John finds the body of a neighbour who has been murdered. The police detective
assigned to the case deduces that John hides a secret - but the detective has secrets of her own. Copyright© 2013 Susan Heywood All Rights Reserved. |
This story is fiction, as are all the characters and the town in which most of the action takes place. GSD - Global Synthetic Developments (UK) Ltd - is a fictitious company. The story is intended for personal perusal only; no other dissemination is permitted without the express permission of the author, her heirs or assigns. There is a little adult language and implied sexual activity; there are no explicit scenes. If, however, you think you might be offended - don’t read it.
Medical, legal and other procedures are correct according to my knowledge, belief, experience or research.
I would like to thank everyone, especially Angela Rasch and Persephone, for all that they have taught me about writing and Carla E. for editing this story.
© Susan Heywood 2013 ([email protected])
If you’re all sitting comfortably, then I’ll begin….
Part 1 of 25 - Discovery
March 2004
I stopped for a moment and listened to the sounds of the night. The constant hum of traffic was interrupted occasionally by the screech of car brakes. Traffic on the nearby main road stopped, then accelerated as the traffic lights cycled through their regular, monotonous colour changes. A door slammed; voices were raised in greeting.
I sighed and continued my lonely walk.
A jogger ran towards me and passed me without breaking stride. I stopped breathing for a few moments; I certainly didn’t want to meet anyone else. I wrapped my coat tightly around me and continued to walk as quickly as I could. I didn’t want to be out too long. Besides, March was living up to its reputation as a windy month and I was getting cold.
“The best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men,” as Robert Burns would have it, “gang aft agley”. In this case, his observation was spot-on.
As I returned to my home, I noticed a neighbour sitting on the doorstep of an adjacent building. I rarely saw anyone else, and especially not at night. I was so surprised that I called, without thinking, “Good evening Mrs Jones.” I punched in the security code and opened the door. Then I froze.
Shit!
I realised what I’d said and was about to rush indoors, when I heard a gentle thump. The hairs on the back of my neck rose. Full of trepidation, I glanced over my shoulder and saw Mrs Jones lying on the footpath. Plucking up my courage, I crossed the car park, approached the still form, knelt down and asked automatically, but rather stupidly, “Are you okay?”
No response; of course she wasn’t okay. A quick check of her pulse told me that she was dead.
Double shit!
I saw a little blood staining the front of her sky-blue sweater. I have no medical training but even I knew that I should touch nothing else.
Do I pretend that I saw nothing, or do I call for help?
I couldn’t ignore it. Someone would be certain to interview me later, and I’d either say something stupid, or the look on my face would give me away. Some feelings I tried to hide, some I was never very good at hiding.
Filled with second, third and more thoughts, I dashed back to Coleridge House and ran up the stairs to my apartment on the top floor. I telephoned the police and an ambulance.
Apartment; sounds rather grand, doesn’t it? The truth was somewhat different. Every room was small; the living room, the kitchen, the bathroom and the two bedrooms - a double and a single - but, although small, the place was adequate for me, as I lived alone. It was in a terrible state when I first got it and this was all reflected in a lower than usual price, but I could see its potential. It had taken months, and all my spare money, to get it as I wanted it but at least it was mine — okay, much of it was owned by the mortgage lender. Still, it was somewhere where I could shut the door on the world and ignore it for a while.
It was the work of a minute, and handful of wet-wipes, to make myself reasonably presentable for when official company arrived. I hastily flung on some jeans, a tee and some trainers, brushed my hair, grabbed a warm coat, slammed the bedroom door behind me and ran back down the stairs. While I waited outside the front door of Coleridge House, my mind inevitably turned to my latest challenge (read as ‘nightmare’), namely that of condensing three hours of raucous verbal drivel, at last night’s Cricket Club Annual General Meeting, into a couple of pages of gripping historical record.
I kept myself as occupied as possible, both at home and at work. On the odd occasion that I did have time on my hands, like now for instance, thoughts of how I arrived at this point in my life would creep unbidden into my consciousness and take over.
Most people in the office ignored me — unless they wanted something.
Phil Sullivan wanted.
“John; the Cricket Club desperately needs a secretary and you do shorthand, don’t you? I’ve seen you at meetings in the office.” He nagged me several times a day for a week until he eventually ground down the small amount of willpower that I had.
“But I know nothing about cricket,” I moaned.
“You’ll soon pick it up.” He said, cheerfully, as he walked away.
I groaned.
Cricket, that time-honoured, peculiar ritual of throwing heavy leather balls at members of the opposing team, who were supposed to avoid injury by using the bat to send the ball into oblivion - or was it the pavilion? I adopted the ‘jump out of the way and fall over’ survival method. This, of course, went down like a lead brick at school. As for the places on the pitch; I ask you, ‘silly-mid-off?’ When I enquired, I was peremptorily told, “It’s a fielding position close to the wicket on the off-side, square of the batsman.” That said a lot, but told me nothing of interest.
Old Bolshie the sports coach — when you’re a teenager, anyone over thirty years of age was old - would bellow. “Smith! You’re supposed to hit the ball, not shy away from it. Get up and play properly!”
I tried, only once. “Hit the ball? If you throw the thing at me that fast, can you really blame me for trying to get out of the way? And if it hit me, there’s a good chance that it’d break something.”
My protest often resulted in another beating for being queer. I always thought that a queer was a derogatory name for a homosexual male. My father and my fellow pupils said that I was, but I knew that I wasn’t, as I didn’t fancy any of the boys in the school — or any boys at all, for that matter. I could fancy girls all I wanted but they didn’t want a weedy kid with glasses. As far as I was concerned, I was a nothing — not that my opinion counted for anything or was listened to. It seemed that everyone who didn’t conform to a stereotype must be queer and therefore should be soundly beaten.
I was soundly beaten.
Teachers were no longer allowed to administer corporal punishment, but fellow pupils seemed to use violence with total impunity — usually on the way to and from school. If it was on school premises, the teachers might have to do something about the bullying that went on — not that it happened at our school, of course. If anyone in authority admitted that it did happen, there was a danger that the bullies would have to be punished, which should at least involve losing places on the sports teams. We couldn’t have that, could we? Horror of horrors; we might lose a football match, or something. Was I cynical? You bet your life I was.
I might have wanted to study but I was in the same classes as the thugs, so there was no chance. It didn’t help that, as far as the teachers were concerned, we were all equally to blame for any perceived misdemeanour, whether or not some of us only wanted to stay below the radar.
While nearly every school day was torment, I especially hated Monday afternoons; two hours of competitive team ball games or cross-country running. If the weather was particularly bad, we’d end up in the gymnasium where we were encouraged — read as ‘yelled at’ - to climb up ropes or the wall. There were no alternatives; I asked only once. I said that I wouldn’t mind aerobics; that earned a laugh from Old Bolshie, who never listened to a word I said.
“Smith! Why aren’t you joining in?”
Old Bolshie was deaf as well as thick
“No one wants me in their team, Sir.”
I don’t throw properly and can’t catch. I get breathless when running and don’t try hard enough to show how strong I am. In other words, I don’t show off how much testosterone I have coursing through my body. Add to that the fact that I don’t really want to be here anyway and you have a ready-made punch-bag.
“You don’t even try to fit in; you just stand there like a spare prick at a wedding! Run around, boy, run around!”
Old Bolshie (Mr Victor Green always seemed to be angry about something, hence BolshieVic) would yell at me as I stood on the sidelines. What pea-brained idiot decided that we had to use that particular sports field, which was near the harbour? In the winter, the bitter wind off the sea turned your legs blue as soon as you stepped off the bus. Maybe all that aggression and expenditure of energy was supposed to warm you up. I was about as aggressive as lukewarm tea, and my limited energy went towards my feeble attempts at survival. In the summer, of course, you boiled and sweated. Then you had to endure a busload of smelly boys on the journey back to school, where you suffered the indignity of the obligatory post-sport shower. There, your shortcomings received a suitable measure of ridicule and retribution. As if I had any choice in how I was put together. The girls didn’t have Old Bolshie for a sports coach. They probably had some sadistic ex-army PTI woman putting them through purgatory.
I’d shrug and run around the edge of the field. There were three hundred and sixty five bad days in the year, and every fourth year some bloody-minded sod threw in an extra day for good measure.
“Smith, you’re pathetic; run properly!”
Thanks; just pin a target on my back, why don’t you?
Macbeth is a tragedy? You should try Mr Charles ‘Old Henry’ Ford, the English Literature teacher.
“Let’s all have a mass debate.” Colin Hammond’s suggestion earned a laugh from most of the class.
I groaned.
Old Henry wasn’t amused and kept us all in after school.
Simply bloody wonderful; as if the school day isn’t already too long
I left after detention, but obviously not quickly enough.
I dragged my bruised and aching body through the door at something after six o’clock in the evening and dropped the remains of my spectacles onto the kitchen table.
“John Edward Smith, You’re late!” My mother stated the obvious.
What is it with parents? About the only time they use your full name is when you’re in trouble. What was it for this time; trying to survive childhood again?
I tried to explain this incident. “Colin Hammond managed to earn us all half an hour’s detention every day for a week, and I got another beating from Simon Bennick and friends when we left the school. I suppose I should be thankful that they took my specs off my face before treading on them.”
Simon bloody Bennick and his mates were louts and bullies, hyped up on beer and some drug that Simon’s elder brother supplied. I wondered if they could have got Saturday jobs at a zoo. They probably out-weighed much of the gorilla population, but it was obvious that the gorillas had more brainpower. I stood no chance against their gang that, they boasted, was always involved in things violent or illegal — or preferably both.
My mother, as usual, didn’t, or wouldn’t, understand odds of three on one. “Tell your father.”
“That’s very likely to solve my problems,” I responded, dryly.
She fumed as she surveyed the wreckage that had been my spectacles. “This is ridiculous! We’re always paying to repair them. Why do you keep getting into fights?”
“How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t get into fights, I get bullied,” I replied, angrily. “Neither of you do anything about it. I might just as well wear a sign around my neck, saying “Thump me.” If I had more courage, I’d walk under a bus. I just want a quiet life; study, get good enough grades for me to go to college, and get out of that dump as soon as I can.”
Getting away from home would be good, too
I’d heard her next speech so many times that I could parrot it word for word.
“Don’t be stupid; bullying doesn’t happen these days. You’re just making excuses. School days are the best days of your life, you know. You’ve a wonderful opportunity; many children would love to go to a good school. I remember when I was a girl….”
Yeah, yeah — change the bloody record, Mother. If that school is so great, why don’t you go?
When my father came home from work, my mother blabbed, and I got another earful. “I'm fed up with you getting into trouble at school, you lazy little tyke. You ask for everything you get; you should fight back. You should take up boxing; it’d build some muscles and toughen you up. Then you could handle yourself properly when you do get into a fight.”
Of course, he’s got an answer for everything. Try living in the real world, Father
I responded, angrily, “Firstly, as I keep telling both you and my mother, I don’t get into fights, I get bullied. Secondly, how am I supposed to retaliate against that bunch of psychopaths? Newbolt and Hammond held me while Bennick took off my glasses and knocked seven bells out of me; you want me to take on a gang of thugs who all outweigh me?”
He exploded; a shame it wasn’t literally. “Get out of my sight, you lazy little pansy! Heavies only go for soft targets; you should defend yourself properly, then they’d give up and you’d get a reputation as a bruiser who’s not to be messed with. And don’t answer back!”
I ran up to my room and shut the door; tears weren’t very far away — again. No doubt that would earn me another lecture along the lines of “real men don’t cry.”
My father’s frequent advice - what my brother and I needed to do for him to be proud of us - almost invariably began with “You should.”
I know what we’ll put on his gravestone;
If my mother ever wanted me for anything, she’d usually find me in my bedroom. “John; you’ve always got your nose stuck in a book. Why don’t you make some friends and go outside to play? The fresh air and exercise would do you good.”
Sometimes I sit and wonder; and sometimes I just sit
I’d shake my head in disgust, “I keep telling you; if I poke my head outside the door, some thug will probably use it as a football. Isn’t it enough that I get beaten up on the way to and from school? You want me to get beaten up in the evenings as well? Let’s face it; nobody wants to be friends with me; all I’m good for is just a punch-bag.”
I’d sigh. How could she be so naíve?
“It’s not healthy for you to stay indoors so much.”
“It’s not healthy for me to go outside more than I have to.” I rolled my eyes.
“I don’t know what you’re so afraid of.”
“Pain, Mother; I’m afraid of pain.”
“I’m sure that you’re exaggerating; your father says you’re just lazy.”
I’d sigh again; we’d have this conversation several times a week.
I finally survived school — no thanks to my parents - left home, went to college and found a job, but I’d still not found the courage to talk to my parents about what I really wanted out of life. They seemed to me to be old and set in their ways, and I regularly got a lecture from my parents, especially my father, whenever I visited — a duty as I saw it.
“You should get a proper haircut and some decent glasses. You look like a queer; you’ll never get a girlfriend looking like that. And you should get some decent clothes while you’re at it; you look like a ragbag.”
Why bother? I had to wear a suit and tie for work — what I called the ‘office uniform’ — and that, like all menswear, only fitted where it touched. At other times, I settled for jeans, tee shirt and baggy sweaters; at least I could get something by mail order that more or less fitted. It didn’t seem to matter what I said or did; I always got some sarcastic criticism from my father. The occasional word of praise was reserved for my brother Peter, the star rugby player, footballer and cricketer; I never qualified. I knew that I wasn’t queer (homosexual), but my father read the “Daily Trash”, and believed it all. If they said that the Martians were playing in the World Cup, he’d be talking about it for weeks.
My mother kept on at me as well. “It would be nice to have some more grandchildren. It’s time you settled down and found a girlfriend; there must be lots of eligible women where you work. Peter had no trouble finding a girl to marry; Geena and the twins are delightful.”
I’d give her a black look, she’d throw up her hands in an ‘it should be obvious’ gesture and walk out.
Pray tell me, mother; how am I supposed to ‘find’ a girlfriend at work — given that nobody in the office talks to me, unless they want something? How do I find someone female who is desperate enough to want to be with me? Should I search under rocks or do they grow on trees?
Phil Sullivan, my cricketing work colleague, in his infinite wisdom, probably thought that he was doing me a favour; perhaps trying to kick-start my social life, by which he probably meant those manly pursuits of beer, sport, cars and women. As I’ve never liked the taste of beer, had no interest in sport, was more likely to give up driving than change my car, and had never had a girlfriend, I was, as usual, an outsider.
I wish I could say “no” when people ask me to do things
I spent a few hours a week at the local public library. Other than that, and my monthly visits to my parents, I mostly stayed at home. Sometimes, like tonight, I’d go for a short walk around the block to post a letter. I learned some years ago that it saved me a lot of grief if I told my parents nothing about what I did or what happened to me. Now I saw no future other than working another forty-odd years towards a lonely retirement; I was too much of a coward to try to get off the merry-go-round early, despite how attractive the idea often seemed.
The demented jukebox that regularly replaced my brain was thankfully jammed into pause not long after it had started its current cycle. The wail of sirens broke into my consciousness as a police car and an ambulance screeched to a halt. The ambulance crew jumped out, took one look at Mrs Jones, did the usual tests, shook their heads and promptly handed over to the law. The two uniformed officers spoke briefly to the ambulance crew, glanced at the body, cordoned off the area and called for backup.
“I’m Detective Inspector Ian Salisbury and this is Detective Constable Jane Dyson.”
He showed me his warrant card, crushed my hand and pumped it like he was going for a jackpot on a one-arm bandit (slot machine with a side handle). Why do some men do that? Is it a display of power? To convince you that they are the dominant male, the top dog? He looked to be in his forties, was quite tall and was built like the proverbial brick outhouse. His receding brown hair was cut very short - what I believe our American friends call a buzz-cut - and his craggy facial features reminded me of the Mafia hit men in films like ‘The Godfather’. He only needed a fedora and a violin case to complete the look. I was sure he could get me to confess to anything — whether or not I’d actually done it. He was definitely a man I’d not like to cross.
Although I wasn’t particularly short, I had to look up to DC Dyson, whose blonde hair, styled in a pixie cut, crowned a heart-shaped face. She went through similar introductions but just gently gripped my fingers in greeting. Maybe she somehow sensed that I wasn’t impressed by her boss’s macho posturing.
A well-built woman who appeared to be in her mid-twenties, she moved with cat-like grace despite her size — she towered over me and must have been well over six feet tall, taller even than DI Salisbury. She wasn’t what you’d call slim, either; perhaps she’d had ballet training when she was a child and filled out quite a lot since then.
Both officers wore charcoal grey trousers, matching jackets and lace-up shoes; typical detective uniform. She knelt and searched the body while he questioned me. He’d not long started on his “did you see anything suspicious” and “what were you doing over the past 30 minutes” when DC Dyson said, quietly, “Knife wound, Guv; professional job, too, by the look of it. Single stab to the heart, and judging by the small amount of blood, I’d say that death was instantaneous.” She used her fingers to indicate the size and type of weapon that, she deduced, was used to despatch the late Abigail Jones.
Goodness, she’s posh
Later, I thought about the officers, especially DC Dyson. With that voice, she wouldn’t be out of place at a society ball; although there was a trace of an accent there that I couldn’t identify at the time.
A scene-of-crime team arrived and took some photos. A doctor arrived, carried out some tests, spoke briefly to Ian Salisbury and went; the ambulance crew took away the body and the detectives escorted me back to my apartment. He asked the questions while she stood, apparently staring into space - impassive.
I told them about my earlier walk — but not everything.
DC Dyson asked, “Do you have a wife or girlfriend, Mr Smith?”
Somehow, she seems as intimidating as her boss does
“N…no, I live alone and there’s nobody else,” I stammered.
They seemed satisfied; they took my contact details, promised to keep in touch and left me to my thoughts.
The next day, I had great difficulty concentrating on my work in the Accounts department of the local council. I kept turning over in my mind the events of the previous evening and wondered why Mrs Jones had been killed. DI Salisbury telephoned mid-morning.
I confirmed that I had no wife or girlfriend, I’d lived at Coleridge House for about a year or so and I saw Mrs Jones only occasionally, when we’d pass the time of day. I let out a slow breath as the call ended, and my heart returned to something approaching a normal rhythm.
I arrived home later than usual, and reluctantly decided that Jenny would have to stay in the closet for the evening. I still had the Cricket Club minutes to sort out but in order to do that, I had to try and understand what had been said at the meeting - and précis it. I firstly had to prepare my evening meal, cook it, eat it and clear up afterwards.
I’d just finished washing up when Jane Dyson ‘phoned.
“I’d like to ask you some more questions but not over the telephone. Could I pop round in about half an hour? Please tell me if it’s too late or if it’s not convenient for any reason.”
I assured her that it was convenient.
More questions? Still, I suppose this must be a murder enquiry
I put aside the Cricket Club papers and prepared to receive my visitor. No one else had been to the flat, so I wasn’t used to having to hide things. I made sure that all the doors to the other rooms were shut. It didn’t pay to take chances with the police, who were reputed to be very observant.
Jane Dyson showed me her warrant card as I opened the door. She was soon seated, with a cup of tea on the little side table.
She glanced around.
I felt uneasy.
“Your apartment is very neat - for a single man, I mean,” she said.
I winced at her comment. I answered quickly. “I can’t stand mess; I get very frustrated if anything is out of place. I’m the same in the office; I must drive everyone else to distraction.”
“The soft furnishings, décor and accessories are a little unusual, aren’t they? The colour scheme, pot plants, figurines and the painting of an Edwardian lady don’t exactly scream ‘male’, do they?”
“Err, I just like that style,” I conceded, trying to think quickly but getting very warm. Blast! I’d completely forgotten about the living room furnishings and so on. I had an awful feeling that I’d dropped myself in the deep brown and smelly.
“You were seen on your walk.”
It took a couple of seconds for me to realise what she’d said. Oh HELL, I hadn’t mentioned the jogger “Pardon?” I tried stalling, but still went bright red.
“You were seen. We did house-to-house enquiries. As you can perhaps appreciate, timing each event in the chain was down almost to the second. You also gave yourself away with some other vital signs. I believe that you have another self that you try to keep well hidden and it was she who found the body. Do correct me if I’m wrong.”
End of Part 1
John finds the body of a neighbour who has been murdered. The police detective assigned to the case deduces that John hides a secret - but the detective has secrets of her own.
Part 2 of 25 — Confession
I thought I’d been so careful but the look on my face probably confirmed that she was right. She rose from her chair, took my hands in hers and said, gently, “Please don’t worry, it’ll go no further. I assure you that everything you say as a material witness will remain completely confidential; and the way you were dressed will stay between us two.” She continued to hold my hands as she said, “I’d like to meet your… sister, cousin?”
“Jenny? I think of myself as Jenny and always have done. I’ve had to dress and act as John all my life, and it hurts,” I replied shakily. “But why do you want to meet my other self?”
“She may recall something that you’ve missed.”
“But I’m…we’re....” I spluttered.
“I know that you and she are the same person, but this isn’t the first time that one of the material witnesses in a criminal investigation might have different memories associated with the way they were dressed, and the role they were playing.”
“I really would feel stupid meeting someone else,” I hedged.
“Have you never before dressed as a woman in company or gone out for the evening?”
My immediate reaction was to answer ‘No’ but I thought about it for a few moments and admitted, “Well, I did go to a few meetings of a TV/TS support group, but that was a few years ago.”
“You wouldn’t want to be accused of obstructing a police investigation now, would you?” She smiled disarmingly.
“Put like that, I suppose I could…”
“Right; you give me a time tomorrow evening when I can meet Jenny and I’ll come over.”
“I’m not really sure that this is a good idea at all,” I again tried to dodge.
She was having none of it. “It’s not a matter for debate; your cooperation is vital.”
I said hesitantly, “How about eight-thirty? That will give me time to get home from work, eat and change. If I’m held up at work, can I call you? We’re in the middle of the annual race to get the accounts up to date for the end of the tax year and it’s quite possible that I’ll have to work late again. Are you really sure that this is necessary?”
In answer, she gave me a card with her contact details. She said, firmly, “I’ll see you at eight-thirty tomorrow evening; you are simply helping the police with our enquiries.” She gave my hands a little squeeze, and then breezed out of the door.
I sat down shakily and thought about the meeting. After a while, I tried to concentrate on the Cricket Club papers, but my mind just kept drifting back to Jane Dyson and her insistence upon tomorrow evening’s interview. I eventually decided that I just couldn’t achieve any more, so I retired to bed.
I hardly slept that night, and had great difficulty keeping my mind on my work again the next day; I couldn’t drag my thoughts away from that evening’s meeting. Then the inevitable question arose — what should I wear? I assumed that Jane would wear her usual work suit; I wanted to be comfortable but I didn’t want to dress up too much.
While my meal was cooking I showered, put on my underwear, applied my makeup — although how I achieved that given the way my hand was shaking, I don’t know - and eventually decided on a soft, cosy long-sleeved cowl-necked burgundy sweater and black skirt. I added tan stockings and the black court shoes that I’d worn on the evening of Mrs Jones’ death.
With a spritz of my favourite fragrance, some jewellery, and my hair brushed into a more feminine style, I felt somewhat less terrified, although that feeling returned as the time approached eight-thirty. I’d tried painting my nails with a coloured polish, but gave up because my hands were shaking so much. With a sigh, I resigned myself to the clear polish I used every day in the office. If anyone challenged me, I was prepared to use the excuse that “my nails are brittle, and this is a strengthener” - but no-one ever did. I made a pot of tea and put a plate of biscuits on the coffee table.
“Hello,” Jane said, cheerfully, as she arrived promptly and then appraised me in that ‘quick glance’ way that women often do. She said, “That’s one of the things that gave you away.”
“What?” I enquired, mystified, as I poured the tea.
“Chanel Allure,” she laughed.
“Oh! It’s my favourite fragrance.”
“Mine too. Then there’s the Georgette Heyer novel that was on your table the evening that Mrs Jones died; you’d tidied it away by yesterday evening. A very appropriate title by the way - ‘The Masqueraders,’” she chuckled.” You hadn’t been careful enough with your cleansing after your walk; there were traces of makeup on your eyes. Finally, you visibly winced when I referred to you as a ‘single man’ last night. Oh, and I do like your spectacles, they really suit you.”
I blushed. “The ‘Georgette Heyer’ is mine. I love the story; I’ve read it four times. I’ve always read a lot, right from childhood, and get my money’s worth from the local Public Library. I did change in rather a hurry after my walk so I’m not surprised if I missed some makeup. I absolutely hate being referred to as a man; as far as I’m concerned, I’m not a man and never was. I’ve always felt that I was female, but with a birth defect. The optician didn’t bat an eyelid when I asked for unisex glasses; the only person that has a problem with them is my father. He thinks that they should look more masculine, probably something with a chunky black frame. Euch!”
She ran her hand over my smooth face. “Have you had electrolysis?”
“I can’t stand the idea of having facial or body hair and I don’t grow any. Other than the faulty plumbing, I don’t know what else went wrong when I was born. I just wish that I’d been built properly in the first place, and then I wouldn’t have to try and hide what I am.”
I confirmed that I used a moisturiser every morning and night. “My father insists that I must be a gay male, but I’ve never had a relationship with a man. I just hoped that people wouldn’t jump to the wrong conclusion and get violent.”
“Do you find women attractive? Female television presenters, for example?” She asked.
“I do look enviously at them and would love to look as good as they do. I haven’t thought about whether or not I find them attractive in a relationship sense.”
“Hmm, your voice doesn’t sound at all out of place, you’ve either had some training or it’s never broken properly, and your hands are in proportion to the rest of you. You look very good, I really am impressed. I presume that you’ve had a lot of practice.”
“I’ve been dressing as a woman for a couple of years, at least.” I more fully appraised her as she put her teacup on the table and sat opposite me. “I spend nearly every evening here on my own, reading, browsing the Internet, listening to music and watching old movies. I’ve read about trans-people going for their chosen role and even finding partners and fulfilment. I’m certain that won’t happen for me. I know where and how to start, but I’m scared witless that I’ll lose my job and have to give up my flat. That would inevitably leave me having to try and get work somewhere else, or even having to move back in with my parents. I can imagine what my father would have to say about that. Every time I visit, he makes sure that I know I’m a total failure.”
“Why do you visit your parents?”
“I’ve always seen it as my duty.”
I was suddenly conscious that Jane was the first woman, indeed the first person at all, to visit the apartment. Even my parents hadn’t bothered. It felt very strange in an exciting sort of way.
After I’d refilled her tea cup, she slurred her words as she said, “It looksh bad for a pleece ossiffer to be arreshtid for vriving under the affluence of incohol.”
We both giggled; it helped to break the tension.
She looked me up and down. “You appear to have quite a good sense of colour and style, but are obviously very shy; and you seem to like classic clothes. That’s often a good thing, especially if you haven’t had the opportunity to experiment and learn from mistakes as most teenage girls do. People often get their ideas of what a tranny looks like from the media and you really don’t want to look like that. Many trans-people try to dress too young. It’s okay if you’re a teenager, but most are well beyond that age.”
I was relieved by her words and replied, “I buy most of my clothes from catalogues and the Internet, so I know what fashions suit my age. I prefer classic styles anyway; I just like to look and feel comfortable, if you know what I mean. I can be myself in the evenings; it’s the only thing that makes life worth living — if you can call this living. I expected to see you in a trouser suit or uniform but that skirt suit really is a beautiful colour.”
She wore a kingfisher-blue jacket with a matching above-the-knee straight skirt that really showed off her long legs. She had on a white strappy top and navy, low-heeled court shoes. Her blonde hair, cut in a short, but easy, care-free style, made her look like she had just left university and I was shocked when I eventually found out her actual age.
“We’re CID (Criminal Investigation Department — detectives, not patrol officers); we rarely wear uniforms, although many people can tell a mile off that we’re police. We might as well wear a big badge with ‘POLICE’ on it. I showered and changed before I came to visit you this evening. In the office doing paperwork, you never know when you’ll be called out, so a trouser suit is much more practical. Let’s change the subject. You’ve obviously been dressing as a female for a number of years. When did you first know and when did you start?”
By now, I was feeling a little more relaxed and began my story. “I suppose I was in pre-school when I first worked out that something had gone drastically wrong; I just couldn’t understand why I wasn’t allowed to play with the other girls; it came as a horrible shock when I was told that I was supposed to be a boy and that it was about time I just got on with it. As soon as I was old enough I spent every spare moment in the library and devoured anything and everything that I could find about my situation.
“Now I browse the Internet, and I’ve learned that I can suppress my feelings, but I’ll never grow out of them. I did my best to hide them all through school, and then college. Bullying was endemic at school and I’m sure there was no way I’d ever have escaped without more serious injury if the bullies had found out the truth about me. The beatings were bad enough when the thugs assumed I was gay. I suppose having bad eyesight and no girlfriend made me an easy target. I learned from my father that “men don’t talk about their feelings”. As I was supposed to be a boy, I couldn’t talk to anyone, especially my parents, even if they would listen — which they never did. My father boxed for the Navy and is passionate about almost any kind of sport. He’s always glued to the television whenever I visit. Boxing, wrestling, football, rugby; it seems that the more violent it is, the more he likes it.
“My parents retired a couple of years ago to North Wales. I’m fairly sure that they don’t know about Jenny, and I’m certain that they wouldn’t be at all supportive if they were to find out.
“My brother Peter was the sporting hero at school, playing every ball game he could; he did his time in the Air Force and now runs his own computer consultancy. I know I’ll be a huge disappointment to my parents because I’ll never provide them with a daughter-in-law or grandchildren like he has. I’m scared to tell them, though, because the inquisition will go on and on and I couldn’t cope with that.
“That about sums it up; dreams were all I had to get by. I suspected that my feelings would affect my ability to get or keep a job. I just dressed sufficiently male to get through the interviews, and to survive work. I desperately wanted a place of my own; this is ideal. It’s small, but enough space for me.”
Jane asked, “Have you thought of transitioning at work? Do they know?”
She seems to have some knowledge of the subject; I wonder how?
I sighed. “I’ve no friends, and people at work ignore me — except when they want something. They probably think I’m gay as well but nobody’s said anything; the way they treat me, though, it seems to be more an assumption — as though I’m unclean or something. Anyway, I haven’t the courage to risk my job by telling them how I really feel.”
“You do know that you and your job are now legally protected?”
I shuddered at the thought of my colleagues turning against me. “Yes, I suppose you’re right, but the whole thing just scares me: what if my colleagues don’t like it and make my life a misery? I still might have to leave and I don’t know if I’d get another job very easily.”
“Is there a local support group with changing facilities?”
I wondered again at her apparent knowledge. I asked, “Do you know someone else who is in the same position as I am?”
“I did, a long time ago,” she said, seeming to drift away a little. Then, “Sorry; you were saying?”
I sighed. “I don’t want to go out as John, change into Jenny for the evening and then change back again to come home. Even though the people at the meetings were very friendly and kind, I didn’t feel that I really belonged with them. I’d far rather go out as a woman for a purpose, such as shopping or to the theatre, but they’re no fun on your own and, anyway, I’ve never had the confidence. Sometimes, like the evening before last, I go out to post a letter and walk around the block, but I don’t really want to go anywhere where all you hear is what surgery they’ve had or where there are men dressed as women. I suppose, technically, that’s what I am although, as I’ve said, I’ve never felt male — if that makes any sense.
“I could get to the meetings when I first passed my driving test, which I only took because I was fed up with being labelled a failure. The roads are so much busier now so I always try to get home or very close to home before dark. I drive into town to get the shopping but, other than short journeys in the summer, that’s it really. I’d rather travel by train anyway; motorways are just so tiring.”
“Hmm,” Jane was obviously deep in thought. Eventually she said, “Let’s change the subject again. Now I don’t want to rush you but I’d like you to tell me what you did and what you saw on the night of Mrs Jones’ death. Anything, however insignificant you might think it is; I need to know about it. I might prompt, and I’ll write down anything that might be even remotely helpful. I will leave out any reference to how you were dressed. As far as the police report is concerned, you went out to post a letter and found Mrs Jones when you returned home.” She took a notebook and pen from her bag and began to write.
I was very relieved at hearing the last comment and related my journey in minute detail, telling her about the jogger and also how Mrs Jones was sitting when I returned to the apartment.
Jane drew in her breath. “You didn’t mention the jogger on the night of the murder, or the fact that Mrs Jones appeared to be sitting on the step,” she accused.
“No, I forgot; I suppose that’s why you like your witnesses to be themselves when you interview them.”
“Tell me about the jogger.”
“I don’t think there’s much to tell. As I told you on the night, I had my mind on the minutes of the Cricket Club AGM and went for a walk round the block to try and clear my head a little.”
“I can’t imagine you playing cricket.”
“Of course I don’t play cricket, or any other sport at all, much to my father’s disgust. I use shorthand for notes of meetings in the office. Someone noticed this so I got volunteered to be cricket club secretary; I presume that nobody else was silly enough to volunteer for the job. Anyway, I was on my way home and was about to pop my letter into the post box on the corner of Mortimer Road, when this slightly built figure dressed in a dark coloured leisure suit and trainers jogged past me. As far as I could tell, she wasn’t wearing any fragrance. Oh, and she also had her dark hair done in a high ponytail. She just jogged away from me down Mortimer Road.”
“It could have been a woman; men usually wear long hair in a low pony tail. That would tie in with the result of our enquiries. Of course, it could have been a man trying to make us think it was a woman.”
“No; I’d say it was definitely a woman, I could tell by the way she moved.”
“Hmm. Interesting.”
“Anyway, she’d been going in the opposite direction to mine, and I saw her jog past me. But,” I put in, slightly puzzled, “you said that I was seen that evening on my walk. If it wasn’t the jogger, then who was it?”
“I’m sorry; I’m not at liberty to tell you.”
I gave her my best guess at a minute-by-minute account of my journey.
“That was near enough to the minute, both coming and going,” she said.
“Pardon?” I asked, sitting bolt upright,
“You were observed in Warner Road, both going out and returning. A woman walking at that time of the night attracts attention, particularly from males. And don’t forget, there are two pubs on your route and you were walking with the traffic flow, not against it. That’s not a good idea at all.”
I tried to justify my actions. “I only ever go around the block, and at night, and that so very rarely. I don’t have the confidence to go out during the day. Anyway, what if I were seen? Coleridge House and the other two blocks are identical buildings with six flats in each; I could have come from any one of them.”
“Don’t do it again,” she advised. “Go in daylight, to a busy shopping centre. You can lose yourself in a crowd, a lone woman stands out. Its fine to go out at night if you’re escorted, but don’t go on your own. Please.”
I felt about one inch tall. “Even after all this time, I still have a lot to learn, haven’t I?” I said, as I refilled the teacups again.
“Learn from mistakes. Just don’t make the kind of mistakes that get you attacked or killed,” she said, bluntly.
I cringed. “You must think me naíve and stupid.”
“Not at all. You just need a good teacher, but you’ll learn.”
“Oh, right. And where do I find this teacher? I suppose I should go back to the support group?”
End of Part 2
Secrets
By Susan Heywood
John finds the body of a neighbour who has been murdered. The police detective assigned to the case deduces that John hides a secret - but the detective has secrets of her own.
Part 3 of 25 - Education
“I’ll teach you.” She rose to her feet and walked towards me. Putting her hands on my shoulders and looking down at me, she said, “You, my girl, are quite attractive. With a little work you will be more so.”
I was dumbfounded but managed to find my voice. “Attractive? Me? I don’t think so. I do my best but…”
She interrupted. “You need the right clothes and makeup; appropriate vocabulary and intonation; good posture and body language. Above all, you need loads of confidence,” She ticked them off on her fingers as she listed them; “I can help with all of those although, from where I’m standing, you’re already more than half-way there.”
“B…but, where do I start?”
“What are your plans for this coming weekend?”
“I should visit my parents but I’m not really looking forward to it. I usually go once a month, out of a sense of duty as I said.”
Now what’s she up to?
“It doesn’t sound to me that you really want to go.”
“I don’t,” I admitted.
“Can you postpone your visit?”
“I suppose so, but why?”
She said, “I’ll pick you up on Saturday morning at eight-thirty; wear something casual and easy to change out of; we’ll go to Southampton. There’s the West Quay Shopping Centre, the Malls and The Bargate; we’ll blend in there, it’s sure to be crowded. As I said, you can get lost in a crowd. We’re going to hit the shops, girl, so polish up your credit card.” Then she clicked her fingers. “Oh, just a minute; show me the card.”
Oh shit! She means it! “B...b...but I can’t go out in public, dressed as a woman,” I wailed, hoping that she would relent - but she didn’t.
She said, very firmly, “You will be dressed as a woman because you ARE a woman. Remember, CONFIDENCE.”
It’s like being told off by the head teacher
Then she repeated, more firmly, “Show me your credit card.”
After another abortive attempt to make her change her mind, I caved in, fumbled in John’s wallet for the card and pulled it out.
“Good,” she enthused, after examining it, “and it’s in the name of J E Smith without a title; that’ll serve our purposes. I presume that Jenny is short for Jennifer.”
I nodded.
“And does Jenny Smith have a middle name?”
“Ellen.”
“Very good then, Miss Jennifer Ellen Smith, I’ll see you at eight-thirty on Saturday morning”.
Without giving me any further chance to argue, she gave my hands another little squeeze, smiled and left.
I stood for a moment, shocked. I knew that I ought to have been panicking but, instead felt a little warm and fuzzy.
Why can’t I say “No” when people press me to do things?
After standing for a few minutes, I took the empty cups and plate into the kitchen, and then retired to bed.
I didn’t sleep too well and was convinced that everyone at work noticed. I couldn’t get the planned shopping expedition out of my mind and I’m sure that my work output must have reflected my anxiety. Celia and Jill kept glancing over at me when they thought I wasn’t looking. At least they treated me like a human being, not like some weird alien, as most people seemed to do. I just tried to concentrate on my work, but it was difficult. I was glad when the day ended and I could escape.
I had an appointment at a local hair and beauty salon called, rather imaginatively, The Salon, where I had my hair trimmed. I had no body hair, I never have. No one else saw my unclothed body because I wore a jacket at work — summer or winter. I suffered at school, in a school blazer, but I had a faulty body and I had no choice in how it was put together.
I telephoned my mother and told her I wouldn’t be visiting. “Something’s come up.” We chatted for a few minutes; then I went to bed early. I was exhausted and just crashed.
Saturday dawned overcast; I hoped that it wasn’t a portent of ill fortune. I figured that my police escort should be able to keep me out of situations with which I would be unable to cope.
I showered and moisturised, then the all-important question; what to wear? This was the first time that I’d be going to a shop to purchase clothes. I still had mixed feelings about this shopping trip; part of me was looking forward to it, and part of me was terrified. Oh well; I’d soon know which part won. I needed to wear something casual; easy to change out of and comfortable: maybe a casual skirt and low-heeled shoes. I presumed that I was going to be walking a lot. Eventually I chose an above-the-knee denim skirt and matching jacket, a Chinese blue square-neck top and navy low-heeled wedge slip-ons; then I applied a little makeup.
Jane arrived on time; she stepped forward, smiled and we air-kissed. “Very good and sure to blend in,” she summed up my outfit. “I’m glad you opted for casual and also something easily removed for trying things on. By the way, I presume that those are not your own,” she said, pointing to my breasts.
“Half me and half chicken fillets; that’s what they’re sometimes called in the TG world — transgender; sorry about the jargon.”
“I’m not unfamiliar with that, but do continue.”
I didn’t pick up on the last comment as I was working out in my mind how to explain the breast forms and my own breast growth. “They have a hollow in the back, so that they fit over my own breast development. That outfit looks casual but very smart; I just love the colour of your top, and that bag is so very stylish and such a useful shape. Anyway, do I call you Detective Constable, or what?”
“Today I’m Jane and you’re Jenny, and your comment about my clothes is just the sort of thing one woman might say to another. Anyway, how have you grown some of your own breast tissue?” she asked, raising an eyebrow and cocking her head.
“Err, well since my late teens, my nipples have been more sensitive and my chest has been quite fleshy. I presume that my puberty is late, not that I’m complaining. A couple of years ago I started taking a small dose of hormones I purchased through the Internet,” I answered, in a small voice. “I don’t want to have to deal with facial or body hair or other male characteristics, and I’m hoping that the hormones will prevent them happening.”
“Without prescription?”
“Without prescription,” I admitted, sheepishly.
“Dangerous and reckless are words that spring to mind. Have you seen a doctor to find out why your chest is fleshy?”
“No, I was scared he might want to stop it.”
“How long since you had any kind of medical check-up?”
“I don’t remember ever having one — other than eye tests,” I answered her.
“Didn’t you need one for school?”
“They didn’t ask, so I didn’t remind them. Anyway, a medical examination might have shown up something I didn’t want to know about.”
“What about a sports physical?”
I laughed mirthlessly. “Sports? With my body? No chance! I avoided sport where I could and kept my head down as much as possible so as to try and avoid injury. I didn’t always succeed.”
Jane wore a vest top and jeans, with a zip-front leather jacket. She wore tan low-heeled sandals. On her right shoulder was a tan bucket bag. Nothing in her outfit looked as though it came from any chain store.
I feel positively dowdy; she looks like a supermodel on her day off
She said, “You keep your hair in good condition, and I like what you’ve done with it.”
I responded, smiling. “My hair has always been thick. I’m lucky enough to be able to go without a wig; I simply brush my own hair into a more feminine style. My father keeps telling me to get a proper haircut, by which he probably means a short back and sides. He says my hair is too long but, as I tell him, that’s my business.”
“You’ve either been practicing your voice, mannerisms and vocabulary or it comes very naturally. From what I saw on Thursday evening, there’s not a lot of work required in those departments. You appear to be a natural.”
“This voice and body got me into so much trouble at school; at least now they might come in useful, and I did purchase a voice training course over the Internet. That taught me about vocabulary, intonation, body language and so on — although I probably sound stupid if I forget and use feminine vocabulary and so on with a male identity. I suppose that someone born a genetic girl would have been taught all that by her mother. I’ve also read a lot of stories on the Internet and picked up some hints from them.”
“Don’t assume anything. Many girls are as much in the dark as you are. Julia, at school, wasn’t told about periods and was shocked and frightened when she started bleeding. Her mother either forgot to tell her or couldn’t work out how to explain a basic female bodily function.”
She saw my change of expression and said, “Periods can be painful and messy, and your hormones can send you from euphoria to depression and back again in no time at all.”
“I don’t care about that. If I had a period, then I’d know that I’m probably completely or mostly female.” I grabbed a tissue from my bag; tears weren’t far away.
“Don’t cry; you’ll wreck your makeup.” She put her hand comfortingly on mine until I’d regained my composure. She then did a final check on my appearance and tidied me up a bit. When she was completely satisfied, she asked, “Okay then; have you got everything? Money? Credit card? Keys? Makeup?”
I nodded and we headed for the door. I thought of something. “What do I do if anyone sees me or recognises me? What will they say? What do I say?”
She replied without a moment’s hesitation. “You look like John’s sister, so why shouldn’t she go shopping with a friend? A visiting sister wouldn’t know anyone here, other than John, so if someone speaks to us on the stairs, in the lobby, or anywhere else, just smile slightly but don’t let the smile reach your eyes.”
We met no one as we left the building, but as I stepped out into the crisp morning sunlight, I felt very nervous; this was my first outing in daylight.
Jane led me to a red sports car and opened the passenger door for me. I was taken aback by both the car and her action but said nothing; I didn’t know much about cars but the badges on the front and rear told me that it was a Lexus.
She commented as I sat in the passenger seat, swinging my legs in so that I avoided showing too much leg. “I’m glad to see you get in properly - bum, leg, leg. Mind you, if you did that when dressed as a man, you might look rather silly.”
“That pre-supposes that someone would offer John a lift somewhere. It hasn’t happened yet, and I’m not holding my breath.”
I was pinned to the cream leather seat as we zoomed off towards the motorway. It made my little car look and feel like an empty can on wheels. I composed myself as we headed for Southampton. To make conversation, I said, “This is a lovely car, not at all what I’d expect a detective constable to drive.”
She laughed. “It was love at first sight. As soon as I saw it, I just knew that I had to test-drive it. Within a few minutes I knew that I had to have it. I love driving it and I get envious looks from some of the plods at the station. They go out and climb into various old wrecks and I have this little baby. The roof folds down so it’ll be great in the summer — if we get one.”
I could see from the number plate that the car was first registered this year and thus was virtually new. I wondered how she could afford to insure and maintain it on a police constable’s salary. I didn’t mention it, though, because I just didn’t have the confidence. I’d always opted for the quiet life and just hoped that I wouldn’t get caught up in anything stressful. Maybe I’d taken my father’s words to heart — “The boat is not for rocking.”
I continued with the car theme as I asked, “Are you another of these people who name their cars?” Says me, who has a pet name for most things; my washing machine is called ‘Doris’ and my microwave oven is called ‘Maurice’.
Jane gave me a disparaging look. “Well, for a start, all cars are female; except when they go wrong, when they’re a useless heap of junk. This one’s called ‘Lizzy’, because the last three letters of the registration number are ‘LZY’. I couldn’t pronounce anything foreign, except French. This is Japanese so there’s no hope.”
“Do you speak French?”
“Mais certainement, mademoiselle, Maman et moi, nous sommes Française.”
“Your mother and you are both French?”
“Yes, although Daddy Dearest is English,” she responded, disdainfully.
Curious. The way that she refers to her father doesn’t convey an impression of a loving daughter. Mind you, I’m a fine one to talk
“You seem to be very fit,” I observed.
“I do some cycling, running and swimming in the sports centre, but I like to watch the Tour de France and the Athletics on television. For getting about, I much prefer this little gem. So does your little Italian job have a name?”
I presumed that she had a file on me somewhere; I hoped it didn’t contain anything too embarrassing. Considering that I was dressed as a young woman and headed for a shopping spree, it’s as well I’ve no criminal record.
I confessed. “My little car is called Buttercup.”
“Buttercup?”
“It’s yellow.”
She muttered something that sounded like “sad bitch” and turned her thoughts back to her driving.
We parked at Southampton and sat for a few minutes to let my stomach settle. I felt that the thousands of butterflies which had taken up residence in my stomach were all about to give birth to kittens — well, I’m sure you get the picture.
Oh well, here goes
I nodded that I was ready and we walked into the shopping centre.
Jane quietly commented, “I’m glad to see that you walk more slowly than most men do.” Then she glanced sheepishly at me. “Sorry, that came out all wrong.”
I smiled to placate her; after all, it didn’t sound as though she meant it unkindly. “Do you mind if we just sit for a few minutes while I get my nerves back together?”
We sat on a nearby bench, and she said, also quietly, “I’m glad I didn’t have to run to keep up with you. We’re not running a race; we’re just two girlfriends out for a day’s shopping.”
Girlfriend? What a joke! Friend-who-is-a-girl, maybe. Anyway, she’s probably got a Hooray Henry stashed away somewhere looking after the horses
She led me through the larger stores, and gave me her take on the differences between the way a man and a woman would go shopping. “Take business wear, for example. A man’s choices are quite limited, and he can often get all he needs - suits, shirts, ties, underwear, socks and shoes - from one shop, like John Lewis. For underwear, he can either have Y-fronts, briefs or boxers, and socks, usually black, come in short or long. And the whole process might take an hour or so at most. Exciting or what?”
I reckoned that she might be over-simplifying it, but then I thought of John’s boring and ill-fitting work wear; I nodded and smiled. I wore panties because men’s underwear was so rough and uncomfortable, and suits never fitted, however much I paid or whichever size I purchased. I once had a suit made; a more badly fitting garment would be hard to find.
Jane continued with my education. “A woman goes into all the shops that sell what she wants; she tries some things on and maybe purchases a top here, a skirt or trouser suit there, shoes somewhere else, even a bag or accessories and, perhaps, some jewellery. It can take all day, or even several days, to get it right; you seldom find all you need in one shop. And then she’s got to do the whole thing again and again because no self-respecting woman wears the same outfit two days in a row. And there’s always planning for the future wardrobe so, in the spring, you look for summer styles; if summer, you stock up for autumn and winter. You usually shop from catalogues, don’t you?”
I nodded again.
“It’s easy for men: winter weight suit or summer weight suit. Some don’t even bother to match the seasons. I wouldn’t be surprised if Ian Salisbury has only two or three suits. I’ve no idea what he might wear off-duty and don’t care anyway.”
I thought again of John; two charcoal-grey suits, blue shirts, dark-blue ties, black socks and black shoes. Not that he had any interest in doing anything different. He bought the cheapest he could find; there wasn’t any point in paying more, they still wouldn’t fit. I viewed John as another person, but then I always had done. He was never the real me; just an act that I had to perform in order to get through life.
Jane continued. “Shops rarely sell clothes designed for tall or large women like me; we really struggle to find clothes that don’t look as though they’ve been washed for twenty four hours on the wrong machine cycle. Things are getting better but there’s a long way to go. I’m fortunate in that I can get most of my clothes in London.”
She accurately estimated my height and dress size and continued to describe the hazards of shopping at high street stores, ending with, “The amount of time and money women waste trying to fit into so-called standard-size clothes is amazing. You’d never believe that there could be such a difference between the actual sizes of garments with the same size label, and often in the same shop.”
We’d been walking around for nearly two hours when she suggested that we stop for a drink; I readily agreed, as my feet reminded me I’d been on them a long time. She headed for a busy coffee shop, passing several others. I asked why that particular one.
She replied quietly. “It’s your first time out in public, and this coffee shop is crowded. Nobody will take any notice of you. If we went to an empty one, you might feel on display. How are you coping?”
“Mainly okay, although I’m a little nervous,” I admitted, “but I keep pinching myself to make sure I’m awake. I never, ever thought I’d be doing this and, other than still shaking a little, I feel wonderful, almost as though I’ve finally arrived somewhere.”
“Well you have; it’s called West Quay Shopping Centre,” she laughed. “Seriously though, people aren’t looking at you, unless it’s to see a smart, attractive young woman with gorgeous legs, out for a day’s shopping with a friend. Men usually eye up anything in a skirt as potential arm candy or bed-mate and women naturally appraise other women, to assess the competition and to work out whether or not a particular outfit might look good on them. We usually wear clothes to show ourselves off and to feel good.”
When we’d collected our drinks, Jane pointed to a corner table and said, “Let’s sit over there; we can talk without attracting attention.”
When we were seated, I asked her in a shocked, hushed voice, “Smart and attractive with gorgeous legs?”
“Very true,” she confirmed, smiling conspiratorially. “If you’ve got it, flaunt it; and you, my girl, have definitely got it.”
I was stunned and not a little embarrassed. Jane was unrelenting, though, and continued in the same low tone that she had so far used. “You look good; with very little work, you will look really good. I’m having great difficulty with the idea that this is your first daylight outing. You are, as I said before, a natural.”
My self-esteem had taken quite a battering over the years, but Jane was a police officer, accustomed to noting detail, and commented on all my little feminine touches.
“I’m pleased to see that you smoothed your skirt when you sat down and stood up, and that you kept your legs together when you sat.”
“I learned that a long time ago and do it at home,” I said.
She continued. “You have to grasp several things very quickly in order to convince everyone else that you are not only a woman but a very attractive and confident one. The most important person to be convinced is you. You must believe in yourself; you must be utterly confident about yourself, such that you have no doubt that you are a woman and that you just don’t even think about it. That will take time but you’ll get there in the end. Other people will take their cue from you. If you look, move and talk like a woman, and relate to other people as a woman would, then they will treat you as such in return. You’d be amazed at how much a “Please”, “Thank You” and a smile can achieve. From what I’ve seen so far, you’re nearly there. The DUCK TEST is often regarded as a humorous term, but it goes something like this; ‘If it looks like a duck, swims like a duck, and quacks like a duck, then it probably is a duck.’ ”
I nodded.
She said, “You should just try to look and sound right. Once you’ve achieved that, there is very little else to do. Clothes, makeup, vocabulary and body language must be appropriate; the aim being to encourage others to deal with you as you desire. Basically, that’s all there is to it.”
“That’s fine as far as it goes,” I complained, “but this is my first time out in daylight. I feel very self-conscious.”
“I understand, Jenny,” she soothed. “I said that I would help you, and I will: you can’t expect to unlearn twenty years of male upbringing in five minutes - although I don’t think that you were ever completely a man.”
“No, not really,” I admitted. “I got into a lot of trouble simply for trying to survive my childhood.”
She gave me some more pointers to the differences between men and women and then said, “I get the impression that a lot of it seems to come naturally to you. What about in the office? How do you relate to your colleagues?”
“Perhaps I do come across as unconventional. I don’t make sexist remarks and the other women don’t clam up when I’m around. The blokes only speak to me when they want something, and everyone probably assumes that I’m gay. I’ve nothing against gay men but I know that I’m not one and insist that I’m not. At least my colleagues don’t seem to regard me as a threat.” I laughed, “Perhaps I sometimes forget that I’m supposed to act the male in the office.”
“I notice you said, “Other women.” That would be picked up straight away by some of your work colleagues.”
“Oops! It looks like I’ll have to be more careful what I say.”
When we’d replaced the crockery on the tray, she said, “Right then; toilet break. Remember, a sensible girl goes when she can - and don’t forget to use the Ladies room.”
I was horrified. “I can’t use the Ladies room,” I wailed, “I’m…”
“Keep your voice down!” Jane whispered, forcefully, and then continued, quietly, “You are a shy young woman who needs to go to the toilet. You certainly can’t go to the Gents toilet wearing those clothes; it would cause a riot and I’d have to arrest you.”
That broke the tension; I smiled and then relaxed a little.
“When you go in, just walk purposefully into an available stall, shut the door and lock it. Don’t forget to sit, and don’t forget to wipe afterwards; women usually wipe front to back. When you come out, wash your hands and check your makeup. When you leave the toilet, we go power shopping.”
I protested. “I’ve always sat down in a toilet, at school, at work and at home. I’m not very well endowed, thank God. If I stood to pee, I’d only spray all over the place, and most would go down my leg. The ‘peeing up the wall’ contest at school was a disaster, and I got teased something rotten in the showers after the obligatory sport. I once mentioned the problem at home and was just told that I’d grow out of it. I kept quiet after that. As a young child, when I was taken into a toilet by my father, and had to stand next to him to pee, I was so embarrassed as it all sprayed down my leg. I got told off for making a mess. Most of the time I couldn’t go anyway. When I was older, I always used a cubicle if there was one that wasn’t flooded, hadn’t been vandalised, and the lock worked. I just told my father that I needed to go. I always carried a supply of toilet tissue against the possibility of having to use a public convenience that was lacking in supplies or the seat or floor was wet.”
“That’s odd, I mean about the spraying bit; you’ve not seen a doctor about it?”
“No; as I said, I was always frightened that someone would want to fix it. I don’t want it fixed — well, not like that anyway.”
Jane glanced at me as we got up. “What do your parents think now?”
“Don’t be silly! I couldn’t talk to them about it.”
“Don’t they know?”
I rolled my eyes. “I hope not. My father would go berserk if he thought there was anything else wrong with me. I’ve enough trouble with him as it is.”
“What about your mother?”
“She’s obsessed with my “meeting the right girl, settling down and producing more grandchildren”, so there won’t be any support there either.”
When we were outside, and were out of earshot of others, I commented about the toilet and how much cleaner it was than most of the men’s rooms I’d had to use in the past.
“Quite right too, although the ones in shopping centres are usually cleaned regularly. Men often go in, point Percy in the general direction of the porcelain, piss and walk out. Sometimes it goes on the floor. Many toilets, as you’ve found, don’t have any paper or running water or the cubicle locks don’t work. Some people don’t bother to wash their hands even when there is soap and water - yuck! When you go to a pub or restaurant, don’t even think of eating the nibbles on the bar; you just never know what’s been in the bowl.
“Our loos and our coffee shops are our refuge when this shopping gets too much. And don’t forget; shopping is looking, purchasing involves parting with cash or a credit card. The two activities aren’t the same and don’t always happen at the same time.”
Me? Go to a pub? Not likely
I was wrong. Being wrong was going to become a habit.
End of Part 3
Secrets
By Susan Heywood
John finds the body of a neighbour who has been murdered. The police detective assigned to the case deduces that John hides a secret - but the detective has secrets of her own.
Part 4 of 25 — Education and Comprehension
Then I found out what she meant by ‘power shopping’. Jane coerced me (not difficult) into a makeover, and then insisted that few women get to age twenty-two without having their ears pierced. I wondered how I could disguise pierced ears at work; maybe some sticking plaster or foundation to cover the holes. I mentioned my misgivings but she quietly pointed out that a lot of men wear earrings. Rather than argue in the shop, I gave in. It wasn’t until the dastardly deed had been done, that I realised that a man might wear one earring - and it’s not usually a glittering diamond stud — but few men wore two.
Jane simply said, “Tell them that your girlfriend persuaded you to have it done.”
I gasped and then smiled, “That will cause some juicy gossip in the office.”
The sign in the shop had said, ‘Ear Piercing While You Wait.’ I chuckled when I recalled a line from one of the stories I’d read; ‘How do they pierce your ears if you don’t wait?’ Then I had a thought.
“Oh no!” I wailed.
“What?”
“My father!”
“What about him?”
“He’ll go ballistic when he sees these.”
“Well, tell him that….”
“I know; my girlfriend persuaded me.”
“Well, I am a friend and I am female; therefore I must be a girlfriend.”
We both giggled at that.
I accepted that I couldn’t turn the clock back. A part of me didn’t want to do so anyway, and Jane was the first person to ever say that she wanted to be my friend.
She said that I could try a different brand of makeup each time we went out. The news that she intended to go out with me again went some way towards calming my fears of the future.
She led me to an upmarket lingerie shop, and picked out a lacy bra and panties set in a delicate pale cream colour, which she insisted was a gift from her.
“I don’t know why you’re purchasing these; I’m the only one who’ll see them,” I protested.
“Maybe, maybe not; but they will make you feel good, and a sexy you is a more confident you. Anyway, heaven forbid that you should have any kind of emergency while we’re out, but at least your lingerie would be neat, clean and would match.”
I chuckled at that, and then said, “That pre-supposes that we’ll go out again.”
“Have you enjoyed today so far?”
I nodded and smiled as a reply.
“I think that smile says it all.”
At her insistence, I modelled a strappy black dress.
“Every girl needs a LBD.”
I must admit it did look and feel wonderful so I smiled and paid for it. Away from the counter, Jane asked, quietly, “Are you wearing any padding, or a corset?”
“No. Since my late-teens, I’ve been a bit fatter in the backside. Working behind a desk can’t help, and I don’t get much exercise, other than walking to and from the office. I have most trouble with trousers; I have to pull the waist in with a belt. Suits for work last some years before they’re worn out, and I have to get a jacket and trousers from different suits so that they have a chance of fitting. I’m not interested in men’s fashions. Firstly, menswear is uncomfortable; secondly, it doesn’t fit anyway. I’ve always thought of that as an oxymoron; menswear and fashion. I’m probably being unfair. Maybe it’s okay if you’re a man; I’m not. It’s no wonder that lots of men wear braces (suspenders) to hold up their trousers; they probably have trouble getting clothes that fit as well. One size definitely doesn’t fit all.”
“What do you wear outside the office?” Jane asked.
“Jeans and a tee. At least in the ladies-wear department, I can find jeans that fit properly; I know that the zip on the jeans is usually on the other side but a long baggy top covers it. I only have enough John clothes to get by for work. I wear jeans and an oversize tee or jumper when I visit the family, or for other things like shopping; they cover a multitude of sins. I get a bit warm in the summer but it saves people asking awkward questions.”
Then we moved on to a number of boutiques where more items were tried on and some purchased.
At a snack bar, Jane left me to order her a sandwich and a cup of tea, while she sat at one of the few remaining tables and put our bags on one of the spare chairs. I was so surprised at being dropped in the deep end that I ordered without hesitation and returned to her, beaming from ear to ear. It felt great having achieved something for myself that day.
“Were you nervous?” she asked.
“I was too busy to be nervous,” I said, giggling.
Whilst we were eating, she asked about my eye problems and I told her about my mother’s German measles; the cataracts with which I was born; the various operations that I’d had and the loss of sight in my left eye.
Finally after visiting a few more shops, I purchased a new duvet set in my favourite mint green, but with a dark green floral design. I also purchased some matching curtains.
Just before leaving the shopping centre, and after a further stop for tea, which I again ordered, I managed to surprise Jane with the bouquet of flowers that I gave her. She simply smiled, said a quiet “thank you” and kissed me on both cheeks.
We staggered back to the car with armfuls of parcels and a very wide and self-satisfied grin on my face. On the way home, we decided to pick up a Chinese Takeaway. She swung the car into a space behind the ‘Lucky Horse’.
I sniggered uncontrollably.
“What’s amusing you?” Jane enquired.
I pointed to the sign, which said “Lucky Horse Parking.”
“What’s so funny about that?”
I eventually ran down. “I just wondered where you’d park an unlucky horse.”
She swatted me on the arm. “Hurry up and get out of the car; I’m hungry.”
Later that evening, after Jane had gone, I sat alone and realised that I’d had the best day in years, probably in my whole life.
Jane became a regular visitor and I thoroughly enjoyed the evenings that she and I spent together. More often than not, I’d cook dinner. We shared an interest in classical music and old movies and my literature and music collections gave us a wide range of discussion topics. We also managed more shopping trips and I really enjoyed these aspects of my new life; I felt that I was now really living, not simply existing, as I was earlier.
I gave up the Cricket Club secretary job; I took great delight in telling Phil Sullivan that I’d no time for it as I now had a girlfriend.
“But we all thought that you’re gay!” he croaked out when I told him.
“All?” I asked, smiling. “How does it feel to be so wrong?” I shook my head; he wandered off, red-faced, presumably to spread the news; I suspect that the whole office knew by lunchtime. Of course, they didn’t know the nature of the girlfriend relationship that I enjoyed. I didn’t even put the usual ‘partner photo’ on my desk until much later.
April 2004
My father, Bill Smith, was tall, broad, fit and still ruggedly handsome despite his years. His skin, especially his face and hands, testified to a life of outdoor physical work. His navy boxing career had also left its marks on his face, which could now best be described as ‘lived in’.
Ellen, my mother, was slim and petite. She still was an attractive woman even though she’d recently celebrated her sixtieth birthday. Her auburn hair, which now bore flecks of grey, looked elegant rather than defined her age. She’d always had flawless skin and I clearly took after her in facial features and build, although I was a few inches taller. She came across as very mild-mannered but that was deceptive; you upset her at your peril.
When my father retired, my parents moved to a semi-detached two-bedroom house in Llandudno, North Wales. I lived and worked in the South of England and tried to visit my parents every month. I considered it a duty; a pleasure it was definitely not.
I missed the March visit because Jane and I were shopping in Southampton; that was much more fun than subjecting myself to a trip to North Wales. My father always lectured me as soon as I arrived, and my mother seemed constantly on about me “settling down”. I obviously didn’t do enough to fit in with their expectations — “it was no wonder that I had no wife or girlfriend.” Their words, not mine.
I elected to go alone; I wasn’t ready to reveal Jane’s identity and I didn’t want to expose her to any aggravation from my father, even though she could doubtless stand up for herself. I went by train, arriving mid-afternoon on the Saturday. As usual, I planned to stay the night and return on the Sunday after lunch and, also as usual, it was a tiring journey. My father, true to form, laid into me the minute I walked through the door.
“What on earth have you done to your ears? You look even more like a queer than you usually do.”
I didn’t bother pointing out to him that gay men don’t always ‘look queer.’ “It was my girlfriend’s idea,” I responded angrily, despite having expected the observation. “She obviously likes them even if you don’t. Just in case you’ve forgotten, I am twenty-two years of age, own my own home, and no longer have to do what you want. And at the risk of repeating myself yet again, I… AM… NOT… INTERESTED… IN… MEN!”
“Bollocks! You’re a raging poof, always have been! Peter’s done alright for himself; you should learn a few lessons from him. Anyway, what’s this rubbish about a girlfriend?”
I was getting increasingly angry with him. “I’ve known Jane for a month or so.”
“I can’t imagine what sort of a girl would put up with you; she must be desperate. You should have joined the navy; they’d have made a man of you. You should grow a beard or something. At least you might then look a bit more like a bloke, instead of some pansy.”
Insensitive bastard!
I really lost my temper and bit back. I was very angry. I said, “I can’t win with you, can I? You’ve kept on at me for years about getting a girlfriend; yet when I do find a woman who wants to be with me, you complain. I won’t tell you anything about Jane, and for good reason. Since I was a child, you’ve treated me as a complete failure. According to you, I’ll never be good for this or that; why can’t I be like my brother; I don’t take enough interest in sport, and all the other things that you insist on telling me that real men do. I’M NOT INTERESTED IN SPORT! You think you know everything but you’re just an ignorant bigot. I feel deeply insulted and if Jane were here I’m sure that she’d also feel the same. Is it any surprise that I didn’t bring her with me? And why on earth would I want to grow a beard, even if I could? I’m quite happy with my face as it is, thank you very much. I know that I’m not the kind of son that you expected or wanted, but that’s your tough luck. Anyway, half my genes came from you, so you’re partly to blame that I didn’t turn out the way you wanted. It seems that you’d rather I lived here, did as I was told, and spent all my money in the pub. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find that you’ve got shares in the brewery. I know that you’ve always despised me and I’ve a good mind not to visit again. It costs me more than a hundred pounds a month for the train and bus fares, just to come here and be insulted; I’m sure that I can find a much better use for the money; in fact, I’ll pay off my mortgage early.” I finished with, “All you think about is yourself; you don’t care about anyone else at all!”
I’d cut him off several times, and didn’t let him get a word in. That was a first; it was usually the other way around. I stormed out, left him watching football on the television and muttering about my ‘failure to be a proper man’. I slammed the door behind me.
The inevitable friction caused by my father’s comments set the tone for the weekend; he glowered at me at every opportunity. My mother seemed pleased to see me but my strained relationship with my father soured the visit, and I was glad to get away.
Just before leaving after Sunday lunch I drew my mother into the kitchen, closed the door and said, firmly, “My father’s been having a go at me since I was a child and I’ve had enough. I can see that I’ve been a huge disappointment to you both, and especially to him. I don’t fit with his image of what a man should be. You’re always on about grandchildren. You can start getting used to the idea that I’m never going to provide you with any.”
She gasped and her hand flew to her mouth.
I continued, with feeling. “That’s not my choice; that’s just the way I was born. Jane is the only friend I’ve got and ours isn’t that kind of friendship. I don’t see why I should start getting involved in things I don’t want to do, just to conform to my father’s opinion of how I should live the rest of my life. Well that’s his hard luck and, if he doesn’t change his attitude, then I’ll have nothing more to do with him. He’s always made it quite clear that I’m a failure; my wishes and ambitions don’t count for anything, and have always been overridden by his. Anyway, if he knew what I really wanted out of life, he’d never speak to me again.” I realised what I’d said in anger and my face went a vivid shade of red.
My mother guided me into the garden, took my arm and said, gently, “As you were growing up, I thought you might be gay. Your father is trying to re-live his life through you and you’re not playing the game. He’s so taken up with his own ambitions that he’s never been interested in your wishes and needs. I wondered if you’d ever got over your problems, but they’ve never gone away, have they. You’re gay, aren’t you?”
I was flabbergasted. “Neither of you cared what I wanted. I knew when I was a toddler that I wasn’t a boy up here,” I tapped my head, “but, when I told you, you both told me not to be so stupid. I learned very quickly to tell you both as little as possible as I was growing up. Anyway, I’d probably have been killed if anyone at school had found out.
“I’ve always done what I was told to do. In my late teens, I just wanted female friends. I was interested in their clothes, makeup, gossip and general girlishness: I wasn’t interested in them as potential partners, and they certainly weren’t interested in me. I wasn’t built right and they bloody knew it. You, and especially my father, seem to be fixated on the idea that I’m looking for a male partner. I’ve no idea where you get that notion from, unless it’s the ‘The Daily Trash’. Most of the men and boys that I’ve known have been boorish and with over-inflated egos, not unlike my father. If he’s an example of a male that I should try to emulate, then I’m definitely better off living alone. I can be interested in any sort of relationship that I like but no one wants me.
“I tried to keep Jenny hidden all my life. As far as I was concerned when I was born, someone made a ghastly mistake: I was born a girl but my body was wrong, and I’m going to pay the price of that mistake for the rest of my life. I’d love to be pregnant, give birth to children and mother them. Unfortunately, I’m not built for it. I don’t want to be a husband and father, and the idea of having sex as a man just makes me feel sick. What’s the point of living?”
“So are you saying you’re not gay, then?”
“NO; I’M NOT A GAY MAN! How many more times do I have to tell you before you believe me?”
“You’ve always been female?” she said.
I nodded.
“But your willy…?”
“It’s a birth defect that I have to use to pee through; it doesn’t belong on a woman.”
“Now it makes sense!” My mother gave a hollow laugh. “I always knew that something was wrong. You were very careful - but not careful enough. There’s your recent appearance and the fact that you haven’t developed as expected. So is there really a girlfriend?”
“I tried to give my father the impression that I was interested in Jane as a man might be; I thought it might shut him up, but it didn’t. Our relationship isn’t boyfriend and girlfriend; it’s more like two girlfriends,” I hastily added, “that is, friend who is a girl.” I didn’t want her to get the wrong idea.
“Two girlfriends? Does she prefer you to be dressed as a girl?”
“Mother; as I said, I’ve always been female. I don’t dress as a young girl; I dress as a twenty-two year old woman; John is the disguise. Jane’s only met John twice, but she and I, that is Jane and Jenny, have been out shopping a few times. She often pops round for dinner and stays for the evening. We usually talk or listen to music or watch old movies.”
”Have I missed something? Do you think of yourself as Jenny, and John as a separate person?”
I was exasperated, and said, vehemently, “Mother! Why have you never listened when I told you anything? What I wanted didn’t seem to matter and, according to you and my father, most of the horrors of childhood never happened! I’ve always been Jenny; John has only ever been an acting role that I’ve had to play in order to stay alive.”
“Hmm, that’s interesting,” My mother said, thoughtfully. “Anyway, how did you meet Jane?”
“She is a police officer, but don’t tell my father, or I’ll never hear the last of it. He’ll probably go off on one about my being a danger to society, or something.”
She seemed shocked. “How on earth did you meet a police officer?”
I briefly recounted the events of the night when Mrs Jones was murdered, the meeting between Jane and me and our shopping adventures.
“Oh, my goodness! Please let me know how things develop. I won’t say anything to your father - I don’t think that he knew about Jenny, at least not after your early childhood - and I think that’s best for now. Don’t worry; I know that’s easy to say, but these things have a habit of working out, you’ll see. It does sound as if this Jane is a good friend. You are my child; I have always loved you and always will love you, whoever you are. I’d like to see a photo of Jenny sometime, maybe on your next visit? Perhaps one of Jane too? So it might be that I really do have the daughter I always wanted? Amazing!”
I was shocked. “You always wanted a daughter?”
“Many mothers do. There’s much more that I could do with a daughter than I could ever do with a son.”
“I never knew that you wanted a girl.”
“I probably mentioned it to your father at some point, but I could hardly discuss it with my you and Peter, could I?”
“Well, you’ve always had Jenny; you just never knew it. At least, you never seemed to realise it.”
“I’ve just had a thought. You’ve always called us Mother and Father; you never called us Mum and Dad — or Mummy and Daddy,” she observed.
“They are terms of endearment and respect; I loved you both as my parents but never felt that I could confide in either of you.”
We hugged and kissed goodbye. I felt closer to her then than ever I had; I considered that, at last, she was beginning to understand me. I was tempted to say that the next visit would be put on hold unless my father mellowed, but I relented when I realised that, in getting back at him, my mother might be hurt. We needed a long ‘mother/daughter’ talk; I needed to ‘phone her when I was home.
I called goodbye to my father, who didn’t even bother to respond — glued to the sport on the television, no doubt - and left for the return journey. I was very tired when I arrived home late that evening and sat for a long time, crying, with my head in my hands. I cried for the relationship with my parents that had been denied me - the situation with my father was unlikely to improve. I’d concluded years ago that my body and my mind didn’t match but chose to deny it in the interests of trying to achieve a quiet life — though for whom I had no real idea; for myself, for my family, or perhaps both? I couldn’t see an end to the torment and wondered how life could be so cruel.
A line from a song in my mother’s ‘Eagles’ collection sprang to mind:
”I don’t know why fortune smiles on some, and lets the rest go free.”
(‘The Sad Café’ by Don Henley/Glen Frey/Joe Walsh/JD Souther)
I eventually telephoned Jane and told her about the disastrous weekend. Perhaps it was unfair that I was inflicting this upon her but I couldn’t think of anyone else to call; I had no other friends. I told her about the worsening relationship with my father and that my mother had always wanted a daughter. I became hysterical and started talking about suicide.
Her response was immediate. “Stay there, I’ll be with you as soon as possible.”
I continued to sit with my head in my hands and cried my eyes out.
Jane arrived just a few minutes later; if she came from anywhere further away than her home, then she must have exceeded the speed limit. She almost had to break down the door to gain my attention. I again sat down and then, with some prompting, tearfully recounted the events in Wales.
“I can’t carry on like this,” I finally said, distraught. ”It isn’t fair on anyone — on you, on my work or on my family. I’ve been a complete failure, and feel like just chucking myself under a train. I almost did while waiting for a connection at Birmingham, but couldn’t screw up the courage. I’m even a failure at that!” I then dissolved into another fit of tears.
She stood up. “YOU SELFISH COW!”
“What?”
“You heard.”
“But...I…”
“You don’t seem to care for anyone else’s feelings,” she said very bluntly. “And you obviously have no thought for the poor train driver.”
She was silent for a while, then said, “In the course of my work I meet many different people. Some people are in a similar situation to that which you are in; some have it much worse — yes, there are people worse off than you are, believe it or not.”
I couldn’t think of anything to say.
“So you go ahead and commit suicide. Suppose that, several months down the line, I meet someone who needs help. What do I say? “Oh, I used to know a girl in a similar situation but she took the easy way out and jumped under a train so, sorry, I can’t help.”” She paused; the silence was deafening.
I was stunned and started to stammer. “Jane, I’m sorry, I never thought…”
She shouted at me. “NO, YOU NEVER THOUGHT. JENNY THIS AND JENNY THAT BUT NEVER “I WONDER HOW ANYONE ELSE MIGHT FEEL?””
I let her words sink in and then started to get up from my chair. “Jane, I’m so sorry, I’ve been so selfish.”
“Yes, you were being FUCKING selfish and I don’t know why I FUCKING BOTHER!” She looked near to tears herself as she shouted at me, stormed into the kitchen and slammed the door.
I was riveted to the chair, I hardly dared breathe. I’d never heard Jane swear. All seemed silent for a few minutes, and then the banging of crockery, kettle and cupboard doors and so on made me fear for my kitchen.
Some time later, she reappeared with two mugs of tea and handed one to me. Had I been a little more observant instead of being wrapped up in my own problems, I’d have seen that she had also been crying — a lot. When I’d known her for longer, I’d know that she very rarely lost her temper — although I was to see her cry again very soon.
“Okay, now what?” She asked, clearly angry.
“Pardon?”
“What are you going to do? I mean positive action, not digging a damned great hole and crawling into it.”
I didn’t know what to say so continued to sit with my head in my hands.
“Right, enough of this! Snap out of it, woman, for goodness sake! Three questions and three straight answers — yes or no. One: do you want to be Jenny with all your heart and soul?”
I wish!
“Yes,” I answered in a whisper.
“I’M NOT CONVINCED!” Jane shouted, “AGAIN! DO YOU WANT TO BE JENNY WITH ALL YOUR HEART AND SOUL?”
I thought of that train at Birmingham. That decided me.
“YES.”
“Two: if you had to stay as John for the rest of your life, would it be a disaster?”
“YES, the thought is completely unbearable, I’d rather die. I’ve tried to satisfy everyone else. Now it’s my turn.”
“Good, we’re getting somewhere at last. Now, before I ask the third question, believe me when I say that I will fully support you if you’ll let me do so.”
She sat down opposite me and I nodded for her to carry on. “Now, question three: would you be willing to undergo whatever it takes, regardless of cost, pain, and time? It might mean losing your job, your home, your family or all three.”
“YES.”
“Are you sure?”
“YES; I’ll get by somehow, but I can’t carry on like this. Thanks to you, I’ve had a taste of real life and it’s in full colour; I don’t want to go back to boring monotony.”
“Are you really sure? It won’t be an easy ride by any means.”
“YES”
“You know what’s involved?”
I nodded. “Yes; I’ve thought about little else for years.”
She stood. “I’ll be back tomorrow evening and I want to see Jenny when I get here.”
“J…Jane,” I asked, tentatively, “Why are you doing this?”
“I’ll tell you tomorrow.” With that, she drained her teacup and walked out. The door crashed shut behind her.
End of part 4
Secrets
By Susan Heywood
John finds the body of a neighbour who has been murdered. The police detective assigned to the case deduces that John hides a secret - but the detective has secrets of her own.
Part 5 of 25 — Revelations
Monday morning again dawned bright and clear — but not in my little world. I’d spent a restless night thinking about what I’d agreed to do, and how it could be achieved. I didn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, all I saw was Jenny skipping through life without a care. I also knew that I’d upset Jane big-time. I couldn’t face breakfast and just left for work. My self-esteem was at an all-time low.
Greg Barnes, my manager, noticed and called me into his office. Greg was in his late-thirties; he’d been in the Navy, but was as different from my father as you could possibly imagine.
I dejectedly walked in, closed the door and stood with my head bowed in front of his desk.
“John, what’s happened? I’ve never seen you this depressed, what’s going on? It’s clearly affecting your work and that’s completely out of character.”
I didn’t know where to start. I’d always got on well with Greg; at least he spoke to me, even though our rare conversations were usually about work. I was fairly sure that I could trust him.
But THIS? This is something else
I decided to try a half-truth because I was certain that the whole truth would get me the sack. “I’m having personal problems.” Then I panicked. “Look, I think I’d better resign and look for another job.”
“Hey, not so fast! Are you gay? Is that it?” he asked, rising from his chair and walking around his desk.
“My father says I am, so I suppose I must be,” I answered, quietly and not very convincingly.
For what seemed like hours, but was probably only a minute or so, he leaned against the desk with his arms folded. I felt his eyes boring into my very soul. He finally said, “No, if you were, you’d know, and it’d be more obvious to other men in the office. It takes one to know one — and you’re not.”
“No, I’m not,” I said, resigned now to having to reveal my deepest secrets to this man — who’d probably just told me that he was gay; I never knew.
“Please tell me; you’re tearing yourself apart, it’s not helping you and it’s burdening me and the firm. Would you prefer to talk to the Personnel Director?”
I shook my head.
“Okay then. You aren’t gay and you’ve never hit on any of the other men or women in the office. That’s either lack of courage or lack of motivation. I’ve known you since you started here and I always thought there was something different about you. What’s her name?”
“Pardon?”
“Oh, come on! It’s the only other option. You aren’t by any means one of the lads and there’s a lot about you that isn’t manly at all. Celia’s mentioned it and we’ve had a brief talk about it. We’ve been quite worried about you.”
He’s talked with Celia about me? I know that she’s my section leader but…
He paused for a few moments, his eyes down on his feet. Then he returned to his chair, rested his elbows on his desk and indicated that I should also sit. He steepled his fingers and seemed deep in thought for about a quarter of a minute. Then he looked up and continued. “John, try to look at it from my point of view. I’m responsible, as your manager, for your work output and quality. If I can help you, I will. As I see it, this can’t go on. Do you mind very much if I ask Celia to join us?
“All right,” I said, resignedly. I was shaking like a leaf as he made the call. I wasn’t sure that this was the way things should be done, but I couldn’t at the time think of anything else.
A gentle knock at the door announced Celia’s arrival. She handed me a cup of water, then sat in the vacant chair next to me.
Greg continued. “John is depressed; you pointed out some details, which kind of corroborated my own thoughts about the situation.”
Celia said, “I’ll do anything I can to help.”
“Thank you. I want John to acknowledge and deal with his feelings — that way we can all get on with our work, and we won’t have to worry about losing our annual performance bonuses.” He’d probably meant to lighten the atmosphere — maybe it did, just a little.
Celia turned to me. “I’m sorry it’s happened this way but it’d be cruel to let it go on. We’re neither blind nor stupid and have figured it out; at least, a few of the women have.”
“But everyone just ignores me — and how do I cope with my parents?” I protested, and then burst into tears. I felt guilty about crying in front of Greg and Celia but I couldn’t stop.
Celia leaned over to give me a hug and a kiss on the cheek, as my body was wracked with heaving sobs. She soothed, “Come on, girl, you can do it!”
It took me a few moments to realise what Celia had said. I looked up at Greg and saw him smiling.
He’d clearly heard and understood Celia’s comment, and said, “I still think you ought to see the Personnel Director.”
I nodded, numbly.
Greg made the call, then he looked at me and smiled. “Take a break, John. Celia, look after him, will you please? John, you can go and see Sue Fuller as soon as you like. How do you feel, now it’s out in the open?”
“Strangely enough, I feel a little calmer,” I said, surprising myself.
As Celia and I stood, he said, “Oh, by the way, you still haven’t told me her name.”
“Jennifer; Jenny for short.”
“Hello Jenny, welcome aboard,” he smiled. How he’d managed all that time in the Navy, an extremely masculine environment, I’ll never know. I’d always thought that he was a good manager but he certainly rose a few points in my estimation when I discovered his sexuality.
“I surely haven’t still got a job after all this?” I asked, incredulously, as Celia and I moved to leave the office.
“Probably not,” he responded, laughing, “But we might have a vacancy for which your twin sister has just the right level of aptitude and experience.”
Celia had to help me out; I couldn’t stop shaking.
I collected a note from Greg and walked shakily to a lift. On my way past her desk, Celia gave me a little finger wave and mouthed “good luck.” I stopped for a moment to smile a “thank you”. My insides felt like lead as I headed for the seventh floor; Melanie, Sue Fuller’s secretary smiled as she gave me two coffees and waved me in.
I trembled as I approached the Personnel Director’s office door. What should I say? And what would she say?
Sue Fuller was a short, slim woman in her mid forties. She had short, blonde hair, of a similar colour to Jane’s, piercing blue eyes and a ready smile. Her desk seemed to dwarf her: she motioned for me to shut the office door and join her at the little coffee table by the window. I felt a pang of envy as she walked over, smoothed her skirt, sat and crossed her legs.
“Hello John,” she said, accepting the coffee I gave her. “What can I do for you?”
I handed over the note.
Sue took it, opened and read it. “Hmmm, it doesn’t give anything away, does it? But your appearance and your behaviour do. Would you like to tell me about it?”
I hesitantly summarised the events of the day and the history behind them.
Sue looked at me and smiled. “What would you like us to do, and when?”
“Are you going to sack me?” I asked.
“Not for having a birth anomaly, we’re not: firstly, it’s illegal and secondly, we don’t work that way. Why get rid of someone who does a good job?”
“That’s a relief for a start. I suppose I should first of all go and see my doctor,” I replied, my shoulders noticeably relaxing as the tension subsided a little. Sue nodded as I told her about my Internet research and my disastrous visit to my parents. “I’ve read horror stories of trans-people suffering harassment by employers and, especially, colleagues.”
“That’s not the way we do business,” she reiterated the official position, “although each case needs to be assessed on its merits. I presume that you are transsexual; we have specific rules about how we deal with members of minorities and I think you’ll find that we’ll be very fair to you.”
“Thank you; that’s a tremendous relief.”
“I agree that you should see your doctor as soon as possible. Meanwhile I’ll look up employment law and take some advice from outside. We already have policies dealing with harassment on the grounds of race, creed and sexuality and there are a number of people who are gay. You aren’t the first and probably won’t be the last person to tread this path. One of the main research groups was started because the founder’s trans-daughter was treated very badly by the company she worked for and the colleagues she worked with. She was made to resign. I’ll say no more except to assure you that we will do our best for you. How does that sound?”
“That’s far more than I’ve ever dreamed of, and I am so grateful for the way everyone has been so caring and supportive. But what do I do if another member of staff objects?”
“We deal with it as I’ve said. I am aware that harassment goes on but it’s illegal and uncaring. As you may know, we’ll not condone harassment or bullying of any kind and, if you should ever feel threatened, please let me know. Is that clear?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“Good luck with the medical profession. Feel free to contact me at any time. Just ask Melanie for an appointment, but please keep Greg in the loop. He’s a good man and a good manager.”
“I know,” I agreed, as I left her.
I couldn’t concentrate on my work, so Greg sent me home.
Jane seemed quite relieved to find me in that evening. “Thank goodness for that, I did wonder if there’d be anyone here at all.” She hugged and greeted me with a kiss on both cheeks.
I smiled at her. I wore a black long-sleeved edge-to-edge cardigan over a green floral print mini dress. I also wore black, footless tights and ballet slippers. My hair was brushed into a more feminine style and I wore a little makeup. Silver jewellery completed the look. Jane had arrived straight from work so was wearing the usual non-uniform uniform of white tee and grey trouser suit.
I poured some orange juice for Jane, who noticed my relaxed smile, and said, “You’re looking much brighter; what happened today?”
“My boss found out about Jenny.”
“Really?”
“Yes; he said that John is not likely to have a job for long,” then I laughed, and added, “But I might well have.”
“Go on.”
I filled in the details of the day, including the meeting with the Personnel Director. Finally, I told her that I had an appointment with my GP, Doctor Michael Carter.
“Oh; he’s one of our police doctors. So what happens next, and when?”
“Doctor Carter should refer me to a Gender Identity Clinic and, as I seem to have the support of my employer, I might well be able to transition soon and start my Real Life Experience. I know I was scared when I first thought about it but, since last night, I’ve realised that I have to do this.”
“You’ve certainly done your homework, but what about your parents?” Jane asked.
“I don’t hold out much hope for my father, but my mother already knows about me, so I’ll try to keep in touch with her at least — oh and she wants photos of her daughter and her friend. My brother is a few years older than I am; he’s very much an unknown quantity but is probably a chip off his old dad.”
We both sat down and Jane put her arm around my shoulder; I snuggled in close. Jane didn’t seem to mind that.
“Jane?”
“Hmm?”
“I’m puzzled.”
“Oh and here’s me thinking you’re Jenny.”
“Be serious for a few minutes. Yesterday you said that you’d tell me this evening why you’re prepared to help me.”
“Well, there are two reasons,” she answered. “Firstly, there’s my sister.”
“You never mentioned her before; is she younger or older?”
“She was older; she’s now dead,” she said, enigmatically.
“Oh, I’m so sorry; what happened?” I asked.
“She drowned.”
“Oh, that’s so sad.”
“Put it this way; Robert and Rosalie were with us for some years, both in the same person. Rosalie was always the dominant personality and Robert, well, that’s just what my parents named her when she was born with something like a male body.”
“Oh, I understand now. That explains why you know so much about transgender people.”
She nodded. She was quiet for a few moments, and then continued. “Then Rosalie died. She hid her gender problem quite well. Not from me but from our mother, our stepfather and the rest of the world. I was twelve when Robert officially became Rosalie and thirteen when she died or, in my opinion, was murdered. I’d just turned thirteen two days earlier; some birthday present that was.”
“My God, what happened?”
“The usual problems. If you aren’t everyone’s idea of a son and heir, don’t excel at sport, aren’t built like a brick outhouse, don’t join the gang, don’t lay everything in a skirt, and don’t swap dirty stories with the lads, you get buggered, beaten up or both. Boys’ public schools were not suitable places of education for Rosalie. I don’t suppose that a girl’s school would have handled it much better. I had to make all the right noises and keep my head down when I was at school otherwise I too would probably have attracted the wrong kind of attention. You probably had to act a lot when you were a child; Rosalie was quite an actor.”
“I know that feeling only too well,” I put in, morosely.
“Anyway, Rosalie wasn’t built to take all of that. She was a gentle soul, the kind who would bring home an injured bird, stay up all night with it if necessary and nurse it back to heath. The brutal regime got to her — she was just too gentle and sensitive. She was a tiny little thing, much shorter than I was even though she was older, and with looks most girls would kill for. My mother and stepfather did nothing for her — other than tell her to “be a man” - and polite society treated her like they’d just stepped in something messy that one of the horses had left.
“She helped me through childhood, especially when I had my first period. I was her only friend, before and after transition but it wasn’t enough. Rosalie was found, face down in our lake. I’ve always been convinced that she was murdered. Certainly, there seemed to be a wall of silence surrounding the whole business. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that some of the local upright, hypocritical citizens, probably led by Daddy Dearest, killed her. Everyone was against her, probably because she didn’t conform to their idea of what a man should be. She wasn’t made for this world. If there is a hereafter, I just hope that she found peace.”
Then she burst into tears.
I saw Jane angry last night, but never so upset; I just held her and whispered soothingly until the tears subsided.
She smiled weakly. “I loved her so much. I know lots of siblings don’t get on but Rosalie was everything to me: the most loving and lovable sister and friend anyone could wish for. We helped each other with clothes, makeup, everything. We even went out shopping as sisters when our so-called parents were away. We knew each other’s secrets, shared each other’s joys and sadness. And there was a lot of sadness. The poor girl didn’t deserve to die that way; she had so much to give and so much to live for.
“I know it was a long time ago, but I still can’t think about it without getting very, very angry. I also knew from an early age that I was attracted to other girls and it’s never changed; if anything it just….” Her voice suddenly went quiet and menacing. Then she sighed. “I also had a bad experience when I was thirteen; I was still mourning the loss of Rosalie and was probably distracted. Perhaps Daddy Dearest thought it would make me, in his eyes, ‘Normal’ — you know, grow up, come out, find a wealthy husband and have loads of children. I presume that he wanted grandchildren. I never knew the bastard who raped me on my way back from a walk; he disappeared without apparent trace once the deed had been done. If he had been caught, he’d probably have ended up in prison or a Young Offender’s Institution for attacking a minor. Of course, I was branded a teenage slut and so on by those who didn’t know how it happened; I was glad to leave home.”
She said this with so much venom; I was glad that I wasn’t on her ‘wanted — dead’ list at that moment.
She continued angrily. “I decided when I was younger that I would join the police force. When Rosalie was killed, that only made the feeling stronger. My mother and my stepfather nearly had kittens when they found out about my sexuality. They went totally berserk when I said that I wanted a job where I could put away the vermin of society, like the ones who murdered Rosalie and…. attacked me,” she noticeably shuddered. “I got the impression that my stepfather was involved up to his thick neck, although nothing was ever proven. Perhaps my mother might have regretted any involvement but by then, of course, it was too late. She never talked about it, anyway. My career decision went down like a lead balloon and resulted in a lot of shouting. I haven’t spoken to either my mother or stepfather since I left home to go to university. I wasn’t allowed to see a doctor during the pregnancy unless it was one of my stepfather’s tame friends; I had to carry the baby to term and have it adopted.”
My parents just said, “That was bad luck, you conceiving on your first date.”
Jane said, scornfully, “Date? HA! All I knew was that I’d had a little girl. I know that I will never forget that little life which grew inside me for nine months. I often wonder what became of her. She was taken from me within hours of my giving birth; I don’t even know her name. Termination was not an option, especially with parents who were staunch Catholics.”
I was stunned. “That’s terrible! So all you know is that you were a mother!”
She nodded.
I said, “As for me, I’ve always known I was female, even before I was old enough to work out a lot of the differences between boys and girls. I just never had the opportunity or the courage to do anything about it; I first mentioned it before I started pre-school and got the “don’t be so stupid” treatment.”
I continued to cuddle into Jane for a good few minutes after that and then gently asked, “You said two reasons. What’s the other one?”
End of part 5
Secrets
By Susan Heywood
John finds the body of a neighbour who has been murdered. The police detective assigned to the case deduces that John hides a secret - but the detective has secrets of her own.
Part 6 of 25 — Revelations
“Oh, that one’s easy,” she laughed, “I’m in love with you.”
I pulled away in shock and just gaped at her. “What did you say?”
“I love you. Now you’re probably going to tell me something I don’t want to hear, and I’m going to feel like a complete idiot, run out of here and throw up somewhere.”
I said, softly, “My father insists that I’m a gay male; my mother thought so too. I’m not interested in men and never have been; the very thought of it makes me sick.”
“So are you interested in girls, then?” She asked, smiling hopefully.
“I did try some years ago, but they weren’t interested in me. I just wanted to be friends, but they didn’t want to know; I suppose they were uncomfortable; they probably weren’t interested in a weedy bloke with glasses. Since then I haven’t bothered with relationships, or even friendships. As far as I’m concerned, I’m a nothing.”
“Ah, but you were acting as John then. Now that you’re really Jenny, is there anyone in particular that you fancy?” Jane was smiling now, especially given the range of emotions that must have been crossing my face.
I analysed my feelings, or tried to. I’d had quite a day of it already and still the rocky road rolled on. I knew I was female in my head but if I were to look for a partner, the thought of a relationship with a man, whether gay or straight, just made me shiver, although most women had relationships with men. My mother and my sister-in-law sprang to mind. Perhaps I’m not really a man after all? If I couldn’t find someone that I wanted to be with, or wanted to be with me — and it was looking less likely the longer that time went on - then I would have to be alone and celibate all my life.
It’s no wonder that the French word for ‘bachelor’ is ‘célibataire’.
Years ago, I’d become resigned to the distinct likelihood that would have to live my life alone. If I did have a relationship, though, and if I’m a woman, attracted to other women, does that make me a lesbian, or is that too simple?
HANG ON!
She said that she was in love with me; I just couldn’t believe she felt that way. For a start, did I trust her? I’d only known her for a month or so after all. I also had this male body; what do I do about that? I thought about everything that had happened since we met. Everything she did seemed to put me first. I wondered why; maybe now I knew. Heck, life is a gamble; I’d been alone and friendless for virtually all my life. Even when I was at home with my parents, I’d been mostly alone — and lonely. Inevitably my emotions got the better of me and I dissolved into tears. Jane put her arms around me and held me while I cried myself out.
“Jane, you are a b…beautiful woman; are you really attracted to me? Why? I’m n…not even a proper woman.”
She smiled down at me. “Jenny my love; thank you for the compliment - even though I’m very tall and quite big — but you sell yourself short. The first time I saw you, I thought then how very unlike a man you looked. And I’ve seen a huge change in you in a few short weeks. From the shy person I met at the beginning of March, you’ve very quickly blossomed into a wonderful, caring, gentle, sensitive woman who is only held back by the need to be someone else during the working day. That must change if you are to have any chance of happiness.”
I looked up at Jane and smiled through my tears. I snuggled under her arm and put both of mine around her. That felt so good; it was like cuddling a big female teddy bear, so warm and so safe.
“But… How?” I asked.
She grinned. “Don’t ask me; love is unpredictable. We don’t always get to choose a partner, it often just happens. And, in my case, it just happens to be you.”
I burst into tears again. “But how can you be in love with me? And if you’re attracted to girls, how can you love a male?”
“Silly girl! I’m in love with you the person and Jenny the woman; I’m not at all interested in John. I couldn’t love a man anyway; my brain isn’t wired that way. It’s the girl I love; the beautiful girl inside that very frightened shell of a body, which will have its plumbing problems sorted out as soon as possible. And, as I said before, I don’t believe for one moment that you have much male in you.”
“Oh.”
She looked pleadingly at me. “So what do you think?”
I said, “Well, I’ve been proudly telling a few people about my girlfriend, but that’s when they thought of me as a man. Goodness knows what they’ll think of me as a woman with a girlfriend.”
She responded, “I suspect that very few people believe that you were ever a man at all; it’s no wonder that so many people thought you were gay. I don’t mean to insult you; that’s just how it is. So what’s your answer then — or do you need to think about it?”
I didn’t fancy any of the men in the office; neither did I look upon any of the boys and men that I’d met over the years as potential partners. My mind quickly snapped back to my conversation that morning with Greg, my boss. I deduced from what he told me that he is gay — and no way did I fancy him. I thought of Phil Sullivan, he of the cricket club. The thoughts that immediately sprang to mind were ‘sport mad’ and ‘so much like my father’. Finally I recalled the boys in school — even those few who didn’t seem to derive a sadistic pleasure from seeing me beaten to a pulp. I was not attracted to them either.
“Are you sure?” I asked, uncertainly. “Are you really sure?”
“Yes.”
“As you yourself said, it won’t be easy,” I warned, “There are bound to be people who will hate me simply because I’m different from them. It doesn’t seem fair to drag you into that kind of sordid mess. And if people see us as two women in love…”
“Which we are, or will be — I hope.”
“…won’t they give us both a hard time?”
She held out her arms and I manoeuvred myself closer to her. She enfolded me in a protective embrace; I stretched up and again put my arms around her neck.
Jane said, “I’ve waited years for someone to love. I’ve had girlfriends in the past but the relationships didn’t work for one reason or another. I loved Rosalie about as much as any two sisters can and I’m still haunted by the thought that I let her down.” She again burst into tears.
I held her until the sobs subsided, then said, “I very much doubt that you could have done any more; deep down, you know that and I’m sure that she knew that.”
“Well, I’ll try not to let you down.”
I looked up at her. “You’re not doing this out of some feeling of guilt?” I asked, hesitantly.
“Goodness, no! I love you to bits.”
“Even after the short time that we’ve known each other?”
“Head over heels,” she smiled, “When I first saw you, the real you, my first thought was “WOW! Where has she been hiding that body?” On our second shopping trip, it was all I could do to keep my hands off you.”
“Really?” I smiled back and retained my grip on her neck; her eyes still held mine.
“Really. So we’re a team, aren’t we?” she asked. “But what about you? This is all a bit new for you, isn’t it?”
I leaned in closer. Our faces were only inches apart.
“J…Jane,” I said, and felt tears begin again, “I…I’ve never had a relationship; I don’t know what to do.” Then the waterworks started in earnest.
She shushed me and handed me a tissue to dry my eyes. She smiled and whispered. “Trust me, my love; you’re in for the ride of your life.”
She moved her head closer to mine. Her strong arms pulled me in and she held me tight. Her lips brushed mine, so gently that I barely felt them.
I didn’t resist, I didn’t move, I couldn’t get enough of the warm glow that flooded my whole body. I tilted my head back and she claimed me as her own — her kiss was warm, soft, insistent. I felt myself drifting away; I wasn’t on Earth, I’d no idea where I went. All I know is that I never wanted that moment to end. I was overwhelmed. I had never before kissed or been kissed, other than on the cheek by some aged aunt, long since dead. All the anger, frustration and confusion of the past twenty years just seemed to melt away and I simply closed my eyes and surrendered. It all felt so right. There was no analysis, no fear, no question, and no hesitation. In that moment, I knew that I loved Jane. Oh yes; I’d tried to have relationships with girls before but that was when I was masquerading as a man. I realised that I didn’t try very hard; just went through the motions, really. This time it was different — so very different.
We eventually came up for air, after what felt like two hours.
Jane smiled down at me and said, gently, “Where did that heavenly choir come from — and where did it go? I can’t believe that just happened; we ought to have an action replay!”
So we did.
Then she handed me another surprise. She released me for a few moments, put her hand into her bag, brought out a little box and gave it to me. I opened it and gasped. It was a slim gold ring with a single sapphire. She gently took the ring from the box and slipped it onto the ring finger of my right hand.
“Sapphire is my birthstone,” I softly breathed.
I sat mesmerised and looked at it for ages: I thought it the most beautiful thing that I had ever seen and spent quite a long time admiring it.
She added, “I know it’s only the beginning of our relationship but I want you to know that you mean the world to me. I am very, very fond of you and will support you through whatever lies ahead. You have turned my life around. Previously, I simply existed and, I don’t mind admitting it, was quite selfish. Having someone to care for, someone to love is so exciting for me and life has just become a lot brighter. I wake in the morning and get really keyed up and energised if I’m to see you later.
“This ring is a symbol of my commitment to you. Just one thing: if you have any problems or anxieties, you discuss them with me as soon as you can. Please!”
I nodded numbly and, not knowing what else to do, again offered my lips to Jane, who willingly took advantage of them.
Surely the universe wouldn’t provide this much joy without rendering an account. I was going to find out just how much all this happiness would cost.
End of part 6
John finds the body of a neighbour who has been murdered. The police detective assigned to the case deduces that John hides a secret - but the detective has secrets of her own.
Part 7 of 25 — Payments
I knew that I had to start somewhere so, full of trepidation, I went to see my doctor. I went dressed in male clothes; I thought it best for a first visit. Maybe I was wrong; I seemed to be wrong about so many things lately.
Doctor Michael Carter was in his late fifties, with receding, grey hair, and had been my doctor since I first moved to the town. In that time I’d seen him only once. I wasn’t looking forward to the next few minutes.
“Hello John; long time, no see. Have a seat. Now; what seems to be the trouble?”
In answer, I took out a photograph and placed it in front of him.
“I didn’t know you had a sister,” he queried, “What’s she got to do with your visit?”
“I haven’t a sister, this is me. I’d be very grateful if you could please refer me to a Gender Identity Clinic.”
“Are you telling me that it’s you in the photograph?”
“Yes.”
“And how long has this been going on?” he asked, incredulously.
“Since early childhood,” I nervously replied.
“Do you have sex with other men? Do you need testing for HIV or something? Is that why you’re here?”
“Sex with men? In early childhood? Hardly! I’m not a homosexual man, and I’m not even sure that I’m all male. If I am, I presume that I’m transsexual.”
“I don’t believe in all that stuff, it’s just made up by the newspapers. Anyway, most homosexuals just want to dress as tarts to attract other men; it’s all in the mind and shows a lack of social skills. I’ll test you for HIV and then send you to a psychiatrist; he’ll cure you.”
I wondered why his chosen psychiatrist was male. I said firmly, but losing patience fast, “I’ve never had sex, either with a man or a woman and, in case you’re wondering, I wasn’t abused as a child — unless you count bullying at school or my being told by my father at every opportunity that I was a failure. I don’t have a mental illness but I would be grateful if you would please refer me to a Gender Identity Clinic. I believe that the nearest one is the Glendale Clinic in London.”
“You’re obviously suffering from delusions so decided to be homosexual. I’m prepared to take a blood sample to check for Sexually Transmitted Diseases and I’ll refer you to a local psychiatrist; he’ll soon sort you out. You just need to admit to being a queer, though why you should decide to be queer is beyond me. The world is full of them, though I can’t say I hold with all that sort of thing myself.” He waved dismissively. “Normal men are attracted to women and women to men and that’s that; it’s how the human race is designed to continue, after all. Is it because you can’t get a girlfriend that you thought you’d try men instead?”
“I have a girlfriend.”
He looked stunned, as though I’d hit him in the face with a large wet fish. “If you’ve got a girlfriend, how on earth would you be able to satisfy her if you had all your bits cut off? Many of these queers do; do you?”
“I think that’s no business of yours. I just want my body to match my mind. Anyway, I can’t believe you’re asking questions like this, I’m sure it’s unprofessional,” I replied, hotly. “I’ve known that I was female since I was a toddler; it’s just that my body is wrong and I’ve had to live with it for over twenty very frustrating years.”
He turned in his chair and faced me. “I can’t subscribe to the existence of a condition for which I have no medical evidence. You look healthy enough to me, although somewhat under-nourished and effeminate; I’m sure that a proper diet and some decent exercise will fill you out and toughen you up. Your hair doesn’t help; get a decent haircut. I’ll refer you to a psychiatrist but I’ll do no more. I can’t waste this practice’s limited budget on a whim or a lifestyle choice. Why don’t you join a gym or something? Do some weight training?”
“My father seems to think that a spell in the Navy cures everything; but it hasn’t cured him of bigotry,” I said, sarcastically.
“There’s a lot to be said for bringing back National Service; if nothing else, the exercise and the discipline would be good for you.”
I shook my head in disgust.
He stood to dismiss me and made to shake hands. I was extremely angry and flatly refused his gesture. Instead, turning on my heel, I left the consulting room and stormed out of the surgery.
As soon as I could, I rang Jane. She was amazed that any doctor would take such a line in this day and age but suggested that I wait for the appointment with the psychiatrist and see how that developed. Meanwhile, she would visit that evening. “Didn’t he even do any blood tests?”
“No; I refused to be tested for STDs.”
“I think we need to change our police doctor; I’ll see you later.”
I returned to the office and was greeted by Greg. “How did the appointment with the doctor go?” he asked.
“Not well,” I replied, angrily, “He thinks I’m gay and that a psychiatrist can cure me. I tried to explain but he wouldn’t even consider it.”
He snorted. “Being gay’s not a disease; you don’t catch it, like ‘flu, it’s the way your brain’s wired. Perhaps it might be an idea to discuss it with Sue Fuller; she might have found more information for you.”
Sue’s face darkened as I related the sorry tale of that morning’s visit to the doctor.
I said, “Maybe it would be better all round if I was a gay man; perhaps then even my father could eventually accept it, although, every time I visit my parents, he just calls me a bloody queer. The trouble is, he’d crow for weeks if he thought he was right.”
“But you’re not a gay man, are you?”
“No. I feel as though I’ve just hit a brick wall.”
“Well, I’ve some news for you. There’s nothing to stop you legally changing your name and continuing to work here as a woman, although it would be good if you could have a supporting letter from a psychiatrist. You can get a new passport, National Insurance card, medical card and so on and the Income Tax people don’t care a fig what sex you are and what your name is. You should complete a Statutory Declaration or Deed Poll in order to change your name but that’s quickly done. All you then have to decide is when you want to do it and how you want it handled.”
“Handled?”
“The other staff will need to be told, although I suspect that for most of the other women in your department, it’ll be a case of “what took her so long?”” She laughed.
“Oh, there might be some articles on the Internet relating to transitioning at work; if there are, I’ll print them off and bring them in. I didn’t realise that it would be this straightforward and that it could be done before I visit the Clinic.”
“Maybe it’s not a bad idea to see the local psychiatrist. If he or she knows anything at all, you can still be referred and it might be quicker than waiting for Doctor Carter to do anything. And I suggest that you start investigating alternative doctors; yours sounds like a right dinosaur.”
“I’ll do that, and thank you once again for your help. I suppose I’ll firstly have to work out how to tell my family,” I said, gloomily, as I left.
Jane arrived straight from work that evening, and found me wearing a long sleeved top, denim skirt and wedge sandals. My jewellery, of course, included my new sapphire ring.
“Yummy,” she said, as she scooped me into her arms for a kiss. “You smell nice.”
“It’s Estée Lauder. I had a bad morning and needed some retail therapy, so this fragrance insisted that I purchase it.”
She smiled. “It suits you. Now, tell me all about your doctor’s visit.”
I related the tale of woe.
“What happened after you saw Doctor Do-Nothing and returned to work?”
I giggled and told her what Sue Fuller had said.
“Wow, that’s progress, even without the medical profession. So when do you become you legally?”
“I suppose I’d better warn my family soon; that’ll really screw any chance of patching things up with my father; probably my brother too.”
“Well, you’ll need to legally change your name first. I’ll take a few decent digital photos of you; you write a letter detailing a bit of history, timetable, and so on, then we’ll drop in the best of the pictures and post the letters.”
“But what if they don’t like it?” I asked, timidly.
“Are you going to let your family keep ruling your life and deciding how you’ll live the rest of it? You, my girl, have a birth anomaly. Did your mother hesitate to have you seen by a specialist when it was discovered that you had sight problems?”
I shook my head.
She continued. “You happen to have something else as well. You’re going to fix it and they can just get used to the idea. If that’s too difficult for them, then they don’t love you as much as they should do. If they do love you, then they should want what is best for you, not just for them.”
“I suppose you’re right, “I conceded, hesitantly, “but I’m a little scared all the same.”
“Yes, I know,” Jane gathered me in her arms and kissed me again to reassure me, “but we’ll get through it together, just you see.”
With that, she continued where she left off, that is, trying to taste the back of my throat — on the inside.
After a while, I broke off and asked, “Dinner?”
“Yes please, I’m starving; I had a sandwich for lunch, but nothing else. Have you eaten?”
I shook my head.
“Take-away?”
She nodded.
I found the menus in the kitchen and we decided on Chinese takeaway. I smiled to myself as I ordered our meal from the ‘Lucky Horse’.
We found some useful documents on the Internet, along with all of the other information that we needed.
Soon afterwards, Jane complained of withdrawal symptoms and so I was once again subjected to police interrogation, but not the kind that criminals get. She left me with dire warnings about what would happen if she again found me either in male disguise or feeling sorry for myself.
May 2004
Life had been much more fun over the past two months than it had previously been. Even the visit to my parents a few days earlier hadn’t dampened my enthusiasm, despite what I saw as a worsening relationship with my father. Jane spent most of her spare time with me; Saturdays usually found us in Southampton or Winchester indulging in retail therapy. We didn’t always purchase anything; then again, shopping is looking, not necessarily spending money.
I hoped that progress could now be made; I was much brighter and more productive at work and this wasn’t lost on my colleagues. Celia had taken to calling me Jenny when no one else was within earshot and, although I was at first embarrassed, I eventually gave in, accepting it as good-natured banter. It was good to feel part of a team for the first time, instead of a leper.
Jane and I wrote the letter to the family. I told them what my new name would be and what I knew of my medical history. I told them that I was under medical supervision and had the support of both my employer and a dear friend. I concluded with a brief but optimistic timetable, and the hope that they would see things from my point of view and maintain contact with me. Not having spoken to my brother for at least a year, I wondered what his reaction would be. I hoped that he would speak to my mother first, rather than to my father.
I realised that, although my employer had so far been very supportive, they had only a vague idea of what they were letting themselves in for, so a copy of the photo was made for me to take to work.
Jane insisted on having a copy as well so that she could display a partner photo on her desk. I wondered if this was wise but she dismissed my fears. “Look love, if they don’t know by now that I’m a dyke, they must be blind, in the wrong job, or both.”
I decided that my mother should see the letter first and then show it to my father when she judged the time to be right. I also thought that she would appreciate my choice of second forename.
I was surprised to receive a call from my cousin Shirley, with whom I hadn’t spoken in years.
She said, “Look, we don’t have a problem with this: maybe we aren’t your typical family but our children are great and Alex and I love them all to bits. Tim and his partner aren’t married, Lucy’s husband is black, Sarah is divorced and Annabelle has been in a same-sex relationship for ten years and has two children by artificial insemination. So don’t worry about diversity, it’s certainly no big deal here.”
My parents were the only survivors of their generation of the family. Shirley was the daughter of one of the aged aunts, which explained why she and Alex were older than I. I never received replies from cousins Muriel, Wendy, Eddie and Jimmy: I presumed that they couldn’t cope with the fact that the person that they thought was their cousin John, and who they’d not seen for at least fifteen years, wasn’t their cousin John after all.
My mother called me at work as soon as the post had been delivered. “Darling, I’ve just received your letter. I’m ashamed; I know you told me how much you’d suffered all these years, but I wondered if you were trying to excuse laziness, as your father said. I never appreciated how hard life has been for you without any support, and I really can’t believe how attractive you are. I’m trying to decide when to show the letter to your father. I’ll ring off now because you’re at work but I just wanted you to know that I love you and want to keep in touch with you. By the way, I presume that you’ve also written to Peter; he hasn’t called me, I just hope that he doesn’t call your father before I get to him. Oh, and I’m honoured that you chose Ellen as your second forename.”
I was silent as I put down the phone. I hoped that this could be the start of a new relationship with my mother, but was worried about how my father would react to the news. Part of me tried to say that things could get no worse but another voice feared for the new relationship with my mother. I could just see my father forbidding her from seeing me. If she just acquiesced, then I really would be on my own — except for my darling Jane, of course. There was no immediate reply from Peter; I suspected that he couldn’t cope with his unexpected sister, and would never want to speak to me again.
The photo which made its way to the office got plenty of attention. Celia and Jill ‘oohed’ and ‘ahhed’ over the colour of my top. Greg theatrically complained that he would soon have another woman to make his life a misery in the office in addition to Celia, Jill, Maddy and Sarah.
I took the photo down to Sue Fuller, who asked, “How on earth have you managed to get away with the disguise for so long?
“Disguise?”
“As a man.”
“Oh, I never thought that I looked feminine.”
She smiled indulgently. “Who took the photo?”
“My girlfriend.”
“Oh! Is that girlfriend or friend-who-is-a-girl?”
I smiled and said, “Jane seems to have laid claim to Jenny so I guess it must be the former.”
“You didn’t waste any time then, did you?” she laughed. “Not only testing our, as yet, uncompleted policy regarding transsexual people but also our policy on sexual orientation. Looking at this photo, there are likely to be some interesting times ahead and I feel very privileged to be in at the start of it. Depending upon your views on the subject, it’s either a Personnel Director’s nightmare or something really interesting and challenging to want to come to work for. I’m really looking forward to the next few months.”
We were both chuckling as I left to return to my desk.
The day of the psychiatrist’s appointment was soon upon us and Jane took a day off work to accompany me, insisting that I might need her support. We agreed that I should wear whatever would be appropriate for the office and so I appeared for my appointment in a cerise tee-top, straight, black skirt, a lightweight jacket and black mid-heeled sandals.
The Royal Hampshire County Hospital at Winchester is a labyrinth of walkways and passages linking a range of buildings. Without the map that accompanied the appointment details, we’d have got hopelessly lost. Against these odds, the hospital had a well-deserved reputation for sensitive and professional patient care.
Doctor Judy Davenport looked to be in her mid-thirties, was slim and had shoulder-length dark-brown hair framing a round face. After introductions, she said, “Jane should really wait outside but I suppose that she can stay if you really want her to do so.”
“Yes please.”
She continued, “Doctor Carter has written a brief referral but he seems to have made an incorrect assessment. Oh and please call me Judy.”
I felt much happier as I answered, “He insists that I’m a gay male but, when acting as a male, I had no sexual feelings whatsoever. As a woman, well, that’s a different matter entirely. I suppose I couldn’t have been a simple case. Jane is my girlfriend and my name is, or soon will be, Jennifer Ellen Smith, known as Jenny.”
“Why do you want to be a woman?”
I asked, “Would you like to re-phrase the question?”
“Pardon?”
“I am twenty two years of age; I’m no longer a child, therefore I must be an adult, a female adult. I’ve always been female, but with a couple of birth defects and a need to be in disguise at work.” Then I said, “You look like a woman; do you consider yourself one?”
“Certainly I do,” she responded.
“Try to imagine that it’s dark, you’re naked and you can’t move your hands. Are you male or female?”
“Female, of course.”
“Why ‘of course’?” I asked.
“Because I just am.”
“But why?”
“I feel it.”
“So do I, I’ve always felt it.”
Judy sat in silence for a minute, appearing to absorb this. Then she nodded and said, “Well Jenny, you certainly make a very attractive woman. So do you consider yourself to be transsexual?” She noted the name on her folder.
“I don’t know; all I do know is that I’m female. I never seemed to be very masculine, thank God,” I replied, somewhat relieved. I related a concise but fairly complete history and ended, “It was only recently, when I met Jane, that things came to a head and now here I am.”
“Wouldn’t you like the feelings of being female to go away?” Judy asked.
“And just how do you think that you could do that? Assuming of course that I’d want you to do so — which I don’t. I presume that you’d try some form of electric treatment. From what I’ve read, that never worked.”
Judy was silent.
I continued. “I’m quite happy being female, although I would like my defective body fixed.”
Judy thought for a moment, nodded again and then responded, “I know that my questioning was blunt but I had to ask; to clear the air, so to speak. Now that he has referred you to me, the matter is out of Doctor Carter’s hands. I’d like some blood tests in order to check your hormone levels; we can do them here as Michael Carter is unlikely to be co-operative.”
When I’d arranged to call in the next day, Judy said, “I’d like an endocrinologist to see if there’s a medical reason for you developing the way you have. Then we need another psychiatric opinion and that should be from a specialist in the field. I need to form a detailed picture for myself and also for the letter that I shall write to the Gender Clinic. I’m not unfamiliar with your situation, Jenny, and am satisfied that you are a well-balanced individual with a clear idea of what you want to achieve and how to get it. You are also a very attractive woman and, I presume, you never made a very masculine male. You have skin and a facial structure for which many women would envy you, and I can’t presently see any reason why I shouldn’t refer you.”
I was relieved and spent the next half an hour answering questions about my family, my work and anything else that Judy thought might be important.
After she was satisfied with my answers, she said, “You’ve convinced me that the present either/or situation does you no good at all and the sooner you begin to live full-time as a woman, the better it will be for you. Have you broached the subject with your employer?”
I was taken aback with the suddenness of it all but eventually managed to say, “Yes, and they seem to be very supportive.”
“That’s good,” enthused Judy. “I’ll get this referral letter off to London straight away. I’ll write to you with copies of all the correspondence. You can use my professional opinion for official bodies as required. I can see that you and Jane think a lot of each other and I wish you long life, health and happiness together.”
I was shocked. “Is it that obvious?”
She laughed. “By the way Jane looks at you; yes it is.”
We stood to leave and thanked Judy for her help; we detoured via the supermarket to stock up on groceries. We had a fight over who would pay for them, and Jane grabbed my arms behind my back as she handed over her credit card.
“Help! Police brutality!” I whispered in jest.
“I’ll give you police brutality.”
“Yes please! Now?”
“Behave!”
She affectionately squeezed my shoulder and I felt a pleasant warm tingle.
We returned to my flat and Jane got ready for work. I cooked a quick meal of grilled chicken, new potatoes and green vegetables. I was determined that Jane wouldn’t go to work hungry and she seemed grateful that she didn’t have to sort out her own evening meal. We planned the next day’s activities and I realised that I was becoming increasingly comfortable with my new role; I felt as though a great weight had been lifted from my shoulders.
The next morning, I drove myself to Winchester for the blood tests. I cooked a meal for us that evening and we sat together afterwards just watching a Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers movie. I noticed that Jane seemed to be getting more amorous.
Would we stay together? I guess that time would tell
I breezed into work on the Monday morning, greeted the girls by name, nodded to the men, and sat at my desk, working, with a big smile on my face.
Celia rushed over to my desk. “What’re you on? You look like you’ve won the lottery, been promoted and been injected with a large dose of Happy Juice all at once. Come on, tell me before I burst.”
“Well,” I answered, smugly, “I had a good day on Friday, a great weekend and I feel wonderful today.” I related all that had happened and that I would see Greg and Mrs Fuller as soon as possible, as I had a transition date. “While on the subject can I ask you a huge favour? I think I’d like someone to field questions on my behalf, and I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have to do that than you. You’ve been a terrific friend to me recently and I will always be grateful to you.”
“Don’t be silly, “Celia chided, “of course I’ll do it. We could work out some likely questions and suitable answers.”
“Would you like to come to lunch on Sunday? Please say if you think that’s too much to ask.”
“Of course; I’m sure that my husband can cope on his own for one day,” Celia enthused. “Tell you what. Can you manage two for lunch? I think you should also ask Jill; she could help to make things easier for you as well.”
I hardly knew Jill, but at least she didn’t treat me like something the cat had dragged in.
Jill’s grin threatened to split her face in half as she enthusiastically agreed with the idea. “Super! I’ve seen the photo, but it’ll be great to meet Jenny in the flesh after all this time of seeing glimpses of her in the office, when you let your guard down.”
When I showed Greg the photo, he grinned and said, “You look like the cat that just won a year’s supply of cream.”
I laughed.
“How’d it go with the shrink?”
“Very well; I’ve a letter for the authorities and one for the company and, if it’s okay with you and Personnel, I’d like to transition on the first of July.” I then went on to relate the events of the interview with Judy Davenport.
“It’s okay by me,” he said, “Have you seen Sue Fuller yet to ask her how she feels about it?”
“Not yet, I’ll ring now for an appointment. I wanted to tell you first.”
“Thanks, I’m really glad that things seem to be working out for you. I suppose I’d better prepare for the onslaught: just don’t pull ‘time of the month’ on me too often!”
I said that was unlikely and left to make an appointment with Personnel.
Melanie smiled, sensing the change in me.
I walked into Sue Fuller’s office and gave her a copy of the letter from Judy Davenport.
“My! What a transformation,” she said, “you look positively radiant and you’re still in disguise. I just wonder how you’ll be when you are here for real.”
“Like a scared little schoolgirl in her first lowly office job,” I replied, ruefully.
“Not for long, I’ll bet,” she laughed. “Have you thought out a transition date yet?”
“I’d like to make it the first of July. I know it’s a Thursday but it just seems right somehow; new month, new me. I’ve invited Celia and Jill for lunch on Sunday so that they can meet Jenny. They’ve also agreed to answer any questions that people might have.”
“That’s a good idea,” she said. “I also think it might be a good idea to make a brief statement without going into too much detail.”
“Yes, I don’t think that everyone needs to know all the gory details at this stage, just the bare facts of ‘goodbye John, hello Jenny’.”
She agreed and asked me to draft a note, which she’d put out on the twenty-first of June. “If you go on leave on the eighteenth, it gives you twelve days to get yourself organised and then come back on the first. Does that sound okay?”
I nodded, smiled and left.
On the morning of the Wednesday following the psychiatrist appointment, Jane called me at work to say that someone had been arrested for the murder of Abigail Jones. She said that my witness statement had been vital; other than that she wouldn’t tell me any more about the case. We agreed that she would arrive in time for dinner on the Friday evening; it would be a little celebration of our progress.
At about 7:30pm on the Friday evening, I buzzed Jane in through the front door.
I’d finished work early and prepared the meal before my shower, hair and makeup. I pushed up my very small testicles into my body and then pushed back the penis into my body so as to hide the offending piece of meat and avoid spoiling the lines of my clothes. It was easy to do and relatively pain-free, particularly using sanitary towels and a body shaper, a bit like a strong elastic thong. Maybe I’d quickly become used to it but, then again, maybe the hormones that I was taking had stopped my bits growing to a larger size. Having had to endure the obligatory showers at school after Monday afternoon ‘hell on a sports field’, I knew that I wasn’t particularly well endowed anyway. I suffered at the time but it was a godsend now.
All in all, I was reasonably happy with my complexion, my skin and my bone structure and was very grateful that I didn’t have large hands and feet and an obvious Adam’s apple. I thanked God that I took after my mother; Peter is tall and broad, much like my father. Don’t get me wrong; Peter is a very handsome man but I would have hated to look like that.
Then I dressed in my cream underwear set. My new silky cream sleeveless dress was self-lined and the skirt came to just above the knee: the scoop neckline showed some cleavage but hid the fact that I was using silicone breast enhancers. Cream sandals completed the look. I wore my gold locket on a chain, some crystal drop earrings and my sapphire ring. I added my gold watch, some bangles and a spritz of my favourite Chanel Allure and I was ready. I hoped that Jane would approve; it was strange that, even after so short a time, Jane’s approval was very important to me.
She arrived punctually and, as she proffered a bottle of wine, she gaped open-mouthed at me. “Wow! You really have exceeded my wildest dreams tonight,” she enthused as she grabbed me and started kissing me soundly.
Now THAT was the reaction I had tried for and achieved!
“Wow yourself. You…are…gorgeous!”
She wore a red dress; it just about covered her nipples and her stocking tops and there was a lot of luscious skin on display. She also wore matching red medium-heeled sandals. She wasn’t a slightly built woman by any stretch of the imagination, but there wasn’t an ounce of fat on her substantial frame. We both stood and admired each other’s dresses and again kissed before I asked if she would pour the wine that was already open on the table.
I led her to the dining table, on which were two silver candlesticks, crystal glasses and a bottle of red Mersault. I knew that Jane would have no objection to French wine.
She pointed out, “I have to drive home this evening so I should have a soft drink.”
I smiled. “Really, and I thought that you weren’t working tomorrow. Who says that you have to drive home this evening? And what happens if I cry out in the night and my bodyguard isn’t here to protect me?”
She put her hand to her mouth to try and suppress a giggle, but failed. “Damned body language gets me every time. So Miss Smith, what are we going to do about it?”
I replied, “Nothing at the moment because dinner is ready. But maybe later…?” I raised my eyebrows and smiled.
After dinner we washed up and then, of course, Jane claimed fiancée’s rights.
“But we’re not engaged, are we?”
“You wouldn’t want to be accused of resisting arrest, would you?”
I had to agree.
She popped out to her car and returned with a small suitcase.
I raised my eyebrows and wagged an accusing finger at her. “Jane Dyson, you are a fraud. You planned to stay all the time.”
“I didn’t get where I am today by not being prepared. You never know when you might have to bunk somewhere other than your own place. This is my emergency case.”
“So now I’m an emergency, am I?”
I advanced upon her with a glint in my eye: she dropped the case, and proceeded to head off any retribution by scooping me into her arms and again kissing me senseless.
When we both came up for air, she agreed to take a few more photos of me. I also took one or two of Jane, simply so that I had something to put on my desk, and to show my parents, although I couldn’t for the life of me see why I was bothering in my father’s case; he just wouldn’t be interested. Then there were the pictures of me. Some of the poses were a little risqué and I felt that I couldn’t let even my mother see them just yet, if ever! With the camera perched on the corner of the table and the self-timer set, we posed for some pictures together. This had been Jane’s idea: as she said, she wanted some other mementoes of the evening besides….
After the photographic session she said, “Do you realise that, in the weeks since we met, I haven’t seen the rest of your home?”
“Oh,” I replied, “I suppose we should remedy that, though there’s not much else to see.” I led her on a little tour.
She had already seen the entrance hall, kitchen, living room and bathroom. If she’d seen the bathroom on the night of Mrs Jones’ murder, she’d have known about me straight away; there were almost enough hair and skin care products to stock a shop. We peeped into the second bedroom, which Jane had seen when we wrote the letter to the family. It was big enough for a single bed, with a rollout bed underneath in case I had guests, although nobody ever visited, not even my parents. I also used it as a little study; it housed the computer desk and some bookshelves, which held an eclectic mix of literature, from architecture to zoology and many points in between. The room was quite a reasonable size for a single room and was furnished with a maple-effect wardrobe and dressing table. With white eggshell paintwork, peach emulsion walls and matching roller blind it made a pleasant and airy guest room.
I then led her into my bedroom. The new duvet set and curtains, mint green walls and white eggshell woodwork made this a bright and restful room. Wardrobe doors covered one wall of the room and another wall had fitted drawers and cupboards and a vanity unit on which were an array of cosmetics, Griselda, my stuffed bear and a box of pastel green tissues. There was a subtle aroma of pot-pourri, and a small vase on the vanity unit held a single pink rose. It was clearly a room designed for a woman, and would have been a giveaway if any other visitors had seen it.
“I ought to try the bed to see if it’s firm or soft,” Jane said, smirking.
“Good idea.”
She did, and then said, “We ought to check that it doesn’t have a dip in the middle”.
I smiled and joined her.
Very soon she started nibbling at my ears and covering my face with kisses. Our lips lightly touched and I felt little tingles all over my body. I had been kissed before by Jane but the anticipation made the whole experience electrifying and new. I’d already found two hangers for our dresses.
After what seemed like a lifetime, Jane looked up at me and said, with feeling, “I think that my investigations wouldn’t be complete without a full exploration of your body. Didn’t you say that you had some breast growth of your own?”
I nodded, smiling.
“You need an unbiased opinion as to their sensitivity.”
I smiled again, and then was lost in a maelstrom of feelings, the like of which I’d never before experienced. My whole body seemed to be a centre of pleasure; it was out of control. For that time, it belonged only to Jane and I was lost in ecstasy. She could have asked for anything and I would have willingly given it.
Some time later she came up for air, muttered something like “about time that bit of research was carried out” and declared that, yes, there did appear to be some significant breast growth. She raised an eyebrow and I pointed out that she already knew about my small dose of hormones. She didn’t think that the small dose of oestrogen was enough to give me the body shape that I had and that there must be another explanation — maybe something to do with a late, or failed, puberty.
Who cares? I was hot and bothered by then, but it was a nice ‘hot and bothered’.
All I know is that my breasts never before felt so sensitive
I then asked her where her most sensitive areas were.
“You find them!”
So I did.
I tried to mention that which was between my legs but she gently put her fingers to my lips, told me to lay back and think of England and that The Thing would be dealt with as soon as possible. She later whispered to me “See, I told you that you were a natural.”
Some noisy time after that — and Jane, I discovered, made a lot of noise when stimulated in the right way — she held me very close and whispered in my ear, “Thank you, darling, that was amazing.”
I was a little confused. “How did I know to do all that?”
“I told you, you are a natural. It takes a woman to know how to please a woman. Men may be okay for some, but I much prefer the real thing.”
I just held her and stroked her face, kissing her with little butterfly kisses from time to time. She said that she loved me very much and vowed that she would help me to be as complete a woman, as modern medicine could make, in as short a time as possible. I was content and just lay there, smiling, as she held me in her arms.
Somewhat later still, when both sets of makeup were well and truly smudged and two sets of underwear were quite dishevelled, I asked, “Would you like some tea or coffee?”
“Yes please,” she replied, dreamily, “I’d love some.” She made a T-sign with her fingers.
I returned with the tea and smiled when I saw her; she had slipped under the duvet. With a little smile and a raised eyebrow, I asked if she expected me to come to bed and received an enthusiastic nod in reply. I was stripped down to just bra and panties with a pale green silky wrap over the top. I was again thinking of that between my legs when I took off the wrap and started to ask, “But what about…”
She interrupted me with, “All in good time, my love, all in good time.” And then in an atrocious accent, “You ain’t seen nuttin’ yet, baby.”
I didn’t have time to think any more about it because….
I was at my desk when one of the managers came up to me. “Hello, Jenny. I want you to come and work for me,” he said.
“No thank you,” I replied, “I’m happy where I am.”
“Really? I can insist.”
“I said no thank you and that’s just what I mean,” I replied. “I’m very happy where I am.”
“I think that you could be persuaded. If the story of your past was to be made public you wouldn’t like it one little bit. What I want, I get. Come and work for me or I can’t guarantee that the papers won’t hear of it.”
And so it went on, and on, and on. I was becoming hotter and hotter and looked around the office for support. Everyone, including Greg, Celia and Jill, was laughing and pointing at me and I started to cry. I was trying to hide behind my desk and huddled down in my chair.
I screamed
End of part 7
Secrets
By Susan Heywood
John finds the body of a neighbour who has been murdered. The police detective assigned to the case deduces that John hides a secret - but the detective has secrets of her own.
Part 8 of 25 — Reassurance
Jane hugged me protectively. She held me and kissed me lightly on the face and made little soothing sounds.
I gradually came to and held onto her as though I were drowning. She continued to whisper soothing words and I eventually calmed down enough to smile weakly at her and tell her about the dream. Was it odd that it happened to Jenny, not John?
“Was it just a bad dream?” She asked, tenderly.
“Oh, I’m so glad that you’re here.” I shuddered. “The dream was horrible, everyone was so beastly to me, I couldn’t believe that they could be so cruel,” I cried again, more in relief. “Oh, I’m so glad it was just a dream.”
“Shhh, my love, I’m here and will try to let no harm come to you. I love you very much; you know that, don’t you?”
“I am such a lucky girl; I don’t know why.”
“And lovely,” she said and kissed me soundly.
“What time is it?”
“Nine o’clock.”
“My memory of last night seems to be a bit hazy.”
She laughed. “I think you’re not used to that much wine at one sitting.”
I smiled and offered my lips for a kiss. “I still can’t really believe this is happening.”
“Believe it my darling. And from now I’ll do my best to make sure that it gets better.”
“Do you really have the weekend off?”
“I certainly do. I’m all yours for a whole forty-four more hours. I just need to go home at some point and collect something else to wear to the station on Monday morning. I suspect that my dress is not really appropriate for interviewing villains. Distracting them, yes; interviewing them, no.”
I chuckled. “In that case, we’d better go food shopping. We’ll need dinner for today and we’ve a couple of the girls from the office for lunch tomorrow.”
“Can’t we just have chicken like normal people?”
That earned her a pillow fight, which quickly ran out of steam as I ran out of energy. We ended up, laughing, in a tangled heap on the bed.
When we’d calmed down somewhat, she said, “These must be special people for you to invite tomorrow.”
“Celia and Jill are wonderful and have been a tremendous support throughout all this. I can’t wait for them to meet you and they’ve both agreed to field questions during my pre-transition leave before I return to work full-time. Which reminds me: I’ll need to write some letters soon; to various government departments, and so on.”
After a shower we dressed casually and breakfasted on toast and tea. I always insisted that we take our baths and showers separately, as I never wanted her to see any sign of anything that didn’t belong on a woman, even though the offending item was quite small.
She drove us to her home so that she could collect some work clothes. She had some daywear in her ‘emergency case’ as she called it.
Her modern penthouse apartment was on the top floor of a large block, within its own grounds. She let us in and showed me around.
I was speechless.
“There’s not much to see, just one big living room with a kitchen on one end, an en-suite bedroom, a second bedroom and a bathroom. It’s not much but big enough for me.”
To me it was huge; the whole place was larger than my apartment. I noticed that it was very plain and gave nothing away about its owner. She saw me looking around.
“It’s just somewhere to crash when I’m not working or visiting some gorgeous chick over on the other side of town.”
I smiled at being described as a gorgeous chick.
“I’ve never been fired up about doing much with it; it was just an investment. I understand the block has appreciated in value in the past few years. I’ll probably just rent this place out for now; it’ll probably pay for the car.”
She went into her bedroom and emerged a few minutes later with a dark grey trouser suit, white tee-top and black lace-up shoes. These she put in the garment bag that I was already holding for her. She checked for new telephone messages and then we left for the next stop. She then thought of something. “Why don’t I keep a few essentials at your place, just to cover eventualities like this weekend?”
“That’s a good idea. I’ll clear some cupboard and drawer space in the spare bedroom.”
Oh goody; more Jane time
We drove to the main shopping centre and wound our way up the spiral ramp to the car park on the top. We waited what seemed like ten minutes while other shoppers played musical cars or idled their time away discussing everything from the weather to who slept with whom in ‘Emmerdale’ (a British television soap opera).
“They obviously don’t have any other life,” I moaned, “look at them, no consideration. Anyone would think that they’ve got all day. And even I could park a lot better than most of these. Look at that pillock in the BMW; you could get a bus in there.”
“Calm down, my love,” Jane said, gently, “They’ll move when they’re good and ready.”
We eventually found a space, into which she reversed the Lexus, and then made our way down in the lift to the ground floor.
I led the way into SpexExpress and Jane appeared relieved that I seemed to have calmed down; if she had put my tantrum down to stress, she would have been absolutely right. I was wound up like a clock-spring.
“Hello, how can I help you?” asked a young woman whose lapel badge identified her as Heather.
“I’ve come in to collect a new pair of spectacles,” I replied, and then hesitated a little. Then I added, “And I’d like to change my name on your records”.
“What name was on the order, please?”
“John Smith.”
Heather found the order and stared at me. “Sorry for staring. These are obviously unisex spectacles, although more women’s than men’s, and were ordered by John Smith but, clearly, you’re not John.”
I cleared my throat and quietly said, “I’m Jennifer Smith; I was called John.”
Heather’s face registered a look of amazement, followed rapidly by a look of understanding. She then simply smiled and said, “I think it would be easier if we just completed a new record for you. Please take a seat; this will only take a few minutes.”
It was as simple as that. No fuss, no trouble. I walked out fifteen minutes later with a new, feminine, pair of spectacles and had also ticked one entry on my TO DO list in the process. I was surprised that most of the businesses with which I dealt also handled my name change with similar ease. Clearly many of them had trodden a similar path before — or done their homework.
Then we headed into the supermarket, grabbing a trolley as we went.
On the way past the vegetable rack, I noticed that Jane kept glancing at me. “Is there a problem?” I asked her.
“No problem, my love,” she laughed. “I was just thinking that those new spectacles really do suit you very well. I wasn’t sure if you could look more beautiful but I have to say that you do. You look just like one of those very attractive news readers on television.”
“Except that I don’t earn their salary,” I moaned.
“I don’t care about that, I just care about you.”
“You’re probably just obsessed with sex.”
“No, I’m obsessed with you.”
“Well, just you keep your mind on what you’re doing for a little while and watch where you’re going with that trolley, we don’t want an accident.”
“Oh, there won’t be an accident,” she commented, “You wait until we’re home and then anything that happens will be quite deliber… Ow!” I’d slapped her on the arm.
The supermarket was fairly crowded. I had a shopping list and Jane just sniffed. “I just wander around the shop and fill the trolley with things I think I need. Then I arrive home and realise that I’ve forgotten something essential like milk, bread or soap powder.”
“Not having a brilliant memory like yours,” I said, sarcastically, “I make a list and stick to it. It saves me impulse buying, getting it home and then chucking it out when the ‘use by’ date expires. That doesn’t mean that I can’t still get it wrong. I sometimes forget to take the list.”
“Okay Miss Smartypants, what’s on your list today?”
I showed her.
“What’s for dinner tonight?”
“Do you like lamb chops?”
“Umm, yummy. If they’re as good as that ‘Pork in Cider’ thingy you cooked last night, I’m hungry already.”
“I usually grill the chops and serve them with minted new potatoes and garden peas. Very traditional.”
“Like I said; yummy.”
“And I thought I’d do chicken for tomorrow. Most people like chicken and any leftovers can go for sandwiches.”
“If there are any leftovers.”
“I think you should be called Jane Hollowlegs. Where do you put it all? You don’t appear to have an ounce of spare fat but I did notice that there was nothing left over from last night’s meal.”
“I’m a big girl, I have a high metabolism and I use a lot of energy in my work. Anyway, the little you eat would struggle to keep a mouse alive.”
I sniggered.
She didn’t look at all contrite, but said, “You’ll make someone a wonderful wife one day and, if I have any say in the matter, that someone will be me.”
That earned her another slap on the arm.
“Ow!” she protested, “my future wife is abusing me.”
“Will you please shut up and help me with the shopping?”
We rolled our goods to the checkout and then had a stand-up fight about who was going to pay. She won.
“You amaze me,” Jane said, later, when we were settled back at my place.
“Pardon?”
“A month or so ago, the man who lived here was a shy person who wouldn’t say “boo” to a goose. Now there’s you; gorgeous, sexy, fantastic legs, brilliant kisser, brilliant cook, whatever next?”
“It must be the company I keep,” I said, grinning.
“Very true,” she agreed and quickly stepped sideways to evade another bruised arm.
“By the way, have you put the photo on your desk yet?” I asked.
“Yes, I have. The girls took a good look and said something like “Love the top” and “gorgeous hair, though she could do with a good cut and style”. The men sidled up to the desk and shyly asked, “Who’s the bird then?” I tell them, “My girlfriend,” and they walk away muttering something like “fucking dyke”.
“Oh. Do they know my history?”
“Other than you being an accountant, no they don’t.”
“I’m not an accountant, as you well know.”
“Like I say; if you’ve got it, flaunt it. They generally don’t know or care what you do for a living, although a couple of other women in the office, might be just a teeny bit jealous that I’ve managed to snag myself an accountant but, hey, so what?”
“But I’m not…”
I suddenly found myself silenced by lips descending on mine and
claiming possession. I could definitely handle that.
We both dressed for dinner, anticipating the joy of togetherness that the evening promised; we both liked seeing our partner looking glamorous.
Jane looked stunning in her midnight blue velvet dress; she was a big woman, tall and well-built but without an ounce of fat. A very deep plunge at both the front and back of the dress told me that she wasn’t wearing a bra. I was looking forward very much to taking that dress off her.
My figure-hugging dress was in a soft pale green with a silver thread that shimmered in the light whenever I moved. Jane seemed to be struggling to keep her hands off me until after dinner. She didn’t quite manage it.
I think I again impressed her with my culinary skills. She said that she’d eaten lamb chops many times before but thought that I could give the television chefs a good run for their money. The chops were so tender and coated with my special seasoning. I love cooking and have developed my own range of seasonings.
She thought back over the day that was just ending. “I can’t get over how natural and fearless you were; it was like you’ve been doing it all your life.”
After dinner, we sat cuddling in the sitting room and the television was switched on at low volume. We were ostensibly watching a film, but neither of us could recall the plot; we were rather engrossed. I’d soon become restless and again wanted to practice my new interpersonal skills — Jane could handle that. Before long, we’d adjourned to the bedroom and slowly and sexily undressed each other.
She asked what she could do for me.
“Not much at the moment,” I replied. “I haven’t got all the right bits, although my breasts seem to be getting more sensitive. Just hold me and kiss me; just to know that you’re here gives me a huge thrill. I never in my life believed that I could feel this way: I feel so warm inside and so happy I could sing.”
“I wonder how well you sing when I play these?” she said, before rolling a nipple between her lips.
I demonstrated my vocal talents; then I needed to change my panties. I had no idea that attention to my breasts could result in such all-pervading feelings. Of course, it might have had something to do with who was giving them attention.
I then continued to show my love for her, and was determined to discover more interesting places on her body. I brought her to peaks of delightful pleasure: time and time again she scaled the heights and eventually had to ask me to ease off because she was completely exhausted. We eventually opted for sleep and, fortunately, I had a dreamless night.
Sunday morning dawned with a fresh breeze although there was a definite promise of a brighter day ahead — a good portent of summer. I was smiling contentedly as I snuggled into Jane’s arms. Neither of us wanted to let the other go but I eventually had to get out of bed and answer the call of nature. It was now nearly nine o’clock and Celia and Jill were due to arrive in about four hours time.
“How long will lunch take to cook?” Jane called.
“About an hour and a half,” I replied from the bathroom. I showered and returned to the bedroom, where I dressed in a cool summer skirt and a pale lilac camisole top. I found my white low-heeled sandals in the wardrobe and, after putting them on, finished my makeup and brushed my hair.
Jane just sat watching me. I glanced her way, poked my tongue out and she beckoned me over. I smiled and poked my tongue out again. She grabbed it with her lips and that occupied another ten minutes. Then I had to redo my lipstick.
She said, “Being yourself obviously agrees with you; you are a lot more confident now, and last night was fantastic. I’m still tingling from your touch.”
I smiled, and then she changed the subject.
“As we have a couple of hours before lunch, do you fancy a walk in the park?”
“Hmm, that sounds nice, but won’t we attract attention?” I asked, concerned about our safety.
“Probably; and you will definitely attract attention — from me; but I’ll not have society dictate when I can touch my girlfriend and when I can’t. And if anyone gets difficult, I’ll just have to arrest them for behaviour likely to cause a breach of the peace.”
I laughed, though it was a little nervous laugh. “It might be said that our behaviour could be seen as provocative.”
“Well, what we are doing is now legal so I don’t care. Anyway, I’ve a black belt in origami so I’ll just throw paper aeroplanes at them until they go away.”
“You are silly, but I love you very much.”
“You do?” she asked.
“Yes, I don’t know why given your terrible jokes, but I do. Where do you get them, anyway?”
“I usually get them from Bill Stoneley, our custody sergeant. He’s getting on a bit; due for retirement soon, but he’s quick on his feet and sharp as a razor.”
I said, with a smirk, “He really is the ‘Old Bill’ then?” (‘The Old Bill’ is villain slang for the police.)
Jane groaned theatrically. “That was worthy of me, that one.” She proceeded to kiss me into submission. I repaired my makeup before we headed out for our walk.
Before dinner the previous night, I’d taken the chicken breast fillets out of the fridge, sliced them lengthways and browned them in oil in a deep-sided frying pan. I emptied two jars of tangy marmalade into a large jug, added a stock cube and three-quarters of a pint of hot water. I allowed the mixture to cool and poured it over the chicken so as to marinate it.
I’d seen a couple of other women walking arm in arm and decided that I liked the idea; I grabbed Jane’s arm for support and closeness. We wandered alongside the stream and watched the fish. Then we stopped for a few minutes and watched a game of tennis, and again to view the gravity-defying stunts on the skateboard ramp. I didn’t want to stop there too long in case we attracted the wrong sort of attention.
We spent another pleasant hour enjoying the sunshine before returning home to prepare dinner. She asked if there was anything she could do, so I gave her an apron, a knife and a chopping board, and put her in charge of preparing the salad.
I put on my apron. I turned on the heat under the frying pan for twenty minutes so that the chicken could take up more of the flavour of the stock. I then reserved the chicken in the smaller oven and began reducing and thickening the stock, adding a little cream and a small glass of brandy. When the thickness met with my approval, I again placed the chicken in the pan and turned the heat down to simmer.
The door entry phone announced the arrival of our visitors and Jane let them in. Celia carried a bunch of flowers and Jill a bottle of wine. They stopped, transfixed, at the kitchen door.
“Jenny?” asked Celia.
“Celia! Jill! I’m so pleased to see you,” I greeted them with a smile, hugged them and gave them both a kiss on the cheek, “I’ve been looking forward to being able to do this.”
“But you look absolutely amazing! How.…”
“It’s all down to the light of my life. Jane; my work colleagues Celia Caterham and Jill Burnett. Girls; my darling Jane Dyson.” Jane put a protective arm around my waist; Celia and Jill smiled at each other.
“Wow, you didn’t waste any time, did you? There’s sure to be some disappointment in the office when you return.”
“Tough,” Jane said, protectively, “She’s my girl and that’s that.”
“Oh dear; the office Lotharios are certainly not going to like the fact that you’re spoken for,” laughed Jill.
“They’ll live; they’ve ignored me, except when they’ve wanted something, so now it’s my turn,” I replied, tossing my head, “now if you’ll excuse me for a few moments I have a date with a packet of rice.”
Jane entertained them in the living room while I went into the kitchen; I could clearly hear their conversation.
“I just can’t get over how natural she is, there’s no obvious male there at all,” Celia said, after filling Jane in with the details of the various events in the office.
Jane agreed. “It was like pushing a snowball up a hill; once over the top, she quickly gathered momentum on her own.”
“I reckon you had a lot to do with it, Jane,” Jill observed. “Seeing the way that she looks at you, I’d say you’re being very modest.”
Lunch was a very happy affair and there were lots of appreciative comments.
Jane was surprised when I produced apple pie and cream for dessert. “This pie is delicious, but I don’t remember us purchasing it yesterday,” she enquired, before popping another spoonful into her mouth.
“That’s because I made it on Thursday,” I answered her.
“As I told her yesterday, she will make someone a wonderful wife and, if I have anything to do with it, that someone will be me.”
I flushed with embarrassment, but the compliments on my cooking soon had me positively beaming. I also had a warm glow inside due to all the female pronouns flying about.
“I still don’t understand how you managed the male disguise for so long,” said Celia. “I know I saw the photo and you look good in that, but it still didn’t fully prepare us for this.”
“Thank you. It was a combination of fear, lack of confidence and wanting to do the right thing by everyone else, instead of being selfish and putting myself first,” I answered.
Jill said, “Well, I for one am glad that it’s going to be sorted out at last; it’s been no fun having to be careful what I say around the office. I was always afraid that I would drop you in it with an unguarded comment.”
“How long have you both suspected, Celia?” I asked.
“Oh, since just after you joined the department,” she replied with a little smirk, “We suspected that there was something different about you; at first we thought you were gay, but you never showed any interest in the men. You did seem to join in the girl-talk very easily, though — when you weren’t being ignored.”
I blushed.
Jill asked, “So what’s the plan now?”
“It all happens on the first of July,” I replied, “so I suppose we’d better get some suitable answers ready in case anyone asks for more details. Sue Fuller wants me to prepare a short statement that she can send out in the early part of the previous week. I go on leave for a week and a half and return as Jenny. I’ve several dozen letters to write to various authorities; driving licence, passport, bank and so on. I also need to purchase a load of clothes to wear in the office. And this is all after I’ve found a solicitor to deal with the legalities. It’s going to be a busy and expensive couple of weeks.”
We spent a couple of hours after lunch, working out what questions people might ask and just how much - or how little - they would be told in reply. We then drafted a statement for Personnel to send out. Finally, I filled in the sample ‘Change of Name’ Statutory Declaration that we’d downloaded from the Internet. We completed and printed what we could and my colleagues witnessed my signature as necessary.
After we had tea or coffee, they prepared to leave.
“Thanks for a lovely lunch: we are both looking forward immensely to having another girl in the office,” Celia enthused.
“Greg asked me not to pull ‘time of the month’ too often,” I smilingly replied.
“Bloody cheek! He gets a lot of work out of us and we rarely have any time off.”
“I think he was joking,” I said.
“Well, we’ll keep an eye out for you, love, don’t you worry,” Jill insisted, “And so will Maddy and Sarah, I’m sure.”
“I know you will and I’m truly grateful.”
After they had gone, Jane and I cleared up the lunch things and then relaxed in the living room.
“They are super, and have already been a great help to me. Greg is a great boss; in a way, he brought all this to a head in the office and enlisted Celia’s help in doing so. He encouraged me to talk to Personnel and has been really helpful.”
“They do all seem good for you and good to you: I’m glad that you have friends there, it’s really important. By the way, I’m on duty at four o’clock tomorrow morning, so I think an early night is called for. Do you mind?”
“I’ll get up to see you off.”
“No you won’t; you need your rest. I’ll be okay.”
We cuddled for a while and then went to bed.
I woke briefly at about three o’clock on the Monday morning when Jane kissed me goodbye. With great reluctance, but knowing that it wouldn’t be for long, I left Jenny in the closet.
When I saw Celia in the office, and after the usual greetings and re-hashing of the weekend, she asked, ”How much do you know about Jane?”
“Not a lot, really.”
“Don’t get me wrong; I see the way that she looks at you — you’re the light of her life. But there’s something about her I can’t quite work out; she’s not just your average police officer, is she?”
“I know what you mean. I was amazed when I first met her; I thought then that she wouldn’t be out of place at a ‘Coming Out’ ball. I expected her to have been the highlight of the Hurlingham Club or some other posh venue.” Work rapidly distracted me and I temporarily forgot Celia’s concerns.
During the morning I arranged to visit a local solicitor the next day. I spent every spare moment during the evenings that week writing letters to various official bodies regarding my change of name and gender presentation. While some organisations wanted a certified copy of my Stat Dec, most settled for a photocopy of the original and a few just wanted a letter.
The post that day brought letters from Judy Davenport. Reading between the lines of her response to Doctor Carter, she suggested that he should confine himself to the treatment of everyday ailments and leave the specialist work to those best qualified to deal with it. The letter to the clinic in London simply stated that I was in the process of transitioning from male to female, may well have a hormone imbalance, was supported by my employer and should see a specialist as soon as possible.
She wanted further tests, and suggested that I should find a new doctor. She was convinced that there must have been some reason for my developing the way I did. The blood test also showed up the small dose of oestrogen that I’d been taking, although the levels were quite low and she felt that no damage had been done. She recommended no more hormones until they’d done further tests. She felt that my development must have started much earlier, and could even be antenatal. The cause of my body shape and breast development was probably related to my hormone levels. I smiled when I read that; maybe my body wasn’t so bad for me after all.
No wonder men’s clothes never fitted me
The second letter simply confirmed Judy’s opinion that I identified as female and should be treated as such.
By the time I returned to work as Jenny, most of the new documents had arrived. I’d taken a copy of my Stat Dec in to Sue Fuller and also given her a copy of my note to the staff. She glanced over it and said that it was short and sweet, in other words, just right.
June 2004
All I had to do on the Tuesday was to turn up at the solicitor and swear and sign my Statutory Declaration. In all, it took about fifteen minutes. I walked out with the document, sufficient certified copies to send to those organisations that had requested them and a very bright smile, knowing that I was legally Jennifer Ellen Smith at last. Okay; I had two and a half weeks left to work as John, but I was getting there. After seeing the solicitor, I went into my local town just for the fun of it. Lunch, the library and shopping occupied me for the rest of the day. Jane wasn’t available to visit that evening so I just went home and, after a light meal, used my computer printer to produce some more copies of the Stat Dec. Only later was I reminded that I, like Her Majesty The Queen, now had two birthdays each year; June 1st was now my official birthday.
The next Saturday Jane took me to Southampton so that I could stock up on clothes to wear to the office. I did wonder if I would have a high enough credit limit on my card. I was very surprised when Jane just said, “I’m paying for today, so put your card away.” No amount of arguing would change her mind, so I just gave her a big kiss to thank her. I didn’t care if anyone objected.
It took all day to get a car load of outfits but we decided that, by mixing and matching blouses, skirts, trousers, jackets, strappy, tee and cap-sleeved tops, I could stretch the lot to become the basis of a very versatile working wardrobe, although I’d obviously need more as time went on. Add to that some shoes, bags and jewellery and we must have made a really severe dent in Jane’s credit card balance.
How I got through the next couple of weeks I don’t know. I was on tenterhooks in case anything went wrong — but it didn’t. I never realised how easy it would all be. The time seemed to drag heavily but I was kept busy at work and, in my spare time, writing letters.
Friday the 18th June, and the last day of my time as John had finally arrived. I was afraid that they would try to send me out with a bang, but I was glad when Greg just shook my hand and asked, “What are you going to do next week?”
“I’ve got so much preparation to do, I don’t know if a week and a half is long enough.”
“Well, we can’t do without you for ever so we’ll look forward to seeing you on the 1st July. No I won’t, I’ll see Jenny on the 1st July. Well, goodbye John, and thanks for all you’ve done.”
I grinned, thanked him for all his help and walked towards the lift, stopping on the way at Celia’s desk. I had a huge lump in my throat and was near to tears.
“Hey, come on girl, not long now,” she said, quietly but brightly.
“I know, and I’m petrified.”
“Why? After that performance the other week? You’ll walk it.”
“I hope so. Look, I really am very grateful for your help, both of you.” I had turned to include Jill in this. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“That’s what friends are for. And we girls have to stick together. See you on the first of July.”
“Okay, bye,” I said, as I walked out; I went home, changed and put all of John’s clothes in the wash. The next morning, I took those few, which might sell, to a charity shop. The rest went to a recycling bank. I promised myself that I would make it as Jenny or go down fighting. There was no going back.
Of course, I had no idea at that time that someone really would try to kill me.
End of part 8
Secrets
By Susan Heywood
John finds the body of a neighbour who has been murdered. The police detective assigned to the case deduces that John hides a secret - but the detective has secrets of her own.
Part 9 of 25 — Disapproval
I went to the hairdresser and beautician for the full works. I had a professional hair cut and style and, although still a little shorter than I would have liked, David had managed to make it appear fuller and had cut it so that it would look good as it grew out.
While all this was happening, Gaynor had appeared from the downstairs beauty shop and was working on my finger and toe nails, giving me a full set of gorgeous sculptured nails which extended a quarter of an inch beyond the tips of my fingers. I didn’t want them any longer because of using the computer; not until I’d got used to them, anyway. After David had finished, Gaynor led me downstairs to complete my treatment; I was finally able to have my eyebrows waxed, giving me lovely fine, high arches.
“I hope that this all works out and that I have a salary next month,” I complained to Jane when she called around later, “my credit card is taking a frightful bashing and I reckon I’ve spent almost a month’s money on getting ready for my debut. At least I’ve already had my ears pierced, and have a wardrobe full of clothes, thanks to a very persuasive girlfriend.”
Jane whistled that evening. “Worth every penny, darling; I thought you were beautiful before but you are an absolute knockout now.”
“Hands off,” I jokingly laughed when she moved to kiss me.
“Oh, poo! Spoilsport!” She pouted, “As much of this was my idea, I should be able to sample the result. Anyway, they’ll welcome you with open arms at work and probably give you a pay rise just for looking so beautiful.”
“I wish,” I commented, embarrassed, but eventually let her have her wicked way.
“There is one more thing which I think you should do now. When you’ve been to the Gender Clinic, you should be starting on a proper dose of hormones and that should start altering your figure a little more. But I think you should get some of those stick-on breast forms in the meantime. They’ll be much better than the chicken fillets that you’ve been using up to now and will give you more confidence because they stick on to you rather than just pop in your bra. Let’s go up to London one day and have them fitted. Get some makeup as well, you know, the stuff that they put around the edges so that you can’t see the join.”
“That makes sense, even though I think you’re obsessed with sex. How about next Saturday?”
“As I’ve said before, I’m obsessed with you. I should be able to manage next Saturday; I’ll make sure that I have the day off and we can go together.”
I was delighted that she was planning on a joint adventure. “That sounds fun. We might even have time to look in Oxford Street.”
“Oh-oh! It didn’t take you long to get the bug!”
“Get the bug?”
“The shopping bug.”
I chuckled. “Well, I’ve something to shop for now, haven’t I?” Then I thought aloud. “I did think about having breast augmentation, you know, implants.”
She cautioned. “You need to be careful about how much you do before seeing the Clinic; they might be upset if you do too much and, at the moment, they might think you’ve been taking high doses of hormones instead of the small dose you have been taking. You don’t want to rock the boat any more than you have already. Anyway, you don’t know how much breast growth will result from the hormones, and you don’t know what cocktail your own body is producing.”
“I see what you mean,” I answered, a little disappointed. “As you say, it might be wiser to talk to someone first.”
“I understand that the stick-on breast forms, together with the makeup for them, are quite realistic and you just need to make sure that you get the right size for your build.”
“Yes, I want something to give my confidence a boost, not cause me embarrassment by standing out too much.”
“I don’t mean to embarrass you, my love, but you already stand out — in my humble opinion, that is.”
“Perhaps you’re biased,” I laughed.
“No perhaps about it,” she said, advancing upon me. “Now, you’re obviously suffering withdrawal symptoms; you’ve not had any police interrogation today.” She grabbed me around the waist and I was again happy to be caught in the strong arms of the law.
“Bill, I’ve a letter which you should read. You’d better sit down first and don’t say anything until you’ve read it all.” Ellen Smith handed it to her husband as they shared morning coffee.
“When did this arrive?” he asked, glancing at her.
“A few days ago.”
Bill Smith gave his wife another sidelong glance and then read the letter.
Ellen had a good idea how he would react and readied herself for the explosion. It wasn’t long in coming.
“I knew he was a poof; this girlfriend business is a load of crap,” he sounded off, “Look at him, pansying around in makeup and women’s clothes. He’s always been a failure; he was never interested in sport, and since he’s been old enough, he’s never shown any interest in going into pubs. It’s where men meet their mates, after all. How the hell can I show my face in the local now? If he thinks he’ll get any encouragement from me, or is welcome in this house, he can think again. I’ll be damned if that freak and I will ever again have words — apart from my giving him a good belting and a piece of my mind. Thank God that Peter turned out normal. At least we have two grandchildren. It doesn’t look as if we’ll get any from that pervert. I mean; what girl’s ever going to want that freak?”
Ellen shouted back. “SO VIOLENCE IS YOUR SOLUTION, IS IT?” Then she moderated her voice a little. “It’s been obvious, from when John was a toddler, that something was wrong. I ignored it for years; I’m not going to continue ignoring it.”
Bill tried to interrupt her.
“No! For once in your life you’re going to listen to all I have to say!”
Bill Smith was tempted, as usual, to switch off and just go into the living room and watch television. He saw the look on his wife’s face and thought better of it. “Okay,” he said, heatedly, “Out with it. Are you taking his side?”
“HIS SIDE?” she yelled, “Who said anything about sides and taking sides? That’s our child you’re talking about, our flesh and blood.”
Bill scoffed. “Our child? This is all your fault; you always were soft on the little freak, just because he wore glasses.”
Ellen Smith usually came over as one of the most placid of women but one second after the words were out of his mouth she slapped him hard across the face.
“DON’T YOU DARE CALL HIM A FREAK!” She yelled.
“Ow! That bloody hurt!” Bill felt himself getting redder and, about to lose his temper again, loudly said, “Well, what would you call him then? He’s not good enough to be a son! He’s bloody queer, isn’t he?”
Ellen shouted again. “SIT AND LISTEN FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE!”
Bill tried again. “What’ve you got to say? I suppose you’re going to defend what he’s doing? He’s not all there, is he? I knew he was bloody queer. I tried to get him interested in sport, pubs and all the other things that normal men do, but he just wouldn’t have it. Now look how he’s turned out.”
“NORMAL MEN! TYPICAL! YOU THINK THAT VIOLENCE SOLVES EVERYTHING, AND THAT LIFE REVOLVES AROUND BEER AND SPORT!” Ellen shouted at him, then sat down and put her head in her hands. Tears weren’t far away. This was going to be so difficult.
“I forbid you to see him again until he sees sense,” Bill decided.
“But that’s my child we’re talking about,” she complained.
“And I’m your husband.”
“And I’ve been proud to call you that every day for thirty-five years, but not today. I shouldn’t have to choose between my husband and my child.”
“I’m going to the pub,” Bill fell back on his usual ‘out’ when he didn’t want to discuss something with his wife.
“The problem will still be here when you get back, but I may not be.”
“WHAT! Where will you go?”
“I believe that Jenny has a spare bedroom. Perhaps I’ll go down there for a few days.”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort! You’ll go nowhere near that… that… thing!”
“And you’ll stop me seeing my child?”
“SHIT,” Bill shouted and stormed out, slamming the door. Ellen made two telephone calls: one to check train times and one to the South of England. She hurriedly packed a suitcase and then called for a taxi.
I collected my mother from Winchester station that afternoon. She wore a pale blue cotton dress and open-toed navy shoes with a small wedge heel. She carried a lightweight navy blue jacket and a navy leather shoulder bag and towed a small grey suitcase that she rolled into the booking hall. She stopped and began scanning the crowd.
“Over here, Mummy,” I called.
She glanced around, spotted me and did a double take. “John, is that really you? Oh err, sorry, Jenny.”
“Now Mummy,” I said, quietly as I took her case and guided her to the car park. “As I’ve told you, John was an act; I don’t have to act any more. I’ve always been here, just not legally until now, that’s all.”
“You haven’t called me ‘Mummy’ since you were a small child,” she said, thoughtfully.
“It just seemed right; what a girl would call her mother.”
“Does this mean that you’ll now call your father ‘Daddy’?”
“NO!”
“Oh,” she said, shaking her head.
“He’ll have to earn my trust before I even think about it. ‘Daddy’ is a powerful word, not as powerful as ‘Mummy’ but indicates a closer relationship than that which we presently have. As far as I’m concerned, his only contributions so far have been limited to a sperm when I was born and an erosion of any self-esteem that I might have had.”
”Jenny!”
“I’m right, aren’t I?”
She nodded, ruefully.
It was a very warm day and I was dressed accordingly in a blue floral sundress and navy sandals. I was a few inches taller than my mother but was still a good half a foot shorter than Jane.
My mother pointed to my blue dress. “Great minds think alike,” she said; this went some way to relaxing the initial tension between us. She stopped and stared. For a full minute she stood and examined me. “I can’t get over how natural you look,” she said in wonder, “and that photo doesn’t do you justice.”
“That’s what the girls at work said,” I laughed. “Come on, it’s nearly time for dinner.”
“I thought you’d look like… you know….”
“John in a dress,” I offered, quietly.
“Well, yes.”
“Mummy, you’ve seen the photo.”
“Yes I know but….”
“It’s wonderful that you’ve come to visit but how’s my father?”
My mother’s glum expression spoke volumes; she explained the events of that morning, culminating in her train journey.
“Oh, I see,” I said, forlornly. “Mummy, you’re the best, do you know that?”
“I often wondered where my clothes and makeup went; it took me a while to figure it out. At least I can now see what my daughter looks like.”
“You finally acknowledge that you had a daughter?”
She nodded. “I’m actually quite proud of you. I always thought that you were gay until you put me right.”
“Despite my constant protests that I wasn’t?”
She said, “I always thought that you were in denial and that your father must be right. Bear in mind that we knew little or nothing about your situation; anyone who wasn’t normal must be gay; that was the accepted wisdom when I was younger.”
“Thank you, Mummy, for finally believing in me.” After a short, tearful hug, I said, “Come on, let’s get you home.”
We’d just pulled out of the station car park when my mobile phone rang. I stopped the car, again feeling that warm glow of contentment whenever I heard Jane’s special ring tone and her voice.
“Hello love.”
~ Where are you? ~
“I’ve just collected my mother from Winchester station; she’s visiting for a few days.”
~ WHAT? When did all that develop? ~
“Earlier today.”
~ Can I come round tonight? ~
“Of course you can. Dinner?”
~ I eat at the station ~
“Usual time?”
~ Yes ~
“Love you lots.”
~ Love you more, see you later ~
I asked my mother to hold the phone while I continued the journey home. I said, “Jane is coming around tonight at about seven-thirty.”
“Jane; that’s your policewoman friend, isn’t it?” My mother asked.
“Jane is my girlfriend,” I replied, a little tentatively.
“Is that friend-who-is-a-girl or girlfriend as in romantically linked?”
“Mummy, Jane is my girlfriend, as in partner.”
“So you could have stayed a man and still had a girlfriend after all.”
Was she being deliberately difficult, or is this what mothers do? Do they deliberately put you through the wringer, just to test your feelings? I obviously needed to explain - again - so I stopped the car and turned to her. “Look, Mummy; I am not, and never was, a man; girls knew it and ignored me. My hormones are probably so far out of whack that I couldn’t be a man if I tried. I was registered as male at birth because someone saw some unwanted flesh between my legs, and drew the wrong conclusion. I have always been female up here.” I tapped my head. “Jane and I are girlfriends. She’s not interested in men; she is interested in me, Jennifer Ellen Smith, the woman. Okay?”
“Hmm, very strange and unnatural, if you ask me.”
“Mummy, even if I had been born with all the right girl bits I could still have been interested in girls rather than men. And given what I went through at school, can you really blame me? Give me a chance! I’ve only been legally me for three weeks; I haven’t even got as far as getting all my paperwork correct, let alone working out my sexuality. For most people - for you, my father and Peter for example, it appears not to have been a problem. We don’t usually decide with whom we fall in love; it’s one of those things over which you rarely have any control. I knew when I was a small child that I was female; that was enough to occupy me throughout childhood, adolescence and adulthood up until now. Until March of this year, I wasn’t attracted to anyone; despite my ‘know-it-all’ father’s insistence that I was a gay male, I’m not, and never was, attracted to men or boys. For now at least, I love Jane very much, whether just as the person who helped me to gather the courage to do this, or something more; only time will tell. I’ve been acting a lead role in a horror story virtually all my life. So can we just leave it? Jane is a wonderful, loving, caring friend and, at the moment, she is my life. Without her, I’d probably be dead.”
My mother looked sharply at me.
I continued. “Yes, there wasn’t much to live for. If this hadn’t been possible, you’d probably be down to one child, because I was nearing the end of my rope. The only reason I’ve not committed suicide before now is that I couldn’t find the courage. But doors were closing so fast in my life that it really was only a matter of time.”
“I’m so sorry, love,” My mother gently put her hand on my arm and said, with tears in her eyes, “We haven’t been any kind of support to you over the years, have we? Your father kept comparing you to Peter, and he always made a point of letting you know you never made the grade. We thought it was just a matter of your eyesight or laziness, but we never even considered that you’d have different ambitions and needs. I confess that I didn’t support you either; I suppose that I always thought that your father must be right.”
“Mummy, it wasn’t a matter of wanting to go in a different direction, that’s the way it was; it’s the way my brain was wired. Now, what’s past is gone; let’s live for the future. Please do me the courtesy of giving me time to breathe and the space in which to do it. Everything will eventually fall into place, I’m sure.”
”I’ve been watching you since you picked me up at the rail station. Even your voice fits the woman I see. I can see nothing of John; it’s as though you’ve been there all the time.”
“Mother, I have! Now can we please go home?”
Jane now had her own key and let herself in to the apartment. I introduced them. “Mummy, Jane Dyson; Jane, my mother, Ellen Smith.”
They shook hands; my mother asked, “Jenny tells me that you are a police officer?”
“Detective constable,” Jane replied proudly, as she snaked her arm around my shoulder.
As with most other people, my mother appeared shocked as she said, “I…I understand that you two are…” She didn’t seem to be able to work out what to say and, if she did, then she obviously didn’t want to put it into words.
“Jenny is my girlfriend,” Jane said, giving me a quick kiss.
My mother looked pensive for a few moments but didn’t appear to find this as difficult as I thought she would. Maybe it was easier to slightly detach herself from the situation by rationalizing that I wasn’t her son and therefore these two people were unconnected with her.
“You two go and have a seat in the living room while I clear up the dinner things.” I went to the kitchen and started work. Before too long I heard a buzz of conversation and could make out most of what was being said. It was stilted at first, but Jane seemed to put my mother at ease fairly quickly.
Well, at least they’re talking; that must be a good sign
“You’ve known Jo…Jenny, what, a few months?” Mummy asked Jane, once they were seated.
“Yes but, in that time, she’s turned my life around. And she has blossomed.”
“Doesn’t it bother you that she was born…you know…?”
“Jenny is all woman in her head and, to a great extent, in her body as well. To me she is a beautiful girl with a birth anomaly that will be corrected as soon as possible. I’m satisfied with that.”
“You obviously think a lot of each other.”
“She is absolutely wonderful. Bright, happy, outgoing, a brilliant cook, there seems to be nothing that she can’t do,” Jane acknowledged. “Did she cook for you this evening?”
“Yes, we had a chicken casserole, it was very tasty.”
“She is amazing. I can’t believe how lucky I am to have found her. My life was really going nowhere. I achieved my degree, joining the police force from university. I worked all the hours I could just to try and erase my childhood memories.” She shivered, hesitating for a moment. “I earned my shift into detective work by pounding a beat for a few years. I couldn’t see what I was going to do after that, other than working for further promotion. I’m not interested in a relationship with a man so being a wife was not an option.
“Then this incident happened and I visited… well, you know who. I knew that there was something I wasn’t being told so I pushed it. I visited another night and met Jenny and that’s when I knew my life had turned around. We went out a few times but, honestly, it was like opening a floodgate. She just went from strength to strength. I’m quite sure that John would eventually have killed himself — the pressure was just too great - but Jenny is so dynamic, full of life and absolutely gorgeous. I really can’t believe that so much has happened in so short a time, and it takes some believing that it’s basically the same person inside. Dorothy Parker is quoted as saying that “men seldom make passes at girls who wear glasses.” Well, this girl thinks that that girl is beautiful.”
My mother said, “I just never appreciated that there was so much hurt in that child of mine, it’s really made me think. I know that John often came home from school with stories of bullying but I thought he was just exaggerating or trying to justify getting into fights. Changing the subject, I suppose that your degree is work related?”
“Yes, I wanted to join the police force since… childhood.” Jane continued. “I have a first-class Honours degree from Buckingham University. It’s a small university and I earned my BA in psychology in two years and have a Masters degree in Criminal Psychology. I also started on a law degree but ran out of patience halfway through as I really wanted to start my police career. I transferred to the CID (Criminal Investigation Department) several years ago.”
“Jo…Jenny told me about the murder - it must have been very traumatic for her to find her neighbour dead?”
“Yes, poor thing. Still, if she hadn’t we probably never would have met.”
I re-joined them and the subject moved on to my plans for the return to work. My mother was tired from her journey and, bidding us goodnight, went to bed. She lay awake for a while thinking about her husband. She’d telephoned him when she arrived but he was very brusque. She’d tried to tell him about me but he was disinterested to the point of rudeness. She sighed, settled down and waited a long time for sleep to claim her.
End of part 9
John finds the body of a neighbour who has been murdered. The police detective assigned to the case deduces that John hides a secret - but the detective has secrets of her own.
Part 10 of 25 — Visitor (Round 2)
“What would you like to do today, Mummy?” I asked on the Wednesday morning as we breakfasted on cereal, toast and tea.
“I’ve no idea.”
“How about Winchester?”
“What’s there?”
“Lots of history and a fair number of shops.”
Winchester was the capital of the ancient kingdom of Wessex; it is still the administrative capital of the county of Hampshire. Winchester was the seat of King Alfred and has a round table on the wall of the Great Hall. The table probably dates from the fourteenth century and may have been made to the order of King Edward the Third. The whole city just exudes history and there is hardly anywhere that doesn’t have a view of some ancient building or other. The cathedral is about a thousand years old and is set in its own large green, an oasis of calm just a stone’s throw away from the bustle of city life.
“Hmm, retail therapy. I never imagined either of my children being particularly interested in that,” she said.
“Well, your daughter is.”
“Can you give me a few minutes to get ready?”
“It might take me a little longer,” I replied.
“Hmm, it seems to me that there’s not that much to do. You appear to be all girl. But I’ll be watching you to make sure you don’t spend too much.”
“After the bashing my credit card has taken over the past few weeks, there’s not much danger of that.”
On the way to the car, she hesitated. “Jenny; I see the way that Jane looks at you. You’re the light of her life, but how much do you really know about her?”
“Not a lot, as it happens. She doesn’t strike me as your average police officer; the first time we went out shopping together, she looked like a catwalk model on her day off. I felt a little out of my depth in her company. And did you see her car?”
“No.”
“That’s no cheap runabout, either.”
My mother had just expressed the same thoughts that Celia had; of course, it could all be totally innocent, but it did get me thinking — not a good thing.
The conversation moved to what we might do at Winchester. We didn’t purchase much but had lots of fun trying clothes on, giggling in one of the many coffee shops, laughing over the antics of other shoppers and generally having a good time.
My mother took my arm as we strolled through the shopping centre. We sat and ate sandwiches as we watched the river flow through the city on its way to join the sea near Southampton. We spent a long time in casual conversation; we had a lot of catching-up to do.
Over lunch, she said, “I’m amazed at just how natural you are. I’ve spent a long time this morning revising my opinions and wondering how you managed to survive for so long. I can’t see anything about you that hints at you ever having been a boy: your mannerisms, speech and vocabulary are quite different — and I thought you might dress like a teenager, but you don’t.”
“Well, I don’t have to act anymore; I can just be myself. And did you really think I’d dress like a teenager?”
“It had crossed my mind.”
“Really! I know I missed out on being a teenage girl, but I’d rather forget my childhood and adolescence, not try to re-live it. That’s not to say that I wouldn’t have loved to have had a teenage girlhood - of course I would.”
After lunch, I took my mother back to the shopping centre. “I know we haven’t discussed it but this is my treat.” I led her to one of the beauty concessions in a big store and asked for a makeover for her. “My mother is a beautiful woman and I’d like you to bring out the best in her.”
“Delighted,” the beautician enthused, sitting Mummy on a stool and starting to work her magic. “You have lovely cheekbones and gorgeous eyes. What a lovely, generous daughter you have and I can certainly see where she gets her looks.”
My mother was so choked up; she didn’t know what to say. She certainly didn’t have it in her to refuse.
After the beautician had finished, I had paid and we walked away with a small stock of cosmetics, my mother turned to me and said, “Darling, I’m overwhelmed. I really do look and feel several years younger. Thank you.”
As we were walking arm in arm back towards the car park, I spotted a lovely turquoise dress in one of the shop windows. I dragged her over to look at it and we oohed and aahed for a minute or so.
She finally sighed and said, “Okay, in we go.”
I grinned and followed her into the shop where an assistant asked her size, handed her the dress and directed her to a changing cubicle. I was hesitant about following her in but she simply said, “Come on, Jenny, you can tell me how it looks.”
A little later, when we had continued on our way, I asked, “Mummy, have you a mobile phone?”
“No, why?”
“Just in case my father gets more difficult.”
“Oh, I see. I’ll sort one out when I get home and let you know the number.”
“No time like the present.” I led her to a shop that sold us one that was on the same network as Jane’s and mine and offered free family calls. “I’ll just get a ‘Pay As You Go’; it will be useful for you as an emergency phone when travelling or….” We both knew what the “or” meant. “If you ring my mobile, it will cost you nothing. When your call credit drops, ring me and I’ll top it up for you. I want to be able to keep in touch with you whatever happens and this is the easiest way.”
My mother cooked minute steaks while I programmed the phone and put it on charge. We then spent a quiet evening watching a film on television and she again tried to speak to my father. The atmosphere was still tense and she was quite certain that he would never come to accept his daughter.
Thursday morning dawned clear and sunny with just a gentle breeze. I suggested over breakfast that we go out for the day.
“That would be nice.”
“Well, I’ve a little surprise for you. How long since you’ve seen my cousin Shirley?”
“More years than I care to remember.”
“Well, would you like to go and see her? I called her on Tuesday evening to make sure they’d be at home today. She knows all about me and is totally accepting. I received a lovely call from her in response to my letter telling the family what I was doing.”
“Oh, I suppose we could go then. It would be nice to see someone from that side of the family after all this time.”
I rang to confirm that we were on our way. Shirley and her family lived in a little village near Salisbury in Wiltshire.
We arrived at the eighteenth century farmhouse at about eleven o’clock and rang the ancient doorbell. A frantic barking noise had me wondering just how many dogs lived at the house. Shirley opened the door and two of the biggest golden retrievers I had ever seen made a beeline for us. They stopped only a few inches away, grinned as only retrievers can, and wagged their tails, seemingly generating enough wind to power the entire village.
“Come here you two!” Shirley yelled, then more quietly to my mother she said,” They’re adult dogs about six years old, but they seem to behave more like six month-old puppies. Anyway, hello Auntie Ellen, hello Jenny, it’s lovely to see you both.”
She gave my mother and me a hug and then, with much effort, she herded the dogs back into the house. “I’ll put the kettle on. You’ll stay to lunch?” It was more of a statement than a question.
“Thank you,” I replied on behalf of us both.
Shirley and I looked at one another and Shirley said, “That photo doesn’t do you justice, you are beautiful just like your mother.”
“Thank you again,” I said, sincerely and tearfully, and we all hugged again.
“Our family is not very good at keeping in touch, is it?” My mother commented.
“No,” Shirley answered, pouring water into the teapot and getting mugs out of the cupboard, “but now we’re back in contact with Jenny, and I know that she lives reasonably nearby, we must meet up more often. Auntie Ellen, how are Uncle Bill and my cousin Peter?”
“Well, your uncle has taken Jenny’s news very badly and accuses her of all sorts of things, all untrue. We’ve not heard from Peter so we don’t know how he reacted to it. Bill is in good health and I presume that Peter and his family are too but I’m not sure how things will develop now that I have accepted that I have a daughter and not a younger son.”
I felt myself well up with tears, and said, “Oh Mummy, you’ve made me so happy, but I do worry especially about my father. I’m sorry to have to say this, Shirley; my father has always despised me since I was a little child. I wasn’t the macho sporting boy he wanted for a second son, you see. Peter excelled at sport, but I was no good at anything.”
“Now hold on, dear,” my mother protested, “You were good at academic subjects — when you were allowed to get on with them. You’re well read, an excellent cook, a lovely, gentle person and I couldn’t have wished for a more caring and loving child. Your father expects everyone to conform to his views and, when they don’t, he flies off the handle.”
Over a cup of tea, Mother heard all the details of Shirley’s diverse family. She laughed. “You’ve had your share of surprises and no mistake.”
“Yes, the children hedged around the subjects quite a lot until Alex and I confronted them. I think they were very surprised that we just said, “So what?” Certainly we’ve had no cause to regret our decision to accept them for what and who they are, and they’ve repaid us a thousand-fold by being the loveliest young people that you could imagine: caring, loving and generous, both to us and to each other. They wouldn’t surprise us if they all sold their separate homes and purchased one together, they’re so close as siblings. And the way they treat us; we couldn’t wish for a happier family. Alex and I consider ourselves to be very fortunate indeed.”
Lunch was a very jolly occasion with Shirley’s husband Alex joining us. He and their son Tim farmed some land nearby and Shirley usually provided both of them with lunch. Tim had taken his partner and their child on holiday so they weren’t there, much to my mother’s and my disappointment. Lucy and her husband, a very successful author, lived in Gloucestershire and Annabelle, her partner and their children lived and worked in an old, rambling farmhouse in Norfolk.
The meal, all home grown, was delicious and there was plenty to go round. Mummy and I were both very full after the hot pot and the homemade apple pie that followed. I noticed that the pie tasted a little different from the one that I had made and I commented to Shirley, who gave me the recipe.
Alex gave me a hug before returning to work. “How on earth did you manage the disguise all these years?” he asked, “You look really good.”
“I managed it by not being selfish enough,” I gave a hollow laugh, “and being scared witless of anyone finding out the truth.”
“Why change now?” he asked, before leaving to resume work.
“Simple: it was just a case of change or die,” I replied, sombrely. “John was never the real me; I got fed up with all the acting and pretence. I was suicidal.”
There was silence for a few moments while this statement sank in.
“Well,” my mother said, quietly, “I’d rather have a live daughter than a dead son any day.”
“Do you miss anything about your old life? How about the father/son relationship?” Shirley asked.
I laughed mirthlessly, “I never had a life, and if you’re referring to my father’s constant sarcasm, unreasonable expectations and frequent put-downs, then no, I don’t miss them at all.”
My mother said, “Surely there must have been some good times.”
I answered her. “Well, if there were, I must have blinked and missed them.”
More tea and chat followed and it was late afternoon before we got away. Hugs and kisses were exchanged, as were promises to keep in touch and visit more regularly in the future. I felt that the visit had gone very well and soon we were heading back home.
My mother said, “Thank you for arranging that visit, I did so enjoy meeting Shirley and Alex again.”
“So did I; I mean, enjoy meeting them properly at last.”
My mother appeared deep in thought for the rest of the journey.
“What time is your train?” I asked before we retired for the night.
“About eleven-thirty. There’s only one change, at Birmingham, and I should be home before six o’clock.”
The evening saw just the two of us relaxing at home. Jane was working. I cooked a couple of trout, as I knew that my mother enjoyed fish. I cooked them in the oven, in foil, with garlic butter and pine nuts, just as I knew she liked them. I served them with some roasted vegetables.
“You’ll get me fat,” she good-naturedly complained.
“Not a chance. You know, I haven’t enjoyed being with you so much as I have this week and I absolutely love cooking for more than just myself.”
“And I’ve enjoyed meeting my daughter for the first time, getting to know her and spending time with her.”
“You weren’t sure to begin with, were you?”
“Well, it did come as a bit of a shock that you went ahead and did it; I never thought you’d have the courage.”
I picked up on that and asked, thoughtfully, “Mummy, just how long have you known about me?”
“Oh,” she replied, “I’ve known there was something wrong since you were a toddler, I suppose. I thought you might be gay.”
“WHAT! I told you often enough that I wasn’t a gay male although, now I’m in love with Jane, I suppose I’m a gay female. But you never said anything to me?”
“I was afraid of upsetting you.”
“And I never said because I thought you’d hate me, and you seemed always to be obsessed with grandchildren,” I said, tearfully.
“I could never hate you,” she responded, gently, “You are my child; I’ve always loved you and just wanted to protect you because you seemed so delicate. Deep in my heart, I think I knew that you would never be a husband and father, but social convention….”
“I love you so much, Mummy,” I said, openly crying and hugging her when she ran out of words.
“And I love you too, and nothing and no one will ever change that, just remember that.”
“I’ll hold on to that thought,” I said, and we sat in companionable silence until we both went to bed.
The next morning, we shared a leisurely breakfast and I made some sandwiches for my mother to eat on the train. I just had to ask, “What about my father?”
Mother sighed. “You know your father; he has his ideas and is, as always, one hundred per cent right. Even a team of wild horses would struggle to shift him.”
“Hmm. Have you heard from Peter?”
“No and that surprises me. Of course it’s possible that he’s telephoned your father direct but I’m sure that he would have spoken to me, even briefly. Perhaps he is just trying to digest the news.”
“Like I can believe that. Still at least I hope I have a mother and I know I have a cousin Shirley. I may not have a father and a brother but I suppose I can live with that if I have to do so - as long as they don’t try to poison anyone else against me. I was afraid that my Father would forbid you to see me.”
“He tried.”
“Really? What did you say?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Thanks Mummy; as I said, you’re the best.”
“Well I’d better be going then.”
“Don’t forget your phone.”
She took it out of her handbag and waved it in the air.
I smiled weakly.
We stood and said our goodbyes. We both cried, not only for the past but also for the uncertain future.
“Okay dear. Now we really must go.”
I dropped her off at Winchester station and, carrying her suitcase, climbed the steps with her onto the platform and gave her a quick hug and kiss. Then, with a heavy heart, I returned to the car and drove home.
She briefly called later to say that she had arrived home safely but didn’t stop to chat. I spent a quiet evening with just my thoughts as Jane was again on late shift.
Ellen’s train arrived on time and she was very surprised when Bill met her at the station and kissed her in greeting. She’d called him earlier to tell him which train she would be on and she nodded when he asked if she’d had a good journey. He was silent as he drove home and she was content with that, although she was just waiting for the questions when they did get home and he asked about her trip. He didn’t appear to notice that she’d had a makeover: she felt several years younger.
When he’d parked the car and brought in her suitcase, Bill asked, “Well, how did it go? Did you manage to persuade him to abandon this stupid game and get on with his life as a proper man?”
“You have no idea, have you?” Ellen asked, incredulously. “You think you know it all, but you live in a small black and white world bounded only by the pub, the sport on television and the scandal you read in the paper. You don’t know how real people live or how they feel. I knew that, when she was a small child, she suffered, both physically and mentally; I thought that she might be gay, but that wasn’t the issue at all. Do you realise how often and how close she was to suicide? She was a tormented soul and hated every minute of her childhood. At last she has made some supportive friends, and has found the courage to live as the person her brain, and much of her body, have been telling her that she is since she was a small child.”
“I take it then that you failed?”
“Of course I failed! I failed to persuade that child to carry on living a lie! Jenny isn’t a man. Oh, I know that she might have some male bits between her legs but everything else is female; her thoughts, her mannerisms, her caring nature, even how she relates to other people.”
He harrumphed, “I still can’t see how you can condone this behaviour — and you keep referring to him as ‘she’, I take it that you’re happy with this?”
“I’m not condoning anything and I can’t say I’m happy or sad; I’m just telling it like it is. That child lost the best part of twenty years because of a birth defect. Jenny has been around for a long time and is now an attractive young woman. Apart from what may be between her legs, she is all woman, not effeminate but feminine; there’s a world of difference.”
Ellen went into the kitchen and filled the kettle for a cup of tea. She then had to decide what to give Bill for his dinner.
She asked, “What did you do for meals while I was away?”
“As if you cared. Angela next door provided me with dinners after I told her you’d walked out on me.”
“You bastard! I didn’t walk out on you and you know it! I told you that I was visiting Jenny for a few days: you could easily have managed. There’s meat in the freezer and enough vegetables.”
“Cooking is your job.”
“Oh right!” She said, angrily, hands on hips. “It’s okay for you to be retired and sit on your arse watching television all day, but a woman never retires, does she? It’s obviously one law for you and another for everyone else. I suppose I have to cook, clean and do the laundry for you until I snuff it? What will you do then? Have meals on wheels? Well, let me tell you, Bill Smith, there are going to be some changes and they start happening NOW! I’ll be making a list of jobs for you and I’ll expect you to significantly contribute to this household, rather than sit in front of your precious television and vegetate, or escape to the pub when the going gets tough.”
Bill was about to protest but he shut his mouth again when he saw the firm set of her jaw. Truth be told, He had felt somewhat without direction since he’d retired and could now, amazingly, see his wife’s argument on the subject. He knew that he just slouched about the house but couldn’t seem to raise the energy to do anything. Ellen had been on at him for a while now to find an interest outside the home: she pointed out that he had a lot of skills going to waste and she suggested that he join with others in the pub to form a team, and offer their building and decorating services to the elderly and housebound. He thought about this and realised that she had a point.
The very next morning, he was dragged off to the supermarket to learn how to shop for food.
“It stands to reason,” Ellen stated as they were driving, “You eat at least half the food in the house. So you drive the car to the supermarket and bring back the heavy bags of groceries while I get on with something else.”
“But I don’t know what to get,” he wailed.
“Well it’s about time you learned; after all these years, you surely know what we eat by now,” she responded, acidly.
When they arrived home, she sent him to the pub for a pint. “And make sure to tell Andy, Les and David, and anyone else who might be interested, that you’re starting up ‘The Job Squad’ and you want volunteers — and you want sponsors. And don’t take “NO” for an answer. You can use your sessions at the pub to plan what you’re going to do, have a whip-round to pay for materials and fuel for the cars and you give your time free of charge; the client pays nothing.”
“You’ve thought all this out, haven’t you?”
“Yes I have. I spent a few years teaching primary school children; you lot aren’t much different, except that they were usually better behaved. It’s about time you got off your arse, stopped moping about the house, thought of those less well off than yourself and did something practical about it.”
“You can be a bit sharp when you feel like it, can’t you?” he joked.
“If the cap fits, Bill Smith…”
“Okay, okay, okay, I’ve got the message. I must say that I’ve felt a bit rudderless since I retired and, it’s true, there are a lot of useful, practical skills going to waste.”
Ellen looked up at him and smiled. He loved that smile and it was what had first attracted him.
“You’ll enjoy it once you get started,” she said, giving him a kiss and a cuddle. Both had been somewhat lacking in their lives of late and he realised then just how much he missed those little touches.
“I’ve you to thank for this push, you know.”
“Well, it was my idea,” Ellen said, sarcastically.
“Yes, but when that letter came, you just up and went. John needed you and you dropped everything and jumped on a train.”
“Well, John never really existed, except in body, and Jenny doesn’t need us. That doesn’t mean that she doesn’t love us, as hard as we’ve made it for her to do so. She just wants a family that loves her unconditionally, as all families should. Anyway, does that mean that you are now moving to accepting Jenny?”
“No,” he replied, slowly. “I still can’t help feeling that this is all wrong. You’re obviously all fired up but I think….”
“You’ve not met her,” Ellen interrupted. “That photo doesn’t do her justice. She’s quite different in the flesh. Photos are two-dimensional and don’t tell you anything about the character of the person.”
“What does Peter think?”
“I don’t know; no one’s heard from him yet; they might be on holiday; they usually go away every summer.”
He harrumphed and then went out to the pub.
“Well then, what do you think?” Jane asked late on the Saturday afternoon.
“I’d rather have more of my own but I suppose this is the next best thing.” I admitted.
“Yours will grow soon enough.”
“These feel good though.”
“They look good; I couldn’t see the join unless I looked very closely. Anyone who isn’t in the know doesn’t stand any chance at all. Celia was right, you know.”
“What?”
“You are a beautiful woman,” she said, giving me a quick kiss.
“Like I said, you are biased.”
“Like I said, true.”
“Thanks anyway, you didn’t have to do that.”
“Hey, it’s my treat and, from where I’m standing, I can’t think of anything that has given me so much for my money.”
There’s something she’s not telling me; she seems to have a lot more money than I would think a detective constable earns
“We’ll need to take them off every now and then so that I can check on how you’re growing.”
I laughed. “You are obsessed with sex.”
“I’m obsessed with you.”
“Hmmm, I can’t see why.”
“Easy, just look in a mirror. It’s not my fault that your parents produced such a beautiful daughter; I just helped to bring her out of hiding.”
I gave her a playful punch on the arm and we walked back to the Tube station to make our way home.
She’d purchased first class tickets for the train. With the breast forms and lunch, she’d paid out well over a thousand pounds today. Where had it come from?
End of part 10
Secrets
By Susan Heywood
John finds the body of a neighbour who has been murdered. The police detective assigned to the case deduces that John hides a secret - but the detective has secrets of her own.
Part 11 of 25 — Peter
The message light on the answering machine was blinking when we arrived home. I hit the PLAY button.
~ Hello, it’s Peter. Look, sorry I’ve not been in touch sooner, we’ve been on holiday in Florida and we’ve just found your letter on our return. We’re coming down tomorrow to visit Geena’s parents. I know its short notice but we need to talk. Give us a ring back as soon as possible. ~
I shivered, but keyed the number; Jane held me very tightly. “Peter, its Jenny. Thanks for calling.”
~ Hi. Well it’s come as a bit of a shock to find out that I seem to have a sister after all these years ~
“I can imagine it was a shock to you.”
~ Not that much of a shock ~
“Why?”
~ It was fairly obvious from an early age; you were a long way from being the average boy ~
“Oh.”
~ Listen, can we meet tomorrow? ~
“Are you sure? I’m Jenny fulltime now.”
~ Of course I’m sure ~
“And you still want to meet me? Aren’t you worried that I’ll embarrass you?”
~ I’ll send Geena in first to check you out ~
I heard the laughter in his voice. “Mummy seems to think I look alright.”
~ I won’t argue with Mum; I never could win ~
“I’ll have a girlfriend with me.”
We made the arrangements and said our goodbyes. I let out a sigh; now I’d know how my brother really felt about me.
Jane insisted on ordering a takeaway as I was exhausted both by the trip to London and the tension of talking to my brother. I didn’t argue.
We turned on the television to watch a film but I couldn’t concentrate so she turned it off and just found some quiet, soothing music. I was still quite tired after the previous week so she gently led me to bed, where she just held me until sleep eventually overcame the cares churning in my mind.
I couldn’t settle to anything on the Sunday morning. Jane offered to make me some breakfast but I wasn’t very hungry and couldn’t face more than a slice of toast and a cup of tea. I tried to read the newspaper but the words kept getting jumbled up. Jane was, unusually, very quiet, knowing that I was going through agonies at the prospect of meeting my brother.
“I don’t want to cause a scene so if he doesn’t like what he sees, he can just leave, can’t he?” I asked for what must have seemed like the tenth time.
She eventually ran out of patience. “Look, try to answer me two questions. Firstly, how on earth is he going to recognise you?”
“Oh, have I changed that much?” I asked, timidly.
“How long since you’ve seen him?”
“A couple of years.”
“I doubt that your own mother recognised you at first, did she? And you’d seen her the previous month.”
“She was uncertain.”
“Secondly, if he doesn’t like what he sees, what then? To be blunt, that’s just another one off your Christmas card list. It’s not the end of the world.”
“I’m rapidly running out of family and I don’t really want to lose any more. It’s bad enough that I’ve lost my father.”
“Listen to me! If Peter doesn’t like it, that’s his decision, not yours; his fault, not yours; his bigotry, not yours.”
“Oh, maybe you’re right,” I conceded.
“You know very well that I’m right. You haven’t gone through all this, just to wimp out over the possibility of losing contact with a brother that you don’t see from one year’s end to the next.”
I agonised over what to wear; dress, skirt or trousers; heels or flats; which jacket. I must have gone through my clothes half a dozen times. Eventually Jane went to the wardrobe and took out a green floral sundress, a linen jacket and a pair of pale cream sandals.
“Put them on and don’t argue.”
I meekly obeyed and she sighed with relief.
The Harvester was a typical ‘food and drink’ pub, the like of which can be found the length and breadth of England; they were usually operated by the major breweries.
Once in the pub, we sat and ordered long fruit juices.
Just after midday Peter and Geena walked in and scanned the bar.
You’d have no trouble picking out Peter Smith in a crowd. He was the epitome of the hero of a romantic novel; tall, dark and very handsome and you could imagine, if my father had been as good-looking as Peter was, that my mother stood no chance of getting away, and probably wouldn’t have wanted to do so anyway. Peter’s sporting heritage was obvious as his face bore the marks of at least one encounter on the rugby fields of England.
The whole image, though, was softened by his ready smile, which was used to devastating effect in his business. One immediately felt that here was a man that you could trust. Not for the first time in my life was I thankful that Peter had been the one to take after my father, while I inherited my mother’s smaller build and softer features.
Geena Smith appeared to be the ideal foil to her husband. Petite and slim, with blond hair tumbling in waves past her shoulders, she clearly adored her gentle giant. Peter’s thick, hairy arm was draped around her slender shoulders and Geena’s right arm, looking as though it was designed that way, fitted neatly around his waist.
Although both were casually dressed in open-necked shirts, jeans and boots; they just oozed ‘style on legs’ and turned more than a few heads as they made their way into the bar. They’d just about given up, assuming that they were first there, when I stood, waved and softly called, “Peter, Geena, over here.” They glanced over and their jaws noticeably dropped.
“Wow,” Peter said when they had ordered soft drinks and we’d found a table, “you certainly surprised me, I thought I’d spot you straight away; I thought you’d look…”
“Different?” I offered quietly, now noticeably more relaxed. I pushed my hair over my ears, exposing the gold hoop earrings that I was wearing.
“Well…yes, but you look really good,” Peter said, looking rather relieved.
“Yes, she certainly does,” Jane put in.
“Sorry, where are my manners?” I said, “Peter, Geena, this is Jane Dyson, who has changed my life. Jane, my brother Peter Smith and his wife, Geena Smith.”
They all smiled “Hello” and shook hands.
We ordered our meals and chatted about me. I then listened as Peter and Geena recounted the highlights of their recent holiday. They were both looking tanned and well and had clearly enjoyed the break.
When the subject eventually returned to me, Geena asked, “What’s happening with work?”
“I’m due to return to work on Thursday,” I answered. “I suppose it will all hit the fan then.”
“Well,” Geena laughed, “The men in your office will probably be impressed when you turn up, and disappointed when they find out that you’re already spoken for.”
“And that I’m not interested anyway,” I said, smiling at Jane.
“What?” asked Peter, frowning.
“Later,” whispered Geena, nudging him in the ribs with her elbow.
“Where are Ros and Geoff?” I asked about my niece and nephew.
“With their Nan and Grandpa.”
“That was a good idea.”
“As I said”, Peter continued, “this didn’t come entirely as a surprise. I knew when we were children that you were different. What do our parents think?”
“Mummy visited me last week for a few days; things started off a bit cool between us but, after the first day, we had a great time. Father won’t speak to me; he calls me a pervert and a gay male. A pervert, according to my dictionary, is someone who indulges in unnatural sexual acts. As I’ve never had a sexual relationship I can’t see how I can possibly be a pervert. And I’ve tried to tell him numerous times over the years that I’m not interested in a relationship with a man but, as usual, he knows he’s right and no amount of argument or evidence will budge him. He also thinks that I should be interested in sport, drinking in pubs and girls. I am interested in girls, well, one in particular,” I glanced lovingly at Jane, “and I seem to have developed an interest in one particular two-person activity, although I don’t think it’ll be an Olympic sport anytime soon.”
Geena sniggered as she understood the reference to ‘tonsil hockey’.
“I’m still definitely not interested in going out with the lads, I never have been,” I told them.
“Yes,” Peter added, “Dad has some old-fashioned ideas.”
“Old-fashioned? He’s virtually prehistoric!” I spluttered and then laughed. At Peter’s prompting I related the happenings of the past week.
He said, “Well, I can’t see a problem with Mum, but Dad is a horse of a different flavour.”
We all laughed at his deliberately mixed metaphor.
He continued. “I’ll have a word with him but I don’t hold out much hope — he always had his own ideas and was impossible to budge. That’s one of the reasons I joined the RAF. I didn’t want to join the Navy anyway and that, taken with him telling me ‘how things should be done’, meant that I’d always be living in his shadow.”
“But you were always the blue-eyed boy wonder, the sporting hero, and when you married Geena, and Ros and Geoff came along, he must have thought that most of his dreams had come true.”
“He was a right royal pain in the backside,” Peter responded. “Geena took an instant dislike to him when she first met him and almost dumped me; I’m really glad that she didn’t, though.”
Geena smiled encouragingly at him and he gave her shoulder a squeeze.
He continued. “Anyway, Dad was never satisfied. When I made the rugby team, he wanted to know when I’d be captain and, if not, why not. At our wedding reception, it was “When are you going to start a family then?” I tell you, you don’t need that on your wedding day.”
After a few moments thought, I said, “It always seemed that life for you was a bed of roses, it shows how wrong I was. I’m so sorry, Peter, I was so jealous of you. And when you were pregnant, and gave birth to the twins, I was jealous of you, Geena.”
“Me?” she gasped; then, having thought about it, she chuckled. “Yes, I suppose I can understand that now.”
Peter took a long pull of his drink, and then said, “Well, anyway, I’m glad that my sister has finally got her act together. At one time I was afraid I was going to be an only child for most of my life.”
“What?” Geena gasped again.
“It’s true,” I said, candidly, “I was close to suicide a number of times. Fortunately, I never could pluck up the courage to do anything about it, and now I’ve met Jane, I’m well over that.”
“Thank goodness for that,” Jane said, as her arm again tightened around me.
“I’m not sure about getting used to having a kid sister but no doubt I’ll survive,” Peter joked, and then looked pointedly at me. “But it’s all dependent upon you taking auntie duties seriously. Any slacking and I’ll really start playing the big brother.”
“Ooh, Err,” I said, adopting a scared look, but laughing, “I’ll be good, I promise.”
“We’ll make sure of it. Anyway, I suppose we’d better go and rescue Ros and Geoff from their doting grandparents who, no doubt, are worn out by now. I know that the twins are not yet five years of age but they do seem to have amazing reserves of energy.”
Geena put in, “They’re at that age where they go at life full tilt and life just sits there, scratches its head, and wonders where the tornado came from.”
We all laughed.
“Anyway,” Peter said, “It’s been great meeting you both and I really do mean that.”
“Absolutely,” enthused Geena, “You’ll have to come up to Leamington and we can indulge in some retail therapy.”
Peter just rolled his eyes and gave his wife a withering look, which she ignored.
We finished our drinks and snacks in amiable conversation, then we all hugged and kissed goodbye.
They waved off my thanks as they headed for their car.
Jane held my hand as we made our way back to the Lexus. She said, “Well, you now have a mother, a brother and a cousin Shirley. Maybe your father will come around in time.”
“I’m not going to hold my breath on that one.”
The mood on the return journey was certainly lighter than that which had prevailed earlier that day. I felt like celebrating, found a CD with Handel’s ‘Arrival of the Queen of Sheba and Other Hits’ and popped it into the player.
“Well, there’s a surprise,” Jane said, smiling.
“It’s my favourite celebration music.”
“I know.”
When we arrived home, she said that we should remove and clean the breast forms. One thing led to another and we spent the rest of the day, and much of the evening, in empirical research. Naturally this required us both to be more or less naked.
When we were both satiated, she smiled at me and said,
“To her girl, said a sharp-eyed detective,
“Could it be that my sight is defective?
It appears that your east tit has the best of your west tit, or is it a trick of perspective?””
I giggled and kissed her again.
Tuesday evening saw Bill and Ellen sharing a meal in front of the television. They were watching a programme about the start of the industrial revolution and Bill actually found it quite interesting. It wasn’t exactly Ellen’s cup of tea but she was glad that she’d managed to wean him off sport for a while. Their programme was interrupted by the telephone, which Ellen answered. She visibly brightened when she heard Peter’s voice and went into the kitchen to take the call.
“Hello, Peter, how are you? How are the family?”
~ Fine thanks; we’ve just been to Florida. It was lovely and warm and Geena is delighted with her tan. The twins had great fun, and look equally healthy. And we met Jenny and her girlfriend on Sunday ~
Ellen, slightly shocked, sat down on one of the kitchen chairs. “How? Where?”
~ There was a letter waiting for us on our return. We met Jenny and Jane when we visited Geena’s parents on Sunday ~
“So what do you think?”
~ Jenny’s an absolute delight; there’s little trace of John at all; even the voice seems to fit. I understand that you both met up last week? ~
“Yes, that’s right. I received the letter the week before. I showed it to your father; we had words and I went down to stay for a few days.”
~ Gosh, Mum, that was brave of you. Didn’t you worry that…well, you know…. ~
“Jenny is my daughter and she needed support. I knew that she’d had problems all her life; I’d ignored them for years, but I wasn’t going to turn her away again. Anyway, after just a day with her, I realised how wrong I’d been about some things. I can’t explain it but your sister does that to you.”
~ Yes, I know what you mean. I had wondered if I was going to be an only child for most of my life but she now seems well over the suicidal stage. And Jane seems good for her; they obviously think the world of each other. Imagine: I’ve a sister and she’s a lesbian! ~
“Best not to tell your father about her sexuality, he hasn’t even come to terms with his daughter yet.”
~ The old bigot; I thought he might try and impose his narrow views on everyone else. Did he try to forbid you to see her? ~
“He tried, and wasn’t at all happy when I just headed off to the South of England. Anyway, I have a plan. If it works, he might have less reason to resist the idea of Jenny.”
~ Good for you, Mum, what is it? ~
“I’m not saying yet; let’s see how I get on when I’ve done some more research.”
~ Okay, please keep me informed ~
“Oh, I will. Now, do you want a word with your father?”
~ Alright then, I suppose I’d better ~
“Don’t sound so enthusiastic,” Ellen laughed, and then took the phone through to her husband. “Peter,” she said, hovering in the background.
Bill took the phone from her and said, brightly, “Hello lad, how are you all? Oh, just a minute, I’ll turn the telly down a bit.”
Well, that’s a first Peter just resisted the temptation to comment out loud but, instead, said,
~ We’re all fine. I thought I’d just catch up with you as we’ve been on holiday in Florida~
The usual chat ensued; Bill asked about Peter’s work; Peter asked what his father was doing and was surprised and delighted to learn about the Job Squad initiative. Apparently, his mates at the pub thought it was a very good idea. The landlord of the pub promised to get involved with advertising it and supporting it with stunts, collecting tins, sponsored darts nights, a sponsored snooker championship and so on. By the time several pints had been consumed by all parties, plans were well under way. The local aged peoples’ support group and the local Volunteer Council were in favour and, within a day or so, it had really taken off.
~ That sounds a great idea, Dad, who thought that one up? ~
“Your mother, of course!”
Peter laughed. He knew that his next remark was going to be controversial but decided that he needed to say it anyway.
~ Have you met your daughter yet? ~
“No I haven’t, and I don’t want to; I don’t think we should encourage this sort of behaviour, it’s not natural. I’m disgusted that John’s decided to be queer.”
~ I presume by queer, you mean a homosexual male. There’s nothing queer about Jenny; she’s not, and never has been, a homosexual male. She didn’t ‘decide’ to be like she is; that’s the way she was born. She’s a lovely girl; you’ve not met her, I have. ~
“When?” Bill asked, taken aback.
~ On Sunday ~
“How did that happen?”
~ We went down to see Geena’s parents, left the twins with them and met the girls in a pub ~
“The girls?”
~ Jenny and Jane, the friend who helped her through all this. Jenny is wonderful, even though I do say so myself. There’s nothing of John about her, except maybe the voice and even that sounds right, if you know what I mean. In fact, I’d go as far as to say that she’s very attractive: it’s not just because she’s my sister, there’s more to it than that. She just looks so right and so comfortable, like she’s always been there. I don’t know how she managed for as long as she did; no wonder she was bullied at school ~
“Hmm, I’m not sure about this; as I said, it’s not natural.”
~ Look Dad, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if there isn’t some medical reason for this; blokes just don’t look that pretty if there isn’t, and I knew when she was little that she wasn’t boyish. You’re not that thick; you must have seen it too. You should really meet her, I’m sure you’d have to rethink your ideas. It’s surely better for her to live a fulfilled life as a good-looking woman, than to struggle through as a lonely, effeminate man. John had no friends, no possibility of making a relationship and every chance that some thug would eventually decide that he was ideal meat for killing ~
“That’s a bit strong, lad. Well, I reckon he’s a poof and just needs to pull his socks up, get some decent exercise and make the best of it; other people have to.”
~ I think she is making the best of it. John was never a man and, as I’ve said, even when she was acting as a man, she was never interested in other men, and she’s told me that she isn’t interested in men now. I think she’s done the right thing. Better that than suicide ~
“Suicide?”
~ Yes, John would have killed himself eventually; he had nothing to live for. Didn’t you know, Dad? Or were you just not interested? ~
That caught Bill on the hop for a moment. “Okay, I’ll think about it,” he promised as they said their goodbyes.
Ellen quietly put down the extension in the bedroom and said to herself, “Good for you, son, you certainly told him.” She thought even more that her little plan might work as Peter had planted the seed of an idea in Bill’s mind. She then went to the bathroom and later re-joined her husband.
“It seems that Peter has accepted John’s behaviour,” Bill commented, dryly.
“Well, at least he’s working from a position of knowledge.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well,” she replied, acidly, “You knew what she went through all her life, yet you’ve made a snap judgement without even talking to her, let alone meeting her face to face. When John came home from school, having been beaten senseless and even injured, all you had to say was “fight back” and “stand up for yourself.” It’s alright for you; I bet a big man like you never got picked on like he did.” Ellen was clearly angry.
“Well, if he’d fought back, he might have saved himself some of the beatings,” was all Bill could say.
“He wasn’t built for that, as you well know; he only had one eye and the bullies outweighed and outnumbered him. All he wanted to do was study but was he allowed to get on with it in peace? Not on your life! You were no help and neither were the teachers: half the time, it seemed that they might even have encouraged the bullying.”
“Oh, don’t talk rot!” Bill replied, exasperated.
“So why do you think he left school as soon as he could, and left home? Because he never got any support, either at home or at school, that’s why. I admit that I didn’t help him either, but you were his father; it was your duty to protect him and you failed. Remember the time when he was knocked out and left with broken ribs? It was a couple of months before he was fit enough to go back to school. And what did you do? Nothing. You just told him to stand up for himself. You didn’t even talk to Simon Bennick’s parents. I rang the school and told them that he was injured, and how, and they just couldn’t care less. “When will he be back?” and “It didn’t happen on school premises so it’s not our problem.” Oh, and “John’s always asking for trouble. He should stop getting into fights and concentrate on his work.” You’d think that they were talking about a different child half the time. I ask you, what kind of a life did the poor kid have?”
“I never knew that he suffered so much,” Bill said, with a hint of guilt.
“You knew alright but you chose to ignore it. Just because you boxed for the Navy, you think that everyone else should do so. Well I’ve got news for you, Bill Smith: Jenny is a pretty, caring, considerate, helpful woman; a brilliant cook, a wonderful daughter and a terrific friend, and I’m really amazed that she seems to have come out of her childhood relatively unscathed. If her character could be bottled, we could make our fortune. But she is very special and I for one love her to bits.”
With that Ellen walked briskly out into the kitchen and slammed the door behind her.
Bill had never heard his wife take that tone before; it was a quieter man who went into the kitchen for their night-time drinks and, sitting opposite Ellen at the little table, took her hand in his.
“Look, love,” he said, resignedly, “I’ve travelled the world and seen some of the worst excesses that man can do to man. I’m not going to be around for ever and the boys need to be able to look after themselves. It’s easy in the navy; someone tells you to do something and you do it; you don’t have to think about it. It’s all black and white; grey complicates things and you don’t need that when you’re fighting a war. The faggots on my ships inevitably drifted into jobs as stewards and cooks. They were ignored and ridiculed at best and beaten up at worst. I despaired of John ending up like that and now he has. God knows what he’ll make of himself now, I reckon I’ve done my best but he just doesn’t want to know.”
Ellen was getting very tired of Bill’s generalisations. “You really haven’t a clue, have you?” she said, with some force. “Life isn’t black and white and neither is humanity, there are all shades in between. Look, John was born with bad eyesight; you accepted that as a birth defect. He could just as easily have been born deaf or mentally ill. Or perhaps you’d rather he’d been born dead; that way you could boast that you almost had another son. The point is that he wasn’t what you would call, in your black and white world, normal. He was also born with something else; it wasn’t a lifestyle choice, as you seem to think. I can’t imagine anyone choosing to be that different. God knows that I was aware of a problem from early childhood.”
“Well,” Bill admitted, “That’s a bit far-fetched. I can’t imagine a child deciding to be queer at that early an age.”
“WHEN WILL YOU STOP CALLING HIM QUEER?” She shouted and then softened her voice a little. “He wasn’t homosexual, he was just different, not like other children,” Ellen said, still rather exasperated. “He never had any kind of relationship; girls just didn’t want to know him and boys either ignored him or beat him up.”
“I just wanted him to be able to look after himself,” Bill explained, weakly. Ellen threw up her hands in disgust, at which point Bill said, “I’m still sure that I know my own son better than that and my instinct tells me that what he’s doing is not only abnormal but likely to get him into serious trouble when it gets out. I wouldn’t be surprised if he gets beaten up or even killed. It’ll be worse than anything he experienced at school.”
“You never knew your son. And I suppose being killed by bigots beats taking your own life when you’ve been beaten senseless, and the school and your father won’t protect you,” Ellen responded, exasperated. “Well, I for one am amazed that Jenny’s still alive.”
“It can’t be normal, even the Bible says so,” Bill tried to justify his opinion.
“The Bible?” Ellen’s disgust was plain. “When did you last read a Bible? Show me where it says anything about someone like Jenny! Who do you think decided to lumber John with bad eyesight and a dodgy body? I suppose you think that God had a bad day and dumped on us!” Ellen was fast running out of patience.
“Hmm, well, I don’t like the way you keep trying to defend him.”
“Defend him? What do you know about defending him? I’ve had enough of this,” she said, finally having lost patience with him, “I’m going to bed.” She left Bill to his musing and, no doubt, his sport.
It was a very quiet man who eventually climbed the stairs. Ellen appeared to be asleep and he thought that he might be in serious trouble if he said anything. He knew the rules. A woman always has the last word in an argument; anything her husband says afterwards is the start of a new argument. So he just settled down to sleep.
End of part 11
Secrets
By Susan Heywood
John finds the body of a neighbour who has been murdered. The police detective assigned to the case deduces that John hides a secret - but the detective has secrets of her own.
Part 12 of 25 — New Beginnings
July 2004
Thursday the first of July saw me rising very early so that I could ensure that my appearance was as perfect as I could make it. A quick run over my legs with the epilator and a fragrant bath set me up for a thorough moisturise and one of my favourite underwear sets, in powder blue. I then dressed in a cornflower blue floral top, my cream linen-look skirt and cream sandals. I checked for stray eyebrow hairs, tweezed a few stragglers as best I could, and put on my makeup. My jewellery consisted of my sapphire pendant, diamond ear-studs and my ring. I brushed my hair until it shone and then opted for a spritz of Estée Lauder.
After some cereal and a cup of tea, I decided that I would prefer to arrive at the office sooner rather than later, so I put on my jacket, picked up my bag and set off to walk to work.
I had a touch of nerves as I walked into the building but I braced myself, collected my new photo-ID, clipped it to the waistband of my skirt and walked to the lift. I emerged onto my floor and hesitated a moment before going further. I found Celia already at her desk.
On seeing me, she leapt to her feet and ran over to me. “Oh, Wow! Don’t you look terrific!” she enthused, whilst wrapping me in a hug, then held me at arm’s length and stood back to examine me. “This is so wonderful; I’ve been looking forward to today for the past month. What a gorgeous outfit and you’ve had your hair done. And I just love the new spectacles: you didn’t go for contact lenses, then?” Eventually she stopped, as she’d run out of breath.
I shook my head. “They don’t make contact lenses to my prescription, so I’m stuck with these.”
“Well I think they look great, just like Joanna Harrison who reads the news on telly, I’m sure that sales of women’s specs must have rocketed since she’s been on.“
“That’s what Jane told me,” I said. “I’m a bag of nerves; what will everyone say?”
“The announcement went out last week and we had a steady flow of questions. Maddy just said, “What took her so long?” A few of the men reckon you’re mad to give up all the ‘benefits of manhood’ — yeah, right! We all know we’re the superior sex, don’t we?” She laughed. “Sarah wanted to know which toilet you would use. Some, both men and women, wanted to know if you had a boyfriend already; I told them to mind their own business. Freddie from IT Security asked if I could get him a date with you. Yeah, really!
“Greg has been great, with only favourable comments. I reckon you’ll have to run the gauntlet today and then it should quickly tail off as people see that you’re quite normal; you know, don’t have two heads and don’t eat children; that sort of thing.”
I laughed. “Thank you both,” I said, sincerely, as we walked to my desk. “I can’t get over how easy this seems to have been so far: I worry that something will rear up and bite me to bring me down off cloud nine.”
“Don’t you worry, love, Jill and I will look after you.”
Just then Greg emerged from the lift and did a double take.
“Jenny?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“The very same,” I answered, smiling.
“Wow! You look hot, as they say.”
I bobbed him a little curtsey. “Well, thank you kind sir, I do my best.”
He laughed. “Your photo doesn’t do you justice. Anyway, welcome aboard. Oh, Celia tells me that you have a girlfriend.”
“Yes, kind of spoils the image a bit, doesn’t it?”
“Oh, don’t worry about it; at least you won’t be competing for the attentions of the men. When they get over their disappointment… not that I’m interested, of course; Andy would give me hell!” He chuckled as he walked into his office. On the way in, he called over his shoulder, “Oh, Jenny, would you come in for a minute, please?”
I hung my jacket in the cupboard near the lift, put my bag into my desk drawer and then walked into his office, closing the door behind me.
“Jenny, I expect that Celia has already filled you in a little on events last week. There were no major problems; Sue Fuller was running the show, so no one put a foot wrong. I’ll leave a message for her that you’re in, as I’m sure that she’ll want to see you. Meanwhile, as usual, no one covered for you while you were away last week so there’s quite a lot of work in your Inbox. Normal rules apply: you earn your leave before you take it and then pay for it again when you return. I’m sure that you just want to get stuck in as soon as possible and get on with the job.”
I laughed at his comment about the rules of annual leave and stood up. “Thanks, Greg, I’ll wait for a call from Mrs Fuller; meanwhile I’ll just carry on.”
“See you later,” he said, grinning.
“Thanks for all your help, I really appreciate it,” I said as I turned to go.
“And you really have made it easy for us by looking so good. Your appearance just shouts ‘professional woman’ and only does you credit. Mind you, I’d have expected nothing less, knowing you.”
I left the office and walked slowly back to my desk.
Celia came over to me and whispered, “Is Greg gay?
“I don’t suppose he’d deny it if asked a direct question.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Neither did I until recently, when I found out. It doesn’t matter to me anyway; I’m not interested. Greg’s not my type.”
“And your type is?”
“You know very well who she is!” I smiled and walked to my desk.
All morning, people either came up to speak to me or glanced over to where I was sitting. I often felt eyes upon me even when I had my head down, concentrating on a complex task. Jill and Maddy paid me a visit and made enthusiastic comments about my appearance and courage. I again thanked Jill for all her help during the previous week and at other times. She just welcomed me back to the office and insisted that I join Celia and her for lunch. I gratefully accepted.
“I don’t know how you managed to bottle it up for so long, it must have been hell,” Maddy said, perceptively.
“Yes, it was. Now all I have to do is calm down a bit, get on with my work and prove that I am at least as good as I was before, if not better.”
They laughed and returned to their desks. They all knew that a woman usually had to be much better at her job to be in the same grade as a man. And as for promotion…
It was very strange to begin with: everything felt so new and awkward but I soon settled down and settled into a routine. Indeed, without the distraction of the gender problem, I became so immersed in my work that the end of the afternoon came much earlier than I was anticipating. And the amount of work that I had achieved was truly amazing, making serious inroads into the backlog caused by my absence. I’d received a call from Sue Fuller just after lunch, so I made my way to the seventh floor.
“Hello, Jenny. “Melanie greeted me. “My, but you look good. Congratulations on being brave enough to go ahead with this move.”
“Brave? Maybe. Desperate? Yes indeed.”
I received the same greeting from Sue Fuller who just smiled, and patted the chair next to her. I sat, crossed my legs, and smiled right back.
“Greg rang me this morning to tell me that you’d arrived. And I was right; I said the week before last that you’d walk in here like you’ve been doing it all your life. You look so comfortable and natural sitting there.”
“Well, I suppose that today does constitute all my working life anyway.”
She smiled and gave me copies of the new Transgender Policy and Sexuality Policy to review. “A copy of the Sexuality Policy has already been vetted by the Government’s Women and Equality Unit. I’ll send both documents to the main Transgender campaigning groups for their comments. Yes, I’ve done my homework so I know who they are.”
“I’m very impressed.”
“Well, getting it right is a lot less trouble and causes us fewer problems than getting it wrong; the latter just isn’t worth it. And I’m not telling you who has already tested the Sexuality Policy.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to do so; I would be deeply offended if my situation were discussed with anyone else. Although I do know one other person who is gay; I only found that out recently because he told me.”
“Well, when we say ‘private and confidential’, that’s just what we mean. As I’ve said before, the firm is very strict about such things and my job and my future would both be in jeopardy if there was a hint of information going astray. By the way, did you have any trouble with security this morning?”
“No: I showed Jimmy the letter which you sent me; he took a new photo and gave me a new pass. He didn’t say a word.”
“I wouldn’t expect him to say anything: Jimmy has been here a long time and there’s very little that he hasn’t seen or that escapes his notice. He has never been known to divulge a confidence, though.”
Back at my desk, I surveyed the contents of my Inbox and Outbox and felt that, for the first time in simply ages, I really was earning my salary. Clearly, there were issues to be addressed: inevitably someone might take exception to my change; I fully expected at some time to be the butt of some cruel joke or other and there was, of course, my father to deal with.
Still, all that could wait until tomorrow. For today, I was on a definite high and I felt that nobody could knock me off it.
It’s as well I’m not clairvoyant.
“How did it go?” Jane asked when she telephoned later that evening. She was unable to visit as she was away on a course.
“Very well,” I answered, “To be truthful, I can’t get over how great it was, at least for the first day back.”
“I think you’re just being a bit pessimistic, I told you they’d love you.”
“Well, I think I’d like to see how things are after a few weeks before I feel completely relaxed.”
“And what will you do if things start to turn nasty?”
“I…I don’t know. Maybe it won’t come to that.”
“I’ll see you on Friday evening. I’m away just now but that’s the job. If you have any problems, though, you ring my mobile phone straight away, do you hear?
“Yes Miss,” I replied.
“No, I mean it. I’ll not have my girl given a hard time. I’ll ring when I can. Love you lots.”
“Okay, love you more, bye.” I hung up the phone and sat down for a moment before going to cook my dinner. I contemplated all that had happened that day and felt that I at least had the support of the other girls in the office, Greg and Mrs Fuller and, of course, my darling Jane. That was something.
3rd July was the start of the Tour de France; many would call it the highlight of the world cycle racing calendar. I knew of Jane’s interest in the race and made sure that I had plenty of videotapes available for the days, over the next few weeks, that Jane would be unable to watch. While I’d previously had no interest in sport, I decided to watch the race so that Jane and I had something else to talk about when we met.
As the beautiful French countryside unfolded before the cameras, and the excitement of the race increased, I became inexplicably drawn to the sport and could see its appeal. When Jane was able to be with me, I really settled into the hostess role, planning the drinks and snacks so as not to miss the action on the television. The race calendar, unfortunately, coincided with a period of intense activity for Jane and she was grateful for the opportunity to catch up on the daily highlights that I had recorded.
I felt that I’d been doing this all my life instead of just a few short weeks. Work seemed to be so much easier and many people greeted me as though they had been doing it for years. My bond with the other girls grew from strength to strength: coffees; lunches; chats; sharing makeup and clothing tips; little shopping trips; I continued to be amazed at the seemingly total acceptance by everyone. My relationship with my colleagues, including Greg, just seemed more natural and much less strained than before. As I became more and more at ease, my work output increased.
Towards the end of the third week, Greg called me into his office and reminded me of a big expenditure analysis that took me two very long days. The Finance Director thanked us for our work on an urgent project. I was a little embarrassed as I was singled out for special mention.
“Well, that’s a brownie point for us both at the next performance appraisal; you for doing the work and me for being clever enough to employ you in the first place.” He punched the air as though he’d just won the Olympics, and shouted “Yeah!”
“Thanks, Greg, I feel so much more relaxed these days and, apart from the remaining procedures which I have to go through, I feel great.”
“Well, keep that up and you should receive a decent bonus next year.”
“Thanks again, I really appreciate that. When I think that I was very worried that I wouldn’t even have a job after all this,” I waved my hand to indicate what I was wearing, “And now I seem to be floating on air, I sometimes can’t quite believe it.”
“Believe it, girl, you’re doing fine.”
Greg had always been a good manager, and a fair one. I walked out with my head held high.
I was looking forward to the weekend. Jane had been away on a course and I missed her terribly. Although we kept in touch by telephone, it just wasn’t the same. And so, when the Friday evening came around, I was really excited.
I had warned Jane not to eat much at lunchtime as I was cooking dinner. I decided on roast beef with all the trimmings; Yorkshire pudding, roast and boiled potatoes, carrots and several green vegetables. Having put the beef in to cook and prepared the vegetables, I went to bathe and change.
I poured in a generous measure of bath oil and checked for any hairs that didn’t belong. Afterwards, I patted myself dry, creamed and powdered my body and washed and dried my auburn hair, brushing it until it shone. It seemed to be getting longer by the week, although it was wishful thinking; hair just doesn’t grow that quickly. But David really had done a wonderful job and it would grow out nicely into a very attractive style that framed my face; it had a natural wave that seemed to give it some extra body.
I applied my makeup and then looked through my wardrobe for something to wear. “Tonight might be a good opportunity to debut my Little Black Dress,” I mused, taking it from the hanger.
Finally, in the kitchen, I put on my apron and started to prepare the Yorkshire pudding and vegetables. The Yorkshire pudding needed a hotter oven than the beef and I was again glad that I’d paid the extra money that my double-oven cooker had cost.
Jane arrived to find the dinner well under way. She greeted me with her usual kiss and a cuddle and held me at arm’s length for a few seconds.
“Yes, that dress is so definitely you,” then, “I’m just going for a shower and change into something less work-like.” She disappeared into the second bedroom, where she had taken to keeping some of her off-duty clothes and accessories. She emerged later, obviously on a mission. I heard her muttering something about making up for lost time as she headed in my direction. She grabbed me around the waist and started nibbling my ear.
“You are insatiable,” I laughed and, turning around, flung my arms around her neck. She was wearing a red dress that covered very little of her body and showed off her wonderful long legs. With her gold jewellery and red medium-heeled sandals, she looked scrumptious.
She stopped her nuzzling only long enough to ask, “Are you complaining?”
As if I would
“Of course I’m not complaining, I’m merely stating a fact.”
We stood as closely as two people could co-exist in the same space and only reluctantly parted when the potatoes began to show signs of boiling over.
“Bugger,” she said, letting go of my waist.
“No thanks,” I replied as I attended to the cooker. She slapped me on the backside and I giggled as I dealt with the offending saucepan. I turned back to Jane, resuming my hold on her neck.
“I’ve missed you so much,” I admitted.
“So have I,” Jane asserted, “missed you, that is. I confess to having had acute withdrawal symptoms over the past few weeks.”
She took the opportunity to open the bottle of red wine that she had brought and, having set the table and put out wine glasses, put the bottle on the table so that it could breathe.
“I’ve something to tell you after dinner,” she said, seriously.
I gave her a little half-smile; the way that she said it worried me.
Dinner was very pleasant and Jane remarked that it was great to be back to home cooking after a couple of weeks away. “The food on the course was quite passable; I’d pass it to Ruth, who’d pass it to Colin, who’d scrape it into a bin. We survived mainly on sandwiches. On the last evening, we all sent out for a Chinese takeaway.”
We spent a pleasant hour or so catching up on the events of the past two weeks and, by then I could hold my curiosity no longer.
“Okay then, what’s your news?”
“Meet Detective Sergeant Jane Dyson.”
I don’t think I’d ever moved so fast. I let out a delighted squeal and was around the table like a squirrel, showering Jane with kisses. “Oh how wonderful! Was this what the course was about? Why didn’t you let me know what was going on?”
“I might not have had quite that reaction if I did,” she joked, not really believing it for a minute. “Anyway, I had to pass an exam at the end of the course.”
“Wow! Do you stay in the area or what?”
“Well, I really have to move as there isn’t a vacancy here.”
My face fell and my stomach suddenly felt hollow. I asked timidly, “H…How far away will you have to go?”
“Oh, about ten miles, I should think.”
I breathed a sigh of relief, mixed with exasperation, mixed with something I couldn’t put a name to. “Jane Dyson, I’m sure that you get some devious pleasure from winding me up. I give you fair warning; when we’ve washed up the dinner things, I’m going to exact my revenge.”
“Oh, I can hardly wait. Why don’t you invest in a dishwasher?”
“Firstly, because I’ve not needed one before; there’s only been me to cater for, as you well know. And, secondly, where am I to put it in that kitchen?”
“I wasn’t thinking of that kitchen.”
“You are a sneaky bitch; what are you up to now?”
“Oh, just some forward planning.”
“Hmm, I’m not sure I want to know.”
“Oh, believe me; you do really want to know.”
“Go on then, oh great and mighty detective, what’s on that tricky mind of yours this time?” then I hastily added, “Other than taking off all our clothes.”
“Well, that’s always my opening gambit. I thought that, maybe, we might get something with a patio or balcony. I rather fancy the idea of sitting, watching the sunset and guzzling a Pina Colada brought to me by my favourite accountant.”
That definitely earned her a tickling match, which she easily won by superior knowledge of ways of rendering me completely helpless. Once all the dinner things had been cleared away, the washing up done, and we were snuggled up together, I said, conspiratorially, “I had a telephone call at work today.”
“From?”
“The Gender Clinic.”
“WHAT? Why didn’t you say earlier?”
“Well, we did get rather side-tracked.”
“I’d have thought it more important than my promotion.”
“Oh, I don’t know so much; it is quite an honour being the girlfriend of a female Poirot (Agatha Christie’s fictional Belgian detective). Anyway, it’s been two months since we saw Judy Davenport and I’d about given up hope of an early appointment. Then the clinic rang today to offer me a cancellation and could I go next Thursday? Naturally, I turned that down as it was such short notice.”
“Why don’t I believe you?” Jane enquired, turning on me with hands ready for tickling or fondling, she hadn’t decided which.
“Hmm, I’d never make a good criminal, you’d see through me straight away.”
“That’s one of your most endearing charms,” she said, deliberately misquoting an Irish folk song.
That started another round of giggling, which rapidly turned into a ‘making up for lost time’ episode, which inevitably led us to the bedroom ….
Much later, Jane said, “I’ll take a day’s leave; what time is your appointment?”
“There’s really no need and, anyway, from what I’ve read, it pays to be seen as heterosexual. I won’t mention my sexuality. I will just say that, as a male, I was asexual.”
“I still don’t see that another woman couldn’t accompany you; at least they’d see that you are able to relate to another woman as a friend — and yes, I promise to keep my hands to myself for as long as necessary.”
I sighed. “I give in. The appointment is at eleven o’clock.”
“Good, that gives us plenty of time to get there by train and tube; and I think that somewhere nice for lunch is called for.”
Saturday and Sunday were spent in totally unproductive idleness.
This was the final weekend of the Tour de France. Saturday morning found us shopping in Southampton. The most money we spent was in a coffee shop, but we had a wonderful time trying on various items of clothing, some more erotic than others.
Later, back home in front of the television, I silently (or maybe not) sat contemplating my newly found interest in cycle sport or, at least, one aspect of it. I felt such contentment as I cuddled into my beloved and watched all the action on the screen in front of us.
Sunday was the final day of the Tour de France and we were looking forward to the televised coverage. I had set the video recorder to capture the whole day’s action so that we could review it at leisure, and we were glued to the screen for virtually the whole day. I had planned a chicken casserole which we could eat whenever we felt like it, which I thought might well coincide with a suitable gap in the programming. We didn’t move much from the settee as the tension mounted. There was much shouting and cheering in the room when the winner was announced, and I certainly shed a tear when the race was over
As I worked flexitime, I was able to leave work early on the Wednesday for an appointment with the beautician and hairdresser. It had been about six weeks since I was last there and I really needed a trim. Gaynor also did her usual and I told her all that had happened over the past few weeks, including my work, my mum’s visit and Jane’s promotion.
Then it was off upstairs where David complimented me on my appearance as he trimmed my hair. I felt that the clinic couldn’t fault my appearance. I had, after all, just spent the best part of a hundred pounds in the salon and hoped that they would appreciate it. At least, I mused, there was a certain special someone who would definitely appreciate it.
Jane arrived early on the Thursday. She kissed me and then went off in search of breakfast ingredients, before we left for the railway station and the journey to London.
I was again surprised when she purchased two first class tickets; when the train arrived, she led me to a virtually empty carriage.
She just smiled at my expression and simply said, “Nothing but the best for my girlfriend.”
It’s just like last month
It promised to be a very warm day so I had chosen to wear a pale blue sundress with a pattern of small white flowers; I’d read that the clinic didn’t like it if you wore trousers or shorts. Jeans were a definite ‘no-no’. Jane wore a lavender strappy top with a white cotton skirt. Both of us had low-heeled wedge sandals in deference to the amount of walking that we intended to do. London rarely lost its stuffy and sticky atmosphere, particularly in the height of summer, so comfort was all-important.
The Glendale Clinic was a modern building occupying three floors. It had moved out of the main hospital a few years ago as the latter had needed the space. It boasted up-to-date facilities including wheelchair access to all areas, a very good coffee shop, a kiosk selling everything from newspapers to ‘sandwiches to go’ and a very pleasant little secluded garden where you could wait for your appointment, meet with friends, take some refreshment or simply relax in the sun - when there was any to be seen.
The doctor was running a little late, but finally called for me to go in; I was relieved that he hadn’t called for John. He wanted to see me alone, so Jane said that she would buy a magazine and sit in the garden; I thought that I might be about an hour.
Ian Stalbridge was in his late 50’s, balding, slightly running to fat and wore spectacles. He was dressed in a three-piece suit; it must have been uncomfortable at that time of year. He had a habit of resting his spectacles halfway down his nose and peering over the top of them when addressing other people.
“Good morning,” he greeted me and offered me a seat. “I have here the referral letter from Doctor Davenport. Now, you have probably read all sorts of things and heard all sorts of rumours about how we work here; how we make you jump through hoops and keep you waiting forever for anything that even smells like progress. Well, we don’t work that way: I’d like to think that you and I are partners in a quest to find the ideal way forward for you. It’s my job to help you to do that and I would obviously be very grateful if you could do your part and be totally honest with me.”
Bullshit
“That’s just what I want,” I responded, carefully. “I’ve read some horror stories but it’s clear that some people have been the authors of their own misfortune.”
Perhaps I should try politics; say a lot but tell them nothing
“Quite so. Now, please tell me all about yourself, your feelings and where you would like to go with this.”
Starting with early childhood, I outlined all the significant events of my life so far. I didn’t tell him about the hormones that I had taken, nor did I tell him about the nature of the relationship with Jane. I did, however, mention that my friend Jane had effectively brought me out of the closet. I also mentioned that I was now legally Jenny and that I was living and working full-time in role.
“That’s impressive,” Doctor Stalbridge said, “Few people get anywhere near that in five months, it usually takes much longer. Tell me, what do you use for breasts?”
He must have noticed me wince at his direct and insensitive question. However, I composed myself and replied, “I recently visited a shop in London and was fitted for a pair of stick-on breast forms although I will obviously be much happier when I have more of my own. Since my late teens, I’ve been a bit fleshy up top and I’m hoping to see an endocrinologist soon to find out why my body doesn’t seem to have produced much testosterone, not that I’ve ever wanted the stuff anyway.”
“I must admit that you do look good and that has to be a factor in your favour. Tell me about your sexual orientation.”
“I’ve thought about this quite a lot,” I replied, trying not to tell lies but not wanting to tell the whole truth. “When in the male role, I had no feelings for men whatsoever, other than disgust and not a little hatred for those who bullied me, and the only feelings I had for other women were ones of jealousy. Now, I’m not sure. I think it’s just too early to tell.”
“Maybe it will become clearer when you start hormones.”
I perked up at this and smiled.
“Would you like to start hormones?” he asked.
“Yes, that would be wonderful. Then my body should hopefully finish aligning itself to that which my mind says I am and always have been.”
“We don’t prescribe hormones on the first visit; this is just an exploratory talk to assess you and work out how we can help you.”
My face clearly showed my disappointment but I asked, with false brightness, “Can I arrange a follow-up appointment?”
“Not yet. We, that is, my colleagues and I discuss your case and then ask you to come back, perhaps in a few months.”
“Oh.”
“That’s not what you wanted to hear, was it?”
“I thought that, as I had transitioned, have a job and my hormones are all over the place, that I could start on a proper dose of hormones soon and have corrective surgery as soon as possible.”
He said, “I obviously can’t make any promises. I’ll give you an explanatory leaflet, which sets out our requirements and our best guess as to a probable timetable, and we’ll see you in a few months. There are four of us in the team and you might not see me next time.”
I hope not; he seems to be a control freak with an over-inflated ego. He’s probably got a small willy and is trying to compensate for it. He’s also about as tactful as a hungry mosquito.
We stood; he showed me to the door and made to placate me.
“Don’t get despondent. These things take time and there’s a very good reason for that. We don’t want any mistakes: you think you know what you want, but we have to be convinced. And mistakes can cause a lifetime of unhappiness.”
So you’ve completely ignored the blood test results
I had been in the consulting room for almost an hour and emerged to find Jane waiting. By the look on my face, she knew that someone else had stamped on the brake pedal. We had lunch and travelled home in silence; Jane knew that I was absorbed in my own thoughts and disappointment over the outcome of the meeting so just kept me company and took my hand at every opportunity.
Saturday and Sunday were again spent in unproductive idleness. I’d managed to shake off much of the gloom I felt after my visit to the clinic so, on Saturday morning, we went to Southampton for the shopping. We purchased only coffees and lunches but had a wonderful time trying on various items of clothing - again, some more erotic than others.
Then, in the afternoon, we went to the cinema. It was the first time for several years that I had been to see a movie, and the first time with Jane. She naturally wanted to sit in the back row but I tactfully reminded her of my sight problem and that we would get a better view around the centre.
“If I had my way, you wouldn’t be seeing much of the film,” Jane said with a smile.
“Do you like salt in your tea?” I asked, playfully.
“Spoilsport,” she said, reluctantly.
We did enjoy the film, a romantic comedy. I linked arms with her for most of the performance and thoroughly enjoyed the experience.
August 2004
I went into work on the Monday morning and took with me a selection of cakes that I’d purchased on the way. This was by way of a celebration for my new life, and the first month of my new working life. I was surprised and relieved that everyone had appeared so accepting and, after wandering around the office inviting everyone to participate in my happiness I walked over to my desk and sorted through the post. I found an envelope on it addressed to John Smith. Without thinking I picked it up and opened it. A folded piece of paper fell out.
“YOU THOUGHT YOU’D GOT AWAY WITH IT? SO THE PERVERT THINKS HE CAN INVADE THE LADIES TOILET BY WEARING A SKIRT? WRONG!”
End of part 12
Secrets
By Susan Heywood
John finds the body of a neighbour who has been murdered. The police detective assigned to the case deduces that John hides a secret - but the detective has secrets of her own.
Part 13 of 25 — Rejection Escalates
It had obviously been printed on an inkjet printer and I shook as I realised that it could have been there all weekend. I collapsed onto my chair and dissolved into tears.
Celia looked over at me and her smile rapidly turned to a frown. She rushed over and I just shoved the paper at her. “SHIT!” She shouted and, looking as though she was ready to kill someone, she headed straight for Greg’s office.
I was still sobbing when they both arrived at my desk a few moments later. Greg looked at the letter, then grabbed my phone and keyed a number.
“Hello Mel, its Greg Barnes. Someone’s left a hate letter on Jenny Smith’s desk. Can you please let Sue know and also alert security,” He put the phone down and looked at me.
“I don’t think you’ll be staying here this morning; I’ll see if I can get Jane to come and take you home. This is serious and we’re going to get to the bottom of it. It might just be a prank but I don’t think so; I’ll not have hate mail in my office. I thought I might be targeted but perhaps I keep a low enough profile.”
Sue Fuller and the security manager, Jimmy Hines, appeared a couple of minutes later and Greg showed them the letter. Sue Fuller’s face darkened as she read it; she turned to Jim and said,
“I want him or her caught, and quickly. Report it to the police and tell them that someone’s distributing hate mail. I’ll try to get hold of Jane Dyson; I can imagine what she’ll have to say about this.”
She stormed off towards the lift, rapidly followed by Jimmy, who called over his shoulder, “Don’t nobody touch nuffink.” Jimmy had been a military policeman and it was rumoured that nothing escaped his attention, even if it happened on the other side of a solid wall. He was back a few minutes later with a packet, from which he took a pair of surgical gloves. He put the letter and the envelope into a plastic bag and returned to the lift.
Greg, who had been standing watching all this, gently helped me out of my chair and over to his office to await the inevitable visit by the police.
I collapsed into a chair; Celia sat beside me and hugged me. I cried and kept wailing, “Why me? What have I done?” I just wanted my Jane to come and put her arms around me and tell me that everything would be all right. The trouble was that I knew, deep down, that everything wasn’t all right.
They’d managed to contact Jane and let her know the situation. As expected, she was very angry and, just over an hour later, she escorted me from the premises. Two other police officers had arrived and taken statements from me, Celia, Greg, Sue Fuller and Jimmy Hines.
Jane cooked a small meal for us both that evening but I couldn’t manage it. Whenever one bout of crying ended, another began. She cuddled me on the settee.
“Do you want to stay home tomorrow? I could finish at lunchtime.”
“No, I’m not giving in or the bastard will think he’s won.” I got very angry and at one point was looking around for something to smash, just to get the tension out of my body. I didn’t sleep at all well and woke in the morning totally washed out.
I didn’t know it then but that letter was just the beginning. Things were going to get much nastier.
I returned to work on the Tuesday morning. No rotten letter was going to keep me away from work. That Sword of Damocles would still be hanging over me and my life would effectively be on hold or in decline until the perpetrator was caught. I was not naíve enough to believe that this couldn’t happen but I’d be damned if I’d let it ruin my future. In addition, Jane had invested time and effort in trying to resolve it and I felt that I’d be letting her down if I just caved in without a fight. Maybe I was starting to learn that I could face my demons.
Nothing happened for the rest of the week — despite my trepidation when I approached my desk - but I spent an anxious and totally unproductive weekend just awaiting the Monday morning. I did nothing; cooked nothing; eat little and watched no television. If Jane hadn’t been there to look after me, I’d have probably walked under a bus.
Again, on the Monday morning, there was a letter addressed to John Smith.
Oh shit
I didn’t touch it but immediately called security and Greg.
Jimmy opened the envelope with plastic gloved hands and read,
“YOU SICK PERVERT, YOU HAVEN’T REPENTED. NOW GOD WILL PUNISH; YOU WILL BURN IN THE FIRES OF HELL.”
After calming me down, Celia, Greg and I returned to our desks. I wondered what was meant by “God will punish.” I found out that afternoon.
Jane was going to try and come home early that day. At about five o’clock, I rang both home and her mobile number to see if she’d arrived, but got no reply. I sighed, packed up my desk and headed for the lift. There were a few people left in the office and I glanced at Jill, who was working late, and gave her a finger wave as I passed her desk. I emerged at the ground floor, said goodnight to Joe, the duty security officer, and made my way to the exit. The main exit to our building consisted of two sets of double sliding doors that parted as you approached them. I’d just walked through the outer set when there was a bright flash and someone shoved a microphone under my nose. I tried to push past the man but he kept dodging in front of me.
“You’re the tranny that’s stalking women in the office, aren’t you? You might as well give us an interview, mate. We’ll only make it up otherwise,” he said with an evil grin.
I said nothing and eventually managed to push past him; I started to walk as briskly as I could away from the building, but he followed me and kept dodging in front of me with that wretched microphone. I eventually returned to the office - I dread to think what Joe would have done had the reporter tried to follow me. I’ve heard of a brick shithouse; Joe was like a brick shithouse and a half.
I telephoned for a taxi and eventually made it home. Jane had been held up at work and found me in the living room bawling like a baby. In between sobs, I told her what had happened and, needless to say, she was very angry. She asked me to describe the reporter, which I did. She then called the local paper and demanded to speak to a member of management.
“This is Detective Sergeant Jane Dyson. One of your reporters - from the description it sounded like Simon Grieves - and a photographer today harassed my friend Jennifer Smith as she was leaving work at the council offices. This is to let you know that the calls to your office were fuelled by hate and malicious intent. If I see anything in a newspaper, especially yours, or hear of the matter from any other source, then I will not hesitate to sue John Grieves, you, your owner and everyone involved for every penny I can get. I am sure that you understand the meaning of the words slander and libel.” With that, she slammed down the ‘phone.
She held me as I dissolved into floods of tears; they were partly because of the incident, but mainly because of the fact that Jane was supporting me.
Another week went by. I’d been anxious all week and I’m sure that my work suffered as a result On the Monday morning, there was again a letter addressed to John Smith. I called Jimmy, who opened it with gloved hands.
“YOU GOT AWAY WITH THE LAST ONE, YOU PERVERT, THANKS TO YOUR SICK POLICEWOMAN FRIEND. YOUR LUCK HAS FINALLY RUN OUT. IT’S TIME TO RID THE WORLD OF SCUM LIKE YOU.”
Although I watched for signs of opposition, nothing happened for the remainder of that day; Jane finished early and collected me. On Tuesday, after lunch - I usually just had a sandwich and coffee, and had my main meal with Jane in the evening — I went to the ladies’ room. I sipped my drink as I worked, but found myself quickly growing more tired. I quickly fell into a deep sleep.
The next thing I knew was when I woke in the hospital. I had a pounding headache and pains in my throat and stomach. Jane was sitting, dozing in a chair alongside the bed and a nurse was standing over me. “Oh good; you’ve come round. I’ll get the doctor.”
I tried to speak but nothing came out; my throat and chest ached. I was so tired. I quickly drifted off to sleep again.
The next time I woke, they’d removed all the tubes. I managed to croak out, “W…water.” After two sips, I fell asleep yet again.
Eventually I could stay awake long enough to ask, “W...what happened? W…where am I?”
The nurse answered. “You’re in the County Hospital. Do you remember anything?”
“No; it’s all quite hazy.”
“We reckon that your coffee was poisoned; the paramedics had to pump you out as an emergency. I understand that Celia, your section leader, heard a ‘thump’ as you fell off your chair and onto the floor. She phoned for an ambulance.”
“Poisoned? Why? When? H…how did it happen?”
“That’s something that the police, including Detective Sergeant Dyson here, are looking into. Now, just rest: you’ve had a shock to the system.”
I went home two days later and was amazed to learn that I’d been in hospital two days before that. I returned to work on the Monday, a couple of weeks later, determined to resume my life in as normal a way as soon as possible. At least there was no envelope on my desk. I tried to be as nonchalant as I could but I wasn’t fooling anyone. I received sympathetic smiles from Celia, Jill and Maddy. I hadn’t been at my desk for long when Greg called me. Celia followed me in and closed the door behind us.
“Come in, Jenny, have a seat. How are you?”
“Shaken. They told me at the hospital what happened. I don’t understand.”
Greg said, “Did you know that we have a call logger attached to the telephone system?”
Celia nodded, but I was puzzled. I had no idea what he was talking about.
Greg continued, “We did a quick check on calls to the local paper and other places over the last few weeks. Most of the calls were traced to Maddy’s phone.”
I protested. “But Maddy has been so supportive; please tell me that it wasn’t her.” I then dissolved into a flood of tears. As Greg picked up his phone, I screamed “NOOOOO!” and fainted. I woke in the armchair in Greg’s office.
Celia insisted that she take me home; I was shaking so much that I just nodded.
Just before Celia led me out, Greg said, “The call logger identified the calls as being made from Maddy’s phone. Last week, after the second letter, the smoke detector near your desk was temporarily replaced — with a camera. We know who put the letters on your desk and poisoned your coffee — in fact, we’ve film of the culprit. She’s under arrest for making threats, distributing hate mail and attempted murder — after all, she did poison your coffee. I doubt she’ll be able to deny it in the light of the evidence. You should have heard her cursing and swearing; for a so-called Christian, she certainly showed that love had to be on her terms.”
“Attempted murder? She? Please tell me it wasn’t Maddy.”
“It was an unknown quantity of an unknown drug, the results of which are unpredictable; that’s attempted murder. And no, it wasn’t Maddy; she wasn’t even in the office when the calls were made. It was Sarah.”
I hadn’t noticed, when I arrived for work, that Sarah wasn’t in the office. I asked, “How did I upset Sarah? We hardly know each other.”
“It seems that you are an abomination.”
“Oh my God!”
“No, her God.”
“But why?”
“Because you dared to be different from her idea of normal. I’ve met her kind before. If you tick all their boxes, that’s fine; if not, they love you on their terms, and often attempt to cure you by prayer, counselling and brainwashing. If that doesn’t work, they either give up or, more likely, take more drastic action.”
I shook my head. How could someone I barely knew hate me so much? “But I didn’t ask for this! It was her bloody God that got it wrong in the first place! Anyway, I don’t understand. Why did you … Maddy? Earlier?”
“The calls were made from her ‘phone but, as I said, we know that she didn’t make them. We’ve witnesses to prove that Maddy wasn’t even in the office when the calls were made. We’ve enough film of Sarah to make a cast iron case.”
There was no further mention of the incident and Janet was eventually recruited to take Sarah’s place. Sarah was charged as Greg said — she was still protesting that it was “An order from God” as she was led away to prison - and life returned to something approaching normal. I still shiver, though, when I think about that event.
It had been three weeks since I’d visited the London clinic and I had a follow-up appointment with Judy Davenport that morning. She’d just been to Spain for some sun, sea and sand. Certainly, she displayed a super tan.
I had arrived alone; I was dressed for the office as I was going straight to work after my appointment.
“Hello Jenny, you’re looking well; and very smart too, if I may say so. I’ve heard from the London clinic; they seem quite impressed with you and consider you a suitable case for treatment. Perhaps I shouldn’t tell you that but they didn’t say not to, so I have.”
“I’m a bit disappointed,” I confessed, “I had hoped to make faster progress now I’ve transitioned, and especially as I’ve a job, but Ian Stalbridge said I’d have to wait several months while they discuss my case. Why do they need to do that? Why should it take so long? And is he just being pig-headed?”
“That was the first time that they met you.” She put up her hand to silence my protest. “Please, hear me out. That was the first opportunity that they had to assess you and I accept that Ian Stalbridge seems like he isn’t the most tactful of people. Yes, you look very good as a woman, you probably made a very unconvincing man, and they have my letter but I can understand that they would like to get to know you and see some consistency.”
“Why should it take several months? And there are my blood test results and my body shape; I couldn’t be male even if I wanted to be - which I don’t.”
“It may not take that long. And if it does, it may sound like a long time but let’s look upon it as an apprenticeship with them; they almost certainly want to know that you are serious and aren’t likely to back out for some reason. You and I both know that you won’t, but let’s just remember that it’s one of the few medical conditions where the doctor has to rely on what the patient tells him or her. And, as far as I’m aware, the GIC don’t do a physical examination.”
Her rather pointed remark had me shifting a little uncomfortably in my seat. Judy had learned from the blood test results that I had been using mild doses of hormones. We both knew that there were Gender Identity Clinics that would reject anyone who they’d known to take any such action.
“I’ll keep an eye on things to make sure that they don’t leave it an unreasonable time,” she promised, “but I think that you just have to be a little patient. Now, if you had the money to spare, I could send you down the private route and you could be all done and dusted within a year. After all, you did officially start your Real Life Experience on the first of June.”
“Okay; I’ll give them three months but no more. If there’s no progress by then, I’ll try to raise the money by taking out an extra mortgage on my apartment; it’ll take a substantial chunk of my income to pay it off and I’ll probably have to live on home-made soup for the foreseeable future, but I’ll do it.”
“I know you would, Jenny, you’re determined. But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that; you need every penny you can lay hands on.”
I hadn’t yet done anything about finding a new GP. I mentioned this to Judy.
“I suggest you write to the senior partner of your surgery. Enclose a copy of my letter to the GIC and ask if you can transfer to a more sympathetic doctor. If they don’t oblige, write to the patient liaison manager at your local PCT (Primary Care Trust) and tell them the score. I’d have thought that you’re entitled to a reasonable standard of treatment. I obviously can’t recommend anyone but there is one doctor at your surgery that is youngish and female. I’ve had good reports of her.”
I smiled my thanks and said that I would investigate further. I said goodbye and left for home, then the short walk to the office. I was determined that I wasn’t going to wait for ever for this to be resolved; after all, I had already waited over twenty years. Yes, I knew that there were many people who had no choice but to wait for treatment. There were many people who couldn’t have surgery or even hormones for medical reasons. I also knew that many people were alone, with no friends and no job and I felt very blessed. I returned to my car and drove home. I was wrapped up in my thoughts during the journey; I was lucky that I wasn’t involved in an accident. I stopped the car outside Coleridge House and got out. I was still preoccupied with thoughts of the new GP, my visit to Judy and paying for surgery that I didn’t notice the white Ford Fiesta pull into the car park behind me and stop close by. I wasn’t really aware of what was happening until Celia called to me.
“Jenny! I’ve just chased you halfway around the county.”
“Hello Celia,” I answered, somewhat puzzled, “What’s the problem? Why are you here?”
“I think you ought to sit down,” she said, gently.
I sat on the driver’s seat of her car, with an awful premonition of bad news. “W…what’s wrong?”
“There’s been an accident; it’s your father.”
“W…what happened?” I asked, timidly.
“Your Mother rang the office as she couldn’t get you on your mobile.”
I felt so stupid; I’d forgotten to switch it on that morning after leaving Judy Davenport.
Celia said, “Your dad fell off a ladder and cracked his head. He’s been carted off to hospital.”
“I must go up there,” I said, tearfully.
“Now you sit still for a minute, Jane’s on her way here.”
“You called Jane?” I asked, wondering how Celia knew the number.
“Of course I did, I just called Police Headquarters and asked them to give her an urgent message.”
“Thanks ever so much. I’d better ring my mother.” I turned on my phone and speed-dialled the numbers for her home and mobile. There was no reply to either so I just left messages. “Would you like a coffee? Have you time while Jane gets here?” I asked.
“Ever the practical one, even in a crisis. Yes please.”
We went up to my flat, where Celia told me to sit down while she made the drinks. She then called Greg.
When he answered, she told him that I’d just got home and that she’d stay until Jane arrived. She listened for a minute, then handed the phone to me and said, “Greg wants a word”.
I took the phone and listened for a few moments, then said, “I don’t know any more yet, I’ve tried to call my mother but both the house phone and her mobile are just taking messages, so I assume that she is at the hospital with my father.”
~ You should go up there. I’ll have a word with Sue Fuller and we’ll put you on compassionate leave. Just keep me posted as to what’s going on, would you? ~
“Thanks Greg, that’s so kind of you and one less worry for me.”
~ No problem. We’re a family, alright? ~
I was near to tears when I ended the call. I was still in shock and I felt very humble; everyone was supportive and caring and I was so grateful to have such wonderful friends and colleagues.
Just then, Jane arrived, greeted Celia and hugged and kissed me. “I’m so sorry, what’s the latest?”
I just held onto her and cried. Eventually, I composed myself enough to say, “I don’t know; I’ve tried to phone Mummy but got no reply. She may be at the hospital.”
Celia drank her coffee, went into the kitchen, poured tea for Jane and me, gave us both a hug and told me to keep in touch. She let herself out, knowing that I was now being well cared for. Just then my mobile rang.
“MUMMY! What’s happened?”
My mother related the events of the day. My father was fixing a piece of wood to the frame over a doorway and missed his footing on the ladder. He fell and hit his head and his friends immediately called for an ambulance. He was rushed into hospital with possible concussion. My mother was distraught.
~ It’s all my fault! If I hadn’t suggested the idea he would never have been there and it would never have happened. He’d be here in front of the television. ~
She was sobbing, so I said, “Now stop that: it could easily have happened at home so I won’t have you blaming yourself. Look, I’ve had a word with my boss and I’m coming up to be with you. I’ll catch a train and get a taxi at the other end. I’ll ring when I’m nearly there.”
~ Oh you are a love, are you sure? ~
“Yes, of course I’m sure. Don’t worry; everything will be alright, you’ll see. Does Peter know?”
~ I’ve called and left a message but spent most of the day at the hospital ~
Pleased that my mother had called me, I said, “I’ll ring him again now, I’ll see you later.” With that, I hung up and called my brother. Geena answered. I told her of my father’s accident.
She promised to relay the details to Peter.
I hung up and turned to Jane. “I’ll just phone for some train times and be on my way as soon as possible.”
“No, you won’t.”
“What?”
“No, you won’t, I’ll drive you.”
“But you can’t take time off just like that,” I protested.
“I’m not letting you go alone, you’re upset, and you’re anxious about your father. You’re in no fit state to dash off nearly three hundred miles on a mercy mission. I thought you might need to go up there so I took some leave. Today’s Thursday; I’ve got the weekend off anyway so it’s only a couple of days. I’ll stop the night somewhere and come back in the morning.”
“If you drive me up there, you’ll stay with us. And please plan on more than one night, I need you.”
Jane smiled. “But won’t your mother mind?”
“I’m looking after Mummy, you’re looking after me and I’m looking after you. That’s fair.”
She went to the second bedroom and returned with a holdall. “Come on then, get your bag packed and we’ll get on the road. We should be there by late afternoon and you can visit him this evening.”
I had a sudden thought. “He might not want to see me.”
Jane responded, “If my daughter travelled half the length of the country to visit me after I’d had an accident, I’d want to see her.”
“Yes, but….” I was too busy to notice the expression on her face.
“Come on, let’s go; we’ll stop for fuel, sandwiches and drinks on the way.”
We arrived in Llandudno late in the afternoon. I called my mother to let her know we were nearly there.
~ Hello, darling, you just caught me, I’ve just got in from afternoon visiting; there’s another session from seven o’clock tonight. What do you mean; “we are just outside town”? ~
“Jane drove me up here. I know that you weren’t expecting her as well; she can stay with me, can’t she?”
There were a few moments of silence, which I felt as icy fingers crawling up my back.
~ Yes, I should think so ~
“Okay, see you soon.”
“Well?” asked Jane.
“As I said, you’re staying with us.”
“So your mother agreed?”
“I asked and she didn’t refuse. After having driven me all this way, it would have been churlish of her to insist that you stay in a hotel.”
We were greeted with hugs, and a kiss for me, when we arrived. My father was still unconscious when my mother had left him that afternoon: they’d done scans and so on at the hospital and, thank goodness, there was no fracture. They didn’t know if there was any brain damage, but they’d keep him in for at least a day or two anyway for observation. His age might have been against him; a younger man would probably recover more quickly. There was also the boxing he did in the navy; that might be a factor now that he’d suffered another blow to the head. The hospital promised to ring my mother at home should there be any change either way.
Jane asked, “Have you had anything to eat today?”
“Not much, only a sandwich; there doesn’t seem to have been time. And anyway, I’ve not really been feeling all that hungry.”
“Would you like a snack on the way to the hospital tonight?”
My mother sighed, “I’m really not bothered.”
I looked at her. “I’ll go and put the kettle on; we could all do with some tea at least.” While I was waiting for the kettle to boil, I rummaged in the fridge. I called out, “Mummy, do you fancy an omelette? At least you’ll have something to eat; it’s light and easy to digest and won’t take long to make.”
“Okay love, if you insist.”
“I do, I’m not having you passing out due to hunger. Jane?”
“I could get something while you two are visiting your father.”
“I’m not going to visit him,” I said, quietly, “I’ll come with you while Mummy’s in the hospital.”
My mother looked at me in amazement. “You’ve come all this way and you’re not even going to see him?”
I was silent for a moment, gathering my thoughts, and then answered, “He doesn’t want to know me. I can’t just spring a visit on him without forewarning him. No, I’ll wait until he regains full consciousness. If you tell him that I’m here and he wants to see me, then I’ll go in. But I came here to be with you. If my father wants to accept me, that’s fine. If not, then I’ll never bother him again.”
“Oh love….”
“No, I’ve made up my mind and that’s the way it must be. I’ll not impose on him when he’s just had an accident; it’s not fair to him.”
“I might have known,” mumbled Jane.
I changed the subject. “Mummy, are you driving to the hospital or taking a taxi?”
“Well,” she said, “Our car is playing up a bit at the moment; your father has it in the garage and is trying to find out what’s wrong. I was going to call for a taxi.”
“Can we drive Mummy to the hospital and collect her? Then we could go to a pub for something to eat?” I asked Jane as I turned to go to the kitchen.
“Okay,” Jane sighed.
When Ellen arrived at Bill’s bedside for the evening visiting, she was relieved to notice that he was conscious and seemed more aware of his surroundings. What was more important from her point of view was that he recognised her.
He smiled, weakly.
“Hello, love; I’ve been very silly by all accounts. I’ve been leaping up and down ladders all my life and never fallen off. Then I have to go and cause all this fuss, particularly when we’re supposed to be helping the elderly. At least they weren’t about when I fell; that would’ve given the old codgers heart attacks for sure.”
At least his short-term memory seemed to be intact. They talked for a while, discussing the circumstances of the accident, the diagnosis and treatment, the food, the surroundings, everything. Bill had regained consciousness after Ellen had left for the afternoon, and one of the nurses had thoughtfully brought him some toast and a cup of tea.
“Oh, I’m so pleased to see you on the mend,” Ellen sniffed; she tried unsuccessfully to fight back tears of relief. “You gave us a nasty turn, we’ve all been worried about you and Jenny’s come all the way up here. She phoned Peter, and Geena said that he’ll try to pop in. You don’t seem any the worse for the accident and I just hope that there aren’t any complications.”
Bill’s face fell. “Well, I suppose John couldn’t visit his old dad.”
“That’s selfish and unfair!” responded Ellen, “John visited us nearly every month since we’ve been here until his transition; he doesn’t exist anymore and hasn’t done for two months, as you well know. Jenny doesn’t even have any ‘John’ clothes and never really looked like a ‘John’ anyway.”
“Don’t I know it!” said Bill, sarcastically.
“Look, we asked her if she was coming to see you and she said that she wouldn’t; she just said that you didn’t want to see her. So she’s travelled all the way up here just to keep me company; I think that says a lot about her. Anyway, I don’t want to tire you out. They say they’re keeping you in for another day or so for observation so you might be able to come home on Saturday. Jane drove me here and they’re staying with me. If you don’t want them at home when you get there, then they’ll just leave and you’ll never see Jenny again.” With that, she kissed him goodbye and walked out.
Jane and I were talking in the pub. We’d gone for a meal after taking my mother to the hospital. We talked about my parents and Peter and then I asked, “You never talk about your own parents; you said that you haven’t seen them since you left for university?”
“No, I don’t visit them or talk about them. As I said, I blame them for Rosalie’s death. They gave me a lot of grief, especially when I came out as a lesbian and I’m as certain as I can be that one or both of them arranged for me to be attacked. They were both very angry when I wanted to join the police. I know where to find them but, if I never see them again, it will be too soon. I don’t suppose they even think of me now. As far as I’m concerned, you’re the only family I’ve got. I wouldn’t be surprised if they tried to poison the rest of my family against me; I certainly haven’t heard from any of them for years, other than my Aunt Sophie. The only other one to take any interest was my maternal grandmother; she left me some money when I turned twenty-one. She died last year and I still miss her terribly. She and Aunt Sophie accepted me for what I was, not what others expected of me. I changed my name when I went to university so that I could cut all ties with my mother and step-father.”
I was stunned. “So you haven’t always been Jane Dyson?”
“No.” She laughed. “We had a Dyson vacuum cleaner in the apartment that I rented before I went to Buckingham; it was the first name I thought of.”
She didn’t look as if she wanted to tell me any more and I thought now wasn’t the time to push it, especially as we were nearly three hundred miles from home.
“I am so sorry, you must feel all alone sometimes,” I said tearfully.
“Yes, sometimes. And then I think about what I do have and that cheers me up no end. Come on, let’s go to the car, I need a snog.”
I laughed and, getting up from the chair, headed for the ladies’ room. Just then my mobile ‘phone rang. “Hello Mummy, all ready?” I raised a questioning eyebrow at Jane, who nodded. “We’ll just be a few minutes,” I said, and ended the call. “I guess you’ll have to wait for your snog, Miss Dyson.”
“Drat!” Jane muttered under her breath as she followed me into the ladies room. Once inside the door, though, she made sure that I definitely needed to touch up my lipstick. On the way to the hospital, I thought about what she’d told me. I shivered a little; she asked if I was cold and I just said that I was thinking about my father.
Is that the truth? Can I believe what she said? She does seem to have a lot of money but what about the identity business?
End of part 13
Secrets
By Susan Heywood
John finds the body of a neighbour who has been murdered. The police detective assigned to the case deduces that John hides a secret - but the detective has secrets of her own.
Part 14 of 25 — Reunited
“How is he?” I asked as my mother climbed into the front passenger seat. I’d already moved to the rear seat so that she wouldn’t have to do so. Although it’s a four-seat car, the Lexus Sports Coupe (called a ‘drop-head coupe’ in some parts of the world) is not ideal for regular backseat passengers, unless they’re very small children; I know I wouldn’t like to have to travel far in the back.
“He’s much better, he’s coherent and he feels rather silly about the accident. They’ll keep him for another day or so and maybe he’ll be discharged on Saturday.”
“We can pick him up on Saturday if you like and take him home and then we’ll leave,” Jane said as we drove away. “Did you tell him that Jenny and I were here?”
“I mentioned it: he did make some sarcastic remark about John not bothering to visit him. I tried to put him straight but I didn’t want to tire him so didn’t push it. Funny that he didn’t mention Peter all evening but, then again, Peter’s a man so it’s okay for him to be busy. Honestly, you’d think he’d make his mind up one way or another; either he wants you to visit or he doesn’t.”
“Oh,” I answered her, unrepentantly, “he does want a visit alright but not from me, just from a younger son, a sporting hero through whom he can re-live his life, and someone he can insult.”
Jane just rolled her eyes and said, “What younger son? I don’t know of one and neither does he, if he’d only face up to the fact. He has this image of a perfect male offspring who meets all his ideals, but that person doesn’t exist and never has done. Even Peter said that he could be a pain in the backside.”
I sighed. “Come on, let’s go home.”
No one felt much like talking when we arrived, so my mother went to bed, leaving us two downstairs in the living room. We made the most of the opportunity to be alone together and, eventually, we too made our way up to bed. I apologised for the bed in the guest room; it was only four feet wide and didn’t give us anything like the space that we had in my bigger bed at home. Jane simply said that we’d have to make sure to sleep closer together to avoid one of us falling onto the floor.
So we did.
I was the first to wake on the Friday morning. I padded to the bathroom where I took care of necessities, then down to the kitchen where I set a breakfast tray. I made a pot of tea and some toast, a bowl of cereal and two boiled eggs and took them up to my mother. I knocked at the door and went in at her call.
“Well, this is a nice surprise, love; I haven’t been spoiled like this since I stayed with you.”
I kissed her on the cheek, smiled and left the room, heading towards the bathroom again, where I had a shower. I then went back to climb in with Jane, who’d taken the opportunity to spread out on the bed. I kissed her good morning, although, of course, it was a much longer and more passionate kiss than I had given my mother.
“You’re up early,” she remarked as she stretched, yawned and smiled at me.
“I’ve just made up a breakfast tray for my mother,” I said, “and you can take your time in the bathroom while I dress.” It was a while before I could start dressing; Jane got very close and very personal.
Later, we were all seated around the breakfast table.
“What do you want to do this morning?” my mother asked.
“I’d like to pop into town and have a look around the shops,” I replied, and then added, glumly “it’ll probably be my one and only opportunity as Jenny.”
“Oh, don’t say that, love...” my mother began.
“Well, its true, isn’t it? My father doesn’t want to know me so I can’t see myself ever coming back here. Anyway, I’d like to treat you to lunch; I might not get another opportunity.”
We silently washed up and all went to get ready. The atmosphere was rather tense, not happy at all. I couldn’t remember enjoying a shopping expedition less than I did that day, and kept wondering all through it what might have been, had I been born with the right body parts in the first place.
It was a warm day, and it was great to feel the wind in my hair as we were able to drive along with the roof down.
After lunch, we dropped my mother off at the hospital; it was a huge relief to move into the front passenger seat. As it was bright and sunny, we drove up to the car park at the top of the Great Orme, one of the two headlands that flank the bay in which Llandudno nestles.
We went up via Marine Drive, past the old copper mine, some of the tunnels of which are reckoned to be over four thousand years old. At the top, we drove past the upper terminal of the Victorian cable tramway, which had not long ago celebrated its centenary. We welcomed the sight of the little kiosk near the car park and Jane treated us to an ice cream each. We just sat and enjoyed the fresh air and the summer sunshine.
We returned to the hospital in time to collect my mother, who looked much brighter than she had on the previous evening.
“How’s Father?” I asked her.
“Well, he seems okay so far, no apparent damage, although the nurse took me to one side and gave me a list of symptoms to look out for when I get him home. Oh, and he’s not to do any work for a month, just in case there’s any relapse.” She sniffed a little and I put my hand on her arm in comfort.
“He’ll be fine; it’ll take a lot more than a bump on the head to lay him out for long. I’m sure he had a few bumps and bruises in the Navy.”
“I do hope so, love.”
“Did he say any more about me?”
“No,” she admitted, with a tear in her eye.
“What’s the timetable now?” I asked.
“Well, I shall visit tonight and, after breakfast tomorrow, if the doctor agrees, he can come home.”
“Do you want a lift tonight?” Jane asked.
“I wouldn’t say no, that’s so kind of you.”
“We’re here to help so we might as well do so. Whether or not he’ll want help tomorrow remains to be seen.”
“I do hope that he puts this silliness behind him and faces facts,” my mother said, wringing her hands, “he would make our lives so much easier if he would.”
“He’s a stubborn old goat,” I replied, “I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he phones for a taxi. Did he ask how you got to the hospital last night and this afternoon?”
“No, he didn’t.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“Jenny!”
“Well, he is a selfish old so-and-so, thinking of himself all the time. He hasn’t got a clue how the rest of us tick and just doesn’t care.”
She acknowledged, with a regretful sigh and a nod, that I was right.
We dropped my mother at the hospital, having already arranged for a taxi to bring her home. I had managed to obtain tickets for a performance by The National Orchestra of Wales. We both enjoyed classical music and attended concerts whenever we had the chance. I wondered if Jane would enjoy the evening but she said, “I’m really looking forward to this; I just love American classical music, it’s full of contrasts and just seems to strike a chord with me.”
“That was bad, even for you,” I groaned, but with a smile. I was somewhat relieved that our seats were about two-thirds of the way back and slightly to the left side of the auditorium; at least Jane couldn’t embarrass me too much.
I hope
The concert was well supported; the diverse programme featured compositions by Bernstein, Barber, Gershwin and Grofé, and started and finished with rousing Sousa marches.
We arrived home, greeted my mother, and exchanged news of my father, and enthusiastic comments about the concert.
I asked about my father. “Is he still going to be discharged tomorrow?”
“Well, he looked fine this evening and looked as though he was bored with being in hospital. I’m a little worried that I’ll be able to restrain him for the next month or so. It was hard to get him started but stopping him seems like it will be more difficult.”
“Did he mention how he would get home?” I enquired.
“Yes he did. He said, “I believe that Jane has offered to collect me tomorrow; that’s very kind of her. And I suppose that my son will be with her?””
“I said that Jenny would wait at home as the car wasn’t really suitable for two adult back seat passengers Then he said, “Well, I suppose I’ll have to see him sooner or later: you didn’t manage to make him to see sense so I suppose that I’ll have to do it.””
“That’s acceptance with a capital ‘A’”, I replied, sarcastically.
“Yes but that’s better than I’d hoped; I thought that, if he could just see you and see that you are quite normal, he might relent.” My mother was almost pleading.
“Are you sure about this? I don’t want to be the cause of any problems.”
“Look love, if he doesn’t like it, then I’m very sorry but can you just go straight home?”
“I suppose so; what do you think, Jane?”
“I’d tell him where to go, but then he’s not my father. I had enough trouble with my own family. If he starts on either of us, I’ll read him his rights, and then clap him in irons.”
“I do hope it doesn’t come to that,” my mother said, wondering if Jane was really serious.
I said, “Oh, not a word about our relationship; I think just meeting me is pushing our luck.”
They both understood and agreed; if my father queried the sleeping arrangements, Jane and I were just good friends.
It was now nearly midnight and we had an early start in the morning. We had a group hug and were all a little tearful. My mother again left us to it. We just sat quietly cuddling each other but, very soon, I started to nod off so Jane gently led me upstairs to bed where we held each other tightly and fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
Despite not having gone to bed until nearly midnight I rose, quite refreshed, at seven o’clock and padded to the bathroom for a shower. I returned to the bedroom, looked at Jane lovingly and said, “I really am a very lucky girl. I still can hardly believe that you’ve dropped everything over the past few days so that you can drive me up here and back.” I climbed back into the bed and gave her a very long and very passionate kiss.
When we came up for air Jane commented, “Hmm, I’ll have to drive you to North Wales more often; that was well worth waking up for.”
I laughed and slapped her gently on the arm, then proceeded to give suitable attention to the rest of her body. The result of my ministrations was obvious — and highly satisfying to both of us. Jane was once again gripped by that awesome ecstasy resulting from the use of my lips and my tongue.
All too soon it was time to make a move. My father was expecting to be discharged at about ten o’clock, after doctor’s rounds, and everyone had still to get dressed and have breakfast.
We all gathered at the kitchen table and I apologised for not bringing my mother her breakfast. “Sorry, I was detained by a police officer!”
My mother gave a little giggle and an amused smile, which briefly lightened the atmosphere. We wouldn’t take long to pack, if it should come to that, when we returned from the hospital. It all depended upon how my father reacted to me.
As they left the house, my mother’s face betrayed her anxiety; Jane’s features were schooled into an expressionless mask. I watched them go and was feeling sick with worry.
When Ellen arrived at the hospital, the doctors had finished their rounds and discharged Bill. A little after ten o’clock, a porter pushed him in a wheelchair to the main entrance, Ellen squeezed into the back of the car and Jane helped Bill into the front. He thanked her, but she said nothing.
When they came into the house, I was tempted to be quiet but, in the end, just said, “Hello Father.”
He collapsed into a chair and just sat with his mouth open.
“John? Is that you?”
I just about succeeded in remaining calm despite what I saw as intense provocation. “There is no John and never has been.”
My father was adamant. “As I told your mother, I’m not happy about this at all. I’m very concerned that you’re asking for trouble by deciding to be a faggot and dressing in women’s clothes. I’m sure that behaving normally would cause you less bother.”
I said nothing in reply but went into the kitchen to make tea. When we were all seated, I responded to him. I didn’t raise my voice, even though what I really wanted to do was to scream at him and beat some sense into him. I simply sat opposite him and tried to talk to him quietly and without histrionics.
“Father, I’m going to tell you some things and I would be very grateful if you would hear me out, without interruption. If, when I’ve finished, you still can’t accept that I’ve done my best with the hand that I was dealt, then we will pack and leave and you will never see either of us again. If I do leave, you will only ever have one child; I’ll have nothing more to do with you.”
For once, he was silent but nodded assent.
I was relieved; this was hard enough without him interrupting. I continued. “As you are well aware, I have known that I was female since I was a toddler. As I’ve told you so many times — and you never seemed to listen and, hopefully this is the last time I’ll have to say it - I’ve NEVER been sexually interested in males so, even though I had to act as a male for most of my life, I couldn’t be gay, a homo, a faggot, a queer or any of the other labels that you insisted on sticking on me. I wasn’t what you might call normal; I had too many medical and other issues to even think about relationships. You think I should be John? Can you possibly understand that I’ve been acting the part of John for nearly twenty years? That’s who John really was — an act. John is not me and never has been.
“You talk about asking for trouble. You know very well that my childhood years, and especially the time I spent at that brutal grammar school, were ten years of absolute hell. You should know; you saw the state I was in when I eventually made it home. I was regularly beaten up, occasionally injured, nearly killed on more than one occasion, and frequently suicidal: if that’s not vulnerable, I don’t know what is. I heard what other children called me; it wasn’t nice and it had nothing to do with my eyesight.
“You’ve always gone on about sport. I always knew that the only way you would ever be really proud of me is if I excelled at sport. I wasn’t built for it. I wasn’t competitive in the least; I couldn’t throw or catch a ball and couldn’t run fast enough. No one wanted to even try to understand the physics of my sight problems, not even the teachers. Mother can testify to the number of times I came home from school completely frustrated and in tears. I even asked if you would enrol me in martial arts classes so that at least I could try to defend myself against the bullies. All you had to say to that was, “Fight back” and “You’re imagining it.”
“The girls didn’t want to know; I put them off simply because they weren’t comfortable around me. I just wanted to be friends with them; I wasn’t interested in them as prospective partners. I was viewed as weird and I was very lonely.
“As soon as I could afford to do so I bought my own home. I have a good job: I now get on well with the other people, especially the other women, in the office. When I was acting as John, they were distant. I was still very lonely, I had no social life at all and that wasn’t for want of trying.
“When my neighbour was murdered earlier this year, I met Jane and she helped me to break the cycle of low self-esteem, loneliness and depression. That brings us up to date.
“I’ve seen two psychiatrists and they both diagnosed that I suffer from Gender Dysphoria; that is, the brain of one gender and, more or less, the body of the other — although this body has never been very masculine, thank God. Gender Dysphoria is not like an illness that you suffer from but I certainly suffered. I’m not physically or even mentally ill but I was depressed. I’ve also been told that I would never be able to function as a man because my hormones are so far from the levels that a doctor would expect to see in a male. So, even if I continued to act as John, you’d never get any grandchildren from me.
“I’ve been living full-time as Jenny for two months now and the thought of returning to my previous life fills me with horror. In fact, if you offered me a fortune to change back, I wouldn’t take it. I’ve made more friends in the past few months than ever I did in the previous twenty years and I am certainly very much happier. I am getting on far better at work than I ever did before.
“What it amounts to is this: I never was your son. You may have wanted another son but you ended up with a son and a daughter. For most people there isn’t a problem: what you see is what you get. For one child in a couple of thousand or so, that doesn’t apply. Unless there are serious physical or mental signs, there are no easy ways to tell until the child either doesn’t conform to type or acknowledges that there is a problem.
“Know that I love you and Mother completely and unconditionally as a child loves its parents but, if you can’t accept me as I am, I am prepared to leave now and never see you again. It’s your choice. I never asked for this; I would have been quite happy to be all girl at birth. It was not to be. But, as I say, this is me and I’m never going back.
“It has, and will, cost me a lot of money to correct my birth anomaly and I also have the dubious pleasure of the interference of the medical profession at every twist and turn. But that’s the hand I was dealt, and this is the only way I can see to play it. By the way; these aren’t just women’s clothes, they’re my clothes, and they fit properly, which menswear never did.”
My father looked stunned. He’d never understood me and he’d probably never tried; he’d never really listened to my side of the story of my childhood. He put his head in his hands and was silent for a minute. When he looked up he said, “You really are very pretty; I thought you’d look stupid dressed as a woman. I can understand how you must feel.”
I was incensed and shouted at him. “NO, FATHER! YOU CAN’T UNDERSTAND HOW I FEEL! You were born male and probably never had any identity problems. You never even had to think about whether or not your brain matched your body. No! You have no idea how I might feel. How would you like to be hated, bullied, victimised, shunned and possibly even killed just because of the way you were born?” I was getting quite heated.
“I’m sorry love, I had no idea,” he wriggled. I was still pretty wound up and the endearment flew right over my head.
“Oh, you had an idea alright; you were told enough times, but everything had to be done your way, because ‘you were always right’.”
He had the grace to look a little contrite. “If you don’t mind my saying so, you look quite normal for a girl — very pretty. You look right, if you understand me; I thought you’d look like John in a dress.”
“I should hope I do look normal. I am female and always have been. And I’m sure that any of my friends would let me know if I were to wear something that didn’t suit me.”
My father tried to protest. “I still can’t say I’m happy with this, but then your behaviour always struck me as odd. I just couldn’t understand why you didn’t try harder to fit in, as I was sure that was the cause of the problems you were having. Young people have very narrow views of things. If you fall outside their idea of normal you can immediately attract the wrong kind of attention and become a victim. I can understand to some degree about the glasses, although you weren’t the only one wearing them. What I’m still struggling with is this business of identity. Surely boys are boys and girls are girls?”
I almost thumped him and could see Jane getting ready to grab me before I put him back in hospital. “FATHER; you’ve just answered your own question; yes, I AM female and I’ve always been female. I just had several birth defects. Young people do notice when one of their peers is different. I didn’t ask to be different; that’s just the way I was born. You can’t tell me that a toddler would willingly incur a lifetime of harassment, hatred, and the risk of being murdered by bigots, who are so prejudiced that they feel threatened by their own shadows!”
“Well,” he said, “I don’t want to drive you away: you are still my child and all I’m trying to do is protect you.”
“You know nothing about protecting me; the only thing you ever wanted was for me to be a clone of you. That was never going to happen.”
At last, that shut him up. He was silent for several minutes.
I decided that it was up to me to move things on. “Okay, then; do you want us to leave now, or do we all go out for lunch?” I’d reached the end of the line and was within seconds of walking out of the door.
“But…What about…What if…,” he stammered.
“You agree that I look presentable. What’s to stop us all going out — or are you worried that I’ll embarrass you? Is your ego that fragile?”
There he had it. If he answered “no”, then what was there to stop us all going out to lunch and, indeed, continuing our relationship with me as his daughter? If he answered “yes”, then we would go and pack and he would never see me again. He was between a rock and a hard place. I know he’d just been released from hospital but I had nearly twenty years of anger to unleash and he was right in the firing line. I didn’t feel the least bit guilty about it.
“Well, I need time to understand this, and talk it over with your mother.” He was obviously procrastinating.
“You’ve had quite enough time to think about this: I reckon I’ve been very patient with you, but that time has now run out. Jane and I will now go and pack. You’ve got one hour. If I don’t hear from you by then, we’ll go straight home and you’ll never see me again. Mother has the number of my mobile phone.”
Jane and I walked purposefully out of the lounge and up the stairs to the guest room. Within a few minutes, we returned and walked out of the front door. They must have heard the car leave; I’m convinced that Jane had been a rally driver in a past life.
Ellen and Bill sat in silence for several minutes staring at their empty coffee cups, not looking at one another. Suddenly, their quiet contemplation was disturbed by the ringing of the telephone. Ellen answered it.
~ Hello Mum, its Peter. How’s Dad? ~
She moved to the kitchen and, having closed the door, told him about the various scans, that Jenny had visited, that Jane had collected them from hospital that morning and that we’d just left.
~ For good? ~
“That depends on your father.”
~ Oh! Look, sorry we didn’t get over sooner, I couldn’t get away: crisis at work ~
“I understand, dear,” she said, gently. She knew that Peter was self-employed and sometimes had to work unsociable hours. He was also liable to be called in at any time of the day or night to fix some problem or other: one of the joys of being your own boss.
~ Will you be at home tomorrow? ~
“Yes, we will.”
~ Could we come over and take you out for lunch? ~
“Yes, thank you; that would be lovely.”
~ Will Jenny and Jane still be there? ~
“That depends upon your father.”
~ This is ridiculous! Let me have a word with him ~
“Now don’t you go upsetting him, will you?”
~ I’ll try not to do that. I’ll just tell him a few home truths ~
Ellen took the phone in to Bill and mouthed “Peter” to him.
“Hello lad.”
~ How are you, Dad? ~
“I’m okay; they couldn’t find any lasting damage so I just have to take it easy for a month or so. That’s going to be hard work. Just when I’ve found something useful to do with my time, I go and fall off a ladder.”
~ Well, I’ve no doubt that Mum will keep you in order. We’d like to come over and see you; Mum said that tomorrow would be fine. We can maybe go out to lunch. ~
“That sounds nice; it will be good to see you both. Will you bring the children?”
~ No; we’ll leave them with Emma next door. Anyway, what’s this about you upsetting my sister? ~
Bill was still smarting from the tongue-lashing that he’d received. “I tried to talk some sense into John but he still isn’t interested. I’m worried that he’s going to get a lot of stick over this.”
~ Come off it, Dad. It’s obvious that Jenny is happier now than ever before in her life. Give her a break: she had nearly twenty years of sheer hell and it can’t help either of you if you still persist in ramming your prejudices down her throat. ~
“I am not prejudiced!”
~ No? What is it then, she looks pretty good now. When everything is fixed she should look even better. ~
“Yes, some expensive procedures were mentioned. How much do you think?”
Peter really had no idea so he gave his father a figure that should grab his attention.
~ About a hundred thousand pounds might do it, plus what she’s already spent, which could be at least that much again. ~
“Crikey, that’s serious money!” Bill was surprised.
~ Well, that’s the sort of money it takes to fix Mother Nature’s little joke. ~
“So you think it’s that serious?”
~ I’ll tell you Dad; if I’d had the childhood that poor kid had, I’d be dead by now, I don’t think I’d have coped. ~
“Hmmm, I’m learning a lot today and it’s making me think. I thought I had it all worked out but perhaps I’ve been wrong.”
Peter snorted.
~ Yeah, I’ll agree with that. How long since they left? ~
“About twenty minutes. Why?”
~ Can you call her? See if she can stay until tomorrow? I’d like to see my sister again and I’d like to see you, if not accepting her, at least giving her the benefit of the doubt. ~
“Okay, okay. I get the message. So I’m just a bigoted old goat, right?”
~ Sometimes, Dad: but you love us all and I’m sure you want the best for us. But give Jenny credit for knowing her own mind and body: you don’t know the half of what she went through as a child and I think that she deserves some happiness now ~
“All right; we’ll call them and ask them to come back.”
~ We’ll see you tomorrow then, late morning. ‘Bye now ~
“’Bye son.”
When he had hung up, he turned to his wife. “Have you got Jo…Jenny’s mobile number?”
Ellen found her little phone, then speed-dialled a certain number.
~ Hello Mummy ~
“Hello love, could you come back? Peter called and I think that your father has something to say to you.”
She listened for a moment, smiled and flipped the phone shut.
“They’re on their way.”
“How long have you had a mobile phone?” Bill asked.
“Since I stayed with Jenny.” She replied, matter-of-factly.
“Oh.” Bill acknowledged and then continued. “Maybe I’ve been a bit hasty in my judgement; maybe I’m measuring John’s behaviour against that which I found in the Navy; and I need to take some time to find out more about this. I can’t promise that I’ll find it easy but I will try.”
“Thank you, dear,” Ellen said, with tears in her eyes, but with her heart uplifted,” I can imagine just how much it cost you to say that.” She felt that now was as good a time as any to spring her little trap. She’d found some information that, she hoped, would satisfy Bill beyond any doubt. She asked, “You remember that film we watched on television on Wednesday evening?”
“What, that adventure thing?”
“Yes, that one. Well, did you know that the leading lady was born a boy?”
End of part 14
John finds the body of a neighbour who has been murdered. The police detective assigned to the case deduces that John hides a secret - but the detective has secrets of her own.
Part 15 of 25 — Intersex?
Ellen added, “Well, she appeared to be a boy at birth.”
That got his attention and Bill was suitably gobsmacked. “What! You mean that she’s had the surgery that John is planning to have? But she looked so natural; she looked like a girl. In fact, if you hadn’t said, I’d have taken her for a girl.”
“I don’t know for sure what she’s had done,” Ellen replied guardedly. “I did some research in the local library. I decided that, before I made any decisions about John or Jenny, I ought to be better informed.”
Bill could have taken that as criticism but didn’t appear to notice.
Ellen went on. “There are dozens of medical conditions that can cause a child to grow up different from what the Daily Trash likes to call “Normal”. It wasn’t uncommon for children with ambiguous genitalia to have a sex assigned to them, and to be surgically mutilated accordingly. Of course, there was a chance of getting it wrong, which caused the child a lot of heartache. I read of cases where the child’s sex was determined simply by what the parents wanted, or what the doctor thought. Now they know that gender isn’t all about what’s between the legs or even the chromosomes, but mutilation still goes on. It’s barbaric.”
Bill could have protested at her disparaging remarks about his tabloid daily. He liked the sports coverage and wouldn’t go near his wife’s broadsheet newspaper, but even he was too sensible to protest too much. He remained silent and just concentrated on what Ellen was saying. He could well understand how she’d been such a good schoolteacher, who commanded the respect and attention of her pupils.
“Now, there is a certain actress called Melissa Haydn, the star of Wednesday’s movie. She was born with what appeared to be a full set of male genitalia and XY chromosomes. You’d think, therefore, that she ought to have been a boy. Well, that’s what the parents were told they’d got and, lo and behold, a boy named Lee was registered. She always knew that she should have been a girl but Lee got on with life, very unhappily, until puberty hit.
“At puberty, a boy usually starts growing facial and body hair, his chest starts to develop, his shoulders usually become wider than his hips and, in most cases, his voice breaks. That didn’t happen with Lee. His penis didn’t grow and didn’t erect — in fact, it never erected; he had no emissions and his sperm count was nil. In addition, his body started to change shape in other, un-boyish ways. His hips broadened, his shoulders stayed slim, his features were fine, his skin was flawless with no trace of acne or facial hair, and his voice didn’t break. This, of course, made him a target at school and he was regularly assaulted.
Fortunately, his parents were on the ball and took him to a doctor. This doctor had more of an open mind and decided to carry out some tests. It was found that Lee’s hormones hadn’t worked properly for some reason. Lee’s body produced testosterone but didn’t process it; he therefore looked like a girl. After some treatment, you now see her as a successful actress. She had the male bits removed; she doesn’t have periods, can’t get pregnant and couldn’t nurse a child. She might feel cheated, but it’s obviously not stopped her pursuing the career that she loves, and her parents have supported her one hundred per cent.”
Bill didn’t know what to say and just sat staring at her. Finally he asked, “Do you think that’s what John had?”
“I’ve no idea, and I don’t propose to ask. All I know is that Jenny is finally at peace with herself and, after the medical people have done their bit, she will be as good as Melissa. I don’t know Melissa at all but I do know Jenny and I love her to bits.” She was about to sit down when the doorbell rang.
“That’ll be them now,” she said as she headed towards the front door.
When my mother let us in, she mentioned that she had dropped the medical explanation into the conversation with my father.
Jane smiled and said, “If it works, don’t knock it.”
As we came into the living room, I greeted my father warily.
He looked shame-faced. “Hello love, can you ever forgive me, I had no idea? I didn’t even consider that there might be a medical explanation for all this. I only saw what I wanted to see, or rather, what I didn’t want to see.”
He then turned to Jane. “And it seems that I have you to thank for the fact that Jenny is still with us. If you hadn’t found her, there’s no telling how this would have ended up. I’ve realised that I’ve had a lot of one-sided conversations with John over the past years and never even considered his feelings. I understand that you’ve known Jenny for some months but I know nothing about you other than that you’ve been like a sister to her.”
Jane took command of the situation.
“Look,” she said, “Why don’t we all go out to lunch? There’s a pub at the end of the road; what’s the food like?”
“Err…It’s good,” my father shakily replied, for the first time hearing Jane’s accent - she had remained silent throughout the car journey and during my earlier tirade. He then asked tentatively. “But what do I tell them? They know about Peter but I’ve never mentioned any other children.”
“Were you that ashamed of me, Father?”
“Err…well…Um….”
I took some minor satisfaction from seeing his embarrassment but, after all, he was probably as much a victim of his own upbringing as anyone else could be. A poem by Philip Larkin sprang to mind:
“They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.
Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.”
I just smiled at him and gave him a hug.
He tensed up for a moment and then relaxed.
“Come on,” I said, nodding towards Jane. “Some of us are hungry.”
We left for the short walk to the pub and followed my father into the bar.
Andy said, “Hello, it’s good to see you all. How are you feeling, Bill?”
My father regaled his friends with a couple of stories of his hospital time.
“And who are these lovely young ladies?” asked David, another member of the Job Squad. “ One looks a lot like Ellen so I assume that she’s your daughter.”
Les was also there and he temporarily left his beer to go and collect stools from around the busy bar.
My father had previously only mentioned his son Peter. The fact that I looked a lot like my mother obviously led everyone to deduce that I was their daughter — which was, of course, quite correct.
“Hello, David,” my father replied, with some amusement. “It’s good to be home; I know I was only in hospital a couple of days but the boredom was driving me nuts. That and the fact that they wake you up to see if you are asleep.” He introduced us. “This is our daughter Jenny and her friend Jane. They both live and work in the South of England and drove up on Thursday to be with Ellen while I was in hospital. It’s their first visit since we retired here so I’m showing them the best pub in town.”
So that’s what they feed to hospital patients; Bullshit. Now, would that be fried or boiled?
The men smiled and shook hands, then went back to planning the next project for the Job Squad and my father was dragged into the conversation — purely in a planning role, of course, as he wasn’t allowed to get really involved for a few weeks.
Us women hoisted ourselves onto the bar stools and ordered drinks; long fruit juices for us, and the usual pint for dad. While he was talking, we looked at the menu board behind the bar.
“The lamb casserole sounds good,” I enthused.
“I’ll have the same,” my mother agreed, “then you can give them your recipe.”
“Mo-ther!” I said, as I turned to Jane.
“What would you like?”
“I fancy lamb chops. Then I can compare them to yours.”
“Look, I’m walking out of here if you two carry on like that.”
“Well, I’d like the sausages and mash,” My father turned to us at the mention of food, and having overheard the comments about my cooking, asked, “So do I get the impression that our Jo…Jenny is a good cook?”
Jane and my mother grinned at each other; I just glared at them both.
My mother said, with a smile, “Well, I’ll tell you, Bill Smith; if you start practising your grovelling now, you’ll not go hungry at Jenny’s place; she’s a very good hostess and a superb cook.”
“When did you learn to cook?” he asked me.
“As I’ve lived on my own since I left home to go to college, I’d no intention of starving or living on ready-meals full of additives. Anyway, I enjoy cooking.”
Mother was laughing as she and I went to order and pay for the meals. There was the usual argument about who would pay. I won by using the “my father’s accident, my mother’s hospitality and Jane’s driving me” card. We returned to the other two, giggling all the way.
My father smiled when he heard my mother laugh; he hadn’t heard much of that in the past few years and decided that they needed more fun in their lives. “So, Jane,” he began, as we all sat down to await our meals, “What do you do for a living?”
I just remained silent and smiled, as I knew what was coming.
“I’m a police officer.”
She hadn’t said it quietly and there was a definite lull in the conversation around us as that little gem was popped into the ether. Jane was so proud of her job and thought that the regulars in the pub might find the presence of a police officer a little intimidating - she wasn’t disappointed. She smiled with wry amusement at the result of her announcement, particularly as she’d used her most aristocratic voice. My father visibly shook when she spoke.
“Good grief!” He spluttered, “How…Where.…”
“I met Jenny in the course of my work; we got on well and have been friends ever since.” She didn’t tell him all the gory details by any means; not only might it have revealed too much to the regulars of the pub but also she felt that my father wouldn’t be ready for details of our romantic liaison.
My father said, “I may not be very bright but even I can see that you’ve left out an enormous amount in those few words.”
“It’s not that important. What is important is that Jenny has her family to back her up. I lost touch with my family years ago due to a misunderstanding…”
I spluttered, my mouthful of fruit juice making a mess on the table.
“…and I wouldn’t be happy if the same thing happened to Jenny.”
Jane agreed that we could stay until after lunch the next day so that we could see Peter and Geena again. Our lunches arrived and, having enjoyed a good meal, Jane suggested a short walk.
My mother agreed that the car wasn’t really suitable for four adults — anyway it was outside the house - so we walked to the sea front.
My father had spotted the car as we left for the pub and was very impressed with it. He and Jane kept up a lively discussion during the after-lunch walk — about the car, no doubt - and I linked arms with my mother.
When we arrived at the sea front, Jane and I changed places and they dropped back a little. I overheard my mother say to Jane, “I’m so glad that things look as though they’ve worked themselves out; I think that my library research might have helped.”
“There might be more truth in the story than you suspect.” Jane said, “I must say that Jenny’s father seems much more accepting now and looks to be trying to make up for lost time.”
I let my father buy ice creams, just for a change. We sat companionably on a bench seat and just watched the birds wheeling and diving over the bay, and the people as they went about their relaxation. We headed back home in time for tea.
My mother and I soon had some sandwiches, cake and tea organised and my father found out a little more about Jane’s work. Funny that he never thought to ask how she could afford an expensive Lexus. It was something I still hadn’t the courage to bring up, so the question didn’t get asked - again
The evening was spent in pleasant conversation; my father didn’t once look at the television or even check to see what was on. Sport appeared to be furthest from his mind as he seemed to be absorbed in the life of his daughter and her friend. Jane and I both had to choose words rather carefully so as to avoid giving him even a hint of our relationship. My new-found friendship with him was only a few hours old and was still a little frail around the edges. It didn’t do to take it too far, too fast.
All too soon the day seemed to take its toll and my parents retired early to bed. We took the opportunity to snuggle. We had to decide whether to stay in the lounge or go up to the bedroom. Our bed was calling, not just to sleep but for another reason and we didn’t want to make too much noise - and Jane could make a lot of noise….
My mother had told us yesterday to have a lie-in on the Sunday morning but, as usual, I was wide-awake at about seven o’clock. I went to the bathroom and tidied myself up, then went to the kitchen. I’d heard my parents stirring so made some tea and took it back upstairs. I carried two cups into the guest room for Jane and I, then carried the tray to my parents’ room and knocked the door.
“Room service,” I announced and heard my mother giggle.
“Come in,” she called.
“I thought that Sir and Madam might like some early morning tea,” I said as I bobbed a little curtsey.
My parents laughed at that, thanked me for my thoughtfulness and I left them, closing the door behind me.
It felt as though my father was still a little uneasy with his daughter, but my mother later told me that she thought that he was making a valiant effort.
When I returned to our room, Jane was sitting up and sipping the drink. “Where have you been?”
“Taking my folks some tea,” I replied.
“You are so thoughtful,” she said, and then looked up as I relieved her of her cup.
“Hey! I’ve not finished drinking that!”
“I need a fondle.”
Jane obliged, and then she too had to dash to the bathroom.
When she returned to bed, I said, “You know, I still can’t get over the change in my father’s attitude in just a few hours.”
“Don’t knock it, my love, just be thankful.”
“Oh, I am,” I smiled. “But I definitely think that my mother’s little revelation helped.”
“I don’t think it did, I know it did. Although didn’t Judy say that your blood tests came back showing a problem with your hormones?”
“Yes, she did, but she also said that she wasn’t sure if it was enough to cause this much of a deviation from normal.”
“What is normal then?” she asked.
“How the hell should I know? I’ve been so screwed up over the years that I don’t think I’d know normal even if it reared up and bopped me on the nose.”
She laughed, and then kissed the object in question. “That would be such a shame; it’s such a pretty nose, just like its owner.”
That earned her some very close attention, which she didn’t mind at all.
When everyone had eventually surfaced, and were gathered around the breakfast table, my mother asked me about the friends that I’d made at work.
“Celia, Jill, Maddy and Janet really have looked after me. I am so lucky to have such wonderful friends. The other people at work seem to be more relaxed around me too. It seems that they could almost sense a tension in me; although I knew it was there, I didn’t think it showed too much. And my manager is pleased because I’m more productive and more accurate in my work and that has to be good for our annual bonuses.”
“Have you managed to make any friends outside of work yet?” my father asked.
I just stopped myself in time. However, I thought for a moment and, not wanting to tell any lies, said, “My first priority has been to settle into this new life and get all the loose ends tied up. You know; clinics, paperwork and stuff. But I really love it; I’ve never before been so relaxed. Jane visits when she can and we seem to have so many interests in common: the theatre, concerts, music, movies, shopping and just sitting and talking. We’ve still a lot to learn about each other and I’ve come to the conclusion that Jane has had a lonely life as well. But she often works unsociable hours.”
Jane, standing at that moment behind my father, grinned and mouthed at me “We see quite a lot of each other — especially when naked!”
“Have you a boyfriend, Jane?” he asked, turning to her.
Trust him to ask that!
“No, Mr Right hasn’t come along: who knows, maybe he isn’t even out there,” she responded, guardedly.
I suspected that my father wouldn’t want to even think about the possibility that I might be looking for a boyfriend.
Before he could say another word, I just said, “And in case you’re wondering, Father, I’m not looking for a relationship.” Then I added, mentally, Because I’m already in one
He looked relieved.
It was now after half past ten and my mother chivvied us along. “Come on, you lot. We’re expecting visitors any minute; let’s get the breakfast things out of the way.”
“You two go and sit down,” I ordered, “We’ll clear up here.”
“Thank you, love,” she replied as she pushed my father into the living room and shut the door.
“I thought you were going to drop us in it there for a moment,” Jane said, when we were engaged in the washing-up.
“Yes, I just caught myself in time: I almost said, “Jane keeps me fairly well occupied”.”
She laughed. “That’s more or less what I thought you were going to say. It’s a bit early for such revelations, though, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but I’m getting tired of this sneaking about, I wish we could be more open with them.”
“What about your cousin? You know; the one near Salisbury. Didn’t you mention that she had quite a diverse family?”
“Yes I did,” I said, enthusiastically, a light turning on in my mind.
My mother had made coffee and tea for everyone and we sat comfortably in the lounge. I jumped up when the doorbell rang and said, “I’ll get it.” I opened the front door and Geena just grinned as Peter and I hugged and kissed. Then I turned to Geena and similar greetings were exchanged.
“Hi, sis,” Peter said, “How’s the old man?”
I smiled, and admitted, “Actually, he’s not doing too badly at the moment. Mummy told him about an actress who’d had a medical condition that caused her to have to grow up as a boy. Father seems to have swallowed it hook, line and sinker but it’s certainly helped to break the ice.”
Peter said, “Hmm, sometimes the ice wasn’t the only thing that was thick.”
I giggled; Peter always did have a wry sense of humour. “Anyway,” I said, “we had quite a pleasant day yesterday after I read him his fortune at lunchtime: we even went to the pub for lunch — progress indeed. But, please, not a word about Jane and I; I don’t think he’s quite ready for that yet.”
“Okay, we’ll have to be a bit cautious but it shouldn’t be too difficult.” He led the way into the living room.
I went through to the kitchen to make hot drinks for my brother and sister-in-law. As I did so, I marvelled at the way that they had both been so accepting and I thanked God for all the blessings that I had. Then I got to wondering about a God; our family had never been church-goers, and certainly not religious, but I felt that there ought to be some supernatural being somewhere to bring order out of all this chaos. I pushed the thought into the ‘look-at-later’ folder in the back of my mind and took the drinks into the lounge.
My parents both stood to greet Peter and Geena; then the visitors made a point of greeting Jane with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
“Thank you for all you’ve done for this family over the past few days,” Peter said to her. “It was really kind of you to drive Jenny here and to run about for us.”
“No problem, that’s what friends are for,” she replied as they hugged.
Peter whispered something to her. I could only begin to guess at what it was but I don’t think I’d ever seen Jane lost for words before.
My mother interjected. “I’ve booked a table for six at the pub for one o’clock. The food is very good and their Sunday roast is a must.”
“That sounds great,” said Peter and Jane, almost in unison.
I laughed and explained, much to Jane’s embarrassment. “Jane is a foodaholic; I don’t know where she puts it all; perhaps she has a high metabolism.”
“Very true!” responded the object of my jest. “When at home, I eat at Jenny’s diner; it’s the best in the South.”
“Oh, been around, have we?” I couldn’t resist teasing her.
I received a “You just wait until I get you home” look from Jane; I flashed back “I’m looking forward to it.”
Geena just rolled her eyes and made some sarcastic comment about having to ask for more housekeeping money next week in order to feed three hungry children and a pet rabbit. Peter gave her a look; he’d correctly deduced that he was listed as one of the hungry children. As Geena said later; men are, after all, simply overgrown boys.
The local pub was quite busy, testifying to the quality of the food on offer. With my father being a regular, and now having brought five other people to lunch, he again attracted the attention of the Job Squad team. Les was there with his wife and he rose when my father entered with his family.
“Hello Bill, Ellen. I see you’ve found another couple of hungry strays; is this all of them or are there any more of your tribe lurking in dark corners of the land?”
“Hello Les,” my father laughingly replied. “This is definitely the lot, unless I’ve some unknown offspring I’ve fathered while I was asleep.” He laughed at his own joke but didn’t notice the look that my mother gave him. “Meet my son Peter and his wife Geena — oh and, if I don’t, she’ll tell you that it’s spelt with two ‘E’s rather than an ‘I’.
“Oh, right,” Les replied, then promptly turned back to the interrupted conversation with his wife.
“Dad!” said Geena, embarrassed.
“Well, you did point it out to me when Peter first brought you home.”
“Yes but…Oh, never mind.”
“Right,” said Peter, “who’s having what?”
We all scanned the Specials board behind the bar. Six roast beef dinners seemed to be the order of the day.
Peter headed to the till before anyone else could get a look in. “Thank you very much,” we all chorused on his return.
“That’s okay; just don’t make a habit of falling off a ladder, Dad,” he joked.
“Not likely, Son, I’ll be more careful in future.”
“I should hope so too.”
While we waited for our food, Peter and his father began a rather heavy and technical discussion about the latest cricket results. We four women headed for the ladies’ room where we spent a few minutes admiring each other’s outfits and checking our makeup.
Then Geena spotted something.
“Mum, what have you done? You look much more, I don’t know, um…”
“Younger?” I suggested.
“Yes, I guess that about sums it up: more stylish, a fresher complexion, different makeup, that sort of thing. And I just love that dress on you.”
My mother positively glowed, put her arm around my waist and said, “Well, I recently spent a few days down South with my daughter and we went shopping in Winchester.”
“Ah! That explains it; it really suits you. Has Dad noticed?”
“Don’t be silly; I think the only thing that would get him fired up is if the local under-elevens football team won the FA Cup!”
We all laughed. I said that Jane always seemed to notice whenever I wore something new. The others merely said that they would be surprised if she didn’t, given her special interest.
“Yes, there’s no doubt about that,” I said, dodging out of the way of a slap.
Geena said that, on the whole, Peter was quite good but the really sharp-eyed one in her family was Rosalind, her daughter. “She may be only four - sorry four and three-quarters” - she put her hands on her hips and pouted, in a fair parody of a little girl reminding her mother of something that should be obvious - “but has eyes like a hawk. I can’t get away with anything.”
We re-joined the men-folk, our table was called and our food arrived. Its reputation was wholly justified and we all very much enjoyed the lunch. Other than Peter and Jane, we couldn’t manage a dessert but all had coffees. Jane said, “I’m sorry to break up this little gathering but we really ought to be thinking about making a move. We’ve the best part of three hundred miles to cover and we both have work tomorrow.”
We left the pub for the five-minute walk back to the house. Jane and I had already packed our bags and put them in the Lexus. There were a few moist eyes after we had all kissed and hugged goodbye.
As we all made our way out of the door, my father said, “Look, I’m so sorry I’ve been a bit blinkered on this. I guess I had my head buried in the sand and didn’t want to see what was in front of my nose. I must say, you are very pretty and I’m enormously proud of you. I really wish you well in all that you have to do, and I am only sorry that you weren’t born with all the right bits and avoided all the aggro. I suspect that I know only a fraction of what you went through as a child, but I really hope that things get better from now on.”
I was tempted to say, “Your head wasn’t in the sand, it was up your arse,” but I thought it would be unhelpful and kept my thoughts to myself. Instead, I hugged him and felt that a massive weight had been taken from my shoulders. “Daddy, you can’t know just how much your support means to me: I love you and Mummy very much and am so happy that I can now be your friend as well as your daughter. It seems that your falling off a ladder might have done us some good after all.”
He smiled and kissed me again, then actually hugged Jane and asked, “Look after my girl, won’t you?”
To which Jane replied in an exaggerated English Public School voice, “Rather!”
We both thought that his comment was a little over the top and were fairly sure that he’d definitely not grasped the full extent of our relationship. Still, I thought, maybe another day?
Jane and I turned to the Lexus and Peter and Geena went over to their Audi with Geena calling, as they went, “Don’t forget, Jenny; therapy at Leamington. Give us a ring”. We all waved as we went our separate ways.
We were both quite tired by the time we made it home, and had an early night, content with kisses and cuddles and no more.
Ellen was sad to see the family all leave to go home but was very happy with the way that the weekend had turned out. She smiled a lot at Bill and made him really glad that he had asked her to be his wife all those years ago. He cuddled her and said, “It was really good to have the family all together, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, love, it was.”
“And I’m very fortunate to have such a beautiful wife.”
She almost choked. “Bill Smith; that was a rare compliment. But, thank you, anyway.”
“I’ve come to realise over the past few days that life has been incredibly good to me. I’ve more blessings than I really deserve and you, my love, are the greatest blessing of all.”
She smiled at him and offered her lips for a kiss, which he willingly supplied.
“I’m still amazed about Jenny. She really has turned into a beautiful girl; I’m just so embarrassed that it took me so long to see the truth.”
Ellen thought, Well, the truth as you’re going to know it, buster.
“She called me ‘Daddy’,” Bill said, still not quite believing it.
“You should feel privileged, Bill.”
“I do. I’m amazed after the way I treated John and Jenny.”
“That’s one special daughter we have there.”
End of part 15
John finds the body of a neighbour who has been murdered. The police detective assigned to the case deduces that John hides a secret - but the detective has secrets of her own.
Part 16 of 25 — Clubbing
Jane was on late shift that week so, on the Monday morning, we were able to have a shower and cuddle and a reasonably leisurely breakfast before I had to leave for work. It took a tremendous amount of will-power for me to be on time but I managed it, having torn myself away from Jane’s grasp.
In the office, I fielded numerous questions as to the condition of my father. I was pleased to report that there seemed to be no lasting damage and that he should be able to resume a full life in about a month or so. To Celia and Jill, I related the dramatic turnaround in my father’s acceptance of me: from his total antipathy on the Saturday morning to the acceptance of the afternoon of the same day. I also told them about the ruse dreamed up by my mum.
Jill said, “There must be some truth in it anyway because you’re so natural that I’m struggling to remember what you looked like before transition.”
I had taken my car that morning because I needed to shop for food when I finished work.
There’s got to be a better way to spend your time than fighting through hordes of people to get at left-over fruit, vegetable and salad items that look as though they’ve been lying on the shelf all day
I suspected that they had, and that made the exercise all the more frustrating. I determined to find out if one of the local supermarkets delivered to our door. If so, that would be one less reason to keep the car. I was getting quite comfortable with the idea of being without it, particularly as Jane would probably be available to drive me to those places I couldn’t get to by bus, train or taxi.
When I arrived home that evening, I picked up the letters from the doormat as usual. I then had to find somewhere to sit down because there was a letter from the clinic in London. I held it as though it was contaminated: was it a follow-up appointment or a letter saying that they wouldn’t treat me?
In the end, full of trepidation, I opened it. I breathed a sigh of relief. It was an appointment for September 16th. I realised that I’d been nervously shaking but then my relief faded, to be replaced again by anxiety as I wondered if they just called you to the clinic to tell you that you had failed their criteria or if they wanted to delay even more. I tried to put it out of my mind and concentrate on my work but it kept gnawing away at me all week and, by the Saturday morning, I was still far from euphoric.
Jane had been busy all week, so she elected to stay at Masefield House. She said that it allowed her to pursue the matter of housing and, by the time that Saturday came, she’d not only looked at the details of several properties but also decided which of her possessions she wanted to keep. As this was to be a joint home, however, she wanted to talk to me about her plans.
It was obvious when she arrived, that I was somewhat preoccupied.
“What’s the matter, love?” she asked.
I showed her the letter.
“When did this arrive?”
“On Monday.”
“And you’ve waited until now to talk to me about it. Why?”
“I’m so worried that they might reject me, and then you wouldn’t want me.”
Jane looked as though she was about to tear into me for not confiding in her earlier, but could see that I was on the verge of tears. “Come here.” Her greeting dispelled most of the ideas I had about her getting fed up with me. “Do you remember what I told you shortly after we met?”
“Well, y…yes, but...”
“Wait; let me finish. I told you then that you are the woman that I love. Nothing’s changed; if anything, I love you more than ever. You have very quickly become one of the most beautiful people that I’ve ever met and, unless you have any objection, I’d like to spend the rest of my life with you.”
I was so happy and reassured that I cried.
She continued. “You may also recall my saying that you were to tell me if you had any problems. I may not have an instant solution but it’s often true what they say; “A problem shared is a problem halved”. Now you’ve three weeks to get your mind around this: if they don’t soon treat you on the NHS (National Health Service), you’ll go private.”
“It’s all very well for you to say that,” I sniffled, “But I’m the one who has to find the money.”
“Not necessarily, there are ways and means. Look, just wait three weeks; what harm can it do? If you don’t get a satisfactory answer from the clinic, then we go back to Judy and tell her to push for the private route. One way or another, my darling, you are going to be the woman that you and I both want you to be and I’ll not have some two-bit quack telling us otherwise. Now, do you feel any better?”
“Yes, I suppose so,” I said as we cuddled and worked out what we were going to do for the weekend.
Jane looked as if she had something on her mind; I didn’t have long to wait to find out what it was.
“I’ve been looking into buying a new home. I’ve looked at one in the development off The Avenue. If we went for something like one of those, a first floor, four-bedroom place would do. It’s quite a bit bigger than this, larger even than my present apartment and still within walking distance of your office. There’s plenty of room for us, an en-suite master bedroom, a decent sized lounge, a family bathroom, most of the appliances we need already fitted into the kitchen, a room that would make a great study, decent sized guest rooms and, very important, a balcony.”
Even I laughed at this and Jane looked pleased that I seemed to be coming out of my despondent phase. I said, “I’ll just bet that you’ve got this vision of a waitress in a Bunny outfit bringing you your Pina Colada in the summer, haven’t you?”
“Guilty as charged; and I know just the woman to wear the Bunny outfit.”
Suddenly I was sad. “You know as well as I do that I couldn’t wear an outfit like that, I’ve still got something that most bunny girls don’t have.”
“That flattens down to nothing. Anyway, you’ll lose it soon.”
“You’ll get fed up with me before then and start looking for a real woman with whom you can have a proper relationship.”
She cuddled me very tightly: I was sure that she could feel the tension in my body. “That letter has really upset you, hasn’t it?”
I nodded, beginning to choke up with tears again and she realised just how depressed I had been for the past week.
We kissed for several minutes and, eventually, she took my hand and led me to the bedroom. There she tried to make sure, within the anatomical constraints imposed by my body, that I was as certain of her love for me as I ever could be.
Jane decided that another totally idle weekend was called for. She had been very busy; her new job was occupying a fair amount of her time. This was mainly due to the work that went into building a team and learning all about each other - well, as much as anyone wanted to tell, anyway.
As the weather was set fair, she took me to Winchester on the Saturday to begin the mammoth task of equipping us both with a new winter wardrobe. In my case, other than a few items from my past, it was to be my first one. We therefore had the novelty of seeing just which winter colours would suit me. We had lunch overlooking the river and, once again, came home laden with bags of goodies.
She had reserved a table at a restaurant about which she’d heard good reports. I was instructed to put on my glad-rags and get ready for a night on the town. The restaurant was run by a Greek couple and served authentic Greek food. The Taramosalata, Moussaka, and Baklava were an absolute must and, occasionally, customers were entertained by the host and his friends, all of whom played Bouzoukis. Patrons were encouraged to dance, yell, clap and generally enter into the spirit of things. We didn’t disappoint.
Then it came time to seriously dance off those calories and Jane drove us to the Magnum Club. I was a little worried about getting hit on by men when we were out in public but Jane just laughed and put me at ease.
“Darling, The Magnum advertises itself as the South of England’s premiá¨re gay venue. We are a gay couple; you are my girlfriend. If anyone does hit on you, and she’s not me, she’ll end up with at least a slapped face. Believe me, this is one place where you don’t have to worry about being harassed by men, they’re very unlikely to be interested.”
Jane was a member of the club but hadn’t been since she had met me. She showed her card to the doorman, paid the cover charge and we walked in. The club occupied two floors and had three bars: being a Saturday night it was very crowded. I was amazed by the relaxed atmosphere but didn’t have time to do much in the way of looking around as Jane made very sure that all the other women there knew that I was spoken for.
“It’s just great to be able to kiss you when I like and dance close with you,” she told me, then proceeded to do both — often.
We had a wonderful time and I quickly became caught up in the newness of it all. I was introduced as her girlfriend and totally accepted. We danced until two in the morning and left the club with a group of friends that Jane knew from previous visits.
“I enjoyed this evening so much, thank you. I just never knew that such places existed,” I told her as we left the other girls and walked hand in hand back towards the car, “How come you’ve never taken me there before?”
“I didn’t think you were ready for that kind of experience until tonight.”
I thought for a moment. “I can understand that; I was never a sociable animal and wouldn’t have even thought of going to a pub or club, especially on my own.”
She nodded, smiling.
“Anyway, how can I possibly repay you for such a lovely evening?” I asked, my lips turning into a hint of a smile.
“Oh, I’m sure I’ll think of something,” she laughed, conspiratorially.
We had just crossed the road when three men, who had been lounging against a wall, glanced at each other, grinned, then levered themselves upright and lurched towards us.
“’Ello darlins’! Wot ‘ave you two gorgeous chicks been doin’ in the Magnum? Orl on yer own, are yer?”
“No,” Jane responded warily to the voice.
It was unduly loud and, although I was a bit frightened, I wondered why alcohol raised the volume of the voice.
“Yer ain’t bin in there wiv yer boyfriends, ‘ave yer?” Voice said with certainty, “Yer shouldn’t be wiv no poofs, yer need prop’a men to show yer a good time and it looks like it’s ar turn.”
Voice’s accomplices appeared to be the worse for wear and were trying to stop falling into the road. Jane didn’t wait for Voice to make the first move; she simply approached him, grabbed him by the lapels of his denim jacket, head butted him on the nose, and kneed him somewhere where his thoughts of a night of bliss were painfully dispelled. Voice’s accomplices were still trying to hold themselves upright so Jane’s well-aimed foot dealt similarly with them, just to take their minds off what they might have been planning. She quickly pulled me along to distance us from the three men.
She glanced at me as I tried to run and said, “I’m sorry that you had to experience that; I can’t honestly say that it was the first time girls have been accosted when leaving that club, but it’s never before happened to me.”
I was starting to become hysterical but, by then, we had reached the car; she quickly opened the door and pushed me inside. Running around to the other side, she got in, shut the door and locked them both. She started the engine, drove for a few minutes and then stopped. Turning to me, she said, with feeling, “Darling, I am so sorry; the last thing I wanted to happen tonight was anything like that. I love you very much and just wanted you to have a memorable evening.”
“Please, just take me home,” I sobbed.
When we walked in, I headed straight for the bedroom and undressed, then went to the bathroom in silence, removed my makeup and took care of my nightly routine. When I returned, Jane was still standing in the middle of the room, looking very forlorn. I put my arms around her neck and kissed her passionately. “Come on; come to bed, but can you just hold me?” I pleaded.
She gently stroked my face and gently kissed me until I fell into an exhausted and disturbed sleep.
Sunday morning saw a very subdued household. I’d not entirely recovered from the previous night’s incident; I’d relived the confrontation in my dreams and, although Jane said that I didn’t cry out, I was very restive. I eventually fell into a deep sleep in the early hours of the morning and woke only when Jane brought me some tea and toast at about ten o’clock.
I apologised to her. “I’m so sorry I made a fool of myself last night.”
“You’re sorry? I’m the one to apologise. I’m supposed to be protecting you and then those idiots go and spoil our evening out. Listen, girl, I need you and I love you very much. You are the light of my life and I will be damned if some drunken control freak is going to upset you and get away with it.”
Her little speech helped to dispel the feeling of gloom, and I smiled. “I don’t think you did a bad job of protecting me - I suspect those creeps will remember that evening for some time to come. I just wonder why men have to behave like that.”
“They deserved it; but very few men are that stupid. From my experience, testosterone and alcohol can be a volatile mixture; they often see it down at the nick, especially at weekends.”
“Well, I’m very pleased that I have my own personal bodyguard.”
“You deserve it. You are very beautiful.”
“So you keep telling me, I can’t see why.”
“I’m going to nag you until you accept it. Perhaps your mother was right.”
“What?”
“Perhaps there is a medical reason; perhaps it is more than a slight hormone imbalance.”
I snuggled in really close. “Hmm, that’s so nice, I feel better now.”
“Thank goodness! My mind was going over all the things that you might do — including going back to being John.”
I shuddered. “Not likely. I never was John and, hopefully, I’ll never have to act the part again. I’m so much happier now.”
“And so am I, my love.”
“I know that there are those in society for whom anything that doesn’t fit in with their narrow views is wrong. I even had a father like that. But I don’t really care. This is me and other people can like it or lump it.”
“Well said. Now, where were we?” She asked as she enfolded me in a hug.
“It’s nearly lunchtime,” I said sometime later, as I glanced at the clock.
“I don’t have to move; my lunch is here.”
“You are insatiable.”
“So you keep saying.” She continued from where she was interrupted.
When we eventually surfaced we had brunch, then we decided on a quiet stroll in the park.
Later, after a ham salad, Jane said, “You know, I’m convinced that you could even make bread and butter exciting.”
I blushed.
September 2004
I couldn’t stay sad for long. Firstly, it wasn’t now in my nature to do so and, secondly, Jane wouldn’t allow it.
The next couple of weeks went by very quickly. We managed a visit to the cinema but, as Jane was caught up with work during the week, our time together was mainly limited to the weekends.
I again finished work early as it was my hair and beautician appointment today. My hair was now a little longer and David asked if I wanted to try another style. He had some ideas and showed me some pictures in one of the magazines in the waiting area. Many of the models were auburn-haired and I looked through the magazine for a few minutes. Not being able to decide, I borrowed the magazine so that I could show Jane and we could decide together, perhaps for next time. David also suggested that I consider some copper highlights and pointed to a couple of photos that explained what he meant. I told him to go ahead; I was delighted with the result.
Then it was downstairs for my regular treatment. While Gaynor was working, she gave a blow-by-blow account of her recent holiday in Turkey. I told her of the meeting with my parents and how my father seemed to accept the idea that there was a medical explanation.
Gaynor said, “Well, you’re not the only one in your situation that is a client of this salon. I do have to say, though, that you are one of the most beautiful of them all and, if I didn’t know, I’d never connect.”
Celia and her husband Philip invited us to lunch and we spent a very pleasant day in their company.
“Does Philip know…?” I began to ask, as Celia welcomed us.
She smiled a greeting and relieved me of the bowl of salad that I was carrying. “Of course, and he’s looking forward to meeting you.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t worry, love, you’re a knockout. And where did you get that dress? It’s gorgeous!”
I replied, “Jane and I did Winchester a few weeks ago. There’s this boutique I found when I went with my mother and they have such lovely dresses. I saw this and just had to have it.”
She said, “I know the feeling; they have your name on them and, when you glance in the shop window, they call to you; “You need me! You need me!”
We all laughed and, after giving us both a hug, she invited us in to meet Philip, who stood and whistled. “Wow! Three gorgeous women to entertain, how will I manage?”
Celia playfully swatted him. “He’s always like this, but he’s a sweetie really; very pliable.”
“Pliable?” I asked.
“Yes, he fits really well around my little finger.”
The three of us sat while he made pre-lunch drinks. He was very attentive to Celia, and it was clear how much they loved each other.
As it was such a warm day and autumn hadn’t really had a chance to begin, we spent the afternoon in the garden. We were all happy to just sit and relax on the patio; Philip and Jane supervised the barbecue, Celia provided drinks from time to time and my special exotic salad was very well received. Conversation flowed naturally and easily and, other than Philip and Jane asking about each others’ jobs, we all managed to avoid talking shop.
Philip was an estate agent and was inevitably interested in Jane’s proposed house move, but they didn’t stay on the subject for long and soon progressed to other topics. After a brief discussion over the barbecue about what she was looking for, he offered to keep her informed about any likely properties that came up and also agreed to value her apartment, should she want to sell or let it.
All too soon, it was time to leave and, after hugs and thanking our hosts, Jane drove us both back home via her place. She checked that all was well but was determined to move out soon. Firstly, of course, she needed to discuss it with her partner.
The day of the second clinic appointment was upon us and Jane had again arranged leave of absence from work.
On the way from the station to the clinic, Jane said, casually, “The last time I had to go to a hospital, I got in the lift and a man pushed in a big machine with lots of hoses and dials on it. I said, “I don’t think that I’d like to be connected to that machine.” The man said, “Neither would I, Miss, it’s a carpet cleaner.””
I laughed and said, “Your jokes just get worse.”
She hugged me and smiled as she continued to hold my hand.
I really hoped that I’d be able to start hormones this time — and I hoped that I wouldn’t have to see Ian Stalbridge. I took extra care with my makeup and chose to wear the peach-coloured, round-necked top and the cream linen skirt suit. Jane wore jeans, aqua tee top and a black biker jacket. We again went by train; I was getting rather used to first-class travel and wasn’t looking forward at all to the times when I might have to settle for less. I still couldn’t figure out how she could afford it, but didn’t like to upset her by asking.
As it was an afternoon appointment, we had lunch at a little Italian restaurant that Jane had spotted during the previous visit.
As we were waiting for our coffees, she said, “Have you heard the one about the Norse God of War?”
I smiled and gently shook my head. I knew we were heading for another of her terrible jokes.
“The Norse God of War was walking about on the Earth one day, quite bored, when he espied a comely young maiden. As he was good-looking, she quickly decided to let him have his wicked way with her. In the morning, after a night of passion the like of which she hadn’t experienced before or since, he decided to reveal his identity. “I’m Thor,” he said. “You’re thor?” she exclaimed. “I’m tho thor I can hardly pith.”
I dutifully laughed; it did relieve some of my tension, particularly as I found myself having the odd chuckle throughout the afternoon.
Jane purchased a magazine in the kiosk and waited in the garden while I went to see the doctor.
I was anxious as I checked in at reception, but was relieved to find that Doctor Irene Cross wanted to see me. There were four other people in the waiting area; the session that afternoon was for follow-up patients only and I quickly glanced around at the others. I thought that, if they were all transgender, one of them would have trouble passing but the others seemed quite natural. One of the passable ones occupied the seat next to me and quickly introduced herself.
“Hi, I’m Joanna, are you waiting for a friend?”
I laughed. “Hello, I’m Jenny and I’m waiting to see Doctor Cross: do you know what she’s like?”
Joanna’s jaw dropped. “Oh, sorry, I thought that you were waiting for someone else. Are you…”
“I’m transgender, I think, though I’m not sure; I might be intersexed.”
“Crikey,” said Joanna, with unveiled jealousy. “I’d kill for a bone structure like yours and your complexion is flawless. Have you had electrolysis and facial surgery?”
“No, I didn’t need either, and thank you for the compliment.” I felt very pleased at her reaction to me, “But you have such gorgeous, expressive eyes.”
“Have you a boyfriend?”
“No, a girlfriend,” I admitted.
“You’ve a girlfriend? A female partner?”
“Yes, she has helped me tremendously.”
“Well don’t tell this lot; they might not help you if you aren’t straight, particularly Ian Stalbridge, he’s very much into stereotypes.”
“Don’t worry, I may be fairly new to this but I do know to watch what I say.”
We complimented each other on our outfits and Joanna said, “I’ve seen Irene Cross before; she’s okay, not like Ian Stalbridge, who thinks the sun shines out of his own backside.”
I smiled. “Yes, I saw him last time. I told him that I’d transitioned, that I had a job and that I had a hormone imbalance. He still seemed to think that I ought to go through the mill.”
“That’s okay up to a point,” responded Joanna, “But one size doesn’t fit all. We’re still human beings and all different; I think they sometimes lose sight of that fact. So how long have you…? When did you…?”
“I’ve been dressing at home for a few years but I came out in March. I legally became me on the first of June, and resumed work on the first of July; my employer supported me all the way.”
“Wow, I’m impressed. Mind you, if you hadn’t been waiting for Irene Cross and told me about your situation, I’d never have guessed.”
Just then, Joanna was called in to see Ian Stalbridge and I was left to pick up a magazine from the pile on a little table. She emerged fifteen minutes later with a triumphant grin. “I’ve got the hormones at last.” Then she added with a sad little smile, “I’ve only been waiting a year.”
I was downcast; I didn’t want to contemplate another nine months before I started hormones. Then, of course, there’s the interminable wait for surgery. I felt that I would have to seriously consider the private route.
I’d read most of the magazine and had learned about the latest fashions, hairstyles, makeup and nail colours — well, the latest a year ago when the magazine was printed. In desperation I searched in my bag for a pen and was about to tackle the crossword when my name was called. I gratefully stood and walked over to the door, smiling nervously at the doctor as I walked past her into the room.
Irene Cross was something of a surprise. She looked to be in her mid-thirties, was slim but very tall, maybe even as tall as Jane. She had dark brown hair to her waist, brown eyes and a ready smile. I immediately felt comfortable with her and relaxed straight away.
“Hello, Jenny, I’m Irene Cross,” she said, brightly, after we were seated in her office. “What have you been up to since you saw Ian Stalbridge?”
I replied, “I’m doing well at work and my father seems to have finally come to accept that he has a son and a daughter, not two sons as he first thought. And I have a new GP.”
Irene nodded. “Hmm, I’ve the report which Ian Stalbridge wrote after your previous visit. I also have the reports from Judy Davenport. There seems to be no reason for more delay and, ordinarily, I’d be prescribing a normal dose of hormones for you. However, I’d like further tests by an endocrinologist to try and find out why you don’t seem to match what we’d expect to see from someone of your age and apparent birth gender. I know that you’ve already had some tests but I’d like to see another set of results. I’d like to see if there’s a pattern or a trend.”
I made to say something but Irene Cross interrupted me. “Tell me about your new GP.”
“Doctor Carter was not at all helpful, but now I’m with Sally Ruskin at the same medical centre. She’s so different. Her face seems to light up when I go in to see her; it’s as if she’s really glad to see me.”
Doctor Cross made a note of the name of the new GP and then said, “I can understand that. Family doctors see only routine cases most of the time; and “Hello Doctor, I feel ill” can wear thin very quickly.
“You, not to put too fine a point on it, are something different and challenging and, if I were a GP, I’d be delighted to have you on my books.”
“Oh,” I said, then lapsed into silence, as I didn’t know how to respond to that.
“What I would like to do,” she said, after a little thought, “Is to ask your GP to refer you to an endocrinologist as soon as possible — that’s assuming she hasn’t already done so. The endo can then carry out further tests and let us know what’s going on in that body of yours. I’ll ask Doctor Ruskin to prescribe oestrogen once you’ve seen the endo. I’ll write to her and tell her what levels I’d like to see; she’ll monitor them and adjust the dose accordingly. How does that sound?”
“That’s wonderful,” I enthused. “My mother found out that a certain film star was born with male genitalia but didn’t develop properly at puberty; she said it was something like the body not processing testosterone. She wondered if something similar had happened to me.”
Irene replied, “That’s what we need the endocrinologist to find out for us. Looking at you, it’s hard to see you having been a normal male at birth, so perhaps there’s some substance to the idea.”
Irene gave me a similar note to that provided by Judy Davenport, the one detailing her diagnosis and stating that I was transsexual.
I queried this.
“It’s easier than putting ‘a possible hormone imbalance or something we’re not sure about until we do more tests’. I’ll write to Doctor Ruskin and ask her to take over the supply of hormones so that you won’t have to wait until you come up to London.”
I thanked her and walked out with a spring in my step.
Jane was waiting for me in reception and I excitedly smiled and waved the letter. “I’m on my way at last,” I said, as we hugged.
“You’ve been on your way, as you put it, since you were born. It’s nice that the medical profession are supportive at last.”
I almost skipped out of the hospital and Jane had to restrain me.
“I know you’re happy, love, but you don’t want the men in white coats to think you’ve gone round the bend, do you?”
“No, but I’m so happy I could burst.”
“Wait until you get home: I’m sure I can think of a way to deal with all that energy you seem to have.”
“Really?” I smirked.
“Yes, I didn’t get where I am today, etcetera, etcetera.”
We laughed as, arms linked, we made our way to the clinic’s café for a drink, then to the tube station and home.
Jane thought that we should order a take-away: I wanted to go out for dinner to celebrate but Jane claimed tiredness and said that she’d rather stay in. I glanced at her but said nothing and found the menus from the local pizza place and the Chinese. We opted for pizza.
I woke at my usual time and padded to the bathroom. I returned and saw Jane still in bed.
“Don’t you have any work this morning?” I asked.
“No and neither do you.”
“What?”
End of part 16
Secrets
By Susan Heywood
John finds the body of a neighbour who has been murdered. The police detective assigned to the case deduces that John hides a secret - but the detective has secrets of her own.
Part 17 of 25 — Away-break
Jane lifted the duvet. “Pop in here for a minute and I’ll explain.” After I’d done so, she said, “It’s like this; we’re going away for a few days.”
“But I can’t just leave work like that; I’d have to arrange it all with Greg and.…”
She kissed me soundly to shut me up, and then continued with her explanation. “Tomorrow, if my research hasn’t let me down, is your birthday. And, by the way, Greg said to tell you to do as you’re told and he’ll see you on Tuesday.”
“How on earth did you find out about my birthday? And what’s this about Greg?”
She laughed. “I asked your mother when she was here, and I spoke to Greg last week.”
“You are sneaky, but I love you to bits. So that’s why you didn’t want to go out last night.”
“Guilty as charged,” she grinned, but with absolutely no sign of contrition. “So, I thought we might go away for a long weekend. I haven’t had a holiday in quite a while and that week and a half in June doesn’t count for you because you were somewhat busy — so I don’t suppose you have either.”
I shook my head.
“And, before you ask, I’m not going to tell you where we’re going. All you need to do is to take smart casual clothes for day wear, comfortable shoes for walking and a few dressy outfits for the evenings.”
I was speechless for a few moments. I realised that, what with the London visit, I’d clean forgotten about my birthday, not that I’d had much to celebrate in the past anyway. I grinned and said, “I certainly have a few things to celebrate tomorrow, haven’t I?”
“Indeed you have, my darling, and all I’ll tell you is that I’ve planned a wonderful time and a couple of surprises.”
While I dithered over what to take with me, Jane made use of the bathroom. Then I had a soak while she dressed. We both selected appropriate casual outfits for travelling. I carried my leather jacket. Jane thought that I looked rather yummy and proceeded to prove it to me.
We had a light breakfast and, just before eleven, we put our bags into the Lexus and drove off towards the motorway. Her infuriating navigational skills - which I’d rapidly come to refer to as JMM, short for Jane’s Mental Mapping - didn’t help at all as there were no written directions to give me any clues as to our destination; I was left in total ignorance and decided that the only thing to do was to relax and leave her to her driving.
“Music?”
“Hmm,” I responded contentedly and popped a CD into the player. Liszt’s piano music wafted over us as the sporty car eat up the miles.
We stopped on the way for refreshments and a toilet break. I still had no idea where we were going; I could see that we were heading roughly northwards but, other than that, I knew nothing. Passing Oxford, we turned onto the M40 motorway. My vision wasn’t brilliant but even I could see the road signs as we made for Leamington Spa. I bounced up and down excitedly.
“Oh, how wonderful! Can we go and see Peter and Geena?”
“Not today, my love, let’s find our hotel,” Jane replied as she skilfully negotiated the local roads and found the Harley Court Hotel. We arrived just after three o’clock and my jaw dropped.
“Crumbs, this is a fancy-looking place.”
She laughed. “Our home for the next few nights.”
“Really?” I beamed delightedly, as I looked the place over. I quickly got out of the car and helped Jane remove the bags.
The reception area, like the rest of the hotel was a charming and relaxing combination of traditional and modern design. We walked to the reception desk and were greeted by a smiling young woman in a smart navy-blue skirt suit, pale blue satin camisole top and one of those scarves that seem to be essential uniform for aircraft cabin crew, travel couriers and receptionists the world over.
Jane checked us in, confirmed her booking for the restaurant and obtained details of the leisure centre. We were given a key each and a porter took our bags to the lift.
I gasped as I walked into our suite and took in the modern spaciousness of it all. The lounge looked to be nearly as big as the one in my flat. There was a desk and chair, two armchairs and a settee; a huge television occupied one wall.
The separate bedroom had a large wardrobe and bedside tables with controls for all the lights. The bed was enormous. I spotted the en-suite bathroom on my way towards the bed. From the wide windows there were views of the grounds, which had sweeping lawns and floral borders. In the distance a row of fir trees stood guard at the perimeter of the estate.
“Wow, it’s super!” I dropped my bag onto one of the chairs and turned to Jane. “Thank you, thank you!” I said as I flung my arms around her neck and kissed her passionately. All too soon, she’d manoeuvred me into the bedroom and onto the bed. We spent some minutes in silence — well, silence broken only by the sound of sensual moaning.
Eventually, she said, “Come on, let’s change, then explore.”
“Where are we going?”
“Swimming.”
“What?”
“You heard.” She opened her bag and tossed a bikini to me.
I protested, “I can’t possibly wear that.”
“Yes you can. Try it; I thought the colour would look fabulous on you. Oh, and you’ll also find that it has secrets of its own.”
I didn’t believe her but, rather than argue, I stripped down to bra and panties, went into the bathroom and donned the garment. It was a lovely combination of colours; greens and blues in an intriguing pattern of swirls. I examined myself in the long bathroom mirror and was amazed at what I saw — or rather, didn’t see. There was no hint of anything that shouldn’t be there and I just seemed to fill out the bikini quite naturally. I also noticed that there was absolutely no sign that my breasts were not all completely real.
We removed the stick-on breast forms every week or so in order to clean them and clean the skin underneath. During times of detachment, of course, Jane took the opportunity to test the development of my own breast tissue. Now that I would soon be officially on hormones, we expected that development to speed up. Although the bikini was designed to hold me in, it was also designed to flatter and that it appeared to do with devastating effect when I returned to the bedroom.
“I was right, wasn’t I?” She licked her lips. “Come here, gorgeous. You look scrumptious and I claim fiancée’s rights.” She grabbed me and, pushing me down onto the bed, gazed down lovingly at me. “Don’t even think about resisting arrest or I’ll handcuff you to the bed.”
Not wanting to take a chance I willingly complied with her request. Anyway, I wasn’t averse to having her to myself for a while.
It was a good half-an-hour later that, wearing the thoughtfully supplied cotton towelling robes, we both collected towels and wandered hand in hand to the lift.
I reminded her of my sight problem. “You’ll have to help me: I can see hardly anything without my glasses so I won’t be able to see where I’m going.”
“Don’t worry, love, I’ll look after you.” Then she started singing, “Follow the Yellow Brick Road.”
“It’s blue carpet.”
“What is?”
“The floor of the corridor.”
“Oh well; I can’t be right all the time. I am blonde, after all.”
I laughed and thumped her on the arm.
I hadn’t been swimming for some years, so was intrigued by the feel of my body and my hair as I lowered myself into the pool and tried a few tentative lengths.
Jane was a good swimmer; she dived into the pool and quickly swam to the end and back. I’d just managed to work out where she’d gone when she returned and stopped in front of me, took my face gently in her hands and gave me a deep and passionate kiss before swimming quickly away from me again. We soon found ourselves side-by-side. Back-stroke and breast-stroke; we alternated as I gained confidence.
I vetoed the sauna as I didn’t feel that my naked body would yet stand up to close scrutiny, but we did move to the Jacuzzi and just loved the way that the water jets played on our bodies; we found the whole experience so relaxing and not a little erotic. What it would be like after I’d grown some more breast tissue and had my surgery I could only imagine.
We spent a good hour and a half in the centre, after which we adjourned to our room, where we showered, did each other’s hair, makeup and nails and dressed for dinner. I had chosen to wear the emerald-turquoise sleeveless scooped-neckline dress that I had recently worn when we visited Celia and Philip. With that I wore white strappy sandals.
Jane had brought a raspberry red camisole top dress that barely reached her knees. She wore matching sandals; I thought she looked wonderful. The dress really showed off her golden hair, tanned complexion and those superb long legs that seemed to go on forever. She also had some beautiful silver jewellery; a long ingot pendant that dangled tantalisingly at the top of her cleavage, matching dangly earrings and a Tissot watch and bracelet. A spritz of Chanel and we were both ready.
“For a copper, you scrub up pretty well,” I said, grinning, despite knowing that Jane would exact her revenge later; in fact, I was looking forward to it. The response of “Just you wait, Jennifer Smith” as we headed for the door, was unsaid but implied in the look that she gave me. We strolled hand in hand to the lift and selected the first floor, which accommodated the restaurant.
The level of conversation in the dining room dropped significantly for a few moments as we walked in and were shown to a table. Many of the female diners glanced our way and took a good long look before returning to their meals. Some of the male clients also looked our way. A good few people lingered in their glances and some of them, both male and female, seemed somewhat predatory. I couldn’t help noticing that same sex couples occupied some of the tables. I raised an eyebrow at Jane.
“I see you’ve noticed one of the little secrets of the Harley Court Hotel,” she said. “It’s owned by a very wealthy businessman and run by a couple of gay guys. They have absolutely no objection to gay couples staying here; in fact, they positively welcome them. You may have noticed that the receptionist didn’t even mention it when we arrived.”
I nodded.
She continued. “It’s also used by straight people because the food and service in the restaurant are so good and the atmosphere is so relaxed. And, to be honest, no one has to prove anything here; you are just accepted as you are. There’s no rowdiness and everyone is just so friendly. It’s a delightful hotel with great facilities and excellent overall service, according to the number of stars they’ve got.”
“Just how did you come to know about it?” I enquired, smiling towards Jane.
“Oh, I looked on the Internet, and then asked around.”
Over coffee, after our meal, I was tempted to ask what other surprises Jane had in store but realised that I would probably only find out as and when they happened. I made a point of telling the Maá®tre d’ how much I had enjoyed the meal and was surprised when the chef emerged from the kitchen and made for our table.
“Thank you very much for complimenting our efforts,” he said, with a little bow to us both, “it’s not often that we get positive comments from guests; most just take us for granted. I must say that it does encourage us to try that little bit harder. Are you going to be with us for long?”
“Until Monday morning,” Jane put in, “but we don’t have any firm plans for the weekend.”
I bet you do
She continued. “It would be nice to come here again; we might manage Sunday.”
“So,” I wondered aloud, “‘maybe we are going to visit Peter and Geena.” I put a hand on Jane’s arm.
“Perhaps we’ll catch up with them sometime over the weekend.”
“You are a tease. We’re in Leamington; they’re in Leamington; why can’t we arrange to see them?”
Jane changed the subject and I accepted that the plans for the weekend were a closely guarded secret.
“Anyway,” she said, “we have to be up early in the morning so I guess we need an early night.”
“Hmm, right: just why do we need to be up so early?”
“For our pre-breakfast swim, of course, why else?”
“I should have stayed at home,” I contrived to look morose;” I might have got some rest.”
“Oh, you don’t want to miss out on all the fun this weekend, I can assure you.”
We adjourned to the bar where I selected a long fruit drink; I felt that one glass of wine was quite sufficient alcohol for one night. I didn’t want to overdo it and spoil the weekend; I still had memories of the last alcohol-fuelled nightmare. We eventually made our way up to bed and fell asleep cuddled into each other, but not until after.…
“Happy Birthday, to you, Happy Birthday to you; Happy Birthday dear Jenny, Happy Birthday to you.” Jane sang as she delivered early morning cups of tea to our bedside.
I stretched, yawned and smiled at her. “Come here and give me a birthday kiss.”
She was very happy to oblige and climbed back under the duvet from which she had left me sleeping a little earlier.
“Come on, wakey, wakey, rise and shine,” Jane slapped me on the rump moments after I’d finished my tea. I glanced at the clock and saw that it was only just after 7:30am.
“Ow! Why did you do that?”
“Early morning swim, I told you yesterday.”
“It’s my birthday and I need my rest. I’m beginning to regret coming away with you; this sounds more like work the longer it goes on.” I grimaced, stretched again, yawned theatrically, slowly swung my feet onto the floor and made my way to the bathroom. I returned wearing the bikini, which I had washed and dried overnight. Jane was already wearing hers - a startling number in red (of course!), with geometric designs in dusky pink - and threw a cotton robe at me.
“Come on,” she urged.
“Slavedriver!”
“It’ll be fun, come on.”
We made our way down to the pool where Jane said, “Last one in pays for dinner.”
“Hey, that’s not fair!” I protested. “You know very well that I have to find somewhere to put my specs and then I have to find the wretched pool without them.”
“Oh, stop whining, woman, and jump in.”
I did so and promptly yelled, “Its cold!”
“Yep.”
“Brrr!”
“Yep.”
“Bitch!”
“Yep.”
“I thought this was supposed to be a holiday?”
“It is. Now, twenty lengths should do it this morning, and then I’ll race you back to the room. I’m ready for breakfast.”
“You’re always ready for breakfast.”
She smiled.
I had no idea of Jane’s plans for the day, but decided to wear a dark-blue denim skirt and jacket, with a dusky pink camisole top and my navy wedge-heeled sandals. She said that my outfit looked fine. Jane herself wore an aqua scoop-neck tee top with jeans and low-heeled boots. She also had her zip-front leather jacket.
We wandered down to breakfast and were surprised at the greetings from other guests.
Where is the famous British reserve?
We smiled, took our seats and were served a continental breakfast of fruit juice, bread, croissants, preserves and a choice of tea or coffee.
I asked, “What are we doing this morning?”
Jane answered, “I thought we could spend the day at Stratford-upon-Avon, you know, do the Shakespeare tourist route.”
I was a little disappointed; I had hoped to see my brother and sister-in-law but answered, brightly, “That would be lovely, I’ve never been there.”
We set off shortly after breakfast and headed for a little car park across the river from the Royal Shakespeare Theatre. We walked arm-in-arm across the pedestrian bridge that separated us from the town. Making our way to Bridgefoot, we found the ‘Pen & Parchment Inn’, near the canal basin, where the open-top bus tour began, and purchased tickets from the driver. Jane wanted to sit upstairs; I had to remind her that I was wearing a skirt, but got no sympathy from that direction at all, despite my dropping heavy hints that I was only wearing it because she liked me to wear it.
Jane laughed. “If I had my way, you’d be stripped down to that sexy underwear I notice you seem to favour these days.”
“And I only wear that because it turns you on like a light bulb.”
“Why don’t I believe you? You wear it, as most of us do, because you like wearing it.”
I managed to look suitably admonished. We sat upstairs.
Soon the bus was threading its way around the busy roads to all the buildings on its route; Shakespeare’s Birthplace, The American Fountain, Royal Shakespeare Theatre, War Memorial, Hall’s Croft, Anne Hathaway’s Cottage and Mary Arden’s House. The buses ran very frequently and our tickets allowed us to get off and explore each of the properties on the way. We stopped halfway along the route for coffee and a pastry and I couldn’t stand the suspense any longer.
“So are we going to see my brother today?”
“He’s not at home today.”
“Oh,” I said, disappointed.
We continued on our guided tour and were both enthralled by the stories of life in Tudor times, related to us at each of the properties that we visited. We weren’t sure of the provenance of some of the proverbs that we were told but the stories made a good yarn and entertained the visitors, particularly those from overseas. It wouldn’t have surprised me if the number of ghosts increases exponentially with the number of different nationalities in the tour group.
The bus eventually returned us to Bridgefoot and we took a leisurely wander around the shops in Bridge Street, High Street and Sheep Street, paying particular attention to the little arcades that linked the three roads.
We stopped for afternoon tea at the Crabtree & Evelyn Tearoom.
“This place must be ancient,” I said in awe. I’d already negotiated the sloping floor on my way to the ladies’ room, and held on to the ceiling supports on my way back to our table.
“Well, the address is Judith Shakespeare’s House, so it might date back a few centuries, “Jane agreed.
After a typical English afternoon tea, served in bone china cups, we slowly made our way back to the car.
I laid my head on Jane’s shoulder. “Thank you for a lovely day,” I said as we exchanged a quick kiss before setting off back to Leamington. “I’d like to treat you to dinner tonight” I added as we entered the hotel car park.
“Oh, I can’t have that,” Jane weakly protested, “A girl can’t buy dinner on her birthday.”
“No, I insist.”
“Very well, I’ll pick the restaurant, you pay.”
“Hey, that’s not fair!”
“I’ve heard of this great French restaurant; are you willing to risk it?”
“Hmm, I adore French food.”
“So do I, as long as it’s not that stupid ‘slice of lemon, slice of orange, dash of sauce, wait half-an-hour’ business.”
“Sorry, I almost forgot; you do like your food, don’t you?” I responded, tongue-in-cheek.
“A girl has to keep up her strength somehow.”
“Strength for what?”
“Pre-bedtime manoeuvres.”
I sniggered. “I’m the one who has to keep up with you.”
“Anyway,” Jane insisted, neatly avoiding a slap, “French restaurant?”
I smiled. “Mmm. I suppose I’ll need to go shopping.”
“Why?”
“I’ll need a new dress.”
“Help; I’ve created a monster!”
I slapped her lightly on the arm and we headed for the shops.
Café Printemps was a snapshot of relaxed and intimate, lively and sparkling Paris, all in an English town. It wasn’t very far from our hotel but we elected to travel by taxi: that way Jane could have a celebratory drink without risking both her driving licence and her job.
She wore a sky-blue dress with thin spaghetti straps; I wore my new dress. It was sleeveless and vee-necked, in lavender, and had a satin tie belt in a contrasting colour. I had really gone to town on my makeup and accessories. Jane’s reaction told me that I’d got it right, although it could be argued that she was somewhat biased.
After our short taxi ride, Jane escorted me into the restaurant, where she laid an arm possessively around my shoulder. As we were ushered to our table, I stopped and stood rooted to the spot, only moving forward when she gave me a gentle push in the back.
There, standing in a little group in front of a table for six, were four people who looked very familiar.
“Happy Birthday, Jenny!” They all chorused.
“Mummy? Daddy? Peter! And Geena!” I rounded on Jane, who just stood with a vaguely innocent smile on her face. My own face must have gone through a whole gamut of expressions: puzzlement, realisation, delight and joy. I flung my arms around Jane’s neck and kissed her passionately on the lips.
“Ahem!” My mother coughed. “There’s a time and place and I’m not sure that this is either.”
“Oops!” I said, turning towards my family and giggling.
“Well, at least we know how you feel about Jane’s little surprise,” my mother said, and we all laughed good-naturedly. “Now, are you pleased to see us?”
I nodded numbly, still not quite able to take it all in.
“Come and give us all a hug, then.”
I went the rounds of my family, hugging and kissing them in turn. I returned to my father. “Daddy.…” I started to say.
“Now, love, I’ve learned a lot more about my daughter since you visited us at home and I’m happy as long as you’re happy.”
“Daddy, I’m so very happy, I could burst.”
“Let’s all sit and you can tell us about your weekend so far,” My mother urged, “that is, of course, after we’ve dealt with the rest of the formalities.”
One by one, they presented me with gifts. Peter, knowing how much I loved books, gave me a book token. Geena gave me, from both of them really, a beautiful nightie and negligee set in my absolutely favourite colour; mint green. Jane muttered something about me trying it that evening but don’t count on wearing it for long. That caused a titter around the table and a high degree of embarrassment for me.
My father stood, bowed slightly and presented me with a small parcel, which I shakily opened to reveal a sapphire bracelet. I was so overwhelmed with love for him that I broke down and openly cried. I’d just about regained my composure when my mother handed me another gift. I slowly removed the wrapping to reveal a choker and dangly earrings to match the bracelet. I was again near to tears as I hugged them all in turn and told them how much I loved them.
Jane waited until I’d ooh’d and ahh’d over the other gifts, then said, quietly, “My turn. This might be your twenty third birthday but it’s also your first birthday.”
I protested. “But we are having a wonderful weekend: you don’t have to give me anything else.”
“Oh, but I do,” she said, holding a small box that she had retrieved from her bag. “This is for you with all my love; I’m just an old-fashioned girl so I’ve already spoken to your father.”
I looked at her and saw such love in her eyes that I again wept.
End of part 17
Secrets
By Susan Heywood
John finds the body of a neighbour who has been murdered. The police detective assigned to the case deduces that John hides a secret - but the detective has secrets of her own.
Part 18 of 25 — Children
I struggled to see the contents clearly through tears of happiness.
A single sapphire was surrounded by small diamonds and mounted on a slim gold ring. Jane gently placed it on the ring finger of my left hand. This action wasn’t lost upon the rest of the party and they smiled knowingly.
She said, “I love you very much. On 1st June this year, you changed your name to Jennifer Ellen Smith. On 1st July, you started work as Jenny. Also, on that day, the Gender Recognition Bill received Royal Assent. On 1st June 2006, when you are officially two years of age, you can apply for a certificate that will recognise that you were born female. You can also apply for a corrected birth certificate.
“The GRA (Gender Recognition Act) allows transgender people to marry as members of their true gender. There is also a proposal for same-sex couples, which is what we will be, to have an officially recognised legal partnership, much the same as married people do.
“I will be delighted if, after you have obtained your corrected birth certificate, you will be my legal partner. I’d like to say wife but the law, as you know, is an ass and, although we could marry now, you would have to be my husband and I would have to be your wife. That’s just too stupid for words. Also, we’d have to divorce again so that you can legally be yourself.”
“My corrected birth certificate.” I whispered, a little smile playing on my face, a huge lump in my throat and a big feeling of joy in my heart.
“The GRA will give you legal recognition of that which we have known for months and you have known all your life; that is, that you are female. And, after that, the Civil Partnerships bill should enable us to legally be a couple; if you want me, that is.”
I was speechless for a moment, then said, “With your jokes, I’m not sure I want to,” then I laughed, good-naturedly, “But, I suppose, you’ll get your own way as usual.”
“Absolutely right! I knew months ago that you were the girl for me and the law catches up with you in the end, as you know.”
For once, I was silent as I happily contemplated being Mrs Jennifer Ellen Dyson — or whatever Civil Partners were called.
We glanced at my father to see if this was all too much for him but he seemed to have come to accept that he has a daughter, and also that nothing she did now would surprise him. He appeared to have just let it wash over him as being beyond his control, not worth getting steamed up about, typical of the younger generation, not like it was in his day and so on. I thoughtfully and tenderly looked at him.
“This must all be difficult for you, Daddy.”
“Oh, don’t mind me love; I no sooner come to terms with having a daughter when she rather obviously shows me that she has a girlfriend. I mentioned it to your mother and was told to “get with it and be thankful she’s still with us.” So here I am.”
I was overwhelmed and, getting up from the table, rushed round to him and gave him a special hug and a kiss on the cheek.
“You and Mummy are the best, do you know that?” I then hugged and kissed my mother.
My father then said, “You remind me of someone. Some years ago, and it still feels like just last week, we had a social evening at our Naval Base. I asked a certain young lady to dance with me: it was the smartest move I ever made,” he glanced affectionately at my mother. “And you look a lot like she did when I met her and are now a younger version of her. I’ve a beautiful wife and two wonderful children. I’m a lucky man.”
I was very tearful and Geena dropped a none-too-subtle hint that the women should join her in a visit to the ladies room. Jane, my mother and I rose from the table and followed her. Jane went just to make sure that my makeup was properly repaired - well, that was her excuse anyway. After all the happy tears, my makeup certainly needed fixing. Fortunately I had three other women there to help me.
Peter and his dad were left for a few minutes and thought it a good opportunity to look at the menu and wine list.
Peter asked, “So, what do you reckon to your daughter then, Dad?”
“I’m still amazed. I can’t get over how natural she is. That girl, no, that young woman is quite natural and, if I close my eyes, I can still see your mother smiling at me when I first asked her to dance all those years ago.”
“How has Mum taken all this?”
“’In her stride’ doesn’t even come close. It’s as though she’s taken on a new lease of life. I’ll swear she looks ten years’ younger, and vitality? Its years since I’ve seen her with so much energy. She’s volunteered at the local hospital helping the “old folks”, as she calls them, with little things like organising books, bringing them tea, talking with them, taking them to the television lounge, things like that. She said something along the lines of “It won’t be long before you’re back with the Job Squad; I’d better find something to do with my time. I’m fed up with just being at home all day.” I tell you, son, your mother’s a bloomin’ marvel.”
Peter agreed, “Well I’ve always thought she was brilliant, but then I am somewhat biased.”
Just then we all returned from our visit to the ladies’ room and both men noticeably brightened when their respective partners re-joined them. I posed a question.
“Mummy, Daddy, how did you get here and when did you arrive?”
“Well, love,” my mother answered, “When Jane organised all of this,” I glanced at the culprit, who was wearing a little smile and gazing at a point somewhere on the ceiling, “Peter and Geena thought it would be a good opportunity to get some practical grand-parenting time in, so we’re staying with them for a few days. The car’s still playing up a bit so we came on the train. It’s about three and a half hours, not much longer than driving, and Peter met us at the station.”
“Wow, that’s wonderful,” I enthused, then I thought of something. I rounded on Jane. “Hey you! You said we weren’t meeting Peter and Geena today.”
“No,” she responded, tenderly, “I said that Peter wasn’t at home today, and he wasn’t. And I thought you might ask how I knew that, but you didn’t.”
“Oh,” I said, smiling but feeling embarrassed.
“So,” Geena put in, “When do you two go back home?”
I looked at Jane, who replied, “On Monday afternoon.”
“Good,” Geena said, enthusiastically. “So do you fancy that therapy session on Monday morning, then?”
Jane glanced at me, nodded and I replied, laughingly, “Yes, that would be lovely, thank you. And if we popped in tomorrow, could I meet my niece and nephew? That’s if my future wife will let me.”
Jane laughed and assured me that Auntie Duties were very important and should be carried out whenever possible.
“Definitely,” Geena assured me.
My mother added, “And I’m sure that the men folk have an urgent need of a round of golf on Monday morning, which will, no doubt, involve testing the merchandise at the nineteenth tee at lunchtime. So do you mind if an old fogey joins you on Monday morning? I’d like to tag along as well.”
“Old fogey, Mummy?” I said, laughing, “You’re surely joking. I remember a certain trip to Winchester a couple of months ago; I’m a beginner at this shopping lark compared to you.”
A light came on in my father’s eyes. “I knew something was different about you when you got home that time but I couldn’t work out quite what; I was just saying to Peter that you seem to have more vitality these days.”
“Yes,” my mother admitted, “having a young daughter to keep you in line does that to you. You somehow feel that if you don’t keep up with her, you’re going to get yourself told off.”
Talk about trying to embarrass me.
Geena said that she often hankered after her mis-spent youth, but realised that she had married him! This earned her a disparaging look, then a grin from Peter, who draped his arm affectionately around her shoulders. He never ceased to be amazed that the beautiful blue-eyed blonde bombshell he’d met while he was serving in the Air Force, had agreed to be his wife. She, for her part, looked lovingly up at her gentle giant of a husband, and considered herself to be very fortunate.
We all laughed at Geena’s comment and turned again to the menus. Dinner turned out to be a very light-hearted affair; the food was excellent and the company very convivial. For starters, my father and Peter selected soup-de-jour while we women opted for the deep-fried Camembert. My mother and Geena chose Poulet Breton, a chicken dish, for their main course. Jane decided on the Boeuf Bourguignon and I tried the Loup de Mer; sea bass. My father and Peter both ordered Steak Frites.
The meals, and the accompanying wines, were pronounced excellent. The conversation flowed and everyone was very comfortable with one another.
Unsurprisingly, Jane joined the men in a dessert. This caused one or two grunting noises around the table, much to the amusement of all concerned.
Jane said, “You wouldn’t like it if I were fussy about my food.”
I replied, “The only fuss that you make about your food is if there isn’t enough of it.”
Coffee and mints followed and I told them all about our Stratford-upon-Avon visit. Peter and Geena had been there several times since they lived nearby. I said that I would like to go to the Royal Shakespeare Theatre one day to see a play; I thought that would be wonderful and could see Jane nodding.
All too soon, the evening came to an end, the bill was argued over but eventually Jane won and paid, taxis were called and my parents accompanied Geena and Peter back to relieve an expensive babysitter who, they were convinced, had already decided that her babysitting income would pay her way through university.
We made our way back to our hotel where I sat and admired the ring for a few minutes. Jane insisted that I model my new sapphire jewellery and, of course, my new nightie and negligee: it didn’t take long for us to undress. She said that, as I now had two birthdays, tonight, September 18th, was a good opportunity to practice for the official birthday on June 1st. I decided that Jane would get her own way in the end; and anyway, I was not really averse to the practice.
“Oh good,” she said, taking me in her arms, “Now I get a proper snog.”
And she did.
Sunday morning saw us again breaking the ice at the pool. It wasn’t really that cold but I said, “I’m built for comfort, not speed. If we were meant to do this, we’d have been fitted with flippers.”
We did, however, manage twenty lengths, by which time I was more than ready for breakfast. There was no need to ask about Jane’s appetite; if she was awake, she was usually ready for a meal.
“I’m a firm believer in eating little and often,” she said.
“Little and often?”
“Okay; so sometimes the ‘oftens’ run together.” She smiled.
“Sometimes?”
That earned me a tap on the arm and then a cuddle.
It was quite warm for mid-September but we both took light cotton jackets just in case it turned chilly later on in the day.
After breakfast, we decided to visit Warwick and its castle. We returned to Leamington after lunch and visited Peter and Geena so that I could meet my niece and nephew.
I was a little anxious as we pulled up at the gates to the property; Jane gave my hand a gentle squeeze. My brother and sister-in-law’s house was a large, rambling, detached property on the outskirts of Leamington. I whistled at the sight of it.
“Peter must be doing really well to be able to afford a place like this,” I commented to Jane, as the gates swung open and then closed gently behind us.
Geena greeted us at the door when we had stepped out of the car. “Hi, it’s good to see you again and to have you visit us at last. Mum and Dad have borrowed my car and gone to Stratford-upon-Avon. It seems that your enthusiasm for the place has piqued their curiosity.”
Just then, two small bundles of energy zoomed out of the door and headed straight for me. “Auntie Jenny, Auntie Jenny,” they chorused, arms outstretched.
I looked quizzically at Geena and asked, “You obviously told them that we were coming to see you, but aren’t children that age supposed to be shy?”
She laughed. “Yes and Yes. But they’re not shy at all; in fact, they’re both what you might call precocious; Geoff is four and a half, going on seven and Ros is four and a half, going on ten!”
I hunkered down to their level and opened my arms, whereupon I was immediately hugged by the twins, who both started talking at once. I was willingly dragged away to play with them in the garden.
Jane joined Geena in the kitchen, where she filled the kettle for tea while Geena took mugs down from a cupboard and splashed milk into them. She also poured two large beakers of fresh orange juice from a tap on the front of the door of the huge fridge. She glanced out of the window.
“It seems that my sister-in-law is a definite hit with my children. It looks as though she would make a terrific mum; it’s such a shame she wasn’t built for it.”
“Yes,” mused Jane, “She certainly seems to be enjoying herself.”
The children eventually tired and we all went in for drinks. Geena asked me if I would like to take them upstairs as they looked as though they were in need of an afternoon nap. I was near to tears, happy tears, as the twins again dragged me off to find their bedrooms and show me their toys, clothes and so on. It was a good twenty minutes later that I descended the stairs to collect my own tea and join the others in the lounge.
“So,” Geena surmised, “You got the bedroom tour then?”
“Yes,” I answered, still a little tearful, “I just can’t get over how lovely they are and how they seem to have taken to me so quickly.”
“There are two main reasons for that,” replied Geena, thoughtfully, “You are someone new; they just love showing off to visitors,”
“And?”
“You accepted them, just as they accepted you; you met them at their level and you are completely natural with them.”
“Oh,” I said, quietly, and then dissolved into tears.
Jane put an arm around my shoulder. “You feel cheated, don’t you?”
I looked lovingly into her eyes. “No and yes,” I sobbed.
“No and yes?”
“I feel so blessed, having your love. But I know that I can never have children; conceive them, carry them, give birth to them, bond with them and help them to grow.”
“John could have done some of that,” Jane said, gently.
“He could have done none of that; he wasn’t wired or plumbed properly. John was just an act,” I answered, vehemently.
“Conceiving a child, carrying it and giving birth to it are one thing; being a mummy and helping a child to grow is entirely another story. The two usually go together, but sometimes they don’t,” Geena said, wisely. “The first usually takes about nine months; the second can take a lifetime.”
Jane led me to a settee and, sitting me down, handed me my mug of tea. We drank in silence for a few minutes.
Then Geena asked, brightly, “Would you like a tour of the place?”
Jane took our empty mugs into the kitchen, rinsed them and put them in the dishwasher. She then guided me to follow Geena. We started upstairs; I thought that the upstairs was bigger than my own apartment, and I mentioned this to Geena.
“Peter usually works from home; he has a study and a computer room, we have two lively children and space for a guest or two. There are four bedrooms — two with en-suite, two bathrooms, a shower and the playroom upstairs.
“We found this house by accident. It belonged to a local builder who wanted a quick sale; he decided that he’d like to spend his retirement in the south of France, where his yacht is moored. We just happened to be looking around for a suitable property; we had rented a place until Peter’s business was established and one day, he was contracted to sort out and update the builder’s office now that his dad had retired. Jimmy happened to mention that his father was selling his house and the rest, as they say, is history. When we saw it, we fell instantly in love with it.”
“It’s beautiful and I love the colours. You have gone for pastel colours quite a lot upstairs.”
“Yes,” Geena laughed, “We both like green, it is such a fresh colour. Of course the children’s bedrooms and playroom have appropriate décor, Winnie the Pooh, Cinderella and so on.”
The sitting room was large and had a feature fireplace. The garden had a large area devoted to children’s play equipment, which was well within sight of the kitchen window. Lawns, borders and a row of fruit trees were accessible via a network of paths; the garden was completed by a large patio, which stretched from the kitchen, across the dining room and took in the French doors in the sitting room.
“You have a beautiful home and garden,” Jane said as we returned to the kitchen, “I imagine that it, and the children, keep you fairly well occupied.”
“Oh, I contract out most of the gardening and housework, but I’m very ‘hands on’ with my children.”
Just then Peter returned from a business meeting; it had inevitably been held at the local golf course. He bounded into the kitchen, grabbed Geena and kissed her soundly.
“I’d say you got the contract, then.”
“I let him beat me by two strokes and I drove away from the course with his signature barely dry on the paper.”
“Well done, so we can eat next month?”
“You bet!”
“Darling, we have visitors.” she laughed, as she turned him to face us.
“Oh Wow! Hello Jane, Hello Jenny,” he enthused, and then grabbed Jane for a hug and me for a hug and a kiss. “I know that we only saw you last night but hey, it’s not everyday we get a visit from my sister and her illustrious fiancée.”
We all laughed.
“So,” he asked, “What have you two been up to this morning?”
I told him about Warwick and then enthused about the house.
Geena told him about the children’s reaction to their auntie.
“I’m not surprised at all,” he commented, “Those two know a soft touch when they see one. Seriously, though, what do you think of them?”
“They are delightful,” I answered, sniffing slightly.
Geena and Jane both noticed that I was about to tear up again so Geena took Peter into the living room on some pretext or other.
Jane put her arm around my waist and I leaned against her shoulder and sobbed. “It’s so unfair,” I wailed.
“Yes, so is being born in abject poverty or with AIDS. Some children are born in a war zone or in a refugee camp. Try to imagine living several thousand feet up a freezing mountain without heat, light or fresh water. Many children die in infancy and many women aren’t fertile for any number of reasons. You’re dealt a set of cards when you’re born and you have to play them as best you can. Sometimes, by combining talents with other players, you can share each other’s strengths and mask each other’s weaknesses. And when you are dealt bad cards, you might sometimes pick up an extra good card. I don’t have all the answers but, between us, we make a good team, yes?”
I visibly brightened. “Yes, you’re right. And I’m sorry for being such a miserable bitch.”
“Okay, but don’t do it too often.”
“No, you’re right; I have so much to be thankful for. I guess I spent twenty-odd years trying to work out who I must have mightily pissed off to deserve all the crap. I hereby resolve to put the past firmly behind me and not look at it again.”
“Good girl,” she said, as she kissed me.
Just then, we heard the others returning to the kitchen.
“Would you like to stay to dinner?” Geena asked.
I glanced at Jane, who nodded. “Thank you; that would be lovely. It will be great to spend some more time with the twins.”
“Talking of twins,” Geena cupped her hand to her ear, “I think I hear a platoon of infantry running around upstairs. Prepare for the invasion!”
I smiled with delight as they hurtled downstairs and yelled “Auntie Jenny, will you play with us again, please” at the tops of their voices.
I laughed and steered them into the garden.
Jane glanced lovingly in our wake and then turned to Geena and Peter. “I don’t think you’ll have to worry about her not taking ‘Auntie Duties’ seriously. I think she’s quite besotted with those two.”
“It’s amazing,” Peter said, “I still can’t get over just how natural she is. If I hadn’t known her for twenty three years, I’d never guess that there was a miserable brother in there somewhere.”
“Apart from a small piece of unwanted flesh, there isn’t and hasn’t been,” Jane responded.
The others nodded in agreement.
The children and I had a lot of fun. I spent a long time pushing them on the swings, throwing a soft ball to them - my ball skills hadn’t improved since childhood; I still couldn’t catch and spent more time running for the ball than actually throwing it - playing ‘hide and seek’; they constantly challenged me but I didn’t falter, I was just so happy. There was a lot of hilarious squealing, much joyful shouting and plenty of hugs and giggles. After an hour the children were a little tired but I could have just kept going.
Geena called to us that dinner would soon be ready as Nanny and Grandpa were due to return any minute. “Thank you for looking after them this afternoon,” she said to me as we returned.
“They looked after me.”
“Whatever. I can see that you need more ‘Auntie Time’,” Geena joked.
“I’d be delighted,” I glowed as I took the children to the cloakroom to clean up ready for dinner.
My parents returned and had noticed that Jane’s car was outside the house. “Everything alright?”
“It certainly is,” Geena laughed, “and Auntie Jenny is a definite hit with the twins.”
Geena related the events of the afternoon and both grandparents were surprised that I had so easily filled the Auntie role.
“She’s a natural,” Geena affirmed.
“She’s that alright,” Jane agreed.
Dinner was another joyous affair, after the children had argued over who was going to sit on which side of Auntie Jenny. I solved it easily. Mind you; I already knew the answers to my questions.
“Rosalind, do you hold a pencil in your right or left hand?”
“In my right hand, Auntie.”
“Then you can sit on my right.” She did so.
“Now Geoffrey, your right hand or left hand?”
“Left hand, Auntie”
“Then you must sit on my left.”
The children sat down and Geena gawped. “Just how did you do that?”
“Diplomacy,” I replied, smiling.
“She’d make a good diplomat as long as she didn’t have to work at the Foreign Office; that would drive her to distraction,” Jane quipped.
Everyone laughed but I just smiled sweetly and returned my attention to the children.
The rest of the evening passed in light-hearted conversation and, naturally, the children wanted Auntie Jenny to read their bedtime story. I went willingly. The others told me later that they thought they heard frequent squeals and giggles.
I came back down about half an hour later and turned to Geena and Peter.
“Would you mind very much if I visited more often? I’d like to get to know the children a little better and spend more time with them…only if that’s okay with you?” I asked, timidly.
“Darling, you have wrought miracles this day,” Peter joked, “Of course, you’re welcome at any time. We’ve a guest room and we would be delighted to see you. You can’t be much more than a few hours away and perhaps you could come up for a weekend when Jane is working.”
“That’s a good idea,” Jane said, “Though, as my wife, she will have more housework to do.” This earned her a biff on the arm and a look which indicated that retribution would be soon, and thorough. My mother glanced at my father, who seemed to be very interested in the wall clock, and appeared not to have heard what was said.
Jane again dragged me down to the swimming pool the next morning. Although I theatrically moaned each time about the “crack of dawn start” and the temperature of the water, I actually enjoyed the little workout.
We both dressed casually for a day’s shopping. Jane wore jeans and a cerise tee top with her leather jacket and ankle boots while I wore my black slacks and aqua three-quarter sleeved scoop-neck top with my black leather jacket and a pair of black wedge-heeled sandals.
We had breakfast, checked out of the hotel, loaded the car and headed for ‘Chez Smith Too ’, as Jane had taken to calling it. I smiled as I knew that my apartment was now simply referred to as ‘Home.’ Perhaps she’d refer to my parent’s house simply as ‘Chez Smith’ or ‘Chez Smith One’. She seemed to have an affinity with most things French: the food; the wine; the Tour de France and her occasional use of the language.
There was definitely a French connection; I knew that she was born there and had a French mother and grandmother. Back to food; I resolved to investigate some more French recipes and see what reaction I received. Knowing Jane’s appetite, I had a suspicion that, as long as there was enough of it, I could serve her almost anything. I couldn’t suppress a little giggle at the thought of serving up chair legs in garlic sauce!
Jane noticed. “Something amusing you?”
“Yes,” I grinned.
“Care to share?”
“No!”
“I have ways of making you talk.”
“I’m looking forward to it!”
By this time we had arrived at the gates, and drove in as they swung open. My mother came out of the house to greet us; Geena swiftly followed.
“Parking in the town is never easy but we shouldn’t have too much trouble on a Monday. Or we could go by taxi,” Geena offered.
It was decided to take Geena’s estate car; she was the only one who knew where we were going and it could carry the four of us and any parcels.
Leamington Spa was a tiny village until about 1800. The value of the mineral springs was known in the middle ages but it wasn’t until 1784 that the village began rediscovering the saline springs, and built baths around some of them. The fortunes of the Pump Room, gardens and the town were something of a rollercoaster for many years and it wasn’t really until the end of the twentieth century that a carefully planned integration of the arts and tourism again put the town on the map.
The first priority was coffee and I insisted that it should be my treat. While we drank our coffee, I mused on just how much my life had changed in a little over six months. I again silently thanked the powers that be for my transformation from a nondescript sort-of androgynous creature to the woman that I had always known I was, but never dared to hope that I would ever be. I also marvelled at the fact that I was now one of the girls and was seated in a café with my fiancée, my mother and my sister-in-law and about to embark on a shopping spree.
“Are you ready, Jenny?”
“Hmm?”
“You haven’t heard a word we’ve said for at least five minutes, have you?” observed Jane, playfully.
“Sorry,” I said, sheepishly, “I was thinking.”
“Dreaming, more like, judging by the expression on your face.”
I quickly drained my cup and smiled at Jane. “I’m ready now.”
“Right,” said Geena. ”Look out, Leamington; here come the Smiths, and we’re definitely not taking prisoners.”
“Hey, what about me?” Jane sniffed.
“You’re an Honorary Smith today.”
“I say; thanks awfully!” she said, sounding as though someone had just given her a castle.
“Don’t mention it.” We three Smiths said in unison, and then laughed.
Our needs were soon met, which suited us admirably as we had only a few hours.
I found a specialist lingerie shop and purchased some of their more upscale items. I settled on a pale green set and Jane muttered something along the lines of “just as well I don’t have a willie or it would push my panties out of shape, seeing you in that.” Only I heard her comment so the others turned around with raised eyebrows at the sound of “Ouch!” and the snigger, after I had slapped her lightly on the arm.
Geena found several shops selling children’s clothes and came away with some hard-wearing outfits. As winter was approaching, the twins would necessarily be spending more time in their playroom and knees and elbows would come in for a lot of rough treatment.
My mother found her new coat in House of Fraser. It was full length, plum-coloured and double breasted. Everyone, especially her daughter, agreed that it was the coat for her and suited her colouring very well.
Jane found some curtain and fabric ideas in House of Fraser and made some notes of styles and prices. She didn’t purchase anything; she hadn’t yet decided on a house or apartment but said that she was interested in one of the large new 4-bedroom apartments.
All good things come to an end and we returned to Royal Priors and the car. At home we made sandwiches for everyone. The men had returned from their golf; for once, my father had managed to win by just one stroke and was feeling elated about beating his son at last. Peter wasn’t telling whether or not the result had been engineered in his father’s favour.
The children were attending school for a half-day only during the first term so were due home any minute; Emma, Geena’s neighbour, was collecting them along with her own daughter.
I helped with the sandwiches and then brought them to the table. The men’s golf match was discussed, as was the shopping expedition.
The arrival of the children — it sounded like twenty-two of them, not two - delayed the proceedings a little and my lunch was interrupted by squealing and giggling twins jumping up and down on my lap. I laughed at their antics and managed to calm them down enough to eat their lunch.
“See; what did I tell you?” An exasperated Geena asked her mother-in-law, “If I could just borrow Jenny for the next fifteen years or so, I could have this ‘mother/child bonding’ thing sorted in no time.”
My mother just grinned, and commented on my apparent ability to interact with anyone I came across. I was just embarrassed.
When it came to two-thirty Jane said, “I guess it’s time to leave you good people. It’s a two and a half hour journey for us.”
I added, “And we should stop by a supermarket to stock up with supplies. It might take a while; Jane is on day shift this week so I suppose I’d better lay in enough for a siege.”
Jane sniffed haughtily, then dissolved into fits of laughter, as she said, ”I can’t work properly if I’m suffering from acute malnutrition.”
We prepared to say our goodbyes and did the rounds of hugs and kisses.
I whispered something in my father’s ear after I had hugged and kissed him. We laughed. I then hugged and kissed my mother, Peter and Geena. I bade an especially tearful farewell to the twins, promising to come back and see them soon.
We drove out through the open gates, waving as we went. I turned and waved until we lost sight of the house and then settled down for the journey home.
“You have a lovely family,” Jane remarked after a few minutes.
“Yes, and I’m so happy that they love you too,” I replied, dreamily. “They are wonderful, but so are you.”
“You really think so?” Jane teased.
“Oh yes; clever, thoughtful, kind, sensitive, caring, supportive, protective and fun.”
“Wow! I’m impressed with myself.”
I giggled and punched her lightly on the arm. “I’d better not thump you too hard; we don’t want an accident, do we?”
“Oh, no! Just wait until I get you home, then anything that happens will be quite deliberate.” We laughed as we finished the line together.
Jane had a thought. “What did you whisper to your father earlier to make him laugh?”
“I told him that he’d better start saving for the wedding because I want the full works.”
We both dissolved into hysterics and Jane had to pull over to the side of the road and stop the car for a few minutes.
End of part 18
Secrets
By Susan Heywood
John finds the body of a neighbour who has been murdered. The police detective assigned to the case deduces that John hides a secret - but the detective has secrets of her own.
Part 19 of 25 — Illness
We had an uneventful drive home and music from Samuel Barber kept us entertained. We stopped at the local supermarket and stocked up with food. Jane pushed the trolley while I collected the items that we needed. I’d used the journey to compile a list of essentials and ticked items off as we walked around and found them. I insisted on paying and, just for once, there was no argument. It was Jane’s money after all; now she was living with me, she made a regular contribution to household expenses.
We delivered the groceries to the kitchen; I picked up the post from the doormat and took it into the living room. It was mostly bills but the gender clinic had written, enclosing a copy of their letter to my doctor, along the lines that we had discussed. I was amazed at the speed at which the letter had arrived; I’d thought I’d have to wait another week at least.
The light on the answering machine was blinking and I paged through the messages. Celia had called on Friday to wish me a happy birthday and to hope that I had a good time. My doctor’s receptionist had left a message to the effect that I should call in to discuss the recent visit to the clinic.
I called Celia’s home number and left a message. “Hi, it’s Jenny. I had a wonderful time and will tell all at work tomorrow.”
“What’s for dinner?” asked Jane, hopefully.
I laughed. “You can have anything you like as long as its eggs; I don’t feel like cooking a feast tonight.”
“Hmm, one of your Spanish omelettes would go down well.”
“Okay, that suits me because they’re quick and easy. One large and one normal sized Spanish omelette coming up.”
“Hey! What’s with this “large size” business? Just because you only want a small one.”
“I have to watch my figure,” I said, grinning.
“That’s my job, and a pleasure it is too."
“Any more of that, Miss Dyson, and you’ll be wearing the omelette.”
“I know when to admit defeat. I’ll put some wine in to chill; I think we’ve a bottle of Má¢con-Fuissé lying around.”
“How on earth did that survive?” I asked, with mock incredulity. “It’s ages since Mike’s last wine-tasting expedition. Still, it’s good that I’m still on his list for a few cases after every trip to France; I did wonder if he’d drop me like a shot after my transition but he seems to have accepted it.”
Instead of replying, Jane moved to nuzzle my neck. I started purring like a contented cat so she started exploring.
After a few minutes, I said,” Didn’t you say that you wanted an omelette?”
“Yes, but I don’t particularly want to let you go at the moment.”
“Well, it will take me about fifteen minutes to prepare and cook the omelettes. Do you want to eat now or later?”
She sighed and let me go.
I laughed and returned my attention to my cooking.
After dinner, we snuggled into the settee, Jane’s arm around my shoulder and my head resting against her breasts.
“This is nice,” I whispered, then a little louder. “Thank you again for a wonderful weekend; but thank you especially for my lovely ring. You know that I love you very much and look forward to the day when we can truly be one.”
“I think you sell yourself exceedingly short, my darling. I suggest to you that we are already one spirit and it won’t be too long before we are one in a legal sense too.”
I giggled. “Gosh, that’s a bit deep for you, isn’t it?”
“Maybe, but that’s how I feel.”
“Jane?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you believe in a God?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes I do, but sometimes the world seems such a dreadful place that I can’t see how there can be one.”
“Do you think we met by accident, or was there some plan to it?” I enquired.
“Ah, I think I see what you’re getting at. I don’t know; I can’t really dismiss the possibility of a vast eternal plan, but all my instincts tell me that everything that happens is simply chaos having free reign. And did Abigail Jones have to die so that we could meet?”
“Perhaps you’re just being cynical.”
She immediately came back with “Or perhaps I’m in the wrong job and only usually see the bad side of society.”
“No, you’re not in the wrong job at all. You are caring, considerate and honest and we need more people like you in society, not less.”
“Thank you for that vote of confidence.”
“Anyway, since I’ve known you, I haven’t so much minded paying my Council Tax (a local tax that pays for essential services including the Police) because I know that some of it goes to pay your salary.”
“So I’m not so bad after all.”
“Definitely not,” I kissed her, “You’re very good, in fact. Now, I need to properly thank you for my lovely weekend.”
“Ah,” she said with a smile, as I led her to the bedroom.
We both rose at dawn so that Jane and I could make an early start to the day; I no doubt had several days’ work to do and I had an appointment with Doctor Ruskin that afternoon. We both settled for cereal and tea and kissed goodbye at the door.
I emerged from the lift and discovered that I was the first to arrive that morning; I’d even arrived before Celia, who was usually the first to appear. I collected a Styrofoam cup of the hot, brown, wet stuff that masqueraded as tea and, settling myself at my desk, began to make inroads into the contents of my outstanding work. I liked this time of the morning; phones rarely rang before nine o’clock and it gave us early birds a chance to make a start on the in-tray and plan the day.
Celia arrived later than usual and tried unsuccessfully to stifle a huge yawn.
I chuckled sympathetically. “Good morning, Celia; I see you had a good night’s sleep last night.”
“Hmm, it’s alright for you,” she said, none too brightly, “You didn’t have a sick husband waking you every five minutes to tell you how ill he was and that he must be suffering from something serious. Honestly, it’s only a common cold: men just don’t know what real pain and discomfort is. His mother knew; she was in labour thirteen hours with him.”
That remark first struck me as somewhat hilarious given my in-between status but, having thought about it for a moment, I felt both validated and deprived.
I brightened and continued. “Anyway, it really is great to be back at work.”
“Why don’t I believe you? And what’s that on your left hand, as if I didn’t know?” Celia asked, pointing.
“It’s only a ring,” I conceded.
“Only a ring, she says? Pull the other one. Well love, seeing that you don’t have a boyfriend, unless you have him stashed in a cupboard somewhere, I’d say that ring came from a certain police officer.”
“Oh, you guessed.” I acknowledged, smiling.
She came over and inspected it. She ooh’d and ahh’d, then called to Jill, who had just walked in. She did likewise, as did Maddy when she arrived. Finally Janet joined the group.
Greg wandered in and waved to us as he made for his office, only emerging at about ten-thirty to collect his cream cake from my desk and offer his birthday wishes. It was a tradition that the birthday celebrant provided cream cakes for everyone in the team; even those on diets usually found a small space for a small cake.
Word of my engagement had obviously reached everyone’s ears during the morning; just before eleven-thirty, my phone rang.
Greg said, “Congratulations again; not only on your birthday, but also on your engagement, I hear. Oh, by the way, Sue Fuller would like to see you.”
“I’ll make an appointment,” I replied, “And thanks for the congratulations. I did get engaged at the weekend, on my birthday, and I hope you enjoyed your cream cake.”
“Yes thanks,” he said, “A double celebration then.”
“Yes, but only one cake.”
He laughed.
I then said, “It was more than just a double celebration. Let’s say that Auntie Jenny was very well received and my father and I are still on speaking terms, even considering my sexuality.”
“That’s great news, even more congratulations,” he replied, then ended the call.
I telephoned Melanie and immediately went to see Sue Fuller.
“Hello Jenny,” Melanie said, smiling widely. ”Sue is expecting you, please go in. Oh, and I see you didn’t waste much time then; who’s the lucky girl?
“Need you ask?” I laughed as I walked in to see Sue Fuller.
“Hello Jenny,” Sue said. ”Good weekend?”
“Very much so.” I replied as I held up my left hand.
The significance of that little gesture wasn’t lost and Sue asked, “Oh, So will you be Mrs Jennifer Dyson or what?”
“I rather like that; it does have a certain ‘ring’ to it.”
Sue Fuller groaned. “Honestly, that was well below the belt. Anyway, I’ve some news for you. I’ve heard back from one of the campaigning groups. They’ve suggested a few minor changes to the Transgender Policy but, basically, they’re very impressed. More than impressed, really, because we’ve practiced what we’ve preached and we’ve got you.”
“That’s great,” I replied, “I can still hardly believe it; I’m still here and I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my life.”
“Well, just carry on working the way you have done since July and we’ll all be happy.”
I left at three-thirty and headed for the surgery. I enjoyed the twenty-minute walk in the autumn sunshine.
“Hello Jenny,” Sally Ruskin greeted me when I walked into the consulting room. “Well, you certainly seem to have impressed the Glendale Clinic.”
I hadn’t until that moment realised just how tense I’d been. “That’s a relief,” I said, relaxing a little. “I didn’t think I’d managed to get past Ian Stalbridge last time but Irene Cross couldn’t have been more different. Friendly, professional and caring; I got the distinct impression that she was trying to be as much help as possible.”
“I’m glad you managed to relate to her. I know it’s not guaranteed but here’s hoping that you continue to see her whenever you go to the clinic. She’s asked me to arrange for you to see an endocrinologist, although I’ve already done that and I’m waiting for an appointment. She feels, as I do, that your blood results are a bit odd; from what I saw last time we met, that’s putting it mildly. Can I have another blood sample now, please? I’d like to get my own results to compare. I’ve not been your doctor for very long and I’d like to get up to speed on your case.”
I held out my left arm. She smiled when she noticed the engagement ring.
“I’ve already contacted Winchester; I want an early idea of what’s going on before you start on the hormones and they have a chance to muddy the waters. Now, the appointment should be through this week as I know the top man in that department,” she said, with a wink.
I raised an eyebrow.
“The head of the department is Doctor Peter Brookfield; my maiden name was Brookfield. Peter is my brother.”
“How useful,” I laughed. “There’s nothing like keeping it in the family.”
“Anyway, what else have you to tell me, as if I couldn’t work it out for myself?”
I held up my hand. “It was my twenty third birthday on Saturday and, as you noticed, Jane proposed. I suppose I can say “proposed” even though we aren’t going to be husband and wife. Apparently we would be Civil Partners; like being married only same sex.”
While she labelled the blood samples, I told her all that Jane had related concerning Civil Partnerships.
“So, will you still be Jennifer Smith, or Jennifer Dyson or even Jennifer Dyson-Smith?”
I giggled. “I’ve no idea; I’ve nearly twenty-one months to go before I can apply for my corrected birth certificate but I don’t really know whether or not Jane and I can be official Partners before that. Jane will no doubt know; it was her idea and, of all the family, she has the most knowledge of the law.”
After giving the blood sample, I stood and we exchanged goodbyes, with her saying, “Come and see me again two weeks after you’ve been to Winchester. Oh, and happy birthday for Saturday and congratulations on the engagement.”
Jane arrived home at about 7:00pm and, after changing out of her work clothes, wanted to know all about the doctor’s appointment.
I gave her the potted version. I also asked her about the Civil Partnership.
“We wouldn’t officially be a same sex couple until you’ve got your corrected birth certificate.”
Seeing the look of disappointment on my face, she gently pointed out, “the time will soon pass, it’s only twenty-one months away and it’s only a piece of paper confirming a status quo.”
I hoped that I’d be able to have my surgery before that but it all depended upon the Glendale Clinic.
I had prepared a lasagne for dinner and it was ready for the oven.
Meanwhile, Jane had set the table and we talked as we worked.
She asked, “What did the other girls think of the ring?”
“They thought it was beautiful. When I went down to see the Personnel Director, her secretary asked me who the lucky girl was. So my sexual orientation doesn’t seem to cause anyone any problems there.”
“I should think not. Anyway, how long to dinner?”
I laughed, “You and your stomach! I should think at least half an hour.”
Jane decided that was enough time and asked, “What do you say to a little hanky-panky?”
I giggled, remembered an old film with Danny Kaye, slipped my arms around her neck and replied with a smile, “Hello, little hanky-panky.” I was rewarded with a tickling match that I stood no chance of winning at all.
After dinner, when we were cosily cuddled together in the living room, she asked, “Are you happy?”
I glanced up at her. “Absolutely; I’m sure that I’ve never been happier in my life. Anyway, you have to ask?”
“Well, I just wondered, that’s all. It’s all happening a bit fast for you this year and I don’t want you to feel pressured into anything.”
I smiled contentedly. “I feel that I’m at the start of a great adventure and I just can’t wait to see what the future has to offer. Life was so shitty up to this March that I really had no hope of ever digging myself out of the misery that I was in. And then you came along, and wham! It was like someone opening a door and leading me into this beautiful sunlit garden that I never even knew existed.”
“Hmm, very poetic. Anyway, I’ve been thinking again about my flat. What do you say to my getting a place big enough for the two of us? I can’t keep staying here, can I?”
“Why not?” I asked, “Don’t you like staying here?”
“Yes, of course I do — I especially like coming home to you - but I wondered if you’d feel happier if we made a new start in another property.”
“I don’t know,” I answered, truthfully, “I hadn’t really thought about it.”
When I arrived at the office, just before 8:00am, Celia was already at her desk.
“Good morning,” I said, brightly. “Is Philip feeling better this morning?”
“Yes, he’s decided that he feels much better and that he’s going to stop being a martyr and will just grin and bear it. At least I slept most of the night so I don’t feel so much like something the cat dragged in this morning. Oh, by the way, he gave me this for you, well for Jane really.” She handed over an envelope.
It was unsealed so I opened it and found details of two properties; a house and an apartment. The house was a five-bedroom detached property. It was only a couple of years old and had been purchased by a couple who were selling up and moving because of a promotion opportunity. The four-bedroom apartment was on the first floor of a large block only a few minutes away from Jane’s penthouse apartment. I briefly looked them over and decided that Jane probably wouldn’t like the apartment because not only was there no terrace or balcony but also the rear of the property faced north and wouldn’t get much sun during the day. The house looked like a possibility but, to me, very expensive. I realised that I’d no idea of Jane’s financial situation. Still, I’d give her the information that evening and let her decide. It was strange but, after being on my own for a few years, I was now quite happy to let someone else deal with all the big questions in life.
Jane didn’t arrive home until about 8:00 pm after a very long day. She looked totally exhausted and I just anxiously watched as she seemed to be running on autopilot; the question of housing was definitely going to wait until another night.
She just took off her work clothes and, wearing a comfy dressing gown, returned to the living room and collapsed onto the settee. She didn’t feel like eating much and only picked at the plate of food that I brought in. She soon gave up, having hardly touched it.
I sat beside her and, putting my arm around her shoulders, cuddled in close. “Bad day,” I said, stating the obvious.
She nodded weakly. “Add to that the fact that I’m on and I already feel like death warmed over,” she said, ruefully. “I’ve been in court all day, then back to the station to start on the day’s work. And I had to finish it all, as it’s back to court again tomorrow and, probably, the next day. We’re desperate to nail this villain and it’s going to take all week. It’s times like this that I wished I just stacked shelves in ASDA.” (A UK supermarket chain owned by the American retail giant Walmart)
“You don’t, really,” I said with some sympathy, “And I’m glad you don’t. I’m really pleased that we have dedicated police officers like you to look after us. I just wish that the courts would back you up more.”
“It’s partly the courts, but we all have to work within the law. Our job is to catch them; it’s the courts’ task to determine their guilt or innocence. I don’t know which of us has the tougher job. I suppose it’s a question of balance. You don’t want the villains to go free but, then again, someone has to look at the whole thing objectively; perhaps we are sometimes too close to the action.”
“Talking of action, you look exhausted. Get an early night; I’ll just clear up a bit and then join you for a cuddle.”
“You’re good to me and good for me,” she said, appreciatively.
“I’ve seen you trying to cope with everything on your own. You have a very demanding job and you also now have me to worry about.”
“Hey! Like I said; you’re good to me and good for me and, anyway, I enjoy my job.”
I sighed, but then brightened a little and we kissed for a few minutes. She looked absolutely worn out and fell asleep in my arms: I had never seen her so exhausted and wondered if it was just work, her period or some other reason. She usually had the constitution of an ox and I wondered if she was just a bit run down. Her appetite was always a good indicator of her general health and, this evening, she had eaten practically nothing.
I half-carried her to bed — she out-weighed me quite a lot — I helped her off with her dressing gown and tucked her in, whereupon she immediately fell asleep. About fifteen minutes later, I joined her. I more often than not managed the laundry so knew when she was having a particularly heavy period. I also kept a special note on the kitchen calendar so that I would have some idea of her cycle. I sighed as I knew that this aspect of being a woman would forever be denied me. I’d heard the women at work complaining about their periods, but I’m sure I would have been delighted to have this ultimate validation of my gender. I again felt cheated and quietly cried myself to sleep.
Jane’s case had thankfully finished the previous day and work had returned to something resembling normality by the evening. She had now definitely come on and was having a particularly heavy flow, so any plans for the weekend were shelved and we just settled for a quiet couple of days. Her appetite was still uncharacteristically poor and I was very worried. In fact, I nagged her so much on the Sunday that she called in sick on the Monday morning and made an appointment to see her doctor. Her placid acquiescence only served to increase my concern for her health.
I decided that Jane wasn’t going to drive to the doctor’s surgery so I ordered a taxi. She was still in much more discomfort than usual and, again, didn’t seem inclined to argue. I went to work but was nowhere near as productive as of late because I was very worried about her. Celia said that I should have gone to the doctor with her, but I pointed out that she had a mobile phone and could ring if there were problems. Not only that, but Jane probably wouldn’t allow me to go with her; anyway, it’s not as if her doctor was in London. Well, I didn’t think he or she was.
“Hello Jane.” Doctor Helen Munro had moved from Scotland three years ago when her husband had taken a senior management job down South. She was fairly tall and wasn’t particularly slim, being what you might call big boned, but she couldn’t be described as fat. She had short, brown hair and wore spectacles. “I see from the records that you aren’t a regular customer of ours. Now, what’s the problem?”
“Well,” Jane said, a little breathlessly, “I’ve had bad periods before but this one takes the biscuit. I’ve not experienced pain like this since I was a child and had to have my appendix out.”
“Well, that appears to rule out one cause.” Helen said. They went next door into the examination room and Helen pushed and prodded for a few moments; then she said, “Hmm, it might be an infection; let’s try the usual tests.” She took a blood sample, blood pressure, pulse and temperature. “It might be an infection of the uterus; one we call Endometriosis. Have you been taking any painkillers?”
Jane replied, “Well, I don’t like using drugs but had to raid the medicine box on Saturday night, the pain got so bad. My fiancée popped to the pharmacy for something a bit stronger yesterday but that’s all I’ve been taking.”
“According to our records, you aren’t on the pill; that can sometimes help with the pain. Are you taking the pill?”
“No, I don’t need it with my fiancée.”
“Oh?”
“My fiancée is female.”
“Oh, I see. Is she with this practice?”
“No, she’s with Doctor Ruskin at The Avenue.”
“Back to you: do you feel better with the painkillers?”
“Only a little; will the problem recur next month?”
“Probably: painkillers won’t cure, they only dull the symptoms,” Helen said.
“What are the alternatives? I can’t take a week off every month just because I have a rough period.”
“Do you have a job?”
“I’m a police officer.”
“Hmm, we need to get it sorted sooner rather than later then; it’s not as though you have a nine-to-five office job and sit behind a desk all day. I’d like to try you on a course of oral contraceptive and progesterone to see if you get an improvement next month. Oh, and you ought to rest for a few days.”
“Jenny will laugh at the pill; she’ll think I don’t trust her.”
“Pardon?”
“I said that Jenny is female. Well, she is in her head, and she’ll be female in her body as well when she’s had her surgery.”
“Oh, now I understand,” Helen laughed as she handed over the prescription and a certificate. “Please come and see me again if the pain persists or gets worse. I’ve given you two month’s supply but I’d hope for the infection to clear up soon.”
Jane called me and updated me on the doctor’s visit, including the medication. I was quite good at lateral thinking and got to wondering whether or not Jane wanted children. It was something that we hadn’t discussed. Of course, we had only known each other for just over six months. Was it really only six months ago
that we met? It seemed like half a lifetime to me; the nightmares of the past were slowly fading from my memory but would probably never go away altogether.
I almost felt that I had always been as happy as I am now; had always been so accepted — more or less - and had always known my darling Jane. A lump came to my throat as I thought about the possibility of children. I recalled just how much fun I’d had with Ros and Geoff and wondered about freezing some sperm before it was too late. Would it even be possible? Are there any, and were they any good? I knew that I would never be able to use that with which I was equipped; firstly, it was quite small and I hated it with a passion and, secondly, I just couldn’t see Jane wanting to use it anyway. I’d never had any emissions and not even an erection. I sighed. If we did start a family, it would have to be Jane that carried and bore any children. I again felt cheated. I would definitely have to talk to her about it.
“How do you feel, love?” I asked when I arrived home to find Jane sitting in her dressing gown on the settee.
“Rough. I tried to sleep this afternoon but the pain kept me awake.”
“Hungry?”
“Hmm.”
“Is that a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’?”
“It’s a ‘hmm’.”
“You are definitely out of sorts,” I said gently, while cuddling her.
“I haven’t felt so bad in years. I don’t do ill; it’s not my way.”
“I know, but illness can strike at any of us, at any time. I’m just thankful that I can be here for you. Have you started the medicine yet?”
“Yes, I popped one of each this morning after I collected them from the pharmacy. They gave me a funny look. Perhaps they don’t get many twenty-nine-year-old women starting the pill; I suppose that most women usually finish taking it around that age because they are trying for a family.”
I was amazed, and the look on my face confirmed it. “You’re twenty-nine years of age?”
End of part 19
John finds the body of a neighbour who has been murdered. The police detective assigned to the case deduces that John hides a secret - but the detective has secrets of her own.
Part 20 of 25 — Church
“On 4th December.”
“I had no idea; I thought you were about twenty five. You certainly don’t look anywhere near twenty-nine.”
“Thank you; does it make a difference to you?”
“Don’t be silly! Come on now, sit down. How about an omelette? Something light and easy to digest.”
“Nag, nag.”
“Someone has to keep an eye on you; as your fiancée, I reckon that’s my job.”
“Okay,” she said, resignedly and, opting for the quiet life, did as she was told.
I decided that Jane was going to make the most of her few days rest so left her in bed when I went to the office. I also left strict instructions that she should try to eat some breakfast, even if it was just a slice or two of toast. I also told her that she should drink lots of water “and I mean lots — pints of the stuff”. I insisted that she ring me if anything changed at all, for better or worse. Finally, with a “see you at lunchtime”, I left the apartment.
Again, I struggled to keep my mind on my work. I wondered, if we were married, whether or not I would be able to have time off to nurse a sick partner. Celia, Jill and Maddy were very sympathetic, though, and kept bringing me tea and hot chocolate. At twelve o’clock I knocked on Greg’s door and walked in when he looked up and smiled.
“Hello, Greg. Jane’s laid up with an infection and the poor girl is feeling very rough. It’s not like her to give in to illness and I’m quite worried about her. I’ll take a long lunch break now, and make up the time later, if that’s okay with you? I did leave strict instructions for her to ring if there was any change but, knowing Jane, she could be at death’s door before she called for help.”
“That’s understandable, Jenny,” he soothed. “Take as long as you need.”
“Thanks, Greg,” I said, gratefully, as I left his office and stopped by Celia’s desk on my way to the lift. “I’m just nipping home for a while to see how the patient is.”
I called out to Jane as I walked in the door. “I’m home.”
“I’m in bed.”
I walked into the bedroom. “Hello, love, how are you feeling?”
“Better for not moving around; I got up to go to the bathroom and felt distinctly unsteady. I was glad to get back to bed. But I think my period is less painful than it has been over the past few days.”
I put my hand on her forehead. “Hmm, you still feel a bit hot and clammy, have you been drinking lots of water? And have you taken your medicine?”
“Yes, Mother; to both.”
“Water will flush the system; it might even help to reduce the temperature caused by the infection. Did you have any breakfast?”
“Just a slice of toast.”
“Well, that’s better than nothing. Do you fancy any lunch?”
“Not really,” Jane admitted, “I’m not really hungry.”
“I’ll make you some more toast with no crusts and I’ll cook some fish, that’ll be easily digested and will give you some vitamins and minerals.” I kissed Jane lightly on the lips and went out into the kitchen.
“My boss rang,” Jane called out.
“I suppose it’s not Detective Inspector Salisbury any longer?”
“No, it’s Detective Inspector Woodford now. I changed bosses when I was promoted and moved offices. He wanted to know when I’d be back at work.”
“I hope that you asked him how long is a piece of string? The answer to that one is “when you’re well enough”. A quick glance at your record ought to tell him that you don’t take time off for no reason, and he also ought to be glad that he can’t get an infection in his fanny.”
Jane giggled. “You can tell him that.”
“I presume that, like Ian Salisbury, he’s built like a brick shithouse, and could knock me over with one breath. I’d read him his fortune if he asked me stupid questions like that. Oh, and the girls at work send their love.”
“That’s very kind of them. You’re really getting into this nursing thing, aren’t you?”
“It’s good to have a purpose in life,” I said as I walked into the bedroom carrying a tray with a plate of toast - minus the crusts, some cooked fish, a jug of fresh water and a glass.
“Are you going to sit and watch to make sure I eat all this?”
“No, I’m going to sit here because I love you and I just love being with you. I’ll go back to work when I’m good and ready.”
Jane had a restless night. Several times, I changed the sheet and her nightie because she was bathed in perspiration. She kept apologising and suggested that I sleep in the spare bedroom where I could get a good night’s sleep.
“Not on your life: I’ll stay where I am and will do my Nurse Jennifer routine with or without your permission.”
Morning brought no significant change to her health and I was really worried. I went to work but again wasn’t able to concentrate. I kept watching the clock, which was so unlike me. Lunchtime was more or less a repeat of the previous day and I felt so helpless. At least the flow had eased considerably but the pain hadn’t gone completely; Jane still felt exhausted and hadn’t moved from the bed other than to visit the bathroom. All I could do was to be there for her, make sure that she drank lots of water and took her medication. Fortunately, the painkillers didn’t conflict with the drugs that the doctor prescribed, but they did reduce the pain a little.
I’d not noted any significant change in Jane’s demeanour at lunchtime and looked for some improvement later in the day. I again found her in bed, not having eaten much at all and still feeling quite listless.
“I’m getting quite bored with this,” she complained.
“I can understand that but, at the moment, you’re fit for nothing useful other than to provide me with a patient to nurse. So I’m sorry, love, but you’re stuck there for a few more days.”
By Thursday, Jane was still suffering considerable pain and discomfort, so much so that I arranged to have the day off, and called the doctor to her. The doctor was very concerned and said that she would visit Jane the next week. If the problem persisted, then she would send her to the hospital for tests.
I took full advantage of flexitime, leaving Jane in bed, getting to my desk before 8:00 am, having no more than an hour for lunch and leaving work earlier than usual. By Friday, I was still worried; the doctor had visited and was still inclined to see if the oestrogen made any difference, but she did prescribe some stronger painkillers that I collected when I went into town after work to do some food shopping.
Next to the shopping centre car park was a church. Neither of us had been churchgoers but I felt drawn to the notice on the main door. It mentioned that they had an open morning on Saturdays and served refreshments for a couple of hours. I hadn’t been brought up with a faith but felt that the happenings since March that year could not all have been coincidence. I thought I’d try to visit the next day.
October 2004
Saturday saw a slight improvement in Jane’s condition; she was still suffering a little, although she’d finished her period, and the associated pain was nowhere near as bad as it had been earlier in the week. I felt able to leave her for a couple of hours, saying that I was going to visit the town again. She was still very tired and didn’t really want to move, so just stayed in the living room and listened to some music.
I purchased some essentials in the supermarket, and then wandered into a shop called ‘Tchibo’; they were a German company and had a range of goods that changed every week. They also had a coffee shop. I liked to look in this shop as the items were very good value and ranged from the “I couldn’t ever see myself needing one of those” to “I must have that”.
This week was children’s toys and fashions. A lump came to my throat when I thought about my niece and nephew in Leamington Spa; how I wished that I could have two children as lovely as they were.
On impulse, I purchased a wooden bench seat with a built-in toy box. Although it was packed flat, it was still heavy, but I thought it might be ideal for their playroom. Then, of course, I had to struggle to carry it back to the car. Fortunately a couple of shoppers were already in the lift and the man needed little persuasion by his wife to carry the carton to my car. While he was, apparently effortlessly, carrying the box, his wife managed to elicit from me that, no, I didn’t have children yet but that the seat was a gift for my niece and nephew. The woman said what lucky children they were having such a generous auntie. After the seat was safely loaded into the boot of my car, I returned to the shopping mall and walked out of the main entrance.
I again looked at the notice on the front door of the church. I was aware that many churches accept you if you believe what they believe and tick all the right boxes on their membership form. If you don’t, you’re wrong and will fry in hell. Many churches would refuse you if you were gay, lesbian, transgender or even intersex, even though you have no choice in the matter. Some would, no doubt, try very hard to cure you by prayer and counselling. I shivered as I thought back to Sarah in the office, and her reaction to my situation. And she called herself a Christian?
Heck, I mused, there were probably churches that would condemn you for breathing if you looked for them hard enough. I wasn’t interested in that kind of church and I wondered what kind this one was. If it didn’t accept people as they were, then I would leave. After all, I didn’t have to go back if I was uncomfortable and if they made it clear that I wasn’t the type of person they wanted. I had always felt that a religion was an option, something you used as a crutch. But then, what had I done for most of my life but rail against a God who would allow me to be made incomplete, mixed up, useless for anything? The more I thought about it, though, the more I sensed that I was being drawn to believe in a greater being.
I walked in and was greeted by a short, plump woman with blonde hair done in a Princess Diana style. She had bright blue eyes, a ready smile and wore a wedding ring. She appeared to be in her early forties and greeted by name many of the people who walked through the door. We both smiled. She had to look up to most people but didn’t seem to feel self-conscious about it.
“I don’t recognise you,” she said to me, appraisingly, “Is this your first visit to this church?”
“It’s my first visit to any church,” I laughed.
“Oh, then we are honoured. And what brought you to us this morning?”
“I saw the notice on the door yesterday and thought I’d come and see if you have anything to say that might interest me.”
“Oh, that’s an unusual response. I’d like to introduce you to our pastor if I may. Oh, by the way, I’m Sue, what’s your name?”
I introduced myself as I was led across the room to a man wearing a white shirt and grey trousers.
“Jim,” Sue said, as we approached, “This is Jenny, and it’s her first visit to us.” She repeated what I’d told her, and then said, “I’ve provided a cup of tea and a biscuit so now she’s all yours.” From the way that Sue took Jim’s hand and gave it a squeeze, I deduced that she was his wife.
In response to his gentle questioning, I told him that I lived alone and that I worked nearby. I mentioned that I was presently looking after my fiancée who was ill. I was somewhat guarded about my private life but, as time went by, I found myself opening up a little. Jim later told me that he sensed that I was deeply troubled on a number of issues and he felt that he would need to move very slowly as here was a person in considerable pain. After about half an hour, I thanked him for the tea and the chat and said that I might call in again. He gave me a card with his contact details on it and invited me to call him at any time if I wanted to continue our discussion.
I made my way home, feeling more at peace than I had in a long time. Why I felt so, I didn’t know, but thought that I might be able to trust the pastor to listen without judgement.
Jane looked up from the settee as I came in the door and asked where I’d been.
“Well, you remember I mentioned a God a little while ago?” I asked, rather timidly, fearing a backlash.
“Yes, I remember.”
“I found a church near the shopping centre. They are open on Saturday mornings so I went in, had a cup of tea and met the pastor.”
“And what did he have to say?”
“He seemed a decent sort of man. I also met his wife and some of the congregation; they seem a friendly enough lot. I didn’t say much, just exploring really. I kept it all rather vague.” I sat by Jane and, cuddling in close, quickly changed the subject. “Anyway, how are you feeling today?”
“Much better: I’m not exactly awash with energy or anything like that, but at least I seem to have lost most of the pain. I just feel very tired now.”
“I’ll cook you something light,” I said, “and then it’s off to bed again for you.”
“No, I’ll be okay.”
“Oh, no you won’t,” I asserted, “You do as you’re told, missy, and get to bed.”
Jane tried to grumble but didn’t really have the energy, so crawled next door and fell into bed.
I sat silently contemplating all that had happened over the past week, culminating in my meeting that morning at the church. I wasn’t sure that I wanted to pursue the conversation with the pastor but felt compelled to talk to someone outside my own little world. I’d prepared some food for Jane but she was asleep by the time I walked into the bedroom with the lunch tray. I smiled lovingly down at my fiancée and, turning on my heel, walked back to the kitchen and had my own lunch. I still wasn’t sure that I believed in a God but offered up a silent prayer of thanks for a purpose in life at last and for my lovely companion.
Jane woke late in the afternoon and felt considerably refreshed but I told her to take it easy and not to tire herself. We again had a cuddle on the settee and she drifted off to sleep, soothed by some gentle music to which we had been listening.
On Sunday, Jane seemed much brighter and was talking about going back to work the following day. Doctor Munro had given her a certificate that covered the week but, if there was any deterioration, then she was to return.
Jane went back to work on the Monday, although part time, and only in the office. She was nearly back to her usual state of health; it seemed to be one of those conditions that went as quickly as it came.
I returned that afternoon to find a letter on the mat. It contained an invitation from the hospital to telephone for an appointment to see the endocrinologist. It looked like Doctor Ruskin had indeed pulled some strings.
As Jane’s energy level increased, she spent more and more time at the station. She had a little more energy in the evenings and I just kept an eye on her; her appetite was returning and she was making good progress. Her boss had reluctantly accepted that the doctor must be right; particularly as Jane pointed out that she hadn’t had a day of sick leave in the previous six years.
She was still determined to discuss the housing issue and brought out the papers that Philip had provided. As I thought, she wasn’t keen on the apartment but was interested in the house if it hadn’t yet been sold. I saw the asking price and almost had a fit that she was even considering it. Where would we get that kind of money?
Jane suggested that we call Philip. He was still at work when Jane rang that afternoon, and soon called back to say that he had managed to arrange a viewing.
The next Saturday I drove us round to the house in my little yellow car and we sat for a few minutes to look at the other nearby properties, the surroundings and the house itself.
Wroxall Gardens appeared to be a large detached bungalow, situated at the end of a cul-de-sac. It had a double garage adjoining the house on the north side of the property and an east-facing front garden complete with a huge car-parking area. The whole of the front of the property was bounded by a low brick wall in which was a pair of gates. That meant, Jane deduced, that the rear garden would face west and would catch most of the afternoon sun. I was fairly sure that I could see where her thoughts were leading.
The house itself looked almost new and had a tile roof over a double front. We rang the bell and, immediately, there was a squealing of small children as they raced ahead of the woman who answered the door.
She appeared to be of a similar age to Jane, but much shorter; the children reminded me very much of the twins, although slightly older. The woman raised a questioning eyebrow. In response to Jane’s introduction, she said, “Hello, I’m Sandi Bennett and these two are Josie and Robert. Come in, please.”
We followed Sandi into the house and I seemed magnetically attracted to the two children. They scampered around me and asked if I’d come to play with them. I smiled and said “Sorry, no,” and looked over towards Sandi, who smiled, knowingly.
“The children are always like this with visitors,” she laughed, “They assume that everyone has come here just to play with them. I shouldn’t really complain as they are so transparent, and I usually know in advance what they’re thinking.” With that, she hugged them both and sent them to play in the garden. When they’d gone, she said, “My husband has just been promoted and we are moving to Kent; he’s there at the moment, getting settled in. I’m a teacher so hope to find work without too much trouble but, with my husband away, I’m landed with trying to sell this place.”
The house was, in fact, split-level and the site sloped down to the rear. Sandi showed us around. Upstairs were five good-sized bedrooms; two singles shared a useful shower room, and two double rooms had their own en-suite shower room. The master bedroom had its own full size bathroom. There was also a large family bathroom.
There seemed to be a large amount of built-in storage space and Sandi agreed. “That’s one of the features that appealed to us about the house when we first moved here; that and the en-suites, of course. There isn’t the usual battle for the bathroom in the mornings because the children use the shower room and we have our own bathroom.”
She took us downstairs again and showed us the kitchen and dining room. They were large rooms and the dining room had plenty of space for a table and chairs. The kitchen had modern units and built-in appliances, and a separate utility room accommodated the laundry appliances. There was a downstairs cloakroom, and the downstairs reception room was several times the size of the living room in my apartment. A feature log fire dominated the room and windows at the front and rear made it a very light room indeed. Finally, there was a reasonable-sized study off the hall.
She then showed us the garden. This was mainly laid to lawn but with paths and floral borders. It had a patio that ran the full length of the back of the house; a brick-built barbecue appeared to be a recent addition. The patio was accessed both from a door in the kitchen and French doors in the living room. Jane particularly commented that the patio wasn’t overlooked at the rear because the garden backed onto what appeared to be an area of scrubland.
Sandi told us that it was, in fact, a small nature reserve with a brook running through the middle. It attracted many different varieties of wildlife and was unlikely to be built on as the ground was unsuitable. The nearest house in the distance looked to be at least a quarter of a mile away so there was no chance of our being overlooked. This meant, of course, that we could sit in the garden in almost total privacy. Sandi confirmed that we were welcome to return for another look around if we wanted.
We thanked her for her time and, bidding farewell to the children, returned to the car. I left Jane to open the conversation; I didn’t have long to wait.
“What do you think?”
“I loved it,” I enthused, “It’s everything I’d want in a house, and much more besides — far too big for just us two but lots of room for guests. But isn’t it way beyond our means? I saw the asking price on the paper that Philip gave us, and nearly choked.”
“But you’re not buying it, are you?”
“Don’t you need the proceeds of the sale of Coleridge House?” I asked, and must have looked near to tears.
She shook her head. “Look, I have no family and hardly any friends. I have at last found a girl with whom I want to spend the rest of my life. You, my dearest Jenny, make me feel good about myself at last. Prior to meeting you, I just existed. Now, I’d like to think that you feel the same way about me but I don’t want to rush you. I love you very much and would never deliberately hurt you. But I don’t want to rush you into something for which you aren’t ready.”
“It’s all happening so fast for me,” I was pensive. “Just over six months ago I had no life either. I feel safe with you and I love you very much. I still can’t get used to the fact that you see me as a life partner. I guess I’m still rather insecure.”
“Are you sure that you want to do this?” Jane asked, now a little worried. “I know: I’m pushing things a bit, given how long we’ve known each other. I’m like that; I get an idea and then I’m off, and everyone else either catches up or they get left behind. You would say if you’re uncomfortable with this, wouldn’t you?”
I grabbed Jane’s hand and held it tightly. “I just can’t get used to how my life has changed. And I can’t get used to the fact that everything you do seems to put me first.” With that, I burst into tears.
“Am I going too fast for you?” she asked gently.
“I just never thought that our relationship could happen, I am so happy!” I said, in between sobs.
“Well, there’s no doubt that you are definitely a woman,” she responded, playfully.
“Pardon?”
“Mood swings. Mind you, I wouldn’t have you any other way.” Jane reached out and, despite the distance, the handbrake and the gear stick in between us, gathered me into her arms and squeezed affectionately.
I proved her point by giving her a weak smile and then, flinging my arms around her neck, gave her a great big kiss.
Jane just gave me a hug and said, “It’ll work out.”
“Well, I thought that the house was lovely.”
“My thoughts exactly,” she agreed. “It seemed to be just right; not too big and rambling, just the right size, with all the features we would need. I imagine that they would want to move fairly quickly so shall we go home and do some sums?”
I smiled and nodded vigorously, not missing the fact that she now regularly referred to my flat as home. I just couldn’t believe that this was happening. I realised that I had no idea of Jane’s financial position. I also had no definite idea either of the value of our two apartments, although I could hazard a guess as to a reasonable asking price for mine.
As soon as we returned home, she telephoned Philip to say that we were definitely interested in Wroxall Gardens, to put a hold on it for us and to arrange for valuations of our present homes. She said, “There’s no problem over the price of Wroxall Gardens; I’d like a rough idea, though, of the rental value of our present properties. There’s no mortgage on Masefield House, I own it outright. I don’t really need both homes and will probably let Masefield House. But we like Wroxall Gardens, so don’t lose the chance of it. We can take our time either selling Jenny’s place or we could let it, depending upon what she wants to do.”
Philip agreed with her plan and went away to do some sums of his own. He called back about half an hour later, and they had a brief discussion.
Jane said, “I’m sure that the Bennetts will want to move quickly, so please put in an offer for the asking price less ten thousand pounds to cover essential works. Subject, of course, to the usual survey. We would like to include carpets and curtains; and make sure to tell them it’s cash and no downward chain” (this, like ‘first time buyer’, is a term often used for a buyer who has nothing to sell and is therefore not dependent upon a property chain). After a little more conversation, she thanked him and ended the call. She turned to me. “I suggest that we move sooner rather than later. Do you want another look at it?”
“No, I don’t think so,” I said, “I think it’s a delightful house. It’s still within walking distance of the office and it has somewhere to park the cars, even though I plan to sell my Fiat. I’d just love cooking in that kitchen and we could easily fulfil your dream.”
“Oh, which one is that?”
“The one where you sit on the terrace and I bring you a Pina Colada whilst wearing a bunny-girl outfit.”
She laughed, and gave me a hug. “There’d be more housework.”
I mused, “I can just see you now, in a pair of overalls, decorating the place while I bring you cups of tea and hand you paint brushes.”
She scoffed. “I think we’ll subcontract that job, thank you!”
“Hey, I’ve an idea,” I said, enthusiastically. “Have you a notice board at the station? You could advertise your place on that. I could put a notice on our system and, maybe, we could send details to large employers in the area. If we sold it or let it that way, you wouldn’t have to pay Philip’s commission.”
“A great idea,” she agreed, “We can print some cards on the computer and I’ll distribute them.”
I had a thought. “Cash? No downward chain? Aren’t you going to try and sell Masefield House?”
“I’ve some money left over from my inheritance.”
I didn’t ask any more and headed for the kitchen. I cooked some steaks and we spent a pleasant evening discussing the new house. She warned me that these things never were easy and that there was plenty of room for disappointment until contracts were exchanged. It’s likely that there might be a number of people in the chain and there was no telling where it went after it got to Kent. I was quite content to let Jane do all the paperwork and just snuggled in for the evening.
Activities in our corner of the housing market had picked up considerably in the past week. Jane’s offer for Wroxall Gardens had been accepted and valuation of her apartment indicated that a decent rental income could be obtained. We’d visited Masefield House a few times in order to clear out most of Jane’s limited possessions, and to clean and tidy and collect a few items that she wanted to keep.
I had provided her with details of my own apartment: the purchase price and date, the outstanding loan amount and a good idea of the present value. Little did I know that financial matters were to turn out far different from what I had naively expected.
End of part 20
Jane has a big secret to impart; fate has been practicing throwing wrenches
Part 21 of 25 — The Endocrinologist
Meanwhile, I went to see the endocrinologist at Winchester. Doctor Peter Brookfield was a tall, medium-built man in his mid-forties. He had a shock of mousy brown hair that seemed to defy all attempts to tame it. His 3-piece pin-stripe suit, lilac shirt and yellow bow tie didn’t seem at all out of place and I thought that he looked like a typical consultant, whatever his qualification.
After the introductions, he said, “Doctor Ruskin has sent me the results of her tests and, knowing how thorough she is, I’m prepared to base my initial assessment on her results. Her tests indicate a problem with the way your body processes testosterone. Basically, it hasn’t. By your appearance, and the contented look on your face, am I to deduce that you are not entirely displeased by this?”
I smiled and replied. “I’ve been female in my mind ever since I was a toddler and I am delighted that my body has, at least to some extent, reflected that. I never wanted to be male; as far as I am concerned, I never was male. I just want to get the outside of me to match that which is inside my head and get on with my life.”
“Well, that seems fairly succinct. Tell me what you’ve done so far.”
When I’d finished relating my history, he said, “I have a note from Sally about the oestrogen, the dosage and dates. I’d like to take another blood sample, so that I can get an idea of progress since you saw her, and before you start on a proper dose of hormones. Your body has been in a state of limbo since your early teens and needs to be kick-started one way or the other. Seeing the way you’re dressed, and the contented look on your face, do I need to ask if you want to be female or male?”
“As I’ve always been female, albeit with a birth defect, I would like hormones and surgery to complete the job. Regarding Sally Ruskin, my GP, I am aware that you and she are related,” I smiled, as I took off my jacket.
“Yes, she’s a good GP by all accounts.”
“She gets full marks from me so far,” I confirmed.
He laughed, swabbed my arm and took a blood sample. “I’ll send my results on to Sally, along with my recommendations,” he told me as I got up to go. “By the way, you look very good; no one would ever know.”
“Thank you, that’s the idea,” I replied, before closing the door.
Jane had asked about the visit and I told her about Doctor Brookfield’s comments. “I knew it,” she said, with glee. “I knew there was no way I could fall in love with a man, even a pretty one. It’s nice to know that I was right — again! Come here, gorgeous!”
I gave in, not that I had a chance of resisting anyway. That’s assuming I’d want to — which I didn’t.
Jane was busy that weekend and I told her to go easy on herself and to call frequently to reassure me. I was still concerned about her health although she assured me that she was now fully recovered. Severe retribution was threatened if she felt below par and didn’t let me know.
The weather forecast for the next few days was favourable, so I took a half-day’s leave on the Friday afternoon and set off to do battle with the traffic. The new toy box seat for the children was cluttering up the car, so I decided to deliver it personally. It was at least a three-hour journey for me and I left early enough to ensure that I would arrive in daylight.
I’d already resolved that, as soon as winter arrived, I would give up driving altogether and sell the car. I only learned to drive because I was fed up with the constant put-downs and prophesies of my inability to achieve anything of note. Although I could see well enough with my one eye to pass the driving test, my sight was unlikely ever to improve and traffic levels were never going to reduce. I didn’t have the confidence to make long journeys and there was no point in having a car simply for local shopping. With insurance, road tax, depreciation and maintenance, it now cost at least a hundred pounds a month just to keep the thing outside the door — and that’s before I put fuel in it and drove it anywhere.
I arrived in Leamington Spa at about six o’clock in the evening. Having alerted Peter to my imminent arrival, the gates were open so I could drive straight in. I got out of the car, grabbed my bag from the back seat, ran to the door and greeted them all. The children were especially excited and settled down only when I promised to read them a bedtime story. They were allowed to stay up a little later on condition that they didn’t bother me while I ate my dinner. After settling the children in bed, I went back downstairs and asked Peter if he could help me to unload a package from the car.
He walked out, intrigued, lifted the boot lid, and then grinned as he spotted the picture on the side of the box. “You are naughty; you shouldn’t have done this.”
“Well, my excuse is that I missed the twin’s birthday and this is a belated present.” I smiled up at him.
He put his arm around my shoulder and gave it a squeeze, then carried the box into the house
Geena looked at him, then at the box, then at me. I put my finger to my lips and said, quietly, “Can we sneak it upstairs when they’re not looking? It would be fun to put it in the playroom and to see their faces when they go in there tomorrow morning.”
Geena smiled. “We’ll wait until later, when they’re sound asleep. We have a gift tag that you can tie on it. I doubt that we’ve a piece of wrapping paper big enough, though.”
Peter chuckled as he opened the box and prepared to assemble the unit.
We all sat on the settee in the living room and, armed with suitable after-dinner drinks, I was instructed to give them a blow-by-blow account of events since we met for my birthday.
They weren’t too surprised by the results of the endocrinologist visit but were excited by the idea of the house-move and wanted to know all the details. Peter agreed with me that it was early days. I thought that a lot depended upon finding a buyer for my flat; without that, the whole thing might fail.
I phoned Jane and confirmed that I’d arrived safely. She seemed to be coping well and I was somewhat relieved that her previous illness appeared to have cleared up. We chatted for about 15 minutes until someone called her and she had to go, at which point we exchanged endearments and ended the call.
The journey had really tired me and I was soon yawning. The other two packed me off for an early night and, despite my other half being some miles away, I slept very well in their guest room until woken by what sounded like a herd of elephants charging into the room at about seven o’clock the next morning.
I slowly opened my eyes just enough to see two shapes. They were whispering to one another and trying to decide whether or not I was asleep. Suddenly I lunged forward and, grabbing one of them around the waist, started to tickle it. It shrieked loudly, as did the other one. A couple of minutes later, the door was thrust open and their mother walked in.
“What on earth is all this noise?” Geena asked, feigning indignation. “Some of us are trying to get some sleep.”
“I’ve been invaded,” I said, slightly sheepishly, “and I decided that they ought to be taught some respect for their auntie.” So saying, I relinquished my hold on Rosalind and, making a highly successful grab for Geoffrey, pulled him onto the bed and started to tickle him, resulting in a really infectious giggle.
“I swear you’re as bad as those two are; you’re supposed to be twenty three, not three years old.”
“I never had much of a childhood and, for much of it, I didn’t have a brother,” I said, “So I’m catching up, big time.”
Geena suddenly looked a little contrite. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think of that.” She turned to the twins. “Now you two, just pop into the playroom and quietly come back and tell me what you find.”
They scampered off and, within seconds, there were shrieks of delight, and the invading force returned and clung to their mother, their eyes bright.
“Well, what did you find?”
“We found a present,” they both chorused.
“I think you should go and give Auntie Jenny a kiss and thank her properly, don’t you?”
They rushed over to my bed, one on either side, and I laughingly cuddled them while they flung their arms around my neck and kissed me.
“Thank you Auntie Jenny, it’s beautiful,” said Rosalind.
Her brother agreed. “Thank you, Auntie. It’s brill!”
I was in tears and this wasn’t lost on Rosalind. She asked, “Why are you crying, Auntie?”
“I am crying because I am so happy. I am happy to be here with you this weekend and so grateful to your Mummy and Daddy for letting me stay with you all.”
Geena sighed, theatrically. “I suppose as we’re all now wide awake, we might as well have breakfast.”
We all got ourselves ready; it was amazing just how much noise two five year olds could make in the process, but eventually we were all gathered around the breakfast table.
Geena asked, “What shall we do today?”
Peter had another business meeting involving long sticks, little white pellets and large expanses of grass littered with obstacles.
The twins both jumped up and down and said, “Mummy; Can we go to the park, please?”
I was content just to be where the children were so agreed with Geena’s suggestion that we take a picnic and go to Stratford-upon-Avon, where the children ran around to their heart’s content while we sat, talked and just watched the River Avon idle its way to wherever it was going.
In the evening, I asked, “How long since you two had an evening out without the children, just you two and not counting my birthday party?”
“Some time,” admitted Geena.
“Right then; I’ll stay with the children and you two can go for a drink or something.”
“But.…” Geena started to protest that it was my mini holiday but I insisted. And so it was that I settled down to play with the children until bedtime, supervised their nightly routine, read them both a bedtime story, settled them into bed and tucked them in with a kiss goodnight, promising them that I would still be there in the morning.
Geena and Peter were grateful for the opportunity to have an evening off together and made the most of it, returning just about midnight. Over a hot chocolate drink, they attempted to thank me for my help but I just waved it off and said that Auntie Duties were an absolute pleasure.
I mentioned my interest in the existence of a God. None of the family had been brought up in any particular religion, but Peter and Geena surprised me when they told me that they started to attend church just after they were married. They had shopped around for quite a while before finding one with which they were comfortable. Since settling in Leamington Spa, they attended a local house church where the whole family had all been made welcome; the children especially enjoyed going to meet with their friends and they all found the atmosphere quite relaxed.
Geena regaled me with some of their early explorations into so-called Christianity. She wryly told me of churches where they couldn’t understand anything that was going on, or where the preacher was so heavenly minded that he was no earthly good, or even where she was expected to do nothing but make cakes and arrange flowers. She also told of places where Peter received some black looks because he found the proceedings so boring that he fell asleep. Finally, she said that there was even a church where they had been told not to bring the children because “they were disruptive” or where “they should sit at the back so as to not disturb everyone else”. Needless to say, the family voted with their feet.
The church that they now attended was a small congregation that met in a school hall about half a mile from where they lived, and they invited me to accompany them. I’d initially been concerned about my status but Peter told me quite firmly that I was his sister and that, if the church had a problem with me, then they would answer both to him and to Jesus Christ. The children also insisted that I go with them; they dragged me to the car and sat on either side of me in the back.
On arrival, Nathan, the pastor, greeted us. He was a very tall, broad and bald man in his mid-forties and looked as though he’d be more at home on a Harley-Davidson. I, as a visitor, was quickly surrounded by a group of other women who wanted to know all about me. They wanted to know where I lived, what I did for a living, where I purchased my skirt and shoes — all manner of important details. They admired my jewellery, especially the engagement ring, and of course wanted to know what my fiancé did for a living. I neatly sidestepped that one by telling them that my fiancée was a police officer. As the pronunciation of the male and female forms of the word is the same, I wasn’t telling an untruth; then again, neither was I giving anything away. Geena eventually had to rescue me so that we could go and sit down; the service was about to begin.
The service was a mix of traditional and modern worship, and everything - service sheets, hymns and songs - was displayed in large print on a huge projector screen. I didn’t know any of the songs but joined in as best I could. After about twenty minutes the pastor handed over to Sam, a slightly built man with spectacles whom I’d seen before the service and had dismissed as simply an ordinary member of the congregation. I was very wrong.
When Sam started to speak he appeared to grow several inches in height and I was mesmerised by his powerful voice. He read from chapter 12 of Paul’s letter to the Romans.
Then he spoke of his childhood, the pain of being a small child with poor eyesight and a total ineptitude with anything to do with sport. He was dyslexic and had found academic subjects difficult. He’d struggled to make friends. I winced in sympathy when he told of his suffering at the hands of various bullies and wondered how on earth he had coped. Geena leaned over after his talk and whispered that Sam was now head teacher of the school where the church held their meetings.
He then shared that we all have gifts that may not, initially, be obvious and which need to be brought out and nurtured. He said that Jesus, unlike many humans, looked past the superficial and into the inner being; He cut through all society’s restrictions and tick-boxes and went straight to the person within. Everyone was valuable: all were gifted, but some gifts were well hidden. Sam then brought his wife and children onto the stage and they all prayed that each person’s unique gift would be recognised, nurtured, valued and employed for the good of all.
I was moved by the whole thing and felt close to tears on several occasions. I had been so wrapped up in my own problems that I hadn’t thought that others might also have suffered in a similar way. I felt sure that very few people understood the pain of rejection as I and the preacher had done, and made a point of speaking to him after the service. I found him to be a modest man, easy to talk to, clearly at ease with himself at last, and very much loved by both his family and the fellowship.
I was tempted to tell him a little of my own struggle but common sense prevailed, so I kept the conversation to a discussion of the gifts of the Spirit. He asked me what I thought were my gifts and I was somewhat thrown by this. Geena sidled up to me and heard the tail end of the conversation as she handed me a cup of tea.
“That’s easy,” she said to Sam and his wife, Josie, “My sister-in-law here is a wonderful friend and great fun. My two children love her to bits; she is patient, generous, thoughtful, gentle, kind and loves unconditionally.”
I went red with embarrassment. Just then the two children in question ran up to me and flung their arms around me.
“Auntie Jenny! Cuddles!” they chorused in unison.
I laughed, sat down and proceeded to be hugged by two excited children who hadn’t seen me for twenty minutes or so.
“See what I mean?” Geena laughingly questioned. Sam and Josie smiled and then moved on to talk to others.
On the way home, Peter asked me, “Well, what did you think?”
I took a few moments to think about my reply. “I never thought that going to church could be such fun, yet be so draining. That preacher was something else; he had me in tears as I identified so much with what he’d been through as a child. Seeing him confidently standing there, so obviously loved by both his family and everyone else, made me realise what a lucky girl I am and how different things could have been had Jane not found me — and my family not accepted me. I would definitely like to go back to that church, although I suspect that commuting from the South Coast every Sunday could be very exhausting.”
Geena laughed and asked what time I would have to leave them.
“Oh, I think half-past two should do it,” I responded. They knew that I didn’t like to be driving in the dark and that future visits would almost inevitably be by train — unless, of course, my personal chauffeuse and bodyguard happened to be available.
After a joyful lunch, tearful farewells and promises to the children that I would see them soon, I headed homewards. I was, of course, looking forward to seeing Jane again and cheered my journey with that thought and some of Chopin’s preludes.
I called Jane’s mobile. “Hello, love, I’m at the services South of Oxford,” I said, delighted to again speak with my fiancée. “Good weekend?”
Jane grumbled. “It’s okay for you, swanning around the countryside: some of us were working.”
“Oh dear, what a shame!” I responded, giggling. “Have you eaten?”
“You call a sandwich at lunchtime a meal?” Jane retorted. “I suppose you’re stuffed with roast dinner and all the trimmings.”
“Very true,” I giggled again.
Jane made more grumbling noises and started talking about neglect.
“There’s spag bol if you’d like; there’s a tin and some pasta in the top left-hand cupboard. Just boil some water…”
“I do know how to cook,” Jane indignantly interrupted me. “I just don’t usually see the point as you do so much better. I’ll sort out the spag bol.”
“Okay.” I blew her a kiss that, of course, she didn’t see. “Love you lots, see you in about an hour and a half.”
“Love you more, drive carefully, I’ve got withdrawal symptoms.”
I laughed, and then rang off.
The reunion was everything I expected, and more. Jane, having arrived home, eaten the spaghetti bolognaise and washed up, pounced on me as I entered the apartment.
“Come here, you,” she said, gruffly.
I giggled as she relieved me of my little case, and then grabbed me around the waist. “Hey, let me get inside the door first!”
“I am impatient and am not good at waiting.” With that, she swept me into a hug and proceeded to kiss me senseless.
Very soon, we adjourned to the bedroom where we undressed each other and made up for a lost weekend. The action took much longer than the telling; then again, we were in no particular hurry.
Over breakfast the next morning, I gave a blow-by-blow account of the weekend. Jane listened intently, chin on hands, as she heard of the various antics of the children and the tiring journeys involved. She was also interested in my first experience of a church. I then broached the subject of my driving.
“I’ve decided that, next week, when British Summer Time ends, I’ll sell the car,” I said as we cleared the breakfast things. “I’m finding it more tiring and stressful as time goes by and traffic levels get worse. There are a number of stores that deliver groceries, the bus service is quite good and there are always taxis if I want to go somewhere like the railway station.”
Jane agreed. “I obviously have a vested interest in your health and safety; if you don’t feel confident enough to drive, then you should give up.” Then she continued. “By the way, things on the housing front have moved on a bit. I’ve had an offer to lease Masefield House; would you believe that one of the senior officers at work is interested in renting it? We’ve also received a pile of paperwork for Wroxall Gardens; they didn’t hang about. How do you feel about my staying here meanwhile?”
“You live here all the time anyway. And, if you didn’t, I’d want to know who else you were spending time with.”
“Only you, my darling, only you,” she soothed, then held me close for another kiss before I tidied my makeup and headed out of the door in the direction of work.
A few days later, Jane and I were discussing the proposed house move. She’d been asked to go to the solicitor’s office to look over and sign the draft contract.
I said, naively, ”I assume that you can afford the mortgage on Wroxall Gardens; with that expensive car you run, I shouldn’t think there’s a lot left over at the end of the month. Obviously I’ll help with the mortgage when I’ve sold this place but I can’t do anything until then, I’ve hardly any savings; every penny went into this place.”
“You can keep this apartment; I’m not buying Wroxall Gardens with a mortgage.”
“Wh…H…?”
“I’m buying it outright.”
“Oh, I didn’t know. I thought it was only the deposit that you were paying cash.”
She sighed. “I need to tell you a few things about my finances before we go into the solicitor’s office to sign all the papers.”
I didn’t really like where this might be going; I still had a sneaky suspicion that some of her money had come from illegal sources. Then what she said finally sank in.
“Hold on; what do you mean? When we go into the solicitor’s office?”
She sighed again and took my hands in hers. “I told you that my grandmother left me some money. My parents were furious when they found out; they’d already gone through the roof when they knew I’d changed my name, despite the fact that it was their fault. It was mainly my stepfather, although my mother just seemed to accept his behaviour. They tried to contest my grandmother’s will.”
“Did they succeed?”
“No, they didn’t. Other than a few small items, you are my main beneficiary if anything happens to me.”
This was too much.
“But why?”
“You’re my fiancée and yours is the only family I’ve got, other than my Aunt Sophie. My sister is dead and I don’t count my mother and her bastard of a husband.”
“So if anything happened to you, I’d inherit Wroxall Gardens?”
“No, you’ll already be the joint owner of Wroxall Gardens; you can’t inherit something you already own.”
I was having trouble processing all these revelations. I’d seen the asking price on the advertising flyer that Philip had given us — that house was valued at several hundred thousand pounds.
“You said I’d be the main beneficiary of your will. Why?”
“I told you; you’re my fiancée and I love you very much.”
“And that’s in addition to Wroxall Gardens?”
“Yes; you wondered how I could afford Masefield House and a Lexus?”
I nodded, numbly.
“When she died, Grandmá¨re left me a lot of money; the actual amount isn’t important, but it’s well into seven figures.”
I was stunned; it felt like I’d been kicked in the stomach. Didn’t she trust me? I asked, angrily, “Why didn’t you tell me before? I’ve been so worried.”
“I’m running late; I’m on duty at twelve o’clock. I need to go; I’ll speak to you later.”
I shouted at her. “YOU OBVIOUSLY DON’T TRUST ME AND I CAN’T COPE WITH THE HALF-TRUTHS AND DECEIT!” I was running on pure anger.
She tried to kiss me on the cheek but I turned away - numb. Her shoulders sagged as she left the room. I heard her rooting around in the spare bedroom cupboard. Then she walked out, the front door shut and her steps faded as she walked away. She hadn’t said a word before she left.
I did what I usually did when I was overwhelmed — I sank to the floor and burst into tears. I, like my anger, was exhausted.
I didn’t eat; I wasn’t hungry. I eventually went to bed, but I didn’t sleep. I tossed and turned all night, cried and felt wretched. Why had I lost my temper? I accept that I was angry, shocked and frightened, but had I broken our relationship beyond repair?
I didn’t want to get out of bed; I just wanted to die. I got up when my bladder threatened to burst. I quickly returned to bed but that didn’t help; it was empty. Had Jane finally had enough of me? Was she fed up with my not trusting her? I thought of trains again, and then told myself off for being so selfish. I don’t know what time it was but I made myself get up and shower.
Running the minutes before she left through my addled brain, I realised that I’d thrown her out. I was so mixed up that I didn’t know what to do. All I knew was that I wanted Jane. Oh, how I wanted Jane! I was still wearing my engagement ring. I kept looking at it and touching it and months of happy memories crowded into my mind.
I burst into tears and wailed, “J… Jane; I’m s… so ssoorrrryy!
I wanted to feel her arms around me, cuddling me, making me feel safe and holding back the world. But she wasn’t here; there was just this… nothing.
End of part 21
Jane has more secrets to impart.
Part 22 of 25 — Reconciliation
I called Jane’s mobile — it went to voicemail. I started crying again when I heard her voice.
“Jane, I’m so sorry for the way I reacted and I’m sorry for not trusting you. What you told me just left me dazed; it was all such a shock. Please come home, I love you and I… I… need you and I… I… miss you so much.”
I dropped the phone and dissolved into tears again. I walked over and collapsed onto the settee.
I must have fallen into a very deep sleep because I awoke several hours later to feel arms around me. I slowly looked up into those wonderful eyes and just flung my arms around her neck and kissed her for all I was worth. Then I dissolved into tears again. She just held me as I sobbed my heart out.
“You, missy, are the most infuriating creature I’ve ever known.” She kissed me to take the sting out of her words.
“I… I was so worried,” I said, still crying. “I imagined all sorts of things. I just couldn’t work out how you could possibly afford all this; the car, the house, the clothes, the train tickets. I was so worried that…. that….”
“You were worried that we’d been living it up on the proceeds of organised crime,” she interrupted.
“Y…yes.” I sniffled.
“You silly girl, why didn’t you ask?”
“I couldn’t bear to lose you and didn’t want to upset you.”
“I suppose I ought to take a lot of the blame for the way you felt. I meant to tell you earlier but it never seemed the right time. I’ve had girlfriends in the past. When I was at university, one girl tried to take me for a ride, and got very bitchy when it didn’t go her way. When I first joined the police, you had to declare information about your finances. My boss at the time couldn’t handle the fact that I had more money than he would probably see in his lifetime. When I parted from my last girlfriend, it was very messy. I decided to keep quiet about it until I had to tell you, although I’ve been trying to work it out since before your birthday. It sounds as though yesterday was as much a shock for you as it was for me. If you add into the equation all those new hormones coursing around your body, it’s no wonder that things got quite mixed up.”
I felt safe again; I was firmly held in Jane’s arms and I never wanted to let go. I had to ask; “Where did you stay last night?”
“Oh-oh; jealous, are we?”
I’m sure that the expression on my face betrayed my insecurity.
“Don’t worry,” she laughed, “I stayed at the hotel opposite GSD’s Head Office; just the one night, so as to give you time to come to terms with my little secret. Well, I hoped it was just one night. Much as I hated the idea, I was prepared to walk away if you were really angry with me. I was very relieved when I picked up your message.”
I snuggled in close; that felt so good. Then I burst into tears again. All the tension had built up and I shivered even while clinging tightly to Jane.
“You know I’d never hurt you, don’t you?” She said.
I nodded, still snivelling. “Maybe I’m still insecure; perhaps I’m still a victim of my past and find it difficult to trust anyone. I just can’t understand why everything you do seems to put me first.”
“You know why, don’t you? I’ve told you often enough.”
I nodded again and smiled through my tears.
She cuddled me tighter. I was inches away from her face.
When we eventually broke the kiss — about two hours later, by the feel of it — she said,
“Come on, get ready; smart but casual — and your eyes are red and puffy.”
“Pardon?”
“Sort yourself out; we’re going out for lunch.”
It took a while but I managed to not look too much like death warmed up. “Where are we going?”
“That’s for me to know and you to be surprised.” She looked smug, took out her mobile, and selected a number from her phonebook. When it picked up, she said, “It’s Jane; we’re on our way — a little later than expected; we’ll see you at one o’clock or thereabouts.”
When we were on the road, I asked again. “Where are we going?”
She just smiled.
I thought this was going to be a repeat of my birthday surprise weekend and therefore I wouldn’t find out until we arrived. I just settled down and enjoyed the ride, especially as the love of my life was again just inches away from me.
We crossed the motorway and headed out into the country. The route seemed familiar and I quickly worked out where our Sunday lunch would be.
We drove up to the farmhouse and stepped out of the car. The frenetic barking that I’d heard on my last visit told me that the dogs hadn’t lost their hearing. Shirley opened the door.
“Welcome to you both, and its great to meet you at last, Jane. Come inside and meet the family.”
I turned to Jane with a questioning look.
“All arranged last week when I found out that everyone visits for half-term week. I hadn’t planned on yesterday’s little upset, though.”
Shirley led us into the living room and introduced everyone. In addition to her husband Alex there were their son and daughters, together with their respective partners and families.
We had a great lunch and everyone was very complimentary about me, and about Jane and me. And of course all the women had to admire my engagement ring. We talked long into the evening.
Jane had volunteered me to read bedtime stories to the children. “She’s a natural.”
I didn’t realise that my face could become so red, so quickly.
We spent a while exchanging contact details and Jane mentioned that we hoped to be moving house in the near future. Of course, everyone wanted to know details so I left Jane to it while I read the bedtime stories.
“Thank you for a lovely day,” I said to Jane as I kissed her when we’d returned home.
“My pleasure,” she replied, “but Jenny darling?”
“Yes?”
“Trust me; and I’ve lots to tell you yet. I’m not telling you all at once as I don’t think you could take it all in.”
I hung my head, ashamed that I’d let her down. I started crying but she put a finger under my chin and lifted it. She smiled at me and bent her head. My arms went around her neck and we kissed. Slowly at first, gently, tenderly; the kiss built to a toe-curling crescendo that led to other things…
I thought that all was now right with my world, but I hadn’t allowed for the fact that Fate has plenty of large wrenches, regularly practices her throwing skills and is very good at landing them where they’ll do the most harm.
November 2004
November rushed by. Blink and you’d probably have missed it. Jane had let Masefield House, so was living at Coleridge House with me, not that I was complaining at all. She’d been working away from home for most of the month and I felt that I was due some of her attention. Apart from signing the contracts for Wroxall Gardens, I’d seen hardly anything of her and I considered that she was due a significant amount of leave. Sandi Bennett and her husband wanted to move as soon as possible so we arranged completion of the purchase of Wroxall Gardens for Friday 10th December. Because she was living at Coleridge House with me, Jane and I didn’t have to move straight away and we could decorate and furnish at leisure. Jane, meanwhile, would store her less valuable possessions in one of the garages at our new home.
Jane had already let slip that her birthday was Saturday 4th December. I had been taken aback when I’d discovered that she was twenty-nine years of age — nearly six years older than I was.
I planned a little surprise and told her to book holiday from December 1st to the 10th as I had organised a little birthday treat for her. It would also take in the completion date for Wroxall Gardens. I arranged a last-minute mini-holiday for us; we would do some Christmas shopping, see the sights and maybe acquire some designer clothes if our budget stretched that far.
Of course, I eventually had to tell her that I’d booked the train to Paris and also reserved a hotel room. She had previously told me that ‘we travel only First Class’, so that’s what we did; I just hoped that my credit card would stand the strain. Of course, I could now be dead if I hadn’t met Jane, so I didn’t begrudge a penny of the cost. I’d been able to save some of the money that Jane paid me for her share of the food and utilities and this went a long way to defraying the cost of the travel and hotel. I felt that I would gladly pay for almost anything that she could want, just so that I could keep her in my life.
December 2004
Our taxi delivered us to Winchester. Eurostar was a direct high-speed service from London Waterloo station to Paris Gare du Nord so transfer was easy, and I was relieved when my new passport received the minimum of scrutiny. Announcements on the train to France were in French and English and I was able to practice my school French on Jane and the staff.
We arrived in Paris mid-afternoon and took a taxi from the railway station to the hotel. I booked us in and Jane greeted the concierge.
« Bonjour monsieur, avez-vous une suite au lieu de cette chambre, s’il vous plaá®t? »
I looked at her in amazement. “Jane; this is my treat, but I can’t afford a suite; I can just about afford this room.”
“We don’t stay in ordinary hotel rooms,” she offered.
“Oh — but I can’t afford…”
“Only the best for my girl.” She laughed, extracting her credit card from her bag; I punched her lightly on the arm. “We’ll just upgrade a bit.”
A bit? This is like the Harley Court Hotel, only bigger
“If we’re staying here for a week, we’re not going to live in a broom cupboard.”
I gulped, and then vainly tried to follow the conversation as Jane and the concierge exchanged some rapid French.
I stood with my mouth open. “I know that you and your mother are French but that was amazing.”
“I spent much of my childhood in France. When here, I sometimes stay with my Aunt Sophie, my mother’s sister-in-law — and my mother is French, as I told you,” she said.
Hmm, that explains a lot
We had a wonderful time; we found a bistro where we had dinner. We liked it so much - it was friendly and welcoming — that we visited most evenings for our meal. On the first evening, we sat and looked over the menu. A couple of ancient-looking Parisian gentlemen obviously heard us speaking English and started muttering about ‘Touristes Anglaise’.
I smiled and said, “Bonsoir messieurs.” and Jane rattled off a stream of fluent French. Within a few minutes, they were practicing their English, we were conversing like old friends, and we all soon started making the contents of a couple of carafes of very good red wine disappear.
The next day we visited some of the well-known and less-well-known landmarks and I was constantly amazed by Jane’s familiarity with the city. On Friday she surprised me by saying that she had somewhere special in mind for lunch and dinner.
We again breakfasted on rolls, croissants and coffee. Mmm, French coffee! We took a taxi to Sacré-CÅ“ur and climbed the steps to the church. After doing the tourist thing, we walked back down and took in the marvellous view of Montmartre, which was spread out before us. At the bottom of the steps, Jane took my hand and, smiling, led me down a couple of tree-lined boulevards. We were just about to walk past an imposing house set back from the road, behind well-kept gardens, when Jane guided me in through the gates. I hissed, “What are you doing?”
She simply smiled and said, “We’re visiting my aunt.”
I’d known Jane for about eight months and every day seemed to be a learning experience. I never knew what she would do next.
The door was answered by a man in a dark suit, black tie and highly polished black shoes. He appeared to be in his mid to late fifties and had grey hair and spectacles. His face lit up when he saw Jane, and he flung the door open wide. I didn’t see the look that Jane gave him.
« Ma… Mademoiselle Jacqueline, bienvenue! Entrez s’il vous plaá®t. »
Jacqueline?
« Bonjour, Albert, merci beaucoup. Je vous présent ma fiancée Jennifer Smith »
« Bienvenue, mademoiselle Jennifer »
He preceded us into the house, where I stopped for a moment to look around. Paintings, sculptures and other works of art were dotted about in an entrance hall that would not have disgraced an art gallery. It reminded me very much of the Guildhall of an English city. I eventually tore my attention away as Jane led me into a sumptuous drawing room.
“Jane; how lovely to see you again! And this must be your intended. My! You’re a pretty thing, aren’t you?”
“She is that,” Jane said, laughingly, and put her arm around me possessively. “Tante Sophie, permettez moi de tu présent Jennifer Ellen Smith. Jenny, may I present my aunt, La Comtesse Sophie Marie-Christine Saint-Gerard.”
I gulped.
Countess ? Should I curtsey?
Before I could decide, Sophie said, “Tut, tut! You know I don’t go in for all that aristocratic nonsense; I’m just your Aunt Sophie. Now, come and sit down and let’s catch up. Albert will bring refreshments.”
I was still trying to get my head around La Comtesse.
« Je manque les cafétérias Françaises. » After a sip of her coffee, Jane laughed, and then confessed, “Sorry, I forget that Jenny’s French is not yet up to speed. Tante Sophie and I always converse in French whenever I visit; when in France, I find myself thinking in French, even though I’ve lived in England for so long.”
Yet?
“I miss French coffee shops; no one makes coffee like the French and the Italians. That’s why I drink tea in England.” Then she said, “As you know, I haven’t seen Maman et Beau-pá¨re since I went to university, so I don’t know how they are.”
“So you didn’t hear about your step-father?”
“No,” Jane said in a measured tone, “What about him?”
Sophie explained, and Jane was visibly shaken by the news.
« Quoi ? Beau-pá¨re est mort ? Dieu merci ! Mais Maman; elle est toute seule ? »
“Yes; your mother is all alone. Now that your step-father has died, I think that she wants to heal the rift between you.”
“Rift? It’s a damned great chasm, and the bastard drove me away, not the other way around. She just seemed to do as she was told. Love can indeed be very blind.”
I listened with mounting horror. My world seemed to be crashing down around me.
Jane asked, “Does Maman have any idea where I am and what I’m doing?”
“She knows that we keep in touch; I am fairly sure that she doesn’t know where you live and anything about your work. I just told her that you should find each other yourselves — if you want to do so. I am prepared to act as an intermediary, but only if I think she is making a move towards reconciliation. As you know, she was very bossy, and was most upset with me when she found out that my darling á‰lise and I were planning to live together.”
« Oá¹ est á‰lise ? »
“á‰lise is shopping; she said that she would give us space to talk.”
“That is so thoughtful. I know that relations between mother and I will be strained, but she shouldn’t be alone, especially at Christmas and New Year. Is she planning to visit you, do you know?”
“I could ask, but how would you feel?”
“I said that I would never see her again while my stepfather was alive.” Jane turned to me. “I wouldn’t mind us spending Christmas with either my aunt or your family, but I’m not sure about my mother being here. I left home for several reasons, of which my sexuality and my support of Rosalie were but two. I suppose one of us should make the first move to try and reconcile. After all, it was my step-father that I hated the most.”
Her aunt asked, “Does Jennifer know about…”
“She knows about Rosalie and the attack on me,” she said — abruptly, I thought.
“About Christmas; we could all go to the chá¢teau. It would be lovely to have it full of life again; it gets so little use.”
My hand flew to my mouth.
“Aunt Sophie, I think that we are overwhelming Jenny.”
My limited French coped adequately with the word ‘chateau’; a castle - or mansion at least. This was getting bigger by the minute — and I don’t mean just the buildings. I thought I ought to say something. “Jane, what’s happened?”
“My step-father died of a heart attack three months ago; my mother is alone in that big house, although she may have to leave it soon. I suppose I ought to see if she wants to meet; we haven’t spoken for eleven years. Mother re-married when Rosalie and I were young; Papa, Mother’s first husband and my natural father, was killed in a car accident. Mother is Aunt Sophie’s sister-in-law. Beau-pá¨re …my step-father is…was… Lord Henry Wordsworth Claughton Manning; he adopted Rosalie and me — well, he adopted Robert and me. He was upset and angry when Robert became Rosalie; it meant that he would not now have a son and heir. He was infertile, so had to marry a woman who already had a son. That’s how Mother became Lady Hélá¨ne Marie-Christine Manning.”
I knew enough about English aristocracy and I was having some thoughts that I didn’t want to think — but there was no escape.
“If Lord Manning adopted you, then before you changed your name to Jane Dyson, you were…Lady Jane Manning?”
“Actually, I was named Jacqueline Marie-Christine Saint-Gerard at my baptism. After my stepfather adopted me I became Lady Jacqueline Marie-Christine Manning. I changed my name to Jane Marie-Christine Dyson before I went to university. Marie-Christine was our maternal great-great-grandmother; we girls all received her Christian name as our second forename. It’s a sort of family tradition.”
“D…do you have any other secrets?” I asked, timidly.
“No!” She said, sharply. Then she sighed and shrugged. “Well, yes, I do. The thing is, they’re not all my secrets. Anyway, I was going to tell you about my family - that was the reason for bringing you here today. It was unfortunate timing that Daddy Dearest snuffed it.”
“Jacqueline! Sorry, Jane!”
“Well Aunt, even before I came out as a lesbian, he was an evil bastard; he was a selfish brute and only really had time for the person that he thought was a son. When Robert became Rosalie, he nearly tore his hair out. He was royally angry; I wouldn’t have been surprised if he himself arranged for her to be killed. He could see his money and estates going to his brother’s family — and he was not at all happy about it. Rumour had it that Victor Manning was an utter sod and black sheep; had several mistresses and a number of illegitimate children. Then of course….” Her voice tailed off, as though she was going to say something else, but thought better of it.
I went with the first thoughts that I’d been having. “So you’re a real lady? Should I curtsey before I let you have your wicked way with me?”
“Not quite, my love; I was a ‘real lady’ as you so eloquently put it. I’m sure that Daddy Dearest would have looked for a way to rescind the adoption and, if you do curtsey, I’ll slap you — then I’ll have my wicked way!”
I giggled, then said, “No wonder you sound more like an off-duty socialite than an ordinary copper. And I could hear a trace of an accent but couldn’t place it.”
“One can’t always help one’s upbringing. I suppose I could learn to speak with a middle-English accent, but it’s not something I’ve thought about. Does it bother you?”
“What? Knowing that I’m engaged to the stepdaughter of an English Lord? It’s a bit overwhelming but, after all, you’re still my darling Jane. But do you consider me to be working class or something?”
“Stuff that! You’re my fiancée; you don’t get away that easily.”
With that, she grabbed me and enfolded me in her arms. I’d heard of toe-curling kisses — well this one was; it left me breathless. I rested my head on her chest and sighed contentedly. I caught sight of her aunt and saw her smiling.
á‰lise had returned from her shopping trip and it was obvious, by the way that they embraced, that she and Jane’s aunt were also very much in love. Jane introduced me and I again felt at ease, just as I had when I first met her Aunt Sophie.
The conversation over lunch ranged from Jane’s mother to what we might do for Christmas and New Year. I pointed out that I usually visited my parents. My brother, sister-in-law and the twins might want to join in the festivities - and now my wonderful partner. I couldn’t quite see how we would manage with everyone.
Our new house, although its five bedrooms would accommodate everyone, wouldn’t be decorated and furnished in time. I thought we might be able to work something out, given that there was a decent hotel nearby. Peter’s house was about the same size as ours, but didn’t have enough room for everyone. Again, there was the Harley Court.
Sophie simply said, “We’ll all go to Bourgogne then” as though there was no problem.
I was surprised and started to say, “but…but…”
“Do you want to make arrangements and let me know the details, Jane?”
Jane smiled at me and I decided that she and Aunt Sophie were obviously cast from the same mould; once they made up their minds, there was no point in arguing. Goodness knows what my family would think and say when I told them that they should book flights to France. Did my parents have current passports? I knew that Peter, Geena and the twins had up-to-date documents; they had, after all, been to Florida not that long ago. But would they be able to obtain flights this close to Christmas?
It seemed that these two hadn’t yet finished with surprises, as Jane asked her aunt, “Could Luisa collect us?”
Luisa?
“Of course; I’ll make sure that she’s available.”
Jane gave her aunt the contact details for Coleridge House. We had a lovely lunch, although my appetite was somewhat diminished. We talked for a little while after lunch; Jane and Sophie spent much of the time planning Christmas, while á‰lise and I left them to it and enjoyed a pleasant walk in the gardens. á‰lise was a charming woman and, although I had only limited French and she spoke only a little English, we got on very well, until Albert called us in for afternoon snacks and pre-dinner drinks.
Dinner was a small affair, with just us four women. We discussed Christmas and New Year and I was fairly certain that we could get all the family down to us. They could leave their cars at Wroxall Gardens and we could fly from Southampton. When I asked Jane about booking flights, she said that she would take care of everything and that I should let my parents know so that they could ensure that they had current passports. Then I should just get my parents, Geena, Peter, Rosalind and Geoffrey to our house. I liked the sound of that — our house.
December 4th was, of course, Jane’s birthday and I let her decide the programme for the day — after I‘d given her a couple of birthday presents. I sneaked out of bed and made some tea. Then I took a little parcel from my luggage and prepared my other gift.
Eventually I was ready, and delivered a tray to the bedroom. Jane had taken full advantage of my absence to stretch out on the bed and I took the opportunity to give her a birthday kiss.
“Happy birthday, my darling.”
“Hmm, you look scrumptious. Have you put the sign on the outside of the door? I don’t want to be disturbed while I unwrap my presents.”
I did as I was bid, then returned to the bed, where Jane removed the burgundy-coloured bra I was wearing and.…
Much later she said, “I suppose we’d better re-wrap my gift so that we can get some food; I don’t think it’s a good idea for room service staff to see who I had for breakfast.”
I giggled as I again headed for the bathroom.
As it was my first time in Paris, we visited the most prominent sights and then took the Metro to Chá¢telet where we explored the area, viewed the Há´tel de Ville (City Hall) and the Pompidou Centre.
Jane explained. “The City of Paris’s administration has been located on the site of the Há´tel de Ville since the Middle Ages. The present Há´tel de Ville houses the office of the Mayor of Paris and dates from the late nineteenth century. One day, I’ll try to give you a brief rundown of its chequered history.”
I was fascinated by the whole experience, not only travelling on the Paris Métro but visiting the area in the company of one so knowledgeable and linguistically fluent. In addition, as it was dark by late afternoon, the Há´tel de Ville was floodlit, which really brought the architecture to life.
“Do you fancy a visit to the Pompidou Centre? They’ve an extensive art collection.”
“Yes; could we go tomorrow?”
She nodded. “They open on Sundays and, if it’s a fine day, the panoramic view of Paris from the sixth floor is spectacular.”
So we did. She was right; the view was spectacular.
All too soon, it was time to return to our home in England, but I’ll always treasure the time we spent, and the new friends I made, in Paris. I didn’t know how I felt about the prospect of meeting Jane’s mother; she sounded like a right harridan.
End of part 22
Jane hasn’t yet finished her revelations; she is surprised by an unexpected encounter. Jenny becomes “A Woman of Property’.
Part 23 of 25 — New Home
December 10th arrived, and we duly completed the purchase of Wroxall Gardens. One of the advantages of our new house was that it was only a ten-minute walk to my place of work, whereas a walk from Jane’s previous apartment would have take me the best part of an hour. I was still reeling from the knowledge that I was now joint owner of a house worth several hundred thousand pounds.
We’d had a super holiday, and we’d already spoken to the police, the council, my parents and my brother to make arrangements for Christmas and New Year. Jane and I had already agreed on December 22nd to January 3rd so as to cover the holidays, with little or no disruption to work and the children’s’ schooling.
I’d managed to sneak out at lunchtimes to do some shopping for Christmas gifts; I had no idea what Jane had done; I didn’t ask as I was sure that she’d surprise and embarrass me at some point. I still couldn’t get over the fact that I was now a Woman of Property. As long as nobody called me Margaret Brent.
Despite my regular asking, Jane wasn’t forthcoming regarding the travel arrangements.
“Just get everyone to Wroxall Gardens and I’ll do the rest.”
I was really looking forward to seeing the family over the festive period, and showing them around our ‘little house’. It was ‘so small’ that you could probably fit my collection of rooms at Coleridge House inside at least six times and still have space to spare. Wroxall Gardens was too big if it were just we two but we planned a lot of entertaining and visitors.
Meanwhile, the family would stay overnight at the nearby hotel, and Jane and I would stay at Coleridge House.
22nd December soon arrived and my family left their cars at Wroxall Gardens. We took the opportunity to give them a short tour of the property, prior to settling them into the hotel for the night. Like me, they were stunned by the size of the house and garden.
Just before lunch the next day, Jane said, “The car is here” and we emerged to find a large white stretch limousine outside the front door. The driver acknowledged our greetings, collected the suitcases and held the car doors open for us.
The car glided into the airport and over to an executive jet that had a stylised ‘S-G’ motif on each side. A petite woman, in a smart trouser suit, appeared and seemed overjoyed to see us.
« Bonjour. »
I looked at Jane, who said, “May I introduce Luisa? She is our pilot.”
Jane and Luisa exchanged hugs and cheek kisses.
We all echoed Luisa’s “Hello”, followed her onto the aircraft and buckled our seatbelts for take-off. Very soon, we were hurtling down the runway. It was the first time that I’d flown and, from what my father had told me when I was younger, a long time since my parents had. They’d kept their passports up to date; they were the preferred form of identity for most organizations.
After we were settled into our seats and had reached cruising altitude, Jane walked to the little galley and returned with a large jug. “Our holiday has started; who’s for some fresh orange juice?”
I was content to hold Jane’s hand. I said, “Jane, I don’t know what to say; “Thank you” seems awfully inadequate.”
She smiled at me. “Only the best for my girl and her family. Just think; soon they’ll be my family too.”
She told me that we’d have lunch on the plane so, after an hour or so, we headed for the galley, where we made drinks and sandwiches.
It took several hours to fly across France but with catching up on events since September, a discussion about the house, and so on, it wasn’t too long before we were lining up for our landing at Lyon.
“Is it big enough?” I asked, incredulously. I pointed at the helicopter towards which we were walking. It looked as though Peter had the same idea. My parents hadn’t yet returned from la-la land, where they’d gone when they first saw our new house; they simply moved as directed.
“It looks like an overgrown, upside-down, flying egg whisk; will we get everyone in?”
Jane smiled and steered us towards some steps. “It can carry twelve people in addition to the two pilots; you’ll be quite safe.”
Once we were airborne, she said, “To the North is the River Saá´ne, which flows through Má¢con, where your friend Mike comes on his wine-buying trips. We will then be heading in an eastwards direction and following the course of the River Rhá´ne, which flows into Lac Leman; you probably know it better as Lake Geneva, much of which is in Switzerland.”
I looked down in wonder at the beautiful countryside. I couldn’t help noticing that we were climbing steadily. After a while, I spotted a building perched seemingly precariously on a hill overlooking the River Rhá´ne.
“That’s where we’re going,” Jane said, smiling at me.
“Goodness; how big is it?”
“There are thirty rooms; this is, after all, only a small chá¢teau.”
I gulped.
Luisa landed in the car park and the co-pilot helped us to disembark — or whatever you do when you get out of a helicopter.
Jane led us into the building and we marvelled at the entrance hall décor and sumptuous carpet. I could tell that my parents were impressed; my mother’s “Ooh” and my father’s “Wow” were enough to let me know that they were overwhelmed by the luxury and history of their surroundings.
Jane’s Aunt Sophie and her partner á‰lise came into the hall to greet us. The co-pilot unloaded the luggage and he and Luisa left for the return trip to Lyon.
Sophie welcomed us and made ‘follow me’ signals with her hand; we all trouped into the living room. This time, it was Jane who stopped suddenly.
« Maman? »
« Salut, Jaqueline, c'est beaucoup de jours.... »
In French, Jane interrupted, “Yes, Mother; it has been a long time. And my name now is Jane.”
Hélá¨ne Manning was well into her sixties but was still a stylish and elegant woman. Jane, although her younger child, was of a similar age to Peter Smith.
Hélá¨ne smiled and said in French, “You will always be my Jacqueline. It has been just over eleven years. I’ve missed you.”
Jane asked, angrily, “Whose fault was that?”
Hélá¨ne shrugged and gave a weak smile, perhaps conciliatory.
Jane said, “Tante Sophie told me about my stepfather. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for you. I can’t feel anything for him, except relief that he’s gone.”
Hélá¨ne sounded almost regretful. “He seemed to be the answer to a need. Perhaps I was wrong.”
Jane looked at her. “He was an evil man.”
I thought that comment was a bit strong. Then again, I didn’t experience life with him. If I had, perhaps I’d have understood.
Switching to English, Hélá¨ne changed the subject with, “Sophie told me that you were all coming to the chá¢teau this year; I begged her to allow me to join you so that I could see you again. Please, let us introduce ourselves.”
Jane was the only person who knew everyone. She gave a small nod of acquiescence and then stood and indicated in turn.
“Your hostess, my Aunt Sophie Saint-Gerard, whose jet brought us all here; á‰lise Guerlain, Sophie’s partner; Hélá¨ne Manning, my mother and Sophie’s sister-in-law; Ellen and Bill Smith, Jennifer’s parents; her brother and his wife, Peter and Geena Smith and their children Rosalind and Geoffrey, who are twins.” Finally, she put her arm around my shoulder and said, “This is Jennifer Ellen Smith, Ellen and Bill’s daughter, Peter’s sister, my fiancée, and the love of my life.”
I struggled to suppress a tear and welcomed Jane’s reassuring hug.
My father looked shocked. He knew that my first name was Jennifer but I don’t think he fully realised that I had taken my mother’s first name as my second forename. I know it was in the letter I sent earlier in the year but it was obvious that, at the time, he hadn’t taken it all in.
I was delighted to meet Albert once again — he insisted upon calling me ‘Mademoiselle Jennifer’, and it didn’t take our five year olds long to start exploring. Given the size of the place, I could see Geena and me being very fit, but very tired, after nearly a couple of weeks here.
After dinner, we indulged in some small talk and soon opted for an early night. Sophie showed my family and Jane’s mother to their rooms; Jane took my hand and led me upstairs to a sumptuously decorated bedroom. It was about the size of my entire apartment, was decorated with embossed floral rose wallpaper and was dominated by a huge four-poster bed. It was some time before we got to sleep as I wanted to thank her for organising all of this …
Christmas Eve was spent in preparation for the main event and in getting to know one another. Hélá¨ne seemed to be somewhat different from the tyrannical person that I was expecting. Perhaps she had mellowed, or perhaps Jane had a view of her mother that had been coloured by her childhood relationship with her. In fact, Hélá¨ne and the children got on so well that she insisted that they call her ‘Grand-Tante’ or great aunt; she certainly gave the impression of relishing the presence of the young people in the house. The rest of us, except for Jane who called her Maman — or mother, were instructed to call her Hélá¨ne.
Jane, Geena and I kept busy with preparations for Christmas, while trying to avoid the wrath of Albert, who saw it as his domain and us as guests. We eventually compromised by simply helping out when tolerated and generally keeping out of his way, and that of his staff.
I noticed that Jane and her mother spent a long time in private conversation and hoped that it would lead to some reconciliation. At least they were talking to one another and, while there was the occasional heated discussion, they did seem for the most part to be polite. Perhaps it was the season, or Hélá¨ne’s recent loss, or perhaps something else entirely, but there certainly appeared to be less… bitterness between them. They were obviously by no means the best of friends — old wounds take time to heal, or even just accept — but at least they were talking in what, for the most part, seemed a civilised manner. They usually spoke in rapid French, so I only caught the occasional word.
“Did my stepfather arrange for my sister to be killed?”
Hélá¨ne winced. “He was angry. I knew nothing until she was dragged from the lake.”
“You acknowledge that you had two daughters?”
“Yes, it was obvious that Rosalie wasn’t going be the son that Henry wanted or expected, but your stepfather….”
“He was an evil, egotistical man who thought only of himself and his image. I still miss Rosalie.”
“Does Jennifer know about Rosalie?”
“Yes, she does. I’ve learned that keeping secrets from her is not a good idea.”
“Then she knows about the baby?”
“Yes; I have mentioned it.”
“Have you told her everything?”
Jane said, “I’ve told her as much as I think she can take in. I still can’t believe that you didn’t make more of a fuss. I did wonder if my step-father arranged for me to be attacked.”
“We shall never know; he took that secret to the grave.” Hélá¨ne shrugged; a typical Gallic gesture.
Christmas Day brought back so many memories for me. When I was a child, before my terrible school experiences began, before my brother left home and before my father became so unreasonable, the innocence and joy of the festive season would make it a time to look back with some measure of happiness and forward with hope. Those feelings, of course, were always tempered by the constant feeling of wrongness that had dogged me all my life.
We all wrapped up warm on Christmas Day morning and went as a family to a small local park. I’m sure that Albert was glad for us to leave him for a couple of hours. Although my parents, brother, sister-in-law and the twins rarely followed what was said by Aunt Sophie, á‰lise, Hélá¨ne and Jane, we were all, especially the children, made to feel very much included. As I walked with my family and friends, I sent up a little prayer of thanks to a God I didn’t know for all the blessings that had been showered upon me over the preceding nine months or so. As we walked, I cuddled with Jane and felt such a glow of contentment.
We returned to the chá¢teau and attempted to do justice to the feast that Albert and his staff had created. The meal consisted not only of all the seasonal favourites from England but also some local delicacies which Sophie and á‰lise encouraged us to try. The meal was topped off with Albert carrying in a large flaming Christmas pudding surrounded by mince pies. One of his staff followed with a tureen of Crá¨me Anglaise.
Soon it was time to distribute the gifts and each one reflected a degree of love and thought which threatened to overwhelm me. When all the presents had been given out, Jane handed me a large plain white envelope bearing just my name in beautiful green copperplate writing. There was no clue as to the contents. Underneath my name was written, “Happy Christmas to my darling Jenny; with all my love, Jane.” The envelope obviously contained papers of some sort but I had no idea what they could be. I looked around but saw only curiosity on everyone’s face. I kept turning the envelope over in my hands.
Jane smiled and said, “Open it then.”
I thought at first it might be a late Christmas card, but it was too bulky for that. With trembling hands I carefully unstuck the flap and withdrew the contents….
I took out a couple of airline tickets and looked at them. They were for two First Class return air journeys from London to Zá¼rich in Switzerland. I looked over at Jane. “I’m puzzled. Why have I got these?”
“Simple; I’ve arranged a little break for us. I’ll tell you more this evening.”
Jane’s mother was the only one not in the know about my history and Jane seemed disinclined to reveal any information that might enlighten her. In addition, as she told me later, it was my decision whether or not to reveal details of my past to Hélá¨ne who, after all, I had known but a couple of days. Finally, Jane reminded me of the trouble she’d had with her family over her sexuality, her support of her sister and her grandmother’s legacy.
I leapt up and rushed over to Jane; I plopped into her lap, threw my arms around her neck and kissed her like my life depended on it. I didn’t care if my family, or her mother, were embarrassed by my action.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
“You can thank me properly later.”
I did.
After I had satisfied our needs, and in the privacy of our room, I asked, “why Zá¼rich?”
Jane explained. “Zá¼rich is where the clinic is. I told you that your little gynaecological problem would be sorted out as soon as possible. I spoke with Sally Ruskin, who spoke with Judy Davenport and Peter Brookfield and we have the final sign-off from Irene Cross at the Glendale Clinic.”
“Gynaecological problem?” I asked, smirking. “Is that what you call nature’s little fuck-up?”
“You have an outie; it needs to be converted to an innie.”
“But don’t I have to wait a year or two?”
“That’s for guidance only and doesn’t deal with your case, where your testosterone count is near enough zero, and no amount of testosterone will change that.”
“So I can go ahead, then?” I asked, excitedly.
“Yes you can.”
My face fell. “I’d better think about selling or re-mortgaging Coleridge House; I’ll need the money.”
“Your surgery is paid for; that’s the other part of your Christmas present.”
“You can’t do that! How will I ever repay you?”
“You already have; you just being in my life is payment enough.”
I kissed her again, which led to other things….
January 2005
All the adults stayed up on 31st December to hug and kiss and wish each other a happy New Year. Over the week between Christmas and New Year I’d got to know my prospective mother-in-law a little better. That’s the way I was thinking of her now; if she was averse to the idea, it wasn’t obvious.
Having a few French women around me — Aunt Sophie, á‰lise and Hélá¨ne - and Jane conversing with the other three - really did wonders for my French language skills.
All too soon it was time to return to England. We said goodbye to Sophie and á‰lise, promising to return on a regular basis. After exchanging a hug with Hélá¨ne, she said that she would return to England with us on the plane. I assumed that she would go back to her late husband’s home, but she intended to stay a couple of nights in the hotel prior to making the journey to Runnymede, on the River Thames, quite near the John F. Kennedy memorial and not far from where the Magna Carta was signed. The JFK memorial is on land given by the people of Great Britain to the USA.
Hélá¨ne could have stayed in my guestroom at Coleridge House but perhaps her relationship with her daughter was still a little precarious - and I had known her just a few days.
Jane and I spent the rest of January decorating Wroxall Gardens. This of course meant supervising decorators. We’d already agreed on colour schemes. As I worked nearby, it mainly fell to me to take maximum advantage of flexitime and visit the work in progress at lunchtimes and after work.
February 2005
Once decoration was finished, we had a lot of fun furnishing the house. With the rooms being bigger, most of the furniture from Coleridge House would be lost in the available space so the decision was taken to leave it behind. We would then have another furnished home for use by guests - or we could try to let it.
We finally celebrated our first year together by moving into Wroxall Gardens at the end of February. I joked that we would need tracking devices in order to find each other.
We had a house-warming party. Guests included a number of police officers, many of my colleagues in the Council offices, and all my family, for whom we now had the available space. The food and drink was catered and we were grateful that we didn’t have to clear up the inevitable mess.
One of the guests was Phil Sullivan. I’d expanded my circle of friends over the past few months and one of these was Debbie Lunt, who was engaged to Phil. Debbie worked in IT at the Council and literally bumped into Phil on her travels around the building. One thing led to another and Debbie was soon sporting an engagement ring.
Phil came up to me at the party and said, “I know that I’ve said it before but I can’t apologise enough to you; I admit that I was totally wrong about you. If I can get away without an elbow in the ribs from Debbie, I will say that you have become one of the happiest and most beautiful people that I’ve ever met; so different from that miserable bloke John. Smart, helpful, attractive, dare I say fun; it’s no wonder that Jane thinks the world of you and, if you ever need a friend, just call on me and I’ll come running. And I can understand why you were never interested in cricket!”
I thanked him. Judging by the looks Debbie was giving him, I think she was glad that I didn’t find men attractive and that I had a girlfriend!
March 2005
On Tuesday 1st March, Jane asked if I’d like to go out to dinner, to celebrate the anniversary of our first meeting. All I wanted to do was to have a quiet meal at home and celebrate by spending the evening by ourselves. So that’s just what we did. Of course it didn’t prevent me from spending a long time afterwards thanking her for everything that she meant to me.
Although I was looking forward to my surgery, there was a part of me that was dreading it. As it happened, it was as bad and as good as I’d expected, but it left me with a feeling of completeness that I’d never previously had. There was the initial pain, rapidly followed by a time of discomfort, aided and abetted by that ‘rite of passage’- dilation.
Jane was with me for the whole time that I was in Switzerland. We arrived on the Thursday before Easter; I was wheeled to the operating theatre just after eight o’clock on the morning of Saturday 26th March and, sometime in the afternoon of the same day, it was all done. I stayed for a further week or so, which allowed the medical staff to check that I was healing satisfactorily, and then we flew home.
I couldn’t see me ever using the vagina that had been created but, as my surgeon Doctor Schmidt said, it provided me with another option.
My overriding memories, however, were threefold.
Firstly, there was the thin soup; several days of the stuff. It was like drinking warm, flavoured water, the intention being to avoid feeding me anything that could cause me to need to use my bowels. I haven’t been able to think about, or even look at, a bowl of consommé since then without shuddering.
Secondly, and to my mind more important, when the swelling had gone down, was the steady tinkle of urine into water. No more random, messy spraying; no more yucky hands; no more waterlogged seats; no more wet legs.
Thirdly, and most important of all, was the knowledge that I could now have a full relationship with Jane. I don’t just mean sexually — although that was important to both of us — but a relationship without having to hide my body and its imperfections. Showering and bathing together brought a new intimacy, and Jane proved to me that shower nozzles were not just for showering! She never did reveal how much everything cost so I assumed that it wasn’t cheap, but the surgeon’s work was first-class and we were both delighted with the outcome.
Sally Ruskin was most impressed with Doctor Schmidt’s work. In her opinion, when my pubic hair had re-grown, it would take a medical professional and an internal examination to determine that it wasn’t the real thing.
End of part 23
Fate continues with her wrench throwing
Part 24 of 25 — A YEAR LATER
March 2006
It doesn’t seem possible that we’d lived at Wroxall Gardens for a year; it feels like only yesterday that we moved in.
One morning, I went to the kitchen to make the tea and heard a faint meowing sound. Looking through the glass in the kitchen door, I saw the most beautiful tortoiseshell cat.
I opened the door and she rushed in. She demanded some refreshment and I placed a saucer of milk in front of her. While she was eagerly lapping at the milk I carefully examined her.
Jane joined me and noticed the cat. “Another mouth to feed?” She asked, playfully, while hugging me.
“She isn’t wearing a collar and has no other obvious identification. Can we keep her?”
“We ought to advertise locally; someone may be missing a pet. Perhaps she just used us as a refreshment stop on her journey and guess who took pity on her.”
I smiled; Jane was right, of course, but I lived in hope. As it happened, nobody laid claim to the cat and she adopted us. We called her Shelly — “‘cos she’s a tortoiseshell cat.” She is affectionate, demanding and inquisitive. She still chases her tail from time to time and it’s like a ballerina swirling in mid air. She quickly decided that only the finest cat food ‘would do’ and occasionally looks at you with a face that’s insulted if you are eating and she hasn't got any of it. Her most disconcerting habit is to sit on your lap and out-stare you; it’s virtually impossible not to look away first. While you’re sitting there wondering what she’s thinking, she’s getting ready to unerringly pounce on another human cushion and do the same thing. Interspersed with that, of course, is the inevitable, and almost constant, grooming.
I’d returned to work at the end of May 2005, and celebrated my ‘official’ first birthday at the Greek Taverna on 1st June 2005 with Jane and the gangs from work; Celia, Jill, Maddie, Janet, Greg, and Debbie from my office; from Jane’s office there was Colin, Ruth, Teresa, Suzanne, Vicky and Dan (whose real name was David but everyone called him Dan because he looked somewhat like Desperate Dan from the children’s comic ‘The Dandy’ — he was the largest police officer I’d ever seen — well over six and a half feet tall and very broad). Then there were all the spouses and partners. It certainly was a full house as we took over most of the restaurant.
The family also congregated at the Harley Court Hotel where they helped to celebrate my real birthday in September 2005 and Jane’s 30th birthday in December 2005. The Harley Court was rapidly becoming ‘our’ hotel, giving me the opportunity, of course, to carry out Auntie Duties.
I was very pleasantly surprised at the size of my performance bonus; it went towards the cost of Jane’s birthday bash at the Harley Court Hotel in December 2005. I took great delight in reminding her that she’d achieved the big ‘Three Oh’ — her 30th.
Now that I had the body I desired (well, most of it) I was again able to join her in the Jacuzzi (much more interesting!) and now in the Sauna (very interesting indeed!). Given that a gay couple ran the Harley Court Hotel, and what our American friends would call PDA’s were acceptable, Jane made sure that everyone knew that I was her girl. I quickly accepted and welcomed Public Displays of Affection when I saw that they weren’t frowned upon.
We again went to the chá¢teau for Christmas 2005 and New Year 2005/6 and we all agreed that it should become an annual event. Relations seemed to be warming a little between Jane and her mother, who accompanied us on the plane on both the outward and return journeys. She had, as we expected, had to relinquish her big house at Runnymede and had moved to Chelsea, purchasing an apartment.
Finally, on 1st March 2006, we were able to celebrate two years since the day we met and a year since we moved into Wroxall Gardens.
April 2006
On Friday, 7th April, I answered the telephone.
~Hello, may I please speak with Jane Dyson?~
“How did you get this number?”
~I had a friend who was an absolute whiz on the Internet and I’ve since done some research of my own~
“Who shall I say is calling?”
~My name is Melanie Hewitt~
“Jane isn’t available at the moment. Can I tell her you called?”
~ “When will she be available?” ~
“I’m expecting her soon.”
~ “I’ll call back later” ~
When Jane came home I said, “I had a strange telephone call; she said that her name is Melanie Hewitt. Does the name mean anything to you? You’ve not mentioned her before. She sounded very young, maybe even a teenager.”
Jane looked puzzled. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a Melanie Hewitt; did she say that the call was about work?”
“No; she just gave her name and asked for you.”
An hour later, the telephone rang and Jane answered. I assumed that it was Melanie Hewitt.
Jane spoke for a few minutes and then ended the call. She turned to me; her face looked ashen. “She’ll call on us this evening.”
Melanie arrived later and I was struck by her appearance. She didn’t dress like a teenager; more like a young businesswoman. She spoke with no discernable accent and looked older than the eighteen years that she claimed. Strangely enough, I immediately felt at ease with her and, after introductions, and when we were all seated with cups of tea, she began her story.
“It was when I was passing through puberty that I first felt that all was not right. I’d expected to inherit some characteristics of at least one of my parents — but I didn’t. The subject of my origins kept gnawing at me for all much of my teenage life until I plucked up the courage to ask outright when I was fifteen. Imagine my surprise when, without any prevarication, I was told the truth; I had been adopted as a baby. My parents — the couple who I had always regarded as my parents — were wonderful and I couldn’t have asked for better. They’d kept the secret of my birth all those years and never treated me other than as one of their own. There is no possibility that I would want to lose touch with them. I’d heard stories of other children who had been adopted and considered that I had been very fortunate.
“While at College, learning Office Administration, I made a few friends, one of whom was Jamie Forrest. He was, I suppose, what some people might call an effeminate geek though, to my knowledge, he showed no interest in having a relationship with a man. He had only a few friends, me included. I was, I suppose, his closest friend; the others were people he helped with their computer issues. He could play a computer like a virtuoso and there seemed to be no national or local government, court or other database that was closed to him. During our time there, he helped me to trace my origins. I already knew that I was born on January 19th 1986, but Jamie found out that it was in a private hospital in Middlesex.”
Jane gasped.
Melanie continued. “Jamie discovered that my mother was Jacqueline Manning, who’d given birth to me when she was a young teenager. After that, it was just a matter of tracking you down. Despite your change of name and your tortuous journey via your university, and your job, to this town, it wasn’t beyond Jamie’s skill to compose an almost complete picture of events in my past. Jamie laid the groundwork before I lost track of him; so more research on my part led me to your door this evening.”
She looked intently at Jane and said, cautiously, “I believe that you may be my mother. Could it be true? Did you abandon me when I was born? What happened?”
Jane sat with a stunned look. I’d never seen her in this state before; she always seemed so self-assured. After a minute she said, quietly, “On the face of it, you are my child. I didn’t willingly give you up; I had no choice. You were taken away from me within hours of your birth. I was attacked and raped. I suppose that I was still in shock over the death of Rosalie, my sister, and was distracted. I blamed my stepfather for the whole thing; I wouldn’t have put it past him to have arranged it all. You see, I knew from a young child that I preferred girls and wasn’t interested in boys at all. My biggest mistake may well have been telling my parents, who kept lining me up with eligible boys and, eventually, young men in the hope that I would eventually succumb and ‘be normal’. I was never interested in a romantic liaison with them and was fearful that my parents would try to arrange a marriage. I never had a lasting relationship until I’d cut all ties with my parents and finally met Jenny. ”
Melanie was the one this time to sit with her mouth open. Eventually she said, “That must have been dreadful for you; I can’t imagine feeling like that and having that kind of experience.”
Jane said that the Internet was notorious for retaining information that enabled anyone to make apparent connections between events and the truth, but grilled Melanie with a series of questions that, she hoped, would ferret out the exact circumstances of her birth and adoption.
Melanie patiently answered Jane’s enquiries.
Finally more or less convinced, Jane was given contact information for Melanie’s adoptive parents, her bed-sit and her workplace — she worked in the Asset Department at GSD (Global Synthetic Developments) in the very town that they were living.
Jane said, tearfully, “I’ve often thought of that baby I brought into the world; but I thought that I would never see you again. Would you be prepared to undertake a DNA test to prove your identity beyond doubt? I will have one as well. I’m sorry to have to ask this but I feel that your appearance here this evening is quite a coincidence, especially living in the same town and working nearby.”
“Of course I’d be prepared to do so,” Melanie said. “I wondered if it might be a huge task tracking down my birth mother, but it seemed no obstacle to Jamie. It just took time, which we had plenty of. It’s unfortunate that I lost track of him at the beginning of the last year of college. He had no apparent hobbies except computing. He was a good friend but just disappeared; I never did find out what happened to him.”
Melanie and Jane did take a DNA test and proved beyond doubt that they were indeed mother and daughter. This presented Jane with two main problems. Firstly, she was known to be gay; therefore there was incredulity when she announced that she had a teenage daughter. Secondly, she had to remind her mother that she was a grandmother.
When all the tests were complete, we offered for Melanie to stay at Coleridge House. She was at first reluctant, but I said that I’d rather have someone living there, even paying a small rent or rent-free, than leave the property vacant. So she agreed and moved in a month later, relinquishing her bed-sit. She insisted upon paying rent so I agreed that she could pay me a monthly sum to cover the essential outgoings, like ground rent, taxes and so on.
(Melanie’s story continues in ‘Another Secret’, a GSD story).
June 2006
On Thursday June 1st 2006, I was officially two years old and able, at last, to apply for my corrected Birth Certificate, which arrived shortly afterwards. I then took great delight in advising all and sundry that I was now officially Jennifer Ellen Smith, born female and legally so. When the Birth Certificate arrived, Jane again proposed and I gladly accepted. Our Civil Partnership ceremony was to take place at the Harley Court Hotel in Leamington Spa in early August. This was to be followed by a meal in their large dining room.
July was to be spent preparing for our big event in August. We’d planned to hire the entire hotel, or as much of it as was available.
On Tuesday 13th June I was working as usual at my desk. I was talking to Debbie Lunt on our Computer Helpdesk. I was having problems. You try a TPR (Three Pin Reset) — unplug it from the mains, count twenty, plug it back in and turn it back on. If that doesn’t work you call for help.
Suddenly something like dark-coloured ink started filling my right eye. As a child, I’d lost the sight in my left eye; therefore, within a minute or so, I could see nothing at all. I finished my call with Debbie — rather abruptly — and got up from my desk.
But I couldn’t see where I was going.
I blundered across the office and fell over a chair. I collapsed. My body had done what bodies often do when confronted by a crisis: shut down all non-essential services. My legs didn’t work; my hearing didn’t work; I was just a lump on the floor.
I called out, “Celia, I can’t see!”
Celia rushed over and helped me to a chair. Funnily enough, I wasn’t frightened; it was almost like it was happening to someone else. Celia rushed away and I heard the door of Greg’s office open. Soon he was standing over me. “I’ll try to contact Jane and I’ll call for an ambulance,” he said, taking my mobile ‘phone and walking rapidly away from me. I presumed that he’d returned to his office. Jane’s mobile phone number was on speed-dial on my phone so contacting her was easy.
Time just seemed to stand still as I sat in the chair. I’d known all my life that I could lose my sight at any time. Congenital cataracts leave you susceptible to detached retinas. Having already lost the sight in the left eye, I had hoped that I’d get away with it and that lightning wouldn’t strike twice. No such luck. I suppose that this just proved the old adage; “EVERY SILVER LINING HAS A CLOUD.”
I felt like I must have been sitting in the chair for ages, drinking water and talking to Celia — anything to try to take my mind off my predicament — when Jane came rushing in.
“I was at home and received a call from Greg. I’ll take you to hospital; we’re not waiting for an ambulance.” She spoke quickly to Greg and supported me as we made our way to the toilet, the lift and then to the car. She strapped me in, shut the door and headed for the nearest eye hospital.
Eventually, I was seen by a Doctor Tollemache, who examined me and said, “You have the use of only one eye. This is beyond the skill of anyone at this hospital; I’m sending you to London.”
I’ll always remember that man; by admitting his limitations, he probably saved my sight, although it was quite disconcerting to be driven at high speed to London whilst not being able to see where I was going.
When we arrived at the London hospital and I had been checked in, Jane said, “I’ve just seen Diane Bailey; I went to school with her and I knew that she wanted to be an eye surgeon.”
Diane was walking across a corridor. “Hello, Diane.”
“Jane? I almost didn’t recognise you. What are you doing here?”
Jane had her arm around my shoulder. “My fiancée has a problem with her sight; can you please look after her?”
“Your f… oh, I understand. Leave her with me.”
“She is to receive the best of care; money is no object. If you have any questions, call me. I’ll visit when I can.” To me, she said, “Darling, Diane will look after you. Don’t worry; I am on the end of a telephone twenty four hours a day.” Jane gave Diane a card with all her contact details, kissed me and left.
I was soon tucked up in bed in a private room. I was wheeled to surgery within a couple of days and Mr Philip Hungerford, the top retina specialist in the country, operated on me. I found out later that the instrument he used was no bigger than a large needle, yet consisted of a light, a scalpel and a laser. Modern technology is wonderful; it was such a pity that it wasn’t available when I was a child and lost the sight in my left eye.
After a few days, the bandages were removed, leaving me seeing shapes through what looked like a black muslin curtain. I was told to lie on my front; a bubble of oil pressed against the retina and kept it in position while it healed. It was no joke lying on my boobs for eight hours a day but, as they said, it was that or blindness.
No contest.
I listened to a lot of music and Jane kept me well supplied. The music, the radio and occasional trips to the bathroom, were the only activities I was allowed; my only relief from this routine was Jane’s frequent visits.
After a couple of weeks, during which Jane must have put a lot of miles on the car, I was discharged home. Shelly pounced as soon as I got through the front door and, although I now effectively had tunnel vision, I was delighted to both see and feel her soft fur as she snuggled up to welcome me home. Very soon she had a playmate, someone else to boss about. I wasn’t allowed to return to work for a couple of months, during which time, I acquired a companion for Shelly — a two-year-old golden retriever guide dog called Bonnie. We spent a few days getting to know each other and a couple of weeks helping Bonnie to learn my most common routes. My colleagues at work were very good to me; not only did they allow me to return to work part-time but they involved the local Social Services, who provided me with a new computer and a large-screen monitor.
August 2006
Jane and I were due to go to Leamington Spa in a week or so but my eye problems precluded an early visit. I also hadn’t allowed for the fact that fate hadn’t finished juggling wrenches.
Paul Hopley lay patiently in the grass at the top of the motorway embankment and waited for the car to come into view. He was used to waiting; this was the second day. The car was quite late but that wasn’t unusual. He’d been in position for several hours; having picked a stretch of the motorway that was only two lanes wide and had no hard shoulder (emergency lane). The weather was fine, if somewhat chilly, but Paul was warmly dressed. Visibility was perfect and the Motorway was quite busy. It was an easy job; quickly in and quickly out.
His twin brother was ‘on holiday’ at HM Prison, Parkhurst, having been convicted following a lengthy investigation by Jane Dyson and her team. He’d wriggled and jiggled and employed all kinds of legal and illegal misrepresentation, but eventually earned himself twenty-five years for murder. Paul was angry - very angry — and sought retribution. Paul and his brother were almost unnaturally close; not surprising, really, as they were twins. It didn’t pay to
upset Paul Hopley. Few people upset him once; twice was unheard of.
Paul had no scruples. He could ill afford such things, and he didn’t make it to the top of what he called his profession by being squeamish. He was also very diligent about doing his homework before each job. One thing he could not be accused of was bad planning. He therefore knew the make, model and licence number of the car for which he was waiting. At motorway speeds, a simple tyre blowout could be fatal. Ideally, as a result of his efforts, the driver of the target vehicle would get into such difficulties as to crash the car. If that didn’t happen, he expected a following vehicle to help. The M3 motorway was always busy and Paul knew that a following driver would need several hundred feet in which to stop — once he or she had perceived the need to do so — and assuming that the road surface was dry and free from debris. If the road was wet, you could at least double the distance. By the time both vehicles had come to a stop, ten seconds or more would have elapsed; time enough for Paul to withdraw and be on his way. If the following vehicle was a truck or bus then the whole thing could be multiplied by any number that you cared to pluck from thin air. That’s assuming, of course, that the target vehicle hadn’t already crashed.
Through the scope, he saw the red Lexus approach over the little rise in the road and checked the model and registration number. He smiled to himself as he estimated the car’s speed to be approaching seventy miles an hour, and in the outer lane, having just overtaken a forty-foot truck, which was travelling too close.
He had the range sorted in his mind, and lined the cross hairs of his scope with the front nearside tyre. Putting a bullet anywhere else might, sooner rather than later, arouse suspicion that the subsequent accident wasn’t an accident at all. A shot into the tyre would be initially put down to a simple tyre blowout.
A second later, Paul gently caressed the trigger of his rifle. He briefly watched as the tyre deflated, the car lurched into the nearside lane and ran up the embankment, turning upside-down, landing on its roof and facing the direction from which it had come. After a short delay people ran to help and those with mobile phones called the emergency services. Some bright soul smashed the window with a wheel brace, leaned in, turned off the engine and removed the ignition key. The driver was motionless. By then, Paul was running to his car and preparing to speed away from the scene.
End of part 24
Secrets
By Susan Heywood
The conclusion
Part 25 of 25 — Conclusion
Paul made two mistakes.
Jane survived but at the price of her mobility; she couldn’t walk as a result of Paul’s attempt on her life.
The other mistake cost Paul Hopley his life.
The previous afternoon, Jane had ordered a brand new Lexus RX in, of course, Matador Red. She decided that, now she had a partner and a daughter — who herself might well acquire a partner — and soon-to-be parents-in-law, and although she loved driving it, she would replace the somewhat impractical Lizzy with something more suitable, that is, with five full-sized seats. Given the demand for used Lexus cars, she had no trouble negotiating the sale of Lizzy; the swap from previous owner to new owner would take only an hour or so. Unfortunately this was due to take place early the following week, a few days that would change Jane’s world.
Jane was in hospital for several months, the first of which she was in a coma.
I visited as often as possible, willing her to wake up. Travelling with a guide dog was not easy and I had to get special dispensation to take Bonnie into Jane’s room.
I was delighted when she eventually awoke from the coma.
The surgeons tried, without success, to get her to the stage where she could walk without help. She eventually accepted that she would have to get around on a scooter-chair, at least for the foreseeable future. She said to me, “I’m broken; you could do so much better.”
I answered, “You’re the woman that I love; I don’t want anyone else, I want you.” I sealed my statement with a long, passionate kiss that left her in no doubt of my feelings.
Wroxall Gardens, being split-level, could easily be adapted to take the scooter and her new car could be fitted with a hoist.
With severely restricted mobility she was offered a desk job with the police but decided to look elsewhere. She eventually took a job with Global Synthetic Developments (known to employees, visitors and locals as GSD) as their Security Manager. This was the very same company for which her daughter worked. Her responsibilities included supervision of all the security personnel and procedures at the company’s various locations. She was encouraged to use her experience as a police officer and develop the job to meet the challenges presented by an ever-changing world.
She could easily ride or drive to any work location; her car was automatic and could be fitted with electric accessories and hand controls.
The woman who interviewed her was very interested in Jane’s circumstances. She herself was blind, relying on a guide dog. Her husband was one of several members of staff who got about in a scooter-chair. That wasn’t the only thing that they had in common. Megan Taylor, who conducted the interview, was assigned as a male child at birth and also relied on her guide dog. (Megan’s history can be found in my story “There’s Life in the Old Dog Yet”).
On his way from the scene, Paul didn’t see the tractor until the last moment. He overtook a slow-moving farm vehicle and settled down to drive at about thirty-five miles an hour to the nearest main road. Thirty-five miles an hour wasn’t an unreasonable speed for the road and, ordinarily, he would have been safely on his way five minutes or so later. As he was negotiating a narrow humpback bridge over a railway line, a big tractor emerged from a field on the opposite side of the bridge. The tractor driver, trying against all odds to obtain a mobile phone signal, was only partly concentrating on his driving and didn’t expect the little Morgan sports car coming over the bridge towards him on the narrow country road. Even at the speed at which he was driving, Paul stood no chance of avoiding the inevitable collision; his lightweight sports car fared badly against several tons of tractor and Paul didn’t survive the impact.
Jane’s hospitalisation meant that her team worked without her on the investigation into the crash. Such was the degree of training that Jane had put in place that the team rallied round to help in any way they could.
I wouldn’t have liked to be a forensic investigator who had to sift the remains of cars and occupants for clues.
Eventually, someone checked the tyres in the hope of finding some failure to account for the demise of the Lexus. He found evidence of the bullet. Detectives also attended the scene of the other incident when a search of the wreckage of the sports car yielded a high power sniper’s rifle. One and one made two and another two, in the form of Paul Hopley and his brother Luke, made a full set of four.
September 2007
I still couldn’t believe that this was finally happening — and on my twenty-sixth birthday too. The whole family had congregated at the Harley Court Hotel. I entered the conference room on my Daddy’s arm. Dan was best man and Melanie, Jane’s daughter, was my chief bridesmaid; my other bridesmaid was Rosalind, my niece. I’d have to work out if, after our ceremony, I was related to Melanie and how. The gathering included Melanie’s adoptive parents, who we’d got to know, and Hélá¨ne, Jane’s mother.
There couldn’t be many brides whose bridesmaids included her niece and her wife’s daughter.
A string ensemble played Handel’s ‘Air from the Water Music’ as we walked towards Jane, who was sitting on her scooter chair. I was wearing a white satin strapless wedding dress with green accents; Melanie and Rosalind wore green bridesmaid’s dresses. Bonnie, a matching green ribbon tied to her harness, walked on the other side of me from my father. Jane, wearing a white trouser suit and green cravat, was to be given away by her Aunt Sophie. Jane looked positively yummy despite the scooter-chair. What a wonderful birthday present for me!
We went through the ‘lawful impediment’ bit and then the ‘I take thee…' bit, like in the conventional marriage service.
My sister-in-law Geena then read ‘Blessing for a Wedding' by James Dillet Freeman. Some of the words were changed to reflect our different circumstances.
“May your partnership bring you all the exquisite excitements that such a union should bring and may life grant you
patience, tolerance, and understanding.
May you always need one another - not so much to fill your emptiness as to help you to know your fullness.
A mountain needs a valley to be complete; the valley does not make the mountain less, but more; and the valley is more a valley because it has a mountain towering over it.
So let it be with you both.
May you need one another, but not out of weakness.
May you want one another, but not out of lack.
May you entice one another, but not compel one another.
May you embrace one another, but not out encircle one another.
May you succeed in all-important ways with one another, and not fail in the little graces.
May you look for things to praise, often say "I love you"
and take no notice of small faults.
If you have quarrels that push you apart, may both of you hope to have good sense enough to take the first step back.
May you enter into the mystery that is the awareness of one another's presence - no more physical than spiritual, warm and near when you are side by side, and warm and near when you are in separate rooms or even distant cities.
May you have happiness, and may you find it making one another happy. May you have love, and may you find it loving one another.”
The registrar then said to each of us, “Will you solemnly promise that you will always protect this woman with your utmost care, that you will honour and cherish her in sickness and in health, for richer, for poorer, and that in all things you will be to her a faithful and loving partner.'
We both responded, “I will.”
Following the vows, the string ensemble played ‘Morning’ by Grieg while The Registrar watched as Jane and I, Celia and Ruth - one of Jane’s friends and colleagues, signed the Civil Partnership Schedule.
When we returned, we exchanged rings.
The Registrar said, “‘as tokens of the contract into which you have entered, these rings are given and received. By virtue of signing the schedule in my presence as a Registrar of Civil Partnerships, and before witnesses, I declare that you, Jane Marie-Christine, and you Jennifer Ellen, have now formed a Civil Partnership in accordance with the law. You may now kiss.’
We didn’t need to be told twice.
We processed from the ceremony to ‘Ode to Joy’ by Beethoven. Jane rode her chair and Bonnie walked by my side. I held onto the back of Jane’s chair; she led me from the room as she had led me, over the last two and a half years, into the life to which I’d surely been born.
Jane’s mother had given us a wedding present of two weeks honeymoon in the sun. Bonnie was to be looked after by Geena, Peter and the twins. It seemed that Hélá¨ne had come around to the idea that Jane would never be a wife. Of course, I now fulfilled that role.
Jane said, “Now that we’re married, I get to nag you.”
I agreed, smiling. “It’s probably a long-established tradition.”
“Then get that delicious body to the Dining Room, Mrs Jennifer Ellen Dyson; after dinner, I’ve a hot date with a gorgeous bride!”
The End