Richard’s Way
Jennifer Christine
 
Prologue
 
As I flopped into the passenger seat I realised that my life sucked.
“Good day at school dear?” Mum intoned using that slightly patronizing voice that mum’s always seem to use on their children.
Almost as bad as using a lacy hanky to wipe your face after an ice cream and using her spit to dilute the crud round your mouth — thankfully that hadn’t happened for a while — though I guess all it would take would be an ice cream to melt inappropriately to find out if it was still likely.

“God mum, this school is awful, why do I have to go? You know I already passed my entrance to Uni and got a four point zero scholarship.”

“Do stop using that awful American slang dear, it isn’t nice.”

“Neither is ‘Do stop’ — it’s tautologically not allowed.” I winced as she clashed the gears and we pulled out into the traffic.

“Well, why do I have to go?” I re- started the conversation which had been craftily sidelined by her illustriousness, my mum.

“Socialisation skills sweetie. Your therapist says they aren’t up to scratch and you’re not going to be comfy at Uni if you can't communicate with your fellow students.”

I groaned inwardly. There’s a lot of things the Uni students aren’t going to accept about me as well as the integration aspect.
At 15 and looking like Hayley Mills in Whistle Down the Wind, I’m not going to be everyone’s idea of Macho Man.

Yeah I know, I don’t look anything like a boy, never mind macho.
Which is why this school thing sucks. I have more bruises on my body than I have clear skin, though I have to admit the bullies are pretty good at making sure none are visible outside my clothing. No one likes a clever dick and I am just that. Clever with a capital ‘C’ .. My IQ is over the top of somewhere north of 165. They keep measuring it and it keeps going up — like my brain is growing or something.

Richard Drury Coombs. It raised a laugh the first time they heard it and after that it was a tool to be used to stab my self worth. Dick Comes. Thanks mum.

As we neared our gate, it started to open as the sensor noted the nearness of the car. You’d think that was a bit fancy and posh, but actually I made it one wet weekend out of a 3mhz walkie talkie and an old printer motor. The house was nothing special. Not to me anyway. It was moderately big, but not for the area. 5 Bedrooms on 5 acres — well dad’s a bank wallah, what do you expect?

“Make sure you stay clean tonight, your aunt and uncle are coming round with the twins. I don’t want them holding their noses as you walk past like last time.” Mum admonished while looking over her long distance glasses at me. Myopic old thing that she is.

“Hey I was experimenting with chicken poo detonators (they didn’t work — well not the way I made them) I didn’t know the stuff was going to erupt like a volcano (seems I still have a lot to learn about chemistry)” I looked at mum and shrugged as I disembarked and quietly shut the door (I wasn’t about to slam it, it was too beautiful and mum loved her little Z3.)

When I got to my room, I dropped my backpack on the case stand in the walk-in and took out my gym kit and popped it down the laundry chute. Grabbed a robe and hit the shower. I hated the smell lingering on my clothes and me. That schooly smell, sort of pencil dust and silverfish shit mixed with Harpic and sweat. EEEeewww.

I spent a little while thinking over the weekend ahead and felt a little disappointed at not being able to spend some time as my alter ego. Well you guessed it not only did I look like Hayley Mills, I felt like her as well. Mum and dad have known for ages that all is not well with me — my therapist has told them that I have ‘issues’ about who I am. Though I don’t think he’s ratted me out about my crossdressing, dad would’ve gone ballistic.

At least I get to spend some time with the twins Angela and Sarah. They’re a year older than me and very pretty — but not terribly bright — well they’re average, but not in my league.

After I got dressed I decided that discretion being the better part of valour, I’d go down and be ‘available’ when the family arrived. I guess they’d be here all weekend as I noticed the pool cover was off and I could hear the pool pumps humming from my bathroom which was adjacent to the pool house. They don’t bother normally until Saturday if it’s a normal weekend.

Creatures of habit my folks.

“Hi, Rich,” my uncle grabbed my hand and shook it vigorously. “How ye doing?”

“Fine Unc.” I nodded my head, exaggerating the movement of my arm which was still being pumped. The twins grinned and finger waved. Fine looking girls that they are.

“Good…. Good.” With nothing more to say worth recalling, he wandered off looking for a glass and some whisky. Mum had it ready as I heard him sigh as he entered the lounge and the tinkling of ice confirmed his grip around the cold reviver.

I flopped onto the couch where the twins had already ensconced themselves and grabbed for the TV remote. Angela was quicker and grabbed it first. “Na-na. Beatcha.” Sticking her tongue out.

“How old are You?” I rolled my eyes and grinned. Her free hand holding me away from the remote, slipped down my chest and rested over my breast before I could stop it.

Suddenly her eyes went saucer shaped — “Richard!” She almost yelled.

“Shhh — keep it down for Christ’s sake.” I went red and grabbed for her hand which was probing my torso.

“My God Rich, what have you done? You’ve got boobs.” She stage whispered — Sarah got interested fast.

Doomed — Oh God — Oh God! I’ve been trying to keep it a secret (obviously).
Right. Think.

I grabbed Angie’s wrist and gently removed it from where it was squeezing, “Please don’t Ang, it’s a bit sensitive at the moment.” I hesitated. “Christ, I hope you guys like me enough to keep a secret?” I turned the prayer into a question.

They both nodded with conspiracy written all over their faces, while I tried to get some air into my lungs and stop the prickling of new tears behind my eyes — I didn’t want red eyes — mum would think I was on pot — she’s really against that….

“My room, now,” I urged desperately, slipping off the couch and turning towards the door.

“Nice tush too,” Ang giggled. Last thing I wanted was one of the ‘units’ to hear.
“For God’s sake, keep it down.” I opened the door and checked the hall.

“We’re just going up to my room to play some music mum,” I shouted.
“Ok, not too loud, I want you to be able to hear when I call — I don’t want to have to phone you to get your attention, like last night.” Mum instructed as per. I was surprised she didn’t add, ‘leave the door open’.

“And leave the door open.” Guffaws from uncle and ‘fat chance’ accompanied the additional unnecessary codicil.

“Come on, let’s get this over with.” I ascended, trailing the twins.
I put the stereo on loud enough to cover conversation but quiet enough so we could hear approaching steps.

“So what’s going on Rich?” Sarah quizzed quietly looking at my chest for signs of unnatural shape.

“Well I wanted to declare this as a fait accompli when I was 16 — next month, but it looks like I have no alternative but to include you in my plans.” I looked from one to the other.
“I’m going to tell you this on the understanding that you don’t divulge any of it until after my birthday. Is that understood?” I searched their faces for signs of plot shifting.

Sarah and Angie both held out their Pinkies in synch. “Pinkie promise.” They said, also in synch. I shook their pinkies and settled on the bed they sat on the long stool at the dresser.

“Well, here’s the story.”
**********************************************
OK folks….. DO I continue?
There’ll be a gap of a couple of weeks until I’ve got a fair bit done if you want to read more.

Richard's Way
by Jennifer Christine
Part One

Part one.

I looked from Sarah to Ang and back. They were leaning forward like they were about to set off down a piste.
“Hey relax, will you? This is the long version, I’m going to use you guys as sounding boards now that you’re on ‘the inside’.” I wasn’t sure how to start, so I tried to be flippant.

“Once upon a time,” I started.
“Give us a break already; just cut to the chase. What’ve you been up to and how long?”
Sarah looked liked her mum, Sandy (Alexandra) all gossip and eagerness.

“Ok. The short version?” They both nodded in affirmation of their desire to know the details of their cousin’s ‘stepping over the line’, which this obviously came under.
“Right. I’ve been seeing a therapist for depression, you knew that?” Nods. “Well, he was telling me all about the difficulty of my socialization, because I didn’t fit in mentally and physically with the norm for my age. There was some garbage about going out for a sport and trying some group activities then he said, ‘the best thing you can do is go back to school.’ I suggested he do something that involved solitary carnal acts.” The girls looked askance, then, when they interpreted the phrase, giggled on cue.

“Well then I asked him about his duty to my parents and whether I had his doctor/patient confidentiality or did he report to my parents. He told me that unless my life was in danger he could assure me of secrecy. Like you two are doing now?” Nods. I smiled.

“Right; I told him that I felt like I looked. He said nothing. ‘You know — like a girl.’ He said nothing — obviously wanting me to fill in the blanks. I said, ‘I think I am a girl, in here,’ pointing to my head.

“What makes you say that?” He arched his fingers at me and I really got shitty.

“Because my dad wants sex with me,” I rolled my eyes when he sat bolt upright. “Your body language is showing.” I was getting angry — “Of course my dad doesn’t want sex with me, you burke.” He started to look mildly annoyed and wrote something on a sheet in front of him.”

The twins giggled.

“Anyway, when he realised I was jerking his chain, he told me to settle down and be careful what I said. ‘Not all the things people say as taunts are fabrications, most of them harbour truths that can be dredged out.’ He really was a bit pissed at me. I apologised and he looked a bit more attentive.

‘Go on,” he said, “Why do you think you’re a girl?’

‘Because I’m not really a guy — am I? I look like a girl, yeah I know my hair is short and I’m wearing boy’s clothes, but if you look at my face and build, it’s girlish, isn’t it?’

‘Well a little underdeveloped I suppose,’ he admitted. ‘But not unusual in 14 year olds.’”

Sarah piped up, “You mean this was over a year ago?”

“Oh yes, sorry I should have said. Moving on. The outcome was, he changed his tack and from there he started to make headway where he hadn’t before. Eventually he told mum that I was in recovery and that I should enroll in School for a year before I went to Uni -. Which was all very well but he wouldn’t give me any help with the gender thing. He told me that 16 was the youngest they’d countenance anything and I couldn’t have surgery til I was 18 anyway.”

“Surgery????” they squealed in unison.

“Well you know, down there,” pointing at my nether regions.

They went pale, “You want surgery, like cut it off?”

“Well they invert it actually and remove the testes, but not until you’ve been living in role for two years.”

“In role? What? Like, as a girl?” Sarah went all silly and giggled behind her hand.

“Noooo, as a Horse… Of course as a girl, you nitwit.” I chided.

“It doesn’t explain the breasts and what’ve you got covering them up. It felt like a bandage? Angie pursued.

“I can’t very well parade around swing honking great tits now can I?” I was getting a bit exasperated.

Sarah’s eyes went round, “Christ, how big are they?”

“About a B, well almost,” I acceded. “They will be soon anyway.”

Angie looked at me, “I wondered why you hadn’t started your growth spurt puberty thing, you’ve been on hormones haven’t you?”

“Well DER.” Sarah laughed, looking at me she continued, “Where’d you get them, what’re you taking?”

“Even my therapist doesn’t know, he thinks he’s holding me in check with the power of his mind and suggestion, I’ve actually ‘suggested’ to him that he’s right and he thinks he’s winning! What a dill.” I shook my head.
Leaning over to my bookcase I reached into the DVD rack and took out a DVD case — “Groundhog Day” it read. I opened it and showed them the sheets of HRT in there.

“I’ve got some more downstairs in the garage with my bike stuff,- I bought it bulk when we were in Spain last year— no one would look in there. I’ve also got some testosterone blockers to stop me turning into a bloke. Jeez I had some nightmares last year when my voice got croaky — thankfully it was a cold — I thought I was done for. In the meantime mum and dad think I’m a slow developer and they’re quite happy for me to be top of the class and a weed — they’d rather brains than brawn.”

“Do you dress up?” Sarah smiled at me.

“Not much opportunity but I’ve got some stuff up in the dormer next to the gym - It’s only used for storage - so I can get some ‘girl time’ now and then.” I looked a little sad and Sarah came over to the bed and put her arm round me. I looked into her eyes and she was really empathetic. Tears were really stinging at my eyes now. One or two surfaced and rolled down my face.

“It’ll be ok, we’ll look after you, won’t we sis? We’ll get you over for slumber parties.”
Sarah wiped at my tears with her finger.

“Besides, you really need to get out.” Ang added.

“Can we see?” Ang nodded at my chest. I nodded and a little reluctantly lifted my shirt, the ace bandage showed through my singlet — I lifted the singlet and pulled the bandage up.

Angie’s eyes went round as plates. “Wow, they’re bigger than mine. I thought you were building up pectoral muscles, they’re all boob!”

“KIDS! Dinner time.” Dad’s voice penetrated the room like a foghorn. D flat!

I jumped and pulled my clothing back in order and we turned off the music and headed downstairs. I wiggled my pinkie at the girls and they both nodded. I smiled and hoped that it was enough.

“So what have you three been up to up there, you were very quiet?” Dad looked at me to see if I squirmed, how thick does he think I am to give myself away with body language?

“We decided to have a threesome — we just finished when you called us down, so that’s ok,” I smiled at him. Uncle Brad laughed and reiterated his earlier statement “fat chance.”

“Mum looked at the girls who weren’t as good at hiding emotions and frowned. The girls were blushing and couldn’t meet her eye. Mum’s eyes glimped over to mine and she tried to discern what I was hiding with the power of her mind — no chance — not in this lifetime mum. I smiled at her and poured myself a juice.
General hubbub ensued as we dished out the dinner. I occasionally caught mum looking at me oddly. Did she know something? I dismissed it. I shouldn’t have.
Generally after a family meal the ladies retire to the lounge and the men to the den where the pool table and cinema were. Tonight was no different. Though I really wasn’t in the mood. My revelations with the twins were unsettling me a bit and I found an excuse to retire early.

Before I could settle down to reading my book ‘Pride and Prejudice’ (again) the twins knocked and came in.

“We just came to say goodnight and to let you know we’re on your side and we’ll keep your secret. We brought a peace offering.” Angela held out a satin nightdress. It was oyster coloured with a square yoke and broad comfy looking shoulder straps — I loved it.

“Better not, someone is bound to catch me, sod’s law.” I smiled, looking longingly at the garment. “Catch you in the morning” They smiled and pulled the door shut as they left.

I was just brushing my teeth when there was a knock on the door.
“Yush a mini, mm fhrushing eye teesh,” I shouted through.
Mum opened the door and stepped into the room to wait for me, I hear the door click shut.
Checking my pjs were covering my knockers, I sauntered through into the bedroom.
“Oh hello mum, whazzup?” I had no idea why she was here….unless.

“Just why did the twins look so guilty when we asked what you were doing?” Mum looked fiercely into my eyes, trying to see the guilt which I didn’t have showing.

“Lord, I don’t know, they giggle and simper like most girls, perhaps they were thinking what they might have done with me in my room ….Eeeww, they’re my cousins, that’s like so gross.” I used my guile carefully. Mums are cluey about stuff like fibs and white lies.

“Well it all seems a bit suspicious to me.” She kept up the glimping at me. Looking me up and down.

“Christ will you stop it already, we didn’t touch each other. I’m not into that sort of thing.”

“What? You mean you’re gay?” Looking for a chink…

“Mu-um, I’ll say it again — they’re my cousins. I find the idea particularly obnoxious and a bit kinky to say the least. I am not gay, nor am I into drugs, contraband or other odd, illegal, immoral or frowned upon habits, indulgencies or pastimes, ok?” I was getting vexed now.

“Well I’ll let you off for now then.” Mum rose from where she’d parked her behind and walked to the door.
“Let me off WHAT? I haven’t done anything (not much I hadn’t!!).”

“We’ll see; you’re hiding something, I can tell you know, I can always tell.” She stepped through the doorway and pulled the door to. “Goodnight Richard.” She smiled at me as the moving door edge obscured her face.

I plonked onto the bed; that was really bad, those twins hadn’t said anything, yet mum was right on my case. Did she already suspect? Nah — not possible — was it?

I tossed and turned for quite a while that night before I succumbed to Morpheus’s call.

The twins spent quite a while in the pool over the weekend and for once didn’t tease me about my lack of swimming ability and try to entice me into the water.
(This was a phurphy — but let’s face it I couldn’t pop into the pool in my bathers with a set of jugs like I had — could I? — even a T-shirt would have been quite eye popping — considering wet T-shirts are nearly invisible and are used for titillation — sorry bad choice of word — in female denigration contests the world over. Where was I?)

“I do wish you’d join in more dear,” mum looked at me over the top of her gin glass. “The girls would love to have you play with them.” She coloured up. “I mean love to — um- appreciate you joining in.” Suddenly angry at her own foolish words, she went into the house to sort the lunch.

Uncle Brad grinned and shook his head, but didn’t turn to meet my eye. Sandy sighed and took another sip of her Chardonnay.

“BBQ’s hot,” dad called out to mum — who appeared with what looked like a whole cut up steer and a medium pile of chicken pieces on a plate. Over the top as usual. Never mind — Dad was excellent on the grill — he loved to cook far more than he loved to do the Bank thing, but he was pragmatic — he made a lot of money banking and he’d make a good chef in a small restaurant — which would you choose?

So it went on — you get the idea — wealthy family, too much spare time. At least dad didn’t like Golf. I sensed not one of those present were particularly happy except maybe the twins and they were almost trapped between two lines of stereotype.

When the twins and I got together later with the parentals out of the way playing bridge in the sun lounge Sarah, checking said units were all engaged in bidding, got back onto the subject she was interested in.

“We were talking last night and we were wondering if you had a name we could call you? Like a girl name?”

“There’s no way I’m going to tell you that, because no matter how you tried, you wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to use it at the wrong moment.” I paused to draw breath. They interjected.

“No, no, honestly, we promise, we wouldn’t do anything like that. Please tell us.”

“You wouldn’t want to do it — it would just happen, because names are an autonomic response. You think of someone and their name comes out and if you think of me, my name wouldn’t be Richard, it would be…..something else.” Jeez I nearly did it myself.

“Spoilsport.” Angela pouted.

“No, really. Self preservation. I don’t want to be packed off to a military school to make a man of me — it’s too late for that. I’d be shagged stupid by half the cadets. You haven’t seen me with long hair — I daren’t even let my hair grow to normal length, the show (my life) would be over quicksmart.” I was trying to explain to the twins but it wasn’t getting through — they’d known me all my life — they didn’t process me as a girl in their head.

“Look, I’ll show you. Come with me.” I shouted out of the lounge towards the sun lounge. “We’re just going up to the Gym. We’ll be down in ten minutes.” Yes, I have to be that careful.

We slipped up the stairs to the second floor and I opened the door to the storage area which was in fact quite a large room with a skylight. I lifted a box out of a T chest and flipped open the lid, revealing a styrene head with a wig on it.

“Wow you’ve even got a wig.” Sarah’s eyes bugged out.

“No, it’s not mine, it’s mum’s from when she used to act at uni ( she did drama until she married dad - now she IS a drama). I must admit though I do borrow it now and again.
I walked over to the floor mirror sitting in the corner, (one I have spent many hours looking into) to make sure I got the brunette wig on straight — there’s nothing worse than a wig not on right. When it was set, I turned with a flourish.

The girls just stood there unable to make a sound.

“See the problem now?” They nodded in synch (I wish they wouldn’t do that.), still not making a sound. I removed the wig and put it back in the box and we went back out into the Gym. I showed them over the programmable exercise bike and demonstrated it — cover story.

Good job I did, I was just getting off it when mum wandered nonchalantly in as if it was nothing to creep up two flights of stairs to spy on your kids. “I was just going to make some sandwiches for supper — would you like some?” Excuses, excuses.
She pretended to be ‘just passing’ as she swept the room with her eyes for ‘evidence’ of our illicit goings on.

“I would like a sandwich actually,” I said, “do we have any turkey breast, it’s my favourite?”
The girls caught on really quickly and followed it with requests for a BLT (Bacon lettuce and tomato) and Sarah went all out and asked for a club sandwich.

“Right,” Mum glowered at us, spun on her heel and went back downstairs. I had to grin and shake my head. “Sorry girls, she’s like that sometimes, I’m sure she suspects something but has no idea what to look for for clues.”

“Our lips are sealed,” Ang used the zip gesture across her mouth. “Mmmm, BLT here I come.” We headed down.

Later when the oldies had gone back to their game, after the sandwich break, Angela reopened the conversation.

“I’ve got to say you looked smashing with the hairpiece on. It’s the wrong colour for you, but you looked stunning and with no makeup or anything.”

“Hey, if we could organize you to stay over with us for a weekend, I could borrow a decent hairpiece from the drama department and we could really see what you come out like.” Sarah started to get animated.

“Sorry girls, not going to happen until I get to my 16th birthday, I get more human rights then. Up to that point, I could end up with a testosterone booster shot and a padded cell til my balls dropped. I’m not going to take one more risk until then. There are some things I can get away with and some that are just asking for trouble.”

The girls looked disappointed and I could understand why, they’d just got themselves a project that they would love to work on for the next 6 months.
But I’d done all the working out and unless I was unlucky, the way things were going, I could come out in a month and be home free (and female) in a couple of years never having reached male puberty at all.

“Ok Rich, we’ll wait, but just wait til your birthday!” The look from both of them would have done the Wicked Witch of the West justice.

At that point it seemed the evening was over and everyone prepared to say goodnight and head home. I hugged Aunt Sandy goodnight as usual, shook Unc Brad’s hand and we all headed out to the cars to wave goodbye. Aunt Sandy gave me a funny look.
I hugged the girls as they prepared to get in the car. Ang suddenly said quietly in my ear. “I can feel your bandage” Bugger…….

“Our Turn next weekend,” Sandy reminded, turning the key and bringing the Rover to life — I love the sound of V8s.

Sandy glanced at me again with a slightly concerned look as she put the Rover in gear and circled the ornamental pond in the middle of the drive. We waved as the gate closed behind them and went inside.

“Night mum, night dad.” I headed straight for the stairs. The tension had worn me out.

“Night son,” dad gripped my shoulder as I passed, I almost lurched out of his reach. What’s with these people touching me tonight?

I locked my door and went to shower — reaching under my pillow for my PJs, and coming out with a handful of oyster satin…. Jeez. I came over all sweaty. I wonder how long ago the twins put that there.

Richard's Way
by Jennifer Christine
part 2

School was a bit of a trial as I didn’t actually have to do any work, I had social studies and all those esoteric subjects that are normally reserved for mentally challenged students so they could be graduated without actually knowing anything. History and Geography could be as interesting as I made them — I’d done my A level (Uni entrance type level) when I was 14 and got a top grade. I’d done French as well and of course maths and the sciences I’d done at 13. They were really easy. I was only at school for socialization which was almost impossible seeing as how I was not allowed into the girl section of the school until I was a senior and they wouldn’t let mebe a senior until next term — I had to work my way up — so I was stuck with a bunch of smelly and spotty pubescent boys, who giggled at rude words and were full of testosterone.

“Come on Dick wad, show us how good you are at arm wrestling.” Three or four of the class bully’s cronies laughed at the idea of me being able to beat Slasher Thomson — he was about 100lbs and 6 inches wider and higher than I.

“Ok,” I said and sat with my arm ready at a convenient desk, Slasher looked surprised then immediately sat opposite me with his back to the door — his cronies stood at his shoulder.

“One, two, three, go!” Just as he said “Go” I looked up at the door and said, “oh, sorry sir” (arm wrestling was a no no) Slasher’s muscles immediately went limp and I crashed his arm to the desk. “I win”. Smiling I rose and walked away. The door was shut and no ‘sir’ appeared in it.

A badly aimed text book sailed over my head. “Oi that’s my book,” one of Slasher’s mates exclaimed. I knew it wasn’t over, but it was good to use brains over brawn.

Who’d want to socialize with thugs like that anyway?

Gym was always fun — I played badminton since I had no curriculum to maintain. I just had to do a couple of hours a week. The other fifth formers were annoyed as they had supervised classes and had to exercise properly — well I didn’t want to chip my nails, did I?

The guy I played badminton with was a weedy guy called Martin Eckineh — I think he was Sri Lankan by heritage but had a Liverpool accent you could use to cut cheese, a hard one like Parmesan!
I think he was even more girlish than I was, except he had a todger that a mare would shy away from and it occasionally slipped out of his pants when he dived for a shuttlecock.

I asked him one day, “Did you dive for the shuttlecock or trip over your own?” His skin wasn’t so dark you couldn’t see the blush.

Well that about covers school except Slasher clouted me across the back with a cricket bat later in the day “demonstrating” a cut shot to his mates. I’d seen it coming and I moved so it hit my back, square on, which was covered with three layers of clothing and my ace bandage. So it made me cough and splutter but no harm done. He thought he’d got me a good one, so did Mr Swan who decided it was deliberate and issued Slasher and his mates (for laughing) with a five page essay on ‘doorknobs’.

Mum picked me up as usual and we headed off to the Coombs residence.
“I spoke to Aunt Sandy today,” mum started. Now this could be inane chatter, but it sounded like a more focused start to a conversation. I gulped mentally — scratched my cheek absently, (physically — to show non interest.)

“Oh yes? What did she have to say? Did she forget something last night?” Feigning disinterest.

“She mentioned that when she hugged you last night,” (uh Oh) she paused to manoeuvre round a badly parked truck (that’s an English spelling folks and is not a typo) . “She felt something on your back like padding?”

“Guilty as charged, it was a bandage,” I volunteered, thinking fast.

“A bandage, are you hurt?” Mum sounded really quite agitated.

“Well a bit bruised, one of the bullies who is helping to ‘socialise’ me hit me across the back with a bat” No lies there and she can phone up and check. “I just used the bandage to pad it a bit so it wouldn’t hurt.” One small lie there.

“Oh darling, I am sorry, I wish you didn’t have to go to that awful school — it’s your dad that really wants you to go you know on the recommendation of your therapist. Can I see the bruise when we get home?” She glanced at me out of the corner of her eye to gauge my reaction.

“Sure, if you must.” Nonchalant as ever.

So while mum parked the car, I whipped into the downstairs loo and stripped off my bandage, leaving my pullover and shirt and singlet in place. When she came through to the hall I made a show of sliding my clothing up and bunching it on my chest (covering up my unusual pectorals!!) That left most of my back bare and mum could see the bruise of the bat across my back.

“Oh that’s horrible, I’m going to ring that school and give them what for.” Heading straight for the phone.
I let down my shirt and slunk off to my room. Once there I slipped on a seriously tight singlet — one with a lot of lycra in it. It really flattened me out up front and then slipped on a sweat top — a nice loose one!

I could hear mum ranting down below, “My son came home with a huge bruise across his back; what do you have to say about that?”

“Those animals are only getting an essay to write, what sort of punishment is that? I expect you to expel them for such behaviour.”

“No I won’t leave it to you, I expect you to inform me when they have been expelled or I shall take proceedings against, not only them, but you as well. Is that UNDERSTOOD?”

Apparently it was, the phone went down with a clang.

Mum came upstairs and knocked on my door, “are you decent dear?”

“Yes mum,” I answered brightly and innocently.

“They said they only gave them an essay to write, that’s abominable, I’ve told them I expect them to be expelled; you could have punctured a lung.”

I looked at her with sudden illumination, she was right, what I was passing off as a prank could have been very dangerous if I hadn’t reacted and hadn’t been padded. A tear sprang to my eye uncalled and slipped down my cheek. I wiped it away surreptitiously, I’m a girl, not a sissy. I’m lying through my teeth and getting away with it — which is worse?

Mind you, they did hit me hard enough to bruise my back through all that clothing, I’m amazed I’m not really sore now. Another tear leaked out, Mum spotted that one and came over and hugged me.

“There there, pet, You pop down and grab a coke and I’ll make your favourite for tea.”

“Wow, lobster thermidore?” I gasped theatrically.

“No you prune, spaghetti Bolognese.” She sighed exasperated.

“That’s dad’s favourite not mine.” I chided. Almost pouting. (I’m not keen on red meat.)

“What would you like then, and don’t say lobster, I haven’t got any in the freezer.” Oh the horror, we have no lobster!

“Chicken Schnitzel with noodles and mushroom sauce then, please.” And no, I’m not a ‘Sound of Music’ fan!

“That I can handle!” She smiled and left me to it.

I’m beginning to feel guilty and I’m beginning to lose the will to be secretive. I hope I can steel myself long enough to make it to my birthday, I have no contingency plan for total parental control — and I can bet Sandy will have a hand in my demise. Oh I didn’t say did I?
Uncle Brad is a Surgeon and Aunt Sandy is a lawyer. Mum dabbles in real Estate and daddy has the bank… Perhaps I could be Annie and ….no not a good thought- I have no desire to be an orphan. If I did, I’d probably be out of here by now.

I heard dad’s car arrive as I walked down the stairs. I looked in the mirror at the bottom to check I wasn’t protruding overmuch, hunched over slightly and met him as he came out of the garage into the hall. “Hi pop.”

“Ted, could you come in here for a minute darling?” Oh dear — I wish she’d let it drop.

“Yes dear, what’s the problem?” There obviously was one or dad would be allowed to go and change straight away.

“I’m not having Richard go back to that horrible school, not one day more.” The anger in her voice was layered with the no nonsense and no answering back tone.

“Oh, and why is that, my sweet?” Code for ‘who are you telling that to?’

“He was struck by a cricket bat across the ribs and the culprits only got an essay to write. I rang the head and demanded he expel the perpetrators or I’d sue the pants off him.”

Dad looked over at me and raised his eyebrows quizzically. I nodded and shrugged in answer to say yes. “And why did they do that son?”

“Because he’s 100lbs heavier than I and his cronies would and did think it amusing.” I answered truthfully if a little vaguely.

“Then I am all in agreement. Going back there is pretty much an exercise in futility anyway and you can be learning reality and earning a living instead of aimlessly being the victim in others’ pranks.”

Things were looking up, I really think that I might be out of that place for keeps.
“Thanks dad, that sounds excellent. Perhaps I should advertise myself as a computer tech — I could really make some good cash at that.

“That wasn’t quite what I meant, - summer is coming on and I think you could do a lawn mowing round — it’ll build you up and give you some muscles in that skinny frame — maybe even send you off to a military academy for a semester..”

“I’ll go back to school then thanks. I think my virginity would last about 40 seconds in a military academy.” I looked him right in the eye.

He blushed, “You’re not that attractive.”

“I would be in a boys only environment. How was it at your school, weren’t the weeds buggered daily?” I asked, injecting a bit of venom to make him squirm.

“Of course not,” He swallowed — I caught the swallow.

“Too close to the truth eh — what was it, weekly after chapel?”

“That’s quite enough of that Richard; times have changed, that doesn’t happen any more.” I’ve never seen him try to dismiss a subject so fast.

“Not much it doesn’t, get real dad.” Putting in the spur.

“Well, we’ll see, I want a word with that headmaster first; see what the hell’s going on.” He turned for the stairs to go get changed.

I stepped further into the kitchen to raid the fridge.

“You shouldn’t be so hard on him; he’s not in touch with the real world you know.”

“I gathered that.” I shook my head and popped the tab.

“Dinner in 15, don’t make me come and find you.”

“K.”

Dinner was quiet, Dad wasn’t really coming to terms with what happened and tried to quiz me — I just shrugged and passed it off.

“Do you want to grow up a weakling Richard? You’ll have to get a grip, no one respects a man who can’t hold up his end physically.” Dad really was trying to be fatherly.

I wiggled my eyebrows at the last remark and he sighed. “Not at the dinner table son.”

I ate my lovely schnitzel and smiled at mum. She smiled back and we carried on quietly.

Later dad looked at me over his paper. “How old are you now, 16?”

“Next month dad. 28 days from now.”

“You’re very small for your age son, have you had a check up…. Physically?” He nodded at my groin area.

“Yes dad, every 6 months, I’m due another in about 6 weeks” — ‘by which time I’ll be my own boss and you won’t be able to do a thing.’ I added mentally.

The next day dawned and mum said, “I suppose you’d better go to school, until dad sorts out the problems.” She was trying to be parent-like but failing.

“No, I don’t think so — I’ll go back if those thugs have been removed, but there’s no chance of me turning up and getting lathered by them for dobbing them in.” I put into my voice finality that there was no possible argument that would induce me.

“Yes, you’re right of course. I’ll see what can be done but it’ll mean you’ll be at home all day today, can I trust you?”

“That’s the most insulting statement you’ve made these last six months. I’m nearly sixteen years old with an IQ which is probably similar to the total of the rest of the school put together. 165 at last count. Just - pray tell, what possible problem there could be? I’m all attentiveness.”

She glimped at me, “There’s always something boys of your age get up to.”

I looked at her as it dawned on me what she meant. “You think I’m going to masturbate all day? Get a grip mother, If I did it would take all of 5 minutes and I could, if so inclined, which I’m not, perform that while having a shower every morning.” That was a lie really, I couldn’t even get an erection. Not full of girl juice anyway!

She flushed and turned away, “Well, I wouldn’t know, I’m sure.”

“So am I mum, so am I. Sure that is.”

So they left me home and I pleased myself. I even briefly tried on the nighty that the girls had given me. I’d put it in the drawer in their room like they’d left it behind. It smelt lovely, like soft and warm. Quite depressing really — time stands still when you need it to spin.
I spent some time on the computer researching autonomy and self emancipation. Had I sufficient capital I could do it at 15 but at 16 I could go on benefits. However I’m not sure what I’d do if I had to. I’ve been used to the easy life, parents financing my upbringing. I needed to get through college and I needed to have my op — I had enough for neither — though I did have a scholarship to Oxford due to my noodles being so beneficially constructed. It would still cost and I couldn’t go into girl digs without backing.

Things were still up in the air. I needed my op and I needed it fairly soon to be able to continue my life as it should be. I needed my folks too, I may give them grief, but I still loved them dearly and would miss them terribly if I had to leave home (or got kicked out).

When they got home, I’d made a pineapple upside down cake and concocted a reasonable chicken curry with all the trimmings — so they were reasonably pleased and dad even said, “If you’re going to feed us like this, perhaps you should be our O’pere.” Sadly it was in jest, but I smiled like it wouldn’t be a burden and told them I’d get a maid’s uniform directly. Mum glimped at me…… shudder — she’s a real martinet inside! She probably thinks I’m a crossdresser now. Like the bloody therapist. I wish I’d told him I was totally gender stuffed. It might have been easier, and with a better outcome.
On the other hand it might have been a reportable thing and I’m sure Dad would and will throw a fit with his leg in the air when he finds out.

I’m still trying to work out how to tell them really — it’s one of those things that has no definitive answer. It comes out, then one or other or both or neither throw a fit and you’re either swamped in hugs or swamped in poverty — maybe somewhere in between, but it polarizes people — and I’m sure dad will go up the pole even if mum doesn’t.

Inevitably the week drew to a close with nothing further being discussed or discovered; stasis.
“We’re off to Brad’s this evening, so pack some things while we’re out and mum’ll pick you up when she finishes up at work. OK?” Dad enquired of me at brekkers on Friday.

“Sure, do you want me to bake a cake to take or something?” I asked feeling like there was something I could be doing.

“Good idea, I’ll ring Sandy and ask if there’s something you can make for supper — you’re getting to be a nice little cook.”

I ended up making an apple pie and some shrimp cocktail.
I packed minimal stuff — that tight lycra singlet was doing good things and I decided I liked it better than my ace bandage. And it was less likely to draw attention when hugs were performed.

It was lucky really, as when we arrived Sandy gave me a big hug and surreptitiously rubbed her hand up and down my back. “Bruises all gone?” She enquired — glimping a bit like her sister.

“Yes thanks, I didn’t want anyone to know and it’s one of the reasons I didn’t go in the pool.” Covering my bases.

“You should be in court.” She was not convinced. “There’s many a slip twixt cup and lip.” She smiled slyly at me and went to hug Dad.

I looked over at the twins, they coloured up so fast that I knew secrets had been spread further than they were supposed. Well maybe this was a better way than having to find the words myself.

I went over to the twins, “Spilt any milk lately?” Sarah immediately leaked a tear.
“No use, non at all. How?”

“Tell you later,” Ang put her hand on my arm and squeezed gently. “It wasn’t Sarah’s fault.”

It wasn’t til after supper that we had the opportunity to swap stories about the last week.

Sarah was all apologies and contriteness. “I am so sorry, but I managed to swear mum to secrecy.” She tried to cover her guilt with face saving.

“Tell me what happened. We’ll see how much damage control we can muster.” I sighed.

Ang started. “Well when we got home, mum said something about feeling a bandage on your back. We said ‘really?’ but she wasn’t convinced, we said you’d told us a secret and we couldn’t say. Well mum respects that being a lawyer, she said, ‘as long as no one is hurt by it and it’s not illegal.’”

Sarah continued, “Well that was when I said, ‘it certainly isn’t illegal.’ Mum picked up on it and thought about that and started quizzing about tattoos. “Nothing like that,” I said, which I shouldn’t have, as she was able to eliminate a lot of things with that statement.”

“It was later when mum said something about you not growing much for a 16 year old that she suddenly looked at Sarah and said something about your voice not breaking yet. Sarah coloured up straight away and mum got the connection. She’s pretty cluey; we said we’d tell her as long as she didn’t tell Aunty Liz or dad”

“She didn’t promise, but she did indicate it hung on what you said this weekend.” Ang finished. Goose totally cooked.

“I’m really sorry; it really can be shitty when your mum is a lawyer. You’ve no way of getting round the truth without telling a lie and they get you in deep doo doo.”

When the evening was over and we had all retired to bed, there was a knock on my door.
“Yes, come in.” I knew it would be Sandy, (she’d said she’d be in later — to tuck me in!)
She slipped in and shut the door — mum and dad were on the other landing so wouldn’t hear bumps in the night.

“I think we need a little chat to clear some air, Richard.” She looked at me, sat up in bed, the covers up round my neck. I let them slip a bit. “Sure,” I said, patting the bed so she could sit down. My heart was not equable — it was banging like a bloody drum and I was truly frightened. This ‘interview’ and ‘air clearing’ could fry me.

Her smile was kind, but her hand reached out and pulled the covers down some more.
“Time for show and tell, I think,” I acquiesced. I lowered the covers so my pjs were my only cover. The swell of my breasts pushed them out — they were pretty obvious — I wasn’t unproud of them — just worried that they might not be as permanent as I’d like if things went badly — I knew that if it went wrong, my life was over — IQ or not, I couldn’t survive being a guy.

Sandy’s eyes followed the line of my torso, her only word was, “Impressive”. Then, “Care to show me the rest of them?” I lifted my top and bared all.
“My, oh my, this is not Richard at all is it? This is more… Renata…” She squeezed my hand - which was trembling holding up my shirt. “Ok, cover up before you get cold.”
“I thought your bottom was a bit round… before, but I thought it was just puppy fat.”

“No, it’s not puppy fat, it’s my hips; they’ve developed quite a bit. It’s hard to keep them hidden. Please, Aunt Sandy, Oh God please don’t tell on me. I’ve only got to go another month and I have some autonomy at the moment I could be pumped full of testosterone at the wishes of my parents. I wouldn’t be able to survive. At least if I get to 16, they’ve got no control over my body.” It was over, I collapsed in tears — I promised myself I wouldn’t but it was like a huge weight had lifted. I was no longer in control — I’d been sprung.

Richard's Way
Jennifer Christine
Part 3

Sandy looked pensive for a minute or two as I bored into her mind with my eyes, trying to see what she was thinking. Eventually she looked up and smiled gently.
“Don’t worry pet, I’ll make sure you’re not harmed. I can get a ward of court order very quickly and make sure your body is sacrosanct. But, honestly, I don’t think your mother is that far from the truth anyway and your father has no idea — head in cloud syndrome I think.” She grinned and tried to lower the tension. “What I’m worried about is you’re obviously on drugs that aren’t prescription and you’ve been taking them a while. Have you had any blood tests?”

“Well, no, but I have been monitoring my weight and any odd things like kidney pain and stuff. Basically I stopped my Puberty before it started and now I’m just growing up as a girl with a willie.” I coloured up thinking about it.

“Look…Rich… I can take you on as a client, that gives me — and you - non-disclosure and confidentiality clauses that stop me from telling your parents, but it also means I’m risking my relationship with your parents and I don’t want to do that.
What I propose is this. I’m going to be your go between. This means that I’ll sound out your mum for her response to your being transgendered or ‘different’.
I will let you know what the result is and we plan from there. Your father isn’t going to be a serious problem, honestly.”

I looked at her, knitting my eyebrows almost to the point of knotting the individual hairs together. “What do you mean — not a problem? He’s going to be up alongside the International Space Station when he finds out — they’re going to have to haul him on board and send him back down with the next Soyuz. I don’t think I’ve met a man so close to paranoid homophobic, if I used scented soap, he’d call me a whore, a cheap one at that.”

Sandy grinned and patted my leg, “That’s because he’s very sensitive about the situation. A question of ‘methinks he doth protest too much’. I’m not going to say any more, but don’t write him off as a support mechanism just yet. He may surprise you.”

I struggled for a moment to get the grasp of that, I wasn’t going to ask any more questions about that as the look on Sandy’s face was transparently trepidatious. I believed that she was saying dad was not as close to the centre of the bell curve (where sexuality was concerned) as I’d come to believe. There was hope for me yet.

“Right,” she stood and turned to me offering her arms for a hug — I returned the emotion and wrapped my arms round her. She kissed the top of my head. “Sleep tight, R…enata.”
She smiled sympathetically at me and turned for the door.
As she pulled it to, she whispered “And don’t worry, I’ll not let anything happen without your consent.”

I smiled and said loud enough for her to hear, “It’s Rebecca.”

I lay back down and switched off the light. Sleep was a long time coming but when it did it was deep and restoring.

No mention was made the next morning and indeed nothing seemed to have changed — I took the occasional glance at Sandy during breakfast and she didn’t return any of them. The twins were quiet and reflective — waiting for the balloon to go up I guess.

“Us wrinklies are going to go out for lunch, down the local, you kids going to accompany us or are you going to go into town or something?” Dad enquired of us.

The twins looked at me for guidance, “I reckon we’ll go into town if you’re financing the operation,” I held out my hand and dad popped a couple of notes in it. I grinned. “Lunch is on the Coombes.” I directed to the twins who high fived each other. They couldn’t reach my hand. “Thanks Dad. This should cover it nicely.” I pocketed the two 20 pound notes thinking, ‘generous, very generous indeed.’

“That should also be enough for entertainment for the afternoon, we expect you back at a reasonable hour — BEFORE dinner.” He added — “We’ll drop you off — where would you like to go?”

“Anywhere will do on the high street,” Sarah volunteered.

And so it was that we found ourselves seated in a little Alfresco coffee bar in the warm sunlit high street. “So come on, what the hell went on last night, Mum was in your room for ages last night — what did she say?” The girls were both looking contrite and a bit worried though much less so than they had been at breakfast when they expected the ‘fit to hit the shan’

“Your mum said she’d make sure everything is going to be ok and she’s going to sound out my mum to see if we can ride this out without recrimination.” I stirred my coffee thoughtfully. When I looked up I realised that the girls were waiting for me to continue.
“Well, your mum realised that nothing could be done about the situation and is hoping that disaster can be averted and no one hurt in the process.”

“You’re going to have to explain better than that Rich; that sounds like a glossover.” Angela leaned back and looked impatiently at me. “Details, we need details.”

I gave them the full rundown.
They wanted to take me shopping for the afternoon but I said “window shopping only” and then we’d enjoy a share out of the remaining loot as a boost to our allowances. The twins were very disappointed but they smirked at each other when they realised that window shopping to a bunch of girls meant — lingerie shops and department stores and shoe shops and not book stores and similar non gender related outlets.

We did a comprehensive tour of the retail venues and actually came away with a T shirt that was a soft cinnamon colour for me — it was non-gender specific, but not many guys would have the metro-sexual nerve to wear it out. The twins said it was for my post-recognition period. With a bra and decent jeans, it would indeed make a nice casual outfit.

The rest of the weekend passed away with nothing to relate except a quick word with Sandy before we left on Sunday.

“I haven’t had a chance to really get into the nitty gritty of the subject yet,… Becca(?) but we did briefly discuss the topic of self determination. I’m going to take it slow - I’ll chat with Liz during the week if I can. We’re not seeing you lot next weekend so I may have lunch or something later in the week. Just don’t dwell on it. There’s no deadline, though I would like you to see an endocrinologist for a blood test pretty soon. I’m really putting my neck on the line not taking you straight to the hospital. Would you like me to set you up with a blood test?”

“Only if the test isn’t going to get back to M&D (mum and dad) before the news is out.”
I replied tentatively. “I don’t want you to get in trouble with the Bar Association.”

“I’m impressed — you know about the ogres of the Court system eh? — I could only get a reprimand for conflict of interest, though it would be a slap on the wrist I don’t want. So let’s hope it doesn’t come to that eh?” She patted me on the shoulder and we didn’t get to discuss it further.

We chatted agreeably about the weekend as we headed home and no one seemed unduly pointed about anything. I relaxed as it seems only three weekends remained til I felt safe(r).

True enough the week seemed to pass innocuously enough and the new routine of my being home and doingthe house-stuff was couching us gently to the week’s end. Mum had lunch with Sandy on the Friday and spoke of it during supper that evening.

“She seemed a bit introspective today, she must have a hard case to work with; she was telling me about a young man who wants autonomy from his parents.
I said, “as long as the boy was sensible, what was the problem?” Sandy said that he wasn’t of age to be self supporting yet and needed emotional and financial support.
She changed the subject, but I was wondering why the boy needed autonomy AND support. Really odd, I can’t figure it out.”
Dad mumbled something about ‘perhaps he was gay and didn’t want to be grounded by his folks.’ And ‘don’t know what the country is coming to, place is full of wierdos.’

Mum looked askance at him, I continued to chew thoughtfully. I wonder if that’s a cue for me to say something about me? Should I continue the conversation or is it just a primer from Sandy for mum to chew over.

“Maybe the boy is scared that something he is doing is against the parent’s designs. Like changing religions or something — or going out with a girl of different origin.” I advanced a couple of theories. Theories that wouldn’t point directly at what I was doing.

“That’s a thought, something that might upset the parents that they could control if he’s underage. I think it would be sad if parents couldn’t allow their children to grow as they need to to be happy. After all, look at us, we’ve let Rich grow as he wishes and not go to school.” Mum added, slipping another forkful of steak and kidney pie into her mouth.

“Well, I have already passed my six ‘A’ levels for University entrance with all grade A passes — I only needed three you know?” I purposely confused the issue — I was beginning to sweat. Softly, softly, catchee monkey is the way I need to go here.

“Perhaps you should join a gym while you’re home — you don’t want to turn into a wimp with no muscles do you?” Dad intoned, changing the subject but actually changing it for one closer to where I didn’t want to go.

“No dad, I don’t want to turn into a wimp with or without muscles, nor do I want to go to a gym. Perhaps I should get self determination so I don’t have to go to places that my parents wish me to.” I decided to push the envelope in the opposite direction — the old subject was easier than this one.

“It’s a complex issue,” My father waved his fork as part of his instructional technique. “The parents being the guides, mentor and guardians of a child legally until his 16th birthday can pretty much do as they please, as long as the child isn’t physically abused. But they can’t throw him out without making them wards of court. Or so I believe. Someone has to be a child’s guardian until they’re sixteen. What rights do the guardians have and what rights do the children have? Can the child determine his future before he’s sixteen or must the parents take responsibility for his action?” Dad stuck his fork into a potato and popped it into his mouth as he pondered.

This was actually playing right into my hands, if dad determines that a child has responsibility for his actions and not the parent, then I can argue that I can take HRT and he can’t stop me and he can’t gainsay me and fill me with testosterone at his discretion.

“So the child decides he wants to steal an article instead of paying for it? What responsibility does the parent have?” I asked. “Must he go to prison for the actions of the child?”

“No, that would be silly, the child has made a decision that he’s not capable of understanding, that of breaking the law.” Dad decided. “So he may be chastised but not punished per se.”

“You’re kidding? A child of 15 can volunteer for the armed services and take responsibility for his actions — ie be issued with a gun and use it responsibly. Yet that same child can’t be done for theft because he isn’t old enough to be responsible for his actions. Hardly seems right does it?”

“Well put like that, it’s a bit of a grey area isn’t it?” Mum put in.

“Not really, because if you go into the services, someone else takes responsibility for you — the Queen if you work it to the top.” Dad covered his tracks.

“What if a ‘child’ say me, robs a bank — or deals drugs? Do we still have no idea what we’re doing is wrong? There really can be no excuse about responsibility then can there?” Digging my own grave here, but I want dad to commit himself to a child being self determining at some point.

“Well the court would decide to charge the person under the adult code probably — basically giving them — or you in this case - the ‘self-determination’ by default. The parent would have no responsibility for the actions of the child nor would anyone else. They would have TAKEN self determination on themselves.”

I smiled inwardly, I rest my case.

“You aren’t thinking of robbing my bank are you?” He grinned.

Those words were to haunt me later.

Two weeks to my birthday. Two weeks and three weekends really. Perhaps even if I told them now, they wouldn’t have time to mess up my plans. No, let’s leave it until I have let the water under the bridge. I left it right there.

When you’re expecting things to happen, there’s a sort of suspension in the normal run of things. Things carry on as normal, but you seem to be in an eddy, waiting for the moment when the tide slips you back into the stream to carry on with new momentum.

That weekend seemed so slow, we did house and garden stuff — I cleaned the pool, mowed the lawn and cleaned the car. I went into town to buy a book. I spent a few minutes in a department store looking at a dress for my birthday party. Well I was looking for a dress that I might be able to wear when the broken bones healed after I told mum and dad — probably on my birthday.

A retail assistant came over and said, “Can I help you, miss?” I looked up and smiled.

“Oh, no thanks, I’m just checking some stuff out for my birthday,” I said, honestly.

“You come back and see me when you’re ready,” She smiled and wandered off to two other ladies on the next rack.

Short hair, no makeup and boys’ clothes and I still get miss. Cool.

That about cured that weekend — I spent some time on the web reading some gender related fora, but they were really tacky and I got nauseous reading some of the trite rubbish spouted by some of the posters. It was obvious — to me anyway — that quite a few were getting off on it and really weren’t anything to do with being gender screwed.

Before dad left on Monday he told me to go and have a look at the temp jobs in the local shop windows — there may be some folks looking for help or something, it’d be a good way to earn a few shekels.
After doing the cleaning and putting on a wash, I decided it couldn’t hurt and I went down to the local corner store to check out the ads on the window — there were always a few.
Danny’s Supplies
“Wanted
pamphlets poster, ring 123555779. Ask for Mick. 5 hours a week.
Approx 8 pounds per hour. Suit a pensioner or School Student”

So I rang.
“Why is it approx 8 pounds an hour?” I asked before we got too far into the scheme of things.
“Well it’s an average of how many leaflets you deliver.” I could hear him smile.
“How many would that be?” I asked drumming my fingers loud enough for him to hear.
“About 160. “ he said almost casually —

5p each, I calculated in my head and minimum three and a half miles, maybe five.
Just possible in poorer suburbs not possible in expensive suburbs — the house blocks are too big.

“I’m not training to be an Olympic marathon runner, how about I design you a website and you pay me 100 quid?”

“How big is the website? I’m not too good wiv a computer — I’d need someone to manage it. “ He said after a moment or two’s silence.

“Ok, your shop is the local hardware isn’t it?” I was grinning by this time — I’d hooked him

“Yeah that’s right.”

“Well you’d want to put on your tools and stuff and your mowers now it’s coming into summer and stuff like that. About 5 megabytes, I guess would do it with small photos or drawings taken from a catalogue. Do you want customers to be able to order from the website or to come in to the store?” This could be fun.

“I get most of my stuff from a catalogue myself and sell it on. It’s not a big business, it’s my old man’s, he’s too old to run it now.”

“Well how about I build it and show you how to change the prices and stuff then you can just ring me up if you want any big changes. I’ll put tags in the site so that you can print them on your bills and receipts and then it’ll be easy to spread the word.
It’ll be easy to put an ad in the yellow pages and local free papers too. Smaller ad with a bigger impact.” Sell, sell, sell, I thought.

“Come on round, I’ll see what you can do and then we can do a deal.” He started to sound enthusiastic.

“Ok”. I put down the phone and thought — easy peasy!

By the time I got home I had a small catalogue, his nominal price list, logo and a cheque for 150 pounds to buy a domain name. By tea time I had up a simple site with an easy to find price index and the shop’s logo and a pic or two. Enough to see what sort of response was going to happen

“Did you see about finding some work today son?” Dad asked over his lamb chops and mint sauce.

“Actually yes I did, I earned 100 pounds today on my first job. It’s not much, but it should snowball in a week or two.” I smiled quietly to myself.
“Impressive, what are you doing? lawns or what?”

“What, mostly. Lawns are too much like hard labour, I think, for someone my build.”

“That was the point son; it’s to build you up.” He shook his head and took another slice of carrot.

“Dad, I was given a heap of brain cells and no muscles — like the Mekon — you want me to mow lawns? I’ll buy a motor mower and sit on it to do the lawns — I’ll still earn the same but I have to buy the mower. I’m never, ever , going to push a mower round someone else’s garden. Please don’t raise the subject again” I directed him with a stare and pushed the 150 pound cheque at him.

“I wasn’t joking dad.”

Dad spun it round to read it and pushed it back towards me, “Don’t do anything illegal.”
He asked me no more questions.

By the end of the week I had 15 local businesses in my pocket and all the sites linked.
It would be a while before I could make 1500 quid in a week again, but each business was feeding me 10 pound a week to keep the changes going and even emailed the changes they wanted.  ½ an hour every morning for 150 a week. That’s simple enough.

It was Friday again and our turn to host the family. I’d organized the food for the weekend and I’d pre-prepared quite a bit. But I wasn’t going to do it for them. So I handed the kitchen over to mum.

When the family arrived everyone was relaxed and clean and prepared which wasn’t usually the case. It was usually a sort of flea circus on Fridays with everyone busting a gut to relax.

“So what’s been happening this week?” Brad asked as he sipped his whisky.
“Well, I told Rich to go find some work — buggered if he didn’t come home with 150 on his first day and 1500 for the week.”

The twins ears were suddenly on alert — this was serious retail therapy eskudos.

“Hey it’s not all profit. There’s only a thousand profit in that lot.” I complained lustily.

“One THOUSAND pounds?” The twins crooned together.

Uncle Brad’s eyes swiveled towards me over his glass. “I take it if I told the police, they’d not be round with sniffer dogs?”

“All legal — just website building — no biggie.” I held up my hands palm out to show honesty.
Sandy found me alone on the Saturday morning before the others had come to the breakfast table.

“Morning Auntie, what would you like for breakfast?” I was holding a jug of orange juice and she winced and said, “I’d rather a coffee thanks than something that wicked and acidic first thing in the morning.” I put down the jug and picked up the coffee pot.

“I never saw it before, but you’re quite graceful, you don’t move like a man.”

I looked at her and at the door pointedly, “Small Pigs, ears and big are words that spring to mind at this point.” I spoke quietly.

“Your mum is in the shower and your dad is still snoring, Brad is as well. I doubt our conversation would be heard by any that weren’t already au fait”. (that means who weren’t in the know) She sipped her coffee holding the mug with both her hands. “You make nice coffee. Not bitter.”

“I use Kenyan beans. They’re not as harsh.” I was trying to keep the conversation away from the relevant subject.

“Liz isn’t unaware that there’s something wrong, she said something about your development isn’t right. I didn’t broach the subject but asked her what she would do if you were ill.” Sandy sipped again, waiting for me to settle. I sat on the stool next to her with my juice. “Go on.”

‘“I think there is something wrong,” she said, “I think he’s a bit deformed and won’t tell me about it.”’ Sandy looked at me. “Do you think you’re deformed?”

“Yes, but not in the way mum sees it.” I smiled ruefully.

“I asked her, “What way deformed?” She said, “he seems to have a chest that’s all the wrong shape. It’s like he’s got a pigeon chest.””

I giggled a bit, “I guess that singlet is a bit too tight.” I shook my head. “You never think it’s going to happen to your own kids. Do you?” I felt guilty, not for the first time.

Movement on the stairs brought my mum into the room, smelling of talc and peach flavoured soap. “Morning all, is that coffee I smell? Mmm. What? What have I missed? You look like conspirators sat there. Like a pair of pirate discussing your next raid. Spill.” She looked at us with open questions in both eyes.

“We were discussing deformities,” Sandy volunteered, glancing at me to see if I was going to run with it. I shook my head, ‘please NO’ in my eyes.

“Oh,” mum looked at me. “And what conclusions did you come to?”

“That pigeons would look funny with human chests, and probably couldn’t fly very well.” I suggested, “and, that I definitely didn’t have a pigeon chest — nor a hairy one. Just somewhere in between.” I finished lyrically. “Like Goldilocks.” Giving just a hint of irony.

“I’ll have to find you a little bowl of porridge to see if you’re any good.” Sandy suggested.

“Any good at what?” I glanced at her — I could feel myself colouring up a bit.

“Being Goldilocks.” Sandy smiled playfully and bared her teeth in a rictus smile.

Mum’s back was still turned. She saw non and heard little of what we bantered. “What are you two wittering on about?”

“Me being Goldilocks,” I answered brightly. The light did NOT come on. Still too early in the morning and the coffee wasn’t working yet.

“What shall we do today?” Mum looked out of the window to assess the weather. “Looks nice out, maybe we can go for a run out to the beach for a walk.”

“You’ll have to wake the trolls first. Too many ‘talky talky tins’ last night I think.” I think she was referring to the cans of beer.

I finished my juice and roused the twins — “come in,” one of them sang out, I walked in and Sarah was clad only in knickers. “Oops,” I started to back out. “That’s Ok, only us girls in here,” I glanced briefly at her chest — to see how I compared — little in it I guessed. “I’ll wait outside, just the same if you don’t mind.” I smiled, turned and closed the door.

Timing was good — dad came out of the bedroom just after I closed the door, gave me a sort of open eyed look and went into the toilet. A morning glory a little obvious in his PJs.

I realised I’m starting to stress. I went back in my room and lay down and stuck my ear pods in and listened to some Kenny G. Mum woke me a bit later with a rap on the door. I’d slid off into a sort of hideaway sleep — I felt a bit better, but my head ached. I got some aspirin before I went downstairs.

Everyone was gathered and ready to go so I grabbed a jacket and followed. The sea was lovely but a bit blustery.
The whole weekend seemed to be a game of catch up and stress. By the end of it I was a wreck. I resolved that I would divulge all next weekend — I was not up to any more games of ‘guess and run’.

Sandy rang me during the Monday and told me that she’d spoken to her doctor and I could go round to the clinic and get a blood test on my own bat for 35 pounds — noone would be the wiser. I managed to get in there before the close of play and they told me they’d send the results to my doctor, I said, “You’d better not, this is a private consult.”

“Oh, where would you like the results sent?” The receptionist asked. She looked like she wanted to have me committed for being non-conformist.

“Ring me,” I handed her a card, “My number s on this card, I shall pick it up myself.”

“Oh, it’s got to go to a doctor.” She complained.

“Do you want to speak to my lawyer? Or do you want to ring me when the result comes in?” I gave her the option. She looked at me like I had two heads.

“I’ll see what I can do.” She backed off but gave nothing.

I pulled out my phone, dialed Sandy. “Hi Sandy, it’s me. My friendly clinic wants to send my private info to a doctor, would you like to read them the riot act?”

“Pass the phone to whomever it is Richard.” Sandy said and I heard her take in a big breath.

I didn’t hear both sides of the conversation but when she handed me the phone back she also said, “I’ll ring you with your information sir.” Her now pale faced head went down like she’d been condemned to death. I’ll have to ask Sandy what she said.

Tuesday dawned with some really wicked sky and I knew the weather was going to be awful. I stayed put.

I decided a nice stew was the order of the day and made an apple pie to go with it.
At 5 mum came in and waxed lyrical about the smell and poured herself a gin and tonic. We awaited dad. It was a bit late, but the weather could account for that. When it got to an hour, mum rang the bank to see if there was a problem and then when there was no answer but the tape of the opening hours, rang his mobile — it rang out.
Dad was notorious for leaving his phone in his car. But that wasn’t a problem usually.

Mum rang the bank and there was still no answer.
After a few minutes she picked up the phone again and I heard her say. “Who am I speaking to?..... Ah thank you sergeant, I’m ringing because my husband isn’t answering his phone-. …… I’m sorry, you didn’t let me finish, this is a protocol that is in place, my husband in the manager of ____Bank and I’m supposed to call if I can’t contact him or if his normal routine is broken.”

Mum listened for a minute and then said. “Right, his car is an X5 BMW, Silver Reg no L555 FGH. I’ll stay by the phone until you call back.”
Mum looked really pale when she turned back to me, “They’re checking to see if his car is still at work and the hospitals — though you’d think the staff or hospital would ring if he had had an accident.” Mum shoulders suddenly heaved — I rushed over to her and held her as she suddenly released pent up emotion.

Richards Way
(of becoming herself)
by Jennifer Christine
Part 4

“Bet he’s left his phone off the charger in his car and he’s got a flat tyre somewhere on the way home.” I tried to cheer her up.

“He’d call; I know he’d call straight away. We’ve discussed this time and time again that if he had a delay, he’d call immediately — Oh Richard, something’s happened I know it has.” She started to panic — suddenly the phone rang again. Mum snatched it up so fast there was almost a whoosh from the air movement.

“Oh, he’s not,… no, he doesn’t go anywhere without calling me first, it’s totally unlike him. …. Yes, I’ll stay by the phone —“ She put the handset down, her face crumpling as she did. “The car is outside the bank in his parking space.” Her eyes had that ‘deer in headlights’ look. Shock — trauma.

She sucked in a huge breath, “Oh god, please don’t let him be hurt.” She covered her face and shuddered slightly as imagined scenarios took place in her head. Suddenly she looked up.

“In cases like this, the Bank is audited and our home will be checked for anything untoward. I know there’s no reason to fear anything, but there’s going to be some CID men here shortly if my guess is good.” Mum’s shoulders weren’t so much slumped as sagged — that sag of lost dignity — this is not an easy thing to undergo — suspicion that Dad had gambling debts or something that would make him abscond with the funds from his work.

“He’s going to be guilty until they find everything is OK.” Mum was really looking weird — like the fight was returning to her. She bared her teeth as she sucked air between them.

“They’re going to take the computers away — even yours, so if there’s information you need for anything, better offload it or whatever so you can access it from another computer.” The phone rang again. Mum took a deep breath and picked it up.

“Liz Coombes,… yes. No he’s not,… I’ve no idea. It was a normal day nothing odd at all.” The look on her face was resignation. Then bitterness. “There’s no reason to get annoyed, Ted may be hurt or dead for all I know, all you have to do is go into work and unlock the doors. Stop complaining.”She slammed the phone down.

“Bloody assistant manager. Thinks dad’s buggered off with the takings!” She was
fuming.

All this time I was hanging onto her, my mind was full of bad people hurting my dad, overseers and oppressors hurting mum and turning our lives upside down. I started to feel real fear. My eyes started to brim up and I found I was clinging to mum rather than being supportive. Mum put her arm round me — “it’s ok darling it’ll turn out fine, you’ll see.”

We both held on for awhile until we seemed to separate naturally, though we didn’t speak; we were both just in time suspension. All our problems were nothing compared to this. Dad was gone, where?

“We’d better eat something,” I suggested and mum nodded vacantly.

“Yes, you’re right, we need to get on.” Mum ladled some stew into the bowls it was still piping hot in the slow cooker so we waited a minute or two for it to cool. We both looked at the empty chair.
Neither of us was going to say anything — we just leaked from the eyes and felt miserable.

Eventually we ate.

The phone rang a short while later — we were both still sat at the table — immobile, with our thoughts turned inward. The noise made us both jump.

I was closest, so I answered, “Richard here, … yes, hang on a second.” I passed the phone to mum, mouthed ‘police’ to her. She nodded and took the handset. “Yes?... No…Right. Well I presume he comes down the main road to get home, but if he’d broken down, he’d have rung wouldn’t he? He’s not in his car is he? he wouldn’t have walked, he’d have taken a taxi. No.” She put the phone down, shaking her head at the nonsense from the other end.

“You’d think they’d think things through wouldn’t you? They were asking which way he came home. He would have taken a taxi and been home hours ago.” Before she’d had a chance the put the cordless phone back on the hub, it rang in her hands.

“Oh, you again,…of course you wouldn’t,… of course it is. No there’s nothing that I can think of, he hardly ever touches the computer here except for family email….. I suppose you can, but if everything’s ok at that end, why would you want to? Exactly — right,… I’ve no idea… Ok thank you, yes I will, goodnight.” Mum’s raised eyebrows showed that something had surprised her.

“Assistant manager again, the records have had a preliminary check on the computer and the person who closed the vault was him, so he knows that it will be ok — it’s on a time lock. Dad can’t open it on his own.” Mum’s lips quivered with pending misery.

“Don’t cry mum, whatever has happened, there’s no point in worrying about it until we have a clue as to what’s going on,” I tried to mollify her, but I really felt no better.

The doorbell rang and I jumped looking at mum who returned my stare.
I flicked on the monitor to the gate and a man was standing at the bell looking at the camera.
“Yes?” I asked.
The man held up a warrant card close enough that I could see it was one but not if it was a real one — though I had no reason to suspect it was a fake, nor had I ever seen a real one anyway for comparison.

“Detective Joshua Brown, CID.” I heard him say as he lowered his hand.
I buzzed the side gate and he walked through — I was at the door when he got there.

“Come in, detective,” I stood back to let him in.

“Come through,” I led the way into the kitchen where we were still sat. He followed.

“Good evening Mrs Coombes, sorry to be an interruption at this time of night, but we’re treating this as a serious case — Bank Managers are high end commodities,” He tried to be bright and upscale, but his very presence meant something was wrong.

“Sit down detective,” she indicated one of the stools around the breakfast bar where we were sat. “Would you like a coffee or tea?” Mum enquired as if practiced in the art of Detective grooming.

“Not tea thanks — I drink too much of it in the canteen — a decent coffee would go down a treat though. Two and a splash please” Indicating his preference.

I looked him over . Nothing to get excited about. Badly pressed trousers, pressed one side only. Shoes clean but not polished scuffed on the left heel ( poor driving technique). Shirt, clean and drip dry — This is one lazy man — living on his own. A man going through the motions with his job.

“Do you have any news or is this a social visit?” I asked a bit sarcastically — he looked at me like I had bit his leg.

“Oh yes, sorry, I shouldn’t dilly dally with news eh?” He plastered an insincere grin on his face.

“I’m here in case there’s any contact by whoever (sic) might have detained him, I can’t find any evidence of him reaching his car and the bank was locked up normally and secure, so whoever it was that approached him didn’t realise they couldn’t get back in once the alarms had been activated.” Joshua supplied with that twisted logic that police are famous for.

“Surely that means exactly the opposite. If someone had approached dad as he left the bank and didn’t know about the alarms not being turnable off, they’d have forced him back into the bank and triggered the alarms, thereby stuffing the operation and spending some time with you guys down the nick. Or at worst, ending up with a hostage situation in the empty bank with only one hostage.”

The detective looked at me like I had two heads and blinked a few times as the wheels of justice ground exceedingly slowly in his head.

“Yes, there is that, certainly.” He pulled out his notebook and scribbled something. “I’d like to look at your PC if you have one, there may be something on that that may be tied in to what’s going on.” He winced slightly knowing that the allusion now is to dad being a suspect in a crime that hasn’t yet been established

“Now, as you well know, the assistant manager has already checked the integrity of the bank’s accounts.” I supplied before mum could start crying again. “and your premise that dad is complicit in anything that is going on, is based on the fact you have no clue whatsoever as to why he’s not here in the bosom of his family enjoying his whisky and soda. I suggest, if you have nothing better to do, that you set up any listening devices you may or may not have with you, in case the perpetrators decide to put us out of our misery and tell us what the fuck is going on, because you, obviously, have no idea.” I smiled through gritted teeth at him.

He looked at me like I had three heads and put his briefcase on the table. He flipped open the flap and pulled out a ‘wire’. “Are you on wireless or landline for your phone?” He’d obviously started to get the idea.

“Wireless,” I said passing him the handset — he clicked it on and pressed the intercom remote button, which lit up the red light on the little box on the pickup he’d revealed.
“Right,” he smiled like it was a magic trick, “Anyone who calls will automatically be recorded on the little recorder here. This can be downloaded by the station as it is connected by weblink” The little red light was now green. “Right, it’s connected.”

“How long do the batteries last?” I asked.

He pulled out the charger unit, “Can I plug this in?” I nodded and pointed to the plug socket next to him. He connected both ends — “Now that’ll be set ‘til everything is settled.”

Mum hadn’t said much, and she looked weary, “Where do you start?” she asked quietly, “What do you do besides wait like we’re doing?”

“Until the initial contact is made, we don’t have much to go on. We can trace known persons who have a similar MO and we can ask around and check over CCTV footage of the bank environs. There is a fair bit we can get on with. The biggest thing we can do is have support here for you and to intercept the calls and negotiate.” He told us.

“First up we need to tell you what to do if the phone rings and it’s someone connected with the problem.” These guys must be instructed how to ameliorate the language to minimise shock.

“I’m just going to ring the station to tell them we’re all set up and then there’ll be a pc out to take over the situation. There’ll also be someone on the other end of this,” he indicated the phone tap thing. “With your permission, there’ll be a person here to intercept or negotiate calls until your husband is safe.” He suddenly started to sound competent.

“Thank you Detective,” Mum slumped onto the stool and placed her head on her arms on the bench top.

After a while another cop car appeared at the gate — a marked one this time. I let it in and it dispensed a female cop. I let her in, she carried a small valise, “Hello, I’m, Susan, the negotiator, Josh probably told you about how it works?” I shook my head.

“No, he was too busy doing conjuring tricks with his phone tap,” I was weary and I wanted to get mum to settle before I did so myself. “Do I really need to know, it’s getting late and my mum is frantic. Isn’t there something that can be done?”

“I can phone a doctor for something like a sedative?” She looked as much use as the other brain free dick I’d let in earlier.

“Do what you must. There’s a convertible sofa in the sun lounge if you want to make yourself comfy.” I pointed to the door at the other end of the kitchen. “I’m totaled, and so is mum, we’ve been on edge all evening and our adrenal glands are overworked.” Mum was sat there looking pale. It had only been four hours since Dad hadn’t arrived home.

“C’mon mum let’s get you off to bed, there’s nothing we can do until we get a phone call.” Mum nodded and I took her hand and led her to her room. She didn’t get undressed — just slipped her shoes off and lay on the bed — I slipped a blanket over her. “See if you can get some shut eye.” I gave her a hug and a kiss.

“I haven’t even told Sandy and Brad,” mum mumbled at me. I suddenly realised that we’d literally shut down — and isolated ourselves.

I picked up the phone by the bed. “No, don’t, someone may be trying to call.” Mum admonished.

I nodded and pulled my cell out of my pocket — hit the dial button for Sandy.

“Hi Sandy, Rich; sorry to phone so late.”

“What’s the prob?” she asked brightly.

“Dad’s gone missing, the police think he’s been kidnapped for ransom or something.” I tried to be as concise as possible. Silence reigned for a moment.

“Oh my God, why didn’t you phone earlier? I’ll be right over.” Click.

I didn’t even get a chance to tell her to wait. Well she’s a good sister to mum so at least mum’ll be emotionally supported by a sibling as well as a child.

She was there in record time, I met her at the door — she had the gate opener fitted to her car.
After I told her the whole story she asked about my own problems, I just shrugged and said “back seat for a while I guess.”

“You look worn out. You’ve been a brick sweetie, why don’t you get your head down and I’ll fill in the constable — Susan is it?”

I didn’t get to sleep so well but I did get some rest and when I went down the next morning, mum was sat there nursing a coffee — dark circles under her eyes. Susan was opposite — looking the worse for wear but reasonable — the phone hadn’t rung — Sandy was still in bed.

By lunch time the phone still hadn’t rung and the police had been and interviewed everyone including next door neighbours and work colleagues of Mum’s as well as Dad’s. Nothing, absolutely nothing.

“I can’t sit here, I’m going to have to drive round my houses and pop into work.”
Mum told the room in general and no one in particular.

Susan’s replacement, Mary, another negotiator looked up and said, “your houses?”

“Real Estate Agent. I just like to check on my local houses to make sure there’s no squatters and stuff.” She informed the PC.

“Oh, right.” She made a note in her log. “I’ll just phone it in, the super might want you to be on hand if there is some contact.” She clicked on her short wave mic and asked what she should do about Mum leaving the house. The answer came back over the speaker so everyone could hear, “It’s been 18 hours since Mr Coombes went missing, I think if they were going to contact they’d have done it already, we’re searching for witnesses and going through bank records to see if there’s anyone with a grudge. Tell Mrs Coombes that if she needs to get out, to be careful and keep her eyes open. Constable, I think you can return to the station. Out”

I looked at mum and she looked sick. The implications were headlined — Dad had been kidnapped and there’d been no ransom demand — that meant only one thing. Mum collapsed in a heap. I sat down as my head started to swim.

Sandy ran over to mum and moved mum to a more comfortable position — she was in a dead faint. The constable went back to the mic and said, “Sir, Mrs Coombes has collapsed, could you send an ambulance?” A short silence followed. “Oh, right. Will do, ambulance on its way.”

“That boss of yours has a wonderful manner — I think he could do with a smack in the head with a wet kipper. Might wake him up. What the hell did he say that over open channel for — he must’ve known he’d be heard?” I was incensed. “I’ve a good mind to sue his ass off for causing unnecessary distress.” The copper looked guilty and kept her mouth shut.
Sandy spoke to Mary, “My name is Alexandra Hurley, I am the family’s lawyer, and I’m making a note of what has been said, in case further action may be taken, is that understood? I suggest you let your boss know — what’s his full name and rank please?”

“Superintendant Rupert Crisp.” The constable looked abashed and very contrite.
She pulled out her phone and talked for a minute.

Rupert Crisp — well I wonder if he bought his superintendancy — sounds like a very jolly good chap to know, don’t cha know. I shook my head. If this wasn’t so serious, itwold be a farce.

The ambulance arrived and mum was whisked off to A & E with Sandy in the back as well.

The constable packed up and left and I decided to go ride around mum’s houses to check they were ok. I knew where most of them were as she had a list on the fridge. I just needed to check in her work diary to make sure I got them all.

It was in her car so I just flicked through it and added the two not on the list — the route wasn’t long, but it was long enough on a bike.

All was well until I got half way round the houses and found one had a car in the drive.
It was an oldish, unpolished small Ford and the house was not compatible, being a fairly substantial 4 bed 3 bath DLUG (double lock up garage) sort of affair with a brick garden wall and not old.
Sort of house you’d expect to see a Volvo or a Mercedes outside.

I phoned mum’s office and told them and continued on my way. I’d almost got home when my cell phone rang and Sandy’s name came up on the screen.
“Hi aunty, is mum Ok? Is there any other news, I’m out checking the houses for mum — there’s an old car outside 10 Park Road and I phoned it in to mum’s work.”

“Been busy huh?” Sandy smiled down the phone, I could tell. “Mums Ok, she’s been sedated, they think she should stay here for a while maybe overnight, I’m going to stay for a little bit then go home and make tea, do you want to pop over and join us — I’ll pick you up if you do.”

“That’d be great, I don’t want to spend the night in an empty house, with dad being missing. I’m getting very anxious.” Bringing it up in conversation made it bubble to the surface and I felt tears were imminent again.

“Be at home and I’ll pick you up later.” Sandy rang off.

When I got in, I hit the message button in case anyone else had rung. What I heard made me feel sick.

“Feeling anxious yet? Are you missing your husband?” A little pause followed by, “time is ticking.” Then a click. The machine said, “Message timed at 2, 0, 5.”

I immediately rang the police who confirmed they’d got it but weren’t committing themselves to any other statement.

They seemed reluctant to actually do ANYTHING at all. I was sure there was something I could do. I thoughtabout the recording — I wonder where it was — I didn’t hear much in the background. I put the recording into my PC and stretched it a bit to see if I could hear anything else. It was eerily quiet almost to the end and then I heard the sound of an ice cream van jingle — Greensleeves way in the background.

I had a think — I wonder how many ice cream vans play that tune? The one that sells round here does. Mr Whipple. I looked in the telephone directory for the number of the company and found there was a head office and a load of franchises.
How many franchises were in our town that played Greensleeves?
I rang the number.

“Hello, Mr Whipple’s fine Ice Creams is pleased to take your call, all our operators are busy at the moment, please hold the line, someone will be with you shortly.” I HATE those recordings.

I drummed my fingers for a moment and looked at my watch. 4 pm — too early to pack up.

Suddenly I was put through. “Hello Samantha here, how may I direct your call?”

“I’d like to speak to someone who’d know where an ice cream van playing Greensleeves was this afternoon at 5 past 2?”

“You trying to be a smarty pants?” Was the answer.

“No I’m trying to trace a recording from a kidnapper which has this playing in the background.” I felt an icy silence as the person blushed a bit then. “I’m just finding out which vans play Greensleeves.” Silence again “There’s only two, one in the north of town and one down near the river.” My eyes opened wide — that’s here in this area…

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you where they were at 2 o’clock though.” Samantha said.

“Can you give me the phone number of the one by the river?” I felt myself pleading.

“Yes hang on a minute, 42-555-096” I scribbled down the number and read it back, “Yes you got it.” I rang off.

I dialed, “Hello Graham here?”

“Hi Graham, I’m trying to find out where you were selling ice cream today at 2pm.” I asked nervously. “I wouldn’t bother you but I need to know cos I heard your van tune in the background of a recording I got.”

“What’s the recording of then? Some criminal asking for ransom?” He said jokingly.

“That’s exactly right, and I’ll let the police know how helpful you were when I get my father back.”

“Strewth, I was joking,” Graham sucked in breath is shock.

“Do you know where you were?

“Yeah, I just had my lunch down by the Park and played the tune as I went up Park Road.”

“Thank you so much.” I rang off.

I rang the police, “Can I speak to Superintendant Crisp please?”

“He’s very busy on a case at the moment, who can I say is calling.” Came the officious reply in strangled English.

“Mr Coombes junior — I think I know where my dad is.” I was barely able to get it out I was so giddy.

“Would you like to tell me, I’ll pass the information on.” Mr Plod replied.

“No I would not, put me through to Crisp please.” I started to wind up.

“He’s not to be disturbed,”

“He’ll be disturbed if he finds out you didn’t put this call through.” I was really frantic now.

“I’ll see if I can contact him,” the sound went muffled like he’d put the phone to his chest. 20 seconds went by. “No he’s not in his office. You can tell me the information.”

“You do realise this is being recorded don’t you? By your own station as it happens (I’d have to ask later if anyone had a laugh over the desk sergeant getting ripped a new one by a minor). I know you didn’t attempt to find Crisp, you’re just being bloody minded, now do as I ask or you’ll be in more shit than Crisp already is.” Silence.

“Ah, he’sjust walked into the station, putting you through” sound of a phone being transferred. I shook my head as a leasurely voice offered. “Hello Superintendant Crisp here.”

“It’s Richard Coombes here, I think I know where Dad is.” I almost squeaked it out.

“Oh and how would you know that sir?”
Oh God this has to be a joke.

“Why not just ask where and send a car? Then ask me how I know.” I replied.

“I hope you’re not wasting police time sir.” Was the stupid reply

“Please stop being a prick like your desk officer and listen, the recording that came in this afternoon had a Greensleeves tune on it?”

“Do you think we’re stupid sir? Of course we know — but there’s hundreds of ice cream vans out there.”

“Well as you may or may not know, my mother is a real Estate Agent, this afternoon after you so callously made it obvious that my father was not being ransomed she fainted, so I went round to check the houses she was about to check.” I continued.

“And how does this relate to the ice cream van?”

“One of the houses had a car outside — an empty house. A big, empty house, an expensive house with a cheap old clunker outside. Is this starting to sound like a lead yet?” I asked sarcastically.

“Not til you tie it in with the ice cream van, but yes it’s sounding interesting,” he sounded more animated.

“I rang the company who franchises the vans, there’s only two with Greensleeves tune in their van. I spoke to Graham the owner of one van and he was at the end of Park road, the SAME road that the house is on, at two pm. The time of the call.” I almost got it out in one breath.

“Right, seems you may have something there, we’ll follow it up. Thank you Richard.”
The superintendant sounded quite pleased.

“How soon will you know?” I asked, excited.

“Well, we’ll just ring the ice cream people and check out your story and the real estate agent, then we’ll get someone down there to have a look. Our officers are very busy you know” He offered mildly.

“How about getting a car over there straight away —it will take less resources than going over the information twice.” I put the phone down — I’d go myself, at least I’d be able to make sure they didn’t move and then we’d lose them.

I jumped back on my bike and was back outside the house in ten minutes. The car was still there.
Right — still the middle of the afternoon in real terms. I picked up a dropped newspaper from the road. It gave me an idea.
I rolled the newspaper up and walked up to the door as if I was going to post it. I quietly listened and then lifted the flap of the letterbox. (they’re on the house door in UK) and had a look through the slot.
The first thing I noticed was no carpet. I listened and could hear someone pacing nervously up and down one of the rooms inside. I backed off and went back to my bike out on the pavement.

I dialed up Sandy, “I think I found dad, he’s at the house that has the car outside on Park Road, the one I told you about. I phoned the police but I got that jackass Crisp again and he said he’d check it out — I’ve been here ten minutes and there’s no sign of the police — can you chivvy them up?” Sandy barely acknowledged me before she clicked off — I phoned for an ambulance and told them I’d come off my bike. I wanted dad to be safe as soon as I could. I told the ambulance I’d go up to the house to get help — so they’d park in the drive outside.

In the next two minutes all hell broke loose, I heard the siren of the ambulance, so I walked towards the door; there were several steps up there and I wanted to be on the doorstep when the ambos arrived. So I walked up the steps and knocked on the door. I stood back waiting for whomever it was to open the door. Another set of sirens was coming from the other direction. The door opened and a guy came running out and as I stepped forward he hit me square in the chest with his body and we both went flying down the steps. I landed on him but a sudden pain from my leg said all was not well — the guy was lying under me unconscious.
I couldn’t move — the pain was excruciating.

Screeching brakes and sirens stopped by me. Uniforms were everywhere.
“In the house, in the house,” I yelled — “get my dad”. I pushed the ambo away from me.
I could feel warm liquid trickling down my leg.

“You first,” he said, trying to ascertain what was stopping me moving.

“No, No! my dad, he’s in the house you have to help him.” Suddenly a voice rang out.

“Searg, we’ve found a man in ‘ere all trussed up but unconscious.” When the other ambo heard that, he ran into the house while the one who was looking after me found what was pinning me down. I’d landed on a bamboo tomato cane and it had gone through my leg.
He eased the cane out of the ground and rolled me over to reveal the other guy. The unconscious man under me was rather worse — he’d got a cane protruding from his shoulder and one from his other arm. His head had landed on a paving stone and blood was pooling under his head. He was still breathing.

Another ambulance arrived and as they got me onto a stretcher with the ‘arrow’ through my leg, Dad arrived in another stretcher next to me and my Aunt arrived on the other side. “Oh my God, what happened?” The shock was setting in and I was a bit out of it by then. As I slipped quietly into the blackness of shock and passed out, I could see my dad coming round in the stretcher next to me — his bonds had been cut and he looked a bit bruised and damaged but not serious.

I came round in hospital; my mother was holding one hand, Sandy the other. My dad was lying on the next cot, mum was holding his hand too — he had drips in his arm and a bandage round his head. He looked like he’d been knocked about a bit — he had black eyes and a cut on his cheek.

“Dad!” I cried out when I saw him. Mum gripped my hand and so did Auntie Sandy, “He’s going to be fine — he’s been beaten up a bit but he’s Ok.”

Suddenly I was aware of what I was wearing. A nightie. I closed my eyes and swallowed -I looked at my chest. My constricting garment was obviously not on my body.

“They cut off your clothes when you were in A&E,” Mum looked down at me with a look of compassion, “don’t worry, Sandy has told me all about it.”

Tears started at the back of my eyes, I felt ashamed that I’d not told my own family.
“It’s ok, you told the twins and Sandy, you just wanted to be safe before you told us.”
Mum squeezed my hand.

“Why did that man kidnap Daddy?” I asked, then suddenly aware I’d used daddy as a noun.

“There’s a bit of Irony there; Daddy had to foreclose on his mortgage because he wasn’t paying; he’d been given a chance, but he was gambling and instead of getting help he tried to win back what he’d lost. It never works.
It was actually his house before, which was why he had the keys. His wife divorced him and he lost his job — he just cracked under the strain. He wanted to punish someone — he thought Daddy was the person who had caused all his trouble.” Mum recounted the story.

“So what is all this with you, is this what I am to expect now? Sandy said you’ve made a decision about your future already?” She looked both concerned and anxious, “no need to blush missy!” she chided, “seems a bit late for that eh?” The look she gave me was guarded, there was a look of fear and uncertainty — well outside the comfort zone.

I blanched then blushed to my roots. I looked at mum again to see what sort of reaction she was disposed towards. She seemed to gather herself and put on a face of calm and accepting. I never felt so vulnerable in my life. There was little I could do to avoid the runaway road roller.

Mum looked down at me and sighed, “I’m not sure I can condone the method of your self administered drug regime, but the blood test they took came back quite well balanced. More by luck than judgment I think.” She looked chagrined. She put her head back and took a deep breath

“I reckon I could get used to having a girl.” She continued after a while, “There’s a lot of things I’ll get to do that I never would with a son!” She tried to smile down at me, the smile slipping into trepidation

Dad groaned — I looked over at him. “Does he know?” I winced at the thought of him seeing me naked. The tension in my leg making me wince even more.
“How bad is my leg? It’s burning and throbbing a bit, like it’s been stung by wasps.”

“Which do you want me to answer first?” She looked at me, I was agitated, shaken but not stirred . “Leg will have two tiny scars, you’ll still look fine in a bikini…” I blushed.

“Oh yes, Dad, he was awake when they cut the bandage off!” Mum smirked at Sandy, “I think I can safely say that he was wide awake for a minute or two after seeing your ‘attributes’ on display!”

I blushed anew, “Oh God, what did he say? Was he angry?” I was looking over at him at his bruised and swollen face and the bandage.

“Of course when Brad” my eyes started out of my head “Brad started cutting the vest off, we couldn’t understand why you’d be wearing such a tight vest. Then we realised what was under it. To answer your question though, no, he was sort of disappointed and hurt more than anything. So was I” I could see mum was holding back tears. “Why darling? why couldn’t you have told us?”

My eyes flicked from Sandy to mum and back. I took a deep breath. “Well to be honest, it was because you’re too law abiding.” Mum frowned.

“How does that affect what you did, what you risked without telling us?” More agitated now.

“I imagined a scenario, where I told you the truth.” I began. I paused to frame the story. “ I come to you, ‘mummy I’m a girl inside, I need to be allowed to be me.” I watched her face as she imagined it. “Your reaction would be first, incredulity, then guilt, then denial, then you’d tell me I was being silly.” I was watching as those emotions crossed her face.

“No darling, we’d have listened.”

“What - like you listened when I said I didn’t want to go to that school?” I shot back. The look on mum’s face was stricken. “Sorry, that was unfair.”

“Actually it wasn’t unfair, we didn’t listen did we? We took the word from the therapist and ignored what you wanted. For that, I’m really sorry.” Mums face was introspective like she was rewriting the part of the scenario.

“Anyway, back to the scenario. After a bit of denial, you’d have seen the therapist and he’d have said ‘there’s nothing I can do until Richard is 18’. By which time I’d have a male physique, a male head, a beard and no chance to be a normal girl. Do you realise how restrictive the law is? The therapist does know because I told him …” I glanced at them both and they looked a bit shocked, “and he told me he wouldn’t refer me to a gender shrink until I was 16. Which is next week anyway. And they’d mess me about for a year so I’d be no better off. This was over a year ago, that I told him”

I lay back as a wave of pain made me uncomfortable. Dad groaned and tossed about a bit but didn’t wake. Mum and Sandy absorbed the diatribe I’d just spouted. It looked like mum was about to say something a couple of times. Then she abruptly sat down on the chair that was behind her.

“Oh God, you’re absolutely right — we would have believed the therapist just the same way we already have. We’d have allowed him to ruin your youth and you would have been so bitter.” She shuddered as tears leaked between her closed eyelids. Sandy walked round my bed and stood behind mum and put her arms round her protectively.

“Rich took responsibility for his own actions and I have to say it was irresponsible but probably for the best in the long run. There appear to be things wrong with the system that we can’t change.”

For a minute or two we were silent, I was aware suddenly that my father was looking through one open eye at me.

“Hello everyone, I appear to have missed something?” his voice sounded a bit muffled like he was talking through a mouthful of cotton wool. I expected him to say, “I could have been a contender,” but I guess the situation called for more gravity.

I looked at him as he shifted a bit so he could look at me better. “I was listening to your scenario, you got one thing wrong,” he swallowed painfully.

“What was that dad?”

“You missed out the bit about me shouting that we knew best and you should do as you’re told and stop being a clever bugger.” He licked his cracked lips and winced. “Could I get a drink, please?”

Suddenly mum came to life and rushed round to him. “How are you feeling darling?”

“All shook up,” he tried to grin and winced again. Mum fed him a straw and he sucked on it to slake his thirst — good job it was sitting in a glass of water or it wouldn’t have worked.

“All of a sudden it doesn’t seem as important as it might have done two days ago.” He lay back and stared at the ceiling.

“I’m lying next to a heroine, a young person who not only worked out where her kidnapped father was, but used what resources were available, contacted a bunch of police who were totally inept and when they didn’t show, went out and single handed, tackled the kidnapper who was beating her father to a pulp, saving his life at the risk of her own. ….. I think that means our child is not only grown up, but certainly able to make any and all decisions about her own life.”

The tears in my eyes were now of joy rather than guilt and pain. Dad looked grieved, he’d lost his pride and joy. Rebecca had stolen him. He looked away for a minute mum dabbed at his eyes with a tissue. He looked back at me with a tender but bruised smile — it was the most incredible display of bravery I’d ever seen.

“Rich… that’s stupid, we can’t call you Richard,” mum looked at dad and said, “I think our daughter can name herself under the circumstances.”

“Rebecca Dianne.” I whispered.

“Dianne was your great gran’s name,” mum smiled, “you knew that, I told you years ago; you asked me. Have you known so long?” Mum’s eyes were round as saucers.

“I’ve always known. I thought it wise not to say, until I could do something about it. I wanted to tell so much, but it was impossible — right from the earliest time, I knew that it was not something you spout about. Remember when I was about 4 mum? I said, ‘when do I get to be a girl like Angie and Sarah?’”

“I said, you don’t get to be a girl, stop being silly. I remember you asking — I thought it was silly that you didn’t know that boys didn’t turn into girls — seems I was wrong.”
No, I don’t think you’re wrong, I was always a girl.”

We sat around after that just passing time as we recovered.
Mum looked the worst — her eyes were haunted, but she was at peace. She had hold of each of our hands and Sandy was behind her with her hands draped over her shoulders.
Dad had slipped back into a recuperative sleep he looked ghastly and it looked worse by the minute as his bruises came to the fore and his face swelled more. He groaned when he moved, it wasn’t only his face that was bruised. Now and then he moved in a dream. His actions those of someone being thrashed — trying to escape, cowering almost. His dreams were reliving the episode and were part of getting over it — It wasn’t easy to watch. Mum tended him as he sweated in his torture. We moved as a family, each tending to the other’s needs.

Eventually he drifted into deeper sleep and we were able to relax from our torture of watching him.

The doctor came round presently, with Brad who grabbed my clipboard and said, “this patient is not to be released — she has to be sectioned under the mental health act.” He had a huge grin on his face so we knew he wasn’t serious.

He came over and put his hand on my shoulder.

“When I saw you and Ted come in with a police escort, I was just so glad you were not badly hurt —the ambulance had radioed in and said non life threatening injuries to you and Ted but severe head trauma and puncture wounds to the other guy , I thought you must have stabbed him. Then I saw the condition you were all in and I nearly let the other guy suffer to get to you two first.” He laughed gently.

“Then I thought I’d better get the suspect into surgery — he had some very serious injuries. He’s in intensive care — what did you hit him with?” He was half serious asking.

“Me, - he actually came out of the front door at a run and ran smack into me. We fell off the steps into the garden — I landed on him.” I was suddenly worried. “I won’t get charged with assault or anything will I? He can’t sue me or anything?”

Sandy shook her head, “You might get a bravery award, that’s about it — oh the police might want a statement about it but that can wait, I can swear an affidavit if need be.”

“I have to say you looked a sight when you came in, you were covered in blood — with what looked like an arrow in your leg! Like something out of a wild west show.
When I checked you over there was just the one wound and it wasn’t bleeding much at all — it had gone through the flesh at the side of your thigh. All the blood belonged to the kidnapper. We’ve checked it- he doesn’t have any communicable disease so you’re safe. The cane we cut and removed — it was pretty clean as it was and the wound was very small but it did bruise quite a bit. What was funniest was,” he grinned and indicated my chest area. “I thought there’s been some trauma because of the blood so we cut your shirt off — Well you can imagine my surprise when I discovered… well what I discovered..” He grinned with a sort of embarrassed smile. “Sorry about the loss of dignity.”

I lifted the bed cover and looked down at the dressing on my leg — it was only quite light. But the bruising was showing both sides “Well I guess no harm done, it seems to have sorted one or two things out.” I looked at my chest before I let the bedclothes fall back over me.

“Oh about the blood test,” He looked at me quizzically.

I raised my eyebrows. “Uncle, you don’t need to quantify that, I’ve had a blood test this last week but haven’t got the results yet — I presume it’s a little unusual for a teenage boy?” I grimaced a bit.

“Before you go any further Doctor.” Sandy interrupted. Brad looked at her a little astonished at the term. “My client would appreciate any information to be kept doctor patient confidential.” Brad goldfished. Sandy smiled and said — “Let it be.”

Dad had come round by this time, he still wasn’t really with us but he was awake. He looked at Ted, “How about me? What did that bastard do to me, I feel like he’s been kicking me for days with hobnailed boots on. My head feels like a world cup final football — AFTER the match, and my side, chest and legs feel like they’ve been in a stampede ”

“Well you’re bruised all over and there’s a lot of small cuts and abrasions but nothing serious. Maybe a cracked rib or two, but we’re keeping you in overnight for obs in case of a concussion. He appears to have hit you round the head with something padded so there’s no breaks or broken skin” (We found out later he put a couple of bars of soap in a sock and used it as a cudgel). The abrasions were from the bindings and being dragged about.

We all relaxed — as much as we could — the duty doctor that had come in with Brad professed me to be fit to be discharged but dad was to stay in overnight.

It was nearly 10.30pm — so the whole episode had only taken 6 hours or so.

We chatted for a while and Sandy and Brad went home as Brad had finished his shift and knocked off

The hospital gave me some clean scrubs to go home in.
Mum had to help me to the car after we said goodnight to a groggy dad — they’d given him a bit of a sedative so he could get a decent night’s sleep. Mum’s sedative had worn off thankfully.

We felt greatly relieved that it was all but over. I looked at mum as she drove —she was biting her lip and her eyes looked startled. “You ok mummy?” I saw a tear start down her cheek in the light from an oncoming car.

She pulled over and turned off the engine.

“Oh God, what an awful day it’s been, I’ve never been through so much trauma in one day.” She shook and sobbed and I grabbed her and we hugged each other til the emergency passed.

“I’m so sorry mum. Honest.” I squeezed her arm for a reaction. She sat there a minute.

“It’s alright Richard, Rebecca, sorry. I’m just so happy we’re all ok — even more ok really than we were this morning — I thought there was something wrong with you and dad was missing maybe killed by someone. I was so frightened. My whole life had seemingly come off the rails, in one day — nightmare stuff ” She balled the tissue she’d dried her eyes with in her hand. “Then my amazing son finds his dad and saves him, stopping the criminal, then turns into my daughter — all in a few hours.” She smiled ruefully.
“I think I need a holiday.”

Mum put the car back in gear and we drove home. When we got there we were confronted with a load of people at the gate — fortunately it opened as usual and we drove in — it closed behind us and we left the reporters in the road.

When we got in the phone was ringing, but the interceptor was still doing its job and took the message — there were 37 messages on the tape — we didn’t hear them.

“Would you like a cocoa?” Mum and I had walked in the house arm in arm. Mutually supportive. We were followed by flashes but at that distance there wouldn’t be much to print.
“Love one, but I’ll make it.” I stepped towards the kettle but my leg wouldn’t answer the call and I had to let mum make it after all. I perched on the stool feeling a bit tender.

“My bike is still in Park Road,” I remembered suddenly. “I’ll bet it’s been wogged by now.” (English slang for thieved)
“No, it’s in the police station, the constable who came to the hospital when you were out of it told me. They’ll return it tomorrow… in return for statements”

We drank our cocoa slowly cradling it in our hands, we looked at each other — mum for the first time really drinking in her newfound daughters face; the daughter for the first time noting their similar features.

“Can I explain…?”

“Tomorrow darling, tell me tomorrow.”

We went to bed.

The next morning I retrieved the paper from the gate as mum rang the hospital to see if dad was awake.
The papers had a  ½ column on page 4 about dad’s kidnapping and a small picture of me through the car window taken outside the gate.

‘Heroine saves father from brutal attack’.

I shrugged at the headline, they don’t know anything more than they got from the police.

Quote/“The solving of the case was totally down to the actions of Rebecca” States the family lawyer Sandra Hurley. “She selflessly and bravely confronted the Kidnapper to save her father.
The police spokesman Superintendant Crisp stated that “the young person involved should not have interfered and put their life in danger while the matter was in the hands of the police.”/quote

My god he’s still at it.

“Smile Please Rebecca” I looked at the gate and heard the clack, clack, clack of the camera taking a series of shots.
I turned away, embarrassed by the sudden use of my new name- everyone on Earth knows already and I only told my mum last night.

“Dad’s ok and the doctor says he can come home this morning — he needs some clean clothes and stuff. He says he’s really stiff from the damaged muscles but he can walk ok.”

“I need some new clothes too,” I placed the paper in front of mum and pointed to the report.
“Oh, Rebecca already. That was clever of Sandy to make sure you were properly attributed. Yes, you’ll need to be properly dressed — wouldn’t do to have you in boy’s clothes for the paparazzi would it?” She grinned, more like her old self this morning.

“I threw out my clothes from yesterday, they’re all cut up and covered in blood” — they had given them to me in a plastic bag as I left the hospital. “I am a bit up in the air about getting some clothes to be honest.”

“Why? we just need to get you a pair of pants to replace your old ones.” Mum smirked at me. “Do you realise how long I lay awake last night planning your wardrobe?” The grin was wider.

“Mummy, nothing would suit me more, than to go out and be me. However let’s take this one day at a time eh? I haven’t got one thing that shows me as female.” I complained, thinking about my school ID and my bus pass and all that stuff with Richard on it.

Mum looked at me and then down at my boobs and then at me again with raised eyebrows,” No, but there are two things….”

We finished breakfast and washed up. I was just about to go upstairs when a light tap on the door and Sandy walked in with the twins behind — they just about mowed me down like a herd of stampeding gazelle. Pronking (like a horse pig rooting — I hope you know what that is) just in front of me to turn the ‘mowing’ into a hugging. “EEEEEE” the squeal was almost mind altering, like the whistle of a falling shell.

Once the hubbub had died down, we discussed what the order of the day was.
The twins were all for retail therapy but instead had raided their wardrobes for some clothes. Sarah raced out to the car and brought in three bags. They were obviously not groceries.

“Gently now girls,” Sandy admonished. “This could be very overwhelming..”

“It really isn’t Aunty,” I countered, “there’s no reason I shouldn’t wear this stuff, I’m shaped for it and I’ve pretty much been waiting for this week. Well after the weekend anyway.”

A slight nod of acknowledgement was all it took for my hands to be grabbed and me bodily removed to a place of more privacy for the girlish pursuit of Barbie Dressing.
I was not nimble on the stairs and the girls were impatient.

“This is fantastic, mum told us all about what happened — you’re so brave,” Ang hugged me and Sarah added, “and so clever too”

I was standing on one leg with the toe of my left leg touching the ground — I couldn’t put much weight on it as it was really sore.

“Right — first of all we need to measure you then we can sort out which clothes will fit.”

“Can I sit down, please?” I was hopping a bit — my leg was throbbing.

“Oh my — we forgot about your leg. Can we see?” Sarah helped me over to the bed.

“C’mon slip your pants down and let us look at the damage.” Ang hovered over me ready to help me.

I undid my belt — and hopped my rear off the bed and slid my pants over my derriere.

The bandage was about 6 inches wide taped to my thigh — the bruise was from my hip to my knee and black like a raven.

Both girls suddenly burst into tears, “That’s awful, you brave thing — it must hurt heaps. We had no idea it was so bad, we’re really sorry; we shouldn’t have made you walk up stairs.” Ang put her arm across my shoulder and hugged me sideways. I could see tears of sympathy in her eyes.

“Let’s not worry about the rest of it for now — Size 12 skirt — 34B top.” I said, “flat shoes thanks, size 6  ½ - I can wear my sandals if you haven’t something that will do”

The girls were a bit more subdued, I could tell they were a bit embarrassed to have treated me so off handed when I’d been injured. “Hey cheer up, I didn’t lose my virginity you know.” I tried to be a little chipper. It worked a bit.

“Which one, your boy or girl virginity?” Angie spluttered and went a bit pink.

“I haven’t got any way to lose my girl virginity now, have I?”

“Well your leg is WELL stuffed.” Sarah guffawed. She handed me a full circle denim skirt and a pink angora short sleeved top.
“These are classics and will look good even on a boy. On you they will be fabulous,” she added suddenly conscious of her faux pas.

“Wait,” Ang held up her hand, “I have here something she needs more than the classics.” She handed me a nice plain 34B bra, no wire, no lace.

“Try this; it should give you a bit of support and shape.” Sarah grinned.

I turned it over in my hand. “Um need a hand, I’ve never tried one on.” I looked down at it in dismay — I felt like a boy trying on girls clothes.

“Ok,” Sarah said gently, “no need to panic, this is a serious moment — a girl’s first bra.”

She helped me off with the t shirt I was wearing and the singlet, “Hold out your arms. No wait. You need to put it on yourself. Turn the back to the front first, then you can see the hooks and eyes.” She showed me —

“I know the mechanics of the hooks and stuff.” I countered — “just not the adjustments.”

Sarah was eyeing me up now that I was naked from the waist up. “Nice software.”

I donned the garment finding it awkward at first to work out how to get the fleshy bits to sit comfortably. Sarah moved in front of me and showed me what to do.
All of a sudden it felt right — and I was being supported properly. I looked at the twins sort of shocked — “It works, I actually feel really comfortable.”

“Well der…” Ang smiled and shook her head as if not believing the statement. “Do you honestly think we’d bother if they didn’t work?”

“No, I guess not.”

The rest of the outfit looked really nice and I felt normal for once. I had to wear my sandals — all the offered footwear felt tight or too loose. I really wasn’t keen on wearing someone else’s shoes either.

Angie helped me up to stand in front of the mirror — I looked fine. No amazing, but ok nonetheless.

Mum’s head popped round the door edge, took in the appearance of three girls and smiled — “Well that didn’t take you long.” She was about to say something else then stopped. “I’m going to pick up dad, do you want to come with us or wait here?”

“Wait here thanks, my leg is really not up to wandering through a hospital.” I was still taking all the weight on my left leg, and the ache was making me a bit spacey. “Don’t take too long, I really want to see him. I didn’t realise before how much his being around means to me.”

“Me either darling, I’ll have him home soon as may be.” Mum finger waved at us all and her head disappeared from round the door.

We heard the car move out of the garage onto the gravel drive then move off.
“C’mon let’s go and get a cuppa and some bikkies.” I said holding out my hands to the girls for support.

Soon I was sipping a nice hot coffee and surrounding a few hobnobs.
I flicked on the monitor at the gate and it was free of gawpers. We’d had our 15 mins of fame.