shopping bags on the bed, I made myself a cup of tea and sat on the balcony drinking in the view as well as the tea. As usual, the seagulls were making their presence known by their cacophony, not helped by a fishing boat entering the harbour.

Gazing at the sea, I wondered how stormy it got during the winter. My butterfly mind flipped to stories I had heard about William Turner, the famous English landscape artist who was said to have tied himself to the mast of a ship in order to experience the drama of the raging sea. I tend to take stories like that with a pinch of salt as there is little evidence that he actually did it, but I liked the sentiment.

I imagined myself being on the wild shore, foam and spume racing toward me, hitting the rocks in a torrent of violence; sucking the breath from me, all in order to paint the wildness of nature. No doubt I would be wearing something white, long and flowing for dramatic effect. Then I remembered that I couldn’t swim, so I would have to look on from afar, probably with binoculars.

I sat there for quite a while, calming myself down after the excitement of the day. It was true that today I had felt more of a woman than ever before. My hair looked wonderful and the makeover that Veronica had given to me gave an insight as to how I could look always if I did things right. Okay, I didn’t have her skill, but I did have time now to perfect the mysteries of applying makeup the proper way. I would go to the makeup classes and hoped I would be able to recreate Veronica’s work sometime soon.

It was starting to get cooler and the gentle breeze was making me feel that I needed to go in. I shut the doors, and went down to the kitchen. After washing my cup, I looked in the fridge and realised that I didn’t have much to eat unless I fancied corn flakes.

I grabbed my cardi and went out of the cottage and down to the harbour. There weren’t so many people about now, the day trippers having all but left and I assumed that the locals were more or less tucked up at home or in one of the two pubs. There were a few people walking their dogs, but that was about it. Oh there were some kids on the beach still playing football, no doubt trying to emulate Mark Hurst or some other star but other than that, it was quite peaceful.

I went into the fish and chip shop and ordered a cod and chips (haddock was off) and waited on the bench outside until the order was ready. As I waited a man hurried by and then stopped.

‘Hello again.’

I looked up and saw that it was Doctor Sinclair. ‘Hi,’ I said, ‘you seem to be in a rush.’

‘I am really, I’m going to be late for tea again; the wife does have a go at me sometimes.’

‘The joys of marriage, I suppose. But I thought that she was a doctor too. I’d have thought that she’d understand if you were late occasionally.’

‘Well, to tell you the truth I have been in the Toad and Tart and got talking to a few cronies and you know what it’s like–time flies.’

‘Well, there’s no excuse then. You have to go and confess your sins to your wife and throw yourself on her mercy.’

‘What mercy? She’s a hard woman.’

‘Not too hard I hope, I need to speak to her in the next couple of days.’

‘What, professionally?’

‘Yes.’

‘Right, okay, pop along to the surgery and sign up when you’re ready, we give free lollypops to good girls.’

‘What about boys?’

‘They prefer sticks of rock. Anyway I had better go, see you anon.’

‘’Bye.’

He rushed off just before I was called in to collect my takeaway.

I returned home as quickly as possible, as I wanted to eat the fish and chips hot. In very few minutes, I was tucking into to the heavenly smelling and tasting food and before long was quite full up as they always give you far too many chips–not that I was complaining.

As I had eaten direct from the paper, I had saved on washing up and I put the wrappers in the rubbish bin. I grabbed one of the two remaining cokes from the fridge and sat down on the settee. I really needed to sort through the clothes that I had bought, and even though I felt somewhat knackered, after finishing my drink, I went upstairs. There I unpacked the multitude of carrier bags and folded or hung up everything, promising myself that I would try them on in the morning; then I decided to get ready for bed.

I was reluctant to take off my makeup, but wanted to preserve the way it was done before removing the evidence. Then I had an idea.

I had my camera in the bottom of the wardrobe, so I got it out, set it on a shelf, and put it on timer mode. Then I went into the bathroom, brushed my hair and refreshed my lippy from the basket of goodies that Veronica had supplied.

As soon as I was ready, I returned to the bedroom, clicked the camera button and hurried around so that it would take a picture of my face. I had just got into position, when the flash went off. I had a look at the photo it had taken on the screen at the back of the camera and saw that I had a lovely picture of some hair and one of my ears. So I repositioned it carefully and clicked the button again.

This time, I managed to get into position just in time and the flash fired again. Looking at the picture, I was quite pleased. Just in case, I took three more and then was satisfied that I had all I needed.

I pulled all the curtains and made sure that everything was locked up. I had this weird feeling that Nigel or one of his henchmen would come and get me and drag me back to Olivia; well this was one fly who wasn’t going to get caught up in her spiders web again.

After filling the bath and adding some bubbles, I sighed as I slipped into the warm water. My aches and pains drifted away gently as I lay there, making me feel very relaxed.

Recalling the day, I smiled at the blossoming of Jocasta. For so many years, she had hidden herself away from being beautiful behind a curtain of hair that virtually obscured her pretty face because of scars she had received when she was a child. Seeing her blossom after having her hair and face done was wonderful to see.

Then there was me. I was amazed at how a different hairstyle and a proper makeover had transformed me. Before, I always worried that would be “clocked” and laughed at and ridiculed for being something that I was not. Now I could see that I looked as well as felt like a woman. I wasn’t a helpless case and I could function as a girl and above everything else, not be seen in any way shape or form, as a man.

I got out of the bath and went to look in the mirror. After wiping the steam off, I took one final glance at my painted face and then cleaned it all off with a sigh. Soon my skin was clean and slightly shiny again. I searched among the goodies Veronica had given me and applied the recommended night cream. It had a delightful fragrance and was absorbed into my skin very easily. I thought about counting my fine lines and doing it again in the morning, to see if any had vanished, but I was too tired.

I wondered whether I should use the removal solution for my breasts, but decided that I would remove them for a breather the following night. They weren’t itchy or anything and in fact, felt very much part of me. I looked forward so much to having my own and wondered how sensitive they would be.

I slipped on one of my new nighties; it was peach coloured, strappy and went down to my calves. It felt like liquid on my skin as I slipped it on and was very sensuous. I turned on the bedside light, switched off the main one, before slipping under the covers, sighing as I relaxed in soft warmth.

I almost dropped off and then remembered that I’d said I would ring Jo, then looking at the time, I wondered whether I might interrupt something if I rang now. No, I would leave it until tomorrow. Anyway, come to think of it, she said she would ring me. Maybe she was busy tonight.

I picked up my favourite well-thumbed Pride and Prejudice paperback and was soon engrossed in the more genteel time of and Elizabeth and Darcy. But even the delights of Jane Austen weren’t enough to keep me awake so I turned off the light and went to sleep.

There was a crash of thunder that seemed to be directly overhead and it jolted me awake somewhat violently. Checking my bedside clock, it told me it was two in the morning. I could hear the rain lashing the bedroom window and I could almost feel the spume-laden wind battering the side of the cottage.

I got out of bed, put my dressing gown on and went to the window; pulling the curtains aside, I gasped; the sight would not look out of place in a fireworks display. Through the rain-lashed windows, I saw lightening forks flashing into the sea and on the cliffs on either side of the bay. The thunder was rolling around the cove almost continually and even in the dark, I could see waves crashing on the rocks, the white foam clearly visible even at this distance.

Seeing nature in its raw state like this reminded me of how small, insignificant and weak humanity was compared to the forces of nature. I certainly would not want to be at sea, lashed to a mast in the middle of something like this, just for the sake of my art.

After about twenty minutes, the storm began to move away up the coast and things seemed quieten down somewhat, although the wind still seemed rather strong.

I took off my dressing gown and climbed back into bed. I was wide awake now so I read a bit more Jane Austen. I was cringing rather at the antics of Mr Collins and his desperation of trying to land a wife from the decidedly dysfunctional Bennett household when I was interrupted by banging coming from downstairs. I ignored it for a minute or two, but then it got too much, so getting out of my warm bed again, I went downstairs. The noise was coming from the kitchen and when I opened the door, I saw, even without the light being on, that the kitchen window was open. I knew it had a dodgy catch and had made a mental note to ask Mr Pearson to try and fix it for me.

I shut the window and put a heavy saucepan up against it, hoping it would hold and then made my way back to the bedroom. I was tired again and knew that I would probably be able to get back to sleep fairly quickly.

Rubbing my eyes as I entered the bedroom, yawning, the thought of my nice warm bed was almost overpowering. Then mid yawn I heard it…

‘Meeoow–’

There on the bed was a cat–a black cat–a black cat with white patches on its face and paws. It was small, little more than a kitten, its white paws like little booties and he or she looked soooo sweet.

Pussy looked up at me and meowed again. It wasn’t scared, I could tell that as it lay on its back, paws in the air and started to purr loudly.

‘Well, little one, did you come in through that open window?’ I said rubbing its tummy.

I noticed it was wearing a collar so I looked at the disk. It said: ‘Tammy Silverton Penmarris 256923’

‘Miss Silverton–it must be one of her cats,’ I thought.

‘Okay, Tammy, you can stay the night because it’s too late to ring your mummy, but tomorrow, I’ll ring her, just in case she’s worried. Okay?’

I could swear she nodded, but it might have been my imagination. I went to the bathroom, grabbed a towel and dried off Tammy, she wasn’t too wet so I assumed that she had been under some sort of shelter during the worst of the storm.

I switched the light off and Tammy settled down. I went to sleep to the sound of purring coming from my new friend.

---

To Be Continued...

Please leave comments...thanks! ~Sue

My thanks go to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing and pulling the story into shape.

---

 
 

No matter how hard I try
You keep pushing me aside
And I can't break through
There's no talking to you

Believe / Cher

Previously…

‘Miss Silverton–it must be one of her cats, I thought.

'Okay, Tammy, you can stay the night because it’s too late to ring your mummy, but tomorrow, I’ll ring her, just in case she’s worried. Okay?’

I could swear she nodded, but it might have been my imagination. I went to the bathroom, grabbed a towel and dried off Tammy, she wasn’t too wet so I assumed that she had been under some sort of shelter during the worst of the storm.

I switched the light off and Tammy settled down. I went to sleep to the sound of purring coming from my new friend.

And now the story continues…

I woke up to a rasping lick on the nose and a purr that sounded like a car engine close to my ear.

Opening my eyes, I saw two big green eyes staring at me.

‘Morning, Tammy, darling,’ I said, yawning and sitting up.

Immediately she went to the end of the bed and attacked my toes under the cover. Whether she thought that it was a mouse, I would never know.

‘Stop that, right now.’ I said in a voice that should have terrified her, but only made her purr louder and swish her tail, suggestively.

Glancing at the clock on the bedside table, I saw it was half past eight–‘Another lie-in; I could get used to this, must be all this sea air.’

Ignoring the fact that Tammy wanted to play some more and being stony-hearted, I picked up my new ’phone and dialed the number that I had seen on the little minx’s collar.

It rang for a short time and there was no answer. Just as I was about to put the ’phone down I heard, ‘Hello?’

‘Miss Silverton?’

‘Yes.’

‘Hello, you don’t know me, I’m Samantha Smart–’

‘–Oh yes, the new girl.’ She made it sound as if I was attending a new school for the first time.

‘Erm, yes. Anyway, I have one of your pussies here–Tammy–she came in somehow when the storm was raging last night.’

‘She would, she doesn’t like rain of any sort. I’m not surprised that she came to your cottage, she likes it there.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, old Albert used to feed her scraps and she’s very fond of scraps.’

I laughed.

‘Well, what do you want me to do with her?’

‘Oh, just let her out. She knows this village better than I do. She’ll find her own way home. Mind you, if she likes you, she’ll probably be a regular visitor.’

‘Oh I don’t mind, I love cats.’

‘You shouldn’t have said that.’

‘Why.’

‘I look after lots of waifs and strays and I just happen to have a litter of kittens here, longing to find a deserving new home.’

I’d better explain that Olivia didn’t like pets; she insisted they would tie us down. I love animals and wanted to at least have a couple of cats and the obligatory lab, just for balance.

‘I’ll take two,’ I said without thinking.

‘You haven’t seen them yet,’ she laughed. ‘Look, if you’re free today, come up for a cuppa and a cat inspection.’

‘Later on this morning I will be. I have a few things to do first, would sometime between ten and eleven be okay?’

‘That will be fine. Do you know where I live?’

‘Yes, Mrs Gotobed pointed out your cottage to me.’

‘Okay, see you later; ’bye.’

‘Bye.’ I pressed the stop button on the ’phone. ‘She seems nice. I like her voice–warm and friendly.’

I got up. Tammy, after chasing her tail around the bed several times, had either become giddy or had exhausted herself. She lay down again with her tummy in the air.

‘You might be okay lying there, but this girl has things to do.’

I had a quick shower, somehow managing to keep my hair dry; then returning to the bedroom, I found that Tammy had disappeared. I went to the window and looking out I could see that it was going to be a hot, hot, hot day. Already, there was a bit of a heat haze.

I selected a pretty, white halter dress to wear–one of the new ones that I had bought on my little shopping spree–and laid it on my bed. I know I should have removed my breast forms, but decided, as they felt okay, to take them off when I went to bed tonight.

I took out a white satin strapless bra and matching panties to go with the dress and put them on the bed too. Removing my robe, I put on the panties and bra and quickly applied some makeup; nothing fancy, just enough to fill up the nooks and crannies and some pink lippy to finish things off.

I put my robe back on to go downstairs for breakfast. My dress, being white, would be a magnet for any breakfast that I might inadvertently spill on myself if a certain little cat started causing mayhem around me.

Tammy was in the kitchen trying to catch a spider that had just scuttled under a skirting board. I could have told her that the spider would not be stupid enough to come out again while she was there, but you know kids, they never listen to you, so what was the point.

I opened the back door and the gentle breeze cooled things down a bit. Tammy, noticing that the door was open, took one look at me, meowed goodbye and shot out.

‘Bye, Tammy, come and visit me again,’ I said as I put some bread in the toaster.

After breakfast, I went back upstairs, cleaned my teeth and refreshed my lippy. Then I put my dress on and brushed my hair. Finally, after slipping on my white sandals, I was ready for the world.

Quickly, I checked that all the windows were closed and then left via the back door.

As I strolled down towards the harbour, I breathed in the fresh sea air. It hadn’t got oppressively hot yet and hoped it wouldn’t with the gentle sea breezes. The first call of the day was the surgery, then I would pop in and see Katie about the divorce, then I would have a wander up and down the quay, perhaps even dip my toes in the water, who knows, the time was mine and I relished the thought of not clock watching too much.

It seemed odd to me, that even after last night’s terrible and violent storm, there was no sign of damage and only a few puddles scattered here and there by way of evidence. The surgery was at the end of the High Street; as I passed the shops, they were just opening. I nodded and said, ‘hello,’ to several people and shopkeepers; everybody was so friendly and nice. I did like living here.

The surgery was in an old Georgian house that sat back a bit from the road.

I went up three steps, through the door and into the reception area. There were several people sitting on chairs reading magazines, obviously waiting their turn for one of the doctors. In the corner was a mother with a couple of young children who were reading comics and looking extremely bored–at least they weren’t screaming and bawling, though that would probably change soon, as they were starting to pinch each other on the arm.

On the wall were two plaques: one saying Dr Brian Sinclair and the other, Dr Marcia Sinclair. Both names had a string of letters after them and looked rather impressive. I approached the reception desk; there was a lady behind the counter bashing on a computer keyboard. She ignored me. She was about 50 and scrawny with short brown hair, thin lips and looked a bit shrewish–not that I like to make instant judgments. She didn’t seem to be the sort of woman that liked to smile.

I waited a few moments and the coughed gently.

She ignored me.

I coughed again–a little less gently.

She bashed the enter key and I was a bit surprised that the keyboard stayed in one piece.

Looking up she stared at me and said, ‘Yes?’

‘I would like to sign up please.’

‘Who for?’

‘Pardon.’

‘Which doctor?’

‘Marcia, please.’

‘That’s Doctor Marcia Sinclair to you.’

‘Okay, I would like to sign up for Doctor Marcia Sinclair please.’

‘Fill this in.’ She pushed over a form.

‘Have you got a pen, please.’

‘Yes, I have a pen,’, she replied cantankerously.

‘Can I borrow it please?’

‘You can, but whether you may is another matter.’

‘May I borrow it please?’ I asked, feeling like a naughty schoolgirl called in front of the headmistress.

She tut-tutted and then passed me a biro that had been bitten and chewed at the end. I moved to the side and filled in the details. In the mean time the receptionist who, unbelievably, was called Candice according to the badge on her inadequate bosom, carried on banging away at the keyboard.

She made me jump when she yelled, ‘Molly Taylor to Doctor Marcia.’

A woman got up, approached a door rather timidly, knocked and entered. I finished filling in the form and stood in front of Candice.

I coughed again and she ignored me again.

‘Excuse me?’

She looked up.

‘Yes?’

‘I’ve filled out the form.’

She sighed and then picked it up,

‘That seems in order.’

She then stuck it in a tray and went back to her typing.

I was getting a bit annoyed now. Here was I living in a place where everyone was nice to me and now I had this this person who seemed to have the communication skills of a slug–a retarded slug at that.

‘Excuse me,’ I said through slightly gritted teeth.

‘What now?’

‘I would like to make an appointment to see the doctor.’

‘What’s wrong with you?’

‘I am not willing to discuss that with you or in front of a waiting room full of people.’

‘You have to ring in at nine o’clock in the morning; first come first served.’

‘And if I was dying or in pain or couldn’t leave my cottage?’

‘Ring 999.’

‘What?’

‘It’s quicker.’ She carried on bashing the keyboard, as far as she was concerned the conversation was over.

I stared at her: my dander was now well and truly up. This wasn’t the old me she was talking to, it was Samantha Smart–new woman and nobody’s doormat.

‘Candice?’ I said rather louder than previously.

She looked up.

‘Still here?’

‘Yes, and if you don’t pay attention and stop assaulting that damned keyboard while I’m speaking, I will ram it up somewhere where the sun doesn’t shine. Let me say this and I will keep it simple. First, I don’t appreciate being spoken to like I’m something unpleasant you have stepped on. Secondly, I wish to be a private patient and as I know Brian personally, I do not think he would be happy about the way you speak to prospective patients, either private or national health, and thirdly, if–and I say if advisedly, I do become a patient here, you had better speak to me civilly or you will discover that I am not a person to cross. Am I making myself clear to you?’

I thought I had said it fairly quietly as I didn’t want to make too much of a scene in public, but I think everyone present heard my every word because there was a spontaneous round of applause.

I smiled sweetly and said to her. ‘Now MAY I have an appointment with Doctor Marcia?’

For some reason, she looked a bit sick and pasty. Perhaps she was coming down with swine ’flu–or maybe dry rot?

She stared at the screen, moved her mouse around and said, ‘Would eleven-thirty tomorrow suit you, Miss?’

‘That will be fine, thank you. Good day to you.’

I turned and walked out, looking to neither left nor right as I did not want to see anyone’s expression. I crossed the road to a tea shop that had just opened, sat down in the window and ordered a restorative cuppa.

My hands were shaking. It wasn’t like me to be so forceful–I was meek and mild, someone who Olivia was able to bend to her will, or I thought I was. As I sipped the hot sweet tea, I hoped that I wasn’t going the other way, from meek and mild to some sort of Lady Fairbairn clone, wielding a lethal handbag and scything everyone down in my path…

Shuddering at the thought, I just sat there trying to calm myself down and collect my thoughts. I took my ’phone out of my handbag and speed dialed a number.

‘Hello, Katie? It’s Samantha, are you free, I just want a quick word and to let you have some papers.’

‘Yes, give me fifteen minutes: I’ll be free to see you then. ’Bye.’

After finishing my cuppa, I headed for Katie’s office and went in, saying hello to the receptionist.

‘She won’t be a minute, Miss Smart, she’s on the ’phone to a client. Would you like to take a seat?’

Suddenly I felt tempted to ask her where she would like me to take it, but I sat down and tried to avoid gazing at the severe portraits hanging on the wall; I could swear they were all staring at me.

A few minutes later, I was ushered into Katie’s office. She stood up and came to me as I entered. A quick hug and a peck on the cheek and we went to the comfy sofa and sat down.

‘I’m glad you’ve come in, I have received some correspondence from your wife’s father. First of all what have you got for me?’

I handed her copies of the emails that Olivia and Nigel had sent me.*

‘Mmm, that kind of confirms what I thought. Read this.’ She handed me a letter. It was from Nigel.

Dear Madam,

Further to your letter of the 20th inst I can confirm that as yet we are not convinced that Tom wishes to have a divorce. Be assured though, that if the case does arise where this matter goes to court, your client would not benefit from the exposure or indeed financially.

Please be advised that we have at our disposal a formidable legal team and I am not in the habit of losing.

You may be well advised to counsel your client to come to his senses and settle this matter amicably.

Yours etc.,

Nigel Manning

‘Mmm.’ I said, ‘Short and sweet.’

‘Yes, a right little charmer, isn’t he? Well, looking at these emails, it looks like they don’t want to go through a divorce. Are you still minded too?’

‘Oh yes. I want to be free again.’

‘Very well, I will make a suitable response on your behalf. I would suggest you email them back and say that you will not be responding to any more emails, letters or phone calls and that you have instructed me to deal with this matter on your behalf.’

‘I’ll do that and after sending the emails, I’ll close that email account and get a new one.’

‘Yes, that’s an excellent idea. I’ve instructed the private investigator and she should be sending a prelim. report in the next few days. I’ll let you know when it arrives. There's something going on there, I can feel it in my water. Now, changing the subject, how are things going with you?’

‘Well, apart from alienating the doctors’ receptionist, okay, I suppose.’

‘You didn’t have a go at our lovely Candice, did you?’

‘Erm, sort of.’

‘Tell me all?’

For some reason, Katie was grinning from ear to ear as I told her about my run in with the Receptionist From Hell.

‘Blimey, girl, you fair went in with both feet there, didn’t you? Well she needs taking down a peg or two. I swear the doctors are scared stiff of her.’

‘Well, I’m not proud of what I did. It’s not like me really, to be like that.’

‘Stress, love, it comes out in strange ways. Get over it. She’s dished out some nasty comments over the years it’s brilliant that she gets it back sometimes. Anyway, I’ve gotta go and see a man about a horse so I’ll have to dash. Fancy a drink at lunch time down the Toad and Tart?’

‘Great; about one, okay?’

‘Yup, see you soon.’

I went out into the bright sunshine. My mood had lightened considerably. I was glad Katie was on my side and that things on the “Olivia-front” were starting to move in the right direction.

As I returned up the lane towards Miss Silverton’s cottage, I wondered what she was like. She had grown up as a boy until it was discovered that she was intersexed? Maybe we had something in common? I was about to find out.
__________________
* See Changes~17

---

To Be Continued...

Please leave comments...thanks! ~Sue

My thanks go to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing and pulling the story into shape.

---

 
 

Jellicle Cats come out tonight,
Jellicle Cats come one come all:
The Jellicle Moon is shining bright–
Jellicles come to the Jellicle Ball.

Jellicle Cats are black and white,
Jellicle Cats are rather small;
Jellicle Cats are merry and bright,
And pleasant to hear when they caterwaul.
Jellicle Cats have cheerful faces,
Jellicle Cats have bright black eyes;
They like to practise their airs and graces
And wait for the Jellicle Moon to rise.

From: The Song of the Jellicles – “Old Possum’s Book of Cats” by T. S. Eliot

Previously…

As I returned up the lane towards Miss Silverton’s cottage, I wondered what she was like. She had grown up as a boy until it was discovered that she was intersexed. Maybe we had something in common? I was about to find out.

And now the story continues…

At the top of the lane I turned left and came upon the first cat almost immediately. It was sitting at the side of the lane, washing itself and paying no attention to me whatsoever. Then a few yards further on two more cats bolted across my path, one black and the other white. I spent the next few moments trying to work out if that meant good luck or bad. Did one cancel out the other? However, I had arrived at Miss Silverton’s cottage–it was called Jellicle* Cottage–and there was no more time for such philosophical cogitations.

I walked up the path smiling. She had a lovely garden, full of colour. I didn’t know what the flowers were, but it was all very pretty. I did recognise some roses climbing around the front door and their smell was like a heady perfume.

The door was open. I couldn’t see a bell so I knocked on the door with my knuckles.

‘Hello-oh?’ I called.

‘Hang on a minute,’ came a voice from somewhere inside, ‘be with you in a half a mo–’

I had a peep at the garden while I waited; there were several more cats wandering or lying around and I wondered just how many she had. I strongly suspected that mice were a non-existent problem in Jellicle Cottage.

At the sound of footsteps I turned back towards the doorway.

‘Hello, you must be Samantha.’

‘Yes, that’s me.’

As I looked at her my heart sort of flipped. Miss Silverton was very pretty, in her mid thirties I would say. Thin with a nice figure. She was wearing shorts and a t-shirt emblazoned with the words Cats-R-Us across her well-proportioned bosom. She had long blond hair and her figure was curvaceous. She had blue eyes, a retroussé nose with a smudge of something on it and her lips were full and red. She was smiling apologetically and had a kitten in each hand, both of whom appeared to asleep.

‘Come in, come in. Sorry I can’t shake your hand because mine are somewhat full, as you can see.’

I spoke severely to myself. ‘Don’t even think it, Samantha, your life’s in a mess as it is, and you don’t want extra complications.’

I followed her along a short passage. I laughed at myself for being so silly, yes she was pretty and had a nice smile and I liked the way her kind eyes had looked at me, but I was not in a position to do anything about it. She wouldn’t be interested in me and what am I thinking, going all gooey after seeing her for a few seconds? Mentally, I pulled myself together and followed her.

She paused for a moment, knelt down by a small enclosure and gave the kittens back to Mum, who looked pleased they were back. Then Miss Silverton led me to what had probably been the lounge at some time, but was now more like a cat sanctuary–with cats on virtually every surface.

She shooed a couple of them off a settee. ‘Please sit down while I go and wash my hands. I won’t be a moment.’

As soon as I was seated, curiosity overcame one of the cats who, after sniffing my hand, jumped on my lap. I think it was a he as it was ginger, and after another ‘hello’ lick, it settled down and promptly went to sleep. I realised I shouldn’t have worn white–I just didn’t think. That’s my trouble. I hoped that Miss Silverton hadn’t noticed my going all gooey-eyed at her. She’d probably think I was even stranger than she had heard on the village grapevine and anyway she might have someone…

She returned, dislodged another cat and sat on an armchair opposite me. With difficulty, I returned to the real world.

‘Miss Silverton, you’ve got a beautiful cottage and garden.’

‘Please call me Abby.’

‘Okay, Abby–what a nice name.’

‘Yes, it used to be Adrian. I assume the Penmarris grapevine has told you about me?’

‘Sort of.’ I replied, apologetically.

‘Don’t worry about it. Everyone’s very kind and not a bad word has ever been said about my miraculous transformation. Anyway, down to the practicalities; tea or coffee?’

‘Have you got anything cold, it’s a bit warm today.’

‘Know what you mean, d’you fancy some home-made ginger beer?’

‘Sounds wonderful.’

‘Coming up; is Biscuit okay on you?’

‘Biscuit, oh sorry…’

‘Biscuit, my ginger tom.’

‘Nice name.’ I laughed.

‘Yes, it suits him doesn’t it? Anyway, I’ll get the drinks.’

She went out again and Biscuit decided to wake up and butt me with his head. I began stroking him and his internal combustion engine started up on full throttle. I wonder how many miles he went to the tin of cat food… Stop it, Samantha!

‘Here we are,’ said Abby, returning. She gave me a glass of slightly cloudy ginger beer. I took a sip and nearly choked–it was fiery to say the least. But after my tongue got used to it, it was thirst-quenching, leaving a warm feeling in my tummy and distracting me from my rather disturbing thoughts about Abby.

‘Mmm, this is really nice.’

‘Yes, I make it by the gallon. I’ll give you the recipe if you like.’

‘Mmm, that would be great.’

We sat drank in companionable silence for a few minutes. I didn’t want to stare at her but I know she was looking at me. Weighing me up perhaps?

‘Sorry,’ she said.

I looked at her.

‘Sorry?’

‘Yes, I shouldn’t stare. It’s just…’

‘What?’

‘Never mind. Err, so you had a nocturnal visitor last night.’

‘Yes, Tammy’s a lovely cat.’

‘A bit scatterbrained sometimes, but all cats have their moments and she’s no exception. I think she’s probably used up three of her lives so far so she’ll have to watch her step.’

I laughed. ‘So you’ve got some kittens you’re trying to find homes for?’

‘Yes I’ll let you see them in a minute. You can have a pick if you like, but you’ll have to wait a while because they’re a bit young to leave mum yet.’

‘So, how did you start collecting cats?’

‘Well I suppose they sort of collected me. I took over this place from old Mrs. Thompson when she died; I’ve always loved cats and she was potty about them. I’d always helped her when I could and then, when she died, she left this place to me. She had no relations and I was the closest thing to a daughter she had. I was terribly upset when she died, but she lives on through the cats.’

‘Do you look after them full time?’

‘Heavens no! Cats aren’t like dogs, they’re self sufficient provided there’s enough food and a place to sleep, they are happy. No I run the pottery down on the quay.’

I remember vaguely seeing the pottery in my travels, but as I hadn’t been here five minutes, I hadn’t had a chance to look at it yet.

‘Do you make your own pots?’

‘For my sins.’

‘Another artist then?’

‘Oh, do you throw too?’

‘No, I paint.’

‘What houses?’ she said, giggling. It was a nice giggle, almost childish.

‘No, silly, canvases.’ I said smiling and looking into her beautiful eyes. ‘I bet you knew that. Everyone knows everything about everybody here.’

‘Almost true; yes, I admit it; I do know a thing or two about you; you see, I don’t like to give my cats to just anyone, so I like to know a bit about prospective parents.’

‘So who dished the dirt about me and more importantly, what do you know?’

‘Well, my sources are secret but I can say that when I asked Jocasta Gotobed about you she clammed up like a, err–clam. All she told me was that you originally came from London and had decided to move down here. Now for dear Jocasta to say the bare minimum about you, kind of worried me a wee bit, but as she loves you like a sister after such a short space of time and is, I know, a good judge of character, I think you pass my inspection with honours.’

‘Thanks for that.’

‘It’s okay. Anyway you asked what I know about you. Well, you’re in your early thirties and your marriage has broken down. You love painting and you have a studio in old Albert’s Cottage. You can’t hold your drink and go all giggly–what else–oh yes, you adore fish and chips. That’s it. Oh yes, one more thing, everyone who meets you, likes you and that includes me.’

I could sense I was blushing at all that, but smiled when she said she liked me.

‘Well,’ I said, ‘I like you too.’

‘Good, then we have the makings of a mutual admiration society,’ she said with a twinkle in her eye.

We both laughed.

‘So Samantha, I have just told you how much I know about you. What do you know about me?’

‘Err, you’re in your mid-thirties, you live here and look after lots of cats and you have a pottery.’

‘And?’

I looked at her and felt myself blush again.

‘And…you were brought up as a boy but were discovered to be intersexed and are obviously a very pretty girl–’

‘–I am not,’ she interrupted, blushing.

‘How can you say that, sitting there and–’

‘–and what?’

‘Well, you are pretty,’ I said, rather lamely.

She looked as if she was going to say something, shook her head slightly and then stood up suddenly.

‘Shall we go and see the babies?’

I followed her, wondering if I had upset her in any way. She led the way to an outhouse in the garden, where she showed me another pen containing another mum and her four kittens.

‘Oooh, there’re so sweet!’

‘Yes, aren’t they? Which do you like?’

‘Who are the boys and who are the girls?’

‘Well, the ginger and white one is a boy and the other three are girls.’

‘Would having a boy and a girl cause problems?’

‘Not really, especially if you have them neutered. You may want them to have a litter first. I never liked the idea of neutering until I saw how many unwanted cats there were. Anyway it’s up to you.’

I dropped down on my knees and began tickling and stroking the little ones. They were all adorable but I kept going back to the ginger and a black and white one that seemed to fancy me more than the others did. Mum was watching with one eye open and it seemed to me like she had seen it all before.

‘Can I have these two?’ I pointed at the ginger and the black and white.

‘Of course; as I explained I can’t let them go yet, they’re only seven weeks old and I wouldn’t dream of letting them go before they’re at least ten weeks, so you’ll have to come and visit if you want to see them until they’re ready.’

‘Do you mind, my visiting?’

‘ ’Course not; anyway, it’ll help them become accustomed to you.’

We stood up and after a final stroke and tickle, left them in peace.

I really didn’t want to leave Jellicle Cottage but checking my watch, I had barely enough time to get home to change and then meet Katie in the Toad and Tart.

‘I have to go now, Abby, I’m meeting someone at one and have to go home to change.’

Looking at my dress, I realised I must have been having a blonde moment when I decided to wear a white dress because I had several more dirty paw prints on the once pristine white cotton.

‘Yes,’ laughed Abby, ‘white’s not a very practical colour to wear around cats.’

‘Thanks for seeing me, Abby, and for the ginger beer and of course, Molly and Toffee,’ I said as I left Jellicle Cottage by the front door.

‘Oh, so you’ve named them already? Why Toffee?’

‘Well, he’s got a white nose and a ginger bit at the side that looks like a bit of toffee.’

‘You’re weirder than me! Anyway they’re nice names but when you call him in at night, might you not get embarrassed shouting out, “Toffee, Toffee, come on, Toffee”.’

‘No more than you do calling for Biscuit.’

We both laughed and then shook hands. I felt a slight tingle as her warm hand held mine for a moment. She had puzzled look on her face which I couldn’t read.

After saying goodbye to Abby, I strode back to my cottage to change. Glancing back, I saw her standing framed in the doorway; I gave her a wave and she waved back before going back inside.

She had seemed sad to see me go and I was caught up in a whirlpool of emotions. I was in the middle of a messy divorce–well the beginning really. My life was complicated. The love I had for Olivia died the instant I saw her having sex with another man. Nothing had changed my mind there. Deep in my heart, I knew–even before that awful day–that our marriage was dead and had been deluding myself for ages that she loved me and I loved her.

Yes, my life with Olivia was over.

But, I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to hurt anyone and I was aware of stories about love on the rebound. Also, I don’t know how Abby felt about me or whether she was seeing anyone.

‘How can you be like this after seeing her just once?’

You see, I had fallen in love.

___________________________
* Jellicle: Taken from The Song of the Jellicles from “Old Possum’s Book of Cats” by T.S. Eliot–which provided the lyrics for Andrew Lloyd-Webber’s musical, Cats.

---

To Be Continued...

Please leave comments...thanks! ~Sue

Edited by Gabi and posted by her at Sue’s request.

---

 
 

Oh, my love, my darling
I've hungered for your touch
A long, lonely time
And time goes by so slowly
And time can do so much
Are you still mine?

I need your love,
I oh, I need your love
God speed your love to me…

Roy Orbison

Previously…

After saying goodbye to Abby, I strode back to my cottage to change. Glancing back, I could see her standing framed in the doorway; I gave her a wave and she waved back before going back inside.

She had seemed sad to see me go and I was caught up in a whirlpool of emotions. I was in the middle of a messy divorce–well the beginning really. My life was complicated. The love I had for Olivia died the instant I saw her having sex with another man. Nothing had changed my mind there. Deep in my heart, I knew–even before that awful day–that our marriage was dead and I had been deluding myself for ages that she loved me and I loved her.

Yes, my life with Olivia was over.

But, I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to hurt anyone and I was aware of stories about love on the rebound. Also, I don’t know how Abby felt about me or whether she was seeing anyone.

‘How can you be like this after seeing her just once?’

You see, I had fallen in love.

And now the story continues…

After a quick change into a pale blue smock top and long, dark blue gypsy skirt, I made my way to the Toad and Tart. It had clouded over slightly, bringing a bit of a relief from the suns hot rays, beating down on my head. Also the breeze off the sea helps to cool things a little.

Note to self: get nice wide-brimmed sun hat.

As I entered the pub, several of the people looked at me and either nodded or said, ‘Hello.’ One old timer even said, ‘Good on yer, gel.’

Thinking that he must be drunk or something, I just smiled at him and hurriedly made my way upstairs to the bar where I had agreed to meet Katie.

I reachedthe top of the stairs and heard, ‘Cooee,’ coming from the balcony; Katie was waving and I smiled when I espied Jocasta and my estate agent friend, Millie, sitting with her.

‘Hi, girls,’ I said as I joined them. ‘Who’s having what?’

They were okay for drinks so I just got myself a gin and tonic–without the gin–but with lots of ice and a twist of lemon, then returned to my friends.

‘Let me look at you,’ Jocasta said with a frown.

‘What?’ I said.

‘Nope, no blood, so what d’you think, girls, any internal injuries?’

‘Possibly,’ said Millie. ‘Tricky things internal injuries.’

‘She might be one of those strong, silent types who suffer pain stoically,’ Katie remarked.

‘What are you loonies talking about?’ I asked, and they all burst out laughing.

‘Candice, of course,’ Jocasta replied. ‘She normally eats up meek and mild people and spits them out. I reckon she caught a tigress by the tail when she messed with you, Sam.’

‘I wish I’d been there,’ laughed Katie. ‘The whole village is talking about it and, according to the jungle drums, Candice has taken a few days off for some reason.’

‘I think we all know what that reason is,’ smirked Millie.

‘Well, she shouldn’t have had a go at me. What with all I’ve been going through lately with Olivia and her frightful father, it’s not surprising that I’m a bit tetchy occasionally.’

‘A BIT tetchy?’ Millie chuckled, ‘Remind me not to be near you when you’re more than a bit tetchy.’

We all laughed at that and then after some more good-natured leg pulling, our conversation moved onto other things.

‘How did you get on with Abby and her cats?’ Jocasta asked.

I bit my tongue as I nearly replied, ‘wonderful.’

‘She’s a delightful person and I adore her cats.’ I replied as non-comittedly as I could.

Jo frowned at me; it seemed as if she was about to say something and then changed her mind.

Our conversation moved on to other things and we ordered a basket meal–chicken and chips. It was a long time since I had chicken in a basket, it seemed to have gone out of fashion in most pubs for a while now. However, this being Penmarris, and the whole place being in a time warp, nothing surprised me. What was surprising was how quickly the time flew and, before we realised it, it was time for us to go our separate ways. After saying goodbye with the obligatory hugs all round, Katie and Millie went back to work, leaving Jo and I to finish our drinks as we gazed over the cove down below.

‘Okay, out with it, girl.’

I looked at her, puzzled.

‘Sorry?’

‘You’re hiding something.’

‘No, I’m NOT,’ I protested.

‘It’s about Abby, isn’t it.’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Hmm. Well, will you promise to tell me when you’re ready?’

‘Heavens, is that the time?’ I exclaimed, glancing at my watch. ‘I have to get going now.’ And before she had time to say anything that might induce me to reveal my secret, I gave her a quick hug and exited stage right.

Arriving at home, I fired up my computer. I had to get some art supplies for my studio, and after searching several websites, I found one that could fulfill most of my needs and would deliver at a reasonable cost. Mind you, after seeing the total of the items in the basket, I thought that free delivery should have been given.

It would be fantastic to be painting again. I had missed it so much, it had been like an ache, or an itch, maybe, that had needed scratching for longer than I cared to remember.

The materials would be arriving sometime tomorrow afternoon so I would have to make sure that I was at home. After making myself a cup of tea, I went up to my studio–gosh, that sounded soooo good–and picked up a sketch book and my pencils. I sat at the table in good light and sketched from memory. First through outline and then I adding more detail, remembering every facet from the vivid image in my mind’s eye. As usual, I zoned out and my hand did it’s magic.

It’s surprising that, when you are totally absorbed in something you are passionate about, time goes by so quickly. I was pleased with the result when I finally put my pencils down. It was a relief that I hadn’t lost my touch. Where my art is concerned, I am my own most severe critic.

Looking at the drawing, I knew that I would never be satisfied until I painted the subject on canvas, but until then, I would keep the drawing of Abby in a prominent position in my bedroom.

That reminded me that I would have to find out if Katie had found someone to go to my old house and pick up my belongings–including my canvases, paints and other tools of my trade.

My idea was that I wanted to be able to paint for a living. Although I had some money behind me and if all went well with the divorce, more might come my way, I did not want to rely on it. Maybe I would find somewhere to open as a small gallery and show my own works and perhaps other artists. However, all that was for the future but was definitely worth thinking about.

I had been so absorbed in my sketch that I hadn’t noticed the time, so I was surprised when I discovered it was early evening. I wasn’t all that hungry, so I made myself a quick sandwich and then picking up my cardigan, I went for a walk.

The clouds had disappeared and it was still quite warm. As I made my way up the steep lane, though the turnstile and onto the West Coast walk, I considered all that had happened in an incredibly short time.

Was everything going too fast and was I riding for a fall? All the nice things that had happened to me since that fateful day when my world had crashed around me in ruins, had almost seemed like it was all a dream.

Finding Penmarris and its wonderful people–apart from Cantankerous Candice, of course–my fabulous cottage, the friends I had made, the fact that I could still paint and, of course, not forgetting the cats and…Abby, made me wonder at how lucky a girl could be.

I reached the top and turned away from the cove along a stretch of the path that hadn’t explored before. It was achingly beautiful here. Below me was yet another sandy cove, but the cliffs here were far too steep to support any paths or roads, so it looked as if the only way to reach it would be by boat. I wondered if I could learn to sail or if that was too strenuous or difficult for me, perhaps I could get a boat with an engine?

There was a seat to the side of the path; like the one I sat on the other day, it had a little brass plaque. On the plaque it simply said, Margaret’s Seat, bide a while and wonder at the view.

I did wonder at the view; it was superb. There were pretty pink, blue and yellow flowers all around me, with purple heather and lush green grass at my feet and that was wonderful enough. But as the sun set, the golden fiery globe kissed the water, reflecting on the gentle waves as they washed up on the shore and I felt happy and at peace. The sound of the waves breaking on the beach below reaching up to me here as I sat on Margaret’s Seat together with the birds calling, all added to my feelings of well-being. Shadows grew longer and along the path I could see a few rabbits playing in the undergrowth, oblivious to my presence.

Thinking about it, I knew that storms lay ahead, especially regarding Olivia and Nigel and I had to make a decision whether I should speak to Abby about my feelings for her, but just for now, I was content.

---

To Be Continued...

Please leave comments...thanks! ~Sue

Edited by Gabi and posted by her at Sue’s request.

---

 
 

Once upon a time I was falling in love
But now I'm only falling apart
There's nothing I can do
A total eclipse of the heart
Once upon a time there was light in my life
But now there's only love in the dark
Nothing I can say
A total eclipse of the heart

Jim Steinman / Bonnie Tyler

Previously…

Thinking about it, I knew that storms lay ahead, especially regarding Olivia and Nigel and I had to make a decision as to whether I should speak to Abby about my feelings for her, but just for now, I was content.

And now the story continues…

When I awoke the following morning, I knew, before I even drew the curtains, that this was not going to be a day for going for a tramp along the coast path, going to the beach or any of the touristy things that erm, tourists do.

But, after all, I wasn’t a tourist, but a salty old local, who could tell the weather by the smell of the air or tea leaves in the bottom of the cup or…who was I kidding? I was as ignorant as anyone else. I drew the curtains and there it was, raining hard and very windy, not a good day for anyone who needed to venture out. The sea looked a bit rough with lots of white horses, but this wasn’t a storm, it was just a typical English summer’s day.

I supposed I had been rather spoilt by the weather–it had been pretty good apart from the storm the other night, so I shouldn’t complain. But complaining about the weather is almost a national sport in the UK.

‘Right.’ I thought, ‘lets get cracking!

Then I stopped in my tracks, I had an appointment with the doctor at eleven! How could I forget that?

I had an hour and a half though, so there was no rush (who was I kidding).

Before I did anything, I removed my breast forms using the special solvent. It felt strange not having breasts attached because I had got used to the weight and feel of them. Luckily, there were no signs of chaffing or soreness on my skin but I decided that I would leave them off for a while to give my skin a chance to breath and recover.

At least it was cooler and less humid today and, as I had my shower, I was thinking of my up and coming appointment with Doctor Marcia. How would she treat me; had she dealt with patients like me before? Worrying about it wouldn’t really help so I concentrated on this afternoon.

I had to stay in for the delivery I was expecting. Goody. I smiled at the prospect of getting my artists’ supplies. I was aching to put things down on canvas.

Drying my hair with a towel in the bedroom, my eyes were drawn towards the drawing of Abby. She had such a kind, happy face and was so pretty in my eyes.

I decided to wear a beige silk top and wine coloured knee-length skirt. Comfortable and pretty for seeing the doctor this morning.

I ate my breakfast at the kitchen table listening to the local news and weather on the radio. Not much going on locally, the only thing of interest being a lawnmower being pinched from a shed. The weather report was a bit more optimistic, saying that it should start brightening up a bit later.

Just as I was finishing up my cornflakes, I could hear a sound coming from the kitchen door. I recognised the sound and as I opened the door and saw a small damp cat run in; it was obvious that Tammy was somewhat wet, so I grabbed a towel and dried her off a bit. After that, she made herself at home in front of the small range and commenced licking herself.

Smiling, I went about my chores thinking that a woman’s work is never done.

Just as I was about to wash up my breakfast things, there was a noise and I heard the front door open.

‘Ere, ‘m’

I went out into the hall and there was a rather damp Mrs. Pearson standing in the hall taking off her wet raincoat.

‘Hello, Mrs. Pearson, here to do some cleaning?’

I assumed that she had a key and I suppose that was normal. I just hoped that she wouldn’t burst into the bedroom or something while I was making mad passionate love to Abb…STOP IT, SAMANTHA!

‘Or ri, m’dear?’

I actually understood that, perhaps I was getting more of the salty old local after all, m’ducks!

‘Yes thanks.’

‘Pizzen down out yonder.’

‘Raining? Yes I had noticed. I’ll get out of your way, shall I?’

‘Yes’m, tay fust?’

‘Tay? Oh tea, you want a cup of tea. Yes, I’ll make it…’

‘No, ’m.’

She picked up the kettle and started doing the necessary.

As she wasn’t exactly talkative and I didn’t want a headache at this time of the morning, I left her and went up to my studio. As I left of the kitchen I noticed that Tammy had made herself at home and was fast asleep on the rug.

I picked up my ’phone from the bedroom and wondered if I should make the bed or something. Not knowing the cleaning woman’s etiquette and not wanting to break any union rules, I just left it. I would soon find out what she actually did and take care of anything she missed.

In the studio, I pulled the curtains back and saw that the rain had eased slightly and the wind seemed to have abated. Now I could see past the edge of the cove, so that must be a good sign, mustn’t it?

Sitting on the sofa, I decided to call Abby about Tammy. It wasn’t just an excuse to hear her voice–honestly.

‘Hello, Abby, it’s Samantha.’

‘Oh hi, Samantha, how are you today?’

‘I’m fine, thanks. Look, just a quick call to let you know that Tammy’s arrived again.’

‘Right, chuck her out if she becomes a nuisance.’

‘She’s no bother…erm, how’re my kittens?’

‘They’re fine, come up anytime to have a look at them?’

‘May I?’

‘Of course, I told you that yesterday, anyway, it’ll be nice to see you.’

‘You too.’

There was a bit of a pause and then I said, ‘Look, I have to go now, I can hear Mrs. Pearson tramping upstairs. I think she’s made me a cup of tea, but I’m not too sure as I haven’t got the hang of her accent yet.’

‘Yes.’ She laughed prettily, ‘her accent’s as thick as clotted cream.’

‘Anyway, if the weather gets a bit better later on this afternoon, can I pop up?’

‘Of course, come when you like after 4.30 that’s when I close up the pottery, I’ll have some ginger beer ready.’

‘Great, it’s lethal stuff, but I like it. I’ve got to wait in for a delivery of artists’ materials but hopefully that will come before that. Bye then?’

‘Bye, see you later.’

As I put the ’phone down, I sighed, just hearing her voice made me go all wobbly. This was silly, how could I be like this at my age? I ought to know better–after all I had been through with Olivia. Anyway, she probably doesn’t think the same about me and there is always the big thing hanging over my head–correction, the not so big thing between my legs! Perhaps Doctor Marcia had some pruning sheers? Ouch! Chopping the thing off wouldn’t help, I needed my outie converted to an innie so that I could make mad passionate love and swing off the chandeliers with Ab…STOP IT!

Lets face it, I had a handicap: it wouldn’t be one for a man, but I wasn’t a man and I wondered if I ever had been. Would she, even if she was interested in having a relationship with me; want to know someone like me, who was physically anyway, still a male. I assumed that she liked girls, why I don’t know, it was just an impression that I picked up. Maybe she was bi? All theses questions and no answers. Lets face it, the signals I had felt when I met her could have just been false ones and she didn’t fancy me or want to have a relationship with me or anyone else for that matter.

Mrs. Pearson came in and smiled a toothy grin, her dentures appeared to be the wrong size for her mouth, but I am perhaps being unkind.

‘Ere, y’m,’ she handed me a cup of tea.

‘Thanks, Mrs. Pearson.’

She just nodded and wondered out. A few minutes later I could hear the sound of a Hoover going so she was already doing her stuff.

Suddenly I thought about my car; the mechanic had promised it back by now hadn’t he? I would have to ring Jo and ask her to call him, it wasn’t worth my doing it as I hadn’t taken Devonish For Dummies yet or whatever it’s called.

Still, I didn’t need my car yet so it wasn’t that urgent. I’d wait until tomorrow before I began worrying. Let’s face it, in this part of the world, everyone is so laid back that they are virtually horizontal and why should I get my knickers in a twist over a slight delay in the return of my wheels? Mind you if he scratches it, I will not be a happy bunny!

Glancing through the window, the rain had started coming down harder again. I decided it was just going to be one of those days. I ’phoned Katie.

‘Hi, Katie, it’s Sam.’

‘Hello, Samantha, I was going to ring you anyway.’

‘Why?’

I have a prelim report from the investigator, but I don’t want to say anything over the ’phone.’

‘Okay, well I wanted to talk to you anyway, but I’ve got an appointment this morning and have to stay in for a delivery this afternoon.’

‘Well, I’m not free until then anyway. Shall I come over to you after lunch?’

‘That would be fine, I’ll see you then.’

‘Okay, bye.’

‘Bye, hon.’

I put the ’phone down. It looked like I was going to have a busy day after all.

I spent the rest of the morning until my appointment, trying to keep out of the way of the duster-wielding Mrs. Pearson. I found myself going on line and ordering a few more bits and pieces from the artists supplier. I liked this ordering on line business, much easier than trying to find a shop to visit.

Then I rang Millie.

‘Hi, Millie, how’s business?’

‘Picking up, Samantha, still a lot quieter than last year.’

‘Can I pick your brains?’

‘Pick away.’

‘As you know, I have studio and I’m going to start painting again. Hopefully, I will also have some works completed a while back that are in storage up in the attic of my old house. When I get them back, I want to put them up for sale. What I want is somewhere that I can open as an art gallery; I will hang my paintings and drawings and hopefully get some buyers. Also, I want to have it so that local artists can sell their works and I would get some sort of commission for hanging them. What do you reckon?’

‘That sounds like it’s a great idea; there are a few artists in the cove and I’m sure they would love to get involved.’

‘So the question is, where?’

‘Mmm, well you know Abby’s pottery shop?’

‘Yes.’

‘Next door to that is an old gift shop. It hasn’t been occupied for a few years. I could find out the score and let you know. I would need to find the owner and also check with the local council to see if we could change the usage. I don’t think that would be a problem because it’s cultural and generally, councils love the arts.’

‘That sounds great.’

‘Okay, leave it with me and I’ll put out a few feelers.’

‘Thanks, Millie, you’re a star!’

‘Well I will get a commission so I must be a tarnished star.’

We both laughed and said goodbye.

Eventually Mrs. Pearson finally finished her work and with a, ‘be zein yer, down along,’ she was off. I wasn’t sure what she said but I think it was goodbye.

The weather started clearing up in earnest after Mrs. Pearson left and soon, the clouds parted and it stopped raining. I could see steam rising as the roads and pavements quickly dried in the now strong sunlight.

It was time for my appointment with the doctor, I made sure that my makeup and hair were okay and then picking up my coat, I went out. Luckily, the rain was holding off and it looked like it was brightening up a bit, so, hopefully, I wasn’t going to get wet.

Making my way up the surgery steps, I wondered what sort of reception I might receive. I was glad that Candice was on holiday and hoped that her replacement was a bit more user friendly.

Behind the desk was a youngish girl who didn’t look any older than sixteen. She looked up and smiled.

‘Can I help you?’

‘I have an appointment with Doctor Marcia?’

‘Right, please take a seat. It is Ms Smart, isn’t it?’

‘Samantha, please.’

‘Right, won’t be a minute, Samantha.’

‘She seems nice.’ I thought as I sat down in the empty waiting room. That was the advantage of going private, less chance of catching something nasty from someone else.

‘She’s ready for you now.’

I was led to a door and the girl let me in.

‘Here she is, Mum.’

I walked in and a rather pleasant, if slightly plump, woman stood up and came around her desk.

‘Hello, I’m Marcia and you’re the famous dragon slayer?’

‘Oh please, I’ll never live it down.’

‘It will go down in folk legend. I hope that you didn’t have to have a go at my daughter, Rachel?’

‘No she was excellent. Look, I’m sorry if I upset Ms Cringeing-Drawers.’

Rachel giggled and Dr Marcia roared with laughter. ‘But what a splendid name for her,’ she said, ‘You must be a Goon Show fan like Brian and I–we have a number of CDs and listen to it sometimes on BBC Radio 7 at breakfast-time. Don’t worry about Ms Cringeing-Drawers, she fully deserved it. I just wish I’d had the guts to say something to her, but there you are. However, enough of that, come and sit down.’

She moved behind her desk and, sitting down looked at me.

‘Right, I don’t have your notes and I assume that they will be transferred down here presently, but knowing the NHS, it could take a few weeks if not a month before I get a chance to look at them, so we’ll have to play it by ear so, how can help you?’

I was feeling nervous but I came here for a reason and I couldn’t back out now.

I cleared my throat. ‘Wh—when you get my notes you’ll notice something.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Firstly my name is different.’

‘So you’ve changed it, that’s not–’

‘Also,’ I interrupted, ‘you will see that genetically I am a—a—man.’

She looked at me sharply.

‘A man?’

‘Yes.’

‘Right, so erm, I think…look, tell me what’s going on, I won’t interrupt.’

I told her my story about dressing as a girl when I was younger; always having feminine feelings and the fact that when I got married, I carried on dressing as often as I could–with my wife’s blessing. I told her how my feelings had gradually cemented themselves making me more and more want to change my gender physically. Then I told her of the problems that I had with my marriage and my decision to try and transition.

‘Well, Samantha, you have surprised me and that’s quite unusual. You look like a pretty woman and I would never have guessed that you were anything else. Is there anything wrong with you at the moment?’

‘Apart from being born into the wrong body? Nothing that I’m aware of.’

‘When did you last have tests done, you know, heart, lungs, blood pressure, bloods and urine?’

‘Not for a few years–no, more like five years.’

‘Okay, pop behind that screen, you’ll find a gown; take off all your clothes and put it on and then we’ll have a look at you.’

I won’t go into details about my examination; most of you have been through that sort of thing before. The upshot was that I seemed to be healthy enough but we would know more when the tests came back from the lab.

I dressed again and sat opposite Marcia again.

‘Right, all seems okay, physically. Now, are you sure that you want to transition?’

‘More certain than anything.’

‘Right, I’ll have to refer you for assessment. You do realise there are a number of hoops that you have to jump through and it might be some time before you can have an operation?'

‘That’s true, but I may go abroad, if needed.’

‘Hmm, well don’t rush into things. You have to do your Real Life Test and live as a woman for at least a year.’

‘But I have been. I’ve spent the last several years dressed more as a woman than a man.’

She looked at me thoughtfully.

‘Will you see a psychiatrist, a gender specialist and at least let her give an opinion?’

‘If you think I should.’

‘I do; you’re going through a divorce and trying to do all sorts of thing to change your life. You need guidance. I will always be here for you and the additional input from a psychiatrist will help you, I am sure of that. I am not saying that you can't be who you want to be, but you have to tread carefully and not make any mistakes that cannot be rectified at a later date. Okay?’

‘Okay.’ I said smiling doubtfully.

‘Good, now if your tests come back okay, I see no reason why you can’t at least start on hormones–except one.’

‘What’s that?’

‘How do you feel about children?’

‘Okay–in small portions.’

We both laughed.

‘Seriously, once you have taken hormones for a while, you will not be able to father a child, have you thought about that?’

‘Not really.’

‘You could get some sperm stored.’

‘That’s an idea. It’s not that I–I mean I always wanted to have children but my wife was never keen.’

‘You might meet someone who wants children too and this would be one way to get around the problem.’

I thought of Abby–but that was silly, it was too early to even think that she–

‘How do I go about it?’

I left the surgery with mixed feelings. Marcia was kind and understanding and knew a fair bit about transgender issues as she had worked at a clinic briefly just after leaving medical school. She wanted to be a GP so her career direction took her away from day to day contact with people like me. It was strange to find a doctor on my doorstep that actually knew about the problems, another reason for me to believe that I must have been destined to live in Penmarris.

I was able to sit out on my balcony at lunch time and as I ate my cheese and ham sandwich, I could see down below that the sun had brought out the holidaymakers again. The sea was very blue and the sand nearly white. It was so pleasant looking across to the beaches as people made their way to a favourite spot and settled down for a serious bit of sun worshipping, sand castling, or just splashing about in the sea.

I would have joined them, I think, if I didn’t have so much on today.

I washed up my lunch things and was just about to settle down with a good book, when I heard a knock on the door.

Opening it I saw that it was the two flat cap chappies that had delivered my mattress for me.

‘Got a delivery,’ said left-hand flat cap.

‘Sign ’ere,’ said right-hand flat cap.

After the tiresome legalities, they carried in two large parcels. They kindly took the boxes up to my studio and put them down in the middle of the floor. I thanked them and gave them a tip and after a synchronised touch on the peak of their caps, they were off again.

I was dying to open the boxes–it felt like it was Christmas–and was just about to rip one of the tapes when I heard the door knocker.

‘Oh bum!’ I exclaimed as I got up off the floor. I wasn’t pouting, honestly!

I opened the door and there was Katie.

‘Hello, love.’ I said as we had a kiss and a hug,

‘Hi, Sam.’

I made a quick cup of instant coffee for us and decamped into the sitting room. For a few minutes we talked about nothing special and then got down to business. Katie took some papers out of her briefcase and checked through them.

‘Right, as you know, we have an investigator having a look-see at what’s going on. She is good, very good and it’s surprising what she’s found out in so short a space of time.’

She looked at me and she was frowning.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Well I have to tell you that it’s not unusual to find things you may not want to hear about in cases like this. Do you want to know everything she’s found out?’

I looked at her a bit undecided then I took a deep breath.

‘I need to know. Once it’s all over I can draw a line through it and move on.’

‘Okay. First Nigel; he is, unfortunately, squeaky clean and very rich. He probably has had dealings that are shall we say, just on this side of the law in the past, but he appears to be lusting after a knighthood and doesn’t want anything to get in the way of achieving that. Hence he didn’t want you to divorce Olivia as there could be bad publicity for him. His threats about dragging dirt up into court won’t wash as he would not want that.’

‘Probably not if he wants a knighthood.’

‘Exactly; now we turn to your wife.’

I sat up straighter, wondering if there was anything I didn’t want to hear.

‘Did she tell you anything about her past?’

‘Yes, she told me that she went to a private girls’ school and then on to university where she met me. She always said that she had a boring life before she met me.’

Katie pursed her lips, swallowed and then looked at me.

‘She did go to private school–a number of them in fact. She was expelled from two and asked to leave her last one. She was a troublemaker and a bully. After leaving her last school, her father had a tutor brought in and she finished her studies at home. She was, erm, rather promiscuous–’

‘–But she said–’

‘–That she was a virgin?’

‘Yes.’ I replied, rather lamely.

‘I’m sorry, Samantha, she wasn’t: in fact she had an abortion when she was fifteen, and another at eighteen.’

‘Oh my God,’ I said putting my head in my hands.

‘In addition to that, she’s pregnant again. I take it the child isn’t yours?’

I looked up, tears in my eyes and just shook my head.

---

To Be Continued...

The Cove By Liz Wright

Please leave comments...thanks! ~Sue

My thanks go to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing and pulling the story into shape.

---

 
 

I have a dream, a song to sing
To help me cope with anything
If you see the wonder of a fairy tale
You can take the future even if you fail
I believe in angels
Something good in everything I see
I believe in angels
When I know the time is right for me
I'll cross the stream - I have a dream...

ABBA/ Benny Goran Br Andersson, Bjoern K. Ulvaeus

Previously…

‘–But she said–’

‘–That she was a virgin?’

‘Yes.’ I replied, rather lamely.

‘I’m sorry, Samantha, she wasn’t: in fact she had an abortion when she was fifteen, and another at eighteen.’

‘Oh my God,’ I said putting my head in my hands.

‘In addition to that, she’s pregnant again. I take it the child isn’t yours?’

I looked up, tears in my eyes and just shook my head.

And now the story continues…

After Katie dropped the bombshell about Olivia, I said I’d like to go for a walk to clear my head. It was plain to me that she was concerned, but I told her I would be alright and just said, ‘goodbye.’ I walked along the quay and down the steps to the beach. There were crowds of people there with their children playing on the sand and splashing about or paddling in the water.

There are some rocks on the far side of the east beach, under the cliff. The tide was out and I vaguely noticed some sand in between the large rocks. I just walked through to see what was on the other side and there it was–a tiny bay sheltered by yet more rocks.

I made my way to the back of the diminutive beach and sat down with my back against a warm rock, smoothed by countless centuries of being battered by the sea.

Sitting there, I could envisage that I might be almost anywhere in the world. No one was about and apart from the distant happy sounds of the children on the other beach; I was quite alone.

The sight of those children made me feel rather sad; I had always wanted children and yet Olivia, who had a chance to give life, had chosen the abortion route. I had a feeling that she would do the same with the child in her belly now and that saddened me even more. I wondered why, if she was going to have sex so freely, why she couldn’t at least use contraception if she didn’t want to have a child?

What I found to be most hurtful was that she didn’t want to have a baby with me. Was I that bad a person, just to be used by her and then discarded like a plaything that had lost its appeal?

It was peaceful here; the sea in front of me–a deep azure blue–contrasting against the golden sand and grey rocks, inevitably my thoughts returned to Olivia and how I had never really understood her. Maybe she was shocked that I had decided to divorce her–that meek and mild Tom would never dream of doing such a thing. Well, Olivia, Samantha’s made of sterner stuff. I realised I had made mistakes and not a few, but I would from now on–as the song goes–do it my way. The words might be slightly out but the sentiment holds true.

I think I will always be a kind-hearted person; I could never do what Olivia has done to me. It just isn’t in my nature to be nasty to anyone–except a certain doctor’s receptionist. From now on I wouldn’t be walked over by anyone.

I had found a new life in Penmarris and I would my best to make the most of it.

Then there was Abby–

I would have to make my feelings known to her. I had a feeling that she felt the same way as I did, unless I had got the signals totally wrong. But she had the right to know about me and what I was–in transition. No lies, half-truths or deception. If she couldn’t accept me for who I was, then there would be no future for us and I would just have to accept it.

After about half an hour, I could see the tide coming in and as I didn’t want to be cut off, I stood up, brushed the sand from the back of my skirt and moved through the rocks to the main beach again. I went down to the water and with my sandals off; I strolled along the shore with my feet at the water’s edge. It was a pleasant feeling having the wet sand ooze between my toes as the water washed over my feet. I stood still and gazed out to sea for a moment and my feet sank slightly.

‘Hello.’

I looked up and there was Jocasta.

‘Hi, Jo.’

‘So, erm, how are you?’

‘Katie’s been talking then. I thought she was supposed to keep the things I say to her secret.’

‘Oh dear, feeling a bit down? Katie rang me and said you were rather upset. She worries about you, you know, and so do I.’

‘You don’t have to worry about me, I’ll be okay.’

‘So that stuff running out of your eyes and down your cheeks is just a coincidence then?’

I wiped my hand across my eyes. I thought I was supposed to be strong now.

‘If you don’t want to talk, I don’t mind. You know I’ll always be here for you. After all, you helped me overcome my terror of hairdressing salons and that’s a biggie in my eyes.’

I gazed at her and felt a strong desire to unload.

‘Can we talk back at my place?’

‘Of course.’

Ten minutes later, with the inevitable mugs of tea, we sat in my sitting room while I spilled all that Katie had told me about Olivia’s infidelity, abortions and the fact that she was pregnant.

‘You poor love,’ she said, giving me a hug as I cried on her shoulder. ‘What a class one cow,’ she continued.

‘Jo! and you a vicar’s wife, too,’ I said laughing through my tears.

‘I could have said something an awful lot stronger. You’d be surprised at the words you learn at Sunday School. Now how do you feel about all this?’

‘Betrayed, a bit of a fool; that she took me for a ride, useless, unworthy and several other things unprintable and unmentionable.’

‘Do you still love her?’

‘No. The person I thought I loved seems to have been a figment of my imagination. I—I’m so upset about the way I was duped, taken in or whatever by her. I don’t think she ever loved me. I was just happy to have found someone who accepted me for what I was, or what I thought I was–a cross-dresser. At first she was fine with it and even came to some meetings of the group I belonged to, but gradually she seemed to go off me. I wondered if it might have been something I did, but now I don’t think it was me; she has serious issues and has had for a long time.’

‘It sounds very like it. You can’t blame yourself; she entered the marriage knowing everything about you. I don’t know what her agenda is, but you must stop thinking that it might have something to do with you. Try to draw a line under the bad times and move forward. You’ve got friends here and a delightful place to live. You’ve got your art and that means you can express yourself in a way that you haven’t been able to since before your marriage.’

Listening to her, I knew she made perfect sense, but I couldn’t shrug off the sense of loss I had for all those wasted years.

After Jo had left, I pottered around, tidying things up and finally opening the packages that had arrived. Almost all the things I needed were there, and only a few things were left to come later. Now I had the tools I needed to start painting properly again.

I put my thoughts about Olivia on the back burner. Having a chat and a good cry with Jocasta had helped me feel a bit better. As she said–I have to look forward, not back.

It was late afternoon, and I had just finished drinking my umpteenth mug of tea, when I heard a bang on the front door.

Wiping my hands on my apron, I went downstairs and opened the door.

My jaw dropped, because there in front of me, larger than life was Lady Fairbairn. I nearly curtsied–she had that effect on me. She was wearing a hat with some sort of dead bird on it and I suppose, because the weather was still rather warm, no coat just sensible if severe white blouse buttoned up to the neck, tweed skirt, industrial strength stockings and sensible shoes.

‘I don’t have much time; my presence is required at the church.’

‘P—please come in.’

‘Didn’t you hear me, gel, no time–church! I understand from Mrs Gotobed that you’re a painter?’

‘Erm, yes.’

‘You aren’t one of those modern painters are you? The sort where you can’t tell what the hell the subject is?’ She said it as if it was some sort of disease.

‘No, I paint traditionally, I have been told that my works reflect life.’

‘Then I’ll take a chance. I wish to commission you to paint Fifi.’

‘Fifi?’

‘Yes, Fifi, are you deaf? You will come up to the house at two o'clock on Thursday afternoon for the first sitting. Can’t abide unpunctuality, so don't be late.’

‘I’m sure that I can manage that.’

‘Good.’ She looked me up and down and then said, ‘Are you sure you can paint?’

‘Yes ’m–I mean, M’lady.’

‘Hmm; well I won’t pay a penny over  £5000 and I expect a lifelike portrait; can you do it?’

‘I believe so, M’lady.’

‘Very well, I must be off–’

‘M’ lady?’

‘Yes, yes, what is it? Spit it out, gel.’

‘How old is your daughter?’

‘Daughter, daughter? I have no daughter, silly gel.’

‘But, Fifi–’

‘Fifi’s my dog, everybody knows that; are you mad–or worse, been drinkin’? Can’t abide gels drinkin’. Lager louts most of them. In my day I’d have flogged ’em around the village. Mmm, I hope that I haven’t made a mistake by commissionin’ you. Anyway–2.30 sharp. Don’t be late.’

She had said 2.00 before but no way was I going to argue with her!

With that she sailed off down the lane resembling a stately galleon under full tops’ls and t’gallants. I was left shell-shocked and suddenly aware that the multitude of seagulls normally present, strangely were absent–very odd. Then it occurred to me that they might take the dead bird on her hat as some sort of threat.

I went back upstairs, pleased that I had received my first commission but wondering what I had agreed to do.

I had a bit of a think about what I would like for my tea. Not fancying cooking and being extremely partial to haddock and chips, I went out and walked down the lane to the fish and chip shop. My nose alone could have guided me as the heady smells wafted through the air. I was second in the queue and was almost instantly being served the food of gods.

Sitting on a bench seat down on the quay, I was surprised how hungry I was. The cod and chips were lovely (haddock was off). I was about to put a salty chip in my mouth when my hand stopped in mid air.

Five thousand pounds?

The penny had dropped; Lady F was willing to pay five thousand pounds to have a portrait of her pooch.

‘She must be barking mad,’ I thought and then giggled.

Then, my mobile warbled: it was Dawn!

‘Hi, Dawn.’

‘Hello, sis, how are you?’

‘Well the day started a bit nasty but things are perking up.’

‘Anything you want to talk about?’

‘Not over the ’phone.’

‘Okay, honey; look, the reason I’m ringing is that I want to drag hubby and the kids over to Penmarris at the weekend. I need to work on them and use my feminine wiles to persuade them all that a move to the village would be a beneficial. Would you like to meet up?’

‘That would be great. Do you want to come here and then we can decide what to do.’

‘Sounds perfect. Eleven do you?’

‘That will be great. I can’t wait to see you all.’

‘Okay, honey, see you Saturday.’

‘Bye.’

I put the ’phone down and smiled. It would be great to see Adrian, Hayley and Timothy, although I did wonder what they would think of me; let’s face it, I don’t look much like Tom anymore, do I?

---

To Be Continued...

The Cove By Liz Wright

Please leave comments...thanks! ~Sue

My thanks go to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing and pulling the story into shape.

---

 
 

You could hear the hoof beats pound
As they raced across the ground;
And the clatter of the wheels
As they spun round and round.
And he galloped into Market Street
His badge upon his chest
His name was Ernie (Ernie)–
And he drove the fastest milkcart in the west.

Now Ernie loved a widow,
A lady known as Sue,
She lived all alone in Linley Lane–
At number twenty two.
They said she was too good for him,
She was haughty, proud and chic
But Ernie got his cocoa there
Three times every week.
They called him Ernie (Ernie)–
And he drove the fastest milkcart in the west.

From: Ernie, the fastest Milkman in the West. Benny Hill.

Previously…

‘Hi, Dawn.’

‘Hello, sis, how are you?’

‘Well the day started a bit nasty but things are perking up.’

‘Anything you want to talk about?’

‘Not over the ’phone.’

‘Okay, honey; look, the reason I’m ringing is that I want to drag hubby and the kids over to Penmarris at the weekend. I need to work on them and use my feminine wiles to persuade them all that a move to the village would be a beneficial. Would you like to meet up?’

‘That would be great. Do you want to come here and then we can decide what to do.’

‘Sounds perfect. Eleven do you?’

‘That will be great. I can’t wait to see you all.’

‘Okay, honey, see you Saturday.’

‘’Bye.’

I put the ’phone down and smiled. It would be great to see Adrian, Hayley and Timothy, although I did wonder what they would think of me; let’s face it, I don’t look much like Tom anymore, do I?

And now the story continues…

I was wakened on Wednesday morning by the sounds of rain lashing against my bedroom window and the wind howling in the chimney. Gradually, as I became conscious, I felt a sense of peace. Yesterday had been quite eventful for me, what with the latest revelations about Olivia, Lady Fairbairn’s visit with her extraordinary offer of five thousand pounds to paint Fifi, her pampered pooch, and Dawn ringing to say she was coming over at the weekend with her family.

It was all a bit much considering that I had come to this idyllic haven to get away from it all and possibly drop out of sight. Now I had more friends than ever before and a sister who had come back to me; and then there was Abby–

I stared at the sketch I had made of her and smiled. I reckon I had been smitten by her as soon as I saw her for the first time. I still sense that she has feelings for me too. I don’t know whether it would ever work out and perhaps I am presuming a lot but I was resolved, that by the end of the day, I would visit her and screw up my courage to tell her of my feelings. Better that she told me now that she didn’t have reciprocal feelings for me than later, when my heart would be broken–again.

I stretched, rubbed my eyes and climbed out of bed. Crossing to the window, and drawing the curtains , I gasped at the scene. Layed out before me, was the village with a storm raging over and around it. I knew that when it was windy buthe headlands of the cove sheltered the village from the worst of any storm. Out to sea, the waves looked enormous and the rain was driving almost horizontally past my window.

On the West Beach, the rollers were crashing up the strand and over the rocks, the water foaming white as it smashed against them and sending plumes of spume high in the air, only to be whipped away by the gale–no, storm–force wind.

I stood watching for some time, marvelling at the terrible force of nature and its majestic but violent beauty. Even in the harbour down below me, the boats were plunging up and down violently, straining against their moorings as the wind caught them. No one was on the quay, as far as I could see. This was a day for all right-minded people to stay indoors. Just then, out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight something orange, battling out to sea between the headlands. It disappeared from view and then appeared again, climbing the steep swell. Then I recognised her–The Penmarris Lifeboat.

Looking carefully–I wished I had a good pair of binoculars–I gasped as I realised that the lifeboat must have been called out. I wondered who was in peril and whether anyone had been hurt. I vaguely remembered something Jocasta told me and went cold. Grabbing my ’phone I rang her number.

‘Hello, Jo?’

‘Oh, hello, Sam.’ She sounded worried.

‘Has David gone out on the lifeboat?’

‘Yes, the maroon went up about an hour ago. Didn’t you hear it?’

‘No. I was asleep. What’s happened?’

‘As far as we know, Lebanese freighter’s in trouble on a sand bank about ten miles off the coast, they have gone to give assistance with other lifeboats in the area.’

‘How are you?’

‘Worried, natch. This is the second time this month they’ve been called out like this. Normally, it’s just a small boat in difficulties or perhaps someone trapped on the rocks when the tide comes in, but there’s always a chance of bad things happening on a call out like this. Of course the girls are worried too, so I have to be strong for them as well as myself.’

‘I’ll come up.’

‘You won’t. It’s really foul out there and anyway, I don’t think your banana cagoule will take the strain.’

I laughed at her feeble joke about my trusty wet weather gear.

‘Well, you know where I am. Please ring me when you have any news.’

‘I will; Look I’ve got to go now, I’ll catch up with you later.’

‘You know where I am.’

‘Sure. Thanks, Sam.’

I pressed the red button, put the ’phone down and went to the window again. The weather was showing no signs of improving–in fact, if anything, it was getting worse.

I put on my satin dressing gown and went down to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, I took out the milk which looked a bit gungy; gingerly, I smelt it, it was more than a bit niffy. Knowing that Mrs. Pearson had made sure that the milkman would deliver here, I went to the front door, more out of hope than expectation. Surely no milkman would venture out in this weather.

Opening the front door was an experience in itself as it nearly came back and hit me full in the face with the force of the wind and rain. I had the fleeting impression of something wet and furry shoot past me and there on the doorstep, in the corner out of the wind, were two pints of milk. Bottles, mind you–none of your cardboard cartons or plastic rubbish. Quickly, I picked them up and slammed the door against the howling wind.

I returned to the kitchen, grasping the slippery bottles, and trying hard not to drop them. I put one straight into the fridge and the other on the kitchen table.

Tammy was in her usual spot in front of the range and after a quick meow of greeting, she went back to her important business of washing herself.

‘Make yourself at home.’ I said on my way to the store cupboard to get some cornflakes. After filling the kettle and putting it on the range to boil. I took off my dressing gown–it had got more than a little damp during my brief encounter with the elements–and hung it over the back of the wooden kitchen chair.

Sitting down, just in my nightie, I was glad that although it was very rough outside, at least the temperature inside was still quite warm. I waited for the kettle to boil, then made a pot of tea. I removed the foil cap from the bottle of milk and poured some on my cornflakes. The bottle bore the name ‘Ernie, the fastest milkman in the West’ emblazoned on the glass and I presumed that he probably was–and the most resilient, bearing in mind the appalling weather outside.

I felt something wet against my bare legs, a furry sort of wet, so I knew it must be Tammy; either that or a humungous great rat–much too scary to think about. Looking down, I saw her staring up at me expectantly.

‘All right, darling, hang on a mo and Auntie Sam will give you some milky.’

I stood up, went to the dresser grabbed a saucer, poured some milk in it, and put it down by the range. Tammy dashed over and lapped up the milk so quickly it was almost as if she was some sort of feline Hoover.

I smiled to myself as I continued my breakfast, feeling safe inside my cosy cottage. Then I remembered; David was out there with the rest of the lifeboat crew, risking their lives for poor souls in peril on the sea. I wanted to do something to help, but knew there was nothing I could do.

I could not but admire the bravery of people who are willing to put their own lives at risk time and time again to plough through mountainous seas to rescue those in distress. Much like fireman who go into burning buildings and others of that ilk. I wished that I could be that brave, but it took someone very special to be able to do such selfless things.

After finishing my breakfast, I poured myself another mug of tea and went back upstairs. Tammy was snoozing in front of the range and purring at the same time, I suppose you could call it multitasking.

I took my tea into the studio and pulled back the curtains. The violence of the storm hadn’t abated and I hoped desperately that David and the others were safe. I longed to go and give Jo a comforting hug, but knew that she needed to be with her girls at a time like this and I didn’t want to intrude. In front of one of the large windows, I had put a table with one of my sketch books. Without really thinking, I started drawing the scene outside. I needed to do something to occupy my mind.

I lost track of time as I drew, being totally absorbed in drawing the awesome scene outside. I included the Penmarris lifeboat battling her way out and decided that after I transferred it to canvas, I would either present it to the local RNLI* or auction it and give the proceeds to them. Let’s hope that my efforts would be worth enough to make a difference. Perhaps Lady F would buy it; let’s face it, if she would pay five thousand pounds for a portrait of her dog, what would she give for something like that?

Dimly, I heard something in the background. I stopped what I was doing and then realised that it was my ’phone. Going into the bedroom I picked it up and pressed the green button.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi, Smantha, it’s Abby.’

My heart flipped and I sat on the bed.

‘Erm–hi, Abby.’

‘Rotten weather isn’t it?’

‘Isn’t it just. David’s gone out with the lifeboat.’

‘I heard the maroon. A lot of villagers have loved ones in the crew.’

‘Let’s hope everything will be all right.’

‘Amen to that. Look, Sam, have you seen Tammy?’

‘You mean that little ball of damp fur lying asleep in front of my range?’

‘The little minx! Normally, I wouldn’t worry, but with this ghastly weather, you never know.’

We both laughed and there was a pause in the conversation.

‘How are my two kittens?’ I asked eventually.

‘They’re fine. Fast asleep with mum.’

‘That’s good.’

‘Are you coming up to see them, some time?’

‘Yes, if the weather improves, I’d like to come later today.’

‘Oh good, it will be lovely to see you again–sorry.’

‘Why?’

‘Why what?’

‘Why are you sorry?’

‘It’s just–’

‘Mmm?’

‘It’s just, I—I’d like to see you; that’s all.’

There was another pause.

‘I’d like to see you too, Abby. I don’t know why, but–look; maybe we can talk later, face to face?’

‘That’d be great; I think we need to talk. Come up any time–please–’

‘All right, I agree that we could do with good a heart-to-heart, look I have to go now, ’bye Abby–oh, and I’ll keep Tammy in until the weather improves.’

‘You are a nice woman.’

‘Maybe, see you soon. ’Bye.’

I put the ’phone down and stared into space for a minute, then with a sigh, I went back into the studio and stared out of the window.

It seemed that the weather was improving slightly, the clouds looked lighter, the wind had dropped to a small extent and I was sure that the sea didn’t look quite so angry. Just then far out to sea there was a ray of bright sunlight shining through the clouds on to the turbulent sea. The ray grew wider as more of the clouds dispersed. Over to the east were even more broken clouds and things brightened up considerably as the sun broke through more strongly.

Then a rainbow appeared over the water as the rain abated and the day continued to brighten. The scene was breathtaking in its beauty and I knew that if I lived to be a hundred, I would always have something to paint here. The only dark thing at the moment was the fact that there were people out there on the sea experiencing a life and death situation, I prayed that everybody would be safe.

I was amazed at how quickly the weather could change here. I hoped and prayed that David and the crew were safe and also the people on the ship too.

Just then the ’phone burbled at me.

‘Hi, Sam, It’s Jo, they’re safe and on the way back. Other lifeboats got there before them and the freighter had run aground on the sandbank further west. No lives were lost.

‘Thank God.’

‘Yes, I’m so relieved. Look, as the weather’s improved, I’m going down to the lifeboat station to meet the lifeboat when she comes in. The girls are coming too, do you want to come?’

‘Yes, I’ll meet you at the end of my lane; when?’

‘Give me ten minutes, ’bye.’

I dressed quickly in jeans and top, added a quick flick of makeup, brushed my hair and I was ready. As I opened the door, Tammy, shot out without a goodbye or a thank you, and scampered of down the lane to Abby’s place. I wondered what Abby would think when I told her my story.

_________________
* RNLI: The Royal national Lifeboat Institution–a charity that runs the Lifeboat Service in the UK.

---

To Be Continued...

Please leave comments...thanks! ~Sue

Edited by Gabi and posted by her at Sue’s request.

---

 
 

She
May be the reason I survive
The why and where for I'm alive
The one I'll care for through the rough and rainy years
Me I'll take her laughter and her tears
And make them all my souvenirs
For where she goes I got to be
The meaning of my life is
She...

Charles Aznnavour

Previously…

I was amazed at how quickly the weather could change here. I hoped and prayed that David and the crew were safe and also the people on the ship too.

Just then the ’phone burbled at me.

‘Hi, Sam, It’s Jo, they’re safe and on the way back. Other lifeboats got there before them and the freighter had run aground on the sandbank further west. No lives were lost.

‘Thank God.’

‘Yes, I’m so relieved. Look, as the weather’s improved, I’m going down to the lifeboat station to meet the lifeboat when she comes in. The girls are coming too, do you want to come?’

‘Yes, I’ll meet you at the end of my lane; when?’

‘Give me ten minutes, ’bye.’

I dressed quickly in jeans and top, added a quick flick of makeup, brushed my hair and I was ready. As I opened the door, Tammy, shot out without a goodbye or a thank you, and scampered of down the lane to Abby’s place. I wondered what Abby would think when I told her my story.

And now the story continues…

‘Hi, Jo,’

‘Hello, Samantha; weather’s a lot better.’

‘Yes, I can’t get used to these quick changes.’

We hugged and then walked down to the quay and along to the lifeboat station which was situated at the side of the harbour. As we arrived, there was quite a crowd waiting for the crew to return. We all nodded our welcomes and stared out to sea, waiting for the lifeboat to appear between the headlands of the cove.

The weather had improved so much that you would never have thought that there had been a storm such a short time ago. Apart from the pavements still being a bit wet in places and the sea being slightly choppy, it seemed like a normal summer’s day.

Kids and adults were on the beach, people were walking along the quay, the shops and cafés were busy, where a short while ago, the place had been deserted while out to sea a possible tragedy was being averted.

I held Jo’s hand, trying to comfort her while we waited. There was always a chance, even now, that something might go awry. The harbour looked deceptively calm but who knows how bad things were on the open sea outside. After about a quarter of an hour, the familiar orange superstructure of the lifeboat appeared around the headland and negotiated the narrow entrance into the harbour. The relief that I could feel around me was obvious.

Everybody waved and cheered as the boat approached and finally stopped at the bottom of the slipway.

Shortly afterwards the weary crew disembarked and trudged up the slip to where we were waiting. I must admit feeling a large lump in my throat as I watched loved ones hugging and kissing one another. The coxswain, a young woman about my age, was embraced by a man before she returned wearily to the lifeboat to help set her on her cradle before winching her up the slip into the boathouse.

I was somewhat surprised to see my car repairer, Mr Potts, among crew; he carried a tool box in his knarled hands and I guessed he was probably the boat's mechanic. I was tempted to ask him about my Beemer, but thought that it wasn’t really the appropriate time. As they winched her up the slipway I noticed that the lifeboat's name was RNLB Sir Tremaine Fairbairn and wondered if he might have been the formidable Lady Fairbairn's husband.

After saying ‘hi,’ to a decidedly tired-looking David, I slipped away and headed for home. This was no place for me at the moment–I was surplus to requirements now David was back with Jo and the two girls. I wondered how I would feel if a loved one of mine had to stop whatever they were doing and set off instantly, in reply to the maroon in all sorts of weather to rescue people from a raging sea. Although I knew I would go mad with worry, I would feel immensely proud of my beloved. It must be very similar for the families of fisherman who supplied the village and surrounding areas with a fresh catch. The hazards they often had to face to bring the catch ashore almost defy belief.

As I made my way up the lane, I wondered whether I should go and see Abby straight away.

Glancing down at myself–in jeans and a top–I realised that I didn’t look particularly alluring, so I decided to go home and change into something prettier.

Letting myself in, I went straight to the bedroom to decide what to wear. I wanted to look pretty for Abby or as pretty as possible, anyway. I still thought that I wasn’t that nice looking–a crisis of confidence maybe? Probably, anyway, it wouldn’t hurt to make the most of my limited assets, as it were. I searched in my wardrobe among the new clothes recently purchased and in seconds, I had most of the things out and on the bed.

After much soul searching and trying different things on, I decided to keep it simple; after all, I couldn’t really glam up at this time of day, so I ended up in a white cheesecloth peasant-style top and black knee length cotton skirt. Pretty, but not over the top, I thought.

I slapped on a bit of makeup, trying to use a bit of restraint to avoid the pancake look, I decided on a minimalist effect; just enough to cover the nooks and crannies and give my face a bit of colour. I just brushed my hair until it shone; it still had the shape that had been created in the salon and I felt it suited me.

After one final inspection of myself and, with not a little bit of dread, I smiled at my reflection, put on my black, low heeled shoes, picked up my bag and let myself out of the cottage.

As I walked up the lane leading to Abby’s cottage, I wondered how things would go. I still wasn’t one hundred percent sure how she felt about me and I didn’t want to make a fool of myself. Anyway, it was too late now as I had reached her garden gate. I pushed it open and strode up the path to her cottage.

As usual, there were several cats hanging about, either sleeping, licking themselves or hunting for things in the undergrowth. I swear I recognised Tammy’s rear end as she stalked some unseen pray in the tall grass.

As before, I was almost overpowered by the fragrance of the gloriously colourful flowers. It reminded me of Monet’s gardens at Giveny, the only thing missing were the Lily ponds.

The front door was open and I wondered if Abby ever closed it. With my knuckles, I knocked on the door and waited.

A few seconds later I heard a distant, ‘Come in,’ so I went in search of the voice.

Abby was out the back, sitting on a veranda. I hadn’t really seen much of her back garden and smiled when I saw that there was a Lily pond. But I was more attracted to Abby sitting on a garden chair with a kitten fast asleep on her lap. She smiled as she saw me and I realised that it was a smile of genuine pleasure. My heart flipped as I saw her pretty face looking up at me.

‘Hi.’ I said; my voice a bit hoarse for some reason.

‘Hello, Samantha, that’s a pretty top.’

‘Oh, just something I dragged on.’

‘I bet. Well it’s nice to see you. Come and sit down. I’ll throw this urchin off in a moment and then go and get us a drink.’

‘Can I do that? The kitten looks so comfortable there and so do you.’

She looked at the cat and stroked it gently.

‘Mmm, she is a sweetie, isn’t she? Okay, if you go into the kitchen and look in the fridge, there’s a jug of ginger beer in there, the glasses are on the shelf.’

I went into the kitchen and poured the drinks into some glasses and took them outside. The moment I returned, the kitten woke up, stretched and jumped off Abby’s lap.

Abby took the proffered drink and had a sip. She was looking very pretty in a light blue smock and leggings. Talking about leggings, her legs were lovely…

‘So, how are you?’ she asked as I felt myself go red. Had I been starring at her?

‘Oh, f—f—fine thanks. I went down to the quay with Jocasta to wait for the lifeboat to come back.’

‘All safe?’

‘Yes.’

‘Thank God. I wish I was brave enough to do what they do.’

‘Amen to that.’ I said.

I took a sip of the sweet peppery drink and winced slightly as it went down my throat. I had forgotten how potent it was!

‘Well, Samantha, it’s lovely to see you again.’

‘Yes.’

I was not very conversational as I was feeling very nervous. Abby must have noticed.

‘What's wrong, Sam?’

I looked at her and wondered if I had the strength to say what needed to be said. I looked at her and swallowed.

‘Abby?’

‘Yes.’

I took a deep breath.

‘I—I may be barking up the wrong tree, and getting the wrong signals but…but–look we’ve only met once, well twice if you include now, but I—I.’

‘Yes?’

‘You’re not helping here are you? I—I have…’

‘Feelings for me?’

I looked up from staring at my glass and into her wonderful liquid eyes.

I nodded.

She smiled and then reaching over put her hand on top of mine.

‘Same here. It’s daft really, two grown women with a love at first sight moment. It is love isn’t it?’

I nodded, not really believing what I was hearing.

‘As soon as I saw you, Sam, I thought that you were special. Before you said a word, I could feel this sort of attraction. Did you feel the same?’

‘Y—yes I did. I saw you and then I—I was smitten.’

It was nice having her warm hand over mine. The connection we had made felt strong and vibrant. I considered not telling her about me. I didn’t want to spoil the moment but I couldn’t live a lie the way Olivia obviously had with me. I had to tell her everything, even though it might mean the finish of something that hadn’t even started.

I withdrew my hand and she looked at me. She could see that I was upset.

‘What’s wrong, have I done something?’

‘N—no, it’s not you, it’s me. Before we get in too deep, I need to tell you about me. The last thing I want to do is hurt you.’

‘I don’t understand–’

‘Let me say this, while I feel brave enough. I will understand if you want nothing to do with me afterwards but please hear me out first.’

‘Okay, but it can’t be that terrible.’

She sat back, a frown on her pretty face, no doubt wondering what terrible things I might reveal.

I nursed my glass as I spoke, neither wanting nor daring to look at her.

‘There isn’t any easy way to say this, Abby. I may look like a girl, b—but, I—I was born a boy.’

‘So was I, sort of…’

‘Please let me finish. I was born a boy and grew up as one. I never felt happy with myself and have believed as long as I remember that something was not quite right with me. I began wearing girls’ clothes almost before I stopped crawling, it was a sort of compulsion, I suppose. My parents tried hard to make me happy as a boy, but I think they realised that I was not going end up as a man even though I was in denial myself, thinking that I was a just a crossdresser.’

I stopped for a moment and swallowed; this was so much harder than I thought. I daren’t look at her. She wasn’t saying anything. Was that good or bad? I took a deep breath and continued.

‘When I married Olivia, I was so happy, as she seemed to accept me as such. As I just said, I thought I was a crossdresser too, as I wanted to have successful marriage and have babies and lead a normal life. The sex was good, great really, but deep inside, I suppose I realised that what I had wasn’t what I wanted. Olivia at this time had grown cool toward me and I now know that she had a succession of lovers. Also, she’d had a couple of abortions before I knew her, so you can see that my marriage was near enough dead. Then I caught her in bed in my house having sex with another man. I walked out and came here. I have since found that she is pregnant again and that makes me feel so sad.’

My mouth had gone dry so I took a sip of my drink, still not daring to look at her. She was very quiet so I had no idea how she was taking it.

‘Since I’ve been here, I’ve met some wonderful people and made some important decisions too. I realise that I am a girl and always have been. I intend having SRS and become as much of a woman as possible. I no longer want to be Tom in any way shape or form and I want to live here permanently, do some painting, and open a gallery. Most importantly of all, I am divorcing Olivia and want to draw a line under my old life. Now I know that I haven’t expressed myself very well, but I really needed to tell you about me before things went too far and–and––’

I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I dropped my glass, put my head in my hands and broke down.

I heard her move, was she leaving me, not able to face someone like me. Had I failed…?

Then, I drew my breath in as I felt her arms around me and through my tears, I looked up into her face. She was crying too. She didn’t have to say anything because I knew instantly that she accepted me for who, and what, I was–a woman. Our lips met and I could taste the saltiness of our combined tears as we cemented our love, a love that I dearly hoped would last the test of time.

---

To Be Continued...

Please leave comments...thanks! ~Sue

My thanks go to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing and pulling the story into shape.

---

 
 

And when I touch you I feel happy inside.
It’s such a feeling that my love
I can’t hide, I can’t hide, I can’t hide.

Yeah, you’ve got that something,
I think you’ll understand.
When I’ll say that something
I want to hold your hand,
I want to hold your hand,
I want to hold your hand.
The Beatles: I want to hold your hand.

Previously…

I heard her move, was she leaving me, not able to face someone like me. Had I failed…?

Then, I drew my breath in as I felt her arms around me and through my tears, I looked up into her face. She was crying too. She didn’t have to say anything because I knew instantly that she accepted me for who, and what, I was–a woman. Our lips met and I could taste the saltiness of our combined tears as we cemented our love, a love that I dearly hoped would last the test of time.

And now the story continues…

Our lips parted. Her sweet, pretty face was flushed. Her lipstick had smudged and I wondered if mine had too. She grabbed a couple of tissues from a box on the small table and gently wiped away my tears. I did the same for her; it was such a tender moment.

‘So, you don’t think I’m a freak?’

‘Don’t you dare say that again, Sam. You’re no more a freak than I am. I love you for what’s in your heart and soul and when I look at you, all I see is an attractive woman, trying her hardest to blossom despite all the bad things that have happened to her.’

I touched her smooth face with my hand; I thought that it was so wonderful that she felt like that about me. All my worries seemed to fly away as I gazed at her sweet face.

‘It must’ve been hard for you also,’ I suggested.

‘When?’

‘When you discovered that you was a girl and not a boy?’

‘It was in a way, but, you see, I wasn’t really like other boys. I was always smaller, gentler and not into the rough and tumble which is normally part of being a boy.’

I speculated on just how tough it must have been–finding out that he was, in fact, a she.

‘Then,’ she continued, ‘I began getting a few aches and pains down below–nothing specific but just a general feeling of being unwell.’

We stood up and, holding hands, strolled down the steps into the garden. The borders were vibrant with colour and the Lily pond was still and tranquil. I could see fish swimming around in the crystal-clear water, the light reflecting on their golden and silver bodies. It was so peaceful here; there were several cats around, but mostly they were asleep in the warm sun and weren’t disturbed by our leisurely saunter through Abby’s enchanting garden.

‘So, what happened next?’ I asked.

‘You know how, at school, boys tend to compare each other’s manly attributes?’

‘Yes, I know exactly what you mean.’

‘Like in the showers where boys sort of compare each other–big being beautiful, I suppose even at that ridiculously young age. Well you must have gone through all that. Anyway, my manhood wasn’t much to write home about compared to even the smallest boy. Then there was my chest–when I was about eleven, I became aware of it getting itchy and sore.’

‘It must have been awkward hiding everything.’

‘It certainly was, and you must remember, I still thought that I was a hundred percent male. Imagine how I felt when on top of everything, my breasts started budding. I hid them at first–even from my parents–by wearing loose tee-shirts and sweaters. Then, one day I was playing football–I was useless, but it was part of the games lesson so I had no choice but to play–anyway, someone kicked the ball at me and it hit me in the chest. The pain was so bad that I blacked out. I woke up in hospital and discovered what was really happening with my body. As soon as the doctors saw my chest and how pathetic I was down below, they did some tests. They x-rayed me and then did an ultrasound scan which showed that I was intersexed. I couldn’t believe it and neither could my parents. We didn’t know what to do but the doctors explained that I had all the female bits except my vagina’s opening was closed by a layer of skin; my male organs were non-functioning except as somewhere to wee through. After some soul searching by my parents and long talks with me, it was decided that the best thing for me was to have corrective surgery so I could be a fully-functioning girl.’

‘Was it a hard decision to make?’

‘Not really. All my life I’d felt like a square peg in a round hole, so I suppose the decision was inevitable. I couldn’t be a proper boy, but I could be a proper girl. Anyway, here I am, a women and happy to be one.’

We settled on a bench overlooking a small lawn and flower beds.

‘So,’ I asked, ‘where do we go from here?’

She gazed at me and kissed me gently on the lips, sending more tingles down my spine, which was something that Olivia had not succeded in doing for years. ‘Where would you like to go from here?’ she asked.

‘I don’t want to let you out of my sight, now I’ve found you, but I suppose we should be sensible and grown up about it.’ A wisp of hair had flopped over her eyes so I brushed it aside with my hand.

‘I suppose,’ she sighed.

We looked at each other being all serious and glum and then began to giggle.

‘This is no good.’ I sighed. ‘I want to be near you always and joined at the hip at least, but we must to be sensible. Let’s take it slowly; I might have habits you don’t like and you might pick your nose or something–’

That set us off giggling like schoolgirls once more and only stopped when we embraced warmly and explored each other’s soft, willing mouths again.

We spent a long time discussing our hopes and fears. It turned out that we had so much in common–our love of the arts, the countryside and Penmarris in particular and many other things.

I stayed with her for the rest of the day deriving pleasure from her company and looking after the cats and kittens. It was one of the happiest days of my life and I sincerely hoped it would be the first of many. We realised, however, that we needed to be careful. We had both been hurt in our lives, Abby in a failed relationship a few years ago and me by Olivia. We had to try to hold back for a while so we could make sure that we were not making a dreadful mistake.

We agreed to see each other every day and, work permitting, spend as much time as possible together. That way, we would learn and grow closer and then, who knows what might happen.

We kissed and embraced each other passionately as we bade our farewells, whispering soft endearments and our love for each other. Finally, wrenching myself away, I returned home to my cottage and my thoughts.

I was so pleased I had taken my courage in both hands and opened up my heart to her. I unlocked my front door and made for the kitchen. Making myself a cup of tea, I seemed to be on autopilot as my thoughts kept returning to Abby.

I went upstairs and sat on the balcony overlooking the harbour to drink my tea. It was getting later now and the sun was dipping towards the horizon of the now calm sea. Holidaymakers were packing up their paraphernalia before going back to their hotels and B&Bs, and locals were wending their way home after a busy day in the shops, tea rooms and souvenir kiosks. Penmarris tended to slow down after about five o’clock and that seemed appropriate. Who wanted discos and rowdy beach parties stretching into the wee small hours? This just wasn’t that sort of place. I was getting hungry but, once again, didn’t fancy cooking. I could have cod and chips, but I’d had that last night. I smiled to myself as I realised that I hadn’t had the other delicacy I loved so much.

I picked up my bag, put on a cardie as there was a slight chill in air now and set off down to the harbour. The smell emanating from the fish and chip shop made my mouth water, as usual, and I wondered how much money I would make if I bottled it and sold it an eBay?

I entered the brightly-lit shop and there was the girl I had seen this morning on the lifeboat–the coxswain–serving behind the counter.

‘Hello.’ I greeted her.

She looked up from turning over the chips in the fryer and smiled.

‘Hello. Samantha, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, that’s me, my friends call me Sam. Hey, didn’t I see you on the lifeboat this morning?’

‘Yeah, ’Twere a bugger of a weather wern it? I’m Grace, by the way.

‘Hi, Grace, nice to know you,’ I replied.

‘Just make sure you don’t make any quips about Grace Darling;¹ I’ve got right pee’d off with them over the years; it’s been goin’ on ever since I was a schoolgirl.’ She grinned.

‘I don’t know how you dare to do it.’

‘Do what?’

‘Go out in mountainous seas to rescue people in distress.’

‘’T’s in me blood I s’pose. Both me Dad and me Granddad before ’im were cox’ns so I’m the third cox’n in the fam’ly. Y’see, when I was a littl’un I was a tomboy and Dad used to take me out in our boat and taught me all the sandbanks and hazards round about here. Most times when I wasn’t in school I hung out around the lifeboat house, so I got to learn all about the boat, and help out, like, by cleanin’ and helpin’ the mechanic, and yearning to be old enough so I could join the crew and serve under me Dad.’

‘Well I think it’s such a marvellous thing you do–you all do, and sooo brave.’

‘Gaarn, don’t be daft. So, what’ll ya have, Sam?’

‘Erm, haddock and chips?’

‘Haddock’s off, m’dyearr; do y’a nice bit o’ cod, though?’

‘Can I have a saveloy² and chips?’

‘Coming up, Sam.’

Grace did her stuff and handed me a parcel containing my supper. I paid her saying, ‘Thanks, Grace,’ and left the shop.

I found an empty bench overlooking the harbour to eat my saveloy–which for the uninitiated is a large sort of sausage–and chips. My thoughts, as usual were about Abby and I was looking forward to seeing her again tomorrow…

‘Hello, Sam.’

Startled, I looked up and there was Katie. ‘Hi, Katie, fancy a chip?’

‘Trying to give them up–oh, go on then, one or two won’t make that much difference to my hips.’

She sat beside me and started making inroads into my meal.

‘Hey, leave some for me.’ I chided her.

‘You’ll thank me tomorrow.’

‘I doubt it and leave my saveloy alone–’

‘Spoil sport.’

‘If you’re that hungry; go buy some of your own.’

‘That’s okay, I’ll make do with yours.’

‘I had an interesting chat with our cox’n girl in the chippy,’ I told Katie.

‘Grace?’

‘Yeah, she’s the bravest girl I’ve ever met; amazing, isn’t she?’

Katie started giggling; ‘I hope you didn’t tell her that,’ she said, and I had to think back for a moment before I realised what I had said and began giggling too.

With Katie’s unwelcome help, I finished my meal and, after throwing the remains in the waste bin I sat down next to her again.

‘Is your phone working?’ She asked.

I took it from my bag and found it was dead as a dodo. What with everything going on, I had forgotten to charge it.

‘No, why?’

‘I’ve been trying to get you today. I’ve had a phone call from your father-in-law.’

My stomach dropped through the floor making my choice of meal somewhat iffy.

‘Nigel? What did he want?’

‘To meet with you?’

‘Me? Why?’

‘I don’t know. He tried to get me to give him your address; naturally, I declined to give him such personal information.’

‘Good; how did he take it?’

‘Well he was a bit abusive, but after I mentioned the fact that all calls were recorded, he seemed to quieten down slightly.’

‘I wonder why he wants to see me?’

‘Probably to try pressuring you into not divorcing Olivia, or something. I don’t know.’

‘Well at least you’ve put him off. The last thing I want is to see him now.’

‘Oh.’

‘What do you mean, “Oh”?’ I countered.

She appeared rather embarrassed. ‘I said that I’d have a word with you and, subject to your approval, he could meet you in my office tomorrow at eleven.’

‘Why did you say that?’ I asked.

She looked at me and smiled. ‘It’s always useful to know how the enemy’s thinking. If you see him tomorrow, I suggest that it will only happen if I’m present. He might behave rather better with me there and we’ll also get some idea of his plans. What do you think?’

I didn’t really want to see him, but I could see the sense in it. How would he react when he sees that Tom is no longer a man but a woman, I had no idea, but I wasn’t going to roll over for him or his precious daughter any more. So I made the decision.

‘I’ll be there at eleven.’

_________________________

1 Grace Darling: Grace Darling was 22 years old when she risked her life in an open boat to help the survivors of the wrecked SS Forfarshire on 7 September 1838. With her father, she rowed for over a mile through raging seas to reach them. The courage that Grace and her family showed on that day is now legendary. see: Grace Darling Story. 2 Saveloy: A large pork sausage, often battered then deep-fried and served with chips (French fries in US). see: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saveloy

---

To Be Continued...

Please leave comments...thanks! ~Sue

Edited by Gabi and posted by her at Sue’s request.

---

 
 

Well it really doesn't matter to me,
I guess your leaving was meant to be,
It's down to you now you wanna be free,
Well i hope you know which way to go you're on your own again,
And don't come crying to me when you're the lonely one,
Remember what you've done.

We Don't Talk Anymore / Cliff Richard

Previously…

I’ve been trying to get you today. I’ve had a phone call from your father-in-law.’

My stomach dropped through the floor making my choice of meal somewhat iffy.

‘Nigel? What did he want?’

‘To meet with you?’

‘Me? Why?’

‘I don’t know. He tried to get me to give him your address; naturally, I declined to give him such personal information.’

‘Good; how did he take it?’

‘Well he was a bit abusive, but after I mentioned the fact that all calls were recorded, he seemed to quieten down slightly.’

‘I wonder why he wants to see me?’

‘Probably to try pressuring you into not divorcing Olivia, or something. I don’t know.’

‘Well at least you’ve put him off. The last thing I want is to see him now.’

‘Oh.’

‘What do you mean, “Oh”?’ I countered.

She appeared rather embarrassed. ‘I said that I’d have a word with you and, subject to your approval, he could meet you in my office tomorrow at eleven.’

‘Why did you say that?’ I asked.

She looked at me and smiled. ‘It’s always useful to know how the enemy’s thinking. If you see him tomorrow, I suggest that it will only happen if I’m present. He might behave rather better with me there and we’ll also get some idea of his plans. What do you think?’

I didn’t really want to see him, but I could see the sense in it. How would he react when he sees that Tom is no longer a man but a woman, I had no idea, but I wasn’t going to roll over for him or his precious daughter any more. So I made the decision.

‘I’ll be there at eleven.’

And now the story continues…

After finishing my meal–or what was left of it after that human Gannet, Katie, had pinched a more than her fair share; I let myself into the cottage and made my way up to my studio where I plugged the charger lead into my mobile.

Opening the sliding doors, I went out on the balcony and sat on the rickety chair.

‘Note to self, get a new chair that doesn’t ricket, if that’s that right word!’

It was dark now and the twinkling lights around the cove were–erm, twinkling. I shook my head; I was getting decidedly silly in my old age. I reflected on all that had happened today; it had been rather fraught and frantic. Just then my mobile chirped. Returning to the studio and picking it up “Caller Display” told me that it was Abby. Smiling I pressed the little green button–noting that I had chipped a nail, but only fleetingly–I was more interested in my caller–naturally.

‘Hi, Abby.’

‘Hello, honey, I’m missing you already–cats are nice, but you can’t kiss a cat the way we kiss.’

‘Oh gross!’ I replied, thinking the unthinkable.

‘Sorry, I’m feeling a bit silly tonight.’

‘Not as silly as me. I have news,’

‘Oh, do tell, has the vicar been unfrocked?’

‘Not with Jocasta around, she’d skin him alive. No, it’s my soon-to-be-ex-Daddy-in-Law.’

‘That creep, what does he want?’

‘I met Katie down at the quay. I was eating my saveloy and chips…’

‘I thought you liked haddock?’

‘Grace told me it was off… now may I finish before I burst?’

‘Sorry, hon, I won’t interrupt again, promise, honest injun; cross my heart and–’

‘–Abby, please let me finish.’

‘Sorry, not a word will pass–’

‘–ABBY; right as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, my Father-in-Law spoke to Katie and wants to see me. Katie thought that it was a good idea and the result is that I am seeing him at her office tomorrow morning at eleven o’clock.’

‘Oh.’

Then there was silence.

‘Why oh?’

‘Well I don’t know what to say, here’s me being all flippant and silly and you have serious things to think about. Do you want me to come and hold your hand or something a bit more erm–involved?’

The thought of what she meant by something a bit more involved made me go a bit limp, but I had to focus. I may be in love but I had to be stong–ish.’

‘Thanks, love, but if we did much more tonight, I wouldn’t be in a fit state to face him tomorrow.’

‘Would you like me to be with you when you see the scum bag?’

‘I would love you to be there, but the sight of you and me hand in hand might send him over the edge.’

I t felt wonderful that she was willing to get involved with all my problems and it made me feel even more in love with her, if that was possible.

‘Well, Sam, if you change your mind, give me a call.’

‘Thanks–oh bum!’

‘What.’

‘I just remembered I have to see Lady Fairbairn’s flaming dog tomorrow.’

‘Oh yes, the portrait.’

‘I hope that I’m in a fit state to do Fifi justice.’

‘You had better, or Lady F will ban you from her circle.’

‘I didn’t know she had a circle, the way she is I thought it would be more like a square.’

‘True, but she’s not as bad as she seems. Don’t tell her I told you, but she actually gives me money to help feed the cats and pay the vet bills. All these strays I take in costs a lot in pet food and some of them are rather poorly when they come to me.’

‘She sounds as if her bark, or perhaps meow, is worse than her bite.’

We both giggled.

‘Why don’t you become a registered cat charity or something?’

‘I might if I get many more in. We don’t see many strays around here. Most of the owners in the cove are responsible, but I am sometimes called by the RSPCA and Cat Protection people to help them with their overflow.’

I looked at my watch, it was getting late.

‘Look, I have to go. I need to have an early night so I’m nice and fresh tomorrow.’

‘Yes, the cats get me up early, so I’ll say night-night.’

‘Night, honey, love you.’

‘Love you too.’

‘Miss you already.’

‘Not as much as I miss you.’

‘I’m putting the phone down now.’

‘Same here, bye.’

‘Bye.’

‘You still there?’

‘Yes.’

‘Call me tomorrow after you go to Katie’s office.’

‘Will do; night.’

‘Night.’

I put the phone down smiling. It was lovely talking to Abbey but not as nice as actually being with her.

I didn’t return to the balcony as the air was a bit chilly off the sea.

It didn’t take long to get ready for bed; I made sure all the doors and windows were shut. I had this tiny bit of insecurity and didn’t want Nigel–or one of his henchmen–to come and get me in the middle of the night.

Not that I really expected that to happen, not with his knighthood in the balance. I couldn’t see the Queen, touching his shoulders with a sword if he was responsible for doing me physical harm. Mind you, if you think of it, royalty in the past have had a lot of blood on their collective hands, not our lovely queen though.

I had this fanciful thought, imagining Nigel kneeling before Her Majesty with her sword in her hand. She had hay fever with all the flowers present and sneezed, the sword sort of whooshed in her hand and neatly chopped his head off!

I shuddered at that rather macabre thought and then yawned. Realising that I was rambling a bit, I went to bed and almost immediately fell sleep, fortunately without any nightmares involving a headless Nigel.

Thursday morning dawned bright and warm. I woke up with a smile but that soon disappeared as I remembered what was going to happen today. Lady F’s Fifi was on the menu this afternoon and this morning, I was to see Nigel.

Nigel had never seen me dressed en femme and for some reason I smiled and wondered if his ticker was okay.

At one time I went in dread of him. He was my father in law and also my boss. At work his word was law and he had been known to sack people just because they looked at him funnily or worse, contradicted him. At home he was just the same overbearing sod. Where Olivia was concerned it was different. She was his only child and normally got everything she asked for. How he had reacted to her two abortions and the fact that she was preggers again, I didn’t know, but I might find out today.

I had a shower and washed my hair. It took ages to dry as it was now getting rather long.

The weather being warm, I put on a white peasant style dress that was cool and very feminine. I wanted to show Nigel that Tom was gone now and this fitted the purpose rather well. I had some cornflakes and a cup of Rosie Lee and then went back upstairs and put my face on. I decided that I would make a big effort with my makeup and carefully applied it to my satisfaction.

Staring at my reflected face, there was little of Tom to be seen. My eyes, with blue shadow and mascara looked large and rather nice. The foundation and blusher gave my face some colour but didn’t look over the top.

My lips looked a full and luscious glossy pink, the lipstick being my favourite colour and matching my newly-painted nails perfectly.

I put on my sandals and was about to leave when my phone chirped.

It was a message from Abby.

‘Good luck honey, love you lots! XXXX’

I replied straight away.

‘Thanks sweetheart. I’ll ring you when I can. XXXX’

Walking down to the High Street, I breathed in the fresh sea air. The seagulls were making their usual cacophony and I kept a watchful eye open for possible bombings. The last thing I wanted was for Nigel to see me covered in guano!

I passed Postman Pat and we said hello and several other people I was on nodding acquaintance with greeted me. Entering the High Street, I noticed a lady take one look at me and then shoot across the road. I smiled as I recognised her, it was the friendly–not–doctors’ receptionist. Surely she wasn’t avoiding little me?

Going up the steps to the solicitors’ office, my bravery, such as it was, started to desert me. Nigel would be there by now, or maybe not; he might be unavoidably detained or cancelled or something…

Hesitantly, I pushed the door open and walked in.

The girl behind the receptionist’s desk looked up and smiled.

‘Good morning, Samantha, Katie’s expecting you. I’ll just ring for her.

‘Hi, Katie, Samantha’s here…okay.’ She put the phone down. ‘She won’t be a minute. Please take a seat.’

I sat down and once again was aware of all the crusty old people staring down at me from the portraits that lined the walls. Was it my imagination, or did they all look rather disapproving? A few moments later, Katie’s door opened and she came out. We hugged and then she led me over to the corner.

‘He’s here; not a very nice man is he? Look, I’ve put him in the interview room and we’ll go in shortly. Just a few ground rules. No kicking, punching, eye gouging, other than that, you are free to say what you like. I have told him to behave himself and that the meeting is being video-taped. He didn’t want that, but I said it was that or nothing. Anyway, let’s go. I’ll terminate the meeting at any time you want. Ready?’

I gulped. ‘As I’ll ever be,’ I replied and followed her into a room over to the side; my heart was racing and I wondered whether this was a good idea.

He was sitting behind a desk. He hadn’t changed much. Perhaps a few more grey hairs and his mouth looked like it hadn’t smiled for years, other than that, just the same old Nigel. He looked up as we went in. A puzzled look crossed his face as he looked, first at me and then at the door behind me.

‘Hello, Nigel.’ I said pleasantly. His eyes snapped to me and then he seemed to look closer.

‘Tom?’

‘’It used to be Tom, but it’s Samantha now, and if you don’t call me by that name, I’m walking out the door right now.’

I sat down opposite him, smoothing my skirt under me and flicking away some hair from my eyes, while Katie sat at the head of the table.

He looked at me incredulously. ‘Fuck me.’ he said.

‘I’d rather not,’

‘What, oh, right, very funny. I knew that you were dressed up like a tart but bugger me you look so fucking different I wouldn’t know you if I passed you in the street–’

Katie coughed and then looked at Nigel.

‘I think I mentioned before that this interview is being videotaped and I will not accept any swearing or abuse.’

‘I know, but look at him. What's it all about. Why are you dressed like that; frightened of being a man? Not much of a man anyway. You couldn’t get Olivia pregnant so she had to go somewhere else to do the necessary–’

‘Mr Manning, you have been warned if you persist–’

‘It’s okay, Katie, let him rant on: so what’s this about not getting Olivia pregnant? I wanted a baby. She was the one that didn’t.’ I was getting upset now, but I was determined not to let it show. I wanted to get as much information as I could from this odious creature and then I would, I hope, never set eyes upon him again.

‘Olivia does not lie to me; after all I’m her father.’

‘So, you didn’t know about the two abortions then?’

‘Well yes, of course, she was young and made a few mistakes. When she married you, I thought that you and she could have a family, but you weren’t up to it. I can see by the way you look now that she was right.’

‘Early in our marriage I wondered whether I had–had the necessary to help Olivia to have a baby. I went to a clinic and had sperm count. I was slightly low, but I was told that it was within the normal tolerances. I told Olivia that and she once again told me that the time wasn’t right for a baby. I suppose that she told you that?’

‘That’s your story–’

‘I can let you have full details of the clinic and a letter permitting them to give you the information.’

‘Never mind that now. It’s water under the bridge. I am here because of Olivia.’ I looked at him waiting for him to continue. ‘For some reason I can’t fathom, she wants to stay married to you.’

‘I’m afraid it’s too late for that. You might be able to stomach her lies, but I can’t. Anyway, doesn’t the father of her latest child not want to take her on?’ I looked at him. Was he looking embarrassed? No not Nigel, surely.

‘Well, the erm, fact of the matter is, she’s not sure who the father is.’

Why didn’t this shock me?

‘Is she going to have an abortion?’

‘No; she is going to have the baby; I did try to persuade her to get rid of the little bastard, but–’

‘Mr Manning, I won’t warn you again,’ Katie chipped in.

‘Sorry, heat of the moment. Anyway, she wants you and then she can have the baby and everything would be okay again. I can even get you a job…somewhere.’

I began to see the light.

‘So, let me get this straight,’ I said. ‘You want me to come home, be a good little boy and do as I’m told; be the father of her child and then you can get your knighthood without a stain on your character or those around you?’

‘Well I wouldn’t say that, but I’m sure that it would be for the best. You can forget your dressing up games though, I won’t tolerate that and nor will Olivia, she gone past the sick phase of getting her jollies humping men in drag.’

I stood up–on the verge of tears. Looking down at his increasingly balding head, I kept it short. I did not want to break down in front of him. ‘Nigel, I am divorcing Olivia and that’s final. I never want to see you again. I feel sorry for the poor child in her belly, but she’s made her bed and now she can lie on it. Goodbye!’

With a nod to Katie, I walked out, almost blinded by tears; I stumbled down the steps of the office and there, waiting for me outside, was Abby. She opened her arms and I fell into them.

---

To Be Continued...

The Cove By Liz Wright

Please leave comments...thanks! ~Sue

My thanks go to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing and pulling the story into shape.

---

 

Previously…

I began to see the light.

‘So, let me get this straight,’ I said. ‘You want me to come home, be a good little boy and do as I’m told; be the father of her child and then you can get your knighthood without a stain on your character or those around you?’

‘Well I wouldn’t say that, but I’m sure that it would be for the best. You can forget your dressing up games though, I won’t tolerate that and nor will Olivia, she gone past the sick phase of getting her jollies humping men in drag.’

I stood up–on the verge of tears. Looking down at his increasingly balding head, I kept it short. I did not want to break down in front of him. ‘Nigel, I am divorcing Olivia and that’s final. I never want to see you again. I feel sorry for the poor child in her belly, but she’s made her bed and now she can lie on it. Goodbye!’

With a nod to Katie, I walked out, almost blinded by tears; I stumbled down the steps of the office and there, waiting for me outside, was Abby. She opened her arms and I fell into them.

And now the story continues…

I didn’t know quite how, but I found myself back home just a few minutes later. I recall being bundled into a car–Abby’s old thing I think–and then being driven away from the High Street. That was about the limit of my awareness.

I had really lost it after that hateful meeting with Nigel and only some loving cuddles and a strong cup of tea, made me pull myself together again.

We were sitting on the couch in the studio, my head resting on Abby’s lovely soft chest. She said nothing, instinctively realising that I needed time to gather my thoughts together. Her calm reassuring presence helped tremendously and I felt better quite quickly. Sitting up and staring at the tissue I had clutched in my hand, it was stained with mascara and traces of other makeup. After another sip of the strong, sweet tea, I sighed and then gazed at Abby again and noticed that her once-white blouse, was now streaked with my makeup.

‘Oh, Abby!’ I sniffed, ‘your lovely blouse–I’ve ruined it.’

‘Nah! It’ll wash out. How are you feeling, love?’

‘A lot better, thanks; I bet my face looks a picture?’

‘I must admit I’ve seen you looking better, but it’s not surprising after what you’ve been through–talking of which, what happened?’

After another slurp of tea, I put my cup down with a slightly shaky hand, and turned back to face her. She opened her arms and she gave me another welcoming cuddle while I related everything that had occurred in Katie’s office.

When I had finished and after another bout of tears, she gazed at me. ‘What a—a class one, sick little man,’ she said, her eyes almost as damp as mine. ‘I’d like to do something painful and definitely illegal to him, but that sort of person probably enjoys BDSM so I just hope that you screw every single penny you can get out of his daughter. The only way these people are hurt is through their pockets.’

‘How could I have been so blind, Abby?’

‘They say love is blind.’

‘Not where you are concerned. Ever since I first clapped eyes on you I knew that you were the only one for me.’

‘You probably felt that way about Olivia. But, don’t worry, love, I’ll stick to you like a well-trained limpet, and I would never, ever take advantage of you.’

I glanced at her and smiled.

‘I wouldn’t mind you taking advantage of me, it could be fun!’

‘That’s my girl. Now, pop upstairs, have a shower, put on something pretty and we’ll go and have lunch in the pub. You need a stiff drink and it might help get you through the coming ordeal with Fifi.’

‘I’m not very good with alcohol. It doesn’t agree with me, you know.’

‘How about a shandy?’

‘I reckon I could just about manage that.’

‘Right, off you go, girl, and don’t forget to wash behind your ears.’

‘Yes, Mummy.’

‘Bloody cheek,’ she said as we both stood up and she chased me out of the room.

We sat outside on the terrace at the Toad and Tart. The weather was hot, but not too hot as the breeze from the sea cooled things down a fair amount. The beaches were well populated and some hardy souls were having a dip in the sea. Off the coast, beyond some red marker buoys, a couple of speed boats with water skiers in tow were going back and forth, parallel to the beach, occasionally losing their balance and falling in.

It all looked a bit dangerous to me, but then I wasn’t very good in the water so I was unsure if I was right or not.

I had a Cornish pasty–or Tiddy Oggie as, I’m told, they call it on the other side of the Tamar. I reckoned it must have been smuggled across the border in an unmarked lorry, and was enjoying it immensely. I had just about recovered from Nasty Nigel Syndrome and realised that the way he talked to me and the things he said were designed to unsettle me and make me agree to his preposterous demands. I recalled the look on his face when I stormed out of the meeting–as if his pet poodle had turned round and bitten him on the bum.

Yes, he had upset me, but I had to move on. As far as I was concerned, he, together with his precious daughter, were now part of history. On the other hand, Abby–sitting in front of me tucking into a tuna salad and a G and T–was my future. She had already stood by me and supported me when I needed it. My other friends, like Jocasta, Katie and Millie would be there for me too. It gave me a pleasant, warm feeling in my tummy to know that I had friends such as these.

I managed to finish my pasty–just, and felt well and truly full up. Those things are a meal in themselves. Abby, being a bit of a piggy, decided to have a Devon cream tea, complete with scones, jam and clotted cream for afters. I had no idea where she put it. ‘She must have hollow legs!’ I thought.

I kept an eye on my watch; it was drawing close to the time that I had to go up to the manor house, curtsy, show how ’umble I was and then make an initial sketch of Fifi the wonder dog. They say never work with children and animals. Well children aren’t too bad if you bribe them with sufficient sweets or presents, they might sit still long enough for one to do what one has to. But animals, that’s a whole new ball game. They don’t sit still for two seconds flat and are distracted very easily.

Glancing at my watch for the umpteenth time I came to the conclusion that it was time to go.

‘Abby, I have to shoot off. How do I get to Lady F’s?’

‘She lives in the Manor House off the Thameworth Road.’

‘Is that her pile? I bet she has extensive views of the whole of the Cove from up there.’

‘Yes and the house sits on 500 acres of land.’

‘Blimey, I’ve left it a bit late.’ I exclaimed in a voice that wasn’t in any way panicky.

‘Sam, sweetie, don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’m going to give you a lift up there. Do you need to stop off at yours for anything?’

‘You are a star! I need to get a few bits and pieces. Do I look okay in this?’ I waved my hands up and down.

‘Mmm, you should, of course, go formal. Ball gown, tiara, pearls, naturellement; long satin gloves sont absolument de rigeur…’

‘Blimey, have you swallowed a French dicker? I thought that this sensible top and skirt would do?’

‘Well you are of the working class, child, so one cannot expect, shall we say any breeding or fashion sense. I suppose it will have to do.’

It was as if Lady Fairbairn was in front of me, Abby had her to a tee. We giggled and I checked my watch again.

‘We have to go now!’

We left the pub, waving goodbye to the barman and the two seemingly permanent patrons who appeared to be everlastingly super-glued to their bar stools.

Making our way downstairs, we went over to where Abby’s car was parked.

Dolly, was an ancient 2CV that had seen better days, twenty years ago. Now she was a bit long in the tooth but amazingly always started first time and rarely let her owner down. So she was uncomfortable to sit in and the noise from the engine was a bit like a cross between a lawnmower and the braying of a neurotic donkey, but her heart was in the right place and that was all that mattered.

We chugged and crawled up a few hills and down a couple of winding bumpy lanes. Well the lanes weren’t that bumpy but Dolly’s suspension was soft and bouncy and she rocked and rolled so alarmingly as Abby negotiated the corners that I began to feel a bit seasick! It could have been no worse battling out of Penmarris Cove aboard the lifeboat in a Force 9 gale.

We turned left through some impressive ornamental gates into a wide gravel drive and then, after what seemed like fifteen minutes, the house burst into view. It was huge and decidedly imposing. It appeared to be Georgian and would not have looked out of place in Bath. There were many rooms and the window cleaner’s bill would have been sufficient to finance a second home on the Costa Brava. Mind you, Lady F probably had servants who did that sort of thing for peanuts.

We stopped outside the ornate front doors. I picked up my bits and pieces and then turned and gave Abby a kiss on the lips.

‘Right, give me a tinkle on the dog and bone when yer done, luv, and don’t forget ter grovel–’tis expected.’

I giggled.

‘Abby, Elisa Doolittle you most definitely are not, now please go before I wet myself!’

We both laughed and, giving me a wave, she drove off.

I turned round and wondered if I ought to ring the bell or find the tradesman’s entrance. The choice was taken away from me when the doors swung open and a young man came out. Now I love PG Wodehouse and I recognised a butlering Jeeves-type when I see one.

‘Good afternoon. Miss Smart, is it?’

‘Yes, that’s me–I.’

‘Please come in, Miss; Lady Fairbairn will see you in the drawing room. Would you step this way, please?’

As I followed the butler I was slightly disappointed: he didn’t sound like Jeeves at all: neither plummy nor stuck up–almost normal really.

When I was quite small, my sister and I were taken to visit several stately homes by our parents. I was always bored as it wasn’t my cup of tea or–at that age–can of coke. One thing that always struck me was how enormously high the ceilings were and I couldn’t understand why. I said to my father once that it would have been more sensible to put a ceiling half way up and you could then make two floors out of one. He just said, ‘stupid boy’ in the manner of Captain Mainwaring in Dad's Army, and ignored me.

This was like those stately homes and as I walked along, I kept wondering whether we would go around a corner and find several Japanese visitors taking photos and bowing to everyone.

‘I bet this place takes a lot of heating.’ I said, by way of conversation.

He looked back at me and smiled. ‘Yes, Miss, we have generators of course, but oil is getting rather expensive. We do have a forest, of course, so there is no shortage of wood.’

After that, the conversation flagged; I did wonder if this place was a bit like a TARDIS, you know bigger on the inside than out. It seemed to me like we had walked miles. I know the manor house was big, but still…

He approached a large door and opened it without knocking. announcing, ‘Miss Smart, m’lady,’ and then waved me past.

I entered the oak-panelled room. It was full of furniture that definitely hadn’t started life, flat packed at Ikea before being assembled with a cross head screwdriver and one of those funny key things... In fact it was all very expensive looking and antique-y, if that’s the right term. Over by the window, the lady of the house was sitting holding a book in one hand and stroking a dog who was sitting beside her with the other. As I approached, she looked up and put the book down.

‘Ah, there you are, Miss Smart. Glad you’re punctual, can’t stand poor punctuality. Sacked the first floor maid the other day, she was two minutes late with my morning cup of Darjeeling. Right, this is Fifi.’

Fifi looked at me and if anything she was more haughty than her mistress. She looked me up and down, yawned and then lay down on the floor. I obviously wasn’t important enough for a sniff let alone a lick.

‘She’s tired, poor lamb. Well, I suppose we need to get started. Haven’t got all day, don’t y’know. Have to see the vicar about the sermon on Sunday. He was a bit too radical for my liking last week. All that “Love thy neighbour” nonsense, well, if we all did that, nothing would get done. So, where d’you want her?’

It took me a moment to get over her change of direction.

‘Erm.’

‘Come on, girl, where do you want her to sit?’

‘Over by the window, please.’

‘Right.’ She clicked her fingers and Fifi, sort of stood to attention.

‘Come on, girl.’

Lady F walked to the window and the dog followed her and sat down next to her. I assumed that this was the ‘at ease’ position.

‘That all right?’

‘Y…Yes perfect. Can I ask you a few questions.’

‘Of course.’

‘Do you want the portrait to be as she is at the moment, standing or any other position.’

‘Leave it up to you. Her best side is to the left.’

‘Right.’

‘I said left, are you deaf?’

‘Sorry; erm okay. Are you happy for the background to be this room or would you prefer her to be outside?’

‘She rarely goes outside, like me, she abhors direct sunlight.’

‘So she doesn’t go out for walks?’

‘No; my man takes her for a morning and evening walk around the house. That is sufficient.’

‘So you want her inside.’

‘Naturally.’

I looked at Fifi; I swear that she hadn’t blinked once.

‘What sort of dog is she?’

‘A Labradoodle, a cross between a Labrador and a Poodle. My husband, Sir Tremaine, bought her for me shortly before he died.’

‘I’m sorry, m’lady?’

‘What for?’

‘That Sir Tremaine has died.’

She was silent for a moment.

‘Thank you, I still miss him tremendously,’ she said quietly and then more loudly, ‘Right-oh, back to business. I’ll leave you now. If there’s anything you need, pull on that rope and my butler, Jenkins, will see to your requirements.’

She quickly stroked Fifi’s head and got a lick in return, then sailed out of the room leaving me with Fifi who was gazing at me sardonically.

‘Right, Fifi, let’s make friends, shall we?’ I said, approaching her. ‘I’m Samantha.’

She took another look at me and then at the door. She got up and went over to where her mistress had left the room and sniffed. She cocked her head to one side and listened for few seconds. Then she looked at me and with a rush, she came at me and jumped…

---

To Be Continued...

Please leave comments...thanks! ~Sue

Edited by Gabi and posted by her at Sue’s request.

---

 

Previously…

A Labradoodle, a cross between a Labrador and a Poodle. My husband, Sir Tremaine, bought her for me shortly before he died.’

‘I’m sorry, m’lady?’

‘What for?’

‘That Sir Tremaine has died.’

She was silent for a moment.

‘Thank you, I still miss him tremendously,’ she said quietly and then more loudly, ‘Right-oh, back to business. I’ll leave you now. If there’s anything you need, pull on that rope and my butler, Jenkins, will see to your requirements.’

She quickly stroked Fifi’s head and got a lick in return, then sailed out of the room leaving me with Fifi who was gazing at me sardonically.

‘Right, Fifi, let’s make friends, shall we?’ I said, approaching her. ‘I’m Samantha.’

She took another look at me and then at the door. She got up and went over to where her mistress had left the room and sniffed. She cocked her head to one side and listened for few seconds. Then she looked at me and with a rush, she came at me and jumped…

And now the story continues…

She was on me before I knew it and my pencil, sketch book and bag flew in the air as she landed on my chest. I fell over, in fright and waited for my throat to be torn apart…

Only it didn’t happen because she proceeded to lick the makeup off my face. I think she was happy as she was making soft, gurgly, woof-woofly noises in her throat as she tried to lick my face off.

‘Get off!’ I cried as she threatened to drown me in doggy drool. Eventually, after what seemed like a century, she let go of me and allowed me to sit up. We were both a bit out of breath, but she seemed to be in somewhat better condition than me as she looked very happy and her tail was going at about two hundred wags per minute.

‘Fifi, you are a naughty, naughty girl.’

She had the grace to look a bit hang-dog, but as her tail was still wagging like fury and creating a draft so I don’t think that she was that sincere.

‘Right, STAY.’ I said, in a commanding voice, but she just lay down on her back, expecting a tummy rub.

‘No chance; tummy rubs are for good girls. What do you think Lady Fairbairn would say if she saw you like that?’

Hearing that name, she got back on her feet, looking a bit worried and went to the closed door, her ears pricked up at the possibility that her mistress might be returning.

She appeared to sigh after confirming that the coast was clear. She went over to a corner and disappeared behind some heavy drape curtains, making strange snuffling sounds.

Shakily, I got back on my feet and picked up my belongings. Luckily, one could eat one’s dinner off the spotless parquet flooring and, apart from some drool on my sleeve, I was relatively unharmed, although I did need to do some emergency repair work on my face, using the huge ornate gilt mirror over the massive fireplace.

There were still noises coming from behind the curtains and I wondered what the silly thing was up to. I took out my sky blue artist’s smock–well it’s really a fisherman’s one but as I’m an artist and I wear it, ergo it’s an artist’s smock, comprende? Anyway, If I was going be attacked by this mad dog again, I wanted some protection for my clothes.

I pulled it over my head and had just put my arms in the sleeves when I heard the tip-tapping of paws on the parquet. Looking up, I saw Fifi approaching with something in her mouth. My heart flipped as I noted with some alarm that it appeared to be some species of dead animal–no, bird.

She dropped it in front of me and I uttered a brave ‘Eek,’ sort of noise. A closer inspection revealed it to be a yellow rubber chicken so I sighed with relief.

‘No play time yet,’ I said sternly. ‘Work first and then play time, okay?’

Her eyebrows lifted and she looked sad and pathetic, but where work was concerned I had a heart of stone.

I went to the place where I wanted her to sit and said, ‘Right come over here.’ With a look of abject sorrow at her neglected rubber chicken, her ears and tail drooped as she came to me. I decided that she could sulk for England with that abject look.

‘Right, Fifi, be a good girl and siT,’ I said in my best Barbara Woodhouse* voice.

She sat down but her heart wasn’t in it. She looked as if she had buried a bone in the garden and forgotten where she had put it. I felt sorry for her but I had to get the sketch done. But I felt badly about having a go at her so I went over to where she was sitting.

‘Look.’ I said bending down so I was eyeball to sad, expressive eyeball, ‘If you're a good girl, we’ll play soon, okay?’

Her tail twitched and she gave me a sloppy lick on the nose, and I got the impression she understood as she also sat up a bit straighter. It was obvious that a certain amount of noblesse oblige had rubbed off from her mistress as she proceeded to sit in the same haughty position that she had adopted originally in when Lady F was there. I swear that she is more intelligent than some of my acquaintances!

Quickly, I did a preliminary sketch and taking my camera out of my bag, I took several snaps from different angles. Amazed that she hadn’t moved, yawned or even scratched herself, I went back to the sketchbook and did some more detailed work. After about five minutes, she was beginning to twitch, after six, she did yawn, at seven she lay down on the parquet floor, at eight she was asleep, and at nine she was snoring, her legs twitching as she dreamed about something energetic–doubtless chasing rubber chickens.

While she was asleep like that, looking all cute and cuddly, I did another drawing in more detail. I intended to give that drawing to Lady F as well as the more formal oil portrait. I liked to do things like that as it’s a nice thing to do and I am a nice girl, aren’t I?

After about half an hour, I had completed everything I had intended to do and put everything away in my bag. Fifi must have had some sort of early warning system, because she opened one eye and seeing that I had finished, threw herself across the room and with exceptional dexterity and athleticism, picked up the rubber chicken by the neck, did a reverse double axel turn with knobs on and ran back towards me, skidded to a stop in front of me and then promptly dropped the chicken at my feet.

‘Okay, I did promise, I suppose.’

Picking up the chicken, I threw it across the room; Fifi chased after it and grabbed it where it fell and then returned it for a repeat performance. This continued until…

‘FIFI!’

Fifi stopped dead in mid stride, turned round and sat at attention. Lady Fairbairn was at the open door looking at the dog as if she had done something rather disgusting in front of the Queen.

‘Heel!’

Fifi obeyed instantly, head bowed and looking as if she was on the way to the scaffold. I could almost hear the knitting needles clicking. She sat down next to her mistress who was looking at me reproachfully.

‘Miss Smart, I will not have my Fifi excited like this; ’tis bad for her liver. Please refrain from such activity in future or I will terminate our arrangement. I don’t know–what a day,’ she sighed; ‘had to re-employ that idiot girl I sacked: some moronic nonsense about not givin’ her written warnings and the possibility of court action. Don’t know what the world’s comin’ to. In my father’s day, you could thrash people and be applauded for it. Now, it’s all a namby-pamby, I know my rights sort of country. I blame Thatcher: she was much too lenient–especially with the miners. Have you done what you came here for?’

‘Yes, m’lady.’

‘Very well, make an appointment with Jenkins when you next need to call…good day. Come, Fifi.’

She left the room and Fifi followed, two steps behind her. Fifi looked back at me and I swear that she winked and then trotted off with her mistress.

I finished stowing everything back in my bag as Jenkins the Butler wafted in.

‘Are you ready to leave, Miss Smart?’

‘Yes, thanks.’

‘I will show you out. You might get lost.’

‘Thank you,’ I said quietly.

Following his measured tread, I wondered what it was that made Lady F so cross. I didn’t ask Jenkins as he wouldn’t have told me.

Eventually we came to the front doors and I was let out into freedom again. Ah that sweet smell of freedom, the sun and grass…

‘Thank you for coming, Miss.’

Snapping out of my reverie, I turned to Jenkins, a bit surprised.

‘Well, judging by the way Lady Fairbairn treated me, I’m surprised I wasn’t whipped or something.’

A slight smile played on his lips and his left eyebrow rose a couple of millimetres.

‘I don’t think you need worry, miss. M’lady likes you.’

‘She does?’ I said incredulously.

‘Erm, let me just say that Fifi isn’t the only one with a bit of a dual personality. Good day, Miss Smart.’

I waved goodbye and shaking my head I started to walk down the drive. Taking my ’phone from my bag, I rang Abby.

‘Hi Abby, it’s me, I’ve been let out and I’m walking down the drive.’

‘How was it?’

‘Don’t ask. Look are you in the pottery?’

‘Yes.’

‘I won’t drag you away from your work then, see you later.’

‘Don’t you want a lift?’ she sounded disappointed.

‘No, I need to clear my mind for a bit. Shall I come up to yours tonight?’

‘That would be nice, see you later–love you.’

‘Not as much as I love you; bye, honey.’

‘Bye, sweetheart. Oh blast, someone’s come into the shop, ’bye.’

‘’Bye.’

I returned the ’phone to my bag and made my way through the extensive grounds, out into the lane and into the village.

After twenty minutes I arrived on the quay and made a beeline for the ice cream kiosk.

‘A ninety-nine, please,’ I asked the young man behind the counter.

‘Large, extra larger or super?’

‘Extra large please.’

I took the ice cream and paid the man and began licking immediately, trying to stop the drips–erm, dripping. I sat on the harbour wall and soaked in the sunshine.

‘Note to self, get a wide brimmed hat.’

‘Hello.’

I looked up, eyes squinting in the powerful sunlight. ‘Hi Katie, and no, you can’t have a lick of my ninety-nine. I haven’t forgiven you for eating most of my saveloy and chips.’

‘Me?’ she said sitting down and eying my cone in a predatory fashion, ‘I only had a few bites.’

‘Hmm,’ I said, remembering the large number of chips she scoffed in an incredibly short time.

‘I’m glad I caught you. I was going to pop up to yours a bit later. You’ve saved me a journey.’

‘What’s wrong?’

She opened her bag, took out an envelope and handed it to me.

‘What’s this?’ I asked.

‘I think it’s from your wife. She doesn’t know your address so it was delivered by hand and left for you.’

‘Did you recognise who handed it in?’

‘No, I was in conference. My secretary said it was a man and she hadn’t seen him before.’

‘It wasn’t Nigel then?’

‘No; look, I have to go, if you need to talk, you know where I am.’

We kissed and hugged and then she was off.

I looked at the envelope and turned it over several times without opening it. Putting it in my bag, I finished my ice cream and made my way home. After dropping off my artist’s things and changing into a lemon sun dress–nice and cool on a day like this–I left the cottage and made my way to the path that led to the West Coast Walk.

My mind was on the letter and I couldn’t help wondering what was in it. I hadn’t wanted to open it, because I didn’t want to spoil what had been an interesting day; but it was too much on my mind, so after walking to my favourite spot and sitting on Rachel’s seat, I took it out of my bag and gingerly opened the envelope.

Unfolding the paper I realised immediately that it was from Olivia.

Dear Tom,

Daddy told me about his meeting with you and I’m very disappointed that you did not change your mind about leaving me.

I am sure that we can make a go of it again. All you have to do is to agree to his very reasonable terms and then everything would be all right again.

I have already apologised for being a little bit naughty and I think you are mean to not accept the apology in the spirit that it was given in.

I promise not to stray again if you come back. Yes, I did have sex with a few other blokes, but that was just sex, so it didn’t mean anything and anyway, you and I hadn’t done it together for such a long time, I thought you had gone off me or something.

You will know by now that I’m pregnant, in fact I’m twenty-eight weeks gone. I didn’t even know I WAS pregnant until after you left me: I had a tummy ache and went to the doctor and he said I was in the family way. I was so shocked, because I had no bump and my periods–always light, continued as normal.

Anyway, I don’t think I can cope with a pregnancy while all this upset is going on. I don’t think that my shattered nerves can take it. I am going to ask Daddy if I can get rid of it quietly and privately. I know that it isn’t strictly legal as they have some silly 24 week rule, but Daddy knows some people and I’m sure that he can fix it.

If you do decide to come back, we could be a family and then I won’t have to get rid of it, so do reconsider, for all our sakes. I know Daddy is worried about his knighthood, but these things can be hushed up, at a price.

Please ring me and we can talk more.

Your Loving Olivia.

XXXXX

I stayed there, sitting on Rachel’s seat for some time–it may have been hours–I don’t know. I was in a state of shock and, I suppose, too numb to think constructively. I was vaguely aware that several people passed me but I didn’t take much notice.

The shadows were lengthening as sun dipped towards the horizon. There was a coolness in the air as the breeze off the sea freshened.

Something moving caught my eye over to the left and I saw a rabbit, sniffing in the undergrowth. A moment later two small baby rabbits appeared, young and vulnerable and trying to keep up with mum…

I lost control then and started sobbing into my hands. Not long afterwards I heard a snuffling noise and looked up. Through my tears, saw the happy face of Sandy, the Labrador.

‘Hello, Sam dear, what’s the matter?’

Jocasta sat down beside me and put her arm around my shoulders. I was totally unable to control my sobbing as the floodgates opened.

_______________________
* Barbara Woodhouse, a renowned dog trainer.
See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Barbara_Woodhouse

---

To Be Continued...

Please leave comments...thanks! ~Sue

Edited by Gabi and posted by her at Sue’s request.

---

 

Previously…

I stayed there, sitting on Rachel’s seat for some time–it may have been hours–I don’t know. I was in a state of shock and, I suppose, too numb to think constructively. I was vaguely aware that several people passed me but I didn’t take much notice.

The shadows were lengthening as sun dipped towards the horizon. There was a coolness in the air as the breeze off the sea freshened.

Something moving caught my eye over to the left and I saw a rabbit, sniffing in the undergrowth. A moment later two small baby rabbits appeared, young and vulnerable and trying to keep up with mum…

I lost control then and started sobbing into my hands. Not long afterwards I heard a snuffling noise and looked up. Through my tears, saw the happy face of Sandy, the Labrador.

‘Hello, Sam dear, what’s the matter?’

Jocasta sat down beside me and put her arm around my shoulders. I was totally unable to control my sobbing as the floodgates opened.

And now the story continues…

We sat there for what seemed like ages. I let it all out–the grief, the shock and the fact that Olivia was still trying to manipulate my life from a distance. Eventually I was all cried out and was left with a sort of empty feeling.

Jo hadn’t said much, she just hugged me tightly and gave me comfort.

‘Feeling a bit better?’ she asked.

I nodded. ‘Thanks, Jo.’

‘For what?’

‘Being here for me.’

‘That’s what friends are for.’

Dusk was gathering quickly as we headed back down the path and over the stile; Jo accompanied me all the way back to my cottage with Sandy following obediently. I got a distinct feeling that Jo was still worried about me because she linked arms with me all the way back to my cottage.

‘Can you come in?’ I asked as we arrived home.

‘Of course.’

‘Go into the sitting room, I won’t be a mo.’

‘Okay.’

‘Would Sandy like a drink of water?’ I asked.

‘I’m sure he’d love one,’ came the reply.

I turned on the lights in the small hall, and went into the kitchen, Sandy’s toenails tip-tapping behind me on the quarry-tile floor. I put some water in a bowl and put it on the floor where he lapped it thirstily Then I made a pot of tea for us ladies and put the things on a tray, with some McVitie’s Chocolate Digestives and rejoined Jo in the sitting room. After fussing about with the tea and biscuits for a minute or two, we settled down. Sandy, smelling biscuits layed his chin, first on Jo’s knee and then mine, making solemn pleading eyes at both of us.

‘No, Sandy,’ I told him, knowing chocolate to be poisonous to dogs and cats. ‘Thanks, Jo.’ I said, turning to her.

‘What for, my dear?’

‘For being here.’

‘Do you feel able to talk about it?’ Jo hadn’t asked why I was so upset earlier and for that I was thankful because I don’t think any explanation would have been very coherent.

I fished Olivia’s letter out of my bag and passed it to her. Her eyebrows shot up.

‘Are you sure that you want–?’

‘Please, that’s why I gave it to you.’

I sipped my hot sweet tea as she read the letter. I didn’t look at her and just stared into the empty fireplace.

‘My God!’

I looked up to see a Jocasta that I had never seen before. She was red in the face and looked on the verge of having a fit as she finished reading. She took several deep breaths in an attempt to calm herself a little. When she spoke, her anger was barely hidden beneath the surface.

‘I can understand why you were so distressed, Sam. In your circumstances, I would be just the same. How are you feeling now?’

‘Totally Numb.’

‘I’m not surprised. Look, you aren’t in this on your own you know. All your friends are here for you and then there’s your sister, Dawn.’

‘It’s my mess, I’ve got to get myself out of it.’

‘Sam, look at me.’ I looked up, my eyes watering again.

‘Sam, it’s not your mess. Olivia, is a conniving, manipulative bitch who acts as if the world owes her the right to say and do what she likes. Obviously, she was spoilt as a child, unable to do anything wrong in her doting father’s eyes and it looks to me as if she’s never truly grown up. You must not take on her baggage and problems.’

‘But–’

‘–No buts, Sam. Please, let me say this: you are a sweet, lovely girl and you owe Olivia absolutely nothing. You have always been straight with her and she knew about you before the marriage. The fact that she has flung all this back in your face and is now trying to blackmail you into going back to her for the sake of the baby is despicable beyond words and it’s not even your baby!’

‘But what about the baby? Why should the poor little thing suffer because of all this mess?’

‘It’s not your concern, Sam. Olivia has made her bed, now she must lie on it.’

‘I know but–’

Jo’s phone burbled.

‘Hello?’

‘Yes, she at home…she’s a bit upset at some news…okay, right, bye.’

‘That was Abby, your phone’s off and she was worried. She’s coming around.’

I felt comforted by that. I needed a kiss and a cuddle rather badly.

‘Look, Sam dear,’ Jo continued, ‘we need to hold a council of war about this. It’s too late tonight, but I’ll arrange things and see you tomorrow. I’ll bring Katie in the morning and then with Abby as well, we’ll come up with a plan to thwart Olivia and Nigel. Is that okay?’

‘That would be wonderful, Jo.’ I had a warm feeling from the realisation that I wasn’t alone, having people around me whom I loved and respected, who wanted to help make things easier for me. A few minutes later there was a knock on the door and Jo answered it.

I smiled as Abby came into the room. I stood up; she hugged me and for a few moments I forgot my troubles and enjoyed being up close and personal with the girl I loved.

There was a discreet cough and we both looked around.

‘Sorry, Jo,’ said Abby, looking rather shamefaced.

‘Don’t be…young love and all that. Look, I must go or David will wonder whether I’ve left him. He’s in a bit of a state at the moment because Lady F wants him to give a sermon on Sunday about the evils of lateness and the fact that young gels should do as they are told. Abby, Sam will explain what’s happened and we will hold a council of war here tomorrow morning. I’ll drag Katie along and we’ll see what can be done, okay?’

We both nodded and after hugs all round and a whispered thanks in Jo’s ear, she went off home.

David reminded me vaguely of Mr Collins trying to cope with Lady Catherine de Bourgh in Pride And Prejudice, only, of course, David was not creepy like Mr Collins.

After Jo left, I made Abby a cuppa and we sat on the sofa while she read the letter from Olivia.

She was somewhat annoyed after reading the letter. I could tell as she downed her tea, seemingly in one gulp, crashed the cup down on the coffee table and then started…

‘I’ll kill her. Let me get my hands on that manipulative bitch. To think that the cow should use such disgraceful and disgusting tactics against you–I–I.’ Her face had turned as red as a beetroot. She looked very pretty when she was angry. Mind you, I think she would look pretty with a tea cosy over her head…anyway, I let her rant for a minute or two.

‘Abby?’

‘Using an unborn baby as a bargaining chip–’

‘Abby?’

‘And what about her father. I bet he put her up to this…’

‘Abbeeeee!’

‘What! Oh, sorry, love. I do go off a bit don’t I? Come here; let’s have a cuddle.’

I was in her arms and soon the horrid letter went to the back of my mind for a moment as Abby and I got closely entangled. After a few minutes of this, I felt calmer and Abby’s beating heart seemed to slow down a few hundred beats.

I lay down on the sofa, my head in her lap, sighed and looked up at her.

‘Thanks, love.’

‘What for?’ she said stroking my hair distractedly.

‘For being here for me and loving me.’

‘It’s a two-way thing, you know. Even though you have no dress sense and your hair could do with a few highlights and the tea you make tastes like dishwater and…’

At that time she was laughing and so was I as I realised that she was rather ticklish! Talking stopped for quite a while as we continued to mess about like silly schoolgirls.

Eventually, we both came up for air. It was getting late now and I was feeling rather tired. I couldn’t control a yawn and that set her off too.

‘I suppose it’s bed time,’ I said, ‘I’ll have to get up early tomorrow if people are coming around. I do hope that I can sort out this mess.’

‘You will with our help.’

‘Mmm it’s sooo nice having such friends…and a wonderful lover.’

She gazed into my eyes and smiled.

‘Samantha Smart, I do love you.’

Looking at her I realised that I didn’t want to be alone tonight.

‘C—c—can you stay?’ My heart was in my mouth, as I waited for an answer.

‘What, tonight?’

‘Please.’

Had I said something wrong. My head was all over the place tonight. I didn’t want to spoil anything…

She looked at me silently for a few moments and then just smiled and nodded.

‘The cats will be okay; they’ve got food and water and are more independent than us humans. I’ll have to go back tomorrow morning just to check on them though.’

‘Okay.’ I sighed with relief. She wanted to stay. I was so happy. Maybe today wasn’t going to end up as a complete disaster, after all.

I locked up and then we turned the lights off and went upstairs, hand in hand.

I went into the bathroom first and smiled ruefully at my face. Wearing makeup and crying don’t really mix very well. I wondered why Abby, at seeing me, didn’t run off down the road screaming, but they say love is blind. I washed my face and then did the usual things. I then put on my pretty pink satin nightie; I loved the feel of it against my smooth skin. Brushing my hair, I wondered if I should get some highlights. Yet another decision to make–but not tonight as I was going to be with my beloved Abby.

Back in the bedroom, Abby was sitting on the bed.

‘You look gorgeous,’ she said getting up and hugging me tightly.

‘Thank you.’ I said a bit shyly and then after a quick kiss, I went to the chest of drawers and I searched for a few moments.

I handed Abby a toothbrush and nightie which was cream coloured and satin. I was sure that she would look lovely wearing it and couldn’t wait to see. She smiled, kissed me gently on the lips and then went to the bathroom.

Lying in bed waiting for her, my mind, once again returned to that letter. I felt sorry for the baby. Olivia knew that I had always wanted a child and she was using that fact to blackmail me into going back to her. I still didn’t understand the tangled web that was her mind, but much as I would love a child, I could not return to her under those or any other circumstances. If she was 28 weeks pregnant and it wasn’t just a figment of her warped and overactive imagination, I would do all I could to protect the baby, even if it meant reporting her to the authorities. Katie would know what to do about that.

I put all thoughts of Olivia and the baby to the back of my mind as soon as Abby came back in. She looked absolutely gorgeous in the nightie and I could see the silhouette of her lovely firm body through the thin fabric as she passed a table lamp sitting on the dressing table behind her.

‘Which side of the bed do you prefer?’ I breathed.

‘Stay where you are, you’re just fine.’

She got into bed and soon I could feel her warm silk-clad body next to me. My heart was pounding and I was by now terribly nervous. I wanted this time to be lovely and I didn’t want things to go wrong.

‘Relax, Sam, let’s just enjoy being together. You know I love you?’

‘Yes, and I love you more than anything I the world.’

‘Even more than clotted cream teas?’

‘Mmm, it’s a close run thing, but you get the nod.’ We both laughed and it dissipated any slight tension.

As she caressed my body, I was pleased that my breast forms were attached but really wanted some real ones so that I could feel her soft hands on the real me. I would remedy that at the earliest opportunity.

We explored each others bodies, it was so gentle and lovely. Her mouth tasted sweet and minty; her tongue was soft and deliciously moist. Her breasts were firm and her nipples hard with desire as they rose to attention as I licked them...

As we made love, we were crying again, not tears of sorrow, but tears of joy that we had each found a soul mate. Abby, I knew, felt the same and it was a time of great joy, love and sensitivity…

I will not say more about that night except to say that it was the most wonderful night of my life and I hoped and prayed that more of the same would happen very soon and that my past would stay firmly–in my past.

---

To Be Continued...

Please leave comments...thanks! ~Sue

Edited by Gabi and posted by her at Sue’s request.

---

 
 

We are sailing, we are sailing,
home again ’cross the sea.
We are sailing stormy waters,
to be near you, to be free.

Sailing/ Rod Stewart

Previously…

As she caressed my body, I was pleased that my breast forms were attached but really wanted some real ones so that I could feel her soft hands on the real me. I would remedy that at the earliest opportunity.

We explored each others bodies, it was so gentle and lovely. Her mouth tasted sweet and minty; her tongue was soft and deliciously moist. Her breasts were firm and her nipples hard with desire as they rose to attention as I licked them...

As we made love, we were crying again, not tears of sorrow, but tears of joy that we had each found a soul mate. Abby, I knew felt the same and it was a time of great joy, love and sensitivity…

I will not say more about that night except to say that it was the most wonderful night of my life and I hoped and prayed that more of the same would happen very soon and that my past would stay firmly–in my past.

And now the story continues…

I woke up the next morning with a smile on my face.

I was spooned against my Abby. I could feel the warmth of her body through the thin silk of our nighties. She was still asleep and breathing deeply. My hand was cupping her breast and it felt both soft and firm at the same time.

As I lay there, slowly wakening and trying to ignore the ever-present raucous cacophony of the seagulls–who appeared to be having a party on my roof–I remembered the wonderful things that we did last night.

Our love making had been lovely and sensuous. Making love to Olivia had been like riding a roller coaster, all speed, ups and downs and a hell of a lot of athleticism. Looking back, it wasn’t love making–it was sex. There is a lot of difference between the two and now, after last night’s wonderful experiences, I knew which I preferred.

Abby stirred slightly and I knew that soon she would wake up. I kissed the back of her neck gently. I didn’t want to move, it was so nice lying here next to her. I held her tight, knowing that soon we would have to get up and then the world would start revolving again.

Jocasta and Katie would come and, hopefully, we would decide on a plan of action that might settle Olivia’s and Nigel’s hash, once and for all…

Abby moved again and then yawned. Stretching slowly, she sort of snuggled back into me and then turned around. She had a sleepy look on her face and her hair was in her eyes. I used my hand to sweep the hair away and then she looked at me.

‘Hello, Tiger,’ She said smiling.

‘Meow,’ I replied.

We both giggled and then she came closer and kissed me gently on the lips; lips that were still a bit sore from our love making last night. But it was a nice sore, so I didn’t mind.

‘I have to get up soon,’

‘I know, the cats will have thought you’ve abandoned them.’

‘No, they know that I will always be there for them and I hope you will too.’

‘Mmm, is that a proposal?’

‘What do you think?’

‘I think that I like cats and I love you, but let’s not rush.’

She sighed.

‘I know, we aren’t giggly teenagers, are we?’

‘No, we are fine upstanding pillars of the community. Could you imagine what Lady F would say?’

‘Gels should not get entangled with anyone unless they are of the correct gender, breedin’ stock and have been to the right schools.’

I laughed out loud at that. Would the village tongues wag about us and our lifestyle? I had seen nothing but acceptance here and regarding the Lady of the Manor–according to Jenkins, her butler–her bark was worse than her bite. Well if things continued like they have with Abby and me, we would soon find out what she thought.

I leant over and kissed her gently on the lips, then, with the tips of two fingers, I stroked the nipple of her lovely soft, yet firm left breast–

Sometime later, a little bit out of breath for some reason, we got up and had a shower together. That was interesting as do you know–well never mind that, I will leave it to your imagination.

After a quick breakfast, we went back to Abby’s place and fed the ravenous hoard. The noise they made when they saw us nearly drowned out the seagulls; they soon quietened down after some cat food ingestion.

I helped Abby to do a bit of tidying up, pleased that I was wearing some old jeans and a tee-shirt as it was a bit messy in places. Cats are good at going in trays, but why do some of them insist in tipping the trays up after they’ve finished?

It was about nine o’clock by now and Abby had another quick shower, (without me–sulk) and then we went back to my cottage. I left Abby to sort out some coffee, while I went upstairs, made the bed and did other hausfrau type things.

‘Sam!’

‘Yes?’ I shouted down.

‘Your jelly bone has just gone off. Jo and Katie will be here in half an hour.’

‘Okay, won’t be a mo. Have you made the coffee?’

‘Yep.’

‘Okay.’

I finished tidying up and then changed into a white silk blouse and black knee length skirt. Soon I was downstairs and we were drinking the coffee, sitting at the kitchen table. Abby was wearing a BOHO-type white gypsy blouse and skirt and looked delicious.

We hadn’t spoken about the upheaval yesterday. I didn’t want to dwell on it. The thought of a baby inside Olivia and what she wanted–or threatened–to do to the poor thing was more than I could bear to think about. I preferred to just look at Abby and think nice thoughts.

‘A penny for them?’ she asked.

‘Pardon?’ I said coming out of my dreamlike state a bit.

‘I said “a penny for them”. You looked far, far away in a distant galaxy for a moment there.’

I sighed. ‘I just don’t want to think of horrid things after what we did last night.’

‘Mmm, I know what you mean. I think the earth moved, don’t you?’

‘I never really understood that expression until now. Yes, lover, the earth did move.’

We were interrupted by a knock on the door. I went out into the hall and opened the door.

‘Hi, girls,’ I said to Jo and Katie.

‘You sound a bit more cheerful this morning,’ Jo said as I let them in.

‘Mmm, I am, thanks.’ I said, following them into the kitchen.

After more ‘hies’, Jo, Katie and Abby went upstairs to my studio where there was more room and the view outside was much more agreeable. I followed a few minutes later with coffee and biscuits. We dragged some chairs up to one of my work tables, sat down, had a bit of fuss and bother about who was going to have the chocolate biscuits and then got down to business.

‘Shall I be mum?’ Katie asked, not terribly clearly as she was the first to nab a choccy bikky.

‘You shouldn’t talk with your mouth full,’ said Abby, ‘it ain’t perlite.’

We all giggled at that and then things got serious.

‘Right,’ said Katie. ‘Jocasta has explained what’s been going on. Have you got the letter, Samantha?’

I handed it to her. She read it with a frown on her face and I could tell by the way her mouth was set in a thin line, that she was less than pleased with its contents.

‘The bitch!’ She exploded with considerable feeling. ‘Sorry, Jo, your being a vicar’s wife an’ all, but sorry, that woman defies belief. You’re well away from her, Sam, but what are your thoughts on the matter? Your views are the most important and we need to know what they are before we can advise you or see where we can go with this.’

I looked around at my friends and then took a deep breath. ‘I—I’m really worried about the poor baby–that’s my main concern; I have no desire to see Olivia ever again and I want to start my life afresh. We’ve been through this before, Katie and my opinion hasn’t changed. I’m happy here. I glanced at Abby and she smiled.

‘What do you think we should do?’ I asked my friends.

‘Jo, any thoughts?’ Katie asked, after a moment.

‘As you know, I’m against divorce per se, but I do live in the real world. Olivia is poison. It may not be her fault–just look at her father; he’s hardly full of virtue. No, if I was in Sam’s shoes, I would try to protect the child but have nothing to do with that odious toad.’

‘Abby?’

‘Agreed, she gives us women a bad name. How she can even think of using an unborn baby as a bargaining chip, I’ll never know. She deserves to be dealt with, but the child must be protected, if possible.’

‘On a legal basis, she has rather shot herself in the foot,’ Katie said. ‘By writing the letter, she has shown intent to do something illegal if she doesn’t get her ‘husband’ back. The CPS* would possibly have a case against her. It is a crime to plan something like this–conspiracy to commit an illegal abortion. The actual charge would be conspiracy to commit child destruction–a very serious offence if she was mad enough to go through with it. Nigel would be involved too, so it looks like we have a strong case against them.’

‘Would they go to prison?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know, but the publicity alone would scupper Nigel’s chances of a knighthood.’

‘They deserve nothing less than prison,’ Abby said, forcibly.

‘It would be horrid if the baby was born in prison,’ said Jo.

‘I think––’

Everyone looked at me. I suppose when it came down to it, it was my decision to make and my friends were just there to support and give me advice.

‘I think that we should make it known to Olivia, that if she does anything stupid, we’ll go to the authorities.’

‘It’s a difficult one,’ said Jo, ‘if we don’t report it, we could be accused of hushing it up and then we’ll be dragged into this mess. What do you think, Katie?’

‘You made a good point there, Jo. However, as far as Olivia’s concerned, the only person who has read the letter is Samantha. I don’t work for the police force so anything my client says is confidential. Jo, you’re a Samaritan and therefore would keep secrets like this if told in confidence and Abby, what about you?’

‘I just love her.’

‘Awww!’ said Jo and Katie while I and Abby went a bit red in the face.

‘Okay, as you and Sam are metaphorically joined at the hip, we’ll treat you as a single entity. So, as I don’t want to do the CPS’s work for them, we won’t report this to the police. I can’t send a letter or contact Olivia as then I would be more officially involved with this than would be prudent. Sam, I think that I should draft a letter for you and you can send it. How does that sound?’

‘What will the letter say?’ I asked.

‘Just what we agreed–that if she does anything to the baby, she would be reported to the police.’

‘Okay, I just worry about the baby, I know it’s not mine, but any child is precious.’

‘I know,’ said Jo, ‘I feel exactly the same but the child isn’t yours, so don’t get any guilt trips over this. Olivia is the villainess in this–not you. Maybe the mere threat of revealing all to the authorities will be sufficient to prevent her doing something idiotic.’

‘Let’s hope so.’ I said doubtfully.

With that, the meeting sort of finished. Katie said that she would cobble something together and she went off to arrange it. Jocasta had to go to the church to stop Lady F throttling the lady who did the flowers and Abby, after a toe curling kiss and cuddle, went off to her pottery, promising to see me a bit later. That left me to decide what to do: in the end, I did what I always loved to do–paint.

Fifi was an interesting subject and looking at the sketch that I did, I tried to imagine what Lady F would like to see. I donned my painting smock, scrunchied my hair and then set up my easel with a new stretched canvas. Luckily, I didn’t need to prime the canvas as this was already done so I was able to waste little time and get started on my new masterpiece.

I decided, on reflection, to work with acrylics as I needed the paint to dry quickly. Lady F wanted the portrait as soon as possible and it could take weeks for everything to dry properly if I used oils. She didn’t seem the most patient type of person.

To be honest, I preferred oils, being the medium that the old masters used and giving rich deep colours that made a painting come to life; but I wasn’t a snob, knowing that unless you were an expert, you could not tell the difference between acrylics and oils. Anyway, soon I was deep in the zone and creating a portrait that I hoped would meet the approval of Lady Fairbairn and which, above all, she would love and cherish.

Today I was laying the foundation and getting a feel for what I wanted. The background was easy, my photographic memory helping to recreate accurately the scene and setting for the painting. I worked fast as acrylics are unforgiving and dry quickly, despite my spraying the canvas with water occasionally.

After two hours, I stepped back and surveyed my efforts. Nodding with satisfaction, I cleaned my brushes in water and then went downstairs to make a cup of coffee.

I had left my phone on the kitchen table, not wanting to be disturbed when the creative juices were in full flow. There were a couple of messages. I opened the first one.

Hi Sam,
Missing you already, your bed or mine tonight?’
Hugs love kisses and other sloppy things,
Abby XXXX

Grinning, I immediately replied.

Hello Abby,
Your bed tonight, my springs can’t take much more. c u l8er.
Love Sam XXXXX

The next text was from my sister Dawn.

Hi Sis,
Don’t forget, I’m coming with the mob on Sat…Told hubby about U & he’s cool, says that he wants to meet his new sis in law and hopes that you can cook better than me — bloody cheek! Kids don’t care what you look like as long as they get prezzies.
‘Hugs and lots of kisses,
Dawn
XXXX

I smiled and was happy that, at least as far as my family were concerned, they didn’t have issues with me. Mind you, when they saw the ugly duckling in the flesh, they might think differently.

I had just sat down with a sigh, dunked a digestive and was about to eat the lovely soggy mass…when I heard a knock on the door. The biscuit fell into my mug, lost but not forgotten.

‘Bugger,’ I said as I vainly tried to retrieve the biscuit before disintegration set in… Too late–it was a spoon job. The door knocker went again and I said just a few naughty words to myself and went down to answer the door.

‘Yes–?’

There, standing on the door step, in full regalia–dead animal draped around her neck and an equally deceased bird on her hat–stood Lady Fairbairn. She must have been hot, it was eighty in the shade out there and she wasn’t in the shade. She wasn’t sweating–sorry, Ladies don’t sweat, they glow–she wasn’t glowing at all!

‘Are you going to stare at me like a myopic tortoise for much longer?’

‘S—s—sorry, can I help you, M’lady?’

‘Well you can let me in for a start. Those nosey women across the road keep gawpin’ at me–no work to go to? In my day they would be scrubbin’ doorsteps.’

I let her past and she sailed in and I followed in her wake. As I closed the doors, I noticed two things, the lack of seagull noises and the gaggle of women across the road, in a huddle, no doubt wondering why Her High-and-Mightyness deigned to visit one so low as me–or is that I?

Lady F was in the sitting room and was standing in front of the fireplace looking like someone from the Mafia doing her daily round of protection money collection.

‘Well?’ she said as I walked in.

‘Sorry?’

‘Sorry? What are you sorry for?’

‘I mean how can I help you?’

‘Mmm…’ she said looking me up and down. I was acutely aware that in my paint splattered smock, I was looking somewhat less than perfect, but these were my work clothes and I couldn’t always be in a long frock and tiara.

‘How’s the paintin’ of Fifi goin’?’

‘Quite well, thank you.’

‘When will it be ready?’

‘When it’s done, M’lady,’ I replied without thinking, and instantly regretted it.

‘Are you bein’ insolent, young woman?’ she asked, her arched brow, arching a bit more.

‘No, M’lady, just truthful. If you want a quick painting, you’ve come to the wrong woman. I will do it as fast as I can but I will not compromise my art. I could knock up a painting in half an hour, but you wouldn’t be satisfied and neither would I.’

I waited for the lightning bolt to hit me or the earth to open up and swallow me–

‘Mmm–glad of a bit of honesty. For some reason, people don’t always tell me the truth. Jenkins thinks you’re of the right stock.’

‘Jenkins?’

‘Yes, a good butler is the fount of all knowledge and helps one to make the right decisions. He said that you will reflect the real Fifi and I’m willin’ to trust his opinion.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Do not betray my trust.’

‘I won’t M’lady. Can I offer you tea?’

‘No time. Have to sort out the music for the Sunday service. Do you know that they actually wanted someone to play the guitar in evensong? I blame Churchill. ‘Lost the election in ’45 and let Labour in. Country gone to the dogs ever since; must dash, lookin’ forward to seein’ Fifi in oils. Good day t’you.’

She sailed out of the door with a nod and strode off down the road towards the church. After a few moments, the women were back out on the street and the birds appeared again. The sun shone and all was right with the world–I hoped!

___________________________

* CPS: Crown Prosecution Service. See: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crown_Prosecution_Service

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To Be Continued...

The Cove By Liz Wright

Please leave comments...thanks! ~Sue

My thanks go to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing and pulling the story into shape.

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Everyday seems a little longer
Every way love's a little stronger
Come what may
Do you ever long for, true love from me
Everyday it's a-gettin' closer
Goin' faster than a roller coaster
Love like yours will surely come my way
A-hey, a-hey-hey
Love like yours will surely come my way

Buddy Holly

Previously…

‘Do not betray my trust.’

‘I won’t M’lady. Can I offer you tea?’

‘No time. Have to sort out the music for the Sunday service. Do you know that they actually wanted someone to play the guitar in evensong? I blame Churchill. ‘Lost the election in ’45 and let Labour in. Country gone to the dogs ever since; must dash, lookin’ forward to seein’ Fifi in oils. Good day t’you.’

She sailed out of the door with a nod and strode off down the road towards the church. After a few moments, the women were back out on the street and the birds appeared again. The sun shone and all was right with the world–I hoped!

And now the story continues…

I wakened on Friday morning to something wet, rasping along my petite nose. I sneezed in reaction and opened one eye and there before me, was one tabby cat with a spotless white “shirt-front”. It was quite small–still a kitten I would say, had lovely big green eyes and a very pretty face–and it was looking at me inquisitively.

‘Hello, puddy tat.’ I said, trying to be friendly. It was wearing a collar and attached to it was a name disk. Squinting, I could just make out the name, Gabi.

‘Well, Gabi, what do you want?’

She just looked at me and meowed and jumped off the bed.

‘Bye.’ I said to her retreating rear end, tail held vertically.

Turning over, I found that Abby had deserted me too. I smiled at the delicious things we did last night. Afterwards, we had a shower together; it’s amazing what you can do with a loofa and a bar of soap–but that’s another story.

I heard the tinkle of cups and saucers coming upstairs and sat up. My nightie had ridden up around my neck for some reason so I had to do a bit of a wiggle and wriggle to get things back in place again.

‘Hello, sleepyhead,’ said Abby walking in, still in her nightdress and robe with a tray and drinks.

‘What’s the time?’

‘Seven-thirty.’

‘That’s the middle of the night,’ I exclaimed.

‘Not in’t country, m’dear.’ she said in a faux Devon accent.

I sat up in bed and Abby put the tray on her bedside table, took her robe off and joined me in bed.

I had stayed the night at Abby’s and we had had, shall we say, a late night. How she could look so bright eyed and bushy-tailed after last night, I would never know. Me–I ached in places that I never knew existed!

‘So,’ Abby said, handing me a cup of tea, ‘what are you doing today?’

‘Well, I must do some more work on Fifi and I want to pop into Katie’s to sort out the letter I have to send to Olivia. I’m seeing the doctor, Marcia Sinclair about my gender problems. Millie’s meeting me later down at the quay to see about a gallery–you know that empty place next to your pottery shop. Then I have to rush home and make the cottage presentable for Dawn and the clan’s visit tomorrow. After that, I’m going to treat you to a slap up dinner–via the fish and chip shop. After that, who knows?’

‘So you are having a quiet day then?’

‘Mmm; oh and Jo’s meeting me at the salon after I see Millie, I need a service on my hair and Jo’s coming to cheer me on. Talking about service; I still haven’t got my Beemer back from the mechanic. The time he’s taking to repair it, I could have had another made and shipped over from Germany.

‘He is a bit slow isn’t he?’

‘Mmm; anyway what have you got to do today?’

‘Well first I need to ravish you––’

Some time later, we got up and after prolonged goodbye kiss and cuddle, I left her to do things with the cats prior to going to work and went home. I found Mrs Pearson busy doing the housework, which was good as it meant less for me to do. Glancing out of the window into the back garden, Mr P was mowing the lawn using a hand lawnmower. He was so red in the face with the effort, I wondered if he was about to have a seizure.

‘Mrs Pearson’, I yelled over the noise of the Hoover.

She looked at me and turned it off. ‘Yez’m?’

‘Is Mr Pearson all right, he looks a bit red in the face?’

‘It be scrumpy?’

‘Scrumpy?’

‘Yez’m.’

‘What about scrumpy?’

‘’E be aven more than a drop last night, always makes ’im red come along a mornin’.’

‘Strong stuff this scrumpy, is it?’

‘Ooh aah. Strong ’nuff to strip paint.’

‘Blimey–I mean–gosh. Do you like it?’

‘Ooh yez’m; only half-a-pint tho’, else makes I a bit giddy.’

‘Shall I make your hubby a coffee?’

‘Never drinks it, drink o’ the devil ’e says. Tea, now that’s different. Likes a drop of tea ’e do, ’m.’

‘Would you like a cup?’

‘Yez’m; only four sugars–lookin’ after me figure.’

‘Erm–right, and Mr P?’

‘He has six. Likes ’is sugar do my ol’ man.’

She started her Hoover again and I went to make the tea, pleased in the knowledge that, at last, I could actually understand half of what she was saying.

Later, I went up to the studio to continue work on Fifi’s portrait. As usual, I became totally engrossed in my work as I tried to tease out the right expression on Fifi’s face. I wanted her to look aristocratic–slightly haughty–and yet have a twinkle in her eye to show hidden depths. As usual, I had to work quickly because acrylics require speed. Luckily, the judicial use of a water spray bottle helped kept the paint usable for a bit longer, giving me more time than I would otherwise have. When I paint with acrylics, I mix my paint in little Chinese cups, mixing more than I need most of the time so that, if later, when the paint is dry, I see spots that I missed, or the paint has dried unevenly, I can go back to the cup of that colour and do a touch up.

It was great to be back in the swing of things again. For too long I had not been able to paint like this. Fleetingly, I worried about Lady Fairbairn’s comment about looking forward to seeing Fifi in oils, then I shrugged as I realised that she probably wouldn’t know the difference.

I glanced at the time. ‘Oh hell,’ I said, as I quickly put my unused paints into a zip lock bag to keep them moist, cleaned my brushes, took off my smock and hurried downstairs. Mr and Mrs P had already left, so I grabbed my bag and left the cottage. I was soon in Katie’s office, slightly breathless, but that was my fault for being late.

‘Hi, Katie,’ I said as she came out of her room.

‘Oh good, I was just going to ring you. I thought you’d forgotten.’

‘No receptionist today?’

‘No, Lisa’s got a bug. She often gets a bug, but there you are. So come you in and let’s get this letter sorted out.’

We sat on the sofa and she handed me a type-written letter.

‘I suggest something along these lines. It would be better if you handwrite it, though.’

Dear Olivia,

I am shocked and surprised at the contents of your letter. I have made it clear to you and your father that I do not wish to continue to be married to you. The fact that you are pregnant does not alter this.

I am very disturbed that you should even contemplate terminating the pregnancy at this late stage. Morally, ethically and legally it is wrong that you are considering this course of action. I must warn you that if you have an abortion, or for some unaccountable reason, you lose the baby, I will contact the authorities and show them the letter that you sent to me.

I am sorry our marriage did not work out and feel that it is time for us to both move on. I will not be answering any further letters from you and therefore think it best that any future communication should go to my solicitor.

Yours sincerely,

Samantha.

I looked up at Katie. ‘It seems a bit on the formal side.’

‘I think it has to be. You don’t want her to get the wrong idea.’

‘I suppose.’

‘Are you happy with the wording?’

‘I have no choice really.’

‘All right. Do you want to write it out and then I’ll get it posted for you.’

I sat at Katie’s desk and, after taking my Sheaffer fountain pen from my handbag, wrote it out in longhand. I should have felt more upset, but I think my emotions regarding Madame Olivia had dried up somewhat. I just wanted all the nastiness to come to an end.

After finishing the letter and passing it to Katie, I had to rush off as I still had a lot to do today!

As I arrived at the surgery I gulped slightly, wondering if Ms Cringeing-Drawers would be manning–no, personning–the reception desk.

She was. She looked up as I approached. Was it my imagination, or did she seem to flinch slightly at the sight of me? As I was going private, the waiting room was empty; a fact of which I was glad as I didn’t want a scene.

‘May I help you.’ she said with a watery smile; she didn’t in any way, shape or form sound the least bit friendly.

‘I have an appointment with Doctor Marcia.’

‘And you are?’

She knows damned well who I am! ‘Samantha Smart.’ I replied smiling, not wishing to rise to her bait.

‘One moment, please.’

She squinted at her screen, typed something and then looked up.

‘Your appointment was for half past.’

‘Yes, I’m afraid I am a few minutes late–’

‘The doctor is very busy––’

I banged my fist down on the counter, making her jump. ‘So am I, please let her know I’m here, now. As one of her private patients, I am sure that Doctor Marcia would not wish you to keep me waiting.’

I could sense her struggle from her face. Eventually, when she saw that the lady was not for turning, she picked up her ’phone.

‘H—hello, doctor, Miss Smart is here for her appointment––all right.’

She put the phone down.

‘Go through, Miss.’

I was becoming irritated–I knew I was. She was goading me, but I tried my hardest to stay calm.

‘Thank you; oh, and by the way.’

‘Yes?’

‘Be very careful what you say about any private information that you might be privy to at the surgery. I would hate to see you lose your job and be prosecuted for an offence under the data protection act–or any other act that I can think of. Also, if I hear you say Miss like that again, I will not be responsible for my actions.’

I didn’t wait to see her reaction, but just headed for Marcia’s door, knocked and entered. I knew that I had made an enemy today, but after all I had been through, quite frankly, I couldn’t give a damn. Marcia looked up as I walked in.

‘Hello, Samantha, please take a seat.’

Smoothing my skirt under me like a good girl, I sat down.

‘Well, I’ve had your test results through and if you lead the life of an angel, you should live until at least a hundred and five. Let’s do your blood pressure. I like to take several readings over a period of time so I can see an overall pattern.

She fastened the cuff thingy round my arm and pumped the rubber bulb doodah.

‘Hmm.’

She did it again.

‘Has something upset you? It seems a bit high.’

‘Sorry, I didn’t seem to hit it off with Ms Cringeing-Drawers.’

Marcia laughed.

‘Got under your skin has she? She has that effect on people. She is on a warning; much more upsetting of our patients and she’ll have to go.’

‘I don’t want her to lose her job on my account, but she does seem to have an attitude problem.’

‘I know; she has personal problems, but I won’t go any further. Just let me know if she does anything else to upset you.’

‘Okay.’

‘Right, I have the number of someone you ought to see. She’s a psychiatrist and counsellor who specialises in gender issues.’

‘But I don’t have any issues.’

‘Probably not, but she will help you decide on what course of action take and give you some ideas as to what options are open to you.’

I took the card; it said Dr Brenda Carson and her name had a multitude of letters after it.

‘Okay, I’ll give her a ring.’

‘Was there anything else?’

‘Not really. Thanks for all your help.’

‘That’s what I’m here for. So how are you getting on with Fifi’s painting?’

I looked at her askance. ‘I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Let’s face it, secrets around here are as rare as square eggs.’

She laughed. ‘True. So how is Lady F’s little darling’s painting coming along then?’

‘Not bad. I’m quite pleased with the progress so far.’

‘I can’t wait to see it.’

‘Mmm, let’s hope it lives up to the hype. Anyway, must dash, got to see Millie–’

My friendly receptionist wasn’t around so at least I was spared any poisoned glances coming my way. As I left, I had visions of her down by the quay with her head firmly held in the old stocks that had been there for hundreds of years. She was being pelted with lots of lovely, smelly rotten fruit, by all the patients she had insulted over the years; what a happy thought!

I went down to the harbour and sat outside the “Bide-A-While Continental Tea Room”. A bit of a contradiction in terms there, but nothing unusual in this strange and quirky place. I sat, occasionally sipping my tea and drinking in my surroundings and the comings and goings of the passers by while I waited for Millie.

A fishing boat was moored alongside the quay: aboard, a couple of fishermen were mending their nets while the ever-present gulls were looking down at them sideways, more in hope than expectation of a late morning snack. There were holidaymakers sauntering along, taking in the view or making their way down to the beach. Their kids, tagging along with ice creams melting in the sun, were desperately trying to lick them before they melted clean away and dripped on their summer clothes. Parents with bags, fold-up deckchairs and all the paraphernalia deemed necessary for a day on the beach, struggled to get everything down to the warm sands before dropping it all in a heap at their favourite spot.

Elderly men and women, sitting on the bench seats, seemed happy to soak up the sun and doze the day away. It was a typical summer’s day and I loved it. I would keep the images in my mind and one day would recreate them, probably deep into the winter, when storms were raging outside, and–

‘Hello, Samantha.’

Rousing from my reverie, I looked up, squinting slightly in the strong sunlight. ‘Hi, Millie!’

‘Sorry I’m late, had to meet a lady about a barn.’

‘That’s all right. Fancy a cuppa?’

‘No time really. Have you finished yours?’

‘Mmm, shall we go?’

I stood up, left a tip on the table and followed Millie through the crowds. As we passed the pottery, I saw Abby beavering away at her potter’s wheel. She looked up as we passed and we gave each other a quick wave.

‘Right, this is it,’ said Millie as we stopped next door to the pottery. The shop was quite large and was the mirror image of Abby’s pottery. Already I had visions of my gallery here but didn’t want to run ahead of myself s it might not be suitable or too expensive. Millie fished out some keys and unlocked the door.

Inside, the premises had been stripped of everything and was just a large empty room with an office in the corner and a door next to it.

‘Okay then, this is it. As you can see, it would be ideal for the purpose you have in mind. It was decorated only a few months before the previous tenant left and the floor–being polished wood–is clean and functional. Look, I’m sure you don’t want to listen to me rabbiting on endlessly, so I’ll pop next door for a few minutes and have a natter with Abby, while you have a nose around.

‘Okay,’ I said rather distractedly, my mind already leaping ahead in great bounds. I looked around, wandered into the office, where a table and chair had been left behind. Then I opened the door which, I discovered, led to a kitchen and beyond that, a loo. It was all clean and well looked after.

Returning to the main shop, I went to look out of the front window. Being off to the side of the quay and just before the steps leading down to the beach, a lot of potential customers passed this way. I loved the fact that both the quay and the beach with the sea beyond were visible from here. Turning back towards the shop, I imagined paintings on the walls in my minds eye–not just my own, but those of other local artists too–and lots of people in here looking, and hopefully buying, the works of art. My thoughts were interrupted when the shop door opened and Millie returned.

‘Hi, Millie.’

‘So, what do you think?’

‘It’s just what I’m looking for. Am I okay with the usage?’

‘I had a word with the council. They were thrilled that you were thinking of opening a gallery. As I said before they do like to have a bit of culture here, so there won’t be any problems on that score.’

‘Now the big question, how much?’

‘That will be discussed in a few minutes. The owner’s coming around and then you can crunch figures. Look, I’ve got to go and see a lady about a cow shed, so leave the keys with the owner and give me a ring with your decision, okay?’

‘Fine.’

After a hug and air kiss, she was off leaving me in the shop to carry on dreaming about my plans and wondering how much a place like this would cost rent-wise: could I afford it? Okay, I had some money behind me and I might get a bit more from the divorce, but I wasn’t holding my breath there. Anyway, if the rent and rates were too expensive, my capital would be eaten away very quickly if things were slow. That led to another thing that I had to sort out. How to get my old paintings stored at what was my home? I needed those to fill the walls and hopefully give me an income. I was gazing at the far wall, wondering how I ought to present the paintings, when the door opened again. I looked around in surprise.

‘Abby.’

I rushed over to her and we spent a few moments locked in an embrace that made my toes curl. Anybody would have thought that we hadn’t seen each other for months! After untangling ourselves I looked at her fondly.

‘I’m glad you’re here,’ I told her. ‘I’m waiting for the landlord to arrive and need a bit of moral support. I’d just love this place and being just next to your pottery is a wonderful bonus. Mind you, I bet the location means that it’s horrendously expensive.’

‘Oh it is.’

I looked at her curiously. ‘Is it? Oh hell, I suppose you must have the same landlord. Is it a he or she.’

‘She.’

‘Is she nice or nasty. I’ve heard lots about nasty landlords.’

‘The worst. She’d kick you out if you don’t pay the rent on time.’

‘Wow, she sounds awful. If you don’t mind my asking, how much do you pay?’

She looked at me and gave me a strange smile. ‘Nothing.’

‘Nothing? I don’t understand.’

‘I own the place next door.’

‘Oh––OH, does that mean you own this place too?’

‘Yes, love.’

‘H—how much do you want for rent?’

She looked at me as she stroked her chin, thoughtfully.

‘Hmm, prime location, in very good order. Ideal site, a real peach of a place–I could not accept anything less than twenty thousand a year.’

I gasped. Looking at her in her clay-splattered smock, I realised that you couldn’t really mix business with love or pleasure…

‘I—I can’t afford that. Couldn’t you bring it down a bit, after all we near enough live together, don’t we?’

‘Yes, honey, but I have to have twenty thousand for me to survive, anything less wouldn’t do.’

My heart sank. I loved this place but I had to be practical. ‘I’ll have to let it go then,’ I said sadly. She opened her arms and we had a bit of a cuddle.

‘I don’t understand,’ she said, frowning.

‘What?’ I sniffed, looking up at her lovely face.

‘Why you can’t pay twenty thousand a year, it’s not that much.’

‘Maybe not be for you, but it’s a hell of a lot for me.’ I said, kissing her.

‘So, you’re not willing to pay twenty thousand kisses a year to have the place?’

‘It’s not that I don’t want to it’s just––what did you say–?’

I looked at her beautiful face, she was smiling slightly.

‘D—d—do you mean it?’

She nodded.

‘I can have the place?’

‘Only if you keep up with the rent. Mind you, one kiss short and you are out of here!’

I squealed with delight and was soon paying the first instalment of my rent–it was hard going, but someone had to do it!

---

To Be Continued...

The Cove By Liz Wright

Please leave comments...thanks! ~Sue

My thanks go to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing and pulling the story into shape.

---

 
 

Que Sera, Sera,
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours, to see
Que Sera, Sera
What will be, will be.

Doris Day

Previously…

My heart sank. I loved this place but I had to be practical. ‘I’ll have to let it go then,’ I said sadly. She opened her arms and we had a bit of a cuddle.

‘I don’t understand,’ she said, frowning.

‘What?’ I sniffed, looking up at her lovely face.

‘Why you can’t pay twenty thousand a year, it’s not that much.’

‘Maybe not be for you, but it’s a hell of a lot for me.’ I said, kissing her.

‘So, you’re not willing to pay twenty thousand kisses a year to have the place?’

‘It’s not that I don’t want to it’s just––what did you say–?’

I looked at her beautiful face, she was smiling slightly.

‘D—d—do you mean it?’

She nodded.

‘I can have the place?’

‘Only if you keep up with the rent. Mind you, one kiss short and you are out of here!’

I squealed with delight and was soon paying the first installment of my rent–it was hard going, but someone had to do it!

And now the story continues…

Saturday morning arrived and I awoke to the sound of screeching seagulls and a lovely warm body up close and personal behind me. The fact that neither my partner nor I were wearing anything meant that I could feel her lovely, warm, soft and pert breasts, pressed against my naked back.

Recalling last night’s nocturnal activities made me smile. I sighed with the memory and then cracked an eye open.

‘Oh hell,’ I said after looking at the clock on my bedside table. ‘Abby, wake up!’

‘Mmm…what?’

‘It’s half past eight,’ I said turning over and looking into her beautiful face. ‘My sister Dawn and her mob will be here at eleven and you have to go and open up the pottery.’

‘I…I’m too sleepy...’

‘ABBY, don’t go back to sleep, you have to feed the cats too. Abby, are you listening?’

‘Mmm…’

‘Right you asked for it,’ I said as I straddled her lovely body––

Twenty minutes later, we were rather reluctantly up and getting ready for the day.

Abby used the shower first; I wanted to join her, but she said that it would be a distraction and anyway, the loofa was getting rather worn.

I slipped on my robe and sadly, went downstairs thinking of the things we could be doing in the shower right now. If only we didn’t have to have things to do today. I never thought that I would feel like that after Olivia, and I smiled at what I might get up to with Abby tonight; then I remembered that she wouldn’t be here tonight.

We had agreed that I would take things slowly with my sister and the family, perhaps introducing her on Sunday when we had lunch in Luigi’s Italian Restaurant on the other side of the cove, by the east beach–past the third rock on the right. I didn’t fancy going to bed alone tonight, but I suppose it was a sacrifice I would have to bear.

I was making coffee and burning toast when she came down. She was dressed in a yellow top and jeans. Her hair was still a bit wet but as far as I was concerned she looked truly scrumptious. After a quick kiss, a slurp of coffee and a bite or two of toast, she was off to do her daily chores.

‘See you later, honey. Are you sure you’ll be okay?’

‘Don’t fuss, Abby. I have to do this. They are the only real family I have and they will have to take me as I am. Dawn did say that there wouldn’t be any problems and if there are, well then I will just have to cope. I have been doing a lot of that lately.’

After a rather nice and protracted hug, she rushed off. I could almost hear the meows of complaint from her cottage almost a quarter of a mile away.

I turned on the radio and listened to the music on Radio Two, while I did my chores. Luckily, Mrs P had done most of the things that needed doing so I only had to tidy up after last night.

There was a knock on the door. Glancing at the kitchen clock, I could see that it was only nine forty; too early for Dawn. I made my way downstairs and the postman–Pat–was standing there with a smile on his face.

‘Morning, Pat.’ I said.

‘Morn’m yurr’s yurr post. Just the electric and rates today and thurr’s a card from Mr Potts about that posh car o’ yurr’n.’

‘Thanks, Pat.’ I said, ‘fancy a cuppa?’

‘No, ta, I got to get downalong. Mrs Pertwee will give me tea an’ toast while she tell me ’bout the gossip.’ He touched his cap and went off down the road whistling a happy tune.

I had just closed the door and started upstairs again when there was another knock the door. Descending the three steps I had climbed, I opened up again.

‘Hello, Ernie.’ I said to the milkman who was out of breath.

‘Hello’m. Just one pint today?’

‘No, three please I have people staying.’

‘What, your Abby you mean?’

‘No, my sister and her family are coming.’

‘Right three it is then.’ He ran over to his milk float and returned with the milk.

‘Thanks, Ernie.’ I said, taking the bottles from him.

‘Right’m.’ he said with a wave as he rushed next door for my neighbour’s order. I wasn’t surprised that he knew about Abby and me. I took it for granted that my private life was now in the public domain. I just wondered if my other private things had been broadcast yet. Ah well, Que Sera, Sera.

Closing the door, I went into the kitchen and put the milk bottles in the fridge. I saw a cobweb on the ceiling and felt rather smug. Mrs Pearson had missed that one and I wondered how I could slip it in at the Monday morning tea-break conversation with her.

Talking of tea, I fancied a cuppa, so I filled the kettle and waited for it to boil. Picking up the card from Mr Potts, it said:

The part they sent was the wrong one. I’m waiting for the new bit
but it has to come from Taiwan.
I’ll let you know when it’s in and I’ve fix the car.
Sorry for the delay.

Potts

I shook my head and tried to remember what my car actually looked like.

While I waited for the kettle to boil, I once again wondered what my family, and specifically my sister’s hubby, Adrian would think of me. I put a tea bag and a spoon full of sugar in my pink I love me mug and continued to cogitate. I had only met Adrian a couple of times, once at the wedding and once more soon afterwards. I was wearing trousers then and although not exactly manly in the testosterone sense, I don’t imagine that he ever thought of me as a woman. He was a nice man though; I just hoped that he wouldn’t think that I was just a bloke in a dress.

The whistle on the kettle, erm–whistled and I poured the boiling water over the tea bag. Just then there was another knock on the front door!

I went and opened it: there in front of me stood a woman. She was, I suppose, in her seventies, had a lined face and no makeup except a slash of red lipstick. She wore a dress that wouldn’t have looked out of place at Woodstock at the height of flower-power. Talking of flowers, she had some woven or plaited into her long, greying hair, very nice but somehow rather bizarre. She had a sort of haunted look and her eyes were as black as coal.

‘Hello.’ I said, ‘can I help you?’

‘Winter will be upon us soon, you must prepare. Beware of tall dark strangers. Take nothing at face value and expect a surprise come Michaelmas.’

‘Pardon?’

‘I’ll say no more.’

With that, she turned and walked off down the road, muttering to herself.

‘Bloody hell,’ I thought, ‘weird or what?’

I returned to my cuppa shaking my head and wondering if I should have crossed her palm with silver. Quickly fishing out the teabag before my tea became too strong for a weak little thing like me, I added some milk and then grabbed a packet of Jaffa cakes. Making my way to my studio, I slid open the balcony doors and sat down on my rickety chair breathing a sigh of relief. Down on the quay–even at this time of the morning–the ice cream kiosk was doing a roaring trade.

It was brilliant that I would be having my gallery near there. It was the ideal spot for me: next to the pottery, near the fish and chip shop and the Bide-A-While Continental Tea Room, the ice cream kiosk, of course, and not forgetting The Toad and Tart–not that I was thinking of my tummy, honest!

Then I remembered, I was already behind on my rent. I would have to go and see Abby at some stage and make a payment. I wondered if a French kiss would count as two? Knowing her and the skin-flint that she was, it would probably only be one; it was a good job that I was such a nice tenant and wouldn’t complain about it to some sort of tribunal!

Checking my watch I saw that time was getting on. Earlier I had received a text from Dawn saying they would be arriving at eleven, so I thought I should get cracking. I did the washing up, made the bed, had a shower, washed my hair and dried it, and then had to decide what to wear.

I didn’t want to go over the top or look frumpy, so after minimalist makeup–using the less is more rule–I decided on smart but casual, so I put on a pretty, cream silk, blouse and a black, knee-length skirt. It was far too hot for tights, so I wore my sandals. They looked nice as my pink-painted nails were clearly visible.

Brushing my hair till it shone, I looked critically at the finished article in the full length mirror. Not bad, I thought. Not devastatingly pretty or drop dead gorgeous, but passable in a dimly lit room.

I smiled at my reflection and then the smile was wiped off my face as there was yet another knock on the front door. Looking at the time, I could see that it was ten to eleven, so I took one more look at myself, brushed a speck of dust from my skirt with my hand and made my way downstairs. I put on my best face and opened the door.

‘Hi, Sam, just dropping off the paperwork for the gallery.’

‘Oh hi, Millie.’

She must have detected my surprise; ‘Sorry, were you expecting someone else?’

‘Yes, my sister and her family. Sorry, Millie, I’m a bit nervous.’

‘Why?’

‘Well they haven’t seen me like this, a wom–I mean for such a long time and well I hope that they’ll like what they see.’

‘You are lovely and anyway, you’ve seen your sister just recently.’

‘Yes, but not Adrian and I’ve never met the kids.’

‘Well, I won’t keep you. Just sign the forms where I’ve indicated and then give them to Abby. Funny though.’

‘What?’

‘The payment; it says twenty thousand and Abby said to leave off the pound sign. I wonder what she means by that?’

‘Erm, not entirely sure. Don’t worry, I’ll sort it out with her.’

‘Okay. Look, I’ve got to rush, have to see a man about a stable; bye.’

‘Bye,’ I waved to her retreating back and returned to the kitchen where I put the paperwork behind the clock. Just then, my mobile chirped.

Picking it up, I pressed the button thingy. It was a text:

Hi Sam,
Thinking of you. Hope it goes ok. If you need cavalry, I’ll come to your rescue.
Ps - you owe me forty kisses.
Hugs
Abby
XXXX

I smiled and sent a quick reply.

Thanx hon, I will pay you later, but need a receipt!
Hugs, and wet kisses.
Sam
XXXX

There was a knock on the door. Once again I metaphorically girded my loins and went downstairs. If it was anyone other than Dawn and the tribe, I would probably say naughty things…

I opened the door and there they were. Dawn rushed up and hugged me.

‘Sam! You look gorgeous. Adrian’s parking the car somewhere. He wants to find a place where his car won’t get bombed by the local bird population.’

After a hug fest, she put me down; behind her were the two children. They looked a bit shy so I bent down to their level.

‘Hello.’ I said. Looking at Timothy I said,’ Right, are you Hayley?’

He shook his head.

‘Oh, it must be Timothy then. I am silly, aren’t I?’

He smiled, nodded and then giggled; ‘Silly, Auntie.’ he said.

‘Oh, and who is this beautiful girl? Are you Hayley?’

‘Mmm,’ she nodded and then added, ‘I like your hair.’

‘Thank you, honey. Your hair’s lovely too.’

Looking at the children, I felt a lump in my throat. They were so beautiful. How could Olivia––? I shook my head to rid it of such negative thoughts.

‘Can I have a hug then?’

They both came to me and hugged my legs. Glancing towards Dawn, it was obvious that she was affected too. ‘I think they like you,’ she whispered.

A shadow fell across the doorway. Looking up I saw Adrian. He hadn’t changed; he was quite tall–beefy in fact–dark haired and hazel eyed. He was considered quite a catch for Dawn. He used to play rugby and had the muscles and broken nose to prove it.

‘Hello, Samantha,’ he said, a slight frown on his face as he took in someone he had last seen wearing a suit and tie.

‘Hi Adrian,’ I said, standing up.

---

To Be Continued...

The Cove By Liz Wright

Please leave comments...thanks! ~Sue

My thanks go to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing and pulling the story into shape.

---

 
 

Looking at the children, I felt a lump in my throat. They were so beautiful. How could Olivia––? I shook my head to rid it of such negative thoughts.

‘Can I have a hug then?’

They both came to me and hugged my legs. Glancing towards Dawn, it was obvious that she was affected too.

‘I think they like you,’ she whispered.

A shadow fell across the doorway. Looking up I saw Adrian. He hadn’t changed; he was quite tall–beefy in fact–dark haired and hazel eyed. He was considered quite a catch for Dawn. He used to play rugby and had the muscles and broken nose to prove it.

‘Hello, Samantha,’ he said, a slight frown on his face as he took in someone he had last seen wearing a suit and tie.

‘Hi, Adrian,’ I said, standing up.

And now the story continues…

‘Come on, children,’ I said taking my eyes away from Adrian’s rather strange look, ‘let’s go in.’

I followed Dawn who had gone charging ahead with children who had run in after her. I could hear Adrian behind me. I didn’t want to look at him. I was confused and did not know how to take the look that he had given me.

Dawn and the children were in the kitchen; the children–still a bit shy of me–were hanging off her skirt.

‘Right,’ I said, trying to get a grip, ‘who wants a lolly on a hot day like this?’

‘Meee, please!’ said Timothy and Hayley almost together, automatically coming out of their shell at the promise of goodies.

‘Come on then, let’s raid the freezer!’

The kids, all thoughts of shyness overcome by the thoughts of lollies followed me to the freezer and after a few minutes, they were happily licking away and oblivious to anything else.

‘Tea, coffee, or something stronger?’ I said to Dawn.

‘Tea would be nice,’ said Dawn.

‘Erm, Adrian?’ I said not really looking at him.

‘Tea would be nice.’

‘Okay; two teas coming up. Why don’t you take the children into the sitting room, I’ll be there in a jiffy.’

‘Come on, kids,’ said Adrian,’ let’s go and sit down.’

I was busy with cups and saucers, kettle and such like and jumped slightly at a touch on my elbow.

‘Samantha?’

I looked up, tears in my eyes. ‘What, Dawn?’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘H…he hates me.’ I sniffed.

‘Who?’

‘Adrian. I saw that look he gave me–’

‘–What look?’

‘A sort of a “can’t believe what I’m seeing”, look.’

‘Do you really believe that?’

‘Yes.’

She looked a bit stern. I knew that look. It was one she had when we were young where she was going to have a go at me. ‘What utter rubbish. Wait here…oh and it’s one lump for him and two for me,’ she said as an afterthought as she left the room.

I carried on being busy, crashing crockery and generally making a bit of a mess of things. A bit like my life really; I couldn’t make my marriage work and I had made a mess of trying to get to know my brother-in-law–

‘Samantha.’

I dropped a cup on the floor. It shattered into little pieces. I felt sick to my stomach and there was Adrian, seeing me at my worst. I was willing to bet my makeup was running down my face.

‘I—I’ve broken it now!’

He held my arms.

‘Look at me, please.’

I looked up and saw his face. He didn’t look horrified.

‘Sam, I’m sorry if I have done something wrong––’

‘It—it’s not you, it’s me. I expected that everything would be all right. That the children and you would l—like me and that I could have a family again. I shouldn’t expect everyone to think I’m n—normal.’

‘Please stop crying, you silly goose. I think you’re lovely and sweet. There was always something about you that I couldn’t pin down. Sit down here.’

He plonked me down on a kitchen stool and sat next to me. He held on to my hand and I thought that it was rather nice of him to do that. Perhaps he didn’t think I was such a bad person after all.

‘Right; I’m sorry if I gave the wrong impression when you opened the door to us. I admit I was curious as to how you would look. Dawn told me that you were very pretty but all I could see in my mind’s eye was Tom in a dress. I know it was stupid of me, but that’s the only way I remember you–as Tom. When I saw you, I couldn’t believe it. There you were, standing there with gorgeous long hair, slim and shapely legs, wearing a dress that seemed like it was made for you; makeup that really brought out your looks and an impression that you had only ever been a woman and never a man and I, for once, was speechless.’

I looked into his eyes. As an artist, I knew a lot about eyes. They are the windows of the soul. I could see that he was telling me the truth and I was so happy inside that my fears and worries had been groundless.

‘So, I don’t look like a drag artist?’

He laughed and pulled me up.

‘You are a silly goose! You are very pretty and feminine and you know it.’ he said as he gave me a wonderful hug!

I cleaned up the broken cup while Adrian finished off making the teas; then we both went into the sitting room. By the red juice marks around two certain faces, I saw that the lollies had been an instant hit.

‘All okay?’ Dawn asked.

‘Yes. It was just me being silly.’

‘Nothing new there, Samantha.’

‘Pig,’ I said, poking out my tongue at her. That set off Tim and Hayley and we all laughed out loud.

After things had settled down a bit and we had drunk our teas. I took them on a short tour of my cottage. There were general oohs and aahs as I showed them around. Then I showed them my studio with the lovely views of the cove and then the kids started jumping up and down when they saw the beaches.

‘Can we go to the beach, Mummy, please!’

‘I want a bucket and spade.’

‘Can I make a sand castle?’

‘I want to swim,’

‘STOP!’ Dawn had held up her hand and the children just stood there, looking at their mother with a slightly worried look on their faces.

‘Right, you two; we’re here to see your auntie and nothing else. If, and I repeat, IF you’re very, very good and do as you are told, we might, and I repeat, might go to the beach for a while later, but only if you are the best boy and girl in the world and don’t drive me bonkers; understood?’

‘Yes, mummy.’

‘All right, mummy, but––’

‘–No buts, Hayley. That’s the deal, take it or leave it.’

Tim and Hayley looked at each other and made some sort of unsaid agreement with their eyebrows and then just nodded.

‘Right, we’ll see if you can be good for five minutes.’

‘Children, would you like to do some drawing and see who can do the nicest picture of the beach?’

‘Yes please, auntie,’ replied Hayley who appeared to be the leader of the gang.

‘Right then, come and sit at the table and using this paper and these pencils let’s see what you can draw for us.’

They rushed over, sat down and were soon engrossed in their task, leaving us adults to sit and drink our tea in peace.

‘It’s lovely here,’ sighed Dawn, looking across the cove and out to sea. ‘I told you Adrian, didn’t I? It’s a gorgeous spot.’

‘I know love, but the price of houses would be horrendous here and I don’t think we could afford somewhere in a place like this.’ He looked rather sad.

‘Look, Adrian, I know someone who might help and just finding out prices wouldn’t do any harm, would it? I’ve seen a few for sale signs up, what with the credit crunch and everything, there are more properties about than you think.’

‘Go on, Ade, let her talk to her friend.’

‘Oh, all right then.’ He sighed. ‘How can I resist two lovely women!’

Dawn and I looked at each other and giggled and then I picked up my phone and speed dialled.

‘Hi Millie, it’s Sam…yes, you too. Look, I have my sister and brother-in-law here and they want to know how horrendously expensive houses are here. Can I pass you over to Adrian? Okay, chow.’

I passed my mobile to Adrian and he was soon into property-speak, leaving Dawn and I to talk as we looked out over the balcony at the lively seaside scene below.

‘Oh, it’s a marvellous place you have here Samantha. You’re so lucky, I’d love to live in a place like this rather than on a boring “eighties” estate in the middle of town.’

‘Yes, it would be wonderful to have you near. The local primary school is small and has a great reputation so the kids will be okay. I’ve made lots of friends very quickly and I’m sure you would as well. And, of course you’d have a babysitter who was local and very reasonably priced.’

‘Who?’ she said looking puzzled.

‘Me of course!’

We both laughed and then chatted some more, while Adrian got deeper and deeper into the clutches of Millie. I had seen her work and she could sell sand to the Saudis, so I had little doubt that she would come up with the ideal place for them to look at.

I left Dawn to drink in the view and her dreams of moving while I went over to Hayley and Timothy. I was interested in how far they had got in their depiction of the quintessential seaside view. I was surprised as they both did quite a good job. Alright it was a bit Lowry with a seaside flavour, all matchstick men and matchstick cats and dogs, but still, they had done very well. *

Adrian got off the phone and came over. Dawn joined us and we all said how well the children had done with their drawings.

‘Right,’ I said,’ let’s see who can do the nicest drawing of my cottage.’

Like a pair of Van Gogh’s on steroids, they were soon feverishly drawing their next masterpieces leaving us olds to talk property.

‘What did Millie say?’ I asked.

‘She seemed to think that she had at least three ideal properties that we would be mad to not see,’ said Adrian. ‘She’s a bit intense,’ he added.

‘Yes, she is a bit full frontal, but she wouldn’t sell you something awful. She knows her stuff.’

‘Well,’ said Adrian, ‘she’s sending me through some details and will be arranging some viewings next week. I’ll find out what we can get for a quick sale of our place and that will give us an idea as to how much we can afford.’

‘That’s great; it would be lovely to move here, Ade,’ sighed Dawn.

‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,’ he said giving her a bit of a hug.

We sat in the other side of the room from the children so we could talk without being overheard. I was amazed that Hayley and Tim were so engrossed in what they were doing and supposed that artistic nature can be in the blood. Anyway, while there was relative peace and quiet, Dawn and Adrian sort of quizzed me about what had been going on in my life.

‘Well.’ I said, ‘everything has been happening so fast…’

I told them everything that had happened to me in the short time that I had lived here–Jocasta and David taking me under their wing; Katie and her efforts to thwart the evil Olivia and Nigel; Millie finding me a lovely home and gallery…and then, as the children were still busy, I took a deep breath and told them about Abby.

They both listened in silence and I wasn’t sure how they were going to take it.

‘I love Abby and I want to spend the rest of my life with her, but we aren’t silly kids and we know that we have to be careful and not hurt one another, so we are taking one step at a time.’

They were quiet for a moment and then looked at each other. Dawn looked at the children and then leaned closer.

‘So, how good is she in bed?’

‘Dawn!’

That broke any perceived ice I felt. They accepted me and my relationship for what it was and I was so glad that they didn’t have any hang-ups over it.

The day went very well. We all praised Hayley and Tim for their drawings and, to this day, they have pride of place in my studio.

Later on, as promised, we went to the beach and everyone had their fix of sand. Being an old sweat, I wasn’t that interested in sand and beaches. I was a local now and I was feeling a bit blasé about it all. Hayley and Timothy changed all that when they roped me in to make sandcastles with them. Then I was buried up to my neck in sand and that was an experience I hadn’t had since I was knee high to a grasshopper.

All too soon it was time for them to go. I hugged Dawn and Adrian and then got wet kisses from Hayley and Timothy and then, a bit tearfully, I was waiving them goodbye. I wasn’t too upset though as I was going to see them again next weekend when they came house hunting and also I was looking forward to introducing them to Abby…talking of which––

I sat down on a bench overlooking the harbour and rang her.

‘Hi, Abby, it’s me.’

‘Hello, you. How did it go?’

‘Oh, better than I thought. I was worrying about nothing. They all accepted me and we had a lovely time. They’re dying to meet you and are coming back next weekend to view some properties and hopefully see you.’

‘Oh that’s great. I’ve been so worried; I haven’t been able to throw a good pot all day.’

‘Where are you love?’

‘Still working, but I’ll be finished here soon. What about a pasty and drink at the Toad and Tart in about thirty minutes?’

‘Sounds great. Look, I’m on the bench opposite the post office, I’ll wait for you here.’

‘Okay, love, see you in a bit.’

I put my phone back in my bag and just sat there smiling to myself. Life was good.

After a few minutes, I sensed someone sitting down beside me. I looked at him. He was quite tall, good looking, with dark hair. He smiled gently at me and I smiled back and then looked away. I wasn’t into men and anyway, even if I was, I was taken.

‘Lovely day,’ he said.

‘Mmm,’ I said, not wanting to encourage him.

‘Nigel sends his regards.’

My head snapped around.

‘W—what?’

He looked at me and then I noticed his steely grey eyes.

‘Nigel asked me to give you a message. He’s not very happy about how things have turned out. He feels that you haven’t quite got the message. He asked me to clarify things for you.’

‘What do you mean?’

My heart was doing flip flops and I was breaking out into a sweat. I felt so vulnerable sitting there, and didn’t know whether to scream, run or just wait and hear what this person had to say. In the end I had no choice as he gripped my arm tightly.

‘Don’t scream or shout, Tom. We don’t want a scene, do we?’

He was still talking as if I was a friendly acquaintance and anyone looking at us would think that nothing was wrong. Fear made me dumb so I couldn’t speak, let alone do anything else.

‘Nigel feels that it would be best for you, Olivia and the baby for you to return home. He believes that you don’t really know your own mind and when you’ve had time to reflect, you’ll realise that it makes sense for you to return to the real world. This is the only time that you will have this advice. You have two days to think things over and come to your senses, after that, things might get a little–difficult. I’ll leave you now. Oh, and by the way, tell anyone about this conversation and things might start happening. Goodbye, Tom–oh, I like those children; Dawn’s aren’t they?’

He got up and left. At no time had he raised his voice or shown any outward signs of aggression, but I knew he meant every single word he had said and that was what started me shaking.

---

To Be Continued...

*At the seaside by L S Lowry

Please leave comments...thanks! ~Sue

My thanks go to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing and pulling the story into shape.