You meant it for evil - 01 by Maeryn Lamonte Ken is having a hard time finding a girlfriend and his friends are tired of trying to help him only to see their best efforts end in disaster. They’ve decided it’s time for him to solve his own problems so, at their urging and against his better judgement, he goes to a new singles club where he meets a mysterious and astonishingly beautiful woman. Perhaps there’s a reason why a beautiful girl is sitting alone in a singles bar. Perhaps he should have paid more attention to her warning…

This was not going to work.

I mean don’t get me wrong, the idea had merits, not least of which was the good intentions that gave it birth. But it wasn’t going to work.

Phil had been my best mate for most of the past five years. A bit of an eye for the ladies, but now happily involved and about to become engaged, or so he had recently confided to me. The last few months whenever we’d gone out it had been with his significant other, Sharon. She’d done her best to introduce me to one or another of her friends, but none of those attempts had ended well, and we were all getting frustrated with my continued role as third wheel.

I had become too much of a liability to Sharon’s social life as each disaster, subsequently discussed amongst her friends, made it progressively harder for her to persuade anyone else to give me a spin, so she and Phil had decided that I was to find my own girlfriend by my own merits. At their suggestion and combined urging I had agreed to try flying solo tonight at the latest and hottest place in Soho: a singles club named, rather unpromisingly, the ‘Meet Market.’

Twenty quid handed over at the door gave me free passage into a dimly lit bar with loud, pulsating music and swirling, flashing lights. I hated it already, and was sure I’d hate it even more when I found out what the bar prices were.

I stood at the entrance and surveyed the scene. Even at this early hour it seemed that most of the eligible clientele had paired off and were either gyrating on the dance floor or sitting in loud groups, pouring drinks down each other’s throats. By contrast, the solitary figures of the homely and hopeful sat scattered around smaller tables near the entrance, awaiting the arrival of the more desperate or less discerning.

I felt a twinge of compassion mixed with guilt. Secretly I was all too familiar with that quiet desperate hope of being able to transform an ugly duckling body with the swan’s feathers of a new and beautiful dress. I wanted them to find their Prince Charmings because no-one deserves to be rejected for something they cannot help or change in themselves, but I was not prepared to take on that role myself so moved further into the room, avoiding eye contact.

And then there she was; long, wavy strawberry blonde hair cascading down the back of a short but elegant green dress, slender and with exquisite long legs. I couldn’t understand why she was sitting alone at the bar in a place like this and, cautious of unexpected surprises, I approached her.

She turned as I settled onto the stool next to her, and I felt the breath go out of me. Small, slightly upturned nose, high cheekbones, large green eyes; how could she possibly be on her own?

Somehow I managed to cage the panic welling up inside of me, I mean so what If she blew me off? I had to at least try. I leaned towards her and raised my voice above the music.

“Can I buy you a drink?” Hardly original I know.

She gave me an appraising look. Not so much a once over as a deep gaze into my eyes. There was an odd sadness in hers which left me wanting to help somehow.

“I should warn you,” she yelled back, “I only make out with girls.”

It was a surprise but I managed to hide my response.

“If that’s your preference, why aren’t you at the Kitty-Kat Klub round the corner?”

She shook her head and went back to nursing the remains of her drink. Well as odd a comeback as it had been, it wasn’t exactly a rejection, and no-one else in the bar seemed remotely as interesting. Even if this didn’t go anywhere, we could at least enjoy each other’s company for a while.

The barkeeper approached and I ordered a beer and another of whatever she was drinking. She looked up at me quizzically.

I leaned over to her and spoke into her ear.

“This is my first time. Here I mean, in this club. How about you?”

Quizzical turned to incredulous.

“Seriously? You buy me a drink then ask, ‘Do you come here often?’”

I shrugged.

“Original never works for me. I was going for open and earnest.”

She was polite enough to laugh and that was sufficient encouragement for me to press on.

“My name’s Ken.”

“So?”

“So that’s usually an invitation for you to tell me your name.”

“I don’t think so Ken, but thanks for the drink.”

She turned her back on me which hurt. Ordinarily I would have slunk of then with my tail between my legs, but something took over. Maybe it was the look in her eyes, maybe a new determination not to allow this evening to turn into the usual Friday night fiasco, but I reached over and touched her on the shoulder.

She turned to me impatiently and cocked an eyebrow.

“Look I get it, I’m not your type, but you’re not going to meet any girls here. You’re much more likely to get hit on by one drunken bore after another, so why don’t we just find a quiet corner somewhere we can actually hear ourselves think, and see if we can’t have an enjoyable conversation. No expectations, no strings attached. You never know, we might both end up having a good time. I’ll even buy the drinks.”

The last was probably a bit much, but she sighed and shrugged then nodded, almost reluctantly, and we took our drinks and went off in search of a refuge from the noise.

The rest of the evening passed in a bubble of suspended time. We talked much and drank little, somewhat to the bartender’s disgust and my wallet’s relief. Before long she was actually laughing at my jokes and smiling. Everything seemed to be going so well then a clock tower somewhere must have struck midnight or something. She excused herself to go freshen up, and I watched her pick her way across the dance floor towards the rest rooms, then right past and out the entrance.

For a moment I couldn’t believe it. Had I said something or maybe farted without realising? I jumped to my feet and ran after her; there was no way I was letting her get away if I could help it. I caught her at the door checking out her coat and moved up beside her.

“Hey did I miss something? Unless I totally misread things, we were getting on pretty well. I haven’t enjoyed an evening with someone like this in, well let’s just say the best part of forever, and it seems to me that you weren’t having such a bad time either.”

She wouldn’t look at me but walked out into the night as soon as the attendant had passed her things to her. I offered my own ticket and pointed at my overcoat, then headed out after her. She hadn’t gone more than a fifty yards and a short sprint had me beside her.

“At least let me walk you home.”

At my touch she stopped and rounded on me, looking into my eyes with a strangely conflicted expression.

“I have to warn you, I only make out with girls.”

I really didn’t understand.

“Yeah, you said that once already this evening but like I said, all I wanted was to offer you a little company. There was no reason to walk out on me without an explanation, especially when things were going so well between us.”

Her shoulders sagged and she looked at me with something close to exasperation. There was that sadness in her eyes again, a sort of regret.

“I don’t live that far away, just a half mile or so.”

It was all the invitation I needed and we walked along the glistening, damp streets, continuing our conversation in the cool quiet of the London evening.

She stopped outside a block of flats, looked up at it then back at me.

“Well, this is me…”

I didn’t want the evening to end, but I’d offered to accompany her home, nothing more. Anything else now would be stalkerish.

“I guess I should let you go in then, I’m… I’m a little further on.”

I pointed a thumb in a direction that was more or less back the way we’d come. She laughed and I took courage in her smiling face.

“Listen, I had a great time tonight. I know I’m not what you’re looking for in a partner, but I was wondering if maybe I might fit into the category of friend? You know, if ever you want someone to share breakfast with, or lunch or dinner, or if ever you have need of a pretend boyfriend to go to some family party or something…”

I trailed off as became aware of how much I was rambling. Fortunately for me she was still smiling.

“You know a friend does sound good right now, nothing more mind. I hope I’m not going to regret this, but would you like to come up for a coffee?”

“Really?”

My face was a study of amazement, so much so that she laughed again.

“Come on before I change my mind, but I have to warn you…”

“I know, you only make out with girls.”

A sadness rose at the back of her eyes and for a moment she really did look as though she would change her mind, so I placed my hand on her back and guided her towards the door.

-oOo-

Her apartment was large for a single bedroom and well appointed. She headed for the kitchen and started rattling around, putting a couple of mugs and a cafetiere onto a tray and setting the kettle heating. I looked around at her furnishings, trying to dig a little deeper into her life. Oddly there were no photographs anywhere. Instead a wide assortment of ornaments and paintings from around the world created their own unusual balance; mysterious but elegant.

“How do you take it?”

“White no sugar please. People say I’m sweet enough.”

It was an old joke, one I think my Mum heard from her grandmother, but the classics have their place.

I was examining a small but expensive music centre when she came back into the room carrying two steaming mugs.

“See anything you like?”

I looked up at her and an immediate answer sprang to mind. I managed not to say anything; too cliché, and not appropriate given our peculiar relationship.

“I mean music-wise.”

To be honest I hadn’t recognised a lot of it, but I pulled down an easy listening compilation CD that was heavy on saxophone and offered it to her. She smiled as she took it.

“Good choice, one of my favourites.”

She slid the disk into the machine then went to sit on the sofa as the strains of Judy Tzuke’s Stay With Me ‘Til Dawn filled the room.

I joined her on the sofa, but at the opposite end. The room seemed to be closing in around us, the atmosphere too charged for further conversation, and I was filled with a confusion of emotions. The words of the song were tempting me down a route I knew wouldn’t be welcomed, but I was finding it oddly difficult to resist.

She half-turned towards me and sipped at her drink. I put mine down and took hers from her hands. It was like I was on some sort of autopilot, standing to one side watching myself do things that I ordinarily wouldn’t dare, knowing this wasn’t what she wanted not what I intended, but unable to stop myself even so.

“Don’t.”

I managed to regain control and stopped, but her breath was deep and excited as though she were anticipating something. I moved closer to her.

She stood up and walked to the window.

“This was a mistake,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

I stood up and walked over to her, put my hands on her shoulders and murmured softly in her ear.

“Do you want me to go?”

She turned to me, head down, unable to answer. Eventually she shook her head, just a fraction but enough.

“Then what?”

“I have to warn you that I only make out with girls.”

The words were an almost unintelligible mumble. I cupped her chin in my hands and lifted it towards me.

“That’s not what your body is saying.”

She was quivering but otherwise making no move at all. She didn’t push me away, nor did she resist as I turned her face towards mine.

But it wasn’t me doing this. I never would have had the courage to act so boldly without being sure of what she wanted, and I she had been quite clear that this wasn’t it. Was it? I could have stopped myself, but she wasn’t resisting or protesting. Was there really any harm in this?

Our lips met, softly, gently caressing. She responded slowly to my kiss, her lips and tongue moving to match mine. It was the gentlest of touches, but electric in a way a kiss has never been for me.

The strangest sensation passed through me, a tingling sweetness that seemed to settle between my legs and oddly on my chest. The room started to spin and I pulled away, disoriented.

“What the hell?”

“I’m sorry. I never wanted this to happen to you.”

Somehow she seemed to be growing. I clung to her as the room continued to whirl, but somehow I was reaching up to her shoulders rather than down.

“I did try to warn you, over and over again, but you wouldn’t listen.”

I registered a deep regret in her words as my clothes loosened. My belt was no longer tight enough and both my trousers and pants fell to my ankles. My shirt seemed somehow longer, falling to mid -thigh.

“You see I really do only make out with girls.”

There was a tickle around my neck and I felt a weight of hair hanging down my back.

“And since you insisted on making out with me…”

The bulge that had been growing between my legs suddenly imploded just as my chest bulged out. My legs were suddenly weak and I stepped back out of my trousers and oversized shoes. She held on to me and followed.

“…I have to insist that you be a girl.”

My body was filled with strange new sensations. Not just the void between my legs or the soft mounds on my chest, but a moist warmth spreading out from my middle as I stared up into those impossibly green eyes. She was too beautiful to resist and I surrendered to her tender lips as she bent down to kiss me.

Her hands rose to hold me and caress my breasts, straining against a shirt too tight to hold them. A shock of sensation washed through me and I took another step backwards, then another. She guided me, kissing me and caressing me with every step and I surrendered to her, eager for her to do whatever was coming next.

Somehow there was a bed behind me and she lowered me down onto a soft duvet, her hands moving over my body, eliciting responses that had never been there before. Somewhere in the turmoil of my mind a small voice called out.

“This is wrong. This can’t be happening. I’m a man, I…”

The voice faded, drowned in the flood of new emotions and sensations that consumed me utterly. She began to undo my buttons and I fumbled with hers in return, unsteadily, hungrily. In minutes our clothes were on the floor and she was on top of me, caressing me in places and in ways that I had never suspected could exist. Her gently probing fingers and tongue building up tension upon tension in my new body, sending shivers of cold and floods of warmth coursing through me until, having long past the limit of my endurance, I was overcome by shuddering waves of pleasure charging through me, over and over again.

Eventually we lay quiet; her body spooned gently against my back, the softness of her breasts squashed against me and a gentle hand stroking my narrow waist, brushing long wavy hair off my neck.

My heart had almost slowed to normal when she spoke. There was genuine regret in her tone.

“I tried to warn you.”

The animal passions were subsiding and something of who I had been drifted back to the surface.

“How is this possible?”

“I didn’t want this to happen to you. You were kind to me; you don’t deserve this.”

I wasn’t fully recovered yet, but her words needed a response. I squirmed around until I was facing her.

“What are you doing?”

I still hadn’t fully grasped what had happened, but somehow a secret and impossible wish of mine, something I had carried and denied for so long, had come true. She needed to know.

“Showing you I’m grateful.”

And with that I started to do for her what she had so recently done for me. They say that the best way to learn something is to do it yourself, and for the next half hour I learned all over her body. I must have been doing something right because she started to moan and writhe about under my gentle caress.

She was not passive by any means, and before long we were sharing each other’s bodies in ways that brought us spiralling up into climax after shuddering climax. I lost track of time and even the world around us seemed to withdraw leaving us together in that unimaginably perfect slice of eternity.

Eventually we lay utterly spent and glistening with perspiration. Neither of us had the energy to move or even speak so we lay staring at the ceiling, lost in the memory of what had just shared, until sleep finally took us both.

-oOo-

I awoke in an empty bed. The curtains had been drawn back and bright sunlight was shining in through the window. I turned to the emptiness beside me and stroked the place where she had been, revelling for a dreamy moment in my memories of the previous evening. The movement reminded me of the differences in my body. I looked down at the perfect breasts standing proud on my chest, the smooth, hairless skin that covered my body, the curves around my waist and hips, the cleft between my legs. I let me fingers explore and felt a tingling buzz run through me as the sensation resonated with my memories.

A sudden and urgent need took me and I climbed out of bed in search of a bathroom. Sitting to urinate wasn’t so unusual as it was how I preferred to go in any case, but the sensation was quite different, leaving me with more need to wipe myself dry afterwards. I washed my hands and walked back into the bedroom, luxuriating in the natural sway of my hips and feeling a growing excitement inside me as I pulled open one of the wardrobes in search of a full length mirror.

I was gorgeous. I mean I’d been pretty good looking as a bloke, but the girl looking back out from the mirror was every young man’s wet dream. Long wavy auburn hair hung halfway down my back and framed a slender heart shaped face with high cheekbones and large hazel eyes. My nose was slim and delicate and my mouth neither too small nor too large with plump, sensuous lips. I was shorter than I had been, by about five inches I guessed. I also appeared to be younger, perhaps seventeen or eighteen. Wow, I had gained back about a decade. Beyond that, the curves and proportions of my body were perfect, from the smooth, gentle lines of my hips and legs to the flat stomach, narrow waist and firm, round breasts.

I pinched myself hard enough to bruise and it hurt. This was really me, not a dream at all. How was it possible? How was it that something so incredible, such an impossible dream for so much of my life, should actually happen?

I looked around the room for my clothes, some clothes, any clothes, and caught sight of an envelope on the pillow. It had no name or address on it, but it had been lying next to where I had woken up. I picked it up and flipped it open. There was a single sheet of paper in it, thick good quality writing paper, slightly off-white with a note printed in a cursive script; elegant but impersonal. I sat down to read.

“For every homely girl you ever walked past without giving a thought for her pain. For every lonely girl you ever seduced with insincere words of kindness and the offer of a drink. For every girl who’s vulnerability you exploited to get your own way, then left with no thought to the consequences; her pain, her anguish, her loss when she thought maybe, just maybe you might stay and be kind. For all of these and more here is revenge.

“You like a pretty face and soft curves, then you may have them. Your old life is gone. Who you were is gone and, should you look for it, try to convince your friends, your family that you were once that person, all you will receive for your pains is a lifelong committal to an institution for the mentally disturbed.

“You have no name, no money, no home, no friends, no family, nothing. You may take whatever you want from the wardrobe and dresser, but anything else and the theft will be reported to the police and you will be caught. See how well you survive in a world filled with men just like you were, wanting just one thing from you and all too ready to discard you when they’re done. Your sentence is to give it to them; sooner or later, willingly or not, for free or for a fee. In the end it is the only thing you have to offer, and each time you surrender it you will feel, as so many women have felt, a loss of your self-respect, an erosion of your humanity, a fading of your soul.

“You are no longer welcome here. Remain beyond midday and a security alarm will be triggered. The police will come looking for burglars and will arrest whoever they find. Go. Go lose yourself in the ugly and friendless world men like you were have created for young women like you are and repent without hope of forgiveness for however long you choose to survive.”

The letter chilled me to the bone. This was so different from the way things had felt last night and I couldn’t understand what had changed. Did she really think of me in that way, as a user and abuser of women? Did I really deserve the vitriolic hate poured out in this letter?

I could see how a certain type of man would find these physical changes to be the worst kind of punishment, but to me this was a gift and one I was certain I would never regret receiving.

“Oh well, if you really feel that way about me, I’m sorry.”

I was speaking to an empty room, but I was too busy enjoying the newfound softness of my voice to care.

I wandered naked through the apartment looking for any clue as to who my hostess and benefactress might be; any clues that might help me seek her out and offer my gratitude again. I found nothing, not even my clothes and wallet from the previous evening. A clock in the kitchen put the time at a little after ten. Time was running out and I turned my attention to making myself presentable for the world.

With my clothes gone, I had no money, no keys, nothing. The letter had been clear about what I could take and of the consequences of taking anything more, so I went through the dresser and wardrobe to see what was available to me.

The search was short, unsurprising and of little help. The top drawer of the dresser contained several sets of matching bras and panties in different colours and styles, albeit limited to silky, lacy and frilly. The second drawer held tights of different colours styles and thicknesses and a several camisoles. The bottom drawer was empty.

In the bottom of the wardrobe I found several pairs of shoes and boots, all with uncomfortably high heels. There was a large canvas shoulder bag as well. The hangers were filled with skimpy and revealing tops and some very short skirts. Not a lot to work with.

I showered and washed my hair, unsure of when I would have an opportunity to do it again. In retrospect this turned out to be something of a mistake as it took me over half an hour to dry it and brush it out afterwards.

It took me a while to settle on what to wear. There wasn’t a coat in the wardrobe and, despite the clear sunny weather outside, I knew I wasn’t going to be warm. Bra and knickers were all much of a muchness, so I picked out a matching pair and slipped them on along with one of the camis. I then searched out the thickest pair of tights I could find, black with a diamond pattern down the side, and pulled them up my legs. With a little thoughtful consideration of the available tops, I ended up putting together three that seemed to match and cover my assets reasonably well. They were skin tight so didn’t leave much to the imagination and, despite offering multiple layers, wouldn’t do much to keep out the cold, but they did more or less matched the tights. All of the skirts were short and so revealing as to be indecent, but I needed something down there and eventually settled on an iridescent blue ruched skirt that only just kept me on the right side of the law.

I checked myself out in the mirror and the words cheap and slutty shouted back at me. A few piercings, some Goth makeup, maybe a little bit of ink here and there would finish off the look, but even without them I would fit right in on the back streets of Soho. In exasperation I checked through the wardrobe again, but there wasn’t anything better.

The clock showed twenty to twelve so, with time running out, I stuffed as many of the remaining things into the shoulder bag. All the underwear, three pairs of shoes and as many of the skirts and tops as I could fit in. With minutes to spare, I pulled on a pair of boots, slung the bag over my shoulder and marched out to meet my future.

-oOo-

Outside in the cold, the world suddenly seemed a lot less friendly. I thought longingly of my shared flat in docklands, but there was no way I was going to persuade anyone that I had a right to be there. Too young to be a girlfriend, too slutty to be anything but a prostitute, the best I could hope for was to be arrested and, knowing my flat-mate, I was likely to get far less than the best.

I needed somewhere to sleep and something to eat so set about searching for a phone box with a directory in it. With luck I’d be able to look up the addresses of the local YWCA and maybe one or two churches that ran a soup kitchen or drop in centre for the down-and-out.

Before long I had way too much first-hand knowledge of how inefficient even thick tights are when they are the one and only line of defence against the cold. I sought refuge from the wintery weather in a shopping mall and eventually found what I was looking for. Having memorised a few addresses I headed for a newsagents where I started browsing a London A-Z for locations and routes. It didn’t take long for the shop keeper to approach me.

“Are you going to buy that or are you going stand there and read it all day.”

“What?”

“I know your type and I’d much rather you didn’t hang around in my shop. Now either buy it or put it back on the shelf and leave.”

Despite the way I was dressed, I hadn’t been ready for the man’s attitude and, feeling a little numb with the shock, I put the map book back where I had found I and walked out of the shop. The shopkeeper’s angry mutterings followed me out, but I had most of what I needed to know and set off on my quest.

I headed for the YWCA only to receive the first of a series of disappointments. They were full and turned me away without so much as a suggestion of where I might find lodging for the night. Most of the soup kitchens had closed down due to lack of funding and when I did eventually find one that was still operating, the line of homeless people was so long and intimidating that I turned away without even trying.

By then I’d been walking around for nearly an hour and a half and the combination of cold, hunger and fatigue was taking its toll. Despondency settled in and I sat down where I was, leaning against the window of a shop and careless of how little the skirt was hiding my modesty.

The paving slabs were icy and uncomfortable through the minimal protection of my tights and underwear but for the moment I couldn’t care less. People walked by without noticing or occasionally muttering some comment of disgust and I might have given in completely to my misery had it not been for one of the homeless people walking back warm and fed from the nearby church.

“Oy, that’s my spot.”

He ran towards me and in a panic I struggled to my feet.

“Find your own patch.”

He waved at me violently and I staggered away as he settled down in the place I had just vacated and put his hat down on the pavement in front of him.

I wandered aimlessly for a while, eventually coming across one of London’s many small and hidden parks and made my way in thinking to find a bench and sit a while. The park was empty except for a young man in a business suit munching his way through a sandwich. He checked his watch as I appeared and, with a start, jumped to his feet and hurried off, dropping his half eaten lunch into a bin as he went.

I looked in the bin. I couldn’t be that hungry could I? My stomach growled its answer and, with a quick, shame-faced glance around, I reached in after my prize. I sat down on the recently vacated bench, feeling the warmth of its previous occupant, and brushed a few unidentifiable somethings off the half-sandwich before biting into it.

I wish I could say it was the most delicious thing I had ever tasted, but the bread was dry as was the chicken, and the lettuce was limp and bitter. Even so I savoured every mouthful, taking progressively small bites so it would last longer. I had all but finished when I was joined in the park by a middle-aged man. His shirt buttons strained against his bulging belly as he sat down a little too close to me and he turned a lascivious expression in my direction.

“How much?”

Given the way I was dressed I shouldn’t have been shocked, but I couldn’t help showing my revulsion at what he was implying. He must have been twice my age, and I mean my real age, not my apparent seventeen or eighteen. Beyond that the combination of fleshy features and unsuccessful comb-over caused my stomach to lurch unpleasantly. I jumped to my feet and backed away.

“I’m sorry mister, but I think you’ve got the wrong idea.”

His face contorted with anger.

“You filthy slut. What makes my money any worse than the next man’s?”

He lurched to his feet and started following me, the look on his face predatory and dangerous.

“I think you’re mistaken sir, I’m not a… a…”

I couldn’t bring myself to say it.

“What, dressed like that and you expect me to believe you’re some innocent schoolgirl?”

I turned and fled, not daring to slow down or to look behind me until I was back on the crowded streets. When I did look, he was nowhere to be seen. I leaned against a wall and let out a long breath, the jelly in my legs taking a long while to settle. It amazed me that I hadn’t broken an ankle trying to run with three inch heels, but somehow I’d managed it.

As the afternoon wore on, I changed tactics. I made a mental list of things I urgently needed: Something to drink, somewhere to go to the loo, warmer and more decent clothes, shelter. The last I could probably find in a tube station or one of the larger railway stations, but the rest would all need money, which meant a job. I started asking in shops if there was any chance of some casual work and was met with one refusal after another until, with clouds building and the light fading, I finally admitted defeat.

I had more or less resigned myself to spending the night cold, hungry and thirsty when I came across an open air market. In the gathering gloom, the stall holders had decided they would do no further business that day and were closing up. I hunted around until I found a clothing stall and approached the man feeling nervous and vulnerable in the dark.

“Excuse me mister.”

He looked me over making it obvious in his expression what he thought of me.

“What d’ya want sweetheart?”

“I was wondering if I could sell you some clothes. They haven’t been worn.”

He was sceptical.

“I’d ‘a’ thought if you ‘ad any more clothes you’d be wearin’ ‘em.”

“Yeah they’re not too good in the cold.”

I sniffed away a tear. It was a real one, but I figure he’d been played before by someone with more acting ability than honesty. He was still a bit cagey, but at least he was prepared to give me a chance.

“Alright, let’s have a look at what you got.”

So I opened my bag and let him rummage through what amounted to all my worldly possessions.

“Sorry luv, it’s not the sort of thing I usually sell, and I mean it’s all one-offs innit? I mean what if someone wants it in a bigger size? It’s not somefin’ I can shift.”

I stuffed the clothes back in the bag and shrugged it onto my shoulder.

“Oh well, thanks for taking the time to look anyway.”

I turned to go, hiding the tears that were running all too freely down my face, and walked off into the gloom. Everything seemed so hopeless.

I set my mind on finding somewhere to sleep the night. I made my way to one of the main railway stations that was nearby and headed for the toilets. I hadn’t had anything to drink all day which was probably why I hadn’t felt the need before now, but sometime soon I would have to find somewhere to go. Twenty pence to use the facilities. When I read that I couldn’t take it anymore, I just crouched where I was and burst into tears. I couldn’t even afford to go to the toilet in this place.

Fortunately there was an attendant who was kind enough to see past my attire take pity on me. He gave me a coin and let me through. I thanked him through my tears and found my way into a cubical.

Once I’d completed my business I hunted through my bag for some fresh knickers and I also pulled on a second pair of tights, thinner ones, to go underneath the thick black ones I was wearing, then added a few more tops. By this stage I didn’t really care too much what I looked like; I just wanted to be warm.

I took a long drink from a tap at the washbasins, trying my hardest not to dwell on how unhygienic that was, then waited a few minutes until the water had passed through and I needed to go again.

I splashed water in my face to try and reduce the puffiness in my eyes, then spent a long time with the hand dryer, blowing warm air over different bits of my body to warm up as best I could before the attendant came looking for me and told me I had to leave.

I thanked him again and went off in search of a reasonably warm place to sleep, or at least to rest; I was too cold and hungry to sleep.

I found a sheltered corner and was settling down for the night when one of the station guards found me and told me to move on. I didn’t really have a choice and before long I was out in the cold again. The clouds had decided to do their bit and even though it was only a light drizzle, I was wet enough to feel it by the time I found shelter in a shop doorway. Earlier someone had used it as a urinal which was probably why it wasn’t already occupied. I chose not to sit down but I leaned against the door instead and waited out the rain in the stench.

How far can you fall in just one day? Less than eight hours ago I had woken up feeling wonderful and looking forward to a miraculous new life, the one I’d always wanted to live. Now it had taken me just that long to realise how alone and powerless I was. The letter’s prediction was coming true, I could feel myself giving into inevitability.

The rain let up a little and I couldn’t stand the stench any longer. I left the shelter of the doorway and wandered listlessly down the darkened street.

I hadn’t been walking long when a car slowly drew alongside me. Silver grey, a mid-range BMW and quite new; I guess no sense in wondering what this guy wanted. I closed my eyes and squeezed out a tear. And why not? I had to eat, to buy warmer, smarter clothes. If this guy was prepared to pay me enough to do that, what was the harm of letting him poke about for a few minutes?

Somewhere deep inside I felt a part of me die.

“Hello sweet-cheeks. How about a little bit of action?”

-oOo-

To be continued...

You meant it for evil - 02 by Maeryn Lamonte I hadn’t been walking long when a car slowly drew alongside me. Silver grey, a mid-range BMW and quite new; I guess no sense in wondering what this guy wanted. I closed my eyes and squeezed out a tear. And why not? I had to eat, to buy warmer, smarter clothes. If this guy was prepared to pay me enough to do that, what was the harm of letting him poke about for a few minutes? Somewhere deep inside I felt a part of me die. “Hello sweet-cheeks. How about a little bit of action?”

-oOo-
Wait, what the hell? Phil?

I glanced over at the car, right into the face of my inanely grinning former best mate. I was not going to get jiggy with him.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

He turned belligerent.

“What the hell reason do you have to be asking me a question like that?”

Yeah Ken, what reason?

“Er, it’s just that erm, just that I saw you with someone a few nights back. Over at Café Emm I think it was.”

I’d eaten there with Phil and Sharon on Wednesday. As I said, the best lie is the truth.

“What makes you think she was my girlfriend?”

“Well she sure as hell wasn’t with the other guy.”

Phil laughed at that.

“You’re right there. Well what the ol’ girl don’t know won’t hurt her.”

How had I ever missed that he was this much of a douche-bag? Hang on maybe there was a way I could come out on top here.

“Maybe someone should tell her then.”

“Yeah, that would be more of a threat if you actually knew who she was, wouldn't it you stupid cow?”

I stopped walking, forcing him to yank on his brakes and reverse up a little bit.

“Let me see what was it? Sharon I think I heard you call her, an’ I seen her comin’ out of them solicitors on Shaftsbury Avenue? I think I could find her easy enough.”

Phil was thinking furiously, going through his options. I needed to keep him off balance and push through to a deal before he came up with a plan of his own. I started walking again and it took him a moment or two to sort out his gears and pull alongside. I made a guesstimate as to how much he would be prepared to right off, swung nonchalantly around a lamppost and made my pitch.

“You know I get really forgetful after I’ve had a good meal and a night in a warm bed. If I had say a hundred quid I’d most likely wake up tomorrow with no idea I’d seen you tonight.”

“You’re off your rocker you are.”

“Not so much, I’m sure Sharon wouldn’t mind handing over a few bob to find out what you been up to. Only she probably wouldn’t pay quite as much as that, so what do you say?”

“You’d go and tell her anyway.”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t, but if you ain’t gonna believe me then there’s no point us talking is there?”

I walked on picking up speed. This street was still dark and deserted enough that he might decide to do something really stupid and I wanted to be in running distance of a more public place if he did come up with his own plan.

A stream of profanity poured from the car’s open window.

“All right, take your tossing money and make sure you keep your gob shut about this or I’ll come looking for you.”

He waved a handful of twenties at me and hit the accelerator as soon as I’d snatched them from him. By the time I’d counted the notes he had turned the corner and was gone.

I slipped the money where no gentlemen and few sleazebags would have the guts to look and pushed on towards the main street. The lights of a nearby mall were beckoning me and with luck I should be able to find a charity shop inside before they closed for the day. With some shops already putting up their shutters, my priority was to find somewhere I could buy a few less provocative clothes. After that I’d think about food and shelter.

-oOo-
I was lucky, there was a charity shop a short way into the mall and I managed to duck in just as the shopkeeper was reaching for the open/closed sign.

“I’m sorry dear, I was just going to close up.”

“Oh please missus, it’s flippin’ freezin’ out there. I got some money, I just need a few warm things. I won’t be ten minutes.”

I pulled the banknotes out of my bra to show her, which act of desperation, along with the pleading look in my eyes, was enough to persuade her.

I hunted through the racks at speed. There weren’t any jeans or trousers even nearly in my size, but I did find a knee length red dress in heavier material and a black jacket that went quite well with it. I ducked into a changing room to try them on and, took the opportunity to change underwear, still unsure of what my night’s accommodation would be. I was pleased with the fit and the look and decided to keep them on, although the boots didn’t look quite right so I swapped them for a pair of less warm but more comfortable pumps.

I stuffed the clothes I’d been wearing along with the boots in to my shoulder bag, now bulging obscenely, and stepped out of the cubical. On my way to pay I also found a fairly non-descript black skirt — also knee length, a white silk blouse and a thick black cardigan which might do for work or interview clothes.

I’m not sure if the shopkeeper was being kind to me, but I ended up with change from twenty pound note and left the shop feeling very pleased with myself. I’d thought about asking for directions to a nearby eatery, but I wanted carbohydrates, protein and grease and wasn’t sure if I’d end up with the right advice. Instead I was studying one of the mall’s map displays for something Mac Kentucky Fired Burger Kingish when someone yelled in my general direction across the empty hallway.

“That’s her officer, that’s the girl who stole my money.”

It was Phil again with a couple of beat cops in tow. Obviously I had underestimated his threshold for belligerence. Running now would confirm my guilt so I kept on examining the map. My dim reflection in the glass surface was not wholly unpresentable; my hair was a bit of a rats nest after a day wandering around the grubbier parts of London, but the dress and jacket looked quite presentable. I turned towards the approaching men and took a couple of deep breaths to still my nerves.

“I’m sorry to bother you miss but I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you a few questions.”

The older of the two policemen was taking the lead here with Phil standing behind them with the smuggest of grins plastered over his face. I stared him straight in the eyes and mustered what courage I had

“Oh bollox not you again.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry officer, not you. I was talking about him. He propositioned me a while back. Wouldn’t take no for an answer either.”

The policemen turned towards Phil with a look of suspicious enquiry.

“Oh come on, you’re going to take her word over mine? She has a hundred quid of mine, unless she already spent it.”

“And exactly how am I supposed to have got my hands on your money?”

“All right, all right.”

The older policeman was holding his hands up between us with the younger one moving to restrain whichever one of us made a first move.

“Look we’re not going to resolve this here and now so I’m going to have to ask both of you to come down to the station and answer a few questions.”

Oh sh*!. Mind you Phil didn’t seem any happier.

“On what grounds?”

“On the grounds, sir, that both you and the young lady have accused each other of committing a crime. Now come along you two, outside.”

Between them the two policemen ushered us towards the mall entrance, the older one talking into his radio to organise a pickup for us.

We waited outside for about five minutes before a police van drove alongside and we were invited to step up inside. The temperature had dropped considerably with the setting of the sun and I was glad of the new dress and jacket, even if my legs weren’t getting any benefit from them.

The trip to the police station was short and silent. Phil kept glowering at me as though this were my fault, but with two more of the Bill up front he was not more prepared to risk saying anything than I was. I spent the journey putting together a background story for myself, yet again looking to rely more on actual events than my imagination. I remembered a couple of my parent’s friends who had a daughter about my apparent age and who had moved away up North some years back. I’d have to become her for a few hours at least.

The police station was an old fashioned red brick building with steps leading up to old wooden double doors with flaking green paint. We were lead through them into a waiting area, walls painted a dingy shade of magnolia, exposed plumbing and a large wooden counter, oak at a guess. The sergeant behind the counter gave us each a clipboard with a form to fill in and a cheap pen then pointed us at the benches ranged around the walls.

“Is it alright if I call my fiancée?”

Phil held his mobile phone up to the sergeant who shrugged before turning back without enthusiasm to whatever he’d been doing before we arrived. Phil pressed a speed dial on his phone and wandered off to a quiet corner of the waiting room. I settled onto a bench close to a large ribbed radiator, picked up the form and set about writing a little fiction.

Sharon arrived just as I was checking over the details I’d written and committing them to memory. She gave me a dark look and went straight to Phil who, for the occasion, affected a look of affronted dignity and stoic endurance under unjust persecution.

I handed my form over to the sergeant with an apologetic smile for the extra paperwork I was causing him.

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance of a cup of tea and a biscuit is there? I haven’t eaten since lunch and I’m starving.”

He gave me an appraising look and decided I wasn’t trying to wind him up.

“I don’t know about the biscuit, but I’ll see what I can do about drinks.”

He called over to Sharon and Phil, deep in some private conference, and offered them the same, then stuck his head through a door at the back to ask for the drinks to be sent through. I sat back down in my seat and, with nothing else to pass the time, settled into a depressing speculation of my current and future prospects.

Less than a day in this new life and I’d already been taken for a prostitute twice, I’d resorted to blackmail and I’d been arrested. I had nowhere to stay, no means of income and I was starving, or at least hungrier than I had been in a lot of years. I huddled in close to the radiator, grateful to be able to feel my legs again, and nurtured my misery.

When the tea arrived, I added a couple of spoons of sugar and started to sip at it. It was too sweet for my tastes, but the sugar revived me somewhat and hot liquid warmed my insides. For the first time since I’d left the flat this morning, I felt human.

I thanked the sergeant with a smile and started to wander about the waiting room reading through the posters. There seemed to be quite a lot under missing persons with most of them being men in their twenties to thirties. Where there were photographs, they showed reasonably good looking young men having a laugh with their mates. Occasionally there would be a girlfriend in the picture looking a little neglected, and I found myself wondering just how many of these guys had met with my companion of the previous night. There wasn’t much I could do about it in any case; I mean just who would believe me?

Phil was called through to be interviewed first and after a while I wandered over to where Sharon was sitting. A diamond glistened on her left hand; the old so-and-so had proposed after all then. So just what the hell was he doing cruising the back streets for action when he was so recently engaged?

Sharon gave me an accusing look that seemed to be a little cracked around the edges and I felt for her. Phil may have paid me to keep quiet, but since he’d brought the cops in to try and get his money back I figured the deal was off. I sat down next to her but not too close.

“You probably think I’m a real bitch.”

“I don’t understand people like you. First you steal from him, then you accuse him of soliciting you as a prostitute. Why would you do such a thing?”

I looked her in the eyes. There had been something in her tone of voice and now in her eyes; she was having trouble believing her own words. Here goes nothing.

“I didn’t steal from him. I mean how am I supposed to nick his cash? Lift his wallet maybe? Yeah ok maybe I could have done that, ‘cept you should ask him if he’s still got it on him.

“As for the other. The thing is I’ve seen you an’ him around a bit so I know you’re together, so when he pulls up next to me in his big, silver Beemer and asks for a bit of action I’m a bit shocked is all.”

“You’re lying. You’re just trying to get yourself out of trouble.”

I gave her the registration of Phil’s car.

“We was in the mall with a couple of coppers when we was picked up. How would I know what car he drives unless I’d met him in the streets with him goin’ slow enough for me to know it was him?

“Look I get what you see in him so I understand why you don’t want to believe me. He’s a bit old for me, but a bit of alright even so. I’m sorry to do this to you, but I’m not lying about what happened.”

She started to cry and I put my hand on hers until she flinched away. There was nothing else I could say so I stood up and walked back over to the other side of the room.

A few minutes later Phil came back into the waiting room looking pleased with himself. He re-joined Sharon as the DI who’d escorted him out indicated for me to follow him.

“All right love, bag on the table. Let’s see what you got in there.”

“Do you even have the right to do that? I mean am I being arrested or something? Do I need to ask for a lawyer?”

He let out a sigh of exasperation and rubbed his hand over his eyes. He leaned over the table at me.

“Look no-one’s been arrested yet alright? It’s just that things would go a lot quicker if you co-operated.”

“And I suppose he co-operated in the same way did he?”

I chucked my bag on the table with bad grace. The DI took it as consent and started rummaging about inside. He pulled out a pair of lacy panties and a bra and raised an eyebrow at me.

“What I wear under my clothes is my business.”

Next, without a great deal of surprise came the short skirts and skimpy tops I’d picked up from the flat.

“You’re Dad know you go around dressed like this?”

“My Dad couldn’t give a sh…”

“Less of that language young lady. Were you wearing this earlier today?”

I made a show of reluctance but picked out the things I’d been wearing earlier.

“Hardly surprising that someone would mistake you for a prostitute then.”

I gave him my best outraged teen look.

“What, so there’s a law against what I wear now is there?”

“Unfortunately no, but given that you were provocatively dressed I’m inclined to dismiss the charges you brought against the other gentleman, which means all we have to do is address his accusations against you.”

He folded his arms and leaned back in his chair, looking across the table at me with way to much satisfaction.

Having given me a good half minute to squirm, he reached out for the clipboard and read through what I had written.

“Your name is Catherine Sleighton?”

“That’s what I wrote.”

Amazing how a small twist of the words allowed me to answer truthfully and sound more convincingly like a stroppy teenager.

“Do you have any ID?”

“No my stuff was nicked last night.”

“Did you report it?”

“What’s the point?”

I had a good pout on by this stage. He sighed and leaned across at me.

“This attitude isn’t going to help you, you know?”

“And what attitude will? You’ve already decided I’m guilty so why bother with the questions?”

He glanced at the tape recorder that was committing our words to record.

“I haven’t decided anyone’s guilt. That’s what we’re here trying to find out.”

“But it’s ok for you to go through my stuff. I’ll bet you didn’t ask him to turn out his pockets. If you had you’d’ve seen he still had his wallet on him.”

“And how would you know that?”

“’Cause I could see a bulge in his jacket and I don’t think he’s James Bond.”

“Exactly what would it prove if he had his wallet on him?”

“Well he’s saying I nicked is cash yeah? How am I supposed to have done that and left his wallet on him?”

“Do you have any money on you or was that stolen last night too?”

“I’ve got a bit. I don’t keep my cash with my other stuff.”

“Can I see it?”

I reached into my bra and tossed the remaining notes onto the table. DI whoever picked them up and looked them over.

“He says the money you took from him was fresh bills. These look pretty fresh.”

“Show me a cash machine that doesn’t give you new notes these days. It’s hardly proof that those were his.”

“So you took these from a cash dispenser? I don’t suppose you have your card still do you?”

“I told you, my stuff was nicked.”

“I take it you at least report the theft to your bank?”

“I’m not stupid am I?”

“So he says you stole a hundred pounds from him and here you are with eighty plus some change in your bag having just been in a charity shop. Seems a bit coincidental to me.”

“What that I’ve got a bit less than he says I took? What the hell is this? You’ve got nothing on me and you know it.”

“Just what did you buy in the charity shop?”

“This dress and jacket, the blue skirt, silk blouse and cardigan.”

“Do you have a receipt?”

“No she didn’t give me one.”

“Do you remember how much it all cost?”

“What’s the point of that question? I could say anything and you couldn’t prove it.”

“No, point taken. In any case most likely more than fifteen quid.”

He was deflating rapidly and his eyes looked like he was doing a job of reassessing the facts. After a while he stood up and walked out of the room. He wasn’t gone long and when he came back his face was a mask of anger and embarrassment. He turned off the recorder.

“Alright you can go.”

“What just like that? You go through my stuff, more or less accuse me of stealing and now you just want me to go without so much as an apology?”

“If you want to hang around I’m sure I could find something to charge you with.”

I stood up and gathered my things, tucking the money back where it was best hidden.

“Do I get a lift back to where you picked me up?”

“There’s a tube station down the road.”

I gave him a dirty look and walked out muttering expletives as I went. In the waiting room Phil and Sharon were just finishing a blazing row and I arrived in time to see her storm out of the police station. I nodded to the sergeant and pushed my way through the doors after her. They hadn’t quite closed behind me when I heard the DI’s voice.

“Excuse me Mr Harris. I have a few more questions for you before you go thank-you.”

It served the toss-pot right. I allowed myself a quiet smile and turned down the road back the way I’d come. I had no idea where I was going to spend the night, but I figured I’d be better off back in the centre of the city.

-oOo-
I’d walked a couple of hundred yards and was beginning to realise how much my feet were going to hurt by the time I’d made back where I wanted to be — I wasn’t ready to waste any of my meagre funds on public transport — when for the second time that evening a car pulled up beside me.

I bent down and looked in through the passenger window to see Sharon looking at me through ruined makeup.

“You need a lift? Because I sure as hell need some company right now.”

I slid in beside her feeling as much gratitude for the relief to my feet as concern for her state of mind.

“Where are you heading?”

She pulled back out into traffic without checking her mirrors, leaving a riot of squealing brakes and blaring horns behind her. I did my best not to cringe, knowing it would do nothing to improve the experience.

“I don’t really know. I was going to try the YWCA again; they were full earlier but I figured if I was to turn up this late maybe they’d be able to squeeze me in somewhere.”

“You don’t have anywhere to stay?”

How she managed to keep the car going straight down the road while she was looking across at me like that I have no idea. I closed my eyes in the hope that the inevitable pileup wouldn’t hurt as much if I didn’t see it coming.

“Not really, but I’ll be ok. Just drop me off near the Y and I’ll sort something out.”

There was a long silence and I dared to open an eye. Sharon was looking at the road ahead again, deep in thought. After a while she glanced over at me and seemed to make up her mind.

“You could stay with me for a bit.”

“You hardly know me. Aren’t you afraid I might rip you off?”

A thin smile played briefly across her lips.

“I won’t deny it the thought did cross my mind, but I’m usually a reasonable judge of character and I don’t think you’d do that to me. Besides I could do with the company and I don’t think I’d sleep well tonight if I was worrying about you sleeping rough.”

Good judge of character? What like with Phil? I held my peace though; this was not the best time or place to bring something like that up.

“Well? What do you say? I mean you’d be sharing a sofa with a few cats, but somehow I don’t think that’s worse than what you’d end up with otherwise.”

I’d never given Sharon much time before. Somehow she’d given me a first impression of being rather shallow, but here she was offering to share her home with someone she didn’t know from Eve, and after I’d been largely responsible for ruining her future with Phil. The prospect of a warm bed and a roof over my head set my eyes swimming. She glanced over at me and I managed a nod.

“Ok then, if I remember right you said you hadn’t eaten since lunch so I’m guessing you’re hungry.”

That was when the events of the day really caught up with me and I sort of phased out. I don’t remember much of the short trip to her flat or of the conversation except that it was mercifully one sided and I didn’t have to contribute much more than the occasional generic grunt.

We found a parking spot close to her flat and I followed her in. The moment she slid the key into the lock there was a yowling from the other side, then we were in with three cats tangling themselves around our ankles and butting their heads against our shins. It was an odd sensation through thick woollen tights, but pleasant.

“Sit down and relax, you’ve had a tough day. Omelette ok? Nothing special but it’ll only take ten minutes.”

“Sounds fantastic.”

I dropped onto the sofa and kicked off my shoes. Flexing my toes was a delight and a moment later a tabby cat landed in my lap and started butting my chin for attention, only settling when I obediently started to scratch it under the chin.

Sharon popped her head around the door.

“Red or white?”

“Sorry?”

“Wine. Do you prefer red or white?”

As Ken I’d preferred red and I nearly answered as such, but something told me my new younger self wouldn’t have the experience.

“I’m sorry I don’t know a lot about wine…”

“Then we’ll start you off on white. I have a Pinot Grigio in the fridge which I think might be a good first taste. If you’re going to spend any time around here you’re going to have to learn to like it.”

She disappeared again and came back with a narrow wine glass with condensation forming around the sides. I sipped at the glass and the troubles of the world melted away. His majesty, King Tabby, pushed his head under my free hand and insisted by royal decree that I should continue to minister to his needs and, with a tired smile, I acquiesced. At least until Sharon came back in with a plate and fork for each of us and shooed him off my lap.

“If you’re not careful he’ll inveigle you into his service. You just need to tell him when you’ve had enough.”

The omelette was astonishing. Just a little bit moist on the inside and filled with cheese and fresh chives and with a salad on the side. I’d never been much into rabbit food, but somehow these flavours were much brighter. I tried to east everything slowly, but it tasted so good and I was so hungry.

Sharon had only taken a few bites of hers by the time I’d finished mine and I felt my face reddening at my poor manners. She never missed a beat.

“Well they say the best compliment you can give a chef is an empty plate. If you’re still hungry I can soon make you another.”

“Oh no that was great thank-you. It’s just that I was really hungry. Not so much now.”

I hid my shame as best I could behind my wine glass and tried to join in the conversation as she picked her way slowly through her own meal.

She was a gracious host and didn’t keep me talking long after we’d both finished eating. She refused my carrying the plates and glasses out to the kitchen, then reappeared with a pile of bedding and slipped a sheet over the cushions on the sofa.

“Right. I’m going to withdraw and let you get your head down; I’m guessing you’re really tired. If there’s anything you need just let me know.”

I bit my lip and looked at my bag.

“Ok, out with it. What do you need? Mi casa es su casa while you’re here.”

This was embarrassing. I hadn’t even thought this far ahead.

“I don’t have any nightclothes. I wouldn’t have minded sleeping in my undies in the Y but it doesn’t seem polite here.”

She disappeared for a few seconds and came back with a tee-shirt nighty. Unsurprisingly there were cats on it.

“Anything else before I leave you in peace?”

“I don’t suppose you have a spare toothbrush?”

She showed me a cupboard in her bathroom where all the spares were kept. This included certain things I hadn’t thought about yet that I would almost certainly need within the next three weeks or so.

“Help yourself to what you need. I’ll probably have gone to church by the time you wake up tomorrow so help hunt around and make yourself at home. I should be back by lunchtime and we’ll decide what to do with the rest of the day then, ok?”

Very ok. I thanked her again for her hospitality and just about managed to keep myself vertical for the time it took me to change and brush my teeth. Once I was snuggled under a warm duvet it didn’t take long for the cats to come and find places to settle themselves. I was glad of their company as the night gathered me into its velvet embrace.

-oOo-
I heard the door close quietly somewhere in the hazy depths of a dream and very slowly I rose to the surface. I rolled over, dislodging a couple of cats, and burrowed back under the covers looking for those ethereal moments between sleeping and waking where time expands and the world is soft, but something was off and I couldn’t settle.

I surrendered to the inevitable and sat up, pushing amass of hair out of my face and staring stupidly at the low table in front of me. Why was a sleeping on a sofa? Who’s sofa was I sleeping on? Where did all this hair come from? What the…?

The events of the past couple of days washed over me like a wave of cold water. I looked down at my pink nightie and the two soft bulges pushing out from my chest and remembered. I wasn’t sleepy anymore and nature was hollering for my attention. I just made it to the bathroom in time, wondering how I had managed to go almost the entire previous day without a disaster.

When I was done and washing my hands, I looked into the mirror in wonder and delight at the person looking back. My hair needed washing again after yesterday’s adventures, but despite the bedraggled look I was beautiful. I climbed into the shower and spent a luxurious half hour under the hot water washing myself clean in body and soul and lathering the filth out of my hair. When I had finished my skin was tingling all over and I spent a few moments exploring those places the mystery woman had shown me. A warm glow suffused me and I nearly lost myself to the sensation, but this was something to be shared and I managed by some strength of will to stop myself. I managed to wrap a towel around my body with enough security to feel comfortable walking around, but I couldn’t figure out how to gather up my hair in another so settled for towelling it dry as I headed for the kitchen and much needed sustenance.

I found a half full jug of coffee and a note — ‘Help yourself, I’ll be back around twelvish.’ — so I did. The coffee provided a welcome boost to the brain and after a little searching I settled my hunger with a bowl full of what tasted like soggy cardboard with half a banana sliced over it to make it bearable.

Immediate needs taken care of, I set out in search of a hair drier and, having searched everywhere else without success, eventually turned to Sharon’s bedroom door. It felt like a violation of privacy going in there but she had told me that her house was my house so I decided to take her at her word. The first thing I noticed was the wastepaper basket brimming with used tissues and the smears of mascara on the pillow. I felt oddly guilty that I hadn’t been there for her last night and vowed to make it up to her.

The hair drier was hiding in plain sight on the dresser along with various other paraphernalia, most of which looked like medieval instruments of torture. I stuck to what I could recognise and set about untangling my hair with a hairbrush. I didn’t feel exactly comfortable using someone else’s, but it needed to be done and I could always clean it out afterwards.

It took the best part of an hour to dry and brush my hair and my stomach was growling at me by the time I was done. I took the hairbrush into the bathroom and teased out every hair I could find before putting it back where I’d found it. I was tempted to have a look through her wardrobe while I was there, but I’d invaded her privacy enough so turned back towards the lounge and my bag of meagre possessions.

I was oddly reluctant to wear the red dress two days in a row, so rummaged through the bag for what else I could find. The nice detective inspector from the other day had taken very little care with my things and the skirt and silk blouse I’d bought from the charity shop were in a crumpled ball in the bottom. Most of the rest of my clothes had survived reasonably well but I didn’t want to go back to the slutty look. I slipped on a fresh set of underwear and a pair of nude tights then dug out the iron and ironing board out from where I had found them during my search for the hair drier. It didn’t take ten minutes to get rid of the creases and finally I was dressed and presentable to the world.

I poured myself another cup of coffee and, with nothing better to do, picked up the basket of ironing I noticed tucked away in the corner of the kitchen and set to work. Fortunately Sharon wasn’t a particularly frilly person so there was no delicate lace or awkward bows and flounces to work around and the pile dwindled quickly. I did duck into Sharon’s wardrobe in a brief hunt for coat hangers, but otherwise concentrated on working through the pile of clothes.

I was just putting the iron away when I heard the key in the door. The cats ran to give her their usual greeting and, no doubt, to complain about how badly I had neglected them. I hadn’t quite closed the door when she entered the room.

“Oh you didn’t have to do that. I was hoping I’d find you with your feet up in front of the television.”

“Well I had to iron a few of my own things and since I had the iron out I figured why not. How was church?”

She looked away.

“A little awkward. Everyone was asking where Phil was and I really didn’t want to talk about it.”

Feeling a little awkward myself I stepped forward to offer her a hug. She clung to me and burst into tears. I held on and stroked her hair and made soothing noises, hoping that she wasn’t doing the same thing to my blouse as she’d done to her pillowcase.

Eventually she pulled away and went in search of a tissue.

“Thanks I needed that.”

I was relieved to note that she had forgone makeup.

“There’s a little coffee left if you like. I wasn’t sure how the machine worked so it’s just what’s left over from this morning.”

“No let’s go out for lunch. There’s a pub not far from here that does a halfway decent carvary on Sundays and I don’t feel much like cooking today. My treat if you’re up for it?”

Breakfast was far enough in the past that I nodded and went in search of my pumps and my jacket.

“Where’s your handbag?”

I looked at her blankly for a moment then indicated my large shoulder bag.

“That’s all I brought with me and I don’t really want to carry all my stuff around today.”

“Never mind you can borrow one of mine.”

And with that she dived into her bedroom, resurfacing a few moments later with a small, black patent leather shoulder bag. I smiled my thanks and transferred my cash into it. It wasn’t quite empty, containing a packet of tissues and a certain item, the use of which I wasn’t yet ready to contemplate. I snapped it shut and followed her out of the flat.

-oOo-
Lunch was wonderful except that, still in in the habit of feeding Ken’s appetite, I piled my plate rather high and was left with an embarrassing amount of uneaten food at the end of it. That and the barman wanted to see my ID and refused to serve me anything more than a diet coke when I couldn’t produce it.

After we’d finished eating and were sitting quietly finishing our drinks, a couple of men sauntered over to us and asked if we might like some company. Sharon’s face went still and it was left to me to smile apologetically and tell them this wasn’t’ a good time.

They wandered off muttering to each other and laughing unpleasantly. One of their comments was just loud enough to hear and Sharon blinked back sudden tear.

“Why do they have to be so unkind? I mean it’s not as if we were rude to them.”

A flash of insight.

“Being a guy is all about competition. Any time they take the risk of approaching a couple of women like us, they put their reputation on the line. If they get turned down they’ve got to bull it out as though it didn’t matter to them, or preferably because they’d just found something out about us that meant they changed their minds.”

She stared at me.

“How did you to get so wise in the ways of the world?”

I shrugged; time to make something up.

“Two older brothers.”

I stored that away in the fictional database of my new self.

“Were they mean to you?”

“Some of the time, I guess so, but they were also quite protective of me.”

I was projecting my own brother into the mix.

We finished up and headed for the door and set about an indirect road home through the deserted shopping precinct. When I recognised Sharon’s intentions I began to steel myself for the trials ahead, never having been particularly fond of shopping trips. True to form, our slow meandering took us from one shop window to the next and I was beginning to dread the rest of the afternoon when Sharon turned to me.

“That would look really good on you.”

With that she pulled me in front of the window so that my reflection in the mirror superimposed over the outfit on display. It consisted of a burnt ochre loose tunic top over a pair of thick burgundy leggings with lace trim at the ankles. A pair of socks to match the top and a pair of flats finished it off. It was casual, but it was surprisingly me.

A second flash of inspiration hit me and I saw that these shopping trips were not so much a commercial exercise as a social one. This wasn’t about looking for things to buy with all that money I didn’t have, but rather a way of bonding and encouraging one another. I allowed myself a smile as I imagined myself in the more colourful outfit.

“You know I think you’re right.”

And after that the whole afternoon picked up. Every display we looked at became an opportunity for one or the other of us to suggest a new look to the other, and every suggestion became an exploration in the way we saw each other. Every now and again we’d come across some example of extreme fashion and collapse in fits of laughter at the thought of either of us presenting in such an outfit and by the time we made it back to Sharon’s flat she had her arms wrapped around my elbow and was smiling freely, her whole face relaxed in a way I hadn’t seen since we’d met the previous night.

“You know I’m glad we met. Not so happy about the circumstances, but it’s not your fault that Phillip turned out to be such a dick, and I wouldn’t feel anywhere near this happy right now if you weren’t with me. It’s a strange thing but I feel like I’ve known you for ages.”

“It’s hardly likely; I mean I only arrived in London a few days ago. But I’m glad you stopped to pick me up too. It’s so good to feel warm and well fed.”

She gave me a squeeze and we waded into the flat; knee deep in moggies.

-oOo-
The answerphone light was flashing, showing half a dozen messages. Sharon played through them all, her face turning ever more stony as each one turned out to be a new message from Phil. He’d spent the night as a guest of the local constabulary and had been trying to call since he’d arrived home. He pleaded for a chance to talk to her, to explain. What story he had managed to concoct in the seclusion of his cell I had no idea, but I wasn’t about to let my new friend fall foul to the lies of my old one. Time for a bit more playacting.

“I had a boyfriend like him once. After I broke up with him he didn’t stop calling for about a week then he turned up on my doorstep with boatload of flowers and pile of crap excuses.”

“What did you do?”

“I let him have his say then I told him to bog off and if he didn’t leave me alone I’d get the police on him.”

“The thing is I really miss him.”

I sighed. Sharon gave me a sheepish look.

“I’m being an idiot aren’t I?”

“Well put it this way: When did he propose to you?”

“Friday evening.”

Well that at least explained why Phil was so keen for me to fly solo on Friday.

“And less than twenty-four hours later he’s cruising down one of London’s dodgier streets asking what he thought was a teenage prostitute if she fancied some action. I’m sorry Sharon but the man you miss doesn’t exist; just a sleazebag pretending to be him. You get back together with him and you’re in for a whole world of hurt. There are better guys out there and you deserve one of them.”

She gave me a weak and unconvincing smile.

“At least give him a week to stew in his juices. You may find you feel differently about him by then.”

She nodded a bit more positively this time and we left the answerphone on to screen calls.

The remainder of the afternoon we shared a pot of coffee and a packet of tissues over a soppy film, punctuated unfortunately by Phil’s increasingly desperate phone calls, then I followed orders around the kitchen as Sharon did something special with feta cheese and salad. We cracked open a fresh bottle of wine and chatted long past the end of the meal.

We discussed my plans to hunt for a job and she offered a few suggestions as to where I should try and how I should go about it. Phil kept on calling, his tone passing from pleading through desperate and bottoming out at angry. His last call came through about eleven o’clock while Sharon was helping me make up my bed on the sofa. She went straight to the phone and pulled the plug out of the wall.

“Maybe you’re right, maybe I don’t miss him that much. Goodnight.”

-oOo-
The following days settled into something of a routine. We’d both wake early and I’d but the coffee on and make breakfast while Sharon washed and dressed. We’d share the first meal of the day then as soon as she’d left for work, I’d go about getting ready and head out in search of a job.

At first it was fun. The shopkeepers and business managers didn’t look at me like I was something to be scraped off the bottom of their shoes any more, but the answer was still the same. Three days of trudging from one place to the next, asking to see the manager or HR manager or whoever might be responsible for hiring, only to be told that they weren’t hiring at that time. Around mid-afternoon I’d give up and head back to the flat where I’d tidy rooms, clean toilets, polish tables and chairs; anything to help me feel like I was being useful.

Sharon did her best to cheer me on through the dead patch. Phil had given up calling and she was in a better place for being apart from him. She’d try to distract me by asking what I would like to do if I had the chance and suggested that I might make a go of acting or modelling.

“Don’t be daft. I haven’t acted since I was about ten or eleven years old and I’m too fat to be a model.”

“You young lady are anything but fat.”

“Oh I know that, but have you seen models these days? For one thing they’re all a few inches taller than me. For another I’m pretty sure none of them would dare risk taking a shower for fear of slipping down the plughole. Me I like my food too much to do that to myself.”

“Well how about modelling for a clothes catalogue? I mean most of the women in those look normal and with your looks and complexion you’d be a shoe in.”

“Bit of a pipe dream that. I mean I can’t even get a job stacking shelves in a supermarket, what makes you think I’d have half a chance at a cushy number like that. Besides it’s not what you know these days so much as who you know, so unless you’re connected I’m stuffed.”

Still the days weren’t all bad. Sharon continued to cook incredible meals and I really enjoyed her company.

Thursday dawned and we went through our usual morning ritual. I left the flat around nineish and set out on a new route through the shopping area. Then on my last stop before lunch, my luck changed.

“Yes we do have an opening. Nothing special, just working on the shop floor, but we would be happy to consider you.”

I was given an application form and told to bring it back with proof of my current address and a couple of references. I thanked the manager and headed off to lunch.

I was halfway through filling in the application, chomping contentedly on a cheese burger, when I started to hit snags. National Insurance Number, proof of identity (passport, driver’s licence, birth certificate). I couldn’t use my old one because they belonged to a man ten years my senior, I couldn’t get them from anywhere else. The only way I would be able to work again was if I did so illegally. This was a disaster.

I wandered back to the flat in a daze, let myself in and sat absent-mindedly stroking a cat until Sharon came home. I couldn’t see a way out. I would have to come clean with Sharon and she would either think I’d gone mad, or she’d believe me. In either case she wouldn’t want me around anymore. All this had been was a short stay of execution before my fate caught up with me.

“So how’d it go today?”

Sharon was her usual perky self as she shrugged off her coat and came into the living room. Her manner changed as soon as she saw me. She was across the room and sitting close beside me before I managed to surface from my reverie.

“What’s wrong sweetie?”

I stared at her blankly.

“I got offered a job today.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

I don’t know why some people equate comforting someone with talking to them as though they were ten years old.

“You don’t understand I can’t fill in the application form.”

“Well don’t worry about that sweetie, I’ll help you.”

“No I mean there are things I can’t fill in. Like my National Insurance number.”

“Oh.”

“And I don’t have anything like a passport or birth certificate either.”

“Can’t you phone your parents and ask them to send them to you, or were they in the things you had stolen? There are ways to get those things replaced you know, all it takes is a few phone calls.”

I was crying tears of frustration.

“No! They weren’t stolen; that was just an excuse to stop people asking questions. I don’t have any ID. I never have because up until last Friday night I didn’t exist.”

Silence flooded in to fill the space around us. Sharon was looking at me as though I were insane. I closed my eyes feeling the all too ready tears escape and run down my cheeks. Here goes nothing, I might as well get this over with as quickly as possible.

I started to describe the dates; all those disastrous dates that Sharon had set me up with. One after the other I’d give her the time and date of the meeting, the location, the name of the girl and enough detail on what had gone wrong to leave no doubt that I had been there. It was painful revisiting so many unpleasant memories, painful to see the shocked disbelief fill Sharon’s eyes, her hands rising involuntarily to her cover her mouth, but I stuck to it until I had described every single disaster. Eventually I ran out of words and sat waiting.

“Kenny?”

She believed me.

“Kenny, is that really you?”

The tears were flowing again and I nodded unable to trust my voice.

I felt warm arms around me and I was pulled into a soft embrace. Until that moment I hadn’t realised how much strain it had been keeping my secret. Now that it was out all the walls crumbled and I cried out my relief and despair onto Sharon’s shoulder.

Eventually all the tears were shed and I was left with a barren calm inside. I pulled away and sat staring at my knees as Sharon rummaged around for some tissues. I accepted them with a weak but grateful smile and started dabbing at my puffy eyes.

“What happened to you?”

And so I told her. From the moment of my arrival at the Meet Market, to the encounter with the mystery woman and her unusual warning, to the way the evening had unfolded and how I’d ended up in her flat, to the kiss and the transformation. I glossed over the events that took place in the bedroom, but the redness of my cheeks almost certainly filled in where the words were lacking.

I went on to describe the unusual note I had found when I woke up, the deadline and the limited choice of clothes, the horrendous day trudging around cold, half-starved and fearful until Phil’s car had drawn alongside and he’d leaned out to make his indecent proposition.

I confessed to blackmailing him out of a hundred quid and explained what I was doing with it when Phil set the two police officers on me. I told her how I’d turned things around enough to have us both carted off to the nearest police station.

“And the rest you pretty much know. You’ve been so kind to me these past few days I really felt bad about lying, but this whole thing is so impossible I was afraid you wouldn’t believe me. To be honest I still have that f…”

I hadn’t dared look up all through all of my description, but now that I was done I looked up in to her eyes and the last word faltered on my lips. Her expression was stony and a slow anger burned behind her eyes. After a seemingly interminable pause she spoke in calm and measured tones.

“You must think me think me the most gullible person alive. What is this? I mean just how far were you going to go? Was it Phil and Ken who put you up to this? Did Ken tell you all those embarrassing stories so that you could convince me? What kind of sick, cruel joke are you trying to pull here?”

“Sharon it’s not like that…”

“You know the worst of it is that I actually liked you. I felt sorry for you at first, but then you turned out to be someone I thought I could call a friend. I trusted you and cared for you, you know that?”

“Sharon…”

She stood up and walked towards the kitchen keeping her back to me.

“I think I’d like you to leave now please. Just gather your things and get out.”

There was nothing left to say. She looked so alone and vulnerable I wanted to reach out to her, but that wasn’t going to happen now. With a slowness born of reluctance I gathered all my clothes and put them into my bag; it didn’t take long even so.

I put the door key on the coffee table and looked up at her stiff and unrelenting pose. It was already dark outside and cold enough that a wet snow was falling. I had no idea where I might find shelter at this time of the evening, but I had no more welcome here. I couldn’t blame her for that, I mean what had happened to me was farfetched. I gave the friendly tabby a last scratch behind his ears and headed for the door and who knew what.

You meant it for evil - 03 by Maeryn Lamonte There was nothing left to say. She looked so alone and vulnerable I wanted to reach out to her, but that wasn’t going to happen now. With a slowness born of reluctance I gathered all my clothes and put them into my bag; it didn’t take long even so. I put the door key on the coffee table and looked up at her stiff and unrelenting pose. It was already dark outside and cold enough that a wet snow was falling. I had no idea where I might find shelter at this time of the evening, but I had no more welcome here. I couldn’t blame her for that, I mean what had happened to me was farfetched. I gave the friendly tabby a last scratch behind his ears and headed for the door and who knew what.

-oOo-
I pulled the front door open to find Phil standing there with an arm full of flowers and his free hand raised to knock. He was just as surprised to see me.

“What the f@*! are you doing here?”

Sharon spun round at his voice, her anger finally broaching the dam.

“As if you don’t f@*!ing know you complete and utter sh*!.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Phil stepped into the room and I slipped past him into the corridor. I didn’t like to leave Sharon on her own with him but she had made it abundantly clear that my presence wasn’t welcome. Their raised voices followed me down the stairs.

“You and that tosspot friend of yours trying to yank my chain. I mean who is she anyway? Some bimbo off the streets you persuaded to help you in your sick little scheme?”

I winced at that and upped my pace to get away from the hurtful words.

“What the hell are you talking about woman? That’s the little bitch who accused me of soliciting and caused this row in the first place. And now I find she’s been staying with you! What kind of poison has she been dripping in your ears?”

“The kind that only you and Ken would have been able to tell her. The kind that leaves me wondering just what kind of sickos you two really are.”

“I have no idea what you’re going on about you silly cow. I haven’t seen Ken all week.”

I reached the main entrance and stepped out into the cold, glad to be away from the bickering. I had a long walk ahead of me and I could already feel winter’s icy fingers reaching up through the thin soles of my shoes. The snow wasn’t settling which meant it probably wasn’t too icy. I pulled my jacket close around me and set off walking fast to fend of the chill.

After about half a mile the snow turned to sleet then to rain. On the plus side that meant the night wasn’t going to be as cold as first promised, but on the minus my jacket wasn’t water proof. I broke into a run looking for some protection from the elements, well one element in particular, and found it in the form of a bus shelter. Graffiti, cracked glass and the ever present smell of stale urine, but at least it was dry.

Time drags when you’re miserable and I spent the next hundred years hopping up and down blowing into my hands. My tights were soaked from the short run through the rain and my legs were suffering badly from cold by the time a double decker appeared making its unhurried way down the road. I put out my hand and it pulled in alongside. The doors hissed open and I looked up hopefully at the driver.

“Are you going anywhere near Portland Place?”

My teeth were chattering so badly even I could hardly understand myself. Fortunately he was experienced in deciphering such incoherent babble, either that or he was used to young girls like me trying to get to the YWCA.

“Tottenham Court Road’s as near as I go love.”

“That’ll do, can you tell me when we get there?”

“One eighty then love. Sit yourself behind me and I’ll give you a yell when we arrive.”

The bus was about half full but the front row was empty. I sank gratefully into the indicated seat, all the more so when I realised one of the bus’s heaters was just next to me, blowing gentle warmth up my legs and skirt. I peered out of the grime encrusted window at the traffic going by settling into a deep melancholy.

-oOo-
“We’re here sweetheart.”

The bus driver’s voice called me back to the real world; another minute and I’d have been fast asleep. I thanked him and stepped off the bus looking around for clues.

“Up that way to Goodge Street then it’s about half a mile down on your right.”

I thanked him again and started walking the way he’d pointed. The rain had eased to a light drizzle, but even so I was wet through and freezing by the time I arrived at the Y.

“I’m sorry dear but we really have no room.”

I couldn’t believe they would actually turn me away on a night like this.

“Look I don’t care about a room, just let me stay indoors. I’ll find a patch of floor in a corridor. I won’t be any bother.”

“Sorry dear, it’s not so much the space as the numbers. Fire regulations you know. They won’t let us go above the number of people we already have and they’d shut us down in a heartbeat if they knew we went over the limit.”

“So just because some bureaucratic jobsworth sets an arbitrary limit on the number of people who are allowed in this building, you’re going to send me back out into that to die of hypothermia?”

I was near tears, but I knew they wouldn’t help. British bureaucracy is the archetypal immovable object; you can bang your head against it ‘til its bloody and still see no result from your efforts apart from the bloody smear.

“I’m sorry dear.”

The smile was sympathetic, the rest of the face implacable. She gave me directions to a few other shelters that might be able to help and showed me the door.

A few hours later I found myself wondering if the main purpose of all the shelters was to keep people like me moving through the night so that they didn’t freeze. Each one was oversubscribed; all apologies and no help whatsoever. I eventually ran out of shelters and wandered aimlessly for an age until a bright, friendly light caught my eye.

It seemed to be coming from a building on a quiet back street and, like a moth drawn to a flame, I went to investigate. The sign read ‘Café — open twenty four hours’ so I leaned on the door and went inside. The place was grubby and empty apart from a bulky man in a shirt and trousers that may once have been white before time and neglect turned them a dingy grey. He heaved himself to his feet, the underside of his amply fed beer-gut showing in the gap above his belt, and stepped behind the counter.

The look he gave me as I read through what he had on offer left me feeling naked. With a growing sense of discomfort I pulled my jacket close around me and put on a far braver face than I thought possible given the feelings swirling around inside me.

“Mug of tea please.”

I paid and sat at a table near the door, warming my hands on the hot mug. I sipped at the brew and made a face. It was too strong and stewed, but it was hot and it bought me permission to be here. I added enough sugar to make it drinkable and eked it out as long as I could then bought another, then yet another. The café owner kept eyeing me over his newspaper, making me all the more nervous.

The words of a song drifted through my mind.

In the all night café
At a quarter past eleven,
Same old man is sitting there on his own
Looking at the world
Over the rim of his tea-cup,
Each tea last an hour
Then he wanders home alone

It described me perfectly, apart from the bit about being the same, being old, being a man, having a home to wander to alone or otherwise.

A wild hysterical laugh rose abruptly from deep inside me and I only just managed to contain it. It scared me because I don’t think I’d have been able to stop laughing if I had started. Now it was the café owner’s turn to look at me nervously. I went up for my forth mug of tea.

“I think you’ve had enough.”

What the hell?

“It’s tea. I very much doubt that you can overdose on it.”

“Even so I think you’ve stayed here long enough, I think you should leave.”

“Why? Because you want to shut your twenty-four hour café? Or maybe because I’m disturbing the rest of your clientele?”

I waved an arm around at all the empty tables.

“No, because you’re disturbing me.”

I blinked back tears; I was not going to give this loathsome creature the satisfaction of seeing how easily he could upset me. This was quite possibly the most disgusting, sleazy, unwelcoming establishment I had ever been in and I was about to be thrown out of it by a greasy little wart of a man just because I was disturbing him? But it wasn’t worth fighting over. I shook my head, as much to clear it of my momentary anger as to indicate my disbelief.

“Fine. Do you mind if I use your loo before I go.”

“What so you can shoot yourself up and quite possibly leave me with a dead body to explain to the cops? I don’t think so.”

Anger flared again, this time I couldn’t hold my peace.

“No, so I can pee. In case you hadn’t noticed I’ve managed to drink my way through three mugs of what passes for tea in this establishment and I need to go. Now would you rather I did it in your facilities or on your doorstep?”

He weighed this for a second or two then relented.

“Ok, but you leave your bag here.”

“And if I need something from my bag?”

“There’s a dispenser in the toilet.”

I wasn’t in a position to argue. I dropped the bag beside the counter and followed his directions to a small and filthy bathroom. With some distaste I used some of the cheap toilet paper to wipe the seat down before sitting to relieve myself, then cleaned myself up and left as quickly as I could.

The zip on my bag wasn’t completely closed when I picked it up and the man behind the counter couldn’t quite hide a lascivious smirk. I gave him a dirty look, my patience with this guy at an end.

“Sniff anything you liked, pervert?”

His mood turned abruptly dark and I left hurriedly before the gathering storm broke.

-oOo-
The weather had turned cold and clear forcing me to tuck my hands under my arms to stop my fingers dropping off. Despite its questionable flavour, the tea had warmed and revived me, putting a spring back into my step. I picked a direction and started walking, keeping to the better lit streets and thankful for their emptiness. Around me the city murmured in its sleep, the sounds of the occasional street sweeper or police siren echoing confusingly down the narrow streets and alleys.

I don’t know how long I ambled along after that, but in time I found myself down by the river. On the opposite bank the London Eye stood out against the skyline, tall and proud, waiting in silent stoicism for the next day.

I turned south towards the Houses of Parliament and the Westminster Clock Tower standing out from the surrounding shadows in the brilliant yellow glare of their spotlights. The shattered remains of a half-moon shimmied in the turbulent waters of the Thames and the great Westminster Clock chimed the hour, Big Ben doling out five deep well spaced chimes.

A peace settled over me as though the city wanted to share its relief in the quiet moments before dawn heralded the noise and chaos of another day, and I drifted slowly onward, embracing the ethereal otherness of the place. The path alongside the river ended at the parliament building and, wishing to avoid the added cold of crossing Westminster bridge, I turned west, away from the river and towards St James’s Park.

There was a rustle of dried bushes and furtive movements in the shadows. I desperately hoped who or whatever was there was as shy of being noticed as me and I hurried on past keeping my eyes to the ground, listening hard with growing dread for sounds of pursuit. Thankfully they didn’t come.

Thoughts of my father drifted into my mind; he’d never cared for London much.

“Too many people too wrapped up in their own needs to see those of others around them.”

His words echoed in my mind and for a moment I saw something of the place through his eyes. The thing is there were good people here — like the bus driver, like the sergeant the other day, like Sharon — but they faded into the background, overwhelmed by the all too frequent less pleasant encounters like my earlier experiences with the café owner, like my fears of whoever might come bounding out of the dark intent on robbery or worse.

I wandered down the road, still keeping close to the streetlights, until I came to a paved path leading into the park. The half-moon was high overhead, picking out enough detail in its silvery light that I could follow it quite clearly. The trees along the road were close and oppressive. I felt a growing need to be in the open so, steeling myself against whatever half imagined night terrors might be waiting, I crossed the empty street and entered the park.

My shoes clacked hollowly against the pavement, the bare trees around me breaking the sound up into confusing echoes. I almost faltered but pressed on, held by the promise of open parkland ahead. Less than a minute later the star spangled sky opened up above me and I breathed easier. A long lake stretched either side of the path, and in the east the sky was stained pink, bringing the London Eye in to stark silhouette. There was a bench and, captivated by the unfolding beauty, I sat down to watch

“Would you mind if I joined you?”

I sat up startled and turned saucer eyes to the man standing at the opposite end of the bench. His features were oddly clear in the dim light; black hair and beard streaked with grey, falling in unkempt waves; skin like deeply tanned leather and deep dark eyes that seemed somehow to sparkle. His coat was old and patched, his trousers faded, his shoes scuffed. I sat transfixed, all too aware that I had no means of defending myself should he choose to force himself on me.

“Don’t be afraid.”

They were only words, but somehow they acted like a balm, washing away all my fears. I continued to stare it him for an age until he cocked an eyebrow with an easy smile and I realised with some embarrassment that he was still waiting for me to answer his original questions.

“Oh, not at all. Please sit. It’ll be nice to have some company.”

I was overcompensating and we both knew it. His smile deepened, the skin around his eyes falling into well-worn creases. He sat at the other end of the bench keeping enough of a distance to further ease my mind. We turned together to watch the sunrise.

The stars went out one by one as daylight gently spilled a flood pastel pink across the sky. Wisps of mist drifted slowly across the mirror smooth surface of the lake, bordered by frosted reeds glistening as though sprinkled with diamond dust. Weeping willows, until recently hidden in the shadows, faded into view like inconsolable ghosts, their pale green branches contrasting with the dark, twisted fingers of the surrounding trees, deep in their winter slumber.

It was so beautiful it hurt, a fresh wonder revealed each time I wiped away a tear.

“I come here every time I need reminding.”

I looked over at the strange man sitting beside me.

“Reminding of what?”

“That God’s in his heaven and all’s right with the world.”

In the gathering dawn his face showed signs of long exposure to the harsh elements. I wondered at what his life must have been like. The only hardship I’d ever known had been in the previous week and of that I had only suffered the scorn and disdain of the people around me for less than twenty four hours. How many years had he seen his own worth diminished in the eyes of those he met every day?

“You shouldn’t judge people too harshly you know? Most don’t know any better than to live by the limited standards they were taught. It’s a rare person indeed who is able to look past the surface and into the soul of a man.”

He was looking directly at me as he spoke and in his gaze it seemed that he could see my every thought, my every feeling. He smiled his reassuring smile.

“In a world where a man can be turned into a woman by a single kiss, are you still so easily amazed?”

Amazed yes, but oddly not frightened. It was as though his earlier words were still having a calming effect on me. What was going on here?

“What is going on here is very unusual; incredibly rare. You see it’s not often that the enemy acts so overtly, and in your case it has given us the unique opportunity to set a few things right. Of course there can be no birth, or even rebirth for that matter, without pain but your ordeal is very nearly over. You only have a few more things to do, and if you carry on the way you’ve been going you should have no trouble with those.”

I found my voice. This talking in my head was getting a bit too weird.

“I don’t understand. What you’re saying doesn’t make sense.”

“Perhaps not at the moment, but in time when you look back on this it will. When everything’s over you might like to find yourself a Bible and look up Genesis chapter 50 and verse 20. Just the one verse, but it might help to make things clearer.”

Hang on a minute I thought the Bible had a major hang-up with people like me, as much as the people who read it.

He smiled and waited, allowing me the opportunity to voice my concerns, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear what he had to say on this particular topic so kept quiet. He looked at me with sad eyes for a moment then spoke anyway.

“The Bible is a marvellous book. Inspired by God, but written by men with all their shortcomings and failings. A lot of people have trouble understanding that; religious people you might call them. They like to have their truth handed to them in black and white so they prefer think of the Bible as infallible. It saves them having to think for themselves, and following rules is so much easier than thinking. The ironic thing is that the Bible is filled with warnings against people who do just that, as well as numerous examples of what God is really looking for.”

What was this guy saying?

“I’m saying that God looks at the heart. He knows what you’ve been through, how hard you tried to fit in, to be ‘one of the lads’. He knows how hard you struggled with your differences. More importantly he knows how you care about others. He knows you have a kind and gentle soul, that you put yourself in other people’s shoes before deciding how you should act and when you act you try to do so with other people’s best interests at heart at least as much as your own. You understand and exercise love as an act of will and when you get that right, how can God help but love you back?”

The man stood up and stretched his back.

“Wait. What, that’s it? You just came here to give me a pep talk?”

He smiled his wrinkly smile.

“You needed encouragement.”

“And what about these things I still have to do? Can’t you give me any help there?”

He shrugged.

“What’s the point in having free will if you don’t get to use it? Look, don’t worry. Just do what comes naturally and things will work out alright.”

“And you’re not going to give me any hints whatsoever?”

“Well I suppose there is one thing. Sometime soon you’re going to have to choose a new name for yourself, and if I might make a suggestion…”

He leaned forward and whispered in my ear, as if her were afraid that someone might be listening. When he’d done, he stood up straight again.

“And now I think you have a friend who needs you over in that direction.”

I turned to follow the direction of his finger. He was pointing across the lake behind us at nothing obvious. A little confused I turned back to ask for clarification and… well it’s a bit cliché, but it sent shivers up and down my spine all the same. I mean there was no-where he could have gone in those brief seconds.

I stood up and walked out of the park heading north, glad of the movement to ease the stiffness in my legs. I had no idea where he might have been pointing and decided that my only hope of finding it would be to zigzag back and forth in the general direction he had been pointing.

-oOo-
I had that early-morning-after-an-all-nighter feeling. You know where everything seems a little detached, like your body isn’t quite your own and it’s almost as though you are watching yourself from the outside. I don’t know if it was the lack of sleep or my strange encounter with the mystery man. Whatever it was I knew I wasn’t firing on all cylinders. I meandered up and down deserted streets breathing in the early morning freshness of the air and looking for something to give me my next clue.

I almost missed it. My mind was so preoccupied with all the things the old man had said — trying to remember them, trying to believe them — that I walked right past Sharon’s car. Fortunately my subconscious was a little more awake than the rest of me and a nagging feeling pulled me up short. I turned, but even then stared blankly down the length of the road for several seconds before realisation dawned and I walked back to check the registration.

The introduction of congestion charging in London saw an end to the shortage of parking spaces in most parts of the City, but not to the need to pay for them. My brain was now working overtime to make up for its earlier mistake and in short order I noticed that her parking metre had expired and that there was a traffic warden ambling slowly down the road towards me.

I rummaged in one of the pockets of my bag and pulled out a fifty pence piece, which I then deposited in the metre. The warden gave me a black look, my having reduced his morning quota, and I offered him a sweet smile in return before casting around for my friend. I spotted a café on the other side of the road and crossed to look.

She was there, the solitary customer sitting with her back to the window and looking utterly miserable with her hands cupped round a steaming mug and her shoulders hunched. I eased the door open and walked up quietly behind her.

I must have been in her light or something because she turned to look at me, then an instant later launched herself out of the chair and threw her arms around me.

“Oh, Ken I was so worried. I’ve been looking for you all night. I’ve been such an idiot and I’m so very sorry. Can you ever forgive me?”

The words were bubbling out as fast as her tears and I held her gently, stroking her hair and making soothing noises. There was nothing to forgive. I would probably have done the same thing had I been in her position, but she needed something more, something to help her believe it.

I let her babble for a while then eased her away from me, looked her calmly and directly in the eyes.

“I don’t blame you for what you did; you had every reason to be upset. As much as you need me to forgive you, I forgive you. I’m only sorry that I hurt you too.”

And she was crying on my shoulder again. The café owner was looking at us oddly and I gave him a reassuring smile.

Sharon was suddenly all nervous energy.

“You must be starving. Do you want anything to eat or a drink maybe? Sit down I’ll get you a coffee and, and…”

“Some toast would be nice?”

I said it as much to the café owner as to Sharon and he nodded and set to work. In just few minutes I could feel life flooding back into me. The coffee was strong and fresh, the toast dripping with hot butter. I could afford the calories having missed dinner the other day.

I smiled at the odd thought, strangely alien for Ken yet just as strangely right for who I was becoming. I looked across at Sharon, still unsure, still eager for any sign of acceptance.

“So what changed your mind? About me I mean.”

“Oh, that was Phil. He may be a class A tosspot but he’s never been very good at lying. It took me a while to notice, being so angry with him and you and Ken — well you know what I mean, but eventually it registered that he was speaking the truth. He hadn’t seen Ken and he didn’t know you.

“He wasn’t a lot of help to be honest; all he wanted to talk about was how things were between him and me. When I pressed him about your disappearance, I mean Ken’s, sh@! this is confusing, he said you could look after yourself and couldn’t we talk about us. Well he used slightly stronger language than that, but you know what I mean.

“In the end I kicked him out, threatened him with the police if he didn’t leave, but not before I bullied him onto giving me your, Ken’s, phone number. I spoke to your flatmate and he said he hadn’t seen you since Friday. He figured you’d finally ‘hooked up with some hot babe’ and didn’t have a reason to come home yet.

“I asked him if he knew where you worked, which he surprisingly did, and I phoned them. They hadn’t seen you all week and were getting worried.

“I mean what you told me yesterday is unbelievable, but everything else checks out and as Sherlock Holmes once said, ‘When you’ve eliminated the impossible…’”

Silence settled between us again, punctuated only by the occasional crunch as I made short work of the toast. Eventually, with both of us staring into our coffees as though looking for the answer to some deep mystery, I broached the next question.

“So… Where do we go from here?”

She wouldn’t look at me, too afraid of my response.

“Well, you’re still welcome to come and stay with me until you figure out the next move. I’ll help as much as I can…”

I reached out a hand to squeeze hers and she raised moist but hopeful eyes towards me.

“You don’t think this’ll be a bit weird now that you know who I am?”

She gave me a weak smile and shook her head.

“Whoever you are and whoever you were, you’re not the Ken I knew. I don’t know maybe you are, I mean — don’t take this the wrong way or anything, but you really are Ken still. It’s just that you seem to fit so much better into that body.”

I shrugged.

“You’re right.”

Uncertainty gave way to confusion to curiosity and she cocked her head, urging me to go on.

“I’ve always felt different; never just one of the lads. I don’t’ know how to describe it. It’s like when we go out for a few beers, they’re all swilling down pints like it’s a competition and all I want is to drink and have a conversation. They’re all talking about sports and I’m bored out of my mind. There’s a game on and they’re all cheering together and I can’t see the point. A pretty girl walks past and while they’re all saying things like, ‘look at the jugs on that!’ all I can think about is that’s a pretty top she’s wearing, and I like how she’s done her hair.

“When I’m around girls I feel nervous, like there’s something I’m supposed to do but I don’t know what or I don’t have the nerve. There’s a part of me that wants to sit, waiting for the complement. In my mind I know it’s supposed to be me who makes the first move, but I can’t face the risk of rejection; I can’t shrug it off like other guys. There’s other stuff as well but it all adds up to the way I feel on the inside: it’s like I’ve never really been a man at all…”

I petered out under Sharon’s intense stare.

“Like you were a girl inside all along?”

I nodded. It still seemed a shameful thing to admit even now that I was a girl on the outside too.

“Well girlfriend, what do you want to do now?”

I looked up into her smile. It was so sudden and bright, I couldn’t help matching it.

“Right now what I would really like to do is take a hot shower and go to bed.”

Sharon paid our bill and we went back to the car. The metre still had a couple of minutes to run though she didn’t notice. I thought I spotted the traffic warden peeking round the corner as we climbed in. I didn’t say anything; the warm glow of satisfaction was enough.

The drive back to Sharon’s was quiet and uneventful, her driving far more sedate than usual. As soon as we were in through the door she pushed me towards the bathroom and I gratefully stripped off and stepped into the stream of steaming water. The previous night’s experiences, both good and bad, receded as I settled back into the familiarity of the place. I managed to keep my hair more or less dry and stepped back into the living room wrapped in a towel.

“I called in to tell my boss I had a family emergency. I’m owed a few days off for overtime so they really can’t complain.”

“You didn’t need to do that for me. I get the feeling I’m going to spend at least all of the morning sleeping in any case.”

“Yeah, me too. In case you forgot, I was out all night as well.”

She went suddenly shy.

“I er, I changed the sheets in my bed. It’s, I mean I’m not that way inclined at all, but then we’re friends and friends can share a bed without things getting awkward, and my bed’s big enough for two and the couch isn’t really all that comfortable so I was wondering if…”

It was a wonderful gesture. I wanted to hug her, but in light of what she had just said I didn’t want to give her the wrong signals.

“Thank-you.”

She looked up uncertainly, but assumed that I had accepted her offer.

“S-so er, so which side do you usually sleep?”

From my hunt for the hair drier I remembered the nightstand on the right being filled with her stuff.

“I don’t think I have a preference. I should be ok on the left.”

She nodded and eased past me into the bathroom. I headed for the bedroom where I found a fresh nightie laid out for me; bunnies this time. I changed into it and slid beneath the crisp clean sheets. The feeling was exquisite against my smooth skin and I snuggled down with a warm glow of belonging growing in my chest. I was asleep before Sharon came to join me.

-oOo-
I awoke to the sound of clattering plates just before something soft and heavy landed on me and wriggled itself into a comfortable position. Somewhat blearily I pushed the duvet out of the way and stared uncomprehendingly at the world through a tangle of hair. I mean don’t get me wrong, I love my hair, I love the way it looks, the way it feels, the weight of it hanging down my back, but right now if I had a pair of scissors or even a razor…

A sing-song voice came through the door, followed closely by Sharon with a tray full of food.

“Hello sleepy-head. Oh come on Toby, shift your carcase. You know you’re not supposed to be in here.”

The somewhat affronted tabby jumped from his recently acquired perch and stalked out of the room twitching his tail at us with disdain.

“Winter vegetable soup with sage and chestnuts and a slice of tomato bread: Just the sort of lunch to set you up for an afternoon’s shopping.”

I managed to claw the hair out of my eyes and rake it into a slightly more manageable shape before taking the offered tray and breathing in the delightful smells with a genuine look of rapture on my face. The soup was hot but oh so tasty. My brain slowly caught up with my body.

“Where are we going shopping?”

“I thought we might head back to the precinct we went through on Sunday and have a look around while the shops are open just for a change.”

I thought about my meagre funds, now further depleted by a week’s job hunting and a last night’s adventures. My face must have told a story.

“This’ll be my treat. You know for being such a bitch yesterday.”

I swallowed another mouthful of soup and looked over at her with a determined look.

“You don’t have to do that and you weren’t any sort of bitch yesterday. I told you I would probably have done the same if the situations had been reversed, I mean I did give you a lot to chew on.”

“It was still no excuse to throw you out onto the street, especially on a night like last night. Besides if you’re going to hang out with me you’ll need a little more in your wardrobe than a couple of dresses from a charity shop.”

She was trying, with limited success, to hide a grin and there was just a hint of mischief in her eyes. Ok, I’ll play along. I picked up her pillow and threw it at her, making her squeal.

“Alright now you’re being a bitch.”

“So you’ll let me treat you then?”

I didn’t know what I was letting myself in for otherwise I probably wouldn’t have nodded.

“Aren’t you eating anything?”

“I already did. You were so far gone I thought I’d give you another half hour, but if we’re going to make anything of today we’re going to have to move pretty soon.”

“Why the sudden rush?”

The tomato bread was fantastic and the soup was just too good to hurry.

“Well I’ve been doing some thinking since I woke up. I have a few ideas on what we can do next to help you out, but first I think it’s kind of important for you to confront the person who did this to you, to try and understand exactly what happened and why.”

I wasn’t too keen on the idea, I mean that last note had been pretty nasty. The reluctance was written all over me and Sharon was reading it.

“Ok look, it’s my turn to do the tough love thing. You were right about Phil and I’m pretty sure I’m right about this.”

“And what has this got to do with buying clothes?”

“Well for one you’ll feel a lot better about yourself if you look good; no trust me I’m right about this. For two, I don’t suppose you could find the flat she took you to could you?”

I had a vague idea where it was, but I remembered there being a lot of buildings that looked similar. I shook my head.

“Which means that our best bet for catching up with her is to go back to the place you first met, and since it’s Friday today, what do you think are the chances that she’ll be at the Meet Market tonight?”

“You’re not just a pretty face are you?”

“Nope, but you’ll need a little bit more than yours if you want them to let you in tonight. So new outfit and a makeover, what do you say?”

I downed the last of my soup and handed her back the tray.

“I say lead on MacDuff.”

“It’s actually ‘Lay on MacDuff.’”

“Sorry?”

“The quote is actually ‘Lay on MacDuff’. The other is a misquote and I’m a bit protective of my Shakespeare.”

“I stand corrected.”

And I climbed out of bed to put truth to at least half the phrase.

It was two o’clock by the time I had taken my second shower of the day and put my red dress. Looking in the mirror I could see that it was a little old fashioned and had distinct signs of wear that would have me withering beneath the scorn of any woman I was likely to come across at the nightclub.

“Ready?”

I picked up my borrowed purse, adding my remaining cash to it, grabbed my jacket and followed her out through the door.

The early morning sky was making good on its warning and dark clouds were looming as we hurried down the road towards the nearby shopping precinct. Sharon looked at my jacket speculatively.

“It looks like we’re going to have to get you a coat better suited to the weather as well.”

I started to protest but Sharon held up a hand to stop me.

“If it bothers you that much, you can pay me back when you’re rich and famous, but right now this is my money and I know what I want to do with it.”

With no open avenue to pursue on that particular topic we walked on in silence until something she had said earlier tickled my memory.

“You said you had a few ideas on what to do next. Would you care to explain?”

That nervous look crept over her again and she gave me a sidelong glance before replying.

“I have a couple of friends I’d like you to meet, people who might be able to help. They’ll be at church on Sunday if you don’t mind coming along. I mean I could invite them to lunch afterwards if you’d prefer, it’s just that they may be busy.”

This had happened to me before; a friend inviting me to church and looking that nervous. It was almost as if they were embarrassed to be doing so. I mean ok, church doesn’t exactly sound like a party, but I doubt there’s anything to be ashamed of. Time to be reassuring again.

“No, I’d like to come. It’ll give me a chance to say thank-you to him upstairs for finding me such a good friend.”

Her expression was unreadable after that and I left her to her thoughts.

This shopping trip was a little like the previous Sunday’s — same shops, same displays — but there the similarity ended. Sharon moved around the shops like a tornado, picking up skirts and dresses seemingly at random and dragging me into a changing room where I soon disappeared beneath a maelstrom of clothing. I tried to push some things on her, but she had become an elemental force bent on the sole purpose of filling the vacuum that was my wardrobe. I got really worried when the bill topped triple figures and carried on climbing and I tried to get her to stop, but she gave me the same ‘it’s my money’ routine before pulling me into a boutique to have my ears pierced.

She even dragged me into one of the high end fashion shops we’d been laughing at on Sunday and had me try on several outfits, getting me to pose while she took shots with the camera on her phone. That lasted until the manageress decided that she was unlikely to make any commission from us and asked us to leave.

The afternoon was a blast. We ended up with so many bags that our only hope of making it home with all our spoils intact was to call for a taxi, and even then they were piled so high in the back with us that the driver could hardly see through his rear view mirror. Eventually we fell, almost literally, into Sharon’s apartment, laughing and exhausted.

I recovered first and made my way to the kitchen and the coffee machine, stopping only briefly on the way.

“You know there is one question that springs to mind?”

Sharon was preoccupied keeping Toby and co out of all the new purchases.

“Oh what’s that?”

“Where are we going to put all this stuff?”

Sharon followed me through the door with a double arm full of tabby who, for the moment, seemed content enough to be carried and stroked.

“We’ll sort something out. I have way too many clothes anyway, so if you help me thin out my wardrobe a little tomorrow, I may let you use some of the space we free up.”

I handed her a coffee and Toby made a break for it; seeking further adventure in the living room.

“So what are you going to wear tonight?”

“I hadn’t really decided yet. It has to be something with trousers or leggings though. I mean don’t get me wrong I’m a sucker for a pretty dress, but these past few days I have had my fill of cold legs.”

She cocked her head and looked at me, her eyebrows knitting together a little.

“You know I’m amazed I didn’t see it before, but you are such a girl. I mean looking back on it the signs were there before you changed, but you are so natural I find it so strange to think that you ever were a man.”

I shrugged.

“Whatever I was physically I always struggled to fit into the mental and emotional patterns of a man. I’ve read that gender has a lot more to do with how your brain develops than anything else and the suggestion is that my brain developed a more feminine structure than masculine. I’m not entirely sure how I feel about that, but I suppose there has to be some truth in it. After my transformation it felt like I was waking from a bad dream, that I was fully able to be me for the first time ever. Even in the worst moments of the past week, I still felt more right. It’s so much easier to be me now, does that make sense?”

Sharon’s thoughtful face involved a rather comical pout and I couldn’t keep a straight face for more than a few seconds as she tried to wrap her mind around my rambling, and before long we were laughing again.

“Ok so back to the original question. How about that first outfit I suggested to you last Sunday?”

“What the orangey top and red leggings? You think that’ll be dressy enough?”

“I think it’ll do fine, I mean it’s only a nightclub, not a black tie and ball gowns kind of thing. Come on we don’t have forever, you need to shower and wash your hair while I dig out some clothes for both of us and make us something to eat. We’ve only got a couple of hours so we should get cracking.”

She shooed me into the bathroom, intent on turning me into a prune, while I was still pondering the concept of needing two hours to get ready.

In the end it wasn’t far short. I mean the clothes didn’t take much arranging, but my masses of hair took forever to dry and brush out as usual and after we’d each bolted down a quick sandwich Sharon insisted on sitting me down in front of her dressing table to learn how to use the new makeup kit she’d bought me. It was a steep learning curve which proved too steep for the available time. After watching my bodged attempts for ten minutes, Sharon took control and gave my face a serviceable going over.

I transferred my money into my new purse which I then put in my new handbag, along with a few additional items Sharon suggested I needed, and slipped my new winter coat over my new outfit. The feel of the makeup on my face would take some getting used to, but the effect as I looked in the mirror was astonishing. This was me, this was right. I great bubble of wonder grew inside me until Sharon pushed past and burst it.

“Come on princess, time to give your adoring public the opportunity to admire you. If we hurry we’ll just make the seven o’clock bus.”

So we did, and we did.

-oOo-
It was the same bus driver as the previous night.

“Evening ladies. Evening miss, glad to see things have improved on last night.”

I felt an urge to lean over and kiss him, but managed to subdue it. I flashed him a brilliant smile instead and even that seemed almost too much for him.

“Thank-you for looking after me, you were very kind.”

“Oh it wasn’t nothing miss. As I say I’m glad to see a smile on your face tonight.”

He was actually blushing as we handed over our fare and Sharon quickly pulled me down to the back of the bus before steam started to appear from beneath his collar.

“You incorrigible flirt!”

She hissed out the exclamation but was struggling hard to supress a giggle.

“Why, what did I do?”

“I am in presence of a monster. Girl you need to learn to dial it down.”

“I still don’t know what you’re going on about.”

“Well if I can put it this way. You just gave that poor driver such a stiffy that I wouldn’t be surprised if he misses his next few gear changes.”

Realisation dawned and my face flushed.

“You have new and powerful weapons now sweetie. You can turn men into gibbering wrecks with that smile and you need to learn how not to do it to every one you meet otherwise you are going to end up in serious trouble.”

Fortunately the driver managed to retain enough of his faculties to put his hands on the right stick and the bus rolled away smoothly into traffic. We chatted the rest of the way into the city, Sharon seemingly an unending reservoir of small-talk with me joining in as and when. I played with my hair absent-mindedly until I noticed most of the male passengers and even one or two of the female ones giving me sideways glances. I dropped my hands into my lap and studied my nails with a terrified intensity.

“See what I mean?”

“But I didn’t do anything.”

“Yes you did. You put on some pretty clothes, brushed your hair out and made an effort with your makeup. It’s kind of like putting a pair of antlers on your head and hanging up a sign saying open season.

“My advice? Don’t make eye contact, at least not until you find a guy who interests you.”

“Sharon!”

“Or a cute girl. Sorry I keep forgetting you used to be a guy. I hope you don’t turn out that way though; it would be such a waste with looks like yours.”

“Sharon, stop it. I… I’m not ready for this.”

She finally recognised that her teasing was scaring me and lay a sympathetic hand on my own.

“I’m sorry sweetie. Look you’ll be fine. I’ll stick with you and if anyone bothers us just let me do the talking ok?”

I nodded, but kept my head bowed and my face hidden behind my hair for the rest of the journey, her attempts at reassurance not quite sufficient to rebuild my self-confidence.

We hopped off the bus in Soho with me giving a somewhat toned down smile to the driver’s ‘you take care now’. The streets were crowded with people looking for amusement and we joined them. The night was turning cold again and I gave out a silent thanks to whoever was listening for the warmth of my new clothes. We reached the Meet Market and joined the line of customers waiting to go in. I hated the idea of forking out such a large chunk of my dwindling assets to get into the club, but after all Sharon had spent on me that afternoon it would have been churlish to refuse.

We hadn’t been waiting long before a guy in a tuxedo walked down the line and gestured at me.

“What… wha…”

“Perks of the new look sweetie.”

Sharon took hold of my arm and pulled me out of the queue. The man looked quizzically at Sharon and realisation finally dawned.

“She’s uh, she’s with me.”

He shrugged and waved us to the front of the line where another man, similarly attired, held the door open for us. Inside yet another man at the cashier’s desk waved us past with a smile and before I knew what was happening, we were checking our coats in at the desk. I turned to Sharon, only half comprehending.

“That hardly seems fair.”

“Whoever said life was fair? Look it’s worth it for these places. Once the stunningly beautiful — such as yourself — and the strikingly handsome learn that they can get in here for free, they will come in larger numbers, which means in turn that the ordinary population will line up around the corner for a chance to get in and try their luck, or just stand at the bar and drool over the lovelies.”

I was dumbstruck and she had to tug gently on my arm to get me moving.

“Just one more thing you’re going to have to get used to. Come on kiddo, let’s duck in here and freshen up before we make our big entrance.”

The ladies was nearly empty this early in the evening leaving us ample room to stand in front of the long mirror and work on our looks. I brushed my hair out — my own brush, one of the few things I’d succeeded in buying for myself that afternoon — and made a passable attempt at freshening my lipstick. Sharon fussed with her eyes a little then turned to me as the room emptied.

“On the life’s not fair theme a word of advice, any time in the evening you get the urge to go, don’t wait. In another half hour there will be a queue for these facilities to rival the one outside the club and it will only get longer as the evening wears on. You will be busting to go by the time you get in here.”

We finished our repairs and, feeling more out of my depth than I had all week, I followed Sharon out onto the battlefield.

We emerged into the same loud music and flashing lights that I’d hated the previous week; something that being turned into a girl hadn’t changed much in me it seemed. We made our way past the tables of the hopeful to the dance floor and bar. The whole room was a swirling, gyrating mass of humanity and I looked around in the confusion for a familiar face. When I found it, the blood ran cold in my veins.

Sharon sensed my sudden stillness and leaned over to shout in my ear.

“Did you find her?”

I leaned back. This wasn’t going to be easy. I raised a finger to point.

“Yeah. Er, I er… She’s over there. Talking to Phil.”

-oOo-

You meant it for evil - 04 by Maeryn Lamonte WARNING: This chapter has scenes involving a suicide. I have no personal experience of this, even though I remember once standing on a balcony at the top of a tall building wishing I had the courage to jump. I am glad now that I didn’t. I hope I have dealt with the matter sensitively and I beg your forgiveness if I haven’t. The whole room was a swirling, gyrating mass of humanity and I looked around in the confusion for a familiar face. When I found it, the blood ran cold in my veins. Sharon sensed my sudden stillness and leaned over to shout in my ear. “Did you find her?” I leaned back. This wasn’t going to be easy. I raised a finger to point. “Yeah. Er, I er… She’s over there. Talking to Phil.”

-oOo-
Sharon took the lead and we made our way through the writhing bodies on the dance floor. Even with her running interference it was amazing how many hands ‘accidentally’ brushed and groped my breasts and backside. Some of them were hard enough to leave bruises and by the time we reached the other side I was shaking with shock and anger from the experience. I leaned over to Sharon.

“How do you cope with it?”

“With what?”

“All the… you know… groping.”

I indicated my breasts and bum and her face went ashen.

“Oh sh@! I didn’t think about that. They only go for the really gorgeous girls and I’m afraid that includes you now.”

“But you’re at least as attractive as I am.”

“Nice of you to say so sweetie, but I’m not in your class. Are you ok to do this?”

She waved over to where my mystery girl from the previous week sat by the bar. Phil had turned away, trying to attract the barman’s attention; this was my chance. I gave Sharon a quick nod and stepped up behind my target.

“I hear you only make out with girls.”

She stiffened then spun around on her stool. Her eyes were wide as saucers and her mouth hung open in disbelief. She grabbed my wrists and pulled me towards her.

“You’re still alive? Thank heavens, but how?”

Phil noticed the commotion and turned to see what was going on. When he saw me he exploded.

“You again! What the f@*! are you doing here? Not just happy to balls things up between me and my ex, you feel the need to follow me around and sabotage everything else I do? I mean what did I ever do to you?”

What, apart from try to get me arrested for theft and prostitution? There were so many ways I could have answered that question, and none of them pretty, but that wasn’t why I was here. I managed to swallow my anger and disappointment in my friend and turned to the green-eyed girl next to me.

“Can we go somewhere and talk?”

Phil wasn’t having any of it though.

“No! You don’t just get to come in here and break this up. We were having a conversation and you have no right to interrupt. Now just back off, your presence isn’t welcome here.”

Sharon appeared at my shoulder and Phil turned to glower at her.

“Phil you need to listen…”

“No I don’t. You made it perfectly clear last night that you wanted nothing to do with me, so let me tell you I want nothing to do with you or your new friend, so you can just bu&& £r off back where you came from.”

He was making enough noise to get noticed. A number of large men in badly fitting tuxedos where edging their way towards us. I turned to the girl.

“I guess it’s up to you then. I mean I want to help, but I can’t unless you let me.”

Hope and despair were warring in her eyes; the outcome was as yet undecided.

“You don’t know what you’re asking.”

I took her hold of her hands and looked beseechingly into her eyes. The room seemed to be shrinking in around us and I could feel the importance of this moment. I glanced briefly at Phil and had a flash of his short and horrific future should he be transformed the same way I had been. He was too much of a bloke and for him to change into a girl; it would be even more wrong than I had felt for all of my life.

“You’re right I don’t know what I’m asking, but whatever it is, is it so much worse than what you’re going through now? I do know that however much of a tosspot this guy is, he would be destroyed by what you have in mind for him. No-one deserves what he would have to face and I think you know that.”

“But I can’t go back there, back to being alone.”

“Then you won’t. I promise you that you won’t be alone because whatever you have to face, I’ll face it with you.”

Hope was winning. The agony under the surface was receding. She stared at me uncomprehending.

“You’d do that for me? After what I did to you? Why?”

“Because no-one should face suffering on their own.”

The bouncers had arrived and were looking at the four of us for some explanation. Phil was only too happy to provide one.

“Look, I was quite happy sharing a quiet drink with this lady here when she turns up. She is serious bad news; been screwing up my life since I first crossed her path a week ago. She got me arrested, turned my girlfriend against me and caused us to break up, and now she’s here along with my ex trying to mess with my life even more. I’d greatly appreciate it if you could have them leave us alone.”

The bouncers looked at me then turned to the woman next to me.

“Excuse me miss, is this true?”

I held her eyes, willing her with everything I had to make the right decision. Whatever was inside her was tearing her apart. It would be so easy to turn away from this, to go back to the way things had been, to choose SNAFU over FUBAR.

“Miss? I’m sorry are these people bothering you?”

She tore her eyes away from me, the anguish in their depths palpable even at this distance. A coldness spread through me; I hadn’t managed to get through to her. We were going to be thrown and and there was nothing I could do for Phil.

“I’m afraid there’s been a bit of a mix up. You see this is a friend I’ve been waiting for. I tried to explain it to this gentleman, but I think he misunderstood me.”

The relief was so great my knees almost buckled under me. I let out a strangled sob which had the bouncers looking at me oddly for a moment, but for right now they were more interested in Phil.

“I’m sorry sir but I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Oh come on! Can’t you see she’s done it again? This isn’t right, this isn’t fair.”

Two of the heavies hooked an arm each under Phil’s armpits and started dragging him backwards toward the entrance. Sharon gave me an apologetic look and I waved for her to follow them. I didn’t really like the idea of her chasing after Phil, but maybe something good could come of it. I turned back to thank my companion, but now that she’d made her decision, the agonised tension had gone and what remained was a sorrow so deep and overwhelming that any words I might have had caught in my throat.

I led her to a quiet table right at the back of the club. A waitress approached us almost immediately and I ordered us a couple of coffees. They would be expensive and quite possibly undrinkable, but the club would insist on us having something on the table.

My mystery woman sat across from me in silent misery and I left her to her thoughts until the waitress returned. The coffee was strong and smelt burnt. I handed over a ten pound note and received far too little change. This was all incidental. I reached across and squeezed a hand.

“Tell me.”

She let out a long despairing sigh and nodded.

-oOo-
She looked across the dance floor to the entrance. With her chin she pointed out the less fortunate lonely hearts sitting ever hopeful just inside the door.

“I used to be one of them.”

I didn’t comment. If it were true it wouldn’t be the strangest thing that had happened this week.

“My Dad used to call me mighty maid. ‘Strong and sturdy,’ he would say. ‘You’ll make some farmer a good wife one day.’. He thought it was funny, but he never saw how much hurt it caused me, especially coming from him.

“I made it through school and got used to being ignored by both boys and girls. I was one of the quiet, dependable ones who no-one ever notices. Do you know how lonely that can be?”

I shook my head. I remembered loneliness but it wasn’t the same.

“I moved here a couple of years ago, took a clerical job with a firm of solicitors and became part of the wallpaper. On a Friday nights I’d go out clubbing and sit like all those hopeful Harriets over there waiting for the day when Prince Charming would come and sweep me off my feet.

“It didn’t happen of course. I tried to make friends with one or two of the others, but they saw that as giving up and I guess they were right in a way.”

She took a sip of her coffee and grimaced, then let out a desperate laugh.

“You know you’ve hit rock bottom when even the coffee tastes this bad.”

I smiled and waited for her to continue.

“One Friday evening, about a year ago I suppose, a group of guys came into the club where I was waiting. I was sitting on my own, minding my own business and sipping away at a drink I knew would only add to my sadness and loneliness.

“One of the lads broke away from the group and came over to me, offered to buy me a drink. I mean he wasn’t Brad Pitt or anything, but he was kind of cute. Kyle his name was and I couldn’t believe he was actually talking to me. For some reason he stuck with me through the evening. He bought me drinks, talked to me and made me laugh, listened to me when I could muster up courage enough to say anything, offered to dance with me. It was a magical evening and ever so very slowly I lowered my guard and started to believe that I might have found someone who actually cared for me.

“Then right at the end of the evening, all his mates came over and he stood up to join them. One of the group looked at me then over at my companion and said, ‘alright you win.’ Everyone in the group pulled out their wallets and handed over a twenty pound note. I looked up at Kyle and asked him what was going on.

“He told me it was a kind of bet. If he chatted up the ugliest girl in the place and made her believe he fancied her, they’d all pay him twenty quid each, and with over a dozen people in the group that was going to be the easiest few hundred quid he was going to make that week. No hard feelings he told me then disappeared with his mates, all of them laughing at the tops of their lungs. No hard feelings, what did he know?”

Her voice had dropped to a quiet murmur, her shoulders slumped. I rubbed her hand and squeezed it. A tear slid down my cheek and dripped into my coffee with a surprisingly loud gloop. She roused herself for the next bit.

“I ran out of the club as fast as I could; I don’t think I even picked up my coat. It was cold outside and it was raining but I didn’t care I just kept running, trying to get away from the memory of that laughter. Even in all of my miserable life I had never been so humiliated, never felt so totally, utterly without hope as I did then.

“Eventually I found myself on one of the bridges. I don’t remember which one, but the barrier along the side wasn’t that high. I stepped over it and looked down at the cold, black water and wondered if it wouldn’t be easier just to let the river have me. I doubted anyone would notice that I was gone, or if they did whether they would care.

“I was brought up a Catholic so I knew that what I was considering was a sin, but I didn’t care. Even death couldn’t be worse than what I was going through then and there. It felt like I had no-one to turn to, no-one who could possibly understand or sympathise. I was on my own and screaming inside.

“I’m not sure even now if it was a totally conscious decision, but I let go of the bridge and fell. No-one cried out, no-one noticed. Then I hit the water; f@*! it was cold. I could barely breath, barely keep myself afloat. I drifted away from the bridge so fast I couldn’t believe it then I was being pulled every which way by the current. The cold gripped me so quick it seemed only seconds before I could barely move my arms and legs. I was foundering, water filling my mouth then my lungs. That was agony, but it didn’t last long. Soon there was no feeling at all, no pain, no cold, no nothing.”

Her voice had taken on a flat, unemotional monotone, but it seemed as if I relived every bit of her torment along with her. The coffee was cold and a waitress hovered momentarily before deciding, wisely, that we needed to be left alone and scurried off.

I waited. There was nothing I could do but wait. I’d told her that I would stay with her whatever and I wasn’t about to go back on my promise. Whatever hell she was reliving, it passed. She looked up at me with her impossibly green eyes. They were glassy and tinged with something like madness; quite frightening.

“It would have been a mercy if that had been the end of it. Do you know what hell was like for me? It was the same loneliness I had experienced in life, the same depths of despair, only now I was utterly alone. No-one to turn to, no hope of finding anyone, no hope of it ever ending. Time seems to run differently there; a hundred years, a million, a billion; it’s all the same. I was lost and alone and screaming and utterly insane for so long I can’t even think of the numbers to describe it.

“Then there was this voice. Half comforting, half mocking. ‘Poor Mary,’ it seemed to say, ‘so lost, so alone.’ I thought it was another symptom of my madness, that it wasn’t real, but it persisted and eventually I listened.

“‘It isn’t fair,’ the voice echoed my own sentiments. ‘Why should you suffer like this when those who did this to you are still wandering about laughing at you? Why should they escape this torment while you endure it alone?’

“‘What do you want?’ I screamed, over and over and the voice was silenced for a time. When it returned it spoke directly to me. No more taunting, but straight to the point.

“‘What would you say if there were a way to escape this? If you could return to the world and bring revenge against the sort of people who drove you herein the first place, would you do it?’

“So help me I would have done anything to escape the misery at that moment, but to have an opportunity to pay back those monsters who had destroyed me so completely, so carelessly. ‘Yes,’ I cried out, ‘yes, yes, yes.’

“I remember the laugh. It was like the madness inside of me, but it wasn’t a part of me. It was a horrible laugh with no humour to it; nothing but malice. I didn’t care, that listless drifting through my own unfathomable misery was over, the anger in me was drawing me up into a deep impenetrable blackness, then everything was still and for a while I slept.

“When I awoke I was in the flat you came to last week. There was a man in my room sitting on the end of the bed. He was wearing a dark suit and a bowler hat and leaning on an umbrella. He allowed me a moment to gather my wits then he spoke in a clipped, precise voice.

“‘Once a week,’ he said, ‘on the evening before the Sabbath, you are to find a man deserving of your wrath and use those feminine charms of yours to lure him back here. One kiss will transform him into what you once were: Weak and powerless; helpless to change his fate. He will wake in the morning alone with a note beside him — they have already been prepared, in that cupboard over there — which will instruct him to on how he may dress and when he must leave. Let him discover for himself how fine a world he has helped to build, how well it protects pathetic little creatures like he has become.’

“I wanted to know how I would be able to tell who was deserving and he said that I had been given a beauty that would scare away all but the most arrogant, that if I were unsure I was permitted to warn people off, but only with the phrase, ‘I only make out with other girls.’ He said that only the most depraved would be turned on by that, only the most conceited would consider it a challenge to be met.

“He left me with a warning: Miss one week, walk away from one person before they decided to give up, use any warning but the one I had been given and the deal was off, my life would be forfeit, things would go back to the way they were.”

“You tried to walk away from me.”

She managed a weak smile, but wouldn’t be side-tracked.

“That was thirteen weeks ago. I’m ashamed to admit I enjoyed it at first. To go from being helpless, invisible, weak to having that kind of power was a heady drug. My first victim had such an ego, he thought the world turned about him. He was so good looking, athletic and tall; so tall I could hardly reach to kiss him. And when he changed I was consumed with a vicious delight, laughing manically as he shrivelled into this pathetic little thing. Then realisation dawned and I was outraged. I wanted him to be ugly, to be unnoticeable, to go through the same loneliness I had endured all my life and here he was transformed into this perfect creature.

“A voice in my head told me to wait; it was better this way and so I did. I watched from a hidden place when he woke and first saw what he had become. He screamed then screamed again when he heard his voice for the first time. He found the note and read it all the time moaning, ‘No. No, no, no.’ he sat in the shower for an age, his perfect legs pulled in close against his body, his tears mingling with the stream of water that couldn’t wash away this nightmare.

“I remember his moan of despair when he opened the closet and saw the choice of clothes left for him. I was filled with a visceral delight in his misery and followed him as he left the flat, watched as he tried, without hope of success, to convince his incredulous friends of who he was and how he had become this nubile creature.

“Over days he wandered about looking for some way out; someone, anyone, who might help him. He found someone. A pimp in one of London’s seedier areas took him in. He was so pathetically grateful he didn’t realise his danger, not until the pimp started knocking him around, giving him drugs to make him more suggestible, controllable. I left him utterly crushed and hopeless and it felt wonderful.

“There were others, eleven more before you. Some took their own lives rather than become something they despised, others gave in to the inevitable and sold their bodies until they couldn’t stand to live with themselves anymore. They all took their lives in the end.

“At first I knew a deep sense of satisfaction that each of them was suffering the way I had for so long, I mean they deserved it didn’t they? It became harder to convince myself of that, but by then I was enjoying my new life too much. People looked at me differently; they actually saw me, appreciated me. I liked the way I looked and I wasn’t prepared to give this up even if I had doubts about what I was doing every Friday night.

“I so desperately wanted to find the guy who had been cruel to me; if anyone deserved what I could do to him it was that rat b&$#@^d, but he didn’t come back to the club where we’d met and the police were getting suspicious. I started to move around, trying different places for a couple of weeks before moving on, which is how I came to be here last week.”

She looked into my eyes, tears streaming from her own and managed a quavering half-smile.

“You were different; nervous, thoughtful, kind. I tried to scare you away but somehow you persisted, like a puppy who keeps on following even when it’s been shouted at and kicked. I only had the one warning and it didn’t seem to matter to you. You wanted to be friends for heaven’s sake!

“You don’t know how torn I was that night. I knew that you weren’t the type to take advantage of another person, that you didn’t deserve to be destroyed the way I had destroyed the others. You even seemed the kind of guy who would have taken time to talk to the old invisible me. Whatever I tried to do to turn you away without going outside the restrictions of my agreement didn’t make any difference. I sat there hoping some more eligible guy would decide that you were batting way outside of your league and come take me away from you, but it didn’t happen. In the end I couldn’t go through with it. Whatever the consequences to me I couldn’t put you through what I’d done to those others. I made as though I were going to the toilet and left the club.

“There was still the possibility that I might make it to another club, but you wouldn’t take the hint even then; chased me out of the club, offered to walk me home, did all that cute, awkward, slightly pathetic thing about wanting to see me again. I couldn’t help it, I was so lonely and you were just the kind of person I would have chosen for company. I had no intention of taking it further, just to have a coffee and share a bit more of your life.

“I don’t know if it was part of what I had become, but I was so drawn to you. I wanted to kiss you, wanted you to kiss me, but I didn’t want you to change. It was tearing me up. You asked if I wanted you to leave. Yes I wanted you to go, to be safe. No I wanted you to stay to make me feel wanted by someone who was worthwhile, someone who was kind and caring.

“In the end I had no control. The kiss happened despite everything and I was so glad that you would be with me for a while longer, so excruciatingly sad that there was a price you would have to pay for it. I wanted you. I wanted to feel your body against mine, wanted to give you something, anything, to make up in some way for what I had done to you. I wanted to say I was sorry. Then you turned to me and said…

“I couldn’t believe it; couldn’t stand it. Here I was completely destroying your life and you telling me you wanted to show me how grateful you were. It was so very sweet and so very, very bitter. When we were done I felt worse inside than I could ever remember, even my worst torment after I died wasn’t this bad.

“However much I might have wanted it otherwise, you had given me another week. The rest of what I had to do seemed no worse than what had already been done. In the early hours while you were still asleep I got up and put one of the notes on the bed. I couldn’t bear to follow you when you left, couldn’t bear to think about what you were going to go through or how your life might end.

“This whole week I’ve been unable to think of anything else. I’ve wrestled with whether or not I could do this again, whether I could risk meeting someone else like you. I nearly didn’t come out tonight, but I was too weak, too scared of going back.

“And now impossibly you’re here and I am so, so sorr…”

She broke down then, her face twisted in anguish. All the misery and torment that had been churning around in her for so long welled up then and spilled out in a primeval cry of desolation. I hurried round the table and threw my arms around her, holding her to me as she shuddered and moaned in abject wretchedness.

Around us the party crowd gave us worried looks and kept clear. The club’s heavy mob looked unsure of what to do and left us for the time being. She turned distraught eyes to mine.

“Why? Why do you care? Why would you be so kind after what I did to you?”

The words were a cry from the depths of her soul. I felt my eyes brimming, my heart twisting and tearing as I was caught up in her pain. I tried to answer her and the words tangled and tripped over the sobs that poured from within me.

“How… how could I leave you at a time like this? You’ve been through so much, I couldn’t, just can’t leave you on your own. Not any more, not any more.”

It was her pain and I was feeling just the tiniest fraction of it. How could she bear it? How could she even exist in the face of such agony. There were words rising up inside me, they weren’t mine to say, but somehow they needed to be said. I held her tight to me, shaking with my own tears.

“I love you.”

And the torrent of anguish was renewed. How could she contain so much? How could she…

-oOo-
All things have an end, even sorrow. I felt wrung out, drained of all emotion, all life and she hung limp in my arms. There was a discreet cough and I turned to see a smartly dressed man with an apologetic air about him.

“I’m sorry ladies but I have been asked by management to escort you from the premises. I’m afraid you’re disturbing the rest of our customers.”

He must have been right at the bottom of the corporate food chain; from the look of him and the distaste he felt in his task, he would have delegated it if he possibly could. I nodded at him and eased — what had she said her name was? Mary? — to her feet. There was no fight left in her. Her eyes were blank and her face slack as she allowed me to lead her after the man. He took our tickets and collected our coats for us, helping us into them before holding the door open.

“I really am sorry. I… this is wrong, but I have my instructions.”

I gave him as much of a smile as I could manage. I imagine it looked grotesque through my ruined makeup.

“It’s ok, we’ll be ok.”

He smiled back, not entirely convinced, as we stepped out into the cold.

We set off down the route we’d followed the previous week. Mary offered no help other than a willingness to be led, but by some trick of memory, each time I turned a corner I found myself reminded of the directions we needed to follow. We found a block of flats and I remembered her saying, ‘Well, this is me…’ in front of it. I reached into her purse and found a set of keys. The third one fit the lock and I led her in and up the stairs.

I took off her coat and eased her onto the sofa, then set off in search of the kitchen. I wasn’t even out of the room before she turned in my direction.

“Don’t leave me.”

It was a heart rending plea and it stopped me in my tracks.

“I was going to look for some coffee; something better than that club was serving.”

Was that a ghost of a smile? I offered her one back.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

I banged around in the kitchen making more noise than I normally would. I don’t know it seemed like a way to tell her I was still there. It didn’t take long to find everything I needed and while the coffee was brewing, I went back into the living room, over to the music centre and her CDs. After some browsing I pulled out Fauré’s Requiem. I wasn’t sure how appropriate it would be but the music fit the mood somehow. I went back into the kitchen to fetch the coffee and sat down beside her.

We sat in silence and I sipped at my drink, closing my eyes as the familiar flavour calmed and renewed my jangled nerves.

“That thing you said back in the club…”

She couldn’t look at me, but there was a hint of hope in her voice. I didn’t know where those words had come from, didn’t know what to do with them. I couldn’t lie, but neither could I deny them to her.

“Not in a sexual way, but I’m here for you for as long as you need.”

She managed a grateful smile and took a sip of her own drink. Some of the colour returned to her cheeks and she turned towards me, still hunched in close about her mug.

“Tell me what happened to you, how you survived.”

So I did. From the moment we met right through to earlier that evening when I had found her with Phil. I held nothing back, even though she winced at the hardships I’d gone through, they were all a part of it and mattered in the outcome. When I reached the part about my encounter in the park her eyes took on a faraway look and glistened softly.

“I wish…”

I waited for her to finish but she couldn’t.

“Never mind, go on.”

There wasn’t much left to say. She actually laughed at my description of the shopping expedition and the madness of it all.

“She seems like a good friend this Sharon.”

“You have no idea.”

Her eyes dropped and misery flooded back in.

“No you’re right I don’t.”

I reached out a hand and squeezed her arm.

“Then let me show you.”

She smiled at me sadly.

“No time.”

She nodded at the clock on the wall; the minute hand was just catching up with its smaller companion, pointing heavenward.

An oppressive feeling entered the room and a man dressed in a dark suit with bowler hat and umbrella, just as she had described, followed it. The smile on his face was one of smug satisfaction.

“You broke your contract, I’m afraid this is an end to it.”

Mary stood up and set her coffee cup down. She stood straight and looked him in the eye.

“I know and I’m ready.”

She turned her eyes to mine, betraying a wistfulness in her expression.

“I only wish…”

The man brushed an invisible speck from his sleeve and in a moment’s distracted impatience responded.

“Wish what?”

“I only wish that I had the chance to say how sorry I am, for everything.”

If only I had words to express fully what happened next. The room seemed to become physically brighter, the sense of oppression receding, snuffed out as though it had never been, and there was someone else in the room.

The man in black stepped away, raising his hands as though the light hurt him.

“Hey, no fair, this one’s mine.”

“You know the rules, she reached out for forgiveness.”

“But she’s dead. She shut herself off from everyone around her then threw herself into my arms.”

“And you brought her back.”

With cry of frustrated rage and his face contorted with fury, the man in black disappeared in a blaze of flame leaving only an acrid smell behind. The newcomer turned to Mary.

“Come on dear heart, there’s someone I think you should meet.”

As he turned recognition dawned. He looked so different now but somehow he was the same man I’d met in the Park.

“I know you.”

He turned to me and smiled.

“Have a wonderful life beloved. I’ll see you again, but not for some time.”

With that the light flared brilliant white and suddenly I was sitting alone.

-oOo-
For the third time in a week I found myself wandering the streets of London alone. Mary’s flat had turned oppressive and unwelcoming once I was there on my own and I had left soon after.

This time it was different though; I was warm and I had somewhere to go. Even so the inadvisability of wandering around after midnight in a quiet suburb, especially as an attractive teenage girl, nudged me to walk quickly and before long I was back amongst the Friday night crowd. I didn’t join them, but I was glad of their proximity. I found a bus stop and, before long, boarded a bus that would take me back to Sharon’s.

Everything had turned around so quickly it was unreal. So much of the evening had been filled with pain and anguish and it seemed as though it were going to end in the worst way possible, then without warning, just one simple wish and everything had turned around. Was it really that simple?

I let myself in but the flat was empty; of bipeds at least. I went into the kitchen and made myself a hot chocolate, putting down a few saucers of milk for Toby and co. I then set to waiting for Sharon. I had so much to tell her and in the aftermath the memories were fading and distorting too quickly.

I held on ‘til one o’clock, but by then the events of the previous day had caught up with me. I managed to stay awake long enough to shower and brush my teeth, but my head had hardly touched the pillow before I was asleep.

I woke with a warm peaceful feeling suffusing my body and something small and soft kneading my bladder through the bedclothes. I pushed the duvet back to find Toby quietly making his presence known and lifted him up before something unpleasant happened. He squirmed out of my arms and dropped to the floor looking back at me expectantly.

I clawed the inevitable tangle of hair out of my face and looked across Sharon’s un-slept-in side of the bed at her alarm clock. Seven o’clock. I groaned and swung my legs out of bed; all the while Toby twitching his tail at me.

“Yes your majesty, certainly your majesty. Would your majesty be kind enough to permit me the use of the bathroom before I tend to your needs?”

His majesty offered one more twitch, which I took as the generous dispensation I’d been looking for, and I ran past to take care of the business he had made all the more urgent.

“Dogs have owners but cats have staff, is that the way it is?”

There were three of them butting my bare legs with self-obsessed urgency as I opened a can of cat food and shared it between three bowls. I added a little of the dry mix, just as I’d seen Sharon do, then set the bowls down.

All urgent matters attended to, I looked around for anything that might tell me what had happened to Sharon. The answerphone showed no new messages and there were no notes anywhere. I shrugged; she was a big girl and it wasn’t’ time to worry yet.

The lounge was still cluttered up with bags from the previous day’s shopping trip, somewhat disturbed by various cats exercising their curiosity, so the first order of business had to be sorting them out. I didn’t have anywhere to hang them yet, but if I made the bed and started laying them out then, one we could use the living room for its designated purpose, two I wouldn’t have to worry about claws and mucky paws ruining anything before I had a chance to wear it and three (and possibly most importantly) I would be able to find something to wear today.

It didn’t take that long and I was relieved to discover that the cats’ investigations hadn’t resulted in any noticeable harm. I wasted a lot of time holding up dresses, skirts and blouses in front of the mirror, swirling about, remembering how they’d looked and felt when I tried them on then discarding them in favour of something else. The few times I had dressed as Ken, I had always put on a skirt or dress. I loved the feel of nylons against my legs and the gentle caress of a skirt as I moved about, but I didn’t have anything to prove now and I could choose from absolutely anything. In the end I picked out a pair of close fitting jeans and an oversized stripy sweatshirt then headed off for my morning shower.

It was odd, this wasn’t too far from the clothing I would have worn on a weekend when I was a man but as I sat brushing out my hair, I felt just as girly as I had in anything I’d worn over the previous week. Maybe it was the bra I could feel underneath my sweatshirt, maybe that I could feel as well as see the differences in my body, but I felt like I was home. No more pretence, no more trying to fit into someone else’s idea of who and what I should be. This was me and I felt so good I could have hugged the world.

I checked the clock; half past eight and still no word from Sharon. Ok it was still early, but something didn’t seem right. She wouldn’t just disappear and leave it this long without telling me, and surely she’d have expected me to come back here to sleep.

I wandered over to the telephone and picked up the pad where Sharon had scrawled her mobile number earlier in the week. I picked up the phone and punched the relevant buttons.

“Hiya roomie, how’d it go last night?”

She sounded chipper enough which put my growing fears to rest.

“You would not believe; I have so much to tell you. I wanted to say it all last night but then you didn’t come home. I was getting sort of concerned that you didn’t leave me a message or anything so I figured I’d call. Sorry of this is too early.”

“It’s no big, we were just having breakfast.”

“We?”

“Yeah, Phil and I kind of made a night of it.”

“You what?”

You meant it for evil - 05 by Maeryn Lamonte “I was getting sort of concerned that you didn’t leave me a message or anything so I figured I’d call. Sorry of this is too early.” “It’s no big, we were just having breakfast.” “We?” “Yeah, Phil and I kind of made a night of it.” “You what?”

-oOo-
“No not like that silly. We found ourselves an all-night café and talked out a few issues. We’re not that far away from the flat if you want to join us for breakfast.

“We’re at a little diner I know. It’s only three… no four stops down on the 7b. The café’s another hundred or so yards down on the opposite side. Called Jan’s diner. I think there’s a bus in about five minutes.”

I dropped the phone, jammed my feet in a new pair of boots, grabbed my coat and bag and was out the door in two.

I had to run, but the bus waited for me. I smiled my appreciation to the bus driver — a woman this time — and found a seat. After four stops the houses and flats gave way to a small industrial complex, most of which seemed to be bays for loading and unloading articulated lorries. At least that explained the need for an all-night diner.

I walked the extra hundred yards and there it was, Jan’s Diner. It was a little shabby on the outside but cheerful and welcoming once you stepped through the door. Sharon jumped up as soon as I entered and ran over to give me a quick hug and a peck on the cheek.

“Wow, that was quick. I wasn’t sure if you’d make it to the bus in time.”

“I would have been quicker if I could. Sharon what were you thinking?”

“Ken, I need you and Phil to talk; I mean really talk. Then you can say what you want to say. Not before though eh?”

I wasn’t happy, but I let her lead me to the table.

“Phil I’d like you to meet Ken.”

Cr@p she’d told him.

“Ken, I’ll order you a coffee and some toast. I’ll be over there talking to Jan if you need me.”

She pointed out the woman behind the counter and headed off leaving us with an awkward silence to overcome.

I settled into the chair next to him and we spent the next few minutes glancing at each other. I was still really angry with him for the way he’d behaved this past week and possibly more than a bit protective of Sharon, so I sat quietly and let him stew. He was nervous, like an overwound clock, fidgeting and unsure where to look.

My coffee and toast arrived and I thanked the waitress cheerfully — point made to Phil: ‘I’m only mad at you.’ I eyed the butter longingly but decided that I needed to develop new habits. Spreading marmalade directly onto the toast I took a small bite. This was probably going to be my hardest battle.

The crunch of the toast seemed to act as a signal to Phil. He shifted in his seat and glanced over at me, mind made up, bullet bit.

“So er, you got er… got changed into a woman then?”

I nodded.

“Er… er, how’s that working out for you?”

The cool thing would have been to shrug, but this was just too funny. I burst out laughing and almost choked on my mouthful of toast.

“What? What?”

Phil was angry. I remembered that feeling. Someone laughs at you and you feel in danger of everyone else doing the same; too much face lost so you react. In the competitive world of being a man it’s not something you can let go easily. Sounds pathetic I know, but it’s part of the hardwiring. I was so glad I didn’t have to worry about that nonsense anymore and took pity on him.

“I’m sorry Phil, but you should replay the last thirty seconds. That was quite a conversation starter.”

He allowed himself a rueful smile and shook his head. The ice was broken.

I took a sip of my coffee — so much nicer than toast without butter — and waited for him to try again. Oh no sunshine, not letting you off the hook just yet. He shook his head and tried again.

“Well look at it from my point of view. This is hardly something you come across every day is it?”

We had other things to discuss, but this was at the foundation of all of them. If Phil didn’t know who I was then my words would carry next to no weight with him.

“No I’m told it’s actually extremely rare. Ok what will convince you?”

“Well I suppose you could tell me something only Ken and I would know.”

“What, you mean like that time you mother took you to visit her sister and your cousins, Anna and Jenny wasn’t it, persuaded you to dress up and play tea parties with them?”

Phil made hissing noises and waved his hands for me to shut up. I hadn’t raised my voice, but there were other people near enough to hear. That loss of face thing again.

“Ok now tell me that there isn’t a part of you that’s saying, ‘I can’t believe that Ken told her.’”

He sat staring at me.

“It doesn’t really matter what I tell you. What are you going to be most likely to believe, that I’m your friend Ken who’s been miraculously transformed into a beautiful teenage girl, or that for some reason you can’t fathom just yet, Ken has told me some the intimate secrets you shared with him so that I can convince you I am him? If you apply Occam’s Razor this isn’t going to work is it?”

He shook his head.

“Ok what do you suggest?”

“We turn it around. Rather than let me spout off from what may well be a well-rehearsed script, why don’t you ask me questions until you’re happy. I mean if we consider the first premise for a moment, Ken might have told me a lot but he couldn’t have told me everything. If I can answer enough of your questions to your satisfaction we start moving into Sherlock Holmes territory.”

“Yeah, when you eliminate the impossible whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. You know you already sound a lot like Ken in the way you talk and reason things out.”

I melted enough to allow him a smile.

“I’ll take that as a complement. Ok do your worst.”

And he did. For the next half hour he grilled me with questions about the experiences we’d shared. Most were straightforward, some were hard and in the end there was only one that I couldn’t answer. I mean I’m not even sure I know the name of the football team he supports let alone the final score in the match we watched with his mates a fortnight back. I hate sports and the only reason I ever went along to those sorts of things was to try and blend in. We argued over that for about a minute before Phil conceded that my answer was more Ken-like than if I had actually known the answer.

He threw up his arms in surrender.

“Ok, ok I give in. I don’t know how but you are Ken. You sure as hell don’t look like him but there is no way anyone else could have known all that.”

It had been fun locking horns with Phil again but now that the foundation had been established there were some things that needed explaining. I reined in any feelings of affection I had for him; this next bit wasn’t going to be as fun.

“You’re sure? I mean I’d hate to go to all this effort then have you pull a uey on me halfway through the next conversation.”

To his credit he paused a moment to give it serious consideration then he shook his head.

“Nope. I mean however hard it is to accept that things like this happen, I can’t believe that anyone except Ken would have been able to answer all those questions. Especially when you factor in the way you answered them, which was not at all like a teenage girl would.”

I stared at him for a few seconds waiting to see if there were any ifs, buts or howevers. He met my gaze and I sighed. First hurdle out of the way.

“Good, because I have a few questions for you now. What the hell were you thinking trying to pick up a prostitute the night after you asked Sharon to marry you?”

I said it louder than I intended and every face in the diner turned our way. Phil ducked his head in shame while I bored into the top of his skull with a furious glare and waited for the rest of the world to lose interest. Eventually all but the most nosey turned back to their respective conversations and Phil murmured a short reply that I didn’t quite catch.

“I’m sorry, what?”

I had tempered my own volume enough that our conversation had gone back to being private. Phil raised his voice slightly, but it was enough to hear. He sounded bitter; regretful.

“I was high.”

“I’m sorry, you were what?”

He sighed.

“I met up with some of the gang from work on Saturday afternoon to celebrate my getting hitched. One of those d! £kheads must have slipped something into my drink.

“I mean I don’t do drugs, you know that, and I only had the one drink because I knew I’d be driving home at the end of the day. When I look back on it I should have figured from the way the rest of the guys were looking at me with bated breath. The weird thing is I didn’t really feel that much different. I could think clearly, talk sensible, walk in a straight line. I felt like the world was mine and I could do no wrong, but I figured that was just the euphoria speaking, I mean the girl I loved had just agreed to marry me.

“There was this bloke in the pub with a comb-over and you know how much of a joke I think those are? As we were leaving the pub I went over to him and ran my hands through his hair until the longer strands were hanging down by his ear. Then I patted him on the top of the head and said straight to his face, ‘baldness is a blessing.’ I couldn’t understand why my friends were laughing so loud.

“We went our separate ways after we left the pub as I had some work to catch up on that afternoon. Sh*! the things I wrote that afternoon. I mean think about what you would say to the people you work with if you suddenly had no inhibitions; that was me. I spent most of Monday chasing after memos I’d sent out. Didn’t quite get them all and had to spend the rest of the week bowing and scraping to make up for them.”

“So you’re telling me that you were under the influence of some drug when you suggested I might want some action?”

He gave me a helpless shrug.

“Do you think I’d have done it otherwise?”

I shook my head, more from disbelief than in response to his question.

“So if you had no inhibitions, how come you were so worried about my threat to tell Sharon?”

“Because, like I said, I could still think clearly. You don’t know what was going through my head just then. It was weird. On one level I couldn’t give a sh*! about the consequences, on another I knew Sharon’d go off the rails if she found out and there was a nagging feeling deep down that I really didn’t want that. In the end just handing over the money seemed the easiest way out, so I did.

“Then I changed my mind, I mean what right did you have to threaten me or to run off with my money, so I parked the car and came after you. When I found those policemen I thought I had you. All I had to do was tell them you’d nicked the money from me and you’d be locked up, I’d have my hundred quid back and be in the clear.”

“And that’s what counts for clear thinking inside that thick skull of yours?”

“Well maybe it was the drugs talking still. I mean you’re right it was a cr@p idea; maybe I only believed I could think clearly. Being hauled off to the nick wasn’t part of the plan and, even though I thought I’d done a good job of landing you in the sh*! when they interviewed me, I obviously wasn’t as convincing as I thought. The same with Sharon, I was certain what I told her would persuade her I was the victim, but she picked up on a few things in what I said and, well you know how that turned out.”

I was confused. I’d been so certain that Phil was the lowest form of pond scum the way he’d treated Sharon, and now here was this remarkably plausible explanation. Part of me was still mad with the way he’d behaved, but there was another part that wanted to believe this, to be able to see my friend as something more than the loser I’d spent the last week believing he was. I tried to see in his eyes if there was any subterfuge, if this were nothing more than a fabrication designed to convince Sharon and now me that he was really one of the good guys. Nothing seemed obvious. He took a deep breath and picked up his story again.

“I think the cops suspected I was on something. They couldn’t prove it, but they decided I needed to sleep things off before they let me back out on the streets. They didn’t have any holding cells, but they left me in one of their interview rooms with a uniform standing outside for the rest of the night.

“My head was clearer when I left the next morning, but by the time I got back to where I’d left the car, it had been towed and, being Sunday, the impound yard was closed. I took the bus home and tried to call Sharon, not that she wanted anything to do with me and who could blame her.

“Monday I went in as early as I could to get hold of the memos I’d posted before anyone else saw them. I still wasn’t early enough and landed myself a real sh*!-storm with my boss. I did get out at lunchtime to collect the car and I won’t tell you how much that cost to get back, except to say that the hundred quid I gave you started to look like small change. The rest of the week I spent doing voluntary overtime and scraping and crawling to the senior partners to try and get back into their good graces, and I still have a long way to go with that. The mates I’d been out drinking with think it’s really funny and have been making jokes all week.”

There was something of his outrage at the injustice of it all in his features, which, if faked, was an impressive piece of acting. I forced myself to remain sceptical.

“So tell me about Thursday night.”

He shook his head at the memory.

“Sh*! did I bollix that up. It was the first evening I managed to get away from work early enough to do something. Sharon still wasn’t taking my calls and I figured I’d better stop phoning if I didn’t want her throwing a restraining order at me. I had it all worked out what I was going to say, then you opened the bl**dy door.

“I guess there was something in me that blamed you for all my troubles. I mean if you hadn’t conned me out of that hundred quid then I’d never have chased after you with those coppers, never spent the night at the station, Sharon would never have found out, my car would never have been towed. I couldn’t believe you were there and I just blew it.

“Then Sharon started going on about where Ken was, I mean you, erm…”

I couldn’t help but smile.

“It’s ok I know it’s confusing.”

“Yeah, anyway I was trying to get things back on track with what I wanted to say to Sharon to patch things up between us and all she would talk about was how Ken was missing and I hadn’t even noticed. In the end she blew a fuse and told me to b#&&er off or she’d call the cops and kicked me out of the flat.

“I didn’t go in to work the yesterday; called in sick and went on a bender. I thought I had blown everything with Sharon and I was a mess. By the time the two of you found me at the club talking to Miss Gorgeous Green-eyes I was more than half p!$$ed.”

“You didn’t look that far gone.”

He scrunched up his nose in a dismissive gesture.

“You know how well I can hold my booze. Besides if you don’t believe me ask Sharon. She spent the first few hours of last night pouring coffee down my throat until I could think clearly enough to talk sensibly.”

We sat in silence for a while; him waiting, me thinking. I mean it seemed plausible.

“So what now? Do you expect things to go back to normal between you and Sharon as though nothing had happened?”

“Oh hell no! I expect to be boot licking and brown nosing for at least a year before she’ll even think about starting to trust me again. But it’ll be worth it.”

This was so much the Phil I had made friends with all those years ago. I wanted to believe this was real, to think he’d just had an amazingly bad week and was coming back from it. Was I an idiot for wanting to trust him? All the tension I’d felt at this confrontation, all the anger I’d felt towards him, all the outrage on behalf of my new friend and flat mate, it all evaporated. Phil must have seen the change because he relaxed as well.

“So this green-eyed girl yesterday, Sharon tells me that if she’d kissed me…”

“…you’d have ended up like this.”

“Well there are worse things.”

“Are you kidding? Remember that afternoon Phillipa spent with Anna and Jenny?”

He shuddered.

“And think about what life would have been like. Even with Sharon and me around to believe you and help get you back on your feet, do you really think you could make the adjustment. All those beautiful girls you might meet who would only want to be friends; guys whose only interest in you would be to get you into bed; having periods…”

His expression fell with each new suggestion until he shuddered and threw his hands up in the air.

“Alright, alright, you’re right, maybe there is nothing worse. So how come you’re dealing with it so well.”

“That’s going to be difficult to explain.”

A waitress was passing and I asked if I could have a refill. Phil declined having already drunk his weeks allowance of caffeine earlier in the night.

“Have you ever heard of a condition called gender dysphoria?”

Phil thought for a moment then shook his head.

“It’s a recognised medical disorder where an individual identifies more strongly with the gender opposite the one to which they were born. Short version boys who feel like they should have been girls and vice versa.”

“So kind of like wimpy guys who end up acting like girls and thinking they’re gay?”

I winced at the crude effort, but it wasn’t intended in any disparaging way; more an indicator on how hard it was for those who identified strongly with their physical gender to understand.

“Actually that comes over as a little insulting as well as a lot wrong. Gender dysphoria is being recognised more and more as a physiological condition rather than a psychological or sociological one. It isn’t that well understood yet, but there is strong evidence to show that in most cases the brain physically develops in a way that’s opposite to the body’s gender. One theory suggests that it might be down to hormone imbalances in the womb. Another study shows a certain gene that hinders the brains ability to absorb testosterone as being present in a significant number of male to female transsexuals. Suffice to say though that the condition exists in various degrees and it is not a matter of choice.”

“And you’re trying to say…”

“That since an early age I have struggled to some small degree with that aspect of my identity, yes.

“I mean I’m not like so many cases I’ve read about, feeling like I should have been a girl since I was four or five years old, but at the same time for as long as I can remember, I’ve been different from other guys.

“I don’t like being competitive, I don’t enjoy sports, especially team ones, either as a player or a spectator. I really do not get what you guys enjoy so much about watching a game of football on telly. I don’t like crude jokes or farting or burping in public. I hate that guys don’t share their problems and I really hate that it feels weird and awkward for guys to give each other a hug and cry on each others’ shoulders.

“It’s easier to admit to this now, but there were times when I would put on a dress or a skirt when I was Ken, just because it helped me to feel more feminine. It embarrassed the hell out of me and I usually felt guilty about it afterwards because I had a fair idea on how you guys would react and I didn’t want to do that to you, but at the same time it was something I had to do from time to time, even if I could only do it behind closed doors with the curtains drawn.

“I guess as close to a parallel as I can get is if you think about the way you felt when you were playing with your cousins. Imagine that you would be expected to dress that way every day and go out in public. You’d hate it wouldn’t you?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Now imagine you found a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt tucked away somewhere. You knew you weren’t supposed to wear them and you knew everyone would cause you grief if they ever found out. Would you still take time out to dress like a guy so you could feel like a guy once in a while?”

He nodded thoughtfully.

“But you say you’re not one of these people who’s felt that strongly since they were four or five?”

“No not really, although as I say I have felt different for all that time, just not specifically female.”

“So how does that work?”

I took a swig of my coffee while I thought that one over.

“I don’t know for sure. It’s something I’ve been trying to understand and I think it’s associated with social expectations.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ok bear with me on this, it might take a while to explain fully.

“Both genders have specific expectation placed on their behaviour. Men are supposed to be confident, self-reliant, competitive, possibly a bit crude, yes?”

He nodded.

“The competitive aspect starts to put restriction on behaviour, because everyone looks to start from the same common base. So, taking clothing for instance, guys, at least in our part of the world, will always wear some form of trousers, some sort of shirt, a pullover or cardigan if it’s cold and maybe a coat or jacket over the top. If I were to turn up wearing anything else, velvet suit, spotty bow tie, shirt with a flower pattern on it, kilt; anything outside the established norm, I’d get laughed at and the humiliation would push me back to toeing the party line.

“Women on the other hand tend to be more supportive of one another, more collaborative. A group of women will go shopping together and develop bonds of friendship suggesting things that might make each other look good. A woman who tries a new hairstyle or changes the style of her clothes is more likely to be met with encouragement than derision and even the fringe fashions, like the tomboy look, are more likely to be tolerated.

“There are reasons for these differences and I have ideas on them, but I don’t want to bore you with them now. I suppose what I’m trying to say is that I didn’t really feel that I fit into either group. I was never one of the lads because I never fit naturally into the sort of things that lad’s like to do together. I wasn’t one of the girls either because social convention dictates how a girl behaves in the presence of a guy and vice versa, so even if I might have wanted to join in as one of the girls, because they saw me as another one of the lads, they never would have let me.

“So I sat on the fringe, not wanting to be one thing, not permitted to be the other. I felt the dichotomy every day but not so strongly that I couldn’t just muddle through the way I was most of the time. I suppose I did always associate more strongly with the female way of life, but never so strongly that I was in danger of either having my body altered to appear more female, or choosing to live as a female full time.

“The long and short of it is that I am content with the transition. Being in this body the way it feels now is a lot like coming home; it feels good. The fact that I’m ten years younger than I was and a stone cold fox to boot is a bonus.”

We sat in silence for a while longer, things feeling a whole lot more companionable than they had when I first arrived. I finished my coffee and excused myself. On my way to the ladies, Sharon caught up with me. The door hadn’t fully closed behind us when she turned to me, all bubble of excitement.

“So, what do you think?”

“Well he’s a bit old for me and not really my taste.”

“Oh you! You know what I mean.”

I grinned at her until she couldn’t hold her pout anymore.

“I think we’d all be in trouble if we weren’t prepared to give each other another chance from time to time. I think the guy I’ve been talking to this morning is more like the Phil I remember than the douche we’ve been dealing with all week. I think he’s being sincere and if you want to he’s probably worth the effort.”

“You really think so?”

I couldn’t quite believe the hope in her eyes. She really missed the guy she’d lost and I found myself desperately hoping for her sake that he was the guy sitting out there in the diner.

“I also think it wouldn’t do either of you any harm for him to earn your trust back for a while, and if he shows any signs of reverting you drop him like a bad habit.”

She gave me a long, tight squeeze.

“Thank-you. I didn’t know if I was deluding myself. I feel so much better knowing you’re ok with it.”

I held her back hoping like mad that I wasn’t giving bad advice, then had to break free as the bodily needs I’d come in here to take care of sought my attention.

-oOo-
Phil was sipping on a glass of water when we returned. He looked up as we approached and smiled.

“You know I’ve always wondered what it is you girls get up to when you go to the loo together. Maybe now’s my chance to find out.”

Sharon gave me a worried look; needlessly. I gave him my sweetest smile as I sat back down in my seat.

“You know Phil I could tell you, but then I’d have to turn you into a girl.”

He laughed, but nervously as though I might actually be able to do it. Sharon sat beside him and took hold of his hand. The look on his face was priceless and I couldn’t help laughing.

“What happened to letting him earn back your trust?”

She shrugged.

“I sort of figured that, you know, if you’re going to forgive it ought to be all the way.”

And they were kissing. I looked on for a few seconds shaking my head and reached the conclusion that they weren’t going to break up anytime soon.

“I’m going for a walk. I’ll see you two lovebirds back at the flat later.”

And with that I picked up my handbag and headed for the door.

-oOo-
I discovered a few things on my way back to the flat: Four stops on the bus is a lot longer by foot, comfortable boots are worth the money and it doesn’t matter how good a start to the day you have, if there are unresolved problems in your life they have a way of insinuating themselves back into your mind given a moment’s idleness.

My mind drifted as I walked. Starting with a vicarious pleasure in how I had left my two friends and a huge sense of relief at Phil’s explanations and returned status, my thoughts drifted over the events of the week until I reached Thursday. Was that really only two days ago? So much had happened in that short space of time.

It wasn’t so much the row I’d had with Sharon or the way she’d chucked me out; all that was water under the bridge: regretted, forgiven, forgotten. What came back to eat at me was the thought that I had no identity in this new life. No qualifications, no birth certificate, no passport, no driving license, no national insurance number.

That last one was the killer. Without an NI number I wouldn’t be able to find work, or at least legitimate work, and without any of the rest I wouldn’t be able to get an NI number.

I started thinking through scenarios of how I could fix things. I couldn’t say I’d lost it, because they’d want some of the other documentation of my life in order to issue me with another. If I said I was running away from abusive parents they’d want to investigate that and I’d have to produce the parents. If I said my documents had been stolen or lost in a fire, they’d want details of where I was born so they could recreate my life.

By the time I’d worried the issue to rags I was almost back to the flat and I had come up with two possible plans of action, and I liked neither of them. I could pretend to be an immigrant into the country whose papers had been stolen, but then I spoke no language other than English and I faced the risk of being deported back to whichever country my fictitious persona came from. Or I could pretend to be an amnesiac victim of a mugging, at which point I would most likely face a long period of doctors doing whatever they could to help me regain my memory and police doing their best to find some family members who could tell me who I was. I wasn’t sure I could pull that off.

I let myself into the flat and collapsed onto the sofa in frustration. Toby came up to see what was wrong, or more likely to see about a good chin rub. I turned on the TV and began channel hopping in the hope of finding something to distract me and ended up watching some ancient rom-com from the nineteen-sixties and giving Toby enough attention that he deigned to remain in my lap and drool all over my jeans.

Morning drifted into afternoon, I made myself a salad for lunch and set about looking for something else to keep my mind off the unsolvable problem. I spent a lot of time looking through Sharon’s wardrobe for things that were too dated or worn or simply weren’t a good colour for her complexion. I worried that she might see it as an invasion of privacy, but we had discussed doing it together so I hoped she’d be ok with it. By late afternoon I’d managed to free up enough space for my things and was arranging the potential cast-offs as neatly as I could in the cramped surroundings when I heard a key in the door.

“Hi Ken, are you there?”

I stuck my head out of the bedroom by way of reply.

“We’ve been shopping.”

Sharon sounded very satisfied with herself and Phil looked like the cat who got the cream. Unfortunately one or two of my frayed nerves chose that moment to snap.

“Well I hope it wasn’t for clothes because there’s not a lot room in here.”

She came through to the bedroom and looked around at the results of my afternoon’s activities. A wave of guilt passed over me.

“I’m sorry I probably should have waited before going through your things.”

Sharon looked at the pile I’d set aside, not quite sure what to say.

“It… it’s just that I couldn’t sit around doing nothing. I’ve been so, so…”

She put her arms around me and held me close. Phil, still keeping to the background, gave me a look that was a complex mix of confusion, concern, envy, with possibly even jealously added to the mix. Eventually Sharon spoke.

“I’m sorry sweetie, we were just so caught up in getting back together I guess we didn’t think. Are you ok?”

Tears were flowing now, an outward sign of my frustration and embarrassment. I wiped them away angrily.

“Yeah I’m ok, I… I just don’t know what I’m going to do next. I mean you guys are back together and I’m glad for you, but I still can’t go back to my old life — wouldn’t want to if I could. But I still can’t do anything about my new life, I mean I don’t exist, at least not officially and it’s been driving me crazy that I can’t figure out how to sort this out.”

“Oh sweetie I had no idea.”

She enveloped me in her arms and indicated to Phil that he should come over as well. He was a little awkward to start with then put his arms round the both of us. I was surprised at how pleasant that felt, how comforting.

“Look, we bought you a few things. Sort of a way of saying thank-you.”

“Thank-you? For what? I didn’t do anything.”

Phil reached for a couple of the bags they’d brought in and handed them to me. Sharon was shaking her head.

“What do you mean didn’t do anything. You gave me something to hold onto when I was thinking the worst of Phil, you stopped him from being turned into a girl and you helped us get back together. That’s hardly not anything.”

Phil handed me the bags and I pulled out two smallish boxes with jeweller’s names on the top. Looking up uncertainly, it took a few nods of encouragement before I opened them.

The first was a watch. Not a chunky practical watch like I used to wear but slim and elegant. I slipped it onto my wrist and stared at it, enjoying the feel of it, the look of it.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It’s nothing much, but I thought it was you. Phil picked the other one. Go on open it.”

The other box was a little smaller. I opened it to find a silver chain attached to the tips of two silver wings and a red stone of some sort where the wings met. My breath caught in my throat. Phil felt an explanation was needed.

“Because you’ve been our guardian angel this week. I know it’s a bit hokey but, you know, I wanted to say thanks. May I?”

I handed him the necklace and held my hair out of the way while he fastened it behind my neck.

“It’s beautiful, they’re both beautiful. Thank-you.”

Before I knew it I had given both Sharon and Phil a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Phil backed off looking uncomfortable.

“I guess it is a bit weird isn’t it?”

He shrugged and nodded. Sharon was already on to new things, looking through the pile of clothes I’d set aside. She came back with a couple of things in her hands.

“You know I think I should let you go through my clothes more often, I haven’t worn any of that stuff in ages and it seriously needs a new home. I don’t know about these though.”

She held up a couple of tops, both of which were in pretty good shape. I took hold of one of them and held it up against her, making a thoughtful face, head tilted to one side, mouth twisted to one side in a kind of pout.

“I didn’t think this was a good colour for you. Makes you look a bit sallow. The other one I wasn’t sure of. It may be just my own personal taste but it’s a bit shapeless; doesn’t do anything for you.”

She held them up against her one after the other and gave herself a critical look in the mirror before turning to Phil, who held up his hands and backed out of the room.

“Oh no, this is one of those moments where a guy can get himself into a lot of trouble and I’ve had way too much of that recently.”

Sharon and I burst out laughing at the very genuine look of fear in his eyes. Sharon gave the two tops a second look over then smiled over at me.

“You know, I think I’m going to take your advice here. Come on let’s go do something about dinner.”

She dropped the clothes carelessly on top of the rest and left the room with me following in her wake.

As usual Sharon took over the kitchen and shooed Phil and me into the lounge with a glass of wine each. It was best to leave her be in these moods, she was happy and the meal usually benefitted from the absence of too many cooks.

Phil and sat at opposite ends of the sofa in silence, exchanging the odd glance. There seemed to be something bothering him. I waited ‘til he was ready. Eventually he couldn’t hold it any longer.

“I can’t do it. I’m sorry but it’s too weird to keep calling you Ken. I mean it… it’s weird strange enough to think you were him, but the name doesn’t suit who you are now. Can’t you do something about changing it?”

Was that all? I had to supress a smile.

“You know I really haven’t given it much thought. Pretty much you and Sharon have been the only people I’ve talked to this past few days and since you already knew me as Ken the name didn’t seem to matter. I mean I’ve had other things on my mind.”

“Well it’s about time you started thinking about it. If you don’t come up with something soon I might just start calling you Barbie.”

I groaned inwardly. Phil’s jokes weren’t good at the best of times.

“Well don’t rush me, it’s an important decision. A friend suggested one to me a couple of days ago and I’m trying to decide if I like it.”

We fumbled around the outside of a few conversation topics, none of which seemed to go anywhere. I remembered this was how I’d felt when Phil had left me alone with Sharon on occasions. Odd how just a physical appearance can change the way people see you and act around you. We were both grateful when Sharon called us to table.

The meal was up to Sharon’s usual standards and conversation was muted for a while as we concentrated on flavours and textures. Phil and I washed up with Sharon watching us from the kitchen table and holding the conversation together. We chatted the evening away, things feeling a lot like old times. Eventually Phil stood up and stretched.

“I guess I should be heading back home if I’m going to be up in time tomorrow.”

I looked quizzically at Sharon who smiled mysteriously.

“Phil’s coming to church with us tomorrow.”

I raised an eyebrow and he shrugged as he slipped his shoes on.

“It’s important to Sharon, it should be important to me.”

Once he’d left, Sharon carried the empty bottle and glasses through to the kitchen.

“You know we’d better get some sleep as well. Don’t want to be late do we?

I looked at my new watch. It was only half past ten but then an early night wouldn’t do either of us any harm. I allowed myself to be lead and drifted off into the arms of Morpheus with surprising ease.

-oOo-
Morning started with an early shower for both of us then a general scurrying about in our underwear. Sharon suggest a smart blue dress with short sleeves and a v-neckline with some light tights and a pair of matching blue shoes. I had to wear my angel wings necklace so she also lent me a red bag which helped to balance the colours. She wore a beige skirt suit with a plain cream blouse. I didn’t realise at the time but she was deliberately dressing in more subdued hues to help me stand out.

We were ready half an hour before we needed to leave and I sat nervously, tugging at me hair until Sharon decided she needed to say something.

“What’s the matter sweetie? It’s only church, I mean no-one’s going to bite your head off you know.”

“I know, it just feels… I don’t know. I mean I was born a boy and now I’m going to church in a dress; it feels disrespectful.”

“Well kiddo there is nothing of the boy left now. I think you should be grateful for the gift you’ve been given and embrace the new you. Personally I think it would be more disrespectful if you went pretending to be a man. I also think he’s happy that you’re going regardless of how you look or feel.”

The nerves subsided a bit.

“Yeah I suppose…”

“Besides if you want to be nervous about something, maybe you should think more about meeting with my friend. You remember the one I said might be able to help you with your job problems?”

“Oh sh… Now you’ve set me off again.”

She hugged me and gave me an encouraging smile.

“You’ll be fine. Just take a few deep breathes and be you when we get there. I can’t imagine a soul not falling instantly in love with you on sight.”

I thought about the shadier characters I’d encountered in my wanderings around the city but I kept those thoughts to myself.

Eventually it was time to leave and we headed out, me grateful to be doing something if only walking.

“Here we are.”

I looked around. Not a spire in sight. I gave Sharon an odd look.

“We use the community centre. Sorry I should have warned you, this is going to be a little different from your expectations.”

Phil was waiting for us at the entrance; wearing a suit and tie, top button done up, hair combed. He really looked handsome and a strange feeling came over me as I realised that I actually did fancy him a little.

This was so weird; I mean I’d never looked at men in that way before. But then again I felt differently about women now. I remembered Sharon’s worried comments when she suggested we share a bed. None of my reaction had even fantasised about us together under the duvet. And that first night with Mary. It had felt so right, so wonderful at the time, but then there was more of the old Ken in me back then. As I thought back on that night I felt a little uneasy about it and promised myself that I would never again do that.

So if I was going to be a heterosexual female for the rest of my life, I supposed I’d have to get comfortable with the idea of being with a man. Not Phil though. Even if he wasn’t spoken for it would be just a bit too weird, and not just because of the age difference.

He held the door for us; something else I was going to enjoy getting used to. Sharon locked arms with him and led us both towards the large sports hall which seemed to be the centre of a lot of activity. Chairs were laid out in front of a sort of stage area, people were milling about with and without musical instruments, and small groups of people were standing around chatting. As we stepped through the door one of a group of people handed me a sheet of and offered me a cheerful, welcoming smile. This was all so odd I was beginning to feel intimidated again. Then I looked down at the sheet.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

You meant it for evil - 06 by Maeryn Lamonte As we stepped through the door one of a group of people handed me a sheet of and offered me a cheerful, welcoming smile. This was all so odd I was beginning to feel intimidated again. Then I looked down at the sheet. “You have got to be kidding me.”

-oOo-
“What is it?”

Sharon looked over my shoulder with a mixture of concern and curiosity.

“The information sheet thingy… The sermon for today or whatever. Look at it.”

“Yeah, what? I don’t see it.”

“The verse, the Bible verse. That’s the same one the guy in the park mentioned, I’m sure of it. Did you say something to the vicar here?”

“Why would I do that?”

“I'm sorry, it's just that it seemed a bit too much of a coincidence.”

She gave me an inscrutable look.

“Maybe it's not a coincidence. Look, we should probably go and find some seats before the place gets too crowded.”

Crowded? A church?

I followed Sharon and Phil into the main hall where the number of people was rapidly approaching the number of chairs. We found three seats together a couple of rows back from the front and sidled past those sitting on the aisle to reach them.

I nervously scooped my skirt under me as I sat and squeezed my legs together, all the time looking around apprehensively as though someone in this crowd might suddenly point me out as a man come to church dressed as a woman. But I wasn't. I felt the reassuring absence of anything between my legs, the weights on my chest and the hair down my back and allowed myself a self-indulgent smile. I was a woman now and properly attired. This was going to take some getting used to.

The milling about on and near the stage had ceased and the band started playing. They were actually quite good; not charts material but definitely good enough to do the pub circuit if they wanted. I didn’t recognise the tune, but it was modern and upbeat and already so much more appreciated than the expected hymns.

The band leader invited us all to stand and sing as words appeared on a large projection screen at the back of the stage. I joined the rest of the masses in rising to my feet, but didn’t feel comfortable singing with them. I mean the tune was simple enough and it was easy to see where the words fitted, but it just felt so alien still.

Fortunately the musical part didn’t last too long and I gratefully sat down with everyone else in the hall. Gratitude perhaps a little premature as an elderly gentleman stood up in front of a microphone and started reeling of information about events and matters that didn’t mean a great deal to me in a long droning monotone. He was followed by another guy who invited us to bow our heads in prayer and launched into something that sounded so unlike a prayer it was unreal. I mean whatever happened to Our Father? The way this guy talked to God seemed very familiar, almost like a conversation except it was something of a monologue. To someone who's only experience of church was the odd Christmas and Easter service in the sleepy and somewhat traditional local Anglican church near my parent's house, it all came across as a bit odd.

I tried to keep still and wait out the weirdness and was rewarded a short while later, after a couple more short songs, by the pastor — not vicar — standing up to give his address.

“You meant it for evil, but God intended it for good.”

It seemed an odd way to start a sermon, but then why change the theme for the morning. I sat waiting for him to take it further. He did.

I don’t want to bore you with the details so long story short. The passage was about Joseph; you know as in Joseph and his technicolour dream coat? The pastor summarised the story, focusing on all the betrayals and setbacks Joseph faced, and in particular how he responded to them. How he focused on God, focused on the good and made the best of each situation and how when all was said and done, when he had both opportunity and good reason to get his revenge, he was forgiving.

It was his closing remarks that stuck with me though. I don't remember them exactly, but a half decent paraphrase would go something like this:

“Selfishness lies at the root of all evil. The Anglican prayer of penitence before taking communion goes, 'Almighty God, our heavenly Father, we have sinned against you and against our neighbour in thought and word and deed, through negligence, through weakness, through our own deliberate fault.'

“Sins of negligence like those of Pharaoh's cup bearer who was content to go back to his old life and forget about his friend suffering in prison. Sins of weakness like Potiphar's wife who wanted a bit of action with the young and handsome Joseph and who was then afraid of being found out so falsely accused him of having seduced her. Deliberate sins, like those of the brothers who just wanted to get rid of Joseph and managed to make a bit of cash on the side.

“Deliberate sins like seeking revenge. Can you imagine how Joseph must have felt after he was made the second most powerful man in Egypt? He had the power to bring misery to pretty much everyone who had done the same to him. But Joseph didn't. He is the first person mentioned in the Bible who really got what God was about. He tested his brothers, sure, to make sure that they had learnt a lesson or two in caring for others rather than themselves, but then he forgave them, just as he forgave every other person who harmed him. His words to his brothers, 'You meant it for evil, but God intended it for good.'

“You know we get the message through the media every single day, 'because you're worth it', 'go on treat yourself', ' you matter', 'you're important'. It makes us feel good about ourselves so we buy more stuff, but the downside is that it teaches us to be selfish.

“The heroes of our world are the ones who overlook the harm done to them, who look to the needs of others, who care more about the suffering other people are going through than their own hardships. These are the kind of people that God uses; they are God's opportunities to show Himself and turn selfish actions into something glorious. These are the kind of people that we should aspire to be.”

The sermon came to its climactic ending and as the band returned to their instrument, we stood to sing.

“That's you that is.”

I jumped at the voice, then realised that it was only Sharon leaning over to whisper in my ear.

“What do you mean?”

“These past few days, the way you dealt with Mary, Phil and me, it's just like he was saying.”

The music had started and there was no chance to respond, just to think on Sharon's words and those of the pastor.

The last song went on for some time with quite a bit of, to my mind, unnecessary repetition, then the congregation began to break up into small groups. Chairs were pushed to the side and it seemed that everyone was rushing to talk to someone. Even Sharon made her excuses and dashed off into the throng, leaving me somewhat adrift in a a sea of strange faces.

I turned my attention to a small group of youngsters, not too different from my apparent age, who were keeping their own company and looking a little different from the rest of the milling crowd. They closed ranks as I approached, but I wasn't going to let that stop me.

“Hi.”

One of them, a lad probably a couple of years older than I appeared and seemingly the leader of the group, turned to me, the others forming up loosely behind his shoulder.

“Hi yourself.”

“Look, I'm... This is my first time here, I was just looking for someone to talk to.”

“And you chose us?”

“Yeah? I mean ok you're not exactly poshed up like most of the people here, but so what?”

“So what is we don't exactly belong here. We're not part of this God-Squad, just trying to get in out of the cold for a while. The people here don't seem to mind too much, even share their tea and biscuits.”

“So, what? You live on the streets?”

He bridled a bit at that.

“We do all-right. Don't pass judgement on what you don't understand.”

With that he and his entourage turned their backs on me and headed for the table serving teas and coffees. I guess I deserved his rebuff; I hadn't been exactly diplomatic.

A presence at my shoulder made me jump; even after more than a week I was still getting used to being several inches shorter, and this guy had some altitude on him.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Oh it’s ok, I guess I’m a bit nervous is all. Your Pastor James aren’t you?”

“And you must be Sharon’s friend. It is so good to meet you.”

He held out a hand like a bunch of bananas; it completely enveloped my own with a firm grip.

“That was an interesting sermon you preached this morning. I’m intrigued as to where you get you ideas from.”

“Oh, usually I spend a while apart thinking and praying; most of the time something comes to me. This morning's came very easily, almost as if God had something to say to someone.”

I could feel his scrutiny, but somehow he seemed to sense my own disquiet. He smiled.

“You'll have to tell me about it sometime. When you're ready.

“I see you've found our regular visiting non-members.”

He indicated the group of street kids I'd been speaking to.

“There has to be something that can be done for them.”

“Oh sure there is. Someone just has to care enough.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean we do what we can, we offer them shelter here during the times when we have the hall available, there are a number of families within the congregation with older kids who offer individuals a hot meal and a bath at their homes, that sort of thing. Only that's just treating the symptoms and while we can help to make things a little easier for them, it's not solving the problem itself.”

“So what can change it? Can't you write to local government or something?”

“Change like this can't be made from the top down. We can send letters and petitions until someone takes notice, but then there'll just be a government initiative that's poorly managed and underfunded to provide us with more soup kitchens and drop in centres; just more band-aids to treat the broken leg.

“The problem isn't about resources, no matter how much they would help. It's about finding someone who will treat these youngsters like people, who'll listen to them, who'll help them work through the issues that got them on the street in the first place.

“You interested?”

It took me a second to realise what he had actually asked. I spluttered a reply.

“Who me? That's scary big.”

“How do you think Joseph felt? One day prisoner, next day second in command over all of Egypt, responsible for building storage facilities and rationing food even when there was quite literally twice as much as people needed. Some of God's best work starts of with people who feel they are too little.”

He stood quietly by while I mulled over his words. The whole idea was too massive to contemplate and I was well on my way to being scared by it when I was interrupted by an arm on my elbow.

“There you are, I've been looking everywhere. Oh hi Pastor James, do you mind if I barge in here, only there are few people we need to talk to.”

“No, go ahead. I think we've said as much as needs saying here.”

He gave me a wink — friendly not creepy — as I allowed Sharon to whisk me away.

She steered me towards an elderly gent with thinning hair, but looking smart and dignified in full suit and tie. She touched him lightly on the shoulder and he turned, smiling at Sharon who spoke to me.

“I'd like you to meet Clive Anderton-Buckley, he's a partner at the law firm where I work. I've spoken to him about your problem and he seems to think maybe he can help. Clive this is my friend, you know the one I told you about?”

“Ah yes, the mystery girl.”

He reached out a hand which I took — yet again firm but not painfully so — a gentleman's handshake.

“I'm pleased to meet you.”

I said the words and I supposed I ought to be, but I had no idea what this was about. I looked at Sharon for something of a clue.

“Clive deals with some interesting aspects of the law, one of them being working with the Home Office to arrange new identities for people who need them. You remember the Bulger case where the two lads involved where given new identities after they left prison?”

“Except I wasn't involved in that particular case, and as I said to Sharon, it would take exceptional circumstances indeed for me to consider your own. Now I'm assured that your circumstances are indeed exceptional, so I'm prepare to listen to what you have to say. I'm not promising anything, mind, other than half an hour of my time at, shall we say nine-thirty on Tuesday morning?”

He had his diary out and was poised with a pencil to write something. I glanced briefly at Sharon who smiled encouragingly.

“That's very kind of you sir, nine-thirty will be fine.”

He scribbled for a second then slipped the diary and pencil back into his pocket.

“Then I look forward to hearing your exceptional circumstances then.”

He nodded at Sharon and me then turned slightly away. It seemed we were dismissed and Sharon pulled me off in a different direction. I dug my heels in and hissed at her.

“What are you getting me into? Just exactly what am I expected to say to your boss on Tuesday? DO you expect him to believe the truth, or do you have some plausible lie in mind that will work?”

She gave me an infuriatingly trusting smile.

“Look sweetie, in my experience Clive has an uncanny ability to sniff out the truth, and you have an equally uncanny ability to persuade people that the impossible can happen. I mean in the last few days you've managed to convince both Phil and me of what happened.”

“Yes and if you remember you weren't too keen on believing me from the outset. What makes you think that our boss is going to be any more understanding?”

“It'll work out, you'll see. Now shut up and let me introduce you to another of my friends.”

We were approaching a rather formidable looking middle-aged woman dressed in loose fitting but expensive clothing. Sharon leaned past her and into her field of view.

“Sharon, how lovely to see you. How are you keeping, and that nice young man of yours, Philip wasn't it?”

“Karen, I'm fine thank-you, and yes so is Philip. He's here with us today, over there chatting to Mike and the rest of the band.”

“Hoo hoo hoo, it must be serious if he's allowed you to drag him along here. Any sign of wedding bells?”

Sharon managed a weak smile.

“I think we may still be waiting a while there, but you never know.

“Listen, you know you said I should come talk to you if I ever met someone I thought might interest you in your line of work? I'd like to introduce you to one of my friends.”

She pulled me into the circle and left me standing, demure and awkward under the scrutiny of the older woman.

“Well you certainly have the look, can you give me a slow twirl?”

I obliged as best I could.

“Hmm.”

“Have a look at these.”

Sharon pulled out her phone and passed it across. Karen flipped through the dozen or so photos that had been lined up.

“Small screen, but I think I see what you mean. Are these...”

“...Adele’s, yes. We were shopping in the area last week and I figured if she could look good in one of Adele's creations...”

“...she could look good in pretty much anything, and she really does.”

She turned to me.

“All-right, I'll give you a shot. We're setting up a photo-shoot for a fashion catalogue next Thursday. If you can get this address by ten I'll give you an audition.”

She handed me a card and a second later I recovered enough from the shock to thank her. She continued to chat with Sharon for a few minutes more then headed off in a flurry of air kisses.

Sharon turned to me.

“All-right then, who's for some lunch?”

I looked over my shoulder at the group of street kids hoarding biscuits and felt a twinge of guilt.

Phil cooked for us — very palatable; definite signs of Sharon's influence and a promising apprentice chef in the making — then after we'd eaten, he and Sharon sat down to the first of what I imagined was going to be many serious discussions. I excused myself, saying I still needed to get my sleep pattern settled.

In the bedroom, I slipped off my blue dress and hung it up. So odd that as Ken I would most likely have nose-dived straight onto the bed, but here I was taking care of my clothes. Maybe it was the cost; so much more than I had ever spent on clothing as a man. Maybe it was that Sharon had bought pretty much all I owned and I owed it to her to at least look after it all. I don't know. The tights would probably be too hot under the high tog duvet as well, so I eased them off my legs and balled them up carefully.

I slipped under the covers and settled down, soothed by the gentle murmur of voices from the room next door.

-oOo-
“I'm sorry but that is the most ludicrous story anyone has ever told me. I thought Sharon was being serious when she introduced you to me, but there really is nothing I can do for you, except ask you to leave before I lose my temper...”

“I'm sorry but without a National Insurance number I cannot employ you, whether you're any good or not...”

“I'm sorry, but we can't afford to keep you around if you don't have source of income for yourself. We've packed up the things we think you'll need, now if you'll kindly leave...”

I was back on the streets, one bag of clothes; all thin layers and slinky clothing; no idea where to go, no idea what to do. Eventually I turned into a dark, dirty alley. I was half way down it when an unsavoury figure appeared at the far end.

“What you say sweetheart? Twenty quid for a quick one up against the wall here?”

I panicked, looking behind me for an escape route. He saw my intent and made a sudden dash, lifting me off the ground with one hand and jamming the other over my mouth. I tried to fight him off, but he was too strong. Before I knew it he had me pinned against the wall with his body, reaching under my skirt, tearing my knickers away with one easy movement, then loosening his own belt. I tried to scream, but the sound was muffled by his hand. I tried to bite him but he pushed his hand further into my mouth until I couldn't move my jaw.

“I love it when they fight back, go on deary, make my day.”

His trousers were down around his knees, he pushed my legs apart and thrust hard.

I screamed with all my strength as I felt a ripping inside me; again it was muffled to almost nothing against his hand. My eyes wide in terror, my insides feeling like they had been torn apart, I struggled for a while then went limp as the pain grew and grew, chasing me deeper and deeper into myself. I blotted the world out in an effort to escape the horror being done to me.

Eventually it was over and I lay staring blankly at the dim figure redressing himself. He threw a twenty pound note on the ground beside me.

“Wasn't really worth the money, but a deal is a deal.”

He turned and walked away, discarding me like a broken toy.

I was bleeding, but managed to staunch the flow with the remains of my underwear. I don't know how long I lay there in the filth, but eventually I hauled myself to my feet and staggered along until I found a quiet place to strip off my ruined clothes, clean myself up as best as I could and put on something clean, although the feeling went no deeper than my skin.

I'd held onto his money. I despised myself for doing do so, almost as though I were condoning his actions by accepting his payment, but I knew I'd need the money to survive. It went on burgers and hot dogs and bacon butties, anything with protein in to help replace to lost blood and mend the damage.

Days ran into weeks and the pain subsided a little. Weeks turned into months and the weather turned from cold to bitter then back to cold again. I subsisted on hand-outs from the soup kitchens and change begged from passers-by. I could feel life growing inside me and alternately loved it and hated it.

Then one day there was a pain, a sudden agony coursing through my abdomen. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. I staggered into a nearby alley and collapsed onto the rubbish strewn streets. This was too soon, but the pain returned again and again dragging screams of bitterness and agony from me, until finally, in an outpouring of blood, it came out of me and lay there between my legs amongst the detritus that no-one cared enough even to throw away properly.

Too small to live, just large enough to look human, I picked up the blood smeared remains and wept. I was bleeding again, but I didn't care. I curled around the small defenceless thing and waited for the end.

-oOo-
“Sweetie? Sweetie? Wake up.”

There were gentle hands holding my shoulders shaking me awake. I reached out and clung to Sharon with all my strength. Her arms wrapped around me and started to rock me back and forth. Someone was saying no, no, no over and over again and I only dimly realised that it was me.

“You were screaming sweetie, was it a bad dream?”

Oh if only you knew. I felt a dampness under the duvet and pulled it back and screamed.

Phil was in the doorway in an instant looking worried and clueless. Sharon took control.

“It's ok sweetheart everything's going to be fine.

“Phil, could you fetch me a couple of towels from the bathroom please.

”You know when you turn into a girl you do it big time.”

Phil was back with the towels, one of which Sharon gave to me to put over the source of the mess I was making. The other went under the sheet to try and stop it spreading into the mattress.

“Give us some privacy would you love?”

Phil obediently ducked out of the bedroom and into the kitchen while Sharon lead me gently through to the bathroom, helped me to undress and stood me under the shower.

Somewhere en-route I found my sanity again.

“I thought this was supposed to start gently.”

“Under normal circumstances yes, your first period should be quite light, but you are a few years past that first experience even if you never had it. The sudden onset's a little unusual, but the amount of blood looks more than it actually is.”

She went on to suggest possible symptoms I might have experienced earlier in the day and I admitted to a number of them.

“So there you are then. Welcome to the truly disgusting part of being a woman. If you can handle this bit then the rest should be pretty straightforward. Look have a good long shower, it'll probably help with the cramps a little anyway. I'm going to change the bed and get you some fresh clothes, then we'll talk about feminine hygiene in greater detail. I also need to find something for Phil to do to stop him freaking out. I'll be back in about five minutes.”

She was true to her word and, after some detailed instructions in the use of something which is in fact pretty simple, I emerged from the bathroom wearing a pair of baggy trousers and a sweatshirt, feeling as lumpy and shapeless as I was sure I looked.

Phil's make-work had apparently been the preparation of some hot chocolate.

“One of the few good things about this time of the month. You need to put the iron back into your system, and chocolate's the preferred method of women almost everywhere.”

I smiled as I breathed in the aroma, but kept to myself through the remainder of the afternoon. Sharon got me to change my newest little friend after a couple of hours and seemed satisfied that I wasn't haemorrhaging away all my lifeblood any faster than normal. It seemed that my little misadventure had put something of a damper on the afternoon's mood, and Phil was surprisingly quick at taking the hint that maybe Sharon and I needed a little bit of girl time. He made his excuses and promised to call Sharon to arrange lunch during the week.

When we were alone Sharon left me sitting in silence for a couple of minutes before cracking first.

“Ok I'll admit, it is pretty freaky the first time, and for you probably more so, but I think there's something you're not telling me.”

So I told her about the dream in all its lurid detail. By the time I'd finished it was hard to tell which of us was crying harder.

For once Sharon surprised me by not saying anything for a very long time. The hug was what I needed and it was there until I drew away. I wiped a tear out of each eye and looked at my friend.

“So is something like this going to happen every time?”

“No sweetie, I'm pretty sure the dream has nothing to do with what you're going through. I mean ok, you're a mess of hormones right now and dealing with something intense for the first time, so maybe a little, but I think the dream has more to do with something else that's going on in your head.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean... well I think you're going to have to work that out for yourself. In the meantime how do you feel about another hot chocolate and an early night?”

I felt good about both, then lay still in bed for hours, my thoughts whizzing through everything that had happened that day. Sleep didn't come easily, but eventually with nothing resolved, I finally nodded off.

-oOo-
Monday was a miserable day, filled with cramps, a bloated uncomfortable feeling which I hid under baggy, shapeless clothes, and the stark memory of the dream, which brought on panic attacks simply when I remembered the worst parts of it. The regular visits to the bathroom to shore up the defences against my new found tendency to leak didn't add much to the joy of the day either. I spent most of it pottering about, feeling sorry for myself and worrying away at what I would tell Sharon's boss when I met with him the next day.

He seemed too intelligent an individual to be taken in by even the most elaborate lie I might concoct, and too pragmatic to so much as consider the truth for more than a moment. If he was my only hope to get a new identity then I was out of luck, unless I could come up with something totally out of the box which he could and would be prepared to accept.

Sharon found me sitting on the sofa with my legs drawn up tight and a cushion held in a tight death-grip in front of me. She took one look and headed straight for the kitchen, returning a few seconds later with a couple of chilled glasses of sauvignon blanc. I took one without comment and sipped at it as she eased my feet out of the way and sat at the opposite end of the couch.

“So... cramps?”

“A few, nothing momentous.”

She threw a strip of tablets on the coffee table.

“I left those for you to take if you wanted.”

“I don't like taking pills if I don't need to.”

“Suit yourself, but this is going to happen every month now and you're going to have to choose between cramps and pills The pills aren't that bad.”

I shrugged. We sat in silence for a while then she tried again.

“How'd you get on with the um... you know the thingies.”

Her hands were fortunately more descriptive than her voice. I shrugged again.

“Three maybe four, none of them too far gone. I think maybe the flow has eased a bit.”

“Don't get your hopes up. It usually peaks on the second day, but you shouldn't feel so bad tomorrow. You kind of get used to it.”

The wine occupied our attention for a short while, then she looked directly at me. No more pussyfooting then.

“So if it isn't the cramps and it isn't the other, what is it?”

I really didn't want to talk about the dream, so I picked the other the other object of my brooding.

“It's tomorrow's meeting with your boss. What am I going to tell him? I mean he looks like he'd see through pretty much any lie straight off, and I can't see him accepting the truth in my case do you?

“You know I'm grateful for your arranging this, but I don't see how this can possibly work out. Plus I'm more than a little worried about what he'll think of you when he's done with me.”

She reached out a hand to touch my leg and I shied away from it; really not feeling the least bit tactile. She let it hover for a moment then withdrew it.

“Look sweetie, I've known Clive for a long time and if I know anything about him it's his ability to see the truth, no matter how bizarre. Don't worry about me; we've known each other long enough to trust each other. Just say what you think is best and let him sort out the details.

“So are you hungry?”

To be honest I wasn't, but this was Sharon's cooking. Besides which if she was in the kitchen maybe she'd leave me alone. I nodded my head.

Sharon jumped to her feet and patted me on the ankle. She took my empty glass from my hand and headed for the kitchen, returning a minute later with a glass of water, which she put on the coffee table next to the strip of tablets she'd shown me earlier.

“Do us both a favour and take one of those will you? If it doesn't work this time, or if you feel worse then I won't suggest them again.”

She was being reasonable, which didn't help my mood. Somewhat reluctantly I popped one of the tablets out of the wrapping and swallowed it with a sip of cool water.

Dinner didn't take long; a simple carbonara with Parma ham and a mix of cheeses and herbs in the sauce that I couldn't quite identify along with steamed broccoli and green beans. I wished my appetite could have done it justice, but it was delicious nonetheless. Somewhere between the easing of the cramps, which I'll admit were a little worse than I'd said earlier, and the good food, my mood lifted and we enjoyed a more civilised a chat over the rest of the wine.

“So what are you going to wear tomorrow?”

Questions that had never bothered me up until the last week or two, but I had been thinking about it. I'd always wanted a life where my appearance made a difference, and now that I had one I was gradually getting used to the idea.

“I thought the navy blue pencil suit and that magenta silk blouse along with my black patent leather heels and clutch bag.”

“Sounds just right.”

She burrowed into my side of the wardrobe and pulled out the suggested items to give them a once over. Having passed muster, she left them hanging on the door. She smiled at my curious look.

“Never does any harm to check ahead of time, especially before an important meeting. They might have been scrunched up and in need of an iron or, you never know, maybe a button coming loose or a hem unravelling. Easier to put right now when we've time than tomorrow morning when we're panicking to get ready.”

“I wouldn't have thought of that.”

“No reason why you should, but you'll learn. So what say we head in together tomorrow? I mean you'll be a little early but not that much.”

“That sound's nice, thanks.”

It was still early and Sharon suggested I might like a long soak in the bath while she did a bit of ironing. The division of labour didn't seem fair, but she offered me the chance to pay her back next time it was her on the rag and I was feeling as good as she was so I agreed.

Whoever is responsible for the invention of bath salts and oils, I found myself profoundly grateful to him or her that evening. With my hair wrapped up in a towel to keep it dry, I allowed myself to drift away on the luxuriant scents and sensations of so much decadence in a bath of water. Sharon had to knock on the door twice, the second time warning me that I didn't want to turn into a prune, before I emerged.

A fresh nightgown, Victorian style — all ribbons and lace over crisp white cotton, and the best of friends, prepared to stand behind me and brush the knots out of my hair and in so doing ease so much of the stress that had built in my shoulders and neck, left me feeling more soothed and relaxed than I'd been all day. A shared hot chocolate to end the day and we were tucked up together in bed, each of us drowsing towards unconsciousness accompanied by our own thoughts.

-oOo-
Morning came too soon, even after an early night. Sharon was up and in the shower, having pushed me in the direction of the coffee maker. She was out before the machine had finished its cycle, so she left me to wash while she clattered about in the kitchen. I wasn't long in the bathroom, but still long enough for Sharon to whip up a couple of eggs Benedict on toasted white muffins with the remains of yesterday's Parma ham, and turn my half-baked efforts with the coffee maker into some of the most wonderful smelling and tasting coffee ever.

We ate in our nightclothes, which turned out to be just as well as I managed to spill egg yoke and Hollandaise sauce down my front. Sharon pulled the nightdress off me and headed for the bathroom to do whatever saves white cotton from egg stains, and I swallowed down my last delicious mouthful of breakfast in my undies before heading for the bedroom to get changed.

Despite the misadventure, we were both ready with time to spare. Sharon waved the ever-present pack of pills at me and, while I hated to admit she was right, since they had helped the previous day, I popped one in my mouth and washed it down with the last of my coffee.

We walked out the front door, two professional women off to meet the challenges of the day. If I let myself think about it, the bloated discomfort was still there, but having such a positive start to the day had pushed the feeling right to the far corner of my mind, and I found myself smiling as much as she was as we strode down to the bus-stop.

Of course the feeling didn't last much past our arrival at Sharon's place of work. We walked into the building just before half past eight and Sharon left me in a large waiting room with a cup of adequate but less appetising coffee to brood over for an hour.

Clive Anderton-Buckley was an early bird. Either that or he had a second entrance into his office because no-one entered or left the large room behind the receptionist's desk in all the time I waited, yet on the stroke of half past nine I was startled out of my nervous brooding by the rude buzz of an intercom. The receptionist looked up at me and offered me a reassuring smile then stood to guide me to the double door entrance to his office.

Clive came round from his enormous desk as soon as I stepped into the office. Arms held wide in expansive welcome, he covered the distance between us in a few easy strides. His smile was disarming as he took my hand in his and used his other arm to guide me towards some comfortable seats to one side.

“Welcome, I understand you've been waiting a while.”

“I came in with Sharon this morning, so yes a little while.”

“Would you like a drink? Coffee or tea?”

“Mr Anderton-Buckley, please. I'm sorry to do this but I really think this is a mistake; my coming here I mean.”

He gave me a bemused look.

“I am dreadfully sorry but I've been trying to think what I might say to you for the past couple of days. What happened to me is too incredible for me to expect you to believe, and I won't consider coming up with even a half truth to make it seem more reasonable. I can't imagine that there's anything I could say here that you would consider to be other than a waste of your time, and I really don't want Sharon to get in trouble for asking you to see me when I have nothing worth saying. Now I really do appreciate your willingness to see me, but I think it would be best if I just go.”

I tried to turn towards the door but his gently guiding hands had turned firm enough to hold me where I was. His expression turned stern.

“Young lady, I have put aside thirty minutes from an otherwise very busy schedule to talk to you this morning. The very least you can do is spend that time talking to me as originally agreed. You have your doubts about whether I will believe what you have to say. Be that as it may, I would appreciate the opportunity to decide that for myself. I already have a great deal of respect for your friend Sharon and believe me when I say that weighs very heavily in favour of whatever you have to tell me. Now I will ask this one more time, tea or coffee?”

I demurred and gratefully accepted the offer of tea, my nerves in very serious need of calming. I seated myself on the sofa while he placed the order with his assistant. We chatted over inconsequentialities until the tea came — how did I know Sharon, how long had we been friends, how had we met — and I answered as honestly as I could without going into any details of my life as Ken. Once we were settled with our drinks he turned to me.

“Ok then. From the beginning if you please.”

He had done a good job of settling my nerves, and with nothing in mind to tell him but the fantastic truth, started.

“Friday before last I was a twenty-seven year old man named Ken Stanton...”

I covered everything in detail from the way Phil and I met and made friends to his introducing me to Sharon and the resultant awkward threesome. From there I went on to describe the evening I went to the Meet Market on my own and my encounter with Mary and my ending on the streets dressed like a prostitute. I'd covered the incident with the police and Sharon generously picking me up and offering me somewhere to stay when he excused himself long enough to use the intercom on his desk to cancel his ten o'clock meeting and to request some more tea.

I picked up the pace a bit covering my abortive attempts to find a job and subsequent realisation that without identification I wasn't going to get anywhere, my confession to Sharon about who I was, her disbelief and chucking me out, then our reconciliation after my night on the streets, and finally my confrontation with Mary in the nightclub.

The tea arrived with a few papers to be signed. I waited patiently for the details of the day to be sorted out and for his assistant to leave then shrugged my shoulders.

“So there you have it. An impossible, incredible story. I can give you all of Ken's details, his National Insurance Number, his address in Docklands, the name of the accountancy firm where he works as a fairly minor clerk; it's not three streets from here; his parent's names and address, but all that will do is prove that I can memorise a lot of information. I could take you to the apartment where Mary lived, but I doubt there will be anything left to suggest she was ever there. The only evidence I can give you is circumstantial at best and won't help prove anything I've said.

“You've been very kind to give me so much of your time, but as you can see, my story is unbelievable and really didn't want to bother you with it.”

He sat back and steepled his fingers while I sipped gently at my second cup of tea. The silence went on for long enough to convince me that I had been right and to regret all over having agreed to meet with him, but in the end he let out a deep sigh. He reached for the intercom on his desk again.

“Can you ask Sharon to come to my office immediately please.”

There didn't seem anything more I could say, so I kept quiet and as still as I could while he strode back and forth across his office. There was a knock on the door and Sharon's worried face appeared.

“Come in and close the door. Are you aware of what your friend has just told me?”

“I suggested she tell you the truth and I hope she has.”

I nodded at her enquiring look.

“Do you believe it?”

“I've known Ken for a couple of years and my boyfriend has known him for a bit longer. I know the story's pretty amazing, but neither Phil nor I have any doubts that this person was once Ken Stanton.”

“So now the two of you are expecting me to believe that a man can be transformed into a young girl?”

I wasn't going to let that go.

“Sir if you recall I didn't want to go through with this meeting, and largely for the reason that it is so hard to believe.”

“You could have told me a lie. Something like orphaned in a fire, all documents burned.”

“Except that I would at least know my own name, which would lead to a paper trail and records, which would either reveal the lie or force me to take on someone else's identity, which in turn might lead to complications and unnecessary grief caused to relatives.”

“You could say you'd lost your memory.”

“And end up on the news with a 'Does anybody know this girl?' type appeal. That and go through extensive tests with doctors and psychiatrists who might well end up doubting my story.”

He rubbed his eyes and let out another long sigh.

“Alright Sharon thank-you, you'd better get back to work.”

She left and Clive turned to me once more.

“Are you prepared to go out searching for evidence to support your story?”

“Whatever it takes sir, though I can't think of what you have in mind.”

“I'm afraid that's going to have to wait a while. I have some things I have to attend to now, but if you're up for it I'm prepared to give you some time over lunch to do some investigating, say one-thirty?”

I couldn't read his features, but it didn't take much brain power to see that he was having a hard time believing. I suspected that he might lose some, if not all, of his respect for Sharon if I backed out now. Oh well, in for a penny.

“One-thirty will be fine as long as you don't feel I'm wasting too much of your time.”

“No I think that having started this little trip down the rabbit hole we should see it through to its end. I'll have a car ready to pick us both up at the main entrance at one-thirty then. Until then, there's a deli at the end of the road wouldn't mind getting us both a sandwich. Something with a bit of meat in for me if you don't mind.”

He showed me to the door and I stepped out into the waiting area with an overwhelming sense of foreboding over how this was all going to turn out.

You meant it for evil - 07 by Maeryn Lamonte “One-thirty will be fine as long as you don't feel I'm wasting too much of your time.” “No I think that having started this little trip down the rabbit hole we should see it through to its end. I'll have a car ready to pick us both up at the main entrance at one-thirty then. Until then, there's a deli at the end of the road if you wouldn't mind getting us both a sandwich. Something with a bit of meat in for me if you don't mind.” He showed me to the door and I stepped out into the waiting area with an overwhelming sense of foreboding over how this was all going to turn out.

-oOo-
The receptionist smiled at me expectantly, so with some effort I pulled myself together.

“Could you tell me where the loos are please?”

She gave me directions and I set off for some essential King Canuting. It was there I discovered how inconvenient some fashions can be as squirming out of a pencil skirt in a tight cubicle would probably have put even Houdini's skills to the test.

Still ten minutes later and feeling a fair bit fresher and more human, I stood in front of the bathroom mirror and checked my appearance. A quick brush through the hair restored some semblance of order to a naturally chaotic style. Ten more minutes with powders and brushes didn't seem to make a particularly noticeable difference to my face, but I had to show willing if I was going to learn what most women my age had already been doing for several years.

I checked my watch. Eleven o'clock; two and a half hours to kill. One last check all over to make sure I had my blouse tucked in, my skirt straight and no embarrassing trail of toilet paper clinging stealthily to some part of my anatomy, and I headed back out to the reception.

Further directions from the receptionist led me out of the office and down the street towards the deli. It wasn't going to take me two hours to buy a sandwich though, so I looked around for some other way to pass my time. I tried wandering around some clothes stores, but I was too nervous about what Sharon's boss had in mind to focus, so in the end I bought a paper and found a coffee shop where I sat and worked through the sudoku and crossword over a drink or two, checking my watch every ten minutes or so until after an hour I was too agitated to sit still any longer.

I headed back to the deli and, from its disappointing selection of wares, bought a couple of sandwiches and a couple of bottles of spring water. I had to ask for a carrier bag, and it took them several minutes searching before they unearthed an old one from somewhere. Not a shop I planned on visiting again, quite possibly as much to their satisfaction as mine.

I still had an hour to wait and I spent it walking around the neighbourhood. The skirt hobbled me somewhat meaning that I couldn't get anywhere fast, so I tottered around at random, making it as far as my old place of work before turning back. I saw one or two familiar faces stepping in and out through the front door but I didn't approach the office myself. I mean what would be the point?

I was five minutes early returning to the law firm and, predictably, five minutes later a car pulled up just as Mr Anderton-Buckley walked out through the entrance. I think the car may have been a Jaguar or a Daimler, I'm not sure. I do remember it was large, black and shiny, and had light beige leather seats. My host held the door for me then headed round the other side to climb in himself.

As the car pulled away, I rummaged in my hard earned carrier bag and pulled out the drinks and sandwiches.

“The choice is tuna and sweetcorn or chicken salad, I'm afraid they didn't have a great selection.”

He accepted the tuna and a bottle of water with thanks.

“I thought we'd start off by going to the nightclub where you say you met this unusual girl. What was its name?”

I told him and gave the driver the address more or less, then sat back as we eased our way through the inevitably slow city traffic. My companion tore open his sandwich and started to eat so, feeling somewhat self-conscious about dropping crumbs in the spotless interior, I joined him. He didn't say anything during the journey, his expression set and unreadable, and I didn't feel it was my place to try and make small talk, so we passed the time in an uncomfortable silence, broken only by my sigh of relief when we arrived.

Mr A-B helped me out of the car then leaned in to talk to the driver.

“I expect we'll be done in about three quarters of an hour or so. I'll call when we need you.”

With that he turned towards the rather solidly closed doors of the club and knocked.

On the third and increasingly louder and more persistent try the door opened a crack.

“We're closed. Come back at seven thirty.”

“Please inform your manager that there is a solicitor from the Home Office standing on his doorstep who would rather not wait until seven thirty.”

The door closed again and Mr A-B gave me an apologetic smile.

“There are certain advantages in holding my position. I try not to abuse the privilege, but sometimes the temptation is just too great.”

Sure enough, less than a minute later, the door opened again to reveal a rather worried face that I recognised. He looked at my companion then past him to me and he turned an even whiter shade of pale.

“I'm sorry, what is this about?”

“I just have a few questions for you, I hope it's not inconvenient. May we come in?”

I don't think the entire club's quota of bouncers could have withstood Mr Anderton-Buckley's brash, confident manner. The manager opened the door and bade us enter. He led us through the main room, turned shabby in the full light of day, to his office. Once the door was closed and we were all seated around his desk he marshalled enough courage to speak again.

“Look if this is about last Friday, we were within our rights...”

“Yes, last Friday. Perhaps you could tell me in your own words exactly what did happen.”

And he did; no further hint or suggestion needed. I stayed silent throughout, but from the way he kept glancing over at me, it was evident that my presence worried him to some degree. He told of Mary, the redhead with the astonishing green eyes. He told of the previous Friday when he had been informed of a disturbance in the club and had came down from his office to find Mary sitting with me, crying her eyes out. He told us of his instructions from the owner, reluctantly carried out, to see us to the door.

“And did this green eyed girl and my client leave together?”

“Yes. The other girl was very upset and your er client was holding her by the shoulder as they walked away from the club.”

“Do you remember if the other girl visited your club before last Friday?”

“I don't come out of my office except on the rare occasion when there is something that the bouncers cannot handle by themselves, so I'm afraid I cannot say for certain. I do remember some of the staff talking about her after the incident through. It seems she was here the previous Friday as well. Left early and alone, but with some sad no-hoper chasing after her.”

“Do you think these bouncers would recognise the man who chased after her the previous Friday?”

He shrugged.

“It's unlikely. The club is dark and there are many people who come here. Also the staff who work here are generally more interested in the girls who come in. I could ask, but I don't hold out much hope.”

“Thank-you, I'll have a driver bring a photograph around later when your evening staff are in. You've been most helpful Mr...?”

Mr A-B stood and extended his hand.

“Richards, Derek Richards.”

Mr Richards was on his feet and shaking hands with evident relief on his face, having decided that this was not about him or his club. I followed the two men in standing and allowed myself to be herded to the front door.

As he opened the door for us to leave, Mr Richards reached inside his jacket and drew out a couple of tickets.

“Miss, I'm so sorry for the way you were treated the other night. These are complimentary gold passes for you and your friend. Free entry and drinks, please accept them with my compliments.”

I could barely stammer out a thank-you as he thrust the gaudy pieces of card into my hand. Mr Anderton-Buckley tried and failed to suppress a smile as he led me away.

“If you ever decide to use those I'd keep an eye out for Mr Richards there; I think he's rather smitten.”

“I'm sorry?”

“Well you are an attractive young girl you know. I'd watch him though, honest enough I would say, but I'd wager he's more interested in you as a conquest than a companion.”

The smile grew as he considered my shocked expression.

“I'm a student of human nature my dear. That's most of the reason why we're out here checking out your ridiculous story; you're don't strike me as the sort to make things up, unbelievable as your tale is.

“Now this green eyed girl of yours, you said she lived nearby?”

“Yes, this way. It's about ten minutes walk.”

It was closer to fifteen with my tight skirt, and everything looked so different in the daylight that I nearly missed it even so. Mr A-B rang for the building supervisor and pulled his bullish solicitor act to secure us entrance.

Yes the green eyed girl lived there, no the supervisor hadn't seen her since Friday, but then that wasn't unusual as he rarely saw the tenants unless there was a problem with an apartment, no we couldn't go into the room unless we had a warrant. He didn't reckon on Mr Anderton-Buckley's astonishing powers of persuasion though. I don't know how he did it, but he managed to seed just enough doubt into the supervisors head that he agreed to take us up for a quick peek.

The look on his face when he opened the door was priceless. The apartment was bare except for scorch marks on the carpet where I remember Mary's tormentor disappearing; of Mary's furniture there was no trace.

“There is no way anyone could have shifted this lot without my knowing.”

Mr A-B clapped him on the shoulder.

“Never mind old chap, you have her deposit and her outstanding rent to make repairs and a flat like this will go in no time.”

We left the man still gawping at the empty rooms and headed back down the stairs. A quick phone call on the way down had the car pulling up outside as we exited the building.

“Two for two my dear. Now I wonder if you'd mind if we had a look at your, that is to say Ken's, apartment.”

I gave the driver the address in Docklands and we eased back into the slow London traffic.

-oOo-
Getting past the supervisor at my old place was just as straightforward. A preliminary investigation into the suspected disappearance of Mr Stanton to decide whether or not to involve the police. No, no warrant, but your co-operation would be greatly appreciated, thank-you. Like I said, Clive Anderton-Buckley was a force of nature and not readily withstood by mere mortals. The supervisor led us up several flights of stairs, part of the reason why I as Ken had managed to keep relatively fit, and sorted through a large bunch of keys as we approached a familiar door.

“Tim's not the tidiest of people so I'm afraid you'll have to take the place as you find it.”

I tried to keep my voice low so that the supervisor couldn't hear, but he gave me an odd look as he finally found the correct key and let us in.

Tim, it seemed, had taken full advantage of my absence over the last week and a half. Washing up was piled high in and around the sink and the living room was strewn with discarded clothes. I led the way through the mess to my old room and eased the door open. The familiarity of the place was oddly disorienting, as though I were remembering someone else's life.

The room was as I had left it. Almost. The bed was not as neat and one drawer and a cupboard door were very slightly open.

“It looks like someone's been in here.”

Mr Anderton-Buckley stepped past me and looked around.

“OK, what can you tell me.”

I started to describe the room — what I kept in which drawer and cupboard — all the while opening each one to show him. Someone had rummaged through all my clothes, but since I had little of value and none of it left here, there was nothing missing.

“Your laptop?”

Mr A-B indicated a rather decrepit machine sitting on a desk.

“Yes, it takes an age to boot up so if you want to see what's on there you'd better turn it on now. The battery's kaput too so make sure it's plugged into the mains. Password's butterfly with a three instead of an e when you get that far.”

He turned the machine on and turned back to the room while the valves warmed up.

“Anything else worth mentioning?”

There was something I was reluctant to admit to, but now of all times was a time for full disclosure.

“On top of the wardrobe over there. There's a suitcase.”

He reached up and lifted it down with far less effort than I had ever managed. I dialled the combination into the padlock and stood back for him to inspect the contents.

“My guilty secret.”

He opened the case and looked in on my stash. Silk and satin, chiffon and lace. Two pairs of heels, now several sizes too large for me. It was a respectable collection, courtesy of ebay and several charity shops far enough away from here that the likelihood of my returning was remote. Mr Anderton-Buckley raised an eyebrow in my direction and I felt my face burn itself a particularly vivid shade of lobster.

“For as long as I can remember I've wanted to be a girl. Most of my life I've tried to tow the party line and be one of the lads, but there have been times when it's all been too much and I've needed to let her out. I fitted a bolt to the door so that I wouldn't be disturbed while I dressed. It was always a very private thing, something that I was ashamed of. Sharon and Phil know nothing about it and I'd appreciate it if things could stay that way.”

He held up a dress which was evidently several sizes too big for me but wouldn't have been ideal for Ken, then folded it back into the case, closed it and relocked the padlock. The computer had creaked its way to full consciousness and was awaiting instructions.

“What did you say the password was?”

“B-U-T-T-3-R-F-L-Y. Old hacker trick to disguise words from simple text recognition; makes the password slightly more secure without making the password any harder to remember.”

“Interesting choice; symbol of transition.”

He typed it in and waited as the desktop came into existence one icon at a time. He opened the web browser and started hunting through the bookmarks.

“You could log onto your bank and transfer your funds to another account.”

It was a strange offer coming from him. Was he testing me? It didn't matter anyway. I pulled open a drawer and dropped what looked like a calculator onto the desk.

“It's a card reader. To log onto my bank account I need to stick my debit card in the top, type in the PIN and then type the code that gives meinto the website. Mary took my wallet which had my debit card in so I've no way past the security. It doesn't matter much anyway. I'm down to my last couple of hundred quid until pay day which isn't due till next week.”

“Anything else on here that might help me believe your story?”

So for the next ten minutes I gave him then penny ha'penny tour of the contents of my aged digital companion. There wasn't much to show since I've usually had enough of computers by the time I've finished a day's work and the geriatric slowness of this particular fossil didn't encourage me to develop much of an interest at home. Pretty much it was financial records, a few personal letters and a directory full of photographs. Not even any music. Mr A-B pulled a memory stick out of his pocket and copied one or two photos of Ken onto it, presumably for use with the club later.

He nodded his head thoughtfully then shut the machine down. He offered me an apologetic shrug then lifted the suitcase back onto the wardrobe before ushering me to the door.

We walked down to the main entrance in silence. There he thanked the supervisor profusely and led me out to the car-park and the waiting car

“One last call to make.”

He gave the driver the address of my former employer and we sat back to watch the traffic. I checked my watch and was shocked to find that it was already nearly three o'clock. I looked at my fellow passenger with pang of guilt.

“You're giving me an awful lot of your time...”

“The price of thoroughness my dear. I find that generally it is worthwhile.”

It took twenty minutes to cross the city again during which time he offered no conversation and I felt anything I might say would be pointless and an invasion of his privacy. His deeply thoughtful expression was playing havoc with my nerves and I longed for some indication of what was going through his mind.

We stopped outside my old office and he thanked our driver, telling him to take the car back and that we would walk from here. He strode purposefully towards the front entrance with me dancing a nervous two step to keep up. He held the door for me — a gesture that I greatly appreciated — then guided me gently to the main reception.

“Could you tell Mr Patterson that Clive Anderton-Buckley is making one of his unannounced visits please?”

The receptionist put the call through and in less than a minute the familiar bulk of my former boss stepped into the reception area, arms held wide in welcome and a delighted smile on his face.

“Clive! To what do we owe this unexpected pleasure?”

“Richard, so good to see you.”

For a moment it seemed that the two were going to embrace, but at the last second British decorum overruled and they brought their hands together in a firm double-handed handshake instead.

“Sorry to drop in on you out of the blue like this old chap but I have a favour to ask. Could we step into your office for a few moments and I'll explain?”

Mr Patterson led us through to his office and buzzed through for a pot of tea. His dislike of coffee was legendary; so intense that he wouldn't offer it to his guests. He even refused to allow it to be brewed or consumed in the public areas of the office. Anyone who was so set on drinking coffee was relegated to a poky storeroom at the back of the building at break times along with the smokers.

The two men exchanged pleasantries, asking after one another's families until the tea arrived at which point Mr Patterson reached for the pot.

“Shall I be mother? How do you take it my dear?”

He was looking at me as he said this. I remembered this test.

I sniffed gently. Assam tea has a distinct perfume and I knew Mr Patterson held the firm opinion that it should be drunk with lemon and not milk. As Ken I had never much cared for citrus in my tea, but aware of the change in my palette since my transformation I thought it worthwhile experimenting.

“Could I try it with a squeeze of lemon please?”

From the looks, one of surprise and delight, the other more measured and appraising, I felt I had scored a point. Mr Patterson offered me a cup, the dark liquid already turning pale from the effects of the lemon, and turned to his friend.

“I see you are travelling in more discerning company these days. I don't suppose she has persuaded you to abandon your Philistine ways? No? Oh well milk it is then and another perfectly decent cup of tea ruined. Now my dear fellow, it's about time you told me what this is about.”

I sipped at my drink, which was surprisingly flavoursome if a little bitter. I added a half teaspoon of sugar and tried again. Much better. Mr Anderton-Buckley meanwhile was marshalling his thoughts before directing them into the fray.

“It's in regard to an employee of yours; a Mr Kenneth Stanton.”

“Oh yes Ken, we're quite worried about him. It seems that no-one has seen him in over a week. I was considering approaching the police on the matter.”

“Well it turns out that one of my employees is a friend of Ken's and has prevailed upon me to investigate the matter as a precursor to doing just that. She has proven to be a level headed young woman in the past so I'm inclined to take her seriously. She introduced me to this young lady who has made some quite remarkable claims, which I would appreciate your humouring me in testing.

“Now, notwithstanding her awareness of your peculiar aberration in the way you take your tea, can I ask whether or not you know my companion, if she has ever worked in this building. If in fact she has ever been in this building to your knowledge?”

Mr Patterson perched a pair of half-moon spectacles on his nose and subjected me to a close scrutiny.

“I shall say quite categorically that I have never seen this young lady before today.”

Mr A-B turned to me.

“And what can you tell me about my friend Mr Richard Patterson?”

“Apart from his penchant for Assam tea with lemon? It's really very nice by the way, you should at least try it once.”

I thought hard and decided on a couple of idiosyncrasies that I remembered about the old man and which I was pretty sure he hadn't demonstrated since we'd arrived. I shared them with both men looking at me as though I were some circus animal doing a particularly clever trick.

“Extraordinary! How could you possibly know that about me?”

“The how will have to wait a while old friend, but I wonder if you would be good enough to lend me a few of your staff. Anyone who worked with Ken or who was friends with him, if we could speak with each one individually, only for a couple of minutes each.”

So for the next half hour I continued my performing monkey act as, one after another, my former friends and colleagues were brought before me, asked whether or not they recognised me, then asked to confirm whatever small details of their lives I was able to tell them. In most cases verbal confirmation was unnecessary as the expressions on their faces spoke more loudly and truthfully than any voice.

“Well I must say! I hope your going to explain all this now Clive.”

Clive glanced at me and I shook my head very slightly. He got the message.

“I'm sorry Richard, there's a degree of attorney-client privilege involved here. What I will say is that you can stop worrying about Ken. I'm afraid he won't be returning to you., but I can tell you that he is alive and well. He regrets leaving you so abruptly and without notice, but circumstances have left him with little choice in the matter.

“Your help has been invaluable this afternoon, and I greatly appreciate it. If ever there's a time I can tell you more I will, but for now we have to be getting back to the office. I suddenly have an awful lot of paperwork to do.”

The two men stood and shook hands. I did likewise and allowed myself to be guided towards the door leaving a highly bemused accountant bobbing in our wake.

-oOo-
Mr Anderton-Buckley walked slowly, I like to think out of deference to me and my tight skirt and highish heels, but it could just as easily have been because he was so deeply lost in thought. The silence was palpable, the uncertainty an almost tangible agony. I endured it for five minutes before the cracks emerged.

“Mr Anderton-Buckley?”

“Clive please, that surname is so cumbersome.”

“Clive then. Dare I offer a penny for your thoughts?”

He looked up at me for a long surprised moment then twisted his mouth into a rueful half smile, snorting out a sort of brief half laugh.

“You know I have a daughter of about your age? At least your apparent age. If I needed any proof at all I should have found it in the way you speak. The last time I heard her talking with her friends I found myself wishing for subtitles.

“You'll excuse me but I don't think I can call you Ken; there never was a name less appropriate to the person, whatever its etymology. Which I must hasten to add does not mean I disbelieve your story; this afternoon's little expedition into the unknown has quite thoroughly washed away the mountain of doubt your rather amazing story deposited in my mind this morning; but looking at you now I cannot see you as anything other than a young girl and Ken is hardly an appropriate name. You don't by any chance have an alternative?”

“I've been thinking about it off and on between crises over the last few days. The old man I met in the park suggested a name to me which has been growing on me since. Elizabeth. It means...”

“Beloved of God. An interesting choice and, given who suggested it, wholly appropriate. Yes I can see you as an Elizabeth. And for a surname, because you will need one of those as well, may I suggest Raeburn? Less for its meaning than for what else it sounds like.”

“And middle name Mary. I'd like to remember the person who made this possible. Do I take it then that you will help me?”

He shook his head, but slowly; disbelief rather than disagreement.

“God help me, yes I will. It's going to take some creative paperwork, but you will have your new identity. Birth certificate, passport, Nation Insurance number, all those sorts of thing. I'm going to have to come up with an explanation for Ken's disappearance as well and that won't be so easy. We don't have such a thing as a witness relocation program in this country, but there is provision within the law for someone to be given a new identity in circumstances where their lives may be at risk otherwise. I think it best if I concoct a story that puts Ken in that position. That way I'll be able to tell your family that you're safe and well but cannot contact them. I should also be able to use it as a context to create your new identity and, since it will be essential to separate the two sets of paperwork so no-one can link you to your old life, it won't be evident that your gender and age have changed.”

I felt a weight lift from my shoulders. I hadn't been aware of it until that moment, so insidiously had it eased into place, so slowly had it grown, but now that it was gone I felt a new lightness suffuse me, as though I might float away on a giddy cloud of sudden and unexpected joy. There must have been something of it visible on my face because Clive smiled.

“And that just about makes it worth the effort. It also provides me with the last proof if I actually needed it to believe you because I don't think anyone could fake what I've just seen in your face.”

We had arrived back at the law firm and, as before, he held the door for me to step inside. Back at his office he asked his PA to call for Sharon and to bring us a fresh pot of tea. They both arrived at the same time, while we were going through a few of the details he needed to create my new fiction. From information I'd provided he had most of my life and accomplishment as Ken on his computer screen and was making notes and talking through them as he did so.

“Full driver's license, alright we'll give you one of those. GCSEs and A levels, I think we'll mark you up a grade in most of them to take account of the dumbing down of the curriculum. I'm afraid there's not much I can do about the degree; there's no way anyone would believe you were twenty-one from your appearance, and there's no reason to wish away three years of your life in any case. If you want those letters after your name, you're going to have to go through it all again. Ah hello Sharon, I'd like you to meet a friend of yours: Elizabeth Raeburn.”

He broke off his ramble as realisation dawned in Sharon's eyes and she let out an excited squeal and ran over to give me an exuberant hug; all bounce and lack of restraint. The child in me had receded in the previous week's hardships and all I could do to join in was hug her back and wait for her to calm down. Eventually she regained something of her normal composure and turned to her boss.

“Thank-you sir. I knew you would recognise the truth when you heard it, even as unbelievable as this story is. Didn't I tell you Liz? Liz, Lizzy, Beth, I like that name, it suits you so well. Now I don't have to keep calling you sweetie or Ken. Oh Liz I'm so pleased.”

It was like someone had dropped a machine gun with the safety off; all you could do was duck for cover and wait for the rapid fire to empty the magazine. When it finally did, Clive was the first to recover.

“Come and join us for a cup of tea and a chat. I still have one or two minor details that I need from Liz, then I think you two had better head off and leave me to it.”

“Sir it's only four o'clock.”

“I know, but with the amount of time I've taken off from doing what I should today I can hardly lecture you on leaving early, besides I doubt you'll be able to concentrate now. You'll be nothing but a distraction to the rest of the office. I'll let you make it up to me tomorrow if you like.”

So we sat and chatted through the day. Clive and Sharon compared notes on what it was that had convinced each of them to believe my story, and I gave the last few details Clive needed to get on with what he was going to do for me. Something occurred to me as we were leaving and I turned back to my benefactor.

“I er, I have a job interview on Thursday. I don't suppose there's any chance I'll have an NI number by then?”

He laughed.

“You don't ask much do you? I'll see what I can do. I should be able to manage it by Friday if I can't get it to you before the interview.”

He waved us off and we headed into town, arm in arm, Sharon exploring a range of different things we could do to celebrate. I hardly heard a word, being too busy running over my new name in my mind, trying all the different variations. Yet another step closer to becoming me and it felt sooooo good.

-oOo-
We spent the rest of the afternoon doing Sharon's favourite thing in the world, which was also rapidly climbing the ratings on my list too. This part of London had a lot of different shops and we made a valiant effort to spend time in as many as we could before the blinds went down.

Sharon bought herself a few little things and wanted to treat me too as a celebration of the day's success. I was adamant that she was not going to spend another penny on me until we came across the cutest dress ever. It was short, but not too much so, with a loose bodice and flared double layered skirt, and it was in a gorgeous shimmering midnight blue that didn't quite go with my shoes and handbag, but would pass until I could find something better. The meagre remains of my funds wouldn't cover the price tag and in the end my resolve crumbled and I allowed her to buy it for me, agreeing all to readily to her stipulation that I wear it out of the shop. I'd had enough of the tight skirt I was wearing and sighed in relief at the freedom of movement my new clothes afforded me.

Sometime in the afternoon — I think maybe when I was in a changing room falling in love with a certain dress — Sharon had texted Phil with the news of my new identity and he agreed to meet us at a nearby watering hole for a celebratory drink. We bundled into the pub festooned with the ever-present carrier bags full of swag to find him sitting at a table with drinks already bought. He stood up to greet us, first kissing Sharon, then turning rather awkwardly towards me.

“Wow, you look...”

Words failed and so did actions as he stood there trying to decide what to do. I'm not sure if he was concerned about Sharon's reaction, hung up on who I had once been or conscious that maybe I might still be uncomfortable with my new status. Whatever the reason he seemed lost so I put him out of his misery by leaning forward to give him a peck on the cheek.

“Thanks I think.”

Sharon dived in to stop general weirdness from taking hold.

“I was just saying to Liz that she should wear that to her interview on Thursday, don't you think?”

I gave a little twirl and looked down at myself.

“I'm not sure, don't you think it's a bit informal? I mean job interview usually means smart for girls as much as for guys.”

“Listen girlfriend, this is a fashion catalogue and you are being invited to audition as a model. One, glamour is going to do you more favours than smart, and two, just how long do you think you are going to be wearing your own clothes after you get there anyway?”

“I'm still not sure, I mean what shoes would I wear with it?”

Phil had been watching from the side lines, his head going back and forth like he was watching his own private tennis match. He suddenly couldn't take it any more.

“I give up. I keep expecting to find something of my old friend in there, but I have never witnessed such a girly conversation in my life.”

Sharon and I collapsed in a fit of giggles and had to be helped to the table where our drinks were still waiting for us. We took pity on Phil after that and allowed him to steer the conversation towards a topic where he had half a chance of contributing. We only had the one drink with Phil being good and sticking to something fruity and harmless because, as he announced to us a short while later, he had brought his car. Sharon and I both groaned out our appreciation and soon enough we were settling into the soft leather seats and slipping grateful feet out of quite beautiful but otherwise ill conceived shoes. Sharon sat up front to keep Phil company and I drifted away on a cloud of good feelings, still rolling my new name around inside my head.

-oOo-
The next day was a jeans and sweatshirt day. My monthly visitor was showing signs of packing up and going away which helped to lift my mood even higher as I threw myself into the housework. As Ken I'd always been aware of the cleanliness of my surroundings and had been prepared to make an effort to keep them looking good. My new incarnation seemed to have climbed to a new level in that regard and the attention to detail that came into my hoovering, cleaning and polishing put my earlier efforts to shame. By the time I was done, the kitchen and bathroom shone, everything that was made of wood, glass or plastic was dust free and glowing and the carpet was so empty of dirt and stains it might have been fresh off the roll. All that and done by lunchtime.

Soup and a roll and a cup of tea later I was on my feet once more, gathering up all the dirty clothes, separating them into different batches and using the washing machine as it had been intended. Yet again as Ken I had been content with a one setting washes all attitude, but with all manner of delicate fabrics and a keener sense of care towards my clothing and appearance I set about learning new skills with a will. Ironing was the same, slow at first as I spent time reading the labels and working every which way to avoid creases and make a neat job, but with growing confidence and speed as the afternoon wore on. If truth be told there wasn't an excessive amount to do, but I did it with passion and dedication and was just hanging the last of the clothes in various bulging wardrobes when I heard a key in the lock.

“Wow!”

The word was drawn out as though taking in the wonders of Aladdin's treasure cave for the first time. She stuck her head into the bedroom as I closed the wardrobe on last few things I'd put away.

“And the washing and ironing too. You know if my key hadn't fit in the lock I'd have sworn I was in the wrong flat. I'd also ask if you've had a good day but the evidence speaks for itself.”

I smiled.

“You know I actually enjoyed it, but it's all the better for your appreciation. I thought you were going to work late today to make up for yesterday.”

“I was but Clive came and found me at five o'clock and literally shooed me out of the building.”

“You know, when I first met him at church I thought he was a bit of a stuffed shirt; all standoffish and officious. I really wondered why you introduced us, but after yesterday I can see why you enjoy working for him so much.”

“Oh he's always like that. I think he finds it difficult to meet new people so he keeps everyone at arm's length until he gets to know them. Once you get there though, you have a friend for life.”

Sharon was following her usual routine for the end of a working day and pouring out a couple of glasses of wine. She handed me one and we sat down on the sofa to talk through the what we'd done. I'd never been a big conversationalist before, but this was different. What we talked about didn't seem to matter so much as that we actually talked. Sharing things, even inconsequential things, was a way of climbing into each others' lives, of making contact, of growing closer and I found that to be precious indeed.

As usual Sharon did her gourmet thing in the kitchen and I made the appropriate rapturous noises with each forkful. As usual we sat over empty plates and finished the last of the wine while the coffee machine experimented with a few new noises in the background.

“You know I've just realised something? I am going to have to sabotage your relationship with Phil sooner or later. Otherwise if you two ever do get married, I am going to have to go back to bland food and I don't think I can do that.”

Sharon laughed and sipped at her wine.

“Well as I see it we have two options. Either we find you a man who can cook, and believe me when you find a man who can cook you won't think so highly of my efforts...”

“Hmm, is this man going to be rich, good looking and hung like a horse?”

The wine was speaking for me, but I didn't care. Sharon's spluttering and wholly unladylike response was worth the shame.

“Oh I very much doubt it. If such a man existed he probably wouldn't survive the stampede.”

“What's the 'or' then?”

“Or we teach you too cook.”

The idea hung in the air for a while as we both considered it. There didn't seem to be a downside and to be honest, the prospect of being able to prepare a meal that could do to someone what Sharon's cooking had so often done to me in recent days appealed.

“OK, you're on. That is if you're sure you can stand to have a rank amateur faffing about in your kitchen.”

She looked around her at the surfaces, still sparkling from my earlier efforts.

“Anyone who looks after my kitchen like this, amateur or not, has my respect. OK then lesson one. The secret of a good meal is proper ingredients, so tomorrow after I have finished work and you have done with your interview-stroke-audition, you and I are going shopping.”

I gave her a coy look and batted my eyelids at her.

“You sure know how to show a girl a good time don't you?”

“Not that kind of shopping silly. No, meet me at Jan's Diner at about half past five tomorrow. There are some decent shops down there, you know grocers, butchers and the like. Jan shops locally for the diner which is enough of an endorsement for me, and quite honestly I've never been disappointed with what I've bought there. Half the battle is finding decent shops, the other half is recognising the good stuff when you're there, and that we'll cover tomorrow.”

The wine bottle was empty and the coffee machine had uttered its final kaploch. We spent five minutes quickly washing up the dinner things then retired to the living room each with a coffee in hand.

“So, have you decided what you're going to wear tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I've been thinking. I like the idea of wearing my new dress, but I'm still not sure about what to wear with it.”

Sharon put her finger up, effectively putting me on pause, then hurried through to the bedroom. When she came back she was carrying my dress over one arm and a pair of deep burgundy shoes with matching bag in the other hand.

“What do you think?”

The colours complemented each other perfectly. I nodded my appreciation and slipped off my socks to try the shoes for size. Oh yes this was going to work.

We chatted on for a while, looking at where I needed to go and planning how I would get there. Since the timing more or less worked, we decided that I would accompany Sharon into the city centre then make my own way from there; a few stops on the tube then a short bus journey should get me within a ten minute walk of my destination by quarter past nine. That would mean I'd arrive half an hour early which would give me time to freshen up and relax before I had to do anything.

Pre interview nerves chose that moment to rear their ugly heads so Sharon picked out a feel-good movie from her DVD collection and we snuggled up to watch it. Suitably calmed, we then turned in for an early night.

-oOo-
I didn't need an alarm the next day. I woke early with the room still dark and the worst case of jitters I can remember. I eased myself quietly out of bed and tiptoed out to the bathroom. By the time I had finished a leisurely shower and thorough hair wash, Sharon's clock was blaring its nerve grating greeting. With the need to be quiet past, I put the coffee maker on then opened the bedroom curtains and sat down with the hair drier. Sharon stomped out to the bathroom and her own morning ablutions, returning a few minutes later with two cups of Joe and a huge yawn which lasted all the way across the room. She was dressed and making breakfast before my hair was dry enough to leave. I dressed and joined her feeling uneasy about my choice of wardrobe.

“You know this outfit isn't doing anything for my confidence. I can't help feeling that everyone in the world is going to spend the entire day looking at my legs.”

“And why shouldn't they? You have a spectacular pair of pins my dear Lizzy. Go back into the bedroom, look at your self in the mirror and tell yourself, 'Damn I look good.' Repeat it until you believe it. Go on, go and do it now. The eggs still have a couple of minutes to cook so you've nothing else to do. Go on shoo.”

I gave into her pestering but made up my own mantra. Surprisingly it worked and by the time she called me back to the kitchen I was walking taller and straighter and feeling oh so much better.

“There you go. You are going to knock them dead today Liz, and I am going to look forward to hearing your fantastic news later today. Now come on eat up or we'll miss the bus.”

Of course we didn't; my nerve induced early morning insomnia had given us both a relaxed start to the day and still left us fifteen minutes to spare. We even had time to wash up the breakfast dishes before going out the door, rather than leaving them to soak as we usually did.

Sharon filled our journey with inane chatter which only vaguely distracted me. The bus was more than half full and I was acutely aware of almost every eye turning to look at me. Not in itself a good cure for the nerves.

After we stepped off the bus and walked the short distance to her workplace, she turned to me and looked me squarely in the eye. After a moment's waiting I gave her my attention, which she returned with a smile.

“Elizabeth Mary Raeburn, you possess in your little finger more guts, calm and sense than pretty much anyone I know. You are, hand on heart, the most exquisitely beautiful woman I know and right now you are dressed fit to break the heart of every red blooded man you meet, I mean did you see how many people on the bus were checking you out? You are going to have a great day today. Believe in yourself girl, God knows you have reason enough to.”

Checking me out? I guess more than a handful of them had been drooling. Here was another adjustment I had to make. If that many people had been looking at me as Ken I'd have started to wonder if maybe I'd forgotten to do up my fly or perhaps put my trousers on; attention for most guys was taken as a bad thing. As Liz, when people looked at me it was more likely to be because I had done something right. I took a deep breath, imagining myself drawing in all the confidence Sharon was sending my way. It seemed to work as I felt the butterflies in my stomach settle and a calm spread out through my body. I made an effort to stand straight again and let a smile playing around the edge of my lips.

“That's my girl. Call me as soon as you hear the good news, because I know it's going to be good news and I will want to hear it.”

We hugged and I turned towards the Underground and the first leg of my journey.

Everything went as planned and by nine-fifteen I was standing at the end of a long straight road that seemed to lead towards an old industrial complex. I checked the road name against the address on the card Karen had given me then shrugged and started walking. It seemed like an odd venue for a photo-shoot, but this was art and if there wasn't something odd about it, it probably wouldn't be.

The sun was shining intermittently between ragged clouds, occasionally painting the old buildings around me in brilliant hues and highlighting the cracked windows and graffitied walls. Most were empty with 'to let' signs skulking in dusty offices, declaring more clearly than the owners might like just how long it had been since anyone set foot inside them. I mean don't get me wrong, the buildings were, for the most part, ugly and functional, but it seemed a desperate waste that so many properties stood disused and discarded within walking distance, albeit a lengthy walk, of London's living centre.

It had to be admitted that the neighbourhood was not one of the more salubrious, and I found myself fingering my handbag and thinking of the can of mace Sharon had put in there after she found out where I was going. I told myself that nine-fifteen was a bit early for druggies to be about and took comfort in the emptiness of the road. I did pick up my pace even so, and arrived at the address on the card after ten minutes rather than the fifteen a more leisurely stroll might have taken.

The place seemed deserted and long abandoned, and I wondered if I had the address wrong. I checked the card. Nope; right road, right building. Perhaps this was some kind of a joke? Behind me there was movement on the street and I glanced over my shoulder to see a few emaciated figures emerging from dark alleys. One or two of them seemed to be taking an interest in me and I seriously did not want to hang around outside any longer. I walked up to the front door and pressed the bell, then rapped on the glass door just in case it was in a similar state of disrepair as the rest of the building.

You meant it for evil - 08 by Maeryn Lamonte The place seemed deserted and long abandoned, and I wondered if I had the address wrong. I checked the card. Nope; right road, right building. Perhaps this was some kind of a joke? Behind me there was movement on the street and I glanced over my shoulder to see a few emaciated figures emerging from dark alleys. One or two of them seemed to be taking an interest in me and I seriously did not want to hang around outside any longer. I walked up to the front door and pressed the bell, then rapped on the glass door just in case it was in a similar state of disrepair as the rest of the building.

-oOo-
The door moved slightly and further investigation revealed it to be unlocked. I stepped gingerly inside and immediately heard the sound of someone talking in a loud, flamboyant manner echoing down the empty corridor. The more or less continuous click-whirr of an expensive camera acted as counterpoint to the chatter and, with growing confidence that maybe I was in the right place after all, I followed the noise to its source.

The voice led me to a large open plan office, empty of furniture but with some low tables linked together to form a raised stage and screens of elegantly flowing material forming a backdrop for the photographer who proved to be as animated in his movements as he was in his speech.

Curious eyes looked up at me from the stage as I appeared in the doorway, followed by more scattered around the room until only the photographer seemed unaware of my presence. He finally noticed that his subject was no longer responding to his words and followed the collective gaze of everyone else in the room until he found me. A suitably indignant expression formed at the sight of me.

“I was erm, looking for Karen. I'm afraid I'm a bit early.”

My apologetic laugh died in my throat as no-one else seemed inclined to join in.

“She stepped out to make a phone call or two, the reception here is lousy. Never mind, we're already behind schedule, so if you don't mind starting early.”

“Oh, I'm not sure if you understand, I'm only here to...”

“Look, I'm not interested in excuses, time is money. Are you going to get up on the stage or not?”

“Er, yeah... sure.”

“Well get changed and let's get started then. Third screen over there.”

He pointed over to one side of the stage where a number of what looked a little like hospital screens stood next to row after row of portable racks on wheels with a riotous assembly of clothes, all wrapped in plastic.

Behind the indicated screen I found a chair and a mirror and a very efficient looking middle-aged woman. She gave me an appraising look as I entered then nodded her approval.

“No makeup, good. It never ceases to amaze me how many of you girls are too vain to come down to one of these things without putting a bit of slap on first.”

She stuck her head round the curtain and called to the photographer.

“Andrew! Autumn cloud to start with?”

He gave her an approving nod and before I knew it, I was being helped out of altogether too much of my clothing — yes underwear too, which was replaced with something so small and flimsy as to be almost non-existent — and then helped back into a dress made from layers of floating chiffon in all manner of Autumn colours; reds, browns, yellows, pale greens. Matching hosiery was added and a pair of bronze sandals, then I was pushed into the chair, a bib clipped into place and a very rapid and professional makeup job done on me. Last of all, my hair was teased into a subtly different style before the bib was pulled away.

“Right you're done, go and earn your money.”

The dress felt wonderful; like wearing a cloud (hence the name perhaps?); and I was still reeling from the speed with which everything had been done. Carried by the twin sensations of wonder and delight, I danced up the steps and pirouetted onto the stage for my first performance in front of the camera, bubbling joy pushing a laugh out of my mouth as I did so. The camera was click-whirring away and photographer Andrew's voice came not far behind.

“Ok, wonderful, but please no improvisations now. Ok, walk towards me, it is beautiful Spring day and you are filled with the joys of the season. Hold your arms out to your side. Good. Now look up at the sun and smile your beautiful smile. Perfection. Ok now dance a little, turn around slowly, no a little slower. Good, good, now let's try something a little different...”

The voice droned on and I followed its lead. It seemed I was up there just a few seconds before he told me that was enough. Somewhat disappointed I climbed down the stairs thinking that somehow I had failed the audition, so it came as a surprise when my wardrobe assistant come bully grabbed me by the arm, undressed me and then eased me into another dress. The constant monologue continued from the other side of the screen for the second model as I was pushed back into the chair for a slight change to my makeup and hair style. The bib was whipped away just as Andrew dismissed my counterpart and I was chivvied back towards the steps for my second performance.

This time the dress was more formal; a full length, sleeveless ball gown in shimmering emerald green. Feeling like a princess, I climbed the steps more regally and waited for instructions. They weren't long in coming, and I allowed myself to be led by the incessant stream. Again the time on the stage seemed to last a moment before I was dismissed. As I descended back to my earthly hideaway for my next change, I felt the cold rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins and my heart raced so fast I thought it would burst.

I hardly had time to register what I was wearing; to enjoy the feel of the fabric, the look of the outfit. I fell into a rhythm — strip, dress, makeup, hair, steps, follow the voice, dismissed — over an over again it continued. At one point Karen put her head into the room and smiled as she recognised me up on the stage. She turned away almost immediately, punching numbers into her mobile phone as she walked back out the door.

I lost track of time but, unceasing as the routine was, didn't find myself running low on energy. At one point a bottle of some posh, overpriced bubbly water appeared on the dressing table, covered in a dew of condensation and chilled to perfection. I did my quick change routine and sat in the chair looking at it longingly while my personal tormentor dabbed away at my eyes and cheeks.

“Go on, that's yours.”

I grabbed the bottle and gratefully chugged down a third of its contents while she teased my hair into some subtly new variation on the current theme, then the other girl was dismissed and I was on my feet and heading for the steps and the camera's eye once more.

Eventually Andrew called out for everyone to take five and I stepped behind the screen to have my most recent outfit replaced with a warm, plush dressing gown. As the adrenaline subsided to be replaced by the first wave of fatigue and I wrapped eager lips around a second bottle of water, Karen's voice drifted across from the other side of the screen.

“So Andrew, how did the audition go?”

“Karen! I'm sorry what?”

“The audition, the new girl. I saw her on the stage when I popped my head in about an hour ago. I presume she told you why she was here.”

“She said she was here to see you. I just assumed that you had hired her. You mean to say that she was only here for an audition?”

“Yes, where is she. I want to talk to her after you tell me how she got on.”

“Over there behind the third screen. But you mean to tell me that this was her first time?”

“Yes, what are you trying to say?”

“She has been working for me at full tilt for the last hour and a half. She and Lauren have worked through I think three racks between them.”

“What?”

Rapid footsteps approached and the screen was pulled aside. Karen's face appeared over my shoulder in the mirror.

“My dear I'm so sorry, I only meant for you to spend ten or fifteen minutes out there. I'm afraid it hasn't been a particularly good morning for me; someone let me down and I've been trying to find a replacement...”

“And I thought your were the replacement. If I had known this was your first time...”

They both seemed surprisingly contrite. I climbed shakily to my feet and smiled at them both.

“It's alright really. It was great fun.”

Karen looked at me then over at Andrew, still not quite getting what was going on, mind you neither was I. Andrew took Karen's arm and led her over to a different corner of the room where a number of computers were humming quietly to themselves.

“She is a natural, come see. I think she even has the cover photograph.”

Curiosity took the better of me and I followed behind them, padding softly in slippered feet. I peered over Karen's should — not easy since she is quite a bit taller than me — and there I was on the screen, twirling in that first dress, the layers of chiffon swirling elegantly around me and my face beaming out the sheer joy I had felt in that first moment.

Andrew scanned his way through the thumbnails, bringing up image after image of me in different clothes, different poses, all the while looking natural and genuine. Even uneducated as I was I could see they were great photos and, whilst the majority of the credit belonged quite rightly to Andrew as the master behind the apparatus, it was quite evident that a lot of what made them stand out was what I brought to the mix.

Karen turned to me with a thoughtful look on her face.

“Well my dear it seems we have a few things to discuss. Would you like to change back into your own clothes and we'll go and find a quiet office.”

I did as I was bid, taking time to thank the woman who'd been helping me all morning. She gave me an odd look; surprise and gratitude mixed.

“We all do our part dear, and you were as much of a pleasure to work with. Was that really your first time?”

I nodded my head and she shook hers. She was kind enough to help me into my own clothes and gave me a quick hug before I turned back to Karen.

...who led me back down the corridor towards the entrance, to a small office with two plastic chairs and a collapsible table. She reached into an old fashioned, satchel style briefcase for a thick sheaf of papers and a pen, then sat behind the table indicating that I should take the other chair.

I scooped what little there was of my skirts beneath me and sat down, knees together, back straight, a confident expression on my face. I knew I had done well this morning; all that remained was to know how well.

For the first time, I noticed she had the shrewd eyes of a business woman, but set in an honest and friendly face; probably the secret of her success. She scrutinised me carefully for several minutes, all the while tapping her pen against the stack of papers in front of her. I held her gaze calmly, the morning's hard work having drained me of all my nerves.

Eventually she unscrewed the lid from her pen, wrote something in a space left in the otherwise tightly worded top page and pushed the stack of papers across to me. I turned it round to read what she had written and felt the breath go out of me as though someone had punched me in the stomach, my calm seeming to hitch a ride on the departing air.

It was a number. A very big number. Several times bigger, in fact, than my annual salary as an accountancy clerk. I turned towards Karen with disbelieving eyes and a slack jaw. She smiled. A very genuine smile that extended deep into her eyes.

“Yes it is generous for a first-timer, but it's like Andrew says, you're a natural and the camera loves you. Not only that but you're a hard worker. I've paid as much as this to a ten year veteran and not been as satisfied with the results. Elle-gance is a high end fashion catalogue that both deserves and can afford the kind of publicity you would bring to it.

“You should read though the contract before you decide whether or not to sign though, because we will get our money's worth out of you. I'm sure you'll check it for yourself in any event, but to give you an idea on what's involved, in addition to four two week sessions spaced evenly throughout the year when you would be working on photo-shoots like the one we've been doing this morning, you will be signing away copyright and royalty privileges on the photographs we take, you will be expected to make appearances at a number of high profile celebrity functions throughout the year, wearing Elle-gance clothes of course, and you will be restricted from taking up similar work with any other clothing brand or endorsing their product for the duration of the contract. In fact Elle-gance retains the right to decide for you whether any job offer might be appropriate. Image is everything in this business and what you do while employed by the company reflects on them.”

I looked back down at the contract, still not quite able to make sense of the number. I shook my head slowly trying to take it all in.

“Oh yes, a couple of perks of the job. You get to choose and keep any outfits you wear for the publicity events, plus you get a sizeable discount on everything else — twenty five percent I think — which you can pass onto your friends.

“Of course I'm not expecting you to make a decision here and now. I suspect you don't have an agent, and you really ought to have someone looking out for your interests before you put pen to paper. If I'm right and you don't have representation, may I suggest this person.”

She retrieved a business card from her briefcase and handed it across to me.

“She is a friend of mine and we do try to help each other out as much as we can; she sends the best of her clients my way and I send any new talent I come across to her. That being the case I'll understand if you suspect my motives and look elsewhere for an agent, however I do urge you, whatever you do be careful; there are an awful lot of sharks in this particular pool. I like Ann because she tries to be honest in a profession as opposed to most who are greedy and unscrupulous and do not care for your well-being.”

She looked me straight in the eyes, her gaze steady and, to the fullest extent that I could tell, honest. I managed to close my mouth and give her my full attention.

“This is a good offer. I won't beat about the bush, I was very impressed by what I saw down there this morning and I want you in this next catalogue, which is why I'm prepared to pay you what I think you're worth rather than just give you a salary more appropriate to a newcomer. You shouldn't take my word for it though. Talk to Ann, talk to some other agents — you'll find adverts all over the place in fashion magazines — take the time to do some research and thinking and to read through that pile of paperwork with a lawyer, then when you're ready give me a call. If you can manage it before Monday then I'd like to get you into the next catalogue.”

She scribbled a number on the back of the agent's card she'd just given me.

“That's my private number. You can get me any time, even over the weekends. Oh yes and because you put in a full hour and a half's work instead of the fifteen minute audition I had intended, I'm going to make a good faith gesture and pay you for your time.”

She pulled out a purse and counted out three twenty pound notes.

“This doesn't tie you to anything, it doesn't even give us permission to use the photographs we took of you today. It's just a way of saying thank-you and showing you that we value your time and effort.”

I put my hands up.

“I, I can't accept that, I'm sorry. I came here for an audition and an interview. The fact that it took longer than you intended still doesn't mean I should expect to be paid for it. If you don't get anything of value out of this morning's work then neither should I.”

She gave me that penetrating look of hers then gathered up the notes and put the money back into her purse.

“Alright then, if you're sure? Any other questions? Fine. In that case I won't keep you any longer. You have some serious thinking to do as well as some advice to seek and I still have a very busy afternoon ahead of me. It's been a pleasure to meet you, er...”

“Liz. Elizabeth Raeburn”

“Liz. It's been a pleasure and I rarely get to say that with as much genuine feeling as I do right now. I look forward to hearing from you in a few days.”

She held out a hand which I accepted, then she led me to the front door, barely giving me time to put the contract — still unread except for the astonishingly large number written on the front page — and the agent's business card into my handbag. Before I realised it I was back on the street on my own again.

-oOo-
I walked back towards the bus stop lost in thought. The skies had cleared and a fresh, gusty wind was playing with my skirt. There were a few more would be zombies wandering the street or skulking in the shade, but they were all too locked into their own private hells to pose a threat. Out of the corner of my eye I thought I caught sight of an add looking pipe being passed around and a fifty yards further on there was what looked like a hypodermic syringe hidden in the rubbish. Feeling like a coward, I pretended not to notice and walked on.

That big number on the contract was prominent in my mind, but then a random thread of thought strayed to the buildings around me and started niggling away at the beginnings of a totally unrelated idea. I left it to do its own thing and concentrated instead on planning how I was going to inform my decision on whether I should sign the papers in my bag.

The bus was a while in coming so by the time I'd made my way back to Sharon's place of work it was getting on for quarter to one. I asked at reception for her giving my name, and a few minutes later she appeared pulling her coat on. She told the receptionist that she was taking a slightly early lunch then took my arm and dragged me back out into the busy street.

“So? How did it go?”

I pulled the contract out and showed it to her. She stopped dead in her tracks and stared at the number just as I had done.

“No way!”

“Apparently yes way, but I have some work ahead of me to make sure there's nothing sneaky in the contract.”

I went on to describe the morning and how much fun I'd had , then to repeat all the things Karen had told me. Sharon pulled me into a nearby café, ordered sandwiches and coffee for both of us then started reading through the contract. The single-mindedness of her concentration shut me out, and I looked around awkwardly for something to pass the time. When the sandwiches and coffees arrived I started on my own leaving Sharon to her private world and not daring to interrupt. I'd finished eating and had more or less emptied my cup of coffee by the time she surfaced and put the papers down.

“It's a good contract; well written and fair. No hidden nasties, no loopholes and as far as I can see nothing left unaddressed. Just the sort of thing I'd expect from Karen.”

She looked at my slightly stunned expression and laughed.

“Look Liz, this is what I do. Do you think high paid lawyers read through every bit of paper that crosses their desk? No of course not, they get people like me who specialise to do the grunt work,and my job for the last umpteen years has been to read and to write contracts. There are some specifics I don't know because I'm not that familiar with the fashion industry or modelling in particular, but if you'll let me hang on to this for the afternoon, I'll make a few calls, do a bit of research, then give you a blow by blow of everything that's in here when we get home this evening.”

We looked at each other, then at the contract in her lap as she finally picked up her sandwich and took a bite. She raised her gaze to mine with a twinkle in her eye and swallowed.

“Tell you what though, if you do end up taking this job, you're flipping well buying the next lunch.”

We laughed and chatted for another fifteen minutes. I showed her the agent's card and she passed me her mobile so I could call her.

“Hello? Ann Phillips please, oh hello, sorry. My name is Elizabeth Raeburn. Karen...”

I looked at Sharon questioningly and she whispered Karen's surname back to me.

“...Blackheath gave me your name as a possible agent. I had an audition with her this morning for a modelling job. Oh she did, did she? No that's fine. Tomorrow at ten o'clock. The address on the card. No that'll be great. Yes I look forward to meeting you then. Ok thanks, bye.”

I handed the mobile back.

“I'm going to have to get me another one of those. My old one disappeared with my wallet during my first encounter with Mary.”

“Well tell you what, why don't you hang on to this one for the afternoon?”

I made to protest but she shushed me.

“No, you want to make a few phone calls this afternoon, try out a few random agents and stuff, so your need is greater than mine. My friends know not to call me when I'm at work so it's not as if I'm going to miss anything. If someone does phone with an emergency you'll be able to call me on the office number which is in the phone book under AB Solicitors, so no problem.”

I couldn't argue with logic like that so simply thanked her and slipped the phone into my bag. When she'd finished eating, I walked back to work with her, arranging to meet back there at five o'clock so we could do the planned food shop together on our way home. I then looked around for a nearby newsagent and, after a short period of browsing through the fashion magazines, I had a list of phone numbers to try.

The afternoon went quickly. First the two dozen or so phone calls which soaked up about an hour, then planning a route to get to all the ones who'd agreed to see me, then following the plan. As I'd been warned, there were quite a few crocodile teeth among the smiles and it didn't take long before I realised how fortunate I'd been in meeting Karen as a first contact in the business.

I told them that I was looking to become a model and had been offered the chance to work with Karen Blackheath but that I needed an agent to negotiate the contract. After that the fun started. Most agencies I talked to tried to convince me that I needed a portfolio and offered their bargain price, once in a lifetime deal for about a thousand pounds to put one together. When I reminded them that I already had the offer of a job and only needed the contact negotiated, they started to pitch figures at me. They were all significantly lower than Karen had offered me; not so surprising since they all considered me to be a fresh face, but it made me realise just how much faith Karen was putting in me. It also made it difficult trying to decide just how fair they were being; there were quite a few whose offer was disgracefully, suggesting they were looking to make a massive mark-up. By the time I'd made the rounds of the ones who had agreed to see me that day I felt grubby and used, but a fair amount wiser.

On the way back to meet up with Sharon a young man on the tube stood up to offer me his seat, which I gratefully accepted, thanking him with a smile not just for the seat but for the gesture which helped to rebuild some of my crumbling faith in human nature. The fact that his new vantage point gave him a better view of my breasts didn't occur to me until some time later, but I'm not sure if that was just the cynic in me speaking louder after the afternoon's waste of time.

I was five minutes late reaching the law firm, but then Sharon was fifteen minutes behind so it balanced out more or less. We were both tired after a long and busy day so decided to postpone 'lesson one: grocery shopping' to the following day and headed straight home. I did help peal the potatoes and chop the veg, but Sharon did all the clever stuff and we enjoyed our usual cordon bleu quality evening meal over the inevitable bottle of wine.

I went first with the conversation, describing my experiences with the different agencies and the overall sense of disappointment with the whole thing. It wasn't the most uplifting topic of conversation and it was just as well that we had the exquisite food to keep spirits from nose-diving. After we'd eaten and washed up, Sharon dug out my contract and several pages of notes she'd made in the course of the afternoon, then went into a detailed description of each paragraph in turn. As she'd said earlier, the document was fair and airtight, having addressed every issue that came to my mind as well as quite a few that would never have occurred to me. It certainly seemed that Karen was being straight as well as more than generous. Our discussion did raise quite a few questions for me to pose, first to Ann tomorrow then to Karen afterwards, so decision as yet deferred.

“Oh I almost forgot.”

Sharon jumped up in search of her handbag, coming back a few moments later with what looked like a credit card coloured red and pale blue.

“My NI number! Wow that was quick. Tell Clive a huge thanks from me.”

“Ok, will do. He says the rest of the paperwork will follow in about a week.”

I read the card then closed my eyes, repeating the letters and numbers over and over until I had committed them to memory. I juggled with several mnemonic tricks and eventually managed to settle it into what I hoped would become long term memory. The card went into my bedside cabinet and a piece of paper with the details on it into my handbag.

While I was running around organising myself, Sharon quietly picked up her night things and headwed for the bathroom.

“Well, I don't know about you, but I'm going to have soak.”

With that she closed the door leaving me alone and at a loss. I cast about for something to read, but Sharon isn't a great book person. Eventually, with nothing more interesting in evidence, I picked up her Bible. It was worn and well used and stuffed full of bits of paper so with some care I opened it near the beginning and flipped my way through to Genesis 50. From there I worked my way back to the beginning of the Joseph story, surprised to discover that I had to go back fourteen chapters and fifteen pages to find it.

I settled in for a read, but stopped almost immediately. Dreams. The whole thing was about dreams. It started off with Joseph dreaming about his future and annoying his family with his predictions. It went on to telling other people's futures from their dreams in prison and from there to interpreting Pharaoh's dreams and saving most of the known world from drought. Was it possible that my dream from Sunday might be more than my mind messing with me?

In the dream it had definitely been me back on the streets, but all that had done was make it clearer how dangerous, how hard, how lonely it was to be stuck out there. I thought about the pastor's words from Sunday as well, and the germs of thought that had sprouted this morning.

Those thoughts were disturbing and I pushed them to one side and focused on the story in front of me. It didn't take long to read but left me with more questions than answers. The dreams in the story had all been highly symbolic and not at all like my own, then there were so many other things in the story that didn't seem to fit or to make much sense. I closed the book with some frustration and padded through to the kitchen, my thoughts trailing after me and clamouring for my attention.

I made two mugs of hot chocolate and went to knock on the bathroom door.

“It's open.”

I stepped in and put one of the mugs on the edge of the bath within easy reach of its occupant. The part of me that still hadn't quite forgotten that I was no longer Ken started making a fuss about me sharing a bathroom with the naked girlfriend of my best friend, but Sharon's lack of concern, coupled with the total lack of arousal at the sight of her sitting up in the bath overruled and I told myself to shut up.

I put the lid down on the toilet and perched there staring into my drink. Sharon wanted to know what was up so I told her about my reading and my confusion. She looked over at me an gave the matter some thought before answering.

“First I think you're starting in the wrong place if your going to read that book. As a beginner you'll be better off looking at one of the gospels; possibly Mark because its short. That's kind of where the clues are to what God's all about. Secondly, and I can understand why you have an interest in the Joseph story after what's happened recently, you need to be a bit discerning about what you read out of it. Not all of what's in that story is going to be relevant right now, so be ready to leave bits to one side if they don't seem to fit. Also, just because it went that way for Joseph doesn't mean it's going to do the same for you. I mean for one thing Joseph wasn't turned into a girl was he? If you think that there really is a message in this for you, you need to go to the source about it. You know talk to God maybe, or if that makes you too uncomfortable talk to Pastor James about it. I'm sure he'd be happy to take you through it.”

It was probably good advice, but it wasn't what I wanted to hear. I mean after what I'd been through I would have to be in extreme denial to say I didn't believe in God or the devil or miracles, but I'd spent pretty much all of my life up until now without thinking along those lines, and it's hard to break a habit like that. There were bits of me that still automatically discounted the possibility of anything out of the ordinary affecting my every day life, even when I looked in the mirror and saw Liz looking back instead of Ken.

I muttered my thanks and walked out the room. Early as it was, I was tired and this wasn't something I could resolve quickly. I changed and settled into bed expecting to toss and turn with it through the night, but I was asleep before Sharon joined me.

-oOo-
The next morning I woke to the sound of Sharon's alarm, and made us both breakfast while she was getting ready to go. My one appointment for the day with Ann Phillips was a twenty minute bus ride away meaning I had an extra hour before I needed to leave the house. Mind you with my head as muzzy as it was there was a chance I might even miss that.

Conversation was stilted over breakfast, largely because Sharon had to do most of the work with me taking the silent role. It seemed that my ninety minutes on the catwalk had taken more out of me than I realised. Sharon dug out the sheets of paper with the questions we had come up with the previous night so that I actually had something to go from when I met with this prospective agent, then she left me to my own devices having made arrangements to meet at Jan's diner as we had originally planned the previous day.

I bumbled about the empty apartment for a few minutes more before using the shower to inject some humanity back into myself. I chose smart but comfortable, settling on a trouser suit with dark brown slacks and a long brown and cream flowery top. The softness of the material was far more comfortable than anything I had worn as a man — that is to say anything I had worn outside my room — and, with my comfortable boots, I was pleasantly warm compared to the skirts and dresses I'd been wearing lately.

The bus ride was uneventful, depositing me a mere fifty yards from Ann's office, which meant I arrived with ten minutes to spare. I rang the bell and was buzzed into a neat little waiting room with comfy seats and a coffee table piled high with current fashion magazines. A small, plump thirty-somethingish woman bustled into the room and came over to me with her hand outstretched.

“Hi. Liz isn't it? Make yourself comfortable and I'll be with you in a few minutes. Would you like a drink? Tea or coffee?”

Her greeting was so genuine and her smile so welcoming, I couldn't help but match it as I took the proffered hand.

“Yes, Liz. I think I could do with a coffee if you don't mind.”

“Of course not, take a load off and I'll be with you as soon as I've dealt with this.”

She ducked back into an adjoining office and I heard enough of a snippet of the resumed phone call to gather that the person on the other end of the line was having a bad day before the door closed.

I passed the time flipping through some of the fashion magazines. I'd been interested in women's magazines before, but rarely dared to pick one up. Now the contents were that much more relevant and there was no longer any shame should I be discovered. Needless to say I dived in with a passion. Like a starving man at a banquet, I sampled a bit of everything and found it impossible to decide what deserved my attention first. I was saved from my dilemma by an opening door.

“Sorry about that, some things just can't be put off.”

“It's alright, I think I'm a little early anyway.”

“Not any more dear. Come on through to my office, the kettle's boiled.”

I followed her into a small room with a big desk and two chairs. She poured water into two mugs and stirred them vigorously, then handed one to me. It may well have been the worst cup of coffee in living memory, but then on the plus side it did have much needed caffeine in it. I accepted it gratefully and somehow managed to drink it without making a face.

We talked for about an hour, or rather she did. I was rather taken with her effervescent charm and found myself liking her very much, very quickly. She gave my contract a swift and professional once over, her eyebrows shooting up at the proposed salary on the front page, then knitting together as she ploughed through all the legalese. After five minutes she summarised it with the exact same bullet points Sharon had used, then told me I would be an idiot to pass up an opportunity like this. She launched into the saga of how she and Karen had met, drifting off down side track after side track, sharing anecdotes that painted Karen in a very good light. She then spent some time going over what she could offer me as an agent, which was surprisingly much considering that I already had a good offer of work.

After an hour she seemed to be running out of steam just as I was running out of coffee.

“Good grief, have you actually finished that? I can't remember the last time a visitor drank more than half of what I gave them. Sorry I should have warned you, I am lousy at making drinks.”

After we'd shared a chuckle at that and I had declined the offer of a second cup, I took advantage of her temporary silence to ask some of the questions Sharon and I had come up with. The answers seemed good and I made up my mind at that point to both sign the contract and let Ann represent me. I said as much and in so doing prompted another enthusiastic monologue, the main theme being that I wouldn't regret it. She rummaged in her filing cabinet, all the time listing various options relating to her services. I answered as best I could, taking her advice when I was unsure. Eventually we came to the matter of her fee.

“Now ordinarily I'd charge a percentage of your income, which ends up working in the interests of most girls who are just starting out. In your case though, you'll be better off if I charge you a fixed rate.”

“What if I get made redundant?”

“Reading between the number, I'd say that there is almost no chance of that happening. Karen wouldn't offer you a salary like that if she didn't see something special. In fact I suspect that by the end of the year she'll be more worried about losing you than the other way round. In the unlikely event of your unemployment then I work to get you another job. In the equally unlikely event that I don't succeed, then you get to cancel your contract with me if you wish and I don't charge you for my lack of success. If I do get you a job and it pays significantly less than you've been offered here, I'll let you switch to the percentage deal. That sound fair to you?”

“It sounds a bit too fair. I'm wondering why you would do something like that. I mean you do run this as a business, don't you?”

“I do, but it's my business. No-one tells me what to do and I decided long ago that if I can't make money and keep my customers happy at the same time, then I don't want to do it. As it is I do well enough and all my clients are happy with my service. If it means I can't afford a secretary or a fancy coffee maker, then so be it.

“Liz, I enjoy my job, I enjoy seeing young girls like you reach their full potential, and more than anything, I enjoy being able to stick two fingers up at all the parasites in this business by treating some of their prospective clients like human beings and showing everyone that it's possible to be in this business without being a total bitch. Karen has a similar attitude, although she seems to be a bit better than me at making money from it. Are we good?”

I decided we were and signed my new name on a couple of documents.

“Great, let's call Karen and tell her the good news.”

She picked up the phone and hit one of the speed dials. It was a relief to have her attention diverted away from me for a while and I didn't really register what Ann was saying to my new employer. She put the phone back down and turned to me.

“Right, now that that's sorted, Karen has asked if you'd be willing to start straight away. It seems this is the second day in a row she's been let down by someone; fortunately for me, not one of my clients. Still how do you feel about it? If you're up for it I'll call for a taxi. Karen has agreed to pay for it at the other end.”

And so I ended up being driven across the river in a London black cab with the signed contract on my lap. Karen was as good as her word, waiting outside when we pulled up and paying the driver before dragging me into the building and the improvised studio. Within no time I was back to parading back and forth in an amazing collection of clothes, following Andrew's continuous chatter and having the time of my life.

We finished about five o'clock after three gruelling hour-and-a-half sessions. I was trying to figure out how I could get in touch with Sharon to tell her I would be late for our planned grocery shop when Karen came up to me.

“I really am grateful for your filling in this afternoon, and from the look on Andrew's face it's probably better for us that you were here instead of Lulu. How did you feel it went today?”

“Oh, just like yesterday; tiring but great fun. Look I'm sorry to be a pain but I'm supposed to meet Sharon at the shops near her flat in half an hour, is there anywhere I can make a phone call to let her know I'll be late?”

“Well you could use my phone, or better still I'm heading back that way now. Why don't I give you a lift then you won't be late? I still need a few employment details from you which you can fill out on the way.”

It sounded like a plan so we left a crew of workers packing up all the clothes and expensive gear for the weekend and headed out to her car. Once we were seated, she fished out a bunch of forms and a pen which she passed over.

“Oh yes. Usually salary is paid monthly at the end of the month, but I figure since you're just starting out you might be happy to have the last couple of days paid early. Give you some spending money for the weekend”

She handed over a plain brown envelope which I opened. There seemed to be a good number of twenties in there; at least ten of them.

“Thanks. That's really very kind.”

“You're welcome. Now where am I taking you?”

I told her and we pulled out onto the empty road while I started to tick, cross and scribble my way through the form. For a while we travelled in a silence invaded only by the quiet hum of the engine and the scratch of my pen. Despite the number of pages, it didn't take me long to fill them in, at least in part because I still didn't have all the answers.

“I don't have a bank account.”

“Not to worry, sort it out tomorrow and bring me the details on Monday. We still have another week 'til the end of the month so I won't need them till then.”

I twisted round and put the pen and papers on the seat behind me.

The silence deepened, or maybe it was just me and the mood I was sinking into. I mean things were really working out for me, I was a person again, with a name, an identity, even a job. But something niggled, like a stone in my shoe; not exactly painful, but uncomfortable and constantly distracting. I thought about my dream, the kids at church, the desperate, ruined lives of the people back on the street where we had been working. If Sharon hadn't offered me a lift that evening, had I not had the support and care of my friends, I would have ended up like that, or worse if death could be considered worse. I couldn't sit by and do nothing.

“Karen?”

“Mmm?”

“Why do you use that place for the photo-shoots? I mean it's hardly glamorous is it?”

“You'd be surprised. Fashion has a bit of a hard edge at the moment, likes a bit of urban grit. Did you see those photos in the papers the other day where the models were made up to look like they had graffiti spray-painted on them?”

“Yes but we haven't been doing that. We have backdrops to put a gentler background to the photographs. You wouldn't know we were in a run down office.”

She gave me an appraising look.

“I should know by now not to judge a book by its cover. I shouldn't assume a level of intelligence just because you have a pretty face.

“We use that building because it's cheap and easy to book at short notice and for short periods. If I wanted a professional studio already decked out it'd cost me about four times as much, and I'd either be leasing it for longer than I wanted or paying a premium for a short term lease.”

“Would you mind if I asked you how much it cost to rent?”

She glanced across at me.

“Why what do you have in mind?”

“Oh, just the beginnings of an idea, I don't even know if it's possible.”

“Sometimes it helps to talk things through with someone.”

I pointed over to one side where a group of young people were sitting on the pavement. One thing about living in London, if you want to find an example of homeless people, you don't usually have to go too far.

“I was wondering if there might be a way of arranging things so that they could use one of the empty buildings. I mean there's an office building next door to the one we were using that's seven stories of empty space with windows so covered in grime I doubt anyone's used it in three or four years. Can you imagine how many people you could shelter in there?”

She sighed.

“It's not as easy as that. For a start there are regulations governing what a building can be used for, then there's the owners of the building; I doubt they're going to be agreeable to letting a couple of hundred young vandals move into it, whatever you offer to pay them.”

“Yes but they're only obstacles, not impossibilities. Surely if you show the right people that you're solving a problem that affects everyone then a way can be found to get over or around the difficulties? And they're not vandals, they're human beings who are angry and frustrated, possibly even desperate because they're stuck in a situation they can't remedy and no-one is offering them the help they need to get out.

“I mean businesses get a tax break for charitable contributions don't they? Why can't they contribute the use of an otherwise useless building instead of capital? As for changing the status of the building, surely the homeless are a major government problem, surely there must be someone somewhere who has the authority to change the bureaucracy and the guts to do so for the benefit it will bring.”

“Who will man your shelter? I mean something that big will need quite a few staff to make sure it runs smoothly.”

“I was thinking the people we help could do that. I mean a major part of the challenge of getting off the streets is to get a paying job. Having three to six months helping to run a homeless shelter is going to look good on anyone's CV.”

“You've really given this some thought haven't you?”

“Not really. This is just the tip of the iceberg, and I know there are a million things I haven't thought of yet, but you have to start somewhere and I'm not going to let a few little problems get in the way, this is too important.”

We were approaching Jen's Diner. I checked my watch, three minutes to spare. Karen pulled over to the side of the road and sat silently staring out at the road, the cogs turning so fast you could almost hear them hum. She seemed to make up her mind.

“You know I think this isn't as far fetched as I first thought. You have the energy and the time, at least you will once we've finished photographing you next week. In a few months you will also have a growing public profile which will put you in contact with the sort of people who might be able to help if only you can persuade them to do so. What's more, for you to have a cause like this will help to promote Ellegance to the point where it may be worth their while supporting your efforts.

“Let me give this some thought. You carry on with your ideas and plans for now and in a few weeks we'll see what can be done about inviting you to the right parties. There's even a good chance that that I can find you a few philanthropic businessmen who might be prepared to contribute to work once it gets started. What do you say?”

The stone in my shoe seemed to shrink, sill there but not so insistent, and I managed a smile.

“Ok then, I'll see you bright and early on Monday morning, remember eight o'clock for a start at quarter past.”

I waved her away and was on the verge of going into the diner when a bus pulled up from the City. Sharon was amongst the passengers who stepped off and I waved her over.

“Coffee before we start? My treat this time.”

“Ooh, sounds like you have some news.”

Did I ever. The coffee stretched to a second then a third cup as I told her of my acceptance of the job, the unexpected afternoon's work and the discussion of my idea on the way here. The last part seemed to strike a spark in Sharon and she begged me for details. We then spent the next hour wandering around various shops, alternately discussing ideas on how we could push my project forward and talking about how to pick out the best fruit, veg and meat.

The discussion continued over the preparation and consumption of our evening meal, surprisingly all the more enjoyable for my having had an active part in the cooking, then we cleaned up and started getting ready to go out. Being Friday, we had a standing arrangement to meet up with Phil for a meal and a movie, so we both made an effort to look presentable.

We arrived at the prearranged meeting place to find Phil sitting with another guy. He had his back to us, but I thought I recognised Phil's friend from work, Pete Danson. I turned to Sharon.

“This had better not have been your idea.”

“Why? With a scorching hot bod like yours it wouldn't be right for you to play third wheel any more.”

“You could at least let me choose.”

“Look it's only one evening and you don't have to do much more than talk to him. I'm not expecting it to work out, but you should have some company instead of sitting there watching me and Phil all the time.”

I plastered a smile on my face and tried to act enthusiastic as introductions were made. Pete got off to a shaky start by addressing my cleavage, then totally losing the power of intelligent speech as the cave man in him took control for a while. I endured it for a few minutes then excused myself to go to the loo, giving Phil an exasperated look as I walked away.

Sharon came trotting along in my wake, all apologies and concern until I burst out laughing, at which point she joined in with me.

“I'm going to have to get used to this aren't I? I mean poor guy, I remember how I felt the few times Phil introduced me to one of your more attractive friends. I guess this is payback after a fashion.”

We stayed in the toilets for a few minutes, touching up makeup that didn't really need any attention and chatting about this and that. By the time we made it back to the table there was evidence that Phil had made good use of the time because Pete stood as we approached.

“I owe you an apology Liz, it's just that you are so stunningly beautiful. Can I at least offer you a drink?”

It was a little too smooth, but it was an olive branch. I took it.

“A glass of white wine would be nice thank-you. A small one please, the Pinot Grigiot.”

He headed off to place the order and I leaned across the table to hiss at Phil.

“Tell me he's not one of the dickheads who slipped something into your drink a couple of weeks ago.”

Phil ducked his head sheepishly.

“Phil, what the hell were you thinking?”

“Look I'm sorry, Sharon suggested it would be a good idea if I could arrange some company for you, and I have no idea what your taste in men might be. I do know that other girls find him quite good looking, so I figured he was as good a place as any to start.”

“I wouldn't care if he had greasy hair and eczema as long as he had a personality.”

There wasn't time to say anything else as Pete was on his way back. He put his hand on my back and placed a large glass of wine in front of me. I forced a smile and took a sip.

Things degenerated rapidly form there. Pete seemed to have recovered what he might call his mojo and managed to keep the conversation ticking along. An inordinate amount of it seemed to be about himself, and he became excessively tactile, touching me on the leg and the arm whenever he wanted to make a point. It made me feel uncomfortable to the extent that I started squirming away from his hands. Phil and Sharon could see the effect it was having on me and were looking just as uncomfortable. In the end I had enough. I took hold of the hand he had just placed on my bare thigh and lifted it off.

“Listen Pete, this isn't working for me. Maybe I'm unusual, but my idea of an enjoyable Friday evening doesn't stretch so far as to include listening to someone I've just met tell me his life story while taking every opportunity to grope me. I'm sorry, you're probably a nice guy and most girls probably love you on sight, just not this one I'm afraid. Thanks for the drink.”

I stood up to leave with him ready to protest.

“You've only drunk half of it.”

“Actually if you remember, I asked for a small one, which is about how much I've drunk. The rest must be yours.”

I turned to Phil and Sharon.

“Sorry to ruin the evening guys, I'll see you later.”

I picked up my coat and headed for the door. More or less as expected, Phil and Sharon divided forces with Sharon chasing after me leaving Phil with the more awkward job of dealing with his friend.

“I'm sorry Liz, I really thought this would be a good idea.”

“It might have been with almost anyone else. Look Sharon, I'm still a bit confused about my feelings for men right now. I think in time with the right guy it has a good chance of working, but encounters like just now are not going to help.”

We walked on in silence for a while. I was heading towards the bus stop and Sharon noticed.

“Look why don't we find another bar and I'll text Phil, see if he can get rid of Pete and meet us there? We can at least go and see that film you wanted to see.”

“I'm not really feeling that much like it at the moment Sharon, I'm sorry.”

“Maybe in half an hour with another glass of wine inside you?”

I couldn't help but smile.

“Ok, we'll have that drink, but not the movie. I have something else in mind. It'll involve a bit of walking, how are you're shoes?”

Sharon glanced down.

“They should be alright for a few miles. What do you have in mind?”

“You'll see. Text Phil, we'll need to have him along.”

You meant it for evil - 09 by Maeryn Lamonte “Ok, we'll have that drink, but not the movie. I have something else in mind. It'll involve a bit of walking, how are you're shoes?” Sharon glanced down. “They should be alright for a few miles. What do you have in mind?” “You'll see. Text Phil, we'll need to have him along.”

-oOo-
Phil appeared ten minutes late, mercifully alone. I saw him first and waved him over feeling both relieved and oddly guilty.

“How's Pete?”

Sharon had bought him a pint along with our drinks when we'd first arrived. He slid onto the seat next to her and downed about a third of it before answering.

“Not the happiest of bunnies I feel. He asked me why it is that the most beautiful girls always turn out to be man hating lesbians, then told me to watch out in case you turned Sharon against me.”

“He did what?”

Sharon was indignant and I had to put out a hand to keep her from jumping up.

“It's ok, it's kind of a thing with some blokes; he had to find fault with me or otherwise admit there was something wrong with him. The sad thing is he'll continue to be a prick until he faces up to the truth.”

“That still doesn't give him the right...”

“I know but knowing he can't really help being an arsehole takes the sting out of it somewhat.”

Since the main jibe had been directed at me and I wasn't showing signs of being upset, Sharon backed down reluctantly, grumbling under her breath. Phil took another heroic swig of his beer, belched quietly into his hand and changed the subject.

“Ok so what's this all about? Sharon said you needed me for something.”

“It's something I have to show you more than tell you. Finish your drink and we'll get started.”

A couple of minutes later we were back out on the streets and heading away from the other Friday night revellers. It took me a few minutes to find my bearings, but after that I picked a direction and started walking. Whatever Sharon had said, her shoes were not designed for distance and neither were mine. I suspected we were both going to regret this little tour in the morning, but this was something I needed to do.

We walked on into the dark, Phil, our great protector, hanging back more and more and looking increasingly nervous.

“Girls, are you sure this is such a good idea? I mean there's only one of me and I'm no fighter. What if we bump into a group of druggies who take it into their heads that we should finance their next fix? I doubt I'll be able to protect myself let alone you two. It hardly seems sensible to deliberately put ourselves in harm's way.”

The point was well made and I regretted thinking poorly of him, but I felt a calm inside and I knew somehow that we'd be alright.

“It'll be fine.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I can't, but I feel it. Listen, you're right, I have no right to drag you into this. You two go back if you want to, but I'm going on. There's something... I don't know, I just have to.”

I stepped into a dark alleyway and heard footsteps beside me.

“You don't think I'm letting you go in there on your own again do you?”

This was followed by a few muttered expletives and a heavier footfall.

“Alright, if we're going to do this, let's do it.”

I didn't say anything but inside I smiled. I should probably have felt more guilty than I did, but it was still reassuring to have them along with me.

The sickly sweet smell of partly decomposed refuse assaulted our nostrils as we picked our way carefully through the filth from one street into the next. Here and there it was added to by the stench of stale urine and other things too unsavoury to mention. They were deserted, apart from the suggestion of movement in some of the darker shadows which suggested rats; much to my unexpected alarm.

We walked on taking turns seemingly at random, but somehow I knew where we were heading. Eventually we came out on a street next to an old brick railway bridge. The arches had been closed off with brick walls, each set with a wooden door, a good number of which had rotted and been broken in. I walked up to one of the open doors, Sharon and Phil close behind me, and peered in to the gloom.

As our eyes adjusted to the deeper darkness within, we made out what at first sight appeared to be a mound of cardboard and paper rubbish, then it moved and first one then several pairs of eyes looked up at us. They were young eyes, clear and wide with apprehension, set in faces camouflaged to near invisibility with accumulated grime.

“It's alright, we don't mean any harm.”

I don't think it would have mattered what I said at that point, they backed up against the far wall like cornered animals. I squatted down on my heels and held my hands out in what I hoped was a friendly gesture.

“I only want to talk.”

They stared back, still too afraid to respond. This wasn't going well. I decided that if all I was doing was scaring them, perhaps I should back off. I stood and withdrew from the doorway.

“I'm sorry to have disturbed you.”

“Oy! What do you think you're doing?”

I looked up to see a largish man walking towards us, arms filled with blankets and followed by three others of similar size carrying similar burdens. They were dressed warmly and sensibly in jeans and donkey jackets making me highly self-conscious of my own clothes.

“We don't mean any harm. We're just... Well it's kind of my idea, we're looking to see something of, well what these people have to live with. Try to get some idea on how we can help.”

“Well you'll excuse me if I find that hard to believe. I mean look at you, you look like you've just come from an effing party. I mean what is this, some new sort of late night entertainment? Come and see the homeless in their natural environment and feel better about your miserable sodding lives?”

A few timid faces had appeared at the door we had just vacated and the four newcomers turned and set about handing out the supplies they had brought. I found myself flushing at the rebuke, I mean he was right, what was I thinking coming here like this with no idea and no answers. Sharon noticed my reaction and came bristling to my defence.

“Listen there's no reason to be unpleasant about it. I mean ok, we're not dressed for it, but this was kind of a spur of the moment thing. We really do want to help.”

He looked us up and down, a dubious expression on his face. I wasn't paying much attention, instead I was looking at the face of a young boy standing by the door holding his new blanket. He was giving me an odd look.

“Hi, my names Liz. What's yours?”

“Anthony.”

“Do you mind if I ask how old you are Anthony?”

“I'm eighteen.”

He looked a couple of years younger, but then that could have been the effects of living on the streets. I offered him an attempt at an encouraging and friendly smile.

“That's the same age as me. Look, I don't mean to pry, but I'm interested in knowing more about you and your friends. If I ask too many questions or if I ask something that seems to nosey, just say and I'll stop. If it's ok though perhaps you wouldn't mind telling me how long you've been living here and how you came to be here.”

“I have a question for you.”

“Sure go ahead.”

“What's someone like you doing here? Why are you interested in me and people like me?”

“Fair question. It wasn't that long ago that I was a bit like you are now. I was lucky though. I found some friends who helped me get off the streets before anything unpleasant happened to me. I don't want it to end with just me though. We were having a drink earlier and it didn't seem right sitting there all dressed up and enjoying ourselves when there's people like you out here. I wanted to come and find out a bit more, see if maybe there's something we can do to help. What do you think?”

“I think you as too many questions.”

He turned back into the ruined storehouse leaving me wondering what I'd said wrong this time. I noticed the big man looking at me, his expression softened.

“Tony's been here a couple of months. Ran away with his younger brother from an abusive home. The brother was picked up by one of the government initiatives and rehoused; they prioritise kids under the age of eighteen. Tony was too old to qualify though so he's still stuck here. Are you serious about what you said? About being on the streets? About helping?”

“Oh yes, completely serious. I have a few ideas but not enough information yet.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well I was lucky, I was only out on the streets for a day and a night before I made friends who helped me. That does mean that I don't have much idea on what the situation is, so although I have some ideas on what might help and how I might go about making them happen, I need to know what the situation is and what would be of most help before I go off half-cocked and make everything worse.”

He nodded his head and, seemingly making up his mind, held out a beefy hand. I took it and had the life squeezed out of mine.

“I'm Bob. You say your name is Liz?”

I nodded trying hard not to wince as I reclaimed my hand and waited for my blood to find its way back into the crushed veins.

“If you're serious about learning more, why don't you swing by our base of operation tomorrow, say about elevenish, and I'll tell you everything you need to know?”

He gave me his address and I dug a pen and paper out of my bag to scribble it down. He then turned to Phil.

“Now can I suggest you escort these lovely ladies back to civilisation. Not everyone around here is all that friendly and I'd hate for something nasty to happen to you.”

“That's just what I was trying to tell them. Erm, perhaps you could tell us the quickest way out from here.”

He pointed and we followed his directions, finding our way first back to better lit streets, and from there to a tube station and bus stop that would take us to our respective homes. We hadn't achieved a great deal, but at least we'd made contact of sorts, and Bob seemed like someone worth talking to.

Phil waited at the bus stop with us until a double decker with our number on it lumbered out of the dark, then they kissed Sharon goodnight with promises to meet up the following morning. I was right about the shoes as well. As soon as we were seated on the bus, they came off and we spent most of the journey home massaging some life back into each other's stockinged feet.

-oOo-
Saturday started slow over coffee and a late breakfast. Both Sharon and I were quiet and reflective, not talking much, each of us lost in our own separate worlds. My feet were still complaining after the abuse I had inflicted on them the previous night. It gave me an opening.

“Next time I'll plan my excursions enough in advance to suggest more appropriate footwear. I hope your dogs aren't barking like mine.”

“Shh, not so loud. Toby's sensitive to words like that.”

As if in answer, the king himself poked his head into the kitchen and came over for some attention.

“Hello you, I haven't seen you for a few days.”

Never mind that, scratch me behind the ears. Go on, you know you want to. Is there anything to eat around here?

It was so easy to imagine the words, almost as though you could hear them spoken. Sharon got up to fill a couple of bowls.

“They do that sometimes; disappear for a day or two, then come back when they've outworn their welcome elsewhere or finished whatever business they had. Cindy and Bella will be around somewhere too, they always travel as a unit. Kind of odd for such solitary animals.”

“You've lived here quite a while haven't you?”

“Four years, just over. Why?”

“I was wondering how you might feel about moving.”

Sharon put the bowls of cat food and water down and came back to the table. The other two cats appeared at the promise of food and set about demolishing the small mound of jellied meat.

“What brought this on?”

“I don't know, it's just that now I'm being paid I can pull my own weight a bit, you know pay some of the bills, food, rent, that sort of thing. It's only fair. Then I thought that between us we could easily afford somewhere larger than this. I mean don't get me wrong, I like this place and it's kind of cosy the way things are, but I'm sure you'd appreciate a bit more space with maybe somewhere to be on your own from time to time. And if we could get a place with two bathrooms...”

She sat down, trying to wrap her thoughts around the new idea. I'd already been thinking about it for a while though and had managed to erect a whole list of hurdles.

“I mean I don't know how you'd feel about it, you have a lot more invested in this place so it's probably unfair of me to suggest it, plus I know cats tend not to like to move around too much. Then there's Phil. I don't know how long you guys are going to take to get back to thinking about marriage, but sooner or later I figure you two are going to be looking to move into your own place. It's just that I really like living with you and... Sh!t, I'm making a mess of this.”

“No you're not sweetie, I'm just a bit surprised I haven't thought of it.”

“Well it has been a busy couple of weeks.”

“You could say that. No what I mean is that I was talking to Mr Bryant the other day when he came for the rent and he was asking if I knew anyone who'd be interested in the flat opposite. It seems my neighbour's moving out at the end of the week.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. It would solve so many problems. You'd have your own place but we could still spend as much time as we wanted together. I'd get my closet space back and you'd have room to extend your wardrobe. We'd both have the privacy we want and that extra bathroom which sounds like a wonderful idea. Then if Phil and I do get hitched, and that's still a way from decided, you'd still be here if one of the cats wandered back into the neighbourhood.

“What do you think, shall I give him a call, see if we can look around later?”

“Wow, ok. What are the chances?”

“It seems like someone upstairs is still looking after you.”

“Yeah, maybe. You'll understand if I reserve judgement on that kind of thinking.”

That kicked things off into a sort of impromptu planning session on how we'd organise the two flats and keep communications between us open with two doors between her living space and mine. We had half a dozen working solutions for various things more or less decided when one of us spotted the time and we both jumped into get ready mode.

I decided on jeans and sweatshirt with my comfortable boots as I expected things to be a bit rough and ready down at Bob's place. They still looked brand new and I fully expected Bob and his friends to laugh at me for being so posh even when I was dressed down. Oh well, couldn't be helped. I shrugged my shoulders and followed Sharon down to the bus stop.

“Are you sure you don't mind being on your own today?”

“No, I have loads to do. I have to open a bank account then I have that meeting with Bob later this morning. I'm sure he'll be able to find some way to keep me busy.”

“Yeah, but that's hardly a way to spend your Saturday is it?”

“I don't know, it'll be different.”

“I suppose.”

She lapsed into a silence that suggested a question she wasn't sure she ought to ask. I waited her out and eventually she caved.

“You know there's one thing I can't figure out about last night.”

“Mmm?”

“How did you know where to go? I mean I know you spent a day and a night on the streets, but from what you said, you never went anywhere near that neighbourhood during your wanderings, so I don't understand...”

“You remember that dream last Sunday?”

“Not likely to forget that in a hurry.”

“No, me neither. It was very vivid.”

“What you mean...”

“...that I went there in my dream, yes, and I used the route we took last night.”

“So the place you were at the end of the dream...”

“I'm not ready to go there yet. Dream or not the memories are too overwhelming.”

-oOo-
We parted company at the other end of the bus ride, Sharon to meet with Phil at some undisclosed location and me to go about my own business. First and foremost was setting up a bank account. I'd been happy enough with the bank I'd used as Ken so decided to continue my business with them. It took half an hour of giving details and I left with a few sheets of paper and the promise that my card and chequebook would arrive through the post within the next week.

After that I went shopping for phones. I spent a while talking to a salesman in a phone shop and had to pass on the phone I wanted, current funds being limited to the advance Karen had given me the previous day. In the end I hunted out a second hand shop and picked up an old but serviceable no-frills model that had been unlocked, then bought a pay-as-you-go sim card from a mini-supermarket. Of course I then had to phone through to Sharon with my new number.

“No it's just temporary until I get my first full pay-cheque and can afford a proper phone. No you should see this thing, I think it's previous 'one careful owner' was Noah. No I'm fine, I'll see you later. Bye.”

I checked my watch; half past ten, loads of time to get to the address Bob had given me before eleven. The first fifteen minutes I took my time, looking in shops and not much liking the clothes on display; it's amazing what two half days parading about in quality fashions can do to spoil you for the better things in life. After a while the shops gave way to more functional, less attractive buildings and with no further distractions, I picked up the pace, arriving at my destination with five minutes to spare.

Bob's Building Supplies was a big sprawling yard stacked high with bricks, sacks of sand, cement, wood, you name it. Just inside the gate was a loading area with a half-dozen vans and flatbed trucks standing in front of some low buildings. Unsurprisingly it wasn't in the des res part of town, but to own so much real-estate this close to the square mile was still pretty impressive. The gates were open and there were signs of one or two people moving about. I took that as enough of an invitation to walk in as far as the nearest building and knock on the door.

“Come in.”

I recognised the voice, raised as it was like the first time I'd heard it. I pulled the door open and stepped into a small, cluttered office.

“Hi, remember me?”

Bob looked up at me in some surprise and took a few seconds to find his lost bearings.

“Hi. Er yes, I mean yes I do remember you. I just wasn't really expecting you.”

“You did say eleven o'clock?”

“Eleven, yes. It's just that I didn't expect you to take me up on the invitation. I've met quite a few people from your side of town; they make nice and seem interested, but as soon as you suggest they come find out what it's all about... Well let's say you're the first who's actually done something about it. I notice your friends didn't come with you.”

“Yeah, they had other things arranged, besides it was kind of me who dragged them along last night. I'm not disturbing you am I?”

“Only from doing my VAT returns, and I'm prepared to forgive you for that. Drink?”

The coffee smelt fresh and welcoming. Apparently the smile and the dreamy look in my eye answered for me as he poured out two mugs and handed one to me.

“Ok, so what do you want to know?”

“Oh, pretty much everything. As I said last night, I was only on the streets for a day and a night; long enough to see that there's a problem, not long enough to learn what's needed to fix it. I also said I had a few ideas, but I don't want to explore any of them too far until I have a better idea as to whether or not they're going to be worth anything.”

He leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the desk.

“Actually, if you don't mind, I'm kind of interested in your story. You say you were on the street one night only. What happened? How did things change for you?”

I shrugged.

“You remember the woman I was with last night? Her name's Sharon. We met just after she'd had a domestic with her fiancé and she didn't want to be alone, so she invited me to stay for a few days. We became friends and she extended the invitation indefinitely. She also introduce me to some of her friends, one of whom sorted out some irregularities with my paperwork, and the other offered me a job.”

“Wow, talk about falling on your feet. I suspect there's more to the story than your telling, but that's ok. It does a good job of describing what most of those people out there are missing. They don't have a permanent postal address which means they can't open a bank account, can't register for benefits, can't even apply for a job. That means they have no means of supporting themselves, paying for food, clothing, rent, which means they can't get a permanent address and so the vicious circle goes round.”

“And that's all they need? Somewhere to stay and a bit of help looking for a job?”

“For a lot of them pretty much, yeah. Statistics show that individuals who stay on the streets for more than two years tend to want to stay there. They get used to the life and find they can do without the hassles of bureaucracy and responsibility, and since they can get by out on the streets, a lot of them choose to stay there. Then there are those with drug dependencies and similar problems; they're the tough ones”

“So how come the government can't fix it, or at least part of it? I mean surely it isn't that difficult or expensive to set up hostels?”

“The problem isn't quite as simple as that. There is a constant flow of new street people every year; quite often asylum seekers who don't understand the system and fall through the cracks when they step a bit out of line. That and the government's main approach to dealing with the problem has been to throw resources at groups like ours who are already trying to do something about it. Most of those resources go into keeping the three thousand odd people out there alive with only a very small number of places able to offer halfway house facilities and then only to relatively few people.

“Sometimes it seems as if the government are in denial as well. About ten years ago they said they would deal with the problem of homelessness in London once and for all by the year 2012. They would lose too much face if they were to turn around now and say that the problem is getting worse rather than being solved once and for all, so instead they do spot counts to estimate the homeless population and these show the numbers decreasing from about two thousand eight years ago to just over five hundred now. The problem is those figures are inaccurate. If they were to ask people like us who are out there working with the homeless on a daily basis, we'd tell them that in the last eight years the number of homeless has risen from over two and a half thousand to over three thousand. They don't want to hear stuff like that though, so they stick with their stats and that means the resources they were offering us are drying up.”

We chatted on for a while, him sharing the experiences of people he'd met on the soup runs; what they were dealing with and what they thought could help, and me talking about my ideas — which he called 'highly ambitious' — and listening to his suggestions on them. Time seemed to disappear and before we knew it, an hour had passed. He was the one who noticed first and jumped to his feet.

“So, how d'you feel about getting your hands dirty?”

“What do you need me to do?”

“Can you cook?”

“I'm learning. I can do chef's assistant.”

“Good enough. We do two soup runs to different parts of the city on a Saturday. The first one is in about an hour and a half, and we need about twenty gallons of soup. Can I add you to a kitchen crew? You'll be mostly chopping vegetables, nothing fancy.”

“Lead the way.”

And so that's what I did. We headed into a largish kitchen that had been purpose built on site and I spent one hour peeling and chopping potatoes, onions, carrots and similar to add to one of the large vats, then we filled Thermos flasks which we loaded into a couple of vans along with tin mugs and bread rolls. Bob invited me to join him in one of the cabs while three other volunteers climbed in behind.

“So you do this every weekend?”

“We do this every day and twice on Saturdays. There are a quite a few of us involved thought, so most of us probably average one run per fortnight. It's worth it though, you'll see.”

And see I did. The amount of food we brought with us fed about fifty people, but we didn't just hand stuff out. Bob took the time to introduce me by name to pretty much everyone who came up to the van, and we spent a good couple of hours chatting to them before gathering in the dirty mugs and heading back to the yard. I was silent on the way back until Bob smiled over at me.

“Takes you like that the first few times.”

“Huh?”

“Doing a run like this. The first time you really understand that they are human beings and not just numbers on a page. Burrows deep in here.”

He thumped himself in the chest and I knew very well what he was talking about.

I helped him wash up the mugs and flasks when we got back to the yard, giving his crew a much appreciated early escape. Through most of it I chewed over my thoughts and feelings, until eventually one floated to the surface.

“You're pretty fortunate having a place like this.”

I indicated the kitchen and the yard around it.

“Yeah I am. My grandfather founded the business; he was a Robert too. Between him and my father, they grew it into the sprawling empire you see around you. I certainly couldn't afford this land if I wanted to buy it at today's prices, and I've had some very tempting offers for it over the years. The thing is I grew up here and I like it, that and it's way to useful as a base of operations for the soup run, so I guess I'll keep the whole thing ticking over then pass it on to my kids when they're old enough, assuming they want it. If not they can sell it. By then it'll be their problem, their responsibility.”

We finished up then I went to fetch my coat while he locked the buildings.

“My brother's coming in to take the evening run so I'm heading off home now. Thank-you for your help and for your company today; it was very much appreciated by all. I was wondering if by way of thanks, perhaps I might offer you a lift somewhere.”

The afternoon's activities had taken more out of me than I had realised and, comfortable boots or not, I wasn't looking forward to my walk back to the city. I accepted gratefully and asked if he could drop me somewhere near my bus route and he over-ruled me, insisting that I tell him where I lived, then set about driving I don't know how many miles out of his way to drop me at my front door. I climbed down from the cab and turned to say goodbye.

“Thanks for everything, you've given me a lot to think about, not to mention the eye opening experience this afternoon.”

“Well if you fancy doing it again any time, you know where to find us. You'll be more than welcome.”

I shut the van door and waved him off, then turned and walked gratefully back home to a hot bath and a glass of wine. There was a twinge of guilt as I thought about the many people I'd met this afternoon for whom such luxuries were quite a way out of reach, but all that did was strengthen my resolve to do something about it.

It was getting on for six by the time I emerged, wrinkled but relaxed, from the bath. I texted Sharon to ask what she and Phil had planned and she responded to let me know they intended to stay in the city for food and entertainment. I made myself a light salad for tea and curled up in front of some awful brain-rot on the TV. It can't have been massively interesting because the next thing I knew was the sound of the door closing as Sharon came breezing in, filled to the withers with the wonderful time she and Phil had enjoyed.

We chatted for a while, and I managed to keep my eyes open long enough to register that their relationship was well on its way to being back on track. Sharon noticed me drooping and shooed me off to bed, telling me I could share my day's experience with her in the morning. I did make it to the bed, but left Sharon the job of hanging up my dressing gown and pulling the duvet over me.

-oOo-
I dressed down for church, I mean as much as I could, given that pretty much all the clothes I owned were brand new. I wore a fairly ordinary green skirt and top, partly because Sharon told me some of the older women at church had a thing about girls in trousers (and why rock the boat?), but mostly because I wanted to. I had great legs and I liked showing them off. A pair of spearmint coloured tights and a pair of green tennis shoes finished the casual look. Karen might have a fit, but I was hoping that maybe I'd look a little less intimidating to the street kids, assuming of course that they came back this weekend.

The service was similar to the previous week's effort, except that I tried joining in with a few of the songs this time. Pastor James spoke on relationships, which had Phil and Sharon snuggling closer to each other and me rolling my eyes, until he moved onto talking about our relationship with God. Yet again I realised that I had some unusual experiences in my life that most people didn't. I couldn't ignore that God wanted something to do with me, but I had no idea how to go about responding. Something to raise with the pastor if I had a chance after the service.

The last notes of the last song retreated into stillness and we were all invited to stay for coffee or tea and to enjoy the rest of the day. In the same way as the previous week it seemed that the entire congregation leapt to its feet and, by some bizarre modified version of Brownian motion, managed to move in a totally chaotic way across the room in all directions at once to form small groups of people desperate to chat about this, that and the other. Chairs disappeared into stacks courtesy of half a dozen young men whose job it was this week, and I was left standing in my own island of stillness as everyone else moved around looking for their place in the crowd. Even Sharon and Phil had followed some deeply ingrained instinct that I as yet did not possess.

I looked around for the group of street kids and found them at the back, queuing up for drinks and biscuits. I weaved my way across to them and managed to emerge from the throng close to the young man who had assumed the role of leader the previous week.

“Hey.”

He turned round and looked down at me. His face wasn't exactly welcoming, but neither was it rejecting.

“Hey.”

“Look, we got off on the wrong foot last week and I owe you an apology. I didn't mean any offence by what I said, but I wasn't exactly diplomatic with my choice of words either, so I can see why you were upset. Any chance we can give it another go?”

He shrugged, but his eyes were definitely giving me an all too casual once over. I chewed on a smile and waited. Eventually he realised what he was doing and gave me a half smile back.

“My name's Liz”

I held out my hand. Best to establish friendship rather than suggesting anything more. He took it and shook it.

“Aaron.”

“Can I be candid with you?”

Again he shrugged, but I had more of his attention. Strike while the iron is hot.

“A couple of weeks ago I was homeless, only I ended up being a lot luckier than you guys. I made a friend and she helped me get my life back together. I wasn't out in the cold long enough to really understand what you guys go through, but just long enough to realise that it isn't something anyone should have to experience. I want to do something to help, and I don't mean just offer you money or a meal or stuff like that. I want to find a real way to help. I have some ideas, but they're at an early stage at the moment and probably won't start to see light of day for some weeks at least. When they do though, I'm going to need some help and I figure the best people to provide that help are going to be you guys. That way you're really helping yourselves.

“It's a bit of a stab in the dark, no guarantees that it's going to work, but if you don't try you definitely don't get. What do you say? Give the mad, rude girl a chance, or keep on as you are?”

“You know that may sound nice and encouraging when you hear yourself say it, but if you get our hopes up then the whole thing falls flat on its face, where does that leave us?”

“Pretty much where you are but with a bit of disappointment to deal with. Look have you ever been in love?”

“I get the feeling I might be soon.”

I'd forgotten how awkward younger guys could be at chatting up girls. He was smiling oddly and I allowed myself a small smile, not enough to encourage him, but maybe just enough to let him know I hadn't taken offence.

“Ok, forget that. Would it be worth giving it a go if there was a pretty girl around showing a bit of skin?”

“For that it may be worth it.”

“Ok Aaron, shall we shake on it then? You and your friends give my crack-pot ideas a go when I ask you to help and I'll make sure there's some eye-candy there for when you turn up.”

We shook and I withdrew, not wanting to risk undoing what I had achieved. Aaron jerked his chin at me and called after me.

“Hey, what was that thing about falling in love?”

“I figured sometimes the girl says no. That's gotta hurt, but it doesn't stop you from asking the next girl does it? You have to try stuff now and again, 'cos even if it doesn't work out, you know that maybe one day when you try something new, it will.”

I turned away from him, but glanced back over my shoulder. He was still watching me with his cute half smile. Hmm what was that feeling?

I didn't have a chance to explore it as I bumped into the brick wall that is Pastor James.

“Oh, hey little lady, are you alright?”

“Oh sorry pastor, I wasn't watching where I was going. Did I spill anything?”

“No I think we're good. It's great to see you here again. You know I don't think I caught your name last week.”

That's because I didn't really have one last week, but I wasn't going to tell him that.

“I'm Liz.”

You wanted to talk to him about his preach; go on, this is an ideal time. But I couldn't. Somewhere between the thought and the action there was a break in communications. And I lapsed into one of those silences that threatened to have us both shuffling our feet. The pastor had some experience in dealing with awkward situations though. He offered me away out and I took it.

“So we didn't frighten you off last week then? Usually when visitors come two weeks in a row it's because they found something they like.”

“Well I already have some friends here; Sharon and Phil, Karen Blackheath, Clive Anderton-Buckley. That and the whole atmosphere is rather friendly. The singing's a bit odd to start with, not much like church ought to be, but it's nice.”

He laughed his easy-going laugh.

“You know I never really had much of an idea on what church ought to be. It's just a bunch of people who love God getting together to spend some time with each other and their creator is all. It doesn't need hymns and rituals.”

“That's kind of refreshing.”

“I've always thought so. Did I notice you talking to our fringe visitors again?”

“Yes I've been thinking about a lot of things, including what you said to me last week. I don't know if my ideas will amount to much, but I thought it might be worth a try.”

“I'm glad to hear you say that and I'd love to hear more of your ideas. I wonder would you like to come over for lunch next Sunday. It'll just be Marion my wife and me, and if you prefer we can invite one or two others, Sharon and Phil for instance?”

“That's really kind thank-you. I'm not sure if Sharon and Phil might have something on next weekend, but can I accept for all of us and maybe let you know if there's a change in plan?”

“That'll be fine. Sharon should have my number, otherwise you can get me through the church office. The number for that is on the notice sheet.

“You know you don't have to wait till next Sunday if you have something you want to talk to me about. Just pick up the phone and I'll make time for you.”

With that he gave me a nod and walked off towards a group of women who had been trying to attract his attention. I couldn't help wondering if he was psychic or something. That was the second conversation we'd had where he seemed to look inside my head.

Karen walked up to me then, making a display of mock horror at what I was wearing and I offered her a twirl as I had the previous week, then we were laughing and I was explaining the reason for my less than glamorous appearance. Whatever was left of my conversation with Pastor James evaporated in the face of the new one with my boss.

Karen introduced me to a number of her friends and we found a wide range of nothing much to talk about until the magical motion of the crowd brought us round to Phil and Sharon just as they were looking to leave. Karen grabbed my arm before I withdrew from her crowd and turned me to one side for a quiet word.

“I was thinking. It's not too much out of my way to drop by and pick you up in the morning. How would you fancy a lift tomorrow?”

“Only if you allow me to pay half the petrol.”

“Ok, you're on. I'll see you at quarter to eight.”

“I'll be ready, bye.”

And with that I re-joined my two best friends and we headed off to see what we could do about lunch.

Sunday afternoon was the usual mix of good food and good company. There had been a note under the door from Mr Bryant suggesting we might like to view the flat next door on Monday evening at about six thirty. Of course Phil spotted it and wanted to know what it was about, which gave us our major topic of conversation for the afternoon. After we had enjoyed a light tea together, both Sharon and I begged the need for our beauty sleep and Phil, gallant soul that he is, told us that neither of us had anything to worry about on that score. Still, he headed off home leaving the two of us to our baths and hair washing, mixed in with liberal amounts of girl-talk.

Girl-talk. Just thinking the phrase spread a warm, fuzzy glow throughout my body like an explosion of love bugs. I hugged myself as thought trying to keep the feeling in.

“Penny for them?”

“Oh I was just thinking how much I love being a girl. I wouldn't give this up for anything.”

“Yeah, sure you say that now, but wait a few years 'til you're old and fat and tell me the same thing.”

I mused on that for a moment.

“No it's not just that. I mean yeah, the looking good is a big part of it; the clothes, the way guys look at me now; but there's so much more. Having friends like you to share everything with, not having to try so hard every day just to fit. Even with all the less pleasant things I've experienced in the past two weeks, even with what you just said, this is me, this allows me to be all me.”

“No regrets? Not even one?”

“Well two maybe. The first is my family; they must be worried sick about me and I can't tell them about this, not yet. I will though. One day I'll find a way of getting in contact with them and breaking all this gently enough that they'll see it's very much for the best.”

“And the other?”

“Well I never got to be a little girl. I keep wondering about all the things I missed out on being Ken.”

I thought I caught the vaguest hint of a mischievous glint in Sharon's eye as she turned away, but it was soon forgotten. We did the hot chocolate and early bed thing. I had been worried that my excitement and nervousness over the coming week's work would keep me awake, but the soft velvet feeling of being who and where I belonged stayed with me and settled me into Morpheus' arms.

-oOo-
In the end there wasn't much to be worried about. We woke early as usual and were ready in good time for Karen when her short beep on the horn brought us scurrying out of the flat. We waved each other good-bye as I climbed into the front of the car and Sharon headed on to the bus stop, all of us being just too aware of how bad the traffic was close to Sharon's place of work and not even suggesting that she should ride with us. Karen gave me a cheerful smile as I buckled up.

“You look lovely today Liz.”

I'd chosen a short, loose fitting cotton dress, mainly because it would be easy to slip on and off during the day and, because it was a fairly neutral colour, had spruced it up with a light pink scarf and sash belt. After Karen's mock horror expression the previous day I had decided that some sort of effort was in order. Still no makeup though. The first piece of advice I'd received in this business still held.

“Thank-you, so do you.”

“Yes, but I'll bet you didn't have to work so hard to achieve it.”

“Still worth it. You look like a million dollars.”

I exaggerated the American accent on the last two words And was rewarded with a quiet chuckle.

“So, are you ready for your first full day?”

I told her how nervous I felt and she spent the rest of the journey suggesting survival tips. Some quite simple ones like keep hydrated; something I'd worked out already; and some more involved like mixing my moods between the different clothes I was given to wear, trying to slow things down where appropriate, not just to vary the range of my expressions in the photographs, but also to give me a rest from the energy I'd brought into my previous times in front of the camera.

The day was fun. I mean I won't bore you with details, because essentially it was just more of the same. Andrew's patois had enough jokes in it to keep us laughing when he wanted that look and I took encouragement from his constant stream of positive comments and managed to give everything I did the appropriate amount of energy throughout the day.

I was quietly pleased to see that I'd been assigned the same assistant as the previous two occasions. In the brief snatches of conversation we managed to fit into the morning, I discovered her name was also Liz, she was married with two children — yes there were photographs — and she had been doing this for twenty years, pretty much from straight out of school. We spent a little more time chatting over coffee and lunch, and by the end of the day were firm friends. Getting into other people's lives was so easy and I kept wondering why I'd found it so hard as Ken. Perhaps because I hadn't felt as comfortable in myself as I did now, I knew that made an amazing difference to my self-confidence.

The day's shooting came to an end and I helped pack things away. Karen reappeared, having spent the entire day in her office and on the phone and asked Andrew how it had gone. By way of answer he took her over to the computer in the corner and picked out a couple of dozen shots from the pages of thumbnails. Most were of me, not that I was counting, and by the time I hauled my weary behind into Karen's car and she headed us both homeward, she was already commenting on how good an investment I was turning out to be.

Mr Bryant knocked on the door fifteen minutes after Karen dropped me off. Sharon had already been home when I arrived and we were both halfway through a glass of wine and well into sharing the details of our respective days when the interruption came. The short tour showed the next-door flat as being a little larger than Sharon's, but in a lot worse condition. The previous tenant had managed to break or damage most of the furniture as well as to badly mark the walls and carpet, but even so there was a lot of space and the place had 'potential' to use real-estate parlance. I suggested to Mr Bryant that perhaps he might want to let the place to me unfurnished and we agreed on a rent that was quite a bit lower than Sharon's. I offered to redecorate for half the first month's rent and he agreed as long as he got to approve the colours. We signed some papers and he said he would arrange for the broken furniture to be removed over the weekend. I asked if I could bring some colour swatches around for him to look at on Saturday and he agreed, replying to a part of my anatomy that suggested he probably wouldn't spend much time looking at the colours. I would probably be able to get away with painting the place hot pink and puce if I chose, still that did mean I had a good chance of getting the colours I wanted.

The rest of the week was more of the same. Long days followed by Sharon's brilliant cooking, my exhausted taste buds hardly able to do justice to her creations, and my lessons in cooking suspended until such time as I wasn't worn to a frazzle. If I still had a spark of energy after we'd eaten, we'd talk or veg out in front of the box, otherwise there would usually be a soothing bath and an early night.

Friday ended up being a short day much to everyone's surprise and delight. The hard work during the week had more than caught up the two days when Karen had been let down by her second model, and as we were all eagerly anticipating the three-thirty break, Andrew unexpectedly called out.

“Ok girls, that's a wrap.”

There was stunned silence for a moment then a ragged cheer. At Elizabeth's insistence — everyone called her Elizabeth to distinguish her from me — I pulled on my dressing gown and followed her out from behind the screen. Andrew was already popping the cork on a bottle of champagne and after filling a dozen or so glasses for everyone in the crew, passed them round and raised his first toast in my direction.

“To little Liz, who's exuberance and energy has taken us from a day behind to today's early finish.”

“Hey I didn't do anything more than you guys.”

Charlotte, the other model, rolled her eyes at that.

“Are you kidding! Everyone slows down as the day goes on. Except you of course. You hit every queue, and I could hardly let you show me up, especially on our first shoot.”

I was aghast.

“I'm sorry, I didn't realise I was doing anything out of the ordinary.”

Charlotte came over and gave me a hug.

“I'm not complaining kiddo. We made the deadline which means there's no forfeit to pay, and personally I could do with the money.”

I gave Elizabeth an accusing glare but she just shrugged and grinned back at me.

“We had to see what you had in you on your first time out didn't we?”

Everyone was laughing and raising their glasses to me, obviously no-one was too upset. The noise must have disturbed Karen because she appeared in the doorway. She caught sight of the champagne glasses and the look of surprise and hopeful delight on her face was worth the week's hard work.

“Are you guys trying to tell me that we're finished?”

Andrew shrugged, nonchalant to the end.

“Not only finished, but I think you will be more than pleased with the results.”

We spent the rest of the afternoon laughing and ooing and ahing as Andrew and Karen worked their way through the thousands of images and made their selections, putting them up on a large screen for all of us to see. By five o'clock they had all been selected and written to a couple of DVDs as well as a USB drive. These were placed in a padded envelope and handed to a motorbike courier who headed off to the publishers. Tomorrow, regardless of it being Saturday, they would be turned into a catalogue in digital form which would then be sent over to the printers, who would run the presses through Saturday night and most of Sunday, ending up with several thousand printed catalogues being loaded up onto lorries and heading out for distribution ready for use on Monday morning.

If everything had been pushed back a day, the publishers and printers would probably not have been available straight away to do their part, delaying distribution by possibly as much as a week. As it was the three-thirty finish had inserted a welcome two hour buffer into the tight schedule. Karen joined us in a second glass of champagne after the courier headed off then headed back into her office, returning a short while later with a handful of payslips, which she then proceeded to hand out. There were generous bonuses added to the already, in my mind, generous salaries. When I opened mine I froze solid as I looked at the number. I looked up at Karen's face to see if maybe she'd made a mistake and almost cried at the grateful smile she was giving me. I looked back at the amount of money soon to go into my bank account. It seemed I would be able to furnish my new flat completely without having to wait for next month.

Then came the presentation of the racks. All the girls who had worked on the shoot in whatever capacity chose something off the racks. In many cases they'd have to wait for an outfit in their size to be sent through to them, but for Charlotte and me there was no such problem. When it was my turn, Andrew stepped forward and asked if I'd mind him suggesting some things. I'd learnt to value and appreciate his taste and invited him to go ahead. He instantly pulled out the first two dresses I'd worn, what he'd called the Autumn Cloud and the Emerald Radiance, then he picked out four more. There was only one I wasn't so keen on, and asked if perhaps I could exchange that for one I'd seen in a photograph of Charlotte. Her size and colouring was close to Sharon's and I'd been quite blown away by it, even more so as I imagined Sharon wearing it.

And that was that. We left the packers to put everything away for the last time and I piled my spoils, still in their plastic protectors, into the back of Karen's car.

We were both too exhausted and too lost in our own private thoughts now that the week was over to talk much, and satisfied ourselves by filling the car with contented sighs all the way home. We arrived and I realised I had a question.

“So what happens now?”

“Now you take a week's well-earned rest then you and Charlotte will be invited to the unveiling of the new line. It'll be next Friday. I'll call you beforehand, arrange to send you a dress suitable to the occasion and for a limo to pick you up. After that there'll be a number of press releases and media events. I'll send you an itinerary as soon as it's been finalised and Andrew will probably have some ideas on what you should wear to each one. Again, we'll provide the clothes. Beyond that, I guess we'll see.”

I climbed out and retrieved the new additions to my wardrobe from the back of the car. I was just about to wave Karen off when she wound down the window and leaned over

“Oh, you'll be expected to have an escort for next Friday. If you can't find one, let me know by Wednesday and I'll arrange something.”

She drove away completely oblivious to the churning mess of emotions she had just stirred up in me.

You meant it for evil - 10 by Maeryn Lamonte We'd arrived. I climbed out and retrieved my new wardrobe from the back of the car. I was just about to wave Karen off when she wound down the window and leaned over “Oh, you'll be expected to have an escort for next week. If you can't find one, let me know by Wednesday and I'll arrange something.”

-oOo-
I climbed the stairs to Sharon's flat and let myself in. She was in the kitchen clattering about as usual, but stuck her head through the doorway when she heard me arrive.

“How was your last day?”

She'd spotted the clothes folded over my arm and I could see the sudden interest in her eyes. Still play along for a bit, might be fun. I let out a tired sigh.

“Oh it was ok. We finished ahead of time so we made the deadline easily. Had a bit of a rest and a celebration. It was cool.”

She licked her lips and I could see she was itching to ask about the clothes. I couldn't hold it in any longer and let the grin take over, Karen's parting words forgotten for a while.

“Apparently there's a tradition at these things. All the girls get to choose something they like from the racks and the models get a half-dozen. Andrew — he's the photographer — chose most of mine, but there was one I really liked. I've been wondering what you would think.”

I lay the dresses carefully over the back of the sofa and pulled out the bottom one, removed the plastic cover and held it up against her. It was a pure white dress with a plunging v neckline and what looked like overlapping ribs of shimmering satin. It came to about mid-thigh and showed a lot of skin. For Sharon's winter complexion it was perfect. Just holding it up against her and even with the shocked o of her mouth I knew it was made for her.

“Wow, you have to put it on. No I mean it, I chose it for you.”

I thrust it at her and all but physically pushed her into the bedroom. I figured it would take her a moment to get over the surprise and I made use of the extra time to slip into the bathroom and change into my own favourite of the whole collection. A week's worth of fast changing had me back in the living room and waiting with a patient look on my face by the time she reappeared.

I had no words. The dress fit her more perfectly than I could have hoped. Whilst it had looked good just held up in front of her, now she was wearing it, even with no other adornments, she filled the room. From the radiant look on her face to her bare stockinged feet she had transformed into a drop dead gorgeous, drool inducing, utterly desirable... and that's where I ran out of words.

“I could almost wish I was Ken again.”

“Don't you dare. I could never say thank-you to Ken the way I want to say thank-you to you.”

She ran and flung er arms around me, hugging me so tight it hurt. I could feel a damp patch forming on my shoulder and held her back.

It took a moment, but she noticed the difference in me. Whether it was the texture of the dress, or if she caught sight of the colours I don't know, but very abruptly she pulled me back to arm’s length and looked me over, her mouth turning circular for the second time in as many minutes. I broke out of her hold and twirled, a swirling pirouette of greens, yellows and browns.

“Do you like it? It was the first dress they gave me to wear, and I fell in love with it then.”

“Girlfriend, you had better not be too tired to go out tonight, because all of a sudden I feel like partying.”

“No extra guys this time?”

“I think we learned our lesson last week. But honestly girl, tonight you get to choose. You won't be going home alone unless you want to.”

That brought back Karen's parting comments and the dilemma they induced. It must have shown on my face because Sharon was suddenly all caring.

“What is it Liz? Sorry, am I being a klutz again, bringing up something you're still not sure about?

“It's not that. Well maybe it is a little, but it's more what Karen said when she dropped me off.”

“And that is?”

“That next Friday I have to attend the launch of this line of clothes, and I have to bring a plus one; you know arm candy.”

“Sh!t you mean that these dresses aren't even officially out there yet? Did anyone say anything about not wearing them until next weekend?”

She'd missed the point, but hit another quite valid one. I pulled out my mobile and punched in Karen's number.

“Hi Karen, it's Liz. Sharon here's just raised a point that I hadn't thought of. You know those dresses that we got to take away with us this afternoon? Nobody said anything to me, but is there likely to be any comeback if we, say, take them out for a spin a week before the line is released? Yeah. Uhuh. Mhmm. Yeah. Yes I get it. Ok. Bye.”

Sharon was twitching fit to explode and I let her hang a few seconds more just for missing my point. I really was going to have to practice hiding my grin though because it broke through again despite my efforts.

“She says she's kind of counting on us going out like this and dropping the Elle-gance name a bit. It turns out to be good publicity for the launch if the right people notice.”

“Yes!”

She grabbed me and swung me around while I looked back, bemused.

“You have no idea how hard it would have been to have something like this in my closet and not be able to wear it in public for a whole week. I'm going to change back out of it for now. I'd hate to spill something on it by accident. You should do the same. Meet you in the kitchen.”

And she was gone like a rabbit down a hole. I headed to the bathroom and changed back, hanging my Autumn Cloud back on its hanger. I took my time and Sharon was clattering about again when I stepped into the kitchen. She gave me an apologetic look and a more subdued hug.

“It only just struck me, what you said, and I steamrollered right over it. I'm sorry, but I was just so excited. I hope you're enough of a girl to know what I mean.”

I did and I hugged her back.

“What am I going to do Sharon? I don't want to go to this thing with some rent-a-hunk hanging off my arm, but I don't know who else I could go with. And no, not Pete before you even think about joking.”

“I wasn't going to sweetie. The thing is you have until Wednesday to think about it and you do know some nice guys; and I'll eat that dress if any of them aren't at least half-way in love with you right now.”

“Who did you have in mind?”

“Well there's Bob from yesterday and that manager at the Meet Market.”

“Now you are making fun of me. Can you imagine Bob in a suit, let alone a dinner jacket, and Richard I think you'll find is more in lust than in love. He may be a nice guy, but I'd rather not go that route.”

“Shame. I was thinking we could use those golden tickets of yours tonight. Mind you Phil might not be so keen. Still it's not time to worry yet. You never know, you might meet the man of your dreams tonight and be swept off your feet.”

We separated and I set about laying the table while Sharon brewed her magic on the hob.

“Are you going to call Phil and suggest he makes an effort tonight? It'd be a shame to turn up in that dress to find him in jeans and a sweatshirt.”

“Good idea. Can you watch these for a minute.”

I took over stirring something I couldn't identify that smelled out of this world and only half heard Sharon's conversation. I vaguely heard her suggest he call someone to call in a favour, but she was keeping her voice down so I didn't get all of it. I started to worry about her plotting again when she didn't come back immediately after putting the phone down, then it rang and she picked it up before it was halfway through the first tone.

“He said yes? That's great! Can you pick us up in an hour? Brilliant! See you then. Love you.”

The phone went down. She hadn't been able to keep her voice down for the last call, but it didn't seem to matter because she breezed in looking very pleased with herself and ready to share. She took the pan out of my hands and set it to one side, turning off the hob as she did so.

“Right that's settled then. These'll do nicely in an omelette for tomorrow's breakfast. For tonight we're eating out. Phil has an old school friend, Mike, who's started up a little restaurant a few miles out. It's doing really well, got good reviews and everything. In fact it's usually packed and it's only because Mike owes Phil big time that he's agreed to squeeze us in.”

“This isn't another matchmaking attempt is it?”

She tried to look innocent and outraged, and only vaguely carried it off.

“I've never met Mike so I don't know. Besides, you did say you might be interested in a guy who could cook. We'll just have to see how well hung he is when we get there.”

The mischievous grin had given her away ahead of the punch line, and I had managed to arm myself with a tea-towel, which she ducked.

“Hey we only have an hour to get ready, and if you still want me to help you with your makeup, you're going to have to set aside thoughts of revenge.”

We called a truce and raced for the shower. I won, but took pity on her by making it my fastest ever then reappearing in the living room wrapped in a towel and carrying my clothes.

You get used to dressing in front of feline eyes, and I've only creeped myself out once by wondering if maybe King Toby might be the reincarnation of some peeping tom. I had cured myself of the feeling by walking up to him topless and staring him straight in the eyes. When he turned and padded softly out the room I knew there could be no such lecherous instincts within him; at least not where human females were concerned.

I put on underwear and a new pair of tights. The packets said 'dark tan' and the overall colour, once I'd pulled them on, was warm and a good complement to the colours in the dress. I brushed out my hair and put on a light layer of foundation before Sharon made it out of the shower. She nodded her approval at my progress and suggested a few next steps while she got herself ready.

“Sharon?”

“Mmm?”

“You know those bronze pumps of yours?”

“Mhmm.”

Her conversational ability was hampered by the hair clips in her mouth as she went through what looked like a complicated but well-practised manoeuvre to put her hair up.

“I was wondering what you might think. Do they go with this dress? Would you mind me borrowing them for tonight?”

I had to wait a while until the last hair clip went in leaving her free to dig about in one of her wardrobes. She offered them up to the dress, along with a matching bag.

“Yeah they'll work. All yours. How're we getting along here?”

She had to correct a little of what I had done — not much which was encouraging — then she helped me into my dress I did the same for her.

We were standing side by side admiring the final result when the distinctive horn on Phil's beemer sounded.

We grabbed coats and bags, filling the latter with keys and wallets and stuff, then headed for the door.

“You know, this evening had better be mainly indoors. I don't think either of us would stand much of a chance exposed to the elements tonight.”

Phil apologised for not coming up, but it was easy to forgive as the street was lined on both sides with cars. Music was already blaring from an open window in one of the neighbouring houses, which further explained the lack of parking space. Sharon, as always, slipped in beside Phil and gave him a peck on the cheek. I took my usual place in the back and we sped off to destination unknown.

-oOo-
Mike's place was out in a leafy suburb, situated on top of a hill looking down into a tree-lined park. It wasn't that small either. I counted thirty cars in the car-park, with space for as many more. Sharon looked back over her shoulder to share a knowing look and I scrunched up my nose at her.

“It either means he's filthy rich or he'll be paying this place off until the sun goes out.”

“What was that?”

Oops, forgot Phil was listening.

“Nothing. Just part of an earlier conversation.”

The Maître D stopped us at the door then, as soon as Phil gave his name, sent a waiter into the kitchen and called another character to come and take our coats. At which point something close to magic happened. An entire restaurant full of people fell silent as every eye, both male and female, turned towards us. The Maître D developed something of a speech impediment and the only person who seemed unaffected was Phil; most likely because he was standing in front of us and hadn't seen anything unusual yet. He did notice the odd behaviour around us though.

“What is it, what's happening?”

He turned around and his jaw joined all the others on the floor. Sharon leaned over to his ear and whispered.

“This would be a good time to act really cool sweetheart. I mean after all we are with you.”

Just then a shortish man in a chef's whites — or rather nearly whites as the smock was covered in the distant echoes of hard to get out stains — stepped through the kitchen doors and broke the spell.

“Phil! How long has it been buddy?”

“Ten, twelve years I reckon. Too long anyway. Wow look at this place, you really are doing well for yourself.”

It was one of those starts-off-as-a-handshake-turns-into-a-hug kind of moves and it ended up with the newcomer — I presumed Mike — looking past his friend at us. He let out a low appreciative whistle.

“Wow, I could say the same for you too Monster Munch.”

He turned his attention more fully on us.

“What I can't figure is what you two incredibly lovely ladies are doing hanging around with old Mr Flabulous here.”

“Mr Flabulous?”

“Alright, so I was a bit chubby when I was younger. I grew out of it. More than you did short-arse.”

“Ouch. Watch where you swing that razor sharp wit of yours Phil; I'm running low on little blue plasters.”

Sharon' brow creased briefly.

“Why blue plasters?”

“They're required for anyone working in the food industry. They have a little metal strip which shows up under X-ray. Makes them easier to find if one drops off into the food by accident.”

I don't know where I learned that; I think maybe a first-aider at work course from some years back. Mike seemed impressed.

“Brains as well. Help me Phil, I think I'm falling in love.”

He was no Adonis it has to be said. Maybe four or five inches shorter than Phil, but that still left him an inch taller than my new height. He was unusually slim for a chef, or maybe I've just been taken in too far by the stereotype, with a kind if unremarkable face. It didn't really matter, I was warming to his sense of humour and feeling odd stirrings inside. Phil still didn't get the hint and it earned him an elbow in the ribs from his girlfriend.

“Ow, oh sorry. Mike can I introduce you to my girlfriend Sharon and her friend, recently come to London, Liz.”

He took Sharon's hand briefly then turned all his attention on me. I've never been kissed on the hand before — something of a redundant statement perhaps — and I wasn't ready for the thrill that coursed through me as he did so.

“Liz, or do you prefer Elizabeth? I am utterly enchanted to meet you. Allow me to escort you to your table.”

He held out a crooked elbow which I took gently in my own small hand. How was this very ordinary looking guy so entrancing. If he was feeling even a fraction of what was going through me right now, I couldn't understand how he could continue to move and talk so easily.

“So you're new to London. How do you find our fair city?”

I managed to shake off enough of the trance to find my own voice.

“Thank-you for the perfect feed to that old joke about following the M1 'til it runs out, but I won't take you up on it if you don't mind. London's a bit of a mixed bag; some really great people, others not so much.”

“Well it's my hope to fit into the former category, but please tell me if I'm in danger of finding my way onto your blacklist. I don't think I could live with myself if that were the case.

“That really is an exquisite dress; both you and Sharon in fact. Quite often I can tell whose, but this time I'm at a total loss.”

He held a chair for me and I settled demurely into it. Phil did the same for Sharon and then took his own place between us. Yet again Mike had given me a perfect feed, and now it was time to earn a few extra brownie points with Karen. I raised my voice just a touch above normal conversation.

“They're both from the new Elle-gance line that's going to be unveiled next Friday. I've been modelling them all week for the new catalogue. Sorry, did that sound too much like a sound bite?”

Mike chuckled. It was a pleasant sound and I found myself smiling then blushing.

“You'll get no complaints from me. Sound bite or not it's only going to be good for business if it gets out that a famous...”

“Soon to be famous.”

“...soon to be famous fashion model is eating in my restaurant.”

He was shamelessly expansive in the way he spoke, hamming it up to the point that my own minor indiscretion was covered over. I found myself liking him more and more with each passing second.

“You will have to excuse me but the kitchen does not run itself and I have already been away too long. Please will you let me order for you? It's something of a speciality of mine, to divine your perfect meal. For legal reasons I do have to ask if there are any foods to which you are allergic or for which your bodies have an intolerance.”

Sharon and I both agreed to his experiment, neither of us having anything to put on his no go list. Phil was not quite so keen, but he gave in under Sharon's and my combined glares.

“Ok then, but listen up Mike, if I end up with a plate piled high with Wagon Wheels and Monster Munch I will not see the funny side of things.”

Mike lifted his hands in a gesture of butter-wouldn't-melt-in-his-mouth innocence.

“Phil my very good friend, this is my business and I take my business very seriously indeed. Besides I owe you big time. Jesting aside, you are all my honoured guests and you shall receive my very best. Oh and my food is much better than my poetry.”

With that he disappeared back into his inner sanctum leaving us very much the centre of attention for a great many surreptitious glances. Sharon ignored the looks we were getting and bent her head over to catch my eye.

“Really?”

I bit my lip and looked over at the door to the kitchen, which was of course all the communication she needed. Phil missed it entirely, but then I think Ken might well have as well. Sharon and I had tuned in to each other amazingly well. It didn't help that the wine waiter arrived with a bottle of bubbles which he offered for Phil's inspection just as Sharon was trying to grab my attention.

The evening was a gastronomic epic. Phil was all ready to complain when the first course turned up with considerably less on our plates than on his, but both Sharon and I appreciated the gesture and eventually managed to persuade our great protector that smaller portions were actually a kindness.

And so it turned out to be. Plates and dishes were replaced over and again as a progression of exquisite and complementary flavours marched their merry way across eager taste buds. I found myself closing my eyes and shivering rapturously at each new delicacy. Now and again, it seemed, I opened my eyes just soon enough to see the kitchen door ease closed.

The night wore on with the occasional interruption from a group or couple as they stood to leave, asking either Sharon or me where we bought our dresses. I did my advertising bit for the people who were paying me so generously, and usually whoever had come asking would leave quickly, grateful for the information. In the end we were the only customers left in the restaurant.

A second champagne bottle stood upside down in the ice bucket and we all leaned back from our final course — a sort of tropical fruit sorbet — with aching sides and a desperate hope that this life changing experience was finally at an end. Phil was struggling worse than Sharon and me as his helpings had all been significantly larger than ours, and it had somehow been impossible to leave even the smallest morsel or to refuse the next course. He had also switched to water after the first two small flutes of champagne and was considerably less inebriated than either Sharon or myself.

Mike appeared at the kitchen door carrying a tray and we all groaned in protest.

“No, no, it's all good. Just a small cup of coffee to round everything off. The fruit in the sorbet will have sensitised the right taste buds so this will be, hand on heart, the best cup of coffee you've ever tasted.”

It was. Oh yes it was! It was almost an orgasm in a cup, and that was just the aroma. I had to say something. I placed a hand on Mike's cheek and turned him so he was facing directly into my eyes.

“I have never enjoyed a meal more, sorry Sharon, but that was amazing. I have just one question though.”

I paused for effect. My earlier nerves had faded into the growing alcoholic haze, and perhaps I should have taken that as a warning. I picked my moment.

“How big is your c...”

“Liz!”

Sharon managed to stop me from completing the question, but the meaning was still quite clear. Mike went beetroot with embarrassment as Sharon and Phil joined me in laughing. Then I caught a glimpse of Mike's eyes and the laughter died in my throat. I glanced across at Sharon who was thankfully still with it enough to notice. She nudged Phil in the ribs.

“Come on love, let's go walk off some of these calories.”

They left quietly, and I rather self-consciously reached across the table for Mike's hands. He flinched away leaving me with nothing to hold. I felt wretched. After the herculean effort Mike had put into this evening I had repaid him with a stupid joke. I looked at him, at the rigid set of his jaw, the downcast eyes. It was an expression I was all too familiar with, having worn it often enough as Ken. The fact that I knew the feelings that went along with it only made me feel worse and I scoured my muggy brain for words to rescue the situation.

“I've never wished more fervently that I could take back something I've said. It was a stupid joke, and not even a good one. Mike, I never meant...”

“Look, just stop alright? What's done is done and I... I think I'd like you to leave now.”

It was like being stabbed with an icicle; cold tendrils spreading sickly regret through me. For a moment I felt I might be paralysed, but when I tried to move my body responded. I stood and waited, hoping, but he remained still and wouldn't look at me.

Slowly, weighed down by all my unspoken words, I made my way over to the entrance and retrieved my coat. Turning back towards him I searched for one last thing to say, but my tongue was a lead weight and my mind a blank slate. I pushed on the door and headed out into the cold night.

“Liz, what happened?”

I was trying to dial the number of a taxi company into my phone, but my vision kept blurring. I wiped away the tears with the heel of my hand, careless of what it was doing to my makeup and tried again. A hand touched me on the arm and a shied away out its grip.

“He asked me to leave, and I can't really blame him.”

She made to draw me into a hug, Phil moving in as well with a sympathetic look on his face. I held up my arms to fend them off.

“No, I have this coming for being such an arse. You should go in and be his friends, God knows he deserves it more than I do right now. I'll see you later.”

I turned away and somehow managed to get the number into the phone. held it up to my ear, dimly aware of receding footsteps behind me as the ringing tone gave way to a bored voice.

“Hi I'm at Mike's place, the restaurant. In Highgate, yes. I need a ride to Stamford Hill. Well I'm standing outside now so as soon as you can please. Thanks.”

I stamped my feet for ten minutes before the taxi arrived, by which time the cold had well and truly settled into my bones. I pulled open the door and settled gratefully into the warmth, giving the address as we pulled out into the quite road.

We rode in silence for a while, the cabbie giving me the occasional glance in his rear view mirror. I caught sight of my half reflection in the window, all panda eyes and tear lines marked out in liquid mascara. I was a mess and there wasn't much I could or even cared to do about it. I hunted in my bag for a tissue and set about clearing up the worst of the smears.

“Rough night love?”

I couldn't bear it, couldn't bear his sympathy, couldn't bear to talk about it. I shook my head.

“I'm sorry, I really don't want to go into it.”

“Suit yourself love. It's just that I hate to see a pretty girl cry.”

“Even if she's been an absolute bitch and hurt someone who's really gentle and kind and didn't deserve it?”

“I suppose I could live it then, but only if she did so on purpose.”

I couldn't help it. I burst into tears, trying all the while to choke them back. It wasn't fair, the guy was only trying to help and I'm sure my performance only made it harder for him to concentrate on the road. Eventually I regained control of myself.

“I'm sorry.”

“Listen love, you do what you have to. I only wish I could be of some help.”

I thanked him then pulled out a compact, using the mirror to wipe away as much of the mess on my face as I could. Before long we were driving down familiar streets. I checked the metre as we pulled up outside Sharon's flat and I handed over the fare with a healthy tip.

“You don't need to that love.”

“I know, but you were kind so I want to.”

I stepped out of the cab and headed for the flat. The party down the road was still in full swing with a dance beat thumping out into the night through open windows. I could still hear it dimly, even inside the flat, not that it bothered me at all. I dropped my bag and coat, stepped out of my shoes and threw myself onto the bed, giving way to the tear-storm that had been brewing since I left the restaurant.

I don't know how long I spent like that, but when the flood eventually subsided, I lifted my head away from the dampness of my pillow and noticed the streaks of makeup all over it.

With an unladylike utterance, I pulled the pillowcase off and took it to the bathroom to soak in the sink with a generous helping of Vanish before sitting down in front of the dressing table with a tub of cold cream and a large packet of cotton balls. Half an hour and half a bin full of cotton wool later I was sufficiently degunked, cleansed and moisturised to consider myself no longer a hazard to soft furnishings.

I changed into my night things and gathered up the debris my entrance had strewn about the place. With everything hanging neatly or in its rightful place I checked on the pillowcase, now well enough rescued to go in the washing machine, and dug out a fresh one. The pillow was still damp, so I folded my second one over and lay on that, hugging the life out of the other and settling under the duvet with my legs tucked up in front of me.

I was still awake when I heard a key in the front door. Quiet footsteps and a sudden beam of light as the bedroom door opened a crack.

“Sweetie? Are you awake?”

I lay as still as I could, still in no mood for company or sympathy of any sort. The door closed and I was left in the dark, a muffled, half heard conversation coming through the walls.

“...I can't believe that he could be such a prat...”

Phil.

“...he's not, and I don't thing Liz would appreciate your taking her side in this...”

Sharon — when she's right she's right.

“...so what do we do?”

Phil again.

“...you give Mike a call in the morning, see if you can hang out with him. I'll stay with Liz.”

After Phil left, Sharon bumped about in the bathroom and bedroom with a little less subtlety than usual, testing my resolve. I held fast, keeping still until she climbed in the bed beside me and snuggled up, spooning her body around mine and reaching an arm over to give me a gentle squeeze.

“People will talk.”

“Let them. I want my friend to know I care.”

“I don't deserve you.”

“No, you deserve better, but until someone better comes along your stuck with me.”

I shuffled around and hugged her back, managing to do a fair job of soaking her nightdress before all the emotion drained out of me and all there was left to do was sleep.

-oOo-
I think we would both have appreciated a lie-in the following morning, but Mr Bryant, or whoever he may have hired to clean the flat, seemed to have hit on the idea that since the furniture was beyond repair, the simplest way to remove it was to break it up into smaller pieces and chuck it through a window.

Eight-o'clock on a Saturday morning and it feels like someone's trying to knock the house down; overall impression suitably enhanced by the magnifying effect of two sizeable hangovers. Sharon gave in first, answering nature's call before setting the coffee machine gallupiting. She came back to bed with two large glasses of water, one of which she handed across to my dishevelled form. I took it and drank as much as I could before my own bladder started complaining.

By the time I made it to the kitchen there was coffee and paracetamol. A minute later, with the pounding agony receding somewhat, Sharon slid an omelette under my nose and sat down to dig into hers. I picked up a fork and shuffled the food around on my plate but I really didn't want to eat anything.

“I don't know. Last night you find out what good food really tastes like and suddenly mine isn't good enough for you?”

“I was trying not to think about last night. I mean what was I thinking? I feel like I shot a puppy.”

“He wasn't the happiest of bunnies, if you don't mind me mixing your metaphor. I don't get what the big deal was though, I mean it was just a joke.”

“Except that he wasn't part of our conversation a few days ago, so to him it was crude, immature and thoughtless, and after all that effort he went to just to impress me, only to find out that I'm this insensitive gutter tramp.”

“But you're not sweetie. If you were you'd most likely still be on the streets because I don't have that high a tolerance for insensitive gutter tramps. It was the wine talking and you know it as well as I do.”

“Then sign me up for the tea total club. If it makes my say stupid things like that I don't want to touch another drop.”

I wanted to stand up, to make a scene, but my head was throbbing too much. Just then there was an almighty crash from next door and both Sharon and I grabbed our heads as the pain exploded into new life.

“Come on, we can't stay here.”

Sharon grabbed me by the arm and pulled me to my feet, shoving me in the direction of the bathroom where she more or less stripped me and shoved me into the shower. I turned the controls to extra freezing and shocked myself awake, then back to a more soothing temperature for a few short minutes before surrendering the facilities to my long-suffering room-mate. I dressed casual and would have left it at that had Sharon allowed it. She stood me in front of mirror to show me my puffy, bloodshot eyes. I couldn't give a monkey's, but she insisted I go back into the kitchen and hold a pack of frozen peas on them while she finished getting dressed.

I finished the remains of my coffee and went rummaging in the freezer. The peas, wrapped in a clean tea towel of course, eased the throbbing in my temples even further and by the time Sharon declared me human enough for the outside world I was no longer wincing at the hammer blows from across the hall.

“Where are we going?”

Sharon was walking ahead and pushing the pace beyond my comfort zone.

“We're going to spend some of your money of course. You need to decorate and furnish your new flat, so we're going to pick you out a few things, choose some paint, pick out a few carpet remnants. It'll be fun.”

How did she get to be so chipper and cheerful so soon after waking up full of morning-afterness? True she had eaten her breakfast and my turbulent stomach was a large part of my problem, but even so.

The bus arrived just as we reached the bus-stop and I let her drag me on.

-oOo-
The morning was hard slog for Sharon. I couldn't or wouldn't show interest in anything, shrugging shoulders and looking blank at everything she suggested. In the end she threw her arms up and dragged me to a nearby café. Armed with a tray full of coffee and sugary diet wreckers, she sat me at a corner table and did the whole this-is-for-your-own-good thing.

“Look, ok, yesterday was a bit of disaster, but it's done. Can you fix it? No. So what's the point of torturing yourself over it? Personally, between last night and this morning, I think you've paid penance enough. You need to leave it alone and get on with something different and, unless you want to be sleeping on a cardboard box in a building site on Monday night, I suggest you get interested in decorating and furnishing your flat. Now get some sugar inside you and come out fighting. You can starve yourself tomorrow if you need to.”

I'm not the biggest fan of pep-talks, every one that anyone ever gave me when I was younger did nothing to help since there was no way I could either share or shuck the burden I was carrying then, and all it did was make me feel all the more alone. But this was different somehow. Artificial fix as it was, the sugar did give me a kick, and I realised I could put aside the bucket-load of misery that made up my feelings for Mike because it would be waiting for me later to brood over when I was done with the business of the day.

For the next few hours, we wandered from showroom to showroom, picked up a books of paint swatches as well as small cut-offs from the carpets remnants I liked. I picked out a bed, a three piece suite, a TV with DVD player and a hundred other things both big and small. Most of the furniture was on interest free credit for the first few months so all I did was sign the contract and arrange delivery for late Monday afternoon.

By the time we made it back to the flat the noise across the way had subsided. I knocked on the door and a moment later a very grubby looking Mr Bryant stuck his head out into the corridor.

“Hi, I was wondering if I could show you the colours and carpets I've been looking at.”

He invited us in and indicated a couple of low crates that were the nearest thing to furnishings that remained. The walls showed some new scars from today's activities, but the floorboards looked in reasonable condition, if not good enough to varnish and leave bare.

It took us ten minutes. He even agreed to collecting the carpet, quite cheerfully too as with offcuts it would be a lot cheaper than he had been expecting. He said he liked the colours I'd chosen, and that he would be around during the day on Monday if I needed anything shifting.

Phil turned up a little while later to take me down to the local DIY place, where I picked up enough paint, rollers, brushes, white spirit and other materials to keep me busy for the week. I even bought a set of overalls since none of my clothes were scruffy enough to risk spilling paint on them. We barely managed to fit everything into the boot.

“How's Mike?”

I think I took him by surprise. We'd just climbed into the car and were putting on seatbelts when I sprang the question.

“Ok I think. He was a bit upset by the other night, but life goes on.”

I don't know what I'd been expecting but that wasn't it.

“Did he show any signs of still being interested in me? I mean did he ask about me or anything like that?”

“Are you telling me that you fancy him?”

“Well duh, isn't it obvious?”

“But you’re a guy.”

“Whatever I was Phil, I'm a girl now. You don't seem to notice anything unusual most of the time, and you didn't seem to mind trying to set me up with Pete.”

“But Mike's a friend.”

“And what's that got to do with it? It's not as if I have any surprises under the bonnet. Or are you saying that you're still freaked out by what happened to me and still consider me to be enough of a man that you don't like the idea of me dating your friends?”

“I, I er... I... don't know. Ok, yes I am still freaked out, how can you expect me not to be. I knew you as a guy for four years before all this sh!t happened, which means yes I find it weird that you fancy Mike. It's as though you're...”

“Gay?”

He nodded.

“I almost wish I'd let Mary kiss you now. At least then you'd be able to see things from my perspective. I can't believe how mixed up your thinking is in this. I mean if I made out with another girl would that make me straight?”

“Yes, no, I don't know. In a way yes because it would be the guy inside making out with a girl.”

“And yet you're ok with me sharing a bed with your girlfriend?”

“Sh!t, why did you have to bring that up?”

“Because I need to make the situation clear. When I was Ken I was happy enough to be a guy, even though most of the things you and your friends got up to didn't interest me. I tried dating girls, and I would have been happy to do so if I wasn't such an almighty klutz at chatting them up. Since I've been transformed into a girl, and that includes the physiology, the hormones and all the other crap, I've found that I like being a girl so much more. I don't think of myself as male in any way now. I don't get all aroused when I see Sharon in her underwear. I don't feel in any way tempted to take advantage of her when we're in bed together and yes I do find myself fancying other guys now, your friend Mike currently being right at the top of my list.”

Phil coughed and spluttered his way through my last sentence, which in retrospect wasn't very bright of me as he was also trying to drive us safely home at the time. I sailed on taking what I hoped was a slightly safer tack

“Even if I didn't fancy him, I really regret what I said. He's a really nice guy and he treated us like royalty last night. I wish I could think of some way to make things up to him. I hate that he thinks of me the way I'm sure he does, but I can't blame him for it.”

We pulled up and Phil jumped out to unload, grateful for the chance to escape. Why is it that guys are always supposed to be so brave and yet run away from conversations that make them nervous like this one? How come I can't answer that for myself?

I drifted back into a melancholy fug and was rapidly becoming the pooper to end all parties. I picked at my food again, feeling doubly guilty because I knew how seriously Sharon took her cooking. In the end I told them to go watch a film or something, that I wasn't likely to be good company tonight. They didn't take much convincing.

A long bath and half a mug of hot chocolate later, I was sitting on the sofa, absent-mindedly scratching Toby behind the ears when the phone rang. I thought about screening it for a moment, but decided not to.

“Hello?”

“Hi, it's er Mike.”

You meant it for evil - 11 by Maeryn Lamonte A long bath and half a mug of hot chocolate later, I was sitting on the sofa, absent-mindedly scratching Toby behind the ears when the phone rang. I thought about screening it for a moment, but decided not to. “Hello?” “Hi, it's er Mike.”

-oOo-
A cold rush of excitement ran through me and my legs all but buckled under me. I settled onto the arm of the sofa. Wow, just the sound of his voice. How could it affect me so much? I told myself to be sensible, he probably didn't want to talk to me.

“Er hi. If you’re looking for Phil or Sharon, they've gone out.”

“Yeah I know. Phil called me and told me to stop being such a prat.”

“How were you being a prat?”

“You tried to apologise. I wouldn't let you.”

“But you had every right to be upset. What I said was totally out of order, especially after the way you treated us.”

“Well let's just forget it shall we? I was wondering if you'd like to go out.”

“What now?”

I looked at my watch. Ten-thirty was kind of late.

“No, no. I'll be in the restaurant until gone midnight. I'm just taking a five minute break to call you. No I was wondering what you had planned for tomorrow.”

I slid onto the sofa properly and tucked my legs up under me. I loved the way I could do that and still feel comfortable.

“Well I'm off to church in the morning, then, Oh sh!t.”

“What? What is it?”

“The pastor and his wife invited me to lunch tomorrow along with Sharon and Phil. I told him I'd get back to him once I knew what their plans were and I just realised I never asked them. I don't suppose you fancy coming along instead?”

“Not really my idea of a first date.”

A warm feeling spread slowly from between my breasts; he wanted to ask me out on a date. His voice faltered as he carried on.

“I'm not doing very well here am I?”

“I don't know, I've no complaints so far.”

I could hear the smile in my voice. I hoped he could too.

“No, I mean I'll be back in the kitchen tomorrow evening and every evening after that. I'm guessing you'll be back at work on Monday morning.”

“Actually I have a week off. I'm going to be decorating my flat.”

“I thought you were staying with Sharon?”

“I was, I am. It's just that the flat opposite came free and Sharon's place is a little small, and now that I'm working... Well it gives us both a bit more space and privacy.”

“Can I help? Decorate I mean. I swing a mean paintbrush.”

“Do you have your own overalls?”

“I'm sure I can work something out.”

“That's really kind of you. Yes please. Can I cook you lunch?”

“Well I was thinking of bringing a take-out from the restaurant for both of us, but whatever you prefer.”

“Oh, that's mean. How am I ever going to get a chance to make things up to you if you tempt me like that?”

“I'm guessing the duck paté and the paella?”

“Yes please, but I warn you, one of these days I will cook something for you.”

“I'll look forward to it. Food always tastes so much better when someone else cooks it.”

“Really? I've been thinking the exact opposite since Sharon's started giving me lessons.”

“You haven't had to cook for over a hundred people a night, every night for the last three months.”

“No I guess not.”

I was snuggling into myself and willing a hug down the phone to him. Just sitting here was so wonderful.

“Well I have to get back to work, no telling what these monkeys have been doing while I've been away.”

“I'll bet they're getting on just fine without you. You just can't stand not being in control.”

I managed to put just the right level of teasing into my voice and he rewarded me with a laugh. He had a nice laugh, deep-throated and rich.

“Guilty as charged. What time on Monday then?”

“I should be up and doing stuff from about eight-thirty onwards, so any time you can make after that.”

“Well I have to do some grocery shopping for the restaurant first, how about tenish?”

“I'll have the kettle on. Oh, Mike?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank-you so much for calling tonight, I can't tell you how much you've turned my day around.”

“Well, I'm sorry it took me so long.”

“Well you did it, and now that's all that matters.”

“Goodnight Liz.”

“'Night Mike.”

I waited for the dial tone before putting the phone down. Toby butted at my elbow and I couldn't help but lift him into a hug. He wasn't impressed and scrambled out of my arms.

-oOo-
I remembered to phone Pastor James and apologise for my oversight. He laughed it off saying they could always invite a couple of the street kids if Phil and Sharon had other plans. I didn't want to risk calling or texting Sharon in case she was in the cinema and still had her phone on, but I had to talk to someone, I was so full of what had just happened with Mike.

I thought of Karen and decided that she probably wouldn't appreciate a call from a bubbly, air-headed teenager at this time of night. I racked my brains for someone else to call. Elizabeth, my dresser, would be in the same boat as Karen and that more or less summed up my list of friends.

With that sad thought, my mind turned to my family. Mum and Dad would be in bed by now, but maybe... I dived deep into my memory for a number that I usually relied on my mobile phone to remember, then punched it into the phone, remembering at the last moment to enter star one four one to hide the caller ID. It rang three times before a young female voice answered.

“Hello?”

“Lisa?”

“Who is this?”

I hadn't thought this far ahead. Still not so hard to come up with something.

“Oh sorry, you won't know me. My name's Liz, I'm sort of a friend of Ken's.”

Sort of the truth. Close enough anyway.

“Oh my gosh, Glen come quickly. Sorry, that's my husband. Tell me how is Ken, we've been so worried.”

“He's ok, better than ok actually, but he's had to adjust to some changes in his life. He misses you guys and his parents, but, well I guess you've been told some things.”

“Yes, there wasn't a lot of details. I don't know if you can tell us anything more.”

“I'm sorry, but for now the fewer details you know the better. Listen he's given me a list of questions to ask and I have a recorder here next to the phone, so he'll hear the answers straight from you. Do you mind?”

“No of course not.”

It was Glen's voice sounding a little distant, as though they were sharing the phone. Just the sound of his familiar tones was enough to bring tears welling up in my eyes. I had to cover for the sudden catch in my voice.

“Just a minute I have the questions here in my bag.”

“Are you alright?”

Trust Lisa to be all concerned. I forced myself to take a deep, calming breath.

“I'm fine, just dropped a few things here.”

The conversation drifted into the personal and familial. How were they and the kids? - Fine although Gemma had chipped a tooth being too adventurous on a swing a week or so back. How were my parents? - Worried about Ken, but otherwise doing well. What news on my Dad's knees? - Appointment for surgery arranged for March. How about Glen's promised promotion? - What do you think? You know, that sort of thing. There was more, but I wouldn't want to bore you with it. Suffice to say that emotionally I was hanging on by a thread by the time I'd run out of questions.

“What about Ken though? You can't expect us to say to his parents we had this conversation and then nothing. There has to be some news.”

What could I tell them?

“Well, like I say, I'm going to have to keep the details sparse for everyone's sakes, but he's happy with the way things are, except that he can't contact you guys directly. He's had a change of appearance; honestly you would not recognise him now. He's also had to change his job. What he's doing now is so different from what he was doing, but he's really enjoying it. He's made a few really good, close friends and he promises that someday soon he'll find a way to come and visit.”

Well apart from the pronoun I hadn't done anything to damage my karma there.

“Tell him not to do anything silly; we'd much rather he was safe. Thank-you, Liz, so much for phoning tonight. You can't imagine how much it means to us to have this news.”

Oh I think I can imagine.

“I'm glad I can help. If it's ok I'll call again, though I'm not sure when I'll be able to.”

“We'd appreciate it. We're in most evenings. Please tell my brother I love him.”

“He wanted me to say the same thing. It's been really good talking to you. I'll call again soon.”

“See that you do.”

We said our goodbyes and hung up just as the dam broke. I collapsed on the floor where I was and surrendered as wave upon wave of unexpressed emotion washed over me. The flood waters were still in full flow when the door opened and Phil and Sharon came in.

“Liz, sweetie, what is it? God if I'd known you were in this kind of state we'd never have gone out.”

“Right I'm going to kill the bastard.”

Phil was walking out the door, an expression like thunder colouring his features. I tried to get to my feet.

“Phil stop, you don't understand.”

“I understand enough to know that I told him to call you and I come back to find you like this.”

“But he did call, and he's coming round on Monday to help me decorate and move in, and everything's wonderful.”

Enough to stop Phil in his tracks.

“Then what in the world was that about? We always used to joke about how we could never understand women; I never thought I'd be saying the same thing about you.”

He was calming down slowly. Sharon was still hovering, ever the mother hen. I turned to her. I mean she would understand, even if Phil wouldn't.

“After Mike called I just had to talk to somebody. I didn't want to phone you guys in case I disturbed something and, apart from Karen and Elizabeth from work, who I didn't think would appreciate the interruption, I realised that I didn't have anyone else to call.

“So I phoned my brother. No it's alright, I pretended to be a friend of Kevin's making contact. We talked for ages, and it was just too good hearing Glen's and Lisa's voices again. I guess I really have been missing them and worrying about them, and it all just came pouring out afterwards, just as you guys walked in.”

“Well I'm going to put the coffee on. Phil you can stay as long as you stop ogling Liz's boobs.”

He looked away guiltily and reddened, stammering an apology to me as Sharon headed for her beloved galopiter galopiter machine.

“I'm sorry Liz, kind of reflex. You know how it is?”

“I'm in the perfect position to know aren't I?”

I pulled my dressing gown around me obscuring the scenery and smiled me best disarming smile.

“Besides it was kind of gallant the way you went charging to my defence like that. Almost as if you're over the whole issue of who and what I am now.

“Just promise me one thing though. Mike's a great guy and he hasn't done anything to earn that kind of reaction response from you, so whatever happens between us, stay his friend, eh?”

He nodded.

“I'm going to miss Ken.”

“Yeah me to a bit. But I'd miss Liz more.”

“Me too.”

We were laughing at some old shared memory when Sharon came back in with the coffees. I remembered to mention Pastor James's invite and fortunately they didn't have other plans. Nice as Aaron was, things might become a little awkward if he got the wrong idea over the two of us being invited to the same lunch at the same time. I didn't want to go down that route, especially given my burgeoning feelings for Mike.

It was getting late so with coffees drunk, I took quick advantage of an empty toilet while Sharon said her long slow goodnight to Phil. I wasn't going to get my early night though. As soon as Sharon joined me in the bed, she was quizzing me about what had happened with Mike, and wasn't satisfied with anything less than total disclosure, including vocal inflections and in depth psychoanalysis. I didn't mind, reliving the conversation with my friend was almost as exquisite as the original phone call and by the time I was settling down to sleep, I was immersed in the warmth of my feelings for Mike and looking forward to a night of wonderful dreams.

-oOo-
I have to admit I wished most of Sunday away. I didn't pay any attention to the sermon and drifted through the coffee time in a daze. Karen sought me out as she had the previous few Sundays.

“I know that dreamy look. Do I take it you'll be providing your own plus one on Friday evening?”

It took me a few moments to register what she was talking about. She rolled her eyes and laughed.

“God, I remember feeling like that. Wonderful as it was I don't think I could stand to go through it again. What's his name?”

At last something I could answer, being as it was right at the front of my mind. My dreamy look became, if possible, even more dreamy.

“Mike, his name's Mike. He owns a restaurant in Highgate. I'm not sure if he'll be able to come on Friday; he's usually working in the evenings.”

“Shame, I'd like to meet the man who captured your heart. I doubt it was easily won.”

“I'll ask and see if he can come. Let you know by Wednesday.”

We chatted about other things, mainly related to vague plans she had for me following the launch. Mostly they seemed to involve high profile parties and public events. I began to see opportunities for networking and putting together a group of potential allies in my crusade for the homeless. With most of the events being in the evening, I would still have a lot of time during the day to relax with a certain highly eligible restaurateur as well as to pursue other interests.

I did manage to talk to Aaron and his friends briefly but they were a little standoffish. I'm not sure if it was because I had dressed for lunch with the pastor in a smart cream top and beige skirt and jacket, or if there was something else entirely. Maybe he had seen that dreamy look in my eyes and figured that he wasn't going to get lucky, who knows?

Lunch with the pastor and his wife was delightful. They were practised hosts and not only fed us well but entertained us in to the bargain. I managed to avoid a few awkward questions about my past and, once they sensed I didn't want to talk about it, they steered the conversation down a safer route.

After lunch I managed to persuade Marion to let me help with the washing up, while at the same time finagled Sharon and Phil into staying with the pastor. Phil didn't take much convincing as he and Pastor James had discovered a mutual interest in, yep you guessed it, football. Sharon was less keen, but seemed to sense that I wanted to spend some time alone, talking with our hostess. It turns out that I didn't fool a great many people with my clumsy attempts at manipulation because no sooner were we in the kitchen behind closed doors than Marion turned to me.

“Now dear, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Am I that obvious?”

“I wouldn't say so no. It's a gift, kind of goes with the job. You learn to look for certain signs.”

I shrugged. All this did was confirm that I had chosen the right person to confide in.

“Do you mind if we work while we talk. I think it'll be easier with a little distraction.”

She smiled at me and held up a pair of rubber gloves and a tea towel.

“Wash or dry?”

So this was the conversation I'd failed to persuade myself to have with pastor James the previous week; the one about having a relationship with God. I'm not going to tell it to you in all it's fine detail because it's a bit of a private thing, besides which I doubt you'd appreciate me preaching at you in the middle of a story. In essence, I wanted to know what was involved, and even went to the extent of telling her something of my recent experiences — well mainly the one with the man in the park. She talked a bit about the Prodigal Son, which was kind of cliché but the way she used it was pretty cool. All about how the first move had to come from the son, after which the father did the rest. I'll tell you about it if you're interested, but the long and short of it is that, once we'd finished the dishes, we went and found a quiet room and Marion introduced me to her God.

When we re-joined the others, Pastor James and Phil were enjoying a football match on the idiot box, and Sharon was looking slightly bored, but scooched up next to Phil and leaning on his shoulder. Marion went over to her husband, kissed him on the top of his head and shared a knowing smile, which he then turned in my direction. In an attempt to evade the general announcement that I knew was coming, I went over to the window. Fortunately it was a bright sunny day and, even though most of the flowers were sleeping their way through winter, the garden, with its rockery and variegated evergreen shrubs, was stunning.

“Oh, that's beautiful. Would you mind?”

Marion smiled. Obviously this was a brownie points winner.

“Come on, I'll show you around?”

I turned to Sharon.

“Coming?”

Oh, the relief in those eyes. We spent a delightful half hour wandering around Marion's pride and joy, listening to her point out all the varying features and explain what we could expect to see at different times through the year. Despite a lifelong aversion to anything green and growing, I couldn't help but be interested, given the passion with which she spoke.

We were invited to stay for tea, but the football match was over and I think Sharon wanted to reclaim her man before she lost him to some other form of male bonding. We made out excuses, offered our thanks and retreated to Phil's car and home.

Sharon kept glancing at me all through the journey. If truth be told, I felt an amazing sense of peace and it must have showed. No I don't attribute it to anything supernatural, but somehow some things that had always seemed slightly off about the world seemed to have clicked into place today and I was immersed in the serenity of feeling — what was it the old man in the park had said? Oh yes, 'God's in his heaven and all's right with the world.'

I did eventually tell my two best friends about what had had happened that afternoon, to be rewarded with an excited squeee from Sharon and a more subdued but genuine approval from Phil. I wanted to go for a walk, to embrace and explore this new calm I was feeling, but the winter sun set too early and I Phil dissuaded me from exploring the neighbourhood in the dark. Mr Bryant had posted the keys to my new apartment through Sharon's letterbox while we were out so I settled on wandering around the empty rooms and planning tomorrow's activities while Sharon and Phil curled up for a while on their own.

Eventually the need for company reasserted itself and I re-joined them just as Sharon and Phil were disentangling themselves in a prelude to Sharon's latest Opus Maximus in the kitchen. Conversation was subdued over tea. I suppose I was caught up in my thoughts and the others didn't want to break into my reverie. After we'd eaten, I retreated to the bath, ostensibly to give my two friends more time together, but really looking to escape by myself and while away the last of the day. I headed to bed early and drifted slowly away amidst swirling thoughts and feelings.

-oOo-
Monday. It was Monday. Mike was coming today. I woke ahead of the alarm, filled with fluttering anticipation; a whole storm of butterflies performing Olympic gymnastics throughout my whole body. God what a feeling, was life ever so wonderful?

I dressed quickly into my overalls and set about making breakfast. A bleary eyes Sharon came to investigate the clattering and to tell me that it was only five o'clock. I did my best to look contrite, but nothing could dampen my mood and Sharon headed for the bathroom with a martyred air.

“I give up. If this is the way you're going to be from now on I can only be thankful that you're getting your own place.”

I tried to make amends with a spectacular breakfast and, between the toasted bagels topped with cream cheese and chives, the cereal with twist cut strawberries and bananas and the coffees with foamed cream, I think I earned my pardon. Sharon certainly left the flat with more of a spring in her step than might be expected of someone woken an hour ahead of schedule. She left me with some sound advice.

“Don't throw yourself at him sweetie. He may be as crazy about you as you obviously are about him, but you'll both enjoy it more if you take it slow.”

I made an effort to tie my mass of hair up and out of the way, choosing to cover it with an old but clean tea-towel, then waltzed my way across the hall to my new home-to-be. My dad had always been one to promote self-reliance in his children and both Glen and I had learnt early on about decorating, having been given the job of repainting our own rooms every couple of years from the age of twelve. He'd been meticulous in his work and exacting in his expectations of us, so by the time we each blazed our separate trails out into the world, we knew how to make a room look good.

I set to with a will and a passion, filling holes, sanding down rough surfaces, priming repairs, washing the walls. It was hard work and, at this stage, not particular rewarding as there was little visible evidence of the improvement.

I was almost ready to start slapping paint about, having just shut off the electricity to the flat and loosened all the electrical fittings, when ten o'clock arrived and with it a buzz on the doorbell. I wiped some of the dust from my face and headed downstairs, half expecting to take delivery of one of my new pieces of furniture. I opened the door to find Mike waiting, a polystyrene box under one arm and his cheeky half-smile on his face.

“Well, I do like the new look. Is this part of the collection you've been modelling as well.”

“Why don't you come in and find out? I'm sure I can find something similar for you.”

I climbed back up the stairs with Mike in tow and opened Sharon's flat.

“Sharon suggested we use her place as a base of operations until mine is liveable in. I'm presuming the box contains lunch, in which case it needs to go in the kitchen and the door closed before any cats sneak in. Then you can come over and join me in my place.”

A few minutes later we were standing in my large, bare living room. Mike looked around, the twinkle in his eye warning me to arm myself.

“Aw, you waited for me before starting... Ow, hey is that how you treat all you guests.”

It had only been a light foam sanding block, but my aim had been good, bouncing it off the bridge of his nose.

“It’s the way I treat cheeky so-and-so's. You said you were good with a paintbrush, let's see you back that up and show me what you can do with a properly prepped surface.”

“Yes m'lady, sorry m'lady.”

The bowing and tugging of the forelock were a nice touch and had me laughing, with him joining in shortly after. That set the scene for the rest of the morning with him proving to be as good a painter as he'd boasted the day before. In no time the living room was done with the main wall a rich burgundy and the other three in the same colour but thinned to a pleasant pink. We had just finished the second coat and were tightening down the sockets and switches when the front door opened and Mr Bryant came in. He didn't say anything but it was obvious from his face that he was impressed. I gave him a cheery smile of the sort Sharon assured me would turn legs to jelly.

“Hello Mr Bryant, What do you think?”

“Wh... wha... It's very good, very good indeed. I have your carpets in the van downstairs if you'll tell me where you'd like them.”

“Well on the floor eventually, but for now could they stand in Liz's flat? I'd like to paint the ceiling before we put them down if that's alright. Probably be ready for them to go down tomorrow morning.”

“Well that's up to you how you sort it. We'll pop them in the flat opposite then and you can take it from there.”

“Sorry weren't you going to get the carpets fitted?”

“I said I'd buy them and deliver them. The rest is up to you.”

I was about to protest but Mike put a hand on my shoulder.

“It's alright, I have a friend who does carpets. He'll do a decent job of fitting them too, which is what you want after all the effort you're putting into the rest of this place.”

I didn't argue. In retrospect my landlord was right, and it was me who had assumed the rest. Still it seemed a bit cheap of him, especially with the savings I was making for him. Mike was already on his phone arranging things, so I led Mr Bryant through to Sharon's flat and showed him where to put his delivery. I was peeved enough to let him do all the heaving and lifting himself, but Mike followed him downstairs and, once I'd seen the size of the rolls, I went to lend a hand as well. Not that that entailed much more than holding doors; there were times when I really missed even the mediocre strength that I'd had as Ken.

For the rest of the morning Mike painted ceilings — a backbreaking job that I was glad to delegate — and I repaired and prepared more walls. At my request Mike talked about his restaurant and how he'd started it up, and he filled the time with stories that had laughing so hard at times I couldn't see straight. When the alarm on my phone sounded, I called a break for lunch and we washed up before heading across to Sharon's and a welcome meal.

“You're going to regret offering to help at this rate.”

I glanced over to Mike as I spoke, worried that perhaps I was speaking the truth.

“Nonsense, I'm glad to help. It's not often I get to spend so much time with such a beautiful woman, and in any case, they say that a change is as good as a rest, and this is certainly a change from what I would normally be doing right now.”

“Oh, and what would that be?”

“Probably sitting behind my desk, ploughing through receipts, wishing I had a life.”

I laughed and squeezed his arm, leaning into him briefly.

“Well I for one am glad of your company, and not just for all your efforts and obvious decorating skills.”

I gave him what I hoped was an earnest look. He held it for a moment then turned away into the kitchen.

“No, I imagine you're just as glad of the food. Would you mind working that infernal contraption while I set about heating up the paella and preparing the paté.?”

The infernal contraption in question was obviously the coffee monster. I set about my task feeling a little rebuffed. Perhaps I needed to try another approach.

“Mike? About Friday night.”

“Forget it. We both made mistakes; water under the bridge.”

“I'd like to explain mine. My mistake I mean.”

I had my head down focusing on doing the necessary to prime the beast for its task of preparing caffeinated heaven, but mainly keeping my eyes averted. I didn't dare look at him.”

“I said there's no need...”

“Except that I feel there is. Please?”

He turned my way, arms folded. There was something of frustration and anger in the way he stood, but there was also a brittle quality to it. He let out a short sigh, almost a gasp.

“Alright.”

I'd been running this through my head over and over, what I'd say, how I'd say it. Now the time was here, none of my planning seemed appropriate so I just went for it, improvised.

“Just over a week ago Liz and I were chatting over one of her exceptional meals and I wanted to know what I was going to do if she ever agreed to marry Phil. She suggested that I might find myself a man who could cook at which point, and I have to say that I was a bit drunk at the time, which is going to sound pretty awful because you're going to start thinking I get drunk all the time when in actual fact I've only been drunk twice in the last I don't know how long. Anyway I asked her would this man be rich, handsome and hung like a horse which set her laughing and the other night I figured since you already filled three of the criteria I thought I might ask about the other, and it might get a laugh. And in the end I don't care about any of it, just that you make me laugh and I feel so alive when you're around...”

I stuttered to a halt, aware that I'd been gabling and cringing inwardly at the mess I'd made of the explanation. I'd been overfeeding the machine and ground coffee had overflowed all over the counter. I was suddenly terrified of the way Mike would react. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe. An eternity passed and I could feel the tears building, pressing against the insides of my closed eyes. Why is it that women leak so easily?

Soft hands on my shoulders, pulling gently but firmly. I have no will to resist. Grey eyes, he has grey eyes. Odd that they should be so warm and inviting. There were tears there. Maybe it isn't just women who leak. His expression, unreadable, crumbling, giving way to... His hand on my cheek, turning it, guiding it, lifting it. His lips on mine. Soft lips. Warm lips. Welcome lips.

And then my arms are around his neck, his around my waist. I have never felt like this, the shuddering relief, the soaring hope, the singing joy. My soul is a skylark shouting out its rapture to the world. This moment can never end; there will never be another like it. It is too much and I feel myself shattering into a million shards of stardust, melting into a golden pool, reforming, returning.

He pulls away and I see my own hope and doubt mirrored in his own eyes. I reach forward to kiss him a second time and for a second time he responds as eagerly, and the world collapses into blissful confusion again for another eternal moment.

We come up for air again. We have to. This time the questions need words. Mike first.

“I can't believe. Do you really think that I'm...”

“Everything I want, yes. I've never felt this way about anyone before. I was so afraid I had pushed you away with that stupid joke.”

I lean forward on his chest. On his shoulder really, he isn't so much taller than me. The tears are welling up again. Reassure me Mike, tell me I didn't blow this. This wonderful, this perfect thing. Tell me you forgive me, tell me we can be together. His head leans on mine.

“I didn't know what to think. What you said seemed to be so much out of character with what I'd seen all evening. I thought I knew who you were, not just beautiful, but bright, witty, thoughtful, compassionate. All those illusions shattered in a moment.

“There's a stupid saying, small man, big dick. I thought you were making fun of me. Drunk or no, it hurt either way. I didn't really think, just acted. I don't suppose Phil and Sharon said anything, but I regretted it the moment I asked you to leave, but by then it was too late. I couldn't take back the words no matter how much I wanted.”

We held to each other as though the world were ending, as though the slightest relaxing of that hold would tear each of us from the other. The words 'I love you' formed in my head. I knew they were true, but this was too soon. I put them aside for some time in the future when I could be more certain that they would be welcomed.

“So what do you think of me now?”

“I think you're everything I hoped you might be. I think perhaps you need to be rationed to two glasses of wine per evening, and I think you're either blind or stupid for wanting to be with me.”

The laughter was a welcome release, for both of us as he joined in, and at last we were able to let go of each other, no longer so fearful that this might be our last time.

“So, lunch?”

“I think so.”

“Would you mind if my coffee were a little less strong?”

I looked at the mess on the counter and burst out laughing again. The spilt coffee went into a zip-lock bag for personal use later and I made a better job on my second attempt. Mike looked my way again.

“Aren't you worried that I'm a bit old for you?”

“Not really. I mean you're allowed half your age plus seven, isn't that the rule? That means the youngest you should go is twenty-one years old and I'm mature for my age; at least when I don't have a whole bottle of champagne sloshing around inside of me. Besides in six years we'll be ok anyway, and I'd rather not wait that long if you don't mind.”

He smiled and shook his head. The paella was sizzling in one of Sharon's woks, receiving an occasional expert shake from the master-chef as he divided his attention between it and the paté, melba toast and rocket salad with vinaigrette dressing. In the time it took me to make two measly cups of coffee, our lunch was ready, the main course simmering gently on the stove while we dug into the entrée .

Everything was delicious of course, almost as good as Friday night and hardly diminished at all for being transported in a Styrofoam box then reheated. We ate our fill and sat back with our drinks.

“You know, if we count Friday as our first date, sort of, and today as the second, I can pretend I'm not such a slut.”

He was in mid sip as I spoke and choked. Some of it came back out his nose.

When he'd finished spluttering, he looked across at me.

“What are you talking about?”

“I think I remember someone telling me once that properly brought up girls don't kiss on a first date. I'm a little concerned that we haven't actually been on one yet and I already have intimate knowledge of your tonsils.”

“You are the oddest mix, you know that?”

“What do you mean?”

“It's like someone took a little girl and muddled her up with a grown woman. Most of the time you act so mature I find it hard to believe you're only eighteen, then in just a mouthful of words you regress ten years.”

“I am a conundrum. One day I'll tell you about it, but not today.”

I drained my coffee and stood up.

“Because today we have three more rooms to paint, and since I can only have you 'til...?”

“Five-thirty.”

“Five-thirty, I shall have to work you like a dog so that I don't have too much to finish on my own this evening.”

“Hey watch it. I'm not much for indentured servitude and if you work me too hard today, I may not come back tomorrow.”

I held out my hands and he allowed me to pull him to his feet. He had to do most of the work at that since I was just too small and weak to make much of a difference.

“Ah, but you're not doing it because I crack my whip. You're doing it because you can't bear to think of me working my pretty little fingers to the bone into the small hours of the night, while you put your feet up in your kitchen and yell at your minions.”

“Oho, put my feet up is it? I'll have you know that I shall be working just as hard as you if not harder this evening, and all for the pleasure of some people I've never met.”

“And the wads of cash they're going to pay you for that pleasure.”

He chased me out of the kitchen and across the hallway, both of us laughing and giggling all the way until eventually I turned and fell into his arms. It wasn't like the first time; it could never be. It was still wonderful though.

The afternoon flew by on a cloud of laughter and kisses. We probably didn't get as much work done as I had first hoped, but we had a lot more fun. On several occasions we were interrupted by the arrival of my flat-pack furniture. It all went into Sharon's lounge, filling it up to an increasing amount. I was glad I'd let Sharon persuade me not to have the bed or suite delivered until the Wednesday. At the time I'd thought she was just trying to diddle me into staying with her a couple more days, but now I saw there was no way it would have fitted while we were still working on the decorating.

Five-thirty came round too quickly. I broke off work fifteen minutes before so I could give Mike a proper goodbye-and-thanks-for-all-the-help without making him late.

“Same time tomorrow?”

“I was wondering if maybe you'd like some company while you're doing your grocery shopping.”

I walked fingers up his shirt and studied his buttons studiously, not wishing to influence his decision by looking at him.

“Oh you are a temptress, but not tomorrow. I think your bones are going to be aching when you wake up and I wouldn't want to inflict a couple of hours’ worth of argy-bargy in the local market onto someone as delicate as yourself. Maybe Wednesday after we've had a gentler day tomorrow. I'll treat you to breakfast at this little bistro I know.”

“Ooh be still me beating heart. Such romance, such elegance, such élan.”

“Be quiet you or I shall feed you on dry crusts and water for the rest of the week.”

What an opening; like a barn door.

“Speaking of the rest of this week, I don't suppose there is any chance of your taking Friday evening off?”

“Not a chance. Friday is the busiest day of the week. No-one gets Friday off, especially not the boss. Why do you ask?”

“Oh it's just that I have this work thing, you know launch of the new Elle-gance line. I'm supposed to bring a plus one, and if it's not going to be you it will have to be some rent-a-hunk.”

“Should I be jealous?”

“Not if you take Friday off.”

I leaned forward to breath that last in his ear, playing with him. He was giving me uncomfortable vibes. I was pushing this too far. I eased back and looked deep into his eyes.

“And not if you can't either. There's no-one I'd rather have on my arm than you, but not if it means you giving up your life. The monkey in the suit will only be eye-candy for the cameras and I'll probably be kept too busy to spend much time with you in any case. Tell me you'll give me some of your Saturday though.”

“From the dawn chorus to the gathering gloom of evening I shall be yours, and if you and our friends will deign to eat as my guests, as much of the evening as I can spare as well. There will be less champagne this time though.”

“Do you have a thing about fat women?”

“What d'you mean?”

“I mean if I end up eating in your restaurant every week I shall soon be positively Raphaelite, and unemployable in my chosen profession.”

“Then I shall feed you on celery sticks while Phil and Sharon feast to their heart's content. And I think maybe you mean Rubenesque.”

“Not celery, yuk, but ok as long as we can limit the calorie intake this time I'll ask them, and are you sure? Anyway It's time you went, not that I want you to go.”

We kissed long and languorously, then I turned to walk back inside. I couldn't help it. Just as I reached the door I turned to look and he was standing there, as though waiting for just that moment. He gave me one of his heart melting smiles and climbed into his car.

-oOo-
“Wow, nice headgear.”

I turned find Sharon standing in the doorway wearing a cotton blouse tied at the midriff and a pair scruffy jeans I'm sure I had consigned to the bin all those weeks ago. I reached up to my until then forgotten tea towel and felt evidence of paint splatters all over it.

“I'll buy you another one.”

“Oh don't worry, that was going into the ragbag next time round anyway.”

She offered me one of the two glasses of wine she had brought with her and I accepted gratefully.

“This place looks amazing. You don't fancy doing mine afterwards do you?”

“If you like.”

“I was joking. You can hardly see the walls in my place for all the clutter anyway.”

“Ok, well I wasn't. Any time you change your mind just say.”

Her mind had already moved on though.

“So tell me...”

She arched her eyebrows and settled down on the ratty old carpet in the middle of my newly painted bedroom. I couldn't hide the smile and sat beside her, everything she really needed to know already present in my body language and the expression on my face. We didn't get any work done in the next half hour as we oohed and aahed and squealed and I-knowed through the day's events.

“He's invited the three of us over to the restaurant again on Saturday evening. He promises less wine and fewer calories.”

“Mmm, how can a promise like that still sound so good?”

Time for more work. Sharon picked up the glasses and headed for the kitchen, I turned back to stencilling some autumn leaves onto my newly painted, rich green bedroom walls.

Phil turned up a short while later, whistling in appreciation and wondering out loud just how much there was left to do. I was glad to give him a list and he threw his arms up in surrender by the time I'd reached item twenty or thereabouts. I asked him if he would mind taking up the carpets in the lounge and bedroom and offered to give him a hand. It was heavy work and for all the effort I put into it, I really didn't do much to help. Eventually we had the second one rolled up and in the middle of the room. He sat down on it and I joined him, exhausted.

“Doesn't it bother you? Not being so strong now I mean.”

“Yes a bit. There have been times out on the streets when I felt helpless and scared, and others when I've been frustrated, but you know there's give and take here and if the only way I can have what I've been given is to give up what's been taken, then I'd do it again in a heartbeat.”

He smiled, but a pensive smile. He was trying to understand and failing badly. In the end he shook his head.

“Well I'm glad for you that you are so much happier, and I do see that, I really do. I just wish I could understand.”

“And I wish I could explain it. Phil, all I know is that I feel right now. Even if I were cold and starving out on the streets I'd still feel right. Like who I am on the inside now matches who I am on the outside.”

“But couldn't you have been someone else on the inside?”

“To an extent yes. Put it this way, if Sharon were to say that a condition of your staying together was that you should give up football. No more watching it, no more playing it, no more talking about it.”

“You know I'd do it for her.”

“I know you would, it probably wouldn't even be difficult, but imagine yourself weeks, months, even years from now. You catch sight of a game being played on television in a shop window, you walk past a football ground and hear the cheers going on inside, you hear some mates talking about last week’s game down the pub. Are you telling me you wouldn't be tempted, that you wouldn't miss it?”

He nodded his head.

“Now imagine that feeling magnified a thousand times. Imagine a girl walking into the bar in a pretty dress. All you guys are leaning across to get a better look at her legs or her boobs, me I'm wishing I could be her, wishing I could look so good. I can't do it, I can’t even talk to anyone about it. I just have to pretend that I'm doing the same as you guys. It isn't something I asked for any more than you asked for your love of football.”

“Sh!t.”

The door opened and Sharon stuck her head in.

“If I'd known you guys were sitting around doing nothing I'd have called you over to help. C'mon, teas ready.”

-oOo-
The next morning I ached just as Mike had predicted, but I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that. I managed to get myself out of bed, into my work clothes and over in my flat with a cup of coffee and a slice of toast in hand by eight-thirty, and it's just as well that I did because Mike's carpet laying friend turned up half an hour later.

He was a big bloke who quite amazingly managed to lift even the largest of the old carpets onto his shoulder and walk it out of the flat. I hadn't thought to buy underlay and at least one of the carpets needed it. He just shrugged his shoulders and brought enough in to do both rooms, explaining that the bedroom carpet would last longer with it. There wasn't much I could do to help other than feed him cups of coffee — three sugars, ugh — and watch in wonder as he made the whole job look easy. I went to find my newly delivered chequebook as he was clearing up his tools.

“How much do I owe you?”

he drained the last of his coffee and offered me the mug.

“You'll 'ave to take that up wiv Mike, as far as I'm concerned it's all sorted.”

“But, I mean the underlay and everything.”

“Like I said luv.”

He was adamant.

“Well thank-you, I really don't know what to say.”

“Just glad I could help.”

He smiled and ambled out, by chance meeting Mike at the front door. Their short conversation drifted up to my dazed mind as I stared in wonder at my perfect, if empty, living room.

“Hello Geoff, you alright?”

“Doing good mate, all done and dusted. You got a real keeper there, you 'ang onto 'er.”

“Don't worry, I fully intend to.”

He found me still looking in at my gorgeous flat and stopped, uncertain of himself.

“You heard that didn't you?”

I made some sweeping motion of my hand to brush it off, like an annoying fly.

“Mike, why didn't he take payment? I mean he put down underlay and everything. How can he run a business when he gives things away like that?”

He shrugged and fiddled with his fingernails.

“He sort of thinks he owes me. Every so often I call him and ask to do something like this. It makes him happy.”

“You're not telling me everything.”

“No I'm not, I wouldn't want to embarrass him.”

He wouldn't say more and we got to work. As he'd suggested the previous day, it was lighter work. We only had the bathroom and kitchen to do, and they were largely tiled. We'd prepped both rooms the previous day and now just had to work carefully with old sheets on the floor to keep the new bathroom carpet clean.

There were few damaged tiles in both rooms with none from the original batch available to replace them. With Mr Bryant's approval, I had bought contrasting tiles of the same size for each room and now came the fiddly job of replacing some without damaging the others. In the end it wasn't that hard. Clear out the grouting around the one you wanted to get rid of, hit it with a hammer to break it up into small shards and pick out the debris. Tidy up the wall behind, glue in the new tile using matchsticks as spacers and move on to the next one.

I marked out the tiles I wanted removed, most cracked but some still good so I had an even random dotting of new tiles, and we took a room each. It was fiddly but not so grubby or exhausting as the previous day's work, and we'd finished by lunchtime.

Keeping to his promise to help me keep my figure, Mike served us soup and granary rolls for lunch. We talked around a number of topics, which of my flat-packs we would build first that afternoon, what we planned to do on Saturday, where we would meet tomorrow for his grocery run. All little nothings, but all the more special for sharing them with each other.

And this is where everything settled into a routine of sorts. Afternoons spent decorating and filling my flat, mornings spent shopping for the restaurant, and believe me I learnt a lot about buying food that week. Such mundane things to do, but transformed magically by the presence of this very ordinary looking man who made my heart race every time I was with him. If ever I had a doubt that there was any of the old Ken left inside me, it disappeared that week as I abandoned myself to my feelings for Mike.

I waited 'til Wednesday evening before calling Karen to tell her she'd need to provide the escort for Friday. I'd hoped that Mike might change his mind, but had accepted it when he didn't. By the time Friday came, the flat was finished and so much more to my taste than the comfortably cluttered way Sharon preferred to live. I'd even started buying books from stalls around the market while Mike haggled for his cabbages and had half-filled one of my bookcases with titles I'd always wanted to own.

We enjoyed our first meal together in my new kitchen-diner on Friday, surrounded by all the sparkly new gadgets and gizmos. There was a coffee maker, big brother to the one in Sharon's flat, a gift from Sharon and Phil, and a rack of pots and pans hanging from the ceiling, part of the house warming present Mike had given me, the knives and associated cooking implements that filled one of the new cabinet drawers making up the rest. All of it as yet unused as Mike had once more provided the meal, this time a curried prawn salad.

After we'd eaten I reluctantly said goodbye and pushed him out the flat. I needed to look my best this evening and after the week's messy work had fallen out of the habit of making myself look beautiful. The dress for the evening had been delivered that morning; a great big meringue of a thing except for the colour. The very full skirts were black and lightly sequinned, falling all the way to the floor. I'd need three inch heels to stop myself from dragging the hem and tripping over at every turn. The bodice was low backed and strapless, requiring what looked like half a bra and some sticky tape to keep things in their place, and there was a tiara of all things.

I should have been looking forward to this evening, but without the promise of Mike's presence on my arm, all the joy and anticipation seemed to have been sucked from the event.

I did the usual thing with the long bath filled with scented oils and bubbles, washed my hair and spent the usual chunk of forever drying it and brushing it into some sort of order. I was so out of practice with the makeup that it took me three attempts before it started to look good and a couple more before I was satisfied.

The bra felt odd and uncomfortable until I got used to it. The black stockings seemed unnecessary, but I supposed there was always the possibility that I might show a little leg at some stage so I put them on anyway. The dress felt strange, and I remembered the same feeling when I'd been modelling it. For all its fullness, the skirt was light and airy, meaning that it didn't pull on the bodice, so at least my constant fear of being exposed to the world was lessened.

With the tiara in place and my angel wings necklace around my neck, I dabbed some perfume on my wrists and neck before stepping into my shoes — stilts more like — and standing before the full length mirror door on my closet. I was ready to make an impression and that at least made me feel good. I imagined Mike standing next to me in a smart dinner jacket and smiled. Whoever I was going with tonight, I would imagine he was Mike and everything would be alright.

I had twenty minutes before the car was due to pick me up so practised walking in all my paraphernalia. My legs kept getting tangled in the many layers of the skirt until I remembered Elizabeth's advice to take small steps. That helped with the shoes as well and in no time I had mastered the elegance I'd somehow managed during the photo-shoot.

Sitting proved to be more awkward with the skirt insisting on spreading everywhere. I would need a lot of space either side of me if I ever had to sit and resigned myself to a long evening on my feet, or rather toes as three inches was high for someone with such small feet as mine.

The doorbell rang and I grabbed my faux-fur stole and a small black sequinned handbag and made my way carefully downstairs to where Karen was waiting. We air kissed, conscious of each other's makeup, and made our way to the waiting limos blocking a fair length of street.

“You look fabulous tonight Liz, just the sort of thing we were hoping for. Remember just be yourself and enjoy the limelight when you get there, you deserve it. Let me know how you get on with Tarquin.”

Tarquin! Who calls their child Tarquin these days? Filed with trepidation I thanked the driver who was holding my door, scooped up my immense skirts and slid inside.

Trying my hardest to mask my mixed feelings I turned to my companion smiled in greeting.

You meant it for evil - 12 by Maeryn Lamonte Tarquin! Who calls their child Tarquin these days? Filled with trepidation I thanked the driver who was holding my door, scooped up my immense skirts and slid inside. Trying my hardest to mask my mixed feelings I turned to my companion and smiled in greeting.

-oOo-
Sh!t, he was gorgeous. I felt my breath catch as I took in his deep blue eyes and short, curly blond hair. He had a relaxed and easy smile and a trim figure. His languid smile broadened as he noticed my reaction.

“I get that a lot.”

“I'm sorry?”

“You know, when you saw me for the first time and it took your breath away? I imagine it happens to you all the time too.”

“Not that I'd noticed.”

“You should look for it. I imagine it happens more often than you would think. Doesn't mean anything of course, just a trick of nature. I'm Tarquin by the way.”

He held out his hand and I found myself warming to him. Ok, so he knew he looked good, at least he didn't take it seriously.

“Elizabeth, but my friends call me Liz.”

“Is that an invitation?”

The question made me smile. I wasn't sure if it was insecurity or politeness, but in either case it went in his favour.

“I should think so. How did you get landed with a name like Tarquin?”

“I know it's dreadful isn't it? Everyone keeps asking if I'm gay. I suppose mother thought it was upper class or something. Made school a bit of a drag; meant I had to work out some so people wouldn't take the piss all the time. Worked though, I hardly ever had to hit anyone.”

The voice was plummy with a decidedly high society accent, but natural, not affected. The way he spoke was laid back to the point of not caring what people thought. I guess it went with the territory though. Either he was so privileged that he didn't give a rat's arse or he was so sick of people sucking up to him because he was good looking and talked posh that he was beyond caring. I suspected — and hoped for the latter.

“So how'd you get into this line of business then?”

He laughed.

“You have to use your assets Liz. I was a disappointment to my parents academically. All that bloody money wasted on private education and I scarcely scraped two 'A' levels. Father was too terrified of what I might do if he put me in the army and there was sod all else about for a thicko like me. Then mother had the idea of using my looks, asked around her friends, who asked theirs. Eventually I was introduced to someone who ran a male escort service and I was considered suitably qualified, so here I am.

“Make pots of money at it too, though the fossils insist I invest most of it. In about ten years I'll already be too old for this crap, and if I haven't found another way of making a living by then I'll need the cash to keep me going. Frankly I'm hoping to meet some sweet young girl with pots of money of her own and marry into a life of luxury and ease. How about you?”

“I suppose I'm in a similar position to you. I've only just started modelling, but I suspect I'll be looking for something different in ten years. I'm not thinking about it for now though, I have enough things happening in my life to keep me busy and interested.”

“Ah. Bloody shame you're not rich, otherwise I'd be turning on the old charm. Sorry I appear to be swearing rather a lot, hope it doesn't bother you.”

“As long as you clear it out of your system before we arrive. I'm not sure Karen would be that pleased otherwise.”

“Oh don't worry, I'll be good when we get there. I just want to make sure that I'm not upsetting you.”

We settled into silence and I tried to bring my clothing under control. The inside of the limo was immense, but somehow my skirts were trying their hardest to fill all available space. My clothing and I reached an impasse which became something of an acceptable compromise. Tarquin was looking out at the traffic with a bored expression on his face. I decided to try and tap him for information.

“So, have you been to anything like this before? This is my first one and I could do with a bit of a clue as to what to do.”

He shrugged.

“Just smile and wave my dear. Lean on my arm and smile and wave. There'll be a stack load of reporters when we first get out of the car, so be prepared with that smile and try not to blink too much. Inside I've never really noticed. Usually whoever I'm with gets carted off in some direction and I'm left to go looking for a glass of wine and some hors d'oeuvres. Generally we leave together doing as good an impression as we can of not being pissed out of our brains and then it's off home to bed. Sorry I can't be more help.”

The silence reasserted itself and I decided it was probably for the best. Apart from our professions putting us in similar positions, we really didn't have that much in common. Eventually we arrived at the gallery where the launch was being held and the limousine pulled up outside. Tarquin touched my arm lightly.

“Wait until the driver opens the door for you, climb out as gracefully as you can — believe me there will be a lot of cameras — then step to the right and wait for me. I'll follow you out and offer you my arm, then we go in smiling and waving.”

It didn't sound too hard and turned out to be good advice as I was half blinded by the cameras flashing. Having his arm to hold onto helped keep me steady and meant that I could walk even though I could hardly see. Once safely inside, Karen came over and rescued me and Tarquin gave me a cheerful wave before drifting off in search of refreshments. I turned to Karen.

“That's all he does?”

“That and escort you out when you leave. I suppose I could ask him to stay with you if you want, but I thought you wanted to meet some people.”

“No it's not that, it's just... well let's say I'm glad Mike didn't come tonight.”

“Oh it's different when you bring a guest, he gets to stay with you through most of the evening. The problem with doing it with rent-a-gent is that what looks good for the cameras doesn't survive closer scrutiny. Any relationship between yourself and the man you're with comes over as false and that puts the rest of the evening in a bad light.

“Your main job tonight is to talk to the women about the different clothes you wore in the photo-shoot. Sell everything as best you can without overdoing it if you know what I mean. If you take some time from that job to talk about your other interests then as far as I'm concerned it will only help portray you as an honest and intelligent young girl, so all the more to be trusted in your advice about the Elle-gance line.”

And so began a long and very frustrating evening, As I was introduced to a group of people, I would start by talking about the clothes to the women, answering questions about how certain dresses felt and moved, then, based largely on complexion and build — and apparent social standing; I mean you wouldn't suggest a shell suit to the queen would you? — I would suggest one or two other outfits I thought might look good. Everyone had copies of the new catalogue, so it was easy to flip through the pages and point out the clothes in question. Then when we'd done talking business, they'd invariably ask about my interests and I'd say a bit about cooking and decorating and a lot about the homeless, usually directing my attention to the men at that point.

When it reached the point where I would suggest ways in which they could become involved, things would begin to fall apart. Members of Parliament who were even vaguely involved in the problem would shy away from my questions and suggestions and tell me to write them a letter whereas businessmen weren't interested in talking about their charitable giving or whether they had any disused and soon to become derelict buildings.

I guess I was too much of an unknown quantity, I mean attractive eighteen year old girls like me aren’t generally known for talking about real world issues, except perhaps to pledge for world peace in beauty pageants. After a while I took a different tack and started asking what I could do or say that would convince them I was serious enough for them to invest some time or money into my ideas, at which point they started talking about business plans and real time strategies that took into account time scales, staffing, financing and the like. As Ken, I had studied this as part of my degree so I was able to talk sensibly enough off the cuff to raise a few eyebrows and earn me enough promises that they would read and consider anything I presented to them in the future.

I managed to keep a congenial face all through the evening, something that became significantly harder as my frustration level grew and my feet began to ache. Eventually things began to wind down and once the party had reduced to a few stragglers, all deep in their own conversations and no longer interested in talking about clothing, Karen came and found Charlotte and me to tell us we could go. I collected Tarquin from where he was chatting amiably with what I imagined had to be some friends of his parents, and we walked out together still smiling for the few die-hard cameramen who, Tarquin warned me, were looking for less than flattering shots to plaster over the tabloids.
Once in the car I slid angry feet out uncomfortable shoes and submitted to their barking at me for a few minutes over the way I had abused them then, once they had settled down I closed my eyes for a moment.

I woke up to a gentle nudging to find myself leaning against a well-muscled arm. I backed off in alarm and embarrassment, which doubled when I noticed that I had been dribbling a little in my sleep.

“Oh sh!t I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that. Oh look at your jacket.”

I hunted in my purse for tissues and started sponging away at the damp spot on his arm. Tarquin laughed and took the tissue from my hands.

“It's nothing and I really didn't mind. Look you were exhausted and it seemed best to let you sleep. I wouldn't have woken you now, except we've arrived at your flat.

“I've enjoyed this evening more than usually, I mean I know we were only together for the limo ride to and from, but it was nice to be treated as a person rather than a commodity. If you ever want to do something like this again, I'll be glad to oblige, even to follow you around and shake hands if you want.”

“Thank-you. Er, you should know I'm in a relationship.”

“Of course you bloody well are. Someone as beautiful as you, you'd be spoilt for choice. Strictly business Liz, with maybe a little bit of friendship. No benefits expected though.”

“Well when you put it like that, I'll give it some serious thought.”

I reached over and kissed him on the cheek, then had to retrieve my tissue to clean the lipstick off his face.

“Goodnight Tarquin.”

I retrieved my shoes and stepped out of the car, thanking the stoically waiting driver on the way. There was a light under Sharon's door so I took a chance and knocked lightly. A moment later the dressing gown clad form of my friend and neighbour cracked open the door and peered out, smiling openly once she saw it was me.

“I need to get out of this very elegant torture device, but if you want to pop over for a chat I think I have a few more minutes before I turn into a pumpkin.”

By the time I had changed out of the dress — being sure to hang it up neatly of course — and taken a quick revitalising shower, Sharon was waiting with two mugs of steaming hot chocolate. She listened patiently as I spoke of the brick wall I had spent all evening banging my head against. Ok, lousy grammar, but I'm tired alright. You try walking around on tiptoes with your boobs strapped up wearing a dress that's constantly trying to tangle your legs for five hours and tell me you'd do any better. And ok, I'm a bit ratty, but then I'm tired and frustrated.

Sharon did the best thing a friend could do. She listened then she gave me a hug and sent me off to bed.

-oOo-
I awoke with my arms wrapped around a pillow to the sound of an insistent buzzing coming from the living room. Nursing a muggy head, I stumbled through to the intercom and mumbled something unintelligible into the mouthpiece. Mike's cheery, if somewhat distorted, voice responded.

“Hey Liz, do you know how long ago the dawn chorus was?”

I pressed the door release until I heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs then headed for the kitchen and set the caffeine-omatic about its business. It took me a few moments to register that there was still a locked door between Mike and me and shuffled back into the living room to let him in.

He gave me an approving look which had to be one of the best acting jobs of all time given that my hair was a Medusa's tangle, my face a study in gormlessness and my nightclothes a rather short and rumpled tee-shirt nightie with something cute and nondescript on the front. Oh, short. Legs. I guess there was something to look at. He reached in to kiss me but I pushed him away.

“No, I haven't brushed my teeth yet.”

They actually felt a little furry and I headed for the bathroom where other business awaited my pleasure too.

“Coffee's brewing. Help yourself when it's done.”

I showered and etceteraed in record time for a zombie, then made the world’s slowest dash for the bedroom, wrapped only in a towel. This was going to be a jeans and jumper day and stuff the fashion business. My toes were still aching from those shoes and I relished the thought of trainers or at the very least flats for the day. Besides which I wouldn't need much of a heel to find myself looking down on Mike, and I didn't want to do that to him.

I tried untangling my hair, but it would take too long and I needed my morning fix. I carried my hairbrush through to the kitchen and handed it to Mike in exchange for the coffee he offered me, then sat with my back to him and breathed in the fumes of life. For a bloke he caught on pretty quick and I could have purred at the double pleasure of that first cup and having someone brush through my hair.

“Do I dare ask how it went last night?”

He found a knot and teased at it gently until it gave way. About the same time my revitalised brain kicked in and I uttered my first comprehensible statement of the morning.

“From the Karen's point of view it went brilliantly. Charlotte and I wowed the crowd to the extent that she was running out of space in her order book. For me personally it was less wonderful. Five hours standing in three inch heels was no picnic and, although I managed to talk to a lot of the right people about the whole homeless issue, none of them would take me seriously enough to hear me out.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

“Come up with a business plan. Show them the financial sense of it all. Start writing to my MP and every MP on the committee dealing with the homeless issue right now. Keep doing that 'til somebody listens.”

“Good for you. Hopefully you don't plan to start today though?”

I favoured him with the brightest smile in the box.

“No today is all about us.”

“Great, maybe I can have my good morning kiss now.”

He'd earned it. Extra-special, super-sized with a side order of mmmmn.

“So how was my replacement?”

Residual cerebral mugginess prevented me from understanding immediately. He stuck out the crook of his arm in pantomime and light dawned.

“He was really sweet in vaguely nice-but-dim sort of way. Tarquin if you'd believe it. Definite hunk, but not really my type.”

I drained the second half of my mug and felt life and civilisation return to normal.

“So what are we going to do today?”

“D'you have any wellies or shoes you don't mind getting muddy?”

“I think I can find some. This isn't going to involve walking miles is it?”

“Not really, at least not for you. Not unless you want to at least.”

“I'm intrigued.”

“Good, nothing like a bit of anticipation to whet the appetite. You'll need a warm coat as well. Weather's smiling on us, but there is a bit of a chill in the air.”

We climbed into Mike's Range Rover — it still felt odd climbing up into a car — and headed north towards Epping. Mike wouldn't be drawn on where we were going and I had no clue until, without warning, we turned off onto a very narrow unmade track.

“Did that just say...?”

The sickly sweet smell of fresh manure assaulted our nostrils before we turned the last corner to be confronted with churned up mud and a half dozen ramshackle buildings. Mike switched off the engine and a gentle nickering could be heard from the nearest barn. I couldn't contain my grin and Mike returned it with his own twisted smile.

“My cousin runs the place. Come on I'll introduce you.”

And we were off, picking our way through the slurry towards the nearest and, by a short margin, least dilapidated structure. Mike knocked and pushed his way in. A heavily built woman in her early thirties looked up and beamed at him.

“Mike, it's been way too long. What brings you out here?”

“Katie, I'd like you to meet Liz, the most wonderful girl in the world. Liz my cousin Katie, the other most wonderful girl in the world.”

Smiles and handshakes later, Katie turned to Mike and said in something of a stage whisper.

“What are you thinking Mike? She's far too young and pretty for you.” Then to me. “What do you see in this decrepit old fossil?”

“Oh I'm only into him for the money. When he retires in a year or so, I'll strap him to the bed and ride him 'til his heart gives out.”

Katie's gay hoots of laughter told me I'd gauged her about right. Mike's red face would just have to serve him right for introducing me to family without warning. Laughter subsided and Katie wiped genuine tears from her eyes.

“And I suppose that's what you're here for is it? Riding lessons.”

The prospect was exciting and I looked over at Mike with eager schoolgirl eyes. He shrugged.

“I wasn't sure if you'd ever done this before, but I thought it might be fun.”

Once Katie had kitted us out with the necessary safety gear, she led us to a staging area where we were introduced to the two most laid back horses you're even likely to meet. Mine was a chestnut brown gelding, fifteen hands high so I was told, with a messy white splash between his (its?) eyes. He turned docile eyes my way and I felt my apprehension ease a little. Katie started her little spiel.

“It's important to feel confident when approaching a horse. There's not much you can do about their size, I mean most of the exhilaration of horse riding is the feeling of half a ton of muscle beneath you, so instead we start you off with our gentlest creatures so you can reach that point of trusting them.”

I was helped up into my saddle, Mike swinging into his like a pro, and for the next hour or so we learnt the commands necessary to direct the horses. Mike tried to hide his expression, but it was obvious he had done this before and was bored out of his mind. For me the novelty was enough to keep me excited and before long Katie declared us both ready for the next bit.

The two quieter horses were led away and another two with a livelier step and an alert expression replaced them. Mine was a beautiful palomino mare named Wind Dancer who tossed her head at me as I approached. Katie came up to me and whispered in my ear.

“Try to channel that apprehension into excitement. The more you take control here, the quicker you'll have her doing what you want instead of the other way around.”

I was excited and as I focused on that feeling I felt the early stages of fear melt into the more positive feeling. I approached my new mount with growing confidence. She nickered and pulled her head up, but I took the bridle and held her still, stroking her nose and calming her with quiet words. Some of my practice on the quieter horses had involved mounting and dismounting, so when I felt she was ready, I swung up into the saddle. She tried to sidestep on me, but I was ready for her and made it up safely, tugging the reins to keep her still.

The lessons continued, through trotting and cantering until Katie felt that we were ready to head out into the fields. Actually it was more me than we, Mike had so obviously done this before and was a consummate horseman. We trotted out into the open and Wind Dancer decided that she'd had enough of plodding about. I could feel her muscles bunching under me and just managed to tighten my own grip as she launched into a full gallop. For a moment I was going to try and haul her in, but then the exhilaration took me and I bent low to her back and let her have her head.

What a rush, hair whipping about behind me, wind streaking past. She was heading for a fence and I didn't feel ready for any air time just yet so I firmly dug in a knee and pulled her head to one side. She responded and I felt the double thrill that came with my sense of control over her. Mike eased alongside, his worried expression melting into a mirror of my own as I smiled back my delight.

After what seemed like an age I felt Wind Dancer ease her pace a little and I pulled her back into a canter then a gentle trot. Mike pulled up alongside me.

“You're a natural.”

“I hope so. I can see myself doing a lot of this.”

“I'm glad. I've been doing this since I was about twelve when Katie got her first horse. This is the first time I've found anyone to share it with though.”

The regular motion between my legs began to have a secondary effect on me and Mike turned his head away from me as a strangely distracted cross-eyed look settled on my features.

“Oh my, I am definitely doing this again.”

Mike's laugh came back to me from a respectful distance.

“If that's going to happen to you on a regular basis, you're going to have to learn to hide it better.”

No-one else was watching and Mike seemed ok with it, so I gave in to the sensations that flooded through me. Part of me imagined I was with Mike instead of the rather sturdy lady between my legs and before long I was biting my lip, trying not to moan out loud. Eventually I had to stop and dismount, my legs all but collapsing as I made it back onto Terra Firma.

Mike came to join me and we let the horses graze for a while as we lay back on the damp grass and looked out over the busy city in the distance.

“I thought you were trying to make me jealous again back there.”

I laughed and kissed him.

“I may have been with her, but all the time I was thinking of you my sweet.”

Nothing needed to be said. It was enough to be lying there in the crook of his arm, leaning my head on his chest and feeling his gentle hand stroking my hair. I tried to imagine myself as Ken in Mike's place right now and knew I wouldn't have been happier.

All too soon Mike checked his watch and nudged me.

“Come on, we'd better be getting back or Katie will be sending out search parties.”

The horses hadn't gone far and seemed to have regained their wind a little. Wind Dancer was a lot more accommodating as I climbed up into her saddle, then Mike called out his challenge to race me back and startled his own mount into a gallop. I dug my own feet in and my new friend responded with eagerness. We caught up with Mike, who I suspect wasn't trying that hard, and eased in alongside. We raced back down the path together, only easing the pace as the stable came into view.

Katie was waiting as we dismounted, obviously enjoying a certain amount of vicarious pleasure from the expression on my own face. She took a firm hold on my arm and dragged me away.

“Let me show you where the loo is.”

I was grateful to her as I needed a little bit of a clean-up. She had some sanitary pads available which helped a little, but I was going to need a change of clothes soon.

“If you don't want the distraction, wear a pad when you ride. At least that way you can control how much you enjoy yourself.”

We re-joined Mike in the office and I went over to hang on his arm.

“I'm sorry love but I'm going to have to go home for a change of clothes.”

He shrugged.

“Katie thanks so much for this morning, it has been a truly memorable experience.”

“You're welcome any time Liz. Just give me a day or so warning so I can put a horse aside for you.”

“How about this afternoon?”

I looked up at Mike and he laughed, shaking his head.

“No I think this is something else we're going to have to ration you on. There is such a thing as too much of a good thing.

“Thanks cuz. I suspect we'll be paying you a visit next week sometime.”

We headed back to the car with me still dangling from Mike's arm, suffused in a warm afterglow. As we climbed up into the Range Rover again I saw it in a slightly different light.

“Well at least now I know why you have such an enormous car. I was worried that you were compensating for something.”

“What makes you think I'm not?”

I spent the drive back gazing over at him, drinking in all that was good about him. Sometime soon I would have to do something for him to show those feelings. I was so engrossed that I didn't notice the roundabout way he drove us home. It was approaching one o'clock when we pulled up near to the flat. For some reason there were a lot more cars than usual and we had to park a little way down the road. Still not even the neighbours having another party was going to spoil my mood.

“So what are we going to do this afternoon? Do you have any more surprises in store for me?”

I slid the key into my door and pushed it open.

“Surprise!”

The joint yell caught me totally off guard and I turned an entirely gob-smacked face towards the laughter of just about everyone I knew.

-oOo-
Sharon, wearing a short blue dress that was all frills and flounces, grabbed my arm and dragged me towards the bedroom.

“Yours is in the bathroom Mike.”

It sounded like Phil but looked more like one of the Bash Street Kids. Totally bemused I allowed myself to be led to my room and the purple dress lying on the bed.

“Sharon, what is this?”

“Sort of an impromptu flat warming. We went for the afternoon so that Mike could join in. He's been running interference for us, keeping you distracted while we got the place ready. Don't worry none of the decorations are stuck on; we wouldn't want to ruin the fantastic job you did on this place.”

“But I mean... this.”

I waved at her dress and the dress on the bed.

“Well you remember telling me that one of your regrets was missing out on growing up as a girl? I decided to do something about that. Your friend Elizabeth's twelve year old daughter has been very helpful in deciding all the things we're going to do this afternoon, and what party food to get.

“Come on, get dressed. You're missing all the fun.”

It was the sweetest dress ever. A deep rich purple with puffed sleeves and a short puffball skirt. It came with sparkly thigh high stockings with little purple bows at the top and a pair of matching purple Mary Janes. It looked ridiculous, but in the most amazing little girl way. I looked over at Sharon in an equally daft little girl party dress and arm in arm, laughing at the idiocy of it all, we re-joined the others.

Karen was there, also in bows and lace, but perhaps a little less cutesy, and so was Elizabeth with a young girl standing very close and holding onto her skirts. I went straight over and crouched down to speak to her.

“You must be Cassie, you're mum has told me so much about you. My friend tells me you helped with all this is that right?”

She looked uncertainly up at her mum, then encouraged by her smile gave me a nod.

“Can you show me all the things you did?”

And like that we were best of friends and she was chatting to me about all the games and presents and party food we were going to enjoy.

“I don't know about this, isn't there anything else I can wear?”

It was Mike just coming out of the bathroom and looking a lot like Phil in his shorts and blazer. He looked kind of cute, but embarrassed. I put my finger on my lips and winked at Cassie before sauntering over to him.

“We could always swap if you like.”

He turned and his eyes came out on stalks.

“Oh no, I don't think that would be fair on the world. Ok it's worth making a fool of myself for this.”

In addition to those already mentioned were some of Sharon's friends, notably those who'd been kind to Ken when our dates had gone sour. I allowed Sharon to introduce me to them and soon enough we were all chatting and laughing with Cassie slowly gaining confidence enough to join in.

The afternoon was a riot of party games from pass the parcel to musical bumps to twister. The drinks were all fizzy and mostly glow in the dark, the food the usual party fair of sausages on stick and similar. Jelly and ice-cream featured as did a cake in the shape of a house and even presents. I ended up with a beautiful porcelain doll from Mike, a negligée which left nothing to the imagination from Sharon, a full professional makeup kit from Karen, a silver photo frame from Phil with a picture of Mike and me sitting, holding hands in our party clothes. I remembered seeing the flash go off, but hadn't seen him sneak out to print it off. Sharon's friends gave me various little knick-knacks, each of which was given its own place on a shelf somewhere, and Elizabeth and Cassie gave me a My Little Pony with a rainbow coloured mane.

Silly to be so thrilled over such a thing but I was and spent the next half hour talking to Cassie about horses and the amazing time I'd had in that morning.

“I wonder if your Mum would let me take you riding one day soon?”

“Really? Can I Mum?”

“I don't know, I wouldn't want to impose.”

“Call it a thank-you for all your work with the party, besides it would be my pleasure. Any excuse for going to the stables again.”

We sort of pencilled in the following Saturday morning and I hoped Mike wouldn't mind sharing me for the day.

All too soon my favourite man was changing to go to work.

“Will you wear that for me tonight?”

“Only if you serve us in your shorts and blazer. Don't worry, I'll find something just as spectacular.”

“I'll see you about eight-thirty then.”

“Eight-thirty. I'll be counting the seconds.”

“Ten thousand eight hundred, ten thousand seven hundred and ninety-nine.”

“Silly. You have to go before I start counting.”

I gave him another sixty-seconds worth of attention then pushed him out the door.

The party wound down rapidly after that, the rubbish all gathered into a couple of bin bags, the banners untied and put away, the helium balloons rescued from the ceiling and used for the obligatory silly voice nonsense, then it was time for everyone to go and Sharon/Cassie pulled out their final triumph and made me stand at the door thanking everyone for coming and handing out party bags. It was a perfect afternoon to follow the perfect morning.

-oOo-
Phil, Sharon and I were sitting around over coffee, chatting our way lazily into the evening. Phil had changed out of his Tom Brown gear but Sharon and I, much to his evident delight, were still wearing our party dresses.

“Sharon, this was brilliant. I thought you had gone crazy when we first arrived, but I can't remember when I’ve enjoyed myself more.”

“Well credit where credit's due, Phil had a hand in persuading me that it would be fun, and it wouldn't have been anywhere near as authentic without Cassie's input.”

“I assume the dresses were hired. It's a shame because I rather like this one.”

“Actually yours isn't. Call it another thing to remind you of the day and you 'childhood'.”

She did the thing with the fingers at the end. I gave her a much deserved hug.

“You are so good to me.”

A glance at my watch told me what I didn't want to know and I let out a tired sigh.

“Better start getting ready for tonight. Do you want to borrow anything?”

“Ooh goody, I was hoping you'd say something like that.”

We dashed off into my bedroom to do clothes leaving Phil shaking his head. As far as he was concerned all he needed was his jacket and he was ready.

I decided to wear my Emerald Radiance, a dress I loved despite the pretentious name, and Sharon settled on a gorgeous black dress I hadn't had chance to wear yet. I didn't begrudge her the choice for a second; I was only glad to be able to give her something back for all her hard work.

Despite all the usual fussing about, we made it to Mike's with five minutes spare. As before he came out of his kitchen to greet us — cleaner whites this time I noticed — and led us to the same central table as the previous week.

Again, at Mike's instigation, we did the where-did-you-get-those-lovely-dresses routine. Again we had a slightly more than polite amount of interest from the people sitting nearby. The evening was a close copy of the Friday before last, with less food and drink and more of Mike's company, all of which was an improvement. We ate at a leisurely pace and, even with the occasional interruptions from other patrons to ask about the dresses, we were still done by ten.

Mike insisted we stay and plied us with more coffee and liqueurs as incentive. We settled into a companionable silence, each of us mulling through our own thoughts. For myself I was reflecting on yet another perfect day. I couldn't imagine one thing that could have made it better, except on reflection there was a quietly nagging wrongness running right the way through. Sharon noticed my expression and, when Phil headed off to ease some of the internal strain, she came round the table to me.

“What's up sweetie?”

“I'm going to have to tell him Sharon. We can't have a relationship based on a lie.”

She went very still, her pallid expression losing even more of its colour.

“Liz, no, he won't understand. It doesn't matter what you were, you're all girl now, mentally, emotionally, physically, so what does it matter what you were? What does it matter that he doesn't know?”

“Because it happened. Because someday, somehow, somewhere Sod's Law will make sure that he'll find out and if he has to find out from someone, I'd rather it was from me.”

“But how is he going to find out?”

“I don't know, maybe you or Phil will have a few too many one day and say something. I know you won't mean to, but you can't guarantee that it won't happen can you? And what about when I tell my family? Because that will happen one day and I don't have any faith in my Mum not making some comment. Who knows, it might even be me who let's something slip.”

“What's up?”

Sh!t things must be bad if Phil's noticed.

“Liz just said she's going to tell Mike.”

And possibly worse if it can make the blood drain from his face like that.

“Why would you do that?”

So I had to explain my point of view all over again. Honestly, isn't it obvious, or is it me that's missing something?

“What happened? I thought everyone was having a great time.”

And now Mike. I looked around the restaurant. There were maybe half a dozen tables still occupied, and they were all on dessert or coffee. If he couldn't take a bit of time off now, then when could he?

“Mike can we talk?”

His turn for the pasty face.

“Oh God.”

“No it's nothing like that. I've had a brilliant day, a brilliant week in fact, and I want it to keep on forever. This isn't me trying to dump you or anything like that.”

“Then what?”

“Can we go for a walk?”

He made a quick scan of the restaurant and came to the same conclusion as me.

“I'll tell the guys and meet you at the door.”

Sharon and Phil looked at each other then back at me.

“Liz, please don't do this. You have such a great thing going on, why can't you let it be?”

“For once Liz, listen. Sharon's right, nothing good can come from this.”

“I'm sorry guys. This has been such a great day, and it's almost all because of you two and Mike, but it hurts to have this secret from him. I have to trust that what we've built this week matters enough to him.

“Would you mind staying here in case it goes pear shaped? And Phil remember, no matter what happens be his friend.”

He nodded reluctantly and I headed for the door where Mike was waiting with my coat.

He led the way down a path into the park area. It was dark, the moon not yet risen, but the sky was brilliant with stars. I tried a few opening lines inside my head, settled on one. Probably not the best, but better than the others.

“Mike, if I had a secret, you know something that would be a real unpleasant shock to you, would you rather hear it from me, or have me keep quiet in the hope that no-one else said anything to clue you in?”

He laughed nervously.

“If you're trying to tell me you used to be a man then I'm not buying it.”

Sh!t, talk about going straight to the point. My face froze into a mask and there must have been enough light for him to notice.

“No! You have to be kidding!”

I grabbed his arms and turned him towards me. At first he refused to meet my gaze.

“Mike, Mike. Listen Mike, you’re making all the wrong assumptions again, and who can blame you? Listen, I'm all girl; double X chromosomes and everything. I get all crabby several days out of every month, I enjoy shopping for clothes and shoes, I say things that make a weird kind of sense without obeying the laws of logic; in short I am one hundred per cent woman.

“Which makes the next bit so much harder to believe, and even harder to say. Mike I don't want there to be any secrets or lies between us; I can't live like that. The whole reason the mood went south back there was because I was thinking about this wonderful day that I've had, that you helped to make possible, and I had this nagging sense of wrongness going through it. I'm hoping I can tell you this and we can work through it because I never felt about anyone the way I felt about you when we first met, and in just one week those feelings have grown a million times bigger. I hate that I have to put this on you, but I can't see an alternative. I'd rather be honest with you now and risk losing you than try to keep it hidden and come home one day in a month, a year, a decade and find you with a look on your face like the one you have now.”

We found a park bench in the dark and sat. Mike looked everywhere but at me, his mind fighting for something to grasp hold of. I couldn't bear the silence, couldn't keep quiet.

“Sharon and Phil think I'm an idiot for doing this. They love seeing us so happy together and they think I'm sabotaging the whole thing by telling you this. Mike, if you tell me not to say anything I'll bury it and we'll go on as though nothing had been said.”

“It's a bit late for that now.”

He took my hands in his and sat staring at them for a while then let out a long desperate sigh.

“Ok, tell me.”

“Before I do I want you to know how much I care for you. I don't want to hurt you, but this is a part of who I am, at least of who I was. I can't help it any more or less than you can control your height. Also, even though what I was may have had some small influence on who I am, most of who I am is right here, right now, not a memory from the past.”

“I'm not sure I understand.”

“No, probably not yet, but I think you will.”

I gave him the lot, full broadside, and watched as it wrought its devastation. Maybe I was wrong to share this, I mean we don't tell children about the horrors of the world so they don't have nightmares. Maybe there was a time and a place for this conversation and I had botched both, but I'd started now and there was no way to unsay what had been said and no sense in stopping halfway through. The story caught up with the present moment and I let me words drift into silence.

The silence endured.

My eyes had dropped to his hands holding mine early on in the conversation and now I didn't dare raise them. Every second that passed cut a new slice out of my heart. It was in shreds before he found his voice.

“I'm not sure if it would have been worse if you' just broken up with me.”

I could hear the pain in his voice, the sense of betrayal and the knife cut deeper.

“Are Sharon and Phil in on this as well?”

“I told you Sharon and Phil didn't want me to say anything.”

“Why not? Because they knew how wrong this is and don't want me to know about it?”

The anger in his voice was like a slap in the face. I tried to keep my voice quiet and measured in return. No reason to turn this into a yelling match by raising my own voice.

“No. I think it's because they've come to acknowledge that there's always been a girl inside me and that the transformation that turned me into this allowed me to stop pretending who I was.”

“Oh come on, do you really expect me to believe all that crap? Magical transformations, demons and angels, it just isn't real. I don't know what you're playing at Liz, but you are either seriously disturbed or you have a sick sense of humour.”

“We did this once before, just over a week ago if you remember. You looked past my outburst and managed to see the real me once. I'm hoping you'll be able to do it again.”

“Except that this time you're not drunk. All that you just said you chose to say without any excuses or reasons as to why.”

“Mike I told you my reasons...”

“You told me your reasons for telling me a secret that you thought would hurt me, not for making up some fantastic mumbo jumbo crap about how you were once a guy then magically transformed.”

“Ask Phil and Sharon...”

“How will that help? What can they possibly tell me that will convince me that this whole load of bullshit is the truth? Do you have any hard evidence? No I didn't think so.

“Liz I'm not a strong guy, I have a sensitive ego. I dared to hope you might like me once and very nearly screwed things up when you proved not to be quite perfect. That was my mistake and I thought I was lucky to have a second chance. Now I'm not so sure.

“This week has been like a taste of heaven to me, right up until ten minutes ago. If you're going to chew me up and spit me out then please stop chewing and spit. I don't think I can stand another round with you.”

Oh God no. He let go of my suddenly numb fingers and walked back up the hill. A chill spread through me rooting me to the spot, fixing a horrified mask on my face. No God, no, please no.

The tears wouldn't come, they were frozen somewhere inside.

You meant it for evil - 13 by Maeryn Lamonte “This week has been like heaven to me, right up until ten minutes ago. If you're going to chew me up and spit me out then please stop chewing and spit. I don't think I can stand another round with you.” Oh God no. He let go of my suddenly numb fingers and walked back up the hill. A chill spread through me rooting me to the spot, fixing a horrified mask on my face. No God, no, please no. The tears wouldn't come, they were frozen somewhere inside.

-oOo-
I awoke in my own bed without the first idea how I had got there. I was wearing a nightdress and my green ball gown was hanging on the back of the door, so I suspected that Sharon might have had something to do with it.

A cold, hard weight pressed own on me and a clear, stark memory of the last moments of last night stood in the way of any thought or feeling. I lay in bed, numb, immobile, uncaring, staring at the wall. Behind me I heard the door open and quiet footsteps cross to the bed. I was vaguely aware of Sharon peering anxiously over me, but it hurt too much to respond. The bed shifted a little as she sat down.

“Are you ok?”

Tears blurred my vision and it took all my self-control to prevent myself breaking down completely, irretrievably. I curled into the pillow. Please, just go away.

“If you're going to church I'll be leaving in thirty minutes.”

God that was the last thing I wanted right now. It was easier to control the anger than the pain though so I held on to it and was grateful. When I still didn't respond she reached out a hand and touched me gently on the shoulder. She withdrew it just as quickly. I didn't blame her, even I had felt the trembling where she touched me.

“Can I get you anything? A coffee? Some toast?”

Go away. I can't stand your compassion. Please just leave me alone. The tears were fighting for control again. Oh Sharon can't you see what you're doing to me, please just leave.

The bed moved again as she stood. No footsteps though. Why are you still here?

“I wish you'd speak to me.”

And say what exactly? The last time I opened my mouth I destroyed the best thing in my life and hurt the one person I care about more than any other. Do you really want me to risk doing that to you?

Anger again, tears subsiding, tide ebbing.

“Well I'll be back to check in on you later, if you're sure I can’t' get you anything.”

Pause, soft footsteps, quiet click as the door closes. I'm alone again; so alone, so lonely. The tears are coming again, this time I can't stop them. There is no noise just an endless flood.

-oOo-

It's later and the tears must have run out because I can see the wall and Jenny Doll sitting on a chair next to the bed. I pull her into my embrace. She's cold and hard like me now, and brittle, so easy to break. We lie together in silence Jenny Doll and me. I don't mind her being there because she doesn't ask me to speak, doesn't expect anything more of me than I expect of her. The tears are gone, the reservoir emptied. I am hollow now, a void that has no desire to be filled.

There is comfort in emptiness. Nothing good, but nothing bad either. I like it here, I think I will stay.

The front door shuts with a bang. Why won't they leave me alone? The bedroom door opens and there are footsteps. Rapid, purposeful, not timid like Sharon's. A face peers in close to me, concern written in every pore and wrinkle. What's Karen doing here? She looks up over my shoulder.

“I think we should call a doctor.”

Not more people. Why does there have to be people? Why can't there just be dolls? Like Jenny Doll and me. Empty and content. Safe from the hurt. We'll be pretty for you, but don't ask anything more of us, don't ask us to feel.

Karen's gone now and I'm on my own. I like being on my own. Empty room, empty Jenny Doll, empty me. Just leave us alone. Just don't make us feel.

-oOo-

Voices murmuring in the background. The doctor has been. He shone a light in my eyes and I almost didn't notice. Now they're talking. I can hear what they're saying if I try.

“How long has she been like this?”

“Since last night, about half past eleven I think. She was just sitting on a bench when I found her. I thought a good night's sleep would help.”

“Well you were right to call me. We need to get her to hospital...”

Not interested. I hug Jenny Doll closer to me, pull my knees in tighter. Where was I? Ah yes emptiness, oblivion.

-oOo-

More noise. Strangers clattering about. They pull the bedclothes back, they try to take Jenny Doll. I cry out. It's an ugly sound, harsh and raw, empty of meaning. Empty like me, like Jenny Doll. Give her back. I cry out again, louder this time and she's back in my arms. They ease me gently off the bed onto their gurney. I try to curl up again. They want me to lie flat and straight, but it's wrong. I cry out again. They leave me be.

Movement, noise. More lights and concerned faces. A sharp prick and slowly the world fades to black.

-oOo-

Beep, beep, beep...

The room is in darkness. Something has hold of my hand, but I can't see what. I look around. Machines, pipes, tubing. Where's Jenny Doll? Ah there she is in the shadows. I can't reach her, but she looks well. The darkness deepens, the world blends into the shadows.

Beep, beep, beep...

-oOo-

Beep, beep, beep...

There are a lot of people, I can hear them moving about. I keep my eyes shut and hope they'll go away.

“I don't understand, are you trying to tell me...”

The voice is old, a woman's voice. I recognise it. It seeks out memories, flashes them before my eyes. They bring with them... feelings. No please, I am empty. It's better to be empty. I seek refuge in the dark.

Beep, beep, beep...

-oOo-

Beep, beep, beep...

It's light this time and there's someone, a nurse at the end of my bed. She's writing something on a clipboard. She looks up and gives a start at my silent stare. She recovers quickly.

“Hello. Awake at last then. Can I get you anything?”

I look at Jenny Doll then back at her, it's as much meaning as I can convey, but she gets it. There's tube in one arm and another up my nose. They're uncomfortable, but Jenny Doll's here now. Are you alright Jenny Doll? Of course you are. You're always alright. I hug her to me and drift away again.

Beep, beep, beep...

-oOo-

Silence.

Am I dead? No I'm still breathing, I can feel my chest rise and fall. Jenny Doll is gone again, but a quick search reveals that she is nearby, near enough to reach. She doesn't need me though and right now I don't need her. It's light again and there's something about the quality of the light that says late morning. I can't move my hand. Something, someone is holding it. I look at the top of his head resting on my bed, on my arm. I recognise...

I flex my fingers gently and he jumps slightly. Slowly he raises his head, turns red, puffy eyes to greet mine. I know you.

“Hi.”

The voice is rough and scratchy, barely a whisper. I can hardly believe that it belongs to me. He throws himself on me, crying deep, heartfelt sobs. Somewhere deep inside I feel the stirrings of... a memory, a feeling, a memory of a feeling. I raise my hand to stroke his hair.

“I thought I'd lost you.”

Muffled words, spoken into my shoulder. Feelings rising like a gentle flood. Jenny Doll looks on impassively. Not disapproving, she knows my weakness. These are good feelings. They hurt but in a good way, like hands before the fire after too long in the snow. The tears are there too, but they are cleansing tears, gentle tears, washing away the horror and the memory of that fathomless, dark chasm.

He sits back and gazes into my face. Those lovely warm grey eyes, that half smile tempered by the all to recent anguish etched into every other line of his face. The flood is rising, filling me again and I feel... Is this too much, too soon? He drops his eyes to the hand he's been holding, takes it in his own, looks back up at me.

“We need to talk, but not right now. You need some rest.”

We need to talk. Panic rises again. Too soon, too much. Where's Jenny Doll? He senses my agitation. He bloody should, I'm almost screaming inside.

“Liz, no. Liz stay with me. I need to tell you something.”

The room is receding again. I am drowning as turbulent despair overwhelms calm hope.

“Liz I love you.”

The words are an anchor. Dark clouds falter on the horizon, a threatening storm grumbling in the distance.

“I love you.”

The waters calm, the darkness slides away and my arms are around his neck, sobbing loud, unrestrained sobs of sheerest relief. I've half-pulled the tube from my arm and a nurse has come running. She knows better though. Swift professional hands slide the cannula out of my arm then she stands back to let the healing happen.

-oOo-

It's later. Around lunchtime. Mike has gone, reluctantly, to shop for his restaurant and Sharon and Phil are there. We've shared our own tears and something of the old me is returning. Not the same, never again the same, not now, but similar. My smile is a ghost of what it was, but it's there and genuine. Sharon is using her voice to hold her own delicate emotions in check.

“I didn't know what to do about you, so I asked Karen to come back with me and she insisted we call a doctor. Lucky she has a friend who's a GP and knows she wouldn't call him unless it was an emergency.

“You were unconscious by the time the paramedics brought you in. They'd given you a sedative, but you wouldn't come round; not for days.

“We couldn't find Mike until the evening when we called the restaurant. He closed it, cancelled all the bookings and came straight over. He's hardly left your side since. We made him get some sleep, even to go back to work after the first three days. He didn't want to but eventually he did. But he's been here every moment the restaurant's not been open. Hardly eats, hardly sleeps.

“Phil called your brother. We found his number on my phone bill which came through the other day. I'd never have thought to look there, but you know, guys have their uses sometimes.”

She looked up lovingly at her man.

“Anyway, Glen called your parents and they all came down. I explained as best I could, but they didn't seem to get it. Your mum especially was confused. I think Glen and Lisa were beginning to come round towards the end. Something about how you'd sounded a lot like Ken when you called the other week. Oh not your voice silly, but the things you said, the words you used, that sort of thing.

“They didn't stay. Glen and Lisa had to get back to work and the kids and your mum and dad couldn't or wouldn't believe that you could be their son. I've spoken to Glen again this afternoon and he and Lisa will be down later now that you're awake.

“Oh Liz you had us so worried. You were gone for more than a week and even the doctors were beginning to wonder if you'd wake up.”

Last time I'd heard her voice, all I'd wanted was for her to shut-up and go away. Now the familiar prattle washed over me like a balm. Phil didn't say much, but his presence in the room was as welcome as Sharon's. I still wasn't ready to say much but the healing had begun and I was only sorry when the nurses shooed them out. I picked up Jenny Doll from the cabinet beside my bed and gave her a hug.

“Thank-you too for being there.”

I closed my eyes and drifted away once more, but this time it was to a peaceful, healing sleep.

-oOo-

“Is she's asleep?”

My brother can be such a horse's arse sometimes. The stage whisper was loud enough to wake half the ward.

“She was you dick, but she's awake now so you might as well come in.”

My voice was still hoarse from disuse, but the calm that spread through me felt wonderful; like the freshness after a thunderstorm. I reached over to switch on a bedside light as he and Lisa came forward to sit with me.

“So how can you be my little brother?”

“Well the short answer is a can't. Don't have the bits to qualify anymore.”

I nodded towards the middle of the bed and Glen shuddered.

“Ooh don't. I can't understand how you can do that to yourself.”

“And yet again the short answer is I didn't. If I'd known it was going to turn out like this though I would probably have volunteered a long time ago.”

His brow creased. Not often I saw my brother trying so hard to understand something.

“Does this have anything to do with that time when we were about, what was it, thirteen-fifteenish?”

“It comes into it yes.”

He was referring to the one time he had caught me dressed in our mother's clothes. He'd come up the stairs quietly meaning to surprise me. I'm still not sure which of us was more shocked when he pounced into my room to find me parading in front of my mirror.

He'd been really good about it though, backed out of the room without saying a word. I'd changed back immediately of course then knocked quietly on his door. He told me he wouldn't tell our parents or anyone else, but he hadn't wanted to know more. As far as I knew he'd kept his word, at least until today, but then it was all pretty academic now.

“That wasn't the only time was it?”

“You have no idea. I can't even begin to count the number of times I snuck into mum and dad's room when they were out. Hundreds, thousands maybe. It was kind of like a drug, always needing one more fix.”

“I still don't get why you did it.”

“It made me feel normal if you can get the irony in that.”

“No it just sounds f*#&ing weird.”

I turned to Lisa who was having trouble following a conversation with most of the relevant details missing.

“Lisa, as a woman why would you say you're so into clothes and shoes and jewellery and cosmetics and stuff?”

The question took her by surprise, but she rose to it.

“A girl's got to look her best.”

“Why?”

“Are you kidding? How are we ever going to get a guy interested in us if we don't make ourselves interesting?”

“But we dress up all the time. We dress up for work, we dress up for a girl's night out. We even go to the extreme of shopping for clothes even though blokes don't understand it and hate to go with us. If it was just about attracting a mate then surely we'd be more inclined to do something they enjoy.”

“I see what you're saying., I suppose it's part of our nature.”

I turned back to Glen.

“And for blokes the nature is all about bulling up to each other. Competing as individuals and as groups. It may have started as something we chose to do to improve our chances with the opposite sex, but it's become hard-wired into us.

“Me, I was standing in the wrong queue when they handed out brains. I've never been that good at or even that interested in sports or other things that blokes do, but girl stuff... It may sound kinky and weird, hell maybe it is, but I loved the way mum's clothes felt and the way they looked on me. It was like most of my life I was pretending to be a boy because that's what I looked like on the outside, then once every now and again I would sneak off and let my true nature out.

“Now I don't have to because I'm the same on the outside as I am on the inside.”

“And you have a boyfriend we're told. I mean yuk man, what were you thinking? Are you gay or something.”

“Why does it always come back to that question? Homosexuality means being attracted to the same gender as yourself. As Ken I always tried to go out with girls — made a complete cock-up of it most of the time mind — now that I'm Liz I'm trying to go out with guys and finding it so much easier. I'd say I'm more heterosexual than anyone else I know.

“Your problem Glen is that you're still looking at me as your little brother, only this time stuck inside a girl, when if anything I've always been your little sister but stuck inside a boy until this happened.”

“That's going to take a lot of getting used to you know?”

“Yeah I know and I'll give you all the space you need.”

“So how did it happen? I mean you must have found a pretty good surgeon.”

“You reckon a surgeon could lose me four inches in height, four shoe sizes and six stone in weight?”*

“Ok then, how?”

“You'll never believe it, I don't have anything you would call proof and I don't have the energy to argue it with you at the moment.”

“Ok, forget the proof and the arguing, but at least try us on the rest.”

So with a long sigh I dived into my story for the umpteenth time. One advantage at least of having to explain the same thing over and over is that it became shorter and neater. It didn't take anywhere near as long this time as it had with Sharon all those weeks ago and, to their credit, they sat through it without comment until I had brought everything up to date.

Glen sat for a while in silence shaking his head slowly and I was steeling myself for some facetious remark when he surprised me.

“It still seems too fantastic to believe, but there is no doubt in my mind that you are the kid I grew up with.”

Where had that come from? I mean I'd said I had no proof, and so far I had offered none.

“It's the way you speak Ken, I mean Liz. I don't know you as well as Glen does, but you have a very distinctive way of talking which I, for one, have never heard from another person's lips.”

“You're saying you believe me?”

They glanced at each other then nodded at me in unison.

“I don't know how we're going to swing it with mum and dad, but we're on your side. Gemma and Abby might find it a little odd too, but they're young and haven't learnt yet that guys don't spontaneously turn into girls. We'll find some way of telling them, but yes, mum and dad will be trickier.”

A nurse stuck her head in and gave us a stern look. Apparently they should have only stayed a half hour and it was already over an hour since they had woken me up. I felt the tiredness settle on me like a leaden blanket, weighing me down. Glen and Lisa stood up and gave me a quick hug each.

“Tell Gem I was sorry to hear about her tooth, and take a couple of balloons with you for them. Heaven knows I don't need so many.”

I was asleep before they'd left the room.

-oOo-

Karen was sitting beside my bed when I next woke. She looked stressed and on edge and had her head bowed.

“Hi.”

She gave a start then threw her arms around me.

“Oh thank God you're alright. I've been so worried.”

“Yeah, everyone's being saying pretty much the same, but I'm mending now.”

“Are you sure, you still look a bit pale.”

“That's probably because I've been drip fed for a week and no-one's brought me any food since I've woken up. I guess I keep sleeping through the mealtimes.”

It was enough for Karen. Ever the organiser and doer, she charged out of the door and more or less physically accosted of one of the nurses to demand food form her. She came back in looking more relaxed and her old self. I guess there's nothing like bossing someone about to relieve a bit of stress. I was on the verge of feeling sorry for her employees when I realised that I was one too.

“How's the campaign to re-clothe the world coming along in my absence?”

“We're doing alright, although your presence is sorely missed.”

“When's the next event?”

She consulted her ever-present diary.

“Er, movie premier. That's on Thursday.”

“Doesn't sound too bad. I'll have words with the doctor, but only if you promise to pick me out something I can wear in lower heels.”

“Done deal, but we listen to what the doctor says. I don't want to risk you having a relapse.”

The food arrived then and she sat back to watch me eat. I'm ashamed to say I left half of it, possibly because my stomach had contract with disuse, but more likely because it was so awful. Even the jelly was bland and uninteresting.

“If you want me ready for Thursday someone is going to have to smuggle in some real food.”

“What?”

She was back to looking distracted and I had a sudden flash of insight.

“You want to get out of here so you can turn your phone back on don't you?”

She had the grace to look sheepish.

“Go on, get out of here. I think I need to go back to sleep again in any case. I'll let you know about Thursday.”

-oOo-

By some miracle or chance I happened to be awake when the doctor did his rounds. He looked over my chart and flashed lights in my eyes, humming and hahing all the while. I waited for an opportune moment and brought up Thursday's premier.

“I don't see why not as long as you take things a little easy. In fact there are just a couple more tests I'd like to do and if everything is as I suspect there's no should be reason why you can't go home tomorrow morning.”

“Really?”

He chuckled at the newly kindled and poorly hidden hope in my voice.

“Anyone would think you didn't like it here Ms Raebun. No you're right, this is a hospital and it's full of sick people. As soon as I can confirm that you are no longer one of them it would seem prudent to let you go before you come in contact with something else that might necessitate a longer stay.”

I think it was intended as a joke, but either my sense of humour muscles had weakened with too much time in bed or it really wasn't all that funny. I gave him a smile that was only slightly forced given the prospect of my imminent departure and thanked him.

Dinner was served shortly after the doctor left and again I picked my way through the bland and uninspiring fair, thinking all the while of Mike's wonderful creations. I was becoming truly spoilt.

No sooner had I given up on the cardboard meal than Elizabeth and Cassie arrived bearing fresh fruit and chocolates. Oddly enough my appetite returned.

“Hey guys, it's so good to see you. Cassie I am sorry about Saturday. We'll go another day ok?”

She shrugged. There was something else going on here.

“Cassie what is it sweetie?”

“I was worried that maybe the reason you got sick had anything to do with the party, 'cos then it would be my fault.”

Where had that come from? I reached out and took her hand.

“Cassie that party was one of the best things about Saturday and it had nothing whatsoever to do with why I'm here now. Why would you think such a thing?”

She shrugged.

“I don't know. It's just that mum said you had an argument with Mike and I thought maybe he felt silly wearing those shorts.”

I was stunned. Elizabeth was too by the look on her face. I vaguely remembered something mum had said once about the inventiveness of the young minds of children in their pursuit to make everything about them, but I'd never suspected it would go this far. I pulled Cassie's unresisting body into an embrace, awkward and uncomfortable with my position on the bed.

“Cassie, what happened between me and Mike and what ended up putting me here were entirely separate things from the party. In fact if I hadn't enjoyed myself so much that afternoon it might have been even harder for me to recover.”

It was mainly the truth and it was the right thing to say. The light returned to Cassie's eyes and the promise of a smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. A little bit more then to seal the deal.

“When I was younger I didn't get to enjoy parties like that one where I could dress up in a pretty dress and be just one of the girls. That's why my friend Sharon had the mad idea in the first place, and it would not have been anywhere near as fun without your input. Saturday may have ended badly, but most of it was such a wonderful day with two things especially that will make it one of my treasured memories forever. One of those things was the party, so don't you go thinking that anything you did that day that did anything but make me really happy. The other thing was my first time on the back of a horse, and you have my solemn promise that I'm going to show how good that was real soon. Ok?”

She smiled and sniffed away a tear. Of relief though, no longer of recrimination and regret. She went back to her Mum's arms. Her turn to be comforting.

“I had no idea you felt that way darling. I do wish you'd said something.”

I opened the chocolates and offered them round. Cassie couldn't decide so I gave her a little help.

“Can I let you into a secret? With chocolates, the younger you are, the more you're allowed so why don't you take two?”

“Oh don't tell her that, I'll never hear the end of it.”

And we were laughing like the good friends we were. Cassie took her two chocolates before her Mum could object properly and popped the first in her mouth. I dug in the bag of fruit and pulled out the obligatory bunch of grapes and started chomping.

“So I thought you had two children. Why is it that I only every see Cassie?”

“Oh, Darren's quite a bit older, has better things to do with his time than hang around with his Mum's friends.”

“I shall have to come visit you guys one day and let him know what he's been missing out on.”

“Please don't do that. Life's enough of a struggle without having a teenager moping about the house pining after one of my friends.”

The rest of the visit was similar, just two — no three — friends catching up. Half an hour went by too swiftly and it was with some regret but more tiredness that I allowed the nurse to chase them out.

Phil and Sharon came by later that evening for a short visit in which I shared the good news of my imminent escape. They promised to make arrangements. Otherwise I spent the evening browsing my way through some fashion magazines that one of the nurses had been kind enough to bring me. I was allowed out of bed for short excursions to the toilet and the lounge. Evening passed to night and the early hours of the morning found me sitting in a chair in the visitor's lounge.

All was quiet except a few machines in distant rooms beeping out a steady rhythm and the occasional footsteps of the night duty nurse as she made her rounds. They came closer until they stopped at the entrance. I leaned out of my chair and looked over at her.

“Ah there you are. Can't sleep?”

“I'm told I've been doing a lot of that recently. I also slept away most of today so I'm really not that tired.”

“I could give you something if you like.”

“No, I'm good.”

She came in and sat in the chair next to mine.

“I have to get back to my station in a couple of minutes, but if you want to talk...”

I wasn't sure I did. I wasn't sure what I wanted to actually say what was on my mind. After a short pause, she made as if to stand.

“I don't know what I should do.”

“I'm sorry?”

“All this, the reason why I'm here, I nearly lost myself in all that. I don't know what to do.”

She settled back into her chair and waited.

“I have a secret, a pretty big one, and one that's kind of hard to believe. One of those things you know you have to tell to the people you care about, but you don't know when.

“It's one of those catch 22 situations. If you tell someone when you first meet them, sooner or later you're going to meet someone you totally misjudge and then your secret is out there for everyone to see and all the shame associated with it comes home to roost. If you meet a person and decide to wait 'til you know you can trust them before you tell them, when you get round to it you have to admit that you've been dishonest and that everything you've built your relationship on up to that point is a lie. Either way you're damned.

“That's what happened to me on Saturday. I have so fallen for this guy and I know he feels the same way about me. He even told me he loved me earlier this morning — yesterday morning, whatever. But on Saturday when I told him my secret, he didn't believe me, he didn't trust me. I'm not sure he does even now.

“And I don't know what I should do.”

She leaned over and rubbed my hand in that cheerful way nurses have.

“I don't have an answer luv, except that I know problems always look smaller in the morning once you've had a good night's sleep. Why don't you get your head down and see what tomorrow brings?”

I smiled a weak smile and climbed to my feet. For all that it was pretty naff, I wasn't going to get any better advice at this time in the morning. I picked Jenny Doll off her perch and climbed into bed with her.

“What would you do eh? I'm guessing that you wouldn't let yourself get drawn into a relationship in the first place would you?”

I held her close and stared at the wall, waiting for sleep

-oOo-

Bright sunlight and a bustling ward invaded my dreams and chased them away. I eased myself out of my bed and headed off in search of an unoccupied toilet. Suitably relieved, I returned to my room to await breakfast and other horrors. My doctor had told me he usually did his rounds about nine-thirty and promised to try and fit me in early. I still wasn't expecting much so it came as a surprise when he interrupted me in the middle of a slice of toast. He only stayed long enough to give me the all clear which left me with a few forms to sign with the nurses and I'd be free to leave.

Except I didn't have any clothes. The only people I'd told I would be leaving this morning were Phil and Sharon and I wasn't sure how I'd left it with them. I didn't even have any money for the payphone. I was still sitting on my bed ten minutes later, contemplating a future living in the basement and stealing inedible hospital food, when a very flustered Karen arrived.

“Sorry I'm late. Traffic was terrible and there weren't any parking spaces when I got here. Here get dressed.”

She handed me a dress on a hanger and a carrier bag full of other necessities. The dress was one of the more expensive of the Elle-gance collection. I had loved modelling it for the sensuous feel of the soft fabric, but it was hopelessly impractical.

“I thought the premier was tomorrow night.”

“It is, but I thought you might appreciate something to help you feel special. If you don't mind wearing the same thing twice in two days, it'll do nicely for the premier as well.”

“Will I need a plus one again?”

“I've already arranged for Tarquin to be there.”

“As you like, but wouldn't it be best to mix things up a bit. I don't want the press thinking I'm seeing anyone exclusively when I'm not.”

She looked at me oddly for a second. I suppose there had been a slight hardness to my voice.

“I thought you and Mike...”

“Mike and I still have issues to work through.”

Again my response was terser than she deserved, but she took the hint and shut up.

We drew the curtains around the bed and I slipped out of the hospital gown and into proper clothes. It was like coming home and, as thought by magic, I was transformed from a sad little sick girl into a confident and beautiful woman.

Karen fussed with my hair for a while then spent a few minutes painting a bit of colour into my cheeks. By ten o'clock we were ready and I allowed myself to be subject to the nonsense that requires patients leaving hospital to travel by wheelchair.

The sun was shining out of a brilliant blue sky. A gentle breeze stirred delicate fabric against nylon clad thighs, sending a shiver up my spine. I took my first breath of fresh air in over a week and tasted its freshness and coolness with relish. How could I have wanted to run away from this?

“Do you mind if we make a stop on the way home? There are a few things I think I'm going to need.”

“Don't worry about that, Sharon did a shop for you yesterday; The pantry is not bare.”

I hadn't even thought about that. Doh!

“Actually I was thinking I could do with a computer, a printer, things like that.”

“Thinking of writing your memoires so soon?”

“Well I probably do have enough material for a book now, but no that wasn't the intention. There are a few businessmen and politicians who need to feel the pointy end of these rather elegant shoes.”

“Liz the doctor did tell you to take it easy.”

“I know, but that doesn't mean staring blankly at a wall all day. If I have something to do I'll be far less likely drive myself crazy. Again.”

Karen gave me a worried glance.

“You were never crazy dear.”

“You weren't inside my head last week.”

She spotted a mainstream retail outlet outlet and found a space to park up. Half an hour later I was the proud possessor of a new slim line, top of the range, ultra-light laptop in pink — I'd always wanted a pink one — and a decent wireless colour LaserJet printer scanner with enough paper and envelopes to mark me out as a danger to trees with any environmental agency. Karen carried the heavier packages back to the car, after all I was supposed to be taking it easy.

Back at the flat, she again helped me shift my burdens up the stairs and inside.

“Coffee?”

“I'd better not. I've been away from the office for too long.”

We exchanged hugs and she left me to my bare walls. My place was too neat, too stark. I unpacked my new toy while I waited for the coffee to brew then let myself into the friendly clutter of Sharon's flat where his majesty king Toby the whatever and his entourage were eager to greet me.

-oOo-

I'd bought a 3G dongle as a quick way to get onto the Internet but when the wireless picked up a nearby commercial hotspot, I put in my card details and logged on. It was more expensive than the 3G, but considerably faster.

A couple of hours later, with one hand full of cat and the other scrolling through yet another page full of information on London's down and outs, I vaguely heard my buzzer sound across the hallway. I closed up the computer and descended the stairs to see who it was.

I opened the door on a bunch of flowers with legs. Then Mike's face peered around the side and the world became less surreal.

“I went to the hospital but they said you'd already left. These are for you.”

They were breathtakingly beautiful, also way too big. I began a mental inventory of anything and everything I could use as a vase. Sharon had a few, but even then I'd probably have to leave half in the sink.

“Mike these are incredible. Are you trying to give me my lifetime's supply of flowers all in one go?”

“I brought lunch as well. I mean I'm not presuming or anything, but I was hoping...”

There were things we needed to talk about even if he wasn't being so charming.

“Well you're going to have to come up if only to help me figure out what to do with my deciduous forest here.”

He dashed to the car then followed me up the stairs carrying one of his ever welcome polystyrene boxes.

-oOo-

It took us half an hour to round up enough vases and assorted receptacles and to distribute the flowers between them. There were too many for my flat so, with Mike's agreement, I took a couple of displays over to Sharon's flat.

By the time I returned, Mike had laid out two plates of crab salad. I retrieved a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc from the fridge and we sat down to a very agreeable lunch. The crab salad, as with everything Mike had fed me so far, was delicious. Just one more thing I was going to miss. I couldn't believe I was actually going to do this.

“Mike?”

“Hmmn?”

“You know what you said to me yesterday at the hospital?”

“I meant every word Liz. When I thought I'd lost you, it was like my whole world fell apart. I can't imagine life without you, you have to believe me.”

“I do Mike and I feel pretty much the same.”

I fought to find the next words to say. Mike noticed the silence.

“Why do I feel like there's a but coming?”

“Because you're very perceptive. Mike, what I told you Saturday before last?”

He stiffened but nodded, just once, reluctantly.

“You didn't believe it then and I get the impression you still don't.”

The shrug spoke more eloquently than any words he could have used.

“The thing is it is real and it's a part of me. It's going to keep coming up, and I don't think I would survive another experience like the one I've just been through, at least not intact. If we're going to be together, I need you to believe it.”

A flash of anger passed across his features.

“Why would you make an issue out of something as stupid as this?”

“Because what is stupid to you is very real to me. I can't pretend it didn't happen, and I need you backing me all the way with whatever fallout may come from it in the future. If you can't do that, then...”

I couldn't bring myself to say it. Neither could Mike.

“Will you at least talk to Phil and Sharon? I mean this isn't just a delusion of mine.”

“I'll think about it.”

He stood and walked to the door, paused, turned back to me.

“You know I really do love you.”

“And I you.”

He waited for more. I wasn't going to give.

“I'm sorry.”

The door closed quietly behind him leaving me with tears streaming quietly down my face.

I allowed myself to indulge the pain for ten minutes, then put it away for some time in the future, like maybe when I had to cry myself to sleep. I tidied up the lunch things, refreshed my glass and headed back to Sharon's flat and my interrupted research, the half empty bottle in my other hand.

-oOo-

“Hey girlfriend. What'ya doin' over here? Oh wow, what's with the flowers?”

“Oh Mike came for lunch. I think he bought out the entire stock of some flower shop somewhere on his way over. There were too many for my flat so I thought I'd share with someone who I knew would appreciate them.”

I offered her a brief smile over the top of the laptop then went back to reading.

“Refresh your glass?”

I held up my empty, only just now remembering the bottle I'd brought with me.

“Yeah sure, there should be half a bottle of Australian Sauvignon Blanc in the fridge.”

Ever the consummate hostess, Sharon brought back to glasses before pressing forward with the conversation.

“So are you and Mike sorting things out then?”

“Actually I think we split up this afternoon.”

“Oh Liz.”

I shook my head. I'd shed too many tears recently; time to be strong.

“I'm ok. One less distraction to get in the way of this.”

I wasn't ok, but I'd be buggered if I'd let it show.

“Yeah I noticed the computer. Cute colour by the way. What are you doing?”

I shut the lid and turned my full attention to my friend.

“Well you remember my frustrating début the other week when I totally failed to impress any MPs or businessmen?”

“I remember you telling it little differently from that, but ok, yeah.”

“It's time I set about impressing them. I've been putting together a plan of action that I'm hoping will mean they can't ignore me.”

Sharon must have sensed something of my feelings about the Mike situation, but she was also wise enough to leave it alone until I let her know I was ready to talk. She started asking questions and, as I outlined my ideas, offered a few suggestions of her own. It would take a bit of time and a lot of work, but I needed something to keep me distracted.

The discussion led to a dinner invite with more discussion, then a lengthy planning session over Mr Pinkie. Yeah I know most people don't name their computers, but then I'm not most people.

When I finally went to bed that night, I was tired enough that I fell asleep with barely a thought for Mike.

-oOo-

“Hi is that Bob? Hi it's Liz Raeburn, you know the yuppie you found invading the homes of homeless people a few weeks back? Yeah I was wondering if you could do me a huge favour. I need to talk to as many different homeless people as I can, which means I would like to join you on as many soup runs as it will take to meet everyone you know, and I'd like to pick your brains about other organisations who do the same sort of thing... Yeah, not so much a head-count as a comprehensive list with names, signatures where possible and maybe something personal to suggest each one is slightly more than a statistic... Yeah, I'm planning on presenting it to every MP who's even so much as tripped over a street-kid... It will be far more compelling proof than they've seen already that the problem isn't getting better. They should be more open to listening to my proposals afterwards... Well if they don't I'll post it on the web and send the story through to a number of national and London newspapers. The old 'any publicity is good publicity' does not apply in politics... Tonight? No I have something work related I can't get out of. How about Tomorrow?.. About six, ok I'll see you then. Thanks.”

The rest of the morning was spent on the phone as well, calling around various commercial letting agencies in search of properties that could be converted to my purpose, and which hadn't been occupied for a while. Lunch was a quick sandwich and a glass of water, then I spent the early afternoon calling the owners of the properties I'd identified and using my most persuasive manner to convince them to meet with me.

Mid-afternoon interrupted with the need to get ready for my public appearance, and for the first time I regretted the amount of time it took me to get ready. Karen had told me this evening would be a little different with the possibility that I might be asked to say a few words for radio or television, but once the film started the hard part would be over and I could enjoy a good bit of entertainment on the company. I'd even managed to wangle a couple of tickets for Sharon and Phil on the understanding that they'd be properly dressed — ie tux for him and Elle-gance dress for her. We'd all share the limo, but only I was expected to face the press.

Bath, hair wash and hair dry were mindless processes which I allowed my body to perform on autopilot while I thought my way through every question I could imagine and my answer. The dress Karen had brought for me the previous day had survived its time off the hangar so I wore it, as intended, for a second time. Makeup and jewellery were light — all the better to show off the dress — but as usual it took forever to brush my hair to the desired sheen. I found myself thinking of the time Mike did it for me and almost ended up in tears.

As before I was ready with time to spare, and spent half an hour chatting with Sharon and Phil before the limo pulled up outside. Tarquin was his usual relaxed self and made a favourable impression with the others. By the time we reached the cinema we were all enjoying a good laugh. As before I was first out of the car, then Tarquin and I led our small group up the steps towards the entrance.

“And here's the new up and coming fashion model Elizabeth Raeburn with, if I'm not mistaken, the same escort we saw her with at the Elle-gance launch a couple of weeks ago. Ms Raeburn is it possible that we are seeing the beginnings of a burgeoning romance?”

After our enjoyable trip over, the laugh came easily.

“Not at all. Tarquin and I are close friends, but not that close. He is extremely eligible, ladies, if you're interested.”

“It's good to see you on your feet again Ms Raeburn. I understand you spent over a week in hospital recently.”

“It's true, but I think the doctors were being overly cautious. I was chomping at the bit to be let out of there the last few days. If I may though, I'd like to take this opportunity to say thank-you to the doctors and nurses who looked after me. They did a wonderful job and here I am, as you can see, fully recovered and raring to go.”

“Ms Raeburn, there are a lot of people out there, myself included, who wonder what you do with your time between photo-shoots and catwalk appearances.”

“Well I do have to make quite a number of public appearances to promote the Elle-gance line, but it's true I have a lot of time available for my own interests.”

“Such as young men perhaps?”

Again an easy laugh.

“Maybe, but not in the way you think. I have a deep concern for the people, mostly young men, who live rough on the streets of our city, and am committing most of my free time at the moment to seeing what I can do to help improve the situation.”

“Well it's lovely to meet you Ms Raeburn, your dress tonight is quite spectacular. Would I be correct in assuming it's an Elle-gance creation?”

“You would indeed, and one of my favourites. Not only spectacular to look at but one of the most comfortable in my wardrobe. Actually you'll be surprised at how many women are catching on to the new Elle-gance line, this young lady for instance has one of our gowns on.”

I indicated Sharon and the camera swung round briefly to take her and Phil into shot. Behind them another limousine was pulling up and my interviewer was ready to move on.

“Thank-you for taking the time to talk to us tonight Ms Raeburn. I wish you well in your career and hope you enjoy the film tonight.”

Tarquin whisked me through the door and we were done working for the evening. The film itself was enjoyable, but I didn't think I'd be spending money on the DVD when it came out. Meeting the stars afterwards was something of a treat, and the leading lady — I'm sorry I forget who it was — was so taken with my dress that I ended up giving her Karen's number so she could — hopefully — place an order.

Back home Sharon and I chatted our way through the evening over hot chocolates. Tarquin had declined the offer of a nightcap and Phil had headed straight for his car as soon as we were dropped off. Work day tomorrow you understand.

Once again exhaustion overruled any tendency to think of Mike and I slept what my mother called the sleep of the just.

-oOo-

There followed a period of single minded focus. I hadn't expected to need to again so soon, but I started by shopping for clothes, settling on a couple of pairs of distressed jeans, a number of cheap but serviceable tops and a second-hand leather jacket. Suitably attired, I made a daily thing of joining Bob's soup run, working with the team to both prepare and distribute the food, marking each location on the map and speaking to every person who came forward. I wrote down the names of everyone I encountered, added some short statement about them — how long they'd been on the streets, how old they were, whether they had family, what they hoped for, that sort of thing — and asked them to sign next to it. It dragged out the distribution a bit, but most were content for that if that meant they got to stare at the pretty but crazy lady a little longer.

With Bob's help I made contact with other organisations around the city, and through them still more, repeating my survey with each group. There were a number of individuals who drifted from one group to another and ended up on both lists, but by transferring the data to computer each evening I was able to spot most if not all of them and eliminate the duplicates.

Weeks passed. Karen kept me busy a lot of the time with more public appearances. Since my first time on camera hadn't totally sucked, she found me a tutor who worked on improving my stage presence, then made sure I had more opportunity to use it. I gave speeches, quite often on topics of my choice which gave me a chance to tell people about what I was doing and what I was finding out; I appeared on TV where the in interview would often turn to the focus of my passion. Slowly, without realising it, I became more and more the voice of the street.

My feelings for Mike were never far below the surface, but the distraction of work and planning for the next move in my campaign prevented them from breaching. I did take some time out. Cassie and I had our promised riding lesson together, then became regular partners riding the trails around Epping forest. I asked Katie to run interference and make sure that Mike and I never bumped into each other in one of those awkward moments, but it seemed there wasn't much need as he didn't seem to be coming round anymore.

-oOo-

The day I completed my survey was a watershed in my campaign. I contacted the press and informed them of my intention to go to Westminster to present my comprehensive list of homeless people to the committee responsible for resolving the homeless issue, along with my proposal for a solution, then I contacted parliament as well to let them know my intentions.

I turned up dressed in my Elle-gance best and waited outside closed doors for the newsmen to congregated. No-one from the government was prepared to greet me at first, so I turned to the cameras and microphones and, on live TV and radio, put my recent training to good use.

“In recent weeks I have accompanied most if not all of the charitable groups who work directly with people sleeping rough on the streets of London. I have taken the time to speak with those people and have listed their names in this document. The government tell us that the homeless situation is improving. In my hands I have proof that this is not so, that instead of dropping dramatically over the last ten years as we have been told, the street population of this city has been steadily rising. I am sure that those members of parliament who are most concerned with the homeless issue, who are working their hardest to resolve the matters, will want to receive this information, because these are not statistics we are talking about, but people. Let me give you a few examples of what some of the characters I've met over the past few weeks have been saying.”

As soon as it became evident that I was not going to go away, that I had an immense quantity of information and that I was prepared to stand out in public and read it to anyone interested enough to listen, the attitude in the ancient building behind me changed and before long the minister who chaired the committee on homelessness came out to greet me. I pounced, keeping him off balance.

“Minister, thank-you for joining us. As you probably know from recent interviews, I have a concern to match your own for the young people on our streets. I have spent much of the past few weeks going to where they are and interviewing them, and have compiled a list of names here that show the actual number of homeless to be far higher than your own statistics suggest. I'm hopeful that this information will spur you to new action, to consider fresh ideas and proposals for dealing with the matter.”

“Well yes of course. Thank-you Ms Raeburn for your efforts. We will have to review your findings, but if there is any truth in the matter I can assure you we will take whatever steps we consider appropriate to address the matter.”

“That's good to know minister. Perhaps I can take this opportunity to present you with my own proposal in that respect. It's a little unusual perhaps, but will only require a small amount of effort and expense from the government. Homelessness on London's streets is London's problem and I'm hoping that, with a few small concessions from the government, the issue can be addressed by the people who live here.”

I added my plan of action to the papers I'd already handed across. It was as well thought out and airtight as Sharon and I had been able to make it on the evenings we had worked on it together. Her legal and research skills had dovetailed nicely with the small but growing knowledge I had of business and it seemed we were on the verge of something radically new but quite doable.

The press threw out a few questions, mainly to the minister who stammered his way through them before offered me his thanks and withdrawing, dignity perhaps a little tarnished but still intact. I made a brief closing statement, voicing my support for the government and my faith that they would do the right thing then it was over.

-oOo-

I indulged myself with a taxi-ride home, emotionally exhausted from the morning's efforts, and had barely given the driver directions when my mobile went off.

“Liz, what did you do darling? My phone's been ringing solidly for the last half hour.”

It was Ann. I gave her a brief synopsis of my mornings activities, eliciting a low whistle.

“I wish you'd told me ahead of time sweetie. I really don't like having to make things up.”

“I'm sorry I didn't think.”

“Well perhaps you will next time then. Anyway I hope you don't have plans for tonight because as of now you're lined up for a mainstream talk show interview at nine. I'm not sure where at the moment as both ITV and the BBC are bidding for you, and I need to talk to Karen to find out how she wants to handle things.

“If I were you I'd clear my dairy for the rest of the week too, as I suspect there'll be a few more offers in the pipeline. Wear something nice tonight won't you dear? I'll arrange for a car to pick you up at eight.”

*1 stone = 14 pounds so 6 stone = 84 pounds or 38 kg

You meant it for evil - 14 by Maeryn Lamonte CAUTION: There are some references to rape and miscarriage in this chapter “Well perhaps you will next time then. Anyway I hope you don't have plans for tonight because as of now you're lined up for a mainstream talk show interview at nine. I'm not sure where at the moment as both ITV and the BBC are bidding for you, and I need to talk to Karen to find out how she wants to handle things. “If I were you I'd clear my diary for the rest of the week too, as I suspect there'll be a few more offers in the pipeline. Wear something nice tonight won't you dear? I'll arrange for a car to pick you up at eight.”

-oOo-
“But for my first guest I would like to welcome a young lady who surprised everyone earlier today when she turned up on the steps in front of Westminster and more or less dared the government to ignore her. A remarkably young lady who has recently stepped into the fashion limelight as the new face of Elle-gance, and by her actions today has proved herself to be so very much more than just a pretty face, ladies and gentlemen please show your welcome for Miss Elizabeth Raeburn.”

The audience thundered their approval, but then with an introduction like that how could they not. I stepped out onto the stage, paused briefly to acknowledge the applause and walked the short distance to the waiting seats.

I had chosen to go with the black dress Sharon had worn for our last excursion to Mike's restaurant. In my opinion it had looked better on her, but it was still a stunning dress and didn't in any way put me to shame. The host of the show half rose out of his seat to give me a peck on the cheek then invited me to take a seat.

“Ooh, good 'ere innit?”

Polite laughter. Almost everyone here had heard my speech in front of parliament and so knew I was no Eliza Dolittle.

“Miss Raeburn, Liz if you don't mind, It's a delight to have you on the show, and looking so lovely in what I can only assume is an Elle-gance dress? May I say you seem remarkably young for someone who's made such an impact on parliament today.”

“That's kind of you to say so David, every woman likes to be told that she's too young. But no, there's no prerequisite for age when addressing issues like this. All you need is to be passionate and not afraid of a bit of hard work. My Birth Certificate says I'm eighteen years old, and I'd like to throw that out to everyone from my generation. If you see something in this world or this country of ours that you know is wrong, then don't let your age be the thing that tells you you can't make a difference.”

“And it seems quite obvious that you are making something of a difference. I don't know if you heard but shortly before the program began, the government made an announcement that they are reviewing their current policies on homelessness in London, based largely on the information you presented to them earlier today.”

We had to wait for the applause to die down before he could get to his point.

“I suppose the questions on everyone's lips have to be what was that information and how did you come by it?”

“Before I answer that, may I say that I respect the government for the efforts they have been making to help the homeless in this city. The funds, time and effort they have thrown at the problem have gone a significant way towards keeping those people alive and helping many of them into a job and a future.

“In recent years though, the government has been trying to keep tabs on the situation by conducting spot surveys. Now it seems to me that there must be something wrong with their methodology because the numbers they have been working with haven't matched the estimate from the charities who deal directly with the people in question. Up until now there hasn't been a systematic way of comparing the two estimates and it seemed to me that if I wanted to the government to take me seriously, I had to show reliable proof that they were wrong.

“For the past few weeks I've been tagging along with pretty much every charitable organisation in London that provides food, bedding or shelter to the homeless and I've been talking with the people they serve. I've written down individual names and collected signatures, then I compared all the data collected to make sure there weren't any, or at least many, duplications. The evidence speaks for itself.”

“It sounds like a phenomenal amount of work.”

“Yes there was a fair bit of effort involved, but then I'm lucky in my job. When I'm not directly involved in a show or a photo-shoot, I have a fair amount of free time to devote to my own interests. Along with means and motive that leaves me ideally situated to do something about it.”

“You mentioned in your speech in front of parliament that you had a few ideas that could help to resolve the homeless issue without costing the government a great deal. Would you care to expand on your ideas.”

“Well you're putting me in danger of going off half-cocked here David. Just today I sent off copies of my proposals to MPs and leading businessmen, all of whose cooperation will be needed to pull this off, and I'm sure that most of them haven't had time to review and ponder those suggestions.”

“A hint even?”

“Very well, in brief the main problem of the homeless is, unsurprisingly, that they don't have a home; that is to say a permanent residence where they can be warm and fed well enough to focus their energies on something other than day to day survival. A permanent residence where they can receive correspondence necessary for them to register with the unemployment office, to provide return addresses for job applications, even to set up a bank account. Without that roof over their heads there is little or no hope of these young people ever digging themselves out of the hole they're in.

“In certain parts of London there are a large number of good sized commercial buildings that are standing empty and slowly becoming derelict through neglect. So why can't we put the homeless people into one of those empty buildings?

“There are two problems that need to be addressed. The first is that the government classifies business properties as non-residential so people are not permitted to live in them. This could easily be solved if parliament were to offer specific one off dispensations for certain buildings to be used for housing. The second problem is that many of the local businesses who own these properties are reticent about letting them be used for such purposes. There's a fear that their tenants might abuse the property, leaving graffiti and damage to the extent that the buildings won't be usable afterwards. On top of that, while the street kids are using the building, the business cannot use it for anything.

“So what we need is an incentive for businesses to allow their properties to be used. In the first case, the damage is being done by the erosion of time and the presence of squatters. It is highly likely that the buildings would be better looked after with young people using them as a home. In the second, the government already allows tax concessions for business donating money to charity, why not consider ways in which those same businesses can donate usage of a building or time in teaching skills as a tax concession?”

“Wow. That seems like a fairly massive undertaking for just one person.”

“It is, but then just one person managed to put together a fairly comprehensive survey of London's down and outs in just a few weeks. Just one person managed to get the government to review their policies on the homeless. Now if just one person can persuade the government to make a few relatively small concessions then inspire enough people to take some responsibility for the problem we face, then we'll be a long way to solving this problem. Street people are to a large extent just like you and me, the only difference being that their power to change their circumstances has been taken away from them. Give them something like this and within no time they will be organising their own sleeping arrangements, cooking their own food, earning their own money. With just a little nudge we can send this thing snowballing.”

“And what makes you so convinced that you can achieve this?”

“My passion. The fact that I care. This matters to me and I will see it through one way or another.”

“Just one last question then Liz, before we will have to move on. Why is it that you are so passionate. I mean we've all heard beauty pageant girls saying they support world peace to the extent that it's become a joke. It's quite obvious this is not the case with you, but where does the fire that drives your convictions come from?”

“Well David, it wasn't that long ago that I first arrived in London. At the time things went badly wrong enough for me that I ended up out on the streets myself.

“Now I was fortunate in that I made friends who helped me back on my feet quite quickly, but I did spend enough time wandering around, freezing cold and miserable, to realise how helpless you are in those circumstances. It didn't seem fair that I should get the lucky break after just a day or so when so many people, a great many of them youngsters about my age, are stuck for years with no way out. I decided that if I could help, I'd do just about anything to make it happen.

“And this starts today ladies and gentlemen. This is just the beginning.”

That earned me another round of applause and gave my host the natural break he needed to bring on his next guest. I did offer one or two comments through the rest of the show and offered my opinion when asked, but for the most part, that was it.

Early next morning Karen came round with an armful of clothes and the instruction that if I was going to appear in public it had to be in Elle-gance and she didn't want me wearing the same thing twice. She was glad of the publicity but, like Ann, a little miffed that I hadn't included her in my plans.

As predicted, the rest of the week left me with little free time to myself as I was ferried to breakfast television studios to radio studios to press releases to evening TV shows. It was a mad week, but thrilling from the point of view of raising the profile of the cause. It also incidentally put pressure on the government and by midweek they caved under impromptu protests outside Westminster and agreed to the concessions I wanted. After that I had businessmen contacting me to arrange meetings where we could discuss the sort of tax breaks they could get. It was a challenge squeezing those encounters into my already busy schedule but I was determined to strike while the iron was hot and somehow by the end of Friday I had the promise of one building, maybe two, and several firms agreeing to adapt, decorate and furnish them for me. I raised the idea of them offering the time of some of their skilled workers as trainers for similar tax concessions, so that the people coming into the centres could learn a profession and, whilst there was some interest, none took up the idea.

The limelight was fading, my moment in the spotlight coming to an end. My fear was that the public would lose interest before my plan was fully established, and in the last few interviews I was granted before the media circus moved on in search of new attractions, I thanked everyone involved for their generosity in pushing things through so quickly, then raised the new idea. The government were prepared to consider things other than money as charitable giving now. How many small businesses out there would be prepared to offer some of their time and skills training up the people in the new centre so that they had skills to offer an employer? It was too new an idea, no-one seemed prepared to be the first. Without it, I would only have provided half of what I wanted. Shelter and a place to start looking for a job was only half the battle here.

It was past eleven on Friday night and I was just stretching out on my sofa with a well-earned glass of wine, trying to attack the problem from different angles in my head, when my buzzer rang. Being late and dark I used the intercom.

“Yes?”

“Er, it's Geoff Miss, you know, the carpets? Sorry to disturb you so late but there's somefing I fink you should see.”

-oOo-
I grabbed my coat and headed down to the front door. I was wearing the same pale yellow linen skirt and jacket and white silk blouse I'd put on for my most recent interview, but Geoff's voice had sounded urgent so I followed him out to his van still dressed in silk and linen.

“So is this Mike's idea?”

“No miss, I ain't seen 'im since I done your place. Is everyfing alright wiv you two?”

“Not particularly, no, but what is you want to show me?”

“I bin talking to some of me mates and they said they seen you.”

No surprise there, I mean I'd just spent several weeks talking to street people, and now this last week with my face on the TV, probably appearing in most of the electrical goods shop windows in London.

“What's unusual about that?”

“No I mean they seen you on the streets.”

“I've spent several weeks on the streets.”

He let out a sigh of frustration.

“No miss. They seen you on the streets wiv them. Not just visiting.”

“Are you saying there's someone living on the streets who looks like me?”

“Yes miss.”

Another sigh, relief this time. But not for myself. A cold feeling was spreading through me.

“But that's impossible.”

“Lot's a things in the world are impossible miss. Doesn't mean they don't happen.”

We drove on into one of London's seedier areas. I began to spot familiar areas and the sense of fear and urgency in me grew. Eventually Geoff pulled up by the side of the road. I jumped out of the van and started running. I knew this place and I had a definite destination in mind. To my knowledge I had never been here except in a dream, but as I turned the corner and I was there. The mounds of filth, the stench of decay, the dim shadows, all as I remembered them.

For a moment all I could see in the dark alley was rubbish, then there was a movement and as if by magic, what I had taken for a pile of refuse resolved itself into the shape of a young girl cradling something in her lap and bent over it as though protecting it.

I ran over and knelt beside her; the ground was sticky and wet. I touched it briefly with my fingers and lifted them to my nose. In the shadows it was too dark to be sure by sight, but the faintly metallic smell was unmistakable. Blood, and so much of it.

The girl barely had strength enough to shiver with the cold. I took off my coat and wrapped it around her shoulders, squeezing them briefly. Looking into her lap I caught sight of what she was holding and for a moment was lost in a cascade of painful memories.

“It's alright. It'll be alright. I'll take care of you now.”

I slipped off my linen jacket and folded it, offering a place for the small object she was cradling. She wouldn't let it go, but it seemed right somehow that it should be treated with reverence. She placed the bloody remains of her child onto the jacket and took the whole bundle to hold.

All this blood, I had to do something. I pulled off my blouse. Silk was highly absorbent.

“I want to put this between your legs, try to stop the bleeding.”

I knew it was a waste of time even as I did it. The bleeding was internal and nothing I could do would stop it. I put my arm around her shoulders and reached gently under her skirt with the blouse. She shuddered slightly then turned towards me.

I heard footsteps behind me and a moment later felt a heavy jacket over my shoulders. I shrugged off my bag and turned to Geoff who was looking lost.

“Get my mobile, dial nine-nine-nine and hold it against my ear.

“Emergency, which service please?”

“Ambulance please.”

“Please hold the line while I connect you.”

Why do we have to be so damned polite in situations like this? I could hear the operator giving my number to someone further down the line, then a new voice was talking to me.

I gave her my location, remembered from the times I'd visited here in my dream, and explained the situation; young girl, late teens; miscarriage, not sure how far along, the foetus about the size of my hand; considerable blood loss, conscious but unresponsive.

The operator stayed on the line, told me that an ambulance had been dispatched and asked me to check a few other things. Breathing shallow and rapid; pulse, not sure I can feel it, oh yes there it is very weak and quite fast; skin cool and clammy, looks a bit pale but not easy to see in this light.

“Right the ambulance should be with you in just a couple of minutes. Lay her down and keep her warm if you can, and raise her legs a few inches. She's resisting, no don't force her if she's that conscious.”

She was calm and efficient, keeping my own hysteria at bay. I could feel helpless tears welling up inside me, but her gentle voice held them back. I held onto the girl, rocking her back and forth gently. Oh God, please let that be the ambulance sirens I hear. The sound drew closer and I heard the slam of doors round the corner. The alley was too narrow for the large vehicle.

“Over here.”

I didn't know if they needed me to call to them, but they came swiftly, eased me out of the way and I was standing helplessly to one side watching the two Day-Glo heroes about their very professional business. I was cold even under Geoff's heavy duty coat and I hugged myself under my breasts, rubbing my arms and only then noticing I was still holding the mobile phone. It was making concerned noises as I held it up to my ear.

“They're here. I'm sorry, they took over and I forgot I was talking to you. No I think everything's going to be alright now. Thank-you.”

I absent-mindedly pressed the end call button and carried on watching as the paramedics very gently took away the tiny burden and lay it to one side still on the folded jacket, then replaced the silk blouse with a sterile pad before lifting the girl onto the stretcher and covering her with a blanket. They picked up the stretcher between them and I stepped forward to retrieve the remains of the girl's baby and followed them. My coat lay discarded and forgotten on the ground.

One of the paramedics took the small bundle from my arms and placed it in the vehicle, then turned back to me.

“You the person who called it in?”

I nodded, only half hearing the question. He looked closely into my face, took my wrist and compared it to his watch.

“I think you'd better come too miss. Incidents like this can be quite traumatic for bystanders like yourself as much as for the patients.”

He looked over my shoulder at Geoff, still looking a bit lost.

“Are you alright sir?”

He nodded dumbly. I offered him back his jacket, exchanging it for my handbag and unwittingly revealing my bra and bare skin again. The paramedic swiftly wrapped a blanket around me and continued his conversation with Geoff.

“I take it that's your van out on the road? When you're ok to drive, you can come down to St Thomas's A&E.”

He helped me up beside his colleague, slammed the door and walked swiftly round to the front. We drove off into the traffic, siren wailing. In just a few minutes, we were pulling into a hospital entrance, leaving a wake of vehicles up on the pavements giving us room to pass.

A gurney appeared at the back of the ambulance and the girl was lifted onto it and wheeled away. A nurse reverently took the small bundle and hurried after them. Lastly I was gently eased into a wheelchair and just as efficiently dispatched to the interior of the hospital. I didn't even have a chance to thank the two ambulance men who had come so quickly.

The wheelchair ride ended beside a bed in a large and busy emergency ward, curtains already drawn around it. I was helped out of the chair and onto the bed, after which the porter gave me a cheerful wave and headed off. I didn't have time to wonder what next to expect because a nurse stepped through the curtains then leaned immediately back out.

“Doctor!”

White coat, stethoscope, harried expression; yep he looked like a doctor.

“Where are you hurt?”

I gave him a blank look. He waved at me and repeated the question more urgently. I looked down to find my bare front and underwear covered in blood. Neurons fired, understanding dawned; I looked up.

“Oh no, this isn't my blood. I found a young girl who'd had a miscarriage and called for an ambulance. The paramedics thought I was in shock or something.”

The doctor gave the nurse an impatient look and disappeared past her bowed head. She pulled on a pair of latex gloves and helped me to strip out of my clothes, explaining that I needed to have all the blood cleaned off me as quickly as possible. She didn't actually use the term AIDS, but the implication hung heavily in the air.

She led me to a bathroom where showered and washed thoroughly, hair included. By the time I was done, what had been left of my clothes were gone and one of those ghastly open backed hospital gowns lay waiting for me along with a pair of knickers that seemed to be made out of paper. The nurse came back with a porter in tow just as I finished dressing — if you can call it that — and between them they whisked me off to a patient lounge somewhere in the bowels of the ancient building.

I won't bother with that dreadful joke about patients having to have patience, but suffice to say that I was left waiting for a long while. My handbag had disappeared with my clothes and none of the staff seemed to know or care anything about it, being altogether too busy about something else. I had more or less decided that this room was a place to put inconvenient people who didn't fit anywhere else in the system, and was beginning to wonder if they had forgotten about me completely when I heard my name called.

I stood up and made my awkward way across the room, trying to keep the flap behind me closed from the jealous eyes of those who still had who knows how long to wait. I found a plump nurse with a clipboard looking anxiously around the room.

“I'm Liz Raeburn.”

“Oh, Miss Raeburn, thank-you. I can take you to see your sister now.”

My what? I know what Geoff had said, but were we really that much alike?

Again there was a wheelchair, litigation culture having robbed unaffiliated individuals of the right to walk around public buildings. I didn't have any complaints in this case though, as long as I was seated I was able to hold onto some dignity.

“Can you tell me how she is?”

“If you don't mind, it would be best to wait for the doctor to say.”

I guess she had a big butt to cover so was being extra cautious. I'm sorry but I wasn't in a particularly charitable mood.

The doctor was in the room reading through her chart when I arrived and was allowed to climb out of my carriage. He turned as I came in a favoured me with a cautious grin and an open palm.

“Miss Raeburn, a pleasure. I've been following your exploits on television this week with a considerable amount of interest.”

“Thank-you. Doctor how Is she?”

“It's too early to tell I'm afraid. Surgery went well, but she lost an awful lot of blood. She's stable for now, but we'll have to wait and see how she is when she wakes up.

“Er, I was wondering if you could help us fill in some of the blanks on her form.”

“Do you mind if we do it later, I'd like to sit with her for a while.”

“Of course, and if there's anything else we can do...”

“There are a couple of things. My handbag seems to have disappeared along with what was left of my clothes. Now I understand that anything that had her blood on it had to be taken away, but the bag has my purse, my phone, a lot of things I'd like to have back if possible. I also need to phone a few people. I know you won't want me using my mobile so would it be possible to have a telephone brought in here?”

“I'll see what can be done.”

He backed out of the room leaving me to look in wonder at my twin, sleeping peacefully in the bed. She was thinner than me to the point of being malnourished, but now that the mud and filth had been washed from her face, she looked almost exactly like me. Mary, why didn't you tell me about this.

The phone arrived a while later along with the contents of my handbag, now jangling in the bottom of a carrier bag. I phoned through to Sharon's flat which went to answer phone, then to her mobile. After a more than usual number of rings a sleepy voice answered, words wrapped around a drawn out yawn.

“Do you know what time it is?”

“No actually, my watch was taken from me. I guess it's going to be late though and I'm sorry to wake you, but I need your help.”

She woke up as I gave her a précis of my evening.

“So if you would be wonderful, please would you dig out Clive's home number for me then get me some proper clothes and come down and find me?”

Arrangements made and number copied down, I dialled the Anderton-Buckley residence. Yet again a sleepy voice answered the phone.

“This had better be good.”

“Clive, this is Liz Raeburn. I'm so sorry to call you this late, but it seems I have a twin sister.”

It worked like a gallon of ice water. Suddenly I was talking to a very alert and very capable man.”

“Tell me.”

And so for the second time in as many minutes I explained what had happened.

“I'm not sure what to do. I mean I've stalled the hospital for now, but they're going to want names and addresses sometime soon, and if they don't tie up with anything on the system, I suspect things are going to get sticky.

“There's no way your resemblance to this girl could be passed off as coincidental?”

“I doubt it. The hospital staff here have made the assumption that we're twins, and I can't blame them. She is my clone Clive, it's uncanny.”

“Ok, here' s what we'll do. Do you have a name for her?”

“Well she's unconscious so I don't know if she has a preference, but I was thinking Emily.”

“Very appropriate. Ok give them Emily as a name and your new date of birth as the same for her. Be vague about the rest. I'm afraid we're going to have to approach your parents Liz.”

“I already have, about a week ago, and they refuse to believe that they had anything to do with bringing me into the world. I doubt they'll be very co-operative about compounding the lie. If it helps, my older brother, Glen, knows and accepts what's happened to me. I'm pretty sure he'd help.”

“Any port in a storm. Can you give me his number?”

I did.

“Right leave it in my hands. We'll have to go with papers being lost while she was on the streets and I'll make sure there's some record of her in the system by the time anyone starts looking.”

“Thanks Clive, you're a star. I hope you don't regret helping me out.”

“Well that depends on just how many more clones of you there are out there doesn't it? For now I don't think anyone would believe us if we tried to tell them the truth and I for one don't want to share a padded cell with you. No objection to the company of course, but I've never been a fan of quilted décor.”

We said our goodbyes and I settled in to wait.

-oOo-
“Liz?”

It was several hours later. Sharon had dropped by with some clothes — chosen more for comfort and warmth than style for which I was grateful — and since the girl in the bed showed no signs of rousing, I had found a comfortable position on an easy chair tucked in the shadows behind the door. I had evidently dozed off and now woke muzzily to the sight of Mike advancing slowly towards the bed.

“Hi Mike, what are you doing here?”

He spun on his heels then did a double take thing that wouldn't have been out of place in a cartoon.

“What? How? Who?”

“It's a long story and if I'm going to tell it I'll need coffee, plus it would be best if we don't disturb her.”

I led him out of the room and down the corridor in search of a vending machine.

“So, at the risk of sounding repetitive, what are you doing here?”

“Oh, er Geoff came round to the restaurant. He wasn't making a lot of sense but he did mention your name and St Thomas's as well as something to do with ambulances and blood. I came over as soon as I could, then I had the devil's own time getting past the interference at the desk. If anyone asks, we're engaged alright? If only for tonight.”

It was more than a bit cheeky but I nodded.

We found a dispenser of beverages, which Mike fed with coins as we each chose a means of torturing our taste buds. There were some seats nearby, empty given the early hour, and I settled down for what I suspected was going to be a long and potentially frustrating explanation.

I mean I could understand Mike's position. In all the time he had known me nothing miraculous had happened other than natural wonder of our feelings for each other. There had been times late at night in recent weeks, when I hadn't been sufficiently exhausted, that I'd played out the things I'd told Mike in my head. They were impossible, mad, ridiculous, unbelievable, so many adjectives to choose from and yet not enough to express fully how they must have seemed from Mikes point of view. But they were real, and I was done with lies in any relationship I might have with this man.

Just having him near was making my legs go week and it took all my will power to stick to my resolve. I took a sip of coffee — surprisingly it wasn't as bad as expected — tossed up a quick prayer and looked him in the eyes.

“So, where do you want to start?”

“How about why didn't you tell me you had a twin sister?”

“Because up until tonight I had no idea. Geoff called round to say he'd heard some of his friends saying they'd spotted me on the streets; not just visiting them, living on them. He took me to the area his mates had indicated and that's where we found her. How come Geoff has friends on the streets?”

“Because not that long ago he used to be one of them himself.”

There was a story here. No reason why I shouldn't trade for my information. I waited for more and eventually he gave in with a long sigh.

“I first met him about a year ago rummaging through the bins behind the restaurant. Apparently they're the places to find the choicest foods because we have to throw stuff out before the sell-by date. Anyway I invited him in, gave him a proper meal and talked to him. He seemed genuine and just down on his luck so decided to help him. He'd been a carpet fitter so I set him up in business, you know second hand van and a little capital to advertise and buy some tools, and he hasn't looked back since. He's already paid me back the money I loaned him at the beginning and still insists he owes me. Quite honestly, seeing him back on his feet has been enough of a reward.”

He seemed a little embarrassed about it all, as though telling me were somehow wrong. He pulled the conversation back to the original topic

“So how come she looks so much like you? I mean any chance you were separated at birth and your parents never told you about it?”

“My parents don't believe I'm their, er, child right now, and no they're not the sort to keep a secret like that. When you do it eats away inside of you every day, and anyone who knows you who has the least bit of discernment sees there's something wrong. You don't get that with my folks, they're at peace with a life that has been very ordinary and very honest up until now.”

“So how do you explain her?”

“Only with a story I've already told you that you've rejected.”

“So what? You're saying that she's another man who's been transformed by this green eyed witch of yours?”

“There is something I haven't told you. It didn't seem relevant at the time and right now I'm not sure if it isn't going to make things worse.”

Now it was his turn to wait me out. Oh well here goes nothing.

“About a week after this change happened to me, ok supposedly — I'm not going to try and persuade you all over again. Anyway it was a Sunday afternoon and I was still tired and disoriented after having spent all of Friday night wandering the streets. You remember, I told you Sharon kicked me out after I told her my unbelievable story? Anyway I had a dream, a nightmare that coincided with my first period. I know I won't talk any more about that, I know it makes men squeamish.

Anyway in the dream I was back out on the streets and some guy who thought I was a whore forced himself on me. Then the dream kind of drifted through months of wandering about, realising I was pregnant, searching for food and trying to stay warm until one evening I felt this terrible pain and collapsed in an alley somewhere and miscarried.

“That's when I woke up screaming. I haven't thought much about it since then, not until Geoff took me out in his van. I began to recognise places I'd never been until he pulled up the van quite close to the alley I remembered from the dream. I ran straight there and found her sitting in a pool of her own blood.

“I can't tell you what to make of that. As long as you're not prepared to accept my miracle story, then I guess this just has to be something else I made up. And as long as you think I'm the sort of person who would make up a story like that, then we remain stuck where we are, don't we?”

The silence stretched out. We were getting good at silence, only this time I was ready to accept his inevitable response. I wasn't ready to wait for it though.

“Look it was kind of you to come down. I don't want to leave her for long so I'm going back to the room. I'd be grateful for the company of you'd like to stay, but you know; your choice.”

I headed back down the corridor, throwing my empty polystyrene cup in a convenient bin on the way. I hadn't taken ten paces before he fell into step beside me.

“Have you spoken to Sharon and Phil yet?”

“I've been trying to avoid thinking about it, and the restaurant's keeping me busy.”

“Are you ahead on your VAT returns yet?”

He laughed quietly, just once.

“Yes I guess I am using work as an excuse not to face this, but Liz, I really don't know how to deal with it.”

“I know, and I don't think any less of you because of it. This is just you being honest with me and I'd rather that than you pretend to believe me. I just wish there was some way I could show you.”

“Why do you keep asking me to talk to Phil and Sharon?”

“Because you know them; Phil at least. Would you say he would go with this if it were a joke?”

“Not to this extent, no. He was always the first to stop a prank at school when the kid we were making fun of started getting upset.”

“Then you trust his opinion.

“He was Ken's best friend for five years; enough time to get to know him well. We had the whole conversation about me trying to prove who I was with me answering questions only he and Ken should have known the answers to. Why don't you ask him how it went?”

There wasn't much else to say so we went back into the room and sat in silence and kept watch.

-oOo-
Sometime in the early hours of the morning a nurse poked her head into the room and coughed gently. Mike and I had both been drowsing in separate chairs and she wanted to know what he was doing here.

“It's alright he's with me.”

I didn't want to give voice to the full cover story. Just too painful to say those words when they weren't true.

The nurse nodded and left. Mike stretched out a few kinks then looked at me with his half smile.

“What?”

“I was wondering if I'd ever get to spend the night with you. Coffee?”

“Yes please.”

He left me shaking my head at his gentle idiocy. I walked over to the bed and took the young girl's hand in mine. She didn't stir; perhaps as well. She looked so peaceful and she only had a mind full of horrors to wake to.

Mike came back with the coffee then stood behind me looking down at her. It may have been the smell of the drinks, I don't know, but she started to move then. Little things at first, the twitch of a nose, the furrowing of a brow. I took her hand again and her eyes fluttered open. She startled back pulling the sheets in front of her mouth, eyes wide like a frightened child.

“It's alright, you're safe. You're in hospital. Do you remember what happened to you?”

“My baby, where's my baby?”

This had to be handled more delicately than I knew how. I asked Mike to fetch a doctor or a nurse. Being slightly more caffeinated than me he thought to press the call button. A few seconds later there was a nurse in the room shooing us out. Less than a minute later a doctor appeared and again the door shut on us. A few moments later there was a loud mournful cry from within the room, which faded a short while later. The doctor stepped out of the room.

“I've given her a sedative. She's very fragile at the moment and needs not to be stressed.”

“You told her about the miscarriage?”

“She was getting agitated because we wouldn't bring the baby to her, it was the lesser of two evils.

“If you wouldn't mind staying with her. She'll most likely be in and out of consciousness but will be calmer if she has a familiar face there when she's awake.”

Mike and I returned to our vigil. She was unconscious again so not much to do right now.

“I've been watching you on the telly this week. You know how to make an impression don't you?”

I shrugged.

“At present all we have is another place for those guys to stay. Unless I can get a few businesses coming in and teaching them skills they can use to get jobs, it'll probably fail like everything else.”

“You shouldn't be so hard on yourself. What you've achieved in just a few weeks, especially the progress you've made this last week, is nothing less than miraculous.”

“Oh so you do believe in miracles then?”

“I believe we make our own miracles.

“Look I know we're not exactly in a good place right now relationship-wise, but if there's anything I can do...”

I wasn't proud. Not that proud anyway.

“Once the centre is open, would you be prepared to take some time out during the day to come down and teach enough cookery to get whoever's interested to sou-chef standard, or whatever the entry level is in a restaurant kitchen? If I can get at least one or two case studies to show that this can work, then I might be able to interest a few more businesses.”

“Well cooking is something they'll benefit from learning even if they don't earn a living at it. Yeah sure, my staff and I are yours for a couple of hours a day, say three days a week?”

That earned him a hug. I sniffed away a tear.

“I knew there was some reason why I hadn't given up on you yet.”

A moan came from the bed and our priorities shifted.

“Hello again. Please relax, you're amongst friends.”

“You look just like me. How is that?”

Her voice was slurred and indistinct.

“I was hoping that you might tell us.”

“What do you mean?”

“I suspect you didn't always look like this.”

She turned her face away.

“You wouldn't believe me if I told you.”

I sighed and looked up at Mike.

“My name used to be Ken.”

She was too drugged to snap her head around, but she did a good job of trying.

“You were a...”

“A man, yes.”

“Oh thank God. Everyone thinks I'm mad. Mind you she said they would. That letter.”

Mike's brow furrowed and he leant forward.

“What do you mean she?”

I'd jiggled enough stones loose. The dam burst and a flood of tears and words poured out as she told her own story.

His name was Darren, he told us, and three months earlier he'd been out partying with some friends when he's met this gorgeous green-eyed redhead. Ok she'd told him she was a lesbian, but he was enough of lady's man that he figured he could change her mind on that. Besides she was too beautiful to waste on other girls.

She'd invited him back to her place, all the while say that she only made out with girls, but leading him on. A real cock-tease he'd thought. Well she'd soon find out what happened when she teased his cock enough.

They'd kissed and this totally impossible weird thing had happened to him. The world got bigger and he changed. She'd flirted with him a while longer saying something about if he wanted to make out with her he had to be a girl. He'd lost it then and run into the bathroom, locked the door, torn off what remained of his clothes and fainted at what he'd seen, or more precisely not seen.

When he came to, he was lying on the cold tiled floor and nothing had changed. That is to say the changes were still there. Somehow he'd been transformed into this girl. He'd screamed then. It hadn't been intended as a scream as such, but that's how it had sounded, and it seemed to feed on itself, taking on a life of its own, getting louder and louder until she had no breath left and he'd collapsed again.

The next time he'd come to his senses, he had managed to keep things enough under control that he'd unlocked the door and gone looking for answers, but the flat was deserted. Eventually he'd found the letter, from what I could tell an exact copy of the one I'd found. He'd felt totally humiliated putting on the girl clothes but his own clothes were gone, even the ones he'd torn off in the bathroom, and with the alternative being to walk around naked with bits he'd never had before juggling all over the place, dressing had seemed the better choice.

He'd stayed in the apartment until gone midday when, as promised in the letter, the police had arrived and arrested him. He'd tried to tell them what had happened and for his troubles had then spent an uncomfortable day and night in a prison cell until a psychiatrist had come to evaluate him. He'd come to his senses enough to realise that he was looking at a future in a padded cell if he kept with his story, so had passed the whole thing off as a joke. Since no further complaint had been brought against him, he had been released a few hours later.

It was the same evening he'd met the creep who wouldn't take no for an answer, and he'd been left torn and bleeding, hurting in both body and soul. The rest of his story was one of compounded miseries, foraging in the bins for food, sleeping on the cold hard ground with nothing but cardboard to keep him from freezing totally, the realisation that he was now pregnant and the confusing mix of horror and attachment that had come with the growing awareness of the life inside him. Most of the time he'd kept away from other people, distrusting their motives, but recently he'd suffered from painful cramps and only just escaped from the people who approached him.

Then — had it only been last night? — the pains had been the worst yet. He'd collapsed on the ground, surrounded by a sticky dampness, and felt something give inside him, come out of him. He'd known somehow what had happened and an anguish he'd never suspected could exist had consumed him. He had vague memories of someone coming, putting a coat around him, giving him something clean on which to place his tiny burden.

“That was you wasn't it?”

I nodded. The dream memories his story had brought to the surface left me without a voice.

“Thank-you.”

The telling of the story had taken everything he had. His hand slackened in mine and his head fell gently back onto the pillow. I nodded at the call button and Mike obliged. A nurse arrived.

“She was awake for a while, but she's so weak. I don't know.”

The nurse eased me out of the way and did some quick checks then ran out of the room. I turned to Mike whose face was a study in astonishment and incredulity.

“You were telling the truth all along?”

I nodded, but my heart was breaking for the poor soul on the bed. He looked like me, but from the way he told the story he was all man inside. I couldn't begin to fathom how terrible these past months must have been for him. Mike took me in his arms and let me cry myself out onto his shoulder. Around us doctors and nurses were moving in on the bed, all efficiency and concern. Mike and I stepped out of the room to give them space to work.

-oOo-
It was some hours later that a doctor came and found us sitting near the vending machine. The expression on his face warned us ahead of time.

“I'm sorry Miss Raeburn. We did everything we could, but it just seemed like she gave up.”

I nodded. A fresh tear trickled down my cheek and I brushed it away. I'd thought I had run out of them.

“There's another thing. The police are here. I'm afraid they want a word with you."

You meant it for evil - 15 by Maeryn Lamonte CAUTION: This chapter contains a short description of police photographs which may be unsettling “I'm sorry Miss Raeburn. We did everything we could, but it just seemed like she gave up.” I nodded. A fresh tear trickled down my cheek and I brushed it away. I'd thought I had run out of them. “There's another thing. The police are here. I'm afraid they want a word with you.

-oOo-
Detective inspector Chubb was a heavy-set man with a humourless face and blank eyes. Not the sort of man you'd want to play poker against although, with his manner, it was hard to imagine him doing much in the way of recreation. His suit was rumpled and his tie and collar loose; signs of a long day, with signs of many others etched into the lines of his face.

“Miss Elizabeth Raeburn.”

It was a statement rather than a questions, but then it wouldn't take the greatest detective in the world to recognise me after the previous week. Still I nodded nervously in acknowledgement.

“It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I've wanted a word for a while now, but until this moment lacked a pretext for approaching you. I wonder if you would be good enough to accompany me to the station. I believe you will be able to help in our enquiries.”

I've often wondered if the police are issued with a little book clichés when they join the force. I mean the stereotype is expected in TV programs and films, but when they start using them in real life? I suppose it may be tied in with the way the law works. Rigid, unbendable; as long as you stick to the same old words that have been used successfully in the past there's no chance of anyone questioning your methods.

“I left some things in the room.”

He held up the carrier bag with the former contents of my purse. Just to show, not to return. Not yet anyway.

I shrugged. There was no reason to say no, although deep in the pit of my stomach a cold void was forming.

Mike made a move to accompany us but the detective inspector had other ideas. He raised an eyebrow at the man standing beside me

“And you are, sir?”

“Mike Paston. I'm er...”

“He's my fiancé.”

I gave Mike a look with an apologetic smile. It had been his idea earlier and now it didn't seem so daft.

“I don't see a ring.”

“It's kind of a recent thing. The ring's being sized.”

Stop digging. Keep it simple. Why did you say that anyway? I mean lying to a police officer, what are you thinking?

“Well sir, perhaps you wouldn't mind coming down to the station a little later. For now we would like to talk to your... fiancée... in private.”

“It's alright love. I'll be fine. I'll call you when we're done.”

I moved in for a long overdue kiss then, as he pulled me into a close hug, I whispered in his ear.

“Call Sharon. Tell Clive that Emily is dead.”

DI Chubb was frowning at us when we separated. He'd probably heard me whispering, but I was pretty sure he hadn't heard what. I gave Mike one last kiss then let go his hand to follow the inspector.

-oOo-
Empty room, frosted glass, one table, two chairs. Paintwork a neutral grey-green. Not the décor to inspire comfortable reflection.

I'd been shown to the room as soon as we arrived at the police station and had spent the last fifteen minutes sitting in one of the chairs nervously playing with my finger nails

The door opened and DI Chubb stood in the entrance talking in quiet tones to someone just out of sight.

“Any chance of a cup of tea?”

DI Chubb glanced my way briefly then went back to his conversation. A minute later he walked all the way into the room, the door swinging shut behind him, and sat in the chair opposite. In his hands he had a thick manilla folder and a Dictaphone. The latter he placed in the centre of the table and turned on. The former he placed on the table beside him before going through the process of dictating the date, time and associated details of our interview in a bored voice.

When he was done, he sat for a while looking at me with his blank expression, then he reached into the folder and pulled out a photograph which he slid across to me. It was of Darren/Emily lying peaceful in death on her hospital bed. He held his silence waiting for me to volunteer some information. It was a good technique.

“Her name's Emily. She's my twin sister.”

The silence dug deeper, clawing at me, demanding more.

“She, er, she ran away from home. I came to London looking for her.”

Where the hell had that come from? Come on Liz, lying to a police officer again? on record this time? This isn't clever.

He reached over for the recorder, letting go of a long, drawn out sigh. The red light went out.

“I suppose under the circumstances I might try to make something up too.”

What? What was this?

Just then there was a gentle knock on the door and a WPC entered carrying two steaming mugs. She set them down on the table, nodded at the detective inspector and withdrew.

“You won't know about me Miss Raeburn, but I have something of a reputation in the police. My own fault, sort of. Product of my own success. I'm the guy they go to when something really unusual crops up, and they give me quite a lot of leeway with my investigations. You know, get the results and we won't ask to many questions as to how?”

That sounded ominous.

“I'm not sure what you're trying to say detective inspector.”

He raised his arms to the room around us.

“Well take this interview for instance. SOP would dictate that there be two police officers present and, since you are a young lady, either one of them should be female or at least an additional WPC should be present. Because of the unusual nature of the investigations I am given, it usually works out best for all concerned if I decide what information goes into the official record. So this...”

He held up the Dictaphone and pressed one of the buttons on the side.

“This goes in the bin and you get to try again.”

He reached into the folder and retrieved a stack more photographs.

“I am most dreadfully sorry miss, but some of these are going to be rather unpleasant.”

He placed more photographs on the table, side by side next to the one already there. The second was similar to the first. Different surroundings, but a girl looking exactly like Emily and me. The third — the inspector winced as he put it down — was a photograph taken by the river. The face of the dead girl bloated and deformed by her time in the water, but still recognisable as my twin. There were two more like that, different locations, similar appearance to the body. One of them... No let's just say she'd spent more time in the water than the others.

The next four were different again. Squalid rooms, emaciated, almost skeletal forms, but still recognisably like me. One of them, the syringe was still in her arm. I felt bile choking my throat and hot, acid tears stinging my eyes.

The last two photographs showed living people, living copies of me. One curled into a foetal position in the corner of a room, the other straight-jacketed and screaming.

He left them there for effect and I couldn't tear my eyes away from them. When he noticed me shaking he gathered them swiftly together and tucked them away out of sight, then strode swiftly across to the door. A second later the WPC was beside me, her arms around me as I found voice for the horror I had seen and poured anguished tears into her shoulder.

It took a while for me to cry things out. The mug of tea was definitely off the boil by the time I retrieved it from the desk, but I gulped it down gratefully even so. When I felt settled again, the WPC drew her arms back form me and looked at me with kind eyes.

“I'll be right outside of you need me love. Just holler.”

Again she withdrew leaving me alone with my interrogator, my torturer.

“I'm sorry about that Miss Raeburn, but there wasn't a gentler way. You see you and — well for the moment we can call her Emily — are re the eleventh and twelfth persons we have encountered looking like, well you.

“Now to my certain knowledge, the largest number of surviving multiple births is eight and, since those were as a result of IVF, not necessarily identical. It would ease my mind immensely if you were able to give me some explanation as to why there are twelve of you. At this stage you can see why I would be prepared to entertain, shall we say, unusual explanations. Off the record until we can decide what should be reported that won't upset the status quo too much.”

My mug was empty. I put it down on the table and stared at it.

“I could do with something a bit stronger than that.”

He smile ruefully.

“Couldn't we all love. I can offer you one with sugar in?”

I nodded and he went to the door to arrange it.

“I'm still not sure you would believe what I have to say on this matter.”

He sat back down opposite me. His face was as blank as it had ever been, but there was a glimmer of warm sympathy to his eyes.

“You let me worry about that Miss Raeburn. As I have already intimated, I have an unusual aspect to my job. A number of colleagues, who are to some degree in the know, already call me Mulder. The reason why I tend to end up with the unusual ones is that I don't discount the impossible, at least until there is firm evidence.”

“His name was Darren.”

“The girl last night?”

I nodded and he reopened his folder full of horrors to withdraw another set of photographs.

Seeing me flinch he paused.

“Miss Raeburn, you have my word there will be no more photographs like the first. Three of the young girls were alive when we first found them. One, sadly, took her own life the night we took her into custody. The other two, well from the photographs you can see they are not well in mind. They did, however, all identify themselves by name as young men when they were first brought in.”

DI Chubb laid out a eleven photographs of young men in their twenties and early thirties, most of them from parties, showing smiling, laughing individuals. He indicated three photographs as being those of the survivors, then pointed at a fourth.

“This is Darren Smallwood. Disappeared about three months ago. Now please tell me how the girl lying in the mortuary is the same person.”

I checked the Dictaphone, still lying on the table, still off from the lack of red light.

“There was a girl. Mary, her name was, I'm sorry she didn't tell me her surname...”

-oOo-
“So do I get my own padded cell now?”

DI Chubb had been sitting in thoughtful silence for ten minutes since I stopped talking. My second mug of tea had been sickeningly sweet but had gone a long way to calming my nerves. It stood empty beside the first.

“Perhaps I could use the bathroom? Freshen up?”

“What? Oh yes, I suppose so.”

He walked me to the door where the WPC was waiting patiently. It didn't take long. The various cups of tea I'd been drinking through the night departed my body swiftly having long overstayed their welcome and without the contents of my handbag — still in police custody — there was only a limited amount I could do about my appearance. On the way back to the interview room I caught sight of a couple of familiar faces.

“Mike. Clive.”

I broke away from my chaperone and ran to them, so grateful to see them. The WPC caught up with me and took my arm gently.

“I'm sorry Miss Raeburn, the Detective Inspector hasn't finished yet. You're friends will be waiting when you're finished.”

“Actually, I'm Miss Raeburn's solicitor, and I rather think I would like to consult with my client in private, if you would be so kind.”

Oh Clive I could kiss you.

“Perhaps you'd better come along to then.”

Mike went back to waiting as Clive accompanied me back to the interview room. The WPC ducked her head in first.

“I'm sorry sir, Miss Raeburn's solicitor is here. We bumped into him on the way back from the toilets.”

Clive preceded me into the room, his shoulders stiffening as he took note of the irregularities of the interview. DI Chubb rose to his feet and fired the first salvo.

“Before you say anything, may I point out that Miss Raeburn has not been accused of anything, nor is this an official interview. She has been most helpful in volunteering background information to an ongoing investigation, all off the record but extremely useful.”

“So she is not being charged with anything? We can leave?”

“There are a few more questions I would still like to ask, but I have no authority to hold you if you wish to leave.”

Clive took me by the arm and made to guide me out, but I put a hand on his chest.

“Detective Inspector Chubb, I wonder if I might have a word with my solicitor alone?”

He thought for a moment then gathered his things.

“I'll be right outside miss.”

I quickly brought Clive up to speed on what I'd told them, which hadn't included anything about his involvement as yet, and on what they already knew.

“I think I'd rather get this cleared up completely. I trust this DI Chubb. I think he's just doing the best he can with a very tricky situation. Besides there are two others like me who are still alive and in desperate need of help they're not going to get unless I can get to them.”

“I'm not sure Liz.”

“Please Clive. You didn't see the photos.”

“Ok, but I'm staying with you for the rest of the interviews.”

“If you do that, he'll know you know the whole truth.”

“If I don't I wouldn't be doing my due diligence. It can't be helped Liz.”

“If you're sure.”

“I can be as stubborn as you in my own way.”

I gave him a grateful hug then went to the door.

In the end it was as well Clive stayed. I would have been far too open and trusting about giving out information. The DI wanted to know who I had been in case I came up in a missing person's report, Clive told him that wouldn't happen. How had I come by my new identity — through legal and acceptable means. How was it that I had coped so much better with the transition than the others. That at least was one I could answer.

“I think it's because I've always been something of a girl inside.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Most of Mary's victims were intentionally strongly male. I mean not just men, but men who displayed the strongest masculine characteristics. I'm different. I've never really been one of the lads because part of me, deep down, always wanted to be a girl.

“I've spent most of my life learning to be something I'm not, pretending to be something I'm not, fitting into a life I never wanted. It's hard. What Mary gave me was a way out of, well not wishing to be dramatic but, hell. What she did to the others was effectively throw them, without warning or preparation, into a very similar, and possibly deeper, hell.

Imagine yourself as one of the lads — well you probably don't have to — imagine that is — but I do. You're sporty, fit, competitive. You enjoy everything about your life. You're cocky, independent, I don't know what else but you get the picture. Then without warning, after something as innocuous as a kiss, you're changed into... this.”

I indicated my body.

“What for me was a coming home, so welcome that it has me feeling whole for the first time in my life, was for them more like being marooned on a harsh alien planet with no hope of rescue.”

Both Clive and the DI stared at me in stunned silence. It looked like the horror of the situation was sinking in. Time for the cherry.

“Now imagine being stuck like that, and surrounded by people who could and might help, only none of them believes you. Not one of them can bring him or herself to do so because your story is so fantastic.

“There's not much can be done for those who are dead, except possibly tell their next of kin and keep the bodies hidden, but for the two who are still alive, at least to have someone who believes them, who's ready to help them whatever it takes.”

“You want access to the two who are still alive?”

DI Chubb was quick. I nodded. He sighed.

“I suppose something can be arranged. Rather than twins, it seems you are triplets.”

“What about the rest of it? All that?”

I pointed at the folder.

“You're sure there'll be no more? I mean this Mary is gone?”

“She's gone but the character who set it all up isn't. Mind you the way things turned out with Mary I'm not sure he'll be ready to try the same thing again soon.”

“Let's hope so. Alright, I suppose that just leaves for me to clear up this mess.

“The official story is that you've been looking for your two sisters since you came to London. You received some information last night which led you to the girl you found. Sadly she wasn't who you were looking for, even more sadly she died from complications following her miscarriage. I met you at the hospital and invited you down to the station to look at the two unknown girls, who you identified as your sisters. We'll need paperwork for them.”

Clive coughed, apparently he'd decided to trust the detective inspector after all.

“There are already documents for an Emily Raeburn. No reason why by, say, Monday there couldn't be additional documentation for...”

“How about Charlotte? At least one of them will be able to go with Charlie then.”

“Charlotte. Two Brontes out of the three then. I wonder what Anne did to get looked over.”

The light had been dawning in Chubb's eyes.

“Would I be addressing the legal and acceptable means? No don't answer that, I neither need nor want to know. Ok I'll assume the documentation's taken care of then. That leaves my paperwork over there which will go into a locked filing cabinet in a dark room somewhere, and I think we're done.”

“And that's it?”

“Well what else could there be? No good can come of telling your story to the world in general. It's going to be hard enough for the mothers of those lads to find out their sons are dead without telling them they were turned into tarts first.”

He offered me my carrier bag of things back then stood, inviting us to follow suit, and led us back to the waiting room where Mike was wearing holes in the carpet.

“This has been a most unusual evening Miss Raeburn, but highly productive. I wish you every success with your venture and will be in touch soon with arrangements for you to visit Charlotte and er, Emily wasn't it?”

“Thank-you detective inspector. You had me worried for a while at the beginning, but on the whole I'm glad I could be of help.”

Mike took me home, Clive having excused himself with urgent business to attend to. At silly o'clock on a Saturday morning that could only mean doing for Charlotte what he had already done for Emily. Mike wanted to know everything and I did try to humour hum, but I was just too tired after a long day and an even longer night. I was fast asleep long before we arrived back at the flat.

I did rouse long enough to hear Mike grumbling quietly about doing things back asswards as he carried me across my own threshold. I was asleep again before he lay me on my bed, or at least I assume so because I have no memory of the event.

-oOo-
I woke to an incessant ringing which I eventually identified as my phone. I checked my clock. Who rings anyone at ten thirty on a Saturday morning? I mean I thought we were supposed to be civilised.

I hauled myself off the bed, no shoes but otherwise fully clothed, and staggered over to the source of the disturbance, grabbing it from its stand and burying it in the bramble patch that passed for my hair first thing in the morning. This had better be good.

“Hello.”

At least that had been the word I'd been going for. I think it came out more as “mweurgh.”

“Elizabeth Raeburn? This is Dr Chancery at St Thomas's. We met briefly last night.”

My blood ran suddenly cold, bringing me to instant alert status. Calls from the hospital generally didn't usually happen so quickly unless the news was bad.

“Yes doctor I remember.”

“I didn't have the chance to offer my condolences on the passing of you sister. I'm really very sorry.”

Yes, yes, get to the point.

“Thank-you doctor.”

I wasn't going to give him a chance to turn this into a conversation. He took the hint.

“Anyway, the blood work we did on Emily came back. There is no indication of AIDS or hepatitis or anything else you might be concerned about. You'll receive a letter next week sometime once the wheels have a chance to turn, but I thought you'd like to know sooner. I er hope I didn't worry you.”

Just nearly gave me a heart attack thanks.

“Not at all doctor, it was very kind of you to call.”

It was as well. I could feel muscles in my back unknot at the news. I hadn't realised how worried I'd been 'til then.

“Well my shift just ended so I'm off to bed. After your night last night I'd recommend you do the same.”

I couldn't help but laugh. I mean the guy wasn't being in the least ironic, or if he was he was hiding it very well.

“Thank-you doctor, I may do just that.”

Having hung up the phone, I headed straight for the shower. It didn't take long to wash last night's grime off me. I padded back to my bedroom carrying the clothes I'd been wearing but otherwise naked, grabbed my nightdress and climbed into it and back into bed.

-oOo-
I woke to the sound and smell of shallots frying. It was gentle and welcoming and so much better than being jarred awake by the telephone. I did my shambling hedge impression as far as the kitchen where I found Mike cheerfully doing something wonderful with the aforementioned, some button mushroom s and scrambled eggs. He turned with a cheery smile and leaned over to give me a kiss. Time for a warning.

“Danger, bad breath.”

He didn't care and kissed me anyway.

“There would be coffee as well, only I don't understand your evil device.”

I set about showing him that it was simple enough I could even do it on auto-pilot.

“You know, you have a wonderful view from this flat of yours at times.”

The cogs whirred and clanked, knocking off the previous twenty four hours worth of rust and gunk. It eventually dawned on me what he was talking about and I felt a deep beetroot blush rise up my body.

“Oh shit, you were here?”

“Too tired to go back home. Figured you wouldn't mind me crashing on the couch. If I'd known you were that comfortable in your skin, I might have risked undressing you a little further.”

“Well I'm grateful for your gentlemanly manners, and horribly embarrassed by my little display. If I'd had even the first idea you were there...”

“I know, I'm only teasing. What did the doctor say?”

“You were listening in on my telephone conversation?”

“Again I couldn't help it, the telephone woke me up as well. Even so, 'yes doctor, no doctor, thank-you doctor' didn't tell me much more than who you were talking to.”

“It was the doctor at St Thomas's. They did a blood screen on Darren as part of the post mortem, and since I managed to get myself covered in his blood, he did me the courtesy of letting me know she tested negative for all the nasties.”

“That was thoughtful of him. Seems I may have another rival.”

It was a sentence to derail the conversation. We both knew that the last we'd talked about us, he'd walked out, if you didn't count the half hearted attempt at the hospital the previous night. It wasn't something that could just be picked up again as though nothing had happened and we were suddenly both of us very aware of the fact. Fortunately Mike had more courage than me.

“Do you blame me for walking out last time? Do you hate me for not believing you?”

Hate you? Never in a million lifetimes Mike.

“No Mike, and no. I've never hated you. Got frustrated with your pig-headedness sometimes perhaps, but never anything remotely like hate. As for blaming you? Mine's a crazy story that has no business existing in an otherwise normal world. So far I have six people who believe me. Two family and two close friends who know me well enough that they can see a little bit of who I used to be still, and two others whose minds are as brilliant as they are open, and them only because they hunted out enough evidence convince them to accept the improbable.”

“And what if you could add a seventh now? Someone whose mind is probably as dull as it is closed off from the wonders of the world, but who's seen enough now to be able to believe?”

He slid a plate of calories over to me. I could feel the tears scratching away at the backs of my eyes, like early morning cats a the door, eager to be outside. I fought them back. Not now, no this early. Not before coffee. I bit on a forkful of egg and mushrooms and started chewing deliberately, giving myself time to think.

“Mike, there were a number of reasons why I told you. The first and most important was that I didn't want there to be any secrets between us. A relationship is built on trust and for as long as I was hiding something from you, there wasn't complete trust. No hear me out please. The second reason was that I was, and still am, reasonably sure that this is going to come out at some awkward times in the future. You would have found out about it sooner or later and I wanted it to come from me. More than that, I need you to believe me so that whenever it does come out, you're ready to stand beside me. I need your strength in this Mike.”

He reached across and took my hand in his. You can actually read love and acceptance in a person's eyes. I know because I saw it in Mike's then. There was one last thing to say though, probably the hardest.

“The last reason I wanted to tell you was so that you knew who I once was. I've been a man, sort of. I have an idea of how it might feel to find out that your girlfriend used to be a dude and I know it's something that most men would find difficult to accept. I'm hoping that it counts for something that I've always been a girl on the inside, that I didn't actually choose this change — regardless of how glad I am to have been given it — and that the change is complete. You know with hormones, mood swings, ovaries and the prospects of becoming a mother at some stage in the future?

“I know the whole story has been difficult to accept. I also know that my once having been a man is also likely to be difficult to accept. I'll never blame you or hate you for walking away from this. Hell if I were still Ken and the girl I was dating told me this lot, I'm not sure I'd react much differently from you. What I do need though is someone who will stand by me no matter what, someone who will love me regardless of the impossible story I've told about my past, regardless of the fact that I used to have a dick between my legs.

“I'm not strong enough to go through another break up, so think carefully about what you want and what you're prepared to give before you decide what you say to me next.”

My breakfast was getting cold. One major problem I'd noticed about myself since becoming a woman was that I just couldn't shut up. I turned my attention to my food, partly to give Mike a chance to think. Mainly because I had to distract myself from what he might say, what a part of me was still afraid he would say.

The coffee machine, having mocked the seriousness of my words with its comically unpredictable noises, was silent. My next distraction once my plate was empty. Mike withdrew his hands from mine. Why was it every time I ate with this guy recently had felt like the condemned prisoner's last meal?

Mike stood slowly. Was that a bad sign? It felt like a bad sign. God, please don't let it be a bad sign. He walked over to the coffee machine and poured out two mugs. No fair, what was I going to do when I'd finished those last two mushrooms? One of the coffees appeared in front of my down-turned eyes.

“I've already done my thinking. Everything you've just mentioned has occurred to me and I've given it all the consideration it deserves. I had loads of time to do so down at the police station yesterday and again early this morning. I've come to a number of conclusions.

“One, I believe you. What I saw and heard in the hospital last night took away any doubts. I'm ashamed that it took something like that to convince me and I rather suspect that the next time you have something unusual to tell me, I might be a little more receptive.

“Two, whatever, whoever, you used to be, I have no problems accepting because it went towards making you who you are today, and I wouldn't change a single thing about the beautiful, considerate and loving girls I see before me.

“Three, the way I've felt this past few weeks, I can't imagine living any more of my life without you so, whilst I had a slightly more romantic setting in mind than your kitchen with you in your nightie and wild hair...”

He settled onto one knee and took my hand in his. One last thought occurred to me and I held up my other one to pause him.

“There is just one more thing I need to tell you. I have two identical twin sisters, both of them in the loony bin.”

Mike lost his balance and fell over backwards, dragging me on top of him and laughing helplessly.

“What? What did I say?”

Mike was too far gone so I was left to replay my words for myself. It didn't take long for me to join him.

-oOo-
Mike got his romantic setting, but he made me wait two weeks for it, wondering nervously all the while if I'd mistaken his intentions. Still it was good enough that we were back together and so much better because of my new found certainty that he knew me for exactly who and what I was and still loved me. He did have his chat with Phil about me; by then it wasn't necessary but it helped him solidify his new-found belief in the impossible.

That same day I had gone shopping with Sharon and we'd stopped by a jewellery shop where she had asked to check her ring finger size, confiding in me that she meant to drop hints with Phil sometime soon. She persuaded me to check mine too and somehow I didn't think any more of it.

It seemed that Mike managed to conscript all my friends into his little plan. It was two weeks to the day and as evening came round, I was anticipating another Saturday evening on my own with Mike in his restaurant as usual. The first of the buildings for the new foundation was just about finished, thanks largely to Aaron and his friends who had pitched in enthusiastically with the redecoration and had already taken up residence. We had set a date for the inauguration for the following Friday with invitations being prepared for the individuals we felt would most benefit from being the first into the building. There was an enormous amount of work to do and I had decided that I was going to spend the evening with Mr Pinkie ploughing my way through it all. Sharon had other ideas. At half past five she breezed into my flat and closed the computer screen down on my fingers.

“You have spent far too much time on this pet project of yours. It is Saturday night and, Mike or no Mike, you and I are going out on the town.”

She grabbed me by the wrist and dragged me bodily into my room. I was accustomed to her taking liberties with my wardrobe, but this evening she chose for both of us. It had been nearly a week since my last public appearance and, after a week of jeans and sweatshirts, I found I was rather looking forward to having some fun. The paperwork could wait.

We did the whole helping each other get ready thing with Sharon insisting that I, at least, wear something completely new. For herself, she chose the same black dress she had borrowed from me before. I'd only worn it the once and still thought it looked better on her. I told her as much and, since my wardrobe was already bulging with the extra clothes Karen had brought me, I suggested she'd be doing me a favour by keeping it in hers. She didn't take much persuading.

For me she laid out a light blue, high necked, sleeveless dress in some sparkly wonder-of-modern-science fabric. It looked very slightly oriental which, so Sharon told me, made me look mysterious and exotic; even more so when I picked out a pair of distinctive vari-coloured tights to go with it.

“Can we take your car?”

Earlier in the week, following Karen's suggestion that I acquire a means of travelling around the country to the various shows and events she was lining up for me, I had splurged on a three year old Smart Roadster in yellow with black stripes. It was neither the fastest nor the most practical of cars, but it looked pant-wettingly good, had excellent fuel economy and, with retractable roof, lifting doors and a satisfying amount of sportiness given its seven hundred cc engine, it was a lot of fun to drive. Since I'd bought it a couple of days previously Sharon had been pestering me for a ride.

“Yeah, why not? Do you have anywhere in particular in mind?”

“You leave the navigating to me. I'll try and find us a few fun roads between here and where we're going.”

It was still too cold to drive with the roof down, especially now the sun had gone to bed, but that didn't stop us from having a lot of fun. Sharon guided me away from the more built up neighbourhood and into a rural setting where we found some meandering roads with the speed limit set at an ambitious sixty and I drove my new toy to the point of feeling the rear wheels twitch in the corners. Odd how as Ken I would never have driven so aggressively and now, without so much as a drop of testosterone in my body, I was pushing things to the limit. Maybe it had more to do with peace of mind than aggression. I was at home in my own skin and reaching out more freely and with more abandon than I would have imagined possible as Ken.

Sharon was crafty with her directions, managing to turn me just once too often and leave me with no idea where I was almost right until we reached out destination.

“Hang on, isn't this...”

We turned one last corner and there was Mike's restaurant, the car park considerably less full than usual.

“Why don't we pop in and say hello since we're here.”

Sharon couldn't pull off the little miss innocent with any amount of conviction, but if this was the plan, I'd hate to be the one to ruin it for everyone. One or two of the cars looked familiar, but I chose not to say anything. Just pulled up next to Phil's BMW and climbed out pretending not to notice.

Sharon linked arms with me and led me through the entrance where we were greeted by the cheerfully cries of welcome from all my friends, some of my family and several people I didn't recognise. The restaurant had been decorated with Chinese lanterns and most of the furniture pushed together to form one large banqueting table in the middle.

I was led to a vacant seat by the head of the table where Mike offered me a glass of champagne in greeting. As soon as I was seated, with Sharon opposite, next to Phil, Mike stood and indulged in the time honoured tradition of calling for silence by tapping his glass with a fork. The room fell silent and Mike started his address.

“Ladies and gentlemen, family and friends. Tonight marks a milestone in my life as this is possibly the first Saturday evening I have taken off in over three years.”

This brought a rousing cheer, loudest from those who had been here longest and enjoyed more of Mike's wine than the rest of us.

“This does unfortunately mean that my long suffering assistants, Sandy and James, will be solely responsible for preparing the food we are all about to eat, so I shall be requiring you to sign an indemnity agreement declaring that you will not hold this restaurant or its proprietor responsible for any consequences that might arise from our celebration here tonight.”

This garnered a smattering of laughter and not a few cries of 'shame' and 'boo'.

“This evening further marks my discovery that there can be nothing finer in this life than surrounding yourself with the ones you love and sharing with them some of your good fortune.”

And the cheers were back.

“Most significantly though, this evening marks the moment in which I fully realised the depth of my love for one person in particular and how very much I want to live the rest of my life with her. So, with all of you as my witnesses and because I am too terrified to wait another moment...”

He turned to me, settled onto one knee, dropped his voice to almost a whisper.

“Elizabeth Raeburn, would you do me the unmatchable honour of becoming my wife?”

The entire room fell into complete silence. Everyone waited with bated breath and, for a moment, even the cars stopped driving past. My own breath caught in my throat as I looked down at a ring perched on its cushion waiting for my answer. Had I any reservations this would have been an impossible situation, but Mike knew as well as I that, had I not so magnificently ruined that moment in the kitchen, I would have already said yes.

I wanted something witty to say, but my mind was shocked numb with the unexpectedness of the moment. Hot tears flooded my eyes and, before I lost the power of speech completely, I managed to squeak out a yes, nodding my head in case anyone, Mike especially, hadn't heard me. The room erupted into a roar that receded into some distant part of my awareness as I fell into my fiancé’s embrace.

I could have stayed like that all night, but there were guests to feed and Mike's knee probably wouldn't appreciate to much longer on the hard, wooden floor. We withdrew from one another, eyes promising more later, and Mike deftly slid the ring onto my finger.

It was a perfect fit and I looked over at Sharon — decidedly the cat who got the cream — as realisation dawned on why she had suggested I have my finger measured. I gazed back down at the ring on my finger. A sapphire and two diamonds winked back at me. The tears wouldn't stop and I had to bite my lip from moaning, the emotion too raw, too powerful to contain. Mike nodded a signal to his minions and, with everyone else distracted by the confusion of food coming to the table, took me in his arms once again. This time we didn't come up for air for a very long time.

-oOo-
The evening was wonderful. So many people I knew were there. Clive and his wife Sandra, Pastor James and Marion, Karen, Andrew the photographer and Charlotte my comrade on the catwalk, Mary and Cassie, accompanied by Mary's husband and Cassie's brother, Mike's cousin Katie, Geoff, Glen and Lisa had brought Gemma and Abby with them, evidently pre-warned and eager to meet their new aunt. Glen apologised for Mum and Dad's absence, evidently they still couldn't come to terms with the idea that they had an eighteen year old daughter now, and I couldn't blame them. Any reconciliation with Mum and Dad would have to be slow for their sakes.

The rest of the guests, and there were quite a few of them, were Mike's friends and family. Geoff did a great job of introducing me to a lot of them; apparently he hadn't been the only person to benefit from Mike's generosity.

The food was fantastic putting a lie to Mike's earlier comments. He did grumble once or twice, but over small things and on the whole even he had to admit that it was close to the standard he strove to maintain.

“So now you have no excuse for not taking an evening off every now and again. I shall expect you on my arm the next time I have to attend something here in London; no, no objections or maybe I shall have to let Tarquin charm me into his arms.”

“You wouldn't dare.”

“No I wouldn't, but you never know what the newspapers will start saying if they see me in public with him again.”

He shook his head woefully.

“It's going to be like this from here on isn't it?”

“You'd better believe it. I still have to get you back for springing all this on me, and don't think that's going to be easily forgiven.”

“What do you mean? I thought you'd love this.”

“What if I'd had any doubts Mike? What if I'd needed to think about things.”

“But you didn't did you? I've never been more sure of something in my life and two weeks ago I know I saw the same certainty in you.”

He was right. I wasn't going to let him off though.

“I still don't get to tell all my friends though, since you invited them all here.”

I managed a pout, but it wouldn't stay on my face long enough to convince him.

-oOo-
The following week fell into something of a routine, Mike joining me for breakfast then the two of us going grocery shopping for the restaurant. About mid morning we'd go down to the newly converted shelter and make sure everything was running smoothly. Aaron had proved to be a good choice in heading up the homeless people's involvement as he was a natural leader and perhaps as determined as I was to see this succeed.

Friday's inauguration was perfect, the press back in evidence and offering me a place in front of the cameras again. Yes I was excited to see things coming together. Yes it was pretty much as I'd planned, especially now that I had my first offer of someone to help train those who came along. Mike did his spiel about how cooking was a life skill from which anyone would benefit, even if they didn't go on to make a living from it, so the training he would be giving these young people would serve more than one purpose. He finished with a plea for more small businesses to come forward and offer training.

The other charities made their presence and support known, cheering as I did the ceremonial thing with the giant scissors and ribbon, and several hundred young people officially moved into their new home. It was exciting and wonderful to see a dream turned to reality, even though I suspected it wouldn't all be such plain sailing.

By the end of the afternoon, the media had packed up and gone home, Mike had gone to open up his eatery and I was left with a tired last round of the building, to make sure everyone was settled and everything in order, before heading home myself. I wasn't long through the door when the phone started ringing.

“Hello?”

“Miss Raeburn, this is detective inspector Chubb. I caught something of your official opening on the telly this afternoon and may I say it was a most impressive showing.”

“Thank-you detective inspector, it's kind of you to say.”

“I only tell it as I see it Miss Raeburn. Speaking of which, I was over at the institute where your, er, sisters are being treated. I spent some time chatting to the doctors responsible for their care, suggested that you might be able to help. It seems they agree. They were wondering if you might be free to visit tomorrow.”

You meant it for evil - 16 by Maeryn Lamonte “Miss Raeburn, this is detective inspector Chubb. I caught something of your official opening on the telly this afternoon and may I say it was a most impressive showing.” “Thank-you detective inspector, it's kind of you to say.” “I only tell it as I see it Miss Raeburn. Speaking of which, I was over at the institute where your, er, sisters are being treated. I spent some time chatting to the doctors responsible for their care, suggested that you might be able to help. It seems they agree. They were wondering if you might be free to visit tomorrow.”

-oOo-
The place Emily and Charlotte were being held was just outside the M25 in roughly the four o'clock position, that is to say just into Kent. It consisted of a large, gabled redbrick building with tall chimneys in immaculately tended grounds. Some of the trees in front of the main building seemed older than history and the overall effect, even on such a dull, overcast day, was of serenity and calm.

I drove slowly up the drive, keeping my little motor's usual throaty roar to a quite burbling growl and pulled into a free parking space. The doctor I had spoken to the previous day had said that both girls were usually a bit calmer and more receptive in the afternoon so Mike and I had spent a quiet, almost subdued, morning ambling through Epping's forested trails on horseback before joining Katie for lunch at the riding school. Mike and Katie chatted away about family matters leaving me to my own thoughts, for which I was grateful, then Mike drove me back to my place.

“Are you sure you'll be alright? I can ask James to hold the fort until I get there.”

My smile was distracted but genuine. This was Mike at his most supportive, giving me the space I needed whilst staying close, and I loved him for it.

“No, it'll be fine. Just first time jitters.”

“Well it's not every day you get to meet two complete strangers who look exactly like you, especially when they're both completely Dagenham East.”

“Dagenham..?”

“Four stops on from Barking.^*”

I managed a laugh and returned from the far country my mind had been wandering since yesterday's call. He had his hand on the gear stick and I reached out my own to cover it briefly.

“You are so exactly what the doctor ordered sometimes Mike, but I should be fine. I'm kind of nervous because I don't know if I'll be able to help either of them, but I guess whatever I can do has to be better than what they have right?”

Mike shook his head with a smile.

“You know, if you weren't drop dead gorgeous I think I'd still love you. I've never known anyone who cares so much for other people.”

“Now that sounds like permission to eat like a pig once we're married. You don't know how much I have missed chocolate.”

Mike looked at me nervously until I couldn't keep it up anymore and let out a burst of giggles.

“It was exactly the right thing to say Mike and I shouldn't punish you for that. I love you too much to do something like that to you.”

We pulled up outside my flat and I reached over to give him a long kiss. His face was a little scratchy, something I found I liked about him; a reminder that I was the girl in this relationship. I stroked his cheek gently as I withdrew and reconsidered. There was a definite early showing of five o'clock shadow and it is a woman's prerogative to take control of the little details in her man's life.

“You may want to shave before you get too involved with the cooking. I'll give you a call later.”

One last kiss then I was out of the car and into the flat. Time was getting on and I didn't have enough to change, but that was ok, this was a jeans and sweater day anyway; I didn't want to freak out the two boy-come-girls by turning up looking like Princess Peach, or perhaps Daisy who was closer to my colouring. I just needed pick up a couple of bags of things I'd put aside for them. After that it was out on the A316, almost the opposite direction, as far as the M25 then around the south of the city towards my destination.

-oOo-
The nurse visibly blanched as I approached, reaching nervously under the counter for something. I gave her as cheerful a smile as I could manage given my state of mind.

“Good afternoon. I'm Liz Raeburn. I'm here to visit my sisters.”

Two male nurses appeared, followed soon after by a middle aged doctor. They looked at the nurse behind the reception and she nodded, still nervous, in my direction. Light dawned in the doctor's eyes.

“Ah, mistaken identity. Understandable. Mike, Adam, it's ok. Visitor, not patient. Jane it's in the appointment book. Elizabeth Raeburn to visit her two sisters. Seems you haven't been watching the television recently.”

The nurse looked embarrassed and mumbled an apology in my direction. The doctor wasn't quite finished.

“No need Jane. Better safe than sorry and no harm done eh?”

He turned his head my way. His mannerisms were a little odd, short and jerky like his speech. Almost like I was talking to a sparrow or a blue tit. He thrust out a hand which I took, still a little off balance from odd reception.

“Doctor Marston. Let's get you signed in. Jane I think we'll need a safety word for Miss Raeburn.”

It was his longest sentence so far and just a little incongruous because of it. The nurse turned her attention towards me, still a little red from her mistake, but a little more confident now that she was following her training.

“I'm sorry for the mistake miss. We, er , we... because you look quite a lot like one, er, two of the patients here, we need a way of distinguishing between you and them. To do this we use a challenge response system. It will only happen if a member of staff is uncertain of your identity, and when you leave of course. When one of the doctors or nurses uses the challenge word, you are expected to respond with er, well, the response word. We try to keep the words unusual so that they aren't likely to be used in everyday conversation, and unrelated so that there is no way of guessing the response from the challenge.

“In your case we'll use the challenge word of 'embrasure' and the response will be 'phoenix'.”

“Good, good, now sign in and I'll take you to meet your sisters. Imagine you'll be glad to be reunited after all this time. Don't expect much, please. Both very disturbed. Hoping you'll be able to get through where we haven't.”

While he was talking I signed details into the visitors' book and attached the visitor's badge to my leather jacket. He then walked off down the corridor that Mark and Adam had recently taken, indicating that I should follow. After what seemed a mile of maze we arrived outside a plain yuk-yellow painted door.

“This one’s the quieter of the two. I'll come in with you to start with, make sure things are settled, then I'll leave you to it. What's in the bags?”

“Oh, just some clothes and pyjamas. I wasn't sure what she would have to wear.”

“Just clothes? Nothing else? May I look?”

I handed the bag over and he rummaged through it before handing it back, evidently satisfied.

“Hands off, they're mine.”

The voice was low and scratchy. I spun round to find an old man in wheelchair being wheeled past. Was it my imagination or was there a shadow in his eyes? Doctor Marston turned to see what had distracted me.

“Don't mind Mr Langley. All bark, no bite.”

The doctor slid his key-card into a slot in the wall and pushed the door open, waving me in ahead of him.

“This is Paula. Quieter of your two sisters.”

“Paula?”

“The name she gave when she first came here. You saying that's not right?”

At a guess this would be Paul Bailey, one of the two names DI Chubb had given me. I walked through the door ignoring the question.

The room was tastefully decorated as long as you were a fan of pink. There was a bed, heavy wrought iron and bolted to the floor just visible under the valance, and a desk and chair, also bolted down. The windows were barred but tastefully draped with curtains. The floor was linoleum, but thick and soft. In the corner, curled up as I had first seen her (him?) the first time, sat a figure in a nightdress, rocking gently back and forth.

“Hello Paula. It's Doctor Marston. I've brought someone to see you.”.

I walked over close to the traumatised figure and folded my legs under me, settling onto the floor beside him.

“Hello Paul.”

He looked up at me, eyes wide with denial.

“No, no, no, no, no, no...”

It went on and on, a continuous monotone. He hid his face in his knees.

“I'm a friend Paul, I want to help.”

“You're, you're, you're... no, no, no, no, no...”

“I'm like you Paul. I met a young woman with green eyes and red hair, and now I'm like you.”

I reached out a hand to touch him gently on the arm. He shuddered slightly but didn't withdraw.

I was conscious of Doctor Marston behind me. I didn't want to give so much away in his presence that he would invite me to stay in one of the adjoining rooms. He'd heard enough to peak his curiosity though. He crouched down next to me.

“Who is this green eyed woman?”

“Please doctor, I'll talk to you afterwards. For now would you mind giving us some privacy.”

He wasn't happy but withdrew even so. Just as the door closed I heard it again, quiet, at the very edge of hearing.

“He's mine.”

I looked around and all I could see was a closed door. Overactive imagination. I turned my attention back to Paul who was rocking a little faster.

“That's what happened wasn't it Paul? You went to a bar and met a drop dead gorgeous green-eyed redhead who warned you that she only made out with girls.”

The rocking sped up if anything, trying to blot out my words and where they would take him.

“Then she took you back to her flat. About ten minutes’ walk away, sixth floor, filled with kind of primitive art from around the world, no photographs. She kept warning you, but her body language said something else so you kissed her, then the room spun around and seemed to get bigger and the next thing you knew you were as you are now.”

The rocking had stopped. He wouldn't look at me, but he was listening, intently.

“When you woke up in the morning there was a nasty letter telling you to get dressed and leave by midday. It said you had no identity, that your only way of making money now was as a prostitute, that if you tried to tell someone about what had happened to you, you'd end up, well, in a place like this. The wardrobe was full of tarty clothes, but you had no choice but to get dressed and leave. After that the story is your own.”

I waited, so did he. I cracked first.

“Your name was Paul Bailey. Mine was Ken Stanton. I met Mary in the Meet Market, a club that opened in Soho a couple of months ago. I'm pretty sure of everything I told you, because it happened to me the same way. It's what left me looking like this and, I'm pretty sure, you looking like that.”

I reached out a hand and rested it on his wrist. After an uncertain moment, he raised his eyes to mine.

“You're not alone Paul.”

“Is... Is there a way out of this?”

“Out of the institute, perhaps. Out of being a girl, I don' think so.”

He started rocking again.

“I can't be a girl. I'm not a girl. I'm a guy. I can't be a girl.”

I pulled him gently towards me and held him while the tears flowed. This was going to take time and I had to hold myself back from rushing ahead with all the things I wanted to say. Eventually he quieted and I eased him back away from me.

“I brought you some things.”

“Like what?”

“Well I wasn't sure what you got to wear in a place like this so I hedged a bit. There are some cotton pyjamas, a pair of jeans and some tee-shirts, socks and underwear.

“What do you mean underwear?”

I rummaged in one of the bags and pulled out some plain white cotton panties and a similar sports bra.

“That's girl's underwear.”

“I know and the jeans and tee-shirts are women's cut too. You have to face the fact that you have a girl's body now so it's best to stick with clothes designed to fit it. On the plus side, as a girl you get to choose how you look. I didn't think you'd have much time for frills and lace so everything's plain, unadorned and in neutral colours.”

“Yeah and that's a bra. How am going to feel like I'm not a girl wearing a bra?”

“Well you'll definitely feel that you're a girl if you don't wear one. Look, it's a sports bra. It could almost be a vest. Yes admittedly a very short vest, but work with me here. You won't feel it that much and it'll stop things from jiggling around.

“Try it, you won't know until you do.”

He was on the fence and I didn't have time to coax him off it. I glanced at my watch. Doctor Marston would be back any time.

“Listen Paul, I don't have much time with you this visit so I'm not going to use it up persuading you to do this thing. I'll leave the clothes with you and you can decide for yourself. If you'll at least try then we’ll find out whether it helps or whether I have to think of something else. I know we don't know each other, but as far as the rest of the world is concerned, there's no way you can be anything except my identical twin sister. In some ways we do have a common experience holding us together, and for the life of me I am not giving up on you. I'm going to come back as often as I can and do whatever it takes to help you deal with this. If I can find a way out for you I will, but one way or another you don't have to deal with this alone.

“My time today is almost up but there's one thing I need to do before the doctor comes back. I have a friend who's been able to come up with a couple of IDs for you and the other one here like you. I didn't have much time to choose the names so you're going to have to live with one or the other. Do you want to be Emily or Charlotte?”

“What?”

“A name? An identity? With National Insurance Number, passport, driver's license, all that sort of thing. You get to be a person again, but you have to be either Emily or Charlotte. Charlotte or Emily, which is it going to be?”

The electronic bolt in the door slide back with a clunk and I turned his face so he could see the urgency in my eyes.

“Emily. I'll take Emily.”

-oOo-
“Astonished. Absolutely amazed. Been with us four weeks and all she did was sit in the corner and rock backwards and forwards. Half an hour with you and she's calmer, more lucid. How did you do it?”

“Emily's my twin, doctor. All I did was talk about some of the experiences we shared.”

“Still impressive for half an hour. What's with the clothes?”

“Both of my sisters were a bit tomboyish — we all were when we were younger — so having slightly less frilly things is likely to help.”

We were walking back down the corridor towards reception. Apparently my other 'twin' was in a different wing. Mr Langley was heading back to his room, pushed by the same orderly. I nodded and smiled as they went past.

“I'm warning you, hands off.”

Again the low, gravelly voice. Again just at the divide between hearing and imagining. I turned to Doctor Marston but he was oblivious. Was I imagining things? Did I actually belong here?

“Something I don't understand. Why Paula?”

“Oh, that was a game we used to play when we were younger. You know, let's pretend? Em and Charley liked to pretend they were guys. Em used to call herself Paul; I guess you misheard her.”

“And your other sister?”

“She liked the name Jordan. Her real name's Charlotte.”

“Ah. Explains a few things.”

We walked on in silence. From the picture DI Chubb had shown me, Jordan was going to be somewhat more of a handful than Paul and I was getting nervous. Doctor Marston was as well.

“Your other sister. Something of a different animal. Sorry not very PC, but she's not so calm as Paula. Sorry Emily. Visit will need to be supervised I'm afraid. Your safety. Sorry no choice.”

Jordan's room, or perhaps cell would be more appropriate, was down a long corridor, through several locked and barred gates and finally behind a thick steel door. A burly nurse stood with us outside the room as Doctor Marston made use of his key-card again.

This room was very different from Paul's. No furniture, one small, barred window high up and the floor and all the walls were padded, quilted. I almost expected Jordan to be wearing a straightjacket as he had been in the police photograph, but instead he had on a white, cotton nightdress with lace collar and an embroidered bodice. He turned at the sound of the door opening, his face placid but calculating. The moment he saw me he flew into a rage and charged. I staggered back from hands reaching with murderous intent for my neck as the nurse barged past me and tackled him to the floor.

“What did you do to me you heartless bitch? What did you do to me? You change me back you fucking cow. You change me back now.”

He was struggling against the nurse and weeping desperate, bitter tears as he squirmed futilely in the big man's grip.

I managed to recover from the shock of the attack enough to gather my scattered wits and find my voice.

“What makes you think I did this to you Jordan? What makes you think it was me? Didn't she have green eyes?”

The thrashing stopped and he stared at me.

“What do you know about it?”

“More than I care to say, but I know what happened to you. It happened to me too, and I'm here to help.”

“Why would you?”

“Look at me Charlotte. You remember me? I'm Liz, you remember when you and Emily and I played together and you wanted to be called Jordan and Em wanted be called Paul? I'm your sister Charley, how could I not do everything in my power to help.”

I was gambling everything on the intelligence in his eyes. He wasn't so much cracking up at what had happened to him as livid. The look he had given me was enough to melt steel.

“Liz?”

It was command performance good. I could have believed he was my sister from the emotion he put into that one word. He added a couple more, equally convincing.

“What happened?”

Keep it vague. The less you have to make up the less chance you have of tripping up.

“I don't know Charley, I was hoping you or Em could tell me something. The two of you came down to London partying at some nightclub — I couldn't, you remember? I had that thing at work. The next day your mobile phones were giving out of service messages. Eventually I managed to get a job here and found a lead or two as to what might have happened to you. That's when the police contacted me and said they'd already picked you and Em up and that you were here.

“I want to help Charley. I brought you some things.”

“What sort of things?”

“Jeans, tee-shirts, pyjamas. Things you'll feel more comfortable in.”

“Can I see?”

I put the bag down on the floor as near to him as I dared. The nurse released his hold enough for Jordan to pick the bag up and look through it. He had a very studied expression on his face when he came up.

“What happens now?”

“Well I'm going to keep on visiting as often as I can to see what I can do to help. You need to convince these guys that you're safe to be around, that you won't try and snap my head off, then I guess we get to talk. Depending on how well you do, well actually that's not my call but maybe Doctor Marston?”

“Maybe. We'll see. Long road ahead Jordan, or is it Charlotte now?”

“I prefer Charley.”

Doctor Marston nodded his head then turned to me.

“Best keep it short today. Miss Raeburn?”

He indicated the door.

“Keep it real Charley. Try and keep calm. I'll be back to visit you as soon as I can. Just be patient.”

He nodded and I preceded the doctor and nurse out of the room.

“Word in my office Miss Raeburn?”

“Yes doctor.”

-oOo-
All the way back to Doctor Marston's office I kept looking around like a spooked meerkat, all the while expecting that voice again, but it didn't come. In no time I was sitting in a comfortable chair with a cup of half decent coffee in my hands. The doctor settled behind his desk and steepled his fingers.

“The green eyed lady. Explain.”

This was a question I'd been dreading. I'd had to come up with a bit of fiction here and I wasn't sure how believable it would be.

“The police told me they'd both mentioned her. It was part of one of our let's pretend games. We'd meet this witch and she'd magically turn my sisters into men. We always imagined her as having green eyes and red hair because Em read something somewhere about that being the Devil's favourite. I just took a chance that it might help.”

“Anything else you can say, might help?”

“They're both tomboys, always have been. If they can wear men's pyjamas and anything else that's not frilly it might help. That and Em's room could be a little less girly.”

“Not happy with that. Current delusion is they think they were male. Give them a male environment will reinforce that notion.”

“Or make them feel more at home because they're more used to plainer things instead of all this fru-fru stuff.”

“Hmm.”

“Try it for a week, if it doesn't work then you can go back to your satin and lace idea.”

“You'll visit again.”

“Absolutely, as often as I can. Next Saturday ok?”

“Once a week probably as much as we can allow for now. Thank-you Miss Raeburn. Worthwhile progress today.”

He stood up abruptly and held out a hand. Mannerisms to match his speech. I put down my half-finished coffee and shook his hand.

The nurse on reception noted down next week's visit in the dairy then smiled at me.

“Embrasure?”

It took a moment to register, but light downed through the murk.

“Oh, er... Pheonix.”

“Thank-you Miss Raeburn. We'll see you next week.”

And like that I was back in front of the magnificent building with my car keys in my hand. It was still light and I was at loss for something to do. I felt that the visits had gone well for a first time. I wondered if I could make it a hat-trick.

First to call Mike though. The restaurant wouldn't be open yet, though at a guess they would be whizzing around like amphetamine enhanced bluebottles trying to get things ready. Still Mike would spare me a couple of minutes. The phone answered on the second ring.

“Mike's place.”

Despite the calm in the young voice, I could hear pots and pans crashing in the background. I'd better make this quick.

“Hi James, it's Liz.”

“Hang on a mo.”

The sound muffled as a hand went over the receiver. I could still hear James's raised voice clearly enough though.”

“Oh most highly exalted one. Thy queen wisheth to bendeth thine lug-hole.”

“Give that here you daft pillock and get back to your bouille-abaisse. It's a bit short on thyme.”

Mike's voice suddenly came through loud and clear.

“Hi Liz, how did it go.”

“Really well. Surprisingly well. It'll take time but it's definitely not going to be wasted.”

“That's great. So what are your plans now?”

“I thought I might head up to see my Mum and Dad, see if I can make any progress there.”

“Are you sure? I mean you don't want to tempt fate or anything do you?”

“Fate's been pretty kind to me recently. I don't think this is stretching things too far.”

“Ok, well good luck with it and don't drive tired. If it gets too late scrounge a bed with that brother of yours.”

“Will do. See you at church tomorrow?”

“Sure. We need to talk to Pastor James about dates and details anyway don't we?”

“Yes we do. I love you, see you tomorrow.”

“I love you too.”

The phone went quiet. I chucked it on the seat next to me and started the car. In the burble of the exhaust the hint of a voice drifted through. Low and scratchy as before.

“I warned you to leave them be. They're mine and now so are you.”

A chill spread through me. Either I was going insane or something very unpleasant had just turned its baleful eyes in my direction. I looked uneasily over at the empty seat next to me. I'm sure it was my imagination, but there seemed to be just the faintest hint of an outline of a man in a dark suit.

-oOo-
Getting back onto the M25 was easy and I sped north until about a mile before the Dartford crossing. They'd done a lot of work to improve the traffic flow through here, but at half past five, even on a Saturday, it started to clog up. Still the snarl moved through steadily if slowly and by six I was on the north side of the Thames heading round for the M11 and an hour's drive north to my parents' home. The little car sped along comfortably on the motorway — not its favourite type of road, but it handled it well enough — and by quarter to eight I found myself easing the low slung vehicle over sleeping policemen and into a familiar drive and the house I had grown up in.

I knocked on the door, nervous but determined. The bell hadn't worked in twenty years and I doubted Dad would get around to it now. Unconsciously I had used the same shave-and-a-haircut rhythm I always used to use. It took a moment for my mother's face to appear, and another for hope to fade into confusion in her eyes.

“Hello, can I help you?”

I so wanted to call her Mum or Mummy, but knew if I pushed this too fast I would ruin it, probably for good. I reigned in my galloping feelings and took a deep breath.

“My name's Elizabeth Raeburn. You, er, visited me in hospital a few weeks back.”

“Oh yes that strange thing about my son Kenneth.”

I always hated the full version of my name and it did me no good to hear it now. I took a deep breath. Take it slow Lizzy.

“I wonder if I could come in and speak with you for a while. Is D... Is your husband in?”

“George is in the living room. I suppose... Yes I suppose it would be alright.”

She stood to one side and I stepped into the hall. I rubbed my hand absent-mindedly over a patch of wall where I had thrown a cricket ball in a fit of rage. It was smooth and painted over now, the event some eighteen years in the past, back when Dad knew a thing or two about decorating and wasn't averse to trying.

Mum was giving me some odd looks as a walked ahead of her into the lounge.

“Who is it Olive?”

Dad's voice was old and tired. I hadn't noticed that about him the last time we'd spoken.

“Do you remember that young lady Glen insisted we go and see in London? Well she's come to visit us. Would you like some tea? I just made a pot.”

“That would be lovely, thank-you.”

“How do you take it?”

“Milk no sugar please.”

Mum and Dad had always been PG tips fans so there was no question about this needing special treatment with lemon or similar.

I perched on a chair with my cup and saucer and wondered how I was going to do this. Memories flashed across my mind and in each one there seemed to be a hint of disappointment or distaste in their eyes. Was I deluding myself that they would welcome me now?

“Here, I know you. You're that young girl on the telly. The one who's doing work with the homeless. That's good work that is. I'll bet your folks are right proud of you.”

And I saw my way in.

“I certainly hope they might be. My dad used to say London is a place where there are too many people too wrapped up in their own needs to see those of others around them. I guess he taught me to see beyond those needs.”

“You use to say that didn't you George? Funny that your dad said the same thing, don't you think?”

First strike neatly blocked. I took a nervous sip of tea.

“So what is you wanted to see us about dear? You've come a long way so it must be important.”

“I er. It's about Ken.”

“Our son Ken?”

Did I notice a slight down-turning of the mouth?

“He hasn't phoned in several months now. Mind you he never was very good at keeping in touch.”

What do you mean? I used to phone through at least once a week. I couldn't say that though, not spring it so quickly.

“Things have been a bit difficult for him lately.”

“Oh I've heard about this. Glen told us a young lady called to say he was alright but he had to go into hiding. I mean I don't know what he did to have to do that. I don't suppose it was you that phoned through was it?”

Another chance.

“Yes it was, but I wasn't calling to pass on a message from Ken.”

My mum and dad looked at each other, mystified.

“Then why dear? And how did you know all those things about our son.”

“Because... er... because... Oh b... I'm sorry, this is difficult.”

“Take your time dear. It's not as if we're going anywhere is it?”

She laughed. More to try and put me at ease I think than because she thought she was funny. She never really had a particularly sensitive funny bone my Mum. I was going to have to go for broke here.

“It's because it's me Mum, Dad. I'm Ken.”

I don't know what I expected. You'd have thought that with my not so distant experiences with Mike, I'd learn to be a little more selective about what I said and when I said it. Dad leaned forward in his chair. Old age had slackened much of the skin on his face, hiding his expression, but his eyes were flinty and unforgiving.

“Is this some sort of a joke? Because I find it to be in very poor taste. There is no way you could be our son.”

“Not unless something miraculous happened. I mean I know I don't look anything like him. I'm shorter, slimmer, quite apart from being female now, but inside this is still me. This is still Ken.”

I tapped my head and my chest for effect. I turned to my mother.

“That patch of wall in the hallway. Do you remember I threw a cricket ball at it when I was nine.”

“Oh no dear, that happened eighteen years ago. You wouldn't have been born then. Or maybe only just.”

I closed my eyes in frustration.

“No Mum. I may look eighteen, but I'm really twenty-seven. I met a strange woman and she did this to me. I don't know, call it magic or a miracle, even a curse though I don't see it that way, but she changed me into this. Inside I'm still Ken. How could I know things otherwise.”

My dad heaved himself up out of his chair, a herculean effort with his bad knee, and stared across at me.

“Young lady, I don't believe in such things. This seems to me to be a practical joke in disappointingly bad taste, and one you wouldn't have been able to perpetrate without the help of my younger son.”

Was that another frown of disappointment as he referred to me? Did they find it so easy to believe that I was such a lost cause?

“I'm sorry my dear, but I'm not going to sit here and listen to any more of your nonsense. We've invited you in and you've paid us back in a very poor way for our hospitality. I think I'm going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Please wait Dad...”

“Don't call me that. I never had a daughter and I'm not so senile that I don’t know that for a fact.”

“Will you please at least ask me some questions. Things that your son would know that he would never have thought to tell someone like the person you think I am.”

“No, I'm sorry. I have no time for this idiocy. I've asked you to leave and now I'm asking a second time. If you refuse, I shall be forced to call the police.”

No I couldn't do this.

“That won't be necessary. I'm sorry for disturbing you Mr and Mrs Stanton.”

I put down my cup of tea on the coaster then stood and walked to the door.

“I wish you could believe in the amazing just this once.”

“Hah. That sounds like some drivel Ken would say. I must say you play your part very well Miss Raeburn. Frankly I find it astonishing that a level headed and well-meaning girl such as yourself would allow herself to be lured into something like this. Please give Ken our regards when you see him, but next time he can call us himself.”

He shut the door on me and I found myself out in the cold.

“See how they disapprove of you? Were you always such a disappointment to them?”

The low scratchy voice was in my head now. Still quiet, but somehow clearer.

“You're a failure and an abomination. How can anyone love you?”

I started to drive. There was no thought of going round Glen and Lisa's, I couldn't face them right now. Besides it wouldn't take me that long to get home once I was on the road. How could anyone love me? I thought of Mike.

“Oh yes Mike. Didn't he drop you at the first sign of trouble? Twice? You're damaged goods Ken. Neither one thing nor the other. No wonder your parents shake their heads and frown their frowns when they think of you. You don't belong in this world. You are just a sick, twisted mistake that mother nature spewed out and instantly forgot.”

I was crying now and the road was blurring through the tears. I tried to focus. My name isn't Ken, it's Elizabeth.

“And doesn't that just show you for the miserable, warped mess you are? Not even holding onto the name you were given, that's just ungrateful. You don't deserve them. It's as well they threw you out when they did. You deserve to be thrown out. Like the garbage you are.”

I was given the name Elizabeth.

“Oh yes, a few kind words by a tramp in a park. Very fitting that you should be given your new name by the filth from the streets.”

It was raining now. I had the windscreen wipers on, but it was hard to tell if my blurred vision was caused by raindrops on glass or the tears which continued to flood my eyes. Suddenly there were lights ahead of me. Red lights and the tall yellow back end of a lorry, too close. I jammed on my brakes. An ugly laughter drifted across my awareness and one last phrase.

“You're mine.”

-oOo-
^* Barking and Dagenham East are both stops on the District Line of the London Underground. Barking is also a shortened form of barking mad, so if you are Dagenham East you are madder still.

You meant it for evil - 17 by Maeryn Lamonte It was raining now. I had the windscreen wipers on, but it was hard to tell if my blurred vision was caused by raindrops on glass or the tears which continued to flow. Suddenly there were lights ahead of me. Red lights and the tall yellow shape of a lorry, too close. I jammed on my brakes. An ugly laughter drifted across my awareness and one last phrase. “You're mine.”

-oOo-
The low bonnet of the roadster disappeared under the back of the lorry. I felt the ABS rattling against the bottom of my trainer. Any second the trailer would come through the windscreen. This was going to be messy, but at least it would be quick. An unnatural calm settled over me and seconds seemed to stretch out. My last thought was of Mike and how painful it would be for him to identify me from my bloody remains.

The car lurched and swerved. Somehow the tyres found brief purchase on a dry patch of road, enough to jerk the car out from underneath the instrument of my impending demise and swing it over onto the hard shoulder. The nearside wheels dropped off the tarmac and lost purchase again sending the car into a wild spin. There was a loud bang and my face and chest were struck by stiff white plastic. For a brief moment I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, as the car went careening out of control and as quick as it had begun it was over. I sat dumbfound, my little yellow car sitting by the side of the road, facing the receding lights of the lorry, its driver oblivious to our close encounter.

The remains of the air-bag sat in my lap. The rush of adrenaline subsided and I surrendered to huge sobs of relief. My face and breasts stung, but nothing could diminish the glorious taste of fresh the air as I drew in lungful after grateful lungful. It looked like I would be staying with Glen and Lisa this evening after all. A hysterical giggle bubbled up inside me and I sat laughing at the sheer wonder of being alive.

The turbulent swirl of emotions subsided leaving me feeling a little nauseous. The car was leaning at an awkward angle, its hazard lights flashing their amber alert to an empty road. I reclaimed my handbag and mobile phone from the passenger's side foot well and climbed out to relative safety away from my vehicle and the road. I dialled the number of the recovery service I used. Yes I did know that it would cost me to use a mobile phone even though it was an oh eight hundred number; just a little bit more for having to listen to that redundant bit of information thank-you very much. I gave my details, location, what had happened. Yes I was a woman travelling on my own. So grateful for that consideration, to be bumped to the top of the response list. Next I phoned Glen.

“Hi bro', I wonder if you could come and pick me up. Slight accident. No I'm fine. Spun out but the car's in a ditch and the airbag went off so I'm not going to be driving it again tonight.”

Again I gave him my location. Ok now bets as to which of them would make it to me first. At a guess Glen lived about ten or fifteen minutes from here so, add the time it would take him to put his shoes on. It would be close.

I checked my watch. Half eight. Right in the middle of Mike's busy period so not a great time to call, but then I'd rather he heard from me than Glen or Lisa. I started punching in a text.

Hi Mike,

Had an accident but am ok. Car spun out so shaken and a little stirred. Glen coming to get me, will call later.

Luv

Liz.

Ok so I don't do text language, is that so bad?

I settled down to wait, glad of the jeans and leather jacket to ward off the cold. I hugged my arms in front of me then changed my mind as my bruised chest made its complaint. In the end Glen won the race, appearing five minutes ahead of the rescue service. By then the bruises had started to show and he insisted that I go to A&E to get checked out. From my description of the accident the recovery guys had sent one of their larger trucks. The driver agreed with Glen that I should have my injuries checked out, minor as I insisted they were, and I in my turn insisted that we sort the car out first. I think there must be something about a cute girl with panda eyes and a pout because they didn't try very hard to argue, and in the end Glen led the way to his local garage where my car was left amongst the others outside the front.

A&E was insane as tends to be the case on Saturday evenings, or so I'm told. Because I came under the heading 'RTA query concussion', I was seen quite quickly. The young doctor shone a light in my eyes, asked a few questions then had a quick look at the bruises on my face and chest, eventually scribbling a few notes on my chart.

“Well Miss Raeburn, no signs of concussion but you will have some rather spectacular bruises for a few days. The best thing you can do is take a couple of paracetamol and get some rest. Not much we can do about the bruising. That will come and go in its own good time, but you may be able to help it along a little with some multi-vitamins.”

He gave me a cheerful if harried grin and dashed off looking for his next patient. I settled my sweater back in place and made my way gingerly back to the reception and my stoically patient brother.

“And?”

“Paracetamols and an early night. Do you mind if I stay over with you and Lisa?”

“You know you don't need to ask. I suspect Lisa's already made up the spare room. Come on let's get you home.”

-oOo-
Glen phoned ahead as we made our way back to his car, so there were mugs of hot chocolate waiting when we arrived. I managed to stay reasonably alert for the time it took me to drink mine down then allowed myself to be led up to the spare room. As Glen had predicted it was all ready for me with one of Lisa's spare nighties lying across the bed. She tends to favour sort of floaty, chiffony, nylony things and I found myself appreciating her taste as the delicate fabric settled gently on my bruised body. There was a new toothbrush as well which, in my increasingly woozy state, became something of a challenge to open. I made it though and with minty breath and the fairy caress of my borrowed nightclothes I snuggled into bed just as my mobile went off.

“Liz? Are you alright? What happened? I'm sorry, we've been rushed off our feet and I only just got round to checking my phone.”

“Hi Mike, I'm fine. I'm staying with Glen and Lisa for the night, and they've agreed to run me home tomorrow.”

“Do you want me to come up? Things are easing off here and James and Sandy should be able to handle the last few orders. I could be with you in a couple of hours.”

“I'll be asleep Mike. It's really sweet of you, but I'll be home soon enough tomorrow morning and I'll tell you about it then. I just hope you don't get too much grief about it.”

“What do you mean?”

“The airbag gave me quite a whack. I've a couple of fairly impressive shiners, so expect a few wife — or fiancée — beating gags.”

“But you're alright apart from that? You're sure?”

The concern in his voice was oil on troubled waters. All the things I'd been thinking and feeling, that had been tearing me up inside found peace in his words. I sniffed away a rogue tear.

“Glen took me to accident and emergency. No concussion, just bruises. My poor car's going to need a good going over though. Suspension, chassis, breaks, tyres, and I'll have to pay for a new airbag to be put in.”

“Don't worry about the car, we can get you a new one if need be. What matters is you. Are you sure you don't want me to come up?”

“The doctor recommended rest and if I weren't talking to my most favouritest man in the whole wide world I'd be asleep already.”

“Oh, I'd better let you go then.”

“Mike?”

“Mmn?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too Liz. God I feel so useless.”

“Well don't, just hearing your voice has done me wonders.”

“Goodnight then. Dream of me.”

“It'll be the best dream ever. I'll see you tomorrow and don't worry.”

The conversation dragged on for another minute or so, but it was saccharine sweet and enough to give you diabetes just listening to it so I'll spare you the details. I put the phone on the night stand and was asleep a moment later.

-oOo-
I awoke to one of those delightful drowsy feelings that lasts forever as long as you don't move. The bed was soft and the duvet warm and piled high over me. I snuggled deeper into the pillows, the only move permissible under such circumstances, and the ache in my chest awoke.

Grumbling gently under my breath, I opened my eyes to find Mike and his quirky smile looking down at me.

“What are you doing here? I told you Glen and Lisa would bring me back today.”

“I couldn't sleep. And I figured you could do with a change of clothing, so I went over to your place, chucked a few things into a suitcase and came over.”

I roused enough to push the duvet away. My face joined in with the aching.

“What time is it?”

The door opened and Lisa came in with a breakfast tray and an altogether too bright disposition.

“It's nine o'clock, but don't let that fool you. He's been here since eight.”

“But it's a two hour drive from your place; longer from mine.”

“Like I said, I couldn't sleep. I had to see you, and believe me it was worth the trouble.”

There was a hand mirror by the bed. He held it for me to look at myself.

“I look like a raccoon.”

The bruising had set in deep and dark around my eyes, giving me a burglar's mask. My nose and close surroundings were also discoloured, although not to such a great extent.

“I hope you packed my makeup. I think I'm going to go through a month's worth of foundation to hide this lot.”

Mike held up my small case of cosmetics then, after a dramatic pause, a pair of sunglasses.

Lisa offered the tray to me and I sat up gingerly in the bed to accept it. I winced at a twinge from under my borrowed nightdress and took a moment to look down my décolletage to inspect the rest of the damage.

“That is a most amazing mix of colours.”

Mike leaned forward, curiosity momentarily trumping good manners until I gave him a mock scowl and he withdrew looking so contrite Lisa and I couldn't help but burst out laughing.

“I'm a mean cow aren't I? After you came all this way too. It's just that I want you to see them at their best when you do see them for the first time.”

The tray settled on my lap and I was suddenly so ravenous that I started on the toast without spreading anything on it. Mike buttered and jammed a second slice for me while I polished off the first and Lisa squatted briefly on the side of the bed.

“I was wondering if you'd like to come to church with us this morning. I mean you're not going to get home in time for yours and I'm sure the girls would love to spend some time with their mad aunt. And future uncle.”

I glanced at Mike who shrugged. Lisa was right and a quiet afternoon with family seemed like such a good idea, and since Mike had made the effort to come all this way... I nodded.

“Great. The service starts at ten thirty and it'll take us ten minutes to walk there, so you have just over an hour to get ready. You'll stay for lunch afterwards and if you're lucky we may let you go after tea.”

Mike looked a little uncomfortable and I knew he wouldn't say anything, so I did. My family, my 'splainin'.

“Sorry Lisa we'll have to go sooner. Mike needs to be at the restaurant by five so three's our deadline, two-thirty better still.”

“You open on a Sunday too?”

“It's not our busiest night of the week, but usually we have enough reservations to make it worthwhile.”

I finished a third slice of toast and washed it all down with the glass of orange juice that had been sitting on the tray, This turned out to have consequences.

“Oops. Loo, loo. Emergency.”

Lisa grabbed the tray and I dashed for the door, making it to the bathroom just in time.

Mike had given some thought to his packing, bringing what looked to him like the most comfortable things in my closet. The dress was a bit of a sack; frills and bows to be sure, but not that attractive. It wasn't one I'd ever chosen to wear before, but being part of the Elle-gance bundle that Karen had brought round for me, it had lived in my wardrobe even so. On the plus side it was loose around the bust and had a modest collar so the bruising to my chest was well hidden.

The underwear was plain and comfortable, the bra being a sports bra much like the ones I'd taken for Em and Charley. It was a little snug, but without underwiring or any of the other torturous design enhancements intended to make boobs perk and look bigger than they are, it was comfortable. The dressing didn't take long, but the makeup was something of a herculean task. The sunglasses helped immensely, cutting down the amount of plaster necessary to cover the visible blemishes. I was ready with a couple of minutes to spare.

“Just no-one make me laugh, not unless you want to see the last half hour's efforts gone to waste.”

They laughed even so, especially the girls, and I was hard pressed to keep my face still enough not to introduce cracks into the thickly applied foundation.

Glen and Lisa's local church was old fashioned and Anglican, much like the one I'd grown up in. In a small village like this, if you didn't come to church, you missed out on half the village life, so there wasn't much option. Despite that, the vicar took his job seriously and what came from the pulpit was something more than meaningless homilies. I can't say I took it all in, but there was one bit that made me sit up and take notice.

“In the eighth chapter of the Gospel of St John we come across Jesus' description of the Devil as, 'a murderer from the beginning, who does not stand in the truth, because there is no truth in him. Whenever he speaks a lie, he speaks from his own nature; for he is a liar, and the father of lies.'

“Now whether you consider Satan to be an actual entity or the personification of the evil within our world, there are none here, I should think, who have not felt discouragement from time to time which we have been inclined to attribute to our own shortcomings, or indeed have begun to doubt their own calling and worth in the sight of God.

“Such oppressive thoughts are invariably false and, whether you consider them to be born from your own insecurity or whispered in your ear by the source of all evil, the result is the same. Discouragement, dejection, disillusionment.

“Consider the thoughts and words that bring you low. You will find that, although they contain a semblance of truth, there is no actual truth within them. The attitudes and opinions you believe your friends and family have to have towards you are often less than they are, and on the occasions where such thoughts are genuinely poor, it is almost always your accuser that is in the wrong rather than you.

“It is important that we each take on the responsibility of encouraging one another. Being British we find it difficult to accept complements of any kind, but without such rays of sunlight in our lives it is unlikely we will grow and flourish as we truly can.

“And take this as encouragement. If you are in Christ Jesus, the evil one has no power over you. As Romans eight verses thirty eight and thirty nine say, 'neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.' Furthermore, take to heart the words from Philippians one verse six which say, 'he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.'

“Be confident. He has called you by name and you are His.”

I know they're not words everyone believes or accepts, but to me at that moment in time they were just what I needed to hear. I thought of the things that voice had said to me the previous night. It wasn't disapproval towards me or Ken my parents had shown, but rather a rejection of the idea their son could be transformed into a teenage girl, and who could blame them? Mike's own rejection of me had the same source, as had Sharon's come to think of it. That tramp in the park was so much more than just a homeless guy. Hadn't he seen into my mind? Hadn't he answered questions before I'd spoken them? Hadn't he pointed out where I might find Sharon, in a random café in the middle of nowhere? Everything the voice had said was a lie, and I'd been so keen to believe it, because somewhere deep in my mind it was what I expected of those around me.

I leaned against Mike and felt his arm go around me. That wasn't the reaction of a man who saw me as a freak. I blinked back grateful tears, conscious of the mess they would make of my plaster job. Mike kissed the top of my head and there was nothing I could do to stop them.

A packet of tissues and a handy compact helped repair most of the damage done to my disguise. The vicar looked at me oddly until I told him about my narrow escape and face full of airbag the previous day. I told him how much his words had meant to me and thanked him, then rushed away before my eyes started to leak again.

-oOo-
Back at Glen and Lisa's we were greeted by the mouth-watering smell of a joint well on the way to being roasted. I offered to help Lisa, but she sent me to be entertained by my nieces while she conscripted Mike and Glen to kitchen duty. Gemma and Abby took their assigned task seriously and before long I was caught up in a game of connect four with the girls working together against me. They made a pretty good team as well, and ten minutes in we were at two games all and playing the decider when the door bell sounded. Lisa stuck her head out of the kitchen.

“That'll be Gran and Grandpa Gem, would you let them in please?”

The older and wiser of my opponents dashed off to let in the new arrivals. A perfect chance to sneak in a move if I hadn't been distracted by the new arrivals.

“You invited...?”

“We do this every couple of weeks Liz so no it's isn't something we arranged especially for you. You can get mad at us for not telling you, but we wanted you and Mike to stay for dinner as well and we didn't know how you'd feel...”

My parents came into the lounge, my mum first, looking for Abby with a bright polished smile on her face, and my dad following with his old man's shuffle. They saw me about the same time and turned in unison to Lisa for an explanation.

“Hi, Mum, Dad. We've a couple of friends joining us for lunch today, I hope you don't mind. This is Liz whom I'm sure you've seen on the television in recent weeks, and this is her fiancé, Mike.

“Liz had a little car trouble yesterday so we offered her a spare bed for the night, and Mike came up this morning to collect her.”

“Aren't you the young girl...?”

“Yes Mu... Mrs Stanton, I came to see you yesterday.”

“Whatever happened to your face dear?”

“Oh, I had a little excitement with the car as Lisa said and the airbag went off. They may save lives, but they're rather painful when they hit you in the face and chest.”

“Are you alright? I mean if this had anything to do with us.”

I pushed out a laugh, trying to make it lighter and more real than it actually was.

“No Mrs Stanton, it was all my own silly fault. And I'm fine, a bit shaken last night, but nothing a good night's sleep hasn't helped.”

“Auntie Liz can we get back to our game now?”

I smiled apologetically at my parents.

“Please excuse me, we're in the middle of a hard fought battle and I need all my wits about me.”

I'd hoped that would be it, but Mum continued to hover, looking over my shoulder at the game.

“Why do they call you Auntie Liz?”

“We all prefer it that way.”

Please shut up and go away. She didn't

“So how do you know Glen and Lisa? You seem a little young.”

“Glen and I have known each other for a long time Mrs Stanton.”

Speak of the devil — actually given recent circumstances that's not the best of clichés. Anyway, Glen chose that moment to come out of the kitchen with a handful of cutlery and place mats, with which he started to lay the table.

“Glen you never told me about Liz. When did you two meet?”

Stop fishing woman. Glen sensed my reluctance to pursue the conversation and tried to evade.

“Oh quite a while, certainly before I met Lisa.”

“But she's so much younger than you.”

“Oh we were never like that, no that would be too weird. We're friends, close friends. Like br...”

“Whose turn is it? Is it mine?”

I dropped my counter into a slot that would give them a line in two moves. Abby spotted it and pointed it out even as Gemma was moving to take advantage of my lapse. I dropped a counter to stop the immediate threat but opened up a new one and the girls placed their winning piece with gleeful squeals.

“You girls are too good for me today. No not another game please, why not something else?”

Abby ran off and came careening back with her latest plush toy.

“Tell us a story about Mr Sandbag.”

Mr Sandbag, or so I presume, was thrust onto my lap and the girls clambered either side of me. It was something I'd done for them as Ken, and it seemed my nieces had decided having a new identity and a new gender wasn't enough of a reason for me to stop. Mum gave me an odd look, but at least I had managed to derail Glen. He had never been one for subtlety my brother.

Lisa had been earwigging and stuck her head round the corner.

“Make it quick, lunch is almost ready.”

It ended up being a story about how Mr Sandbag had come by his name. It involved a seaside village in the Netherlands that was in imminent danger of flooding from an unnaturally high summer tide. The villages kept piling sandbag after sandbag onto their makeshift dam, but no matter how high they built it, the sea rose higher still. Eventually the village ran out of sacks — or was it sand? — and were on the edge of despair when the scary monster who had been terrorising the countryside for months turned up, curious as to why everyone was running around. He saw the sea was about to broach the dam and climbed up on top where he lay down filling the gap and saving the village. The villagers gave him the name Mr Sandbag to remind them to be thankful for his kindness instead of scared of his appearance and everyone lived happily ever after, especially Mr Sandbag who had only ever wanted a friend.

Ok so what do you want for an off the top of your head story? The girls enjoyed it and it only took ten minutes to tell, which more or less coincided with the arrival of the feast.

Mum eased off her Rottweiler instincts and the conversation drifted on to easier topics, such as progress with the homeless work I was doing, what Mike did for a living, when we were planning to marry. I mean we remained the focus of interest, but at least I didn't have to tiptoe around the truth whenever I answered.

As the meal came to an end I could see Mike looking nervously at the clock and made excuses for both of us. The girls groaned out their disappointment until I promised we'd come and see them again soon. We did a quick round of goodbye hugs then Mike went out to warm up the car while I fetched my few things from the bedroom. Mum followed me an intercepted me on the way back.

“You know my Kenneth used to tell stories like that to Gemma and Abby.”

“Mrs Stanton, I was a little selfish last night, thinking about what I want rather than considering your needs and... Mr Stanton's. I'm not sure what is going to be easier for you to believe and to live with; the idea that your son has had to go into hiding and you may never see him again, or the idea that your son has been miraculously transformed into a young woman. I don't want to bring you any more grief than you already carry, so I'll let you decide which 'truth' you want to live with and do my best to abide by your wishes.

“I wish we had more time to speak, but my fiancé needs to get back to his restaurant so I'm afraid we must go. Perhaps we could meet for a cup of tea the next time I come this way?”

There was a quiver to the old woman's lips and a stray teardrop trickled from one of her eyes.

“Yes. Yes I think I should like that very much. You know I am so very proud? My son? My... daughter?”

Sunglasses are useful for hiding blemishes and the odd tear, but they are a nuisance when the dam breaks. I threw my arms around my mother's neck, careless of the pain in my chest, and threw the shades onto a nearby chair as I sobbed my relief onto her shoulder. Glen's head appeared briefly wondering what was taking so much time, and then withdrew quickly when he saw what was going on. Eventually Mum pushed me gently away.

“Your young man is waiting and you have to go. Come visit soon, I think we have a great deal of catching up to do.”

I nodded and snivelled, collecting my discarded things.

“What about Dad?”

“I don't know dear. He's a stubborn old coot, but for all his ways, his heart's in the right place. He may come round, but it'll take time and careful handling.”

We hugged again, a much warmer goodbye than previously, and I hurried out to rejoin Mike who took one look at me and grunted.

“I don't know why you bother with makeup you know. Bloody waste of money if you ask me.”

-oOo-
“Mike?”

“Mmn?”

“How do you see me?”

It probably wasn't fair of me to ask a serious question like that while we were on the motorway, but Mike did alright. He didn't answer right away, giving due consideration to his words before speaking.

“I think I still mainly see the pretty, intelligent, vivacious young girl Sharon and Phil brought to my restaurant a few months back. Not quite perfect, but then I'm not sure I'd want you to be. I'm glad I managed to get that sorted out in my head early on, although I'm sorry for the grief it caused you.”

“What about Ken?”

“I never knew Ken.”

“That's not what I meant.”

He glanced a question over at me. What did I mean?

“You know that I used to be a guy.”

“Up here I do.” He pointed to his head, then shifted his finger to his chest. “Down here all I feel when I look at you is a deep and abiding love for the woman you so obviously are.”

Words I so longed to hear. He wasn't done though.

“I think I know what you mean though. I don't consider myself an intolerant person but I can't help feeling... uncomfortable around people who adopt alternative lifestyles where gender and sexuality are concerned. I see two guys holding hands or kissing and, while my mind is happily acknowledging their right to do so and respecting their choice to live that way because that's the way they're made, deep down in my gut there's a sense that it... well it doesn't feel right.

“I can't help that I feel that way — I don't even want to feel that way — but it's the way I'm made. I think it would be worse meeting a guy who was living as a girl, even if he was doing the whole hormones-stroke-surgery bit, because it would be difficult for me to see him as anything other than a guy whatever he did to his body, and by dressing as a woman it'd be like he was tricking my body into being attracted to him. Sort of like tricking me into being homosexual which I know I'm not. I even know that's not his intent, but it feels that way deep down.

“If this whole magic thing hadn't happened and you were Ken who'd decided to go through the transition as far as medical science can take you these days, I'm pretty sure we wouldn't have the same relationship. I'd still like you because you're an amazing person with a heart as big as the universe, a great mind and a fun sense of humour, but I wouldn't feel the same way about you as I do now.”

“Well I most likely wouldn't be as good looking.”

“There is that, but most of it would come from not being sure what you were. However much you looked like a woman, I don't know that I could convince my heart that you really were.”

“I'd still be the same person inside.”

“I'm not totally sure you would be. From the way you and Phil talk, Ken was quiet, introverted, uncomfortable in his own skin. Liz is open, bouncy, full of energy, excited, exciting, unrestrained. You know who you are now and it feels so right to you. I'm not sure there wouldn't be just that shadow of doubt if you went through a surgical change. I'm not sure you'd be as unrestrainedly joyful as you are now. You'd have to face the judgement of people who wouldn't agree with your transition, whereas right now no-one questions who and what you are. Rather you're more inclined to get questions and disbelief if you try to say that you used to be a man.

“What happened to you is a dream come true for someone with a mind like yours. Reality for most people like you is harder and sadly, with the intolerance of society, born to some degree from the way most of us are put together, ends up being a decision between two bad choices. Either hide who you are inside and pretend to fit in or make the change and live with the consequences.

“You say you've always been a woman inside. I can accept that and my very male mind has found it so easy to fall in love with your very female one. The thing is your body is also all female too, however it got to be that way, so it makes it easy for my base animal nature to accept you as such.

“As often as I come in contact with people on the fringe of society, I will try to understand, to respect, to treat them as the human beings they are, but it won't be easy. In the same way that people like Ken struggle with the wrongness that has them looking like one thing and feeling like another, so a great many people, who are lucky enough to be the same inside and out, struggle with why others need to go to such lengths to change themselves.

“As with all things where there are wide differences of opinion and difficulties in understand, it's going to take commitment, gentleness and tolerance on both sides to resolve, and it won't happen quickly.”

Silence filled the space between us as I pondered his words. Mike must have found it oppressive.

“Hey, you're the one who wanted honesty in our relationship.”

“No it's ok. Ken would have been grateful for your openness and honesty and would have accepted your commitment to friendship as perhaps enough. You're right about how he would feel going through the transition. A major reason why I never seriously considered doing it was because I had a pretty good idea what it would do to my parents. I could never find happiness for myself if I brought them such grief.”

“What about you? I mean do you ever get the feeling the Ken is inside you looking out?”

“Not ever. Everything I feel right now, I feel as a woman.”

“Not even slightly attracted to pretty girls?”

“No. My interest there extends only in so far as how their look might possibly help me with my own. Men on the other hand. Mnhmm there are some good looking men out there, and just thinking of having them on top of me, inside of me. Whoa, sends me hot and tingly just thinking about it.”

“Careful, you're rousing the little green eyed monster in me.”

“Well tell him to bugger off. If you knew my favourite fantasy you wouldn't be worried.”

I reached out a hand to stroke the inside of his thigh and became aware of an involuntary movement a little higher up.

“Liz, much as I'm going to regret asking you to stop, I don't think it's wise tempting a second accident in as many days.”

I reluctantly withdrew my hand and snuggled sideways into my seat, gazing at the man I loved, that I now felt free to love as I knew Ken never would have.

“I love you Mike Paston. With all your quirks and imperfections, you are still the kindest and most generous man I've ever known.”

He grinned his lopsided grin at me.

“And you Elizabeth Raeburn, soon to be Elizabeth Paston. I love you too, with all my heart, all my mind and everything in me.”

-oOo-
We spent the rest of the journey discussing wedding plans. Actually it was more me speaking and Mike nodding, but that's normal right?

We set the date for early August when we'd have the best chance for good weather, as I wanted the ceremony outside. We'd already talked to Pastor James about his presiding and were aware that, since the wedding we were planning wasn't taking place inside a licensed building, we'd need to go through the formalities at a registry office too. That didn't bother me. I'd marry Mike as many times as it would take to bring us together.

The outside venue was to be the park area behind Mike's restaurant with marquees enough to protect us from sun or rain, whatever the British summer would bring us.

We did disagree over the catering and guest lists though. I wanted to invite all the homeless people I knew, or at least all the ones staying in the shelter — possibly shelters by August — and Mike was adamant that the wedding itself should be for close friends and family rather than acquaintances. In the end we compromised and agreed to arrange for the shelters to have parties, with feast provided while we had our ceremony on the hill with those nearest and dearest to us.

Phil would be Mike's best man — his choice I should say, I didn't organise everything (quite) — and Sharon my maiden of honour. He would, as tradition dictated, take care of the honeymoon while I arranged everything else. It was the kind of fun I'd never imagined , sorting through all the little details and deciding who would do what, and as I nattered on I caught Mike shaking his head.

“What?”

“And you were worried that there might be a bit of Ken showing through.”

He knows just the right things to say sometimes, my man.

-oOo-
Our slightly delayed departure, combined with heavier traffic than anticipated, put us behind time so we went straight to Mike's restaurant. He offered me the keys to his car — no insignificant act considering what I had done to my own ride — and seemed relieved when I declined. I still wasn't quite ready to climb back on the horse, besides if I hung around for a while I might be able to scrounge one of those cordon bleu meals this place was so famous for. He let me into his office where I set about a small amount of unfinished business.

First was a call to Karen to confess to my recent mishap and the effect it was going to have on my ability to look beautiful for a few days. Amazing how funny it is to listen to someone who's trying to be sympathetic and angry at the same time. She wanted to see me, to see for herself how extensive the damage was. I told her I was a Mike's but she said the next morning would be soon enough and she'd pop around then. I told her I'd most likely be back home by then, but to call me beforehand to make sure.

The second call was to Sharon — Phil was there too, no big surprise — to explain why we hadn't made it to church that morning. Again the story came out and this time won me some quality comforting.

Third call to Pastor James to apologise as Mike and I had been due to spend time with him today. He unsurprisingly told me not to worry about it and suggested a few new dates for the meeting. We settled on an eleven o'clock appointment on Tuesday which would give Mike time enough to shop for his groceries and drive over to the pastor's house before the meeting was due to start.

There was no-one else I needed to talk to, but I did put in a call to my parent's house. Dad answered the phone and was quick enough to pass it across when he found out who it was.

“Hi Mum, it's Liz. I thought I'd give you a quick call to let you know we got home safely.”

“Thank-you dear. It was lovely to meet you today, you are such a delightful young woman. Did you give any thought to what we talked about?”

“I expect I'll have to come up sometime during the week to collect my car. I'll let you know as soon as the garage tells me when it'll be ready and see if we can arrange something about that time. Ok?”

“That sounds fine dear. I'll look forward to it. Now you get some rest won't you?”

“Yes Mum. I love you.”

“I er... well yes just the same. Goodbye dear.”

“Bye Mum.”

I suppose there would be no prizes for guessing Dad was nearby.

Mike's office had a small two seater couch against one wall so, having dealt with all the essentials that had sprung to mind, I slipped my shoes off and tucked my legs up under the dress, intending to settle down a rest my eyes for just a few moments. The next I knew it was three hours later and Mike was standing in the doorway with a try of something mouth-watering.

“You know you look ever so cute in that dress. I think I can imagine what our daughter will look like.”

“Well all I care about is that it's loose fitting and comfortable. Is that for me?”

“Us actually. We have a lull and the guys shooed my up here with some food. You know James is turning out to be quit an accomplished chef. I may have to look into opening a second restaurant for him to run if I don't want to risk losing him altogether.”

“Now that sounds like a plan.” I patted the couch beside me. “Come sit over here and let's talk about it over whatever's under that dish.”

-oOo-
The last of the customers left shortly after ten which meant, after clearing up and closing, we were on our way back to my flat by eleven. I'd managed a few hours extra kip, surprising myself with how tired I was. Mike was tired too after all the driving and working, so we called it a night on the doorstep.

It was felt good to be home, even after a day away, and I was heading for the shower when there was a knock at my door. Sharon had been waiting up for me and had come across as soon as she'd heard doors banging. She was in her night clothes so evidently not planning on staying long. She did make all the appropriate sympathy noises when she saw my bruises and that earned her a hot chocolate and a description of everything that had happened.

She was quite freaked out about the voice, but I'd heard nothing from it since the near accident so I wasn't unduly worried. A little curious perhaps, I mean it didn't seem likely that it would give up just like that after my narrow escape. I figured it was probably biding its time, waiting for a vulnerable moment to strike again, but I wasn't feeling that vulnerable right now. I mean let's face it, I had the affirmation of the man I loved, my mum knew who I was and wasn't totally freaked out by it, plus I had the vicar's words to encourage me. If this thing, whatever it was, needed its victims to be weak and vulnerable in order to slip its insinuating lies past my defences, it wasn't likely to get through again. Not in a hurry anyway.

Sharon didn't stay long, and once she'd gone I took my quick shower and snuggled into bed with Jenny Doll for company. Sleep wasn't long in coming and what dreams it brought were peaceful.

I didn't set an alarm, but was awake and feeling fresh by eight. I dressed casually in loose clothing, the bruises on and around my breasts still sensitive enough to cause me some discomfort, and set about making coffee and breakfast. Mr Pinkie presented me with an obscene number of e-mails given that I had only been away from technology for a day and half, and I spent the time until Karen arrived skimming through my inbox and replying to the important bits. I was less than halfway through when the bell went.

“Oh my, yes I see what you mean. No you're right I can't expect you to go out looking like that, even with a liberal amount of foundation over the top.

“Tell you what, here's a card for someone who's really good at these sorts of things. Tell her I referred you and she should be able to set you up an appointment for later today or tomorrow morning at the latest. I'm not promising anything, but she's done wonders for other girls in the past. Whatever she says though, you do it. It works.”

I picked up the phone and dialled then and there. As promised, Karen's name got me a three o'clock slot that afternoon.

Even with the miracle worker due to work on me, Karen told me she didn't expect me to be sufficiently mended for couple of weeks and suggested I might want to concentrate on my homeless project. I was only too happy to accept.

After Karen left, seeking solace as usual in her mobile phone, I put a call through to Glen's garage to see if they'd had a chance to look over my little baby. They hadn't, but agreed to call me back after half an hour. When they did call back it was with reasonably good news. The could get hold of and fit a new airbag by Wednesday afternoon and a quick look over the underside of the car suggested that the that rest of the car had survived my unorthodox manoeuvring relatively unscathed. They'd have to check properly of course and would let me know if there was likely to be any additional expense, but the estimate for repairs was likely to be in the two to three hundred quid range which seemed very reasonable.

My next phone call was to Mum to make arrangements to do lunch on Wednesday. She suggested shopping afterwards which sounded pretty good to me. I booked a train ticket next then returned to my still bulging inbox.

Mike joined me for lunch, then drove me to my appointment with Karen's wonder woman where my bruises were gently massaged — uncomfortable but not painful — and I was given a bottle of pills to take. Not prescription meds I hasten to say, but rather a mixture of vitamins and minerals. She arranged another appointment for Thursday after which there was nothing much she would be able to do.

I'm not sure if Mike was trying to cheer me up, but he said he thought he saw an improvement even in the short time I'd spent being poked and prodded. The time was rapidly approaching when duty would call him back to the restaurant so he drove me home and we shared a coffee and a cuddle before he went to work. I invited Sharon and Phil over for to share dinner that evening, feeling an acute need for company. Sharon and I cooked with Phil doing the menial tasks, then we let him settle in front of the TV watching some dismally tedious football match while Sharon and I talked wedding plans.

Tuesday was more of the same only less interesting, the first part of the morning spent on the phone chasing possible leads for trainers at the shelter and arranging meetings to arrange the use of a second building, the rest spent with Mike visiting Pastor James for our first pre-wedding chat, than sitting around enjoying one another's company until he had to go. Sharon and Phil had other plans for the evening so I turned in early, eager to hasten the arrival of Wednesday morning with its promise of new adventure. Travelling alone on the train as a girl to meet my mother for lunch and a shopping trip may not seem massively exciting, but it comprised two new firsts for me.

The train journey was uneventful enough. I bought a book before boarding, something soppy with a pink cover and a picture of a girl dancing in a field of flowers, and hid behind it for most of the journey. There was one guy who tried to chat me up but he backed off when I gave him a gentle smile and flashed my sapphire and diamonds.

The book was an enjoyable, if not particularly challenging, read with well-defined if predictable characters and plot. I was halfway through and reluctant to put it down when the train pulled into my destination. Wandering the familiar streets of my childhood town as a different person was utterly strange. There were people I remembered, shopkeepers and the like, older and greyer but otherwise the same. Friends from the past, now turned strangers by my new appearance. I whiled away the rest of the morning revisiting old haunts and wallowing in melancholy nostalgia. So sad to go home and find you no longer belong. So sad to see how little it has change and how much you have.

Mum was already waiting at Luigi's even when I arrived fifteen minutes early; I guess we were both keen to meet and get to know each other again. It felt wonderful to lose myself in her embrace. As Ken I wouldn't have dared, but her warm welcome did a lot to lift my mood. The chat started innocently enough with me asking after Dad's knees. March was just around the corner and his surgery couldn't come soon enough. We wittered on about different things, mainly Mum getting me up to speed on everyone's news from the neighbourhood, until our food arrived.

“So you're getting married.”

There was just the vaguest hint of regret in her words, but I caught it.

“I'm sorry but that would have been a really strange conversation; 'hi Mum it's Ken. I'm a girl now and I've met this really nice guy and we're getting married in August.'”

“I suppose you're right. He seems nice, if maybe a little old?”

I guess you don't have to have a daughter long before you get all protective. I clamped down on the smile and tried to answer seriously.

“He's twenty-seven Mum, the same as me.”

“But you're...”

“I know it's strange Mum. I know I look like I just finished college, but what's inside is still largely the original.”

“Largely?”

“Same person, same memories, mainly the same attitudes. Different moods thanks to different hormones, and happier — oh so much happier — because this is how I've always wanted to be.”

“I do remember my clothes being disturbed a few times when you were younger. Oh you were very careful, everything went back almost exactly as you found it, but you get to notice those sort of things. I wasn't sure what to do about it, hoped you'd grow out of it you know? I suppose it's just as good that you grew into it so to speak. Does Mike know about you?”

The segue almost took me by surprise. I'd forgotten Mum's way of digging for answers by suddenly changing the subject.

“Yes he does. We nearly ended over it because he didn't believe me, not because he was weirded out by it.”

“What changed his mind?”

“Well you remember I told you what happened to me? The young lady who changed me into this?”

“Yes.”

This was thin ice. I could see how hard it was for her to accept my story even though she accepted that I was, or at least had been, her son. I decided to gloss over things, move away from this as soon as I could.

“It seems she did it to a few others and we all ended up looking exactly the same. I found one out on the streets and Mike was there when he told his story.”

“He? I thought you said he was changed to look like you.”

“It's complicated Mum. I've learned to think of gender as having more to do with the way your mind works than the way your body looks. Yes he was female in every physical way, but in his mind he still saw himself as a man.”

“Oh how horrible. You say 'was'. What happened to, er, him?”

“It wasn't pleasant. He's dead now.”

“And the others?”

“Mostly dead, but there are two survivors that I know about. I visited them before coming to see you on Saturday. Will you and Dad come to the wedding?”

I can change the subject too when I want to. Like mother like daughter. It worked too, Mum jerked herself away from her uneasy musing and let my impending nuptials take over.

“Wild horses wouldn't keep me away dear, and I'll bring your father if I can.”

“I'd really like him to give me away.”

“I'm sure you would sweetheart, but that me be asking a bit much. He's stubborn old bugger, oops pardon my French. I'm pretty sure he won't change his mind about you any time soon. I'll work on him a little, but don't expect much.”

Lunch was over so we paid and headed into town. It's hard to explain how much a shopping expedition can draw you close to someone. Pointing out clothes you think would look good on the people you're with goes a long way towards telling them how you see them, and pointing out your own choices tells them how you see yourself. The afternoon was a voyage of discovery and by the end we had a clearer feel for each other than we'd ever had before. I bought a few things Mum suggested for me towards the end of the afternoon, more as an affirmation of what we had shared than because I needed the clothes. I also bought her a dress I knew she really liked.

“This seems strange, I feel like I should be buying clothes for you dear.”

“You did that for long enough Mum, and I can afford this. Look I want to. Sort of a way of saying thank-you. Thank-you for seeing me as I am, for accepting me as I am.”

“That's not difficult Elizabeth. I saw so much of Kenneth inside you on Sunday I couldn't deny who you were, and now seeing you like this. I was proud enough of you when you went off to London to make your own life, how could I not be prouder knowing all that you've done in the last few months.”

She walked with me to the garage where my little yellow baby was waiting for me, a little scuffed under the sills, but otherwise in fine condition. I paid the bill, which was no more than the estimate, and we struggled to fit out purchases into the limited luggage space, and our selves, Mum especially, into the low seats.

“You know this really isn't that dignified for a lady of my years.”

“I know and I'm sorry, but I'm really grateful for your coming along. This is my first time behind the wheel since I had my accident and I'm a little nervous. Having company helps.”

I drove her home and helped her out with much shared laughter at our joint struggle to raise her up to the vertical from such a low position, then she insisted I come in for a cup of tea. Dad was in his usual seat in the lounge and he gave me a disapproving look as I walked in.

“You remember Elizabeth from the weekend don't you George? I invited her back for some tea before she drives home.”

There was a sternness in her voice that brooked no argument and Dad subsided back into his chair looking just a little hard done by. I settled myself gingerly into one of the vacant chairs feeling oddly out of place in my parent's home.

“Olive tells me you're having surgery on your knees soon.”

Old people love to talk about their ailments and my father is no exception. When it became apparent I wasn't going to tell him any unbelievable stories like on my previous visit, he opened up and over the next hour I learnt everything there was to know about knees, or so it seemed.

Tea and sandwiches later, I made my excuses and headed for home.

I had half expected the accusing voice to resume where it had left off, but in the fading afternoon light the road looked very different, and I was filled with happier more confident thoughts. There was nothing it could tell me now that I would believe so it left me alone. I hoped it was gone for good, but rather suspected it was just skulking in the shadows waiting for a new opportunity.

The drive home was effortless and enjoyable. It was nearly opening time at the restaurant when I pulled up outside my flat, but time enough for a quick call to Mike. He answered on the second ring.

“Hi sweets, how'd it go?”

“Great, great and reasonably great. Mum's totally on board, Dad less so but at least he's talking to me and the car drives as well as it ever did. I just arrived home and wanted you to let you know.”

“Thanks love. Listen, things are about to get crazy here. Lunch tomorrow?”

“Anytime beloved. I'll see you tomorrow. Love you.”

“Love you too, bye.”

The light on my answerphone flashed a greeting at me as I walked through the door. Just the one message. I dumped my bags on the sofa and pressed play.

“Miss Raeburn? Doctor Marston here. Your sisters. I wonder if you could take the time to come and visit tomorrow morning. Rather urgent.”

You meant it for evil - 18 by Maeryn Lamonte CAUTION: This chapter contains a brief description of attempted suicide. The light on my answerphone flashed a greeting at me as I walked through the door. Just the one message. I dumped my bags on the sofa and pressed play. “Miss Raeburn? Doctor Marston here. Your sisters. I wonder if you could take the time to come and visit tomorrow morning. Rather urgent.”

-oOo-
I grabbed the phone and hit dial back. It was late, but then, with residential patients the place needed staff around the clock. The only questions was were they anywhere near a phone.

The answer was no. After one ring I was transferred to an answer-phone. Please call back between eight thirty in the morning and seven thirty in the evening. I slammed the phone back down in frustration. How was I going to sleep now? Still I did what I could, relaxing bath, quick text to Mike to postpone our lunch arrangements, a note to remind me to call the bruise specialist if I was delayed at the institute, and an early night with my alarm set for five thirty. Fortunately I was more tired than I first thought and dropped off almost immediately, completely oblivious to the world until my alarm went off the next morning.

Normal ablutions, breakfast of tasteless roughage and the essential cup of coffee, and pick out something to wear. Jeans was a given since I was visiting the twins, but I chose a light floaty top with spaghetti straps in bands of mauve to go with it. Definitely a bit girly but comfortable against my still bruised chest. A little foundation to cover the few blemishes that showed above my cleavage, and the same to hide the gradually subsiding marks around my nose and eyes. Jacket, handbag, keys and gone. Close the door quietly so as not to disturb Sharon and sneak down to the car.

“Hi love.”

“Mike, what are you doing here?”

“I thought you might like some company.”

“But it's so early.”

“You think I don't do early? Sandy and James offered to shop for the restaurant today which means I'm free to come with you as long as I get back by five. I'm guessing this won't take longer than six hours, and if it does, you'll most likely want to stay overnight anyway. If we take mine then I can leave on my own if need be.”

“Yeah ok, but how did you know I'd be leaving this early.”

“Oh, that's easy. I called the institute and the voice message told me the opening times. I know it takes a little under two hours to get there from here so that put your most likely departure time between six and half past.”

“You've been waiting here for half an hour? Why didn't you come up?”

He shrugged.

“I want to catch you in the altogether again, besides it's a lovely morning.”

I was surprised at how relieved I was to have him there and, Spanish Inquisition over, favoured him with a long, grateful kiss.

“You even shaved.”

I stroked his smooth chin and we parted long enough to climb into our respective sides of his car.

-oOo-
There was already a fair bit of traffic about, but not enough to slow us down. Mike took a slightly more southerly route to the M25, a more meandering path, but a little swifter with fewer cars than usual on the road. We made good time and by eight fifteen we were easing our way slowly down the tree lined path towards the large brick building.

The institute wasn't all that strict on its opening times and five minutes later we were standing at the reception desk with Doctor Marston walking down the corridor, looking relieved and a little grim at the same time.

“Miss Raeburn. Good of you to come so quickly. And you are?”

He turned his abrupt manner on Mike.

“Er, I'm er, I'm Mike. Mike Paston, Liz's fiancé.”

Doctor Marston continued to stare Mike down until the hint took hold.

“...and, if it's alright with you, I shall take a stroll in the gardens while you two do what you need to.”

The doctor waved an arm towards a glass double door that led out to the garden and Mike flashed me an encouraging smile before stepping through it and out of sight.

“That was a little rude Doctor.”

“Was it? Some news for family only I'm afraid. It's Emily. She tried to commit suicide yesterday.”

“What? I mean how? Wasn't she on suicide watch?”

“Was. Improved so much after your visit, thought it was time to give her more freedom.”

“What happened?”

“Yesterday she made a phone call. Private, no details. After, she asked to go to her room. Orderly found her a short while later. Tried to cut her wrists. Didn't quite have the strength. Might have lost her otherwise.”

“May I see her?”

“Yes. Think that would be a good idea.”

He led me along the corridor to Emily's room.

-oOo-
Paul/Emily was lying on a bed, ankles and wrists held in padded leather restraints and an orderly standing in the room with him. His skin was pale and dark shadows haunted his eyes.

“Hey Em, what the hell happened?”

I kept my voice calm and friendly, lessening any impact my words might have had. She smiled at me weakly.

“Hi Liz. Looks like I really screwed the pooch this time.”

Keep it light Liz, real but light.

“Maybe not the best way to persuade the good doctor that you're safe to be turned loose from this place, I agree.”

I looked up at the orderly and the doctor standing in the doorway.

“Is there any chance we could have some privacy here?”

The orderly looked to Doctor Marston for direction. The doctor looked as though he wanted to stay. Time for a gentle push.

“Look she's calm enough, and even if she wasn't, she's strapped down hand and foot. If I need any help you're just a holler away, what could go wrong?”

Reluctantly the doctor nodded then indicated to the orderly to leave us alone. The door didn't quite shut as they left so I cautioned Paul to keep his voice down.

“Tell me about it?”

“Oh Liz, things were going so well. I felt so much better after your visit, and those clothes you brought. Well they felt a bit weird, but they were so much better than the things I'd been wearing. And talking to you was such a relief as well, to know there was someone who believed me, who knew I was telling the truth, who knew what I'd been through.

“I found I didn't need, didn't want to curl up in the corner of the room. I stopped the rocking, at least stopped doing it so much. I started eating the food they brought me and even talked to the doctor when he came to see me. After a couple of days he let me wander more freely, you know the grounds, the common room, that sort of thing. There's a phone in the common room. I mean the idea of calling anyone was daft; everyone in my life knew me as Paul, not this... this thing that I've become.”

I winced at the way he described himself but stayed quiet.

“But then I figured it might be worth trying my mother. I mean you believed my story, maybe I could persuade her. You know, mother's instincts and all that? So I called her.

“She accused me of being sick and twisted; told me that she was having trouble sleeping as it was, wondering what had happened to her son, and now I call her up with this vicious, ludicrous story. Who would do such a thing?”

I put my arms around him and held his head to my shoulder. It was a bit awkward with the restraints, but we managed to find a comfortable enough position to help release his tears.

“She was crying when she put the phone down on me. My mum's the only family I have left you know, and instead of reassuring her I stoked up the grief and sadness she was already feeling. I'm a freak and I'm all alone; even my mother doesn't recognise me.”

“It's ok Paul I'm here and I'm not going anywhere. You're not alone.”

“But you don't even know me.”

“Maybe better than you think, and even that's improving with each day. And I do care about you. Look if it's any consolation, I tried telling my parents last weekend and it didn't go that well. I was so upset afterwards I nearly drove into the back of a truck.”

“You're just saying that to make me feel better.”

I sat back and pulled the sunglasses off my face.

“Airbags can be a bitch you know.”

“Oh my G... Are you alright?”

I actually laughed.

“Yes Paul, I'm fine. But listen to yourself. If you can care enough about someone else to ask a question like that — someone who, in your own words, you don't even know — then you can't be that far gone. How come you can be so concerned about such a little thing in my life and still get so caught up in your own misery that you try to... er, well, I guess I should ask what exactly did you try to do?”

“It was stupid. I asked to be brought back here after the phone call and I asked to be left alone. It seemed like everything was going wrong, like I'd never be right again, like I was alone in the world and would never have anyone who would care for me, like...”

“Like there was a voice at the back of your head telling you that you were worthless and that you might as well end it there and then?”

“Yeah, exactly like that. How did you know?”

I pointed at my eyes.

“The same voice had me so messed up I did this. You should know it belongs to the same lying arsehole who set this whole thing with Mary in motion.”

“You mean it's real? I thought it was just me.”

I shook my head.

“It gets hard to figure out exactly what is real here, but this much I do know: That voice in the back of your head, the one that tells you you're not worthwhile? Wherever it comes from, it lies. And if you stop listening to it, it goes away. Anyway, you were saying.”

“Well, there's not much else to say. I don't know if you saw my old bed, but the corners of the frame are quite sharp. I tried to tear my wrists open on one of them, but it hurt so much. I managed to go quite deep, but I don't think I even got close to an artery. I think I must have cried out at the pain on about my third try, because a nurse heard me and came into the room, wrestled me to the floor. The next thing I knew I was strapped into this bed with my wrists bandaged up.”

“I'm sorry Paul, I...”

“Look can you not... I mean I know you're doing it to be kind, but Paul is someone who I was. I have to get used to this now, don't I?”

There was a deep bitterness in his voice, swirling just below the resignation. Maybe it would change in time, but it would take a lot of it.

“Emily then.”

I sucked in a deep breath. This was taking a chance and I wasn't sure if I should. Still fools rush in, and I had been doing a fair amount of that recently. Mind you, having had so many recent near disasters from not thinking things through, maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Except that they had worked out eventually, for the most part. Oh sod it, go for it girl.

“Em, would it be such a bad thing to be a girl?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I know you were one of the lads and enjoyed your old life, but in the short while I've known you there's been a few things about you which don't come across as... well as very manly.”

“Well you try having your fucking life turned on its head like mine was and see how you cope.”

The sudden burst of anger was startling, but there was something false about it. It was like he noticed his mask had slipped and he was trying to make up for it by the abrupt showing of bravado. Besides he obviously hadn't thought too clearly about who he was talking to.

“Er, hello? Card carrying member of the magical genderfuck club, me. Remember there is a reason we look like each other.

“Besides, I didn't mean to criticise; I like what I see in you. Everyone has a mix of female and male traits in their personality, it's just that the way our bodies are put together and the expectations society puts on us push us into reinforcing one set or the other. Personally I think it's actually a lot easier to be a woman than a man, and I wonder if you might too if you gave it a chance.”

“At the risk of repeating myself unnecessarily, what do you mean?”

“Well, it seems to me that there are a lot few restrictions to what you can do as a girl. Other girls seem to be supportive whatever you decide. I mean girls get to wear trousers, there are girls who work as mechanics and builders and stuff, there are girls' football teams too.

“Put a guy in a skirt or even a kilt and everyone laughs at him. If a guy wants to do knitting or embroidery, or if he wants to play netball, he gets the piss taken out of him. Guys seem to be a lot quicker to put each other down if they catch each other doing anything that isn't blokey.

“Sure you get guys who do go down that route, and you could argue that a lot of the best fashion designers and women's hairdressers are men, but generally they tend to have something extremely effeminate about their nature, and they get treated differently by both men and women alike. No I'd say generally speaking, if you're mixed up about your gender, if you're anywhere in the in-between, it's a lot easier to be a girl in this world.

“There are extremes I know. I mean take Charley. I don't know if you've met him? The other one like us who got changed by Mary? He's so much of a man inside I think he can cause testosterone to condense out of nothing. People who are so far over to one side have no choice but to reinvent themselves as a member of the opposite physical gender, but I think you and I are a bit in the middle.”

“I'm not mixed up about my gender. I'm a guy. I should be a guy on the outside too.”

I screwed up my face in frustration. Why is it some things are so hard to explain? Preconceptions to strongly held?

“No, listen. The way most people are on the inside is usually a bit of a mix of man and woman. I mean there are different traits that we regard to be more masculine or feminine aren't there? You know aggression and anger are more commonly thought to be male characteristics whereas nurturing gentleness and timidity are thought of as more feminine. Everyone has a mix of feminine and masculine traits. You get girls who are so aggressive they scare the shit out of anyone they meet, and there are guys who shrink into themselves as soon as things get scary; I should know, I was one. I think you're like that; on the inside you're a bit of a mix of both.”

“How so?”

“Well when I first met you, you were huddled in the corner, scared and crying. Understandable given the transformation and possibly the new mix of hormones to get used to, but still not a particularly manly response. Men are supposed to be tough and face up to bad things, regardless of how they feel inside. I mean when I met Charley after being in to see you, he was swearing in my face and threatening me from the outset. All man.

“Please don't take all this the wrong way; I've already told you I like the mix that makes you you, and regardless of what others think, we are the way we are, and we learn to live with it. In your case, you were brought up to believe in yourself as a boy, and you got on with it well enough for the most part; I don't think Mary would have singled you out if you'd been withdrawn and shy. But below the outer show of confidence and being in control, I'm guessing there was a part of you that had to work at it. Am I right?”

He nodded. It wasn't much of a nod, but it was a nod.

“You need the outer show as a guy because so much of what guys are about is competing with each other. Looking for any weakness to exploit, trying to show yourself as confident and invincible so you can rise higher up the pecking order, or at least not slip down it. You don't have to do that anymore. Girls are more in it together. There's almost nothing you can do that's too weird or too wrong with the right group of girls. We look out for each other, share our problems, help each other be the best we can be.

“It's different, there's no doubt about that, but it's a lot easier to fit, even if you still feel more like a bloke inside. You just have to be prepared to let go of who you were and embrace the change.”

“But being a girl is, is...”

“A step down from being a guy? That's the man in you talking. Like I said, being a guy is all about being on top, so we convince ourselves that we are better than girls when there's nothing to suggest that's the truth. Nothing at all. At best guys are different and overall about equal to girls; better at some things, not so good at others. It evens out.”

“What about when guys hit on you? I mean I don't think I could cope with that.”

I wiggled my left hand, in particular the stones on the fourth finger.

“Get one of these. There are a few creeps out there who won't back down even if you say you're engaged to someone, but for the most part you will get left alone, and other blokes will come to your defence against the real slime-balls. The ring doesn't need to be real, it still sends the signal that you aren't available.”

“And what about girls? How do I get around fancying girls?”

“I don't know Emily. In my case it just happened. I think there's a degree of choice in sexual preference, I mean maybe not for everyone. I certainly can't speak for anyone else but me, but while I was a guy, I was happy enough to date women and I always felt attracted and even aroused by them. Now that I'm a girl and embracing my girlhood — ooh, not such a good word, sorry — I find that when I look at guys I see the attractive side of them. It's all about accepting your rightful place in the world. As Ken I made myself squeeze into the role of young man well enough that it seemed natural — even to me — to look at girls as my love interest. Now I'm Liz, it seems natural to look at men in that place.

“It's all about how much you're prepared to let your place in society mould your personality. For me I guess it's easy now because I got used to forcing myself in a way I didn't want to go and now I have what I always wanted so I just go with the flow. I don't know what would have happened if I'd stayed as Ken. Probably got married, had kids and muddled through life feeling I should have been someone else.

“If you find that, while being Emily on the outside, there's still too much of Paul on the inside, then you will have to make your own decision as to how you work things out. It's not really something I would do for myself, but right at the outset of this transition I did spend a night of hot steamy passion with another girl and, well let's just say it's an avenue that may be worth exploring.”

“Are you suggesting I become a lesbian?”

“No, I don't think anyone sets out to 'become' a homosexual. Again I haven't any personal experience for myself so I don't know, but I get the impression it's something you discover about yourself rather than make happen. So if you find out that you're a lesbian, don't be too hard on yourself about it. In a way you're actually being true to the nature you were born with because inside there's still that aspect of your guy self who fancies women.

“And hey, there are some red hot smoking lesbians out there.”

She lay there stunned. Yeah sorry about the whole pronoun thing, but the way things were changing in her mind and attitude, it seemed more likely that Emily would be embracing and developing the feminine side of her personality, so to think of her a girl seemed more appropriate.

“So wadda-ya-say girlfriend? No more of this nonsense with sharp objects and stuff? You hear that voice in your head again or start to doubt yourself, you call me straight away. There aren't many times of the day or night that I will be too busy to talk to you straight away, and you have my promise that even if I can't take your call straight away, I will return it within as short a period of time as I can manage. And with me just a phone call away you should never feel alone or uncared for. Let's get you well and out of here and see what kind of life we can make for you. It will be different from what you had planned as Paul, but I know we can figure something out that'll work for you.”

“You really think so?”

“I know so. I mean I wouldn't do this with Charley. He's all guy no matter what he looks like on the outside, but with you I'm pretty certain we can make this work, even if you end up as a lesbian motor mechanic who plays soccer and rugby on the weekends, it'll be a life you can embrace.”

I knocked gently on the door and Doctor Marston and the orderly came back into the room. I left them alone and after about half an hour Emily walked unsteadily out of the room with the orderly close by and the doctor following behind.

“Wish I knew what you said to her. Amazing the change you achieve in such a short time.”

“She just needs to know that she's not alone and that there's someone out there who loves her and will stick close no matter what. Doctor, I want her to be able to call me any hour of the day or night. I want her to know I care about her and will do anything, interrupt anything, to talk to her and help her find her way.”

“Done.”

“In the phone message you mentioned both my sisters. What's up with Charley?”

“Come. Much easier to show than to explain.”

-oOo-
We found Charley sitting on a bench near a fish pond. His appearance was strikingly different from Emily's and even from the last time I had seen him. He had company.

Mike saw us as we approached and he rose to greet us. His gaze switched back and forth between Charley and me and he shook his head in mute disbelief. He looked like he was going to say something but changed his mind at the last moment and walked past us back towards the main building and the car.

Charley had made a few changes to his appearance. His hair was short and parted in a very boyish style. It didn't go far towards the intended effect as he just looked cuter, and more than a little pixie-like. He was wearing the clothes I had brought the previous weekend and was sitting with his arms folded and his legs spread. There seemed to be a bulge between them. He waved a greeting as we came closer and it seemed that his breasts were significantly smaller.

“Binds her breasts, puts socks down the front of her jeans. Worried.”

“It's ok doctor, I don't think there's any reason to be. Charley was always the most tomboyish of the three of us. I kind of suspected that she had gender identity problems.

“I know, given her other symptoms, that you would feel uncomfortable treating her — or perhaps we should say him — as a gender dysphoric, but I think in Charley's case it would be helpful. I think allowing him to explore his male side would help him deal with the other issues he's faced recently.”

The doctor gave me a long hard look.

“Ever thought of studying medicine Miss Raeburn? You could do a lot of good here.”

I laughed and blushed at the compliment.

“Thank-you doctor, but I'm sure having a sense for what's right for my sisters is a long way from making a decent doctor or psychiatrist. I have things to keep me occupied at the moment so I think I'll decline if you don't mind.”

“Shame. Still, your choice. I'll leave you and, er, Charley to talk.”

The visit with Charley was a lot shorter than the one with Emily and only confirmed my suspicions. He had a very masculine confidence about him, a swagger that bulled through his obviously feminine appearance. The set of his jaw, the deliberate low growl he put into his voice, there was no doubt who or what I was talking to.

We discussed the idea I'd mentioned to Doctor Marston and Charley nodded in agreement. Not so much a solution discovered together as Emily's had been, but an idea suggested, considered and accepted. Charley was in charge here.

He was less than happy with being stuck in female form, but when I asked him how he'd deal if he had an arm or a leg amputated, he shrugged and admitted he'd find a way to adapt. No different here then, except that there was a lot more that modern medicine could do to help him regain what he'd lost. He agreed, reluctantly, that initially there should be no talk of hormones or surgery until the doctor was completely satisfied that this was more than just acting out, but he wanted to change his appearance to seem more male as soon as he could. He listed the things he wanted, men's cut clothes mainly, and something simpler than bandages to squash his breasts into submission, and I told him I'd bring the things he wanted that weekend.

He shook my hand when we parted, but I wasn't going to let him get away with that and gave him a hug and a pack on the cheek.

“Just because you want to be my brother doesn't mean that you get out of a hug and a kiss from me. I'll see you on Saturday, and call me if you think of anything else you need.”

-oOo-
I made my arrangements to visit again on Saturday and made my way out to the car where Mike was waiting quietly. It was getting towards early lunchtime as we headed back towards home, and Mike suggested we stop for a bite. One of the advantages of being in the trade I suppose; he knew quite a few fellow restaurateurs he respected, and at least one had a place that wasn't too far off our way home.

The meal was good; anyone who can make chicken salad appetising earns my respect and appreciation. The company on the other hand was a little off. Mike had driven to the restaurant in silence and, apart from placing the order, hadn't said more than two words since we sat down.

“Something bothering you?”

He looked up, surprised at the interruption to his private musings, and earned himself another gentle prod from me.

“I was wondering why the long, brooding silence.”

“I was thinking about Charley. She looks so much like you, but she's... she's... she's such a guy. I mean I look at you and see the woman I love, I look at her and it's like there's a man trapped inside.”

I left a short pause; in case there was anything he wanted to add. There wasn't.

“In his case there is. Mary mainly targeted arrogant, masculine men. The sort who tend to be selfish and look on women as conquests rather than people. Charley was like that, and mentally still is more than a little. Hopefully he'll learn a little from this that women are people too, but deep down he is and always has been completely male.”

“You call her he...”

“I know, it's kind of confusing. Most people who don't know anything about transgender issues tend to use the pronoun that matches the physical appearance of the person they're talking to. If you have gender identity confusion, or if you meet many people who do, you figure out that they identify more with the gender they feel themselves to be inside. However much Charley may physically and genetically be female, it's like you said, on the inside he is all guy.”

“And it's the same the other way round? When a guy dresses as a girl, it's because on the inside he, I mean she, feels like a girl?”

“Usually yes. There are people who cross dress because they're aroused by the sensual feel of the clothes and the rush they get out of pretending to be something they're not, and there it's probably safe to say that you are dealing with a bloke in a dress. For most though, I think it comes down to having a need to express the stronger feminine side of their personality which they can't do as a man. The clothes help to bring that femininity to the surface, help them to take on what is sort of traditionally a passive, decorative role.”

“It has nothing to do with being gay?”

“I think some gay couples do dress up on occasions with one of them in drag so they can appear straight, but for them underneath the clothes they both know they are the same gender and attracted to each other. To my knowledge and as far as my experience and imagination will take it, a physically male TG will feel like a girl when dressed as a girl and will consider any attraction to men to be heterosexual on their part.”

“I never realised.”

“No, I got that from what you said on Sunday.”

“You must think I'm a narrow minded shit.”

I reached out and put one of my hands on his.

“Uneducated perhaps, not narrow minded.”

“You didn't say anything.”

“You were being honest. It didn't seem the right time to criticise. There was going to be a chance to show you a different perspective and I knew you'd get it when you saw it.”

“Like today you mean?”

“Like today.

“Mike I see deeper than the surface with you, I guess that's why I've had a tendency to share stuff with you that's knocked you off balance. You are, in your heart, a really decent guy. You don't judge people for being different, and you're open to new ideas. I may have fallen for your smile in the first place, but what I'm growing to love more about you each day is the way you handle things that upset your view of the world. It takes you time sometimes, but you're worth the patience.”

He offered me a weak smile; still enough of it there to send molten silk through my veins.

“When was the last time I told you I loved you?”

“Not so long ago that I've forgotten, not so recently that I would object to your doing it again.”

For that I was rewarded with a laugh. He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it.

“Well my dearest, sweetest Liz, I do truly and utterly love you. And I sincerely doubt I deserve you.”

“I think you'll be alright, as long as you never let me find out.”

Insert one of those gooey moments of doe eyed silence that are guaranteed to send any boy aged twelve or under running from the room making gagging noises.

“So what's going to happen with them? Your, er, sisters I mean.”

“Well, for one thing let's not er about it anymore. Regardless of how they or I came to be, they are my sisters, not my er-sisters.

“For the rest, I fully expect Charley to have HRT and surgery to return him to being as much of a guy as can be managed. It's really early days yet, but I don't think he'd accept any other course. By the time we get married I expect he'll be in the middle of his RLT.”

“His what?”

“Real life test. Anyone who's going to transition has to live as a member of the opposite gender for a year before they can have surgery.”

“How do you know so much about this?”

“Just because I wasn't considering it doesn't mean I didn't read about it.”

“Oh. Ok. What about Emily?”

“I'm not sure. It's very early days there, but I suspect she may just turn out to be something of a tomboy. Maybe a lesbian. I don't think she'll need the extent of change that Charley does, but in the end the decision is going to be hers. I'm going to open her eyes to a few possibilities and then let her choose.”

“You give her a female pronoun.”

“Yes, because I think there's enough girl in there to make a go of things as a girl. If she can, she'll have an easier time of things than Charley, which I think she'll need; she's nowhere near as tough.”

“Are you going to invite her to be one of your bridesmaids?”

“I'll probably keep a dress to one side just in case, but we'll have to see won't we?”

Mike paid for lunch and we stepped out into the bright, clear daylight and from there into the comfort of his car. The rest of the trip home passed in silence too, but now Mike wasn't brooding it was a peaceful, relaxing silence.

We made good time and arrived back at my flat by two thirty. Time enough for me to change before going to the bruise therapist. Mike decided he had left his subordinates in charge for long enough and hurried off to see what minor disasters he could discover to convince him of his indispensability. He was an exasperating nut in some ways, but he was my exasperating nut.

I'd had enough of trousers; they reminded me too much of my two doppelgá¤ngers and the troubles they carried with them. I was desperate for something girly so, careless of the bruises still adorning my chest, I picked out the frilliest underwear I had and changed into it. Yes there were wires trying to lift and separate my breasts and yes they did twinge a little, but I wanted to celebrate the beauty I had been given even if Emily and Charley didn't.

I danced over to the wardrobe and shuffled through all the dresses hanging there, settling eventually on the short, midnight blue dress Sharon had bought me in the early days of my change. With all the Elle-gance stuff I had acquired recently it had been neglected a little, and as I slid it into place, I enjoyed an echo of the thrill I had felt the first time I had put it on.

A pair of silvery white tights with a hint of a sparkle in them showed my legs off to good effect, and the patent leather pumps and bag I had finally bought to match the deep blue of the dress finished everything off. I allowed myself five minutes in front of the mirror to hide the visible blemishes — no point going to town on pigments and powders as my therapist would want to see what was underneath in any case — then transferred my necessaries into the dark navy blue handbag and slipped out the door.

Fifteen minutes later I parked in the therapist's car park and sauntered through the door with ten minutes to spare. As with most private clinics, the appointments happened at the given time, so ten minutes later I was sitting in a consulting room, cleaning off my hastily applied war paint with the pack of wet wipes that constituted part of my necessaries.

The very smart and professional looking therapist made appropriate humming and hawing noises as she examined my injuries. Personally I thought there was a large degree of quackery about what she was doing, but since Karen had put me up to this I had decided to see it through with an open mind.

“Yes, healing up nicely. Another massage isn't going to help at this stage, but it seems you've been using the Arnica cream I gave you and taking those vitamins yes? Good. I think we'll give you a little time under a sage tea compress today, maybe send you away with one or two more. Since you're going to ask, I would say that the visible bruising should have largely subsided by the end of the weekend and certainly won't be visible under makeup. You should be fit to work next week”

That would please Karen, though it did seem she was stating the obvious. Still the bruises had healed quicker than expected so maybe there was something to all this. I still had my doubts but I wasn't about to say anything. Maybe later a quiet word in Karen's ear. Still the compresses were soothing; warm and relaxing with a pleasant aroma. Whatever they did to my skin, I wasn't about to object to what they did to my mood.

With the session over, I thanked my 'healer' and hastened off to the ladies to hide my bruises, then from there out to my little yellow car. It was still reasonably early in the afternoon and, with little else to do, I decided to pop in on the shelter to see how Aaron and the others were doing.

-oOo-
“Hi Aaron, how are things?”

The transformed office building looked no less wonderful than the day I'd seen it opened, and if anything, considerably more so. What had originally been a large, open reception area through the main entrance had been converted into a cheerfully painted lounge with comfortable chairs and low tables. The reception was manned by volunteers who dispensed hot drinks and information to anyone who came in. In the original plan there were to have been two receptionists, but now with the space filled to capacity with people off the streets, the main counter was just about holding its own with five volunteers rushing around. To see this common area so filled with people, and to see their eyes showing the signs of hope I hadn’t seen when I met them on the streets, was a real lift.

Aaron turned at my voice and grinned wide enough to tickle his own ears.

“Hi Miss Raeburn, isn't this great?”

“Aaron, how many times do I have to tell you? It's Liz.”

“To quote from Pirates, 'At least once more, Miss Raeburn, as always.'”

“Are you going to show me around? Introduce me to some people?”

Achieving the impossible, Aaron stretched his grin just a little wider before extricating himself from behind the counter.

We did the rounds of the tables. Names offered and as soon forgotten in the sheer numbers of people who greeted me. I asked after the accommodation, the food and the facilities and received the same polite and positive response from all of them. You wouldn't have thought that just a few weeks ago these people were living rough in the gutters and alleys of the city, many of them stinking for having no access to washing facilities for either themselves or their clothes. They had been surly and rude, reacting with bitterness against a society that had rejected them. Here they were a long way from being out of the woods, but at least this promised to be an easy path for a while and heading in the right direction.

“How are the training sessions going?”

“Still a bit slow. We could do with more trainers coming in, but they're well received. All the sessions are over-filled and as far as I can tell, everyone who's taking part is working as hard as they can. We've had a few lazy sods come along for the free ride, but we spot them pretty quick when they don't muck in with the cooking and cleaning. A few of them changed their attitude when we turfed the first lot out, but there are always going to be arseholes and you just deal with them.”

“How about the accommodation?”

“Filled to capacity. We're sleeping about a hundred down here as well. We could do with more space already.”

“Maybe in a couple of weeks. I'm working on another building a couple of streets over. Start planning your decorating crews.

“Any damage here? You know I need to report back to the owners in a week or two about how well their building is being looked after?”

“There's been a bit. Some graffiti, but we caught the sod who was doing that and chucked him out on his ear. Then earlier today we had a bunch of guys kicking in some doors on the seventh floor.”

“What was that about?”

“Seventh is where all the poofs and fairies hang out. Some of the guys here don't like sharing the building with people like that.”

Some of my anger must have leaked out in my expression because he flinched.

“Seventh floor isn't bad. They keep to themselves for the most part so most here don't worry too much. We more or less told the sods that did the damage that if they didn't like who they were sharing with, they were free to leave. A couple of them did and the rest have been less trouble since. We've already bought in the wood and repairing the doors is going to feature in next Monday's woodwork class.”

“What about the people on the seventh floor?”

“They're a bit scared, but they're up there still. They don't socialise much which is why most of this lot leave them alone.”

“Would you take me to see them please?”

“Are you sure miss, they're a bit... you know?”

“Probably better than you think Aaron. I don't take kindly to you referring to them with such vulgarity either. They're as human as the rest of us and probably quite a bit more vulnerable and easily hurt by careless language. You guys have to deal with the rejection of ninety five percent of people in this city on a daily basis. What do you think it's like for them having to deal with your rejection as well?”

There was a dangerous edge to my voice which even I could hear. It put Aaron on the defensive.

“Well, they don't have to dress like they do.”

“Are you sure of that? Come on, take me to them. It's about time you learnt a bit about what they've been through and why.”

The smile was gone, but he still led me up the stairs. The door from the stairwell opened towards us, which meant that the barricade of furniture behind it was more an inconvenience than an obstacle. There was just space enough for us to pick our way through, the intent being to limit rather than prevent access. Curious, apprehensive faces peered out of doorways at our arrival.

There were about three dozen of them, sharing rooms, seeking comfort in company and safety in numbers. Once they'd worked out that Aaron and I were no threat they came all the way out, herding us down the corridor

One of the rooms on this floor had been designed as a conference room and had been converted into a common room rather than a large bedroom. There was no large table anymore and, with the little furniture in the room being limited to beanbags and throw cushions, it was just about possible to fit the full complement into the room without anyone feeling too much like a sardine.

We were crowded towards the centre of the room and scrutinised like some new oddity in a museum. I took the opportunity to do a bit of staring of my own, because there was no question these were an odd bunch.

Generally speaking there are very few women among street people and in small groups of less than a hundred it is common to find none at all. This group was typical in this respect, consisting of thirty to forty people, all of them male; physically at least. Beyond that, they fell into two categories. The smaller was made up of the gay couples. Most of them typically dressed for street people, but many taking advantage of the boxes of clothing supplied by local charities to clean themselves up and add a little colour to their appearances. They stood in obvious pairs, keeping close, and either holding hands or touching in some other way. If the body language hadn't been so explicit I wouldn't have been able to tell them from other people in the building.

The other group made up about two thirds of the whole and were much more distinctive. Some of the charity shops that had provided us with clothes to distribute hadn't registered our request for specifically male clothing, and a number had sent in as many boxes of women's clothing as men's. They didn't go to waste. More than two dozen of the people in the room with us were dressed as women, and with varying degrees of success. They were all reasonably young, in their teens and early twenties for the most part, and they hung back, the shyness of youth compounding their justifiable paranoia.

In the end it was a thirty something year old from the gay group who disentangled himself from his partner and stepped forward as representative. He didn't say anything, but looked at us accusingly, as though we personally were responsible for the earlier attack. Glancing around, I could see anger and fear etched into drawn and tired faces all around me, and for the first time I began to wonder about the wisdom of coming up here without some kind of plan, or at least arranging for backup.

“Erm, hi. I'm Liz and this is Aaron. Aaron was telling me about what happened earlier today and I wanted to come up here to hear your side of things and to see how we can make sure nothing like it happens again.”

I hoped I didn't sound as nervous as I felt. The representative took a step closer, standing head and shoulders taller than me and giving me a close up look of his broad chest and two arms that were bigger around than my thighs. I let out a shuddering breath. I was tempted to reason with him, but some instinct told me to hold off, that this would be better if the initiative came from him; from them. I swallowed down my growing fear and slowly looked up into hazel eyes and finely chiselled features. Come on Liz, something to break the ice. Could that work? I took a chance and forced a quavering smile.

“You know it's a damn shame you're not straight.”

You meant it for evil - 19 by Maeryn Lamonte CAUTION: Some readers have said they found parts of this chapter disturbing. please exercise caution, and sorry for the late warning notice on this one. The representative took a step closer, standing head and shoulders taller than me and giving me a close up look of his broad chest and two arms that were bigger around than my thighs. I let out a shuddering breath. I was tempted to reason with him, but some instinct told me to hold off, that this would be better if the initiative came from him; from them. I swallowed down my growing fear and slowly looked up into hazel eyes and finely chiselled features. Come on Liz, something to break the ice. Could that work? I took a chance and forced a quavering smile. “You know it's a damn shame you're not straight.”

-oOo-
It took a while for the backhanded compliment to settle, but when it did the anger melted away and a gentle smile took over.

“If ever I were to make an exception it would be for someone like yourself, but I wouldn't hold your breath. I'm Michael.”

He held out a large hand which totally engulfed my own, the act of friendship and acceptance having a calming effect on everyone else in the room. The tension drained out of the air and, by ones and twos, most of the crowd drifted off.

“Do I take it you've been nominated as spokesperson here Michael?”

He nodded as his significant other moved in and slid an arm protectively around his waist, all the time giving me 'hands off' signals. Michael put his arm around the young man's shoulder and hugged him close. There was obvious love there. How could anyone think such a thing was wrong?

I held up my ring to the younger man and gave him an apologetic smile.

“I'm kind of spoken for anyway. I didn't really mean what I said other than to comment on your partner's stunning good looks. You're very fortunate.”

He shrugged and offered his own smaller hand.

“Colin.”

“Nice to meet you both. Michael do you know who I am?”

It seemed a daft question given the amount of time I'd spent on television recently, but if these two had been out wandering London's highways and byways these last months, it could well be that they'd only seen me in TV shop windows with the sound turned down.

“I've seen your face on telly a bit and there's been talk among the street folk about someone called Elizabeth doing stuff for us. Would that be you?”

“Yes. I'm kind of part of the reason this place exists.”

“Nah, she is the reason this place exists.”

Aaron couldn't keep quiet. I think he was proud to be someone who knew me and wanted the spotlight to be properly centred. He told Michael and Colin how the centre had come about. I didn't really want the interruption, embarrassing as it was, but it proved to be useful. By the time he was done both of our hosts were looking at me with a little more respect. Aaron finally ran out of words and I was able to get a word or two in.

“Well, whatever. I wanted to come up here myself to say how sorry I am for the way you've been treated. I had hoped that, being from the street, you'd have enough in common to overcome prejudice like that shown you earlier today, but I guess when people have their basic needs filled, their true nature comes to the surface, and you find fuck-ups wherever you go.”

Colin spurted out a laugh, the sort that would have had milk coming out of his nose had he been drinking any at the time. I guess I needed to take control of my language, but I was still angry that anyone under my care had been subjected to such unpleasantness.

“Anyway, two of the ringleaders have left this place and the rest seem to be a little less antagonistic. I just wanted to come up and meet with you people, let you know that the welcome the management extends you is warmer than the one you've received so far. And to ask you to comment. Is there anything that you or anyone else here can think of that might stop this from happening again?”

“I don't think so. Most of us kind of expected something like this. A few of us thought this place was going to be different, but apparently not.”

“Wait, are you saying there's more like you? Still out on the streets and not coming in because they're afraid of being attacked?”

“Yeah, there are quite a few more of us, maybe a couple of hundred or so. It's difficult to tell because most of us hide who we are a lot of the time. You know, most of us ended up on the streets when we came out to family and got ourselves disowned and kicked out. Something like that makes you a bit cautious. The few of us who thought this place was worth a shot are those of us who are more settled about who we are, hence the TGs taking advantage of the clothes you had to offer, and the gays like us mainly being in open relationships. The ones who could really benefit from a place like this, if it were to show a little more openness and acceptance, are too scared to come forward. And well, let’s face it, who can blame them.

“We don't want to cause any trouble though. We'll move out tomorrow.”

“The hell you will.”

“Liz, it's ok. We're used to living on the streets and, well, the weather's getting better. We'll be fine. You're doing a great thing here and it'd be a shame to see it go off the tracks because the people you're trying to help are flawed enough not to be able to accept us. Your coming up here to speak to us means a lot. Took a lot of courage. After your kindness it would be wrong of us to be arseholes ourselves.”

He smiled a little sadly.

“Michael, if you keep running away from things like this, they'll never get any better.”

He laughed.

“I can see where the courage comes from.”

“Colin, can't you say anything to him? Michael, when stuff like this happens, it's usually just one or two over the top extremist nutters, who probably deserve to be castrated for inciting otherwise decent people into a frenzy. If you go then the little shits have won and I would feel like this place had been derailed more than just a little if it failed to find a way of helping people like yourself and the others here.

“I'm looking to open a new shelter soon, hopefully in less than a month. I'm planning on visiting the site early next week and I'd like you and anyone else from this floor, or even those still out in the cold who make up part of your group, to come along. Maybe we can come up with some ideas on giving you guys a part of the building to run for yourselves. If you don't think we can address the situation head on here and now, at least let me offer you sanctuary away from those likely to cause you trouble.”

“You'd do that for us?”

“Michael I know something of what people like you have to live with. It's not a burden any human being should have to carry. I'm sorry, I don't know a lot about homosexuality so I can't comment directly here, but there are transgendered people in my family and I've seen how hard it is to live without acceptance. I'm not doing this because I want to make a statement about the LGBT community, but because you're people. If society is intent on marginalising you, then yes I'd do it for you, because you deserve to have a place where you can feel safe and warm and with the people you care about.”

He shook his head disbelieving and bewildered.

“Ok, you're on. And thank-you.”

“Any chance you can make a few introductions? We'd like to talk to some of your companions.”

And that's how we spent the rest of the afternoon and evening. Aaron held back a little, obviously uncomfortable around such people. The age old problem with men; if you're seen with a certain group, then you get associated with them and risk being ostracised from your own circle of friends. He listened in though, and as each new acquaintance brought a fresh story of rejection for something they couldn't help, he allowed himself to be drawn in, until he was asking more questions than me.

By the time we left his eyes were shining with unshed tears and he withdrew into a pensive silence. As we walked down the stairs together I glanced across at him.

“Penny for them?”

“What?”

“I was wondering what has you looking so thoughtful.”

“Oh, it was all them upstairs. You know I never thought of them as being people; just something different to keep away from. I was angry with you earlier for dragging me into all that, but you know, they're just like you and me underneath it all.”

“Where it counts, yes, they’re just like you and me. Better sometimes because when you have to live with persecution and hardship it makes you more sensitive to other people's pain.”

“That's why they was offering to leave even though they was attacked?”

“Yes. Good people. Not always, there are dickheads in every crowd, but not up there. Just ordinary, good people who are hurting.”

“Can I come with you when you go to look at the new place?”

I guess I shouldn't have been surprised, but I was.

“Yeah, sure. I wanted you to come anyway because you did such a great job with this place; are doing such a good job.”

“Well you came through with your bit.”

We shook hands at the front door. All around people were pushing chairs and tables to the side and laying out sleeping bags. Aaron's care for others in evidence, the fact that he couldn't turn anyone away. I wanted to hug him, but I guessed that wouldn't be so appropriate. There was something in the way he looked at me still, and I didn't want to encourage his hopes.

-oOo-
Friday morning I dressed in something comfortable, fired up Mr Pinkie and set to on the phone with a renewed purpose. My first call was to Karen inviting her to lunch, then my next to Mike to make sure he brought enough for three, but afterwards I called ministers and businessmen, doctors and bankers, even news reporters and media contacts, jack russling each of them into submission, asking begging, demanding, whatever it took, until I had what I wanted. By the time both hands of my clock were pointing heavenward I had a meeting at the new building set for Monday morning, with a promise of it being available for decorating by the end of the week; I had the promise of seven small businesses coming in with their workers to run training courses for one or two mornings or afternoons a week; I had a mental health clinic with appropriate specialists promising to run sessions one day a week for any of the LGBT crowd I would have staying at the separate wing I was planning in the new building; and I had a minister's promise that the clinic's time would be paid, at least in part, from one or another NHS budget, the rest potentially being covered by more standardised charitable gifts from the financially well off.

There were certain things I’d had to promise in return which would be challenging to achieve, many of which depended heavily on certain people in the media sitting me in front of the camera again, for which I would probably need to arrange a publicity stunt or two to make it worth their while. Part of the reason for inviting Karen in any case.

I was just hanging up the phone on my last planned call of the morning when the buzzer went. I walked downstairs to find Karen standing outside with a pot of daffodils in her hand, and Mike's car just pulling up behind her. We did the air kiss thing that Karen seemed to prefer — I guess as you get older you become progressively more paranoid about mussing your makeup, afraid of the horrors that might show through — and I did the expected 'ooh are these for me, you shouldn't have, they're lovely' while we waited for Mike to park up and walk over.

“I hope you don't mind. Mike usually comes over for lunch since we don't have much time to see each other in the evenings. You did say you wanted to meet him anyway and I doubt you had much time to talk that evening when he proposed.”

“No I don't mind at all. How are your bruises?”

She held me at arm's length and subjected me to a hypermetropical scrutiny.

“That's one of the reasons I invited you over. I'm still not sure how much good your therapist did, but she reckons that what little colouring is left by Monday will be easily covered with makeup, so if you want me back up on the horse and leading the charge, I'm all yours again.

“Hi Mike, what do you have to enchant our appetites today?”

He leaned over to give me a very reserved — for him — peck on the cheek, probably overly conscious of today's illustrious company.

“You know I'm sure you're just marrying me for my cooking. I thought the stomach was the way to a man's heart.”

Oh, it was so tempting to tease him on that one, but Karen didn't know that part of my past, and I wasn't about to initiate her into that particular circle of friends. Not now, possible not ever. I settled on a more traditional response.

“That and your money. One advantage of being that much younger. I stand to inherit so much”

I grinned at his mock outrage, and at Karen siding with him. I suppose if I was going to bring up age issues I shouldn't be surprised when those of a certain generation banded together against me.

“Come on up, I'm starving.”

Mike managed to show off his usual culinary excellence by presenting us with a quite exceptional Thai green curry. Being the middle of the day we limited ourselves to a half bottle of rosé between us and made up for the lack of booze with scintillating conversation. Karen started us off with a most original question.

“So how did you guys meet?”

I let Mike do the talking, partly because it was him Karen had wanted to get to know and partly because you can grow a whole new perspective on a person just by listening to them answer a question you know the answer to. How they word it, what they emphasise, the bits they leave out, it all goes to giving indicators on what's important to that person and what's not.

We kept the topics light while we were eating, but as soon as the plates were empty, Mike cleared them into the sink and I put the Mighty Wurlitzer to work making the coffee. Yes I know that's a pipe organ, but with all the wheezing and other weird noises, the analogy still holds.

Karen and I left the man to the suds and the machine to its strange noises and retired to the lounge where we sat and started to talk business.

Karen wanted me to handle a number of exhibitions and parties around the country and presented me with an itinerary that would have me out of the city for more than half of the next two months. It wasn't something I could object to, after all it was written into the contract. I did try to negotiate a couple of dates that threatened to have me out of London over Mike's birthday, but apparently the dates had already been published so there was no room for manoeuvre. Mike overheard that part of the discussion — I suppose the dates causing his ears to prick up — and stuck his head through the door long enough to say it was no big deal and we'd celebrate when we could.

With her business out of the way I summoned my inner Rottweiler and presented my own proposal for her to get involved in my project. Karen shied away at first, completely unsure about what I was suggesting, but I wasn't about to let this go; it was too good of an idea. After ten minutes, Mike appeared with a tray of coffees and a wry smile.

“It's not worth it Karen, when she gets like this there's no escape. You might as well give in now rather than wait for her to wear you down; it's easier on the nerves.”

The double teaming thing worked and Karen finally caved with a promise to see what she could do. We chatted details for a little, and by the end I think she was genuinely coming round. Any speculation was cut short when her phone started clamouring for attention and she excused herself, hurrying out of the flat with it glued to her ear.

“That went well.”

Mike had a way with words sometimes. Concise, to the point, accurate.

“Yeah, shame about the travelling though. I mean I like the idea of getting around to see these places, but I see little enough of you as it is.”

“We'll just have to find some other way of keeping in touch. It won't be that bad, we'll at least be able to speak to each other. Besides, they say having some time apart helps a relationship to grow.”

“Does it?”

“Either that or it causes it to fall apart.”

I reached over into his embrace and kissed him long and deep.

“That, my love, is never going to happen.”

-oOo-
Mike and I spent a languorous afternoon in each other's arms. It felt good to lean against his chest and listen to the slow beating of his heart, to feel his strong arms around me, to feel loved and protected. It hardly seemed possible that Mike had been in my life for just a couple of months, he was such an integral part of it. The only time in recent memory when he hadn't featured in at least part of the day was the previous Saturday, and then he had been with me as I woke the following morning. This was going to be different, difficult.

He was idly stroking me hair and probably completely oblivious to the effect it was having on me. Loving and being loved is much the same regardless of which side of the gender divide you stand, but there are some aspects that are different. As Ken, I had felt a sense of proprietary care for any girl who had given me more than the time of day. It wasn't ownership — that would feel wrong on so many levels — but rather responsibility, like I had permission to look after and protect the person in my arms. As Liz the feeling was reversed, sort of a sense of submission, of giving up some of my autonomy. Old fashioned traditions had the care of women being passed from a father to husband, and regardless of modern views with feminism doing away with the need for a woman to have a protector, I wanted this. With each gentle stroke I found myself surrendering myself more completely to my man, and it felt wonderful.

“You know, if I were a cat, I'd be purring right now, and quite possibly dribbling all over you.”

He laughed, quietly, careful not to disturb me with any sudden movements.

“Cats are nice, but I'd rather have you the way you are.”

“What, mad and unpredictable?”

“And beautiful, and kind, and thoughtful, and generous, and...”

“Don't stop.”

“Words don't do you justice love.”

I twisted round to look up into his eyes and saw what he had no words to say. He reached down towards me and I reached up. Lips met in a soft, gentle caress.

He pulled away, leaned his forehead against mine, eyes closed, struggling with something.

“Mike?”

“I love you Liz, I didn't realise what that truly meant before I met you. “

“And?”

“This feels like it's leading somewhere, but I want our first time to be special, perfect. Would it sound odd if I told you I wanted to wait?”

I climbed up onto his lap, seated, not straddled, and gave him such a kiss. When oxygen deprivation forced us to surface I clung to his neck with all the meagre strength I had.

“You can be such a surprise sometimes you know? Odd, but only in the sense of unusual, atypical. Different, but in a good way. You couldn't have said anything more right just then.”

“I was worried...”

“I know, but no need. I'm sure one day we'll find something we disagree upon, but not today.”

He let out a long, relieved sigh. I was suddenly restless and bounced off his legs, spinning round to grab his hands and tug at them. The overall effect was spoiled by my lack of strength and body mass, resulting in a totally ineffectual attempt to haul him up after me.

“Come on, I've figured out what we can do with the rest of the afternoon.”

He allowed himself to be led but, I guess being a man, had to let it be known that he was only moving because he had decided to, not because I was pulling at him.

“Are you going to give me any clues?”

“It's to do with keeping in touch while I'm away.”

I ran to the bedroom and striped off my sweatshirt and scruffy jeans. Well ok, they're not really scruffy; everything I own is still nearly new and well cared for, but these were deliberately worn looking and loose and comfortable by comparison with the paint on, slightly elasticated ones that made up my more trendy-wear. I was rifling through my wardrobe wearing nothing but my frillies when Mike's head poked through the doorway.

“Oh, sorry.”

He withdrew like a tortoise in an avalanche. It was almost a shame. I'd be giving him free access soon enough and I didn't mind him looking.

“What did you think I was doing?”

“I think the operative word there was 'think'. I wasn't. Anyway, I did say clues, you know plural? With an s?”

My rummaging bore fruit as my hands fell on a simple dress patterned with autumn leaves on a white background. I pulled it on, along with same plain white tights and a pair of black pumps.

“Well, the telephone always seems a bit too impersonal to me. I like to see who I'm talking to, don't you? Oh it's safe by the way.”

His face peered cautiously through a crack in the door until he saw me fully dressed and sitting in front of my vanity, masking out the patches of purple and black.

“Are you thinking what I'm thinking you're thinking?”

“That depends if what I'm thinking you're thinking I'm thinking is what I'm thinking. As a further clue, do you have a computer at home? For personal use I mean.”

“Well no, just the clunky old beast I use for the business.”

“Well that won't do. That old nag is on its last legs and I wouldn't want to risk your shop data by messing with it. I think it's time for Mr Pinkie to finish his real life test and go in for SRS, which means she's going to want a boyfriend just like what I got, and I seen some just like her only in blue in that place down the road. You do have broadband don't you?”

“Yes I think so.”

“You do 'cos I was using it when I was round your place last week. What I don't know is whether or not you've got wireless.”

Mike pulled out his mobile and hit a speed dial.

“Hi Sandy, is James there?

“James hi, it's Mike. Our Internet connection. Do we have wireless. No hang on, I'd better pass you over to someone who speaks the same language.”

He handed me the phone and James gave me details of Mike's setup. I'd about finished with my face and set about combing a few tangles out of my hair.

“Ok, sounds like we need to get you a wireless router as well. Come on let's get you sorted.”

“Hang on, what if I don't want a laptop and wireless whatever-you-said?”

“You don't get an option, 'cos while I'm away I want to be able to video conference you. That means Skype or something similar which probably wouldn't run on your old dinosaur. If you have a wireless router and a laptop with a camera, you'll be able to talk to me face to face from anywhere in the shop. Now if for no other reason, isn't that worth the trouble?”

Mike gave me an exasperated look which I returned with a bright smile.

“What was it you said to Karen? Might as well give in now rather than wait for me to wear you down?”

“No fair, I was trying to be supportive. You're not allowed to use that argument against me.”

“All's fair in love my dear.”

“Don't you mean all's fair in love and war.”

“Well that may be true, but if so, my statement holds as well.”

“Heaven help me, a woman who can do logic.”

“All women do logic sweetie, it's just that simple men find it difficult to follow it in its more advanced forms.”

I put my brush down and gave myself a quick check over, front and sides.

“Good enough for jazz as my dad used to say.”

I grabbed my handbag and my man and dragged them out of the room.

-oOo-
We took separate cars since we'd be heading back to the restaurant afterwards to set things up. It didn't take me long to gather thing things we needed and pay for them. As we lined up at the check-up, a slightly bewildered Mike leaned over and murmured in my ear.

“Is this my engagement present then?”

“What a cheap old laptop that will be in the bin in three years’ time? Not a chance. When I buy you your engagement present, it will be something that will last a lifetime and will remind you of me every time you look at it. This is just in aid of keeping me sane while I'm away from you. You do want to keep me sane don't you?”

“I'm beginning to wonder if it's a bit late for that.”

I stuck my tongue out at him and handed my card over to the girl who had just rung up three modest figures on her till.

“Can you afford this?”

“I get a pretty decent salary and so far I haven't had to spend anything on clothes, so I'd say so, yes. Now keep your nose out.”

Back at the restaurant, James and I replaced the elderly single machine router with the wireless one. I was glad he was there. I'd set up my own internet connection as Ken, but I wouldn't say I was any sort of expert. James, by contrast, was something of a whiz, and what would have probably taken me an hour or more, he managed in ten minutes.

A quick check showed that the old thunderer could still see the interweb, then in the time it takes to go through a first boot on a new computer, the laptop was running and online. Mike came and stole James away to get things ready for the evening's customers, and I stayed on long enough to download and install Skype, set him up an account, test the sound and video and add my username to his list of friends. Before I left, I carried the machine down to the kitchen and put it on a table in the corner. It was still picking up the wireless signal, so I left it running with Skype in the background.

I interrupted Mike long enough to give him a kiss.

“If it makes a funny noise, click on the green telephone.”

He gave me a harassed nod and a quick smile, and I decided I'd better get out of his way.

It was a warm night so I drove home with the top down. The next time I picked up my hairbrush I was going to regret the indulgence, but for now all I cared about was the sheer delight of having the wind in my hair and Mike in my heart.

Back home, it was but a moment to coax the newly rechristened Miss Pinkerton into life and accept Mike's Skype address. I thought of trying to call then and there, but the restaurant was just about to enter its busy period, so I suppressed the urge. There would be time enough later.

Hearing noises from next door, I grabbed a bottle of wine from the fridge and knocked on Sharon's door.

“Hey sweetie, everything alright?”

“Everything's perfect, except Karen's sending me off on a tour of the British Isles so I'm not going to be around much over the next few months.”

She reappeared carrying two wine glasses and put them down on the table so she could give me hug.

“Have you eaten yet?”

“Not yet. I just got back from setting Mike up with Skype. I figured if I have to be away from him for days at a time, at least we'll be able to keep in touch.”

“Smart move. I was just putting together some stuffed red peppers with feta cheese salad. Fancy joining me?”

So the threat of self-absorbed melancholy was averted and Sharon and I managed a pleasant evening catching up on each other's news. It seemed that she and Phil were more or less back to where they had been when I had become Liz. She had been dropping hints for about a week now, and was hopeful that sometime soon Phil would pop the question for a second time. I was excited for her, but at the same time concerned for Phil. I knew he still felt horribly guilty for what he had done to her and, I wondered if that was holding him back from trying a second time; worried perhaps that he might do something even worse. Maybe Auntie Liz needed to give him a gentle prod.

We found enough topics to keep chatting well into the night, then about eleven, she started making subtle yawning motions and I took the hint. Besides, things at the restaurant would be winding down and I wanted to try out the new technology on Mike. Back in my own flat I made myself a hot chocolate and settled onto the sofa with Miss Pinkerton on my lap.

Double click and wait. Silly Skype ringing noises repeating for a few seconds then... contact. Mike’s face was staring out of the computer screen at me. He looked over his should.

“What do I do now?”

“Look into the camera and talk to me you lummox.”

He looked back at the computer screen, eyebrows raised.

“That's all there is to it?”

“Technology even you can appreciate.”

“I thought you would have called earlier.”

“Well I had things set up here about sevenish, but I figured you wouldn't appreciate an interruption at that time so I went to see Sharon for a bit. I've just now come back. How was your evening?”

“Busy, but enjoyable. We tried a few new items on the menu this evening and they went down pretty well. We did have a couple of cancellations so it wasn't quite as busy as we expected. How's Sharon?”

“Doing well. Waiting for Phil to propose again. I'm wondering if he's still on a guilt trip. I mean here we are, Friday evening and two beautiful girls alone at home. I have my excuse and I can live with it, but I can’t help wondering where Phil was tonight.”

“What are they doing tomorrow?”

“I don't know, but I was planning on visiting the twins.”

“So you were, how about Sunday then? And would you like company tomorrow?”

“Hang on I'll ask. And yes always, as long as you don't mind doing a little shopping first.”

“Shopping?”

“Charley gave me a list, plus I would like to get him a prosthetic so he doesn't have to keep stuffing socks down his front. I'd also like to get a few things to help Emily and that's going to be a bit more delicate.”

“Ok, tomorrow, your place, early and down to the shops, then off to Kent. Go ask Sharon about Sunday.”

I put the computer to one side and went to knock on Sharon's door again. She appeared in pyjamas with a toothbrush in her mouth and an enquiring look in her eyes.

“Mike and I were wondering what you and Phil had planned for Sunday.”

She swallowed her mouthful of foam. Yeah I know, not such a great idea, but in her defence she had limited options for getting rid of it otherwise.

“Phil's on a course this weekend. He doesn't finish 'til Sunday afternoon. About four I think.”

“Do you know where he's gone?”

“Somewhere in Surrey, Guildford I think.”

“Fancy meeting him out there and going somewhere for a bite?”

“Yeah sure, sounds fun.”

“Cool. I won't keep you up any longer. Mike and I are off to see the twins tomorrow, so if I don't see you before, it'll be Sunday morning.”

“Ok, goodnight.”

I suppose I can't blame Sharon for being a bit offish. It was getting late and we had already said goodnight. Plus there was nothing we'd just discussed that couldn't have waited until the following morning. I returned to Miss P and a patiently waiting Mike.

“Ok, we're on for Sunday. Where do you know that's good around Guildford?”

“I'll give it some thought. Right now I think we both need to get to bed, especially if we're up early tomorrow. What time do you want me round?”

-oOo-
Saturday started off more or less according to plan with Mike joining me for an early breakfast around eight o'clock. I'd decided to try my girly self out on the twins today and, after some deliberation, had settled on my Autumn Cloud dress. It was mainly for Emily, this. I wanted her to take on board the idea that being a girl could be fun. Maybe it was a bit OTT, but I hoped she see past the actual clothes to the evident enjoyment I took from wearing them. Mike approved the choice, and his approval put extra shine in my smile.

Breakfast done, we climbed into my little roadster and headed off for a rather seedy part of the city. A little Internet research the previous night had given me the address of a particular shop. They promised discretion, but what they meant by that was they had painted the windows black. Mike refused to come in with me so I was forced to venture forth on my own. I described what I was looking for to the Gothic hermaphrodite behind the counter, and discovered that it was called a soft packer. Various sizes and colours were presented for my consideration and I chose a modestly sized one which matched my skin tone.

When asked if I wanted to try it on I sort of stammered out that it was a gift for my transsexual twin sister. Yeah I didn't really think that out and it got the smirk it deserved, along with the suggestion that since she was my twin sister, I could still try it on for her to make sure it fit properly. With a beetroot blush showing through my makeup I decided that the easiest way out of this was to go with the flow, which was how I ended up in a changing room with a very realistic looking and feeling false penis and testicles dangling between my legs — outside my knickers of course, I mean hygiene and all that.

It felt so weirdly wrong. There was an odd sense of familiarity, memories of how it had felt being Ken, and Ken wearing a dress at that. The prosthetic was comfortable enough and felt to be about the right size and weight, but it actually revolted me to feel myself completed in that way again. I couldn't bear to leave it there any longer and retrieved it, physically shaken by the experience. I only hoped it would be better received by Charley.

When I went to pay for it, the odd little shopkeeper had a line of alternative products, from a variety of dildos to several different shapes, sizes and qualities of vibrators. I didn't think my blush could go any deeper and actually felt light headed with the amount of blood my body had decided to shift to the surface of my skin. I declined the suggestions and handed over a twenty to pay for the package I had come to collect. There was a surprising amount of change, the price being considerably lower than I'd expected.

I was glad to be out of the shop and breathing clean air again. I climbed into the car, dropping the new purchase behind my seat, and drove off as soon as I could, my rigid posture daring Mike to comment, laugh or even breathe in any way out of the ordinary. His self-preservation instincts were good though, and he survived the five minutes it took my mood to return to normal.

Next stop was a retail outlet where we quickly found all the things Charley had asked for. Emily was tougher, but I picked out a selection of things ranging from blouses and trousers to skirts, tights and dresses. I tried to focus on soft, sensuous fabrics in subdued but subtly feminine colours and styles. The sort of things that might encourage her to experiment without feeling that she was selling out her old life too readily. I added a pair of flat slip-ons which would go with pretty much everything I'd bought, and which said girl without screaming femininity through high stiletto heels.

Mike reached the limit of his patience long before I had everything I needed and, whilst I could understand his frustration, I was at a loss to explain the importance I felt at picking out just the right things. Eventually we escaped the mall and made it out to the motorway and round to the centre by mid-day. We'd have to leave by two-thirty to get Mike back in time to get to the restaurant, but two and a half hours would be more than enough time.

For a change I went to see Charley first. He took the proffered packages gratefully enough, but when he looked inside the brown paper bag that contained my first purchase of the day, the oddest expression took over his face. It seems bizarre to use such a term with someone who possessed such a beautiful, feminine body, but the word 'unmanned' sprung to mind. He rushed off with his spoils to indulge himself.

If ever I had any doubts about why I was doing this — helping two total strangers who just happened to look like me — the look on Emily's face was enough to banish them for good. There was both relief and delight in her smile, and she all but squirmed with anticipation as she jumped up to greet me.

“Wow, you look amazing.”
It was still a thrill when people said that to me, but we weren't here for me.

“I know. And guess what? You can too.”

I began to unpack the things I'd brought her and something of the light faded from her eyes.

“I thought you'd prefer to start off with small steps. I mean these are all quite feminine, but a little subdued so you don't feel like you're standing out too much. There are still trousers if you don't feel ready for skirts yet. We can take it at whatever pace makes you feel comfortable.”

“I'm going to sound awfully ungrateful...”

“Spit it out Em, I'm here for you whatever it takes.”

“Well I was kind of hoping with this I could go all the way. You know all or nothing kind of thing? I don't suppose I could try your dress on?”

I looked down at myself with surprise.

“But I've been wearing this all morning. Wouldn't you prefer something fresh, something new and all your own?”

“Maybe later. Can't I just try it? I want to feel what it's like to look as amazing as you.”

Wow, I never expected her to change this dramatically. What the hey, I'd said whatever it takes. I quickly stripped out of the dress and handed it to her, showing her how to put it on.

“What about tights? Did you bring any tights like the ones you are wearing?”

I handed her a packet of fresh, white tights from the bed, again showing her how to roll them up and slide them on.

“It's actually easier to put the tights on first, you know before the skirt or dress, but it's no big deal.”

She jumped over to the mirror that had been added to her room. There was something about the image that wasn't quite right. I went over and touched the surface. Plastic not glass. I gave Em an enquiring look and she shrugged.

“Glass is too easily broken, and after last week I guess they still don't trust me. You must be cold, why don't you put something on.”

I'd thought this was going to be a quick show and tell kind of thing, but it seemed she had other ideas. My turn to shrug as I picked up a powder blue dress and slipped into it.

“There's something wrong, something missing. I still look too plain.”

I dug for my handbag and went to work on her face with my makeup kit.

“Hold still. This'll feel a bit strange, but you get used to it... Here comes the lipstick, again don't mind the taste; it's not unpleasant, just odd.”

I finished my masterpiece and turned her back to the mirror. We looked like two peas. Well you know, not literally. I mean it was impossible to tell who was who.

“Can I try your shoes? They look like they might be fun.”

They weren't much of a heel, maybe two inches. Whatever, we'd gone this far. I slipped them off and handed them over. She took a few awkward, tottering steps, a new born giraffe finding its legs. After a couple of minutes she was walking like a pro. She ran over and hugged me and sat down next to me, looking down into her lap. The scars on her wrist had healed as much as they were going to but there were still thin white traces in evidence.

“I wish there was something we could do about these.”

I pulled out my compact. I mean it had hidden my bruises, why not Emily's scars. Hey waddaya know, it worked.

We sat on the bed chatting about this and that, all the while her mannerisms becoming more girly. This really felt like it was going to work. I checked my watch. It was getting on for one o'clock and the others would be waiting for us to get some lunch.

“We'd better change back Emily and go and meet Charley and Mike for lunch.”

“Mike. He's your boyfriend isn't he?”

“Well my fiancé actually. He's really sweet.”

“You know what would be a great laugh? Why don't I pretend to be you for lunch and see if he notices?”

The small amount of discomfort I felt at the idea was washed away in Emily's enthusiasm. If this was going to help her get over things, I guess there wasn't any harm. I took off my watch and my angel wings necklace — still my favourite — and handed them to her, slid my feet into her new pair of flats, checked my own appearance in the mirror and turned to leave. She plucked my handbag from my arm with a mischievous grin.

“Gotta make it look good.”

It was oddly uncomfortable seeing Mike kiss Emily, and the disquiet inside grew inside me as we ate lunch together, Em leaning on Mike's arm as though she belonged there. She was a consummate actress and would have convinced even me had I known that I was me and not her. Time for this charade to end.

“Alright Emily, enough's enough. I think we should change back now.”

“What do you mean Em? What are you saying.”

“I'm saying you've had your little joke, now I think we'd better change back.”

She stood up and waved at one of the orderlies scattered around the room. They were always there, I noticed, discrete but always close enough to intervene when necessary. The orderly came over and Emily spoke to him pointing at me.

“It's my sister Emily, I think something's wrong.”

“Emily. What are you doing?”

Shit, how had I allowed myself to make this mistake. Ice water trickled through my veins as I realised just how this must look to everyone else. I looked at Mike who loved me and knew me best, but even he was giving me odd looks.

“Mike it's me, Liz. That's Emily, we switched clothes to see if you could tell the difference.”

“Oh God, she really thinks she's me.”

Like I said, consummate actress. The orderly took hold of my shoulders and I tried to shrug my way out of them.

“No, this isn't happening. Please, you have to believe me. I'm Liz Raeburn, that's Emily my sister. We just switched clothes, can't you see that?”

Another orderly hurried over and a doctor brandishing a syringe.

“No, I... Please no. I'm her, she's me. This isn't right. Emily why are you doing this?”

I felt a sharp stab in my arm and the last thing I saw was Mike and Emily, and even Charley, looking at me with a mixture of fear and pity. Emily, clinging to Mike's arm as if for support, betrayed the vaguest hint of a smile then the world faded into darkness.

You meant it for evil - 20 by Maeryn Lamonte CAUTION: The ending of this chapter may be disturbing to some readers. Please exercise caution and, if in doubt, wait until the next chapter is published before reading beyond the red -oOo- divider. Thanks to Cyclist for input regarding UK police response. Another orderly hurried over and a doctor brandishing a syringe. “No, I. Please no. I'm her, she's me. This isn't right. Emily why are you doing this?” I felt a sharp stab in my arm and the last thing I saw was Mike and Emily, and even Charley, looking at me with a mixture of fear and pity. Emily, clinging to Mike's arm as if for support, allowed herself the vaguest hint of a smile then the world faded into darkness

-oOo-
When I came to, I was lying on a bed wearing a white lace nightie with my ankles and wrists held in padded restraints. I could barely move and knew better than to try and struggle. I looked around the room, hoping to find a nurse or orderly sitting with me, but I was alone. The door was closed and, again, I knew better than to shout out.

How had I been so stupid, so gullible? Emily had seemed so genuine, and every little request, taking her just a little bit closer to taking over my identity. Like boiling a frog. Increase the water temperature slowly enough and it doesn't notice, sits there quite happily unaware that it's being cooked alive by slow degrees.

Then when she'd sprung her trap, or rather I'd sprung it I suppose, I'd panicked. There had been so many things I could have done, could have said, that would have sorted the matter out, but those cold tendrils of fear had crept through me and strangled off any coherent thought processes.

Shit, she was out there with Mike now. He'd realise soon enough, when she didn't know the way home or something. What would she do to him when he found out?

I looked frantically around for some way to get someone's attention. I even tried calling out, but when no response came, I stopped. These cells were sound proofed and I knew I'd be wasting my time. I blinked back tears of frustration, tried futilely to find some weakness in my restraints, checked the room again for cameras, anything. There was nothing. Nothing I could do but wait and brood.

At the back of my mind a familiar voice returned.

“I told you they were mine. And now you are too.”

“No. You don't know how to do anything but lie. You have no power here.”

“I don't know if you noticed, but neither do you.”

“That'll change. Do your worst, I'm not listening to you.”

The voice quietened, leaving the ghost of an echo of eerie laughter reverberating around my skull. It was right, I was powerless here. But not for long, not forever.

No windows, no way of telling how long I'd been under, or how long I'd been awake. It had to be Saturday afternoon still; I just wasn't hungry enough to have missed a meal. Which meant at the very least someone would be coming soon to feed me if nothing else. If I played my cards right I could hopefully persuade them of who I was. With nothing else to do, I lay back and started thinking through my options. What did I know that might help prove who I was?

Time drags when you have no way of measuring it. My estimate put it at a couple of hours — but it could as easily have been minutes or even days — before the door swung open and an orderly came in carrying a tray with a bowl of soup and bread roll. He put the tray to one side and pressed a switch to raise the upper part of the bed and put me in a sitting position.

“Please, I need to talk to Doctor Marston.”

“It's Saturday Emily. You know he took today off for his daughter's birthday party. He'll be in on Monday, you can talk to him then.”

“Another doctor then. Whoever's supposed to look after me while Doctor Marston's away. It's really important.”

“Yes it always is. Come on have some soup.”

I turned my head away from the proffered spoon.

“Listen please. I'm not Emily. I'm Liz. Emily persuaded me to change clothes to see if we could trick my fiancé. I know it was stupid, but she's clever and persuasive.”

“Yes, like you're being right now. Come on, you need to eat.”

The spoon made a dash for my mouth. I let it in, not wishing to risk my teeth against hard metal. Pea soup. Not my favourite. I swallowed it down and spoke again before he could feed me another mouthful of the revolting stuff.

“Look, Emily tried to commit suicide earlier in the week. She tried to slit her wrists on the bed frame. Look at my wrists. Why don't I have any scars?”

He paused for a moment then let out a chuckle.

“You really are devious aren't you? If your sister had been Emily in disguise she would have had scars on her wrists.”

“She did, does. I covered them over with foundation. A bit like my face. I had an accident in my car last weekend, caught a face full of airbag. If you wipe the makeup off my face, you'll see something of the bruising still around my eyes and nose. Please I'm not making this up and it would only take a second to check. Just look at my wrists please, then call the doctor.”

Apparently I could be persuasive too. The orderly put down the bowl and spoon and moved to check my wrists. I tried to help by pushing my arms down through the leather cuffs so that more of my wrists showed. He rubbed the part where the scars should have been, then licked his hand and rubbed again.

“For heaven's sake man, you'd have felt them even if you couldn't see them.”

“Shit.”

He looked at me for a second, genuinely scared, then sprinted from the room.

It took only a couple of minutes for him to return with the on call doctor, who examined my wrists then my face, wiping off enough makeup to reveal the last of the bruising. He looked at me, still not willing to believe.

“Look, when I came here the first time last Saturday, I was given a safety word. Phoenix it was, but I forget what the challenge word was. Evanescence or effervescence or something like that. I came back again on Thursday morning, but because Emily was in restraints and Charley had changed his appearance so much, I guess they felt they could forgo doing it again. Nobody thought about it today, myself included, but then I never guessed Emily could be this devious.

“You want further proof, go and talk to Charlie. Ask what gift I brought him today. He's probably still got it stuffed down the front of his PJs.”

It still took time, protocols to be followed and all that. Calls were made and eventually Doctor Marston turned up looking upset at having his weekend messed up. I didn't have a lot of sympathy given the way my own was going. I started to give him a description of what had happened and my proofs of who I was, but he was already doing his own examination. I barely had a chance to begin before he made up his own mind and removed the restraints.

“I need a phone. I have to call Mike.”

The doctor took me to his office and waved at the instrument.

“Nine for an outside line.”

I punched in the relevant numbers. The clock on the wall said it was seven thirty. He wouldn't be happy, but there was no helping this. The phone was answered on the seventh ring.

“Mike's place.”

“James hi, it's Liz. Is Mike there?”

“Yes but very busy at the moment, can you call back later?”

“This can't wait James, I'm sorry.”

There were a few moments of muffled conversation then Mike came on the line.

“Liz this really isn't a good time.”

“Oh thank God you're ok.”

“What’s happened? What’s the matter?”

“Mike, that really was Emily you took away from the institute with you this afternoon.”

“What? Shit!”

“I was afraid she'd do something to you after you figured it out, but you didn’t did you?. I don't understand how you didn't realise it wasn't me.”

“I thought something was off, but just put it down to you being upset about how things had gone with Emily. I mean... Oh sod it. You, that is she, said she was too upset to drive, gave me the keys. I drove her to your flat and left her there. I just thought you... she... were... was bothered about how the visit had ended. I mean sure I noticed a difference, but I never twigged it wasn’t you. Shit, I am so sorry. Are you alright?”

“I am now. I was terrified for a while, but things are getting sorted out. I'm more scared for Emily now, and I'm glad you're alright. Sorry to interrupt you at your busiest love, but I had to know you were ok. Go back to what you're doing, I'll call you later when I get home.”

“Ok, you're sure you're alright? You don't need me to come out to you or anything?”

“I'll be fine. Have a word with Doctor Marston, he'll tell you.”

The doctor took the phone for the brief moments it took to reassure him then handed it back to me.

“Like I said I'll call you. Get back to your cooking before you burn something. I promise I'll call later.”

I put the phone down and turned to the doctor. With Mike's safety assured, there was something else I had to sort out; something which, the more I thought about it, the angrier I became.

“Thank-you doctor. Now perhaps you'll help me find out what happened to my engagement ring?”

He blanched visibly. The implications and ramifications of that particular oversight could go a long way.

“SOP to remove any sharp objects from disturbed patients. Should be able to find out what happened to it easily enough. Mystery is why the hell nobody questioned what it was doing on your finger.”

“Recriminations can wait Doctor. I'm going back to Emily's room to find some clothes to wear. That should take me about ten minutes. Any chance I can have my property returned to me by then?”

“Rest assured, but then need to find your sister. Dangerous, to herself and others right now.”

“Well Mike dropped her off at my flat a few hours ago, but she probably won't have stayed there. Still it's a starting point.”

“Where would she go?”

It didn't take much thinking

“Home. The phone call she made on Thursday was to her mother.”

“Her mother?”

Oh shit that should have been our mother, but then I couldn’t go down that route. This was going to get complicated. Think Liz. He's off balance now because of what happened to me, but if I give him reason to believe that I'm nuts he might just arrange for me to have a permanent bed here. I don't think he's that self-serving, but I've already badly misjudged one person so far today. I improvised madly.

“It was one of our neighbours when we were growing up. Em never could talk to Mum, or Dad about anything so she made friends with a lady across the street. They hit it off so well we used to call her Em's other mum. Emily told me she tried to call her on Thursday. It didn't go well and I think may have kicked off her suicide attempt.”

“Do you have an address?”

“No, but don't you have call logs? Can't you get the number from them? Trace the address from the number?”

He sat down at his desk and tapped away at his computer for a minute, then picked up the phone and dialled.

“Hello? Mrs... Bailey. Mrs Bailey, my name is Doctor Marston, I'm a clinical psychologist. One of my patients managed to get out of the institute earlier today. Have reason to believe she might be coming to you. Name of Emily Raeburn.”

Shit this was about to get complicated again. The doctor looked up at me confused.

“Says she doesn't know anyone by that name. How come?”

I indicated for him to give me the phone, which he reluctantly did.

“Hello Mrs Bailey?”

“Speaking.”

“I'm sorry to disturb you Mrs Bailey. My name's Liz Raeburn, you may remember me?”

“From the telly a few weeks back?”

“Yes that's right. This is sort of complicated to explain, but my twin sister, Emily, is a little bit disturbed and has been staying in a mental institution for the past few weeks. She managed to get out todays and we believe she may be on her way to you right now.”

“Why would she do that?”

“She was friends with your son.”

I hated lying, and this felt like walking a tightrope, trying to say what I needed to to Paul’s mother without giving away that I had never met her. By the look on Doctor Marston’s face, I wasn't doing that good a job. Time to cut things short.

“Mrs Bailey, it would be helpful if we could come and see you. Would you mind giving me your address?”

The doctor handed me a pen and paper and I wrote down an address in Grays, just the other side of the Thames. A moment's Google later and we had the route and an estimated travel time.

“Mrs Bailey, it looks like it will take us about half an hour to get to you, would it be alright if we came to see you?”

“Just one moment dear, that was the door.”

There was a clunk as she put the phone down and a muffled conversation followed. I couldn't be certain, but one of the voices sounded like...

“Hello? Are you still there? I'm sorry I'm going to have to hang up now, I have a visitor.”

“Mrs Bailey, is Emily with you at the moment?”

“Yes that's right dear.”

I hissed the news to Doctor Marston who snatched the phone from my hands

“Mr's Bailey. No need to worry. Emily isn't dangerous, but may say some things you find disturbing. Please try to keep calm. Will alert the police to come to you as soon as possible. May take a little time, but if you can keep calm, things will work out for the best within the next hour.”

He listened to her response and nodded in approval before hanging the phone up then stabbing the keypad three times with his finger. My missing ring seemed insignificant compared to what was going on twenty miles away. He asked for the police and gave his name and the name of the institution, adding that there was an escaped patient. He was put through to someone very swiftly indeed.

He spoke in his typical terse manner, passing across the who, what, when, where and why of Emily as far as we knew, then stated his intention of driving up to take custody. Again a nod and the phone was back in its cradle.

“Police on their way now. Unless things get unpleasant in the house, they shouldn’t interfere until we get there or they have a negotiator on site. We should be able to beat them. I'm assuming you want to come with?”

“As long as I can go and get dressed first.”

“Ten minutes you said. I'll see what I can find out about your property in the meantime.”

I left, with orderly in tow, back to Emily's room where I put on the same powder blue dress from earlier. My tights were balled up in the bin, showing evidence of having been removed none too carefully. I put on a new pair from Emily’s wardrobe, slipped my feet into her flats and headed back to the doctor's office where he was holding up my precious diamond and sapphires.

“In the safe, logged with paperwork. Will be asking a few pointed questions on Monday. Heads will roll. Wouldn't blame you if you took us to court over this.”

“Let that be Monday’s problem. Right now we have to get to Emily.”

“Car's waiting outside. Sure you're going to be warm enough in that?”

The dress was backless with a halter top and Em had taken my own jacket when she left with Mike. My long hair would protect most of my back but, since I hadn't thought to buy Em a jacket or even so much as a cardigan, I'd have to cope with the bare arms.

“I don't have many options here Doctor, but I should be alright as long as you don't have a daft soft topped sports car like mine.”

He exchanged his white coat for something more appropriate to the outdoors and even managed to borrow a light jacket for me. It wouldn't win me any fashion awards — not good ones at least — but at least I was warmer. In the end I needn't have worried about the doctor’s car as he had a top of the range Lexus, the high tech aircon bringing the car up to comfortable temperature in next to no time.

-oOo-

The car was almost impossibly quiet as it sped smoothly and effortlessly down the motorway. Doctor Marston glanced over at me, a shrewd, calculating look in his eye.

“A few words about what happened? Off the record?”

“Doctor, I'm not in a fit state of mind to discuss what happened right now, there's every possibility I might say something both of us are likely to regret.”

“Then don't say anything. Just listen, ok?”

I wasn't ready for this, didn't want it, but I was too tired to argue. I shrugged and nodded reluctantly. The doctor gave a few moments over to ordering his thoughts then launched.

“No two ways about this, we screwed up here big time. Well within your rights to bring a law suit against us, and if you do, what we have left after paying you won't be enough to get us through the damage to our reputation. You're angry now, and rightfully so. Shit I'm angry and some people will lose their jobs over this. Not to appease you, but because they screwed up protocol so badly. We... fuck! Can't even make myself say all the things we did wrong.

“What you decide will set the future for the institute. Usually a good judge of character, or so I'm told. Think good things of you so laying breast bare. Strike or not, your choice. Will settle out of court, anything reasonable.

“Don't answer now. Understand you're still angry. Not the best time to make decisions; respect that. Just want you to know. When you're ready, rather talk than go to the mattresses.”

He hadn't said a thing about my own bad judgement in the affair. That I had agreed to swap identities with Emily, even for a joke, was the height of stupidity on my part. The only black hat here was Emily, the institute as much a victim as I was, its staff no more guilty of bad judgement than me. I felt the anger draining away, some of the tension leaving my body. In a way it was a relief.

“Ok, we talk about it. I will want to bring someone in to represent me, but I have no immediate intention of going public.”

The fizz of tension dissipated as Doctor Marston let out a long relieved sigh. Odd how such an atmosphere can grow without your noticing and only make itself known as it leaves.

“I never understood that phrase, 'going to the matresses'. Sopranos isn't it?”

He looked at me oddly for a moment, but then realised that perhaps it was best to shift to safer, more neutral topics.

“Godfather films as well. But originates in sixteenth century Italy. Guy called Michelangelo Buonarroti. Hung mattresses from one of the towers in Florence. Protect it from cannon fire. Phrase means going to all-out war. Rather avoid that.”

“Well I think we should be able to.”

“Grateful. Was hopeful we could.”

Evidently the tension hadn't totally subsided and the next few minutes passed in silence. Something told me this was Doctor Marston's preferred mode; that the extent to which he had talked this evening was beyond his comfort zone.

It wasn't that comfortable a silence as my mind kept racing down different paths. What had I done wrong? Had there been any other indication that Emily had been playing me for a fool? Why the hell would she do this after all the progress she'd been making? What might she have done to Mike, or even Sharon had she popped across when Emily arrived home? What was Em doing now? Would the police managed to corner her? Was Paul's Mum alright? The questions kept coming, but none of the answers.

I wanted to call Mike, but Emily had my phone. I looked at my wrist only to recall that she had my watch as well. I glanced around the dashboard. Eight thirty, things'd be busy, but at a guess he would be worrying.

“Do you have a mobile phone I can borrow?”

Doctor Marston fished in his pocket and handed it over. It was one of the fancier, modern touch-screen doodads and it took me a few moments to figure out how to unlock it and bring up a keypad. Eventually I had it ringing.

“Mike's place.”

“Hi Sandy, it's Liz. Look I know you're busy, but just in case Mike's climbing a wall somewhere.”

“Hang on I'll get him.”

Barely two second later.

“Liz. Shit I'm so sorry, I should have known it wasn't you. I feel so crap.”

“Mike don't. She was a really good actress. We'll talk about it later ok?”

“I've been trying to think if she did or said anything that should have given me a clue, but... Well she seemed so upset after your outburst. I...”

“Mike.”

He stopped mid flow.

“Can we talk about this later, you know face to face? I hate using phones to do this.

“I was just calling to let you know what's going on. Emily has surfaced. The last we heard she was with her mum. You know Em called her last week just before she tried to slit her wrists? The police are involved now and will keep an eye on the house 'til we get there; I'm driving up with Doctor Marston as we speak. I don't know what time I'll be home, but I'll call you later when I can.”

“Ok, any time. I'm not going to be able to sleep 'til I hear from you anyway. I love you.”

I knew he needed to hear those words from me too, but things were churning over so much inside I wasn't sure what I felt. I wasn't going to be able to say them with conviction. I looked down at my ring and blinked back tears. How much was Emily going to cost me? I tried to make light of it.

“Don't go poisoning someone on account of me will you? I'll call you later.”

I hung up before things became too awkward and handed the phone back. The good doctor gave me another of his sidelong glances.

“Shouldn't be too hard on him. She took us all in after all.”

He hadn't even been there. But then again, I guess her actions this evening had come as much of a surprise to him as to the rest of us.

“Mike should have known it wasn't me.”

“Why? Some mystical connection? She looked like you, dressed, smelt, acted like you. Why should Mike be any less taken in than the rest of us.”

Anger broached an otherwise calm surface.

“Because he knows me. Because we're in love and he should have felt something. Something not right...”

“Crap. Used to know a couple of identical twins. Swapped boyfriends all the time, then got angry with them because they didn't notice. How long have you known him? Mike?”

“A few months.”

“Five years, maybe ten, then he'd maybe pick up the subtle differences. Few months, not a chance. Don't let this ruin what you have with him.”

“How can I help what I'm feeling?”

“Forgiveness is an act of the will. Nothing to do with feelings. Decide in your mind if Mike meant to do this.”

“Well of course he bloody well didn't.”

“Then it was a mistake. Tell me you haven't made any.”

I thought back to the first evening I'd met Mike and kept my mouth shut. Doctor Marston took that as an answer and continued.

“Mistakes should be forgiven. He didn't mean to hurt you, most likely feels awful about it. Needs to know that you forgive him.”

“It's not that simple Doc.”

“Why not? Afraid he'll do it again? Afraid he's not as good a man as you first thought? Ok, if he's not good enough for you, understandable that you should drop him, but for this? Mike isn't such a failure for falling with the rest of us.”

I flashed angry eyes at him.

“Who said Mike was a failure?”

“Implied. Either he did this deliberately — you say not — or he's a big fuck up for not noticing what none of us noticed. Or this isn't such a big deal after all and you should give him a break.”

I resented being told I was wrong; all the more because I knew he was right. I was angry and I realised he was taking away my target. Well if he was volunteering.

“You know you have a real foul mouth on you Doctor.”

“Happens when I'm stressed. Apologies.”

He reached into his pocket and handed me his phone again.

“Call him again. Tell him what he needs to hear.”

“You think you're so bloody smart don't you.”

“Don't think. Know. And who's got the potty mouth now?”

I didn't care for his smirk, but he was right. I dialled the restaurant again.

“Mike's place.”

“Hi Sandy, I need to talk to Mike for thirty seconds please.”

She muffled the phone and yelled for him, then came back on.

“He's just coming. Are you guys having a fight?”

“Hopefully only for another thirty seconds.”

There was the usual muffled incoherence as the phone was passed across and Mike's voice was back on the line.

“Liz?”

“Mike. I... There's something I should have said a minute ago.”

I wrapped my mind around the words. I was still angry, still more than a little upset that he hadn't been the knight in shining armour to come and rescue me, but that was more about my expectations than him. The doctor was right and my anger did need a different target. The words felt right. I could mean them.

“Mike, I love you.”

The silence that followed stretched to the point of discomfort. I caved first.

“Mike?”

“Yeah, I'm here.”

There was something strangled about his voice.

“Are you ok? You sound...”

“I'm fine Liz. Now I'm fine. Thank-you.”

Another silence, but one of communion this time.

“I should let you get back to your customers.”

“Yeah, I guess so. Don't forget to call me later.”

“I won't. I love you.”

“Yeah, you said.”

“Just thought I should make sure.”

“I love you too. Bye.”

“Bye.”

That last was almost a whisper, and the feelings I thought had died came flooding back and leaking out through my eyes.

-oOo-

The Doctor left me to my silent, peaceful musings for a while, waited until I was palming the tears from my eyes before he spoke.

“Tissues in the glove box.”

I retrieved them gratefully then flipped the mirror down. Yes the damage was as bad as I'd thought. Bruises showing through where the foundation had been wiped away, puffy eyes and smeared rivulets where the tears had run and been wiped away. The tissues were impregnated with aloe vera, so slightly moist. I used a couple of them to wipe the worst of the mussed makeup off and a couple more to sooth my eyes. Eventually I decided I’d done the best of a bad job with limited tools and put everything away. The Doctor gave another of his thoughtful glances. I was beginning to dread them.

“Go for the hat-trick?”

“What do you mean?”

“Not sure you've been completely truthful. About Emily and Charley.”

“In what way?”

“Nothing substantial. Little things you say here and there. Hints that there may be more to the story. Need honesty from you if I'm going to treat them properly.”

I looked out the window at the countryside passing in the dark. There was enough moonlight to pick out silhouettes of trees and bushes, and a few stars peeking through the light haze. How could I answer his question safely. I took my time over my deliberations and the doctor left me to my silent brooding. Eventually I had my plan of battle and marshalled my arguments.

“What would you say if I told you the truth involved magic and angels and demons, Doctor?”

He laughed.

“Not sure, are you likely to?”

“Do you dismiss out of hand that such things exist?”

“Never seen evidence to suggest that they do.”

“You could argue that the Bible is evidence. It contains historical and biographical stories that speak of angels and demons as real entities, and describes miracles if not magic.”

“Ah Christian. Explains a bit. Sorry, religious claptrap. Superstitious mumbo-jumbo.”

“And just how to you get away with justifying an opinion like that?”

“People always been interested in understanding and explaining their experiences. When faced with something they can't, tend to make something up. Elaborate stories of creatures with abilities and minds beyond our comprehension, that sort of thing. Religion is at best gullible, primitive minds trying to make sense of a world they don't understand, and at worst the writings of manipulative opportunists seeking to promote themselves in the eyes of the aforementioned.”

It was the longest sentence the doctor had ever said in my presence and had something of a pre-prepared quality about it; almost a mantra in its own way.

“Just how many religious texts have you read Doctor?”

“None. Better things to do with my time.”

“So where did your opinions come from? And just how can you expect anyone to respect them if you haven't researched the topic completely?”

“Not sure I care. My opinion derives from observations of people and of history. Personal views, so don't need to justify holding them to the world.”

“It make it hard to argue with you Doctor. Not so much because you're right — I would dispute that in any case — but you refuse to entertain any other opinion. I do feel sorry for you though.”

“Sorry? Why so?”

“The most stiff and unbending opinions are also the most brittle. They're the most painfully broken and hardest mended when they are shattered.”

The doctor shook his head.

“Not at all sure how we got here. Weren't we talking about how truthful you were being with regards to Emily and Charley?”

“Doctor what I've told you about Emily and Charley is as much truth as you can handle.”

The motorway widened into a dozen lanes feeding through toll booths. The doctor broke away from the conversation long enough to rummage through his pockets for some change. I couldn't help again since my own purse was in Emily's possession. He found the correct change and joined one of the faster moving lanes, throwing the money into a hopper and easing back into the mad rush of twelve lanes narrowing back down to four before plunging into one of two twin lane tunnels.

“Our exit is just the other side of the river Doctor. It would have been easier in the left hand tunnel.”

“We'll manage.”

The traffic was slow in the tunnel. Stopping and starting at first then easing into a gentle amble. I was favoured by yet another of the good doctor's speculative glances. Steeling myself for whatever topic he was going to raise next, I made myself a promise to think twice before sharing a car with him again.

“So what now? You and Emily I mean. How will you move on?”

There was a question and a half. How could I move on? Before this afternoon, I'd thought of Emily with affection and hope. I'd felt we were making progress, that with just a few weeks more effort, she'd be far enough along the road to recovery that we could leave the hospital and re-introduce her to the world. Now when I thought of her, all I remembered was the way she had betrayed my trust. That and the wicked, knowing smile she had given me before leaving me to her own hell.

“I really don't know doctor. I mean I still want to help her, but I can't without some level of trust, and I since she's broken what we had so completely, I don't know where we can go from here.”

“Trust is very much like love; an act of the will. Can be misplaced of course, so offer a word of advice?”

“Of course Doctor. Anything to help me sort out these feelings.”

“Situation is a little bit like you and Mike. Need to start off by deciding why she did what she did. If deliberately malicious, you need to withdraw. Back off completely because she will only abuse whatever you give her next time. Give her a chance to see that you're the best thing she has going in her life, then when she asks for you, give her a chance to rebuild the trust. When she's ready to earn it then you can decide to offer it again.

“On the other hand, if today is a one off, bad day sort of thing, might be worth giving her a second chance. You keep pets Miss Raeburn?”

The non sequitur threw me for a moment.

“My neighbour has cats, but I've never been one for pets.”

“Used to have a dog once. When she grew old she developed arthritis. Had good days and bad. On the bad days she would try to bite if you came too close, on the good she was grateful for the attention; could see it in her eyes. I learned to be wary of the thing that was causing her to be vicious, but still to show her affection when I could. Wasn’t her fault she gave into weakness and outside influence.”

I looked at the doctor with renewed respect, seeing for the first time the reason he had risen to sigh in his profession.

The traffic picked up speed and we exited the tunnel. The street lights illuminated the enormous concrete pylons of the QEII Bridge taking carrying a constant stream of vehicles south across the river high above our heads. Our two lanes joined the two to our left. The doctor eased over into the left most lane just as it fed off onto a large roundabout. We drove into the maze that is Thurrock and conversation lapsed as my companion turned his attention to the directions coming from the satnav.

-oOo-
We pulled up on a narrow street of terraced houses, its pavement crowded with cars. Further down the road was a large police van and a large number of policemen in what looked like riot gear, carrying automatic rifles. We found a space and parked up. One of the policemen stood out from the others by his air of command more than anything else. Having spotted him, Doctor Marston made a beeline directly for him, leaving me to follow in his wake.

“Name's Doctor Marston. I called this situation in. What the hell are you doing here with guns?”

The man in charge turned to us and introduced himself.

“Sergeant Fenton sir. We appreciate your assistance in bringing this situation to our attention, but this is a police matter now, so if you would be so good as to stay back sir.”

“Sergeant, the young lady in that house is a patient of mine. She is not a criminal, dangerous, armed or otherwise. I intend going in there and persuading her to leave with me. I would appreciate you and your men staying back and out of sight while I do so. Miss Raeburn here is the patient's sister and she will be accompanying me into the house.”

The sudden clarity of his speech leant him a greater degree of authority. The sergeant bridled a bit at the manner of the doctor's words, but he swallowed his own response and nodded his head just once.

“You heard the man lads. Keep your eyes on points of egress and stand ready for my word. Doctor, I can't say I'm happy about this, but go right ahead.”

He ushered us through and we approached the front door of Mrs Bailey's home. The windows were clean but the paint had peeled and was worn through to bare wood in places, showing an odd mix of care and neglect. The doctor rapped smartly on the frosted glass.

An elderly lady with a vaguely bewildered expression opened the door a crack and peered through.

-oOo-

“Yes?”

“Mrs Bailey? We're here to speak to Emily. My name is Doctor Marston and this is Elizabeth Raeburn, Emily's twin sister.”

“You'd better come in.”

Somewhat trance-like, Mrs Bailey took the door off its chain and opened it wide enough for us to step in. She indicated the living room and we followed the line of her finger. Emily was sitting in an armchair with a cup of tea in her hands. The smile on her face held a boldness and confidence I hadn't seen before.

“Ah Doctor, Liz. I must say you took your time, but now you're here we can begin.”

There was something about the way she spoke that filled me with a chill. Something was very wrong here. Doctor Marston seemed oblivious.

“Emily what is this? Why run away? Why come here? You were doing so well, and now this.”

“Please sit down Doctor, I'll explain everything. Cup of tea?”

The doctor and I both shook our heads, but sat as invited. The bad feeling was getting worse.

“You see Doctor, this past few weeks have been a nightmare for me, and as I look back over them, it seems to me that the three people most responsible for my misery are you three.

“Now as luck would have it, I have been offered an opportunity, not only to escape from the horror my life has become, but to get a little bit of revenge into the bargain. Revenge on every girl who ever slighted me, and more particularly, revenge on the three of you.”

“What are you talking about Emily? What is this nonsense?”

“No nonsense Doctor as you will see in a very short while. You see, your blind inability to accept anything outside of your limited perception of the world is what kept me in your care in the first place. You took my insistence that I am really a man as an indication that I was seriously disturbed and locked me away, leaving me, at a time when I really needed someone to believe me and to help me, isolated from anyone who could. It's been brought to my attention that in your case a fitting revenge would be to see your perfect little world of logic and science shatter in the face of something you have no hope of explaining.”

It's been brought to my attention? Who by? Oh shit, he hadn't...

“Which brings me onto my dear mother.”

Emily, or Paul as it seemed now, stepped closer to the elderly lady and cupped her cheek in his hand.

“You see there are times when children need their mothers, even when they're full grown and independent. The world throws such a bizarre mix of experiences at us, and sometimes we need someone we love to accept us and comfort us.

“My own sweet mother failed to do just that. She doesn't know me even now. So don't you think a fitting response would be for her to experience the same gut wrenching changes in her own life? To be turned into something that even her family and friends wouldn't know, and to have to deal with the changes alone and uncared for?”

I had to try and stop this.

“Paul, you don't have to do this; any of this. Everything he tells you is a lie.”

Mrs Bailey looked between me and my twin.

“Why are you calling her Paul? Why do you keep calling me mother?”

“Let me show you mother dear. And you sit there, little Liz, the best is yet to come and it's all for you.”

He reached forward and planted a delicate kiss on his mother's lips.

From the outside the change looked like a cheap visual effect; a blurring of features as size and shape changed, both figures growing taller, broader.

Mrs Bailey's permed grey hair receded to a short crop with a bald area reaching across the top from her forehead. Her face grew, showing bolder bone structure and more pronounced jowls. Her lips thinned, but remained marked with a now incongruous streak of red lipstick. Her chest flattened and broadened at the same time, straining the buttons of her blouse, but not quite breaking the threads. Her hands and feet grew, as did her legs, showing hairs through her stockings, and a bulge appeared under her skirt.

“What is happening to me?”

The voice broke and deepened as she spoke. In just a few seconds, an elderly man stood where she had been a moment before, wearing the same clothes, now stretched uncomfortably tight.

A similar change had happened to Emily/Paul, only he had grown by six inches and his shoulders had widened in proportion. The delicate fabric of my once favourite dress tore as his new body grew too large to be contained by it. Emily's long auburn curls shrunk to a smart, black short back and sides with a side parting. Her once delicate, elfin features turned craggy and handsome, but twisted into ugliness by an evil grin and the intense hate in his eyes.

Doctor Marston was transfixed with horror at the impossibility of what had occurred. Everything he had been so certain about regarding the world around him, everything that made up the foundation of his understanding and belief, lay utterly shattered by the event he had just witnessed, and he sat, eyes wide and mouth slack and hanging open, staring incredulously at the two transformed people in front of him.

Mrs Bailey stood awkwardly as though she had just spilt something down her front, stunned into silence and with arms and legs held apart, she looked down at what had become of her body. Each attempt at speaking stuttered to a halt as a stranger's voice spoke her words. She caught sight of Paul's new body and stared in dumb, open mouthed disbelief at her son. Her mouth shaped his name, but no sound came out.

The person I had come to know as Emily, now most definitely Paul, turned towards me, careless of the rags now hanging off him, and moved slowly towards where I sat.

“And now the last and best of it. You wanted to change me into a girl...”

“You were a girl. I was just trying to find a way to help you adjust. I only wanted to help.”

“But you knew what could help didn't you? You said it yourself when you spoke of the voice, that it was real?”

“Nothing that voice has done has been for good. It lies. It tried to get you to kill yourself...”

“And when I decided to speak to it, to listen to it, it offered me a way out. A way that you knew about. A way that you could have suggested to me. But no, you have so embraced this becoming a girl thing in your own life, you wanted someone like yourself to share it with didn't you? That's why you brought me those dresses and skirts and things, to turn me into your cute little twin sister so that we could go shopping together and have girl's nights out, going to chick flicks, picking up boys together. That's what you wanted isn't it? To turn me into something I never wanted to be?”

“All I wanted was to help you cope with what had been done to you. I thought you could adapt, learn to live with the changes, even learn to enjoy them.”

“Well you were wrong.”

He spat the words at me, rage flaring to incandescence as he reconnected with the testosterone now flooding his body again. With some effort he calmed himself. That ugly, selfish, self-satisfied grin returned to his face.

“You were wrong, and now I have the most delicious of revenges for you. You wanted to change me into a girl against my will, now let me do the same for you. Let me turn you back into the man you once were.”

I was struck by paralysing terror as he moved in towards me, his lips parted slightly in preparation for the kiss I knew would shatter all the wonders and delights my new life had brought me.

You meant it for evil - 21 by Maeryn Lamonte Hot and steamy moments ahead, but nothing that nasty this time. “You were wrong, and now I have the most delicious of revenges for you. You wanted to change me into a girl against my will, not let me do the same for you. Let me turn you back into the man you once were.” I was struck by paralysing terror as he moved in towards me, his lips parted slightly in preparation for the kiss I knew would shatter all the wonders and delights my new life had brought me.

-oOo-
All my terror condensed into an ear-splitting scream and, with its release, I found my body obeying my commands again. By then it was too late though, Paul had closed on me and was holding my wrists in a vice like grip. He had planned this out well. First incapacitate the other two through his little monologue and the transformation of his mother, then come at me with his renewed male strength. Well he still had one weakness.

Fear was draining the strength from my body and I had to act quickly while I still could. I brought my foot up between his legs with all the force I could find, wishing for something a little more battle-worthy than than the soft leather of my flat slip ons.

Paul imploded under the attack, his grip weakening enough for me to pull my arms free. I twisted out from under him and backed towards what I hoped was a door. He recovered more quickly than I hoped he might and cut me off, steering me into a corner.

“You fucking bitch. I am going to screw you before I turn you now.”

He lunged at me, pushing me down onto the floor. My legs collapsed under me and I fell heavily, tears of helplessness and hopelessness streaming down my face. Rough hands reached under my dress and tore away at my underwear. All I could see was the savage glee in his eyes. This couldn't be happening. I was going to lose everything. I succumbed to the despair of my imminent doom; the violent, tearing violation that would rip my soul more deeply than it could ever tear my body, then to be forced back into being Ken even before the blood stopped flowing. The world caved in around me and I heard myself screaming all over again.

How could I go back to being Ken now? What would be left of my life with Mike, with Karen, with Aaron and the others?

There was a loud crash and the front door all but flew off its hinges. The room filled rapidly with dark blue uniforms.

“Armed police. Back away. Hands where I can see them.”

The commands barked out, filled with such authority that even Paul, lost in his vengeance, froze momentarily. He saw his chance at the revenge he wanted slipping from reach. With a snarl of rage he made a last desperate lunge at me. I twisted under him, managing somehow to bring my arms up between us, to twist out of reach of those questing lips. It would only keep him from me for another second. The last of my strength had all but fled from me and I had never felt so vulnerable, so completely unable to help myself.

I can only be thankful for the police presence that day. When we'd first arrived, I'd felt the same as Doctor Marston , that an armed response and in those numbers was completely over the top for the apprehension of a single, unarmed, non-violent (until this evening that is) little girl. The policeman nearest me, having taken the time to assess that e didn't need to use his firearm, ran forward, barrelling into my assailant and jammed him against the wall. The air was knocked out of him and he collapsed in a stunned heap beside me.

“Are you alright miss?”

The policeman offered his hand, the gentleness in his voice and manner so much at odds with the violence of the previous moment.

“Just get me away from him. Don't let him come near me.”

There was hysteria bubbling in my voice. When I thought how close I had come to losing everything, just on the twisted whim of someone I had thought of as a friend, even a sister.

“Don't worry miss, where he's going, he won't be able to touch you for a long time.”

“You have to keep him away from women. Not just me but all women. Please promise me, you have to keep him away from girls.”

I was shaking, unable to stand by myself, unable to turn my mind from imagined horrors of what my life had almost become.

Another policeman took advantage of Paul's stunned state to pull his arms behind him and handcuff him, after which he was hauled to his feet with little regard for his comfort. The look of pure venom he gave me as he was propelled past me caused me to shrink into the policeman's protective embrace. He spat blood at me.

“This isn't over you know.”

The officer who had cuffed him steered him firmly towards the door, talking to him as he went.

“It is for you my son. Here we go, you listening? You have the right to remain silent, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something that you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence...”

They receded into the night leaving me in a small living room with the four remaining armed officers, a catatonic Doctor Marston, and a distraught and weepy man in an ill-fitting skirt and blouse.

Funny how the needs of others can galvanise you into action when, left to yourself, you would otherwise collapse into a useless heap. I pulled away from the police officer who had saved me, whose rough riot vest had provided an all too welcome pillow, and went over to the former Mrs Bailey. I eased him... (her?) into a seat and put my hands on hers. It was still Mrs Bailey, regardless of the body she was wearing now.

“Let me get you some tea.”

She nodded and I disappeared into the kitchen behind the lounge, glad of the distraction, and set about looking for things to make tea. I was still rummaging through the cupboards looking for the necessary when the sergeant come into the house and looked around.

“Would anyone mind please telling me what the fuck just happened?”

I couldn't respond any more than my two companions in the other room. He listened to one of his officers, my most recent saviour I think, giving him as full a report as he could manage — heard screams, broke down the door, found young man assaulting a young lady, used appropriate force to take him down, done deal — then he must have heard my nervous clattering because he came through to the kitchen.

“Miss... er... Raeburn isn't it?”

I nodded mutely.

“Miss Raeburn, I have no idea what happened here. My men reported that there are two women in this house, then you and that doctor turn up and go in. Next thing I know there are screams, I send in my unit, and when the dust settles I have a cross dressing parody of the hulk in custody and an elderly gentleman in the other room wearing a skirt. Where are the two women my men first spotted? And don't try to tell me that they mistook the two blokes I've already mentioned 'cos I know they have better eyes than that.”

The kettle finished boiling and I warmed a teapot before putting a couple of tea bags into it and leaving it to stand. The mundane, ordinary actions helped my body find a calm again. My mind was still racing, still shying away from all too terrifying memories. I forced it to stop, to think. There was no way I could clean this mess up without some help. Ken might have tried, but the girl in me didn't have anything to prove; knew the value of seeking help when needed.

“Sergeant I wouldn't know where to start. Perhaps you could get in touch with a Detective Inspector Chubb though. He told me, when he interviewed me a few weeks back, that his remit was to deal with awkward and unusual cases like this one, and these events are related to something we discussed.”

“And how do I get in touch with this Detective Inspector Chubb?”

I gave him the name of the police station where I had been interviewed. I was pretty sure Chubb wasn't stationed there, but they'd at least have some idea of who he was and how to contact him. The Sergeant talked briefly into his radio then settled back to wait. I finished off the tray of tea things, mugs enough for everyone including the sergeant, and rather unsteadily carried it back into the living room.

I poured out the teas and invited the boys in blue to grab one each while I offered an overly sweetened one to Mrs Bailey. She grimaced at the taste.

“I don't take sugar.”

“It's alright Mrs Bailey. Drink it up, it'll make you feel better.”

I did the same for Doctor Marston, holding the cup to his mouth and try to make him drink until he responded by taking the mug out of my hand, after which he just held it and carried on staring blankly.

“Miss Raeburn I'm not sure you should be doing that.”

“They have no physical injuries Sergeant, just the memories of a horrible experience.”

From his frown he didn't like me challenging him. In an attempt to reassert his authority he gestured at Mrs Bailey and addressed the room.

“Could one of you rustle up some more appropriate clothing for this gentleman?”

Mrs Bailey began to cry. Her face was a stiff mask to hide her feelings, but the tears sliding silently down her cheeks betrayed how upset she really was. I gave her the comfort of human contact, not sure what else I could offer, but she turned out to be made of stronger stuff. She stood up, trying to smooth the skirt down over her new and obvious bulge. I stood with her.

“It's alright I still have some of my h... I still have some 'more appropriate' clothes upstairs.”

You could actually hear the quotation marks.

“Would you like me to go with you?”

“I think under the circumstances that would be inappropriate, but thank-you.”

She walked rather stiffly and awkwardly out into the hall and up the narrow stairs.

I took advantage of her absence to check up on Doctor Marston who was still staring into space. He still held his mug of tea, but it was remained untouched. I gently eased the mug out of his grasp and placed it on the table. Saying his name did nothing to bring him back, neither did shaking him or tapping him gently on the cheek. I was on the verge of slapping him harder when the sergeant's radio squawked.

“Sergeant I have DI Chubb for you. Patching you through now.”

A familiar voice — if slightly distorted by the radio — came through. It wasn't pleased.

“Sergeant. What can I do for you that makes it worth you interrupting my Saturday evening, and why me in particular?”

“Sorry sir, but I have situation here I really don't know how to deal with. One of the individuals involved mentioned your name, said you'd interviewed her recently and that this was related.”

There was a short pause.

“Her name sergeant?”

“Er, Miss Raeburn sir, er, Elizabeth Raeburn I think.”

Another short pause, but this time you could imagine the expletives at the other end.

“Put her on please sergeant.”

The sergeant walked across the room to me, detached his mike from his vest and showed me briefly how to use it. I pressed the button.

“Good evening Detective Inspector. Sorry to disturb you.”

“That's alright Miss Raeburn. Under the circumstances I wouldn't expect you to do anything different. What can you tell me?”

Not what happened, but what can you tell me. Other ears listening in.

“Er Paul Bailey's back. Came out of nowhere and seems to have picked up where Mary left off. Emily's gone and Paul's mother isn't herself anymore.”

Was that telling him enough. Was it giving too much away? Certainly the sergeant was giving me odd looks. This pause was the longest yet, but when DI Chubb's voice came back, it seemed some decisions had been made.

“Sergeant, I'm coming over to you. Grays South I think dispatch said. I'm not going to tell you how to do your job, but I strongly recommend you listen to anything Miss Raeburn tells you. And no interviews until I get there. Understood?”

“Yes sir. And yes, confirm it is Grays South.”

“I should be with you within the hour. No interviews 'til I get there, I mean it.”

The sergeant clipped his mike back on his vest and gave me a hard look.

“Ok, so what is it you're supposed to tell me that's so important?”

“I think at the moment, just that Paul Bailey, your prisoner, should be kept in isolation. Minimum contact with other people and absolutely no contact with women.”

“Right you are, but I'd bloody better get some answers by the end of the evening.”

He turned away to pass the necessary information along to the station, just as Mrs Bailey came back downstairs. She was wearing a grey suit with white shirt and was carrying a tie. She walked over to me.

“You know, these things were always so much easier to tie when I was doing it for... someone else.”

I sympathised with what she was going through. Having to cope with the changes on her own and at the same time having to act as though nothing had happened.

“You could tie it on me then loosen It to go over your own head. Personally I never much liked wearing them.”

Her eyes widened as the implications of that revelation sunk home.

“You're the same as...”

“If you think about how Paul looked when he first arrived and how I look now, surely you can't be that surprised.

“We should have a long talk later. For the moment though, just try to keep things quiet. There's a detective inspector coming to who knows a lot more about the situation. Once he's involved things should get easier.”

I let her tie the tie around my neck and hair, keeping the loop large. She then settled it around her own neck and tightened it, folding the collar down over the top. I couldn't resist reaching up to straighten it. There was nothing wrong with it, but it just seemed the thing to do.

A short while later the sergeant started organising things. Leaving two constables to secure and tape off the house, he ordered the rest of his troops out to their vehicles and back to the station. Paul — as Emily — had brought my handbag with him and left it on the table, so it was natural enough for me to pick it up. I checked the contents briefly — mobile phone, purse, car keys, usual girly bits; everything seemed to be there — and followed the others out of the house.

The police van was gone, presumably with Paul in the back, so the doctor, Mrs Bailey and I were squeezed into the back of one of the squad cars. I spotted my roadster a little way down the road, behind where the police transit had been, but thought better of mentioning it.

-oOo-
As it turned out, the trip to the station was only half a mile and would probably have taken less time to walk once we had finished fussing about getting everyone into the cars. We were given a quiet room to wait in and left to ourselves. I led Doctor Marston over to a chair and eased him into it. He sat and continued staring sightlessly, his mind, for the time being, lost in the great yawning chasm that had been torn between his perception of the world and his beliefs. His continued lack of response worried me and I stuck my head out the door looking for help.

“Excuse me but where d'you think you're going miss?”

Apparently the sergeant wasn't taking chances and had assigned someone to keep an eye on us.

“I'm worried about my friend, the doctor. He had a really nasty shock back there and he's been unresponsive since. Is there any way we could get someone to come give him a look over?”

The constable called the sergeant over and I repeated my request. He told me he would see what he could do and asked me to sit back in the room and wait.

Mrs Bailey was trying to ease the collar of her shirt with her fingers when I came back in. I tried to suppress a smile.

“I had no idea these things were this uncomfortable. I mean I've worn high necked blouses and the like, but nothing like this.”

“I know what you mean. Look you don't have to wear it if you don't want to.”

“Harry would have.”

“Is that the name of your...”

“My husband yes. He passed away three years ago. I haven't been able to bring myself to get rid of his things.”

“I'm sorry, but I suppose it's just as well given present circumstances. He was about the same size as you are now?”

“It seems so, except I think his feet were a little smaller. These shoes pinch.”

“You could take them off. I mean we're not going anywhere for a while and it's just the three of us.”

“No I shall be alright dear, but please could you tell me what's going on here? I mean how is all this possible?”

“I don't honestly know, but this is what I have found out.”

I didn't think that there wouldn't be any listening devices hidden around the room to record our conversation so told her the story as best as I could, starting with my first encounter with Mary and finishing with this evening's events. It didn't worry me that Doctor Marston was sitting there too. After what he had witnessed that evening, he should be far more open to the whole truth than he had been in the car. In fact, assuming he was able to take in any of what I was saying, it might even help him put things back together in his own mind.

It took me about forty minutes to go through everything. I had done explaining and was quietly answering Mrs Bailey's questions when the door opened and DI Chubb walked in.

I stood up to greet him, then made introductions, explaining Doctor Marston's unresponsive behaviour as a result of the shock he had experienced. The inspector looked at the doctor, then at the way I was holding myself, and headed back to the door.

“Sergeant, where's the doctor? You have the victim of an assault here as well as a man in evident shock.”

“I've called for one sir. I asked for a female doctor in light of the circumstance and think they must be having some difficulty locating one.”

“Would you be good enough to check up on it please.”

DI Chubb's dangerous voice. The sergeant made for his phone.

“I am sorry Liz, we're normally a lot more efficient.”

“As you said earlier, under the circumstances...”

He asked me for details on what had happened and once more I found myself talking about the unreal events of the evening. It didn't take long to go through what DI Chubb didn't know, and ten minutes later we were discussing options.

Doctor Marston chose that moment to return to us, shaking his head gently.

“Impossible, this is impossible. Explains everything, but how can it be true?”

“Doctor, thank goodness. I was getting worried.”

“Like you said in the car. Strongly held beliefs, hardest to adapt to changes. Still not sure I believe all you've said, but can't ignore what I saw.”

He looked over at the still very male Mrs Bailey.

“Never expected to see such a thing. Still can't believe my eyes.”

There was a knock on the door and the long awaited doctor came in. I insisted she check Doctor Marston first, but since he seemed to be talking lucidly and otherwise responding correctly, there was little to be done for him. The doctor led me out to a different room where a WPC stood by for moral support and the fulfilling of the law.

The doctor was careful to explain what she wanted to do with each step of her examination, asking my permission at each step. She asked me to remove my tights, badly laddered at the crotch where Paul had pulled at them, and my knickers, also torn but less so. I then let her examine me in my most intimate area, squeezing the WPC's hand hard enough to make her wince while she did so. Apparently there were some minor scratches down there, but nothing worse. I could have told her myself, but I suppose first hand examination and a correct report made more compelling evidence. She kept my clothes as evidence and found me something to wear in their stead; torn jeans and a faded sweatshirt, along with some fresh underwear which was just a little too big. Eventually I was returned to my companions where plans were being laid out and parts being assigned.

The fiction involved giving Mrs Bailey the name of Geoff Hammond, a made up friend, who was looking after the house while she spent a few days away with friends, and had been caught out indulging in a very private fetish when everyone had started arriving.

Paul's appearance out of the blue would have to be the mystery it was, as would his wearing a torn designer dress and a full set of women's underclothes. Hopefully , along with his violent behaviour, this would go some way to helping Doctor Marston convince the police that he should be held in the doctor’s mental institution, at least for the time being. The explanation as to the doctor's and my presence would be a continuation of the lie that had brought us here in the first place; that Emily had known and drawn close to Mrs Bailey when she was younger, and since she had called her earlier in the week — institute call logs available to prove it — we had come here expecting to find her. She hadn't turned up though, so her whereabouts was still unknown.

Chubb spoke to the sergeant and a short while later, he, Doctor Marston and I were led down to the cell where Paul was being kept. Following my earlier suggestion, he had been given a cell to himself with solid steel door with a small hatch at eye level, barred window and good solid walls. He wasn't going anywhere. The duty officer opened the small window and immediately Paul was up against the door looking out at us and shouting.

“I want a lawyer. I know my rights, you can't keep me here. Get me a lawyer and make sure it's a woman. I don't like dealing with men.”

He spotted me amongst the uniforms and his attitude changed dramatically for the worse.

“You bitch. You fucking bitch. You did this to me. You come here and get what you fucking deserve. You bit...”

The stream of profanity was cut off as the duty officer slammed the small hatch closed. Everyone was looking at me.

“That's the man who attacked me. He was trying to rape me when your men came in.

“There was no provocation, I mean I never saw him before tonight. If your officer hadn't been there then, well I don't want to think about it.”

I shuddered with genuine revulsion; no play acting necessary.

We headed back upstairs to an interview room where I made my statement explaining how Paul had attacked. Doctor Marston added his own to the same effect, saying it seemed obvious that Paul had suffered some psychotic break and needed psychiatric care.

DI Chubb took responsibility for the handover. It took a while to make things legal — paperwork and all that — but eventually we it was arranged for Paul to be transferred to Doctor Marston's institute via secure transport later that evening.

Interviews over, we were allowed to leave. DI Chubb offered us a lift back to the Bailey residence, which we readily accepted. We parked up outside the house and agreed the next stage. Mrs Bailey would collect a small suitcase of her husband's things and accompany Doctor Marston back to the institute, where she was to be given a room so she could stay close to her son. Doctor Marston, still a little shaken, assured us that he was well enough to drive home.

I just wanted to climb into my car and head for home, but the detectives inspector reminded me that Emily was still on the loose and supposedly driving around in the roadster. There would almost certainly be police watching my flat by now, and if I turned up driving the car, I would almost certainly be detained.

On further reflection he suggested that perhaps that might not be such a bad idea after all though. Emily needed to be caught if I was going to get my life back, so we hatched another plan. I would pretend to be Emily and go back to my place where, if all went as it was supposed to, I would be apprehended and taken back to the institution. Doctor Marston would be there for the rest of the night settling Paul and his mother in, so should be able to have me released and back in the real world before the night was over. DI Chubb would follow me home to make sure the police found me.

I reluctantly pulled my engagement ring off and handed it into Doctor Marston's care once more..

Decisions made, I headed for my car while the other three approach The policemen on duty at Mrs Bailey's house. Under DU Chubb's supervision they all went house so Mrs B could collect her clothes. This gave me the window I needed to drive away without being noticed. I parked up two streets down and waited for the detective inspector to come and find me.

The respite gave me the opportunity to call Mike and explain a little of what was going on. He didn't like it, quite understandably, but agreed to wait for Doctor Marston's call before coming to collect me.

Eventually the DI appeared and led me on a nervous couple of hours trip around and into London, supposedly via routes less frequented by the police, back to my place.

-oOo-
As predicted there was a car waiting on my street and two plain clothes policemen approached and took hold of me while I was fumbling with my keys. I protested and did my best to convince them I was Liz and not Emily; well ok, not quite my best. They didn't believe me and I spent the next few hours making my back to Doctor Marston's care via a cell in yet another police station. Being locked up wasn't so bad this time because I knew it wasn't going to last. Eventually, with dawn not far away, I was helped out of the pack of a patrol car and into the familiar surroundings of the institute.

A show was put on for the policemen who brought me, orderlies wheeling me away to Emily's room while the doctor on call filled in the necessary forms. I had time to change out of the borrowed clothing and into something of Emily's, feeling more comfortable in new underwear and better fitting jeans and sweatshirt than the things the police had found me. Doctor Marston turned up a few minutes later and gave me back my ring and handbag.

“Already called Mike. He's on his way.”

He led me back to his office where we passed the time discussing the real events surrounding my own transformation and those of Paul and Charley. Being both a psychologist as well as a psychiatrist, he was fascinated by the concept of having three people under his roof with such marked experiences in gender change.

“You do realise that you won't be able to write this up Doctor?”

“Not bothered. Get insight now, maybe publish something later with different observations. You're right though. Start spouting off about transformations and I'll end up in one of these cells.”

He shook his head again, as though the simple action could help bring his old reality back to him.

“How's Mrs Bailey?”

“Settled in ok. Taking it hard as you can imagine. More concerned about her son than herself. Bonds of parenthood and all that. Very level headed person though. Should be alright.”

“Can I see her before I go?”

He checked the clock on the wall.

“Five thirty a little early. Needs sleep to help adapt, recover. Sure you'll understand, would rather leave her be for now.”

Doctor Marston's office looked out on the front drive so he noticed Mike's arrival a few minutes later. He stood and held out a hand to help me to my feet.

“Do me a favour Doctor?”

“You can ask anything. Feel I owe you rather a lot.”

“Yeah about that. I'm not going to be talking to my solicitor on Monday after all. Do what you must to tighten up your procedures, but be forgiving if you can?”

The doctor's face was unreadable. It took him a second to recover.

“May I ask why?”

“Mainly I'm just grateful still to be me tonight. It puts everything into perspective. Besides I have to shoulder a fair bit of the blame. Allowing Emily to swap identities with me was beyond stupid.”

“Like to think it was more misplaced trust on your part. Still, once more, have my gratitude. Still haven't asked though.”

“What? Oh, the favour, yes. Actually two spring to mind now. The first was that perhaps you could put Paul and Charley into the same room for a bit, see what happens.”

“Already thought of that. Had it in mind to do so. The second?”

“Well I'm hoping to put together a home for transgendered and homosexual street people and wanted to run clinics for them. You know help them understand and accept who they are? Help them make decisions about how they should live their lives? I have some promise of help, but would value input from a well established and respected institution like this one.”

The doctor suppressed a smile.

“Better for you if we don't have any blemishes on our record, just as it is for us?”

“Doctor, this isn't blackmail. Whether you agree or not I won't be looking for restitution for what happened here yesterday. Clean slate and you decide for yourself if you want to get involved.”

“I'll give it some thought. Pretty sure we can do something. See you next Saturday?”

I nodded.

“As long as you can promise me a quieter day than today, and to keep Paul away from me.”

The long winding corridors came to an end at the reception area. The doctor opened the front door and we shook hands as we stepped out into the cold morning air. The birds were shouting their territorial claims as a low, patchy mist dispersed to reveal the dawn light illuminating a fresh new day full of promise.

Mike stepped out of the car and I ran to him burying my face in his chest and hugging him tightly enough to squeeze the breath out of him.

“What the...”

“Just hold me.”

He did. Something I remember about dealing wit girls as Ken. When in doubt do as you're told. Now so much more understood and appreciated from the other side. Mike's arms went around me and I felt his strength encircle me. I felt safe and all the fears and horrors that had haunted me through the night evaporated with the mist. I cried out my relief into his chest and held on tight with all the strength I had.

“Never leave me Mike.”

“I wasn't planning on it. What's got into you Liz? What's the matter?”

I was about cried out for the moment, so released my death grip on him and reached up to kiss him. Short, then long, then longest ever.

“I'll tell you later. Everything's alright now though. Now you're here everything's alright.”

He led me round to the passenger door and helped me in before climbing in himself.

“Back to yours?”

I nodded.

“Except I don't think I have much food in. I've been running things down ready for my trip on Monday.”

That reminder brought a pang of regret. Now more than anything, I didn't want to go away from him.

“That's ok, we only need breakfast at most. We’re taking Sharon and Phil out to lunch remember?”

I smiled and curled up in the seat looking across at him in my usual manner. He glanced at me and shook his head.

“I should have known it was Emily.”

I placed a hand on his arm.

“No recriminations, no regrets love. We all made mistakes yesterday, but it turned out ok. For the most part.”

I thought of poor Mrs Bailey and felt a treacherous tear escape and trickle down the side of my nose. I wiped it away with my sleeve and reached my hand out to touch him again.

All the way home I drowsed in and out. When I was awake, I couldn't help myself touching the man sitting beside me, resting my hand on his arm, his leg, his hand. He was my reality, my rock. He brought me back from the edge and grounded me in this world I wanted to inhabit. He did keep giving me worried looks, which I returned with as reassuring a smile as I could manage, all the while abandoning myself in the all too brief glimpses of his kind eyes.

We made our way swiftly through the light early morning traffic. Between my drowsing and the swift passage it seemed almost no time at all before we were pulling up behind my little yellow car.

“Come up with me? I don't want to be alone right now.”

“Don't worry, I don't want you to be alone right now either.”

A brief fumbling with the keys and we were through both the doors. I turned to Mike and all but climbed up him to reach his mouth. A sudden insatiable need overtook me and my hands were all over him, undoing the buttons of his shirt, caressing his chest, my lips seeking his. He backed away.

“Liz, I...”

“Don't you dare stop this now. If it'll make the difference, Mike Paston, before the eyes of God I take you to be my one and only, in all things and forever.”

It was the longest I could bear to keep myself from him. I went back on the attack, easing his shirt off and kissing his chest as I reached down to his belt buckle.

“Liz I don't have any...”

Bless you Sharon. I had never expected to need one, but it was part of her emergency kit, therefore it had to be part of mine. I pulled away from him long enough to tip the contents of my handbag out onto the coffee table, retrieved a small foil packet from the debris and slapped it into his hand, dragging him towards my bedroom in the same motion.

“Are you sure...”

“Never more certain.”

I pulled off my sweatshirt and bra, then went back to his belt. With that loosened, I guided his unoccupied hand up to one of my breasts, while fumbling with his flies with the other. Electric jolts of delight went through me as he massaged my breast. I threw my head back and gasped with the pleasure. I took hold of his waistband and pulled him with me towards the bed, pushing down his trousers and pants as I settled backwards onto the covers.

He followed, more willing now. I rested a hand on his chest.

“Don't you have anything to say?”

How he understood me I don't know, but he got it immediately. He smiled.

“Elizabeth Raeburn, before the eyes of God, now and forever in all things, I am yours.”

He reached forward to kiss me and I retrieve the little foil package from his hand. Irritating interruption, but I wasn't on the pill yet. I pulled the foil apart and pulled out the slightly moist piece of soft rubber. The acrid smell of it assaulted my nostrils. I resented the necessity, but accepted it even so. I reached down and rolled it onto the one part of Mike's anatomy I wasn't yet acquainted with. Well endowed? Not quite a horse, but certainly enough to satisfy. I bit my lip and squeezed my legs together as a warm, moist sensation ran through me.

Mike's clumsiness grew with his eagerness and I had to help him undo my jeans and ease them off. The moment had come. Mike stared at me as if to ask if I were really sure. In answer I spread my legs, inviting him in. Again a nervous fumble, his hands and mine guiding until... There. Slowly, gently, he entered me, his eyes constantly looking to mine, constantly seeking approval. There was a moment's discomfort, then he was in. All the way.

I held onto him with arms and legs, willing him to be still for a moment, a long moment, as I savoured the feeling of having the man I loved inside me, filling me, completing me. Slowly he began to move, back and forth, sliding in and out. After a moment he paused, a look of exquisite agony on his face. He managed to hold off, and we lay together, embraced, connected, one person, for a while longer until he felt able to continue.

Each thrust brought a heightening of tension within me, each gentle caress, a new electric spark leaping through me. It didn't last much longer, but I was as ready as he was and, before he let out his own shuddering sigh of release, I felt the most exquisite sensation pass through me, like a cascade of fireworks exploding through my nerves, starting in my very centre and passing through me in all directions.

Mike settled beside me, then reaching down, withdrew his latex covered member before it deflated enough to make a nonsense of our using the protection. I regretted his absence, but focused on the new feel of my body now that he was gone. I felt his having been there and that was special in its own right.

“Back in a sec.”

Mike's naked form bounded off toward the bathroom to dispose of a certain something and to clean up a bit. He was only going to be a few seconds, but I felt abandoned, aching with the loss his absence brought. I diverted myself be reaching over to the night stand and using some tissues to clean up my own aftermath. By the time he came back, I was under the duvet and holding it open invitingly. He didn't take much persuasion, and seconds later, I was wrapping myself around him, skin against skin. Mike gave me a worried look.

“Are we going to regret this?”

“I don't know about you, but I don't plan to. Thank-you Mike, I so needed that.”

“I wanted to wait 'til we were married.”

“I know, but I meant those words Mike. The wedding's just a formality now.”

“Oh I doubt that very much.”

I chuckled, thinking about all the planning that had already gone into it.

“Ok, maybe you're right, but this is the moment, this is the day that I give myself to you Mike. I needed you today and you were there. You ground me. You make me real. Complete.”

“I'm not going to pretend to understand that Liz. Except the last part. I have never felt so complete as I do right now. You make me so much more than I could ever be on my own.”

We lay for a long while as the morning grew old. We heard Sharon close her door and knock on mine, but we kept quiet, suppressing giggles at the ridiculousness of avoiding her. She gave up and left and I snuggled in closer to Mike, if it were at all possible to be closer than we were now. It would have been nice to go again, but I'd only had the one. In any case, Mike had his own ideas.

“Can we not do this again until after we're married? I mean I don't know about you, but it feels right to wait.”

He was right. Besides, August wasn't that far off.

“As long as we can make this morning last long enough to make the wait worthwhile.”

I stroked the hairs on his chest and carefully avoided that part of his body that might make lying still a challenge. Eventually, with the morning all but gone, I propped myself up on an elbow and looked down at him. I planted a kiss on his lips and climbed out of bed, slipping into my dressing gown.

“I'm going to take a shower and get dressed, then I'll put the coffee on while you do the same. I imagine Sharon will be back soonish. You did book somewhere for the four of us to have lunch didn't you?”

“Just outside Guildford, table booked for two o'clock. I imagine you'll get round to telling me what happened last night in your own time.”

I gave him an appreciative smile.

“I will, but that's not for now. I feel too good right now to want to spoil it with those memories.”

-oOo-

Some time later I heard Sharon on the stairs and stuck my head out to greet her.

“Hiya. Sorry about earlier. Had a long night last night. Fancy a coffee? We're about ready for our second cup.”

“Ooh ta. Give us a second to drop a few things off and get changed.”

Old faithful was huffing and puffing away in the kitchen by the time she arrived. I managed to disentangle myself from Mike and head into the kitchen. Sharon followed leaving Mike to commune with the telly.

“There's something different about you this morning. A sort of a glow.”

I didn't quite manage to bite back the grin. It was true, all morning I had felt warm and fuzzy both inside and out. Sharon's eyes widened to saucers and her voice descended to a strangled whisper.

“Oh my God, you didn't. You did, didn't you?”

I nodded helplessly and she ran over and took my arms.

“Come on, details.”

“Too long to go into here and now. Last night was a nightmare, but Mike was there at the end and as soon as I was with him, everything made sense again. He drove me back here and I just couldn't keep my hands off him.”

“Regrets?”

“None. He's the man for me and if we could set the wedding for today I'd do it.”

“What was it like?”

“Oh you can't imagine. He was so gentle and concerned, I wondered if he'd ever get started. When he did, it was wonderful. I mean I never expected anything the first time but...”

“Oh you lucky cow. No wonder you have that rosy glow about you. What about... You know?”

I didn't need to say anything, the answer was dancing in my eyes.

“What are you two conspiring about back there?”

Mike's voice broke the shared reverie, and we broke down in giggles.

“Nothing darling, just girl stuff.”

I quickly gathered mugs, milk and biscuits onto a try and poured out the coffee so we could re-join Mike. I ignored the pointed looks he was giving me and plonked the tray down on the coffee table. After all that's what it's for.

“How long will it take to get to this place Mike?”

“About forty-five or fifty minutes if the traffic's not too bad.”

“And Phil knows where he's going?”

“Well I texted him the time and place and he seemed to think he'd be ok. He has a satnav doesn't he?”

“Yes.”

“Then no problem. We should be going in about ten minutes if we want to be sure of making it.”

So coffee was a bit rushed, but we made it out of the door on schedule. I was going to sit in the back with Sharon and keep her company, but she wouldn't let me, so instead I sat up front next to Mike and we kept a three way banter going all the way. Traffic wasn't kind and we were about ten minutes late arriving. Phil was already sitting at the bar with a pint in his hand. He took drinks orders from us and tried to wave down the barman, who was doing his best in the Sunday lunchtime rush. I turned to Mike.

“I'll help Phil bring the drinks. You and Sharon go and get the table sorted.”

I smiled at the barman as he went past the next time and he faltered in his stride long enough for me to give him our order.

“I guess I can see some advantages to being as you are now.”

“Oh there are more than some advantages Phil. But other subjects, I wanted to grab you on your own before we sat down together. Can I be blunt?”

He shrugged.

“When have you ever been subtle?”

I let the jibe pass. Shortage of time didn't allow me the luxury of defending my own corner. The barman had already brought the drinks and wandered off with Phil's twenty pound note.

“I was wondering when you were going to get round to proposing to Sharon again.”

Ok, so maybe he was right. Maybe I didn't do subtle. He was looking sheepish and evasive. Warning bells started to ringing at the back of my mind.

“Actually, I've been giving that some thought, and I'm not sure I'm going to.”

You meant it for evil - 22 by Maeryn Lamonte MAJOR CAUTIONARY WARNING: Ultimate cliff-hanger ahead. Not for the squeamish. “I was wondering when you were going to get round to proposing to Sharon again.” Ok, so maybe he was right. Maybe I didn't do subtle. He was looking sheepish and evasive. Warning bells started to ringing at the back of my mind. “Actually, I've been giving that some thought, and I'm not sure I'm going to.”

-oOo-
I settled onto a nearby barstool like slowly deflating punch bag.

“Why? I mean what's brought this on?”

“It's just that... Just that since Sharon and I have got back together things have been different. Especially lately. She keeps looking at me as though she's waiting for me to screw up again or something.”

“You are kidding right?”

He took his change from the barman and looked round at me in confusion.

“What? What do you mean?”

“I mean you can't really be that dense?”

“Hey! I'm bearing my soul here. The least you can do is show a little sympathy.”

“Sympathy is not what you need Phil. More like therapy. She's waiting for you to propose not mess up. I mean haven't you noticed the hints she's been dropping?”

“What?”

“A few weeks back she and I went into a jeweller’s because she wanted to check her ring size. It's how she got my size for Mike so he could get my ring sorted, but I'm pretty sure she had it in mind to leave hers lying around for you to find.”

“That's what that was.”

“Yes dummy. The girl is just as crazy about you as she was when you first started going out.”

“But what if I screw things up a second time?”

“Oh I wouldn't worry about that. I mean sooner or later you will screw up again. The great thing about it all is that she's already forgiven you for being the completest and utterest jackass in existence, so when you do mess up again, it won't be as bad. And if she can forgive you for what you already did, she can forgive you pretty much anything.”

The look he gave me would have been priceless if it hadn't been so genuinely miserable. I found myself taking pity on him.

“Hey, dickhead, get your mind straight. Last time was down to your so called friends at work. Remember, they almost cost you your job as well as your girlfriend, and they didn't lift a finger to help. This time round just don't include them and you should be fine. You've got a lot going for you Phil, which is why Sharon has stuck by you; also probably why you didn't get sacked, 'cos your bosses probably have a better idea than you think of what really went down.

“Look, I understand what's dragging you down; heaven knows I've felt it enough times. You mess up like you did and you start to wonder if you'll ever do anything right again. You keep second guessing yourself and become your own self-fulfilling prophesy. You fail because you think you're going to fail. What you need is to start believing in yourself again. Get your self-confidence back. As soon as you start thinking you're a winner, guess what?”

“I become a winner?”

“Not what I was going for because I think you are a winner already. I was going to say you start winning again.

“Sharon is lucky to have you and she knows it. All you need to do is start knowing it too.”

There was a glimmer of hope in his eyes. How to turn a glowing ember into a raging fire? Blow on it, gently.

“Do you love her?”

“You know I do.”

I didn't, but we weren't going to get stuck debating that point.

“Then tell her that, and buy her a fucking ring man.”

Ok so maybe when blowing gently doesn't work you have to get a bit more forceful. The expletive was like a bucket of water; it shook him out of his moping. He favoured me with a grin.

“Thanks mate. You know, you always had my back and I never realised how much until this happened to you.”

“Well if you've realised it that's a bonus. Shall we get back to the others before they start to wonder if we're up to something?”

I grabbed Mike's beer and my glass of rosé and headed for the restaurant. As predicted, Mike and Sharon were looking around for us as we appeared, and waved us over.

“What happened? We were about to send out a search party.”

Phil kissed Sharon on the top of the head and handed her a glass of white wine.

“Nothing love, we were, er, catching up.”

The lunch past amicably enough, the food as good as expected from someone Mike would recommend. Things were different, you couldn't deny that. I was definitely clinging onto Mike more than I had been, leaning against him, holding his arm, reaching out to touch him at every opportunity. He didn't seem to mind, in fact he seemed to revel in the extra attention. Phil also was more attentive to Sharon than he had been. So much so that she kept giving me odd questioning looks as though I were responsible, which, ok perhaps I was. A little.

With the main course finished, I suggested Mike indulge his sweet tooth but that I didn't want anything, except maybe a spoonful or two of what he was having and maybe a coffee, if it was decent. I excused myself to attend to private matters, and Sharon slipped out of her chair to follow, giving Phil similar instructions regarding dessert.

-oOo-
Urgent business tended to, I set about essential facial maintenance. Sharon came alongside a few seconds later and, under guise of doing the same, started her interrogation.

“Ok, what did you say to him?”

I feigned innocence.

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Yes you do. You said something to Phil while Mike and I were grabbing seats in the restaurant. What was it?”

“I told him to stop being an idiot. It does seem as though he listened doesn't it?”

She crossed her arms and turned a pointed expression my way.

“You said a whole lot more than that Missy...”

“And if I did that's between him and me. He's a good guy Sharon; he's worth a bit of patience. Can I offer a bit of advice though?”

“What is it?”

“Try being a little less subtle with him for a while. I know it's fun just hinting at things and seeing whether they're paying enough attention to notice, but you have to recognise when they're struggling a bit and be a bit blunt. We all need reassurance from time to time, but guys especially I think.”

“Is that from personal experience?”

“Yes actually. We may have equality, or something approaching it, in this country, but guys are still out there on their own a lot more than us girls.”

From her posture, she still wasn't quite convinced.

“Listen Sharon, you've been a better friend to me than I could ever wish for. I love you like a sister, I mean you're going to be my maid of honour for heaven's sake. You have to know I would never do anything to hurt you. If I'm keeping schtum about what Phil and I shared, it's because I think it's best for both you and him that I keep it that way.

“For the rest, yes I do have a broader perspective than most people, and I'm pretty certain that what Phil needs more than anything right now is to know how you feel. Not hints and suggestions, but an in your face declaration.”

She relented a bit. I think the reminder of what we were to each other allowed her to trust me. It also acted as an case study for what I was talking about. Her arms dropped to her side and her gaze shifted away from me to her reflection and occasionally mine.

“So what's with you and Mike? You're a lot more lovey dovey touchy feely than you have been. What's going on?”

I had been so busy trying to sort other people's lives out it came as a surprise to have her probing into my own. Lipstick hung unused in mid-air, eyes dropped. I fought a sudden prickling at the back of my eyes. Damn, I'd just fixed my eyes, I didn't want to do it again.

“Sweetie what's wrong?”

Trust Sharon to pick up on what was festering inside me and lance it like a boil. All those things I hadn't told Mike about yet, all the fear of loss I had pushed down inside me. This morning's moments of pleasure and fulfilment had all been about reassuring myself of who I was and whose I was, but the fear was still there, lurking in the darkness.

“I nearly lost him this weekend.”

“Who, Mike? Liz, how can you say that? I've never seen anyone more devoted to another person.”

“Emily escaped yesterday. She... I mean he, Paul, made a similar sort of deal to Mary. He... He nearly kissed me.”

It took a few seconds for Sharon to process what that actually meant, then with dawning realisation and a growing sense of horror, she reached out to me and held me to her. That was all it took to release the sickening fear I had been holding back. I sobbed into her shoulder for some minutes, taking needed comfort from her tight hold on me. The tears kept on coming leaving even me surprised at how deeply I had been affected. When I was finally spent I clung still to Sharon and spoke into her shoulder.

“I haven't told Mike yet.”

“He won't hear it from me.”

I sniffed and pulled away.

“Thanks. For that and for listening.”

It took further ten minutes to repair the damage done, during which time I filled her in on the unspoken details. When I was done, we gave each other a once over and a nod of approval. Taking a deep breath and as much courage as we could draw from each other — no small amount either — we headed back to the table.

-oOo-
“You took your time.”

Phil stating the obvious, but more out of concern than anything else.

“There was a queue.”

Sharon's little lie was enough to forestall any more questions from Phil, but Mike was looking at me carefully and raised an eyebrow slightly when he knew I was looking back. I smiled a little weakly. I suspected there would be questions on the journey home. Fortunately Phil was oblivious and saved me from having to answer any there and there.

“What is it with girlfriends having to share their guy's desserts? I mean we're not so badly off that we can't afford to buy one for each of us.”

Sharon glanced over at me and smiled as she realised something of what I'd been saying.

“it's a mixture of things Phil. Part of it is that we don't want a whole dessert; just a taste. Anything more would be a waste or otherwise go on the waist. Most of it though is it's a kind of reassurance thing. You know, if you still love me you'll allow me to eat from your plate sort of thing? It's kind of my way of saying I want to be your girl, and I want to know if you want me to be.”

There was a short pause then, as one, both Phil and Mike pushed their bowls across the table to us. There were nervous laughs, coy smiles, token mouthfuls taken and savoured, hands touched tenderly. It was a silly moment, but one that did much to cement the bonds between us.

-oOo-
Sharon drove home with Phil leaving me curled up on the front seat looking across at Mike in my usual way. He didn't ask, though I could see from his eyes he very much wanted to and I loved him all the more for his restraint.

“This isn't easy to tell.”

“I know. You don't have to.”

“Yes I do.”

It took me a while longer to find the courage to start, but when I did, I couldn't stop. Not until I'd finished. Mike heard me out in silence then remained silent for the rest of the journey home, his face stony and unreadable. I was spent and could do little more than sit next to him and watch him. His lack of response frightened me, but he had been patient with me; it was only right I should give him time to process things.

We arrived back at my flat around four thirty. Phil's car was nowhere in view and I suspect he and Sharon had headed back to his place. With the afternoon so far gone, I was also expecting Mike to head off to the restaurant straight away, but he surprised me by getting out of the car and walking round to open my door. He followed me into the flat and, with the door closed behind us, I turned to place a hand on his chest and looked up uncertainly into his eyes.

There were tears there. After all the times I'd seen Mike upset over the past months, this was the first time I'd seen him cry. He grabbed me in a bear hug and crushed the wind out of me. It was all I could do to gasp in a few shallow breaths, and I was becoming distinctly light headed before he realised and eased his hold on me, He led me over to the sofa and sat down, pulling me down beside him. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came and he shook his head helplessly.

I waited.

He took my hands in his and caressed the backs of my palms with his thumbs, all the time looking down, his mouth opening and closing, his breath laboured. I squeezed his hands and he raised red streaked eyes to look into my own. He found his voice.

“Are we ever going to have a normal life?”

I let out a laugh; more single gasp, but enough that he joined in.

“I can't believe I almost lost you again. I mean this explains this morning. Liz, I don't know what to say. There's no way you could have known. I... If I'd had even the slightest inkling of who was in the car with me, of what she... he was planning... I'm so sorry.”

I reclaimed one of my hands and cupped his cheek.

“Mike don't. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

His eyes turned angry.

“I helped that freak escape.”

“No Mike. He fooled a lot of people and you don't get to blame yourself for something that was more my fault than anyone's. What's important is that he didn't get his revenge. He's locked up now and there's no way he can threaten us again.”

“His own mother though!”

“I know. It's horrible. And the thing I feel most guilty about is that whenever I think about her, I just feel glad it's not me.”

“Me too. Does that make us evil?”

“Just human I think.”

“What will you do now?”

“I don't know. I told Doctor Marston I'd go back next Saturday, if only to see Charley. I don't know if I have the courage to face Paul now.

“Besides that's not up to me alone. Mike, all I could think of when he was coming at me was how hard it would be on you if I was changed again. I won't put you through that. If you want me to stay away I will.”

I searched his eyes, my own gaze dancing back and forth between them. I could see the fear in them. He took a deep breath before replying.

“I won't pretend I like the idea of your going back there Liz, I don't. Even if you're only going to see Charley, I hate the idea of you being so close to that creep. But this is your choice and I'll stand by you whatever you decide. One thing though. If you do decide to go back there next Saturday, I want to be there too. You don't face this on your own. Just in case Paul finds you and comes at you, I want to be there.”

I nodded my head and pinched my eyes shut, leaning my forehead on his shoulder. My arms went round his neck and I simply clung on. Like I said before, this man grounded me. I tried to hold back but couldn't, I sobbed out my relief into the crook of his neck. All I needed was his approval, his support, and it was there.

-oOo-
Much later there was a gentle knock on my door.

It had been half past five before I'd managed to persuade Mike that I was alright and that he should go create culinary utopia for his customers. He'd promised to meet me the following morning and accompany me on the viewing of the new building, so I'd see him again before the requirements of work whisked me away from him for a week.

After he left I had drunk three glasses of water straight from the tap in an attempt to rehydrate myself, then run myself a bath, had a long soak and washed my hair. As usual, the longest and most tedious part was the drying and I had just turned the drier off for the umpteenth time, so I could attack a new knot with brush and comb, when I'd heard the knock.

It was pretty much a given that it would be Sharon as the only other person with a key to the front door was the landlord, and he was rarely about on a Sunday night. I opened the door a crack, then wider when my expectations were confirmed. There was a glow in her eyes and a barely suppressed grin. I glanced down at her hand.

“You guessed it. He proposed again.”

The squeal was barely restrained as she raised her hand for my inspection. It was the same ring, but it had been absent since the first evening I met her. I wasn't sure what to think. I certainly hadn't expected such a quick turnaround from Phil and I was bothered that he could change so rapidly. I gave Sharon the expected hug and pulled her into the flat begging her to tell me about it.

It seemed they had gone back to Phil's place where they'd had a very frank and open discussion. Phil had told her pretty much what he'd told me, and she'd managed to allay his fears by being just as honest with him. The awkwardness that had been growing between them had simply been a lack of understanding and, having clearly expressed their feelings for each other, Phil had asked her outright if she would consider marrying him.

“I told him all you need to do is ask, and he did.”

The bubble and squeak was back into her voice, and this time I joined her and gave her a less reserved hug, which she returned until she felt my hair.

“Ooh, let's get this dry before you catch pneumonia.”

She hauled me into the bedroom and set to with the hair drier and brush. I was too stunned to resist, but I did yell at her over the whine of the blower.

“I feel like we should be cracking the cork on a bottle of bubbles.”

“Oh, Phil and I already did. I don't feel like any more booze tonight. I'll join you in a hot chocolate once we've done this. Right now let me do this for you. It's a poor way of saying thank-you, but I need to acknowledge the part you had in today.”

So I sat back and relaxed while Sharon brushed my cares away. Paul and Charley and Mrs Bailey receded like a dream and I gave myself to the ordinary pleasures of having a friend look after me. Hot chocolate followed and we talked for a while, comparing wedding plans. It could have lasted a lot longer, but we both had things to do in the morning. The mugs went into the sink and I saw a blissfully floating Sharon across the hall to her flat before retiring to my own bed. Jenny Doll, usually a welcome companion at bedtime, was a poor substitute For Mike. Even so sleep came swiftly and easily.

-oOo-
I woke early and packed. Most of the clothes I would be wearing were going to be provided which meant that, apart from a few comfortable things to wear around the hotel room, all I needed to put in the case were underwear and nightclothes. When it came the latter, I found myself thinking of Mike and picked out something I'd almost forgotten I had.

The laptop went into its own bag and by half past seven my bags were waiting by the door and I was sitting in the kitchen looking over the rim of a coffee cup at the beginning of yet another beautiful spring day. Memories of the bitter cold and damp winter seemed unreal with the sun shining out of a pale blue sky.

The minute hand reached its hourly zenith prompting me to wash up my mug, grab my coat and bags, and let myself out and down to my patiently waiting car.

Eight o'clock and traffic was filling the roads. The journey to the existing shelter was slow but uneventful and I pulled into an empty parking spot outside the main entrance forty minutes later.

Never a good idea to leave things in a soft top car, I took my small travel case and computer into the building reception where I found Aaron and my Mike chatting with Michael ad Colin.

“HI guys, Aaron, could I leave these behind the counter please? Thanks.

“Ok, the new building is a couple of streets over. About a ten minute walk by my reckoning and we're due to meet the owners there in twenty, so I guess we ought to get going. Michael, any more of your friends tagging along?”

“No, just the two of us. The rest said they'd wait to see how we got on.”

“Fine. Aaron?”

He shook his head so, with a shrug and a smile, I spun on my heels and led the way out. They'd all made an effort which heartened me no end. I mean not exactly the height of fashion like myself, but given the available clothing from the charity drops, they'd done pretty well. No jeans, no tee-shirts.

They caught up easily, even Colin who was only two inches taller than me, and we fell into an easy stride. We chatted about how things were going at the centre and I was gratified to find out that there hadn't been any repetition of the previous week's unpleasantness. There was still some tension and, for the most part, Michael's group kept to the seventh floor as much as they could. I asked about the training programme and Aaron gave me his usual concise update, followed by a far more enthusiastic response from Colin who had started going to hair-dressing sessions. Yeah, cliché I know, but somehow it seemed just right for him.

We found the new building in good time and spent the ten minute wait walking around and inspecting it from the outside. I'd visited the place previously so wasn't as disappointed as the others at the run down condition of the place.

“Come on guys, it's not so bad. It's what's known as 'having potential', and I think by the time we've finished with it, it will realise that potential quite nicely.”

Aaron rubbed his hands over flaking paint with a grimace.

“It's alright for you, you don't do any of the renovation. This is going to take a while.”

“You're right of course, and I'm not going to insult you by pretending it won't be hard work. But look here. You see how the place has two entrances and a stairwell at either end? We'll need to keep access to both from all the building for fire regulations, but if we put a dividing wall through the ground floor and fire doors halfway down the corridors on higher levels we'll have two separate living spaces. What do you think?”

Michael stroked his chin.

“Hmm. It could work. Do we get to choose the colour we paint it?”

“If you’re thinking pinks and purples I may find that a hard sell, but I'm pretty sure the owners will be open to some degree of negotiation.”

And with that the owners arrived. We spent a couple of hours going over and through the place, them asking for assurances and asking us about our plans, me talking thought the idea of splitting the building and the changes we wanted to make, Aaron adding his own thoughts and going a long way towards sealing the deal. It turns out his dad had been an architect and DIY enthusiast, and he'd picked up quite a few nuggets of wisdom before he had left home.

It took two hours but agreement was reached. The owners agreed to draw up the contract and courier it to me for signing during the week. I left them with a copy of my itinerary so they knew where to find me and they were gone leaving us standing back and admiring the newest addition to the fight against homelessness.

“So Michael. Do you prefer sleeping on the right or the left?”

-oOo-
Mike and I found ourselves a quiet little café for lunch where we mostly ate, drank and held hands. There wasn't much to say; we both knew we were going to miss each other, we both didn't want to be separated, we both knew that no amount of wishing and wanting was going to change things. So we took what comfort we could from our remaining time, followed lunch with a slow walk through a small park, and took our leave from one another around two. I had a reception to attend that evening at seven and it was going to take me a couple of hours to get ready. Two and a half hours on the road would only leave me with half an hour to check in and unpack at the hotel.

Mike leaned his forehead on mine and I reached up to kiss him.

“I should be done about midnight. I'll Skype you then.”

“I'll be waiting.”

It was ridiculously hard pulling myself out of his grasp. Come on Liz, pull yourself together. You're going to see him in five days’ time. Five days, argh! It might as well be forever.

“Go on, you'd better get going or you'll be late.”

This is why we need men to be strong. I returned his quiet smile and managed to reach the end of the road without crying. Taking a deep breath I turned towards the north and my next big adventure.

-oOo-
The M1 is never a nice road to travel these days. It's almost always busy and almost always has multiple stretches under repair. The traffic has a tendency to travel too close, which then means that when someone or other has to brake hard to avoid becoming too closely acquainted with the vehicle in front, the unnecessary braking ripples back through the rest of the traffic. Caterpillar motion, constantly stop starting. You try to break the cycle by leaving a larger gap between you and the car ahead, but that just encourages the car behind to come past and squeeze into the gap, usually hauling on his own brakes and sending a fresh ripple back. It's tiring and less than pleasant, so I wasn't in the best of moods when I arrived at the hotel.

Still I tried not to take it out on the innocent receptionist, even when there turned out to be some confusion over my reservation. It took fifteen precious minutes and the input of a manager to unravel the mess. Apparently they had been expecting me the following week, but fortunately they still had vacant rooms and offered to upgrade me for free.

I was shown up to my room where I immediately started a bath running and called through to Karen to let her know I'd arrived and to mention the change in room number. Sympathy over the failings of all things clerical and administrative, then reassurance that the dress would be with me within the hour and the limo and hour after. I climbed into the bath and allowed the hot water and scented oils to soak away the stresses of the journey.

An hour later I was still inevitably drying my hair when there was a knock at the door. I answered in my dressing gown to find one of the hotel valets holding a garment bag. I smiled my thanks and passed over the expected gratuity. Back in my room I opened the garment bag to see what delight the powers that be had for me to wear this evening and found myself recoiling with unexpected revulsion.

Autumn cloud had been my favourite dress, worn all too little but probably loved all the more for that. The last time I'd seen my own, it had been torn and misshapen, hanging from the vengeful form of Pail Bailey. Now the sight of this new one brought back all the bad memories and none of the good. I found myself shaking and barely able to move.

This was stupid. It was just an item of clothing and a very pretty one at that. Was I going to let bad memories stop me from putting it on? Was I going to let Paul have that victory over me? It wasn't something I could easily face alone. It was already an inconvenient time to call Mike, besides he wouldn't really understand. I picked up my mobile and called Sharon.

“Hi sweetie, what's up?”

“Why should anything be up?”

I wasn't quite able to keep the quavering from my voice. It wouldn't have mattered anyway.

“Because you have to leave for your first gig in a couple of weeks in less than an hour and here you are talking to me.”

“They want me to wear Autumn Cloud.”

“But that rally looks good on you Liz, it's a great dress.”

“Yeah, but it's also what Paul was wearing when he attacked me.”

“Oh.”

She understood. She also knew how to deal with it. She didn't tell me I was being, or even that I had every right to be upset. Instead she talked about clothes and all the great things she'd seen me wearing, focusing me on the feel of the fabric and the delight of the design before coming back to the dress hanging over the chair in front of me. It worked. I was able to look at it for what it was and not think about the horrible experience with which I associated it.

I slipped it on and stood in front of the mirror. For a second I saw myself transforming into Paul, tearing the delicate material and snarling out of the mirror, but then I pushed the image away and gave myself a closer look. This was me, fading bruises and all. Paul was locked up half a country away and I had nothing to be afraid of.

I slipped on the tights they'd sent to match the dress and settled down in front of the mirror to do my hair and makeup, all the while telling myself that Paul wasn't here, that he couldn't touch me, the that horror was over.

Ten minutes late and hiding my nervousness well I climbed into the back of the limo.

“Wow, you look great.”

Birmingham's answer to Tarquin wouldn't win any prizes for elocution, but as eye candy he would do. Broad shoulders, short, curly blond hair, blue eyes. Not at all my type, but the cameras would love him. I gave him a smile of thanks as I arranged myself on the seat. I tried to make the ring on my left finger evident without being obvious about it and did my best to be friendly.

“You too. I'm Liz by the way, unless you already know.”

The evening went by well enough. I allowed myself a couple of glasses of champagne to take the edge off my frayed nerves and managed to make a good enough show of myself. There were questions about where I had been for the past week and a few days which I explained, as agreed with Karen, as being time I'd taken out to work on the homeless project. The usual round of talking to well to do women and advising them on which of the Ell-gance line would look best on them. I missed having Charlotte, my fellow catwalk model, around, but she was heading up a series of shows like this one in the Devon and Cornwall. Still the evening went well enough and I was dropped back at the hotel at half past the witching hour.

I ran up to my room and turned on the computer. The room upgrade included free Wi-Fi access to the Internet and, after a short while fumbling through some of the documentation I'd been given on arrival, I found the password and logged on. Cursing the slowness of all things computer, I fired up Skype and tapped manicured nails on the desk impatiently as it loaded up and connected. Double click the one entry in my contacts list and...

“Hello?”

Mike's face appeared on the screen and suddenly everything was alright again.

We chatted for half an hour, sharing the little details of our lives with each other. Mike was sympathetic about the thing with the dress, but as I'd guessed, he didn't really understand. In the end we ran out of things to say and started yawning at each other, which quickly degenerated into laughter and an agreement to do the same the next day.

The bed was soft and luxurious. I wrapped my arms tight around one of the pillows and imagined it was Mike. Sleep came easily.

-oOo-
The next morning I was up early. Eight thirty there was another knock at the door and a valet with another garment bag. Something smart but less dressy as I would be breakfasting with a group of business women. Again I was representing the Elle-gance line and promoting the sort of clothes I thought they'd be interested in. Things went a little bit off track though when they started asking more about my homeless project than what was in the catalogue. Before long I had them asking me what it would take to set up a similar thing in Birmingham. The breakfast went on for longer than planned, but the outcome was worth it. I outlined everything that had gone into setting up the Way Out project and before the end of the meeting, most of them had adopted some role or other in setting up the first of what was to become the first offshoot of the London work. They even agreed to each put in an order for something from the Elle-gance catalogue to help me feel less guilty about using this time for something else.

Lunchtime saw me opening a new Elle-gance store in the centre of the city then, after a quick bite to eat, I was on the road to Manchester and another evening do.

Back at the hotel afterwards I was feeling a lot more relaxed than I had the previous day. There was no desk for the laptop so I dropped it on the bed while it was booting up and took time to strip off the tight, long evening dress I had worn to the reception. This was what I'd wanted to do for Mike the other day, but stress and being later than expected had me rush to turn the computer on. I pulled the baby doll nightie Sharon had given me for my birthday and slipped it on. I slid onto the bed, lying on my front and clicked connect.

“Hi, oh bloody hell. Don't tell my fiancée, but I think I've found a naughty website by mistake.”

I put on my best sultry voice.

“I won't tell if you won't. Would you like me to take something off?”

“More like put something on. I can see quite enough thanks.”

“You are such a stick in the mud sometimes Mike.”

“It's not that. It's just that I have this image of you which I like to maintain, and it is more along the lines of sweet and innocent rather than sexy and seductive.”

“Oh? And how's that working out for you after Saturday morning?”

“Oh, it still works. You know I do understand what Saturday was about.”

“Mmn. Should I go and change into my Victorian 'covers everything' nightie then? I just thought this might make my being away a bit easier.”

“Well since you made the effort I think I can manage. Maybe the rest of the week as well if you can't find anything else to wear.”

And with a giggle to follow, that set the level for the evening's conversation. We ended about one again, but the miles had melted away and I fell into Morpheus' arms with all sorts of dreams about Mike lining up for me.

-oOo-
It's Wednesday so this must be Sheffield. Meetings with various women's groups in Manchester during the morning and over lunch as before, including one or two interested in the homeless work and with a mind to set up something here, as long as I headed it up. It made me a bit late leaving, but since Sheffield was that close it didn't matter; I still made it with time to spare.

The rest of the week saw similar things happening in Sheffield, Leeds and Nottingham. I had planned to get off early from the Midlands on Saturday morning, but some of the women I'd met Friday night had asked if I would give them some time the next morning, so it was nearly ten o'clock before I was on the road.

I let Mike and the Doctor Marston know about the day and set off. As usual with Elle-gance affairs, I was allowed to keep the dresses I wore, so the seat next to me was overloaded with garment bags. I'd decided to wear Autumn Cloud again as part of self therapy; that and it would be showing Paul I refused to be intimidated by him.

The Journey from Nottingham was easy enough. A52, A1, M11, M25; all easy roads. The sun was shining again in a continuation of this very uncharacteristic British springtime, but it was just a little too chilly still to want the top down. I kept myself occupied by planning out strategies for the new branches of Way Out that now seemed to be starting up. It surprised me how much the words I had spoken on the TV and the actions I had taken, along with their reporting in the national press, had galvanised people around the country. Most were not yet ready to launch out on their own, but with the success of Way Out in London leading the way, they were more than happy to climb aboard and become part of the solution.

Anticipation grew as the last miles disappeared, and I was fidgeting in my seat as I drew into the long driveway. Mike was waiting out front and I could barely contain myself enough to turn the engine off before I was out the door and into his arms, taking in deep lungfuls of his scent.

“Next week let me take one of your shirts with me?”

“Whatever for?”

“Your smell. I've missed your smell.”

The reunion lasted some time, but eventually I pulled myself away. There were other people waiting besides Mike and we had the whole rest of the weekend together. Actually not quite true. He would have to leave in a couple of hours to open up the restaurant, so if he wanted to be present when I confronted Paul we'd have to do it soon. I locked up the car and dragged him in to the reception area where I asked for Doctor Marston.

-oOo-
The doctor came to greet us and apologised that he was busy.

“Other patients to see you know. Your idea last week. Not been able to try it. Paul's been off the charts rage-wise. Turned more desperate as the week past. Calmer in some ways today so have arranged something in half an hour. Knew you'd want to be here so waited. Mrs Bailey's in the garden. You should say hello. Find you later.”

With that he was off at his usual brisk stride. I wrapped my arm around Mike's elbow and led him out into the garden.

We found Mrs Bailey sitting in the dappled shade and shelter of a flowering cherry, the blossom filling enough of the branches to keep most of the gentle breeze and bright sun at bay. She was wearing slacks, shirt and cardigan in fairly subdued colours and she seemed at peace with a book on her lap.

“Hello Mrs Bailey.”

She looked up and smiled in recognition.

“Hello dear. It's Elizabeth isn't it? Doctor Marston told me everything you tried to do for Paul and I am grateful. Oh dear.”

Much of the colour drained from her face.

“Isn't that the dress Paul was wearing last week?”

“Oh I'm so sorry Mrs Bailey, I didn't think. It's part of the collection I model and when I was asked to wear it earlier this week I had an attack of the horrors and almost couldn't put in on. Wearing it today is sort of a self-therapy thing.”

“I understand dear. It suits you very well. Just as long as you don't plan on turning into a scary man.”

I laughed and settled onto the bench beside her.

“Nothing further from my mind Mrs B. Tell me do you go by Geoff still or...”

Mike was fidgeting.

“I'm going to leave you two together. I think I saw Charley over by the pond. I may go and talk football or cars or some such.”

“Oh, I'm doing it all wrong today. Mrs Bailey, this is my fiancé, Mike. Mike, Paul's mum.”

“Pleased to meet you Mr's Bailey, but I really will leave you to talk. This is private matter and I don't have a part in it.”

He gave me a peck on the cheek and disappeared down the path.

“Fiancé eh? You have adapted well.”

“For me this is the best thing that could have happened. I've always felt there's been more girl than guy inside me, so to have been transformed like this, while it may have been an unexpected shock in the beginning, is really quite the most wonderful thing. I mean I'm not only a girl, but I'm a pretty one and ten years younger than I was.

“I'm only sorry it can't be the same for Paul or you, or any of the others who were affected.”

“Others?”

“There were twelve of us in all, including Paul. I was the last; the girl who was causing the changes found peace after me. Most of the men changed ended up jumping in the river or overdosing on drugs, but three of us survived. Paul and the one Mike's gone to see, Charley, and me.”

“And you tried to help the other two?”

“Charley's hopelessly male. I mean can you imagine someone with my face and body trying to pass as a man? He tries, and through force of will he even manages to pull it off a lot of the time. I've been talking through his options with him, and he's all but decided to try and transition. You know, hormones, surgery, that kind of thing? He's a tough guy and I think he'll make it through, even though it's going to be rough on him.

“Paul was different though. He actually has something I thought of as a feminine side to him, and I thought I might be able to persuade him to try living on this side of the fence. You know, if you can let go of the male ego, it's actually a nice place to be, being a girl.”

She smiled, but it faded.

“I'm afraid Paul's always been a bit spoiled. He's an only child and I think parents tend to overcompensate for that. Certainly Harry and I did.

“Harry passed away three years ago, so I suppose it doesn't make much difference if I spend the rest of my life as a woman or a man. It's nice to have a bit more strength, but I find I miss the pretty things.”

She fiddled with the brown buttons on her brown cardigan. I placed a hand on hers.

“You do seem a lot calmer and more content than you did last week.”

“Well so much has changed. I get to see my Paul again, even if he hasn't been in a fit state to talk this week, and I met a delightful gentleman earlier this week. He seemed to know all about me, called me Evelyn and everything. He asked me what it was I wanted most of all. I told him I wanted my Paul to be well again. I mean I know after what he did to you it must be hard to see any good in him, but he is my son and I love him. He's everything I have left in this world now.”

I squeezed her hand. I understood, but I didn't trust myself to speak just then.

“He said that I should be patient and have faith. You know that's not such a hard thing to do?”

“Doctor Marston's hoping to have a session with Paul this afternoon.”

“I know. I'm going to be there. He mentioned you and Mike and this Charley person, and now that you've explained things it all makes more sense.”

We chatted on about less consequential things until Doctor Marston came marching through the garden. He had passed Mike and Charley and had them in tow.

“About ready now if you're up to it?”

We stood and followed. This was going to be interesting.

-oOo-
Paul was lying on a bed much like the one I had been strapped into the previous week. Padded leather restraints held his wrists and ankles as well as forehead, chest, stomach and legs. It may have seemed over the top, but it did a lot to calm my own fears. He looked over at us, his eyes bloodshot and twitching in agitation. Doctor Marston went forward to give him a quick look over, the rest of us hanging back out of sight.

“What time is it?”

“One thirty. Does that matter?”

“Six hours. Six hours.”

He wriggled as much as he could against the restraints, making no progress whatsoever.

“Why six hours? What's so special about six hours.”

“The power I've been given. I have a week between each transformation. I kissed my mother at seven thirty last Saturday which means within the next six hours I need to transform someone else or...”

Doctor Marston put down the chart and folded his arms.

“Or what Paul?”

Paul tried to turn away, but the strap across his forehead wouldn't even allow him that much freedom.

“Or what Paul?”

“Or my soul is forfeit. Something like that. You've got to let me kiss someone, anyone.”

The doctor waved for Charley to step forward and into Paul's field of view.

Paul looked him up and down, then looked away.

“It won't work.”

“Sorry?”

Paul raised his voice.

“It won't work. The nature of the power is only to change people against their will. He wants to be a guy. He's already been transformed from being a guy.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because he went over the ground rules alright? I know it won't work on you in the same way that I know my life ends at half past seven tonight if you don't let me out of this place. Come on this is a nut house. You must have some women who are so far gone they wouldn't notice if they had a dick, why can't you let me kiss one of those?”

A look of pained disappointment settled on Mrs Bailey's face. I couldn't stay out of it any longer. I stepped forward beside Charley who was trying his best not to look disappointed.

“I never thought you were that selfish Paul. Besides would it actually work? I mean if you can't change people unless it's against their will, what happens if you try to change someone who's so far gone they have no will?”

He started hyperventilating, looking more desperate and helpless with each passing moment. I didn't have much pity for him, but I hated to see anyone suffer.

“What if he's lying Paul? I mean you know he lies, why not here? When I was changed it wasn't against my will.”

“It wasn't something you overtly wanted though was it.”

“Why not at least try?”

Desperation warred with resignation; the more impassioned feeling one. I nudged Charley the moment I saw the way Paul's thinking was going.

“Go on. Give it a try.”

“You want me to kiss a guy?”

“If I were in your position, I would. Go on, pretend to be a girl just for a moment.”

He looked me up and down uncertainly then stepped forward. The kiss was short and unimpressive. No change occurred.

“I told you it wouldn't work.”

“Yes but you were as prepared as the rest of us to try it. I'm sorry Charley, it was worth a shot.”

He nodded and turned back out of the room. I made to follow. It was too much for Paul.

“What so that's it? Just her and nothing more? You can't seriously tell me that you're going to keep me here and watch me lose my soul when the time wraps around.”

“I'm not sure what else we can do Paul. I mean this was your own decision, and it would more wrong for us to help you than to hinder you. You transform someone this week and you'll have to do it again the next and the next. It has to stop somewhere Paul.”

“You think it'll stop here? The power isn't mine but his. Once he takes me, he'll just go off in search of another desperate idiot to give it to. This is never going to stop.”

There was truth to those words. Amidst all the deceit and lies, that one horrifying truth stood out. Perhaps Mary had started this, perhaps there had been someone before her, but whatever its origins, we'd seen the power move from one person to another, even cross the gender boundary. There would be more of these, and there was nothing I could do about it. I looked at Evelyn and Charley, struggling with lives twisted out of shape from what they had been. There had to be something.

The world around me slowed and stopped. Everyone in the room with me was still.

“If there were a way, would you take it?”

I spun at the voice. I recognised it, but this time it was less friendly, more serious. The old man with the wild hair and beard stared at me through eyes as deep as eternity. I looked at Mike. He was as unmoving as the rest. The clock on the wall was still, the second hand suspended, time stopped. I looked back at the old man, the question burning in my own mind.

“Stopping time's not that hard when you know the trick. They won't realise anything's happened. This is just for you and me. I'll ask again, if there were a way to stop this once and for all, would you take it?”

The eyes were boring into me and I knew there was more to it than just saying yes or no.

“What would be the consequences?”

“We could undo a lot of what's been done and it would never occur again.”

“No, I mean what would be the price?”

It would be redundant to say that time stood still, but it seemed to do so even more. There was pain in his eyes and his voice as he responded.

“You would have to kiss Paul.”

I don't know how I remained standing. It was the worst of all fears overcoming me at the same time. It was vertigo, it was falling, it was fading away, it was shattering into a million pieces.

“You mean...”

He nodded. Gravely. Everything my life had become. The love I had found, the friends I had made, the sheer delight in being this new me. That was the price. I would go back to being Kenand no longer have the things that had become so precious to me.

“What about Way Out?”

“That has enough impetus to keep alive. They'll wonder what happened to their founder and they'll miss you, but the good that's already coming of it will not be wasted.”

“And Mike?”

“Mike is a human being and will make his own decisions. He will find happiness.”

“And this is the only way?”

“This is the only way. The choice is yours alone.”

I could feel hot tears welling up inside me. There was no choice, not really. I mean what price my happiness when compared to the misery of countless others? If I was going to do this it had to be before I had a chance to fully think it through. I nodded once and felt time spooling up around me. Movement returned and I looked one last desperate time into the eyes of the man I had grown to love. He saw the pain in my own and his expression changed from confusion to terror as he saw my intent.

I turned to Paul and leaned over him. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mike begin to move. In the dim recesses of my mind I heard his voice roaring out in protest, but muffled as though from a great distance. All I was aware of, all that filled my mind, was Paul's curious expression and his question, so much louder, so much closer than it should have been.

“What are you doing?”

I swallowed, reaching for courage I was not certain I had.

“Giving you what you tried to take from me.”

My lips brushed his ever so lightly, ever so briefly, but enough. I felt the power enter me again, felt the familiar dizzy sensation, felt myself growing, straining the fabric of my clothes. The comforting weight of my hair receded. Delicate nylon stretched and tore, the straps of my sandals snapped and along with them the last of my strength. I sagged to my knees, Ken's knees. Lifted my hands to my face, Ken's hands, Ken's face. I opened my mouth to cry out, but no sound would come. Inside something broke and what poured out to spread through every fibre of my being was a most profound and utter sense of loss that went beyond imagining.

You meant it for evil - 23 by Maeryn Lamonte Lips brushed ever so lightly, ever so briefly, but enough. I felt the power enter me again, felt the familiar dizzy sensation, felt myself growing, straining the fabric of my clothes. The comforting weight of my hair receded. Delicate nylon stretched and tore, the straps of my sandals snapped and along with them the last of my strength. I sagged to my knees, Ken's knees. Lifted my hands to my face, Ken's hands, Ken's face. I opened my mouth to cry out, but no sound would come. Inside something broke and what poured out and spread through every fibre of my being was a most profound and utter sense of loss that went beyond imagining.

-oOo-
The next thing I remember was a hand on my shoulder. Strong fingers gripping tight. I didn't want to raise my head, everything hurt too much. So much loss. How could I live now?

“You did it.”

It was the old tramp. His wasn't a voice I was ever going to forget, and now the kindness was back in it. I turned slowly to look at him. His eyes were streaming with tears and around them his leather skin stretched into more laughter lines than I'd ever seen on one face. He looked deep into me and said once more with infinite kindness.

“You did it.”

It didn't stop the pain. For so much of my life I had wanted but never dared hope for the life Mary had given me. For the past few months I had lived as I'd always wanted to be, and I had truly lived. I had done such wonderful things, made such a difference in people’s lives, loved like I had never loved before. Just a few short months and I had lived more than I had in all the twenty seven years before.

And now it was gone.

I buried my face in his jacket and wept for the loss. I know it's not what guys are supposed to do, but I couldn't help it.

“I don't know if I can pay the price.”

“You already did child.”

“But I don't know if I can live with the cost.”

Strong arms encircled me and held me close. I cried 'til I ran out of tears, and then heaved up dry sobs of purest misery. Tears were supposed to help, to heal, but there was no ending to this pain. Even when I had no more strength left to cry the consequences of my choice weighed down on me still and it hurt so much.

He waited until I was quiet and lifted me gently to my feet.

“Let me show you what your sacrifice bought.”

The room filled with darkness, which condensed out of the air forming tendrils which coalesced to become... Him.

“What happened here? What did you do?”

His voice was less scratchy than when it played inside my head, but again I recognised him. Dark suit and bowler hat, dark eyes, dark manner.

“She did it. She bested you.”

“She? Have you looked between 'her' legs lately?”

“BE SILENT!”

It was a roar of pure indignation, powerful enough to make even the man in black step back and close his mouth.

“You will not speak your lies here. You spend all of your existence spreading your filth, trying to persuade people down paths they would not choose to make them just as miserable as yourself, just as capable of spreading misery as yourself. All you see are your own selfish desires, all you know is the misery and pain you feel, and the misery and pain you cause others.

“You delight in you little schemes, preying on the base nature in men to corrupt them, encouraging their own selfish nature and all the while backing them into a corner until they have little choice but to bend to your will. You seek to control, to twist and torture for your own pleasure, but you forget, you always forget, that all that is needed to collapse your house of cards is one act of selflessness.

“There were eight others. Bring them.”

“They're mine. They took their own lives.”

“Only after you took every reason they had to live. Bring them.”

Eight transparent figures appeared around the room, all of them copies of me — at least me as I used to be. I would have given anything to trade places with just one of them. Even as a ghost I would have been able to find more happiness than I had hope for now. They were all dressed as I'd last seen them, though the effects of drugs and drowning were no longer evident. Even as I looked, they changed. Growing taller, broader, more male; the skimpy skirts and fishnet tights faded to be replaced by plane grey trousers and shirts. The old man by my side addressed them.

“You have a choice. You can go back where you just came from or take a chance with me. Just come over here if you can believe that what I have to offer is better than what you've received so far.”

To a man they crossed the room. More magical morphing and they were wearing robes. White ones. What kind of cliché was that? One of the eight seemed to be thinking along similar lines.

“Hey what's with the dresses man?”

“They're called robes son. Men have worn them for far longer than they have the trousers you're more used to. Give them a try, I think you'll learn to like them. Of course if you're going to make an issue of it, you can always go back over there.”

That seemed to settle the matter. They all quietened down a moment later they were gone. My companion turned again to the man in black.

Something had been bothering me since they all appeared. I finally figured it out.

"Weren't there nine who died?"

"Yes, but the one you took to the hospital already made her peace."

Asked and answered. He turned his attention back to the dark figure opposite him.

“Now those still altered against their will. Jordan and Evelyn.”

I turned to the door in time to see two familiar forms — frozen in time — shimmer and change. Jordan turned out to be six foot plus with broad shoulders and large muscles, which were now stretching and tearing his sweatshirt and even the denim of his jeans. Evelyn was once more the attractive, silver haired old lady I had first met a week previously. There was something else not right. I couldn't put my finger on it, but the man next to me was speaking again and I turned my attention to his words.

“And now this.”

He reached out over Paul's recumbent form and drew a darkness from it into his hand. In time he held a small black sphere, no larger than a marble and swirling as if filled with smoke.

“This power is broken and so are you. You have no more influence in this realm, that assurance has been bought and paid for in full. Now get out of here.”

The last ended up as a booming command that brooked no argument. It hadn't been directed at me and even I felt the urge to run. The man in black struggled to resist, but there was no denying it. With one final howl of rage, he exploded into the darkness from which he had formed, and faded into nothing.

My companion held me by my shoulders at arm's length. I must have seemed less impressed than he'd hoped because his face lost much of its radiant joy.

“I could show you all the thousands of despairing people who would have gone to their graves in misery and without hope had you not stopped this.”

“It's not that. The price was worth it, even for what you showed me. I just don't know if I can afford the cost. This loss is too hard to accept”

I twisted out of his grasp and turned away from him. My body had found a fresh reserve supply of tears and my eyes were filling once more.

“It had to be a sacrifice, child. What you offered had to have value if it was to buy back the lives and happiness of these people.”

I nodded my understanding as his confirmation of my loss crushed the last vestiges of hope within me.

“You found the courage to give it up. You will find the courage to live.”

I shrugged dismissively I hoped. I needed to be alone to face this now. I knew he could read my thoughts, he'd done it before in the park, but he wasn't taking hints this time.

“Do you remember when we first met you wondered how many years I'd spent on the streets with people looking down on me, despising me?”

I nodded. I didn't trust my voice or the words I might say right now.

“The answer is more than you can imagine. I've lived so many lifetimes like this even though I don't have to . Do you know why I keep doing it? Living like this?”

I shrugged.

“It's for moments like this one, when I see humanity's true potential realised. I saw it inside you the day we met, but to witness it brought to a conclusion like this is... glorious. I know you only feel the pain of your loss right now, but that will pass. Soon enough you will find reason to rejoice.”

I knew he meant well, but nothing he said penetrated the anguish that tormented me. I could face him or anyone right now and he sensed this. He squeezed my shoulder one last time, turned and walked away. I thought I heard a few muffled words spoken, as though he were muttering under his breath, then he was gone. I could feel something in the atmosphere dissipate and steeled myself for the flow of time to return and with it the need to face my friends.

There would be well meant words of sympathy, of thanks perhaps, of who knows what. But I was cocooned in my misery and nothing could penetrate the shell. Their best efforts would only serve to add to my pain.

A hand on my shoulder again, smaller and gentler this time. I glanced down at it and recognised Mike's short nails and slender fingers; almost too slender for a man's. I turned my head away, not wishing him to see me like this.

“Mike no. I can't.”

The hand was firm and insistent and I hadn't the strength to resist. He turned me to face him and I dropped my gaze. I couldn't take what I was sure I would see in those eyes. I reached for the ring, thinking he might want it back, but my finger had grown inside of it and was even now swollen and blue. I realised it actually hurt, and the physical pain was a welcome distraction from the turmoil inside me.

I raised my hand to show him.

“I think we're going to have to cut it off. The ring I mean, I'd rather like to keep the finger.”

He cupped my chin and lifted my face until I was forced to look into his eyes.

“He let me see it all. I couldn't move, but I saw everything. At first I didn't understand why you did what you did, but now I know.”

That must have been the wrongness that had caught my eye, his eyes moving in an otherwise still body. It didn't matter, I couldn't endure him seeing me like this. I tried to move my head but he held it still.

“Mike, please. I never meant to hurt you, I never wanted you to see me like this.”

He kept looking into my eyes as if searching for something and I couldn't help but look back. Nothing I had expected to see was there. Not horror or disgust, not sorrow or regret. Just amazement, wonder and... love?

“All I see is the girl I fell in love with.”

With that he leaned forward and kissed me. Mike, my very straight, occasionally unintentionally slightly homophobic, but well-meaning fiancé drew me to him and kissed me gently, softly on the lips.

Something was different. At first I thought it was me feeling awkward being kissed by a guy when I was a guy myself — at least on the outside — but there was something else too. Nothing changed, at least not immediately. I opened my eyes and looked into his and he was smiling. He glanced down and I followed his gaze. In his free hand he held what looked like a large opalescent pearl.

“He said something to me before he left. He said this was meant for evil but maybe in the right hands, driven by the right heart, something better could be made of it. He said it would only work one last time.”

He grasped my hand — the one with the ring and the swollen finger — and held the small artefact between our palms. A brilliance began to shine out from between our entwined fingers and a tingling warmth spread through me, starting in the palm of my hand and spreading out until it filled every extremity in my body. I could see Mike squinting and realised that the brilliance must have transferred itself to me, shining from every pore in my body and... changing me. Mike seemed to grow a little and I looked down at myself as flesh faded from my limbs. Arms, hands, fingers, feet, legs, waist, all became slender, delicate, beautiful. Hips and breasts grew to match and, like a waterfall in slow motion, those auburn curls I had grown to love — and at times hate — tumbled down over my back and shoulders. I lifted my free hand to explore my face and felt high cheekbones, full lips, small button nose.

“But... I don't understand.”

“He also told me that just because you sacrifice something, it doesn't mean you have to lose it forever. Apparently there's a precedent.”

The glow subsided and he disengaged his hand from mine. The pearl still remained in the palm of his hand, but there was something gone from it. It was inert, lifeless, spent.

It was almost too much. To have been pulled so deeply into despair, only to have that oppressive weight lifted and thrown away was almost more than I could stand. I would have fallen in a boneless heap had Mike not been there to hold me up, and tears like I have never known flowed freely and in abundance from my already weary eyes. Alternately laughing and crying, I clung weakly to Mike and let the relief flood through me.

-oOo-
Time returned once more. The unnatural silence that had surrounded Mike and myself filled with a low sound that wound up like an old fashioned gramophone and we were surround by confused and insistent voices, cries of wonder and joy, cries of confusion and protest. Doctor Marston approached, hovering nearby, torn between his curiosity and his polite discretion. I pulled wobbly legs under me and turned a radiant smile his way.

“It's finished Doctor. You can release him.”

“You sure?”

Paul was straining against his bonds, still immobile.

“I'm sure. Whatever power he had has been taken from him and broken. He can't hurt anyone now.”

The doctor set about loosening the straps and I turned Mike to face the two other people in the room with us.

I disengaged from Mike to give the real Evelyn a hug. Tears were streaming down her face and she kept shaking her head in wordless gratitude and wonder. The clothes hung loose on her and she had to cling to the belt to keep her trousers up.

I turned to Jordan, eyes drawn inexorably down to the large bulge between his legs and something that didn't quite fit.

“I think we need to get you some clothes as soon as we can.”

He looked down and blushed.

“Oh. Actually that's... not me.”

He reached down to pull out the bit that was showing and it detached causing Mike to go pale.

“No it's alright, my little chap's still down there. This is just... You know, what you gave me last week? I guess I don't need it anymore”

The bulge in his knickers confirmed what he was saying. He offered me the prosthetic and I shook my head laughing.

“Don't take this the wrong way but I don't really want it back. Why don't you keep it as a memento. Mount it and hang it on the wall. It'll give you a conversation starter if nothing else. I still think we should get you some clothes though.”

The doctor had finished releasing Paul, who approached his mother apprehensively. She was just as wary of him for a moment, but then her instincts took over and she opened her arms to him. He accepted the embrace silently, burying his face in her neck to hide his own tears. Despite his selfishness and decidedly poor judgement, he'd been through his own hell and needed to heal.

The doctor looked around at us , abruptly all decisive and pragmatic.

“Lunch. No, clothes for you first then lunch. And explanations. Not for the paperwork you understand, for peace of mind for all of us.”

I glanced at the clock. Twenty to two. Just ten minutes had passed, perhaps more subjectively given that interesting trick with time. My stomach growled to tell me I'd been neglecting it, which brought about a few chuckles and a general mobilisation towards seeing the doctor's plan through.

Doctor Marston led us to a conference room and had sandwiches brought to us, and a pair of light cotton scrubs for Jordan — I kept calling him Charley — who disappeared for a moment then re-joined us looking relieved and agreeably more decent. I was given the floor but insisted that we eat first. As well as replenishing all my spent energy, it gave me time to think through what needed to be said.

It took a while to go through the whole story. Most of those present had relatively small parts in the whole and they kept interrupting to ask questions. Eventually I finished with the events of that afternoon, glossing over some of the less essential details.

All that remained was to decide what happened next.

Evelyn and Paul decided to travel back to Grays where Paul would help his mother repair the damage to her home. Small enough penance in my mind, but it was Evelyn's choice. Doctor Marston agreed to drop them off at the local station and they would take the train from there.

Charley — no Jordan — would also be released that same day, there being no further reason for keeping him there as well as some potentially difficult questions if he were to stay. He decided his first stop should be home to reassure his parents. The doctor looked over at Mike and me.

“Jordan's parents live near you. Was wondering if you could drop him home?”

I turned to Jordan.

“I can probably go one better. Do you have a driving license?”

He nodded.

“I'm not sure I'm safe behind the wheel of a car right now. My insurance will cover you if you don't mind driving my little baby to my home and making your way from there.”

“What car d'you have. I mean if it's too girly... You know my reps taken a big enough hit as it is.”

I pointed at the roadster and watched his grin broaden. I handed him the keys.

“Please put the bags and clothes next to the four by four before you leave. The address is in the satnav. Just turn it on and hit take me home. Lock the keys in the boot when you get there, I have a spare set in the flat.”

-oOo-
Mike and I took one last turn around the gardens, both of us feeling the need for their calming influence before we headed off. There was a good possibility that we'd never be coming back this way and, in the few brief visits we'd made, we'd both grown to love and appreciate the quite serenity of the place.

Apart from some of the inmates that is. An elderly man approached us, his face contorted in distress.

“Have you seen my Sally. She's around here somewhere. I have to find her.”

I'd come across him on at least one of my previous visits. Sally, the doctor had told me, had been Mr Dawkins' daughter who'd died in a car accident some years previously. Mr D had never been able to accept the loss and after my recent experience I could sympathise. I reached out a hand to him in comfort and he settled the moment I touched him.

“She's gone isn't she? My Sally's...”

“I'm sorry.”

“No it's... It's alright. I... Thank-you.”

In something of a daze he walked back towards the main building leaving Mike and me staring after him.

“Did what I think just happened just happen?”

“I don't know. It could have been coincidence.”

We walked around a little longer without further incident until three o'clock came round and we had to get off so Mike could prepare for the evening.

“Come back to the restaurant with me? I don't want to be away from you tonight.”

I smiled and nodded my agreement. We followed Mr Dawkins's path back towards the main building, and from there to the car. A question nagged at me. I slipped my arm around Mike's waist and snuggled in close to him.

“If I hadn't changed back, if I'd been stuck as Ken, what would you have done?”

“I don't know. We'd have worked something out, I mean I did make you a promise after all. 'Before the eyes of God, now and forever in all things, I am yours', remember?”

I leaned hard against him, knocking us off course for a moment.

“I don't want to wait 'til August. How do you feel about a Spring wedding?”

“Not much of Spring left.”

“There's still enough if we get our act together.”

“Well the cherry trees behind the restaurant are in blossom. Might last another two or three weeks if we're lucky.”

“Sounds perfect and I feel lucky. Let's see what we can get arranged in the time.”

We reached the car and he helped me to climb up into my seat before walking round the back to load my things in the boot. As he took his place behind the wheel he looked across at me.

“When was the last time I told you I loved you?”

“Not so long ago I've forgotten. Not so recently that that I would object to you doing it again.”

He reached over to kiss me before putting the car in gear.

-oOo-

Epilogue

-oOo-

I pick the frame up off its bracket and carried it to a nearby chair where my cup of tea is waiting. Coffee is a young person's drink, which I gave up over thirty years ago. I settle carefully into the chair, old age making my movements slow and cautious.

The frame shows Mike and me on our wedding day. Me in that great meringue of a dress, strapless and beaded with pearls. My choice and the finest in the Elle-gance wedding collection. Certainly the most expensive. Mike wore a plain charcoal suit with a cravat. Neither of us were that keen on top hat and tails, any more than we liked the idea of ties. The suit and cravat seemed a reasonable compromise and looked just right on him. We were framed on either side by cherry trees, the blossom falling about us like confetti. Our photographer had managed to capture the look of wonder and delight on both our faces at the effects of that sudden breeze.

I touch the picture and it changes, fading into a similar shot but from a greater distance and encircling us are the words, 'Mike and Liz's Wedding'. Not particularly original but what more do you need? I swipe across the picture and it does the digital equivalent of peeling off to reveal the next photograph underneath.

It's called digital paper; a revolution from some forty years ago, and improved with each passing year. It didn't need the frame, but could be awkward to use without something giving it rigidity. The material covers most desks and work surfaces these days, including kids desks at school and home. It's hard to remember how limited the first versions were when compared to this. Touch sensitive with a micro foil computer on the back and WiFied into the UltraNet. Digital data is so these days, it makes you wonder what we did way back when.

The first few shots are more of Mike and me, both together and on our own. I pause on a close up of Mike and blink back a tear. Today would have been our sixtieth wedding anniversary had he survived to see it. He's been gone three years now and I still missed him terribly, but I suppose that's at least one consequence of marrying nine years older than you. Usually I'm able to fill the hole he left in my life with memories of all the things we did together, all the places we visited, but days like today I allow myself a little sadness.

I flip the page and there he is again, this time in an off-guard moment, staring in mute appreciation at the Morgan Plus 8 sitting in the car park in front of his restaurant. Cousin Katie had confided in me that he'd always wanted one but never been able to justify the expense. I hadn't needed to, although the only way I'd been able to buy one in time for the wedding had been to go second hand. Being on the road helped as I had been able to view quite a few around the country. I enlisted the car check services of one of the roadside assistance organisations more than once and managed to escape a few near disasters. Eventually I found one that had been bought and garaged as an investment, and managed to negotiate a fair price. Mike held onto the car for twenty years before soaring petrol prices made it unaffordable for even us to run. He wasn't prepared to convert it to hydrogen cell — sacrilege in such a piece of motoring art — and had eventually donated it to a grateful car museum, where it is still on display. I should know, I visit regularly.

I swipe the screen. Back to me in close up, this time with a good view of my necklace. Mike had taken the pearl like object that had remained after my final transformation to a jeweller he knew. The result was the epitome of simplicity and elegance. A platinum band wrapped around the opalescent sphere and attached to a matching chain. I have worn it every day since our wedding, including today.

Swipe.

A group shot with Phil as Mike's best man and Sharon as my maid of honour. A few years ago Phil and Sharon retired to the south of France where the Mediterranean sun cured them into the sort of invincible, leathery old people you find in such places. Phil will be eighty-seven this year and Sharon just a year younger, but they keep on. Of course the advances in age prevention help no end. I stopped taking them after Mike passed on. No-one to make the effort for, no reason to hang around longer than I need to. The lines are beginning to show and I welcome them. I don't see it so much as giving up, but rather letting nature have its way.

Phil and Sharon have invited me out to visit this summer and I've agreed. It will be my first time out of the country since I lost Mike, and I find I'm actually looking forward to it.

Swipe.

My bridesmaids. Sharon obviously, Charlotte, my fellow catwalk model, Cassie, radiating her delight, and my two nieces, Gemma and Abbie, grinning for England, so pleased were they to be a part of Auntie Liz's wedding. The dresses were lavender. Not my favourite colour, but very flattering on Sharon, Charlotte and even Cassie.

Swipe.

The next was of Cassie and her mother. It's hard to think of little Cassie as being in her seventies now. Life has this trick of catching us unawares at times.

Swipe.

Pastor James and his lovely wife Marion. Pastor James conducted the wedding service. The legal part had been sorted with much giggling at the local registry office. The registrar had spoken to us in solemn tones of the seriousness of our undertaking, and I had been hard pressed not to give in to the giggles then and there. By the time we left with ink drying on our piece of legalese, Mike, Phil and Sharon had caught it as well and we had to sit down on the steps to let the laughter subside. Married three times Mike and me. First when we made our promises that first time together. Second in the registry office. Third and most properly by Pastor James.

Swipe.

Mr and Mrs Anderton-Buckley. I'd taken Clive to one side the Sunday after it was all over and told him how things had resolve themselves. He Nodded his thanks but shown no further emotion. I asked him why he wasn't angry, having gone to all that trouble to put together the two identities, for them to be made useless so soon. The memory of his response drifts forward from the recesses of my mind.

“Oh I wouldn't say useless. A few tweaks here and there and I can give them to another deserving cause. I'm only pleased that I won't be getting any more phone calls from you in the ungodly hours of the morning. I am assuming this is all over now.”

I nodded and kissed him on the cheek.

“That's for being so fantastic over all this. And if there's anything Mike or I can do for you, any time of the day or night. I mean it's only fair.”

He had taken us up on that a couple of times when he'd needed a place to keep someone safe at short notice, but he hadn't even come close to over-extending his credit with us.

Swipe

Doctor Marston with wife and children. A happier brood I never saw — until I had one of my own of course. It turned out that the incident in the gardens wasn't a one off. The doctor called me during the week to ask if I'd bumped into Mr Dawkins in the garden and, after I explained what had happened, he asked if I would come back to the institute to spend time with some of his other patients. It turned out that I had a calming influence whoever I touched, something that came in very handy when I had children of my own, or even when I was with other people's children. Just one touch and they calmed down. Every mother should be so blessed.

I spent quite a few Saturdays with Doctor Marston and his patients over the years. He was a good enough doctor to make use of a treatment that worked, even if he didn't understand how or why.

Swipe.

Jordan with a very dishy young girl on his arm. He'd delivered the roadster unscathed to my flat and followed all my instructions to the letter before walking the last half mile to his parent's home. We lost touch shortly after the wedding, but from what I saw of him, I imagine he lived a happy enough life.

Swipe.

Cousin Katie, on her own but content enough. Mike and I had continued to ride her horses when we could, right up until the point she sold the stable and retired. She and I still meet regularly to exchange gossip and to share the space Mike no longer filled in our lives.

Swipe.

Michael, Colin, Aaron and a group of others from Way Out. I still love the name we chose for its double meaning. Both a way out from the hopelessness of being stuck on the streets and way out in the sense of it being a crazy idea. It had worked though, and spread throughout the country in slow but steady steps. I'm still president emeritus for the organisation, whatever that counts for, and am asked at times to speak at public events. Aaron and Michael worked with Way Out until they retired. They didn't make much money at it, but they were rich in friends and stories of lives saved. They both told me many times that they had no regrets choosing to stick with us.

Swipe.

A surprise arrival from Mum and Dad. Dad was still on crutches after his knee operation and couldn't drive, which meant he was more or less hostage to Mum's whims, and since she wasn't going to miss her daughter's wedding, that kind of meant that he had to come along too.

I would have liked him to walk me down the aisle, but with his leg and everything it wouldn't have been fair. He never came round to believing that I had once been his son, and he died saddened by the belief that Ken had met an untimely end somewhere.

There had been security footage of the room when I'd been in there with Paul, but neither angel nor demon had appeared on camera, and with all the weird stopping and starting of time, my movements and changes on the video had been so disjointed it looked like a bad fake. Not the kind of proof Dad would have accepted.

Still he had been there, and so had my mother. It had all helped to make the day special.

Swipe

Well, with Gemma and Abbie as bridesmaids and Mum and Dad present, Glen and Lisa had to be somewhere too. There were a couple of shots of them. One on their own and the other with my two little nieces, still looking a gorgeous as ever in their dresses.

Swipe

Mrs Bailey and Paul. Mrs Bailey wearing a tight smile over a navy blue skirt and jacket. Her delight in being there shining from her eyes. Paul was less enthused. Mrs Bailey and I met up once or twice after the wedding, but she wouldn't say much about Paul. I hope he learnt from his experience. I hope he learned to live a better life. Sometimes hoping is all you can do.

Swipe

Detective Inspector and Mrs Chubb. I never did learn his first name. I had phoned him while Mike was driving us home that fateful afternoon and told him all that had happened. He was grateful for the news, knowing he could close that particular file once and for all, and a week later he managed to get my watch and necklace out the Grays police station and returned to me. We didn't really see much of them at the wedding, or after. Another friend briefly met, made and misplaced.

Swipe

Ann and Karen. Dear bubbly Ann of the dreadful coffee and Karen with the eternal phone stuck to her ear. More out of desperation and survival instinct, I had bought Ann a coffee maker and several packets of decent coffee for Christmas the first year we were together. It was a simple filter machine with jugs and hotplates, but I still had to show her how to use it. After that our visits became more bearable, and oddly her client base increased, although I claim no correlation between the two events.

Ann remained my agent and I carried on working with Karen for Elle-gance for the five years I strode the catwalk. Long enough to fill my wardrobe with clothes, and Mike's and my joint account with funds. Enough to help extend his restaurant into a chain.

James and Sandy opened the first of the new places shortly after we were married, and Mike took on two new sou-chefs to train up. It took eighteen months to train someone up to Mike's exacting standards, which meant we had four other restaurants running by the time I withdrew from the limelight to start a family, all of them doing well enough to mean that my salary wasn't missed.

Joy came along less than a year later, and Ruth twenty months after that. 'A few hours of pain for a lifetime of joy', that's how our first came by her name, and she lived up to it. Except for the times when she came home with skinned knuckles after fighting in the playground — defending her friends she said — or that year when every boy she brought home — and there were a few of them — had long greasy hair and leathers. The last of the bikers, the last of the petrol heads. Perhaps it we should have kept one for posterity.

There were other incidents to deal with, but in the end she grew into a young woman who has made me immensely proud; a firebrand with ideas of her own. She's fifty four now. No husband, no children for me to spoil, but what she has achieved in her life... I look into her eyes sometimes expecting to see sadness and loneliness, but all that radiates back is fulfilment and contentment. I suppose if it is enough for her, it should be enough for me; she's found her own way to live up to her name.

Ruth also lived up to her namesake, and with a lot less hassle. Always respectful, always close to home, always looking after her mother. And happily married with three children. The oldest graduated last year and works in one of the new fusion power stations. They're getting better each year. The first ones hauled us out of the energy crisis by the roots of our hair and the skin of our teeth, and they've only improved since then. What Andrew doesn't know about fusion reactors I doubt anyone else on the planet knows. It does make him a bit of a boring conversationalist, but he's my grandson and can listen to a lot of his drivel without growing tired of it.

Melanie's my second grandchild. She started medical school last year. She wants to be a paediatrician and I wish her well with it. And that leaves Peter, still working towards his A levels with offers at several good universities to read engineering. He wants to work on the space elevator that's being built in Kenya. From what he tells me the first carbon nanotube filament runs are in place and by the time he graduates they should be strong enough to carry test modules and small payloads. It doesn't bother me, I don't expect to live long enough to see anything come of it, but I do delight in his enthusiasm.

No, the future belongs to the young now. Me? I have the present and the past, and what a past. There are times I look back and wonder what my life would have been if I had never met Mary, or if Mike hadn't been able to restore me to my preferred self. I mean in most ways both Ken and Liz were the same person, but I know as Ken I would never have accomplished so much, never have enjoyed life so much. Ken was always a bad fit for me; uncomfortable and clumsy, like wearing someone else's clothes. It was only when I was able to be the person I truly wanted to be that I was able to stop struggling with who I was and turn my attention in other more positive directions.

I take a sip of my tea, but it has grown cold. Like life in many ways. Let other things distract you and before you know it, it turns cold and brackish. Drink it while it's hot and enjoy all its benefits.

The doorbell rings and a small window opens in the corner of the screen. De-localised artificial intelligence they call it. Someone presses the button outside, the AI finds where I am and connects the doorcam to the nearest digital imaging device, in this case the photo frame. This room has cameras on the videophone and the TriV. The AI would have activated both, decided which gave the best image, zoomed in and sent that down to the door viewer. I flip the doorcam image towards the TriV, which turns on to show Ruth looking at me and smiling.

“Hi Mum, are you ready?”

“Just let me get my bag and coat sweetheart, I'll be down directly.”

Directly takes a little longer these days, but this is my day so they can wait a while. I put the picture frame back where it belongs and leave the room, still with the ghost of a feeling that I should be turning things off as I leave, but the AI is already doing so.

I close the door and let Ruth take my arm. She tells me her little lies about how lovely I look and guides me to the waiting car. No hover cars yet, not even this far into the future, but at least what we have is clean and quiet. Ruth helps me up into the front seat before climbing in behind John, her husband. There isn't much to driving these days, but still the man's place is behind the wheel. I vaguely remember once feeling things like that and I don't miss them.

We pull out into traffic. Everything seems so built up these days, it's hard to see the sky. Cloudy today so not much missed. John and Ruth chatter away, telling me the latest news from my grandchildren. They think I think we're going to a quiet little place in town for a light lunch, but Peter let something slip on his last visit and I'm expecting something more elaborate. I suppose I will have to act surprised, but I do feel like company today. Maybe Sharon and Phil will have flown in, that would be special. I fondle the pendant round my neck and think of Mike.

“I'll see you soon my love. Not today, but soon.”