Copyright © 2014 Maeryn Lamonte - All Rights Reserved.

So, nearly two thousand hits and all of six comments and three private messages. That's less than half a percent of people responded. If I can go to the trouble of writing sixty thousand words of story, do you think it's asking too much to have a little bit more of a response that a click on the 'Good story' box? Am I really asking so much?

If you missed part one, you can find it here

Sorry, no guilt trip intended, but I really do enjoy reading your comments - when I get them.

Anyway, Jerry, now Laura, is outside enjoying the early morning freshness when...

-oOo-

I heard a car door slam, then the front door to the house. Stilettos against the hardwood floor warned me of who was coming, and I turned to face the storm.

“What the hell are you doing in my nightdress?” Portia’s voice was shrill, and I found myself wondering how I had ever thought her beautiful.

“Is it yours?” I tried to sound as innocent as I could. “I am grateful. I hate sleeping in my underwear, and it would have ruined my dress…”

“You’re ruining my nightdress you stupid cow! Look!”

I looked down at where the dew had wicked up about six inches above the hem. There were a few green marks, but nothing, I suspected, modern detergents couldn’t sort out. I showed willing and scooped the hem up out of contact with the grass.

“Where is my fucking husband?” she spat at me. I obviously wasn’t helping her mood.

“I imagine he’s still asleep. It’s early and he did have quite a bit to drink last night.”

She snarled and spun on her heels. I followed at a more leisurely pace.

I heard a door bang open upstairs, then the dulcet tones of my former beloved drifted down the stairs.

“What the fuck?”

This was followed by an indistinct murmur from my former body, which I couldn’t quite make out. I tried to increase my speed, but wet feet on hardwood floor, plus one hand holding my coffee and the other my nightie, I didn’t exactly feel safe climbing the stairs. By the time I reached the master bedroom, Laura was sitting up, having pulled up his fly and re-buttoned his trousers. His head was in his hands and he was evidently struggling with the morning after.

“Take them.” Portia was holding out two large envelopes, which he was ignoring in favour of the hammering in his head. At least that’s what I assumed he was feeling. It’s what I remember from the last time I drank my way through half a bottle of anything.

I perched on the bed next to him and offered him my coffee. It wasn’t exactly hot anymore, but I’d hardly touched it.

“Go on. Your need is greater than mine.”

He took it gratefully and swallowed half of it in one gargantuan mouthful. Hardly lady-like, but then I’d hardly been acting like a gentleman since the change. How much of our behaviour was derived from the bodies we wore, I wondered.

“Well don’t you make the cute couple?” Portia sneered. “This will go down really well with the jury.”

“What the hell is this?” Laura had recovered enough presence of mind to rediscover her voice. Whether anything more significant in her brain was firing remained to be seen.

“This is a petition for divorce,” Portia said, too wrapped up in her own indignant rage to notice anything amiss. “And this is an injunction freezing all your assets. The house, the car, the savings, those investment accounts you talked about, it’s all frozen until the courts sort out our settlement.

“I hope you weren’t hoping to catch a rich man,” she said, facing me briefly, ‘cos by the time I’m done with him, he’ll be poorer than you.”

She threw the envelopes onto the bed and turned to leave.

“Before you go,” I said, stopping her in her tracks. I stood and retrieved the pen I always kept in my suit and held it out to her along with the envelopes I had picked up off the bed. “Would you mind writing the date and time of delivery on these please, and signing it.”

She glowered at me but did as I asked.

“Since ownership of the house is in dispute, you don’t get to stay here anymore than I do. I’ll make sure the bailiffs come round by ten to seal the place up. If you’re still here then, you’ll be forcibly removed.”

“Okay, thanks. Do you mind if I borrow some of your clothes? All I have is a ball gown, and I’d feel a bit silly wearing it this morning.”

“You keep your hands out of my stuff you conniving little bitch. You may have your claws into him, but he’s the only thing you’ll be keeping. You’re welcome to him too, waste of space that he is.”

She stormed out of the house, slamming the front door so hard we could hear the force of it upstairs in the bedroom.

“You’re wife’s a charmer,” Laura said, the coffee cup drained and the caffeine having done its work. “Tell me again, why did you marry her?”

“You know, I don’t have a good answer to that. Sorry, but she’s actually your wife now, unless and until we can sort out the thing with the bowl. Come on, we’d better get up. We have things to do this morning, and not a lot of time. You hit the shower first, and I’ll go and get us some more coffee.”

“Yeah, er, where is it?”

“En suite, dimbo,” I pointed at a door over the other end of the room. “What did you do with my dress? I need to wear something other than this.” I indicated my borrowed nightdress with its damp and stained hem.

“I’ll find you something once I’ve stood under a cold shower for five minutes. Another coffee would be appreciated though,” he handed me the empty mug, “but with a couple of sugars in it this time if you don’t mind.”

There was an oddness. I’d have thought that if anything would come from the body rather than the mind it would be a preferred sense of taste. Everything tasted more intense in this body, but I’d enjoyed the few sips I’d taken of my unsweetened coffee before handing the cup over.

I went downstairs and poured out two fresh mugs. Neither Portia nor I used sugar in our drinks, but we had it available for when we had guests round. I added a couple of spoons to Laura’s mug and carried them back up, checking the front door as I passed it to make sure it was properly closed.

“More than a woman, more than a woman that’s me.”

I couldn’t help smiling at his off-key singing and his choice of song, slightly altered lyrics included.

“Coffee’s on the bedside cabinet,” I called into the room. There was steam billowing out of the bathroom, so either he’d been lying about the cold shower or he’d chickened out. “I’m going to the guest bathroom down the hall.”

“Okay, catch you in a few.”

I retrieved a large towel from the airing cupboard and stepped into the bathroom. For the first time I stopped to take in the face I now hid behind, staring at my reflection in the mirror. It was thin and a little pinched, with features slightly too sharp to be called truly beautiful. I tried a smile and plain became pretty. I suspected that if I put some effort into it, I could look quite stunning. I remembered Laura had done so when I first saw her last night.

I put the mug down and stripped off the nightdress and underwear. The knickers fit too well to be anyone else’s, and they were a deep red to match last night’s dress. I didn’t much like the idea of wearing them for another day, but I doubted I’d have the choice.

Natural blonde, I thought, looking down at my naked body for the first time. Breasts maybe a little small, but everything in proportion. Slim, trim and full of vim, as my mother used to say.

The shower was amazing. I turned the temperature up higher than I normally would have and fell in love with the sensation of a million scalding drops of water cascading over my lithe form. Oh yes, I could get used to this if I had to.

Rubbing myself dry wasn’t an option; my skin was too sensitive. With almost no body hair, it was easy and quick enough simply to pat away the dampness. There was soap and talcum powder, spray on deodorant and even small sample bottles of perfume. One thing Portia was insistent on was being a better hostess than anyone else she knew. It wasn’t thoughtfulness so much as one-upmanship, but I was glad of it for once. I tied the towel around myself over my breasts, and carried my night things and coffee mug out of the bathroom.

Laura was waiting for me, wearing slacks, a polo shirt and a cravat of all things. On my bed he’d laid out a summer dress and fresh, unopened bra and panties.

“Portia said no…”

“I say fuck Portia, although not literally, ‘cos I doubt there would be any pleasure in it. The dress was right at the back of her closet, so I doubt she even remembers she owns it, and the smalls are unopened, so arguably not hers yet.”

“She’ll remember the dress,” I said. “She has a hoarder’s temperament and knows everything she owns. Still, chances are she won’t be coming back with the bailiffs, so what she doesn’t know, she can’t scream about.”

We stood facing each other for a few seconds. The oddest feeling looking at myself and realising I was someone else. Even odder when I realised that I actually felt attracted to me. I suspect Laura was dealing with similar feelings, because we broke eye contact about the same time and ended up looking just about anywhere except at each other.

“Right, I’ll get dressed then. If you wouldn’t mind waiting downstairs…”

“Oh, I thought I might help. You know adjusting bra straps isn’t that easy the first time.”

“I’m sure I’ll manage. If I get in difficulties, I’ll call.”

“Erm, okay. Well er… I’ll, er, I’ll see you downstairs then.”

“In about five or ten minutes.”

“Yeah right.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Five or ten minutes. I’ll see you then.” He couldn’t quite keep the smile off his face.

I closed the door on him and let the towel drop to the floor. The knickers were a little small, but I decided I’d rather that than wear the red ones for any longer. The bra was more complicated than I was expecting. Portia being better endowed than me meant the cups weren’t a great fit. There were multiple hooks at the back, and it took me a couple of minutes to find the most comfortable one, then a few minutes more to adjust the shoulder straps until they were comfortably snug. I thought about padding out the extra space in the bra cups, and after a few more minutes experimenting with tissues, I gave up.

The dress was easy enough to put on. Having the zip underneath one of my arms was a bit odd, but it fit okay and I stood in front of the mirror tugging at it until it sat just right.

My face would do without makeup, but my hair was a rat’s nest. I found a brush beside the mirror, either new and unused, or carefully cleaned of the last user’s leavings. It took a while to rake out all the knots, but eventually it shone with a silky smoothness, and fell in gentle waves over my shoulders. I declared myself done and headed downstairs for breakfast.

“Five or ten minutes, yeah right.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t more than ten minutes was I?”

“More like half an hour,” Laura said. “Toast or cereal?”

Cereal sounded nice. “There’s some muesli in the corner cupboard, and some fruit in the fridge. Raspberries and blueberries I think.”

He set about making my breakfast without comment.

“Oh, and a glass of orange juice please. Hold the vodka this time. Was I really half an hour?”

“Well more like forty minutes, but I wasn’t really paying that much attention.”

“I miss my watch,” I said looking at it on his wrist.

“Well you had one of your own,” he replied. “It was on the nightstand when I put you to bed last night.”

“Really?” I turned to go back upstairs.

“Yeah, and I left a pair of sandals in your room too.”

I ran upstairs and found both the watch and sandals. The buckles on the shoes were small and fiddly, but with nimble fingers not too much of a bother. The watch was one of those with a tiny face; decorative but not particularly practical. The clasp was awkward, but I sorted it out in the end. I came back downstairs to find my breakfast waiting.

“So what things do we have to do this morning?” He asked chomping on a slice of liberally buttered toast.

“Well,” I said around a mouthful of muesli, “first we have to phone your lawyer; the one I hired for you this morning. It would be best if he were here when the bailiffs arrive, because he’s our official witness to your signing the house over into my name at five o’clock this morning.”

“I did what?”

“Well it was me really. You were still snoring away in a drunken stupor, and I doubt you’d have been able to learn how to sign your new name in time anyway.

“You signed the car over to me as well, along with a few investment accounts and all your shares in the bank.”

“Wow, I didn’t realise I was that generous.”

“Yep, you are currently looking at the newest millionairess in the country. We’ll lose quite a bit in tax, but I’d rather the government had it than your wife.”

“Sorry we? I thought you said I signed it to you. Or you signed it to you or something. I need another coffee.”

“As soon as Portia sued for divorce, any property and funds owned by either you or her were frozen pending the settlement. She already emptied our joint account, and there were some joint savings neither of us could touch because access requires both our signatures, but there’s always been quite a lot in my – Jerry’s – name alone. As I said, shares in the bank which I inherited, investment accounts made out in Jerry’s name only, the house and the car.

“At about four o’clock last night, I, as Jeremy Goodman, logged into the bank and signed all the assets I held at the bank over to me as Laura Townsend. I then contacted a friend in Sydney, who suggested the names of a couple of lawyer friends of his who wouldn’t mind being woken in the middle of the night if there was some money in it for them. One of them came around at five last night and signed an affidavit to say that Jerry Goodman signed ownership of both his house and his car over to Laura Townsend at that time. The injunction freezing assets only comes into effect from the time and date when notification reaches all affected parties, which is when Portia delivered the letters at about six-thirty this morning.

“As of five o’clock, Laura Townsend became the legal owner of all Jeremy Goodman’s assets, which means the bailiffs can’t throw us out of my house. Nor can they drive away in my car, nor can they touch my investments or my shares.

“You, sadly, are a pauper. Well not quite, since you still have about sixty thousand pounds worth of money and savings to scrap over, but I doubt you’ll see much of that ‘cos Portia knows how to work the system.

“Lucky for you, I’m a sucker for the destitute, so my house is your house, and whatever I own is yours to use until this all blows over, then we’ll find some amicable way to settle things.

“Right now, you’d better call your lawyer. His name is Paul Burrows and his number’s on the pad over there. Tell him about Portia’s visit and her little gifts for you. Tell him the bailiffs are expected at about ten and we could use him to fend them off.”

I made it halfway through the bowl of cereal before I was too full to eat any more. I joined Laura, in full Jerry mode, finishing off his conversation with Paul.

“So what happens next?”

“You need to talk to the chairman of the bank to tell him what’s happening. I’ll brief you as best as I can, but we’d better take the call on speakerphone with me ready to write down your script as we go. He’s not going to be happy, and there may be something of a tempest to weather, but the important thing is the bank will be safe and all our customers too.”

Suitably coached, Laura made the call with me listening in and providing written prompts when needed. I had a conference phone with built in recorder for occasions such as this, as I’d learned early on that it was best to have records of every discussion to do with the bank. Unsurprisingly, the chairman wasn’t happy with the turn of events, but with much effective persuasion on Laura’s part, he accepted that nothing really significant could happen over the weekend, and we would be able to sort this all out Monday morning.

The next surprise came at about eight-thirty when the doorbell rang. Jerry answered it to find a couple of grim faced police officers standing at the door.

“Jeremy Goodman?” One of them asked.

“Yes,” Laura replied.

“We have a warrant to search your premises.” He held out a folded sheet of paper.

“Can I ask what this is about?”

“I have a complaint from a Mr Tony West who has accused you of attacking him and stealing a bowl from him, which he describes as being twelve inches in diameter, made from petrified oak and lacquered green. He has provided witnesses to the effect that you were seen fleeing his apartment last night in the presence of a young woman, with the bowl in your possession.”

“The bowl was never his.”

“Are you admitting you took the bowl sir?”

“No he isn’t,” I interjected before Laura dug a pit big enough for both of us. “Did Mr West provide you with any proof of ownership of this bowl?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m assuming the bowl in question was valuable? An antique of some sort? Surely Mr West would have to prove ownership of the item before accusing anyone of having stolen it.”

“And who are you Miss?”

“My name is Laura Townsend, and I’m the young woman in who’s presence Mr Goodman was seen allegedly fleeing. A bowl fitting that exact description was stolen from my home several weeks back. I reported it missing,” I looked at Laura who nodded confirmation, “and I suspect that Mr West was the one who stole it.”

“Did you report this to the police?”

Again a look at Laura, this time a subtle shake of the head. “No I didn’t. I only had my suspicions; nothing that might constitute proof. As to proof of my ownership of the bowl,” Laura was nodding again, “I have that. I believe I already presented it when I reported the robbery.” Another nod.

“I don’t know anything about that Miss. All I know is we have a warrant to search this house for Mr West’s missing bowl. I must warn you, if we find it, we will be arresting you, Mr Goodman, for theft and assault.”

“There was no theft, because the item never belonged to Mr West, and there was no assault because I was defending myself from Mr West. Look at my neck.” Laura raised his chin and pulled his cravat away from his neck. The front of it was a livid bruise. “Miss Townsend was there so she can back up at least some of my story. Mr West had three companions, who I managed to incapacitate before Tony had me by the throat. I did hit him over the head with the bowl, but only in self-defence because he was strangling me.

“At some point in the confusion, Miss Townsend fainted, and I thought it best to get us both away from there while our assailants were incapacitated. The bowl broke in half when I struck Mr West, but since I knew it didn’t belong to him, I took it as well with a view to returning it to its rightful owner.”

“And the bowl is here?”

“In the living room, I’ll show you.”

The two policemen followed him into the house where he pointed out the two pieces of the bowl, complete with blood stains.

“Mr Goodman, I am arresting you for theft and assault. You have the right…”

Well you know how the rest of it goes.

“What about me?” I asked.

“Personally, I think you’re in it up to your pretty little neck, love, but I don’t have cause to arrest you too. If you’d like to accompany us to the police station though…”

“No!” Laura said; almost shouted. “You need to stay here. Sort out the house first, then come and find me. If you can bring proof of ownership of the bowl, it would help.”

“How would I do that?”

“Well I would imagine you might keep it in a filing cabinet in your house,” he said through gritted teeth.

“And my house?” I hissed back.

“Why don’t you look in your handbag?”

“Because I lost it at Tony’s party.”

“Well he’s hardly going to hold onto it, is he? Since he’s trying to do this through legitimate channels, he’ll find it hard to explain not returning your purse, won’t he? Just go back to his place and ask for it back.

“Don’t forget you rented the dress along with the shoes and bag. If you don’t get them back by midday, there’ll be a penalty.”

Funny how different people see things with different perspectives. The penalty would likely be less than a hundred quid, which was pocket change in my world. In Laura’s it was probably about a day’s income.

The police officer gave me the address of the police station where they were taking Laura, and moments later I was alone.

I had time before the bailiffs and Paul were due. I phoned Paul to let him know what had happened to ‘Jerry’ and he said he’d the police station in question was right next to the courthouse near where he worked, so he’d drop in on the way over. That took all of five minutes. With more than an hour to wait, I made another pot of coffee and sat brooding over how to get the handbag back. In the end, the simplest solution seemed to be the only one that had much hope of working. I picked up the phone.

“Tony, hi. It’s Laura Townsend here.”

“Hello Jerry. How do you like your new look?”

“What makes you so sure we haven’t changed back yet?”

“Because it doesn’t work that way. You don’t get to change back for at least a week.”

“So what, it wears off after a week?”

“No, you have to use the bowl again, but if you try to do it too early, it locks you in for a longer time.

“Look, if you give the bowl back, I’ll get you and Laura switched back, good as new.”

Yeah, like we were still friends and he was doing it out of the goodness of his heart. Still I didn’t want to antagonise him.

“The bowl’s broken.” He was going to find out sometime.

“What!”

“You were strangling my body. I hit you over the head with the first thing I could find. It slipped out of my hands and broke into two pieces when it hit the floor.”

“That’s… disappointing.”

“I imagine so.”

“Mike, Pete and Randall will not be happy.”

“Especially when they realise they’re stuck as each other and you still get to be you.”

“Hey at least they’re still guys. When they hear what you and that interfering bitch have to deal with, they won’t think it’s so bad.”

“Will you drop charges against Jerry?”

“Laura you mean? That stupid cow screwed up the biggest score of my career. I want her to suffer.”

“How about me then? Do you hate me that much?”

“You’re just collateral damage, Jerry, like Mike, Pete and Randy. I mean you were a spoiled little rich kid with more money than sense, but no, I didn’t hate you.”

“Well since I’m stuck living Laura’s life, perhaps you wouldn’t mind if I dropped by later to pick up her handbag and keys. I dropped them in all the confusion.”

“Yeah, whatever. Mary should be home all day. Stop by whenever you like.”

I pressed the button to hang up the phone, and turned off the recorder. I certainly didn’t have enough to take to the police, but maybe I had something to take to Tony’s henchmen.

-oOo-

Paul arrived five minutes before the bailiffs. Between his affidavit and his personality he had enough push to send them scurrying back to their cars and their phones. A minute later, a disgruntled but stiffly polite man in a cheap suit apologised for the inconvenience and withdrew with his entourage.

I thanked Paul, who told me I needed to get down to the police station and see Jerry.

I did, but I took the scenic route. I phoned the security company to get the alarm code changed, then contacted a locksmith to do the same to all the external locks in the house. He told me he would come in the afternoon, so I took the Merc and headed over to Tony’s place, parking it in a long term car park a few minutes’ walk away.

Mary was quite nice about everything, although she said she didn’t understand what all that nonsense had been about the keys in the bowl. I spun some tale about a silly game that went wrong, and apologised if the disturbance had ruined her party. She told me to think nothing of it and sent me away with Laura’s handbag and car keys.

That was a point. How had I dropped Laura’s VW keys? How come he had my Mercedes ones when we left the party? Sure he’d picked the Merc keys out of the bowl, but he’d been wearing this body when he did so. Questions for later.

The valet service was something Tony and Mary had arranged for the evening, the cars being parked, coincidentally, in the same structure where I’d just parked the Mercedes. I hunted through five floors, pushing the button on the key fob before a cheerful chirp led me to a turquoise VW Beetle which I drove to the bay where I had parked the Merc.

I transferred the dress and shoes from the Merc to the back seat of the bug, then upended the handbag on the passenger’s seat. A quick rummage through the flotsam uncovered a driving license with Laura’s home address on it, and a ticket for a dress loan shop. I checked my silly little watch. I had just twenty minutes to find the shop and return the dress.

A sucker mark on the windscreen suggested that Laura owned a satnav, which I discovered, after a brief search, in the glove compartment. It refused to pick up any satellites until we were clear of the parking structure, but woke up in time to guide me to the shop with five minutes to spare.

After returning the dress, I punched in Laura’s home address and was led a circuitous route to a small terraced house in a modest suburb of the big city. The house number matched the address on the driving license, and the keys fit the front door, so I assumed I was in the right place.

The house was tidy, but cluttered. Antique pieces covered every available surface, and even my amateur’s eye recognised some of them as quite valuable. I found the filing cabinet quickly enough, then puzzled over Laura’s filing system for a good ten minutes before finding the documentation and photographs describing her bowl.

I took ten minutes – well okay, half an hour – changing out of Portia’s borrowed clothes and choosing something of Laura’s. Most of what she had was Jeans and tee shirts, cardigans and pullovers, but I did find a dress or two. I’d rather enjoyed wearing Portia’s summer dress, and suspected that Laura’s girly clothes would probably be cooler given the weather.

Armed with bra, knickers, dress and sandals, all of which fit comfortably at last, I locked the house up and climbed back into the car. Portia’s clothes went on the back seat, to be returned to her wardrobe later. The documents went on the passenger seat, after I gathered up the scattered treasures from Laura’s rented handbag, and inserted them into a more sensible one I’d found in the corner of her bedroom.

The satnav led me to the police station where Laura was being held and I presented myself at the front desk, asking to see him. There were no official visiting hours in a small clink like this, which led to an in depth discussion between three of the officers on duty and a final, begrudging acquiescence. I was led down into the bowels of the building and given a seat in what looked like an interview room. A few minutes later Laura was led in.

“How're you holding up?” I asked. I wanted to be flippant and try and cheer him up a bit, but the police officer who’d brought him up from the cells to had remained in the room with us and was earwiging on our conversation. Plain and simple seemed the best bet.

“Oh, it’s not so bad. The bed’s not quite up to the standards I’m used to but it’s quiet and cool. I see you found the files.”

“Yeah. What do you want me to do with them?”

“Get them to Paul, or don’t I have a better lawyer? I mean surely a bank manager would have a pretty good one.”

“Yeah, he’s great when it comes to the legal side of tax and finance. From what I’ve seen Paul’s pretty clued up for what we’re dealing with at the moment, and he comes with a recommendation.”

“Okay. Get them to Paul. Get him to compare the photos and description from my files against those of Tony’s and see which of them best fits the bowl in evidence. The way I see it, Tony already had a bowl, but it stopped working, which means it must have been damaged in some way. If Tony’s documents describe a blemish that isn’t present on mine, then we might even have enough to get me out of here.”

“Well it might squash the theft accusation, but what about the assault?”

“I already said it was self-defence. Tony and his mates might be denying that, but when it’s shown that they already lied about ownership of the bowl, then that brings into doubt the rest of their testimony.”

“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

“What, sat around in a jail cell? Yeah, but I was exonerated every time, just like I’m going to be here. In my experience, the rich and powerful think they can get away with whatever they want. I tend to fight back against that sort of crap, which usually ends up with the authorities believing the guys with money and me ending up in jail until someone’s forced to look at some evidence. I’m not ashamed of this.”

“No, I can see that. I admire you, you know. You have more courage than I ever had.”

“Yeah, well, the sooner you get those things to Paul, the sooner I’m out of here. What happened with the house?”

“Oh, nothing much. The bailiffs made a few calls, apologised for disturbing me and left. I have a locksmith coming round in an hour or so to change all the locks.”

“Good for you. I’ll let you know when they let me out. I’ll ask one of these guys to give Paul a ring.”

I took that as my cue and left the cells. I had time to find Paul’s office, which a friendly receptionist in the courthouse told me was across the road and up a couple of floors, and from there to Paul’s desk. I handed over the files with Laura’s instructions, then headed home to wait for the locksmith and return Portia’s clothes to her wardrobe.

It was getting on for five by the time the locksmith had smithed all the locks. I paid the man, then asked if he was heading back into town, and if he could drop me anywhere near the car park where I’d left the Merc. He obliged, probably more for my pretty smile than anything else, and in no time I was back at my car.

It was quiet and smooth and luxurious after the Beetle, but I found I didn’t much care. I’d enjoyed the little car. It was lively in traffic and a more enjoyable colour than this dull black thing with cream leather seats. The satnav popped out of a hidden compartment in the dash rather than having to be glued to the windscreen every time you wanted to use it. The Merc had more gadgets than you could shake a stick at, whereas the Beetle had a radio and a cigarette lighter, but that made pretty much no difference. For some reason I preferred the cheaper and massively more cheerful little run-around.

I drove back to Laura’s place to grab some clothes and thought of staying the night. The house was cramped though, and foreign to me. I packed a small suitcase and headed back to the mansion on the hill. On impulse, I phoned through to the house and used the code to play back messages on the answerphone. There was one from Paul saying that he’d taken the evidence I’d provided to a judge who agreed that there was no reason Jerry should be locked up until the trial, so he’d been released and could I pick him up.

I called the police station to find he was still there, had just been given back his belt and his shoe laces and was busy putting himself back together. I asked them to tell him I was on my way and would be there in about fifteen minutes.

He was sitting on the station steps, sunning himself and dozing by the time I pulled up. I let him drive us home. I mean I’d been running around all day and I was pooped, whereas he’d just sat in a small room and chilled. I did think about making him cook, but that would have been unfair in an unfamiliar kitchen, so we ordered in and settled down in front of the DVD Laura picked out from my collection.

-oOo-

How the fuck did this happen?

I mean a couple of slices of pizza, not that I finished the second one. Pizza and beer go together, so I had one bottle. One bottle! Then the film got sad. I mean I knew it would, I’ve watched it a dozen times in the past, but there I was sniffling and crying, and Laura put his arm around me.

I should have pulled away. I knew I should have pulled away. I mean with Portia on the warpath I knew better than to do something this stupid. I was going to pull away. I was going to get up and sit on one of the armchairs instead of the sofa. Instead I snuggled up next to him, and it felt so good.

Next thing I knew, neither of us was watching the film anymore. I was looking into his eyes, and he was looking into mine. I was all but quivering with anticipation. Would he, wouldn’t he? Should I? He leaned in and I closed my eyes.

The touch of his lips on mine was almost an orgasm in itself. I couldn’t help myself. I was all over him, kissing him back with all my feeble strength, unbuttoning his shirt and reaching inside to caress him. I wanted him to do the same, to put his hands on me, to put himself inside me.

The TV snapped off and I looked down at the remote in his hand, then up into his eyes. I had a chance to stop it then. For a moment I was lucid and aware of what I was doing. I knew it was stupid. I almost had the strength to say no, but it had been so long. So many years since Portia and I shared that one night of intimacy. I didn’t care that I wasn’t the man any more, I just wanted…

I kissed him. He wasn’t me anymore. I know it may seem narcissistic to the nth degree, but it wasn’t as though I was kissing myself. It had been my face once, long ago, right about last night, but right now it belonged to Laura. There was someone different behind those eyes, and he was offering me an intimacy and closeness that I had never known.

He lifted me into his arms, easily, as though I were a child, and I clung to his neck. I felt out of control, completely at his mercy. It was an illusion and somewhere inside I knew it. All I had to do was say no and he’d stop, I knew he would, but that added to the excitement. I could say stop, and the word was on the tip of my tongue all the way up the stairs and into the bedroom. I balanced on the knife edge between yes and no, between pragmatism and foolish, insane abandon. I could have stopped him at any time. I nearly did a hundred times, but each time I held back.

I unbuttoned his shirt, stroked his bare chest. I had once hated the way I was never able to grow any hair on my chest – the original metrosexual man – but now I was glad of it as I stroked it with my hands, kissed it with my lips.

He unzipped my dress and I pulled back for long enough to let it fall to the ground. I reached for his belt buckle and undid his trousers while he reached behind and deftly undid my bra.

I giggled, almost hysterically, at the thought that he was more experienced at undressing me than I was.

His trousers slipped down his legs and I slid my hands inside his boxer shorts, around the back where I grabbed two handfuls of flesh and pulled him towards me.

The part of the old me that had never seemed big enough when I had been in that body seemed enormous as it pressed against me now. I was breathing so deeply I was light headed. I pulled down his pants and pulled back enough to untangle myself from my bra.

“Are you sure..?” he started.

“Shutup!” I planted my lips on his to stop him from saying anything sensible and pulled him down onto the bed, on top of me.

He reached down to remove my knickers with me wriggling to help. I parted my legs and felt him prodding, probing. I reached down and guided him. I knew exactly where he needed to go, and I so wanted him there.

A moment’s sharp pain had me biting my lip, then he was in me and it felt so good. I have never felt so complete, so much a part of someone else.

He started to move back and forth inside me, and with each thrust I felt a new surge of something indescribable coursing through me. It was like flying, with all the wonders of the universe streaming through my body. Every movement took me higher and faster and filled me until I was sure I would burst.

It can’t have lasted long, but whether it was minutes or seconds, I was caught up in my own slice of eternity for all of that time. I was wondering how much more of it I could endure when I felt him go rigid. No I mean all of him. Then he relaxed on top of me and rolled to one side.

I continued the roll until I was on top of him, wanting to stay together for as long as possible, but he was already deflating inside of me. I couldn’t feel him anymore, and I was only vaguely aware when he flopped out of me.

I grabbed for the tissues I kept on one side of the bed – just in case, you understand – and mopped things up as best I could before the bedclothes got all sticky. Then I nestled into his side and rested my head on his chest.

I could feel his body relaxing. I remembered the feeling, but it didn’t match my own mood just then. Somehow, it felt as though we’d finished halfway through. I was energised and buzzing, ready for another round. I decided to give him five minutes and try again.

“Wow,” he said and kissed me on the top of the head. “I never expected to lose my virginity that way.”

“I was a virgin?” I looked up at him. That moment’s pain at the outset. I guess I must have been.

“Yeah, kind of. I mean, your body was at least. The you inside, I’m guessing not so much.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“What?”

“I mean, apart from one time on our wedding night, we haven’t…”

“Hang on. You’ve been married for, what…?”

“Eight years, and this was only the second time I’ve made love in my life. Is it wrong that I enjoyed it more this time round?”

“I don’t know what to say. I was more worried that you’d think I was taking advantage.”

“I’m not really sure who took advantage of whom. Besides, this is your body. Doesn’t it bother you that you just deflowered yourself?”

“It doesn’t feel like that. I don’t know how you’re going to respond to this, but that doesn’t feel like my body anymore. I’ve switched places with a bunch of people over the years and it always felt like I was borrowing someone else’s life for a few days. This is different somehow. It feels like…”

“…coming home.”

I felt the same way. It was crazy. All my life I’d been happy enough being a guy, or at least I’d thought I’d been happy. This was different though. Despite all the stress and weirdness of the last twenty-four hours, “I really like being a woman.”

“Wait a few days. You may change your mind.”

“You mean I’m due?” You don’t live with a woman for eight years without picking up on the monthly variations in her life.

“Middle of next week unless I’ve miscounted.”

“Best we make the most of the time we have then.”

I climbed onto him and kissed him. There was already a stirring from down below. I worked my way down his body and kissed his sensitive parts until he was fully erect again, then I climbed on top of him and took control.

I took it slow. Second time round, he wasn’t in such urgent need of release, so between me setting the pace and him have a little more stamina, we made it last, and I peaked maybe three times. By the time he reached his own climax, I was well and truly spent.

I lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. That was how the fuck this had happened.

It hadn’t been clever. I had just had unprotected sex with the man Portia was divorcing for marital unfaithfulness; an accusation that had no truth to it until just now. It had been the mother of all stupid, and now that it was done, the potential consequences broke over me like a tsunami. I was going to have a very nervous few days, and I didn’t know how I was going to look Portia in the eye the next time we met.

-oOo-

Copyright © 2014 Maeryn Lamonte - All Rights Reserved.

Sixteen comments and pms this time, bringing the delay down to three and a bit days. Come on you lovely people, I know you can do better.

Anyway, for those of you who’re new to Lifeswap, chapter one can be found here. For the rest of you, the story so far:-

Jerry Goodman, a banker, having been invited to a party held by Tony Ward, his antiques dealer, is invited to participate in a party game. What he doesn’t know is that the bowl in which he has just placed his keys is magical. Fortunately for him, Laura Townsend, another antiques dealer and the rightful owner of the bowl, comes along at that stage and adds her keys to the bowl.

The magic of the bowl causes Jerry and Laura’s consciousnesses to be switched, and in the ensuing confusion, the bowl is broken, Laura (now in Jerry’s body) picks Jerry (in Laura’s) up and escapes with him (her?) and the pieces of bowl.

Later, back at Jerry’s house, Jerry’s wife, Portia arrives, upset at being abandoned at the party, and accuses him of being unfaithful. She then storms off to call her lawyers.

Jerry (in Laura’s body remember) manages to transfer most of his assets – shares, personal accounts, the house and the car – into Laura’s name before Portia can get the legal system involved, and so avoids having them frozen, pending the settlement.

Early the following morning, Portia serves the divorce summons and the injunction freezing Jerry’s assets, the police turn up and arrest Laura (in Jerry’s body) for the alleged theft of the bowl and assault on Tony. Jerry (as Laura) is left to sort out the mess. He manages it and arranges for Laura’s release from police custardy by the end of the day. They head home to enjoy a relaxing evening, and end up in bed together, engaging in unprotected sex. The chapter ends with Jerry (as Laura) reflecting on how stupid she’s been.

Dramatis Personae
Jerry Goodman – A banker, but one of the good ones. Now residing in Laura Townsend’s body.
Portia Goodman – Harpy. Unhappily married to Jerry.
Laura Townsend – Another antiques dealer, but more honest than Tony. Former owner of the bowl used to switch minds into other bodies. Now in Jerry Goodman’s body.
Tony Ward – An antiques dealer and all round dodgy character.
Mary Ward - Wife to Tony Ward - not much of a part so far
Mike, Peter and Randy – Tony’s cronies. Now switched into each other’s bodies.
Paul Burrows – A lawyer who doesn't mind being woken up in the middle of the night. Sympathetic to men, like Jerry, who are facing a messy divorce.

-oOo-

I lay in bed staring at the ceiling for a long time. Sleep wouldn’t come so I got up and gathered my things. I retrieved my towel from the guest bedroom and headed for the bathroom I’d used that morning. I don’t know how long I stood under the stream of hot water, but long enough to scrub myself raw. It didn’t make any difference; I could still smell him on me when I was done.

His smell, my smell, it was too confusing. For a short crazy while, things had been wonderfully right, now in the emptiness of the night, all the wrongness of what we’d done crowded in.

I dressed and made my way downstairs, put a pan of milk on to warm. The night was chilly so I hunted out an old fleece I kept in the cloakroom. Again my smell, his smell. Comforting. Confusing.

I carried my drink to the conservatory, switching out the lights as I went. It wasn’t that late, so the moon wasn’t up yet. It was another uncharacteristically clear night and the stars sparkled down on me with Disney magic.

I pulled my legs up close to my chest and held my mug in both hands. A tear escaped from one eye and I tried to analyse why. It was so hard to be detached in this body, and every thought brought with it a flood of intermingled feelings.

Did I regret making love to Laura? No, surprisingly not. Yes there was something weird and twisted about climbing into bed with the person who was wearing my old body while I wore hers, but somehow the issue of who belonged in which body didn’t seem to matter. Sure I’d been born Jeremy Goodman. Sure the person I’d been for the last thirty-two years was asleep upstairs. Sure I had no experience of being a woman – up until now I’d had no thoughts about wanting to be one. But just because all that was true, it didn’t lessen the truth that I’d felt more comfortable in the last twenty-four hours than I had in my whole life. A truth which, if Laura had spoken honestly, extended to her also.

Laura’s bowl was broken, so was Tony’s, assuming he’d ever had one. It seemed right given our conversation earlier that morning, and if he was to be believed – a big if on reflection – then a broken bowl had no power to change. The artefacts were incredibly rare to begin with. We needed a bowl if we were ever going to change back, and the likelihood of finding one was remote to say the least.

The chances were very good that we were going to have to accept these changes for the rest of our lives, and no matter how much that seemed like the most unusual piece of good luck for both of us, there is a grieving to any loss. Even when there is more gained than lost, you still need to mourn the loss.
A fox scampered across the garden; a vixen, followed a moment later by her cubs. There was an animal that had embraced change. Loss of its natural habitat had turned it into an urban animal, scavenging from people’s bins. It seemed happy and healthy enough in its new circumstances, maybe I could be too. Maybe it was all wishful thinking.

I breathed deep, tasting my old scent. His scent now. This was a decision we’d have to make together, a topic for discussion over breakfast maybe, but in light of what both Laura and I had said, we had to decide whether we were going to look for a way to turn ourselves back, however remote our chances, or whether we were going to accept what had happened to us.

My mug was empty. I didn’t even remember drinking its contents. I set it down on a nearby coffee table and stood up. Part of me wanted to stretch out and fall asleep under the gently twinkling stars, but my legs were cold and I had other concerns crowding in.

I made my way to the study and fired up my computer. Opening the web browser in incognito mode, I googled ‘can you get pregnant just before your period?’ The response wasn’t encouraging, so I then googled ‘morning after pills’. I wasn’t sure how I felt about taking something like that. For one thing, I’d have to be careful about where I bought them. If news of a purchase like that made it to Portia’s ears, we’d be in the brown and smelly up to our noses. For another, I wasn’t sure how I felt about messing with nature that way in any case. I mean sure, contraception is messing with nature, but there was the whole issue of when that little cell becomes a person. Something else to discuss in the morning.

I shut the computer down and made my way back to the conservatory, wrapping the fleece tight around me. It didn’t help the goose bumps forming on my legs, but somehow I felt warmer. I caught sight of the suitcase of Laura’s clothes I’d packed earlier standing in the hall. Why hadn’t I put any trousers in, I wondered. The skirt of my dress brushed against my legs as I walked and I realised I actually enjoyed both the look and the feel of skirts and dresses, especially in this body. Maybe I’d go back to jeans and sweatshirts in time, but for now I had the body to take advantage of pretty clothes and I found I wanted to, even if it meant cold legs sometimes.

I picked up the case and headed for the stairs. Despite its small size, it was heavy. My old strength was something I was going to miss, I realised, but then when had I ever really used it as Jerry?

Back in the guest room, I unpacked, hanging up the clothes I’d brought and smoothing out the creases as best I could. I changed out of my clothes and into the nightie I’d packed. It was short and sexy, lace trimmed red satin that barely reached down to the tops of my legs. I wondered why I’d packed it when Laura had more sensible nightclothes. Had I been thinking of seduction, or was it just the thought of looking and feeling sexy? I admired myself in the mirror and a smile came unbidden to my face. A bright, genuine smile that lifted my sharp features all the way through beautiful into stunning. I thought about re-joining Laura in the master bedroom and the temptation was too great.

‘Might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb,’ my dad used to say, and we’d already had the lamb. I headed back down the hall and slipped into the room. Habit had me setting the burglar alarm before I climbed into bed beside used-to-be-me. He was still breathing gently in his sleep, his back to me. I slid under the sheets and spooned up close behind him. My mind was rested now and sleep came easily.

-oOo-

I woke to the sensation of someone turning in the bed beside me. I opened my eyes to see Laura’s – mine formerly – looking back at me. I gave him a sleepy smile and stretched, cat-like.

“You look good enough to eat,” he said pulling me close. He had an early morning erection which was tempting, but not overly so. I kissed him, tasting stale beer and last night’s pizza.

“You need to brush your teeth,” I said. “I probably do too.”

“It can wait.” He rolled me onto my back pinning my shoulders playfully. I didn’t resist, at least not physically.

“Laura, I’m not so sure about this.”

“You seemed pretty sure last night.”

“I know. Last night was wonderful, and I definitely don’t want it to be a one off, but this isn’t sensible. I mean you’re not on the pill are you, I mean I’m not? I didn’t see anything like that in your bag when I emptied it yesterday. Besides, even if you are I must have missed one by now.”

“Don’t you have any condoms?” He rolled over to check the cabinet beside the bed.

“Why would I? I mean Portia and I haven’t been intimate since we were married. She doesn’t even sleep in here.”

“Then what are these?”

He was holding a box of ribbed luxury condoms. It was open and half empty.

“What the hell?”

“I take it these aren’t yours then?”

“I hate to bruise your delicate male ego so soon after you’ve got it but, while you’re the perfect size for me, you’re no Trojan Magnum XL.” I tapped the box to emphasise my point.

The implications of this discovery slowly bloomed inside me. Not only had Portia been cheating on me, but she’d been doing it in my bed, deliberately laughing in my face. The fact that she’d left the condoms next to my bed meant she either thought I was too stupid to find them or too weak to do anything about her betrayal if I did. Her decision to divorce me changed things though. No wonder she’d wanted us out of the house.

“Put them back,” I said, “and get up.”

He did as I asked, and I pulled the sheets off the bed. They were marked from our exertion the previous night and would need washing. We had maids who came in to clean the house and they change the beds twice a week. It had seemed a little excessive when Portia told me, but then Portia can be excessive, so I hadn’t questioned it. Until now. I examined the mattress and there were definitely signs of activity. A lot of it.

“Help me turn this thing.”

We struggled to flip the mattress, but it was worth it as there was more evidence the other side.

“I think you need to call Paul,” I said.

We ate breakfast in silence. All the things I'd meant to discuss with Laura, eclipsed by the morning's startling discovery.

Paul wasn't happy at having his Sunday disturbed, but the promise of more easy money salved his mood, and he agreed to contact Portia's lawyer and try and set something up for the afternoon.

I put the previous night's sheets into the washing machine and left the bed unmade. It didn't seem right to cover it up after the discovery, and I for one never wanted to sleep on it again.

Paul phoned back at around ten to say the others had agreed to a meeting at two that afternoon.

"This had better be dynamite," he said. "They already have you by the short and curlies."

I spent the morning pacing, seething with rage and going over and over in my mind what I was going to say. Laura kept out of my way, pretending to read, but looking up at me every now and again, a concerned expression on his face.

He made us lunch; a light feta cheese salad from the copious supplies of food in the fridge. I wasn't hungry, but he insisted I eat something, and it did look good.

"So what happens this afternoon?" he asked, watching me pick at my food.

"I'm going to confront her. Tell her that we changed the bed this morning."

"That'll go down well. How exactly is it going to help our cause if you admit to spending the night with me?"

He was right. I hated it, but he was. I glowered at him.

"I know you want to be the one telling her, but it has to be me who does it. I'm not even sure you should be there."

Begrudgingly I agreed. Paul came round at one and I reluctantly stayed behind while he and Laura headed off to the meeting.

The next hour passed slowly, turning me into a fidgeting, quivering wreck. The next one didn’t seem to want to end, but I forced myself to wait it out, trying not to stare at the phone too much. By the end of the third hour there wasn’t much left of my fingernails, and as the fourth drew to a close, I’d started on the skin of my fingers. The fifth hour I spent wracking my brains, trying to figure out what could possibly have gone wrong and why they had been gone for so long.

It was past six before they returned. Paul didn't look as though he should have been behind the wheel, and both of them were drunk and laughing fit to bust.

I met them at the front door with arms crossed and as stern an expression as I could manage.

"Uh oh," Paul said catching the look in my eyes.

Laura didn't lose his smile, but held his arms out to me.

"You should have seen the look on her face when I told her."

Not helping! I'd wanted to be there almost more than anything.

"What happened?"

"She went ape-shit at first; wanted to know why we were still in the house 'til Paul here explained all that. Then she tried to keep her face straight and bluff it out, until I talked about getting DNA tests done on the mattress stains. She started ranting about how she wouldn't debase herself by giving a DNA sample, and how it was me who had been unfaithful and not her. I have to say, she almost had me convinced. Then I suggested we could use a hair from her hair brush or something and she caved in like an overworked mineshaft. It was so funny."

"So you settled?"

"Yup. Like you suggested, she gets to keep the money she took from the joint account and half the savings. She drops all charges and we never see her again."

"And just when was this settled?"

"Oh, about three, three-thirty." He looked at his watch and his face sobered. "Oh shit."

I turned my back on him and stormed into the house. Sometimes not saying anything is the most effective form of communication.

Laura followed me as I knew he would. "Listen, I'm sorry. We just felt the victory needed celebrating, and there's this bar just across the road from Paul's office."

"You didn't think I should be a part of the celebration? I've been going out of my mind trying to figure out what went wrong." My voice sounded shrill and ugly, and I hated him for turning me into this shrewish thing.

"Listen, I'll make it up to you. We'll go out."

"Yeah. I really feel like going out with you in this state. Just forget it." I'd had my rant. The anger was draining away, leaving only a frustration at having no one to share my own feelings of triumph and relief.

I walked out through the conservatory into the garden. Paul decided his best bet was to withdraw discretely. I hoped he would make it home safely.

Laura followed me outside a few minutes later, carrying a cup of coffee for himself and a glass of wine for me. I gave him an odd look which he returned with a twisted grin.

"I thought we could meet halfway."

I laughed. I couldn't help it.

"Look, I really am sorry. I just got so caught up in the moment; it didn't enter my mind to pick up the phone."

"Well you're getting the hang of being a man, that's for certain. Thoughtless idiot one minute, quirky and charming the next."

"Since we’re handing out the compliments, may I say that was a guilt trip any woman would be proud of?"

That earned him a slap, albeit a playful one.

"So tell me again what happened?”

So he did, in detail and in a way that had me doubled over with laughter. It was almost as good as if I’d been there, and almost enough for me to forgive him.

For the second evening in a row we ordered in. I was ravenous, having eaten nothing but a few forkfuls of salad since breakfast, and the local Chinese takeaway promised the best choice at the shortest notice. I’m sure I’ve never tasted anything so wonderful.

Fun and frolics were not on the agenda that night. We were both more than a little nervous about the shareholder’s meeting at the bank, and what we would say, so we went to bed early.

-oOo-

Seven o’clock in the morning seemed ludicrously early, especially as I’d already been up two hours getting myself ready. I mean there was no reason for me to bother; on the face of it I was a low-end antiques dealer with a wardrobe full of jeans and sweatshirts, but if you want to be taken seriously in the boardroom, you have to look the part.

Which was why Laura looked smart and relaxed in one of my bespoke double breasted suits, sporting a most powerful of power ties, and I was feeling less comfortable in one of Portia’s linen dress suits, with silk blouse. The reason for my discomfort was partly the shortness of the borrowed skirt – Portia was always one to show off her assets – and partially the tightness of the bun Laura had pulled my hair into, which left me feeling like my face had been stretched taught like a drum skin across my skull.

She’d also done me a makeup job which, whilst it felt unusual, made me look quite stunning.

I pointed my parking spot out to Laura, and she pulled the Merc up exactly mid-way between the lines. Did spatial awareness come with the body, or was she just one of those women who made a lie of the whole women and driving thing?

“Right,” I said, letting out a nervous sigh, and tugging at the hem of my skirt, “you’ll let me do the talking, won’t you?”

“If you’re sure. I mean they’re going to be expecting me to give them an explanation, aren’t they?”

“Maybe, but you do have something of a reputation for being pussy whipped, so it won’t come as a surprise that you’ve exchanged one strong minded woman for another, and now that I’m the current majority shareholder, they’ll have to listen to me.

“Besides, you don’t know enough about banking to be able to hold your own in there.”

“Yeah, but that’s the point; you shouldn’t know anything about banking.”

“It won’t matter. This is a closed meeting, so nothing will get reported outside of it, especially if we settle things to everyone’s satisfaction.”

“And how are we going to do that?”

I smiled at him sweetly and noted his reaction, finding there an explanation for the prevalence of misogyny in my profession. Businessmen weren’t so much afraid of the competence of women as they were of the incompetence they induced in men. If I could make Laura sweat with a simple smile from a face she’d seen every day for twenty-seven years, then what effect was I going to have on the men inside?

Seven o’clock was early for most of these guys, but nothing was more likely to get them out of bed than a perceived threat to their respective bank balances. I caught a yawn here and there as I stepped through the door ahead of Laura, just before everyone snapped into attentiveness.

The foci for their attentions were mainly my legs and my cleavage, and I experienced my first encounter with the frustration of pretty women everywhere.

I coughed politely and smiled, encouraging them to aim a little higher with their eyes. “Good morning gentlemen. I suspect you’re interested to know exactly what happened over the weekend.”

I sat at the head of the boardroom table, hiding half of the scenery from their ogling eyes. There wasn’t much I could do about what I had up top; I’d chosen the least revealing blouse I could find, but as I’ve said, Portia isn’t one to hide what she has, so it still didn’t leave much to the imagination.

“Er, yes. Thank you,” Frank Lampard, the chairman, coughed uncomfortably. “Er, perhaps Jerry, you wouldn’t mind.”

“Actually, I thought I’d let Miss Townsend have the floor,” Laura said, resting a hand briefly on my shoulder. “After all, this was her idea, and she is now the major share-holder in this bank.”

That shut them up. I tried another smile. Less effective than with Laura, but I was beginning to suspect that I had a special influence over him.

“On Friday evening, Jerry and I met at a party hosted by one of our mutual friends. We were witnesses and unwilling participants in an altercation over an antique bowl I recognised as having been stolen from me some weeks earlier. I don’t recall much about the disturbance as I fainted briefly. Mr Goodman here carried me out of the flat and wanted to take me to hospital, but when I asked him not to, he took me back to his house and put me to bed in one of the spare bedrooms.”

A few knowing looks passed around the room, angering me that they should so casually believing the worst.

“Jerry’s wife came home shortly afterwards and began yelling at him for deserting her at the party. The argument was loud enough to wake me, and when I made an appearance, Portia made the same assumption I see many of you have chosen to do, and accused Jerry and me of having an affair. She stormed out promising that we would hear from her solicitor shortly, and that through the ensuing divorce, she would either take enough of Jerry’s wealth to destroy the bank or, if it looked like she might not win her case, that she’d drag proceedings out long enough to use it all up.

“The last thing the bank needed was a messy divorce with all of Jerry’s shares and other assets tied up pending an outcome to the proceedings. He realised this and was trying to think his way out of the problem when I suggested he should give everything he owned to someone he trusted. He liked the idea, and decided I ought to be that someone.

“I wasn’t too keen to start with, but Jerry insisted he didn’t know anyone else he trusted enough.” I took some gratification in the affronted looks on some of the faces around me. It was true though, I didn’t trust any of them, and their lack of judgement on my character was ample proof that they didn’t deserve my trust. “We found a lawyer to witness the transfers, and had them signed and dated before Portia came back in the morning with her divorce petition and an injunction freezing all Jerry’s assets. It turns out Jerry was right to take the precautions he did, and we beat Portia’s attempts at interfering by several hours.”

“Erm, excuse me,” Frank spoke up. “How do we know that you’re any better than Mr Goodman’s wife when it comes to your intentions regarding the bank?”

“For one thing – er, Mr Lampard isn’t it? I believe you’ve met Portia, so I find it insulting that you would even ask that question. For another, I came here with Jerry this morning, and he can confirm that I share his concerns for the welfare of this institution. I’m not sure what assurances I can give you beyond that, but for whatever saying it is worth, I do have the bank’s best interests at heart.”

“You could sign your shares over to us.”

“I said I had the bank’s best interests, Mr Lampard, not the shareholder’s. My primary concern is for the customers and the staff of the bank, which means I want things to carry on pretty much as they have been.”

“I don’t see how that’s possible with things as they are.” Richard Gimble, the chairman’s personal arse licker.

“You object to having a woman in charge, Mr Gimble?”

“Er, I think we all object to having someone in charge, regardless of their sex, who doesn’t have the proper education or experience.”

“I suppose that’s a valid point, or at least it would be if Jerry wasn’t still here.”

“Except that a number of us have to question Mr Goodman’s judgement in transferring ownership of all he has to you, Miss, er, Townsend.” For once Frank was supporting his lackey.

“For what reason? Have I done anything to put the welfare of the bank in jeopardy?”

“Not yet, but then you haven’t been given the opportunity to do so. Apart from anything else, it’s the principle of the thing. If he’s going to go signing large chunks of his wealth over to people he barely knows…”

“That’s hardly fair and you know it. The circumstances were extreme, and our actions were the only thing that prevented Portia from getting her hands on the bank’s assets, which I’m sure you’ll agree was something we all want to avoid…”

“He could have chosen someone else he trusted…”

“Like who? One of you guys? I’ve only just met you and even I would think twice before signing my wealth over to you…”

“For the welfare of the bank…”

“Even, and perhaps especially, for the welfare of the bank. Besides, it was in the early hours of the morning. The details had to be sorted out quickly before Portia could organise her own paperwork, and I was available.

“Sure, if there had been more time, he would almost certainly have found someone more suitable, but given the circumstances, I think he showed great presence of mind…”

“And good judgement of character? Miss Townsend, how could he possibly know what you were going to do?”

“He couldn’t. However, I imagine he was able to make something of a judgement of my character from my behaviour earlier in the evening, but he didn’t and he still doesn’t know what I might or might not do.

“Which brings us to the crux of the matter. I currently have controlling shares in this bank, so whatever your judgement of Jerry’s actions, it’s still me you have to deal with now.

“You’ve made it perfectly clear that you don’t have any faith in me, and if a significant number of you were to withdraw and drop all your shares on the market, it would be as bad for everyone as if Portia had succeeded. Worst case scenario, you’d make a loss in the sale as the share prices dropped, the rest of us would have to deal with the loss in value of our shares, we’d probably end up with customers losing faith in us and having a run on the bank. As more and more people withdrew their funds, many of them would lose out with the penalty clauses for making early withdrawals, and quite a few would lose out when we ran out of money with which to pay them. The bank would close and all the staff would be made redundant.

“We all want to avoid something like that, so let me make you all a proposition. Mr Banks, Mr Whortley and Mr Stevens, I’d like to offer you some of my shares at current market value, sufficient to give you each seventeen percent of the total, which would then give the three of you combined a controlling interest…”

“Why not just give your shares back to Jerry?” Richard Gimble really wasn’t that bright at times.

“It wouldn’t be prudent to do so until his divorce is finalised, and I doubt any of you will be content for me to remain in charge until then.”

“Why Paul, Daniel and Andrew then?” He used the first names of the shareholders I’d already indicated.

“Because they are the people Jerry trusts most to act in the best interests of the bank…”

“You’ll still have most shares.”

“Yes, I’ll still hold thirty four percent. Too many shares change hands and people get nervous, you know that.”

“We’ll want someone else to run the bank,” Frank said, his remark accompanied by the nods of everyone around the table.

“I can understand that,” Laura said from behind me. “I’m prepared to resign in the best interests of the bank.”

“With an appropriate severance package,” I added for him.

“That sounds fair.” Frank was looking altogether too satisfied.

He’d wanted me out of my inherited position since I’d taken it on. It wasn’t that I was bad at the job, but I didn’t like to take the risks that he proposed sometimes. For my part, I didn’t think it was right to gamble with other people’s money, and I rather hoped that the three I’d named would be strong enough to stand up against him. If needs be, I’d still be able to swing any vote if I had just one of them on my side.

There was a bit more wrangling, over price and how the three were going to pay me for their shares, and a number of other small but significant details. It took most of the morning to thrash things out and get the paperwork drawn up, but by the time we left the bank, my new account was bulging with funds.

“Now what?” Laura asked.

“Now, I’d like to go shopping for something a little less revealing, then how about I take you to lunch?”

“Well you are the one with the money, but that’s not what I meant.”

“I know. How about we talk about it over lunch? I was thinking, with your experience and my money, we could probably make a go of the antiques trade.”

-oOo-

And that’s more or less what happened. Laura knew a lot about her profession, and had only been limited in her achievements by lack of finances and a poor business plan. With me providing everything she’d been missing, we became successful very quickly.

Tony West received his comeuppance at our hands, as we rapidly took his business from him by offering a better service to his customers at a fairer price. As his shop went into receivership, we managed to buy up a lot of good stuff at bargain prices, including his damaged bowl, which we put on display beside Laura’s own.

Mike, Pete and Randall came to work for us after Tony went bankrupt. They’d mellowed quite a lot since their transformation. It’s amazing how a little bit of hardship can make a person less selfish, though not always perhaps. Tony went back to being a petty criminal and was caught fencing stolen goods less than six months after his business went bust. By contrast, his three former accomplices turned into quite trustworthy and valued members of our staff.

Laura – or rather Jerry, since our situation was unlikely to change anytime soon, and it seemed idiotic to keep calling him by the name that went with my current body – and Portia’s divorce went through quickly and without a hitch, pretty much as agreed in the settlement. Portia wanted a bit of Jerry’s severance package, but all we needed to do was threaten a bit of naming a shaming, and she gave in. As agreed, she got to keep the money she’d raided from our account and half our joint savings. She didn’t have a hope of touching anything else as it was mainly in my – that is Laura Townsend’s – name.

Portia gave in with her typical ill grace, and got on with her life. The last we heard, she was hanging around an elderly widower with a few million to his name. He was a wily old character though, and it seemed unlikely she’d be allowed into his bed without a fairly ironclad prenuptial agreement.

Pretty much from day one, Laura and I completely swapped identities. Even in private, I called him Jerry, and he called me Laura. He stayed on at the mansion, although we kept to different beds and bedrooms until he and Portia were officially two separate individuals again, then we moved into the master bedroom together, with a brand new bed. We burnt the old one once the divorce was ratified.

Our bout of unprotected sex didn’t amount to anything. My first ever period brought with it a degree of relief to offset the inherent discomfort. When we did start sharing a bed again, we began taking precautions – pharmaceutical rather than polyurethane – and, although the sum total of my sexual experience as a man amounted to that one time with Portia, meaning I didn’t have much to go on, I decided I much preferred it from this side of the gender divide.

-oOo-

Our one year anniversary came round and Jerry had something planned. Earlier in the year, he’d traded the Merc in for a soft top sports car – a rich burgundy Maserati – which he loved driving just about everywhere. Personally I couldn’t see anything particularly special about it. I mean, yeah I did enjoy whizzing through the countryside with the wind blowing through my hair, but then I had the inevitable tangle to sort out whenever we stopped. For the most part I preferred my VW Bug, but this was Jerry’s thing, so I went along with it.

We left Mike, Pete and Randall in charge of the shop, and hit the country lanes. At first I thought he’d just found a flash restaurant somewhere, or had a picnic organised, but two hours of zipping round tight bends seemed a bit much just for lunch. I tried asking where we were going a couple of times, but all he’d give me in reply was that knowing look of his.

Eventually we arrived at a small cottage in the middle of nowhere. Jerry climbed out, grabbed a rucksack from the back seat and came round to open my door. It wasn’t necessary, but I did like the gesture. In a way we were both playing caricatures of our adopted genders, behaving in ways we had learned to appreciate from books and films. I had slipped into a role of demure submissiveness which must’ve given any nearby ardent feminists the screaming habdabs. For his part, Jerry had become gallant and gentlemanly to the point of nobility.

I swivelled on the seat, reaching both feet out of the car together, so as to keep me modest, and allowed him to help me out of the car.

“Are you going to tell me what this is all about?” I asked for the umpteenth time.

“You’ll see soon enough.” He led me to the door and rapped the knocker three times.

A kindly, wrinkled face appeared from within.

“Ms Maxwell? I’m Jerry Goodman, we spoke earlier? And this is Laura Townsend. We used to be each other.”

“Jerry!” I was shocked that he’d share our secret so readily.

“Don’t worry dear, I know more about all this than you might think. Oh, and it’s Mrs if you don’t mind. My husband’s been gone a while now, but I never could be bothered with the Ms nonsense. Did you bring them?”

Jerry swung the rucksack round and opened it, pulling out the two halves of the bowl I’d broken a year ago, and the chipped but more complete one we’d acquired from Tony’s bankruptcy auction.

“You’d better come in,” Mrs Maxwell said, standing back and ushering us through. “Would you like some tea?”

We were polite. We sat in her small and overfilled living room, sipping tea from fine bone china and admiring the shelves full of trinkets that surrounded us. Mrs Maxwell cut us each a generous slice of Dundee cake, and we chatted about the weather and the state of her garden, like any good guest in an English home.

Eventually our host put aside her teacup and reached for Jerry’s bowl, examining it closely.

“Not very careful with it, were you?”

“While it was in my possession, I was very careful with it,” Jerry said. “It was stolen by someone who owned, and damaged, the other one.”

“Hmm, that would make it very unpredictable. I hope he didn’t try to use it in that state.”

“I don’t know. He never said as much, but I suspect he might have. I don’t think he’d have been so eager to get hold of mine unless he’d been certain his own didn’t work anymore.”

“Well, that’s unfortunate for whoever would have used it.”

“Unfortunate in what way?”

“Like I said, it’s unpredictable, but never good.”

“Give me a for instance.”

“The bowls transfer minds from one body to another. It’s a very complex thing to do correctly. With a damaged bowl, part of the process would be lost. It might remove minds from their original bodies but not put them into new ones, meaning death or something very close to it. It might shift only part of each mind making hybrid personalities and memories, resulting in madness in almost every case. It might not shift all the minds, meaning one body would end up empty and another would contain two minds, inevitably causing madness again.”

“How do you now so much about them?” I asked.

“Stories my grandmother told me before she passed her bowl into my care; the same as your friend here.”

“Except that your grandmother seemed to know a lot more than mine.”

“You said one of your ancestors found it in your attic. That means there was a break in the inheritance. You won’t have heard all there was to know.”

“Can you tell us?”

“I could, but it wouldn’t do any good.”

“Why not?”

“According to ancient lore, six bowls were made. Before your Jeremy called me, I know of three others that had been damaged and rendered unusable. Now you have shown me two more.”

“Which means there’s only one left,” Jerry said. “Yours.”

“Which I have kept hidden and unused until now, and which I fully intend to destroy now that I know that the others won’t work.”

“Why?” Jerry asked.

“You of all people should be able to answer that. Surely you can’t think it right that anyone should have the power to do what was done to you.”

“But it could be used for good. Surely there are people who could benefit from it. Blind people who could be given a chance to see for a while, paraplegics who could walk again…”

“And what about those who trade places with them? They’re not going to want to stay in the damaged bodies, are they? And when they change back, wouldn’t that be more cruel, to give an individual a taste of what they could have, then to take it away?

“And as for good, there are a hundred more ways in which it could be used for evil. I’m an old woman with an old woman’s aches. Don’t you think I’ve been tempted to use mine to trade places with someone younger and more beautiful, like yourself dear? No it’s safest that this power disappears from the world.”

“So why did you keep yours all this time?” I asked. I couldn’t fault her logic.

“Because of people like yourselves, dear. You didn’t choose to be transformed like this, and as things stand, my bowl is the only one left that can allow you to transform back. Once that’s done, I’ll be done with it.”

“What if there are others out there who’ve been switched around? We know of three at least.”

“I can’t advertise it, dear. There are people, like the former owner of this one,” she indicated Tony’s chipped bowl, “who know what the bowls can do, and would use them for selfish purposes. If any of them found out I had one, they’d come and take it from me.”

“We could stand as go-betweens; advertise on your behalf. Anyone who came to us having been shifted, we could send them to you to have it corrected.”

“I’m sorry, dear. It’s just too risky. I’ll sort you two out, and your three friends, but beyond that, this has to end here.”

I looked at Jerry, who was looking deep into my eyes.

“Do you want this?” I asked. “Really, do you want your life back?”

The look on his face was unreadable. He sat silent for a while then glanced at the old woman.

“I’ll leave you two in peace, shall I? Go and fetch it?” She stood and stepped out of the room.

“A year ago, you didn’t have a choice,” Jerry said quietly. “When you put your keys into the bowl you were expecting some silly game, not a magical transformation, and certainly not to be changed into a woman. Tony and his friends knew what was coming, and so did I. We walked into this with our eyes open, but you…”

“Look I may not have chosen this, but I’m content with the way things worked out. Have I given you any reason to believe in all of this past year that I wanted things to be otherwise?”

“No,” he glanced down at the table surface, avoiding my eyes for a moment, “but I’m concerned. I’ve done the gender swap thing a few times and I know how the different hormones and stuff can mess with the way you think. It worries me that a lot of the reason you don’t want to turn back is because your feelings are being affected by your body.

“I need to be sure. Laura, I need you to go back to being Jerry again, and when you’re fully yourself, I need you to make the decision then as to what you want.”

“But if we’re both happy the way we are now, why should either of us change? We fit the way we are, and I know I’ve never been happier.”

He didn’t answer; just stood there working his jaw.

“He’s right dear.” The old lady stood in the doorway with her bowl in hand. “You’re not fully you unless you’re in your own body. You should try the change, then come back in a week with your friends. By then you’ll know for sure whether or not you want to change back.”

“But…”

“One of you is obviously concerned. Wouldn’t it be better to try things for a week, if only to clear away any shadows of doubt? You needn’t worry; I’ll keep the bowl until you make your decision once and for all.”

She placed the bowl on the low table and Jerry, or perhaps I should start calling him (her?) Laura now, dropped his keys into it.

“We’re committed now,” Jerry told me, pointing at the bowl.

If we wanted to get home in the Maserati we were. I fumbled in my bag for the VW keys, hesitated, dropped mine in and reached for his.

He gave me an encouraging smile and grabbed mine.

-oOo-

Copyright © 2014 Maeryn Lamonte - All Rights Reserved.

Nobody loves me, everybody hates me, think I’ll go and eat worms. Seven comments and four pms. On the other hand, I had some pretty amazing ones on some of my older stories, and one or two on previous chapters of Lifeswap, so this posting is a little soner than it might have been…

Anyway, for those of you who’re new to Lifeswap, chapter one can be found here. For the rest of you, the story so far:-

A year has passed since this all began. Jerry Goodman (a banker) and Laura Townsend (an antiques dealer) have had their consciousnesses switched by an acquaintance, Tony Ward (another antiques dealer, but a toe-rag who stole the magic bowl which makes this possible from Laura because he broke his own).

The fallout from the switch includes Jerry’s wife, Portia, suing for divorce, meaning that he has to sign all his wealth, shares and properties over to Laura (which is of course him anyway) in order to stop her getting her hands on it. This results in the bank shareholders calling for Jerry’s resignation, which he gives readily enough, leaving its future in the hands of three investors he trusts.

The divorce goes through uncontested thanks to Jerry and Laura finding evidence of Portia’s unfaithfulness, and Tony’s attempts to have Laura (in Jerry’s body) arrested for theft and assault come to nothing when it becomes obvious that he was being economical with the truth.

Laura and Jerry are unable to change back because of damage done to the magic bowl, but they seem content to carry on living each other’s lives. They move into Jerry’s house (now in Laura’s name, although remember Jerry is now Laura) together and set up as antiques dealers. They quickly became successful enough to put Tony out of business, and he subsequently returns to petty crime and is arrested.

Tony’s henchmen, also transformed in the initial incident, end up working for Laura and Jerry, and prove to be quite trustworthy, given the chance. They offer to look after the shop so Jerry and Laura can enjoy their first year’s anniversary.

Laura (as Jerry) takes Jerry (as Laura) out into the country to a remote village and a cottage where Doris Maxwell, the owner of the last working bowl, lives. Laura, using the pragmatism that comes with Jerry’s brain, has decided that they need to change back to give Jerry a chance to make an informed decision as to whether he wants to remain female. Chapter three ends with them both putting their keys in the bowl and retrieving one another’s.
 
 
Dramatis Personae
Jerry Goodman – A banker, but one of the good ones. Now residing in Laura Townsend’s body.
Portia Goodman – Harpy. Unhappily married to Jerry.
Laura Townsend – Another antiques dealer, but more honest than Tony. Former owner of the bow used to switch minds into other bodies. Now in Jerry Goodman’s body.
Tony Ward – An antiques dealer and all round dodgy character.
Mary Ward - Wife to Tony Ward - not much of a part so far
Mike, Peter and Randy – Tony’s cronies. Now switched into each other’s bodies.
Paul Burrows – A lawyer who doesn't mind being woken up in the middle of the night. Sympathetic to men, like Jerry, who are facing a messy divorce.
Dorothy Maxwell – Elderly lady and owner of the last known magic bowl.

-oOo-
The transformation was just as disturbing and disorienting as before, but being ready for it meant I weathered it a bit better. I didn’t lose consciousness, but I was decidedly off balance by the time I was done. I looked down into my hand – Jerry’s hand – and found the Maserati keys sitting in my palm.

“So how does this work then?” I asked holding the keys up. My voice sounded strange. It took a moment with my discombobulated brain to realise that for almost a year, this voice, this body, had been Laura’s. Now she was back to being herself, and I was me again.

“I don’t know,” Laura said, looking down at her dress with something approaching disappointment. The smile she offered me contained more courage than genuine happiness.

“The makers of the bowl believed that possessions, being actual things, belong to the body rather than the mind, or soul if you prefer,” the old lady said. “The mind was thought to be a visitor and so couldn’t own anything more than its experiences in life. As such, the magic returns the thing you pick out of the bowl to the body that owns it along with your mind during the transfer.”

My befuddled brain had forgotten whose house we were in, and that she was here.

“Please keep the bowl safe until we come back to you,” I said to her, and she nodded.

We took our leave, shaking her hand and thanking her for her for hospitality. I guided Laura out of the house, feeling unusually off balance out of my heels. The trousers and shirt were comfortable enough, and smart, but they felt course and ungainly after my summer dress. I felt ugly, and I missed the weight of the hair on my head. I felt wrong.

I opened the car door for her and she smiled at me as she slipped into the passenger seat.

We drove home in silence for the most part, during which time I learned a new appreciation for why she had bought the Maserati. It was a fun car to drive, but the speed, excellent handling, throaty roar and general feel of going fast with the top down did little enough to lift my mood. I smiled bravely a couple of times for Laura’s sake, and she smiled back.

I hated that she’d done this. I already missed being Laura and, odd as it may sound, I felt like a stranger in my own body. Everything felt wrong, and all I could think of was how much more contented I’d been as a woman. Time of the month notwithstanding, I found more pleasure in everything feminine. It was like I fit better into a female lifestyle, which was strange as I’d never been that aware of it before the whole business with Tony and his bowl.

I wondered to what great a lengths Laura must have gone to find this latest artefact. It gave me a way to break through the silence that had hung over us since our most recent transformation.

“So how did you find her?” I asked, rubbing my throat reflexively; I wasn’t used to my voice sounding so coarse. At least she’d worn an open necked shirt. I wasn’t sure I could have gone back to suit and tie, not after a year of showing off my cleavage.

“That wasn’t so hard in the end,” she said. “Any decent antiques dealer knows most of the good stuff is out in the country, and most of us have a few people on payroll knocking on doors and asking if there’s anything the home owners might be interested in selling. In lean times like these, you’d be surprised how many people are keen to make a few quid.

“I simply told my guys to ask around after a bowl like the ones we have on display in the shop – gave them a photograph to work from and everything. It took most of this past year before they finally knocked on Mrs Maxwell’s door. She didn’t have anything she wanted to part with, but they showed her the photograph and left her one of our cards. She was on the phone to me a day later.”

“So you’ve been looking for another bowl all the time we’ve been like this?”

“I thought it was important that we do this; that you have an opportunity to choose with an open and right mind.”

“Why? Weren’t you happy the way we were? Or have you wanted your body back all along?”

I hadn’t meant my words to sound so angry. I couldn’t actually remember the last time I’d lost my temper. My parents had disciplined me to control my moods from an early age – more for their benefit than mine I think – and it had stuck with me through all of my life. Even Portia, who had severely tested my patience at times, never succeeded in riling me to the extent that I couldn’t maintain control.

Things changed after I became Laura though. There’d been enough times over the last year when I’d had cause to be angry, but it had felt different. Frustration led to words, which led to tears and relief. No underlying turmoil, no bubbling caldera threatening to erupt given half a chance.

It seemed a year without testosterone had robbed me of my capacity to keep my emotions in check, and in speaking my mind at that moment, I hadn’t particularly tried to hold anything back. It was disturbing as I could feel the threat of more violent outbursts close to the surface.

I glanced across at Laura, and caught sight of a tear running down the side of her nose. I wondered if she was having as much difficulty coping with her reintroduction to oestrogen.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m not adjusting too well this time.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

“I wonder why that should be. We didn’t have this much trouble last time.”

“Adrenaline? We were both pretty amped up last time.”

“Or maybe it was because we were better off the other way round. I mean you don’t look like you’re enjoying yourself much.”

She ducked her head, hiding behind her hair as I had so often done this last year. It was an answer of sorts.

“So why don’t we turn around right now?”

“One week remember. We can’t change back yet. If we try we’ll be stuck like this for longer.”

“Whose stupid rule is that?”

“I don’t know. It’s built into the magic though. I think it’s because it takes time to adjust whenever you go through a change, and one week is considered enough to allow you to adapt to your new status.”

“I don’t need a week to tell me this is wrong.”

She turned away, refusing to answer me, and probably trying to hide more tears. I didn’t try saying anything else for the rest of the journey.

-oOo-

The remainder of our anniversary was a bust. I’d originally planned to cook us a meal in the evening, but I didn’t feel like it by the time we arrive back home. Instead I poured myself a generous malt and downed half of it in one heroic gulp. Actually it was an act of bloody stupidity, designed more to annoy Laura than to help me cope. On rediscovering how little I liked the taste, I left the rest of the tumbler on the coffee table, without using a coaster. Again it was something that would have upset me as Laura, but now I found I didn’t care.

Laura put together a couple of light salads, and we sat in silence for a while stirring them about with our forks, before giving up on the day and heading for bed. She spent a while in the bathroom and when she came out it was evident that she’d put some effort into getting ready for bed. She was wearing her slinky, short, red nightdress and had brushed her hair into a lustrous shine. She looked amazing, but all I could think of was how much more I wanted to be her than with her. I didn’t trust myself to open my mouth so didn’t comment.

She slid into bed beside me and snuggled up under my arm, her head resting lightly on my chest. I owed her an apology for the way I’d behaved this afternoon, I knew I did. I knew she was doing this all for the right reasons, and more out of concern for me than because she wanted to change back, but having the insight didn’t seem to make it any easier for me to comment.

I turned out the light and held her close. It was all I could manage.

After a while I felt a dampness on my chest which seemed to go some way to dissolving my anger. She didn’t deserve to suffer for this. She hadn’t done anything wrong; just something hard, and probably as hard for her as for me.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured, stroking her hair.

“Why? It’s me that screwed up.”

“You didn’t screw up. You did something necessary, even though you didn’t want to, even though you knew I didn’t want to. It took more guts than I had, or have, to do it, and you don’t deserve for me to treat you like this.”

She snuggled in closer. “Do you mean that?”

“I still love you,” I was unsure if I could respond to her question with anything approaching conviction, but this much I did know for certain. Regardless of which of us was who, I couldn’t imagine loving anyone else.

Her fingers traced patterns on my chest for a while, then started to explore further south.

“Do you mind if we don’t tonight?” I asked when it became obvious where she was heading.

She stopped and rested her hand flat on my chest. We lay like that for a long while until her breathing slowed and steadied, then I focused on the rhythm of my own breathing until eventually I joined her in sleep.

-oOo-

I woke the following morning to find the bed beside me empty. It was an odd feeling as I had grown used to waking first and sneaking off for some early morning alone time. Now I was back to struggling for consciousness. It wasn’t exactly a girl-boy thing, but it was still a difference between our bodies that made me wish for my old one back.

Shit, that was weird. I had my old body back. This was the one I’d worn for over thirty years before I’d met Laura, and yet it didn’t feel like mine anymore. So weird.

The door eased open and Laura padded in dressed as she had been the previous night in the same short slinky nightdress and carrying two mugs. I felt an involuntary response from under the bedclothes – familiar and yet oddly alien.

“Morning sleepy head,” she said settling back onto the bed and offering me one of the mugs.

“Morning,” I murbled. “How long have you been up?”

“Up, ten minutes. Awake, a couple of hours. I forgot how little I used to sleep.”

“Yeah, I kind of like my early mornings. I usually sit in the conservatory and watch the sun come up.”

“I spent mine watching you sleep. It was a bit strange.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sort of right and wrong at the same time. Right to be lying beside you. Wrong not to be you.”

I sipped at the coffee and felt dormant neurons fire reluctantly into life.

"So what happens now?" I asked.

"Business as usual I guess."

"Only we switch around." I couldn't keep the disappointment out of my voice. It didn't matter as she ignored me anyway.

"Which means you get to make breakfast while I spend a ridiculous amount of time in the bathroom." She flashed me a cheerful smile.

"I don't remember you complaining about the results."

"I was joking, love." Suddenly conciliatory. Wary of my mood.

"I know." I just about managed a smile. "What do you fancy?"

"A bagel would be nice."

"You'll only eat half of it."

“Then make sure you put my full ration of butter on that half.” She disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door.

There wasn’t much to get ready. Couple of plates, couple of knives, couple of glasses of orange juice. Bagel sliced and waiting in the toaster, butter on standby. Responding more to habit than to hunger, I’d decided to limit myself to the other half of Laura’s breakfast.

She didn’t keep me waiting long. I’m not sure if she was trying to make a point, but ten minutes after I headed down to the kitchen, I heard her footsteps on the stairs. I pushed the toaster down and turned to greet her, raising an eyebrow at her choice of faded jeans and sweatshirt.

We’d moved Laura’s grunge stuff, as I called it, across some months back when she – or I – had come to live in the house full time and we’d sold her place. I only really wore it for cleaning, or gardening, or other dirty jobs.

“What?” she asked. “You know I don’t like dresses.”

The toaster popped and I turned my attention to the job of adding sufficient juicy, fatty goodness while the bagel was still hot enough to melt it.

“Nice to have the choice,” I mumbled, trying to keep it quiet enough to be unintelligible.

“I wouldn’t mind if you wore a dress,” she said.

I should have figured she’d hear me. I mean they’d been my ears for most of the past year.

“I think our customers might have a thing or two to say about it.” I handed over her half of bagel and bit into my own.

“Yeah, maybe not in the shop, but you could still do it around here if you wanted.”

She was quite a bit smaller than me, but she did have one or two dresses that might be stretchy enough. I tried to imagine myself wearing one of them, and the image was not great.

“We’ll see. I need to get ready.” I took my half bagel and OJ upstairs, leaving her to finish eating on her own. I wasn’t trying to be unkind, but we did need to get going. Besides the sight of her wolfing down her food wasn’t doing much for my appetite.

Ten minutes later I was showered and dressed and sitting in front of a mirror feeling I ought to be doing something. My hair was neatly combed – all of thirty seconds’ work – which left nothing much. I’d forgotten to shave, but it didn’t look too bad and if Laura couldn’t be bothered, I certainly wasn’t going to make an effort.

Besides it was Sunday. We had an auction to attend that morning, but we wouldn’t bother opening the shop till the afternoon, and if things went as usual, we probably wouldn’t see many customers.

-oOo-

The auction ended up being a waste of time. I mean don’t get me wrong, there were some nice pieces there, but for a year we’d been relying – successfully I might add – on my good taste combined with the girlish instincts I’d acquired from the swap to identify things that would sell, and Laura’s knowledge of antiques, combined with her masculine pragmatism allowing us to set sensible prices on the pieces we bid for. Obviously we didn’t get everything we wanted, but what was most important was that we didn’t pay too much for anything, or bid on anything we couldn’t then sell.

Switched around, our instincts were all messed up. I felt nothing of the usual passion and excitement that accompanied a good find, and Laura ended up misjudging quite a few prices. After a couple of narrow escapes early on, we contented ourselves with watching for a while, then gave up all together.

After lunch, I drove us back to the shop. It had clouded over a little since the previous day, and was turning cold with a threat of rain, so I put the roof up. That was one down side to convertibles. They were great with the top down, but as soon as you put the lid on they started feeling more than a little claustrophobic, so we couldn’t even enjoy the drive.

With the shop open, there wasn’t much to do but wait. Sunday trade was always slow. Not many people came into the city on the Sabbath. Not many people seemed to go to church either, so they might as well have come shopping, but then some habits die hard. Mike, Pete and Randy had held the fort the previous day, besides, they usually took Sundays off anyway, so we couldn’t even tell them the good news about the bowl.

I wasn’t in my most conversational mood, and things were getting awkward between us, so Laura headed into the back to unpack and price some new stock that had come in. For my part, I busied myself checking over the labels on everything we had on display.

I’d decided to try out a new technique for pricing. Being an antiques shop, there was always a tendency for customers to want to negotiate a bit. Laura was pretty good at valuing things, and we usually priced them with enough of a mark up to allow for the haggle factor, and to give us a reasonable profit. In order to let the hired help know how much of a reduction in price we were prepared to accept, I’d started marking the labels in the corners. We’d allow a fiver discount for each tick in the top right and an extra quid for each one in the bottom right. It wasn’t fool proof, but it seemed to work, as we hadn’t undersold anything in the couple of weeks since I’d started the idea.

I was an hour and a half into a systematic survey of everything we had on display, making sure the labels were correctly marked, when the doorbell jangled and I turned to greet the first – and probably only– customer of the day.

“Hello Laura. How are you enjoying being a man?”

“Hello Tony. When did they let you out?”

“I had a parole review a couple of days ago. I wasn’t expecting much, but they evidently thought I wasn’t a risk to myself or society as a whole, so here I am.”

“You should have let us know. We’d have been glad to come down and tell them what you’re like. What do you want anyway?”

“Is that any way to speak to an old friend?”

“Friends don’t steal from friends, Tony, nor do they mess up friends’ lives.”

“Yeah, sorry about how that worked out.” He sounded anything but. “I could say something similar to you too. You know Mary left me?”

“And how is that our fault?”

“You put me out of business.”

“Which, if you’d been competitive instead of greedy, wouldn’t have happened.”

“You got me arrested.”

“We had nothing to do with that. You started fencing stolen goods and got yourself arrested.”

“I wouldn’t have had to resort to that if you hadn’t put me out of business.” His mood had been darkening with each exchange. He was fairly glowering at me now.

“See my previous answer.” I wouldn’t be drawn on the matter, and responded to him with an emotionless calm, which was probably more infuriating than if I had raised my voice to him. “I have to ask, did she leave you because you lost all your money, or because you turned back into a criminal?”

He refused to answer, but stared daggers at me. When he next spoke, it was with a poorly imposed calm.

“How is Jerry these days? Weird how he ended up being such a girly girl.”

Laura chose that moment to walk through from the back, carrying a couple of vases. She stopped dead on seeing Tony.

“What the fuck do you want?”

His eyebrows rose briefly, but her appearance seemed to return to him some measure of self-control.

“Hello Jerry. I don’t remember you having such a foul mouth.”

“Knowing you’s enough to make a nun swear. Now like I said, what the fuck do you want?”

“Anyone would think you weren’t pleased to see me.” A flicker of a smile played around the corners of his mouth. This was the kind of reaction he’d been looking for, and he was beginning to enjoy himself once more.

“We’re not.” Laura put the vases down on the counter and crossed her arms. “Now state your business or fuck off. Actually, why don’t you just fuck off? We don’t care what you want, and we don’t want anything to do with you.”

“What if I could tell you where you could find another bowl?”

I couldn’t help glancing across at Laura. She kept her eyes locked on his, a tiny snarl playing on her pretty face.

“Not funny, Tony. If there was another bowl out there, we’d have found it by now. Now fuck the hell off before I call the police. I’m sure your parole won’t last long if I complain about your harassing us.”

“What would you tell them?” Tony’s smile was all shark. “That I turned you into each other? You’d end up in the loony bin before they put me back in prison.”

“It doesn’t have to be the truth, dickhead.” Laura’s snarl grew. If sharks had natural predators…

“Fine, I’ll go. It was worth it just to see the expressions on your faces though. Would you let Mike, Pete and Randal know that I asked after them?”

“What makes you think they’d be any happier to see you than us?”

“Just tell them, okay?” He backed out of the shop, self-satisfied little smile still firmly in place.

We waited till he was completely out of sight before reacting.

“How could he know?” I asked.

“He can’t; he was just fishing.”

“Yes, but why?”

“To get a rise out of us? I don’t know. I hate that I reacted to him like that. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.”

There wasn’t much else to say on the matter, so we let it drop. Laura asked me to bring through a few of the heavier new items from the back and the day returned to something approaching normal for a Sunday. Tony’s visit had left an added sourness to my mood though, and I couldn’t shake a nagging sense of unease over the whole thing. With the weather turning nasty, there weren’t any shoppers about, so we gave up early and headed back for a quiet evening in, and an early night.

-oOo-

We opened early the next day again, Pete Mike and Randy still being owed some time off for covering the shop on Saturday. They turned up just after lunch, and we passed on Tony’s message, eliciting the predicted unhappy responses. Then we told them about the bowl. We’d wanted to see it and check it out for ourselves before we got their hopes up, but we’d found a way to give them their original lives back.

We’d expected them to be happy, but there followed an uneasy exchange of glances between them.

“We should leave you to discuss this,” I said standing and taking Laura’s hand.

“No, it’s okay.” Randy was the usual spokesman for the three. “It’s just that… well I guess we’ve all moved on with our lives. We’re grateful and everything, but I think we all have more to lose switching back now.”

This was unexpected, but then again when I thought of Laura and myself.

“I think we’re a bit surprised that you’ve changed back,” Mike chipped in. “I mean I know it must have been a bit weird with changing sex and all, but you guys were so great together.”

“What makes you think we’re not still great together?” Laura asked.

“No reason. It’s just that you seemed so right the other way round.”

“And we don’t this way?”

“I don’t know. But you don’t mess with a good thing. In a lot of ways our changing round was a good thing. We’ve all gained more than we’ve lost, but you guys…”

Laura looked up at me over her shoulder, but I was busy trying to figure out why that nagging feeling had grown suddenly worse.

-oOo-

Laura and I took the afternoon off, as much at the other three’s insistence than anything else. We wandered through the shopping precinct where I pointed out a few dresses I thought would look good on her. She didn’t seem that enthusiastic.

“I don’t get it,” I said. “The first night I met you, you looked amazing in that red dress.”

“Yeah, I was trying to blend in. I mean jeans and a sweatshirt at that party? I wouldn’t have made it through the door. And it wasn’t even mine.”

“But you had a few skirts and dresses in your wardrobe.”

“Again so I could look the part. Some of the auction houses are a bit stuffy about dress code.”

“And that red nightdress?”

“That was a present from a former boyfriend. More for his pleasure than mine, I think.”

I dropped the subject and we spent the afternoon drifting though pawn brokers and charity shops. There wasn’t a lot worth having, but we did pick one or two little things. Towards the end of the afternoon we found a coffee shop where Laura gave me her order and left me in the short queue while she headed down the road a short distance. She returned ten minutes later with a secretive smile and a pink striped bag.

As the day had worn on, I’d found myself adapting back into male life. I couldn’t say that I was overjoyed about the change any more than I had been the previous day, but I was considerably less unhappy. I was still with Laura, and on the inside she was still the person I’d fallen in love with. Her mannerisms were subtly different in her own body, but I could still see her in there. I focused on that and my feelings for her, and somehow life wasn’t so bad.

We picked up a takeaway from a Thai restaurant on the way home. I’d been happy to cook as Laura, but for some reason was less so now, and Laura was no queen of the kitchen, whichever body she was wearing. We’d sort it out before long. Actually, I hoped we wouldn’t have to, that the week would end and we could go back to being ourselves.

Again here I was thinking backwards. This was the body I’d been born in, but somehow I knew I belonged in Laura’s. At least I felt I knew that. How could I belong in someone else’s body?

The meal was welcome. Laura pouted a bit that she didn’t have enough appetite to eat much of it, but I made good use of Jerry’s metabolism and my small breakfast and lunch to indulge myself. I didn’t overeat, and there was still quite a bit left for the freezer when we’d finished. I was comfortably replete by the time I put my knife and fork to rest.

It was early, but Laura smiled muzzily at me over her half-finished glass of wine. I’d put three away myself and was enjoying the mild buzz they’d brought me. She took my hand, retrieved the pink bag from the hall where we’d dumped our few spoils from the afternoon, and led me upstairs.

She bit her lip nervously and reached into the bag.

“Give this a chance, okay? It was thinking about that guy who bought me the red nightie that gave me the idea. This is for you.”

She pulled a small package out of the bag and handed it to me.

Her sense of anticipation was infectious, sending shivers down my spine as I opened the box and pulled out a…

Well there wasn’t that much of it. All gauzy, flimsy material. It was a plus size, which meant it was for me rather than her, but it wasn’t going to cover a lot of me. I looked up into her hopeful expression.

“I have one too.” She retrieved a similar, but slightly smaller package from her bag of tricks. “You change in the bathroom. I don’t want to see you until you’re ready.”

It was the strangest feeling. On one level it felt wrong, but then I’d spent most of a year wearing dresses, so what was the big deal? I was kind of used to following Laura’s lead as well, so despite feeling a little uncomfortable about it all, I did as she suggested.

I looked ridiculous. Our bathroom didn’t have the largest of mirrors, but I could see enough to know that Jerry’s light musculature looked uncharacteristically, overwhelmingly male against the frills and the pink lace. The outfit included a pair of sheer knickers, which seriously could not even begin to contain my bulge, and a baby doll nightie in the same translucent material, which fell to just low enough to cover most of my embarrassment. Feeling more than a little self-conscious, I re-joined Laura in the bedroom.

To give her credit, she didn’t laugh. Her smile when it came was welcoming rather than ridiculing. She pulled the sheets back to reveal herself, similarly attired, and my bulge grew subtly, almost painfully larger.

She pulled me down onto the bed and rolled me onto my back, then proceeded to do things to me that I never would have suspected were possible. One thing about wearing someone else’s body for a year, you learn where all the right places are, and Laura had intimate knowledge of mine. By the time we’d removed our knickers and she’d climbed on top of me, I was so bursting with need that I was barely inside her before I reached my climax.

She lay beside me for a while, no words needed, no words wanted. She stroked my chest through the delicate fabric of my night dress and waited till there were signs of life once more between my legs. The second time was better than the first, and lasted long enough for her to enjoy. The third time, I took over and showed her what I had learnt of her body, which meant that by the time we were done, we were both utterly spent.

We lay there in the aftermath, listening to each other’s heavy breathing. A thought occurred to me.

“You did take your pill this morning, didn’t you?”

“Oh fuck.”

-oOo-

Sleep didn’t come easily that night. We hadn’t talked about children since the last scare. I get the impression Laura thought I’d been freaked out by the idea of giving birth and so was giving me time to come to terms with it all. For my part, I’d wanted her to show some signs of being ready to talk about it.

As we lay there, I found I rather liked the idea of being a parent, just that I really wanted to be the mum, despite all that entailed. Being pregnant wasn’t an issue, which one of us ended up being was. I told her as much.

“You’re welcome to it,” she said to me. “I mean don’t get me wrong, I’d love to have a kid, but I never fancied the idea of squeezing one out.”

“Do you think there’ll be any issue about using the bowl if you are pregnant?”

“Shit, I never thought of that. I’ll call her tomorrow and ask.”

“What if she says yes?”

“We face that if we come to it. Fuck I’m beginning to wish I’d never started this.”

It was a great opportunity for I told you so, but I’d just about reached the point of understanding and agreeing with her reasoning for doing it in the first place. As Laura I was easily led by emotions, and the inertia of my feelings had carried me through the first day after being transformed back into Jerry. Now I found I was thinking about things with a clearer head.

“It’ll be alright love.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t, but it’s not time to worry yet.”

I pulled her into a closer embrace and we lay together in silence, lost in our own thoughts until sleep finally took over.

The following morning we weren’t given much freedom to worry about what my little squigglies were doing inside her. The phone rang while Laura was showering with the news that the shop had been broken into during the night, and that we were needed as soon as possible. Needless to say, we cut short our normal morning routine and climbed into the car with slices of toast half eaten.

There wasn’t much to show for the burglary. A window had been forced at the back and a few things disturbed in the office, but otherwise nothing seemed to be missing. The shop floor was pretty much as we’d left it the previous day, with only two items gone from where I’d left them. A quick check of the receipt book showed them both as having been sold. The store room, cluttered as it was, was more of a challenge, but eventually we came to the conclusion that nothing was missing there either. That left us with the office which, while it showed clear signs of having been disturbed, also seemed more or less intact. The police guys checked the computer keyboard for prints, but drew a blank; the same with the rest of the room.

An inspector asked if we had any idea who might have done this thing, and what they might have been after, and without a moment’s hesitation, both Laura and I gave Tony’s name, describing our relationship with the man and what he’d done to us in the past. It didn’t explain what he was after, but since nothing had been taken, we could only speculate on that in any case.

The nagging unease I’d had since Tony’s visit the previous day finally coalesced into coherent thought. It took a few minutes before I could talk to Laura without a policeman earwigging in, but eventually we were left alone together in the office.

“Did you keep the old woman’s contact details in here?” I asked her.

“What? Yes, er yeah, on the computer.”

“Would Tony have been able to get into it?”

“I don’t know. The others know the password as well as us, but I don’t think any of them would have told Tony.”

“Is there any way we can check what files have been accessed?”

“I don’t know. If there is I don’t know it.”

“You need to call the old woman right now.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I think the reason Tony broke into this place was to get that information, and he’s a crafty enough bugger that he’ll have managed it.”

“We don’t even know it was Tony.”

“He turns up yesterday, and today we have a break in? Nothing was taken, and just what criminal would do that? We have some nice stuff here.”

“Okay, alright, but how would Tony know there was another bowl. We told him there wasn’t one.”

“But Mike, Pete and Randy knew there was something different about us, that we’d changed. Tony could have spotted the same thing.”

“Shit.” She logged onto the computer and opened a text document with a name and number in it, then punched the number in on the phone, twitching impatiently, waiting for an answer.

“Nothing.” She slammed the phone down after about the twentieth ring. “We have to go to her.”

“It’ll take us hours. What about the police?”

“She won’t thank us for involving them.”

“She’ll thank us less if Tony’s caught up with her and we don’t do something quickly.”

I yanked the door open and called the inspector over.

It took two minutes and he was on his phone, arranging for cars to be sent to the old woman’s house.

He turned back to me, slipping his phone back into his pocket, exchanging it for a notebook and pencil.

“Old habit,” he said indicating the offending articles, “from my beat days. So to recap, you think that this Tony West might be heading for the home of one Doris Maxwell because…”

“She phoned us last week. She has a rare antique piece that has been of particular interest to both Mr West and ourselves for some considerable time.”

“And the piece in question?”

“An ancient bowl,” Laura chipped in, unhappy to be a part of this, but it was her area of expertise. “Prehistoric as far as we know, made from petrified oak and lacquered with a substance as yet unidentified. We have a couple that are damaged.” She pointed at the items in their display cabinet. We’d moved them to the office after we tired of telling people they weren’t for sale. “Miss Maxwell showed us one in pristine condition when we visited her a few days ago.”

“And Mr West is interested in this item?”

“Highly.”

“So why didn’t he take those?”

“They’re not worth much in this condition.” She opened the cabinet and showed how one was broken in two, and indicating the large chip missing from the other.

“Just how valuable is this bowl of Miss Maxwell’s? I’m trying to ascertain how great a length you think Mr West might go to obtain it.”

“It’s more or less unique,” Laura said. “From what we know, only a half dozen were made, and hers may be the last that hasn’t been damaged.”

“So quite valuable then?”

“You have no idea.”

“Your interest in the item?”

“We were hoping to buy it, but Miss Maxwell was unwilling to sell. We kept her contact details in case she changed her mind or…”

“Or?”

“It’s a little shameful to own up to, inspector. Antiques is a waiting game at some levels. A large number of valuable antiques are owned by elderly people, and a great many can be bought through estate sales. Sometimes if you come across an item of particular interest which the person is unwilling to sell then and there, you sit back and keep an eye on the obituaries.”

The inspector’s face turned a little frosty, for which I can’t blame him. I’d taken some adjusting to that part of the business, but you become hardened to such things. It felt a little like we were vultures hanging around waiting for some poor animal to die of whatever ailed it, even if you could argue that we were potentially providing a service by offering a source of additional income to the bereaved at a time when they were facing funeral expenses and the like.

A nerve-grating default ringtone sounded from the inspector’s pocket and he fished out his mobile and stuck it to the side of his head.

“Peters.” He announced.

There followed one of those equally annoying one-sided conversations, with grunts and one word responses from the inspector’s side. After a couple of minutes he hung up and returned the phone to his pocket.

“It seems you may have been correct. They found the old lady unconscious and bleeding in her living room, front door smashed in. Another half hour and she might well have bled out, so your information is appreciated.”

“Is she going to be alright?” Laura voicing both our concerns.

“They don’t know as yet. The paramedics are with her and she’s stable for the moment. Weak though. They’re taking her in for observation for a few days.”

“Which hospital? We’d like to visit.”

“I’m not sure they’ll let you. It’ll be family only while she’s in.”

“We’d like to try; at least to send flowers.”

Inspector Peters gave us a long-suffering look and pulled his phone out again. A short call later and he was able to tell us it was the main city hospital here in the city. It was over the other side of the metropolis, about an hour’s drive away, but that was only a minor inconvenience.

“What about Tony West?” I asked.

“We’re looking for him. We have his address and other details from his record. If he left any fingerprints, we can check them against his last arrest sheet, but he or whoever, wore gloves to break in here. Chances are he’d have done the same there as well. When we do catch up with him, evidence will likely be no more than circumstantial, unless the old lady can identify him.”

Which left him free and clear, and probably with the last working bowl in his possession. We couldn’t risk that. A year ago he’d planned on raiding my bank, robbing thousands of innocent people of their life savings and leaving me to take the blame for him. He was a nastier piece of work now, so there was no knowing what he’d get up to. Not to mention we needed that bowl ourselves.

We couldn’t hurry the police though. They took their sweet time – doing their due diligence I suppose – examining the crime scene which was our place of business, and questioning everyone who might be able to shed even the faintest glimmer on what else might have happened.

They left around lunchtime. As soon as they were gone, we called an impromptu staff meeting, and asked if any of the other three had met Tony the previous day. Mike shamefacedly owned up to having done so. He lifted his shirt to show us some unpleasant bruising about his kidneys.

“He asked for my help, for old time’s sake. He wanted a key to the place and the computer password. He wasn’t too happy when I said no. He always was bigger and tougher, and nastier, than any of us, which was why we ended up doing what he said back then.

“He knows how to hurt someone without letting it show. I’m sorry, but he’d have just kept at it until I caved. I told him I didn’t have the key, but I did tell him the password. He said he’d really fuck me over if I said anything to anyone about it, so I kept schtum.

“I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay Mike,” I said. “You should probably get those seen to. Pete can you take him to A&E?”

“No, I’ll be fine,” Mike protested.

“I don’t want to take any chances Mike. You could have internal bleeding, and I’d hate this to get any more serious than it already is.” I looked at Pete who nodded and led his friend away.

“Randy, can you look after the shop this afternoon? We need to follow up on a few things.”

He nodded and Laura and I headed for the car.

-oOo-

“Are you family?” The nurse behind the counter had barely even looked up at me.

“I’m the nearest thing she has.”

“I’m sorry. If you’re not family, you can’t see her.”

“What if she has no family?”

“Then she doesn’t have any visitors.”

Ah, the bureaucratic mind; inflexible, irrational, infuriating.

“Can you at least see that she receives these flowers?”

“I can’t make any promises.” She didn’t even look up to acknowledge the gift.

“Thank you, you’ve been most helpful.” I needn’t have bothered; bureaucrats are immune to irony.

It had taken over an hour to drive here and to find somewhere to park. At Laura’s suggestion, I’d approached main reception on my own, so that if I didn’t succeed in getting past with honesty, then at least they wouldn’t be so likely to question my partner trying to get by on guile.

Our second attempt relied in part on the flowers getting to their recipient, so it was with some relief when the guardian of the gate called over to a passing porter a few moments later and pointed at the card and flowers. The minion shrugged and picked up the offending articles, heading for the lift.

Laura took her cue and followed him, reaching the lift just as the doors opened. As with most hospitals, there were a number of visitors roaming around, so all she needed was a confident look and the appearance that she knew where she was going, and she blended in with the rest of the scenery.

A couple of minutes later, my phone vibrated in my pocket. Laura gave me a floor number and a ward name and I put the phone away before anyone complained about my using it inside the hospital. I waited till Nurse Battleaxe’s attention was diverted, and marched up and into the lifts myself.

I found Laura standing by the lift doors. She pointed to a nurse’s station and we headed over to it.

“Er, hi,” she began, doing the nervous and slightly upset relative act quite convincingly. “I’m, er I’m Laura Townsend, here to visit my aunt? Well great aunt really. Mrs Doris Maxwell? Yes, this is my partner.”

The nurse was busy, so checked a list and pointed us towards a room, assuming that we wouldn’t have been able to get this far if we hadn’t been able to prove our credentials.

Inside the room we found our flowers on display in a plastic water jug – at least someone had made an effort to arrange them – and a rather shrunken Mrs Maxwell in a hospital gown with a bandage around her head. Her eyes were closed, so Laura sat quietly beside her while I gazed out the window. We desperately wanted to talk to the old woman, but she looked so frail, and it would have been wrong to disturb her rest.

I must have cast a shadow over her face, because I heard a gentle murmur and turned in time to see her eyes flicker open. She stared uncomprehending at me for a moment, then turned to Laura and recognition dawned.

“Hello dear,” she said to Laura with a weak smile. “Now you see why I wanted to keep the thing hidden.”

“Yes we do,” Laura said, taking the old woman’s hand. “We’re so sorry for what happened to you.”

“No more sorry than am I. I tried to keep him from finding it, but he had some rather unpleasant means of persuasion, and no qualms about using them. Well hidden as the bowl was, I believe he would have found it eventually in any case, so I decided it would be better to tell him and survive. As it was he very nearly didn’t give me even that option.”

“Did you see who it was?”

“Yes, and I’ve already given a description to the police. They showed me a picture of a man; you know the sort they take when they arrest someone?”

“Tony West?”

“That’s what they said his name was, yes. But they won’t catch him.”

“What do you mean?”

“They don’t know about the bowl, do they? They’ll almost certainly catch up with someone who looks like him, but he’ll be someone else by then.”

“Shit.” Laura was running through her day’s quota of expletives.

“Hardly very lady-like, dear, but then as I recall, you’re not the lady here are you?”

“Is there anything you can tell us that might help us find him?”

“I wish I could say there was, but no. This is just the thing I was afraid would happen, and now that it has I don’t think there’s anything you or I can do to stop it. What’s more is I won’t be able to help you or your friends change back.”

Laura and I glanced at each other. It was a blow, but it was something we’d been preparing ourselves for since hearing of Tony’s attack on Mrs Maxwell. In the end we still had each other, even if we couldn’t be each other. We’d get by.

“That’s not really important now.” Laura spoke for both of us. “Our friends seem happy as they are, and… well, I suppose we’ll survive. We’re worried about how many lives Tony will ruin unless someone can stop him though. I mean it’s our fault he found you…”

“Are you prepared to be involved in resolving this matter then? How far are you prepared to go?”

“As far as we need to,” I said placing a hand on Laura’s shoulder and sensing her nod of agreement more than seeing it. “What did you have in mind?”

“Nothing I’d care to mention. Magic is rare in this age, and weak, except for where it has been locked into artefacts like the bowls. There may be enough to influence matters though. You’d best leave me be for now, but would you tell one of the nurses on your way out that I’d like to have use of a phone?”

We did as she asked, and soon enough found ourselves outside the hospital again.

-oOo-

It was nearly six o’clock by the time we made it back home. Randy would have closed the shop and everyone would be home and relaxing. We’d discussed options, and felt that the best possible next step would be to ask Tony’s former friends if they knew of any people or places where he was likely to hide, or any possible targets that he might have considered besides me a year or so ago. Time was of the essence as he was a wanted man and would be looking to change his appearance as quickly as possible. With the bowl he had a perfect disguise, but knowing Tony, he’d want to trade up, even if all he needed was to escape the police.

Back at the house, we phoned each of the three and asked if they could put their minds to the problem, and to phone us as soon as they had any ideas. For want of keeping my hands busy, I headed for the kitchen and started peeling potatoes and slicing vegetables. It took about fifteen minutes to sear a couple of steaks and boil up the spuds and veg. It wasn’t the most imaginative of meals, but we were a little preoccupied.

We headed for bed early, our minds swimming in the turmoil of our individual thoughts. We didn’t say much, nor did we do more than climb into bed and into one another’s embrace. Sleep came eventually. Sooner for me than for Laura, but then that came with the body and, I suppose, the brain I was inhabiting.

I woke to an empty bed, the space beside me cold enough to suggest Laura had been up for some hours. I climbed out of my side, scratching sleepily at my behind as I headed for the bathroom. It was early still, as the pre-dawn glow through the frosted glass of the bathroom window attested. Having done my business, I washed my hands and splashed cold water in my face, before heading downstairs to find Laura.

“What the fuck!”

-oOo-