Global Synthetic Developments UK Ltd. (GSD) is a fictitious UK company that will feature in a number of my stories.

A number of stories are in the course of being written, and will appear as and when they are complete. I, like many readers, am frustrated when I get into a story, only to have it discontinued through unforseen circumstances.

I have provided a profile of the company and its head Office, so that readers can see how events and people in the stories relate to one another.

GSD (UK) Ltd manufactures a range of recycled plastic building materials and components. The company was founded ten years ago by John Andrews and Billy Edleston; they are now multi-millionaires and still own the company, which has grown rapidly.

Factories are located in Southern Scotland, the West Midlands and Northern Ireland; there are distribution warehouses at the factories. All other functions are undertaken at Head Office, which is a ten storey, bronze mirror-glass ring-doughnut-shaped building on the edge of a town near the South coast of England. The building is surrounded by attractive gardens and has seating and a garden in the middle of the ‘doughnut’, which staff may use at break times. The basement houses a staff car park. Visitor parking is immediately adjacent to main reception.

All floors and the underground staff car park are served by four lifts, three in reception and one opposite. Drink vending machines are in the main lift lobbies of all floors except on the ground floor, where there is a coffee lounge attached to the staff restaurant.

The whole building and site is disabled-friendly, with wheelchair ramps and grab rails where required, electric doors and accessible facilities.

Floor allocation:
B — Staff Car Park
G — Reception, Main Security Office, Building plant, Restaurant, Coffee Lounge, Kitchen
1 — Building Admin, Engineers, Security services for head office and other locations, Legal Services
2 — Distribution, Fleet Management
3 — Design, Medical Suite
4 — Product Development, Warranty
5 — Premises, Real Estate Management
6 — Marketing, Asset Management
7 — HR, Personnel, Finance
8 — IT (Management, Technical Support, Networking, Database Admin, Security Admin, Helpdesk
9 — Corporate Suite and other Corporate Functions
10 — Building Plant

A road traffic accident forces Alan Taylor to retire early. As a result of his injuries he uses crutches and a mobility scooter. He loves meeting people and jumps at the chance to join a welcome team at the new Health Centre. One of the people that he helps has much more to offer than he could ever suspect.

DISCLAIMER AND COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

This is a work of adult fiction. There are no references to anyone who has ever lived, is alive now or has passed on. Licence has been taken with the way UK charities that provide assistance dogs to disabled people actually work: offence is definitely not intended.

This work is copyright: no reproduction in any form, except for personal perusal, is permitted without express permission of the author.
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“Hello, Alan,” a cheerful voice called from the doorway.

I dourly sat in my scooter chair wondering what I had let myself in for as a volunteer member of the welcome team for the new Health Centre.

By the look of the place, someone had obviously found a lot of money. Lots of glass and fancy new bricks, plenty of stainless steel and electric doors told you, even before you got inside, that a lot of your Income Tax had been spent. When you did get inside, it was huge; you could almost fit half a football pitch into the ground floor reception area alone. My first thought when I saw it was that they could have done so much more with the space. But, hey, what do I know about designing buildings?

I love the smell of new paint — when it’s dry of course — and someone had obviously used gallons of the stuff just on the woodwork alone. A well-chosen collection of prints adorned the walls, breaking up a potentially stark emulsion finish. Their interior designers clearly knew their stuff and had made the place as bright and cheerful, but warm and welcoming, as any modern building could be.

I glanced up to see two of my neighbours, Liz and Bernie Harris, looking decidedly lost -- not surprising really in that cavern. Twenty years ago Beccy and I moved in next door to them as newly-weds and we became and remained firm friends. They’d been absolutely wonderful to us during Beccy’s last couple of years.

Newly-weds? Well, that’s what we had told everyone — it was easier that way and no one questioned it.

“Hello.” I greeted them warmly, both as friends and in my official capacity. “Where are you headed?”

“We’re both here to see Doctor Fowler,” Liz said smiling down at me, “but we seem to be about half an hour early.” She looked around, as if she had misplaced something. “Do you have any idea where we go?”

I felt my back straighten a bit as I puffed myself up to respond. I was there to help ease the transition from the old surgery to the large, sparkling new building, to act as a human signpost and to generally be the smiling, helpful face of the Health Trust. “When you’re ready, just go up in the lift, turn right, and check in at the desk.” I pointed towards the lift doors. “Well, since you’re so early it looks like you get to sample our new café then. You’ll get a good cup of tea over there.” I indicated in the direction of the Health Centre’s refreshment area.

“It’s good to see you out and about, Alan Taylor,” Bernie said patting my shoulder. “You’ve had a bit of a go lately.”

I shrugged. “It’s my first day on the job, coming out of retirement, but so far I like it. There’s no pay involved, but it gets me out of the house and I get to do something useful. I’ve really missed that.”

Liz brightened her already sunny face. “It should be fun helping the patients.”

“Patients,” I scoffed, “that’s a funny name for someone waiting to see a doctor or nurse. Many of them aren’t very patient; and I’m very sure that they’d all rather be somewhere else, doing something other than sitting and waiting their turn.”

“How long has it been since your accident?” Bernie asked, seemingly uninterested in the cafe and determined to pass their waiting time chatting with me.

“Not long enough, evidently.” I went on to explain that the insurance issues still hadn’t been settled, if they ever would be. “You’d think when some nutcase in a white van hurtles out of a side road and broadsides your car into the path of an oncoming cement lorry masquerading as a concrete wall, the cause of the accident would be easy to determine. That should be especially true when that driver wasn’t concentrating on what he was doing. The police told me that he reeked of booze and had been talking on his mobile phone.”

Liz sighed to commiserate with me. Bernie checked his watch.

“So here I am,” I went on, “at the ripe old age of fifty-two and with two legs that no longer work properly. My career and my own business are over. No more running all over the South of England sorting out other people’s computer problems. No legs, no car, no job.” I slapped the handle of my scooter. “If you haven’t got a job when you’re forty, you struggle. If you’re legless and over fifty, forget it.”

“You had it pretty good,” Liz agreed. “Your own business . . . doing something you enjoyed and were good enough at to make a pretty penny. That was sweet.”

“Sweet and gone,” I said with a frown. “Like Beccy.”

Their faces dropped at the sound of her name. Three years after her death from cancer, it seemed enough time had finally gone by so I could safely talk about her. That didn’t stop me thinking about her every day.

Suddenly Liz’s face lit up. “When I think of Beccy and you I always have a picture in my mind of the two of you dancing.”

I nodded. “That’s how we met, you know. I couldn’t believe my luck when someone as gorgeous as Beccy accepted my invitation to dance at the club. Imagine a swan like Beccy with an ugly duckling like me.”

Bernie laughed. “We all get lucky now and then.” He hugged Liz, who grinned like she’d just been given a Christmas present.

Forty-two years married, two successful children, five lovely grandchildren and a decent pension: to me, they really did have it all. Liz interrupted my train of envious thought.

“You and Beccy made such a lovely couple,” she bubbled. “It’s a shame you never had children.”

- It wasn’t possible. Despite all that, I had loved her and looked after her -

“She was a dream come true and I considered myself very fortunate indeed. After she died, I threw myself into my work; there was nothing else. Then the crash took even that away.”

They both nodded. Bernie patted my shoulder again, as he checked his watch once more. “We’d better move on to see Dr. Fowler, but it’s wonderful to see you out and about.”

They waved as the lift doors closed.

I studied my map of the place, wanting to be prepared for any question.

- I’ve always been a people person and this volunteer work looks very promising -

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed someone else heave into view. “Can I help?” I enquired, smiling.

I directed the young mother-to-be to the antenatal clinic which, miraculously, some bright spark had put on the ground floor. I smiled ruefully to myself.

- “Heave” is right; she must be near her time; she looks all in, poor love - I thought again, wistfully, of Beccy and our childless relationship. - Still, we’d had each other -

Half-way through the morning I gratefully took a cup of coffee from Heather, another of the welcome team, and almost immediately ended up nearly wearing it when something cold and wet shoved its way under my other elbow. I looked around and was confronted by a large black head with two huge eyes, behind which was a substantial black dog. I was just about to call for someone to escort the animal to the exit when I noticed the bright yellow harness. The dog wagged its tail like a small wind pump and continued to regard this odd creature who insisted upon sitting in its strange chair. My gaze roved upwards to meet the unseeing eyes of the dog’s owner — and my heart missed a beat.

The woman was of medium height, looked to be about forty and had a lovely smile. Her shoulder-length auburn hair framed an oval face. I still missed my Beccy and this woman looked uncannily like her — before cancer destroyed my world. I tried to compose myself and be more ‘with it’ -- but this was just like seeing a ghost.

“Hello, I’m…I’m Alan, one of the welcome team,” I eventually managed to say, albeit somewhat shakily. “Can I help you? I’d be quite happy to guide you where you need to go.”

“Hello Alan, yes please,” she said with a lovely Welsh lilt. That accent again.

“Can you please direct me to Doctor Johnson? As this is our first visit, Honey here hasn’t yet got her route worked out in her mind, but I’m sure that she’ll be okay after we’ve been a few times. Mind you, she retires in a few months, so I’ll have to go through the same routine with a new dog.”

Her clothes and jewellery showed good taste. - She’s wearing a wedding ring and I can’t quite understand why I feel sad about that -

“All the doctors’ rooms are on the first floor; I’ll take you up if you like,” I offered.

“Thanks. That would be a great help.”

I arranged for someone else to watch the front door for me, and then invited her to hold onto the back of the scooter while I rode slowly over to the lift. Honey padded along beside me, nudging me with her nose from time to time as if to keep me on task; the woman followed, gliding gracefully with a familiar stride. I kept up a running commentary; which lift buttons to push, which way to turn and so on. After helping them to check in with Dr. Johnson’s receptionist, I returned to the ground floor reception and thought about our encounter.

I shuddered a little. I’d heard of a blast from the past, and I just didn’t know what to think.

- Get a grip, Alan; everyone is supposed to have a double somewhere in the world. -

Then I got to thinking about the problems faced by disabled people in general. I knew that the Health Centre — all wide open space and big black on yellow direction signs - was supposed to be disabled-friendly but wondered, if the welcome team hadn’t been there, how she would have found her way about. She looked quite resourceful though and I’ve no doubt that Honey would have things sorted before too long.

Some half-an-hour later I heard the lift “ping” and saw woman and dog emerging. I called to Honey and was again rewarded with a small wind-pump impression. The woman smiled and they both headed towards me.

“Thanks for your help,” she said; her smile lit up the whole of reception as far as I was concerned. I wanted to spend more time with her if it was possible and before I knew it, I was asking her what arrangements she had made for getting home. I somehow didn’t want to let her go so easily but was wary that a husband might be collecting her.

She pressed a button on her wrist and her watch told her it was 11:43. “Oh, drat! I’ve just missed the bus and they’re every half-hour.”

I surprised myself with “There’s a good café here. Can I buy you a tea or coffee?” and was even more surprised by her responding smile.

“Yes please; that’s very kind of you.”

I could have sworn I saw that dog grin. I certainly did.

We headed for the café, with her again holding onto the back of my scooter and Honey, tail swishing from side to side, walking beside me.

When we were settled with our drinks she held out her hand and introduced herself.

“Hello, I’m Megan Williams, thanks again for your help.”

“Alan Taylor. Pleased to meet you and very happy to help.” I gently but firmly took her beautifully manicured hand in mine.

“I don’t mean to pry but what is your mobility problem?”

I told her about the accident and having to give up work. I told her what I’d done for a living.

“Can you still drive?”

“I could, if it were adapted for hand controls, though I don’t need one at the moment. The other one got smashed up in the crash that did for my legs; I’m still waiting for the insurance to pay out. I ride around town on the scooter and can get more or less anywhere on it. I get around the house on two legs and two crutches. Just.”

“Could you work from home?”

“I suppose so, not the same job though; I hadn’t thought that much about it. The accident happened last year and, to be honest, I’m still feeling a bit sorry for myself. I lost my wife to cancer a few years ago and the spark went out of my life. I guess I’m just being a bit lazy but I can’t seem to get motivated.”

She was obviously a good listener as I found myself tempted to share things I thought lie buried.

“What about you? “What happened to your sight?”

“I was born nearly blind. I expect that they could now do more to fix the problem, but in 1956 things were quite a bit more primitive. My mum nearly died in childbirth so I suppose I got off light.”

- No way is this woman fifty years of age; it’s as well that she can’t see my goldfish impression - I asked about Honey.

“She’s my third dog. She’s ten years old in a few months and officially retires. They tell me I can have another dog but I’d like to keep Honey as well. I just don’t know at the moment whether or not I can.”

“Why not?”

“I live on my own. The children are grown and have left home and my husband left a couple of years ago. Mid-life crisis.” She shrugged.

- Someone should thump the bloke -

I asked if she worked.

“I’m a trained counsellor; relationships and so on. Daft really as I couldn’t save my own.”

That covered a multitude of possibilities but she didn’t elaborate and I didn’t pry.

One thing I did know. She was far too pretty to be alone: - someone ought to snap her up - I thought about making a move in that direction. How she would handle the matter of my past, though, I dreaded to think. And there was also the matter of her resemblance to my Beccy; how could I see her again if I was always reminded of Beccy every time?

All too soon, she consulted her talking watch.

“Oh well, I’d best head for the bus.”

We drained our cups. On impulse I found a piece of paper and a pen and wrote down my mobile phone number. I really didn’t want to lose touch with this woman. I offered her the paper and she laughingly pointed out that she wouldn’t be able to read it, but said that she would get her daughter to program it into her phone. My heart did a little dance.

“Look,” I said, hesitantly, “could we meet sometime; say for coffee or lunch?”

“Yes, I’d like that - you’ve been very kind and I can sense that Honey likes you; she’s a good judge of people.”

“Well, I’d love to get to know you better - if you’d let me, that is.”

She smiled and again offered her hand, which I took. Then she took me by surprise by telling me her mobile number.

On impulse, I gave Honey a little rub behind the left ear and mouthed ”thank you” to her as they bade their farewells and left the building.

I couldn’t settle much over the next few days and spent quite a bit of time at the Health Centre, just to take my mind off things. Early the next week, and not without some trepidation, I phoned Megan.

“Hello, its Alan Taylor, we met at the Health Centre last week. I wondered if you were free for lunch one day soon.”

“Hello Alan, I’d like that.”

We made the arrangements; I would meet her in town at a little place near the shopping centre. I could easily get there on my scooter.

She was on time and I had smartened up a bit with my best jacket, shirt and trousers. I didn’t want to show her up; I know she couldn’t see me but I didn’t want anyone to think that I hadn’t made an effort. And anyway, I irrationally suspected that Honey would drop me in it if my standards slipped.

‘The Lunchbox’ was more than just a café: they did an excellent English and Italian menu. It was a bright, lively place, very popular with business people, and the tablecloths, napkins and décor gave more than a hint of the Mediterranean. The staff were Italian and the selection and quality of their pasta dishes meant that a reservation was essential.

Subtle Italian background music met you at the door — nowhere near as loud and intrusive as in many eating places you find these days; that in itself made a refreshing change. The pavement outside was wide enough for continental-type tables and chairs if the weather behaved itself. That day it didn’t. It was grey and overcast so I found Megan at an inside table.

She wore a pretty top and skirt and a short jacket was draped around a chair. The waitress made room for me to drive my scooter directly into the restaurant. I walked the few steps to the table with the aid of my crutches.
Honey greeted me by nudging my leg; I patted her and said hello to Megan. She smiled when I gave her a peck on the cheek.

The smell of bolognaise sauce had my stomach rumbling well before I’d made it to the table so that decided my lunch for the day. Megan chose something much less messy — very wise. I had the greatest admiration for this woman who seemed to just get on with life, despite what it had thrown at her.

The conversation ranged over many subjects. Over dessert, she surprised me with, “Are you interested in a job?”

I was stunned, and spluttered, “But…how…my legs…?”

She smiled. “I know of a large local company who are looking for a customer services manager in their IT department. The job is in house and the building is disabled-friendly. It will certainly hold no obstacles for your scooter. Are you interested?”

I pinched myself to see if I was awake. It hurt; I was.

“I certainly am. I’ve a lot of experience from running my own company for many years and it would be good to feel useful again.”

She passed over a card bearing the name of the company: Global Synthetic Developments UK Ltd. I turned it over and read the name “Sally” and a direct telephone number. I felt sure that I’d missed something.

“Give Sally a ring,” Megan said, “she works in Personnel. She’s waiting to hear from you; tell her that Megan gave you the details of the job. Don’t worry, she knows all about your mobility problem.”

I just hoped that their background checks didn’t reveal anything else as I asked, smiling, “Ok, I give in; just how do you know Sally and how did you know that there’s a job going?”

“Easy,” she laughed, “she’s my daughter.”

Another goldfish impression. I had to ask, “Do you work for them as well?”

“Sometimes; on a sort of consultancy basis.”

I figured that her perceptions of other people might be heightened with the loss of her sight. I’d heard that blind people often have enhanced hearing. I reckoned that her lack of vision would be no obstacle to prying the deepest secret from an interviewee, even without her being able to pick up the body language. Heck, it nearly did with me.

I found Megan fascinating; her knowledge of a wide range of subjects was impressive and I found myself relaxing more with her and talking at length about a lot of things. I remember thinking that she would be a great asset to any quiz team.

Our waitress approached. “I’m sorry,” she said, but neither looking nor sounding as if she were. “My shift is ending and I need to close out my accounts before I go.”

I checked my watch and was shocked to find that Megan and I had been chatting non-stop for nearly two hours.

“Oh my,” Megan said, after listening to her watch, “tempus fugit.”

As I fumbled with the payment of our bill I eagerly pressed for another date.

“How about Monday?” she asked, causing my heart to soar. “Lunch?”

Where are we going? What can possibly come of it?

The next morning, I telephoned Global Synthetic Developments and spoke to Sally. She seemed to know quite a lot about me and I supposed that she’d got a lot of background information from her mother. They could also get my business results with no bother so my work record was easily accessible.

- How much have they been able to find out about me? Obviously my past isn’t an issue or I wouldn’t have been invited for interview - or they didn't find out. Now that I couldn't believe -

I went to their office building the next day and spoke to Glyn Matthews, the IT Director and another Welshman. I wondered if everyone had to have a Welsh connection but Glyn told me that the company was founded by a multi-millionaire from Liverpool who’d brought the right product to the right market at the right time. Demand for their range of ultra-light, ultra-strong, recycled-plastic building products had gone through the roof — we both laughed at the pun. The company was now worth millions and employed a couple of thousand people in ten buildings countrywide.

Megan was right about their head office building: it had a ramp up to reception and four lifts which served all floors including the basement car park. The building itself was an unusual shape, more or less like a ten-storey bronze mirror-glass doughnut with a flat roof and a garden in the middle. Lawns and shrub borders stretched out to the boundaries of the site. Elsewhere they might have been incongruous but here they seemed quite appropriate. Seasonal, relaxing colour surrounded you as you approached the main entrance.

Glyn was an affable bloke in his late thirties and didn’t appear bothered at all about my lack of mobility. We chatted for a while and I told him of my career and my own business, suddenly curtailed last year when the accident happened. We discussed the responsibilities and the remuneration package and then we went down to see Sally.

Sally was nothing like her mother. She was tall and slim, had long, wavy blonde hair and was dressed in a grey pin-stripe skirt suit with a cream blouse. She wore high-heeled black shoes; and I found myself craning my neck to talk to her. I was relieved when she ordered coffee for us both and we sat at an occasional table. At least there, we could converse more or less on the same level.

She had her own office which, in an open-plan building, seemed most incongruous, but I suppose it wasn’t uncommon in a personnel department. I thought that she might be the manager but she told me that she was a senior consultant, whatever one of those was.

She gave me lots of forms to fill in and I felt, after half a day in the building, that it was all happening a bit fast. Certainly it was the shortest job interview I’d ever had and I was staggered that three hours after I’d ridden through the door I was riding out again having been offered, and accepted, a job.

I called Megan’s mobile.

“I got the job,” I told her. ”You get all the credit for that. I know that we arranged to meet on Monday for lunch, but can I take you to dinner soon to celebrate and say thank you?”

She laughed. “Yes, that would be lovely, and I’m sure that Honey will be pleased to see you again too.”

Because of her other commitments, we stayed with Monday but met in the evening. My scooter was fitted with lights but I felt quite vulnerable riding in the dark, so I arranged a taxi and picked Megan up on the way.

She was ready when I arrived at her modern bungalow and Honey greeted me in her usual fashion as the driver helped them into the car.

I had a great time with them and felt very comfortable and at ease. She had a ready wit and was sparkling company. Megan had worn a sleeveless dress with a vee-neck. The dress and her accessories really showed off her figure and I once again marvelled that, apart from her lack of sight, the years had been very good to Megan Williams. Mister Williams was, in my opinion, an idiot of the first order for walking out on Megan. Not that I was complaining.

All too soon the evening came to a close; I was so pleased to arrange for lunch the next week. Honey wagged her tail and cocked her head on one side as I kissed Megan lightly on the cheek and then guided her outside when our taxi arrived. It was a simple matter to drop them off on my way home.

I was becoming quite fond of Megan and idly wondered if we had a future together. Trouble is, I’d no doubt that when I told her of my past she’d run a mile. I’d have to tell her; it wouldn’t be fair to let her find out any other way.

The following Monday I joined Global Synthetics. I was introduced to the rest of the Customer Services team: the Helpdesk who took the initial calls; the techies who fixed the various problems, the clerical staff who collated the results, produced the inevitable statistics and told us how we were doing in comparison to the targets. They also kept the vast library of manuals in some semblance of order. I then went downstairs again to meet with Sally who helped me fill in loads more forms. By the end of the day, during which I felt that I managed to make a good contribution, I left the office feeling much better than I had for many months. And it was all down to Megan.

That woman was always on my mind, from morning until night. I lived for our lunch dates — I was becoming obsessed. I was even losing my fixation with Beccy’s death, though it didn’t completely leave me.

After we’d been going out together for a few months, and I’d been at Global Synthetics for a similar length of time, Megan rang me at work. She sounded totally distraught.

“It’s happened; they’ve told me that Honey has to retire next month. I’m devastated. I just don’t know what to do.”

I offered to visit that evening and she agreed.

Megan lived in a small development of similar properties which were designed for elderly and disabled people. It had a good-sized living room and two bedrooms and had been built about twenty years ago. It had lots of grab rails; wide doors; low steps; that kind of thing.

I arrived at half past seven and was greeted by a tearful Megan and a tail-wagging Honey. I kissed her briefly and gave Honey’s left ear a rub.

After we were settled in comfortable chairs, and with brimming coffee cups, she told me all about it.

“I had a call this morning: Honey has to retire and I’m on the list for a new dog. He or she will probably arrive in a couple of months. Unless I can make arrangements for someone to exercise Honey, she has to go to a new home.”

She again dissolved into floods of tears.

“Couldn’t Sally take her?”

She looked over at me, her eyes streaming so much that her mascara had run. How the hell did she manage to put on mascara if she couldn’t see? - Now isn’t the time to ask -

“Sally has a small apartment in the town centre; she isn’t allowed to keep a dog.”

“Oh. Could I help?”

“How?”

“I don’t know, but Honey seems to get on with me and, even if it’s only for a little while, it might bridge the gap until we can work out something permanent. I could maybe come round on my way from work and take her out. She could then stay here, couldn’t she?”

“I suppose so, but what about your legs?” she sniffed, but sounding a little brighter. I told her that I might be able to drive the scooter and hold the lead. I’d worked it all out during the day; I’d do anything to spend time in Megan’s company - and her happiness was becoming very important to me.

I obviously had an ulterior motive but it did solve two issues; keeping Honey and my seeing more of Megan. I didn’t mention it but a lot depended upon whether or not she could or would accept my past.

To try and take our minds off the dog problem I asked another question.

“Do you have any other children?”

She sighed.

“Peter, my husband, had a son John from a previous relationship but I haven’t seen him since…a long time. We fell out years ago. He said that he never wanted to see me again and went to live with his grandfather. He might have left home and got a family of his own by now.”

I thought that odd but, then again, my own family disowned me when I was sixteen so I just smiled ruefully and muttered something about choosing your friends but not being able to choose your family. We eventually left it that I’d visit the next Saturday and try a dummy run with Honey to see how she and I got on with the scooterised walkies.

The Saturday morning saw me putting on my new jacket, shirt and trousers that I’d bought in the week. I really looked forward to getting smartened up for Megan, even though I knew she couldn’t see me. I rode to her home and this time gave her a, by now, customary light kiss on the lips.

Honey was ready for me. She just had a normal collar on and Megan had her lead attached already. I said that I’d probably be about half an hour for the first time and headed towards the local park. Honey seemed to realise what was going on and walked beside me as I rode. I let her off the lead in the park and she romped around, just burning off surplus energy and doing what dogs normally do. I was delighted that everything seemed to be going well and was in a very happy mood when we got back to Megan’s place.

She asked how it went and I told her. She said that she would see if she could keep Honey based on the agreement that I would walk her. For me this was a bonus as it meant that I would get to see Megan nearly every day.

I was on tenterhooks for the next week while we waited for the call. I took every opportunity in between to spend time with Megan and would walk Honey on my own.

I’d taken to staying the evening with Megan at least once a week. We shared a love of sixties music. On Tuesday evening, after I’d been to the park, she and I were relaxed and listened to The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, and many other bands of that era.

After dinner, over coffee, she asked me, “You told me that your wife died of cancer. If you’re comfortable, will you tell me a little about her? What was her name for a start?”

“Beccy, Rebecca.”

“I had a sister Rebecca,” she said, softly.

“She was forty-six when she died of cancer three years ago.”

You could almost see the cogs in Megan’s brain snap into place.

“So she was born in 1957?” she asked, as she stood to reach over to the table.

I agreed.

“The same year as my sister. I know it’s stupid but…I have to ask; what date?”

“June 3rd.”

Honey yelped, then skittered out of the way as Megan passed out and collapsed onto the floor. I made a grab for her but wasn’t successful. All I achieved was to join her in a heap on the floor.

I don’t know how long we lay there: she looked so peaceful but my mind was in a whirl. What was significant about that date that caused Megan to pass out? I was having difficulty trying to understand the woman who had overcome blindness and a husband’s desertion, only to keel over at the mention of Beccy’s birthday.

She came round and, after a few seconds, appeared to realise how she’d ended up on the floor. She managed a weak smile before bursting into tears. I gave her a handkerchief and she eventually ran down to a sob.

“I’m sorry, I feel so stupid.”

Our relationship was getting serious and I knew that I’d have to tell her about my past before we went much further. The trouble is, I didn’t think that she was in a fit state at that moment to handle my skeletons. I struggled to my feet and sat on the settee. I supported myself as I helped her to stand. She sat beside me but I was aware that we weren’t sitting as close as previously. I held her hand and didn’t say any more. I couldn’t have if I’d wanted; I couldn’t find words.

She studied the table that held the coffee cups — well that’s the way it seemed anyway. “That was the same day as my sister’s birthday. I can’t believe that you might have been married to my sister, it’s too much of a coincidence.” she said, but with her eyes still downcast.

This evening was getting to be more like a roller-coaster ride every minute and after her passing out on me I didn’t think she’d be ready for any other revelations.

“Look, I don’t think you’re in a fit state at the moment for us to be going over history. Can I call Sally? Do you need any help?”

“No I’ll be OK. Can you just stay a while — so that I can calm down a bit?”

“Alright.”

I slid over a bit so that I was closer to her. She leaned into me and it just felt natural to drape an arm around her shoulders. She smiled. Honey came and sat between our legs, then stretched herself out on the floor, her head on her paws.

We neither of us spoke for a few minutes, and then I asked, “Can I make you a hot drink?”

She giggled. “How will you carry it?”

“Oh, I didn’t think of that.”

“I’ll do it, I’m used to it.”

I watched in admiration as she returned a few minutes later with two mugs of hot chocolate on a tray with a handle over the top.

“You’re an amazing woman,” I told her.

She smiled, put the tray down on the coffee table and resumed her seat beside me. We stayed like that for half an hour until I said, “time I was making a move.”

She nodded.

I phoned for a taxi, picked up my crutches and kissed her on the cheek.

“See you tomorrow for walkies.”

The next day I went to Megan’s place and took Honey for her regular walk in the park. Afterwards, we sat and listened to some more music. I hoped Honey appreciated the band — The Animals — well I thought it was funny and Megan and I shared the joke.

“You were telling me about your wife, Beccy.”

“Beccy and I weren’t married,” I confessed.

“What?”

“We weren’t married. She was already married to a man who’d beaten her senseless and put her in hospital. She eventually walked out on him in fear of her life. Towards the end of her first year in a refuge, she joined a dancing class; why I don’t know — maybe she was just feeling stir-crazy - but I’m certainly glad she did. For me, it was love at first sight, or rather first dance. It took about a year before she could trust me enough to be open about her past — and before she let me get really close to her. Computer operators were in demand so we just moved around until we reckoned that the trail we left was cold enough.

“Eventually we disappeared and moved here. In the refuge, she’d changed her appearance; it’s amazing what makeup and a different hairstyle can achieve. She even took to wearing glasses, with plain lenses. She couldn’t file for divorce without possibly giving herself away. No way did she want to take a chance on being found by “The Brute” as she called him.

“When we moved here, we just told everyone that we were newlyweds. No one knew the truth and no one seemed to care either way. She didn’t even tell her family. My family disowned me when I was sixteen so they didn’t know either.”

“Why would they disown you?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Please tell me.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Please tell me.”

I sighed. I suppose she’d have to know eventually.

“OK, but it’s not very pretty and I’m not proud of it. I’d got into a lot of trouble when I was a teenager. I was under a lot of pressure at school to join a gang. We hung around in coffee bars, had gang fights and indulged in petty crime. I started to drink heavily and there was no shortage of illegal work. I liked having money. It wasn’t long before I was into bigger crime; car theft, breaking and entering, that sort of thing.”

I kept glancing at her to try and read her reaction but she didn’t interrupt me, just kept staring at the table — and not seeing it.

“One night we did over a big house and some idiot took along a gun. Something went wrong, the house owner got shot and wounded, someone grassed and we all got sent down. I got four years.”

Apart from a sharp intake of breath, there was no reaction, just the stony silence. I ploughed on. It was cleansing; I just had to tell her and damn the consequences. After years of bottling it up, it all poured out.

“I used the prison library as much as I could. When I got out, the probation service found me a job as a computer operator. When the first desktop machines came out, I learned how to fix problems on them. I quickly picked up enough about system design to set out on my own.

“By then it was Beccy and me, and our joy at being together was marred only by the fact that she couldn’t have a baby. Every month she’d have to put up with the pain and the mess, knowing that her eggs were useless. We tried to adopt but were told that wasn’t possible because of my past. It was ironic that the cancer that took her from me was in the ovaries that didn’t work.

“She never spoke about her husband or her family. I didn’t ask because I knew how much it pained her.”

I glanced at Megan to see if she was taking all this in but she sat poker-faced, just continuing to stare at the coffee-table.

After a few minutes, which felt like hours, she looked up at me. She had tears in her eyes.

“I think you’d better go.”

I felt crushed. I nodded.

“I’ll let myself out.”

I looked around and found my crutches and walked to the door. I glanced back at Megan but she just sat there with her head in her hands.

I let myself out and fumbled in my pocket for my mobile phone. I called for a taxi and waited on her step.

I didn’t sleep well that night or the next three: I was haunted by the thought that something precious was again being taken away from me by yet another cruel twist of fate. Firstly Beccy, then my job and my mobility, now Megan.

In the office, I must have looked like death warmed up and ran more or less on autopilot for the next few days. Glyn noticed that I wasn’t entirely with it and asked if I was okay. I just nodded and tried to get some of the cotton wool in my brain to interact.

After several days things weren’t any better. I still couldn’t get over the feeling that I’d just lost the last chance of happiness that I would ever have. I wasn’t eating well, sleeping well or working well and was sure that I was going to get the push.

- That’d be just great: no job, and still waiting for the courts to catch up with the van owners; I’d soon have to sell the house to pay off the mortgage. I’d be lucky if I could afford a shed at the bottom of Liz and Bernie’s garden -

I eventually fell into a troubled sleep, an hour before the alarm told me that it was time I get up for work. I felt washed out.

I knew I’d have to get my act in gear if I was going to keep my job. I managed to appear compos mentis the next week and felt that I was getting back into routine. That didn’t mean I was completely with it. It just meant that I only thought about Megan fifty times a day instead of one hundred as I had been doing.

I knew that there was no chance of following up on the robbery that had gone wrong over thirty years ago. While I was in prison, I’d kept up to date with the progress of the man who’d been shot and was very relieved when he made a full recovery. I had second thoughts about nicking property but was in up to my neck. What started as petty crime to fit in with the gangs at school progressed quickly to something that got the adrenalin going but involved prison if it all went wrong. Violence was another thing entirely; I was as amazed as anyone when that idiot took along the shooter.

I didn’t know what I could do — I just knew that any chance I had with Megan had gone down the toilet with my confession.

A week later, my telephone rang; it was Sally.

“Alan, I don’t want to talk on the phone. Can you come to my office?”

I smiled weakly as Sally got up to meet me but that all changed when I saw the expression on her face. She closed the door and turned to me.

“Mum’s in hospital — she’s had an accident. She’s unconscious.”

“When did that happen? Who’s looking after Honey?” I asked, wondering how I managed to get two brain cells to rub together given Sally’s news.

“At the weekend, and I am; I’m living at Mum’s place at the moment.”

I felt like I’d just been kicked in the guts. “What happened?”

“They’d been shopping and were nearly home. A car was going too fast and the driver lost control; he ended up in someone’s sitting room. Honey pulled Megan into a gateway and she fell over and hit her head. If Honey hadn’t done that, she’d probably have been crushed or killed. Honey may well have saved her life.”

“Can I visit her in hospital?”

“She’s unconscious.”

“I still want to visit. How is Honey?”

“The vet checked her over and said she’s OK.”

I reluctantly returned to my desk.

- Would things have been different had I not told her? I can’t see how —

I rode my scooter to the hospital and found Ward 6. The nurses told me that Megan was stable but still unconscious.

I rode to her bed and watched her; her gentle breathing belied her condition. She was hooked up to several machines, which bleeped and hummed. She looked as though she was sleeping peacefully and didn’t give any sign of acknowledgement.

I sighed and just sat there for the best part of half an hour, then rode out of the ward and out of the hospital.

Two days later I called Sally.

“I’ve visited Megan in hospital a couple of times and today she showed signs of recovery. I called for a nurse and left before she woke up and saw me there; I don’t suppose she’d want to see me.”

“You might be surprised, although Megan has a secret of her own and she’s been agonising over whether or not to tell you.”

I sighed. “I imagine she’ll be sent home fairly soon after she does wake up; they don’t like to keep people in bed too long, even if they are blind.”

“I’ll let you know when she’s home.”

“Thanks.” I got back to my work.

Three days later, after a totally frustrating and unproductive weekend, I had a call from Sally.

“Mum was sent home today; I told her you visited.”

“What did she say?”

“Nothing.”

The next day I again got a call from Sally.

“Mum wants to talk to you; can you manage this evening?”

“Is she okay?”

“Shaken, obviously. She’s pleased to be reunited with Honey: that dog is up for a bravery award.”

“Quite right too. What time should I get there?”

Sally let me in, then went to make some coffee. I walked into the living room and saw Megan with a bandage on her head. She gave me a slight smile.

“Thank you for visiting the hospital,” she said, not looking in my direction.

I waited for her to say something else. I didn’t have to wait long.

“Your past came as a shock to me; I hope you don’t mind but I told Sally. I think I over-reacted a bit.”

I looked over at Sally, who had brought in the coffee and rejoined Megan on the settee.

“I must admit it came as a shock to me too,” Sally said. “This was a teenage prank that went wrong?”

I went over the story again. Sally took Megan’s hand and gave it a little squeeze. Then she said, “Mum has a secret of her own.”

Megan shook a little, gulped and looked, unseeing, in my direction. Then her eyes watered and she started crying.

After what seemed like hours but was really only minutes, she cuddled into Sally, who put her arms around her and whispered soothing words, ending with “it’s okay now; it ends tonight, one way or another.”

Megan eventually ran out of tears and looked up in my direction.

“I’ve something to tell you as well; I’ve lied to you. I’ve been putting off the truth but I realise that won’t help. I wasn’t married to Sally’s father.”

“So? That’s not a big issue; I wasn’t married to Beccy, as I told you.”

“No, but my situation is slightly different. Although she calls me Mum, and I’m so happy that she does, I wasn’t Sally’s real mother, Peter’s first wife was. I couldn’t have been; I wasn’t made right. And at the time, we couldn’t legally marry anyway; we could now, if he hadn’t walked out on me.”

“I don’t understand.”

She sighed. “I knew I’d have to tell you sooner or later; I was putting it off because I’ve fallen in love with you and you’re going to hate me and beat me up and…” She again started crying.

“I can’t imagine that anything you can tell me will make me hate you. I love you and would like to marry you, if you’ll have me.”

She sat with her head in her hands. It was a full minute before she looked up and said another word; what she said shook me rigid.

“Beccy’s maiden name was Thomas, wasn’t it?”

I seemed to be getting a lot of practice lately at goldfish impressions — I was doing them quite frequently.

“Yes, she married Rob Harris and left him when he nearly killed her. A year later, I came on the scene. But how did you know her maiden name?”

She sighed again, something she seemed to do a lot that evening.

“I’m pretty sure she was my sister. I left home when she was seventeen.”

“Go on,” I said, with a sense of impending doom.

“I…I don’t know how else to say this… I became Megan Thomas after I got my degree; when I left home I was Beccy’s elder brother.”

“Impossible! Look, if you don’t want me because I’m a cripple just say and I’ll be on my way,” I said angrily, looking around for my crutches.

“Alan! I’m telling you the truth.”

It took some time because she kept breaking down, but she told me her story.

“I don’t know what went wrong but something did. I always knew that I was female and suffered horribly both at home and at school. Beccy knew about it, of course; that’s not something you can hide from your sister, especially when you keep borrowing her clothes.

“I left home at eighteen and went to university. I wrote to my parents after my transition but they disowned me. I missed Beccy but that was just another casualty of my leaving home as far as I was concerned.

“I never saw her again. I heard through the grapevine that she’d married and moved to Swansea so I went to try and find her. The problem was, I didn’t know her married name so I had to give up. I’m not sure I’d have got out of the house alive anyway if her husband was as violent as you said.”

She was crying again; I suppose it was the memory of her sister.

I was stunned; words failed me. Sally looked over at me but said nothing. Eventually Megan continued.

“I lived as a woman and had surgery despite my eye problems. I stayed in Swansea; Peter Williams was the social worker that was assigned to me. I kept in touch with him throughout the change and then lived with him as his wife, changing my name to Williams. He was divorced but had two children — a son John and Sally here. Sally stood by me after the break-up, but John never accepted me and went to stay with his grandfather very soon after I moved in with Peter. When Peter left me I kept the name.”

I was gobsmacked. I never imagined that she harboured a secret like that. I rose from the chair, picked up my crutches and headed for the door.

“I need to think about all this,” I said as I closed the door behind me and leaned against it.

I fished my mobile phone out of my jacket pocket and called a taxi. While I waited for it to arrive my mind ran over the events of the evening. All I could see was Megan’s tear-stained face as she told me her secret.

That night I took ages to get to sleep. I spent several restless hours wondering what his name had been before he changed. Why did it matter? I don’t know; it wouldn’t let me go.

I again ran on autopilot at work the next day. I couldn’t get Megan out of my mind and soon realised that she was still an obsession with me. I had fallen in love with her over the past few months and I had to decide if her revelations had killed that love. I didn’t know what I felt — I suppose “numb” would be a good description.

I telephoned Megan that afternoon. While the phone was ringing I wondered if she would even be there. I also wondered what I was doing, what I was feeling.

Megan answered.

“Look,” I said,” I need to see you again, to talk things through.”

I visited that evening.

Sally was there as well. The atmosphere was rather tense, which is hardly surprising.

“Mum’s told me quite a lot of her past. Her family rejected her when she was younger. She thought she’d found happiness with my dad but he couldn’t keep his willy in his trousers and ended up having a steamy affair with his secretary. Mum sometimes told me what he said. "You’re not even a proper woman" and crap like that.

“Then you came along. She fell for you big time, particularly after you’d worked out how to exercise Honey. Then, last night, it all blew up again. When you think, there aren’t many medical conditions that you have to keep quiet about and which can rear up and bite you at any time.”

Unable to think clearly, I left early.

I felt terrible. I’d spent another sleepless night. I kept thinking about the last few months and how I’d really felt alive for the first time since I lost Beccy. My mind kept returning to Megan and her smiling face that greeted me whenever we met.

But what is she? Is she a woman?

Nothing I’d seen over the time I’d known her gave any indication of her birth gender. Had she been, as she said, always a woman with a birth defect?

- God knows that there are enough people out there with medical problems — some problems which pale into insignificance when you consider the burdens placed upon Megan’s shoulders when she was born -

She. I realised that, to me, Megan was a woman. And I only had to say the word and she could be my woman.

Was that what I wanted? Could I live with her past?

She was prepared to live with mine.

I knew I’d not have another good night’s sleep until the situation was resolved. I arranged to visit Megan again.

“I’ve made up my mind.”

She looked over towards me with unseeing eyes.

I’d thought about nothing else since her startling revelation. I knew I couldn’t go on as I was. I knew that I had to do this if there was any chance of moving on. I knew that her past hadn’t killed the love I had for her.

“Megan; will you marry me?”

Epilogue
Honey and Pippa were asleep in the corner of the room. Both Labradors, the young dog’s head rested between the forepaws of the older one. They had quickly bonded and were great friends.

My arm snaked around my wife’s shoulders and we gently kissed.

“Happy Mrs Taylor?”

“Hmm,” she said, smiling, as she snuggled in close.

The End

My heartfelt thanks go to Angela Rasch for her invaluable help, advice and editing.

Two in Tune
A GSD Story
 
When worlds collide, the impact can be devastating —
but sometimes a new and more beautiful world is formed.
 

PART 1 - MEGAN

“Pippa, up!”

She stood, stretched, shook, and her whole body wagged vigorously under my hand. I fitted her harness and we headed for the lobby, where I pressed the lift call button. We were only going up one floor, but stairs can be treacherous. Born nearly blind, my eye surgery fifty years ago proved to be primitive and less successful than the modern equivalent.

“Good girl, Pippa!” I praised, as I leaned down to fuss her.

When we arrived at the eighth floor, my canine friend, my fourth guide dog, led me unerringly to Alan’s desk. He served as Customer Services Manager for the IT department.

My ID badge opened the electrically powered doors; it also told other people that I’m Megan Taylor, Personnel Consultant. We didn’t go in for that “Human Resources” nonsense at Global Synthetic Developments UK Ltd — GSD for short. You aren’t a human resource, or a number. You’re a person; a necessary part of a successful company, one that depends on you to do the best job that you can and rewards you accordingly.

Alan kissed me briefly, tacitly promising more that evening.

I shivered in anticipation. If I were Pippa I’d be wagging my fool tail off.

“Hello, darling,” he said. “What brings my wife to the eighth floor this bright, sunny day? Not that I’m complaining, of course.”

Pippa was used to these occasional visits, so she settled beside Alan’s smooth, mahogany-veneered desk.

I smiled in Alan’s direction and sat in the visitor’s chair. “I’ve been working at the computer most of the morning so I thought I’d let my husband treat me to lunch. I’m ready for a break, and I’m sure that Pippa was also glad to stretch her legs.”

He chuckled, wrapped up what he was doing and rode his scooter chair out from behind his desk. He glanced over his shoulder and waited until Pippa and I were in position. “Hold very tight please,” he said, before riding out of the office. He’d already been using a scooter chair when I first met him, having lost most of the use of his legs in a car crash.

I acknowledged greetings with a smile and a wave. I couldn’t see who was who, but I recognised voices. Pippa, as usual, garnered her fair share of adoration as we made our way out of the department.

Alan laughed. “You and that dog get around so confidently; if I didn’t know better, I’d swear you could see where you’re going.”

I smiled as we waited for the lift that would take us to the restaurant on the ground floor. “You know that it’s just a matter of having confidence in the dog — and it did take a while to train her to take over when Honey retired.” My mood suddenly changed; I sniffed a little and cringed at the memory.

He put his arm protectively around me and gave me an affectionate squeeze. “I know; I miss her too. That heart attack came right out of the blue. She had a good life, though, and a companion in her retirement. Pippa and Honey bonded so quickly and I wouldn’t be surprised if Honey passed on a few tricks.”

Honey had been my previous guide dog and was with me when I first visited the new Health Centre. Alan had been a member of the welcome team and very helpful. Love blossomed after that meeting.

We selected a quiet table in the garden in the centre of the ten-storey, bronze mirror-glass clad, ring-shaped building. We were enjoying our lunch, when, as is sometimes the case, our conversation turned to work.

His job frequently brought him into regular contact with a lot of people in the company. Without giving away any secrets, he’d tell me if he heard of a situation which required a more personal touch. “I’ve heard that Gerry Boland, one of the Financial Analysts, seems somewhat distracted. He’s well-liked and doing a good job, according to reports, but he does seem to be quite depressed.”

“If I remember rightly, I dealt with his application when he came for his interview last year; he seemed quiet, though obviously qualified. It’s just as well he came to work for us; I reckoned someone as gentle as he was would get eaten alive out in the wild world. Thanks, love; I’ll have to find a way to get him to talk to me. You never know; if something’s worrying him, he might open up.”

“You didn’t do so badly with me, did you?” he asked with a hint of mirth.

We finished our lunch in amiable conversation.

The next day, Gerry popped in, at my request, to give me some basic tax advice. When we finished, I made some coffee and we briefly discussed his career, his ambitions - he was training as an internal auditor - his hobbies, where he lived, that sort of thing. He seemed very reticent; he was very carefully choosing his words.

I asked him if he had a girlfriend and he said that he didn’t; he was holding something back. I’d detected a fragrance in the air when he came into the office; it could have been a particularly light aftershave or maybe hair shampoo but, after a while, I felt sure that it was perfume. It wasn’t very strong but, then again, it wasn’t the sort of thing a man would usually wear. The more we talked, the more convinced I became that it was intended for women; I was even sure that I could give it a name. I touched his hand; it wasn’t the large, rough hand of a working man, like my Alan, but more the small, smooth hand of a woman.

”Gerry, that’s not aftershave you’re wearing, is it? I really want to help you but please work with me here.”

He sighed and began by answering with an unrelated story, but I just let him talk.

“I’ve been singing since I was a child, although I never sang at school because I didn’t want to get killed. Fortunately, Dad had no idea then that I sang at all; I usually made very sure that nobody was in earshot. In my teenage years, I knew that I would suffer if my peers discovered that my singing voice wasn’t as manly as it should have been — my voice never completely broke when my body passed through puberty - so, at assemblies and such, I’d just mime the words. I made the excuse that I couldn’t carry a glass of water, let alone a tune, and didn’t want to put off my neighbours by singing off-key. I sang to pass the time as I walked to and from school.

“I know what they say about shower acoustics, but I’ve always found the bathroom to be an ideal place to practice. If my early morning warm-ups don’t sound off-key when bouncing off the tiled walls, they can’t be that bad. When I was in my late teens, my father came into the bathroom unexpectedly while I was having a shower one day. He heard my singing and decided that I should join his choir; just one of my more stupid mistakes. Dad’s voice isn’t particularly loud, but it’s a voice that commands a choir’s respect and attention. For me, it was always the voice of authority, a voice that demanded the impossible. My parents have always been about as sensitive as a ton of wet concrete. Nobody ever asked what I wanted; they always knew best. Anyway, Dad blabbed, and Mum insisted on a demonstration there and then. She went on for ages afterwards about how I should use my ‘wonderful gift’.”

I had an idea where this was leading, but really wanted him to confirm it.

Gerry sighed again and continued. “Dad’s latest effort was a nightmare; the Mayor’s induction last Saturday. I was lumbered with a solo first verse — purgatory. I love to sing, though not with that particular choir. . . . Oh hell!”

“Gerry,” I soothed, “I think I’ve worked out your little secret but please believe me when I say that it’s not a problem for us, and GSD will support you as much as we can. Some years ago, I was in a similar position to that which you are probably in now, although without the luxury of a bolthole that I could escape to when the going got more rough than usual.”

He stammered. “B…but you’re married, and you’re Megan, and you’re. . . .”

“It’s been a long and bumpy road, but yes, I’ve arrived. The last part of the jigsaw is a lovely man called Alan Taylor, whose desk is on the floor above us. People like us often have to fight for the right to be ourselves, and it’s rarely an easy journey.”

We talked for a while longer. I assured him that my story, while it wasn’t a secret, wasn’t public knowledge either and asked that he please treat it with discretion.

“Thank you for telling me; you’ve given me a lot of hope,” he said at last, and sounded relieved. “Although I live with my parents, I hope they don’t know about my apartment on the other side of town. It’s not huge, just a small lounge, a bedroom, a kitchen and bathroom are enough for me at the moment. My requirements were quite specific though; my own front door, not overlooked; decent interior lighting, and plenty of storage. It also helps that there’s a large garage in which I keep my car and my spare possessions. No one else knows the person who uses the apartment, as I don’t socialise; not in that area, anyway.”

“I knew about the studio apartment because that’s where we send your payslip and other correspondence. The studio apartment isn’t in Gerry’s name, is it?”

“No.” He paused for a moment, perhaps deciding how much to tell me, then he continued. “I’ve been very fortunate. As you know, I started working for GSD last year. I was lucky to find a job soon after I left school, and they were kind enough to let me off one day a week to go to college and get some more qualifications. I inherited a fair amount of money from my mother’s parents. I managed to save a good portion of my income; this was achieved by the simple process of declaring only half to my parents, and keeping the payslips and bank statements somewhere else, and eventually at my apartment. In addition, I’d had a school-friend whose family developed and encouraged a few less-than-honest contacts. I managed to acquire a birth certificate, with which I was able to obtain a bank account, passport and such other necessities that I deemed to be essential for life. Bill is the only other person on Earth who knows that I have two distinct identities — well, other than you now — and, even if he remembers, he won’t say anything as he could be in trouble for forgery. I long ago fell foul of the parental heavy-hand and so knew not to mention my two identities, or my means of separating them, at home. Gerald Bentley Boland — Gerry - sings tenor with the Gallery Choir and Geraldine Abigail Bentley — Gabi - sings contralto with Uptown Voices.”

I summarised. “The Gallery Choir is a male voice choir and Uptown Voices is all women? Sort of like the Sweet Adelines?”

”Yes.”

I asked, “How long have you been singing with Uptown voices?”

“A year or so.”

“And this has become a particular problem now, why?”

“I found out this week; both choirs will be at the music festival, on the same stage, on the same night.”

“Can you plead illness?”

“Not really; my father runs the Gallery choir and Uptown Voices is run by Catherine Wentworth, who is a psychologist. Either would see through me in a flash.”

“What can we do to help? I presume you need help?”

He sighed again. “Yes I do, but I’ve no idea. I’d love to transition, but what do I tell my parents? They’d go crazy; I’m an only child.”

I recalled my own parent’s reaction to my telling them that I was transsexual. They told me that they no longer had a son — well, I knew that. They said that I should never darken their door again — not unexpected; I really didn’t need bigotry to add to a condition that I neither sought nor wanted. At least they didn’t turn violent; an all too frequent reaction to the news.

“I’m not a trained counsellor, but as I see it, you have three choices. We can arrange for you to be elsewhere for the duration of the music festival, but that doesn’t solve the long-term problem; something similar is bound to happen again, and it’s not really a satisfactory closure to your old life. Or, Gerald could disappear off the face of the earth, leaving just Gabi, but your parents might worry; they know where you work and could find Gabi anyway. A last option might be that you tell your parents and hope for a positive reaction. It has to be your decision and we’ll support you as much as we can. You need good advice and I have no idea where in this area you could go. Perhaps there’s a national group that can help. But what do you think?”

Gerry considered my suggestions for a few moments. “As regards option two, I couldn’t do that to my mum, she’d probably be heartbroken; Dad only seems to worry about his precious choir — when he’s not being the great ‘I AM’. I’m probably being unfair to him, but that’s the way he’s always come across to me. Hmm, option three; my parents would hit the roof; they have a go at me every chance they get about settling down, which I understand to mean getting a girlfriend. Can we try the first option? At least that might give us time to come up with a long-term solution.”

I nodded. “So we’ve about six weeks to come up with a plan to avoid a conflict at the festival. Leave it with me.”

Gerry left my office and, once again, my memory was drawn back to my own childhood. Then I shook my head to try and clear it. I tried to think. I hope that I can buy him some time. Sorry, buy Gabi some time

I spoke with Charlie Rochester, the Finance Manager and Gerry’s boss: I explained what I needed to achieve. We came up with a plan. Then I called Gerry. “I hope it’s okay with you, but I’ve arranged with your manager that you have to work in Scotland the week of the festival. I couldn’t think of anything else that would save you having to lie to anyone. Charlie will go over the work that he wants you to do. I know it means that you’ll miss out on both choirs, but it does solve the geographical problem in the short term. It buys you a little more time to come up with a more permanent solution.”

Gerry’s main task was a review and report of all the financial routines entailed in running a factory and warehouse. Charlie reckoned that Gerry was ideal for this; he was being groomed to be an internal auditor anyway. He’d always found Gerry to be a quiet person who, although he didn’t seem to make friends easily, got on with everyone with whom he came into contact.

A couple of months later, I was no further forward with Gerry’s problem than when I first heard about it. The Scottish trip seemed to go well. Charlie was very pleased with the result and thought that they might make it a regular thing. Both choirs told him/her that they missed him/her but understood that work came first. Gerry wasn’t sure that his father believed him but he couldn’t argue when presented with the evidence of the rail ticket and the hotel reservation.

I asked Gerry to come and see me. “The only permanent solution to your situation that I can think of is that Gerry goes and Gabi stays. If you really can’t face your parents, can you write them a letter? Your job here is secure, there’s no doubt about that; how you present yourself is not a problem — I presume that you must be passable to be in the choir. Could you come out to the woman who runs Uptown Voices and see how that goes? Do you think that she doesn’t know that something is different about you? If all else fails, we find somewhere else for you to work; nothing is impossible.”

“I suppose I could,” he agreed. “That might go better than my talk with my father. I’ll try to talk to Catherine Wentworth.”

Gerry came to see me a few days later.

“I spoke to Catherine — we all call her ‘Hawkeye’ Wentworth, because nothing seems to escape her attention. As you suspected, she already had an idea but, as she said, I look the part and sound the part so, as far as she’s concerned, there’s no problem. Now all I have to do is tell my parents; that’s going to be tough. Maybe I’ll sound out my mother and see what she says.”

“How do you think it’ll go?”

He shrugged. “Badly. Despite my denials, they both tell me that I’m gay and that I just need to meet the right girl. Honestly, they haven’t a clue; even I know that gay men aren’t usually interested in girls.” He threw up his hands in frustration. “I’m not interested in a relationship with a woman or a gay man. Your option two seems more attractive as time goes on. Maybe I should just disappear off the face of the earth, move away, and get another job - anything to avoid the confrontation.”

I sympathised. “What do you think you’ll do?”

“Panic,” he said, morosely, as he got up from the chair.

I had a call from Charlie Rochester. “I’ve just had a long talk with Gerry; he told his mother, who told his father. After they’d ranted and raved, and again accused him of being gay, they threw him out, and said that they never wanted to see him again.”

“Hmm; I’m not really surprised. It’s amazing how some other people seem to think that they can tell us what’s best for us, despite the fact that they’re really telling us what’s best for them. At least he’s got somewhere to stay for the moment; I’ll speak to him as soon as I can. If he wants to be Gabi full time, that’s no problem.”

I didn’t see any reason why Gerry shouldn’t become Gabi, live at the flat, and complete her Real Life Experience here at GSD, if that’s what she wants.

PART 2 - DAVID

I shared an office on the first floor and a workshop on the tenth with the other two engineers. I looked after all the heating, ventilating and air conditioning equipment. It was definitely a full-time job, but I enjoyed it. We all reported to the Head Office building manager, but he only got involved if something went wrong, otherwise I was my own boss.

The others weren’t around so I answered the telephone.

“Hello David, it’s reception. Jim’s here.”

I emerged from the stairwell at the ground floor and collected my package. As I said goodbye, I asked, “Still okay for Saturday?”

He nodded, smiled and walked out of the building.

Jim Herbert always struck me as a bit of an oddball. He wasn’t a big beer drinker; neither was he a sport, cars, chasing women, and night-out-with-the-lads type of bloke.

Mind you, I wasn’t that type of bloke either.

Listening to a live concert or watching a movie was about my limit as far as anything artistic goes. When I was at school, I was hopeless at art. Matchstick men? I was never that good. I tried the violin once; it sounded as though I was playing it with someone else’s feet. I was good at most practical things, though, and thought I might like to be an engineer or something. That clearly involved more years of full-time education, and went down like a lead brick with my parents, who’d already decided my future. I rebelled. When a degree course came up, I took the opportunity to leave home and move away from my birth town. I graduated and moved to the south of England. I worked at the big school on the edge of town for a few years to gain experience, rented an apartment and eventually landed the job at GSD.

“That blonde on the end is a bit tasty; why don’t you chat her up during the break?” Jim said one night. He’d often come with me to a concert and seemed to enjoy it. As a matchmaker, though, he’d probably make a good road-mender.

“She’s probably married with kids.” I resisted all his attempts to get me a date; I knew they’d go nowhere and what was the point of starting something that would end quickly as soon as it came time to reveal your past? What do I tell her? Do I make up another string of lies? It was alright for Jim; he’d been with Bev for several years and she was expecting their second. A proper little production line they had going.

“She’s not wearing a ring; you never know, mate, you could be in with a chance there.”

Yeah, right!

I sometimes wondered if that was the only reason that Jim came with me to the concerts; to eye up a ‘tasty bird’ as he called them. No idea why; Bev was as tasty as they come. Most males between ten and ninety would fancy Bev, but Jim adored her and she knew it. My murky past - deeply buried, miles away and several years ago — put a damper on any romantic inclinations I might have.

We were an unlikely pair, Jim and I. About the only things we had in common were music, darts and a taste for a decent pint of bitter. He’d often bring our parcels and we got talking one day. We went out for a couple of pints and our friendship developed from there, although the words ‘chalk’ and ‘cheese’ regularly sprang to mind. Still, it was good to have someone with whom to socialise at last; the novelty hadn’t worn off yet.

We usually got together one night a week, often went to a concert or a movie, and then to a local pub for a couple of pints and a chat. On one our excursions, Jim waved a pair of tickets under my nose. “Fifth of next month”, he said, triumphantly.

That had been a surprise; Jim interested in a choir.

Still, I should worry; it was a night out, and Jim had paid for the tickets.

This wasn’t the first time we’d heard that particular choir. Last time they’d opened with some Russian thing, closed with ‘Ole Man River’ and sung a very varied programme. ‘Ole Man River’ without a bass male voice; now that was something to hear — fact is, it sounded pretty good.

Jim was right, though; that woman on the end was attractive. His not-too-subtle attempt to kick-start my love life was met with the usual gentle smack around the head. I didn’t need the interference and I was sure that the blonde didn’t either.

She was just a couple of inches shorter than me, and like the rest of the choir, clearly loved to sing. Her smile didn’t waver from start to finish. I was mesmerised, and Jim, bless his cotton socks, could see that I spent most of the concert with my attention glued to one particular person on the stage. Naturally, he took full advantage of my being distracted and joked about it afterwards.

“Told you! You were gone, mate, weren’t you? You had your eyes on that blonde all night!”

“Well, she is a good singer,” I said lamely.

“And how would you know? It’s a choir for Pete’s sake! The only way you’d know that is if she had a solo.”

“Yeah, but they don’t have any crap singers, do they?”

“Come on; the ‘Cormorant’s’ got a couple of pints of ‘HSB’ with my name on them.”

I shrugged and followed him up the road to our usual watering hole.

For days afterwards, I couldn’t get the blonde singer out of my mind. I was quite busy at work; winter was approaching fast, and it took all my time to make sure that the heating was up to the job of keeping our office building warm for the next few months.

Jim and I did get to other concerts and, at our local entertainment venue, which doubled as a cinema, we saw some good movies. At least one night a week, Jim stayed at home and looked after Sherry, their first-born, while Bev went out with the girls.

Concerts were my thing, though, and I took every opportunity to attend - usually with Jim but if necessary on my own - especially if a particular choir was on the bill. Whether it was just good music, or the presence of a certain blonde singer, I wasn’t telling. I always looked out for her, and literally bumped into her during the break in one of their performances. I’d briefly spoken with the Musical Director, who conducted their concerts, and told her how much I enjoyed their singing. I backed away and collided with someone.

“Oh, I’m very sorry; I wasn’t looking where I was going.” Then I turned and realised that it was the blonde, and any train of thought that had just left the station met the buffers with an almighty thump. She was even more attractive close up, especially when she smiled. She wasn’t supermodel unattainable beauty, just…WOW!

“H … hello,” I stammered. “I’m David.”

“I’m Gabi.”

Her voice was like warm, dark chocolate, mellow and breathy and did the most wonderful things to my insides.

I shook her hand and racked my brain for something sensible to ask her; having got this far, I didn’t particularly want to let her go too soon. The best I could come up with was, “Gabi, short for Gabrielle?”

“Geraldine Abigail Bentley. Everyone calls me Gabi.”

“Oh, I see. I’m David Turner; no middle name.”

I could see Jim smiling at me and mouthing, “You’re in there, mate”.

We managed a few words of small-talk. I established that she’d been with the choir for about five years and worked ‘up the road’ - she didn’t say where and I didn’t pry. I managed to tell her that I was an engineer, but our conversation was curtailed by the call to take our places for the second half of the concert. The evening eventually came to an end, and Jim and I adjourned to the ‘Cormorant’ for a couple of pints.

Naturally, Jim kept on about the blonde, to the point where I almost said something rude.

Our drinks consumed, we said our goodnights and made our way to our homes.

“Lunch?” asked Rutger, our electrical engineer.

I glanced over at him and nodded.

“I’ll just put this hub on test and I’ll be with you.” Lisa West joined us. She looked after our building’s Communications systems.

It was very rare indeed for us three engineers to be in the office at the same time and to have the opportunity for lunch in the restaurant together. Usually, we managed with a sandwich in our workshop, a big room on the tenth floor, equipped with some workbenches and a dozen storage cabinets. That day, we trooped into the restaurant, collected our meals and found a table.

As usual, I sat with my back to the wall. It wasn’t a power thing; I’m slightly hard of hearing and I’ve found that having a wall behind me helps to focus the sound. I glanced around the crowded room and my eyes settled on a blonde head that I knew only too well.

“… so shall we use the hydraulic or electric ones?”

I realised that I’d hardly heard a word that Rutger had said to me.

“Well, it looks like our David’s caught at last; I wondered how long we’d have to wait for cupid to strike,” Lisa observed. “Now which of these eligible females has he got his eye on? It is a female, I presume, David?” she teased.

I nodded numbly, not even realising that she was trying to wind me up. Again.

I was distracted all through lunch; I couldn’t get Gabi out of my mind. I remembered that she said she worked ‘up the road’, but I had no idea that her employer was GSD. I had the greatest difficulty concentrating on what the other two were saying to me — and they noticed.

Rutger kept smiling, and so he should. He’d come over to the UK for a holiday, and met Jodi. Twenty four hours later, they were engaged and within a couple of weeks they were married. Jodi already worked at GSD, so she recommended him. Sweden’s loss was definitely our gain; he was an excellent engineer. I know that he and Jodi both wanted a large family. I had no doubt whatsoever that our part of the country would be soon be teeming with little Ericcsons.

We’d gained Lisa when she defected to us from British Telecom. In her late twenties, she had a wicked sense of humour and kept making little comments with which to try and needle me. “Have you asked her out yet?” and “I wonder which department she works in?” So it went for most of the lunch break.

It would be nice to have another friend, even someone with whom I could just enjoy a night out, but Gabi? WOW! Finding out which department she works in shouldn’t be too much of a challenge, but I do wonder if I’ll be treading on someone else’s toes — and if he’s bigger than my five foot ten, medium build, I could end up with my face rearranged. I resolved to make subtle enquiries to find out more about her.

We finished lunch and returned to work. I was well into servicing a valve on the heating system when reality hit me between the ears. SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! You stupid arse! What do you think you’re doing? There was still my past, which could get in the way of anything except a platonic friendship — assuming, of course, that she was single and unattached.

We engineers, naturally, had free access to the whole building. Lisa, being Lisa, was on first-name terms with virtually all the staff, especially the women, and soon told me all I wanted to know, but daren’t ask, about Miss Bentley.

“Gabi is an Internal Auditor in the finance department on the seventh floor. She’s twenty five years of age, is un-married, lives alone, is straight and doesn’t presently have a boyfriend.”

I was stunned; it had taken her just a couple of hours to uncover this information. I wouldn’t have known where to start, except to do a ‘walk-through’ of the whole of Head Office in the hopes of seeing her.

Not knowing anything that could prove an obstacle to the development of my love life, Lisa apparently went ahead and, completely without my knowledge, started to play cupid. While it was obvious that I was interested in Gabi, I hadn’t planned to take it further. This didn’t stop Lisa who was completely oblivious to the implications of her meddling.

In the course of my work, I visited the personnel department on floor seven. I’d pre-arranged to visit all the offices and had a list of the disabled staff members, including Megan Taylor who was blind.

I knocked on the open door. “Hello Megan, it’s David Turner. I’ve come to do your annual environmental check-up as arranged.”

“Hello David, come in. Everything seems fine. You’ve been with us about a year now; how are you settling in?”

As a Personnel Consultant, she obviously knew a little of my history, that is, after I moved south. Hopefully, she didn’t know anything about the time before and during my university career. Although I’d heard a rumour about her, I just couldn’t see it. She wore a wedding ring and was dressed appropriately for the office in a pale grey skirt suit and navy blouse. I decided that the rumour mill was alive and well at GSD, the same as at most places of employment. If you don’t hear a rumour by ten o’clock in the morning, start one, and hope that any flying mud doesn’t bounce back your way.

“I’m very well, thank you, and I enjoy the work. I’m very busy, but that’s great, as I like to keep occupied. I don’t know about the rest of the company but the people here seem just like one big happy family.”

We exchanged a few other comments and then she said, “I understand that you’re interested in one of our internal auditors.”

I said nothing.

“Well?” she challenged.

“What is this place, some kind of dating agency?”

“You’d be surprised how many couples met here.”

“Anyway, how on earth did you find out that I’m interested in Gabi?” I asked; then I realised that I’d just confessed.

She laughed. “I have my sources. I think you’d like to know her better. I know that you’re a fan of her choir, and I think you’d get on well together, particularly as you both have more in common than you might think.”

It’s as well that she couldn’t see the expression on my face. I gathered my thoughts and measured my words. “Uptown Voices is a good choir; my friend Jim and I really enjoy listening to them.”

“Your friend is Jim Herbert from the local Post Office?”

“Y…yes,” I said, hesitantly. How much more does she know?

“Amy Street, on the reception desk, is one of my best spies.” She laughed. “And you ought to know by now that you can’t keep much secret from us women for long. We’re not malicious, though; just looking out for each other.”

I’ll put salt in Lisa’s coffee next time I see her! She’s as tactful as a house brick. Five gets you ten that’s where Megan gets much of her information as well.

It was a few days later that Lisa gave me some bad news.

“You know Gabi Bentley, don’t you?”

“Sings in the choir? Works in Finance on the seventh floor?”

Lisa nodded, but looked serious. “She’s had an accident.”

PART 3 - GABI

“Gabi, you have a visitor.”

A nurse poked her head around the door. Moments later, a huge bouquet of the most gorgeous flowers arrived. The nurse left to scrounge some vases and David sat by the bed. I didn’t resist when he took my hand.

I kissed him on the cheek, and smiled at him. “Thank you for the flowers, they’re beautiful.”

“What happened?” he asked.

“All the traffic had stopped at the crossing and I was halfway across the road, when this boy racer in a souped-up something-or-another appeared from nowhere, overtook the whole line of traffic, and nearly knocked me into kingdom come. I stepped back when I heard him, lost my balance and fell over, hitting my head. My hair saved me from serious injury, apparently. A large truck was coming the other way so boyo had to take avoiding action. His car ended up in a shop.”

“Well, I always thought that you have beautiful hair,” he said, “It’s good to know that it saved you.”

We chatted for a while longer, until a nurse appeared and pointedly indicated the time on the ward clock. David gave my hand a squeeze and said that he’d see me the next day.

I looked forward to it.

We’d been seeing each other, purely on a friendship basis of course (MEN!), for a few months. I wanted to take it further; he was good-looking, kind, thoughtful, was a regular fan of our choir, didn’t mind sitting through the odd chick-flick at the local cinema, didn’t smoke and didn’t seem to drink excessively. Basically, he seemed like a nice bloke. How he’d handle my transition was another matter. He never mentioned it, so I didn’t either.

David, however, seemed reluctant to allow our relationship to develop beyond friendship, although I got the distinct impression at times that he found me attractive. I certainly treated our occasional outings as more than platonic, and hoped that he would eventually come to feel the same.

I was surprised one day by a visitor to my desk.

“Hello Gabi; it’s great to have you back at work after your accident. No ill effects?”

“Hello Megan; no, everything’s fine.”

“We’ve a little social meeting tomorrow in the Conference Room; would you be available for morning coffee? This is a new venture and if it’s successful, it’ll become a regular thing.”

I’d never been to the ninth floor before and felt a little trepidation. A tall good-looking man in an expensive Italian suit approached me.

“Hello, you must be Gabi. I’m John Andrews, and this is my partner Billy, our Chief Designer.” He introduced a man of medium height who had a dark goatee beard and sparkling grey eyes. Am I intimidated? You bet! I’m in the presence of the Managing Director of the company But he soon put me at ease.

As I nervously prepared to join the group in the conference room, a very tall brown-haired woman came over to me. She had an arm around another young lady in what looked like a “Hands off, she’s mine” kind of way. Not that the latter seemed to object.

“Hello Gabi, I’m Angela Bradfield, one of the security officers, and this is my partner Suzanne Fletcher, the IT Security Administrator. Let me introduce you to some other people. Sorry we’re a bit thin on the ground; some are away at the moment.”

She led me around the room and introduced me.

“Hello folks; this is Gabi Bentley, one of our Internal Auditors. It’s her job to make sure that all our financial processes are squeaky-clean. Gabi, this is Debbie Maxwell, our legal adviser; her sister and Marketing Manager Nikki Latham and Nikki’s partner Jackie Latham, the Premises Administrator. Then we have Maria Rodriguez, who is our Asset Manager. Harry Somerville looks after our fleet of vehicles and Megan Taylor you know. Her husband, Alan, the guy on the scooter chair, is IT Customer Support Manager. Ah! Here’s our late comer; I think you know this man.”

It was David Turner. He looked puzzled, but brightened considerably when Megan had a quiet word with him.

“I feel as though I’ve been set up,” I said, glancing at Angela.

“Simple,” she said with a smirk. “This is a social get-together to launch the GSD GLBTI group. Sorry for the acronyms but I’m sure you get the idea.”

Over the next couple of weeks, David and I cleared up a few hidden historical facts, so much so that we were soon able to announce our wedding date. UK law insists that marriage is between a man and a woman; David and I were both post-transition and post-operative.

Debbie found us a priest who was only too pleased to bless our union. Neither set of parents were present, however; they all took another opportunity to point out that we were perverted, an abomination or two and disowned us again. We were disappointed, of course, but hardly surprised. We had each other; that was the main thing.

Our friends and colleagues packed the church and ‘Uptown Voices’ sang — after I’d been dragged forward to join them for an anthem. I felt very self-conscious standing with the choir; they were all in their black skirts and multi-coloured tops, while I was in my white satin wedding dress. What made it worse was that they insisted that I stand at the front; I wasn’t used to that. I shouldn’t think that there have been many brides who sang at their own wedding.

Jim was David’s Best Man. He’d been shocked to learn of the transitions but David was a “good bloke” and I was a “tasty bird” — I giggled at that. Jim did extract a kiss, willingly given, which was for keeping my man on the straight and narrow all this time and for bringing him to choir concerts.

I told everyone that they should still call me Gabi; I was now officially Mrs. Geraldine Abigail Turner, but I’d been Gabi too long. There was no shortage of would-be bridesmaids; it felt like every unattached female in ‘Uptown Voices’ and GSD’s Finance department wanted to be in the wedding party. Catherine Wentworth cried with happiness when I asked her to be my Matron of honour. Charlie Rochester, my hunky and very understanding boss, gave me away. At the reception, I’m sure that I saw him dancing with one of the choir — and was that a kiss, or were they just whispering to each other?

Chief Guest was a lady with no sight, but a big heart and a four-legged friend who, as usual, stole the show.

Finis

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ o ~ O ~ o ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Taylors, and Megan’s guide dogs, first appear in “There’s Life in the Old Dog Yet.”

Once again, I thank the wonderful Angela Rasch for editing this story, suggesting the title, and teaching me so much.

LISA’S DREAM

By Susan Heywood

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Robert Pemberton answers an advertisement in a contact magazine. The resulting changes to his life are the stuff of dreams.
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DISCLAIMERS AND COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

This is a work of adult fiction, drawn from my imagination. There are no deliberate references to anyone who has ever lived, is alive now or who has passed on.

There is some language that could be termed offensive and the story contains a few scenes of explicit sex. If either of these is upsetting to you, then you are advised to look elsewhere for your entertainment.

It is a given that the reader is entitled to hold my or me beliefs: offence is not intended. Characters are given the appropriate name and pronoun depending upon which gender they present.

This work is copyright of the author. No reproduction in any form, except for personal perusal, is permitted without express permission.

[email protected]

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Chapter One

“Robert James Pemberton, why can’t you hurry in the mornings? School days are the best days of your life, you know.”

~Yeah, right, Mum, so the rest of my life isn’t going to be worth living? ~

Thus was the essence of my youth. I hated the daily journey to that institutionalized brutality called school. Your typical Mr. Invisible, I was average in all respects, right down to my geeky glasses. Except I wasn’t average in that I wasn’t interested in sport, girls, sowing wild oats, fighting in gangs, swapping dirty stories, or any of the other things that normal adolescent boys are supposed to do.

“Music and reading?” My dad asked. “What sort of hobbies are they for a healthy teenage boy? Join in some sports; get some exercise.” The Colonel I had dubbed him. If he had risen above the rank of sergeant I’d have been amazed. Still he had been in the army — English Civil War I reckoned — must have grown the moustache then.

My peers seemed concerned only with “who won the match” or “that smashing bird over there.” As a matter of self-survival I became quite adept at fiction, the re-telling of stories from my imagination.

Also along the lines of stopping the bullying I had got myself a girlfriend.

~ A girlfriend? Ha! ~

Carol was a friendly girl who lived a few doors away. She was about my age and reasonably pretty, but not stunningly so, which didn’t bother me at all. Carol and Angela, her younger sister, were content if I simply sat and read a newspaper, while they played house around me. This ruse allowed me to keep their company without the usual relationship overtones. In truth I would have liked to have had a much different relationship with them — at least, Lisa would.

Lisa was the sister that not even my own parents knew about. Our thoughts were identical. A make-believe sister, or even an imaginary twin, is common for an only child, but Lisa was different. She was a prisoner who dared not be seen.

She would have loved to have been able to join in, really join in, the games that Carol and Angela played. She would have adored a doll to dress and push around in a pram. She would have loved to play nurses, house, and so on. Lisa envied Carol’s long hair, lovely clothes and school uniform. Nothing would have suited her more than to go swimming, have other girls with whom to go to school, discuss boys, fashions, what they would do at the weekend — all the usual girly things.

These, however, were the stuff of my youthful dreams. Real opportunities for Lisa were virtually non-existent and fraught with danger.

***

Lonely and frustrating years passed, but the day I joined Kennedy & Wise, my life started to run out of control. I’m not complaining, merely observing. It certainly wasn’t anything to complain about.

Unlike my parents and school mates, Kennedy & Wise didn’t seem to be concerned with appearance or hobbies. They wanted accuracy. I was an accounts clerk, a job I enjoyed very much, perhaps because I could mainly work alone. I even gained the necessary courage and confidence to change my glasses for contact lenses. This initially caused some comment, but another subject soon grabbed the headlines and the matter of my eyesight, or lack of it, was filed in the dustbin of the mind where it really belonged.

Mostly, of course, Lisa was much more interested in what the other women wore: their clothes; make-up; perfumes; heels; how they walked; girl talk and so on and I ended up completely tongue-tied when the matter of relationships arose. It’s doubtful if my excuse of being between girlfriends was really believed.

I could be found during most spare moments at the local library. I decided that, as this amounted to free entertainment, I might as well make use of it. As a result of my reading, I learned a lot about Lisa. I also learned something I didn’t want to know — I could never afford to do anything to help her achieve her life’s ambition.

My knowledge of the business and my work experience grew; this brought more responsibility and a small rise in pay. All would possibly have carried on like this had it not been for the arrival of a new Finance Director.

Miss Harriet Armitage was introduced to every member of staff as we stood in line to greet her. I was mesmerized by her commanding manner. She was by no means masculine looking, but had that indefinable air of someone who was quite accustomed to instant obedience.

If I had to guess her age, I would have said that she was in her late twenties and she towered above me by a good few inches. She had a physique, and purposeful agility of a tigress, that any self-respecting netball team would kill for. Her short, straight, brown hair, white roll-neck sweater, midnight blue trouser suit and low-heeled shoes conveyed an impression of femininity, but with no sign of softness.

Indeed she was clearly used to getting her own way; her personality and presence saw to that. She neither needed nor wore make-up. Her faint smile and firm grip on my hand seemed to paralyze my whole body. I felt her eyes bore right through me, almost laying my soul bare. She greeted me in her mellow contralto voice and continued to look at me as I tried to stammer a response.

Making her acquaintance changed my life. I felt myself in the presence of someone who could have absolute power over me and for whom I would do anything in the world.

~ Her slave? Why not? I just want to serve this woman and do anything for her. I’ve never felt anything like it in my life ~

When she had moved on to the next person in the line, I spent a few moments trying to catch my breath. Nothing before in my life had ever had such an impact upon me as that first meeting. Only later was it pointed out to me that I alone had responded to her greeting with the word “ma’am.” I nearly bowed but just restrained myself.

~ Should I curtsey? Now where on earth did that thought come from? ~

I’d have been in deep shit if I had curtsied — but for some strange reason a curtsey didn’t seem at all incongruous.

***

That next weekend I spent the day in the nearest big city where I relaxed for a few hours in the one of the specialist bookshops that catered to my tastes. I liked to buy Lisa a magazine every now and then and would have purchased some lovely clothes had it not been for the problem of storage at my lodgings. At least a magazine could be slid down the back of a drawer.

Back in my room, I was drawn to one particular, intriguing advertisement:

Prof. lady seeks TV or TS for bookkeeping and other clerical tasks, also var. household duties. Sincere applics only, no drag queens, posers or time-wasters. All clothing provided. Discreet accommodation in secluded area. Reply to Box 431.

Excited and frightened I was somehow driven to respond: it was an opportunity which Lisa would not let me pass up. I didn’t see any risks; rather I didn’t want to see. All that mattered to me was the possibility of achieving my life’s ambition to become the graceful, feminine and intelligent woman that I should have been at birth, had my genital defect not indicated otherwise. I wrote straight away, before my courage failed me. I considered using a Box Number for replies but eventually just appended my own name and address. After posting the letter I fell to wondering about the professional lady and where she lived.

After about a month with no reply, I decided that I obviously wasn’t the right applicant and dejected, resolved to forget about it.

The very next day, a Friday, I was summoned to Miss Armitage’s office.

~ Oh shit, a director. Now I’ve got to tell old Cummings, my line manager, and I bet he’ll give me the third degree. ‘What have you done? Why can’t you be more careful,’ ya da, ya da, painful. How do I know what I’ve done? ~

I immediately started shaking but, rather than cause myself more trouble by delaying, I went up to the executive suite and shyly approached June, Miss Armitage’s secretary.

She gave me a quizzical look. “Do sit down; Miss Armitage won’t keep you long.”

I sat down on the edge of a chair, my heart thumping. I assumed that I must have made some dreadful mistake; after all you weren’t summoned to a Director’s office without good reason. Most minor problems would surely have been handled by Mr Cummings.

Eventually June’s telephone rang once. “Yes, Miss Armitage . . . “Certainly, Miss Armitage.” She replaced the handset. “Please go in.”

I got up from my chair and kept a watchful eye on June. She was clearly mystified as she watched me hesitantly walk towards that office door. She kept frowning and glancing over to me as if questioning my right to be there.

I timidly knocked on the door.

A voice commanded, “Come.”

I quaked in my shoes as I gingerly opened the door and entered, closing it behind me.

The office was a fairly large room containing the usual trappings of a Director who, at that moment, occupied a huge leather chair behind a vast expanse of mahogany desk. Bookcases lined one long wall and sat on a carpet done in a sumptuous shade of blue with a small pattern reminiscent of an ancient Greek pavement I’d seen in a book. An imposing array of modern technology occupied a purpose-built workstation set in an alcove to the left of the desk.

Once again Miss Armitage’s attire was female without being in any way feminine.

I was struck by the power of this woman. I stood quite still, except for the thumping of my heart.

“Good morning, Robert.” She greeted with that slight smile I had noticed when we were first introduced. “Please sit down.” She indicated a chair in front of the desk.

I carefully sat on the front edge of it wondering if I should speak, but my brain would not respond. Normally I would avert my eyes if she looked my way while walking in the office but today I had no choice but to look directly at her.

“You recently responded to an advertisement in a contact magazine.”

My heart skipped a beat, or was it two, facing utter devastation. I burst into tears, not knowing how she knew, just seeing the horrible ramifications.

~ My world has collapsed. My lodgings take a large part of my income and were an easy walk to the office. Now what will I do? How do I get another job? Why did I have to answer that advert? ~

Accounts clerks were two a penny and I had no illusions about the difficulty of finding work. In addition, I would have to go back and live with my elderly parents, which didn’t appeal to me.

“Stop your crying!” she commanded and rose from her chair. She opened a drawer in the desk and took out some tissues, which she handed to me.

With a massive effort of will I pulled myself together but rested my head on my hands.

“It is very simple,” she said, “I advertised, you replied. If your application is serious, then I shall conduct a proper interview.”

~ Why on earth did I have to put my name and address on the letter? ~

I nodded and then started to cry again.

She got up, came around to my side of the desk and stood beside me.

I was in full flow and jabbering “Please don’t sack me, ma’am.”

Suddenly she knelt beside me, put her arm around my shoulder, and gently asked, “Do you have a femme name?”

~ Femme name? How on earth could she know about femme names? ~

I slowly turned to her and my eyes widened with astonishment. “L.....Lisa, m.....ma’am.” I blurted out, almost automatically.

“Very good, Lisa Pemberton. Will you trust me?” In that one sentence she had re-christened me.

I was at once shocked, confused, delighted and petrified. I didn’t know why I felt the way I did but my whole being wanted only to serve this amazing woman. “Y…Yes, ma’am”

She helped me dry my eyes. “I need to know more about you. I have your employment and academic records -- and from my observation you appear to be very suitable for the work that I have in mind. Please, now, take your time and tell me as much about your past and your wishes for yourself as you can. You may be interested to know that I have been observing you for some time. Do you believe in fate, Lisa?”

Without waiting for an answer she went on. “I suppose the odds against your even reading the advertisement must be almost impossibly high. For you to have actually responded must surely be fate. Having seen how you relate to other staff here, especially other women, I have long had my suspicions that you would be the ideal person for me. You have simply saved me the trouble, and possible embarrassment, of asking you directly.”

Little by little she drew out my complete history. Finally she asked if I knew my dress size, shoe size and a few other things. I had no idea so just told her what sizes I was in male clothes. At last, after nearly two hours in her office, she was satisfied.

She gave me a card. “Good. Come to my house at ten o’clock on Monday morning and we can discuss it then. Here’s a map.” I nodded, and she concluded by saying, “Now clear your desk and leave. Please ask your manager to come to my office immediately. If anyone asks, you know nothing.”

I looked and felt as though I had been wrung out. I stumbled back to my desk, which I cleared and passed the message to my manager.

“Are you in trouble?” he asked.

“No,” I answered, “I’ve just been told to clear my desk and leave.”

I ignored all other questions and left.

~ How am I going to get through the weekend? ~

My head was thumping, my thoughts all jumbled and my hands shaking. Not only that but my landlady, surprised to see me this early in the day, asked what was wrong.

“I was sent home,” I replied.

“Have you been sacked, then?” she asked, no doubt anxious about her rent and possibly also wondering if her next tenant would be as quiet and reliable.

“I wasn’t well; and I was just told to go home early,” I stammered, and went to my room.

Chapter Two

I had spent a puzzled and anxious weekend in the solitude of my room, sleeping only fitfully and eating even less than my usual meagre appetite allowed. I had taken the precaution of setting an alarm clock even though I was an early riser.

Dressed in my tidiest shirt and trousers, I arrived with plenty of time to spare. Miss Armitage’s home was in a suburb of the same city in which I worked and had my lodging. I had no difficulty finding the large, detached and secluded house, with it curved drive and privacy hedges. It looked to have been built in the early twentieth century, and seemed well maintained.

I checked my watch for what must have been the hundredth time that morning, and then rang the doorbell at precisely ten o’clock. The door opened and I looked up into the face of a strikingly beautiful woman who, I guessed, would be in her early twenties. She smiled, pleased by something, and beckoned for me to enter.

I didn’t register all her features, but noticed that her long, curly golden hair was gathered away from her face behind a white headband. She walked in front of me in a black and white outfit that might have been a uniform. I couldn’t help but notice her large breasts; her outfit emphasized all of her stunning curves.

I dared not do anything but glance quickly at her, while she showed me into what she called “the drawing room.”

“I’ll inform my mistress of your arrival.” She glanced back at me with her enchanting eyes while she left the room.

Miss Armitage entered the room a few minutes later; and I was again mesmerized by her ability to overpower me. Her cream polo shirt was topped by a stylish black trouser suit. Low-heeled shoes again reinforced the masculine image she portrayed at work. Her hands were well manicured, but with no trace of nail polish. She again wore no make-up and her hair appeared as though she had just had a very mannish haircut.

She held out a hand to help me stand. “Hello, Lisa, I’m so glad that you could come. I think you will find my offer interesting; and I hope that we can come to a suitable arrangement.”

~Lisa.~ I pinched myself to make sure that I was awake. ~Ouch.~

“This is Jennifer, my maid and housekeeper.”

The woman who had admitted me had come back into the room, all the while carefully examining every detail of my appearance. Taking my hands in hers she smiled. “Hello, Lisa, I’m very pleased to meet you and I do hope that you will want to join us. I am so looking forward to helping you settle in and working with you.”

I had hoped I would see Jennifer again soon but was just as tongue-tied with her as I had been with the mistress.

~My relationship with Miss Armitage will obviously be strictly business but my reaction to Jennifer is another matter entirely. I already feel drawn to her in a way that causes my heart to do the emotional equivalent of a double back-flip somersault ~

The electricity between us broke when Jennifer addressed her mistress. “Shall I bring refreshments now, ma’am?”

Nodding her assent, Miss Armitage dismissed Jennifer.

She curtsied as she left the room.

Miss Armitage turned her attention to me. “Sit down, Lisa.”

I responded immediately to Miss Armitage order and sat expectantly on the edge of the chair that she had indicated.

She again smiled slightly, sitting opposite to me.

I trembled while feeling puzzled, yet excited.

~She had again used my femme name - no wonder I’m excited! Hang on, though; things like this just don’t happen to boring, obscure people like me, do they?~

I had great difficulty concentrating on what she was saying, because I hadn’t recovered from that delicious all-over tingle caused by the touch of Jennifer’s hands upon mine.

“Well now,” Miss Armitage said, who seemingly had not missed the significance of my inattention. “I wish to employ an Assistant.” She emphasized the word “Assistant.”

~What sort of assistant? Doing what? ~ I daren’t speak.

“In addition to being Finance Director of Kennedy and Wise, I also run my own business, a first class accounting service for successful businesswomen. My business has grown somewhat of late; and Jennifer has neither the inclination nor aptitude for the work, hence the need for someone to join us.”

“But. . . . Wh. . .why am I here?” I stammered.

“That’s very simple. My experience with you tells me that you’ll make an ideal assistant. You’re loyal, hard working and obedient -- and, what’s more, you’re no macho type.”

~ Macho type? Wouldn’t it amaze my father if I found a position by lacking a macho attitude? ~

“But wh. . .what ab...bout...?”

At that moment Jennifer returned with a tray of morning coffee and delicate home-made pastries.

“Jennifer has been with me for many years. I have briefed her on your background and the type of work which you will be doing for me. Jennifer will be helping you with what we will call your ‘domestic arrangements.’ ”

~ Domestic arrangements? What on earth does she mean? ~

She continued, apparently without noticing my look of worried puzzlement. “I, of course, shall supervise the work you do for my business. But I will also take a great deal of interest in other aspects of your life with us.” She apparently sensed that I was still worried. “There are no men in this household. I intend there will never be any. You’ll therefore be expected to adopt a totally female role.”

My heart leapt and I fought to control my growing excitement.

~A female role? Is she joking? I hope not~ The advertisement wasn’t a ruse.

She went on. “We are confident that, with our help, you will suit our requirements admirably. I know that your clerical work and bookkeeping are of a suitable standard. Your studies at evening classes have neither gone unnoticed nor been wasted effort. I have watched you practicing at lunchtimes when you thought that you were unobserved. The work here is well within your capabilities and, I am sure, you will quickly pick up the other aspects of the position. You will, in effect, be my personal assistant.”

~She wants Lisa . . . not Robert. Can I deny Lisa this opportunity? Would I ever want to do so? No -- on both counts ~

“Jennifer, please bring me my briefcase.” She opened it and took out a chequebook. Miss Armitage looked over to me. “I will make out a cheque for four weeks’ rent; and you can take it with you. Collect your belongings and bring them here this afternoon. Oh, and sign these.”

I looked at her questioningly.

She frowned slightly. “I can see by your face that you would like to take this post. Am I correct?”

“Yes, YES,” I whispered. My whole body quivered with anticipation, but at the same time had reservations.

~There surely has to be a catch; things like this are the stuff of dreams ~

Her puckered brow turned to a radiant smile. “Very well, you will resign your employment with Kennedy and Wise with effect from Friday last. You start with me today. Sign your letter of resignation as Robert, your new contract of employment as Lisa and leave the dates blank. We will deal with the official change of name in due course.”

I pinched myself again. ~Yes, I’m still awake ~

Eagerly I took the pen Miss Armitage offered me and signed my names at the bottom of both documents. I realized after I had done so that I had been commanded, not invited, to sign. I also realized that this was the first time I had ever signed myself as Lisa Janice Pemberton. Acting out of trust or expediency, I did not read the documents before signing them.

To Be Continued

My grateful thanks go to Angela Rasch for her advice and her editing skills; she has helped turn my writing into a story.

LISA’S DREAM

By Susan Heywood

Eagerly I took the pen Miss Armitage offered me and signed my names at the bottom of both documents. I realized after I had done so that I had been commanded, not invited, to sign. I also realized that this was the first time I had ever signed myself as Lisa Janice Pemberton. Acting out of trust or expediency, I did not read the documents before signing them.

That very afternoon I said goodbye to my landlady. “I’ve left Kennedy and Wise for another position; and I’ve been invited to share accommodations with a new colleague.” I gave her the cheque to cover four week’s rent.

She scowled. “I’ll be wishing you good luck then; you’ve been a model tenant, who it’ll be hard to replace.”

~ A model tenant? I had been quiet and paid my rent every Friday. Shame I couldn’t have been a different kind of model ~ I suppressed a giggle.

I returned to Miss Armitage’s house and rang the bell.

The door opened and Jennifer once again greeted me. This time she wore a blue blouse with long, full sleeves, buttoned cuffs and fashionable scarf around her neck. The blouse had been cut to show her ample bust to perfection; and I couldn’t help staring at her in rapt admiration. Her black pencil skirt emphasized her hips. Her barely-black stockinged feet were slipped into black patent three-inch high-heeled court shoes. She had a gold chain around her right ankle, a gold watch and bracelet — and gold hoop earrings dangled from her pierced ears. Her blonde hair, free of its headband, tumbled in curls around her shoulders.

~ If only I could look half as stunning as she does ~

“Hello,” she said, giving me a brilliant smile as I entered the house. “I’m really glad that you’ve agreed to join us. I’ll show you to your room; and you can have a bath and change into something more suitable. Then I can run through a few details -- what you might call the ‘house rules.’ ”

I watched every movement of Jennifer’s lovely body as I followed her upstairs to a large room at the top of the house.

She motioned with her hand. “This will be your room.”

I gazed open-mouthed. The overtly feminine room had Egyptian cotton bed linen, pink satin bedspread, drapes and frilly curtains around the dressing table. Soft lighting revealed itself at the touch of a button. The dressing table top had been arrayed with all manner of lipsticks, powder, mascara, perfume, make-up pencils, and so on. One door, on the wall opposite to the one we came in, gave access to the bathroom, another led to a dressing room.

“Now that you’re here we can make some final adjustments to your wardrobe, although many of your clothes should fit without alteration. Since your response to the mistress’ advertisement we have had a few weeks to prepare for your arrival. The final details you gave on Friday morning completed the picture. I do hope that you’ll be happy with us.”

She again held my hands, and then kissed me on the lips.

Chapter Three

Apart from a rare peck on the cheek from my mother or an aging aunt that was the first time anyone had kissed me and I was shaken, yet I responded instinctively. I had no experience with girls and no idea of what to do. When I had previously thought about it I supposed that I would have a relationship with a man, because all my life I wished to be female. I was unsure of what was happening even though the logical alternative would be a woman.

I had concluded that as a woman I couldn’t have any sort of relationship with another woman. Naively, I had never heard anything other than what was covered in playground gossip; which didn’t include mention of anyone being a lesbian.

Faced with a new reality I felt utter confusion. Jennifer’s kiss turned all my ideas on their head, because I found myself being drawn to her as to a magnet.

Very quickly her proximity caused me to relax; and I unconsciously wound my arms around her neck. I felt the passionate ecstasy that a woman gets when she is one with her lover and responds to a kiss.

“My, oh my!” Jennifer said, laughing, while we finally, and reluctantly, detached ourselves from each other. “Very interesting indeed!”

~She’s been testing me to see how I would react - and it seems that she may well have liked my reaction ~

I was breathless when she finally let go.

Her head slightly tilted to one side and a small smile played on her luscious red lips.

~Why would someone as lovely as Jennifer; want to kiss plain old me? ~

My mind was occupied with my thoughts and I missed the significance of the smile.

She grabbed me by the arm and started stripping me. “The sooner you get rid of that awful stubble the better,” Jennifer said as I removed the last of my clothing and put on the robe that she had given me. “It was like kissing a hedgehog!”

I was disappointed, thinking I had made a good attempt at shaving that morning.

Just then a stern voice from behind made me freeze. “Bring her to me in the drawing room at eight o’clock this evening and ensure that my instructions have been followed to the letter.”

Jennifer curtsied as Miss Armitage marched out of the room. She then led me into the bathroom and ran a bath, pouring in a generous helping of perfumed oils. “Get in and soak.”

The pleasant and relaxing atmosphere of a warm, scented bath caused me to daydream about Jennifer’s breasts and being kissed again by her.

Suddenly she entered the bathroom wearing a white overall and carrying a safety razor and a wet/dry shaver. She proceeded to twice lather my face and shave me. She then lathered my whole body and shaved it clean. Finally she had me stand, dried me, creamed and powdered me and gave me another long, white, satin wrap and some heeled mules.

The satin felt good against my hairless skin as I tied first the inside ribbons and then the belt.

Back again in the bedroom, she manicured my nails and applied polish. “They will grow in no time at all and we can shape them properly.” She also treated my toes.

She applied moisturizer to my face and then, when my toes and fingernails were dry pronounced, “Time to get you into some new clothes.”

I look at where my male clothes had been, but they were gone.

“Have you ever worn a corset?”

“N…No.”

“Well then, I have laid out some clothes for you which should reinforce your new female status and will help to give you the feminine figure that I’m sure you’ve always desired.”

~What else does she have in mind? Bondage? Pain?~ I shivered at the thought.

Jennifer misinterpreted my actions. “We’ll soon have you dressed so you won’t be so cold.” She produced a long lace-up corset.

I caught my breath. ~What a beautiful garment!~ It was made of heavy satin, well boned with six strong suspenders hanging from the bottom. My joy knew no bounds as I helped her to fit it around my waist.

“This is especially designed to give you more rounded hips and bum and offers somewhere to put your boobs.” Jennifer smiled as she popped a pair of silicone breast forms into the bra part of the corset. “Not as big as mine, but satisfactory for now. Hold onto the foot of the bed while I pull the laces in tight.” She yanked until I could hardly breathe -- then she stopped, looped the laces around my slender waist, and tied them off.

~Just as well she quit when she did or the top half of my body may have fallen off. Nice figure though. . .Lisa ~

“You’ll soon get used to wearing the corset. We’ll tighten it regularly until you achieve your ideal waist size.”

Jennifer had me sit on the edge of the bed and she took up a pair of white silk stockings which she rolled onto my legs, then clipped them to the suspenders of the corset.

~ My goodness, how slim they make my legs look.~
I stood for a moment pointing my foot out like I had seen other women in department stores do when they were trying shoes on and loving the sight of them. ~ “Other women.” My mental state is changing already, but there’s a long way to go.~

The only thing that spoiled my appearance was a joke between my legs that was soon covered with a pair of panties and white silky knickers. Strongly built, like a pantie-girdle, they had a sort of absorbent pad inside the crotch.

“What’s that for?”

“It’s a sanitary towel. We don’t want you soiling your new underwear now, do we? Other women of your age have periods and wear a towel. You will wear one all the time to help remind you of your new status. It will also help to flatten your oversized clitoris.”

~Information overload!~

After shaping my eyebrows Jennifer started on the other items which adorned the dressing table top. Foundation, powder, eyeliner, eye shadow, blusher -- all used with consummate skill. I couldn’t see what was going on as I had my back to the mirror but noticed its subtle fragrance as each item was opened and applied to my face. Before adding lipstick Jennifer reached over and took up a shoulder-length, curly, auburn wig, which she placed on my head, and then styled.

She led me by the hand to the dressing room, where she found a long white petticoat, with several layers of skirt, which she popped over my head.

The touch of the fine material thrilled me as it slid down my silk-clad legs.

Then she took a long white dress out of the wardrobe.

My eyes nearly popped out of my head when I saw it. In my dreams I had imagined myself wearing such a Truly Scrumptious dress. I had seen one like it numerous times in the film “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang” some years before and sat glued to the screen whenever Sally Ann Howes appeared, as the character Truly Scrumptious. I had purchased the video and played it whenever I had the opportunity just so that I could see that wonderful dress. And now, it was mine to wear. Thank you Ian Fleming, for writing the children’s book the film was based upon.

It was white as snow, full-length, and very tight in the waist. Jennifer undid the long back zip and helped me into it.

I felt a tremendous thrill as the long skirt fell to the floor.

When Jennifer zipped me up I found that the dress fitted perfectly. My padded hips and bum, together with the layers of petticoat, caused the dress to flare out at just the right places and ensured that it was a very good fit. I felt totally feminine.

She placed a satin sash around my waist and tied it with a large floppy bow at the back. She had me sit on the stool while she fitted white satin three-inch heeled shoes onto my feet.

I had never before worn anything as utterly feminine as that underwear or as beautiful as that dress. Nor had I ever had the pleasure of feeling my feet in ‘proper’ shoes. She squirted a lovely perfume behind my ears, and then fitted me with pearl, cluster clip-on earrings. A matching pendant was placed around my neck and formed a vee which pointed unquestioningly to my new cleavage.

Finally she showed me how to gather my skirt, turned me around, and led me to the long mirror. I nearly fainted, overwhelmed by the sight in that mirror.

~ My goodness, she looks absolutely stunning ~ Then I realized that it was me. The combination of hair, make-up, a beautiful dress, and “real” shoes could do wondrous things to a girl. ~And that waist, and those hips . . . Wow!.~

There was nothing of the old me in that vision of pretty loveliness.

All at once the wave of sexuality that had slowly but steadily built over the last few hours reached its point of no return. My body took control from my mind, resulting in a huge, all consuming event that left me stunned and speechless.

I had previously brought myself to a climax when dreaming of wearing women’s clothing. On those occasions I had always imagined myself as having a woman’s genitals and that a penis had been inside me. The thing that puzzled me most, however, was that I never ever imagined myself making love with a man but only with a woman. ~Perhaps I am a lesbian. At least now I know why I was made to wear a sanitary towel.~

Jennifer stood away a little and watched. She said nothing, merely smiling dreamily to herself.

I somewhat recovered my composure and looked with troubled focus at Jennifer.

She came over and took my arm to steady me. “Are you okay now, Lisa?”

I was thrilled at being called Lisa at last, both by the mistress and now by this beautiful woman, towards whom my feelings of gratitude knew no bounds. ~Was it just gratitude or the seeds of something else?~ I smiled at her and was again surprised when she kissed me lightly on the cheek.

“Mustn’t smudge your lipstick now, must we? I would get into trouble with the mistress. By the way, you look absolutely divine.” With that she led me out of the room and, as I was unfamiliar with skirts and heels, she helped me down the stairs and into the drawing room. She showed me how to curtsey. “The mistress will expect it and you mustn’t forget to do so.” She taught me what to do with my hands, how to sit, how to stand, walk, and many other things that had my head reeling.

At precisely eight o’clock Miss Armitage came into the room. I curtsied as I had been taught, then, once again, my mouth dropped open as I took in the sight before me.

Harriet Armitage wore a denim long-sleeved shirt, denim trousers and brown leather boots. They were not male clothes for they were a perfect womanly fit, rather than the ‘if it touches, it fits’ approach that men’s clothes always seemed to have. The shirt was unbuttoned to show a hint of small but well-formed breasts which Miss Armitage clearly had no wish to hide, as her bra just peeked through the gap. She also wore a large gold Rolex watch on her left wrist and a chunky gold chain around her neck. Her short hair shone in the subtle lighting of the room. Again she neither needed, nor wore, any make-up.

“My word, Lisa, what a transformation. And that waist! Really Jennifer, I congratulate you. Well, Lisa, did you enjoy your initiation into our household?”

I nodded dumbly and bobbed a curtsey.

“Splendid!” cried Miss Armitage, clapping her hands. “Before we go any further I will tell you that you will henceforth be known only as Lisa. There will be no further reference to that other name by which you used to be known in your former life, nor, for obvious reasons, will you ever again be referred to as ‘HE’ or ‘HIM’.

“Now, you may be wondering about the nature of the clothes that you are wearing. I like to see my girls in beautiful clothes, such as soft feminine blouses, long skirts, often long dresses when they’re off duty. The more feminine looking, the better I like it. As this is your first night with us I thought that you would love that adorable white gown. Am I right?”

“Y...yes, ma’am.” ~Will I ever feel as wonderfully feminine as I do tonight?~ To know that I was to spend several hours in my heavenly clothes made me feel enchantingly happy; and a deep glow started to creep up my body.

Miss Armitage spoke again. “It is time for Jennifer to go up and change, and then we will all sit down for a quiet evening and get to know each other. Please sit, Lisa, that upright chair would be more suitable for you, as you are wearing a corset.”

I curtsied again and did as I was bid.

Lounging on one of the settees Miss Armitage smiled, seemingly very pleased. “Lisa, you are a lovely girl and will surely be an ideal addition to our household. You’re obviously both eager to learn and please.”

Miss Armitage then proceeded to tell me her astonishing plans for my future. After thirty minutes I was in a total whirl, trying to get my mind around all the many things that were to happen. My mistress first told me that I would be regularly treated by Jennifer and a beautician to waxing, electrolysis, manicure, pedicure, eyebrow shaping, and trained in the use of make-up. Jennifer would teach me the skills of homemaking, cookery, sewing, dressmaking, deportment, speech, colour and style ... the list went on and on.

When Jennifer came back into the room I was once more treated to the sight of this beautiful woman in another outfit. Her long, sleeveless dress was the palest mint green. At her neck she wore a stylish chiffon scarf. The dress was well fitted and did nothing to hide the swell of those wonderful breasts, her tiny waist and her full hips. She wore white shoes with four-inch heels and her shining golden hair was piled high onto the crown of her head and adorned with a sparkling tiara. A beautiful gold rope-chain necklace with a large cameo pendant matched her gold pendant earrings.

~Will I ever again see Jennifer looking so beautiful?~ On impulse, and without thinking, I stood, hugged her, and whispered, “You look enchanting. What a beautiful dress.”

Jennifer smiled and took the chair next to me. “I’m impressed by the apparently natural way that you’ve slipped into feminine ways, mannerisms, and speech patterns.

“I already knew that women use different words,” I said. “Words like enchanting, gorgeous, heavenly and so on slide easily and naturally into a woman’s vocabulary.”

Jennifer took my hand in hers and squeezed it reassuringly as if to say “you’re doing well” - but she didn’t let go!

Miss Armitage smiled. “In addition to finding a good, reliable assistant for my business enterprise, it appears I’ve found an ideal companion for Jennifer.”

When Jennifer nodded, ever so slightly, I blushed.

“It is time” Miss Armitage told me, “to explain the nature of your duties and the timetable of the household activities. Jennifer usually spends her mornings doing the housework: shopping, cleaning, washing, ironing, etc. After which she changes out of her work clothes and does some dressmaking or other activity. She absolutely adores keeping house, cooking and dressmaking. In fact she made those beautiful dresses that you are both wearing.”

I squeezed her hand to let her know I appreciated her handiwork.

Miss Armitage continued. “In order to put you in the correct frame of mind for work - I will show you the office tomorrow morning. You will wear clothes appropriate to a personal assistant in business. It might be a skirt suit, blouse and skirt, a day dress in the summer, and so on. Jennifer will select what you wear each day because she knows how I would like to see you dressed. I’m sure, however, that her choice of clothes will always make you feel feminine and at the same time will teach you what colours and styles will most suit you. In the evening, as you’ve seen, you’ll change into something appropriate. In addition, I frequently entertain guests and you’ll be required to assist Jennifer with her role as hostess for those functions. Your exact duties will be explained later, but I am certain that you will also enjoy that aspect of life in this house.”

I was intrigued, but certain sexual feelings were again starting to get the better of me. ~I hope my mistress will soon finish so that my embarrassment will not show.~

“I can see that you are feeling some excitement as a result of wearing that delightful dress, Lisa. . .and no doubt also at the prospect of living and working in a female role.”

I blushed fiercely under Miss Armitage’s gaze.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “It comes as no surprise to me. Very soon, of course, medication will deal with your feelings. Meanwhile, Jennifer will look after you.”

Jennifer rose and took me in her arms.

It seemed incredible that this wonderful pleasure should be mine after so many years. The delight at again being enfolded in the embrace of this beautiful woman, to smell her fragrance and to press against those breasts sent thrill after thrill through my body to enhance the shock waves already overtaking me.

I lightly kissed her as a ‘thank you’, and then turned to my mistress, curtsied, and spoke in a still shaky voice. “Thank you, ma’am. I am very grateful to you both and I will do my very best to please you.”

“I know you will, my dear,” Miss Armitage said while she rose from her chair and took my hands in hers. “Jennifer, you may bring supper now, and then we will all retire. We all have a busy day ahead of us.”

Jennifer returned to the room a little later bearing a supper tray, but I was too excited to eat or drink anything. I was still overwhelmed by the transformation that had taken place in a mere half-day.

“You need to take these pills each day,” Miss Armitage said, handing them to me. “They’re hormones that will be indispensable to your change.”

~I wonder where she got them? Are they safe? What effects should I expect to see, and when? I must talk to Jennifer about them ~

A little later Jennifer helped me to prepare for bed. I bathed and was shown how to dispose of and replace my sanitary towel, which I obviously had to wear at all times. I was shown how to don a lighter corset, more suitable for sleeping, and a beautiful long-sleeved white satin night-dress. I removed my make-up and replaced it with a night moisturizing cream.

Jennifer then tucked me in and kissed me goodnight. My mother hadn’t bothered with a goodnight kiss but this kiss wasn’t at all motherly.

I became excited yet again when I felt Jennifer’s tongue exploring my mouth. Before I had time to fully respond, she smiled, and then turned out the light and left me, closing the bedroom door. I settled down contentedly in the luxurious cotton sheets and thought again of Jennifer, while drifting off.

The next morning at seven I was awakened, like Cinderella, with a gentle kiss. I had slept well, feeling totally at peace for the first time. Following a visit to the bathroom, during which I washed and thoroughly shaved, I began the intensive treatment that was to change my body forever.

Jennifer massaged special oils into my body and applied moisturizer to my face. Then she gave me another hormone capsule which I washed down with a glass of water. This, she explained, was a twofold assault on my maleness. The massage and oils worked to develop a smooth skin; and the capsule was a hormone concentrate, which would help me to develop a female shape, skin texture and so on.

~What if the capsule is poisonous?~ I laughed to myself. ~Surely they didn’t go to all this trouble just to do away with me? I really must have a serious conversation with Jennifer very soon about the ultimate result of all this treatment ~

I was then prepared for the task awaiting me that morning.

Jennifer wore her black and white outfit; this consisted of a white V-neck blouse with long sleeves, over which she wore a black pinafore dress. It had a tight waist and straight, knee-length skirt. It clearly had to have been specially made in order to fit so snugly around her ample bosom.

~Ah, one of Jennifer’s interests is dressmaking. It could be one of her own creations. ~
Her black tights and black two-inch heeled court shoes showed her lovely slim legs to perfection. Her hair was once again gathered into a white headband.

“Today you will be dressed for your first day at work,” Jennifer explained with excitement. “A tight-laced corset, knickers and honey-coloured stockings are to be the regular foundation for your clothing. I’ll help you again with your make-up, but this time I’ll tell you what I’m doing and give you little tips so you can do it yourself in the future.”

With Jennifer’s help I finished dressing. As I put on my blouse and did up the buttons I finally admitting to myself that I had arrived as a working girl getting ready for my first day at the office. ~I want to look pretty for my new boss.~ My mid-calf length pencil skirt, in a stunning burgundy colour, appeared to be the height of office fashion. It zipped and buttoned at the waist and had a matching lined long-sleeved jacket.

Jennifer again fitted the curly, auburn wig to my head and brushed it out. Small stud earrings, a fine neck chain, watch, bangle and rings completed the jewellery.

I watched in open-mouthed wonder as she picked out a pair of black patent shoes from the cupboard.

“Try these for your first day; the mistress will just love them!”

~That’s all very well, but the heels must be at least four inches.~

“I’ll never walk in them,” I protested.

I obediently put them on, however, and then looked at my reflection in the long mirror.

~The extra high heels help give my legs a lovely feminine shape ~

Again a feeling of warm excitement washed over me; and I started to cry with joy at the thought that it really was me looking back from that mirror.

~Not a photo or poster, but me, Lisa!~

Jennifer held out her arms.

I gratefully flung myself into them, sobbing with delight, feeling intoxicated by her nearness and fragrance, our lips finding each other like magnets. The two of us were locked in a passionate embrace made all the more sensual by the feeling of Jennifer’s hands gently caressing my body through the satin blouse. No words were spoken or needed as we revelled in the joy of each other’s company. The practicalities of a relationship were of no consequence at that time, save that each found the other attractive and wanted to share.

After what seemed like hours, although only a few minutes, Jenny, as she insisted on being called, whispered, “We’d better repair our make-up, the mistress will be expecting us and woe betide us if we’re late!”

I dabbed perfume onto my pulse points, put on and buttoned the matching burgundy jacket and we went downstairs, with Jenny again helping me to negotiate the perilous route to the drawing room where Miss Armitage was waiting for us.

“Ah! Good morning, girls.”

“Good morning, ma’am,” we replied. I experienced another warm glow at being addressed as a ‘girl’. To curtsy in the skirt and shoes that I was wearing was impossible, so I just bobbed a little.

Miss Armitage didn’t seem to pick up on it because she continued. “You look delightful, Lisa, and I love the shoes; very suitable for your first day in the office.”

I glanced at Jenny and we exchanged knowing little smiles.

“This morning I will introduce you to the work that I require to be done every day. I know that you can type and I am aware that you use shorthand; I have watched you in the office, practicing at lunch times. I think you will be putting those skills to good use in my employ.”

After breakfast, she took me to the office. It had a modern feel to it, including a state-of-the-art computer system.

“You already know most of your duties from your previous employment. There are a few differences in the procedures that I use and we will go through these later. Meanwhile I would like to test your secretarial skills.” She indicated a pair of office chairs.

I sat straight-backed upon one of them. I marvelled at how easy it was to sit upright and then realized that this was due to my tightly-laced corset.

She handed me a shorthand notebook and pencil, and then taking the other chair, started to dictate. “To Messrs. Brookes & James, Solicitors. The address is on file. For attention of Ms J. Smithson. Dear Ms Smithson, I acknowledge receipt of your letter. . . .”
She dictated slowly at first so that I could keep up, and then waited while the letter and envelope had been typed.

It unnerved me to be examined by my mistress, but I persevered and completed the task. All seemed satisfactory, so after dictating a further four letters, she showing me the other documents awaiting attention and ensured that I knew my way around the computer. “I shall leave you for a while. Jennifer will prepare refreshments at lunchtime and you may have your break together. I’ll return later to sign those letters.” She walked out and left me to begin my work.

When she had gone, I marvelled for a moment at my transformation and complete change of lifestyle. On Friday morning, just four days ago, I had been a nondescript male accounts clerk. Now I was a female Personal Assistant living in the same house as the beautiful Jenny and the enigmatic Miss Armitage.

The next day was more or less a repetition of the Tuesday; and I made good progress. I was also getting used to the four-inch heels.

Having completed our work for the day, Jenny and I went upstairs to change ready for the return of our mistress.

“You may wear this tonight.” Jenny held up a stunning dress in a delightful peach colour. It was ankle length with a high round neck, tight waist, long back zip and short puff sleeves. It clung to every curve of my tight-laced body and was teamed with white four-inch heeled sandals.

I was breathless with excitement as I contemplated that dress.

~No time to waste, though.~

Jennifer helped me complete all the same preparations of the previous two days. Adorned with a long white chiffon scarf and gold jewellery I waited while Jenny finished her own transformation.

Jenny had worn her favourite pale green satin wrap, which couldn’t hide a generous cleavage and very well rounded hips.

~I wonder if green is Jenny’s favourite colour? ~

Thus I was totally unprepared for the vision that entered the room some minutes later. She was wearing a beautiful blue version of the same dress as I had on, blue that matched her eyes. With harmonising heels and her hair once more piled regally on her head Jenny looked absolutely stunning.

She turned her back to me. “Zip me up, please, darling”

Thrilled by her endearment I lovingly eased the zip upwards to join the two halves of the dress together against her gorgeous body. I just couldn’t resist giving Jenny’s neck a quick kiss.

She quickly spun toward me. “Last make-up check, and then let’s go downstairs.”

~Am I a lesbian in all but genitals? Or is there some other explanation that has so far eluded me? All I know for certain is that I’ve fallen head-over-heels in love ~

The next few days and evenings were very much a repeat of the previous two. My life became a constant round of office work and getting to know the others in the evenings.

One afternoon a week a beautician visited the house and attended to my every need; it seemed as though I’d always had professional care for my hair and beauty. Later, when my experience and confidence had grown, I delighted in accompanying Jenny to an actual salon for an afternoon’s pampering in the hands of their experts. Nothing was ever said about the kind of treatment; and I wondered whether they had been forewarned about my status. Certainly we were welcomed equally as valued clients deserving the best of attention and total discretion.

My winter daywear was inclined to be warm colours and styles. Miss Armitage clearly liked certain outfits because she kept glancing at them approvingly while we were working together.

“You look especially lovely this morning, my dear,” she would say, and I would feel a delicious shiver travel down my spine.

One day, when I had been with them a couple of months, she came to me. “I will be entertaining some guests this evening and I would like you to assist Jennifer. She will show you what to do.”

At about three o’clock Jenny interrupted me as I was bringing the filing up-to-date after finishing my day’s work. She had returned from her shopping trip and was wearing a three-quarter length red wool coat and carrying black gloves and matching handbag.
“Come upstairs for a good bath and shave. I’ll show you what to do to get ready for this evening. All we really have to do is welcome the guests.”

Shaving was becoming less time-consuming.

~ It must be my daily cocktail of medication; I really ought to ask about it, but I haven’t the courage ~

The guests consisted of a number of Miss Armitage’s female clients and their partners -- again all female. They were of various ages and wore their success and wealth for everyone to see. Clothes, jewellery, make-up and hair all combined to spell the word ‘rich’.

Mind you, Jenny and I looked and felt like a million dollars in matching pale blue mini-dresses and strappy silver high-heeled sandals. With Jenny’s blond hair in waves below her shoulders, and my auburn curls, we both looked stunning. Still, I was a little anxious, so Jenny gave my hands a quick squeeze, said I looked gorgeous, and made a kissing sound as she hugged me and we touched cheeks.

I couldn’t help but feel vulnerable in my mini-dress, because I hadn’t previously worn anything so short and was naturally self-conscious.

Jenny put me at ease and let me into a little secret. “Our little dresses are not only to make us feel good,” she whispered with a whispered giggle, “they’re also meant to give the guests something to ogle.”

“You can’t be serious,” I gasped.

“Sex sells,” she said treating me as a co-conspirator, “and you look sexy, which will please our clients tonight.”

She showed me how to dispense drinks and snacks and then wait on the guests as required.

I noticed more than a fair amount of scrutiny and tried not to let it bother me.

Shortly after Miss Armitage entered the room one of the guests raised her voice. “Come on then, Harry, and tell us where you found her.”

~Harry? Ohhhh --- Harriet.~

“Yellow Pages, dear!” “Harry” joked and firmly resisted any further questioning, for which I was extremely thankful.

~ I really don’t want my life history aired in front of these women.~

After a few casual comments about my “nice” legs and “sweet but shy” smile the conversation turned to mainly finance matters. To my intense relief, I was largely ignored, except of course when a glass needed a refill. My “status” appeared to have been neither questioned nor discussed, which intrigued me.

~Do they know? Had they been forewarned? Life in this household is becoming more puzzling by the day.~

Toward the end of the evening, after all the courses had been served, all the plates and dishes cleared and the guests settled with yet more drinks I offered a comment. “I think that I’ve done quite well.”

Jenny beamed. “You’ve been brilliant, darling . . . and you look absolutely stunning.”

With a few minutes to ourselves once the bulk of the chores had been done we took advantage of the opportunity for a little girl-talk about the guests, clothes, make-up and other things that mean something only to those doing the talking.

~I’m getting a little confused and not a little hurt.~

I had the distinct impression that, despite our obvious early feelings for each other, Jenny was inexplicably keeping a distance between us. I had not yet raised the questions that had overwhelmed me since my arrival, but merely savoured the intimate moments as they arose, and let Jenny make all the running. The effects of Jenny’s training, and my natural feminine side was now controlling all my thoughts, fears, actions, mannerisms, likes and needs. I had been driven to the point where only a relationship as a woman would give me the fulfilment I needed so much. That relationship really had to be with ‘my’ Jenny.

~I can’t bear the thought of losing the one whose love I most desire.~

I constantly dreamed of being loved by Jenny, but couldn’t see a solution to my conundrum.

~How can I become a woman while loving my beautiful Jenny? Do I still want to be a woman, if Jenny makes me feel the way I do?~

I knew full well the trouble was that I wanted to be made love to by Jenny, with me, Lisa, as the passive partner.

~What sort of a mess have I found myself in? And what am I to do about it?~

To Be Continued

My grateful thanks as always go to Angela Rasch for her advice and editing.

LISA’S DREAM -3-

By Susan Heywood

Robert Pemberton answers an advertisement in a contact magazine. The resulting changes to his life are the stuff of dreams.

~How can I become a woman while loving my beautiful Jenny? Do I still want to be a woman, if Jenny makes me feel the way I do?~

I knew full well the trouble was that I wanted to be made love to by Jenny, with me, Lisa, as the passive partner.

~What sort of a mess have I found myself in? And what am I to do about it?~

One Friday evening after dinner, while the three of us were sitting in the drawing room, Miss Armitage looked at me. “You’ve worked hard, Lisa, and are fitting in here well. You’ve been for short walks around the block, but you need to start getting out more. Tomorrow you’ll go shopping with Jennifer. I suggest you go to the Grand Centre in town by bus; it will be good experience for you. Jennifer has a list of items that we need.”

While I was keen to make my first big outing in public, I was anxious about being read and letting down both Jenny and Miss Armitage. I bathed and shaved with meticulous care, then put on my laced corset. As usual I was a little breathless afterwards; it was a relief to sit while Jenny attended to my make-up. I had been doing my own for some time but was quite happy to leave it in her expert hands for today.

As it was almost mid-winter, Jenny suggested that I wear warm separates, teamed with a camel-coloured full-length single-breasted coat with fur trimmed collar. Jenny again wore her red wool coat. Taking up gloves and shopping bags, and after a final check in the mirror, we headed for the bus stop.

I was very excited but also very nervous as my heels clicked on the pavement. It felt strange but delightfully thrilling to be on my first major public outing, even though there was hardly anyone about and we were only going shopping. I was shaking a little when we boarded the bus.

Jenny giggled and whispered conspiratorially, “Well here we are, your first shopping expedition, enjoy!”

I relaxed quite a lot during the journey, particularly when I realized that no one was taking any notice of me. After all, in a bus full of women with shopping bags, two more just didn’t stand out at all.

Having arrived at the shopping centre we slowly wandered around the various stores, just to give me some breathing space and allow my nerves to settle a little.

“Don’t worry, darling” said Jenny. “I’ll do all the talking. You only have to turn on that sweet smile of yours in order to charm the shopkeepers into submission.”

I was worried, but knew that Jenny would not let me get into difficulties.

There were no problems; and at about noon Jenny said, “My feet are killing me; I’m in urgent need of coffee and a sandwich.”

I felt good sitting with Jenny in the café and quickly I relaxed and enjoyed the experience.

At a carefully selected table in a quiet corner Jenny was able to continue my education, explaining how to deal with situations I might meet. After lunch, and a visit to the ladies’ room to repair make-up, Jenny said, “There are some more things that we have to get, and then we can have another look around the clothes shops. I rather took a fancy to those gorgeous blue strappy sandals in ‘Belles’ and that dress you liked will be simply ideal for the office. I’m sure Harry won’t mind us spending a few pounds, particularly as we will all benefit. We’ll also visit the department store beauty counters so that you can learn how to test and choose make-up and fragrances. You never know, we might get a free make-over.”

I was puzzled by the reference to “Harry.”

~It sounds disrespectful for Jenny to refer to our mistress by her nickname.~

Unfortunately the opportunity to ask Jenny about it slipped by as I was pulled through the bustling shopping centre towards the boutique and perfumery.

Eventually tired but happy, we staggered back to the bus stop, our arms laden with not only the items on our shopping list but also gifts for Miss Armitage. We also had two free makeovers and a lot of new makeup and I had a delightful new fragrance.

Chapter Five

It was the last day of February and snow covered everything with a white blanket. Icicles hung from gutters, pipes, window sills, and railings; and all around was a magical land where hardly anything stirred.

I had been dreaming of a Valkyrie - who looked a lot like Miss Armitage - riding the wind and scooping me up to take me away to a world where I wore a beautiful white dress and spent all day being kissed by a woman who looked a lot like Jenny.

Suddenly I was awake, not sure what had disturbed me, but with eyes trying to pierce the night. I sat up, shivered, and then reached for my wrap. Fumbling for the bedside light I finally found the switch and turned it on. I could locate no obvious sign of anything that could have disturbed me, but still my sleepy eyes scanned the room. When I scanned the room for a second time, I noticed a long bulky parcel on my dressing stool; it had definitely not been there when I retired for the night. Female curiosity would not let it stay there until dawn. I slowly got out of bed, shivering again as I went over, took up the parcel and again snuggled under the covers. I found the little card attached to the top that simply said, ‘Happy Birthday to our Darling Lisa’.

~How did anyone know the date of my birthday?~

After a little thought it finally came to me. Miss Armitage had my personal details from Kennedy & Wise.

~Kennedy & Wise ~

That seemed a lifetime ago. I was no longer keen to be reminded of those days and gave a little shudder, pulling the bedclothes higher. I remembered the parcel and reached out for it, eagerly tore the wrapping paper, and then gently undid the box. I removed the contents and held it up to the light of the bedside lamp. Then clutching it to me, I burst into tears.

That was how Jenny found me when she came into the bedroom to wake me. Again in her green satin wrap, she was just about to plant her usual morning kiss upon my tousled head when she noticed that I’d been crying.

Not just crying but breaking my heart, if the truth be known. Stirring slightly, I turned and my tummy flipped when I saw her gazing down at me with a worried look on her face.

She quickly sat down on the edge of the bed, took my hand and held it. “Lisa, darling, are you ill?”

I shook my head.

Perhaps thinking that I had not liked my new doll, Jenny made to take it away, but I held it all the more tightly.

“No! No! P...Please don’t take baby Caroline from me! She’s s...so b...beautiful,” I wailed. “I’ve never had a little g...girl of my own before. She’s so b...beautiful, with such lovely eyes and a sweet f...face and gorgeous clothes. Even C...Carol would not let me p....play with her dolls when we were ch.....children. I am such a lucky girl, being here with you and the mistress. I just d....don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this, I really d....don’t!” I was engulfed in a flood of tears.

“Well . . . your hormones are working.” Jenny laughed gaily.

She bent down again to comfort me and I could take no more.

Moving swiftly I threw my arms around her neck and pulled her down onto the bed. All my pent-up emotion went into that kiss and the tearful convulsions that followed. I had rarely, if ever, felt so desperately in need of loving as I did then.

Jenny responded by holding me tightly against her while I sobbed my little heart out. She continued to hold me until I ran down. Finally she asked, “Tell me why you were crying.”

I pulled myself together just a little and said, huskily, “I already love my little girl so much.” I hugged Caroline to me. “I’m crying because I will never be able to have children of my own . . . real children. I’m also sad because . . . I’m hopelessly in love with you and know that I can never be yours.”

Jenny bit her lip.

~I’m in for it now ~

“There, I’ve said it! I’ve been trying to face facts for ages. Now you’ll tell the mistress and she’ll throw me out, and it serves me right!” Another bout of sobbing racked my body as I again buried my face in the pillow and gave in to my emotions.

I heard a slight sound, turned over and through tear-filled eyes looked up - and saw Miss Armitage. Petrified with the shock of seeing my mistress looming over me, my heart missed a beat.

She picked up the dressing stool, slowly put it down beside where Jenny sat, rested upon it and regarded me with her little smile. “Well! Happy Birthday, Lisa! It was supposed to be, but we seem to have upset you a little. No, don’t try to speak; I overheard most of what you said. Perhaps we’ve been, what you might call, victims of our own success because we really do care very much for you . . . both of us. We need to consider your future with us somewhat earlier than we had at first thought.”

~CONSIDER MY FUTURE?~

“Oh please, ma’am, don’t send me away! I’ve never been as happy as I am here and I couldn’t bear to be parted from you.” By then I had released my vice-like grip on Jenny’s neck, and clutching the doll, turned my face away.

Miss Armitage gently stroked my curly auburn hair and, kissing me gently on the cheek. “Lisa! Lisa! Sssssh! We have absolutely no intention of sending you away.” She spoke with such gentleness that it almost took my breath away. Harriet Armitage cuddled me until my crying had again subsided.

Then, with her arms around both Jenny and me, she spoke softly. “I think the time has come for us all to have a little talk. We completely failed to anticipate the difference that you would make in both our lives when you came to live with us. We also had no idea that you would immerse yourself so quickly and completely into the female role to which you were obviously destined and which we had planned for you. Clearly things have now come to a stage where we must be completely honest with you. You have more than fulfilled our hopes and dreams for you and now we need to discuss where we go from here.”

I pulled away from Miss Armitage and regarded her with puzzlement. “You keep saying ‘WE’ and ‘US’. What exactly is going on? I thought that Jenny worked for you as I do.”

“Yes,” replied Miss Armitage, “Jennifer really is my housekeeper but the situation is more complex than that. It appears that now is as good a time as any to properly introduce you to Miss Jennifer Armitage.”

Chapter Six

My face was still wet with tears but I was thunderstruck by this revelation. Over the next minute or so a number of emotions crossed and re-crossed my mind. I felt confused because my Jenny and the mistress were related, angry at their deception and my unwitting involvement in some devious scheme of their own, puzzled by the nature of their relationship and afraid that I would still be put out on the streets. All this wasn’t helped by the fact that it was still early in the morning.

Harriet Armitage defused the situation a little. “Look, you two, forget the work this morning, we need to talk. When you’re ready, come down to the drawing room. I’ll make coffee and we can sit and discuss this. Don’t bother to dress yet; let’s get everything straightened out first.”

The three of us gathered in the drawing room. I had brushed my lengthening hair into some semblance of order, but Jenny had not yet bothered and looked as though she had been pulled backwards through a hedge. She still looked stunning to me and I regarded her with curiosity, tinged with all sorts of other emotions - including love. All of us sipped strong black coffee.

At last Harriet spoke. “Lisa, both Jennifer and I have confessions to make and it would be easier if you didn’t try to speak until we finish. You might want to put your coffee on the little table there as what you are about to hear may cause you to spill it. I don’t want to have to deal with burns and scalds as well as. . .well, other things.”

I shivered a little, still suffering from the effects of the birthday present, the shock revelation about Jenny and an awful feeling that the news that I was about to receive was going to be unpleasant. Over my nightdress I wore a long, quilted, satin dressing gown which effectively came down to my ankles, but still I shook. I had never before been with these two ladies in this state of undress, but even the sight of my Jenny in nothing but her green satin wrap, together with the mistress in red silk pyjamas, didn’t distract me on this occasion from what Harriet Armitage was about to say.

Before she allowed Harriet to speak, Jennifer looked at me, her eyes bright with love. “My darling Lisa, if I had thought, and could have avoided it, I wouldn’t have put you through all this. It just wasn’t fair, either to you or to Harry. I’m leaving Harry to tell you about us, as I don’t think that I could get through it all without breaking down. I just want you to know that I love you very much. Oh, yes, I’ve tried to tell myself that it wasn’t true, because I wanted to spare you the pain of finding out about me. You may recall a number of occasions when I tried to be distant with you, but I just couldn’t resist you, sweet Lisa. Every time you turned those eyes and that smile upon me I just melted; all my resolve evaporated. And so, here we are. I’m sure that, after hearing what Harry has to say, you will want nothing more to do with either of us, especially me, but I want you to know that I have never before met anyone like you. I love you with all my heart.”

~What can possibly be so wrong if Jenny loves me? What is her dark secret, which has kept me at arm’s length for so long?~

The events of the morning seemed to be happening almost in the third person. I was trying to fit all the pieces of this giant jigsaw together, but was getting nowhere fast and the banging inside my head was definitely not helping.

Then Harriet Armitage took up her story. “Our tale is quite complicated and I hope that, at the end, you will feel able to forgive us the little deception which we have played upon you. We both love you very much - in our own ways - and have only your happiness at heart.”

I stole a glance at Jennifer but she sat still, almost frozen like a statue, save for a constant, almost silent sobbing. Yet it seemed that her face wore an expression of utter relief.

Harriet went on. “As you may by now have worked out, I am Jennifer’s sister. All through our childhood we both had different feelings from those of other children and subsequently spent a lot of time in each other’s company. I was always the tomboy, climbing trees, playing football - in fact that’s when I was re-christened ‘Harry’ . . . and I eat, drank and slept mathematics. Jennifer was more interested in classical music, art and fashion. This got her into all sorts of trouble at school, but she survived, mainly thanks to my protection. Being quite tall I could successfully threaten most of the boys. Those who still persisted in being silly got their ears boxed or kicked somewhere most unpleasant. My sports agility made me too quick for them to be able to retaliate. After a good mauling they usually left us alone.

“Eventually I went to university to study accountancy. Jennifer went to college, where she studied art and fashion and was, surprisingly, treated very well. She then came back home and looked after the house for us while I finished my degree. I returned home to her for weekends and holidays; and we never lost the thrill of being in each other’s company, sharing our little secrets. It was always in our grand plan that, after I achieved my degree, I’d start clawing my way up the business ladder, while Jennifer cut all ties with the past and lived with me looking after our home. I was twenty one when our parents died and left us this house; she was nineteen. Jennifer and I love each other dearly and have always known everything there was to know about one another. I hate housework and Jennifer loves it. We adopted the ‘mistress/maid’ ruse to help you adjust to your chosen role but, honestly, you just took to it like a duck to water.

“Now you may be thinking that there’s nothing particularly unusual in what you’ve heard so far, but there is one small detail that I have yet to tell you. — Jennifer was once my brother.”

To be concluded

My grateful thanks go to Angela Rasch for her advice and her editing.

LISA’S DREAM -4- (Conclusion)

By Susan Heywood

Robert Pemberton answers an advertisement in a contact magazine. The resulting changes to his life are the stuff of dreams.

Part 4

“Now you may be thinking that there’s nothing particularly unusual in what you’ve heard so far, but there is one small detail that I have yet to tell you. -- Jennifer was once my brother.”

I could hear a faint voice. Gradually it came closer until it was directly above me. Someone was crying. Slowly I opened my eyes. Harriet bent over me, administering first aid.

Jenny sat with her head in her hands, sobbing and repeating over and over, “My dearest darling Lisa, I’ve hurt you so much, I’m so sorry!”

“Wh....where am I? Wh....what happened?”

Harriet motioned for me to be still. “You fainted. It seems that our little family secret was too much for you. Just lay there while I fetch you a blanket.”

Ignoring Jenny, who was still sobbing uncontrollably, Harriet left the room.

Gathering my thoughts, I looked at Jenny. “Darling Jenny, don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re still the same person that I’ve been in love with since the day I arrived; and your revelations haven’t changed my mind. I do need to know more about you. So far all I know is the beautiful woman that I see before me. I still can’t understand how you can in any way be male, although this may solve the mystery of why I love you as I do.”

A few moments later Harriet returned, helped me to a sitting position and wrapped a blanket around my still trembling shoulders. She sent Jenny off to dress and prepare some food. Her ability to command the situation had not deserted her.

~Perhaps she knows that if Jenny stayed, she would bring us all down with her misery ~

It was quite late in the morning and none of us had eaten since last night. Whether or not we had an appetite was another matter entirely, but at least it kept Jenny occupied for a while.

Harriet sat down alongside me and took my hand. “It must be all of fifteen years since I’ve seen Jennifer in anything remotely resembling male clothes. I’ve almost forgotten what ‘he’ once looked like. She has been dressing as often as possible, since she was about eight years old. When she couldn’t dress as a girl, her clothes were androgynous. She played with nothing but dolls, nurse’s outfits, toy kitchens, and so on. I had Sindy, Barbie, you name it, all the girlie toys I pretended were for me. Whenever Christmas or birthdays arrived, Jennifer and I would retire upstairs, giggle a lot, swap presents, often swap clothes and have a great time. Being two years older and female made me about the same size as Jennifer during our childhood, although I am now a few inches taller.

“It didn’t bother me in the slightest that she preferred girls’ clothes, as I preferred boys’ clothes - and you’ve probably already worked out that I’m a lesbian. What I found difficult to understand at first is that, although Jennifer adores dressing and living as a woman, with a woman’s hobbies and so on, she would never have anything to do with boys and has always been on the lookout for some sympathetic female who could be a ‘wife’ to her. I suppose that, as she suffered ‘the childhood from hell’ I shouldn’t find that so surprising.

“Finally, she has found her special someone in you, but feels that you would no longer want her when faced with the truth. She told me that when she saw you in that white dress on your first night with us. She fell head over heels in love with you! Even though she knows that you were born a male, she cannot think of you now as anything other than female and is absolutely mad about you.”

I was speechless. ~All these months of anxiety over my feelings for Jenny. What a thrill to hear that Jenny feels the same way about me after all. BUT WAIT A MINUTE! How on earth am I to be a ‘wife’ to Jenny? Both of us were born male and no amount of breast enhancement, fine clothing and make-up can change that inescapable fact.~ My bright new world seemed to become tarnished before my very eyes and I looked downcast at this latest obstacle to my happiness.

In Harriet’s eyes, however, I saw a deep and genuine sisterly love.

~If there is a way of resolving this dilemma, then Harriet Armitage will be the person to find it.~

Chapter Eight

“Please, ma’am.” ~I can’t bring myself to call Harriet by her first name despite having been asked to do so on several occasions this morning.~ “I do love you both very much and will always want to work for you and do my best to please you. You’ve been so very kind to me and have treated me like one of the family. I will always be grateful for that kindness.

“I am puzzled though. I just can’t believe Jenny is in any way male; it just doesn’t seem possible. Anyway, if she is male, how can she want me for a partner? I also have male bits and I’ve never been attracted to males. And what would happen to us if we were to get together? How could we continue to live and work here with you?”

“My dear Lisa,” Harriet said gently, “you have brought joy and light to the lives of both my sister and me. Let me explain a few more details that I hope will answer your questions without raising new ones.

“Jennifer is indeed male and has a full set of functioning male bits. One of the reasons we wanted a person who was seeking feminization was so that you wouldn’t find her too odd, if you found her out.”

~I’d always wondered ~

“She also has breasts --thanks to silicone implants -- lovely skin, and a gorgeous figure, which owes itself mainly to tight lacing from as early an age as she could get away with it. Like I said, she has been hoping for a companion who would be an equal partner in an unusual relationship. Also, she simply loves all housework and would wish to continue that aspect of life as a woman whether or not she were to have a partner. Again, she is very much in love with you. You know, don’t you, what the medication that you have been taking these past months is doing to your body?”

“Well. . . .” I hesitated. I had meant to have a talk with Jenny about the effects of the medication but hadn’t plucked up the courage to do so. Still, I did have a fair idea.

“You are being chemically castrated. Your genitals have shrunk to a small insignificant appendage and no longer give you any feelings, do they?”

“That’s right,” I hesitantly replied. “And my body is changing shape, my skin has become softer, and my clothes fit much better.”

“This chemical castration,” Harriet explained, “can be partly, and sometimes completely reversed, simply by stopping the medication. If you wish to continue and go the whole way it involves an operation to exchange your male bits for a set of female-looking ones. The operation is complicated and expensive . . . and you would have to undergo assessment. You will have no trouble convincing the consultant psychiatrists and surgeon of your suitability as a candidate for the operation. Jennifer and I will be with you every step of the way to love and support you.”

My memory flashed back to my childhood and the sensationalized newspaper headlines about someone who had just such an operation. I also remembered my research at the local library. I could feel tears welling up in my eyes and hardly took in what Harriet was saying. I could see one huge, frustrating obstacle. “But that operation is so expensive, I couldn’t possibly afford it.”

“Sssh, my pet,” Harriet said gently. “I’m going to let you into another little secret. You’d better sit down as what I am about to tell you could cause a repeat performance of this morning’s ‘Nine o’clock Show’.” Harriet gave a little laugh, obviously hoping that the humorous reference to my earlier fainting spell would lighten my mood a little.

It didn’t work but I did sit down.

Harriet continued. “Over the past months you’ve worked very hard, you do not have extravagant tastes and have spent very little on your occasional outings with Jennifer. Had you been any other employee I’d have had to pay you a salary, which would have also involved me in overheads such as National Insurance and Income Tax.

“I don’t pay you a salary — and you were probably so engrossed in all the other things going on in your life that you never gave the subject of a salary any thought, did you? In fact, the document that you signed when you joined us isn’t a contract of employment at all. It’s a statement on your part that you are merely a guest in this house. As such, you will expect no remuneration whatsoever, apart from your board and lodging. If I’d given you a chance to read that document, my dear, it might have opened your eyes a little. But we couldn’t have you fretting about all our ideas and plans, could we?”

I gasped.

~ What IS going on? ~

Harriet smiled. “Anyway, enough of this prattling. What I’m trying to tell you is that, although you are not receiving a regular income from your work, a sum of money in lieu of a year’s gross salary is in a high yield account, in your name, with the Central Building Society. Business has been good as many of my friends are willing to pay top dollar for a woman to do their accounting. The balance of your account today stands at, give or take a few pence, thirty thousand pounds, enough to complete all the treatment you’ll need, when you need it. So, what do you think of that, Miss Lisa Janice Pemberton?”

I staggered in my chair, if that is possible.

~Thirty thousand pounds? Not only can I have the operation that I have all my life desired, but also it would be fully paid for ~

Gradually a smile started to spread across my face and then I leapt at Harriet. Losing all inhibition and forgetting my previous reticence when dealing with my mistress, I flung my arms around her neck and started kissing her. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! I can hardly believe it; I’m going to be a woman. I’m going to be a woman! Oh, how wond. . . .”

My joyous chanting tailed off as I caught sight of Jenny, standing by the front door and wearing a dark grey skirt suit over a white satin blouse. Over her right arm she held a long, black, fur-trimmed coat. In her left hand were her black gloves and a handbag. By her feet was a suitcase.

“Wh.. .where are you going,” I asked, in a very small voice.

“Now that you are to have your anatomy sorted out you won’t want me so I’m leaving,” Jenny said tearfully, as she turned to go.

Chapter Nine

“No! No!” I wailed. I quickly unwound myself from Harriet’s neck and ran towards the door. “How can you leave me now? Don’t you love me anymore?”

“Its better this way,” Jenny said slowly, “You’ll soon forget me when you have found a real man to love, someone who will treat you as you have always wanted.”

At this, I realized that my whole world was about to collapse around me: I squeezed past Jenny, and then stood between her and the front door. Drawing myself up, I looked her in the eyes. “All right then, tell me that you don’t love me and I will let you go. I just cannot believe that you would walk out on me . . . unless you no longer love me.”

“I’m right, you know,” Jenny cried. “You would quickly find me an embarrassment and a liability, someone who would hold you back. You’re very beautiful and deserve more than I could ever give you.”

“Tell me that you don’t love me!” I repeated, this time more firmly.

“I’m right and I. . .I. .. .” She broke down in a torrent of tears.

“No, my darling Jenny,” I said softly, “I know what and who I want and it is you, and has been you since my first day here. Remember when you kissed me? I had no idea what to do because I had never been kissed, really kissed by anyone before. But you held me, and I knew then that I would never want to let you go. But if you can honestly tell me that you don’t love me then you may leave.” I then held out my arms to her and with a huge effort of will, smiled at her.

Jenny’s resolve crumbled. She dropped her coat, gloves and handbag and moved towards me.

I grabbed her and hugged her so tightly that she must have been in fear of bodily injury.

Both of us were crying, but very soon our lips met and silence, accompanied by a slightly audible, sensual moaning, took over.

After a few minutes there was a polite cough and we found Harriet standing in the drawing room doorway. “I’m sorry to interrupt this little battle, but I’m famished. Is there the slightest danger of something to eat around here?”

Jenny was the first to recover, her training and sense of duty bringing her round. “Yes, ma’am,” she sniffed, but it sounded more like “I suppose so, if you must.” Reluctantly she let go of me.

I stood breathless after such sensual kissing.

Jenny took off her jacket and turned towards the kitchen.

Harriet took my arm. “Phew, that was close! You’d better do something to ensure that Jennifer doesn’t have second thoughts about going. I don’t think that I could cope with a repeat of that little episode.”

***

A short time later, Jenny carried the lunch into the drawing room and set it down on a little table.

I stood at the bottom of the stairs where neither of them could see me.

“Where’s Lisa?” Jenny asked.

“Gone upstairs for a few minutes,” Harriet said. A mild argument soon ensued about whose fault the morning’s revelations had been.

I laughed at their antics and they both turned towards me, their collective eyes nearly popping out of their collective sockets.

My dress, which neither of them had seen, was a stunning hyacinth blue, with a flattering lace-trimmed scoop neckline and short sleeves, it had an all-over floral pattern in a slightly lighter shade of the same colour and a mid-calf length crinkle pleat skirt that swirled sensuously as I walked. My legs were encased in sheer silk stockings and on my feet were white ankle strap sandals with the highest heels that I could find. My now shoulder-length curly auburn hair shone and my luscious glossy full lips held a little smile, which was aimed straight at Jenny’s heart. I know that I looked a knockout and the other two were completely lost for words.

I was first to break the silence. My eyes flirted with Jenny’s. “Well! Now I’ve got your attention would you please pour me some coffee?”

Jenny did so, although her hand shook so much that there was little chance of all the coffee going into the cup.

Very slowly, I went over, sat on her lap and proceeded to shower her with kisses. Turning to Harriet, I winked. “Would you please excuse us for a while? Jennifer and I have some unfinished er. . .um. . .conversation to attend to.”

Harriet stood at once. “I can take a hint. I’ll be in the study. There’s enough work to keep me busy for at least a couple of hours.” She picked up her lunch, stuck her nose in the air, sniffed haughtily and walked out.

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

“It’s simple,” I said with a smile. “You and I have a decision to make, but before we do that, there’s something I need to tell you. Unzip me, please.” I turned my back to her and bent down.

Her hands shaking slightly, Jenny slid down the zip of my dress and it dropped to the floor, revealing a little white satin slip which showed off my developing breasts.

I got off her lap. “Now, stand up.”

“What?”

“Stand up.”

Seemingly puzzled as to what I had in mind, Jenny stood facing me. I slowly knelt down in front of her, put my hands behind her waist and unfastened her skirt.

“Please don’t. . . .” Jenny said without much conviction, offering nothing in the way of resistance.

I gently lifted her pretty, lace petticoat and saw matching panties and a basque, the suspenders of which were clipped to the tops of barely-black stockings. Pulling down her panties, I found that everything which Harriet had described that morning was completely true. My mouth formed an ‘O’ as I saw for the first time the sign of my lover’s true sex.

Jenny started to breathe a little more quickly.

For what seemed like minutes but was, in fact, only seconds, I was motionless - mesmerized. I knew that I had at last found my true love. Then, as though someone had suddenly turned on a switch and flooded my mind with light, I knew that I must have her.

~ One day I’ll be truly fulfilled as a woman, but for now I know what I must do ~

Jenny made no sound.

Moaning slightly, I made love to her in the only way I could; my actions sent delicious tingles shooting through me from head to toe. What it did to Jenny I could only imagine.

She shook slightly as I became more confident -- my whole body at a pitch of heightened tingling sensitivity.

I sent her wild with my attentions.

“I love you, my darling Lisa, I love you, I love you. Oh yes! I long for the day when I can truly possess you. Oh yes, that’s fantastic! Oh, yes, yes, yes, YES!”

It was blissfully over. I rested my head against her corseted tummy, closed my eyes and let out a slow sigh of contentment.

We remained like that for several minutes, locked in embrace, one standing and one kneeling, lost in the afterglow and our deep love for one another.

I pulled Jenny down on top of me and snuggled gratefully into the warmth of her arms. We gently kissed breasts, lips, cheeks, throats, necks, hair; anything that we could reach without letting go of each other. Eventually, though, we both ran out of energy and just stretched out in utter contentment.

“Dearest darling, did you have something to tell me?” Jenny asked

I giggled. “Did you not receive my message?”

She sighed contentedly. “Yes, my love, I did.”

Some time later Harriet poked put her head round the door of the drawing room. Jenny, wearing nothing but her basque, stockings and a very self-satisfied smile, was fast asleep on one of the sofas. I was almost wearing my white satin slip and was enfolded in her arms with my cheek resting upon her left breast.

Harriet gently lowered herself into a vacant chair and sat gazing lovingly at us.

“At last,” I said quietly so as not to disturb my love, “we are really together, united in a plan so bizarre that only someone who loves us both so very, very much could possibly have conceived it.”

Harriet nodded and she and I smiled at one another as I closed my eyes.

THE END

My grateful thanks, as usual, go to Angela Rasch for her advice and her editing.

This story is fiction, as are all the characters and the town in which most of the action takes place. GSD - Global Synthetic Developments (UK) Ltd - is a fictitious company. The story is intended for personal perusal only; no other dissemination is permitted without the express permission of the author, her heirs or assigns. There is a little adult language and implied sexual activity; there are no explicit scenes. If, however, you think you might be offended - don’t read it.

Medical, legal and other procedures are correct according to my knowledge, belief, experience or research.

I would like to thank everyone, especially Angela Rasch and Persephone, for all that they have taught me about writing and Carla E. for editing this story.

 © Susan Heywood 2013 ([email protected])

If you’re all sitting comfortably, then I’ll begin….

Part 1 of 25 - Discovery
 
March 2004

I stopped for a moment and listened to the sounds of the night. The constant hum of traffic was interrupted occasionally by the screech of car brakes. Traffic on the nearby main road stopped, then accelerated as the traffic lights cycled through their regular, monotonous colour changes. A door slammed; voices were raised in greeting.

I sighed and continued my lonely walk.

A jogger ran towards me and passed me without breaking stride. I stopped breathing for a few moments; I certainly didn’t want to meet anyone else. I wrapped my coat tightly around me and continued to walk as quickly as I could. I didn’t want to be out too long. Besides, March was living up to its reputation as a windy month and I was getting cold.

“The best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men,” as Robert Burns would have it, “gang aft agley”. In this case, his observation was spot-on.

As I returned to my home, I noticed a neighbour sitting on the doorstep of an adjacent building. I rarely saw anyone else, and especially not at night. I was so surprised that I called, without thinking, “Good evening Mrs Jones.” I punched in the security code and opened the door. Then I froze.

Shit!

I realised what I’d said and was about to rush indoors, when I heard a gentle thump. The hairs on the back of my neck rose. Full of trepidation, I glanced over my shoulder and saw Mrs Jones lying on the footpath. Plucking up my courage, I crossed the car park, approached the still form, knelt down and asked automatically, but rather stupidly, “Are you okay?”

No response; of course she wasn’t okay. A quick check of her pulse told me that she was dead.

Double shit!

I saw a little blood staining the front of her sky-blue sweater. I have no medical training but even I knew that I should touch nothing else.

Do I pretend that I saw nothing, or do I call for help?

I couldn’t ignore it. Someone would be certain to interview me later, and I’d either say something stupid, or the look on my face would give me away. Some feelings I tried to hide, some I was never very good at hiding.

Filled with second, third and more thoughts, I dashed back to Coleridge House and ran up the stairs to my apartment on the top floor. I telephoned the police and an ambulance.

Apartment; sounds rather grand, doesn’t it? The truth was somewhat different. Every room was small; the living room, the kitchen, the bathroom and the two bedrooms - a double and a single - but, although small, the place was adequate for me, as I lived alone. It was in a terrible state when I first got it and this was all reflected in a lower than usual price, but I could see its potential. It had taken months, and all my spare money, to get it as I wanted it but at least it was mine — okay, much of it was owned by the mortgage lender. Still, it was somewhere where I could shut the door on the world and ignore it for a while.

It was the work of a minute, and handful of wet-wipes, to make myself reasonably presentable for when official company arrived. I hastily flung on some jeans, a tee and some trainers, brushed my hair, grabbed a warm coat, slammed the bedroom door behind me and ran back down the stairs. While I waited outside the front door of Coleridge House, my mind inevitably turned to my latest challenge (read as ‘nightmare’), namely that of condensing three hours of raucous verbal drivel, at last night’s Cricket Club Annual General Meeting, into a couple of pages of gripping historical record.

I kept myself as occupied as possible, both at home and at work. On the odd occasion that I did have time on my hands, like now for instance, thoughts of how I arrived at this point in my life would creep unbidden into my consciousness and take over.

Most people in the office ignored me — unless they wanted something.

Phil Sullivan wanted.

“John; the Cricket Club desperately needs a secretary and you do shorthand, don’t you? I’ve seen you at meetings in the office.” He nagged me several times a day for a week until he eventually ground down the small amount of willpower that I had.

“But I know nothing about cricket,” I moaned.

“You’ll soon pick it up.” He said, cheerfully, as he walked away.

I groaned.

Cricket, that time-honoured, peculiar ritual of throwing heavy leather balls at members of the opposing team, who were supposed to avoid injury by using the bat to send the ball into oblivion - or was it the pavilion? I adopted the ‘jump out of the way and fall over’ survival method. This, of course, went down like a lead brick at school. As for the places on the pitch; I ask you, ‘silly-mid-off?’ When I enquired, I was peremptorily told, “It’s a fielding position close to the wicket on the off-side, square of the batsman.” That said a lot, but told me nothing of interest.

Old Bolshie the sports coach — when you’re a teenager, anyone over thirty years of age was old - would bellow. “Smith! You’re supposed to hit the ball, not shy away from it. Get up and play properly!”

I tried, only once. “Hit the ball? If you throw the thing at me that fast, can you really blame me for trying to get out of the way? And if it hit me, there’s a good chance that it’d break something.”

My protest often resulted in another beating for being queer. I always thought that a queer was a derogatory name for a homosexual male. My father and my fellow pupils said that I was, but I knew that I wasn’t, as I didn’t fancy any of the boys in the school — or any boys at all, for that matter. I could fancy girls all I wanted but they didn’t want a weedy kid with glasses. As far as I was concerned, I was a nothing — not that my opinion counted for anything or was listened to. It seemed that everyone who didn’t conform to a stereotype must be queer and therefore should be soundly beaten.

I was soundly beaten.

Teachers were no longer allowed to administer corporal punishment, but fellow pupils seemed to use violence with total impunity — usually on the way to and from school. If it was on school premises, the teachers might have to do something about the bullying that went on — not that it happened at our school, of course. If anyone in authority admitted that it did happen, there was a danger that the bullies would have to be punished, which should at least involve losing places on the sports teams. We couldn’t have that, could we? Horror of horrors; we might lose a football match, or something. Was I cynical? You bet your life I was.

I might have wanted to study but I was in the same classes as the thugs, so there was no chance. It didn’t help that, as far as the teachers were concerned, we were all equally to blame for any perceived misdemeanour, whether or not some of us only wanted to stay below the radar.

While nearly every school day was torment, I especially hated Monday afternoons; two hours of competitive team ball games or cross-country running. If the weather was particularly bad, we’d end up in the gymnasium where we were encouraged — read as ‘yelled at’ - to climb up ropes or the wall. There were no alternatives; I asked only once. I said that I wouldn’t mind aerobics; that earned a laugh from Old Bolshie, who never listened to a word I said.

“Smith! Why aren’t you joining in?”

Old Bolshie was deaf as well as thick

“No one wants me in their team, Sir.”

I don’t throw properly and can’t catch. I get breathless when running and don’t try hard enough to show how strong I am. In other words, I don’t show off how much testosterone I have coursing through my body. Add to that the fact that I don’t really want to be here anyway and you have a ready-made punch-bag.

“You don’t even try to fit in; you just stand there like a spare prick at a wedding! Run around, boy, run around!”

Old Bolshie (Mr Victor Green always seemed to be angry about something, hence BolshieVic) would yell at me as I stood on the sidelines. What pea-brained idiot decided that we had to use that particular sports field, which was near the harbour? In the winter, the bitter wind off the sea turned your legs blue as soon as you stepped off the bus. Maybe all that aggression and expenditure of energy was supposed to warm you up. I was about as aggressive as lukewarm tea, and my limited energy went towards my feeble attempts at survival. In the summer, of course, you boiled and sweated. Then you had to endure a busload of smelly boys on the journey back to school, where you suffered the indignity of the obligatory post-sport shower. There, your shortcomings received a suitable measure of ridicule and retribution. As if I had any choice in how I was put together. The girls didn’t have Old Bolshie for a sports coach. They probably had some sadistic ex-army PTI woman putting them through purgatory.

I’d shrug and run around the edge of the field. There were three hundred and sixty five bad days in the year, and every fourth year some bloody-minded sod threw in an extra day for good measure.

“Smith, you’re pathetic; run properly!”

Thanks; just pin a target on my back, why don’t you?

Macbeth is a tragedy? You should try Mr Charles ‘Old Henry’ Ford, the English Literature teacher.

“Let’s all have a mass debate.” Colin Hammond’s suggestion earned a laugh from most of the class.

I groaned.

Old Henry wasn’t amused and kept us all in after school.

Simply bloody wonderful; as if the school day isn’t already too long

I left after detention, but obviously not quickly enough.

I dragged my bruised and aching body through the door at something after six o’clock in the evening and dropped the remains of my spectacles onto the kitchen table.

“John Edward Smith, You’re late!” My mother stated the obvious.

What is it with parents? About the only time they use your full name is when you’re in trouble. What was it for this time; trying to survive childhood again?

I tried to explain this incident. “Colin Hammond managed to earn us all half an hour’s detention every day for a week, and I got another beating from Simon Bennick and friends when we left the school. I suppose I should be thankful that they took my specs off my face before treading on them.”

Simon bloody Bennick and his mates were louts and bullies, hyped up on beer and some drug that Simon’s elder brother supplied. I wondered if they could have got Saturday jobs at a zoo. They probably out-weighed much of the gorilla population, but it was obvious that the gorillas had more brainpower. I stood no chance against their gang that, they boasted, was always involved in things violent or illegal — or preferably both.

My mother, as usual, didn’t, or wouldn’t, understand odds of three on one. “Tell your father.”

“That’s very likely to solve my problems,” I responded, dryly.

She fumed as she surveyed the wreckage that had been my spectacles. “This is ridiculous! We’re always paying to repair them. Why do you keep getting into fights?”

“How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t get into fights, I get bullied,” I replied, angrily. “Neither of you do anything about it. I might just as well wear a sign around my neck, saying “Thump me.” If I had more courage, I’d walk under a bus. I just want a quiet life; study, get good enough grades for me to go to college, and get out of that dump as soon as I can.”

Getting away from home would be good, too

I’d heard her next speech so many times that I could parrot it word for word.

“Don’t be stupid; bullying doesn’t happen these days. You’re just making excuses. School days are the best days of your life, you know. You’ve a wonderful opportunity; many children would love to go to a good school. I remember when I was a girl….”

Yeah, yeah — change the bloody record, Mother. If that school is so great, why don’t you go?

When my father came home from work, my mother blabbed, and I got another earful. “I'm fed up with you getting into trouble at school, you lazy little tyke. You ask for everything you get; you should fight back. You should take up boxing; it’d build some muscles and toughen you up. Then you could handle yourself properly when you do get into a fight.”

Of course, he’s got an answer for everything. Try living in the real world, Father

I responded, angrily, “Firstly, as I keep telling both you and my mother, I don’t get into fights, I get bullied. Secondly, how am I supposed to retaliate against that bunch of psychopaths? Newbolt and Hammond held me while Bennick took off my glasses and knocked seven bells out of me; you want me to take on a gang of thugs who all outweigh me?”

He exploded; a shame it wasn’t literally. “Get out of my sight, you lazy little pansy! Heavies only go for soft targets; you should defend yourself properly, then they’d give up and you’d get a reputation as a bruiser who’s not to be messed with. And don’t answer back!”

I ran up to my room and shut the door; tears weren’t very far away — again. No doubt that would earn me another lecture along the lines of “real men don’t cry.”

My father’s frequent advice - what my brother and I needed to do for him to be proud of us - almost invariably began with “You should.”

I know what we’ll put on his gravestone;

If my mother ever wanted me for anything, she’d usually find me in my bedroom. “John; you’ve always got your nose stuck in a book. Why don’t you make some friends and go outside to play? The fresh air and exercise would do you good.”

Sometimes I sit and wonder; and sometimes I just sit

I’d shake my head in disgust, “I keep telling you; if I poke my head outside the door, some thug will probably use it as a football. Isn’t it enough that I get beaten up on the way to and from school? You want me to get beaten up in the evenings as well? Let’s face it; nobody wants to be friends with me; all I’m good for is just a punch-bag.”

I’d sigh. How could she be so naíve?

“It’s not healthy for you to stay indoors so much.”

“It’s not healthy for me to go outside more than I have to.” I rolled my eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re so afraid of.”

“Pain, Mother; I’m afraid of pain.”

“I’m sure that you’re exaggerating; your father says you’re just lazy.”

I’d sigh again; we’d have this conversation several times a week.

I finally survived school — no thanks to my parents - left home, went to college and found a job, but I’d still not found the courage to talk to my parents about what I really wanted out of life. They seemed to me to be old and set in their ways, and I regularly got a lecture from my parents, especially my father, whenever I visited — a duty as I saw it.

“You should get a proper haircut and some decent glasses. You look like a queer; you’ll never get a girlfriend looking like that. And you should get some decent clothes while you’re at it; you look like a ragbag.”

Why bother? I had to wear a suit and tie for work — what I called the ‘office uniform’ — and that, like all menswear, only fitted where it touched. At other times, I settled for jeans, tee shirt and baggy sweaters; at least I could get something by mail order that more or less fitted. It didn’t seem to matter what I said or did; I always got some sarcastic criticism from my father. The occasional word of praise was reserved for my brother Peter, the star rugby player, footballer and cricketer; I never qualified. I knew that I wasn’t queer (homosexual), but my father read the “Daily Trash”, and believed it all. If they said that the Martians were playing in the World Cup, he’d be talking about it for weeks.

My mother kept on at me as well. “It would be nice to have some more grandchildren. It’s time you settled down and found a girlfriend; there must be lots of eligible women where you work. Peter had no trouble finding a girl to marry; Geena and the twins are delightful.”

I’d give her a black look, she’d throw up her hands in an ‘it should be obvious’ gesture and walk out.

Pray tell me, mother; how am I supposed to ‘find’ a girlfriend at work — given that nobody in the office talks to me, unless they want something? How do I find someone female who is desperate enough to want to be with me? Should I search under rocks or do they grow on trees?

Phil Sullivan, my cricketing work colleague, in his infinite wisdom, probably thought that he was doing me a favour; perhaps trying to kick-start my social life, by which he probably meant those manly pursuits of beer, sport, cars and women. As I’ve never liked the taste of beer, had no interest in sport, was more likely to give up driving than change my car, and had never had a girlfriend, I was, as usual, an outsider.

I wish I could say “no” when people ask me to do things

I spent a few hours a week at the local public library. Other than that, and my monthly visits to my parents, I mostly stayed at home. Sometimes, like tonight, I’d go for a short walk around the block to post a letter. I learned some years ago that it saved me a lot of grief if I told my parents nothing about what I did or what happened to me. Now I saw no future other than working another forty-odd years towards a lonely retirement; I was too much of a coward to try to get off the merry-go-round early, despite how attractive the idea often seemed.

The demented jukebox that regularly replaced my brain was thankfully jammed into pause not long after it had started its current cycle. The wail of sirens broke into my consciousness as a police car and an ambulance screeched to a halt. The ambulance crew jumped out, took one look at Mrs Jones, did the usual tests, shook their heads and promptly handed over to the law. The two uniformed officers spoke briefly to the ambulance crew, glanced at the body, cordoned off the area and called for backup.

“I’m Detective Inspector Ian Salisbury and this is Detective Constable Jane Dyson.”

He showed me his warrant card, crushed my hand and pumped it like he was going for a jackpot on a one-arm bandit (slot machine with a side handle). Why do some men do that? Is it a display of power? To convince you that they are the dominant male, the top dog? He looked to be in his forties, was quite tall and was built like the proverbial brick outhouse. His receding brown hair was cut very short - what I believe our American friends call a buzz-cut - and his craggy facial features reminded me of the Mafia hit men in films like ‘The Godfather’. He only needed a fedora and a violin case to complete the look. I was sure he could get me to confess to anything — whether or not I’d actually done it. He was definitely a man I’d not like to cross.

Although I wasn’t particularly short, I had to look up to DC Dyson, whose blonde hair, styled in a pixie cut, crowned a heart-shaped face. She went through similar introductions but just gently gripped my fingers in greeting. Maybe she somehow sensed that I wasn’t impressed by her boss’s macho posturing.

A well-built woman who appeared to be in her mid-twenties, she moved with cat-like grace despite her size — she towered over me and must have been well over six feet tall, taller even than DI Salisbury. She wasn’t what you’d call slim, either; perhaps she’d had ballet training when she was a child and filled out quite a lot since then.

Both officers wore charcoal grey trousers, matching jackets and lace-up shoes; typical detective uniform. She knelt and searched the body while he questioned me. He’d not long started on his “did you see anything suspicious” and “what were you doing over the past 30 minutes” when DC Dyson said, quietly, “Knife wound, Guv; professional job, too, by the look of it. Single stab to the heart, and judging by the small amount of blood, I’d say that death was instantaneous.” She used her fingers to indicate the size and type of weapon that, she deduced, was used to despatch the late Abigail Jones.

Goodness, she’s posh

Later, I thought about the officers, especially DC Dyson. With that voice, she wouldn’t be out of place at a society ball; although there was a trace of an accent there that I couldn’t identify at the time.

A scene-of-crime team arrived and took some photos. A doctor arrived, carried out some tests, spoke briefly to Ian Salisbury and went; the ambulance crew took away the body and the detectives escorted me back to my apartment. He asked the questions while she stood, apparently staring into space - impassive.

I told them about my earlier walk — but not everything.

DC Dyson asked, “Do you have a wife or girlfriend, Mr Smith?”

Somehow, she seems as intimidating as her boss does

“N…no, I live alone and there’s nobody else,” I stammered.

They seemed satisfied; they took my contact details, promised to keep in touch and left me to my thoughts.

The next day, I had great difficulty concentrating on my work in the Accounts department of the local council. I kept turning over in my mind the events of the previous evening and wondered why Mrs Jones had been killed. DI Salisbury telephoned mid-morning.

I confirmed that I had no wife or girlfriend, I’d lived at Coleridge House for about a year or so and I saw Mrs Jones only occasionally, when we’d pass the time of day. I let out a slow breath as the call ended, and my heart returned to something approaching a normal rhythm.

I arrived home later than usual, and reluctantly decided that Jenny would have to stay in the closet for the evening. I still had the Cricket Club minutes to sort out but in order to do that, I had to try and understand what had been said at the meeting - and précis it. I firstly had to prepare my evening meal, cook it, eat it and clear up afterwards.

I’d just finished washing up when Jane Dyson ‘phoned.

“I’d like to ask you some more questions but not over the telephone. Could I pop round in about half an hour? Please tell me if it’s too late or if it’s not convenient for any reason.”

I assured her that it was convenient.

More questions? Still, I suppose this must be a murder enquiry

I put aside the Cricket Club papers and prepared to receive my visitor. No one else had been to the flat, so I wasn’t used to having to hide things. I made sure that all the doors to the other rooms were shut. It didn’t pay to take chances with the police, who were reputed to be very observant.

Jane Dyson showed me her warrant card as I opened the door. She was soon seated, with a cup of tea on the little side table.

She glanced around.

I felt uneasy.

“Your apartment is very neat - for a single man, I mean,” she said.

I winced at her comment. I answered quickly. “I can’t stand mess; I get very frustrated if anything is out of place. I’m the same in the office; I must drive everyone else to distraction.”

“The soft furnishings, décor and accessories are a little unusual, aren’t they? The colour scheme, pot plants, figurines and the painting of an Edwardian lady don’t exactly scream ‘male’, do they?”

“Err, I just like that style,” I conceded, trying to think quickly but getting very warm. Blast! I’d completely forgotten about the living room furnishings and so on. I had an awful feeling that I’d dropped myself in the deep brown and smelly.

“You were seen on your walk.”

It took a couple of seconds for me to realise what she’d said. Oh HELL, I hadn’t mentioned the jogger “Pardon?” I tried stalling, but still went bright red.

“You were seen. We did house-to-house enquiries. As you can perhaps appreciate, timing each event in the chain was down almost to the second. You also gave yourself away with some other vital signs. I believe that you have another self that you try to keep well hidden and it was she who found the body. Do correct me if I’m wrong.”

End of Part 1

John finds the body of a neighbour who has been murdered. The police detective assigned to the case deduces that John hides a secret - but the detective has secrets of her own.

Part 2 of 25 — Confession

I thought I’d been so careful but the look on my face probably confirmed that she was right. She rose from her chair, took my hands in hers and said, gently, “Please don’t worry, it’ll go no further. I assure you that everything you say as a material witness will remain completely confidential; and the way you were dressed will stay between us two.” She continued to hold my hands as she said, “I’d like to meet your… sister, cousin?”

“Jenny? I think of myself as Jenny and always have done. I’ve had to dress and act as John all my life, and it hurts,” I replied shakily. “But why do you want to meet my other self?”

“She may recall something that you’ve missed.”

“But I’m…we’re....” I spluttered.

“I know that you and she are the same person, but this isn’t the first time that one of the material witnesses in a criminal investigation might have different memories associated with the way they were dressed, and the role they were playing.”

“I really would feel stupid meeting someone else,” I hedged.

“Have you never before dressed as a woman in company or gone out for the evening?”

My immediate reaction was to answer ‘No’ but I thought about it for a few moments and admitted, “Well, I did go to a few meetings of a TV/TS support group, but that was a few years ago.”

“You wouldn’t want to be accused of obstructing a police investigation now, would you?” She smiled disarmingly.

“Put like that, I suppose I could…”

“Right; you give me a time tomorrow evening when I can meet Jenny and I’ll come over.”

“I’m not really sure that this is a good idea at all,” I again tried to dodge.

She was having none of it. “It’s not a matter for debate; your cooperation is vital.”

I said hesitantly, “How about eight-thirty? That will give me time to get home from work, eat and change. If I’m held up at work, can I call you? We’re in the middle of the annual race to get the accounts up to date for the end of the tax year and it’s quite possible that I’ll have to work late again. Are you really sure that this is necessary?”

In answer, she gave me a card with her contact details. She said, firmly, “I’ll see you at eight-thirty tomorrow evening; you are simply helping the police with our enquiries.” She gave my hands a little squeeze, and then breezed out of the door.

I sat down shakily and thought about the meeting. After a while, I tried to concentrate on the Cricket Club papers, but my mind just kept drifting back to Jane Dyson and her insistence upon tomorrow evening’s interview. I eventually decided that I just couldn’t achieve any more, so I retired to bed.

I hardly slept that night, and had great difficulty keeping my mind on my work again the next day; I couldn’t drag my thoughts away from that evening’s meeting. Then the inevitable question arose — what should I wear? I assumed that Jane would wear her usual work suit; I wanted to be comfortable but I didn’t want to dress up too much.

While my meal was cooking I showered, put on my underwear, applied my makeup — although how I achieved that given the way my hand was shaking, I don’t know - and eventually decided on a soft, cosy long-sleeved cowl-necked burgundy sweater and black skirt. I added tan stockings and the black court shoes that I’d worn on the evening of Mrs Jones’ death.

With a spritz of my favourite fragrance, some jewellery, and my hair brushed into a more feminine style, I felt somewhat less terrified, although that feeling returned as the time approached eight-thirty. I’d tried painting my nails with a coloured polish, but gave up because my hands were shaking so much. With a sigh, I resigned myself to the clear polish I used every day in the office. If anyone challenged me, I was prepared to use the excuse that “my nails are brittle, and this is a strengthener” - but no-one ever did. I made a pot of tea and put a plate of biscuits on the coffee table.

“Hello,” Jane said, cheerfully, as she arrived promptly and then appraised me in that ‘quick glance’ way that women often do. She said, “That’s one of the things that gave you away.”

“What?” I enquired, mystified, as I poured the tea.

“Chanel Allure,” she laughed.

“Oh! It’s my favourite fragrance.”

“Mine too. Then there’s the Georgette Heyer novel that was on your table the evening that Mrs Jones died; you’d tidied it away by yesterday evening. A very appropriate title by the way - ‘The Masqueraders,’” she chuckled.” You hadn’t been careful enough with your cleansing after your walk; there were traces of makeup on your eyes. Finally, you visibly winced when I referred to you as a ‘single man’ last night. Oh, and I do like your spectacles, they really suit you.”

I blushed. “The ‘Georgette Heyer’ is mine. I love the story; I’ve read it four times. I’ve always read a lot, right from childhood, and get my money’s worth from the local Public Library. I did change in rather a hurry after my walk so I’m not surprised if I missed some makeup. I absolutely hate being referred to as a man; as far as I’m concerned, I’m not a man and never was. I’ve always felt that I was female, but with a birth defect. The optician didn’t bat an eyelid when I asked for unisex glasses; the only person that has a problem with them is my father. He thinks that they should look more masculine, probably something with a chunky black frame. Euch!”

She ran her hand over my smooth face. “Have you had electrolysis?”

“I can’t stand the idea of having facial or body hair and I don’t grow any. Other than the faulty plumbing, I don’t know what else went wrong when I was born. I just wish that I’d been built properly in the first place, and then I wouldn’t have to try and hide what I am.”

I confirmed that I used a moisturiser every morning and night. “My father insists that I must be a gay male, but I’ve never had a relationship with a man. I just hoped that people wouldn’t jump to the wrong conclusion and get violent.”

“Do you find women attractive? Female television presenters, for example?” She asked.

“I do look enviously at them and would love to look as good as they do. I haven’t thought about whether or not I find them attractive in a relationship sense.”

“Hmm, your voice doesn’t sound at all out of place, you’ve either had some training or it’s never broken properly, and your hands are in proportion to the rest of you. You look very good, I really am impressed. I presume that you’ve had a lot of practice.”

“I’ve been dressing as a woman for a couple of years, at least.” I more fully appraised her as she put her teacup on the table and sat opposite me. “I spend nearly every evening here on my own, reading, browsing the Internet, listening to music and watching old movies. I’ve read about trans-people going for their chosen role and even finding partners and fulfilment. I’m certain that won’t happen for me. I know where and how to start, but I’m scared witless that I’ll lose my job and have to give up my flat. That would inevitably leave me having to try and get work somewhere else, or even having to move back in with my parents. I can imagine what my father would have to say about that. Every time I visit, he makes sure that I know I’m a total failure.”

“Why do you visit your parents?”

“I’ve always seen it as my duty.”

I was suddenly conscious that Jane was the first woman, indeed the first person at all, to visit the apartment. Even my parents hadn’t bothered. It felt very strange in an exciting sort of way.

After I’d refilled her tea cup, she slurred her words as she said, “It looksh bad for a pleece ossiffer to be arreshtid for vriving under the affluence of incohol.”

We both giggled; it helped to break the tension.

She looked me up and down. “You appear to have quite a good sense of colour and style, but are obviously very shy; and you seem to like classic clothes. That’s often a good thing, especially if you haven’t had the opportunity to experiment and learn from mistakes as most teenage girls do. People often get their ideas of what a tranny looks like from the media and you really don’t want to look like that. Many trans-people try to dress too young. It’s okay if you’re a teenager, but most are well beyond that age.”

I was relieved by her words and replied, “I buy most of my clothes from catalogues and the Internet, so I know what fashions suit my age. I prefer classic styles anyway; I just like to look and feel comfortable, if you know what I mean. I can be myself in the evenings; it’s the only thing that makes life worth living — if you can call this living. I expected to see you in a trouser suit or uniform but that skirt suit really is a beautiful colour.”

She wore a kingfisher-blue jacket with a matching above-the-knee straight skirt that really showed off her long legs. She had on a white strappy top and navy, low-heeled court shoes. Her blonde hair, cut in a short, but easy, care-free style, made her look like she had just left university and I was shocked when I eventually found out her actual age.

“We’re CID (Criminal Investigation Department — detectives, not patrol officers); we rarely wear uniforms, although many people can tell a mile off that we’re police. We might as well wear a big badge with ‘POLICE’ on it. I showered and changed before I came to visit you this evening. In the office doing paperwork, you never know when you’ll be called out, so a trouser suit is much more practical. Let’s change the subject. You’ve obviously been dressing as a female for a number of years. When did you first know and when did you start?”

By now, I was feeling a little more relaxed and began my story. “I suppose I was in pre-school when I first worked out that something had gone drastically wrong; I just couldn’t understand why I wasn’t allowed to play with the other girls; it came as a horrible shock when I was told that I was supposed to be a boy and that it was about time I just got on with it. As soon as I was old enough I spent every spare moment in the library and devoured anything and everything that I could find about my situation.

“Now I browse the Internet, and I’ve learned that I can suppress my feelings, but I’ll never grow out of them. I did my best to hide them all through school, and then college. Bullying was endemic at school and I’m sure there was no way I’d ever have escaped without more serious injury if the bullies had found out the truth about me. The beatings were bad enough when the thugs assumed I was gay. I suppose having bad eyesight and no girlfriend made me an easy target. I learned from my father that “men don’t talk about their feelings”. As I was supposed to be a boy, I couldn’t talk to anyone, especially my parents, even if they would listen — which they never did. My father boxed for the Navy and is passionate about almost any kind of sport. He’s always glued to the television whenever I visit. Boxing, wrestling, football, rugby; it seems that the more violent it is, the more he likes it.

“My parents retired a couple of years ago to North Wales. I’m fairly sure that they don’t know about Jenny, and I’m certain that they wouldn’t be at all supportive if they were to find out.

“My brother Peter was the sporting hero at school, playing every ball game he could; he did his time in the Air Force and now runs his own computer consultancy. I know I’ll be a huge disappointment to my parents because I’ll never provide them with a daughter-in-law or grandchildren like he has. I’m scared to tell them, though, because the inquisition will go on and on and I couldn’t cope with that.

“That about sums it up; dreams were all I had to get by. I suspected that my feelings would affect my ability to get or keep a job. I just dressed sufficiently male to get through the interviews, and to survive work. I desperately wanted a place of my own; this is ideal. It’s small, but enough space for me.”

Jane asked, “Have you thought of transitioning at work? Do they know?”

She seems to have some knowledge of the subject; I wonder how?

I sighed. “I’ve no friends, and people at work ignore me — except when they want something. They probably think I’m gay as well but nobody’s said anything; the way they treat me, though, it seems to be more an assumption — as though I’m unclean or something. Anyway, I haven’t the courage to risk my job by telling them how I really feel.”

“You do know that you and your job are now legally protected?”

I shuddered at the thought of my colleagues turning against me. “Yes, I suppose you’re right, but the whole thing just scares me: what if my colleagues don’t like it and make my life a misery? I still might have to leave and I don’t know if I’d get another job very easily.”

“Is there a local support group with changing facilities?”

I wondered again at her apparent knowledge. I asked, “Do you know someone else who is in the same position as I am?”

“I did, a long time ago,” she said, seeming to drift away a little. Then, “Sorry; you were saying?”

I sighed. “I don’t want to go out as John, change into Jenny for the evening and then change back again to come home. Even though the people at the meetings were very friendly and kind, I didn’t feel that I really belonged with them. I’d far rather go out as a woman for a purpose, such as shopping or to the theatre, but they’re no fun on your own and, anyway, I’ve never had the confidence. Sometimes, like the evening before last, I go out to post a letter and walk around the block, but I don’t really want to go anywhere where all you hear is what surgery they’ve had or where there are men dressed as women. I suppose, technically, that’s what I am although, as I’ve said, I’ve never felt male — if that makes any sense.

“I could get to the meetings when I first passed my driving test, which I only took because I was fed up with being labelled a failure. The roads are so much busier now so I always try to get home or very close to home before dark. I drive into town to get the shopping but, other than short journeys in the summer, that’s it really. I’d rather travel by train anyway; motorways are just so tiring.”

“Hmm,” Jane was obviously deep in thought. Eventually she said, “Let’s change the subject again. Now I don’t want to rush you but I’d like you to tell me what you did and what you saw on the night of Mrs Jones’ death. Anything, however insignificant you might think it is; I need to know about it. I might prompt, and I’ll write down anything that might be even remotely helpful. I will leave out any reference to how you were dressed. As far as the police report is concerned, you went out to post a letter and found Mrs Jones when you returned home.” She took a notebook and pen from her bag and began to write.

I was very relieved at hearing the last comment and related my journey in minute detail, telling her about the jogger and also how Mrs Jones was sitting when I returned to the apartment.

Jane drew in her breath. “You didn’t mention the jogger on the night of the murder, or the fact that Mrs Jones appeared to be sitting on the step,” she accused.

“No, I forgot; I suppose that’s why you like your witnesses to be themselves when you interview them.”

“Tell me about the jogger.”

“I don’t think there’s much to tell. As I told you on the night, I had my mind on the minutes of the Cricket Club AGM and went for a walk round the block to try and clear my head a little.”

“I can’t imagine you playing cricket.”

“Of course I don’t play cricket, or any other sport at all, much to my father’s disgust. I use shorthand for notes of meetings in the office. Someone noticed this so I got volunteered to be cricket club secretary; I presume that nobody else was silly enough to volunteer for the job. Anyway, I was on my way home and was about to pop my letter into the post box on the corner of Mortimer Road, when this slightly built figure dressed in a dark coloured leisure suit and trainers jogged past me. As far as I could tell, she wasn’t wearing any fragrance. Oh, and she also had her dark hair done in a high ponytail. She just jogged away from me down Mortimer Road.”

“It could have been a woman; men usually wear long hair in a low pony tail. That would tie in with the result of our enquiries. Of course, it could have been a man trying to make us think it was a woman.”

“No; I’d say it was definitely a woman, I could tell by the way she moved.”

“Hmm. Interesting.”

“Anyway, she’d been going in the opposite direction to mine, and I saw her jog past me. But,” I put in, slightly puzzled, “you said that I was seen that evening on my walk. If it wasn’t the jogger, then who was it?”

“I’m sorry; I’m not at liberty to tell you.”

I gave her my best guess at a minute-by-minute account of my journey.

“That was near enough to the minute, both coming and going,” she said.

“Pardon?” I asked, sitting bolt upright,

“You were observed in Warner Road, both going out and returning. A woman walking at that time of the night attracts attention, particularly from males. And don’t forget, there are two pubs on your route and you were walking with the traffic flow, not against it. That’s not a good idea at all.”

I tried to justify my actions. “I only ever go around the block, and at night, and that so very rarely. I don’t have the confidence to go out during the day. Anyway, what if I were seen? Coleridge House and the other two blocks are identical buildings with six flats in each; I could have come from any one of them.”

“Don’t do it again,” she advised. “Go in daylight, to a busy shopping centre. You can lose yourself in a crowd, a lone woman stands out. Its fine to go out at night if you’re escorted, but don’t go on your own. Please.”

I felt about one inch tall. “Even after all this time, I still have a lot to learn, haven’t I?” I said, as I refilled the teacups again.

“Learn from mistakes. Just don’t make the kind of mistakes that get you attacked or killed,” she said, bluntly.

I cringed. “You must think me naíve and stupid.”

“Not at all. You just need a good teacher, but you’ll learn.”

“Oh, right. And where do I find this teacher? I suppose I should go back to the support group?”

End of Part 2

Secrets

By Susan Heywood

John finds the body of a neighbour who has been murdered. The police detective assigned to the case deduces that John hides a secret - but the detective has secrets of her own.

Part 3 of 25 - Education

“I’ll teach you.” She rose to her feet and walked towards me. Putting her hands on my shoulders and looking down at me, she said, “You, my girl, are quite attractive. With a little work you will be more so.”

I was dumbfounded but managed to find my voice. “Attractive? Me? I don’t think so. I do my best but…”

She interrupted. “You need the right clothes and makeup; appropriate vocabulary and intonation; good posture and body language. Above all, you need loads of confidence,” She ticked them off on her fingers as she listed them; “I can help with all of those although, from where I’m standing, you’re already more than half-way there.”

“B…but, where do I start?”

“What are your plans for this coming weekend?”

“I should visit my parents but I’m not really looking forward to it. I usually go once a month, out of a sense of duty as I said.”

Now what’s she up to?

“It doesn’t sound to me that you really want to go.”

“I don’t,” I admitted.

“Can you postpone your visit?”

“I suppose so, but why?”

She said, “I’ll pick you up on Saturday morning at eight-thirty; wear something casual and easy to change out of; we’ll go to Southampton. There’s the West Quay Shopping Centre, the Malls and The Bargate; we’ll blend in there, it’s sure to be crowded. As I said, you can get lost in a crowd. We’re going to hit the shops, girl, so polish up your credit card.” Then she clicked her fingers. “Oh, just a minute; show me the card.”

Oh shit! She means it! “B...b...but I can’t go out in public, dressed as a woman,” I wailed, hoping that she would relent - but she didn’t.

She said, very firmly, “You will be dressed as a woman because you ARE a woman. Remember, CONFIDENCE.”

It’s like being told off by the head teacher

Then she repeated, more firmly, “Show me your credit card.”

After another abortive attempt to make her change her mind, I caved in, fumbled in John’s wallet for the card and pulled it out.

“Good,” she enthused, after examining it, “and it’s in the name of J E Smith without a title; that’ll serve our purposes. I presume that Jenny is short for Jennifer.”

I nodded.

“And does Jenny Smith have a middle name?”

“Ellen.”

“Very good then, Miss Jennifer Ellen Smith, I’ll see you at eight-thirty on Saturday morning”.

Without giving me any further chance to argue, she gave my hands another little squeeze, smiled and left.

I stood for a moment, shocked. I knew that I ought to have been panicking but, instead felt a little warm and fuzzy.

Why can’t I say “No” when people press me to do things?

After standing for a few minutes, I took the empty cups and plate into the kitchen, and then retired to bed.

I didn’t sleep too well and was convinced that everyone at work noticed. I couldn’t get the planned shopping expedition out of my mind and I’m sure that my work output must have reflected my anxiety. Celia and Jill kept glancing over at me when they thought I wasn’t looking. At least they treated me like a human being, not like some weird alien, as most people seemed to do. I just tried to concentrate on my work, but it was difficult. I was glad when the day ended and I could escape.

I had an appointment at a local hair and beauty salon called, rather imaginatively, The Salon, where I had my hair trimmed. I had no body hair, I never have. No one else saw my unclothed body because I wore a jacket at work — summer or winter. I suffered at school, in a school blazer, but I had a faulty body and I had no choice in how it was put together.

I telephoned my mother and told her I wouldn’t be visiting. “Something’s come up.” We chatted for a few minutes; then I went to bed early. I was exhausted and just crashed.

Saturday dawned overcast; I hoped that it wasn’t a portent of ill fortune. I figured that my police escort should be able to keep me out of situations with which I would be unable to cope.

I showered and moisturised, then the all-important question; what to wear? This was the first time that I’d be going to a shop to purchase clothes. I still had mixed feelings about this shopping trip; part of me was looking forward to it, and part of me was terrified. Oh well; I’d soon know which part won. I needed to wear something casual; easy to change out of and comfortable: maybe a casual skirt and low-heeled shoes. I presumed that I was going to be walking a lot. Eventually I chose an above-the-knee denim skirt and matching jacket, a Chinese blue square-neck top and navy low-heeled wedge slip-ons; then I applied a little makeup.

Jane arrived on time; she stepped forward, smiled and we air-kissed. “Very good and sure to blend in,” she summed up my outfit. “I’m glad you opted for casual and also something easily removed for trying things on. By the way, I presume that those are not your own,” she said, pointing to my breasts.

“Half me and half chicken fillets; that’s what they’re sometimes called in the TG world — transgender; sorry about the jargon.”

“I’m not unfamiliar with that, but do continue.”

I didn’t pick up on the last comment as I was working out in my mind how to explain the breast forms and my own breast growth. “They have a hollow in the back, so that they fit over my own breast development. That outfit looks casual but very smart; I just love the colour of your top, and that bag is so very stylish and such a useful shape. Anyway, do I call you Detective Constable, or what?”

“Today I’m Jane and you’re Jenny, and your comment about my clothes is just the sort of thing one woman might say to another. Anyway, how have you grown some of your own breast tissue?” she asked, raising an eyebrow and cocking her head.

“Err, well since my late teens, my nipples have been more sensitive and my chest has been quite fleshy. I presume that my puberty is late, not that I’m complaining. A couple of years ago I started taking a small dose of hormones I purchased through the Internet,” I answered, in a small voice. “I don’t want to have to deal with facial or body hair or other male characteristics, and I’m hoping that the hormones will prevent them happening.”

“Without prescription?”

“Without prescription,” I admitted, sheepishly.

“Dangerous and reckless are words that spring to mind. Have you seen a doctor to find out why your chest is fleshy?”

“No, I was scared he might want to stop it.”

“How long since you had any kind of medical check-up?”

“I don’t remember ever having one — other than eye tests,” I answered her.

“Didn’t you need one for school?”

“They didn’t ask, so I didn’t remind them. Anyway, a medical examination might have shown up something I didn’t want to know about.”

“What about a sports physical?”

I laughed mirthlessly. “Sports? With my body? No chance! I avoided sport where I could and kept my head down as much as possible so as to try and avoid injury. I didn’t always succeed.”

Jane wore a vest top and jeans, with a zip-front leather jacket. She wore tan low-heeled sandals. On her right shoulder was a tan bucket bag. Nothing in her outfit looked as though it came from any chain store.

I feel positively dowdy; she looks like a supermodel on her day off

She said, “You keep your hair in good condition, and I like what you’ve done with it.”

I responded, smiling. “My hair has always been thick. I’m lucky enough to be able to go without a wig; I simply brush my own hair into a more feminine style. My father keeps telling me to get a proper haircut, by which he probably means a short back and sides. He says my hair is too long but, as I tell him, that’s my business.”

“You’ve either been practicing your voice, mannerisms and vocabulary or it comes very naturally. From what I saw on Thursday evening, there’s not a lot of work required in those departments. You appear to be a natural.”

“This voice and body got me into so much trouble at school; at least now they might come in useful, and I did purchase a voice training course over the Internet. That taught me about vocabulary, intonation, body language and so on — although I probably sound stupid if I forget and use feminine vocabulary and so on with a male identity. I suppose that someone born a genetic girl would have been taught all that by her mother. I’ve also read a lot of stories on the Internet and picked up some hints from them.”

“Don’t assume anything. Many girls are as much in the dark as you are. Julia, at school, wasn’t told about periods and was shocked and frightened when she started bleeding. Her mother either forgot to tell her or couldn’t work out how to explain a basic female bodily function.”

She saw my change of expression and said, “Periods can be painful and messy, and your hormones can send you from euphoria to depression and back again in no time at all.”

“I don’t care about that. If I had a period, then I’d know that I’m probably completely or mostly female.” I grabbed a tissue from my bag; tears weren’t far away.

“Don’t cry; you’ll wreck your makeup.” She put her hand comfortingly on mine until I’d regained my composure. She then did a final check on my appearance and tidied me up a bit. When she was completely satisfied, she asked, “Okay then; have you got everything? Money? Credit card? Keys? Makeup?”

I nodded and we headed for the door. I thought of something. “What do I do if anyone sees me or recognises me? What will they say? What do I say?”

She replied without a moment’s hesitation. “You look like John’s sister, so why shouldn’t she go shopping with a friend? A visiting sister wouldn’t know anyone here, other than John, so if someone speaks to us on the stairs, in the lobby, or anywhere else, just smile slightly but don’t let the smile reach your eyes.”

We met no one as we left the building, but as I stepped out into the crisp morning sunlight, I felt very nervous; this was my first outing in daylight.

Jane led me to a red sports car and opened the passenger door for me. I was taken aback by both the car and her action but said nothing; I didn’t know much about cars but the badges on the front and rear told me that it was a Lexus.

She commented as I sat in the passenger seat, swinging my legs in so that I avoided showing too much leg. “I’m glad to see you get in properly - bum, leg, leg. Mind you, if you did that when dressed as a man, you might look rather silly.”

“That pre-supposes that someone would offer John a lift somewhere. It hasn’t happened yet, and I’m not holding my breath.”

I was pinned to the cream leather seat as we zoomed off towards the motorway. It made my little car look and feel like an empty can on wheels. I composed myself as we headed for Southampton. To make conversation, I said, “This is a lovely car, not at all what I’d expect a detective constable to drive.”

She laughed. “It was love at first sight. As soon as I saw it, I just knew that I had to test-drive it. Within a few minutes I knew that I had to have it. I love driving it and I get envious looks from some of the plods at the station. They go out and climb into various old wrecks and I have this little baby. The roof folds down so it’ll be great in the summer — if we get one.”

I could see from the number plate that the car was first registered this year and thus was virtually new. I wondered how she could afford to insure and maintain it on a police constable’s salary. I didn’t mention it, though, because I just didn’t have the confidence. I’d always opted for the quiet life and just hoped that I wouldn’t get caught up in anything stressful. Maybe I’d taken my father’s words to heart — “The boat is not for rocking.”

I continued with the car theme as I asked, “Are you another of these people who name their cars?” Says me, who has a pet name for most things; my washing machine is called ‘Doris’ and my microwave oven is called ‘Maurice’.

Jane gave me a disparaging look. “Well, for a start, all cars are female; except when they go wrong, when they’re a useless heap of junk. This one’s called ‘Lizzy’, because the last three letters of the registration number are ‘LZY’. I couldn’t pronounce anything foreign, except French. This is Japanese so there’s no hope.”

“Do you speak French?”

“Mais certainement, mademoiselle, Maman et moi, nous sommes Française.”

“Your mother and you are both French?”

“Yes, although Daddy Dearest is English,” she responded, disdainfully.

Curious. The way that she refers to her father doesn’t convey an impression of a loving daughter. Mind you, I’m a fine one to talk

“You seem to be very fit,” I observed.

“I do some cycling, running and swimming in the sports centre, but I like to watch the Tour de France and the Athletics on television. For getting about, I much prefer this little gem. So does your little Italian job have a name?”

I presumed that she had a file on me somewhere; I hoped it didn’t contain anything too embarrassing. Considering that I was dressed as a young woman and headed for a shopping spree, it’s as well I’ve no criminal record.

I confessed. “My little car is called Buttercup.”

“Buttercup?”

“It’s yellow.”

She muttered something that sounded like “sad bitch” and turned her thoughts back to her driving.

We parked at Southampton and sat for a few minutes to let my stomach settle. I felt that the thousands of butterflies which had taken up residence in my stomach were all about to give birth to kittens — well, I’m sure you get the picture.

Oh well, here goes

I nodded that I was ready and we walked into the shopping centre.

Jane quietly commented, “I’m glad to see that you walk more slowly than most men do.” Then she glanced sheepishly at me. “Sorry, that came out all wrong.”

I smiled to placate her; after all, it didn’t sound as though she meant it unkindly. “Do you mind if we just sit for a few minutes while I get my nerves back together?”

We sat on a nearby bench, and she said, also quietly, “I’m glad I didn’t have to run to keep up with you. We’re not running a race; we’re just two girlfriends out for a day’s shopping.”

Girlfriend? What a joke! Friend-who-is-a-girl, maybe. Anyway, she’s probably got a Hooray Henry stashed away somewhere looking after the horses

She led me through the larger stores, and gave me her take on the differences between the way a man and a woman would go shopping. “Take business wear, for example. A man’s choices are quite limited, and he can often get all he needs - suits, shirts, ties, underwear, socks and shoes - from one shop, like John Lewis. For underwear, he can either have Y-fronts, briefs or boxers, and socks, usually black, come in short or long. And the whole process might take an hour or so at most. Exciting or what?”

I reckoned that she might be over-simplifying it, but then I thought of John’s boring and ill-fitting work wear; I nodded and smiled. I wore panties because men’s underwear was so rough and uncomfortable, and suits never fitted, however much I paid or whichever size I purchased. I once had a suit made; a more badly fitting garment would be hard to find.

Jane continued with my education. “A woman goes into all the shops that sell what she wants; she tries some things on and maybe purchases a top here, a skirt or trouser suit there, shoes somewhere else, even a bag or accessories and, perhaps, some jewellery. It can take all day, or even several days, to get it right; you seldom find all you need in one shop. And then she’s got to do the whole thing again and again because no self-respecting woman wears the same outfit two days in a row. And there’s always planning for the future wardrobe so, in the spring, you look for summer styles; if summer, you stock up for autumn and winter. You usually shop from catalogues, don’t you?”

I nodded again.

“It’s easy for men: winter weight suit or summer weight suit. Some don’t even bother to match the seasons. I wouldn’t be surprised if Ian Salisbury has only two or three suits. I’ve no idea what he might wear off-duty and don’t care anyway.”

I thought again of John; two charcoal-grey suits, blue shirts, dark-blue ties, black socks and black shoes. Not that he had any interest in doing anything different. He bought the cheapest he could find; there wasn’t any point in paying more, they still wouldn’t fit. I viewed John as another person, but then I always had done. He was never the real me; just an act that I had to perform in order to get through life.

Jane continued. “Shops rarely sell clothes designed for tall or large women like me; we really struggle to find clothes that don’t look as though they’ve been washed for twenty four hours on the wrong machine cycle. Things are getting better but there’s a long way to go. I’m fortunate in that I can get most of my clothes in London.”

She accurately estimated my height and dress size and continued to describe the hazards of shopping at high street stores, ending with, “The amount of time and money women waste trying to fit into so-called standard-size clothes is amazing. You’d never believe that there could be such a difference between the actual sizes of garments with the same size label, and often in the same shop.”

We’d been walking around for nearly two hours when she suggested that we stop for a drink; I readily agreed, as my feet reminded me I’d been on them a long time. She headed for a busy coffee shop, passing several others. I asked why that particular one.

She replied quietly. “It’s your first time out in public, and this coffee shop is crowded. Nobody will take any notice of you. If we went to an empty one, you might feel on display. How are you coping?”

“Mainly okay, although I’m a little nervous,” I admitted, “but I keep pinching myself to make sure I’m awake. I never, ever thought I’d be doing this and, other than still shaking a little, I feel wonderful, almost as though I’ve finally arrived somewhere.”

“Well you have; it’s called West Quay Shopping Centre,” she laughed. “Seriously though, people aren’t looking at you, unless it’s to see a smart, attractive young woman with gorgeous legs, out for a day’s shopping with a friend. Men usually eye up anything in a skirt as potential arm candy or bed-mate and women naturally appraise other women, to assess the competition and to work out whether or not a particular outfit might look good on them. We usually wear clothes to show ourselves off and to feel good.”

When we’d collected our drinks, Jane pointed to a corner table and said, “Let’s sit over there; we can talk without attracting attention.”

When we were seated, I asked her in a shocked, hushed voice, “Smart and attractive with gorgeous legs?”

“Very true,” she confirmed, smiling conspiratorially. “If you’ve got it, flaunt it; and you, my girl, have definitely got it.”

I was stunned and not a little embarrassed. Jane was unrelenting, though, and continued in the same low tone that she had so far used. “You look good; with very little work, you will look really good. I’m having great difficulty with the idea that this is your first daylight outing. You are, as I said before, a natural.”

My self-esteem had taken quite a battering over the years, but Jane was a police officer, accustomed to noting detail, and commented on all my little feminine touches.

“I’m pleased to see that you smoothed your skirt when you sat down and stood up, and that you kept your legs together when you sat.”

“I learned that a long time ago and do it at home,” I said.

She continued. “You have to grasp several things very quickly in order to convince everyone else that you are not only a woman but a very attractive and confident one. The most important person to be convinced is you. You must believe in yourself; you must be utterly confident about yourself, such that you have no doubt that you are a woman and that you just don’t even think about it. That will take time but you’ll get there in the end. Other people will take their cue from you. If you look, move and talk like a woman, and relate to other people as a woman would, then they will treat you as such in return. You’d be amazed at how much a “Please”, “Thank You” and a smile can achieve. From what I’ve seen so far, you’re nearly there. The DUCK TEST is often regarded as a humorous term, but it goes something like this; ‘If it looks like a duck, swims like a duck, and quacks like a duck, then it probably is a duck.’ ”

I nodded.

She said, “You should just try to look and sound right. Once you’ve achieved that, there is very little else to do. Clothes, makeup, vocabulary and body language must be appropriate; the aim being to encourage others to deal with you as you desire. Basically, that’s all there is to it.”

“That’s fine as far as it goes,” I complained, “but this is my first time out in daylight. I feel very self-conscious.”

“I understand, Jenny,” she soothed. “I said that I would help you, and I will: you can’t expect to unlearn twenty years of male upbringing in five minutes - although I don’t think that you were ever completely a man.”

“No, not really,” I admitted. “I got into a lot of trouble simply for trying to survive my childhood.”

She gave me some more pointers to the differences between men and women and then said, “I get the impression that a lot of it seems to come naturally to you. What about in the office? How do you relate to your colleagues?”

“Perhaps I do come across as unconventional. I don’t make sexist remarks and the other women don’t clam up when I’m around. The blokes only speak to me when they want something, and everyone probably assumes that I’m gay. I’ve nothing against gay men but I know that I’m not one and insist that I’m not. At least my colleagues don’t seem to regard me as a threat.” I laughed, “Perhaps I sometimes forget that I’m supposed to act the male in the office.”

“I notice you said, “Other women.” That would be picked up straight away by some of your work colleagues.”

“Oops! It looks like I’ll have to be more careful what I say.”

When we’d replaced the crockery on the tray, she said, “Right then; toilet break. Remember, a sensible girl goes when she can - and don’t forget to use the Ladies room.”

I was horrified. “I can’t use the Ladies room,” I wailed, “I’m…”

“Keep your voice down!” Jane whispered, forcefully, and then continued, quietly, “You are a shy young woman who needs to go to the toilet. You certainly can’t go to the Gents toilet wearing those clothes; it would cause a riot and I’d have to arrest you.”

That broke the tension; I smiled and then relaxed a little.

“When you go in, just walk purposefully into an available stall, shut the door and lock it. Don’t forget to sit, and don’t forget to wipe afterwards; women usually wipe front to back. When you come out, wash your hands and check your makeup. When you leave the toilet, we go power shopping.”

I protested. “I’ve always sat down in a toilet, at school, at work and at home. I’m not very well endowed, thank God. If I stood to pee, I’d only spray all over the place, and most would go down my leg. The ‘peeing up the wall’ contest at school was a disaster, and I got teased something rotten in the showers after the obligatory sport. I once mentioned the problem at home and was just told that I’d grow out of it. I kept quiet after that. As a young child, when I was taken into a toilet by my father, and had to stand next to him to pee, I was so embarrassed as it all sprayed down my leg. I got told off for making a mess. Most of the time I couldn’t go anyway. When I was older, I always used a cubicle if there was one that wasn’t flooded, hadn’t been vandalised, and the lock worked. I just told my father that I needed to go. I always carried a supply of toilet tissue against the possibility of having to use a public convenience that was lacking in supplies or the seat or floor was wet.”

“That’s odd, I mean about the spraying bit; you’ve not seen a doctor about it?”

“No; as I said, I was always frightened that someone would want to fix it. I don’t want it fixed — well, not like that anyway.”

Jane glanced at me as we got up. “What do your parents think now?”

“Don’t be silly! I couldn’t talk to them about it.”

“Don’t they know?”

I rolled my eyes. “I hope not. My father would go berserk if he thought there was anything else wrong with me. I’ve enough trouble with him as it is.”

“What about your mother?”

“She’s obsessed with my “meeting the right girl, settling down and producing more grandchildren”, so there won’t be any support there either.”

When we were outside, and were out of earshot of others, I commented about the toilet and how much cleaner it was than most of the men’s rooms I’d had to use in the past.

“Quite right too, although the ones in shopping centres are usually cleaned regularly. Men often go in, point Percy in the general direction of the porcelain, piss and walk out. Sometimes it goes on the floor. Many toilets, as you’ve found, don’t have any paper or running water or the cubicle locks don’t work. Some people don’t bother to wash their hands even when there is soap and water - yuck! When you go to a pub or restaurant, don’t even think of eating the nibbles on the bar; you just never know what’s been in the bowl.

“Our loos and our coffee shops are our refuge when this shopping gets too much. And don’t forget; shopping is looking, purchasing involves parting with cash or a credit card. The two activities aren’t the same and don’t always happen at the same time.”

Me? Go to a pub? Not likely

I was wrong. Being wrong was going to become a habit.

End of Part 3

Secrets

By Susan Heywood

John finds the body of a neighbour who has been murdered. The police detective assigned to the case deduces that John hides a secret - but the detective has secrets of her own.

Part 4 of 25 — Education and Comprehension

Then I found out what she meant by ‘power shopping’. Jane coerced me (not difficult) into a makeover, and then insisted that few women get to age twenty-two without having their ears pierced. I wondered how I could disguise pierced ears at work; maybe some sticking plaster or foundation to cover the holes. I mentioned my misgivings but she quietly pointed out that a lot of men wear earrings. Rather than argue in the shop, I gave in. It wasn’t until the dastardly deed had been done, that I realised that a man might wear one earring - and it’s not usually a glittering diamond stud — but few men wore two.

Jane simply said, “Tell them that your girlfriend persuaded you to have it done.”

I gasped and then smiled, “That will cause some juicy gossip in the office.”

The sign in the shop had said, ‘Ear Piercing While You Wait.’ I chuckled when I recalled a line from one of the stories I’d read; ‘How do they pierce your ears if you don’t wait?’ Then I had a thought.

“Oh no!” I wailed.

“What?”

“My father!”

“What about him?”

“He’ll go ballistic when he sees these.”

“Well, tell him that….”

“I know; my girlfriend persuaded me.”

“Well, I am a friend and I am female; therefore I must be a girlfriend.”

We both giggled at that.

I accepted that I couldn’t turn the clock back. A part of me didn’t want to do so anyway, and Jane was the first person to ever say that she wanted to be my friend.

She said that I could try a different brand of makeup each time we went out. The news that she intended to go out with me again went some way towards calming my fears of the future.

She led me to an upmarket lingerie shop, and picked out a lacy bra and panties set in a delicate pale cream colour, which she insisted was a gift from her.

“I don’t know why you’re purchasing these; I’m the only one who’ll see them,” I protested.

“Maybe, maybe not; but they will make you feel good, and a sexy you is a more confident you. Anyway, heaven forbid that you should have any kind of emergency while we’re out, but at least your lingerie would be neat, clean and would match.”

I chuckled at that, and then said, “That pre-supposes that we’ll go out again.”

“Have you enjoyed today so far?”

I nodded and smiled as a reply.

“I think that smile says it all.”

At her insistence, I modelled a strappy black dress.

“Every girl needs a LBD.”

I must admit it did look and feel wonderful so I smiled and paid for it. Away from the counter, Jane asked, quietly, “Are you wearing any padding, or a corset?”

“No. Since my late-teens, I’ve been a bit fatter in the backside. Working behind a desk can’t help, and I don’t get much exercise, other than walking to and from the office. I have most trouble with trousers; I have to pull the waist in with a belt. Suits for work last some years before they’re worn out, and I have to get a jacket and trousers from different suits so that they have a chance of fitting. I’m not interested in men’s fashions. Firstly, menswear is uncomfortable; secondly, it doesn’t fit anyway. I’ve always thought of that as an oxymoron; menswear and fashion. I’m probably being unfair. Maybe it’s okay if you’re a man; I’m not. It’s no wonder that lots of men wear braces (suspenders) to hold up their trousers; they probably have trouble getting clothes that fit as well. One size definitely doesn’t fit all.”

“What do you wear outside the office?” Jane asked.

“Jeans and a tee. At least in the ladies-wear department, I can find jeans that fit properly; I know that the zip on the jeans is usually on the other side but a long baggy top covers it. I only have enough John clothes to get by for work. I wear jeans and an oversize tee or jumper when I visit the family, or for other things like shopping; they cover a multitude of sins. I get a bit warm in the summer but it saves people asking awkward questions.”

Then we moved on to a number of boutiques where more items were tried on and some purchased.

At a snack bar, Jane left me to order her a sandwich and a cup of tea, while she sat at one of the few remaining tables and put our bags on one of the spare chairs. I was so surprised at being dropped in the deep end that I ordered without hesitation and returned to her, beaming from ear to ear. It felt great having achieved something for myself that day.

“Were you nervous?” she asked.

“I was too busy to be nervous,” I said, giggling.

Whilst we were eating, she asked about my eye problems and I told her about my mother’s German measles; the cataracts with which I was born; the various operations that I’d had and the loss of sight in my left eye.

Finally after visiting a few more shops, I purchased a new duvet set in my favourite mint green, but with a dark green floral design. I also purchased some matching curtains.

Just before leaving the shopping centre, and after a further stop for tea, which I again ordered, I managed to surprise Jane with the bouquet of flowers that I gave her. She simply smiled, said a quiet “thank you” and kissed me on both cheeks.

We staggered back to the car with armfuls of parcels and a very wide and self-satisfied grin on my face. On the way home, we decided to pick up a Chinese Takeaway. She swung the car into a space behind the ‘Lucky Horse’.

I sniggered uncontrollably.

“What’s amusing you?” Jane enquired.

I pointed to the sign, which said “Lucky Horse Parking.”

“What’s so funny about that?”

I eventually ran down. “I just wondered where you’d park an unlucky horse.”

She swatted me on the arm. “Hurry up and get out of the car; I’m hungry.”

Later that evening, after Jane had gone, I sat alone and realised that I’d had the best day in years, probably in my whole life.

Jane became a regular visitor and I thoroughly enjoyed the evenings that she and I spent together. More often than not, I’d cook dinner. We shared an interest in classical music and old movies and my literature and music collections gave us a wide range of discussion topics. We also managed more shopping trips and I really enjoyed these aspects of my new life; I felt that I was now really living, not simply existing, as I was earlier.

I gave up the Cricket Club secretary job; I took great delight in telling Phil Sullivan that I’d no time for it as I now had a girlfriend.

“But we all thought that you’re gay!” he croaked out when I told him.

“All?” I asked, smiling. “How does it feel to be so wrong?” I shook my head; he wandered off, red-faced, presumably to spread the news; I suspect that the whole office knew by lunchtime. Of course, they didn’t know the nature of the girlfriend relationship that I enjoyed. I didn’t even put the usual ‘partner photo’ on my desk until much later.

April 2004

My father, Bill Smith, was tall, broad, fit and still ruggedly handsome despite his years. His skin, especially his face and hands, testified to a life of outdoor physical work. His navy boxing career had also left its marks on his face, which could now best be described as ‘lived in’.

Ellen, my mother, was slim and petite. She still was an attractive woman even though she’d recently celebrated her sixtieth birthday. Her auburn hair, which now bore flecks of grey, looked elegant rather than defined her age. She’d always had flawless skin and I clearly took after her in facial features and build, although I was a few inches taller. She came across as very mild-mannered but that was deceptive; you upset her at your peril.

When my father retired, my parents moved to a semi-detached two-bedroom house in Llandudno, North Wales. I lived and worked in the South of England and tried to visit my parents every month. I considered it a duty; a pleasure it was definitely not.

I missed the March visit because Jane and I were shopping in Southampton; that was much more fun than subjecting myself to a trip to North Wales. My father always lectured me as soon as I arrived, and my mother seemed constantly on about me “settling down”. I obviously didn’t do enough to fit in with their expectations — “it was no wonder that I had no wife or girlfriend.” Their words, not mine.

I elected to go alone; I wasn’t ready to reveal Jane’s identity and I didn’t want to expose her to any aggravation from my father, even though she could doubtless stand up for herself. I went by train, arriving mid-afternoon on the Saturday. As usual, I planned to stay the night and return on the Sunday after lunch and, also as usual, it was a tiring journey. My father, true to form, laid into me the minute I walked through the door.

“What on earth have you done to your ears? You look even more like a queer than you usually do.”

I didn’t bother pointing out to him that gay men don’t always ‘look queer.’ “It was my girlfriend’s idea,” I responded angrily, despite having expected the observation. “She obviously likes them even if you don’t. Just in case you’ve forgotten, I am twenty-two years of age, own my own home, and no longer have to do what you want. And at the risk of repeating myself yet again, I… AM… NOT… INTERESTED… IN… MEN!”

“Bollocks! You’re a raging poof, always have been! Peter’s done alright for himself; you should learn a few lessons from him. Anyway, what’s this rubbish about a girlfriend?”

I was getting increasingly angry with him. “I’ve known Jane for a month or so.”

“I can’t imagine what sort of a girl would put up with you; she must be desperate. You should have joined the navy; they’d have made a man of you. You should grow a beard or something. At least you might then look a bit more like a bloke, instead of some pansy.”

Insensitive bastard!

I really lost my temper and bit back. I was very angry. I said, “I can’t win with you, can I? You’ve kept on at me for years about getting a girlfriend; yet when I do find a woman who wants to be with me, you complain. I won’t tell you anything about Jane, and for good reason. Since I was a child, you’ve treated me as a complete failure. According to you, I’ll never be good for this or that; why can’t I be like my brother; I don’t take enough interest in sport, and all the other things that you insist on telling me that real men do. I’M NOT INTERESTED IN SPORT! You think you know everything but you’re just an ignorant bigot. I feel deeply insulted and if Jane were here I’m sure that she’d also feel the same. Is it any surprise that I didn’t bring her with me? And why on earth would I want to grow a beard, even if I could? I’m quite happy with my face as it is, thank you very much. I know that I’m not the kind of son that you expected or wanted, but that’s your tough luck. Anyway, half my genes came from you, so you’re partly to blame that I didn’t turn out the way you wanted. It seems that you’d rather I lived here, did as I was told, and spent all my money in the pub. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find that you’ve got shares in the brewery. I know that you’ve always despised me and I’ve a good mind not to visit again. It costs me more than a hundred pounds a month for the train and bus fares, just to come here and be insulted; I’m sure that I can find a much better use for the money; in fact, I’ll pay off my mortgage early.” I finished with, “All you think about is yourself; you don’t care about anyone else at all!”

I’d cut him off several times, and didn’t let him get a word in. That was a first; it was usually the other way around. I stormed out, left him watching football on the television and muttering about my ‘failure to be a proper man’. I slammed the door behind me.

The inevitable friction caused by my father’s comments set the tone for the weekend; he glowered at me at every opportunity. My mother seemed pleased to see me but my strained relationship with my father soured the visit, and I was glad to get away.

Just before leaving after Sunday lunch I drew my mother into the kitchen, closed the door and said, firmly, “My father’s been having a go at me since I was a child and I’ve had enough. I can see that I’ve been a huge disappointment to you both, and especially to him. I don’t fit with his image of what a man should be. You’re always on about grandchildren. You can start getting used to the idea that I’m never going to provide you with any.”

She gasped and her hand flew to her mouth.

I continued, with feeling. “That’s not my choice; that’s just the way I was born. Jane is the only friend I’ve got and ours isn’t that kind of friendship. I don’t see why I should start getting involved in things I don’t want to do, just to conform to my father’s opinion of how I should live the rest of my life. Well that’s his hard luck and, if he doesn’t change his attitude, then I’ll have nothing more to do with him. He’s always made it quite clear that I’m a failure; my wishes and ambitions don’t count for anything, and have always been overridden by his. Anyway, if he knew what I really wanted out of life, he’d never speak to me again.” I realised what I’d said in anger and my face went a vivid shade of red.

My mother guided me into the garden, took my arm and said, gently, “As you were growing up, I thought you might be gay. Your father is trying to re-live his life through you and you’re not playing the game. He’s so taken up with his own ambitions that he’s never been interested in your wishes and needs. I wondered if you’d ever got over your problems, but they’ve never gone away, have they. You’re gay, aren’t you?”

I was flabbergasted. “Neither of you cared what I wanted. I knew when I was a toddler that I wasn’t a boy up here,” I tapped my head, “but, when I told you, you both told me not to be so stupid. I learned very quickly to tell you both as little as possible as I was growing up. Anyway, I’d probably have been killed if anyone at school had found out.

“I’ve always done what I was told to do. In my late teens, I just wanted female friends. I was interested in their clothes, makeup, gossip and general girlishness: I wasn’t interested in them as potential partners, and they certainly weren’t interested in me. I wasn’t built right and they bloody knew it. You, and especially my father, seem to be fixated on the idea that I’m looking for a male partner. I’ve no idea where you get that notion from, unless it’s the ‘The Daily Trash’. Most of the men and boys that I’ve known have been boorish and with over-inflated egos, not unlike my father. If he’s an example of a male that I should try to emulate, then I’m definitely better off living alone. I can be interested in any sort of relationship that I like but no one wants me.

“I tried to keep Jenny hidden all my life. As far as I was concerned when I was born, someone made a ghastly mistake: I was born a girl but my body was wrong, and I’m going to pay the price of that mistake for the rest of my life. I’d love to be pregnant, give birth to children and mother them. Unfortunately, I’m not built for it. I don’t want to be a husband and father, and the idea of having sex as a man just makes me feel sick. What’s the point of living?”

“So are you saying you’re not gay, then?”

“NO; I’M NOT A GAY MAN! How many more times do I have to tell you before you believe me?”

“You’ve always been female?” she said.

I nodded.

“But your willy…?”

“It’s a birth defect that I have to use to pee through; it doesn’t belong on a woman.”

“Now it makes sense!” My mother gave a hollow laugh. “I always knew that something was wrong. You were very careful - but not careful enough. There’s your recent appearance and the fact that you haven’t developed as expected. So is there really a girlfriend?”

“I tried to give my father the impression that I was interested in Jane as a man might be; I thought it might shut him up, but it didn’t. Our relationship isn’t boyfriend and girlfriend; it’s more like two girlfriends,” I hastily added, “that is, friend who is a girl.” I didn’t want her to get the wrong idea.

“Two girlfriends? Does she prefer you to be dressed as a girl?”

“Mother; as I said, I’ve always been female. I don’t dress as a young girl; I dress as a twenty-two year old woman; John is the disguise. Jane’s only met John twice, but she and I, that is Jane and Jenny, have been out shopping a few times. She often pops round for dinner and stays for the evening. We usually talk or listen to music or watch old movies.”

”Have I missed something? Do you think of yourself as Jenny, and John as a separate person?”

I was exasperated, and said, vehemently, “Mother! Why have you never listened when I told you anything? What I wanted didn’t seem to matter and, according to you and my father, most of the horrors of childhood never happened! I’ve always been Jenny; John has only ever been an acting role that I’ve had to play in order to stay alive.”

“Hmm, that’s interesting,” My mother said, thoughtfully. “Anyway, how did you meet Jane?”

“She is a police officer, but don’t tell my father, or I’ll never hear the last of it. He’ll probably go off on one about my being a danger to society, or something.”

She seemed shocked. “How on earth did you meet a police officer?”

I briefly recounted the events of the night when Mrs Jones was murdered, the meeting between Jane and me and our shopping adventures.

“Oh, my goodness! Please let me know how things develop. I won’t say anything to your father - I don’t think that he knew about Jenny, at least not after your early childhood - and I think that’s best for now. Don’t worry; I know that’s easy to say, but these things have a habit of working out, you’ll see. It does sound as if this Jane is a good friend. You are my child; I have always loved you and always will love you, whoever you are. I’d like to see a photo of Jenny sometime, maybe on your next visit? Perhaps one of Jane too? So it might be that I really do have the daughter I always wanted? Amazing!”

I was shocked. “You always wanted a daughter?”

“Many mothers do. There’s much more that I could do with a daughter than I could ever do with a son.”

“I never knew that you wanted a girl.”

“I probably mentioned it to your father at some point, but I could hardly discuss it with my you and Peter, could I?”

“Well, you’ve always had Jenny; you just never knew it. At least, you never seemed to realise it.”

“I’ve just had a thought. You’ve always called us Mother and Father; you never called us Mum and Dad — or Mummy and Daddy,” she observed.

“They are terms of endearment and respect; I loved you both as my parents but never felt that I could confide in either of you.”

We hugged and kissed goodbye. I felt closer to her then than ever I had; I considered that, at last, she was beginning to understand me. I was tempted to say that the next visit would be put on hold unless my father mellowed, but I relented when I realised that, in getting back at him, my mother might be hurt. We needed a long ‘mother/daughter’ talk; I needed to ‘phone her when I was home.

I called goodbye to my father, who didn’t even bother to respond — glued to the sport on the television, no doubt - and left for the return journey. I was very tired when I arrived home late that evening and sat for a long time, crying, with my head in my hands. I cried for the relationship with my parents that had been denied me - the situation with my father was unlikely to improve. I’d concluded years ago that my body and my mind didn’t match but chose to deny it in the interests of trying to achieve a quiet life — though for whom I had no real idea; for myself, for my family, or perhaps both? I couldn’t see an end to the torment and wondered how life could be so cruel.

A line from a song in my mother’s ‘Eagles’ collection sprang to mind:

”I don’t know why fortune smiles on some, and lets the rest go free.”

(‘The Sad Café’ by Don Henley/Glen Frey/Joe Walsh/JD Souther)

I eventually telephoned Jane and told her about the disastrous weekend. Perhaps it was unfair that I was inflicting this upon her but I couldn’t think of anyone else to call; I had no other friends. I told her about the worsening relationship with my father and that my mother had always wanted a daughter. I became hysterical and started talking about suicide.

Her response was immediate. “Stay there, I’ll be with you as soon as possible.”

I continued to sit with my head in my hands and cried my eyes out.

Jane arrived just a few minutes later; if she came from anywhere further away than her home, then she must have exceeded the speed limit. She almost had to break down the door to gain my attention. I again sat down and then, with some prompting, tearfully recounted the events in Wales.

“I can’t carry on like this,” I finally said, distraught. ”It isn’t fair on anyone — on you, on my work or on my family. I’ve been a complete failure, and feel like just chucking myself under a train. I almost did while waiting for a connection at Birmingham, but couldn’t screw up the courage. I’m even a failure at that!” I then dissolved into another fit of tears.

She stood up. “YOU SELFISH COW!”

“What?”

“You heard.”

“But...I…”

“You don’t seem to care for anyone else’s feelings,” she said very bluntly. “And you obviously have no thought for the poor train driver.”

She was silent for a while, then said, “In the course of my work I meet many different people. Some people are in a similar situation to that which you are in; some have it much worse — yes, there are people worse off than you are, believe it or not.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say.

“So you go ahead and commit suicide. Suppose that, several months down the line, I meet someone who needs help. What do I say? “Oh, I used to know a girl in a similar situation but she took the easy way out and jumped under a train so, sorry, I can’t help.”” She paused; the silence was deafening.

I was stunned and started to stammer. “Jane, I’m sorry, I never thought…”

She shouted at me. “NO, YOU NEVER THOUGHT. JENNY THIS AND JENNY THAT BUT NEVER “I WONDER HOW ANYONE ELSE MIGHT FEEL?””

I let her words sink in and then started to get up from my chair. “Jane, I’m so sorry, I’ve been so selfish.”

“Yes, you were being FUCKING selfish and I don’t know why I FUCKING BOTHER!” She looked near to tears herself as she shouted at me, stormed into the kitchen and slammed the door.

I was riveted to the chair, I hardly dared breathe. I’d never heard Jane swear. All seemed silent for a few minutes, and then the banging of crockery, kettle and cupboard doors and so on made me fear for my kitchen.

Some time later, she reappeared with two mugs of tea and handed one to me. Had I been a little more observant instead of being wrapped up in my own problems, I’d have seen that she had also been crying — a lot. When I’d known her for longer, I’d know that she very rarely lost her temper — although I was to see her cry again very soon.

“Okay, now what?” She asked, clearly angry.

“Pardon?”

“What are you going to do? I mean positive action, not digging a damned great hole and crawling into it.”

I didn’t know what to say so continued to sit with my head in my hands.

“Right, enough of this! Snap out of it, woman, for goodness sake! Three questions and three straight answers — yes or no. One: do you want to be Jenny with all your heart and soul?”

I wish!

“Yes,” I answered in a whisper.

“I’M NOT CONVINCED!” Jane shouted, “AGAIN! DO YOU WANT TO BE JENNY WITH ALL YOUR HEART AND SOUL?”

I thought of that train at Birmingham. That decided me.

“YES.”

“Two: if you had to stay as John for the rest of your life, would it be a disaster?”

“YES, the thought is completely unbearable, I’d rather die. I’ve tried to satisfy everyone else. Now it’s my turn.”

“Good, we’re getting somewhere at last. Now, before I ask the third question, believe me when I say that I will fully support you if you’ll let me do so.”

She sat down opposite me and I nodded for her to carry on. “Now, question three: would you be willing to undergo whatever it takes, regardless of cost, pain, and time? It might mean losing your job, your home, your family or all three.”

“YES.”

“Are you sure?”

“YES; I’ll get by somehow, but I can’t carry on like this. Thanks to you, I’ve had a taste of real life and it’s in full colour; I don’t want to go back to boring monotony.”

“Are you really sure? It won’t be an easy ride by any means.”

“YES”

“You know what’s involved?”

I nodded. “Yes; I’ve thought about little else for years.”

She stood. “I’ll be back tomorrow evening and I want to see Jenny when I get here.”

“J…Jane,” I asked, tentatively, “Why are you doing this?”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow.” With that, she drained her teacup and walked out. The door crashed shut behind her.

End of part 4

Secrets

By Susan Heywood

John finds the body of a neighbour who has been murdered. The police detective assigned to the case deduces that John hides a secret - but the detective has secrets of her own.

Part 5 of 25 — Revelations

Monday morning again dawned bright and clear — but not in my little world. I’d spent a restless night thinking about what I’d agreed to do, and how it could be achieved. I didn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, all I saw was Jenny skipping through life without a care. I also knew that I’d upset Jane big-time. I couldn’t face breakfast and just left for work. My self-esteem was at an all-time low.

Greg Barnes, my manager, noticed and called me into his office. Greg was in his late-thirties; he’d been in the Navy, but was as different from my father as you could possibly imagine.

I dejectedly walked in, closed the door and stood with my head bowed in front of his desk.

“John, what’s happened? I’ve never seen you this depressed, what’s going on? It’s clearly affecting your work and that’s completely out of character.”

I didn’t know where to start. I’d always got on well with Greg; at least he spoke to me, even though our rare conversations were usually about work. I was fairly sure that I could trust him.

But THIS? This is something else

I decided to try a half-truth because I was certain that the whole truth would get me the sack. “I’m having personal problems.” Then I panicked. “Look, I think I’d better resign and look for another job.”

“Hey, not so fast! Are you gay? Is that it?” he asked, rising from his chair and walking around his desk.

“My father says I am, so I suppose I must be,” I answered, quietly and not very convincingly.

For what seemed like hours, but was probably only a minute or so, he leaned against the desk with his arms folded. I felt his eyes boring into my very soul. He finally said, “No, if you were, you’d know, and it’d be more obvious to other men in the office. It takes one to know one — and you’re not.”

“No, I’m not,” I said, resigned now to having to reveal my deepest secrets to this man — who’d probably just told me that he was gay; I never knew.

“Please tell me; you’re tearing yourself apart, it’s not helping you and it’s burdening me and the firm. Would you prefer to talk to the Personnel Director?”

I shook my head.

“Okay then. You aren’t gay and you’ve never hit on any of the other men or women in the office. That’s either lack of courage or lack of motivation. I’ve known you since you started here and I always thought there was something different about you. What’s her name?”

“Pardon?”

“Oh, come on! It’s the only other option. You aren’t by any means one of the lads and there’s a lot about you that isn’t manly at all. Celia’s mentioned it and we’ve had a brief talk about it. We’ve been quite worried about you.”

He’s talked with Celia about me? I know that she’s my section leader but…

He paused for a few moments, his eyes down on his feet. Then he returned to his chair, rested his elbows on his desk and indicated that I should also sit. He steepled his fingers and seemed deep in thought for about a quarter of a minute. Then he looked up and continued. “John, try to look at it from my point of view. I’m responsible, as your manager, for your work output and quality. If I can help you, I will. As I see it, this can’t go on. Do you mind very much if I ask Celia to join us?

“All right,” I said, resignedly. I was shaking like a leaf as he made the call. I wasn’t sure that this was the way things should be done, but I couldn’t at the time think of anything else.

A gentle knock at the door announced Celia’s arrival. She handed me a cup of water, then sat in the vacant chair next to me.

Greg continued. “John is depressed; you pointed out some details, which kind of corroborated my own thoughts about the situation.”

Celia said, “I’ll do anything I can to help.”

“Thank you. I want John to acknowledge and deal with his feelings — that way we can all get on with our work, and we won’t have to worry about losing our annual performance bonuses.” He’d probably meant to lighten the atmosphere — maybe it did, just a little.

Celia turned to me. “I’m sorry it’s happened this way but it’d be cruel to let it go on. We’re neither blind nor stupid and have figured it out; at least, a few of the women have.”

“But everyone just ignores me — and how do I cope with my parents?” I protested, and then burst into tears. I felt guilty about crying in front of Greg and Celia but I couldn’t stop.

Celia leaned over to give me a hug and a kiss on the cheek, as my body was wracked with heaving sobs. She soothed, “Come on, girl, you can do it!”

It took me a few moments to realise what Celia had said. I looked up at Greg and saw him smiling.

He’d clearly heard and understood Celia’s comment, and said, “I still think you ought to see the Personnel Director.”

I nodded, numbly.

Greg made the call, then he looked at me and smiled. “Take a break, John. Celia, look after him, will you please? John, you can go and see Sue Fuller as soon as you like. How do you feel, now it’s out in the open?”

“Strangely enough, I feel a little calmer,” I said, surprising myself.

As Celia and I stood, he said, “Oh, by the way, you still haven’t told me her name.”

“Jennifer; Jenny for short.”

“Hello Jenny, welcome aboard,” he smiled. How he’d managed all that time in the Navy, an extremely masculine environment, I’ll never know. I’d always thought that he was a good manager but he certainly rose a few points in my estimation when I discovered his sexuality.

“I surely haven’t still got a job after all this?” I asked, incredulously, as Celia and I moved to leave the office.

“Probably not,” he responded, laughing, “But we might have a vacancy for which your twin sister has just the right level of aptitude and experience.”

Celia had to help me out; I couldn’t stop shaking.

I collected a note from Greg and walked shakily to a lift. On my way past her desk, Celia gave me a little finger wave and mouthed “good luck.” I stopped for a moment to smile a “thank you”. My insides felt like lead as I headed for the seventh floor; Melanie, Sue Fuller’s secretary smiled as she gave me two coffees and waved me in.

I trembled as I approached the Personnel Director’s office door. What should I say? And what would she say?

Sue Fuller was a short, slim woman in her mid forties. She had short, blonde hair, of a similar colour to Jane’s, piercing blue eyes and a ready smile. Her desk seemed to dwarf her: she motioned for me to shut the office door and join her at the little coffee table by the window. I felt a pang of envy as she walked over, smoothed her skirt, sat and crossed her legs.

“Hello John,” she said, accepting the coffee I gave her. “What can I do for you?”

I handed over the note.

Sue took it, opened and read it. “Hmmm, it doesn’t give anything away, does it? But your appearance and your behaviour do. Would you like to tell me about it?”

I hesitantly summarised the events of the day and the history behind them.

Sue looked at me and smiled. “What would you like us to do, and when?”

“Are you going to sack me?” I asked.

“Not for having a birth anomaly, we’re not: firstly, it’s illegal and secondly, we don’t work that way. Why get rid of someone who does a good job?”

“That’s a relief for a start. I suppose I should first of all go and see my doctor,” I replied, my shoulders noticeably relaxing as the tension subsided a little. Sue nodded as I told her about my Internet research and my disastrous visit to my parents. “I’ve read horror stories of trans-people suffering harassment by employers and, especially, colleagues.”

“That’s not the way we do business,” she reiterated the official position, “although each case needs to be assessed on its merits. I presume that you are transsexual; we have specific rules about how we deal with members of minorities and I think you’ll find that we’ll be very fair to you.”

“Thank you; that’s a tremendous relief.”

“I agree that you should see your doctor as soon as possible. Meanwhile I’ll look up employment law and take some advice from outside. We already have policies dealing with harassment on the grounds of race, creed and sexuality and there are a number of people who are gay. You aren’t the first and probably won’t be the last person to tread this path. One of the main research groups was started because the founder’s trans-daughter was treated very badly by the company she worked for and the colleagues she worked with. She was made to resign. I’ll say no more except to assure you that we will do our best for you. How does that sound?”

“That’s far more than I’ve ever dreamed of, and I am so grateful for the way everyone has been so caring and supportive. But what do I do if another member of staff objects?”

“We deal with it as I’ve said. I am aware that harassment goes on but it’s illegal and uncaring. As you may know, we’ll not condone harassment or bullying of any kind and, if you should ever feel threatened, please let me know. Is that clear?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Good luck with the medical profession. Feel free to contact me at any time. Just ask Melanie for an appointment, but please keep Greg in the loop. He’s a good man and a good manager.”

“I know,” I agreed, as I left her.

I couldn’t concentrate on my work, so Greg sent me home.

Jane seemed quite relieved to find me in that evening. “Thank goodness for that, I did wonder if there’d be anyone here at all.” She hugged and greeted me with a kiss on both cheeks.

I smiled at her. I wore a black long-sleeved edge-to-edge cardigan over a green floral print mini dress. I also wore black, footless tights and ballet slippers. My hair was brushed into a more feminine style and I wore a little makeup. Silver jewellery completed the look. Jane had arrived straight from work so was wearing the usual non-uniform uniform of white tee and grey trouser suit.

I poured some orange juice for Jane, who noticed my relaxed smile, and said, “You’re looking much brighter; what happened today?”

“My boss found out about Jenny.”

“Really?”

“Yes; he said that John is not likely to have a job for long,” then I laughed, and added, “But I might well have.”

“Go on.”

I filled in the details of the day, including the meeting with the Personnel Director. Finally, I told her that I had an appointment with my GP, Doctor Michael Carter.

“Oh; he’s one of our police doctors. So what happens next, and when?”

“Doctor Carter should refer me to a Gender Identity Clinic and, as I seem to have the support of my employer, I might well be able to transition soon and start my Real Life Experience. I know I was scared when I first thought about it but, since last night, I’ve realised that I have to do this.”

“You’ve certainly done your homework, but what about your parents?” Jane asked.

“I don’t hold out much hope for my father, but my mother already knows about me, so I’ll try to keep in touch with her at least — oh and she wants photos of her daughter and her friend. My brother is a few years older than I am; he’s very much an unknown quantity but is probably a chip off his old dad.”

We both sat down and Jane put her arm around my shoulder; I snuggled in close. Jane didn’t seem to mind that.

“Jane?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m puzzled.”

“Oh and here’s me thinking you’re Jenny.”

“Be serious for a few minutes. Yesterday you said that you’d tell me this evening why you’re prepared to help me.”

“Well, there are two reasons,” she answered. “Firstly, there’s my sister.”

“You never mentioned her before; is she younger or older?”

“She was older; she’s now dead,” she said, enigmatically.

“Oh, I’m so sorry; what happened?” I asked.

“She drowned.”

“Oh, that’s so sad.”

“Put it this way; Robert and Rosalie were with us for some years, both in the same person. Rosalie was always the dominant personality and Robert, well, that’s just what my parents named her when she was born with something like a male body.”

“Oh, I understand now. That explains why you know so much about transgender people.”

She nodded. She was quiet for a few moments, and then continued. “Then Rosalie died. She hid her gender problem quite well. Not from me but from our mother, our stepfather and the rest of the world. I was twelve when Robert officially became Rosalie and thirteen when she died or, in my opinion, was murdered. I’d just turned thirteen two days earlier; some birthday present that was.”

“My God, what happened?”

“The usual problems. If you aren’t everyone’s idea of a son and heir, don’t excel at sport, aren’t built like a brick outhouse, don’t join the gang, don’t lay everything in a skirt, and don’t swap dirty stories with the lads, you get buggered, beaten up or both. Boys’ public schools were not suitable places of education for Rosalie. I don’t suppose that a girl’s school would have handled it much better. I had to make all the right noises and keep my head down when I was at school otherwise I too would probably have attracted the wrong kind of attention. You probably had to act a lot when you were a child; Rosalie was quite an actor.”

“I know that feeling only too well,” I put in, morosely.

“Anyway, Rosalie wasn’t built to take all of that. She was a gentle soul, the kind who would bring home an injured bird, stay up all night with it if necessary and nurse it back to heath. The brutal regime got to her — she was just too gentle and sensitive. She was a tiny little thing, much shorter than I was even though she was older, and with looks most girls would kill for. My mother and stepfather did nothing for her — other than tell her to “be a man” - and polite society treated her like they’d just stepped in something messy that one of the horses had left.

“She helped me through childhood, especially when I had my first period. I was her only friend, before and after transition but it wasn’t enough. Rosalie was found, face down in our lake. I’ve always been convinced that she was murdered. Certainly, there seemed to be a wall of silence surrounding the whole business. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that some of the local upright, hypocritical citizens, probably led by Daddy Dearest, killed her. Everyone was against her, probably because she didn’t conform to their idea of what a man should be. She wasn’t made for this world. If there is a hereafter, I just hope that she found peace.”

Then she burst into tears.

I saw Jane angry last night, but never so upset; I just held her and whispered soothingly until the tears subsided.

She smiled weakly. “I loved her so much. I know lots of siblings don’t get on but Rosalie was everything to me: the most loving and lovable sister and friend anyone could wish for. We helped each other with clothes, makeup, everything. We even went out shopping as sisters when our so-called parents were away. We knew each other’s secrets, shared each other’s joys and sadness. And there was a lot of sadness. The poor girl didn’t deserve to die that way; she had so much to give and so much to live for.

“I know it was a long time ago, but I still can’t think about it without getting very, very angry. I also knew from an early age that I was attracted to other girls and it’s never changed; if anything it just….” Her voice suddenly went quiet and menacing. Then she sighed. “I also had a bad experience when I was thirteen; I was still mourning the loss of Rosalie and was probably distracted. Perhaps Daddy Dearest thought it would make me, in his eyes, ‘Normal’ — you know, grow up, come out, find a wealthy husband and have loads of children. I presume that he wanted grandchildren. I never knew the bastard who raped me on my way back from a walk; he disappeared without apparent trace once the deed had been done. If he had been caught, he’d probably have ended up in prison or a Young Offender’s Institution for attacking a minor. Of course, I was branded a teenage slut and so on by those who didn’t know how it happened; I was glad to leave home.”

She said this with so much venom; I was glad that I wasn’t on her ‘wanted — dead’ list at that moment.

She continued angrily. “I decided when I was younger that I would join the police force. When Rosalie was killed, that only made the feeling stronger. My mother and my stepfather nearly had kittens when they found out about my sexuality. They went totally berserk when I said that I wanted a job where I could put away the vermin of society, like the ones who murdered Rosalie and…. attacked me,” she noticeably shuddered. “I got the impression that my stepfather was involved up to his thick neck, although nothing was ever proven. Perhaps my mother might have regretted any involvement but by then, of course, it was too late. She never talked about it, anyway. My career decision went down like a lead balloon and resulted in a lot of shouting. I haven’t spoken to either my mother or stepfather since I left home to go to university. I wasn’t allowed to see a doctor during the pregnancy unless it was one of my stepfather’s tame friends; I had to carry the baby to term and have it adopted.”

My parents just said, “That was bad luck, you conceiving on your first date.”

Jane said, scornfully, “Date? HA! All I knew was that I’d had a little girl. I know that I will never forget that little life which grew inside me for nine months. I often wonder what became of her. She was taken from me within hours of my giving birth; I don’t even know her name. Termination was not an option, especially with parents who were staunch Catholics.”

I was stunned. “That’s terrible! So all you know is that you were a mother!”

She nodded.

I said, “As for me, I’ve always known I was female, even before I was old enough to work out a lot of the differences between boys and girls. I just never had the opportunity or the courage to do anything about it; I first mentioned it before I started pre-school and got the “don’t be so stupid” treatment.”

I continued to cuddle into Jane for a good few minutes after that and then gently asked, “You said two reasons. What’s the other one?”

End of part 5

Secrets

By Susan Heywood

John finds the body of a neighbour who has been murdered. The police detective assigned to the case deduces that John hides a secret - but the detective has secrets of her own.

Part 6 of 25 — Revelations

“Oh, that one’s easy,” she laughed, “I’m in love with you.”

I pulled away in shock and just gaped at her. “What did you say?”

“I love you. Now you’re probably going to tell me something I don’t want to hear, and I’m going to feel like a complete idiot, run out of here and throw up somewhere.”

I said, softly, “My father insists that I’m a gay male; my mother thought so too. I’m not interested in men and never have been; the very thought of it makes me sick.”

“So are you interested in girls, then?” She asked, smiling hopefully.

“I did try some years ago, but they weren’t interested in me. I just wanted to be friends, but they didn’t want to know; I suppose they were uncomfortable; they probably weren’t interested in a weedy bloke with glasses. Since then I haven’t bothered with relationships, or even friendships. As far as I’m concerned, I’m a nothing.”

“Ah, but you were acting as John then. Now that you’re really Jenny, is there anyone in particular that you fancy?” Jane was smiling now, especially given the range of emotions that must have been crossing my face.

I analysed my feelings, or tried to. I’d had quite a day of it already and still the rocky road rolled on. I knew I was female in my head but if I were to look for a partner, the thought of a relationship with a man, whether gay or straight, just made me shiver, although most women had relationships with men. My mother and my sister-in-law sprang to mind. Perhaps I’m not really a man after all? If I couldn’t find someone that I wanted to be with, or wanted to be with me — and it was looking less likely the longer that time went on - then I would have to be alone and celibate all my life.

It’s no wonder that the French word for ‘bachelor’ is ‘célibataire’.

Years ago, I’d become resigned to the distinct likelihood that would have to live my life alone. If I did have a relationship, though, and if I’m a woman, attracted to other women, does that make me a lesbian, or is that too simple?

HANG ON!

She said that she was in love with me; I just couldn’t believe she felt that way. For a start, did I trust her? I’d only known her for a month or so after all. I also had this male body; what do I do about that? I thought about everything that had happened since we met. Everything she did seemed to put me first. I wondered why; maybe now I knew. Heck, life is a gamble; I’d been alone and friendless for virtually all my life. Even when I was at home with my parents, I’d been mostly alone — and lonely. Inevitably my emotions got the better of me and I dissolved into tears. Jane put her arms around me and held me while I cried myself out.

“Jane, you are a b…beautiful woman; are you really attracted to me? Why? I’m n…not even a proper woman.”

She smiled down at me. “Jenny my love; thank you for the compliment - even though I’m very tall and quite big — but you sell yourself short. The first time I saw you, I thought then how very unlike a man you looked. And I’ve seen a huge change in you in a few short weeks. From the shy person I met at the beginning of March, you’ve very quickly blossomed into a wonderful, caring, gentle, sensitive woman who is only held back by the need to be someone else during the working day. That must change if you are to have any chance of happiness.”

I looked up at Jane and smiled through my tears. I snuggled under her arm and put both of mine around her. That felt so good; it was like cuddling a big female teddy bear, so warm and so safe.

“But… How?” I asked.

She grinned. “Don’t ask me; love is unpredictable. We don’t always get to choose a partner, it often just happens. And, in my case, it just happens to be you.”

I burst into tears again. “But how can you be in love with me? And if you’re attracted to girls, how can you love a male?”

“Silly girl! I’m in love with you the person and Jenny the woman; I’m not at all interested in John. I couldn’t love a man anyway; my brain isn’t wired that way. It’s the girl I love; the beautiful girl inside that very frightened shell of a body, which will have its plumbing problems sorted out as soon as possible. And, as I said before, I don’t believe for one moment that you have much male in you.”

“Oh.”

She looked pleadingly at me. “So what do you think?”

I said, “Well, I’ve been proudly telling a few people about my girlfriend, but that’s when they thought of me as a man. Goodness knows what they’ll think of me as a woman with a girlfriend.”

She responded, “I suspect that very few people believe that you were ever a man at all; it’s no wonder that so many people thought you were gay. I don’t mean to insult you; that’s just how it is. So what’s your answer then — or do you need to think about it?”

I didn’t fancy any of the men in the office; neither did I look upon any of the boys and men that I’d met over the years as potential partners. My mind quickly snapped back to my conversation that morning with Greg, my boss. I deduced from what he told me that he is gay — and no way did I fancy him. I thought of Phil Sullivan, he of the cricket club. The thoughts that immediately sprang to mind were ‘sport mad’ and ‘so much like my father’. Finally I recalled the boys in school — even those few who didn’t seem to derive a sadistic pleasure from seeing me beaten to a pulp. I was not attracted to them either.

“Are you sure?” I asked, uncertainly. “Are you really sure?”

“Yes.”

“As you yourself said, it won’t be easy,” I warned, “There are bound to be people who will hate me simply because I’m different from them. It doesn’t seem fair to drag you into that kind of sordid mess. And if people see us as two women in love…”

“Which we are, or will be — I hope.”

“…won’t they give us both a hard time?”

She held out her arms and I manoeuvred myself closer to her. She enfolded me in a protective embrace; I stretched up and again put my arms around her neck.

Jane said, “I’ve waited years for someone to love. I’ve had girlfriends in the past but the relationships didn’t work for one reason or another. I loved Rosalie about as much as any two sisters can and I’m still haunted by the thought that I let her down.” She again burst into tears.

I held her until the sobs subsided, then said, “I very much doubt that you could have done any more; deep down, you know that and I’m sure that she knew that.”

“Well, I’ll try not to let you down.”

I looked up at her. “You’re not doing this out of some feeling of guilt?” I asked, hesitantly.

“Goodness, no! I love you to bits.”

“Even after the short time that we’ve known each other?”

“Head over heels,” she smiled, “When I first saw you, the real you, my first thought was “WOW! Where has she been hiding that body?” On our second shopping trip, it was all I could do to keep my hands off you.”

“Really?” I smiled back and retained my grip on her neck; her eyes still held mine.

“Really. So we’re a team, aren’t we?” she asked. “But what about you? This is all a bit new for you, isn’t it?”

I leaned in closer. Our faces were only inches apart.

“J…Jane,” I said, and felt tears begin again, “I…I’ve never had a relationship; I don’t know what to do.” Then the waterworks started in earnest.

She shushed me and handed me a tissue to dry my eyes. She smiled and whispered. “Trust me, my love; you’re in for the ride of your life.”

She moved her head closer to mine. Her strong arms pulled me in and she held me tight. Her lips brushed mine, so gently that I barely felt them.

I didn’t resist, I didn’t move, I couldn’t get enough of the warm glow that flooded my whole body. I tilted my head back and she claimed me as her own — her kiss was warm, soft, insistent. I felt myself drifting away; I wasn’t on Earth, I’d no idea where I went. All I know is that I never wanted that moment to end. I was overwhelmed. I had never before kissed or been kissed, other than on the cheek by some aged aunt, long since dead. All the anger, frustration and confusion of the past twenty years just seemed to melt away and I simply closed my eyes and surrendered. It all felt so right. There was no analysis, no fear, no question, and no hesitation. In that moment, I knew that I loved Jane. Oh yes; I’d tried to have relationships with girls before but that was when I was masquerading as a man. I realised that I didn’t try very hard; just went through the motions, really. This time it was different — so very different.

We eventually came up for air, after what felt like two hours.

Jane smiled down at me and said, gently, “Where did that heavenly choir come from — and where did it go? I can’t believe that just happened; we ought to have an action replay!”

So we did.

Then she handed me another surprise. She released me for a few moments, put her hand into her bag, brought out a little box and gave it to me. I opened it and gasped. It was a slim gold ring with a single sapphire. She gently took the ring from the box and slipped it onto the ring finger of my right hand.

“Sapphire is my birthstone,” I softly breathed.

I sat mesmerised and looked at it for ages: I thought it the most beautiful thing that I had ever seen and spent quite a long time admiring it.

She added, “I know it’s only the beginning of our relationship but I want you to know that you mean the world to me. I am very, very fond of you and will support you through whatever lies ahead. You have turned my life around. Previously, I simply existed and, I don’t mind admitting it, was quite selfish. Having someone to care for, someone to love is so exciting for me and life has just become a lot brighter. I wake in the morning and get really keyed up and energised if I’m to see you later.

“This ring is a symbol of my commitment to you. Just one thing: if you have any problems or anxieties, you discuss them with me as soon as you can. Please!”

I nodded numbly and, not knowing what else to do, again offered my lips to Jane, who willingly took advantage of them.

Surely the universe wouldn’t provide this much joy without rendering an account. I was going to find out just how much all this happiness would cost.

End of part 6

John finds the body of a neighbour who has been murdered. The police detective assigned to the case deduces that John hides a secret - but the detective has secrets of her own.

Part 7 of 25 — Payments

I knew that I had to start somewhere so, full of trepidation, I went to see my doctor. I went dressed in male clothes; I thought it best for a first visit. Maybe I was wrong; I seemed to be wrong about so many things lately.

Doctor Michael Carter was in his late fifties, with receding, grey hair, and had been my doctor since I first moved to the town. In that time I’d seen him only once. I wasn’t looking forward to the next few minutes.

“Hello John; long time, no see. Have a seat. Now; what seems to be the trouble?”

In answer, I took out a photograph and placed it in front of him.

“I didn’t know you had a sister,” he queried, “What’s she got to do with your visit?”

“I haven’t a sister, this is me. I’d be very grateful if you could please refer me to a Gender Identity Clinic.”

“Are you telling me that it’s you in the photograph?”

“Yes.”

“And how long has this been going on?” he asked, incredulously.

“Since early childhood,” I nervously replied.

“Do you have sex with other men? Do you need testing for HIV or something? Is that why you’re here?”

“Sex with men? In early childhood? Hardly! I’m not a homosexual man, and I’m not even sure that I’m all male. If I am, I presume that I’m transsexual.”

“I don’t believe in all that stuff, it’s just made up by the newspapers. Anyway, most homosexuals just want to dress as tarts to attract other men; it’s all in the mind and shows a lack of social skills. I’ll test you for HIV and then send you to a psychiatrist; he’ll cure you.”

I wondered why his chosen psychiatrist was male. I said firmly, but losing patience fast, “I’ve never had sex, either with a man or a woman and, in case you’re wondering, I wasn’t abused as a child — unless you count bullying at school or my being told by my father at every opportunity that I was a failure. I don’t have a mental illness but I would be grateful if you would please refer me to a Gender Identity Clinic. I believe that the nearest one is the Glendale Clinic in London.”

“You’re obviously suffering from delusions so decided to be homosexual. I’m prepared to take a blood sample to check for Sexually Transmitted Diseases and I’ll refer you to a local psychiatrist; he’ll soon sort you out. You just need to admit to being a queer, though why you should decide to be queer is beyond me. The world is full of them, though I can’t say I hold with all that sort of thing myself.” He waved dismissively. “Normal men are attracted to women and women to men and that’s that; it’s how the human race is designed to continue, after all. Is it because you can’t get a girlfriend that you thought you’d try men instead?”

“I have a girlfriend.”

He looked stunned, as though I’d hit him in the face with a large wet fish. “If you’ve got a girlfriend, how on earth would you be able to satisfy her if you had all your bits cut off? Many of these queers do; do you?”

“I think that’s no business of yours. I just want my body to match my mind. Anyway, I can’t believe you’re asking questions like this, I’m sure it’s unprofessional,” I replied, hotly. “I’ve known that I was female since I was a toddler; it’s just that my body is wrong and I’ve had to live with it for over twenty very frustrating years.”

He turned in his chair and faced me. “I can’t subscribe to the existence of a condition for which I have no medical evidence. You look healthy enough to me, although somewhat under-nourished and effeminate; I’m sure that a proper diet and some decent exercise will fill you out and toughen you up. Your hair doesn’t help; get a decent haircut. I’ll refer you to a psychiatrist but I’ll do no more. I can’t waste this practice’s limited budget on a whim or a lifestyle choice. Why don’t you join a gym or something? Do some weight training?”

“My father seems to think that a spell in the Navy cures everything; but it hasn’t cured him of bigotry,” I said, sarcastically.

“There’s a lot to be said for bringing back National Service; if nothing else, the exercise and the discipline would be good for you.”

I shook my head in disgust.

He stood to dismiss me and made to shake hands. I was extremely angry and flatly refused his gesture. Instead, turning on my heel, I left the consulting room and stormed out of the surgery.

As soon as I could, I rang Jane. She was amazed that any doctor would take such a line in this day and age but suggested that I wait for the appointment with the psychiatrist and see how that developed. Meanwhile, she would visit that evening. “Didn’t he even do any blood tests?”

“No; I refused to be tested for STDs.”

“I think we need to change our police doctor; I’ll see you later.”

I returned to the office and was greeted by Greg. “How did the appointment with the doctor go?” he asked.

“Not well,” I replied, angrily, “He thinks I’m gay and that a psychiatrist can cure me. I tried to explain but he wouldn’t even consider it.”

He snorted. “Being gay’s not a disease; you don’t catch it, like ‘flu, it’s the way your brain’s wired. Perhaps it might be an idea to discuss it with Sue Fuller; she might have found more information for you.”

Sue’s face darkened as I related the sorry tale of that morning’s visit to the doctor.

I said, “Maybe it would be better all round if I was a gay man; perhaps then even my father could eventually accept it, although, every time I visit my parents, he just calls me a bloody queer. The trouble is, he’d crow for weeks if he thought he was right.”

“But you’re not a gay man, are you?”

“No. I feel as though I’ve just hit a brick wall.”

“Well, I’ve some news for you. There’s nothing to stop you legally changing your name and continuing to work here as a woman, although it would be good if you could have a supporting letter from a psychiatrist. You can get a new passport, National Insurance card, medical card and so on and the Income Tax people don’t care a fig what sex you are and what your name is. You should complete a Statutory Declaration or Deed Poll in order to change your name but that’s quickly done. All you then have to decide is when you want to do it and how you want it handled.”

“Handled?”

“The other staff will need to be told, although I suspect that for most of the other women in your department, it’ll be a case of “what took her so long?”” She laughed.

“Oh, there might be some articles on the Internet relating to transitioning at work; if there are, I’ll print them off and bring them in. I didn’t realise that it would be this straightforward and that it could be done before I visit the Clinic.”

“Maybe it’s not a bad idea to see the local psychiatrist. If he or she knows anything at all, you can still be referred and it might be quicker than waiting for Doctor Carter to do anything. And I suggest that you start investigating alternative doctors; yours sounds like a right dinosaur.”

“I’ll do that, and thank you once again for your help. I suppose I’ll firstly have to work out how to tell my family,” I said, gloomily, as I left.

Jane arrived straight from work that evening, and found me wearing a long sleeved top, denim skirt and wedge sandals. My jewellery, of course, included my new sapphire ring.

“Yummy,” she said, as she scooped me into her arms for a kiss. “You smell nice.”

“It’s Estée Lauder. I had a bad morning and needed some retail therapy, so this fragrance insisted that I purchase it.”

She smiled. “It suits you. Now, tell me all about your doctor’s visit.”

I related the tale of woe.

“What happened after you saw Doctor Do-Nothing and returned to work?”

I giggled and told her what Sue Fuller had said.

“Wow, that’s progress, even without the medical profession. So when do you become you legally?”

“I suppose I’d better warn my family soon; that’ll really screw any chance of patching things up with my father; probably my brother too.”

“Well, you’ll need to legally change your name first. I’ll take a few decent digital photos of you; you write a letter detailing a bit of history, timetable, and so on, then we’ll drop in the best of the pictures and post the letters.”

“But what if they don’t like it?” I asked, timidly.

“Are you going to let your family keep ruling your life and deciding how you’ll live the rest of it? You, my girl, have a birth anomaly. Did your mother hesitate to have you seen by a specialist when it was discovered that you had sight problems?”

I shook my head.

She continued. “You happen to have something else as well. You’re going to fix it and they can just get used to the idea. If that’s too difficult for them, then they don’t love you as much as they should do. If they do love you, then they should want what is best for you, not just for them.”

“I suppose you’re right, “I conceded, hesitantly, “but I’m a little scared all the same.”

“Yes, I know,” Jane gathered me in her arms and kissed me again to reassure me, “but we’ll get through it together, just you see.”

With that, she continued where she left off, that is, trying to taste the back of my throat — on the inside.

After a while, I broke off and asked, “Dinner?”

“Yes please, I’m starving; I had a sandwich for lunch, but nothing else. Have you eaten?”

I shook my head.

“Take-away?”

She nodded.

I found the menus in the kitchen and we decided on Chinese takeaway. I smiled to myself as I ordered our meal from the ‘Lucky Horse’.

We found some useful documents on the Internet, along with all of the other information that we needed.

Soon afterwards, Jane complained of withdrawal symptoms and so I was once again subjected to police interrogation, but not the kind that criminals get. She left me with dire warnings about what would happen if she again found me either in male disguise or feeling sorry for myself.

May 2004

Life had been much more fun over the past two months than it had previously been. Even the visit to my parents a few days earlier hadn’t dampened my enthusiasm, despite what I saw as a worsening relationship with my father. Jane spent most of her spare time with me; Saturdays usually found us in Southampton or Winchester indulging in retail therapy. We didn’t always purchase anything; then again, shopping is looking, not necessarily spending money.

I hoped that progress could now be made; I was much brighter and more productive at work and this wasn’t lost on my colleagues. Celia had taken to calling me Jenny when no one else was within earshot and, although I was at first embarrassed, I eventually gave in, accepting it as good-natured banter. It was good to feel part of a team for the first time, instead of a leper.

Jane and I wrote the letter to the family. I told them what my new name would be and what I knew of my medical history. I told them that I was under medical supervision and had the support of both my employer and a dear friend. I concluded with a brief but optimistic timetable, and the hope that they would see things from my point of view and maintain contact with me. Not having spoken to my brother for at least a year, I wondered what his reaction would be. I hoped that he would speak to my mother first, rather than to my father.

I realised that, although my employer had so far been very supportive, they had only a vague idea of what they were letting themselves in for, so a copy of the photo was made for me to take to work.

Jane insisted on having a copy as well so that she could display a partner photo on her desk. I wondered if this was wise but she dismissed my fears. “Look love, if they don’t know by now that I’m a dyke, they must be blind, in the wrong job, or both.”

I decided that my mother should see the letter first and then show it to my father when she judged the time to be right. I also thought that she would appreciate my choice of second forename.

I was surprised to receive a call from my cousin Shirley, with whom I hadn’t spoken in years.

She said, “Look, we don’t have a problem with this: maybe we aren’t your typical family but our children are great and Alex and I love them all to bits. Tim and his partner aren’t married, Lucy’s husband is black, Sarah is divorced and Annabelle has been in a same-sex relationship for ten years and has two children by artificial insemination. So don’t worry about diversity, it’s certainly no big deal here.”

My parents were the only survivors of their generation of the family. Shirley was the daughter of one of the aged aunts, which explained why she and Alex were older than I. I never received replies from cousins Muriel, Wendy, Eddie and Jimmy: I presumed that they couldn’t cope with the fact that the person that they thought was their cousin John, and who they’d not seen for at least fifteen years, wasn’t their cousin John after all.

My mother called me at work as soon as the post had been delivered. “Darling, I’ve just received your letter. I’m ashamed; I know you told me how much you’d suffered all these years, but I wondered if you were trying to excuse laziness, as your father said. I never appreciated how hard life has been for you without any support, and I really can’t believe how attractive you are. I’m trying to decide when to show the letter to your father. I’ll ring off now because you’re at work but I just wanted you to know that I love you and want to keep in touch with you. By the way, I presume that you’ve also written to Peter; he hasn’t called me, I just hope that he doesn’t call your father before I get to him. Oh, and I’m honoured that you chose Ellen as your second forename.”

I was silent as I put down the phone. I hoped that this could be the start of a new relationship with my mother, but was worried about how my father would react to the news. Part of me tried to say that things could get no worse but another voice feared for the new relationship with my mother. I could just see my father forbidding her from seeing me. If she just acquiesced, then I really would be on my own — except for my darling Jane, of course. There was no immediate reply from Peter; I suspected that he couldn’t cope with his unexpected sister, and would never want to speak to me again.

The photo which made its way to the office got plenty of attention. Celia and Jill ‘oohed’ and ‘ahhed’ over the colour of my top. Greg theatrically complained that he would soon have another woman to make his life a misery in the office in addition to Celia, Jill, Maddy and Sarah.

I took the photo down to Sue Fuller, who asked, “How on earth have you managed to get away with the disguise for so long?

“Disguise?”

“As a man.”

“Oh, I never thought that I looked feminine.”

She smiled indulgently. “Who took the photo?”

“My girlfriend.”

“Oh! Is that girlfriend or friend-who-is-a-girl?”

I smiled and said, “Jane seems to have laid claim to Jenny so I guess it must be the former.”

“You didn’t waste any time then, did you?” she laughed. “Not only testing our, as yet, uncompleted policy regarding transsexual people but also our policy on sexual orientation. Looking at this photo, there are likely to be some interesting times ahead and I feel very privileged to be in at the start of it. Depending upon your views on the subject, it’s either a Personnel Director’s nightmare or something really interesting and challenging to want to come to work for. I’m really looking forward to the next few months.”

We were both chuckling as I left to return to my desk.

The day of the psychiatrist’s appointment was soon upon us and Jane took a day off work to accompany me, insisting that I might need her support. We agreed that I should wear whatever would be appropriate for the office and so I appeared for my appointment in a cerise tee-top, straight, black skirt, a lightweight jacket and black mid-heeled sandals.

The Royal Hampshire County Hospital at Winchester is a labyrinth of walkways and passages linking a range of buildings. Without the map that accompanied the appointment details, we’d have got hopelessly lost. Against these odds, the hospital had a well-deserved reputation for sensitive and professional patient care.

Doctor Judy Davenport looked to be in her mid-thirties, was slim and had shoulder-length dark-brown hair framing a round face. After introductions, she said, “Jane should really wait outside but I suppose that she can stay if you really want her to do so.”

“Yes please.”

She continued, “Doctor Carter has written a brief referral but he seems to have made an incorrect assessment. Oh and please call me Judy.”

I felt much happier as I answered, “He insists that I’m a gay male but, when acting as a male, I had no sexual feelings whatsoever. As a woman, well, that’s a different matter entirely. I suppose I couldn’t have been a simple case. Jane is my girlfriend and my name is, or soon will be, Jennifer Ellen Smith, known as Jenny.”

“Why do you want to be a woman?”

I asked, “Would you like to re-phrase the question?”

“Pardon?”

“I am twenty two years of age; I’m no longer a child, therefore I must be an adult, a female adult. I’ve always been female, but with a couple of birth defects and a need to be in disguise at work.” Then I said, “You look like a woman; do you consider yourself one?”

“Certainly I do,” she responded.

“Try to imagine that it’s dark, you’re naked and you can’t move your hands. Are you male or female?”

“Female, of course.”

“Why ‘of course’?” I asked.

“Because I just am.”

“But why?”

“I feel it.”

“So do I, I’ve always felt it.”

Judy sat in silence for a minute, appearing to absorb this. Then she nodded and said, “Well Jenny, you certainly make a very attractive woman. So do you consider yourself to be transsexual?” She noted the name on her folder.

“I don’t know; all I do know is that I’m female. I never seemed to be very masculine, thank God,” I replied, somewhat relieved. I related a concise but fairly complete history and ended, “It was only recently, when I met Jane, that things came to a head and now here I am.”

“Wouldn’t you like the feelings of being female to go away?” Judy asked.

“And just how do you think that you could do that? Assuming of course that I’d want you to do so — which I don’t. I presume that you’d try some form of electric treatment. From what I’ve read, that never worked.”

Judy was silent.

I continued. “I’m quite happy being female, although I would like my defective body fixed.”

Judy thought for a moment, nodded again and then responded, “I know that my questioning was blunt but I had to ask; to clear the air, so to speak. Now that he has referred you to me, the matter is out of Doctor Carter’s hands. I’d like some blood tests in order to check your hormone levels; we can do them here as Michael Carter is unlikely to be co-operative.”

When I’d arranged to call in the next day, Judy said, “I’d like an endocrinologist to see if there’s a medical reason for you developing the way you have. Then we need another psychiatric opinion and that should be from a specialist in the field. I need to form a detailed picture for myself and also for the letter that I shall write to the Gender Clinic. I’m not unfamiliar with your situation, Jenny, and am satisfied that you are a well-balanced individual with a clear idea of what you want to achieve and how to get it. You are also a very attractive woman and, I presume, you never made a very masculine male. You have skin and a facial structure for which many women would envy you, and I can’t presently see any reason why I shouldn’t refer you.”

I was relieved and spent the next half an hour answering questions about my family, my work and anything else that Judy thought might be important.

After she was satisfied with my answers, she said, “You’ve convinced me that the present either/or situation does you no good at all and the sooner you begin to live full-time as a woman, the better it will be for you. Have you broached the subject with your employer?”

I was taken aback with the suddenness of it all but eventually managed to say, “Yes, and they seem to be very supportive.”

“That’s good,” enthused Judy. “I’ll get this referral letter off to London straight away. I’ll write to you with copies of all the correspondence. You can use my professional opinion for official bodies as required. I can see that you and Jane think a lot of each other and I wish you long life, health and happiness together.”

I was shocked. “Is it that obvious?”

She laughed. “By the way Jane looks at you; yes it is.”

We stood to leave and thanked Judy for her help; we detoured via the supermarket to stock up on groceries. We had a fight over who would pay for them, and Jane grabbed my arms behind my back as she handed over her credit card.

“Help! Police brutality!” I whispered in jest.

“I’ll give you police brutality.”

“Yes please! Now?”

“Behave!”

She affectionately squeezed my shoulder and I felt a pleasant warm tingle.

We returned to my flat and Jane got ready for work. I cooked a quick meal of grilled chicken, new potatoes and green vegetables. I was determined that Jane wouldn’t go to work hungry and she seemed grateful that she didn’t have to sort out her own evening meal. We planned the next day’s activities and I realised that I was becoming increasingly comfortable with my new role; I felt as though a great weight had been lifted from my shoulders.

The next morning, I drove myself to Winchester for the blood tests. I cooked a meal for us that evening and we sat together afterwards just watching a Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers movie. I noticed that Jane seemed to be getting more amorous.

Would we stay together? I guess that time would tell

I breezed into work on the Monday morning, greeted the girls by name, nodded to the men, and sat at my desk, working, with a big smile on my face.

Celia rushed over to my desk. “What’re you on? You look like you’ve won the lottery, been promoted and been injected with a large dose of Happy Juice all at once. Come on, tell me before I burst.”

“Well,” I answered, smugly, “I had a good day on Friday, a great weekend and I feel wonderful today.” I related all that had happened and that I would see Greg and Mrs Fuller as soon as possible, as I had a transition date. “While on the subject can I ask you a huge favour? I think I’d like someone to field questions on my behalf, and I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have to do that than you. You’ve been a terrific friend to me recently and I will always be grateful to you.”

“Don’t be silly, “Celia chided, “of course I’ll do it. We could work out some likely questions and suitable answers.”

“Would you like to come to lunch on Sunday? Please say if you think that’s too much to ask.”

“Of course; I’m sure that my husband can cope on his own for one day,” Celia enthused. “Tell you what. Can you manage two for lunch? I think you should also ask Jill; she could help to make things easier for you as well.”

I hardly knew Jill, but at least she didn’t treat me like something the cat had dragged in.

Jill’s grin threatened to split her face in half as she enthusiastically agreed with the idea. “Super! I’ve seen the photo, but it’ll be great to meet Jenny in the flesh after all this time of seeing glimpses of her in the office, when you let your guard down.”

When I showed Greg the photo, he grinned and said, “You look like the cat that just won a year’s supply of cream.”

I laughed.

“How’d it go with the shrink?”

“Very well; I’ve a letter for the authorities and one for the company and, if it’s okay with you and Personnel, I’d like to transition on the first of July.” I then went on to relate the events of the interview with Judy Davenport.

“It’s okay by me,” he said, “Have you seen Sue Fuller yet to ask her how she feels about it?”

“Not yet, I’ll ring now for an appointment. I wanted to tell you first.”

“Thanks, I’m really glad that things seem to be working out for you. I suppose I’d better prepare for the onslaught: just don’t pull ‘time of the month’ on me too often!”

I said that was unlikely and left to make an appointment with Personnel.

Melanie smiled, sensing the change in me.

I walked into Sue Fuller’s office and gave her a copy of the letter from Judy Davenport.

“My! What a transformation,” she said, “you look positively radiant and you’re still in disguise. I just wonder how you’ll be when you are here for real.”

“Like a scared little schoolgirl in her first lowly office job,” I replied, ruefully.

“Not for long, I’ll bet,” she laughed. “Have you thought out a transition date yet?”

“I’d like to make it the first of July. I know it’s a Thursday but it just seems right somehow; new month, new me. I’ve invited Celia and Jill for lunch on Sunday so that they can meet Jenny. They’ve also agreed to answer any questions that people might have.”

“That’s a good idea,” she said. “I also think it might be a good idea to make a brief statement without going into too much detail.”

“Yes, I don’t think that everyone needs to know all the gory details at this stage, just the bare facts of ‘goodbye John, hello Jenny’.”

She agreed and asked me to draft a note, which she’d put out on the twenty-first of June. “If you go on leave on the eighteenth, it gives you twelve days to get yourself organised and then come back on the first. Does that sound okay?”

I nodded, smiled and left.

On the morning of the Wednesday following the psychiatrist appointment, Jane called me at work to say that someone had been arrested for the murder of Abigail Jones. She said that my witness statement had been vital; other than that she wouldn’t tell me any more about the case. We agreed that she would arrive in time for dinner on the Friday evening; it would be a little celebration of our progress.

At about 7:30pm on the Friday evening, I buzzed Jane in through the front door.

I’d finished work early and prepared the meal before my shower, hair and makeup. I pushed up my very small testicles into my body and then pushed back the penis into my body so as to hide the offending piece of meat and avoid spoiling the lines of my clothes. It was easy to do and relatively pain-free, particularly using sanitary towels and a body shaper, a bit like a strong elastic thong. Maybe I’d quickly become used to it but, then again, maybe the hormones that I was taking had stopped my bits growing to a larger size. Having had to endure the obligatory showers at school after Monday afternoon ‘hell on a sports field’, I knew that I wasn’t particularly well endowed anyway. I suffered at the time but it was a godsend now.

All in all, I was reasonably happy with my complexion, my skin and my bone structure and was very grateful that I didn’t have large hands and feet and an obvious Adam’s apple. I thanked God that I took after my mother; Peter is tall and broad, much like my father. Don’t get me wrong; Peter is a very handsome man but I would have hated to look like that.

Then I dressed in my cream underwear set. My new silky cream sleeveless dress was self-lined and the skirt came to just above the knee: the scoop neckline showed some cleavage but hid the fact that I was using silicone breast enhancers. Cream sandals completed the look. I wore my gold locket on a chain, some crystal drop earrings and my sapphire ring. I added my gold watch, some bangles and a spritz of my favourite Chanel Allure and I was ready. I hoped that Jane would approve; it was strange that, even after so short a time, Jane’s approval was very important to me.

She arrived punctually and, as she proffered a bottle of wine, she gaped open-mouthed at me. “Wow! You really have exceeded my wildest dreams tonight,” she enthused as she grabbed me and started kissing me soundly.

Now THAT was the reaction I had tried for and achieved!

“Wow yourself. You…are…gorgeous!”

She wore a red dress; it just about covered her nipples and her stocking tops and there was a lot of luscious skin on display. She also wore matching red medium-heeled sandals. She wasn’t a slightly built woman by any stretch of the imagination, but there wasn’t an ounce of fat on her substantial frame. We both stood and admired each other’s dresses and again kissed before I asked if she would pour the wine that was already open on the table.

I led her to the dining table, on which were two silver candlesticks, crystal glasses and a bottle of red Mersault. I knew that Jane would have no objection to French wine.

She pointed out, “I have to drive home this evening so I should have a soft drink.”

I smiled. “Really, and I thought that you weren’t working tomorrow. Who says that you have to drive home this evening? And what happens if I cry out in the night and my bodyguard isn’t here to protect me?”

She put her hand to her mouth to try and suppress a giggle, but failed. “Damned body language gets me every time. So Miss Smith, what are we going to do about it?”

I replied, “Nothing at the moment because dinner is ready. But maybe later…?” I raised my eyebrows and smiled.

After dinner we washed up and then, of course, Jane claimed fiancée’s rights.

“But we’re not engaged, are we?”

“You wouldn’t want to be accused of resisting arrest, would you?”

I had to agree.

She popped out to her car and returned with a small suitcase.

I raised my eyebrows and wagged an accusing finger at her. “Jane Dyson, you are a fraud. You planned to stay all the time.”

“I didn’t get where I am today by not being prepared. You never know when you might have to bunk somewhere other than your own place. This is my emergency case.”

“So now I’m an emergency, am I?”

I advanced upon her with a glint in my eye: she dropped the case, and proceeded to head off any retribution by scooping me into her arms and again kissing me senseless.

When we both came up for air, she agreed to take a few more photos of me. I also took one or two of Jane, simply so that I had something to put on my desk, and to show my parents, although I couldn’t for the life of me see why I was bothering in my father’s case; he just wouldn’t be interested. Then there were the pictures of me. Some of the poses were a little risqué and I felt that I couldn’t let even my mother see them just yet, if ever! With the camera perched on the corner of the table and the self-timer set, we posed for some pictures together. This had been Jane’s idea: as she said, she wanted some other mementoes of the evening besides….

After the photographic session she said, “Do you realise that, in the weeks since we met, I haven’t seen the rest of your home?”

“Oh,” I replied, “I suppose we should remedy that, though there’s not much else to see.” I led her on a little tour.

She had already seen the entrance hall, kitchen, living room and bathroom. If she’d seen the bathroom on the night of Mrs Jones’ murder, she’d have known about me straight away; there were almost enough hair and skin care products to stock a shop. We peeped into the second bedroom, which Jane had seen when we wrote the letter to the family. It was big enough for a single bed, with a rollout bed underneath in case I had guests, although nobody ever visited, not even my parents. I also used it as a little study; it housed the computer desk and some bookshelves, which held an eclectic mix of literature, from architecture to zoology and many points in between. The room was quite a reasonable size for a single room and was furnished with a maple-effect wardrobe and dressing table. With white eggshell paintwork, peach emulsion walls and matching roller blind it made a pleasant and airy guest room.

I then led her into my bedroom. The new duvet set and curtains, mint green walls and white eggshell woodwork made this a bright and restful room. Wardrobe doors covered one wall of the room and another wall had fitted drawers and cupboards and a vanity unit on which were an array of cosmetics, Griselda, my stuffed bear and a box of pastel green tissues. There was a subtle aroma of pot-pourri, and a small vase on the vanity unit held a single pink rose. It was clearly a room designed for a woman, and would have been a giveaway if any other visitors had seen it.

“I ought to try the bed to see if it’s firm or soft,” Jane said, smirking.

“Good idea.”

She did, and then said, “We ought to check that it doesn’t have a dip in the middle”.

I smiled and joined her.

Very soon she started nibbling at my ears and covering my face with kisses. Our lips lightly touched and I felt little tingles all over my body. I had been kissed before by Jane but the anticipation made the whole experience electrifying and new. I’d already found two hangers for our dresses.

After what seemed like a lifetime, Jane looked up at me and said, with feeling, “I think that my investigations wouldn’t be complete without a full exploration of your body. Didn’t you say that you had some breast growth of your own?”

I nodded, smiling.

“You need an unbiased opinion as to their sensitivity.”

I smiled again, and then was lost in a maelstrom of feelings, the like of which I’d never before experienced. My whole body seemed to be a centre of pleasure; it was out of control. For that time, it belonged only to Jane and I was lost in ecstasy. She could have asked for anything and I would have willingly given it.

Some time later she came up for air, muttered something like “about time that bit of research was carried out” and declared that, yes, there did appear to be some significant breast growth. She raised an eyebrow and I pointed out that she already knew about my small dose of hormones. She didn’t think that the small dose of oestrogen was enough to give me the body shape that I had and that there must be another explanation — maybe something to do with a late, or failed, puberty.

Who cares? I was hot and bothered by then, but it was a nice ‘hot and bothered’.

All I know is that my breasts never before felt so sensitive

I then asked her where her most sensitive areas were.

“You find them!”

So I did.

I tried to mention that which was between my legs but she gently put her fingers to my lips, told me to lay back and think of England and that The Thing would be dealt with as soon as possible. She later whispered to me “See, I told you that you were a natural.”

Some noisy time after that — and Jane, I discovered, made a lot of noise when stimulated in the right way — she held me very close and whispered in my ear, “Thank you, darling, that was amazing.”

I was a little confused. “How did I know to do all that?”

“I told you, you are a natural. It takes a woman to know how to please a woman. Men may be okay for some, but I much prefer the real thing.”

I just held her and stroked her face, kissing her with little butterfly kisses from time to time. She said that she loved me very much and vowed that she would help me to be as complete a woman, as modern medicine could make, in as short a time as possible. I was content and just lay there, smiling, as she held me in her arms.

Somewhat later still, when both sets of makeup were well and truly smudged and two sets of underwear were quite dishevelled, I asked, “Would you like some tea or coffee?”

“Yes please,” she replied, dreamily, “I’d love some.” She made a T-sign with her fingers.

I returned with the tea and smiled when I saw her; she had slipped under the duvet. With a little smile and a raised eyebrow, I asked if she expected me to come to bed and received an enthusiastic nod in reply. I was stripped down to just bra and panties with a pale green silky wrap over the top. I was again thinking of that between my legs when I took off the wrap and started to ask, “But what about…”

She interrupted me with, “All in good time, my love, all in good time.” And then in an atrocious accent, “You ain’t seen nuttin’ yet, baby.”

I didn’t have time to think any more about it because….

I was at my desk when one of the managers came up to me. “Hello, Jenny. I want you to come and work for me,” he said.

“No thank you,” I replied, “I’m happy where I am.”

“Really? I can insist.”

“I said no thank you and that’s just what I mean,” I replied. “I’m very happy where I am.”

“I think that you could be persuaded. If the story of your past was to be made public you wouldn’t like it one little bit. What I want, I get. Come and work for me or I can’t guarantee that the papers won’t hear of it.”

And so it went on, and on, and on. I was becoming hotter and hotter and looked around the office for support. Everyone, including Greg, Celia and Jill, was laughing and pointing at me and I started to cry. I was trying to hide behind my desk and huddled down in my chair.

I screamed

End of part 7

Secrets

By Susan Heywood

John finds the body of a neighbour who has been murdered. The police detective assigned to the case deduces that John hides a secret - but the detective has secrets of her own.

Part 8 of 25 — Reassurance

Jane hugged me protectively. She held me and kissed me lightly on the face and made little soothing sounds.

I gradually came to and held onto her as though I were drowning. She continued to whisper soothing words and I eventually calmed down enough to smile weakly at her and tell her about the dream. Was it odd that it happened to Jenny, not John?

“Was it just a bad dream?” She asked, tenderly.

“Oh, I’m so glad that you’re here.” I shuddered. “The dream was horrible, everyone was so beastly to me, I couldn’t believe that they could be so cruel,” I cried again, more in relief. “Oh, I’m so glad it was just a dream.”

“Shhh, my love, I’m here and will try to let no harm come to you. I love you very much; you know that, don’t you?”

“I am such a lucky girl; I don’t know why.”

“And lovely,” she said and kissed me soundly.

“What time is it?”

“Nine o’clock.”

“My memory of last night seems to be a bit hazy.”

She laughed. “I think you’re not used to that much wine at one sitting.”

I smiled and offered my lips for a kiss. “I still can’t really believe this is happening.”

“Believe it my darling. And from now I’ll do my best to make sure that it gets better.”

“Do you really have the weekend off?”

“I certainly do. I’m all yours for a whole forty-four more hours. I just need to go home at some point and collect something else to wear to the station on Monday morning. I suspect that my dress is not really appropriate for interviewing villains. Distracting them, yes; interviewing them, no.”

I chuckled. “In that case, we’d better go food shopping. We’ll need dinner for today and we’ve a couple of the girls from the office for lunch tomorrow.”

“Can’t we just have chicken like normal people?”

That earned her a pillow fight, which quickly ran out of steam as I ran out of energy. We ended up, laughing, in a tangled heap on the bed.

When we’d calmed down somewhat, she said, “These must be special people for you to invite tomorrow.”

“Celia and Jill are wonderful and have been a tremendous support throughout all this. I can’t wait for them to meet you and they’ve both agreed to field questions during my pre-transition leave before I return to work full-time. Which reminds me: I’ll need to write some letters soon; to various government departments, and so on.”

After a shower we dressed casually and breakfasted on toast and tea. I always insisted that we take our baths and showers separately, as I never wanted her to see any sign of anything that didn’t belong on a woman, even though the offending item was quite small.

She drove us to her home so that she could collect some work clothes. She had some daywear in her ‘emergency case’ as she called it.

Her modern penthouse apartment was on the top floor of a large block, within its own grounds. She let us in and showed me around.

I was speechless.

“There’s not much to see, just one big living room with a kitchen on one end, an en-suite bedroom, a second bedroom and a bathroom. It’s not much but big enough for me.”

To me it was huge; the whole place was larger than my apartment. I noticed that it was very plain and gave nothing away about its owner. She saw me looking around.

“It’s just somewhere to crash when I’m not working or visiting some gorgeous chick over on the other side of town.”

I smiled at being described as a gorgeous chick.

“I’ve never been fired up about doing much with it; it was just an investment. I understand the block has appreciated in value in the past few years. I’ll probably just rent this place out for now; it’ll probably pay for the car.”

She went into her bedroom and emerged a few minutes later with a dark grey trouser suit, white tee-top and black lace-up shoes. These she put in the garment bag that I was already holding for her. She checked for new telephone messages and then we left for the next stop. She then thought of something. “Why don’t I keep a few essentials at your place, just to cover eventualities like this weekend?”

“That’s a good idea. I’ll clear some cupboard and drawer space in the spare bedroom.”

Oh goody; more Jane time

We drove to the main shopping centre and wound our way up the spiral ramp to the car park on the top. We waited what seemed like ten minutes while other shoppers played musical cars or idled their time away discussing everything from the weather to who slept with whom in ‘Emmerdale’ (a British television soap opera).

“They obviously don’t have any other life,” I moaned, “look at them, no consideration. Anyone would think that they’ve got all day. And even I could park a lot better than most of these. Look at that pillock in the BMW; you could get a bus in there.”

“Calm down, my love,” Jane said, gently, “They’ll move when they’re good and ready.”

We eventually found a space, into which she reversed the Lexus, and then made our way down in the lift to the ground floor.

I led the way into SpexExpress and Jane appeared relieved that I seemed to have calmed down; if she had put my tantrum down to stress, she would have been absolutely right. I was wound up like a clock-spring.

“Hello, how can I help you?” asked a young woman whose lapel badge identified her as Heather.

“I’ve come in to collect a new pair of spectacles,” I replied, and then hesitated a little. Then I added, “And I’d like to change my name on your records”.

“What name was on the order, please?”

“John Smith.”

Heather found the order and stared at me. “Sorry for staring. These are obviously unisex spectacles, although more women’s than men’s, and were ordered by John Smith but, clearly, you’re not John.”

I cleared my throat and quietly said, “I’m Jennifer Smith; I was called John.”

Heather’s face registered a look of amazement, followed rapidly by a look of understanding. She then simply smiled and said, “I think it would be easier if we just completed a new record for you. Please take a seat; this will only take a few minutes.”

It was as simple as that. No fuss, no trouble. I walked out fifteen minutes later with a new, feminine, pair of spectacles and had also ticked one entry on my TO DO list in the process. I was surprised that most of the businesses with which I dealt also handled my name change with similar ease. Clearly many of them had trodden a similar path before — or done their homework.

Then we headed into the supermarket, grabbing a trolley as we went.

On the way past the vegetable rack, I noticed that Jane kept glancing at me. “Is there a problem?” I asked her.

“No problem, my love,” she laughed. “I was just thinking that those new spectacles really do suit you very well. I wasn’t sure if you could look more beautiful but I have to say that you do. You look just like one of those very attractive news readers on television.”

“Except that I don’t earn their salary,” I moaned.

“I don’t care about that, I just care about you.”

“You’re probably just obsessed with sex.”

“No, I’m obsessed with you.”

“Well, just you keep your mind on what you’re doing for a little while and watch where you’re going with that trolley, we don’t want an accident.”

“Oh, there won’t be an accident,” she commented, “You wait until we’re home and then anything that happens will be quite deliber… Ow!” I’d slapped her on the arm.

The supermarket was fairly crowded. I had a shopping list and Jane just sniffed. “I just wander around the shop and fill the trolley with things I think I need. Then I arrive home and realise that I’ve forgotten something essential like milk, bread or soap powder.”

“Not having a brilliant memory like yours,” I said, sarcastically, “I make a list and stick to it. It saves me impulse buying, getting it home and then chucking it out when the ‘use by’ date expires. That doesn’t mean that I can’t still get it wrong. I sometimes forget to take the list.”

“Okay Miss Smartypants, what’s on your list today?”

I showed her.

“What’s for dinner tonight?”

“Do you like lamb chops?”

“Umm, yummy. If they’re as good as that ‘Pork in Cider’ thingy you cooked last night, I’m hungry already.”

“I usually grill the chops and serve them with minted new potatoes and garden peas. Very traditional.”

“Like I said; yummy.”

“And I thought I’d do chicken for tomorrow. Most people like chicken and any leftovers can go for sandwiches.”

“If there are any leftovers.”

“I think you should be called Jane Hollowlegs. Where do you put it all? You don’t appear to have an ounce of spare fat but I did notice that there was nothing left over from last night’s meal.”

“I’m a big girl, I have a high metabolism and I use a lot of energy in my work. Anyway, the little you eat would struggle to keep a mouse alive.”

I sniggered.

She didn’t look at all contrite, but said, “You’ll make someone a wonderful wife one day and, if I have any say in the matter, that someone will be me.”

That earned her another slap on the arm.

“Ow!” she protested, “my future wife is abusing me.”

“Will you please shut up and help me with the shopping?”

We rolled our goods to the checkout and then had a stand-up fight about who was going to pay. She won.

“You amaze me,” Jane said, later, when we were settled back at my place.

“Pardon?”

“A month or so ago, the man who lived here was a shy person who wouldn’t say “boo” to a goose. Now there’s you; gorgeous, sexy, fantastic legs, brilliant kisser, brilliant cook, whatever next?”

“It must be the company I keep,” I said, grinning.

“Very true,” she agreed and quickly stepped sideways to evade another bruised arm.

“By the way, have you put the photo on your desk yet?” I asked.

“Yes, I have. The girls took a good look and said something like “Love the top” and “gorgeous hair, though she could do with a good cut and style”. The men sidled up to the desk and shyly asked, “Who’s the bird then?” I tell them, “My girlfriend,” and they walk away muttering something like “fucking dyke”.

“Oh. Do they know my history?”

“Other than you being an accountant, no they don’t.”

“I’m not an accountant, as you well know.”

“Like I say; if you’ve got it, flaunt it. They generally don’t know or care what you do for a living, although a couple of other women in the office, might be just a teeny bit jealous that I’ve managed to snag myself an accountant but, hey, so what?”

“But I’m not…”

I suddenly found myself silenced by lips descending on mine and
claiming possession. I could definitely handle that.

We both dressed for dinner, anticipating the joy of togetherness that the evening promised; we both liked seeing our partner looking glamorous.

Jane looked stunning in her midnight blue velvet dress; she was a big woman, tall and well-built but without an ounce of fat. A very deep plunge at both the front and back of the dress told me that she wasn’t wearing a bra. I was looking forward very much to taking that dress off her.

My figure-hugging dress was in a soft pale green with a silver thread that shimmered in the light whenever I moved. Jane seemed to be struggling to keep her hands off me until after dinner. She didn’t quite manage it.

I think I again impressed her with my culinary skills. She said that she’d eaten lamb chops many times before but thought that I could give the television chefs a good run for their money. The chops were so tender and coated with my special seasoning. I love cooking and have developed my own range of seasonings.

She thought back over the day that was just ending. “I can’t get over how natural and fearless you were; it was like you’ve been doing it all your life.”

After dinner, we sat cuddling in the sitting room and the television was switched on at low volume. We were ostensibly watching a film, but neither of us could recall the plot; we were rather engrossed. I’d soon become restless and again wanted to practice my new interpersonal skills — Jane could handle that. Before long, we’d adjourned to the bedroom and slowly and sexily undressed each other.

She asked what she could do for me.

“Not much at the moment,” I replied. “I haven’t got all the right bits, although my breasts seem to be getting more sensitive. Just hold me and kiss me; just to know that you’re here gives me a huge thrill. I never in my life believed that I could feel this way: I feel so warm inside and so happy I could sing.”

“I wonder how well you sing when I play these?” she said, before rolling a nipple between her lips.

I demonstrated my vocal talents; then I needed to change my panties. I had no idea that attention to my breasts could result in such all-pervading feelings. Of course, it might have had something to do with who was giving them attention.

I then continued to show my love for her, and was determined to discover more interesting places on her body. I brought her to peaks of delightful pleasure: time and time again she scaled the heights and eventually had to ask me to ease off because she was completely exhausted. We eventually opted for sleep and, fortunately, I had a dreamless night.

Sunday morning dawned with a fresh breeze although there was a definite promise of a brighter day ahead — a good portent of summer. I was smiling contentedly as I snuggled into Jane’s arms. Neither of us wanted to let the other go but I eventually had to get out of bed and answer the call of nature. It was now nearly nine o’clock and Celia and Jill were due to arrive in about four hours time.

“How long will lunch take to cook?” Jane called.

“About an hour and a half,” I replied from the bathroom. I showered and returned to the bedroom, where I dressed in a cool summer skirt and a pale lilac camisole top. I found my white low-heeled sandals in the wardrobe and, after putting them on, finished my makeup and brushed my hair.

Jane just sat watching me. I glanced her way, poked my tongue out and she beckoned me over. I smiled and poked my tongue out again. She grabbed it with her lips and that occupied another ten minutes. Then I had to redo my lipstick.

She said, “Being yourself obviously agrees with you; you are a lot more confident now, and last night was fantastic. I’m still tingling from your touch.”

I smiled, and then she changed the subject.

“As we have a couple of hours before lunch, do you fancy a walk in the park?”

“Hmm, that sounds nice, but won’t we attract attention?” I asked, concerned about our safety.

“Probably; and you will definitely attract attention — from me; but I’ll not have society dictate when I can touch my girlfriend and when I can’t. And if anyone gets difficult, I’ll just have to arrest them for behaviour likely to cause a breach of the peace.”

I laughed, though it was a little nervous laugh. “It might be said that our behaviour could be seen as provocative.”

“Well, what we are doing is now legal so I don’t care. Anyway, I’ve a black belt in origami so I’ll just throw paper aeroplanes at them until they go away.”

“You are silly, but I love you very much.”

“You do?” she asked.

“Yes, I don’t know why given your terrible jokes, but I do. Where do you get them, anyway?”

“I usually get them from Bill Stoneley, our custody sergeant. He’s getting on a bit; due for retirement soon, but he’s quick on his feet and sharp as a razor.”

I said, with a smirk, “He really is the ‘Old Bill’ then?” (‘The Old Bill’ is villain slang for the police.)

Jane groaned theatrically. “That was worthy of me, that one.” She proceeded to kiss me into submission. I repaired my makeup before we headed out for our walk.

Before dinner the previous night, I’d taken the chicken breast fillets out of the fridge, sliced them lengthways and browned them in oil in a deep-sided frying pan. I emptied two jars of tangy marmalade into a large jug, added a stock cube and three-quarters of a pint of hot water. I allowed the mixture to cool and poured it over the chicken so as to marinate it.

I’d seen a couple of other women walking arm in arm and decided that I liked the idea; I grabbed Jane’s arm for support and closeness. We wandered alongside the stream and watched the fish. Then we stopped for a few minutes and watched a game of tennis, and again to view the gravity-defying stunts on the skateboard ramp. I didn’t want to stop there too long in case we attracted the wrong sort of attention.

We spent another pleasant hour enjoying the sunshine before returning home to prepare dinner. She asked if there was anything she could do, so I gave her an apron, a knife and a chopping board, and put her in charge of preparing the salad.

I put on my apron. I turned on the heat under the frying pan for twenty minutes so that the chicken could take up more of the flavour of the stock. I then reserved the chicken in the smaller oven and began reducing and thickening the stock, adding a little cream and a small glass of brandy. When the thickness met with my approval, I again placed the chicken in the pan and turned the heat down to simmer.

The door entry phone announced the arrival of our visitors and Jane let them in. Celia carried a bunch of flowers and Jill a bottle of wine. They stopped, transfixed, at the kitchen door.

“Jenny?” asked Celia.

“Celia! Jill! I’m so pleased to see you,” I greeted them with a smile, hugged them and gave them both a kiss on the cheek, “I’ve been looking forward to being able to do this.”

“But you look absolutely amazing! How.…”

“It’s all down to the light of my life. Jane; my work colleagues Celia Caterham and Jill Burnett. Girls; my darling Jane Dyson.” Jane put a protective arm around my waist; Celia and Jill smiled at each other.

“Wow, you didn’t waste any time, did you? There’s sure to be some disappointment in the office when you return.”

“Tough,” Jane said, protectively, “She’s my girl and that’s that.”

“Oh dear; the office Lotharios are certainly not going to like the fact that you’re spoken for,” laughed Jill.

“They’ll live; they’ve ignored me, except when they’ve wanted something, so now it’s my turn,” I replied, tossing my head, “now if you’ll excuse me for a few moments I have a date with a packet of rice.”

Jane entertained them in the living room while I went into the kitchen; I could clearly hear their conversation.

“I just can’t get over how natural she is, there’s no obvious male there at all,” Celia said, after filling Jane in with the details of the various events in the office.

Jane agreed. “It was like pushing a snowball up a hill; once over the top, she quickly gathered momentum on her own.”

“I reckon you had a lot to do with it, Jane,” Jill observed. “Seeing the way that she looks at you, I’d say you’re being very modest.”

Lunch was a very happy affair and there were lots of appreciative comments.

Jane was surprised when I produced apple pie and cream for dessert. “This pie is delicious, but I don’t remember us purchasing it yesterday,” she enquired, before popping another spoonful into her mouth.

“That’s because I made it on Thursday,” I answered her.

“As I told her yesterday, she will make someone a wonderful wife and, if I have anything to do with it, that someone will be me.”

I flushed with embarrassment, but the compliments on my cooking soon had me positively beaming. I also had a warm glow inside due to all the female pronouns flying about.

“I still don’t understand how you managed the male disguise for so long,” said Celia. “I know I saw the photo and you look good in that, but it still didn’t fully prepare us for this.”

“Thank you. It was a combination of fear, lack of confidence and wanting to do the right thing by everyone else, instead of being selfish and putting myself first,” I answered.

Jill said, “Well, I for one am glad that it’s going to be sorted out at last; it’s been no fun having to be careful what I say around the office. I was always afraid that I would drop you in it with an unguarded comment.”

“How long have you both suspected, Celia?” I asked.

“Oh, since just after you joined the department,” she replied with a little smirk, “We suspected that there was something different about you; at first we thought you were gay, but you never showed any interest in the men. You did seem to join in the girl-talk very easily, though — when you weren’t being ignored.”

I blushed.

Jill asked, “So what’s the plan now?”

“It all happens on the first of July,” I replied, “so I suppose we’d better get some suitable answers ready in case anyone asks for more details. Sue Fuller wants me to prepare a short statement that she can send out in the early part of the previous week. I go on leave for a week and a half and return as Jenny. I’ve several dozen letters to write to various authorities; driving licence, passport, bank and so on. I also need to purchase a load of clothes to wear in the office. And this is all after I’ve found a solicitor to deal with the legalities. It’s going to be a busy and expensive couple of weeks.”

We spent a couple of hours after lunch, working out what questions people might ask and just how much - or how little - they would be told in reply. We then drafted a statement for Personnel to send out. Finally, I filled in the sample ‘Change of Name’ Statutory Declaration that we’d downloaded from the Internet. We completed and printed what we could and my colleagues witnessed my signature as necessary.

After we had tea or coffee, they prepared to leave.

“Thanks for a lovely lunch: we are both looking forward immensely to having another girl in the office,” Celia enthused.

“Greg asked me not to pull ‘time of the month’ too often,” I smilingly replied.

“Bloody cheek! He gets a lot of work out of us and we rarely have any time off.”

“I think he was joking,” I said.

“Well, we’ll keep an eye out for you, love, don’t you worry,” Jill insisted, “And so will Maddy and Sarah, I’m sure.”

“I know you will and I’m truly grateful.”

After they had gone, Jane and I cleared up the lunch things and then relaxed in the living room.

“They are super, and have already been a great help to me. Greg is a great boss; in a way, he brought all this to a head in the office and enlisted Celia’s help in doing so. He encouraged me to talk to Personnel and has been really helpful.”

“They do all seem good for you and good to you: I’m glad that you have friends there, it’s really important. By the way, I’m on duty at four o’clock tomorrow morning, so I think an early night is called for. Do you mind?”

“I’ll get up to see you off.”

“No you won’t; you need your rest. I’ll be okay.”

We cuddled for a while and then went to bed.

I woke briefly at about three o’clock on the Monday morning when Jane kissed me goodbye. With great reluctance, but knowing that it wouldn’t be for long, I left Jenny in the closet.

When I saw Celia in the office, and after the usual greetings and re-hashing of the weekend, she asked, ”How much do you know about Jane?”

“Not a lot, really.”

“Don’t get me wrong; I see the way that she looks at you — you’re the light of her life. But there’s something about her I can’t quite work out; she’s not just your average police officer, is she?”

“I know what you mean. I was amazed when I first met her; I thought then that she wouldn’t be out of place at a ‘Coming Out’ ball. I expected her to have been the highlight of the Hurlingham Club or some other posh venue.” Work rapidly distracted me and I temporarily forgot Celia’s concerns.

During the morning I arranged to visit a local solicitor the next day. I spent every spare moment during the evenings that week writing letters to various official bodies regarding my change of name and gender presentation. While some organisations wanted a certified copy of my Stat Dec, most settled for a photocopy of the original and a few just wanted a letter.

The post that day brought letters from Judy Davenport. Reading between the lines of her response to Doctor Carter, she suggested that he should confine himself to the treatment of everyday ailments and leave the specialist work to those best qualified to deal with it. The letter to the clinic in London simply stated that I was in the process of transitioning from male to female, may well have a hormone imbalance, was supported by my employer and should see a specialist as soon as possible.

She wanted further tests, and suggested that I should find a new doctor. She was convinced that there must have been some reason for my developing the way I did. The blood test also showed up the small dose of oestrogen that I’d been taking, although the levels were quite low and she felt that no damage had been done. She recommended no more hormones until they’d done further tests. She felt that my development must have started much earlier, and could even be antenatal. The cause of my body shape and breast development was probably related to my hormone levels. I smiled when I read that; maybe my body wasn’t so bad for me after all.

No wonder men’s clothes never fitted me

The second letter simply confirmed Judy’s opinion that I identified as female and should be treated as such.

By the time I returned to work as Jenny, most of the new documents had arrived. I’d taken a copy of my Stat Dec in to Sue Fuller and also given her a copy of my note to the staff. She glanced over it and said that it was short and sweet, in other words, just right.

June 2004

All I had to do on the Tuesday was to turn up at the solicitor and swear and sign my Statutory Declaration. In all, it took about fifteen minutes. I walked out with the document, sufficient certified copies to send to those organisations that had requested them and a very bright smile, knowing that I was legally Jennifer Ellen Smith at last. Okay; I had two and a half weeks left to work as John, but I was getting there. After seeing the solicitor, I went into my local town just for the fun of it. Lunch, the library and shopping occupied me for the rest of the day. Jane wasn’t available to visit that evening so I just went home and, after a light meal, used my computer printer to produce some more copies of the Stat Dec. Only later was I reminded that I, like Her Majesty The Queen, now had two birthdays each year; June 1st was now my official birthday.

The next Saturday Jane took me to Southampton so that I could stock up on clothes to wear to the office. I did wonder if I would have a high enough credit limit on my card. I was very surprised when Jane just said, “I’m paying for today, so put your card away.” No amount of arguing would change her mind, so I just gave her a big kiss to thank her. I didn’t care if anyone objected.

It took all day to get a car load of outfits but we decided that, by mixing and matching blouses, skirts, trousers, jackets, strappy, tee and cap-sleeved tops, I could stretch the lot to become the basis of a very versatile working wardrobe, although I’d obviously need more as time went on. Add to that some shoes, bags and jewellery and we must have made a really severe dent in Jane’s credit card balance.

How I got through the next couple of weeks I don’t know. I was on tenterhooks in case anything went wrong — but it didn’t. I never realised how easy it would all be. The time seemed to drag heavily but I was kept busy at work and, in my spare time, writing letters.

Friday the 18th June, and the last day of my time as John had finally arrived. I was afraid that they would try to send me out with a bang, but I was glad when Greg just shook my hand and asked, “What are you going to do next week?”

“I’ve got so much preparation to do, I don’t know if a week and a half is long enough.”

“Well, we can’t do without you for ever so we’ll look forward to seeing you on the 1st July. No I won’t, I’ll see Jenny on the 1st July. Well, goodbye John, and thanks for all you’ve done.”

I grinned, thanked him for all his help and walked towards the lift, stopping on the way at Celia’s desk. I had a huge lump in my throat and was near to tears.

“Hey, come on girl, not long now,” she said, quietly but brightly.

“I know, and I’m petrified.”

“Why? After that performance the other week? You’ll walk it.”

“I hope so. Look, I really am very grateful for your help, both of you.” I had turned to include Jill in this. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“That’s what friends are for. And we girls have to stick together. See you on the first of July.”

“Okay, bye,” I said, as I walked out; I went home, changed and put all of John’s clothes in the wash. The next morning, I took those few, which might sell, to a charity shop. The rest went to a recycling bank. I promised myself that I would make it as Jenny or go down fighting. There was no going back.

Of course, I had no idea at that time that someone really would try to kill me.

End of part 8

Secrets

By Susan Heywood

John finds the body of a neighbour who has been murdered. The police detective assigned to the case deduces that John hides a secret - but the detective has secrets of her own.

Part 9 of 25 — Disapproval

I went to the hairdresser and beautician for the full works. I had a professional hair cut and style and, although still a little shorter than I would have liked, David had managed to make it appear fuller and had cut it so that it would look good as it grew out.

While all this was happening, Gaynor had appeared from the downstairs beauty shop and was working on my finger and toe nails, giving me a full set of gorgeous sculptured nails which extended a quarter of an inch beyond the tips of my fingers. I didn’t want them any longer because of using the computer; not until I’d got used to them, anyway. After David had finished, Gaynor led me downstairs to complete my treatment; I was finally able to have my eyebrows waxed, giving me lovely fine, high arches.

“I hope that this all works out and that I have a salary next month,” I complained to Jane when she called around later, “my credit card is taking a frightful bashing and I reckon I’ve spent almost a month’s money on getting ready for my debut. At least I’ve already had my ears pierced, and have a wardrobe full of clothes, thanks to a very persuasive girlfriend.”

Jane whistled that evening. “Worth every penny, darling; I thought you were beautiful before but you are an absolute knockout now.”

“Hands off,” I jokingly laughed when she moved to kiss me.

“Oh, poo! Spoilsport!” She pouted, “As much of this was my idea, I should be able to sample the result. Anyway, they’ll welcome you with open arms at work and probably give you a pay rise just for looking so beautiful.”

“I wish,” I commented, embarrassed, but eventually let her have her wicked way.

“There is one more thing which I think you should do now. When you’ve been to the Gender Clinic, you should be starting on a proper dose of hormones and that should start altering your figure a little more. But I think you should get some of those stick-on breast forms in the meantime. They’ll be much better than the chicken fillets that you’ve been using up to now and will give you more confidence because they stick on to you rather than just pop in your bra. Let’s go up to London one day and have them fitted. Get some makeup as well, you know, the stuff that they put around the edges so that you can’t see the join.”

“That makes sense, even though I think you’re obsessed with sex. How about next Saturday?”

“As I’ve said before, I’m obsessed with you. I should be able to manage next Saturday; I’ll make sure that I have the day off and we can go together.”

I was delighted that she was planning on a joint adventure. “That sounds fun. We might even have time to look in Oxford Street.”

“Oh-oh! It didn’t take you long to get the bug!”

“Get the bug?”

“The shopping bug.”

I chuckled. “Well, I’ve something to shop for now, haven’t I?” Then I thought aloud. “I did think about having breast augmentation, you know, implants.”

She cautioned. “You need to be careful about how much you do before seeing the Clinic; they might be upset if you do too much and, at the moment, they might think you’ve been taking high doses of hormones instead of the small dose you have been taking. You don’t want to rock the boat any more than you have already. Anyway, you don’t know how much breast growth will result from the hormones, and you don’t know what cocktail your own body is producing.”

“I see what you mean,” I answered, a little disappointed. “As you say, it might be wiser to talk to someone first.”

“I understand that the stick-on breast forms, together with the makeup for them, are quite realistic and you just need to make sure that you get the right size for your build.”

“Yes, I want something to give my confidence a boost, not cause me embarrassment by standing out too much.”

“I don’t mean to embarrass you, my love, but you already stand out — in my humble opinion, that is.”

“Perhaps you’re biased,” I laughed.

“No perhaps about it,” she said, advancing upon me. “Now, you’re obviously suffering withdrawal symptoms; you’ve not had any police interrogation today.” She grabbed me around the waist and I was again happy to be caught in the strong arms of the law.

“Bill, I’ve a letter which you should read. You’d better sit down first and don’t say anything until you’ve read it all.” Ellen Smith handed it to her husband as they shared morning coffee.

“When did this arrive?” he asked, glancing at her.

“A few days ago.”

Bill Smith gave his wife another sidelong glance and then read the letter.

Ellen had a good idea how he would react and readied herself for the explosion. It wasn’t long in coming.

“I knew he was a poof; this girlfriend business is a load of crap,” he sounded off, “Look at him, pansying around in makeup and women’s clothes. He’s always been a failure; he was never interested in sport, and since he’s been old enough, he’s never shown any interest in going into pubs. It’s where men meet their mates, after all. How the hell can I show my face in the local now? If he thinks he’ll get any encouragement from me, or is welcome in this house, he can think again. I’ll be damned if that freak and I will ever again have words — apart from my giving him a good belting and a piece of my mind. Thank God that Peter turned out normal. At least we have two grandchildren. It doesn’t look as if we’ll get any from that pervert. I mean; what girl’s ever going to want that freak?”

Ellen shouted back. “SO VIOLENCE IS YOUR SOLUTION, IS IT?” Then she moderated her voice a little. “It’s been obvious, from when John was a toddler, that something was wrong. I ignored it for years; I’m not going to continue ignoring it.”

Bill tried to interrupt her.

“No! For once in your life you’re going to listen to all I have to say!”

Bill Smith was tempted, as usual, to switch off and just go into the living room and watch television. He saw the look on his wife’s face and thought better of it. “Okay,” he said, heatedly, “Out with it. Are you taking his side?”

“HIS SIDE?” she yelled, “Who said anything about sides and taking sides? That’s our child you’re talking about, our flesh and blood.”

Bill scoffed. “Our child? This is all your fault; you always were soft on the little freak, just because he wore glasses.”

Ellen Smith usually came over as one of the most placid of women but one second after the words were out of his mouth she slapped him hard across the face.

“DON’T YOU DARE CALL HIM A FREAK!” She yelled.

“Ow! That bloody hurt!” Bill felt himself getting redder and, about to lose his temper again, loudly said, “Well, what would you call him then? He’s not good enough to be a son! He’s bloody queer, isn’t he?”

Ellen shouted again. “SIT AND LISTEN FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE!”

Bill tried again. “What’ve you got to say? I suppose you’re going to defend what he’s doing? He’s not all there, is he? I knew he was bloody queer. I tried to get him interested in sport, pubs and all the other things that normal men do, but he just wouldn’t have it. Now look how he’s turned out.”

“NORMAL MEN! TYPICAL! YOU THINK THAT VIOLENCE SOLVES EVERYTHING, AND THAT LIFE REVOLVES AROUND BEER AND SPORT!” Ellen shouted at him, then sat down and put her head in her hands. Tears weren’t far away. This was going to be so difficult.

“I forbid you to see him again until he sees sense,” Bill decided.

“But that’s my child we’re talking about,” she complained.

“And I’m your husband.”

“And I’ve been proud to call you that every day for thirty-five years, but not today. I shouldn’t have to choose between my husband and my child.”

“I’m going to the pub,” Bill fell back on his usual ‘out’ when he didn’t want to discuss something with his wife.

“The problem will still be here when you get back, but I may not be.”

“WHAT! Where will you go?”

“I believe that Jenny has a spare bedroom. Perhaps I’ll go down there for a few days.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort! You’ll go nowhere near that… that… thing!”

“And you’ll stop me seeing my child?”

“SHIT,” Bill shouted and stormed out, slamming the door. Ellen made two telephone calls: one to check train times and one to the South of England. She hurriedly packed a suitcase and then called for a taxi.

I collected my mother from Winchester station that afternoon. She wore a pale blue cotton dress and open-toed navy shoes with a small wedge heel. She carried a lightweight navy blue jacket and a navy leather shoulder bag and towed a small grey suitcase that she rolled into the booking hall. She stopped and began scanning the crowd.

“Over here, Mummy,” I called.

She glanced around, spotted me and did a double take. “John, is that really you? Oh err, sorry, Jenny.”

“Now Mummy,” I said, quietly as I took her case and guided her to the car park. “As I’ve told you, John was an act; I don’t have to act any more. I’ve always been here, just not legally until now, that’s all.”

“You haven’t called me ‘Mummy’ since you were a small child,” she said, thoughtfully.

“It just seemed right; what a girl would call her mother.”

“Does this mean that you’ll now call your father ‘Daddy’?”

“NO!”

“Oh,” she said, shaking her head.

“He’ll have to earn my trust before I even think about it. ‘Daddy’ is a powerful word, not as powerful as ‘Mummy’ but indicates a closer relationship than that which we presently have. As far as I’m concerned, his only contributions so far have been limited to a sperm when I was born and an erosion of any self-esteem that I might have had.”

”Jenny!”

“I’m right, aren’t I?”

She nodded, ruefully.

It was a very warm day and I was dressed accordingly in a blue floral sundress and navy sandals. I was a few inches taller than my mother but was still a good half a foot shorter than Jane.

My mother pointed to my blue dress. “Great minds think alike,” she said; this went some way to relaxing the initial tension between us. She stopped and stared. For a full minute she stood and examined me. “I can’t get over how natural you look,” she said in wonder, “and that photo doesn’t do you justice.”

“That’s what the girls at work said,” I laughed. “Come on, it’s nearly time for dinner.”

“I thought you’d look like… you know….”

“John in a dress,” I offered, quietly.

“Well, yes.”

“Mummy, you’ve seen the photo.”

“Yes I know but….”

“It’s wonderful that you’ve come to visit but how’s my father?”

My mother’s glum expression spoke volumes; she explained the events of that morning, culminating in her train journey.

“Oh, I see,” I said, forlornly. “Mummy, you’re the best, do you know that?”

“I often wondered where my clothes and makeup went; it took me a while to figure it out. At least I can now see what my daughter looks like.”

“You finally acknowledge that you had a daughter?”

She nodded. “I’m actually quite proud of you. I always thought that you were gay until you put me right.”

“Despite my constant protests that I wasn’t?”

She said, “I always thought that you were in denial and that your father must be right. Bear in mind that we knew little or nothing about your situation; anyone who wasn’t normal must be gay; that was the accepted wisdom when I was younger.”

“Thank you, Mummy, for finally believing in me.” After a short, tearful hug, I said, “Come on, let’s get you home.”

We’d just pulled out of the station car park when my mobile phone rang. I stopped the car, again feeling that warm glow of contentment whenever I heard Jane’s special ring tone and her voice.

“Hello love.”

~ Where are you? ~

“I’ve just collected my mother from Winchester station; she’s visiting for a few days.”

~ WHAT? When did all that develop? ~

“Earlier today.”

~ Can I come round tonight? ~

“Of course you can. Dinner?”

~ I eat at the station ~

“Usual time?”

~ Yes ~

“Love you lots.”

~ Love you more, see you later ~

I asked my mother to hold the phone while I continued the journey home. I said, “Jane is coming around tonight at about seven-thirty.”

“Jane; that’s your policewoman friend, isn’t it?” My mother asked.

“Jane is my girlfriend,” I replied, a little tentatively.

“Is that friend-who-is-a-girl or girlfriend as in romantically linked?”

“Mummy, Jane is my girlfriend, as in partner.”

“So you could have stayed a man and still had a girlfriend after all.”

Was she being deliberately difficult, or is this what mothers do? Do they deliberately put you through the wringer, just to test your feelings? I obviously needed to explain - again - so I stopped the car and turned to her. “Look, Mummy; I am not, and never was, a man; girls knew it and ignored me. My hormones are probably so far out of whack that I couldn’t be a man if I tried. I was registered as male at birth because someone saw some unwanted flesh between my legs, and drew the wrong conclusion. I have always been female up here.” I tapped my head. “Jane and I are girlfriends. She’s not interested in men; she is interested in me, Jennifer Ellen Smith, the woman. Okay?”

“Hmm, very strange and unnatural, if you ask me.”

“Mummy, even if I had been born with all the right girl bits I could still have been interested in girls rather than men. And given what I went through at school, can you really blame me? Give me a chance! I’ve only been legally me for three weeks; I haven’t even got as far as getting all my paperwork correct, let alone working out my sexuality. For most people - for you, my father and Peter for example, it appears not to have been a problem. We don’t usually decide with whom we fall in love; it’s one of those things over which you rarely have any control. I knew when I was a small child that I was female; that was enough to occupy me throughout childhood, adolescence and adulthood up until now. Until March of this year, I wasn’t attracted to anyone; despite my ‘know-it-all’ father’s insistence that I was a gay male, I’m not, and never was, attracted to men or boys. For now at least, I love Jane very much, whether just as the person who helped me to gather the courage to do this, or something more; only time will tell. I’ve been acting a lead role in a horror story virtually all my life. So can we just leave it? Jane is a wonderful, loving, caring friend and, at the moment, she is my life. Without her, I’d probably be dead.”

My mother looked sharply at me.

I continued. “Yes, there wasn’t much to live for. If this hadn’t been possible, you’d probably be down to one child, because I was nearing the end of my rope. The only reason I’ve not committed suicide before now is that I couldn’t find the courage. But doors were closing so fast in my life that it really was only a matter of time.”

“I’m so sorry, love,” My mother gently put her hand on my arm and said, with tears in her eyes, “We haven’t been any kind of support to you over the years, have we? Your father kept comparing you to Peter, and he always made a point of letting you know you never made the grade. We thought it was just a matter of your eyesight or laziness, but we never even considered that you’d have different ambitions and needs. I confess that I didn’t support you either; I suppose that I always thought that your father must be right.”

“Mummy, it wasn’t a matter of wanting to go in a different direction, that’s the way it was; it’s the way my brain was wired. Now, what’s past is gone; let’s live for the future. Please do me the courtesy of giving me time to breathe and the space in which to do it. Everything will eventually fall into place, I’m sure.”

”I’ve been watching you since you picked me up at the rail station. Even your voice fits the woman I see. I can see nothing of John; it’s as though you’ve been there all the time.”

“Mother, I have! Now can we please go home?”

Jane now had her own key and let herself in to the apartment. I introduced them. “Mummy, Jane Dyson; Jane, my mother, Ellen Smith.”

They shook hands; my mother asked, “Jenny tells me that you are a police officer?”

“Detective constable,” Jane replied proudly, as she snaked her arm around my shoulder.

As with most other people, my mother appeared shocked as she said, “I…I understand that you two are…” She didn’t seem to be able to work out what to say and, if she did, then she obviously didn’t want to put it into words.

“Jenny is my girlfriend,” Jane said, giving me a quick kiss.

My mother looked pensive for a few moments but didn’t appear to find this as difficult as I thought she would. Maybe it was easier to slightly detach herself from the situation by rationalizing that I wasn’t her son and therefore these two people were unconnected with her.

“You two go and have a seat in the living room while I clear up the dinner things.” I went to the kitchen and started work. Before too long I heard a buzz of conversation and could make out most of what was being said. It was stilted at first, but Jane seemed to put my mother at ease fairly quickly.

Well, at least they’re talking; that must be a good sign

“You’ve known Jo…Jenny, what, a few months?” Mummy asked Jane, once they were seated.

“Yes but, in that time, she’s turned my life around. And she has blossomed.”

“Doesn’t it bother you that she was born…you know…?”

“Jenny is all woman in her head and, to a great extent, in her body as well. To me she is a beautiful girl with a birth anomaly that will be corrected as soon as possible. I’m satisfied with that.”

“You obviously think a lot of each other.”

“She is absolutely wonderful. Bright, happy, outgoing, a brilliant cook, there seems to be nothing that she can’t do,” Jane acknowledged. “Did she cook for you this evening?”

“Yes, we had a chicken casserole, it was very tasty.”

“She is amazing. I can’t believe how lucky I am to have found her. My life was really going nowhere. I achieved my degree, joining the police force from university. I worked all the hours I could just to try and erase my childhood memories.” She shivered, hesitating for a moment. “I earned my shift into detective work by pounding a beat for a few years. I couldn’t see what I was going to do after that, other than working for further promotion. I’m not interested in a relationship with a man so being a wife was not an option.

“Then this incident happened and I visited… well, you know who. I knew that there was something I wasn’t being told so I pushed it. I visited another night and met Jenny and that’s when I knew my life had turned around. We went out a few times but, honestly, it was like opening a floodgate. She just went from strength to strength. I’m quite sure that John would eventually have killed himself — the pressure was just too great - but Jenny is so dynamic, full of life and absolutely gorgeous. I really can’t believe that so much has happened in so short a time, and it takes some believing that it’s basically the same person inside. Dorothy Parker is quoted as saying that “men seldom make passes at girls who wear glasses.” Well, this girl thinks that that girl is beautiful.”

My mother said, “I just never appreciated that there was so much hurt in that child of mine, it’s really made me think. I know that John often came home from school with stories of bullying but I thought he was just exaggerating or trying to justify getting into fights. Changing the subject, I suppose that your degree is work related?”

“Yes, I wanted to join the police force since… childhood.” Jane continued. “I have a first-class Honours degree from Buckingham University. It’s a small university and I earned my BA in psychology in two years and have a Masters degree in Criminal Psychology. I also started on a law degree but ran out of patience halfway through as I really wanted to start my police career. I transferred to the CID (Criminal Investigation Department) several years ago.”

“Jo…Jenny told me about the murder - it must have been very traumatic for her to find her neighbour dead?”

“Yes, poor thing. Still, if she hadn’t we probably never would have met.”

I re-joined them and the subject moved on to my plans for the return to work. My mother was tired from her journey and, bidding us goodnight, went to bed. She lay awake for a while thinking about her husband. She’d telephoned him when she arrived but he was very brusque. She’d tried to tell him about me but he was disinterested to the point of rudeness. She sighed, settled down and waited a long time for sleep to claim her.

End of part 9

John finds the body of a neighbour who has been murdered. The police detective assigned to the case deduces that John hides a secret - but the detective has secrets of her own.

Part 10 of 25 — Visitor (Round 2)

“What would you like to do today, Mummy?” I asked on the Wednesday morning as we breakfasted on cereal, toast and tea.

“I’ve no idea.”

“How about Winchester?”

“What’s there?”

“Lots of history and a fair number of shops.”

Winchester was the capital of the ancient kingdom of Wessex; it is still the administrative capital of the county of Hampshire. Winchester was the seat of King Alfred and has a round table on the wall of the Great Hall. The table probably dates from the fourteenth century and may have been made to the order of King Edward the Third. The whole city just exudes history and there is hardly anywhere that doesn’t have a view of some ancient building or other. The cathedral is about a thousand years old and is set in its own large green, an oasis of calm just a stone’s throw away from the bustle of city life.

“Hmm, retail therapy. I never imagined either of my children being particularly interested in that,” she said.

“Well, your daughter is.”

“Can you give me a few minutes to get ready?”

“It might take me a little longer,” I replied.

“Hmm, it seems to me that there’s not that much to do. You appear to be all girl. But I’ll be watching you to make sure you don’t spend too much.”

“After the bashing my credit card has taken over the past few weeks, there’s not much danger of that.”

On the way to the car, she hesitated. “Jenny; I see the way that Jane looks at you. You’re the light of her life, but how much do you really know about her?”

“Not a lot, as it happens. She doesn’t strike me as your average police officer; the first time we went out shopping together, she looked like a catwalk model on her day off. I felt a little out of my depth in her company. And did you see her car?”

“No.”

“That’s no cheap runabout, either.”

My mother had just expressed the same thoughts that Celia had; of course, it could all be totally innocent, but it did get me thinking — not a good thing.

The conversation moved to what we might do at Winchester. We didn’t purchase much but had lots of fun trying clothes on, giggling in one of the many coffee shops, laughing over the antics of other shoppers and generally having a good time.

My mother took my arm as we strolled through the shopping centre. We sat and ate sandwiches as we watched the river flow through the city on its way to join the sea near Southampton. We spent a long time in casual conversation; we had a lot of catching-up to do.

Over lunch, she said, “I’m amazed at just how natural you are. I’ve spent a long time this morning revising my opinions and wondering how you managed to survive for so long. I can’t see anything about you that hints at you ever having been a boy: your mannerisms, speech and vocabulary are quite different — and I thought you might dress like a teenager, but you don’t.”

“Well, I don’t have to act anymore; I can just be myself. And did you really think I’d dress like a teenager?”

“It had crossed my mind.”

“Really! I know I missed out on being a teenage girl, but I’d rather forget my childhood and adolescence, not try to re-live it. That’s not to say that I wouldn’t have loved to have had a teenage girlhood - of course I would.”

After lunch, I took my mother back to the shopping centre. “I know we haven’t discussed it but this is my treat.” I led her to one of the beauty concessions in a big store and asked for a makeover for her. “My mother is a beautiful woman and I’d like you to bring out the best in her.”

“Delighted,” the beautician enthused, sitting Mummy on a stool and starting to work her magic. “You have lovely cheekbones and gorgeous eyes. What a lovely, generous daughter you have and I can certainly see where she gets her looks.”

My mother was so choked up; she didn’t know what to say. She certainly didn’t have it in her to refuse.

After the beautician had finished, I had paid and we walked away with a small stock of cosmetics, my mother turned to me and said, “Darling, I’m overwhelmed. I really do look and feel several years younger. Thank you.”

As we were walking arm in arm back towards the car park, I spotted a lovely turquoise dress in one of the shop windows. I dragged her over to look at it and we oohed and aahed for a minute or so.

She finally sighed and said, “Okay, in we go.”

I grinned and followed her into the shop where an assistant asked her size, handed her the dress and directed her to a changing cubicle. I was hesitant about following her in but she simply said, “Come on, Jenny, you can tell me how it looks.”

A little later, when we had continued on our way, I asked, “Mummy, have you a mobile phone?”

“No, why?”

“Just in case my father gets more difficult.”

“Oh, I see. I’ll sort one out when I get home and let you know the number.”

“No time like the present.” I led her to a shop that sold us one that was on the same network as Jane’s and mine and offered free family calls. “I’ll just get a ‘Pay As You Go’; it will be useful for you as an emergency phone when travelling or….” We both knew what the “or” meant. “If you ring my mobile, it will cost you nothing. When your call credit drops, ring me and I’ll top it up for you. I want to be able to keep in touch with you whatever happens and this is the easiest way.”

My mother cooked minute steaks while I programmed the phone and put it on charge. We then spent a quiet evening watching a film on television and she again tried to speak to my father. The atmosphere was still tense and she was quite certain that he would never come to accept his daughter.

Thursday morning dawned clear and sunny with just a gentle breeze. I suggested over breakfast that we go out for the day.

“That would be nice.”

“Well, I’ve a little surprise for you. How long since you’ve seen my cousin Shirley?”

“More years than I care to remember.”

“Well, would you like to go and see her? I called her on Tuesday evening to make sure they’d be at home today. She knows all about me and is totally accepting. I received a lovely call from her in response to my letter telling the family what I was doing.”

“Oh, I suppose we could go then. It would be nice to see someone from that side of the family after all this time.”

I rang to confirm that we were on our way. Shirley and her family lived in a little village near Salisbury in Wiltshire.

We arrived at the eighteenth century farmhouse at about eleven o’clock and rang the ancient doorbell. A frantic barking noise had me wondering just how many dogs lived at the house. Shirley opened the door and two of the biggest golden retrievers I had ever seen made a beeline for us. They stopped only a few inches away, grinned as only retrievers can, and wagged their tails, seemingly generating enough wind to power the entire village.

“Come here you two!” Shirley yelled, then more quietly to my mother she said,” They’re adult dogs about six years old, but they seem to behave more like six month-old puppies. Anyway, hello Auntie Ellen, hello Jenny, it’s lovely to see you both.”

She gave my mother and me a hug and then, with much effort, she herded the dogs back into the house. “I’ll put the kettle on. You’ll stay to lunch?” It was more of a statement than a question.

“Thank you,” I replied on behalf of us both.

Shirley and I looked at one another and Shirley said, “That photo doesn’t do you justice, you are beautiful just like your mother.”

“Thank you again,” I said, sincerely and tearfully, and we all hugged again.

“Our family is not very good at keeping in touch, is it?” My mother commented.

“No,” Shirley answered, pouring water into the teapot and getting mugs out of the cupboard, “but now we’re back in contact with Jenny, and I know that she lives reasonably nearby, we must meet up more often. Auntie Ellen, how are Uncle Bill and my cousin Peter?”

“Well, your uncle has taken Jenny’s news very badly and accuses her of all sorts of things, all untrue. We’ve not heard from Peter so we don’t know how he reacted to it. Bill is in good health and I presume that Peter and his family are too but I’m not sure how things will develop now that I have accepted that I have a daughter and not a younger son.”

I felt myself well up with tears, and said, “Oh Mummy, you’ve made me so happy, but I do worry especially about my father. I’m sorry to have to say this, Shirley; my father has always despised me since I was a little child. I wasn’t the macho sporting boy he wanted for a second son, you see. Peter excelled at sport, but I was no good at anything.”

“Now hold on, dear,” my mother protested, “You were good at academic subjects — when you were allowed to get on with them. You’re well read, an excellent cook, a lovely, gentle person and I couldn’t have wished for a more caring and loving child. Your father expects everyone to conform to his views and, when they don’t, he flies off the handle.”

Over a cup of tea, Mother heard all the details of Shirley’s diverse family. She laughed. “You’ve had your share of surprises and no mistake.”

“Yes, the children hedged around the subjects quite a lot until Alex and I confronted them. I think they were very surprised that we just said, “So what?” Certainly we’ve had no cause to regret our decision to accept them for what and who they are, and they’ve repaid us a thousand-fold by being the loveliest young people that you could imagine: caring, loving and generous, both to us and to each other. They wouldn’t surprise us if they all sold their separate homes and purchased one together, they’re so close as siblings. And the way they treat us; we couldn’t wish for a happier family. Alex and I consider ourselves to be very fortunate indeed.”

Lunch was a very jolly occasion with Shirley’s husband Alex joining us. He and their son Tim farmed some land nearby and Shirley usually provided both of them with lunch. Tim had taken his partner and their child on holiday so they weren’t there, much to my mother’s and my disappointment. Lucy and her husband, a very successful author, lived in Gloucestershire and Annabelle, her partner and their children lived and worked in an old, rambling farmhouse in Norfolk.

The meal, all home grown, was delicious and there was plenty to go round. Mummy and I were both very full after the hot pot and the homemade apple pie that followed. I noticed that the pie tasted a little different from the one that I had made and I commented to Shirley, who gave me the recipe.

Alex gave me a hug before returning to work. “How on earth did you manage the disguise all these years?” he asked, “You look really good.”

“I managed it by not being selfish enough,” I gave a hollow laugh, “and being scared witless of anyone finding out the truth.”

“Why change now?” he asked, before leaving to resume work.

“Simple: it was just a case of change or die,” I replied, sombrely. “John was never the real me; I got fed up with all the acting and pretence. I was suicidal.”

There was silence for a few moments while this statement sank in.

“Well,” my mother said, quietly, “I’d rather have a live daughter than a dead son any day.”

“Do you miss anything about your old life? How about the father/son relationship?” Shirley asked.

I laughed mirthlessly, “I never had a life, and if you’re referring to my father’s constant sarcasm, unreasonable expectations and frequent put-downs, then no, I don’t miss them at all.”

My mother said, “Surely there must have been some good times.”

I answered her. “Well, if there were, I must have blinked and missed them.”

More tea and chat followed and it was late afternoon before we got away. Hugs and kisses were exchanged, as were promises to keep in touch and visit more regularly in the future. I felt that the visit had gone very well and soon we were heading back home.

My mother said, “Thank you for arranging that visit, I did so enjoy meeting Shirley and Alex again.”

“So did I; I mean, enjoy meeting them properly at last.”

My mother appeared deep in thought for the rest of the journey.

“What time is your train?” I asked before we retired for the night.

“About eleven-thirty. There’s only one change, at Birmingham, and I should be home before six o’clock.”

The evening saw just the two of us relaxing at home. Jane was working. I cooked a couple of trout, as I knew that my mother enjoyed fish. I cooked them in the oven, in foil, with garlic butter and pine nuts, just as I knew she liked them. I served them with some roasted vegetables.

“You’ll get me fat,” she good-naturedly complained.

“Not a chance. You know, I haven’t enjoyed being with you so much as I have this week and I absolutely love cooking for more than just myself.”

“And I’ve enjoyed meeting my daughter for the first time, getting to know her and spending time with her.”

“You weren’t sure to begin with, were you?”

“Well, it did come as a bit of a shock that you went ahead and did it; I never thought you’d have the courage.”

I picked up on that and asked, thoughtfully, “Mummy, just how long have you known about me?”

“Oh,” she replied, “I’ve known there was something wrong since you were a toddler, I suppose. I thought you might be gay.”

“WHAT! I told you often enough that I wasn’t a gay male although, now I’m in love with Jane, I suppose I’m a gay female. But you never said anything to me?”

“I was afraid of upsetting you.”

“And I never said because I thought you’d hate me, and you seemed always to be obsessed with grandchildren,” I said, tearfully.

“I could never hate you,” she responded, gently, “You are my child; I’ve always loved you and just wanted to protect you because you seemed so delicate. Deep in my heart, I think I knew that you would never be a husband and father, but social convention….”

“I love you so much, Mummy,” I said, openly crying and hugging her when she ran out of words.

“And I love you too, and nothing and no one will ever change that, just remember that.”

“I’ll hold on to that thought,” I said, and we sat in companionable silence until we both went to bed.

The next morning, we shared a leisurely breakfast and I made some sandwiches for my mother to eat on the train. I just had to ask, “What about my father?”

Mother sighed. “You know your father; he has his ideas and is, as always, one hundred per cent right. Even a team of wild horses would struggle to shift him.”

“Hmm. Have you heard from Peter?”

“No and that surprises me. Of course it’s possible that he’s telephoned your father direct but I’m sure that he would have spoken to me, even briefly. Perhaps he is just trying to digest the news.”

“Like I can believe that. Still at least I hope I have a mother and I know I have a cousin Shirley. I may not have a father and a brother but I suppose I can live with that if I have to do so - as long as they don’t try to poison anyone else against me. I was afraid that my Father would forbid you to see me.”

“He tried.”

“Really? What did you say?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Thanks Mummy; as I said, you’re the best.”

“Well I’d better be going then.”

“Don’t forget your phone.”

She took it out of her handbag and waved it in the air.

I smiled weakly.

We stood and said our goodbyes. We both cried, not only for the past but also for the uncertain future.

“Okay dear. Now we really must go.”

I dropped her off at Winchester station and, carrying her suitcase, climbed the steps with her onto the platform and gave her a quick hug and kiss. Then, with a heavy heart, I returned to the car and drove home.

She briefly called later to say that she had arrived home safely but didn’t stop to chat. I spent a quiet evening with just my thoughts as Jane was again on late shift.

Ellen’s train arrived on time and she was very surprised when Bill met her at the station and kissed her in greeting. She’d called him earlier to tell him which train she would be on and she nodded when he asked if she’d had a good journey. He was silent as he drove home and she was content with that, although she was just waiting for the questions when they did get home and he asked about her trip. He didn’t appear to notice that she’d had a makeover: she felt several years younger.

When he’d parked the car and brought in her suitcase, Bill asked, “Well, how did it go? Did you manage to persuade him to abandon this stupid game and get on with his life as a proper man?”

“You have no idea, have you?” Ellen asked, incredulously. “You think you know it all, but you live in a small black and white world bounded only by the pub, the sport on television and the scandal you read in the paper. You don’t know how real people live or how they feel. I knew that, when she was a small child, she suffered, both physically and mentally; I thought that she might be gay, but that wasn’t the issue at all. Do you realise how often and how close she was to suicide? She was a tormented soul and hated every minute of her childhood. At last she has made some supportive friends, and has found the courage to live as the person her brain, and much of her body, have been telling her that she is since she was a small child.”

“I take it then that you failed?”

“Of course I failed! I failed to persuade that child to carry on living a lie! Jenny isn’t a man. Oh, I know that she might have some male bits between her legs but everything else is female; her thoughts, her mannerisms, her caring nature, even how she relates to other people.”

He harrumphed, “I still can’t see how you can condone this behaviour — and you keep referring to him as ‘she’, I take it that you’re happy with this?”

“I’m not condoning anything and I can’t say I’m happy or sad; I’m just telling it like it is. That child lost the best part of twenty years because of a birth defect. Jenny has been around for a long time and is now an attractive young woman. Apart from what may be between her legs, she is all woman, not effeminate but feminine; there’s a world of difference.”

Ellen went into the kitchen and filled the kettle for a cup of tea. She then had to decide what to give Bill for his dinner.

She asked, “What did you do for meals while I was away?”

“As if you cared. Angela next door provided me with dinners after I told her you’d walked out on me.”

“You bastard! I didn’t walk out on you and you know it! I told you that I was visiting Jenny for a few days: you could easily have managed. There’s meat in the freezer and enough vegetables.”

“Cooking is your job.”

“Oh right!” She said, angrily, hands on hips. “It’s okay for you to be retired and sit on your arse watching television all day, but a woman never retires, does she? It’s obviously one law for you and another for everyone else. I suppose I have to cook, clean and do the laundry for you until I snuff it? What will you do then? Have meals on wheels? Well, let me tell you, Bill Smith, there are going to be some changes and they start happening NOW! I’ll be making a list of jobs for you and I’ll expect you to significantly contribute to this household, rather than sit in front of your precious television and vegetate, or escape to the pub when the going gets tough.”

Bill was about to protest but he shut his mouth again when he saw the firm set of her jaw. Truth be told, He had felt somewhat without direction since he’d retired and could now, amazingly, see his wife’s argument on the subject. He knew that he just slouched about the house but couldn’t seem to raise the energy to do anything. Ellen had been on at him for a while now to find an interest outside the home: she pointed out that he had a lot of skills going to waste and she suggested that he join with others in the pub to form a team, and offer their building and decorating services to the elderly and housebound. He thought about this and realised that she had a point.

The very next morning, he was dragged off to the supermarket to learn how to shop for food.

“It stands to reason,” Ellen stated as they were driving, “You eat at least half the food in the house. So you drive the car to the supermarket and bring back the heavy bags of groceries while I get on with something else.”

“But I don’t know what to get,” he wailed.

“Well it’s about time you learned; after all these years, you surely know what we eat by now,” she responded, acidly.

When they arrived home, she sent him to the pub for a pint. “And make sure to tell Andy, Les and David, and anyone else who might be interested, that you’re starting up ‘The Job Squad’ and you want volunteers — and you want sponsors. And don’t take “NO” for an answer. You can use your sessions at the pub to plan what you’re going to do, have a whip-round to pay for materials and fuel for the cars and you give your time free of charge; the client pays nothing.”

“You’ve thought all this out, haven’t you?”

“Yes I have. I spent a few years teaching primary school children; you lot aren’t much different, except that they were usually better behaved. It’s about time you got off your arse, stopped moping about the house, thought of those less well off than yourself and did something practical about it.”

“You can be a bit sharp when you feel like it, can’t you?” he joked.

“If the cap fits, Bill Smith…”

“Okay, okay, okay, I’ve got the message. I must say that I’ve felt a bit rudderless since I retired and, it’s true, there are a lot of useful, practical skills going to waste.”

Ellen looked up at him and smiled. He loved that smile and it was what had first attracted him.

“You’ll enjoy it once you get started,” she said, giving him a kiss and a cuddle. Both had been somewhat lacking in their lives of late and he realised then just how much he missed those little touches.

“I’ve you to thank for this push, you know.”

“Well, it was my idea,” Ellen said, sarcastically.

“Yes, but when that letter came, you just up and went. John needed you and you dropped everything and jumped on a train.”

“Well, John never really existed, except in body, and Jenny doesn’t need us. That doesn’t mean that she doesn’t love us, as hard as we’ve made it for her to do so. She just wants a family that loves her unconditionally, as all families should. Anyway, does that mean that you are now moving to accepting Jenny?”

“No,” he replied, slowly. “I still can’t help feeling that this is all wrong. You’re obviously all fired up but I think….”

“You’ve not met her,” Ellen interrupted. “That photo doesn’t do her justice. She’s quite different in the flesh. Photos are two-dimensional and don’t tell you anything about the character of the person.”

“What does Peter think?”

“I don’t know; no one’s heard from him yet; they might be on holiday; they usually go away every summer.”

He harrumphed and then went out to the pub.

“Well then, what do you think?” Jane asked late on the Saturday afternoon.

“I’d rather have more of my own but I suppose this is the next best thing.” I admitted.

“Yours will grow soon enough.”

“These feel good though.”

“They look good; I couldn’t see the join unless I looked very closely. Anyone who isn’t in the know doesn’t stand any chance at all. Celia was right, you know.”

“What?”

“You are a beautiful woman,” she said, giving me a quick kiss.

“Like I said, you are biased.”

“Like I said, true.”

“Thanks anyway, you didn’t have to do that.”

“Hey, it’s my treat and, from where I’m standing, I can’t think of anything that has given me so much for my money.”

There’s something she’s not telling me; she seems to have a lot more money than I would think a detective constable earns

“We’ll need to take them off every now and then so that I can check on how you’re growing.”

I laughed. “You are obsessed with sex.”

“I’m obsessed with you.”

“Hmmm, I can’t see why.”

“Easy, just look in a mirror. It’s not my fault that your parents produced such a beautiful daughter; I just helped to bring her out of hiding.”

I gave her a playful punch on the arm and we walked back to the Tube station to make our way home.

She’d purchased first class tickets for the train. With the breast forms and lunch, she’d paid out well over a thousand pounds today. Where had it come from?

End of part 10

Secrets

By Susan Heywood

John finds the body of a neighbour who has been murdered. The police detective assigned to the case deduces that John hides a secret - but the detective has secrets of her own.

Part 11 of 25 — Peter

The message light on the answering machine was blinking when we arrived home. I hit the PLAY button.

~ Hello, it’s Peter. Look, sorry I’ve not been in touch sooner, we’ve been on holiday in Florida and we’ve just found your letter on our return. We’re coming down tomorrow to visit Geena’s parents. I know its short notice but we need to talk. Give us a ring back as soon as possible. ~

I shivered, but keyed the number; Jane held me very tightly. “Peter, its Jenny. Thanks for calling.”

~ Hi. Well it’s come as a bit of a shock to find out that I seem to have a sister after all these years ~

“I can imagine it was a shock to you.”

~ Not that much of a shock ~

“Why?”

~ It was fairly obvious from an early age; you were a long way from being the average boy ~

“Oh.”

~ Listen, can we meet tomorrow? ~

“Are you sure? I’m Jenny fulltime now.”

~ Of course I’m sure ~

“And you still want to meet me? Aren’t you worried that I’ll embarrass you?”

~ I’ll send Geena in first to check you out ~

I heard the laughter in his voice. “Mummy seems to think I look alright.”

~ I won’t argue with Mum; I never could win ~

“I’ll have a girlfriend with me.”

We made the arrangements and said our goodbyes. I let out a sigh; now I’d know how my brother really felt about me.

Jane insisted on ordering a takeaway as I was exhausted both by the trip to London and the tension of talking to my brother. I didn’t argue.

We turned on the television to watch a film but I couldn’t concentrate so she turned it off and just found some quiet, soothing music. I was still quite tired after the previous week so she gently led me to bed, where she just held me until sleep eventually overcame the cares churning in my mind.

I couldn’t settle to anything on the Sunday morning. Jane offered to make me some breakfast but I wasn’t very hungry and couldn’t face more than a slice of toast and a cup of tea. I tried to read the newspaper but the words kept getting jumbled up. Jane was, unusually, very quiet, knowing that I was going through agonies at the prospect of meeting my brother.

“I don’t want to cause a scene so if he doesn’t like what he sees, he can just leave, can’t he?” I asked for what must have seemed like the tenth time.

She eventually ran out of patience. “Look, try to answer me two questions. Firstly, how on earth is he going to recognise you?”

“Oh, have I changed that much?” I asked, timidly.

“How long since you’ve seen him?”

“A couple of years.”

“I doubt that your own mother recognised you at first, did she? And you’d seen her the previous month.”

“She was uncertain.”

“Secondly, if he doesn’t like what he sees, what then? To be blunt, that’s just another one off your Christmas card list. It’s not the end of the world.”

“I’m rapidly running out of family and I don’t really want to lose any more. It’s bad enough that I’ve lost my father.”

“Listen to me! If Peter doesn’t like it, that’s his decision, not yours; his fault, not yours; his bigotry, not yours.”

“Oh, maybe you’re right,” I conceded.

“You know very well that I’m right. You haven’t gone through all this, just to wimp out over the possibility of losing contact with a brother that you don’t see from one year’s end to the next.”

I agonised over what to wear; dress, skirt or trousers; heels or flats; which jacket. I must have gone through my clothes half a dozen times. Eventually Jane went to the wardrobe and took out a green floral sundress, a linen jacket and a pair of pale cream sandals.

“Put them on and don’t argue.”

I meekly obeyed and she sighed with relief.

The Harvester was a typical ‘food and drink’ pub, the like of which can be found the length and breadth of England; they were usually operated by the major breweries.

Once in the pub, we sat and ordered long fruit juices.

Just after midday Peter and Geena walked in and scanned the bar.

You’d have no trouble picking out Peter Smith in a crowd. He was the epitome of the hero of a romantic novel; tall, dark and very handsome and you could imagine, if my father had been as good-looking as Peter was, that my mother stood no chance of getting away, and probably wouldn’t have wanted to do so anyway. Peter’s sporting heritage was obvious as his face bore the marks of at least one encounter on the rugby fields of England.

The whole image, though, was softened by his ready smile, which was used to devastating effect in his business. One immediately felt that here was a man that you could trust. Not for the first time in my life was I thankful that Peter had been the one to take after my father, while I inherited my mother’s smaller build and softer features.

Geena Smith appeared to be the ideal foil to her husband. Petite and slim, with blond hair tumbling in waves past her shoulders, she clearly adored her gentle giant. Peter’s thick, hairy arm was draped around her slender shoulders and Geena’s right arm, looking as though it was designed that way, fitted neatly around his waist.

Although both were casually dressed in open-necked shirts, jeans and boots; they just oozed ‘style on legs’ and turned more than a few heads as they made their way into the bar. They’d just about given up, assuming that they were first there, when I stood, waved and softly called, “Peter, Geena, over here.” They glanced over and their jaws noticeably dropped.

“Wow,” Peter said when they had ordered soft drinks and we’d found a table, “you certainly surprised me, I thought I’d spot you straight away; I thought you’d look…”

“Different?” I offered quietly, now noticeably more relaxed. I pushed my hair over my ears, exposing the gold hoop earrings that I was wearing.

“Well…yes, but you look really good,” Peter said, looking rather relieved.

“Yes, she certainly does,” Jane put in.

“Sorry, where are my manners?” I said, “Peter, Geena, this is Jane Dyson, who has changed my life. Jane, my brother Peter Smith and his wife, Geena Smith.”

They all smiled “Hello” and shook hands.

We ordered our meals and chatted about me. I then listened as Peter and Geena recounted the highlights of their recent holiday. They were both looking tanned and well and had clearly enjoyed the break.

When the subject eventually returned to me, Geena asked, “What’s happening with work?”

“I’m due to return to work on Thursday,” I answered. “I suppose it will all hit the fan then.”

“Well,” Geena laughed, “The men in your office will probably be impressed when you turn up, and disappointed when they find out that you’re already spoken for.”

“And that I’m not interested anyway,” I said, smiling at Jane.

“What?” asked Peter, frowning.

“Later,” whispered Geena, nudging him in the ribs with her elbow.

“Where are Ros and Geoff?” I asked about my niece and nephew.

“With their Nan and Grandpa.”

“That was a good idea.”

“As I said”, Peter continued, “this didn’t come entirely as a surprise. I knew when we were children that you were different. What do our parents think?”

“Mummy visited me last week for a few days; things started off a bit cool between us but, after the first day, we had a great time. Father won’t speak to me; he calls me a pervert and a gay male. A pervert, according to my dictionary, is someone who indulges in unnatural sexual acts. As I’ve never had a sexual relationship I can’t see how I can possibly be a pervert. And I’ve tried to tell him numerous times over the years that I’m not interested in a relationship with a man but, as usual, he knows he’s right and no amount of argument or evidence will budge him. He also thinks that I should be interested in sport, drinking in pubs and girls. I am interested in girls, well, one in particular,” I glanced lovingly at Jane, “and I seem to have developed an interest in one particular two-person activity, although I don’t think it’ll be an Olympic sport anytime soon.”

Geena sniggered as she understood the reference to ‘tonsil hockey’.

“I’m still definitely not interested in going out with the lads, I never have been,” I told them.

“Yes,” Peter added, “Dad has some old-fashioned ideas.”

“Old-fashioned? He’s virtually prehistoric!” I spluttered and then laughed. At Peter’s prompting I related the happenings of the past week.

He said, “Well, I can’t see a problem with Mum, but Dad is a horse of a different flavour.”

We all laughed at his deliberately mixed metaphor.

He continued. “I’ll have a word with him but I don’t hold out much hope — he always had his own ideas and was impossible to budge. That’s one of the reasons I joined the RAF. I didn’t want to join the Navy anyway and that, taken with him telling me ‘how things should be done’, meant that I’d always be living in his shadow.”

“But you were always the blue-eyed boy wonder, the sporting hero, and when you married Geena, and Ros and Geoff came along, he must have thought that most of his dreams had come true.”

“He was a right royal pain in the backside,” Peter responded. “Geena took an instant dislike to him when she first met him and almost dumped me; I’m really glad that she didn’t, though.”

Geena smiled encouragingly at him and he gave her shoulder a squeeze.

He continued. “Anyway, Dad was never satisfied. When I made the rugby team, he wanted to know when I’d be captain and, if not, why not. At our wedding reception, it was “When are you going to start a family then?” I tell you, you don’t need that on your wedding day.”

After a few moments thought, I said, “It always seemed that life for you was a bed of roses, it shows how wrong I was. I’m so sorry, Peter, I was so jealous of you. And when you were pregnant, and gave birth to the twins, I was jealous of you, Geena.”

“Me?” she gasped; then, having thought about it, she chuckled. “Yes, I suppose I can understand that now.”

Peter took a long pull of his drink, and then said, “Well, anyway, I’m glad that my sister has finally got her act together. At one time I was afraid I was going to be an only child for most of my life.”

“What?” Geena gasped again.

“It’s true,” I said, candidly, “I was close to suicide a number of times. Fortunately, I never could pluck up the courage to do anything about it, and now I’ve met Jane, I’m well over that.”

“Thank goodness for that,” Jane said, as her arm again tightened around me.

“I’m not sure about getting used to having a kid sister but no doubt I’ll survive,” Peter joked, and then looked pointedly at me. “But it’s all dependent upon you taking auntie duties seriously. Any slacking and I’ll really start playing the big brother.”

“Ooh, Err,” I said, adopting a scared look, but laughing, “I’ll be good, I promise.”

“We’ll make sure of it. Anyway, I suppose we’d better go and rescue Ros and Geoff from their doting grandparents who, no doubt, are worn out by now. I know that the twins are not yet five years of age but they do seem to have amazing reserves of energy.”

Geena put in, “They’re at that age where they go at life full tilt and life just sits there, scratches its head, and wonders where the tornado came from.”

We all laughed.

“Anyway,” Peter said, “It’s been great meeting you both and I really do mean that.”

“Absolutely,” enthused Geena, “You’ll have to come up to Leamington and we can indulge in some retail therapy.”

Peter just rolled his eyes and gave his wife a withering look, which she ignored.

We finished our drinks and snacks in amiable conversation, then we all hugged and kissed goodbye.

They waved off my thanks as they headed for their car.

Jane held my hand as we made our way back to the Lexus. She said, “Well, you now have a mother, a brother and a cousin Shirley. Maybe your father will come around in time.”

“I’m not going to hold my breath on that one.”

The mood on the return journey was certainly lighter than that which had prevailed earlier that day. I felt like celebrating, found a CD with Handel’s ‘Arrival of the Queen of Sheba and Other Hits’ and popped it into the player.

“Well, there’s a surprise,” Jane said, smiling.

“It’s my favourite celebration music.”

“I know.”

When we arrived home, she said that we should remove and clean the breast forms. One thing led to another and we spent the rest of the day, and much of the evening, in empirical research. Naturally this required us both to be more or less naked.

When we were both satiated, she smiled at me and said,

“To her girl, said a sharp-eyed detective,
“Could it be that my sight is defective?
It appears that your east tit has the best of your west tit, or is it a trick of perspective?””

I giggled and kissed her again.

Tuesday evening saw Bill and Ellen sharing a meal in front of the television. They were watching a programme about the start of the industrial revolution and Bill actually found it quite interesting. It wasn’t exactly Ellen’s cup of tea but she was glad that she’d managed to wean him off sport for a while. Their programme was interrupted by the telephone, which Ellen answered. She visibly brightened when she heard Peter’s voice and went into the kitchen to take the call.

“Hello, Peter, how are you? How are the family?”

~ Fine thanks; we’ve just been to Florida. It was lovely and warm and Geena is delighted with her tan. The twins had great fun, and look equally healthy. And we met Jenny and her girlfriend on Sunday ~

Ellen, slightly shocked, sat down on one of the kitchen chairs. “How? Where?”

~ There was a letter waiting for us on our return. We met Jenny and Jane when we visited Geena’s parents on Sunday ~

“So what do you think?”

~ Jenny’s an absolute delight; there’s little trace of John at all; even the voice seems to fit. I understand that you both met up last week? ~

“Yes, that’s right. I received the letter the week before. I showed it to your father; we had words and I went down to stay for a few days.”

~ Gosh, Mum, that was brave of you. Didn’t you worry that…well, you know…. ~

“Jenny is my daughter and she needed support. I knew that she’d had problems all her life; I’d ignored them for years, but I wasn’t going to turn her away again. Anyway, after just a day with her, I realised how wrong I’d been about some things. I can’t explain it but your sister does that to you.”

~ Yes, I know what you mean. I had wondered if I was going to be an only child for most of my life but she now seems well over the suicidal stage. And Jane seems good for her; they obviously think the world of each other. Imagine: I’ve a sister and she’s a lesbian! ~

“Best not to tell your father about her sexuality, he hasn’t even come to terms with his daughter yet.”

~ The old bigot; I thought he might try and impose his narrow views on everyone else. Did he try to forbid you to see her? ~

“He tried, and wasn’t at all happy when I just headed off to the South of England. Anyway, I have a plan. If it works, he might have less reason to resist the idea of Jenny.”

~ Good for you, Mum, what is it? ~

“I’m not saying yet; let’s see how I get on when I’ve done some more research.”

~ Okay, please keep me informed ~

“Oh, I will. Now, do you want a word with your father?”

~ Alright then, I suppose I’d better ~

“Don’t sound so enthusiastic,” Ellen laughed, and then took the phone through to her husband. “Peter,” she said, hovering in the background.

Bill took the phone from her and said, brightly, “Hello lad, how are you all? Oh, just a minute, I’ll turn the telly down a bit.”

Well, that’s a first Peter just resisted the temptation to comment out loud but, instead, said,

~ We’re all fine. I thought I’d just catch up with you as we’ve been on holiday in Florida~

The usual chat ensued; Bill asked about Peter’s work; Peter asked what his father was doing and was surprised and delighted to learn about the Job Squad initiative. Apparently, his mates at the pub thought it was a very good idea. The landlord of the pub promised to get involved with advertising it and supporting it with stunts, collecting tins, sponsored darts nights, a sponsored snooker championship and so on. By the time several pints had been consumed by all parties, plans were well under way. The local aged peoples’ support group and the local Volunteer Council were in favour and, within a day or so, it had really taken off.

~ That sounds a great idea, Dad, who thought that one up? ~

“Your mother, of course!”

Peter laughed. He knew that his next remark was going to be controversial but decided that he needed to say it anyway.

~ Have you met your daughter yet? ~

“No I haven’t, and I don’t want to; I don’t think we should encourage this sort of behaviour, it’s not natural. I’m disgusted that John’s decided to be queer.”

~ I presume by queer, you mean a homosexual male. There’s nothing queer about Jenny; she’s not, and never has been, a homosexual male. She didn’t ‘decide’ to be like she is; that’s the way she was born. She’s a lovely girl; you’ve not met her, I have. ~

“When?” Bill asked, taken aback.

~ On Sunday ~

“How did that happen?”

~ We went down to see Geena’s parents, left the twins with them and met the girls in a pub ~

“The girls?”

~ Jenny and Jane, the friend who helped her through all this. Jenny is wonderful, even though I do say so myself. There’s nothing of John about her, except maybe the voice and even that sounds right, if you know what I mean. In fact, I’d go as far as to say that she’s very attractive: it’s not just because she’s my sister, there’s more to it than that. She just looks so right and so comfortable, like she’s always been there. I don’t know how she managed for as long as she did; no wonder she was bullied at school ~

“Hmm, I’m not sure about this; as I said, it’s not natural.”

~ Look Dad, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if there isn’t some medical reason for this; blokes just don’t look that pretty if there isn’t, and I knew when she was little that she wasn’t boyish. You’re not that thick; you must have seen it too. You should really meet her, I’m sure you’d have to rethink your ideas. It’s surely better for her to live a fulfilled life as a good-looking woman, than to struggle through as a lonely, effeminate man. John had no friends, no possibility of making a relationship and every chance that some thug would eventually decide that he was ideal meat for killing ~

“That’s a bit strong, lad. Well, I reckon he’s a poof and just needs to pull his socks up, get some decent exercise and make the best of it; other people have to.”

~ I think she is making the best of it. John was never a man and, as I’ve said, even when she was acting as a man, she was never interested in other men, and she’s told me that she isn’t interested in men now. I think she’s done the right thing. Better that than suicide ~

“Suicide?”

~ Yes, John would have killed himself eventually; he had nothing to live for. Didn’t you know, Dad? Or were you just not interested? ~

That caught Bill on the hop for a moment. “Okay, I’ll think about it,” he promised as they said their goodbyes.

Ellen quietly put down the extension in the bedroom and said to herself, “Good for you, son, you certainly told him.” She thought even more that her little plan might work as Peter had planted the seed of an idea in Bill’s mind. She then went to the bathroom and later re-joined her husband.

“It seems that Peter has accepted John’s behaviour,” Bill commented, dryly.

“Well, at least he’s working from a position of knowledge.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well,” she replied, acidly, “You knew what she went through all her life, yet you’ve made a snap judgement without even talking to her, let alone meeting her face to face. When John came home from school, having been beaten senseless and even injured, all you had to say was “fight back” and “stand up for yourself.” It’s alright for you; I bet a big man like you never got picked on like he did.” Ellen was clearly angry.

“Well, if he’d fought back, he might have saved himself some of the beatings,” was all Bill could say.

“He wasn’t built for that, as you well know; he only had one eye and the bullies outweighed and outnumbered him. All he wanted to do was study but was he allowed to get on with it in peace? Not on your life! You were no help and neither were the teachers: half the time, it seemed that they might even have encouraged the bullying.”

“Oh, don’t talk rot!” Bill replied, exasperated.

“So why do you think he left school as soon as he could, and left home? Because he never got any support, either at home or at school, that’s why. I admit that I didn’t help him either, but you were his father; it was your duty to protect him and you failed. Remember the time when he was knocked out and left with broken ribs? It was a couple of months before he was fit enough to go back to school. And what did you do? Nothing. You just told him to stand up for himself. You didn’t even talk to Simon Bennick’s parents. I rang the school and told them that he was injured, and how, and they just couldn’t care less. “When will he be back?” and “It didn’t happen on school premises so it’s not our problem.” Oh, and “John’s always asking for trouble. He should stop getting into fights and concentrate on his work.” You’d think that they were talking about a different child half the time. I ask you, what kind of a life did the poor kid have?”

“I never knew that he suffered so much,” Bill said, with a hint of guilt.

“You knew alright but you chose to ignore it. Just because you boxed for the Navy, you think that everyone else should do so. Well I’ve got news for you, Bill Smith: Jenny is a pretty, caring, considerate, helpful woman; a brilliant cook, a wonderful daughter and a terrific friend, and I’m really amazed that she seems to have come out of her childhood relatively unscathed. If her character could be bottled, we could make our fortune. But she is very special and I for one love her to bits.”

With that Ellen walked briskly out into the kitchen and slammed the door behind her.

Bill had never heard his wife take that tone before; it was a quieter man who went into the kitchen for their night-time drinks and, sitting opposite Ellen at the little table, took her hand in his.

“Look, love,” he said, resignedly, “I’ve travelled the world and seen some of the worst excesses that man can do to man. I’m not going to be around for ever and the boys need to be able to look after themselves. It’s easy in the navy; someone tells you to do something and you do it; you don’t have to think about it. It’s all black and white; grey complicates things and you don’t need that when you’re fighting a war. The faggots on my ships inevitably drifted into jobs as stewards and cooks. They were ignored and ridiculed at best and beaten up at worst. I despaired of John ending up like that and now he has. God knows what he’ll make of himself now, I reckon I’ve done my best but he just doesn’t want to know.”

Ellen was getting very tired of Bill’s generalisations. “You really haven’t a clue, have you?” she said, with some force. “Life isn’t black and white and neither is humanity, there are all shades in between. Look, John was born with bad eyesight; you accepted that as a birth defect. He could just as easily have been born deaf or mentally ill. Or perhaps you’d rather he’d been born dead; that way you could boast that you almost had another son. The point is that he wasn’t what you would call, in your black and white world, normal. He was also born with something else; it wasn’t a lifestyle choice, as you seem to think. I can’t imagine anyone choosing to be that different. God knows that I was aware of a problem from early childhood.”

“Well,” Bill admitted, “That’s a bit far-fetched. I can’t imagine a child deciding to be queer at that early an age.”

“WHEN WILL YOU STOP CALLING HIM QUEER?” She shouted and then softened her voice a little. “He wasn’t homosexual, he was just different, not like other children,” Ellen said, still rather exasperated. “He never had any kind of relationship; girls just didn’t want to know him and boys either ignored him or beat him up.”

“I just wanted him to be able to look after himself,” Bill explained, weakly. Ellen threw up her hands in disgust, at which point Bill said, “I’m still sure that I know my own son better than that and my instinct tells me that what he’s doing is not only abnormal but likely to get him into serious trouble when it gets out. I wouldn’t be surprised if he gets beaten up or even killed. It’ll be worse than anything he experienced at school.”

“You never knew your son. And I suppose being killed by bigots beats taking your own life when you’ve been beaten senseless, and the school and your father won’t protect you,” Ellen responded, exasperated. “Well, I for one am amazed that Jenny’s still alive.”

“It can’t be normal, even the Bible says so,” Bill tried to justify his opinion.

“The Bible?” Ellen’s disgust was plain. “When did you last read a Bible? Show me where it says anything about someone like Jenny! Who do you think decided to lumber John with bad eyesight and a dodgy body? I suppose you think that God had a bad day and dumped on us!” Ellen was fast running out of patience.

“Hmm, well, I don’t like the way you keep trying to defend him.”

“Defend him? What do you know about defending him? I’ve had enough of this,” she said, finally having lost patience with him, “I’m going to bed.” She left Bill to his musing and, no doubt, his sport.

It was a very quiet man who eventually climbed the stairs. Ellen appeared to be asleep and he thought that he might be in serious trouble if he said anything. He knew the rules. A woman always has the last word in an argument; anything her husband says afterwards is the start of a new argument. So he just settled down to sleep.

End of part 11

Secrets

By Susan Heywood

John finds the body of a neighbour who has been murdered. The police detective assigned to the case deduces that John hides a secret - but the detective has secrets of her own.

Part 12 of 25 — New Beginnings

July 2004

Thursday the first of July saw me rising very early so that I could ensure that my appearance was as perfect as I could make it. A quick run over my legs with the epilator and a fragrant bath set me up for a thorough moisturise and one of my favourite underwear sets, in powder blue. I then dressed in a cornflower blue floral top, my cream linen-look skirt and cream sandals. I checked for stray eyebrow hairs, tweezed a few stragglers as best I could, and put on my makeup. My jewellery consisted of my sapphire pendant, diamond ear-studs and my ring. I brushed my hair until it shone and then opted for a spritz of Estée Lauder.

After some cereal and a cup of tea, I decided that I would prefer to arrive at the office sooner rather than later, so I put on my jacket, picked up my bag and set off to walk to work.

I had a touch of nerves as I walked into the building but I braced myself, collected my new photo-ID, clipped it to the waistband of my skirt and walked to the lift. I emerged onto my floor and hesitated a moment before going further. I found Celia already at her desk.

On seeing me, she leapt to her feet and ran over to me. “Oh, Wow! Don’t you look terrific!” she enthused, whilst wrapping me in a hug, then held me at arm’s length and stood back to examine me. “This is so wonderful; I’ve been looking forward to today for the past month. What a gorgeous outfit and you’ve had your hair done. And I just love the new spectacles: you didn’t go for contact lenses, then?” Eventually she stopped, as she’d run out of breath.

I shook my head. “They don’t make contact lenses to my prescription, so I’m stuck with these.”

“Well I think they look great, just like Joanna Harrison who reads the news on telly, I’m sure that sales of women’s specs must have rocketed since she’s been on.“

“That’s what Jane told me,” I said. “I’m a bag of nerves; what will everyone say?”

“The announcement went out last week and we had a steady flow of questions. Maddy just said, “What took her so long?” A few of the men reckon you’re mad to give up all the ‘benefits of manhood’ — yeah, right! We all know we’re the superior sex, don’t we?” She laughed. “Sarah wanted to know which toilet you would use. Some, both men and women, wanted to know if you had a boyfriend already; I told them to mind their own business. Freddie from IT Security asked if I could get him a date with you. Yeah, really!

“Greg has been great, with only favourable comments. I reckon you’ll have to run the gauntlet today and then it should quickly tail off as people see that you’re quite normal; you know, don’t have two heads and don’t eat children; that sort of thing.”

I laughed. “Thank you both,” I said, sincerely, as we walked to my desk. “I can’t get over how easy this seems to have been so far: I worry that something will rear up and bite me to bring me down off cloud nine.”

“Don’t you worry, love, Jill and I will look after you.”

Just then Greg emerged from the lift and did a double take.

“Jenny?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“The very same,” I answered, smiling.

“Wow! You look hot, as they say.”

I bobbed him a little curtsey. “Well, thank you kind sir, I do my best.”

He laughed. “Your photo doesn’t do you justice. Anyway, welcome aboard. Oh, Celia tells me that you have a girlfriend.”

“Yes, kind of spoils the image a bit, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, don’t worry about it; at least you won’t be competing for the attentions of the men. When they get over their disappointment… not that I’m interested, of course; Andy would give me hell!” He chuckled as he walked into his office. On the way in, he called over his shoulder, “Oh, Jenny, would you come in for a minute, please?”

I hung my jacket in the cupboard near the lift, put my bag into my desk drawer and then walked into his office, closing the door behind me.

“Jenny, I expect that Celia has already filled you in a little on events last week. There were no major problems; Sue Fuller was running the show, so no one put a foot wrong. I’ll leave a message for her that you’re in, as I’m sure that she’ll want to see you. Meanwhile, as usual, no one covered for you while you were away last week so there’s quite a lot of work in your Inbox. Normal rules apply: you earn your leave before you take it and then pay for it again when you return. I’m sure that you just want to get stuck in as soon as possible and get on with the job.”

I laughed at his comment about the rules of annual leave and stood up. “Thanks, Greg, I’ll wait for a call from Mrs Fuller; meanwhile I’ll just carry on.”

“See you later,” he said, grinning.

“Thanks for all your help, I really appreciate it,” I said as I turned to go.

“And you really have made it easy for us by looking so good. Your appearance just shouts ‘professional woman’ and only does you credit. Mind you, I’d have expected nothing less, knowing you.”

I left the office and walked slowly back to my desk.

Celia came over to me and whispered, “Is Greg gay?

“I don’t suppose he’d deny it if asked a direct question.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Neither did I until recently, when I found out. It doesn’t matter to me anyway; I’m not interested. Greg’s not my type.”

“And your type is?”

“You know very well who she is!” I smiled and walked to my desk.

All morning, people either came up to speak to me or glanced over to where I was sitting. I often felt eyes upon me even when I had my head down, concentrating on a complex task. Jill and Maddy paid me a visit and made enthusiastic comments about my appearance and courage. I again thanked Jill for all her help during the previous week and at other times. She just welcomed me back to the office and insisted that I join Celia and her for lunch. I gratefully accepted.

“I don’t know how you managed to bottle it up for so long, it must have been hell,” Maddy said, perceptively.

“Yes, it was. Now all I have to do is calm down a bit, get on with my work and prove that I am at least as good as I was before, if not better.”

They laughed and returned to their desks. They all knew that a woman usually had to be much better at her job to be in the same grade as a man. And as for promotion…

It was very strange to begin with: everything felt so new and awkward but I soon settled down and settled into a routine. Indeed, without the distraction of the gender problem, I became so immersed in my work that the end of the afternoon came much earlier than I was anticipating. And the amount of work that I had achieved was truly amazing, making serious inroads into the backlog caused by my absence. I’d received a call from Sue Fuller just after lunch, so I made my way to the seventh floor.

“Hello, Jenny. “Melanie greeted me. “My, but you look good. Congratulations on being brave enough to go ahead with this move.”

“Brave? Maybe. Desperate? Yes indeed.”

I received the same greeting from Sue Fuller who just smiled, and patted the chair next to her. I sat, crossed my legs, and smiled right back.

“Greg rang me this morning to tell me that you’d arrived. And I was right; I said the week before last that you’d walk in here like you’ve been doing it all your life. You look so comfortable and natural sitting there.”

“Well, I suppose that today does constitute all my working life anyway.”

She smiled and gave me copies of the new Transgender Policy and Sexuality Policy to review. “A copy of the Sexuality Policy has already been vetted by the Government’s Women and Equality Unit. I’ll send both documents to the main Transgender campaigning groups for their comments. Yes, I’ve done my homework so I know who they are.”

“I’m very impressed.”

“Well, getting it right is a lot less trouble and causes us fewer problems than getting it wrong; the latter just isn’t worth it. And I’m not telling you who has already tested the Sexuality Policy.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to do so; I would be deeply offended if my situation were discussed with anyone else. Although I do know one other person who is gay; I only found that out recently because he told me.”

“Well, when we say ‘private and confidential’, that’s just what we mean. As I’ve said before, the firm is very strict about such things and my job and my future would both be in jeopardy if there was a hint of information going astray. By the way, did you have any trouble with security this morning?”

“No: I showed Jimmy the letter which you sent me; he took a new photo and gave me a new pass. He didn’t say a word.”

“I wouldn’t expect him to say anything: Jimmy has been here a long time and there’s very little that he hasn’t seen or that escapes his notice. He has never been known to divulge a confidence, though.”

Back at my desk, I surveyed the contents of my Inbox and Outbox and felt that, for the first time in simply ages, I really was earning my salary. Clearly, there were issues to be addressed: inevitably someone might take exception to my change; I fully expected at some time to be the butt of some cruel joke or other and there was, of course, my father to deal with.

Still, all that could wait until tomorrow. For today, I was on a definite high and I felt that nobody could knock me off it.

It’s as well I’m not clairvoyant.

“How did it go?” Jane asked when she telephoned later that evening. She was unable to visit as she was away on a course.

“Very well,” I answered, “To be truthful, I can’t get over how great it was, at least for the first day back.”

“I think you’re just being a bit pessimistic, I told you they’d love you.”

“Well, I think I’d like to see how things are after a few weeks before I feel completely relaxed.”

“And what will you do if things start to turn nasty?”

“I…I don’t know. Maybe it won’t come to that.”

“I’ll see you on Friday evening. I’m away just now but that’s the job. If you have any problems, though, you ring my mobile phone straight away, do you hear?

“Yes Miss,” I replied.

“No, I mean it. I’ll not have my girl given a hard time. I’ll ring when I can. Love you lots.”

“Okay, love you more, bye.” I hung up the phone and sat down for a moment before going to cook my dinner. I contemplated all that had happened that day and felt that I at least had the support of the other girls in the office, Greg and Mrs Fuller and, of course, my darling Jane. That was something.

3rd July was the start of the Tour de France; many would call it the highlight of the world cycle racing calendar. I knew of Jane’s interest in the race and made sure that I had plenty of videotapes available for the days, over the next few weeks, that Jane would be unable to watch. While I’d previously had no interest in sport, I decided to watch the race so that Jane and I had something else to talk about when we met.

As the beautiful French countryside unfolded before the cameras, and the excitement of the race increased, I became inexplicably drawn to the sport and could see its appeal. When Jane was able to be with me, I really settled into the hostess role, planning the drinks and snacks so as not to miss the action on the television. The race calendar, unfortunately, coincided with a period of intense activity for Jane and she was grateful for the opportunity to catch up on the daily highlights that I had recorded.

I felt that I’d been doing this all my life instead of just a few short weeks. Work seemed to be so much easier and many people greeted me as though they had been doing it for years. My bond with the other girls grew from strength to strength: coffees; lunches; chats; sharing makeup and clothing tips; little shopping trips; I continued to be amazed at the seemingly total acceptance by everyone. My relationship with my colleagues, including Greg, just seemed more natural and much less strained than before. As I became more and more at ease, my work output increased.

Towards the end of the third week, Greg called me into his office and reminded me of a big expenditure analysis that took me two very long days. The Finance Director thanked us for our work on an urgent project. I was a little embarrassed as I was singled out for special mention.

“Well, that’s a brownie point for us both at the next performance appraisal; you for doing the work and me for being clever enough to employ you in the first place.” He punched the air as though he’d just won the Olympics, and shouted “Yeah!”

“Thanks, Greg, I feel so much more relaxed these days and, apart from the remaining procedures which I have to go through, I feel great.”

“Well, keep that up and you should receive a decent bonus next year.”

“Thanks again, I really appreciate that. When I think that I was very worried that I wouldn’t even have a job after all this,” I waved my hand to indicate what I was wearing, “And now I seem to be floating on air, I sometimes can’t quite believe it.”

“Believe it, girl, you’re doing fine.”

Greg had always been a good manager, and a fair one. I walked out with my head held high.

I was looking forward to the weekend. Jane had been away on a course and I missed her terribly. Although we kept in touch by telephone, it just wasn’t the same. And so, when the Friday evening came around, I was really excited.

I had warned Jane not to eat much at lunchtime as I was cooking dinner. I decided on roast beef with all the trimmings; Yorkshire pudding, roast and boiled potatoes, carrots and several green vegetables. Having put the beef in to cook and prepared the vegetables, I went to bathe and change.

I poured in a generous measure of bath oil and checked for any hairs that didn’t belong. Afterwards, I patted myself dry, creamed and powdered my body and washed and dried my auburn hair, brushing it until it shone. It seemed to be getting longer by the week, although it was wishful thinking; hair just doesn’t grow that quickly. But David really had done a wonderful job and it would grow out nicely into a very attractive style that framed my face; it had a natural wave that seemed to give it some extra body.

I applied my makeup and then looked through my wardrobe for something to wear. “Tonight might be a good opportunity to debut my Little Black Dress,” I mused, taking it from the hanger.

Finally, in the kitchen, I put on my apron and started to prepare the Yorkshire pudding and vegetables. The Yorkshire pudding needed a hotter oven than the beef and I was again glad that I’d paid the extra money that my double-oven cooker had cost.

Jane arrived to find the dinner well under way. She greeted me with her usual kiss and a cuddle and held me at arm’s length for a few seconds.

“Yes, that dress is so definitely you,” then, “I’m just going for a shower and change into something less work-like.” She disappeared into the second bedroom, where she had taken to keeping some of her off-duty clothes and accessories. She emerged later, obviously on a mission. I heard her muttering something about making up for lost time as she headed in my direction. She grabbed me around the waist and started nibbling my ear.

“You are insatiable,” I laughed and, turning around, flung my arms around her neck. She was wearing a red dress that covered very little of her body and showed off her wonderful long legs. With her gold jewellery and red medium-heeled sandals, she looked scrumptious.

She stopped her nuzzling only long enough to ask, “Are you complaining?”

As if I would

“Of course I’m not complaining, I’m merely stating a fact.”

We stood as closely as two people could co-exist in the same space and only reluctantly parted when the potatoes began to show signs of boiling over.

“Bugger,” she said, letting go of my waist.

“No thanks,” I replied as I attended to the cooker. She slapped me on the backside and I giggled as I dealt with the offending saucepan. I turned back to Jane, resuming my hold on her neck.

“I’ve missed you so much,” I admitted.

“So have I,” Jane asserted, “missed you, that is. I confess to having had acute withdrawal symptoms over the past few weeks.”

She took the opportunity to open the bottle of red wine that she had brought and, having set the table and put out wine glasses, put the bottle on the table so that it could breathe.

“I’ve something to tell you after dinner,” she said, seriously.

I gave her a little half-smile; the way that she said it worried me.

Dinner was very pleasant and Jane remarked that it was great to be back to home cooking after a couple of weeks away. “The food on the course was quite passable; I’d pass it to Ruth, who’d pass it to Colin, who’d scrape it into a bin. We survived mainly on sandwiches. On the last evening, we all sent out for a Chinese takeaway.”

We spent a pleasant hour or so catching up on the events of the past two weeks and, by then I could hold my curiosity no longer.

“Okay then, what’s your news?”

“Meet Detective Sergeant Jane Dyson.”

I don’t think I’d ever moved so fast. I let out a delighted squeal and was around the table like a squirrel, showering Jane with kisses. “Oh how wonderful! Was this what the course was about? Why didn’t you let me know what was going on?”

“I might not have had quite that reaction if I did,” she joked, not really believing it for a minute. “Anyway, I had to pass an exam at the end of the course.”

“Wow! Do you stay in the area or what?”

“Well, I really have to move as there isn’t a vacancy here.”

My face fell and my stomach suddenly felt hollow. I asked timidly, “H…How far away will you have to go?”

“Oh, about ten miles, I should think.”

I breathed a sigh of relief, mixed with exasperation, mixed with something I couldn’t put a name to. “Jane Dyson, I’m sure that you get some devious pleasure from winding me up. I give you fair warning; when we’ve washed up the dinner things, I’m going to exact my revenge.”

“Oh, I can hardly wait. Why don’t you invest in a dishwasher?”

“Firstly, because I’ve not needed one before; there’s only been me to cater for, as you well know. And, secondly, where am I to put it in that kitchen?”

“I wasn’t thinking of that kitchen.”

“You are a sneaky bitch; what are you up to now?”

“Oh, just some forward planning.”

“Hmm, I’m not sure I want to know.”

“Oh, believe me; you do really want to know.”

“Go on then, oh great and mighty detective, what’s on that tricky mind of yours this time?” then I hastily added, “Other than taking off all our clothes.”

“Well, that’s always my opening gambit. I thought that, maybe, we might get something with a patio or balcony. I rather fancy the idea of sitting, watching the sunset and guzzling a Pina Colada brought to me by my favourite accountant.”

That definitely earned her a tickling match, which she easily won by superior knowledge of ways of rendering me completely helpless. Once all the dinner things had been cleared away, the washing up done, and we were snuggled up together, I said, conspiratorially, “I had a telephone call at work today.”

“From?”

“The Gender Clinic.”

“WHAT? Why didn’t you say earlier?”

“Well, we did get rather side-tracked.”

“I’d have thought it more important than my promotion.”

“Oh, I don’t know so much; it is quite an honour being the girlfriend of a female Poirot (Agatha Christie’s fictional Belgian detective). Anyway, it’s been two months since we saw Judy Davenport and I’d about given up hope of an early appointment. Then the clinic rang today to offer me a cancellation and could I go next Thursday? Naturally, I turned that down as it was such short notice.”

“Why don’t I believe you?” Jane enquired, turning on me with hands ready for tickling or fondling, she hadn’t decided which.

“Hmm, I’d never make a good criminal, you’d see through me straight away.”

“That’s one of your most endearing charms,” she said, deliberately misquoting an Irish folk song.

That started another round of giggling, which rapidly turned into a ‘making up for lost time’ episode, which inevitably led us to the bedroom ….

Much later, Jane said, “I’ll take a day’s leave; what time is your appointment?”

“There’s really no need and, anyway, from what I’ve read, it pays to be seen as heterosexual. I won’t mention my sexuality. I will just say that, as a male, I was asexual.”

“I still don’t see that another woman couldn’t accompany you; at least they’d see that you are able to relate to another woman as a friend — and yes, I promise to keep my hands to myself for as long as necessary.”

I sighed. “I give in. The appointment is at eleven o’clock.”

“Good, that gives us plenty of time to get there by train and tube; and I think that somewhere nice for lunch is called for.”

Saturday and Sunday were spent in totally unproductive idleness.

This was the final weekend of the Tour de France. Saturday morning found us shopping in Southampton. The most money we spent was in a coffee shop, but we had a wonderful time trying on various items of clothing, some more erotic than others.

Later, back home in front of the television, I silently (or maybe not) sat contemplating my newly found interest in cycle sport or, at least, one aspect of it. I felt such contentment as I cuddled into my beloved and watched all the action on the screen in front of us.

Sunday was the final day of the Tour de France and we were looking forward to the televised coverage. I had set the video recorder to capture the whole day’s action so that we could review it at leisure, and we were glued to the screen for virtually the whole day. I had planned a chicken casserole which we could eat whenever we felt like it, which I thought might well coincide with a suitable gap in the programming. We didn’t move much from the settee as the tension mounted. There was much shouting and cheering in the room when the winner was announced, and I certainly shed a tear when the race was over

As I worked flexitime, I was able to leave work early on the Wednesday for an appointment with the beautician and hairdresser. It had been about six weeks since I was last there and I really needed a trim. Gaynor also did her usual and I told her all that had happened over the past few weeks, including my work, my mum’s visit and Jane’s promotion.

Then it was off upstairs where David complimented me on my appearance as he trimmed my hair. I felt that the clinic couldn’t fault my appearance. I had, after all, just spent the best part of a hundred pounds in the salon and hoped that they would appreciate it. At least, I mused, there was a certain special someone who would definitely appreciate it.

Jane arrived early on the Thursday. She kissed me and then went off in search of breakfast ingredients, before we left for the railway station and the journey to London.

I was again surprised when she purchased two first class tickets; when the train arrived, she led me to a virtually empty carriage.

She just smiled at my expression and simply said, “Nothing but the best for my girlfriend.”

It’s just like last month

It promised to be a very warm day so I had chosen to wear a pale blue sundress with a pattern of small white flowers; I’d read that the clinic didn’t like it if you wore trousers or shorts. Jeans were a definite ‘no-no’. Jane wore a lavender strappy top with a white cotton skirt. Both of us had low-heeled wedge sandals in deference to the amount of walking that we intended to do. London rarely lost its stuffy and sticky atmosphere, particularly in the height of summer, so comfort was all-important.

The Glendale Clinic was a modern building occupying three floors. It had moved out of the main hospital a few years ago as the latter had needed the space. It boasted up-to-date facilities including wheelchair access to all areas, a very good coffee shop, a kiosk selling everything from newspapers to ‘sandwiches to go’ and a very pleasant little secluded garden where you could wait for your appointment, meet with friends, take some refreshment or simply relax in the sun - when there was any to be seen.

The doctor was running a little late, but finally called for me to go in; I was relieved that he hadn’t called for John. He wanted to see me alone, so Jane said that she would buy a magazine and sit in the garden; I thought that I might be about an hour.

Ian Stalbridge was in his late 50’s, balding, slightly running to fat and wore spectacles. He was dressed in a three-piece suit; it must have been uncomfortable at that time of year. He had a habit of resting his spectacles halfway down his nose and peering over the top of them when addressing other people.

“Good morning,” he greeted me and offered me a seat. “I have here the referral letter from Doctor Davenport. Now, you have probably read all sorts of things and heard all sorts of rumours about how we work here; how we make you jump through hoops and keep you waiting forever for anything that even smells like progress. Well, we don’t work that way: I’d like to think that you and I are partners in a quest to find the ideal way forward for you. It’s my job to help you to do that and I would obviously be very grateful if you could do your part and be totally honest with me.”

Bullshit

“That’s just what I want,” I responded, carefully. “I’ve read some horror stories but it’s clear that some people have been the authors of their own misfortune.”

Perhaps I should try politics; say a lot but tell them nothing

“Quite so. Now, please tell me all about yourself, your feelings and where you would like to go with this.”

Starting with early childhood, I outlined all the significant events of my life so far. I didn’t tell him about the hormones that I had taken, nor did I tell him about the nature of the relationship with Jane. I did, however, mention that my friend Jane had effectively brought me out of the closet. I also mentioned that I was now legally Jenny and that I was living and working full-time in role.

“That’s impressive,” Doctor Stalbridge said, “Few people get anywhere near that in five months, it usually takes much longer. Tell me, what do you use for breasts?”

He must have noticed me wince at his direct and insensitive question. However, I composed myself and replied, “I recently visited a shop in London and was fitted for a pair of stick-on breast forms although I will obviously be much happier when I have more of my own. Since my late teens, I’ve been a bit fleshy up top and I’m hoping to see an endocrinologist soon to find out why my body doesn’t seem to have produced much testosterone, not that I’ve ever wanted the stuff anyway.”

“I must admit that you do look good and that has to be a factor in your favour. Tell me about your sexual orientation.”

“I’ve thought about this quite a lot,” I replied, trying not to tell lies but not wanting to tell the whole truth. “When in the male role, I had no feelings for men whatsoever, other than disgust and not a little hatred for those who bullied me, and the only feelings I had for other women were ones of jealousy. Now, I’m not sure. I think it’s just too early to tell.”

“Maybe it will become clearer when you start hormones.”

I perked up at this and smiled.

“Would you like to start hormones?” he asked.

“Yes, that would be wonderful. Then my body should hopefully finish aligning itself to that which my mind says I am and always have been.”

“We don’t prescribe hormones on the first visit; this is just an exploratory talk to assess you and work out how we can help you.”

My face clearly showed my disappointment but I asked, with false brightness, “Can I arrange a follow-up appointment?”

“Not yet. We, that is, my colleagues and I discuss your case and then ask you to come back, perhaps in a few months.”

“Oh.”

“That’s not what you wanted to hear, was it?”

“I thought that, as I had transitioned, have a job and my hormones are all over the place, that I could start on a proper dose of hormones soon and have corrective surgery as soon as possible.”

He said, “I obviously can’t make any promises. I’ll give you an explanatory leaflet, which sets out our requirements and our best guess as to a probable timetable, and we’ll see you in a few months. There are four of us in the team and you might not see me next time.”

I hope not; he seems to be a control freak with an over-inflated ego. He’s probably got a small willy and is trying to compensate for it. He’s also about as tactful as a hungry mosquito.

We stood; he showed me to the door and made to placate me.

“Don’t get despondent. These things take time and there’s a very good reason for that. We don’t want any mistakes: you think you know what you want, but we have to be convinced. And mistakes can cause a lifetime of unhappiness.”

So you’ve completely ignored the blood test results

I had been in the consulting room for almost an hour and emerged to find Jane waiting. By the look on my face, she knew that someone else had stamped on the brake pedal. We had lunch and travelled home in silence; Jane knew that I was absorbed in my own thoughts and disappointment over the outcome of the meeting so just kept me company and took my hand at every opportunity.

Saturday and Sunday were again spent in unproductive idleness. I’d managed to shake off much of the gloom I felt after my visit to the clinic so, on Saturday morning, we went to Southampton for the shopping. We purchased only coffees and lunches but had a wonderful time trying on various items of clothing - again, some more erotic than others.

Then, in the afternoon, we went to the cinema. It was the first time for several years that I had been to see a movie, and the first time with Jane. She naturally wanted to sit in the back row but I tactfully reminded her of my sight problem and that we would get a better view around the centre.

“If I had my way, you wouldn’t be seeing much of the film,” Jane said with a smile.

“Do you like salt in your tea?” I asked, playfully.

“Spoilsport,” she said, reluctantly.

We did enjoy the film, a romantic comedy. I linked arms with her for most of the performance and thoroughly enjoyed the experience.

August 2004

I went into work on the Monday morning and took with me a selection of cakes that I’d purchased on the way. This was by way of a celebration for my new life, and the first month of my new working life. I was surprised and relieved that everyone had appeared so accepting and, after wandering around the office inviting everyone to participate in my happiness I walked over to my desk and sorted through the post. I found an envelope on it addressed to John Smith. Without thinking I picked it up and opened it. A folded piece of paper fell out.

“YOU THOUGHT YOU’D GOT AWAY WITH IT? SO THE PERVERT THINKS HE CAN INVADE THE LADIES TOILET BY WEARING A SKIRT? WRONG!”

End of part 12

Secrets

By Susan Heywood

John finds the body of a neighbour who has been murdered. The police detective assigned to the case deduces that John hides a secret - but the detective has secrets of her own.

Part 13 of 25 — Rejection Escalates

It had obviously been printed on an inkjet printer and I shook as I realised that it could have been there all weekend. I collapsed onto my chair and dissolved into tears.

Celia looked over at me and her smile rapidly turned to a frown. She rushed over and I just shoved the paper at her. “SHIT!” She shouted and, looking as though she was ready to kill someone, she headed straight for Greg’s office.

I was still sobbing when they both arrived at my desk a few moments later. Greg looked at the letter, then grabbed my phone and keyed a number.

“Hello Mel, its Greg Barnes. Someone’s left a hate letter on Jenny Smith’s desk. Can you please let Sue know and also alert security,” He put the phone down and looked at me.

“I don’t think you’ll be staying here this morning; I’ll see if I can get Jane to come and take you home. This is serious and we’re going to get to the bottom of it. It might just be a prank but I don’t think so; I’ll not have hate mail in my office. I thought I might be targeted but perhaps I keep a low enough profile.”

Sue Fuller and the security manager, Jimmy Hines, appeared a couple of minutes later and Greg showed them the letter. Sue Fuller’s face darkened as she read it; she turned to Jim and said,

“I want him or her caught, and quickly. Report it to the police and tell them that someone’s distributing hate mail. I’ll try to get hold of Jane Dyson; I can imagine what she’ll have to say about this.”

She stormed off towards the lift, rapidly followed by Jimmy, who called over his shoulder, “Don’t nobody touch nuffink.” Jimmy had been a military policeman and it was rumoured that nothing escaped his attention, even if it happened on the other side of a solid wall. He was back a few minutes later with a packet, from which he took a pair of surgical gloves. He put the letter and the envelope into a plastic bag and returned to the lift.

Greg, who had been standing watching all this, gently helped me out of my chair and over to his office to await the inevitable visit by the police.

I collapsed into a chair; Celia sat beside me and hugged me. I cried and kept wailing, “Why me? What have I done?” I just wanted my Jane to come and put her arms around me and tell me that everything would be all right. The trouble was that I knew, deep down, that everything wasn’t all right.

They’d managed to contact Jane and let her know the situation. As expected, she was very angry and, just over an hour later, she escorted me from the premises. Two other police officers had arrived and taken statements from me, Celia, Greg, Sue Fuller and Jimmy Hines.

Jane cooked a small meal for us both that evening but I couldn’t manage it. Whenever one bout of crying ended, another began. She cuddled me on the settee.

“Do you want to stay home tomorrow? I could finish at lunchtime.”

“No, I’m not giving in or the bastard will think he’s won.” I got very angry and at one point was looking around for something to smash, just to get the tension out of my body. I didn’t sleep at all well and woke in the morning totally washed out.

I didn’t know it then but that letter was just the beginning. Things were going to get much nastier.

I returned to work on the Tuesday morning. No rotten letter was going to keep me away from work. That Sword of Damocles would still be hanging over me and my life would effectively be on hold or in decline until the perpetrator was caught. I was not naíve enough to believe that this couldn’t happen but I’d be damned if I’d let it ruin my future. In addition, Jane had invested time and effort in trying to resolve it and I felt that I’d be letting her down if I just caved in without a fight. Maybe I was starting to learn that I could face my demons.

Nothing happened for the rest of the week — despite my trepidation when I approached my desk - but I spent an anxious and totally unproductive weekend just awaiting the Monday morning. I did nothing; cooked nothing; eat little and watched no television. If Jane hadn’t been there to look after me, I’d have probably walked under a bus.

Again, on the Monday morning, there was a letter addressed to John Smith.

Oh shit

I didn’t touch it but immediately called security and Greg.

Jimmy opened the envelope with plastic gloved hands and read,

“YOU SICK PERVERT, YOU HAVEN’T REPENTED. NOW GOD WILL PUNISH; YOU WILL BURN IN THE FIRES OF HELL.”

After calming me down, Celia, Greg and I returned to our desks. I wondered what was meant by “God will punish.” I found out that afternoon.

Jane was going to try and come home early that day. At about five o’clock, I rang both home and her mobile number to see if she’d arrived, but got no reply. I sighed, packed up my desk and headed for the lift. There were a few people left in the office and I glanced at Jill, who was working late, and gave her a finger wave as I passed her desk. I emerged at the ground floor, said goodnight to Joe, the duty security officer, and made my way to the exit. The main exit to our building consisted of two sets of double sliding doors that parted as you approached them. I’d just walked through the outer set when there was a bright flash and someone shoved a microphone under my nose. I tried to push past the man but he kept dodging in front of me.

“You’re the tranny that’s stalking women in the office, aren’t you? You might as well give us an interview, mate. We’ll only make it up otherwise,” he said with an evil grin.

I said nothing and eventually managed to push past him; I started to walk as briskly as I could away from the building, but he followed me and kept dodging in front of me with that wretched microphone. I eventually returned to the office - I dread to think what Joe would have done had the reporter tried to follow me. I’ve heard of a brick shithouse; Joe was like a brick shithouse and a half.

I telephoned for a taxi and eventually made it home. Jane had been held up at work and found me in the living room bawling like a baby. In between sobs, I told her what had happened and, needless to say, she was very angry. She asked me to describe the reporter, which I did. She then called the local paper and demanded to speak to a member of management.

“This is Detective Sergeant Jane Dyson. One of your reporters - from the description it sounded like Simon Grieves - and a photographer today harassed my friend Jennifer Smith as she was leaving work at the council offices. This is to let you know that the calls to your office were fuelled by hate and malicious intent. If I see anything in a newspaper, especially yours, or hear of the matter from any other source, then I will not hesitate to sue John Grieves, you, your owner and everyone involved for every penny I can get. I am sure that you understand the meaning of the words slander and libel.” With that, she slammed down the ‘phone.

She held me as I dissolved into floods of tears; they were partly because of the incident, but mainly because of the fact that Jane was supporting me.

Another week went by. I’d been anxious all week and I’m sure that my work suffered as a result On the Monday morning, there was again a letter addressed to John Smith. I called Jimmy, who opened it with gloved hands.

“YOU GOT AWAY WITH THE LAST ONE, YOU PERVERT, THANKS TO YOUR SICK POLICEWOMAN FRIEND. YOUR LUCK HAS FINALLY RUN OUT. IT’S TIME TO RID THE WORLD OF SCUM LIKE YOU.”

Although I watched for signs of opposition, nothing happened for the remainder of that day; Jane finished early and collected me. On Tuesday, after lunch - I usually just had a sandwich and coffee, and had my main meal with Jane in the evening — I went to the ladies’ room. I sipped my drink as I worked, but found myself quickly growing more tired. I quickly fell into a deep sleep.

The next thing I knew was when I woke in the hospital. I had a pounding headache and pains in my throat and stomach. Jane was sitting, dozing in a chair alongside the bed and a nurse was standing over me. “Oh good; you’ve come round. I’ll get the doctor.”

I tried to speak but nothing came out; my throat and chest ached. I was so tired. I quickly drifted off to sleep again.

The next time I woke, they’d removed all the tubes. I managed to croak out, “W…water.” After two sips, I fell asleep yet again.

Eventually I could stay awake long enough to ask, “W...what happened? W…where am I?”

The nurse answered. “You’re in the County Hospital. Do you remember anything?”

“No; it’s all quite hazy.”

“We reckon that your coffee was poisoned; the paramedics had to pump you out as an emergency. I understand that Celia, your section leader, heard a ‘thump’ as you fell off your chair and onto the floor. She phoned for an ambulance.”

“Poisoned? Why? When? H…how did it happen?”

“That’s something that the police, including Detective Sergeant Dyson here, are looking into. Now, just rest: you’ve had a shock to the system.”

I went home two days later and was amazed to learn that I’d been in hospital two days before that. I returned to work on the Monday, a couple of weeks later, determined to resume my life in as normal a way as soon as possible. At least there was no envelope on my desk. I tried to be as nonchalant as I could but I wasn’t fooling anyone. I received sympathetic smiles from Celia, Jill and Maddy. I hadn’t been at my desk for long when Greg called me. Celia followed me in and closed the door behind us.

“Come in, Jenny, have a seat. How are you?”

“Shaken. They told me at the hospital what happened. I don’t understand.”

Greg said, “Did you know that we have a call logger attached to the telephone system?”

Celia nodded, but I was puzzled. I had no idea what he was talking about.

Greg continued, “We did a quick check on calls to the local paper and other places over the last few weeks. Most of the calls were traced to Maddy’s phone.”

I protested. “But Maddy has been so supportive; please tell me that it wasn’t her.” I then dissolved into a flood of tears. As Greg picked up his phone, I screamed “NOOOOO!” and fainted. I woke in the armchair in Greg’s office.

Celia insisted that she take me home; I was shaking so much that I just nodded.

Just before Celia led me out, Greg said, “The call logger identified the calls as being made from Maddy’s phone. Last week, after the second letter, the smoke detector near your desk was temporarily replaced — with a camera. We know who put the letters on your desk and poisoned your coffee — in fact, we’ve film of the culprit. She’s under arrest for making threats, distributing hate mail and attempted murder — after all, she did poison your coffee. I doubt she’ll be able to deny it in the light of the evidence. You should have heard her cursing and swearing; for a so-called Christian, she certainly showed that love had to be on her terms.”

“Attempted murder? She? Please tell me it wasn’t Maddy.”

“It was an unknown quantity of an unknown drug, the results of which are unpredictable; that’s attempted murder. And no, it wasn’t Maddy; she wasn’t even in the office when the calls were made. It was Sarah.”

I hadn’t noticed, when I arrived for work, that Sarah wasn’t in the office. I asked, “How did I upset Sarah? We hardly know each other.”

“It seems that you are an abomination.”

“Oh my God!”

“No, her God.”

“But why?”

“Because you dared to be different from her idea of normal. I’ve met her kind before. If you tick all their boxes, that’s fine; if not, they love you on their terms, and often attempt to cure you by prayer, counselling and brainwashing. If that doesn’t work, they either give up or, more likely, take more drastic action.”

I shook my head. How could someone I barely knew hate me so much? “But I didn’t ask for this! It was her bloody God that got it wrong in the first place! Anyway, I don’t understand. Why did you … Maddy? Earlier?”

“The calls were made from her ‘phone but, as I said, we know that she didn’t make them. We’ve witnesses to prove that Maddy wasn’t even in the office when the calls were made. We’ve enough film of Sarah to make a cast iron case.”

There was no further mention of the incident and Janet was eventually recruited to take Sarah’s place. Sarah was charged as Greg said — she was still protesting that it was “An order from God” as she was led away to prison - and life returned to something approaching normal. I still shiver, though, when I think about that event.

It had been three weeks since I’d visited the London clinic and I had a follow-up appointment with Judy Davenport that morning. She’d just been to Spain for some sun, sea and sand. Certainly, she displayed a super tan.

I had arrived alone; I was dressed for the office as I was going straight to work after my appointment.

“Hello Jenny, you’re looking well; and very smart too, if I may say so. I’ve heard from the London clinic; they seem quite impressed with you and consider you a suitable case for treatment. Perhaps I shouldn’t tell you that but they didn’t say not to, so I have.”

“I’m a bit disappointed,” I confessed, “I had hoped to make faster progress now I’ve transitioned, and especially as I’ve a job, but Ian Stalbridge said I’d have to wait several months while they discuss my case. Why do they need to do that? Why should it take so long? And is he just being pig-headed?”

“That was the first time that they met you.” She put up her hand to silence my protest. “Please, hear me out. That was the first opportunity that they had to assess you and I accept that Ian Stalbridge seems like he isn’t the most tactful of people. Yes, you look very good as a woman, you probably made a very unconvincing man, and they have my letter but I can understand that they would like to get to know you and see some consistency.”

“Why should it take several months? And there are my blood test results and my body shape; I couldn’t be male even if I wanted to be - which I don’t.”

“It may not take that long. And if it does, it may sound like a long time but let’s look upon it as an apprenticeship with them; they almost certainly want to know that you are serious and aren’t likely to back out for some reason. You and I both know that you won’t, but let’s just remember that it’s one of the few medical conditions where the doctor has to rely on what the patient tells him or her. And, as far as I’m aware, the GIC don’t do a physical examination.”

Her rather pointed remark had me shifting a little uncomfortably in my seat. Judy had learned from the blood test results that I had been using mild doses of hormones. We both knew that there were Gender Identity Clinics that would reject anyone who they’d known to take any such action.

“I’ll keep an eye on things to make sure that they don’t leave it an unreasonable time,” she promised, “but I think that you just have to be a little patient. Now, if you had the money to spare, I could send you down the private route and you could be all done and dusted within a year. After all, you did officially start your Real Life Experience on the first of June.”

“Okay; I’ll give them three months but no more. If there’s no progress by then, I’ll try to raise the money by taking out an extra mortgage on my apartment; it’ll take a substantial chunk of my income to pay it off and I’ll probably have to live on home-made soup for the foreseeable future, but I’ll do it.”

“I know you would, Jenny, you’re determined. But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that; you need every penny you can lay hands on.”

I hadn’t yet done anything about finding a new GP. I mentioned this to Judy.

“I suggest you write to the senior partner of your surgery. Enclose a copy of my letter to the GIC and ask if you can transfer to a more sympathetic doctor. If they don’t oblige, write to the patient liaison manager at your local PCT (Primary Care Trust) and tell them the score. I’d have thought that you’re entitled to a reasonable standard of treatment. I obviously can’t recommend anyone but there is one doctor at your surgery that is youngish and female. I’ve had good reports of her.”

I smiled my thanks and said that I would investigate further. I said goodbye and left for home, then the short walk to the office. I was determined that I wasn’t going to wait for ever for this to be resolved; after all, I had already waited over twenty years. Yes, I knew that there were many people who had no choice but to wait for treatment. There were many people who couldn’t have surgery or even hormones for medical reasons. I also knew that many people were alone, with no friends and no job and I felt very blessed. I returned to my car and drove home. I was wrapped up in my thoughts during the journey; I was lucky that I wasn’t involved in an accident. I stopped the car outside Coleridge House and got out. I was still preoccupied with thoughts of the new GP, my visit to Judy and paying for surgery that I didn’t notice the white Ford Fiesta pull into the car park behind me and stop close by. I wasn’t really aware of what was happening until Celia called to me.

“Jenny! I’ve just chased you halfway around the county.”

“Hello Celia,” I answered, somewhat puzzled, “What’s the problem? Why are you here?”

“I think you ought to sit down,” she said, gently.

I sat on the driver’s seat of her car, with an awful premonition of bad news. “W…what’s wrong?”

“There’s been an accident; it’s your father.”

“W…what happened?” I asked, timidly.

“Your Mother rang the office as she couldn’t get you on your mobile.”

I felt so stupid; I’d forgotten to switch it on that morning after leaving Judy Davenport.

Celia said, “Your dad fell off a ladder and cracked his head. He’s been carted off to hospital.”

“I must go up there,” I said, tearfully.

“Now you sit still for a minute, Jane’s on her way here.”

“You called Jane?” I asked, wondering how Celia knew the number.

“Of course I did, I just called Police Headquarters and asked them to give her an urgent message.”

“Thanks ever so much. I’d better ring my mother.” I turned on my phone and speed-dialled the numbers for her home and mobile. There was no reply to either so I just left messages. “Would you like a coffee? Have you time while Jane gets here?” I asked.

“Ever the practical one, even in a crisis. Yes please.”

We went up to my flat, where Celia told me to sit down while she made the drinks. She then called Greg.

When he answered, she told him that I’d just got home and that she’d stay until Jane arrived. She listened for a minute, then handed the phone to me and said, “Greg wants a word”.

I took the phone and listened for a few moments, then said, “I don’t know any more yet, I’ve tried to call my mother but both the house phone and her mobile are just taking messages, so I assume that she is at the hospital with my father.”

~ You should go up there. I’ll have a word with Sue Fuller and we’ll put you on compassionate leave. Just keep me posted as to what’s going on, would you? ~

“Thanks Greg, that’s so kind of you and one less worry for me.”

~ No problem. We’re a family, alright? ~

I was near to tears when I ended the call. I was still in shock and I felt very humble; everyone was supportive and caring and I was so grateful to have such wonderful friends and colleagues.

Just then, Jane arrived, greeted Celia and hugged and kissed me. “I’m so sorry, what’s the latest?”

I just held onto her and cried. Eventually, I composed myself enough to say, “I don’t know; I’ve tried to phone Mummy but got no reply. She may be at the hospital.”

Celia drank her coffee, went into the kitchen, poured tea for Jane and me, gave us both a hug and told me to keep in touch. She let herself out, knowing that I was now being well cared for. Just then my mobile rang.

“MUMMY! What’s happened?”

My mother related the events of the day. My father was fixing a piece of wood to the frame over a doorway and missed his footing on the ladder. He fell and hit his head and his friends immediately called for an ambulance. He was rushed into hospital with possible concussion. My mother was distraught.

~ It’s all my fault! If I hadn’t suggested the idea he would never have been there and it would never have happened. He’d be here in front of the television. ~

She was sobbing, so I said, “Now stop that: it could easily have happened at home so I won’t have you blaming yourself. Look, I’ve had a word with my boss and I’m coming up to be with you. I’ll catch a train and get a taxi at the other end. I’ll ring when I’m nearly there.”

~ Oh you are a love, are you sure? ~

“Yes, of course I’m sure. Don’t worry; everything will be alright, you’ll see. Does Peter know?”

~ I’ve called and left a message but spent most of the day at the hospital ~

Pleased that my mother had called me, I said, “I’ll ring him again now, I’ll see you later.” With that, I hung up and called my brother. Geena answered. I told her of my father’s accident.

She promised to relay the details to Peter.

I hung up and turned to Jane. “I’ll just phone for some train times and be on my way as soon as possible.”

“No, you won’t.”

“What?”

“No, you won’t, I’ll drive you.”

“But you can’t take time off just like that,” I protested.

“I’m not letting you go alone, you’re upset, and you’re anxious about your father. You’re in no fit state to dash off nearly three hundred miles on a mercy mission. I thought you might need to go up there so I took some leave. Today’s Thursday; I’ve got the weekend off anyway so it’s only a couple of days. I’ll stop the night somewhere and come back in the morning.”

“If you drive me up there, you’ll stay with us. And please plan on more than one night, I need you.”

Jane smiled. “But won’t your mother mind?”

“I’m looking after Mummy, you’re looking after me and I’m looking after you. That’s fair.”

She went to the second bedroom and returned with a holdall. “Come on then, get your bag packed and we’ll get on the road. We should be there by late afternoon and you can visit him this evening.”

I had a sudden thought. “He might not want to see me.”

Jane responded, “If my daughter travelled half the length of the country to visit me after I’d had an accident, I’d want to see her.”

“Yes, but….” I was too busy to notice the expression on her face.

“Come on, let’s go; we’ll stop for fuel, sandwiches and drinks on the way.”

We arrived in Llandudno late in the afternoon. I called my mother to let her know we were nearly there.

~ Hello, darling, you just caught me, I’ve just got in from afternoon visiting; there’s another session from seven o’clock tonight. What do you mean; “we are just outside town”? ~

“Jane drove me up here. I know that you weren’t expecting her as well; she can stay with me, can’t she?”

There were a few moments of silence, which I felt as icy fingers crawling up my back.

~ Yes, I should think so ~

“Okay, see you soon.”

“Well?” asked Jane.

“As I said, you’re staying with us.”

“So your mother agreed?”

“I asked and she didn’t refuse. After having driven me all this way, it would have been churlish of her to insist that you stay in a hotel.”

We were greeted with hugs, and a kiss for me, when we arrived. My father was still unconscious when my mother had left him that afternoon: they’d done scans and so on at the hospital and, thank goodness, there was no fracture. They didn’t know if there was any brain damage, but they’d keep him in for at least a day or two anyway for observation. His age might have been against him; a younger man would probably recover more quickly. There was also the boxing he did in the navy; that might be a factor now that he’d suffered another blow to the head. The hospital promised to ring my mother at home should there be any change either way.

Jane asked, “Have you had anything to eat today?”

“Not much, only a sandwich; there doesn’t seem to have been time. And anyway, I’ve not really been feeling all that hungry.”

“Would you like a snack on the way to the hospital tonight?”

My mother sighed, “I’m really not bothered.”

I looked at her. “I’ll go and put the kettle on; we could all do with some tea at least.” While I was waiting for the kettle to boil, I rummaged in the fridge. I called out, “Mummy, do you fancy an omelette? At least you’ll have something to eat; it’s light and easy to digest and won’t take long to make.”

“Okay love, if you insist.”

“I do, I’m not having you passing out due to hunger. Jane?”

“I could get something while you two are visiting your father.”

“I’m not going to visit him,” I said, quietly, “I’ll come with you while Mummy’s in the hospital.”

My mother looked at me in amazement. “You’ve come all this way and you’re not even going to see him?”

I was silent for a moment, gathering my thoughts, and then answered, “He doesn’t want to know me. I can’t just spring a visit on him without forewarning him. No, I’ll wait until he regains full consciousness. If you tell him that I’m here and he wants to see me, then I’ll go in. But I came here to be with you. If my father wants to accept me, that’s fine. If not, then I’ll never bother him again.”

“Oh love….”

“No, I’ve made up my mind and that’s the way it must be. I’ll not impose on him when he’s just had an accident; it’s not fair to him.”

“I might have known,” mumbled Jane.

I changed the subject. “Mummy, are you driving to the hospital or taking a taxi?”

“Well,” she said, “Our car is playing up a bit at the moment; your father has it in the garage and is trying to find out what’s wrong. I was going to call for a taxi.”

“Can we drive Mummy to the hospital and collect her? Then we could go to a pub for something to eat?” I asked Jane as I turned to go to the kitchen.

“Okay,” Jane sighed.

When Ellen arrived at Bill’s bedside for the evening visiting, she was relieved to notice that he was conscious and seemed more aware of his surroundings. What was more important from her point of view was that he recognised her.

He smiled, weakly.

“Hello, love; I’ve been very silly by all accounts. I’ve been leaping up and down ladders all my life and never fallen off. Then I have to go and cause all this fuss, particularly when we’re supposed to be helping the elderly. At least they weren’t about when I fell; that would’ve given the old codgers heart attacks for sure.”

At least his short-term memory seemed to be intact. They talked for a while, discussing the circumstances of the accident, the diagnosis and treatment, the food, the surroundings, everything. Bill had regained consciousness after Ellen had left for the afternoon, and one of the nurses had thoughtfully brought him some toast and a cup of tea.

“Oh, I’m so pleased to see you on the mend,” Ellen sniffed; she tried unsuccessfully to fight back tears of relief. “You gave us a nasty turn, we’ve all been worried about you and Jenny’s come all the way up here. She phoned Peter, and Geena said that he’ll try to pop in. You don’t seem any the worse for the accident and I just hope that there aren’t any complications.”

Bill’s face fell. “Well, I suppose John couldn’t visit his old dad.”

“That’s selfish and unfair!” responded Ellen, “John visited us nearly every month since we’ve been here until his transition; he doesn’t exist anymore and hasn’t done for two months, as you well know. Jenny doesn’t even have any ‘John’ clothes and never really looked like a ‘John’ anyway.”

“Don’t I know it!” said Bill, sarcastically.

“Look, we asked her if she was coming to see you and she said that she wouldn’t; she just said that you didn’t want to see her. So she’s travelled all the way up here just to keep me company; I think that says a lot about her. Anyway, I don’t want to tire you out. They say they’re keeping you in for another day or so for observation so you might be able to come home on Saturday. Jane drove me here and they’re staying with me. If you don’t want them at home when you get there, then they’ll just leave and you’ll never see Jenny again.” With that, she kissed him goodbye and walked out.

Jane and I were talking in the pub. We’d gone for a meal after taking my mother to the hospital. We talked about my parents and Peter and then I asked, “You never talk about your own parents; you said that you haven’t seen them since you left for university?”

“No, I don’t visit them or talk about them. As I said, I blame them for Rosalie’s death. They gave me a lot of grief, especially when I came out as a lesbian and I’m as certain as I can be that one or both of them arranged for me to be attacked. They were both very angry when I wanted to join the police. I know where to find them but, if I never see them again, it will be too soon. I don’t suppose they even think of me now. As far as I’m concerned, you’re the only family I’ve got. I wouldn’t be surprised if they tried to poison the rest of my family against me; I certainly haven’t heard from any of them for years, other than my Aunt Sophie. The only other one to take any interest was my maternal grandmother; she left me some money when I turned twenty-one. She died last year and I still miss her terribly. She and Aunt Sophie accepted me for what I was, not what others expected of me. I changed my name when I went to university so that I could cut all ties with my mother and step-father.”

I was stunned. “So you haven’t always been Jane Dyson?”

“No.” She laughed. “We had a Dyson vacuum cleaner in the apartment that I rented before I went to Buckingham; it was the first name I thought of.”

She didn’t look as if she wanted to tell me any more and I thought now wasn’t the time to push it, especially as we were nearly three hundred miles from home.

“I am so sorry, you must feel all alone sometimes,” I said tearfully.

“Yes, sometimes. And then I think about what I do have and that cheers me up no end. Come on, let’s go to the car, I need a snog.”

I laughed and, getting up from the chair, headed for the ladies’ room. Just then my mobile ‘phone rang. “Hello Mummy, all ready?” I raised a questioning eyebrow at Jane, who nodded. “We’ll just be a few minutes,” I said, and ended the call. “I guess you’ll have to wait for your snog, Miss Dyson.”

“Drat!” Jane muttered under her breath as she followed me into the ladies room. Once inside the door, though, she made sure that I definitely needed to touch up my lipstick. On the way to the hospital, I thought about what she’d told me. I shivered a little; she asked if I was cold and I just said that I was thinking about my father.

Is that the truth? Can I believe what she said? She does seem to have a lot of money but what about the identity business?

End of part 13

Secrets

By Susan Heywood

John finds the body of a neighbour who has been murdered. The police detective assigned to the case deduces that John hides a secret - but the detective has secrets of her own.

Part 14 of 25 — Reunited

“How is he?” I asked as my mother climbed into the front passenger seat. I’d already moved to the rear seat so that she wouldn’t have to do so. Although it’s a four-seat car, the Lexus Sports Coupe (called a ‘drop-head coupe’ in some parts of the world) is not ideal for regular backseat passengers, unless they’re very small children; I know I wouldn’t like to have to travel far in the back.

“He’s much better, he’s coherent and he feels rather silly about the accident. They’ll keep him for another day or so and maybe he’ll be discharged on Saturday.”

“We can pick him up on Saturday if you like and take him home and then we’ll leave,” Jane said as we drove away. “Did you tell him that Jenny and I were here?”

“I mentioned it: he did make some sarcastic remark about John not bothering to visit him. I tried to put him straight but I didn’t want to tire him so didn’t push it. Funny that he didn’t mention Peter all evening but, then again, Peter’s a man so it’s okay for him to be busy. Honestly, you’d think he’d make his mind up one way or another; either he wants you to visit or he doesn’t.”

“Oh,” I answered her, unrepentantly, “he does want a visit alright but not from me, just from a younger son, a sporting hero through whom he can re-live his life, and someone he can insult.”

Jane just rolled her eyes and said, “What younger son? I don’t know of one and neither does he, if he’d only face up to the fact. He has this image of a perfect male offspring who meets all his ideals, but that person doesn’t exist and never has done. Even Peter said that he could be a pain in the backside.”

I sighed. “Come on, let’s go home.”

No one felt much like talking when we arrived, so my mother went to bed, leaving us two downstairs in the living room. We made the most of the opportunity to be alone together and, eventually, we too made our way up to bed. I apologised for the bed in the guest room; it was only four feet wide and didn’t give us anything like the space that we had in my bigger bed at home. Jane simply said that we’d have to make sure to sleep closer together to avoid one of us falling onto the floor.

So we did.

I was the first to wake on the Friday morning. I padded to the bathroom where I took care of necessities, then down to the kitchen where I set a breakfast tray. I made a pot of tea and some toast, a bowl of cereal and two boiled eggs and took them up to my mother. I knocked at the door and went in at her call.

“Well, this is a nice surprise, love; I haven’t been spoiled like this since I stayed with you.”

I kissed her on the cheek, smiled and left the room, heading towards the bathroom again, where I had a shower. I then went back to climb in with Jane, who’d taken the opportunity to spread out on the bed. I kissed her good morning, although, of course, it was a much longer and more passionate kiss than I had given my mother.

“You’re up early,” she remarked as she stretched, yawned and smiled at me.

“I’ve just made up a breakfast tray for my mother,” I said, “and you can take your time in the bathroom while I dress.” It was a while before I could start dressing; Jane got very close and very personal.

Later, we were all seated around the breakfast table.

“What do you want to do this morning?” my mother asked.

“I’d like to pop into town and have a look around the shops,” I replied, and then added, glumly “it’ll probably be my one and only opportunity as Jenny.”

“Oh, don’t say that, love...” my mother began.

“Well, its true, isn’t it? My father doesn’t want to know me so I can’t see myself ever coming back here. Anyway, I’d like to treat you to lunch; I might not get another opportunity.”

We silently washed up and all went to get ready. The atmosphere was rather tense, not happy at all. I couldn’t remember enjoying a shopping expedition less than I did that day, and kept wondering all through it what might have been, had I been born with the right body parts in the first place.

It was a warm day, and it was great to feel the wind in my hair as we were able to drive along with the roof down.

After lunch, we dropped my mother off at the hospital; it was a huge relief to move into the front passenger seat. As it was bright and sunny, we drove up to the car park at the top of the Great Orme, one of the two headlands that flank the bay in which Llandudno nestles.

We went up via Marine Drive, past the old copper mine, some of the tunnels of which are reckoned to be over four thousand years old. At the top, we drove past the upper terminal of the Victorian cable tramway, which had not long ago celebrated its centenary. We welcomed the sight of the little kiosk near the car park and Jane treated us to an ice cream each. We just sat and enjoyed the fresh air and the summer sunshine.

We returned to the hospital in time to collect my mother, who looked much brighter than she had on the previous evening.

“How’s Father?” I asked her.

“Well, he seems okay so far, no apparent damage, although the nurse took me to one side and gave me a list of symptoms to look out for when I get him home. Oh, and he’s not to do any work for a month, just in case there’s any relapse.” She sniffed a little and I put my hand on her arm in comfort.

“He’ll be fine; it’ll take a lot more than a bump on the head to lay him out for long. I’m sure he had a few bumps and bruises in the Navy.”

“I do hope so, love.”

“Did he say any more about me?”

“No,” she admitted, with a tear in her eye.

“What’s the timetable now?” I asked.

“Well, I shall visit tonight and, after breakfast tomorrow, if the doctor agrees, he can come home.”

“Do you want a lift tonight?” Jane asked.

“I wouldn’t say no, that’s so kind of you.”

“We’re here to help so we might as well do so. Whether or not he’ll want help tomorrow remains to be seen.”

“I do hope that he puts this silliness behind him and faces facts,” my mother said, wringing her hands, “he would make our lives so much easier if he would.”

“He’s a stubborn old goat,” I replied, “I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he phones for a taxi. Did he ask how you got to the hospital last night and this afternoon?”

“No, he didn’t.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Jenny!”

“Well, he is a selfish old so-and-so, thinking of himself all the time. He hasn’t got a clue how the rest of us tick and just doesn’t care.”

She acknowledged, with a regretful sigh and a nod, that I was right.

We dropped my mother at the hospital, having already arranged for a taxi to bring her home. I had managed to obtain tickets for a performance by The National Orchestra of Wales. We both enjoyed classical music and attended concerts whenever we had the chance. I wondered if Jane would enjoy the evening but she said, “I’m really looking forward to this; I just love American classical music, it’s full of contrasts and just seems to strike a chord with me.”

“That was bad, even for you,” I groaned, but with a smile. I was somewhat relieved that our seats were about two-thirds of the way back and slightly to the left side of the auditorium; at least Jane couldn’t embarrass me too much.

I hope

The concert was well supported; the diverse programme featured compositions by Bernstein, Barber, Gershwin and Grofé, and started and finished with rousing Sousa marches.

We arrived home, greeted my mother, and exchanged news of my father, and enthusiastic comments about the concert.

I asked about my father. “Is he still going to be discharged tomorrow?”

“Well, he looked fine this evening and looked as though he was bored with being in hospital. I’m a little worried that I’ll be able to restrain him for the next month or so. It was hard to get him started but stopping him seems like it will be more difficult.”

“Did he mention how he would get home?” I enquired.

“Yes he did. He said, “I believe that Jane has offered to collect me tomorrow; that’s very kind of her. And I suppose that my son will be with her?””

“I said that Jenny would wait at home as the car wasn’t really suitable for two adult back seat passengers Then he said, “Well, I suppose I’ll have to see him sooner or later: you didn’t manage to make him to see sense so I suppose that I’ll have to do it.””

“That’s acceptance with a capital ‘A’”, I replied, sarcastically.

“Yes but that’s better than I’d hoped; I thought that, if he could just see you and see that you are quite normal, he might relent.” My mother was almost pleading.

“Are you sure about this? I don’t want to be the cause of any problems.”

“Look love, if he doesn’t like it, then I’m very sorry but can you just go straight home?”

“I suppose so; what do you think, Jane?”

“I’d tell him where to go, but then he’s not my father. I had enough trouble with my own family. If he starts on either of us, I’ll read him his rights, and then clap him in irons.”

“I do hope it doesn’t come to that,” my mother said, wondering if Jane was really serious.

I said, “Oh, not a word about our relationship; I think just meeting me is pushing our luck.”

They both understood and agreed; if my father queried the sleeping arrangements, Jane and I were just good friends.

It was now nearly midnight and we had an early start in the morning. We had a group hug and were all a little tearful. My mother again left us to it. We just sat quietly cuddling each other but, very soon, I started to nod off so Jane gently led me upstairs to bed where we held each other tightly and fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Despite not having gone to bed until nearly midnight I rose, quite refreshed, at seven o’clock and padded to the bathroom for a shower. I returned to the bedroom, looked at Jane lovingly and said, “I really am a very lucky girl. I still can hardly believe that you’ve dropped everything over the past few days so that you can drive me up here and back.” I climbed back into the bed and gave her a very long and very passionate kiss.

When we came up for air Jane commented, “Hmm, I’ll have to drive you to North Wales more often; that was well worth waking up for.”

I laughed and slapped her gently on the arm, then proceeded to give suitable attention to the rest of her body. The result of my ministrations was obvious — and highly satisfying to both of us. Jane was once again gripped by that awesome ecstasy resulting from the use of my lips and my tongue.

All too soon it was time to make a move. My father was expecting to be discharged at about ten o’clock, after doctor’s rounds, and everyone had still to get dressed and have breakfast.

We all gathered at the kitchen table and I apologised for not bringing my mother her breakfast. “Sorry, I was detained by a police officer!”

My mother gave a little giggle and an amused smile, which briefly lightened the atmosphere. We wouldn’t take long to pack, if it should come to that, when we returned from the hospital. It all depended upon how my father reacted to me.

As they left the house, my mother’s face betrayed her anxiety; Jane’s features were schooled into an expressionless mask. I watched them go and was feeling sick with worry.

When Ellen arrived at the hospital, the doctors had finished their rounds and discharged Bill. A little after ten o’clock, a porter pushed him in a wheelchair to the main entrance, Ellen squeezed into the back of the car and Jane helped Bill into the front. He thanked her, but she said nothing.

When they came into the house, I was tempted to be quiet but, in the end, just said, “Hello Father.”

He collapsed into a chair and just sat with his mouth open.

“John? Is that you?”

I just about succeeded in remaining calm despite what I saw as intense provocation. “There is no John and never has been.”

My father was adamant. “As I told your mother, I’m not happy about this at all. I’m very concerned that you’re asking for trouble by deciding to be a faggot and dressing in women’s clothes. I’m sure that behaving normally would cause you less bother.”

I said nothing in reply but went into the kitchen to make tea. When we were all seated, I responded to him. I didn’t raise my voice, even though what I really wanted to do was to scream at him and beat some sense into him. I simply sat opposite him and tried to talk to him quietly and without histrionics.

“Father, I’m going to tell you some things and I would be very grateful if you would hear me out, without interruption. If, when I’ve finished, you still can’t accept that I’ve done my best with the hand that I was dealt, then we will pack and leave and you will never see either of us again. If I do leave, you will only ever have one child; I’ll have nothing more to do with you.”

For once, he was silent but nodded assent.

I was relieved; this was hard enough without him interrupting. I continued. “As you are well aware, I have known that I was female since I was a toddler. As I’ve told you so many times — and you never seemed to listen and, hopefully this is the last time I’ll have to say it - I’ve NEVER been sexually interested in males so, even though I had to act as a male for most of my life, I couldn’t be gay, a homo, a faggot, a queer or any of the other labels that you insisted on sticking on me. I wasn’t what you might call normal; I had too many medical and other issues to even think about relationships. You think I should be John? Can you possibly understand that I’ve been acting the part of John for nearly twenty years? That’s who John really was — an act. John is not me and never has been.

“You talk about asking for trouble. You know very well that my childhood years, and especially the time I spent at that brutal grammar school, were ten years of absolute hell. You should know; you saw the state I was in when I eventually made it home. I was regularly beaten up, occasionally injured, nearly killed on more than one occasion, and frequently suicidal: if that’s not vulnerable, I don’t know what is. I heard what other children called me; it wasn’t nice and it had nothing to do with my eyesight.

“You’ve always gone on about sport. I always knew that the only way you would ever be really proud of me is if I excelled at sport. I wasn’t built for it. I wasn’t competitive in the least; I couldn’t throw or catch a ball and couldn’t run fast enough. No one wanted to even try to understand the physics of my sight problems, not even the teachers. Mother can testify to the number of times I came home from school completely frustrated and in tears. I even asked if you would enrol me in martial arts classes so that at least I could try to defend myself against the bullies. All you had to say to that was, “Fight back” and “You’re imagining it.”

“The girls didn’t want to know; I put them off simply because they weren’t comfortable around me. I just wanted to be friends with them; I wasn’t interested in them as prospective partners. I was viewed as weird and I was very lonely.

“As soon as I could afford to do so I bought my own home. I have a good job: I now get on well with the other people, especially the other women, in the office. When I was acting as John, they were distant. I was still very lonely, I had no social life at all and that wasn’t for want of trying.

“When my neighbour was murdered earlier this year, I met Jane and she helped me to break the cycle of low self-esteem, loneliness and depression. That brings us up to date.

“I’ve seen two psychiatrists and they both diagnosed that I suffer from Gender Dysphoria; that is, the brain of one gender and, more or less, the body of the other — although this body has never been very masculine, thank God. Gender Dysphoria is not like an illness that you suffer from but I certainly suffered. I’m not physically or even mentally ill but I was depressed. I’ve also been told that I would never be able to function as a man because my hormones are so far from the levels that a doctor would expect to see in a male. So, even if I continued to act as John, you’d never get any grandchildren from me.

“I’ve been living full-time as Jenny for two months now and the thought of returning to my previous life fills me with horror. In fact, if you offered me a fortune to change back, I wouldn’t take it. I’ve made more friends in the past few months than ever I did in the previous twenty years and I am certainly very much happier. I am getting on far better at work than I ever did before.

“What it amounts to is this: I never was your son. You may have wanted another son but you ended up with a son and a daughter. For most people there isn’t a problem: what you see is what you get. For one child in a couple of thousand or so, that doesn’t apply. Unless there are serious physical or mental signs, there are no easy ways to tell until the child either doesn’t conform to type or acknowledges that there is a problem.

“Know that I love you and Mother completely and unconditionally as a child loves its parents but, if you can’t accept me as I am, I am prepared to leave now and never see you again. It’s your choice. I never asked for this; I would have been quite happy to be all girl at birth. It was not to be. But, as I say, this is me and I’m never going back.

“It has, and will, cost me a lot of money to correct my birth anomaly and I also have the dubious pleasure of the interference of the medical profession at every twist and turn. But that’s the hand I was dealt, and this is the only way I can see to play it. By the way; these aren’t just women’s clothes, they’re my clothes, and they fit properly, which menswear never did.”

My father looked stunned. He’d never understood me and he’d probably never tried; he’d never really listened to my side of the story of my childhood. He put his head in his hands and was silent for a minute. When he looked up he said, “You really are very pretty; I thought you’d look stupid dressed as a woman. I can understand how you must feel.”

I was incensed and shouted at him. “NO, FATHER! YOU CAN’T UNDERSTAND HOW I FEEL! You were born male and probably never had any identity problems. You never even had to think about whether or not your brain matched your body. No! You have no idea how I might feel. How would you like to be hated, bullied, victimised, shunned and possibly even killed just because of the way you were born?” I was getting quite heated.

“I’m sorry love, I had no idea,” he wriggled. I was still pretty wound up and the endearment flew right over my head.

“Oh, you had an idea alright; you were told enough times, but everything had to be done your way, because ‘you were always right’.”

He had the grace to look a little contrite. “If you don’t mind my saying so, you look quite normal for a girl — very pretty. You look right, if you understand me; I thought you’d look like John in a dress.”

“I should hope I do look normal. I am female and always have been. And I’m sure that any of my friends would let me know if I were to wear something that didn’t suit me.”

My father tried to protest. “I still can’t say I’m happy with this, but then your behaviour always struck me as odd. I just couldn’t understand why you didn’t try harder to fit in, as I was sure that was the cause of the problems you were having. Young people have very narrow views of things. If you fall outside their idea of normal you can immediately attract the wrong kind of attention and become a victim. I can understand to some degree about the glasses, although you weren’t the only one wearing them. What I’m still struggling with is this business of identity. Surely boys are boys and girls are girls?”

I almost thumped him and could see Jane getting ready to grab me before I put him back in hospital. “FATHER; you’ve just answered your own question; yes, I AM female and I’ve always been female. I just had several birth defects. Young people do notice when one of their peers is different. I didn’t ask to be different; that’s just the way I was born. You can’t tell me that a toddler would willingly incur a lifetime of harassment, hatred, and the risk of being murdered by bigots, who are so prejudiced that they feel threatened by their own shadows!”

“Well,” he said, “I don’t want to drive you away: you are still my child and all I’m trying to do is protect you.”

“You know nothing about protecting me; the only thing you ever wanted was for me to be a clone of you. That was never going to happen.”

At last, that shut him up. He was silent for several minutes.

I decided that it was up to me to move things on. “Okay, then; do you want us to leave now, or do we all go out for lunch?” I’d reached the end of the line and was within seconds of walking out of the door.

“But…What about…What if…,” he stammered.

“You agree that I look presentable. What’s to stop us all going out — or are you worried that I’ll embarrass you? Is your ego that fragile?”

There he had it. If he answered “no”, then what was there to stop us all going out to lunch and, indeed, continuing our relationship with me as his daughter? If he answered “yes”, then we would go and pack and he would never see me again. He was between a rock and a hard place. I know he’d just been released from hospital but I had nearly twenty years of anger to unleash and he was right in the firing line. I didn’t feel the least bit guilty about it.

“Well, I need time to understand this, and talk it over with your mother.” He was obviously procrastinating.

“You’ve had quite enough time to think about this: I reckon I’ve been very patient with you, but that time has now run out. Jane and I will now go and pack. You’ve got one hour. If I don’t hear from you by then, we’ll go straight home and you’ll never see me again. Mother has the number of my mobile phone.”

Jane and I walked purposefully out of the lounge and up the stairs to the guest room. Within a few minutes, we returned and walked out of the front door. They must have heard the car leave; I’m convinced that Jane had been a rally driver in a past life.

Ellen and Bill sat in silence for several minutes staring at their empty coffee cups, not looking at one another. Suddenly, their quiet contemplation was disturbed by the ringing of the telephone. Ellen answered it.

~ Hello Mum, its Peter. How’s Dad? ~

She moved to the kitchen and, having closed the door, told him about the various scans, that Jenny had visited, that Jane had collected them from hospital that morning and that we’d just left.

~ For good? ~

“That depends on your father.”

~ Oh! Look, sorry we didn’t get over sooner, I couldn’t get away: crisis at work ~

“I understand, dear,” she said, gently. She knew that Peter was self-employed and sometimes had to work unsociable hours. He was also liable to be called in at any time of the day or night to fix some problem or other: one of the joys of being your own boss.

~ Will you be at home tomorrow? ~

“Yes, we will.”

~ Could we come over and take you out for lunch? ~

“Yes, thank you; that would be lovely.”

~ Will Jenny and Jane still be there? ~

“That depends upon your father.”

~ This is ridiculous! Let me have a word with him ~

“Now don’t you go upsetting him, will you?”

~ I’ll try not to do that. I’ll just tell him a few home truths ~

Ellen took the phone in to Bill and mouthed “Peter” to him.

“Hello lad.”

~ How are you, Dad? ~

“I’m okay; they couldn’t find any lasting damage so I just have to take it easy for a month or so. That’s going to be hard work. Just when I’ve found something useful to do with my time, I go and fall off a ladder.”

~ Well, I’ve no doubt that Mum will keep you in order. We’d like to come over and see you; Mum said that tomorrow would be fine. We can maybe go out to lunch. ~

“That sounds nice; it will be good to see you both. Will you bring the children?”

~ No; we’ll leave them with Emma next door. Anyway, what’s this about you upsetting my sister? ~

Bill was still smarting from the tongue-lashing that he’d received. “I tried to talk some sense into John but he still isn’t interested. I’m worried that he’s going to get a lot of stick over this.”

~ Come off it, Dad. It’s obvious that Jenny is happier now than ever before in her life. Give her a break: she had nearly twenty years of sheer hell and it can’t help either of you if you still persist in ramming your prejudices down her throat. ~

“I am not prejudiced!”

~ No? What is it then, she looks pretty good now. When everything is fixed she should look even better. ~

“Yes, some expensive procedures were mentioned. How much do you think?”

Peter really had no idea so he gave his father a figure that should grab his attention.

~ About a hundred thousand pounds might do it, plus what she’s already spent, which could be at least that much again. ~

“Crikey, that’s serious money!” Bill was surprised.

~ Well, that’s the sort of money it takes to fix Mother Nature’s little joke. ~

“So you think it’s that serious?”

~ I’ll tell you Dad; if I’d had the childhood that poor kid had, I’d be dead by now, I don’t think I’d have coped. ~

“Hmmm, I’m learning a lot today and it’s making me think. I thought I had it all worked out but perhaps I’ve been wrong.”

Peter snorted.

~ Yeah, I’ll agree with that. How long since they left? ~

“About twenty minutes. Why?”

~ Can you call her? See if she can stay until tomorrow? I’d like to see my sister again and I’d like to see you, if not accepting her, at least giving her the benefit of the doubt. ~

“Okay, okay. I get the message. So I’m just a bigoted old goat, right?”

~ Sometimes, Dad: but you love us all and I’m sure you want the best for us. But give Jenny credit for knowing her own mind and body: you don’t know the half of what she went through as a child and I think that she deserves some happiness now ~

“All right; we’ll call them and ask them to come back.”

~ We’ll see you tomorrow then, late morning. ‘Bye now ~

“’Bye son.”

When he had hung up, he turned to his wife. “Have you got Jo…Jenny’s mobile number?”

Ellen found her little phone, then speed-dialled a certain number.

~ Hello Mummy ~

“Hello love, could you come back? Peter called and I think that your father has something to say to you.”

She listened for a moment, smiled and flipped the phone shut.

“They’re on their way.”

“How long have you had a mobile phone?” Bill asked.

“Since I stayed with Jenny.” She replied, matter-of-factly.

“Oh.” Bill acknowledged and then continued. “Maybe I’ve been a bit hasty in my judgement; maybe I’m measuring John’s behaviour against that which I found in the Navy; and I need to take some time to find out more about this. I can’t promise that I’ll find it easy but I will try.”

“Thank you, dear,” Ellen said, with tears in her eyes, but with her heart uplifted,” I can imagine just how much it cost you to say that.” She felt that now was as good a time as any to spring her little trap. She’d found some information that, she hoped, would satisfy Bill beyond any doubt. She asked, “You remember that film we watched on television on Wednesday evening?”

“What, that adventure thing?”

“Yes, that one. Well, did you know that the leading lady was born a boy?”

End of part 14

John finds the body of a neighbour who has been murdered. The police detective assigned to the case deduces that John hides a secret - but the detective has secrets of her own.

Part 15 of 25 — Intersex?

Ellen added, “Well, she appeared to be a boy at birth.”

That got his attention and Bill was suitably gobsmacked. “What! You mean that she’s had the surgery that John is planning to have? But she looked so natural; she looked like a girl. In fact, if you hadn’t said, I’d have taken her for a girl.”

“I don’t know for sure what she’s had done,” Ellen replied guardedly. “I did some research in the local library. I decided that, before I made any decisions about John or Jenny, I ought to be better informed.”

Bill could have taken that as criticism but didn’t appear to notice.

Ellen went on. “There are dozens of medical conditions that can cause a child to grow up different from what the Daily Trash likes to call “Normal”. It wasn’t uncommon for children with ambiguous genitalia to have a sex assigned to them, and to be surgically mutilated accordingly. Of course, there was a chance of getting it wrong, which caused the child a lot of heartache. I read of cases where the child’s sex was determined simply by what the parents wanted, or what the doctor thought. Now they know that gender isn’t all about what’s between the legs or even the chromosomes, but mutilation still goes on. It’s barbaric.”

Bill could have protested at her disparaging remarks about his tabloid daily. He liked the sports coverage and wouldn’t go near his wife’s broadsheet newspaper, but even he was too sensible to protest too much. He remained silent and just concentrated on what Ellen was saying. He could well understand how she’d been such a good schoolteacher, who commanded the respect and attention of her pupils.

“Now, there is a certain actress called Melissa Haydn, the star of Wednesday’s movie. She was born with what appeared to be a full set of male genitalia and XY chromosomes. You’d think, therefore, that she ought to have been a boy. Well, that’s what the parents were told they’d got and, lo and behold, a boy named Lee was registered. She always knew that she should have been a girl but Lee got on with life, very unhappily, until puberty hit.

“At puberty, a boy usually starts growing facial and body hair, his chest starts to develop, his shoulders usually become wider than his hips and, in most cases, his voice breaks. That didn’t happen with Lee. His penis didn’t grow and didn’t erect — in fact, it never erected; he had no emissions and his sperm count was nil. In addition, his body started to change shape in other, un-boyish ways. His hips broadened, his shoulders stayed slim, his features were fine, his skin was flawless with no trace of acne or facial hair, and his voice didn’t break. This, of course, made him a target at school and he was regularly assaulted.

Fortunately, his parents were on the ball and took him to a doctor. This doctor had more of an open mind and decided to carry out some tests. It was found that Lee’s hormones hadn’t worked properly for some reason. Lee’s body produced testosterone but didn’t process it; he therefore looked like a girl. After some treatment, you now see her as a successful actress. She had the male bits removed; she doesn’t have periods, can’t get pregnant and couldn’t nurse a child. She might feel cheated, but it’s obviously not stopped her pursuing the career that she loves, and her parents have supported her one hundred per cent.”

Bill didn’t know what to say and just sat staring at her. Finally he asked, “Do you think that’s what John had?”

“I’ve no idea, and I don’t propose to ask. All I know is that Jenny is finally at peace with herself and, after the medical people have done their bit, she will be as good as Melissa. I don’t know Melissa at all but I do know Jenny and I love her to bits.” She was about to sit down when the doorbell rang.

“That’ll be them now,” she said as she headed towards the front door.

When my mother let us in, she mentioned that she had dropped the medical explanation into the conversation with my father.

Jane smiled and said, “If it works, don’t knock it.”

As we came into the living room, I greeted my father warily.

He looked shame-faced. “Hello love, can you ever forgive me, I had no idea? I didn’t even consider that there might be a medical explanation for all this. I only saw what I wanted to see, or rather, what I didn’t want to see.”

He then turned to Jane. “And it seems that I have you to thank for the fact that Jenny is still with us. If you hadn’t found her, there’s no telling how this would have ended up. I’ve realised that I’ve had a lot of one-sided conversations with John over the past years and never even considered his feelings. I understand that you’ve known Jenny for some months but I know nothing about you other than that you’ve been like a sister to her.”

Jane took command of the situation.

“Look,” she said, “Why don’t we all go out to lunch? There’s a pub at the end of the road; what’s the food like?”

“Err…It’s good,” my father shakily replied, for the first time hearing Jane’s accent - she had remained silent throughout the car journey and during my earlier tirade. He then asked tentatively. “But what do I tell them? They know about Peter but I’ve never mentioned any other children.”

“Were you that ashamed of me, Father?”

“Err…well…Um….”

I took some minor satisfaction from seeing his embarrassment but, after all, he was probably as much a victim of his own upbringing as anyone else could be. A poem by Philip Larkin sprang to mind:

“They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.”

I just smiled at him and gave him a hug.

He tensed up for a moment and then relaxed.

“Come on,” I said, nodding towards Jane. “Some of us are hungry.”

We left for the short walk to the pub and followed my father into the bar.

Andy said, “Hello, it’s good to see you all. How are you feeling, Bill?”

My father regaled his friends with a couple of stories of his hospital time.

“And who are these lovely young ladies?” asked David, another member of the Job Squad. “ One looks a lot like Ellen so I assume that she’s your daughter.”

Les was also there and he temporarily left his beer to go and collect stools from around the busy bar.

My father had previously only mentioned his son Peter. The fact that I looked a lot like my mother obviously led everyone to deduce that I was their daughter — which was, of course, quite correct.

“Hello, David,” my father replied, with some amusement. “It’s good to be home; I know I was only in hospital a couple of days but the boredom was driving me nuts. That and the fact that they wake you up to see if you are asleep.” He introduced us. “This is our daughter Jenny and her friend Jane. They both live and work in the South of England and drove up on Thursday to be with Ellen while I was in hospital. It’s their first visit since we retired here so I’m showing them the best pub in town.”

So that’s what they feed to hospital patients; Bullshit. Now, would that be fried or boiled?

The men smiled and shook hands, then went back to planning the next project for the Job Squad and my father was dragged into the conversation — purely in a planning role, of course, as he wasn’t allowed to get really involved for a few weeks.

Us women hoisted ourselves onto the bar stools and ordered drinks; long fruit juices for us, and the usual pint for dad. While he was talking, we looked at the menu board behind the bar.

“The lamb casserole sounds good,” I enthused.

“I’ll have the same,” my mother agreed, “then you can give them your recipe.”

“Mo-ther!” I said, as I turned to Jane.

“What would you like?”

“I fancy lamb chops. Then I can compare them to yours.”

“Look, I’m walking out of here if you two carry on like that.”

“Well, I’d like the sausages and mash,” My father turned to us at the mention of food, and having overheard the comments about my cooking, asked, “So do I get the impression that our Jo…Jenny is a good cook?”

Jane and my mother grinned at each other; I just glared at them both.

My mother said, with a smile, “Well, I’ll tell you, Bill Smith; if you start practising your grovelling now, you’ll not go hungry at Jenny’s place; she’s a very good hostess and a superb cook.”

“When did you learn to cook?” he asked me.

“As I’ve lived on my own since I left home to go to college, I’d no intention of starving or living on ready-meals full of additives. Anyway, I enjoy cooking.”

Mother was laughing as she and I went to order and pay for the meals. There was the usual argument about who would pay. I won by using the “my father’s accident, my mother’s hospitality and Jane’s driving me” card. We returned to the other two, giggling all the way.

My father smiled when he heard my mother laugh; he hadn’t heard much of that in the past few years and decided that they needed more fun in their lives. “So, Jane,” he began, as we all sat down to await our meals, “What do you do for a living?”

I just remained silent and smiled, as I knew what was coming.

“I’m a police officer.”

She hadn’t said it quietly and there was a definite lull in the conversation around us as that little gem was popped into the ether. Jane was so proud of her job and thought that the regulars in the pub might find the presence of a police officer a little intimidating - she wasn’t disappointed. She smiled with wry amusement at the result of her announcement, particularly as she’d used her most aristocratic voice. My father visibly shook when she spoke.

“Good grief!” He spluttered, “How…Where.…”

“I met Jenny in the course of my work; we got on well and have been friends ever since.” She didn’t tell him all the gory details by any means; not only might it have revealed too much to the regulars of the pub but also she felt that my father wouldn’t be ready for details of our romantic liaison.

My father said, “I may not be very bright but even I can see that you’ve left out an enormous amount in those few words.”

“It’s not that important. What is important is that Jenny has her family to back her up. I lost touch with my family years ago due to a misunderstanding…”

I spluttered, my mouthful of fruit juice making a mess on the table.

“…and I wouldn’t be happy if the same thing happened to Jenny.”

Jane agreed that we could stay until after lunch the next day so that we could see Peter and Geena again. Our lunches arrived and, having enjoyed a good meal, Jane suggested a short walk.

My mother agreed that the car wasn’t really suitable for four adults — anyway it was outside the house - so we walked to the sea front.

My father had spotted the car as we left for the pub and was very impressed with it. He and Jane kept up a lively discussion during the after-lunch walk — about the car, no doubt - and I linked arms with my mother.

When we arrived at the sea front, Jane and I changed places and they dropped back a little. I overheard my mother say to Jane, “I’m so glad that things look as though they’ve worked themselves out; I think that my library research might have helped.”

“There might be more truth in the story than you suspect.” Jane said, “I must say that Jenny’s father seems much more accepting now and looks to be trying to make up for lost time.”

I let my father buy ice creams, just for a change. We sat companionably on a bench seat and just watched the birds wheeling and diving over the bay, and the people as they went about their relaxation. We headed back home in time for tea.

My mother and I soon had some sandwiches, cake and tea organised and my father found out a little more about Jane’s work. Funny that he never thought to ask how she could afford an expensive Lexus. It was something I still hadn’t the courage to bring up, so the question didn’t get asked - again

The evening was spent in pleasant conversation; my father didn’t once look at the television or even check to see what was on. Sport appeared to be furthest from his mind as he seemed to be absorbed in the life of his daughter and her friend. Jane and I both had to choose words rather carefully so as to avoid giving him even a hint of our relationship. My new-found friendship with him was only a few hours old and was still a little frail around the edges. It didn’t do to take it too far, too fast.

All too soon the day seemed to take its toll and my parents retired early to bed. We took the opportunity to snuggle. We had to decide whether to stay in the lounge or go up to the bedroom. Our bed was calling, not just to sleep but for another reason and we didn’t want to make too much noise - and Jane could make a lot of noise….

My mother had told us yesterday to have a lie-in on the Sunday morning but, as usual, I was wide-awake at about seven o’clock. I went to the bathroom and tidied myself up, then went to the kitchen. I’d heard my parents stirring so made some tea and took it back upstairs. I carried two cups into the guest room for Jane and I, then carried the tray to my parents’ room and knocked the door.

“Room service,” I announced and heard my mother giggle.

“Come in,” she called.

“I thought that Sir and Madam might like some early morning tea,” I said as I bobbed a little curtsey.

My parents laughed at that, thanked me for my thoughtfulness and I left them, closing the door behind me.

It felt as though my father was still a little uneasy with his daughter, but my mother later told me that she thought that he was making a valiant effort.

When I returned to our room, Jane was sitting up and sipping the drink. “Where have you been?”

“Taking my folks some tea,” I replied.

“You are so thoughtful,” she said, and then looked up as I relieved her of her cup.

“Hey! I’ve not finished drinking that!”

“I need a fondle.”

Jane obliged, and then she too had to dash to the bathroom.

When she returned to bed, I said, “You know, I still can’t get over the change in my father’s attitude in just a few hours.”

“Don’t knock it, my love, just be thankful.”

“Oh, I am,” I smiled. “But I definitely think that my mother’s little revelation helped.”

“I don’t think it did, I know it did. Although didn’t Judy say that your blood tests came back showing a problem with your hormones?”

“Yes, she did, but she also said that she wasn’t sure if it was enough to cause this much of a deviation from normal.”

“What is normal then?” she asked.

“How the hell should I know? I’ve been so screwed up over the years that I don’t think I’d know normal even if it reared up and bopped me on the nose.”

She laughed, and then kissed the object in question. “That would be such a shame; it’s such a pretty nose, just like its owner.”

That earned her some very close attention, which she didn’t mind at all.

When everyone had eventually surfaced, and were gathered around the breakfast table, my mother asked me about the friends that I’d made at work.

“Celia, Jill, Maddy and Janet really have looked after me. I am so lucky to have such wonderful friends. The other people at work seem to be more relaxed around me too. It seems that they could almost sense a tension in me; although I knew it was there, I didn’t think it showed too much. And my manager is pleased because I’m more productive and more accurate in my work and that has to be good for our annual bonuses.”

“Have you managed to make any friends outside of work yet?” my father asked.

I just stopped myself in time. However, I thought for a moment and, not wanting to tell any lies, said, “My first priority has been to settle into this new life and get all the loose ends tied up. You know; clinics, paperwork and stuff. But I really love it; I’ve never before been so relaxed. Jane visits when she can and we seem to have so many interests in common: the theatre, concerts, music, movies, shopping and just sitting and talking. We’ve still a lot to learn about each other and I’ve come to the conclusion that Jane has had a lonely life as well. But she often works unsociable hours.”

Jane, standing at that moment behind my father, grinned and mouthed at me “We see quite a lot of each other — especially when naked!”

“Have you a boyfriend, Jane?” he asked, turning to her.

Trust him to ask that!

“No, Mr Right hasn’t come along: who knows, maybe he isn’t even out there,” she responded, guardedly.

I suspected that my father wouldn’t want to even think about the possibility that I might be looking for a boyfriend.

Before he could say another word, I just said, “And in case you’re wondering, Father, I’m not looking for a relationship.” Then I added, mentally, Because I’m already in one

He looked relieved.

It was now after half past ten and my mother chivvied us along. “Come on, you lot. We’re expecting visitors any minute; let’s get the breakfast things out of the way.”

“You two go and sit down,” I ordered, “We’ll clear up here.”

“Thank you, love,” she replied as she pushed my father into the living room and shut the door.

“I thought you were going to drop us in it there for a moment,” Jane said, when we were engaged in the washing-up.

“Yes, I just caught myself in time: I almost said, “Jane keeps me fairly well occupied”.”

She laughed. “That’s more or less what I thought you were going to say. It’s a bit early for such revelations, though, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but I’m getting tired of this sneaking about, I wish we could be more open with them.”

“What about your cousin? You know; the one near Salisbury. Didn’t you mention that she had quite a diverse family?”

“Yes I did,” I said, enthusiastically, a light turning on in my mind.

My mother had made coffee and tea for everyone and we sat comfortably in the lounge. I jumped up when the doorbell rang and said, “I’ll get it.” I opened the front door and Geena just grinned as Peter and I hugged and kissed. Then I turned to Geena and similar greetings were exchanged.

“Hi, sis,” Peter said, “How’s the old man?”

I smiled, and admitted, “Actually, he’s not doing too badly at the moment. Mummy told him about an actress who’d had a medical condition that caused her to have to grow up as a boy. Father seems to have swallowed it hook, line and sinker but it’s certainly helped to break the ice.”

Peter said, “Hmm, sometimes the ice wasn’t the only thing that was thick.”

I giggled; Peter always did have a wry sense of humour. “Anyway,” I said, “we had quite a pleasant day yesterday after I read him his fortune at lunchtime: we even went to the pub for lunch — progress indeed. But, please, not a word about Jane and I; I don’t think he’s quite ready for that yet.”

“Okay, we’ll have to be a bit cautious but it shouldn’t be too difficult.” He led the way into the living room.

I went through to the kitchen to make hot drinks for my brother and sister-in-law. As I did so, I marvelled at the way that they had both been so accepting and I thanked God for all the blessings that I had. Then I got to wondering about a God; our family had never been church-goers, and certainly not religious, but I felt that there ought to be some supernatural being somewhere to bring order out of all this chaos. I pushed the thought into the ‘look-at-later’ folder in the back of my mind and took the drinks into the lounge.

My parents both stood to greet Peter and Geena; then the visitors made a point of greeting Jane with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you for all you’ve done for this family over the past few days,” Peter said to her. “It was really kind of you to drive Jenny here and to run about for us.”

“No problem, that’s what friends are for,” she replied as they hugged.

Peter whispered something to her. I could only begin to guess at what it was but I don’t think I’d ever seen Jane lost for words before.

My mother interjected. “I’ve booked a table for six at the pub for one o’clock. The food is very good and their Sunday roast is a must.”

“That sounds great,” said Peter and Jane, almost in unison.

I laughed and explained, much to Jane’s embarrassment. “Jane is a foodaholic; I don’t know where she puts it all; perhaps she has a high metabolism.”

“Very true!” responded the object of my jest. “When at home, I eat at Jenny’s diner; it’s the best in the South.”

“Oh, been around, have we?” I couldn’t resist teasing her.

I received a “You just wait until I get you home” look from Jane; I flashed back “I’m looking forward to it.”

Geena just rolled her eyes and made some sarcastic comment about having to ask for more housekeeping money next week in order to feed three hungry children and a pet rabbit. Peter gave her a look; he’d correctly deduced that he was listed as one of the hungry children. As Geena said later; men are, after all, simply overgrown boys.

The local pub was quite busy, testifying to the quality of the food on offer. With my father being a regular, and now having brought five other people to lunch, he again attracted the attention of the Job Squad team. Les was there with his wife and he rose when my father entered with his family.

“Hello Bill, Ellen. I see you’ve found another couple of hungry strays; is this all of them or are there any more of your tribe lurking in dark corners of the land?”

“Hello Les,” my father laughingly replied. “This is definitely the lot, unless I’ve some unknown offspring I’ve fathered while I was asleep.” He laughed at his own joke but didn’t notice the look that my mother gave him. “Meet my son Peter and his wife Geena — oh and, if I don’t, she’ll tell you that it’s spelt with two ‘E’s rather than an ‘I’.

“Oh, right,” Les replied, then promptly turned back to the interrupted conversation with his wife.

“Dad!” said Geena, embarrassed.

“Well, you did point it out to me when Peter first brought you home.”

“Yes but…Oh, never mind.”

“Right,” said Peter, “who’s having what?”

We all scanned the Specials board behind the bar. Six roast beef dinners seemed to be the order of the day.

Peter headed to the till before anyone else could get a look in. “Thank you very much,” we all chorused on his return.

“That’s okay; just don’t make a habit of falling off a ladder, Dad,” he joked.

“Not likely, Son, I’ll be more careful in future.”

“I should hope so too.”

While we waited for our food, Peter and his father began a rather heavy and technical discussion about the latest cricket results. We four women headed for the ladies’ room where we spent a few minutes admiring each other’s outfits and checking our makeup.

Then Geena spotted something.

“Mum, what have you done? You look much more, I don’t know, um…”

“Younger?” I suggested.

“Yes, I guess that about sums it up: more stylish, a fresher complexion, different makeup, that sort of thing. And I just love that dress on you.”

My mother positively glowed, put her arm around my waist and said, “Well, I recently spent a few days down South with my daughter and we went shopping in Winchester.”

“Ah! That explains it; it really suits you. Has Dad noticed?”

“Don’t be silly; I think the only thing that would get him fired up is if the local under-elevens football team won the FA Cup!”

We all laughed. I said that Jane always seemed to notice whenever I wore something new. The others merely said that they would be surprised if she didn’t, given her special interest.

“Yes, there’s no doubt about that,” I said, dodging out of the way of a slap.

Geena said that, on the whole, Peter was quite good but the really sharp-eyed one in her family was Rosalind, her daughter. “She may be only four - sorry four and three-quarters” - she put her hands on her hips and pouted, in a fair parody of a little girl reminding her mother of something that should be obvious - “but has eyes like a hawk. I can’t get away with anything.”

We re-joined the men-folk, our table was called and our food arrived. Its reputation was wholly justified and we all very much enjoyed the lunch. Other than Peter and Jane, we couldn’t manage a dessert but all had coffees. Jane said, “I’m sorry to break up this little gathering but we really ought to be thinking about making a move. We’ve the best part of three hundred miles to cover and we both have work tomorrow.”

We left the pub for the five-minute walk back to the house. Jane and I had already packed our bags and put them in the Lexus. There were a few moist eyes after we had all kissed and hugged goodbye.

As we all made our way out of the door, my father said, “Look, I’m so sorry I’ve been a bit blinkered on this. I guess I had my head buried in the sand and didn’t want to see what was in front of my nose. I must say, you are very pretty and I’m enormously proud of you. I really wish you well in all that you have to do, and I am only sorry that you weren’t born with all the right bits and avoided all the aggro. I suspect that I know only a fraction of what you went through as a child, but I really hope that things get better from now on.”

I was tempted to say, “Your head wasn’t in the sand, it was up your arse,” but I thought it would be unhelpful and kept my thoughts to myself. Instead, I hugged him and felt that a massive weight had been taken from my shoulders. “Daddy, you can’t know just how much your support means to me: I love you and Mummy very much and am so happy that I can now be your friend as well as your daughter. It seems that your falling off a ladder might have done us some good after all.”

He smiled and kissed me again, then actually hugged Jane and asked, “Look after my girl, won’t you?”

To which Jane replied in an exaggerated English Public School voice, “Rather!”

We both thought that his comment was a little over the top and were fairly sure that he’d definitely not grasped the full extent of our relationship. Still, I thought, maybe another day?

Jane and I turned to the Lexus and Peter and Geena went over to their Audi with Geena calling, as they went, “Don’t forget, Jenny; therapy at Leamington. Give us a ring”. We all waved as we went our separate ways.

We were both quite tired by the time we made it home, and had an early night, content with kisses and cuddles and no more.

Ellen was sad to see the family all leave to go home but was very happy with the way that the weekend had turned out. She smiled a lot at Bill and made him really glad that he had asked her to be his wife all those years ago. He cuddled her and said, “It was really good to have the family all together, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, love, it was.”

“And I’m very fortunate to have such a beautiful wife.”

She almost choked. “Bill Smith; that was a rare compliment. But, thank you, anyway.”

“I’ve come to realise over the past few days that life has been incredibly good to me. I’ve more blessings than I really deserve and you, my love, are the greatest blessing of all.”

She smiled at him and offered her lips for a kiss, which he willingly supplied.

“I’m still amazed about Jenny. She really has turned into a beautiful girl; I’m just so embarrassed that it took me so long to see the truth.”

Ellen thought, Well, the truth as you’re going to know it, buster.

“She called me ‘Daddy’,” Bill said, still not quite believing it.

“You should feel privileged, Bill.”

“I do. I’m amazed after the way I treated John and Jenny.”

“That’s one special daughter we have there.”

End of part 15

John finds the body of a neighbour who has been murdered. The police detective assigned to the case deduces that John hides a secret - but the detective has secrets of her own.

Part 16 of 25 — Clubbing

Jane was on late shift that week so, on the Monday morning, we were able to have a shower and cuddle and a reasonably leisurely breakfast before I had to leave for work. It took a tremendous amount of will-power for me to be on time but I managed it, having torn myself away from Jane’s grasp.

In the office, I fielded numerous questions as to the condition of my father. I was pleased to report that there seemed to be no lasting damage and that he should be able to resume a full life in about a month or so. To Celia and Jill, I related the dramatic turnaround in my father’s acceptance of me: from his total antipathy on the Saturday morning to the acceptance of the afternoon of the same day. I also told them about the ruse dreamed up by my mum.

Jill said, “There must be some truth in it anyway because you’re so natural that I’m struggling to remember what you looked like before transition.”

I had taken my car that morning because I needed to shop for food when I finished work.

There’s got to be a better way to spend your time than fighting through hordes of people to get at left-over fruit, vegetable and salad items that look as though they’ve been lying on the shelf all day

I suspected that they had, and that made the exercise all the more frustrating. I determined to find out if one of the local supermarkets delivered to our door. If so, that would be one less reason to keep the car. I was getting quite comfortable with the idea of being without it, particularly as Jane would probably be available to drive me to those places I couldn’t get to by bus, train or taxi.

When I arrived home that evening, I picked up the letters from the doormat as usual. I then had to find somewhere to sit down because there was a letter from the clinic in London. I held it as though it was contaminated: was it a follow-up appointment or a letter saying that they wouldn’t treat me?

In the end, full of trepidation, I opened it. I breathed a sigh of relief. It was an appointment for September 16th. I realised that I’d been nervously shaking but then my relief faded, to be replaced again by anxiety as I wondered if they just called you to the clinic to tell you that you had failed their criteria or if they wanted to delay even more. I tried to put it out of my mind and concentrate on my work but it kept gnawing away at me all week and, by the Saturday morning, I was still far from euphoric.

Jane had been busy all week, so she elected to stay at Masefield House. She said that it allowed her to pursue the matter of housing and, by the time that Saturday came, she’d not only looked at the details of several properties but also decided which of her possessions she wanted to keep. As this was to be a joint home, however, she wanted to talk to me about her plans.

It was obvious when she arrived, that I was somewhat preoccupied.

“What’s the matter, love?” she asked.

I showed her the letter.

“When did this arrive?”

“On Monday.”

“And you’ve waited until now to talk to me about it. Why?”

“I’m so worried that they might reject me, and then you wouldn’t want me.”

Jane looked as though she was about to tear into me for not confiding in her earlier, but could see that I was on the verge of tears. “Come here.” Her greeting dispelled most of the ideas I had about her getting fed up with me. “Do you remember what I told you shortly after we met?”

“Well, y…yes, but...”

“Wait; let me finish. I told you then that you are the woman that I love. Nothing’s changed; if anything, I love you more than ever. You have very quickly become one of the most beautiful people that I’ve ever met and, unless you have any objection, I’d like to spend the rest of my life with you.”

I was so happy and reassured that I cried.

She continued. “You may also recall my saying that you were to tell me if you had any problems. I may not have an instant solution but it’s often true what they say; “A problem shared is a problem halved”. Now you’ve three weeks to get your mind around this: if they don’t soon treat you on the NHS (National Health Service), you’ll go private.”

“It’s all very well for you to say that,” I sniffled, “But I’m the one who has to find the money.”

“Not necessarily, there are ways and means. Look, just wait three weeks; what harm can it do? If you don’t get a satisfactory answer from the clinic, then we go back to Judy and tell her to push for the private route. One way or another, my darling, you are going to be the woman that you and I both want you to be and I’ll not have some two-bit quack telling us otherwise. Now, do you feel any better?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” I said as we cuddled and worked out what we were going to do for the weekend.

Jane looked as if she had something on her mind; I didn’t have long to wait to find out what it was.

“I’ve been looking into buying a new home. I’ve looked at one in the development off The Avenue. If we went for something like one of those, a first floor, four-bedroom place would do. It’s quite a bit bigger than this, larger even than my present apartment and still within walking distance of your office. There’s plenty of room for us, an en-suite master bedroom, a decent sized lounge, a family bathroom, most of the appliances we need already fitted into the kitchen, a room that would make a great study, decent sized guest rooms and, very important, a balcony.”

Even I laughed at this and Jane looked pleased that I seemed to be coming out of my despondent phase. I said, “I’ll just bet that you’ve got this vision of a waitress in a Bunny outfit bringing you your Pina Colada in the summer, haven’t you?”

“Guilty as charged; and I know just the woman to wear the Bunny outfit.”

Suddenly I was sad. “You know as well as I do that I couldn’t wear an outfit like that, I’ve still got something that most bunny girls don’t have.”

“That flattens down to nothing. Anyway, you’ll lose it soon.”

“You’ll get fed up with me before then and start looking for a real woman with whom you can have a proper relationship.”

She cuddled me very tightly: I was sure that she could feel the tension in my body. “That letter has really upset you, hasn’t it?”

I nodded, beginning to choke up with tears again and she realised just how depressed I had been for the past week.

We kissed for several minutes and, eventually, she took my hand and led me to the bedroom. There she tried to make sure, within the anatomical constraints imposed by my body, that I was as certain of her love for me as I ever could be.

Jane decided that another totally idle weekend was called for. She had been very busy; her new job was occupying a fair amount of her time. This was mainly due to the work that went into building a team and learning all about each other - well, as much as anyone wanted to tell, anyway.

As the weather was set fair, she took me to Winchester on the Saturday to begin the mammoth task of equipping us both with a new winter wardrobe. In my case, other than a few items from my past, it was to be my first one. We therefore had the novelty of seeing just which winter colours would suit me. We had lunch overlooking the river and, once again, came home laden with bags of goodies.

She had reserved a table at a restaurant about which she’d heard good reports. I was instructed to put on my glad-rags and get ready for a night on the town. The restaurant was run by a Greek couple and served authentic Greek food. The Taramosalata, Moussaka, and Baklava were an absolute must and, occasionally, customers were entertained by the host and his friends, all of whom played Bouzoukis. Patrons were encouraged to dance, yell, clap and generally enter into the spirit of things. We didn’t disappoint.

Then it came time to seriously dance off those calories and Jane drove us to the Magnum Club. I was a little worried about getting hit on by men when we were out in public but Jane just laughed and put me at ease.

“Darling, The Magnum advertises itself as the South of England’s premiá¨re gay venue. We are a gay couple; you are my girlfriend. If anyone does hit on you, and she’s not me, she’ll end up with at least a slapped face. Believe me, this is one place where you don’t have to worry about being harassed by men, they’re very unlikely to be interested.”

Jane was a member of the club but hadn’t been since she had met me. She showed her card to the doorman, paid the cover charge and we walked in. The club occupied two floors and had three bars: being a Saturday night it was very crowded. I was amazed by the relaxed atmosphere but didn’t have time to do much in the way of looking around as Jane made very sure that all the other women there knew that I was spoken for.

“It’s just great to be able to kiss you when I like and dance close with you,” she told me, then proceeded to do both — often.

We had a wonderful time and I quickly became caught up in the newness of it all. I was introduced as her girlfriend and totally accepted. We danced until two in the morning and left the club with a group of friends that Jane knew from previous visits.

“I enjoyed this evening so much, thank you. I just never knew that such places existed,” I told her as we left the other girls and walked hand in hand back towards the car, “How come you’ve never taken me there before?”

“I didn’t think you were ready for that kind of experience until tonight.”

I thought for a moment. “I can understand that; I was never a sociable animal and wouldn’t have even thought of going to a pub or club, especially on my own.”

She nodded, smiling.

“Anyway, how can I possibly repay you for such a lovely evening?” I asked, my lips turning into a hint of a smile.

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll think of something,” she laughed, conspiratorially.

We had just crossed the road when three men, who had been lounging against a wall, glanced at each other, grinned, then levered themselves upright and lurched towards us.

“’Ello darlins’! Wot ‘ave you two gorgeous chicks been doin’ in the Magnum? Orl on yer own, are yer?”

“No,” Jane responded warily to the voice.

It was unduly loud and, although I was a bit frightened, I wondered why alcohol raised the volume of the voice.

“Yer ain’t bin in there wiv yer boyfriends, ‘ave yer?” Voice said with certainty, “Yer shouldn’t be wiv no poofs, yer need prop’a men to show yer a good time and it looks like it’s ar turn.”

Voice’s accomplices appeared to be the worse for wear and were trying to stop falling into the road. Jane didn’t wait for Voice to make the first move; she simply approached him, grabbed him by the lapels of his denim jacket, head butted him on the nose, and kneed him somewhere where his thoughts of a night of bliss were painfully dispelled. Voice’s accomplices were still trying to hold themselves upright so Jane’s well-aimed foot dealt similarly with them, just to take their minds off what they might have been planning. She quickly pulled me along to distance us from the three men.

She glanced at me as I tried to run and said, “I’m sorry that you had to experience that; I can’t honestly say that it was the first time girls have been accosted when leaving that club, but it’s never before happened to me.”

I was starting to become hysterical but, by then, we had reached the car; she quickly opened the door and pushed me inside. Running around to the other side, she got in, shut the door and locked them both. She started the engine, drove for a few minutes and then stopped. Turning to me, she said, with feeling, “Darling, I am so sorry; the last thing I wanted to happen tonight was anything like that. I love you very much and just wanted you to have a memorable evening.”

“Please, just take me home,” I sobbed.

When we walked in, I headed straight for the bedroom and undressed, then went to the bathroom in silence, removed my makeup and took care of my nightly routine. When I returned, Jane was still standing in the middle of the room, looking very forlorn. I put my arms around her neck and kissed her passionately. “Come on; come to bed, but can you just hold me?” I pleaded.

She gently stroked my face and gently kissed me until I fell into an exhausted and disturbed sleep.

Sunday morning saw a very subdued household. I’d not entirely recovered from the previous night’s incident; I’d relived the confrontation in my dreams and, although Jane said that I didn’t cry out, I was very restive. I eventually fell into a deep sleep in the early hours of the morning and woke only when Jane brought me some tea and toast at about ten o’clock.

I apologised to her. “I’m so sorry I made a fool of myself last night.”

“You’re sorry? I’m the one to apologise. I’m supposed to be protecting you and then those idiots go and spoil our evening out. Listen, girl, I need you and I love you very much. You are the light of my life and I will be damned if some drunken control freak is going to upset you and get away with it.”

Her little speech helped to dispel the feeling of gloom, and I smiled. “I don’t think you did a bad job of protecting me - I suspect those creeps will remember that evening for some time to come. I just wonder why men have to behave like that.”

“They deserved it; but very few men are that stupid. From my experience, testosterone and alcohol can be a volatile mixture; they often see it down at the nick, especially at weekends.”

“Well, I’m very pleased that I have my own personal bodyguard.”

“You deserve it. You are very beautiful.”

“So you keep telling me, I can’t see why.”

“I’m going to nag you until you accept it. Perhaps your mother was right.”

“What?”

“Perhaps there is a medical reason; perhaps it is more than a slight hormone imbalance.”

I snuggled in really close. “Hmm, that’s so nice, I feel better now.”

“Thank goodness! My mind was going over all the things that you might do — including going back to being John.”

I shuddered. “Not likely. I never was John and, hopefully, I’ll never have to act the part again. I’m so much happier now.”

“And so am I, my love.”

“I know that there are those in society for whom anything that doesn’t fit in with their narrow views is wrong. I even had a father like that. But I don’t really care. This is me and other people can like it or lump it.”

“Well said. Now, where were we?” She asked as she enfolded me in a hug.

“It’s nearly lunchtime,” I said sometime later, as I glanced at the clock.

“I don’t have to move; my lunch is here.”

“You are insatiable.”

“So you keep saying.” She continued from where she was interrupted.

When we eventually surfaced we had brunch, then we decided on a quiet stroll in the park.

Later, after a ham salad, Jane said, “You know, I’m convinced that you could even make bread and butter exciting.”

I blushed.

September 2004

I couldn’t stay sad for long. Firstly, it wasn’t now in my nature to do so and, secondly, Jane wouldn’t allow it.

The next couple of weeks went by very quickly. We managed a visit to the cinema but, as Jane was caught up with work during the week, our time together was mainly limited to the weekends.

I again finished work early as it was my hair and beautician appointment today. My hair was now a little longer and David asked if I wanted to try another style. He had some ideas and showed me some pictures in one of the magazines in the waiting area. Many of the models were auburn-haired and I looked through the magazine for a few minutes. Not being able to decide, I borrowed the magazine so that I could show Jane and we could decide together, perhaps for next time. David also suggested that I consider some copper highlights and pointed to a couple of photos that explained what he meant. I told him to go ahead; I was delighted with the result.

Then it was downstairs for my regular treatment. While Gaynor was working, she gave a blow-by-blow account of her recent holiday in Turkey. I told her of the meeting with my parents and how my father seemed to accept the idea that there was a medical explanation.

Gaynor said, “Well, you’re not the only one in your situation that is a client of this salon. I do have to say, though, that you are one of the most beautiful of them all and, if I didn’t know, I’d never connect.”

Celia and her husband Philip invited us to lunch and we spent a very pleasant day in their company.

“Does Philip know…?” I began to ask, as Celia welcomed us.

She smiled a greeting and relieved me of the bowl of salad that I was carrying. “Of course, and he’s looking forward to meeting you.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry, love, you’re a knockout. And where did you get that dress? It’s gorgeous!”

I replied, “Jane and I did Winchester a few weeks ago. There’s this boutique I found when I went with my mother and they have such lovely dresses. I saw this and just had to have it.”

She said, “I know the feeling; they have your name on them and, when you glance in the shop window, they call to you; “You need me! You need me!”

We all laughed and, after giving us both a hug, she invited us in to meet Philip, who stood and whistled. “Wow! Three gorgeous women to entertain, how will I manage?”

Celia playfully swatted him. “He’s always like this, but he’s a sweetie really; very pliable.”

“Pliable?” I asked.

“Yes, he fits really well around my little finger.”

The three of us sat while he made pre-lunch drinks. He was very attentive to Celia, and it was clear how much they loved each other.

As it was such a warm day and autumn hadn’t really had a chance to begin, we spent the afternoon in the garden. We were all happy to just sit and relax on the patio; Philip and Jane supervised the barbecue, Celia provided drinks from time to time and my special exotic salad was very well received. Conversation flowed naturally and easily and, other than Philip and Jane asking about each others’ jobs, we all managed to avoid talking shop.

Philip was an estate agent and was inevitably interested in Jane’s proposed house move, but they didn’t stay on the subject for long and soon progressed to other topics. After a brief discussion over the barbecue about what she was looking for, he offered to keep her informed about any likely properties that came up and also agreed to value her apartment, should she want to sell or let it.

All too soon, it was time to leave and, after hugs and thanking our hosts, Jane drove us both back home via her place. She checked that all was well but was determined to move out soon. Firstly, of course, she needed to discuss it with her partner.

The day of the second clinic appointment was upon us and Jane had again arranged leave of absence from work.

On the way from the station to the clinic, Jane said, casually, “The last time I had to go to a hospital, I got in the lift and a man pushed in a big machine with lots of hoses and dials on it. I said, “I don’t think that I’d like to be connected to that machine.” The man said, “Neither would I, Miss, it’s a carpet cleaner.””

I laughed and said, “Your jokes just get worse.”

She hugged me and smiled as she continued to hold my hand.

I really hoped that I’d be able to start hormones this time — and I hoped that I wouldn’t have to see Ian Stalbridge. I took extra care with my makeup and chose to wear the peach-coloured, round-necked top and the cream linen skirt suit. Jane wore jeans, aqua tee top and a black biker jacket. We again went by train; I was getting rather used to first-class travel and wasn’t looking forward at all to the times when I might have to settle for less. I still couldn’t figure out how she could afford it, but didn’t like to upset her by asking.

As it was an afternoon appointment, we had lunch at a little Italian restaurant that Jane had spotted during the previous visit.

As we were waiting for our coffees, she said, “Have you heard the one about the Norse God of War?”

I smiled and gently shook my head. I knew we were heading for another of her terrible jokes.

“The Norse God of War was walking about on the Earth one day, quite bored, when he espied a comely young maiden. As he was good-looking, she quickly decided to let him have his wicked way with her. In the morning, after a night of passion the like of which she hadn’t experienced before or since, he decided to reveal his identity. “I’m Thor,” he said. “You’re thor?” she exclaimed. “I’m tho thor I can hardly pith.”

I dutifully laughed; it did relieve some of my tension, particularly as I found myself having the odd chuckle throughout the afternoon.

Jane purchased a magazine in the kiosk and waited in the garden while I went to see the doctor.

I was anxious as I checked in at reception, but was relieved to find that Doctor Irene Cross wanted to see me. There were four other people in the waiting area; the session that afternoon was for follow-up patients only and I quickly glanced around at the others. I thought that, if they were all transgender, one of them would have trouble passing but the others seemed quite natural. One of the passable ones occupied the seat next to me and quickly introduced herself.

“Hi, I’m Joanna, are you waiting for a friend?”

I laughed. “Hello, I’m Jenny and I’m waiting to see Doctor Cross: do you know what she’s like?”

Joanna’s jaw dropped. “Oh, sorry, I thought that you were waiting for someone else. Are you…”

“I’m transgender, I think, though I’m not sure; I might be intersexed.”

“Crikey,” said Joanna, with unveiled jealousy. “I’d kill for a bone structure like yours and your complexion is flawless. Have you had electrolysis and facial surgery?”

“No, I didn’t need either, and thank you for the compliment.” I felt very pleased at her reaction to me, “But you have such gorgeous, expressive eyes.”

“Have you a boyfriend?”

“No, a girlfriend,” I admitted.

“You’ve a girlfriend? A female partner?”

“Yes, she has helped me tremendously.”

“Well don’t tell this lot; they might not help you if you aren’t straight, particularly Ian Stalbridge, he’s very much into stereotypes.”

“Don’t worry, I may be fairly new to this but I do know to watch what I say.”

We complimented each other on our outfits and Joanna said, “I’ve seen Irene Cross before; she’s okay, not like Ian Stalbridge, who thinks the sun shines out of his own backside.”

I smiled. “Yes, I saw him last time. I told him that I’d transitioned, that I had a job and that I had a hormone imbalance. He still seemed to think that I ought to go through the mill.”

“That’s okay up to a point,” responded Joanna, “But one size doesn’t fit all. We’re still human beings and all different; I think they sometimes lose sight of that fact. So how long have you…? When did you…?”

“I’ve been dressing at home for a few years but I came out in March. I legally became me on the first of June, and resumed work on the first of July; my employer supported me all the way.”

“Wow, I’m impressed. Mind you, if you hadn’t been waiting for Irene Cross and told me about your situation, I’d never have guessed.”

Just then, Joanna was called in to see Ian Stalbridge and I was left to pick up a magazine from the pile on a little table. She emerged fifteen minutes later with a triumphant grin. “I’ve got the hormones at last.” Then she added with a sad little smile, “I’ve only been waiting a year.”

I was downcast; I didn’t want to contemplate another nine months before I started hormones. Then, of course, there’s the interminable wait for surgery. I felt that I would have to seriously consider the private route.

I’d read most of the magazine and had learned about the latest fashions, hairstyles, makeup and nail colours — well, the latest a year ago when the magazine was printed. In desperation I searched in my bag for a pen and was about to tackle the crossword when my name was called. I gratefully stood and walked over to the door, smiling nervously at the doctor as I walked past her into the room.

Irene Cross was something of a surprise. She looked to be in her mid-thirties, was slim but very tall, maybe even as tall as Jane. She had dark brown hair to her waist, brown eyes and a ready smile. I immediately felt comfortable with her and relaxed straight away.

“Hello, Jenny, I’m Irene Cross,” she said, brightly, after we were seated in her office. “What have you been up to since you saw Ian Stalbridge?”

I replied, “I’m doing well at work and my father seems to have finally come to accept that he has a son and a daughter, not two sons as he first thought. And I have a new GP.”

Irene nodded. “Hmm, I’ve the report which Ian Stalbridge wrote after your previous visit. I also have the reports from Judy Davenport. There seems to be no reason for more delay and, ordinarily, I’d be prescribing a normal dose of hormones for you. However, I’d like further tests by an endocrinologist to try and find out why you don’t seem to match what we’d expect to see from someone of your age and apparent birth gender. I know that you’ve already had some tests but I’d like to see another set of results. I’d like to see if there’s a pattern or a trend.”

I made to say something but Irene Cross interrupted me. “Tell me about your new GP.”

“Doctor Carter was not at all helpful, but now I’m with Sally Ruskin at the same medical centre. She’s so different. Her face seems to light up when I go in to see her; it’s as if she’s really glad to see me.”

Doctor Cross made a note of the name of the new GP and then said, “I can understand that. Family doctors see only routine cases most of the time; and “Hello Doctor, I feel ill” can wear thin very quickly.

“You, not to put too fine a point on it, are something different and challenging and, if I were a GP, I’d be delighted to have you on my books.”

“Oh,” I said, then lapsed into silence, as I didn’t know how to respond to that.

“What I would like to do,” she said, after a little thought, “Is to ask your GP to refer you to an endocrinologist as soon as possible — that’s assuming she hasn’t already done so. The endo can then carry out further tests and let us know what’s going on in that body of yours. I’ll ask Doctor Ruskin to prescribe oestrogen once you’ve seen the endo. I’ll write to her and tell her what levels I’d like to see; she’ll monitor them and adjust the dose accordingly. How does that sound?”

“That’s wonderful,” I enthused. “My mother found out that a certain film star was born with male genitalia but didn’t develop properly at puberty; she said it was something like the body not processing testosterone. She wondered if something similar had happened to me.”

Irene replied, “That’s what we need the endocrinologist to find out for us. Looking at you, it’s hard to see you having been a normal male at birth, so perhaps there’s some substance to the idea.”

Irene gave me a similar note to that provided by Judy Davenport, the one detailing her diagnosis and stating that I was transsexual.

I queried this.

“It’s easier than putting ‘a possible hormone imbalance or something we’re not sure about until we do more tests’. I’ll write to Doctor Ruskin and ask her to take over the supply of hormones so that you won’t have to wait until you come up to London.”

I thanked her and walked out with a spring in my step.

Jane was waiting for me in reception and I excitedly smiled and waved the letter. “I’m on my way at last,” I said, as we hugged.

“You’ve been on your way, as you put it, since you were born. It’s nice that the medical profession are supportive at last.”

I almost skipped out of the hospital and Jane had to restrain me.

“I know you’re happy, love, but you don’t want the men in white coats to think you’ve gone round the bend, do you?”

“No, but I’m so happy I could burst.”

“Wait until you get home: I’m sure I can think of a way to deal with all that energy you seem to have.”

“Really?” I smirked.

“Yes, I didn’t get where I am today, etcetera, etcetera.”

We laughed as, arms linked, we made our way to the clinic’s café for a drink, then to the tube station and home.

Jane thought that we should order a take-away: I wanted to go out for dinner to celebrate but Jane claimed tiredness and said that she’d rather stay in. I glanced at her but said nothing and found the menus from the local pizza place and the Chinese. We opted for pizza.

I woke at my usual time and padded to the bathroom. I returned and saw Jane still in bed.

“Don’t you have any work this morning?” I asked.

“No and neither do you.”

“What?”

End of part 16

Secrets

By Susan Heywood

John finds the body of a neighbour who has been murdered. The police detective assigned to the case deduces that John hides a secret - but the detective has secrets of her own.

Part 17 of 25 — Away-break

Jane lifted the duvet. “Pop in here for a minute and I’ll explain.” After I’d done so, she said, “It’s like this; we’re going away for a few days.”

“But I can’t just leave work like that; I’d have to arrange it all with Greg and.…”

She kissed me soundly to shut me up, and then continued with her explanation. “Tomorrow, if my research hasn’t let me down, is your birthday. And, by the way, Greg said to tell you to do as you’re told and he’ll see you on Tuesday.”

“How on earth did you find out about my birthday? And what’s this about Greg?”

She laughed. “I asked your mother when she was here, and I spoke to Greg last week.”

“You are sneaky, but I love you to bits. So that’s why you didn’t want to go out last night.”

“Guilty as charged,” she grinned, but with absolutely no sign of contrition. “So, I thought we might go away for a long weekend. I haven’t had a holiday in quite a while and that week and a half in June doesn’t count for you because you were somewhat busy — so I don’t suppose you have either.”

I shook my head.

“And, before you ask, I’m not going to tell you where we’re going. All you need to do is to take smart casual clothes for day wear, comfortable shoes for walking and a few dressy outfits for the evenings.”

I was speechless for a few moments. I realised that, what with the London visit, I’d clean forgotten about my birthday, not that I’d had much to celebrate in the past anyway. I grinned and said, “I certainly have a few things to celebrate tomorrow, haven’t I?”

“Indeed you have, my darling, and all I’ll tell you is that I’ve planned a wonderful time and a couple of surprises.”

While I dithered over what to take with me, Jane made use of the bathroom. Then I had a soak while she dressed. We both selected appropriate casual outfits for travelling. I carried my leather jacket. Jane thought that I looked rather yummy and proceeded to prove it to me.

We had a light breakfast and, just before eleven, we put our bags into the Lexus and drove off towards the motorway. Her infuriating navigational skills - which I’d rapidly come to refer to as JMM, short for Jane’s Mental Mapping - didn’t help at all as there were no written directions to give me any clues as to our destination; I was left in total ignorance and decided that the only thing to do was to relax and leave her to her driving.

“Music?”

“Hmm,” I responded contentedly and popped a CD into the player. Liszt’s piano music wafted over us as the sporty car eat up the miles.

We stopped on the way for refreshments and a toilet break. I still had no idea where we were going; I could see that we were heading roughly northwards but, other than that, I knew nothing. Passing Oxford, we turned onto the M40 motorway. My vision wasn’t brilliant but even I could see the road signs as we made for Leamington Spa. I bounced up and down excitedly.

“Oh, how wonderful! Can we go and see Peter and Geena?”

“Not today, my love, let’s find our hotel,” Jane replied as she skilfully negotiated the local roads and found the Harley Court Hotel. We arrived just after three o’clock and my jaw dropped.

“Crumbs, this is a fancy-looking place.”

She laughed. “Our home for the next few nights.”

“Really?” I beamed delightedly, as I looked the place over. I quickly got out of the car and helped Jane remove the bags.

The reception area, like the rest of the hotel was a charming and relaxing combination of traditional and modern design. We walked to the reception desk and were greeted by a smiling young woman in a smart navy-blue skirt suit, pale blue satin camisole top and one of those scarves that seem to be essential uniform for aircraft cabin crew, travel couriers and receptionists the world over.

Jane checked us in, confirmed her booking for the restaurant and obtained details of the leisure centre. We were given a key each and a porter took our bags to the lift.

I gasped as I walked into our suite and took in the modern spaciousness of it all. The lounge looked to be nearly as big as the one in my flat. There was a desk and chair, two armchairs and a settee; a huge television occupied one wall.

The separate bedroom had a large wardrobe and bedside tables with controls for all the lights. The bed was enormous. I spotted the en-suite bathroom on my way towards the bed. From the wide windows there were views of the grounds, which had sweeping lawns and floral borders. In the distance a row of fir trees stood guard at the perimeter of the estate.

“Wow, it’s super!” I dropped my bag onto one of the chairs and turned to Jane. “Thank you, thank you!” I said as I flung my arms around her neck and kissed her passionately. All too soon, she’d manoeuvred me into the bedroom and onto the bed. We spent some minutes in silence — well, silence broken only by the sound of sensual moaning.

Eventually, she said, “Come on, let’s change, then explore.”

“Where are we going?”

“Swimming.”

“What?”

“You heard.” She opened her bag and tossed a bikini to me.

I protested, “I can’t possibly wear that.”

“Yes you can. Try it; I thought the colour would look fabulous on you. Oh, and you’ll also find that it has secrets of its own.”

I didn’t believe her but, rather than argue, I stripped down to bra and panties, went into the bathroom and donned the garment. It was a lovely combination of colours; greens and blues in an intriguing pattern of swirls. I examined myself in the long bathroom mirror and was amazed at what I saw — or rather, didn’t see. There was no hint of anything that shouldn’t be there and I just seemed to fill out the bikini quite naturally. I also noticed that there was absolutely no sign that my breasts were not all completely real.

We removed the stick-on breast forms every week or so in order to clean them and clean the skin underneath. During times of detachment, of course, Jane took the opportunity to test the development of my own breast tissue. Now that I would soon be officially on hormones, we expected that development to speed up. Although the bikini was designed to hold me in, it was also designed to flatter and that it appeared to do with devastating effect when I returned to the bedroom.

“I was right, wasn’t I?” She licked her lips. “Come here, gorgeous. You look scrumptious and I claim fiancée’s rights.” She grabbed me and, pushing me down onto the bed, gazed down lovingly at me. “Don’t even think about resisting arrest or I’ll handcuff you to the bed.”

Not wanting to take a chance I willingly complied with her request. Anyway, I wasn’t averse to having her to myself for a while.

It was a good half-an-hour later that, wearing the thoughtfully supplied cotton towelling robes, we both collected towels and wandered hand in hand to the lift.

I reminded her of my sight problem. “You’ll have to help me: I can see hardly anything without my glasses so I won’t be able to see where I’m going.”

“Don’t worry, love, I’ll look after you.” Then she started singing, “Follow the Yellow Brick Road.”

“It’s blue carpet.”

“What is?”

“The floor of the corridor.”

“Oh well; I can’t be right all the time. I am blonde, after all.”

I laughed and thumped her on the arm.

I hadn’t been swimming for some years, so was intrigued by the feel of my body and my hair as I lowered myself into the pool and tried a few tentative lengths.

Jane was a good swimmer; she dived into the pool and quickly swam to the end and back. I’d just managed to work out where she’d gone when she returned and stopped in front of me, took my face gently in her hands and gave me a deep and passionate kiss before swimming quickly away from me again. We soon found ourselves side-by-side. Back-stroke and breast-stroke; we alternated as I gained confidence.

I vetoed the sauna as I didn’t feel that my naked body would yet stand up to close scrutiny, but we did move to the Jacuzzi and just loved the way that the water jets played on our bodies; we found the whole experience so relaxing and not a little erotic. What it would be like after I’d grown some more breast tissue and had my surgery I could only imagine.

We spent a good hour and a half in the centre, after which we adjourned to our room, where we showered, did each other’s hair, makeup and nails and dressed for dinner. I had chosen to wear the emerald-turquoise sleeveless scooped-neckline dress that I had recently worn when we visited Celia and Philip. With that I wore white strappy sandals.

Jane had brought a raspberry red camisole top dress that barely reached her knees. She wore matching sandals; I thought she looked wonderful. The dress really showed off her golden hair, tanned complexion and those superb long legs that seemed to go on forever. She also had some beautiful silver jewellery; a long ingot pendant that dangled tantalisingly at the top of her cleavage, matching dangly earrings and a Tissot watch and bracelet. A spritz of Chanel and we were both ready.

“For a copper, you scrub up pretty well,” I said, grinning, despite knowing that Jane would exact her revenge later; in fact, I was looking forward to it. The response of “Just you wait, Jennifer Smith” as we headed for the door, was unsaid but implied in the look that she gave me. We strolled hand in hand to the lift and selected the first floor, which accommodated the restaurant.

The level of conversation in the dining room dropped significantly for a few moments as we walked in and were shown to a table. Many of the female diners glanced our way and took a good long look before returning to their meals. Some of the male clients also looked our way. A good few people lingered in their glances and some of them, both male and female, seemed somewhat predatory. I couldn’t help noticing that same sex couples occupied some of the tables. I raised an eyebrow at Jane.

“I see you’ve noticed one of the little secrets of the Harley Court Hotel,” she said. “It’s owned by a very wealthy businessman and run by a couple of gay guys. They have absolutely no objection to gay couples staying here; in fact, they positively welcome them. You may have noticed that the receptionist didn’t even mention it when we arrived.”

I nodded.

She continued. “It’s also used by straight people because the food and service in the restaurant are so good and the atmosphere is so relaxed. And, to be honest, no one has to prove anything here; you are just accepted as you are. There’s no rowdiness and everyone is just so friendly. It’s a delightful hotel with great facilities and excellent overall service, according to the number of stars they’ve got.”

“Just how did you come to know about it?” I enquired, smiling towards Jane.

“Oh, I looked on the Internet, and then asked around.”

Over coffee, after our meal, I was tempted to ask what other surprises Jane had in store but realised that I would probably only find out as and when they happened. I made a point of telling the Maá®tre d’ how much I had enjoyed the meal and was surprised when the chef emerged from the kitchen and made for our table.

“Thank you very much for complimenting our efforts,” he said, with a little bow to us both, “it’s not often that we get positive comments from guests; most just take us for granted. I must say that it does encourage us to try that little bit harder. Are you going to be with us for long?”

“Until Monday morning,” Jane put in, “but we don’t have any firm plans for the weekend.”

I bet you do

She continued. “It would be nice to come here again; we might manage Sunday.”

“So,” I wondered aloud, “‘maybe we are going to visit Peter and Geena.” I put a hand on Jane’s arm.

“Perhaps we’ll catch up with them sometime over the weekend.”

“You are a tease. We’re in Leamington; they’re in Leamington; why can’t we arrange to see them?”

Jane changed the subject and I accepted that the plans for the weekend were a closely guarded secret.

“Anyway,” she said, “we have to be up early in the morning so I guess we need an early night.”

“Hmm, right: just why do we need to be up so early?”

“For our pre-breakfast swim, of course, why else?”

“I should have stayed at home,” I contrived to look morose;” I might have got some rest.”

“Oh, you don’t want to miss out on all the fun this weekend, I can assure you.”

We adjourned to the bar where I selected a long fruit drink; I felt that one glass of wine was quite sufficient alcohol for one night. I didn’t want to overdo it and spoil the weekend; I still had memories of the last alcohol-fuelled nightmare. We eventually made our way up to bed and fell asleep cuddled into each other, but not until after.…

“Happy Birthday, to you, Happy Birthday to you; Happy Birthday dear Jenny, Happy Birthday to you.” Jane sang as she delivered early morning cups of tea to our bedside.

I stretched, yawned and smiled at her. “Come here and give me a birthday kiss.”

She was very happy to oblige and climbed back under the duvet from which she had left me sleeping a little earlier.

“Come on, wakey, wakey, rise and shine,” Jane slapped me on the rump moments after I’d finished my tea. I glanced at the clock and saw that it was only just after 7:30am.

“Ow! Why did you do that?”

“Early morning swim, I told you yesterday.”

“It’s my birthday and I need my rest. I’m beginning to regret coming away with you; this sounds more like work the longer it goes on.” I grimaced, stretched again, yawned theatrically, slowly swung my feet onto the floor and made my way to the bathroom. I returned wearing the bikini, which I had washed and dried overnight. Jane was already wearing hers - a startling number in red (of course!), with geometric designs in dusky pink - and threw a cotton robe at me.

“Come on,” she urged.

“Slavedriver!”

“It’ll be fun, come on.”

We made our way down to the pool where Jane said, “Last one in pays for dinner.”

“Hey, that’s not fair!” I protested. “You know very well that I have to find somewhere to put my specs and then I have to find the wretched pool without them.”

“Oh, stop whining, woman, and jump in.”

I did so and promptly yelled, “Its cold!”

“Yep.”

“Brrr!”

“Yep.”

“Bitch!”

“Yep.”

“I thought this was supposed to be a holiday?”

“It is. Now, twenty lengths should do it this morning, and then I’ll race you back to the room. I’m ready for breakfast.”

“You’re always ready for breakfast.”

She smiled.

I had no idea of Jane’s plans for the day, but decided to wear a dark-blue denim skirt and jacket, with a dusky pink camisole top and my navy wedge-heeled sandals. She said that my outfit looked fine. Jane herself wore an aqua scoop-neck tee top with jeans and low-heeled boots. She also had her zip-front leather jacket.

We wandered down to breakfast and were surprised at the greetings from other guests.

Where is the famous British reserve?

We smiled, took our seats and were served a continental breakfast of fruit juice, bread, croissants, preserves and a choice of tea or coffee.

I asked, “What are we doing this morning?”

Jane answered, “I thought we could spend the day at Stratford-upon-Avon, you know, do the Shakespeare tourist route.”

I was a little disappointed; I had hoped to see my brother and sister-in-law but answered, brightly, “That would be lovely, I’ve never been there.”

We set off shortly after breakfast and headed for a little car park across the river from the Royal Shakespeare Theatre. We walked arm-in-arm across the pedestrian bridge that separated us from the town. Making our way to Bridgefoot, we found the ‘Pen & Parchment Inn’, near the canal basin, where the open-top bus tour began, and purchased tickets from the driver. Jane wanted to sit upstairs; I had to remind her that I was wearing a skirt, but got no sympathy from that direction at all, despite my dropping heavy hints that I was only wearing it because she liked me to wear it.

Jane laughed. “If I had my way, you’d be stripped down to that sexy underwear I notice you seem to favour these days.”

“And I only wear that because it turns you on like a light bulb.”

“Why don’t I believe you? You wear it, as most of us do, because you like wearing it.”

I managed to look suitably admonished. We sat upstairs.

Soon the bus was threading its way around the busy roads to all the buildings on its route; Shakespeare’s Birthplace, The American Fountain, Royal Shakespeare Theatre, War Memorial, Hall’s Croft, Anne Hathaway’s Cottage and Mary Arden’s House. The buses ran very frequently and our tickets allowed us to get off and explore each of the properties on the way. We stopped halfway along the route for coffee and a pastry and I couldn’t stand the suspense any longer.

“So are we going to see my brother today?”

“He’s not at home today.”

“Oh,” I said, disappointed.

We continued on our guided tour and were both enthralled by the stories of life in Tudor times, related to us at each of the properties that we visited. We weren’t sure of the provenance of some of the proverbs that we were told but the stories made a good yarn and entertained the visitors, particularly those from overseas. It wouldn’t have surprised me if the number of ghosts increases exponentially with the number of different nationalities in the tour group.

The bus eventually returned us to Bridgefoot and we took a leisurely wander around the shops in Bridge Street, High Street and Sheep Street, paying particular attention to the little arcades that linked the three roads.

We stopped for afternoon tea at the Crabtree & Evelyn Tearoom.

“This place must be ancient,” I said in awe. I’d already negotiated the sloping floor on my way to the ladies’ room, and held on to the ceiling supports on my way back to our table.

“Well, the address is Judith Shakespeare’s House, so it might date back a few centuries, “Jane agreed.

After a typical English afternoon tea, served in bone china cups, we slowly made our way back to the car.

I laid my head on Jane’s shoulder. “Thank you for a lovely day,” I said as we exchanged a quick kiss before setting off back to Leamington. “I’d like to treat you to dinner tonight” I added as we entered the hotel car park.

“Oh, I can’t have that,” Jane weakly protested, “A girl can’t buy dinner on her birthday.”

“No, I insist.”

“Very well, I’ll pick the restaurant, you pay.”

“Hey, that’s not fair!”

“I’ve heard of this great French restaurant; are you willing to risk it?”

“Hmm, I adore French food.”

“So do I, as long as it’s not that stupid ‘slice of lemon, slice of orange, dash of sauce, wait half-an-hour’ business.”

“Sorry, I almost forgot; you do like your food, don’t you?” I responded, tongue-in-cheek.

“A girl has to keep up her strength somehow.”

“Strength for what?”

“Pre-bedtime manoeuvres.”

I sniggered. “I’m the one who has to keep up with you.”

“Anyway,” Jane insisted, neatly avoiding a slap, “French restaurant?”

I smiled. “Mmm. I suppose I’ll need to go shopping.”

“Why?”

“I’ll need a new dress.”

“Help; I’ve created a monster!”

I slapped her lightly on the arm and we headed for the shops.

Café Printemps was a snapshot of relaxed and intimate, lively and sparkling Paris, all in an English town. It wasn’t very far from our hotel but we elected to travel by taxi: that way Jane could have a celebratory drink without risking both her driving licence and her job.

She wore a sky-blue dress with thin spaghetti straps; I wore my new dress. It was sleeveless and vee-necked, in lavender, and had a satin tie belt in a contrasting colour. I had really gone to town on my makeup and accessories. Jane’s reaction told me that I’d got it right, although it could be argued that she was somewhat biased.

After our short taxi ride, Jane escorted me into the restaurant, where she laid an arm possessively around my shoulder. As we were ushered to our table, I stopped and stood rooted to the spot, only moving forward when she gave me a gentle push in the back.

There, standing in a little group in front of a table for six, were four people who looked very familiar.

“Happy Birthday, Jenny!” They all chorused.

“Mummy? Daddy? Peter! And Geena!” I rounded on Jane, who just stood with a vaguely innocent smile on her face. My own face must have gone through a whole gamut of expressions: puzzlement, realisation, delight and joy. I flung my arms around Jane’s neck and kissed her passionately on the lips.

“Ahem!” My mother coughed. “There’s a time and place and I’m not sure that this is either.”

“Oops!” I said, turning towards my family and giggling.

“Well, at least we know how you feel about Jane’s little surprise,” my mother said, and we all laughed good-naturedly. “Now, are you pleased to see us?”

I nodded numbly, still not quite able to take it all in.

“Come and give us all a hug, then.”

I went the rounds of my family, hugging and kissing them in turn. I returned to my father. “Daddy.…” I started to say.

“Now, love, I’ve learned a lot more about my daughter since you visited us at home and I’m happy as long as you’re happy.”

“Daddy, I’m so very happy, I could burst.”

“Let’s all sit and you can tell us about your weekend so far,” My mother urged, “that is, of course, after we’ve dealt with the rest of the formalities.”

One by one, they presented me with gifts. Peter, knowing how much I loved books, gave me a book token. Geena gave me, from both of them really, a beautiful nightie and negligee set in my absolutely favourite colour; mint green. Jane muttered something about me trying it that evening but don’t count on wearing it for long. That caused a titter around the table and a high degree of embarrassment for me.

My father stood, bowed slightly and presented me with a small parcel, which I shakily opened to reveal a sapphire bracelet. I was so overwhelmed with love for him that I broke down and openly cried. I’d just about regained my composure when my mother handed me another gift. I slowly removed the wrapping to reveal a choker and dangly earrings to match the bracelet. I was again near to tears as I hugged them all in turn and told them how much I loved them.

Jane waited until I’d ooh’d and ahh’d over the other gifts, then said, quietly, “My turn. This might be your twenty third birthday but it’s also your first birthday.”

I protested. “But we are having a wonderful weekend: you don’t have to give me anything else.”

“Oh, but I do,” she said, holding a small box that she had retrieved from her bag. “This is for you with all my love; I’m just an old-fashioned girl so I’ve already spoken to your father.”

I looked at her and saw such love in her eyes that I again wept.

End of part 17

Secrets

By Susan Heywood

John finds the body of a neighbour who has been murdered. The police detective assigned to the case deduces that John hides a secret - but the detective has secrets of her own.

Part 18 of 25 — Children

I struggled to see the contents clearly through tears of happiness.

A single sapphire was surrounded by small diamonds and mounted on a slim gold ring. Jane gently placed it on the ring finger of my left hand. This action wasn’t lost upon the rest of the party and they smiled knowingly.

She said, “I love you very much. On 1st June this year, you changed your name to Jennifer Ellen Smith. On 1st July, you started work as Jenny. Also, on that day, the Gender Recognition Bill received Royal Assent. On 1st June 2006, when you are officially two years of age, you can apply for a certificate that will recognise that you were born female. You can also apply for a corrected birth certificate.

“The GRA (Gender Recognition Act) allows transgender people to marry as members of their true gender. There is also a proposal for same-sex couples, which is what we will be, to have an officially recognised legal partnership, much the same as married people do.

“I will be delighted if, after you have obtained your corrected birth certificate, you will be my legal partner. I’d like to say wife but the law, as you know, is an ass and, although we could marry now, you would have to be my husband and I would have to be your wife. That’s just too stupid for words. Also, we’d have to divorce again so that you can legally be yourself.”

“My corrected birth certificate.” I whispered, a little smile playing on my face, a huge lump in my throat and a big feeling of joy in my heart.

“The GRA will give you legal recognition of that which we have known for months and you have known all your life; that is, that you are female. And, after that, the Civil Partnerships bill should enable us to legally be a couple; if you want me, that is.”

I was speechless for a moment, then said, “With your jokes, I’m not sure I want to,” then I laughed, good-naturedly, “But, I suppose, you’ll get your own way as usual.”

“Absolutely right! I knew months ago that you were the girl for me and the law catches up with you in the end, as you know.”

For once, I was silent as I happily contemplated being Mrs Jennifer Ellen Dyson — or whatever Civil Partners were called.

We glanced at my father to see if this was all too much for him but he seemed to have come to accept that he has a daughter, and also that nothing she did now would surprise him. He appeared to have just let it wash over him as being beyond his control, not worth getting steamed up about, typical of the younger generation, not like it was in his day and so on. I thoughtfully and tenderly looked at him.

“This must all be difficult for you, Daddy.”

“Oh, don’t mind me love; I no sooner come to terms with having a daughter when she rather obviously shows me that she has a girlfriend. I mentioned it to your mother and was told to “get with it and be thankful she’s still with us.” So here I am.”

I was overwhelmed and, getting up from the table, rushed round to him and gave him a special hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“You and Mummy are the best, do you know that?” I then hugged and kissed my mother.

My father then said, “You remind me of someone. Some years ago, and it still feels like just last week, we had a social evening at our Naval Base. I asked a certain young lady to dance with me: it was the smartest move I ever made,” he glanced affectionately at my mother. “And you look a lot like she did when I met her and are now a younger version of her. I’ve a beautiful wife and two wonderful children. I’m a lucky man.”

I was very tearful and Geena dropped a none-too-subtle hint that the women should join her in a visit to the ladies room. Jane, my mother and I rose from the table and followed her. Jane went just to make sure that my makeup was properly repaired - well, that was her excuse anyway. After all the happy tears, my makeup certainly needed fixing. Fortunately I had three other women there to help me.

Peter and his dad were left for a few minutes and thought it a good opportunity to look at the menu and wine list.

Peter asked, “So, what do you reckon to your daughter then, Dad?”

“I’m still amazed. I can’t get over how natural she is. That girl, no, that young woman is quite natural and, if I close my eyes, I can still see your mother smiling at me when I first asked her to dance all those years ago.”

“How has Mum taken all this?”

“’In her stride’ doesn’t even come close. It’s as though she’s taken on a new lease of life. I’ll swear she looks ten years’ younger, and vitality? Its years since I’ve seen her with so much energy. She’s volunteered at the local hospital helping the “old folks”, as she calls them, with little things like organising books, bringing them tea, talking with them, taking them to the television lounge, things like that. She said something along the lines of “It won’t be long before you’re back with the Job Squad; I’d better find something to do with my time. I’m fed up with just being at home all day.” I tell you, son, your mother’s a bloomin’ marvel.”

Peter agreed, “Well I’ve always thought she was brilliant, but then I am somewhat biased.”

Just then we all returned from our visit to the ladies’ room and both men noticeably brightened when their respective partners re-joined them. I posed a question.

“Mummy, Daddy, how did you get here and when did you arrive?”

“Well, love,” my mother answered, “When Jane organised all of this,” I glanced at the culprit, who was wearing a little smile and gazing at a point somewhere on the ceiling, “Peter and Geena thought it would be a good opportunity to get some practical grand-parenting time in, so we’re staying with them for a few days. The car’s still playing up a bit so we came on the train. It’s about three and a half hours, not much longer than driving, and Peter met us at the station.”

“Wow, that’s wonderful,” I enthused, then I thought of something. I rounded on Jane. “Hey you! You said we weren’t meeting Peter and Geena today.”

“No,” she responded, tenderly, “I said that Peter wasn’t at home today, and he wasn’t. And I thought you might ask how I knew that, but you didn’t.”

“Oh,” I said, smiling but feeling embarrassed.

“So,” Geena put in, “When do you two go back home?”

I looked at Jane, who replied, “On Monday afternoon.”

“Good,” Geena said, enthusiastically. “So do you fancy that therapy session on Monday morning, then?”

Jane glanced at me, nodded and I replied, laughingly, “Yes, that would be lovely, thank you. And if we popped in tomorrow, could I meet my niece and nephew? That’s if my future wife will let me.”

Jane laughed and assured me that Auntie Duties were very important and should be carried out whenever possible.

“Definitely,” Geena assured me.

My mother added, “And I’m sure that the men folk have an urgent need of a round of golf on Monday morning, which will, no doubt, involve testing the merchandise at the nineteenth tee at lunchtime. So do you mind if an old fogey joins you on Monday morning? I’d like to tag along as well.”

“Old fogey, Mummy?” I said, laughing, “You’re surely joking. I remember a certain trip to Winchester a couple of months ago; I’m a beginner at this shopping lark compared to you.”

A light came on in my father’s eyes. “I knew something was different about you when you got home that time but I couldn’t work out quite what; I was just saying to Peter that you seem to have more vitality these days.”

“Yes,” my mother admitted, “having a young daughter to keep you in line does that to you. You somehow feel that if you don’t keep up with her, you’re going to get yourself told off.”

Talk about trying to embarrass me.

Geena said that she often hankered after her mis-spent youth, but realised that she had married him! This earned her a disparaging look, then a grin from Peter, who draped his arm affectionately around her shoulders. He never ceased to be amazed that the beautiful blue-eyed blonde bombshell he’d met while he was serving in the Air Force, had agreed to be his wife. She, for her part, looked lovingly up at her gentle giant of a husband, and considered herself to be very fortunate.

We all laughed at Geena’s comment and turned again to the menus. Dinner turned out to be a very light-hearted affair; the food was excellent and the company very convivial. For starters, my father and Peter selected soup-de-jour while we women opted for the deep-fried Camembert. My mother and Geena chose Poulet Breton, a chicken dish, for their main course. Jane decided on the Boeuf Bourguignon and I tried the Loup de Mer; sea bass. My father and Peter both ordered Steak Frites.

The meals, and the accompanying wines, were pronounced excellent. The conversation flowed and everyone was very comfortable with one another.

Unsurprisingly, Jane joined the men in a dessert. This caused one or two grunting noises around the table, much to the amusement of all concerned.

Jane said, “You wouldn’t like it if I were fussy about my food.”

I replied, “The only fuss that you make about your food is if there isn’t enough of it.”

Coffee and mints followed and I told them all about our Stratford-upon-Avon visit. Peter and Geena had been there several times since they lived nearby. I said that I would like to go to the Royal Shakespeare Theatre one day to see a play; I thought that would be wonderful and could see Jane nodding.

All too soon, the evening came to an end, the bill was argued over but eventually Jane won and paid, taxis were called and my parents accompanied Geena and Peter back to relieve an expensive babysitter who, they were convinced, had already decided that her babysitting income would pay her way through university.

We made our way back to our hotel where I sat and admired the ring for a few minutes. Jane insisted that I model my new sapphire jewellery and, of course, my new nightie and negligee: it didn’t take long for us to undress. She said that, as I now had two birthdays, tonight, September 18th, was a good opportunity to practice for the official birthday on June 1st. I decided that Jane would get her own way in the end; and anyway, I was not really averse to the practice.

“Oh good,” she said, taking me in her arms, “Now I get a proper snog.”

And she did.

Sunday morning saw us again breaking the ice at the pool. It wasn’t really that cold but I said, “I’m built for comfort, not speed. If we were meant to do this, we’d have been fitted with flippers.”

We did, however, manage twenty lengths, by which time I was more than ready for breakfast. There was no need to ask about Jane’s appetite; if she was awake, she was usually ready for a meal.

“I’m a firm believer in eating little and often,” she said.

“Little and often?”

“Okay; so sometimes the ‘oftens’ run together.” She smiled.

“Sometimes?”

That earned me a tap on the arm and then a cuddle.

It was quite warm for mid-September but we both took light cotton jackets just in case it turned chilly later on in the day.

After breakfast, we decided to visit Warwick and its castle. We returned to Leamington after lunch and visited Peter and Geena so that I could meet my niece and nephew.

I was a little anxious as we pulled up at the gates to the property; Jane gave my hand a gentle squeeze. My brother and sister-in-law’s house was a large, rambling, detached property on the outskirts of Leamington. I whistled at the sight of it.

“Peter must be doing really well to be able to afford a place like this,” I commented to Jane, as the gates swung open and then closed gently behind us.

Geena greeted us at the door when we had stepped out of the car. “Hi, it’s good to see you again and to have you visit us at last. Mum and Dad have borrowed my car and gone to Stratford-upon-Avon. It seems that your enthusiasm for the place has piqued their curiosity.”

Just then, two small bundles of energy zoomed out of the door and headed straight for me. “Auntie Jenny, Auntie Jenny,” they chorused, arms outstretched.

I looked quizzically at Geena and asked, “You obviously told them that we were coming to see you, but aren’t children that age supposed to be shy?”

She laughed. “Yes and Yes. But they’re not shy at all; in fact, they’re both what you might call precocious; Geoff is four and a half, going on seven and Ros is four and a half, going on ten!”

I hunkered down to their level and opened my arms, whereupon I was immediately hugged by the twins, who both started talking at once. I was willingly dragged away to play with them in the garden.

Jane joined Geena in the kitchen, where she filled the kettle for tea while Geena took mugs down from a cupboard and splashed milk into them. She also poured two large beakers of fresh orange juice from a tap on the front of the door of the huge fridge. She glanced out of the window.

“It seems that my sister-in-law is a definite hit with my children. It looks as though she would make a terrific mum; it’s such a shame she wasn’t built for it.”

“Yes,” mused Jane, “She certainly seems to be enjoying herself.”

The children eventually tired and we all went in for drinks. Geena asked me if I would like to take them upstairs as they looked as though they were in need of an afternoon nap. I was near to tears, happy tears, as the twins again dragged me off to find their bedrooms and show me their toys, clothes and so on. It was a good twenty minutes later that I descended the stairs to collect my own tea and join the others in the lounge.

“So,” Geena surmised, “You got the bedroom tour then?”

“Yes,” I answered, still a little tearful, “I just can’t get over how lovely they are and how they seem to have taken to me so quickly.”

“There are two main reasons for that,” replied Geena, thoughtfully, “You are someone new; they just love showing off to visitors,”

“And?”

“You accepted them, just as they accepted you; you met them at their level and you are completely natural with them.”

“Oh,” I said, quietly, and then dissolved into tears.

Jane put an arm around my shoulder. “You feel cheated, don’t you?”

I looked lovingly into her eyes. “No and yes,” I sobbed.

“No and yes?”

“I feel so blessed, having your love. But I know that I can never have children; conceive them, carry them, give birth to them, bond with them and help them to grow.”

“John could have done some of that,” Jane said, gently.

“He could have done none of that; he wasn’t wired or plumbed properly. John was just an act,” I answered, vehemently.

“Conceiving a child, carrying it and giving birth to it are one thing; being a mummy and helping a child to grow is entirely another story. The two usually go together, but sometimes they don’t,” Geena said, wisely. “The first usually takes about nine months; the second can take a lifetime.”

Jane led me to a settee and, sitting me down, handed me my mug of tea. We drank in silence for a few minutes.

Then Geena asked, brightly, “Would you like a tour of the place?”

Jane took our empty mugs into the kitchen, rinsed them and put them in the dishwasher. She then guided me to follow Geena. We started upstairs; I thought that the upstairs was bigger than my own apartment, and I mentioned this to Geena.

“Peter usually works from home; he has a study and a computer room, we have two lively children and space for a guest or two. There are four bedrooms — two with en-suite, two bathrooms, a shower and the playroom upstairs.

“We found this house by accident. It belonged to a local builder who wanted a quick sale; he decided that he’d like to spend his retirement in the south of France, where his yacht is moored. We just happened to be looking around for a suitable property; we had rented a place until Peter’s business was established and one day, he was contracted to sort out and update the builder’s office now that his dad had retired. Jimmy happened to mention that his father was selling his house and the rest, as they say, is history. When we saw it, we fell instantly in love with it.”

“It’s beautiful and I love the colours. You have gone for pastel colours quite a lot upstairs.”

“Yes,” Geena laughed, “We both like green, it is such a fresh colour. Of course the children’s bedrooms and playroom have appropriate décor, Winnie the Pooh, Cinderella and so on.”

The sitting room was large and had a feature fireplace. The garden had a large area devoted to children’s play equipment, which was well within sight of the kitchen window. Lawns, borders and a row of fruit trees were accessible via a network of paths; the garden was completed by a large patio, which stretched from the kitchen, across the dining room and took in the French doors in the sitting room.

“You have a beautiful home and garden,” Jane said as we returned to the kitchen, “I imagine that it, and the children, keep you fairly well occupied.”

“Oh, I contract out most of the gardening and housework, but I’m very ‘hands on’ with my children.”

Just then Peter returned from a business meeting; it had inevitably been held at the local golf course. He bounded into the kitchen, grabbed Geena and kissed her soundly.

“I’d say you got the contract, then.”

“I let him beat me by two strokes and I drove away from the course with his signature barely dry on the paper.”

“Well done, so we can eat next month?”

“You bet!”

“Darling, we have visitors.” she laughed, as she turned him to face us.

“Oh Wow! Hello Jane, Hello Jenny,” he enthused, and then grabbed Jane for a hug and me for a hug and a kiss. “I know that we only saw you last night but hey, it’s not everyday we get a visit from my sister and her illustrious fiancée.”

We all laughed.

“So,” he asked, “What have you two been up to this morning?”

I told him about Warwick and then enthused about the house.

Geena told him about the children’s reaction to their auntie.

“I’m not surprised at all,” he commented, “Those two know a soft touch when they see one. Seriously, though, what do you think of them?”

“They are delightful,” I answered, sniffing slightly.

Geena and Jane both noticed that I was about to tear up again so Geena took Peter into the living room on some pretext or other.

Jane put her arm around my waist and I leaned against her shoulder and sobbed. “It’s so unfair,” I wailed.

“Yes, so is being born in abject poverty or with AIDS. Some children are born in a war zone or in a refugee camp. Try to imagine living several thousand feet up a freezing mountain without heat, light or fresh water. Many children die in infancy and many women aren’t fertile for any number of reasons. You’re dealt a set of cards when you’re born and you have to play them as best you can. Sometimes, by combining talents with other players, you can share each other’s strengths and mask each other’s weaknesses. And when you are dealt bad cards, you might sometimes pick up an extra good card. I don’t have all the answers but, between us, we make a good team, yes?”

I visibly brightened. “Yes, you’re right. And I’m sorry for being such a miserable bitch.”

“Okay, but don’t do it too often.”

“No, you’re right; I have so much to be thankful for. I guess I spent twenty-odd years trying to work out who I must have mightily pissed off to deserve all the crap. I hereby resolve to put the past firmly behind me and not look at it again.”

“Good girl,” she said, as she kissed me.

Just then, we heard the others returning to the kitchen.

“Would you like to stay to dinner?” Geena asked.

I glanced at Jane, who nodded. “Thank you; that would be lovely. It will be great to spend some more time with the twins.”

“Talking of twins,” Geena cupped her hand to her ear, “I think I hear a platoon of infantry running around upstairs. Prepare for the invasion!”

I smiled with delight as they hurtled downstairs and yelled “Auntie Jenny, will you play with us again, please” at the tops of their voices.

I laughed and steered them into the garden.

Jane glanced lovingly in our wake and then turned to Geena and Peter. “I don’t think you’ll have to worry about her not taking ‘Auntie Duties’ seriously. I think she’s quite besotted with those two.”

“It’s amazing,” Peter said, “I still can’t get over just how natural she is. If I hadn’t known her for twenty three years, I’d never guess that there was a miserable brother in there somewhere.”

“Apart from a small piece of unwanted flesh, there isn’t and hasn’t been,” Jane responded.

The others nodded in agreement.