"One of the reports said you had been taking hormones; was that true? Isn't that the first step to...um?"
"...to going all the way?" I helped out.
Julia put her pen down, leaned back in the kitchen chair and stretched her arms out. This exercise complete, she leaned forward once again, neatly folded the completed letter and slid it into an envelope with her completed job application and photos of her work. With a sigh, she addressed the envelope and put it on the side ready to post. A waste of time maybe, but Julia knew that she had to be honest.
Archie made his weekly rounds of the house's gardens with Jim the gardener. All trim and well weeded, but as with any mature garden, it could no longer look as fresh as it had done when his father had these gardens laid 30 years ago. It needed to be taken in hand by someone who had imagination and an understanding of how nature enhanced and man's input detracted. He thought of those displays at Chelsea this year and shuddered at the number that contained large amounts of steel and concrete.
Julia went around her bed-sit checking the house plants, the only gardening opportunity currently open to her. All were well, even Spiro the Spider plant who she had found abandoned and terribly wilted when she moved in. She sat back in the chair she'd salvaged from a skip and tried to relax. The tribunal, though eventually in her favour, had taken so much out of her.
Archie looked at the pile of posts. Methodically he sorted the windowed envelopes and filed the advertising matter in the bin. He looked at the remaining letters, knowing most would be more applications for the head gardener's job. One caught his eye, being much thicker than the others. Opening it, he found the expected application form together with a letter of explanation.
The Letter
Dear Sir, I am applying for the post of head gardener at your home. I have experience of municipal parks, contract and exhibition work. My references for this work are appended to the application. I have taken the liberty of including some photographs of my last exhibition entries. Although trained and experienced as a garden designer, I would like to take on the additional challenge of a full time role in garden management, and so be allowed to live with the designs I create. I must explain that since completing the jobs listed, I changed my name. This may cause problems with references. If you choose to follow up on my references, please use the name Michael Brown. Best regards Julia Brown
Archie sat back in his chair. He had noted the change of gender in the names. He sighed, screwed up the letter and application and tossed them into the wicker wastebasket under his desk. About to turn to the next application, he paused. There was something familiar about the name. He needed to remember.
Julia remembered the day that, as a boy, he had sought respite from the constant bullying at school by hiding in his parent's bedroom. After an hour, boredom caused Michael to start investigating the contents of his mother's drawers. He found things he had only previously seen on the washing line: Stockings, panties, bras and petticoats. She still remembered with a guilty feeling, slipping off his school uniform and with trembling fingers slipping the stockings up his legs, fastening the bra around his back and sliding the long slip over his head. Some items, like the suspender belt, required some experimentation until their use became clear. Each item of clothing made him want to put on more. Suddenly he realised he was fully dressed in his mother's clothes. He guiltily looked in the mirror. Apart from his short hair, he looked like a young woman. He relaxed. It felt right, as if a missing cog had been put in a machine and now the machine ran smoothly. Although he knew his parents would be upset if they found out, he had resolved to do this again.
Archie went to his library, passing his shelves of first edition gardening reference books, copies of his own scientific reference works and the family archives and on to the area where periodicals were stored in magazine boxes. He selected the boxes that contained gardening magazines from eighteen months ago up until the last six months. Sitting down at the large library table, he started to look through the back copies. He knew the news article had been at least a year ago.
Her bank statement was still in the black but not for much longer. The compensation money, had all been spent. For the thousandth time, Julia wondered if she had done the right thing.
Archie found the article he was looking for. The headline read 'Fired cross-dressing gardener wrongly dismissed'. He sat back to read the article he had ignored at its publication date.
The news reports of the tribunal had all been sensationalised, especially the tabloids. Only the specialist magazines had made any mention of her prize winning work and treated the situation as an example of poor staff management and badly implemented employment law. After the output of the popular press, she had become too hot to handle, or at least, too hot to employ. She had even tried to get an agent to milk the publicity, but all had laughed at her.
No job, time on her hands, and money to burn; Life should have been good for Julia. However, the visits to her counsellor were depressing. The counsellor had disqualified her transition time at her last job as the required uniform of dungarees and wellies, was not deemed feminine enough. What could she do?
Julia looked at herself in the mirror. Her body was trim, with good muscle tone. She was so glad that she hadn't bulked up like so many of her colleagues.
She had enjoyed the job, got on well with the gardeners who worked for her. The problems started when her hormone-enhanced breasts began to show. Then the jokes started. The longer the jokes went on, the meaner they became, until even those making them could have called them nothing better than taunts. She had complained to the garden management, but to no avail. After she went to personnel to get her name changed, she was given her P45 - in her old name. 'Disruptive influence on the work force.' the dismissal letter had said.
It wasn't a beautiful body, the rigours of her profession prevented that, but it was now unmistakably female. The scars were either healed or hidden.
She had decided the counsellor was not on her side. He had been giving her a hard time recently. He never put her problems in a positive light, always seeming to take the attitude that he could 'cure' her.
Archie put the magazine down, took off his glasses, checked his pockets for a handkerchief and then polished the lenses with his shirttail. He now remembered with pleasure the garden at Chelsea that had been created by Michael Brown. He returned to his office and getting down on his knees, he retrieved the discarded application from his waste bin and attempted to smooth out the creases he had put into it a few hours earlier.
Julia had spent several hours using her local library's internet connection, trying to research the employment issues. There were plenty of web sites for lawyers who would sue anyone for anything if they could get a (large) percentage of any compensation due. However, none of the employment specialists mentioned any sexual discrimination issues that matched her problems. A search for transsexual sites was disappointing, not from the number found, but the propensity to contain sexually explicit photographs. The library's implementation of site screening software caused a loud beep to emanate the each time she went to one of these specific sites. Eyebrows were raised by the assistant librarian watching over the computers. Soon Julia went through the indignity of being asked to leave.
Michael's dressing continued, usually in the small hours when his parents and older sister, Clare, were asleep. He had thanked God so many times that the women's main wardrobe was located on the open landing at the top of the stairs and not in the bedrooms and was accessible for investigation during his nocturnal wanderings.
A different library and a more specific search (along with the surreptitiously removed speaker connection) found some sympathetic web sites and things called chat rooms, but the library's software wouldn't allow those to be accessed. She went looking for a more liberal attitude and found it at a trendy internet cafe. The waiter (for some reason called a server) showed Julia how to access the chat rooms and gave her a small card with lots of strange abbreviations and what they meant. She soon became engrossed in the chat room culture, learning about strange aspects of Dominant and Submissive (definitely not her thing), of role play (interesting, but just playing at what she was trying to do for real) and above all making friends who were all sympathetic, but unable to offer advice.
Julia still remembered the day she was caught, not red handed but the circumstantial evidence was irrefutable. Michael had put his sister's hair rollers into his, now longer, hair and was wondering around the ground floor of their house at 1:30 in the morning. To his horror, he heard a key turn in the front door. He had scampered into the toilet and listened as his sister returned from a late night party. He had removed the rollers, tied them into the headscarf that had been covering them, and then hidden them behind the toilet cistern. As casually as his loud beating heart would allow, he bid his sister good night and lay in bed waiting for the house to be quiet, so he could retrieve the rollers. The next thing he was aware of was the room was lit by the sun and there was a noisy argument between father and sister. Michael had gone into the kitchen to hear what was being said. The first things he noticed were the hair curlers spread over the table. Clare was fighting a rear guard action on two fronts, firstly for being out so late, and secondly for leaving her rollers in the toilet. She looked at Michael as he came in and he saw in her eyes that she had identified an escape route. "It must have been Michael who had taken my rollers into the toilet. He was in there last night when I got home." Michael considered denying it, but he was not an accomplished liar, so just refused to talk about it at all. For the rest of the weekend, the house had a very strained atmosphere.
MakeMeAGirl was his chat room nickname. He (Julia assumed it was a he) opened a private chat with her one day after she had been talking about her dismisal woes in the open forum. He claimed to be a lawyer specialising in employment issues, admitting that he wanted his firm to take on a specific transgender case prior to making his own appearance from the closet. They arranged to meet up at a cafe. Julia had read lots of horror stories about real life meetings between chat room attendees, but after all that had been the whole point in going to the chat rooms in the first place.
Archie had never met a transvestite before. His sheltered upbringing never had cause to equip him for such encounters. In fact, the only things he could think of were the plays at his all boys' school where some unfortunate got picked to play the girls part and had to endure a term or more of abuse from their peers; and some camp entertainers on television. He had no idea what to expect and prepared for the worst.
Sitting at his desk, he picked up the gold nibbed fountain pen and wrote the invitation to an interview.
Jim had now worked for three generations of Archie's family. He had done most of the spadework for Archie's father the last time the grounds were remodelled. Now Jim spent his time keeping everything tidy and the gardens were immaculate. Jim didn't like change; the garden looked as good now as it had thirty years ago, yet he sensed a restlessness in his employer as they did the weekly inspection of the grounds. Change! Why couldn't people leave things alone, always fiddling, never accepting the status quo? There had even been that stupid garden designer who thought he could change sex, the plonker.
The lawyer turned out to be very good, and even took the case on a pro bono basis. His skill combined with Julia's careful notes of meetings with the garden's human resources department plus her old employer's inability to stick to the procedures laid down by employment law had left the tribunal board with no choice but to find in favour of Julia. The judge had all but thrown the book at them, and awarding a five figure sum in compensation.
The holiday in Brazil had seemed like a good idea at the time. An operation (or two) followed by a couple of weeks on the beach to recover. Julia's new passport had her new name and the gender indicator, could never be changed, regardless of how many operations she had.
The money for the operation was no longer a problem and she had been told that the transgender testing was less rigorous than at home.
When the holiday was over, she returned to the UK minus most of her compensation money, his balls, penis and Adam's apple, but with a remodelled chin and augmented breasts.
The worst day of her life, had been the day that she had told her parents of her wish to be a proper woman. They had not taken it well. Her father had physically thrown her out of the house and told her never to return. She later heard though her sister that they had told their friends that Michael had died. It must have been doubly embarrassing for them when his photo was in the paper due to the tribunal.
Her counsellor was not impressed when the all-new Julia returned from her holiday. Furious would be a better adjective. He recited the UK's legal requirements, the continued care she required after the operation and finally in a vindictive move, told her that as she had gone behind his back, he would not prescribe the drugs she still and would always require on his nation's national health service.
Julia held the last fifty pounds she owned in the world and tried to decide whether to spend it on food or a black market supply of the hormones she required. Her request for a new counsellor was held up somewhere, she suspected it was waiting on the desk of the previous one. What would she become when the food, the drugs or both ran out?
The envelope fell onto her doormat like manna from heaven.
I stood up, dripping water on the floor, still shivering after someone in another bed-sit had turned on a tap causing a jet of cold water to shoot out of the shower attachment that I had pushed over the taps. I dressed carefully. I had to make a good impression, but my clothes had to be sufficiently practical that should an impromptu visit around the grounds occur, I wouldn't be leaving a trail of stiletto holes and torn silk. I ended up with a navy blue, cashmere, roll neck sweater finished with an agate brooch, knee length tweed skirt, and black woollen tights. My long blonde hair, brushed back into a ponytail, leaving the fringe covering my forehead. I had discarded the string of pearls as being a bit too Sloan Ranger like. My trusty Wellingtons and wax jacket would be in the boot of the car.
The directions to Wagstaff House were straightforward. Leaving the M4 motorway and heading north towards Stroud I noticed the change of scenery as I approached the steeper side of the Cotswold escarpment. Falling leaves covered the road. A gap in the high bank that bordered the road would have been easy to miss if the directions hadn't warned me of its presence. I stopped the car, got out and opened the gate, drove through, stopped and closed the gate behind me. The narrow lane opened up into a wide driveway, which led up to the large house. I parked next to a Land Rover Discovery.
After checking my face in the car's rear view mirror and touching up my make up, I got out and nervously walked to the flight of steps leading up to the front door. Next to the original brass bell pull was a small electronic push button. I pressed it and waited.
The door opened and a slightly portly man looked out of a ruddy countenance. "Hello can I help you?" he said with a slightly confused tone to his voice.
"Hello, I'm Julia Brown I have an appointment with Mr Archibald Wagstaff." I introduced myself and noticed the other became somewhat flustered.
"Oh, I see, I, ah, was expecting some. Excuse me. Please come in, follow me." He seemed to have regained control of himself, and was striding away across the vast entrance hall to the staircase. "My office is on the first floor. I'd like to conduct the interview there if you don't mind." He called behind him.
The staircase finished at a gallery that surrounded the entrance hall. My host or hopefully future employer marched down one of the corridors that left the gallery and turned through an open doorway. I rushed along, trying to keep up with him, frightened that I might get lost in what looked like a maze of corridors and rooms.
When I entered the room that was his office, he was seated at a large mahogany desk facing me. Indicating a chair on my side of the desk, he said, "Please, take a seat".
"I'm so sorry about downstairs... I was expecting, Sorry, I didn't even introduce myself. I'm Archie Wagstaff, Doctor of Palaeontology by training, minor baronet by breeding and dedicated to keeping this pile in one piece until the tax man gets it when I die.
"Now, am I right to assume that it was you who created the riverside willow garden at Chelsea the year before last?"
"Yes that was mine. I got a silver rosette" I replied, aware that he hadn't taken his eyes off me since he had started talking. I returned his gaze, almost staring at him. He finally averted his eyes and looked at the ceiling as he continued.
"Wonderful, wonderful. Now, the situation here is that my previous head gardener, Marcus, got poached by a TV company to work as an advisor on a series for them and has decided he likes the high life and has moved to London. Previously the job was mainly about keeping on top of the grounds in general and the flowerbeds in particular. However, the new appointee will have some additional tasks, as I want to redevelop some parts of the gardens. So, I'm looking for someone with vision and an understanding of the beauty of nature.
I smiled. Just the sort of opportunity I was looking for. "Yes my lord. As you have seen from my resume," I saw the creased document in the folder open in front of him, "I have a broad experience of garden design, encompassing the formal municipal gardens in Brighton, numerous private and corporate designs and of course the exhibition garden you have already mentioned. In all these cases, I have produced the design, managed the project and when I have had time, assisted in the execution of the design. In my last employment I was managing a crew of six gardeners."
"Please don't call me 'My Lord'; I prefer the title I earned. Now tell me about the inspirations that lead you to design the Chelsea garden?"
I opened my portfolio and spread the original plans and photographs of the prize-winning garden across his table, spoke of the sponsor's requirements, and how I had come to produce the final design. I then spoke of the technical problems of producing a slow flowing river in essentially a dry playing field. I could tell I had captured his interest as he leaned close over the drawings, asking the right technical questions. I finished off what was essentially a presentation by saying how it had broken my heart when the display had been stripped of its plants and then ripped up by a digger to reinstate the park to its former blandness.
I was so happy with the way the interview was going, just please don't let him ask... personal questions! But as he sat back down I could see the bluster return that he had shown when I first introduced myself and his eyes were looking me all over; I had heard of men mentally undressing women, but I suspected he was trying to visualise things in a way that women don't normally have to worry about. I sighed aloud, considering that the job probably wasn't mine after all and that he had just got a free ticket to the freak show.
"You may as well ask what you want to ask directly. It'll save time." I said sharply as I carefully put all the paperwork back into the portfolio.
"I'm sorry, was I that obvious? It's just that I can't believe that you were ever a man."
"Yes I was born with the body of a man, but now thanks to modern medicine, I'm what you see here. Tell me, what do you see?"
"Ah. I see a self assured young woman."
"So treat me like a 'self assured young woman', because that's what I must be."
"You're right. I'll do that," He smiled for the first time. "and I'm pleased to say that I would be happy for you to take the job. We can discuss the terms after you have seen the grounds."
I was stunned. I had gone from the brink of disaster, but won through. I had a job!
I picked up the key for the Discovery as I showed Julia out of my office. I was now sure I had made the right decision about getting her over for the interview.
When she described the techniques she had used to build the Chelsea garden, I was disappointed, there was almost as much concrete and steel as in the hated modern designs. But as she explained, it is for a month long exhibition and it isn't practical to divert water courses or move mountains, especially as there are neither water courses nor mountains in the Chelsea Park! The point she got across to me was that, it was the look that must be natural, how that was achieved was another matter that depended upon time, resource and commitment.
I hadn't expected to offer her the job, but I think she will make a go of it if she accepts. Of course, she hasn't seen the estate yet... or met Jim, so it wasn't a sure thing that she would accept the job.
I still felt embarrassed about the way I greeted her, to think that I had been expecting a butch woman, 6 feet something with a 5 o'clock shadow. Instead, well I had called her a 'self assured young woman' when she prompted me. I had omitted another adjective that would have been appropriate - Beautiful.
I let her lead the way, and was able to watch her, the dainty steps she took, the way her hips gyrated, her hands crossed behind her back making her shoulders go back. I could imagine the way her small breasts pushed out in front of her. I still don't believe she was ever a man.
Reaching the front door, I held it open for her and sharply inhaled to take in some of that perfume she was wearing.
"Thank you" She said, giving me a smile. I realised that she must have been quite tense during the interview, but now I could see she was relaxing. "I'll just get my jacket and boots from the car".
I watched her change her shoes seated on the tailgate of the old estate car she had arrived in, watching the way she pointed her toes prior to putting them into her boots. Then I watched the way she almost twirled her coat around and thrust her arms into its sleeves whilst it was in mid air. She stamped her feet, slammed the boot lid down and looked expectantly at me, smiling.
"Shall we do the formal gardens at the back of the house first?" I asked.
"That would be nice."
I lead the way around the side of the house to the flowerbeds that could be seen from all the rooms facing southwest. They were formed in quadrants around the raised flowerbed with a statue in the middle of it.
"It's very traditional. Those roses are a bit on the mature side; we should take those out and replace them with young stock. It's a shame about the fountain."
"What fountain" I replied.
"The raised bed is a Victorian pond. The statue in the middle would originally have had water spraying from the raised arm." She climbed onto the bed and felt the hand of the sculpted lead figure. "Yes I can feel the end of the tube, still there."
"Well I never! I didn't realise that was what it was." I stood back and for the first time in my life saw the bed for what it really was. I tried to imagine water coming from the statue, cascading down. "Do you think it could be restored back to its original function?"
"I don't see why not. It depends on the condition of the pond, whether it will hold water or not. They often filled them in as repairing a cracked base was very difficult in older times. I would assume the pump is either gone or no longer serviceable. But a modern replacement would be quite simple to install."
As we looked around, she made more comments on the planting, with subtle improvements here and there, also paying compliments on the way the beds had been maintained. Wandering from plant to plant, reciting their Latin names and lovingly turning the blooms in her hands to look at them. I could see how happy it made her.
"Would you like to see my other water feature now?" I asked her, leading to the gap in the tall box hedge behind which the lake was hidden.
"This is how a water feature should be built. Two hundred years ago, this was dug out, all by shovel and wheelbarrow. The spoil now forms the hill behind it and yes, a stream was diverted to fill it. That caused a lot of upset with the estate tenants. It was their water supply!
"The lake was stocked with trout for my ancestors fishing pleasure, though that's not my thing."
We walked side by side along the path that leads around the lake. She pointed up at the trees that had been planted on the artificial hill with its rustic look out point.
"Something needs to be done about those trees. Some of them look quite dangerous and young ones should be planted ready so gaps aren't left when the older ones die or need to be taken down".
I carried on explaining the scope of her job as we walked back to the house. "There are two-hundred acres to the estate in all. Seventy-five percent of that is arable farmland worked by a tenant farmer. He has fifteen years on his lease at the moment, so we can't touch that. Of the remainder, the land the house stands on and its immediate grounds are about thirty acres. The rest is woodland.
"You will need to ensure the woodland is coppiced regularly and that the grounds are kept to my liking. You will have one member of staff reporting to you. His name is Jim and he's been working here forever! We will meet him later on."
I suddenly had the desire to extend this meeting with the young lady. Feeling the car key in my pocket, I said. We'll take the Discovery and I can show you the woodland.
I held open the passenger door of the all terrain vehicle and watched as she nimbly hoisted herself in.
As I drove we carried on talking.
"What plant do you have available?" was her first question.
"There is a tractor with a variety of implements, it can tow a big lawnmower and there is a tilting trailer. There are numerous small machines, such as trimmers and chain saws. Behind the woods are some buildings where all that is stored. If there is anything special needed, there is a local company that leases equipment by the day, with or without an operator."
"Do you sell the timber from the woodland?"
"Er, no, it is just left to grow and die in peace."
So it went on. I enjoyed listening to her high voice, and the obvious intellect that was behind the questions. We went to the small depot where all the equipment was stored and she asked questions about its maintenance. We then looked at the staff accommodation buildings.
"This is lovely." She said, looking through the window of the house that would be hers for the duration of her employment. I had tried the door but found it locked and didn't have the right key ring with me.
"My father saw sense. When the staff numbers dropped and people were less enthused for a 'life in service' as it used to be called, he knocked several of the, well, I would have called them hovels, into larger buildings and put in central heating and modern kitchens and bathrooms.
"Do you have your own furniture?"
"Not really. My current flat came semi-furnished and I never had the money to extend what was there."
"Marcus had his own things and cleared out everything when he left. I'm sure we can find enough discarded furniture in the store rooms of the main house to sort you out, though I would recommend you get your own mattress.
"There are just the three staff positions now: Head gardener, Jim and my house keeper, Mrs Billings."
We discussed salaries and her eyes opened wide when I mentioned the figure that Marcus had been earning. Obviously, councils and landscaping companies don't pay as much as I thought. That just left introducing her to Jim and I knew where he would be at this time of day. Another trip in the Discovery was required.
I had just finished my first pint of Wickwar Brewery's Best Bitter when his Lordship came into the pub. Trailing him in was this girl, well young woman.
"Hello Jim, I thought I would find you here."
"Aye, it's my lunch break Dr Wagstaff."
"Have another pint then Jim? " He waved for the landlord's attention and quickly got the drinks in for the three of us, paying with a crisp new twenty pound note.
"I'd like to introduce you to Julia Brown. I'm offering her the post of head gardener. She has yet to accept."
I had known that I couldn't get the job, with only a few years left till I retire and hadn't even applied for it. But, I didn't think he would have been daft enough to give the job to a woman.
I looked her up and down, not a lot of muscle on her. Be interesting to see her after a day with a hoe in her hands!
"Julia has a lot of experience of garden design, even getting some awards" He was smiling at the woman in a very possessive way.
"Oh aye, what was that then?" I looked at her again.
"I won a silver rosette at Chelsea two years ago." Posh London accent she had.
"Oh. Very impressive dear, so what made you leave the city and come traipsing down 'ere then?"
"Well, I sort of needed a job after my previous employer and I had a difference of opinion."
So, she was fired. Not often you hear of an award winning gardener getting the boot. Last one I heard of, they got shot of him when he came to work dressed in women's underwear.
"So the boss must like your work. Took 'im a long time to recruit Marcus a few years ago, but he found you in double quick time."
"I'm flattered. Between you and me, I was getting a bit desperate.
"I'm very impressed with the work you've put into the gardens. Everything seems to have been maintained beautifully."
"Thank ye ma'am. So do you think you'll be makin' lots of changes?"
"Dr Wagstaff has indicated that it will be part of my brief to review and update the gardens and there are some areas which are approaching the need for a higher level of maintenance."
So, she wants to change everything. I drained my glass, and decided that it was time for me to head back to the weeding of the hollyhocks.
"Good bye Doctor. I hope you'll take the job miss. I'll look forward to it." I decided that sometimes it was better to lie through your teeth, as I walked out the door to retrieve my bicycle.
I had accepted the job as soon as Jim had left the pub.
Dr Wagstaff asked me to join him for a meal and I enjoyed the Steak and Ale pie with new potatoes and fresh vegetables that the pub served.
With neither the previous incumbent nor me needing to serve notice, we agreed that I should start as soon as I could move down. I did have a big problem though.
"This is a bit embarrassing Dr Wagstaff, but I wonder if it would be possible to have an advance on my salary. I'm a little overdrawn at the bank and could only just afford the petrol to get here."
"Really, I thought you had received a large compensation claim?"
A bit insensitive!
"I've had a lot of expenses since then." I nearly shouted for him to mind his own business, but just caught myself in time.
"Oh, do you mean the operation? I was under the impression that you could get that done on the national health."
Gone too far!
"Dr Wagstaff. That is very personal. What I did with the compensation is my business. Anything to do with my heath and wellbeing is also my business, unless it is covered by the health and safety act. Do I make it clear that these areas are not topics for conversation?"
He had the grace to blush. "I'm sorry. That was insensitive of me. Of course you may have the advance and the trip for the interview is a valid expense." He took out his wallet and passed me five, twenty-pound notes. "Any other expenses involved with moving down will also be covered."
I took the money and tucked it into my handbag. I would have liked to have thrown it in his face, but that would have required me to walk back to London. I got to my feet. "Can we go back to the house now please. I have a long drive ahead of me and I would like to get started soon."
"Of course, my dear." He swigged back the rest of his drink and got to his feet.
The drive back to the big house was in silence. I was angry, upset, but determined not to cry. I think he was aware of my feelings as when he had parked up he turned to me and spoke again.
"I'm very sorry. I seem to have a way of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, always have done. I know this is a taboo topic, but I think I need to explain myself.
"I just can't even start to imagine what you have gone through, what has driven you to fight against all the odds in your life, your work. I don't know where I stand. You asked me to treat you like a woman, and I'll try to honour that, but it's very hard when there are so many questions I want to ask, but can't. When I was interviewing you, you suggested I should ask the questions directly to save time. I wish I had done so then, but I now suspect you were frustrated with me when you made that offer. I would very much appreciate if you could think about explaining your situation to me. I just want to understand. Maybe I could even help you in some small way?" He was almost pleading when he finished.
I couldn't look at him. I just got out of his car, climbed into my own and drove off.
Just before the motorway junction there is a lay by. I had managed to get there and park my car, when the floodgates opened. I just sobbed and sobbed, more than at any other time during my transition, even after my father had thrown me out.
My emotions had been initially set up with anger at his forthright comments. But, when he had tried to find out more about me, his voice had conveyed that he cared. Other than the professional counsellor for whom my regard was very low, no one had ever tried to ask why I was what I was.
Eventually I was able to regain my composure and redo my smudged make up. The two and half hours it took to drive back to London seemed to last forever.
Parked outside my flat was a small van. As I started to unlock my front door, an acne-covered youth got out and approached me. I started to panic until I saw in his hand a single red rose wrapped in cellophane.
"We had a special phone order to deliver this in person. The geezer said not to try and pass off any rubbish as you were an expert. There's a note to go with it."
He handed me the bloom and an envelope. I looked at the rose, just opened from bud, and in perfect condition, the dark red colour consistent on all the petals. I guessed whom it was from.
"Thank you. That is beautiful" was all I could manage before stumbling through my door and a fresh bought of crying.
I read his note through my tears. In it, he repeated that he was sorry, he didn't mean any harm, that the job was still there and he hoped I would still take it. That he felt responsible for his staff and if there was anything he could do to help me, I only had to ask.
I got myself ready for bed and pulled the duvet over my crying head. The old soft teddy bear that had always been my comfort absorbed my tears, but the crying went on for as long as I remained awake and who knows may be longer.
He cared. Even if it was only as a member of his staff, he cared. No one had said that to me for a very long time.
The next morning I knew I had to contact him, but didn't feel emotionally strong enough to use the phone to talk to him in person. Instead, I chickened out and wrote a letter, just sticking to the essentials. Thanks for the flower, he shouldn't have bothered. I will still be taking the job, hoped to be there in a couple of days, and finally I would be grateful for any furniture that he could spare for the little house. You know that sort letter. I got it in the first post and hoped it would be received tomorrow morning.
Packing up my life had taken less time than I thought it would. All my clothes fitted into two suitcases. There was a cardboard box of legal stuff and correspondence from the tribunal. Soon the only thing that wouldn't fit in the car was the rescued chair. I was tempted to tie it to the roof, but eventually, in the dead of night I dropped it into an unsecured skip a couple of streets away.
The next morning I packed everything into the car, the plants strapped to the back seat with the seat belts. When all was in, I looked at the car. It was and contained my whole life, all my possessions. The few souvenirs of my childhood that my sister had passed back to me. Everything! I just hoped the rusty thing would make it as far as the next stage of my life.
Over breakfast, I was reviewing the previously rejected job applications, with each one I looked at, I thought how perfect Julia had been for the job and I kicked myself for being an insensitive brute and driving her away.
I had seen the post office van pull up in the drive and the regular postman get out and head for the front door with a small pile of letters. Soon Mrs Billings brought them into the dining room for me.
As I thumbed through the mostly manila envelopes, I saw one that was pink and went straight to it. It had a London postmark, and yes, just a hint of that perfume. I nervously tore the envelope open, hoping for good news, but expecting the worst. I had trouble reading her words, my hands were shaking so much. It was good news! In fact, she could even arrive today.
"Mrs Billings. I want to celebrate. More toast please!" I patted my tummy but for some extraordinary reason I felt guilty about what I felt there. "On second thoughts Mrs Billings, I've had enough today." Why did I do that? I have never worried about my weight before, why now?
"Mrs Billings. We have work to do this morning. What is the situation with Marcus' house? Can Julia move into it today?"
"I checked it when he moved out Dr Wagstaff. It was left clean and tidy. It's got carpets on the floors and curtains at the window and they are all serviceable. It could probably do with the windows being left open to let some air through but there isn't a stick of furniture in there though."
"Right Oh! Let's see what furniture is in the basement and perhaps you could stock the refrigerator and pantry. Just get enough for a couple of days. Yes, we will find the furniture first, and then while you sort out the kitchen, I'll get Jim to move everything over to the cottage."
I lead Mrs Billings to the basement where generations of my family had hoarded stuff rather than dispose of it, where they thought the local riffraff might get their hands on it. As can be imagined with furniture cast off from a country house, a lot of it was of a scale that one piece would have filled the cottage. We found a bed with a mattress that if allowed to air would be OK for a while, a comfortable arm chair, a couple of dining chairs, small table and a little desk.
Jim answered the call to his walkie-talkie and brought the estate's van over so we could transport everything to the cottage.
By lunchtime, I felt the little house was just about ready for its new occupant. Strange, I had never made an effort to welcome any previous member of staff. But, I still felt excited about Julia's imminent arrival. Maybe it was just the thought of getting on with changing the garden, making a mark on the landscape for my generation of Wagstaffs.
I returned to my office, but though I tried to concentrate on fossils for the paper I was writing, my eye kept being drawn to the window and its view of the driveway. It was very annoying, when I had to get the paper to the publishers in a couple of days. Eventually I gave up and screwed the top back on my pen. Then I moved my chair over to the window and just waited.
As the afternoon grew to a close, the autumn sky to the west turned first orange, then gold and finally as the sun dropped below the horizon, an angry red colour. I was just about to give up and head down to the lounge, when I saw car headlights at the bottom end of the drive. They swept over me causing me to blink, stopped for a minute then moved up the driveway to the house.
I rushed down the stairs calling to see if Mrs Billings was still in the house. No luck there she must have left for the day. I got to the front door and was stood at the top of the steps just as the old estate car pulled up outside.
I waited for her to get out of the car, but there was no movement. Eventually the door opened but she still didn't get out. I walk down the stairs and put my head in the door.
"Welcome. I hope you didn't have any trouble getting here." I said, but as soon as I looked at her, I knew something was very wrong. She was as white as a sheet.
"My dear! Let me help you into the house."
She managed to swing her legs from the car and I helped her to a standing position, but she didn't seem to be with it. I stooped and lifted her into my arms and carried her up to the house, surprising myself at how light she was. In the lounge, I settled her onto one of the big chesterfield sofas. She seemed to revive a little, giving me a timid smile.
"I, I seem to have over done it a little, Dr Wagstaff."
"I'll get some tea. Just rest there'"
I headed to the kitchen and boiled the kettle, warming the pot before making the tea. I put everything on a tray and carried it back to the lounge.
"Ah, shall I be mother? Of course I will. How do you like your tea?"
"Milk and one sugar please."
I poured the drink and passed her the cup and saucer.
"Can I do anything else for you?"
She shook her head, concentrating on holding the saucer in one hand while she drank from the cup with the other. I sat nervously on the opposite sofa, waiting.
Eventually she passed the cup back to me, and then the saucer. "I think I need a doctor. Do you know one that you can trust?"
"What's wrong? No! Please, you don't need to answer that. I have learnt from my previous mistake. Old Perkins in the village is OK at normal things, he is also quite discrete." I said thinking of the little embarrassment he had helped my father with and only told me about many years after Papa had passed away.
"I think I should tell you. It might make things easier in the long run.
"Although the surgery has left me looking anatomically like a woman, I can't manufacture my own estrogen, that's a female hormone. Neither can I make male hormones now I don't, don't have any male equipment. I have to take pills to keep everything in balance. I ran out of them yesterday."
"I'm sure Perkins will fill in a prescription. I'll get him to come out." I said as I reached for the phone.
"You trust him?"
"Yes. Are you worried about village gossip?" She nodded.
"I feel so stupid, not having any, but it's not easy for me to get them anymore."
"Why not; it's something you need isn't it?"
"I used to get the prescriptions from a counsellor, a trained psychiatrist, but we, ah, had a disagreement over my surgery and he refused to sign any more. I'm trying to get another counsellor, but that isn't easy. I've been buying them privately, when I've had the money."
I picked up the phone and dialled the doctor's home number from memory. "Perkins? It's Wagstaff here. I'd like you to come out to the house please. One of my staff is ill and she needs a prescription."
"Mrs Billings? She's never ill." The doctor replied.
"No this is my new head gardener; she's not on your list yet. I'd be very grateful if you could come out straight away. To the main house please."
"OK. I'll be about 20 minutes."
"Many thanks. Stop afterwards and have a drink?" I dropped the receiver back into its cradle.
As good as his word the local doctor rang the bell a quarter of an hour later. I opened the door for him.
"Good evening Dr Wagstaff. Where's my patient?"
"Hello, Dr Perkins, she's in the lounge. I was a bit worried, I think she nearly passed out in her car as she got here." I showed him into the room. "I'll leave you in private. Shout when you're leaving, I'll be in the drawing room over there."
It was about half an hour later when the doctor came in. I got out a bottle of the Glenlivet whiskey I know he's partial to.
He settled himself into the armchair opposite my favourite chair ready for a chat.
"You know I can't say anything to you about Julia's problems, don't you? I have to go by the rules of doctor, patient confidentiality and all that."
I nodded.
"I will say that I have written out a prescription, but I think it might be better if I collected the drugs myself. I wouldn't want any misplaced gossip from the pharmacist as to what you're doing with such things."
"Ah, quite so!" I hastily replied.
"She's sleeping now. It's best to leave her where she is, but keep her warm. I'll drop the pills in tomorrow."
The doctor finished his drink, picked up his bag and left.
I went back through to the lounge and looked at Julia, peacefully sleeping on the sofa. I fetched a blanket from my bed and draped it over her gently sleeping form.
I've never been left responsible for anyone before let alone someone who was sick and I didn't know what to do. I chose to sit on the other sofa and watch, just in case she had a relapse or something. I found myself looking at her long fair hair cascading over the cushion, the soft clear skin of her face and her small hand clutching the blanket tightly to her cheek. It just wasn't possible to believe her past history.
I had felt completely shattered on the drive west. On more than one occasion, I was suddenly aware of having drifted onto the hard shoulder that borders the motorway. Coffee stops at the services didn't seem to help either. I just pressed on until I arrived at Wagstaff House.
Dr Perkins is a lovely man. He did get a surprise when he was taking my case notes, but made no comment other than was necessary professionally. He gave me something to help me sleep and promised to get some tablets for me, but made me promise to see him in a couple of days.
When I awoke, I felt the heavy blanket covering me. It had a manly smell to it that had reminded me first of my own bedding from years before, but then it seemed to trigger a different reaction; calming, caring and comforting. I inhaled deeply and came around some more, to the point where I could open my eyes.
In the sofa opposite me was my employer, sitting up, with his eyes closed, head tilted back and a deep rumbling emanating from his drooping jaw.
I looked at him thinking, this is the man who cares, who called a doctor for me, and put me to bed; my Good Samaritan.
Then I had a worrying thought, I looked under the blanket and was relieved to confirm that I was still fully dressed.
From the weak light coming from behind the curtains, I guessed it must be very early. I pushed the blanket off and went to look for the toilet.
Looking for a toilet is not an easy task in a mansion that is several hundred years old. They didn't seem to go in for putting conveniences in convenient places. Eventually I found one that seemed like miles away near the kitchen and got my self sorted out. A little bit of repair work on my face was required; I would do a proper job on it later on.
On the way back I stopped off in the kitchen and put the kettle on for some tea. I'm not sure how much experience the doctor has of a tea pot, but what he had produced last night was pretty insipid.
I looked at my watch and found it was five am; about my normal getting up time when I was working. I was frustrated! I wanted to get on with something, but my house would be locked, so I couldn't move in. It wouldn't be politic to start doing something in the garden on my first day without proper introductions and in any case Doc Perkins had told me to take it easy until my hormone levels were sorted out.
I found the tray that had been used last night, obviously left for someone else to sort out. I washed up the cups and pot and got a brew going to my liking. I was going to put everything on the tray and take it back to the lounge, but I suspected the landed gentry wouldn't be stirring until the sun was high in the sky; so I leaned against the kitchen unit cradling the cup in my hands and letting my mind drift here and there.
At about seven o'clock, I heard a noise coming from the adjoining utility room that I guess, would have been called a scullery when the house was originally built. I looked through the door and saw a lady, probably in her mid thirties, shaking the rain from her coat. She looked up at me and seemed very surprised.
"Who are you and what be you doing in my kitchen?" She demanded.
"Sorry, we haven't been introduced. I'm Julia Brown; I'm starting as the Head Gardener."
"Aye, you might be at that, but what are you doing in the big house? We staff have our own accommodation over by the woods."
"Oh. I stayed here last night." She looked appalled. "I was taken ill, whilst I was travelling. The doctor, Dr Perkins that is, gave me something to sleep and so I did, on the sofa." I hastily added, realising the implications of my first statement. "Sorry for helping myself to your kitchen, but I think my house is locked up and I haven't got any keys yet."
She looked concerned. "I hope you're feeling better. My name is Mrs Billings; I'm going to make breakfast for his Lordship. Like me to put something extra in the frying pan for you?"
I nodded, remembering that I hadn't eaten since the disgusting dry burger that had been served in the motorway services.
She got to work efficiently and soon had me seated at the kitchen table with a Full Monty breakfast in front of me. I tucked in whilst she took a tray with another big meal of for Dr Wagstaff.
She was back shortly, still carrying the loaded tray. "Huh! I don't know what's got into him. First, I find his bed hasn't been slept in and then when I do track him down to the lounge, he only wanted a piece of toast! I've never known him not to start the day without a proper breakfast." She said as she threw the meal into the rubbish bin with a bit more force than was necessary.
"Hello." I looked up and saw Dr Wagstaff leaning against the frame of the door to the main house, nibbling on a piece of toast. Mrs Billings suddenly had something important to do in the scullery, but I did notice the back of her neck going red as she left.
"How are you feeling this morning? I didn't hear you get up."
"Very much better thank you. Sleep always helps.
"Dr Wagstaff, may I move into my house as soon as possible? I had intended to get here earlier yesterday, so as be able to start in the garden today."
Hmm. Don't be too hasty. We'll get you into the house today, but you're not to start work until Perkins has given you the all clear. I see Mrs Billings has sorted breakfast for you. I'll get the keys from my office and we'll go over when you've finished eating."
I tucked back into the fry up.
He returned shortly, obviously showered, shaved and spruced up., holding a bunch of keys.
"If you drive your car, I'll lead in the Discovery."
I followed him out of the house and found my car as I'd fallen out of it, door still open and the interior light glowing dimly. When I attempted to start it, the starter motor gave a half-hearted whine. The doctor came over. "I'll get Jim to bring the estate's van and some jumper leads later on. Let me put your things in the back of my car."
So, that was how I moved in, with a lord of the realm acting as removal man.
The house, though small, was what an estate agent would describe as 'Well appointed'. I looked at the furniture that Dr Wagstaff had described as 'cast offs'. From my avid watching of television antiques programs, I recognised a davenport desk, and ran my hand over the back of the well-stuffed leather chair. All of the wood was mahogany and must have been at least 100 years old I suspected the furniture would probably have given one of the expert presenters a field day valuing it.
"I'll let you sort your things out. When you've seen the doctor, call me and we'll see about planning a work schedule."
The first thing I sorted out was having a shower. Afterwards, in my dressing gown with my hair wrapped in a towel, I was wandering around exploring my new accommodation. I found homes for the houseplants and gave them a good watering to help them settle in. I pulled my cases up the narrow stairs and unpacked. The few ornaments I owned were put on the mantle above the cold, but well used fireplace.
There was a knock on the door. Stooping down to look out of the small low window, I saw Dr Perkins, bag in hand rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. I hurried to let him in.
"Good morning dear. Are you feeling improved this morning?"
"Yes thank you."
"I have your hormone tablets. I had to go to Bristol for them. Not much call for them here, but probably better if you collect them from a bit further a field anyway. Its only takes forty minutes on the motorway."
He passed the bottle across and I went to the kitchen for water to take one straight away. When I returned the doctor had opened his bag and proceeded to check my vital signs. Whilst doing so, he continued to speak.
"Now, since I saw you last night, I have done some background reading. We GPs are jack-of-all-trades but masters of none, so I needed to fill in some gaps in my knowledge. I have made an appointment for you with an endocrinologist for next Wednesday morning. It's with Mr Fielding. Again, he is based in the Bristol Royal Infirmary, so you should get to know that city quite well. It also seems that since you are a post operative transsexual, you no longer need to see a counsellor, and that it is appropriate for me to provide prescriptions between your visits with Mr Fielding."
He put his stethoscope and blood pressure test instrument back into his case.
"You are fine, but no heavy workouts until you have seen the specialist. Understood?"
I nodded my agreement and thanked him as he took his leave.
"YES! No more counselling!" I shouted and danced around the room waving my hands in the air. I was still doing this when Jim put his head around the still open door.
"Begging your pardon miss. His Lordship asked that I should sort out your car real quick. I don't think 'e likes it abandoned in front of the 'ouse there."
I stopped my dance in mid stride and turned to look at him, feeling the colour rising in my face. "Oh yes Jim. Thank you I'll get the keys straight away." Of course with moving everything in, the keys had gone missing and took a while to find.
As Jim drove the Land Rover back to the house I started to ask him about how the estate's land had been managed under my predecessor. I quickly got the impression that it would be a miracle for anyone to be able make Jim impressed at their skills or efforts. I decided on the management technique of getting him involved, and asked what he would do differently. It just turned out be an extremely successful method of making him clam up!
Jim used some jump leads to start my car and then drove it to the small depot, where the gardening equipment was stored, to charge the battery properly. I took the old Land Rover and started to find my way around the estate, making notes on anything that I could see that needed attention.
Away from the house, I found a large brick enclosure. I guessed it would be the kitchen garden that provided fruit and vegetables for the house in times before refrigeration and modern distribution methods.
I pushed against the rotting door and it fell off its hinges, seemingly to be supported by the undergrowth. I had to push the door flat and stand on it to make any headway. From this vantage point, I could see into the garden beyond. I was in an area probably sixty metres square, surrounded by a four-metre high red brick wall. One third of the north wall was taken up by an unusual glasshouse which must have dated back to Victorian times. I had seen such buildings before, but normally they were attached to a large house, and used as a conservatory. Most of the glass had long since parted company with the buildings cast iron framework, but enough stiletto shaped fragments were left suspended from the roof to make any investigation of the inside unwise without suitable head protection.
I could see many fruit trees of different varieties including peach and apricot, only able to grow here due to the shelter of the walls that made maximum use of the limited sunshine.
It was a shame about the state of this area as not many such gardens were left in existence. I would have to see what Dr Wagstaff would want to do about them, but I decided to come back armed with a brush cutter, so I could make a closer inspection.
My tour ended up at the back of the house, where I made a detailed inspection of the visible parts of the pond wall. It all seemed sound from the outside. Only excavating the soil from the inside would reveal if there were any major problems with its structure.
I was on my hands and knees checking what had looked like a crack, but proved to be innocuous, when I heard the gravel crunch behind me. I looked back between my legs and saw my employer's highly polished brown shoes.
"How does it look Julia? Will it hold water?"
I jumped to my feet, brushing my hands on my knees as I turned to face him. "The outside looks fine, but the only way to tell is to empty it out and inspect the base of the inside. Even if it wasn't faulty, when it was changed to a flower bed, it's possible that holes were punched through the bottom for drainage.
"Dr Wagstaff I've had a quick inspection of the estate and come up with a few initial ideas, but I need to talk about what budget I have to use."
"A budget? I've never really worked that way before. There are the two of you for manpower, most materials get put to the estate's accounts. For any unusual costs, Marcus would come to me and I would decide there and then."
"I see. Did any projects end up with spiralling costs or get canned because they were too expensive?" He looked unhappy. I continued. "At the moment, I don't know what your aspirations are. I don't understand why you want to develop the garden. I assume you have no intentions to allow the public in?
"I like to think I'm good at what I do, but that is because I do the job properly, from brief to plan to budget, before a spade bits into the ground. That is why most of my projects have come in on time and within budget."
He let out a long sigh and smiled at me. "I can see that I picked a hot one when I gave you this job! Look, this is a whole new way of doing things for me. Can I suggest that we get together in two days, that's Friday and you talk me through it? My office at ten o'clock would be good." Without waiting for me to confirm the meeting, he turned and strode back to the house, his feet crunching on the gravel.
As I turned back to the pond to finish my inspection, I saw Jim had turned up with his weeding equipment. Guessing that he had overheard my conversation with Dr Wagstaff, I went over to him.
"Hello Jim. How much of that did you hear?"
"Not my business, Miss."
"Yes, it is your business Jim. I think there will be changes in the way the garden is run, but I want you to know now, that I don't think it will affect you. Gardens still need the same manual input. Weeds still grow; nature will always try to take back control. The changes I have in mind will enable us to do more in the garden."
"Oh aye? You wouldn't be thinking about the kitchen garden would you?" He said and I'm sure there was a twinkle in his eye.
My tummy rumbled as I sat waiting at my desk for our appointment. I was now regretting passing the diet sheet I had got from Perkins to Mrs Billings. The advice of walking around the estate instead of using the Discovery I could take, but the lack of food was getting somewhat annoying.
I was a bit disturbed by my encounter with Julia by the old pond. She had been very forthright with me. Not something, that normally happens outside of the University.
She intrigued me. She had spirit and determination. Over the next couple of days, I often saw her around the estate, taking notes in a small pocket book, or working side by side with Jim. She was always smiling, as if her life had never been so good.
I gave her approach some thought and then started to wonder how much money I was actually spending on the garden. The major cost in the garden that I was aware of, were the staff's salaries. The trouble was that all other costs had been hidden amongst the estate's daily costs.
She had caused me to remember Marcus' attempt at renovating the lookout point by the lake. It had started out as a simple replacement of a safety rail, but then had become a major structural engineering job, with unforeseen costs all over the place.
Mrs Billings showed her into my office and she smiled as she put down the rolled flipchart and a loose-leaf notepad she had been carrying. She was wearing the same skirt that she had worn to the interview, but with a nice cream blouse, unfastened at the collar, I noticed a string of pearls around her neck. She looked tired and I hoped that the illness, if that was the right word, had passed her.
"Good Morning. How are you feeling?"
She smiled back at me. "I'm getting along OK, thanks."
"So tell me about your plans for my garden."
"Well I thought it might be an idea to show you how I work, so I produced a plan for re-instating the pond and fountain. Sorry it's written in long hand, but I had to sell my laptop and camera."
She passed me a document. The writing was neat and precise. It appeared to be a detailed specification of the work to be carried out, split up into various stages. At the back was a description of the anticipated costs. I looked through them.
"You're planning to put the work out to contractors?" She looked over my shoulder at the cost indicated.
"No. I'm charging my and Jim's time to the project. It gives an indication of the true cost. Plus, while we're working on this, we can't be weeding and pruning."
I continued through the costs noticing contingencies for all sorts of eventualities.
"It should cost a lot less than the figure indicated. The important thing is that it will cost no more. Oh, and the Koi carp are optional."
I put the document down on my desk and leaned back in my chair.
"So what other ideas do you have?"
"Dr Wagstaff, you may feel this isn't where you want to go, but I have a few proposals to start making some money from your land.
"I had a quick look through the woodland and there are a lot of mature trees that should be converted into timber. This would have two benefits; firstly, it would generate about á‚ £5000 pounds a year for the next five years. Secondly, it will allow more light through to promote growth for the young replacement trees. This is also good land husbandry.
"Next there is the walled garden." I only vaguely remembered it. I had played there as a child, but had not visited it in many years. "This is interesting from a couple of points. Firstly, from a historical view, there are very few walled kitchen gardens left in existence and this is a splendid example. The walls appear to be sound and I don't foresee any problems with the structure. The glasshouse is in a shocking state, but I suspect it may have an interesting heritage as it doesn't look right in that situation.
"However, to me it is much more interesting from a horticultural perspective. It doesn't look as if much has been done to it in, well, I would guess fifty years. Most of it is completely overgrown and needs to be cleared, but there are some important plants in there. The fruit trees are of varieties, which have now almost completely disappeared, become extinct if you like. There is now a lot of interest in preserving such varieties and I feel that there is an opportunity to propagate the trees into a profitable business."
Her presentation continued with forecasts and cost estimates. She was really getting excited about the project. I have to admit that a lot of what she was saying went over my head, and I started to pay more attention to her body language rather than what she was saying.
Eventually she paused and I started to state my own views.
"I think that was a very interesting presentation and I let you finish because it would have wasted the work you put into it. However, there are a few things you need to understand. I have no need to make any money from the garden. If you think I work at the university for the paltry sum a lecturer earns, you are mistaken; I do that for my love of the subject. Similarly, this garden is maintained purely for my enjoyment.
"Cutting the trees for good husbandry purposes I will go along with and have no objections to receiving the money. Starting a horticultural business is another matter though. I don't think we need to go there. Is that understood?"
"At the interview you said one of your objectives was to keep your house in good condition to pass on to the tax man when you passed away. I assume you were thinking along the lines of passing it to the National Trust? Think how much better that gift would be if it had a rare kitchen garden in good condition. Also think of the opportunity of preserving some specimens of fruit and goodness only knows what else, for future generations." She rejoined.
"You're very beautiful when you are worked up about something." I blurted out.
Did I say that? I could feel the heat rise in my neck and behind my ears; I must be blushing for Britain!
"I beg your pardon?" She was looking at me in a way that made me feel extremely uncomfortable.
I took out my handkerchief and mopped my brow. "I'm so sorry; I don't know what came over me then. I, I just thought I needed to say how beautiful you looked." I urgently needed to change the subject.
"Look, here's what I want you to do. Firstly, I want to proceed with the pond project. Once that is completed, I'd like you to make a survey of the garden and the plant varieties that you believe are endangered. Get a structural survey of the glasshouse and then we can discuss it further. By the way, I'm very impressed with this document." I waved her specification at her then added. "You had better close your mouth dear, before a fly goes in."
"Did you really mean that?"
"Yes. It's an excellent piece of work."
"I mean the other thing...about being... you know"
I nodded my head and she burst into tears just as Mrs Billings came in carrying a tray of tea things.
My housekeeper glared at me, saying. "Dr Wagstaff how could you!" Then she put down the tray and helped Julia from the room, whispering comforting things to her as she went.
"Damn!" I said aloud to the closing door. I can never say the right things at the right time.
Mrs Billings took me back to the kitchen. I wanted to tell her that Dr Wagstaff had just paid me a wonderful compliment, one nobody had ever said to me before, but I couldn't get control of myself. I just leaned against her and cried my eyes out.
Eventually I was able to lift my face away from her damp shoulder and explain what happened whilst she poured tea into a cup.
Mrs Billings blushed. "I thought his Lordship had said something horrible to you! I had better apologise to him. I can't believe that you have never been paid a compliment like that before though."
"It wasn't the done thing in my family."
"What about boyfriends?"
"I've never had one."
"A sweet young thing like you? Never had a boyfriend? You need to get out more, dear! Why don't you come to the dance in the village hall a week today?"
Wiping another tear from my eye, I forced a lopsided smile (the best I could do) replying. "That would be nice, thank you Mrs Billings."
"You'd be welcome my dear."
I took my empty teacup over to the sink and washed it out, leaving it on the draining board. Sniffing away the last of the tears, I gave Mrs Billings a little wave as I went out.
"Don't forget, seven o'clock dear. I'll pick you up" She called after me.
I needed to take my mind off what had been said this morning, so I went off to find Jim as I decided to start the excavation of the pond as soon as possible. I eventually found him at the depot pricking out some seedlings into flowerpots.
"Jim, what do we use as a greenhouse for propagating seedlings?"
"Well at home I have 2 windows that face the sunrise and 2 that face the sunset and there are a couple of cloches behind here." He said pointing behind the depot building.
"There is no greenhouse to use?"
He shook his head.
"That's a shame. Now Jim, I've just got confirmation from Dr Wagstaff of our first project." I noticed Jim wince as I used the earned title of our employer. "We are going to restore that raised bed in the centre of the ornamental garden back to a pond and fountain. I have drawn up a plan of what we need to do."
I pinned the task list to the depot's wall and Jim peered at it,
"What are all these numbers by the jobs, Miss?"
"It's my estimate of the number of hours required to finish that task.
"So the first task, Jim is to pot up all the flowers in the bed. We will be able to replant them somewhere else; it would be a shame to just chuck them on the compost heap."
"Right oh Miss, This task 'excavate earth'; you've marked that down as 4 hours. It would take3 days for both of us to do that."
"That's true if we were using shovels, but I'm going to hire a mini excavator to do that. What's the number of the plant hire company?"
Jim pointed to a scrap of paper pinned to the wall and as he went off to load his tools into the back of the Land Rover, I picked up the phone.
I had never been as strong as the other gardeners I worked with and it had gotten worse since starting the hormone course. So, when ever there was an opportunity to use a mechanical digger I had jumped at it. Consequently, I was very experienced and I prided myself on my ability.
The next day the excavator was delivered. I had a little trouble persuading the guy from the hire company, that his machine would be safe in my hands. I decided a little showing off was required. Once I had been shown the controls, I drove the little machine up towards the Land Rover and then used the teeth on the bucket to hook Jim's knapsack and lift it into the back of the vehicle.
Ignoring the looks on the faces of the two men, I then drove over to the now flowerless bed and started to dig the compost out, depositing it into the tractor's trailer. Jim jumped onto the tractor and as the trailer filled, drove the load away; his anticipation enabled us to finish the job in 3 hours forty minutes. Just in time for lunch.
It had been a funny morning. Miss Brown had come up with a piece of paper with all the jobs on it. She had even specified how long was needed to finish each job. I had never worked that way before, and I wasn't looking forward to her chasing me with a stopwatch or anything like that. My old Pa said you can't hurry nature. So, I just went at the job at my usual speed and blow me if I didn't complete it in the time she'd given me.
Then when she started messing with that digger, I thought the flask in my bag had had it. I couldn't believe the delicate touch she had with the thing.
I went to the pub for my usual drink, wondering how long it would take for word to get around that I had to work for a woman.
"Good afternoon Jim." Bill the landlord already had my pint on the bar waiting for me. "Is anything exciting going on up at the big house?"
"It wouldn't be right for me to say Bob. You know that." He's a nosey so and so.
After my drink, I rode back to the big house, to find that Miss Brown had already used the digger to make a trench to one of the garden lights, for the pump's electric and was waiting for Plant Company to collect the thing. She is certainly full of surprises, that one.
If I wasn't busy in my study I would spend time watching the work on the pond progress from the house. From there I had seen Julia showing off to the men, I don't know what had been said, but I guessed she must have had something to prove.
Whenever I went out, Julia always took time to explain what was being done. I enjoyed those sessions and always tried to prolong them, there was something about being in her company that... well I can't explain what it was. She would give a report of progress against plan each day. As the days passed I also noticed Jim seemed to be working with an enthusiasm I had not seen while Marcus was in charge.
She had explained that of the original pump there was no trace, that the base of the pond had been in a bad state, but Jim had been able to fix the concrete and they were painting sealant over the whole inside.
A hosepipe appeared and the pond started to fill. Julia marked the depth and then work stopped for a day.
"We need to see if the pond is leaking. It's better to do that now before we plant it up. We also have a lot of catching up on general maintenance around the rest of the estate." Julia explained to me.
Satisfied that all was well, Jim shovelled a layer of soil back into the pond ready for planting. Early one morning a lorry turned up with the new water lilies and Julia came to the site dressed in a pair of very brief shorts. I watched as she stepped into the pond, her long legs turning white with the exposure to the cold water. Initially, I told myself that my interest was in the planting that was being done, but eventually had to admit that I was looking at her legs and the bra that became visible as she got wet pushing the roots into the pond bed. By lunchtime, everything was finished and the fountain was turned on. I went out to chat with the two of them.
"Congratulations. This is a splendid job." I said to the backing track of water gently cascading over the statue into the pond.
"Thank you Dr Wagstaff. I am pleased you are happy with it." She replied with a beaming smile. "Have you considered the fish?"
"I don't think we need to do that, do you?"
"It doesn't really worry me. You can put them in at any time, although I would probably let the pond establish itself and find a balance first.
"I have to see the plant hire company; they're screwing us on the invoice for the excavator. I'll drop in later to go through the costs of this project. I think you'll find they are within budget. The job took a week, so that is well within the estimate I made."
"If you're passing, can you drop me off at the pub Miss? I'll pop my bike in the back of the Land Rover." Jim asked.
"Sure Jim, load it up. This afternoon I want to get into the walled garden and look at what is growing in the remnants of the glasshouse up there. Please could you help me after lunch, say 1:30?"
"Aye Miss, that will suit me fine."
I liked the idea of working in the old walled garden. My Pa had said his dad used to be in charge of it and woe betides him if there weren't vegetables on the table and cut flowers in the vases.
I lifted my bike out of the Land Rover and then propped it against the wall outside the pub. I went to my usual table in the corner. Wendy the landlord's wife brought a pint of my usual beer and took my order for food, smiling at me as she went."
Bill came over and sat at my table.
"Hello Jim. I heard you had a new boss. Was that her that dropped you off?"
"Aye."
"Ah ha! So the rumours are true then. She's a pretty young slip of a girl. I'm surprised that you're still allowed out at lunch time or has she not got you under the thumb yet?"
"She be a qualified garden designer; a good one too. She's won prizes at the Chelsea flower show and she's not afraid o' a bit o' hard work neither." I said taking a large gulp of my drink.
"Tell me Jim, is she offering additional non-monetary benefits?"
"What do you mean by that?"
"Are you getting any? You daft sod!"
"No I ain't! We have a strictly professional relationship."
"Here that Ted," He shouted to another chap in the bar. "Jim has to pay for it now!"
Without asking, Wendy put another drink in my hand.
"That ain't right, she be young enough t' be my daughter. My Rita was the only girl for me and since she passed on, I've not needed to look for any other women."
"That would be your loss then Jim. Maybe his Lordship's knocking her off in the big house. That would explain why he gave the job to a woman in the first place."
I slammed my glass down on the table, shattering it and losing the last half inch of beer.
"Whoops careful Jim, that's a waste of good beer". I noticed Bill wave to Wendy who brought two more drinks over to the table. "But from what I've heard she seems to spend all sorts of time in the big house with his Lordship."
I tried to explain how she was planning all sorts of things for the garden, but Bill couldn't see beyond her sex and the gossip it afforded. Three pints quickly became four or was it five I lost track of the conversation; Bill trying to pump me for information about my new boss and the goings on in the big house. Eventually Bill said he had to close up and so I headed back. I went to get on my bike, but I found I couldn't quite balance on it, so I slowly pushed it back towards the big house, using it to support me.
Having resolved the invoice issue, I went back to my house to get some food, thinking I must get to the village and stock up, or I would be going hungry again.
I returned to the depot, but there was no sign of Jim. I was impatient to get started and by two o'clock, I had had enough waiting and loaded the petrol brush cutter and some protective clothing into the Land Rover and drove under the dark clouds to the garden.
I was annoyed with Jim for leaving me to do this on my own.
I used the Land Rover's towrope to pull the remnants of the big door out of the way, then after I struggled into the padded dungarees and pulled the facemask onto my head, I powered up the brush cutter.
A brush cutter is a long pole, with a motor at one end and a rotating metal blade at the other. A shoulder strap about two-thirds of the way along leaves the tool balanced and it is light work to sweep the cutting blade back and forth through the undergrowth.
My aim was to get to the glasshouse, though it might take more than one afternoon to clear that far on my own. I didn't know where the paths ran, but the normal layout for a garden like this would be to have beds two metres deep along the walls all the way round and then the middle divided into strips between two and four metres wide. Thus, I cut a one-metre wide swathe three metres from the wall watching for trees and stones that could either stall the cutter or fly out dangerously.
Every so often, I had to stop to use a big rake to clear the cut vegetation and refill the cutter's small petrol tank. Light rain began to fall, but I carried on. The good thing about petrol tools is there is no risk of electrocution if you use them in the rain, but of course, everything still gets wet and heavy. The light was beginning to fail as I reached the glasshouse. The door's hinges were rusted solid so I stepped around it where the glass walls had gone missing.
The first thing I saw was a vine. At one time, the structural cast iron parts of the building had supported the vine, but I suspected the reverse may now be true. The steady dripping of water told me that the roof was far from complete. Outside I could hear that the rain had turned to hail. I was glad of the hard hat I was wearing. I had gone about five metres into the glasshouse, when I realised it was hopeless to try to see anything inside with the light almost gone. As I turned around and moved back to where I had come in, I felt my foot catch on something. I started to fall and grabbed for the nearest iron support. As I hit it, it gave a shudder and suddenly there was a sound like hundreds of marbles being shuffled and pieces of glass started to rain down around me. I ducked and tried to dive for the exit, but suddenly everything went dark.
I had finished for the day. I was impressed with the diet his Lordship was using. It took a fraction of the time to prepare a salad, compared to the normal fare I had been serving the family for the last twenty years.
Getting back to my cottage I noticed no lights were on in either of the other two buildings and Jim's wreck of a bicycle was abandoned across his gate way.
I got into the bath and enjoyed the smell of the oils I used as a special treat. Then I washed my hair under the shower. I took time with the brush and hairdryer. I wanted to look my best in case Keith Butler was at the dance. Another treat was a pair of new tights; Ladder free and very dark. I slipped into the little black dress. It might be a bit cold for something with only spaghetti straps, but I just know it makes me look good. Make up, jewellery, my watch, check the time, Oh! I'm late. Julia will be waiting for me. Slip on the black pumps with a gold coloured buckle on each toe, check I have everything in my handbag and I'm ready.
I went out to the car but Julia wasn't waiting for me. I turned back to look at the houses. All three were dark.
I knocked on Julia's door. There was no reply and it was locked. After moving Jim's bike, I did the same with his door. No reply, but it was open. The moon came out and I could see a body collapsed on the floor. I quickly entered and checked. The smell of beer was very strong and the snoring sound told me he was drunk and sleeping it off.
I gave him a good poke. "Where is Julia? Where was she working? Come on Jim wake up! Where was Julia working this afternoon?" He stirred and muttered something undecipherable. I gave him a good shake and shouted the same questions at him.
"Wassap? Li' me be!" He got another prod from me. "She w' goin' t' the walled gard'n t' do sum weedin'."
Having told me what I needed to know I dropped him and he resumed snoring.
I didn't know what to do. I knew where the walled garden was, but I had never been in there. I wondered if something had happened to her. I went back to my house and put my working shoes back on. Then I drove over to the big house and let myself in through the scullery. I found his Lordship in his study.
"Dr Wagstaff! I can't find Julia, sir. I think she may have been working up in the old kitchen garden."
Although I knew his Lordship to be a caring employer, the look of shock and concern that flew across his face surprised me. He picked up one of the estate walkie-talkies and tried to call her, but without success.
"Come on Mrs Billings. Get a torch from the kitchen, there is one already in my car. You had better grab a coat as well."
He picked up his keys and literally ran down the stairs and out of the front door. I followed and collected the torch and my working coat. He had the car started and was revving the engine impatiently when I got outside. We were moving before I had even had time to close my door.
I was surprised when he put the car into four-wheel drive and drove straight across the lawn, directly to the garden. Sure enough, the old Land Rover was parked outside. His Lordship had jumped out of the car before it had even stopped moving. I had to put the hand brake on myself as it started to roll backwards.
I had to try to follow his waving torch as he ran ahead of me along a freshly cut pathway. I could hear his Lordship calling, louder as he got his breath back.
"Julia? Julia? Are you in there?" He was standing outside what must have once been a big greenhouse, but now the one end seemed to be a pile of old iron and shattered glass.
We both played our torches over the wreckage. Suddenly mine picked up a flash of yellow. I moved the beam back to the spot and was able to see a yellow hard hat. His Lordship picked his way towards it.
"Mrs Billings. Please go and call an ambulance, the fire brigade and Dr Perkins as he might get here quicker than an ambulance. When you've made the calls wait by the front gate and escort them over to here."
I retraced my steps and took the Land Rover, thanking heavens, the security conscious girl had left the keys in the ignition.
Mrs Billings' torch confirmed my worst fears to be true. There was no danger of anything else falling from this part of the glasshouse, but the broken glass on the floor could still be lethal. Having seen the hard hat, I could then make out her limp form. I picked my way towards it, calling for Mrs Billings to get help. I knelt down beside her and checked for a pulse. It was there. I started taking pieces of broken glass off her, relieved to see that the combination of wax jacket and quilted dungarees had prevented most from get through to cut her. She was breathing steadily, but lightly. I decided to leave her where she was; worried that she may have a spinal injury. A big bruise was developing on her temple. I shone my torch over her, trying to see if there was anything I could do. That was when I saw the iron casting lying across her legs; her strangely positioned foot told that her leg must be broken.
Tears were now streaming down my cheeks, joining with the rainwater running off my hair. Always at the most inappropriate time, but it was at this precise moment that I realised I had never been in love before and without any doubt I loved her. I cleared more glass, so I could sit beside her, and then just sat there stroking her wet hair and whispering the same comforting noises I had heard Mrs Billings use earlier in the day.
Pulsating blue lights alerted me to the arrival of the fire engine. A comforting hand was put on my shoulder and I was lead away by a mature fireman. More blue lights were coming from the gateway, following the old Land Rover that I swear had never gone that fast before.
When the ambulance stopped, the crew calmly got out and hoisted their backpacks of equipment and were lead back to the disaster area by another fireman. This all looked like a scene from the television series 'Casualty' that I had once watched being filmed from my office window in Bristol. I went over to the Land Rover and slumped down on the ground, my back against the vehicles big wheel. Mrs Billings got out and joined me. She looked very pale.
"How is she Dr Wagstaff?"
"I don't know. She was unconscious, but had a pulse and was breathing when I left. Her leg is badly broken."
The firemen came and went, carrying equipment into the garden. Eventually an ambulance man and a fireman came back and collected the stretcher.
We got to our feet as a party of four returned, carrying the stretcher between them. Julia was still unconscious, all colour had gone from her face. Tubes and monitors came from her arm and chest. They slid the stretcher into the back of the ambulance and closed the doors.
The paramedic came across to us.
"Are either of you related to Miss Brown?" We both shook our heads. "OK. Then could one of you come with us to book her in please?"
I nodded, checked I had my wallet and climbed up beside the driver. "Mrs Billings, I'll call and let you know what's happening. I may need you to collect me. The keys to the Discovery are in the ignition."
The ambulance moved smoothly off. As we passed the staff houses, the blue lights illuminated the dishevelled figure of Jim, leaning against his gatepost with a bemused look on his face.
"We are heading for the Royal Infirmary, it's not the closest hospital, but they are better equipped to handle Miss Brown's injuries." The driver told me as we sped towards the motorway.
During the journey, I was trying to see what was going on in the back. The paramedic was calmly checking Julia's vital signs every few minutes, occasionally relaying information over a radio link.
On the motorway, the driver started to increase speed, reaching 80 MPH. He chuckled. "There is a queue of cars behind us who would like to go faster, but they don't want to be seen overtaking an emergency vehicle with its lights on."
Driving through Bristol, other motorists responded to the lights and two-tone horns, stopping to let the ambulance past. Finally, the ambulance turned off the road into the narrow emergency bay.
I saw the stretcher wheeled into a cubical in the emergency department before having to go to the reception area to give Julia's details.
The form seemed straightforward to start with.
| Patient's name: | Yes, I know that |
| Patient's address: | Yes, I know that |
| Next of kin: | don't know |
| Patient's doctor and address: | yes, easy, Perkins |
| Reporter's name: | Yes, that's me |
| Relationship of reporter to patient: | Err, Employer, err, no, friend |
| Pre-existing medical conditions: | Oh, damn. Do I have to fill that in? |
I put in all the personal details I knew, and then watched the receptionist smirk as she read through it. I was then directed to the waiting area, where I waited.
Occasionally I would get an update: she was having an MRI scan, she was having x-rays, she was going into surgery, she was in the recovery room, I could go and see her.
At last! After I woke Mrs Billings to give her an update, I was shown into a small room with one bed, a chair and an array of equipment, most of which went 'Beep'.
She was lying on the bed mostly covered by a blanket; her leg was exposed, a pink fibreglass cast running from hip to toe.
She still looked ghostly white against the green hospital gown she had been dressed in. She was also still unconscious.
I settled down in the chair to wait, thinking of things that needed to be done: I should contact her parents, arrange a private room, a nurse at home maybe. I chatted to the nurses as they came to make regular checks. At last, the rhythmic 'Beep' of the monitors became soporific and my eyelids to droop. Several times, I awoke with a jerk, but eventually I could resist no longer.
I hurt, but not here. The pain seemed to be remote, as if it were in a different room. My head hurt, surely, I couldn't have drunk that much at the dance, but maybe I had, because I couldn't remember going to the dance. My leg hurt, had someone been dancing on my foot? I tried to roll over. My leg REALLY hurt!
I opened my eyes wide with the shock of the pain but my vision only focused slowly. For the second time in a few days, the first thing I saw was my employer, collapsed in a chair snoring.
I still hurt. I tried to work out where I was. The ceiling was white; my room in the cottage was white. O.K. so that's a start. I must have over slept; the alarm clock was making a regular bleeping noise, but my alarm has a bell. Back to square one.
Focus. I've been somewhere like this before. When? It was when I was having my operation. I'm in a hospital. I wonder how the operation went. Am I a woman now? But I remember recovering on the beach in Brazil. Still No joy! I'm in a hospital. My employer is sleeping at the end of my bed. Did I have an accident at work? Work; I'm a gardener, I work in gardens and I was cutting back brush wood at the... This is too tiring. More sleep required.
Somewhere a tray of crockery was dropped. That Noise! Breaking glass! The glasshouse! I screamed with everything I had. "It's falling on me! Get me out of here! GET ME OUT OF HERE!"
Big hands were holding my gently. Whispered words: "It's going to be alright"; "there, there"; "shush"; "calm down my love".
Doors banged. It got busy around me. I'm still too tired.
I hurt. Someone was gently holding my hand. I opened my eyes to see Dr Wagstaff again. He looked tired, had stubble on his chin and, and tears running from his eyes?
"Hello. Can I do something for you?"
"Tell them to stop hitting my head with that mallet will you. Can you tell me what happened? What's the damage?"
"The doctor would tell me very little, but I think you underwent surgery for a broken right leg and you were unconscious for a long time. I hope it's nothing that won't mend given time."
A nurse came in all smiles and gushing greetings. "Have you rejoined us dear? Clever you, you woke up just in time for the doctor's round. I'll just get you cleaned up." She shooed Dr Wagstaff out of the room and closed the blinds.
The bed bath was not pleasant.
I had two doctors, a head guy, who wasn't concerned about my headache and a bone guy who had bolted my leg together, literally! Both seemed satisfied with my situation.
Dr Wagstaff came back into the room and sat next to the bed. He took my hand, which was nice.
"What's the verdict?"
"I have fractured both the tibia and fibula, my skull is intact, and there is no damage inside it.
"I'm going to be in here for a week, then another 6 to 8 weeks till I can resume work." He looked sad. "Don't worry, I'll get your garden sorted, it'll just take a bit longer, that's all."
"Hang the garden! I just want you to get better.
"I have to go soon, Mrs Billings is collecting me. Is there anyone I can contact?"
"I don't suppose my parents care. I would have suggested trying to contact my sister, but we last touch a couple of years ago."
I looked at him. He seemed to want to say something but I was too uncomfortable to care. Then Mrs Billings came in, carrying a bag of grapes.
"Hello my dear, what a to-do. You do look much better than you did last night."
"Well that's probably not saying much."
"Can I bring in some clothes for you?"
"Yes please, a nightdress and some underwear please Mrs Billings."
"Right Oh! That won't be a problem at all. Good bye."
"Thank you Mrs Billings, Good bye.
"Good bye Dr Wagstaff. Thank you for being here for me."
"I'll come back later, my dear. Um, would you do me the honour of calling me Archie?"
I giggled. "Alright Archie, just until I get better. Good bye."
He bent down and kissed me on the cheek, just a gentle peck, then turned and followed Mrs Billings out of the room. I put my hand to my cheek and wondered what that meant.
Let's get this straight, no matter how many hospital dramas you've seen, if you are a patient, hospitals are either frightening or boring. Sleeping was good but otherwise I was bored. The most excitement was when the nurse came to check all the bleeps and offer me a fresh bedpan. Food? Please don't take me back there!
Sometime in the afternoon, I had a visitor. There was a timid knock on the door. It opened and a head appeared. At first, I didn't recognise the mass of curly red hair, but suddenly realised it was Clare.
"Hello M... Julia? How are you? Tell me later, you're probably fed up with that question."
"Clare! What are you doing here? Can I have a hug please?"
She came over and gently embraced me. The years rolled back and I was small and looking up to my big sister again. I stayed there a long time. Eventually I broke away and Clare could sit on the bed.
"How did Dr Wagstaff contact you? And how did you get here so quickly?".
"Well I was at work and this police man came into the shop looking for me."
"A policeman?" I challenged. She nodded and carried on
"He said my sister had been in a serious accident and could I come over to Bristol. I was really worried, but when he got me outside he said that you were OK, but would like to see me. He drove me to the airport where a charter flight had been laid on, and here I am. It was very exciting!"
"How are Mum and Dad?"
"They are OK. I see them most weeks. They are starting to get old though."
"Do you think there is any chance of meeting up with them?"
"Sorry, little bro... Little sister, hmm, I like the sound of that. Sorry little sister, but Dad is as stuck in his ways as ever. He was a child of the forties and still has a lot of the values and prejudices that were only just being overcome in those days. I think Mum would like to see you again, in the past she has asked if I've heard from you. The trouble is that, she would never defy Dad. "
I think she sensed that her news made me unhappy as she continued chirpily. "So, what's been going on over the last two years with you? I followed the reports of the tribunal in the newspapers. It looked fairly unpleasant. I'm really sorry I didn't come and support you then, but Dad set an ultimatum, I could support you or I could support him. I had to choose not to support you for Mum's sake.
"One of the reports said you had been taking hormones; was that true? Isn't that the first step to...um?"
"...to going all the way?" I helped out. "Clare, I have never been able to tell you, but I have gone all the way. I had the operations last year."
"No Shit!"
I laughed "Yes Shit!"
"Can I see?"
"Clare! If you don't know what it looks like, use a mirror on yourself"
"You've had something done to your face as well."
"Made my chin a little more pointed. Do you like it?"
"I can see. It has the effect of, well softening your face. Yes. I do like it.
"God Sis, you must really have wanted this very much. I wish I could have helped you."
"Clare. It was my battle. I understand the pressure you were under with Dad. I really appreciated you rescuing those few things of mine. You remember Mr Smelly my teddy bear? He was in that box. He comforted me many times over the months of my transition. He still does actually. I can't tell you how grateful I was to have him."
"So what are you doing now?" I started to explain about the new job working for Dr Wagstaff.
"Who is this Dr Wagstaff? He seems to know some powerful people."
"He is also known as Lord Leighterton, so I suppose he must have some connections, but I'm only his gardener. I probably won't even be that soon, now I'm stuck in here."
"She's my Head Gardener, actually, and will be for a very long time if I don't keep putting my foot in it."
I looked around and saw Dr Wagstaff in the doorway, holding several John Lewis carrier bags.
"Hello Archie. This is my sister Clare." They shook hands and then Archie kissed her on the cheek.
"Did you get here alright? I couldn't think of a quicker way."
"Archie, how did you get the police to look for her?"
"I, err, made a few phone calls to an old school friend. He is now the Chief Constable." He chuckled. "I have no idea how many police balls and benevolent functions I'll have to attend to clear the debt."
He sat in the chair and took my hand again. It was still a nice feeling.
"There are some things in the bags for you. I didn't like to pry through your house, so I bought some new things. I hope they fit. Mrs Billings suggested the sizes and the woman in the shop was most helpful."
I looked through the bags; the first thing I took out was a beautiful red silk nightdress with spaghetti straps. There were also bras and briefs, all top brands and enough for several days.
"Wow, this stuff is so nice. You shouldn't have bought this. You could have just grabbed stuff out of my chest of draws, I wouldn't have minded."
"Please don't mention it.
"Now, I should bring you up to date with the goings on at home. Your shenanigans in my glasshouse have stirred up a hornets nest. I'm besieged by health and safety on one hand who rightly want to throw the book at me for putting an employee into danger; they'll want to interview you, but I asked them to wait a couple of days. Then on the other hand I've got English Heritage demanding that the remainder of the building gets a listed preservation order on it and won't let me tear it down to make it safe."
"How did English Heritage get to hear about it?"
"Well, it is normal for the fire brigade to video their operations for analysis and training. They released it to the media and it was on the local television news this morning. That's when my phone started ringing.
"Now, have you had any more news from the doctors?"
I shook my head. "A nurse told me they are talking about moving me out of this room, they need it for someone else, but I think they are not sure whether I can go in a women's ward or not."
He growled in annoyance. "That's easily sorted. I can get you a private room. In fact I can get you moved to a private hospital; they will have much better food there as well." He said, using a fork to poke the remains of my dinner as if it might have been some sort of biohazard. "I'll just go and find someone to start making the arrangements."
"Coo! He's got the hots for you Sis."
"What do you mean, I know he cares for his staff, but that's not the same thing."
"Caring for your staff doesn't involve clasping their hands and looking at them with big doe eyes or buying them silk underwear and night clothes. Does it?"
I blushed. "That couldn't possibly be true. I mean, he knows, knows what I am."
"Take it from me little sister, when you get out of hospital, he'll be following you around like a lost sheep." She paused, biting her lip as she thought. "Is that a problem for you; I mean, what are you? Err, sexually?"
"You're as bad as my counsellor, Clare; always asking me to decide which side of my bread the butter was on. The answer is that I don't know. As Michael, I was never attracted to girls, but I never looked at boys or men sexually. I think that I never wanted a man on man relationship. Since I had the operation, I haven't been looking for a relationship. I'm scared that if I get close to someone, then at some stage I will have to tell them about how I used to be a man and it'll all go pear shaped"
"But Lord what's-his-name already knows about you. He seems an ideal candidate, for..."
The conversation stopped as Archie returned to the room.
"All sorted out. You are going to stay here tonight and then you'll move to the Waterside hospital, tomorrow. I checked and the consultant who is looking after you will visit you there." He turned to my sister. "I have booked a room in the Swallow hotel for you. I'll drop you off there when visiting time is over."
We sat, or they sat and I lay, and chatted. Sometimes there were long pauses as either we ran out of things to say, or I dozed off.
Eventually a bell rang outside somewhere and the nurse put her head around the door to say visiting time was over. Clare hugged me tightly and Archie once again kissed my cheek, was it my imagination or did he press just a bit harder than this morning. I gave an experimental kiss in return, feeling the light stubble that had taken up position on his chin and smelling the subtle aftershave he was wearing. Clare and Archie both promised to be back in the morning.
I took the proffered sleeping tablet and pain killers and had a relatively good night's sleep, to be woken at six am by the cleaners and nurses getting everyone ready for the doctors, who eventually came four hours later.
Clare came in, bubbling with enthusiasm over her night in a posh hotel.
"It's actually called the Swallow Royal Hotel. It's got a pool inside, and the maid left a chocolate on the pillow.
"How are you feeling this morning?"
"I slept quite well and the headache is much better, but my leg is itching really badly under the cast where I can't scratch it"
"That pink cast is a very pretty colour."
"Maybe, but most of my wardrobe is based on green and browns, it'll clash terribly!"
"You need to go shopping for some more clothes, with your blonde hair, some strong pinks or reds would suit you. I would love to take you, but I'm going to have to go back to Kent tonight. I'll be needed in the shop tomorrow."
Soon a couple of porters showed up with a stretcher.
"We are going to move you to the Waterside. I've got all your paperwork here." The senior one said as he put a large x-ray envelope down.
They effortlessly lifted me onto the travelling bed and Clare packed the few bits and pieces I had collected and Archie's new clothes for me.
The ride to the private hospital was quiet and comfortable. Whilst Clare checked me in, the porters took me straight to my room. Waiting for me in a comfortable chair was Archie, dressed in a smart grey three-piece suit, with a royal blue silk tie. He stood up as we entered.
"Sorry I didn't get to the other hospital this morning. I was doing one of the Bible readings in church and I don't like to break that sort of commitment if I can help it, but I came straight here."
I was moved onto the bed and was able to take stock of the room. It was decorated in an off-white pink colour; wide windows looked out on the river Avon as it ran along the Clifton Gorge. Several vases contained what must have been the pride of the local florist's stock.
"This is a lovely room Archie!" He smiled warmly and I could see he seemed pleased with himself.
"I, I couldn't bear to think of you lying in that other ward, eating that disgusting food. I, I think...I want to say..."
"What's that Archie?" I said watching the colour rising in his face once more.
"Oh, it doesn't matter."
What is it with this guy, he keeps wanting to ask me something and then bottling out, just like the afternoon of my interview.
Damn, Damn, Damn! Why can't I just ask her, no tell her how I love her?
I had bought the clothes for her in the big department store by the motorway. I had been so embarrassed asking the assistant for help. I think she got the wrong idea when I asked for nightclothes and underwear. The initial selections were skimpy little things. It seemed the more you paid the less you got! Not knowing any of the terminology didn't help; what is a 'teddy' for goodness sake? I had to resort to words like 'Pretty', 'Elegant' and at one point even 'Comfortable'. In the end, I was pleased with the selection.
I had hoped the gift may have been an opening to say how I felt, but it was difficult to say the right words with her sister there, and I missed the opportunity, damn it!
This wooing of ladies was harder than it was supposed to be. It was at times like this that I missed my late mother. She would have known what to do.
One of the good things about this hospital was the chef, together with the fact that visitors were welcome to eat with the patients. We all sat down to a very nice Sunday Roast. Rare beef, Yorkshire puddings, roast potatoes, cabbage, carrots and parsnips. What a relief to get some real food at last!
After the meal, we continued talking about gardens and Clare's situation in Kent until Clare declared that she must see about getting home. She accepted my I offer to take her to the station, so I was able to sort out her tickets and wave her off at the platform.
I looked around the newsagent in the station. It was full of the usual tat. I picked out a couple of gardening magazines and then on a whim an inflated foil balloon in the shape of a red heart with the words 'Get Well Soon' on it.
I got back to Julia's room to find that she was asleep. I just tied the balloon to the foot of her bed and left the magazines where she could find them. Tomorrow would be another day.
I woke up slowly. The light from behind the curtains told me that it was late; no cleaners, no nurses, just peace and quiet. I lay there accumulating data about my state this morning. No sign of a headache; my leg is beginning to hurt, I'll get some painkillers with my breakfast; I must get someone to scratch my toes! Need the loo.
Eventually, I summoned the energy to look for and press the nurse call button. It brought the nurse and a bedpan. I got myself comfortable and looking around the room for the first time noticed the balloon, gently swaying in the air currents caused by the nurse moving around the room.
"Where did that come from?" I asked the nurse.
"Your boyfriend dropped it off after you went to sleep."
"My boyfriend? Oh, you mean Archie. He is my employer."
She looked at me strangely. "Sure, whatever."
I looked at the balloon rotating on its string and saw the message "Get Well Soon" on the side of it. It seems most unlike Archie to buy something like that; nice thought though.
When I finished doing what needed to be done, the nurse took my breakfast order. I could get to like nutritious food if it was cooked this well. Then I settled down to read one of the magazines that I had found. At about eleven o'clock, the nurse put her head around the door.
"There is a, um, gentleman to see you Miss Brown. Calls himself 'Jim'?"
I pulled my dressing gown over my shoulders and made sure that I was decent, then nodded to the nurse to show him in. He timidly came into the room, looking at the floor. He was dressed in what must have been his best suit, maybe his only suit, probably purchased thirty years before judging by the huge lapels and flared trousers.
"Mornin' Miss. Begin' your pardon for disturbin' you Miss, but I had to come an' say how sorry I was for what happened and that I feel real bad that I let you down, cause I should have bin there to help you." He looked up at me for the first time then and I saw that his left eye was only just open and surrounding it was a Technicolor bruise.
"What happened to your eye Jim?"
"Ah, that were Mrs Billings. She's got a mean right hook. She were right upset with me when she found out I was supposed to have bin helpin' you in the kitchen garden, but I had gotten drunk.
"Jim, I was very annoyed that you didn't turn up. I could have got to the glasshouse in daylight, then maybe I would have seen the state of the ironwork and wouldn't have gone in. However, I don't blame you for what happened. I should have had more sense than to go into what I knew was a potentially dangerous building in the dark."
I had just finished when Archie walked in to the room. Upon seeing Jim, his step faltered and a frown appeared on his face.
"Jim! I have been meaning to see you about your conduct on Friday. Am I right in thinking that when you were supposed to be working, you were actually inebriated?"
"Eh? Sorry Dr Wagstaff I don't get your drift."
"Were you drunk on Friday afternoon?"
"Oh, drunk. Yes, Dr Wagstaff I was. I'm very sorry sir."
"And because of that one of your colleagues got injured."
I could see both men were getting cross or frustrated.
"But doctor, Miss Julia just said it wasn't my fault."
"I think the accident could have been prevented if you had been there. You would normally have enough sense to stop Julia entering the glasshouse. I am absolutely furious, that your inability to control your alcohol intake prevented you from working that afternoon. Is there any reason that you had more than usual?"
Jim went very red and looked at the floor.
"I got angry your Lordship. Bill started saying things about Miss Julia, not very nice things... And his missus was passing the beer to me, so I didn't notice how much I'd had."
"What things?"
Jim looked at me, "I'm not going to say sir; they weren't the sort of things to repeat in a lady's presence."
"Alright we'll leave it at that; I'll make on thing clear though and this goes for both of you, there is to be no using of machinery without someone else being present;" then he looked at me, "or showing off your skills with plant."
Having told us off, he seemed to relax. "How are you getting home Jim? I can give you a lift if you like."
"That's kind of you sir, but I'll catch the bus if you don't mind. Um, I'll get off now, sir. Sorry again about the leg Miss, I hope you're out of 'ere soon."
As Jim closed the door behind him, Archie turned to look out of the window.
"Weren't you a bit hard on him, Archie?" I said to his back.
He didn't reply immediately, his neck turned red and he clasped and unclasped his hands repeatedly behind his back. Eventually he said. "No, I don't think so. Not when the woman I love gets hurt." He turned to look at me. "Julia, I have been trying to say this since the accident, but could never think of the words, or had the courage to say them.
"Julia, I love you.
"Since I first met you at the interview I have been doing strange things: getting lost for words; making excuses to be in your company longer than was necessary; watching your beautiful legs and err, your bra when you were planting the lilies; even going on a diet for goodness sakes. I couldn't understand why I was doing these things and it only struck me when I was sitting next to you waiting for the ambulance to come that I couldn't live without you.
"You're doing that thing with your mouth again. I would close it if I were you."
I shook my head to clear it. In spite of Clare's warning, I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
"Oh Archie! You are a wonderful person, very kind and caring; good company and understanding, but I just don't know that I love you." He slumped down on the corner of the bed, the disappointment clear on his face. "I wish I could say the same to you. To say 'I love you' and mean it would give me the greatest joy. It's not you Archie. I have never resolved my feelings towards men in general let alone you in particular." I sighed, thinking, trying to find the words to explain and not being happy with those I came up with. "Archie, this is really difficult to explain, especially as I don't even have all the answers. My counsellor was continually banging on about finding where my preferences were sexually, he didn't care which way they were, so long as I knew one way or the other. It was the last question that was causing him to block my application for SRS, for the operation. I couldn't answer it and impetuously went abroad for the operation without his consent. I have never been interested in girls and I never wanted a homosexual relationship with another man. Now I am a woman, I still wonder if I want a transsexual relationship with a man. I don't want to get it wrong and be hurt, so I haven't sought any relationships since surgery."
"Does, does that mean there is a chance you may learn to love me, Julia?"
I shrugged my shoulders. "I don't know, Archie. Maybe, don't give up on me yet, huh?"
The conversation became stilted after this and it was a relief when Archie had to go to give a tutorial to some first year degree students.
I sat in the room, ignoring the comings and goings around me. The vibrant colours of the flowers seemed to fade to dull variations of grey. I kept thinking about our conversation, trying to force my feelings to flow the way I wanted. The only result of this effort was a damp pillowcase and more visits from the concerned nurses. Still, the questions remained, could I love a man, and had I done the right thing.
I knew his Lordship had been spending time with her in the hospital, but I thought she could probably do with some female company and anyway, I didn't get to the big shops in the city very often, so I left a salad sandwich in the fridge for his Lordship and off I went. I got to the hospital (they are much posher than when I had my appendix out as a nipper) and was shown to her room.
I tried to open the door, but winced with the pain and had to use my left hand instead. Next time I have to sort out that waster of a gardener, I'll make sure I've got my rolling pin handy.
She was sitting on the bed, a bright pink cast on her leg. The poor thing looked so miserable I had to give her a hug.
"What's wrong my dear?"
She sniffed. "Tell me about men, Mrs Billings."
"Oh I don't think I'm the best person to do that, my dear. I find I can't live with 'em, and I can't live without 'em. I mean, Mr Billings sodded off a year after we got married, but Keith Butler now, he's a right handsome man and well, lets just say I've had some fun times with him."
"But you loved your husband didn't you?"
"I thought I did dear. I'm sure that I did at one point, yes."
"How did you know you were in love then?"
"Phew, you don't 'alf ask some strange questions. A girl your age, you should have had some experiences with boys by now."
She shook her head, and looked hard at her knees.
"Oh well, let me try to remember what it was like."
I told her about the good times we had had; the things he did to make me laugh; and tried to describe the feelings that told me I was in love with him. I don't think I did a very good job. I mean, Love, it's got its own rules hasn't it? You don't pick and choose; it just happens. I couldn't understand why she was asking me about love at a time like this. I mean how would she meet anyone in a hospital?
"What do you do if you don't get any of those feelings when a man says he loves you?"
"Oh my poor dear, did you want it to happen, want it to be him?"
She shook her head. "I didn't expect it, couldn't believe it when he said it and when he did, I just felt sort of numb or empty inside."
What could I tell her? I could say 'If you don't feel anything the first time then its probably not going to happen, find someone else.' which is what I believe, but that would break her heart. I would just have to resort to the woman's favourite and tell a rather dirty white lie.
"Well, maybe you need to spend more time getting to know him, learn his ways and find out how and why he loves you. Maybe it'll come to you."
She smiled for the first time during my visit, but the way her eyes shone told me that tears were not far away.
"I have some errands to run. I'll pop in to see you on another day. Bye-bye, dear."
I left her some old 'Woman's weekly' magazines full of short stories that Mrs Upshot had given to me and a box of Celebration chocolates that I can't eat cause of my diabetes.
I can't believe how busy Bristol is getting. Every time I go, the number of people wandering around the shops seems to increase. I was tired out by the time I got back to the big house to start preparing his Lordship's supper, only to find he was Mr Grumpy, hardly speaking and never saying please or thank you.
I left him to it and returned to my house, thinking of the strange conversation I had had with Julia.
Bored, bored, bored, bored, and bored!
I had glanced through Mrs Billings magazines. Most of the stories were twee with predictable twists in the last paragraph. I had passed the chocolates onto a nurse after spotting the sell by date was six months earlier.
I have been on this bed for four days now. My tolerance of the home improvement programs shown on daytime TV is very low, and I'm worried, that if I see many more of them, I might start enjoying them.
Archie's visits are less frequent than in the first couple of days here. When he has come, he earnestly tells me he loves me, but I still don't feel anything in return. I think he is finding my inability to respond to him frustrating. The conversation seems to quickly dry up.
I haven't been outside for five days now. It's a very long time since I have spent this much time away from any sort of garden. I think if I'm in here much longer, I'll go mad.
The nurse came in.
"There are two gentlemen from the Health and Safety to see you Miss Brown."
The two men came in, wearing grey suits with grey expressions on their faces. I had dealt with HSE in the past, when one of my crew had put a fork through his foot. Then, I had found them to be fair but committed to their rulebooks.
"Good morning Miss Brown. I'm James Appleton and this is my colleague Eric Brompton. We are here from the Health and Safety Executive, investigating the building collapse at Wagstaff House on Friday last."
They both showed identification passes with their photos.
"We are concerned that your employer may have put you in a dangerous situation without the necessary training or protective clothing. We would like to ask some questions about the incident. I'd like to get some background information first."
He asked me about my experience and qualifications, past jobs. Whilst we were talking, the nurse brought a tray of tea.
"What were your instructions with regards to the glasshouse?"
"A week before, Doctor Wagstaff had asked me to survey what plants were in the garden and then get a structural survey done of the glasshouse."
"So he was aware of the state of the property?"
"I believe so, he said he hadn't been there for many years, but was concerned that it was dangerous."
"So knowing that it was a dangerous building, he asked you to go inside to survey the plants?"
I thought carefully.
"No he didn't ask me to go into the building; that was my decision. He had asked me to get a survey done, the implication being I would arrange for an engineer to do it."
My questioners' colleague was taking notes.
"Now I understand that you had been working alone prior to the incident, but you were using power cutting tools."
"Yes, my labourer hadn't turned up. I was using a petrol operated brush cutter to clear undergrowth. Before you tell me, I am aware that it is not recommended to use chainsaws unaccompanied, but there aren't any specific rules with that particular equipment."
"What were you wearing whilst performing this task?"
"I had full set of protective overalls" I replied, wondering how the paramedics had cut the gear off me.
"Fine, I think that ties everything up. I will be contacting Lord Leighterton to say that we have no further concerns about his operation, other than to recommend that power tools are not used by a single operator."
They left and I relaxed. At least I had been able to use my mind whilst they were here, even if it was the Spanish Inquisition.
I turned on the television to see a camp presenter spraying flowerpots with silver paint. I turned it off again.
The physiotherapist came into the room carrying a pair of crutches.
"It's time to get you mobile again Miss Brown."
She adjusted the crutches to the right height and then helped me into a standing position. The blood ran to my feet, making me light headed and causing my leg to throb. After a while, I felt better. The physio walked me up and down the room a couple of times, ensuring that I put no weight on the fractured limb.
"That's very good. I spoke the consultant and he said you should be able to go home tomorrow, once you've mastered the crutches and I'm happy you can cope for yourself at home.
"Is there anyone at home to look after you?"
"No, but I have very helpful neighbours."
"And do you have good facilities, plenty of space in the bathroom? I had one lady, who got her self sat on the toilet, but there wasn't enough room for her leg to be stretched out and she got stuck! Your house has safe stairs; and a comfortable bed?"
At each question, I nodded. I actually didn't care what the question was, if saying yes got me out of here, the answer was yes!
The physio left, promising she would see me again tomorrow before I was allowed to leave.
I took the crutches and limped over to the full-length mirror. I looked a bit of a mess; my hair needed washing, probably cutting as well. A little make up wouldn't go amiss. The nightdress looked good on me, it's red colour complementing the pink of the cast. The thin straps of the nightdress emphasised my shoulders, only spoiled by the large green bruise that was still receding. I decided that when I got out I would keep it for a special occasion. Immediately Archie flashed into my mind. I looked at myself again and realised that I couldn't go home like this, clothes would be a better idea.
"Hello Archie? It's Julia. They are letting me out tomorrow, could you bring some clothes in for me when you come tonight please?
"That's wonderful news!" His voice crackled back over the phone. "What do you need?"
"A blouse and skirt, my coat and a shoe" The thought of bringing in a single shoe made me giggle. "You had better ask Mrs Billings to find some things from my wardrobe; she'll know what I need." Then I had an anxious thought, that there maybe some things in there that betrayed my former self. I did a quick mental inventory and decided the only things that that connected me to Michael could have an innocent explanation.
"What time will you be coming?" I asked, realising that I was feeling excited about getting my clothes back and more freedom; or was it the prospect of seeing him again?
"I could drop them in at three, before my lecture on the Jurassic period, and then I'll come back at six and eat with you if I may?"
"That's great! I'm looking forward to it." I put the phone back onto the cradle, and looked at myself in the mirror again, not happy! I picked up the crutches and levered my way out of the room looking for the nurse's station.
"Hello. It's nice to see you out and about." The nurse smiled at me. "Is there anything I can help you with?"
"I was wondering if it would be possible to get my hair washed. It feels horrible, and doesn't look much better."
"Yes of course." She looked at a list on the desk. "You're in luck actually. We have the mobile hairdresser coming in this afternoon, would you like me to make you an appointment?"
I nodded enthusiastically and then hopped my way back to my room to wait.
Archie came at half past two, looking for lunch, but he was too late. Ha-ha!
He sat in the chair next to my bed while I looked through the small case Mrs Billings had packed. I found all that I needed, secretly pleased that she had put in my favourite long skirt and the silk blouse that I kept for best wear.
Then I got back on the bed to talk with Archie. He held my hand and I still enjoyed the firm but gentle grip and wondered if this feeling meant anything. I looked into his face and felt the corners of my mouth going up in an involuntary smile.
It was only a short visit and I was disappointed when he put on his coat, but kissed me on the cheek and I felt better. I was beginning to like those kisses.
I limped with him to the door and waved goodbye as he got into the Discovery and drove off. Soon after I got back to my room, a woman of my age came in pushing a trolley of hairdressing supplies in front of her and towing a salon hairdryer behind.
"Hello, I'm Karen. The nurse said you wanted your hair washed?"
She sat me at a chair by the sink but before she started to wash it, she ran a comb through my hair, inspecting it with practiced ease.
"Your hair is lovely. Are you sure it's just a shampoo, or would you like me to set it as well?"
Although I do go to the hairdresser regularly, other than a good cut, I have never had my hair styled, preferring it to be long and straight as it's the easiest long style to look after. I looked at Karen in the mirror and suddenly felt a confidence in her ability.
"I've never had it anything other than straight, but I'm feeling like a change, what would you propose?"
"Hmm, I suggest that I give it a wave or possibly even curls."
I thought of Clare's curly hair and wondered how I would look with a similar style.
"If I didn't like it, it would wash out wouldn't it?"
"Yes, I wouldn't perm it, just use some setting lotion."
"OK, let's go for it then"
She washed my hair and combed it out. As she rolled my hair around the first roller, I remembered that the last time I had used rollers was when I got caught by my sister. A violent shiver went up my spine to the extent that Karen noticed it.
"Are you alright?"
"I just remembered why I don't like rollers; it has links to bad memories from when I was a child."
Karen looked mystified, but I wasn't going to expand on that. After the first shock, I enjoyed the experience. When all the rollers were in place Karen passed me the magazine I was still reading and pulled over the salon hairdryer for me to sit under.
"I'm just going to give one of the other patients a hair wash, I'll be back in about 20 minutes. Just sit there and relax."
The warm air blowing around my hair and ears certainly made me relax; I woke up when Karen turned off the dryer to find my magazine had fallen on the floor.
"Sorry to wake you, I left you for half an hour as it was. Any longer and your hair would have been fried!"
She pulled the dryer away and started to undo the rollers a mass of curls leapt back into an untidy nest. I gasped.
Karen giggled. "Don't worry, once it's brushed out, it will look fine."
She set to work with her brush and comb soon the curls surrendered and became a series of gorgeous waves. I shook my head delighted in the way they fell against my shoulders.
"Karen, that is gorgeous!"
"Well, I'm only as good as the materials available, but, yes, it's not bad, is it.
"I guess you won't be in here next time I visit, but if you want, I can come to your home next time." She handed me a business card.
I went to find my purse to pay, but she stopped me.
"This is charged to the room, a bit like in a hotel. It's part of the agreement I have with the hospital; I work here if they can have a cut; I mean a share. I don't do free haircuts!" I joined in with her laughter as she left.
Closing the door, I washed myself sitting by the sink and then put on my bra and the silk blouse. I had to call the nurse to help me dress below the waist, as I couldn't reach to get everything over the cast. Every time I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I marvelled at the change the hairstyle made to my appearance.
When we were finished, I stood and asked the nurse. "How do I look?"
"The best since you've been here that's for sure. I love the hair. You're taking a lot of trouble over your appearance tonight. Is someone special visiting?"
"Um, no. No-one special, I don't think." But, I was starting to wonder.
I found a day room and waited in there chatting to some of the other patients, occasionally walking around to keep loose. Just before six o'clock I was hobbling past the entrance on the way back to my room, when Archie came through the main door.
"Julia?"
"Hello Archie. I would close your mouth if I were you; you never know what may fly into it."
He closed his mouth with a snap.
"Julia, you are more beautiful than ever!"
"Do you like it?" I tried to do a pirouette, but it went horribly wrong; my crutches slipped on the floor and I tumbled towards Archie, squealing as I went. Archie put out his arms and caught me, but my momentum was too much and we both fell to the floor.
"I have fantasised about being in this position for nearly a week now, but I didn't expect it to take place in a hospital reception area!" Archie said trying to look around.
I found myself lying on top of Archie with my face resting on his chest. He put his arm gently around my back, and rubbed my shoulder. This was like the feeling when he held my hand, but much, much more so.
"Are you alright? Have you done any further damage?"
"No, I don't think so."
" Then can I get up please?"
I experimentally snuggled my face into his chest. "No, I don't think so."
I breathed in his odour and liked it. I put my hand on his shoulder.
"Oh, Archie! I think I understand now."
"What's going on? Is everything alright?" Two nurses had heard my crutches hit the floor and had come to investigate.
"We are fine thank you very much; just the polish on the floor was a bit too slippery for Julia's crutches. Could you possibly help us up?"
The nurses separated us and put Archie back on his feet and me into a wheel chair.
Archie wheeled me back to my room and while we waited for the food to be served, he put his hand on my cheek and I snuggled into it.
"You're hair is gorgeous Julia. Why haven't you done it like this before?"
"It's a long story and involves a thirteen-year-old boy wearing his big sisters rollers."
"Oh!" He looked confused, but went back to his original topic.
"I was stunned when I came into the hospital tonight. The light was behind you, shining off your hair. You looked like a goddess! I didn't realise it was you, until I saw the crutches and cast.
Still caressing my cheek, Archie leaned forward and gently kissed me on the lips. Oh, that Kiss! My emotions were in turmoil; the hug on the floor; caressing my cheek and now the kiss. Each episode brought charged feelings that didn't die away, but built upon the previous ones. I melted into his arms. For the first time I knew how it feels to be a woman in love.
"Julia, you look wonderfully happy, what is it?"
"Archie, I have been telling you that I didn't return your feelings of love. The truth is that, I didn't know what love was. It is only just now, that I understand all the little messages when you did things. I told you it would give me great joy to be able to say 'I love you'. Well that is why I'm so happy. Archie Wagstaff, I Love you."
"That's wonderful darling! You've just made me the happiest man in Bristol!"
I have little idea what happened the rest of the evening, although I do remember the nurses telling Archie, seven or eight times that visiting was over.
He phoned me at ten o'clock at night to tell me he wanted the car and uniform the next morning. I mean the car hadn't been used since his parents' funeral. It took me ages to pump up the tyres, charge the battery and check everything was safe. Then I had to clean and polish it.
As for the uniform, I 'ad to beg Mrs Billings to sort that out for me the next morning. Dressing in the stiff collared shirt, with the double-breasted jacket buttoned to the neck, I felt a right Charlie.
The worst thing was when Mrs Billings insisted on putting some make up around my eye to hide the bruise. Gawd, whatever will become of me if anyone finds out about that!
Driving the big car through Bristol's early morning rush hour traffic was no fun either. His Lordship directed me to the hospital; I thought he must have been visiting Miss Julia on the way to wherever we were going. I had to wait for hours, standing beside the car, the chauffeur's hat pulled over my head.
About two hours later, he escorts Miss Julia down the stairs and helps her into the back of the car; then it's "Home James" and were off back to the big 'ouse. I ask you, what a palaver just to fetch the other gardener home!
As if I didn't have enough to do this morning, Jim wanted help pressing the Chauffeur's uniform; mind you he did look the part when he left and I always liked men in uniform; whoops, I shouldn't have said that should I?
Anyway, apart from sorting Jim out, I had to prepare three guest rooms. I knew one of them was for Miss Julia, I had helped his lordship collect her things from the cottage, and I have to admit that I felt happier knowing that she would be living in the big house whilst she convalesced than in the little cottage with its narrow stairs and no-one to look after her.
His Lordship hadn't mentioned who the other guests would be and as it was rare for anyone to stay at the big house, I had a lot of work with removing dustsheets, cleaning, airing and finding all the bedding and such like.
I paused in what I was doing when I heard a car's wheels crunching over the gravel drive, looking out of the window; I saw the family Rolls Royce pull up outside the front door. Jim got out then opened the rear door for his Lordship, who then leaned back into the car to help Miss Julia out. I ran downstairs to help her into the house and get her settled.
By the time I got down, she was already in the hall. She seemed like a different woman to the sad thing I chatted to in the hospital; she was smiling, had a glint in her eye and a glow to her cheeks.
Archie was helping support her as she hopped into the lounge and we got her settled on the sofa with her leg raised.
It is now two days since they let me out of the hospital. It had taken an age to get released, with checks from the consultant and physio. Archie was waiting for me patiently in the hall when I finally escaped. He gave me a big hug and we kissed passionately; what had happened to those inhibitions from a couple of days ago?
He escorted me to the front door and I was surprised to see a chauffeur driven Rolls Royce waiting; until I realised whom the chauffeur was!
"I thought the Roller might be more comfortable than the Discovery." Archie had said in a matter of fact manner. He was right to, as the car whispered back to Gloucestershire.
So here I was, on a Friday evening, sitting on the sofa looking at my lover. I heard voices in the hall, which I thought was strange.
"Clare, are you sure this is the health spa? There was no sign at the gate and I would have expected some sort of reception desk in the lobby."
I thought I recognised the voice, but couldn't be sure. Archie leapt form his chair and hurried out of the room. There was laughter in the hall and then Archie returned followed by Clare, and my mother followed her! I could do nothing but look from face to face whilst my mother stared at me her look showing recognition, but clearly not being able to match it with a name.
"Mum," Clare spoke, "I'd like to introduce you to Julia Brown. Um, she is your daughter."
"Julia? Michael! My baby! What have you done... to your leg; no, forget the leg what have you done to yourself. What happened to my little boy? Is what Clare told me true?"
"Mum... I didn't know you were coming. How are you? I haven't been able to speak to you for so long!"
Tears were flooding down my cheeks and mum was in the same state. We both clung to each other desperately.
After a while, I looked at Clare and Archie for an explanation. Clare also was dabbing her eyes with a tissue and Archie's eyes were glistening, so he wasn't far from tears either.
"After we spoke last weekend, I really wanted mum to come and see you, but I knew dad would never allow it. So, I hatched a plot with Archie, telling mum I had won a girls weekend in a health spa. Of course, dad had no interest, so The Wagstaff Health spa was born. I told mum about seeing you last weekend, but not that we were on our way to visit again today."
"Oh Michael, your father is such a fool. I should have stood up to him and protected you! Maybe if you had been still at home I could have prevented this happening." She said looking me up and down.
"Mum, my name is Julia now and I'm now very happy with who and what I am. I was never really happy as Michael. I had lots of counselling before I went through with the operation. The gaps that that left, I have since filled in for myself. Mum, I am a girl now. I was always a girl inside. "
"J, Julia?" She said the word experimentally, as if using it for the first time. "You had a great aunt Julia, did you know that?"
I shook my head. "I didn't know that, I chose Julia, because there was a girl at school who once helped me after I had been bullied. I thought she was kind to me then, I thought maybe her name would be kind to me in the future."
The weekend went well after that. Occasionally I would catch mum looking at me suspiciously, but it seemed she grew to like her new daughter and we were talking like old girlfriends by the Sunday evening when they had to leave.
Mum arrived home happy and dad, assuming it was the magical effect of the health spa, encouraged her to visit again. In fact both mum and Clare became regular visitors to Wagstaff House, and it was during one of these visits that Archie and I formally declared our love for one another. There will be no official ceremony. Our relationship won't be a legally binding one unless the law is changed (I have a feeling Archie may be tackling that one with some of his friends in the House of Lords), but as Archie says, one of our neighbours is the heir to the throne and who knows what he and Camilla get up to?
My leg got better, although I grew to hate the visits from the physio with her exercises. Eventually I was able to resume my role in the garden, but I now do it for the love of it, rather, that as my employment. An architectural historian has been to survey the remains of the glasshouse and after researching in Archie's library, found it to have been originally built as a test for Joseph Paxton's amazing Crystal Palace built for the 1851 exhibition. As such, it is a historically important building and Archie was bound to restore it. This is not a quick job, but should be completed in a couple of years, but then we are in no hurry, as we have the rest of our lives to be able to enjoy it! I'm working on persuading Archie to let me open the kitchen gardens to the public and carry out my plan to create a preserved specimens business. He does seem to agree to my requests with little effort on my part these days... I wonder why.
Authors Note: My thanks go to Angie and Angela for reading and making constructive comments and to Stacy for giving me encouragement from the initial idea.
This is the story of a person who is very special to me. First, I should introduce myself and tell you about my family.
We come from a small rural town in Gloucestershire, England. My name is Elizabeth Bunden. I am 22 years old. I have brown wavy hair and I am five feet six high with what I think is a nice figure. I took a vocational course in media studies at the local college of further education and I'm now working as an assistant, well tea girl, for a producer on a local radio station.
My mother abandoned us when I was 12, running away from home with a travelling vacuum cleaner salesman. She has never tried to contact any of us once since then.
My father was a great man. He was 6 feet and 4 inches, a giant in height and weight. When I was growing up, I loved to nestle in his lap smelling the unique smell of his after-shave mixed with his flake tobacco. When mum left he looked after us, brought us up as honest open people. He was always there for us and I could talk to him, and he would listen, about anything. I was devastated when he died from a sudden heart attack 7 years ago. His passing left a big gap in my life.
The next man in my life is Jeremy Macintosh or Jez as everyone calls him. Jez is a real hunk, six feet two inches, wide shoulders and a six-pack stomach. We met in college two years ago, fell madly and desperately in love and are due to be married in a few of weeks. Jez studied sports psychology, but unable to find a job in that role is currently a PE teacher in the comprehensive school in a near by town.
Finally, there's my big brother, Paul. Three years my senior, he is only an inch taller than I am. His sandy coloured hair is usually long, lank and unkempt. His physique owes nothing to regular visits to the gym, but more to spending hours in front of a computer screen and forgetting to eat. In his large framed glasses, he looks every bit the professional computer nerd that, in reality, he is.
I am closer to Paul than probably anyone else I know and I owe him so much. As a toddler, Paul could only say "Lizzybet", and so christened me with a name that has stuck to this day. Because he was 18 when our father died, he was able to become my legal guardian, therefore saved me from the misery of foster, and care homes. Whilst studying at college, Paul still found time to look after me, coped with my teenaged tantrums and sorted me out when boyfriends split up with me. Paul stepped into my fathers shoes without missing a step and has never complained about the responsibility thrust upon him.
Paul has inherited our father's ability to listen and we talk often and at great length. We have never had secrets, or so I thought.
One night we were in the lounge relaxing. Paul had opened his mail and was looking at an elegant invitation card. "What have you got there, brother?"
"Jez has sent me an invitation to his stag night. It's on the same night as your girls do."
"I know. We arranged that so no one would be lonely at home!" I smiled at Paul.
"Yes, I suppose that makes sense". Paul did not seem very enthusiastic.
"Hey, you'll have a great time. You know most of the guys who will be there and Jez and you always get on well together."
"You're right, it is just that I will miss being with you on your last big night out as a single girl."
"I'll miss you as well brother and I wish you could come. However, it is not up to me. The other girls have organised my night and there is no way that any of them would let a man come. They said, "A hen night is for hens and a stag night is for stags."
I thought that was the end of the discussion. Over the next few days, Paul became quiet, almost morose until the subject of my hen night came up again. I was trying on a new dress (a little classic black number).
"Paul, what do you think of this dress?"
"Uh? Oh. It's very revealing... Is that for your hen night?"
"Yes. Do you like it?"
"Lizzybet, about your hen party, are you sure there isn't any way I could come?"
I gave Paul a big hug. "Dearest brother. If I could wave a magic wand and make you into a girl for the night, so that you could join me, I would do it in an instant. But magic doesn't happen, you're still a boy and the invitation is not open to you"
Paul pushed his fists up under his jumper to look like breasts and in a comic attempt at a high voice said, "I can be one of the girls." We both fell about laughing but then simultaneously we stopped and looked at each other.
"No. I couldn't ask you to do that." I said.
"But it's a great idea, if I can get away with it".
"If you tried and anyone found out, the rednecks in this town would make you a laughing stock, and can you imagine what the topic of conversation would be at the wedding reception?"
"I'd better make sure I don't get found out then."
"Paul! I can't let you do it."
"I'll tell you what Lizzybet, Let's have a trial run and if you think I can do it, then I'll come. If you think I can't then I'll join Jez."
"Thank goodness that's sorted out", I thought to myself, assuming that he would never be able to look like a convincing woman. "OK. You're on. Let's see what clothes we can find. My stuff is probably a bit too small, but there's still a case of Mum's clothes that Dad was never able to throw out."
We went to the box room and after finding all sorts of "lost" treasures, eventually unearthed the case. The contents of the case may have been old, but the fashion industry had gone around one or maybe more of its cycles and now the clothes weren't too out of step with the current vogue. It seems that mum must have been bigger than I am because the things were about the right size for Paul.
"OK Paul, into the bathroom for a shower and use some of my conditioner from the basket."
As I sorted through the clothes looking to put together a matching outfit, I felt far from comfortable with what I was doing. I loved my brother and I didn't want to expose him to the sort of ridicule that might happen if what he was considering went wrong.
A while later, I returned to the bathroom door and shouted. "Paul, you're taking a long time for that shower."
"Nearly finished, I wanted to do this properly."
Paul emerged from the bathroom with a small towel rapped around him. "Paul! What have you done to your legs?" Several cuts were seeping blood where he had shaved them.
"I guess I'm more used to working on my chin than legs," he said with a wry grin.
"But Paul, you didn't have to do that."
"Hey, sister a deal is a deal, and I mean to get to that party of yours whatever it takes."
I slowly sat down on the bed. "When you say, 'what ever it takes', you really mean it, don't you? You're that determined to get there." I said slowly.
Paul sat next to me and took my hands. "Lizzybet, I can tell that you're not happy with this approach, but it seems that it's the only option open to me. I really want to share your hen night with you.
"I do understand your concern, but I'm your brother and I intend to stay your brother. This is only for the one evening; I'm not going to make a habit of it." Paul looked at me and gave me one of his confidence boosting smiles and then a big hug.
I relaxed somewhat and looked at the pile of clothes I had selected. "Well, I said I would help. Here put these on." I passed Paul a bra and a pair of panties. He stepped into the panties and pulled them up under the towel. He then did something to remove the unladylike bulge. Next, he put on the bra, which I fastened for him and filled with several pairs of old tights. I helped him put on pair of tights and finally the blouse and skirt I had found went on.
"The one thing we have to work with is your long hair. It's a good thing your too lazy to get it cut! Have you thought what sort of hair do you'd like, Paul?" I indicated he should sit at my dressing table, facing the mirror. I combed out his hair, thinking that it could do with more conditioner after its life long maltreatment.
Paul looked confused and lost. "Uh, I have no idea. Something, err, female?"
I playfully hit him with the hairbrush. "I need a bit more than that. Let's try a few things."
"First there's a ponytail." I brushed his hair back, away from his face, gathered it at the back and put a band around it creating a high ponytail. "I can shorten some of your hair at the front to give you a fringe. Then I can make it a little more elegant." I teased some strands of hair out of the tail from the temples. "I can the curl these to frame your face. I can also make it into an 'up do' like this. "I twisted the ponytail round until it became a bun. Then I removed the band and brushed Paul's hair out again.
As I tried each style, Paul was looking critically in the mirror. "Those styles are OK, but since I tie my hair back to keep it out of the way, I might get recognised too easily."
I looked again. "You've got a point there. Lets try something else, there are lots of styles based a parting." I used a comb to give Paul a centre parting. It was better but still looked too much like Paul.
"The last simple thing I can try is a side parting." Again, I used the comb to change his hairstyle. We looked in the mirror. "That’s looking better, but hang-on, let me try something." I squirted some mousse into my hand and worked it into the roots of his hair at the front, giving it more volume and allowing it to go straight up before sweeping over to the left. "Now that look suits you and it reminds me less of my Paul than the other styles."
I stood back and looked at him. "The glasses will have to go. Convince me that you can get away with this and I'll make an appointment for you with the opticians, so you can get some with a more feminine style."
"Now, I'm going to put some makeup on your face." I started to work some foundation into his chin. "This covers the imperfections and that last bit of stubble that ducks under your razor." As I worked, I realised that in spite of his irregular fast food diet, Paul's skin was actually in good condition, without any spots or acne scars. I carried on working. First on his eyes, with eye shadow, liner and mascara. Next, I gave some definition to his cheeks using blusher and finally I painted his lips with a soft pink lipstick.
I had been working close up to Paul's face, and although I had been looking at what I was doing, I had been too engrossed in each particular area to notice the overall effect that the make up was having. However, as I put down the bottle of lip-gloss I stood back and for the first time saw Paul in his feminine guise.
I couldn't believe what I was seeing, my geeky brother had gone and been replaced by a good-looking lady, with I have to admit a certain style. I immediately panicked and made to wipe the make up off.
"It, it doesn't work at all Paul. Sorry, but I'm afraid you can't come to the party" I said in a hurry, grabbing a tissue to start removing the make-up. Paul grasped my hand.
"May I see before you undo everything?" I hesitated and then turned his chair to face the mirror. He went very quiet as he peered at the mirror.
"I can't really see very well." He reached for his glasses and as he put them on, the spell was broken and Paul was back. "Hmm, I see what you mean" I sighed with relief, but too early as he continued "I can't tell what I look like with without my glasses on, but with them on, I can't tell what I look like without them" I had to think about the twisted logic of this, typically Paul, statement!
"Sis, can you take some pictures of me with the digital camera? Then I can look at those with my glasses on."
I realised then that I had lost this contest and could not keep Paul away from the party. Then, I hadn't really lost had I? On that special day, Paul would be with me.
I collected the camera from Paul's den and after he had removed his glasses, started snapping away. I stopped when the memory was full and we went to the computer to upload the images.
Paul opened the photo tool and looked at the first picture. He immediately opened up explorer and started hunting around the system. "What's happened? We've got someone else's pictures"
I looked at the screen; the picture was the first I had taken. "Paul, they are the right pictures. That is you."
Paul's jaw dropped to keyboard. "But, but, but she's beautiful! That isn't really me, is it? But you said that that I didn't make the grade"
Blinking a tear away, I made my admission. "Paul, I lied to you. I'm sorry. I didn't want you to risk being found out, but looking at these images, it won't be your looks that give you away, in fact I think one or two of the girls maybe jealous of you."
"I can come! I can come! I can come!" Paul danced around my bedroom, the smile on his face driving away some of my sadness and concern. Paul sat down again, smiling still. "Lizzybet, I know this is only the first test. If I'm going to pull this off, I'll need to get EVERYTHING right." I nodded and started to think of all the big and little things that could go wrong and plan for them.
Looking into Paul's eyes I slowly said, "I think that you should live as a woman until the party, so you can be used to everything. You need a name, I can't call you Paul when you're dressed like that and you need a background. I could call you Paula?"
Paul frowned and shook his head. I thought that he was going to back out and my hopes got up. "Paula is too close to my own name, it might make people think of me and give them an insight to my real identity. How about," He paused, looking at the ceiling, trying to drag a name from the air. "Does Francine sound alright? Fran for short"
We spent the next day doing preparation, working on Paul's, no, Fran's walk. Learning how to sit and stand and practicing speaking. Later we were sitting in his, err, her bedroom. I was painting her nails and we were both throwing in ideas for Fran's life history.
"I could be our cousin from Swindon." Fran suggested
"No, Sue from the Swindon branch of the family will be at the party. She also knows all the other relies." I rejoined.
"Not family then." I shook my head in reply.
"I could be a colleague?"
"No my boss, Margaret, will be there to tell the lie of that story. Same with school friends"
Fran burst out laughing. "I could be Paul's twin sister, secretly given up for adoption at birth, 'cause Mum and Dad couldn't afford to feed both of us"
I nearly exploded. "Dad would never have done something like that." I shouted at him. I paused and then calming myself, continued slowly. "But Mum would. Yes! Spawn of the milkman, delivered in secret and disposed of swiftly."
Once we had a starting point, we had great fun inventing a life history for Fran. We dreamt up spells in orphanages, young boy friends, and foster parents, holiday disasters, all things that Fran could chat about in party conversations.
Several times during the day, I caught Fran squinting at herself in the mirror, trying to see herself with out the coke bottle lenses of her oh so male spectacles. "Come on dear. It’s time for us to take a trip to the opticians to buy some girly glasses." I could see in her expression mixed feelings, some anticipation, and a lot of fear. "What is it Fran?"
"Well, it’ll be nice to have some glasses to match my new looks, but it means going outside and meeting people…like this."
"First night nerves?" I said. She nodded. "The best way to get over that is to just do it! I’ll make the appointment before I leave to see Jez this evening."
I’d made the appointment for the following day with an optician in another town. As we got into the car, I noticed with pride that Fran remembered the lessons on how to sit, sort her skirt then swing her legs in rather than jumping in feet first as he used to. She was nearly silent for the 30-minute drive, only responding to direct questions with grunts. Fortunately, I was able to park at the curb directly outside the shop. Fran elegantly stepped from the car, waited for me to take her hand and guide her across the pavement and into the shop.
I spoke to the blonde assistant. "Hello, I made an appointment for my sister. She managed to break her glasses and needs a new pair."
"Oh dear I’m sorry to hear that. Mr Parsons is just finishing with another customer. He will be able to help you presently. Would you like to take a seat?"
We accepted the offer of chairs and started to look at the numerous pamphlets lying on the low table. Soon the short balding optician handed his patient over to the assistant and beckoned us over. Fran felt her way past the furniture to his examining room. It being small, I waited outside.
A long while later Fran emerged and walked gracefully across the room. I looked up in surprise.
"Contact lenses" She smiled at me. "I’m just trying them out. I’m going to choose some frames as well and that will be easier if I can see myself."
It took ages, partly because of the number of frames she tried, but mostly because she kept looking at herself and preening in the mirror.
We left the shop a couple of hundred pounds lighter, but with six months supply of contact lenses and a pair of frameless framed glasses.
"That wasn’t too bad, was it Fran?" I said, surprising myself how quickly I was accepting Paul’s new name.
"Um. Tell me Lizzybet, Do you have much trouble with men? That optician was a real creep!"
"Oh, Paul! I’m so sorry. What did he do?" I looked at my brother and noticed he was smiling.
"We came to an understanding. When I lifted his hand off my knee I gripped it rather hard, I think he may struggle to write clearly the rest of the day!"
"Paul... Fran, I thought you were nervous!"
"Once I realised he accepted me for what I appeared to be and tried his nasty little routine, I relaxed and started to enjoy the attention.
"Would you like a coffee? There’s a café just down here."
I followed my sibling, noticing how she was more confident than Paul had ever been in public.
"Table for two." she called to the waitress as we entered the café. "That table in the window please."
Before, if I had managed to get Paul into a restaurant, he would have chosen one of the darkest booths at the back or meekly followed the waitress to whatever crummy table she directed him to. Now we were sitting facing the street watching as the residents of the busy little town walked past looking at the two young ladies enjoying their cappuccinos.
We chatted about what would need to do before the party. I suggested she move into the spare room for the duration, just in case there were any questions. That was Dad’s old room by the front door of our bungalow. He had always maintained that he was on guard duty whilst we slept, but the loud snoring from his room gave lie to that. We were going to cover Paul’s absence with a once in a lifetime opportunity to go to an IT conference in the United States. All we had to decide then was how to spend the rest of the day. "Clothes shopping" was Fran’s first suggestion, quickly followed by "and shoes as well." This was another departure from Paul’s character, who would buy clothes when his current ones were only fit for floor cloths. We looked in the posh haberdashery shop and decided that the nearby out off town shopping centre would be a better bet.
Hitting the shopping centre’s branch of British Home Stores, Fran wanted to buy enough clothes to last the week until the party.
"I’m really up for this shopping, but I don’t know what to buy." She whispered to me as we went in.
"Ah. I’ve never had to buy a whole wardrobe in one go either. I guess we should work from the inside out. Underwear first, hose, some tops or blouses and skirts. We can go to a proper shoe shop later."
As we wandered around the displays, Fran was looking at everything, feeling the fabrics, holding the different colours up to the light and smiling.
Smiling in a way I had never seen Paul smile before. It was almost as if dressing as Fran had released something inside her and she was free to enjoy herself. I knew Paul had sacrificed a lot to become father to me after Dad died and I always feel guilty about opportunities he had missed so he could be there for me, so it was really special for me to see her so happy.
We went to the shoe shop on the same floor and like at BHS, Fran looked at the displays, picking up the shoe after shoe and admiring them from all angles. I became aware that she was getting strange looks from one of the assistants.
"Fran, go steady, she thinks you have some sort of shoe fetish!" Fran looked up guiltily at the assistant, then turned on her smile and waved her over to us.
"Can I try these on in a size 8, please" The assistant who had been watching us with intrigue resumed her normal bored expression and clomped off to the stock room, leaving us both giggling like school girls.
The assistant returned. "Ain’t got that in an 8. We’ve got a 5. Is that any good?"
"Not really, you see my feet are a size eight and that would be 3 sizes too small for me" Fran retorted, then turned on her heel and left the shop. All I could do was look at the dumb expression on the shop assistants face.
By the time I got my wits back together and left the shop, I couldn’t see Fran in the crowd of shoppers. Eventually, I caught up with her in another shoe shop where she was trying on some boots and judging by the different boxes stacked around, had already chosen three or four pairs of shoes. She beamed at me as she saw me. "Do you like these?"
Much later, we got home. I started to help Fran unpack her new things, stowing them in the draws that had been empty since we’d cleared Dad’s stuff out. I started to count what she had bought.
"Fran, why did you buy all of this stuff? You must have nearly enough for a month without ever needing to wash any thing."
"Oh. I did get a little carried away didn’t I?" Again that knock ‘em dead smile.
I sat down on the bed. "Fran, Paul. I’m worried about you, dear brother. I think this party business is taking you over. First, you come up with the mad idea, and then when I wanted to do a simple hair and make up test you go all out and remove most of your body hair with a razor. Now you’ve bought up half of the stock of a department store."
Paul sat down beside me. "I promise you Lizzybet, It’s just me. I can’t help being meticulous, I can’t help it. I’m planning my itinerary for my trip to the States this evening"
"It’s more than that Paul. I see how you’ve changed. You’re more relaxed, more confident or self assured. Moreover, all the time we were out, you had a great big smile, I’ve never seen you use before now."
"I’m just happy to have the opportunity to share your party, to do things together that we’ve never done before."
The doorbell rang and Paul shot out of the room as if wanting to escape from further questions. I could hear him answer the door and then realised she was still dressed as Fran. As I rushed along the hall to rescue him, I heard the conversation
"Hello Jez." Long pause. "Oh. I’m Fran, ah, Paul and Elizabeth’s half sister."
"Hello Lover." I approached the door and gave my fiancé a big hug, burying my face is his chest, as I liked to do. I realised that Jez was staring at Fran.
"I’m pleased to meet you Fran. I didn’t know that you had any other sisters Lizzybet."
"Neither did we until a couple of days ago. It seems my scumbag mother used to sleep around without Dad knowing. Fran was an accident or an inconvenience. Mother didn’t even have the grace to tell Dad; just put her up for adoption straight after the birth." I realised that even though this was all a story, my hatred for my mother abandoning us came bubbling out in tears. Jez clasped me tight; resting his chin on my head, he made comforting noises. I glanced at Paul and saw how he was desperate to do the same, but realised that it wasn’t part of his assumed persona’s role.
After releasing Jez, I lead the others into the living room.
"Tell me Fran. How did you contact Lizzybet?" Jez’s question sounded like an inquisition.
"Well, I had spent most of my life in various homes and foster parents…" Fran recited the spiel we had prepared before hand. That she had found us via a genealogy website that Paul had entered our family tree on and then she contacted us.
"Jez. We have spent most of the day together and we’ve found we get on really well. She is going to stay with me until after the Hen and Stag parties."
Jez looked at Fran and smiled. "Well I can certainly see the resemblance between you and Paul, except you are very much more beautiful than he is." We all laughed.
"By the way, where is Paul this evening?"
I explained about the conference and that it was a once in a lifetime opportunity.
"I don’t believe it! He’s not really going to miss the parties is he? I expected him to make a big effort to force you to let him go to your hen night. I know you two are inseparable."
"I sort of forced him to go, Jez. The thought of him moping around because he couldn’t come to my party was too much. He’ll be happy talking about geeks to other computers, I mean talking about computers to other geeks. No maybe I was right the first time. He did apologise for not coming to your stag night though, Jez."
Fran went to her room to ‘unpack her suitcase’ and I settled down to an evening snuggling up to Jez.
"You’re sister is stunning, Lizzybet. If I wasn’t already spoken for I could be quite smitten with her."
I felt very uncomfortable lying to Jez, but although I trusted him and I knew he liked Paul greatly, I decided it was safer if he didn’t know Fran’s identity. I hoped that if the truth ever came out, Jez would forgive my lies.
A little later Fran came down wearing a different outfit.
"I found this note from Paul on the landing. Its got his flight details on it and a request to pick him up from Heathrow on the day before your wedding Elizabeth" I was confused by Fran referring to me as Elizabeth, but realised that Paul had worked out that Fran wouldn’t have known me as Lizzybet.
"Stick it on the fridge with one of the magnets please. Hang-on though, the day before my wedding is a week later than he said!" I glared at Fran behind Jez’s back. She shrugged her shoulders then stuck her tongue out. "Well, he had better not miss his flight!" She beamed a smile at me and danced into the kitchen. I stared after her. Despite Paul’s promises about it just being for the party, he had now extended Fran’s visit by a week. What was going on?
I would ask that question after Jez had left. For now I just concentrated on snuggling a little closer to one of the men in my life while he watched the football.
At the end of the evening, Jez and I took the usual 15 minute to say good-bye. As I closed the door, I heard my brother in the kitchen and I remembered that we needed to have some frank words.
He came into the lounge carrying cups of coffee. I decided that I would use the approach that had never failed when I was 15. As he put the coffee cups safely on the table, I launched myself at him, knocking him to the floor. I was able to sit on his (now padded) chest.
"Right brother, you know the routine, talk or my fingers will start tickling. What’s with the extra week in the States?"
"Nothing…I just made a mistake with the booking!"
"THERE IS NO BOOKING! The trip to the States is an invention to explain your absence." I started to dig his ribs with my fingers. He clamed up. So I advanced on his armpits. Still no joy, but he was going a very interesting red colour. "Last chance buster or I go for your feet. What is going on with you and Fran?"
"Ummmmmmmm" He muttered through clenched teeth.
I swivelled around and grabbed one of his flailing feet. I gently ran my index finger nail from big toe to heel. Success!"
"Ahhhhrgh! Pleeeease stop! I’ll tell you." He finally submitted. I swung back to face him.
"OK brother talk and talk fast else de tootsies get more of de same"
"Can I get up please Lizzybet? You’re a bit heavier than when you were 15 and you’re squeezing my breasts something horrible. I promise I’ll tell you everything."
I looked at my brother, makeup smeared and his eyes told me that he would tell me all that was going on. I rolled off him and went to sit at the dining room table. He came and sat in the chair opposite me.
"How long have you known Francine?" He started.
"It’s about a day and a bit now."
"I first met her 10 years ago." He paused. "It was when Mum ran off. I knew you missed her terribly. I just thought if I could become her, you would be happy and everything would get back to normal. I found that case of clothes and dressed in them. Looking in the mirror at myself, something changed and I knew that Francine was inside me somewhere. Dad caught me before I could complete my plan and we had a very long talk. I explained my feelings about the girl inside. He was very cool about it all, even chose Francine as my femme name. He didn’t mind me dressing up, but made me promise never to let you or anyone else see me dressed.
"When Dad died, I thought that if I were ever caught dressed, Social Services would take you away. So Fran went back into the suitcase and got hidden in the box room.
"This last day has been such a relief to let Fran out, to introduce her to you, do things like shopping that she had never been able to do when I was younger and only able to dress when the house was empty and I had to stay within its four walls."
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, but I knew it must be true. So many things fitted into place. A period after Mum had left when Dad and Paul started taking long walks but wouldn’t let me join them. Day trips out with Dad, when Paul preferred to stay at home. That Paul was as relaxed and natural when he was dressed as Francine. How Paul’s character had changed after Dad died. He hadn’t just been grieving for the loss of a parent, but at the same time, grieving that a close friend had had to leave and he could share that grief with no one.
"Once you passed 18, I was tempted to start dressing again, but I knew you were still very emotional about loosing our parents and I didn’t have the nerve to tell you about Francine in case you felt you had lost your brother as well and so I just kept her bottled up." His tale told, he just slumped down onto the table, shoulders shaking as the years of pent up emotions spilled out of his eyes.
I was stunned by the waves of emotions that passed through me. That Paul had kept secrets from me. That he had sacrificed so much of his happiness to keep me on the straight and narrow. That my brother was and had been for a long time a cross dresser or maybe even transsexual. That I had enjoyed Fran’s company so much and wanted to know her more. That parts of my life were getting too complicated. I was tempted to run up to my room and slam the door on Paul’s revelations, but our relationship was much stronger than most siblings’ were and I owed Paul too much. I was going to have to make room in my life for a sister as well as my brother and husband. I moved around the table, sat next to my brother, and put my arm across his shoulder.
"Don’t worry brother. I’m here for you. I think you have always made the right decisions for me. If you had told me about the other you at any other time or in any other way, I couldn’t have coped. Finally, I need to tell you that it’s going to be great having a sister to share girly things with."
I sat there for a very long time, hugging Paul and making comforting noises. At some time I realised he had gone to sleep still crying gently. I left him there and crept up to my own room where I did some weeping for myself.
Next morning I awoke to the smell of frying bacon. That smell is the fastest way of getting me out of bed and into the kitchen.
"Morning sleepy!" I hate it when he is so cheerful in the morning. I looked at him through bleary eyes and realised it was Fran wearing an apron and wielding frying pan and spatula. As my eyes cleared of sleep, I realised that not only was she dressed, but also she had done her hair and make up immaculately.
Fran laughed. "Are you surprised that I can do this myself after only a day? You forget I’ve had a few years of practise. What are you doing today?" She asked, while sliding a plate loaded with a thick bacon sandwich across the table to me.
"I’m going into work. It will be another exciting day in Media Relations! Or ‘Would you like one sugar or two in your coffee?’" I had thought working in the media business would be exciting and glamorous when I signed up for the Media Studies course after school. I was really pleased when I got the job of assistant producer in a local radio station straight after the course finished. I didn’t realise a typo meant the job description should have been ‘assistant to the producer’. I was only putting up with the position as there were promises of better things, though I had yet to see any evidence of it. "Are you going shopping again?"
"Well I have to look after Paul’s business while he is away." She grinned at me and I knew she would be working from the converted dining room, running the small internet design and hosting business that Paul had put together whilst he was still in college.
My normal day started with an enjoyable drive through the undulating Gloucestershire countryside passing woods and patchwork fields with their crops or livestock. This would be followed by 8 hours of total boredom, getting coffee, working the telephone and looking after local radio guests who thought their upcoming broadcast made them really important, not being aware that anyone and his dog can get on to local radio, the dogs especially.
I had to admit today I didn’t have a work related thought all day. I spent the time thinking about Paul and Fran, about Jez and myself. I wondered about how to tell Jez the truth about Fran, worried about his reaction and what he might do. I wondered if Paul and Fran were comfortable with each other or if there would be some sort of internal battle to see who came out on top. I wondered if Fran would come to stay permanently and if she did how I would react to loosing Paul.
The day finished and I drove home on autopilot.
I arrived home and Paul called from the kitchen "We’re in here!" Did he say we? I followed the sound of his voice and found Jez leaning against one of the units, still wearing the inevitable track suit that was the uniform of a PE teacher, holding a mug of coffee.
"Oh hello lover" I gave him a hug, but rather that relaxing to my grip a usual, he tensed up a little bit. "What’s wrong?" I asked while nuzzling into his chest with my nose.
"N, Nothing" He replied.
I stepped back and looked him in the face properly for the first time this evening. "Jez, why have you got lipstick on your cheek?" I looked across at my new sister. "It’s in Fran’s shade. What have you two been doing?"
"Elizabeth, don’t get all frumpy. I just gave him a little peck on the cheek when he came in." Fran admonished me.
I looked again at Jez and watched him blush. I couldn’t believe it. I’m getting suspicious that my brother and fiancé were up to something. I need more sleep!
"Sorry Jez. Let me make it up to you." I planted a big smacker on the opposite cheek. "Now you’re all balanced"
Jez gave a half smile and then turned his back on me, concentrating on making a pot of tea.
I shrugged and headed to the freezer for some ready meals for dinner. I assumed it had been another bad day shouting at the 14 year olds he was supposed to educate. "You want to talk about your day Jez?"
"Not really. It was just another day at the meat factory." The good thing about Jez teaching PE was that lesson preparation was minimal; I mean, how long does it take to think of new cruel and unusual punishments for the games field? This leaves plenty of time for cuddling on the sofa in the evenings and after Fran went upstairs to give us some privacy that’s what we did. "I love you, you hunk" I murmured to his chest.
"I love you too, Lizzybet." He replied not taking his eyes from the tennis on the television. "And I like your sister as well. She’s cool"
"She is isn’t she?" I happily reflected how Fran was cool and Paul was geeky, still wondering whom I preferred. Several hours later, Jez took his leave, returning to his house that would soon become our shared home.
It was the normal routine the following day. Drive through beautiful Cotswold countryside. Spend 8 hours keeping people happy. Drive back through beautiful countryside
Once again, Fran welcomed me with a call this time from the lounge. I went in and found Fran and Jez sitting side by side on the sofa, each with a mug in hand. As Jez’s blush subsided, I noticed lipstick on his cheek again. "Getting friendly with my man again were you Fran?" I sat on the other side of Jez and planted a big kiss on his other cheek. "No after school torture sessions for the kids?"
Paul sniggered. "No. We have to leave something for the parents to do. They get upset if we have all the fun."
That night I had trouble sleeping, and eventually gave up and left for the office early. The lifting mist over the fields looked eerie and fitted in with my over tired mood. Work was much the same as usual, although I was somewhat more productive in the morning until everyone else arrived wanting mothering. At three o’clock, I had had enough and with my managers blessing headed off home. Inspiration hit me on route. We could go shopping for a party dress for Fran. I was quite excited when I rushed through the front door, planning the different shops we could try.
No cheery hello from Fran this afternoon, just two voices from Fran’s room saying ‘Oh Fuck!’ in unison. I pushed through the bedroom door to see the two of them scrambling to get off the bed. Whilst they were both still dressed, it was clear from their guilty looks, Fran’s smeared lipstick and the rumpled bed clothes that, at the least, there had been some heavy petting going on.
My mouth opened, stifling the cheery greeting I had been about to give, changing it into a long wordless scream. I couldn’t believe that I had caught my brother and my fiancé in the same bed! I couldn’t cope. The two people I loved had both betrayed me. I dropped my bag, turned and ran out of the house. I didn’t know where I was going, but just ran and ran, crying as I went.
Eventually I stopped and found myself standing under a solitary tree on the edge on an escarpment that has views overlooking our town and the surrounding countryside. I had been here many times with Dad and I must have subconsciously sought it out as a place of comfort and safety. I sat down with my back to the tree, hugging my knees and oblivious to the view that lay before me. I must have been there a long time. Darkness came and I stayed, becoming chilled as the sun went down. I tried to think, tried to grasp the massive change that had just occurred to my previously neatly planned life. What had happened to the relationship with Jez? I had wanted to spend the rest of my life, in intimate contact with him and now where were we going? What had happened to my relationship with Paul? How could the person who had cared so much for me in my formative years have done that? I really wanted to think these things through, but whichever way I tried to direct my thoughts I just hit a dead-end. A psychological No Entry sign fixed to a brick wall.
"Lizzybet?" The plaintive call broke through to my consciousness. I looked up and saw a torch coming from down below. Eventually I made out Paul, dressed in his own clothes, but with the remnants of tear streaked mascara still on his face.
I gave a loud sniff. "Here!" I called back, getting to my feet. He approached and tried to give me a hug. Reason snapped and I lashed out at him, hitting him repeatedly on the chest with my fists. He just stood there absorbing blow after blow, until I gave out and collapsed onto his shoulder, still shivering with anger. He gently lowered me back to the ground and sat himself beside me.
"Lizzybet, I’m so very sorry, I have been so cruel and unfaithful to you. I don’t think any apology I could say would make right the wrong I have done to you, but please can I try to explain what happened?"
I sniffed and nodded.
"These last few days I have been, I don’t know, riding a wave of pleasure and excitement. Its like 7 years of pent up emotion has rushed to the fore, I’m learning so much about myself, who I really am. You always laughed at my attempts to chat up girls and you were probably right, I was hopeless at it. However, I have discovered that I’m very good at flirting with boys and I like the idea of getting close to them and your Jez just happened to be there and it was like loosing control. It was so wrong of me."
I tried to take in what my traitorous brother was saying, but only really picked up bits and pieces. Somewhere in the babble of Paul speak I picked out a couple of key phrases and the years of conditioning to look after each other kicked in, overpowering the emotional hurt that had been tearing at me.
"Paul, are you saying that as well as being a transvestite you’re also homosexual?" I intentionally put the question directly, emphasising the use of the correct terms for what I believed were his afflictions.
"I really don’t know sis." I think he was relieved to discuss his problems rather than the issues that had caused me to explode earlier. "As Paul, I’m not too interested in girls but neither am I interested in blokes. As Fran, I’m not interested in girls either, but I am turned on by men….especially good looking men" He gave a tired smile. "When I used to dress before Dad died, I think I was too young, too introverted to have an interest in either boys or girls. Now I’m more mature, my first outing as Fran, I discovered that I have the normal desires of a woman. It completely caught me out. That is what lead me astray with your future husband" He said, returning me to my misery that needed to be sorted out.
"The bastard!" I spat. "Both of you are! Is he still at home?"
"Lizzybet, we both really regret what has taken place. When you ran off, he was about to chase after you, but I asked him to wait. I thought you would need some time. Jez is looking for you in the town. I didn’t expect you to run all the way up here." He chuckled. "This was one of Dad’s favourite places. He brought me up here when he wanted to talk about Fran and I. We did some talking, but mostly we just sat silently taking in the view. He said it was a settling place where he couldn’t stay angry."
I nodded, remembering the last time I had been here. About a year before Dad died, he had brought me here to give the talk that mum should have given. We had sat in this exact spot, Dad where Paul now sat, watching the rainfall on distant hills. Father was calm, but giving off the vibes that something was brewing up inside him looking for the best way to come out. I had assumed that I was in trouble but the majesty of the view and the sound of the wind blowing through the wheat field behind me relaxed me. When Dad eventually spoke, it was with sensitivity, explaining everything (most of which I already knew from school) but putting it over in a way that made me realise what a beautiful gift love between a couple could be. Amazing when I considered how Mum had slighted him.
On this clear dark night, looking down on the quiet sodium lit streets below us and further away, the orange glow in several places that indicated villages and hamlets, this place was beginning to have its magical calming effect. I looked my brother in the eye and as I saw guilt and sadness reflected back at me the seeds of forgiveness began to bloom in my heart. My anger dissipated and I now started to shiver, but this time because I had just noticed how cold it was. Paul wrapped his jacket around me, helped me up and lighting the way with his torch, guided me back down the hill.
As we left the top, Paul’s phone rang. "Hello? Yes, I’ve got her, we’re heading back now." He looked at me. "It’s Jez. He wants to meet up. Is that OK?" Reluctantly I nodded. "Yes Jez. Back at the house, it’ll take us about 20 minutes to get there. See ya." Turning to me, he continued. "We’d better get this over with."
A thought occurred to me. "Paul, you got changed before you came after me. Why?"
"A stupid reason really. I thought you were mad at Fran and if I turned up as her, you would run off again. Also, it’s much easier climbing up here wearing Timberland boots rather than stilettos!"
That led to another thought. "Paul, does Jez know about your relationship with Fran?"
"No. I changed after he went looking for you."
"Alright. For now do me a favour and don’t let him see Paul. Explaining how you suddenly arrived back from the States at my time of crisis would be too difficult tonight."
As we approached the end of our cul-de-sac we separated, Paul heading to the rear access road to get into the house unseen while I walked along the road at the front, going at the speed of a schoolboy on his way to the head's office.
I saw Jez first. He was sitting on the curb with his feet in the gutter, elbows on knees with his hands clasped behind his bowed head.
At the sound of my footfalls, he looked up, misery in his red-rimed eyes. He got to his feet slowly, dropping his large hands awkwardly to his sides. We stared at each other warily like two western gunslingers each waiting for the other to start before reacting.
"Well?" I eventually demanded.
"I don't know what came over me these last couple of days, Lizzybet. Since we met, I have never had eyes for any other than you. When Fran arrived, she fascinated me. There is something, something very different about her. I became infatuated with her. I blame myself for not being strong enough to resist her flirting and I'm so glad you caught us this afternoon before we did, I was going to say 'before I did any thing that I regretted' but I already regret that it went as far as it did." At that, I smiled inwardly, imagining his surprise if he had gone any further, but the humour of it didn’t sustain me.
He put a hand out towards me, but I stepped away. "I’m not saying anything to you about this until I have slept on it. If I want to see you again, I’ll contact you. Don’t bother trying to phone me and don’t do anything that will make cancelling the wedding more expensive."
I heard Fran come up behind me. She must have slipped back the way she went into the house. "I’ll just get my case. I think I had better stay in a hotel tonight."
"No!" I hadn’t intended to shout. The thought of being in the bungalow on my own was worse than having the cause of my troubles staying there. I tried to recover. "I still haven’t finished with you yet. Go inside I will be in to continue in a minute." I turned to Jez. "Goodbye Jeremy Macintosh. I’m going to try very hard, but I can’t make any promises." I went into the house, turning to see him walking up the road, head down, seeming to drag each foot forward in turn, before I shut the door on his back.
I walked slowly along the hall, turning into the bathroom. I stepped into the shower and let the hot water cascade over my body, washing the chill from my bones and the tension from my shoulders.
As the stress left me, my brain started functioning again, rationalising those questions that I couldn’t answer on the hill. After the event, they were both very repentant for what had happened, but it HAD happened. I thought about Paul’s sexual revelations, that boy is going to need help. I also realised that I had partly played Pandora, letting Fran out of Paul’s box and needed to take some responsibility for that. What about Jez? True we hadn’t yet exchanged wedding vows and so technically, he hadn’t been unfaithful. However, the gift of a ring implies a commitment. I just had to know if I could trust him in the future.
I went to bed after my shower, ignoring the warm drink Paul or Fran had made. I slept, the lack of sleep the previous night ensured that, but it was not restful and I awoke with the feeling that I had had bad dreams whose content I couldn’t remember.
I lay in bed trying to get my brain in gear, I could phone in sick and lie here all day, but then Paul would probably be in and out, wanting to know if I was okay and I didn’t need that. I had just decided to heave my self out of bed, when there was a knock on my bedroom door.
"Lizzybet, it’s me Paul." Derr, who else would it be? Oh yes, it could have been Fran. "Can I come in?"
It was definitely Paul who came in, wearing the old boxers and tee shirt he slept in. He sat on the end of my bed and looked at me.
"Lizzybet. I made a decision last night. I am ashamed about what Fran, what I did yesterday. I have decided to put Fran out of my life forever. She is too much trouble.
"I‘ve packed up all her stuff along with the old case of Mum’s and I’m going to take it to the rubbish tip later on"
I looked at my brother and saw sadness in his eyes. "Paul, is that really what you want?"
"What I really want is for the last couple of days to have never happened.
"I like being Fran, but I’m frightened by her, she is so different from me, I don’t feel I can control her."
I nodded. "I’ve had the last 8, maybe 10 years to learn what you have thrust upon yourself in a day." I chewed my lip thinking of a simile. "When I learnt to drive you brought me my mini rather than let me drive Dad’s old Rover. It was something I could handle. Control can only come with experience. You may have years of experience playing with clothes and make-up, but you never got to be Fran in the presence of others, not even Dad? You never had, maybe never even wanted, to experience the emotional side of being a girl" He shook his head. "Fran is like a butterfly, coming out of Paul’s chrysalis. She has to learn to stretch her wings before she can fly but they are most beautiful wings.
"Think of it this way Paul, I think I can forgive you for what you did. I believe I can forgive Fran although, at the moment, I think she’s a bitch. However, I’m not sure I could forgive myself for making you live without her again."
"I’ll give it some thought, sis. Have you considered what to do about Jez?"
I frowned. "You have the excuse of the emotional roller coaster of becoming Fran, extenuating circumstances. What excuse can he possibly offer? Will he jump into bed with every good-looking woman he meets?"
"Do you still love him?"
I put a finger to my eye to wipe away the tear that was forming and then nodded.
"Good. Hold that thought sis. When you ran out of the bedroom yesterday, he was beside himself, angry with me, angry with himself. He knows he was wrong and like me I think he will have learnt his lesson."
"Maybe you’re right. I’m still thinking on it though Paul" With that I got up and hustled Paul out of my room so I could dress in private.
I’m sure the countryside tried to look beautiful as I drove past it, but frankly, I wasn’t aware of it today. In the office, I got my head down to work, avoided biting the heads of too many of the girls when they asked about the party on Saturday. I was retuning from getting coffee for a man who made whirly-gigs for a living when my phone rang.
"Hello Condor Radio, Elizabeth speaking. How may I help you?" That’s what the phone procedure said I should say, rather than what I wanted to.
"Lizzybet? It’s Fran." I raised my eyebrows. "I had a call from Jez’s head. He didn’t go into school this morning. They were wondering if you knew where he might be"
"Oh Fran, you don’t think.." I paused, thinking that Jez might have done something really stupid. "I’ll meet you at Jez’s house, well start there."
I threw the receiver at the phone’s base unit, grabbed my bag and ran for the door, leaving inquiring faces in my wake. Jumping into my car, I drove like never before, urging the little mini up the hills, foot flat on the floor all the way. My guardian angel must have been on overtime or having kittens as I eventually pulled up at the end of two long black skid marks outside the semi-detached house where Jez lived. Fran’s car was already there and I saw Fran on her knees looking through the letter box of the front door.
"There’s no sign of him but no smell of gas." Fran said as I ran up. I opened the door with my key and we ran in. Fran made for the stairs while I started searching the ground floor. On the dining room table propped against a vase of dead flowers was an envelope addressed to me. I sat in the chair in front of it; put my hands flat on the table and stared at the envelope. I couldn’t bring myself to touch it, fearing what message it might contain.
Fran came into the room. "There’s no sign of him upstairs." She must have seen what I was looking at as she paused, then said. "Lizzybet, would you like me to open that and read it?"
I sniffed then nodded at her. She took the envelope and as she slit the top open something shiny fell to the floor. I recognised it as the diamond tie clip that I had given him to celebrate our engagement. I gave a big sob and everything went dizzy.
I was being roughly manhandled and then I felt the shock of cold water in my face. "Lizzybet! Wakeup! Wakeup!"
I looked at Fran from the floor. My bottom felt bruised, I must have fallen off the chair. My blouse was wet through and I looked up at Fran and saw the vase from the table decoration in her hand.
"It’s alright Lizzybet. It isn’t that sort of note, but it is a, a Dear Jane letter. You had better read it Sis."
Dear Lizzybet,
I have let you down so badly I will never forgive myself. I have been unfaithful to you and to make it worse it was with your sister too. The trouble is not that I don’t love you, I do, very much. But I have also fallen equally in love with your sister. I now find myself in a situation that what ever decision I make, I will leave somebody upset. But I have made a decision and its to stop seeing both of you.
So it is with great regret that I cancel our engagement.
I am going away for a time to sort myself out. I will probably move away so you won’t have to avoid me.
With my tainted love
Jez
"Noooooooooo!" At that point I knew the meaning of Love. His sin was forgiven in my heart and I WANTED him back.
"I guess you don’t want to loose him Sis. Do you know where he might go?"
Through the choking sobs I gasped "To, his, mother’s. She, lives in Shropshire, ah, Market Drayton."
"Come on. We’ll take my car; it’ll be more comfortable than your mini."
Fran went out to start the classic Rover P6 that had now been owned by 3 generations of Bundens. Following the road that skirted the South of the Cotswolds we joined the M5 to head north. The old luxury car had been built at a time when global warming would have been considered a good thing, (if anyone had heard the phrase.) so we needed to stop frequently for fuel.
I was sullen, wondering if Jez would be there. I didn’t really want to talk, but it helped pass the time. Initially, as if by agreement, we talked about anything other than the situation with Jez. But as we got further north, I asked the question I had been suppressing since we left. "What will we do if he is there?"
"I’m going to tell him the truth about me. That should cool his ardour and help him make the right decision." Fran said, biting her lip.
Leaving the motorway, I directed Fran along the route I had last travelled with Jez in happier times when we visited his mother to announce the news of our engagement. We eventually passed through the old town with its half timbered buildings and on to Little Drayton where Jez’s mum lived.
As we turned into her road my heart leapt as I saw Jez’s unloved Golf parked at the curb. I had my door open before Fran had pulled to a halt and ran to the front door, where I pushed the bell with one hand whilst hammering on it with the other.
Jez’s mother eventually came to the door and opened it with the security chain on, preventing my attempt to push in and get to my lover.
"Elizabeth. Elizabeth! Calm down girl. Look, Jeremy has told me what has been going on and I don’t want any trouble.
"You can come in if you promise there will be no violence, not that I would blame you!"
"I just want him back Mrs. Macintosh. There will be no trouble, honestly."
She pushed the door closed, removed the chain, then opened it once more and showed me through to her conservatory.
There, stepping from one foot to the other was a very nervous Jez. I couldn’t do anything but rush over to him and grip him in the strongest bear hug, pushing my face into his chest and crying out; "Jez. Jez, why did you run away? I forgive you. I was so worried when Fran told me you hadn’t gone into school. I thought you had done something really stupid. I’ll take you back at any time. Just say you’ll be mine once more."
I felt his comforting hug, but realized it didn’t have the confident grip I was expecting. Retaining my grip on him, I leaned back and looked into his face. He wouldn’t meet my eye and a second later he looked away as the door bell rang.
I heard a conversation in the hall. "Hello Mrs. Macintosh. I’m Elizabeth’s sister Francine. I’m very pleased to meet you."
Fran came through to join us in the conservatory, sliding the French window closed behind her.
Jez looked from one of us to the other. "Lizzybet. Did you find my letter? I thought I explained that I can’t take either of you. If I married you Lizzybet, I would really struggle to say the vows, let alone keep them, when I know that your sister is as beautiful as you."
"Jez," Fran spoke up. "There is something you need to know about me. I wouldn’t tell you this, but I have driven a knife between Lizzybet and myself and this is the only way I can remove it." She paused, looking for a way into her admission.
"If Paul were Dr Jekyll, then I would be Mr Hyde." We both looked at Jez, but there was no look of understanding on his face. "Jez, I am Paul! I’m a transvestite"
Jez backed away from Fran, tripped and ended up sitting in one of the garden chairs that furnished the conservatory.
"Paul? What does Paul have to do with this? He is in America. Paul is a bloke…. Like me! You’re not a bloke, you’re, you’re Lizzybet’s sister!" seemingly random statements were coming from Jez. "Blokes don’t look like you!"
"Jez, Fran is my sister and my brother. I love both of them." I was still looking at Jez and saw a range of emotions cross his face, starting with understanding, then confusion and finally anger. That look remained. He got to his feet and started shouting.
"What were you thinking when you were kissing me? ‘Let’s have a gay old time with Jez. He won’t mind, he’d love to stick his cock up my arse’. Well I’m not that way inclined and if you weren’t Lizzybet’s brother I would beat you to a pulp!
"God knows what made you come out of the closet now, just before your sister’s wedding, you pervert!"
Fran stepped behind me and I could here her sobs. "Jez stop it. That is enough! There are things you don’t understand, that you need to know and I will try and explain them as best I can, because I’m not sure I understand them myself.
"I don’t think Paul is gay. I think he is transsexual. That means that even though he is biologically male, he has all the feelings and emotions of a woman. It is what he is; he has no choice in these feelings, although he has managed to repress them for many years, for my benefit." I turned to look at Fran. "For which I will be eternally grateful.
"When he became Fran, it was like a safety valve blowing. All the pent up sexual emotion came out in one go, and you just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
"As to the timing, that is our fault. Paul so much wanted to join me at my hen night that he volunteered to dress as a woman, and I, not understanding his nature, jokingly set him a target at which I would let him join. When Paul became Fran, he passed that target with flying colours and I couldn’t back down on my promise.
"We should have told you what was going on, but I was worried about you reaction. I should have trusted you, but I suppose I was a little in shock. I’m very sorry that we deceived you.
"Now Paul understands better Fran’s emotional side she will have control of her emotions and the flirting with you, I’m sure will stop."
It was the longest speech I had made in a long time and thought I was spoken out, but as I turned to Fran to comforted her I realised that there was something else I needed to say.
"Jez. I love you very much and I welcome you back with open arms, but please don’t ask me to turn my back on Paul or Fran. I don’t think I am strong enough to make a choice like that."
Jez, standing with clenched fists at his side, looked at us then strode past, into the house, a few seconds later we heard the door slam as he closed it with unnecessary force. Fran and I looked at each other, before Fran started rummaging in her bag for a tissue to clean up.
Jez’s mother poked her head nervously through the door. "Erm. I think he will be gone for some time. I was going to put the kettle on, would you like some tea?" Hardly an original ice breaker, but most welcome. We went through to the kitchen and sat around the table.
"When Jeremy is wound up about something he goes for a walk, usually ending up on Salisbury Hill looking over the valley. What’s so funny?"
"We have a similar place at home." I explained about Coombe Hill on the Cotswold escarpment and its solitary tree and views over our town. "Things always seem better when your there."
Mrs Macintosh cleared her throat. "Girls, this is embarrassing, but with the raised voices, it was a bit difficult not to hear what was being said in the conservatory.
"My Jeremy has been very silly. Elizabeth, I so hope he’ll give you the chance to take him back." She turned to look at Fran. "And I gather you were the cause of this upset?" Fran studied the bottom of her tea cup. "Well I hope you’re happy with what you’ve done!"
Fran screwed her face up and I guessed she was trying to hold back the tears.
"Mrs Macintosh, believe me I wish I hadn’t behaved the way I did. I’m trying to make it up to both Lizzybet and Jez." Mrs Macintosh pulled a face at the shortened name. "You know Francine; I only met your brother once, when he helped Jeremy move into his house, I thought he was a lovely boy. I think you are an admirable counterpart" Her smile showed respect, but also just how much she had overheard.
The teapot went round the table, got refilled and had gone around a second time before we heard a key in the lock and the door opened much more quietly than it had been closed. Jez, windblown and wet, put his head around the kitchen door, looked at all of us before letting his eyes rest on the teapot.
"Is there any more tea in that pot?"
"I make a fresh pot Jeremy. You go and have a shower and change into some clean clothes, I think there are some in your old room."
The kettle boiled, the tea brewed and Jeremy came back to the kitchen. I giggled. "You’ve grown a bit since you last wore those." He looked down at the training bottoms that finished 2 inches higher than they should and at the sleeves of the rugby top that were similarly too short.
"This stuff is from when I was in the 6th form. It’s all that was left since I moved out." He came and sat at the table, grasping the mug his mother left for him. "Mum, can the three of us talk in private please?"
"Oops. Excuse me. I’ll be in the lounge if you want me."
When we were alone and the door shut, Jez turned to me.
"Lizzybet, this is so complicated, I hope I’m going to do the right thing. I feel honoured that you would take me back after what I had done to you. I accept your offer and I promise that I will try my hardest to do what is right for us bo…." The rest of his sentence was stifled as I threw myself at him and kissed him fully on the lips. After about a week, he prised me off and put me back in my chair.
He chuckled until he turned to Fran. "Paul, Fran, whatever. I’m sorry for some of the things that I said. I was angry, still am angry about what you did. I had real feelings for you and if I’m honest probably still do. When you told me who or what you were, I thought that maybe I was a bit homosexual. That really frightened me. I like Paul; if you give me a second chance I hope I get to like you in a platonic way this time." Fran went to him to give him a hug, but he held her at arms length. "Please give me time to adjust?"
I migrated back to Jez’s knee despite the creaks from the chair and snuggled for all I was worth.
We stayed the night with Jez’s mum and early the following day set off back to the West Country. This time I rode with Jez, and Fran followed. I collected my car from Jez’s house and headed to the radio station where I spent an hour explaining why I had run out the previous day. My explanation and apology were excepted so long as I took the time as annual leave. Generous to a fault!
That evening we had to phone all the guys who were due to go to Jez’s stag party to tell them it was delayed by 24 hours.
Fran and I finally got to the shops to buy her a dress; she eventually chose a cocktail dress in petrol blue. I was a little concerned that she outshone me in it, but everyone said I was the girl at my party.
Oh my hen night was one to remember. All my girlfriends and female relatives were there. Fran’s introduction went very well. My relatives from Swindon, who had known mother better than I, said they weren’t surprised by the revelation and spent the evening welcoming her to the clan. Having Fran with me that night was very special, and I have to say that given the choice of repeating the previous week and having Fran with me or a straight forward week and no Fran, I would have gone through it all again.
Paul ‘returned’ from America the next day and was able to attend Jez’s Stag night (He was under orders to ensure Jez kept his clothes on and didn’t get handcuffed to an immovable object). Jez and Paul were the best of friends that night. When he had taken Jez home, Paul came into my room to talk.
"Lizzybet, I don’t think this will be unexpected news, but I have decided to become Fran full time. Jez and spoke to me before the party and said that he would accept me as either brother or sister in law."
I was pleased for him. Watching him in his old clothes again for just one afternoon, I could see he was shy and nervous and didn’t look comfortable.
"I decided it would be best if Paul emigrated to America and let Fran take over the business. I don’t want any scandal or unpleasantness if I can help it." And that was the story we told people.
A week later it was my big day. All I can say is that everything went smoothly. Jez’s mum helped me to get into my white wedding dress. The old church was beautifully decked out with flowers. My hero Paul took me to the altar and handed me over to Jez who lifted the veil away from my face.
The reception speeches were great. Paul made a speech saying how Dad would have been proud to see his daughter in her beautiful wedding dress and would have agreed that my choice of husband was pretty good. Jez’s best man, an old school friend made a hilarious speech about what Jez was like as a child; I won’t go into details, but suffice to say I learned a few things about Jez I hadn’t previously known and Jez’s ears were bright red for most of the speech. The best thing about the speeches is that no mention was made of the goings on two weeks previously.
When we returned from honey moon, I found that Paul had left and Fran had moved in permanently. She had also done a lot more shopping!
I was looking through some candid photos a friend had taken of people watching us leave the church. In a couple of them I saw a sad middle-aged lady who looked familiar. Jez didn’t recognise her so I showed them to Fran. She got a sad serious look on her face.
"Yes I know who it is. Its mother, I saw her at the wedding, but I found I couldn’t talk to her and I suspect she may not have spoken to me. I didn’t point her out to you as I didn’t want to spoil your day."
I reflected on this over the coming days and couldn’t decide whether it was good or bad. She had discovered that I was getting married and made an effort to come and see her little girl. That was good. She hadn’t made contact with us on that day, also good; I think. But if she knew what was going on, why didn’t she contact us before, or since?
So now I’m married and Dad was right, it was worth waiting until we were married before we made love. I think Jez agrees as he will even stop watching sport if I blow in his ear!
Fran is doing well. After working with an expert she has decided that she will get the necessary surgery. I owe it to her to be there for her when she does. It’s the least I can do for her.
An artist has trouble sketching her boyfriend, never dreaming that she is seeing a vision of the true man.
The young couple were sitting on opposite sides of a small round table in the college's student union bar, having a midweek drink to celebrate being closer to the following weekend than the previous one.
The room was smoky and the old, ripped vinyl of the seat cushions always remained sticky, regardless of how often the steward ran a damp cloth over them. The only attractions for the students of the college were the cheap alcoholic beverages.
"Would you like the same again, Vicky?" When Victoria swept her long blonde hair out of her eyes, looked up at her boyfriend and nodded, Richard picked up both glasses and headed over to the bar of the student union.
"Pint of 'Best' and a 'Strongbow', please Stan." Richard called to the student acting as barman, waving a five pound note to help get his attention.
Carefully pocketing his change, Richard made his way back to the table, hoping to continue discussing his problems with the statistics assignment he was working on. Victoria, being on an art foundation course was not interested and was pleased when he was distracted from his diatribe by loud cat calls coming from the group of students watching the widescreen television the union had purchased the previous term.
A risqué Channel 5 documentary was showing, about the lives of Tai 'Lady Boys'. Richard turned back to look at his beer, studiously ignoring the program and not noticing Victoria's interest in it.
"God, those men are a load of perverts!"
"What's that?" Richard again looked up from his beer.
"Those pansies on the TV are; the men who dress up as women and get breast implants."
Reluctantly Richard looked around at the screen, just in time to catch a full frontal of a 'woman' with huge breasts and an equally huge penis.
"I had never considered it, Vicky; I suppose you're right; that's certainly not something I would like to see on a dark night. How is your landscape painting going?"
Richard's attempt to change the subject fell on deaf ears. "God! If it were up to me I'd finish the job with a pair of rusty scissors!" Realising that Richard had been asking something, she shook her head and continued, "Sorry love, what were you saying?"
"How is your landscape painting going?"
"Oh that's going well, the scenery in this part of the world really lends itself to it… It's funny how most of the old masters who painted landscapes were Dutch or Belgian, when those countries have little in the way of scenery, being mostly flat! No, my problem at the moment is the life drawing class. Regardless of the media, I can never make my pictures look like the model.
"Look Richard, would you do me an enormous favour?"
"Sure Vicky, what is it?"
"Well, I need to get more practice than the time available with the model in the life class. Do you think you could pose for me?"
"You mean just sit still while you draw me? Sure, that's no problem."
"Richard, you do know that life drawing means in the nude don't you?"
Richard's eyebrows shot up. "Oh", he exclaimed. "I didn't realise… You mean you're looking at naked men all day every Wednesday?"
"No… sometimes they're women, but it's all done in the best possible taste, dear. Go on love, it would really help me to get some more hours in, I can never get the proportions right."
"The pictures, no one else would ever see them, would they?"
"No, I promise. It's just for me to practice."
"I suppose that would be alright. When would you like to do it?"
"Could you come to my room tomorrow night? I've got to finish a graphics assignment over the next couple of days, but I'm anxious to get ahead with the life drawing, my tutor was giving me a hard time today."
"OK, I was going to finish my stats assignment tomorrow night, but I can do that on Friday instead.
"I had better to go now; I'll come to your room at, what, seven tomorrow? Good night love." Getting up from his seat, Richard bent and gave Victoria a passionate kiss on the lips, causing calls of "Get a room" and "Don't let you mother catch you" from the other students lounging in the bar. He wandered out of the bar, his hands in his pockets, in his mind he was planning his activities for Friday evening and his plans didn't include statistics assignments.
Victoria had given herself half an hour to clear her room up before Richard arrived. That would be plenty of time to sort the minimalist accommodation provided by the college. She had borrowed a couple of additional lights from the students living in rooms further down the corridor and had plugged them all into the same power outlet by means of a multi-way plug, arranging them around the chair where her subject would sit. She knew she would be breaking one of the dormitory rules; entertaining a man in her room with the door closed, but was more concerned with failing the life drawing element of her course.
A timid knock on the door announced Richard's arrival. He came into the room already blushing with the anticipation of what was about to transpire.
"Hello love. Are you ready to produce a master piece of the greatest hunk on campus?" Victoria smiled at his joke, as his figure was a long way from the category of hunk. "Shall I strip now?"
"I'll just close the curtains first Richard, dear. I don't want to shock the caretaker." She watched him slowly take off a sock. "Umm, Richard, it's not supposed to be a strip tease. When I said it's done in the best possible taste, I meant it; definitely not erotic! I'll go into the corridor whilst you undress. Call out when you're ready, yes?"
Victoria went into the corridor and leant with her back on the wall trying to prepare herself to see a model in the room rather than her lover. On hearing Richard call, she returned to the room, looked at his face that was reddening, refusing to look any lower at this point.
"OK love; sit in that chair, any position that is comfortable for you." He sat down stiffly like a guard, arms folded across his chest initially and then with a start he changed position and put his hands in his lap covering his masculinity.
Victoria moved closer and started to arrange the lights to remove or obtain shadow as she required. Standing back, she nodded to herself that all was as she wanted. She sat in the opposite chair then picked up her pad with the selection of soft pencils she liked to use. She lightly started to sketch an outline; reciting to herself the standard rules of proportion she had been taught. "Head one seventh of the height; arm span equal to the height." She worked on for a while, adding the contours to the outline figure on her pad, using shading and hard lines to add definition.
She knew it wasn't going well, but she persevered, drawing in the details of his face which worked nicely; but the body just wouldn't come for her. She tried again on another page of her sketch pad with the same result. In frustration she threw the pencil at her desk and closed the sketch pad and put it away.
"I need a different model, one who looks like the picture I'm drawing!"
"Please Vicky; can I put my clothes back on now?"
"Sorry Richard, of course you can. I'll put the kettle on."
Whilst she made the drinks she opened the pad and had another look at the drawings. She was having problems she had never encountered with the model in the life class. He was a well built chap who worked out regularly; his pectoral muscles were prominent and fitted neatly above the six-pack stomach. She was always able to represent those parts of the model on her pad without trouble. Now looking at each of her sketches of Richard, the flat undistinguished stomach was right, but she had added too much shading above it, with the result that his pectoral muscles looked like breasts. The same problem had occurred in both pictures. The only good thing was that the proportions she normally struggled with had been great.
As she brought the coffee mugs over, Richard now dressed looked at the closed pad on the side. "Can I have a look at the drawings, please Vicky?"
"Ah! Nope, I don't think they are good enough to show dear. Can we try again, maybe on Sunday afternoon, with natural light this time?"
"Okay, but do you think you could find a heater or something. It's a bit cold in here to be cavorting around in the all together." Richard replied, smiling.
With the door open, they sat side by side on the bed gripping the coffee mugs in both hands and chatting about the college life and the world in general.
As he left, Richard suggested getting together the following night, but Victoria declined, wanting to catch up on the graphics project whose deadline was rapidly approaching.
It was Friday evening and Victoria had been working for four hours in her small dorm room, the smell of paint from the airbrush was giving her a headache and her eyes were smarting from staring at the image, trying to get the lettering transfers aligned correctly. The exercise of producing a proof for a fictitious advertisement was nearly complete and sitting back to look at the result; a smile eased its way across her face.
"Time to stop before I spoil it" she said to herself and started to pour thinners into the airbrush's reservoir to clean it out.
There was a knock at her door which distracted her. A familiar voice called from the corridor, "Hey Vicky, its Friday night! Do you want to go clubbing?" Victoria wiped her hands on a rag as she went to open the door to Emma, her fellow art student.
"Hi Emma. Come in a sec, where were you thinking of going?"
"Jill said that a small R & B band was playing in Boston's. We thought we could go there to see if they were any good, then go on to Widget's for a dance and if it's still open, we could finish off at the SU bar. Would Rich want to come?"
"Hey that sounds like a plan! No, the poor dear has to finish some work, so it looks like it's going to be a hen night. Where are we meeting Jill?"
"I'm here!" A small girl with a big smile bounced into the room. "Hey Vick, you really should open the windows when you're using that stuff, you could get high on the smell!"
The two girls sat on the bed and watched Victoria as she replaced her jeans with a pair of black velvet slacks and her tee shirt for a lime green halter top. She quickly applied some make up and removing the scrunchy from her hair, brushed it out.
Arm in arm the 3 girls left the campus in search of a good night out.
Boston's got its name from the bar in the TV series Cheers, but the only similarity was that they were both situated in basements. The room was low and the musicians on the stage at one end almost had to duck to avoid damaging their heads on the ceiling. Poor ventilation allowed the fumes from the many smokers to hang in the air, the hazy smoke particles demonstrating Brownian motion as they climbed in the warm air over the stage's foot lights.
The band was good, playing covers of all the standards by Marvin Gaye, Wilson Picket and other classic bands. The set lasted an hour during which time Jill had kept plying the other two with drinks. "Daddy had a horse come in and shared his good luck with me, so I'm sharing my good fortune with you." was her reason for the extravagance. The three of them were a little tipsy as they left the club with "Heard it on the Grapevine" still ringing in their ears. Despite or maybe because of the intoxication, they pressed on to the second venue.
Widget's was a popular night club in the dock area of the city, built in an old warehouse. Entering at first floor level, a Broadway style flight of stairs ran down to the bar area where an island bar gave quick service to the dancers, but was also surrounded with people nursing their drinks. Loud music made conversation difficult, but the dance floor at the far end was the reason they were there.
Scanning the bar from the top of the stairs, Victoria's eyes were drawn to a young woman nursing a cocktail. Dressed a little more conservatively than the rest of the girls in the club, but with a distinctive hair style, the fringe cut ruler straight but very low, hiding all of her forehead and most of her eyebrows. She seemed to be watching a group of lads on the opposite side of the bar. A strange feeling of recognition and sexual attraction to the woman came over Victoria which confused her as she had never considered the possibility of not being straight. As they made eye contact the woman quickly looked away, a blush forming on her neck as she moved into the crowds on the dance floor, the sign of recognition had been clear. Leaving her friends at the bar, Victoria made her way to the dance floor in pursuit, but soon lost sight of her amongst the many gyrating dancers.
Victoria was worried. Her art training had given her a good memory for faces (even if she had trouble drawing them), but try as she might, she could not recall the woman, but the feeling that she knew her wouldn't go away. The other feelings Victoria tried to push out of her mind, not wanting to admit that she might be becoming bisexual or worse a lesbian. After a second circuit of the club still without seeing her quarry, she returned to her friends.
"Who were you chasing Vicky? Was he dishy?" Jill bellowed over the sound of the PA system.
Still looking at the dance floor Victoria replied "I thought I saw someone who seemed familiar. I'm not sure who she was; I am sure she recognised me but didn't want to talk."
Richard was panting when he returned to his room. After locking his door, he went straight to his wardrobe to retrieve the small bottle of whisky his father had slipped to him 'in case of emergency' when he returned to college after Christmas. He felt the first mouthful course down his throat to settle heavily in his stomach. He slowly regained control of his shaking hands and knees.
Shrugging off the greatcoat and dropping the trousers he had put on in the car, he retrieved the pumps and handbag he had hastily stuffed into his backpack. The mirror on the wardrobe door wasn't full length, but if he stood on the far side of the room, he could see what he wanted to see; what he liked, no, loved to see: Rebecca!
Richard loved being Rebecca and dressed at every opportunity. But Rebecca's demands cost Richard dearly and not just financially.
At heart Richard was a shy person. Every milestone he passed: sneaking into his mother's bedroom to try on her underwear when he was twelve, buying his first wig at seventeen, going out in public had been a big milestone; each of these had had a cost in terms of emotional stress and frayed nerves. Now for the first time a person known to Richard had seen Rebecca and that person had to be Victoria!
Expecting to hear Victoria banging on his door at any moment, Richard stripped, used solvent to carefully remove the breast forms he had worked all summer to buy and then thoroughly cleansed the makeup from his face.
Why had Victoria been at that club? She was supposed to be working in her study. Why hadn't he taken Rebecca to the next town as usual? Had she recognised him? He hadn't looked back after that first glance. Only time would tell; the stress of the wait would be another charge on Rebecca's balance sheet.
The mobile phone started to ring faintly. Richard retrieved it from the handbag; looking at the display he held his breath as he pushed the green button.
"Hi Richard, how are you? Did you get lots of work done tonight?" Victoria's voice sounded chirpily in his ear.
Play it cool Richard thought. "Hi babe! Yeah, a great evening if you like plotting normal distribution charts. How about you? Good evening with the graphics?"
"Well," Victoria hedged, "I got so far, but I was tired and then Jill and Emm dragged me out on a club crawl. But I guess I did make good progress before that.
"I just wanted to see if you were OK, and to say I love you and missed you."
"Yeah, me too babe." Richard swallowed and licked his lips, dry from the lies he had been telling Victoria. "Are we still on for tomorrow night?"
"Oh yes, sure! I'm really looking forward to it, come over to my room at eight o'clock." Victoria giggled down the phone. "And I'm really looking forward to seeing you in the buff again on Sunday!" There was a beep on the phone. "I have to go love; the credit on my phone has run out. Bye. I love…" The call ended with a sudden click followed by static.
Richard realised he had been holding his breath and let it out with a sigh. Leaving his phone on the desk, he walked across to the bed and sat down to take some deep breaths. As he put his hands on his knees, he noticed he had yet to remove the varnished nail extensions he had applied earlier that evening. He put his face in his hands and sobbed gently, starting to wonder if maybe Rebecca had too high a price on his nerves and that he was beginning to get careless as a result. After a while he pushed himself to his feet slowly and went to find the solvent for his nails and a tissue for his tears.
The next morning Richard was in a foul mood as he took his dirty things to the campus laundry. He sullenly sat in a chair watching his things going around in the washer and tried to decide what to do about Victoria and Rebecca. Each time he watched his clothes slowly rotate to the top and fall to the bottom of the drum he came up with a new solution. He would tell her; he would keep quiet; he would split with Victoria and move away; he would ask Victoria to marry him; he would purge Rebecca's things; he would become Rebecca full time. In his mind, none of these solutions were acceptable, as all required the sacrifice of something important from his life.
He thought of Victoria. He had never really been interested in girls until he literally bumped into her in the canteen and then it was her clothes that had initially caught his attention, as he wondered what they would be like to wear; he was jealous of her long hair, but her smile did something to him and they had eventually hooked up and had now been close friends for about 9 months.
Victoria's outburst earlier in the week about the lady boys was disturbing. They had never discussed anything in terms of alternate lifestyles and he had been shocked by the ferocity of her outburst as she was normally quite liberally minded. He wondered whether they were her own prejudices or if it was the influence of someone in her family. It was another piece of dirty underwear going around in the washing machine of his mind.
And so Saturday passed, both students did their chores and worked on their individual college assignments. By the time evening came, Richard was feeling somewhat more relaxed and put on his best male persona ready to take Victoria out for the evening. Ducking his head to try and dodge the rain he ran from one dormitory block to the next, to meet Victoria.
On reaching the foyer of Victoria's block, he shook some of the rain from his jacket and then smiled at Jill and Emma who were sitting on the only available chairs. "Is Vicky ready?"
"Nearly. She said to wait here for her." Emma replied without looking up from the text message she was keying into her phone.
Richard leaned against a lukewarm radiator idly assessing the girl's clothes and deciding that Rebecca had no competition there, but he was also aware they were looking closely at him.
"Richard, don't you think you should have made a bit more effort?" Emma eventually commented.
Richard looked down at his damp denim jacket and tired jeans. "This is the best I have at the moment!" He suppressed a giggle thinking that he actually had several outfits far better than his current garb, but that they were wholly inappropriate for this company.
"Well at least you shaved!" Jill joined in with a giggle. Richard put his hand to his chin and tried to remember if it was yesterday or the day before that he had used his razor and then grimaced as he remembered preparing to go out the previous evening and the ensuing events.
He heard a noise on the stairs and looked up. Victoria was making a Hollywood entrance, slowly descending the stairs, her sandal clad feet pointing out and seductively crossing in front of each other on each step. Her smooth naked legs went all the way up to the short, black, figure hugging, strapless dress she wore. She looked at Richard with an air of disdain and tossed her head, shaking out the waves in her hair.
"Victoria, I didn't know we were going somewhere formal!" Richard managed to stammer out.
Richard became aware of the other girls sniggering. Victoria held her poise for 10 more seconds, and then joined the others in laughter.
"Don't worry dear. We were bored this afternoon, so Emma decided I should have a make over for my big date. We knew what you would be wearing, but they decided I should get my glad rags on anyway. Where are you taking me then?"
"Uh I had thought of the SU, but how about a club and then a drink at the Greyhound?"
"That's a good plan, Widget's?" Victoria was hoping she might spot the strange girl again.
Richard only just managed to keep his composure as he remembered last night's close call. "Um, yes okay. That's a lovely dress by the way; it really shows off your shoulders nicely."
"Thanks Richard. That's one of the things I like about you. You always notice the clothes I wear and say nice things about them." She grabbed Richard's arm and snuggled into his shoulder. Emma passed a raincoat that they must have brought down earlier ready for Victoria's departure.
Being Saturday night, Widget's was crowded. Bypassing the bar, they headed straight for the dance floor, enjoying the mix of music being played. As with their previous visits, the volume of music was too loud to make conversation enjoyable so they just faced each other, danced and smiled. After about half an hour Victoria attracted Richard's attention and shouted in his ear. "There's a woman over there watching us."
"Where is she?"
"To the left of the DJ, brown permed hair and a red mini dress."
Richard quickly spotted the woman and had a sickening feeling in his stomach as he recognised her. It was Joanna.
Richard had first met Joanna at the cross-dresser's boutique in the nearby city when he had been buying his breast forms. They had got talking which had resulted in an invitation to Joanna's house to meet other transvestites in the area. She was dedicated to cross-dressing, comfortable with her situation and happy to go out in public. If it hadn't been for her beard, she would have passed convincingly. However, five minutes after shaving, she looked as if she needed to do it again no matter how much foundation was used, so unless the lighting was bad, Joanna could be easily read.
Richard swung Victoria around so her back was to Joanna, whilst glaring at Joanna with a go-away-and-leave-us-alone look. Victoria used her momentum to continue the swing and was looking once again at Joanna.
"Richard, there's something odd about that woman."
"Is there?" Richard again tried to get Victoria pointing the opposite way and again failed.
"She's got a chin shadow; I mean a five o'clock shadow. She's a man!"
Richard had been trying to turn their developing spin into a dance so he could waltz Victoria off to the other side of the dance floor, but with her last outburst she had become rigid, staring at Joanna, her eyes full of hatred. Pushing Richard away, she stalked across the hall to her prey, shouting "Get out of here you abomination to nature! You're a freak, get out of my sight!" she would have started to fight with the startled Joanna if it hadn't been for the timely intervention of one of the bouncers stationed to protect the DJ and his equipment. A second bouncer came over and between them they hustled Victoria out of the building via a back exit. Richard slowly followed, pausing only briefly to mutter an apology to a grief stricken Joanna.
Outside the rain was falling steadily. One of the doormen had retrieved Victoria's coat from the cloakroom and had thrust it into her hands. The other was blocking the door, arms folded across his chest, angrily shouting.
"We will not tolerate cat fighting in this establishment! You are barred for a month!"
"What? You're barring me, but you're going to let that travesty stay?" Victoria shouted back, her eyes wide with the anger built up in her.
"That LADY is a regular customer here. She has never caused us any problems and we are NOT going to discriminate against someone because of the way they choose to dress. If we did that, the club would be empty some nights."
Richard went behind Victoria and putting both hands on her shoulders had to use most of his strength to steer her away from the verbal conflict and then took her coat and pushed her unresponsive arms into the sleeves.
Putting his arm around her shoulder he felt her shake and could hear her crying. He pulled her close and grimly led her through the rain to the city centre.
The Greyhound was a modern pub in the style of a nineteenth century coaching inn. Reproduction coaching horns were screwed to the walls which themselves were covered in wood patterned laminate, giving the impression of oak panelling. The beams across the roof were convincing, but identical to the mould they came out of. Although not expensive in real terms, the price of the drinks would not allow them to stop long.
Richard seated Victoria in a comfortable sofa in a dark secluded part of the lounge before going to the bar for their usual drinks. When he returned, he put a glass in Victoria's hand and seated himself beside her.
"How did the pictures you drew of me on Thursday come out?" He tried to break the ice with a safe topic, but it failed.
"Crap! Why don't you just ask me what all that was about in Widget's, your dying to know aren't you?"
"Well, I know you really upset someone back there and if those bouncers hadn't intervened, you would probably be in a cell on a charge of GBH. So yes I would like to know what was going on."
"Well I don't want to talk about it!" Victoria snapped back.
"But what had she done to you?"
"SHE? SHE? She is no more a she than I'm Marlon Brando!"
"Alright then, what had he done to upset you?"
"Him Personally? Nothing! Oh! It's, it's just his type. I can't stand those… those transvestites or transsexuals or whatever they are!"
Richard was feeling very uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking. It was far too close to home for his liking. But he couldn't reconcile the outright aggression Victoria was showing compared to the bright witty girl he knew. He also wondered if he pushed the point, it might help to answer the questions he had been asking himself that morning.
"Um, they are just people who choose to dress in different ways. Surely there is nothing wrong with that. I remember you telling me that you had gone through a Goth phase last year."
"It isn't just dressing up. They are selfish. They hurt others. My father…." She sighed. "It doesn't matter, Richard. I think I want to go back to the digs now. I'm ever so sorry I spoilt your evening." She picked up her coat and handbag and slowly walked to the door. Richard caught up with her and put her hand on his arm and escorted her back to the campus.
As they were passing the SU, Richard pulled her in to the doorway. "Come and have something to help you sleep, Vicky."
Richard emptied his wallet on to the bar and worked out he had just enough for a brandy. Picking up the single glass, he carried it across to Victoria.
"Here you are Vicky, let that warm your heart."
She picked up the glass and took a sip, grimacing as the fiery drink touched her tongue.
"Where's yours?"
"That's alright; I don't want one, the beer at the Greyhound was enough for me." Richard paused then looked Victoria in the eye.
"At the Greyhound you started to say something about your father but stopped. I know your mother bought you up alone. I don't understand why your father would cause you to hate men who want to wear women's clothes."
Victoria looked intently at her rapidly emptying glass then slowly, measuring each word, started to speak.
"I never knew my father. He left or mother kicked him out when I was two years old.
"I'm not sure I can continue to tell you this, Rich." She looked up at him, caught between the relief of not holding back the dark secret or the shame of her close friend knowing the shadow that had been over her life.
Richard gripped her hand and looked her in the eye as she glanced up from the table. "It'll be alright, Vicky. How bad could it be?"
"Bad, Richard.
"When I was two, Mum found a bag of clothes in the attic, they were women's clothes. Apparently, there was a blazing row, Mum thought my father was seeing another woman and had brought her back to the house whilst Mum had taken me to Gran's. It turned out the clothes belonged to my father. It wasn't just that he liked to dress up either. Richard, my father is now called Gloria!
"Mum rarely talks about him, she was really hurt. I think she may have forced him to leave. She certainly initiated the divorce proceedings. If she does refer to him it is never in a complementary fashion.
"So because of his selfishness I grew up with only one parent. The worst thing was that one day somehow another child at school got to hear about it and that led to teasing and name calling; I was known as the girl with two mums or the girl whose dad had no balls and many other cruel things. That went on until I left school three years ago. I managed to keep it quiet at 6th form college and here." Victoria took a tissue from he bag to mop up the tears that had been freely running down her cheeks, washing her mascara with them.
Richard took a deep breath. He had never considered the effects of cross-dressing on other people. He knew that people were uncomfortable around cross-dressers and had heard the verbal abuse that Joanna received when she was out, but he had never considered people close to him beyond the firm conviction that they should never know what he did. He turned his thoughts to Victoria and what she must have felt.
"Oh Vicky! I'm so sorry, I didn't know. Listen; here are a couple of thoughts that occur to me. Firstly, whatever your father did, it is not your fault, no blame or shame should lie with you. Secondly, people these days have a much more tolerant attitude to people who are different, like the bouncer in the club tonight." Richard worried if what he was about to say would go down very well, but decided to say it anyway.
"Vicky, have you ever considered what your father felt. How maybe he was vulnerable and could have done with some support from your mother? I… I think he was very brave to follow his desires regardless of the outcome."
"Brave? He was a selfish bastard! He should have put his 'desires' aside and taken responsibility for his family." With that last comment Victoria stood, picked up her bag and headed slightly unsteadily to her room.
Richard continued to sit at the empty table. Far from answering his questions, talking to Victoria about her prejudices had created more questions that needed answers. Was he selfish? Was he keeping Rebecca private to prevent hurting other people's feelings or because he was afraid of the humiliation of coming out?
"I want to close up now. Would you mind leaving please?"
Richard looked up at the steward and then looked at his watch and realised he had been staring at the table for half an hour. "Sorry, I'm off now." He answered and dragged himself back to his room.
Richard was woken by the chirping of his phone.
"Hello? What time is it?" he mumbled.
"Wake up sleepy head!"
"Oh, it's you Vicky. What time is it?"
"Eight o'clock. Want some breakfast on me?"
"Do I have to move?"
"Only as far as your door. I'm in the corridor!"
Richard quickly looked around the room to make sure none of Rebecca's clothes were visible. Then he wrapped a sheet around himself, went to the door, unlocked it and returned to the bed. Victoria entered his room carrying a covered tray.
"Hello Richard. Peace offering?" she said holding up the tray. "I'm really sorry about last night dear. I was horrible and must have embarrassed you terribly, both in the night club and in the SU. I'm sorry I was so short with you."
"That's okay, you had your reasons." Richard replied dismissively. He was tempted to add "but don't take out hurts caused by one person on innocent strangers" but felt that that would be neither polite nor helpful.
Victoria sat on the bed and put the tray between them. Removing the cloth she revealed a large pile of buttered toast and a tea pot.
"Do you have any milk?"
"It's in the fridge in the shared kitchen. It has my name written on the carton."
Victoria quickly returned with the milk carton.
"Yuk, This milk is no good, its gone green!"
Richard chuckled. "It's my new theft prevention technique."
"I suppose making the fridge into a biohazard would stop people taking stuff from it, not very healthy though."
"The milk is fine; I just added a little green food colouring to it! You can't tell once it's put into tea."
Victoria sniffed the carton suspiciously, then poured some into Richard mug, but left her tea black.
"I'm glad Jill doesn't know about your security measures…"
"Why is that?" Richard asked suspiciously.
"You're eating her butter! Hey, are you still OK to pose for me this afternoon?"
"I guess so. Am I doing this gratis?"
"I'll stand you beans on toast afterwards; how's that?"
"I've no cash until Monday so I'll take what I can get, thanks."
Richard drained his mug and brushed the toast crumbs onto the floor. "I'd better get myself dressed and get to work on my assignments, if I'm going to be stationary all afternoon. Come on out you go."
"You want me to leave? Is there something I haven't already seen?"
"All in the best possible taste, you said. Definitely not erotic you said." Discreetly re-wrapping himself in the sheet, Richard went over and held the door open for Victoria to leave. "See you late babe."
"I'll get the room warmed up for you…I don't want you to suffer for my art!"
Richard smiled as he closed the door. This was the Victoria he knew so well.
Richard went to Victoria's room early, hoping to cadge a sandwich, before getting down to the hard work of modelling. Unfortunately Victoria had already eaten, so as to get the room ready. Richard sat on her bed watching her move the furniture around to get the sitting chair in a position that the light from the window would fall in the right place and that Richard wouldn't be exposing himself to the student population.
"Okay Richard, I'll wait in the corridor whilst you get changed again."
Richard quickly stripped, folding his clothes neatly and leaving them on the bed. "I'm ready for you!"
Victoria came back into the room and picked up her pad and pencils.
"I thought you were getting some heat in here? I'm all goose bumpy."
"Sorry Richard, the caretaker caught me borrowing the fan heater from the common room. Apparently the electrical system in this part of the building is a bit flaky, and the current the heater uses would pop the fuse or something.
"Could you face me, feet apart and put your hands on your knees, please?"
"But that displays everything!"
"I know. That's the idea. Ah, can you try with your elbows out? That's great!"
Victoria lightly drew some horizontal lines with a hard pencil where she wanted the feet, knees, hips shoulders and top of Richards head to appear on the paper, then intersected these with lines for his limbs and back. Switching to a softer pencil she started to give the resulting stick figure body.
She continued working for a while and then looked at the piece. "No, no, no. It's all wrong again." Once again, everything was working fine except for the chest. More breasts! She decided that the image looked like one of the Lady Boys from the documentary last week. "What am I doing wrong?" she muttered to herself. She looked intently at Richard and then studied the drawing, talking to herself "I must put that shadow there, to get the bottom of the rib cage. Maybe I was a bit heavy on the nipples, but not that far out. I just don't know. Maybe time to go with the flow." Raising her voice she spoke to Richard. "Let's try a different pose. Turn to your right, lean back in the chair, put your left hand on your hip and the right behind your head. And cross your legs so I can't see your, um, tackle." She turned the page in her sketch book and prepared to start again. To her pad she said quietly "Right drawing, if you want to come out like a woman, you'll jolly well be a gorgeous one!"
She started once more, her mind empty of any preconceptions as to how the drawing should turn out. This time when the breasts started to emerge on the paper, she just carried on and let them come; A, B, C cup. Instead of short sharp strokes of the pencil to draw Richard's short hair, she let the pencil glide as it wanted, giving long flowing locks. The face took shape, it came out fairly accurately, although the lips were a little fuller and the eyes more defined with strong lines with thick lashes. The pose turned out to be somewhat erotic too.
Thirty minutes of frantic scribbling later she rested and looked at the final result. Was it a good picture? Undoubtedly! Did it look like Richard? Well, it was recognisable as Richard, yes. But not as any but a couple of his friends had ever seen him.
Victoria closed the sketch pad and put it on her desk. "I'm done! You can put your things back on again. I'll nip down to the kitchen to warm the grill and open the beans tin."
Richard pulled his jeans on, forced the old sweatshirt over his head and finished getting dressed. He was just debating whether to join Victoria in the Kitchen or wait for her to return, when he noticed her pad. Looking out of the door to see that the corridor was empty, he picked it up and started leafing through the pages, admiring the watercolour landscapes and still life drawings of fruit, until he came to today's work.
Victoria returned to the room fifteen minutes later, a plate in each hand.
"Sorry it took so long Richard, I had to find the tin opener. Emma had stolen it… Richard?"
The room was empty, she gasped as she saw her sketch pad open on the bed showing a picture of a nineteen forties pin up with Richard's face. Scrawled across the bottom of the page were the words "How did you know?"
Although on her own, she shouted. "How dare he go through my book and deface it!" She stopped to wonder what the message meant. "How did I know what?" She looked at the drawing and looked at it again. Putting the plates on the floor, she grabbed a pencil and using firm strokes drew in a fringe coming down to just above the eyes. "Oh my Goodness!"
On the other side of the campus Richard was in his room. He was sitting on the floor leaning against the door, sure his secret was out. It was a cruel way of telling him; to draw him as a blonde pin up as would have been seen on the side of an American bomber during the Second World War. He wondered how she had suppressed her hatred of transvestites long enough to do the drawing and how soon he would be exposed to the whole college community and worse his parents.
He picked up his phone and dialled Joanna's number.
"Hello?"
"Joanna? Thank heavens. It's Richard. I need help. Victoria knows about Rebecca. I'm frightened that she is going to out me to the whole college. What am I going to do?"
"Victoria? Is that the bitch that attacked me last night? Well you did sweet FA to stop her then, so I'm going to repay that favour. You can sort your own problems out. Goodbye!"
"Joanna? Joanna!" Richard realised that the phone was dead. He pressed redial, but was immediately transferred to Joanna's voice mail. Angrily he threw the phone across the room. He closed his eyes that were squeezing out the tears.
In his despair Richard tried to think. Could he face his tormentor? Could he face the jeers from all his fellow students once Victoria spread the word of his alter ego? Was he brave enough to do it on his own? What about his parents? His father had set his heart on Richard following him into his accountancy business and was looking forward to adding 'and son' to the company's name; his mother, the loving person, who kept asking when he was going to do the honourable thing and ask Victoria to marry him so she could have grandchildren. Could he face them and see the pain Victoria's revelations would cause? He shivered. Finally here were questions that he did know the answers to. Unfortunately in each case the answer was going to be no. He thought of the easy way out and wondered how he could accomplish it.
Pills would be the most pain free method, but his small medicine cupboard only revealed eight paracetemol tablets; not enough to finish the job. He could slit his wrists, but unlike Victoria who owned a vast range of dangerous cutting tools for her art work, Richard could find nothing in his room sharp enough to do the job. He could jump, but the room was only on the first floor and the shrubs in the garden below would probably break his fall without doing lethal damage. The oven was in the kitchen; too public and, he realised, it was electric and not gas. He put his head back to take a deep breath and steady himself. As he did, he spied the industrial strength light fitting attached to the ceiling.
Deciding to go out dressed as he preferred, he pulled out the bag of Rebecca's clothes from the bottom of his wardrobe. He dressed quickly, putting on his little black dress and stiletto court shoes, regretting that he didn't have time to properly make himself up, making do with mascara and his reddest lipstick.
He then took a pair of Rebecca's stockings and tied them together. He tied a noose in one end, the only knot he had learned how to tie in the Scouts many years before. Moving the chair to the middle of the room he stood on it, but realised that he could only just reach the light and that with the stretch of the nylon, would probably be left standing on the floor when he jumped. So he dragged the desk under the light fitting and put the chair on top of that. Gingerly he climbed up and stood there, just below the steel tube containing the light's wiring. He reached up as the tears trickled down, pushing the end of the stocking behind the pipe. He sniffed loudly but it didn't stop his sobbing.
The door suffered a flurry of blows. "Richard! I need to speak to you, NOW!" The unmistakable tones of Victoria in an angry mood filled the corridor. Richard stood still, petrified. There was a pause, then quieter, she continued. "Richard, I know you're in there, I can hear you crying. Open the door!" A series of slower, louder blows indicated she was trying to break the door down.
"Leave the door alone. I want to get my key money back and I'll lose it if you knock the door off its hinges." Why Richard was worried about his room deposit when he was about to take his own life he was never sure, but even as he said it, the door frame gave up the fight and Victoria and Jill burst into the room together.
In a glance, Victoria realised how he was dressed and she felt the muscles in her back and shoulders involuntarily contract, her heart pushing her blood pressure up. Then she took in the stocking tied around his neck and the chair stacked on the table. She put two and two together and as she made four, the colour drained from her face. She gulped to get control of herself, and then spoke carefully and calmly, but with ice in her voice, "Richard, you need to get down from there very carefully. Jill, I think it might be best if you waited outside for now and whatever you do, what you have seen in here is to remain a secret. Do you understand?" Jill nodded and went out, pulling the door shut behind her as best she could. Victoria walked over to the desk and put her hand up to take Richard's. "Careful dear, those shoes aren't really the best for climbing in."
As Richard stepped back onto the desk, the chair slipped and fell to the floor with a loud crash. He looked at the end of the nylon noose, still in his hand, up at the ceiling and then at the fallen chair and swallowed hard.
Victoria didn't speak again until he was safely on the ground. "Please take that, that ligature from around your neck, it makes me feel nervous."
Richard refused to make eye contact with Victoria, but sheepishly opened up the knot and pulled the noose over his head carefully so as not to disturb his wig. Quietly he muttered "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry", over and over again like a mantra.
Still struggling to maintain her veneer of calm, Victoria spoke. "Come on Richard, we need to talk, for both our sakes." She took his hand and guided him over to the bed and pushed him until he sat. She picked up the chair from the wreckage on the floor, positioned it opposite and sat down. "Do you want to tell me about it?" Richard, staring at his knees, shook his head. "Well, I'll start then. I didn't know about her, about you, until after you left my room. I only drew the image of you as a woman, because on all the occasions I have tried to draw you, there was a distinctly, um, feminine appearance to my drawing. Your cryptic message confused me and it was only when I looked at the drawing again that I knew I had seen that woman before. After changing the hair on the drawing I recognised you. You were at the club on Friday night, weren't you?"
Richard nodded his head slightly.
"So, do you want to tell me about your side of this? Last night you asked me to think about it from my father's point of view. I can now see you were well qualified to give me that view yourself." The last sentence said with a distinct sneer.
A croak came from Richard's dry mouth. He swallowed and started again. "I, I don't know where to start Victoria. Rebecca is the confident one, she always knows what to do, and what to say, but she seems to have deserted me today."
Victoria's calm façade slipped. "Rebecca? Who is Rebecca? Not content with shaming me with this get up, you've been two timing me as well!"
Richard shook his head and then pointed to his clothes and wig. "No! I'm Rebecca. When I dress like this that is what I call myself." He paused, smoothing his dress over his knees while he tried to gather his thoughts.
"I need to start at the beginning. That would probably have been when I was seven or eight years old. At that age I started getting bullied at school; it was almost as if I went around with a think-bubble over my head saying 'Bully Me'. Every day was a misery, get beaten up in the play ground, between lessons, in break; rarely anything too bad, just enough to cause a few tears, which is all that the bullies were after."
Victoria joined Richard on the bed. "Didn't you ask a teacher or your parents for help?"
"Looking back, that would have been the sensible thing to do. But when you're being bullied, you have, I suppose a sort of victim mentality. Don't make waves; try not to catch the attention of the bullies. If you tell then they will get even with you and make things worse for you. You really make yourself believe those things."
Richard grimaced. "There was one time that a teacher, the headmistress got involved. It was when a boy pushed me over on the playing field, then, sitting astride me, he knelt on my arms and started stuffing my mouth full of grass. I couldn't push him off, the only thing I could do was use my mouth, so I bit him on the arm. That sorted that problem temporarily until his mother saw the teeth marks and phoned the school. I was called to the headmistress's office,. I explained what had happened, but in her eyes I wasn't the hurt party. Who was in trouble? Who spent two days in detention? Me!
"Secondary school was no better. Although most of the kids from my junior school went to other schools, it's a lot harder to loose a reputation without leaving town. It only takes one person to say 'That boy cries if you hit him.' and they will hit you just to find out if it's true."
"But you could have fought back, couldn't you? Not been a target?"
"Oh Victoria, if only life were that easy. I have no ability, um, no desire to fight. When I did try, everyone laughed at my attempts. 'He fights like a pansy!' they would say.
"And it didn't do any good, for any pain I managed to inflict I would just get more back. The one time I nearly did some damage to my main protagonist, his big friends held me against the wall whilst he retaliated."
Victoria looked her boyfriend in the eye and recognised his pain from her own miserable school days. She wanted to give him a hug and take all his pain away, but her lifelong prejudices wouldn't let her. Instead, she put her hand on Richard's stocking clad knee, momentarily pulling away as she felt the shear nylon, then touching more firmly and confidently. "Okay, I can see that you had a rough time at school, but I can't see the connection between bullying and dressing like this."
Richard sighed. "I'm not sure I understand it. I think it is because of why I was bullied. I'm a sensitive person. I do cry a lot, I can control it better these days, but I used to. Boys see that as a sign of weakness and so attack it. A girl would just see that as normal and be supportive. I must have subconsciously realised that and longed for the support and care that girls give each other. I wanted to be accepted as normal and so I think the logic says 'Crying is normal for girls; I cry, so either I'm an abnormal boy or I should have been a girl.'"
"You know Richard… or would you prefer it if I called you Rebecca?"
"I…I don't mind Vicky."
"Very well, I'll try…. You know Rebecca, I can almost understand that."
"I only came to that conclusion a couple of years ago. At the time I was in despair. The cross-dressing thing started a few years later, but I'm sure it wouldn't have happened if I hadn't been bullied. I don't remember the reason I first tried on Mum's clothes, but one day I was on my own in the house and I started looking through her chest of draws and the temptation to try some things on overwhelmed me. As I got dressed in her clothes, things sort of clicked into place and I felt, well I felt right, relaxed and calm; the stress of the bullying was swept away. Since then when the bullying got bad I would find a way of getting dressed, and would feel better."
Victoria nodded and then frowned. Something didn't add up. "Hang on. I can understand you dressing for comfort when you were being bullied, but why are you still doing it? No one is bullying you now, are they?"
Richard shook his head. "No. It has become something of an addiction or compulsion. I have to get dressed every so often or I become moody and depressed."
"You stopped dressing shortly after we got together, didn't you?"
Nodding, Richard added "Yes, I'd fallen in love with you and wanted to be a 'real' man for you. I packed all Rebecca's stuff up and put it in the storage room. I managed to keep it up for about a month."
Richard didn't have Victoria's art training, so didn't realise how many muscles control the face. But as he looked up at her, he couldn't believe that she could display so many different emotions at the same time. There was sadness, anger, compassion, and hatred in equal measures. About the only sentiment he couldn't detect was joy. Deep in thought, she looked down at her hands for a long while, picking at a bit of nail polish that had got on to her finger. Richard nervously picked at the hem of his dress, waiting for her to say something. Eventually she broke the painful silence. "Look Richard, this is difficult to get my head around. I explained how I felt about… about people like you, last night. I feel betrayed by you. Dressed like that you make me feel uncomfortable, nauseous even. I think I still care for you and what you have said is starting to make me view this cross dressing stuff from a different point of view, but I need to sit down and think. In the meantime, I will keep your secret if you want me to, so don't do anything silly, like hurting yourself. If you feel that way, call me. Please?" She got up, kissed her finger tips and touched them to Richard's mascara stained cheek, then turned and left the room.
Richard heard voices in the corridor but not the words. The conversation got more heated and then it all stopped and there was silence.
He didn't move; there was no reason to, so he just sat and breathed deeply, enjoying the cold air in his lungs. He had escaped death twice today, once by his own hand and once from Victoria. He had laid bare his soul to Victoria as well today which was something he had never done before and it felt good.
Going to the sink for a glass of water, he saw his tear stained, mascara streaked face, but as he reached for a tissue to clean up there was a knock on the door.
"Hello?" it was Jill's voice. "I borrowed some tools to fix your lock, may I come in please?"
A hand came around the edge of the door waving a screwdriver. Jill's face appeared; for once her happy outlook was replaced by a look of concern.
Richard smiled, sort of, at her. "Thanks Jill, can I just get changed first? It'll just take a couple of minutes."
Jill took Richard's reply as an invitation to come into the room properly. "No need dear, you look fine as you are, just fix your makeup and you're all sorted."
She became serious. "Look Richard, I am cool with you wanting to dress like this." Then her face lit up as she said "Maybe a little jealous of the dress, but definitely cool. Now let me look at this door. We made a bit of a mess of the frame, but I can sort that." She opened the tool box and after removing the splinted piece of wood started to attack the frame with a hammer and chisel. "Sorry about the noise, but I have to let in a new piece of wood or it would have no strength."
"Where did you learn to do that?" Richard could see she knew what she was about, although he had no practical ability at all.
"Its amazing what you learn on an art foundation course. The sculpture lectures cover woodwork prior to letting us loose with the carving tools. Now come on Richard, make yourself pretty for me."
Richard turned back to the mirror and removed the makeup. He looked across at Jill and wondered at her motivation for being here. She was working hard to repair the damage that she and Victoria had caused and so he felt he could trust her. She had certainly seemed genuine when assuring him that his dressing up wasn't a problem for her. Putting the desk and chair back where they belonged, he got out his mirror and arranged the make up on the desk in front of him. He worked quickly, letting Rebecca take over once more. Soon the smell of powerful wood glue was mingling with the smell of nail varnish. He brushed out the wig and made sure it was straight then after putting on his lipstick blew a kiss at his reflection in the mirror.
"I need to let the glue dry for a bit before I can finish off." Jill was tightening a cramp holding the new piece of wood to the frame. She turned and looked at Richard and beamed a smile at him. "My, don't you polish up well. I have to say dear, that you do your make up better than a lot of women I know, possibly including me."
Sitting in front of the mirror, Richard smiled at her compliment.
Jill lay down on the bed, looking at the ceiling. "Look Rebecca, I have to be honest I'm worried about you, so I really came to keep you company for a bit, make sure you were OK. I'm just amazed and a bit annoyed that Vicky didn't stay with you."
Richard smiled. "Thanks Jill. But the suicide watch can stand down now. My crisis is over."
"That's good. I'm pretty much aware of what was going on, I was stood outside the door and heard what you said to Vicky."
Richard shifted uneasily in his chair. That conversation had been for Victoria's ears only. In his concern he missed Jill's use of his fem-name.
"I have to say this: You shouldn't feel guilty over what you are or how you like to dress. People will love you for you, not some bit of fabric you wear or some colouring you add to your face. Love has to be for the whole person not just the bits that are social acceptable or sexually stimulating."
Richard nodded, wishing that the general public were as wise as Jill. "How come you have such a different perspective on life?"
"Well, I guess it would be summed up with the expression 'People who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones'"
Richard looked at her, pondered and then said "You want to be a man?"
"No silly! I have no problem with my gender; it's my sexuality that is a bit confused, I like my toast buttered on both sides. I'm bi-sexual."
"Oh, Jill! I'm so sorry, I didn't know."
Jill picked up a book from Richard's bedside table and threw it. "You have just done what you accused everyone else of doing. It's not a disease and I'm quite happy, well I would be if Emma had told me at the start of term she already had a partner at home, instead of stringing me along for months."
"Emma too? Does Vicky know?"
"Good Lord No! She is far to square to even understand about sexuality, let alone condone anything remotely unusual!
"Anyhow, that's enough about me. Let's get back to you. Where does Rebecca fit into the future of Richard Jackson?"
Richard bit his lip whilst working out his reply. "I've been considering that a bit recently. Yesterday morning I tried to think through all the options. A mental pros and cons list if you like. I couldn't come to a conclusion because I lost out big time in every scenario. But things have changed a bit now. I imagine I have blown it with Vicky. She would never accept that I like dressing as Rebecca. I feel happier as Rebecca, more confident, stronger. I'm sure if I had been thinking as Rebecca instead of just wearing her dress earlier on, then I would never have contemplated hanging myself. I'm pretty certain I'm going to spend more time as Rebecca and introduce her to more of my friends."
Jill beamed. "I'm looking forward to getting to know you better Rebecca. What would you say to a quick drink in the SU? I could do with one."
"I would love to join you, but two conditions. First, I will get changed. I faced Vicky today; the rest of the world can wait to be introduced to me tomorrow! Second, you have to buy, I'm completely strapped."
"You're on."
Victoria sat on her bed. Her tears had now dried up leaving her eyes red and sore. She had some phone calls to make. For one, one of the telephone directory enquiry services had provided her with the number, but she put off calling it. Instead she picked up her mobile and selected a number from its directory.
"Hello Mrs Jackson, this is Victoria speaking."
Richard's mother smiled, though she was surprised to get the call. "Victoria! It's so nice to hear from you."
"Mrs Jackson, I think you need to come over here and see Richard. He isn't himself and I'm worried about him doing something silly."
"Whatever is the matter with the boy?"
"I won't say over the phone, but it would be best if you came and saw him."
"You are with him?" The note of panic was clear in her voice.
"No, no I can't be, won't be! But someone else is." The tears started flowing again and she panicked and pressed the red button to end the call.
She knew that she hadn't handled the call very well and hoped that Richard's mum would be able to forgive her for the way she had passed on the news. That was one call down, still one to go. The piece of paper with the number was on her knees and she slowly keyed in numbers that were blurred by her tears. The ringing tone repeated itself over and over again.
"Hello, can I help you?"
The voice meant nothing to Victoria. "Um yes, I hope so. Is that Gloria Townsend?"
"Yes, speaking." It was a pleasant voice, slightly husky, but unmistakably feminine.
"Did you used to be mar...ah, used to know Sheila Townsend?"
"Yes." Her voice now had a distinct edge to it.
"Um, I think I'm your daughter ..."
Richard was heading back to his room, hand running lightly along the wall to counteract his slightly alcohol impaired balance. Nearing his room he looked up and was surprised to see his mother walking along the corridor towards him.
"Richard, are you alright?"
"Yes Mum, I'm fine now. What are you doing here?"
"Victoria called, didn't make much sense, but was adamant we should come over straight away. Is she alright? She sounded very upset on the phone."
"Mum, Dad; I need to talk to you. We can go to the common room. It's never used since they bought the new TV in the Student Union."
Richard led the way to the communal sitting room off the entrance lobby of the dormitory block. He switched on the fluorescent lights that lit the cold room. They moved three of the oddments of comfortable chairs into a ring and seated themselves.
Richard sat for a long time, partly trying to thing of the words that would cause his parents the least pain but mostly hoping that he would wake up and for the nightmare to be over.
"Mum, Dad, I have done something I'm not proud of.
"Really? Wonderful! When is the baby due?" His mother smiled.
"Mu-um! It's not that. No, it's that for a long time I have enjoyed wearing women's clothes and…"
Richard's father interrupted. "Richard, Son. Stop there; before you say anything else, I think I should tell you that we've known about your dressing up for quite a long time. We didn't say anything about it because we hoped you would grow out of it."
"Yes dear. I used to notice my dresses weren't put back properly and my lipstick used to run out earlier than I expected."
Richard's jaw dropped. He looked from his mother to his father and back again. "You mean that for all these years I have been sneaking around, hiding Rebecca from you and you knew all the time?"
His parents, clearly embarrassed, looked at each other and then his father spoke. "Son, we were in an impossible situation. We could have confronted you with what we knew. Suppose we were mistaken? Worse, we now know we weren't, but being confronted with it could have driven you into yourself. Hey! You've turned out pretty good, kid."
"Pretty good? Dad, four hours ago I was contemplating doing myself in because I thought you would disown me when you found out!"
Both parents looked shocked at this news. Mrs Jackson hugged her son tightly. "Oh! My dear! Never ever doubt that we love you dear, whatever you may do. I now understand what Victoria was trying to say, why she wanted us to come."
Richard's father came forward and put his arm around his son's shoulders. "Son, I don't need to tell you that we're relieved that you're alright. Please don't take this the wrong way, but it might be good for you to talk to someone who can offer professional support that is beyond our ability.
"I suspect this could be a watershed in your life. It could be a good time to decide what your targets are and then strive to be the best at those aims you can possibly be. We will support you in whatever way we can. But you have to decide."
Sitting in that cold common room, Richard thought of the support of his friends and family and with a slight smile wondered if his father wasn't the wisest person he knew.
Victoria had been looking forward to this sitting ever since her agent had received the commission.
It all seemed to have happened so long ago... She checked herself, ten years was a long time ago.
Her life drawing tutor had been found rolling around on the floor laughing when he heard she was transferring from graphics to fine arts. Victoria had taken great pleasure putting him at the top of the guest list for the private viewing of her exhibition at the Royal Academy. That had been a special night with both her parents there, even if they had spent the evening at opposite ends of the gallery.
Her relationship with Gloria had reached the stage of friendship although to friends she would only refer to her by name or as her parent, never as father, which seemed inappropriate or mother which seemed disloyal to her true mother. They had many hours of conversation over the phone before meeting. It had quickly become apparent that Gloria had missed out and even grieved for her daughter as Victoria had for her lost father. She had learnt more of Gloria's struggles to be whom she wanted and eventual started to develop an understanding for transgender issues.
The nomination for the Turner prize would probably be the pinnacle of her career. She hadn't minded losing to the performance artist even if there had been an outcry from a public, who liked a nice picture, but was uncertain about other forms of modern art. During the awards ceremony, the Times art critic had asked how she had learnt to bring the life into her paintings. She had replied that she had found a gift that enabled her to see the inner soul of the subject.
Now she was the most prolific portrait painter of recent times, able to pick and choose the commissions that interested her and this project excited her.
A multi-millionaire financier and partner, they wanted to pose together. Self made by taking a small accountancy firm and expanding its business at giddying speed, merging or taking over ever bigger companies and banks, the financier had become the darling of the London Stock Exchange and Wall Street. On the cover of every business and news magazine across the western world, it wasn't the financier's age, or even the fact that she was a woman that made her news worthy, but that she had become the most successful lesbian in history.
The door of her studio opened and the guests were shown in by her assistant. She whooped for joy as she saw Rebecca and Jill come in to the room. There were hugs all round as you would expect when three close friends, who haven't seen each other for so many years, meet up.
Rebecca and Jill sat in the sofa and whilst they chatted, Victoria started making preliminary sketches. Rebecca's image went onto the paper with ease, showing all her determination and the compassion that had enabled her to build such a large business quickly, but soundly. Then Victoria turned to Jill and worked away a smile on her face as she recorded Jill's bright eyes and infectious smile. Victoria's smile faltered; surely Jill's breasts were smaller than that? The fractured smile became a frown. The stomach is all wrong; it shouldn't appear like that, even when she's sitting down! Victoria put down her pencil and looked calmly at her subjects remembering previous occasions when she had such problems.
"Rebecca, would I be right in thinking that you haven't gone all the way to becoming a woman?"
Rebecca looked concerned. "Even if they knew me as Richard, most people assume that I'm a now a complete woman, but you're right I still have my genitalia. Why do you ask?"
"Well hopefully I'm the first to congratulate you; I think you're going to become mothers!"
My thanks go to Angela and Brian for encouragement and proof reading
Julian was preparing to play in his first gig when things started to go wrong. The funny old man wearing a dressing gown didn't exactly help!
Incident One
The worst sound in the world.
A bedsit in an old Edwardian house. Coffee mugs sit with various depths of sludge unwashed on every surface. An unmade bed, grey sheets drooping to the floor, sags wearily in the corner by the window. The floor space is taken up with battered black flight cases, steel protective corners shining bright from frequent impact. Boxes of assorted leads and other gubbins needed by rock musicians fill in whatever space is left.
"Brian, for goodness sakes, calm down. You're making me nervous." Julian exclaimed as Brian stood up, paced across the room and back to his chair for about the twentieth time.
The two lads had been making music together since the start of their third year at college. Now with revision and exams out of the way, they were about to make their debut at the end of term ball.
"You're telling me to calm down? Julian, you've been playing that same riff continuously for the last half hour!" Brian retorted sharply.
Reluctantly, Julian stopped playing, picked up a soft cloth to clean the guitar’s finger board before he returned his beloved Gibson Les Paul to its stand. "When are the bitches coming with the car? We need to allow plenty of time to get set up."
Brian cringed at Julian's reference to Georgina, Brian's girlfriend, and her older sister Sandra, who had volunteered to transport the extensive pile of sound equipment to the venue.
"Julian, do you have to be so rude about them? If it wasn't for Sandra, we would be carrying this lot on the bus! We allowed enough time to make two trips and it isn't as if you were actually ready."
This much was true. Whilst Brian's keyboard was in its flight case next to the P.A. system they had hired, Julian's guitar was once more on his lap, having been taken off its stand again while Brian was talking, now being strummed aimlessly, his amplifier still plugged into the mains and a jumble of cables and effects pedals littered the floor.
Julian grunted, leaned the instrument against the table and stood, intending to get his gig bag and belatedly start packing. He didn't notice that a stray loop of the guitar lead in the jumbled mess of cables and leads that snaked around the room had got wrapped around his boot until he had taken half a step.
Time nearly stood as still as Julian tried to whirl about, the tangled lead around his ankle now acting as a catapult to accelerate the progress of his instrument toward its fate, pulling it further away from Julian’s flailing hands even as he lunged for it. "Catch it!" he screamed, like a slip fielder urging a colleague to catch a loose ball to win a cricket match.
The noise started as the loose ends of the strings that come from the tuning pegs scraped along the table top, yielding a nicely-amplified scratching noise that made Brian’s spine shiver, like when a finger nail is dragged across a concrete paving stone; the pitch rising as the instrument gathered speed, rotating on its body, then a bang as the headstock bounced off the table top.
A long, long silence as it went into freefall ended abruptly with a loud crunch as the neck hit the solidly built amplifier; a splintering of wood followed by six wild twangs making a noise like the chord from hell when the tuning keys broke away from the headstock and released tension from the steel strings.
The arrival of the wreckage on the floor was announced by another bang. The peace that followed was broken only by the asthmatic gasping Julian made as he tried to breathe.
Brian being the closer bent down and picked up the guitar, as the loose strings jangled against each other. "I think it has had it." he stated. "The gig's gone west with it too," he said sarcastically.
Julian gave a loud sniff as he surveyed the shattered instrument. "Maybe I can borrow a guitar from someone?"
"There’s fat chance of that." Brian retorted sharply. "Spilling beer in Dave Barratt's amp made him mad at you. Making a pass at Bob's girlfriend means you can't borrow his Washburn. In fact, you piss-off just about everyone you meet!"
"That's right, kick a guy when he is down, why don't you?" Julian shouted back, colour rising on his neck. He angrily kicked the loop of cable from his foot and started towards his friend. Feeling threatened, Brian shifted the battered guitar into a baseball bat hold. The two would have come to blows, but for a timely knock on the door.
"Cooee! Your roadies and groupies are here!"
Brian replied "Just coming," as he moved to open the door, all the time watching Julian for signs of agression.
"Hi, Sandra." He said, giving her a light kiss on the cheek as she came in. "Hi, gorgeous." He gave Georgina a tight embrace with his free arm, their lips engaging noisily.
"What on earth have you two been doing?" Sandra was looking at the wrecked guitar that Brian was still holding.
"Numb Nuts over there kicked it over. I think we are going to have to cancel the gig."
"Oh no you won't!" Georgina piped up. "I persuaded the ball committee to book you. You're not going to let me down!"
"Okay, so I play on my own, but it will look a bit dumb when I stop for the guitar solo. Or is Julian going to hum?"
Sandra interrupted. "Stop it, you two! Julian, am I right that that is beyond repair?" Julian nodded. "And you can't borrow a replacement?" Julian shook his head. "How much money have you got?"
Julian shrugged his shoulders. "About fifty quid."
"But you're getting paid for the performance?"
"That's two hundred pounds." Georgina added.
"Is that enough to get a replacement?"
"Not a replacement, but a cheaper copy." Julian replied, his mood beginning to lift. Checking his watch, he continued. "If we go straight away we should get to the music shop before it closes."
"Georgina; you and Brian get everything together and I'll take, err, Numb Nuts to buy his new axe." Sandra quipped.
Incident Two
"Haste in every business brings failures" Greek Proverb
Of course it wasn't that simple. A car had run a red light and the resulting accident caused a traffic jam verging on gridlock. Eventually, Sandra found a parking space near the Victorian arcade which was home to the music store.
Julian sprinted for all he was worth, shouting abuse at the slow moving shoppers who had heeded the store closing announcements. He cannoned off one old lady, leaving her bewildered as to how she came to be sitting amongst her shopping bags. An unseen witness decided to take retribution with a neat ankle tap. Julian, with his left foot tangled behind his right leg, had no option but to hit the floor, putting out his hands to absorb the blow. He slid along the polished marble for five metres, coming to a halt looking up at the scuffed Doctor Marten boots of Sid, the owner of the music shop.
"Hey, Julian, it’s good to see you, man!" Though in his early sixties, Sid still spoke with the phraseology he had picked up in his youth whilst living the 'Sex, Drugs and Rock and Roll' dream in Southern California, or SoCal as he called it.
Picking himself up and rubbing his right hand, Julian replied. "Sid, the Gibson got trashed and I need a replacement. Now!"
"Oh man, I feel your pain. That Les Paul was a sweet axe. Look, come in tomorrow and I'll sort you out with something. I have a tired trade-in Epiphone that I could do a deal on."
"Tomorrow? Are you mad? You don't understand; I need it now! I'm gigging tonight."
"Julian, Julian, Julian.” Sid replied holding his hands out, palms towards Julian, trying to pacify the angry young man. “Be cool, man. I do understand. But I've shut up and the alarm is on a timer. I can't re-open till tomorrow even if I wanted to, and, hey, Candy and I have a hot date for tonight, don't we babe?"
For the first time Julian noticed the giggling, scantily clad, but well endowed, girl hanging on to the aging rocker's arm. Momentarily distracted from his anger, Julian jealously wondered what the older man possessed to get a babe forty years his junior when he himself was unable to find a girlfriend.
"Man, what have you done to your hand?" Sid pointed to Julian's hand that he was still subconsciously rubbing.
"Ah shit! I've bust a nail! That's all I need." In common with many guitarists, Julian kept the nails of his left hand short for accurate fretting of notes, but allowed those of his right hand to grow long to pluck the strings without needing a plastic plectrum.
Sid looked closely. "That's no problem man. You can repair a split like that with nail varnish. Borrow some from your girlfriend there."
"I'm no girlfriend of that little shit!" Sandra exclaimed as she caught up with Julian. "You could have seriously hurt that lady. You didn't even stop to see if she was alright."
"Yeah, yeah." Julian replied dismissively and started to walk slowly back to the mall entrance.
Incident Three
"Stop Looking and be Found" Proverbs
Trotting behind Julian, trying to keep up with him, Sandra asked. "No luck with the guitar then?"
Julian shook his head, and then stopped in his tracks. He was standing outside a small junk shop sandwiched between Sid's music shop and a chemist’s. He looked from the music store to the chemists and back. Surely they had always been adjacent, with nothing in between?
As he scanned, his subconscious guided his sight to something significant. In the junk shop window, emerging from behind displays of dusty stuffed animals, strange paper weights, intricately carved wooden boxes and many rings and bangles; he could see the neck of a guitar. He pressed his nose to the window for a better look, breath gently fogging the glass. The light coloured wood of the fret board had the lustre of an aging, loved instrument. The headstock had the distinctive shape of a Gibson. Pushing Sandra out of the way, he tried the door handle.
"That's the first bit of luck today." He exclaimed as the door opened. A bell jangled and a strong smell of incense assaulted his nose. The shop was dark, seeming only to be lit by the light coming through the grubby windows. Julian looked for a route past the odd stock to get to the window.
"Hurumph! Can I be of some assistance to you, young man?" The speaker had appeared silently. Startled, Julian looked around. An old man was seated in an even older chair; his feet, in carpet slippers, were resting on a stool; a black cat was purring contentedly on his lap, idly scratching at the old dressing gown worn by the old man until it was given a gentle push, whereupon it leapt nimbly to the floor, stretched and gave Julian a look full of resentment.
Julian found his voice. "I, I, I wanted to look at the guitar in your window... Please." he added when Sandra jabbed her elbow in his ribs.
"Ah yes. That’s a beautiful instrument with an interesting history."
Julian wasn't sure how it happened, or if it happened at all, but as the old man put out his hand, the room sort of shimmered and the guitar was within his reach. As he lifted it, Julian saw the body for the first time.
It was bright Barbie pink!
"Oh crap! Will you look at that?"
"Yes, an unusual finish but done to an impeccable standard by the manufacturer’s custom department."
"But PINK?"
"Ah, I see your problem young man. It would take a strong man or a special girl to stand on stage, playing it in front of an audience; but don’t worry about that, here, give it a try."
"Or a desperate one." Julian muttered under his breath as he took the offered guitar. He put his right foot on the proprietor's stool and nestled the body of the guitar on his thigh, the neck rested in the crook of his left hand, fingers experimentally feeling the weight of the strings. It felt right, just like his old one. Normally, no two instruments will play the same, but this one was the equal of his own. He strummed a chord. The strings were new and sounded bright, but not harsh. Some scales and then riffs, using the fingers of his left hand to pull the strings down, 'bending' the note. No, this wasn't the mere equal of his old guitar, it was much better. But pink.
"How much?" Julian asked, knowing the price for such quality should be well out of his reach.
"I should tell you that this instrument has some unusual quirks and may not be right for you."
"How much?" Julian repeated louder, dreading that the price would be realistic.
"Hmm,” The old man paused, looking thoughtfully at Julian, “maybe this is right for you after all. Let's call it fifty pounds."
Julian was speechless. Such an instrument should have cost at least a thousand, but here it was being offered within his budget, without even breaking into the gig money. He quickly dug though his pockets, coming up with a selection of worn notes.
The old man pulled himself out of the chair, re-knotting the cord of his dressing-gown before taking Julian's money. He smoothed the notes between his index and middle fingers and Julian could have sworn that the creases vanished leaving the notes like new. Vanishing is exactly what happened to the notes.
"There's a case for it somewhere, shouldn't be hard to find." The floor near Julian’s feet shimmered and there was the case, classic Gibson shape, in pristine condition and clearly never been gigged, but… coloured to match the instrument that had come from it. Julian gave it a second glance, the cloth covering hadn’t been painted; it was pink.
The old man stood rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a receipt already written, showing that Julian had paid fifty pounds for the guitar. “Young man, before you leave, it is required that I explain about the instrument.”
Julian snatched the receipt out of the store owners grasp. “It’s a guitar, a nice one, and now it’s my guitar. I don’t need to know anything else about it.” snarled Julian, backing out of the door.
Julian walked back through the arcade, past Sid’s shop, hoping the aging rocker was tucked up somewhere with his bimbo and wouldn’t see him carrying the pink guitar case.
Following Sandra back to her car he heard her muttering about “lucky” and “falling on his feet” although that is after the expletives have been removed!. He carefully placed the case inside the boot that Sandra held open for him.
Sandra climbed in, into the driver’s seat, waiting for Julian to get in the seat next to her and fasten his seatbelt before she pulled out of the parking space. An orange light on the dash started winking. “I need to get gas,” Sandra exclaimed, “otherwise we could get stuck and you won’t get to the gig at all” she added, before Julian could make a retort about not having time.
Incident Four
If it Doesn't Move, Paint it Grey
The petrol station was one of those big ones that sold petrol and everything from groceries to kindling, porn magazines to flowers and a few car accessories as a neglected sideline. Julian wandered in whilst Sandra battled with the heavy hose of the petrol pump. He looked at the car accessories and then selected three cans of aerosol paint. Instead of tucking them into his jacket and leaving as he would normally have done, he went to the checkout and cheerfully paid the assistant.
Julian removed his shabby leather jacket and left it on the back seat, before he took the guitar from its case and walked briskly to a dark corner where he propped it against a wall. Using the skill that had made no clean wall safe within a five mile radius of his home, he attacked the guitar. As the pinkness gave way to blue, green and red, a tear came to his eye; he sniffed and took a look at his handiwork. The guitar too seemed to be crying, tears of colour ran down the front of it, not just runs from over zealous use of the paint, Julian was too good to let that happen. However, the colours seemed to be running away, dripping on the floor as the pinkness was restored. Julian tried again, but the paint would not stick. The bright pink seemed to have the same effect as Teflon on a non-stick pan. He returned to the car and put the guitar back in its case in the boot, where it seemed to stare back at Julian with a smug look of satisfaction.
As they continued their journey back to the flat, Julian quietly said, “Sid reckoned that nail polish might fix my busted nail. Do you have any please?”
“There is some in my bag.” Sandra replied kindly, noting the ‘please’ in Julian’s request.
Julian pulled out the small bottle of clear liquid, put his foot on the dash and, bracing his hand on his knee, proceeded to apply the polish to his torn thumb nail. It flowed over the nail like a wave lapping on a beach, the split closed and healed, leaving no sign of it having been there. Julian looked at the nail; it now had a hard surface; he tested it against his thumb and found it was rigid. “This is cool stuff!” he exclaimed and thinking he could benefit from the added strength, proceeded to paint the remaining nails on his right hand and then without a good reason, those of his left hand too.
The varnish twinkled and seemed to flow around each nail in a hypnotic spiral that twisted faster and faster, slowly losing its transparency, and taking a pink hue which deepened. The apparent movement in the varnish slowed and by the time it had stopped it had become a shade of pink that exactly matched the new Gibson. Julian had watched this transformation with a look on his face that ranged from frightened, through bemused, and ended up serene when he shrugged as if it were a normal occurrence. He started humming and as his left hand fingered chords on an imaginary fret board, he tapped out a beat with his right thumb nail against his pursed lips. Unnoticed, the colour and gloss of his nail migrated to his lips. Sandra wasn’t aware that anything had occurred.
Brian and Georgina had man-handled all of the gig equipment on to the pavement and were preserving the precious parking space by standing in it whilst waving annoyed motorists on.
“You got a replacement?” Brian asked anxiously as Julian climbed out of the passenger seat.
“Yeah, a sweet axe, man.” Julian took the guitar from the car to show his friend. Brian made no comment about the colour, but congratulated Julian on the luck that had passed ownership to him.
Julian took a look at the pile of gear on the pavement and then at his watch. “We need to hustle, guys, we only just have time for one trip and I can’t imagine all this will fit in the car.”
“We’ll take the instruments, amps, and cables as a priority and see what else will fit in.” Brian replied, lifting his amp in as he spoke. Julian put the pink case in next. Unseen, sparks flashed between it and the amplifier, the amplifier concertinaed to a thin package as did the keyboard the Brian pushed in. The boys lifted in the mixing desk, not noticing how little space was being taken up.
As Julian went to pick up one of the PA speakers he passed Georgina who was sorting through a pile of cables. “Hey, Georgina, good job! Please could you tuck them into any spare spaces around the amps?”
Surprised at his politeness, Georgina smiled at him, took off her jacket and placed it with Julian’s on top of the pink case in the back seat of the car, before working with a will to move all the odds and ends needed for the gig from pavement to car. A smell of warm leather would have been apparent had anyone lingered more than a few seconds behind the car.
The pavement was clear, the car more than full. The four climbed in and Sandra drove to the venue.
Incident Five
If it Looks Like a Duck...
The university had been built in the 1970s as a polytechnic, which was upgraded to Uni status during the 1990s. The sports hall where the ball was taking place had been an extension built during the poly’s tenth year. Red brick with infilling panels of faded blue; internal exposed steel beams supported the flat roof and doubled as gantries for the lighting. An entrance lobby with smoked glass was at one end. A big rugby player cum bouncer stood by the door, arms folded across his chest covering a blue sweatshirt upon which was emblazoned ‘UB Dangerous Sports Club — Handle with Care’; unblinking dark eyes peering from below a heavy brow dared anyone to come past him.
Sandra pulled up outside; Brian climbed out and approached the bouncer. “We are the band, can we take our gear through please?”
Georgina joined Brian. “Brian, this is Stan, he’s on the organising committee too. Stan, this is Brian, the keyboard player, that’s Julian the guitarist and my sister Sandra”
Stan’s face broke into a wide friendly smile. “Great to see you all. I was beginning to get a bit worried about not having any music tonight.” He passed among them shaking hands. “Pleased to meet you, Brian; Hey, Sandra, great you can be here; Julia, nice to meet you too, babe.”
Julian felt confused. Had Stan just called him ‘Julia’ and ‘babe’? He had the feeling he should be insulted, but that didn’t seem right, as it must have been said as a complement. He shrugged and helped the others carry the gear inside, but each time he passed the big man, he had the feeling he was being watched with more than professional interest.
An hour later and the stage was set up. The student party goers are enjoying their meal and Brian and Julian are in a back room. Julian has sat on Brian’s stool and predictably nestled his guitar on his lap to play scales whilst talking through the play list.
“We should play Sultans of String last, and then people might not notice the middle eight when you miss the key change… again!” Brian joked.
Julian laughed. “OK. But I don’t think you will get away with programming a ten minute Ginger Baker solo into the drum machine. Still, we would be able to get to the bar and back before it’s over.” He scratched his groin vigorously. “I don’t know why you were calling me Numb Nuts earlier, but it certainly feels like they are at the moment! These trousers seem much tighter than they should be too.”
Brian looked at his colleague. “You look fine to me, Julian. Pretty good actually!” A low whistle escaped from his lips.
That sounded wrong to Julian. His friend was paying him a compliment and that whistle..., was he coming on to him?
Georgina put her head around the door. Doing a poor imitation of Bogart’s voice she encouraged them, “OK boys, it’s time. You’re going to go out there as unknowns, but you’ll come back as stars.” She ducked out laughing as the lads pelted her with beer mats.
Julian picked up his jacket and pulled it on. The waist seemed tight, but across his chest it had become loose. “Georgina!” He shouted after her. ”Have you swapped our jackets over?”
She looked back into the room, a confused look on her face. “Of course I haven’t. Why would I want that smelly thing of yours? It’s probably a health hazard.”
Julian looked down at his jacket again. It was definitely his. He took it off and put it back on, a look of confusion on his face. He wriggled about a bit and shrugged his shoulders trying to get the jacket settled comfortably. It started to fit better, though the exercise must have made him warm; his chest and stomach felt hot. He picked up the pink Gibson and high fived his friend. “Let’s do it!” He hadn’t noticed the collar of his t-shirt had stretched and descended showing more of his chest than before, the collar blurred and sharpened again, simple white had become a delicate lace design. His flat chest had melded and immature breasts were now forming.
As Julian followed Brian, he felt a shooting pain through both of his Achilles tendons. He found he could only avoid the pain by walking on his toes, even though the 16 hole Doctor Martens boots laced to the knee make his ankles feel uncomfortable. ‘I hope this eases off, I’m going to be on my feet for the next hour.’ he thought.
The two made their way onto the stage. The tables and chairs had been cleared away and the students were hanging around the stage expectantly. One person started it, but quickly all the others joined in. “We want the band! We want the band!” They chanted.
Brian slouched into his position behind the keyboards; smiling nervously. Julian joined him, picking up the open end of the lead he had left ready on the amp and plugged it into his guitar. He waved to Georgina, who had had a crash course in PA systems the day before, to ‘crank up the volume’ as Brian had put it. He gave a brief smile to Brian and stepped towards his microphone. The chanting abated.
“HELLO, BAISINGSTOKE!” Julian cried, his forced smile crumbled as his voice came out with a high squeaking pitch. He was about to look at Brian for help, but Brian had already started off the programmed drum track. The simulated drum sticks counted in the rhythm. No choice but to get on with it.
That first power chord was perfect. Oh what a sweet instrument this was. The chord changes came out slickly, and the intermediate finger picking sections had a crisp resonance. For a short time Julian lost himself in the pleasure of making music, but all too soon he had to join Brian in singing the lyrics. He took a breath ready to sing again, unsure what would come out. He thought his voice still sounded high, but he was singing in tune. His second thought was to enjoy the moment and sing his heart out.
Incident Six
“See things from the boy's point of view” Sir Robert Baden-Powell
Stan stood by the rear fire exit. His job was simple. Stop anyone coming in, keep the exit clear and open the doors if there was an emergency. Stan liked this event. Invited guests only, so no unsavoury types, well actually that was difficult to quantify as there were first years there. His position gave him a good view over the crowd, who, now that the music had started had settled into the usual pattern. Music aficionados were pushing against the stage, dancers jigging in the middle and the romantics in the darker areas around the edges and back of the hall.
Looking over the heads of the audience, Stan viewed the band, well, more of a duo, than a band. He knew that their hiring was slightly nepotistic, with Georgina dating the keyboard player, but they were cheap and the crowd seemed happy with their playing. Stan couldn’t work out what Georgina saw in Brian. He was a fairly forgettable bloke, not that Stan was qualified to make such judgements. However, the guitarist, well; she was most memorable and not hard on the eyes at all, that’s for sure!
An old man came in through the fire door, taking from the pocket of his dressing gown a piece of card on which was written in brown crayon ‘Access All Areas’. He said. “Here’s my invitation, Stanley. How’s the band tonight?”
Stan nodded “Fine.”, only vaguely aware of the man’s presence and not realising the stranger had referred to him by name.
He went back to thinking about the guitarist. He really liked the way she filled those tight jeans, which were tucked into stiletto heeled boots. The black leather jacket, over a tee shirt was unzipped almost to the waist and only just contained her well endowed breasts. Stan couldn’t remember her looking that good as she’d helped her friends carry the gear into the hall.
He wondered if she was available, obviously she wasn’t going out with Brian because Stan didn’t think Georgina would stand for any three-in-a-bed scenarios. He decided it might be worth his while finding out if she could possibly be interested in him.
As Brian cued up the drum machine for the last piece of the night Julian approached his microphone and spoke to the audience for the first time since his introduction.
“Hello, Basingstoke,” After singing for the last hour, he had become used to the new pitch of his voice. “We’re coming to the end now and hope you have enjoyed our performance.” Cheers from the crowd. “I hope the organising committee are sufficiently impressed to invite us back.” He smiled and waved to Georgina who blushed. “But perhaps they might pay us next time!”
Laughs and a call from some unseen person near the back “I’d pay you anytime, darling!”
Julian hesitated, wondering who out there would call him ‘darling’ and offer to pay him, presumably for sex. He peered out into the audience but could only make out the first couple of rows because of the stage lights. However he did see one face he recognised and was very surprised that it was the old man from the junk shop, a big smile on his face and he gave a little salute to show he had seen Julian’s recognition. For the last time that evening the drum machine started up and counted them in, Brian came in on cue. Julian watched the old man clap to the rhythm and begin dancing in his carpet slippers, clearly enjoying himself.
The last chord rang out and faded, to be replaced by cheers from the crowd.
“Thank you, Basingstoke, and goodnight!”
The lights went down and the party goers all shuffled out, leaving the organisers to tidy up and the band to put away all their gear.
“How come there is more stuff going back than we brought?” Brian exclaimed after trying a third combination for packing the car.
“Don’t worry, we’ll do two trips.” Sandra replied. “First trip we’ll take your stuff to your room and we’ll do the second trip to Julian’s. He needs to move the rest of it to out of the hall before the the caretaker threatens to increase the hire cost of the hall if he couldn’t lock up on time. He’s done it before.”
Julian nodded acceptance to this plan and went back to look dismally at the remaining gear.
“I’ll stay and help you, Julia.” Julian looked around to see the broad chest of Stan the bouncer. “I’m surprised Brian didn’t stay to make sure you were all right. Shall I just coil these leads up?”
“Thanks. That’s really helpful. Brian has to shift the other stuff out of the car at the other end, so it’s the only way.” Julian went to pick up the Marshall amp and felt a pain in his Achilles that made him totter.”
“Whoa, I’ll get that, babe.” Stan exclaimed. “You shouldn’t try lifting that sort of weight, especially not in those heels! You watch the gear outside and I’ll move the rest.”
‘Heels? Babe? He called me Babe again. But it doesn’t sound nasty when he does. Odd that.’ Julian mused as he watched the heavy amp lifted down from the stage as if it were a paper bag. Before heading out to the entrance, he carefully picked up the Gibson and respectfully put it into the pink case. “That was the best, thanks, Pinkie.”’ he said, then thought ‘I’m talking to a guitar; they’ll be locking me away.’
Incident Seven
Two's Company
Stan had made short work moving the amplifiers, and with the hall empty and now locked, they stood outside in the orange light of the sodium street lighting, waiting for the car.
Feeling awkward in the giant’s company, Julian nervously started a conversation. “What’s with the dangerous sports club, Stan?”
“It’s a college club. We do lots of unusual sports, that many would consider, erm, foolhardy, if not crazy.”
“It says ‘champion’ on your shirt, what was that in?”
Stan looked embarrassed. “Erm, actually I’m college Extreme Ironing champion.”
Before the glint in Julian’s eye could become outright laughter, Stan changed the subject. “So, er, Julia; are you seeing anyone at the moment?” he asked hesitantly.
“No, Stan, I don’t seem to be able to attract anyone,” Julian replied, wondering if Stan was gay, or for some reason he thought Julian a girl — what a ridiculous idea!
A girl; with pink nails, long hair and pink lips, tight jeans tucked into high heeled boots; the lace of her round necked t-shirt framing an impressive cleavage all under a form-fitting leather jacket . Yes, a ridiculous idea.
“Maybe once we have cleared everything back to your place we could go out for a drink. Um, a post gig drink, I mean all of us.” Stan went on, too nervous to ask outright for a date.
Julian shivered, the November chill getting past his jacket. He wrapped his arms around himself to keep in some warmth.
Sensing Julian’s discomfort, Stan risked all and put an arm around her. Without thinking about it, Julia accepted the comfort and snuggled in close.
Stan talked more about ironing whilst hanging from cliff faces, Julia spoke about her music. Neither mentioned their close proximity. They were still close when the car arrived for the second load.
“Hi, Guys! Everything alright?” Sandra asked, a surprised look on her face as she looked curiously at the embracing couple.
“Sure. Everything is fine. I’ll get this stuff in to the car. Stand back.” Stan replied, easily hoisting the amplifier and case containing the PA system. “Look, there isn’t room for the five of us in the car. I’ll follow you in my car. Want to ride with me, Julia?”
Incident Eight
What the Dickens?
Julia woke up slowly, a light but persistent tapping coming from the door of the bedsit. She had had a poor sleep with dreams both troubled and happy. The dream about being an arrogant slob had been awful, but the dream about being bedded by Stan was… No, wait a moment; that was no dream, she thought as she lay back, she recalled how Stan had come in after the pub, how together they had cleaned up the room whilst they chatted about nothing much, then he had taken her into his arms and looked deeply into her eyes, and she had just nodded, a smile on her face. She remembered the gentle passion he had shown and the sheer ecstasy of the orgasm when it came. Oh wow!
The tapping hadn’t stopped.
She rubbed her eyes before pulling on a robe she found at the end of the bed and then stumbled to the door, pulling it open to be confronted by the old man complete with dressing gown and cat.
“Hello, Julia,” He cheerfully greeted her. “I thought I would save you the trouble of dropping back to the shop with the guitar by coming to collect it.”
“Wha’? What are you on about and how do you know where I live?” Julia blurted out.
“The rental period is over so I came to retrieve my property” The man replied. “Look here is my copy of the receipt.”
Julia read the receipt he offered, then looked through her handbag, ‘where did that come from’ she mused. She compared her copy and sure enough both said the guitar was only rented for the night and charge had been fifty pounds.
“Surely you didn’t think you were buying it, did you? An instrument like this would cost two or three thousand pounds! Even fifty to hire for the night is still a bargain.”
Reluctantly, Julia picked up the pink guitar case and handed over to the old man. He opened the lid and checked the content.
“I had another reason for coming this morning,“ The man continued. “Normally, I would let fate take her well worn path, but in your case I’m wondering if I should intervene.”
“I’m confused. Who are you with this talk about changing fate?”
“Well, where should I start? I suppose if this were a story written by Dickens, I would have come three times, but the morning is too short for that, so I’m the ghost of Christmas past, Christmas present and Christmas to come all rolled into one. Oh, and I’m a month or so early.
“I tried to explain about the guitar as I’m supposed to, but you wouldn’t listen and to be honest I didn’t try too hard. Because of that I’ve decided to give you a choice.”
“Come with me and look in the mirror.” He guided Julia by the shoulder to the full length mirror screwed to the wall next to the door. ”What do you see, Julia?”
“Well, my hair could do with a good brushing, some make up would help and more sleep would probably get rid of the dark patches under my eyes.”
“So you see a girl. Good. Now, what I should have insisted that you hear, is that the guitar is more than a beautiful instrument. It is magical and has the ability to make more that beautiful music. It can also make beautiful people.
“This is how you looked yesterday and what you were doing”
The magician touched the mirror, it surface shimmered like mercury, Julia’s image broadened like some fairground attraction, then, though the edge of the mirror remained molten, the reflection in the center steadied and showed Julian’s image.
Julia took a sharp intake of breath and exclaimed “Him! He is the person I turned into in my dream, no, the nightmare I had last night.”
“Far from it, Julia. It is he from whom you have been born.” The wizard replied. He touched the shimmering edge of the mirror again, stirring the liquid and the image changed, and started to show events from Julian’s life. Knocking the old lady down, the names he called people, stealing sweets and cheating his friends. “Probably, this is the first time you have seen yourself as others see you. Do you like what you see?”
“That was me?” Julia whimpered and then slumped. She had to be supported by the wizard, tears coming to her eyes.
“The guitar has worked its magic on you, But it has seen that the beauty in you is feminine and made the changes necessary.
“None of your friends have noticed you changing. If they came in now they would still see the old Julian and interpret his behaviour, however nice the new you tried to be, as just what they would have expected from him. However, people whom you have met since, such as, what was his name?” The wizard paused as if for thought, a twinkle in his eye. “Ah yes, the handsome Stanley. They would only have seen the new you and likewise interpreted all your actions as good and true.”
“But I can’t have been him… that, that horrid person.” Julia cried.
“Sadly, you were.” The wizard snapped his fingers. Suddenly Julian’s personality joined Julia’s in the one body.
“You changed me! How could you.” He spat at the wizard.
Ignoring the venom of Julian’s outburst the old man continued. “Unlike Dickens’ ghosts I will give you two visions of the future. It’s a sort of ‘buy one, get one free’ offer. After you have seen them, I’m going to offer you a choice.
“Firstly, let’s take a look at Julian. He would become very successful.” Again the wizard touched the mirror, waving his hand up and down. The image of Julian changed again. Gone were the leather jacket and jeans, replaced by a sharp suit. Leaning on his arm was a young woman dressed, Julia judged, in top designer clothes; her figure would make a catwalk model jealous. Behind them were the trappings of wealth. A large house with Ferrari and Range Rover parked outside. A couple of children were ignored as they played in front of the house. The woman looked distracted. “The children are from the first marriage, she is number three. One and two both took generous settlements as soon as they could. He knows no love. His wives only marry him for his money and many times he has paid prostitutes for sex, even whilst married.
“In short he hasn’t changed, making money at the expense of friendship and loyalty.”
Julian looked at the future version of himself. The eyes were hard, chin jutting forward aggressively but perhaps that face was a sham, maybe it was hiding sadness.
Reading Julian’s thoughts the old man continued. “Yes, he is very sad. You see, he knows what he is. He knows he leaves a trail of destroyed relationships, yet he has no willpower to change and to do what is right.”
“That is enough of that!” He pulled his hand away from the mirror. “That is far too maudlin for this time in the morning. Let us now see what Julia has in her future. It is much more interesting.” Again the wizard rested his hand on the mirror surface then moved it from left to right. The fluidity of the mirror returned and once again the reflection settled. It showed a small, spartan, but clean flat. Julia was sitting in a chair looking as tired as the old clothes she wore. An infant sat on her lap gurgling as it looked into its mother’s eyes. The smile it saw was filled with love. The caress showed warmth, even through the cold image of the mirror.
A man entered, his face indistinct, but Julia could tell that there was a love filled smile there. He came to Julia and gently kissed her on the lips, and then as he pulled away, she put her hand to his cheek and returned the kiss.
“Now there is a heart-warming scene.” The wizard cooed. “Now, we need to move on. Normally, once the guitar has done its work that is it. However as I said before, I’m concerned you didn’t know the details of what you were hiring. So for my piece of mind I am offering you a choice. Is it to be Julian or Julia from now forward? It is that simple, but once the decision is made, there is no possibility of changing your mind. Then your pasts will be re-built on your chosen personality, your friends will have always know that person and their traits.
The wizard snapped his fingers again. The conjoined personalities of Julia and Julian started making their cases, both taking opposing views.”
“Julia, It’s got to be me.” Julian’s personality insisted. “It’s better to be a man in this world. Men have the power, make decisions and take control. Compare our lives; the house and flat; the cars and clothes. We both are going to have kids so no difference there. You are going to be poor and tired. I will be rich and live in the lap of luxury. The money will make up for everything else.”
Julia’s personality reflected on both futures and the people they contained. “You don’t look happy. Those children are as much trophies as the women. You don’t look loved, Julian. Last night I felt loved maybe for the first time, I can’t see if that is Stanley in my future, but whoever it is I know he will love me for what I am, not the wealth I can bring. The child will bring me joy. Joy, do you know what that really means?
“Julian, you only love yourself and you will never receive another’s love. Old man, sir. Please let it be me?”
“Sold to the lady wearing the robe! You have chosen for the right reasons.” The wizard exclaimed. The personality of Julian started to leave, “You should know, Julia, that the visions are not fully detailed. Oh, yes, you will have love in your future, but with whom, that is unknown. Do not be complacent. I know you have a depth of character now that will strive for more. The flat and clothes? Well, who knows? That may only be a temporary situation. Do not be complacent; your future is still an unwritten book.”
Julia relaxed; the stress of arguing with her former alter ego left her. “Mister, I don’t suppose you would want to do a deal on the guitar? Maybe I can pay for it in instalments?”
The old man laughed as he rummaged in the pockets of his dressing gown. “No, I’m sorry, the instrument stays the property of Spells ’R’ Us. I have however been discussing your situation with my customs and repairs department. I think you will find your own instrument now plays every bit as nicely as this one.”
“Thank you, that’s very kind, but would I be asking too much if it could be pink?”
My thanks go to Puddintine, for giving encouragement and correcting my grammar.
A little bit of nonsense about what I get up to when I’m working away from home.
I’m sitting in the bathroom of my hotel room; the illuminated magnifying mirror lit and in position. I look at my face, studying my eye brow closely.
Which one?
This one. Its just a little tidying. I aim the tweezers carefully, selecting the innocent, almost invisible hair. I release it and look again. No. Its fine, no one will ever notice.
Its going to go!
The tweezers go in again, they know their target now, and get a good grip. Looking in the mirror I gently start to apply pressure. Nothing happens. I increase the force; the tweezers move away from the skin I can see the hair stretching.
Its coming out!
I pull harder with triumph, the tweezers move quickly away from my face. Yes!
No.
The hair is still there, looking a little twisted, battle hardened maybe.
Hurumph!
Once more the tweezers go in. I grip hard, my knuckles lightening with the effort. There will be no prisoners this time. I pull, again I see the hair appear between skin and tweezer, is it slipping again? It must be, there is so much of it. Undeterred, I grip harder and pull. It slides out.
Theeeeow!
I look at the folicle. How deep is the root on that? It must have gone down to my skull!
I study my face again. I can’t see where the hair was. I can’t see any difference.
Good.
If I can’t see the difference when I know what I have done, no one else will. I’ll be safe from embarrassment.
I can’t see any difference and that makes me sad.
Audrey Cooper
October 2009.