BERMUDA TANGLE

George Massey was having a very bad day. His taxi had been caught in a traffic jam on the way to the airport which made him ten minutes late for check-in. The check-in procedure itself was a further delay, his luggage was overweight and he had to pay an excess. It was probably his diving gear. Perhaps it would have been more sensible to rent everything over in Bermuda, but George was the living embodiment of the old maxim that what separates the men from the boys is the price of their toys and he was damned if he wasn’t going to play with them when he had such a wonderful chance. His only stroke of luck was getting a window seat, despite being the last to check in for the flight.

George wasn’t an especially good flyer, but it mattered to him to have the view of the ground. He enjoyed comparing the view with his idea of how the world looked from maps and he liked to try to work out where he was flying over. But not during take off and landing. Those were times when he just wanted to sit with his eyes tightly closed and wait for the impact. Not that there would be much to see today, most of the flight would be over the Atlantic Ocean.

Security was next. Shoes, belt, phone and cabin bag in the trays, George strode keenly through the metal detector doorway. Predictably, the alarm sounded and he was directed to a thin, bearded man who took him aside and searched him meticulously. Looking over, he could see his bag being hand searched by another guard. Eventually they reluctantly let him proceed, leaving him feeling thoroughly humiliated by his experience. In the toilets, George examined himself in the mirror. Did he look like a terrorist? Not this week. Collar length blonde hair, swept back from his face, blue eyes, but otherwise he considered himself pretty non-descript in a plain white linen shirt and light weight beige chinos.

He had 15 minutes or so before the flight would be called, so he headed for a coffee bar and indulged himself in a frothy Cappuccino. The airport was bustling as a Friday night in the holiday season tends to be and George enjoyed the quiet of the moment and the sweet milky taste of the coffee as he took in the crowds around him. As usual, all human life was here. Families struggled to keep children together and find their gates; young couples strolled by hand holding, or occasionally arguing. He admired a group of girls straggling past on their way to Benidorm, by way of as many bars as they could find. Behind them a group of young men with strong northern accents were indulging in horseplay and striving for attention. It was two of these, each intent on proving their virility by tripping the other, who catapulted out of control into George’s table spilling his coffee into his lap. The coffee had cooled enough not to burn him, but his trousers were a real mess. This journey was just getting better and better!

George took himself back to the toilets to clean himself up. It was not a winning experience. Water seemed to just spread the stain and then there was no way to dry it easily. He had wedged himself as well as he could in underneath a hand dryer, when the same group of lads came in still horsing around. Wishing to avoid a confrontation and feeling very uncomfortable, he took himself back out into the lounge, only to hear his name called over the speaker system to go to the gate now as the flight had boarded.

He rushed out and hurtled down towards the gate and it was a sweaty dishevelled George who handed over his boarding card and was ushered onto the plane by disapproving ground staff. He self consciously walked along the gangway to his seat aware that he had held the plane up. The plane was packed with holiday makers, all of whom appeared to him to be staring at him and his embarrassingly wet trousers. What did they think he had been up to? The overhead locker was full so he apologised again and he struggled with his bag into his seat. His neighbour, despite the hassle, was pleasant and sensibly suggested he put it under the seat. George slid gratefully into a sitting position. His neighbour sat back down and looked at him in amusement.

“You look as if you have had a trying time?”
He had a cheerful manner, which George took to immediately and for the first time for an hour he smiled.
“I could write a book about it.”
“If you don’t want to, I might,” came the reply. “I like you already. We were all waiting for you and then you arrived in such a comic manner that I can use you for the introduction for my travel piece. My name’s Richard.”
He stuck out a hand and George shook it, introducing himself.
“Good to meet you, George,” Richard continued. “It’s going to be a long flight. We might as well get to know each other a bit. Are you off on holiday or business?”

Before he knew it George had explained that this was a holiday. His first alone for a couple of years and that he was looking forward to diving the reefs and wrecks around Bermuda and anywhere else that caught his attention. He looked the other man over. He was taller than George by a good four inches and it showed, even in the seat. He had brown shoulder length hair, pulled back into a pony tail and he wore relaxed clothes, a Billabong t-shirt and a pair of cargo trousers. He looked confident and approachable. George suddenly felt embarrassed and he broke off the eye contact, looking out of the window. As the plane taxied towards the runway the conversation was broken off anyway as the cabin crew began the safety demonstration.

George didn’t know what to make of his new companion. He was a reserved man, not given to opening up about himself, or to easy friendships. He felt that he had already given away more than he usually did to a stranger and that made him very uneasy. As the plane gathered speed along the runway, he resolved to avoid further conversation if at all possible. He closed his eyes nervously as the cabin tilted and the rumble of the tyres on the tarmac stopped.

About half an hour later the plane was safely in the air and speeding its way towards the Caribbean. George had experimented with the in-flight entertainment and found that he had seen all the movies and resigned himself to the feeling that this was going to be one long flight. His neighbour had closed his eyes and seemed to be napping, so he struggled in his cramped seat to get a book out of his bag from under the seat, trying hard not to disturb him, but inevitably failing.

“Need a hand there?”
“Just trying to get to my book.”
“Let me make you some more room.”

Richard got up from his seat to give him room and he was finally able to pull his bag out. Richard was busy in the overhead locker.

“If you pass your bag to me I can make enough room for it here, then your feet won’t be so cramped.”
“Thank you, you’re very kind.” George rummaged in his bag, pulling out his book and some headache tablets. He passed it up to Richard and the man sat down.

There was another period of silence between them, more companionable this time. George read his book and Richard thumbed through the in-flight magazine, until the food trolley came along. The food was included in the flight, but drinks were not. As they waited for the drinks trolley, Richard offered to share a bottle of wine.

“These mini bottles they offer are just not enough. You get too much for a glass, but not enough to really enjoy it. Even with an eight hour flight, though, I can’t drink a whole bottle. Would you like to share one?”
Despite his determination to be reserved, George was drawn by the offer.
“That sounds like a good idea, how much is a bottle?”
“Don’t worry about that, I get this kind of thing on expenses.”

Despite himself, George was intrigued and asked the obvious question without hesitation. Before he knew it they were chatting away about Richards’s job as a travel writer, the opportunities it gave him to see the world and the difficulties of finding new things to say about places that had been visited by every travel writer in the world since Hemmingway. A bottle of red wine arrived and they toasted invention. George talked about his job as a salesman. He usually talked the job up, but today he found himself talking honestly, about being a middle ranker, the pressure to try to rise to the top and his dissatisfaction with this competitive world. Like many sales people George had not set out to be in sales, but after nine months with student debts and living back with his parents he had taken the next reasonably well-paid job just to move on and out.

Richard too, talked about the frustrations of travelling alone, of the need to find new ways to experience and describe places that were becoming well known.

“What do you intend to do with your time on this holiday?” He asked George.
“What drew me to Bermuda is the reefs and wrecks. There are more wrecks to dive on in the Caribbean than any where else, plus you have the fish and the reefs. I learned to dive in England. That means quarries and cold grey seas. I’m so excited about diving in warm water, being able to see the fish and explore the wrecks.”
“I have never dived — I surf and travel the sights on land, but that would make a good new angle to write about. Can you put me in touch with a good diving centre.”

Of course he could. He explained the training that Richard would need and that alcohol was not to be taken before dives. They discussed the opportunities and things that might be seen in the water in detail. Then they moved on to discuss the Bermuda Triangle and whether it might be possible to find any of the ships and aircraft that had disappeared in the area. Richard was quite well-informed about the various theories and rumours about the Triangle, but he had no favourites among them and the conversation took them towards the end of the bottle of wine in fine style. Just as Richard started to pour their last glasses the plane hit an unexpected pocket of turbulence. It dropped like a stone for a very long second before pulling up with a bump that transferred the contents of George’s glass to his shirt front in almost its entirety. Richard had not yet poured his own so he escaped. The plane filled with the sound of screams and curses and the two men sat for a moment in shocked silence. Then Richard began to laugh. It started as a low chuckle that he tried to restrain and George felt a flare of irritation, his usual response in such a situation. Richard’s laughter, however, was infectious and very soon other passengers heads began to turn at the incongruous sound of the two of them laughing. Richard pressed the call button for a stewardess and asked for some towels.

After cleaning up, Richard ordered a couple of Whiskies as an apology and they settled into a companionable conversation about life in general. They were both comfortable now and after the drinks were finished, they each drifted off to a sleep.

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- What makes you think it will work this time? There are a lot of people on that plane.
- I have been testing it with the fish and then with the dolphins. I am sure. There will be no mistakes.
- We have caused enough damage over the years, we must not cause more.
- I am sure. We can read them first. If you are happy with the results then we can decide on the next step.

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“Control this United 517 inbound to Bermuda”
“This is Bermuda control, go ahead please”
“We have just experienced an unexplained phenomenon. Do you have anything on your radar?”
“Negative United 517, please supply further information and your position.”
“Position is 60degrees 51minutes west, 39 degrees 30 minutes north. We have experienced what looked like a lightning strike, but we have clear skies and no other aircraft in view.”
“Do you have any damage United 517?”
“Nothing detectable Control”
“OK United 517, please remain on this channel and we will advise. Control out.”

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- OK, you proved your point. Now what do you want to do?
- Look at the data, there are several people on here we can help.
- Choose one. Do this well and we can work on a bigger scale.

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George woke up as the crew announced that the plane was beginning its approach to Bermuda. As the passengers stirred and seat belts clicked back on, he realised that he had moved in his sleep and his head was embarrassingly now on Richard’s shoulder. The other man didn’t seem to mind, but George avoided eye contact as he fumbled with his belt. He looked out of the window and saw the island and the sea below them. As he looked the whole appeared to go out of focus, as if a veil of cloud had wiped over the plane for a moment, he experienced a strong feeling of dislocation. There was no cloud in the sky here.

“What was that?” he asked Richard.
“What?”
“I had a funny feeling for a moment and everything went blurry.”
“Did you have any more of those whiskies?”
“Huh. I can take my drink better than that you know.” They laughed and George shrugged his experience off as travel stress.

At security George was once again dropped into the nightmare of his journey. The immigration official did not like his dishevelled appearance and took him aside for an interview. By the time he had convinced the man that he was not a beach bum, but was booked into an excellent hotel with his return travel pre-arranged, the other travellers had moved on from the luggage hall and his case was circulating in lonely splendour in an empty room. He claimed it and made his way out through Customs to the arrivals hall, where the bus had left and the holiday company rep waited alone for him. They took a taxi to his hotel, the rep explaining that he hadn’t wanted to keep the other passengers waiting. George stuck to his usual habit of not making conversation. He was a very private person and always said little about himself. When confronted by outgoing people, he usually fell back on his sales training and asked them questions about themselves until they took the conversation away from him.

The hotel did not disappoint George. He had chosen this holiday carefully, after the recent break-up of his relationship with Maggie he wanted to spoil himself, to give himself time to think and to relax. Maggie had always been a bit of a whirlwind in his life, arriving dizzyingly fast after they met at a mutual friend’s party, moving in with him, pushing him towards commitment and then leaving in a blinding rage almost a year later accusing him of an inability to have an adult relationship. She had been very close to home with that last remark. The only thing he was sure about was that he didn’t want to be married and settled and yet there was a current in his life that was pushing hard and fast into the “Real World” of job, mortgage and 2.6 children. He couldn’t put his finger on why, but he knew that was not right for him at present. He hoped to use some of his time on this holiday to give it a bit more thought.

He checked in to his hotel and was led along raised wooden walkways to a beach-front log villa, built on stilts over the water in a sheltered bay. Behind the villa the walkway led back to the bar area and the pool; in front was a veranda, the door and a window, all which had been cleverly designed to show him views of the sea and hide views of the other villas. This was what he wanted: luxury amenities and the impression of solitude. He was sure he would be able to think and that after this holiday he would have the energy and direction that his life currently seemed to lack.

He put his case on the floor and looked around the room. The bathroom was roomy, with a shower, bath and bidet. He wasn’t sure that he could use everything in there in a single day, but he thought he might try. The towels were plentiful, thick and fluffy and there was even a pair of white bathrobes on the back of the door. His room was as impressive. There was a door and large picture window that looked out towards the sea and as he looked the sun was setting in a red haze over the ocean. Waves were crashing over the reef at the end of the bay and the sea below the room was rippled, throwing up pink reflections onto the ceiling. He sat on the bed and took it in for a while. The room was spacious, with a king-sized bed, a table with two armchairs for relaxing and dressing table/desk with a mirror and lights. A large cabinet on the wall opposite the end of the bed contained a television and below it a fridge with a mini bar. There was bottle of mineral water on the table and at that moment there was a tap on the door and a waiter brought in a complimentary bottle of Champagne. George popped the cork to mark his arrival, poured a glass, sat back on the bed and looked back out at the sunset. He was tempted to sit out at the table on the balcony, but the heat had already caused him to sweat into his ruined clothes and he wanted to stay in the air-conditioned comfort of the room. For a moment he wished he had someone to share the moment and the Champagne with, but then he reflected on his reasons for taking the holiday and smiled to himself. This was going to work out fine. He slipped his dirty clothes off and sat back in his underwear. Everything else could wait until the morning. Just now he could relax and let the world go by. He drank the Champagne slowly, savouring the indulgent bubbles and revelling in the expensive, dry taste and the view. As darkness fell over the ocean and the lights of the other hotels and settlements around the bay rose, he drifted off into a contented sleep.

The next morning George woke with a splitting headache. He groaned and rolled out of bed. The room was bright with reflected sunlight from the sea and opening his eyes did not seem like a particularly intelligent thing to do. He cracked his eyes enough to stagger into the bathroom and sat down on the toilet to prevent accidents while he relieved himself with his eyes still tightly closed. He felt his way back by Braille, opened the fridge and took a long pull on a bottle of mineral water. That was a little better. He searched his hand luggage for some tablets, then made his way out to balcony and plunged into the sea. Even at whatever time it was in the morning the heat hit him in a wave and then the cool of the water embraced his body, instantly soothing it. He opened his eyes: the water was crystal clear. He could see the coloured, blurry shapes of fish that you never saw in the sea off the British Isles and his hangover dissolved in the balm of the warm water. He swam out for about five minutes, then turned around and wondered which of all the sea front villas was his. He swam back in slowly; finding the right one quickly and he settled comfortably on the balcony with his bottle of water and let the hot sun dry his body. He had carefully planned the holiday. From arrival to departure he knew what he intended to do with each day and had it laid out in a notebook in his hand luggage. Today was a restful orientation day. He had pre-booked and paid for his diving, starting tomorrow. Today was a day to explore the beach, the bay and the hotel; to get used to the heat and to find his way around. Next job, bathe off the salt, dress and go in search of breakfast.

As the bath ran, George opened his suitcase to unpack, only to find that the bad karma of the previous day had followed him here to this paradise on earth. These were not his clothes. He had certainly not packed bras, knickers and dresses. The airline had confused his case somewhere. He looked at the label attached to the handle — it had no name on it, so that was not the answer and he couldn’t find a name on the inside either. He picked up the telephone and called Reception, asking them to find his holiday rep and get her to call him. In the meantime he might as well take his bath and at least he had the dressing gown to wear until this was sorted out.

When Sharon, the rep came across to his room she did not help his mood by being amused. No, there had been no other reports of lost luggage. Yes, she would call the airport and the airline to see if they had it. Yes she could get some compensation for him if it was permanently lost, but he shouldn’t hold his breath as he wouldn’t see the money until after he had returned home. Hadn’t he got any other clothing? There was nothing she could lend him. Tomorrow was Sunday and on an island this small he wouldn’t be able to buy any. Looking through the case she thought he could try some of this, perhaps it would fit until he could get some more. Yes, she would look into it straight away and get back to him as soon as she had any news. Did he have his boarding pass with the luggage receipt? Could she take the tag from the wrong case? No, she would leave it here; she couldn’t possibly handle a case that big on her own, they could send someone for it when they wanted it back.

And then she had gone. George was left in his room with one set of very dirty clothes and the contents of the case. He sat on the bed for a while, hunger and irritation eating at his abdomen. There was very little choice really. His rational mind could not find a way around it. He began to look through the case. There were some very nice clothes here. It was definitely a young woman’s case, there were no shared “couply” items in it and as George looked through her clothes he felt drawn to her. He liked her style. He took a deep breath and picked out a pair of cargo shorts and a plain blue t-shirt, then with some misgivings, the plainest of the panties. He slipped them on, it was a strange feeling. He had expected them to be uncomfortable, but they fitted him reasonably well, if a little stretched out in the front and the material was far more sensual than his usual pants. The shorts were a little tight at the waist, but with some adjustment they went on and settled over his hips. The t-shirt was a little short and only just reached the waistband of the shorts. He looked at himself in the mirror. Not too bad. He could live with it; it wasn’t as if anyone knew him here anyway. He picked up his local guide book and headed off for breakfast.

After a breakfast, during which no-one had pointed him out as wearing women’s clothes, or even noticed him at all, George returned to his room. The original plan had called for a morning spent snorkelling in the sea. He took another look through the case on his bed. There was a snorkel and mask in there and a couple of swim suits. They would not do. A pair of green bikini bottoms could stand in for trunks, no-one would see and even if they could, with the mask on they couldn’t tell who he was. He changed quickly and took himself off to the sea. He spent the whole morning engrossed in the reefs and fish of the bay, coming in only when his stomach forced him to, eating in the beach front café of the hotel and comparing notes with an equally excited family on their first snorkelling holiday. In the afternoon they all went out together waving each other over to see each new fish that they found.

The afternoon had reached its hottest when George waved a farewell to his new friends and swam contentedly back to his villa for a siesta. As he reached the ladder to his balcony, his vision blurred again and he missed his grip on the first rung, falling back into the sea. Too much too soon, he thought. He climbed up quickly, rinsed his briefs and showered before lying down naked on his bed to sleep.

He woke up an hour or so later with the phone ringing in his ear. As he turned over to answer it, it was immediately obvious that swimming in the heat of the day had overdone the sun and his back was burned. Cursing himself roundly for his stupidity he answered the phone.

“Hello, Mr Massey?”
“Speaking.”
“It’s Sharon from TriTours here. I’m sorry, but we haven’t been able to trace your luggage yet.”
“Oohh no!” he groaned.
“I have been in to the airport for you, but they have no trace of any other cases and the airline has said the same. They are going to look out for it for you. No other passengers have reported lost luggage, so it isn’t anyone here. In the meantime I have some paperwork for you to fill in. Can I come over to see you this evening?”

They made an appointment for after supper and George hung up. He took himself through to the bathroom and surveyed the damage. It could have been worse, but he was going to have a rough night. He sifted through the suitcase looking for after-sun lotion and found a large cosmetics bag. Sure enough the after-sun was in there and he contorted himself to spread it over his back. He sat down on the bed feeling sorry for himself. This was supposed to be the relaxing holiday of his life, space to stop worrying about the day to day and sort out what he wanted for the future. So far, it had run from disaster to disaster. His clothes lost or ruined, the only clothes available not really suitable, now sunburn and what was he supposed to wear for dinner.

He decided that as he was stuck with it now for an indefinite period of time he had better take a closer look at what was in the case. Until now he had only gone through the top layer to find what he had needed and he had only looked cursorily below as he felt like an intruder going through someone else’s private things. There were some rather daring short skirts, more bathing outfits and matching sarongs to wear with them. A couple of sundresses were becoming creased in the rummaged case, there were more pairs of shorts, some t-shirts and loose flowing shirts that looked ideal for a hot day. Below them he found some strappy sandals with heels and at the bottom a god-send, a pair of Merrels, traveller’s flat sandals. He took them out and tried them on. Surprisingly they were a good fit. There were flip-flops too, for the pool, with jewelled bars across the toes. He thought he might give them a miss. He picked the shorts and t-shirt he had worn that morning and went into the bathroom to dress. The shorts seemed more comfortable this afternoon, but the t-shirt was definitely not going to work with this sunburn. After some thought he settled for one of the flowing shirts, which kept the weight on his back to a minimum and was light and cool. It was a light blue with embroidery on the front in the same colour. He felt it would not show up too much and the shirt had obviously been bought to go with the shorts he was wearing.

He slipped into the Merrels, picked up his wallet and made his way over to the restaurant. There was a buffet laid on, with both local and European food and as he made his way around it he was spotted by the boys he had talked to at lunch.
“George, George, did you see the turtle this afternoon?”
“Hello boys,” he replied, “where was that then?”
“By the outer reef. We saw it twice. It was well cool!”
“Come and sit with us George, we want to tell you about it.”
George was not too keen on the idea; he had not had much thought time yet, it had been spent swimming or sleeping and chatting to children was not really his thing. If he was honest with himself, they scared him a little. They seemed to be so enthusiastic, to ask so many questions and to see through people too easily. There was probably an out though.
“Only if your Mum and Dad are happy with the idea.” They would be sure to want some privacy and not want some stranger sitting with them. The boys raced off, each wanting to beat the other and they were soon back with the response.
“Mum says yes!”

They finished filling their plates together and made their way over to the table where the boys’ parents waited. They seemed pleased to see him again and welcomed him in. The boys enthused about the fish and the snorkelling and wanted to know if he would swim in the bay with them the next day. Unexpectedly, he felt sorry to let them down, but when he told them of his plans to dive with the local dive school they were enthused again, very envious and wanted their parents to book them in as well. George explained that they would be too young to dive and that as he had trained before coming out here he would be able to move rapidly into an advanced group. The boys then decided that they would become divers when they were old enough, it was sooo cool! When their father took them up to get desserts their mother leant in across the table.
“You have made a real hit there with the boys. They don’t usually take to someone that quickly. Will we see more of you during the holiday? I am sure the boys would love to hear about your diving tomorrow.”
George’s polite manner kicked in for him, although he had mixed feelings about the task.
“They are really nice kids. You must be very proud of them. If it is not too big an imposition I would be happy to see them. What time do you eat?”
“We plan to eat at about 6 each evening, when the dining room opens. If we leave it too late with these youngsters, then they won’t sleep later.”
“How old are they?”
“Peter is 11 and Jamie is 9. We figure this is about the last holiday we will have together before they will start to be bored by swimming and beaches, so we wanted to make this a memorable one. What brought you here on your own?”
“The diving, the fish, the wrecks and I have always been fascinated by the Bermuda Triangle.”
“Cool! Do you think it’s aliens?” Peter was back behind him, taking over at once with his new best friend. The discussion lasted for the whole of the later course and Peter questioned him closely in the manner of bright children, until he had had quite enough. At last the meal was finished and the parents took the boys off for a walk, much to George’s relief.

His meeting with Sharon, the travel rep passed off easily enough and he took a couple of turns around the hotel grounds, observing the scenery. Tomorrow was a diving day, so no alcohol tonight, but he visited the bar for a fruit juice, watching the couples and the families at their entertainment and getting more pleasure in the antics of the children than he had ever had before. He thought of Peter and Jamie, of their excitement at what they and seen and smiled.
“Must be getting soft in my old age.” he thought

Later, back in his room, George unpacked the case and put it away. If you pushed him on the subject he could not have explained why he did it. Everything was getting creased and it seemed bad to let that happen, but he couldn’t explain any further. He took a note book out to the balcony, listed the fish he had seen that day and then sat sketching as the sun went down.

Next morning he was up early. His sunburn had subsided enough in the night that he felt he would be able to wear the dive harness, but he didn’t want to take any risks with more sun and he pulled out a t-shirt to wear under it to keep the sun off his shoulders. The green bikini bottoms were dry so he wore them again and pulled a pair of shorts over the top. He looked at himself in the mirror. He looked cool and ready for a day in the sun, his waist peeked out a little between the shorts and the t-shirt and his feet were taken care of by the Merrels. His hair was wrong though and he spent a moment with a brush, until it looked good. He took his dive book out of his hand luggage and a credit card, then realised that the shorts had no pocket, so he found a cropped jacket that sat well on top of the t-shirt and put his things in the pockets.

At the Dive Centre he booked himself in and was asked to wait for the rest of his party and the dive leader. He seated himself in the waiting area and picked up a magazine from the table top to read. He was absorbed in the magazine when a familiar voice made him look up. It was Richard, checking in at the desk.

“Hello, I took your advice and I’ve booked myself in for a try dive. They tell me I won’t make it into the sea today, but if all goes well I will be able to do it tomorrow.”
“Good for you! What made you decide to do it?”
“You were so enthusiastic about it and I decided that a new experience might give me a new angle to write from. What are you doing today?”
“They are going to take us out to the reef and we will dive inside it first so that they can check us out and then we are going outside it to look for a wrecked Man of War.”
“That sounds superb; if I keep hard at the diving will they let me do that later?”
“I’m not sure how soon they’ll let you out into the open ocean, but keep at it and it won’t be long. How’s your hotel?”

They spent the next five minutes talking about their hotels and the quality of the stay and when they were called away George had an unaccustomed feeling that he did not want to be alone after the dive and called Richard back to arrange to meet in George’s hotel for a drink later.

The diving was everything George had hoped it would be. He quickly convinced the dive master of his competence and they were soon exploring the reef, finding fish and sights that you just cannot reach with a snorkel. Lunch was taken on the boat as it moved out to the wreck site. George was the first to find traces of the ship, initially a cannon on the sea bed and then the stumps of the mast, bearded with weed and almost completely covered over with coral. He was excited to see two Nursing Sharks swim round the wreck in an almost clichéd snapshot.

At the end of the dive, as they drifted slowly up towards the surface, George experienced another moment of disconnection with the world: his vision blurred and he shook his head hard to try to clear it. The Dive Master saw him and swam over, taking his left hand and controlling the ascent. They hauled him into the dive boat and helped him out of his equipment. He protested that he was fine, that it was a mixture of excitement and tiredness, but they kept a careful watch on him as the boat sped back to the Dive Centre. Before it arrived back, George was asleep in the back. At the dive centre they insisted on a doctor and although the doctor could find nothing clearly wrong, they refused to take him back out to the ocean again the next day. After some considerable argument they agreed that he could dive with one of the parties within the reef and that they would monitor him closely and make a new decision about deeper water after that.

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- How is your experiment proceeding?
- It’s going very well so far.
- How many doses have you administered?
- Three.
- And have there been any ill effects?
- None that we can detect. The subject is responding as normally as anyone could expect.
- When do you expect to be able to administer the next dose?
- We have to be careful with the next dose. Whilst we can suppress any reaction to the change, the dislocation caused by the treatment has been noticed and people are concerned about the subject.
- What can you do?
- We must administer the next dose more subtly.
- How many doses do you expect to need?
- One more.
- Keep me informed of your progress.

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Back at the hotel George lay down on his bed and slept for an hour without dreaming or stirring. He woke before supper time with an itchy chest and an aching head. He took a long relaxing bath, cleaning the salt off his body and then looked through the wardrobe to find something to wear. He made a mental note to go looking for more appropriate clothes either before or after the dive tomorrow. With a little thought he picked a pair of loose legged white cotton trousers and a white shirt, both fairly plain, except for some pearlized buttons. He tried them on and decided that the shirt was too see-through, so he selected a white vest with shoulder straps that were only a little too thin. He found that he really enjoyed the feeling of the satiny material next to his skin. After spending only a little longer on his hair than usual he slipped on the flip-flops and went down to dinner.

He was surprised and secretly pleased that almost as soon as he entered the Dining Room he was pounced on by Peter and Jamie, who had been obviously watching for the arrival of their new best friend. They were desperate to hear of his diving adventures and to tell him about the Puffer fish they had followed around the hotel’s nearest reef. Jenny, their mother was concerned about his incident on surfacing; but Steve, their father, was more interested in the sharks.

“Weren’t you afraid when you saw them?”
“No, I was too excited and keyed-up by the whole thing. They didn’t pay us any attention.”
“I would have been so out of there!”
“The dive master was keeping an eye on things. I’m sure he would have moved us had there been any real danger. He spotted me quickly enough on the way up.”
“Do you think that might have been a delayed reaction?”

George was reluctant to answer. The truth is he was not sure what had happened, it had never happened before and now it had happened several times in a row. Jenny picked up on his reluctance and sent the boys with their father to track down their favourite desserts. She looked George intently in the eye across the table.

“How are you really? That didn’t sound normal.”
“I’m fine. I’ve been quite tired, but I have looked forward to and trained for this diving for such a long time. It’s frustrating to have to hold back now.”
“Take it slowly. We haven’t known you long, but we would hate to see anything nasty happen to you. To say nothing of the impact it might have on the boys.”
“They are lovely children.”
“They have really taken to you too. You’re their new hero. David Beckham has been abandoned for good.”
“I promise not to get a Beckham haircut.”
They were laughing at the idea when the others came back.

Later in the evening Richard came through to the bar, they bought a jug of fruit cocktail, took it back to George’s balcony and drank it at the table with the sunset on the horizon. They sat for a short while in a companionable silence, before Richard broke it.

“You know, sometimes I wonder why I took up travel writing: with deadlines to meet; editors and publishers are quibbling over expenses, or when I am sitting in a lonely hotel room in a resort I didn’t really want to visit; but on other days it just seems to make perfect sense.”
“And which kind is this?”
“The best. You helped me to have one of the most fascinating experiences of my life, I would never have considered trying to dive before. I didn’t think ordinary people like me could do it. This is one of the most beautiful sights you can see anywhere in the world and I have someone I like to share it with. What could be better?”
George smiled.
“I’m pleased to be of assistance, but, if you’ll forgive me, I think you must have one of the most attractive jobs and lifestyles there are.”
“Oh, it looks good on paper, but one resort starts to look a lot like another when you start visiting and living in them day after day.”
“I suppose if you eat in good restaurants every day it starts to look and feel commonplace, but you have something here that most of the world would love to have, the opportunity to see the world and get paid for it.”
“If only! Airport — Hotel — Restaurant — Hotel — Airport — Write up.”
“Isn’t life what you make it?”
Richard paused in thought.
“Listen to me.” George continued, “a salesman who never wanted to be one, tied to a job he doesn’t like by a mortgage on a flat he doesn’t want.”
“Whoa! Sounds like a cue to move on and sell up!”
It was George’s turn to pause in thought.
“If only it was that easy,” he replied.
“It is always easy for others to see what we should do, but much harder for us to do it.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
They raised their glasses.
“So if it’s easier for someone else to decide what we should do, what should I do next?” Richard asked.
“Travel the world, look for new things to do and write about them. How easy is that?”
Richard paused.
“Not that easy on your own.” There was another pause. “What I need is a glamorous assistant; someone to travel with me and share the adventure. It would be much more fun then.”
George laughed.
“I could be a dive consultant to the new Hemingway.”
“If only it would pay enough, it might just work.”
“Fat chance! But I’ll drink to the idea.”
They raised their glasses again and changed the subject. Soon after Richard left and an exhausted George tumbled into bed and mused for a minute on his holiday so far. It was strange that such a disastrous flight had had such a positive impact. He had made a friend in Richard, one that he hoped he would keep and his experience of talking to him on the plane had given him confidence to keep chatting with the young family which had given more pleasure than he would ever have expected. He was smiling as he fell asleep.

George woke the next morning feeling more energised than he had done for a long while. He got up, put on a swimming costume and pulled his hair back into a pony tail. He dropped his mask and snorkel over the balcony into the sea and dived in after them. He spent a happy half hour swimming along the edge of the nearest reef to the hotel, watching the morning antics of the fish. Then he went back to his room for a shower. He washed his hair and dried it with the hotel dryer then dressed in a pair of red shorts, that fit him snugly and a pink T-shirt with flowers and a VW camper van motif. He slipped on the flip flops and went down to the restaurant for breakfast.

Steve was there with the two boys, but Jenny had had a bad night and would be taking the day to recover. George arranged to visit her after his day’s diving. He distracted the boys, teasing them about what foods they were eating and whether they would eat them if they were fish. Then he collected another bathing costume and left for the dive centre.

When he checked in they had another long discussion about what diving would be suitable for him after the day before. Eventually, they gave him a choice between diving with an intermediate group behind the reef or assisting with the Beginners’ Class. Knowing that Richard would be in the Beginners’ Class, he chose that and joined him in the waiting area. Richard was delighted to see him and introduced him to a young couple he had befriended the day before. George explained that he would be helping the dive instructor and Carrie began to explain to him that she was struggling with panic-attacks every time she thought about losing the mouthpiece under water. George gave her some tips and before they knew it they were chatting away as if they had known each other all their lives. If he had taken time to think about it, George would have been surprised at his behaviour. He had never found it easy to talk to attractive young women and yet here he seemed to have formed a bond with Carrie in minutes. Her partner, Rob engaged Richard in a discussion about sharks.

The day’s diving was one of the most enjoyable George had ever had. Despite a rising wind and the accompanying waves he felt no sea sickness, just pleasure in the company he was in. He had only seemed to have acquaintances in the water with him whilst learning to dive in England. People he met on the course on the day, who shared reserved comments on each experience and who went their own way at the end. Today he had three people around him whose excitement was as palpable as his. They endlessly signalled to each other to look at new finds, touching bare shoulders and legs to attract attention. In the boat, between dives, they thumbed the identification books to check out what they had seen, planned where to look for the fish that they hadn’t.

The day was over too soon and to continue it they agreed to meet for dinner that evening. As they were all in different hotels they arranged to meet in a bar first and Richard the experienced traveller would find then find a suitable restaurant. As they left the Dive Centre announced that with a storm due in there would be no diving in the ocean tomorrow so they agreed to discuss other options that evening as well.

Back at the hotel George went to visit Jenny, who was feeing much better. For her part she wanted to be reassured about George.
“Have you had any attacks or dizzy spells today?”
“None at all. I think it was all just an excitement thing. We had a brilliant day’s diving today and I am just fine.”
“You’re looking much better than yesterday. This holiday is doing you good. Tell me about that good looking young man Steve saw you with last night.”
“Who?....Oh! Richard. He sat next to me on the plane and we got talking. He’s a travel writer and he’s trying diving thanks to me. I dived with him and some other new friends today.”
“I’m glad you’re making some good friends. A solitary holiday can be a lonely thing.”
“It was what I wanted, but I am pleased to have found some lovely people to share it and that includes you and your menagerie.”
“What are you saying about my family?”
“Just that they are a very charming handful.”
They laughed together.
“Oh and that reminds me, I have to disappoint the boys tonight, I’m eating with my new friends in town.”
“I’m sure they will forgive you, but Jamie might try to extract a penalty.”
“I’ll pay it with pleasure, after a decent period of resistance of course.”

After his now routine afternoon nap George took a long bath and faced the problem of what to wear tonight. Once again he had been too absorbed in his day to go shopping for clothes, but somehow it seemed less important than it had before. On the other hand, picking the right clothes from the wardrobe seemed rather more important than it had ever done. He had shaved his legs and underarms in the bath, not that there had ever been much there, but shorts seemed too informal for a restaurant. After some deliberation he picked a pair of loose fitting black linen trousers and a strappy vest with sequined details that clung to his chest and stomach. The trousers were a little bit tight on his hips but fitted well around his waist. Even then they were a bit too long in the leg, so he tried on a pair of the sandals with a low heel. That made all the difference. You couldn’t really see the sandals under the trouser legs and even when they peeped out, George thought they looked cute. The other draw-back of the trousers was that they had no pocket for his wallet. He took put a small black handbag from the case and transferred some money and ID to it. He dried and styled his hair and looked in the mirror.
“Good to go!” he thought.

The meal was an unqualified success. Richard was charming and regaled them with stories of travel disasters. Rob told them about his job as advertising copywriter and the unsuitable suggestions for slogans that came up when they brainstormed. Carrie and George giggled at the stories and swapped tales of idiocy at work themselves. They decided that with the high winds there should be some good surf on the other side of the island. They had all surfed before and through Richard’s research he knew of somewhere they could hire wetsuits and boards. Without diving the next day they were able to drink and they were all quite merry when they came out of the restaurant. The storm had taken hold, so they took taxis back to their hotels.

Once again George slept soundly, his sleep filled with dreams of beautiful places, a world he had never seen. In the morning the storm had dissipated in the rapid way of tropical storms. The bay was choppy, even though the wind was falling fast and the air had a washed clean freshness. George dressed in a pair of beige three quarter length cargo trousers, a blue t-shirt that showed his midriff and a short denim jacket. His head ached, so he pushed a pair of sunglasses up onto his head to keep his hair in place with the option of shielding his eyes when the sun reached him and went down to breakfast. As soon as he went in to the restaurant he was ambushed by the boys.

“Where were you last night?”
“We didn’t see you at tea.”
“I went out with some friends. Didn’t your mummy tell you?”
“Yes she did, but we wanted you to tell us. You’re our friend aren’t you?”
“Why didn’t you take us too? We’re your friends.”
“I’m sorry boys. I should have come and found you. We were out long past your bed-time last night, so it wouldn’t have been a good idea to take you.”
“Did you drink a lot?”
“Did you kiss anyone?”
“Were there lots of people?”
“Was the food nicer than here?”
“Did you see the rain?”
“Whoa! One at a time! And I need coffee before I can answer any questions.”

With coffee and a little food, his head settled and he tackled their questions. The boys’ parents looked on affectionately amused. The question that had unsettled him most was the one about kissing, but he couldn’t put his finger on why.

Richard picked them up from their hotels in a taxi in the mid-morning and took them into town where they rented scooters. Despite the scooters being limited to 20 mph Richard and Rob raced each other across the island roads, which was no easy achievement. Carrie and George followed more sedately, stopping to point out beautiful views on the way. The journey across the island took half an hour and they met up in a café in which they discussed their previous surfing experience. George had spent a week in Cornwall a couple of years before, surfing the cold Atlantic swells, as had Carrie and Rob, although none of the three at the same time. Richard had surfed on most of the major oceans of the world and the experience had always made him want more. Today’s surf was going to be over 15 feet high, which was bigger than any of the others had previously tackled. Richard gave them advice on how to handle the waves and explained that the biggest thing they had to fear was fear of the wave itself.

“Fall off it and you will still just fall into the sea.”
“Yes, but what happens if the wave then breaks on top of you?”
“Hold your breath and wait to come up. It doesn’t take long.”
Carrie clearly wasn’t too convinced.
“I’m not very good with holding my breath and being trapped under water.”
“Always remember, you can hold your breath for thirty seconds at least. You won’t be under for more than five.”

They moved on to the surf hire shop and hired wet suits and boards. Shortly they were on the beach looking at the waves. Richard was supremely confident, but Carrie was now looking extremely nervous.

“You guys go ahead and surf it. I’ll watch you and join in when I’m ready.”
Richard and Rob needed no second invitation. George hung back with Carrie.

“Are you OK?”
“No. I’m not. I’m terrified of those waves and the way they’re crashing down on the beach here, but I’ve never backed down on a challenge before. I’m afraid of what Rob will think of me and I’m afraid of letting myself down.”
“I can understand that. But you mustn’t let fear of what Rob will think make you do things you don’t want to. Letting yourself down? Now let’s avoid that if we can.”
George sat down beside her on the beach and looked around.
“If you look over there, behind the promontory, where the waves have had to come in over the shallows, I think the waves are a bit smaller and they look more manageable. Why don’t we start there and join the boys when we’re ready?”
Carrie dried her eyes and nodded.
“I’d find you a tissue, but I think your face is going to be a lot wetter in a minute.”
She smiled, “Let’s go!”

The easier section of beach proved to be just what was needed to boost their confidence and they were soon in the larger waves with the boys, surfing into the tubes and wiping out in equal measure. The water was almost as warm as the day, but the size of the waves and the doses of adrenaline were such that after an hour or so they were exhausted. George was bobbing out beyond the break-line trying to muster enough energy to take another wave in when Richard swam over.

“The other two have got off the water. What do you want to do?”
“I think this will be my last one. I could do with a rest myself.”
“Let’s surf it in together.”
“OK, you’re on!”

They positioned their surf boards side by side and waited for the next suitable wave. As it came in they stood up together and accelerated down the slope. They reached out and for a moment held hands, then the wave swept them apart, laughing in exhilaration. George toed his board towards the top of the wave and let Richard pull ahead and then, as he turned down again, his vision blurred and the sense of dislocation hit him again. He tumbled off the board into the sea and the wave crashed down over him, tumbling him in the white water and propelling his board, rider-less to the beach. When he surfaced, Carrie and Rob were running into the sea towards him and Richard was surfacing about twenty yards to his right.

“George, George, are you OK?”
He shook the water out of his hair and ears and gave them a thumbs-up, whilst whooping air back into his lungs. They reached him and helped him out of the water.
“Wow,” he eventually spluttered, that was a dumping and a half.”
“We were worried about you, there was a shadow in the wave behind you and we thought it might have been a shark.”
“If it was it missed me. I was just being a Muppet, falling off my board like that.”
George didn’t want to talk about his strange sensation again. He had had too much fuss last time. Carrie hugged him and he returned the hug.
“Don’t start crying again girl; you’ll set me off this time.”
She sniffed it off and gave him a smack on the bottom.
“Don’t scare us like that again!”

Richard came over, grinning like a maniac.

“What a ride to finish on! Is it my imagination or are those waves getting bigger?”
“Definitely bigger.”
They explained what had happened to George. Richard started to laugh, at the idea of just George’s legs showing above the wave for a moment and for only for the second time in his life, George found himself laughing along at himself.

The four of them made their merry way up the beach and gave up their hired equipment before returning to the Café for a well earned lunch. Afterwards they split up, Carrie and Rob taking their scooters into Hamilton for some shopping and George and Richard making their way to the massive Fort on Castle Island to take in the history for Richard’s writing.

They sat on a fortified promontory, overlooking the sea and drinking fruit juice. George sighed.
“This is the life!”
“What’s wrong with your normal life?”
“How long have got?”
Richard waved an expansive arm at their surroundings.
“As long as you like!”
George sighed again, but more heavily.
“I took a job I didn’t really want so that I could pay off my student debts. It starts easily, but then before you know it you are buying a car, a flat, television, washing machine…. Each thing is supposed to make your life easier, but you have to keep on working to afford the next one and then the first one breaks down and you work longer and longer and harder and harder until you’ve forgotten why you started in the first place.”
“You’ve got it bad!”
“No, that’s the trouble. I’ve got it good. It’s just not the good I wanted.”
“I got the impression that you do well at your job?”
“That’s just a part of it. I do well at my job, but not well enough that I am recognised as excellent and I can’t put that extra effort in because I just don’t want to.”
“What did you do your degree in?”
“English Literature.”
“You like it?”
“I have always loved to read. But you can’t make much of living doing that.”
“Can you write?”
“I have never really tried, but I think I could write well.”
“Why don’t you try it?”
“And how do I feed myself while I’m writing?”
“Hmm, always a hard one; I struggled with that for a while”
“I’m sorry, that was insensitive of me. How did you achieve your current state of greatness?”
Richard laughed.
“I wouldn’t call it greatness. I write commissioned pieces for guides like the Lonely Planet and for travel magazines. To get here I wrote pieces on every place I had ever been to on holiday, while working as a waiter in the evenings. I took day trips to places like Blackpool and wrote them up on the train, before going back to wait tables. I eventually got a job with a travel magazine that went bust after six months, but I earned enough of a reputation in those six months to ensure that I have never had to go to a restaurant except to eat since.”
“So it was a struggle?”
“No. It was a labour of love. But not everyone gets the breaks I got and some people get into it without trying through contacts and the old boy network. You’d be surprised how many people owe their journalism careers to who they went to Boarding School or University with.”
“Where are you off to next?”
“I can’t really say at present. I have a couple of offers, but there is a new project on the table, that if it takes off will let me travel non-stop for six months, posting work as I go.”
“That sounds ideal for you.”
“They were going to let me know if I had the contract last week, so they could call any time now.”
“How will they contact you, out here?”
“I have my mobile in my room and I should really check my e-mail. I haven’t looked at it since we came out.”
“Well, I hope you get it.”
“Thanks.”

Back at the hotel George was once again exhausted. He fell onto the bed and slept until evening. He was woken by the phone beside his bed. It was Richard.
“Meet me for dinner at seven, same bar and I’ll book the restaurant.”
George was amused.
“What’s the rush? We only saw each other a couple of hours ago.”
“You’re my only friend here and I want to celebrate tonight. Are you in or what?”
George pointed out that there was also Rob and Carrie.
“What? Are you saying you’re not my friend? Are you insisting I play Gooseberry to a pair of lovesick fools?”
“You are in a happy mood tonight. OK, I’ll meet you. We can eat if you want to, but first I have to see some important people here.”
“Who can be more important than me today? Bring them outside and I’ll have them shot!”
“They are far too young and innocent for that. I’ll meet you at eight.”
“You drive a hard bargain. I’ll see you then, as long as I am not sulking.”

In the dining room Peter and Jamie were waiting impatiently to hear what George had been up to. They had had a day sailing in the sheltered waters of the central lagoon and their stories flooded out, especially pleased that Daddy had fallen over the side. Steve looked abashed.
“I was on the bow, changing sails and we hit an unexpected wave.” It had caused a bit of a fuss, but they had quickly picked him up again, with only his pride hurt. Jenny was amused to see her husband taken down a peg or two. Apparently he had been building up his sailing ability for months before the holiday. George told them of his surfing trip and the wipe-out on his last wave. They laughed at his feet sticking up out of the top for a moment. When they went up for their meals, George left them and returned to his room to get ready. He took a long time over his bath, drying his hair carefully to look its best. He selected clean underwear, pants and a matching bra and took down a summer dress in a light blue with a sunflower border. It all fitted him perfectly. He put on mascara, some lipstick and spritzed with perfume from the cosmetics bag he had moved through to the bathroom. Satisfied with his appearance, he went out to meet Richard.

“So what are you celebrating?”
“You prompted me to check my e-mail…”
“And?”
“I got the contract approved. As of next month I am writing a book and researching a travel series for the television. The aim is to travel to each continent and find the most exhilarating, the most relaxing, the most stimulating and the most entertaining thing to do there.”
“That sounds incredibly exciting!”
“It’s the best thing I could imagine doing. It will take me around the world, let me try every kind of experience and I will get paid for it!”
“Will it pay well?”
“Beyond anything I have ever done before. They will even televise it when they find the right person to front it and then we will probably have to go round again.”
“That is just so cool!”
“Come with me?”
“What?”
“Come with me. You hate your job and you and I would work so well together.”
“I don’t know. It’s a lot to think about.”
“I am sure I can get another salary out of the TV company with their budgets and even if I don’t there will be enough travel expenses for two. It would give you a chance to start in a better business, or just to think about what you really want to do.”
“It’s tempting. But I’ll need to think about it.”

They moved on to the restaurant and toasted Richard’s success. They ate well then visited a club and danced until the small hours. George got back to his hotel late and slept long and deeply. When he woke he had missed breakfast, He couldn’t face food anyway, he had a headache and his stomach was a little rebellious. He put on the green bikini and wrapped a matching matching sarong around his waist, fixed his sunglasses firmly over his eyes and made his way down to the poolside bar where he ordered a special pick me up. He hadn’t been there long when Peter and Jamie arrived in a welter of splashing and laughter, followed more sedately by their parents
“Where were you at breakfast?”
“Why are you wincing?”
“Why are you wearing your sunglasses indoors?”

George groaned and lowered his head to his arms. His blonde hair spread around his face in a protective shield.
“Give George some space, boys” commanded Jenny.
“And that’s another thing,” said Jamie. “Why have you got a boy’s name?”
“Jamie!” Jenny was shocked. “Don’t be so rude.”
George’s head lifted slowly from the table.
“No, it’s a fair point. My full name is Georgina. My parents call me Gina or Georgie. You can choose which you like really.”

She rested her head back on the table and a rising tide of happiness washed the headache and hangover away. For the first time in her life everything was clear.

“Are you going to swim with us today Gina?”
“Perhaps later. I have to go and find someone first and give them some good news.”

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- The experiment is complete.
- Is it a success?
- Total.
- No one is aware of the changes?
- No-one.
- When can we take the technology home?
- We have to test it again, but I think that we can go home soon and that nothing else need go missing in the Triangle.

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I sat, last night, beside the river. My kayak had filled with water and I left the group to empty it. The blackness came over me in a wave, and this came out.

I love rivers, but this will not be my end.

ELEGY

The river slipped slowly, silently past at a pallbearers pace. The bankside trees hung or towered alternately over the stream, wreathing their own reflections in a myriad of different greens. The sounds of the evening town were starting to fade. The children’s shouts from the park diminishing as their bedtimes took them to their homes. Even the constant roar of traffic began to fade and a respectful silence drew in. As the human noise decreased the sounds of nature seemed to grow in volume. Birdsong constantly narrating their lives, denoting battles for territory and the never ceasing struggle for survival in the woods. Fish jumped, each splash a life and death battle between the predator and its prey. Gradually, inevitably, the light began to diminish as the sun sank below the treeline. Colour bled slowly out of the trees, turning the darker greens swiftly to a mourning black, greying the lighter notes of the willows. On the far bank a solitary hawthorn, white blossomed for the spring, became a wraith standing sentinel over the quiet procession of debris. Much of what floated there was natural, fallen leaves and blossoms, grass cuttings, dust and twigs. Some was the careless waste of a town, too busy to observe or protect one of its greatest natural treasures: bottles, cigarette ends and plastic wrapping, heedlessly dropped from one of the three bridges that interred the river beneath the daily routine of the town.

Beneath a shrouding willow a dark shape moved, a sodden lump of detritus in the river, stirred by a small current or the questing mouths of hungry fish. A shoe detached itself and drifted to the bottom, impaling the mud of the river bottom with its heel and beginning its own journey into decay. Catching the main current he moved slowly, sedately towards the weir by the sewage works. He turned lazily over and rolled, showing now, in a streetlights jaundiced glow, a flash of floral print and then, in the lightning flash of a passing headlight, a patch of lace. In the sepulchral darkness, he bumped up against the concrete of the weir barrage, too large to wash over. The white of the concrete formed a tombstone commemorating his lost dreams and impossible futures. A heron stood below the weir, watching the river, its lone vigil the only respect paid, and he floated on, wreathed in leaves and empty bottles, awaiting the morning’s discovery and oblivious to the coming scandal.

On extended summer breaks, Anna and Paul find themselves in for some surprises when they meet in a coffee shop.

As Anna approached the glass door she caught a glimpse of her reflection. Automatically she paused and checked it out. Despite the fresh breeze her hair was still up in its chignon and her skirt was still below her knees. She smiled to herself. Up until three years ago her reflection had always caused her to frown, there had been nothing she had liked about it, but the past three years had made so much difference.

Inside the coffee shop the barista gave her a friendly smile. They weren’t on first name terms, but Anna had been coming here every other morning for the past month and they knew each other well enough. Although the shop was busy there was no queue so she smiled and ordered her usual latte and considered the cakes and pastries behind the glass counter. The barista’s hand hovered by the croissant plate and Anna realised that her ordering had become predictable. She smiled to herself and ordered the panettone for a change.

As the barista busied herself with her order Anna turned around to look for a seat. Her favourite armchair, in the front corner of the store that commanded the window and a view over the town centre, was occupied. Being a little late this Sunday morning, she hadn’t really expected it to be free. What was unexpected, though, was that there wasn’t a single unoccupied table. She would have to share with someone. This was easier said than done. She had always been a fairly shy and solitary person and living alone, with only a cat for company, hadn’t made her any more outgoing. She scanned the tables looking for a sign that would tell her who she might share with and realised that her favourite window table was the best bet. The man who occupied the other seat was about her age and appeared to be concentrating deeply on the screen of a laptop. There was very little chance he would speak to her.

Gathering up her coffee she approached the table. He didn’t look up, another good sign. She coughed, delicately, to gain his attention, then gestured to the other seat.
“Is there anyone sitting here?”
“Help yourself,” he smiled. It was rather a nice smile, warm and without reserve. It was quite brief though and his attention went quickly back to his screen. Absurdly pleased, Anna put her mug down on the table and settled herself comfortably in her armchair. She had a good view of the Sunday morning shoppers scurrying around in the wind. She drew a slim book of poetry out of her handbag and prepared herself for the pleasure the words would give her.

She had hardly made a start when her panettone arrived. She put the book down. The breakfast and the poetry, each was a separate pleasure, neither was enhanced by being taken together and the hot toasted fruity bread needed to be experienced at once. She applied herself to the butter and took the first bite, her attention shifted to her view of the town centre outside the window. The sky had suddenly and dramatically darkened, shoppers dashing for shelter as a summer shower began to cross the square; the cathedral doors opening to admit a late worshipper. Rain rapidly pooled in dips in the pavement, running in a stream down the gutter beyond, bouncing off the outside tables, causing the few smokers braving the day to rush inside; splattering against the shop windows. Inside the shop, the warmth of her coffee and the rich unctuous texture of her breakfast made Anna feel safe, protected from the elements. All that was missing she reflected, was a log fire. It was a romantic notion but her internal realist was already telling her that splitting the logs and lighting it wouldn’t have been worth the effort.

As she reached down for the second piece of her panettone she was aware of a pair of eyes smiling at her. She looked up, a little startled and saw that her neighbour was looking at her with an amused expression. She automatically smiled across at him, silently cursing herself for allowing him to break the spell.
“I think we’re better off in here,” he said. “All we need is a log fire and we’d be set up for the day.”
“A log fire?”Anna asked, her morsel stranded halfway to her mouth as she struggled to keep her composure. Could he read her mind?
“Mmmmm. I’ve always thought a roaring real fire to be a comfort when the weather turns nasty. It can be inconvenient though, can’t it? You can’t just turn it off like the central heating and it is going to be warm and sunny again later, when this storm passes.”
Anna smiled back at him, unwilling to encourage him and break the routine of her day, but at the same time unable to be offended and reluctantly charmed by him.
“Sorry,” he said, “I’m keeping you from your reading and your breakfast. I’ll leave you to it.”
He transferred his attention back to his screen and Anna felt a strange mixture of relief and disappointment. Better not to go there. In her experience people who made the effort to get know her were either too fascinated by her past or completely unable to deal with it. She fell back on her old tactics and protected herself by shutting him out. She picked up her book again, not to read yet, but to hide behind it.

Five minutes later she gave up trying to read. The words were passing her eyes but quite failing to register in her brain. Her Sunday morning was, in theory, ruined. She didn’t feel that though. She glanced at her neighbour again over the top of the book. She quickly formed a strong impression. He was about her age, casually dressed in a shirt and jeans, but not cheap ones. They were clean and possibly even ironed. His dark hair was well cut and just tousled enough, neither uncared for nor over styled into bedhead hair. It was receding, just a little, and touched with grey at the temples. He seemed to be intelligent from their brief conversation and she was sure she had read it in his eyes, but he was puzzled by whatever he was doing with the laptop. He lifted his head and suddenly, before she could break it, they had eye contact again. He smiled and snapped the lid shut.

“Can you do HTML programming?”
“Programming?!” Anna nearly choked on her coffee. “What on earth made you ask that?”
“Frustration, I think. Would it insult you if I thought you looked like someone who would know about it?”
“No, I just didn’t think I look like one.”
“You don’t. I’m sorry if I’ve offended you. Can I buy you another coffee to make up for it?”
“Well, I usually only have one...” Anna wasn’t sure whether she was being made game of.
“If you’ll have a coffee with me I’ll explain why I asked. You don’t even have to drink it. You can finish your poem while I’m getting it, and if you don’t really want to talk to me you’ll have a chance to make a getaway while I’m at the counter.” He smiled that warm smile again and Anna knew she’d stay.
“I’ll have a latte, please. Better make it skinny this time.”
She tucked her book into her handbag. It would give her the opportunity to make a quick escape if she needed to. He seemed quite nice though, the warmth of his smile was backed by something in his voice that made her feel quite warm inside. She was fairly certain it would all end in disaster but she had taken so many risks this past three years that another one was easily encompassed.

Outside the window the weather had cleared a little. It was clearly still windy, but the rain had moved on and bright sunlight was warming the puddles. As she watched the cathedral doors opened on the opposite side of the square and the congregation began to spill out; restive children accelerating onto the open flags, harassed parents in chase; the majority coalescing into small groups which merged and dissolved as the worshippers made their way slowly across the precinct to the buttery for refreshments.

She was watching the antics of a particularly active pair of boys for whom the service had clearly gone on too long when an arm entered her field of view with a coffee mug on the end of it. She looked up her companion sat down.
“Good, you’re still here.” He smiled. “We haven’t exchanged names yet. We can’t drink coffee without names. I’m Paul.” He stretched his arm across the table.
“Anna.” She favoured him with a smile of her own. “And you owe me an explanation.” She added to prevent him from asking her questions.
“Ah, yes. The programming. I don’t have a clue about it. I was looking at my friend’s website and it all stopped working. I don’t know if it’s something I’ve done and I’m something of a fool with computers.”
“It sounds as if your friend has got the wrong person to check their site.” She tried to get the right level of gentle tease into what could be interpreted as a critical comment.
“He would have, if I had been checking the workings, but I was just looking at his marketing. Still, I can’t do any more for him. I’ll let him know later and in the meantime I want to get on with my holiday. Perhaps you’re a local and can steer me towards the best things for a man to do with a quiet Sunday in this area?”
“I don’t know whether I can really help. I’m a visitor myself.”

Despite her initial fears Paul turned out to be a very easy companion. They talked happily about the attractions of the south west, the peace and beauty of the moors and how little there was to do on a rainy day. It was Paul’s suggestion that they tour the cathedral together. Anna had already done so but she was happy to revisit the splendour of the gothic arches and this time Paul paid a guide to take them up the tower to view the town from above. They lunched together on panini, back in the coffee shop. Over lunch they found that they both had a lot in common. Each in their late forties they were both divorced and as part of the divorce had sold a business. Anna had a feeling that his marketing business had been rather bigger and more valuable than her inherited dry cleaners had been but he didn’t make her aware of it in any way.

It was strange, Anna reflected in a quiet moment, that they should get on so naturally. They seemed to share a sense of humour and far too many interests. They were each here seeking a break from the pressures of life, walking on the moors and resting. Before lunch was over they had determined on a short drive in Paul’s car to the coast, a visit to the delights of the sea while the sun might just stay out.

The drive down in Paul’s coupe was delightful. They had liked similar music, way back in the Eighties, when they had been young, often seeing the same bands, but in different parts of the country. Paul had a selection of his favourite bands from that time playing on his iPod and although Anna didn’t feel brave enough to risk her voice in singing, they reminisced about fashions and gigs with many a mutual snort of laughter. Paul parked on the promenade, behind a row of colourful beach huts and they made their way through to the beach. Anna kicked off her shoes and gathered her skirt, running down the sand to dabble her toes in the water. Paul joined her quickly, having had to take longer unlacing his shoes, removing his socks and rolling up his jeans. The waves were rolling in in fine style, spreading cool foam up the rise of the beach, washing their feet in a gritty froth. Paul stood imitating Canute, some hundred miles further west and 1,500 years later. He had no more success than the historic king and the rolls of denim at his knee were wet before a laughing Anna pulled him back away and they set out on a mission to find ice cream.

The kiosk, when they found it, had a longish queue so Anna volunteered to buy while Paul sorted out his shoes and trousers. She took her opportunity to reflect on the day. It had probably been the best of her holiday, one of the first in a long time when she had forgotten her troubles and had been able to give her attention freely to someone else. She had been happy without even realising it and when she brought the towering spirals of sweet delight back she accepted his suggestion of another day out tomorrow with pleasure.

They walked back along the promenade licking their ice creams and making plans to walk the next day. Neither had yet attempted the highest of the tors and the forecast for the next day was favourable. For now the weather was deteriorating, and they paused to watch a storm gathering out in the jaws of the bay. A dark cloud had built up over the sea and was now towering over the headland to the west. Beneath it hung a dirty curtain of rain and they watched it progress steadily nearer and nearer.
“I miss the sea, you know,” Paul said. “I’ve been living in the city for far too long. You can never see far and the weather is only ever a nuisance, whatever it does, too hot, too cold, too wet.” He paused.
“I know what you mean.” Anna replied. “I grew up with fields behind my house, high on a hill. You could see for miles, across the Solway to Scotland. The clouds would pull together and march up the estuary, soaking first Dumfries, then Annan, then us. The hills would disappear one by one and you never had to rush in, you always knew what was coming.”
“I’d love to live somewhere like that.”
“It was lovely, but I could never go back. That was too far out in the wilds.” It was close enough to the truth to make an acceptable story. “I’ve become too used to having civilisation in reach. I need to be able to get into the wilds easily, but also to have a few of life’s amenities around me.”
“That’s a good point.” Paul agreed. “Having shops and restaurants in walking distance, or a short cab ride away is a hard thing to give up. I’ll have to find a compromise, a nice town with sea and wilderness nearby.”
“It’s a good dream. Do you think you will ever achieve it?”
“Maybe soon. The last of my children will be at University next year so I don’t have to worry about living near enough to support them, and I can move my business on line.”
“So it can be done.”
“I think so. Now I have a worthwhile goal. What about you?”
“I hadn’t really thought about it, but it certainly opens up some possibilities.”

They were about half way back to his car when the wind brought the storm in off the sea. He grabbed her by the hand and together they began to run towards the car, the rain, however had other ideas and the light shower suddenly intensified into large cold drops, bouncing up from the ground below their feet and striking exposed skin almost painfully. Paul veered their course towards a promenade shelter and together they huddled in, gasping for breath and laughing. Outside their temporary refuge the weather lashed impotently, inside they were suddenly aware of their proximity and the way their intimacy had grown so quickly over the day. They were both of a similar height and when Anna straightened up after pulling her hair back and tidying it out of her eyes she was suddenly struck by how close their two faces were together. It was clear that Paul was, too. The smile slowly faded from his face, replaced by a look that Anna had never seen so close to hers before and he leaned closer. She felt herself automatically sway towards him and their lips brushed. A wave of unfamiliar feelings washed over her, sweeping her up and as his arms closed around her waist, hers reached up to his neck to steady her wobbling legs. Her brain tried to frame a protest but it was overruled by a deep, primal instinct from somewhere much lower in her, her mouth opened to his and she let herself go, tumbling in the wave of her own emotions.

An age passed. Outside the shelter the rain hissed, flattening the surface of the sea, washing out their footprints from the sand and beating impotently on the roof. Inside it Anna was lost, her brain reeling in its own tempest, her body supplying messages she had thought it would never send again but deep inside her reluctant consciousness the alarms were ringing louder and louder. Eventually she summoned her strength, broke the kiss and tried to pull away. He looked at her with that idiot smile that all men employ when they are driven by their hormones but uncertain of the outcome. It helped her to pull back more firmly.
“Sit down, Paul.” She said firmly. “I’m not sure about this.” His face fell, and he sat, but he kept a firm hold of her hand. It felt good, but with her brain back in control of her body Anna couldn’t afford to give in to that feeling again.
“What’s the problem, do you have a terrible family secret?” His eyes held hers there was still warmth there, still hope. Anna‘s heart, until recently so buoyant, continued sinking.
“I wish it was that simple. I have to tell you this. Tell you now. I’ve made the mistake of getting too close to someone before I told them and the result was a disaster.” Disaster didn’t really cover the violent reaction of a man she had thought once loved her, the time in hospital and the months of heartbreak.
“Sounds a bit more serious, then. HIV? AIDS?” he was still holding her hand but she couldn’t let herself hope.
“Mmmm, nothing you could catch, but something you might hate even more.” She examined his face; he was waiting, encouraging her to speak with sympathetic silence.
“There is no easy way to put this and I’ve never really prepared for telling someone,” she paused briefly. “I’m transsexual. I had something go wrong with me in the womb. I’ve always been a woman but for a lot of my life I had a man’s body.”
Paul rocked back, visibly surprised. Anna closed her eyes and bowed her head, not wanting to see his fury, certain that her best hope of avoiding a beating for allowing him to kiss her was submission. At least it would be easier this way. It would hurt less physically and emotionally to be slapped for a kiss and left alone again now, before she built any hopes, any dreams on him.

They sat in silence for a long, long minute. Experiencing neither a blow nor a tirade, Anna raised her head slowly. Paul was looking at her, a long hard, questioning stare, as if he were trying to see through her armour of make-up and artifice, her skin and flesh to her soul itself. Tentatively she met his eye. He didn’t pull his gaze away, but neither did he speak. Eventually he broke the silence.
“Well, that was unexpected.”
Anna was unsure of what response he expected, so she remained silent. He hadn’t taken hold of her hand again, but he hadn’t left the shelter either.

“I don’t know quite what to make of it. I’ve never met anyone like you before.” He paused, considering how that might have come across. “I don’t mean transsexual, I mean so open. Although I don’t think I’ve met a transsexual either.”
There didn’t seem to be anything Anna could say to this either. The pause ran on.

“I really rather like you, and that was a wonderful kiss, but do you mind if we slow down a little?”
This did require a reply. “I think that’s probably the nicest response I could have expected.” Anna looked once more into his eyes. “Paul, I have really enjoyed the day we’ve had together, but I never had expectations of it and that kiss was something of a surprise. I’d like to keep it in my memory as part of a lovely day. Can we do that?”

“I think so. I’ve had a lovely time too, probably the best day I’ve spent without my children since my divorce.”

“So we can both go away with a pleasant experience.” Anna could hardly believe the words as they left her mouth. Part of her wanted to seize him again with both hands and kiss him again, abandoning all attempts at dignity or truth. But it was opposed by a fearful need to lift her skirt and run, perhaps to plunge into the sea to prevent such another encounter. And deep in her stomach there was rising wail of grief that she could never have the love she craved with every fibre of her being.

“I think there’s a gap in the weather. We should head back to the car before we are trapped here for the evening.”

Their journey back to town was much quieter than the drive down to the coast had been. Their easy flow of chatter and intimacy had been cut off, severed by her revelation and the joy of the day was leaching slowly out of it. Paul dropped her at her rented cottage and she slipped quietly out of the car, not offering her cheek for a peck but thanking him for the happy day.

Once inside she ran up to her bedroom and threw herself on her bed, face buried in her pillow letting the sobs well up and finally overcome her. They may have talked about walking tomorrow, but she knew he would not be there. He had been very nice about it, but how on earth could he overcome the shock of discovering that he had just kissed a man? She would have to forget him, go back to her life as a walking zombie, a creature of habit who trudged her way through a life of routine, never risking anything more and never experiencing real joy. The problem was that that one kiss had reawakened her, reignited a fire that she had long given up hope of ever experiencing again and she wasn’t sure that it could be re-extinguished. Too distraught to move she clutched her pillow tighter and let the grief take her into a long convulsive misery that eventually released her into an exhausted sleep.

The inevitable morning came clear and cool, the sunshine reaching in around the blossomless wisteria over her bedroom window caressed Anna’s face. The insistent warmth woke her gently, turning her over, away from her stained pillow and driving her from the bed. In the bathroom she surveyed the havoc that her night of tears had wreaked on her face, cleaning away the streaked mascara then pulling back her hair and plunging it into a basin of cold water. The grief had left her with a chilling despair and she resolved herself against it.
She forced herself into autopilot. They had planned to walk together on the moors, so she would still do that. She dressed herself in her walking clothes, took up her rucksack and made her way into the kitchen. Because of the upset of the previous evening she hadn’t been to the shops for lunch ingredients so, after checking the cupboards, she spread out her maps in the living room to try to find a route that would allow her to collect something to eat. There were two choices: a route that started in a small village where she could buy something before the start and another, which took a pub in at about lunchtime. The former was cheaper but in a small village store the choice of food would be limited; the latter was more expensive, a treat really, but would expose her to people and she wasn’t sure that she would be up to it. Neither was near to where he had planned to go so she would be safe from bumping into him. She was still there, studying the map when the doorbell rang.

Anna jumped up, pushing a stray lock of hair back behind her ear. She had no idea who it could be. She had no friends in the area, and didn’t expect deliveries or post. There was no view through the wooden door so it was a surprise when she opened it and found Paul on the step. She pulled back in shock, stammering. He didn’t follow her and seemed to be a little short of words himself.
“Er. Hi. Anna. I, er. We had sort of planned to go walking together.” Pause. “If you still want to, that is...”

Words failed her. She had been so much in control yesterday, now she had nothing more to give.

“Look, I behaved quite badly when you opened yourself up to me. If you tell me to go away I will, but I’d quite the chance to talk to you again.”
“Just talk?” The words staggered clumsily from her mouth.
“Well, that depends on what you want.” He didn’t look at all sure of himself and this was clearly not something he was used to.
“You’d better come in then.” The words leached from her mouth while her subconscious screamed at her that she must look awful, no makeup, hair unbrushed and tied back, in her old battered and unflattering walking clothes.

He took a step forward to come in, but she was blocking the door, unable to move. He lifted an arm to her waist, perhaps to guide her backwards, perhaps to comfort and she melted into it. His other arm stretched around her back and her head was in his shoulder, the tears coming again, not last night’s desperate wrenching cries, but a release of her resolve.

He supported her through to the kitchen and held her until she moved again, then lowered her gently into a chair, turning to find the kettle and some cups.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you, but I just couldn’t work out what to say or do with myself.”
“It’s OK,” she heard herself say. “It isn’t everyday you find you’ve just kissed someone who wasn’t what they seemed.”
“Yes, but that’s thing, isn’t it.” He sat down on the chair opposite her, two cups of coffee already on the table. “No-one is ever what they seem. I think, and it’s probably what why I kissed you, that you are one of the few people I’ve met who really is as they seem.”

“How do you mean?” Anna was puzzled.

“Mmm, I think I do need to explain it,” he took a sip of his coffee. Anna lifted her cup to do the same but his hand intercepted hers. “Don’t drink that. It’s vile. I’m so wrapped up in what I’m trying to say that I forgot to switch the kettle on.”

He held her hand for a little longer than perhaps he should have then eased her cup out of it, getting up and switching on the kettle. He poured the cold coffees away and turned back to face her.

“The thing is, it’s years since I talked to anyone the way I talked to you yesterday. The whole day flashed by as if it were five minutes. We have so much in common, you seem to understand me, and I thought I understood you. When we kissed it wasn’t a conquest kiss, the victory kiss after a long chase or even a duty kiss that comes towards the end of a long marriage. It was the most natural thing I’ve ever done.”

He paused as they both relived the kiss. Behind him the kettle bubbled and spluttered into disregarded silence. “And then you told me.” The silence that followed was as complete as it was short. “I think I blew it then. I couldn’t help but think that I had just kissed a man and that I had never done that or wanted to do that before.”

He could see her face start to contort and seized her hand to stop her from speaking. “I wasn’t revolted; I didn’t think it was wrong or that I would never want to do it again. It just turned my world upside down for a moment. And I didn’t know how to handle that. I think I know how much that must hurt you, and I don’t want you to be hurt. You see everything I have known about you says woman. The way you act, the way you think, the way I respond to you, everything. So I know I didn’t kiss a man.”

To give her a chance to recover herself he turned back around to the kettle and busied himself with the cups again.
“I knew that before you’d finished explaining but something still held me back. I’ve been hurt a lot recently and something just stopped me. I knew I had offended you, but I just couldn’t work out what I thought.”

“It’s OK, I do understand, I’m fine this morning.” Anna protested. Paul turned around with two fresh cups of coffee which he placed between them on the table. For a moment they were both silent, each intent on the curls of steam rising from the cups.

“But are you though?” Paul’s question was rhetorical and Anna stayed quiet, her eyes still on her cup. “After I dropped you off here I went back to my cottage. I couldn’t settle. I kept running the events of yesterday up and down in my mind. Everything we did, everything we said to each other, all the things we liked and agreed on. The way you were excited by climbing the tower; your laughter when I played the fool on the beach; running in the rain; all of it. I knew that we had left things in a place where I could just walk away. You would know that it was the end and everything was clean.” He reached across the table again and gently took her hands. Anna kept her gaze firmly on the ethereal spirals of steam.

“But I couldn’t get you out of my head. I think it was about midnight when I knew I had to see you again. So then I had this other dilemma. Your little gender thing. I kept trying to straighten out in my head how I felt about you. Did it mean I was gay? Did it really matter if I was? How might my children react? But the real problem with all this was that it just didn’t make sense. I couldn’t stack it up and make sense of it at all.” He lifted one hand away from hers and gently smoothed a tear back up her face with his thumb.

“It must have been two o’clock this morning before I realised that it didn’t make sense because it just doesn’t make sense. Yesterday I met a woman that I really like, who had fun in all the ways that I have fun and that I really want to know better.” His hand, still cupping her cheek, pressed it gently upwards until she was forced to look at him.

“I didn’t see a man and I don’t care if anyone else does. Yesterday we both thought that your honesty had destroyed anything we might have had. I need to tell you that it doesn’t matter who you might have once been, I want to know the woman I met yesterday better, if she can ever forgive me.”

Anna’s vision blurred as the tears came back to her eyes and before she knew it they were standing, wrapped tightly together, her tears a rapidly fading memory.

A week or so ago I posted a short atmospheric piece triggered by an experience on the river bank. This is for those who found it too dark: it is, if you like, an antidote to Elegy. You inspired it, thank you.

A perfect V formed on the rivers surface, moving upstream fast. At its head an arrow point formed by a racing eight, the crew sweating at their oars, sunlight glittering on the drops of spray as each blade reached its zenith before plunging back into the river to drive the boat on. A fish’s eye could make out the name of the boat club, and the boat’s name, Eros, on the bow. An eagle’s eye, following the arrow could see ahead, on a bend in the river, a small wooden boat pulled into the reeds, secluded from both the bank and much of the river by willows. Reclining on the bench seat at the back a couple in their mid-thirties, the remnants of a picnic spread before them sat watching the sparks of sunlight on the bubbles in their glasses. A long, contented silence had preceded this moment. She had her glass in one hand; the other dangled immaculate pink nails in the water. Her eyes, beneath her wide straw hat, were dreamily half closed taking in the river and the broad, strong shoulders of the rowers coming towards them. He stirred, breaking the easy calm.

“Amanda, this last week has been one of the happiest I can remember.”
She smiled and turned to face him.
“Me too; we have had a lot of fun, haven’t we?”
“I don’t want it to finish.”
“I know, but we have lives to go back to.”
He took a deep breath.
“I want to go on seeing you. We’ve had some wonderful days out, but I want to know you better than that. I really like you.”
She carefully put her glass down, smoothed her daisy speckled dress, and took his hand gently in hers.
“Peter, you are a lovely, kind, funny man. You will make someone very happy one day. But you hardly know me. We’ve had a really good time, but it has to end now.”
“I don’t see why. You only live fifty miles away. We can both travel to meet up. Just because your assignment is over, doesn’t mean it all has to stop. I’ve never met any one like you before. I… ”
She cut him off with a kiss.
“I have never felt so close to someone so quickly before either. But there are problems with our having a relationship that you just can’t conceive. I want to take these happy days and keep them in a box that I can open whenever the world is treating me badly. I want to remember that there is one person that I didn’t hurt, and who never let me down.”
She put her hand on his cheek and reached up to kiss him again, but he pulled away.
“We all have our pasts,” he protested. “Whatever you have done, and I don’t for one minute think that you could have done anything very terrible, whatever you’ve done I can accept you for it. It’s not your past; it’s who you are now that I want to know better.”
A tear formed in her eye. “Please leave it. You’re only going to hurt us both, and you’re spoiling this beautiful afternoon.”
He wiped the tear gently away, took her in his arms and held her close.

They sat in silence, gradually relaxing again, each deep in their own thoughts. The river was quiet. The eight was resting, and only birdsong reached the bend in the river. A kingfisher flashed by, an iridescent cobalt blur. They both watched it go.
“Wasn’t that beautiful?”
“Like you.” Peter lifted her head and kissed her again. “I was thinking. When something that beautiful passes you by, you have two choices. You can let it pass, or you can pursue it to see where it went, and try to glimpse it again.”
Amanda looked up at him, warily, a flash of blue lace showing beneath the strap of her dress.
“I know about your past,” he continued. “If that is what’s worrying you, then you can forget it. I don’t care.”
“How did you know?” Her eyes were wide with horror.
“Trevor told me at work what you had been and what you want to do with your life. He waited until he could see we were getting close. He likes to play with people,” He made no attempt to disguise his contempt for his colleague. “I told him it didn’t matter and took you out that night to spite him. While we were at dinner I realised it was true. It doesn’t matter. You are beautiful, intelligent and witty; you care for people in a way that people like Trevor could never understand; just looking at you makes my day. So you see, you can’t hurt me and I won’t let you down.”
More tears formed in her eyes as she put her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply. This time he didn’t pull away.

Downstream, the crew of the Eros pulled steadily for the boathouse, their day’s work done.

The rapid was like so many things in life: very easy to get into, not so simple to get out. That was part of the attraction. The glassy green tongue of the river slotted neatly into a foaming diagonal wave. I picked my line in carefully, lazily slanting my kayak across the tongue and then driving it squarely through the wave into the eddy beyond. Phil followed me in, overpowering his last stroke and spinning into me. He roared with laughter, the way we both did when we didn’t get something quite right, covering up the fear of the one time that it might really matter.

“Where next?” I asked. He grinned at me, eyes holding mine, looking for the bond that joined us. I laughed back, channeling my adrenaline into excitement, away from fear.

“Cross over, hit the right hand side of the wave train, drop between the boulders and break out into the eddy behind the left one. Just follow me,” he replied.

Inspecting rapids helps you to identify where you need to be on the water, and where you can take refuge to get your breath. It can also make you nervous, focus you on the hazards he was avoiding mentioning. If I have a fault, paddling, it’s that. When I’m reading rapids sometimes all I can see is the rocks, the stoppers (recycling waves that hold you) and the trees. I have to stop, draw breath and look back again, drawing the lines of messy water that a kayak can dance along, connecting top to eddy to bottom in a joyous, skipping flow. We’d spent ten minutes eating trail mix and joining the dots. James and Mia had opted out, portaged past and were waiting anxiously at the bottom, rescue ropes at the ready.

Phil nodded, then led out and I followed. I felt the tug of the water as I crossed the flow and turned onto the planned line. Phil was already five metres ahead, passing between the boulders and setting his boat up for the turn into the calm below. I focused, not thinking too far ahead, placing each paddle stroke carefully: left on the crest of the wave, right in the clean flow of the next tongue, pushing myself neatly into the top of the eddy. Phil looked nervous again, scanning the water below, which quickly faded to nothing more than a horizon line, and a faint mist of spray below. I could see James’ head; the rest of him was hidden below the fall.

“Are you sure of your line?” The shake in his voice was barely perceptible. If I didn’t know him so well I wouldn’t have spotted it. His blue eyes sparkled under his helmet.

I started kayaking looking for something positive, manly even, to talk about; something that would let me hold my head up in the pub when people talked of rugby or football - sports I couldn’t play and didn’t enjoy watching. It had the advantages that no-one I knew was likely to see me fail and if I failed in the right place it even might put me out of my misery . As luck would have it I found my happy place, small plastic boats on rivers, and I was planning to take them with me into transition.

“Absolutely. Your turn to follow.”

I drove my boat out into the flow, bows upstream, crossing the flow in a ferry glide, watching for the right hand rock to be in the right place, then whirled around, accelerated towards the lip of the fall and planted my paddle squarely on the edge, pushing out in a perfect trajectory, crossing the wave below, barely touching it and pulling clear of the turbulent water. I turned the boat around in time to see Phil do the same, falling a little short, but snatching himself back with a powerful stroke.

We spun into an eddy, one after the other laughing, bodies flooding with exhilaration, hitting a high five which morphed into a hug, then a kiss. I felt him react, stiffen, and pull away. Mia’s shriek of delight from the bank above tailed off in surprise. I looked into his startled eyes and knew: I was going to have to find a new paddling partner.

For now, though, it looked as if I would be coming out.

When Andrew Cawood's life begins to unravel an unlikely angel offers him a choice.

In life choices are never as easy as we would like them to be.

Part 1 of 2

The whiskey burned his throat as it went down. It wasn’t what he usually drank but the spreading warmth in his stomach told him it was what he needed. He put his glass back on the table and stared at it.

“You look like you needed that, Andy. Rough day?” The barman was smiling at him.

“You don’t know the half of it, Nick.” Andrew looked into the barman’s eyes. You could see tiredness around the edges but the lines were from laughter rather than stress. The bar was busy with a festive crowd but Andrew Cawood was a customer that he made time for.

“Let me get you another one. On the house.” Nick turned away to the row of optics and offered up a clean glass. Andrew watched him. He wouldn’t be so friendly tomorrow when they announced that Cawood Engineering, the town’s biggest employer would be sold. Everyone knew that if Global Systems got their hands on it production would be moved to Eastern Europe before the week was out. The snow that was falling outside would last a little longer than that. Global was buying the company to get it’s the patents and Andy was going to have to sell it. The factory was an inconvenience to them.

His free whiskey slid down more easily than the one before. They had that habit. They weren’t helping. The company was still going to be sold and there was nothing more he could do about it. The offer he had been forced to pass on to the shareholders would sell. There was no other way they could ever recoup their investment and in the current economic climate how could they possibly refuse.

He looked at his empty glass and pulled out his wallet. He seemed to come to a decision and he dropped a twenty pound note on the counter. Nick was serving someone else so he walked quietly out of the bar. It was at times like this that the need rose in him. He couldn’t face anyone with the need so strong. He had nowhere to go. No refuge. He needed a trip, some privacy in a hotel room but right now, when he was the centre of attention in a hostile takeover, he had nowhere to go. He walked away from the tinselled tumult of the pub, past his car and turned left towards the river. There was snow falling and the cold cut through his suit jacket, dispelling the warmth of the whiskey and the pub. He didn’t care. He wasn’t going to need it.

The footbridge over the river was quiet. No-one in their right minds would be out in this weather, which said a lot about his state of mind. He walked unsteadily out to the middle of the bridge and looked over. In the whirling snow the water below was oblivion black. He shivered as he took hold of a cable, pulling himself up and his legs over the handrail. The cold of the metal rail bit into his legs as he steadied his breathing. In his jacket pocket his phone vibrated and a cheery ring tone told him it was Emma. He pulled it out and looked at the picture that came up on the screen. A tear ran down his cheek as he pressed the cancel button and threw he phone away from him. He knew that Emma would be putting their daughters to bed, calling him in the hope that he could give the girls a good night message of love. He couldn’t face it. He needed to keep his resolve. He closed his eyes. The picture that came into his mind was not his wife and children, but himself, walking away from that afternoon’s meeting with the investment they needed. In the image Andrew’s hair was pulled back, she wore a straight skirt and a matching jacket. She had been successful because, for the first time in her life, she had been able to concentrate fully on the task in hand, without the constant distraction of knowing that she was the wrong person, in the wrong body at the wrong time. There was no way back and no way of fixing it. There was no hope.

He felt a thump in his back, propelling him towards the water. His hand slipped on the bridge cable and he began to topple forward, the blackness spreading itself out to envelop him.

“Saved Ya!” a voice screeched in his ear and then a pair of arms wrapped themselves around his middle and, taking advantage if his momentary imbalance, pulled him backwards. They tumbled together into the snow. Andrew was aware that he had the softer landing. He flailed his arm out and rolled to get off the body below him. He hauled himself to his feet struggling for breath and his dignity.

“Who asked you to save me? I didn’t need saving. I was just taking a look at the river.” He tailed off as he got a look at his tackler. She was dressed in black and stood out against the snow.

“Yeah, right. You don’t have to do all that for me. I’m not from round here. You don’t have an image to protect. You were going to jump, weren’t you?” She moved towards him, not at all ruffled by having him land on her, kohl ringed eyes locked on his, an admonitory finger thrust up into his face.

“You don’t know that. I might have been admiring the view. It’s a stunning one from here, you know.” Even as he said it he wished the words back in. Swirls of snow around street lights were all that could be seen beyond the bridge ends.

“Nice try. Want another go? ” There was something about her smile that drew him in. It carried something stronger too. A message that here was someone he should confide in. He was puzzled by it.

“Alright. I was thinking about jumping. I don’t know if I would have done it though.”

“You would have. I was sent to save you.”

“I would...? You were sent to...? Who sent you?”

“Can’t tell you. Not allowed to confirm or deny the presence of a higher power.”

“Higher power? Who are you?”

“Cassiopeia, AC2.” She waved a hand at him, as if he mid=gth shake it, but withdrew it before he could.

“What? Who?”

“Cassiopeia, I’m an AC2.”

“Cassio...? Hey, what’s an AC2?”

“Angel, second class.”

“You’re an angel? You don’t look much like an angel. Aren’t they supposed to be white? And where’s your wings?”

“Don’t got no wings. Look.” She did a twirl, hitching up her long black skirt and going onto her points. The effect was spoiled by her long black laced up kick-the-door-down boots. The back of her black lace blouse was wing free. “I get wings when I make the next grade. Class one. I love having wings. I’ve been promoted three times.”

Andrew shivered. Suddenly he was really cold. “What are you doing here, anyway? What do you want with me.”

“I came to save you. You are my challenge.”

“I don’t want saving. I want to die. I’ve let everyone down, I’m worth more to my family dead and I really do hate myself and there isn’t any way out of it.”

“I bet you don’t really hate yourself. I bet that you think if we changed one thing about you’d love yourself again.”

“Why would you say that?” Andrew gave her a long, suspicious look.

“Come off it. I’m an angel. I now lots of things. You’d better get your head round this. Angels are here to help you. You don’t have a guardian angel because there are just too many of you these days, but we do try to be there for the good ones when we can.”

“You think I’m one of the good ones? I’ve deceived my family, I’ve lost the business my father built up and the new owner’ll put half the town out of work after Christmas.”

“You care. You’re main concern in all of this hasn’t been your own reward, but the whole business. You put your family and your employees before your own needs all the time. We don’t want to see that drive you to your death. I can help you, but you have to tell me how.”

“You’ll think I’m loopy.”

“Nah. Not allowed to. Anyway, I already know. You have to tell me. I can’t do anything for you unless you tell me. Make a wish, if you like.”

“I wish I’d been born a woman.”

“That’s it?”

“I’ve screwed this life up because I’ve never really managed to be happy. I know if I hadn’t been constantly fighting with who I am I would have made a much better job of it.”

“That’s easy then. Much easier then wishing you’d never been born. Isn’t there a pub over there?”

“Yes. It’s just round the corner.”

“Let’s go and get a drink then.”

“That’s it? Aren’t you going to grant my wish or anything?”

“Don’t you think I would, if I could?” Cassiopeia started walking off the bridge. Andrew found himself need a short run to keep up.

“What was all that about then?”

“All what?”

“Making me wish when you couldn’t grant it.”

“I could grant it.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“I did.”

“You...” Andrew looked down. This body wasn’t his. He had a body that was capable of running three miles in the morning before breakfast. This body hadn’t so much as run for a bus for several years. If she was ever going to run anywhere now she would need a serious sports bra. On the plus side she was dressed more warmly now. Ugg boots, jeans, several sweaters and a down jacket suggested that she had been more prepared for the weather this morning. She could feel her bra binding under the mass of clothes. She pulled on the angel’s arm.

“What have you done? Who am I?”

“You’re you. The you that you would have been if you’d been born a girl.”

“I thought I’d be younger. I’ve missed all the best bit.”

“No you haven’t. You were born a girl. That means you’ve lived it all already. You can remember it.”

Andrew was silent for a minute. She struggled for a moment to hold two conflicting sets of memories in her head, and then they stopped fighting, and lay in her head side by side. She found that she could slide easily between the two. She was Jayne, a contented woman, but she could somehow shift her focus and she was once again Andrew, a man with a massive conflict and a rage that he continually had to suppress. She looked in confusion at the angel.

“What’s going on, how can I be two people at once?”

“You aren’t, you’re just you. You’re two different you’s. The you that you have always wanted, no that’s wrong isn’t it? Needed to be, and the you that you were."

“Why am I both?”

“I want to give you chance to try the other you on. To see what you and your life would have been like.”

“You’re giving me what I always wanted. Why are you doing it this way?”

“It is a huge difference. I thought you should see both sides for a little while. It might affect how you feel about it.”

“But if I have become who I always was, wanted to be, the other me won’t have existed and I won’t know about him. Why would I even think twice about choosing?”

“You aren’t thinking straight. It’s not that easy. You have lived that life. I can’t take you back to live a new one. I can’t remove your past. It will always live on for you, a story that you will know but can never tell. So you have to have the chance to undo it before it is too late. Come on. Let’s take a look at this new world where you were always a woman. Is that bar along this way?”

“It’s not far. If you’re cold, why don’t you fly us there?”

“No wings, remember?”

“Oh, yes, you lost them. Trust me to get an incomplete angel. How did you lose them, anyway?”

“I was busted. It’s the third time. I can’t help it. I see something interesting and lose focus or get too close to someone and screw up. Then they bust me back down and I have to start again.”

“And I’m your promotion project?”

“Yes and no. If everything works out for you I’ll get promoted again and have some coolio wings. But that’s not why I’m here. I’d be here, doing this, whether I could get promoted or not. We have syempathy, you and I.”

“Syempathy?”

“It’s a good word, isn’t it?”

“It might be, if I knew what it meant?”

“It’s new. It’s sort of a cross between sympathy and empathy. It means we understand how each other are and want to help each other.”

“You mean, you know about the feelings I’ve always had?”

“Yes. I had them myself, once.”

“Angels get gender dysphoria? I don’t know if I can believe you.”

“I wasn’t an angel then. I was a boy, except that I wasn’t, really.”

“Then how did you become...?”

“I was standing where you were one day. But there weren’t angels spare to look after me and I jumped.”

“When I last went to church they told me that was a direct route through to hell.”

“What did they know? The scriptures were written by some fat old men who, if they lived today, would wear suits and advise governments.”

“So if I’d jumped I’d have become an angel?”

“Not necessarily. It depends a lot of other factors. I don’t really know what the progression was. I just knew that I’d made a lot of people very unhappy and I wanted to help people. Next thing I know I’m an angel.”

“You don’t look much like an angel.”

“You said that already. Can’t angels be Goths? Is that in a scripture too?”

“No, I, er, I didn’t...”

“It’s alright. Just teasing. I can look however I like. It’s one of the good things about the job. If I concentrate hard I can get promoted again and then I’ll be promoted up to AC1. Archangel,” she explained, catching sight of the look on Jayne’s face. “I do good at that and I get to go up to another level of existence.”

“What’s that like?”

“I don’t know. Don’t know if I want to. I kinda like it here.”

“You didn’t get demoted by accident, did you?”

“I’m not going to answer that question. Oh look, there’s the pub. Are you going to buy me drink for saving you?” Cassiopeia pushed the door open and stood aside to let Jayne through. The bar looked as if nothing had been invested in it for years. It was quiet and her feet stuck to the carpet as she walked to the bar. A dejected length of tinsel ran the length of a bar that badly needed a wipe down. Jayne barely noticed. The inner joy that had been bubbling in her since she had become aware of her change powered her to the bar.

“I’ll have my usual, please, Nick, and what do you want, Cassieopeia?”

“Just call me Cass,” the angel whispered, taking hold of her arm. “I’ll have a snowball, please.”

“That’s enough of the comedy act.” Nick gave them a sour look. “How would I know your usual? You've never been in here before. I haven’t got all night.”

“A whiskey, please, Nick, and a...” Jayne looked at Cass.

“You really don’t have snowballs?”

“Do we look like the kind of bar that serves snowballs? What you see is what we got. Are you old enough to be in here?”

“I’m much older than I look. Just give me a coke, please, then you don’t have to worry.”
Jayne unzipped her jacket, snagging it in her bag strap on the down.

“This is strange. I have all these new memories but I’m struggling to remember some simple things.”

“You’ll soon get the hang of it. Anything you’re not sure about. Just ask me. It’s why I’m still here.”

“Well, I do have to pop to the toilet.”

“I’m not helping with that. You won’t have any trouble. I’ll be out here, getting the drinks.”

The Ladies toilet was far from clean and it was unheated. Jayne suppressed the urge to check out her new anatomy. She was tempted but between the cold and her new memories making everything feel familiar it didn’t seem important. She made sure she touched the fewest possible surfaces as she left the cubicle, pausing to study her reflection in the mirror. She was herself. Her face was recognisable, rounder and softer, Andrew hiding behind trimmed eyebrows and a wider mouth. Her body was rounded in the places he had always wanted it to be and more. She was carrying weight, and her clothes were cut for comfort and cold weather. They weren’t the stylish clothes that Andrew would have chosen. She probed her memories and found some of a younger Jayne, a party girl who had definitely glammed herself up. She smiled at her reflection and liked what she saw.

In the bar, Cass was waiting for her at a small table in the middle of the room. The pub was quiet, making her the centre of attention. Jayne sat down on an uncomfortable stool.

“What’s happened to this place, it’s changed?”

“I thought we might come to that. You’ve got two sets of memories in your head, haven’t you?”

“I’m not sure they really feel like two sets. My old memories have sort of pushed over in my head. This life’s memories are the strong ones now. My old life has sort of shunted sideways and it’s like a story someone told me.”

“For a limited time you can shunt them either way. You can choose which life you remember.”

“But I know which life I want. I mean, I’m not as fit as I was, and I have a lot less money, but I’m who I should always have been.”

“That’s not the point. You’re the person you always could have been. Genitals don’t make as much difference to who people are as the papers would have you think. But if you have that basic unease with your identity then it affects the choices you make about your life. Many people have their lives destroyed by the disconnection. Others are driven by it and make more of their lives. You are one of the lucky ones. I’m giving you a choice, but it wouldn’t be fair to have to make the choice without all the information. So we’re going to make a tour. We’re going to take a look at both lives so that you can choose properly.”

“But how can you do that?”

“I’m an angel. Didn’t I tell you?” Cass put her tongue out. It gave her a cheekily demonic look.

“Yes. You said, but how does it work?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Don’t you think I can understand it?”

“It’s not you, it’s me. I don’t understand it. That’s why I can’t tell you?”

“Have you put anything in that coke?”

“No. I’m like this naturally. Drink up now, we’ve got a long way to go.” Cass swallowed her drink and stood up, twirling around on her chunky booted heels.

“Oi! Pack it in. You’ll break the furniture.” Nick, the barman, gave her a sour look from the other side of the bar.

“Don’t you allow happy in here?”

“Never heard of it.” Cass made a face at him, took hold of Jayne’s arm and turned towards a door in the side wall of the bar. Jayne didn’t remember there being a door here before, but she let herself be led through it.

When Kate and Rob wake up in each others bodies they have no idea why, how, or even who they are now. To make matters worse they have very little time to sort it all out.

Join them for a roller coaster ride around the seedier parts of London, and a visit to the Home of English Rugby, and pray that Kate does not have to play rugby, because that would be a disaster.

With thanks to Hope and BOUSER for the editing.

TURNABOUT TIME

I woke up knowing that all was not well. I groaned, rolled over in bed and reached for the alarm. I switched on the bedside lamp and rubbed my reluctant eyes until they agreed to open. As my hands swam into focus it became horrifyingly obvious that these were not my hands, these hands were hairy; they had short stubby nails and no rings. I turned them over, they had calluses on the palms. I sat up in bed and took in my surroundings. The room was a mess; there were clothes scattered all over the floor, shirts, jeans, socks and underpants were lying about in crumpled heaps. I looked down at my body. I was wearing a pair of Boxer shorts, but that was not the worst thing I could see; I had hair on my breasts! No wait a minute, whatever these were, they were not breasts!

I staggered through to the bathroom, undeniably aware of extra equipment rubbing between my legs and looked blearily in the mirror. Short dark hair, sticking up in one or two places, red rimmed eyes stared, shocked, out of a frame of stubble. The hair on my chest was all pervading. It came up my arms and met on my shoulders. The shoulders seemed to spread out forever. Horrifyingly there was more hair peeping out from under my arms — and how much muscle was there on those arms? I felt like crying, or screaming, but somehow it felt wrong to do either. I sat down on the toilet to take stock. The face in the mirror had looked familiar, but it wasn’t me. I am a woman, not a man. Surely this was a nightmare? I did the clichéd thing and pinched myself. No change. I put my head in my hands and groaned. It didn’t make me feel any better. I know I had been out drinking and dancing with the girls last night, but I had never had a hangover like this.

I had never achieved much in my life, but I hadn’t set out to. I would describe myself as a party girl. My life up to now had been a ball. I loved everything about myself, long brunette hair, nice figure, a taste for dance and an outgoing optimistic character. I had a reasonable job as a marketing assistant, and a nice little flat in a not too shabby part of London. I had easy access to the tube for work, and more importantly for getting out at the weekend. I earned enough money to holiday wherever the nightlife was best and I had no plans to do anything else just yet. Carpe Diem was the rule I lived my life by. I had a large and ever changing group of friends and I was seldom at a loss for company. All in all, I loved my life. The future could wait, now was the focus of everything I did, and I had little patience with anyone who wanted me to do more. Nothing in my life had prepared me for this. I groaned some more, but it still wasn’t helping. So what should I do? Try to find out what was going on.

I found a terry towel bathrobe on the back of the door and pulled it on. In my normal life I am a very organised woman, but the state of the bedroom did not lead me to expect the same of the man I seemed to have become. In this I was surprised. Downstairs the house was clean and tidy. A jacket hung on the banister, and the kitchen was clean. I put the kettle on and looked for some tea to help me think. Just my luck, to make matters worse I had become a coffee drinker. There was no tea in the cupboards at all.

The coffee did not taste nearly as bad as I thought it would. When I got to my second cup I was feeling a lot livelier and the panic attack was beginning to ease. Now I would be able to think. I began a search of the flat looking for some more information. There was post behind the door addresses to Mr R Seton. Could this be me now? I opened the first, a bank statement. I was surprised to find that I was pretty well off. There was the kind of balance in the account that I have only seen before with a minus sign in front. I sat stunned, and for a moment. Whatever was doing this to me had a very twisted sense of humour. Just the night before, on my Friday night out I had publicly wished that I could afford to shop in the most fashionable shops. Now I could, but there wasn’t going to be much in there that would fit me.

I left the rest of the mail and searched for more evidence of who I was now. I found a wallet in a pair of jeans upstairs, and searched it. There were a couple of gold credit cards and an exclusive black one. In a separate pouch I found driving licence with a picture I recognised from the mirror in the name of Robert Andrew Seton. There was about  £50 in notes and several receipts pushed into the back, and in a pouch at the front, a condom. I looked at it in disgust. At least it hadn’t been used.

In the jacket I found two pass cards in the name of Rob Seton and the penny finally dropped. One card was for a top flight Rugby team, and the other was an RFU card that would let me into the player’s area at Twickenham. I was in the body of an England Rugby player. Now don’t get me wrong: I am normally as keen on Rugby as any girl. All those fit, strong bodies, all that rampant testosterone. I have watched the game with my Dad since forever, and have even been to Twickenham to watch some games. I understand the rules, can argue the toss over a decision in the pub and scream myself hoarse when the play gets near the line. But that is as far as it goes. My rugby playing ambitions have been limited to dreaming about tackling Johnny Wilkinson, and not in the mud. Playing has never been an option. The nearest I have got to that level of physicality and competition was in the sales two years ago when some flashy cow wanted the same designer handbag as me and there was only one left. I lost, but she must have had nail marks in her arm for a week afterwards.

As any good Rugby fan knew there was an International coming up, a friendly with Australia, but since we beat them in the World Cup final four years ago, there wasn’t likely to be much friendly about the game. Oh No! Had Rob Seton been selected? And wasn’t the game tomorrow? This was going from bad to worse. Plan: I needed a plan and quickly before a panic attack claimed me and took over.

First things first: Selection? I found a desk in the living room and rifled it. I didn’t have to look far. On top of the mess of papers was a letter from the English RFU confirming my place in the team and outlining the next two days. I needed to be in Twickenham for a press call at two. I found a clock — it was nine thirty, plenty of time. What next? More information. Who could tell me what would be expected? This was a bit more of a puzzler. The only person I could think of, who would really know, was Rob Seton. I didn’t even know who his friends would be on the team to ask them. I was Rob Seton now.

Slowly, with a great deal of rattling around the sides of the container, the penny dropped. If I was in Rob’s body, could he be in mine? Or could I still be in mine? Or would it be someone else? What if there had been a multi-way swap? I wished I had read less science fiction and magic books. There was one way to find out. I picked up the phone and then realised that I did not know my own mobile number. I thought for a moment and then rang my parents. Who doesn’t remember the number that parents drill into their children throughout their childhood? My mother answered the phone.

“Hi mu…er is that Mrs Menteith?”

“Yes, who’s calling please?”
That was my mum’s posh phone voice, reserved for strangers. It was even stranger to hear that than the deep bass voice with which I had asked.

“This is Rob. I’m a friend of Kate’s. She sent me this number instead of her own, and I wondered if you could let me have her mobile number?”

“I’m not sure about that,” She sounded suspicious. “How well do you know her? She hasn’t mentioned you before and I don’t give out her number to just anyone you know.” Damn. I hadn’t thought of this. Maybe fast thinking under pressure wasn’t my forte after all.

“Er, good point. I haven’t known her long. I promised to get her some tickets for Twickenham.” Think fast, how can get her trust — tell her something I would only have told a close friend. “She was telling me about how her father used to take her to England matches and she was so excited that she jumped up when they scored a try and then sat on her ice-cream. She said it spoiled her day and she cried for half an hour afterwards. She said she doesn’t tell many people that and if her Dad tells the story she claims she cried because England lost.”

A bit tenuous I know, but if I told her I knew about birthmarks or more intimate secrets I would be lost in potential husband territory, and I know myself too well to want to marry me. It seemed to make her think.
“Give me your number young man, and I’ll call you back with hers. I want to know that I can find you if you turn out to be a stalker.”

Oh no! What was my number now? Fortunately amongst the morning’s post there was a bill from the mobile phone company. I ripped it open.

“OK, just a minute, sorry, I always have difficulty remembering my own number, just like Kate. That was why she gave me yours — she couldn’t remember hers. Here it is:”
I read the number off the top of the bill and put the phone down. Minutes later she rang me back.

“I tried to ring Kate to check you out but she isn’t answering.” She told me. “She is probably still in bed. She doesn’t do mornings you know.”
“She told me. But I would still like to try.”
She gave me the number and we rang off. However it had felt to be treated like a stranger by my own mother, it wasn’t even close to the feeling I got calling my own phone. It was answered by a very small voice.
“Hello, who is that?”
“It’s Kate. Only I’m not. Is that Rob?”
The voice on the other end caught a sob and choked it off.
“What’s going on?”
“If only I knew. I think we should get together.”
“Can you come here? I don’t think I can face the outside.”

It was a big relief to be in this with someone else, and not on my own. It gave me some more strength, an ability to act, so I went back to the bedroom and the unsavoury task of finding some clean underwear. Unexpectedly there was some in the drawers, I took a T-shirt and some clean jeans out, then looked for shoes. There was a pair under the bed, the only pair I could find both of. They looked big and heavy, but fit me well enough. It wasn’t until I tried to walk in them that I really noticed the difference. It was like having two blocks of concrete attached to each foot, and I felt as if I was swinging demolition balls forward with every step. How I missed my dainty shoes.

His keys were on the floor by the door, so I left the flat and found his car outside by experimenting with the remote unlocking until I saw which one flashed its lights: an Audi. There was something good about the day after all. I got in and the seat was set up right for me. Navigation is not something that comes naturally to me, but I still knew where my own flat was. First though, I needed to know where this was. I wrote down the street name and cruised out to the end. I decided to go as straight ahead as I could until I found somewhere I knew, and it only took a few roads before I recognised Islington High Street: a posh area. He wasn’t going to be happy when he worked out where I lived.

Driving his car would have been a pleasure in other circumstances. It was comfortable, quiet and powerful. Saturday morning traffic was its usual mess, but it just wasn’t as stressful when you had this level of luxury. The fear of what I might be about to find, and of what we might have to do kept me from relaxing too much though.

Home was both frighteningly familiar and yet different. I was suddenly aware of how much larger I was now. I rang the doorbell, the curtain twitched and then the door opened. Rob had clearly been waiting for me, and I was astounded at how much smaller she (I?) was. It is quite impossible to describe how you feel when you meet yourself. The face before me, though tear stained, was the one I had looked at in the mirror for an hour every morning. She was wearing my peach bathrobe, her hair was a tangled mop and she looked every bit as shocked as I felt. This was going to take some getting used to, or hopefully not. She led the way through to the kitchen/diner and perched on a chair. I joined her, and tried to cross my legs, but encountering an unexpected obstacle just sat with my legs a little awkwardly apart. She made a visible effort and spoke.

“Do you know what is going on and whether we can do anything about it?”
“I haven’t a clue. I had hoped you would be able to shed some light on it.”
A tear escaped from the corner of her eye. She wiped it away angrily.
“This is too much. I just keep crying, and its stopping me from thinking.”
“Don’t do that please. We need to think together. I don’t want to stay in this body and I don’t want to play Rugby.” I was close to tears, but they didn’t come.
“Don’t you get emotional too. Damn these tears. We have to concentrate. What could do this to us?”
“I have no idea. I can’t think. I just keep panicking.”
“OK, we need to research. Do you have the internet here?”
“Why would I have the internet? I don’t even have a computer. I spend enough time in front of them at work.” At last the tears came. Great wrenching sobs from a body that didn’t really know how to cry. Rob sat still and waited patiently for me.
“I have one. We’ll have to go back to my flat. You need to be there this morning anyway. There is a big game tomorrow and they will be coming to do a drug test later this morning. Can you help me pick something out to wear?”

This was much safer ground. Clothes, I understand. Rob went into the bathroom to shower and I went through to my bedroom where I took some underwear from the drawer. A short look in the wardrobe produced a pair of blue jeans, a white blouse and a cardigan. It was chilly outside.

While she finished showering I took a look around my flat. It was a very creepy feeling. Until yesterday this had been my territory, I had fitted into it like a hermit crab in its shell. Now, although everything was familiar and loved, it did not seem to be mine. The scale was wrong for a start. Everything was smaller and there was little room to move in. I twice hit my head on dangling ornaments that were now far more annoying than beautiful. Rob called me back to the bedroom.

“Kate, I can’t wear these!”
“What’s wrong with them?” She was holding up the underwear. “I wear them all the time.”
“They’re too small and skimpy. Don’t you have anything more substantial?”
“No I don’t. Anyway, bet you’d have liked them if we were in our own bodies.”
“All right. Go out then.”
“It’s my body, what’s your problem?”
“You aren’t in it.”

It was my turn to capitulate so I left the room. She was out with me in a few minutes.
“You can’t go out like that.” I said.
“Like what?”
“With your hair all wet and scruffy. It’ll dry in a real mess, and you’ll ruin my reputation.”
“But I don’t know how to do it.”

So I spent the next 20 minutes brushing and drying my own hair, on her head. At least I knew what to do, and the familiarity of the task was quite therapeutic. Actually, it was quite an interesting experience; standing this close to her there was definitely some chemistry and I felt a thoroughly unfamiliar stirring in my trousers.

When I had finished she said, “You haven’t shaved.”
“Is that really important?”
“There is a match tomorrow. I always shave. It matters to me how the world sees me, but more importantly the coach and other players will notice a break in routine. Routine matters to sports people.”
“How will they notice?”
“You have to be at a press conference this afternoon.”

Oh great!

“What else is lurking in your calendar?”
“I told you, I have to be home later this morning in case they want a drug sample…”
“A what!?”
“A drug sample. I’m — you’re a professional athlete. The authorities keep tabs on things like that.”
“I hate needles!”
“It’s OK; they won’t stick a needle in you today. It’s just a urine sample.”

Oh goody! I found myself wishing I had been booked in for a smear test in order to get her back.
“We had better get on then.”
I passed her some shoes. In my own defence I would like to be able to say that I picked them up by mistake, but it wouldn’t be true.
“I can’t wear those!”
“What’s wrong with them?”
“The heels. I can’t walk in heels. It’ll cripple me. Haven’t you got any trainers?”
“Look at yourself in the mirror. Do I look like a girl who wears trainers?”

This was getting confusing. I? You? Who was really which?

The look of trepidation on her face was so comical that I relented, but not completely. I picked up a pair of low kitten heels and passed them over. Rob looked at them with distrust, but put them on and wobbled out through the door.

“You’ve forgotten something…” I wasn’t easily going to let her off having my lovely body and not liking it.
“You bring it.” She snapped back, so I picked up my handbag and followed. It looked like she knew how to deal with bitchy and maybe it didn’t go too well with my new body anyway.

I caught her up at the kerb, just in time for her to almost fall off the heels. She grabbed my arm for support and I was suddenly aware of just how different our sizes were, and how much it mattered. I was used to being small, to cuddling into nice strong, large men and here and now this reversal was very hard to take. She barely came above my shoulder, which must make my new height something well over 6 feet. Her weight had no impact on my balance or poise. I supported her without any significant effort. Only last week my friend Mandy had stumbled on a night out and fallen against me and we had reeled across the whole pavement, before collapsing in a giggling heap. Today I had no trouble catching a falling girl and steering her towards the car. What a difference a day makes.

With Rob to direct me we made much quicker time back across town to his house. Somewhere on the journey we reached a truce. We were both in this together and Rob, to give her credit, appeared to face the ordeal of going out in my body, and dressed in my clothes with more courage than I felt going out in his. I let us in and with hunger gnawing at us we headed for the kitchen. I was instructed to shower and shave in preparation for the afternoon and the possible visit of the drug testers while Rob pulled some breakfast together.

The shower wasn’t very different to usual, although if I were to be brutally honest with myself I would have to point out that when I pointed the shower head between my legs it didn’t do its usual thing for me. Drying off was much harder with body hair. Why do men keep it? (Mind you I always fancied men with it). Shaving my face — well here I nearly gave up. Despite my experience with legs and underarms I was not coping with the idea of pulling a razor across my face. At least it was a safety razor and he didn’t go in for an unnecessarily macho one, like a cut-throat. Too much foam sprayed out of the can, it tickled my face and the razor felt like it was scraping several layers of skin away. When I had finished I found that in a couple of places it had and I was bleeding down my chin. Well, I had watched my daddy shave many times and I knew what to do. I found the aftershave and splashed it liberally across my face. It was a smell I had always found attractive, but I was unprepared for the sheer agony as it stung the cuts on my face. It was a sulky Kate that slouched out of the bathroom. Rob took one look at my face and laughed.

“Getting to grips with the downside of being a man?”
“Is there an upside?”
“I always liked it.”
“It’s not for me. No offence, I’m sure you have a wonderful life, but I want to be myself again.”
“That goes for me too. I have an international rugby match tomorrow, and I was really looking forward to it. If we don’t swap back you will have to play. How much do you know about rugby?”
That was a really scary thought. The idea of tackles with those huge men, of rucks and mauls and all that sweaty masculinity was very appealing at a safe distance, but to be on the receiving end? I don’t think so. She caught the drift from the expression on my face.
“So the aim has got to be to get us back in the right bodies before the match tomorrow. Agreed?”
I agreed. “But how?”
“First rules of engagement, know your enemy. We have to find out how this happened and who did it to us. Then we can make a plan to sort it out.”
“Is this the rugby brain speaking?”
“It’s the tactician, yes. Before a game we always watch our competitors, look at their strengths, their set plays and look for the weaker areas. Then we can exploit them on the pitch. It is much harder to spot them with 18 stone of prop standing on your head. You have to be able to think fast in rugby, but it really helps to have some background.” While Rob was telling me this, she was struggling with the lid of a jam jar. Finally she gave up and gave it to me. I don’t know what she was struggling with, it opened easily for me and I am well known for not being able to open jars…. Ah, yes. OK, on with the story then.

“You seem to be settling in well to having a female body.”
“I’m not thinking about it.” She replied quickly.
“OK, OK, what do we do then? How do we find out what switched our bodies?”
“We need to research. I’ve got the internet here so we can look on-line, we have phones and we have friends who might be able to help us.”
“Sounds good. Where do we start?”
“You do the washing up; I’ll log us into the net.”
“That’s sexist. You want me to wash up because I’m a girl.” I pouted.
“Apart from the obvious, which is that you are not a girl at present, if you miraculously know my passwords, you can log us in. And that pout does not look as good my face as it probably did on yours.”

I hope I had the good grace to look abashed. I certainly wasn’t up to apologising. I wonder if Rob’s body blushed. So I washed up the breakfast things and Rob went on line. I wandered through to see how she was getting on. She waved me to a seat in the corner of the room and I waited for what seemed like forever. The printer started whirring and she turned to me.

“I’ve got some stuff printing, but first we should just talk some ideas over. I started from the viewpoint of asking what could do this to us. There aren’t many possibilities and none of them make much sense. This is my list, what do you think?”

She handed me the first sheet off the printer — she certainly seemed to have a well organised mind.

Supernatural forces
Act of God (or Devil)
Magic
Aliens
Experimental Technology

“They are all quite impossible. This isn’t the X-Files. You’re batty!”
“I was trying to think of things that we would normally feel are possible. There aren’t any. We would have noticed if we had been taken in for brain surgery or something like that. As Sherlock Holmes says, when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”
“This is crazy. We have to look for the people who did this to us!”
“So your money’s on the last category is it?”
“Category? Category?” I wasn’t coping well again. I think best in heels and with pink toenails. I’m a marketing assistant. I stopped thinking when I left university, and I didn’t do more than was necessary before that. This kind of blue sky stuff has always been beyond me.
“Yes,” She replied, “Experimental Technology. Don’t you think they would be keeping a closer eye on us than this though?”
“I don’t know! I don’t experiment on people for a living.” The panic was rising again and there was an explosion coming. I don’t have an even temper at the best of times.

“Look, pull yourself together. We have only a limited time to work on this and it would be easier if we could both work on it. I want you to go and knock next door and ask the chap who answers if you can borrow his laptop. His name is Pete, and if you tell him you have a mate round and want to play games he will lend it to you. Then we can both search.”

It made sense, so I did as I was asked. I nearly gave it away when he called me Rob, but I managed to hang on to my composure, although I’m not sure about my sanity, but I was soon back with the laptop. Rob logged it in and told me to start researching Magic and Gender changes. It was a bit of a lesson in what people get up to. There were all kinds of stories about Medallions, Wizards, transformations and body swaps, but they were all fiction and nothing looked like a lead. In fact, to me nothing seemed to make any sense at all. I was getting ready to throw things when the doorbell rang. That sent a cold wave of fear up my spine. I could deal with Rob from his body, but how did I deal with the rest of the world? My mental state shifted in an instant from irritation to panic. I looked over at Rob but she just waved to me to answer the door.

“But I won’t know who it is. This is your flat.”
“It’s going to be the drug testers. They rotate the people so we don’t get to know them. Just ask for an ID and then do as they ask you.”
“What if it isn’t?”
“Just shut the door and they’ll go away.”
“What if they try to push their way in?”
“Your body plays rugby for England, remember. Push back. There aren’t many people who can push against you.”
“Right. OK.”

I wasn’t convinced, but I was pissed off enough that if anyone tried it on with me I was ready to find out what this body could do. After all, I could even open jars of jam now, anything was possible. I opened the door and gave the two people on the doorstep a hard stare. The two looked a little taken aback by my expression — there was a small thin man in his fifties, with a receding hairline and a track jacket. His companion was about 30, with a glamorous look about her, white trouser suit and heels to die for. I hated her already. She could be real competition.

“Rob Seton?”
“Who want’s him?”
“We’re here on behalf of the RFU to take some samples for a test.”
“I’ll just call…” I cut myself off just in time. “Come in.”

I took them through to the lounge. Rob was there with her computer and it just might help if she saw fair play. The woman dug into the bag she had brought with her and took out two sample jars.

“If you could just fill these for us please, Rob?” She may look glamorous, but she was all business. I took the jars from her and looked at them.

“What do you want me to fill them with?” She was not even remotely amused.
“You Rugby boys all think you’re funny and that you can charm the pants off any woman with a bit of repartee. I’ve heard it all before. Stop procrastinating. Fill the pots and let us get on with what we’ve got to do. We have three more visits like this one to make this morning.”
Rob looked up from her laptop.
“Come on, Rob, urine. You told me about this earlier this morning. Get it over with and then we can get on.”
I felt like a complete idiot. I took the pots and headed for the bathroom. I was about to close the door when I realised that the older tester had come with me. He put his foot in the door as I tried to close it.
“Mr Seton, please. You know I have to watch to make sure that the sample is yours, and is from today. Please don’t make this harder for us than it should be.”

I gave him one of my hard stares, and sat down on the toilet seat. I had no real idea how I was going to manage having a pee with male equipment, let alone in front of a complete stranger. Real men might use public toilets and have audiences all the time, but I was not a real man. Until this morning I was a real woman. All woman. This was going to be a real test of my ability to cope. I stood up and undid my trousers.

“Can I turn my back?”
“I take no pleasure in watching this. Face whichever way you like.” I turned to face the wall, but then realised that any overshoot would make a mess. I sat back down, but that didn’t seem to answer — I would have to try to cope with things inside the pan, where I couldn’t see. In the end I knelt in front and managed. There was a lot more in this bladder than would go into the pots, but I found an advantage to male equipment that I am sure every toddler finds quite quickly — you can direct and also squeeze off when you need to stop. I handed the man his sample pots, he grimaced and rinsed them in the sink, sealed them then handed one back to me.

Back in the living room the episode was not yet over. Miss Fashion Trousers took out a book and began with the questions:
How much had I had to drink last night?
Had I taken any illegal substances?
What prescription medicine had I taken in the last week?

She nearly had me with the last one. I was just about to tell her about my birth control pills when I caught sight of Rob behind her shaking his head furiously. I suppose that would have gone over well in the tabloid press.

Could I confirm that this sample was my own?
If the sample was found to be positive my sample would be used to double check the result, I should keep it refrigerated for a month and then I would be free to dispose of it.

I agreed with everything they said and then showed them the door. I went back through to the living room and collapsed on the sofa.

“No you don’t.” I could really get to hate Rob, and his life. “We have a demon to catch.”
“You what?”
“A demon. I am pretty sure of it. Last night I wished I could lie in tomorrow and not play the Australia match. It’s a grudge match, we beat them for the world cup four years ago and they will be looking for revenge when the ref can’t see and I could just have done without it. I bet you wished for something too. What did you wish for?”
“Erm, enough money to buy any dress I wanted in Selfridges?”
“Well looks like we both got our wish, but not in any way either of us could have wanted it.”
“So how do we find such a demon, even if they do exist?”
“I don’t think that is going to be easy. But I have an idea. Have you heard of Maitreya?”
“May what?”
“Maitreya, he is one of the masters; messengers and masters who walk among us.”
“This sounds a bit dodgy to me.”
“It always did to me too, but this is all we’ve got. The word on the net is that if we go looking for him and have a genuine need, we will find him.”
“Where?” To say I was sceptical would be more than an understatement. It would be like saying that Kate Moss was a bit skinny.

“Well, a couple sources place him in Brick Lane, here in London. There are others in other cities and Countries, but it is worth a try here. They say that if you really need him he will find you, but not if you don’t.”
“OK, I really need him. I want to be me again. If this is our best chance, lead the way.”

We took his car again, me driving, Rob directing and filling me in on the way. The rumour was that Maitreya is a “Master” a chosen prophet or mouthpiece of god. This god was not a denominational god, but a higher power and his masters live in every city and guide us. It sounded a bit loose to me. Why would a representative of God, sent to guide us, spend his time among the poor and disenfranchised? If you had that power wouldn’t you spend your efforts on the leaders and rulers of the nation? Even Jesus sought out a bigger audience, but it was our only opportunity at present and I was so desperate to be out of this big hairy body and back in my small beautiful one that I was ready to try anything. We parked in a meter bay close to Brick Lane and I fed the meter with a stack of coins that Rob kept in the ashtray. We walked on to the street, and unconsciously drew together.

This was an immigrant community area of the town. There were a lot of people in white robes and beards here; many of the shops had names in English and in a Pakistani script. Others just had the script. Despite towering over many of the people, I felt intimidated. Rob grabbed my arm, and it was clear that she was aware of my body’s small stature. We picked a café at random and went in. I had expected the conversation to stop because we were so different form the other clients, but this was London and in London everybody is different, everywhere.

We sat down and I asked for two teas. I leaned across and whispered “What now?”
“I don’t really know,” her whisper was even quieter than mine. “We wait. Everything says don’t go looking, he will find you.”
“But we have come looking.” If you detect a note of hysteria in the comment, it wasn’t far off.
“We have made it easier for him to find us.”
“I hope you’re right. I’m not playing Rugby tomorrow and that’s final.”
“Calm down, they’re looking at us.”
I settled back as my tea arrived and sipped it, trying to conceal the shake in my hands. Rob tasted hers and made a face.
“I prefer coffee.”
“Don’t start a row, I don’t need a row. Just drink it.” I was definitely snappy, and she didn’t look too good herself.
We waited for a very tense five minutes, finished our drinks, or at least I did, and we were about to leave when a small boy came into the Café and walked straight to our table.
“Follow me.” He said, turning and running straight back out. Rob took my arm and dragged me after him.
“What are you doing? We don’t know who he is or where he’s taking us. He could be an Islamic terrorist and we might be about to be kidnapped.”
Rob gave me a withering look. I recognised it; I had used it a lot myself when I had that body.
“Are you a man or a mouse?”
“A woman!”
“Not from where I am standing you aren’t. Come on, we will lose him. If they wanted to kidnap us I am sure they could make a better diversion than this.”

She had a point so we followed. The boy led us to a small terraced shop front about 200 yards down the road. The shop sold Sari fabrics and stainless steel kitchen utensils. A strange mixture to us westerners. The boy led us straight through the store. The man behind the counter only nodded as we passed into the back of his shop and up a flight of narrow steep stairs. The wallpaper was a deep red, with the remains of a peacock pattern on it and the carpet was threadbare on the edges of the treads. At the top of the stairs there were two doors, one on each side of the stairwell. I had seen this design of house before. Two upstairs rooms only and the bathroom would be on the ground floor at the back. When the house was built they didn’t have such things as bathrooms. The boy waved us to a halt, there was barely room for the three of us on the little square of landing and knocked on the door. There was no sound from within, but then the door opened and the boy stood back to allow us in.

The room revealed was a sparsely furnished bed sitting room. There was a worn, brown sofa below the window, with a sink in the corner and a table against the wall beside it, a kettle, cups, and a plate the only things on it. An ancient brown stained wardrobe with a cracked mirror on the door stood opposite it. The only attractive feature of the room was a Persian carpet in the centre, with a rich mirror pattern of blue, white and pink flowers on deep red background.

On the centre of the carpet a small man sat with crossed legs. He wore a white robe, like a Gallibeyah, On his head a white turban and his feet a pair of sandals, with black socks. He had a long white beard. He looked up slowly, caught my eye and said “You do not like my socks Miss Menteith?” There was a twinkle in his eye.
How did he know?
“Erm, I’m sorry, socks with sandals, you know, not a good look…”
“Your climate here is cold. I suffer from cold feet.”
“Erm.. I’m sorry… “ Rob was nudging me. Then it struck me “You know who we are? You could read my mind?”
“I have some small gifts.”
“Who are you?” I stammered.
Beside me Rob gave an exasperated sigh and stepped forward.
“You are the Maitreya, right?”
He smiled. “Many who meet me ask that question. I am not the Maitreya, He is the teacher. I am one who precedes him. I am a Listener. If we are teach and to heal, we must know what the ills are that afflict us. It is my role to come here and to listen, to watch and to learn.”
“So you can’t help us.” Rob’s face said it all for me as well. She looked beaten; the disappointment was etched into every line. A collapse seemed imminent. I had not realised that she had pinned so much hope on this one chance.

“I didn’t say that. I have seen your problem. You now inhabit each other’s bodies, and you do not wish to have them.” That was putting it mildly. “I cannot return you. The Maitreya himself could not do that if he was here. I have observed you, and I can offer some advice.”
“Anything” The hope and desperation in Rob’s voice was almost tangible. “Do you know what has happened to us?”
“Sit, my children, I will try to explain.”
We sat down on the rug opposite him. Rob crossed her legs and sat up. I tried to do the same, but found that this body did not have the flexibility. I compromised, with my legs out in front, but it was nothing like as comfortable.
“There are many things in this world, things of the spirit and things of mind. There are creatures of nature, there is the supernatural and there are the ghosts of those who cannot rest. All of them live on the edges of your reality. Your scientific approaches and logical minds cannot grasp them easily. You do not see them because you choose to ignore that which does conform to your view of the world. Just because you cannot see them does not mean they do not exist, and they must all be accounted for in this world. We strive to bring them all into harmony. It is our mission. When our time is here, and the Maitreya comes we must all work together to return balance to the world.”
“So how does that affect us?” My patience, never a strong suit, was a bit thin, and I wanted him to cut to the chase.
“Peace.” He gave me a look of long suffering patience. I had seen that look before, usually on the face of my teachers at school.
“Sorry.”
“There are spirits loose in the world whose energies are misdirected. They have skills, they are valuable, but their efforts are being directed by others whose purpose is mischief. You have been the victim of one of these.”
Rob spoke for the first time. “What can we do to reverse it?” Her face (my face) had a look of intelligence that I was not used to seeing there.
“You cannot reverse it. Only the spirit that created you can reverse it.”
“So what can we do?”
“You have two choices. You can find the spirit and ask it to reverse you, or you can become accustomed to your new bodies.”

Ok, so now I’M NOT HAPPY AT ALL. This wasn’t very helpful and I’m getting a bit fed up with people talking gibberish around me. Besides which I’m in this big body with LOTS of testosterone swilling around in it.
“So just tell us where to find this spirit and what to do when we do! PLEASE!”
“Calm down, Kate,” Rob was quick to try to ease the situation, “We need that information, but there is no need to come over all Gestapo on him.”
“Just sort things out, please! I’m going out to the street to try to stay calm.”

I let myself out of that small, smelly room and went down to the shop below. The man from the shop smiled at me and then bowed. I growled at him and he moved back behind the counter. As I left he shop I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror by the door. I was surprised to see how big I looked now. No wonder he had hidden. This was not turning out to be a good combination; I had the body of a prize fighter and my own irritable temperament, with the confusion of the body change giving me a feeling like the worst PMT I had ever suffered. I put my head in my hands and leant it on the wall beside the shop door.

I was getting some control back when the door opened again and Rob came back out. She had a smile on her face and her trim figure gave me a sudden jolt in a region of my body that I had never had before. This would not do. That body was rightfully mine. I had enough to cope with without starting to fancy myself. We went back to the car in silence as I tried to deal with the emotions running through my head. The truth was that that little spark of thought had lit a fuse that was running to a bigger barrel of powder in my head. Was it my vanity that had brought us to this? I had wanted the money to buy better clothes. I had no man in my life because none had been good enough for me. Had I reacted to my own body in a typically masculine manner because I was so in love with myself that I had no room for anyone else? Had I even asked Rob what he felt about the situation? I had even been nasty to him, making him wear the heels that he now seemed to be able to cope with.

We got back into the car and I put my head down on the steering wheel and tried to fight back the tears. Rob reached over and she began to stroke the back of my neck. It was comforting.
“I’m sorry,” I choked out.
“Why? It’s not your fault.” She soothed.
“I haven’t been much help, and I haven’t been very fair.”
“It’s a really strange situation. Neither of us has experienced it before.”
“Yes, but you have been constantly thinking and looking for a chance to get us out of this. I have just sulked and moped all day, and haven’t been any help. So I’m sorry. I haven’t even asked how you feel about being swapped. I just took it and you for granted.”
“I accept your apology. Now we need to press on if we are going to sort this out and save you from playing rugby tomorrow. Are you able to drive?”
I nodded and started the car.
“Where are we going now?”
“Oxford Street and then Soho.”
“Oxford Street? Why there of all places?”
“Because a spirit that has a special interest in genders hangs about in places where the genders and gender behaviours are very well defined. Where better than where the Fashion and Sex districts of the capital meet?”
“OK, let’s go.” I pulled out into the traffic, causing a bus to brake hard and upset its passengers then accelerated away towards the West End.
We drove for a few minutes in silence.
“How will we find it when we get there?”
“It isn’t going to be easy. The Listener didn’t know where to look. He said that these spirits attach themselves to people who share their interests. People who make money from, or are obsessed with the same things as they are. We are looking for an involvement in extremes of gender, or perhaps where the genders meet — transsexuals or transvestites. We aren’t looking for nice people. The spirit has lost its sense of right and wrong and that is why it responded to us in the way that it did.”
“I was in that area of town last night. We went to a club late on. In Ramillies Street.”
“The Turnaround Club?”
“That’s the one. Do you know it?”
“I was there too. Sponsor’s party on the second floor balcony.”
“I was dancing with the plebs in the pit.”
“I think we have found where we are going.”

At that point the phone chose to ring. I was looking around for it, but it was Rob’s car after all and she took it out of the glove compartment and answered it. I could only hear one side of the conversation.
“Rob’s phone…..He’s here, but he’s driving. Can I help or relay a message?
The press conference starts when?
We are on our way over but we have been held up in traffic, we will be there as soon as we can.
About half an hour….We’ll be as quick as we can but you know London traffic…..OK, bye.
I’m sorry, Kate,” she turned to me. “We can’t go straight there. We have to go to Twickenham for my Press Conference.”

I nearly wrecked the car. I swerved back to the proper side of the road and braked so hard that the engine stalled. I looked her in the eye to make sure there would be no misunderstandings.
“I am not doing a press conference. We are going to the Turnaround Club and we are going to sort this out. Then YOU can do as many press conferences as you like.”
She looked shocked at the violence of my reaction.
“Kate, I’m sorry. We have to do this. They can’t sort us out before tonight anyway. The listener told me that. If you don’t go it will damage my career.”
Somewhere in the distance I could hear a car horn, but nothing in the world was as important as this conversation.
“What do you mean; they can’t change us back before tonight?”
“They have no power in daylight. They draw their power from the fear and unhappiness of people at night and use it then. They can’t store it. We can’t fix this straight away.”
I looked at her in silence for a while, then became aware of a knocking on my side window. I looked in disbelief at a man in his thirties with a balding head, three days growth of beard and one of those thick check shirts that was red before he had continually wiped his mucky hands down it. I could see a white transit van in my mirror. He was speaking and waving at me, so I wound the window down. He shoved his face through the window and started to yell at me, something about blocking the road. I reached up and took hold of his shirt front and pulled his face down closer to mine. He tried to pull away and I had a first real feeling for how strong this body was. When his nose was inches from mine I said: “At this moment you are the least of my problems. Go away and find someone else to bully.”
He nodded, swallowed hard and withdrew.
“Kate, I think you should move the car. We could talk as we go?” Once again Rob was the one with a cool head, so I restarted the car and we moved on. One near miss later, and Rob’s cool head was needed again.
“There is a car park ahead on the left. Park up. We’ll get a taxi to go on.”
I didn’t need telling twice, there was no way I could drive us safely. I didn’t really know the way and I couldn’t concentrate. At the kerb my usual luck with taxis seemed to have deserted me also and my temper rose again. Rob took over, and in seconds she had a black cab at the kerb. It seemed she now had my luck with taxis together with my delicate body.

In the back she closed off the window from the cabbie, silencing his attempts to start a conversation.
“Right, you need a briefing for this press conference. You’re in luck. The RFU like to put me up because I don’t say much and that means less embarrassment later. So keep any comments to the minimum. If they ask you about any opposition player, compliment their playing. There’s an Australian player in my club squad: we are, of course, the best of friends, but that won’t affect your game.”
Her briefing lasted for five minutes, and with a couple of questions I felt confident that I could handle whatever they might ask. I was nervous about appearing in public, but at least I would be able to answer the questions. We sat in silence for a while. I was mulling over the information I needed, keeping it in my memory, and she stared out of the window at London’s teeming streets.

Suddenly she broke the silence.

“You wanted to know how I felt about this?”
“Erm, well I felt very guilty about concentrating on myself. You always seemed to be coping.”
“I have spent all my life training for these matches. I run when I could sleep late. I took a sports degree when I could have taken an academic one. I’ve watched relationships crumble because I wouldn’t compromise on training; I’ve given everything to the goal of being a world class athlete. Everything I was has been taken away from me in your body. The only thing that’s keeping me going is the hope that we might be able to change things back.”
I didn’t know what to say. It suddenly seemed to me that I actually had it easy. I love being a girl, all the girly things that make life pleasurable, like clothes, perfume, make up, shoes, jewellery and all the hundreds of little pamperings that I had in my life. But it was a pretty flimsy, superficial existence placed against the drive of this man whose body I now inhabited. I reached over and took her hand and she melted into me, sobbing. I put my arms round her and held tight.

“Come on, Rob,” I said. “We need your sharp brain and drive to keep us on track. I don’t know what I would do just now without you.”
“I know, I can’t help it, it must be this body’s response to stress.”
Well she was right about that. No-one knew it better than I did.
“Take your time; we’ve still got a couple of miles to go.”
I stroked her hair and she put her arm around my neck and for the next few minutes I learned what it was like to give comfort instead of just taking it. I also learned that controlling a rampant erection without detection is a very difficult art. I must give more respect when I see men doing it in future, instead of laughing at them. I managed it in the end by concentrating on the upcoming press conference. Was this a first step towards becoming a stronger person?

Getting into Twickenham was easy. We cleaned Rob’s face up and repaired her make-up, then went in by the players’ entrance without a single question. I was welcomed in and taken briskly through to a small room which had been rigged as a dressing room. I was sat in a chair and a make-up girl threw a towel round my shoulders and started to put foundation on me.
“What are doing?” I was indignant.
“You need this for the cameras. They will wash you out otherwise.”
“I’m going on telly?”
“Very funny Rob,” Another, altogether less flustered voice came from behind me. Whoever he was he wasn’t amused. “You always make a fuss about make-up. Now just relax and let Mandy get on with her job. Sit back and think of England, if you like.”
“Do you want me to sort him out, boss?” The team captain walked round into my field of vision. Now, you don’t argue with Martin Corry. I knew who he was; one of the toughest number eights in the game and a force to be reckoned with.
“Where have you been Seton, you knew you had to be in here for this today, and you are about to keep the world’s press waiting.”
“Sorry Martin, but you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me.”
I didn’t think that would be a good idea, somehow, so I temporised.
“We can argue about this, or we can get on with the press conference.”
Fortunately he left it at that and with my make up complete we moved on to the meeting room, and the Press Conference.

I would like to be able to report that it all went as planned and at first it did. Rob sat near the back of the room, having talked her way in somehow, and I sat with Martin Corry, two other players and the coach behind a table and in front of a screen with the sponsor’s names. The questions directed at me were just as Rob had briefed me and I detected a quiet satisfaction in the coach and captain as the conference progressed. Just before it finished, though, a man from the near the back stood up.
“Jimmy Jewel, The Sun. We’ve had reports that there was a road rage incident this afternoon in which a man claims to have been assaulted by Rob Seton. Can you give us any comment Rob?”

There was a shocked silence as everyone turned to look at him and then back to look at me. I looked for help at Rob at the back of the hall, but she looked as horrified as I did. I could feel panic rising, together with a terror that triggered my temper and I knew I had to get it under control in double quick time. It was my turn to stay cool under pressure and I didn’t want to let Rob down after all she had done so far. I took a deep breath and it took all my willpower to control my voice as I replied.
“I don’t know where you get your information, Jimmy, but I suggest you check it out more carefully. I came here today in a cab.”
There was a ripple of laughter round the room and the man from The Sun sat down, his fishing expedition over. I caught Rob’s eye at the back and she clapped her hands silently.

Pretty soon the press conference was over and we were able to make our escape. I had to turn the other players down on a drink — I was certain I could not pass as Rob in a bar. I had to introduce Rob to the other players as me and we agreed to meet again the next day before the match and we were away.

We took another cab back across London to Oxford Street. We were quiet on the way back. We got out close to Soho, and walked towards the club. Half way there my stomach started grumbling so loudly Rob was aware of it beside me. We realised that we had not eaten since breakfast and dropped into a Café, as Rob pointed that if he was to take this body into an important rugby match tomorrow it needed to be fuelled. Her optimism gave me strength and I tucked into a large bowl of pasta while she nibbled a salad and we made our plans to tackle the Turnabout Club.

Rob was of the opinion that we should just ring the bell and see who came to the door. Apparently he had worked in the licensed trade before and there was likely to be someone in who would open the door. The most likely was that it would be cleaners and if they opened up, we would be able to talk our way in and look the place over. Just in case it was the owner, she had brought her laptop and a few minutes work produced some realistic looking marketing sheets.

Meal over, we made our way across the road to a print shop which produced our sheets without a single question. We moved on round to the club. I stayed out of sight of the CCTV camera while Rob rang the bell and a moment later the intercom crackled into life.
“Yes?”
“Hi, I’m Moira from Diageo. I have some offers for you. Can I come in?”
“Diageo?”
“Yes, I’m a merchandiser.”

The door buzzed open and I slipped in quickly after her. She went straight up the stairs, and I held back, looking for cameras. There was one in the corner, covering the door, so I slipped underneath it and pressed myself back into the wall. Our plan depended on them watching Rob as she made her way up the stairs while I waited until she had their attention. I counted in my head to a hundred; if I had counted my heartbeats I would have waited half as long as my cautious count took. I then walked casually up the stairs. The club was on three floors and I wasn’t really sure what I was looking for. The first floor had a couple of cleaners working behind the bar. I looked round the door, saw them and headed on to the next flight of stairs.

The next floor was a mass of booths. I had never been up beyond the first floor before, but I immediately felt a prickle on the back of my neck. I slipped through the door and looked around. The centre of the room was a balcony that looked down onto the masses on the floor below. Around the outside was a mass of booths, each having a varying degree of privacy, with half walls, curtains and screens. I ducked into the first one and took a look around from behind the curtain. Two of the booths were completely screened off. The rest looked empty.

I slipped quietly round the edge of the room and peered carefully into the first. A short fat man appeared to be asleep on the bench at the back of the stall. He had long brown hair and his back was turned to me. I had a strong feeling about this. I let myself into the booth and sat down beside him. My skin was crawling as if a nest of ants had been upended over my head. I prodded him gently in the stomach. I was shocked as he turned over revealing a perfect oval face, with a cupids bow mouth and wide eyes. The face that looked at me was a beautiful woman’s face, set on top of a round male body. I drew in my breath.
“Whayawan?”
“Excuse me?”
“Wotchawon?”
“Erm, you, I think.”
“Wha?”
Suddenly the shock formed a hard feeling in my gut. I was sure.
“You. Come with me.”
“I don leaf heer.”

I took him by his shirt front. It had worked for me earlier. Why wouldn’t it work now? Needless to say, it didn’t work. He started to squeal, a high pitched sound that went straight to the pain centre in my head. I held a hand to each of my ears. I was still stood there almost a minute later when two large men came into the booth and seized hold of my arms. Seconds later everyone in the building must have been in the booth. The squealing stopped and was replaced by the sound of everyone shouting at once. A tall man in Versacchi jeans and a silk shirt stepped forward and held up his hand. Gradually silence fell.

“What the hell do you think you are doing?” I found that rather than being intimidated, as I would have been before our transformation, I was thinking hard on feet.
“”Who is this?” I pointed at the small creature on the bench in front of me. The homunculus stood up. He wasn’t much taller standing up than sitting down.
“Why do you want to know, Kate?” He waved a hand in dismissal and everyone else quickly dispersed
Gotcha! My gut feeling was right.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“You have what you wished for. You have enough money to buy any thing you wish for in Selfridges.”
I felt my blood boil.
“There isn’t anything I want that would fit me now. Give me back my life.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.” The tall, well dressed man stepped in again. Where was that accent from?
“Why not?” I was shouting now. If the two bouncers had not been holding my arms I would have been at his throat.
“I don’t know how you got in here, but there are no options for you. You will play in the match tomorrow.”
“What?” I wasn’t being very original, I know, but it was all coming a bit thick and fast for me.
“You will play tomorrow. Rob Seton, in your body, is in my office upstairs. If you want to change back, ever, you will play in the match. I don’t know how much clearer I can make it.”
“But I don’t know anything about playing rugby!”
“We were counting on that,” he sneered.
“A betting scam? You’ve taken my life away for a betting scam?” Anger didn’t begin to describe how I felt at that moment.

I took a quick look around me. Apart from the two goons who held my arms there was the tall man, another rather scruffier individual behind him and the homunculus. There wouldn’t be another chance. Remembering what my Dad had taught me to do in the event of a rape attempt, I slumped in the men’s arms. It took them by surprise and I felt their grips ease slightly. Immediately I kicked out with my left foot, taking the goon on the left behind the knee. He fell forwards, releasing my arm as he did so. I stamped my right heel down hard into the foot of the man on the other side. It didn’t work as well as I would have expected in my usual lethal heels, but his grip loosened and with a wrench I was free.

Fighting like a girl is a taunt I have often heard used when men scrap, especially when I was at school, but I suspect that many men should take lessons in it; the poor bouncers didn’t really have a chance. A six foot two rugby player fighting like a girl? Fighting to win? I turned and kneed the hopping second man between his legs before he could recover from the blow to his foot. He made a funny screeching sound and was collapsing even as the first bouncer began to get up. I took hold of his hair before he could get his balance and ran his head into the wall in front of him. He went down and it didn’t look as if he would move any too soon.

I turned to the tall man and seized him by the front of his expensive shirt.
“I will not lose my life for the sake of a betting scam.”
His expression had changed from one of supercilious arrogance to one of alarm, and then as I grabbed him to one of fear. I lowered one hand and took hold of his genitals, through his trousers. His face moved another shade towards pure terror.
“It’s quite easy,” I whispered. “Get us changed back or learn what it is like to change gender for yourself, an even harder way.”
He was quite white by now.
“I can’t do it. I can’t, it’s not me. I’m not the one you want.”
“What do you mean, you’re not the one I want?”
“I’m just the front man. I don’t control this. Tell him Jules.”
He looked wildly around, but Jules was no longer there. Neither was the Homunculus. The two bouncers were still groaning on the floor. It didn’t look as if either of them could be bothered to fight for this scroat, whose scrotum I held so firmly in my left hand.

I pushed him up against a wall and leant in to his face.
“Take me to your office, I want Rob out of there.”
I also wanted to be away from the bouncers. I didn’t fancy my chances a second time. They might not be so easily caught out.

We made our way up a flight of stairs from behind a bar into the office suite at the rear. I pushed him in front of me so that he would catch the nasty end of any surprises. We were lucky though. The others didn’t appear to have come this way, and Rob was still locked in the office, gaffer taped to a chair. To give her her due, she had almost freed herself. Her wrists were the colour of crushed strawberries as I freed them, but she didn’t complain. As I worked I filled her in on what had happened below. The tall man cowered behind the desk where I’d thrown him and I kept a close eye on him.

“Talk.” Rob clearly meant business as she picked up a paper knife and held it close to the Tall Man’s throat. “Who is Jules, where will he be going?”
The Tall Man was clearly all show and no fight. A wet patch was spreading around the crutch of his trousers and I was glad I was no longer holding it. I pushed Rob aside.
“Look,” I said, “We’re all a bit pissed off today. We want our own bodies back, we really don’t care what we have to do to get them and you are clue number two. Tell us what is going on and where to go to find the next one and you live to front the show for another day.” Without the knife to his throat he started a look of defiance. Before he could assemble the first stage in his elementary resistance kit I cut him off again. “You can talk now, or I can give you back to her.”

Rob obliged me by directing a look of pure hatred at him. It is a very effective look. I had practiced it on my younger brother for years.
The Tall Man crumbled.

“There’s only one other place he can go. Jules owns a pub up at the Angel. It’s called the Yellow Dog. It’s where we found that creature, in one of the cellars.”
“Where is it, and how can we get in?” Once again Rob’s brain was working fast — way ahead of me.
“It’s on White Lion Street. It’ll be open now, you can just go in.”
Rob had picked up the gaffer tape off the floor. I manhandled the Tall man into the chair.
“Just a minute,” Rob was away ahead of me again. “We were told that that creature needs an environment it can survive in. A place where gender roles are clear. How did you come to find it in a pub?”
“It’s a pole dancing pub.” The Tall Man had another panicked look on his face. “It was in a cellar. We were opening them up so that we could rent them out for Private Dances.”
The way he said ‘Private Dances’ made my skin crawl again.
“What kind of girls do you employ there?”
“Foreign ones. The ones that will do anything.”
“Nice business you have.” She paused for a moment. “Is this how you get girls who will do anything?”
“No, no, NO.” He was very disturbed by that one. “It’s a legitimate business.”
“Only just.” Rob’s distaste was clear. “Why does that creature do things for you?”
“It needs us. Before we came along it was dormant, stuck in the cellar. It had had no contact for years. Now it seems to crave company. We give it that, give it strength with the people around it, and it wanted to repay us.”
“Are there lots of people like us around?”
“No, you were the first. We didn’t know what it would do. Jules was explaining about betting and it offered to help us with the match.”
“So we got burned just to make you a little money?”
“It wasn’t a deliberate plan!”
“And you think that lets you off the hook? How do we get in?”
“There are some complimentary passes in my jacket, on the back of the door there.”
I quickly searched the jacket, and sure enough, they were there in the top pocket. I waved them at Rob.
“You’d better be telling the truth.” With that final remark Rob pulled the final piece of tape across his mouth. “Now, just nod or shake your head. If we don’t get what we want there, if anything you have told us is wrong, we will be back here and you will be looking at wearing designer dresses instead of designer suits. Is that clear?” He nodded.
“If everything checks out we will send the police in to free you later. Understand?”
He nodded again.
“If not we will be back with a rusty saw. Got it?”
He nodded violently. As he closed his eyes I was sure I saw them cross.
I locked his office door as we headed out. We didn’t see the bouncers so we made it to the street without further incident.

We walked back to Oxford Street before calling a cab.
“What now?” We were going to need a plan. Getting into the Yellow Dog would be one thing. But what could we do once we were there? There would be better security for one thing and how would we persuade the creature to swap us back?

“Did Maitreya give you any ideas as to how to persuade that creature to turn us back?” I asked.
“None at all. He said to let our spirits guide us, that if we allowed our minds freedom we would find a way and that balance was all.”
“What the hell did that mean?””
“If I knew I would have already told you.”

Was she starting to get a little of my temper? That was a new more terrifying thought. If we spent a lot of time in each others bodies would we become each other? At present I was me, I think. At what point would we have gathered enough of each other’s character not to be ourselves. I know Rob had achieved more than I had in lives that were of similar length, I know that many people would like the body of an international athlete, but I liked being me. I liked getting up at 11 o’clock at the weekend, lazing about my flat or shopping all day and then going clubbing until the small hours of the next day. I even liked the little job I did to pay for the rest of it. The life of the athlete looked very much like hard work and I was afraid that I might find I liked it.

I sank into a downward spiral of conjecture, and Rob herself stayed quiet. It wasn’t long before the cab pulled up and the driver rapped on the window to get our attention.

Getting into the club turned out to be a bit of an anti-climax: we rang a bell and showed our invitations to the gorilla who opened the door. A hostess in little more than underwear took us to a table to one side of the stage and asked us what drinks we would like. We ordered and were left to look around. The room was dark, the windows covered up completely and the walls were a dark red. So far so tasteless. At one end there was a bar with couple of tired girls leaning on it, chatting. They didn’t have much clothing on either. Behind the bar the barman did not look like someone to mess with, but he took no particular notice of us, talking to our waitress while he filled two glasses. On the opposite side of the room there was a low stage, no more than 6 inches high, with two shiny metal poles running between the floor and ceiling. There was a curtain across the back and a dry ice machine was adding a little mist to the ground level. I could see the door to the toilets to our left and that was all. Between the walls there were no more than half a dozen customers, all male as far as I could see, and none of them looked very happy. So, getting into the club was not the real problem, getting out of the public area might be.

Our hostess returned with our drinks and Rob asked her when the entertainment began.
“Five minutes, the next dance is in five minutes.”
“Thank you,” I replied. Rob leaned across to me and spoke in the lowest voice she could make herself heard in.
“The only way in is through the stage. There is bound to be someone back there for security, so I will cause a diversion when the next dance starts and you go through.”
“What will I do when I get through there?”
“Find the creature and get us put back.”
“Is that the best plan you can come up with? How will I make him put us back?”
“Free your mind and look for balance.”
“Oh, big help!”
“You create a diversion, then, and I will go backstage.”
“What did you have in mind for a diversion?”
“I hadn’t thought it out yet.”
“Great,” I wasn’t as sour as it sounds now, more struggling to string together something that might work. “Make something up here with the bouncers about, or out there with who knows what.”
“That’s about it. Without good intelligence we can’t make much of a plan.”
“You’re right.” I thought about my previous experience with bouncers, they tended to be gentler with women, if I went up against them here it could be tougher than I was able to deal with. Give them the unexpected. A woman who knew how to fight like a man. “You do the distraction, I’ll go through.”
“OK, when I tell you, go over to the Gent’s — it’s nearer to the stage and you won’t be associated with me.”
“Got it. What will you do?”
“Shut up and let me think of something.”

I shut up and took a pull on my drink. There didn’t seem to be much Gin in with the tonic. A spotlight focussed on the stage came on which seemed to increase rather than decrease the general gloom of the place. The music changed to a Kylie Minogue number and a skinny blonde girl danced onto the stage. She didn’t look much like Kylie, but she wore a costume with long trousers caught in at the ankles and split up the sides to look like one of Kylie’s, and she began to prance around one of the poles. I looked over at Rob to get her reaction and she was gesturing to me to head off for the Gents. I left the table and slipped in through the door of the Gents. Why do men put up with them? It stank! I know you don’t have to queue, but I, for one, would rather queue up than go in that stink any day! I felt my gorge rise and I made a hasty exit before I could deposit my rather weak Gin and Tonic on the floor.

As I came out all hell was breaking loose. Rob was in front of the stage with a photo ID card held up in her right hand. I had a feeling it was my membership card for a health club. I hadn’t used it much, so I wasn’t sure. The dancing girl had stopped and was looking at her with resignation, mingled with a touch of panic. Rob was shouting about the Musicians Union and demanding they stop the show. The bouncer and Barman were moving fast across the room. Another bouncer came out from backstage and grabbed her arms, and I knew this was my moment. With them all focussed on her I slipped behind the melee to backstage. As I went I could hear Rob screaming for the manager. I hoped they would treat her well, but for now the important thing was that I was in.

Backstage was a dingy, peeling corridor. It quickly opened into a stair well. Up or down? I could hear female voices speaking Polish or something below, so I opted for up. As I started I could hear a commotion behind me. They were clearly bringing Rob backstage to the manager.

I hesitated for a moment at the foot of the stairs. This was not a good sign. If Jules saw Rob he would immediately raise an alert for me. I needed to act quickly. I ran up the stairs and was faced by a series of closed doors. I opened the nearest, only to find that it was the toilet. I left it open and turned around as the racket on the stairs drew nearer and increased in volume. A door to my left opened I turned and found myself face to face with Jules. For an instant we were both shocked, but I recovered first and swung a fist at his face with all the anger, fear and frustration that I had been feeling all day. He fell back into the room and I followed him fast. The little man from the booth in the Turnabout club was in a chair by a coffee table. I put my finger to my lips and closed the door behind me. Jules was not about to get up. He had his face in his hands and there was blood dripping on the floor. I really should remember my new size.

The homunculus cowered back in his seat. I picked Jules up and shoved him into another chair, which had its back conveniently towards the door.
“Get rid of the help.” I whispered into Jules’ ear.

There was a knock at the door.
“Whad you wad? “ Great! I had completely stuffed his nose.
“We’ve got a woman here who was making a fuss. She insists on seeing you.”
“Led her in then. You go do your job.”
“It’s your call.” The hired help didn’t sound very concerned. Perhaps they were used to Jules sounding like this, or perhaps they just didn’t care very much. It didn’t really matter. A break was what we needed and I, for one, was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

The door opened and the gift horse totally failed to come through. Rob was pushed in and the Bouncer followed her. It didn’t take him long to sum up the situation in the room and he came after me with howl of rage. He hit me in the chest like a 20 tonne truck and we fell to floor. The wind went out of me and I struggled to brace myself against the coming blow. It didn’t arrive. The Gorilla collapsed onto my chest pinning me to the floor and I lay there, gasping.

As my sight came back into focus I saw my own face swim back into view, and Rob was there above grinning and flourishing a trophy of some sort, a large block of clear plastic on a black base, for all the world as if she had just been awarded it.

I struggled back upright and took in the room. The bouncer was flat out on the floor and both the homunculus and Jules were cowering back in their chairs.

“Thanks for that. I thought I was in real trouble for a minute, then.”
“Thinking on our feet. That’s what backs have to do.”

I lurched to my feet and gave her a hug. She returned it for a moment, then disentangled herself and turned to the pair in the chairs.

“You did this to us. We had lives that we both loved and you have turned us into the absolute opposite. You’ve destroyed our lives. Why did you do this?”
The Homunculus stirred, but Jules beat him to the punch.
“We can turn you back. But not yet. It takes days for the magic to regenerate. You have to stay like this until Monday.”
“I don’t think so.” Rob had a very dangerous look in her eyes. “This is about tomorrow’s match and money.”
“That’s why we did it. But it’s not why we can’t turn you back.”
“You’re lying. It’s about greed. Greed and hate. You hate my success as a player and you are greedy to make money betting on the match. Deny that?” There was something about the way Rob was waving the trophy in her hand that made denial seem a very dangerous idea.
“I need the money. The clubs have been losing money.”
“So you would mortgage our lives for a strip joint and a run down night club?”
He didn’t dare reply, he looked at the figure beside him and then at the floor. The figure of the spirit appeared to have shrunk into the chair. It was fatter and uglier than ever.

“What now?” I was at a loss.
“Restore balance.” Rob replied. “But how?”

We looked at each other blankly for a moment and then inspiration hit me. I walked round the chair and took the homunculus by the hands. I drew him to his feet and he looked me in the eye, silently and pleading. He was at least two feet shorter than I was. I bent down and took his face in my hands, then closed my eyes and kissed him firmly on the lips. I opened my eyes and nothing had happened, except that he had a smile now, on a face that had looked more down than the bottom button of an elevator.

I looked him in the eyes, drove down my revulsion at his appearance and kissed him again, harder. This time he responded. I felt us locked in a deep and passionate kiss and I closed my eyes again. The kiss seemed to last forever. Slowly I straightened up until I was bending no more than comfortably and the kiss still continued. Eventually I felt the spirit stir, and draw back. I opened my eyes and was amazed to see that where there had been a short, fat and ugly man there was now a willowy, beautiful woman. She smiled at me and placed a finger on my lips. The other two stood in amazed silence. We looked at each other across the room for a moment and then I was looking at a rather ugly brown filing cabinet as she faded from view.

Jules started to curse, but stopped as Rob waved her personal battle trophy at him again.
“What just happened?” She was determined to keep her role as interrogator.
“I don’t really know.” Jules was clearly telling the truth. “That is what happened when you were transformed. Not the sex change. The disappearing.”
“That sounds like good news.” I was ready for anything like good news.
“When did you next see the spirit?” Rob wasn’t letting anything drop.
“Next day, when we found you two in the club. That was the first we saw it.” The fight had gone out of Jules. You just can’t get the villains these days.
“Come on.” Rob had clearly had enough. “We don’t have time to hang around. Let’s get out of here before the staff below work out that chummy here hasn’t come back. You,” She turned to Jules. “Stay put. Unless you want this again.”

She took my hand and we ran for the door. There was a back exit so we took it and we didn’t stop running until we were in the Angel Underground station. We bought two tickets from a machine and ran on down to the platform.

“We did it!” She wrapped her arms around me in a huge hug and kissed me on the lips. Two different kissers in one day: I hadn’t had this much luck for a month! I broke the kiss quickly: it was weird kissing myself.
“We did?” I felt slow on the uptake.
“YOU did it. You restored the balance, the spirit rewarded us and we can go home!”
I wasn’t getting this.
“But we are still in each others bodies. How can we have done it if we haven’t changed back?”
“Patience.” She told me as we boarded a train which was almost empty at this time of the evening. “The transformation didn’t take place at once. It happened over night.”
“But how?”
You gave the spirit love and generosity. He gave it greed and hate. Balance?”
“OK, I get it. Brilliant. What now.”

Rob, of course already had a plan. We picked up his car, went to my flat for some clothes and then to his house where we drank a bottle of wine to success and fell asleep together on his sofa.

I woke up early the next morning. Somehow things had changed again. The feeling was almost as strange as the previous morning. I had breasts. No body hair. I couldn’t reach things and the door was hard to open. Fantastic! I slid off the sofa and looked at him sleeping peacefully. It was hard to believe that I had spent the previous day in that body, and what a body!

I was admiring it secretly when the phone rang. I picked it up without thinking.
“Rob Seton.”
“No you’re not. Get the lazy dog to the phone now.” It was the England captain again. I shook Rob awake and passed him the phone. I could hear him getting a telling off from across the room. Apparently they frown on players taking young ladies home the night before a match — something about it sapping their energy. And he was going to be late again. I giggled and headed for the kitchen and the kettle. A coffee was definitely called for.

The rest of the day is history, in Rugby circles. England lost the match and Rob did not distinguish himself. He and I took off after the match for a celebration that turned into something far more delicious. I heard that the Turnabout club changed hands quite soon after that and is going to be reopened as a hotel.

This morning as I lay in bed watching him breathe I wondered whether that day had been bad or good luck. I wouldn’t want to live it again, that’s for sure. But laying here in this bed is definitely the best thing that has happened to me. Even better is just around the corner, I can feel it. As Rob stirred and rolled into me, wrapping me in those gorgeous strong arms he gave me one of those long significant looks.

“Can I ask you a personal question?”
“Mmm, anything.” I felt a rise of excited anticipation.
“Those shoes you made me wear, do you think we could get a pair in my size?”

Copyright Tara G 2007