Consequences: A New Life

Thanks to Robyn Hood and Cressar for all their help with editing and proof reading.

Part 1

Friday night and the unseasonably warm weather has brought even more people than normal on to the Shoreditch streets. Music pumps from bars as relaxed students and hipsters mill around drinking. We have had a good day in the recording studio and it is time for our little team to kick back and chill.

Carly, the twenty four year old whose track we’ve been working on, is excited, telling everyone how amazing it has all been. I remember that kind of excitement back when I started in the business. It’s infectious. We sit at a table spending the label’s money and chatting about shit. I have already texted my wife Julia to let her know not to wait up. It’s been a long hard week and I feel like blowing off some steam.

I co-own the recording company with my business partner Steve. We both came up together in the days when the music industry had money. We saw the way the industry was going and set up our own recording studio/mini label. We provide the artists with the equipment and experience they need and access to distribution. They get creative freedom and professional support; we get low overheads and high turnover. So far it has been pretty successful, although we are nowhere near as big as any of the labels we started with back in the 90s and 00s.

The crowd is thinning as the night goes on. I get a text from Julia saying she is happily tucked up in bed with a good book. I smile; it has been ages since I had the chance to read anything, too many late nights working or boozing. It is just Carly, Steve and me left and Carly wants us to go on to a little club she knows in Bethnal Green. I am up for it but Steve bows out; he has a kid on the way and I think is trying to prove to Sandra, his wife, that he is ready for the responsibility so I don’t push him.

“Shall we go then?” I ask Carly after Steve has left, she says she just needs the toilet so I am left playing with my phone trying not to look like I am on my own. Normally I am pretty good with my own company but something about being the older guy in a bar full of millennials puts me on edge.

She takes a while, girls always do, so my mind wanders to Julia and our decision not to have kids. I know Julia regrets it sometimes, and seeing how excited Steve and Sandra are it does make me wonder. Still, it just isn’t suitable for our lifestyle. Life is about making decisions and dealing with the consequences as my dad might have said had he and mum not been killed in a car crash when I was fourteen.

Carly is back and we are off out the bar. I enjoy seeing the envious looks from the guys as I leave with the hottest girl in the place. Outside the air is just a little cold so I do up my jacket, wishing I had thought to bring a warmer coat. Carly takes my arm and we set off.

We walk down the road past all the happy people. The smell of all the different foods from various take-aways and the bright clothes people are wearing add to the carnival atmosphere.

Then there’s the sound of car wheels screeching and I turn around. A large man in a balaclava is shouting something at me, I hear screaming but everything other than the man seems distant to me. The man is holding something in his hand - too late I realise it’s a gun! He is close, I grab at his face in wild desperation only managing to pull back the bottom half of the balaclava. It reveals a small scar under his chin. There is a loud noise and then everything goes blank.

I wake up feeling like I have the worst hangover in my lifetime. My head is swimming and my insides burn, to add to that it feels like someone is shoving two fingers down my throat.

I try to open my eyes but can only see a blur of colours. A green shape is moving around. I slowly come to recognise the blob as a person. I try to call out but something is stopping me from speaking, all I can do is grunt and gurgle. I start to panic realising that there really is something stuck down my throat. I am too weak to move more than a little but I try to shout, but again it comes out as faint noises.

The green blob moves closer, I feel a soft hand on my forehead that starts to gently caress me. She is saying something but it sounds like I am listening to her while under water.

My eyesight comes back slowly. The green blob becomes a woman in green scrubs. So I am in hospital. What the hell has happened to me? The woman leans over me checking my pillows. She seems like a giant, must be my perspective. I spy a name badge on her chest; it says ‘Nurse Porter’.

The sound is still muffled but I can just about make out what she is saying.

“Don’t worry sweetheart, you are safe, but you’ve been through some major surgery,” she must see the frightened look on my face, “but you will be OK now.”

Fuck, what happened? I try to say something but again can only make the faintest of sounds.

“Are you in any pain?” she asks me.

My throat is burning, my head pounding and I don’t seem to be able to move my legs and arms much, all I can do is nod my head yes.

“That’s OK, I’ll increase your dosage,” I watch as the nurse reaches up to adjust something above my head. Almost immediately I start to feel sleepy again.

“Don’t worry honey,” she strokes my forehead pushing a long strand of hair out of my face (how long have I been here for? My hair was never this long), “you sleep, things will be better when you wake up.”

As I drift off I see two faces watching me from behind a glass screen, perhaps it is the drugs but I think one of them looks like Julia.

I wake again, this time my head is clearer. The room is quiet and dark, from the stillness I guess it must be the middle of the night. I try to move but my body is still unresponsive. I try to speak but there is still something stuck down my throat.

It is then that I realise that I am not alone in the room, to my right someone stirs in a chair. Whoever it is gets up and comes over to me. From the silhouette I can tell it’s a woman, but she seems huge! The woman gets closer and then her face is hit by moonlight; thank God, it’s Julia! Her beautiful face is creased with concern and lack of sleep.

“Hello sweetheart, are you OK?”

I try to nod to let her know I am fine but it hurts to do so and I visibly wince in pain.

“Oh love, stay still,” she rests a hand on my arm reassuring me, “I’ll go and get Doctor Fields and Inspector Patil.”

I nod my head in agreement and watch as she dashes out of the room. A light automatically illuminates the corridor casting long shadows into the room. I can now see that I am in a private room in a hospital somewhere. There are a number of tubes and wires connected to me, which scares me shitless. I try to calm myself down until Julia returns with the doctor. Who is this Inspector Patil? What happened to me, why are the police involved?

Suddenly the light in the room is turned on and I am temporally blinded. The next thing I know three figures loom over me. Julia I recognise, next to her is a tired looking man somewhere in his late fifties. He wears blue scrubs, I assume he must be Doctor Fields. Behind them is a South Asian woman in her early 30s wearing a business suit. I guess she is this mysterious inspector.

The man talks to me, “Hello, it is good to have you back with us,” he smiles at me and I feel Julia squeezing my hand trying to reassure me. I wonder if the drugs are still having an effect on my hearing, I try to say something forgetting that I can’t.

“Please don’t try to speak,” the doctor smiles warmly at me, “the tube in your throat has been feeding you for the last month,” I’ve been here a whole month!

He must be able to see how worried I look, “don’t worry,” he says in his best ‘reassuring doctor’s’ voice, “your body has been through a major trauma but you are going to be OK now. We can discuss what this fully means once you are more awake, but I think for now it would be best if you take baby steps.”

I nod my head, there’s so much to take in.

“Great,” he smiles again, “I am going to ask you a few questions; can you answer me by blinking once for yes and twice for no?”

I nod my head in agreement and then blink my eyes once. The doctor asks me a series of questions about how I am feeling and if I feel any sensation in my body. He notes down my answers on a clipboard and seems happy with my signalled responses. After about ten minutes he gets up as if to leave.

“Thank you Mark, that’s been a big help,” he smiles. He then turns to Julia and the detective, “OK you can have some time with her.” He turns to look directly at the detective, telling her to be careful and that I need a lot of rest. I notice something weird, he keeps using ‘her’ and ‘she’ in reference to me. He must really be tired.

The three of them start talking but my head is swimming and I don’t take anything in. Finally he turns back to me, “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes with a nurse to take that tube out of your mouth and give you something to help you sleep,” then he turns and leaves.
The next thing I know the two women are standing either side of me. The detective speaks, “Mark, I am sorry about this you must have many questions,” I nod my head and turn to look at Julia, she rubs my arm reassuring me a little. I can’t understand why my arm looks so small next to her hand? Inspector Patil continues, “Can I ask you Mark, do you remember anything about how you got here?”

I close my eyes to think; somewhere in my head I hear a loud noise and remember a sharp pain followed by coldness. My body convulses and I feel Julia holding onto my arm. It is only now that I realise that I have been strapped down to the bed.

“It’s going to be OK,” Julia soothes me, I am glad she is here. She sees my distress as I pull at my restraints. “The body is very weak, they’re there to stop you falling and hurting yourself,” she reassures me.

“Mark, I am sorry to have to tell you this, but you were shot.” Inspector Patil continues, “We believe the man who shot you was after someone else, the partner of the woman you were with. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

An image comes to mind of Carly’s sweet young face contorted in fear.

“I can see it is difficult for you Mark,” Patil sounds sympathetic but business like.

Julia cuts in, “Deepa,” I guess this is Patil’s first name, “we don’t have to talk about it now, can’t you see he’s traumatised.” She sounds annoyed with her.

“No,” Deepa talks slowly and cautiously, “we can come back to that when you are ready Mark, but we do need to talk about the repercussions of what has happened and of what we need to do to protect you.”

I blink my eyes once.

“Good, now Mark have you heard of the New Body programme?” Deepa keeps the same slow, cautious tone, like she’s a teacher explaining a difficult concept to a pupil.

I blink my eyes once, of course I’ve heard of it, the medical marvel of the age. Doctors that can grow new limbs, organs, even sections of the brain for the severely brain damaged. Half organic, half tech these limbs and hearts are extending and improving life for thousands. They can even create whole new bodies that can be controlled remotely for work in dangerous professions, like mining or in highly radio-active environments. They are semi-autonomous organic robots.

“Well don’t panic, your original body is safe and being repaired as we speak. However, we did have to take a drastic measure, both to save your from the trauma your body has suffered, and to protect you,” she stops and takes a deep breath, “this is not knowledge we normally share with the public, but the government has been able to develop a technique where we can place an individual, their essence, their brain wave patterns and memories into a new, specially grown body.”

I start to panic, I mean what the hell? Am I now in Frankenstein’s monster?

She must see how terrified I look, “As I say don’t panic, you can return to your body as soon as this is over, however we have had to create a new identity for you. Sadly the gunman and his likely associates are still on the run and as long as they are, you are a target.”

I hear Julia starting to cry, I look at her but she has to look away. Deepa presses on,.

“The process of growing a new body is a very long one and we didn’t have much time. People have to be matched to bodies that fit their brainwave patterns. Normally this means someone of a similar age, body size and, err… gender. But with you it was a little different.”

I nod, feeling numb to the shock. Where is this going?

“You are in the only body we had that fitted you, this is your cover and we need you to keep to it for your own safety. Do you understand?”

I blink my eyes once, noticing that tears have started to form.

“Your wife, myself, my team and Doctor Fields who will be keeping an eye on you medically speaking all know your true identity. As far as the rest of the world is concerned you are Emma Riley, the fifteen year old daughter of Julia Riley.”

She looks over at my wife who is also crying; Julia’s maiden name is Riley, so I guess that’s why they have used it,

“We have set you both up with new identities that should keep you safe until this has been sorted. But you must remember to keep to them at all times; you don’t know who you can trust. These men are part of a gang that traffic in people, exploiting the most desperate and needy, they wont hesitate to have you killed if they get the chance.”

I lie there in silence, unable to take it all in.

“Deepa,” Julia asks, “should I let him see?”

Deepa looks uncertain for a moment, but finally says, “I guess so, we don’t really have time to wait for it to sink in.”

Julia produces a small compact mirror from her handbag, it is the old one with a blue plastic rim she has been using since we started dating all those years ago. She opens it and lifts it to my face. I try to pull back but the straps are too tight.

“Mark, you need to see,” Julia says with conviction. I force my eyes to stay open. For a moment I don’t know what I am seeing but slowly I take it in. Looking back at me is the fresh face of a teenage girl. She has bright green eyes and long dark brown hair.

I stare at her for several minutes watching her breathe as I do, then I blank out.

Later that day, when the hospital is more awake and the tubes have been taken out Julia and Nurse Porter help me out of bed and over to a bigger mirror. This time I am more prepared for what I see. A teenage girl, thirteen at the youngest, fifteen at the oldest. Comparing myself to Judy and the nurse I’d put my height at about 5ft 3inches, 160cm, a little short for my new age. She is a skinny thing as well, maybe 7 or 8 stone (51 kg) tops. It feels weird after years of coming to terms with my growing middle-aged spread.

The face is pretty but looks sad, although that might just be right now. The eyes are big and round, a little up turned nose and lips that seem to be pouting. I’d have definitely hit on me when I was her age. For a moment I wonder who they made the body for originally. This is going to take some getting used to.

It is over a week later and Deepa is showing us around our new flat. It is much bigger than our place in London with two reasonably sized bedrooms. The main bedroom has an en suite bathroom as well. The second has a single bed, even though it is big enough for a double. It is decorated for a teenager with band posters everywhere. I recognise the Stone Roses, Belle and Sebastian and the guy from the Artic Monkeys, the others are newer bands and I’m less sure about them, although there seems to be a few too many skinny guys with floppy hair for my comfort.

“We tried to pick things based on your own tastes, with just a few adjustments. If you look in the wardrobe you’ll find plenty of clothes in your new size. I open the doors and see various different things. I am pleased to see there are plenty of pairs of jeans although when I get to the school uniform stuff I am disappointed to find only skirts.

“This must have cost a lot,” I say, my voice still hoarse from my stay in hospital.

“The gang who attacked you have links to supplying terrorists, there’s always a bigger budget where terrorism is involved,” Deepa explains as I run my fingers over a collection of grey cotton school skirts.

I sigh, school isn’t something I am looking forward to but Deepa says we have to act as normally as possible so as not to attract attention. She has found Julia work with a local law firm who have worked with Deepa’s team before. They don’t know about our situation, just that Deepa is helping us out with a new start.

“You can always buy some new stuff of course,” says Deepa a little nervously. I huff. This is a sore point. I can’t access my accounts because they can be traced leaving me dependent on pocket money from Julia.

“So, you are expecting me to sleep in here,” I say uncertainly.

“Oh no,” Deepa says, “I assume you two still want to sleep in the same bed,” she looks between both of us and we nod agreement, “you just need to keep this bedroom in case anyone comes over.”

It makes sense. We go to the living room to go through paper work and discuss arrangements. Deepa talks mainly to Julia, maybe seeing her subconsciously as the ‘adult’, so my mind wanders. Our flat is on the top floor of a five-story building. One wall is made up mostly by a large window looking out over the city. I can see the tall towers of the city centre and think how much Manchester has changed since Julia and I grew up here. I know Deepa thinks it is a good idea to relocate to somewhere we know, but it feels like a step back in time in so many different ways.

First day of school and I’m feeling the fear. My days of hanging around the flat and reading are over. I’ve read more in the last two weeks than I did over the last year. Julia tried to get me to go out but I haven’t been able to make myself. Today I have to.

I look at myself in the big mirror in our bedroom. The black skirt isn’t short, which I am grateful for, but it does feel tight and restrictive. Julia says it is probably for the best; it’ll stop me sitting with my legs wide open and giving the boys a show. That doesn’t make me feel any better.

The blouse and jumper are a little too large, which is good as they hide my figure a little. I know only too well how horny teenage boys are. I am getting a little insight into how dads of teenage girls must feel, knowing the sort of things the boys are thinking about their daughters. Only I am the daughter they will be perving over.

Oh well, no time like the present, at least the school day ends by 3:30pm. I haven’t had so much free time since I was at Uni. I put on the duffel coat Julia bought for me and lift my bag over my shoulder, noticing the weight much more in this small body.

“I’m off,” I shout into the living room where Julia is still getting her things together.

Julia comes hurrying out into the corridor, “Don’t you want me to drop you off?” she asks looking surprised. She is holding a triangle of toast in one hand and pile of papers in the other. She started her job about two weeks ago and is already in the thick of it.

“No,” I smile, trying to look cheerful, “don’t worry about it. The school is only about fifteen minutes away, anyway you know the kids who get dropped off by their parents get picked on,” I joke.

“Come here,” she says, “you’re taking this very well.”

It doesn’t feel like it.

“Well I don’t really have any choice, there’s some bad people out there who want to hurt me, and maybe you as well. And I have to admit,” I gesture at my body with both hands, “this is pretty much the best disguise there is.”

Julia laughs and kisses me on the lips to say goodbye. It feels strange, even though we have been sleeping in the same bed since we came here but there has been no sex. I am not sure which of us is more freaked out by my new body.

The weather is still mild and my coat and jumper feel too hot for walking. Around me the other school kids run and shout, greeting each other after their summer holidays. Deepa thinks it is a stroke of luck that I am starting at the beginning of the academic year. I am hoping it will help hide me in the crowd.

First I have to go to the school office where I am greeted by a middle-aged woman. She seems busy and tells me to sit on one of the plastic chairs lined up just outside the office. I sit there feeling very small watching other pupils walk by. They all seem to be in groups making me feel even more alone. Through the sliding glass panel to the office I can hear the secretary discussing her holidays with her colleagues.

I glance at my phone and see I have been waiting for more than twenty minutes. I cross my legs feeling the plastic against the bare skin of my legs. I make a mental note to wear tights tomorrow.

After about another ten minutes a teacher appears. He stands over me making me feel very small.
“You must be Emma,” he says smiling kindly. He looks an unlikely teacher with broad shoulders and a figure that suggest exercise and a more outdoor type of life.

I say a meek little ‘hi’ and he introduces himself as Mr Dixon, the deputy head and then tells me to come with him. I follow behind feeling like a little dog, he keeps telling me about the different classrooms as we walk but I can only focus on all the eyes of the students that fall on me as we pass

Finally we reach a door with EL03 in silver letters on it. Below them is a laminated card that says ‘Mr Hulse’.

“This is your form room,” he says. His kind smile does little to reassure me. Inside, the room is already half full of chattering teenagers. Most of them stop talking when I enter and eye me up. I was never the most popular person at school being something of a music/art geek. The feelings I had back then of being watched and judged come swimming back.

Mr Dixon introduces me to Mr Hulse who is a slim fresh faced man who doesn’t look old enough to be a teacher to my thirty something mind. He has started growing a wispy beard, I wonder if he is trying to look older?

The two talk for a moment and then Mr Hulse offers me a card with my lessons and rooms written on it. I look down at it but it doesn’t mean much to me right now.

“Looks like you’ll be in my set for English on Wednesdays and Fridays,” he says smiling at me then he turns to one of the girls sitting nearest to us, “Jessie,” he says, “can you show Emma around to her lessons today?”

Jessie looks at me like I’m something that’s just crawled out from the sewers. I notice she is wearing a little make up.

“But sir,” she starts, but is cut off my Mr Hulse.
“No ‘buts’ Jessie,” he says, “I think the responsibility will do you good. And I’ll write you a note explaining why you are late to lessons.”

This last part seems to make Jessie a little happier.

“Thanks sir,” she says with some real feeling, “Emma, you can come and sit with us if you like,” she follows less convincingly.

I go sit down on the edge of their table and Mr Dixon leaves, Mr Hulse going back to his lesson plan. Jessie turns back to her friends excluding me from the conversation.

The bell rings and the rest of the students file in. As each pupil comes in they look me over, making me feel like an exhibit in a zoo. One girl stands out. She is tall and skinny, giving the impression of sharp edges especially at her cheekbones. Her fingers are long and slim as she runs them through her hair, which is short at the back and sides and a mass of curls on top. Unlike the other girls in the class she is wearing trousers rather than a skirt. She looks daggers at Jessie and her friends but gives me a more curious look.

As this new girl walks past Jessie whispers to her friend, “Poppy’s even taller than before, she’s turning into a man!” they start to giggle until Jessie notices Mr Hulse looking directly at her.

“Sorry sir,” she mutters.
I see Poppy glaring at Jessie, she catches my eye and I give her a sympathetic little smile. When we leave the form room for our first lessons I notice Poppy giving me an interested look.

Jessie drops me outside my next classroom for Geography and tells me she’ll meet me outside our form room during break. I doubt very much that I’ll see her again today.

In the first of my classes I find a seat at the back where I am not overlooked. The teacher is talking about the average rainfall in the Amazon and I am happy to stare out of the window watching the world go by. During break I go stand outside the form room but see nothing of Jessie and her friends. I am neither surprised nor am I that upset. I do wonder what Jessie has in mind for the pass Mr Hulse gave her?

The morning passes slowly and lunch is an odd ordeal where I go find a quiet spot to eat my sandwiches. After eating I go outside and watch some kids messing about with skateboards behind what I am told is the science building. As I watch them I wonder if I could ever be part of this world again, or if there is too much of a gulf of time and experience between us.

After lunch is art where I am put on a table with two boys and a girl. The first boy introduces himself as Peter, who is quietly spoken but friendly, he has long limbs that remind me of pipe cleaners and broad shoulders. The other boy, Ian, immediately starts checking me out and seems transfixed when I take my blue school jumper off half way through the class. The girl is called Freddie and seems nice, but doesn’t talk much. She has a streak of purple in her hair that stands out against her otherwise quiet persona. Through most of the lesson Peter makes us all laugh describing the different teachers and their faults. Only Mr Hulse gets his respect, as apparently he lent Peter a copy of Watchmen by Alan Moore. With the exception of maths the classes seem pretty easy. In maths I realise just how much I forgotten despite having run my own company for ten years.

I arrive home around four that afternoon feeling knackered. Maybe it is this body, but it feels like I’ve had a sensory overload. I am not surprised that Julia isn’t home yet to I go slump on the sofa. I turn on the TV and let my brain slowly process everything from the day.

It felt odd to be back in a High School as one of the kids. Everything and everyone seemed so big, I am sure I can’t be the smallest in the year, but it feels that way. I tried telling myself that I was much to old to be intimidated by school kids, but that is easier to believe when you are over six foot and don’t have to spend your whole day with the buggers.

Around five-ish I get a text from Julia saying she has to stay late to meet a client and that I should help myself to the leftovers in the fridge. I just shrug my shoulders and hope they aren’t working her too hard. I go change into my pyjamas, Deepa bought me two sets one pink, one blue, both Hello Kitty. I can’t say I am fond of them but at least they are comfortable. Anyway no one is going to see me in them apart from Julia and she understands.

After eating a light tea (my stomach is much smaller now) I go read in bed. I am already snoozing when Julia comes in sometime around ten. I hear the TV go on in the living room but don’t get up. She’d only make me talk about my day and I don’t think I’m ready to face that yet. I fall back asleep and I’m only half aware when she comes to bed. She kisses me on the ear and wishes me sweet dreams then turns over.

Tuesday comes and I find myself in hot water. Jessie and her gaggle of friends give me dirty looks when I walk in to the form room. I hear them whispering and glancing over at me but I have no idea why. The room quietens down when Mr Hulse comes in. I am starting to notice how the kids look up to him, even Jessica and her gang of mean girls.

As Mr Hulse reads the register I contemplate what I could have done but I can’t figure it out. As the room empties Jessica and her friends push by me showing open hostility.

After they leave Poppy comes over to me, “You better watch out, Jessie and her fan club don’t like you,” she whispers.

“What did I do?” I say indignantly.

“Nothing, she was caught using the note Hulse gave you to skive, now she thinks you told on her.”

“What!” Poppy walks off as I’m left to contemplate the unfairness that is my life.

For the first half of the day I spend my time trying to avoid the groups of girls that wander around the school. Maybe I am paranoid but they all seem to be whispering about me.

At lunch things only get worse. I get there late as I had biology and the science building is one of the furthest from the lunch hall. There are not many places left to sit. There’s a couple of chairs at the back but the tables around them are taken by the football club lads. They are being loud and throwing things around and, although I hate to admit it, they physically intimidate me. I am sure none of them would hurt me on purpose but I fear getting caught by a misjudged arm or something. The only other seat is on a table taken up by year 11 and year 12 girls. I notice Jessie amongst them, but she’s at the other end from the empty seat. It looks like most of them are nearly finished anyway so if I sit down and keep quiet they will be gone soon anyway.

As I come closer I can hear the whispers and am left in no doubt they are aimed at me.

“What’s up with her skirt, is she a nun?” I catch. I have no choice now, to change direction would be to lose face and there is no way I am going to let a bunch of teenage girls make me back down. I have as much right to that seat as anyone. I put my tray down on the table and make eye contact with Jessie, letting her know I’m not scared of her. As soon as my bum hits the chair though they all rise up and leave the table.

I am sat there knowing exactly how this looks as the girls walk off not even looking at me. My ears burned red as I realise the whole room is looking at me. There is not much I can do, but I am determined not to show any hurt. I reach into my bag, pull out a book and make like I am reading, although in reality I am just keeping my eyes down trying not to look at anyone.

The rest of the day is horrible, I have to go round the school not knowing who is talking about me. Later I pass Poppy and Peter in the corridor, both of whom are laughing but stop when they see me coming past. I get the feeling Poppy wants to say something but she freezes up as I get closer. I wonder if they are laughing at me as well.

Julia surprises me by picking me up after school. She is leaning on the car provided for us by the relocation unit, waving at me as I walk through the school gates. I feel my face getting hot as I realise the other kids are watching me. I don’t see Jessie but I imagine this will get back to her.

“Get in, kiddo,” Julia points to the passenger side.

“Cool it… mum,” I say in a hushed voice. Only my cover stops me from saying more.

Once we are in the car Julia turns to me, “I thought I’d treat you honey,” she smiles.

“Really?” I wonder what she means; perhaps we are going for a meal? She seems excited, it nice to see her like this. She’s looked weighed down by stress since I came out of hospital.

“Yeah, I thought we could go shopping,” Julia is grinning; she clearly thinks this is a huge thing for me.

“Err, yeah OK,” I don’t want to disappoint her, “not sure how this is a treat for me though...”

Shopping has always been a way for Julia to unwind. Not that she is a logo crazy type. Her job as a lawyer in London is stressful with long hours but it does have the compensation of being well paid. I think being able to quantify those long meetings with ego crazy clients in terms of buying this or that was one of her ways of getting through. I certainly didn’t judge her for it.

“Wait till you see where we’re shopping,” she smiles at me with a wicked grin.

I try to get more out of her on the drive in but Julia stays tight lipped. We park in the Arndale car park, not the most promising start. The Arndale is a shopping Mall in the city centre made up of your standard high-street brand shops. Apart from a bizarre painting of Winston Churchill (who used to be a member of parliament for Greater Manchester), Wayne Rooney and Rio Ferdinand (both Manchester United footballers) there’s little to say it is in Manchester and not any other place in Britain or Ireland.

Julia leads me through the corridors and out onto Market Street ignoring my questions about our destination. She pauses about halfway down the pedestrian street and takes my hand. I look at her speechlessly as she winks and drags me into the Ann Summers shop.

For those who don’t know, Ann Summers is a high street shop in the UK that sells sexy lingerie, sex toys and costumes. Its success is built on being aimed at women customers rather than a shady male-orientated sex shop.

“What the hell…” I mutter as we walk through the door.

A female shop assistant looks at us directly, she seems a little startled. We must look like an odd couple.

“My niece,” Julia says, the shop assistant still looks at us mutely, “just turned seventeen last weekend,” Julia offers by way of explanation. The assistant looks me up and down as if to show she’s not convinced I am seventeen but doesn’t put up a fight.

We pretend to be looking at a rack of relatively tame underwear near the front of the shop until she goes away.

“Go up to the things you want me to wear for you tonight and touch them like this,” Julia lays her hand lightly on a pink bra close to her, “then come back when you re finished.”

I mouth ‘thank you’ to her as I set off. First I go over to the costume section. All the usual favourites are there, a naughty nurse, sexy policewoman etc. There’s a mermaid outfit I think about for a second; however, in my albeit limited experience these types of costumes tend to be fine in fantasy but cumbersome in reality.

I move over to the lingerie section turning my head to make sure Julia is watching. She is making like she is extremely interested in a see-through nightie but I can tell her eyes are following me. I let my hand lie gently on a black lace push up bra. I look up to check she’s noticed, I see that she has.

Slowly I move around the shop touching matching lace panties, suspender belt and nylons. I don’t look up now, I am sure Julia is watching me. Finally I come to a pair of handcuffs. I look for a moment at the silver metal reflecting the lights of the shop then I tough it gently. I know Julia is less keen on the bondage thing than I am, but seeing as it is my treat I think I can push it a little.

After a while I wander back to Julia who is looking at me slyly.

“Done?” she asks. I just nod my head.

“Good,” she lowers her voice, “Go across the road and wait for me in Topshop.” I turn to leave but she grabs my arm

“I want you to have picked out a bra and knickers set by the time I join you.”

I look at her in the eyes wondering if I should protest. I decide not to; she is doing this for me so I owe her a little leeway.

I pick out a light blue matching bra and knickers as quickly as I can, not wanting to break our contract. I feel a fool carrying them around but no one looks at me as if it’s strange. Ten minutes go pass and there’s no sign of Julia. I stick near the front of the shop not wanting us to miss and have to wander around the shop for longer than necessary. Unfortunately the front is taken up with a display of winter skirts and dresses. I have to pretend I am really interested in a selection of wiggle dresses.

A group of teenagers enter the shop. I recognise them as sixth formers from the college next to my school. One of the boys, tall with messy hair, looks over at me. As our eyes meet and he smiles unselfconsciously at me. I feel my face getting red with embarrassment realising I am clutching a bra and knickers in one hand and holding up a pink wiggle dress in the other. The boy doesn’t seem to mind and just turns back to his friend as if he hasn’t seen me in the first place.

It is almost another twenty minutes before Julia appears. What the hell took her so long? She is carrying a discreet black bag; it looks heavier than I’d have expected given the flimsiness of the items I picked out for her. Still, I am not complaining and anyway, these things always come with a crazy amount of packaging.

“Hello love,” she says breathlessly. I see that the cold weather has brought out the rosiness of her cheeks.

“Hi,” I say slightly sulkily, “what took you so long?”

“There were a few people in front of me,” she just smiles not explaining any further.

“Can we go?” I ask, keen to get to use the contents of her bag, “I got what you asked for,” holding up the underwear.

“Not just yet darling,” Julia says firmly, “we still need to buy you some more clothes.”

Julia proceeds to drag me around the shop putting various items against my body for comparison. I know Julia has always dreamed of having a daughter to share moments like this with her. I guess this is the deal for what comes next so I try my best to discuss the merits of various skirts, dresses and tops. After about half an hour I finally get out of there, carrying a bag which includes the bra and knickers, a pair of jean shorts and several pairs of warm tights.

Back home Julia tells me she is going to the bedroom and that I should go wait in the living room. Eagerly I agree, it has been so long! After about ten minutes she comes out of the bedroom wearing a yellow lace nightie, her hair all done up in an updo. I am surprised; she is wearing something she has owned for few years now.

“Come to the bedroom,” she says in her most seductive voice, a voice she knows drives me crazy.

I follow as she leads. I am not used to her taking control so much but I have to say I like it. She opens the bedroom door to reveal the little scene she has arranged.

On the bed all the clothes we bought arranged carefully with the stockings at the bottom and a pair of black opera gloves on either side (I don’t remember picking them).

“Get undressed,” she tells me. I am uncertain; is she going to dress up once I am naked?

While I am undressing Julia goes to a drawer by the bed and retrieves a number of items. She places the handcuffs on the bed.

Naked I look at her expectantly - what next? “Are you going to put them on now?”
She smiles mischievously.

“These?” she indicates what’s on the bed.

“Yes,” I say uncertainly.

“Don’t you think they are a little small for me?” I notice a look of uncertainty in her smile that she hides when she realises I can see.

I look at the items on the bed. It is true, they do seem small, but then again women’s things always seem so inconsequential when they are not being worn.

“These are for you,” she says, her wicked grin back. I try to say something but she puts a finger over my mouth warning me to stop. “After all my love, you are the one with the body for them now.”

I know she is making an effort, and I’d really like to have sex. Just not as the girl.

“Isn’t it a little humiliating?” I say more to myself. I realise almost immediately that I have said the wrong thing.

“Listen,” the sharpness in her voice, “if you expect me to wear things like this in the future you are going to have to show you are willing to do the same.”

I gulp, this is hard. I pick the knickers up feeling the smooth, shiny material in my hand. I look at her, she seems determined but I detect a flicker of doubt. She continues to watch as I fumble around with the bra, I am doing my best to look sexy but I’m pretty certain I don’t. I roll the stockings up my legs, first left then right. Here at least I am on safer ground having watch Julia do this many times. Once they are connected to the suspender belt I lay back on the bed.

Julia shakes her head, “No, lie forward,” she says. Not knowing what else to do I comply. Our bed is new but made to look like one of those Victorian metal beds. There is a long black bar running the length of the foot of the bed.

Instinctively I reach out grasping the bar with both hands. Julia comes round and handcuffs my wrists, looping the chain around the bar. It is for effect and I know I can pull free if I need to. She looks me in the eyes as she does it, the effect is erotic and I am warming to this idea. Her mouth quivers for a second like she wants to say something, then she gets up and moves around behind me.

My body braces itself waiting for something to happen, but it doesn’t. Anticipation builds then fades away. I try to turn to see what is happening but then I feel the weight of Julia sitting down on the bed next to me, then I hear crying.

“Oh Mark, I am so sorry but I can’t,” I try to turn to face her but I can’t move enough.

“What’s up love?” I try to sound comforting but my voice just sounds squeaky.

“It’s… it’s you,” she breathes in holding back a sob, “I mean it’s your body, the one you are in. I am not a lesbian, and even if I was ...” she bursts into tears again.

I try to break free but the handcuffs are surprisingly tight.

“I know it is hard love, can’t you just forget about it and think of me, the real me I mean?” As I speak I intensify my efforts to break free but it only seems to make matters worse.

She comes around to the front of me and starts to help me with the silk. Looking me in the eyes she says, “you know I never liked your sex games, even before.” Her voice is conversational, not confrontational.

“I was just trying to stoke the fires a little,” I had, in the past, encouraged Julia to try out a few things. Nothing extreme, a few costumes, very mild bondage.
“The problem is,” Julia looks a little more miffed now, “when we have sex like that, it’s…” her voice trails off for a moment, “it’s like you are having sex with the fantasy, not me.”

“I have never thought of it like that,” I say honestly. The truth is that I had thought she might be losing interest in me and had wanted to make our sex life more exciting. “I am sorry,” I say looking straight at her.

“Good God,” she says, the tears have stopped and she’s grinning a little, “those Bambi eyes of yours,” she looks away, “you should remember them, they’ll get you out of trouble in the future,” she laughs a snotty laugh.

“I am getting nowhere with these handcuffs,” I say rather pathetically.

She squeezes my hand saying, “Wait here, I’ll get the keys. I think I left the bag in the living room.”

I am left lying there for what seems like ages feeling a complete div.

That night we cuddle (me back in those damn Hello Kitty PJs). Julia falls asleep holding me in her arms. I think about slipping out to the spare room for a wank as I am in desperate need of some release. Her arms are much bigger and stronger than mine now and the only way I can break out is by waking her. I lay awake for a long time watching the grey shadows on the ceiling. I wonder how much longer I’ll be like this, a week, two, a month, maybe longer?

Things come to a head with Jessie the following day. We are each assigned lockers near our different form rooms for keeping bags etc in. It seems like a very American thing to me; I don’t remember us having them my first time round. I open up my locker door planning on stashing my PE kit there till I need it in the afternoon, on the bottom of the locker is a folded up piece of paper. I open it up and read:

“Die, no one likes you.”

I stare at it for a moment, thinking how stupid and absurd it is. I find myself having to blink back tears. I didn’t ask for any of this why can’t they just leave me alone? My whole life has gone and now I’m supposed to put up with this bollocks as well. I ball my fists in anger. Somewhere behind me I can hear laughter. I slam my locker shut and swing around behind me catching Jessie with a smug look on her face. My blood boils as I march over to her.

“Hey little girl, what is up with…” she stops as I punch her right in the face. She isn’t ready for it and is knocked off her feet. Her friends look shocked but I hear more than one or two people cheering and laughing.

Walking back to class from the deputy heads office I feel a sense of moral vindication. Although I got it in the ear, it was Jessie who was left squirming when I showed Mr Dixon the note. She claimed ignorance but was read the riot act and reminded about the school’s zero tolerance for bullying. Mr Dixon said he’d call both our parents but I am pretty sure Julia will see it my way.

My next lesson is English and when I enter the classroom everyone stops and looks. Mr Hulse tells me to go sit down; the only chair is next to Poppy who smiles at me as I go to sit down.

“But sir, she’s mental, she punched Jessie,” says a wiry girl with a face like a smacked arse who I’ve seen hanging around with Jessie before.

“Chantal, I doubt Emma is the first person in the class to want to do that to Jessica,” he looks over and gives me a wry smile, “I am only proud that it has taken so long for someone to break.”

Chantal looks scandalised but I hear a murmur of laughter from the class. I sit down next to Poppy and pull out my books. When the class gets back into full flow Poppy leans towards me and whispers, “That was bloody amazing,” making me smile. A few minutes later Chantal throws a screwed up piece of paper at us while Mr Hulse’s back is turned. With a sigh I open it.

“Mental Mickey loves the Dyke,” it reads (although she’s spelt dyke ‘dike’).

I turn to Poppy, “I’m guessing I’m ‘Mental Mickey’ then?”.

“Well, I’ve been ‘The Dyke’ since Halloween last year when I was outed for looking up Ellie Rodger’s Powder Puff Girl costume,” Poppy shrugs.

“Are you really gay?” I ask stupidly.

“As they come,” she says with a patient look on her face, “are you?”

I blush but I am not sure why, “To be perfectly honest with you I am not sure what I am,” I answer honestly.

Later when I get back to the flat I find Julia already home.

“What the hell have you been up to?” she says in that measured, controlled anger, voice she uses to let me know I’m in trouble.

“Err,” it takes me a moment to catch on that they must have called her at work about my fight, “Sorry,” I try.

“You’ve got a lot of explaining to do young lady.”

This is an extended version of the one I posted last month. Thanks to Robyn Hood and Cressar for the support and proof reading!

Part 2

The examination with Doctor Fields couldn’t be more embarrassing. He’s come up to Manchester especially and has been given an office at the Manchester Royal Infirmary just for this purpose. I suppose I should feel special, but all I do feel is the cold plastic of a chair against my bare bum as I sit here in the inadequate gown they gave me.

I have already gone through the indignity of blood and urine tests, as well as a short physical in a weird little gym. The worst part was the nurse chatting away to me like I was a real teenage girl. She asked me if I had a boyfriend yet and, when I answered that I wasn’t really in to all that, she just gave me a knowing look and said, “It won’t be long now,” before changing the subject.

Julia sits next to me trying to be positive. She talks about what we are going to have for our tea, what’s on TV this evening; I barely hear any of it.

“Don’t sit like that with your arms crossed,” she whispers.

“Huh?” I grunt unappreciatively.

“Holding your arms like that pushes your breasts up and out,” Julia says calmly.

I can see a little smile on her face as I quickly drop my arms by my side. All I can do is sit here watching the medical staff go by. I wonder how many of them know about me. I have never felt smaller or more vulnerable, towered over even by the other women, with a breeze coming under my gown.

Eventually Doctor Fields comes out of the office they have assigned him and invites us in. I wonder what could have been keeping him; as far as I know I’m the only patient he is seeing up here.

After we have taken a seat and Julia and the Doctor have exchanged the usual nothings about the weather and traffic he turns to me.

“So Mark, how have you been?”

There seems so much I could talk about; Jessie and her gang, having to live as a sexless roommate with my own wife but, being British, I reply, “Fine thanks.”

“Good,” he says nodding like I’ve imparted some great wisdom. “You haven’t experienced anything unusual?” I look at him and he laughs, “Apart from the obvious.”

His acknowledgement of the situation I am in breaks the ice a little.

“No, I don’t think so,” I answer. I notice Julia looking a little uncomfortable, but she doesn’t say anything.

“So no mood swings, nothing like that?”

“No…” I start, but Julia cuts in.

“Well actually, you have been a little moody,” she says, not looking at me directly.

“Of course I have.” I look between them - their expressions are grave. “You’d be ‘a little moody’ if you found yourself in a completely strange body!” I realise I’ve raised my voice and I catch them exchanging glances.

“Of course you have been through a major change, Mark, we’d be very surprised if it had no effect on your emotional state.” His voice is slow and professional, calming me down. “You also need to be aware that your brain and your body are still getting used to each other. Your brain will have to adjust to the new signals your body is sending.”

“It won’t need to get used to it,” I realise I am crossing my arms again and quickly drop my hands into my lap, “because I’m not going to be in this body for much longer.”

“No, quite,” I don’t like the note of uncertainty in his voice, “but until you are ready to change back we do need to take good care of you.”

“Hmph,” I assent grudgingly.

“Do you think all this could explain the recent reckless behaviour we discussed over the phone?” Julia addresses the doctor; again she can’t look straight at me. They’ve been discussing me over the phone!

“I think that sounds very likely,” Doctor Fields says, speaking directly to Julia.

“Is there anything we can do?” It’s as though I’m not even in the room.

“Well I wouldn’t worry too much,” he says, turning to look at me, “I think we are in the transition period right now. Once the body and mind have had time to match up I think this little problem will resolve itself.”

I don’t like the sound of my body and mind ‘matching up’ as he puts it. My mind is expecting the body of a 36 year old man and I’m pretty happy with that.

“Could you get up on the bed here?” he asks, indicating one of those mechanical hospital beds they use in examining rooms. I do as he says, just wanting this to be over. “Now, could you lie back on the bed for me?” I notice two metal stirrups protruding from the bottom of the bed but don’t think much of them. This must be the women’s health section of the hospital.

“OK Mark, please could you put a foot in each stirrup?” Doctor Fields asks, I notice his voice has taken a detached, professional air.

“Hey, what? No one mentioned this to me,” I look around the room wildly and try to get up. I feel Julia’s hand on my shoulder holding me down.

“Is this really necessary doctor?” she asks him. The concern in her voice does little to calm me down.

“I am afraid it is,” he says. “We need to be sure everything is working, if it’s not it could lead to a major problem down the line.”

I try to calm myself down as I feel his strong hands guide my feet into the stirrups. With my knees up I can’t see much but I feel his hands move away and can hear him putting on plastic gloves.

“Now, this will be a little cold, Emma.”

I lie back breathing slowly; somewhere at the back of my mind it registers that he is now calling me Emma. I feel cold metal against parts of my body my mind still hasn’t come to accept exist yet.

I feel Julia squeeze my elbow and I reach up and grab her hand. I realise I have been holding my breath.

After what seems like an eon Doctor Fields finally speaks to me.

“Okay, Emma, everything appears to be in order.” He turns to look at Julia. “You’ll be pleased to know she seems completely healthy.”

“Good,” she says in a whisper and I can see she’s as freaked out by this as I am. I’m sure she never expected to be holding her husband’s hand while he gets a smear test.

“Can I ask you, has she had her period yet?” He asks such an extraordinary thing in such a casual way.

“I think Mark would prefer it if you referred to him as a ‘he’ doctor,” Julia says looking at me and I nod my head in conformation.

“Oh, I am sorry Mark,” says the doctor, standing up so I can see him, “it’s just from the view I have…” his voice trails off, “but getting back to my question?”

“Er… no, I don’t think so,” Julia looks at me for confirmation again.

“No,” I say in a voice barely above a croak.

“Well I wouldn’t worry. It will take a while for all the body’s functions to ‘come on line’, but I think we can expect the cycle to start sometime in the next month to six weeks.”

We just nod dumbly; I can see from Julia’s expression that this is as much a shock for her as for me.

“So, does this mean Emma, I mean Mark, could get pregnant?” Julia asks, putting an actual voice to what I am screaming in my head.

“Well, yes. This technology has been used for surrogacy programmes for couples with fertility problems. All those have been through IVF. I don’t know of any examples of pregnancy through sex with the New Bodies but I guess it is technically possible.”

I try to get up, forgetting that my feet are still trapped the stirrups, causing myself to nearly fall off the bed. I’m only saved by Julia grabbing me. It takes her nearly fifteen minutes to calm me down.

Outside in reception I finally break down completely. I can’t stop myself from crying, sobs so strong that they shake my body. Julia puts her arms around me hugging me close. It lasts only a few minutes and I slowly regain my composure. Patients and medical staff walk by; all they see is a mother consoling her teenage daughter.

I call Julia’s name out as I come in through the door. Thank fuck it’s Friday, I think to myself as I sling my school rucksack down by the coat stand and drop my keys into the key bowl. I can hear voices coming from the living room; “Mum” I call out, remembering to keep my cover.

“In here, sweetheart,” Julia says, popping her head out through the living room doorway at the other end of the hall. “Some of the girls from work are visiting, come say hi.”

God, after the week I’ve had all I want is a beer and curry and a night in front of the TV. But, relationships are made of moments like this so I suck it up and slouch my way down the hallway.

I wait on the edge of the doorway but Julia beckons me in.

“Come on, come say hi to everyone,” she smiles warmly at me. I spy a half empty bottle of wine on the coffee table and full glasses in the hands of the four women in the room. “You know Ms Patil of course,” Julia puts her arm around me hugging me close as I nod at Inspector Deepa, “and these are Kelly and Sophie from the office. Everyone this is my daughter Emma.”

I wince slightly at Julia calling me her daughter; I know it’s the cover but I still can’t quite get used to it.

“Hi everyone,” I say, giving them a lame little wave and the women beam back at me.

“How’s the new school Emma?” the woman introduced as Kelly asks. She’s a tall woman in her late twenties / early thirties; quite hot looking in a ‘power dressing’ sort of a way.

“Oh you know, school is school, one’s pretty much the same as the next.” It means nothing but I hope it is enough to satisfy them.

“You poor thing, I hated starting a new school when I was a teenager,” Sophie says. She’s a short woman, a little round at the hips, wearing a sensible trouser suit. She makes a sympathetic face at me. “I was an army brat so I went to three different high schools,” she says addressing the whole room.

“Yeah, it sucks,” I say hoping to end this conversation as quickly as possible. I am hoping they will let me go to ‘my’ room; at least so I can change out of my school things and play computer games for a bit.

“Emma, Ms Patil has a surprise for you,” Julia says smiling. I shoot her a suspicious look. The other women in the room exchange glances - what the hell is going on? It is then I hear the sound of a toilet flushing coming from the hallway. Who? What?

A tall boy in black jeans and a Nirvana t-shirt enters the room. I recognise him as one of the Sixth Form kids I saw hanging out around the art block. He smiles sheepishly at everyone. I clock his age as being around seventeen. He probably wasn’t even born when that t-shirt first came out.

“Emma, this is Noah, my nephew,” Deepa says. I can tell she is nervous about my reaction. Damn right, she should be.

“Er, hi Noah,” I say glancing nervously at Julia who is still smiling at me. Is this some sort of prank?

“Nice to meet you,” Noah says. I guess he’s not too happy to be here either - I wouldn’t have been happy being stuck with some strange fifteen-year-old girl on a Friday night when I was his age. Noah looms over me. It gives me butterflies; he must be at least a foot taller than me.

“Noah,” says Deepa, “why don’t you help yourself to some wine?” She turns to Julia, “can Emma have a glass as well?”

“I guess.”

Her eyes flicker to me then she turns to Noah.

“Emma can have half wine, half lemonade, Noah.” He shoots me a sympathetic look and I feel myself burning up with embarrassment.

The room breaks into different little conversations as Noah heads to the kitchen looking for glasses.

“Looks like someone is already smitten,” I overhear Kelly saying to Sophie. Damn! They’ve interpreted my embarrassment at the situation as some sort of hopeless teenage crush; I pray Noah doesn’t do the same.

“Sorry love,” Julia whispers to me, “is it okay if I go out for a drink or two?”

I nod; I guess this is hard on her as well, and I suppose I could do with some time alone.

I nod again and she says, “We’ll be leaving in about half an hour,” with a smile.

“Great.” I breathe again - at least my ordeal will be short.

Noah returns from the kitchen and hands me a large wine glass. I take sip realising that he has only put a small splash of lemonade in it, I look at him in shock and catch him giving me a sly little wink. Well, at least one person isn’t treating me like a kid.

Deepa comes over and hands Noah a twenty-pound note saying, “Here’s some extra cash, you can order pizza for you and Emma if you want.”

Hey, wait - Noah is staying here with me?!

“Emma, why don’t you show Noah your room? Noah you are going to love Emma’s record collection,” Julia says, catching me off guard. I try to think of something to get me off the hook but I can’t think quickly enough.

“You collect vinyl, Emma? That’s very cool,” and despite myself I blush at Noah’s flattery, glad of an excuse to get out of the living room and prying eyes. I can see Kelly and Sophie giggling a little as I turn to Noah. As we leave the room I hear Julia’s voice.

“Emma,”

“Yes?” What now?

“Don’t forget to leave your bedroom door open, dear.”

I feel my face burning red hot; I don’t dare look at Kelly, Sophie or Deepa.

“So Deepa is your aunt then?” I ask as I stand in the doorway of my supposed bedroom, afraid to cross the threshold with Noah inside.

“Yeah, Aunty Deepa is married to my father’s brother.” He looks around at me, “This is a pretty cool collection, how did you get so much?”

“My dad left some of it to me when he died,” I reply, which is partly true, although I have had about twenty odd years to build it up since then.

“Bummer,” says Noah.“My dad died a few years ago as well,” he looks at me directly. I see a moment of sadness behind those blue eyes and then it passes. I suppose he isn’t such a bad kid; it might be okay to spend a few hours with him.

I kneel down next to Noah and we spend ten minutes rummaging through my box of records. Noah pulls out The Rocky Horror Show.

“It’s red vinyl, a collector’s edition,” I tell him, a hint of pride in my voice.

“My aunts go mad for this,” he tells me and I try to picture Deepa in full costume. I hear a knock on the open door and nearly jump out of my skin. I realise how close I am to Noah.

“We’re leaving now, honey,” Julia says, standing over me. I can hear the other women putting their coats on in the hall way, “I wont be out too late love, but no staying up past twelve, okay?”

“Mum!” I exclaim, blushing red when I realise how like a fifteen-year-old girl I must sound.

“Noah, here’s a menu for the pizza place Emma likes,” she says, handing Noah a cheaply produced flyer. “Don’t let her order a side of chips, she’s on a diet.”

“My god ‘Mum’, he’s not my babysitter!” I snap, my mouth wide open in disbelief.

“Sorry sweetheart,” Julia bends over and kisses me on the forehead, my kneeling down only adding emphasis to the difference in height between us. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you in front of your new friend.” She smiles at Noah and then exits the room.

My cheeks are still burning as I hear Julia and the others calling out goodbye by before leaving. I am sure I can hear Kelly and Sophie cackling away.

“Hey, I’ve just put together a new playlist, do you want to hear it?” Noah asks, bringing me out of my bad mood and back into the room.

“Sure,” I say with a sigh, “the speakers are in the living room.”

It takes me a while to get Noah’s phone and our speakers to connect. While I am doing that Noah calls the takeaway on our landline. We sit at different ends of the sofa talking about our favourite music. Noah talks about the tracks we listen to and new bands I haven’t heard of, his enthusiasm is endearing. I curl my legs up underneath me; the sensation of feeling the sofa through my tights is still new to me. It makes me realise I am still in my school uniform. Is it too late to go change? Would it give the wrong impression?

As I am weighing up my clothing options the doorbell rings.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get it,” Noah says, standing up and leaving me sitting there. I tell myself off for being so passive. This is my place, I shouldn’t be letting him take the lead. While he’s gone I pull off my school jumper and tie, just leaving the oversized white shirt and black skirt. I notice the skirt has risen up my thighs so I try to pull it down. I wonder if I have time to change into jeans and a jumper but Noah is back in the room before I can do anything.

We eat the pizza straight out of the box. I notice he’s ordered a side of chips.

“Fuck your mum, eh?”

He smiles at me again making me snort through my nose as I laugh, mouth full.

“Yeah,” I say, sounding stupid. I was rather hoping I would get the chance to ‘fuck her’ tonight.

“Hey, is that the latest Call of Duty?” He sounds excited and I look where he is pointing.

“Oh yeah,” I pause, trying to think of an reason why a fifteen year old girl would own a game that isn’t even out on the high street yet. “Mum got it from America, she has friends there.” Well, it was true about the America bit, although Julia hates me playing this game.

“Cool, can you load it up?”

I kneel down in front of the TV setting things up. I try to connect the player with the TV and have to bend right down to reach underneath our plasma screen. As I finally get the thing in I realise I’ve been waving my bum in the air for the last five or so minutes. I don’t dare look around at Noah, I can’t bear seeing the expression on his face.

As I load up the game Noah talks about missions he’s been on with his mates as if they are real, damn millennials. Suddenly he jumps up.

“Wait there,” he says. He heads into the kitchen where I hear him rummaging around. I feel like an idiot just sitting here waiting for him to come back, my hands placed neatly on lap, but I don’t move.

He returns with Julia’s bottle of vodka and two glasses. He sits down cross-legged next to me; even sitting he is much bigger than me. He pours out two generous shots and hands one to me.

“If you get killed, you take a shot,” he smiles.

I realise how much I need a drink as he hands me the glass. Hell, I know this isn’t a good idea but, what with school and Julia working late so much, this is the nearest thing I’ve had to adult company in a long while. Anyway, I should be able to show this little punk a thing or two. He may tower over a foot above me but I can still hand him his arse on Call of Duty any day.

A couple of hours later and we are both a little drunk. The game is starting to get a little stupid as we are joined online by more and more drunks coming back from the pub. I look at my phone, nothing from Julia; I wonder if she’s gone into town?

“You want to do something different?” I ask Noah.

“Sure, what have you got?” He’s leaning back on his arms, his muscles taut.

“You play cards?” I mimic him leaning back, then realise I am pushing my boobs out. I over correct and hug my legs to my torso, unbalancing myself and causing me to wobble unsteadily.

“Sure,” he says, laughing at me, “during break in the common room, but I’m not going to play strip poker with you Emma,”, still laughing a little.

I blush again realising how I must have sounded. I try to recover.

“Aw, tease,” I say as I swerve into the corner. “How about we play for dares?”

I get the cards and we start to play. The first round goes to me and I make him sing ‘I’m A Little Tea Pot’ with the moves while I film him on my phone.

“No social media Emma,” Noah says sternly while I giggle - a little too girlishly for my liking.

The next game goes my way as well and I make him tell me who his first kiss was (Gabby Thomas, final year of primary school; she stood on his Yoda figure and made him cry).

The third game he wins and makes me do ten press-ups while he lies on the floor making sure I lift myself completely off the floor. I have to redo almost as many press-ups as not, but it is worth it, he has a tell. His left eyebrow goes up when he thinks he has a good hand.

Our next game goes on longer than the ones before. I can see he thinks he has a good hand but I have four nines and doubt he can beat that.

“What are you going to put on the table?” he asks, meaning what will the forfeit be if he keeps playing.

I want him to fold so I think quickly.

“Loser gets spanked,” I giggle. My, my, Emma - where did that come from?

“Well, now I have to see your cards,” he grins. I may have miscalculated; perhaps my slapping his bottom isn’t such a deterrent after all.

I place my cards on the table in a pretend coy way expecting him to concede. Too late I notice the shit-eating grin on his face. He places his cards down one at a time, first a ten of hearts, then a Jack of diamonds, a Queen of Spades and a King of Clubs. He holds the final card in his hand for moment or two longer for dramatic effect, my heart in my mouth, before putting the Ace of Spades down. Fuck! A straight flush, the bastard.

He gets up off the floor and sits down on the sofa. Slapping his knee he says, “Come on Emma, hop on.”

Damn he’s played me. I can’t welsh on a bet.

“You wont be too hard will you?” God, I sound pathetic!

Slowly and uncertainly I lie over his knee. He holds my wrists together with his left hand pinning me there.

SMACK!

“Ow, that’s too…”

SMACK!

“… hard!”

SMACK!

“Noah, please!” I squeal.

SMACK! SMACK!

“Are you going to delete that video off your phone?” he asks in a mock reasonable voice.

Stupidly I pause before replying.

SMACK!

“Okay, okay, I’ll delete it! Please stop!” I plead

“Let me see you do it.”

He lets go of my right arm so I can reach over to the table and grab my phone; all the while he slaps my arse although in a softer, more playful way now. Finally I find the ‘Little Teapot’ video and delete it. I hold my phone up to show him.

“Good girl,” he says, giving my bum one last playful swat for good measure before releasing me.

I go sit down on the other side of the table pouting slightly. My bottom hurts as I sit on the hard floor but I wont let him see my discomfort.The next game is my chance to get my own back on the rotter. I have two pairs, kings and eights. By the look on his face he has nothing; there’s no tell.

“What are we betting?” he asks.

“Revenge,” I say, perhaps a little more huffily than I had planned. I get up and go in the kitchen. After rummaging around I come back holding a roll of gaffer tape.“Loser gets taped up,” I say, “and then we’ll see who is the big man.”

I am fed up of feeling loomed over and like a fragile little girl. Time for some payback, Mr Spanky. He agrees to carry on and tries to keep his face straight, but I can see the worry lines on his forehead.

Finally I ask to see his cards. I put mine down feeling fairly confident. He puts a two down, and then another. Well he’s got a pair at least. Then he puts a three down and then another. Well, well respectable at least. Still I’ve won and I reach for the tape, only before I can pick it up he puts his hand on top of it stopping me. I look at him confused; he just smiles putting down a third three. Shit, I’ve been played again!

Before he can say anything I am up and running into the corridor - perhaps if I can make it to my room…

He’s too fast; I feel him grab me from behind and pick me up. He then carries me, fireman style, back into the living room and plops me down on the sofa.

“Hold still, Emma, and this will be over in a minute.”

He isn’t lying; within a few minutes my legs are bound at my knees and ankles. The tops of my arms are bound to my torso and my wrists are bound together in front of me. I wriggle about but I only manage to slip off the sofa bumping my bum again.

“Right,” he says, looking at me like a cat who has cornered a mouse, “I guess there’s only one place left to tape.”

“Hey, wait, what? Mmph!” I cry out as he puts a strip of tape over my mouth. I squeal and can feel my eyes go wide in shock. Damn it, I’ve let myself become his total bitch. It is like there’s some part of my brain that’s just stopped working.

“Look, don’t worry,” he says suddenly sounding reasonable, “I’m not going to do anything to you.”

“Hmmm,” I growl at him, narrowing my eyes. You better not, buster.

“Well,” that shit eating grin returns, “I might just tickle your feet a little.”

I try to pull away but my reaction time is slow and he puts his left hand on my legs holding me there. I feel his finger on the smalls of my feet through the tights I am wearing. Why did they have to make the tights so thin? Come to think of it, why did they make my body so ticklish?

I wriggle about trying to get free, like some helpless trapped worm. For some strange reason I don’t feel scared. Despite everything Noah seems an OK sort of kid. I don’t feel like I am in any real trouble, in fact I feel calm. He works his way up my body tickling my sides through my thin school blouse. My skirt is no longer protecting my modesty; it has ridden right up my thighs. I am wriggling about but it is really only for show. I don’t find him attractive, not any more than in an abstract sense, but it does feel good to be touched. How long has it been, what with the hospital and Julia treating me like a kid?

Ouch! I wasn’t thinking and I’ve banged my head on the side of the table. Darn it, that hurts.

“Hey, you OK?” says Noah and he looks genuinely concerned. “Let me get you out of this”

He gently pulls the tape from my mouth, stroking my hair where I bumped my head in a soothing fashion. I see his concerned face looking down at me and before I know it I am sitting up and kissing him. Not him kissing me, I am kissing him!

It is not him I am thinking about as I close my eyes. Poppy comes into my head. Is it wrong to be fantasising about a fifteen year old girl, even when I am one too? I try to change the mental image to one of Julia, but he pulls back and ends the kiss. Why did I do it? I guess it has been a while since I’ve been touched, what with Julia being freaked out by my new body and the month I was in the hospital.

“Sorry,” I say, “did I just make this feel weird or what?” Suddenly I don’t feel so drunk.

“Ha, I think I may have had more than a hand in that,” he laughs. “Let me give you a hand getting out of that and cleaning this place up.”

I smile at him. He has a calming effect; maybe it is his slow, reassuring way of speaking. A weird thing to think, but as I sit there, him unwinding the tape from around me, I think how he’ll make a great dad some day. He’ll just have to stay clear of girls who want to play kinky games.

As we get up I realise how unsteady I am. Damn you are drunk, girlfriend! I look at the vodka bottle as he picks it up from where we have been sitting. It is almost empty; it was nearly full when we started. Noah sees where I am looking

“Is your mum going to be angry?”

“I’m bound to get it in the neck,” I sigh, although she’s still out and looking at my phone it’s nearly one am.

“Well if it’s any consolation Aunty Deepa’s going to read the riot act at me if she finds out,” he shrugs. “I was supposed to be looking after you.”

“Wait, what?” looking after me?

“Don’t you get it? I was supposed to be your babysitter for tonight.” He must be able to see how angry I am. “Don’t look at me, I thought it was pretty lame too but your mum and Deepa offered me £50. They said you got into a fight earlier in the week and they thought you need someone to talk to.”

I realise I have my arms crossed and am tapping my feet in the classic angry teen girl stance. I don’t know what to say - they thought I needed a babysitter?

“What do they think I am? Ten?” I blurt out.

He comes close, touching my shoulder. The gesture relaxes me a little. What can I say? He really does have a calming effect on me.

“Look,” he says and I have to strain my neck to look up at him, “don’t worry about the alcohol,” I wasn’t thinking about that but I guess I must have looked worried. “I’ll take the blame. Just say it was my idea, I don’t mind,” he says before I can get my protest out. “I’ll even give the money back. I’m just glad you turned out to be so cool. I thought they were going to lumber me with a nerdy little kid.”

After we finish cleaning up I see him to the door, “Thanks,” I say, feeling a little stupid, “for being so nice to me,”

“No worries,” he smiles, “come say hi at school, I’m sure my mates would love you.”

I may be a little rusty at being a teenager but I know being invited to hang out with the sixth formers is going to send my street cred through the roof. Maybe next week wont be so bad.

“Can my friend Poppy come too?” I ask on a whim.

He laughs, “Sure, I’m not going to say no to another pretty girl,” I blush from my head down to my feet and he laughs again.

“Anyway, take care, Emma - see you around,” and with that he’s off.

That was bloody weird, I don’t know what to think. I lean against the door once he’s gone. I go to our bedroom and write a text to Julia calling her out on all this babysitter bollocks but, after a few moments, I delete it. I may be drunk but I know not to text when angry. We’ll just have to sort it out in the morning. In its place I write a text telling her that Noah’s left and that I am going to bed. I finally get changed out of my school uniform and into those bloody Hello Kitty pyjamas. I don’t clean my teeth or wash and I am asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.

It must be a couple of hours later when I am woken by Julia stroking my hair.

“Hello sweetheart,” she is in a good mood, “sorry to wake you.” I just grunt; it’s hard to be in a bad mood when Julia is so happy. “I am sorry but I’m going to have to move you into your room.”

“Huh?” I get my voice back, “you mean the little room?”

“Kelly is staying over dear, she missed her last train home,” I take the hint in her voice to stay in character.

“Why can’t she stay in ‘my’ room?” I ask.

“You have to admit, dear, it’d look a little strange for a fifteen year old girl to be sleeping with her mummy,” she laughs a little, I laugh too. I guess she has a point. I start trying to get up. Julia surprises me by taking my hand and leading me out of the room.

I want to protest but I am too groggy from booze and sleep so I let her. Hell it feels nice to be physically close to her again. I feel my eyelids closing as she leads me into the corridor. Kerry must be near by as I hear Julia say “She's still my little girl.” I hear Kerry say something but I can’t make out what it is. Julia puts me down on the single bed and puts the cover over me.

“Thanks for being so understanding, honey,” she whispers kissing me on the forehead. “Sweet dreams.”

I can feel her tucking me in as I drift off. She really would have made a good mother and I feel bad about not giving her kids. Maybe we can look into something after all this is over?

I wake up a little later when I hear the door of the main bedroom bang shut. I hear whispering and giggling coming from there. I guess they must have had a really good night. I try to turn over but Julia has been overly officious with the tucking in and I am pinned where I am. I want to struggle free but my head starts spinning and I fall back asleep.

“Wakey, wakey sweetheart.”

I wake up to Julia standing over me pulling my covers back.

“Urgh,” I grunt in reply, my head pounding. My mouth tastes like something died in it. I screw my eyes up trying to shield them from the bright early autumn sun coming in through the window.

“Come on sleepy head, Kelly is going to buy us breakfast as a thank you for letting her stay.”

Hmmm, I suppose a fry-up might be what’s called for, although I don’t fancy playing the little girl around Kelly any longer. I pull myself up and grunt my assent.

“Good girl,” Julia ruffles my hair. “Ooo, sorry love.” She lowers her voice, she must have caught the dirty look I gave her. I am still smarting over the whole ‘babysitter’ bollocks from last night, but now’s not the time.

“Urgh, how are you up this early in the morning? You were up a lot later than me,” I shake my head, still not used to seeing hair cascading down in front of my eyes although it does give me some privacy.

“I paced myself, and drank plenty of water before bed and also, in case you haven’t noticed, you’re a fair bit smaller than me now. You don’t have the body mass for drinking lots.”

“Don’t remind me,” I say in a huff. God, I sound more like a teenage girl every day. I stand up and feel the room spin for a moment then I’m fine.

“Come on girly, get a move on, Aunty Kerry has a train to catch,” Julia swats my behind, which stings badly after last night, and then shoves a clean towel into my hands. ‘Girly’? ‘Aunty’? There’s no time to pick her up on it now and a hot shower does sound like a good idea.

Steam pours out of the bathroom as I step out and wrap two towels around me, a pink one around my body and a smaller red one around my hair. That was a good idea.

“Emma, can you step in here please?” I hear Julia’s voice coming from the living room and she sounds annoyed.

“Err, sure, what’s up… err mum?”

Moving cautiously I join her in the living room. As I enter I see Kerry looking sheepish.

“I’ll... I’ll just go into the kitchen,” she says. “Anyone want a coffee?”

I just nod at her as she leaves. Julia has a face like thunder and I wonder what I have done now.

“Can you explain this please young lady?”

She’s holding up the nearly empty vodka bottle - well, I guess she had to find out some time. I scratch the back of my head.

“Er... I guess we got a little carried away. Sorry about that.” This feels odd, after all she knows I am a grown up.

“And I got a call while you were in the shower,” - I look at her blankly - “from downstairs complaining about the noise. They said they heard shouting and screaming, they nearly called the police.”

I hope no one ever tries to kidnap me because our neighbours would be useless.

“We’re supposed to be keeping a low profile,” Julia says under her breath.

“Sorry, I guess we didn’t realise.”

It would have been pretty hard to explain if they had burst in while Noah had me taped up on the floor.

“So Noah made you do it?” It’s half a question, half an accusation.

“No, no, nothing like that.” I know Noah said he’d take the fall for me but I am not going to rat him out. “It was all me.”

“I bet it was. I bet you had him around your little finger.”

“Why are you being like this?” I whisper, shooting glances at the kitchen where I can hear Kerry moving around.

Julia follows the direction of my eyes.

“OK, we’ll speak about this later.”

I relax. I’ll give her time to calm down a little and it’ll be okay. She’ll see she is over reacting.

“Go get changed so we can get out of here,” she says, gesturing to the door. As I turn to go she continues in a louder voice, “...and don’t think you got away with it just because Aunty Kerry is here.”

I storm out, enough with this ‘Aunty’ business.

The cafe is bright and busy with customers, mostly young couples and families.

“I used to come here with my ex,” Kerry tells me while Julia is in the toilet. On the table next to us is a middle-aged couple with two boys. The oldest of which, probably around thirteen I’d guess, keeps glancing at me. His looks are getting bolder and crossing over the line into staring.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” I mutter under my breath.

Kerry turns to see where I am looking.

“Just try to ignore him honey,” she says.

“Urgh, why do boys have to stare so much?” I realise I’m a big hypocrite; I probably stared just as much when I was a teenage boy. “It's been like this at school.”

“Well, school will calm down soon. At the moment you’re something of a novelty,” Kerry smiles kindly. I guess she’s not so bad. I can’t blame her for Julia’s mood.

“More like novelty toy,” I say in a huff, at which Kerry smiles.

“Well you should never let anyone make you feel like that,” She pauses and I can feel she is working up to something, “but remember they are just as afraid of you as you are of them. Even if it does seem like your classmates have suddenly shot up and you are living in the land of the giants. They may look intimidating now but they are still the frightened kids inside they used to be. It takes boys a while to get used to their new bodies.”

I just nod. I do remember how it felt trying to approach a girl when I was in my early teens. Still, I don’t like the staring.

Kerry has left to catch the train and Julia and I are heading home. I try to engage her in conversation but she ignores me. I take a deep breath and wait for the battle ahead. As we climb the stairs to our front door she gets ahead of me. I can’t climb stairs too fast in these skin-tight jeans and I am frustrated Julia wont slow down for me. By the time we get through the door we are both in a mood.

“Okay,” says Julia and I can see she’s trying to keep calm. For some reason, that makes me even madder “What the hell happened last night?”

“You tell me,” I say through gritted teeth. “What was all that about a babysitter?”

“He told you did he?” she sighs, “We were worried about leaving you on your own, especially after what happened in the week. I don’t think you realise just how vulnerable you are now. That’s a new body you’re in and you’re still a learner driver.”

“Don’t you think I know?” I’m shouting and waving my hands around. “Look at me!” I pull at the jumper I am wearing, only stopping myself when I realise I have just stamped my foot. I take a deep breath. “Don't you think I know I now have the body of fifteen year old girl and that half the gangsters in London are out to get me. Why do you think I was drinking?”

Ha, that should put her in her place. I give Julia a dirty look but she holds my gaze.

“But it’s not just the drinking is it?” she asks pointedly.

“W-what do you mean?” I am caught off guard. She turns and walks towards the living room and kitchen; I start to follow her but she turns and says sharply, “Just wait there.”

I don’t know why but I find myself rooted to the spot. It’s not like I can’t move, more that the thought of moving fills me with anxiety. Damn, this small body is easy to intimidate.

Julia returns with something screwed up in her hands. It takes me a few moments to realise that it is the gaffer tap from last night. Oh shit, I should have hidden it better, pushed it to the bottom of the rubbish, I think as Julia holds it up in front of my face.

“What’s this?” she asks but her face tells me she knows.

“It... we,” I’m stammering, trying to think how to explain that I let a seventeen year old boy tie me up.

“It was a game, we were just being a bit silly.”

“A game? One of your tie-me-up games no doubt?”

There’s no point denying it and I just look at the floor in shame.

“So you tied that poor boy up just like you used to do to me.”

Her eyes bore into me like searchlights looking for escaped prisoners. We used to have a few kinky sessions years ago but Julia was never that into it.

“Well actually, it was more a case of me being the one who was tied up,” I answer sheepishly. I can tell immediately I’ve said the wrong thing. If this were a cartoon, steam would be pouring out of Julia’s ears.

“So, you batted your eyelashes and got your new friend to tie you up. Did anything else happen?”

“Hey, that’s not what happened. It was a bet. We were playing cards and he was a total card sharp…”

Julia cuts me off “Did anything else happen?”

“Err..” there’s no point lying. I can only try honesty now. “There was a kiss,” my voice trails off.

“He kissed you?” her voice is calm but I can hear the fury behind it.

“Well no, I sort of kissed him.” I can see she’s about to explode, “but it was an accident, my head was all messed up.” I can feel it’s not working. “It was the booze.”

“So,” her voice is cool and emotionless, “when you’re drunk you can’t be expected to stay faithful to me. Is that what you are telling me?”

“No, it’s not like that… it was a bet,” I say pathetically. I’ve not sounded this much like a lame teenager for at least two decades.

“Has this happened before when you’ve been drunk? God knows you used to get drunk with your mates often enough.” She stares hard at me. I feel like I just want to melt away.

“No, no, never, that isn’t what this was. It’s this body, it does crazy things to my head.”

“No,that’s not true. The body doesn’t rewrite your brain waves. It can’t change your behaviour patterns or your sexuality. It’s all about how you use your body.” She turns and walks into our bedroom. “Follow me,” and I do.
Julia sits on the edge of the bed, “I think, seeing as I can’t trust you as a husband but I do still have a duty to keep you safe, at least until the trial.... well, given those things I think it is better if we keep our relationship to a mother - daughter one, at least for now.”

“What?” I look at her, she means business. “Look, if that’s how I prove to you that I’m truly sorry then okay.”

“Good,” she smiles a little, “I’m glad you are being sensible now. This means from now on you call me mum or mother and I call you Emma, even in private. And you refer to other adults as Mrs or Mr, at all times.”

I nod my head. Jesus, I’m in trouble.

“Good. It also means you abide by the rules I set, and try your best at school. And you sleep in your room, not mine, from now on.” She looks tired but I can tell her mind is set so I just nod my head in consent.

“OK, good. I’m glad we’ve had this talk, Emma,” and I wince a little at her using my female name while in private, “now go to your room please and spend the rest of they day there.”

I protest: “I have to spend the rest of the day in my room? That's not fair!”

“Not fair? I should be putting you out of the door after what you did. Is it fair I’ve had to give up my whole life to look after you?”

Give up a job you hated, you mean? But I keep quiet, no point stoking the fire.

“But I’m an adult!”

Even as I say it I realise no one sounds like an adult when they are protesting that they are one.

“No, you’re not. In fact I don’t think you ever were, not really.”

I am stung, I can’t speak and my mouth just gapes open.

“I always felt sorry for you. I know you were traumatised when you lost your parents at fourteen. But I don’t think you ever moved on, not really,” she sighs, looking more sad than angry. “Now go to your room, Emma.” Her voice is stern and in control and I feel my body starting to move, even without me willing it.

“Y-yes,” I stammer.

“Yes what?” Her voice is clear in my head.

“Yes, mum.”

Staying in my room is no fun, especially when I realise that the Kindle and the tablet are both in the living room. I think about playing some records but worry that Julia will think I am not taking my punishment seriously enough. I figure my best plan is to stick to the new rules for a day or two and hope it blows over. I feel really bad about the whole ‘cheating’ thing. I didn’t think of it like that at the time but I have to admit it was pretty shitty of me.

I pick up one of the books Mr Hulse gave me for English. The book is Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit by Jeanette Winterson. I’ve heard it’s good, so why the hell not?

After about an hour and a half of a mixture of reading and dozing the pressure on my bladder gets so I can’t ignore it anymore. I’m not sure what the rule is for the toilet - do I need to ask for permission?

I open my bedroom door slowly and creep along the corridor; from the living room I can hear the sound of the TV, some sort of cookery programme I guess.

“Mum?” There’s no response so I raise my voice, “Mum?”

“Yes, Emma?” and the cookery programme stops as Julia puts it on pause.

“Can I use the toilet?” I can’t help keep the nerves out of my voice.

“Can I use the toilet, what?” she repeats back at me, not bothering to come out of the living room to speak to me.

“Can I use the toilet, please mum?”

“Yes Emma, thank you for asking so nicely.” It is some sort of progress, I guess.

I sit on the toilet reading my book; through the door I can hear the sound of Julia’s programme restarting. As I get up I wonder if I could ask to borrow the Kindle, as it’s clear Julia is not using it. I decide not to risk provoking an argument. It's not worth the hassle.

I flush the toilet, wash my hands and head back to what is now ‘my’ room. The TV is still on in the living room; Julia doesn’t seem interested in coming out to speak to me. I decide to take a small risk. At the end of the hall I find my duffel coat and very quietly take out my phone and earphones. At least now I’ll be able to listen to music without calling attention to myself. Feeling a little better about myself I settle back down on the small bed and take my phone out. I notice I have a text from Poppy.

Poppy: “Hey Em, how’s your wknd going? Me and a frnd are thinking of going into town tmrrw, wanna come? xxxx”

I read the text through three times; somehow it makes me feel better knowing someone out there actually wants to know how I am. I see it was sent about two hours ago, probably while Julia and I were having our argument. I text back.

Emma: “Hey Pops, wknd has been a rollercoaster, got wasted last night now locked in a tower by the wicked witch. xx”

I feel bad calling Julia the wicked witch when this is really my fault, but I need to vent. I also need to feel like there is someone on my side. I put the phone down not expecting a reply for a while but the phone vibrates again just two minutes later. I guess teenagers are less guarded.

Poppy: “Wasted, what have you been up to naughty grl??! Xxxxx”

It makes me laugh. I immediately look to the door half expecting to see Julia there angry at me but of course she’s not.

Emma: “Mum went out with her mates and I was left with my Noah from the 6frm! xxx”

I look at what I have written and think about how Poppy will read it, I change “Noah from the 6frm” to ‘a family friend’.

Poppy: “A family friend, is she cute? Xxxxx”

I think I’ve made her a little jealous, although I don’t like to think what that means.

Emma: “He’s a boy and it’s not like that, he’s just a cool guy”

Poppy: “A boy? Intriguing, you must escape the Ogre Princess and tell me all tomorrow. Is the handsome prince in trouble too?”

Emma: “Don’t think so, I covered for him. When the worst comes to the worst my peeps come first,”

I wonder if she’ll get the song reference.

Poppy: “Hashtag Double standards”

If only she knew the half of it. I hear the doorbell ring and Julia go and answer it. Through the door I can hear her speaking to another woman. I am pretty sure it is Deepa. I am not sure what to do. Should I come out? I text Poppy first.

Emma: “The Ogre has sent for reinforcements, better go. Txt you later.”

I hear Julia and Deepa heading off down the hallway, no one knocks on the door. Should I stay put? I guess I better had until further notice. I am not sure if I want Deepa to see me while I am in the doghouse (or should I say the Wendy house?)

I look at my phone - no reply from Poppy; perhaps I shouldn’t have ended the conversation so quickly. I am left sitting there for half an hour/forty minutes until there’s a knock on the door. Julia opens the door without waiting for me to invite her.

“Emma, Inspector Patil is here to talk to you about last night. Can you come in to the living room please?” Julia’s voice is formal but not unkind. I hope I am getting through to her. Why does Deepa want to talk to me? It isn’t like we broke any laws. At least I hope not.

“Sure, but you say you’ve told her what happened last night?” I can’t hide my fear.

“Not everything,” Julia says quietly, “not about the sex games,” - shit, we’re still on that - “but about the drinking and yes, the kissing. And a couple of other things I noticed.” Why is she being so mysterious I wonder?

“Okay,” I say, “I’m coming.”

Julia still stands in the doorway blocking my exit. “Just remember what I said about how you should address adults. It’s Ms Patil unless she tells you different.”

I nod feeling my cheeks burning from embarrassment.

In the living room Deepa is sitting on the sofa, she motions for me to come and sit next to her so I do. Julia takes the armchair across from me.

“Hi Emma - is it okay for me to call you Emma?” Deepa seems to be smiling. That’s good, I was worried I was going to be in for another telling off.

“Emma is fine,” I glance over at Julia, “I suppose I need to get used to it.”

“Good, thank you for making the effort,” she smiles again and I relax a little. “I wanted to ask you what happened last night, in your own words.”

I tell all I can, leaving out the little bondage game and spanking. I notice Julia nod slightly when I skip over those parts.

“Well Emma, I suppose no harm has come from this, although you are going to need to be careful around alcohol when you are out in public. It could put you at risk. Especially as there are people out there who want to do you harm.”

“Sure Ms Patil, don’t worry, I’ve learnt my lesson.” Deepa looks a little confused when I call her ‘Ms Patil’ but doesn’t seem to want to push it. She seems happy I’m not going to be putting myself in any danger.

“Now this kiss, you say Noah didn’t force you?” I can feel her watching me intently.

“No, if anything I kissed him. Your nephew was the perfect gentleman,” (apart from tying me up with gaffer tape and spanking my bottom red raw…). Well, there’s no point throwing Noah under the train, I might as well take the blame.

Deepa seems to visibly relax; she must have been worrying she was going to discover something nasty about her nephew.

“That is good to hear,” Deepa smiles at me.

“I think it might be this body… something like the hormones it produces?” I ask.

“No, it can’t be that. The bodies have something built into them to ensure that doesn’t happen. Anyhow gender and sexuality is far more complicated than just hormones and the shape of genitals. There are many other factors ranging from brainwave patterns to social conditioning.” She looks to Julia and then looks at me. “The body can’t just change your sexuality the first time you come into contact with a tall skinny boy who looks good in a tight t-shirt.”

Julia giggles and then asks a question, “But we were saying that we both noticed some strange behaviour in you even before we left,” she says, looking intently at me then back at Deepa.

“Yes, that’s right. Emma, can I ask you how did you feel when you were around Noah?”

Feel? I didn’t feel anything except drunk, but then again I suppose there was something.

“I’m not sure it’s relevant but I think I did feel very calm when we were together,” I pause for thought, pressing my memory for more details, “and come to think of it, even before we drank anything I felt a little floaty, you know, light headed,” I look between the two women; could this explain my behaviour?

“Hmmm,” says Deepa, “I wonder,” she turns to Julia to explain further. I feel a little mad that she treats me like a child. “The New Bodies technology was, as you know developed for doing dangerous jobs that need humans to do them, such on oil rigs, nuclear power plants, deep mining and so on.” We both nod although Deepa isn’t really looking at me,.“In those cases the bodies are much simpler, and are controlled by remote control or human voice recognition. There’s no point putting anyone inside them as they would be in almost as much risk as they would be if they were in their own bodies.”

“And what does this have to do with Emma?” Julia asks tartly.

“Well, although Emma’s body is very different, far more complicated than those drones, it does share the same basic template. I am wondering if, buried deep down inside her body, there is some part of her that recognised something in Noah as a controller.” She gives me a quizzical look.

“What the f-,” I catch the look Julia is giving me and stop myself from swearing. “I mean are you telling me that there might be guys out there who can tell me what to do and that I can’t disobey?” This deal is getting worse and worse!

“No, not quite. These control patterns exist in all New Bodies, however they are deliberately toned down in ones like yours. No one can force you to do something you don’t want to do. It’s like hypnotism; despite what you may read in bad fiction no one can hypnotise you to harm yourself or to do something that goes against your nature; they can only put suggestions in your head. Also you need to have a deep connection with the person for it to be effective.”

‘Deep connection’, that’s something to think about. I see the expression in Julia’s face and it's not good.

“Usually the connection is activated by some sort of act, usually some submissive gesture on behalf of the New Body. In the case of the simpler models they will bow when they have accepted a new controller. Was there any moment like that?” She looks at us both with a bit of suspicion.

“Well, maybe. OK Deepa, thanks so much for explaining this to us,” Julia says to her, then turns to me, “Emma dear, I want to have a quick talk to Ms Patil before she leaves, would you mind putting the kettle on and getting the pasta going for our tea?” She must see the blank look on my face. “There’s a packet of M&S pasta in the fridge.”

I nod in agreement. I don’t much like the idea of them talking about me behind my back but I can see I still need to win Julia around so I let it go. It’s a while before Julia returns and I have already started the sauce for the pasta.

“What was all that about?” I ask.

“I just had a few questions,” and she says no more.

I begin to push her but she changes the subject by asking me to go fetch a blanket.

“Let's curl up on the sofa and watch crap telly,” she says in a friendly way. I’m too glad to be back in her good books to press things any further. Anyway I want to ask her permission to hang out with Poppy tomorrow.

A few minutes later we are both curled up on the sofa under the blanket eating our pasta from plates on our knees.

“What shall we watch?” she asks between mouthfuls.

“Don’t mind,” I reply, “just don’t make me watch The Voice or Britain’s Got Talent or any of that rubbish.”

“Wrong answer, kiddo,” she grins at me. “My house, my rules.”

Thanks as always to Robyn and Cressar, and to all of you who read and comment. Enjoy!

Part 3

I spot Poppy waiting for me at the bus stop just before she sees me. She's wearing a vintage dress, Doc Martins and an old leather jacket. The girl's got style and it makes me feel self conscious about my scruffy skin-tights, hoodie and duffel coat. The tight jeans pull against the lower half of my body as I walk, making me even more self-aware. There are curves where there shouldn’t be and something missing up front.

She's spotted me now and starts waving; I give her a little half wave of my hand, not wanting to seem stand-offish.

"Hey," she greets me and then catches me off guard by giving me a little hug, "glad you could make it. The Wicked Witch let Cinderella go to the ball, then?"

I mutter something about Julia, ‘Mum’, not being so bad. I still feel guilty about Friday and hanging out with a bunch of much younger girls doesn't help that. Still, these are the only people who are going to see me as an equal for a while.

"This is Esse," Poppy says, indicating a tall black girl hiding at the back of the bus stop.

"You the girl who punched Jessie?" Esse extends a hand to me, which I take, finding the gesture strangely formal, "and I hear you were drinking with some sixth form boys at the weekend?" I spot some Nigerian in her accent.

"Just the one, and he's a friend of the family," I mutter. After the week I've had I shouldn't protest, just take the street cred and run.

Esse smiles broadly revealing a mass of beautiful white teeth, "Girl, you got some big lady balls, I like you!" If only she knew.

We chat for a few minutes before the 86 arrives, then get on showing our passes. One plus I guess; I don't have to pay full price.

"Let’s go up top," Esse points to the stairs.

"Maybe not," Poppy says cautiously, "I don't feel like getting hassled by any boys today." She glances at me - perhaps she wants me to back her up?

Esse doesn't wait to hear my opinion, she just says, "I ain't letting no stinky boys tell me where I can sit," putting emphasis on the 'boys' part before storming on up the stairs.

We take the front four seats. I can remember sitting in the same place when I was a kid looking out the top front windows thinking it was like I was flying. It was probably the same bus route. I feel good having this little connection to my childhood, before it all went wrong.

A tall black teenage boy takes one of the seats behind us and starts to try and talk to us. I am glad when Esse tells him to get lost as I don't think I could have dealt with him. He says something to Esse I can't make out, but from the look on her face it’s disrespectful. He then turns to Poppy and me. "You two girls want to come sit with me? You can sit on my lap if you want, green eyes." I realise with a shock he's talking about me.

"I would," I reply, looking down at his lap, "but it doesn't look like there's much there to sit on." Both Poppy and Esse fall about laughing and the boy doesn't look too pleased. He turns back to look out the window muttering something about 'lesbians' and 'not dissing him'. Thankfully the bus fills up at the next two stops and we are left alone.

I actually find the shopping much more fun than I was expecting. I'm not all that into the clothes shops, although I do enjoy the commentary Poppy and Esse keep going on the other customers. I feel a bit bad when a middle-aged mum catches us giggling behind her back.

I cringe when the two girls show me a low cut dress that Esse thinks will suit me. I’ve been coping so far by wearing the sort of clothes that cover up this body. The way Poppy looks at me reminds me that out of sight doesn’t necessarily mean out of everyone’s mind. Suddenly I am aware of how my hips move and how the weight of my new breasts feel. Hell is other people.

I love the record shops, although I have to half drag the girls into Piccadilly Records. In the end I get fed up of Poppy following me around the aisle like a bored puppy.

"Look, we can go in a second," I say, "just let me pay for this." The two girls wait for me at the front door while I pay for the record. I get an idea; if I’m going to be hanging around with these two a lot then I need to educate them in the finer things. A couple of minutes later I’m with them and hand Poppy the bag. She looks a little stunned; "It's for you," I say, "it's an early Sugarcubes record, ‘Life's Too Good’." She looks even more confused.

"That's Björk, you'll love it." What seemed like a good idea two minutes ago is now making me feel like an idiot "Do you have something to play it on?" I ask.

"Yeah, I think my dad has an old record player somewhere," Poppy says, turning the bag over in her hands and looking at the album cover through the thin plastic, "but I could have just downloaded it from iTunes."

"It's not the same," I say with conviction, "those sound files are compressed so you lose so much of the depth and texture."

"You’re beginning to sound like my dad," Esse observed. "Where did you learn all this?"

"From my dad, before he died..." and my voice trails off. It's true, well most of it. My dad was a goner a long time before iTunes.
"Ain't you the lucky one Popsicle," Esse says to Poppy, "your new girlfriend’s already buying you presents!”

I feel my ears burning with embarrassment and when I look over at Poppy, she's blushing too.

For the rest of the afternoon I give in and let the girls drag me around clothes shops in the Arndale Centre. Not my favourite activity but I am enjoying their company. Poppy can actually be quite assertive and makes me try on several outfits even though we’re only window-shopping. In a large chain store she picks out a skirt for me to try on.

"No way are you getting me into that," I protest, looking at the black PVC miniskirt she's holding up.

"If you want me to listen to your dad record you are going to have to do what I say," she says firmly.

"okay then," I sigh. Well, it can't hurt I suppose.

The shop assistant, a lanky boy with spots and greasy hair, eyes us with a mixture of lust and mistrust as we approach the changing rooms.

“My friend wants to try something on," Esse tells him.

He nods. "How many items?"

"Just the one," adds Poppy, although I could have sworn I saw her pick up something else. Inside the changing room Esse pulls aside the curtain to one of the cubicles and Poppy hands me the skirt.

"Go on then,” she says with a wink, “let the tiger see the meat."

I take the skirt grumbling to myself as I do. How do I end up in these situations?

I totter nervously out of the cubicle feeling like I'm half naked. The skirt is tight and restricts my leg movement quite a bit.

"So," I say uncertainly, "what do you think?" I’m more than half expecting them to fall about laughing.

Esse wolf whistles. "Damn, for a short girl you have great legs."

"Hey!" I reply, "I'm not that short," although I must be at least a couple of inches shorter than both of them. I look nervously at Poppy who seems a little dazed.

"Turn around," she says and I do as I am told.

"That arse maybe way too skinny, but it’s still hot for a white chick…” says Esse. "Hell Poppy, I think Emmy might be converting me to your team."

I look back at over my shoulder at Poppy, unsure of her reaction.
"Damn it, Emmy," Poppy says, "you've got to have that skirt." This last part she says with so much conviction I start thinking how I will explain a new skirt it to Julia.

"I can't Poppy, I've spent all my money," I tell her. All the cash Julia gave me and I can't use my credit cards for fear they can be traced.

Poppy put a finger to her lips then says, "Go get changed."

I don't know what she has planned, is she going to buy it for me? I don't protest, I just get back into my jeans. Coming out again Poppy takes the skirt off me and shoves it into the front pouch of my hoodie then tells me to stick my hands in as well. I do as I am told, but shouldn't I be protesting? After all I am the adult here.

Poppy pulls out another skirt from her jacket pocket and taps the side of her nose. I let out a little laugh. We exit the changing rooms and Poppy hands the shop assistant the decoy skirt and numbered token, he just nods, Poppy says, "Not her size," and both Esse and me snigger.

"As soon as the alarm goes off run, we'll meet you in the food court," Esse whispers under her breath. I take a deep breath myself; I guess this is some sort of initiation test. I steel myself to run but even before the alarm goes off I feel a big strong hand grabs my arm. Another man is about to grab Poppy but I stick my leg out tripping him.

“Run!" I scream, making everyone in the shop look around. I’m pleased to see my new friends disappearing.

The mall cop on the floor gives me a dirty look. His friend with the meaty hands pulls mine out of my hoodie pouch and then shoves a hand inside.

"Fuck off, you perv!" I shout at him, hoping against hope to stop him. It doesn't work; he's already holding the skirt.

He grabs my arm and hauls me off; I see his friend grinning at me like the cat that got the mouse. Oh shit, I’m for it now.

My hands are handcuffed behind my back and I am sat on a bench in a windowless room looking at a bank of monitor screens. I notice ruefully that one of the monitors shows an aerial view of the women's changing rooms. Shit, I am bang to rights.

"Were you watching me change?" I say to my big lug of a captor, trying to get a rise out of him. I notice the lug has a name badge saying 'Artur' but he is 'The Lug' to me. I can still feel his hands taking the opportunity to wander all over my body as he half carried me up the stairs to the office. The thought makes me shudder.

He just shrugs. "Jan keeps an eye on the women's changing rooms," nodding to the door as a middle aged women carrying two plastic cups of coffee comes into the room. She hands one cup to The Lug and then turns to me.
"What are you doing stealing? You seem like a nice girl." Her tone is motherly, even sympathetic. I suspect she has teenagers of her own.

"Look," I sigh, swallowing down my pride, "can you call an Inspector Deepa Patil for me?"

"Who?" she asks, shooting a confused look at The Lug.

I take a deep breath and tell myself it's the only way. I cross my fingers hoping Deepa will understand and won’t tell Julia.

"There's a card in the back pocket of my jeans," I explain.

"There's no way I’m letting this little brat off, just because she has some relative in the regular cops," huffs The Lug. My guess is that he's some sort of frustrated copper wannabe. He's deluded if he thinks Deepa will view him as some sort of ‘colleague’.

"It's going to save you a lot of time and my wrists a lot of pain."

About an hour later my bottom is completely numb and I’m trying to judge whether Jan will let me go to the toilet or not. I know The Lug won't, the sadistic bastard - or worse, he'd want to come with me. Then the door swings open and some old guy, the store manager I guess, comes in with Julia and Deepa. Man, do they look angry.

"Hi Mum," I say sheepishly. So Deepa told on me, the rat!

Julia gives me a look that could bring down a rhino. "Don't you dare talk, not less you’re spoken to, young lady," she spits. I see The Lug grinning smugly from behind her back; I'd love to punch that bastard in the face.

The group splits into two; Deepa taking the store manager and The Lug to one side. I hear parts of what Deepa’s saying; "witness protection," and "building a case”, “a criminal prosecution would really hurt”, and finally "this gang are real nasty pieces of work."

On the other side of the room Julia and Jan are having a heart to heart. They keep giving me exasperated looks and occasionally I hear a little laughter. Finally the store manager comes over to me.

“Hello Emma, my name’s Jez," he says.

"Hi" I say half-heartedly. What sort of adult calls himself ‘Jez’?

"Emma," his voice is serious, "we take shoplifting very seriously here. Shoplifting is stealing, just like taking money from an old lady. You wouldn't take money from an old lady would you Emma?"

I shake my head whilst trying to look as contrite as possible. After ten minutes or so of a lecture on the rights and wrongs of stealing he finally comes to his point.
"I know from the inspector here that you've been going through a very difficult time recently, and that you've had to fit in a new place, which is hard for anyone. I am also assured that your mother will see to it that you are properly punished." I’m certain he's right about that. "So," he finishes, "I’m willing to let you off with a warning this time, if your mother is willing to pay for the item you took."

We all look at Julia who gives a stern little nod of the head.

"I can go?" I ask in as meek a voice as possible. I flash him my Bambi look with my big green eyes.

This time Jan smiles in a more friendly way. "Yes, after your mother has filled in a little paperwork you can go."

Several hours later I am back in my room with joint lectures from both Deepa and Julia ringing in my ears. They’ve threatened to send me to a boarding school if I keep putting myself in danger; I don't like the sound of that. Ruefully I think how it all started with a text in this room yesterday, which reminds me of my phone. What with my hands being cuffed and with Julia and Deepa tearing me a new one I haven't checked it since I was caught.

I pull it out of my back pocket and see there are more than a dozen unread texts. I scroll down them seeing that they’re all from Poppy. I start reading; at first they’re asking if I’m okay but after a couple they start becoming more frantic before descending into tearful (my guess) texts saying how sorry she is and how she wouldn't blame me if I never wanted to speak to her again.

I roll my eyes, the poor girl. I’m touched; I’m also glad she wasn't stupid enough to go back and hand herself in. I text her back:

Emma: "I'm safe and sound, was let off with a caution, (I don't explain why) "the wicked witch has me locked back in my tower though :-\ xx"

Minutes later I get a reply:

Poppy: "PHEW! I am soooooo glad. Sooooo sorry, can you forgive me? :-( :-( :-( xxxxxxxx"

Her text makes me smile.

Emma: "Nothing to forgive :-) I had fun today. They made Mum buy the skirt and promise to punish me. I think she is happier about the second part xxxx"

Poppy: "You've still got the skirt! Can't wait to see you in it again Jailbird ;-) xxxxxxxxx"

I smile at her unguarded enthusiasm, then I wonder if I should really be having a text conversation with a fifteen-year-old girl who has a crush on me, so I put the phone down. About ten minutes later it buzzes again only this time I don't recognise the number.
I open up the text, it just says "Hugs xxxx" but there is a photo attached. I enlarge the photo and see that it is the selfie Esse took of all three of us in the Arndale food court. I sit there looking at it for a while feeling just a little bit lighter.

-------------

London

Viktor is in the back office of the pool hall. He's in a bad mood; he has been hiding in dark shitholes like this for weeks now. Later he’s going to need some pussy before he goes stir crazy.

As he holds up his phone wondering who to call it vibrates with a new text message. It's from Artur; he wonders what that unless shit wants and how he got the number of this burner. He opens it up

Artur: The wife of that guy you are after is in Manchester with her bitch of a daughter

Attached is a blurred picture. It is badly taken but Viktor recognises the wife of Mark Healey and sees some little girl with her. Funny no one said anything about Mark having a daughter; maybe she’s from a previous marriage, or a niece maybe.

Why is this dickhead sending me this from a registered phone? Viktor thinks. What an idiot. The phone buzzes again.

Artur: I have an address

Viktor smiles; he’s going to have to get a message to the Madam, she’ll know what to do.

-------------

School is much better now. The tales of my weekend exploits have spread and I’ve been welcomed into Poppy's little gang with open arms. In fact on Monday Poppy presents me to each of her friends as if I’m some foreign dignitary on a special visit.

Just before we split to go to our different form rooms Poppy pulls me to one side. “I wanted to thanks you for my record,” she says, “dad played it for me, he says you’ve got great taste.”

“You’re close to your dad, aren’t you?” I ask.

“Well, he looked after us after mum had to go away, so yeah, I am a bit of a daddy’s girl,” I can see how she’d be the pride of any half cool farther, “and dad says you’re welcome around ours any time.” I catch more than just a little a hint.

As well as Poppy and Esse there's Tony, a shy gay Chinese kid, Peter the lanky arty kid with messy hair and Ian, both of whom I know from art classes. Peter jokes they are the token white, heterosexual guys in the group. Then there’s Paddy, real name Patricia. She’s Peter's best friend and is a bit of a militant lesbian. She isn't best pleased when I answer 'It's complicated' to her question about which side of the bed I sleep on.

Even some of the popular kids say hi, having heard the tale of me partying with a sixth former over the school grapevine. I am beginning to see Deepa's point about arranging the 'play-date' to help me fit in. She's a smart cookie that one; I may have to forgive her for dobbing me in over the Arndale Heist.

Speaking of Noah I see him a couple of times from across the way. The Sixth Form College backs onto the High School’s playing fields and shares some of the same buildings. The edge where the two meet is where the older school kids and some of the sixth formers go to smoke. He's always with his mates and I’m always too nervous to say hello. It's a shame because he seems like a fun guy, but I’m still freaked out by Deepa's revelation that I may have something in my mind that allows me to be controlled by the boy. I don't fancy being anyone's puppet on a string.

Home life is rather more difficult. Julia isn't too impressed that I won't rat out my friends from the Sunday heist. She probes me to see if Noah was there, but I can truthfully say no. Harder to explain is how I let two teenage girls persuade me to go into the changing rooms with them and model a short skirt for them.

On Wednesday I come home to find a strange man standing in our living room. The room is covered in files and notes so I assume he’s from Julia's work.

"Hi," I say nervously.

"Hi," he says back equally unsure.

We stand there for a few moments not knowing what to say until Julia comes back into the room.

"Oh, hi Emma, I wasn't expecting you back so soon," she looks a little startled to see me but recovers well.

"You told me to come straight home from school every day this week," the room is silent; I can hear the rain beating against the windows.

"This is Richard darling." I don't like the way Julia and Richard smile at each other. "He's my line manager at work. We are working on a big new case together so we thought we'd come here for some piece a quiet, if that's alright love?"

"I don't know why you’re asking me," I say petulantly, "it's your rules around here, not mine. You made that quite clear." I see the sad look on Julia's face and instantly feel bad. "It's okay," I say,trying to look cheerful, "I'll go to my room and do some homework. Good luck guys, hope you get the bad guys!"

As I leave the room I hear laughter and talking. I am glad Julia is so happy in her new job. When we first met we were both trying to make our way in the music business, me as a musician and then a producer, Julia as copyright lawyer. Once we moved down to London I slowly but surely rose up the ranks while still getting to do the fun stuff like hanging out with the talent. Julia on the other hand found herself working for a big firm of lawyers wrangling over complex contracts and dealing with big egos. Obviously the new job suits her. Maybe we could move up after all this was over?

By now it’s the middle of October and I’m easing into the rhythm of life. I’ve received my first monthly visit. Now I know how Hungary felt; it’s no fun being occupied by the Red Army! I become super aware of my new body, with my breasts feeling sore and real pain coming from the direction of my womb. It makes me ponder two things, firstly that it may be possible for me to create life, which really freaks me out and secondly, that this body was created for someone else, someone who had been expecting to live a full life in it. I wonder who that is, and what they’re doing now?

Weekday mornings I walk to school with Poppy and Esse, who both live nearby. I enjoy the journey and the clear head it gives me. This Monday is especially clear and fresh. The streets of Whalley Range are lined by large trees that drop a blanket of red and yellow leaves in the Autumn. I can think of nothing better than crunching through them. Esse picks up a handful and chucks them at Poppy who howls in laughter then chases her friend with two handfuls of leaves. When she catches her she stuffs leaves into her hood and they both fight. “Whose side are you on Emmy?” Esse shouts.

“Consider me Switzerland,” I laugh.

“War is coming Emmy, time to choose,” says Poppy. Then they both look at each other, evil expressions in their faces.

“Oh no,” I says stepping back a little.

“Oh yes,” they say in unison, bending down to pick up more leaves. I dash away taking advantage of my new young legs. The only problem is that I am looking backwards at the girls and not paying attention to where I am going so I end up slamming into someone and falling on my behind.

“Emma Riley!” I look up to see Noah grinning back at me. “We really must stop meeting like this,” he laughs.

“Don’t just stand there gawping, boy, give me a hand up,” I say stretching out my arm, hoping I’ve covered my embarrassment. The thought that my breasts, small as they are, have just collided with his hard chest is, well… very odd. He takes my arm and yanks me up. We end up standing a little too close and after a moment of awkward silence I step back a pace.

“It’s been a while, why haven’t you come over to say hi?” he asks, still grinning.

“Didn’t think you’d want some kid coming over and embarrassing you in front of the other sixth formers,” I say looking down at my shoes. I don’t say the real reasons; that I am ashamed and frightened by how I behaved the last time I was around him. Or that my wife, now acting as my mother, is jealous of him.

“Don’t be stupid, I told you it was fine,” I suddenly feel like a heel for not coming over, he’s just trying to be friendly. “Are you coming to the Halloween party at the Academy in a couple of weeks? My band is playing.”

The Academy is a venue on Oxford Road, near the university buildings. It’s run by the Student Union.

“You’re in a band, cool!” I say, surprising myself about how impressed I am, after all it was only a few months ago that I was producing tracks for all sorts.

“Calm down,” he says but he’s still smiling, “I’m only the bass player.”

“What sort of stuff do you play?”

“Punky New Wave stuff,” he says clearly happy to be impressing me.

“Awesome! Do you write your own songs?” I lean in towards him.

“A couple, with our lead singer,” he replies modestly.

“A regular Paul McCartney aren’t you,” I say laughing a little. “Look, can I bring my friends along too?” I say remembering the bro code (or is that the ‘sis code’?)

I look back and see Poppy and Esse hanging back, Poppy looking glum.

“Not a problem.” He takes his bag off his back and rummages around inside it, pulling out three tickets. “Here you go. We get some complimentary tickets, they want to be sure there’s a good crowd. You get cheap drinks if you come in costume.”

“Thanks,” I say reading the small print about costume. This year’s theme is Heroes, Heroines and Villains. We talk for a few more minutes about his band and then he disappears off to double French.

Esse and Poppy are waiting for me when he leaves. “What did he want,” says Poppy and I can’t help but notice the slight emphasis she puts on ‘he’.

“He gave me these,” I say, showing them the tickets. Poppy looks suspicious; “They’re for all three of us,” I point out but she still looks doubtful.

“Wow, Emmy, these are amazing. We have to go,” says Esse; Poppy looks like she feels outmanoeuvred.

“How come he has tickets to give away?” she says suspiciously.

“He’s in one of the bands,” I say hoping my friend will cheer up.

“Oh my God, which one?” asks an excited Esse.

I tell her the name, A-to-M, which I think is pretty stupid.

“What do you think it means?” Esse asks and the two of them debate for a while what it could be, Esse thinks it spells ‘Atom’. After a while I stop laughing and put them out of their misery.

“Urgh, disgusting!” they exclaim in unison.

I just roll my eyes and say, “Boys!”

As we get to the school gates I can see Esse is wearing Poppy down telling her about all the bands on the bill and how her brother loves them. Esse’s brother is something of a hero to both of them. He came out about two or three years ago, which is not easy in a Nigerian family, now they live with their mother and her sister in a small rented flat. Esse hasn’t seen her father since and says she doesn’t want to.

“Have you got a fake ID?” I realise Poppy is talking to me.

“No.” I really don’t; there’s no way I can use Mark Healey’s ID. No one’s going to believe I’m a man in his mid-thirties with a driving licence I think sadly.

“We got ones from a friend of Esse’ brother, Esse could ask for you, although it did cost us £50 each.” Esse nods her head in agreement.

“Hmmm, I think I might have an idea.”

I was surprised when Julia went for it; I am even more surprised when she gets off the phone with Deepa. “She says yes!”

“She’ll get me ID that says I am eighteen?” I ask, still not quite believing it.

“Sure, after all you are thirty six.” I’m slightly shocked to hear Julia admit it as she’s continued to insist on the whole ‘Emma and Mummy’ thing. “Anyhow, we both think it’s good for you to be getting out and spending time with other teenagers. It’s good for your state of mind and for your cover.”

Sounds like Deepa and Julia have been talking quite a lot. I haven’t seen much of Deepa since the whole ‘weekend from hell’. I know she’s been giving Julia updates on the case but as far as I can tell there’d been no major developments. It sounds like the gang have gone to ground.

“Well thanks,” I let out a sigh of relief. I wasn’t even sure she was going to let me go at all after I’d told her it was Noah who gave me the tickets.

“I think it’ll be good for you,” she reiterates. “No one knows how much longer we might have to keep this up for. We both need to find ways to cope.” The last part she says more to herself. “Anyway, I get to make your costume!”

Julia’s hobby is sewing and making crafty things, and over the last few years she’s got really good at it. I guess it has been a release for her as her job has become less and less creative and fun.

“You don’t have to,” I say. “I was thinking I wouldn’t do the costume…”

“Don’t be silly,” Julia interrupts, “you can’t pass on the cheaper drinks, not on the pocket money I give you.” My ‘allowance’ or ‘pocket money’ has become a source of tension between the two of us. As I can’t access my own accounts I have become dependent on what Julia gives me.

“No kidding, true dat,” I say sarcastically.

“Hmmm, now what shall we go for?” Julia ruminates, ignoring me.

“Spiderman maybe?” I suggest half-heartedly.

“I hate to break it to you, Emma, but you’re more of a Mary-Jane or Gwen Stacey than Peter Parker now.” I’m impressed she knows the names; clearly she’s been paying attention. “No, leave it with me,” she mutters seeming to have forgotten me again, “I’ll have to go to the sewing shop in Chorlton…”

Better not rock the boat, I figure, I don’t want my privileges revoked.

Poppy, Esse and the others aren’t best pleased when I tell them I can’t coordinate costumes with them. I feel especially bad when I hear Peter, Ian, Paddy and Tony have all forked out for tickets. I regret it even more now.

Julia has me standing on the coffee table as she moves around me putting pins in for the final adjustments.

“I can’t go out like this!” I whine almost stamping my foot. Julia swats my leg and tells me to stand still.

“I think you look great Emma,” says Richard sitting at the dinner table. I know he only trying to be helpful but I still shoot him a dirty look, sadly this only makes him laugh causing me greater embarrassment. He came over to drop off some files but Julia invited him in for a glass of wine and to share our tea. God Almighty, why do I have to have an audience for this?

Julia has gone to great lengths to create a panto Robin Hood costume for me. In traditional panto, the male lead is played by a young woman, while many of the female parts are played by men. Supposedly this is for comic effect; in reality it was so Victorian men could ogle women’s legs. Before Richard got here Julia told me she thought it was funny, that I would be a man pretending to be a woman pretending to be a man.

My costume consists of green tights, little green shorts (which I’m impressed Julia made herself) and a little too flattering tunic/top with a brown hood. I feel incredibly exposed; especially my legs and the way the top pushes my breasts forward. I’m also none to pleased with the sly look on Richards face when he thinks I’m not looking.

“Well, you do love your hoodies sweetheart,” Julia had laughed when she first showed me.

“Right,” Julia says now, “lets get your hat!”

“A hat!” I exclaim and Richard chuckles at my discomfort.

The big day has come. It’s a Saturday and I haven’t been able to concentrate on anything all day. I keep checking my phone until six and then it’s time to get dressed in the dreaded costume. Now I’m standing in the hall looking at myself in the long mirror. I have to admit I look good, if a little weird. I’m not sure if I am happy that the tunic fits me so well.

“Have fun sweetheart,” Julia gives me a hug as I pull on my duffel coat.

“Thanks,” I say half exasperated. She’s put a lot of work into the costume and I don’t want to seem ungrateful.

“Don’t forget, curfew is twelve,” she warns me.

“Oh come on,” I protest, “it’s the weekend!” I can see her will is weakening; she’s probably been looking forward to having the flat to herself. I put my hands together like I am praying and give her the big eyes. “Pleeeeese,” I beg, totally shamelessly.

“Hmmm… oh, alright then. But the rule is you call or text not later than eleven-thirty and let me know where you are, what’s happening and when you’ll be back,” she relents.

“Great,” I spring up in joy and kiss her on her cheek. “Love you!” I say, mortified inside at how bouncy and kid-like I am being. Guess I’m excited.

“Hmmm,” she seems very thoughtful, “well look here’s an extra twenty.”
She opens her purse and hands me a note. “Don’t walk home, take a taxi if you have to, I can pay when you get back if need be.”

“Thanks, Mum!” I say, walking out the door.

“Emma!” Julia calls after me.

I turn, “Yup,”

“This is not a game. I will come and drag you out of wherever you are if I don’t hear from you by eleven-thirty, okay?” Her voice is serious. I nod agreement and try to make it to the stairs.

“Emma,” again.

“Yes?” I sigh

“I love you too,” then she shuts the door and I’m out of there.

Two things are on my mind as I walk down to the bus stop. First, the strange chat with Julia. I could swear I saw a sad look in her eyes as I left. Second, the cool breeze that reaches my nether regions through the thin material of my shorts. It makes me all too aware of what I have, and haven’t down there. I put both thoughts out of my head when I see the gang are waiting for me.

I am almost hoarse with laughter by the time I reach them; their costumes are all too brilliant. Peter is wearing in a bow tie and a tweed jacket, (“A Whovian till I die,” as he puts it). Esse has come in a three-pointed hat, ruffled shirt, pantaloons and fancy jacket (“18th century white dudes, the biggest villains of them all”). Tony makes an excellent Asian Oscar Wilde, Ian a knight and Paddy looks good as a rather sheepish Wonder Woman. Poppy has excelled herself and come dressed all in black with a large white needle printed on the front of her jumper (“heroin(e) and a villain”). I later find out her uncle is an artist with all the stuff for screen-printing.

“So come on, lady, let’s see what you’ve got,” says Poppy, her arms folded.

“You’ve come as Kermit the Frog?” asks Esse pointing at my green tights.

“I wish,” I say, wondering how she knows the reference.

Slowly I unbutton my duffel coat and pass it to Tony, who’s the nearest. Finally I put on the little green felt hat and show them the little toy bow and arrow Julia gave me.

“Ta dah!”

They all go silent - surely it isn’t THAT bad, I think, “Just remember that my mum spent ages on this,” I warn them.

Peter speaks first. “Emma, I think you’ve given me a Time Lord boner,” he says getting a glare from Paddy. Without realising it I fold my arms under my breasts for comfort. A second later I drop them to my side when I realise they are holding my breasts up even further.

As we get on the bus Poppy and I hold back to let the others get on. Just before I reach the first step Poppy whispers to me, “I wish you had told me, I’d have come as the Sheriff of Nottingham so I could keep you under lock and key,” before pinching me on the bum. I’m not sure how well the girl knows the story of Robin Hood…

First we wait in line with the other kids, swigging gin from a hip flask Esse had hidden in her costume. The night is cold but not unpleasantly so. I am pleased for the excuse to keep my coat on and prying eyes away, although Poppy forces me to keep my ‘cute’ little hat on. We got here early because Noah’s band is one of the first on. I haven’t been this early for a gig since university.

I notice that bitch Jessie and her friend Chantel further down the line. I give Jessie a sarcastic smile when she looks in my direction. She looks at me like she knows exactly where she thinks I should be keeping Robin Hood’s bow and arrow. No good love, you’re on my turf now.

After a wait of about forty minutes we’re finally in! The venue is full of other kids, loud and excited. I doubt that we are the only under aged kids in here.

Peter and Esse, who are the tallest in the group, head to the bar and we take the coats to the cloakroom. Another wait and then we are back, Esse and Peter beam at us carrying plastic cup filled with, what I am guessing is, very watered down lager.

We drink and laugh and watch the first band get ready. I don’t think much of them when they start, a cheap rip-off of the Libertines mixed with the plodding of late Oasis. They must have a friend who helped select the line up. The audience don’t seem to mind; I guess they are just happy to be here, or anticipating what’s next. As we watch, Poppy takes my hand. I let her at first but then she tries to put her arm around my waist. I pull back, smiling at her but not knowing what to say. How do I explain that I have a wife waiting for me at home who is pretending to be my mum and that I am really thirty six and have some tackle downstairs I really don’t think she wants to see?

In the end I take the coward’s way out and head to the toilets. After a quick whizz I stare at myself in the large mirror pretending to check out my make up (applied by Julia). There in front of me is this girl, both me and a new person. This girl has friends, a life, even someone who likes her, and whom she might like back. I feel profoundly sad; at some point in the future I am going to kill that girl in the mirror. I have to fight back a tear. Maybe holding hands isn’t so bad, just so long as it doesn’t go any further. Maybe this girl deserves something in her short life before I end it.

My mind made up, I head back only to find Noah’s band setting up on stage. He even waves at me; I see Poppy turn around and she doesn’t look happy. She’s been talking with Esse. As the band start up I grab her by the hand pull her forwards.

“Let’s go to the front,” I mouth at her, smiling. She doesn’t seem sure but Esse waves us on.

At the front we sway and jump to the music, they aren’t bad. Friends can hold hands and dream of what could / couldn’t be, I figure. We’re dancing together but as the songs progress Poppy keeps pulling me to her. At first I don’t mind but then her hands are on my backside, squeezing my cheeks. Even without Julia at home it is too much, too possessive. I break free. Then I see tears in her eyes and she turns and runs out of the venue. I look back and see Esse behind giving me a dirty look. Shit, I’ve really fucked up; I forgot how open and vulnerable the teenage heart is. I go after her.

I finally find her outside leaning against a wall smoking a cigarette. As I approach she starts coughing her lungs out; I suspect this is one of her first.

“Hey,” I say.

“Hey,” she says back, her voice soft and frightened.

“You okay?” I ask, probably just as frightened as her.

“What do you care?” Now there’s defiance in her tone.

“I care a lot Pops.” Shit - I’m crying! “Look I’m new here, and when we left my old life, it was sudden.” I take a deep breath and promise myself that I will tell her as much of the truth as I can. I tell her that there was another relationship I left behind, that was broken too quickly, by events, so we didn’t have a proper ending. That I still feel guilty about it and that I need to go back and have that conversation.

It saddens me to my bones knowing how true it is. Suddenly I’m in floods of tears and begging her not to give up on me. Then she’s against me, pushing me against the wall. She uses her fingers to lift my chin and then we’re kissing. She is a passionate, assertive kisser and I find myself taking a submissive role.

Two rugby types wolf whistle at us and I show them my middle finger making Poppy laugh. After that the spell is broken.

“Do you want to go back inside?” Poppy asks. I shake my head; suddenly the gig doesn’t seem important.

“What if I walk you home?” Poppy suggests; the arcane chivalry of her offer touches me and I nod my head yes. She takes my hand then asks if that’s okay.

“Sure,” I say sounding goofy, “it’s just holding hands.” I’m not sure whom I am trying to remind. Poppy ducks back inside to get our coats, only now do I realise just how cold I am, and exposed. As I stand there a car drives past slowly. I can’t see who’s in there but I see the flash of a camera or a camera phone.

“What was that about?” says Poppy, making me jump.

“Just some shithead adding me to his wank bank,” I say, turning around.

“He better not,” says Poppy with exaggerated indignation, “this belongs to me,” she loops her fingers into the thin belt of my little shorts and pulls me to her kissing me quickly and taking me by surprise. Well, not quite yet.

Poppy reluctantly leaves me at the end of my road. The walk home took over an hour, with me hanging on to her hand the whole way. Before she leaves she pushes me against a tree and kisses me again. The girl really is assertive; I don’t remember any girls doing that to me the first time I was fifteen, I think with a smile on my face.

We left really early; it is still only eleven-fifteen. I decide to sneak back in as quietly as possible. I know I owe Julia a conversation but that can wait - I want to preserve as much of the night as possible. I ease the front door open and, once inside, close it as quietly as possible.

I see the light of the TV flickering in the living room and wonder if Julia has fallen asleep in front of it. I decide to risk checking and hope if Julia is awake she’ll let me slink off to bed without too many questions. But when I get to the living room it is silent and empty. The only sign of life is two half drunk glasses of wine on the coffee table. Funny, I think, Richard must have come round after I left; I hope it isn’t more work.

I go back out into the hall planning on listening to music on my headphone in my bedroom. Only now do I realise that the main bedroom door is ajar. Peeping inside I hear noises, soft music and whispered voices. I can’t help but look although I am terrified at what I will see.

Through the gloom of the candlelight, there’s only one still lit, I see two naked bodies pressed together. Julia and Richard are too focused on each other to notice me.

I go to the living room, frightened to walk past the main bedroom, and sit on the sofa my head in my hands. Suddenly I’m frightened that I will be discovered. I jump up and turn the TV off then sit back down resuming my former position. I’m crying; more than crying I’m weeping. I try to force my face deeper into my hands to cover the noise. I know I have no right to be upset, but still I am.

How long I’ve been sitting here for I don’t know. Time has stopped having any meaning, all I know is that I don’t want to move. Even breathing seems an enormous effort and I half wonder if I could end the pain by just stopping.
I only realise I am not alone when two arms go around me.

“Oh Emma, how long have you been here for?” It’s Julia. Looking up at the clock on the wall, I’d guess I have been sitting here from between thirty to forty five minutes.

“Richard just left and I saw your coat on the peg,” Julia is crying herself, “I am so sorry, I didn’t want…” her voice trails off to nothing.

“How long?” I ask; it’s clear she knows what I’m asking.

“Just a few weeks… I wasn’t sure yet, I wanted to tell you when the time was right.” I can see how upset she’s getting.

“It’s okay,” I say, smiling through the tears. “I just realised earlier tonight that we had reached the end. If it has come faster because of the situation I don’t know, but I think it has been coming for a while. I haven’t been there for you, not emotionally,” I stop because I am sobbing.

“I still love you,” says Julia, crushing me closer to her, “but I’m not in love with you, and I need to be with someone who makes me feel that way again.”

We hold each other for hours, talking about everything and nothing. I tell her about Poppy and how it is both weird and special. She tells me about Richard and how great he is. Eventually, at nearly three in the morning we go to bed together - not as husband and wife, or lovers, but as mother and daughter. As I fall asleep, her arm around me, I feel lighter than I have in a long time.

Part 4

We’re all sitting around in Peter’s Mum’s kitchen. Peter has his electric guitar attached to a little amp and I’m on an acoustic. Ian has a bass, which isn’t connected to anything and Paddy has a single snare drum.

“Okay, shall we try it one more time?” Peter asks. We all nod nervously and I notice Peter’s little sister watching us from the doorway.

“Hot topic is the way that we rhyme,” Esse sings, she has such a great natural voice.

“One step behind the drum style,” Poppy and I add in backing. I’m surprised at how good my voice sounds - if I didn’t know better I’d say I was pitch perfect. More than that, I’m complimenting Esse’s voice perfectly; normally this takes hours of practice or post-production to get right.

The song continues:

“Carol Rama and Elanor Antin
Yoko Ono and Carolee Schneeman
You're getting old, that's what they'll say, but
Don't give a damn I'm listening anyway”

Poppy and I keep on with the backing vocals, “Hot topic is the way that we rhyme.” At points I can tell Poppy is near to fits of giggles but she holds on.

Peter gets to his guitar solo and he’s pretty good. I mean, it’s mainly fuzz and feedback but considering he’s only been playing for a few months I’m impressed. Paddy, Peter and I are keeping together; it may feel like we’re always a second or two from falling apart but we never do. Ian’s bass is a second behind so I’m glad he hasn’t got an amp.

We get to the last part of the song where Esse lists names of heroes: “Gretchen Phillips and Cibo Matto.” I wonder if any of the others know who these people are, hell I wonder if I do? “Leslie Feinburg and Kermit the Frog,” I wince as Esse uses the nickname she gave me at the Halloween gig. I see Poppy grinning; I hope it doesn’t stick.

We all stop at different times, but that wasn’t bad. I look around and see the others smiling. I also look at Peter’s little sister, who’s still standing in the door way. She rolls her eyes and leaves but doesn’t say anything. The fact that she can’t find something to make fun of her brother about is probably the best compliment we’ll ever have.

As the others chat excitedly I excuse myself and go looking for the toilet. Peter’s house is a spacious semi-detached in Bohemian Chorlton. I can tell his mother is an arty type by all the pictures and paintings on the walls.
When I sit down on the toilet I notice a dream catcher hanging in the window and wonder who dreams in the toilet. I suppose it is a place of rest and contemplation if you want to look at it that way.

There are photos of Peter and his sister on the wall. Most of them are from when they were little. The one that draws my attention is a photo of Peter, probably no older than eight, sitting in the bath with his sister. They’re surrounded by toys, boats and ducks and are beaming up at the camera.
I notice that there are no pictures of Peter’s dad. All I know from Poppy is that Peter’s dad left a few years ago and that Peter doesn’t like to talk about it. I think about my own childhood and the way it was split into two - into three now.

Things are easier over the next few days. When I’m not with Poppy and the gang Julia and I hang out having ‘mum and daughter’ time, which mainly involves watching old movies whilst eating popcorn. I actually catch myself worrying what it’s doing to my figure!

On Wednesday, Richard takes us out for a meal and I play the good, ‘young adult’ daughter. I notice Richard is nervous around me; he’s trying hard to win me over. He tells me about his eldest Greta, who is off at University now. He thinks we’ll get along. These are all things in Emma’s future like university and meeting new people. I try to keep smiling but I feel sad. Most likely, the girl I see in the mirror every morning won’t get those chances.

It’s unspoken but, once this is over, I’ll probably go back to London and Julia will stay up here. I don’t know what she will say to Richard; perhaps she’ll say Emma has gone to live with her dad or maybe she’ll even tell him the truth. I suppose it shouldn’t matter to me, but it keeps going around in my head.

I see Poppy at school and most evenings. She seems comfortable in her assumption that she has me to herself and it breaks my heart that one day I will have to leave her behind. Perhaps I could ask Deepa if I can take a year off to be Emma? I can’t believe that I’m thinking that!

I’m becoming more aware of my body and the urges that come with it. One Physics lesson, Poppy squeezes my bum while no one is looking. I feel warmth spreading out from my privates; my first thought is that I’ve wet myself so I run off to the toilet to check. It is only when I get out into the corridor that I realise my mistake. I have to go sit in the girls’ toilets for five minutes feeling both frustrated and dumb.

When we’re out of school she likes to take me by surprise by pinching my bum or kissing me when I least expect it. I find myself taking the back seat in our relationship and it worries me that I may now be the bottom to Poppy’s top. Not that we’ve had sex - that can’t happen. I could hardly go back to being a man in his 30s after; despite my current physical reality it wouldn’t be right. Just another experience I’m about to deny Emma.

I find I’m checking myself out in the mirror more often, and in less and less clothes. I think I used to be frightened about how I would react to Emma’s body but now that it’s feeling more a part of me I worry less. I do wonder what it is that the staring boys are looking at. How does my body match up to others? The boobs are a little small, but not a bad shape. My legs are skinny and nobbly to my eyes, but I know Poppy likes them. I turn sideways on and wonder about the size of my bum. Fuck, I really am going full method on this.

The biggest downside is that I’m now no longer talking to Noah. I see him every now and then but he’s always off in the distance. I think about going down to where the playing fields meet the Sixth Form College grounds. The smokers hang out there, and even though I don’t smoke he does and I’d like to bump into him. Not sure what I’d say though. I can’t get away; Poppy has me under lock and key during break times.

The school bell rang nearly half and hour ago but we hung back in Mr Hulse’s English room helping him put the books away. It is a good way to avoid the crowds and now we can walk out of the school hand in hand. There are a few odd looks from some of the boys on the football pitch, but I don’t care.

The autumn air is getting cold as winter comes. I have added a little tartan scarf and woolly hat to my ‘duffel coat’ look. I notice that this smaller body feels the cold more. Poppy thinks the hat looks adorable.

“Why don’t you wear more skirts outside school?” she asks.

“I guess I feel more comfortable in jeans,” I say liking the feel of her arm around my waist.

“Those tight jeans of yours are probably more restrictive and revealing than most skirts,” she says looking down at me. I still find it weird that I have to look up at her.

“Hmmm,” I say. I expect the skirts she has in mind are a fair bit more restrictive and revealing than any of my jeans.

“Bugger!” Poppy stops suddenly. “I forgot my maths homework!” She looks at me and I see a flash of worry in her eyes. “Dad’s taking us to Aunty Linda’s in the Peaks at the weekend, I’ve only got tonight to do it.” She pulls at my hand. “Can you come back with me?”

I look at the clock on my phone; it is already late. “Aww, sorry Popsicle, Mum’s cooking a meal for Richard and me.” I see Poppy roll her eyes when I mention his name and I’m touched by her loyalty. “I’ll be in all sorts of trouble if I don’t get back.” Also, I don’t want to let Julia down. Poppy looks a little miffed but agrees.

“There’s always band practice after school tomorrow,” I say. Peter and Esse are keen that we keep practising. I feel a little bad; I think Poppy finds it a little dull as she doesn’t have much to do. “And there’s school too,” I add seeing Poppy’s sulky face.

“No good,” she says, grabbing me and pulling me to her, “I don’t get you to myself at school or the band, I can’t do cool things like this,” and she kisses me while squeezing my buttocks. Damn, she’s good, I think as she walks away.

Five minutes later a young man steps out from behind a car and asks me for directions to St. Peter’s Square. Odd - that’s in the centre of the city nowhere near here. I am about to tell him when a hand comes from behind me covering my mouth. I try to scream out but the hand is holding a rag that muffles my voice. A strong pair of arms holds me still.

I can smell something sweet and slightly tinged with chemicals – shit, chloroform! I try to struggle but other arms are now dragging me into the car. I hit and kick out as much as I can but it’s no use. The last thing I can remember is the feeling of hands binding me, and then I black out.

I do remember some sounds and smells from the journey but not much else. The noise of the traffic breaks through, the sound of rain against the windows, the tar-like smell of the cigarettes one of my captors smokes.

They must have used chloroform on me for a second time because the next thing I know I am waking up in a chair in a room somewhere. Just like in the hospital all those months ago I slowly become aware of my surroundings. My arms and legs are secured to the chair with what feels like rope, I try to speak but there’s something gagging me. What ever it is, it’s tied tightly and hurts like hell. In front of me is a bright light, so bright it is blinding me and blurring out the rest of the room.

Someone grabs my face holding it so I have to look into the light. I hear a voice, female I think, saying something about ‘if they want to see the girl again they need to play the game’. As my eyes get accustomed to the light I realise I’m staring at a camera. The voice has stopped; she just said something but I wasn’t listening. Out of the corner of my eye I see a hand with a needle.

I try to scream and move away but I can do neither. I hear counting backwards, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6… and then bliss. Just before I drift off I hear the female voice saying, “Tell Viktor it is done.”

Strange dreams; I am a mermaid caught in giant fisherman’s net. I am an adult baby girl stuck in a giant cot in our living room watching Julia eat her tea with Richard. I try to call out to her for help but I have a giant dummy stuck in my mouth. In each dream I’m Emma, not Mark.

I have moments of being more aware of my surroundings. One time I wake up and I’m lying on a bed in a room in what looks like some cheap hotel. There are two women with me – hookers maybe? From the mirror on the other wall I can see I’m still in my school uniform, tape binding my hands, arms and legs. I beg the women to get me help but the younger one just leaves the room and the older one strokes my hair and tries to reassure me in a language I don’t understand.

One time I wake up in a nightmare. I am on the same bed only this time I am naked, my hands are tied somewhere above my head. Standing above me is a young man, no older than mid-twenties. He looks lean, not an ounce of fat on him. His muscles are coiled like he’s expecting a fight. There must be some real pain deep down there; I’m terrified he’s about to take it out on me. I scream out but there are no words, just visceral fear. The young man leans down; he’s holding a knife. He traces the knife all over my body. He pushes down, but not hard enough to pierce my skin. “Calm down my angel, maybe I make you a woman, yes?”

I cry out again and this time the door to the room opens. In the mirror I see the older woman from before. Her face looks like it was once very beautiful, before it saw too many bad things. She screams at the man, mostly in the same language as before, but with a few words in English. I catch one phrase: “She is not to be damaged, not yet,” but that’s all. The man gets up and walks away from the bed and then the woman runs to my side.

“You are okay little one,” and she goes to untie my hands. Once my hands are free I curl up into a little ball weeping. The woman starts stroking my back but I won’t look at her. I just sob, begging her to let me go. Then I feel the needle go into my arm and I’m gone again.

In the second waking nightmare I’m tied to the bed again. There’s a camera above me, my mouth is held open in an O and I can feel a strap going around my head. I see a hand; whoever it belongs to is obscured by the bright light of the camera and the hand is holding a big dildo. I feel my eyes going wide in fear. The hand pushes the dildo through whatever it is holding my mouth open. It pushes at the back of my throat, making me want to choke. I fear that I could drown in my own vomit with it on.

The hand leaves it there and then pulls away. I hear a voice, male this time. It says, “If you don’t come forward, Mark Healey, then next time it will be a real cock in your daughter’s mouth.” Then I see the woman and again she has a needle. I shake my head no but it does nothing; I lose myself again.

I wake up; it’s the same room. On the bedside table there is a glass of orange juice. I notice I am wearing a nightshirt, one with a pink cartoon rabbit on it. The fabric is cheap but it’s clean. I find I’m able to push myself up, although my arms feel painful and weak. It is then that I notice the same woman again, sitting on the end of the bed.

“You should drink it,” she smiles and nods, “you need your strength.” I shake my head retreating as far from her as I can.

“You no worry, there are no drugs,” she reaches out a hand and touches my foot, I recoil immediately, “for you no more drugs. Today you go home.” I look at her quickly - is this a trick?

“You parents, they are sensible,” the woman smiles like she’s a friendly old teacher telling me I can go on the school trip to Chester Zoo, “so we go to meet your father and if you are both good then you can go free,” her voice sounds sickly and sweat but there’s menace behind it.

I see myself in the mirror again; I look like a scared little girl. I feel like one too.

“You would like to go home wouldn’t you?”

I nod my head, it’s all I want. To see Julia again, and Poppy, the gang and Deepa too – hell, even Richard.

“Good girl,” she smiles, “we will need to get you ready.”

She motions over to a chair, on which some clothes are set out. She watches me as I take off the nightshirt and put on the bra and knickers. It’s taking me an age to put the bra on, my fingers are shaking so much. When she offers to help I wave her away, the thought of her touching me sickens me. After that I put on a black t-shirt with a knock-off picture of the Angry Birds on it. I turn to her and she smiles, “And the trousers.”

I nod agreement and pull them on; they are Primark jeans. All the clothes fit pretty well; I guess she measured me while I was out cold. I feel my body shaking and I’m not sure if it’s fear or the drugs. When I’m done I look at her wanting to know what to do next. All rebellion has gone, I just want out. She holds up a roll of gaffer tape and tells me to hold my arms next to my body. She begins wrapping the tape so my arms are bound to my side and doesn’t stop until I have the torso of a mummy. I can wriggle my hands but I can’t lift or move my arms at all. The woman shows me a red jumper hoodie before she puts it over my head. When she’s finished it looks like I have no arms.

“Not much of a disguise is it?” she says to me, I am too frightened so I don’t say or do anything. “I can see you agree,” she says, bringing out a long black jacket and hanging it on my shoulders. It still looks stupid, but I imagine most people wont look twice.

“Okay little one, open wide,” she grins at me. I fear she is going to put a pill or something in there but instead she stuffs some silky material in my gob.

“Mmmmph!” I protest.

“Presents, from the girls,” she laughs.

The material smells and tastes bad, it takes me a while to realise they are soiled women’s knickers, the sadistic bitch. She can tell I’ve worked it out, I can see it in her eyes. She tapes over my mouth and pulls the hood of the hoodie up so it covers my face in shadow.

“There we are,” she admires her work, “pretty as a picture. Now, let’s take you to the car.” As I start to move she grabs my face again and forces me to look her in the eye

“This better go well, little girl, or when you come back maybe I give you to Luka,” - I assume that’s the bastard from my nightmares - “or perhaps I make you work with the girls. Who knows, maybe both,” she says and slaps my face gently. “You understand?” I nod my head; I’m trembling but I refuse to cry.

She leads me out of the room and we walk along corridors with peeling wallpaper and suspicious stains. I see closed doors and hear various sex noises leaving me in no doubt what sort of place I have been kept in. I wonder how many girls of my body’s age have been kept in here against their will, and how many made it out?

The sunlight blinds me as we exit through a fire door into a car park. Two men are waiting for me; a large, slightly overweight man in a suit and the lean, muscular, younger man from my nightmare. I scream into my gag and try to wriggle free, but I know it’s useless.

“Don’t fret child,” the woman says, “Luka and Mickey will take you from here.” She turns to the older man and says, “Mickey, you know what to do.” Mickey nods and gets into the driving seat of a black BMW. Luka takes my arm and drags me in the back where he buckles me into a seatbelt holding me still.

As the car drives off Luka whispers to me, “Perhaps it all goes wrong my angel, perhaps I kill your daddy and get to keep you.” I watch as he plays with his knife. Who are we going to meet? What are they going to do when there’s no dad to meet?

We drive through the streets. From the style of the houses and the size of the place I see we are back in London. Not central London but somewhere south of the river would be my guess. I keep an eye out looking for a tube station or some other landmark so I know where I am. I have to be prepared to run the first chance I get.

We pull into the car park of a hospital and I listen while Mickey complains to Luka about how much they charge for the parking as he finds a quite spot near the edge of the lot. As Luka drags me out of the car I look at the people in the distance, praying for one of them to look this way and notice that there’s something wrong. That’s the thing with London; everyone is trying hard not to notice everyone else. The two men lead me behind the main building and I am worried they are taking me there to kill me. I have to calm myself down; why would they have chosen such a public place?

As we come around a corner I see a figure standing there. It takes me a moment to realise it’s Julia; she looks so pale and emaciated, like the survivor from some terrible tragedy. When she sees us she almost throws up.

“Emma,” she calls out. The sound of her voice is visceral, almost more animal noise than human language.

“Ms Healey, or is that Riley?” asks Mickey.

Julia nods. “Either,” she says, her voice now little more than a whisper.

“And Mr Healey?” Mickey asks.

“I want to see Emma first.” Julia’s voice is stronger now.

Mickey nods at Luka and he roughly pulls my hood away. I blink back tears as I look Julia in the eyes. My heart leaps just seeing her but then it sinks again. I don’t want her here - they’re going to kill us, one way or another. We’ve seen their faces, there’s no way we’ll survive this.

“Take the tape away from her mouth,” Julia pleads, “let me speak to her.”

“Not now, after you’ve taken us to Mark,” Mickey replies. Julia reluctantly agrees and takes us in to the hospital through a back door.

“You’ll see,” she says, “he’s in a coma, he can’t testify against your friend.” She’s shaking a little. I wonder if Deepa even knows I am missing - surely she wouldn’t have authorised this?

She leads us through several long corridors and occasionally we pass someone like a nurse or visiting family. Luka puts his arm around my shoulder like he’s a boyfriend comforting his girlfriend. In my side I feel the point of his knife warning me not to take any chances.

Finally we come to a private room in a secluded part of the hospital. Julia looks around and then takes us in. There lying on the bed in front of me is my old body - it’s literally an out of body experience. The room is small but has two large wardrobes and a large set of computer like medical equipment. Julia hands Luka a key.

“Here,” she says, “you can lock the door.” She turns to Mickey, “I took it from a doctor.” He nods to Luka who goes over to the door.

Suddenly there’s a loud bang and the door flies open. Luka is caught unawares and knocked to the floor. Two armed men in police uniforms jump out of the cupboards but Mickey is faster on the uptake than Luka and avoids capture. At first I’m frightened he’ll go for Julia but I soon see that’s not his purpose. He’s pulled out a gun and aimed at the head of my body. That’s why they risked capture - even if they go down their boss will go free and they will have an easy life in prison. The others are too far away to stop him, I put out my leg tripping him, but it’s too late. He pulls the trigger and everything goes into slow motion. I’m on my knees silently screaming into my gag as the bullets explode into the head I lived in for thirty-six years. To be honest I don’t remember much after that, just fragments.

I do remember Deepa, pale faced, apologising to me and ordering people around. I remember Julia in tears hugging me close, pulling the tape from my body. I couldn’t understand much but from what I could, I got the impression she had been sent the videos the gang had made. I remember Richard coming in and consoling her. First he took Julia in his arms and then me as well. That’s when I broke down crying.

There was a nurse called Mary who pulled me away from the commotion, giving me a check over.

“Was that your father?” she asked. I nodded my head, not sure what to say. The tears were pouring out again. She hugged me as well; it’s funny how people feel free to hug a girl or a woman when they wouldn’t feel they could do the same for a boy or a man.

Deepa came over to tell me that they were closing down the gang’s organisation all across London. That they had been able to track me because of a device in side my body (first I’d heard of it!). Also that they had needed to get me out before they could raid the places or they would have put me at too much risk, that’s why they had agreed to the exchange. She’s confident they can clear up the whole organisation.

Julia, Poppy and her dad are waiting for me when the hospital lets me go. Poppy knows about the kidnapping, and that I was in the witness relocation programme now. I haven’t yet told her all the rest. I was hospitalised for about a week while the drugs left my body. The first couple of days had gone by in a haze due to the medication I’d been given. The final days were boring as hell as they brought down the dosage but I don’t mind. I’ve spent far too much time medicated in recent months; I don’t care to repeat any of those experiences.

Poppy and Julia still seem a little unsure of each other but are making an effort to get along for my sake. I keep bursting into tears and then laughing like crazy as my mind slips between the horror of what I have been through and how lucky I am to be alive. Poppy has brought a card signed by all our friends as well as a hand drawn comic made by Peter and Paddy. The comic is called ‘Emmy Vs the Bad People’ and shows a cartoon superhero version of myself taking on stylised robbers / kidnappers. I begin to cry,unsure whether it’s because of the thoughtfulness of the gift, or because the reality was so different.

Poppy’s dad Malcolm drives us home. Julia sits in the front with him making small talk and playing with the radio. Every now and then she glances back at me to make sure I’m okay, I can see tears in her eyes. For my own part I feel the calmest I’ve felt in years. I watch the traffic and the countryside go past through the window. Poppy lets me sit in silence resting her hand on my bare foot.

“Emma, get a move on, we’re supposed to be meeting them in ten minutes,” I hear Judy shouting to me from the hallway. I just stand there eyeing up the dress on the hanger. It’s a red A-line dress, with petticoats that push the skirt out slightly, made from a light, silk-like fabric that is cool to the touch.

I have to admit it could be worse; the simple, stylish design will cover my chest and my legs down to my knees. My chest is becoming a problem - I’m sure it is getting bigger. Despite the modesty this dress feels much more feminine than what I am used to, even as a girl.

“You’re not even dressed yet!” I turn to see an angry Julia, arms folded, standing in the open door.I take a deep breath; I know this is important to her and I want to do it for her sake.

“I need a build-up before I can wear something like that,” I say feeling the material of the dress’s hemline between my thumb and my forefinger. Julia comes up next to me and gives me a hug.

“Everyone’s excited about meeting you, sweetheart. I know they’re going to love you, my lovely daughter,” she beams at me. I smile back

“They better!” I take a deep breath. “Okay, lets do this thing. Can you give me a hand?”

She helps me pull the dress on over my head. I’m careful to make sure none of my make-up rubs off on the material. I’ve only used a little but I still don’t want to have to re-do it. It took me a hell of a long time, especially as I wouldn’t let Julia help me. Once it’s over my head she zips me up at my back and smoothes the fabric into place.

“Right, young lady,” she says, “I’ll grab my purse and then we’ll be off.”

Once she leaves the room I open a draw and pull out a thin black cashmere top and pull it over the dress. It clings to my body, and other than hide my arms it doesn’t do much but somehow it makes the outfit feel a little more ‘me’. By the time Julia is back I have my coat on and I am ready to go.

“Okay kiddo,” she smiles, “lets go and face the Donaldsons.”

The restaurant is only a short drive away in Didsbury and I remain silent watching the early December rain against the window. While Julia looks for a parking spot I ask her, “So tell me who they are again?” I’ve been asking her repeatedly since she told me I was going to be meeting Richard’s children, but she humours me.

“Well there’s Greta, she’s Richard’s oldest. She started university in September and is studying something to do with computers at Swansea.” She looks at me, pausing to check that I’m taking this in. “Rich thinks you two will get on as you’re both into music.” Silently I try to make a list of things we can talk about. “Then there are the six year old twins, both boys. They’re very excited about gaining another big sister,” she says. Do I detect hesitation in her voice?

‘Big sister’. I roll it around in my head, trying to get used to the idea. Apart from Aunty June, who raised me after my parents passed away, I don’t really have much family. I smile when I think of what June will think when we explain what has happened over the last few months.

Richard and his family are waiting for us outside the restaurant, which is an old Italian place, one the twins love because of the ice-cream. The twins are talking loudly and excitedly as we cross the road but go silent and hide behind their dad when they see me. I also notice another person; a guy in his early twenties standing next to the girl I guess is Greta.

Richard introduces everyone to me; the twins Alfie and Oscar who seem both scared and deeply intrigued by me, then Greta and George, her boyfriend from university. I give Julia a dirty look, as she banned me from bringing Poppy. Julia just looks away pretending not to notice. I feel a little put upon; the group has been divided into two, the grown up couples and the little kids. I don’t like the side of the line I’ve been put on. I swallow down my pride - I’m doing this for Julia, I remind myself.

We’re seated near the back, a waiter putting two tables together to accommodate all of us. I have Julia and Richard either side of me and Greta and George opposite. The twins sit opposite Richard so he can keep an eye on them.

I make small talk with Greta and George, asking them what they are studying at. Greta tells me something terribly complicated that I forget almost a soon as she has said it. George however tells me he is studying creative writing, which piques my interest.

“Really? I’m thinking of creative writing. English is my favourite subject, but I’m not quite sure of what I could do with it afterwards,” I say breathlessly. It feels funny to be talking openly about Emma’s future. It fills me with happiness to think she’ll get to experience university.

I think of how Deepa offered to have a new body created for me, nearer my original size and age. I didn’t have to think for long - I’d seen Mark die, I couldn’t face it happening to Emma as well. Deepa had said it would take some time to sort the legal side of things out but that she would support me.

“You shouldn’t worry about it,” Greta says, “the way things are going with the economy and all, you never know what’ll happen. Better to spend three years doing something you love.” We continue chatting about what we want to do.

“Well, you may all be excited about going off into the world but I’m just glad that I still have my daughter at home for at least another couple of years,” Julia says, ruffling my hair while I make an ‘Aww, Mum!’ face.

“Excuse me...”

I realise one of the twins, Alfie I think, is trying to ask me something.

“Yes?” I answer him.

“Are you going to make us play with dollies?” he asks up front. I wonder if someone at school has been teasing him. I have no experience of dolls, nor have I any desire to gain any.

“No, I have to admit I was a bit of a tomboy when I was little like you,” I catch Richard giving me a wry smile. By now he knows my true history; Julia and Deepa told him during the kidnapping. He’s promised not to tell any of the kids though, which I’m thankful for.

I can tell the phrase ‘when I was little like you’ hasn’t gone down too well with either twin. Alfie turns to Julia and says, “But she’s not that much bigger than us,” causing the whole table to laugh and me to blush, cursing again the high blush setting of this body - my body.

As the food arrives I stay silent watching the dynamic around the table. Already the twins seem to be accepting Julia as a kind of mother figure. Greta is a little more aloof. She must be old enough to remember their real mother and to be fair, she’s not unfriendly. The way she acts is closer to the way you would when a close friend introduces you to their new girlfriend. Greta has clearly got it bad for George, which helps me forgive her for having him here instead of Poppy. I guess Richard and Julia didn’t have much choice; they couldn’t have refused to bring him after he travelled up all the way from Swansea with Greta.

Before the deserts come out Richard and Julia ask for everyone’s attention. I wonder what they are going to announce - they can’t be getting married already, can they? Just thinking it gives me a shock.

“Julia and I wanted to ask you all a question,” Richard says looking around the table. “Who here fancies spending Christmas in the Lake District?” - the boys yelp with excitement at the mention of Christmas - “because we were thinking of renting a cottage so we can fit everyone in.”

“There would be room for you too, dear,” says Julia to George. I can see that Greta looks excited. I’m guessing I’ll be getting to know them both better soon.

“And Poppy too?” I ask, testing the waters.

“Well maybe…” Julia starts. I’m not sure what she has against Poppy - a little envy, hurt feelings? Maybe she suspects that we were at it before the Halloween party. It’s possible she’s figured out that Poppy was the mastermind behind the Arndale heist and thinks she’s a bad influence. Whatever, it’ll need to be tackled at some point.

“Who’s Poppy?” Oscar and Alfie ask in union.

“My girlfriend,” I say with just a hint of pride as I think of her elegant figure and her goofy smile.

Oscar looks at his dad and states, “Emma has a girlfriend just like Alexia’s mummy,” making everyone around the table laugh.

“Thank you, kidder,” Richard says as his son looks confused over what we’re laughing at.

“Really,” says Greta, “you’re gay? I’m impressed.”

“It’s not exactly an achievement, it’s something you are or are not,” I say, wishing everyone would stop looking at me.

“Still, being out at fifteen is pretty awesome,” George says looking at me with what may be actual respect.

“You know, you’d be welcome to come and visit us in Swansea sometime,” says Greta. “Your girlfriend too,” she adds.

An interesting proposition; maybe there’s something to this ‘sister’ lark? Rich looks happy at the two families gelling but Julia looks a little unsure. The twins are protesting that they should be allowed to visit their sister for a ‘sleep over’ as well. I don’t think I’ve made a great first impression with them. I think they see me as competition for the attention of their dad and sister.

As we leave the restaurant, them heading back to their place, Julia and I to ours, I check my phone. There’s a text from Esse; it’s a photo of her and Poppy playing with Peter in the band. It seems like they are having a lot of fun and I can’t wait to join them tomorrow. I find that I’m laughing to myself; Emma lives and Mark is at rest - both are happy. Julia links her arm with mine.

“Have you still got that fake ID?” she asks.

“Er, yes,” I reply, not sure if I’m about to be in trouble.

“Good, let’s drive home and then go for a drink. The night’s still young.”

Thanks as always to Robyn Hood, Emily and Cressar. And to everyone who has commented and kept with the story :)

Part 5 The calm before the storm

Poppy runs her fingers along my newly cut fringe.

"Cool," she says, finding the little kink caused by the way my hair falls, "it suits you, pixie girl." She smiles mischievously knowing that I hate it when she talks to me like I’m a child. "I feel sorry for you, Emmy," she adds.

"Huh?"

"You look hot when you’re cross." She looks me in the eye, making my body go all tingly.

We’re sitting on a bench over looking the lake in Chorlton Water Park. Despite its name there are no water slides in the park because it’s a nature reserve on the edge of the river Mersey in south Manchester. As it’s late December we pretty much have the place to ourselves.

Getting my hair chopped at this time of year perhaps wasn't the best plan. Once Poppy has finished admiring my pixie cut I pull my woolly hat back on.

"What did The Dragon say?" Poppy asks.

I give her a look of disapproval. I’m not sure why there’s so much animosity between Julia and Poppy and I’d hoped it would have disappeared in the fall out from my kidnapping.

"Julia," - I correct myself - "Mum likes it." At least she was happy that she'd talked me down from anything too drastic, which she feared would be me trying to kick against being Emma. I look down at the shopping bags at my feet; I’m trying to find my own look, just like a typical teenager I guess.

The bags are full of Christmas presents for others and clothes for me, all bought from Chorlton's many second hand/charity shops. One bag has a clingy green dress Poppy persuaded me to buy. I doubt I'll ever be able to wear it. When I think how much this stuff would go for in a vintage shop in East London it makes my head spin. I'm surprised no one has thought to start a business buying in Manchester and selling in London; then again, someone probably has.

"So have you got your Mum and the Donaldson's something?" Poppy asks. I know she’s anxious about Christmas as we’ll be apart.

"I've got Richard that shirt, and Mum the necklace you picked out," I tell her.

My finances are tight; the money from my 'Mark' days is tied up in legal wrangling to do with my 'official status'. I don't know too much about it, only that Julia says it will take some time to sort out as there is so little legal precedent in this area.

"Mum’s buying something for the twins, which she'll put my name on. That just leaves George and Greta," I turn away hoping Poppy doesn't notice me blushing slightly when I mention Greta. I think how cool she looks with her long blonde hair.

I keep quiet as Poppy tells me about her family's Christmas plans. I was very touched when Poppy's Dad's invited me to join them in Scotland, but I had to turn them down. After my ordeal a few weeks ago I don't really feel strong enough to spend the holidays with a family I hardly know. Ironically that's what I am doing with the Donaldsons, but at least I'll have Julia there. After spending so many Christmases together, I’m not ready to break with tradition just yet. I watch a robin near the edge of the water as it picks at the half frozen ground. So far the winter has been mild but I wonder what’s in store for the little bird when the cold spell everyone is predicting comes in.

"I said when are you off, cloth ears?" I realise Poppy is speaking to me.

"Oh, sorry Popsicle," the robin is sticking his head in an discarded crisp packet, "my head’s in the clouds. We go on Wednesday. Two days," I add moronically, like she doesn't know when Wednesday is. "How about you?"

"Tonight," she says in a huff. I know she’s feeling anxiety about us being apart, more so than a normal teenage crush, because of recent events. I wish everyone would stop treating me like I'm made of fine bone china.

Poppy has been protective of me since I got back from the London hospital. She comes over every afternoon after school and sits with me. I am impressed with her ability to just be quiet and listen to records, or read and not pressure me into doing anything.

The only time I saw her break was when a right wing politician came on the radio talking about benefit cheats or something and she went into a rant about what a bastard he is. It was almost comical to see her arms moving around in such an animated way. Other than that she has a talent for just letting me be, for which I’m immensely grateful.

"We should do something when we all get back - the whole gang," she says.

I give a little none committal grunt. I'm not sure I’m up to a crowd yet, although I am supposed to be returning to school in the new year anyway. Poppy looks away and her voice goes quiet.

"It's my birthday on the sixth," she says almost in a whisper.

"Oh my GOD! Pops, we've got to celebrate!" Am I squealing? Dear God, I think I am...

Poppy looks happy as she turns around. I guess she must’ve been worrying how I would react. I feel bad; I must’ve been a right moody cow over the last few weeks.

"What do you want to do?" I ask enthusiastically. I see her looking at me strangely then she leans in and kisses me. Her height and the force of the kiss forces me to tilt my head back. I can feel her hand on my leg through the many layers of clothing I am wearing. My body seems to tingle from head to toe. How do girls deal with this? I can hardly sit still.

"What was that for?" I ask feeling all fuzzy and unclear in my head.

"For being so enthusiastic," she smiles, she leans in again and kisses me on the cheek. "You really do have the cheekbones for that hair cut."

I blush. I can only imagine I have gone beetroot red. Poppy puts her arm around me. "I wonder if Dad would let me have a party?"

We talk excitedly, making plans. I want the band to play. We may not be ready, but we could probably get away with just doing a couple of songs. This goes on for quite some time before the dying light and Poppy's need to go home and pack forces us to leave. Even through my warm mittens I can feel the strength of Poppy's fingers as we walk hand in hand. After I have seen her to her door I start to get a minor panic attack about our being separated for a whole week.

We’re driving up separately from the Donaldsons so we can have the use of both cars. I can feel Julia watching me out of the corner of her eye. The traffic was pretty bad coming out of Manchester but now we are on the M6 the route north seems clear. I rest my head against the window closing my eyes and seeing the colours created by the weak December sun coming though my eyelids.

"How are you holding up?" I've come to dread this question. I glance at Julia, who’s trying to look nonchalant.

"I'm okay… recovering," This, I've come to learn, is the safest response. I can see Julia wants more. "Every now and again I completely freak out. This all seems so unreal." I feel myself choke up, raw emotion close to the surface. "Sometimes I imagine I’m back there..." my voice trails off, going very quiet. For a moment I have the urge to break out, to open the car door and fling myself out, desperate to escape, but it passes.

Julia leans over and squeezes my knee. She doesn't say anything. I can see she wants to but I’m glad she doesn't push me.

"Shall we stop at the next service station?" she asks. "Bacon butties for lunch?"

I laugh a little and nod yes. I’m crying. I seem to be doing that a lot recently, only this time it’s out of happiness. I have no idea why I would see motorway service station food as such a treat, but it sounds great.

The cottage is hidden from the road by an old dry-stone-wall. We drive past it several times cursing the sat-nav on Julia's phone before spotting the drive. It’s all worth it when we park and see the view. The hills and the lake stretches out before us. I think I can spot a little boat; I'm not sure which lake it is, though; I'll have to look it up. The water looks dark and forbidding this time of the year but I’m still excited about making a trip down there at some point.

Richard comes out to greet us, smiling broadly. The twins are running around the car trying to get a peek at the presents we’ve brought. Alfie and Oscar look like little Michelin men in their puffer jackets.

"Emmy," asks Oscar, "have you bought me a present?" When I wink at him he grins from ear to ear.

"Any sign of Greta and George?" I hear Julia asking.

"Not yet, it'll be a while," says Richard, "they’re coming all the way from Swansea by train."

"Dear me," Julia replies, "that must take hours. How many changes do they have to make?"

I leave them discussing changing trains at Crewe and go open the boot of the car. The twins help me carry bags into the house, it is sweet how they work together to carry one of the bigger bags. I get a pang of something, maybe nostalgia, but I can't quite put my finger on it.

As we wait for Greta and George to arrive I get settled into my room. It’s the smallest in the cottage, only just big enough for a kid's sized bed. Ruefully I note that I can lie down easily on it. In my past life my feet would hang over the end of any bed smaller than a Queen size. My room is at the end of a corridor, next to it on the left is the double room Greta and George will be sleeping in and on the right is the bedroom the twins will be sharing. My window overlooks a stone pathway that leads down into a clump of trees. The trees are bare, having lost their leaves to autumn a long time ago. I sit on the bed texting Poppy but get frustrated when my phone can't get a signal. I catch a glimpse of myself in the hall mirror. I am wearing my usual skinny jeans and jumper, with a plaid shirt/blouse underneath. I look tomboyish with my pixie cut. I can feel my bra strap pulling at me underneath my clothes; it reinforces how odd I still find this body.

I go downstairs and retrieve my coat. Julia and Richard are in the kitchen discussing what supplies need to be brought. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve and they don't want to have to go out shopping again.

"Don't worry, I'll stop at the big Tesco when I go to pick Greta up," I hear Richard saying.

"That could take hours - Greta and George are going to be knackered," Julia replies.

"Hey guys," I cut in, "I'm heading outside to try and find a better signal." I hold up my phone like they don't know what a mobile looks like.

"Sure sweetheart," says Julia, "just stay close by, we may have to head out in a minute."

With that, I retrieve my duffel coat and Converses and I am gone. There are two paths leading away from the front of the house, one to the left that leads up the hill and one to the right that leads past my bedroom window and down into the trees. I take the one on the left.

I’m walking up the hill with my phone held out in front of me, not really looking where I’m going. I've just got one bar when I trip and stumble on a large rock causing me to topple over. In freefall I roll partway down the hill until a tree stops me.

I get up groaning. I can feel that my left arm is bruised and I’m slightly alarmed to see that there’s a mixture of blood and mud covering my hands. After a few moments searching I’m reassured that Ive only grazed myself. For the next five minutes my heart is in my mouth as I search for my phone. When I do eventually find it I notice the screen is a little chipped, but thankfully it is still functional.

Hobbling a little I make it a bit further up the hill, turn and take a selfie with the lake behind me. It takes a frustratingly long time to send it in a text message to Poppy. When it's done I head back down the hill, this time taking much more care where I’m treading.

"What happened to you?" Julia asks when I step in the door. I look down and see that, while my coat isn't too bad, my jeans are completely caked in mud.

"Took a trip," I say smiling, holding my arms out like a scarecrow. "I lost my footing and slipped," I clarify.

"Staring at that phone no doubt," Julia accuses me shrewdly.

"No," I reply, unconvincingly.

"You better go up and shower," Julia says, rolling her eyes at me.

I head back to my room from the shower feeling a lot better. There's something about hot water and this sensitive skin. My skin is glowing, partly from the heat and partly because I have Poppy on my mind as I wash. Once back in my room I pull out my two suitcases. Girls have so much more to take with them when they go away. Julia packed my bags as I had to go to get checked over by Doctor Fields the day before we left. I don’t think she trusted me to bring everything I would need. She was suspicious I'd deliberately leave behind some part of my feminine grooming regime. Speaking of which, I notice a pink pack of tampons, a delightful reminder of what mother nature has waiting for me in about a week's time.

As I rummage through both the cases I notice something strange; apart from the jeans I wore here I have no trousers at all. Damn Julia, she’s packed dresses, skirts and one pair of very small denim shorts which I guess I'm supposed to wear with thick winter tights. Damn her, I’m going to have to go dressed all girly for the rest of the holidays. This can't be a coincidence.

After looking at the options for a while I settle on the red A-line dress I wore to the restaurant. At least the colour’s festive and it goes with the silly Christmas jumper Esse got me. I laugh a little as I see the dumb looking knitted reindeer smiling back at me. Once dressed I go back downstairs ready to give Julia a piece of my mind, if I can only get her on her own.

All four of them are in the living room, Richard on his mobile (obviously his provider can get better reception up here) and Julia sitting on the floor playing with the twins. As I sit on the sofa I notice Julia giving me an odd look. It takes a few seconds for me to work out that I need to keep my legs together.

"Are you okay, Emma?" asks Richard as he puts his phone away. I must be bright red again.

"Er sure, I just came out of the shower," I stammer. Richard looks unconvinced but lets it go.

"Greta's one stop away from the train station. Who wants to come with me to pick up their sister?" He aims the last bit at the two boys, both of whom shake their head. I don't blame them, it looks frightful out there.

"We need to do some shopping as well," says Julia, looking uncertainly at the two boys.

"Would you prefer to go with Julia?" asks Richard and again they both shake their heads. He looks tired and exasperated. "I guess I can do both..." he starts.

"I could look after the twins," I offer, "I bet they really just want to stay in the warm with me and Sponge Bob" They are mad for Sponge Bob, and who could blame them?

Both boys look hopefully between Richard and myself.

"I don't know..." starts Julia.

"Come on, it'll be fine, you know you can trust me," I say to her trying to assuage her worries.

"I don't know, you haven't been back long, not since your..." she trails off again; I can see even thinking about my kidnapping is bringing her close to tears, which touches me.

"Look, I'm not some fragile little doll. I can handle an hour alone with these two. I am sure they’ll be as good as gold." As if on cue, bothboys look up at Richard and Julia with angelic expressions.

Julia and Richard look at each other, clearly close to folding, so I go for the kill, "One of you doing both the shopping and picking up Greta and George will take ages. It'll be much quicker if one does the shopping and the other goes to the station. Let me help."

Richard shrugs his shoulders. I've won!

"Thanks, Emma," he says before heading out.

As they get ready to leave I slide down on to the floor next to the boys, being careful to keep my legs together this time. Oscar picks up one of his toy cars and drives it over my arms and shoulders, making car noises as he goes. Once I hear the front door closing I turn to them both.

"Okay, what sort of game shall we play," I say with as much enthusiasm as I can muster; I’m determined to prove that I’m up to this.

"Hide and seek!" shouts Oscar, his brother jumping up in agreement almost immediately.

"Okay then, you two go and hide. I'll count to ten and then come and find you!" I say. They both run off in howls of laughter. I put my hands over my eyes and count down from ten in an exaggerated manner. It’s not altogether hard to find them as they’re both cackling like mad. Still, I have to walk around the room a couple of times to make it look less easy.

"Okay," says Oscar, when I've found them both, "now it’s your turn!" and he points at me in an exaggerated manner.

His brother joins in, "You go hide upstairs!"

"Okay," I say, running off.

I can hear them counting (missing a few numbers, the little rascals) as I look for somewhere to hide. In what will be Greta's room I spot an old- fashioned lampshade, the sort with the fussy tassels around the bottom. I figure I'll give the boys a laugh and put it on my head, standing straight like a lamp my hands at my side. I can hear them whispering as they climb the stairs. I smile to myself as they walk from room to room. I know when they have found me because I hear Alfie laughing, then the lampshade being pulled off my head.

Oscar is howling with laughter but Alfie points at me, "That's not what you’re supposed to do!" He sounds annoyed. "Hide properly!" he orders.

"Okay, okay," I say to mollify him, "I'll go and hide again."

The boys stay in Greta's room as I search for somewhere new to hide. I notice the door to their room is open and I spy an old wardrobe, the sort from the 1940s or 50s, with dark wood and a little bronze lock and key. I know it’s where the boys keep their toys and clothes, but seeing as they are all over the floor it must be empty. I climb inside, curling up into a little ball and pulling the door shut, but with just a tiny crack so I can see out.

I sit there a while before I hear their little footsteps. They wander around the room whispering things like, " Look under the bed," and "Under the sheets!" Eventually they get close to the wardrobe. I can hear them whispering and laughing but I can't make out what they’re saying. Alfie comes close to the door, I can see his little face smiling through the crack and I am convinced I am about to be discovered. Then it goes dark. I hear a click and the boys running out in fits of giggles.

It takes me a moment to realise what has happened. I push against the door but it doesn't budge. I give it a harder shove but still nothing. I don't have the strength in either my arms or my legs to break out.

"Help!" I shout, feeling panic taking hold of my body, "please boys, let me out!" Even through the rising fear I hate how pathetic my voice sounds. I’m sure I can feel them their standing just around the doorway.

"Please," I say more as a sob than a word. The wind blows the long curtains and the thin strip of light coming from under the door flickers. A dark part of my mind imagines a man standing on the other side, someone like Luka who threatened to sexually assault me. I know it isn't true but visceral fear has taken over from logic and I begin shouting and screaming and trying to kick out.

Immediately I realise it’s a mistake; I hear the boys running off down the stairs in tears but I can't help myself. I’m crying and shaking and I have to hug myself to try and calm down. I don't know how long it takes but it seems like a very long time indeed.

Finally I am calm enough to take stock of the situation. My emotions are near the surface and likely to explode at any time. I can hear the TV on downstairs and try to call out to Oscar and Alfie but my voice is too weak and I think I must have scared them too much.

I feel like an idiot - if I had stayed calm the boys would have probably let me out in a few minutes, but this reminds me too much of my former captivity. It’s probably only half an hour before I hear the front door opening, but it feels much longer. I’ve had to struggle the whole time to keep from being overwhelmed by irrational fear again.

I hear voices in the hallway, the boys are saying something and then I hear hurried feet on the stairs. It’s only moments before the wardrobe door opens and I see Julia, Greta, George and Richard standing there looking down at me. I must look a complete state with tears running down my eyes. Richard helps me up.

"Did the boys do this to you?" he asks , anger in his voice. I nod, stifling back a tear. "Right, the little buggers!" he says and storms off downstairs.

I’m surprised when Greta takes hold of me and gives me a hug. I feel her breasts pressing into my chin and neck and mine into her flat stomach. It gives me a little jolt of electricity, shutting the panic out of my mind and finally calming me down. After I've settled a little, Julia speaks to me.

"Emma, that was really irresponsible," Huh?! I hadn't expected that.

"Those little buggers locked me in a wardrobe," I say indignantly and I notice Greta and George sliding away. "I had a bloody panic attack!" I'm on a roll now. "I was having flashbacks to the kidnapping."

I see the colour draining from her face; she knows I have hardly spoken directly about my experience.

"I know darling," she says, her voice soft and low but determined as she makes a move to come towards me, "but you shouldn't have got in the wardrobe like that. What if one of the boys had copied you? They could have suffocated before we found them."

I hadn't thought of that and now I feel bad as well as spooked. I can feel my mouth forming a pouty expression and the tears starting again. Then I feel Julia's arms around me.

"It's okay honey, no one expects you to be ready to take on any responsibility just yet. You need to take little steps, one at a time." Her voice is soothing to me and I start to cry again. Partly it’s a release of tension and emotions, but it’s also out of frustration. I shouldn't keep fucking up like this.

We go downstairs where the boys look ashen faced; I guess their dad just let them have it. There are tears all around, but we hug and make up. Alfie and Oscar even let me read them a story. We sit together on the big armchair as I give them my best rendition of the Gruffalo. Stroking Oscar's messy hair de-stresses me and gives me an odd sense of contentment.

Christmas Eve is here and the house is mostly quiet. The boys are being as good as possible, aware that the judgement of Santa is upon them. Richard and Julia are curled up on the sofa both with large glasses of wine.

Greta and George have been upstairs for a little too long on their own. Wrapping presents they claim. None of us has mentioned it but I can tell Richard is more than a little uneasy. When they finally come downstairs I notice George has a different shirt on. Greta is wearing the same jumper dress and tights, only her hair looks a little dishevelled. She looking amazing as always and I note it has an effect on me. Is it arousal, or jealousy, or perhaps both? As she reaches up to put her long blond hair into a ponytail I feel my mind go a little fuzzy.

That makes me think about Poppy, and the fact she'll be sixteen soon. I feel a warmth radiating around my private parts, but also a sense of confusion. What does that mean; is it wrong for me to fancy a sixteen year old? The kidnapping took all discussion of such things off the table but it won't be long before Poppy wants to do more than just kiss and hold hands. With all this going through my mind I haven't noticed that Greta just asked me something.

"Sorry, I didn't catch that," I say.

"Would you like to come to the pub with us?" she says again, looking at Richard and Julia to see if they’re automatically going to object.

"Fine by me," Richard says, looking at Julia; they must have caught the excited look on my face.

"I guess so." She gets up and walks over to the coat stand. I wonder what she’s doing for a moment before she produces a twenty pound note and hands it to Greta.

"Just look after Emma." I begin to protest but Julia stops me. "Not because she isn't responsible, but because she's been through a very traumatic experience recently and anyone would need looking after in the same situation."

I’m mollified a little, although I don't know why Julia couldn't have given me the money. I'm not keen to push it any further as I don't want miss out on drinking with Greta and George. Just going to the pub seems thrillingly adult after three months of enforced teenage life. Once Julia has turned away George leans towards me.

"Do you have any ID?" he asks quietly. The three of us look at the boys playing but they don't seem interested.

"I do," I reply. It's one of the few nods to my former adult self that Julia has let me keep. I suddenly stop and look down at myself. I’m wearing leggings and an old t-shirt of Julia's that’s like a dress on me.

"I've got to change!" I blurt out. George and Greta laugh, I guess at the expression on my face. I can see Julia smiling out of the corner of my eye. No doubt my typical teenage girl response has amused her.

"Try not to be long," George says with a sigh; I can imagine Greta keeps him waiting quite often.

"No more than half an hour," Greta says, squeezing my arm.

"Okay," I say and then hurtle up the stairs.

What to wear? I’m saving the red-blue tartan skirt and black jumper for tomorrow, because they’re comfortable and I just want to be able to veg out and relax. There's that damn PVC mini skirt I got in so much trouble over, but I don't think it's really appropriate for a country pub. Then there's the little green mini dress Poppy made me buy from the second hand shop. It has the look of the 60s to it, which is an era I've always liked. I've not wanted to wear it, fearing how much of my body will be left exposed, but for some reason I have a real desire to impress Greta and her boyfriend. Maybe because they’re a little older than I’m supposed to be I really want their acceptance.

I swallow my fears and go for it. Knickers, bra and black tights all on I slowly pull the dress on over the top of my head. The material is thin and clingy. It holds on to every part of my body, showing no mercy. My breasts jut out and my thighs have never seemed rounder. There's nothing of the tomboy left, just a girl. I check myself in the mirror, not at all sure if I can pull this off.

"You look great." I get a start; I didn't realise Julia was standing there. "Perhaps you should wear this cardigan if you feel a little self conscious about being stared at," she says, handing me a thin black garment that I accept gratefully.

"You made me jump," I say reproachfully. She puts a hand on my arm in reassurance.

"I thought maybe you might need a little help with your make-up," she says. I can see she’s keen to be involved; I guess this is the sort of mother-daughter stuff she has always dreamed of.

"That'd be great," I answer.

"Come with me then," Julia takes my hand and leads me into the bathroom. She sits me down on the toilet with the seat and lid down. She then takes a bag of various make-up stuff from the top of the little cabinet and sits on the edge of the bath.

She makes me hold still while she chooses various different potions and applies them to my face. She keeps up a running commentary on what she’s using, but most of it goes in one ear and out the other. I notice she’s focussing a lot on my eyes. It’s strange feeling the gntle pressure of her brush against my closed eyelids. I hear George calling up for me from downstairs and Julia replying that I’m nearly ready.

"You always tell them you’re nearly ready, no matter what," Julia tells me, clearly enjoying herself.

"I remember," I say with a sly smile and we both laugh.

"Hmm," she says, leaning back to admire her handiwork, "not bad, even if I do say so myself." She smiles and lets me get up to look in the mirror. The tomboy is completely gone; even with the short hair I look completely feminine. I feel both embarrassed and excited.

"Right kiddo," Julia says as she pulls me away, "Cinderella is going to the ball."

She marches me down the stairs where Greta and George are waiting for me. I notice Greta has changed as well and is now wearing a shift dress teamed with small heels. Something about her heels niggles at my competitive urge, maybe because it adds emphasis to my position as the shortest of the group. I am going to have to make do with my Converses.

"Wow," says George, earning himself a little glare from Greta.

"You look amazing," she says generously, "you look like you stepped out of a French film from the 60s!"

"Here," says Julia going over to the coat rack, “you can borrow my spare handbag to keep your things in.” She hands me the bag she uses for special occasions. It's the bag Julia uses for hiding the cigarettes she only smokes when she's really stressed. She thinks I don’t know, but I do.

I've refused having a handbag so far, but this dress doesn't give me any options pocket wise so I accept, putting it over my shoulder once I have my coat and trainers on. Richard is just coming down as we leave. I suspect they are very glad to have a few hours to themselves. I'm not entirely sure how I feel about leaving my ex wife with her new lover.

If you've ever seen the film ‘American Werewolf in London’ then you'll know that scene when the two young American backpackers enter The Slaughtered Lamb to be stared at by the locals. This is how I feel as we enter the Cumbrian Arms. I’m glad of my coat as it feels like all eyes are looking me over. We get carded when George goes to the bar. The barman looks at all three, but spends the most time looking over mine before relenting with a shrug. I feel relieved when we leave the bar with our pints and can go find a quiet corner.

We sit at a little round table, barely big enough to fit us all. I let Greta and George tell me about university. Greta has only completed one term and is still wildly excited about it all. I smile inwardly as I sip my pint; I watch her hands flying around expressing how amazing everything is. She repeatedly reassures me how much better college and university are than school and how she can tell I’m going to love it. George is in his second year and is a little less in awe of the whole experience. He talks about all the great things, but also warns me about dodgy landlords and banks trying to get you hooked on credit cards.

There's a small group of local lads playing pool across the room. I notice that they keep looking over towards Greta and me and I’m glad ofGeorge's presence with his broad shoulders. I’m happy to take a backseat, I find, and as they talk I enjoy watching them interact. Their body language is close; Greta keeps gently touching George, on his arm and knee. George is subtle, but I can see he's angled his body in a way that’s protective of her.

The conversation bubbles along nicely. I only need to ask the odd question, like how they met, and they do all the work. Greta gets up, saying she will go to the toilet then buy the next round. After she's gone, George turns to me.

"Greta is very impressed with you," he says and I feel a little spike of pride.

"Oh I am sure she thinks I'm just some silly girl," I reply, taking another sip of my beer; I’m only halfway down the pint, far behind the other two. I hope George doesn't notice that I am shamelessly fishing for compliments.

"She's told everyone about you at university," he expands, "Oh not about the, you know, terrible thing," - he must have noticed the look of fear on my face – "but about you being out and being so cool," he reassures me. There’s a moment of slight embarrassment that George breaks by asking if I fancied a game of pool. I look around to see if the pool table is free.

The first game goes quickly. George beats me easily as I struggle to come to terms with the difference in height since the last time I played. I also find my breasts get in the way, and that I am too distracted by my short dress rising up when I have to lean over the table. It’s all over before Greta returns from the bar.

"Are you showing off in front of Emmy?" she chides him. She turns to me. "George spent most of his first year in the Student Union's pool room," she explains. He certainly is good, but I want a rematch.

This time I’m a little better, having adjusted to my new height and body shape a bit. I get the impression that George is going easy on me; however, even with him fluffing a few shots I still have two yellow balls on the table when he pots the black.

"Here," he says, handing his cue to Greta, "why don't you two play the next game?"

I'd have rather stood down but Greta seems keen so I stay on. As Greta sorts out the triangle I notice the local lads returning. They seem very interested in the two of us playing. I look over at George and feel a little uneasy when I notice that he's heading towards the toilet.

I am impressed with how confidently Greta ignores them. After I miss an easy shot she comes over and whispers to me, "Don't let them get to you."

I nod and continue. For the next few shots I stay calm and play well. The boys mostly keep out of our way but with the room being small we have to brush by when move around the table. As I squeeze past one lad, who’s tall, wiry and wearing a baseball cap even though he's inside and English, I feel an unmistakable bulge pressing against my arse. I turn around angrily but he holds his hands up in apology.

"Sorry luv, couldn't be helped," he says.I can see smirks on the faces of his friends and I’m left with the age-old quandary for women - do I react and be branded a bitch or do I say nothing and allow him to get away with it?

"No worries," I say with a forced smile, "I didn't feel a thing."

His mates fall about laughing and I see Greta giggling across the table. Still I am relieved when I see George returning from the toilet. Our game takes a while as neither of us is playing very well. After we finish (Greta wins but at least I am on the black) I go and sit down at our table and let the happy couple play. I am pleased to see the group of lads have dispersed and, while I hate any suggestion I am a 'damsel' in need of saving, I am pleased that George is here.

After they finish their first game I wave them on to play a second. I say I need the toilet and inwardly sigh with the knowledge that I'll be using the Ladies again. On the way back I bump into Tall and Wiry again.

"Bitch," he says. I notice he’s very drunk; I look for Greta and George and see them in the distance, but they don't see me.

"Look, just leave me alone," I say ,hoping he'll give up.

"Why do you dress like that if you don't want the attention," with real venom in his voice. He grabs my arm and I am only too aware how much larger he is.

"I'll dress how I like," I say, but he increases his grip."Ow, that hurts!"

I see him laugh disdainfully, and it all boils up. Everything I've been through in the last few months. Jessie, Luka, and all the small indignities. Why should I have to put up with any of it? And now this ignorant fucker is sneering at me like I don't matter. I’ve done it before I even realise.

"Arrgh, you fucking bitch!" I doubt the kick was as hard as all that but he wasn't expecting it and he's too drunk. He clutched his shin and topples backward slamming into a table behind him.

"Don't you dare fucking touch me you little prick!" I scream; the whole pub is looking now. A large man from behind the bar comes and drags Tall and Wiry up off the floor.

"That's the last time, Darren. You’re bared!" Darren tries to protest but the barman turns to me, cutting him off. "Sorry about this miss. Darren’s an alright lad when he's sober but he's an arsehole when he's drunk." Darren tries to speak again but the barman warns him that he'll call his dad.

I watch smugly as Darren is dragged away, the cocky young man reduced to a pleading child. Greta and George are next to me; Greta envelops me in a hug. George looks like he wants to thump someone and I’m pleased to see Darren's mates slinking away.

"Frigging hell, I could do with a fag," Greta says releasing me from her arms, "d’you have any?" she says to George. He shakes his head no, then something occurs to me.

"Hey, I think Mum keeps some spare in her handbag." I grab the bag and rummage around. My hand falls on something plastic and long. Not knowing what it is, I pull it out.

Greta and I stand there staring at the used pregnancy test. Correction - the used, positive pregnancy test.

"Well, now I really do need a smoke," says Greta.

First day back at school. I’m not even through the school gates yet and my nerves are on edge. I walk in with Poppy and Esse, letting them talk as I keep quiet. I can feel the gaze of the parents at the gate following me. Poppy tells me that Mr Dixon had held a special assembly before the Christmas break where he explained what had happened to me and how everyone should look out for me. I know it was done for all the right reasons but now I’m super aware that I am the centre of attention once more.

I see Jessie and her little gang waiting near the entrance to the main school building. They all look my way; Jessie in particular seems to be eyeing me up. They disperse before we get there.

Our form room is as noisy as ever. Most people ignore me, which I’m pleased about. I sit with Poppy near the window discussing all the comings and goings while I've been away. Poppy thinks Peter and Esse maybe starting a thing together.

Mr Hulse silences us all by launching into a long speech about our GCSE exams at the end of the year. I look around my classmates seeing their strained expressions. Even Jessie can't find anything sarcastic to say. It hits me that I’m going to have to take this seriously as well. I doubt they'd let me use my original results from two decades ago when applying to colleges and later universities.

Classes pass easily enough. After being read the riot act over GCSEs by their form tutors most of the kids are subdued. A boy called Cian sits next to me in history; I notice how full his exercise book is compared to my nearly empty one.

When the lunch bell rings I go to find Poppy and the gang. In one of the narrow corridors I am stopped by a short Asian girl, even shorter than me.

"Hi Emma," she says, unable to look directly at me.

"Err hi," I cast around for her name, "Pui?"

I must have guessed correctly because she continues, "I just wanted to say..." she stops, her courage seemingly giving up.

"Is it urgent?" I reply, only too aware my precious lunch break is ticking away.

She looks me directly in the eyes, I see fear there, "I just wanted to say I’m sorry about the whole thing with the lunch table," she says almost in one breathe.

I look her up and down. I hadn't even realised she was one of them.

"Thanks," I say not sure if this is some sort of trick. She breathes out in relief. "Can I ask you why you did it?" She squirms a little under my gaze. "I mean, it's not like I did anything to you."

I can see her thinking about things, "I don't know really," she sighs,"it wasn't about you," she pauses. I can see on her face that she is struggling, "I just wanted to be popular."

"Well, thanks for apologising," I say in what I hope is a genuine voice, "I appreciate it."

"Thanks," she beams at me, "you know, if you want to sit next to me in maths that'd be cool," she finishes and then scurries off before I get the chance to reply.

Tuesday evening and I am waiting for Poppy behind the art block. She has extra life drawing classes that she attends as she is hoping to go on and study Fashion next year.

I have already run home and changed out of my school clothes but even with the thick jumper and duffel coat I can feel the cold wind going through me. I turn around the corner into the little courtyard created where the art block meets the library. Through the windows of the library I spot a group of kids working. I know the library is where they hold the after school detentions. To my amusement I spot Jessie amongst them. I stay out of sight watching them talk. I can't hear them obviously but I enjoy the thought that I’ve had time to go home, change and come back while Jessica has been stuck here.

I see them getting up and realise with a start that they will be coming out soon. I don't want to be caught here so I step inside the door of the art block and wait for them to come past. I think about hiding in the toilets but decide it isn't necessary. There’s no reason for anyone to come in here.

There is a mixture of expressions on the faces of the kids; some look brow beaten and fed up, others relieved to finally be leaving school. Most leave quickly but Jessica sits down on the concrete step opposite where I am hiding. I see her take out a packet of cigarettes and light one. Thankfully she doesn't look forward but glances off to the side, in the direction of the car park. It’s clear she is waiting for someone. She chain-smokes three cigs in a row before the person she is waiting for arrives. It’s a woman in a well-worn rainproof coat. The woman's hair is tied up in a ponytail; her hair looks limp and lifeless. I can't see much of her as she has her back to me but I do notice her movements are slow and clumsy. My guess is that she’s drunk.

I hear only the odd bits of their conversation but I do catch Jessie calling the woman 'Mum'. She fiddles with her mother's coat, readjusting the lapels and straightening out the creases. Her movements are soft and caring. Anyone would think Jessie is the caring parent and not the other way round. I move closer to the little window in the door wanting to see more. I have to lean against to door to peer through. My weight causes the door to open a little making me spring back in fear of being caught. This is the wrong thing to do as it means the door swings back, making a banging noise.

I look up through the little window quickly and see Jessie looking my way. Our eyes meet for a fraction of a second and then I dash away. I wait outside the door of Poppy's class expecting Jessie to appear at any second, but she doesn't.

Eventually Poppy comes out with the rest of her class, six in total. She’s surprised but pleased to find me waiting outside the classroom door. I lie and say it was too cold to wait outside. One of the boys jokes that I wanted to catch a glimpse of the nude model. We all laugh and leave together, Poppy holding my hand.

I half expect Jessie to be waiting for me outside but she has gone. We walk to Peter's house to meet the others. On the way I stay quiet, letting Poppy talk excitedly about the movement drawings they have been doing. My mind is elsewhere, wondering about Jessie and her mother.

As we wait outside Peter's, Poppy pins me against the wall and pretend interrogates me on what I’ve bought her for her birthday; it’s only just over a week away now.

Part 6

“Please allow me to introduce myself
I’m a woman of wealth and taste
I’ve been around for a long, long year
Stole many a man’s soul to waste”

I’ve never sung in front of a crowd before, not as the lead, and I feel strange. It seems impossible that I’m hitting all the right notes. I channel Mick Jagger and Sandy Shaw, swinging my hips and holding the mic in what I hope is a seductive rather than stupid manner.

I have time to watch the crowd. I see many faces, mostly from school. It’s odd to have their attention and to feel in control, it’s the opposite from how I normally feel when at the centre of a crowd. It isn’t me they’re staring at but this new person I’ve created - and no one knows more about that than me.

Poppy’s house is completely packed. I’m surprised so many people have come. Her dad banned her from advertising on social media but there’s still a good turn out through word of mouth. Aside from our gang I was expecting Poppy’s arty friends, but there are also various others, including a few of the popular kids. As we finish the song in shambolic style, one face surprises me the most.

“Did you see her too?” Poppy whispers. I know exactly who she means - Jessie. I see her standing near the back looking nervous with Pui. Poppy is off, straight through the crowd. She pushes aside her older cousin Phil, who is here to keep an eye on things. She reaches Jessie before Esse and I are even halfway there.

“What are you doing here,” she demands, “after the shit you gave Emma and me?” She clenches and unclenches her fists and I worry she’s about to punch her. From the look on Jessie’s face, she is too.

“Hey Pops, don’t worry about it,” I start.

“Don’t you defend her,” Poppy cuts me off. I think of Jessie standing with her mother outside the art block. I think of her mother shaking from the alcohol and how Jessie looked after her. Jessie’s looking at me with a strange expression on her face and I wonder if she’s remembering the same thing.

“She’s just not worth it, Popsicle.” I turn to Jessie and Pui. “You’re not going to cause any trouble are you?”

Pui shakes her head and protests that they wouldn’t. Jessie doesn’t say anything but her eyes are downcast and I almost expect her to start crying. Neither girl is enjoying being at the centre of attention, both are out of their depth. I decide I don’t need to hear Jessie’s apologies. She’s on my territory now; the fact she’s come here shows she’s beaten.

The party gets going again and we lose Jessie and Pui in the crowd. We stand with Peter and Ian discussing the songs we played. We just about got through Sweet Jane by the Velvet Underground and House of the Rising Sun, both easy three-cord songs. From a professional point of view we were terrible but others kept saying how great we were. Esse’s voice and Peter’s guitar playing both have something, or could have something with a lot of practice.

The music’s loud and all consuming. “You should slow down a bit,” Esse yells into my ear. I shake my head and down the rest of my bottle of beer. I’m thinking about the letter we received saying the New Body Company will have a legal representative at my hearing. What would happen if they want me to pay for Emma’s body? There’s no way we could afford it. I head off to the kitchen looking for another beer to shut down my mind.

The party goes on until 1am. Poppy’s Dad has told us he will come back at 1:30 so we have to clear everyone out. He has agreed that I can stay over. Although it hasn’t been said, I know Poppy’s hoping we will have sex.

Poppy and Esse talk excitedly about everything that’s happened tonight. Peter wonders if anyone saw Jessie leave, but no one cares that much. I only caught a few glimpses of her through the night. Pui looked bored, playing with her phone. I guess they left a while ago. As Phil slowly but surely moves people out I fidget, pulling the label off my bottle of beer. The alcohol has relaxed me until now. Peter and Esse are the last to leave, and I notice they are holding hands. Poppy has her arm around my waist and is pulling me close.

Eventually it’s time. Poppy takes me by the hand and leads me into her room. My nerves have completely burnt off the alcohol and my brain is alert. I feel my hands shaking as Poppy takes them in hers.

“Are you okay?” she asks me. I just nod, almost hypnotised.

I can hear Poppy’s Dad and Phil talking in the kitchen. Poppy goes and closes the door. Then she comes over and pushes me onto the bed. All my resistance has gone. It feels like electricity is shooting through my whole body. If I close my eyes I can see my nerve endings on fire. I feel parts I’ve hardly been able to acknowledge come alive. My mind’s full of a thousand and one things; is this right? Am I betraying Julia? Am I killing Mark? Do I want to be Emma forever? Then she kisses me and everything fuses into one.

An hour or more later we lie next to each other. Poppy runs her hand over my smooth body. A body that feels renewed.

“I have to tell you something.” I say this without thinking; I know if I do I’ll bottle it.

“Huh?” she whispers.

“I told you this body was given to me by Witness Protection.” I look at her wishing there was more light in the room so I can read her reaction better. Even in the gloom I see her smile.

“I know... that makes you my sex-bot.”

“I didn’t tell you everything.” She’s silent. “My old body…” I take a huge deep breath, “I was a boy.”

“A boy?” She doesn’t sound angry, but I can’t really tell for certain. “What was your name?”

“Mark,” I say, my stomach in knots. I want to shake her, make her tell me it’ll be alright.

“Mark...” it sounds almost like she is tasting the word. “Do you want to be a boy again?” It takes me a while to reply.

“Sometimes, yes.” I feel her going tense. “I didn’t choose to change sexes. It was forced upon me. But I’m happy, with you and everyone. I feel more and more like Emma now. I couldn’t leave her behind.” Poppy goes silent for a while and eventually I have to say something.

“So, do you think I am a freak?” She pulls herself closer to me. Now I can see her face; she’s smiling.

“I guess you are, Emma – but you’re my freak.” We hold each other close until we’re both asleep.

Hours later I wake up feeling like there’s someone else in the room. I hold myself up for a few minutes waiting to hear the telltale sound of movement but nothing comes. The house is completely still. Through Poppy’s window I can see the weak light you get just before dawn. I don’t look at the clock. I don’t want to make myself more awake. I notice the door has swung open a little. Thinking of Poppy’s dad, and not wanting him to see me lying with his daughter, I get up and pad over to it, closing it carefully so as not to wake up Poppy. Somewhere in the distance I hear sounds, perhaps next door getting up early? The effort of standing up makes my head go all woozy. I go back to the bed and drop down onto the cool sheets feeling the cold all around me. Somewhere in the house I hear the boiler turn on. Minutes later I’m asleep.

I had been expecting something close to the courtroom dramas on TV. I’m disappointed to find myself sitting around a large table in what is a bland but comfortable meeting room somewhere in the depths of the Manchester & Salford Magistrates’ Court building.

I notice the low hum of the central heating that seems a little too high, making my mind feel cloudy and slow. The judge sitting at the head of the table is dressed in a smart business suit. He’s leaning in to one of his subordinates and, although I can’t hear what he is saying, I can make out his Welsh accent. I don’t know why but it relaxes me. I’ve always liked the Welsh accent.

“Well,” he begins, “given that this is a civil matter involving a minor I want to keep this from going to a full trial. To that end, I’ve called for this tribunal to see if we can come to some agreement.” He looks down at his files. “As I see it we have three main areas to decide upon. Firstly, the official identity of Mark Healey/Emma Riley/Chloe Livingston.” Chloe Livingston? I haven’t heard this name before. I look at Julia who motions for me to remain silent.

“The second matter is the ownership of Mark Healey’s estate, in particular his shares in Decimation Records. And finally, the guardianship of Emma Riley/Chloe Livingston, depending of course on my ruling on the official identity of Mark/Emma/Chloe.”

My head is spinning, I can’t take it all in. I’m aware of the judge introducing everyone in the room. Julia, Richard and their colleague Kelly, who’s acting as our lawyer. Then there’s Steve, my old partner at Decimation Records and his lawyer, a thin man called Phillips. Finally, there’s a middle-aged couple referred to as Mr and Mrs Livingston. I know they’re something to do with the New Body Company. I find it hard to look at them, there’s something about them that makes me feel queasy.

The judge asks them a few questions that are answered by a third man. He’s overweight and wears an expensive suit; I guess he’s their lawyer. He speaks to the judge like they’re old friends and I’m pleased to note the judge seems uncomfortable with this. Neither of the Livingstons look at me. I get the impression it takes a great effort for them not to.

It takes me a while to figure it out but I slowly begin to see a reflection of my own features, Emma’s features, in their faces. Mr Livingston’s hair is auburn and wavy like mine when it was long. Mrs Livingston has green eyes like my own; although her hair, greying now, shows signs it was once a dark red. At one point, when I lose the thread of what’s being said, I look over at her and it strikes me that I’m seeing my own future. As such I become very interested in her. She’s an attractive woman; from what’s been said she’s somewhere in her 50s, but she could pass easily for early forties or even late thirties. Like many wealthy women, she’s been able to avoid the rigours of time.

They must be the couple who commissioned Emma’s body. I shudder despite the warmth coming from the heater. Only when the judge asks them about the moment they heard about my body being requisitioned by the Witness Protection Programme does the age show on Mrs Livingston’s face.

“Of course,” she says, her accent clipped and patrician but not without feeling, worry lines spreading out from her mouth like the map of a busy city as she speaks, “it was hardest on poor Timothy...” She stops, holding a hand to her mouth, like she’s trying to stop the very words from escaping her.

“Timothy would be Chloe’s, I mean the original Chloe’s, twin?” the judge asks, his voice soft and kind. Mrs Livingston just nods in response. A twin? I never knew. While I have no intention of pretending to be this woman’s daughter, I feel a heavy weight on my shoulders. I know I jumped the queue to become Emma. I hadn’t asked to but I did. Now I’m beginning to see the repercussions.

The proceedings move on. Kelly reminds the judge that the law recognises New Bodies as legal persons, with the right to self-determination once they can prove independent thought and self-awareness, that I had clearly passed the test set down by law and had clearly expressed my wish to remain a part of Julia and Richard’s family. She’s eloquent and to the point. I’m reassured by her no-nonsense tone.

“I’d like to remind the judge that in all cases where personhood has been awarded, all of the control procedures have been ended and yet in this case this has not happened.” The Livingstons’ lawyer interjects; I can see sweat patches on the expensive material of his suit, but his eyes are sharp. When he looks at me I have the feeling of being a small fury thing hiding in the long grass that’s just spotted a hawk looking at it.

“However, as this case is about a minor,” Kelly continues urgently, “where normal procedure is to keep some controls in place, those precedents are inapplicable. I’d remind everyone that Ms Riley only survived her kidnapping ordeal because the tracking controls remained in place.” I notice that both the Livingstons’ faces have drained of all colour.

The proceeding move on and I feel my head spinning. I feel like crying and throwing up when Mrs Livingston tells the room that the genetic material for my body was taken from one of her eggs. The judge asks for more details about the controls working on me and I remember the incident with Noah and how I’d allowed myself to be led so easily. I also think of Julia and Detective Deepa talking out of my hearing. Sometimes, when I’m looking elsewhere, I can feel Mrs Livingston’s eyes on me. I try not to look at her.

A break is called for lunch. I go with Richard and Julia to the canteen. Julia and Richard talk but I don’t speak. I look at the goat cheese and caramelised onion ciabatta in front of me but I can’t eat.

“Are you okay, Emma?” Julia asks me. Her voice is quiet and it quavers as she speaks.

I want to shout at her, beat her with my little fists and make her feel the pain I’m feeling; I’m angry with her but I don’t really know why. Then I want to throw myself into her arms and have her comfort me and tell me this is all going to be okay.

“Umm, yeah. I’m okay,” I say, “I just need the toilet.”

I get up and leave the table, not wanting to see their expressions. I move quickly heading to the corridor and leaning against the wall breathing deeply. The women’s toilets are to my right. I don’t really need them but at least I can be on my own. As I enter the large, brightly lit, almost futuristic, conveniences I almost bump into Mrs Livingston. I can see different emotions in her eyes. Fear, hope, maybe something else? Determination, perhaps.

“I, I,” I stammer, “I am sorry about your daughter,” I say in a small voice. I see tears forming in her eyes, but she fixes me with a penetrating stare. She clutches my arm, her grip both desperate and firm, “I’m not going to give up on you, Chloe...”

When she’s gone I sit in the stall quietly crying. I’ve never felt so bad about myself, nor have I ever felt so scared. Eventually I hear Julia’s timid voice outside the cubicle.

“Emma...” she stammers, “are you in there?”

I must have opened the cubical door because the next thing I know she’s in there with me, her arms around me. I sob as she shushes me.

“Oh, Emma,” and she’s crying as well now, “I’m so sorry. Can you ever forgive me?”

The afternoon goes by in a blur. I don’t follow much of what is said, my emotions are too loud and cancel out what is being said. I do understand that Steve is protesting that I am not truly Mark and therefore can’t inherit / transfer ownership of my half of the company. Thankfully the judge is sensible. He states that if we can agree that Mark is deceased and that, as such, my half should go to Mark’s wife, who of course is Julia. Julia thanks the judge and agrees with his suggestion to give Steve two months to buy her out and to sign over the proceeds to me to be put into a trust until I reach twenty-one.

I enjoy watching Steve squirm, the bastard. This brings the judge to the matter of my legal age. Now it’s my turn to squirm in my seat. If he decides I’m legally thirty-six it will have serious repercussions on my relationship with Poppy. Could I even end up going to jail?

“I have received depositions from Doctor Fields, Detective Deepa and the New Body Company. I have also spoken to Mr Dixon and Mr Hulse from Emma’s school,” - maybe I’m grasping at straws but I feel relieved that he uses the name ‘Emma’ - “given what I have been told about the biological age of her body, and of how her teachers feel it will be hard for Emma to reach her full potential at GCSE this year, I feel ready to set Emma, or Chloe’s” - Damn! I think - “age at thirteen as suggested by the Livingstons.”

Wait, what? “You can’t!” I shout out.

“Ms Riley, please control yourself. Although this may not be a courtroom, these are legal proceedings and you will only talk when asked. Do you understand?” I nod my head numbly. There must be some way to appeal, surely?

“We’ll appeal,” Kelly says, voicing my thoughts.

“You are certainly welcome to put in an appeal on behalf of your client,” the judge says calmly, “but for now in the eyes of the law she is a thirteen year old girl.”

My mouth gapes open. In just a few sentences I have lost two years and the better part of the life I have created for myself over the last few months. I think of Poppy and our relationship. What will I tell her? The ride home is silent. I sit in the back holding my phone in my hand. On the screen are three messages from Poppy.

Poppy: How did it go today? Xxxx

Poppy: When u free? Wanna do smthn? :-D xxxxxx

Poppy: Smthn sxy? ;-) ;-) xxxxxxxxxxx

She knows of course that I was in court. I told her that we were settling some of the legal issues around my new life. I haven’t told her the rest. How can I tell her that I am now legally a thirteen year old?

“How about we pick up a takeaway?” I realise Richard is talking to me.

“Ummm, sure,” I reply. My stomach is in knots, I can’t think about food. I am aware of Julia and Richard talking in the front of the car, something about the twins and who is looking after whom.

“How about we sleep over at Richard’s tonight?” Julia asks looking at me. I can see how guilty she feels. Good! Then I feel bad for blaming her.

On one hand I don’t know how I feel, why didn’t Julia predict this was going to happen? On the other not being alone sounds good. I don’t think I can face Poppy and the gang. How am I going to tell them I am no longer going to be in the same year as them? I imagine the face of Jessie laughing at me.

“Oh God!” I exclaim.

“What?” Julia turns around looking fearful.

“You can’t make me go back to the same school,” and I feel myself shaking. “I’ll be a laughing stock.”

I see Julia sag in relief, “No one is going to make you go anywhere, not if I can help it.” These last six last words are spoken with great fierceness. For a moment I feel better, knowing she is on my side not plotting against me. Then the knot returns to my stomach. We stop off at our place while Richard goes to pick up the twins. Richard will collect take away from my favourite Indian restaurant and we’ll meet him at his place.

I’m in my room packing my Hello Kitty pyjamas into my overnight bag when I notice Julia waiting nervously.

“What?” I say, perhaps a little more sharply than I planned. Still, I am in no mood to let her off the hook.

“I...” I can tell she is struggling to get the words out, “I want to apologise for not telling you about the control settings.” I see her deflate as she gets it out.

“Why didn’t you?” I control my anger, hoping to be dignified.

“Deepa said it was procedure for minors, it wasn’t meant to be for long but then you kept getting yourself into trouble. I was worried what you would do.”

“How many different controls where there? You should have told me,” I say, getting straight to the point.

“Yes,” she says in a small voice, “yes I should have. I’m sorry for that.”

“You wanted to feel like you had some power over me,” I say. I’m not angry and my voice is steady.

“I suppose I did,” and she deflates even more. “I suppose subconsciously I wanted to get back at you.”

“Get back at me! What for?” There is anger in my voice now.

She looks me in the eyes and she’s no longer contrite, “For all those nights when you were out with God knows who, doing God knows what.”

I am taken aback. “I never cheated on you!”

“I know that… at least, I do now,” and there is sadness in her voice again, “but it wasn’t really about that.”

“What was it about then?” I look her in the eyes; there’s no malice but I feel like some old wound is being reopened.

“It was about you controlling me. Keeping me away from part of your life so I could never know you. I wonder if anyone ever really knew the whole Mark.” I turn away from her unable to look at the expression on her face and I feel her hands on my shoulders.

“But I want you to know, I really did love Mark,” - I feel myself sobbing and she pulls me to her - “and I love you, Emma. Not in the same way, of course, but just as powerfully.” She pulls me to her, my body shaking with the tears.

Later that night all five of us, Julia, Richard, the twins and I sit under a duvet on Richard’s huge sofa watching the first Ghostbusters movie. Oscar, who has taken a shine to me since Christmas, lays his head on my lap and I stroke his hair. The gentle movement calms me.

“Why is Emma sad?” His question is directed at his Dad. Richard looks at me. I just smile back weakly wondering what he is going to tell the boy.

“She’s sad because some judge has decided that she is thirteen, not fifteen like we thought.” I’m impressed with how truthful Richard is. I don’t know if I can be that brave. Oscar sits up suddenly.

“Can they do that?” Both twins are staring urgently at their Dad.

“They can try,” he says, “but we aren’t going to let them,” he says.

“Why not?” the twins ask in unison.

“Because Emma is part of our family,” Richard says bluntly. The twins go back to watching the film, reassured that their Dad has everything in hand and that all will be right in the adult world. I notice Julia is smiling, but with tears running down her cheeks. Then I notice that there are warm tears running down my own face. I have a family, but for how long?

I wake up on the sofa covered in the duvet. I can hear Richard’s voice as he whispers to the boys not to wake me. Then I hear him disappear upstairs dragging Alfie to the bathroom. A few minutes later Oscar pads into the living room. He is carrying a bowl of cereal that sloshes from side to side as he walks.

He turns the TV on, sits down on the floor next to the sofa, takes the remote and expertly navigates to the kids’ programmes.

“Morning,” I say. He turns looking up at me with a cheeky grin. He knows he’s contravened his Dad’s direct rule. He also knows he’s going to get away with it.

I ruffle his hair and then swing my legs off the sofa. As Mark I’d occasionally sleep on our old sofa; usually if I’d been recording late and knew Julia had to be up early for work. Back then my back would ache for the rest of the day, now I feel fine. Something to thank my smaller, younger body for I guess. All this makes me think of Steve and how he has fucked me over. Because of his selfishness I have to accept ‘Mark’ is dead and gone to get my half of the business, but by accepting I am no longer Mark, I become a child and lose my independence.

I pull out my phone and write an angry text to Steve, calling him all the names under the sun. I sit for a few minutes listening to the clinking of Oscar’s spoon against his bowl, then I hit send. For a moment I feel better, then I start to question myself. Just as I am praying there’s a delete message sent button Julia comes in the room. Her hair is all messy and she is clinging for dear life to a mug of coffee.

“Oscar,” she says and he pretends not to hear. “Oscar, your Dad wants you in the bathroom.” Oscar only grunts.“Can you go and help him please, I want to have a word with Emma,” Julia pleads. He turns around to look at me and I give him a weak little smile. With a boy’s natural fear of difficult emotions he gets up and runs out of the room.

“How did you sleep?” Julia asks, running her fingers through my hair. I guess it must be pretty tangled.

“Not great,” I sigh. “To be honest, I kept waking up.”

“Bad dreams?” Julia asks.

“I guess so,” I fidget with my hands, “I don’t really remember them.” I have a vague memory of being trapped in a giant playpen with Jessie trying to put nappies on me.

“I’m going to take the day off and keep you company. Is that okay?” I’m not sure why she’s asking my permission. I don’t seem to have much say in things these days.

“Sure,” I say, “that’d be nice.”

She goes away and I sit watching kids programmes, while in the background Richard is getting the twins ready for school. When they’re at the door I hear Alfie and Oscar protesting that they can stay home and keep me company as well. After they’ve left, the house goes silent. I hear my phone buzzing to tell me that I have a new text. My heart leaps as I remember what I just sent to Steve. I have to take a deep breath before I check.

Greta: Just heard what they did to you! Coming bk at wkend. Stay strong!

She must have heard what happened through Richard. I clutch my phone to my chest feeling strangely giddy that I have another friend out there. It passes in seconds but I find myself reading and re-reading the text several times. On the last read I notice I have another text, this time from Poppy.

Poppy: You not going to school?

Shit, I forgot to tell Poppy and Esse that I wont be in today. They must have waited for me!

Emma: Soz Pops, not feeling great. Didn’t sleep then feel asleep in morning and forgot to txt xxxxxx

It feels bad how easily I lie to her. I feel worse moments later when she replies.

Poppy: No worries! Get well soon baby girl ;-) xxxxxxxx

Her instant forgiveness in the face of my lies makes me feel terrible. Julia comes back into the room and asks how I’m doing. I don’t respond but she must have seen the look on my face. She comes and sits next to me putting her arms around me.

“Poppy texted,” I say by way of explanation. “What am I going to say to her?”

Julia holds me while I cry. I hear her muttering something about her understanding if I talk to her, but I know there’s no way. Eventually I calm down and Julia suggests we go back to our place. Julia goes to get her stuff together and I pull a jumper and coat on over my pyjamas. I’m thinking about Poppy; I know the only thing I can do is sort this mess out. There must be some way to get myself re-classed as fifteen. I can’t believe I’m fighting to be a fifteen-year-old girl again, but what choice do I have?

I am curled up on a sofa again, this time ours. Poppy and Esse have been texting me all day with the gossip from school. At the end of the school day Poppy sends me a blurry photo of Peter and Esse kissing. I send a half hearted text back saying that’s great but surely we are the best couple. It seems to please Poppy as she sends me a text full of kisses. For a moment I feel light hearted again, but it passes when I realise my next hearing isn’t for two weeks and I wont be able to return to school before then.

At five thirty the doorbell rings. I assume it’s going to be Richard and I’m surprised when Julia brings Mr Hulse into the living room. I’m glad I changed into jeans and a t-shirt a while ago but I wish Julia had warned me so I could have showered.

“Hi Emma.” He seems a little sheepish and I feel my face burning, realising he must now know my whole story.

“Err, hi Mr Hulse,” I stutter, wondering what he must now think of me.

“How are you holding up?” it seems funny to see him outside of school. He’s taken off his tie and rolled up his shirtsleeves. He could be anyone else in the street.

“Can I get you anything… coffee, tea?” asks Julia.

“No thanks, I can’t stay too long,” he smiles at Julia and then turns his attention back to me, “Emma I wanted to say how sorry I am about what has happened to you. You must be going through hell.”

I just nod my head, worried that I’ll start blubbing again.

“On a personal level I want to apologise to you both.” Julia sits down next to me. “When Mr Dixon asked me for a report on how you are doing at school I sat down with your teachers and wrote a detailed report.” I feel that knot in my stomach again and he continues.

“I had to be honest and say there are areas where you are behind, such as course work, which you have less of for obvious reasons.”

“This was the report the judge saw?” Julia asks, her face grim.

“Yes, I’m afraid it was. Or at least part of it.” There is a pause and Julia and I look at each other... part of it?

“I am afraid Mr Dixon took out the conclusion at the end where I and all your teachers agreed that you are a very capable young woman. And that, with some extra help, we didn’t see any reason why you couldn’t have done well at your GCSEs.” I am stunned. It feels like I’ve been hit by a ton of bricks; I don’t know if I should be happy or angry. Julia steps in for me.

“This is outrageous, how could he do something like that?”

“Well I agree with you,” he looks sheepish, clearly not enjoying telling tales on a colleague, “but I think he would say the school doesn’t have the resources to give Emma the extra help she needs.” Julia folds her arms in a defensive manner but doesn’t push it further.

“Well thank you for telling us about this, Mr Hulse.”

“Please, call me Owen, Ms Riley,” he tells her.

“Thank you, Owen, but I don’t know if this helps Emma any. She has a court ruling saying her age is now thirteen thanks to some dodgy editing.” I can tell she is extremely annoyed. Owen reaches down to the shoulder bag he has been carrying and pulls out two files; one red, one blue.

“I think your lawyer should see these.” he says. Pointing at the blue file he says, “This is the full report with our recommendations,” then he taps the red file, “and this is the changed report, although I assume your lawyer already has a copy.” I see Julia’s eyes focused on the two folders and I know she must have an idea.

“Thank you, Owen,” and I can tell she’s warmed to him, “I know you must be breaking school rules giving us these.”

“Indeed,” he smiles at me, “I’d do the same for any of my students, but I have to admit Emma is something of a favourite,” I blush, I must be bright red. “Don’t go telling the others, Emma,” he adds.

Julia extends an arm to him, “Thank you so much, Owen! I’ll pass this on to Kerry, it may help.” He goes on to tell us that the school are telling everyone that I’m off sick. He’ll let it be known that I have something contagious so have been ordered off for two weeks, which will give us time for my second hearing.

“After that we’ll hopefully have you back with us,” he says. His optimism warms me. I’m also grateful for the contagious sickness excuse as it will give me an alibi for Poppy and the gang. My only regret is the thought of what Jessie will make of it.

Owen/Mr Hulse stays a while taking me through all the course work I will need to complete while I am off. I can’t believe I have to do homework! As ever, he’s patient and kind which makes me feel a little better. As we work through the tasks I can hear Julia in the kitchen preparing tea. After he leaves Julia comes and gives me a hug.

“Feeling any better?” she asks.

“A little,” I sigh. “At least, less like a freak.” She nods.

“I spoke to Kelly, she says we should go over to hers tomorrow with the files. Do you fancy another sleepover? We could go walking in the country.” Kerry lives in Todmorden, up in the hills that surround Manchester. It’s really only a village but it has a reputation for having vibrant artist and LGBT communities.

“Sure, sounds like fun,” I say. I like the idea of being somewhere where I wont be recognised for a little while. Julia goes to fetch our food. Looking down at my phone I notice two new texts from Poppy. I sigh again; I’m not sure a contagious disease is enough to keep her away. In a hidden part of my brain I silently hope it is not.

The sun is out and the wind is blowing on my face. We race along the towpath beside the little canal in Todmorden. The bike I’m riding is a ‘girl’s’ mountain bike. At least it isn’t too girly, being mostly white and black. On the bike I’m as fast as anyone, if not faster, with my young legs. I have to keep stopping to allow Julia and Kerry to catch up. We don’t cycle too far but the cold winter air revives me and for a moment I am free of my worries. After a circle around the town we end up back at Kerry’s terrace cottage. It has a long garden at the back and a conservatory extension that allows us to sit in its warmth while enjoying it.

My good mood comes to an end when I spy a text from Poppy asking how I am and if she can come and visit. I slouch at the table just staring at my phone’s screen. I have no idea what to reply. In the end I just give up and put it away. As Kerry and Julia talk, I zone out watching a cat prowl through the garden. It has spotted something of interest in the hedge and squats down in a pouncing position. It looks comical the way it wiggles it arse and tail in the air. Something Julia says catches my attention.

“So, do you think we have a chance?” When I look back the cat has gone.

“Maybe. It depends how much importance the judge puts on the original report,” Kerry smiles at me, “but at least it gives us something. I’ve scheduled a meeting for Monday; if he accepts this as new evidence, at least we’ll have a fighting chance.” I nod, feeling slightly less gloomy than before. Hope springs in my heart. I could be back in school by the middle of the week. Am I really excited about the prospect of high school?

I think of the John Cleese quote from the film Clockwise, “It’s not the despair, Laura. I can take the despair. It’s the hope I can’t stand”

Julia goes to the front room to call Richard and tell him about Monday. Kerry asks if I’d like more tea and I shake my head. My little body can’t take much caffeine.

“How are things at school?” she asks from the kitchen.

“Okay I suppose, so long as I don’t have to go back as a Year 8!” I reply in a sulky voice. She re-enters the room.

“Julia was telling me you have a girlfriend?” I nod. Thinking of Poppy makes my stomach churn with angst.

“I’m impressed that you are out at fifteen, I know I didn’t have the courage at your age.” Kerry lives with her partner Danielle. I just shrug. It isn’t really brave, it just is. I do appreciate her keeping to my being fifteen. Just to think, only a few months ago I would have done anything not to be thought of as a fifteen year old. Now it’s my best option. How much worse can things get?

“Are you worried about not seeing her again?” Kerry asks, her voice kind and soft. I’m not exactly sure why I start crying. I didn’t feel close to it before. I guess it is the acknowledgement of my situation, the tacit understanding that I could lose Poppy. Kerry hugs me and I feel a little better. Julia returns and sees us hugging. Without a word she joins in.

My phone buzzes again making us all laugh. It is only a momentary release of tension. I look at the text; it’s from Greta saying she’s in Manchester and looking forward to seeing us tomorrow. I sigh once more; it’s good to know I haven’t being deserted.

We are in a different conference room this time. This one is smaller and has a smaller table, but other than that and the view from the window it is much of a muchness. After about an hour of legal talk that slowly saps my will to live, Kerry makes her play.

“So, as you see, the educational report had a significant part left out,” she says, pushing forward copies, although I guess the judge and the other legal team already have their own.

“I’d like to move that this evidence is inadmissible,” says the Livingston’s fat lawyer. The way his fat, sausage-like fingers pull out several sheets of paper creeps me out. His assistant, an attractive blonde lady somewhere in her mid to late twenties passes the sheets of paper around. I don’t get a copy and have to peep over Kerry’s shoulder. It’s a letter of some sort.

“On what grounds?” the judge asks.

“Proof of authorship,” the fat lawyer answers quickly.

“My lord,” Kerry begins, “I have already shown authorship with written accounts from Mr Hulse and several other of Emma’s teachers.”

“Not relevant.” I have here signed letters from the deputy head and head of the school, plus a further one from the educational authority standing by the original report.” Only when Julia puts her hand on me to restrain me do I realise how angry I’m becoming.

“But that’s not fair! Owen’s telling the truth!” I shout out. Immediately I know I’ve said the wrong thing. I can see the judge raising his eyebrows, clearly shocked by my calling my teacher by his first name. The fat lawyer sees this and pounces.

“I am sure ‘Owen’ means well, Ms, but we have no evidence he is qualified to make this judgement. He may have an axe to grind,” he pauses than goes in for the kill, “or personal reasons to keep you in his class.” I feel dreadful. One of the few people to stick his neck out for me and I’ve gone and let him become a target for insinuation and innuendo. Kerry, the fat lawyer and the judge continue arguing points for another twenty minutes but I know it is a lost cause. Finally the judge brings proceedings to an end.

“Clearly Emma / Chloe is a remarkable young woman, and the fact she has the memories of an older man gives her a unique perspective.” I wait for the inevitable.

“However, based on the biological report supplied by the New Body Company, and
Doctor Field’s testimony that Emma / Chloe only started her period in the last six months I am willing to stand by my original decision.” He turns and addresses me directly. “Emma, you are in a unique position, and I know it must feel like I am being wilfully cruel to you. This is not the case. You find yourself in a new body, one you don’t understand and have no experience of, both physically and in the way others react to you.”

I just nod my head gloomily; does he really think he’s telling me anything I don’t know? He continues.

“I do have to say I admire you; you have dealt with some terrible things over the last few months, more than many will have to deal with in a life time.”

I feel a tiny bit better, but it’s a small flower in the massive wasteland of my fate.

“However,” now he gets to it, “in light of expert medical opinion, and how recent events have highlighted your vulnerability, I am minded to err on the side of caution. From this point forward you will be classed as a thirteen year old girl. I’ll speak to your school and to the education authority. I think the best thing maybe to find you a new school, do you agree?”

I nod my head; the only thing stopping me from breaking down is the shock. Will I ever see Poppy again?

I stand in the corridor with Julia’s arms around me. We are both crying a little.

“Erm,” I look up and see the twenty-something legal assistant to the fat lawyer standing there, “I’m so sorry but my boss was wondering if we could have a little word?”

“How dare you!” Julia’s voice is full of fury. “Can’t you see what you’ve done?”

“It would be in your best interest...” The legal assistant’s voice is small; she almost cowers from Julia.

“Is this a deal?” Kerry has come over and joined the conversation.

“I can’t say, but it is in her best interest,” Ms Legal Assistant’s voice is a little clearer now.

“She won’t come alone, we’re coming with her,” Kerry answers for us. The legal assistant agrees and leads us into a little room where the fat lawyer is sitting with a laptop.

“Thank you, Emma,” he begins, his voice sounding kind, although I’m suspicious. “I know today must be hard for you.” I just nod, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. He doesn’t blink an eyelid. “I want to say I am personally very sorry about what I am going to show you. Revenge porn and so called ’slut shaming’ are terrible things I totally disapprove of,” His sympathetic voice doesn’t quite hid his excitement at nearing the kill, “but what we have found does raise some serious questions.”

He turns the laptop around and shows me. It’s a web page, not a very well put together one by the look of it. The top of the page says ’Lesbian Sluts’. What’s underneath makes me want to throw up. Looking around at Julia and Kerry I see they are in shock as well. Most of the photos are stupid, just badly taken pics of Poppy and me holding hands, hugging and in one or two kissing. The ones further down however are much worse. They are pictures of us in bed together, doing a lot more than kissing. There are couple of pictures that capture our faces making who we are indisputable. Someone was in Poppy’s bedroom with us. Fucking Jessie! I’ve never felt such pure hatred of someone.

“I don’t understand,” I say, “I’m legally a kid now so I didn’t do anything wrong.” I shake my head, not sure why Julia and Kerry have frozen in fear. Julia is way ahead of me.

“That’s fucking evil,” she rasps. I’m frightened she is about to jump across the table and lamp him. Kerry puts her hand on Julia to restrain her, but her own voice is only a little less angry.

“So you’re proposing to blackmail Emma into living with the Livingstons or you’ll prosecute her girlfriend.” The bottom falls out of my world.

“I am acting in the best interest of the child. Clearly she is not in a safe environment.” There are so many reasons for me to throttle this prick; the fact he’s talking like I’m not in the room is just another.

“If Emma is happy to come live with the Livingstons as their daughter Chloe, which in my view she legally is, then I don’t see any reason for us to bring this to the attention of the judge or police.” I desperately want to smash his fat nose across his stupid, grinning face. It’s at that point that I realise that I’m in love. Hopelessly, madly and completely in love. I know what I have to do. There’s no way I can go on living as Emma if it means Poppy suffering, even for one moment. The fat lawyer continues.

“Of course, the Livingstons are happy to arrange visiting rights for Ms Riley,” he nods at Julia, “say one weekend a month. Plus we would agree not to wipe Mark’s memories from Chloe, with certain conditions of course…” Julia is about to say something but I interrupt her.

“I’ll do it,” I say. “Where do I sign?”

Thanks as always to Robyn Hood, Emily and Cressar. And to everyone who has commented and kept with the story :)

Part 7

Tim sits beside me in the car; up front the Livingstons chat. Every now and then Mrs Livingston looks back at me. I imagine she’s worried that I will have somehow evaporated. My head is still numb, only eight hours ago I was Emma Riley.

"You okay?" Tim asks. I just nod my head. If I were a computer my face would be showing the wheel of death indicating buffering. The journey is slow, we hit bad traffic heading out of Manchester and then again going around Birmingham. It rains a little and I trace the raindrops on the window with my finger.

"Shall we stop at the services?" Mrs Livingston (Lily) asks the car. "Are you hungry Chloe dear?" It takes me a while to realise she’s talking to me.

"Err, no." My stomach feels like it’s filled with molten lead. I remember what Kerry
said last night - that my only chance of returning to Emma's life is to win the Livingstons around and add, "thanks"

We pull into the services off the toll motorway. Mr Livingston (Edward) says it’s a chance to stretch our legs. As we get out of the car I think of running but where would I go? They’d catch me quickly if I headed back to Julia, and I'd get her in trouble as well.

As we walk into the food court I look down at my phone. I've been checking it regularly since last night. I sent Poppy an email telling her everything, from who I was (and how old I was) as Mark, to where I was going to now. I told her that I love her. The only thing I left out was about them using the threat of prosecuting her to blackmail me into being Chloe. I didn't want her to blame herself. I still haven't
received a reply.

"Hey thoughtful," Lily ruffles my hair, "what's going on in your head?"

"What do you think?" I sigh.

"I know it will be difficult darling but you'll see, this is for the best." Her eyes glaze over as she speaks. I wonder who she is trying to convince?

We sit down in the gourmet burger bar and the Livingstons go off to buy food leaving me alone with Tim.

"So this is pretty strange huh?" I can't help but stare at him as he speaks. I haven't had chance to properly look at his face properly since we met. Now I look at him straight on and I see Emma reflected back at me. His nose is longer and his chin is a little straighter. He has the same almond shaped eyes. The biggest difference is his red hair. He gets that from his mother.

"So I am a twin?" a triplet if you count the original Chloe.

"Yup, not identical obviously." He even shares some of my mannerisms, like the way he touches his fingers together when he is thinking.

"So you really don't remember me?" he asks.

I shake my head, but there is something familiar about him. Like seeing an old friend in a crowd.

"And you have the memories of a forty year old man?" Tim leans forward; I wonder how much they have told him?

"Thirty six," I say. Is that really all Mark is now, a set of memories stored in my head?

Lily and Edward return carrying two trays laden with food.

"Cheese burger and chips," says Lily as she hands me a meal, "Your favourite."

Her voice is uncertain, there's a note of fear there. I don't have the heart to tell her I don't want to eat it so I just smile weakly reminding myself of Kerry's advice.

I nibble at the chips chewing extra slowly. I try to focus on the food concentrating on this simple task. After a while I start to feel properly hungry; did I even eat anything last night?

"Looks like you are enjoying that," Lily runs her fingers through my short hair, "it is a shame. You used to have such lovely hair," my body tenses up, I don't think I can handle all this touching, "did 'Julia' make you cut it off?"

I shake my head, my mind shutting down. The wheel of death spins again.

"Well, maybe it will grow on me," Lily says, I get the impression this isn't the end of it.

Edward and Lily talk to each other and I go back to my food. I look up at Tim. He eats quickly, unrestrained by the thought of being watched. It makes me smile, reminding me of how I used to eat when 'I', or 'Mark', was a teenager.

Something Edward says catches my attention, "Did you just say something about Doctor Fields?" I ask.

"Yes," Edward looks surprised I've butted in, "He's working for New Body now. He'll be looking in on you from time to time. In fact we really need to arrange a consultation for Chloe in the next couple of days," the last part is directed at Lily and again I am left out of the conversation.

I think about Doctor Fields and how his report on my body led me to be reclassified as a thirteen year old. And now he's working for New Body, with a healthy private sector pay packet no doubt.

"Lily," I say, "can I go the toilet?" hating the fact I have to ask permission.

"Of course dear, but call me mummy," she smiles at me.

It is already dark by the time we reach my new home. The house is new, although built to look like it is Victorian. Tim tells me there's a river that runs behind the house, a tributary of the Thames. The house is set off from a small road with large trees shielding it from view. The street has a number of houses similarly hidden from public view. I guess the rich like their privacy.

Gravel crunches under my feet as I get out of the car. Given the size of the house I half expect a butler and line of maids to meet us as we reach the front door.

"Can I show Chloe her room?" Tim asks his mother. I get the feeling Lily is unsure but answers yes. Tim takes my hand and leads me up the stairs. His arms are strong; my guess is he's good at sports.

First we pass his room and I get a glimpse of posters of rugby players. Not knowing much about the sport I don't recognise any of them.

'My' room is different. It's not overtly girly, there's no pink walls or lacy bedding, but it is definitely the bedroom of a girl in her early teens. On one wall is a poster of a boy band I don't recognise. I spot a MacBook Pro with a sticker of some tween girl singer on the case. There is a cuddly white rabbit sitting amongst the pillows.

I run my hand along the bed's duvet. The cover is pastel yellow, matching the rest of the bedding. The material feels expensive. There's a table next to the bed with three framed photos on it. The first shows Lily and Edward relaxing at some summer party. They are smiling with none of the stress lines I am used to seeing on their faces. The next shows Tim and Chloe on some Mediterranean holiday. My guess is that the two of them are about ten in the picture. I’m surprised to see Chloe with the same red hair as Tim and Lily. Tim, already a fair few inches taller than his sister, has a protective arm around her.

The final photo is of Chloe standing next to another girl. Both girls are wearing Brownie uniforms. They smile nervously back at me. I feel a little faint and have to sit down on the bed, still clutching the Brownies photo.

"You okay?" Tim stands in the doorway of the room, his hands in his pockets.

"To be honest, I don't know," I can feel myself on the verge of tears and I try to fight them back. Tim comes in moving slowly to the bed. Finally he sits down next to me putting a reassuring arm around my shoulders.

"This is all pretty crazy huh?"

"Yeh," I sniff. I start crying properly now. Tim squeezes my arm and, after a moment's hesitation, I rest my head on his shoulder. After a few minutes I pull myself together. Tim is reluctant to go but eventually leaves saying that he's knackered. Only when he has left do I realise how tired I am. I just about have the energy to pull my jeans and jumper off and grab an old t-shirt from my bag. I leave my clothes in a pile in the middle of the floor. Why shouldn't I? Before sleep takes me I check my phone again. There’s still no reply from Poppy.

I wake up in the night, bright moonlight shining in from the window. I was having a nightmare about being shrunk down to the size of a baby and being trapped in a nursery. It takes me a few moments to work out where I am. Looking around the room I notice my clothes have been picked up and hung carefully over the back of a chair. There’s also a glass of water on my bedside table, from which I take a few sips before returning to a restless sleep.

Doctor Field's new office is in an expensive looking research facility outside Milton Keynes, about an hour's drive from the Livingstons’ house. Once again I am lying on a medical bed. Through the large windows that make up one whole wall I can see the first signs of spring. How funny to think it’s only been about eight months since I was Mark.

"How are you feeling?" There is warmth in his voice.

"Fine." There is none in mine.

"I expect you’re getting used to wearing medical gowns," and his voice is
light, ignoring my abruptness. I don't reply.

Once again I have to go through the indignity of a full medical exam, including those freezing stirrups again. Why they can't find a way to heat them I don't know. I let him poke and prod me, putting up no real resistance but not exactly helping him either. Finally he asks me to lie back on the bed before attaching electrodes to my head. I feel warmth spreading through my body, like I ‘ve been immersed in a pleasantly hot bath.

"So now I am going to do a scan of your brain. I want to see what’s happening and let you have access to some of Chloe's memories, the ones that were implanted there before the whole..." his voice trails off and for the first time his pleasant demeanour slips, "... before the whole 'confusion' began."

"The judge says you have to keep Mark's memories," I warn him. "Yes, that’s true," he sounds distant. He turns and looks at the screen of the computer my electrodes are attached to. I watch him typing something into the interface. "But we are allowed to activate the 'Chloe' elements that are already there," he looks at the screen, not me. "From what I’ve heard, some of those programmes have been coming through already?" I shake my head, not knowing what he means.
He looks directly at me for the first time in a while.

"The incident with the Noah boy?" I don't want any more experiences like that.

"Look, I am not sure about this. I should talk this through with Lily and Edward," I say, trying to keep my voice calm and reasonable.

"Don't worry," again he looks away from me, "your parents have already signed the consent forms."

"I really don't think... hey! Why can't I move my body?" It’s true. Everything from my neck down is frozen.

"While you are hooked up your body is controlled from here," and he points dispassionately at the computer. "I've allowed you to keep control over your head and vocal cords, but now I think it’s time for a little sleep."

I start to protest but can do nothing as he places a silver disk on my forehead. I try to shake it off but the world fades to black. Then, nothing.

The next thing I know, I’m waking up on the same bed as before. The room is completely dark. My mouth tastes of metal and my legs and arms all ache. I try to lift my head but can't, it feels too heavy. Hair brushes against my cheeks and I realise it’s long again. How did they do that? What else have they changed about my appearance? I feel like I have gone ten rounds in the boxing ring. I start to cry, I’m not sure why, and then tiredness takes over again.

Back at the Livingston's the next morning I feel withdrawn. My body aches and my head feels cloudy. Lily lets me go straight to bed, saying I’ve been through a lot. Seeing as she's the one putting me through it I don't answer her. Getting up to my bedroom I find a series of packages. At first I think they must be presents from Lily and Edward and almost give them a kick. Then I spot that they have Julia's return address on them.

I rush to open them. I could cry, but this time from joy. She's sent me my records and record player. There's a note too! I rip the paper off and read it:

Hang in there, kiddo. I'll be visiting soon xxx

I want more, a date, a time, more about everyone back home. But it doesn't really matter, I’m so happy I kiss the little note. I spring up and go over to Chloe's notice board. I take down all the photos, swimming certificates, postcards and other things, planning on replacing them all with the note. I only stop when I come to the last photo. It shows Chloe standing between two boys, both much taller than her. This first boy I recognise as Tim, the other I don't know but somehow I can't keep my eyes from him. After a few moments I pull myself together and take it down. I find a cardboard folder in one of the desk drawers and place all the items in it. After a moments thought I put the photo on the top and place the folder back in the drawer.

Returning to my records I spend an age carefully unwrapping each one and checking their condition. I make a space on Chloe's shelf and put them there in order. I spend another half hour deciding on the perfect space for the record player. At first I think next to the bed, but then I worry I’ll knock it over in the middle of the night. Finally I select a space on the desk. It means taking down another photo, this one a team photo for the school hockey team, but that doesn't bother me. I place it in the same drawer as the others. Just before I shut it, my eyes come to rest on Chloe. She looks about twelve, sitting crossed legged in the front row. I recognise her coy smile; I’ve seen it in the mirror many times.

Finally I select a record to play: The Queen is Dead by The Smiths. They want a teenager? I’m going to give it them one. Walking across the room I stop in front of the full-length mirror. Strange, I think, and I stand up on tiptoes. Is it in my mind or am I a little smaller? I put my hand on top of my head and measure it against the backdrop of my room. My head reached just above the third shelf in the bookshelf, now it’s on the same level. But then, I’ve just filled them with records. It probably just looks that way.

The next morning Lily insists we go to the shops. I’m due to start at a new school in a few weeks, right after the Easter holidays. She drives us through a series of villages on our way into Oxford. Each village is made up of ancient looking buildings, all thatched roofs and stone churches. It seemed more like a Hollywood set than the Britain I’ve grown up in.

We finally park in a small car park off the ring road, just outside Oxford city centre. There's a Sainsbury's supermarket on one side and a warehouse on the other. This feels much more like the country I've known all my life. Lily tries to engage me in conversation but I'm not taking the bait. I feel like I'm recovering from the flu. All my joints ache making me feel like I’m eighty. I pull the hood of my hoodie over my head and take a little pleasure when I hear Lily tut.

First there’s a trip to the hairdressers. The shop is large and expensive looking. As we wait there are up to date magazines to flick through and an assistant comes and offers us drink. Lily orders a small glass of Prosecco for herself and a strawberry and apple smoothie for her 'daughter'. I'm too intimidated by the environment to tell her I don't like smoothies. The hairdresser, Jeremy, is a tall thin man with immaculate facial hair, halfway between a full beard and designer stubble. I wonder how often he trims it? He speaks with a German accent and smothers me in so many compliments it’s hard for me to keep my moody persona. Only when I realise that most of the compliments are really directed at Lily, 'your daughter has such great hair, a mix of auburn and red, just like yours', do I start to pout again.

The haircut takes a hell of a long time considering all he really does is add a straight fringe. I still haven't worked out how Doctor Fields made it grow so long? Every time I come to ask I find my nerve going. As Jeremy adds some 'layering', which makes it sound like he's going to coat me in paint, I look at my face. Is my hair turning red? While Jeremy talks to his assistant I turn my head from side to side. I notice a few freckles on the end of my nose; were they there before? It’s a very strange thing not to be able to trust your own face.

With my hair bouncing down either side of my face I’m dragged around one fancy shop after another. The worst is a lingerie shop. I could drop down dead as Lily holds different bras and pants up against me, testing their suitability.

"How about these? They’re for a younger woman, but they’re not too young," she says as she places a pink bra with little bows on it against my chest.

"I don't need new underwear," I hiss. "Julia bought me plenty."

"I don't know sweetheart," Lily looks at me appraisingly, "I'd say your bras are a little loose on you." She turns back to the bras and picks out more for me to try. I feel slighted, like a boy whose been told his penis is small. Absentmindedly I reach up and feel my breasts. I suppose they are a little on the small side. Up until now I've been glad they aren't so noticeable; now I find myself crossing my arms defensively. Lily turns back to me and sees my arms crossed.

"Don't worry dear, the right bra can do wonders," she winks. I can feel my face burning red, both with anger and embarrassment. Without looking at me she thrusts five or six bras into my arms. I storm off to the changing room not able to look the girl who hands me the token in the eyes as I enter.

With a sigh I remember coming into the changing rooms in the Arndale Centre with Poppy and Esse. These ones are much bigger with comfortable seating in the centre of a circle of ten cubicles. All the surfaces of the walls and cubicles are covered in mirrors giving me the uneasy feeling of been surrounded by hundreds of my clones. I feel slightly strange looking at myself head to toe. Rather than making me look tough and in control my skinny jeans and hoodie make me look young and small.

After what feels like hours of being dragged around to shop after shop we finally reach the highlight of our tour. Jacksons looks like a shop from Harry Potter. The Victorian-like windows are filled with four child-sized mannequins each in different private school uniforms. I sigh as we get close.

"So you are sending me off to boarding school?" I feel only contempt; they’ve gone to all this trouble to take me from my chosen world only to dump me on to a bunch of overpaid private school teachers. Julia would never have done this.

"No, no," says Lily smiling to herself, "not every private school is boarding only. Saint Anne's is for day pupils as well." She looks at me directly and adds, "I'm not losing you again." I sigh again - I should have guessed.

Mr Jackson is easily in his fifties with thin, almost white hair, and small spectacles. I dislike the way he moves me without asking talking directly to Lily and ignoring me.

We try on several uniforms all with a red and gold theme. There’s a gingham summer dress, pleated skirt and grey V-necked jumper and blazer both with a red, black and gold coat of arms over the left breast. With the dress, blazer, and skirt Mr Jackson ads pins to help shape them. Several pins stick into me making me jump.

"Can you tell her to stand still," and again he speaks to Lily, not to me. I ball my fists, wanting to strike out at him. I think Lily must see this because she tells me to calm down and do as Mr Jackson says. I’m about to lose it with her when I hear myself speaking.

"Yes, Mummy. Sorry, Mr Jackson." I want to scream. I feel like I’m going to go postal, but then something strange happens. I find myself relaxing and letting Mr Jackson move me around as he goes about his business. Later, while they try out different straw boaters on me he looks directly at me and I even find myself smiling back at him. During the car ride home I am quiet looking out of the window. I wonder what is happening to me and what am I becoming?

"There’s something we need to talk about," Lily says, looking over at me. You’re telling me? I think.

"What?" I can hear the sulky teenager in my voice.

"Next weekend is your first visit with this Julia woman," Lily turns back to the road her expression unreadable. Yes! I’ve been so caught up in my own misery that I’d forgotten.

"Are you okay with that? You don't have to if you don't want to..." There’s hope in her voice but she keeps her eyes on the road.

"I can't wait," I say, folding my arms. I see her shoulders slump and for a moment I feel bad.

"Fine, but it’s the weekend before you return to school so I want you back in time for Sunday lunch.” Her voice is tough and superior again and I lose all my new-found sympathy for her. "We have some friends coming over to celebrate," she adds.

Nine o'clock in the morning, still an hour left until we leave to meet Julia. I watch the light rain from an April shower spatter against the window pain. The record I’ve been listening to has finished and I don't have the energy to change it. I keep thinking how things could go wrong. What if Julia is caught in traffic and is hours late, what if something happens at work and she can't come at all? I needn't have worried as moments later I receive a text:

Julia: I’m here, can't wait to see you! Xxx

I hold the phone to my chest, feeling like I could shout for joy. I text her back telling her how excited I am. I wonder if she's seen or heard anything from Poppy? The thought puts a dent in my mood.

We meet at a chain coffee shop near the centre of Oxford. I can see her through the window as we approach. The road is busy so we are waiting on the opposite side for a while. She’s reading a book, or at least trying to. Every couple of minutes she looks up at the door. It feels odd walking in with Edward, as if he's my personal guard. He takes off his coat as we go inside. It is strange to see him not wearing a suit. He seems smaller and less dominant, somehow.

Julia stands up, waving to me although she must know I've seen her. I might once have been embarrassed but now I’m filled with happiness. I can't stop myself running to her and hugging her. We are both crying; inwardly I’m grateful it is still early-ish on a Friday and so there aren't too many onlookers.

After a couple of minutes Edward speaks, "Chloe, why don't you go and buy yourself something," he says, handing me a ten pound note. "Julia and I just need to talk before I leave." I’m suspicious but when I look at Julia she nods her consent. One of the old women from the back of the shop gets to the counter before me. She takes an age chatting with the employee, a mixed-race guy somewhere in his late teens, about how the shop used to be butchers. The slowness of her ordering infuriates me. I want to get back quickly so I can find out what Edward and Julia are talking about. I look over and see their faces are grey and serious.

Looking back the old woman is now counting out her money on the counter. Over her back the young man smiles conspiratorially at me. He's quite handsome in a young, teenage way. I feel my cheeks getting warm as I watch the way his auburn hair falls in front of his blue eyes. I snap out of it as the woman hands him her little piles of change. When it comes to my turn I have difficulty getting my words out.

"Er..." For a moment, I worry I’m just going to stare at him. He smiles at me in a friendly manner.

"Can't make your mind up?"

"No, I mean yes," and I know I’m blushing even more now. "I'll have a black Americano please." His smile becomes even broader.

"Unusual choice for a girl."

"I like my coffee like my men, strong and black," I reply, quoting the film ‘Airplane’ but as soon as I've said it I know how it must sound.

"Sorry," I say, "that was a stupid thing to say." He laughs a little to himself.

"You've got good taste, girl." He then sets about making my coffee.

"Can I have a slice of cake as well?" One of the plus sides of being a teenager again is that my increased metabolism means I can eat what I like.

"Chocolate?" he replies without missing a beat.

I take my drink and cake back to the table. Julia looks at me concerned and puts a hand against my forehead.

"Are you okay?" she asks, "You aren't running a fever are you? You look hot."

"No," I stammer, "it's just the central heating in here." Edward makes his goodbyes and leaves. Julia turns to me.

"My, my. I almost didn't recognise you. How did your hair grow so quickly?" I lift up the hair on either side of my face, fanning it out.

"Robot girl, remember?"

"Still, drastically changing your hairstyle in just a month, some would say you’re fickle," Julia smiles at me.

"Wasn't my choice," I reply, "I woke up like this."

"They did this to you without asking?" Julia is shocked. We spend the next few minutes bitching about the Livingstons. I tell Julia how Lily always brings the subject around to her modelling days or how I discovered Edward's secret stash of whisky in his study. When the conversation gets around to Tim I go quiet. I skip over him not wanting Julia to know about the connection we have.

"How are things back in Manc? Richard and the boys okay?" I ask, nervous about bringing up the subject but not sure why.

"Oh, he's great. He's bringing the boys down tomorrow and picking Greta up on the way." She must see my bemused expression. "Surely you must know all this from my emails?"

"What emails?" My voice has gone up an octave. It sounds so squeaky it makes me squirm.

"The emails I've been sending you. You do have access to the internet, don't you?" She asks, looking shocked.

"I do, but I've had no emails. Not from anyone back home," I shake my head. They must be blocking them somehow. I think of Poppy, hope and despair both burn brightly.

We talk rapidly about what to do and Julia promises to contact Kerry as soon as we get back to the hotel. As we get up to leave Julia turns to me.

"You know, even without the hair there’s something different about you." Does she mean my height? Has she noticed something? Are they shrinking me?

"What do you mean?" I ask, my voice wavering.

"The dress," she points to the blue dress (with red tights) I’m wearing. It’s one of the dresses Lily bought for me on our shopping trip, "somehow they've got you out of your hoodie and skinny jeans."

Again I am blushing, "They had to use brainwashing to do it."

As we leave the young man behind the till waves and shouts goodbye. I have to look away to avoid Julia seeing me turn bright red.

I say my goodbyes to Richard, Greta and the boys at the hotel. Both Julia and I are silent through out the car journey. Too soon we’re pulling along the leafy road to Chloe's house. So many thoughts are running around my head. I try to push them out using the lyrics of a song, ‘Birdhouse in your Soul’ by They Might Be Giants:

‘Blue canary in the outlet by the light switch

Who watches over you

Make a little birdhouse in your soul

Not to put too fine a point on it

Say I'm the only bee in your bonnet

Make a little birdhouse in your soul’

It works for a moment. The world is transformed into a scene from a music video (do they still make those?). Julia looks at me, "Are you smiling?" she asks, sounding a little hurt.

"I was just thinking how much fun I had, and how it won’t be so long till I see you again," I smile, thinking how strange it is to be looking up at the woman who was once my wife.

It seems to be all too much for Julia; she bursts into tears as we pull up. Wiping them away she mutters, "I wasn't going to do that," as I take her hand. I can see Lily waiting for us at the door. I feel the anger rising in me. She looks so frail and timid just standing there. She has no right to look that way, not with what she’s doing to us.

We get out of the car and walk gingerly up the gravel pathway. Julia has parked on the road, as if she wasn't sure she'd be allowed to come onto the grounds of the house. I feel awkward walking towards Lily; I want to take Julia's hand in a gesture of support but I worry I'd be getting her into trouble.

"You’re late," Lily speaks to Julia - I am not included.

"Sorry," Julia starts. "Only by twenty minutes, I'm still getting used to the layout of Oxford." They chat for a few minutes about how we spent the weekend. Julia tells Lily about the museums we visited and where we went to eat. For a brief moment there’s a thawing in the Cold War between the two women. Then it’s gone.

"Emma," Julia eyes Lily's stoney expression suspiciously, "Sorry, 'Chloe'," she turns to me, "I'll see you again next month." She flings her arms around me, "Stay strong," she whispers to me. I just nod my head as she holds me by the shoulders.

Lily leads me into to the house. I try not to look back, but I can't stand it and turn around, only I am too late and the door has closed before I get a chance to see Julia one last time. I am tortured by visions of her standing there, alone on the vast gravel path.

"Okay, dear," Lily's voice pulls me back into the room, "we don't have much time, we need to get you ready. The Mathews will be here in fifteen minutes." I nod my head, not knowing to whom she is referring. She runs her hands through my hair, I want to pull back but don't, "At least she got you to wash your hair," Lily says, more to herself than to me. "I've put out clothes for you in your room."

My blood boils and I want to shout and scream at her, but I feel my anger fading as it gets to my mouth. In the end I just storm off up stairs, glad to be away from her.

As I get to the door of the room I feel a little faint. Outside the early spring sun is high and the smell of freshly cut grass is coming through the window. My mind wanders to being sat on the grass next to Mummy watching Tim and a boy called Alex playing tennis on the lawn. I can feel the soft fabric of my red skirt underneath my legs. Both boys look huge to me as I sit on the floor. The ball wizzes past me causing Mummy to say something to the boys. Alex says sorry, then he looks at me and grins.

"You are okay aren't you Sprout?"

Then I come around. I’m lying on top of my bed resting next to the bluey-purple dress Lily has laid out for me. I feel my forehead but it isn't warm. I do feel warm down below. Shit, have I just had the female equivalent of a wet dream? I hug my knees up to my chest, the only time I have felt those feelings, in this body, has been around Poppy. The memory I just accessed was clearly one of Chloe's. I thought of Lily as Mummy and had feelings for this Alex.

Are there more of these memories to come? I shudder as I think of my own thoughts and memories being slowly pushed out by the ghost of Chloe. Without really thinking about it I begin getting ready. Something about the movement calms me down. Perhaps it’s just having something to do. The dress is a check primrose pinafore dress, with a yellow t-shirt to go underneath. For a moment I wonder how I know all that.

Once dressed I go and stand at the mirror, smoothing down any creases as I turn, checking each side. The action calms me down a little more. I choose a record, ‘Pet Sounds’ by the Beach Boys, and put it on. I lie down on the bed, spreading my arms and legs out like a starfish. The sounds mingle with the warm air coming in and I feel a little drowsy. Only the fear of another of Chloe's memories stops me from falling asleep. I’m not sure how long I lie there for, probably not that long, but the door bell rings before the record reaches its second side.

I hear both Lily and Edward calling my name and Tim's feet running down the stairs. I pull myself up hearing new voices in the hallway. As I reach the top of the stairs I see three people. A middle-aged couple, the man balding slightly but with an air of respectability. He wears a polo-neck t-shirt and blue slacks. The woman has the look of faded beauty, her summer dress slightly too small for her expanding waist. It is the third person, a boy, who catches my eye. Unmistakably it’s Alex, the boy from Chloe's daydream. I feel odd, as if caught masturbating. I walk down the stairs my arms and legs suddenly feeling disjointed and awkward. My mind is taken up with concentrating on not falling over. Alex looks a little older than in the daydream, maybe a year or so older than Tim and I. Alex and his parents stare up at me.

"Why, she looks..." the man stammers, "it… it's quite astounding."

"Isn't it," Lily pulls me close to her as I get closer. "We have our little Chloe back," her voice full of joy.

Throughout the meal I feel odd. Firstly, because I’m aware of the controls working on me. Normally they present as a nudge, something like an urge, at the back of my head. It’s like being addicted to cigarettes, or feeling desperate for a drink of water. Also, all through the meal I feel like I’m running on autopilot. I take only small amounts of food, and only when it’s offered to me. I only speak when asked a question. Secondly, because I can't help shooting little glances at Alex. Once I catch Lily looking at me and I don't like the knowing expression on her face. Mrs Mathews (Laura) asks me if I am looking forward to returning to school.

"I’m nervous but excited. I can't wait to make new friends," I say, my voice sounding breathless and girlish, which disturbs me.

Only when we go outside to enjoy the last of the sun do I start to feel myself again. As the adults are in the gazebo talking amongst themselves. I spy Tim and Alex sneaking off towards the boathouse on the edge of the river. After a moments hesitation I follow them. By the time I reach them, Tim has pulled out a cigarette and passed one to Alex.

"Hey, you shouldn't be here," Tim chides me.

"No reason why I can't," I say annoyed at the pout in my voice. "Anyway, you shouldn't speak to me like I'm your little sister. We’re twins, remember?" I notice Alex can't quite look at me, but eventually he speaks.

"Go on, let her haveone too." Tim shrugs and hands me a cig. I put it in my mouth and look at them.

"Got a lighter?" They both laugh.

"What?" I say. Tim looks to Alex and they both grin sheepishly.

"I can't quite get over you having a Mancunian accent," Alex laughs. "Tim said it was strange." I shrug and accept the flame from Alex's lighter. Tim looks around the corner keeping an eye out for the old people. At first my cigarette won’t light and I have to move closer, blocking out the gentle breeze. Before I know what’s happening, Alex reaches up and pushes a rebellious strand of hair behind my ear.

"You should be careful," he say, shooting me the same smile as the one from Chloe's daydream, "You don't want that red hair catching on fire."

The next day is Monday, my first day back at school. The weather is still unseasonably warm so I select the gingham dress to wear. I stand in front of my mirror assessing how I look. The dress fits fine but the school blazer, which I am obliged to wear through the whole academic year, looks too big. I grimace at myself convinced I look even younger than the thirteen years I am forced to pretend to be. Lily yells for the third time that we’re running late. I stick my tongue out at the mirror; I don't know what she’s complaining about, it’s not like she has to get to work or anything.

Tim waves me off at the front door. He’ll be returning to his boarding school on Wednesday. It feels funny for him to be leaving, he's the only person I can really talk to here.

The drive feels odd. I know they picked a school the original Chloe didn't attend, since they don't want me to be treated anything other than 'normal'. Thinking about it with my arms crossed I laugh. I'm a thirty six year old man in the body of a thirteen year old girl; how normal do they think I’m going to be?

"Why do you laugh?" Damn, Lily has caught me.

"Oh, nothing," I say, hoping to sound mysterious. I see her still watching me so add, "Just a joke Alex made yesterday." I feel my cheeks turn red, why did I chose Alex? I could have picked Tim, the lie would still have been the same. I see Lily smirking in the mirror and fold my arms in a huff.

The school looks expensive. There's a sign on the gate advertising its new gym and Olympic sized swimming pool. The building is mostly an old (but well maintained) Victorian edifice, but there's a modern annex on one side that's mainly metal and glass. As we get out in the car park I watch the other girls stream in. They look so different to from what I’m used to. I’m now going to be spending my day in a totally female environment. What's worse is that they will see me as one of them.

My first day is spent like most first days, trying to find my way around. About half of the girls tower above me and I have to spend much of my time ducking to avoid the swinging of their bags. The older girls already have their cliques and stand around in gangs; are they trying to intimidate me? Compared with what I’ve seen in comprehensive schools they’re not all that, but still I keep away from them.

At least I’m no longer the smallest in my year. In fact there are only a couple of girls taller than me in last class. This is English Lit, something I've been looking forward to. It’s noticeable how much smaller the classes are at a private school, only going to show how unequal our society has become. I sit near the back hoping to avoid being noticed. I don't know how long I’ll be here, it could be nearly another three years. I have no intention of finding trouble. The teacher has started reading the register when a group of four girls walk in late.

"Sorry Mrs Stubbs," says a tall blonde girl, clearly the group's leader. Her skirt is a few inches shorter than school regulations permit and I can smell the faint whiff of perfume. They come and sit at the table in front of mine. Without realising it, I have been staring at the tall blonde.

"What are you looking at?" she hisses at me. I just shrug my shoulders, not knowing what to say. She stares daggers back at me; so much for staying out of trouble!

The rest of the lesson continues uneventfully. Mrs Stubbs, with her thin reedy voice, isn't a patch on Mr Hulse but the book we’re doing, The Great Gatsby, is one of my favourites. Halfway through we have to pick a study partner. At first I’m worried I’m going to be left alone but a short Asian girl wearing spectacles comes over to me and offers me her hand.

"Hi" she says, "I’m Andi." Her accent sounds American to me.

"Hi Andi," I take her hand, grateful that someone’s speaking to me. It’s not lost on me that the 'mean girls' clique are glancing our way.

"Don't worry about them," Andi's voice is quiet. "Tina and her gang hate everyone", she smiles.

Andi and I sit down and start working through our question sheet. At some point Mrs Stubbs must have crept behind me as I jump when she speaks just behind my ear.

"Very impressive, Chloe!” she says. “How did you know about the poster with the eyes being added after F Scott saw the cover design?"

"Just read it somewhere I suppose," I say. I had, of course, covered this book at university.

When Mrs Stubbs has left, Tina turns around and mouths, "Just read itsomewhere" at me, then hisses "swot!"

I just shrug at her, I suppose it is a bit swot-like, but Andi pretends to winch up her middle finger. This earns laughter from me and looks of horror from Tina and her gang.

"Mrs!" Tina calls out, "Andi just gave me the finger!" The class erupts into a fit of giggles. I relax a little; clearly Tina is no formidable enemy like Jessie. No one likes a snitch, not even the teachers. The bell rings and I start packing up my bags.

"One more thing girls," Mrs Stubbs shrill voice cuts through our chatter. "It is our turn to put on this term's school play." She moves through the class handing out flyers. "This term we’re covering the Great Gatsby, so Mrs Turner will be expecting a good turn out from this class at the auditions." She hands Andi and I a flyer each that we study closely. There's a stylised drawing of a flapper girl along with a time and date about two weeks from now.

"Do you think you'll try out?" Andi asks. At first I was thinking of throwing it away; why would I need the extra hassle? Then I think it might be a good excuse to get me out of the house.

"Maybe," I say.

"You should," she enthuses.

Maybe I should. After all, who knows more about pretending to be someone
else than me?

The weeks pass by slowly. The brief period of good weather has gone and we’re met with the more seasonal showers. The house feels strange with Tim gone. I'll often go lie on his bed of an evening staring at the posters on his wall. Along with the usual rugby posters there's one of a model with next to nothing on draped over a car bonnet. I'll often bring my homework in with me, but then find my eyes drifting to the model's vacant stare. I’m half wanting to kiss her, half angry that he's turned on by such a crappy stereotype of womanhood.

One evening Lily catches me in there. At first I think she's going to hit the roof as she normally does when I stray from the good-little-Chloe path. However she just smiles at me knowingly and tells me that she misses him as well. After that I stop going in there, not wanting to give Lily a victory.

I’m becoming good friends with Andi; we both stand out against the plastic rich girls who surround us. Her mother is a Japanese musician who came to the UK to study, her father is a writer of Sci-fi books. I make a note of his name and plan to check him out. Unlike me, she’s a live-in student, staying in the dorms. Her father, whom she clearly adores, has to do book reading tours and her mother is often away touring with her orchestra. She has developed a thick skin to cope and is more than happy to tell Tina and the others where to go.

"I hate the meek little Japanese girl stereotype," she tells me. "Fuck that."

Curfew for the boarding girls is at nine o'clock so we'll often go and hang out in the village. Sometimes at the library, which has a coffee shop attached, other times we'll hang around one of the buss shelters smoking cigs. Funny, I was never much of a smoker as a guy. One evening two lads from the local comprehensive join us. One of them, Rick, dominates the conversation.

"Yeah, you should have been here last week, it proper kicked off." I smile at his attempts to sound tough as I sit on the top of the bench, my feet on the seat and my elbows resting on my knees. He keeps glancing at me, which makes me smile, but I can tell Andi is a little interested.

Rick's mate is called Billy. He has slightly longer hair than Rick and seems more shy. He laughs at Rick's jokes but has a way that restrains, even calms him down. He seems the more interesting to me than Rick and I suspect he'd make a better choice for Andi as well.

"What's that?" I say, pointing at the black folder under Billy's arm.

"Nothing, just life drawing," he smiles. His voice is soft and I have to strain to hear him.

"Life drawing?" I say, "my girlfriend does that, give us a look," I say,extending my hand to take it.

The boys look a little shocked but Andi just smiles wisely; I’ve already told her.

"Okay then," he says, handing me his folder. As I flick through he talks to me.

"So, you’re gay then?"

"Yup," I say, not wanting to dwell on it.

"Cool," he smiles. It is a genuine smile. He looks over at his friend who seems a little uncomfortable. "Don't mind him, he's slow but he'll get there." Billy winks at me and I think how he's not bad looking, all he needs is some extra confidence. I should find a way to set Andi up with him.

I tell Billy his drawings are good, because they are, especially for a fourteen year old. We keep talking, mainly about things I don't really know much about such as Pokemon Go. I just nod and smile, pretending to fit, pretty much like most teenagers. These guys are nice but I'm missing my Manchester Crew. I glance down at my watch - it says half seven. I'm going to be in trouble, I should be back by now.

"Hey, want to go to the chippy?" asks Rick.

"Sure," says Andi, leaping off the bench. She's really in to him, even though Billy would be perfect for her. They remind me a bit of Pete and Esse I think.

"No can do," I say with a sigh. My visit with Julia is coming up soon, I don't want to give Lily any excuse to cancel. Andi practically begs me, and the guys add extra peer pressure.

"No, sorry girlfriend, the evil witch has got me on a tight leash." I feel bad, as I know she feels awkward about hanging out with them on her own.

"Hey, no worries," Andi finally gives up, "how about we walk home together?" I agree, happy not to be walking alone in the dark. The Livingstons’ house is on the way back to the school from where we are. I take out my phone and start texting Lily that I’m on my way. Rick looks crestfallen, but Billy smiles at us.

"Why don't we hang out some time?" he asks. I see Andi smiling at me hopefully.

"Sure," I say. What can be the harm? He knows I’m gay.

"Give me your phone." Before I can answer he’s taken it out of my hand. He flicks through to my contacts and enters his name and number.

"Text me," he says, "then I'll have your number."

I just nod dumbly. I stay silent on the walk back as Andi rabbits on about Rick and how cute he is. "Billy's pretty cute too," she adds, then looks at me strangely. "Are you sure you’re gay?"

"As sure as you can be," I reply, but my mind wanders to Alex and how his hair falls in front of his eyes. Andi says goodbye at the end of my road. We hug, it’s been a good evening. The road is well lit, but many of the lampposts have been shielded by the braches of trees casting long shadows across the road. As I get closer to the Livingstons’ house I notice a shadow across the street moving. Something about it catches my eye and I turn around. I stand still for a moment imagining murderers and rapists hidden in every dark corner. Then a fox emerges from behind a bush and scurries across the road. It looks a lot healthier then the urban foxes I am used to seeing in London and Manchester, but other than that there's nothing strange about the sight. It is easy to get paranoid in this small body.

Saint Anne's has a large, purpose built building to house the drama department. The hallways of which are lined with photos of previous productions. I look at them as we wait outside the main hall to be called in. The costumes are impressive, more like something you'dexpect to find in a small regional theatre than a school.

Andi and Lotte her friend from the dorms, wait with me. I've not spoken to Lotte much; she is in the year above me, but she seems pleasant enough. She has long blond hair she lets fall in front of her face, the way young girls do when they are shy.

"What part do you think you'll audition for?" Lotte asks. I shrug.

"Daisy I suppose?" I hadn't really thought about it. This is really just an excuse to get me away from Lily and Edward one night a week. I guess this being an all girl's school I could try out for Nick Caraway or even Jay Gatsby. Might be nice to wear the trousers again...

"I think all the girls will go for Daisy, it might be risky..." Lotte looks concerned as she says this and is cut off when Mrs Turner invites us all to come into the hall. About thirty or so girls file in. The hall is large and seems brand new. It looks like half the trees in Scandinavia have gone into the panelling around the walls and floor.

Mrs Turner and her two assistants, both girls of around university age, split us up into small groups and get us to stand in circles. Sadly, Andi is put into another group away from Lotte and me. One of the teaching assistants, a tall girl with short auburn hair, comes and joins us. Mrs Turner tells us we are going to be doing a series of improv exercises to warm up. I hear groans from the other girls; like me they suspect we’re going to spend half an hour pretending to be trees.

The improv actually isn't that bad. The teaching assistant, who introduces herself as Claire, goes around the group giving each of us a character and then asking the group for a setting. Lotte gets a bear in a tearoom and actually does a very funny impression of a grizzly sipping out of a dainty little teacup trying not to be noticed. Claire laughs, and I’m pleased to see her making notes on her little clipboard.

When it gets to my turn Claire announces I'll be a middle aged man (for a moment, I worry she knows) and the girls suggest I pretend to be in a pub. I give it a go, shutting my eyes and accessing the 'Mark' part of my brain. For about two minutes I turn a conversation I once had into a little monologue about talking to women in pubs, but not being able to hear over the noise. By the end Claire is smiling at me.

"Not bad," she says, "but you need to work on your mannerisms." She puts a reassuring hand on my arm, "I don't think anyone would mistake you for a guy," she smiles kindly. I guess she meant it as a compliment. After about half an hour we are brought back into a single group. Lotte and I go ad stand next to Andi near the back. Mrs Turner tells us she’s going to ask us to come up in pairs and read sections of dialogue.

The first up is Tina and an older girl. Mrs Turner gets them to try the scene where Nick asks Daisy of if she knows Gatsby. First she gets Tina to play Daisy and then she swaps it around. Tina makes a timid Daisy but even I have to admit she's pretty good as Nick.

We sit on the floor as everyone’s asked to come up in ones and twos. I can feel the polished floor against my bare skin as I sit cross-legged. Lotte and Andi chat away but my mind is drifting. I think of Poppy and wonder what she’s doing right now - is she thinking of me? I haven't tried to contact her since I discovered my emails, and possibly my texts as well, are being blocked. I have half a plan to buy a disposable phone, but I haven't put it into action. Would Julia help me? She doesn't like the Livingstons but she's also sticking by Kerry's plan to try and win them over.

"Hey, cloth ears," Andi nudges me, "they just called you and Lotte." I look up and see Lotte is already halfway to the stage. I jump up as fast as I can and nearly topple backwards.

"Careful Bambi," a voice calls out from behind me and I turn to see some of Tina's friends tittering behind me. I pull my little shorts back into shape and check that my t-shirt is still tucked in right then set off not looking back. Mrs Turner asks Lotte and me to improvise a scene where Daisy and her friend Jordan Baker are talking together. She then gets us to do it again, this time with the two friends gossiping about Gatsby and Nick. I try channelling Kathryn Hepburn and am surprised at how good my New England accent sounds; I was never much of a mimic. Lotte’s even better. The whole hall creases up at her Valley Girl impression. Only the two girls who came with Tina look unimpressed. The expressions on their faces make them look like they just swallowed wasps. Tina, however, doesn't look upset; in fact she has a very serious look on her face. She must be really into her acting.

Eventually Mrs Turner says "Go and sit down". Lotte is beaming as Claire leads her down the steps. I can see the play will be good for her confidence. Just as I start to follow I feel a hand resting on my shoulder. It is Mrs Turner's.

"Not you dear, I just want to try one more thing out." She turns to the audience. "Tina, Tina Abbot, can you come up here please?" I see Tina get up and walk slowly towards that stage. I can't read the expression on her face; I hope this doesn't mean trouble.

After Mrs Turner whispers something to them the teaching assistants bring out two plastic chairs and put them next to each other. I look nervously at Claire, who just winks at me. Clearly she thinks this is going well.

"Right, sit down." Mrs Turner gestures for us both to sit next to each other. We do, neither of us looking directly at the other.

"Chloe, I want you to be Daisy, and Tina I want you to be Gatsby." We both look at her and nod without saying anything. Why am I always the girl?

"Now I want you to play out a scene where your two characters meet again for the first time in years, but I want you to do it without speaking."

I sit there nervously, but Tina throws herself right into it. I’m impressed with how she can transform herself with only a change in posture and a few small movements.

Pushing myself to get into it I turn my back to her, pretending to be scared. Tina puts a hand on my arm trying to pull me around but quickly takes it back, as if scared by the violence of her own action. I look at the red marks on my arm (she really did grab it hard, a proper method actor). I rub my arm as the marks disappear. Then I feel Tina / Jay's fingers on me again. We’re sitting back to back but 'he' strokes my arm with a great deal of tenderness. I try to turn my head but pull back, imagining I’m fighting the fear my brute of a husband will see us. Then I feel Tina putting her hand over my hand, intertwining her fingers with mine.

I don't know if it is acting, but the gesture reminds me of Poppy and I find myself leaning against Tina's back, wishing the warmth of her body was Poppy's.

"Great, just great. Lets end it there." I look up to see Mrs Turner beaming at us. There is even some applause from the crowd. That's as near to ecstatic as you'll get for a bunch of moody teenage girls. As we move to return to the crowd Mrs Turner whispers to us, "I think I may have found my Gatsby and Daisy." I look over at Tina who’s smiling to herself. Oh shit, what have I got myself into?

"Are you coming to the chip shop?" Andi asks me about fifteen minutes later.

"Sure," I say . I'll text Lily telling her the auditions have overrun. I lied earlier and said one of the other girl's parents has offered me a lift home. The girl in question is Suzy from my maths class; I know she'll back me up if I need her to.

"Do you think those boys will be there?" asks Lotte, who's keen to meet Rick and Billy. I guess that's what happens when you live and study at an all-girl's school.

Sadly, Lotte is let down. When we get to the chip shop the boys are nowhere to be seen. We buy a bag of chips between us and take them over to the bus stop. It is late and the stars are already out above us. One of the few perks about my new life in the Oxfordshire countryside is being able to see the night sky.

Lotte and Andi are gossiping about the boys. Andi sounds very impressed with Rick and again I feel a little bad for Billy. I guess it’s a story as old as the hills, teenage girl falls for the bad boy and overlooks the shy friend. I grab a couple of chips while the girls are gabbing. I think again of my plan to contact Poppy. I can't risk telling Julia, if she thinks it is a bad idea she could kill my only chance. I remember the animosity between her and Poppy. No, my best chance is to slip away during Julia's next visit and buy a cheap disposable phone and some credit. I have Poppy's number in my Iphone, even if it won't work. I’m sure I can persuade Julia to take me shopping.

"Hey," I realise Andi is speaking to me, "we have to get going, it's nearly curfew." I look at my watch – shit, is it that late? With all my head full of thoughts of Poppy I hadn't noticed it has gone dark. What an airhead!

The girls walk me back to the end of my road. We hug when we get there and talk excitedly about the play. Both Lotte and Andi think I'll be a shoo-in for one of the leads. I think about what Mrs Turner said but keep quiet, I don't want to sound bigheaded.

"I couldn't believe it when you started doing that American accent. It was perfect," gushes Lotte.

"I’m sure it wasn't," I mumble. She's just being a friend. After hugging them both I set off down my road. The trees are swaying in the gentle wind. Most of them have new leaves now and they cast shadows as I walk. I am humming the song ‘Everybody Loves My Baby’, happily lost in my own little world when something makes me stop. Beneath the tree at the end of our drive is a dark shape, like a large bag or sack. As I get closer I see it is a person, a young woman about
my current age.

As I get closer my mind is full crazy theories as to whom it could be. For a moment I almost convince myself it is the ghost of the real Chloe, come to haunt me. Then I think it must be Poppy. Hope overwhelms commonsense; the figure is about the right age and size.

I am almost running to her now. I get there and grab the figure's shoulder realising that Poppy must be asleep. The figure stirs, her face hidden by a hood pulled over the head. A slim hand pulls back the hood and I’m suddenly staring at a face I recognise immediately.

"J-Jessie?" I stammer. "Is that you?"

Part 8

I stand there gobsmacked.

"Jessie, what are you doing here?" She struggles to her feet; she looks thin and unwashed.

"I came here to see you," she says, her voice broken and uneven.

"You came to see what you did to me," I snap, clenching my fists. "You came to laugh!"

"No!" Her voice is shaky, I can see the fear in her eyes. "The website wasn't me. It was Pui!" I shake my head in disbelief.

"Why should I believe you?" I ask, thinking of Pui, the quiet girl who hangs around with the popular kids.

"Why would I come here if it wasn't true?" She wrings her hands together, almost begging me to believe her. I see her hair is unwashed, matted to her head by sweat and dirt.

"It was still my fault." I’m shocked - I've never heard Jessie admit to anything before. "I think she did it to impress me." We both turn as a light comes on in the hallway. A shadow approaches the door.

"I have a message from Poppy," Jessie hisses, her eyes wild with desperation. Do I trust her?

"Quick," I say pointing to behind the tree, "there's a gazebo in the garden. Hide there and I'll sneak you in when they go to bed." Lily meets me at the door.

"Did I hear you speaking to someone?"

"Just saying goodbye to Andi," I say, hoping this covers it; she approves of Andi.

"I didn't hear a car." My heart sinks, she’s suspicious.

"Suzy's dad parked further up the road. Easier to turn around," I add as an explanation.

Lily doesn't seem totally convinced and glances up the road as I dart in the house. Thankfully she drops it once I’m inside. I wait in my bedroom, listening to the sounds from downstairs. Usually Lily comes up around ten, half ten-ish with Edward following at eleven. However, my late return has disrupted their routine and it’s gone midnight before I dare creep downstairs. With my new, much lighter body weight it’s easy for me to move silently. Even so, I glance at Lily and Edward's bedroom door as I move. There’s no light coming from underneath it, so hopefully they’re asleep.

I reach the kitchen - so far, so good, but this was the easy part. If I had been stopped I could have claimed to be searching for a nighttime snack. Lily’s always on at me about my eating too much ('fat girls don't get good husbands'); she'd easily believe I was snacking.

I go into the utility room and try to reach for the backdoor key. It’s too high up and I have to find the little wooden step ladder the cleaner uses for the windows. It scrapes along the floor as I more it. I stop, frozen with fear convinced it would have been heard upstairs. I daren't move, not even to breath for what seems like and age but I don't hear anyone getting up. Pull yourself together girl, I tell myself, you’re doing this for Poppy.

Unlocking the back door I venture out onto the little step, feeling the cold of the stone through my slippers. I get out my phone and turn it to torch mode, flashing it in the direction of the gazebo. I pray Lily has shut the curtains. At first nothing happens, then I see a dark figure emerging from the gazebo. Jessie moves quickly, bent over in what I guess is the hope it will make her less visible. I doubt it will, but she reminds me of films I've seen of panthers on the prowl at night.

"I was starting to think you'd fallen asleep," she whispers when she gets to the door, then with a little smile she says, "Nice bunny PJs."

I look down realising I am wearing the stupid pyjamas Lily bought me. I was so focused on the message from Poppy I was hardly aware I put them on. Even I have to grin.

"I'm not quite the rock chick you once knew." She laughs; it’s odd all that time I hated her I didn't realise she had such a nice laugh. She starts to talk but I shush her.

"Wait till we’re upstairs," I whisper. As she creeps in I start rummaging through the kitchen
cupboards.

"What are you doing?" she asks, seeing me pull out fruit, as well as chocolate from Lily's personal stash (the one she thinks I don't know about). "Are you planning a midnight feast?"

"It's for you, I'm going to feed you up." I smile at her. Who would have thought I’d be so happy to see my old nemesis? This is how desperate I am for news from Manchester. We creep upstairs - I feel reassured when I hear Edward's snoring but jump halfway out of my skin when I hear one of them turning over. Finally though we reach my bedroom door and creep in. Once the door is locked I go put my dressing gown down over the gap at the bottom and then switch on my bedside light. Jessie whistles.

"Nice place you've got here - big."

I nod, my stomach in knots wanting to know what Poppy has sent. Seeming to get the idea Jessie rummages around in her jacket pulling out a few crumpled pieces of notepaper. She hands them to me with great ceremony and I take them like they contain the whole of my future in them. In a way I suppose they do. I can hardly read the words as my eyes race over them. I catch phrases like 'I love you' and 'I miss you so much'. It’s pure joy to see her handwriting, with its neatness and big friendly loops; it’s almost like talking to her.

"Is that an en-suite bathroom?" Jessie asks, I just nod hardly able to tear my eyes away from the letter. "I'll just make use of it," she mutters giving me some privacy. Finally I’m calm enough to read the letter properly. Poppy tells me how much she misses me, how angry she is at what has happened. She tells me she was inconsolable when she got my email, and how sorry she is that she didn't reply straight away. It took her a few days to get it together and when she tried emailing it just bounced back and her texts wouldn't send. She explains how she confronted Jessie when Greta told her about the 'slut-shaming' website and how they worked out it was Pui who did it, not Jessie. I have only just stopped crying when Jessie re-enters the room.

"How could she do this?" I ask Jessie, feeling close to tears again.

"Don't hate her too much," she says but she can't meet my eyes. "We used to pick on Pui all the time back in the first year. She was this strange kid, her mother from Hong Kong and her dad from New Zealand. Then she started making fun of the other kids. She could always make us laugh so," she shrugs, "we just stopped picking on her." Finally she looks me straight in the eyes. "I created her, made her feel so shitty about herself that she would do this. That's why I had to come and try to make things better."

There’s one subject both Julia and Lily agree on; they both insist on my only wearing skirts and dresses as part of my school uniforms. Possibly they think one day in trousers and my Mark personality will take over? Normally I dawdle when getting ready but today’s different; although I’m not keen to spend another day at St. Anne's I do want to get down to check on Jessie. Passing Lily on the stairs I tell her I’m going down to the boathouse. She eyes me with suspicion.

"What could you possibly want down there?" she asks.

"Science project," I reply, flashing her my sweetest smile, "on what lives in the water. I have to keep a record every day, once in the morning and once in the evening." I spent most of last night coming up with that one.

"Okay, dear, but don't be late and don't mess up your clothes. I have a busy day today and I don't want you to be late." Her busy day probably means a trip to Jeremy the stylist. I knew the excuse would work on her though; school work is the magic bullet with Lily.

I walk past the study on my way out, it’s on the ground floor overlooking the garden. Normally the door would be closed at this time of the day as Edward emails and Skypes his colleagues in other parts of the world, but this time it has been left open. I spot Edward's laptop open on his desktop and an idea pops into my head. I know my laptop must be bugged, or blocked, but they wouldn't have done the same to Edward's. There's no way he would have let them. Suddenly I feel my head go all fuzzy, a little like a migraine. I try to shake it off, unable to concentrate my mind. Only when I get outside in the fresh cool air does it start to go away.

Reaching the boathouse I knock gently on the door. Hearing nothing I look back at the house. I am worryingly exposed but there's no other way in. I take a deep breath and unlock the padlock before slipping in as quietly as possible.

"Jessie?" I whisper. Then realising how useless that is I repeat myself a little louder this time. I hear movement at the back, behind the upturned rowing boat.

"Hi," Jessie says a little nervously. "I thought you were the gardener. He sometimes comes here when he wants a break. He nearly caught me a couple of times."

"Don't worry," I smile at her, "he only comes on Tuesdays." Today is a Thursday. "I brought you some food." I take out the school lunch Lily's cook made me and offer it to her. She takes it from me gratefully. "What will you eat?" she asks earnestly.

"Don't worry about me, they give me plenty of pocket money. I'll just have school dinners." She opens the lid and looks inside. There's some avocado thing, what looks like hummus and dates, some rye bread and a salad with grapes.

"Rich people eat like rabbits," is Jessie's verdict.

"Certainly the women do." I can't imagine either Tom or Edward will be sitting down to salad with grapes for their lunch.

"How do you stand it?" Jessie asks out of the blue.

"Stand what?" I ask.

"Them," she indicates through the wall at the house.

"I just have to, I suppose," I sigh. "There's not much I can do. I’m just biding my time. I think, before you got here, I was broken. Clinging on to little things like seeing Julia once a month."

Jessie nods. She looks so scared and vulnerable I find myself forgiving her for all her past transgressions. She's just a kid, although legally she’s now three years my senior.

"No one should take you away from your mother," she spits and there’s real venom in her voice. I realise I never asked her about her mother.

"How is your mum?"

Jessie fights back what looks like some pretty powerful emotions. "She's been sent back to the hospital. Stupid fucking store bitch shouldn't have ratted on her!" Her voice is raised and I worry someone will hear.

"Is there anyone looking after you?" I ask, feeling guilty that I was so caught up in my own shit I never asked before.

"I told them Aunt Sophie would take me in but she hates mum and never would." Jessie sniffs, a completely different girl to the hard case I remember from Whalley Range. "At least she'll tell the social I’m with
her."

"Won't they check up?" I put a hand on her arm as if to steady her.

"They wanted to put me with a foster family when mum went off her meds two years ago. They won't care now I'm sixteen. They don't have enough people to go around checking, not properly. Aunt Sophie will just say I went down the shops when they call around."

As sad as it sounds I know she’s right. We hug for a little while before I remember the time. "Shit, I better get back to the house. Lily will kill me."

As turn to leave Jessie mutters something. "Sorry, didn't catch that?"

"I said your hair looks nice." Jessie looks embarrassed.

"What?" I'm taken by surprise.

"Long, I mean. It suits you." It’s just a little gesture but I have to turn away to avoid showing my tears to my erstwhile enemy.

"Thanks," I say in a small voice, "and thanks for coming." I turn back and look at her. "I really mean it."

School is buzzing with news about the play. Mrs Turner will put up the cast outside her office at lunchtime. Andi looks a little down in the mouth, so I ask her why.

"You and Lotte are bound to get parts," she huffs kicking at the floor with her shoes. I can see why she would be worried. There are a lot of girls wanting to get in and if we both get parts and she doesn't that would mean us spending a lot of time together without her.

"If you aren't in then I wont do it," I say to reassure her. I mean it too. I had agreed to signing up for the play as a way to get away from Lily and Edward. Since Jessie has turned up there’s less reason for me to be away from the house.

"Don't be silly, you should do it," says Andi, although she looks a little happier.

The lessons in the morning are boring. I enjoy maths the least. I can't help looking out the window thinking about Poppy's voice, what it'd be like to hear it again. I hate the idea of her being upset and I'm not sure I’m strong enough to call her. The teacher starts drawing some equations on the whiteboard which we’re supposed to copy down. I'm just glad there's no need to work anything out. I can let my mind wander. The clock on the wall says it is half an hour until lunch. I could swear it has gone backwards.

Finally the bell calls out lunch. The teacher tries to tell us about the homework we need to complete, but struggles over the din. It’s noisier than usual with at least half the class wanting to know if they got in the play, and the other half just as interested in finding out who’s in and who isn’t. I’m caught up in the crowd as we pour out into the corridor. One girl, Shamshad, tells me excitedly she thinks I'll be Daisy. I’m a little taken aback as we've not spoken more than two words since I started. Several other girls join in; evidently, news of my performance has spread. As we get to the drama department I notice Tina waiting nervously. Her normal bravado has disappeared and she’s biting a nail. I spot Lotte and Andi.

"Hey," I greet them. "Any news?"

"No, the names aren't up yet." Lotte sounds like she’s waiting to see a casualty list from a bloody battle. The volume shoots up as Mrs Turner comes out of her office carrying two large sheets of paper. The crowd surges forward causing Mrs Turner to warn that if we don't get back she wont be able to put the cast list up. We stand in respectful, but impatient, silence as she prints the two sheets of paper. The names on the list are separated into two categories, main cast and supporting cast. Shamshad squeals and turns around to me.

"I knew it," she says breathlessly, "you’re Daisy!"

A mutter of surprise and excitement passes through the gaggle of girls. As the others surge forward I’m pleased to catch a glimpse of Lotte's name next to Myrtle Wilson. I am even more pleased when I see Andi's
beaming face as she returns from the board.

"What did you get?" I have no time to dwell on how girlish and high my voice sounds.

"Oh, just one of the extras in the party scene," she smiles coyly. "But hey, I get all the fun dressing like a flapper and I don't even have to learn any boring lines," she jokes. I laugh but a part of me starts to panic. Do I really have any time to learn lines when I should be devoting my time to finding a way to get back to Poppy?

Lily is as pleased as a dog with two dicks when I tell her.

"My daughter, the actress," she says cupping my face in her hands. Her expression has so much softness in it I almost forget to hate her for a moment. She doesn't seem to notice the emotional turmoil inside me and goes off to phone Edward. "He can take us both out to dinner tonight," she coos, "maybe to that lovely little Italian place in Abingdon."

"I’m just going out to the boathouse," I call to her, glad she’s distracted.

I’m nearly at the back door with a bottle of lemonade and some leftovers from the fridge when she calls out, "Don't forget to change first." I huff and storm upstairs in typical teenage style. After changing into a long grey jumper and flowery leggings I head back downstairs. I look down and see how flat my crotch looks in the leggings. Sighing, I try to pull the jumper down to cover it. I notice I left the food and drink on the kitchen counter. Damn, I need to be more careful.

When I get to the boathouse I find Jessie isn't there. My heart’s in my mouth; where could she be? Looking around the building I see no signs of where she's gone. I take out the secret 'burner' phone with Poppy's number in it. I am glad we had the foresight to put Jessie's number in there as well. I type out a quick message asking if she's okay, then I send another one saying I am leaving the food under the upturned rowing boat. There's no immediate reply. Lily catches me as I return to the house.

"Daddy will be back in about an hour, then we'll head out," she smiles. "I put out that lovely green tulip dress for you to wear." My mind goes back to the horror of clothes shopping with her. "Why don't you jump into the shower and then maybe I could help put your hair into an updo?" I grunt my agreement as there's no point arguing. Anyway, it gives me an idea. I take a towel and head into the en suite bathroom off my bedroom. Once inside I take out the secret phone and dial Poppy; it rings for a while before she picks up.

"Hi," I say, almost in a whisper.

"Hi," she says back and I feel myself melting at the sound of her voice.

The restaurant is fancy but laid back - the sort of place rich people call ‘bohemian’ but real bohemians couldn't afford in a million years. Edward is a little narky, having had to wait while Lily and I changed. I don't think it helps that the waiter pays special attention to both Lily and myself. His ingratiating manner gets on my nerves as well and I don't like the way he puts his arm around my waist to lead me to our table.

Across from our table is a large family with three sons, ranging from early to late teens and one pre-teen girl. The eldest son, I'd put his age at about fifteen or maybe a young looking sixteen, keeps checking me out. He's a prep school type and doesn't seem at all worried that I can see him looking. I tug at the material of my dress wishing I’d worn something a little baggier. No one else seems to mind his staring so I just try and ignore it and eventually I can block it out.

The meal is nice enough. As Mark I couldn't really enjoy Italian food due to a mild intolerance to lactose; Emma’s (or Chloe's) body is more resilient in this respect if nothing else.

"So, I've got some news," Edward says.

"Really, dear, what's that?" Lily then turns her attention to me. "Don't eat so fast dear. It’s unladylike." Before I can say anything Edward continues.

"We've been doing a little work with a firm in Palo Alto, California. They’ve asked for me to come over in the summer and I thought we could make a summer holiday of it." Lily claps her hands together.

"That’s wonderful! Oh, Chloe you’re going to love San Francisco and Disneyland too. Or is it Disney World? I can never remember which is which." I feel a little annoyed at having been relegated to the kids’ attraction. I look up and see Prep Boy smirking at me, clearly enjoying my humiliation. I give him a dirty look back. How will I see Julia if I'm thousands of miles away; how will I keep in contact with Poppy? When we get back home I run upstairs and retrieve the secret phone, which I hid behind a couple of books on my shelf. I see there's a reply from Jessie.

Jessie: Thnk I've fnd smting. Going to chck it out. I'll tll all whn I'm bck Sun.

I read it through a couple of times. Very mysterious.

Saturday morning and I’m hanging out in the kitchen eating cereal in my pyjamas. My laptop is open and I'm watching old episodes of Danger Mouse. Edward’s out playing golf with his friends and Lily’s at the gym doing some sort of spin class. They’ll both be out till dinnertime. I hear the doorbell ringing but don't make much of it. It’s most likely a delivery. Lily’s addicted to buying crap over the internet; I guess it gets her through the long days when I'm in school and Edward’s at work. I hear Lena, who cleans the house on weekends, talking to someone but I don't pay much attention. A couple of minutes later, however, my ears start to burn when I’m sure I hear the name 'Chloe' mentioned. Seconds later I hear footsteps and then Lena enters the room.

"Ms Chloe," she says in her Polish accent, "there's a Mr Billy here to see you." Lena speaks good English but in a very formal manner. I wonder if that's what Lily likes about her?

"Billy?!" I say slightly shocked. I realise I must look a complete sight in the Hello Kitty PJs Julia bought for me all those months ago. I put my arms around my body as if protecting myself from his invisible gaze. "What does he want?" I say, realising how ridiculous I must sound.

"To see you," Lena smiles at me knowingly. She must think my nerves are down to a crush.

"Okay, okay, let me think." There's no way for me to get upstairs without going past the hall where he'll be waiting. I figure out a plan.

"Can you ask him to wait in the living room?" I see the smile on Lena's face getting even broader. "Tell him I'll only be five minutes." I wait in the kitchen until I hear Lena taking Billy into the living room. Then I wait another couple of minutes for Lena to leave, closing the door. Once she has I make a dash for the stairs only to crash into the back of Billy as he comes out of the living room.

"You don't need to get me a Coke, Lena, really I’m fine…" I feel my face burning hot. "Urm, er hi," I say, unable to look him the face.

"Oh, hi Chloe, great PJs." Damn, damn, damn. If I could I'd melt away right there.

"Thanks. Mum bought them for me, I didn't pick them." I feel stupid trying to pass the blame.

"No they suit you," he says with that lop sided grin of his. "Look, I was thinking of getting the bus into Oxford to see the new Marcel Dzama exhibition at Modern Art Oxford and I thought maybe you might like to come?" Now it’s his turn to look sheepish.

"Sure," I say. It actually does sound great. A proper adult activity. A thought hits me. "Why didn't you call or text first?"

"Well, I figured it would be harder for you to say no to my face, and I would never have had the chance to see you in your PJs." There's something very attractive about his mixture of confidence and shyness. I wonder if there's anyway I can get him together with Andi, or maybe Lotte?

"Alright cheeky," I grin, "wait here while I change."

The sun is up and apart from a cool breeze it’s actually quite warm. I feel funny standing at the bus stop waiting to go somewhere; normally it’s just a place to hang out. Billy is relaxed, leaning against the wall talking about some fight that happened at his school. I’m only half listening. I feel strange though, unable to settle. I am constantly aware of how close I am to him and how my clothes are sitting on me. I keep fiddling with the hemline of the short skirt I’m wearing. I'm not sure why I chose it; at first I was meaning to go for my normal jeans, then I changed my mind.

"What are you thinking about?" asks Billy.

"Nothing, just wondering what we’re going to do in Oxford," I cover.

As with many rural services it takes ages for the bus to arrive. The bus is mostly empty as there aren’t many people who rely on public transport in this part of Oxfordshire; mainly teenagers and old people. We pick seats near the back watching as the expensive houses and thick tree trunks go by. The route is a winding one, covering a huge chunk of rural Oxfordshire before meandering into the suburbs of Oxford itself.

Oxford feels different from when I visited it with Lily. Perhaps this is because it’s the weekend, or maybe because the students have come back. It feels more modern and normal. The accents are very different from Manchester but the rhythm of daily life seems familiar.

Modern Art Oxford is a relatively small gallery compared to its grand name. I've hung out in plenty of contemporary art venues back when I was Mark; living in East London they were hard to avoid. Modern Art Oxford seems pretty much what you would expect. It’s all clean surfaces and minimal decor. I look back at Billy and see he is timid about coming in - I guess it's not the sort of space he’s used to hanging out in. I take his hand and drag him through the doors.

Immediately I feel a pang of guilt and remorse for taking his hand. I’m not sure why, after all Poppy isn't the jealous type and all I’m doing is hanging out with one of the few true friends I have in this place.

"Can I ask you a question?" Billy asks.

"Sure." I smile at him. I don't know why but I haven't let go of his hand; I get the impression my mind is stuck in my head and the rest of my body is ignoring its instructions. I wonder where the new instructions are coming from.

"How come you have a northern accent? I mean your family are all from around here." He’s quite cute when he’s being all sheepish.

"I’m from Manchester, I'm only here because of a custody battle." Looking at his blank face I add, "I lost."

"Oh," he says, clearly not understanding but having the common sense not to press any further.

The Marcel Dzama paintings are fantastic. I've seen them before but they still have in impact. What makes it more interesting is watching Billy take it all in. I can almost hear the little computer in his head making whirring sounds as it processes it all. I take a particularly long time to look at a painting of a sad looking tree-man with owls and squirrels living in his head. Something about his resigned expression speaks to me.

Billy squeezes my hand. It’s a gentle movement that takes me by surprise. Something strange happens. As I find my body tingling with attraction my mind starts to clear. As anyone who has been a teenage boy will tell you, this is not the normal way of things. I hadn't realised it needed clearing before now.

Billy’s talking to me and I can't keep my eyes of the way his fringe falls across his forehead. But at the same time my mind wanders back to standing next to the door of Edwards study. To how I had thoughts about going in and using his computer, but then my head had become fuzzy and I had dropped the idea. There must be something in that study that they don't want me to see - why else would they put a block on it?

Billy’s more confident now, leading me around the gallery. The closer we get, the freer my mind becomes. Perhaps by giving the Chloe part of my brain what it wants it relaxes its control over other areas? Once we are outside I decide to try an experiment. Billy’s talking about finding some food for lunch. I hold my breath, tell myself I'm doing it for Poppy, stand on tiptoes and kiss him.

As he pulls me into his arms, turning my peck into a deeper kiss, I feel bad about using him like this. But it works; I feel my mind coming back with even greater clarity. I think about how I'd done nothing to get in contact with Poppy until Jessie arrived. How I’ve let Lily dress me and change my hair with out any real protest. As Billy runs back into the gallery to use the toilet I check the email on my phone. Diving into the draft section I confirm my suspicions. They’re all there, everyone of the emails I wrote to Poppy since getting into the Livingstons’ car. Looking in the inbox I see the emails Julia sent me before visiting. The block isn't on my computer or phone, it’s on me.

"That was great," Billy says, a huge smile across his face.

"Don't get any ideas," I say, really not wanting to hurt his feelings. "I was just checking."

"And, what did you think?" he says with his usual mix of bravado and shyness.

"Not bad," I mumble; I don't want to give the poor boy a complex.

After eating at MacDonald's, which is still as tasteless as I remember, we head back to the bus. Earlier I sent a text to Lily saying I was hanging out with the girls but she'll grow suspicious if I'm not back before dinner.

It maybe my imagination but the closer the bus gets to home, the fuzzier my head feels. I lean that head on Billy's shoulder feeling it clear a little. He leaves me at the end of the road with an awkward goodbye. We don't kiss but I can tell he was thinking about it. I can hear raised female voices as I come in and I find Lily is in the living room chatting away with two middle-aged women. Like her they look well pampered.

"Oh, hello dear, had fun with your little friends?" she asks. From the sound of her voice I can tell she's been drinking.

"It was okay," I say in a non-committal way, hoping she'll leave me alone.

"That’s a lovely skirt you’re wearing." Without asking she handles the fabric around the hem. "I bet the others were jealous." Before I have time for a rebuttal the other women chime in. They ask me about school, clothes and, most embarrassingly boys. My face burns bright red as I think about Billy. I catch Lily watching me with a thoughtful expression.

That night I lie awake wondering how I can use the new information about Billy to my advantage. Perhaps I could invite him around and get him to help me break into Edward's study, but I worry what he'd think getting an invitation like that. Despite my desperation, I don't want to hurt the boy. Finally I start to drift off, knowing Jessie will be back tomorrow with her mysterious news. I'll see what she thinks.

As is common in England at this time of year, Saturday's warm weather is followed by rain and driving winds on the Sunday. I keep to my room, checking the secret phone regularly for news from Jessie. When I hear Lily going into the living room to watch TV I decide to risk calling Poppy. The phone rings but quickly goes to the answerphone. I stammer something about wondering how she is then hang up.

It all adds to my growing sense of unease. Finally around four my phone buzzes with a message from Jessie. She says she’s back, and that I should come to the boathouse as soon as I can. I quickly rush downstairs grabbing my trusty duffel coat and an old pair of wellingtons. I'm going for that ‘Paddington Bear’ look, obviously. Lily stops me at the back door.

"How much longer have you got to keep doing this science project?" she asks.

"Just another week," I improvise. I’m going to need another cover story.

"Okay then. Don't stay out too long, dinner will be ready in an hour." She turns her attention back to her food and I slip out. The wind and rain is getting stronger and I find Jessie squeezed between two crates covered in a blanket. I wonder where she got the blanket from?

"Hey," I smile at her. She smiles back but I can see she’s cold and uncomfortable. "How have you been?" She blows on her hands to keep them warm.

"Not bad,” she answers. "I've found something out." Her face looks stern.

"What?" I ask.

"I got a job, cleaning at that New Body place. I saw the ad in one of the newspapers their Royal Highnesses throw out."

"Smart move, what did you find?" She goes to great lengths to describe the whole experience. How the manager is an old perv but that a woman called Marge, who runs her team, is alright. As she proceeds to go through all the gossip she's found about who fancies whom, I find myself getting frustrated. Finally I lose my patience.

"What did you find, Jessie?" I ask, wanting to shake her by her shoulders.

"I’m coming to that," she protests, as though she hasn't just spent the last twenty minutes telling me a load of gossip about people I'll probably never meet. I hold my tongue. "Well, Marge likes me, see. So one evening she let me do one of the doctor's offices. That's when I see it’s your Doctor Fields's place. So I know I've got about twenty minutes before anyone checks on me. And guess what?" I shake my head but Jessie isn't listening. "the idiot has left his laptop open. Well, I soon found your file."

"What did it tell you?" I ask eagerly.

"Mostly stuff I didn't understand," she says honestly, "but there was something about you and a shipment to some place in California."

"Was it a company in Palo Alto?" I ask.

"Sounds right, does it mean anything to you?" she asks and there's an eager look in her eyes.

"Edward’s arranging a holiday for us out there and he's doing some work with the company," I say, pondering what the connection could be.

"D’you think they are shipping something to help control you while you’re out there?" she says, looking at me. "Perhaps they think you might run away when you get to the States?"

"Plausible," I say, mulling it over. "But it doesn't quite fit. Why go if they think I’m a flight risk?" Jessie just shrugs. I change the subject to Billy and the effect he has on me and her eyes light up at the chance to talk about boys. She makes me tell her everything about my friends at St. Anne's. It strikes me how lonely she must be, and what a huge sacrifice she has made coming here to help me. A couple of times she sneezes and I feel bad for her staying out here in the cold.

"Look," I say, "I've got to head back to the house for dinner now." Jessie looks visibly crest fallen. "But I'll put my blue Tardis lamp" - who would have thought both Chloe and I would be Whovians -"in my window when they’ve gone to sleep. Then I’ll sneak down and let you in. I'll get food and stuff for you as well." We agree, and she looks a lot happier as I leave.

It takes an agonisingly long time for Edward and Lily to go to bed. I feel bad as I watch the weather getting worse and worse outside my bedroom window. It’s a full blown storm now. Eventually, a little after one AM, I’m confident enough to put the Tardis lamp on the window sill. As before I creep slowly downstairs. Finally I open the back door, to be met by a soaking wet Jessie.

"That took ages!" he says in a hoarse whisper. "What kept you?"

"Sorry, sorry," I say as quietly as I can. "they were watching some dumb film." It was something with car chases and explosions. Rich people, poor taste. Go figure.

We creep back up the stairs as quietly as possible but Jessie’s shaking like mad. Half way up the stairs Jessie lets out a massive sneeze. We both stop still, my heart is in my mouth. We wait a few minutes but no one appears thankfully. We continue our way up the stairs and into my room. I tell Jessie to get out of her wet clothes and she calls me a lesbo, but she’s laughing as she does so.

"Ok, shrinking violet, go and change in the bathroom. I think it’s okay for you to have a quick shower." I’m more worried about Edward and Lily been woken by Jessie coughing and sneezing than I am about the shower, which is on the opposite side of my room to their bedroom. When I hear the shower turn on I chuck a t-shirt and a pair of pyjama bottoms into the bathroom for her to change into. Most of my clothes are a little small for her but I think the t-shirt and pyjamas should be baggy enough to work.

I go to the wardrobe and pull out as much spare bedding as I can find, making a little nest by the far side of the bed. Even if Lily comes in before I have time to sneak Jessie out she'll not spot her from the door. Jessie falls asleep pretty much as soon as she crawls into her makeshift bed. I can't complain as she’s sacrificed so much for me, but I do wish we could have talked for just a little bit.

I dream I’m in a giant nursery, locked behind the bars of a playpen. Everyone towers over me, making me feel scared. I try begging them to let me out but all the giant adults just walk by not noticing me. Then I spot Poppy over the other side of the room; I press my face against the bars and try to call for her but she doesn't listen. Next I notice she’s with ssomeone, a man who looks like a grown up version of Billy. Grown up Billy and Poppy walk around hand in hand inspecting the infants in different cots and playpens. They look like a young couple hoping to adopt.

"Poppy! Billy!" I yell at the top of my voice shaking the bars as violently as my little arms will allow.

A nurse comes over and says, "Well, they won't want to adopt a naughty baby like you," and behind her I can see Poppy and Billy leaving.

"I'm not naughty!" I scream in a childish voice.

"Not naughty? Who’s that with you?" The nurse’s voice changes to that of Lily. "Chloe, who the fuck is that in your room?” My eyes shoot wide open and I jump up. Jessie’s quicker on the uptake than me and is already around Lily and has grabbed her damp clothes. I don't dare look at Lily as I hear Jessie tearing down the stairs, then I hear Edward shouting and the front door slams.

"Chloe? Explain yourself!" I finally look at Lily; her face is like thunder. Shit, I think. This means another trip to Doctor Fields.

Thanks as always to Robyn Hood, Emily and Cressar. And to everyone who has commented and kept with the story :)

I hope you enjoy this, the penultimate episode of Consequences

Part Nine

We are sat backstage as Tina searches for illicit cigarettes in her handbag.

"Gawd Tina, I am soooo glad we hang out now," I say in a loud whisper. "I can't believe I was spending time with that munter Andi and her sadsack friends." Tina smiles conspiratorially at me.

"Don't worry about it, Chlo, you were the new kid," she says, resting her hand on my arm, "you could always tell you were worth more."

Mrs Travers's voice comes over the speakers telling us that the dress rehearsal was about to start.

"No time for these," Tina pulls out a pack of French cigarettes and grins. My nerves need the smoke but my eyes are feasting on her beautiful Tom Ford bag. It puts my ugly, last season Burberry to shame. I wonder if I can persuade Mummy and Daddy to take me to the West End at the weekend? I'll have to try Mummy first, she's always on my side when it comes to clothes.

Speaking of clothes, I’m delighted to be trying out our costumes. Tina looks amazing of course in Gatsby's white suit, but I know it’s me who steals the show in my glittering flapper dress. I could be in prohibition New York, maybe on the arm of some gangster. I imagine that townie kid Billy in a broad-shouldered striped suit and carrying a violin case under one arm. Not that I'd ever lower myself to dating a townie, but the thought does make me tingle a bit.

As the cast gets together at the front of the stage so Mrs Travers can address us all I spot Andi and Lotte sulking off to one side. They keep shooting me little glances. Jealous, no doubt, but what did they expect? They just don't have what it takes to hang out in the popular crew. Sure they were nice, not that I would admit that to Tina or any of the others. I do feel a little sorry for them, but you can't let people like that hold you back. That's what Mummy always says.

Mrs. Travers tells us not to worry; dress rehearsal is where we get to make all the mistakes, which is good because shit keeps happening. My big scene with Tina, where Gatsby and Daisy set eyes on each other after years apart is ruined by a fake pillar collapsing at the wrong moment. Honestly, you wouldn't have thought the art department had had two months to get things right.

"Want to go get some fries afterwards?" Tina is referring to our ritual of sharing a small McDonalds fries after rehearsals, "Daddy has left me Mark so he can drive us." Mark is Tina's dad's driver. She's so lucky to have someone to take her where she wants to go, I have to depend on Mummy like I'm some little kid.

"No, sorry I can't. The play is on Saturday," - two days – "so I've got to purge!" I see Tina pout at me. "You’re lucky," I admonish her, "you can hide in that suit, I've got to fit into that dress." I think of how amazing I am going to look. Mummy will be there, and there will be photos and filming. These things will matter when I am a famous actress.

I stub out my cigarette on the red brick wall next to the fire exit and air kiss Tina on both cheeks. The village is quiet and dark as I walk. I close my eyes and enjoy the warm air against my skin. I’m so glad I no longer have to wear that high street bought duffel coat. I have no idea why Mummy doesn’t just throw it out!

As I get close to the bus stop I spot Andi and her friend Lotte. They have coats on but underneath I can see they’re wearing their costumes. How sad I think, they mustn't have anything better to wear. I nearly fall over when I spot two boys with them. My hand goes to my mouth as I recognise Billy. The shocks keep coming as I see Billy's friend kissing Andi.

How is that possible? How can she have a boyfriend and not me? I hang back in the shade not wanting to be spotted. Billy's friend isn't bad looking; how on Earth did she pull him? I know that townies have lower standards but come on! Another figure arrives, a girl I think, although it’s hard to tell with the hood of her hoodie pulled up. She’s carrying an open bag of chips, I can smell them from here. It makes my stomach growl so loudly I fear I will be spotted. No food can taste as good as thin feels I remind myself.

My head is hurting. It’s a funny type of headache, it feels like someone, or something is pounding on the back of my head trying to get in. It must be the weirdness of seeing Andi with a boyfriend. I turn back on myself deciding to take the lane that goes past the Duke's Arms and avoid the centre of the village all together. The fresh air does the trick, clearing my head. It takes me an extra ten minutes but it’s worth it. Mummy’s still up when I get in. She’s sitting in the living room chatting to someone so I decide to take a look.

"Hello, baby," she says; I hate it when she calls me that! "You’re late," she adds casually.

"Rehearsals ran late, problems with the set," I have my excuse ready. What I see makes me stop. "Tim!" I exclaim, "You’re here!" I run to where he’s standing and throw my arms around him.

"I couldn't miss your theatrical debut, could I?" Tim says smiling as I hug him half to death. We sit down and I proceed to tell Tim everything about the production and explain the clothes, especially those worn by Tina and I, in depth.

"But I thought you didn't like Tina?" Tim says suspiciously. I brush it away.

"That was before."

"Your sister is turning into one of the most beautiful women at that school. It’s only to be expected that the popular girls would recognise her for who she is," Mummy says, tousling my hair playfully and then gets up. "I'm going to have a glass of wine. Does either of you want something – a Coke, maybe?”

Tim says yes but I shake my head; even Diet Coke will make you fat. I do wish Mummy would take my dieting seriously. About an hour later we head up the stairs to bed. I tell Tim about everything I saw at the bus stop; I’ve been dying to tell someone.

"Can you believe Andi has a boyfriend before me? She's nowhere near as pretty," then realising I sound a little conceited I add, "everyone says so." I’m shocked when Tim shoots me an angry look.

"You know," he says, "I don't think the real Chloe was like this." He sighs, unable to look at me. "At least, not all the time." With that he heads into his room closing the door without saying anything more. I’m left staring at the door, close to tears and not knowing what to do. What does he mean, not the 'real' Chloe? That damn headache is back. I’m going to have to keep my window open and hope the fresh air makes it go away.

I spend the next day in my bedroom listening to records. Tina thinks it’s funny that I don’t just use Spotify but there is something about them that calms me down. I can’t stop thinking about what Tim said. What does he mean by ‘not the real Chloe’? I bury my head in my pillow and cry. Why would he say something so hurtful? Does he have some sort of crush on Andi? I can’t stand the thought.

The day of the play is finally here. I can't believe it’s been over two months since we first auditioned. I peep out through the curtain, it doesn't take me long to spot them there. Tim is sitting by the aisle and Mummy’s next to him. Next to her is Lena, Mummy gave her the ticket after Daddy said he couldn't make it.

"You have to remember he's a good provider and needs to work late sometimes," Mummy admonished me after I kicked up a fuss.

The play goes well. I feel a golden glow all through it. I’m even better than Tina, and she is superb. I get a little cross at some of the others; the girl playing Nick fluffs a few of her lines. But all in all it’s a triumph. Mrs Travers brings us all out on the stage to take the final bow. After we have done this Mrs Travers hands both Tina and me bouquets of flowers. I catch Andi and Lotte on the side lines looking sour, which of course makes me feel even better.

The changing rooms are buzzing as we all get out of our dresses. I run my fingers along the soft fabric of my red cocktail dress as I hand it up. I wish I could keep it; perhaps Mummy can find me something similar? Tina comes up to me. She looks a little red faced seeing me in my underwear. She can be funny sometimes.

"That was great, you were fabulous," she gushes making me blush a little. I've always hated how prone I am to blushing. "Are you going to join us for a celebration afterwards?" her voice goes quiet, "Maisie Stuart says we can go over to hers, she has vodka!"

"Totally," I smile, "Meet me out the fire escape for a cig first?"

"Sure," Tina says happily, "Just give me ten to change."

The weather is a little cooler than during the week and I have to pull on a cardigan. We huddle close together as we drain every last bit out of our cigarettes. We gossip happily about the play and which girls we thought were rubbish and we’re warmed by our mutual respect.

"I can't believe how good you were!" I exclaim, hoping of course to get more flattery back in return.

"I know, we were amazing," she says. I would have preferred something specifically about myself but I'll take it.

"We’re the perfect doomed couple!" and I giggle at the thought. Tina comes closer; I try to back away but I'm pushed up against the safety bar along the side of the steps.

"I think so too," she says, and then, before I can figure out what’s going on, she lunges at me and plants a kiss on my lips.

"What the fuck?" I shout, my head starting to pound. "Why did you do that?"

"I, I, I thought you'd like it," Tina looks scared and vulnerable.

"What? I'm not gay!" and that terrible pounding starts in my head again. "Why would you think that?"

"Don't you dare tell the others," Tina says, her face screwed up and mean now. "They won't believe you, anyway." She pushes past me hurtling down the steps. Before she leaves she turns to me, "Everyone knows you told Andi you’re a lesbian. I'll say you came on to me."

"Fuck off you will!" I shout back.

"You practically did. Fluttering your eyes, flicking your hair. I know what you've been up to!" I stagger back a little; there’s real anger in her voice. My mouth is gaping open as she disappears into the evening. I thought she was my friend…

I spend the next hour in a daze. First Mrs Travers wants to show me off to a woman from an acting school in London. Normally I’d be thrilled but this damned headache won't go away. Then comes Mummy, Tim and Lena. Thankfully, Mummy is distracted by some of the other mums and leaves me alone but Tim and Lena just want to talk about the play.
Maisie comes up and asks shyly if I want to come to hers afterwards. I am relieved as this means Tina hasn't said anything - at least, not yet.

"You should go," Tim smiles, "I'll explain to Mum."

"Why don't you come as well?" Maisie asks Tim and her voice has a hungry edge to it.

"No, I don't want to cramp my sister's style," he says smoothly before turning and heading to the refreshments table.

"I'll come along afterwards," I reassure a crestfallen Maisie, "I just have to say hi to few people first." I’m glad when she leaves. My head’s still pounding and I don't want to be around people. Maybe I should go to the party and try and talk to Tina? Then I picture her angry face and decide I can't face her. I should ask Mummy for a lift home but for some reason I don't want to.

In the end I decide I need fresh air. It seems to be the only thing that helps me. I wander around the village in the evening light. The sky’s turning red and I remember the old rhyme about a red sky at night being a shepherd’s delight. We should be in for more good weather tomorrow.

Without realising it my feet have taken me to the old concrete bus shelter where I saw Andi kissing that boy two nights ago. I sit and put my head in my hands; I don't cry but I’m happy to let my hair fall across my face shielding me from the world. I’m not sure how long I’ve been there for but after a while I realise I’m not alone. I look up, a cascade of auburn hair blurring my view.

"Hello, who’s there?" I ask.

"Hello, Emma," says a woman's voice with a northern accent.

"My name's not Emma," I start but the temples of my forehead being to pound. I brush my hair out of my face. I see tall girl, perhaps sixteen or seventeen years old. She has short-ish hair with red streaks in it and high cheek bones. I try to stand but find myself wobbling on my feet.

"Hey Chloe, can we speak to Emma please?" the strange woman asks patiently.

"What, what do you mean?" I mutter, my speech slurring and the world spinning around me.

"It's me Emmy - Poppy," she smiles at me. I feel like I’ve been hit by a ton of bricks and I try to stagger away.

"You... you’re crazy. I don't know any Poppy," I say, feeling her name with my tongue as I say it, almost tasting it. Even in my fuzzy state it seems like it’s something very important. I try to move away but two hands grab me from behind.

"Sorry Em, but it is for your own good," says another northern voice.

"J-J-Jessie, is that you?" How do I know her name?

"Hold still,” says Jessie and I notice Billy the boy from the village coming up to me. Behind him I see Andi and Lotte.

"Get help!" I call out pointlessly - of course, they are in on this.

"Sorry about this Chloe, I mean Emma," Billy looks at Poppy who doesn't look happy but gives a resigned shrug. Finally Billy looks back to me and leans in.

"No!" I shriek, but to no avail. Why does this keep happening to me today? My head hurts and then everything turns to black.

When I come around I’m lying on a sofa in the living room of some house I don't recognise. A middle-aged woman I also don't recognise is standing over me.

"I think she's awake," the woman says to people I can't see. I’m startled when several faces suddenly appear. It takes me a while but I recognise Poppy, Billy, Jessie and Andi.
"How are you doing, Chloe?" asks Andi.

"Don't call me that," I say rubbing my head, it feels like I've had a big bang on the head, "My name’s Emma."

Everyone sighs with relief. "Welcome back, Emmy," Poppy says smiling broadly, "Do you remember much?"

I try to sit up but soon have to lie straight back down again. The middle-aged woman mutters something about getting a glass of water and disappears.

"I remember Lily finding Jessie in my bedroom," I groan.

"That was weeks ago, way over a month," Jessie says to Poppy, who nods.

"You don't remember anything else," Andi says. "The play, school, anything?"

"I remember being taken to see Doctor Fields, feeling drowsy the whole way." I try to force myself to think, "I remember some things, like the costumes, and..." I touch my lips, "being kissed." Billy looks a little sheepish. "It feels like I fell asleep when a film was on and parts of the film crept in my mind.” Suddenly something occurs to me and I leap up pointing at Poppy.

"You can't be here, they’ll have you sent to prison if they find out."

"They aren't going to find out," says Poppy. Her voice is soft and patient but it doesn't reassure me.

"What time is it? I have to get back." I look from face to face pleading for them to see sense. None of this will be worth it if they take Poppy.

"We have to get you out, and soon," says Jessie.

"It's true," Poppy says, "Jessie and Danielle checked," she nods at the middle-aged woman who has returned holding a glass of water which she gives to me. "They both work as cleaners at New Body so they checked the files. Fields thinks it will take between six and eight weeks for the Chloe programming to become completely dominant." I look at her as though she’s crazy.

"I don't care what happens to me!" I say, hating how childish my voice sounds.

"But I do," Poppy grabs me by the arms, for a moment I am frightened by the mad look in her eyes. "Don't you see, it’s been six weeks already. If you don't come with us we risk losing Emma and Mark forever," she says with great intensity.

"Perhaps Mark should have died all those months ago in that street in Shoreditch..." I can feel warm tears running down my cheeks.

"But not Emma!" Everyone’s looking at Poppy as she flails her arms around like a demented windmill. "You’re more than just a man trapped in a woman's body or the ghost of what some grieving couple think their daughter was like. You’re more than the sum of your parts - you’re a person."

I only realise I’m shaking when Jessie puts her arms around me. "It's true," she says hardly audible over my sobs, "you ain't the stuck up bitch I thought you were. You’re alright." She pauses, holding back her own waterworks. "And you don't have to do this alone."

The next few minutes pass quickly; I’m introduced to Danielle, the woman who employed Jessie. She tells me doesn’t think it’s right what they’re doing to me. Apparently Danielle’s going to drive us to the station in Milton Keynes.

"But won't they be watching the stations?" I ask perplexed; surely Lily and Edward will have called the police by now?

"They don't know you've gone yet," Andi says, "they think you’re still at Maisie's party."

"Also they’ll assume we'll be heading north," Poppy smiles and I look at her not understanding. "We’re going to head west." I just shake my head, still not getting it. "To Swansea and Greta." I start to protest that I don't want to bring anyone else in on this, but Poppy just shoves a bundle of clothes into my arms. "Shut up and get changed," she smiles. I look down at the dungarees and striped long sleeve t-shirt she’s given me.

"Okay," I say finally, making up my mind to do this. I look up at the others who are standing there staring at me. "Er, guys… can I have some privacy?" This breaks the spell and they all laugh before turning to leave. "Not you," I say ruefully to Poppy who looks a little sheepish. Once the others are through the door I turn to her. "Thank you," I whisper as we edge closer. My body tingles as she puts her hand on the back of my head to draw me in for a kiss. Has she got taller or have I shrunk a few inches?

"No distractions, just get dressed," she admonishes me.

"Awww," I say, hoping to keep her close for a while longer.

"Have you seen what you look like?" Poppy says with a smile, then hands me a compact mirror from her bag. I look at my face and then at my body. I can't believe the dumb lacy dress I am wearing. God, with pale pink tights as well.

"Wait," I stammer, "are those highlights in my hair?"

Poppy laughs at me, "Just get changed, Princess." After I'm in the dungarees and t-shirt Poppy hands me a baseball cap.

"I made this for my interview for the fashion course at South Manchester." I look at it; it reads 'Poppy's Girl" in light green writing.

"Really?" I ask.

"Well, they’ve offered me a place," she winks at me. There's so much I want to ask. GCSEs must be close, is it right that she's here with me instead of revising? Nothing comes out, however. I just fiddle with the hat for a while. Eventually I tie my hair into a ponytail and put the cap on.

"I'm proud to wear it," I say taking her hand. In the hallway Danielle, Jessie and Billy are waiting for me.

"We’d better be quick," says Danielle, "you don't want to miss the train and end up waiting around in the station for another hour." Poppy nods in agreement.

"Billy’s coming with us - apparently he has an effect on you." She doesn't sound too happy about it.

"I'm coming too," says Jessie and I notice she’s holding Billy's hand.

"Hey, that's jailbait," I say, gently mocking Jessie.

"Well, look who’s talking!" Jessie looks at both Poppy and me. "Anyway,” she says a little defensively, “I'm still fifteen till next month and Bill is fourteen so it doesn't matter too much." I smile and hug her. "Thank you for everything," then I turn to Billy, "And thank you too."

"Come on, Scooby Gang," Danielle says, "less of the emotions. We're not Americans!"

With that we get in the car. I get in the back followed by Billy because of the 'effect' he has on me. I catch Poppy and Jessie exchanging worried glances as he does. Billy’s followed by Poppy and then Jessie gets into the front. As we drive through dull looking suburban streets I take out Chloe's phone.

"Shit," I say, "there's a text from Lily." I read it out:

Lily: What time will you be home honey, do you want Edward to pick you up?

"Shit, shit, shit," I mumble. The text was sent nearly half an hour ago.

"Give it here," says Poppy. I do as I’m told and she types something into it. "We'll tell her you've gone over to Andi's," Poppy looks at me, "She’s been told to delay them as much as possible."

"We'll need to get rid of the phone, they’ll be able to track it," Danielle says from the front seat. Jessie takes it from Poppy.

"I'll get a ticket to London and then lose it somewhere," she tells us. We say goodbye on the station platform. I notice Billy and Jessie holding hands.

“Shut up!” says Jessie when she catches me looking, but I can see she’s smiling.

The train is fairly empty so Poppy and I have no trouble finding a place to sit. We’ve bought tickets to Birmingham New Street; from there we’ll get a train to Newport, then a bus to Swansea. Hopefully this way we’ll make it harder for them to track us.

The sun’s going down, bathing the English countryside in a red glow. I lean my head on Poppy’s shoulder feeling clearer, and happier, than I have in many months. Poppy strokes my hand then squeezes my fingers. Neither of us speaks; we don’t need to.

It is past midnight when our Megabus arrives in central Swansea. Greta is waiting for us. At first I don’t see her in the shadows as she is wearing black and grey but she comes into the light when we get closer.

We hug without saying anything, Greta squeezes me tight. She turns to Poppy and says, “The police have already called. They came over about two hours ago.”

“D’you think they suspect?” Poppy asks nervously.

“I told them Emma and I hardly know each other.” She smiles at me, “I think they bought the jealous daddy’s girl routine.”

“Are you sure they aren’t watching you?” Poppy asks.

“I drove around for a while before coming here. I didn’t see anyone following me. Julie says she has an unmarked police car parked outside the flat. I think they suspect you’ll make a break for Manchester.”

“That’s good news. Do you have it?” Poppy replies.

“Does she have what?” I look from Poppy to Greta. Greta pulls something that looks like a TV remote out of her handbag and points it at me. There’s a flash, everything goes blank, and then I’m back.

“What the hell was that?” I say, a little annoyed at being treated like an old DVD player. Greta smiles broadly.

“I just switched you to aeroplane mode.” She must see I’m still confused. “So they can’t track you like they did when you were kidnapped,” she explains. I got it from an IT expert in Birmingham. She works with the police sometimes so she knows her business. It’s actually a modified TV remote.” I’m a little shocked it hasn’t occurred to me before.

“Couldn’t they have been tracking me since we left?”

“It takes hours to scan an area the size of a county, what with all the noise from modems and mobile phones,” Greta says. “Hopefully you were out of the area before they started to look.”

I run my fingers through my newly cropped hair. It’s short again, and dyed silvery-blond. My roots are showing but Poppy calls it ‘punk’. Greta did it to help aid our escape. I can’t believe we’re leaving after less than twenty four hours.

I stand in front of Greta not knowing what to say. I want to thank her from the bottom of my heart, but I settle for a hug and a little sniffling. Poppy loads the larger rucksack on her back and grunts, “It’s time we got going.” She’s not been in a good mood as I’ve refused to sleep with her. I can’t put her in danger again.

“Where are we going?” I ask Poppy for the thousandth time. She just shakes her head and smiles to herself.

“I can’t tell you. It’s for your own protection.” She turns away; I let her have this little victory as a peace offering.

We take two small buses, firstly to Carmarthen and then on to Milford Haven. The sun is up over the sea and we sit in silence watching the calm water. Poppy holds my hand and I know the fight is over. I turn and smile at her. I am free, but it may not last long so I’m going to enjoy every moment. Poppy ruffles my hair.

“I guess I’m going to have to give in,” she whispers in my ear.

“What?”

“I’m fighting a losing battle,” I turn a little and see that she’s smiling, “you’re always going to be a bit of a tomboy.” She kisses me just behind the ear and right there, right then, I’d happily abandon my ‘no sex’ policy. I look around and see an elderly lady watching us while she pops pick-and-mix in her gob. What a way to kill the mood, lady.

At Milford Haven we have half an hour before the next bus to Aberystwyth. We buy bacon balms and sit in the bus shelter. A light rain is blowing from the Atlantic. We watch a pair of seagulls fighting over half a bag of chips, probably left over from last night.

The next bus is more crowded. Poppy says we should go to the top floor, where we’ll get a better view over the sea. There’s a group of boys, school kids, sitting up front who watch us closely as we head up the stairs and to the back. It’s strange to realise that there are people living their normal lives. I feel like we’re characters in a computer game who have wondered out of our normal zones of activity and I keep expecting a glitch to spring us back where we should be. The boys are loud and energetic, but thankfully they leave us alone. They’re throwing crisps at each other and play-wrestling.

“Come on, Pops, where are we going?” I ask, watching her looking out of the window.

“Fancy something to read?” she replies, changing the subject. I roll my eyes.

“Go on, then, what have you got?” I ask and she pulls out two graphic novels; she gives ‘Alice in Sunderland’ by Bryan Talbot to me and keeps ‘The Sandman’ by Neil Gaiman for herself. As the bus chugs along I feel my eyes getting drowsy. What with everything I haven’t slept properly since Oxfordshire. Poppy has to nudge me to stop me falling out of my chair asleep. I smile at her and try to right myself but as soon as I do I feel my eyelids going again.

“Mark, Mark, can you hear me?” It’s a woman’s voice, one I recognise but can’t place; somewhere in the background I can hear other voices, “Mark, stay with us. Don’t go.”
I sit up with a bolt realising that I’ve been resting my head on Poppy’s shoulder. “Did you hear someone,” I say groggily. She just looks at me and shakes her head.

From Aberystwyth we head to Caernarfon and then on to Bangor. By now we’ve covered the whole of Cardigan Bay, always taking small local services. In Bangor we wait for the ferry to take us across the water to Anglesey. I am nervous as we wait on the walkway. We watch two men talking as the ferry pulls in to dock. There is a loud bang as the ferry and the walkway meet, then another one as they start to let the cars on board.

We watch the tops of the cars from above. Yet more people living their lives, blissfully unaware of the crazy shit going on in mine. I glance up at the two workmen, praying they let us on quickly. In my mind I imagine police jumping out at any minute. On the buses I felt safe, hidden in the ordinariness of everything. I couldn’t imagine a SWAT team jumping out from behind the woman with the Aldi shopping bags. Here however it feels unreal, transient: the perfect place for an ambush.

“Ever been to Anglesey before?” Poppy asks.

“In the last year of primary school. All the schools in the area organised a getaway for the kids about to graduate to secondary school. Kind of an icebreaker. It was at some adventure awayday centre,” I shrug. “It rained. A lot.”

“Hey, I went to that. I wonder if we were there at the same time,” she says excitedly. “Oh,” she adds as she realises, “Sorry. I forgot. It wasn’t even the same decade.”

“Shall we go outside?” I suggest, wanting to change the subject. The salt and the cold air fills my nostrils and we lean against the railing. On the horizon I can see a blue light pulsing. “What do you think that is?” I ask.

“What?” Poppy looks at me.

“The blue light. Is it a beacon, or a ship or something?” I look at her, the wind’s blowing the fringe of her hair into her face. Again I’m ready to chuck away the damned ‘no sex’ policy.

“I don’t see anything,” she says. I look back and the light has gone.

“It must have been a ship that’s moved away.” Poppy turns and says she wants to go back inside. I look back at the sea for one last time but the blue light hasn’t come back. “Funny, I thought I could hear a siren,” I mutter, mostly to myself.

I get a surprise as we walk off the ferry. A pleasant one. Standing there are Esse, Peter, Paddy and Tony. Standing behind them is Noah with some girl I don’t recognise.

“What!” I exclaim, I turn to Poppy and punch her playfully on the arm. “You cow,” I say, but I’m laughing.

“Is this ok?” Poppy is nervous.

“Of course!” I grab her hand, kiss her cheek and start dragging her towards the group. Within minutes I’m covered in hugs and hellos. Esse half lifts me up off the ground. I notice she and Peter are standing very close together.

Noah drives us in a rented VW van - a proper ‘Scooby Gang’. Esse talks excitedly about where we will be staying.

“It’s a cabin Noah’s dad owns, it is sooo cool!” she states,looking around the van. “We’re on a study break.” I smile as she goes through all the gossip from school and the band. Study leave? Of course they wont be going back to school until they take their GCSEs now. I feel oddly disconnected. Their lives are continuing, but what will happen to me? Will I still be going to school as Chloe when they’re all off at university?

It hits me that this could be the last time I get to be Emma and keep something of Mark alive. No doubt they will catch me, and when they do they’ll make sure Chloe takes over completely. There’s only one thing for it -party!

The cabin is located on a small, run down holiday park near the sea. The park is mostly dark, it being the off-season. In the distance I can see lights on the ocean. Ships travelling between Liverpool and Dublin perhaps? I keep an eye out for the blue light but it doesn’t reappear.

Noah takes my rucksack and introduces me to his girlfriend Christina. She seems nice, looking sporty in her rugby top. The booze flows freely and the music is loud. I’m glad the park is empty or we’d have the police down on us. Esse, Poppy and me hug as we sing along to Tom Waits.

“When I see the 5 o'clock news
I don't wanna grow up,”
We shout every second line.
“Comb their hair and shine their shoes
I don't wanna grow up
Stay around in my old hometown
I don't wanna put no money down
I don't wanna get me a big old loan
Work them fingers to the bone
I don't wanna float a broom
Fall in love and get married then boom
How the hell did it get here so soon
I don't wanna grow up”

We hold our drinks up in the air as we sing the last line, everyone joining in. After it finishes Esse and Peter pour over the iphone deciding on the next track. In the distance I hear what sounds like a police siren.

“Hey, did anyone else hear that?” I ask, my heart in my mouth.

“Hear what?” asks Paddy, glugging on a can of Red Stripe.

“I thought I heard a police car,” I say, feeling Poppy put her hand in mine. I look around; all the others shake their heads.

“It was probably on the main road. It must have passed by now,” Noah reassures me.

“Yeah sure,” I say trying to calm down. Poppy puts her arm around me and the party starts again.

“Hey someone get this girl a drink,” Poppy says and the tension in the room dissolves. Tony hands me a vodka and coke and I drink it down in one go. Once I’m finished Paddy hands me a Red Stripe. A few drinks later and the room’s getting fuzzy. I can hear Poppy and Esse laughing about something. Esse says something to me but I don’t understand. I need to get to the toilet, and quick. I get up off the couch and lurch forward but the room takes a spin and I fall over. I can hear everyone talking at me but I can’t focus on their voices. It is all turning to static. Everything goes black, and then everything goes white.

“Hello Mark – my, how you’ve changed.” It’s the same voice as the one I heard on the bus earlier. I’m lying on a white floor in a completely white room. The woman speaking to me kneels down so her face is in front of mine.

“Carly?” I stammer at the woman I was with the night I was shot. “Is that you?”

“Yes Mark, it’s me,” she says in her friendly South London accent. She smiles warmly at me as I pull myself up.

“It’s been a long time,” I say rubbing the back of my head. I realise I’m wearing some sort of white surgical gown. My body looks even smaller and more fragile in it. How long had I been here, and anyway, where is here?

“What are you doing here, Carly?” I ask. I run my hands down my body checking it is all there. Am I wearing anything under this gown?

“Well, you see, Mark, I’m being paid a hell of a lot to be here.” She smiles; her smile isn’t an unkind one.

“Paid by whom?” My head is spinning. “To do what?”

“Why, to welcome you to Palo Alto, of course.” The room seems to be glowing then my vision blurs and it is all over.

Thank you everyone who has stuck with this story. Especially those of you who have left comments or sent me messages. To Robyn, Chris and Emily who all proof read, provided support and acted as sounding boards to all my crazy ideas.

I hope this, the final chapter, does justice to you all and to Emma and the gang.

Part 10

The glow subsides and I see a door has opened up at the other end of the white room, through which a youngish man enters. He wears a white turtleneck sweater with white jeans.

“Hello Emma, it’s so nice to finally meet you,” he says, smiling in an ostensibly friendly manner yet somehow making me feel uneasy. His expression reminds me of a hungry dog. I try to get up off the floor but find I can’t move. All I can do is stay there kneeling.

“Thank you, Carly,” he says, turning to her. “Could you fetch Emma a drink please?”

Carly turns to me and asks if I’d like water and I just nod. If I can drink water here does that mean this place is real? After Carly has left the man kneels down so his face is only a few inches above me.

“You know, Emma, I think Carly’s very talented. It’s so hard for artists to make their way in the world today. So few people think they have to pay for music nowadays.” He stands up again and starts walking around, pacing as he speaks.

“Have you ever read ‘Brave New World’ by Aldous Huxley? Huxley was a very smart man, much smarter than George Orwell.” He looks at me to see if I’m following; I just stare back, unable to speak. “You see, Huxley understood that it’s easier and more efficient to control people by offering them what they think they want. Who would have thought you could persuade ‘the people’ to stop paying themselves wages for creative work?”

As the man talks the room appears to be coming into focus. A desk with an expensive looking Mac computer appears, one wall reveals itself to be wholly made up of glass. Outside is a forest made up of ancient looking oaks and pine trees. We seem to be high up in the roof of the forest canopy.

“Anyway,” the man finishes, “where are my manners? You don’t look very comfortable.” He presses a couple of buttons on the computer and suddenly I can move again. I get up realising I’m now dressed in what looks like a Sixties ‘Op-Art’-style mini dress.

“What can I say? I’ve always loved the look of those Brit girls back then,” he smiles at me. “Groovy, baby!” I wince at his bad British accent and he extends his hand to me.

“Emma, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Martin Cerberia. This,” he gestures to the room around me, “is my company.”

“Am I really here?” I say, more to myself than in expectation of an answer. Carly renters the room and hands me a glass of water. I take a sip. There's no point worrying about being drugged now. It tastes cold and refreshing.

“The water tastes great up here,” Carly says as she watches me drain the glass.

“Where is ‘here’?” I ask. “You haven’t actually told me.”

“Here is wherever you want it to be, Emma,” Martin sits on the edge of the desk.

“You don’t have to worry,” says Carly, ”Martin wants to offer you a deal.”

Suddenly the room changes. It’s filled with a flashing blue light and somewhere in the distance I can hear a siren - an ambulance, I think? As quickly as it changed, it changes back.

“What was that?” I ask.

“We don’t know,” Martin answers for both of them. “You tell us?”

I think for a moment. “It sounds like just after I was shot. All day I’ve been hearing sirens and seeing lights.” I turn to Carly. “I heard your voice,” I state.

Martin strokes his chin, “It sounds like Mark has something he wants to tell you.”

“Are you going to tell me this has all been a dream? That I’m lying in a street in Shoreditch moments away from dying?”

Martin looks me in the eyes. He has attractive grey eyes, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m a bunny looking into the eyes of a hawk.

“Do you know there are scientists who believe that, in all likelihood, we are all living in a huge computer simulation of a civilization that died out thousands of years ago? They think that this is the ultimate fate of all advanced civilizations, and that statistically it is more likely we are part of the simulation rather then the ones who created it.”

I scratch my arm, feeling the chill from what I assume must be the air-conditioning, “That doesn’t really answer my question.”

“Carly said I was going to offer you a deal and here it is, Emma.” He stands up and comes over to me; I step back a little, stumbling in the heels strapped to my feet.

“Do you know who you are, Emma?”

“I’ve had a long time to think about it,” - I really have - “and I think I’m really Emma now. Mark’s a part of me, but only that. I’m certainly not Chloe.”

“That’s very sweet, Emma, and of course you’re right,” Martin says, moving forward with a slightly crazed look in his eyes.

“Martin, perhaps you should give Emma some space?” Carly says, her voice uncertain. He just waves her away.

“You, Emma, are the birth of AI.”

“What?” I stop moving backwards. I am perplexed. “Artificial intelligence?”

“Yes.” Martin shrugs his shoulders as if he thinks it’s obvious. “AI is the next big prize in science. Imagine if we could achieve it? We’ve got so close with the New Body project. We’ve created programs that can seem almost alive, and we’ve been able to load someone’s memories and personality into a new body. But to create a whole new person, someone who can learn and grow, respond to events in a wholly unpredictable manner is new. You, Emma, are the nearest we’ve come.” He grabs my arms in his much larger hands.

“Ow!” I say meekly, “You’re hurting me.” I can feel tears starting to run down my cheek. Just behind Martin I can see Carly’s worried looking face.

“Martin,” she says, “perhaps you should put Emma down?” Her voice is shaking. Clearly she wasn’t expecting this. He stops and seems to be thinking for a moment.

“Yes, of course.” He lets me go, walks back around the desk and sits down at the computer.

“So here’s the deal, Emma.” He presses a button and suddenly I can hear the sounds of people around me. A male voice is asking what happened and I can hear Carly crying. “You can go back to being Mark now and take your chances or you can live here as Emma.” His smile has gone; he looks deadly serious.

“Martin, that wasn’t the deal we talked about!” Carly exclaims, clearly shocked. “What about her family, her friends?”

“Shut up,” Martin says bluntly, Carly looks like she’s been slapped. “I’m not paying you for your opinion.” I ball my fists, wondering if I could get to the door before Martin can stop me. But what’s beyond there? Is this even a real place? Is this a computer program?

“It would be a comfortable place for you to live.” He gets up and starts walking towards me. I feel myself changing again. I look down and see that I’m now wearing a Playboy bunny outfit “We could have lots of fun...” The smile on his face makes me feel sick.

“You pervert!” I hear Carly scream. She comes up behind Martin and smacks him hard over the head with the computer keyboard. He crumples over on the floor. “Emma, run!” she shouts. I don’t need telling twice. I turn and I flee towards to the door. The last thing I see is Carly pushing over the computer. There is a terrible crash as I haul open the door. As I stumble through everything turns white.

“Emma! Emma! Wake up, please!” My head is spinning. Everything’s a blur as I try to sit up.

“Oh, thank God!” I feel two arms being flung around me. I recognise the voice as Poppy’s.

“Poppy!” My sight is clearing. I’m on the floor of the cabin on Anglesey with Poppy and the others standing around me. “Poppy, we have to run. They’re nearly here!” I jump up and grab her hand. I can see the shocked and panicked looking faces of the others. As I pull Poppy out of the cabin I can already hear the sound of helicopters in the distance.

“We have to get to the trees,” I urge, pointing to the small line of trees on the edge of the park. Poppy speeds up pulling me along with her. We reach the trees just in time. I turn back and see the park bathed in searchlights coming from the helicopters above. I see a group of men dragging the others out of the cabin. Noah is shouting something at one of them, who has grabbed Christina. I smile as I see her lashing out, kicking her captor in the balls.

We crash through the bushes and the undergrowth. I almost scream out when Poppy pulls me into a ditch, but she puts a hand over my mouth. Still holding her hand there she pulls us both into a space under an old tree. The rain has washed away much of the soil around its roots. There's a small space we can hide in. Silently she points upwards. I look and see the backs of two men carrying flashlights. If they were to turn and shine their torches at us we’d be discovered. Thankfully someone shouts something and they move on.

Slowly she releases her hand from my mouth, motioning for me not to talk. I just nod in agreement as I think of the others. I hope they’re all alright? The ditch turns out to be the bed of a small stream, little more than a trickle really. We follow it down the hill and away from all the noise. Eventually it leads us to the edge of a small country road.

“We can follow the road,” Poppy says. She continues to grip my hand like both our lives depend on it. I want to tell her how much it means to have her here by my side, but now is not the time.

“We should stay off the road, that’s where they’ll check first,” I say. “I think there was a petrol station a couple of miles in that direction,” I point across the field. “If we can get to it we might be able to hitch a lift.”

Poppy nods and we set off over the field. From a car most fields look pretty flat. It’s only when you’re fleeing over one in the middle of the night that you realise how uneven they are. I slip and tumble over. My face breaks my fall.

“Are you okay?” she asks, lifting me up.

“Yes, I think so.” I can see in the distance the helicopters are searching in the wrong place. One of the others must have sent them in the wrong direction. Whoever it was, I could kiss them. They won’t be fooled for long but it could give us the time we need.

“You’ve cut your lip,” Poppy tells me, wiping dirt from my face. “It’s going to swell up.” I take her hand and we start off again. We have an advantage but it wont last for long.

It seems to take forever before we get to the petrol station. When we do, we hang around the edge watching. One car pulls up but nerves get the better of us and we don’t go out. It’s another ten or more minutes before someone else arrives. I can hear the helicopters getting closer. We’re just going to have to try the next one and hope for the best.

The next vehicle to arrive is a truck, probably coming from the Holyhead ferry. On the side it has a picture of a cow and the writing mentions something about butter. Poppy goes first and I follow after. In the artificial light of the station I realise what a mess we look. Poppy has mud all down one side of her jeans.

“Hey,” she says to the lorry driver, who looks tired and unshaven. “Can you give us a lift?” The man looks us up and down. When he speaks he has a strong Irish accent.

“And where would you two be going at this time of night?”

“Anywhere, just off the island,” then, perhaps sensing the man needs to know more, she adds, “We’re heading to Manchester.” The man just nods, focusing on finishing filling his tank.

“And what about your shy friend there?” he asks, nodding towards me. I move closer so he can see me. There’s no point trying to hide. There are probably cameras all over the station but it would take them an age to get the video and by then we’d be long gone.

“What happened to you?” he points to my cut lip. I’m guessing I have bruises as well.

Before I can answer Poppy speaks, “Her dad did it,” she says, taking me by the hand, “when he found out about us.”

My heart’s in my mouth as she squeezes my hand. For a moment I’m sure she’s said the wrong thing then the man speaks, “My old da' used to knock me about me as well,” his voice is kind and full of sympathy. He finishes with the petrol pump and then puts it back in its holder.

He turns and opens the truck door, “Get in,” he says, “I can take you as far as Crewe. You'll be able to get a lift the rest of the way to Manchester from there.” He waves away our thank yous and adds, “do you want anything from the shop?”

“No, but thank you so much!” I say gratefully.

“Maybe some chocolate for Emma, she needs it for the shock,” Poppy says unexpectedly.

The man smiles, “Aye, that would be about right. Coffee?” I just nod. “My name’s Colin.” Poppy introduces us both. As we pull out the first of the helicopters reaches the station and Colin turns to me.

“Just who the hell is your dad?”

It’s nearly six am by the time we arrive outside a dark, foreboding Victorian house in Sale. The businessman, Stuart, who drops us off looks bleary eyed and thanks us for keeping him awake. He’s heading back to his young family in Preston. We go up to the front door. From the list of names in the buzzer I see the house is split into a number of different flats. Poppy pulls out a loose brick in the garden wall and retrieves a key.

“Julia set this place up when we came up with the plan to rescue you. We can lie low here.”

We go around the back and open the door to the basement flat. The roof is low and the flat is dark. When Poppy flicks the lights on, I see it’s little more than a bedsit. There’s a mattress on raised platform for a bed, but there’s no bedding. There is also a little table with two seats and a small kitchen. I crash on the bed realising I haven’t slept properly since Swansea. Poppy disappears into the kitchen and comes back with a ‘burner’ style mobile phone. She plugs the charger into a wall socket and then begins charging it. Then she comes and lies next to me on the bed. I put my head on her shoulder and we hug. Neither of us speaks.

I must have dozed off because when I wake up the sun has risen. Poppy is sitting on the edge of the bed typing something into the phone.

“What are you doing?” She jumps a little when I speak.

“Just texting Julia,” she replies, turning to me. “She’s driving around trying to make sure no one is following her.”

The thought of seeing Julia fills me with hope. It seems such a long time since we were together. The minutes seem to pass extra slowly. We left our bags behind in the cabin when we fled so I have nothing to distract me. I try to go back to sleep but, although I feel tired, I can’t. Eventually, after what seems an age, I hear a quiet knock at the door. Poppy gets up and goes and looks through the spyhole.

“It’s her,” she says and I relax. I see Julia before she sees me. She looks tired, her face lined with worry. Her pregnancy is much more visible now. The tired look disappears when she catches sight of me. We almost run to each other and hug. I’m crying as she squeezes me tightly.

“I am so sorry.” Julia is in tears as well. “I should have never let them take you!”

Julia and Poppy let me do the talking. I tell them all about Palo Alto, Martin and Carly. When I’m finished they look at each other but no one speaks for some time.

“It must be a computer program,” Poppy says.

“I remember something the doctor said,” Julia speaks slowly, as if carefully recreating the conversation in her head, “When you were in the hospital after the shooting. He said your consciousness, Mark’s that is, would have to be sent to some sort of central computer.” She goes quiet and Poppy and I both look at her. “Maybe that’s where you were?” We talk for what seems like hours. Julia shows me the growing bump of her pregnancy. I touch it feeling the life moving inside.

“It’s a boy,” she says. “We’re thinking of calling him Mark.” I start crying again.

“There’s something else I need to tell you,” Julia says, looking uneasy. She pauses and I wonder what she is going to say. “Richard and I are thinking about getting married.” She stops and looks at me. I realise she’s waiting for me to say something.

So here it is - my ex-wife asking me permission to marry another man. Only he’s not another man, or at least he’s a man but I’m not. And she isn’t really my ex-wife, only the wife in the memories that this body, that ‘I’, inherited.

“I think that’s bloody marvellous!” I realise all three of us are crying. Frigging girls!

I feel Julia sag with relief, “Oh thank you, thank you, I’m so happy!” she exclaims, hugging me tight. “I’ve been worrying about what you’d say for ages.” A part of me feels sad, but not about losing Julia. I feel sad because in all likelihood I won't get to see Richard and Julia married and settled. Neither will I get to see little Mark.

“I want you to be one of my bridesmaids!” Julia blurts out. “You too, Poppy. I might have to ask my friend Abi to be my maid of honour though, we’ve been friends since university.”

I hardly have time to contemplate if Lily and Edward or this Martin figure will let me attend when there’s a loud banging at the door, making us all jump. Poppy creeps to the spyhole again. A woman’s voice comes from the other side of the door.

“I know you’re in there, I can see your shadow moving across the spyhole.” Poppy curses.

“Let me in,” says the woman, “I only want to talk. It’s just me, I’m alone.” I look at Julia - she shakes her head no and Poppy does the same.

“I can have a team here in five minutes, it won’t take them long to get through the door. There’s no other way out of the flat.” I look at the windows. Like so many basement flats, they have iron bars on them to keep thieves out. Surely there should be a fire escape? Typical dodgy landlord! Again Poppy shakes her head but I nod mine.

“We’re going to have to do this some time,” I tell Julia and Poppy; they both look scared. “We can’t run forever.” I can’t keep letting other people hide me. I won't put them in danger. This ends here and now.”

As Poppy opens the door, Julia pushes me behind her, “I wont let them take my daughter, not again,” she whispers, mostly to herself I think.

The woman, who refers to herself as Ms Peters, sits on one of the chairs next to the small table with her briefcase leaning next to her feet. She’s a handsome woman somewhere in her forties. We sit on the bed, Julia and Poppy positioning themselves so they’re between Ms Peters and myself. It is as if they’re expecting her to lunge at me.

“First of all Emma, let me say how sorry I am about the way Martin treated you, Carly told me everything.” She pulls her leather gloves off and places them neatly on the table. They look out of place next to her business skirt-suit. Her voice has a mid-Atlantic accent, slightly more British than American.

“I don’t want that bastard anywhere near me again,” I clench my fists together, my knuckles turning white.

“Martin isn’t really a bad man,” Ms Peters sighs, I have the feeling this isn’t the first time she’s had to apologise for him, “but he is a little obsessed by the idea of AI. He’s been waiting a long time to meet you. He believes you hold the key.”

“So Lily and Edward were going to sell me to you?” I watch her face closely but her expression gives little away.

“Mr Livingston was, I’m afraid, yes. He recognised early on that you weren’t Chloe and saw a way to profit from the situation.” I note a certain amount of disgust in her voice. “Mrs Livingstone sadly saw you as her lost daughter. I suspect the two of them are having a pretty frank discussion right now.”

I feel bad for Lily. She’s mad as a box of frogs, but who wouldn’t be if they’d lost a child? I look over at Julia’s bump and know immediately I’d do anything for that kid. I also think of Tim and how sad he must feel losing his twin.

“Now Emma, I have a deal for you,” she continues. She watches me for a reaction but I try not to give anything away. “A deal that could see you living with Julia again. We’ll even pay to age your body, and sort out the legal side.” She turns to look at Poppy, “I think sixteen would be an appropriate age.” Poppy blushes.

“How would that work?” Julia asks using her lawyer’s voice. I suspect that, like me, she feels the deal sounds too good to be true.

Ms Peters picks up her expensive looking briefcase and places it on a table before carefully taking out a small key and unlocking it. The latches on the briefcase make a snapping sound as she undoes them. She then takes out a small folder and hands it to Julia.

I watch Julia’s face; it looks like she doesn’t believe that what she’s holding is real. It’s made up of several sheets of paper held together by a silver paperclip. Poppy and I watch in silence as Julia flips through the pages. From the corner of my eye I can see Ms Peters watching us intently. Finally Julia makes a grunting noise and passes the document to me and Poppy. I can see anger flaring up in her eyes.

“So, what you have is a contract, signed by Edward Livingston, for all intents and purposes ‘selling’ Emma to your company.” Julia’s eyes never leave Ms Peters, not for one second.

“How is that even possible? They can’t just do that. I’m a person, a human.” I look from Julia to Ms Peters and back again.

“Technically, you’re correct of course,” says Ms Peters seemingly unfazed by all the attention. “However what this document here does,” handing another slim folder to Julia, “is declare Emma mentally unfit and puts her in our care. It says, Emma, that the Chloe programming has failed and that, as such you would no longer be classed as a full person. Once Martin had his hands on you I’m afraid he would have been able to program you to say, or do, whatever he felt necessary to keep you under his control.”

“You monster!” Poppy yells, speaking for the first time. Ms Peters shakes her head.

“I am not Martin.” She puts a hand up to silence Poppy then turns to look at me. “Emma, I have worked in this industry for many years and I’ve seen what some men will do to a young woman. Just take a look at any hard core gaming site if you don’t believe me. Many are what most people would call nerds and either they have little experience of women and see us as objects, or they’ve built up anger issues. Whatever else you may think of me, you should know I have no intention of letting you fall into the hands of someone like that.” I see something, an emotion, flicker across Ms Peter’s face and I wonder if there’s a story there. “You used to work in the music industry when you were Mark, so you may know something about what I mean?” I drop my head; I’ve heard the stories.

“My offer is this, Emma. As you know we believe that your unique circumstances may provide us with the opportunity at a major breakthrough in AI technology. In return for your agreeing to attend one of our research facilities once a month for the next two years...” she sees Julia beginning to protest, “...with proper parent / guardian supervision of course, we will sort out the legal side of things so you can live the rest of your life as Emma Riley, the daughter of Julia Riley. We will see that you are legally classed as a sixteen year old and once our experiments are finished in two years time you will be free to go and live your life. We’ll even pay for regular counselling sessions, to make sure you’re given the support you need.”

Julia and Poppy look at me, “How do I know you won't re-program me to get me to agree to spending even longer with you?” I ask warily.

Ms Peters takes yet more documents out of her briefcase and hands them to Julia, “This is our contract, you’ll see that we stipulate the removal of all control elements.”

My counsellor lives in West Didsbury. When Mark was in his twenties West Didsbury was bedsitter territory, now it has become a mini ‘Primrose-Hill-of-the-North’ with boutiques, trendy bars and high house prices. I take the tram over after school; Julia always offers to drive me but I prefer to have the thinking time. Anyway she has her arms full with baby Mark and the twins. As usual I arrive early and find myself walking around the streets several times. The inviting shops and the leafy tree lined avenues seem at odds with my feelings of trepidation.

As Emma I seem to have a preoccupation with being on time, unlike Mark. I knock gingerly on the front door of Miriam’s house and practice. I can hear her moving around in the corridor. Part of me wants to bolt but I stay. Then the door is opened and it’s too late.

“Hello, Emma.” Miriam’s voice is bright and welcoming. She’s a tall woman; her height makes me feel even younger and more foolish. I realise I’m still in my school uniform and wish I’d brought a change of clothing.

“Shall we go through?” she asks. The usual greetings such as ‘how are you?’, ‘how was your week?’ are suspended until the session has started. I sit on the sofa. She sits in the chair opposite me. Looking around the room I see a large cuddly bear and some children’s drawing materials. They remind me that Miriam deals mainly with young children.

The first half of the session passes easily enough. I talk mostly about Poppy. I can see she approves of her, often praising the way she has supported me. About halfway through she changes tack.

“So Emma, I was contacted by Mr,” she looks down at her notes for the first time, “Hulse. He told me there was an incident at school?” I nod; I’ve been dreading this. “You’ve just started the new school year...” This is an open ended statement and at first I don’t say anything. She just looks at me silently. Her quiet patience makes me anxious and I have to fill the void.

“A car backfired during P.E.” Still silence from her. “I guess it made me jump.”

“And what did the car signify to you?” she asks, smiling calmly. I want to say it signified a car backfiring, but my need to please kicks in. I struggle to think.

“The car,” I shudder a little and my voice goes quiet, “the one they bundled me into…” my voice trails off.

“Your kidnapping, the one back in autumn last year. ” Again this is both a statement and a question. I nod and once more the silence descends.

“It’s funny,” I start speaking almost without knowing it, “but that was when I started truly feeling like Emma. I mean, not just accepting I was in Emma’s body but feeling as if Emma was me.” She smiles again, the smile that I know means she wants me to go on. “I had to accept that my new body, the size the… gender now was part of what defined me. At least to others.”

Miriam leans in, “And that must have been very frightening, she says.” I’ve started crying. Damn that woman, she has me in tears every time.

“There are lots of times when I’m very happy with being Emma.” I state, a little defensively.

“When are those?” she asks, her voice soft and reassuring. I stifle the tears.

“When I’m with Poppy...” Miriam nods; she knows our relationship is physical since I legally turned sixteen over the summer. “When Julia holds me as her daughter. When I’m playing with Oscar and Alfie. Hanging out with Greta and her boyfriend. When I’m with the band.” It dawns on me how much I like being Emma. The tears have dried up.

“Did you ever want to be a girl back when you were Mark?” Miriam’s question blindsides me.

“No.” My mind is blank. “I mean... I think most teenage boys wonder what it’s like. Especially if you’re shy, I think you can be envious of girls having guys ask them out and not having to do the asking.” I’m rambling, but suddenly something hits me. “I think, after my mum and dad died - Mark’s mum and dad,” I clarify, “I think I envied the way women could talk about their emotions,” Miriam nods, “and that they could show weakness without being ridiculed.”

It’s the end of the school day and the second week back. I am borne out of the gates by the throng of excited pupils. Their voices are loud with the gossip of summer and the strangeness of the new term. I turn left at the gates and walk towards the entrance of South Manchester College. It’ll be another hour before Poppy and our friends are let out so I head towards our rendezvous point, behind the bike shed.

It’s still odd, Poppy, Esse, Pete and the gang being at college while I’m stuck in school for another year. I have to be grateful they let me take the end of last year off as a sabbatical and redo my GCSE year now. I feel self-conscious standing there in my school uniform so I take off my tie and fasten my duffel coat closed in the hope it disguises the uniform. I needn’t have worried. A couple of lads look my way but no one really pays me any attention.

My phone starts vibrating in my bag and it takes me a few moments to find it. There’s a text from Tim. I open it to see a selfie of him, Jessie and Billy. Behind them is water and spots of rain have got onto the lens. They must have taken Tim’s rowing boat out on the Thames. I smile at how closely Billy and Jessie’s heads are pressed together. While the boys are looking directly into the phone Jessie is looking sideways at Billy. She is clearly very happy. I save the picture in my phone next to a photo of Noah and Christina hanging out with their friends Robi and Emily at my sixteenth birthday party. I stroke the edge of the picture feeling happy.

Poppy creeps up behind me, grabbing me by the waist. I nearly jump out of my skin, but when I turn around I find myself falling easily into her arms.

“Hey you,” I say softly, “How’s your day been?” She just grins, leans in and kisses me. I can feel the rough brick of the bike shed against my back. Her hands squeeze my buttocks making me groan.

“Fancy a puff?” she asks, pulling out a pre-rolled joint.

“We don’t have time. We've got to get back to try on our bridesmaid’s dresses, and then the others are coming over,” I admonish her. Julia and Richard are taking the twins down to Birmingham tonight to spend some time with one of Julia’s friends. We walk back to the new house slowly.

“Does it feel weird to be going back to school?” Poppy asks.

“At first.” I think for a little while then add, “I was worried how the other kids would treat me but they seem okay.” I think most of them see me as some sort of celebrity, the girl who was kidnapped twice in one year. They don’t know the full story of course, which lends me an air of mystery amongst my classmates.

“And the counselling’s still going well?” Poppy looks closely at me forcing me to turn away.

“Yeah, it helps,” I mumble. I still don’t feel up to talking about it. The counselling sessions are tough. My emotions feel raw for a long time afterwards. But I haven’t had any panic attacks recently and my general anxiety level seems to be down.

“Hey, we’re home!” I call out as we come through the front door. The twins come tearing down the stairs. Alfie is wearing an Ironman costume and Oscar is Spiderman. Both are those costumes with the fake muscles. They make them look strange, like miniature body builders. Oscar shouts something at me then jumps. I catch him and manage to lift him up for a few seconds before staggering backwards.

“I’m going to get you, Ironman!” Poppy shouts in her best bad-guy voice. Alfie screams in delight and hurtles off in the direction of the living room.

The living room is a strange mix of different styled furniture. It combines a mix of Julia's and Richard's old stuff, plus a load of new crap bought from Ikea. Everything is still in flux since the move just under a month ago.

“Hey girls!” I hear Julia’s voice from the conservatory. Julia comes into the room, carrying baby Mark in her arms as I dump my bag next to the sofa. I think she looks radiant as I take little Markie from her arms and cradle him in mine.

“Are you ready to try on your dresses?” Poppy looks excited while inside I share Alfie and Oscar’s groans.

While Poppy looks at her dress, Julia takes me to one side, “I want to give you something,” she says. I just look at her not knowing what she’s talking about. “Come with me,” she adds, taking Mark back and then grabbing me by the hand. “You’re okay looking after the boys for five minutes, aren’t you?” she asks Poppy.

“Who fancies Skyliners?” Poppy asks the boys, who jump up cheering and dash over to the games consul.

Julia leads me up the stairs and into her and Richard’s room. It is a mess with piles of clothing on the floor. I notice that the pile of Julia’s clothes is more than twice the size of Richard's. Some things never change. I watch how carefully she places Little Mark in his crib. He looks up at us both gurgling and smiling. Perhaps it is just wind?

“Come over here,” Julia says, gesturing for me to come join her at the dressing table. Looking out of the window I can see the kids from next door playing in their front garden. She sits down on the little chair and then scoots over a little to make space for me to join her. I can feel the warmth of her body as I squeeze in next to her.

“Look what I found as we were unpacking.” She holds up a small silver necklace. I recognise it as her grandmother’s necklace. “My mother gave me this, and it was her mother’s before that.” I nod silently as I watch the silver bird swinging in the late sun. She turns to me and smiles.

“Now I want it to be yours,” she says.

“No, I can’t...” I shake my head, trying to get the thought out of my head as if it might bite.

“Yes you can,” she says softly as she takes my hand and places the necklace in my palm. She closes my fingers around it and speaks passionately. “You’re my daughter. The child of Mark and me, the man I loved.” Her voice softens. Has she’s noticed that I am crying? “I want this to stay in my family, and you are my family.” We hug for several minutes.

“Do you want a few moments to compose yourself before coming down?” Julia asks. I nod, smiling at her and trying to stifle a sniffle.

“I’m going to wear this at your wedding,” I say. She strokes my cheek, wiping away a tear.

I feel a little like a dress up doll as Julia and Poppy try to get me into the lilac bridesmaid dress. They’ve found mutual ground in making their own clothes and embarrassing me.

“I can’t believe it, I’m going to have to take it in again,” Julia mutters. “You’re very lucky with your weight.” She and Poppy exchange looks of mild annoyance.

Peter and Esse arrive just before Julia, Richard and the boys leave. The house is in chaos as Richard tries to herd the twins into the car and Julia runs around stuffing items into a bag.

“You’re only going for two nights,” I admonish her. She ignores me before turning white. “Underwear, I forgot the boy’s underwear!” she mutters as she rushes upstairs.

Esse, Pete, Poppy and me sit in the lounge watching the chaos around us. Richard comes up to me; he looks tired from the battle of getting the boys in their car seats. He only managed it by agreeing to let them wear their Star Wars onesies. Baby Mark is strapped to his chest in one of those baby carrier things.

“Everything okay?” I ask. He runs his hands through his greying hair.

“Nearly there,” he sighs, pulling out his wallet and handing me forty pounds. “Here’s some money for pizza,” he says. “There’s also a couple of crates of beer in the fridge,” he adds, lowering his voice. I take the money as everyone says thanks. I know for a fact Poppy has a bottle of vodka in her bag and suspect Esse and Peter have brought something too.

As Richard calls for Julia I spot a text, this time from Lily. It is polite and to the point, saying she’s looking forward to visiting Manchester for another day out and thanking me for staying in touch. Poppy and Julia are not best pleased I’ve kept up communication with her. I just see the tired, broken woman from the second set of court hearings. Chloe’s a part of me and she’s still Chloe’s mum. I remember how sad and beaten she looked as Edward was charged. How I’d caught them arguing in the corridor, with Edward called her a bitch for filing for divorce. How she had cried when she saw me.

“Okay, then,” Julia says, popping her head around the door, “I think that’s it.” She looks at Richard before adding, “We’re off.” She looks a little worried as she looks around our little group. “Everyone be good.”

“We will,” I say trying to steer them out of the door. Left alone we begin to make plans for the night. Peter and Esse are going to be sleeping in my room and Poppy and me will be taking Julia and Richard’s. Total freedom for the whole weekend! As Esse and Poppy go off to order the pizza (I suspect the two best friends want to gossip) Peter and I flick through Netflix looking for something to watch.

“Do you think the Godfather II will be as good as the first one?” Peter asks me. Ah, kid, you’ve got so much to look forward to.

“Even better,” I reply. Peter looks as if he doesn’t believe me.

“Have you ever seen the Sopranos?” He’s going through something of a gangster phase.

“Yeah, I love the Sopranos, where are you up to?” I reply eagerly, realising that I sound like an excited teenage fan girl and not caring one bit.

“I’ve reached the last series - I wonder how it’s going to end?” I just shrug not wanting to give the game away.

“Ta-da!” We turn to see Poppy holding the living room door open. Through it comes Esse carrying a tray with four strong looking cocktails.

I wake up. The clock on my phone tells me it’s four twenty-eight am. My head’s still groggy from all the drink. Outside the house I can hear the sound of a distant siren. It holds me awake, my breathing slow as I wonder if I’m about to be transported back to Palo Alto and Martin Cerberia.

Poppy’s asleep next to me, her arm across me. She twitches slightly rubbing her body against mine. The siren gets closer and closer until, for just a moment, the room is bathed in a pulsating blue light. Then the ambulance passes and the siren grows more distant. I no longer hear the voices of the onlookers as Mark lay dying.

With the siren gone I can hear Poppy’s gentle snoring. Her breath is warm on my neck as she spoons me. Slowly I feel sleep coming. I can relax now. Mark Healey has passed on, not to be forgotten, and Emma Riley is set free.

The scene fades to black.

What happens after a transformation? Esme lives in New York and works as a journalist. She has a secret, one she thought she'd left behind in England. Then she comes across a strange case. A child who suffers from a condition that effects the way their body reacts to hormones. Slowly he is transforming from male to female. A condition so rare it has only one other confirmed case. Esme.

This is the second story I've written with the incredibly talented Miss Jessica. If you haven't already then I recommend you run as fast as is safe in those heels to her back catalogue and treat yourself. It'll be well worth it.

For the most part our stories have been positive. Usually focusing on characters that cope with, then thrive, after a life altering TG themed change. This time we wanted to do something a little different.

We wanted to explore why so many of us (those of us that can be loosely referred to as gender-fluid) are attracted to stories and relationships that have abusive elements.

While the subject matter does mean we have to include some graphic sex scenes. We hope you'll agree that we've handled them sensitively.

That said this is only a small element in what is a much bigger story.

We hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1

It was a horrible early June night in Bushwick. Spring had ended forever ago and summer had begun, regardless of what the calendar said. It was 85 degrees and about 95 percent humidity. The bar was crowded with young people drinking and talking, waiting for the band to come on. She could feel their body heat creep over her.

She sat down at one end of the small bar. Alone in the crowd. She wore a black sleeveless t-shirt and black, skin tight jeans. Her brown hair was cut short, into what she hated to refer to as a pixie cut. In front of her was a bottle of beer.

“What’s up Esme? Haven’t seen you in here for a while,” the bartender said. He had to lean across the bar to be heard. His plaid shirt sleeves rode up his arms, exposing two tattoos, a mermaid on the right and a frog on the left. Esme had meant to ask him about the frog.

“Busy Max, and out of cash.” She shrugged and leaned closer to him. Her eyes moved slowly as she watched his face closely. They were bright green, standing out even more against her pale skin and dark clothes.

“I’m working till eleven, can you hang on?”

Esme looked down at her phone. Just over an hour. She nodded her agreement. Max went away to serve another customer. Ten minutes later, he returned with a shot of whiskey and another beer, both of which he placed before her. She smiled her thanks.

First she downed her whiskey, then she sat back and sipped her beer. The whiskey made her feel warm and light headed. She’d need a lot more to be able to do what she knew she had to. In the meantime, she leaned on the bar and watched the band setting up. Another trio of bearded arseholes, sorry assholes, playing acoustic drivel. Wannabe Lumineers.

They were already on the second song by the time Max came from behind the bar and stood in front of Esme. She looked up at him. Even without the extra height the raised floor behind the bar gave him, he was still tall. At 5ft 10 inches, Esme struggled to find men she could look up to. In so many ways. The effect was even more impressive because she was sitting down.

“Come on, we can sit on the sofa,” He didn’t ask, he told. Esme followed him to a small space to the right of the stage. Although it was never officially roped off, the patrons of the bar always respected the two beat up couches. Without anyone saying anything, they knew it was a space for the staff and their friends in the various bands that played there. There was just enough space for the two of them to squeeze onto the sofa pushed against the brick wall. With his legs spread out, she was almost sitting on his knee.

“Haven’t heard from you in a long time.”

She shook her head, “You know I don’t really do the whole relationship thing,” and that she needed to be drunk to do anything at all.

“That’s the way I like it babe,” Max whispered in her ear.

They left a couple of songs later.

Outside on the sidewalk, the bouncer was helping a drunk woman into a taxi. The streetlights and neon signs shimmered in the heat.

“Your place or mine?” Max asked.

“I’ve got whiskey and vodka back at mine,” she’d stocked up earlier, “Freya’s out.”

“Your place it is then.”

They walked next to each other. Max lit a cigarette and smoked it. Esme forced her hands into the tiny little pockets at the front of her jeans. She had to move faster than normal to keep up with him. Occasionally she would glance up at him, taking in his broad shoulders. Thinking about the way his beard tickled her when they kissed.

She fumbled with her keys when they reached the front door of her building. She was already wet. It had been almost two months.

The apartment was still and hot; nights like this were when you regretted having a fifth-floor walk up. The air felt stale and heavy in her lungs. Esme hurried over to the kitchen and switched the elderly AC on. The living room was an old sofa opposite the kitchen table. There was a beat up TV on top of the fridge that had stopped working a few weeks after she and Freya moved in. They kept it out for retro value. When she turned around, Max was sitting on the sofa examining the old teapot the girls used as a makeshift bong.

“Is this a British thing?”

She shook her head, “I bought it from a homeless guy.” She didn’t want to talk.

He seemed to pick up on her mood, “Kneel, bitch,” he pointed to the floor between his legs.

Esme moved slowly and cautiously. She bit her lip as she kneeled down, thankful for the second hand rug Freya had bought a few weeks before. She knew her apparent timidity was all part of the game.

At first she kept her head low, staring at a point just a little south of his crotch. Then she felt his hand under her chin, followed by extra pressure as he lifted her face up so her eyes met his.

“I think we’ll use a gag tonight. You OK with that?” He broke character for a moment.

She tried to nod but couldn’t move her head by much, “Yeah, sure. Only don’t tie anything too tight. I’ve got work tomorrow and I can’t wear long sleeves in this weather.”

---

Max was gone by the time her phone alarm woke her up. The AC must have turned itself off in the night, probably blown another fuse. Both she, and the bed covers she’d slept on the top of, were covered in sweat. She sat up too suddenly and had to lie back down as her head pounded. She lay there until the second snooze alarm, massaging her wrists. That bastard had probably tied her up extra tight.

Eventually she managed to get up and drag herself to the little bathroom off the kitchen. On the wall was a calendar. In a few weeks’ time it would be fifteen years since the change.

The shower felt great, relieving her just enough for her to be able to think. Should she call her father? Would he even have realised the anniversary was due? It wasn’t worth it. There was no point going back to that well. The water had dried up a long time ago.

Coming out of the shower, she saw that there were five missed calls on her phone. She sighed, Mr Edwards at the paper, the bank, some other numbers that she didn’t recognize. No one ever phoned about good things. It was the 21st Century, why not text? She was late so she decided to ignore them.

She chose her grey fitted jacket, as it was made out of the thinnest material of all her jackets. With that she wore a white top and black skinny chinos that were so tight it took her a further fifteen minutes to get into them.

Leaving the building was like hitting a wall of heat. Why anyone had thought to build a city here she didn’t know. People talked about New York being a four-season city. Yeah, winter - when it too cold to move; summer - when it was too hot to think; April 18 and October 12. She wondered if she had enough left in her overdraft to be able to call a taxi, but quickly gave up on the idea. She had no desire to tempt the money demons. If she had anything left before payday, she’d rather spend it drinking with Freya. She set off for the L-Train.

The Daily Reporter building was downtown, just north of City Hall. She’d heard that the rent from the rest of the office space was all that was keeping the paper open. That and a rich Russian owner who liked to play William Randolph Hearst, to be the fourth newspaper in a three newspaper city. She nodded at the security guard, flashing her i.d., and hurried upstairs to her meeting.

---

In better times, the Reporter had taken up a whole floor. Now they were down to just half, and most of that was taken up by sales. Esme was late, the morning meeting had started.

Morning meetings started, as the name suggested at 9am. Glancing at the clock she saw it was already 9:18am. She tried to squeeze in the back. She could hear Peter in World Affairs talking about the latest G7 summit.

James Marx-Munroe, editor in chief of the paper stood in the middle of his reporters. He was a big, imposing man. Rumor was his name was just ‘James Marx,’ that he adopted ‘Marx-Munroe’ to sound more erudite, well travelled. Esme thought ‘my dustman back home had two names.’ Each day, as the print deadline neared, the number of lines on his balding head would increase. Esme watched him nervously, but he didn’t seem to have spotted her. She pushed through the crowd until she was standing next to Freya.

“I couldn’t wake you this morning,” Freya hissed, “How much did you have?”

“Too much,” She took a sip of her coffee. It burnt her lips and her tongue, “I was with Max.”

Freya shook her head. Her long blond hair tied back in a bun. Esme was jealous of her hair. She felt like Freya glowed, eclipsing her. “Why?”

The two guys from the Weekend magazine turned to look at them. The two women slinked back.

“Why?” Freya repeated her question in a quieter voice.

“I dunno, he scratches an itch I suppose,” Esme had to look away feeling her friend’s searching look.

“But does he? How did you get on with Ken?”

“The Barbie doll?” she saw the disapproving look from her friend, “I mean, he’s OK. I didn’t trust him.”

“Why, he’s a nice guy?” The two weekend guys looked around again. Freya made shooing gestures to get them to turn around.

“He’s a lawyer. You can’t trust them.” Esme said feebly.

Freya gave her a look that made her feel like she was back in primary school, “He’s not some scumbag ambulance chaser or corporate dick. He does lots of public interest work.”

Esme sagged, “Look, he was a nice guy. He just didn’t…”

“He just didn’t scratch your itch?” Freya laughed, before realising Marx-Munroe had directed a question at their team. “Sorry, yes. The online team are focusing on the recent allegations…”

Esme zoned out. She watched her friend, only recently promoted to assistant editor, talk. She hoped she didn’t get stuck with another red carpet or tech launch party. She hated the late nights. She zoned back in when they got to the assignments.

“So John will be covering the latest crime stats. Esme, can you go take a look at the cat guy?”

Feeling uncomfortable with the whole room looking at her she just muttered ‘OK’ lifting up her coffee cup to hide behind it.

“Good,” grunted Marx-Munroe, “Get photos. Take Jay with you.”

She sighed. Jay was a jerk. He always acted like he had come from shooting something far more important. Not that she could blame him. Cat Guy was a rather unfortunate forty-something who had fallen down after a stroke and died in his Murray Hill apartment. There was a rumour doing the rounds on Twitter that the stroke hadn’t killed him, but that he’d starved to death unable to get help. The guy had about ten cats and, after the body had started decomposing, they had done what cats do with no other food source. What was left of the body had only been found a week or so later when the neighbours had complained about the smell.

“What do you think it’ll be like?” Esme wrinkled her nose up. They were sat outside a café just around the corner from Cat Guy’s block.

Jay reclined back on his chair, his eyes covered by sunglasses. Like he was just back from a tour in Vietnam. “I wouldn’t worry yourself. The cops and medical examiner have swept it for evidence already. You won’t see anything. Maybe a stain on the carpet.” He laughed as her stomach lurched.

“Shut up. Idiot. I’m not scared.”

“I didn’t say you were,” he laughed again.

“Arrogant prick,” she took a sip of her coffee (the third that morning) and immediately regretted it. The whiskey in her stomach rebelled. She was starting to feel the hangover. She must have woken up drunk.

They took the 6 train to the apartment, Esme regretting her choice of tight chinos in the heat. She wanted to take the jacket off but didn’t want Jay to see the tell-tale marks around her wrists.

Jay bribed the porter $100 to let them into the apartment. He’d been right, the cops had cleared the place out.

“Weird,” Esme walked the length of the bookshelf touching the spines of the books.

“How?”

“Could be anyone’s apartment.” She pulled out a copy of The Underground Railroad by Colson Whitehead. “Well read.”

“I’ve got no time for books. They get in the way of experiencing life.” Jay had his camera out and was pointing it at the Lazy Boy. She wondered whether it was an ironic decorating choice or if Cat Guy actually used it. ‘I’ve been in Brooklyn too long,’ she thought. ‘Some people just like chairs.’ As he focused his camera, Esme looked him up and down. She clicked her tongue and looked away. Something had caught her attention. An aquarium, or is that vivarium, in the corner.

She peered in, spotting something black with red and yellow markings. Suddenly it jumped for cover, “It’s a frog,” she said a little startled. Jay just shrugged. “I think it’s a common reed frog. From Africa.”

“You a frog fancier?”

“I read about it in a book when I was little. They can change gender when the population becomes too one sided.” She took out iPad from her handbag and took a snap, “Instagram,” she explained.

With Jay taking arty shots in the kitchen Esme wandered into the bedroom. It looked like the occupant had just left for work and would be back in the morning. There was a pair of pants lying on the bed. Discarded when dressing that morning she guessed. She opened the closet door, running her fingers through the clothes hanging there. He was reasonably stylish. A little bit hipster-ish, but maturing nicely.

Taking out her iPad again, she took a few snaps. She quickly uploaded them to the Record’s Instagram, Twitter and Facebook accounts under the title “The lair of the Cat Man. We look inside a true NY tale.” Sitting on the bed she typed out a short article, 90% clichés, 10% fact, and sent it off to Freya. She wandered off to the bathroom where Jay was taking pictures through the semi-transparent shower curtain and lent on the door frame.

“Give me a hand getting that frog and his tank back to my place and I’ll buy you a beer,” she said not looking up from her phone. When she did she saw Jay pointing his camera at her from through the shower curtain.

“Bugger off!” She tried to cover her face.

“Two beers? And don’t you need to get a few quotes?”

Esme shook her head, “Two neighbours have tweeted about the starvation rumours. I can use them. Just so you know I would have gone as high as three.”

---

They took a taxi back to Esme’s apartment. She sat on the back seat holding the tank. It was heavy, pressing down on her lap. He sat up front with his camera and a bag of wires from the apartment.

Every now and again she’d spot a black and yellow face peeking out of the vegetation. She wondered what the frog was making of all of this. Did it think there was an earthquake, an alien invasion?

Over an hour later they stood looking at their work. The tank took up almost half the far wall of Esme’s bedroom. She hadn’t seen the frog peek out for a while. She hoped it hadn’t died.

“Do you even know what they eat?”

“I can look it up on the Internet.” She handed him a vodka and orange juice.

“This better not count as one of my two drinks,” he smiled. She had hoped it would.

“Drink up,” she commanded, “We’re going out.”

The bar was just a block away. It was one of those places that were too cool to have a name. Everyone in the neighbourhood just called it ‘the bar’.

“Why are you staring at your phone?” Jay walked slowly, his gate broad.

“I’m texting Freya. Seeing if she wants to join us.”

“Good,” Jay smiled, “I like Freya.” But he looked away.

Esme frowned slightly, placing her phone back in her bag after sending the text.

The bar was mostly empty, just a smattering of daytime bar flies. Some hardcore drinkers, others self-employed and looking for free wifi. The numbers would start changing after five. There were a couple of guys sat at the bar watching some game on the TV. Esme glanced up. It looked to her like hockey. Of all of the sports Americans watched, hockey made the most and the least sense. It was like football/soccer, in that it was constantly moving with little scoring. On the other hand, the rules made no sense to her and she couldn’t understand the violence. Perhaps a rerun?

She bought them both beers and shots of bourbon. They took them over to one of the booths. While she was ordering, she saw Jay staring at the TV intently, which surprised her. He always struck her as the sort that would disdain sports as simple minded.

“You don’t say much around the office,” Jay looked straight at her, one hand held the beer while the other lay flat on the table. She thought of a detective beginning his interrogation.

“Not to you.” The glass was heavy. It was like the old man’s pint mugs she remembered from the Rolls Royce Working Men’s Club back home. She had to use both hands to lift it up.

“Prickly ain’t you?”

“Before I’ve had my first drink? Yes I am.”

They continued drinking. Around the end of the second drink, Esme received a text from Freya.

“She joining us?” Jay correctly guessed whom it was from.

“No,” Esme sighed. Her face lit from underneath in the dingy light of the bar, “An editorial meeting has gone over,” she stared at the screen for a few more seconds before putting the phone away. “She liked your pictures,” her voice had the edge of an accusation. She moved her bag to the other side of her, so she could lean back in the corner.

“Looks heavy,” he indicated to the bag, “You remembered to take the iPad out?”

“Of course,” she scowled. She felt around in the bag. ‘Fuck,’ she thought, ‘it’s not there. I can’t have lost it again.’ This was not the first company property she had lost and she couldn’t count on Freya to save her - again. Freya had made this clear. She should have gone to look for it. Instead, she decided to keep drinking.

They were on their third round when the bar began to fill up. They were the after work crowd. Twenty and thirty-some-things, some still in suits. Esme watched them feeling like an anthropologist.

Esme followed the way he held the glass as he drank, “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Turn the glass around about ten degrees each time. You do it before you take a sip.”

“Do I do that?” She nodded.

“I guess I like the foam from the beer to be evenly spread,” he shrugged, looking at his glass like she’d spotted a cockroach at the bottom.

“When I drink from a can I always tap the ring pull three times before pulling it,” she said. Condensation from his glass was pooling on the table.

“And you do that because?” He still kept one eye on his drink, as if it’d done him some harm.

“Someone once told me that it stops it fizzing up.”

“Does that work?”

She picked up her drink and took a large gulp before answering, “I don’t think so. But I can’t remember the last time a can fizzed up on me so, maybe.”

To one side a couple had started to dance. The girl was obviously good. Esme guessed she’d had some formal training. The guy wasn’t bad either, although mainly he let her dance around him. Their movements became more exaggerated. The woman kept bumping into the people around her.

The other patrons of the bar were getting increasingly annoyed, but still they danced. Their movements were a mixture of various popular styles, swing etc.

Esme jumped as the girl collided with their table. She landed on the seat next to her.

“Sorry,” the girl was panting. A crazy smile on her face.

“Are you alright?” Jay half stood up. Esme tried to brush the beer off her top. She wished she hadn’t chosen white and pulled her jacket closed.

“I’m fine honey,” her boyfriend pulled her up. She turned to Esme, “I hope you and your boyfriend have a good night.” Then they were gone, heading towards the door.

Esme was embarrassed, everyone was looking. She turned to Jay just to hide her face from the other patrons.

“You want to go some place with dancing?” Jay sat back in his seat, his arms spread out like he was being crucified. Esme hated that; did he think it’d impress her? Did he want her to look as his broad shoulders?

“I don’t do dancing,” she fiddled with her drink. Her hips didn’t seem to move they way other girls did. She watched a small group of women dancing. Every now and then, the tall one would spin, her skirts swirling around her legs.

“Music? Food?”

Esme looked down at the table. A pool of beer had formed into a passable map of Iceland. “I did music last night and I don’t really fancy food.” She saw the disappointed look on his face, “Do you know a quiet place where we can keep drinking?”

He knew three. It was past 1am when they stumbled back towards her place. Jay had to pick up his camera. He’d insisted on leaving it at hers at the start of the night. She’d worried it was an excuse for sex.

“Why photography?” she handed him the half drunk vodka bottle wrapped in brown paper. As he took a swig she kept her eyes open for the police. This time of night, you could count on a bored cop giving you a ticket for an open container in public. She could also count on the cop not being charmed by her accent. That was good for before 10 PM and on weekends. This was the ‘werewolf shift,’ a cop she was interviewing told her. It was for new guys, those who pissed off the sergeant and ‘guys who didn’t want to see their kids.’ She thought how he seemed most approving of the last group.

He shrugged, “Why not? It was the only thing I was good at. Good enough to get me out of my home town at least.”

“Where are you from?”

“Near Pittsburgh. Can’t you tell from my accent?” he said, with a smile.

“You all sound the same to me,” she said, her smile lopsided.

“The fuck I sound like some Ivy league prick,” his voice became more New York, in a way that sounded forced. He waved his hand around. “This place is about a million miles from where I grew up.” He stared at her, like he was waiting for her to ask more. ‘I guess I’m not much of a reporter,’ she thought. He kept looking at her, while she kept her eyes on the sidewalk in front of her.

“So how about you, Mary Poppins? Where did you grow up?” he took a large swig, “Did you have a big garden at the back of the castle for papa to keep the ponies in?”

“Fuck you,” she said, staring at her shoes. “I’m from an old factory town in the North of England. Anyway, we don’t have many castles in England.”

“No?” He seemed disappointed.

“No. Cromwell pulled them all down.” She could tell he had no idea who Cromwell was.

The flat was silent apart from the AC, apparently fixed. It was dark apart from the glow coming from under Freya’s door. It told Esme she’d gone to sleep with her headphones on, probably listening to Spotify. Freya had started doing that after the time Esme had brought back a group of Dutch tourists one Wednesday night.

He reached over and grabbed his camera. “I’ll see you in the office in the morning,” he said. She glanced at the mirror in the hall. Catching the reflection she realised, for the first time, how drunk she was. “Have a good night.”

As he left, she looked around. “Fuck!”

He stopped, “what?”

“The iPad! Where the hell is it?”

He looked at her. “You didn’t leave it here before we went out again?” He said this disapprovingly, like her mum would. She half-expected him to say, ‘it is not my job to keep track of your things, young lady. You need to be more responsible.’

“Of course, I did,” she huffed. What she thought was ‘If I had done that, would I have said ‘fuck?’

He smiled. “I remember you putting your bag down. It kind of slumped over. Let’s look around before you start losing your shit.”

“I’m not losing my shit!” she wanted to be able to blame him, “It’s not here,” she said, thinking of how much trouble she would be in.

“Well,” he said, smirking. “Easier to look in here than out there.” He started looking on and under the table. Esme sat down on the little sofa, her head spinning from the remorse and alcohol.

She was surprised when he knelt down in front of her. She thought of what had happened last night. “Hey, what are you doing?” she protested as he pushed her legs aside. He stuck his arm underneath the sofa.

“I can see blinking.”

“Huh?”

He came back out holding the iPad, “Recognise this?”

“Shut up,” she said, with a smile as he handed it over. “Thank you.”

He tipped his imaginary hat. “Good night,” he said, as he walked out the door.

---

When she woke, Esme was still on the sofa. Someone, probably Freya, had laid a blanket over her. Fuck. She didn’t want her flatmate thinking any worse of her. Looking at her phone, it was already 8am. She was going to be late. Her eyes focused a little more and she noticed there were two more missed calls. She checked her history, it was the same number as before. Telemarketers? There was a message as well.

It would have to wait. She needed to shower and get going.

The train was crowded and she had to lean on a pole while doing her make-up. She spread her legs as wide as her skirt would allow while peering into her little hand held mirror. At the next stop a tall man squeezed in behind her. As the train started again, she felt his crotch pushed against her back. She tried to move away but he stayed uncomfortably close. She really didn’t need this shit.

The escalator was broken at her stop and she had to run up the stairs, regretting her choice of a pencil skirt. She reached the reception at 9:21am.

“Pass, miss,” The old black security guard seemed disinterested.

“It’s here somewhere,” she hoped she hadn’t left it in another bag. “Fuck,” It wasn’t in her wallet.

“Take your time, miss,”

“I’m soooo sorry Charlie,” Despite having been a New Yorker for close to a decade now her English desire to apologise always won through.

“Don’t worry.”

She found it at the bottom of her bag, surrounded by crumbs and tissues smeared with old make-up.

By the time she reached the office it was 9:46am. She could see the morning meeting breaking up so she went to one of the hot desks. She hoped that, if she kept her head down, people would think she had been standing at the back.

Her head was down as she watched her colleagues returned to their desks.

“Hey,” said a middle aged woman who worked on the metro section, “I claimed this spot.” She pointed down to the post-it note on the desk in front of Esme. With the lack of office space, the journalists hot desked. As they often had to move around for meetings, a system of passive aggressive post-it claiming spaces had taken hold.

“You’re one of the bloggers aren’t you?” The woman said. The ‘serious’ journalists often referred to the online team as bloggers.

Esme apologised and then headed for the sofas. She hated working there. They were near reception and, as such, had visitors coming past talking noisily all the time.

After finally finding a chair, a little hidden by a potted plant, she sat and took out her laptop. She’d handed in the iPad on the way over. She skimmed through the Reporter’s website. She couldn’t find her article? She checked her email. The normal confirmation email IT sent was missing.

“Hi, Esme, can we have a chat?” Esme looked up to see Freya standing over her.

“Sure, is everything…”

“Not here,” Freya cut her off.

Esme got up and followed her friend into the corridor.

“What’s going on Freya, why hasn’t my article been posted?” She wished she had the ability to be outraged when challenged. She’d seen other people, especially Americans, who could be caught in the act of stabbing you, but would explode in outrage if you challenged them. They’d demand you apologised for getting your blood all over them.

Freya put a hand on her forehead, “Esme, there was no way I could publish it. And you’re lucky I didn’t. MM would have shitcanned you straight away,” MM was their nickname For Marx-Munroe.

“Oh come on, it wasn’t that bad! I did the best I could with the story you gave me,” she was pleading. She could take the pervert on the train. She could handle the shitty colleagues looking down their noses at her. Letting down Freya was too much. Her only real friend if she thought about it. All the other girls they hung out with were Freya’s mates and they only accepted her because of their friendship. “I only reported on what the neighbors were saying. I ensured that was clear.”

“Yeah, well, did you even check with the cops?”

“Er…”

She handed her a piece of paper. “That was clear. Read this.” Esme’s palms were sweating as she read it. It was a police report saying that the Cat Guy had died of a heart attack. Not starvation.

Freya rolled her eyes. “Obviously not. This came out an hour after I gave you the assignment. You should have checked with them. You know better…” She had the same tone Jay did about the iPad. ‘Great,’ she thought, ‘I left mum and dad in England. Now, they’re here.’

She tried to cover her tracks, muttering something about having checked on the way over and that the cops lied. Her resolve was going. She felt like she was falling and being sick at the same time.

“And those quotes, they came from Twitter didn’t they.”

Esme started to protest, but then gave up. She was banged to rights.

“I thought so,” Freya sighed. “Look. Don’t worry I covered for you. I showed MM, Jay’s pictures. He loved them so I persuaded him to move the piece up to the weekend,” The weekend meant the Saturday and Sunday editions with their glossy supplements. These were the only print versions that made any money; as such, a ‘blogger’ getting bumped up to the weekend was a huge thing.

“T-t-thank you!” She could feel the tears on their way.

“Don’t thank me Esme. I told MM you were writing an amazing extended article. Prove me right. Please.” She just wanted to slink off but Freya stopped her, holding her arm. “Esme, be good to yourself. You’re better than this.” Esme nodded, “You were top of our class at J-School.” They had met at Columbia Journalism School, when Esme came after finishing her undergrad. “I know you can do it. I don’t why you have this self-destructive streak.” Esme was still amazed at the American tendency to psychoanalyze everything. Too much Dr. Phil, she thought. She still felt pathetic. “Go get yourself a strong coffee and then start again.”

The tears had arrived. She didn’t feel she deserved this kindness. She just nodded. A middle aged man from accounts was walking towards them. He caught one look at the two girls hugging and turned. They both laughed, Esme wiping away the tears.

“Look,” Freya’s words were softer, “I don’t know if this is the best time, but there never will be a good time. Jason has asked me to move in with him. I’ve said yes.” She must have seen the look of horror on Esme’s face, “Don’t worry! I’ve told him I won’t move out until you’ve found a new roommate.” She looked a little desperate, “Someone nice, someone you like!”

Esme wanted to be angry, but she couldn’t. To her, Jason was the dullest guy ever, but to Freya he was perfect. Although Esme hated his middle-of-the-road-I’m-a-good-guy act, she could see he was devoted to Freya. She decided to be happy for her. She owed her that much. They hugged again. Esme tried her best to look excited when Freya suggest they go out for a meal with Jason this weekend.

“Why don’t you bring Jay along?”

“What?” Of all the people she could have mentioned, why Jay?

Freya said, “I heard him in the apartment yesterday, when you came back. I figured that maybe something happened,” she said with a smile. Esme couldn’t look at her friend. Freya swooped in for the kill. “You’re blushing...something happened.”

“Absolutely nothing happened!” Esme felt her accent coming on even stronger. Whenever she was upset, her accent came back. A self defense mechanism. As a comedian once said, having a British accent in America is a little like having a superpower. “I promise you that.”

“Esme likes Jay, Esme likes Jay,” Freya sang, teasing her.

“Esme most emphatically does not like him.” Because the universe is a cruel place, just then Jay walked out.

He had his sunglasses flipped backwards on his head, so that he could, she supposed, flip them back down quickly, should an emergency arise. A sunglasses emergency. “Who does Esme most emphatically not like?” he said, cockily.

She started to say no one, but was cut off after ‘no,’ Freya cut her off. “No one. How would you like to join Esme, my boyfriend Jason and me on Saturday for brunch?”

He looked at Esme and smirked. She gave him a look like ‘if you’re any sort of human being, you will not accept.’ He was clearly not any sort and said, “That sounds great. Where?”

“Do you like Southern food?” Esme felt like crawling in a hole.

“I love it,” he smirked. “Where were you thinking?” Hell, Esme thought. That’s ‘down south’, isn’t it?

“Hot House, in Bed Stuy? They have Nashville-style hot chicken, if you’re into spicy foods.”

He smirked, “Can’t be as good as Prince’s in Nashville. Had it on assignment down there.” Of course you did, Esme thought. You’re one of those types who, no matter how good someone says a meal was, has to one-up them, tell them about the authentic place you’ve been to. ‘That steak was fine, but if you want a great steak, I went to a place on the Pampas in Argentina (pronounced, of course, Ar-HEN-tina) where you killed your own steak. Wannabe Anthony Bourdain. She heard him finish “It sounds great though. What time?”

“One PM,” Freya said, with a smile looking at her. Esme intently studied the patterns in the linoleum floor.

“It’s a date,” he said, smirking at Esme.

She turned to Freya. “Well, if you wanted me to focus on the story, you’ve succeeded. I’m going down to the Jumping Bean to work.” It was as good as the office and she didn’t need the distractions of Jay and Freya. She reviewed what she had written the day before, feeling only shame at how weak it was. About an hour later, she had the skeleton of the new piece worked out. She had decided to focus as much on the isolation that New York could engender. How neighbors were so disconnected from each other that no one thought to check on Cat Man until his apartment smelled and how they assumed a lonely man had to have been eaten by his cats. The lonely person’s choice of pet. She’d found the police press release but wanted to get something more to justify Freya’s trust. She picked up her phone hoping to wrangle an interview with one of the officers who responded to the initial call.

The message from earlier was still there. She thought of England, of the people she had left behind. It was an American number, but what if it was someone trying to get hold of her with news from home? Her hand shook a little as she played back the message;

“Ms. Entwistle, Esme Entwistle? Formally Philip Esme Entwistle?” She held her breath, it had been a long time since she’d heard that name, “This is Sheriff Rees, Orson Rees. I’m based in Cambria County, Pennsylvania. This is going to sound very strange, but please listen to this message in full. I have a very unusual case. A boy who turned into a girl when he hit puberty. The doctors have called it,” and she could visualize him looking at a piece of paper, “Late Onset Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome. Something about testosterone not working. Honestly, I didn’t understand half of what they said. I did understand that there were only a few cases and that the nearest example was in England. I contacted your doctor but he told me you had moved over here, to New York. I pulled in a few favours and got your number.” The voice stopped, “Look, I don’t want to bother you. You’re in no trouble but..” he went silent again, “But, there’s a family going crazy here and if there’s anything you can do. Advice… anything. I’d be grateful.” She programmed his number into her phone, in case she decided to call him back.

Esme sat there. ‘Philip’, she whispered. It left a strange taste in her mouth. She looked around, it was as if the colour had drained from the world. She thought of being curled up on her old bedroom floor, only the cat for company. She hoped whoever it was had someone to talk to. She looked down at her iPad. She had work to do. Pennsylvania was a world away. She had been to Philadelphia once, when she first got here. But Sheriff Rees didn’t sound like he was from Philadelphia. For one, he was too nice.

Whoever this poor child was, she couldn’t focus on him. Not now. Not when her job was on the line and her flatmate, her flatmate who was leaving her, gave her the lifeline. She would deal with this abstract child later. For now, her article was what mattered. She would focus on that.

Freya’s words rung in her ears. She had won awards at J-School for her reporting, the benefits of which she promptly squandered. She had taken a job at Time magazine but had immediately felt like she’d been swallowed up. At college and J-school, she could focus on the work. All that mattered was the work. In the real world, all that mattered was how you played the game. How loud you shouted and how well you kissed ass, the right ass. She never felt comfortable ‘bro-ing’ down. She looked at the journalism landscape and saw that print was dying and the ‘gig economy,’ as the industry liked to call it, was on the rise. ‘Gig economy.’ She sneered at the thought. In other words, the system had no obligation to you. She thought of her father, and her grandfather before him, spending their careers at Rolls-Royce. Neither became rich - they were both mid-level engineers - but they had a job from when they walked in at 16 until they left at 65, with their retirement gifts and their pensions. Either way, she decided, after Time, that she would never be in one place long enough for them to hurt her. Slowly and meticulously, she’d built up an impressive portfolio. That’s when Freya had offered her this position.

In the end she took it. Having turned thirty, she had decided she needed to pay off her credit card debt at some point.

--------

“17th Precinct, Officer Cruz speaking,” the male voice on the other end of the phone said.

She had decided to start with the police who were first on the scene. Find out what really happened. “Hi, my name is Esme Entwistle, I’m a reporter with the Reporter,” she said.

Officer Cruz chuckled, “A reporter with the Reporter. Heh heh.” She had gotten used to the laugh every time she said that. She wondered why the powers that be had chosen the name. “What can I do for you?”

“Well, yes, I’m trying to reach the officers who responded to the call on,” and she flicked through her iPad, “Donald McKenzie.” Her first thought, when Freya told her to expand out the story, was to think of him as a person. A person with a name, not just Cat Guy. The call from the sheriff made her realize that she owed him that much.

“Cat Guy?” he said. “Why do you want to talk to them? Had a heart attack. Everyone else has,” and he paused. “Picked over that story already.” He chuckled again, amused by his own cynical joke.

“Well, yes, I understand that,” she said. “I’m doing a different story. I’m trying to focus on, I suppose, how we get to a place where this poor fellow,” she specifically chose ‘fellow’ because it sounded more British, “becomes Cat Guy. And I thought that the officers who responded could possibly, er, dispel some of the rumors that have come about.”

He sighed. “Yeah, well, good luck with that. Anyway, that was Chen and Hoxha. Give me your name and number and I’ll give it to them. If they feel like talking about it, they’ll call you. No promises.”

“I understand. Thank you, Officer, for your time.”

“You’re welcome. You English?”

“Yes,” she said with a laugh. “Is it that obvious?”

He laughed and adopted some indeterminate accent. “Quite. Anyway, I’ll pass on the messages.”

While she awaited the call, she decided to try and interview his neighbors, the shopkeepers in his neighborhood, to see what, if anything, anyone knew about him.

Her first stop was with the doorman. She had learned, over her years in New York, that doormen knew everything. She always found it a strange job. These men, and they were all men, spent their days in uniforms ranging from boringly industrial to something from a regional production of Gilbert and Sullivan, opening doors, signing for packages and engaging in false chitchat with the tenants about sport and the weather. They were more than security. They knew everyone in the building and, more importantly, knew their secrets. They knew boyfriends and girlfriends, who was having an affair and whose kids were in trouble. If anyone knew about Mr. McKenzie, it would be the doorman.

“Hi,” she said, approaching the doorman. His name plate read ‘O’Hanlon,’ which wasn’t surprising. He was in his fifties, with thinning salt and pepper hair and a pale face lined with broken capillaries. “My name is Esme Entwistle. I’m a reporter with the Reporter and I was wondering if you could tell me anything about Mr. McKenzie….”

He looked her up and down. “Where are ye from,” he said, with a pronounced brogue.

“Crewe. It’s in the…”

“I know where it is,” he said brusquely. “You’ve all been here already. Let the poor man rest already.”

“I understand that Mr. O’Hanlon and I agree. I’m trying to,” and she thought for a second, “restore some dignity to him. Not just let him be a punchline. And the only way I can do that is by showing people who he really was.”

He looked her up and down, not in a sexual manner. More in the manner of someone appraising her to determine whether she was telling the truth. “What is it you want to know?”

“What was he like? Did he have family? Friends? Friendly?”

He put his hands on the desk. “He was fine. Always said hello. Came down to the Christmas parties. Asked after my son. He’s an electrical engineer,” he said, proudly.

“That’s wonderful,” she said. “You should be proud.”

“I am. My daughter’s a nurse. All my wife’s doing.”

She smiled gently. “I’m sure not. What else can you tell me about Mr. McKenzie? Friends? Family?”

“I’ve been here twenty three years this past October. He moved in right after I did, just out of college, I think. He had friends early on that would come over. They’d go over to what’s now Joshua Tree on Third to watch football. Haven’t seen them in a long time though.”

“What happened?” If something happened, he’d know.

“The usual. You’d start seeing a guy come around with a girlfriend. Then you’d see Mr. McKenzie going to weddings and then that guy stops coming around. Then they all stopped coming around.”

She shuddered. “Family?”

“Never saw any.”

“Did he have girlfriends? Boyfriends?”

He laughed sadly. “Neither and I’ve covered every shift here. Just cats.”

“If you had to pick a word to describe him, what would it be?”

He paused, for a second and drummed his fingers on the desk. “Alone.”

“Lonely?” She tapped her pen on her pad.

“Not lonely. Alone. He was alone. Just him.”

---

“Is that your Belle & Sebastian t-shirt?”

Esme and Freya were fighting over the bathroom mirror. It was Saturday morning. They had propped the window open to save the AC from collapsing. The bathroom looked out onto an air shaft. They could hear the noises from the other flats echoing around.

“Uh, huh,” Esme examined a spot on her neck.

“Haven’t you had it for, like years and years?”

“I didn’t get the chance to do a wash,” she lied.

“You could borrow my pinstripe chambray shirt if you like? It’d go well with your black skinny jeans.”

“Don’t be daft,” she tried to squeeze her spot, wincing as it burst, “I’d boil. And I told you I wasn’t going to make an effort for Jay..”

“I didn’t ask you to wear a dress.” Esme recognised the tone of voice, she was in trouble. “Besides, who said it was for Jay?” she said, with a smile. “But you did say you’d make an effort for Jason.”

Esme sighed. She examined the t-shirt. She bought it after going to one of their after show DJ sets at the Star and Garter, back when she was an undergrad in Manchester. There were many faded stains. Each a campaign medal for a night out in her twenties.

Freya stood in the doorway, holding the shirt and jeans. “Fine,” Esme said, taking the clothes and shooting her friend a suspicious look. “This is for you, not for some boy.”

Fifteen minutes, they arrived at the restaurant. Esme saw Jason first. He was standing at the bar. He was dressed in a short-sleeved button down shirt and cargo shorts, the look of boring white 30-something straight men in Brooklyn. She still couldn’t understand what Freya saw him, but she envied him his coolness. Not style, temperature. She hated wearing dresses but wondered whether this was a deeply held principle or stubbornness. She had resolved to be nice, for Freya’s sake. “Hi, Jason,” she said, with a smile.

“Oh, hey, Esme. Good to see you. Hi, honey,” he said, giving Freya a kiss. “I already checked in. They’ll seat us once the fourth gets here. Who is it again?”

Freya smiled. “Jay, he’s a photographer at the paper.”

Jason looked at Esme and smiled. “Are you two…”

“No,” she said, a little too forcefully. She tried to soften her tone, to no avail. “I mean, he overheard us talking and Freya invited him. Right, Freya?” Freya just smirked. Bitch.

Jason held up two fingers and called over the bartender. “Bellinis?” he asked, looking at the two women.

Freya said, “Sure.”

Esme said, “Lovely.” She wondered if it was too early for a double Scotch. Freya and Jason started talking about their new place and looking for a couch after brunch. The domesticity bored Esme to tears and she tuned out, offering only the occasional, ‘hm?’ and ‘is that so?’ It seemed to placate them. Ten minutes later, she saw Jay walk in. He was wearing jeans, the sort that were so artfully worn that you knew that they came that way, and a blue button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. She thought she could see the fold lines, as if he just bought it. And, of course, his sunglasses. His infernal sunglasses. “Oh, look, Jay is here.”

He came over and gave Freya a kiss. “Hey, Freya.” He looked at Esme, as if to decide whether he should kiss her. She hoped he wouldn’t. He smiled - and did. “Esme.”

She glared at him, “Jay.” He grinned.

“Jason, this is Jay. He’s a photographer at the paper,” Freya said, with a smile. “Jay, this is my boyfriend Jason.” She had a bubbly tone that made Esme wonder what happened to her friend from J-School. When had she been replaced by this...girl? This girl who talked about couches?

Jay reached out first, and shook Jason’s hand. “Great to meet you,” he said. “Freya’s terrific. A great editor. So, are you a journalist too?” Ah, the ‘what do you do?’ question. It was more polite, she supposed, than ‘how much do you make’ or ‘do you do something I should care about’ or, at bottom, ‘am I more important than you?’

Jason laughed. “Digital media strategies,” he said. “OK, that sounds pretentious. I help companies with social media.”

Jay laughed, “Headed to Washington any time soon?”

Jason smiled, “I’m not that good.”

Freya looped her arm through his. “Yes, you are.” Esme wanted to vomit at her friend’s sudden passivity. “Oh, the hostess is calling us over.” Thank god, Esme thought, I can’t stomach this.

Freya and Jason walked ahead. Jay looked at Esme, “I wouldn’t have picked you for a Bellini type of woman.”

“I’m not,” she said, “but it’s early for vodka.”

They went to the table and the hostess said, “Have you been here before? Our specialty is Nashville-style hot chicken. We make it differently though. We dredge the chicken in Ghost Pepper flour as opposed to sauce…”

Jay said, “Then, it’s not really Nashville-style.” He looked at everyone and said, “Real Nashville-style is coated in sauce….”

“She was speaking, Jay,” Esme said curtly. “Please continue.”

The waitress smiled and looked from Esme to Jay and back again. “While it’s not the traditional Nashville style,” she said, “we think you’ll like it anyway. Can I get anyone a drink?”

Jason and Freya held up their glasses and said, “We’re OK.”

Esme looked at her glass, which was now half full. “Top this off, please.” This was going to be a long meal and she needed to fortify herself.

Jay said, “What do you have on tap?” Oh god, Esme thought, on top of it all, he’s a beer arsehole. One of the sorts who felt the overwhelming need to listen to the entire list and order something pretentious, to ask about how it was brewed and the oaken undertones and raspberry overtones. Wine snobs were bad enough. Beer snobs were worse. What happened to just drinking? She tuned back in to hear him say, “Mad River sounds great. It’s a little hot for a milk stout.”

“So, Jason, tell us about digital media strategies. What should we be doing to increase our digital footprints or whatever it is we should be calling it?” Esme couldn’t decide whether Jay was being sarcastic or genuine. Jason seemed unaware, as he often did, and went off on how they needed to not just tweet, but maximize the use of 140 characters and how everyone was ‘migrating from Facebook,’ like they were geese or lemmings. She felt her phone buzz and wondered whether it was Sheriff Rees again. After a long night of agonizing, she had left him a message. When she left Crewe, she tried to put everything out of her mind but she had a vision of another boy wondering what was happening to him and why no one believed him.

She tuned back in to hear Jason ask, “So where are you from, Jay?” Esme realized that no one was ever from New York. She was from England. Freya was from Charlotte, North Carolina. Jason was from, well, a J. Crew catalog or a television program or something.

Jay laughed, “Uniontown, PA,” he said, pronouncing it, ‘pee-yay.’ “About fifty miles southeast of Pittsburgh.”

“Is that near Seven Springs?” Jason asked. Esme didn’t ask but Jason said to her and Freya anyway. “It’s a ski resort. I went there with Pete.”

Freya said to Esme, “That’s his college roommate.” Funny, Esme thought, I didn’t ask nor do I care. She took a long sip of her drink and said, ‘interesting.’

Jay laughed, “Right nearby. I worked there in high school, running the tow line for the bunny slopes. That was a fun job,” he said, with what Esme would have sworn was an unironic smile. Freya said, ‘I’m sure.’

“Pens fan?” Jason said.

Jay smiled, “I still have my 1992 Stanley Cup giveaway shirt from the Giant Eagle,” which he pronounced ‘Iggle.’ “Can’t wait for Sunday.”

“Excuse my ignorance, but what’s a Pen?” Esme said.

“Pittsburgh Penguins. Hockey,” Jay said.

“Is that what you were watching the other day at the bar?”

“Yup,” he said, happily.

“I wouldn’t have guessed you a sports fan, certainly not something as mainstream as hockey.”

He smirked. “So much for your journalistic intuition then. So, where are you from, Esme?”

“Crewe.”

“Which is where,” he said, goading her.

“South of Manchester. Southeast of Liverpool.”

“And what do they do in Crewe,” he said, teasing her while Jason and Freya laughed.

“Trains, and they made Rolls Royces, Bentleys only now,” she said, bracing herself for the inevitable question that everyone in America asked.

Jason said it first, Freya knowing not to ask. “Did you have one?”

Esme smiled, a bored smile. She had promised to be nice. “I wish. The employee discount wasn’t that good.”

“Your old man worked for the company?” Jay said.

“Yes. He was an engineer. So was my grandfather.”

“No kidding. My father worked at the Volkswagen plant, in New Stanton, from 78 to 87. Until they closed it.” His tone seemed sad.

“What did he do after that?”

“Stuff. Odd jobs. Eventually he died.” He looked away from her. She could see the brown freckles on his neck.

Esme said, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Well, what can you do,” he said, picking up his menu. “Let’s see what there is to eat here.”

The waitress came and took their orders.

“The Big Jim Cade. Make the chicken extra-hot. I can handle it. And the eggs over easy.” Jay said. Esme looked at the menu. He had ordered fried chicken, French toast, eggs and grits.

“Bloody hell, Jay. Are you going to work out after this?” He smiled and she continued, “I’ll have the french toast and a side order of fried green tomatoes,” she said.

Freya laughed. “Have you ever eaten a fried green tomahto?” she said, imitating her accent.

“I will be fine.”

Jason and Freya ordered. Fried chicken and french toast, which, they ‘were going to split.’ Esme shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She could have sworn Jay gave her a raised eyebrow.

Jason said, “So what were you saying about the chicken?”

“So, as I was saying before, before my brunch companion here,” and he smirked at Esme, “interrupted me, real Nashville style hot chicken is dipped in sauce…”

“Fine, so it’s not authentic,” Esme snapped. Freya glared at her. She’d hear about this later. If Freya came home.

Jay seemed unperturbed. “Well, anyway, I’m there on assignment and my reporter says, ‘we have to try this place, Prince’s. Everyone keeps talking about the hot chicken. I figure I like spicy food so I’m in. We get there and there’s like an hour line but we have no place to be and everyone keeps talking about it, so we wait. So, we get to the front and I say, ‘I want it extra hot. Hot as you can make it.’ The woman behind the counter, big black lady, everyone behind the counter is black and they all look at me, says, real slowly, ‘white folks can’t have that. Too hot.’ Now I want to complain how that’s racist but she looks at my reporter, who’s black, and says, ‘you can if you stupid like him.’ He looks at me and then her and says, ‘make his white boy extra hot’ and mine what he wants.’ I’m thinking I can handle spicy food. I’ve eaten Thai in Thailand.”

‘Of course, you have,’ thought Esme.

“So, we get the chicken and I take a bite and it is maybe the hottest thing I have ever eaten. I am tearing. I am sweating. I am in pain. Everyone is looking at me, but I am not going to give in, right, Jason?” Jason nodded. “So, I choke down a piece. I don’t even know what I’m eating. Could be fried shoe for all I taste. My reporter gets me a glass of milk and I gulp that down. But I am still in pain. I go to wipe my eyes. Know what happens when you wipe your eyes after eating hot chicken, Esme?”

“No, what?” she said, not caring.

“So, now my eyes are burning. I’m afraid I’m going to go blind and how am I going to work? So I go into the bathroom and now I have to pee. And I touch myself and…” Jason and Freya laughed, as did she, in spite of herself. “Well, anyway, that’s how come this isn’t Nashville-style,” he said, taking a sip of his beer.

They chatted until brunch came, Jason and Jay discussing sports. Apparently, they were both baseball fans, and made plans to see “the Mets when the Pirates were in.”

“Are you a Man U or Man City fan?” Jay asked. He’d heard of City?

Esme thought back to her childhood, before everything. She remembered going to matches with her father, wearing her scarf. “God forbid. Liverpool,” she said, laughing. “Man U are wankers.”

“Well, now, I’ve learned something about you. Jamie Carragher fan?”

“How in the hell would you know who Jamie Carragher is?” She was genuinely surprised. He had been her favorite when she was younger.

“I did a report on soccer for school when I was a kid. My dad was a Beatles fan, so I picked Liverpool.”

“Hm,” she said, not out of boredom but out of shock.

Freya excused herself to use the bathroom and, as expected, asked Esme to join her. “See, he’s not so bad,” she said.

“Would you please stop?”

“If you say he’s not so bad, I will,” she teased.

“No. Fine. But not another word,” she said, with a small smile.

“Fine,” Freya smiled triumphantly. “By the way, the article reads brilliantly.” Esme had interviewed his neighbors, his former employer and even a bartender who had been at the Joshua Tree ‘since three places ago,’ who remembered McKenzie when he saw the picture. He had just said, ‘eventually, they all marry out or age out. Otherwise, you become the old barfly scaring the kids.’ “You really made him human.”

“He was human,” Esme said, a little too forcefully. “Sorry. Let’s go back.”

The food was there when they arrived. Jay had a huge plate in front of him. “Want to try some chicken?” he asked her.

She looked at the plate, then him. “Think you can spare some?” He cut off a piece and gave it to her.

“Bloody fuck,” she said, gasping. “This is painful,” she said, taking a gulp of her drink and then some water. She regained composure. “How is it compared to your vaunted Nashville chicken?”

He laughed. “Not as bad. Which is good,” he said. “I can taste this. How’s your tomahto?”

“Fine,” she said, “have some. I won’t eat it all.”

“My mom would tell you to eat more,” he said. “No meat on you.”

“Well, if she were here, I would. She’s not. Have some.”

They finished brunch and Freya and Jason said their goodbyes, walking off hand in hand.

“They seem happy,” Jay said, watching them walk away.

“I suppose,” she said.

“You don’t get them, do you?” he said.

Esme debated whether to respond. Whether whatever she said would get back to Freya and put her friendship at risk. She went with, “If she’s happy, I’m happy for her.”

He grinned, “He’s not who you’d choose.”

“Thankfully, I’m not choosing him. Or anyone.” Well, she thought, that was utterly useless.

He smiled, “Would you like to go get a real drink?”

She smiled, her first real smile of the afternoon. “Yes please.”

They went to a bar on Marcus Garvey, near the Medical Center. It was busy with people in scrubs, drinking away what they saw on shift. She got a table while Jay went to get their drinks. He came back with a gin and tonic for her, and a beer for himself. He held up the glass. “Cheers,” he said, tapping her glass.

“Do you know where that comes from?”

“No, where?” he said.

“In medieval England, knights were afraid of being poisoned, so they’d click chalices so that liquid from everyone’s chalice would go into everyone else’s. If it was poisoned, everyone would be poisoned.”

“Huh,” he said, with a smile. “Learn something new every day. So why do you hate Jason?”

“I don’t hate him. Not at all. He’s just….”

“Dull?” he said, with a smile. She looked down. “He’s not dull. He’s just a regular guy. They don’t have regular guys in Crewe?”

She smiled. “They do. And you’ll notice I’m not in Crewe. Seriously, I don’t not like him. I just think…”

“That’s who she is. She likes him. He likes her. They like couches, apparently.” They had spent ten minutes discussing couches and where they were going after brunch.

She laughed. “He seemed genuinely excited about couch shopping.”

He laughed, “He’s genuinely excited about sleeping with her. If they’re still together in five years, she’ll be waving the iPad or whatever in his face begging him to offer an opinion.”

She decided to tease him, “Going couch shopping soon, Jay?”

He smiled and sipped his beer. “Hardly. Not my speed. You?”

“I’m fine with the couch I have, thanks.” Just then, her phone buzzed. It was Sheriff Rees. “Excuse me for a moment, I have to take this.” She walked away from the table. After a minute, she borrowed a napkin and pen from the bartender and began taking notes. Ten minutes later, she returned. “Apologies.”

“Everything OK?” he said with genuine concern. “That a source or something.”

“Or something,” she said. She paused. “Do you know where Cambria County, Pennsylvania is?”

He looked at her. “Yeah, that’s near where I’m from. Why?”

She started to say something then paused, wondering whether he could be trusted. She decided not to lie, but to elide the truth. “When I was back in England, I had covered a story about something called Late Onset Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome. Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome is when you have a genetic male, XY chromosomes and all, but his body is resistant to male hormones so he presents as female.”

“Wow,” he said. She was impressed that he didn’t snicker or say ‘that’s weird.’

“Well, anyway, in rare cases, it can appear around puberty. Previously male children start to appear female. Hence, Late Onset.”

“Like the reed frogs.”

“What?”

“We talked about it the other day. When there’s an imbalance, they change genders.”

“Well, I don’t think this is some sort of evolutionary thing.” She snapped.

“I didn’t mean that it was,” He said apologetically. “It’s just...Jesus, I can’t imagine that. You?”

‘Why yes. Yes I can,’ she thought. “Well, anyway, I had covered a story about in England.” ‘First person,’ she thought, which she decided was like covering it. “Anyway, the sheriff out there called me. Apparently, they had a case and there’s been some harassment of the poor...child and he was doing research and found my story. So, he was calling me.”

“Poor kid. Now you know why I left. Wanted to get away from that.”

“Me too,” she said, leaving hanging what ‘that’ was exactly. “Anyway, I want to get out there and see what’s going on. How would I go about that?”

“Drive is your best bet.”

“I don’t have my license.”

“Seriously?” he said, with amusement.

“Seriously. We have public transport in England. And here I can take the train everywhere.”

“Well, out there you can’t. If you can’t drive, your next best bet is to fly to Pittsburgh and take a bus to Johnstown. And then you’ll be S.O.L, or,” and he smiled. “I can drive you.”

She seemed surprised. “Really?”

“Really,” he said. “There’s a story here. There’s something going on. I mean, assuming this kid isn’t just trans and making up a story….”

“He’s not,” she snapped. “Or should I say she. Either way, it’s real.”

He looked at her. “I didn’t mean in that way. I don’t doubt it. I just meant that, if there’s tests and all confirming it, there’s something here. And I’d like to be part of it. Also, you’ll need a guide to the wilds of Western Pee-Yay.”

“Ah, someone who speaks the language, knows the customs, all that,” she said, laughing.

“Exactly, madame,” he said, bowing. “How are you going to pitch this? Get MM to agree?”

“Ah shit,” she said. “He’s not interested in this sort of thing, is he?”

In a passable imitation of MM, Jay said, “Who gives a fuck about Pennsylvania? When a kid in Brooklyn has it, then I’ll listen.”

They sat in the bar for about an hour, bouncing around different ideas. Eventually, they hit on ‘Trump says he’s the president of Pittsburgh, not Paris.’ Let’s go visit Trump country to see what the people think. Esme looked at her phone and saw that Cambria had gone for Trump and was the sort of former steel town that was the perfect setting for a story about whether the people believed Trump’s promises. She knew that New Yorkers liked to believe that they were smarter than everyone else. The hook for bringing Jay was that he knew the territory. Besides, he said, ‘MM loves me.’ If you had asked her yesterday, she would have found that insufferable. Now, she realized it was true and, as much as it pained her, she needed him.

As they left the bar, she realized something else. She had barely finished her one drink. “See you tomorrow,” she said.

“Hasta mañana,” he said, offering his hand.

Esme Chapter 2

What happens after a transformation? Esme lives in New York and works as a journalist. She has a secret, one she thought she'd left behind in England. Then she comes across a strange case. A child who suffers from a condition that effects the way their body reacts to hormones. Slowly he is transforming from male to female. A condition so rare it has only one other confirmed case. Esme.

Part 2: Adorkable in Western PA

---

Thanks to everyone at Transcripts TG Fiction for all their support and help. Even that ditzy maid!

---

“Is this it?” Immediately Esme felt cruel. Jay didn’t have to offer to drive.

“She may look a little beat up but she’ll more than do the job,” Jay brushed it off, holding the passenger side door for her. It was an old Honda. A piece of the rubber from the bumper was missing. Esme looked down at the rear bumper and saw a collection of dings and places where the paint chipped. “Admiring the tats?” he said, with a laugh. “You’re not really a New Yorker until you don’t care anymore about parking on the street.”

“Ah,” she said, as much to fill space as anything. “You call your car a ‘she’?”

“It’s the way she purrs.”

“Just shut up and drive,” she said as he closed the door, lifting it up slightly then slamming it shut.

She always found it strange leaving New York. Like leaving a protected enclave. While British cities had blurred lines between the urban and the rural, it seemed to her that there was a vast expanse of the unknown just past the suburbs.

Jay navigated through the streets of Brooklyn to the Battery Tunnel. “Google Maps says we should take the Brooklyn Queens Expressway to Staten Island,” she said, staring at her phone.

He laughed, “Google Maps is wrong. We’ll take the Battery Tunnel, loop around the bottom of Manhattan and take the Holland. The BQE will be a parking lot,” he said. “How long have you lived here?”

“Ten years, in August,” she said.

“Then you should know to call it the BQE. And that you should always avoid it. That and the Belt.”

‘Smug aresehole,’ she thought. She held her tongue. He had offered to drive. As they came up on the west side, she leaned her head against the window, staring upwards.

“You must have seen those buildings a thousand times,” Jay admonished her.

“Not like this.” The sun glinted off the glass windows creating bright spots in front of her eyes. They had set off extra early and it felt like they had the city to themselves. A couple of years ago, she read a book about Manahatta, Manhattan before the explorers. It had said that concrete buildings were the strongest man made structures. There are concrete aqueducts built by the Romans still standing in parts of Europe. That the skeletons of New York’s towers will still be standing thousands of years after the death of the human race.

“How long?” They had just passed through Jersey City and got on the Jersey Turnpike, the traffic clearing up like magic. She looked out the window at the dismal industrial skyline of northern New Jersey. The chemical plants and the dingy apartment buildings loomed before them.

“A little over six hours. Probably nearer to seven or eight once you factor in lunch and toilet breaks.”

She sighed, it hadn’t looked that far on Google maps. She still looked at maps and saw the scale of her homeland. You could drive seven hours from London and be in Edinburgh. The idea that you could drive seven hours and go through basically two states was still bizarre, after all these years.

“Can you reach the bag on the back seat?” Esme looked around. At a stretch she could. “My Bluetooth speaker is in there if you want music. Once we get into Western Jersey, the radio stations turn to crap.”

She did. She felt awkward stretching across. Her t-shirt rode up a little. It felt odd to be so close to him. Once she’d found it, she sat back down. Jay passed her his phone.

“The code is 081677. The date Elvis died,” he said conversationally.

‘Of course it is,’ she thought. Scrolling through she saw it was mostly rock and ‘alt-rock’ with a few nods to hip hop. “Johnny Cash or the Ramones?”

“Cash.” He nodded, “It feels like we are driving away from the Ramones and heading towards Cash country.”

She laughed, “I dare say you’re right. Do you mind if I roll down the window?”

“It fucks with the AC,” he looked concerned.

“Only for a little bit. I want to feel the wind in my hair.” She smiled what she hoped what was a winning smile.

“You don’t have any hair,” he laughed.

She ran her fingers through her short cropped hair, “I have enough.”

Again he laughed, “Alright, Thelma, let's drive windows down for a bit.”

They crossed the Delaware River into Pennsylvania. “Welcome to Pee-yay,” he said. “Wanna go see the Crayola factory?” he said, with a laugh.

She looked him up and down. “Is that some kind of bad pickup line?”

He laughed, “Nope. Easton, PA,” she noticed how he kept calling it ‘pee-yay,’ with a weird sense of pride. “Home of Crayola crayons. My parents took me and my sister when I was a kid.” It was hard to imagine him as a child. She pictured his mother giving birth to a fully formed adult, with sunglasses.

Their first stop was Allentown. All she knew about it was it was north of Philly and New York hated Philly, and vice versa. The diner was what British people thought of when they thought of America. A chrome edged counter stretching down one side, red leather covered seats and Formica tables, with a jukebox at the table. They picked their seats and waited for the waitress. She idly flicked through the titles. Heavy on classic rock - Bon Jovi, Springsteen, everything she thought of when she thought of New Jersey.

“I’m curious,” said Jay, “what do English people think of when they think about Philly?”

She thought for a moment, “Spreadable cheese and Will Smith being born and raised in the west part.”

“Anything else?”

She paused, “Well, didn’t they give Tom Hanks AIDS?” She worried she’d gone too dark but was interrupted by the waitress.

The waitress was a middle-aged woman who hardly looked at their faces. She wore a blue uniform Esme had thought no longer existed outside Twin Peaks conventions. They both ordered black coffee, with pancakes for Jay and scrambled eggs for Esme.

It was early enough that there were men in suits entering the establishment. Two of them took the booth behind Esme.

“I’ve shifted fifty units this month,” The first man’s voice was loud and brash.

“That’s not bad, I’m just shy of sixty,” the second man undercut his friend, “I’ve been down in Florida. Things are picking up there.”

Esme and Jay caught each other’s eyes and silently laughed.

The two men continued talk about the best markets. They went into detail about their colleagues, none of whom they rated.

Back in the car they laughed out loud, “So Jay, how many units did you sell this quarter? I banked a hundred this week alone.” Esme spoke with an exaggerated American accent.

“One hundred? Well Esme that sounds respectable. I’m on a thousand, just in the last two days.”

“A thousand? Well don’t misunderstand me Jaysworth, when I say one hundred I’m talking in thousands…” They carried on for a while.

Once they left Allentown, the road became flat and dull. She thought she might see hills, houses, even billboards for tacky roadside attractions. Instead, what she saw was road. Roads and trucks. Aside from the odd tree or house there was little for her to concentrate on. She imagined her mind spreading out, filling the vast space. The car became quiet as she watched the flat landscape pass by.

They stopped at a fast food restaurant for lunch. Five Guys. “Five Guys, Five Guys Burgers and Fries,” Jay sang while they pulled into the lot. When she stared at him, he said “never heard the jingle?”

“How far now?” Esme dipped a French Fry into her ketchup.

“We’re about halfway. Perhaps a little over.”

Esme groaned, arching her stiff back and stretching her arms.

“What do you want to do when we get there?”

She slumped forward. She had been trying not to think about it, “Check into the motel then go find the Sheriff’s office?” It had seemed like such a good idea yesterday, now she wasn’t so sure. What could she do? It wasn’t like she was some private eye from the movies. There would be no mysterious clues and hidden passages. All she could do was interview people and hope.

It was about 3:30pm when they reached the motel. It looked like most motels she’d seen, a parking lot surrounded by low rise buildings. When she first came to America, she’d imbued such places with a sense of sadness and romantic disconnection. They reminded her of the photos of old rock stars in California, lounging by a pool, or maybe that picture of Martin Luther King, Jr.’s assassination. What she saw was an empty pool, with a crack running down the side and surrounded by chain link fence. She hoped for a comfortable bed and edible food. After collecting their keys, they went to their rooms. Separate but next to each other. They were on the second floor and as far away from the parking lot as was possible.

They stood next to each other, both struggling with their keys. “Shower and rest, then we head out?”

“Sounds good,” she gave him a weary smile just as her door finally gave way. She flopped down on the bed as soon as she was inside. Amazed at how tired sitting in a car had made her.

She lay there her eyes closed, somewhere in the background she could hear a gentle hum. Too tired to sleep, she shifted uneasily. Around ten minutes later, she heard the shower turn on next door. She turned and looked at the wall separating their two rooms. Her mind blank she just watched the wall, until the shower turning off jolted her back into the real world. Looking at her watch she saw that there was no time to snooze.

Her arms and legs feeling like lead, but she dragged herself into her shower. The bathroom was decorated in avocado green, every fourth tile had a picture of a dolphin jumping out the water. The main light didn’t work so the only light source was the orange light of the lamp over the mirror.

---

Jay knocked on her door. “Ready to go?” He was wearing a blue t shirt that said, ‘Penn State’ with a stylized lion and jeans and a faded yellow baseball cap with a black bill and a black ‘P.’

She looked him up and down. “What’s all this?”

He smiled. “What’s all what?”

“The shirt. The hat.”

“The cap,” he said, pronouncing cap clearly, “is a Pittsburgh Pirates cap, circa 1970-1975. Roberto Clemente. Willie Stargell.” She remembered that the Pirates played baseball and assumed that Clemente and Stargell were the stars then. “The shirt is a Penn State shirt.”

“I gathered that. Going native?”

He smirked. “Going not?”

She was wearing black skinny pants, a tailored jacket and knitted tie. She suddenly felt self-conscious. “Do I look that ridiculous?”

“I’m teasing you. You look,” and he paused, “fine. Besides, once you open your mouth, they’ll figure out you’re not from here. I’m like your local guide.”

“Lead on,” she said. “Show me Western Pee-Yay,” she said, hitting hard on the two syllables.

They drove around the area for a while, Jay pointing out the shells of old plants. They drove past one, its rotting husk surrounded by a rusting fence with a heavy padlock across the gate. “Welcome to paradise,” he said. “That used to employ thousands of guys.”

“What do they do now?”

He looked out. “Wal-Mart. Moved. Died,” he said in the his tone flat, the emotion battered down as if fearing a storm.

She involuntarily touched his arm. “Sorry.”

He looked at her, “what for?”

“I just thought. Your father and all.”

“Eh, yeah, well, what can you do?”

“Besides old steel plants, what else are they known for here?”

He laughed, “the Flood.”

“What?”

“May 31, 1889,” he said, deepening his voice like a bad radio announcer. “The South Fork Dam on the Little Conemaugh River breaches. When it was done, 2,209 men, women and children were dead.”

“That’s awful. Why do you know that?”

“Every year, when I was in school, they’d take us to the Flood Museum. A museum devoted to the Johnstown Flood,” he said, as if this were the most obvious thing which, she realized, it was. “Want to go one day?”

She laughed, “I try to avoid museums predicated on disasters. Is there anything else?”

“Slap Shot?”

“What is Slap Shot?”

He looked at her in disbelief. “Paul Newman movie about minor league hockey. Based on the Johnstown Jets.” She looked at him and smiled. “Really? You’ve never seen it. You have to see it.”

“Mm, it’s next on my list,” she said. “Is there a place to get a drink around here? I could use one before the sheriff.”

He laughed. “A decaying steel town? We can scare something up.”

They drove around until they found a bar. It was a low brick building with a steel awning and a storm door. A neon Yuengling sign was in the window, flickering. They walked inside. There was an old pinball machine in one corner and a jukebox in the other. On the bar was a rack with bags of potato chips. There were two middle aged men at the bar, one black and one white. They had the bodies of old athletes gone to seed. They were wearing Carhartt jackets that looked worn from use, not from effort like the ones she used to see in Williamsburg. They walked up to the bar. The bartender looked at Jay, then her, then Jay and smiled, trying to figure out what was going on. “What can I get you?”

Jay held up his hand. “Two Arns,” he said.

“What’s an Arn,” she asked, expecting some weird concoction. The bartender and the two patrons laughed. The bartender pulled two beers and set them down.

“Arn,” Jay said, laughing. “Iron City. Local beer.” He held up his beer and pointed it at the two men. He looked at Esme and grinned. “Too early for an Imp and an Arn,” he said, to the two men.

“Five o’clock somewhere,” the black man said, with a smile. He looked at Esme. “Where are you from?”

She smiled. “England. Crewe, England.”

“What’s someone from Crewe, England doing in this shithole, no offense, Doug,” he said to the bartender, who waved his arms around as if to say, ‘this palace?’

“My name is Esme Entwistle. I’m a reporter with the New York Reporter,” she said.

The two men glared at her. The white one spoke, “Why are you here?”

“I’m doing a story. About Donald Trump.” The bartender and the men groaned. She stammered, “He said he was the mayor of Pittsburgh, not Paris, and we just wanted to see what people here thought about it.”

The black man spoke, clearly and slowly, “I think it don’t matter who’s in power. Democrats. Republicans. We...will...always...get….fucked. That clear enough for you?”

“Quite. I understand that, believe me. I’m from the north of England. Coal mines. Steel plants. All that or there used to be,” she said.

The bartender looked her up and down. “Really? Is that so? What did your old man do, your highness?”

“He was an engineer. For Rolls-Royce.” The men guffawed. She laughed with them, in an effort to defuse the tension. “First off, they made aircraft engines too. Second, just because you worked somewhere that makes expensive things doesn’t mean they paid you that way too.”

“That’s the truth,” the white man said. He looked at Jay, “And what about you? You buy some western PA to English phrasebook? Who’s your favorite Pirate of all time?”

Jay laughed, “This like a war movie where they ask the German who Babe Ruth was? All time - Clemente, has to be. Favorite I saw - Slick.” He looked at Esme. ‘Andy Van Slyke,’ to which she responded ‘Of course.’ “That good enough?”

The men laughed. “Where are you from?”

“Uniontown.” He stuck out his hand. “Jay Stepanik.”

The bartender spoke, “You related to a George Stepanik?”

Jay smiled. “Big guy? 6’3”? About 300 lbs?” The man smiled and nodded. “My uncle.”

The bartender spoke. “Worked for him at Franklin Division.” He turned to Esme, “Steel plant,” which he pronounced ‘still plant.’

“Is that what we drove past?” she asked. Jay nodded.

“He’s a good guy. How’s he doing?”

“Silicosis,” Jay said. “Ten years ago.” The men just nodded, understanding what was said.

“So, she’s a reporter. What are you, her boyfriend? Take her to all the best places?” he said, waving his hand around.

“Oh god, no,” Esme snapped, at which the men laughed and looked at Jay, who smiled and shrugged. “He’s my photographer. A photographer with the newspaper. Well, anyway, I really want to know what you think of the whole ‘mayor of Pittsburgh, not Paris’ thing…”

The white man smiled. “Not your love life, is that it?”

She turned beet red. “Yes, fine, not my love life.”

He laughed, “I’m just teasing you. What do I think? I think it’s all just bullshit. Not a single job will come back here. I don’t believe a word he says.”

“Did you vote for Hillary?”

“Hell, no,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because she’s had eight years, twice, once with her husband and once with Obama, to help me and they didn’t do shit. May as well give someone else a shot.” He looked amused at her look of shock. “People in New York don’t get it. We’ve been fucked here since forever. Coal, steel, cars, it all comes and goes. Democrats, Republicans, we get screwed so why not elect him? What do I have to lose?” ‘The world. The next war. The environment,’ thought Esme.

“So what do you do for a living now?”

The white man spoke, “I drive an Access-A-Ride. Pick up old people and take ‘em to appointments. That’s the growth industry here - old people.”

The black man spoke, “Work at Conemaugh Valley Hospital in maintenance. $12.00 an hour. Non-union,” he said. He pointed at Jay, “Smart move leaving. Shoulda left in the 80s. Moved South.”

“How come you didn’t?” Esme asked.

“Family. Family here.” He looked at Jay, who looked away.

The white man spoke, “Plus, you figured the good times would last. Bethlehem Steel wasn’t going nowhere. Until it did.” He shrugged. “Well, anyway, that’s it, Ms. Esme Entwistle from Crewe, England. Good luck on your story. Not what you thought, huh?”

Esme looked down. She then took down their information, names, ages, histories. As they left the bar, Jay took out his wallet and held up two fingers. “Imps and Arns.” He looked at the men. “Five o’clock somewhere.”

---

She sat on a plastic chair waiting for the Sheriff. She could see through an internal window into the offices. They looked reassuringly like offices everywhere. Standard desks with the usual personal effects. Was there one place that made them all? One desk had three family photos on it and what looked like a homemade mug, the handle missing and now used to hold pens. The next was untidy, piled high with folders and paper.

Esme was regretting her choice of outfit. Back in New York it had seemed professional,now she felt like a caricature. She was sat there for a good thirty minutes, watching people come and go. She needn’t have worried. Most hardly even glanced at her. She was happy enough with that.

“Mrs Entwistle?”

“Ms, actually,” she regretted her sharpness immediately. The man standing over her looked tired and stressed, like overworked public servants everywhere. He was tall, over six foot. He had a small paunch, but apart from that looked in good shape. From his size and stance, she pegged him for a former football player. The American type, of course. “Sorry sir,” she tried to stand up, he was close to her, “It’s been a long drive. Yes, I’m Esme Entwistle.”

“I’m Sheriff Rees,” he said, not offering his hand. “Esme. Unusual name,” he turned and started walking down the hall. After a moment’s hesitation, she followed him.

“Esme was my grandmother’s name,” she had to walk fast to keep up. “She died just before I was born.”

Sheriff Rees opened a door with ‘Sheriff Orson Rees’ written on it in faded gold letters. It opened into a single office. One wall was filled with filing cabinets. In the middle was a large desk with two chairs either side. The first, a comfortable looking chair with arm rests, the other more simple, plastic with minimal padding. The Sheriff took the chair with the arm rests and motioned for Esme to sit on the other.

Before she sat she took in the message board on the opposite wall. It had a number of different police posters on it. Mostly missing persons with the odd anti-drug one. Some had faded.

“I wanted to speak to you in here,” he reached behind him and pulled out two objects, one a gun, the next a heavy duty looking set of handcuffs. “This case isn’t to leave this room. Can I trust you?”

She nodded her head, all the time unable to keep her eyes off the handcuffs.

He leaned back, watching her closely. She shifted in her seat. Had it been designed to be uncomfortable for the sitter? “I guess I have no other choice.” He eventually said.

“Does the, er, other case know I’m here?”

Rees shook his head, “I thought it best not to get hopes up before I was sure about you.”

“Well, that makes sense sir.” She was aware of the reverence Americans reserved for their police. Comes from them being allowed to carry guns, she thought. There was some significance in the cops here being a police ‘force’ and at home a ‘service’.

“Please, call me Rees,” for the first time he smiled. Esme found herself relaxing, having not realised she was so tense, “Everyone else does.”

“Thank you Rees. I’m here to get answers myself.”

They talked for a while. The family was well known locally. The father had worked as the head of accounts at the Johnstown office of a regional property developer. That was before the crash. Now he worked as temp between different small firms, but at least he worked. “For around here, he does OK,” Rees explained, “he helps out at the church. She’s active in raising money for the school.”

“Are there any children?” she had deliberately opted to leave her notebook at the motel, “other than the one I know about.”

“No, just him.”

“When can I meet the family?” she was eager to get on.

Rees rubbed his chin. He had a firm jawline, covered in stubble. She could see the grays amongst the darker hairs. “Where are you staying?” She gave him the name of the motel, “I need to speak to them first.” He looked at his watch. She was impressed he still told the time that way. Most people in New York had stopped wearing them, and if they did it was more of a fashion statement. The watch Rees wore was chipped. The silver paint coming off to reveal the blue underneath.

“How about I pick you up around 7? We can have dinner around our house. I’m sure Mrs Rees will be happy to have company.”

“That would be lovely,” she thought of mentioning Jay, but didn’t want to spook them.

“Good, I’ll get one of my officers to take you back to the motel.”

Riding in the back of a police car was a new experience for her. The sound of the doors locking, the wire mesh barrier separating her from the driver. The officer who took her was a Hispanic woman in her late twenties called Torres. Torres spoke very little. Occasionally Esme caught her glancing in the rear view mirror at her. Her expression was unreadable.

Back at the motel, she knocked on Jay’s door. He wasn’t there. She went to her room and collapsed on the bed. She still had a couple of hours before the meal. She texted Jay to say she would be meeting again with the Sheriff. She left out the stuff about being invited around to his house. Her eyes felt heavy. She set her alarm for an hour later.

It seemed like only a few seconds had passed when the alarm went off. If anything, her head was more cloudy than before her nap. She staggered into the bathroom and splashed water on her face. Looking up she saw the shadows under her eyes. They looked dark in the unkind light. Sighing she began the job of reapplying her make-up. It was fifteen minutes past when her phone buzzed telling her Rees was downstairs. Leaving her room there was still no sign that Jay had returned. She looked at her phone and was a little cross that there was no reply for her earlier text. Could he have got himself into trouble?

Rees was leaning against his car smoking a cigarette. She could see its small pinpoint of light from the stairs.

“Don’t tell Donna,” he threw the butt on the floor, crushing it underneath his foot. He opened the passenger door for her. It made a satisfying clunk noise when it closed behind her.

They drove through street after street of houses. Esme counted at least fifteen ‘For Sale by Bank’ signs.

The Rees house was in a small cul-de-sac. She could hear the humming of a motorway from not far away. There was a basketball hoop above the garage door, missing its net, and a broken wooden gate leading around the back.

Rees’s brown shirt rode up his arm as he unlocked the front door. She could see the hairs on his forearms in the light from the porchlight.

Entering the corridor he called out for his wife. Esme heard a faint female voice calling back. He lead her into the living room.

“Evan,” Rees called out to a boy, no older than fourteen, sat on the sofa. He didn’t look up from whatever was happening on his phone. “Evan, where’s your manners? Say hello to Ms Entwistle.”

“Huh,” Evan looked up. His father laughed when the boy did a double take. Esme was uncomfortable with the amount of time he spent looking her up and down.

Still chuckling to himself Rees lead her into the kitchen. “Meet my better half.”

Donna turned around. She was a middle aged woman with her red hair tied up on top of her head. She was a good looking woman. Age and tiredness had done little to diminish her looks.

“Hello dear. Orson told me we were having a visitor. All the way from New York?”

“That’s right. Just arrived here earlier today.” A large metal pot simmered on the hob in front of Mrs Rees. The steam had clouded up the window. Behind her she noticed Evan slinking into the room. “Thank you for having me in your lovely house, Mrs Rees.”

The woman smiled at her, “Why, aren’t you polite? And you can call me Donna.”

“Esme,” she felt uncomfortable. Like she was playing tennis trying to keep the ball from hitting the floor.

“What a lovely name. What accent is that?”

“English,” she said.

“From London?”

Instinctively, Esme said, “God no. Near Manchester in the northwest of England. Crewe.”

“Is that near Wales?” Rees asked.

“Not far,” Esme said. “Are you Welsh? I thought from the name perhaps.”

He laughed. “Generations back, I guess. Came here to mine coal. No more coal though. What do they do in Crewe?”

She took a deep breath. “They make trains and cars. Used to be Rolls Royces, now it’s Bentleys only.”

Evan perked up, “Did you have one?” She thought ‘do they all ask this,’ and then realized he was a fourteen-year old boy, the one group that should ask this.

She laughed, “Not quite. My father worked for the company, not at that level unfortunately. He was an engineer. So was my grandfather.”

“Then the plant closed?” Donna said.

“Privatised, then sold off to foreign buyers. The Germans I think. There’s still a factory but it employs much less people now.” she said.

“Privatised?”

“The government sold their shares in the company. It used to make all the engines for the air force.”

“Same as here. First, the mines closed. Then, the steel plants. Bet the people in London did OK for themselves, am I right?” Donna said. She was shocked by her cynicism.

Esme paused and smiled, “Always.”

As they sat around the table, Evan talked about his latest school project. They were researching local history.

“So there were a lot of Welsh settlers in the area?”

“Early on, yes,” Evan spoke while shoving food in his mouth. Like many boys his age, he acted like he was in a constant rush to get somewhere and ate like it was his last meal.

“Is that where the name Cambria comes from?” She looked at the family’s faces, “Cambria? It comes from Cymru, which is the Welsh word for Wales.”

“You learn something new every day,” Esme couldn’t tell if Orson was deadpanning. She stopped talking and found it hard to look up from her food.

Evan said, “May I be excused?”

Rees said, “Go ahead.”

“Orson,” Donna said. “He’s not finished.”

He looked at her, then Esme and then back again. “He’s done.”

Donna looked surprised, then a look of recognition came over her face. “Oh, of course. Orson said that you worked on something similar in England….”

Esme paused. “Um, yes.”

“That poor child. I still don’t understand how it happened. It makes no sense.”

“No, it doesn’t.” She thought she felt her phone buzzing. She was wondering if it was Jay and where he was. “Excuse me, my phone is buzzing.” She took it out - no missed calls, no messages. “That’s odd.”

Rees laughed, then looked at Donna. “You’re all the same. Phantom buzzing. You’re so attached to it, you think it’s buzzing when it isn’t.”

Esme smiled, “I am a reporter. I get calls,” she said, not really believing it.

“Sure,” he said, with a smile. “Reporter. Right. That’s why….”

With Evan out of the room, Orson spoke, “So I’ve talked to the family. If you’re ready, you can go over tomorrow.”

Esme looked nervously at Donna.

“Don’t worry,” Orson said, “she knows the story.”

“About. England?”

“About you, yes,” he said. “She won’t say anything.”

Donna smiled. “I’m a cop’s wife. I know how to keep a secret.” Then she took on a serious tone. “I can’t imagine what it must have been like. Did your family cope?”

“Yes, badly.” Esme winced at her own joke. Her reporter’s instinct kicked in. It was easier than thinking. “What can you tell me about this family?”

“The Jankowskis. They’re good people, we met them through the church.” While she listened to Donna, she watched Orson. He sat back in his chair, his big hand brought a glass of orange juice up to his lips, but he never took his eyes off them. His movements were slow and purposeful.

“Aiden, the, erm, ‘case’ was a good, er, kid. Always got good grades, played on the baseball team.”

“Were there ever any signs?” She had often wondered that of herself.

“He was quiet, but so’s the father,” Donna said. “Tall for a girl. If that’s what he is now.”

“It wasn’t like he played with Barbie dolls or anything,” Orson interjected.

“He always stuck by his mother,” Donna said thoughtfully.

“Not so you would notice,” Esme smiled at Orson standing up for the child, “Remember how Evan used to cling to you back at St. Mike’s?” She assumed that was their church.

Donna chuckled, “Aiden was a skinny thing. I remember thinking that.”

“Tall and skinny are common traits in AIS. Apparently there’s a high percentage of top models who have it…” her voice trailed off, worrying that she’d sounded big headed.

Orson chuckled, “Well at least the poor boy has a career to fall back on. I wouldn’t go telling them that now though.”

“Do you have a picture?” Esme asked.

He got up and fetched a work file. She shuddered thinking about why Aiden needed a sheriff’s work file. After a little rummaging he pulled out two pictures. One showed a wiry boy in a baseball uniform beaming next to someone she assumed was the boy’s father. The next picture was clearly the same boy, only it wasn’t. The same open, round face but the grin was more wary. The child’s dirty blond hair was cut short but it was clearly a girl. She was tall for her age, like Donna had said. Anyone looking at it would see a tomboy just entering puberty which, on balance, was a pretty fair description.

After she handed the photos pack to Orson he stood up, placing his knuckles on the wooden table, “I should take you back, you must be tired.”

She was a little taken aback, she wanted to ask more, “What time do you think we can meet them tomorrow?”

“Bob, Aiden’s father, finishes work at five. We’ll go over there at six, if that works.”

“Sounds good,” she’d have to find something to occupy herself with through the day. That made her wonder about Jay. She quickly checked her phone. There was nothing.

They drove through the silent streets. In the background, the radio murmured classic rock.

“You keep checking your phone.” Orson kept his eyes on the road as he spoke.

“Work,” she lied, “It’s funny, the world continuing in New York while I’m here.” She’d had one text from Freya teasing her about Jay and two work emails. Both were group emails about company policies.

“The world turns here as well, you know,” he said with a smile. “People are born, they live, they die, all that. Never go to New York.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” she shifted in her seat, “I meant my life. My friends and work colleagues.”

They shared a cigarette, leaning on the car, outside the motel. It had been a long time since Esme last smoked. The smoke burned her throat, causing her to cough. The motel had a series of blue fairy lights running along the outside of the building. They shimmered in the heat. Again she glanced at her phone, again nothing.

After he had left, she bought a bottle of water from the vending machine and headed straight for her room. Jay’s room was ominously quiet, the note she had written earlier still poking out from underneath the door. For a moment she thought of calling Orson back, but knew she’d look silly. What reason did she have to expect Jay to call in with her? Was he in a bar somewhere? Who was he with?

It was only when she climbed into bed that she realised how tired she was. Every muscle seemed to be complaining at once. She didn’t remember falling asleep.

She woke needing the bathroom. The room was still, the changing light of the motel sign crept under and around the curtains. Coming from New York, she could really hear the silence. The clock on her phone said just after 3am. There was a text.

Jay; ‘Sorry, phone died on me. Got lots of good photos. Catch up over a late breakfast?’

She tossed her phone to one side and headed to the toilet. When she returned, she lay there unable to sleep. She punched her pillow, trying to make it fit better, then punched the mattress a couple of times for good luck. It was nearly five before she managed to slip back asleep.

---

“Did you sleep OK?”

“Huh. OK I suppose.” She gave Jay a weak smile, then turned back to staring out of the window.

The waitress, a young woman with the faded remnants of a purple dye job in her blond hair, came over. She placed a plate of eggs in front of Esme. She gave her a warmer smile.

“What do you want to do with the day?”

She kept eyes on the parking lot outside, refusing to look at him, “You said you’ve sent photos to Freya and MM?”

“Yes, like we agreed.” Tension in his voice.

“Well, I guess I’m going to have to spend the day writing my article, aren’t I.” she gave a shrug of her shoulders and an annoyed little click of her tongue, “Realistically I mean.”

“Do you have enough for it? We should go out and get more local color.”

She just shook her head, still looking away. They finished their food and coffee in silence. Jay occasionally shot her glances, although she tried not to look.

After finishing his pancakes and bacon he looked directly at her, “OK. Be like that,” he threw some cash on the table and got up.

“Like what?” Her eyes darted to him. She’d been so completely angry. It had filled every part of her. After a few short words, in a matter of seconds, it had all disappeared. It was replaced with fear. “What have I done?!”

“You know what.” With that he left.

She slumped in her chair, feeling like shit.

“Do you want more coffee?” The waitress made Esme jump. What had she heard?

“Can I get one to go?” she wanted out of there.

“That’s extra,” her terse tone convinced Esme she’d heard, and judged everything.

“I-I-don’t mind paying. How much?” She fumbled getting her wallet out of her jacket pocket. Around her she could feel the harsh looks of others closing in on her. She remembered returning to school. Sitting in the middle of class as a teacher ‘explained’ what had happened. All those eyes fixed on her.

She tossed the change on the table and stood up, almost pushing the waitress backwards as she slid out of the seat. She grabbed her jacket and moved as quickly as she could. Jay’s car had gone. The motel was only two blocks away, but she’d hoped to catch him.

Her t-shirt was soaked through with sweat by the time she reached her room. Her pale skin was born to cope with flint-grey skies, not the harsh, almost white sun here. She lay on her bed, all energy having drained away. After a few minutes she checked her phone, nothing. Five minutes later she checked it again. The thought of just staring at a silent phone was too much. She picked it up and began typing.

Esme; “Sorry, I was a bitch. Forgive me?”

She put the phone down on the bed without sending. She watched the screen, her finger hanging over the ‘send’ button, until the screen went to black. She thumped the back of her head against the pillow, not realising how thin it was. Her skull met the cheap wooden headboard. The pain was sharp but short lived, but still it felt more real than anything else.

Eventually she needed something, anything to keep her mind focused. She picked up her laptop and started on her article.

Whenever she heard a car pull into the lot, she would stop and walk slowly over to the window, twitching the curtains open. From where she was, she couldn’t see the cars. She would count the minutes after the engine was killed. One time she heard the footsteps coming her way, but eventually they turned off in a different direction. The door to Jay’s room stayed closed.

Jay’s photos were beautiful. He really was talented. In the harsh sun, the buildings looked bleached out. The towers of the old factories looked like the apocalypse had come to Renaissance Italy. The ones taken later in the day were covered in long shadows. There was one showing two boys, possibly brothers, standing in the middle of the street. The older one held a baseball bat and his brother’s hand. While the street was bathed in the sun, the two boys were hidden by the shadow of large red-brick building. On the building was a sign saying ‘All sales final. Going out of business’. A few clicks later and it was her laptop’s wallpaper.

She picked up her phone. The unsent text was staring back at her. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and hit send.

Her brain cleared for the first time and she started work. She found the article came fast. She used a couple of the stories she’d picked up with Jay. One about paying into a savings account over a year to pay for his little boy’s Christmas present. The other about a guy who couldn’t get a mortgage just because his zip code was flagged up as a ‘danger’. The guy claimed he’d never had any serious debt his whole life (‘lived here my whole life, saw what happened when people thought it would never end.’) One illustrating the hope and resilience of people living around there, the other how the system was stacked against them.

In all, it took her the best part of two hours. By the time she was finished she was feeling better. She had kept her mind disciplined, focused on the article, putting her phone away in her case. When she finished, she retrieved it, but there was no reply. She sat down on the end of the bed, her shoulders sagging. Had she been that bad?

Her t-shirt was still sticking to her. Lifting her arms she could smell it. After showering she checked her phone again. Still nothing.

Feeling hungry, she went down to the vending machines and bought a chocolate bar and a packet of chips. Back in the room she Googled Aiden Jankowski. After scrolling through a number of other Aidens, she finally found a Facebook page. The last update was from six months ago. The homepage indicated that a number of recent posts by other users had been deleted for failing to live up to community standards. Esme didn’t need to guess what they had been like. She did find some older posts. A picture taken in the holidays, Aiden sitting in between his two younger siblings. A baseball game between two school teams. She guessed the boy in the oversized red helmet was Aiden.

She looked over at her phone again. It was still dead. She hated looking at it and took desperate measures. She texted Freya.

Esme; “I think I’ve f@*ked it up with Jay”

A reply came quickly.

Freya; “There’s a you and Jay :-) Oh no, what did you do?”

What did ‘you’ do, not what happened. Esme turned the phone over in her hands, feeling like she had hot lead in her chest.

Esme: She typed ‘there is no me and Jay,’ and then deleted it angrily. Instead: “He was sweet. I was a bitch.”

She hit send and fell back on the bed, as if admitting the truth had knocked her down. Moments later the phone rang.

“Hey,” she said, suddenly and unexpectedly close to tears.

“Hey you,” she could hear the sound of the office in the background, “I’m just heading to the corridor. Wait up,” she was slightly out of breath. “OK, OK. Tell me what happened.”

Esme felt the lead in her chest cooling as she explained.

“Oh hun, honestly you’re fine.” Esme could hear her smiling across state lines. “You’ve just had your first lovers’ tiff.”

“Shut up,” she sniffed. She hated how much better she felt.

“Honestly the number of times I bit Jason’s head off in the early days.”

“Really?” She had a hard time imagining her friend being difficult, ever.

“Really! You should let him know you were worried. Guys like to know we need them.” There was a pause, “To be fair, I think that’s what we all want.”

Esme looked forward at her laptop and the blank TV screen. For a long time all she wanted was to be left alone. She’d built her whole life around that idea. Could she ever be anything different?

She jumped. There was the tell-tale buzz.

“What?” Freya picked up that there was something going on.

“A text, hang on,” she switched the phone to speakerphone, “From Jay.”

“What does it say?”

“Hang on, hang on,” she was worried she’d press or swipe the wrong thing and lose the call, or the text, or both. She read it through twice before replying to Freya, “He says; ‘no worries,’ he’s sorry he stormed out. Do I want to meet up after seeing the family? There’s a winking face and…” she prepared herself, “and an x,” she couldn’t bring herself to say ‘kiss’. There was a long pause. “You know I can hear you thinking ‘told you so’ from a different time zone.”

Freya laughed, “Western PA isn’t a different time zone,” then, suspiciously but with “what family?” ‘Shit,’ Esme thought. ‘She doesn’t know why I’m here.’

Esme lay back on the bed, hand on her forehead, “Um, a family we’ve met. Half of them voted for Trump, half Hillary. Trying to decide if there’s something there.”

Freya laughed and, in sing-song, said, “You’re lying. He’s meeting his family and wants to take you there.”

“It’s not his family, I promise you that,” Esme said, laughing in the hopes of distracting her.

It worked. “Whatever. I’ve got to get back to work soon, you’re lucky, So, what it’s like there?”

“The nineteen eighties. I half expect the ghost of Thatcher to chase me down the street.”

“I don’t know why you Brits hate Thatcher so much. I mean I know she was conservative, but she was the first female prime minister.”

“First barely human PM,” Esme thought back to the bar yesterday, “I think people around here would get it.”

“Whatever.” She heard Freya sigh, “I’ve got to get back to work. How’s the article coming?”

“Good, I’ll send over the first draft now. Jay’s pictures look fantastic, did you see th…” there was a smug silence coming from the other end, “shut up!”

“OK kitten,” Esme hated it when Freya called her kitten. ‘Cute, but with claws’ she’d said. They had both been stoned at the time, “Call me later. I want to hear everything,” making clear what ‘everything’ meant. She hung up.

Esme looked at the phone again. She read through Jay’s text three or four times before starting a reply, each time her eye catching on the ‘x’. She crafted her text with care and precision, like the opening to an international treaty.

Esme; “No, it was my fault. I was being a cow. I was worried when you didn’t reply to my texts last night,” she stared at the phone for another ten minutes, then added, “x”

After it was sent she returned to her computer and sent Freya the article with a jpeg of Jay’s photo of the two boys. A note attached saying she wanted to use this one. She’d only just sent it when her phone buzzed again.

Jay; “’Cow’, LOL, you’re super English. How about we catch up over tea and crumpets after you meet the family? X”

She replied back saying that, if he made it alcoholic, he had a deal. He sent back a winking face she assumed was a ‘yes’. Then it was done. Had she just arranged a proper date? She paced the room a couple of times. Looking at the clock she still had a couple of hours to kill until six.

-----

Six p.m., the squad car pulled up to the house. “Here we are,” the Sheriff said. It was a one-story brick home, small but neatly kept. It reminded her of her Nan’s bungalow back home. There was an old SUV in the driveway, next to a sedan of the same age as Jay’s. The lawn was mowed and there were bushes in ringing the house. In the back yard, she could see a swing set that clearly hadn’t been used in a couple of years. She assumed that Aiden and his, her siblings had outgrown it but it was too large to easily take down. She would have given anything to go back to a time when her biggest concern was seeing how high she could go.

Walking up the driveway she rubbed the back of her neck. The sun was making it prickly. “They know about me,” Esme said, “right?” She had asked him this four times on the way over.

“Yes,” he said. “I’m going to ask you not to be nervous. They’ve been through enough.” He got out and opened the door.

“Thank you, Sheriff. I’ll be fine,” she said, smoothing out the non-existent wrinkles in her shirt. She had agonized over what to wear. At first, she had put on a blouse and tailored pants, then thought it too feminine, that it might scare or depress Aiden. Then, she went with a t shirt and skinny jeans, which she dismissed immediately too informal. Would it insult the Jankowskis to show up at their house dressed for a night with Max? She ended up going with the jeans and the blouse and flat shoes.

He rang the bell, a woman opened the door. She was about 5’5” and 160 lbs. Her hair was blond, but she could see the gray starting to peek through. She gave them a fake smile. “Orson,” she said.

“Lorraine,” he said. “This is Esme Entwistle. From England.”

Lorraine looked her up and down, appraising her. Esme thought, ‘am I another woman or am I her son?’ She put out her hand, “Mrs. Jankowski, it’s very ni...well, um, thank you for hav...um, hello.”

The sheriff looked at Lorraine. “Do you want me to stay?”

“No, Orson, you’ve done more than enough, as always. We’ll call when we’re done. Come in, Miss Entwistle,” she said, as she closed the door. She turned to Esme and let out a breath, “thank you for coming. This is, as I’m sure you know, very hard on us all.”

She started to say, ‘I imagine,’ but realized that she didn’t have to. “I know. How is Aiden?” she said. She suddenly felt self-conscious of her clothes, her hair, of her entire being.

They walked towards the kitchen. “He, she...I’m sorry, it’s still very new to me,” she said, tearing up.

Esme looked down at the floor. “I know, Mrs. Jankowski.” She couldn’t bear to look her in the eye. They walked into the kitchen. It reminded her of the kitchen in her parent’s house, small. On the refrigerator, she saw report cards, a school calendar and what appeared to be a magnetic schedule for the Pirates. At the round table sat a man in his 40s. He had the look of a man who opened up a greetings card only to discover a tax bill.

He stood up. Lorraine said, “Esme Entwistle, this is my husband Bob. Bob, this is Esme Entwistle...from England,” she said, pausing and enunciating each word slowly. The blouse she was wearing wasn’t expensive, but Esme could see that she took great care to keep it clean and pressed. The house too. Everything was tidy.

“Very nice to meet you, Mr. Jankowski.”

He looked her up and down. She was used to dealing with the sleazy once-over men gave her in bars, she hadn’t had to deal with this kind of look in a long while. She felt like he was a technician and she was some tech that had developed a fault he hadn’t seen before. “Bob. Call me Bob. Thank you for coming, I guess.”

Esme said, “When the sheriff called, I, uh, knew I had to come. Sorry,” she said, laughing, feeling like she was losing them, “that sounded awful.” She shifted back and forth, trying to decide if she looked too feminine, too masculine or not enough of either. “I mean I...I’m afraid I don’t know what I mean right now.”

They both laughed, she hoped not just to put her at ease. “That makes three of us,” Lorraine said. “I don’t know how else to start this, so I just will. When did you find out? About you, I mean?”

Bob pulled out a chair, a gesture that, for whatever reason, made her feel less self-conscious. Esme sat down, “When I turned thirteen.” They looked at her, waiting for something more. She felt herself slide in the chair and then sat up sharply. “Things started to change. Initially, it was just that I grew suddenly, but my voice wasn’t changing and well….”

Lorraine looked at her. “Well, what?”

“This is awkward, I dare say.”

Bob stared at her, “Ms. Entwistle, please. Don’t feel awkward. This is awkward for all of us,” he laughed nervously, which made her feel better. “Sorry, Laney,” he said.

Esme took a deep breath. She came all this way. “Well, my...uh...testicles weren’t descending and I wasn’t developing facial hair.” She had never said these words aloud to anyone and continued. “My parents weren’t concerned, I mean not concerned enough to take me to the doctor when I asked about it.”

“How did you find out?” Lorraine asked.

“I went for my annual physical and the doctor looked at me and was concerned. My penis was, as he said, severely underdeveloped.”

“That’s what the doctor said about Aiden.”

“Well, yes. And then, well, my body began changing. I began to develop...in my chest and hips. My...down there...became less… well more female. Eventually, the blood work and genetic tests determined that I had it.”

“That sounds like Aiden,” Lorraine said.

“I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry,” Esme said. Sorry for what? She’d spent some time in Spain. A Catalan friend had once told her that, for the Spanish an apology was an admission of guilt. In the English speaking world it was an expression of sympathy.

“Did they ever determine what caused it?”

Esme said, “No. They said it was a ‘genetic abnormality.’”

“That’s awful,” Bob said. “They told a kid that?”

“Well, I mean...I think it was supposed to be helpful.”

They both laughed quietly, Lorraine saying, “I’d hate to see harmful then.” Esme laughed, grateful for the joke, such as it was. She wasn’t ready to tell them how they removed her testicles, to prevent cancer later on. She was sure that they had read it on the Internet, but felt it cruel to say it out loud. To them and her.

“How is Aiden doing?”

“How did you do?”

“Hm.” They looked at her. “Sorry, that’s a loaded question.”

They sat around for a few minutes. “Would you like to meet Aiden?” Bob asked.

“Is he, she up to it? I’m sorry, but what pronoun does Aiden prefer?”

Lorraine looked at her and said, “Prefer? Or use?”

“How about I just stick with Aiden for now?”

Bob walked off to get him. She could hear the sound of a low-volume argument through the walls, then shuffling down the hall.

“Ms. Entwistle, this is Aiden. Aiden, this is Ms. Entwistle from England.” Aiden shuffled in, his blond hair growing to just below his ears. He was wearing a t shirt and shorts, his legs pale and hairless. She could see the beginnings of breasts and a slight curve to his hips, she thought. Or was that just what she expected to see?

Esme and Aiden stared at each other. Esme had no idea how to deal with teenagers. She thought back to when she was one and shuddered, remembering ‘freak’ and ‘hermaphrodite’ and ‘tranny.’ She thought she’d left that behind on a former 1960s council estate in Cheshire. From what she saw on Facebook, her brother, Nick had a daughter who appeared to be about Aiden’s age, but they had never met. Esme stuck out her hand, “Hi Aiden, I’m Esme. It’s very nice to meet you.

She saw Aiden look at her arm. She had no body hair below her eyebrows, one of the indicia of the condition. He looked at her arm, then his, then hers again. “Hi,” he said, listlessly sticking out his hand.

“Would you like to go into the living room?” Lorraine said. “It’s more comfortable.”

“Whatever’s best for all of you, Mrs. Jankowski.” They walked in. “You have a lovely home.” On the hallway wall between the kitchen and living room was family portraits and photos. She could see last year’s photo. Aiden, his father and his younger brother in shirts and ties and his mother and sister in dresses. She remembered the picture over the fireplace in Crewe, pre-teen Philip in his football kit. She couldn’t remember another photo in the house after that and willed herself not to cry.

---

“So how was it?” The bar was in the front of a little restaurant, around the corner from their motel. The decorations suggested Mexico. If Mexico could be summed up by big hats and novelty toys with moustaches. Jay downed his tequila and started on his beer.

“Awkward. It was hard to know what to say. The parents looked like there had been a bereavement in the family.” She toyed with her beer bottle, attempting to take the label off in one perfect sheet.

“You can’t blame them I suppose. It’s not like there’s a handy leaflet explaining what to do. How about the kid?” They sat at the bar, around them a middle aged man with dyed black hair set up the tables.

“Damn!” The label had ripped. “He was OK. Shy at first, a little sad. Angry whenever the subject came round to the doctors who they’ve seen.” She put the three remaining pieces of label on the bar, placing them together like a jigsaw puzzle. She thought of Aiden, how he couldn’t sit still, hugging a pillow against himself. His intense stare that never seemed to leave her. As if he was trying to commit to memory her every move.

“Do you think they will do an exclusive interview for you?” She remembered Aidan’s mom and dad leaving the room to make coffee. How Aiden had whispered, ‘can I get pregnant?’. The relief on his face when she’d told him no.

She shrugged, unable to meet his eye, “Possibly,” a pause, “Probably even. If we can get MM to cough up some cash. The medical bills are killing them.”

“Not covered by their insurance?”

“He’s self-employed.”

“Damn.” She looked up at him. He seemed genuinely concerned. He was older than her, and his hairline was showing the first signs it was about go into retreat, but his face was boyish. In the right light, when he wasn’t stressed or tired, he could pass for being in his twenties.

The waiter showed them to their table. He lit a candle, and placed in a used wine bottle. It sat in the middle of the table making it hard for Esme to see Jay without leaning to one side.

“So what next?”

She took a gulp of beer, a little bit spilling onto her chin. She hoped the candle and bottle had hid that from Jay’s view. “I’ll write up what I’ve got,” she lied. “Send it to Freya, see what she thinks. If she can persuade MM, I’ll get back in contact with Bob and Lorraine. Hopefully I can come back as early as next week,” She knew she had to come back, “The article will need pictures too.” And she had to come back with him.

The laminated menus had a cartoon Mexican on the front that reminded her of the Mexico 86 World Cup Logo. She’d been born the same year and her father, expecting a football/soccer mad son, had bought her a mug and t-shirt with the logo on.

Jay reached around the table and pointed at her menu, “This section is less spicy.”

She wanted to snap off his patronising finger, “I’m British. We grow up eating Indian food. I can handle spicy.” She folded her arms, watching his face through the flickering flame, “What’s the spiciest thing on the menu? I’ll have that.”

Her face was red, she didn’t need a mirror to know that. She could feel little beads of sweat running down her forehead.

“How is it?” she could tell Jay was fighting back his amusement.

“Fine,” she said, her voice tense. She put another spoonful in her mouth. Immediately her tongue began to burn. She broke, “Fine. It’s not fine! Water, I need water!” She grabbed for the jug of water. Jay signalled to the bar for two more beers.

“Don’t laugh,” she sulked, “It’s not fair.”

He laughed harder, “The great Esme Entwistle admitting to weakness. If only the office could see you now.”

“Do they think I’m a bitch?” She looked away.

“No!” he overcompensated, “Just aloof.”

“’Aloof’? I’m sure that’s the language they use down at O’Neil’s,” where some of the younger male staff went after work. It had air hockey, chicken wings and everyone was ‘bro’. “What does Sal say?” Sal, the writer of the tech column, was the king of the Bros, a wannabe tough guy from Queens. He was born a frat boy and would die a frat boy, probably from a mis-tapped keg.

“Sal thinks you work as a dominatrix in your spare time,” Jay took his new beer from the waiter.

Esme went white, she hoped Jay couldn’t see. Sal had come dangerously close to sinking one of her battleships. She took a swig of her new beer, her mouth returning to normal.

“How did they differ?” Jay asked.

“Huh?”

“The family you met today from the one in England.”

It took a while for her mind to readjust, “There were differences. Personalities and such. But there were more similarities.”

“How do you mean?”

“The dad angry, impotent, unable to do anything. The mother worn away to almost nothing with worry that won’t end. That kind of thing. I hope they react better than the family in England did.”

“Fell apart, did they?” She nodded. She could see him watching her. “And what about the English kid? How did they take it?”

‘The English kid’, “About as badly as you’d expect. It’s not something anyone prepares you for. Your dad can hardly look at you, you watch your mum fade away. Your brother is embarrassed to be seen with you at school,” she said, willing back tears.

“Sounds like you’re really invested in this.” He leaned back in his chair. Behind him she could see the only other couple in the restaurant. They were holding hands.

“It’s hard not to, when you get to know the families. You don’t want to let them down.”

He smiled at her.

The drive home the next morning was uneventful. Mostly she dozed, curled up on the passenger seat as best she could.

Jay set up his phone and hit play. A country song came on.

“What is this?” She heard lyrics about rock and roll and James Dean.

“Just listen,” he said. The singer sang, ‘happiness is seeing Lubbock, Texas in your rearview mirror.’ “I always play this when I’m leaving. I hate to admit it.”

She smiled, closing her eyes, “I know what you mean.”

Nine Months (Month One)

Kelly is a 36 year-old copywriter working for a top London ad agency, that is until he loses his Job. His wife, Jamie is a struggling actor looking for her big break. They have been trying to get pregnant for years but now, but without the money from Kelly’s job they will have to give up trying.

Jamie, wants them to get away, play at being different people. She orders two body suits, but thanks to their gender-neutral names there’s a mix up. Then an offer comes in from Iceland…

Thanks to Robyn and Chris who gave feedback and support on the earliest drafts.

Month One

It felt strange, my hand inside Jamie’s. Hers seemed so much bigger than mine. I marvelled at how realistic the body suits were. There’s no way I’d have been able to detect the difference between my real and the nano-skin.

Our line drew closer to the check-in. I fidgeted with my fringe, cursing again how much extra work the hair extensions caused. Normally, I’d have insisted we got to the airport early. I loved spending time in the waiting areas, kind of hovering between countries and destinations in a surreal ‘other’ world. This time however I wanted to minimise my time in an open public place.

Jamie released my hand but then put her arm around my middle and pulled me close. I wanted to pull away and admonish her but I was too scared to make a scene.

I flexed my shoulders frustrated at the pull of the bra strap. I stopped when I realised a man in the line for Malaga was staring. Jamie kissed me on the side of my head.

“Hey beautiful,” she jested. “Don’t stress so much.”

I was about to say something but we’d reached the front of the line, the airline employee beamed at us. Jamie looked at her smiling, “She’s a bit of a nervous flyer,” Jamie nodded at me.

I gritted my teeth and smiled. Jamie knew I loved to fly but I let her have her fun. There would be payback later I vowed.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get you there safe,” the airline employee had a pleasant, melodious Scandinavian accent. I just smiled back hoping this conversation would end soon.

My heart was in my mouth as she scanned our false passports. For a moment she looked from Jamie’s face to mine. Inside my head I was screaming ‘run’ but I held it together. Within a few seconds she handed Jamie both our passports and tickets and we left for the departure lounge.

Jamie patted my arse causing me to jump a little. She whispered in my ear, “Stay calm, we’ve still got passport control to get through.”

I nodded my head, the fear overrode my annoyance at Jamie’s behaviour. I found myself moving closer to her.

When we reached the scanners, I started to panic that the body suits would set them off. Were the nanos made from some sort of metal, or are they plastic? Jamie went first and walked through without setting them off. I relaxed a little. A woman in a brown customs guards uniform motioned for me to come through. I held my breath and began walking.

BEEP, the alarm went off. For a moment I contemplated running again but then I remembered my belt. Sheepishly I took it off and placed it in the items tray. The woman motioned for me to go through again. I had to hold my jeans up. I wished I’d agreed to wear the skinnier pair Jamie suggested that morning.

BEEP, again the alarm went off. My nerves were at stretching point as the guard woman motioned for me to come to her. She made me stand with my arms and legs apart, only the extra padding the body suit provided around my butt and hips kept my trousers up. Then she ran her hand held scanner over my body. There was nothing as she ran it over my legs, then my body and arms. Finally she reached my head and we were looking at each other eye to eye. I could see a mixture of boredom and annoyance in her piggy little eyes.

Her hand held device beeped as it reached, first my left, then my right ear.

“Earrings,” she said, shooting me a look that made me feel seven years old.

“Oh, shit,” I started to take them off, “I am sooooo sorry.”

Of course it was those damned earrings. That morning, Jamie had persuaded me to wear the clip-ons. They had been killing me all the way in the taxi but the fear of being exposed in public had driven them from my mind.

Jamie had a huge shit-eating grin on her/his face as I finally retrieved my flight bag, jacket etc. As I re-fitted my belt Jamie came up behind me and kissed me on the neck making. I felt small against her. Her extra height and our gender-neutral names were the cause of the mix up. The company sent us a male suit for Jamie and a female suit for me. Damn their stupidity. We had already had the passports made up beforehand.

“Hey, come on,” Jamie’s expression was more conciliatory. I saw sympathy in those blue eyes I recognised so well, even if I didn’t recognise the male face they were shining out of.

I couldn’t settle for the whole time we waited. I kept glancing at the Departure board looking for Reykjavik. Eventually Jamie got fed up of my fidgeting and took us to a chain bar. I huffed a little when she bought herself a pint and me a white wine.

“I have to say it’s turning me on,” we sat on two barstools surrounded by harassed looking business people, Jamie leant in and continued to whisper, “knowing that’s you under all that. It really gets me going.”

I sighed; Jamie has always been the experimental type. In retrospect, that’s half the reason we were in this trouble in the first place. She’d wanted us to have a holiday where we pretended to be different people. Given how great the sex could be I agreed.

I was relieved when we finally got to board the plane. The flight attendant smiled at me, as if I was just one of the girls. I noticed the approving look she gave Jamie as she followed behind me.

The aeroplane was mostly empty, it having been an early flight in the middle of the week, so we had space to spread out a little. I was used to travelling on the cheapest airlines with little leg or arm room. It was a luxury I didn’t get much time to appreciate as the quiet only brought back the strangeness of the body I was in and weirdness of my clothes. The strange weight on my chest and the pulling of the bra, the odd way my jeans sat on my enhanced hips.

As the plane took off I felt panic rising, what were we doing? We we’re sure to be caught. I hadn’t been thinking straight, not since this all began.

---

It did not begin auspiciously, to say the least.

I was a copywriter for one of the big London ad agencies. It paid the bills. At one point, I loved what I did, the ability to be creative and see your work on television. As time went on, I liked it less and less. I was 36 which, in ad years, may as well have been dead. Copywriting is a young person’s game is the way they saw it. You start on adverts for clothes, then they move you to cars and then, as you age, they move you to banks then mobility scooters, chair lifts and pension plans.

Someone has to advertise on Law and Order, I suppose. Either way, I was rapidly becoming more and more miserable. What made it more so was that I had no way out. Jamie was an actress. She would work occasionally, which meant that I needed to do so to pay for our lives. She had her dream and, however remote it seemed, I wouldn’t take that from her. One of us should be able to do it, I thought.

The agency’s office was an open plan. There were no partitions, except for the higher ups and even their offices had glass walls. It was designed to encourage creativity, by making everyone open to everyone else. It worked sometimes, but I found that it mostly exposed me to the prattling on of whomever was sitting near me.

I was sitting at my desk, pondering an advert for mortgages (“And there’s a couple walking along the Costa Del Sol and they see a cottage for sale….”), when Jeremy, my boss, came over. “Up for coffee, Kelly?” he said, with a somber look on his face.

“Sure,” I said, uncertainly. There was a coffee bar in the corner of the office, along with a snooker table and an Xbox. More things to encourage creativity - and keep you in the office.

I started walking towards the bar, when Jeremy said, “Why don’t we go downstairs to the Starbucks?”

I was nervous now. I had worked with Jeremy at a series of agencies over the years. He moved up the ladder to the point where he was now a creative director. I had been as high as senior copywriter which, if I were being honest, was more a function of years of service than any love for my work. I was good at what I did, but I had achieved my level. Jeremy and I would go to lunch every so often but, since they installed the coffee bar, hadn’t left for coffee. That he was asking me to go left me concerned.

We went down to the Starbucks. Jeremy looked around and, once he determined that no one was there, pulled out a sheaf of papers from his pocket. “Logan’s Run mean anything to you, Kelly?”

My jaw dropped. I had been writing a blog entitled “Logan’s Run - The Only Thing You Can’t Have in the Ad World is the Total Pleasure of Your 40th Birthday.” It was my ramblings about the ad world, mostly comments on various campaigns. Lately, as I began to feel the rumblings of the millennials behind me, the blog had, charitably, become angrier.

“I saw the best minds of my generation pushed over the cliff on chair lifts and scooters,” he flipped pages, “angel headed hipsters mocking them on Twitter and Snapchat. Well, Kelly, it’s derivative but a lot better than the shite you’ve been doing lately,” he said, with a laugh. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“Erm, um, erm,” I stammered. “How did you find it?”

He took off his titanium framed glasses and twirled them around. Jeremy was forever chasing the latest trends. He shopped at the sort of clothes shops in Shoreditch and Hoxton that have a logo instead of a name. I’d once heard a rumour that a junior copywriter spotted him in Top Man. He ran his fingers through his hair. “I keep up on the blogs, Kell. It’s part of the job. You might consider it.

“How did you figure it was me?” I said, sloshing my coffee around in the cup and not looking him in the eye.

“Well, there’s not a whole lot of senior copywriters your age, for a start,” he said, with a subtle dig. “Sorry, that was cruel. How long have we known each other, fifteen years? You have a distinctive voice. Also, you made a comment about B&Q , and some millena-twat there caught it.” Millena-twat was our chosen name for the twenty-somethings whose footsteps were rapidly overtaking ours. “He told some higher-up, the brown-nosing little shit, and they called over, nosing about.”

“Does anyone else know?” I asked, dreading yet knowing the answer.

“Just Mark,” he sighed. Mark was Jeremy’s boss, the senior creative director.

“Oh good god,” I moaned. “How screwed am I?”

“Mark likes you, Kelly. This can blow over in a few months’ time but you have to help us.”

“How can I do that?” I could feel the acid building in my stomach. I dreaded what could come next. Public humiliation? Seppuku?

“Take a leave of absence, an unpaid leave of absence. Give us some bollocks about how you’ve decided to follow your muse,” he said, waving his hand in the air. “I know you’ve got a novel in your desk, everyone does. Jamie chewed my ear off about it the last time we had the two of you around. A few months time and it’ll blow over.”

“Um, you said unpaid…” I had savings, but we had plans for those. Plans that didn’t include me getting fired, however it was framed.

“Look, Kelly. We have two choices here. You trust me and resign. Or I’m going to have to fire you. You know how big our billings for the old and feeble are,” he said, with a laugh. “They won’t just die already so we have to cash in. We’ll get through this, but you need to lay low for a while. Even if I fire you, every agency’s going to figure it was you and you’ll be dead in the industry.”

“I get that...shit, Jamie! What the hell do I do about her?”

“Mate,” Jeremy said. “You are fucked. Use those writing skills you have to try and un-fuck yourself as best as possible. But you are fucked. By the way, the blog is quite good. You just have to be careful next time.”

I went upstairs and tendered my resignation. As I left, everyone wished me well but I could see in the twenty-somethings’ faces the idea that they would never be me, that they had it all figured out. Good luck, I thought. Then, any suggestions?

I went home on the Tube, trying to figure out how I would explain this to Jamie. She had always told me how she knew I could write a great novel if only I had time. Maybe, she’d see this as a good thing.

She did not.

“A blog?” She screamed, flailing at my chest with her fists. “You risked our life for a bloody BLOG? Are you really that fucking stupid, Kelly?”

“I, er, uh, erm, I didn’t think anyone would see it,” I mumbled. “There are how many thousands of blogs? What were the odds that anyone would read it?”

“You are an absolute idiot. First, you work in an industry - OF WORDS. OF TRENDS. You’re not a bloody insurance agent. You write - for a living. You wrote a blog - about your industry. Not football or twitching or your love of Corry. Of course, the people - IN YOUR INDUSTRY - would see it.” To be clear, I was not a twitcher and Coronation Street bored me to tears. It was not, however, especially relevant to the discussion we were having and discretion being the better part of valour, I kept my mouth shut. Then she softened, ever so slightly. “You are a good writer, people were going to discover it.” Then she went back to livid. “You are a selfish prick. You couldn’t do what normal people do when they hate their job. You couldn’t go to the pub. You couldn’t keep a journal. You couldn’t come home and talk to YOUR WIFE. No, you had to put it up for the world to see. Well, now as a result of your abject stupidity, our life is on hold.”

“Jeremy said this would blow over in a few months’ time and he should be able to hire me back…and we have enough to live. Anyway, I thought I’d ask Fiona, she might know of...”

I knew immediately that I’d said the wrong thing.

'"Of course," she sneered. "Maybe Fi," and she spat my nickname for Fiona, "can help. Since bloody Uni..." She looked at me with a look of pure anger, pure hatred almost. “Enough to live? We were saving that to pay for the next cycle,” of in vitro fertilization. We had been trying for years to have a child with no success. Jamie really wanted a child and the NHS would only pay for three cycles. I knew that the likelihood of success after three tries was minimal but would have paid any amount and gone through it any number of times to make Jamie happy, to have a child. “IF he gives you your job back, you know how long it will take us to save that again. And I’m 39 years old. Every month I wait is,” and she began to cry. Then she ran into our bedroom and slammed the door.

“Jamie,” I pleaded feebly, through the door, but I was at a loss for words. How do you explain to the woman you loved that you killed her dream for what? To show everyone how clever you could be?

The next few days were hell. We barely spoke, she only to tell me that she was “going out.” I slept on the sofa and we ate no meals together. I tried to sell anything and everything I had that was worth money so that we’d have enough for the next cycle. What I found was that, like my life at the present time, my personal possessions were worthless.

After a week, I came home to find Jamie opening a box, with a big grin on her face. “May I ask what’s making you so happy,” I said uncertainly.

She held what appeared to be an odd looking bodysuit. “Here this is yours,” she said. It reminded me of the dried snake skins I used to find down the beach in summer. The material was so thin it almost wasn’t there.

“What is it?” I said, turning it this way and that.

“It’s a nano suit,” she said, pulling another out of the box. It looked bigger than mine, but to be honest, I wasn’t entirely conversant with how they worked. Like everyone, I had seen them on the news and had watched how the reporters would change into someone else but it always struck me as a silly story. “Basically, the nano-technology fuses into your skin and let’s you be someone else. I figured that so long as we have three months free,” she said, glaring at me, “we could go on holiday, somewhere nobody knows us, and pretend to be someone else.”

“Why do we need to be someone else?” I asked.

“Because,” she said, her expression more sad than angry. “I want to be. The current situation isn’t exactly making me happy.” Then she smiled sweetly and put her arms around me. “Don’t you want me to be happy?”

Her smile made me melt. It always had and, in the past week, I wondered if I’d ever see it again. I would do anything to see that smile, even put on a ridiculous nanosuit. I was going to ask her how much these cost, but held back. I was in no position to question spending, especially if it made her happy. “So, who are we?” I joked. “Am I Olivier Geroud?” I was an Arsenal fan and, while Jamie generally didn’t care, she made an exception for Olivier Geroud.

She laughed, “Not quite. Let’s give them a try.” We put on the suits and I could feel a tingling all over. It felt cool to the touch, like someone had smothered me in shaving gel. I saw my hands and feet suddenly shrink and a weight on my chest. I remember seeing a documentary on BBC 4 that explained how the suits displaced weight and height. Despite having sat through the whole thing, I could not explain a word of it to another person. I’d need Brian Cox to sit down and show it to me again, this time with idiot boards. “What the hell is going on?” I squeaked, my voice having gone up several octaves. I looked over at Jamie and she was suddenly taller and muscular. And male. All that was left of Jamie was her eyes. “Seriously, Jamie, what the hell is going on?”

She began rifling through the box. “Fuck! Fuckity, fuck!” she yelled, although I would’ve sworn she stifled a laugh. She read the manifest intently. “They screwed up the suits. They made yours female and mine male.”

“Well, do something,” I shrieked. I walked over to the mirror. My eyes were mine but I appeared to be approximately 25 years old. And 5’4” and a little less than 9 stone. Oh, and female. Most definitely female. Jamie couldn’t resist a smile. “I suppose this is amusing.”

“Oh, come on, Kelly,” she said. “We’ll get this sorted straight away. Just relax and enjoy it,” she said, putting her now large hands on my shoulders. “You have to admit it’s a little funny,” she said, kissing me on the neck.

I couldn’t hold back a smile. “I don’t have to admit anything,” I said. “Call them and figure this out.” She showed me the manifest. There was no phone number, only e-mail. Of course, I thought, it’s a bloody tech company. Why would they have a phone?

“Can we at least take these damn things off?” I moved my hands over my new skin trying to find a seam.

“Careful,” I saw she was looking where I put my hands, “You’re making me horny.”

I immediately dropped my hands to my sides. I watched as she picked up the instruction leaflet.

“Shit!”

“What!” My nerves couldn’t take much more of this.

Jamie read from the leaflet, “The bodysuit takes five days to uncouple from the wearer’s own skin.”

“Five days!”

“They really should have made that clear. There needs to be a warning notice on the packs themselves,” she said, surprisingly calmly.

“It can’t take five whole days!” I was pacing backwards and forwards.

“Not just five days,” she continued to read, “Uncoupling can’t start until at least four days after the suit is first put on.”

“Nine days!” I could feel myself starting to hyperventilate, “I can’t wait that long!”

Jamie put her hand on my back and led me to the sofa, “Take long deep breaths honey.”

I sat down next to her, I could feel my body shaking, “Get it of me!”

“Sweetheart, the nanos have attached themselves directly to our skin and nerves. If we tried to take them off now it’d be like pulling our own skin off.”

I shuddered. My vision was blurred by tears.

“We’ll make the best of this,” she said. Her hand squeezing mine. “Haven’t you ever wondered what life was like on the other side of the fence?” I had, although I wouldn’t admit that to her, not now. “Besides, think of how hilarious it could be.” She took out her IPhone and pulled me closer to her.

“Hey! What are you doing?!”

“Sending a selfie to Siggy and Egon. Those guys will flip!”

“Hey, no!” But it was too late, she was already sending the email.

“It’s only Siggy and Egon. I’ll tell them not to share.”

I spent the rest of the day and evening pestering her to check her email. We drank some wine, a lot of wine, and Jamie tried to get me to come to bed. She wanted to try out the new suits. I was tempted, it felt like it had been ages, but the idea terrified me. In the end we compromised on snuggling in our new suits but going no further.

I woke up around 2am that night. We were lying in the spooning position. It felt odd to be the little spoon. I lay there for a while wondering how my life got here?

“Have you checked your emails yet?” I asked for the tenth time that day. We’d been wearing the suits for three days now. Twenty four more hours before we could even begin the process of taking them off. It was stranger than I could explain to go to the bathroom mirror and see a different face. A twenty something woman at that.

It wasn’t all bad. My agreeing to her dress up games seemed to have a positive effect on Jamie. She hadn’t mentioned my job woes since the body suits arrived. Even still I was keen to get back to a male body, even if it was a different suit. The day before I had spied Jamie going through her underwear drawer. While I would have been happy to see some of the items she kept in there again, I wouldn’t have been happy to see them on me.

“Wow!”

I ran over. “Did they respond?” I looked at her email and saw nothing with the company’s name, just an email from Egon. “What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal,” she said, enveloping me in a hug. It felt bizarre to have her huge hands wrap around my tiny waist, “is that Egon just offered me a role on a new film, a thriller. They just sacked some actor for being an arsehole and they want me to fill in.” This was the break she had worked for for years. I was so excited that I didn’t notice that she said ‘actor.’ “And look at the pay!” I stared at the screen, it was my pay and then some. We could more than cover the cost of the next cycle and whatever these suits cost.

“How long is filming?” I chirped. Her enthusiasm was infectious.

“Three months,” she said. “Just think, we can go to Iceland. I get my break and you can actually finish your novel. You’ve supported me for years, let me do the same for you. You can spend three months just writing and finally finish your book.” She always knew the right thing to say. “The whole mix up with the suits is turning out to be a god send.”

“Wait, what?”

“Egon saw the picture of us in the body suits. He’s cast the male me. I’m in the main cast and everything!”

“So you are going to be there as a boy?”

“Plenty of actors do it. Have you ever wondered how some airhead catalogue model can suddenly put in an Oscar nominated performance in some low budget indie flick?”

I knew what she was talking about, “But won’t it seem strange two guys hanging out. I’m not trying to be homophobic. I’m just not gay.”

“I know that, silly. You could come as a girl. My wife.” She grinned. I’d seen that grin before. It meant she had considered all the angles and knew I’d have to give her what she wanted eventually.

“But why do I need to be a girl?” I had groaned. “Do I have to stay like this the whole time?”

“We’ll see,” she said, with a smile. “But this is Hollywood, a thriller. They like things normal over there, the prudes.” I couldn’t figure out why this was normal but I was so happy to have Jamie back that I didn’t listen.

---

In flight, I suddenly felt nauseous and ran to the bathroom and threw up my lunch.

“What’s up,” Jamie said, looking concerned as I returned to my seat, “are you getting a temperature again?”

My health had been up and down since putting the damn suit on.

The flight passed quietly after that. I calmed myself by looking out the window. Like I said before I like to fly. I watched as we passed over Britain. The green fields and dark hills looked like a patchwork quilt, or maybe a watercolour painting seen from above.

Jamie busied herself learning a few words in her Icelandic phrasebook. “Hvernig segir maður ‘whisky’ á íslensku?” she tried out on the flight attendant as she passed. She laughed and leant over to look at Jamie’s phrasebook correcting her on pronunciation. I didn’t like how close she was leaning into Jamie. She must have noticed my look as she pulled back quickly.

“Two whiskies?” she asked us.

“One for me and a gin and tonic for Kelly,” Jamie answered for both of us. Once she had left Jamie turned to me, “Is that OK?”

“Fine,” I say. I didn’t love Jamie’s insistence that she ordered everything for me. On the other hand I was happier not having to communicate with too many people. I turned back to the window. We had passed over Britain and Ireland by then and below was the dark blue of the North Atlantic. The ocean looked calm and deep and seemed to stretch on forever.

The land around Keflavík International Airport looked like the surface of the moon. We caught a glimpse of it as we headed inside. Reykjavik passport control wasn’t half as scary as Heathrow’s. We were waved inside pretty quickly. The temperature was much lower than in London so we added extra layers while we were waiting at luggage retrieval. I pulled on one of the woollen jumpers I had taken from Jamie’s ‘girl’ wardrobe before we left. After that I put on the yellow cagoule I bought from GAP a couple of days ago. Finally I pulled on the woollen hat Jamie bought me the Christmas we spent in Scotland. Jamie smiled and readjusted the hat on my head. I guess it was crooked.

Sigrun, or ‘Siggy’ as we knew her was waiting for us on the other side of the gate. Jamie waved at her friend who took a while to realise it was us. I guess she wasn’t used to seeing us with these faces.

“My god!” Siggy exclaimed, “Is that really you two?” She was laughing, but not in an unfriendly way. Jamie was laughing too; she expanded her arms and embraced the Icelandic girl.

“Hey,” she turned to me, “Welcome to my team!” She tried to greet me by kissing me on each cheek. I pulled back, not used to such a feminine welcome and we ended in a sort of half hug. All three of us laughed a little awkwardly.

My head was swimming and not just because of the situation. We had set off from ours at about half two in the morning in order to catch the six am flight. It felt like I’d been awake for two days and it was still only the morning rush hour in Reykjavik.

Jamie sat in the front passenger seat while I took the back seat. I was glad of the opportunity to stretch my legs and rest my eyes. Siggy chatted excitedly, telling us how well the filming was going.

Her partner Egon was the assistant director and had been in Iceland shooting scenery for a couple of weeks now.

Siggy was clearly happy to be back working in her homeland. She kept turning her head back to me, telling me how much I'd love Reykjavik and how we could go exploring while the 'boys' were filming. I smiled weakly at her. I knew she was trying to use humour to make me feel included but it still smarted.

"I'm thinking of writing a story set in Iceland, set around the banking crash here." I said vaguely.

"Sounds interesting," Siggy replied. To be honest, I was not that sure of the subject myself. But I finally had a chance to write. Normally I had to set my alarm for 5am and get up early to write. With everything that had been happening, work, trying to get pregnant I hadn’t risen early in long time.

The lunar landscape around the airport changed into something more recognisably Earth-like. In fact it looked like it could be Scotland or somewhere. The outskirts of Reykjavik had a slightly American feel, probably a by-product of the city having been a strategic NATO base during the Cold War.

Despite it having been April the houses were dusted by a little snow turning the town into a Christmas card scene.

"We are just coming out of the winter," Siggy explained, "the Icelanders are waking up from hibernation," she added mysteriously.

We pulled into the driveway of a small but pretty house somewhere near the city centre. From the car the house looked very Scandinavian, painted red and made out of wood. It was only when I got out that I could see the house was clad in corrugated iron, not wood. Maybe wood doesn't survive long in this climate, or is it that corrugated iron is cheaper to ship out here?

The inside of the house was warm and inviting. Siggy and Egon had made the space their own with framed drawings and paintings on the yellow walls. I went up to one for a closer look. It was a charcoal drawing of Siggy when she was younger, maybe between eighteen to twenty. I remembered Egon telling me her parents were arty types - I wondered if one of them drew it?

She gave us the tour. I was aware of Jamie asking her lots of questions. Siggy showed us the bathroom, which was small but cute, with a ceramic mosaic of a blue fish on the wall of the bath/shower.

"We have an en-suite in our bedroom so this bathroom is all yours," she smiled. It seemed like a good deal.

"Here's your room," she showed us the spare room. It had a large double bed and a wardrobe but not much more space. We dumped our bags next to the bed.

Siggy told us Egon would be back around four-ish and suggested we all go out for a meal and drinks. We could rest until then. Jamie, I could tell was too excited to sleep but I was completely wacked. I’d been surviving on adrenaline and caffeine since I’d agreed to this. Everything had happened so fast, Jamie getting the offer for a supporting part in Egon's film, finding someone who could get us the false passports. My head was still spinning. I told Jamie she should go out exploring but that I need to sleep.

I don't even remember getting into bed but when I woke up a couple hours later I was under the sheets wearing Jamie's old t-shirt and pyjama bottoms. I noticed the pyjama bottoms were a little too big for me as I headed to the toilet. The house was completely silent. There was none of the background noise you became used to in London.

I tiptoed around being nosey. There were full bookshelves in every room and books filled up all the flat surfaces like window ledges and coffee tables. I picked up a few, most were in German or English with the odd one in a Scandinavian language. It was hard not to like a couple who owned so many books. One book, in German, looked like it was about fertility treatments. I wondered if they were struggling to have a baby like us? Eventually tiredness caught up with me again and I headed back to bed. As my eyelids grew heavy, I wondered what Jamie and Siggy were up to?

"You should wear the dress," Jamie tried to persuade me. She was lying back on the bed watching my indecision. It was funny to see her in such a masculine pose, her legs stretched out. She kept changing her position and fidgeting with her trousers; getting used to having something extra down there was my guess.

"I'm not sure," I said, holding the burgundy A-line dress up against me trying to imagine what wearing it in public would be like. It wasn’t too tight or revealing, I supposed.

"Come on, we agreed to make the most of this. It’ll be good for your writing to experience a few things from a female perspective." Jamie's voice sounded a little annoyed. She had been grouchy since her nap.

"I know, but..." my voice trailed off as I thought about spending time with people who had no idea who I was underneath the suit. Egon and Siggy knew of course, but we were also going to be joined by the director, Angela and her partner Karen who were none the wiser.

"Go on," Jamie had crept up behind me and put her hands on my now tiny waist, "wear it for me." She kissed me on the back of my neck. The nanos in the fake skin transferred the sensations through to my real body.

I gave in and let her dress me. Even after two or three days, I was still not used to women’s clothes. Men’s clothes are, by and large, designed to be forgotten about by the wearer. Women’s clothing on the other hand pull and confine you. Perhaps you get used to it after a while, but I doubted it. Most of all I was doubtful I’d ever get used to the oddness of only seeing flatness down the front of my panties.

I regretted choosing an A-line dress as we walked to the Grillmarkadurinn. The cold air swirled up and around my knickers. The nano-skin offered my hidden privates little extra warmth. Was it possible I could feel the cold even more in the body suit? I knew the nanos conveyed sensation from the fake to my real skin. At least the big coat Siggy had lent me kept my upper body warm and my woolly hat protected my ears.

Angela and Karen were already at the table when we arrived. Angela was tall, blond and very German looking. Next to her Karen looked like a little pixie or elf with her short hair and delicate features. The restaurant was smart and stylish. Apart from the low stone wall that ran along the middle, looking like something from the Viking age, we could be in West London. I doubted we could have afforded it here if the production company wasn't picking up the tab.

Angela, Egon and Jamie were quickly caught up in a discussion about the film. Angela had notes on Jamie's character. At first I was confused when she called her 'James'; it took a moment for me to realise my mistake.

Siggy and Karen brought me into their conversation. Siggy wanted to show us both the bars along Hverfigata. According to her these were the best places to hang out in.

"In the old times Hverfigata was the road the women used to take the laundry down to be washed at one of the hot springs," Karen told us, showing off the local knowledge she had picked up in the last few weeks. Karen's accent was upper-class English. She fidgeted a lot, often touching her face with her hands making it hard to follow what she was saying sometimes.

Angela was the opposite. She was loud, very German and self-assured. Talking to the whole table as waiters served the starters she explained the plot of her movie. Set in the future, it was the tale of an advance party sent to a new planet marked for colonisation. When people start going missing the crew blame the native creatures but eventually it turns out that it is the humans who are the deadliest animals.

Karen, Siggy and I sipped our drinks as the other three talked excitedly about the different aspects of the film. I thought Jamie was overdoing it as she gushed about the 'psychological intensity' of the script. Angela assured 'James' he would meet the writer at the first read through tomorrow.

As we consumed the food and the wine an easy bonhomie descended over the group. My tiredness combined with the excitement of being somewhere new and meeting new people. It left me with a happy fuzzy feeling and looking at Jamie I could see she felt the same.

Conversation turned to the actor Jamie would be replacing. There was a general consensus that he was a total bastard, and from what I could tell had made an arse of himself around the female cast and crew.

"Not something we have to worry about with you my dear," Angela said to Jamie. Jamie looked a little hurt and there was an uneasy laughter around the table. Sensing she had said something wrong Angela added, "Not when you have the lovely Kelly," she gestured at me. I felt myself blush red under the intensity of her gaze.

After food we headed to a bar called the Slippbarinn, which was attached to the Hotel Marina, where Angela and Karen were staying. To me, the bar looked a little like an Ikea showroom, but perhaps I was being prejudiced. Angela showed her largesse by ordering a round of cocktails for us all. I missed the name of what she's ordered but the drink when it arrived was bright blue. It tasted to me like cough syrup mixed with lots of sugar. My head was spinning after only a few sips. Perhaps it was the tiredness.

"Same again?" Jamie asked heading to the bar, leaving before I had time to protest. I just shrugged – she was the one with the read through the next day. I could stay in bed.

I continued chatting with Siggy and Karen about the places we could go and see. Karen seemed excited about a river heated by a volcanic spring you could bathe in. Much better than the Blue Lagoon, which Siggy thought was too touristy.

When Jamie returned I saw she had bought herself a whisky old fashioned. I smiled as I knew she would have brought it as an aid to getting into character. I was always impressed by the way she would completely immerse herself in her roles.

It was a little past 1 am when we decided to call it a night. Late by my body clock, but early doors as far as the Reykjavik natives are concerned. The alcohol kept me warm on the walk home. I was very glad I hadn't let Jamie persuade me to wear heels and stuck to my converse. I still had to take her hand and lean on her a little anyhow.

Alone in our room Jamie pulled me close, "Want to try out our bodies?" she whispered.

I bit my lip; I had been trying to put off this moment. Jamie went to switch of the lamp leaving the room bathed only in light from the full moon. Her hot mouth was pressed against mine. I wanted to protest but my whole body was tingling. What could be the harm? I thought as she pulled the dress over my head. I stood there in my underwear. I crossed my legs nervously as her eyes looked me up and down. My skin looked silver in the moonlight.

She stood there looking at me for a moment. I felt uneasy, was she going to ask me to cover up again? Perhaps she was repulsed by lack of masculinity? I needn't have worried, she gently pushed me on to the bed. I lay there as she slowly undressed. I felt a warmth spreading from down below. It was something I haven't felt before. The nanos sent waves of pleasure to my trapped penis.

Jamie climbed onto the bed, her enhanced arms easily holding her above me. I felt an odd tingle of pleasure at the thought that she would crush me if they gave out. She took her time with the foreplay. She knew a lot more about my new body than I did. When eventually she pushed inside me, it was a revelation. Like something had exploded in my head, but in a good way.

Afterwards we lay there in the half light, Jamie's arm around me. I wondered about the mess it all caused. Had they really gone to the trouble of creating fake sperm? As I listened to Jamie gently snoring I wondered, will she have to buy top up packs?

When I woke next morning Jamie had already left for her read through. She had left behind a little note saying she didn't want to wake me and thanking me for last night. It was funny to see her feminine handwriting after what we had got up to last night.

Heading downstairs Siggy greeted me with a smile, "There’s coffee in the pot." She was wearing a Japanese style silk dressing gown and cradling a cup of strong looking coffee.

"Thanks," I grunted. As I poured my coffee, she watched me closely.

"Sounds like the two of you had fun last night." Her voice was even and calm, not giving anything away. I nearly dropped my coffee.

"Oh, god. Were we that noisy?" I stuttered desperately trying to think of an excuse.

"You English," she laughed gently, "always apologising".

She came close and gave me a little cuddle. "I am glad you have become a full woman now. Think what fun we girls can have!" she squeezed me then left. I am left pondering what being a 'full woman' now means.

"You seem distracted," Siggy brought me back into the room. "Missing James already?"

I guess I was. I noticed she had begun referring to Jamie as James ever since the our second morning in Iceland. We had been in Reykjavik two weeks now and that morning Jamie and the others had headed north to begin filming. I had been feeling low, probably due to being cut off from London and my life. As most of the people I spoke to on a daily basis had been linked to work Jamie was my last link. Plus her good mood, with the preparations for the filming going so well, had helped keep me buoyed up.

It hadn't helping that my boobs had started feeling sore. I wondered if it had anything to do with what Jamie and I got up to the night before? I did remember Jamie grabbing them quite forcefully. While I was still uncomfortable with taking the 'girl role' I had to admit the body suits had done wonders for our sex life. I would definitely miss the release while she was gone.

We were sitting in Kaffitár, a trendy coffee shop in the city centre, making plans. Siggy wanted us to go on a big cycle somewhere in the country. The snow and ice had thawed a little and she was keen to get out into the wild.

I was not too sure; when the four of us went for a ride around the neighbourhood I found myself getting out of breath really quickly. Maybe it was the darkness or the cold air but I often felt out of breath or fatigued. I worried it was the suit affecting my body.

"I'm not sure I want to do anything big," I groaned, "I'm still recovering from all the drinking over the weekend."

The thing about hanging out with actors is it involves a lot of late nights. No wonder I was worn out!

"I'm not going to let you just hang around the house moping after James," Siggy said sternly, although she laughed when I pulled an exaggerated pout.

"How about we drive out to somewhere?" I suggested, preferring the idea of sitting in a heated car to cycling against the elements.

"Maybe we could go to one of the heated swimming pools?" she suggested.

The public swimming baths in Reykjavik are all heated by volcanic springs coming up from under the ground. Architecturally they looked little different to public baths in the UK. There are a few different rituals you needed to adhere to though. While UK swimming pools are usually filled with chlorine in order to stop the spread of verrucas and other nasties, the Icelanders were proud of their water's purity. This meant they expected you to wash vigorously beforehand.

I was still not used to changing in the women's section and found myself doing the dance of the one towel, trying to grasp it close around me as I pulled off my underwear. A couple of young women, maybe students, watched me with a little amusement. Icelanders are less shy. Siggy passed me the green one-piece we bought the first time we came swimming in the city. Jamie and I had a bet on who could complete visiting all the swimming baths in the city first. I was glad to be able to add another notch to my belt.

First we tried the lobster pots. That's the name Jamie gave the series of circular Jacuzzi style baths. These were warmed by the volcanic springs and each one gets hotter until the final one. After that you are supposed to go swim a couple of lengths in the cold water of the main pool.

"It’s great for the skin," Siggy explained as she tries to persuade me into trying them out.

"I do really envy the skin of you Icelandic girls." Did I really say that? I noticed the two girls from the changing rooms, both were displaying plenty of their Icelandic skin. Siggy just smiled as I got in the first lobster pot.

The heat made me flush red. My costume felt too tight and I fiddled with it trying to loosen it. I blushed even harder when I noticed two guys in the next lobster pot watching me. I slunk down so my cleavage was under the water feeling like a member of the Baywatch cast. I saw Siggy was trying to suppress a giggle.

By the time we were out of the lobster pots and standing at one end of the main pool I could almost see steam coming out of my ears. The last Jacuzzi was almost too hot to stand. It was like my whole body was now heated by its own volcano.

I looked down at my reflection in the water, an image I was still not used to. Even my brown eyes, the one part of my face I knew was 'original' looked rounder and larger than I remembered. Somewhere to the left, a young boy jumped into the pool causing ripples to break apart the image of my face. Something lurched inside me and I felt nauseous and lightheaded. Without thinking I moved forward half jumping, half falling into the water.

Water rushed around me spinning and bubbling. I no longer knew which way was up. I saw something coming towards me and then an explosion to the left of me. At first I was frightened we would collide but I soon felt arms around me pulling me towards what I then realised was up. Then there was cold air.

Strong arms pulled me from the water and laid me on the floor. I could see a face, a male face coming towards me. I wanted to tell him something; that I was not really a woman and he shouldn't try to kiss me, but I could not speak. His lips were on mine and suddenly air came rushing into my lungs making them feel like they were going to explode. His head went away for a second but then he was back. I felt his fingers pinching my nose. He breathed into my lungs for the second time.

It was as though there was pure molten lead in my lungs. For a second I was just lying there and then I shot up spewing water everywhere. My mind was coming back to me. I saw a young blond man in front of me, smiling even though I had just thrown up water all over him. Behind him I could see Siggy's face. Her shocked look made me feel worse than all the water.

The blond boy said something in Icelandic to her and then put his arms underneath me. I wanted to say no, that I am fine, but I didn't have the strength to do so. As he lifted me up I struggled a little. Siggy tried to calm me down.

"Don't worry, he is taking you inside."

I wanted to say I didn't need to be carried but my head was spinning. I slipped around a little in his arms. It was then that I realised that I was shivering. All traces of warmth from the lobster pools had gone.

Once inside the blond boy plopped me down on a chair in the changing area. Siggy put a blanket over my shoulders and a young woman came over to me and offered me a hot sweet coffee. She may have said something to me but I didn't take it in. The only voice I heard was Siggy when she asked me if I was OK.

"I, I think so," I said, but didn’t feel sure.

"What happened?" She was kneeling down so her face was level with mine.

"I don't know, I think the heat and the steam were just too much for me."

It seemed plausible. I hated being this feeble.

She used the towel to rub my shoulder a little. I only realised then that I must still be dripping wet,

"It is fine. I think we have all overdone it the last couple of weeks."

Her tone annoyed me a little, like she was speaking to a child. When I looked up into her face I felt reassured by the warmth of her expression.

Siggy turned to the blond boy and said something in their own language. She must have reassured him I was OK because he shrugged and left.

"I know what," again I felt like she is mothering me, "let’s go home and get warmed up, then fish and chips tonight!" She smiled broadly and I nodded ascent.

Did you know fish and chips came to England from Spain through Jewish refugees? It makes sense if you think about it; potatoes came into Europe through Spain, and the Spanish like to put seafood in batter. This is what I have heard, but how true it is I don't know. Either way another interesting fact is that the humble fish and chips is the national dish of Iceland as well as England. They certainly had plenty of fish.

Icelandic Fish and Chips was a restaurant near the sea front. We were led to the table by a young, muscular man who said something in Icelandic to Siggy. She pointed at me and said, "In English please, Kelly’s from London."

I didn't like the way the young man took his time to look me up and down. My guess was that he's a student, although by the look of him he spent more time in the gym than in the library.

He guided us through the busy restaurant. I was wearing the Icelandic wool sweater Jamie bought me which covered me nicely, but I was regretting the skin-tight jeans. Siggy had persuaded me by appealing to my vanity. I regretted them even more when I caught the waiter checking out my arse in the mirror on the wall.

As he pulled out the chairs for us he introduced himself, "I am Arnar, I'll be looking after you this evening."

He took his time pushing the chair in underneath me, his hands brushed against my arms as he finished, "is there anything I can get you to drink?"

"How does white wine sound?" Siggy asked me.

I nodded a yes; she had made me promise to have an early night but I felt I still need something to take the edge off my nerves.

Siggy ordered a starter but I decide not to. Arnar asked if I wanted my main to come at the same time as her starter but I said I am happy to wait. To tell the truth my stomach still felt a little constricted. I hoped the food would help.

The drink flowed a little too quickly. I guess our tolerance was up after a couple of weeks drinking with actors. I was beginning to think we would need to order another bottle. The restaurant was warm and friendly. The customers seemed to be a healthy mix of locals and tourists.

By the time he brought out our main I was feeling pleasantly sloshed. I even laughed a little as he makes a lame half-joke about keeping us ladies waiting. I cut into the cod pleased to see how good it looked. But then something strange happened.

"Are you OK?" Siggy looked concerned, "You've turned green."

"I'm just feeling a little delicate," I paused. "Do you smell rotten fish?" I asked, which causes a couple on the next table to turn around and watch me.

"No, I don't think so," Siggy said. She leant over and started rummaging through my fish with her fork. "It looks fine."

Before I could tell her not to she had caught the attention of Arnar who came over. I muttered something about not making a fuss but she pointed to the fish and said something in Icelandic to him. Arnar looked concerned. I gave him a weak smile knowing I had caused him no end of hassle.

He disappeared eventually coming back five minutes later followed by two men. One wore a suit, the other in a chef's whites. The man in the suit asked if I was OK. I was burning red at being the centre of attention. The chef looked at the fish and proclaimed it as fine. I was half expecting him to kick off but he talked calmly to me.

"Sorry, I've been feeling a poorly all day." I glanced at Siggy, hoping she wouldn't bring up the swimming pool.

"No problem," chef smiled, "I will replace your fish with the vegetarian option. Would that be OK?"

I nodded smiling, happy the fuss was over. I noticed Siggy watching me closely. I felt bad I had given her two scares today.

"How about two more glasses of wine?” the manager asked. “On the house, of course."

"Better make mine a lemonade," I said sheepishly.

Once they had gone I turned back to Siggy, "I don't know what is wrong with me today," I said by way of an apology.

She took a little time to reply, "Don't worry about it," she said, sipping her wine and seemingly thinking things through. "With everything you've been through recently it isn't surprising your system is out of whack," I smiled at the British phrase she must have picked up in London.

I excused myself to go to the bathroom. I wanted to splash some water on my face. She offered to come with me but I said there was no need and she should enjoy her wine. I was alone so I took a few minutes to look at my face.

The nanos had given it a subtle make-up job. I wasn’t sure if the rosy cheeks were the fault of them, the wine or the hot spring water from earlier. I examined my face in detail. It was hard to accept how delicate it looked. How had they made my nose disappear into the tiny one I was looking at? The high cheekbones were not mine either, although the soft brown eyes were the same pair I had been looking at in a mirror since I was little.

I was mesmerised by my appearance for a while. Only when a middle-aged lady entered the bathroom did I move. I splashed water over my face, feeling better. I watched silently as the nanos, so tiny they were practically invisible, fixed my make-up. Once that was done I tied my hair back into a high ponytail, just as Jamie had shown me and fought a losing battle to get the long fringe out of my eyes.

When I returned to the table I saw that my replacement food had arrived. Siggy had finished hers but seemed happy holding a large glass of white wine. Suddenly I realised just how hungry I was.

Nine Months (Month Two)

Kelly is stranded in Iceland in a female body suit while Jamie, now James, is off shooting a film. Her friendship with Siggy develops, but is she hiding a secret? Why does Siggy have such a problem with Kelly drinking, and if she keeps getting sick every morning should Kelly listen to her?

Month 2

The day after the 'men' left, Siggy woke me up early.

"Urgh, what time is it?" I moaned, putting the pillow over my head. The light hurt my eyes and my mouth felt woolly.

"7am, come on, let’s get moving,” she said, pulling off the blanket.

"Seven? Let me sleep." I was up at 7am or earlier most working days. It’s amazing how quickly you can get used to late mornings.

"Just because the boys are away doesn't mean we can't have fun.”

"Huh?" It was still weird to not be included as one of the ‘boys.’

"I thought we'd take a drive for the day."

"Ummm," I moaned.

"Come on, let’s get coffee."

Reluctantly I got dressed. I pulled my hair back into a high ponytail and checked myself out in the mirror. I could see the nanos working, recreating a makeup job on my face. It was strange to think of them moving under my skin, or ‘false’ skin. I went to put on a pair of jeans but they all looked too tight for a long car journey. Reluctantly, I chose a black pinafore dress Jamie had bought back at Uni (which now fit me and had, by virtue of time, come back into style!) and Jamie’s warm Icelandic wool sweater. It was too big for me making me wonder how small I was getting. It looked baggy, but it’d keep me warm and remind me of her. I thought about that for a second and realised I was behaving like a stereotypical ‘girlfriend’ or ‘wife’. I put a pair of woolen tights under the dress, and pulled on thick socks and Dr Marten boots.

We started off in a little cafe around the corner from Siggy and Egon's place. Given the way most people dressed, we could have been in Berlin, East London or Brooklyn. We sat at the window watching the world pass by, me constantly pushing the fringe of my hair out of my eyes, Siggy chatting about the possible places we could visit. It was odd to see Reykjavik in the morning. It was a real city, full of people with jobs and kids who needed to get to school.

"Hihi, can we sit down?"

I looked around just in time to see two men sit either side of us.

"Hihi Kirtsjan! Dagur!" Siggy exclaimed, "When did you get back?” They all started talking excitedly in their own language. I caught, ‘Copenhagen,’ ‘Berlin’ and ‘London.’ I guessed that Kristjan and Dagur had been in Copenhagen and Berlin, since I knew that Siggy had been in London, where I met her.

After a few minutes, Siggy remembered me. "This is Kelly, a friend from London."

I smiled and nodded to the two men.

"Kelly, this is Kirtsjan and Dagur. We went to school together. I haven't seen them in years!"

"Hey," I extended my hand to both the men who took and shook it in turn. My hand looked small in theirs. I could feel their extra strength as they squeezed.

"What are you up to?" Kirtsjan was the taller, and seemed to be the more forward of the two.

"We were thinking of a drive."

"We are driving up to the Library of Water in Stykkisholmur. Do you want to come? We could drive around Snaefellsnes."

"What do you think?"

All three of them looked at me. I shrugged. I didn't recognise the places they had mentioned. Still, I was up for an adventure. I couldn’t spend my whole life moping around waiting for Jamie, and who knew, it could give me inspiration. “Sure,” I mumbled. I tried to pronounce the names and eventually gave up and said, “those sound great.”

Siggy and Kirtsjan sat up front with Dagur and me in the back.

I was watching the suburbs of Reykjavik disappearing when Dagur spoke, "I am going to meet an artist."

"Huh?" My mind had been on the passing houses, humming the Pete Seeger song Little Boxes. They all looked just the same.

"At The Library of Water. He's a German artist, from Berlin. He's making a film."

It was hard to make Dagur out over the drone of the engine and the loud music coming from the front of the car.

"How come you're meeting him?"

"I run a gallery in Berlin."

I nodded.

"I come over to London a lot. Do you know the Whitechapel?"

"Yes, I used to go to the previews."

"I curated a show of contemporary art from Scandinavia there two years ago."

"Impressive." It was, until I realised that he was trying to impress me - or the girl in front of him. Who was me or wasn’t. I wasn’t sure.

He looked out the window, apparently satisfied I'd acknowledged his achievement. For the next hour or so, I mostly kept quiet listening to the others. They were all school friends and had left, like many young Icelanders, after the crash in 2007/8. The conversation would switch between Icelandic and then, once they remembered I was there, English. Honestly, I didn’t care. I was busy watching the scenery and thinking about everything. Every so often, my stomach would do a little flip. I chalked it up to a hangover and the long bumpy car ride.

"When you left University in the boom years, they gave you a loan to buy a car and house, even if you didn't have a job," Siggy explained.

"Then the banks crashed and we all had to move abroad to be able to afford the interest." Kristjan finished.

I thought back to the suburbs of Reykjavik with the new looking houses and expensive German cars. I wondered how many of their owners were now working someplace else to be able just to keep them here. It reminded me of the Irish who, after the crash, went to London or the United States to work and left empty McMansions behind.

Around lunchtime, we stopped at a little petrol station near the sea. We ate the obligatory Icelandic hot dogs and drank Coke. My stomach calmed down a little. Maybe I was just hungry.

"You live in Berlin?" I asked, trying to make conversation. I couldn’t competently discuss pre-crash Iceland.

"Yes," Dagur said, with a smile.

"They do good sausages in Germany," I mused. I'd eaten a lot of hot dogs by that point.

"I suppose. Don’t you like Icelandic hot dogs?" He punched me gently on the arm.

"They are OK I suppose. I would kill for a Cumberland." I'd have gone for anything that didn't make me worry I was eating toenails.

“I’m sorry my sausage doesn’t satisfy you,” he laughed and walked away. For the first time, I realised that we may have been having two different conversations.

Back in the car, I let Siggy, Kristjan and Dagur talk. I felt bad the three of them having to talk in English so, instead of imposing myself on the conversation, I kept to myself, not that I was bored. Iceland had plenty of scenery to keep me interested.

I'd been reading about the history of the country. How a group of male Vikings had left Norway looking for a land of their own. How they had kidnapped women from what is now Britain and Ireland on their way, and in raiding parties later. I found myself imagining being dragged away from everything I’d known, having to make a new life for myself in the harsh new environment. I stopped when I realised I was imagining myself in the female role. I might never have been the marauding barbarian, if I was being honest with myself, but I certainly wasn't ready to be the damsel in distress.

"I said we are going to stop at Jokulsarlon," Siggy said.

"Huh?" I turned when it dawned on me they were talking to me again. Realising I needed to say something more, I added, "What's a Jokulsarlon?"

Jokulsarlon was my first glacial lake. Despite it being spring/Summer there was still ice floating in the water. In place, the water had turned a bright blue. a product of the melting ice.

"Every year the ice melts more." I turned to look at Dagur. He looked very Icelandic with the wind whipping his beard and blond hair. His eyes were the color of the water. I was concerned that I realised that. "That's what the Library of Water is all about. An English artist, Roni Horn, started it by collecting water samples from melting glaciers."

"Is that what your friend's film is about?"

"No," he shook his head. "His film is about the first settlers to reach the island. Imagining what it’d be like to go somewhere humans hadn’t yet touched. Iceland was covered in trees back then."

I looked around at the stark landscape trying to imagine it covered in forest.

"He's doing it on human impact, just in a poetic way."

I nodded, again I imagined myself brought to this place, forced to make a new life here. I didn’t have to imagine very hard and I pulled my sweater tightly around myself. Iceland was different up here, more wild. Reykjavik may feel like a last outpost of human habitation, but it is still under human control. Up here it felt like we were in nature's territory.

We stayed for an hour or more. Walking around in the strange landscape, I was glad of my tough Dr Martens and my extra thick wool socks and tights. For some reason, I felt the cold more in the bodysuit. I had thought the extra layer would be warm, possibly too warm. Perhaps it was the body weight I’d lost, or maybe the nanos were just too good at passing on experience. The other three mainly talked in Icelandic laughing and enjoying each other's company. I assumed they were going over old stories from school. I was happy to stay quiet. It was with reluctance that we returned to the car.

Many of the roads in Snaefellsnes were little more than dirt tracks. Even with three locals, we nearly got lost several times. I wasn't worried. It fascinated me, the strangeness like another planet. By the time we reached the outskirts of Stykkisholmur, it was late afternoon. We stopped at a little petrol station for supplies. Dagur disappeared to the loos, and Siggy and Kirtsjan went into the little shop to pay. I joined them, more to stretch my legs than anything.

I wandered around the shop, not really paying attention to what they had. It was a pretty limited offering, about what you'd expect in a small rural shop/petrol station. I kept half an eye on my two friends as they paid for our petrol.

They seemed to be caught in a deep discussion with the middle-aged woman manning the till. Something was up.

"The ring road is out both ways out of Snaefellsnes," Siggy reported.

"The warm weather has caused landslides. It happens often this time of year," Kirtsjan added.

"Shit, what does that mean. Are we stuck?" I half-asked, half-moaned.

"Yes, probably for one night at least."

"Is there somewhere we can stay?" I didn't like the idea of sleeping in the car.

"The woman says there's a..." Kirtsjan looked at Siggy

".. like a youth hostel. In the next town." Siggy finished for him.

I looked over at the woman and grinned my thanks. She looked back with little interest.

Back at the car we explained to Dagur what was happening. He disappeared to call his friend and we sat around waiting. In silence, Siggy passed around a large bag of crisps. Wherever we were going, I hoped it had real food.

Dagur's artist friend wasn't going to be able to make it thanks to the road closures. Dagur made plans to meet him in a few days in Reykjavik, so clearly this journey hadn't been all that essential. By this point, we were all feeling tired and hungry so we decided to head to the hostel.

It looked pretty much how hostels do. clean but nothing fancy. I was a little surprised to hear we'd be sharing two bunk beds in the same room. That said, I didn't know who I'd be the least comfortable sharing with. Technically, it should have been Siggy, but, as she seemed to see me as another girl, I didn’t see it as a problem, at least for now. I hoped Jamie would see it the same way.

After unloading our stuff, in my case not much - I'd only planned on a day trip, we decided to explore the little town. From what we had been told, there were two options for eating and entertainment. One was a restaurant down by the docks. This didn't look very inviting and the place smelled too much of fish, which inexplicably turned my stomach. I had to find the loo and throw up. The second place was a combination of main store (possibly the only store), bar and garage. The rest didn't bother me but the bar seemed friendly enough from the outside.

We found a little table near the back and sat down. Kristjan and Siggy went up to order for us.

"Are you disappointed about your friend?"

Dagur shrugged, "Not really, I'll catch him in a few days."

When he smiled, the skin wrinkled around his eyes. His skin was that mixture of tough and glowing that the Icelanders get from exposure from the elements. I realised that, without knowing he went to school with Siggy, I wouldn't have been able to place his age. He could have been anywhere between his late twenties and early forties.

"To be honest what I really wanted was to visit home and meet a pretty English girl."

I was about to put him right when Siggy and Kirtsjan returned with beer.

Food arrived a little later. Dagur laughed at how large the burger looked in my small hands.

"With a diet like this, I'll start putting on weight," I laughed.

"Don't be stupid, you’re tiny." Siggy informed me with characteristic Icelandic bluntness. “Besides, you need to eat something.” After she said that, she look away. She had a habit of fiddling with the cuffs of her shirt when she was nervous.

And she was right. I was. If anything, I'd lost weight, and maybe even a little height since putting on the suit. I had some idea of how it converted body mass into energy, but I wasn't sure how it would convert it back. I didn't want to end up as a pint sized version of myself.

We heard music coming from another part of the bar, it sounded live.

"I'm going to investigate," Dagur got up, "Anyone want another drink?"

"I'll have one," I smiled the tiredness and alcohol were weaving their magic.

Siggy surprised me, "Perhaps you shouldn't. We can't drink as much as the boys," she said, with a serious look. “You’ve had a lot lately.” Again, she looked like she said something she shouldn’t, but then I decided that I was just tired.

I'd never heard an Icelandic woman admit to not being able to do anything as well as 'the boys,’ let alone drinking, which was pretty much like breathing to them. I used to think we drank a lot, and we do. I’d say the French drink because they like the taste of wine. The English drink because we like the feeling of being drunk. The Icelanders, and other Nordic peoples, drink to erase time and space.

"Bollocks to that. I'll drink anyone under the table." I said, in what I hoped was a lighthearted way. "I'll give you a hand."

The bar seemed terribly high to me, which again made me worry about losing height. As Dagur ordered two more beers for us (I was tempted to suggest he order an orange juice for Siggy), I looked around for the source of the music.

Eventually I spotted it. In one corner were five men of differing ages. Three had acoustic guitars, one some sort of percussion instrument and the final one a violin. They started to play. I didn't recognise the song but was immediately taken in by their voices. Again, I thought what it must have been like to have been spirited away here, only this time I didn’t think it’d be so bad.

Dagur handed me a pint and we stood watching them play. After a second song, they started playing something akin to a jig. Dagur put his pint down and offered me his hand. Something, maybe the tiredness combined with the drink, maybe my annoyance with Siggy 'policing' me, made me take it.

His hands held me by my narrow waist as we swayed gently. It felt awkward but also freeing. I pulled away, not wanting him to get the wrong idea. He took my hand. "You know swing?" he asked, with a smile. I was surprised but went along.

Jamie had dragged me along to swing dance classes for nearly a year. While I was never really any good, Dagur was. He kept in time while moving me expertly. For my part, I was enjoying how much easier the woman's part was than the man's. You just had to follow.

At the end of the song, he further took me by surprise. I went for a twirl and he caught me as I'd hoped, but then he tipped me. I had to cling on to his neck to avoid landing on my bum. There was a spattering of applause and few laughs, probably directed at the confused look on my face.

The barman smiled as we past him. "Whisky," he indicated the bar, "For you both."

As we picked up the drinks I noticed the concerned look on Siggy’s face. This time I felt bad. She probably thought I was leading on a good friend of hers, not to mention messing around behind Jamie's back. As I sat back down, I smoothed my skirt underneath me placing my hands in my lap.

"Perhaps we could go for a walk?" I offered as a conciliatory measure.

"Good idea," Kirtsjan interjected, "I have a bottle of vodka in the boot of the car."

I had meant just Siggy and me, but didn't know how to turn them down without being rude. Siggy looked worried. I resolved to reassure her nothing was going on between me and Dagur as soon as I got a chance.

We ended up walking a little way out of town to a small stream. I wanted to stop by a large pile of stones and rest on them. The rest of the ground was covered in wet moss and grass, but the Icelanders demurred. I picked up Kristjan muttering something about 'Huldufólk', which I knew to mean elves. The Icelanders hated to admit it but they were a superstitious lot.

In the end, we stopped about halfway before the mountain. The two boys took off their boots and bathed their feet in the clear water. I imagine it was freezing cold coming from the glacier held back by the mountains. The mountains themselves were carved out by the ice moving across the landscape long ago. Watching them relaxing, I wanted to join them, but that'd mean taking off my tights. It was too cold for that. I also didn’t like the way Dagur’s eyes lingered on my legs. I had no intention of giving him a show.

I took the opportunity to take Siggy to one side. "Is everything OK?"

Again he looked like she wanted to say something. She stayed silent, fiddling with her hair.

"I'm not leading Dagur on. At least not intentionally."

She sighed, and for a moment I thought she was going to let me have it. "I don't think that." Her smile was full of warmth, "I'm just worried.. All the drinking... It might have an effect on...,” she looked away, “you, because of the suit." She sighed and gave up trying to explain herself.

I laughed a little, "Is that it? Look, as far as I know drink has no effect on the nano suits."

She put a hand on my shoulder, "It’s not the nano suit. You are smaller now, less body weight. Alcohol will have more effect. I wasn't joking before," she looked over at the two boys who were paying us no attention, "Kristjan, Dagur, James even. They are good guys but some men will want to take advantage."

"I can handle myself." I never liked admitting to weakness and didn’t want to do so then.

"Maybe, normally, but not drunk and not this small. Some guys don't take no for an answer. "

I was about to come up with some flippant reply but then I noticed something in her eyes.

"It happened to me once, in London," she said, looking down[3] .

"Shit Siggy, I didn't know," I took her in a hug. "Do the others know?"

"Egon yes, he's been brilliant. But not James, please don't tell him, or anyone else." I was surprised that she had never told Jamie, and how she thought of her as “James” and “him.” I was more surprised that she confided in me, that she saw me as another woman. She wiped her eyes with the sleeves of her coat. We caught each other's eyes and, in spite of ourselves, we laughed. I hugged her closer noticing how she was slightly taller than me now. "We should go see them soon,” she said.

"Yes," I replied emphatically, trying to lighten the mood and make her feel better. "We'll do a road trip at the weekend." It was only then I realised how much I missed Jamie. I knew I wouldn't tell her about Siggy's secret, not unless Siggy said it was OK, but somehow I knew being near Jamie would make me feel all the better.

That night we stayed up late playing cards. I've never been much of a poker player. I always forget the rules. The boys passed around Kristjan’s vodka bottle, but both Siggy and I stuck to tea. We slept on the same bed that night, Siggy and I. Fully clothed of course.

---

Even at the start of May there was snow outside the window.

“Hey, can’t we try having sex the normal way?” I pouted at Jamie and then hated myself for it. We, Siggy and me, drove up north, taking the road that goes around the whole country. With the filming schedule being so packed, this was the only way we would get to see them. Our conjugal visit, Siggy jokingly called it.

“We do have sex the normal way,” sighed Jamie. I detected a note of annoyance in her voice. She sat on the edge of the bed.

“You know what I mean,” I got out from under the covers and crawled over to her. First I leaned my head on her back and then I kissed her artificially enlarged shoulders, the way I knew she liked.

“We wouldn’t even have to take our full body suits off, just free our genitals,” Jamie turned her head to the side and I took the opportunity to kiss her cheek.

“OK then,” she agreed, begrudgingly. “First, we do it this way.” This is what relationships are about folks, compromise. That and I was horny and needed the release.

Jamie turned around quickly and, placed her hands under my armpits, using the enhanced strength in her arms she threw me back onto the bed.

The sex was, to say the least, strange. While Jamie was pumping away, my mind kept drifting. I kept wondering why she was so adamantly opposed to having it the way we used to. I wondered what, or who, she had been doing on set while I was in Reykjavik. When she finally came, we freed our genitals. The second time, the sex was just weird and desultory. It was strange to be the girl, looking down at a man, yet having sex the old way. I would call it the ‘normal’ way, but it wasn’t. I had no upper body strength and it was much harder for me to hold myself up. That, and given the difference in height, I was staring at Jamie’s sternum, not her face. Jamie looked like she couldn’t wait for it to be over. As a result of all of the awkwardness, it took me forever to come.

It must have been early when Jamie got up. It was still dark outside. I watched the grey outline of her male body as she got dressed. I felt a woozy sense of contentment coming from the long love making session, I doubt we had slept more than two hours. I felt sorry for her having a long day of filming ahead of her. But I had the physical exhaustion from the long hours of driving to deal with. It helped to know that I would be able to go back asleep once she had left.

She leaned over me smiling. I put my arms around her and pulled her into a long deep kiss.

“Get some sleep,” she smiled, “keep your stamina up for later,” then she was gone. I felt great as I drifted back off to sleep.

When I woke again, the clock said 10:32. Shit, I had missed breakfast. I hoped Siggy hadn’t headed out without me? We were meant to be out exploring while they filmed. I got up realising I was completely naked apart from the body suit. Almost all of my body suit, I had to find my fake pussy. I pulled it back on, not wanting to risk exposure, then sat there sighing as the soothing gel spread out relieving my crushed genitals.

After a few minutes, I got up and started looking for my case. It wasn’t near the chair where I had left it. I went to the wardrobe, thinking Jamie may have hung my clothes up. She was always on at me to take better care of them, especially as I was now the one in the dresses and skirts. But no, it wasn’t there. I checked under the bed and in every corner of the room, not that there were many places to hide something so big.

Finally, in desperation, I checked the bathroom. There were no clothes but there was a note taped to the mirror. I ripped it off and read it:

“Hey sexy, I didn’t want to wake you. I do want to spend the day thinking about you waiting naked for me in our bed. See you in a few hours, enjoy room service xxxx”

God damn her kinky side. I didn’t have long to think about it as there was a knocking at the door. I ran back into the bedroom. I pulled a sheet off the bed and wrapped it around me from my armpits down. Composing myself, I opened the door.

“Hey you? Why aren’t you ready?” Siggy said brightly. She looked refreshed and ready to go.

“Urgh,” I groaned, “I’m feeling a little worse for wear.” Or worse for nothing to wear, as the case may be.

“You do look a little green,” she said brushing my forehead with her hand, “And you feel hot as well.” She looked more worried than a hangover and fever warranted.

It was at that moment that I felt my stomach lurching. Without any notice, I started retching. I had one, maybe two minutes to get to safety. Without another word, I turned and ran to the bathroom, flinging my arms around the toilet basin just in time. As I started hurling, I felt Siggy’s hands pulling back my hair and stroking my back. With a jolt, I realised the sheet had fallen off me as I ran.

There was no time to worry about it as I knelt there emptying my stomach’s contents. I sat there, slumped on the floor, for ten, maybe twenty minutes before I was sure it was safe enough for me to lean back. Siggy went and got a damp cloth from the shower and placed it on my forehead.

“What happened?” she asked.

I thought about the two-thirds empty vodka bottle on the bedside table. Jamie had insisted. “Drinking on an empty stomach,” I said, my voice hoarse and my mouth tasting like bile.

Siggy looked upset. “James needs to stop these games. He can’t keep you up all night like this,” Siggy muttered, as much to herself as me. I didn’t appreciate being treated like a fragile child, but I couldn’t really disagree given the circumstances.

“Do you want me to stay with you?” Siggy asked, taking the damp cloth from my forehead and checking my temperature.

I shook my head. “No,” I said. “It’s not the first time I’ve done this. I just need some rest. Go have fun. Say hi to Eggy for me. I’ll sleep it off and be good as new.”
“OK,” she said warily. “Promise me you won’t do this again. You can’t drink like this anymore,” she said.

I didn’t know what to say. I was about to say, “Thanks, mum,” but the look of pure concern on her face made me hold back. Instead, I smiled and said, “I think I’ve learned my lesson.”

She helped me back into bed, tucked me in and kissed me on the forehead. I heard the sounds of cleaning for about ten minutes and the toilet flushing.

When she returned, I thanked her, “You didn’t have to,” I said. She just smiled and kissed me on the forehead again. It was thoughtful of her. I was glad I wouldn’t have to face a mess in a few hours.

“Do you want anything?” She looked concerned. “Something to eat, perhaps, to,” and she paused, “keep up your strength.”

“No really, I am OK,” and I really was, the nausea having already passed. “I guess I just needed to get it out of my system. I just need to rest.”

“OK,” she squeezed my hand, “I’ll leave you in peace.”

After she left, I looked for my laptop and realised that Jamie had hidden it along with my clothes. I assumed that she had just put it somewhere safe, and so I turned on the TV. Thankfully, Icelandic TV shows lots of British shows, just with subtitles. It’s one of the reasons they speak such good English. Still, it felt odd to be watching Silent Witness and Inspector Morse inside the Arctic Circle.

It was past 7pm before I finally heard Jamie’s electronic key in the door. I sat up in bed pulling my legs, and the sheets to my chest. I was not best pleased. It had been a long, boring day watching endless TV. At least I was feeling better. I hadn’t eaten.

“You look adorable,” Jamie chuckled as she came through the door. Not the right thing to say. I crossed my arms in a huff. I noticed she was pulling my wheelie suitcase behind her.

“Sorry hun,” she tried to console me. “I just couldn’t resist.” She sat on the other side of the bed to me.

She put her arm around me and I moved away abruptly. “Do you know how many episodes of Inspector Morse I’ve watched? I actually got through two episodes of The Killing in its original Danish I was so bored,” I was in no mood to just forgive her.

“Did you learn any useful words?” She used her calm voice, the one she used when she knew I was angry with her.

“Takk,” I said, trying to suppress a smile at my useless language skills.

“It was a stupid prank,” she conceded, “But I did think a day’s rest would do you good. You looked a little under the weather.” Her voice indicated a note of concern, she reached out and stroked my foot. I didn’t pull away. I didn’t want to ruin the weekend.

“I was throwing up this morning.”

“Really?” She looked concerned for a second and then her face turned impassive.

I shrugged, “I am feeling much better now. And you still shouldn’t have done it. You could have left me something to wear. It’s cold here, you know.”

Jamie seemed really happy that I was feeling better, which warmed my mood a little. She kept flicking little guilty looks my way and I enjoyed the feeling of having some control back in our relationship.

“Look, I got you a present,” she indicated a large smooth rock she puts on the bed, “It’s from a volcano, I got it for you. And Angela and Karen are taking us out. If you feel up to it that is?”

“I am not sure.” I knew what I had promised Siggy and knew that I would be better off if I kept the promise, but I felt better and had a severe case of cabin fever. “Fine,” I sighed. “We can go, but I need to take it easy tonight, OK?”

Jamie smirked, “OK. Thanks. I promise.”

There was only one bar in town and, unsurprisingly it was crowded. It took us an age to get to the bar as cast and crew from the film kept stopping ‘James’ to say hi. It was clear that she/he was popular. It felt good to bask in a little of ‘his’ reflective popularity. ‘James’ introduced everyone to me, far too many names for me to remember. Everyone greeted me with hugs and kisses, but I don’t think a single one of them asked me much beyond my name, and how long James and I had been together.

She led me to a cubicle at the back where Angela and Karen were holding court. Sitting opposite them were Siggy and Egon. I budged in next to Siggy and Jamie offered to go to the bar for the table.

“I’ll have a beer,” I said.

Siggy looked at me and said, “I thought we talked about this.” Everyone looked at her and I noticed the concerned look that she gave Jamie, who sat there impassively.

She was right but I never liked being called out in front of everyone. “One beer, Siggy. I’ll be fine.” Siggy looked at me and then Jamie, as if she expected her to say something. She started to say something and then said, with a smile, “I’m not cleaning up again.”

It was fun to have the gang back together again. Angela kept talking about how well the filming was going and how great James was. I doubt she would have said anything if it wasn’t, but her sheer levels of enthusiasm persuaded me it was at least partly true.

Egon had many stories to tell of the trouble of filming out in the cold, getting equipment out to remote locations and moaning actors. ”Not you, of course,” he reassured Jamie. I could see Siggy holding on to his arm and I remembered the fertility book I found in their house.

Jamie and I had been trying for a long time before we got the bad news that it would be unlikely we would conceive, what with my low sperm count and her ‘hostile’ womb. It pained me when I thought about it; I knew Jamie hated it too, although she refused to talk about it. I hopped Siggy and Egon would be spared the same pain.

I nursed my beer for a while. When Siggy went away, I got up and got another one. I drank it quickly to avoid her criticizing me and felt it go to my head. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a concerned look flit across Jamie’s face, which made me even angrier. ‘How dare she?’ I thought. ‘After how she left me.’ Then I thought better. I didn’t want to waste this rare weekend together on a stupid argument. Still, why was she pouting over two beers?

There came a moment when we were left on our own. “What are you doing, why are you drinking so much?” Her voice was low but angry.

“Who do you think you are?” I said, not keeping my voice down. “First, you leave me naked all day without my laptop. And I’ve had, what, two to your six, seven? Why are you being such an arse?”

Siggy looked at Jamie, then me. “He wasn’t throwing up this morning. You were and you promised.”

I felt chastened. Siggy was there for me this morning. She was there for me with Kristjan and Dagur and she was just concerned. My ego wouldn’t let me admit that though, so I just stared at them.

Jamie looked at me and said, “What? Siggy’s just concerned for you. Don’t be angry at her.”

“I. Am not angry. At her,” I said, through gritted teeth.

Thankfully, Egon came back from the toilet and halted further escalation. It didn’t matter, our weekend was ruined. We stayed longer than most, leaving only when the staff started putting chairs on tables and mopping.

We left the bar, and I walked away from Jamie. Behind me, I could hear Egon and Siggy arguing in German, and I assumed it was about us.

Jamie caught up to me and tried to take my arm. I knew she’d try and explain herself and that, if she did, I’d forgive her like I always did. Like any good actress (or, I guessed, now actor), she knew how to manipulate her audience and I wasn’t interested in that, not now at least. I stormed off, leaving the other three in my wake. I felt bad that Egon and Siggy were in the middle of this, but it was too late for that.

As I walked away, I heard Siggy and Jamie arguing, although I was too far away to make out what was being said. Then Siggy shouted, “James, you have to tell her!”

I turned around and stormed back. “Tell her?” I yelled then corrected myself, “Tell me what?”

Jamie looked like she was about to die. Even under the nano skin I could recognise her expression. She was about to tell me something terrible. Fuck, I thought, this is it. She’s been cheating on me, or she has cancer. She just stood there, not able to speak. I didn’t know whether to be mad or understanding. In the end, Siggy broke first.

She took my arm. “Kelly, you’re pregnant.”

I wanted to laugh, “Are you crazy?” I look her in face expecting to see that impish grin of hers appear, “Look, I know these suits are convincing but come on. I am still a man underneath all this.” Then, in the back of mind, it dawned on me. Telling me to rest, trying to stop the drinking, it all made sense. I didn’t want it to, but it did.

Jamie still said nothing and stood there, alternating looks of shame and impassivity. Siggy glared at her and then continued. “She was desperate. When she bought the suits, she thought that it would be like a surrogate. That she would be able to have a baby. You know how much she wants a baby. She was supposed to wear the suit. It was supposed to be a surprise,” she said, tailing off.

“Surprise,” I said, mirthlessly.

Jamie finally regained her voice, “It was a surprise but then that fucking company messed everything up.”

I couldn’t respond. Jamie stood there ashamed. The only sound was Siggy and Egon arguing in German. It was obvious that he and I were just hearing about this now. I guess that I was, for now, one of the ‘guys’ again.

To say that the argument went on for a while, would be an understatement.

“How long did you two plan to keep this a secret?” I screamed at Jamie and Siggy.

Jamie alternated apologising and defending herself. “You. You. You. It’s all about you. What about me? It was supposed to me,” and she started to tear up. If we had been us, I would’ve caved then. Jamie knew that tears would always get to me. However, seeing ‘James’ cry disgusted me. ‘Be a man,’ I thought. ‘One of us should be.’

“Are you serious?” I screamed. “Look at me.” She looked at the ground. “LOOK AT ME!” I screamed. She looked at me and then looked at Siggy and Egon. Siggy look mortified. Egon looked disgusted.

Siggy looked like she wanted to say something, but Egon glared at her and put his hand on her arm. She said something in German and then they started arguing. This continued from the street to the car to the house. Finally, at five AM, the fight went out of me. My head was weary with talking. I knew why she had done it, I even sympathised on some level. Had I realised how desperate she was? Probably not, not before then. Perhaps the fault was partly mine for not realising. All I knew then was that I couldn’t be around her, not now.

“So, does this mean we are over?” she said, her face looking impassive. I don’t know what I expected, maybe not crying, but something more.

I was about to say, “yes,” but somewhere deep in that male face was the face of the woman I loved. I looked into her eyes and saw Jamie. Instead, I said, “I don’t know. I need time.”

She just nodded solemnly, like I was a doctor telling her a growth had come back.

I stood outside Egon and Siggy’s room. It was silent and I assumed that they had fallen asleep. I was going to let them sleep but I needed to get away now and couldn’t call an Uber. I knocked and Egon opened the door. He had clearly been asleep but he didn’t look surprised to see me. “Come in,” he said.

“I need to go back to Reykjavik,” I told him flatly.

“Of course, I can see if any of the crew are driving back.” He said. He didn’t ask me any questions and I loved him for it.

“No. I need to go straight away, now.” I stated.

Siggy got out of bed and started getting dressed. “I will drive you,” she said.

“When did she tell you?” I had no time for talking around the houses.

Siggy’s voice went quiet. “Just after you arrived,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I should have told you.” She looked at Egon, “Eggy made me see that.”

I didn’t want to be around any of them. Egon gave me a look of understanding but said, “she’s your best bet for getting out now, otherwise you might have to wait till Monday.” I suspected he wanted Siggy to take me so we would get the chance to make up. In the end, I didn’t really care. I just wanted to get out.

It was nearly 7am by the time we were ready to leave. Without asking, Egon went to my room and got my clothes. I could hear him and Jamie talking, his voice low and angry. I wondered if he regretted hiring Jamie. Part of me hoped so. I showered in their room and changed into a sweater and jeans that Siggy had laid out. I was grateful that she hadn’t left a dress or skirt. I couldn’t deal with that.

We went out to the car and I saw Egon load another suitcase into the boot. I wondered if Siggy was leaving too.

When we got in, I said, “I appreciate the ride but I may not, probably won’t talk, understand that.”

SIggy looked straight ahead, rather than look at me. “I understand that.”

I half slept and half stared out of the window most of the way. There’s a lot of country to see in Iceland and very little human activity. We drove for nearly two hours without seeing any evidence of other humans aside the odd car. I was slipping in and out of sleep.

Around lunch time, we came to a little town, the name of which I don’t remember. It was little more than a line of houses along the road. There was a church at one end and a large building with a petrol station at the other. We filled up at the petrol station and bought hotdogs from inside the building. I was sick of hot dogs. They reminded me of everything. Wanting to stretch our legs, we went on a little walk to the church.

Mountains loomed behind the church, making it look even smaller than it was – and it was pretty small. It was a beautiful vista but I couldn’t see it, not then. Now, everything just reminded me of everything that had happened, of Jamie. Looking inside I couldn’t believe it could fit everyone in, not even from this small town.

“I am so sorry Kelly,” Siggy started, as if being in a religious building was forcing her to confess and beg for absolution.

I should have said what I felt. That I didn’t expect anything from her. That she wasn’t our friend, that she was Jamie’s friend. For some reason, I let her off the hook. “It’s OK. I know Jamie put you on the spot.” I thought for a second about the bars and was going to thank her for trying to stop my drinking, but decided I wasn’t interested in giving her any credit.

We didn’t say anything for a while. I spent the time looking at the painting of Jesus on the wall. It was a strange Jesus, kind of like a Viking Jesus. Viking Jesus would definitely be able to take the normal Hippy Jesus we were used to in England in a fight.

As we left the church, Siggy asked me what must have been on her mind, “What are you going to do about the baby?”

I didn’t know. I was pro-choice, of course. It was only then that I started to see the gravity of that choice. Anyone who thinks it’s an easy decision needs to get stuck in one of these surrogate suits. On one hand, if you had said to me just twenty-four hours before that Jamie and I could have a kid I would have bitten your arm off, no matter what I would have to do. On the other, I now didn’t know if I could trust Jamie, and if I really knew her at all.

There was a child inside me. Was it fair to blame it for what Jamie did, the mistakes made by the company? I couldn’t put what I was feeling in words. I sat on a bench for a long while. Siggy kept looking at me, like she wanted to say something but wouldn’t. I don’t know how long I was sitting there when it came to me. Jamie had impregnated me against my will, albeit by accident. I felt violated. I probably would never be able to tell anyone that. If I went to the police and told them my wife impregnated me against my will, they would laugh in my face. I don’t know exactly when I began crying, just that Siggy was holding me as I shook.

---

They play music loud in Reykjavik. My vision was already going foggy when I spotted him. He was tall and Germanic looking. From the look he gave me, I could tell he was interested.

Siggy was talking to her friends and had momentarily forgotten to spy on me. I think she’d almost lost her voice begging me not to drink, begging me to not punish the baby. I returned the Germanic man's look for a second before turning back to my beer. I had seen girls do it thousands of times. I knew the trick was to not look back until he came over.

"Hey," he said to me.

"Hey," I said back. I turned away taking another swig out of my bottle, but I didn't move away.

"You American?" he said, looking me over with a smile.

"British," I replied as I looked him up and down. He was tall, good looking. It looked to me like he worked out.

We talked for a while. He was a Danish photographer who split his time between London and New York. He was in Iceland taking photos for a fashion magazine in Japan, of which I’d never heard.

He leaned in close to my ear, "I could use you," he whispered.

I laughed at his bad pickup line and raised an eyebrow.

"No," he said, "I really mean it. Don't take this the wrong way but I don't want models. I want real women who are beautiful."

I blushed, if only he knew. I looked to the left and saw Siggy coming over.

"Hey, hey," Her voice was light but her eyes suspicious. "What are you two up to?"

"This is my new friend, uh.." I patted the Danish man on the arm as I realised I didn't know her name.

"Felix," he introduced herself. He was laughing at my comical drunkenness.

"Felix wants me to be in his photo shoot," I grinned at Siggy. I was thinking about how this would get back to Jamie. I enjoyed knowing the pain that it would cause her. I would have preferred to be the 'man' in this situation, and Felix a hot girl, but still, it would be a win for me to make her jealous.

"Can I talk to my friend?" Siggy asked Felix. She pulled me away before I had chance to object.

"Hey, you’re pulling it all out of shape," I whined as she grabbed me by the t-shirt.

“Kelly,” she said, putting her hands on my shoulders. “I know you’re cross, you should be.” I was having trouble focusing on her. I hadn’t had a lot to drink, only three beers but I was tired, mentally and physically. “But you need to be careful,” she said. “For you. And the baby.” Once I started speaking to her, she seemed unnecessarily focused on the baby.

“Thanks for the advice,” I grunted. I didn't feel like being careful. There didn't seem to be anything for me about which I needed to be careful. I had no girlfriend, no permanent place to live and no job, at least for the next three months. “You’re right,” I sneered. “I could wake up pregnant.” The alcohol had given me confidence. Beer muscles, an American friend called it.

“Please,” she said, tears in her eyes. “Remember….” And her voice trailed off, which sobered me up quite a bit. “I know it seems bleak,” she said quietly, her voice cracking. “Think of yourself and,” then she put her hand on my belly, “the baby.” With that, I collapsed in tears into her arms. My mind was racing. Did I want this baby, Jamie? It was all too much.

After I don’t know how long, I stopped crying and Siggy said that she was going to take me home. I asked her to take me to a hotel. I looked at the bar and my stomach flipped. The alcohol had worn off and I was nauseous.

While Siggy went for our coats, I stared at the ground. I was lost in thought when I felt something slip into the pocket of my t-shirt. I felt a shiver of pleasure as his hand brushed lightly against the breast of my bodysuit. I looked up and Felix stood over me, smiling. “Whoever he is, he’s not worth it.” Somewhere in the back of my mind, the stupid part, I felt like I should defend Jamie, but thought better of it.

“I’m serious though,” he said. “If you want out of Reyjavik and want to earn some money, call me.”

I wiped the tears from my eyes and looked more closely at him. He had a handsome, chiseled face. His pale skin was covered in freckles around her cheeks and nose. "Huh?"

"The modeling," he said, flexing his arms. They were well built and covered in tiny blond hairs. His shoulders were broad and stretched the fabric of his black t-shirt. He smiled and then left.

"What did he want?" Siggy asked as she handed me my coat, scarf and hat.

"Just saying goodbye," I shrugged. I turned my back to Siggy taking Felix's card out of my breast pocket and slipping it into the back pocket of my jeans. I’m not sure why I was so secretive. Just the thought of having something of my own to hide made me feel a little better. A little more in control.

Siggy had to half carry me home through the lightly falling snow. It looked magical watching the snowflakes fall in front of the street lighting. I suspect I enjoyed it far more than Siggy did. She kept looking like she wanted to say something, but wouldn’t. I was so curious that I almost asked her what she was thinking, but then realised I might not want the answer. I wasn’t ready for a defense of Jamie or a lecture, so I said nothing. I just thought about the baby inside me. I still didn’t understand how this happened, how it could happen.

We stopped at the hotdog stand near the sea front, the one Bill Clinton was supposed to have eaten at during his visit. Siggy said she wanted to get some food inside me. I wanted anything but hot dogs, but that was our only option. I choked one down and stared at the water. It was dark and foreboding.

I watched the snow falling on the surface of the waves. Each snowflake quickly melted into the icy water, disappearing into the black depths. I thought of the fish underneath the water and how little I knew of them and how little they knew of me. For some reason, this thought was comforting to me.

---

The new day brought with it one hell of a hangover. I stood in front of the little mirror staring at the bags under my eyes. It seemed strange to see how my fake face had been affected by the real damage I’d done to my body.

I felt the skin, the soft lips, it all seemed so real. Eventually I pulled up my t-shirt and rubbed my belly. It was still flat as a pancake. I knew it wouldn’t be long before that changed.

After sticking my head under the tap and gulping down cold water, I made my way to the kitchen. It took me an age to get the coffee machine going. At first I forgot to put the water in. I knew it was worth it when I lifted the mug to my mouth, sipping the strong brew. Finally, I resolved to return to the bedroom and google abortions for body suits. I felt guilty doing it but, for my own sanity, I needed to keep my options open. I padded slowly back to the room. SIggy’s room was silent which was good. I finally had a chance to get my head straight without any distractions.

I opened up my laptop and opened Google, but I couldn’t do it. Not yet, not with a hangover. Whatever happened, this was a serious decision and needed a clear head, so I decided to distract myself by reading e-mails. I hadn’t checked it since we toured the island with Dagur and Kristjan, which felt like a lifetime ago. Most were e-mails from former work colleagues, which only made me feel more alone. It took me nearly five minutes before I spotted it. “From Rich Dale, re your submission.”

At first I was confused, as I hadn’t submitted anything in ages. A few years before, I had sent my ‘great’ novel to a few publishers and agents. I’ve always wanted to be a writer, ever since I was a kid writing fan fiction and crazy sci-fi stories. I had recently found some of the stories and cringed, thinking ‘well, it’s good that I found something else to do.’ After about a year of getting turned down, I’d given up. Most of the rejection emails were depressingly similar, clearly standard replies. I had continued to write, but only for my own pleasure.

Sipping the coffee, I opened the email. “Dear Ms. Kelly Rogerson,” This confused me, Rogerson was Jamie’s maiden name. “Thank you for submitting your manuscript to us,” it said. Had I sent another one out and then forgotten about it? I thought, ignoring the name on the e-mail to me. “We would be pleased to discuss the possibility of representing you and your novel at the earliest convenience.” I read through it several times, looking to see whether there was an e-mail attached from ‘me,’ but there wasn’t. I checked my sent folder to see if there was any correspondence with this Rich Dale and found none. Then I searched for the name of the literary agency ‘Dale & Associates’ and found two e-mails, the first dated two months ago, right around when I lost my job. I opened it and saw the manuscript for a silly story, “Danelaw,” I’d written for fun earlier that year. I’d never sent it off anywhere. It was just some dumb Scandi-crime-style nonsense, set in the North of England. I’d written it to amuse myself.

The second email was a reply, probably from Rich’s secretary or an intern acknowledging the receipt of the first. It must have been Jamie who sent it. There was no one else with access to my e-mail. I sat there silently looking at the screen reading and re-reading the email.

I gathered my thoughts and started on a reply, which I found impossible. It was ironic, given my job and why I was responding. My first response was a rambling mess. It tried to explain that I was a man, writing under a woman’s name and explaining why I would appear to be a woman. On second read, I realised that I sounded like a lunatic and that this guaranteed that they would reject it. Instead, I sent the following e-mail; it was short and to the point:

Dear Mr. Dale,
Thank you so much for reading my manuscript. I would be glad to meet with you to discuss representation. I am currently away visiting friends in Iceland but I will be back in London from the end of the week. Is there a good time for us to meet next week?

After rereading it a couple of times to make doubly sure I was doing the right thing I hit send. I couldn’t decide how I felt. On the one hand, I was grateful that Jamie had submitted it, since I had long since given up hope. On the other hand, she went into my e-mail without asking me, without telling me. That and I couldn’t figure out why she had made me female, had given me her maiden name.

I finished my coffee and got into the shower. I felt the water hit my body, this body. It felt good and I stopped thinking about it, until I saw my reflection in the mirror. Then I decided that I was going to go back to London. I had time to decide about Jamie and the baby. I needed to meet with this agent.

I sat back down and heard a knock on the door. I opened it and Siggy stood there, with no makeup on.

“How are you feeling?” she asked tentatively.

“Fine,” I said. I started to say something about the agent but decided not to. I knew she meant well but I didn’t trust her not to say something to Jamie, sorry to James. And I didn’t want him to know.

She sat on the bed. “I know you are upset with James but…,” she said.

I held up my hand. “Siggy, no. Not today. I know you’re concerned but I don’t, I can’t, I won’t.” I smiled. “I promise no drinking but I don’t want to hear his name today, OK?”

She looked at me gravely and said, “This is not about him. I am very upset with him too. I just want you to think about your baby.”

I debated what to say next, not trusting her. I decided to test her, figuring what I said next would get back to Jamie. “I don’t know what I am doing about this baby,” putting the emphasis on ‘this.’

She looked shocked, which surprised me. “Please, Kelly. It is your choice, but think,” she said, starting to tear up.

I remembered the books on her shelves and felt awful. Whatever she knew, I assumed that she and Egon were in the same place we were. I started to tear up. “I’m sorry, Siggy,” I said, putting my arm around her. “I don’t know what I am going to do, but I will be careful, I promise,” and I meant it.

“Thank you,” she said. She started to say something and stopped.

“I think I am going to go away for a while,” I said. “I can’t be here.”

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know,” I lied. I hated lying to her, she had tried to help and protect me, but she was Jamie’s friend, her spy. “I just know I don’t want to be here. Not now.” I reached over to hug her. “I’ll make my way to the airport. Thank you for taking me here.”

She dried her eyes. “I will drive you there. I owe you that much.”

I packed up my bag and took it to her car. We didn’t talk on the short ride. I had a lot that I wanted to say but couldn’t say any of it and Siggy looked like she felt the same way. We got to the airport and I went to take my bag out of the boot. Siggy came out and took her bag out.

She looked sad, “These are some clothes for you. Some of them will fit you now. The rest will fit you if you decide…” and her voice cracked. “At least for the next couple of months.”

I looked into her eyes and saw pain. I realised what the books were. I went to say something and she put her fingers to my lips. “No, Kelly. Don’t. Just please call me, text me when you get to where you’re going. You don’t have to tell me where, I know you won’t, just please let me know you’re safe. And please stay safe. Again, I am sorry.”

I hugged her. It was strange, her being taller than me. My voice cracked as I said, “I will. Sorry you had to be in the middle.” And I was. She didn’t put herself there, Jamie did.

As she pulled away, I went to the counter and bought a ticket to London for a ridiculous price. I needed to get away.

________________________________________

Month 3

Kelly, still stuck in the body suit, returns to London, without Jamie. Jamie leaves Kelly broke. What will Kelly do to survive?
______________________________

The Airbnb flat was large and spacious. The owner had renovated it lovingly over many years. His dad had bought it back in the 70s when property along the Holloway Road was cheap. I was pleased I’d found it at such short notice. I couldn’t go back to our apartment. When Jamie got the part, we sublet it for the three months we’d be in Iceland. We weren’t going to be here and figured that we could save the extra money to cover living and IVF expenses, in case it took me awhile to get back on my feet professionally. Even if I could’ve gone back, I don’t think I would have, at least not yet.

I stood staring at the noisy street below. Cars and trucks thundered past. I wondered where they were going. There was a pile of women’s clothes on the bed. Some were the clothes Siggy gave me and some were Jamie’s that I had retrieved from storage. The rest I had bought from charity shops the first day back. There were also a few bras and panties I’d bought at the airport. These were all white and plain.

My phone buzzed. I looked down and saw it was from Siggy. I read the first line, Jamie wanted to talk. I’d been texting Siggy since I got back, to let her know I was OK but if she was going to pass messages for Jamie, I wasn’t going to reply. I felt bad putting her in the middle but that was her choice.

I tried on the black suit trousers and a blue blouse, but thought it looked too formal. Like I was interviewing to become a temp.

Again my phone buzzed. I looked down, this time it was from a friend from the ad agency. He’d heard I was back and said that Jamie was looking for me. He wanted to know if I was OK. I wished I knew myself.

Finally, I picked up the powder blue summer dress. It was a simple sheath style dress I remembered Jamie buying for our holiday in Croatia. I knew it would strike the right balance. Professional but approachable. I didn’t think I’d be able to feel at ease in a dress though.

There was a long mirror in the corner of the spare room. I examined myself in the dress. Even I had to admit it fitted pretty well. I smoothed the fabric around the belly down a bit. You could just see the beginnings of a bump.

Warm air came in through the open window. Even with the noise and the pollution, it took me back to Dubrovnik, sitting in the little restaurant on a roof top. Watching Jamie as the sun went down, her face bathed in candlelight. I could feel a tear running down my cheek. I had to pull myself together.

I had thought about taking a jacket but, after Reykjavik, London in June felt like the tropics. I picked up a light cardigan and wore it open. No English person can leave the house without some sort of cover. It’d anger the weather gods.

I was still getting used to the sheer numbers of people in London again. Each street seemed to have more people than the whole of Iceland. Because of this, I decided to take the bus rather than risk the tube. I also wanted to look presentable and not drenched in sweat.

It felt good to watch the city pass by from the top of a double-decker. As we passed through Camden, I saw the pubs filled with people. Despite it being a Thursday, the sunshine had brought people out. It made me feel good to watch them. The bus lurched forward at a pedestrian stopping. I felt my hands on my stomach. I rubbed it, feeling the contours of my bump.

For a moment, despair threatened to engulf me. I pushed it down. Meet the agent, I told myself. Get a step forward to achieving one of my life goals, then I could worry about what to do.

I changed at Waterloo and took the next bus on to Brixton. I leaned my head against the window people watching as we went. Many of the men were in t-shirts and shorts, the women in light summer dresses. I remembered coming to Brixton on a number of occasions with Jamie. Most North Londoners rarely travel south of the river but Jamie had acting buddies down here.

Checking the GPS on my iPhone, I kept an eye out for the right stop. The little red pin drew closer and closer. I wasn't the only one getting off at that stop. I had to stand halfway down the stairs, blocked by other passengers both behind and in the front. The bus driver put his foot down on the brake and sent me tumbling into the back of the large man in front of me.

The man turned to me. At first I thought he was going to be angry, but instead he offered me a helping hand.

"Bloody bus drivers," he sympathised with me. I wasn't the first Londoner to be hurled down the stairs by a sudden stop, I wouldn't be the last.

It took me a while to find the offices of Dale & Associates. I had to walk up and down the street three times before I found the right door. Each time getting a little more frazzled and anxious. It was hidden down the side of a three story Victorian style building. The whole building leaned slightly to the left. A common sight in London, the city having been built on a bed of clay.

The intercom had six buzzers in total. One was marked for a graphic design company named A-to-M and another for a TV Production company called Bad Behaviour. Three of the buzzers just had flat/office number. The final one at the top said 'Dale Associates'. I pressed it.

While I waited for a reply, I read and re-read the printed email with the details of our meeting. Despite all my worrying, I was still ten minutes early. I began to think I should have walked around the block. Finally, the intercom buzzed with the voice of a young woman.

"Hello, can I help you?" She sounded young and friendly.

"Hi," I said, my voice was high, even by the standards of the body suit, "My name is Kelly Rogerson, I have a meeting with Rich Dale?" My statement had become a question as uncertainty had overtaken me again.

Silence.

"Sorry, I am a little early," I felt the butterflies in my stomach. I really wanted this girl to like me.

"Not a problem, Kelly," her voice was light and friendly. I felt muscles relaxing that I hadn't realised were clenched. "When you hear the buzzer, push the door. Sorry but we’re on the top floor!"

I was worried the three flights of stairs would leave me a sweaty mess so I stopped before the last corner for a moment to get my breath back. By the time I reached the top, the girl I had spoken to on the intercom was waiting for me.

"Hi!" she said. By my guess she was in her early twenties, probably just out of university. She looked really young to me. I had to remind myself that in the body suit, I looked only a couple of years older. "Is the lift out of order?" She looked a little worried.

"No. Just trying to keep fit." I said. I was just happy I wasn't wheezing.

"Oh tell me about it," she put her hand on my arm. Just two girls sharing. "I thought all those stairs would have been the perfect cardio work out but," she grabs at her entirely imagined love handles, "I guess snacking at my desk doesn't help."

I spent five minutes talking to the girl, Hannah. She and her boyfriend only moved to London last weekend, she had studied Creative Writing at East Anglia. It seemed like we had a bond. Somehow it made me feel less nervous.

Hannah led me into a small waiting room. The furniture was all mid-century modern and very luxurious. Even if it were reproductions rather than originals, it was not cheap. I did the maths in my head. Either the agency were doing well or it had started with an impressive amount of seed money.

On the wall opposite me were a number of photographs, mostly black and white. They showed publicity shots of writers, some holding various awards. I recognised one writer, Sadie something, whose debut novel had just been made into a BBC mini series. The only other photo I was sure of was a man in a rugby shirt. Pretty much everyone with a Kindle had downloaded at least one of his books for their summer holidays.

"Ah, Christopher Bowman," I heard a man say. As he walked into the room, his eyes followed mine. "He's a great client but a bit of a Prima Donna." The man offered me his hand. I tried to get up but nearly tripped myself up on my own bag. In the end, I crashed into him with an awkward stumble and handshake that left me a little closer to him than I had wanted.

"One day, I'll tell you about the scandal Chris got himself into," He gave me a cheeky smile and I couldn't help blushing. I wondered whether I would be the same story to someone years on. If you’re lucky, you will be, I admonished myself. "My name is Rich Dale, very pleased to meet you."

He spoke with an American accent, although I couldn't place the region. He was younger than I expected, perhaps late thirties, maybe early forties. Either way he was in good shape.

"Er, hi." I stuttered. I felt like a teenager sent to the head’s office. It was an odd experience to have another man look me up and down. I was getting used to the looks and stares in public. They almost didn’t bother me anymore. This was more appraising. I guess I would have checked me out.

The thought reminded me that I had twelve messages from her in my inbox. None of which I had responded to.

"Shall we go through to my office?" Rich smiled at me. I nodded, my voice had deserted me. "Hannah, would you mind getting us drinks?"

"Sure," she said, all bright and perky. "What would you like?"

It was like she was Jeremy Paxman asking me a question on Newsnight. I had just clammed up. Luckily, Rich didn't seem to notice.

"Black coffee," I said. At the time it seemed the simplest. I regretted it immediately, coffee was only going to further agitate my nerves. I’d lately been developing heartburn on top of that.

As Rich entered his office, Hannah put a reassuring hand on my arm. "Hey, don't worry," I looked into her open face desperate for reassurance, "He loves your book."

Bless her little shoes. Right then, I'd wanted to be her friend forever.

Rich’s office was large and well lit. On the walls were further photographs. Rich with various clients holding different awards and cheques. I wondered if it would ever be me up there..

“So Kelly,” Rich sat behind his large desk. I smoothed my skirt underneath me as I sat down. “I am so glad you came in.”

I placed my two hands down in my lap, clasping and unclasping them. The body suit forced me to sit up straight and not slouch. I wondered how they had ensured the feminine posture. Such attention to detail.

We talked for some time about the market for new authors, and how long it would take to find a publisher. I had expected him to suggest a small, independent publishers, but he was confident “one of the bigger boys would be interested.” All the time I closely watched his movements. It was as if I couldn’t believe he was real.

“But won’t my book get lost in a publishers of that size?” I quizzed him. He had a boyish face but his sandy hair was receding a little. His eyes lit up when he discussed books.

“Let me ask you Kelly, why do you want to be published?” His eyes bore into me.

“Erm, I don’t know Mr. Dale,” I shrugged.

Before I could continue, he said, “Rich. I’m not old enough to be Mr. Dale.” I smiled. I had forgotten the immediate intimacy with which some Americans expressed themselves. He continued to look at me. I felt like I had failed some sort of test.

I dug deeper, “Erm, Rich. I suppose it’s what I have always wanted, ever since I was a little,” I had to stop myself from saying ‘boy’, “girl.”

Again there was silence. His gaze wasn’t aggressive, but it was unnerving. “When I was young I always felt detached. Perhaps because mum left when I was only little. I was always the observer. By the time I became a teenager it felt like I,” I paused trying to think of the right words, “I had so much inside me but I didn’t know how to get it out.” Right then I was dying for a cigarette, even though I hadn’t had one in years. How strange it was to be talking about mum in front of a total stranger.

“So you found writing?” Rich prompts me with a little smile.

“I guess you could say that. Oh, it was the usual adolescent nonsense. I kept a diary, wrote stories. It just felt like there had to be a reason, you know, for holding so much inside of me. That it was my destiny…” I blushed bright red, “You must think I am incredibly egotistical.”

His smile was reassuring, he seemed happy, “Well you certainly sound like a true writer. Ego and all,” he winked. I felt my face turn even brighter red. He smiled. “You’ll have to get over that,” he said, pointing at my cheeks. “When you’re a successful writer, you’ll have to believe all that.” I blushed further.

“Now, for the boring part,” he said, taking out paperwork. “It’s a standard representation letter. If we place the book, I take five percent of any advances, royalties, etc etc. If there’s promotions that the publishers don’t cover, I will advance what’s necessary and we’ll split the cost.” My eyes must have been glazing over because, with a smile, he said, “I know this is a lot. Why don’t you take it home, read it over and call me with any comments.” He read my mind because he said, “I promise you will receive an advance, a large one. I know the market. If I didn’t think you would get an advance, Kelly, you wouldn’t be here. I just need you to be patient and trust me. Do you trust me?”

I nodded, “Yes, Mr...I mean Rich. I trust you.” I was impressed by his confidence. I never had that sort of confidence. I had read an article somewhere that separated the world into askers and guessers. Askers had the confidence to ask for anything, a raise, a drink, a date. Guessers don’t even put a request into words unless they’re pretty sure the answer will be yes. Dick was an asker. I could easily see him chatting up any woman he fancied. Jamie was an asker. I was a guesser.

Something caught my eye, “Wow, is that Susan Crisp?” I pointed at a photo on his desk.

He smiled, “That’s my wife, Susan, yes.”

“Wow, Susan Crisp,” I said embarrassed by my own fandom.

“You’ll have to meet her soon.”

“What!” I nearly jumped out of my seat, “Susan Crisp, no I couldn’t. She’s… She’ll think I’m just some stupid girl,” I tried to compose myself, “Do you think I really could?”

“So I take it you’re on board?”

I nodded eagerly.

“Good,” he said. “This will be a long and fruitful partnership. The world will know Kelly Rogerson when we get done.” I’d have to figure out how to tell him that my name was Cooper, not Rogerson. I left how to address who I was to another day.

---

I was floating on air all the way home. Nothing could put a damper on my mood. Not the crowds or the lack of air conditioning on the tube. Coming out of Archway, I was wondering what to do with myself. I should call dad to let him know the good news, but then I’d have to explain who I was, why I was like this and where Jamie was and I wasn’t ready to explain all of that. I wanted to call my friends but then I’d be in the same Catch 22 situation, plus the added spice of humiliation.

I figured I’d have a quiet night tonight, enjoy the moment. I was off alcohol of course, at least until I’d made my decision but I could at least treat myself to a take-away. I had a mad craving for the seaweed from the local Chinese. I stopped at the cash machine and typed in my number. A few moments passed and the options came up. I selected cash and £50 and waited for the little whirring sound of the money gods. It didn’t come. Instead, it said, ‘Insufficient Funds’. I used to be familiar with that message, back when I was a new graduate, working freelance and trying to break into writing for TV. I hated that feeling, which is what drove me to copywriting work.

Behind me, a woman was trying to placate her restless children. She didn’t say anything, but I heard her exhale and could feel her eyes burning into me. I tried again, this time for £20. Once again the message came up; ‘insufficient funds’. I tried once more, panic rising, for £10. The same message, more panic. What had happened?

“Excuse me, but are you finished?”

I turned to see the woman. Her words cut with politeness.

“S-s-sorry,” I took my card and almost ran away.

The blood was pounding in my head all the way back to the flat. Could it be internet fraud, maybe I’d underestimated my outgoings? I didn’t want to admit it but even then I knew where the problem would lie. It took me a good half an hour to find that little calculator-like device the bank gave me to generate my login code. My hands were shaking with nerves, so much so that I kept messing up the log-in. In the end, I had to go make myself a cup of tea to calm myself down. It took another two goes but eventually I was in.

The online statement was pretty clear. The account was well in credit until 2:35 pm that day. Then everything had been emptied into another account. The bank account was registered to one James Rogerson.

I called the bank helpline. The woman was very polite but told me that, “it was a joint account and Mr. Rogerson had the right to transfer the funds. I am sorry but you should speak with him miss.” The miss cut through me like a knife, pointing out how weak I had become.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, you…” I screamed into her voicemail, leaving off what I wanted to call her, not because I didn’t want to say them, but because I couldn’t choose. I started to say how she stole MY money since, until she got this job, I was the only one contributing funds while she worked at theaters where she couldn’t see the West End for the curvature of the earth, but, as mad as I was, that felt cruel, like I was telling her that everything I had told her over the years about her art was a lie. It wasn’t. I was happy that one of us could pursue our art. Instead, I left a long rambling message telling her how she left me pregnant and homeless and, by the end, I was in tears. I started to type Siggy, to tell her what kind of bitch her friend was. I deleted that message and started to type how I was moving to a shelter since ‘James’ had left me homeless and broke, but decided instead to cut off all communication for awhile. Let them wonder.

When the adrenaline high of “fuck you,” wore off, I collapsed onto the couch, in tears. The flat was only paid for until the end of the week and then I’d be homeless. Female, broke, no job, homeless and pregnant with a baby I didn’t know if I wanted to keep. I turned on the TV, hoping it would distract me. It didn’t. I couldn’t focus. It was like watching TV in Iceland, except this time there were no subtitles. The actors’ voices merged with the noise from the street below. I just laid there as the sun went down, watching the shadows move slowly across the back wall.

Different scenarios ran through my mind. Maybe Rich could find me a deal quickly with a big healthy advance. I knew, from experience, that was unlikely. Even if he got me a deal quickly, new writers rarely got much in the way of an advance. I’d beg Jeremy for work, maybe under an assumed name, but even in desperation, the possible humiliation felt too hard to bear.

My fists balled up, I punched the sofa. It started as a quick thing but then I found I couldn’t stop myself. I pounded and pounded away until the bottoms of my fists were raw and the downstairs neighbour was banging on the ceiling.

I’d never felt anger like that before. It was all consuming. If Jamie had walked in right then, I could have killed her. Or harmed myself. Crazed revenge plots swam through my mind. I’d go down to the clinic right then and get an abortion. After all I needed no money to do it, God bless Nye Bevan.

The computer screen showed bus times and the clinic’s location on Google maps before my mood broke. I scared myself by imagining my child crying out. I knew it wasn’t true but, in my unbalanced state of mind in that moment, I half believed it. Then my own tears came. I lay on the sofa hands on my stomach. I knew then that I was going through with the pregnancy. I needed to find a different solution.

---

I sat staring at Felix's card. It'd taken me the best part of an hour to track it down. In the end I'd found it shoved in the back of my notebook.

What were my options? I had my credit card, at least I didn't think she could do anything about that. But the upper limit was only £1,000 and that wouldn't cover the cost of the flat, at least not for very long. I had about £20 in loose change and about the same again on my Oyster Card. Mercifully, I'd done a big shop just a couple of days ago so I wasn't going to starve.

I could have signed up to a temping agency, but that would take time, not pay well, and I'd have to answer a few personal questions I wasn't sure I was ready to cope with.

I picked up the card and dialled.

The phone rang, and rang. I’d got to the point where I was preparing a voice message in my head...

"Hello," His voice sounded different. Older, more mature.

"Er, hi," I paused, "You may not remember but we met in a club. In Reykjavik a couple of weeks ago..."

I don’t know what possessed me to call him. Of course, he wouldn't remember me! The club had been dark and he we had both been drunk. Besides, it was probably just a pickup line.

"Sure, I remember you. The brunette right?"

"Uh huh," I was a little annoyed at being reduced to a hair colour but I wasn't in any position to complain. "You said if I was ever interested in trying modelling..."

"And you said it'd be a cold day in hell."

"Ha ha," he couldn't see but I was scratching the back of my head, "Well, it might be a good moment to invest in a warm coat,"

Thankfully, he laughed.

"Look, I'm going to level with you. I'm in a bit of a fix and need the money fast." I hated playing the damsel in distress, but there was no way around it.

There was silence. It seemed to last forever.

"You're in luck, I had a model pull out of a shoot just this morning. Ungrateful, but that's the business. It's nothing hard, mostly lying around. a day shoot pays £200."

"That's fine, I'll take whatever." £200 wasn’t going to solve my problems but it was a start.

"Can you be there 4:30am tomorrow?"

"Sure," I didn't know where 'there' was but I knew I'd work it out.

"OK, give me your email and I'll get my assistant to contact you with the details."

I read off my email, "This is so great of you. Thank you sooo much!"

"You can pay me back tomorrow," he laughed . I was so elated that I didn’t think what that might have meant.

As I waited for the email, I looked over his website again. I recognised one set of pics from an ad campaign I'd worked on a few years ago. It’d been for a bank, trying to persuade students to sign up for a life of loans and overdrafts. Most of his stuff was aimed at the younger women, the sort of thing you'd see in Dazed & Confused. Sexy and youthful. I'd always liked the style, although I'd never imagined it'd be me in the photos.

After making a cup of tea, I refreshed my inbox. It had arrived, efficient. The shoot was at some place in Bethnal Green. I didn't know it, but it wouldn't be hard to find. My only problem was how to get there. There'd be buses running at that time but more than one to get there and it’d take forever. It'd only take one to go wrong and I'd be late. I couldn't afford to lose this gig.

A taxi would be quickest, but I didn't fancy risking what little cash I had left. What if they took ages in paying me. I had one last option, the bike downstairs. It'd have to do.

That's how I ended up outside an old warehouse in Bethnal Green at 4am dripping in sweat. The streets were deserted apart from a few drunks and one team of street cleaners I’d passed near Brick Lane. The dress I was wearing was only a light one. I'd picked it expecting to have to get out of it quickly. I was left hugging myself against the cold wishing for more layers. The sweat quickly became clammy, making me even colder.

It was well past 5:30am before anyone else turned up. I'd taken to glancing at my phone every other minute, refreshing the email to make sure I hadn't got the wrong address or time. I stared at that email countless times trying to find some note I'd missed.

"Hey, you here for the shoot?" The woman was tall and looked tired. Everyone looked tired before 6am.

“Er, yes. I wasn’t sure I got the right place.”

“Let me guess. Felix told you to be here at some ungodly hour?”

I nodded.

“I once told him I need the models in extra early, 4am or something. But that time, we had a nightmare makeup job. He tells the girls the same thing every time. I’m never sure if he’s trying to be helpful or just enjoying the power.” She extended her hand to me, “My name’s Ellie. I’m chief makeup artist and kind of the mum around here.”

She led me into the space. It looked large and empty. The walls were brick and floors painted grey. In one corner I could see the lights we’d be using along with some boards and screens. Across the roof were a series of metal bars. I assumed they must have been part of a pulley systems designed to help move goods around. Hanging from them were a number of what looked like fishtails in all sorts of different, and very bright, colours.

“You’ve seen the fish butts then.”

“Er, yes,”

“I take it he didn’t tell you you’d be a mermaid for the day?”

I shook my head. Subconsciously, I eyed the door for escape.

“You’re selling beachwear. Some ad guy thought it’d be fun,” she said, rolling her eyes. I knew exactly what she meant. I’d been in lots of those meetings. “Mermaid for the day. Every little girl's dream right?”

I nodded, missing the sarcasm in her voice. It was 6:00 AM and besides, how would I know? She reached up and pulled one of the fish tails down.

“Green will suit you, I think.”

I gulped.

“I’d go to the bathroom now while you can.”

By 7:30, the place had started to fill up. I sat with my fellow female models watching with trepidation as two of Felix’s assistants filled a large paddling pool. There were others blowing up beach balls and putting up various seaside paraphernalia. Kiss Me Quick hats, that sort of thing.

“I hope the water’s warm,” I muttered.

“No such luck,” The blond girl named Claire replied, “They have to keep it below a certain temperature to stop germs.”

“It could be worse,” joined in Michiko, the other female model. She nodded in the direction of the two male models emerging from the changing rooms. Both wore just speedos and bathing caps.

“At least, it’ll warm up a little when they get the lights on,” I hardly heard Claire’s words as I was distracted by an inflatable palm tree began rising off the floor.

It was gone 10am by the time Felix arrived. His presence changed the feel of the place. People seemed more focused. I wondered if he’d come over and say hi, but he seemed too busy. The first half an hour we sat in silence as he and his assistants checked the lighting levels.

“You know he’s taken me to Paris and Venice in the last couple of months,” Michiko said, looking around to see if we were listening. Claire and I stayed silent. “Jobs like these are fine. Bread and butter,” she laughed at her own joke, if that’s what it was, “but the foreign trips are when you see who he really wants to work with.”

When Michiko turned her back, Claire rolled her eyes. I had to suppress a laugh.

The first set of poses were simple enough. We, the male and female models were given various orders and told to hold various props. Guess who got the ‘Kiss Me Quick’ hat. There were two disciplines involved in the work. The first was physical, to hold a pose, which was harder than most people think. The second was mental. You had to deal with orders being barked at you while resisting the urge to hit the bastard. As we neared lunchtime, Felix started to experiment.

“Alan,” he was speaking to one of the male models, “Do you think you could carry both Kelly and Michiko at the same time?”

“Sure,” Alan spoke in an easy Australian drawl, “How do you want me?”

No one asked either Michiko or myself.

“Kelly over the left shoulder, Michiko under the right arm.”

I was about to say something when one of the assistants began lifting me. I looked over at Michiko, she didn’t look best pleased either.

“Right, now you’ve got them turn with your back to me. Can someone get Claire into the pool? Lets try her with a cigar and drink. I want her in the background.”

Once set up we began shooting.

“Wiggle those tails girls. Alan, turn to your right slightly.” The instructions kept coming.

It turned into a long day. Around 4pm, Felix got his assistants to hang some large fishing next from the ceilings, like giant hammocks above our heads. The three of us girls we dumped in them and then spent another hour or so being told to writhe this way or that. With the ropes digging into my body and the fish tail cutting off circulation in my legs, I’d never been less comfortable.

The worst part of the day was the waiting. For long periods while Felix and his assistants changed the sets around we were left with nothing to do. In our fish butts, it was an effort to even sit up. I amused myself talking to Claire about her nieces and nephews while she scrolled through pictures on her phone. Michiko seemed much more interested in the guys, although I didn’t think they returned the interest.

It was getting on for six by the time we stopped. All three of us girls dashed to the bogs as soon as our legs were released from their prisons. Or at least we tried. My gait resembled a zombie as I tried to make my pins follow my commands. It didn’t matter much, by then we were being completely ignored. Felix and his team were all standing around a laptop going through the day’s work. Everyone else, Ellie and her team were busy packing up. I doubted any of the wardrobe team wanted to stay a minute longer than they had to.

Only the photography crew seemed to be having fun. For the last hour or so they’d been passing around cocktails, all beach themed. I’d also noticed them disappearing into the toilets in twos and threes. They came back with much more energy than before.

One of their team, a skinny lad, came over to me, “Felix wants to know if you can stay for another hour? He wants to do some close ups.” The kid looked like he was only just out of Uni. He wore expensive looking jeans and a fitted long sleeved t-shirt. I caught Michiko’s eye, she didn’t look best pleased.

Honestly, all I wanted at that point was a hot bath and a cold drink.

“He’ll pay you an extra £100.”

Damn. I knew I need the money. Every bone and muscle in my body screamed in opposition, but my brain was thinking about my only other option being crawling back to Jamie. My brain won the day.

“OK,” I sighed, “What does he need me to do?”

The skinny kid held out the green fish bum. I could have cried.

Like Brexit, close ups meant close ups. For the most part, I was asked to lie on the floor while Felix stood over me. There was only four of us left. Felix, the skinny kid and some big guy who seemed to know what Felix needed before Felix did himself.

“OK, imagine I’m some dude with a big fat cock and bank account. Seduce me.”

What a prick. I pouted and tried to imagine I was going into soft focus. He was straddling me now. The feel of his legs pressed against my thighs made me feel queasy.

“You know if they go for these pictures it’ll be a big deal for you. More money, maybe more shoots in New York and Tokyo.”

He kneeled down, his groin pressed against my crotch. The fucker had a hard on.

“Of course, if you want that you’ll have to fuck me.”

My face contorted in outrage and he began snapping away. Seconds later he stood up and I was released.

“OK, I’ve got what I wanted. You get dressed now.”

Did he mean that? Was he just trying to get a reaction? With that, he was off me. The men immediately stopped noticing my existence. No one offered a hand and I had to pretty much crawl behind a barrier to get out of the mermaid costume. I had wanted to ask how quickly I was going to get paid, but the thought made me feel dirty. Instead, I changed as quickly as I could praying that I didn’t start crying. I didn’t want to give the sleazebag the satisfaction. By the time I made it to the door, it was only me and the skinny kid left. I waited nervously to be let out, half expecting Felix to jump at me from out of a shadow.

Once we were out in the alleyway the kid turned to me, “Sorry about him,” he muttered, “he’s a real arsehole.” And with that he was gone. I still had a long bike ride back to Archway to go, but at least I was out of there.

I showered twice at home that night. The first time felt like a release, getting all the dirt and the pollution off my skin, soothing my muscles. I had tried to settle afterwards but I couldn’t, sit still or think straight. It was like someone had downloaded a virus into my brain. During the second shower, I could still feel him on me. I stood there like a zombie not able to think straight. At first I didn’t realise I was crying because of the water from the shower. In the end I had to sit on the edge of the bath because I was crying so much.

---

I stood outside the large suburban house. I’d twisted the handles of the off-licence blue plastic bag around my hand so many times I was running the risk of it snapping. Stupidly, I’d left my credit card at home and the bottle of red had used up a big chunk of the money I had left. Added to that the journey this far south had eaten up much of the credit on my Oyster Card. Still, it was going to be worth it. I was about to meet Susan Crisp, and she was going to work on my book.

I pulled nervously at the hem of my dress. It’d taken me a full two hours to settle on it. Women have so much choice, I hadn’t known where to start. In the end I went with the only thing I knew, that a little black dress (LBD) was considered a girl’s best friend. Standing outside the Dale residence, I was questioning my intel. How out of date was my fashion sense? Would she look at me and wonder what was wrong with me.

A black shadow moved behind the smoked glass coming towards me, like the opening scene to TV adaption of An Inspector Calls. As it reached the door, it became recognisable as a person.

“Kelly, welcome!” Rich opened the door. His smile put me at ease, but only for a second. Behind him was his wife, literary critic and editor Susan Crisp.

“Er, hi,” My mouth was dry. It felt like my throat was trying to throttle itself.

“Come in, come in. We don’t stand on ceremony.” Rich ushered me in taking my coat. He took the wine. “Ah, you didn’t have to, but thanks. Susan, this is Kelly Rogerson.” I made a note to tell him Cooper but right now I couldn’t come up with anything to say, much less something as complicated as my name. “Kelly, this is my wife Susan.”

“Of course I know Susan Crisp. I read your column in the Observer religiously,” I gushed.

She took my hand and smiled, “Book of Common Prayer? Or right to left?”

“I, I,” I babbled. “Er, uh, er, sorry…”

Rich smiled. “Don’t listen to her Kelly, she loves the praise,”

Susan gave her husband a sharp look, and he beat a diplomatic retreat muttering something about a corkscrew. Susan took my arm in hers and pulled me in the direction of the kitchen.

“I must tell you Kelly, I’ve been loving your book.” I wanted to poke her to make sure it was true.

The kitchen was large and clearly expensive. The middle was occupied by a giant island that looked like it’d come from a large West End restaurant. At the far end, it turned into a conservatory with a dining table that could easily fit ten or more people.

“So tell me about your influences? Do I detect Graham Greene, even a little Raymond Chandler? Plenty of Sarah Lund and Lisbeth Salander of course …”

I just nodded, afraid talking would make it all stop. That she’d realise I was an imposter.

“Unusual influences for a woman,” she looked at me shrewdly. I was almost wetting my knickers in panic. She squeezed my arm and said, “Saving it all for the page?”

“Um, uh, sorry. I’m just grateful that you’d even look at my book.”

“Take a deep breath, dear. It’s fine.” I smelled lamb, artichoke and aubergine and my stomach flipped slightly. ‘Please don’t make me throw up here. Please,’ I thought. “I hope you like moussaka. It’s a recipe I learned in Santorini on holiday. Have you ever been?”

“Yes,” I thought of that summer and Fiona, without realising it I blushed.

Rich came in, with the wine and three glasses. “There’s a story there,” he laughed.

“Not really,” I turned an even darker colour red, “Just post-student life. Too much drinking, too much sun,”

“Too much other things as well…” Susan smacked him on the arm.

“I wished,” I answered honestly. “Thank you for dinner.”

“Kelly, no need to thank us. Your book is thanks enough. It’s going to buy a lot of moussaka for all of us,” he said, laughing at his own joke.

Susan looked at me and said, “Ah, Americans.”

He poured three glasses and handed me one. “To Kelly’s book and a long and fruitful partnership!” We clinked glasses. Susan and Rich each drank, while I pretended to take a sip. I tried to find a way to discretely dump it out while no one was looking. Rich’s phone rang. “Sorry to be rude. It’s Chris. Bowman. Let’s see what trouble Chris has got himself in now,” he said, laughing.

He walked out and Susan said, “So let me hear about Kelly Rogerson.”

“It’s Cooper,” I said. “Rogerson is my, er, married name.”

She arched an eyebrow. “How old are you?”

36 and male. Instead, I gave what I decided was my female age. “25.”

She smiled. “Far too young to be married. So, where is the lucky Mr. Rogerson tonight?”

“Not here thankfully,” I said on instinct. She looked at me as if for explanation. “Sorry. He’s in Iceland. He’s an actor. On a movie. A thriller,” I said, in staccato. “That’s what I meant.”

“Sounds like quite a relationship,” she said, checking on the artichoke. OK, I thought, I am woefully inadequate. Every attempt I made at artichoke always tasted like overdone boot.

I smiled. “If this were Facebook, it would say ‘it’s complicated.’”

“Aren’t they all? “

“Er, yeah, I mean he’s the one who sent it to Mr….Rich, sorry. Hard to get used to.”

She laughed. “Try a meeting of the families. I thought my father was going to explode when he met them. Rich is the reserved one.” I laughed and relaxed. While she cooked, she explained what she was doing and talked about my book. “There’s great bones here, as Rich would say. I want to know about Ingrid,” the lead character. “What’s her back story, why is she there, all that. It doesn’t need to be on the page, but knowing that will make it all the better.”

She finished cooking and called Rich in. “That smells great as always. All this and she cooks too,” he said, again laughing at his own joke. I laughed too, maybe a little too loud. I felt like a 5th Former getting to hang out with the cool couple from the 6th Form. Susan took it all in, with the wry cynicism of someone who’s heard it all before, too many times to count. Everything was delicious. Too bad every bite I took made my stomach turned over. I could barely handle the sauce on the moussaka. I took little bites, eating primarily artichoke. It was only thing my stomach could take. We were finishing when Susan said, “Is everything OK, Kelly?”

“Oh yes, it was delicious. I’m sorry. Just a bit of a dodgy stomach is all. Can I bother you for some club soda?”

She smiled and said, “Of course. Rich, go get her a glass of club soda, please.” He left the room and said, “So, when are you due?”

“Excuse me?”

She smiled. “It’s fairly obvious you’re pregnant.” I turned white. “Oh no, you’re not showing, if that’s what you’re worried about, although you shouldn’t be. It’s the other things. You only pretended to touch your wine. You just moved around the moussaka. And you’ve been to the loo three times since you got here which either means you’re pregnant or you need to see a doctor tomorrow about an infection.”

“I am so sorry, Susan. I apologise.” I started to get up. “I’ll see myself out.”

“Why?”

“I, uh, I was rude?” It was all I could come up with.

“Sit.” She put her arm around my shoulder. “You were rude? You’re pregnant. It’s perfectly normal. When I was pregnant with our son, if you had put tomato sauce in front of me,” and she laughed. “I’m guessing that’s what makes your relationship complicated. Doesn’t want to be a father, is that it?”

Well, that maybe. And he tricked me into putting on this suit. And he impregnated me against my will. And I’m a guy and 36. But definitely that too, maybe. This was not the time to go into that; the time was, according to my watch, never. Instead, I sighed and went with, “something like that. This wasn’t exactly planned,” at least not by me. I decided to make a joke. “Sorry to get all American on you.” I adopted a bad posh accent. “Everything is fine. Thank you.”

She laughed. “What does your mum say about this?”

I started to tear up. “That’s complicated too. Or actually it isn’t. She left when I was four and my brother two. Sorry again.”

She pulled me in closer, while I cried. “I am sorry for you. This is too much for a young girl to bear.” Or a not so young man. “Call me if you need anything, not just with the book.”

“Thank you,” I sniffled. “I’m not much of a guest, I’m afraid.”

She laughed. “Please. You should see what Chris does.”

I helped her clear away the dishes. We put them on the counter and Rich started loading the dishwasher. Susan put her arms around him and gave him a quick kiss. I thought of Jamie and realised that, despite everything, I missed her touch.

After coffee (decaf for me, of course) and dessert, Rich and Susan called a car to take me home.

“I can take the overground,” I said.

“Absolutely not,” said Susan. “It’s,” and she paused. “Far too late for you to be going all that distance on the train, plus who knows if a strike started tonight. Besides, Rich will write it off against tax anyhow.”

By the time I got home I was crying again. The taxi felt so lonely. Would I ever have a relationship like Rich and Susan? That mixture of mild annoyance and acceptance that is true love.

In the end, I ran myself a hot bath. The steam and the water soothed me a little but, when I closed my eyes, I could still see Felix’s face looking down at me, or hear Jamie laughing at my state. I dunked my head under the water, feeling its warmth. I wanted it to wash everything away, to make me new.

After pulling myself together and drying off, I sat on the bed, just staring at my phone. I picked it up. I needed help and there was only one person left I could call. I couldn’t call my brother or any of my male friends. I didn’t want them to see me like this. Everyone else I knew were either from work (and I didn’t know them so well) or they were Jamie’s friends. There was just one person left. I looked in my contacts and dialed Fiona.

Nine Months

Month 4

Kelly is a man trapped in a pregnant female bodysuit. His ex has transferred all his money out of their joint bank account and he’s about to become homeless. Who’s he going to turn to?

The outside was nothing special, just a typical late Victorian house in Walthamstow, now split into flats. My heart was in my mouth as the doorbell rang. I could feel it beating even faster as she opened the door. She stood there looking me up and down. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Then she pulled me into a hug and everything was alright. She didn’t say a word, for which I was glad.

Fiona showed me inside. When I had reached out to her initially, she didn’t believe it was me. I can’t rightfully say that I blamed her. I mean if a man had called me and said he was Fiona, I wouldn’t have believed it either. She even seemed leery when I recalled things from Uni that only we would know. In retrospect, I could’ve told some girl all of that before a call. She only accepted it when I told her how Jamie had ordered the nanosuits and that a mistake had been made. I didn’t notice the way she said, “That was some mistake,” with a dry chuckle.

“Over there’s my room,” she said, walking down the hall. I looked in. There was a queen-sized bed, with the sheets askew on one side only. There was a side table with all of the accoutrements I would have expected – book, lamp, a pair of reading glasses. The book was “Days Without End,” the Costa Book Award winner last year. I was proud of what I had written but knew that it would never win any awards. What was striking was how the other side of the bed was immaculately preserved. There was an old IPhone 3 on it along with a watch, a pair of cufflinks and an expired Oyster Card. As if she expected John to walk through the door.

“You’ll be sleeping in here,” she said, showing me a room with a single bed and a television. “The bed’s a little small. If you want, we can switch,” she said, with obvious reluctance. “I remember what it was like when I was pregnant,” which she followed with a small giggle. “I am sorry, Kelly. That was utterly inappropriate, it’s just…”

I smiled, “That’s quite alright, Fi. If it weren’t me, it would be hilarious. This is not the situation I expected to find myself in, and I am utterly in your debt for letting me stay here,” I said, putting down my things. I felt awful. They had moved shortly before everything happened with John and we didn’t come visit enough. We’d go to hospital and I’d call but, now that she was there for me, I realized that I hadn’t been there for her. “I will be fine in here. It’s more than enough,” I said, and then I winced.

“Are you alright?” she said. “Do you need to sit? Sit,” she said, taking me by the hand to the bed.

“I’m fine,” I smiled, “the little bugger is all fluttery.” She rested her hand on my stomach. I was amazed at how many people did this including people I didn’t know. If it were anyone other than Fiona, I would have said something, but she and I had known each other far too long for me to be upset.

“I’m sorry,” she said, with an apologetic smile. “I was remembering what it was like when I was pregnant with Sophie, I mean Matthew. I still cannot get my head around this.”

I smiled and touched my stomach. “That makes two of us. How did she, er, I mean he, tell you? I mean, were there signs?” This was an utterly asinine thing to say, as if transgender children walked around with big signs saying, “I want to be a girl” or “I want to be a boy.” It just seemed like the only thing I could come up with in that instant. I plumbed the depths of my memory to see whether I could recognize any signs that Sophie was not what she appeared to be. To be honest, I never paid much attention.

I remember taking her to the park once. She’d insisted on climbing to the top of all the climbing frames unaided. Even when some of the older kids had shied away. Did that make her a tomboy? Most of the ‘natural’ boys didn’t do it. I would have been too scared. Maybe that was the reason why I was stuck like this?

Over all Jamie and I wanted children but when it came to actual children, I was at a loss. We would see Sophie a couple of times a year, on birthdays and the odd weekend but our visits would consist of us handing her a toy, her perfunctory thank you and then some awkward chit chat (“So what year are you in now? Year 6, ah great.”) Then a pause where we all stared at each other. Then Fi or John granting her and us parole. She struck me as moody, but she was a teenage girl and I assumed that was normal. It wasn’t as if she walked around in boy’s clothes asking to be called Jack.

Fiona sighed, “I’ve spent countless hours asking myself that. I’ve asked what I could have done even though the gender specialist said that it has nothing to do with me. You look for signs like when someone commits suicide.” I didn’t mean to but I must have looked shocked, because she said, “I’m sorry. I love my…child…and want her, him to be happy but I feel a loss. It’s not enough to have lost John but this hurts. I feel,” and she started to cry. I had known her since Uni and could count on one hand the number of times I had seen her cry. When her mum died and obviously when John did, but not beyond that. She had always been the rock. I clumsily tried to hug her but my ever growing stomach made that difficult, so I sort of leaned on her. She started to laugh, “Thank you, Kelly. I needed that. How are you feeling?”

“Well, let’s see, I’m gassy AND constipated,” and with that, I let one go. “Sorry,” I mumbled, while she laughed. “On the plus side, I’m not vomiting every fifteen minutes but I have heartburn if I look at food. My gums are bleeding and oh, my wife, or should I say husband, tricked me into doing this. Sorry, Fi, that was more than you sought, isn’t it?”

“Four months? That’s about right. John used to call me Trumpet, with all the gas,” she said with a sad smile. She tried to hug me from the front, fumbled around, laughed and then sat at my side and put her arm around me. “Have you heard from her at all?”

I dug out my phone and showed her the calls. “HE calls but I don’t answer. I delete the voice mails. I have nothing to say to HIM. I feel…violated.”

She looked at me, “I thought you said that the suits were switched by accident.”

“Well, he knew and didn’t tell me, but he felt it funny enough to tell his friend Siggy when we were there. That leads me to believe this was no accident. I was impregnated without my consent. If this were Kate, would you be so positive?” I paused. “I am sorry, Fi. You’ve opened your home to me and I’ve ripped your head off.” I started to itch. When I was stressed, it felt like the nanos made the pain that much worse. I wanted to tear off the suit but couldn’t bring myself to do it. It would be like killing the baby. It was an innocent victim of a cruel trick and needn’t suffer.

She pulled me closer. “No apologies Kells. You’re right. If it were Kate, this wouldn’t be an issue. I would have forced her to the police. This is new territory for me, especially with Soph…Matthew and all. Tea? It’s best to avoid coffee, you know”

“Do you have club soda?” I asked. “I’m not really in the mood for tea right now.”

We went to the kitchen and she made tea for herself and club soda for me. The kitchen had French doors leading onto a little garden, a rarity in London. I had a couple of biscuits to get something in my system. We talked about our friends from Uni, the weather, bloody Theresa May, anything but the two elephants in the room, Matthew and Jamie. “Perhaps,” I thought, “they could meet and discuss how to best disrupt the world around you.” Then I realised that was unfair. Matthew was a child dealing with what I could only imagine was horrific pain. Jamie was a predator.

We sat for a while and then Matthew came in. I don’t know what I was expecting. Jack Monroe, Conchita Wurst? Someone dressed in a football kit with muscles? What stood before us was a medium sized boy wearing a Smiths t-shirt, boots and black jeans, with his hair shaved on one side and long in the front, drooping over his right eye. He was emo, if that was still a thing. I had long since stopped keeping up with trends. After a certain point, they moved you to copy for adult products, mortgages, Stannah Stairlifts, Scottish Widows, that sort of thing. I’d find myself thinking of how desperate the thirty and forty somethings looked to me at twenty-two, and wondering if that’s the way the interns saw me. Fiona said, “Matt, Kelly will be staying with us for a while.”

He looked me up and down and tried to place me. “Uh hi,” he said in that way teenagers do when introduced by their parents to a strange adult. I could see him calculating how long he had to stand here and make idle conversation before he could ask to be excused. I wanted to tell him that it was good practice for life.

“Do you remember Kelly?” Fiona asked.

“Should I? Sorry, I don’t,” he apologised to me.

I smiled. “I wasn’t pregnant the last time. And I was male.” I watched as a light slowly turned on. He broke into a smile. It struck me that smiling was not something with which he had much acquaintance of late.

“Oh, Uncle Kelly!”

“Yup.”

“So you are a girl now.”

“A woman S-Matthew,” Fiona said. “Not a girl. A woman.”

I appreciated Fi sticking up for me, but it felt weird.

“You look different,” he said, the smile not leaving his face. I felt ridiculous but didn’t say anything. I imagined that he and Fi didn’t spend much time laughing these days.

“Ha ha Matthew.” I almost said, ‘so do you,’ but felt that cruel and bad practice, if I were going to be staying here. “Yes, I am pregnant. This is a nano suit. I was given it by mistake and, well, thank you for letting me stay here.” I thought about not saying anything but he knew me and he was fifteen. His school would have covered pregnancy in Sex Ed years ago, and thus he knew how babies were made. If I didn’t give an explanation, well, that could get awkward.

“I apologize Uncle..er, Aunt..er, Kelly, but I have a maths exam coming and I need to study. I’m down the hall, if you need anything,” he said. I heard the door close.

Fi shook her head and smiled, “Well, that’s more than I get most days. I’m really at a loss. So what do you think?”

“What do I think about what?” I asked, scratching at my arms. I made a note to ask Fi for calamine lotion before I made myself bleed.

“S-Matthew?” She said, giving me the sort of look she reserved for our friend Thomas. At Uni, we’d been part of a pub quiz team and he was the weakest link.

“He seems like a fine young man. Polite. I could live without that haircut but otherwise a nice kid,” I said with a smile.

FI seemed unsatisfied. “That’s all you have to say?”

“Look at me, Fi. I’m not really in a state to question someone’s identity, am I?” What I was surprised by was his body type. I expected, I don’t know, someone heavier as if to compensate for wanting to hide his female body.

As if reading my mind, she said, “I suppose s-he’s fortunate. He took after John’s side. They’re all thin hipped.” When we were at Uni, Fi was gorgeous. I remember a group of us going on holiday to Greece and her drawing stares on the beach. She was still gorgeous, but we all had gotten older, plus she had John and Matthew to deal with on top of that. I admired her for getting out of bed in the morning and felt bad to be judging her, especially given my situation. “That’s enough. How are you doing?”

I gave the only answer I could. “I don’t really know, Fi. Needless to say, of all of the outcomes for my life I could have predicted, this was not among them. I’m certainly angry.”

“You should be. She really left you broke?” I had to tell Fi. Otherwise, what was my reason for staying?

“Yup. She took the money from our joint account and switched it to her own. She’s decided it’s not enough to trick me into this, to impregnate me, she needed to leave me without funds,” and I started to cry. I knew it was the suit but I still felt embarrassed. “Sorry, Fi,” I sniffled.

She looked angry. “For what?”

“For crying. For burdening you with my problems. You must not think much of me.”

“Kells, I think the world of you. You did nothing wrong. You were violated. Full stop.” Then she smiled, “As far as the crying, I cried constantly when I was pregnant. At nothing. At adverts. For McDonald’s.”

I laughed. “Well, they can get quite sentimental. Seriously, Fi, I feel like a freak. I can’t thank you enough for taking me in. I hope I don’t create a problem for you with anyone.”

She looked at me gravely. “Why would you create a problem? As far as anyone knows, you’re another pregnant woman. If you don’t mind me saying, it agrees with you. You look beautiful. Sorry if that’s weird.”

What was weird was that I wasn’t entirely bothered. That a part of me, a growing part of me, liked that. I had started to show and I found myself liking my reflection. I had been examining my life often, and not just the here and now. I found myself reflecting on my entire life. Was there a part of me that didn’t want to remove the suit? Why didn’t I fight it before we left for Iceland? Would a real man have allowed the trick to continue?

I had never been the most masculine of boys. It’s not that I was outwardly feminine like Anthony Guest, who would play hopscotch with the girls. Rather, I was the sort of boy who avoided physical contact and was picked last for football. S-Matthew would climb to the top of the climbing frames. I would not have. My friends would race to the top, challenging each other to go higher. I would timidly climb up to the lowest permissible height that would allow me to avoid taunting. Intellectually, I knew that I was being ridiculous. There was no causal link between S-Matthew climbing and his desire to be a boy nor my desire not to and my being here, I knew that. Yet, I couldn’t stop looking for signs. It was easier than looking within.

The next morning I woke early. I lay still listening to the sounds of the house. I could feel panic rising but couldn’t place a specific cause. Eventually I heard the whispered voices of Fi and Matt coming from the corridor. It made me sad to think of them feeling like they had to keep quiet in their own flat, so I decided to get up.

“Hey,” Fi smiled at me.

“Hey,” it felt weird to run my hand through the mass of hair on my head. I still expected it to be short.

“Do you need the bathroom? I’m afraid it gets a bit busy this time of morning. He likes his long showers.”

“No, I’m fine. Do you want coffee?”

I caught the worried look on Fi’s face.

“Decaf for me, obvs.”

She let out a little laugh, “Yeah, if you sure you can bear to make it but not drink it?”

“I’ll make do with pretend coffee and the fumes.”

There was dew on the grass of the garden as I opened the French windows. I took one of the plastic garden chairs and used a tea towel to wipe it clean. The plastic felt cool though my thin pyjama bottoms.

“Hi Aunty Kells.”

I turned to see Matthew standing there. He looked younger in his school uniform.

“Hi Matt, what’s up?”

“School,” he didn’t sound best pleased.

“It must be nearly summer holls,” ‘holls’? I was talking to him like he was a little kid.

“Two more weeks.”

“Nearly there. Will next year be your final year?”

He pulled up another plastic chair, wiping of the dew with his hand, “Yup,” he looked away.

I remember how desperate I was to leave school at his age. I also remember the fear of what would come next.

“FE College is way better, believe me. Most of the dicks are doing Sport Science.”

He laughed. It was a pleasure to see his face lit up.

“Don’t tell your mum about the swearing.”

He tapped the side of his nose conspiratorially. We both laughed.

“What’s got into the two of you?” I turned to see Fi.

“Just enjoying the sun.”

“Have you seen a doctor yet, Kells?”

I hadn’t really thought about that. To be honest, it was too much to think about, just being pregnant. “I guess I just thought the nanosuit would take care of it,” I mumbled, realising how stupid that sounded.

She looked at me and laughed, “At least you realise that’s asinine. I’m making you an appointment. I have no idea how these suits work but I know pregnancy. You need an check-up.” She noticed the look of horror on my face and said, with a smile, “it’s not that bad. I’ll come with you and hold your hand. But you need to do this.”

“Yes, mum,” I said, as she punched me on the upper arm.

The flat felt empty once they had left. I knew there was an email waiting for me from Susan. The first rewrites. It was exciting to get the chance to work with someone as good as her. I also knew there was an email waiting for me from Jamie.

The flat was messy. Not unclean but untidy. I guess what you’d expect for any household with a fifteen year old. I could do a little tidying, a way of saying thanks to Fi and avoiding catching a look at Jamie’s email. I decided I’d spend the morning cleaning and then face the outside world after lunch.

With the French doors open and 6 Music on the DAB radio the morning passed quickly. I didn’t have any problem with housework. After mum left us, I’d helped my dad out around the house. He’d made it a ‘team’ thing with music and jokes. Thanks to his positive reinforcement, I found it almost meditative.

I’d been picking up clothes as I went so I figured I’d put a wash on. After that, I was sweaty and dusty so I showered and changed. I had some of Siggy’s old clothes but putting those on reminded of me Jamie and what she did. Thankfully, Fi had let me borrow some of her pregnancy clothes for her time with Matt. Most were too big, I had that to come, and she was a little taller than me now. I found a pair of dungarees that fit OK if I rolled the legs up a little. They were on the baggy side, but that was good for me.

I spent a futile ten minutes trying to pin my hair up. Eventually I gave in and YouTubed it. I was shocked at the number of different options to choose from. But I felt pleased with myself when I managed to pull of a simple bun without rebel strands breaking free.

Right I told myself, it’s time to just do it. Like ripping off a plaster in one. I opened up Jamie’s email. I didn’t even read it properly. I skimmed catching fragments like, “I had to do it, you left me no choice…” and “It’s my child was well…”

The sad thing was that I was missing her like hell. If she’d emailed apologising, she might have got me to buy a flight to Reykjavik there and then. All I wanted to do was curl up and hide, but I told myself no. I wasn’t ready to face Susan’s revisions just yet, but I needed to set myself a task.

Dinner, that’s it! I’d cook for them. I still had my credit card. At least I didn’t think Jamie had a way of cancelling it. I’d go out get ingredients.

Walthamstow has two options for food shopping. Thankfully, both were in a short walk from Fi’s flat. The first was the Village, a cute couple of roads and a little church that where all that’s left of the original village that was swallowed up by the city. The second was the market and the mall, a dystopian landscape with a square dominated by a giant 1984-esque TV screen. The supermarket in the mall was much cheaper and I didn’t know when I’d get the modeling money or when my next pay cheque would be so, visual be damned, I headed in that direction.

It was a Monday so, along with a few young mums and the elderly, I had the supermarket to myself. I was away in my own little world trying to remember if Fi had said anything about what Matt liked when I felt a hand on my belly.

“How far gone?”

I looked into the smiling face of an elderly woman, “Erm, this is the fourth month.”

She kept her hand there, “Is he kicking?”

“No. I mean yes, a little. Moving around mainly.” I didn’t want to think about it.

“He’ll be a big one,” her accent was genuine Cockney. You rarely heard it nowadays.

“How do you know it’s a he?”

“Shows,” she smiled as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Who’s your friend, Jenny?”

I turned in horror to see three more older women joining us. Hands moved around touching my belly, not one of them asking my permission.

“I had to stand there listening to a long list of ailments,”

Fi laughed, “You’re an expectant mother. I’m afraid some people believe you belong to the world now.

“Is there really such a thing as pregnancy piles?”

“Afraid so,” she gave me a hug.

“God really is a guy then.”

“I can’t believe you did all this,” Fi looked around the kitchen, “And cooked as well.”

“It’s just sweet potato chili, nothing much…”

“Lucky me, I’ve always wanted a wife,” she smiled and walked off to check on Matt.

‘Wife’ I thought. Was that how I had acted? I suppose. I tried to reassure myself. Most of the couples I knew shared the domestic duties to a certain extent. That said I hadn’t really thought about it and just ended up taking on the domestic duties. Right then I really wished I could indulge in a glass of wine (or a whole bottle).

---

"I'm really not sure."

"Come on, it'll be fine."

I wasn't convinced. No matter how much Fi smiled.

"You've met Jenny and Anjali before."

"Not like this." My hands fell on my swollen belly.

"Don't be paranoid. Anyway you love pub quizzes."

It was true. That's how we got to know each other, through the Student Union's weekly quiz. I'd seen her in my Media Studies lectures, but hadn't built up the confidence to go and talk to her. Then one random Thursday evening, we'd ended up sitting next to each other after both of our teammates failed to turn up. I'd impressed her with my knowledge of European capitals and 1980s cartoons. She wowed me with her knowledge of Dutch Renaissance art.

I grumbled under my breath as we entered the Fox and Hounds. The pub still had its beautiful Victorian bar and features, but had otherwise been done up in the hyper-trendy style of the East End. On the wall were propaganda posters from the WWII. Their messages of stoic resistance contrasting with the opulent, early 21st century decadence. Frankly the way things were going a German invasion didn’t sound so bad.

Anjali was standing by the bar. She'd put on a little weight since becoming a mum, but was still the same smiling South Asian woman I remembered from Uni. Next to her was a tall blond woman who seemed completely at ease with herself. In a t-shirt, fitted jacket and jeans, she looked effortlessly cool. I knew that to look that effortless took a lot of effort - and money. I may have been new at this game but I figured there were a few designer labels discreetly tucked away.

"Hi lovely," The blond woman made an exaggerated show of putting her arms around Fi. "You look great, have you lost weight?"

Anjali returned my sheepish look. I hoped we'd be let in on the conversation soon.

"Beatrice, this is Kelly. The friend I was telling you about."

Beatrice looked me up and down. She was smiling but I still felt awkward.

"Kelly, look at you! How far gone are you?"

She put a hand on my stomach. I had to fight the urge to pull away.

"Only four months," I mumbled.

"Four months, you look further on."

Hmmm, I held my tongue.

"We've got a table," Anjali pointed to a corner where I spotted Jenny for the first time. She gave us a little wave.

"I was going to get us a bottle of white to share. ABC of course!" Beatrice looked only at Fiona when she spoke.

"Well Kelly..." Fiona said.

"Don't be silly, you guys share. I'll just get a lime and soda." I didn't want them to think I was a heel.

Beatrice placed a hand on my arm but still didn't look at me directly, "Where did you find such a great team player?"

I tried to hide my envy as she doled out the wine. I distracted myself by watching the pub quizmaster as he walked between the tables. It was two pounds each to enter, the winning team taking the whole pot at the end. He was tall and looked like he spent time in the gym. Normally I’d have hated him for his easy good looks but now it didn't seem to matter. After all I was benched. No horse in the race to mix a metaphor.

"Hello." He brushed a strand of hair from his eyes. Even Beatrice had stopped talking. To my surprise he turned to me, "Are you all in?"

"Ur, yeah. I think so."

He was smiling at me. I felt hot, unable to sit comfortably in my seat.

"Do you have a team name yet?" He placed a couple of sheets of paper on our table and a pint mug full of pens, "Do you need a pen?"

I just nodded, struck dumb. The way he was looking at me was creeping me out. I knew he had done nothing wrong. It just felt wrong to me.

"Well, well, well. I hope Kelly's husband doesn't find out." Beatrice's mouth smiled but her eyes wished me a painful drawn out death.

“Don’t listen to her,” Jenny looked amused. “Bee’s just annoyed the dishmaster was looking at you rather than her. Normally she gets the pen.” She put an emphasis on the word ‘pen’.

“Anyway,” Beatrice gave her friend a dirty look, “I’m sure Kelly’s husband isn’t the jealous type.”

"Kelly is separated." There was force behind Fiona’s words. It almost made me blush.

"Really," all the women turned to look at me. That time I really did blush.

"Kelly's husband James got her pregnant without telling her." The three women gasped.

"What!" Jenny said.

"That's horrible!" Anjali said. “What a bastard.”

Bee smirked. “How does someone get you pregnant without telling you?”

Before I could say anything, Fi shot her a dirty look and said, “Enough Bee.”

"But you decided to keep it?"

I nodded. I really didn't want to get into this.

I didn't speak again and barely made eye contact until a young man came up to our table. He was carrying a basket, it looked heavy.

"What's in there?"

"Pumpkins. The Pumpkin carving round was a big hit at Halloween so we decided to give it another go."

"They always have one mad round," explained Fiona, "A couple of weeks ago they had a biscuit crumb tasting. You have to guess what the biscuit were from the crumbs. Harder than you think."

"Here," Beatrice pushed the pumpkin in front of me, still not looking at me. "Fiona says you are the artistic type."

"Writing," I murmured but Beatrice was already talking to Fiona about something that had happened at work.

Anjali leaned into to me, "I'm sure you'll do brilliantly."

I wasn't. I thought back to my half-baked attempts at art at school. One time at primary school, I knocked over a jar of dirty water that was used to clean the brushes, and ruined everyone’s pictures. I don’t think I ever enjoyed art after that.

"OK, round one." The quizmaster's voice came over the little speakers. "Lets see what your remember of this week’s news. And we start with Brexit..."

The room was filled with loud boos.

I noticed how serious everyone became around our table. I was able to help out a little bit; for instance I knew all about Beyonce's new album. For the most part I sipped my drink and watched Fiona and Beatrice answer the questions. I thought it was funny how two successful career women put so much energy into naming the Australian city where a teenage boy jumped into a crocodile infested river to impress a girl.

By the second round, the girls were ready to order another bottle of wine. Anjali and Jenny were careful to apologise to me. I waved them away smiling, although a little part of me was regretting coming to a pub. I wondered where Jamie was. Perhaps she was enjoying a drink with Siggy and Egon?

Rather than mope I decided to focus on my pumpkin. I had a plan. First I cut out two tiny eyes and then a small, angry mouth. As the others focused on the questions, I used the blunt knife they’d given us to cut off the top, turning it inside out so the scraggly orange bits were on the top.

The third round was where I came into my own. Match the song to the 80s movie soundtrack.

"Karate Kid," I whispered to Fiona for the last question.

"Bloody hell, how did you get them all! I don't even remember half the films."

"Well the Breakfast Club and Ghostbusters were easy..."

"But Flight of the Navigator wasn't," Anjali added. I noticed that Beatrice had her arms crossed.

"So what have you carved?"

I turned suddenly to see the dishmaster standing behind me. He passed me a tea light candle as I sat there with my mouth open.

I placed the candle inside the pumpkin, "Voila, President Trumpkin!"

"Argh!"

"Yuk!"

"Ugh! But also brilliant," Fiona was beaming at me. Beatrice seemed to be looking away, for some reason.

All the tables had to walk around and vote on each other’s pumpkins. I stayed with ours for obvious reasons. As people walked past, I joked, "For the love of god don't vote for him!" And, "Surely there's a more qualified female pumpkin you can vote for!"

In the end we came third. Trumpkin won his election, both in the popular vote and the Electoral College (whatever that was). Not bad, a podium finish on my first go. The pub emptied after the quiz was over. Jenny and Anjali had young families to get back to. Beatrice disappeared to talk to some friends she had spotted. Fiona and I decided to retire to the comfortable sofa near the window. It was a relief to be able to lean back.

"See, not too bad." Fiona smiled at me.

"Yeah, actually this was exactly what I needed. To come out and see the world isn't all sore breasts and bad backs."

"I'm glad you finally realised it," Fi said.

Beatrice came over, her friend at her side. "It must be nice Kerry,"

"It’s Kelly," I said. “What must be nice?”

"Sorry, 'Kelly.’ It must be nice to be able to go out of the house looking such a mess.” I saw her friend suppress a smirk.

I wanted to say something back. Normally I would have, but all my confidence had left me. I looked down at what I was wearing. A baggy t-shirt and comfortable jeans. The slip on shoes Fiona used for gardening. I hadn't thought I looked that bad but at that moment I saw every food stain and crease.

"I think she looks radiant," I felt Fiona's hand on my knee. For a moment I remembered the stories at Uni about Fiona having a girlfriend in the first year. I hadn't paid it much attention at the time, there were always rumours about everyone. Anyway, it hadn't been long until John came along.

Beatrice shocked me by putting her hand on my stomach, "'He' certainly does." With that, Beatrice and her friend left.

"Y-you told them?"

Fiona tried to say something but I was already off. Not that I could move at much speed right then. My vision was already blurring with tears by the time I reached the door.

My face was in my hands. My bum on the metal of the old Victorian bench.

"Hey, I'm sorry about that."

"Sorry! How could you betray me like that. You are no better than Jamie!"

I could feel Fiona waiting for me to calm down, which only made me madder.

"I didn't tell her," Fiona's voice sounded patient, "She's a lawyer so she knows how to spot the details. She figured it out from something Anjali said.” Anjali must have figured out it was me which made sense, as much sense as anything now did. Was it that obvious? “You know I wouldn't do something like that. Not to my friend."

As she spoke I knew it was true. I hadn't trusted her, after all she had done for me. This made me feel even worse.

"I'm just some stupid freak,"

I felt her come sit beside me.

"No you’re not." Her arm came around my shoulders. Without thinking, I leaned in and rested my head on her shoulder. I needed the comforting.

"Look women like Beatrice," she paused, "I mean, I love her, but..."

"But?"

"They spend their whole lives competing with other women. Maybe they got too much attention when they were younger, maybe too little. I don't know. You just can't take it all too seriously."

"Uh huh," I sniffled. I wasn't in the mood to forgive Beatrice.

"Society pitts us women against each other. We have less than the men but we are expected to fight for our share of the scraps. It makes some of us mad, and others mean."

I smiled a little. She had referred to me as one of them. It made me feel a little less like a freak.

“Sorry Fi. You’ve been nothing but kind and I took your head off.”

She smiled. “It’s the hormones. Yours and hers.”

---

“I really don’t think this is necessary,” I feebly protested, as we stood at the entry to the gynecologist’s office. I was wearing a white blouse over leggings that Fi had bought me. She said that it was important to wear them to prevent varicose veins. Great, I thought, on top of everything else, I could look forward to that. It wasn’t enough that I had heartburn and there was fluid leaking from my breasts, now I could add something long lasting like varicose veins.

Fi looked at me and said, “You’re being ridiculous, Kells. You need to do this and you know that.”

“I know,” I said. “I’m just nervous. I mean I’ve never been to an obstetrician before much less been a patient.”

“Really? When you and she were trying, you never went?” I had noticed that, as of late, Fi had ceased to refer to Jamie by name, just as ‘she’ and ‘her.’

“I mean I went, but I just met with the doctor after. I wasn’t there for the process or anything.”

She gave me a patient, indulgent smile. “We’ve been through this. You’ll put on the paper gown, get onto the table, put your feet in the stirrups…” Fi had had me practice keeping my feet in the stirrups by moving two chairs into her bedroom and having me put my legs on them. It was uncomfortable but when I suggested the bedside tables, she blanched. “Then the doctor will take over. Be careful, the speculum can be really cold.” She had to explain what a speculum was to me. Yet another sign, god was a man.

“I’m nervous. Someone will realise I’m not a woman and then what?”

“Would you stop? No one will notice anything. You’re a beautiful woman, Kells. That’s all anyone will see. The old biddies in the shops keep asking me about how my sister-in-law is doing and they’d be the first to notice.” We had crafted a story whereby I was John’s younger sister. My husband was overseas working and Fi had very generously offered to let me stay. She was right. Whenever I went to shop, they all surrounded me and asked me questions. “Now come on. Let’s go,” she said, taking my hand.

We walked into the office and, as expected, it was full of pregnant women, some alone and some accompanied by their husbands. Some smiled at me and others looked up briefly from their phones and then went back to them without giving me a second glance. We took a seat next to a young couple, who looked to be in their late twenties. They looked me up and down and I realised that, to them, I must have looked like a young girl on her own.

The wife gave me a smile. “How far along are you?”

“Er, four months, more or less,” I said. “You?”

“Six and a half,” she said, patting her belly. I noticed how much bigger hers was than mine and felt a strange jealousy. I guessed that, somewhere under here, I was still a guy. It was still all about who was bigger.

I didn’t know what to say. Should I say ‘you look beautiful’ or is that weird coming from another pregnant woman? ‘What are you having?’ ‘What should I look forward to?’ I was tongue tied around women before and this made it no better.

Thankfully, the woman saved me. “Is this your first?”

I involuntarily smiled. “Yes. You?”

The husband gave a smile. “It is.” Then he turned to Fi. “Congratulations.”

I was confused until I saw Fi stifle a giggle. Great, they think we’re a couple. I mean that was my dream at Uni but not quite like this. I didn’t know what to say. It’s not like I could explain the nanosuits and Jamie. ‘You see, I’m actually a 36 year old man whose wife, who’s now a man, ordered nanosuits and one thing led to another….’ That would be weird. Unlike this.

Fi said, “Why thank you. You too,” and she squeezed my hand.

They called the couple in. “Good luck,” the wife said.

“Thanks,” I said. “You too.”

As they went into the office, Fi laughed then whispered, “See, no one knows anything.”

“Great. They think we’re a couple.”

She smiled, “Is that so bad? You could do worse, you know.”

I laughed. “I know. This is just all a little strange is all.” I decided to play with her, “Thank you for coming dear,” I said, putting my head on her shoulder. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed an older woman, who was there with her daughter (granddaughter?), give me a dirty look. ‘Fuck her,’ I thought. ‘We have just as much a right to be happy as anyone.’
“Of course, Kells. I’m actually excited. It’s strange to be on the other side of the table, as it were.”

The nurse brought us in. “OK, dear,” she said, handing me a paper gown. “Get undressed and put this on.” Then she handed me a specimen cup. “And we’ll need a sample. To check your sugars.”

I got undressed. It was getting harder to reach my shoes and I was glad Fi told me to wear slip ons. I went into the bathroom to undress and give my sample. I came out, holding the cup with one hand and trying to hold the gown closed with the other. “This is embarrassing.”

Fi smiled and moved the hand holding the gown. “Give it up,” she said, laughing. “It’s hopeless. You’ve really never done even this before?”

“No. Why would I?”

She looked down. “I guess when we went through all the tests with John, he…”

I felt like an ass. How could I not realise that? He would have had to. “I’m sorry, Fi. I feel awful. I totally…”

She wiped away a tear and then put up her hand. “Please, Kells. It’s OK. You’re getting pregnancy brain,” she said, with a big grin.

“Shut up,” I said. “That’s not for real, is it?” She just smiled at me.

The nurse came in and said, “Stick out your arm.”

“Ow!” I screamed, as she stuck in the needle. “Warn a g..girl, why don’t you?”

She looked at me. “Haven’t you been through this already, dear?”

Fi jumped in. “This is her first appointment.”

“Really?”

“I was in Iceland,” I stammered. “I didn’t realise that I was….oh never mind. Sorry.” The nurse looked at Fi, shook her head and walked out with my blood and urine.

The doctor came in. She was South Asian. She looked too young to be a doctor but then I caught my reflection and realised that I looked too young to be a mother. “Hi, I’m Dr. Patel,” she said, looking at the chart. “You must be Ms. Cooper,” she said, offering her hand.

“Yes, uh hi. And this is Fiona, my….friend.”

Dr. Patel smiled and shook Fi’s hand. “You don’t need to mince around it with me. Congratulations, you two.” Fi smiled at me. “So, the nurse tells me that this is your first prenatal visit. How far along are you?”

Fi jumped in. “She’s about four months.”

The doctor shook her head. “Ms. Cooper, that’s not good,” she said, in the tone you use with a misbehaving child. “You should have come sooner.”

I mumbled. “I didn’t know and then I didn’t know what I was going to do. Oh, and I was in Iceland.”

She smiled indulgently and shook her head. “Well, you’re here now. So hop up on the table and put your legs in the stirrups.” I did as I was told I never felt more vulnerable. You’re lying there with your legs spread open wide in your paper gown and you realize that there is nothing protecting you and no way to protect yourself. Add to that that I was broke, female and that the woman I loved was 2300 miles away. I didn’t know if I ever wanted to see her again but I wished she was here.

Then, Dr. Patel stuck in the speculum. “Ooh,” I said, “that’s cold.”

She smiled at Fi and said, “Sorry, Ms. Cooper. There’s no need to be nervous,” she said. Then she put her hands on my belly. I supposed that I should have been used to it from the village but it felt different when done by a professional. She got a concerned look on her face.

“Is everything OK?”

She smiled. “Yes, sorry. Sometimes, I get ‘resting bitch face’ when I’m checking. I need to work on that. I was just checking your fundal height.”

“Er, fundal height?”

She smiled. “It’s the distance between your pubic bone and your uterus.” Of course, everyone knows that. I wondered if Jamie knew. “There’s this thing called the Internet now. You should try it. Sorry.”

Fi laughed. “I’ve been telling her that, doctor.” She hadn’t. “She never listens.”

“Everything looks OK. From your fundal height, I’d estimate that you are in week 15.”

“Really?”

“You didn’t notice missed periods? Were you regular before?” Yes, I was regular. Until 15 weeks ago, I never had one, thank you very much.

“I, uh...oh never mind.” Dr. Patel and Fi laughed.

Then she moved over what appeared to be a sonogram machine. I recognised it from when I had torn my meniscus. “OK, so now we are going to check for the baby’s heartbeat.” She squirted some goo onto my stomach and I flinched. “Sorry about that,” she said. “If women designed it, it’d be warmer. Here we go,” she said.

I heard a thumping noise. “What’s that?” I said.

Dr. Patel smiled. “That is your baby’s heartbeat.”

It was suddenly very real. There was baby inside of me. Yes, it was technically the nano-suit but it was me. I was having a baby. If I had any doubt about keeping it, that went away when I heard the heartbeat. This was a baby. I begrudge no one that choice but my decision was finalised then. The heartbeat sounded rapid. “Is everything OK? It sounds fast.”

Fi smiled. “That’s normal Kells. When I was pregnant with Matt,” and I noticed that she was able to say that without hesitation, “I thought the same thing. Right doctor?”

Dr. Patel smiled. “Absolutely. Your baby sounds fine, wonderful.”

I started to tear up and Fi put her arm around me. She gave me a kiss on the forehead. “Amazing, isn’t it?” she said.

Dr. Patel said, “So let’s talk about what’s going on. We are going to run a series of tests on your blood and urine. The urine is to check protein and sugar levels, to make sure you don’t have gestational diabetes and pre-eclampsia. We’re going to run an alpha-fetal protein test on your blood to make sure that there’s no issues, Down’s Syndrome, trisomy 18, those sort of things.” I suddenly got very nervous. What if the baby had Down’s? I may have looked 24 but I was 36 and Jamie 39. Was I at risk? Dr. Patel smiled, “The risk increases over 40, so you have a long time before you have to worry about it. If there are any concerns and,” she saw the look on my face, “I don’t expect any, you’ll have amniocentesis, although again at your age, I don’t see any problems.”

“Again,” she said, scolding me. “I’m not happy that it took you this long to come in, but thankfully everything looks OK. Your blood pressure is fine, the heartbeat is fine, so I’m not too worried.” She took her prescription pad and wrote something down. She handed it to Fi, “These are prenatal vitamins I want her to take. You’ve been through this before and she’s young, so I’m counting on you to make sure she does it.”

Fi smiled, “I will, doctor. Right, honey?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, dear.”

Dr. Patel laughed. “Have you been feeling movement yet?”

I smiled, thinking of the heartbeat. “Mostly, it feels like fluttering. Like butterflies in your stomach come to life.”

“Well, you can expect him or her to start moving around a lot more soon. If it gets too bad, try laying on your side with a pillow between your legs.”

“Uh, OK…”

“We should have the results in a week or so. The nurse will call you and I want to set up your 20 week appointment now. I don’t mean to be a scold but you’re lucky. Let’s not be lucky. Let’s be safe. At the next appointment, we’ll do the full ultrasound.”

“You mean where you see the baby?” I said, suddenly excited.

She smiled. “You’ll see everything, even the sex if you want to know.”

I started to tear up. “Sorry, it’s just so….”

Fi gave me another kiss, tenderly on the cheek. “It is, Kells. It is.” We made the follow up appointment and left.

“That was amazing, Fi! Wasn’t it amazing? It was. I can’t believe it. Did you hear it?”

Fi smiled. “It’s amazing Kells.”

“Thank you for coming, Fi. You didn’t have to.”

She kept smiling. “Someone had to get you here. Besides, I wouldn’t have missed it. I remember when it was me, when I heard it. I couldn’t believe that there was this person inside of me. I mean you know it intellectually and you feel the morning sickness and the gas and everything but then you hear the heartbeat and you realise that you have this little person in you.” I was surprised to see Fi get so sentimental. She loved Matt but she wasn’t one for sentiment. I didn’t remember it from when she was pregnant but, then again, maybe I wouldn’t have noticed.

I smiled, thinking about what she said. “I know. There’s this person and,” I started to think of Jamie and began to cry.

She moved me to a bench and sat me down. I began crying into her shoulder. She put one hand on my stomach and the other rubbed circles on my back. “Let it out, Kells. It’s OK.”

“I miss her. I know I’m an idiot but I miss her. She should be here.”

“I know, Kells. But I’m here. S-Matt and I are here for you and we’ll be here for you.”

I smiled up through red eyes. “Really?”

“Of course, Kells.” She moved her hand around. “I think I felt it move. Wow. It feels different this time.” She took my hand and we walked to the car. She dropped me at home and caught a train to work. “I may be a little late,” she said. “Is that OK?”

The question surprised me. “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

She smiled. “I just thought, with S-Matt…” I noticed that she was getting better at just calling him Matt, not S-Matt lately. It only came out when she was nervous or stressed.

I smiled. “We’ll be fine. He’ll be studying. I’ll make us dinner.”

She gave a me a hug and a peck on the cheek. “Pretty amazing, isn’t it?” I smiled and rested my hand on my stomach.

I spent the rest of the day humming to myself. I was reviewing the rewrites that Susan sent and she was, as I expected, on target. I had created a foil for Ingrid, Inspector Gudrunsdottir. I wasn’t sure what her point was - friend or foe or neither. Susan made one comment, about how she’d noticed that Gudrunsdottir made Ingrid a coffee each morning showing her maternal and protective feelings for my main character, and it made me realise that she was Ingrid’s mother figure, Ingrid’s mother having left when she was a child. Around 2:30 PM, an hour before Matt was due home, my phone rang. The display said, “Siggy.” I debated hitting “ignore,” but decided that I had faced the OB-GYN, I could face someone 2300 miles away.

“Hello Siggy,” I said coldly

“How are you,” she said tentatively. “Are you…”

I let her dangle for a second. “I am fine. I had a doctor’s appointment today. My first.”

“I hope not the last. Sorry sorry.” I heard the pain in her voice. I looked over at a shirt she gave me and felt awful.

“No,” I said. “It isn’t.”

“Is everything OK?”

“Yes, apparently I have a fundal height and it says I’m 15 weeks along.”

She laughed. “Sorry sorry. I was just picturing Egon in the doctor’s office with his legs up.”

That made me laugh, against my own will. “Bloody hell. That and the speculum, god is a man.”

She laughed some more. It felt good to hear her laugh. She had been my friend, as much as she could be. “Is everything OK?”

“The doctor says so. I heard the heartbeat.”

“That is something,” she said, sadly.

I thought about asking when she lost the baby but decided not to pry. If she wanted to tell me, she would. “It is. I have a sonogram in a few weeks, we’ll know more then. I hope it’s all OK.”

“I am sorry Kelly. I should have told you.”

“Yes, but he should have more.”

She took a deep breath. “He would like to speak with you.”

“Stop,” I barked. “I don’t want to hear about HIM. I don’t care what HE wants. I’m happy to speak with you. It’s good to hear from you. I will keep you apprised of my pregnancy and you can tell HIM what you want but I don’t want to hear HIS name again. Fair?” I didn’t care if it was fair. It was the rule.

“I’m sorry Kelly.”

“I’m sorry HE put you in the middle, Siggy.” I realised I was still shouting and calmed myself down a little, “How is Egon?” I wanted to know how Jamie was, how the film was coming along but I wasn’t going to ask. There was no answer I could hear that would truly satisfy me. If Jamie was doing great, I’d be angry. If she was miserable, I would be miserable. I hated her, but still loved her.

“He’s fine. He always asks after you. He has been worried since you left.”

Because his friend left me pregnant, broke and homeless? “Tell him I’m fine.”

“And James?”

“Tell him to go fuck himself. He knows why. I have to go. I have things to do. Bye, SIggy.”

“Kelly, please. I am sorry. I will always be sorry.”

“I know. I can’t deal with HIM now. I’ll let you know how things are.”

“Thank you,” she said and then we hung up.

Nine Months

Month Five

Kelly comes to terms with being a pregnant woman. In the meantime she gets to know Matt.

I heard the door slam and a bag thump down on the floor. “Is that you, Matt?” I said. I was putting away laundry. I was really starting to show now which got me a lot of comments but made it a lot harder to carry the basket in front. I was afraid to balance it on my belly for fear of hurting the baby. “How was the programme today?” Matt had gotten a summer job at the Wood Street Youth Space, working with its youth programme. He was a junior counselor in charge of seven and eight-year old boys.

“Bloody awful. Whenever it rains in the mornings, the little buggers bounce off the walls,” he said, with a smile. It had rained in the morning which meant that they had to keep the children occupied in the gymnasium or doing projects. As I recalled from being that age, the vast majority of boys couldn’t sit still for ten minutes. I couldn’t imagine supervising ten of them. I likened it to herding cats. He took the basket from me. “Let me help you with that. You shouldn’t be carrying such heavy loads, I don’t think.”

I smiled, “I’m sure it’s fine but I won’t say no. Thank you.”

“Please, Kells. It’s the least I could do.” He carried the laundry basket while I put everything away. “How was your day? How is the book coming along?”
“Slowly but surely. Rich and Susan seem to see some possibility in it,” I said, putting away Fi’s clothes. I took extra care to hang everything. She had always been just so about her clothing but it seemed that lately she had been less focused on it. She always looked good but I wanted her to look her best. It was, like Matt said, the least I could do, after everything she had done for me and it felt good to be appreciated on top of that.

We were headed into Matt’s room when he said, “Why don’t you go sit? I’ll take it from here,” with a note of concern. I’m not sure whether the concern was for my health or for whatever he was hiding. I was going to say that I never looked in his drawers or wardrobe, but that sounded guilty to me now at 36, or 24, or whatever I was. At 15, it would have raised my suspicions to high alert.
I went to the kitchen. “Are you hungry?” I said. “Do you want some strawberries and banana? I think we have some left from the other day?”

“Yes, please. Do we have any biscuits?”

“We’re out. I was going to head to the shops once I got the laundry put away. Is there anything else you want?”

“Wait. I’ll come with you, if you don’t mind,” he said.

“Thanks. I can use the help.” I sat on the couch and waited for him. I flipped through a magazine and felt the baby move. Whatever it was, it was really starting to do that, less like a butterfly and more like holding a squirming kitten. On your bladder. I got up to pee for the tenth time that day. I made his strawberries and banana. He sat and ate and we talked. Awkwardly, I asked, “How is everyone there?” This was the first full year since he started transitioning. However much better it was now than it would have been when I was his age (for example, the mere fact that it was countenanced, much less supported, by the powers that be), I knew how bad teens were to each other in general and couldn’t imagine what it would have been like to be Matt. I thought about Bee’s snide comments and realized that there was no comparison.
He smiled indulgently. “Some are great, others are dicks. Most are neither.”
I laughed. “Welcome to the rest of your life. You’ve learned the lesson earlier than the rest of us.” I went to stand up and he offered me a hand. “Thanks, I really appreciate it. This is getting harder every day.” There was a phrase with double meaning, if ever there was one.

“I’m sure,” he said, giving me a peck on the forehead - the way I had seen my friends kiss their mums.

We walked to the shops, talking mostly about music. He was heavily into the Manchester bands of the eighties and nineties. Especially the Smiths and the Fall.
I laughed. “Isn’t there any bloody new music you like? That’s the music your mum and I listened to at Uni. This is the time when you’re supposed to look at us and think our music is shite.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I just like it. It speaks to me. OK, I sound like a total wanker when I say that, don’t I? I just found it on Spotify, to be honest I didn’t realise it was so old until recently.”

I wasn’t surprised it spoke to him. He was the perfect audience for it, all adolescent angst and identity. “It’s OK. Like what you like but, yeah, don’t tell people it speaks to you. That was bloody awful.”

We were walking into the market when we heard a girl call, “Hey Matt.”

We turned around and it was a girl about Matt’s age. She was pretty, mixed race, with green eyes, about 5’4” and nine stone. She was wearing a pair of short blue shorts and a t shirt. Underneath, you could see a bikini top.

Matt’s face lit up. “Hey, Saff,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. Since he was little, he had done this when he was nervous.

She smiled, looking at him, then down. “It was a fright today, wasn’t it? I couldn’t keep the girls still. You can only play so much netball.”

“I know. Tell me about it. I broke up three fights. I don’t even think they were upset, just bored.”

Saff turned to me. “I am so rude. Hi, I’m Saffron Mitchell. Matt and I, uh, work together at Wood Street.”

“I gathered that,” I said, laughing.

Before I could finish, Matt regathered his composure. “Saff, this is Kells, Kelly. Kelly Cooper. She’s a friend of my mum’s. Kelly, this is Saff, we, uh, work together.” Saff took his hand and looked at him, with the look given by generations of teenage girls to generations of boys they liked. The “you’re a bloody idiot” look.

She took my hand. “Very nice to meet you, Ms. Cooper.”

“Kelly is fine.”

“How far along are you?”

I smiled and touched my belly. “Five months.”

“Oh wow. Congratulations. Are you just visiting?”

Matt interjected, “She’s staying with us for a while. Her husband,” and he shot me a quick glance, “is working overseas so she’s staying with us.” Good Matt. Keeping the lie straight. Or the sort of lie.

I interjected back, “And Matt generously offered to help me with the shopping. It’s getting harder to carry things and all.” Have to help a brother out - even when you’re a sister.

“I would imagine,” Saff said. “That’s so sweet, Matt.” She took his hand and he blushed.

I smiled. “Why don’t you stay out here and talk about work? I’ll go in the Spar and start shopping. Come in and when you’re done.” I turned to Saff. “I just need him to carry anyway.”

She laughed. “That’s what my mum says. She says my dad is for lifting heavy things and getting things off high shelves.”

I went in and started filling the cart. A woman passed me with a toddler in her shopping cart. He was grabbing things off the shelves and she, without missing a beat, was putting them back. She looked at me and smiled. “Good luck,” she said with a sigh. I was trying to decide between lamb and chicken for dinner. I decided to make lamb and orzo for Fi, remembering our trip to Greece in Uni. I picked up sprigs of mint and rosemary to garnish the plates. I found the biscuits I knew Matt liked and put two packages in the cart.

I got what I needed and went to the cashier to pay. There was a queue of few people in front of me, with full carts. When you came at this time of day, that was to be expected. It was mostly mums shopping for families. From the front of the queue, I heard the woman say, “I have some coupons. They’re in here somewhere,” and I could see her rummaging through a purse slightly smaller than a carry on bag. Everyone on line began to groan and give her the London death stare.

I figured that I’d be here for a while and picked up a copy of Grazia. No, being this way had not made me interested in its contents. There was just nothing else to read on the rack. I started flicking through, idly looking at the pictures. ‘Oh, look, Harry and Megan,’ I sneered to myself. ‘Didn’t expect that.’ I flicked past when I saw a picture of three girls laughing in mermaid costumes. By the look of the picture they were having whale of a time, excuse the pun. I picked it up and felt queasy, and for once not because of the baby. The slogan, “Lure him to your net. Vera Wang Princess,” didn’t help.

Christ, what agency put forth that crap? Trite - and sexist. Was there no woman in the room? I made a note to e-mail Jeremy, to tell him to bid the account.

Maybe that would get me some work. Then I thought ‘hadn’t they said it was only coming out in Japan? Did this mean I had another payment coming my way?’ Then I remembered. Jamie reads Grazia religiously. I think she secretly pictured herself in it. ‘Oh god,’ I thought, ‘I hope the nanos made her not interested,’ knowing full well how impossible that was. I put it in the cart. I don’t know why. I figured I’d show Fi when she got home. Maybe, she’d know what to do.

There was an mail in my inbox from Felix I’d been avoiding for over a week. I knew I should follow him up for payment but it made me feel wrong. Dirty. I put the magazine face down in the cart, I didn’t have to deal with it now.

I was still waiting in line when Matt came in. “Sorry about that,” he said with a smile, in a tone that indicated that he wasn’t the least bit sorry.

I put the magazine out of my mind and laughed. “You’re not sorry nor should you be. Good on you. Did you have a nice discussion of work? ”
“Shut up,” he said, blushing and looking in the cart. “You got the biscuits? Thanks.”

“I’m not letting you off the hook, y’know. I won’t embarrass you here though, in case someone knows you.”

“Thanks.” He picked up the lamb. “We’re having lamb for dinner? Cool!”
I liked that he liked it. “Yeah, I figured it was a nice change.”

He kissed me again on the forehead. “It’s been great having you with us, Kells. Thanks for everything.”

Now I blushed. “It’s the least I can do. You took me in,” and I started to tear. “Sorry, hormones.”

“Yeah, that’s what they told us in sex-ed.” ‘Thanks for letting me off, Matt,’ I thought.

We walked home. Past the old community hall that had been turned into one of those Brazilian evangelical churches that were clustered around the area. We could hear the singing as we passed, Brazil’s mixed cultural heritage clashing with London’s. “She fancies you.”

He smiled. “Yeah.”

“Do you fancy her?”

“Yeah,” he said, with a huge grin.

“Are you two boyfriend and girlfriend?”

“Kinda. I don’t know. I mean we hang around together and all.”

“Does she know? Sorry, that was rude.”

“Nah, it’s OK. Of course, she knows. It’s common knowledge. I mean it’s not like we’re doing anything…” I knew that tone. He was holding back.

I was going to say something but touched the side of my nose. “OK, well, if she wants to come around sometime after work - so you can discuss y’know work strategies. Very important and all.”

“Shut up,” he laughed. “Can we maybe not tell mum?” he said.

I paused. I understood where he was coming from but felt like, by not saying something, I was betraying Fi, who had taken me in when I had nowhere else to go. On the other hand, Matt seemed to say nothing was going on, so maybe there was nothing to say. Yeah, that’s it. “OK, but if it ever becomes anything, you have to tell her, OK? She would have both our necks if she found out.”

“OK,” he said, clearly unwillingly.

We started walking home. “Maybe it’s none of my business, but why don’t you want to tell her?”

“I dunno,” and he paused, clearly thinking of a response other than the truth. “Y’know how mums get about this…”

“Not really, but I know what you mean,” I said.

“Huh?”

“It’s not a secret. It was just me, dad and my brother Bill. That’s how I learned to cook, as the oldest child. What with Dad having to work all hours.”

“How did she die?”

I took a deep breath. “She didn’t die. She left when I was four and Bill was two.”

He gave me a hug. “Sorry, I didn’t know.”

“No worries. You shouldn’t have,” I said, cutting off the discussion. I didn’t know if he was ready. I knew I wasn’t. “Let’s not get all sad about it. You and Saff, huh? She’s a cute one.”

He smiled. “Yeah.” Then he got serious. “Does the hole..ever get filled?”

“No.” He didn’t need to explain what he meant. “It’s always there. But it does get easier to cope with. You build around it.”

“Right,” he said, fidgeting with his neck again.

“How about you help me with dinner when we get home? Surprise your mum?”

He smiled, “OK, that’ll be good.”

We started preparing the dinner. I mashed some garlic, and then mixed in the rosemary. I began rubbing the paste onto the lamb. Matt watched me the whole time.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a paste. You rub it onto the lamb and it seeps in while it’s cooking. Try some,” I said, handing him the bowl.

“Mmm, that’s good. Where did you learn that?”

“I don’t know. Cooking shows on telly when I was younger. I did all the cooking while dad was at work because…”

“Yeah,” he said, thankfully cutting me off.

“Pay attention. Girls love a man who can cook. It shows you’re civilised,” I said, with a laugh. “Start making the salad,” I said. “You know how to do that, right?”

“Yes,” he said, taking out the ingredients. He began cutting the lettuce off the head. “Of course I do.”

“Of course, you don’t,” I said, taking the knife. “You don’t cut lettuce. You tear it. Cutting makes it brown faster. May as well as cut up money.”

He smiled. “Mum always cuts it.”

I laughed. “I love your mum. She does many things very well, most better than me. But she is a horrible cook. And you best not repeat that.”

“Or what?” he teased.

“Or, tonight on Newsnight, we discuss work at youth programmes,” I said, sticking out my tongue.

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would. ‘Why, Fi, we ran into the most lovely young lady today. We should invite her to dinner.’”

“Fine,” he laughed. “You win. Besides, her cooking stinks.”

We sat and talked while the lamb cooked.

I began looking in the refrigerator. “Do you have any parmesan cheese? Oh wait, there it is. Great.”

“What are you doing?” He looked genuinely intrigued.

“Orzo with parmesan and garlic,” I said. “Not that difficult.” I began boiling the orzo.

“Did you do this with Jamie?”

“Yes, most nights. Unless we ate out or got take away.” I don’t know why the question bothered me but it did. There was nothing wrong with men cooking. The great chefs of the world were men, my dad used to say.

“She’s stupid, if you ask me. She was lucky to have you.” He gave me another kiss on the forehead. “We’re lucky to have you.”

“Thanks,” I said, blushing. I regained my composure. We had time while the lamb cooked and the orzo boiled. “So, no one is here,” I said, with a laugh. “Tell me about you and Saffron.”

“I fancy her. She fancies me. Unfortunately, her family won’t.”

“Why not?” I asked, knowing full why.

“Her dad’s from here. Her mum’s Gambian. Total religious nutter. Saff says she’s always going on about sin and hell and everything. Bloody lost it over marriage equality. I can’t imagine she’d be OK knowing about me. I mean look at my mum.”

I took his hand into mind. “Your mum loves you, Matt. I think with everything with your dad she’s just, I don’t know, knocked about. I can’t really explain it and I won’t excuse it but I’ve known her forever. She loves you unconditionally and just wants you to be happy.”

“She has a funny way of showing it,” he mumbled.

“She’s coming around and I’m doing my best for you.”

“I know,” he smiled. “Thanks. So what’s it like?”

“So what’s what like?”

“Working in an ad agency,” he said. “You know what.”

“Ah, it’s, honestly, weird is the word I’d use most. I mean it’s certainly not something I expected. Add to that that there’s this person inside you. This person who makes you fat and fart and piss all the time. And who keeps you up. And makes your stomach flip.”

“They paid YOU to write adverts?”

“Shut up or it’s Newsnight for you,” I joked. The orzo had boiled and I began melting butter into a skillet. “Watch. You melt the butter and brown the garlic. When it’s browned, you pour in the orzo and voila. Not that difficult.”

“For here it is,” he laughed. “So anyway. You fart and piss and all that.”

“And at the same time, it’s amazing. There’s this person in you, who’s dependent on you. Who’s a part of you.” I started to tear up. Stupid hormones again. “Well, anyway, it’s something amazing.”

“Do you miss it? Being you?”

“I am me,” I smiled, realising that I was probably talking to the one person who could get it. He was 15 and he could get it. “I mean, was it something I chose? Clearly, no. And maybe I’ll regret it down the way somewhere. But, no I don’t really miss it. It’s opened my eyes. To a lot. And I mean I wouldn’t have got to know you,” I said. “And for that I’m grateful.”

“Don’t be such a girl, Kells,” he joked. I could see the affection on his face though.

“Don’t be such a man, Matt.” I dipped the spoon in the orzo. “Try this.”

“Wow, this is delicious. I’m glad I got to know you too. Saff’s between us, right?”

“Right,” I smiled. “Until she’s not just a work colleague. Go set the table. Fi will be home soon.”

Five minutes later, Fi came through the door. “That smells delicious. What is it?”

Matt came out, “Lamb with garlic and rosemary. And orzo with garlic and parmesan. And salad, which I made.”

“Wow,” Fi said, coming into the kitchen. She stuck a spoon into the orzo.

I swatted her hand away. “You can wait. It’s almost done.”

“Yes, dear,” she said, kissing me on the head. This bloody family and kisses on the head, like I was the lucky Buddha. At least, they didn’t rub the belly. “How was your day?”

“Good, got some writing done in the morning, then went shopping in the afternoon. Matt came with me. I’m so glad. Made it much easier to get everything back.”

“Good job. I trained you right,” she said.

He smiled. “Uh huh,” he grunted.

She watched me put sprigs of mint onto each plate. “What did I do to deserve you?”

I smiled. “Please. I’m just grateful for everything you two have done, do for me. It’s a pleasure.”

We ate dinner and talked about our days. Matt told her all about his boys and how they were bouncing off the walls. He left out Saff, which was fair. She was, after all, just another work colleague. Fi told us about a conference in the office over Brexit and proposed new insurance regulations. She was a senior administrator at Lloyd’s and was not looking forward to Brexit, soft or hard. She had once said to me that the only thing hard in Brexit was, “the well deserved fucking the bloody fucking Sun readers and their hag Mail reading wives who voted for this shite were going to get.” Fi always had a way with words.

“On a lighter note, I have that meeting with Susan in the morning, but I’ll be back in time for dinner,” I said.

Fi said, “That reminds me. I’ve been meaning to tell you that you need some new clothes. You can’t go meeting Susan in my old rags anymore. You need to look smart.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, Fi. But I’m fine. Besides, how do you propose I pay for them? I mean,” and I remembered Matt was there. “It’s not like I’ve been working.”

Fi laughed. “Well, aren’t you lucky then? I was by the shops at lunch today and I picked you up something for tomorrow.” She handed me a bag. “Take a look.”

I pulled out a blue sheath dress, it looked expensive. I was genuinely conflicted. On the one hand, I couldn’t express how appreciative I was that Fi had bought me a dress so I would look good. On the other hand, Fi bought me a dress. “You didn’t have to. Thank you,” I said. I wanted to give her a kiss but couldn’t decide how she’d take that, so I gave her a hug.

“Go try it on. We’ll clear the dishes.”

I went into the bedroom and tried it on. Fi was right. It did look smart. It hugged me in all the right places and made me feel less self conscious in the wrong ones. I wouldn’t look like a girl playing dress up. I’d look like a woman. A pregnant woman. It wasn’t like I was hiding from what I was, but a dress of my own was a new bridge to cross.

I came out and Fi said, “Now, you look like a proper author, Kells.”

“Thank you. Again, it’s not necessary. I will pay you back when I get my advance.”

She looked at me, cross and said, “You’ll do no such thing. For everything you do for us, it’s the least I can do. And I intend to take you to the shops this weekend to get you some clothes. Those clothes of Sibby’s…”

“Siggy. Her name is Siggy.” I don’t know why I was defending her. She wasn’t my friend, Fi was.

“Sorry, Siggy. Whatever. Her clothes are getting too small. And mine are too big.”

Matt chimed in, “This bed is just right,” which made me giggle.

Fi laughed. “Well played, Matt. We are going to the shops, Kells. Full stop. No argument.”

I gave in and smiled. “OK, Fi. Thank you. I just don’t want to be a burden is all.”

Matt came over and gave me a hug. “You’re not a burden, Aunt Kells.”

“Thanks, Matt,” I said, kissing him on the cheek. Fi looked at the two of us, and smiled.

“May I be excused? I want to go, uh, check something on the computer.”

Without thinking, I said, “Go ahead. I want to talk to your mum.” He laughed and walked away. “Sorry, Fi,” I said. “I overstepped my bounds.” I took off the dress and put in on the hanger, making sure it hung correctly. I had worn an old t shirt and shorts under it.

“Overstep away,” she said, laughing. “He clearly likes you.”

“And I like him. He’s a good boy, Fi.”

She sighed, “I know. It’s hard but I’m getting better, aren’t I?”

“You are. He is who he is.”

“As are we all,” she said, getting up and looking at herself in the hall mirror. She sighed, ran her fingers through her hair and said, “So, what’s up?”

I took out the magazine from my bag. “This,” I said.

She laughed, “Those nanos are something. Reading Grazia Now? What’s new with the cast of Big Brother series 412?”

“Ha ha Fi. Everyone knows they’re only on 397. But seriously,” and I flipped to the page. I handed it to her.

“So, and,” her jaw dropped. “Oh, so that’s you.”

“Yes it is. Me in the flesh. Or the gills, or both.”

She started laughing, “It’s quite something. You look very fetching. Green is a good colour on you. I like this Asian girl.”

“She’s a bitch,” I laughed.

“What’s the issue? Do they owe you money? We’ll call Bee.” If my option was Bee or not getting paid, I’d take the dole.

“That’s not it. Jamie reads Grazia religiously.”

“King James or the new translation?” She was satisfied with her own joke.

“Susan used that already,” I laughed. “Try again.”

“So, she reads it. What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is I’ve managed to avoid her to date and I don’t want to hear from her.” She paused like she was about to say something. “What, Fi,” I said. “Out with it.”

She paused again. “What are you afraid of? I mean she’s sort of done everything she can do to you, no offense.”

“I, uh, I just don’t want to see her.”

“Then don’t. I don’t see why you won’t, but it’s your choice,” she said.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what I’d say.”

“I’d tell you to say what you feel, but as of now, we don’t know if she’s seen it or if she’ll put two and two together, but if she does and she calls you, you’ll deal with it. Until then, enjoy it. I know I am. It’s rare for me to have a celebrity living in my very own home.” She picked up the magazine and handed it to me. “May I have your autograph?” I picked up a pen and wrote, ‘To Fi, shut up. Best wishes, Kelly,” with an ‘xo’ and a heart.

“I shall treasure this forever,” she said, as she put it under her glass, taking care to center it on my face. “Did you call Dr. Patel?”

“Yes,” I said. “The sonogram is two weeks from yesterday.”

“What time,” she said, flicking through her phone.

“10:30,” I said. “You don’t have to come.”

She looked hurt. “Do you not want me?”

“Of course I do,” I said. “I just didn’t want you to miss work or anything.”

“Don’t be absurd, Kells. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

“Thank you,” I said. “That means everything to me,” and I started to tear up. Then I started to bawl. Between the magazine and the sonogram, I was missing Jamie. I missed her touch, her smell, her...her. I wished she was here. I knew why she wasn’t but that didn’t make the ache any less.

She held me while I cried. “I know Kells. I know you miss her but I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere. I promise you that.”

I sniffled. “Thank you, Fi. For everything.”

“The same to you, Kells.”

---

Decaf tea, with plenty of milk and sugar, is just about drinkable. At least I had to convince myself it was, as it was going to be a pretty big part of my life for the next four months. I sipped it nervously as I waited for my brother to arrive.
10am, our agreed time came and went. Then 10:30 passed without any word. By then I was pacing backwards and forwards. It was nearly 11 when I heard the knock on the door. I took a deep breath and went to answer.

“Excuse me, I was looking for Kel…” He looked at my eyes and his widened. “Kelly?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

My little brother stared at me for a long time, and then shook his head, “you look different. Did you do something new with your hair?”

“Har har. Get in you lug.”

The front door closed and we hugged.

“You must be freaking out,” he said.

“I was.” He kept staring at me which, while to be expected, was starting to irritate me. “Spit it out, Billy.”

“What?”

“You don’t like this shirt. You know what.”

He looked at me. “OK. You are happy with,” he gestured towards my whole body, bump and all, “this?”

“Happy’s a little strong. OK is better. Accepted is best. I’ve made the decision to keep the baby so I just have to deal with the rest.”

We sat down in the living room and he kept staring at me, to the point that he felt behind him when he sat down on the couch.

“OK, stop staring,” I said.

He smiled. “Sorry. It’s just so hard to see your little sister pregnant. I remember the Westlife posters like yesterday and now you’re having a baby,” he said, laughing.

That broke the ice and I laughed. “The bloody Westlife posters were yours, you big girl.”

“I’m the big girl? Have a look at yourself lately?”

“Shut up. Do you want something to drink?”
He jumped up. “You stay there, I’ll make it. Kitchen this way?”

“You don’t have to look after me,”

He came back in with two cups of tea “Don’t be silly. Enjoy it now. Come what, about four months, your rest time is over.” He handed me mine, “Decaf for you,” he said. “Tell Julia,” his wife “I remember. Um, I know we went through this on the e-mail but how exactly did this happen?”

With that, I went through the whole saga from the blog to the nanosuits to Rich to Iceland to here.

He laughed. “That’s some series of accidents and coincidences.”

“What? What do you mean?” I knew what he meant. He meant what Fi meant and what I still wasn’t ready to face.

“Nothing,” he said. “Good on you, on the book. You always wanted to write,” he smiled. “I remember that diary that you used to keep, ‘Oh dear diary, I love Nigel but he doesn’t love me…’”

I laughed and played along. “You looked at my diary? My most intimate thoughts?” I needed the release. It felt good to have him here, a link to an easier time in my life.

“Anyway, the rest is not important. Have you and Jamie worked out arrangements yet?”

“I haven’t got that far. I’m barely getting through each day.” I looked out at the raindrops running down the window. It’d been awhile since it had rained. The flowers in the garden would be coming out once the sun returned. “Like I said in the email, I just want to get through this and have a healthy baby, and then I’ll work out what comes next.”

“Does that include what you are going to do with the baby once it happens?”

“I have no idea. Like I said, all I’ve planned is to get to the end of this with a healthy baby. Then I’ll work out what comes next.”

He smiled, “Like the blog? Kelly, plan ahead for once. Having a new baby is like being hit by a tornado. You want to have something in place beforehand or risk being blown away.”

He wasn’t wrong but I wasn’t ready or able to plan just yet. “I will. So, how are the boys?” I was a bad uncle. We’d exchange pictures and I’d send cards and gifts, but I wasn’t part of their life. If Julia would let me, I wanted to change that.

“Good. Little terrors. Mikey climbs everything and Alex is obsessed with the computer. It’s all I can do to drag him off the thing. Julia’s at her wits end.”

Bill went through the latest exploits of his two. He’d married young, only a year or so after Uni. He’d never been the ambitious type, spending his life slowly climbing the government ladder. I curled my legs underneath me, watching him talk. It felt reassuring to see such a familiar face. I’d seen that face so often I knew it better than my own. Which was especially true in the bodysuit. Every expression, every crease was familiar to me. I wanted to tell him how much his calm acceptance was helping.

“Kelly, I’ve got something to tell you,” He jolted me out of my safe space. “I’ve found her.”
He looked at me expectantly. It took me a while to catch on.

“Her her?” I couldn’t call her mum. A ‘mum’ was someone like Fiona who was always there, always loved you no matter what.

“Do you want me to tell you what I’ve found?”

“Do I want to know?” I’d picked up a cushion and was holding it close to my stomach. He looked at me. It was an unfair question. I didn’t want to know but needed to. “Start off simple. I take it she’s alive,” he nodded, “where is she living?”

“Some place in Cheshire. Warburton.”

I sat there dumbly. ‘Cheshire’, it seemed very real. A solid place. Not like the places I’d imagined her to be over the years. New York, Paris, Australia. Places out of movies. At least to me.

He took a deep breath. “She remarried,” another piece of information I’d have to deal with. I reached out and took Bill’s hand. It must have been hard on him as well. “About 8 years ago. The guy owns a Land Rover dealership.”

“Good on them. Must be doing well.”

He nodded.

“Have you been in contact?”

Again he nodded.

“What did she sound like?” I could only remember feelings when I thought of my mother. Sense memory, Jamie called it. The smell of her perfume, the softness of her arms when she held me. I thought I remembered the sound of her voice, but I couldn’t be sure it wasn’t a false memory I’d created as a child.

“We’ve just shared emails, so I have no idea.”

I looked closely at Bill. He was only 34, but he looked tired. Two boys will do that to you. You could see the lines forming around his eyes and grey slowly creeping in at his temples.

“Anything else I should know?”

He took a deep breath. Oh god, I thought, what now.

“Well, she has two kids, both girls.”

“What?” This was something of a shock. The one thing I thought I was certain about with my mother was that she was bad with kids. It was the only explanation for her leaving us, without going to a dark place where I blamed myself. I felt a hole opening up below me.

“The oldest is 13, the younger one 11. Issy and Lisa. From a ‘prior relationship,’” he said, an edge creeping into his voice. She was 20 when I was born, 22 when Bill was. I guess it wasn’t unreasonable. At least the age difference.

“Do they know about us?”

He shrugged, “I’ve no idea. She’s invited me up to meet with her in a couple of weeks but I don’t know that that includes the lot of them. I guess she wants to check me out first. The invitation is extended to you as well.”

I recalled like he’d bit me. “I can’t, not like this!”

He chuckled, “Well I guess it would complicate things. I mean you’ll have to get your hair done and all.” I threw the pillow at him.

We continued talking for hours. Around 1, I made us sandwiches for lunch, like I did when we were kids. He crumpled crisps into his like we used to and laughed. “I haven’t done that for ages.” He crunched down. “I don’t know why. It’s really good. Have to do this with the boys. When Julia’s out.”

We talked about everything, well everything but the elephant in the room. Football, politics, my “condition,” which he found endlessly entertaining.

“My sister, a bloody tart with her legs spread and her knickers down. Now look at you! We’ll send you up north to have it. I shan’t be embarrassed before the neighbours, the vicar!”

I laughed, “Arsehole.”

He laughed. “Come stay with us in Brighton. Julia’ll be happy to have you.”

“Does she know?”

“Sort of. I mean I told her but this is sort of see for yourself, you know.”

“I appreciate the offer. I’ll come for a visit, but my life’s here.” We didn’t discuss Cheshire until he got up to leave. He reiterated the offer. He wouldn’t say it but I think he wanted me there for support.

“I can’t face her like this.”

“Why? You don’t need to make a special effort for her. This is you and she has to take you as you want be.” I just said I’d think about it.

Bill left around 3 and the flat felt empty. I started making the dinner, the physical action acting as a distraction. The rain had stopped and the sun glinted off the dew covered garden. Even the plastic chairs looked magical. The radio played an old song I remembered from being a kid and all of a sudden I was crying.

I didn’t hear the door slam. Matt and Saff came into the kitchen. Saff started to come over but Matt held up his hand. He came over and put his arm around me. “Are you OK, Aunt Kells?” It felt funny to hear him call me that again. I had become just ‘Kells.’

“I’m fine. Old song came on and it made me tear up.” They both looked at me with utter disbelief. “Go discuss work, you two. I’ll make you a snack.”

Saff said, “I’ll go into the garden. You two talk.” She looked concerned, bless her little 15 year old socks.

“So what happened for real?” Matt said.

“My brother was here.”

“Giving you a hard time?” Anger flashed across his face. More anger than a young face like his should have to deal with.

I put my hand on his arm. “No no no. Nothing like that. He heard from our mother.”

“Oh. Oh shit.”

“Yeah. Definitely oh shit,” and we both laughed a little.

“And?”

“He’s seeing her. He asked if I wanted to come.”

“Do you?”

I paused. “I don’t know.” I didn’t know. I didn’t care what I looked like, she had no rights to say anything. I just didn’t know what I would do. I stood there for a second and decided to figure it out with Fi later on. This was too much for Matt to have to deal with, however much he wanted to help. I smiled. “We’ll figure it out later. Go out to your work colleague.” This was our new inside joke

I brought them out biscuits and lemonade that I had made. “I hope you like lemonade, Saff,” I said.

“Oh you didn’t have to, Ms. Coo..Kelly. Are you OK?”

I smiled, “I’m fine. Bloody hormones.”

She smiled, letting me off the hook. “I’m sure. I know how I get you know...sorry, girl talk, Matt,” which, in retrospect, was an absurd thing to say, given the players.

---

“Stop fiddling,” Fiona scolded me as I played with the hem of my dress.

“I’m just not used to skirts,” I sighed, putting my hand in my lap. Not that there was much space for them with my bulging tum.

“It’s not a skirt. It’s a nice dress. It suits you.”

I looked down at the dark grey pinafore style dress and the two inch heels. “You don’t think it makes me look like a pregnant school girl?” She just laughed. “I notice you’re in trousers.” I added ruefully.

“I’m not the one trying to impress.” That wasn’t entirely true. Ever since I’d asked Fiona to be my plus one to the Dale dinner, she’d been repeatedly asking me about their tastes, who’d be coming, etc. She said she didn’t want to let me down, although I didn’t think she could. I didn’t push it. Instead, I returned to watching

East London go by outside the train window. The carriages of the East London line felt open and airy after the cramped tube trains.

“Are you sure they like red? What if Susan’s cooked fish?” Fi said nervously. I had never seen her this nervous.

“They served it last time,” I said, placing a hand on her knee. I hadn’t really thought about it, it was meant to be reassuring. I noticed that she moved her leg a little closer.

Standing outside the now familiar doorway, I felt a familiar panic rising. Not only did I want them to like me, I wanted them to like Fiona. She took my hand and smiled. I felt a little better.

“Kelly, how lovely to see you!” Rich beamed. He had an expensive looking bottle of red in one hand and a corkscrew in the other. I saw Fiona shuffle the carrier bag containing our much cheaper bottle behind her. I introduced Rich and Fiona and was struck with how weird it was to see the two of them talking. Two parts of my life colliding.

“Hello dear,” Susan poked her head out of the kitchen. I’d worn my hair down on Fiona’s suggestion. While the look suited the summer weather, I found it irritating having to constantly brush it out of my face. I felt like I was peering out through a curtain. “Kelly, so what do you think? Do you agree Ingrid, Sally and Ólafur are a sort of love triangle?” Susan came and took my hand, and dragged me towards the kitchen before I had time to protest.

“Don’t worry,” Rich said to Fiona, “The partners are through here.” I turned just in time to watch Fiona and Rich disappearing into the living room. They seemed to have hit it off.

“Before we get into your book, I want to introduce you to a couple of friends. Kelly, this is Hannah,” she pointed to a tall black woman, beautiful but stressed and tired looking, “and Millie, she writes for…”

“The Independent. Yes, I read your column,” I took both women’s hands In turn. Millie Hopkins wrote about games and computer culture from a feminist perspective. She got a lot of flack from the Gamergate types and other weirdos for her trouble.

“Hannah works for the PLP.” Susan seemed to assume I knew what that was.

“The Parliamentary Labour Party,” Hannah explained. No wonder she looked so stressed and tired.

“I would never show your work to anyone of course. Professional ethics and all. But I have to admit I’ve been dying to show these two your book.”

“She’s been driving us mad. She won’t give a thing away but can’t stop talking about it. I haven’t seen her this excited by a project since Donna Tartt,” Hannah confirmed.

“All she’ll tell us,” Millie touched my arm, “is that it has a uniquely female perspective.”

I felt bad. I should have told Susan the truth. Would she still want to be my friend, my editor when she found out I’ve conned her?

“How much do you want to tell them Kelly?”

“I don’t know if it deserves so much praise. It’s pretty clichéd really. I take the Scandi-noir trope of the melting ice revealing a dead body and secrets in a small town and move it to the North of England. A hot summer, a reservoir in the
Pennines is unusually low, which reveals a car with a dead body of a Swedish au pair who came over in the 70s. Then the action switches to Iceland where the au pair’s sister…” It was bizarre to have all three women following my every word.

Like most writers, I’m a natural introvert with an extrovert dying to get out. After what felt like a million questions, they let me go. Susan turned back to the cooking and the conversation moved on. As a man, it felt odd when the three of them insisted I take the bar stool at the end of the island. Given the way the heels hurt my feet, I wasn’t completely stupid, so I didn’t complain.

“What do you think will happen with the Germany negotiations?” Susan turned to ask Hannah. I enjoyed watching their dynamic. Hannah led the conversation, but they all deferred to Susan when it came down to it.

“I think the Germans will be keen to find a solution. They’ve been pretty good about the whole thing. They don’t want to crash the whole European economy just for revenge. Still, any deal will be on their terms.”

“I was in Berlin during their last elections. You know what struck me?” Millie was mostly content to take more of a backseat like me. As she talked, she always looked for confirmation from the other two, “How positive their election posters were. ‘Vote for me because I’m a nice guy,’ In the Anglosphere it’s all ‘Vote for the other guys and they’ll sell the NHS to a Polish Muslim,’ or ‘Vote for them and they’ll let Russia nuke Surrey.’”

“Right. It’s the same in Spain. Their newspapers seem so sedate compared to ours. I guess they know what can go wrong. We’ve grown complacent.” Again, Susan acted as final referee on the subject.

“OK,” Susan wiped sweat from her brow, “I think we are there. Millie, be a love and ask the ‘boys’ to come through. Hannah, would you mind setting the table?”

“What should I do?” I swivelled, contemplating how I was going to get down.

“Nothing, rest. You’re pregnant, enjoy it while it lasts.”

It felt wrong, but I wasn’t complaining.

Fiona and a new man were the first in, both laughing loudly. She saw me sitting there. “Kells, this is Chris. He’s another author.”

“Chris Bowman? I think Rich mentioned you would be here,” I struggled to get up and offer him my hand. He smiled and came over, motioning me to sit.

“Rich has been prepping me for Richard and Judy,” he said as he shook my hand. Unlike everyone else who had dressed up, Chris was in a rugby shirt and jeans. He was also carrying a bottle of some micro-brewery beer whereas everyone else was drinking wine.

“Sorry, are you from the West Country,” I asked. I don’t why I asked that. I wanted to ask him about craft and being a famous author. Instead, I came up with that.

“Ooo arrr,” Everyone laughed. He walked over to Hannah and put his arm around her waist. She looked at him with a mixture of amusement and affection. I was surprised when I felt Fiona’s hand on the small of my back.

Next to come in was an androgynous young woman with a shaved head. I couldn’t help but admire the shape of her skull. People with very short hair always fascinated me and this person had a beautifully shaped head.

Millie said, “this is my partner Alex. Alex prefers to use gender neutral pronouns.” Alex lent over and took my hand. The handshake was firm and the other hand stayed in the pocket of their grey trousers. A very male gesture I observed. But perhaps I was over analysing.

We sat down to eat. “Susan, this food is amazing, thank you,” Fiona said to nods of agreement from around the table. You could tell how good it was from the fact that conversation had died down. Everyone was focused on eating. Conversation returned once we’d consumed the starter and started on the main.

“How did you two meet?” I said to Alex who was sat next to me.

“I’m a computer game designer, we met at a conference.”

“Some jerk was trolling me at the time,” Millie explained, “He posted online that I’d be there and that people should go down and protest. We ended up hold up in the conference room of the hotel for hours while the police checked out a fake bomb.”

“Shit, what was the jerk annoyed about?” I was fascinated.

“I said a game was sexist because it allowed the player to hit a woman, and all the female character had huge knockers.” Millie said matter of fact. Chris nearly spat his beer out.
The conversation turned to work. Fi discussed Lloyd’s. Chris, Rich and I, publishing. I noticed that Hannah had gone quiet.
“Is everything OK?” Susan asked softly. Hannah didn’t look up. She mumbled, “It’s fine.”

Chris crossed his arms. “It’s not fine. You need to say something.”
Hannah rolled her eyes, “I’m getting hassle from this union official.” She took a deep breath. “He grabbed my arse the other day. Chris wants me to report it.”

“You need to report it!” Chris banged his fist on the table making it shake. A little bit of wine spilt out of my glass.

She looked up at the ceiling. “It’s not the right time. The party is in such a mess, it’d only make things worse…” She looked up at the ceiling. “To be honest, I dread going into work every Monday.” Susan had got up and put her arm around her friend.

“Bugger the party!” Chris looked angry, but calmed down enough to put a reassuring hand on Hannah’s shoulder.

Susan and Fi nodded. Fi said, “You’d think it’d be bloody better but it isn’t,” and then she told a story of how she had been harassed early in her career. How one of the men in her office had programmed a key on his keyboard to say, “fucking bitch,” and how he pressed every time she walked past. Susan told how, when she started, she’d go home in tears every night because the old school journalists would make lewd comments and tell her she had no business there.

It was hard to picture Susan, confident, powerful Susan, coming home crying. I started to tear up, remembering Jamie and Felix. Susan, who stood across the table from me, and said, “Kelly, are you crying?”

Everyone turned to look at me. “S-sorry. I was on this photoshoot a couple of months ago. I only did it because my bastard w-husband left me flat broke. It’s not enough that they dressed us like mermaids and put us in nets, the photographer made these horrible comments and waved his…a” I felt everyone staring. “Sorry, it’s not even comparable. Sorry.” Fi put her arm around my waist. She pulled me closer and kissed my cheek. She was laughing, but not at me.

Rich pushed his chair back. “I think we could all do with a breather. How about port in the garden before dessert?”

Everyone agreed this sounded like a good idea. As everyone else helped themselves to port and brandy, Alex came over to me. By this time I’d calmed down a little. “Not drinking?” I asked.

“I don’t. I had some bad experiences back when I was a teenager. Alcohol and drug abuse is big problem in the community, you know.”

I didn’t. “Sorry, the community?”

She looked at me. “The trans community,” I stopped dead; what did Alex mean? “Forgive me for asking, but my trans-dar went off as soon as we met.”

“Am I that obvious?” I wasn’t sure if I should say I was trans, since I didn’t choose this although neither did Alex. Or Matt. I had to explain the pregnancy though. I explained the nanosuit and how Jamie tricked me.

She listened quietly and said, “Don’t worry, I won’t say anything. And no, you are anything but obvious.” I pointed to my tum. She laughed and said, “No, it’s just an instinct. The way you look for approval from the other women. Little things like that. Are you going to tell Susan and Rich?”

“I feel like I should. Like I’m hiding something important.”

“It’s up to you. No one should have to ‘come out’ unless they are sure they are ready. It’s not as easy as they make out in fiction.” I thought about Matt and realised how true that was.

“It just feels like I’m deceiving them. I feel bad, especially when Susan and Rich have been so good to me. Susan even said I had a ‘unique female voice’”
We laughed, me nervously, Alex was more relaxed. “There’s nothing wrong with that. You’re very female.” She looked me up and down. “Whether you chose it initially, you were clearly meant to be a woman and not just because of that,” she said. “Me on the other hand, I’m stuck between two camps.”

“Can I ask why you don’t identify as one or the other?”

“I always felt more male than female, as long as I can remember. But my experiences have mostly been female. In our society, female is like black. You’re still the ‘other’. I could be 90% male and 10% female. The 10% would be what marked me out as different.” They ran their hand over their shaven head. I noticed how thin Alex’s wrist were. I noticed the hardened skin on the underside.
We took a taxi home. Fi was a little pissed and I didn’t fancy walking any further in these damn shoes.

Fi put her arm around me, and I laid my head on her shoulder. “That was fun, they were fun people,” she said. “Ooh, I’m going to feel this in the morning,” she said. “It’s been awhile since I’ve had this much.” She had had a few glasses with dinner and then the port, along with everyone else. Not that much, but it is if your drinking consisted of one or two once a week at quiz night. I smiled and rested one hand on my baby bump and the other unconsciously on her leg. She made no effort to move. “Rich and Susan took the news well, I was proud of you,” Just before we left, I’d taken them to one side with Fiona and told them about the nanosuit and my being, for want of another better term, transgender.

“They reminded me of the liberal parents meeting the black boyfriend in some 80s sitcom,” I said.

Fiona laughed, “That’s very cool Kelly, obviously we completely support you,” she did a very bad impression of Rich’s American accent. It was enough to make me laugh.

“It’s felt wrong since I first met them. I didn’t tell them because I didn’t want them to drop me as a client. It was just selfish, like Jamie.”

Fi took my face in her hands. “Stop it! You are nothing like Jamie,” and then she kissed me. A proper kiss, not just a peck. Do you know in France they call a French kiss and English kiss? I had no idea why that fact popped into my head at that moment.

We pulled away and neither of us said anything for the rest of the ride. Reaching home I got out of the car in a daze. I half expected Jamie to be there ready to admonish me for cheating. I hated that I felt that way, but I did.

We got home and she said, “Oh shit. I have to take Matt to his Youth-Litter-Picking thing in Springfield Park at 6am tomorrow.”

“I’ll take him,” I said. “You sleep it off. I don’t sleep anyway,” I said, with a smile.

She smiled and gave me another kiss, a peck on the cheek this time. “Thank you for doing it. I need to lie down. The car keys are by the door.” Within minutes, I could hear her snoring.

That night, I lay awake in bed staring at the thin wall that separated our two bedrooms. Did I want to be on the other side? Did Fi want me? I had thought it was Jamie whom I wanted, now I wasn’t sure. I fell asleep around 12 and woke up around 3 AM. I knew I wouldn’t fall back asleep. I took my laptop into the garden and started work on the latest round of revisions. Wrestling with a particularly gnarly plot hole Susan had spotted took all my focus, finally drowning everything else out. After about two hours I opened up my email just to distract myself further. On an impulse I started an email to Bill, ‘Hi Bill,’ I wrote, ‘I think I need to come with you to meet mother. Room for a little ‘un?’

I sat staring at the email until I heard Matt moving about. I looked at the time on my phone, 5:15am. I had to get moving. I hit send.

I got up to make him breakfast. He came into the kitchen, hair matted with sleep and scratching his armpits. Whatever male habits I lost, he gained. “Where’s mum? We have to be at the park at 6.”

“We had, uh, a long night,” she said. “She was tired so I’m letting her sleep.”

“Heh heh, long night.” He was old enough and smart enough to figure it out.

“Well, anyway, I hope you don’t mind if I come instead.”

He smiled. “Cool. Can I have eggs and bacon?”

While I cooked, we talked. “Is Saff going to be there too?” I teased.

He refused the bait. “Yes.”

“Does she need a lift?” I said, with a smile.

He looked at me and said, forcefully but with a smile. “No thank you. Her dad’s bringing her, which is good.”

“Is he better?”

“Saff says so. Says her dad’s more normal. Says he doesn’t believe all that stuff like her mom.”

“That’s good. I don’t mind going, but why are you up at 6 on Sunday to pick up rubbish?”

He sighed. “It’s not rubbish picking, it’s park beautification. Cleaning the rugby pitch. Painting a mural in the playground. That sort of thing. She doesn’t get it. Besides, the programme leader asked us. Said we didn’t have to but mum said it would be smart to go.”

I took the keys from the bowl by the door and we left quietly. I hadn’t driven since I put on the nanosuit and wasn’t sure how it would go, given all the changes. I wedged myself behind the wheel and we went on our way.

We didn’t talk much since it was not even 6 AM. I had been up for almost three hours but Matt was still wiping sleep from his eyes. He asked how the party went.

“Fun. Lots of interesting people.” I told him about Millie and her column. He laughed when I told him how all I could come up with for Chris was, “Are you from the West Country?” I debated telling him about Alex. I thought they could be role model for him but, as I said the words in my head, I realised that it was condescending (“look, they’re trans too and they design games!”). Instead, I just said, “her partner Alex designs games.”

“Sounds good,” he said. “Glad you and mum had a good time.”

We got to the park just before 6. There were a whole bunch of kids wearing Wood Street t shirts milling about slowly.

A young man, in his early twenties, came over. “Matt, glad you made it.” He offered his hand. “I’m Johnny. You can’t be Matt’s mum,” he said with a smile. I appreciated his attempt at flattery this early in the morning.

“Ha ha no. Hi, I’m Kelly, Kelly Cooper. I’m a friend of Matt’s mum. Well, Matt too.” I don’t know why I was nervous. “So, what can I do to help?”

He smiled, looking me up and down. “Whatever you’d like or nothing at all. I mean most of the other parents aren’t staying.”

I figured I’d let Fi sleep awhile, so I said, “I don’t mind if Matt doesn’t.”

He kissed me on the head and said, with a smile, “I’ll let you know.” Over his shoulder, I saw Saff come in, with a white man in his 40s, who I assumed to be her father. From a distance, I saw her holding his hand. As they approached, she dropped it, clearly not wanting anyone to see.

Saff walked over, with a big smile. “Hey, Matt, I’m so glad you came.”

“Uh, hey Saff,” he said, with the same smile. “I told you I would. This is going to be fun.” I smiled, thinking these are the same words said by generations of men trying to impress generations of women. Chick flick? Going to be fun! Crafts fair? Can’t wait! Experimental feminist dance troupe? You read my mind!

Saff’s dad coughed. Saff said, “Oh, sorry. Matt, this is my dad. Dad, this is Matt Walters and his aunt Kelly.”

Matt nervously stuck out his hand. I could see him willing eye contact. “Nice to meet you sir.”

Saff’s dad looked at him sternly. “You too, young man. So you and Saffron work together at Wood Street, I take it.” I stifled a laugh at work together. Matt gave me a quick glare.

“Yessir. We work with the same age. Uh, eight year olds. I mean, I work with the boys and Saff, Saffron, works with the girls. But sometime we do things together. I mean, with the kids and all.” He turned beet red. “Saffron’s great. With the kids, I mean.”

“Mmmm,” Saff’s dad said. “Work together. Good.”

Just then, the work leader said, “OK, volunteers, gather up here!” Matt and Saff, grateful for the reprieve, ran over.

After they were out of earshot, Saff’s dad let out a laugh. He stuck out his hand, “Richard Mitchell.”

I laughed, although I felt bad. I had been on the receiving end of that inquisition more than once. “Kelly Cooper,” I said.

“Very nice to meet you. Did I scare him enough?” He said, with a big grin.

I laughed, “I’d say so.”

“That’s my duty as a father. Make the boy afraid. Even if they just,” and he rolled his eyes, “work together. I imagine your father did the same.” Um, not exactly, I thought.

I laughed, as we watched them walk off together to clean the playground. They kept fidgeting like they wanted to hold hands, but were afraid we’d see. “Saff’s a great girl. We met her by the Spar one day. Very polite. You and your wife raised her well.” I almost mentioned how she had come over, but thought better, knowing what Matt said about her mum. “So are you planning on staying around,” I asked.

He yawned. “I hadn’t much thought about it. It’s bloody early but, if I go home, the younger ones will be up and about.”

“How many do you have?”

“Three. Saff’s the oldest. Then there’s Addo, well Richard Addo, but we call him Addo, he’s nine and Amie, she’s seven. Oh, and Ellen’s nephew Amadou is staying with us. He’s sixteen.”

“Wow, I can see why you’re so tired,” I joked.

He laughed. “How far along are you, if you don’t mind me asking.” I imagine if it were Ellen, she’d just ask. And then tell me about all of her pregnancies.

I smiled. “Five months.”

He laughed, “Enjoy the calm before the storm. What brings you to Walthamstow? Are you from around here?”

Um, my wife tricked me into a nanosuit and got me pregnant. And then left me destitute and 25. “No. My husband’s an actor. He’s on a shoot in Iceland and Fi and Matt generously allowed me to stay with them.” I realised that the shoot would be wrapping soon. I shuddered, thinking of her coming back to London. I wasn’t ready for her.

“Are you OK?” Richard said.

“Sorry,” I lied. “The baby moved around a little. He’s usually not up this early.”

“Ah, I remember that,” he said. “Is it a boy?”

“I don’t know. The sonogram is next week. I guess I just call the baby ‘he.’” As I stood there, I didn’t know what I wanted the baby to be. Could I be mum to a girl? To a boy?

“Saff would tell you that you need to less gender-biased,” he laughed. “Drives Ellen just about barmy.”

I smiled. “That’s to be expected at this age.” I wasn’t in the mood to discuss my family, so I lied. “I know I did.” Out of the corner, I saw Matt staring at us, intently. In his eyes, I could see, could you please leave? And take Saff’s dad with you.’ I laughed, “I believe that I am being asked to find alternate entertainment,” I joked.

Saff was giving James the same look. He laughed and said, “FA-ther, you are absolutely embarrassing me! If she only knew. Ah, let’s leave them alone.” For effect, he glared at Matt, which brought a death stare from Saff.

I smiled, “Uh oh, you will be paying for that later. Trust me.” I knew - from being on the receiving end of many such looks. “Well, it was very nice meeting you. Don’t worry. Matt’s a good, responsible kid.” I don’t know why I felt the need to add that.

He smiled. “I am sure. Very nice meeting you as well.”

I wedged myself behind the wheel and drove home. I opened the door quietly, in case Fi wasn’t up yet. She wasn’t. I puttered around on my laptop for an hour and a half. I started to type an email to Siggy five times, to ask when shooting would wrap but decided not to find out. I wasn’t sure what I would do with the information.

Around about 9:30, Fi woke up. She came out of the bedroom, wearing her robe. She had bags under her eyes and muttered, “My head. I need coffee.”

I laughed. “Like old times, Fi.”

She smiled weakly. “Except that we’re a lot older. Well, I am,” she said, looking at me.

“I’ll make it. Sure you don’t want the hair of the dog?” I joked. She turned green. “Kidding.”

I made her a cup and brought it over. She took a big sip, holding the cup in two hands. “Thanks, Kells. I needed that. About last night…”

I said, “It’s OK. You were more than a little pissed, Fi.”

She patted the cushion next to her, as if to say ‘sit.’ “You don’t do anything drunk that you wouldn’t do sober,” she said.

I choked on my water. “Come again?”

She smiled and put her hand on my thigh. “I can’t explain it Kells. I guess, I just, since you moved in, and everything. I mean I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

I was torn. On the one hand, this was my dream at Uni. On the other hand, my dream didn’t involve me being pregnant. And married. To a woman who was now a man. I wasn’t sure what was what. “I’m not,” I said, with a smile.

“Good,” she said, the corners of her mouth twitched upwards. Without speaking she leaned in giving me a kiss on the lips. Not a French kiss, just a kiss.

Nine Months

Month Six

Kelly is a man trapped in a female body suit and now pregnant. He is slowly coming to terms with his situation and discovering feelings he didn’t know he had.

Things get a little darker for one of our characters. Our love goes out to anyone of you who have had to deal with similar issues.

---

I took a deep breath and began typing the e-mail.

“Jeremy, I hope all is well. I was hoping that everything had died down from the blog and we might discuss my returning to the agency. Would you be available to meet for coffee? Let me know. Kelly.”

I hit send. I wasn’t sure I wanted to return but I needed money. The book was coming along great but, even when Rich placed it, the advance would be small. Jamie wasn’t going to return what was mine. I wouldn’t go back to modeling and, even if I could, what could I model - maternity wear, stretch mark cream? Fi was more than generous but it was time to stand on my two feet.

Half an hour later, I received a response.

“Glad to hear from the next Ian McEwan! I’d be happy to meet you and go over old times. I’ll see what I can do on the job front but obviously can’t make any promises. How about next Thursday at the Costa at 2? Jeremy.” It was funny that he chose Ian McEwan. For a man who spent his life chasing the next thing, his taste in novels still returned to a time when he was the next thing.

I was glad he chose Thursday. I had set up a meeting with Rich and Hannah in the morning and was happy to be able to fit it all into one outing. I debated whether to tell him of my change but decided to surprise him.

Thursday morning came around. I was wearing the blue dress and flats that Fi had bought me. I debated heels but it was getting hard enough to walk as was, without trying to balance myself on top of it.

I was making breakfast when Fi came in and kissed me on the cheek. “Don’t you look smart?” she said. “That smells delicious.”

“Thank you,” I said. “It’s spinach and feta.” She smiled. “I’m meeting Rich and Hannah at 11 and then Jeremy at 2.”

“Jeremy? Who’s that,” she said, sitting down at the table.

“My former boss.”

She looked concerned. “Catching up?”

I took a deep breath. “I thought I’d see whether I could get my old job back.”

“Whatever for?” I could see the look of consternation in her eyes.
“You’ve been more than generous, Fi, opening your home to me…” I said, as I brought over her omelette.

“Our home, Kells. It’s yours as well as mine.”

“And you’ve bought me clothes and I, uh, just wanted to help out.”

“Kells, if you wanted money, I have more than enough. You just had to ask.”

That’s the problem, I thought. I don’t want to ask. If I wanted to ask, I could’ve gone back to James. “I know, Fi. I just want to feel like I’m contributing around here.”

She looked hurt. “Kells, you do contribute. I mean what do you call everything you do, the cooking and cleaning and all?” I knew what I’d call it and didn’t want to call it anything for just that reason. “Besides, what about Matt?”

Matt walked in. “What about me?” He gave Fi a kiss and then me. He sat down. “May I have a cheddar and sausage scramble, Kells?”

“Of course,” I said.

“So, what about me?”

“Kells was going to talk to her old boss about her job. She feels that she doesn’t contribute around here.” That’s a low blow, I thought, bringing Matt into it.

“Will you still cook and everything?” That was Matt.

I smiled as I started scrambling the eggs. “Of course. I mean this probably won’t amount to anything anyway.”

Matt smiled, “Good on you, Kells. Go for it.”

“Thank you Matt. Please, Fi, I won’t do anything to interfere with things around here.”

“What about the book? That’s your dream.”

“I know but that’s getting close to done. Besides, it’ll do me some good to get out and about, especially before little Humphrey or Priscilla comes.” Before we had the sonogram and knew what I was having, Fi and I had started calling the baby ‘Humphrey’ or ‘Priscilla’ as a little in joke. If I had gastric reflux, it was Priscilla. If I farted, ‘Humphrey did it.’ “Please Fi, I need this. I need to see.”

She sighed, then relented. “I’d just hate to see you burning the candle at both ends,” she said, putting her hand on my belly.

“I know. Don’t worry. Besides, it’s just a meeting and I made a dog’s breakfast of it before I left.” I had told Fi about the blog.

She laughed. “Did you tell him about, well…”

I smiled. “I thought I’d surprise him.”

“Well, that it will be,” she laughed.

Matt finished his breakfast. “I’m off to the programme,” he said. “Bye, mum,” he said, kissing Fi on the cheek. “Bye, Kells,” he said, giving me the same kiss. “Good luck today.”

I put my hand on his arm, “Thanks. Have a good day.” I almost said, “Say hi to Saff for me,” but remembered at the last second.

Fi moved next to me and I rested my head on her shoulder. She started running her fingers through my hair. “I’m sorry Kells. I’m being selfish. If this is what you need, I support you.” It didn’t feel 100% sincere.

I had my meeting and then jumped on the Overground. After arriving at the correct station I went over to the Costa. I waited across the street on a bench until I saw him go in. He sat down, ordered a coffee and took a sip.

I smiled to myself. ‘Here we go,’ I thought. I walked over, threw my arms around him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Jeremy,” I said loudly, as half the cafe turned around. The rest, good Londoners, didn’t look up from their phones.

“Erm, I’m sorry, miss, but do we know each other?”

I started to cry. Given my hormones, this was strangely easy to do. “You don’t remember me?” Now, the Londoners looked up. “At the party? You told me you could get me a job as a model. I believed you,” and I started to sob.

I could see the beads of sweat forming on his forehead. His hand shook. I could see his coffee sloshing around. He looked around nervously. “I, uh, think you’re, uh, mistaken, Miss.”

“You’re Jeremy Peckham from Stoke-on-Trent. You told me how much I reminded you of your sister Olivia. And, now, now that I’m pregnant, you want to pretend I’m mistaken?” I yelled. I swear I saw phones out. ‘Bastard Dumps Pregnant Girl’ now headed to YouTube, I thought. I saw the women in the cafe looking for pitchforks and torches.

As Jeremy sweated, I decided to let him off. I whispered in his ear, “You ever shag an albino?” We had been at a party once where he had chatted up an albino woman. This was our inside joke through three agencies. “Yeah, it’s me, Kelly. Nanosuit. I’ll explain.”

He whispered through gritted teeth. “I’ll bloody kill you.”

I turned to the cafe and said, “And scene, ladies and gentlemen. Sorry for the scare. I wanted to get a natural reaction from him. Do you think I did?” The cafe applauded. “Come Nigel, let’s go,” I said, as I led him out of the cafe. I had no idea where this last part came from.

We walked about a block when he said, “Bloody hell, Kells.” He was laughing. “What the hell’s going on? I told you to lie low, not under.”

“Haha, Jeremy.”

“I mean, I know we’re all worried about turning forty, but you know, a smart pair of glasses, a new suit, maybe a sports car…”

“Having fun, Jeremy?” I laughed.

“Not as much as you apparently.” We sat on a bench. “Seriously, what the hell happened?” With that, I recounted the whole story, from my firing (which he knew) through the nanosuits through Iceland to here. When I finished, he said, “Hmmm.”

“Hmm? That’s all you have? Hmmm? And you’re a bloody creative director?”

He paused and twirled his glasses with his fingers. He paused, “We’ve known each other a long time, Kelly.” Whenever someone begins a sentence like that, you know it’s not good.

“Yeah, and?”

“Seems a bit odd the whole thing to me. I mean I don’t understand science. I don’t know how a circuit works much less all this,” he said, waving his hand up and down. “It just seems odd to me that all this happened by accident.” I started to get upset. Not at him per se, rather at myself. He was only saying what I had been thinking when I chose to think about it, which wasn’t often. I was too busy getting through each day and thinking about what was to come to think about what had been. I could feel the baby kick. He kicked when I got upset. I took some cleansing breaths like Dr. Patel recommended. I didn’t want the cortisol to get to the baby. “Are you OK, Kelly?” he said, with genuine concern. “I didn’t mean to get you upset.”

“I’m fine, Jeremy. Not to be weird, but the baby just kicked. He does that when I get upset. I know, weird, huh?”

He smiled. “That’s the least weird thing so far. I wasn’t suggesting anything, y’know. It’s just bloody strange. Like something off ‘Black Mirror.’”

I laughed. “Tell me about it. Anyway, if I haven’t blown up my chances today, I wanted to talk to you about getting work. Am I still persona non grata?”

He laughed. “You stopped being a topic about two and a half months ago. I mean, the millena-twats circled your cubicle like jackals before the seat got cold but everyone else,” and he made a pfft sound. On the one hand, I was glad that I had been forgotten. On the other hand, I had been forgotten. “We could probably get you back on assignment. Not B & Q, obvs.”

“Obvs.” It sounded ridiculous, two grown men saying ‘obvs.’ Well, one grown man and me. “I’d really appreciate anything you can do.”

“Short of cash?” he said, taking out his wallet.

“Put that away. I mean, yeah, I need the cash, but I’m kind of looking to get back to get back too. Get some of the old Kelly back.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Not sure that’s possible, mate. Or should I say, ‘babe?’” He grinned.

“That’s bloody sexist. I hope you don’t think I’m that sort of woman.”

“Oh, please, you silly cow. You slept with someone who promised you a job.”

“Areshole,” I laughed. “Like I’d sleep with you.”

“Have you slept with anyone? I mean besides Jamie.”

“Are you bloody seriously asking me that, you tosser?” I laughed. “God no. Fuck’s the matter with you?”

“You’ve got a bloody vag, mate. I’d think you’d want to give it a go and all,” he was laughing so hard, he could barely get the words out.

“You would. Besides, by the time I found out, I was three months gone. I don’t think anyone wants to be puked on during it.”

He laughed, “Been to Amsterdam? Anyway, I’d need to run it by Mark.” Suddenly, he smiled. “What do you say to scaring the crap out of him like you did me? You owe me that.”

“Sure,” I said. “Oh, by the way,” I said, taking out the Grazia. “Look at this shite people are putting out.” I turned to the page. “Lure him to your net? Christ.”

He laughed. “That’s ours.” He looked at the page. “That you?” he said, pointing to me.

I sighed. “Yes. I needed the money.”

He smiled. “I’d shag the other two before you.”

----------

I came home around 5 and started dinner. I had stopped by Waitrose, and picked up salmon, dill and asparagus. Between Rich and Jeremy, I was feeling good and wanted to make something special for Fi and Matt.

I had changed and was in the kitchen prepping everything when Matt came out of his room. He came over and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “Hey, Kells. How was your day? How was the meeting with your old boss?”

I smiled, thinking of the scene in the Costa. I was going to say something but figured I’d wait for Fi. “Good. How was programme? How’s your work colleague? Sasson? Sandra? What’s her name again?”

He laughed. “That’s got old, Kells. She’s good. She asked if she could see the sonogram.”

“Of course, she can!” I liked this girl.

We had a copy attached to the refrigerator with a magnet. Matt picked it up and looked at it. “It’s really bloody amazing,” he said, with a smile.

“It is,” I said. “I can’t believe it either.”

He looked at me and said, “Are you ever sorry about it? I mean that...I dunno...you’re like this?” He looked ashamed. “Sorry, it’s none of my business. Forget it.”

I put my arm around him. “Matt, don’t apologise. It’s totally normal to ask.”

“Are you sure?” I wasn’t sure how Fi would respond, but I felt I needed to answer. He, of all people, had a right, a need to know.

“Yes, I’m sure. Am I sorry about it?” I took a deep breath. “I mean I’m sorry how it happened. I didn’t choose this, it got chosen for me. And it was weird when I found out. And I was angry. At Jamie. And I still am. But am I sorry I’m like this? Not anymore. Not really.” That was the first time I had ever articulated that.

Then he said, “If you could have chosen it, would you have? Like if she had asked you beforehand?”

I was afraid to answer this question. First, I didn’t know what the answer should be. Matt was mature for fifteen, much more than I was at that age, but I imagine he had to be. Plus, they were exposed to a lot more information now than we were. On the other hand, living with a fifteen year old had taught me that they had infinite information but no context. I didn’t know how he would take whatever I said. Furthermore, I had no idea what the answer was. I genuinely didn’t, so I answered. “I really don’t know Matt. That’s kind of an impossible question.” He looked dissatisfied with that, so I continued. “She did this to me without asking. And to answer yes or no would be like validating what she did. Does that make sense?”

“Kinda.”

I could tell it didn’t. “So, it’s like if she had asked me, would I have? I dunno but she didn’t, and it’s hard to go back and imagine what I would have done had she done the right thing.” I took another deep breath. “Probably not.” He looked upset. I gave him a hug and looked him in the eyes. “But that’s because I didn’t know how amazing it was. I was a stupid guy back then.”

He smiled. “Can I ask another question?”

“Sure.”

“Do you ever think that this is who you really are?”

I dropped the knife I had in my hand and I started to cry uncontrollably. Matt came over and took me to a chair. The baby was kicking up a storm and I couldn’t stop to breathe. Matt put his arm around me and began to cry. “Sorry, Kells. I am so sorry. I am really, really sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. Please. Please. Please stop crying. Please. I am so sorry. I never said it. Please. I don’t mean to hurt you. I was wrong.” Now, we were holding each other, crying.

I regained my composure, sort of. “It’s OK, Matt,” I said, as he kept crying. “I know you didn’t mean anything by it. I know,” and I took a deep breath, “how hard it’s been for you. I mean I don’t know. I can’t know. I mean it’s a fair question to ask. I was just afraid to ask it.” I couldn’t believe I was saying this to a 15 year old. To Fi’s son. I had probably not just crossed, but obliterated, the line.

He stopped crying and rubbed his eyes. “I guess I just thought. I mean, it’s a suit. You could take off the suit and you didn’t. I just thought…”

“Do you want to talk, Matt? I’ll just listen.”

He looked at the floor, and then at me. “I don’t know. It’s just like since I was little, I dreamed of what you have. Like I could put on a suit and be a boy, be who I was. And it’s like all you want to do is tear off this suit, y’know?”

I thought about that first day, that first week. How I had pulled and scratched at it. “Yeah, I do. I actually do.”

“And everyone keeps trying to put you in the suit. Like, when you get older, you’ll really like it and you never do. And then they let me try on this suit and I like it, but no one else does. Like you’re this freak…”

I put my arm around him. “You’re not a freak. I know you’re not a freak. Saff doesn’t think you’re a freak.”

“Mum does,” he said, sadly.

“No, she doesn’t. She loves you.”

“I know she loves me,” he said. “But she still doesn’t understand.”

“She’s coming around. I mean I’m not defending her although I think you’re wrong about her. But, it’s like you give birth to this child,” and I put my hand on my belly. He had calmed down. “And you have these hopes and dreams and you want to protect them with all your power. To make sure they don’t get hurt. And,” I started to tear up again, “you see them hurting and you want to stop it and you can’t. You want them to be happy and healthy and comfortable and, when they aren’t, you feel like you failed. I think she feels like she failed you. Not because you’re you but because you were in pain for so long.”

He said, wiping his eyes, “She didn’t fail. This is me. I think she’d rather me be Saff.”

“That is absolutely not true, Matt. She loves you. She doesn’t want Saff. She wants you. I just think that, first your dad and then this, it was a lot to face. Your mum is the strongest woman I know. It was just too much. I mean, did she fight going to the gender specialist?”

“Erm, no.”

“Did she go to school to let you be Matt?”

“Erm, yes.”

“Does she let you have that bloody awful haircut?” I said, with a smile.

“Shut up,” he grinned.

“She loves you, Matt. She loves you. Matt. When we’ve been out, she always talks about her son. Not stammering. No stuttering. She talks about her son Matt. I think she probably has a hard enough time with you growing up at all.”

He came over and gave me a kiss. “Thanks, O.M.”

“O.M.?”

“Other mum,” he smiled.

----------------

I heard the knock on my door. It was about 11 P.M.

Fi said, “I saw the light on. I figured you were up.”

“Yeah. I can’t sleep.” As of late, I couldn’t fall asleep comfortably. I tended to sleep on my back but, as the baby got bigger, the weight made that more and more difficult. Plus, as Dr. Patel had told me at the last appointment, “pregnancy loosens the joints to prepare you for childbirth,” which made me shudder a little. And made me excited. Which also made me shudder.

Fi laughed, “I can’t imagine why. My god, look at all these pillows!” To make myself more comfortable, I had a pillow under my head, and one under my belly and another between my legs. Oh, and one behind my back, just in case. “Where do you sleep?” She started picking up the pillows off the bed.

“Where are you taking my pillows?” I said.

“To my room,” she said, matter-of-factly. “Grab those two, OK?”

“Fi, I can’t take your bed. Where will you sleep?”

She smiled. “My bed. It’s a king size, Kells. There’s more than enough room.”

I thought of John’s side, the way that she hadn’t moved anything since he died. The way that even the sheet on his side stayed flat. “Are you sure?” I said.

She smiled. “I’m sure. It’s just us girls.” Yup, just us girls. “Don’t try any funny business,” she said, laughing.

“I don’t think I could even find my business, with this belly and all,” I joked. “Seriously, thanks, Fi.”

She gave me a light kiss on the lips. “Stop it. You deserve a good night’s sleep.”

We dragged all of my pillows into Fi’s room. I gingerly got into the bed, not wanting to disrupt anything on John’s side. It felt strange to sleep in a big bed after all these months. Even in Iceland, we only had a large double.

Fi watched me get ready for bed with barely contained amusement. I had developed a system for positioning my pillows. First, the pillow between my legs. I would place between my legs then lay down. Then, the belly pillow. After three months in the single, I knew where to place it. Now, in a king size bed, I didn’t know where. Fi watched me squirm around and try and position myself until, sufficiently exasperated, she came over and said, “Oh, let me help you.” She placed it under my belly just so.

“You didn’t go through this with Matty?”

She smiled and looked up. “Sorry. It’s been a while. I did. Eventually, John went and bought me one big body pillow. Said he didn’t want to sleep in the Marks and Sparks bedding department.” She sniffled a little.

“Sorry Fi, I didn’t mean…”

“Nonsense, Kells. I know you didn’t. It all goes so fast.” She regained her composure. “Let’s put this one behind your back,” she said, fluffing it. “How does that feel?”

“Thanks, Fi. This feels much better. Thank you.”

She leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “Of course. Goodnight, Kells.”

“Goodnight, Fi.” It took me a while to fall asleep. Partly because of the baby. Even in a larger bed, I was still six months along. Mostly, because I was in Fi’s bed. But it was just us girls.

---

I looked at picture on the fridge, slightly obscured by the two magnets. One the shape of an orange, the other a cherry. I hadn’t been able to stop myself coming back to it for days now. Sitting down, I felt Fi’s hand on my shoulder.

“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?”

“He is,” she squeezed my shoulder. “He’ll be a handsome boy, what with his mother’s genes.”

I assumed she meant me, but I thought of Jamie.

“Do you want something to drink? Elderflower tonic?”

“Hmmm? Yes thanks,” I patted her hand before she took it away. I watched her back as she moved around the kitchen. Since we started sharing a bed, it was like we were playing house. “Matt will be home soon, I should put dinner on.”

“Don’t be silly, we’ll get a take-away, my treat.”

I tried to push myself up, not an easy task anymore, “I don’t want the two of you surviving on take-away when I’m away.” It was weeks away but I’d already begun freezing meals for them.

She pushed me back down in the chair with relative ease. “We survived before you, Mary Poppins.”

I could see her mind was made up. Perhaps I had been going crazy with the healthy eating, “I hear Indian food is supposed to be good…”

“That’s for getting the baby out of you,” she laughed.

I clutched my stomach, as if frightened my son was going to fall out. My son. I played with the concept in my head. Fiona had picked up her phone and was typing out a text. “I’ll let him know what we’re planning,” she said. “Where is he tonight?”

“I think they’re having movie night for the volunteers.” I smiled, thinking of him and Saff holding hands, maybe sneaking a kiss before the others would make kissing noises and silly comments. “Captain America - Civil War, I think. He should be home soon.”

She shrugged. “I’m glad he’s so involved with programme,” she said, looking a little guilty. “I mean I’m very proud of him and everything,” her shoulders sank,

“It’s just this is the last summer before he leaves high school. I had hoped to see more of him…”

I felt bad. The time was approaching when I’d need to tell her about Saff. I felt conflicted. I liked sharing a secret with Matt. He asked me not to, but she was his mum.

“We’ll wait for Matt.” I waddled over to the laptop and opened up Hungry House, looking for Indian.

We waited, and waited. After about an hour and a half, the hunger became too much for us and we ordered, Fi making sure to include Sag Aloo and a garlic naan for Matt. “We can always reheat it when he gets in,” I tried to reassure her.

I kept looking at my phone. It was past 10pm now. It wasn’t unusual for Matt to stay out late; it was unusual for him to fail to at least text. I knew he’d be with Saff. I could remember how easy it was to lose your sense of time during the flush of first love. To lose any sense. Still I needed to tell Fi. She wasn’t even able to concentrate on Line of Duty.

My phone started buzzing making me jump. I didn’t recognise the number, “Er, hello?”

“Is this Kelly Cooper?” I vaguely recognised the voice.

“Urm yes, who’s this?”

“Richard. Richard Mitchell. We met at the park. Saffron gave me your number,” he said uncertainly. My blood ran cold. “Kelly, there’s no easy way to say this. I’m in hospital with Matt and Saff.” There was a long pause, one in which I could feel every beat of my heart, “I’m afraid Matt has been assaulted.”

“What?” I said. “Is he OK?” I heard myself speaking, as if I was listening in on someone else. My voice was loud and shrill.

Fi came over, “What? What’s wrong?” The look in her face told me that she knew before I said anything.

“Matt. Is in hospital. Assault.” Richard said more, but the buzzing in my head drowned most of it out. All I could focus on was Fiona’s face, all the colour having drained away. I heard him say, “they say the injuries are serious.” I gasped, nearly dropping the phone.

“… and they want to keep an eye on him.”

“Sorry, Richard. I dropped my phone what was that?”

“He’s in a bad way, but he’ll live.”

“Oh thank God!”

Richard hung up, muttering something that made it clear he was in no mood to discuss God at that moment. I looked up. Fiona was looking at me, her expression one of total fear.

The next few minutes passed like some waking nightmare. I gathered up some clothes for Matt in a bag. The pyjamas he never wore, a few t-shirts, pants and jeans. Fiona was catatonic, moving like a trauma victim. I had to steer her out of the door. On the way, she tried to pick up her car keys. I pried them from her hand. She just looked at me like I’d asked her an extremely difficult question. The car journey was remarkably easy. Thankfully by that hour the streets had cleared.

“So,” Fiona seemed to be coming back to earth, “Who was that? On the phone, you seemed to know them.”

“The dad of one of the volunteers. We met at the park thing.”

She nodded her head slowly. I wondered how much of it she understood.

“Fi, there’s something I need to tell you,”

She turned towards me, she looked like she was trying to listen through a terrible headache.

“The guy, well his daughter. Matt has a kind of a thing for her. And her him. They have a thing. For each other.”

There was silence. Fiona just looked at me.

“OhmyGodFiI’msoooosorryIshouldhavetoldyouearlierbutIthoughtitwasjustacrushthenitwasmoreandIdidn’tknowwhattodo.” I had to stop, if only so I could breathe.

Fiona just nodded. We reached the hospital and parked up. As I found a pay machine, Fiona looked at me, unable to speak. She walked towards the door. “Go,” I said, “I’ll come find you.” I nearly added ‘If you still want me to.’

I found the room number from the reception. The journey up in the lift felt like my last walk on death row. What state would Matt be in? Would he want to see me? Would Fiona let me? I felt bad for worrying about myself.

As I neared the room, I could see Saff and Richard. Saff was in tears, sobbing into his chest.

“Hey,” I said softly. They both looked up.

Saff took me by surprise when she launched herself up, rocket like, throwing her arms around my neck.

“Oh Kelly, it was awful,” Her body shook with every sob. I looked over at Richard. He stood behind her. I felt a huge amount of pity for him. He looked so lost and helpless.

“Fiona? Matt’s mum?” I asked. He nodded at the closed door. “What happened?”

Saff crumpled, crying even harder than before. The girl must drink pints of water back to back to be able to produce so many tears.

“It was Saff’s cousin, my nephew, and some friend,” and he spat the word ‘friend’ like a curse. Richard clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. At that moment, his phone started buzzing.

Richard looked at Saff. “It’s your mother.” Saff shook her head furiously. He walked away, looking at the phone, agitated.

Saff and I sat, her still clinging to me. “It was horrible,” she said. “They followed us, saying,” and she convulsed with sobs, “terrible things. Matt said to ignore them and walked away, but they kept following us. But, then Amadou’s friend...he grabbed me...and Matt tried to…” her voice trailed off, her head in her hands.

Richard returned. He was angry. Saff looked at him and then leapt up.

“I’m not leaving here. I’m NOT!” She balled her fists, unconsciously mirroring her father’s earlier gesture. “I’m staying here until Matt gets out. I don’t care what SHE says.” I could have kissed her.

Richard smiled at her, less a smile of happiness than relief. “I wouldn’t ask you to,” and he stroked her face.

“And I will NEVER go back if Amadou’s there!”

Richard saw the look of determination in her face and got a look of what I could only call pride. “We’ll cross that bridge if we need to. If we have to we’ll stay with your Aunty Ruth.”

I saw the door to the room open and Fi came out. I could only catch a quick glimpse of Matt, tubes running from his nose and an IV in his arm. My heart stopped, wondering why he needed that. Fi walked over, took my arm and pulled me to one side. ‘Well this was it,’ I thought, bracing myself for the worst, which I deserved. I’d let her and Matt down.

When we were out of earshot, I tried to pre-empt my bollocking, “Look Fi, I can’t apologise enough. I’ll pack my bags and be gone before you get back,” Fiona watched me as I spoke, her expression unreadable, “I’m sure Bill will take me…”

She looked at me. “What?”

“This is my fault. I hid this from you. If I had told you, we could’ve stopped this.”

She laughed. “Really? A 36 year old mum and a six months pregnant girl?” I started to say something about mums lifting cars off children but she put a finger to my mouth. She pulled me into a hug, which was not easy given the size of my stomach. “Thank you.”

“Thank you?” my voice was a little muffled as my face was crushed into her neck,

“I’m so glad Matt is able to talk to you. I can’t believe I’ve pushed him away…”

“No, no it’s me. I should have told you. You’re his mother.”

She held my chin up, so I could see her gaze, “You’re his mother too.” I cried.

Fiona took me in to see Matt. It was hard to see him lying there taking shallow breaths. His right eye was swollen shut. The bruises on his face, and there were many, had already begun to turn purple. A horrible, nightmarish purple.

Shortly after that, two police detectives arrived, a man and a woman. It was gone midnight by then and both looked tired. He had a neatly cut beard and spoke with a West Midlands accent. She was short with a bowl haircut.

“My name is DS Leach, you can call me Susan. This is my colleague DC Alderson.”

“Thomas,” he introduced himself.

We nodded in unison, not really sure what we were supposed to say.

“Can I ask which one of you is the mother?”

Fiona spoke before I had chance to, “We both are.” I took her hand.

“Of course,” Susan smiled weakly. “And the girlfriend?”

“That’s me.” Saff was standing behind the officers.

They asked us lots of questions. Had Matt being having much trouble at school, who are his friends etc. I felt bad because Fiona had to look to me to answer. After a while, Susan began directing her questions at me directly. Fiona stayed silent, her hand holding on tight to mine. Eventually, they took Saff and her dad into a different room to take their statements.

“Why are they asking so many questions?” Fiona took her hand away, crossing her arms.

“I suspect they need to establish a timeline, make sure everything connects up.” I’d watched a lot of police procedurals.

Fiona just nodded after a while she spoke, “It felt like we were on trial.”

The night turned into a blur. None of us could sleep and we slipped into an unspoken rhythm. There were two of us ‘girls’ by Matt’s bedside at any one time. The nurses wouldn’t let any more people into the room. I suspected it was so they could get in quickly in case of an emergency. I didn’t say anything to Fiona.

Around 4 AM, Richard tapped me on the shoulder. “Why don’t we go downstairs for a bite? You could probably do with something, as I recall,” he said with a smile, looking at Saff. The writer in me would say that he was remembering when his wife was pregnant with Saff, an easier time, one of hope. Saff went to get up and Richard said, “why don’t you stay here? Keep Matt’s mum company.”

Saff looked to me for help. “Don’t worry,” I said, “Fi doesn’t bite.” Fi laughed. Saff looked less than convinced.

“How are you holding up?” We were out in the corridor when Richard spoke.

“Urgh, I’m not. Just about keeping it together. You?”

“It’s all so strange. I just cannot understand how this happened. I just don’t,” and he shook his head, letting the sentence trail off.

We looked at a site map on the wall, trying to find the canteen.

“Do you think it’ll be open?”

He shrugged, “We’ll have to find out.”

The service area was closed, but the canteen was open, at least to sit in. There were several vending machines. I dithered for a while about risking a coffee. In the end, I chose a herbal tea and a chocolate bar as the lesser of two evils. Richard chose a black coffee, lots of sugar.

“What is your nephew - Amadou, right?” He nodded as I continued, “What’s he like?”

“Well up until now I’d have said Amadou’s nice, if a little intense,” he sighed, “Ellen’s brother sent him here to keep him out of harm’s way. When he started going to church with Ellen, we were pleased. There’s so much stuff out there to tempt teenagers, crime, drink, drugs, the usual, especially when you’re new. Perhaps we were looking in the wrong places.” He rubbed his temples.

“You know if you and Saff wanted to nip off and get a few hours sleep, I’m sure we could manage.”

He laughed hoarsely, “Like she’ll let that happen. I won’t even try, I’m not that stupid.” Then he looked away, “Also, I won’t take her back until I’m sure Amadou isn’t there.”

“You don’t think the police will have arrested them?”

“I don’t know,” he looked down at the table. “Ellen isn’t exactly communicating with me.”

I almost jumped up, baby and all. “She can’t possibly be defending him!”

“No. Not the attack at least. She just doesn’t think Saff should be seeing Matt,” he took a deep breath, “And she thinks maybe Matt provoked them a little.”

I slammed my fists on the table with such force that I woke the junior doctor napping at a table near the back. We looked at the junior doctor’s bemused expression and then at each other. We laughed.

He looked at his hands. “I can’t say I understand it. I’m a Quaker, a nice English religion. Raffles, cake sales and a past that includes using Christianity to excuse the evil of colonization. The nearest we have to extremism these days is passive aggressive emails.”

“How can someone as sweet as Saff come from someone so… bigoted. Sorry, I know she’s your wife… but.”

“Look, Ellen is a wonderful mother in most ways. And maybe we can’t understand it. She was a Christian in a mostly Muslim country, then a black woman in a white nation. The church was the one thing her family had. I don’t believe what she believes and I don’t condone what happened,” he sighed. “People are complex. Never entirely good, but not entirely bad either.”

I offered him a piece of my chocolate and we alternated silence and chatting, mostly about nothing. The weather - good, for now; the government - bad, for the foreseeable future, football - I was an Arsenal supporter. Apparently, Richard and Saff were a big Liverpool fans and had offered to take Matt to a game. I was surprised to hear that Matt had been enthusiastic about the idea. Outside the window, the sun rose over East London. It was going to be another beautiful day.

When we returned to the room, I was surprised to find Fiona and Saff laughing. Judging by the watery glints in their eyes, there had been some crying as well.
“Did you know that Matt tried to get everyone at school to call him Matt-dog last year?” Fiona looked at me. It was good to see her smiling again.
“No, but I think it’s probably a good thing he’s unconscious right now.”
Fiona looked at Saff, “Go lie down, Saff,” she said, rubbing her hand. Saff did look tired. We all did.
Saff looked frantically between Fiona and her dad, “I’m not leaving him!”

I put my hand on Saff’s shoulder. “There’s a family room down the hall. Go lie down for a while. If there’s any change, we, I, will come get you.” She didn’t look sold.
“Come on,” her dad gestured, “You’ll be no use to Matt if you fall asleep as soon as he wakes.”
Once they had left I sat down next to Fiona, “How about you?”
“I’m not moving,” she replied firmly. I leaned my head on her shoulder. “He looks so peaceful,” she mumbled.
“He’ll pull through. He has to.”

She smiled. “Well, you’re really a mother now Kells. This is what it’s all about. All worry and little or no power to do anything about it.”
We sat there for a long time, just staring at Matthew, as if we could will him better.
“You should wash up Fi,” I squeezed her shoulder.
“Huh?”
“Go splash some water on your face, get a coffee. I can keep an eye on him.”
She didn’t speak, just nodded. She moved slowly out of the room, poised ready to dart back at the first sign of movement.
With Fiona gone, I moved up one seat so I was closer to him. His fringe was plastered to his forehead. As gently as I could I pushed a few strands of hair out of his eyes.
He blinked. I assumed it was involuntarily, until I heard him weakly say, “Aunty Kells?”
I nearly jumped out of my skin. “Matt!”
“Where am I Kells?” His voice was weak and frightened. It reminded me of when he was little.
“You’re in hospital Matty. Everything is going to be OK.”

He moaned, pain written across his face. “How’s Saff? Is she OK?” He looked panicked.

“She’s fine, Matty,” I said, rubbing his hand, taking care to avoid the IV. “She wouldn’t leave your side all night. She’s just down the hall. I’ll go get her and your mum,” I said, trying to lift myself up.

He started to tear up. “No, please don’t. Please stay.”
I hugged him as best as I could. “It’s OK. You’re safe now. It’s going to be OK.” I didn’t know that but had to believe it. “I promise.”

From the door, I heard, “Matt!” I saw Fi in the doorway. “Thank God!” I pulled myself up and moved out of the way. The rest was an explosion of relief, hugs and tears.

While Fiona fussed over him, I went to fetch Saff and Richard. When I came in, Saff was lying, head on her dad’s lap while he gently stroked her head. He looked at me as if to figure out what was going on. I smiled.

He gently shook Saff. “Honey,” he said tenderly.

She opened her eyes and I told her the news. She leapt up and ran past me.

Half an hour later, the doctor examined Matt.

He pulled Fiona and me aside. “Well, besides the contusions on his face, he has two broken ribs and a bruised kidney. All in all though, he’s a lucky young man.”

“Lucky?” Fi and I both said. “How can you say he’s lucky?”

“Sorry. That may seem callous, but thankfully the shite, excuse me, that did this to him only kicked him in straight on the face. Had they kicked the side, he could be looking at brain damage or worse. And the kicks to the side only bruised the kidney, not lacerated it. He will recover from these injuries with hopefully no long-term damage.”

I felt like I breathed for the first time in hours and spontaneously hugged him. Fi laughed while he looked confused and said, “Uh, you’re welcome?”

While Saff fussed over Matt, Fi led me out of the room. “I saw you talking to Matt earlier, when you thought I wasn’t there.”
“Sorry Fi, I wanted to come get you but I couldn’t leave him alone…” I stopped because Fiona had taken hold of both of my hands. She pulled me into a long kiss.

“Kells, stop. Thank you for everything. Not just tonight but all the time. For being there for him. For...being his mum. The perfect mum. For...” and she stopped.

“What?”

“I could not ask for a better partner. A better…” and she paused again.

I took a deep breath, “Wife?”

She nodded. “Yes. Sorry.”

I smiled, “Don’t be,” and I took her hand. I was too tired and too happy to think.

She whispered, “I love you, Kells.”

“I love you too.” My head was spinning as we walked back into the room. Too many feels, as Matt would say. I didn’t know where to start. I only just remembered to let go of Fiona’s hand before Matt and the others saw us. Perhaps it was just my imagination, but as I caught his eye, Matt seemed to be giving me a satisfied smile.

---

Matt was in hospital for a week. By the second full day, he was up and shuffling along the halls, taking his IV pole with him. Fi and I walked on the either side, each holding an arm.

He laughed, “I’m not an invalid, you two.”

“Sorry, Matt,” Fi said, “We were….”

He rolled his eyes. “I know. I know. You were just so worried.” I laughed, glad to see the old Matt coming back, slowly but surely. We went past the nurse’s station, the nurses smiling at us as we walked past. We were a sight. A boy, his mum and his pregnant 25 year old other mum.

The week was a constant cycle of Matt’s friends, from school and the programme. The boys brought an XBox which they convinced the hospital maintenance staff to let them set up. It wasn’t hard; the janitors would come on off hours to play FIFA and GTA, bringing sweets that I guessed got lost on its way from the supply room to the service area. The nurses let it go, “as long as you keep it quiet.” They did as best as 15 and 16 year old boys could, which was poorly. The girls all fussed over him, bringing him snacks and balloons and cards. Matt enjoyed it immensely. Saff was, to say the least, not best pleased.

She pulled me into the hall. “Look at her,” she said, staring daggers through a horse-faced girl named Charlotte, “Oooh, Matty. You were so brave. Stupid cow.” I was surprised that she was willing to leave the room, although she never took her eyes off the door.

I smiled. “Saff, please. Like he would have anything to do with her.” I felt bad criticising this girl who was only trying to be nice, but I liked Saff better. “Besides, Fiona’s in there. She’ll make sure.”

“Yeah, well….”

She and I had been getting closer before everything, and had become closer now. “Saff,” I said, smiling, “would we let anything happen?” Fi had become very fond of Saff. She said that she was a good girl who cared for Matt. If I thought about it, I think she made it easier for Fi to see Matt as he was, a normal teenage boy. Saff smiled and I continued. “How’re things at home?”

“Dad says not good.” Saff had been staying with her aunt Ruth. “Says everyone back there has been calling mum constantly, asking how she could let all this,” she sneered, ‘all this’ “happen. Like it’s her fault the police took him. I mean, other than it was.” Since it happened, she wouldn’t speak to her mom. She blamed her for what Amadou did.

“Saff, Amadou and the other one,” I couldn’t bear to say his name, “did this. No one else.”

“Yeah, well, it’s all her bollocks that caused this. They remember all that Leviticus shite, but not Galatians or Matthew.” I was barely Anglican, my father taking us on Christmas Eve and Easter, unless we complained loudly enough and then we didn’t go. Our church was the VCR, our god Blackadder. I must’ve looked confused, because she said, “there is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor male or female, for you are all one in Christ.’ ‘Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and ignore the log in your own?’ Yeah, she dragged me enough. Guess I didn’t learn the right stuff.”

I was at a loss for words. I felt awful. No one this young should be this angry. “Saff, the police will take care of this. And whatever’s up there will take care of that.” I wasn’t sure what I believed but that wasn’t a discussion for Saff and me. “Matt’s going to be OK and that’s what’s important.”

Fi walked out of the room and Saff ran back in. There were five other kids in the room but the cost of young love was apparently eternal vigilance. We watched her stomp in and move Charlotte out of the way. “She’s a tough one,” said Fi, with no lack of admiration.

I laughed. “Reminds me of someone.” She put her hand on my leg. We had since stopped trying to hide public displays of affection, well as much as any two self respecting English women would. “Poor kid. She’s so angry.”

“So am I,” Fi said. “I can’t believe she hasn’t even tried to come around.” I knew who ‘she’ was.

“Richard has.” He had come every day. He brought cards from Addo and Amie. Amie’s was a riot of horses and rainbows and multiple marker colors. Addo’s said, “Get better soon,” and had a stick figure.

“He’s not her. It wasn’t his nephew that did this. It wasn’t his church that spread all that hate.”

---

Dressing for work didn’t use to be this hard. Most of the male creatives I knew walked around with their arses hanging out of their designer jeans. I hadn’t really paid attention to the female creatives. I remembered short skirts but I wasn’t really in a place to wear that nor was I sure that I would have wanted to be.

Fiona said, “You’re fortunate that you’re pregnant. Otherwise, it’s smart, but not too smart. Nothing overly revealing, because you don’t want the other women to think you’re like that. But you don’t want to cover up too much either, no one likes a prude. But, lucky for you, you don’t have to think that way yet.” Lucky. That was me. Lucky back pain. Lucky leaking from my breasts. Lucky incontinence. That’s me, Ms. Lucky. I was so focused on my ‘good’ luck that I ignored ‘yet.’ After several costume changes, I settled on a white shirt and a black mid-length pencil skirt. I felt awkward going to work in a skirt, if only for what Jeremy would say, but Fi said, “take it from me, it will be the most comfortable.” I chose my black trainers as I felt they’d be comfortable and match my skirt.

Jeremy was having his fun, showing me around the office. With his hand on the small of my back he led me into the ideas room.

“So everyone, let me introduce you to Kelly. That’s Kelly..?” He turned to look at me, I realised I hadn’t given him a fake surname.

I couldn’t use Cooper and wouldn’t use Rogerson. “Walters,” I said without thinking too much.

“Hi,” the three millennials waved at me. I recognised all of them. The two women, Otty and Liv came as a pair. They had come up together at Saatchi and joined us at the same time about two years ago. As far as I knew, they regarded the old Kelly as part of the furniture. Josh was a silent type who, if I was honest, had got on my nerves. Maybe it was the lumberjack beard on a face, a baby face, that never did a day’s physical labor, or perhaps it was the way he buttoned the top of his shirt up even when he wasn’t wearing a tie. All I knew about him outside of work was that he’d been to a Steiner School.

“Hey,” I took their hands one by one. At first I was unsure why they were still smiling until I realised they saw me as one of them. We chatted for awhile, what campaigns we’d worked on (I edited mine down slightly) and what I might be working on.

“I’m thinking of putting Kelly with Josh, help with the TK Maxx brochure. Give the female perspective,” He was loving it. Even the daggers Otty and Liv were staring at him didn’t take the shine off his shit-eating grin. “OK, I’m going to take Kelly into the office and talk details.”

As he led me away I caught Liv talking to Otty, “Typical, they get younger and younger.” I nearly laughed out loud when I realised she meant me. Get used to it. There’s always someone younger and newer.

“So what do you think of our offices Kelly?” Jeremy asked as he closed his office door behind me.

“Very much like my old place.”

“Seriously, how are you doing. How’s Matt?”

“Getting better. He’s back at home now. Fi’s taken some time off to be with him. To be honest I think he’ll be glad to have a break from two mothers fussing over him.”

Jeremy raised his eyebrows but I just looked straight back at him, not flinching. After all that Matt had been through, I owed him my honesty.

“Well good, let’s get down to business,” Jeremy was a little flustered. “So you will be coming back on a short term contract until November when you’re due. Two days a week, one in the office and one working remotely.”

I nodded, this is what we’d agreed.

“We think it’s best if your office day is Wednesday. We want you around for the weekly staff get-together,” Inwardly I sighed. The Staff get-together/meeting was the worst part of my working week. Everyone eager to prove how important their little project is. Meant to last an hour and a half they often ended up taking up the whole afternoon. Still, if they wanted to pay me to be bored out of my skull for half a day that was up to them so I said ‘OK’.

We chatted for a while, mostly about what had been happening in the office over the last few months. To be honest it was a relief. The internal politics that used to bore were a pleasant distraction. To be honest they just didn’t matter the way they used to.

“Right, let’s get started. I’m putting you with Josh for today. He can bring you up to date on the TK Maxx account.”

“Josh?” I couldn’t hide my annoyance.

“Yes Josh, he’s really stepped up since you left. And no one knows that account better.”

“It’s like totally awesome and everything,” I spoke in my best Trustafarian accent. It was probably unfair of me.

Jeremy led me out into the office, over to where Josh was sitting. I noticed it was my old spot.

“So Josh, I want you to take Kelly through the account. She’s very experienced for one so young so hopefully she can take quite a bit of work off your plate.”

With that Jeremy shook my hand and disappeared. I stood there feeling like it was my first day at big kid’s school.

Josh must have noticed my discomfort, “Kelly, let me get you a seat. Don’t mind Jeremy, he’s not that bad really.” Once we were seated he started taking me through the work. I was pleased to see it wasn’t anything too strenuous. The company had a new line coming out for Christmas and wanted to produce a promotional brochure for the free papers. It was mostly writing copy on how this skirt and those pairs of jeans were the latest thing. Bringing together various quotes from different fashion bloggers. The sort of stuff I could do in my sleep.

“I’m sure you can cope. If I can do it, anyone can,” He smiled, stroking his beard in a way that seemed older than his years.

I laughed, “The way Jeremy tells it you’ve been running this place,” since I left, “the last few months.”

“Well we had a bit of a crisis about six months ago. The old head copywriter left under something of a cloud.” I bit my lip, he must have taken it as a sign I wanted to know more. He leaned in, “Apparently he’s supposed to have insulted a couple of clients in some blog.” I couldn’t look him in the eyes, “Personally I liked the guy. He was a bit grumpy but he always made me laugh. I suppose his heart wasn’t in it anymore. Then again who still wants to be a copywriter in their 40s?”
40s? Bastard! “Well not me.”

“So what’s your escape plan?”

“I’m a writer,” He laughed and rolled his eyes. “No really! I have an agent,” he continued to chuckle. “Susan Crisp is my editor and everything.”

“We’ll, colour me impressed,” his smile seemed genuine enough, “most of us have our ‘novel’ hidden away in a drawer somewhere. Good for you for going for it.”

“There’s no need to be so condescending,” I teased him.

“Well, I learned from the best,” he glanced in the direction of Jeremy’s office. We both laughed.

In the past I’d need a strong coffee and half an hour with my emails before I could face the real work of the day. Now it didn’t seem so bad. Perhaps it was the time away, maybe knowing I had Fiona, Matt and little ‘Humphrey’ waiting for me gave me greater perspective. Either way by the time it reached lunch I had two drafts of the opening paragraph written up and about five taglines.

“Hi Kelly,” I turned to see Otty standing over me, “do you want to join us for lunch,” She gestured back to Liv and another girl she introduced as Ffion. I glanced over at Jeremy’s office. Somehow I’d thought the two of us would be having lunch together. Thinking on it I realised it would have looked funny. It wasn’t like we had lunch together that often back when I was the male Kelly.

“Sure, where are you thinking?”

Sils, short for Silvester’s, was a small, family run Italian café on the edge of Shoreditch. The original Silvester had been an Italian immigrant who had come to London in the 20s to escape Mussolini. The family who owned it now are Portuguese but it still specialised in good, simple food that was what past for affordable in London. I ordered a parmesan cheese and tomato panini, the other three went for salad or soup.

“You’re so lucky to be able to eat that,” Liv indicated my sandwich, “The closer I get to thirty, the longer it stays on my thighs.” At most she was 3 years older than I looked. Just you wait, I thought.

“Well, I’m eating for two.” I patted my belly.

“How mad is it?” Otty spoke, but all three leaned in.

“Is it really hard? You know working as well?” Ffion asked, “I don’t know if I could do it. You must have a very supportive partner.”

I decided to get it all out there. “I do. She is. But the father isn’t around anymore. He kind of left me in the shit.” As a man I’d have to put a brave face on things, pretend nothing fazed me. As a woman, I could enjoy my peer’s reaction.
“Fucking bastard!” exclaimed Liv. And that was one of the kinder comments.

I knew that I’d not need to repeat myself. I trusted Otty, Liv and Ffion to pass the news around, and they rose to the challenge beautifully. By the end of the day, the women in the office had adopted me as some sort of celebrity cause and I had been made more cups of tea than my bladder could cope with.

As the others left around 6ish I hung around. I knew Jeremy would offer me a lift home and I didn’t fancy the crowded tube or a never ending bus ride. As I waited, one eye on his office door my phone buzzed. I looked down and my heart leapt. It was from Jamie. He hadn’t tried to contact me in months. My hand trembling slightly I opened the message;

‘The film has wrapped. I’m back in London. We need to talk’

I read it through four times but still it gave me no more information.

“Miss Walters, I trust that you’re not spending your day on social media.” I jumped. Jeremy was behind me. He caught a look at my face, “I’m only kidding. I didn’t mean it…”

“It’s not you,” I sighed. “Can we go somewhere? I need to talk to someone.”

I stood outside the flat, staring at my phone. I didn’t want to call her. I wasn’t ready and, instead of looking at why, I had convinced myself that she had no right to hear from me. I knew, however, that I had to. Jeremy and I had gone for a drink (half a pint of some mini-brewer’s ale for him, club soda for me) and he had convinced me that I had to do it.

“Look mate, what she did was beyond contempt but she’s still the father of the child,” he said, with a little chuckle. “Sorry, it really isn’t funny. More fucked up.”

I laughed. “You think? Anyway…”

“She’s still the child’s parent. Whatever you think of her, she is that.”

“I don’t want to deal with her.”

“You have to. You want to go to court over this? Drag this through the mud?” I shook my head. “You two are going to be parents together. Be civil to each other. My mum and dad,” I knew they were divorced, “were at each other’s throats through my childhood. They played a game of keepy-uppy and me and my sister were the ball.” He laughed, swirling his drink around, “None of that conscious uncoupling for them. Bloody war, damn the victims. Fuck ‘er, Fuck ‘im,” I could hear the Brummie accent he worked so hard to lose coming back. He regained composure, “Look mate. Whether you two fail as a couple, don’t fail as parents. You’re going to have birthdays and weddings and graduations together. Show little Jeremy,” he grinned and I stuck my finger down my throat, “how to be good people.” It was funny. Jeremy and I had spent countless hours in countless pubs. I knew his parents were divorced only because he’d mentioned his father’s wife. Once. In fourteen years. We would never have said anything beyond that and now it felt normal.

“Thanks Jeremy,” I said. Over my shoulder, I saw a woman, about 32, the north end of Jeremy’s interest, looking over at the table, checking him out and trying to figure out who we were to each other. Just then, I said, loudly enough for her to hear, “Mum will be so surprised when you show up for dad’s retirement,” and I gave him a kiss.

“Bloody hell mate,” he whispered.

“Shut up you arse,” I said, with a smile. “There’s a woman over your shoulder who’s interested. Go over, you wanker.” He turned around and they checked each other out. “Thanks, sis. Remember don’t tell mum.”

Jeremy and the woman, Victoria chatted each other up, while I checked out my phone. I hoped that the message from Jamie had disappeared and that I didn’t have to face this. It didn’t. After fifteen minutes, I walked over and said, “I’ll go catch the Overground. You two stay.”

Jeremy said, “Nonsense. I’m not sending my little sister home alone. Victoria, dinner next week, right?” Victoria smiled as he continued, “these young girls, so sure of themselves. Why, dad would have my neck if I sent you home alone,” and he shook his head. “Come, I’ll fetch the car.” We left the bar.

Jeremy laughed, “I like this angle. The concerned older brother. Bloody chick magnet. Can that suit keep you pregnant longer than nine months?”

“Sick bastard. Using a poor young girl in the family way for your lewd and lascivious purposes.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he laughed. “Anyway, you going to call her?”

I sighed. “Yes. You're right. I owe little Boris Nigel Cameron, any other name than Jeremy, that much.”

We pulled up to the flat. “If you need anything, call me,” he said.

I sat on the porch, took out my phone and stared at it. I took a deep breath and hit the number.

“Hello?” The voice said. It was deep and unfamiliar.

“May I speak with Jam-James, please?” I had grown used to my new voice but now it rang strangely in my ears, like another woman was here.

“Who is this?” The voice said. In the background, I heard another unfamiliar voice say, ‘give me that.’

Voice 2 said, “Kelly?” I hadn't heard her new voice in months and the hurt came flooding back. I tried to remember the good times but drew a blank. It was as if we had no history before 20 February, the day I had been fired.

“Jamie?” I suddenly felt short of breath. I gripped the arm of the bench, wondering whether to hang up.

“It's so good to hear your voice,” James said. I couldn't call her ‘her,’ but ‘him’ sounded absurd. Like Alex, James was James. Neither male nor female. “How are you?”

I wasn't ready for even the most banal pleasantries. “You said we needed to speak. Why?” I was best pleased with myself that I could keep it like this.

James said, “I’m back in London. I would like to see you.”

“That's not a need, James,” I said coldly.

“I knew if I said that I wanted to see you, you wouldn't respond.”

For once in our relationship , I said out loud what I was thinking. “So you thought you'd lie to me - again. What is it you want, James?”

“I just want to see you,” James said softly. “It's been almost five months.” I could hear the old vulnerability, the kind Jamie showed every time a casting agent told her she was too old or her eyes were too far apart, coming through.

“That was your choice.” I wasn’t going to give an inch.

“You left,” James said, getting defensive.

I took a deep breath and thought of Matt and what he went through - and what he still had to face. That was important. This was not, not yet. “James, not now. “

“I understand that. We each hurt each other,” James said. This was one of her old tricks, to try and create mutual blame. By admitting that she bore partial responsibility, she made me feel like a bad person for not sharing in it. Maybe it was the male voice or maybe the months away, but I wasn't interested. I did nothing wrong.

Yet, I wasn't ready for a full on fight, not yet and not here. “You hurt me,” and before James could say anything, I said, “but this is neither the time nor the place.”

James’ voice brightened. “Does that mean you’ll see me?”

“Not until next week, at the earliest. If at all.”

“Please, Kelly.”

James and I had a long history. James had been the only person that I had ever told in depth about my mother. Well, now James, Fiona and Matt. “It’s not you,” then I paused, “well, not only you.” I wanted to hurt James a little. “I don't have the bandwidth now. Bill found her and we're seeing her Friday.”

James gasped. No explanation was needed. After all the pain, we had the shorthand that all couples develop over time. The sort that allows entire stories to be connoted by a word, a phrase, a look. “Really? Where is she?”

“Yep. Up in Cheshire. Remarried to a Land Rover dealer. Has two girls. “

“Are you OK?” James sounded concerned. “Does she know about you?”

“We’re not telling her. What’s one more person being surprised by this?”

“If you need anything…” Like money, a place to stay, dignity?

“I’ll be fine, thanks.” I said coldly. “I’d ask you not to call me before I call you. I have too much on my plate.”

“I understand,” James said. I could hear the hurt in James’ voice and first thought, ‘good. I want you to feel pain.’ Then, Humphrey began to kick and I remembered what Jeremy had said about being parents.

“Sorry James. Between this and the baby, please don’t call me until then. I will call you. But I need a clear head for this.”

“I get it. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I love you and, if you need anything, even while you’re there, you can call me.”

“Yeah, well, thanks,” I said. James meant it. Whether I cared was another story.

I opened the door to the flat. “Hi honey, I’m home,” I said, with all of the insincere sitcom charm I could muster.

Matt shuffled to the door. Every time I saw him, I tried not to wince. The bruises were starting to subside, but his face was still a patchwork of garish purple. He could walk unassisted, but still needed a cane to lean on to get up and down. He would put on a brave face but you could see the pain in his eyes sometimes. “Hey, O.M.,” he said, as he kissed me on the forehead. “How was the first day back?”

“Bloody tiring,” I said. “Tiring and strange.”

As I said that, Fi came in. She gave me a peck on the lips. Since the accident, we had stopped hiding, at least at home. We weren’t sexual, but we were intimate. If it bothered Matt, he never said anything. “So how was it,” she said, as I sat on the couch. She reached down and took off my trainers and rubbed my feet.

I laughed and recounted my day, from Jeremy’s obvious amusement to Liv, Otty and Ffion to Josh. She was especially amused by my work on the TK Maxx account. “So, now you’re writing taglines for clothes. To get the female perspective,” she laughed. She picked up the copy of Grazia. By this point, my face now had a beard, googly eyes and all manner of inappropriate comments coming from my mouth, my favorite being Saff’s, ‘My eyes are up here.’ “So, what shoes should she wear with this tail?”

“Hahaha, Fi. What do you expect me to do? One of the girls was complaining about how hard it is to eat now that she’s approaching,” and I took a deep breath, “thirty.”

“Heh heh,” Fi laughed. “Tell her to try postpartum. Sorry, Kells.”

“Yeah.” I wanted to say something about James, but not with Matt here. I waddled over to the table and Fi brought me a plate of the chicken piccata I had made before everything happened with Matt. Matt wandered off to his room and Fi said, “What’s up? You had a look before. What happened at work?”

“It wasn’t work. James texted. Said he needed to speak to me.”

“And? Did you speak to him?”

“Yeah,” I said, feeling ashamed of myself.

“Why?” She looked annoyed.

“Promise you won’t get upset,” I said.

She smiled. “We really are a couple now, aren’t we? Did you ding up the car, dear?”

I laughed. “Seriously, promise.”

“I promise. Why now?”

“I was talking to Jeremy about it. He said, whether you fail as a couple, don’t fail as parents. I figured I owed Humphrey that much.” I thought Humphrey would soften the blow. It didn’t.

She took a sharp breath. “And?”

“And nothing. James wants to see me. I told him that I didn’t have the bandwidth what with her and all. Told him that, if I was going to see him at all, it wasn’t happening until next week.” I left out the whole mutual blame speech. There was no need to upset Fi too.

“Are you going to?”

“I really don’t know. On the one hand, I don’t want to. James hurt me...badly,” I said.

Fi came around the table and rubbed my shoulders. “Then don’t.”

“On the other hand, I feel like I should. Not just for the baby, but for me. Like, I need to know why. To see his, her, whatever’s face and say my piece.”

“I just don’t want you hurt,” she said.

“That ship has sailed, I’m afraid,” I said.

“Not that. James has a way with you. A way of taking advantage.” I knew what she meant. It was the ‘we both hurt each other’ and ‘what about me.’ Had you said it to me six months ago, I would have laughed - and fallen for it. Now, I hoped I was better, but I still didn’t know.

“Thanks,” I said, looking at my plate.

She smiled. “That’s not it. My mum had it with my dad. James had it with you. I had it with John,” and she paused. She pulled over a chair and sat next to me. I pulled her into a hug. She started to cry.

“It’s OK, Fi. It’s OK. Shhhh. I know. I know.” The baby started kicking.

She sniffled a little and laughed. “Ow, Humphrey! I can feel him kick me,” she said, with a smile. She leaned over to my belly, “Sorry, Humphrey,” and she said, “he’s a sensitive one, isn’t he? Sorry about that.”

I smiled, “Don’t be. I know this wasn’t where you saw your life going. Me either.”

She kissed me. “I’m happy Kells. I love you. And whatever you want to do with James, I support you. I just don’t want to see you hurt.” I wondered if Jamie felt the same way.

“I love you too, Fi. And don’t worry. I’m a big girl now,” I said, grinning. “I will not let some man trick me. I mean, look what happened last time.” We both laughed, in an disproportionate amount to the joke. We went to the couch and watched TV. I laid in Fi’s arms, her hands resting one on my shoulder and the other on my belly.

Friday morning came. Bill and I were headed to Warburton.

Fi and Matt came the door to see me off. “Call me as soon as you’re there,” Fi said. “Let me know you’re safe.”

I smiled, “I will, dear.”

“I’m bloody serious,” she said. “And text me when you can when you see her.”

Bill laughed. “Bloody hell. Julia’s not this concerned about me.”

Fi laughed. “She is, if only so she doesn’t get stuck with the two of them alone.”

Bill said, “Fair point. How you feeling Matty?”

Matt smiled. “Eh. Getting better.”

“That’s good. Come to Brighton sometime. The boys’d love having an older cousin around. Julia’s just got nieces.” Matt smiled. I could tell he liked that Bill saw him as another man.

Fi said, “You really haven’t told her about Kells?”

Bill smirked at Kells and said, “Yeah, well, I figure she could use a surprise. Besides, I think my little sister looks positively radiant. One day it’s petticoats and pinafores, the next day it’s a maternity jumper.”

“Petticoats and pinafores were yours, Sally. I remember how you cried when dad wouldn’t let you wear them. Back in Year 6.” I turned to Fi, “Anyway, the meals are in the freezer. I left instructions on the counter.”

Bill turned to her. “I hope you tell Kelly how lucky you are. Julia went to her mum, we ate takeaway for the week.”

Fi gave me a kiss on the cheek, “Thank you, dear. Have a safe trip.”

We got in Bill’s car and pulled away. We were barely out of the driveway, when he said, “Matt looks like bloody hell, no offense.”

“He’s 1000% better than before, but yeah. They beat him bad. The doctor told us he was lucky.”

“Her fucking COUSINS did this to him? Christ. Fucking arseholes. Meanwhile, there’s some poor Syrian can’t get in because this fuckface can’t admit he likes boys. Christ. Poor fucking kid. Matt that is.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“There any news on what’s going to happen?”

“Soon. Crown Prosecutor told us that the hearings will be soon. I’m worried.”

“Why? Kid got beaten up.”

I hadn’t told him that Matt was trans. Partly because that wasn’t my place and partly because I no longer saw Matt as anything but what he wanted to be, what he was. I wanted to say something but that was Matt’s story to tell, not mine. I decided to tell not a lie, but a half-truth. “Well, the girlfriend’s family, the mum’s side, has been putting pressure on her not to testify. Protect the family and all that bollocks.”

“Ah, shit. Yeah, well, I don’t know. I mean I don’t know what I would have done in that situation. At that age. You?”

I stopped and thought. If Bill had beat my girlfriend’s brother, would I have testified against him. I thought of the Bruce Springsteen song, ‘Highway Patrolman’ - ‘man turns his back on his family well he just ain’t no good.’ Except the narrator’s brother didn’t beat someone up for being who he was. Matt hadn’t done anything except hold his girlfriend’s hand. “I don’t know. This isn’t two boys fighting. This was a fucking beating for no good reason. He could’ve died. Or been paralyzed or brain damaged. For no good fucking reason.” I took a deep breath. “Sorry. I just…”

Bill smiled. “You love that kid, don’t you?”

I smiled. “Was it that obvious?”

He kept one hand on the wheel and held the two fingers on his other slightly apart. “What’s up with you and Fiona?”

“Nothing. She gave me a place to stay. I’m grateful.”

He laughed. “You’re a shitty liar, always were. You love her.”

I blushed. “Shut up.”

“You looooove her,” he said mockingly. “Seriously, Kelly. And she loves you. Pretty fucking obvious.”

“Oh Christ.” I kept blushing. “Yeah, well…”

“You’re happy, she’s happy. Who fucking cares?”

“Thanks, Bill.”

“Yeah, well, whatever,” he blushed. “Fuck are we going to do when we get there?” We had spent our childhood so focused on her absence that we had no plans for her presence.

“I dunno. Say hello?”

“Do we kiss her? Shake her hand? Tell her to fuck off?”

“I dunno. I guess I just want to see her. I’m not expecting anything. You?”

“I guess not. I mean I never knew her. She may as well be the man in the bloody moon for all I know. Julia asked me once if I remembered anything about her. I don’t. I hate the fact that I fucking don’t, but I don’t. You?”

“I remember smells and shit like that. I remember going to the seaside once but for all I know that’s just from the picture dad had.” He kept a picture of the four of us in his drawer. Me, him, mum and Bill. Mum had her blond hair tied back with a kerchief. She was wearing a two-piece bathing suit. She was holding Bill in her arms, while my dad held my hand. I found the picture when I was ten and looking for money. I asked my father about it. He snatched it from me and said, “What the hell were you doing in my drawer,” and he smacked my hand. It was the only time I could ever remember him getting truly angry. We didn’t discuss the picture then and hadn’t discussed it since. “Anyway, that’s about it.”

We drove in silence for a while, then talked about everything else on earth.

Nine Months Month Seven

Kelly is a 36-year-old man trapped in the body suit of a 25-year-old pregnant woman.

Kelly and Bill head north to meet the mother who abandoned them. Back in London Fiona, Matt and Saff come to terms with the attack.

Month Seven

The house looked like any other - a modernish 80s style house. The front garden had a low hedge and a large oak tree. I don’t know what I was expecting. Maybe something with turrets and a moat? The witch’s house in Hansel and Gretel?

“Well, this is it,” Bill double checked the GPS on his phone to be sure, 6 Farmdale Crescent.

“Uh huh,” I just looked up. It all seemed so… normal.

Bill helped me out of the car and up the drive. There was a potted little bush by the front door. It was clipped so neatly at first I thought it must be plastic. Only when I brushed it with my hand was I sure it was living. Bill rang the doorbell.

“Hello,” She stood there. Her hair was still blond, probably dyed now. Her high cheekbones were still visible although her hips had got thicker. “Bill?” Half of me wanted to hug her, the other run away.

Bill didn’t seem to be able to speak, he just nodded.

“And…” She was looking at me. Damn, why had I thought this would be a good idea?

“This is Kelly,” Bill’s voice was forceful, he put his arm around my shoulders.

“Oh,” she seemed confused, then realisation dawned on her, “You better come in.”

The hallway was bland. Cream coloured walls with cheery photos of smiling family members on them. I noticed two girls grinning into the camera, I had to look away.

“Sorry,” she looked pained, “but would you mind taking your shoes off?”

I looked down dumbly before agreeing. I had to sit on the second step of the stairs while I did so. Bill helped me stand.

“Come through, I thought we’d be more comfortable in the conservatory.”

The garden outside the window looked large and tidy. It contrasted with Fiona and Matt’s back garden back in London. While the grass back home had a large brown patch where a younger Matt had worn it down playing football, the grass here looked like it had never been stepped on by human feet. The flowerbeds were neat and shaped, unlike our irregular overgrown ones. Our garden was the site of ongoing cat gang wars. This one looked like even the birds needed full club membership and a tie to visit.

“How’s your husband?” I asked just to have something to say.

“He’s away with his rugby friends. The girls have sleepovers after school.” She said quickly, answering questions we hadn’t asked.

“Do they know about us?” Bill pressed. He had anger in his voice. I put a hand on his. Despite how it might look, he was still my younger brother.

“Perry knows I have two sons from an earlier marriage. He doesn’t know you are here.” There was a long pause, “How about tea?”

“Do you have anything decaffeinated?”

She looked down at my belly, “Rooibos any good?”

We could hear her moving around in the kitchen as we sat there. It all seemed so surreal.

“How are you holding up?” I whispered. Bill looked at me, his face looked pale. He smiled weakly. I squeezed his hand.

“OK,” he said. We looked around as a tray clanked behind us.

“Can I help with that?” Bill half stood up.

She pointed at the table. “It’s OK dear. I can manage. If you could just clear a space.” Bill moved some magazines and she put the tray down. “Now biscuits. I think I have some hobnobs.”

“That’s fin…” But she had already walked away.

So we waited, and waited. Fifteen minutes, then twenty. Bill looked like he was about to fall apart.

“Perhaps she needs some help,” I patted his hand, “I’ll go take a look.”

The kitchen looked expensive, like a photo from a design magazine, but it had none of the character or style of Susan’s. I found her in the doorway smoking a cigarette. She threw it away quickly when she saw me.

“It’s a bit late hiding it from me now. I tried my first cigarette over twenty years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” she rubbed the top of her nose, a gesture I did when I was stressed. “I just don’t know what to say. This is not how I imagined it,” she allowed herself a small smile. “You especially.”

“No, it’s not how I saw it happening either,” I said, as I rubbed my belly. We both laughed.

“Do you mind me asking how it happened?”

I was tricked by my wife. “It’s complicated.”

“I imagine. But it’s what you want?” She looked like she wanted to say something more.

I rubbed Humphrey again, “It is now.” Was that true? “I think we should go back in. Bill is near to wetting himself. And we stopped him doing that months ago.” Again we laughed. She seemed so small.

We talked for hours, mostly about nothing. The state of the railways, the weather. She looked the most happy when we discussed Julia and the boys. Bill happily flicked through his Facebook profile while she made all the right cooing noises. He would show her the phone but wouldn’t look at her. At one point, she looked at me and said, “You’ve got all this to come.”

Bill went upstairs to find a toilet and a serious expression came over her. “When did you know you wanted to be… I mean you weren’t happy as a...?”

I sighed and threw her a line, “I don’t think we ever make big decisions. It’s not like we wake up one morning and say; ‘this is what I want to do with my life’. It’s more that lots of little decisions add up to the big ones.”

She smiled, “I know what you mean.” Looking out of the window I watched a squirrel running across the lawn. What did it make of this neat and tidy little world? At that moment Bill re-entered the room.

“I was wondering,” she asked, “Do you… do you want to call me mum, or mother… whatever.” She rubbed her knuckles. I noticed Bill doing the same.

I was taken by surprise so Bill answered sharply, “No,” then he said, “Sorry,” although I knew he wasn’t. “How about Peggy to start and see where we go from there?” She seemed happy with that.

We continued talking for a while. We never brought up her daughters and neither did she. Finally Bill gestured that we had to go, “We need to check into our B&B by 3pm,” he explained.

Peggy looked surprised. “Oh, where is it?” She seemed relieved when we said an address on the other side of town. She said, “there’s a lovely pub right near there, if you’re interested.”

Bill had one foot out the door, when I said, “But perhaps we could take you out for dinner later?” I looked to Bill for confirmation, he didn’t disagree.

“That would be lovely,” she beamed.

On the drive to the B&B, I noticed several pubs along the way. The one she suggested was the furthest from her, yet not that near the B & B.

That night, when we picked her up, Peggy was waiting for us at the end of the drive. She was wearing an elegant green a-line dress that made me feel underdressed. I’d chosen the designer jeans Fi had bought me and a top she’d told me I looked ‘cute’ in. I was wearing a black cardigan over the top. The night air being colder up here. She smiled warmly when I got out of the car. I offered her the passenger seat but she told me not to be silly.

The restaurant was a gastro pub on the edge of the river. On the opposite bank was a small copse of trees. If It had been a little warmer, I’d have suggested eating outside. Peggy stopped us outside the door and got us to stand together, she took a quick snap on her phone. “For the girls,” she explained, “When they’re ready to know.” Or she was ready for them to know.

As we sat down Peggy looked directly at me, “So,” she said, “I want to know how this happened. I’m not judging, I just want to understand.”

I took a deep breath, and then I told her the whole story. Jamie/James. Losing my job. Staying with Fiona. I left out Matt, figuring he could wait till the next instalment. I didn’t want to have to explain who he was and have her say something. I would have flipped out.

Peggy seemed especially worked up about James. A part of me liked it. Her being on my side that is.

“Why would she do that to you?” she said. I couldn’t quite place the tone. It was somewhere between accusatory and understanding. “Sorry,” she said, patting my hand. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. You were put in a hard situation. Believe me, I understand that,” which made me feel more awkward, and defensive of dad. But it didn’t last as she pushed me for details of my current domestic life.

Bill joined in, teasing me about Fi while Peggy smiled indulgently. For the first time it felt like we could be a family. Not a close one, but that might come.

She was interested in Bill’s work. Even Bill wasn’t that interested in his job. When I mentioned my book she smiled zen-like and told me that I’d always had ‘a creative auror’. Just like her.

We were on dessert when I finally asked the question, “Our turn. What happened? After you left I mean. Where did you go?”

Peggy put her spoon down, “That’s a big question. First there was Ron. He’s who I left your father for.”

“You mean us as well,” Bill’s voice was calm but his words pointed.

“It wasn’t like that.” She couldn’t look at us. “Ron was an actor, with regional reps. We toured a lot. I was always going to send for you. I mean I knew you’d be safe with Ed. He was good man. I was sorry to hear about him passing.” I wondered where she’d heard it from. Bill’s emails?

“So why didn’t you send for us?” I put my spoon in my mouth. There was nothing on it.

“Things went bad. First Ron couldn’t get work. Then he started drinking. After a while he left and I was on my own.” Her voice went quiet, “There were a few bad years…”

I reached out and touched her hand. She looked up at me, tears in her eyes, “I knew you’d understand,” she squeezed back. I didn’t know how to take that.

“Things got better after that. I was doing a little modelling work,” Bill raised his eyebrows looking at me, I glared at him to keep quiet, “Nothing serious, just in car sales rooms, Cheshire Life, things like that. That’s where I met my Perry. He helped me out of debt and one thing led to another.” She stopped for a while, composing herself, “But I never stopped thinking about the two of you.”

“She never did anything about it though,” Bill said as we drove back to the B&B. No, I thought.

We got back to the room and said nothing. We turned on Sky Sports. I watched the men run past but, if you had asked me, I couldn’t have told you who was playing or what sport. It was a welcome distraction from what neither of us wanted to discuss.

Bill got up. “I should call Julia,” he said half-heartedly. “I told her I’d call and tell her how it went. How’d it go?” he said with a mirthless chuckle, as he left the room.

I called Fi. She picked up on the second ring. “How was it?”

I sighed. “Weird.”

“Weird how?”

“I dunno. There’s the obvious weird,” I said, laughing and patting Humphrey, as if she could see. “But, it’s more than that. I mean we’re all nervous but not just that. It feels like, if I went there now, she’d be gone again.”

“That’s to be expected, I think. I mean there’s precedent.”

“No, that’s not it,” and I explained her whole history. Fi just kept saying, “hm,” and “huh,” through it. “Huh, what?” I said, after the fourth one.

Fi said, “Huh nothing. Sorry. How’s Humphrey?”

“He’s fine. Ow, he kicked. I’m not letting you off the hook. Huh what?”

“Just huh. She sounds lost. So, she was a model too,” she teased.

“Shut up,” I said, laughing.

“Did she lure men to her net?”

“Ha ha,” I said. “I’m in a very fragile place emotionally you know,” I joked. I wasn’t joking.

“How’s Bill doing?”

I sighed. “Not well. He’s not saying anything but I know him. He’s angry. I don’t think he thought what this would be. He’s on with Julia now.”

“What’s next?”

“I dunno. We’ll see. I mean she’s not going to be nana, coming round on birthdays and all that. I mean maybe she’ll be Aunt Peggy, if that. I mean you can’t expect us to just let her back in after all these years. Bring the family around. We can have one big Christmas dinner. Me, you, Matt, Bill, Julia, the boys, Peggy and whoever the hell she brings around with her. Shame Dad’s not here for this. See if this poor bastard Perry is still here. Maybe, he’ll bring my sisters.” I spat out the word and then paused. These poor girls were no more complicit than Bill and I were. Then I realised that I couldn’t remember their names or if Peggy had even said them. Or if we had even asked. I started to cry. “Sorry, Fi.”

“Kells, I’m sorry. It’s OK. I wish I was there with you.”

“Me too,” I sniffled.

“Imagine me holding you,” she said. “Can you do that?”

“Yes.” I could feel her arms around me and felt better. Stupid hormones.

“It’s going to be OK,” she said. “I love you, Kells.”

“I love you, Fi,” I said, as Bill walked in the room. He waved. “Bill says hi. Fi says hi back. Anyway, I love you,” I said, hanging up while Bill made kissy faces.

“Bloody girl,” he said, with the first grin I had seen since we left London.

“Sod off. How’s Julia?”

“Fine. Said the boys are bouncing off the walls. Asked when we’d be back. Said she was putting the boys up on eBay,” he laughed.

“How’re you doing?”

“Eh,” he said, in a way that told me he was done. “You?”

“Eh.”

He looked at my eyes and I at his. They were both red-rimmed. We both started to say something and stopped. Just then, my phone buzzed. I had a message - from James.

‘How’d it go? Are you OK?’

I wasn’t ready to answer her. ‘It went as to be expected.’ The lie was easier than the truth.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’

‘Not right now.’

‘OK. I love you.’ Really, I thought? Really? You love me? Which is why I’m a pregnant girl. Who you tricked into getting pregnant. Then didn’t tell and almost killed the baby. Then left destitute. Like a bloody fucking soap opera. And you love me?

I must’ve looked crazy because Bill sat down and put his arm around me. “You OK, Kelly?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Yeah, you look,” and then he looked at my phone. “Bloody Jamie?” he laughed. “Day wasn’t full enough for you yet?”

“Er, uh…”

“Jesus, Kelly. It’s one thing to cheat on your wife with your girlfriend. But you can’t cheat on your girlfriend with your wife.”

I started laughing. “What the hell does that even mean?”

We were both laughing uncontrollably. Eventually, he said, “I have no fucking idea. I have no idea who’s who anymore. Bloody man becomes a woman, his wife becomes a man. The he-she moves in with a she and then the she-he shows back up. Oh, and look! Here’s the mum who disappeared. I feel so bloody left out. It’s just me with the same bits and the same wife I started with,” he laughed.

“Fuck off. You’d make an ugly girl.”

“Yeah, look at you. Technology’s amazing. Fuck putting a man on the moon.”

We both kept laughing until we went to sleep.

The drive home the next day was a quiet one. I had downloaded several radio shows from i-player and we listened to them. We were both lost in our own thoughts. I kept playing the conversation over and over in my head. “I knew you’d understand,” and “I know what you mean.” I was glad she did. I know I didn’t.

---

I walked into the cafe, a once former pub on Columbia Lane in Shoreditch now made into a tapas bar.

When I called James to set up this meeting, they had suggested that we meet at the apartment where they were now staying. I had settled on “they” as my pronoun of choice, for now. Fi and I had discussed it and I had no interest in meeting them anywhere non-public. I didn’t tell Fi, for fear of upsetting her, but a part of me didn’t trust them not to imprison me against my will. On the one hand, that was ridiculous, the stuff of bad television. On the other hand, they had left me destitute when I displeased them and I was now seven months pregnant. I could barely get myself out of the door when no one was blocking me.

I saw James sitting there, nursing a glass of red wine and looking around. They were wearing a dark suit and a blue shirt of mine that they had always said, “made me look sexy.” I looked at my ever-growing belly and had to stifle a laugh. I took a deep breath and waddled over, trying to maintain my calm. Humphrey had been kicking up a storm on the bus and I didn’t want to upset him.

“Hello James,” I said, with as little affect as possible.

They leapt up. “Kelly,” they said, trying to kiss me on the lips. I turned my head, so they only brushed my cheek. They looked hurt but regained composure, “you look beautiful.” I had purposely worn jeans and a blouse, to look as neutral as possible. Well, as neutral as a woman with a belly large enough to have its own MP could.

I laughed, “I look like a beached whale.” I struggled to fit in the chair.

James said, “You’d be much more comfortable in the apartment. I have an Eames chair, you know the leather one you always wanted.”

“I told you. Neutral ground.” Before they could protest, I said, “you look well, James.” They had grown a beard and let their hair grow long. “Is that some post-wrap beard or something?”

They smiled. “Everyone else is growing one, I figured I’d try.” I had no idea who everyone else was and didn’t care. “Do you like it?”

“Sure. It looks good on you.” It did. They were the kind of man who could pull off a beard. I had Peggy’s pale complexion so beards always looked wrong on me.

“Thank you for coming,” they said. “I still don’t understand why you made me come to Shoreditch.” They were being petulant already. This would either be a very long or very short afternoon.

“I work here. I was in for a meeting. It’s a lot easier for you to get around than me. Besides, I told you. Neutral ground.”

“OK,OK,” they said, holding up a hand. “Fair enough. Siggy says hi. She says thank you for sending her the pictures and the sonograms.”

I thought for a second, remembering her lost baby. I felt bad, wondering if she thought I was somehow throwing it in her face, that I didn’t want to get pregnant and was, while she couldn’t. “Tell her she’s welcome. How are she and Egon doing?”

“They’re fine,” James said, with a smile. When they smiled, I could see the old twinkle in their eyes. It reminded me of the good times we had, of a trip to Tuscany. I remembered driving the countryside in a Fiat with a balky gearbox. I remembered waiting in a trattoria in San Gimignano, drinking wine and laughing, while a mechanic fixed the car. I had to hold back a smile. “Egon always asks after you.”

“Tell him thanks. So, how was filming?”

“Long. Boring. Lots of time just waiting around. No one teaches you that in acting school. How to sit around doing nothing for hours while they block shots and set up lights. You can only play on your phone for so long before you go crazy. Or eat everything they put out.” I thought about the photo shoot and shuddered, thinking of Felix. “Is everything OK, Kelly?”

“I’m fine,” I lied. “Sometimes, I get these chills. You have no idea what this,” and I patted my belly, “does to you.” I hadn’t said it to make a point, but the look on their face told me that I did.

“You’re right. I don’t.” I couldn’t tell from the look on their face whether that ignorance made her upset, grateful or both. “How are you doing? How was everything with Bill?” They seemed genuinely concerned.

“Weird. That’s the word for it. Weird.” I described how nervous Peggy was. How her house seemed like people stayed there, but didn’t lived there. How she never exactly apologised for what she did to us and excused her life. I left out how she asked about us, me and James that is. “It was tougher on Bill, I think. He has no memory of her at all.”

James made all the right noises and nodded and ‘no’ed’ at the right times, but I couldn’t tell what they were thinking. “Do you forgive her?” That was a strange question, I thought. “I mean, do you think you’ll see her again?”

“I dunno. We’ll see. I guess. Maybe. I dunno.”

“I can’t imagine not being part of your life,” they said, looking at me hopefully.

I thought about Peggy and how she kept trying to make us the same. We weren’t. I thought about what Jeremy said and, looking at James, knew that I’d want them to be a part of the child’s life, if they wanted to be. I didn’t want Humphrey to wonder what his dad was like. “I would never keep you out of our child’s life.”

They looked concerned. “What about our life?”

I thought about us, Fi and me, her arm around me while we slept. The way she took my hand when we crossed the street. The "I love you" for no reason. “James, I will be honest with you. I don’t know. You hurt me. You can’t just come back and think that we’re OK.”

“I’m sorry that you feel hurt,” they said. I hated when they did that. They would say I’m sorry about your feelings. Not what they did, just how you felt about it. “You have to know that was not my intent.”

What would you do if you wanted to hurt me, I thought, but I didn’t say that. Instead, I said, “you know what, you’re right.” They smiled. Then I followed with, “your intent doesn’t really matter. Your actions do. And your actions, however intended, hurt me. And you can’t just come back and expect that everything will be OK with us. If you’re not OK with that, let me know and I’ll let Siggy know when the baby is born.”

They looked dumbfounded then recovered. “When did you become so cold, Kelly?” I could see tears forming in their eyes.

I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, James. But you hurt me deeply.”

“We both hurt each other,” they said, playing the mutual blame game.

I started to ask what I did to hurt them, but couldn’t. When I looked at their eyes, I saw the Jamie I knew. The one who laughed at my jokes, who knew my deepest secrets, the one who I had shared my life with for ten years. “James, I need time. I don’t know what we will be but I know I need time. Can you respect that?”

They touched my hand. “I can do that for you.”

“Thank you. Let’s take it slowly.”

“Of course. You really do look beautiful. It agrees with you. How does it feel?”

"My ankles are swollen. My back hurts. My tits leak," and they laughed. I smiled, "Fucking child. I don't sleep. I feel great." They looked ashen. "Seriously, I do. It's really amazing. It is really a miracle."

They looked at me. "Wow."

I smiled. "Not what you expected, huh?". Just then, the baby kicked. You could see it through my blouse.

"What's that?". They said excitedly, putting their hand on my stomach. I was so used to it by now, that I didn't even care that they did it.

"That's Humphrey. He kicks a lot, especially when I'm agitated."

"Humphrey?"

"Long story,” I said. I wasn’t going to bring up Fi, if they didn’t. I decided to return to their favorite subject - them. “So, tell me about the movie.”

---

It had been a long day. I didn’t normally go into the office on a Thursday but there had been an important meeting scheduled with the client. After a day of talking, I was happy to sit back and listen to Jeremy discuss his date with Victoria. It had been their third one. He’d even admitted to her that I wasn’t his little sister. Must be serious.

Outside the window, the weather was changing. September had arrived and the long hot summer was over. Matt had started his final year at high school and the flat felt empty in the days now. As we drew up in front of the house, I was in for a surprise.

There was a girl sat there. She had long dirty blond hair that covered her face, wore an oversized army coat and sat next to rucksack that looked bigger than her. I couldn’t put my finger on it but there was something familiar about her.

“Who’s that?” Jeremy asked.

“I don’t know, one of the kids Matt and Saff work with I guess.” I hoped this girl wasn’t in any serious trouble. And if she was, Matt had no connection.

“Well, best of luck old girl,” I glared at Jeremy, he laughed, “Take good care of little Jeremy,” he said, patting my belly (which amused him to no end), “and let me know when Ben McCall gets back to you.”

As I came close, the girl stood up. She was tall for her age but still, by my estimate, no more than thirteen. “Hello?” I said.

“Erm,” she seemed lost for words.

“Are you here to see Matt?” My heart in my mouth.

“Are you my sister?” She stammered.

I was about to tell her no when I remembered a grinning face in a photo on a wall in Cheshire. “Issy?” I asked. She nodded. “What are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t take it anymore. Not her and her rules,” she spat. I tried not to smile. “You know what it’s like.”

“Sadly no.” Her face fell and I felt the cold wind blowing. As the months progressed, I found myself colder in spite of all the extra weight I was carrying. “But you should come inside.”

I took a good look at her in the corridor. Her legs and arms were thin but long. She’d been through a growth spurt recently.

“How did you get here? How did you know my address?”

“I looked on mum’s phone and it was only £15 on the MegaBus.” Well, she was resourceful.

We sat at the kitchen table and talked. From reading between the lines I guessed she was being bullied at school.

“You aren’t going to tell mum, are you?”

“I have to tell her you’re here, Issy. She’ll be worried sick.” Her expression fell. “But perhaps you can stay the night at least. Then we’ll see what your mum says,” ‘yours’ not ‘ours’. “I’ll see if we can work something out.” She relaxed a little.

I went into the garden to make the necessary calls. “Hi Fi,” I said, trying to hide my concern.

I failed. “Kelly, is everything OK. Is Matt OK?” She sounded on edge.

“It’s nothing like that. Don’t worry.” I stopped. I didn’t know where to start.

“What’s up Kelly? It isn’t James is it?” She sounded more concerned.

“No. You remember me telling you about Peggy and how she has two girls.”

“Uh huh.” There was doubt in her voice.

“Well I got back from work and the eldest, Issy is on our doorstep. Apparently she’s run away.”

She sighed. “Run away? Is everything OK?”

“I get the impression she’s being bullied at school. And she doesn’t get on with Peggy. Can she stay the night? I’ll call Peggy and sort something out for tomorrow.”

There was a long pause, “Of course she can stay. She can have your old room. Let Peggy know she’s safe but don’t say anything about her returning until we’ve had a chance to talk to her and find out what’s really going on.”

I hadn’t thought of anything like that. Or perhaps I hadn’t wanted to.

“OK. Thanks for being understanding. I love you.”

“I love you too. You don’t have to thank me, this is your house too and she’s your family. I guess that makes Issy Matt’s aunt,” she said with a laugh. The image made me laugh as well.

After taking a deep breath, I called Peggy. She was shocked to hear Issy was there. She’d dropped her off at school that morning. I told her not to worry, Issy was safe and I’d speak to the girl and let her know what was happening. Peggy didn’t sound too keen on waiting but there was little she could do.

“Your mum was surprised, she thought you were around at your friend Claire’s.” Issy sat on one of the kitchen chairs, her legs pulled up against her body.

“Claire isn’t my friend. Not since she met Alice,” she said, tearing up. Ah, I thought. We were getting closer to the truth.

Through the tears, I gained a clearer picture of what had been happening. Apparently there was this boy at school, one Issy said she had a crush on. Claire and Alice had been egging her on, telling her that her feelings were reciprocated. When she’d approached him, he reacted like, well, a typical boy. She was mortified while Claire and Alice had laughed. When she told Peggy, “she couldn’t deal with it. She got nervous like I did something and just told me to stop talking to them. Ever.” She looked confused.

Matt was home first. I heard the thud of his football kit hitting the wooden floor in the hallway.

“Matt,” I called out, “Can you come in here?”

The bruises had gone now but you could still see the scars where they had broken his skin. I wondered what Issy made of him. Matt was followed into the living room by Saff.

“What’s up O.M.?”

“I want you to meet someone,” I had hoped Saff wouldn’t be here. “This is my, well, my half-sister Issy.”

“Oh,” Matt looked surprised. “I didn’t realise we were having visitors.”

“Neither did I.” He, Saff and I laughed, although Issy looked embarrassed.

“So you’ve run away? Cool,” Saff came around Matt and spoke directly to Issy. I was torn. On one hand, I was glad Issy was making friends; on the other, I didn’t want to encourage her behaviour. Before I could say anything, Saff had taken Issy’s arm and led her to the sofa. “What music are you into Issy? Matt, give me your phone so we can use Spotify,” she said, reaching for it before he had a chance to react.

Ten minutes later, Matt and I were in the kitchen while Saff and Issy were singing along to Little Mix in the living room space.

“What’s going on Kells?” I hadn’t seen Matt look so worried since the hospital.

“It seems like your girlfriend and your aunt are bonding Matty.” I couldn’t help laugh as his face went pale. I put a hand on his arm. “She’s doing it for you Matt. Remember that.”

I sent Matt out for crisps and made some dips for us all. Once he returned, we sat around and talked. Saff and Issy spoke at a million miles per hour. I was pleased by how much Issy wanted to know about our lives.

“Is it strange being,” she looked at me but couldn’t find the words, “well, I mean, I heard my mom tell Perry she had two sons and then I looked at her phone and saw the picture and I mean you’re….” and she looked at Matt and Saff for help.

“Transgender?” Best to own it I thought. Plus, the nanosuits were more than she needed to know now. “I couldn’t tell you. I don’t know what not being transgender is like.” I hadn’t thought before I spoke. Was that true? It felt like it was. It didn’t feel like I was different from how I had been, more that I had discovered something new about myself. Like discovering a secret room in the house you’d lived in since childhood.

I looked over at Saff who said, “Matt told me. Sorry. I didn’t say anything. I figured it was your story, not mine. No one else knows.” She smiled, “Besides, you’re O.M.”

“Kelly’s not the only one,” Matt smiled at me. “Transgender that is.”

“You, but you’re…” she trailed off and turned bright red, then smiled. Saff giggled, but stopped when her phone started buzzing. She looked up at Matt and anger passed across his face.

“I, I, need to take this. It’s her…” She ran off into the garden.

“She calls whenever she suspects we’re together,” muttered Matt, his eyes focused on the garden.

“Give her space,” I consoled him. Issy was watching the conversation like a spectator at a tennis match.

“Saff’s mum doesn’t.” I looked over at him and he just shrugged,

I looked at Issy, and all I could say was, “she’s very religious and doesn’t approve of Matt.”

Issy crossed her arms, “Are all mums bad?”

“Sorry, I’ve taken up more than my quota of the good ones,” Matt smiled at me. It was my turn to blush.

Saff was still out in the garden half an hour later when Fiona turned up. “I’ve brought Chinese, I hope that’s OK?”

Judging by Issy’s expression it was. “Mum never lets us have takeaway!” I wasn’t surprised.

“Perhaps keep this between us then,” I suggested. I’m not sure what was making her happier, the prospect of pork balls or keeping the secret from her mum.

“Is everything OK?” Fiona gave a meaningful nod towards the garden. Saff was sat on a plastic chair, she had my coat wrapped around her. I could tell there had been tears.

“The usual,” I replied darkly.

“Right. Shall we put this all on a tray?” She nodded to the living room space that was only separated from the kitchen by a bookcase. “We can eat off our knees and Netflix and chill?”

I spat out a mouthful of satay chicken while Matt, and even Issy, burst into laughter.

“What, what did I say? Netflix and chill is a thing right?” Fiona looked perplexed. I touched her arm and whispered in her ear. She went red, “Oh, oh dear…”

It was a further ten minutes before Saff joined us. She slumped down on the sofa next to Matt and stole a chicken dumpling. I passed her some tissues, her makeup had run.

Later, after I’d settled Issy down in my old bed, I was in the corridor heading to the living room. I stopped outside the door hearing Matt and Fiona talking.

“…. Why can’t she stay!”

“Matthew, you know why. You are both only 15.”

“You know what her mum’s like.”

“She’s staying with Ruth.”

“But she’s knows that and she sends people around. She’ll do the same tonight.”

I could hear a heavy sigh from Fiona. Through the crack in the door I could see her back hunched over, “Look, I’ll call Richard. If it’s OK with him, she can sleep with Kelly in our room and I’ll take the sofa,”

Matt started to protest but Fi stopped him, “My final offer.”

I counted to ten and then entered.

That night I couldn’t sleep. I lay there, Saff’s arm dangled over me, her gently snoring in my ear. I thought of Fiona. We had been sharing the same bed for a while now and I missed her. The weight of her body, even how she took the covers with her when she rolled over. I nudged Saff’s arm off me and she turned over grunting. It was Friday tomorrow. Perhaps Issy could stay the weekend before we drove her back?

The next morning, Peggy called. “Kelly, thank you for watching Issy. I’m very grateful. We’ll be down tonight to get her. I hope she hasn’t been a bother.”

I looked over at her, eating an omelet and watching videos on YouTube on Fi’s iPad. She seemed perfectly happy. “She’s been terrific,” I said, giving her a smile. “She and Saff were having a ball last night.”

“Saff?” she said, “Who is Saff?”

“Saffron. Matt’s girlfriend.” Then I remembered. I hadn’t told her about Matt. “Sorry, Matt is Fiona’s son. He’s 15.”

She laughed, a nervous laugh. “Three children in the flat? You and Fiona must’ve had your hands full. I don’t think I could handle that.” You couldn’t handle two. Of your own.

“They were great,” I said, “A little loud, but great. It’s not like they were toddlers or something.”

There was a silence on the line and then another laugh. “You have that to look forward to.”

I looked at Issy. She seemed relaxed and I could see why she was in no rush to get back. “Um, the traffic getting into London on Fridays and Saturdays can be a mess. It would be no bother if you wanted to come get her Sunday.” Issy gave me a huge grin and nodded.

“Um, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” I could tell that she wanted to say yes, but was trying to keep up appearances. “Let me call Perry and I’ll get back to you. He’ll probably drive.”

Within fifteen minutes, she called back and said that, “Perry thinks it’s a good idea.” Sure, Perry. “Make sure she does her work, they post it on-line. We’ll see you on Sunday.” When I told Issy, she was over the moon. When I called Fi, she laughed and just said, “I could’ve told you that would happen.”

Issy did her homework all day while I reviewed Susan’s edits. As of late, she had told me how much I had grown in the time she knew me and, with a chuckle, “not just in the obvious way.” In the afternoon, we went shopping. Issy giggled every time I introduced as my sister. Matt was at football practice all afternoon so Issy helped me with dinner, my now-legendary (to me, at least) sweet potato chili.

I was dumping in a handful of cayenne pepper when Issy said, “aren’t you going to measure that?”

I laughed. “It’s chili. You go by feel.”

“Mum doesn’t. Everything is very specific,” she said, with an eye roll. “If she misses something…” Her voice trailed off.

The next morning, I woke early and took Issy to a local cafe. I had a craving for bacon. We sat by the window watching the world go by. The cafe was situated near to Epping Forest and, as such, was a beacon to hipster cyclists. Over the top of her orange juice, Issy watched them coming and going.

“So, what’s really going on, Issy?”

“I told you,” she said, looking away.

I put my hand on hers. “We’re sisters,” I said, with a smile. “You can tell me.”

She giggled a little. I couldn’t decide if it was because she had another sister or because she knew the truth, such as it was. “It’s mum. It’s Claire. It’s Alice. It’s everything. I mean I didn’t even like that boy, to be honest. Claire and Alice were over, and Mum heard them tell me how I should go over to him and how he liked me. So, then they left and she kept telling me how wonderful it was that a boy I liked me and how I should talk to him, and what to say, and how proud she was that I was becoming a young woman.”

I wasn’t surprised, to say the least. “You don’t seem proud.”

“I mean she’s not proud when I get As or when my teachers tell her how good my art is. But, a boy? That’s what matters.”

I paused, “Do you like boys?” She looked at me. I fumbled, “I don’t mean it like that. I mean like are you interested in romance and all that. With whoever you like. I don’t judge.” I do, however, sound like an arse.

She smiled and then said, “I don’t know. I mean like it used to be they were all on one side of the playground and we were on the other and now they’re not. And it’s all Claire and Alice talk about and I don’t want to, but it’s all that matters to mum. We all have to be just perfect. Hair just so, clothes just so. And I just want to do what I want to do and she won’t let me.”

I took a sip of my coffee, decaf although I could’ve really used caffeine. “Peggy,” I couldn’t call her mum, “had some bad times,” is all I could come up with.

“Whatever. I mean how can you defend her after what she did to you?”

I pushed around the last of my eggs with my fork and thought about it. “I’m not. I guess, in her head, she’s saving you from all that. Not saying she’s right, just that’s where she is.” And how she justifies everything. I started to get upset and then said, with a smile, “she’s not here today. Just you and me. I’ve got some edits to do and, when you finish your work, we’ll do something.”

We spent the rest of the breakfast and the walk home talking about the book. She was fascinated in a way that no one else in my life was about the process of writing. Not the parties or the publishing, but how I came up with ideas.

“So, how do you decide what Ingrid is going to do next? Like, do you have this outline written down - like, in this chapter, this is going to happen?” Her eyes lit up with every question, it was infectious. Matt and Fiona were interested but not to this level. That or they lived with it day to day.

“Sometimes. But sometimes when you start heading to one place, you end up someplace else completely different and you realise that was the place you were supposed to be all along.” I smiled, “You have to let it take you where it wants to go.”

----

The next morning around 10 AM, I heard a car pull up outside. From the purr of the engine, I could tell that it was expensive and new. I looked out the window and saw a man getting out of a Land Rover Evoque (we had bid the campaign a few years ago, unsuccessfully), about 45 years old, 6’2” with dark hair. He was about 15/16 stone and was wearing a pressed shirt and khaki pants. He was alone, unsurprisingly. “Issy, I think Perry’s here.”

Issy groaned. She, Saff and Matt were playing FIFA on Xbox in Matt’s room. Well, Matt was playing while Issy and Saff played on her phone.

The doorbell rang. I waddled to get it but Fiona beat me to the punch. “Hi,” Perry said, “I’m Perry Gilford, Peggy’s husband. I’m guessing you’re not Kelly,” he said, with a laugh.

Fi laughed. “Uh no thankfully. I’m Fiona Walters,” and she hunted for the words to say.

Before she could say anything, he said, “Peggy told me. Don’t worry.” I waddled up and he said, “Well, judging from the looks of you, you must be Kelly. Very nice to meet you,” he said, sticking out his hand. He had the build of a centre and the bland good looks of the car salesman he was.

I smiled, “Same. Where’s Peggy?”

He smiled and said, “Ah, this was a little more than she could handle. Besides, someone had to watch Lisa.” I felt bad asking the question. It wasn’t his fault.

Fi flashed me a smile. “Oh,” I said, “I would’ve liked to have met Lisa.”

He smiled. “And she you, but we’re trying to discourage what Issy did. I hope she wasn’t a bother.”

Fi said, “She was perfect.”

Just then, Matt, Saff and Issy came out of his room. Issy said, “Hi, Perry. This is Matt, my nephew.” Matt smiled and rolled his eyes, having heard this from everyone the past two days. “And this is his girlfriend Saffron.”

Perry turned to Fi and said, with a laugh, “This is quite the menagerie you have here, Ms. Walters. Three teenagers and this one barely a woman herself.” He smiled at his double entendre.

She laughed, “Tell me about it. Matty, introduce yourself.”

Matt was wearing a Liverpool t-shirt he had just bought. He stuck out his hand, “Hello, sir, I’m Matt Walters.”

Perry shook his hand. “Footballer?”

Matt grinned. “Yessir. I’m a striker, sometimes midfield.” Saff and Issy rolled their eyes. Guy talk.

Perry looked him up and down. “Put a little muscle on you and you’d be a hooker. Play a real sport,” he said, with a grin.

Matt, with an ease I envied, said, “But the NHS doesn’t cover lobotomies and mum says they’re too expensive.” Perry burst out laughing and said, ‘bloody wisearse.’

Issy said, sadly, “I’ll go get my rucksack.”

Perry smiled, “Why don’t you kids go do something for a little bit? I’d like to talk to Kelly for a minute.” Issy grinned and ran off with Saff. Matt looked at Perry, shrugged and walked after them.

“Smart boy you have there. Excuse me Fiona, do you mind if I borrow Kelly for a minute?” Fi looked at me, smiled and nodded. We went out to his Land Rover. I struggled to lift myself in. He came around and offered me a hand, looking me up and down. We got in. I sniffed and was overwhelmed by the smell of new leather.

He smiled. “Nothing like the smell of a new vehicle, eh? I mean, with the new addition, you could stand to replace yours,” he said, pointing at Fi’s Vauxhall Astra. “I mean this is the sort of vehicle for a growing family like yours.” I raised an eyebrow and he broke out laughing. “Have to try, y’know.” I laughed and he said, “Sorry Peggy’s not here.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” I said matter-of-factly. “I’m not upset.”

“I hear you, mate. Peggy’s a complicated woman. Beautiful but complicated. She tries. She and Issy are always banging heads.”

I debated saying something but decided that it wasn’t my place. Instead, I went with, “it’s the age.”

He smiled knowingly. “That’s it. She was happy to see you and your brother. She just has trouble dealing with, er, difficult situations. And this,” and he laughed, “no offense, is a difficult situation.”

I laughed out loud and pat my belly. “You think so, huh?”

He laughed. “That suit is bloody amazing. If I didn’t know, I’d never guess.”

“Thanks,” I said. I didn’t know what else to say. He was Peggy’s husband and a rugby playing car dealer on top of that. I remembered the rugby team in University. We always thought of them as posh-twats getting boozed up and making a mess for others to clean up. Every society has its version of original sin. America has race, Ireland religion, the UK has class. That’s not to say all those problems don’t occur everywhere, just that the ‘original’ is the prysm you see the others through.

He laughed. “I mean, Peggy told me how it happened. But, man to man, how did it happen? How did you end up here?” I told him the story of how I lost my job, how Jamie had ordered the suits and how there was a mix-up and he interrupted me. “No offense, mate, but that sounds like bollocks to me.”

“I’m not lying,” I said, getting defensive. Humphrey started kicking.

He put his hand on my shoulder. “I know you’re not. But, there’s something off here. I won’t claim to understand how these things work, but something’s not right, y’know. She orders a suit to be pregnant and they screw up and somehow you get pregnant. Again, I don’t understand technology, it took me weeks to show people how the built-in GPS works, but it just seems like this is something that would take time to do, to make a suit that makes you pregnant. I can’t see how you can just order it and have it a day later.” I must’ve turned pale because he suddenly said, “Look, Kelly, if you’re happy, good on you. You and Fiona seem happy. Hell, a lot of my business is couples like you,” he said, with a grin. “And you don’t know me from a hole in the ground…”

I stopped and thought about it. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I had always thought about it but I was so focused on getting through each day that I ignored it. Now that I thought about it, my head started spinning. I put my hand on the door handle and my head against the window. Then, I fumbled to open it, wanting air. I opened the window and gulped it in. Perry put his hand on me, “You OK, Kelly?”

“I’m, uh, fine,” I said. “Sorry about that.”

He looked at me and said, “I’m sorry. Ignore me. It wasn’t my place to say anything. Peg is always on to me think before I speak.” I looked at him. He seemed like a good guy, the sort of local car dealer who volunteered his time for local charities, who sponsored the local youth teams. He seemed fond of Issy and it had to be hard to be a father to two girls who weren’t his own. He certainly didn’t seem to harbor any ill will towards me and it had to be strange. To meet your wife’s grown son - who was now her daughter, her pregnant daughter.

I didn’t know what to say. He really was trying to help me. I went to put my hand on his arm and pulled back, not knowing how he’d take it. So I smiled, “Don’t worry about it. No offense taken and I won’t tell her.”

He laughed, “Thanks. And seriously thanks for taking in Issy.”

I said, “She’s a good kid. She’s welcome anytime. Next time, maybe all four of you can come. Make a day of it.”

He smiled and said, clearly measuring his words, “Yeah, we’ll make a day. Maybe we’ll meet at the Eye. Lisa wants to ride the Eye. Does that work?”

“Sure.” I doubted it would happen. We’d see Lisa, Issy and Perry.

He looked at me again. “She does care for you and Bill. She just has,” and then he looked out his window for a minute. “I think it’s time for Issy and me head back.”

We went in and got Issy. She dragged her rucksack out and threw it in the back. She gave me a big hug and told me she loved me. She thanked Fiona and Matt and gave Saff a hug. Saff took her number and promised to send her links to some video even Matt didn’t understand. Perry thanked us, ‘for me and Peg,’ and promised we’d meet Lisa soon. As they pulled out of the drive, I thought about what he said and about what James said. I decided to put it out of my mind for now.

---

That Monday morning was cold. We hadn’t yet put the central heating on a timer and I woke with my legs and arse freezing cold. Glancing over it wasn’t hard to work out why. With her father away for work, Saff had stayed over again. She was wrapped up in the duvet, looking like a sausage roll. I glanced at the clock on my phone, 6:20am. I wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep.

I tiptoed down the corridor and into the living room. Fiona was curled up on the sofa still blissfully asleep. She looked so peaceful, it made me smile. Not wanting to wake her I went into the kitchen and poured myself some dandelion lemonade. After turning on the heating and the coffee machine I sat down and opened up my laptop. There was the usual nonsense that I’d never open. Halfway down was an email from Rich. I opened it and nearly jumped up, ‘Publisher wants to meet… does early next week suit you?’

Silently I danced around the kitchen punching the air, then Humphrey started kicking and I had to sit down. I looked over at Fiona. She had fifteen more minutes left to sleep. It’d be cruel to wake her. I sipped my drink and navigated to the Guardian website. The news was the same as ever, Trump had tweeted something stupid, the French had a new president everyone apart from UKIP liked and Theresa May thinks we need a strong and stable government. I put the kettle on.

About fifteen minutes later I heard Matt shuffling into the bathroom, then the shower starting. Fiona began stirring, I placed a mug of strong black coffee on the floor next to her.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, squinting at me through sleep covered eyes.

By the time I had dressed myself the house was in chaos. Matt had both Fiona and Saff waiting, noisily, outside the bathroom. Fiona was knocking on the door. I knew she had an important meeting that morning.

“What?!” Came Matt’s voice.

“People are waiting!” Fiona stated

“I’ve only just got in the shower,”

“You’ve been in there twenty minutes!” I knew Saff was exaggerating but moments later I heard the shower turning off. A few minutes after that Matt appeared out of a cloud of billowing steam. Matt had a t-shirt on and a towel wrapped around his waist. Despite his lean muscular torso you could see the shape of the breasts he normally hid. Saff giggled and turned so red I thought her head might melt. Matt looked flustered and pushed past. I wanted to say something but figured he needed space.

As I headed into the living room I heard Fiona begging Saff to be quick.

Matt and Saff left together. I got the feeling Matt was still sulking. Fiona rushed past me, kissing me on the cheek. And then it was just me. I hadn’t told Fiona about the email. For some reason I wanted to keep it to myself, at least until I knew the details.

I went to my laptop. Before I could open it I noticed a text on my phone from Issy. It was written in a mixture of emojis and text speak. Reading it was like trying to figure out a magic eye picture. After a few minutes, I worked out that I was now the favourite sister (poor Lisa) and that her trip to London had gained her some cred at school. I sent back a smiley face, two thumbs up and three xs. After that I sent an email to Rich, saying any day apart from Wednesday was doable and asking for more details. I took a deep breath and opened up Susan’s latest notes.

Around 11:45am my phone started to buzz. “Hello?” I answered.

“Hello, Kelly? Ms Cooper?”

“Saff?” She sounded younger on the phone, “Is everything OK?”

“I need help,” she was close to tears, “I tried Dad but he must be in meetings. They came to school. School says I need an adult.”

“Who came where? Why do you need an adult?” I composed myself, “What’s happening Saff?”

“My uncle and mum, they came to school to take me away. Mrs. Williams stopped them but they had to call the police.”

I looked at my laptop, thinking of everything I needed to get done before meeting a publisher, “Give us a minute. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Thank you sooooo much!”

Mercifully, the school was only a short walk away. I moved as quickly as I could but even that wasn’t very fast. Schools looked different than I remembered them. When I’d been there, in the dog days of the Major years, all the computers were kept in one, lockable room. You spent half the year in IT learning to type on typewriters. As I walked around the school I could see classrooms, each of which had interactive whiteboards, projectors and more.

The reception looked like the reception for some small tech company. Gone were the wonky plastic chairs and noticeboards with fading pictures cut from local newspapers.

“Hi,” I said to the middle aged woman behind the desk. It was a minute or two before she looked up. She smiled but didn’t seem all that friendly. “I’m here for Saffron Mitchell?”

“And you are?”

“Oh, sorry. I’m Ms Cooper,” I extended my hand to her, “Kelly Cooper,” she didn’t take it.

“You are a relative of Saffron’s?”

I shook my head, “More a friend of the family really.” While she didn’t tut, I could tell she wanted to.

What she did do was pick up her phone and call through for Mrs Williams.

“She will be with you in a minute,” the receptionist said tersely.

“Is there somewhere for me to sit?” she looked at me funny, then I realised that with the high desk she couldn’t see my belly. I took a couple of steps backwards.

“Oh, my dear! Of course, please come around here!”

The receptionist’s demeanour changed completely. She found me a chair behind the reception and by the time Mrs Williams had joined us ten minutes later I been shown pictures of her five grandchildren on Facebook.

“Hello Ms. Cooper.” Mrs Williams was surprisingly young, probably no older than me (my real age). She had short blond hair, wore a simple but smart red sheath dress with a black jacket and shoes. When she took my hand, she looked pleased to see me but stressed.

“I’m sorry to make you walk further but my office is quieter.” She pointed up to a clock, “Break starts in five minutes, best we get there beforehand.”

As I sat in her office I understood why. The sound of pupil’s footsteps above us reminded me of an avalanche. I have a great respect for teachers, I couldn’t do it.

“Has Saffron told you what happened?”

I shrugged, “Her uncle turned up? Wanted to speak to her?” Force her not to testify.

“It’s a little more than that. At about 10, this morning Saffron’s uncle and her mother turned up wanting to take her away. They claimed there had been some sort of family emergency and that she had to come with them.”

I groaned.

“Well, quite. Luckily all Saffron’s teachers are aware of the situation and what happened to Matthew. Sorry, you are Matt’s mother?”

“Well, yes. One of them.”

Mrs Williams smiled, “Not an unusual story around here. So I’ve called the police who are speaking to Saffron’s mother and uncle and of course we wouldn’t let her go with them. However we do have a problem.”

“Oh?” it seemed pretty straightforward to me.

“Legally there’s nothing we can do once school hours are over. Technically, Mrs Mitchell is still her mother and there are no injunctions against her seeing her daughter. I was hoping we could talk to her together. Perhaps if she could see her daughter,” she must have seen the furious expression on my face as she leant back, “under supervision of course, perhaps we can head off a worse situation.”

I sighed. I wished Fiona was here, she’d know what to do. I was still an amateur at all this. “OK, but I want to speak to Saff first.”

Saff was sat looking dejected in an empty classroom. A young woman, a teacher I guess was keeping her company. Had teachers got younger since I was a kid, or did it just seem that way?

“Look at me, one flight of stairs and I’m a sweaty mess.” She hardly looked up. “How are you holding up?” This time she did acknowledge my presence, if only to give me one of those looks teenagers give you when you’ve said something stupid. “Sorry to ask.” She nodded her head slightly. “Tough day?” Again she nodded. “Can I ask, do you want to see your mum?”

“I don’t know,” her voice was small, like a little girls. It was only then that I realised how much this must have taken out of her. “If I do, Matt will be angry with me. And she’ll try and force me not to testify.”

“Matt’s been angry with you?” I remembered how moody he’d been in the morning, she nodded. “Well look, he’s a teenage boy. They can’t always help it. It’s their hormones.” That earned me a begrudging laugh.

“How about we see your mother together? Perhaps we can work something out?” Saff nodded.

The young teacher tapped me on the shoulder. “Could I have a wee word?” She spoke with a Scottish accent. We went over to the corner.

“My name’s Samantha,” she looked over at Saff, “Mrs Ann to the kids. I’m Saffron’s form tutor. Call me Sam.”

“Nice to meet you Sam. I’m Kelly. How’s she holding up?”

Sam sighed, “Not brilliantly. The family have been using some of the kids to get messages to her. Saffron used to be such an outgoing girl. Now, she keeps herself to herself when she’s not around Matthew.”

“The poor girl,” I said. Until today, I had been so focused on Matt that I didn’t realize that she had been beaten too. Maybe not physically, but she was the football between her family and ours. I didn’t mean for it. I was only trying to help but, since it happened, she lost her mother too.

I don’t know what I was expecting to see when I met Ellen. A monster breathing fire and brimstone perhaps. Instead, I saw a small dark skinned woman, 5’2”. I could see where Saff got her delicate features from. She had that well worn expression of mothers trying to do what’s right for their kids. If her idea of what’s right wasn’t so warped, I’d have felt sorry for her.

She came over and offered me her hand. “I’m Ellen Mitchell.”

I didn’t want to touch her but I looked over at Saff. She looked scared and hopeful. For her, I said, “I’m Kelly Cooper. I’m Matt’s aunt.” Mrs. Williams gave me a quick look and nod of comprehension.

We walked into the staff room. I started to walk to the far side of the room, when Ellen offered me the closest chair, saying, “I remember what it’s like.” It was hard to reconcile this small, polite woman with the hateful monster that encouraged Amadou.

We sat down in the staff room, opposite each other. Saff sat in between Sam and me, while Mrs. Williams was next to Ellen. A female police officer sat a short distance away.

“OK,” Mrs Williams started, “I’m sure everyone here has Saffron’s best interests at heart. I want us to see if we can talk this through, just us girls.”

I felt uncomfortable, wondering if they could all see through me, to see who I used to be beneath the suit. I wondered if Saff, in a moment of weakness, had disclosed my secret. I looked over at her, her face impassive as she stared at the floor. I knew she wouldn’t betray me and relaxed.

We talked, mostly them. It was heartbreaking in many ways. Ellen kept reminding Saff of her childhood, how she used to play with her cousins. She said, “I don’t understand why you are letting this incident get between you.”

After the fourth mention of the incident, I yelled, “it wasn’t an incident. Your shithead nephew and his shithead friend beat Matty into hospital. He could have lost his kidney, been brain damaged. You’d have known that if you came to see him.” She didn’t acknowledge me but instead jiggled her leg and looked at the wall. Mrs. Williams and Sam looked at each other then the officer, who was taking notes the whole time. Saff shrunk into the chair, pulling her legs to her chest. “Sorry, Saff, but I just don’t understand how she can think we should just let this go.”

Ellen got upset and yelled back, “You are a child yourself.” I laughed to myself, thinking if only you knew. “You have no idea what it’s like. Come to me in fifteen years, when it’s your son, your daughter. You don’t know anything yet. This is family. You don’t understand.” I thought about what Bill had said in the car. “Saffron, please, remember mamoo,” I figured that was her grandmother or something. “What would she say if you went against the family.” My mind wandered. It seemed to do that more and more recently. I thought about James and our meeting. How they had used past memories to draw me in.

When we asked Saff, she looked at her mother and said, forcefully, “I will not go there if they are there. And I will not be alone with you and your brother.” Ellen looked hurt at that, as if Saff was denying her family by refusing to say her uncle’s name. In spite of her hate, of myself, I found myself feeling for her. I kept rubbing my belly, to soothe Humphrey. And me.

Eventually, we came to a solution. Saff would visit but only when Richard was around and her cousins and uncle away. I was shocked that they were out on bail. When Ellen left, she didn’t look me in the eye but said, “I hope the rest of your pregnancy goes easily. And you never have to face anything like this again.” I didn’t what ‘this’ meant.

After everyone left, the officer said, “Bloody Bail Act. Don’t worry, miss, we have our eye on them. Your son is safe.”

Sam took Saff to her next lesson. It was the last of the day, so they let me wait in the staff room so I could walk Saff home.

Nine Months - Month Eight

---

Kelly is a 36-year-old man trapped in the body suit of a pregnant 25-year-old woman.

A publisher shows interest (sadly not in Jess and me) and Matt feels the pressure as his trial approaches.

---

“Are you sure this is OK?” I said to Fi. I had the meeting today with the publishers and had been agonising over what to wear. After all these months, I thought I had adapted to my situation but clearly I hadn’t. This was what I had dreamt of since before Uni, but the dream never included being a woman - and eight months pregnant.

Fi smiled, fussing with my shoulders. “Kells, stop. You look perfect.” We had gone shopping over the weekend and settled on a pale green dress that we both agreed worked with my colouring. She started fussing with my hair, fluffing it with her fingers. “There,” she said, giving me a quick peck. I looked in the mirror and liked what I saw. I was carrying most of my weight out front. One of the old women said that’s how she knew I was having a boy. She said that, “when you’re ‘aving a girl, you get uglier. You’re giving all your beauty to her. Boys make you look beautiful.” It was an old wives’ tale but, between the enormous belly, the insomnia and everything else, I’d take it. “Besides,” Fi said, “didn’t Rich and Hannah tell you that the publisher was excited, that this was as much them trying to impress you as you them?”

“I know, I know. I’m just nervous. I’m sorry I’ve been so crazy.”

She put her hand on my belly and gave me a kiss, “It’s perfectly understandable. You are going to be wonderful.” As she left for work, she said, “make sure you leave on your right foot. My grandmother always said leave the house on the right foot.” I never thought about how I walked out the door. Now that I was thinking about it, I almost tripped and fell flat on my face. At least, I left on the right foot though.

Rich wanted me in an hour before the scheduled meeting with the publisher so we could, “go over how much you’re going to impress them. They are going to be begging for this book when we’re done.” After all these months, his American-ness had grown on me. What I’d feared was incenserity at first he’d shown to be genuine confidence in my book. I also liked the way he and Susan made such a good double act. She the world weary cynic, him the ever enthusiastic puppy. I was grateful that Hannah had scheduled the meeting for 11:30, so that I wasn’t on the Tube during rush hour. Despite what they say about London, people would give up seats to me but it still felt scary at times. Like Humphrey and I were being closed in.

I arrived at the office at 10:15 and looked at the staircase. I thought about getting my exercise and took about two steps, before I could feel every pound on my heel-shod feet. I realised that there was no medal for taking the stairs, unless you consider being sweaty and out of breath a reward, so I took the lift.

I came into the office and Hannah greeted me with a kiss on both cheeks. “Kelly, I love that dress! You look so smart. Are you ready?”

“Erm, I think so.” I was, but was getting more nervous each passing second.

In a half-bad imitation of Rich, she said, “You can’t think. You have to know. Do you know?”

I smiled, “I’m pretty sure.”

“Repeat after me. I know.”

“I know,” I said, laughing.

“You know?” Now, she was laughing now.

Rich came up behind her with his finger to his lips. Then, he said, with a big grin and a terrible Cockney accent, one learned from Dick Van Dyke, “She knows, ‘Annah.”

Hannah turned beet red, then kept laughing. “You could have warned me. Can I bring you anything?”

I smiled, “tonic water would be lovely, thanks.” Rich took me by the hand and led me into his office. Susan was waiting there.

“So, are you ready?” Susan asked. “You look lovely. That’s a good colour, brings out your eyes. Tell Fiona good choice.”

We had been over this ten or more times, but now that it was happening, I felt my mind go blank. I took some deep breaths, thought of Humphrey - and Fi - and calmed down. “I’m ready,” I said, with a smile.

“Don’t be nervous,” Rich said. “I know the committee. They love the book. They said that it was one of the best spins they’d seen on crime fiction in a long time. They said that yours was a ‘unique female voice in crime fiction.’ I can see the jacket blurbs already. Your face on signs in the Tube.”

I paused, “Do they know about me?”

He smiled, “do they know what?” He knew what.

“That I am...that I used to be…” I stammered.

He grinned, “not pregnant? No, they don’t. And I don’t think they need to. Do you?”

“I guess I just feel like it’s being dishonest.”

Susan said, “I don’t. You know why?” Rich would ask that and then not wait for your answer. I came to realise that he wasn’t rude just hyper-verbal. I guess Susan had picked up that habit. “Because it isn’t. I didn’t know you before this but, and I mean this as a compliment…”

Rich smiled, “Did you ever notice that whenever someone says that, they don’t?”

Susan gave him a look, a look I remembered from years with Jamie. “When I see you, when I speak to you, I see a woman.” I patted my belly. Without cracking a smile, she said, “No, not because of that. It’s who you are. Your voice is female. Your personality is female. You have a female soul.” I was confused. My face must have shown it because she continued, “I’m going to tell you a secret. When Rich gives me manuscripts to review, I tell Hannah to take off the name so that I don’t have any preconceived notions about the author. I don’t want to think, ‘oh, this is a good woman’ or ‘this man is full of himself.’ I want to judge the work on its own. When I read yours, what did I say, Rich?”

He smiled, “she said, ‘I want to know the woman who wrote this. Two chapters in, she said that.”

I was dumbfounded. “I’m sorry but I’m lost. What does this mean?”

She smiled, “It means,” and she took a breath, “that I think that you are who you are and that you should no more tell them about a past identity than you would about a past hair colour or former lovers.” That would’ve been easy. There were ten, including Jamie, two of whom were drunken hook-ups at Uni with friends of Fi’s. It was reported back to me that, ‘I was very nice. Considerate.’ Which is just what my ego needed. “It’s your decision though.”

I thought about it. Now was not the time to do it, or maybe it was the only time. I looked at Rich and Susan. They thought I was a woman. Alex thought I was, even after I told them. More and more I did, and not just for the obvious reasons. I smiled, “if they ask me, I’ll say something. If not, not.”

Susan smiled. We went over the plan. I would discuss the novel and Rich would handle negotiations. That was fine. I remembered a trip to Morocco with Jamie, and bargaining in the souk. Whenever I left a shop, the owner had a giant smile. A sincere smile which led me to believe that I wouldn’t be an arms negotiator any time soon.

“Just say yes to everything they ask you. I’ll negotiate the details later,” Rich told me. “Good cop, bad cop.”

It was just Rich and me headed to the meeting. As we left, Hannah came over and gave me a hug and kiss. “Good luck, Kelly.”

“Thanks, Hannah. I can’t believe I’m here.” I couldn’t. For a second, I thought of Jamie and how I wouldn’t be here without her. And then I realised that I wouldn’t be a lot of places I’d been without her.

-----

I took the Tube home, grinning from ear to ear. I treated Humphrey to the ice cream I had been craving for a while, taking care not to drip it on me. This was becoming more and more difficult of late.

I walked in the door at 5 PM and Matt and Saff were at the table, doing maths. They were both in their school uniforms. They had been through so much, that I sometimes forgot they were really just children. It had been a rough couple of weeks for them and the football season had brought its own problems.

I had been at home working when I heard the door slam and Matt’s kit drop to the ground.

“Saff, stop. I don’t care. I just don’t fucking care,” he yelled.

“Matt, stop! Don’t take your anger out on me! I didn’t do it!” she yelled back.

I came rushing, OK waddling, out,, “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Nothing,” Matt grumbled. “Nothing is wrong.”

Saff said, “The coach asked Matt to leave practice today. Told him he needed to calm down. Said that if needed to recover, he should.”

“I don’t need to recover. That arsehole Rob needs to stop tripping me. He’ll get a red card for that. But, I’m the one who needs to go home? Fuck them!” He stormed off to his room.

Saff went to follow and I held her back. I knew how Matt felt. I mean I didn’t know how he felt, just that sometimes you want to be alone. “What happened?”

“It was the usual. They were doing some set pieces and Rob tripped Matt. He trips everyone. He’s dirty. But, Matt got up and they got into a fight. He punched Matt in the side.” She didn’t say which side, but I knew. “And Matt got up and just started pushing him. He knocked him down and I thought he was going to kick him until they pulled him away,” and she was crying now. “The coach came over and sent him home.”

I felt awful. “Matt, he just needs to...was the coach upset? Angry?”

She wiped away her tears. “No. I mean yes, he doesn’t want boys in fights and all. But he didn’t throw him out. He just told him to take a couple of days to calm down. I mean everyone knows…”

“Has anyone said anything, y’know, about it?” It was it. It didn’t need a name.

“No, but he feels like they are. He won’t say anything, but I know he does. I just hate seeing him so angry.”

I put my hands on hers. “I know. And thank you. How are you doing?”

“Eh, I’m OK.” She and Ellen were coming to, if not peace, detente. They would meet in public places, preferably with cameras and security. Still, they were talking, which I could tell made Saff, if not happy, less anxious. Sam told me that she was returning to her old self, slowly but surely. “I just don’t like seeing Matt this way.” Poor kid. She was so busy protecting Matt that she wasn’t protecting herself.

After a few days, Matt was back on the pitch. He and Rob made up, sort of. Matt said that the manager made them shake hands and apologise. Saff imitated him, looking at the ground and grunting, “Sorry.” I had to laugh, having been on one end or the other of a lot of those ‘apologies.’

I even caught Matt in the bathroom once, looking at his nose. “So what do you think, O.M.? Does it make look rugged,” he said, with a grin. When we had gone to the plastic surgeon, he said that he thought Matt could get away without any surgeries, except maybe to reset his nose. He said, however, that “the nose makes you looks rugged, which the girls love.” Matt ate that up. Fi laughed and rolled her eyes. I was somewhere in between.

I came into the kitchen. “Hello, you two,” I said cheerfully.

Matt looked at me, “What’s up, O.M.?”

I smiled, “it’s good news, no, it’s great news. But I want to wait for your mum to come home. All I can say is don’t fill up on sweets and junk.”

Saff laughed, “wasn’t today the meeting with the publishers?”

I couldn’t lose my smile. “Yes, it was, Saff. Thanks.”

Matt smiled and mumbled, “I would’ve remembered.”

Saff patted his hand and said, as she rolled her eyes, “of course, you would’ve. That’s a great dress, Kelly. Really smart.”

“Thank you, Saff. I feel like a balloon.”

Matt came over and gave me a kiss, “you’re a beautiful balloon, O.M.”

I laughed, “Beautiful is good. Balloon is not. For future reference.”

I left them to their homework and sat down on the sofa. I was too excited to read, so I watched a video that Siggy had sent me. It was outtakes from the movie. I watched James blow the line, “Dammit, Watkins. You could have blown us sky high,” five times. When they finally said, “Dammit, Watkins. You could have blown us,” the other actor said, “well, if you bought me dinner, maybe” and the set couldn’t stop laughing. I could see them turn bright red, the way they did that time I caught them dancing in their underwear to the X-Factor. I had what I wanted, but still I missed them.

At 6 PM, Fiona came in the door. “Hey, Kells,” she said, giving me a kiss. “How did it go?”
I was pulsing with excitement. “Matt, Saff, come in. Your mum’s home.” Fi later told me I had a stupid grin on my face. When they all came in, I said, “Well, we haven’t signed all of the paperwork yet, but they’re going to publish my book!” Before they could all congratulate me, I said, “And they’re giving me a big advance.” It was £50,000, although I didn’t want to say that in front of Matt and Saff. “To celebrate, we are all going to dinner at Greens I made the reservation so get ready. Come on, quickly,” I said.

Saff came over and gave me a big hug and kiss. Matt hugged me and kissed me on the forehead.

Fi just watched me smiling. We had stopped pretending in front of them. We still hadn’t had sex of any kind. I wondered if tonight would be the night. “That is fantastic, Kells! I’ve never been prouder of you,” she said.

“Thank you,” I said. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

She smiled. “What did I do?”

“What didn’t you do,” I said, tearing up. “You gave me a roof over my head, food to eat. You’ve come to the doctor with me, made sure I did what she said. You’ve been there for me,” and I started to cry. I could blame the hormones but I was happy - and thinking of James. I tried to banish them from my mind. They hadn’t done anything except abandon me in my hour of need, leave me flat broke - and submit the manuscript. And be my cheerleader for 10 years. I sniffled, “I’m a bloody mess, aren’t I?”

She pulled me in closer. “You’re beautiful Kells.” Then she smiled, “So how much are we talking about?” When I whispered it in her ear, she said, jokingly, “maybe we should call Perry.”

------------------------------
We stood at the doorway of the Crown Prosecution Service building. It was a newish modern building at the foot of the Southwark Bridge. No matter how times we had been here since this started, I never lost the feeling of nausea.

Matt squirmed in his shirt and tie. “I really don’t want to be here,” he said.

Fi gave his hand a squeeze. “No one does, Matt. But we need to do this.” She and I had spent all last night talking about this, wondering what Matt was in for.

I took his other hand. “We’re here for you, Matt. If you start to feel anxious or like you can’t, don’t want to speak, just say so.” I looked in his eyes and wondered if I had just made a bad situation worse. If I had put an idea in his head that hadn’t been there.

“Thanks, mum, O.M. I’ll be OK.” He took a deep breath. “This is the right thing, right?” At that moment, I would have given anything to be in his place. To take away the pain. To make like this never happened. To make him be just another kid.

We sat in the waiting area. Ms. Winston, the secretary, brought me a cup of tea unbidden. “Here you go, Ms. Cooper. How are you feeling?” I was grateful for the distraction. Fi kept playing with her hands, while Matt kept picking up and putting away his phone.

I smiled. “I’m ready.” I said, patting my belly. Edward was calm for now. We had decided to name him Edward, after my father. Bill smiled when I told him. He said that it was only right, dad played both roles too.

The Crown Prosecutor, Mr. George, came out. He was a middle aged man, about 40, with thinning brown hair and a mid-priced blue suit. I laughed to myself, at the fact that I now saw a 40 year old man as middle-aged. He offered me his hand. “Allow me, Ms. Cooper,” he said, with a smile. “How are you feeling today?” His wife was in her seventh month. This was his third child, “a girl this time,” he said with a smile the first time he told us. He had two boys, 9 and 6. The 9 year old was ready for a baby sibling, he said, “since his life was ruined 6 years ago anyway.” The 6 year old had chosen to ignore reality. Something Fi and I wished we could do.

I smiled. “I’m fine, thanks. Please. What’s going on with the case?”

He led us into his office and we sat down. He sighed, “I had hoped we wouldn’t get to this point.”

Fi jumped in, “What does that mean? I mean what’s in dispute here? These animals attacked my son and put him in hospital. What is there to do here?” I could see Matt getting agitated, reliving the attack. He was pulling at his neck, as if he could take his skin off. Fi’s leg was bouncing up and down, the way it did when she got nervous. Sometimes, it was funny, like when she was trying to remember some obscure news story at quiz night. Now, it reminded me of sitting with her after John died.

I was between them and rubbed both their legs, in an effort to calm them down. It failed. “I’m sorry, Mr. George, I think we’re all on edge. What’s going on?”

He looked at us, “As you know, the Gambian consulate decided to go to Bedford Row,” where the best criminal barristers had their offices, “and the cousin’s counsel has decided to claim that his human rights are at risk...”

I slammed my hand on the table and didn’t let him finish, “You cannot be bloody serious? HIS human rights? What right? The right to beat a boy to death for what? What the bloody hell, excuse me?”

Matt whimpered, “O.M., please...please stop.”

I took his hand, “I’m sorry, Matt, I just can’t...I just can’t believe it….”

Fi took a deep breath, “What does this mean? For the case?” Her voice was calm but I could see the mix of fear and hate in her eyes.

Mr. George sighed again, “Well, they’re fighting deportation if he’s convicted. Said returning him to Gambia would put him at risk because of his religion.” He rolled his eyes.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I yelled. Edward was kicking up a storm. I rubbed my stomach but kept going, “he beats someone near to death because a church told him to and now he claims the same church is the reason why he should get to stay here? Please tell me that the court won’t believe that shite, excuse my language.” I looked over and Matt had pulled his legs to his chest, lightly rocking back and forth.

He smiled a rueful smile. “I’ve heard worse. The problem we have is they’re now claiming that this was just some dumb kid protecting his cousin. That you provoked him.”

Matt mumbled, “I wasn’t doing anything. We were just holding hands. I didn’t say anything.” I leaned over and tried to hug him. He pulled away, moving his chair next to the wall and leaning up against it.

Mr. George came around the desk. “Matt, I know. I know you were. And I know what these men did to you.” He always called them men. He said that, ‘this is not boys being boys. This is men and I will treat them that way’, “and I know why they did it. But, you need to be strong, tough here. We’ve been through this before but we need to go through this again. Can you do that for me?” Matt nodded. “OK?”

Matt closed his eyes. “They called me a shemale dyke cunt. Said I needed a real man. Amadou told me to get the fuck away from his cousin. Said if,” and he started to wheeze a little, “a real man fucked me, I’d get my head straight. Then his friend grabbed Saff and told her he’d show her what a real man was. And I went to grab her away and they knocked me down. The last thing I remember was his friend kicking me in head and calling me a tranny whore,” and he started to cry again.

I said angrily, “If that isn’t targeting him for who he is, then I don’t know what is.” This was hitting home for me in a way I hadn’t expected. Fi sat mute, unable to process what was going on. She looked as shell shocked as she did that night in hospital.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Cooper, Ms. Walters. If I had my way, he’d be in Holloway now, but her Honour, in her finite wisdom, decided to let the poor dears out on bail. Can’t let them suffer. They’re just poor lost boys, persecuted for their faith,” he sneered.

“There’s something else you should be aware of,” I prepared myself for the worst. “Do you know who Andrew Hall is?”

Fiona spoke, “Of course, we know who he is.” Everyone in the country knew who he was. A right wing blogger and “journalist.” Pro Brexit, anti immigration. In short, a bit of a bastard.

“Well, yes.” He shook his head seeing our expressions, “I’m afraid he’s taken an interest in the case.”

“He’s supporting those boys!” My blood pressure was so high I was worried Edward would pop out in a cloud of steam.

“No, you misunderstand me Ms. Cooper. He’s taking Matt’s side. Says it’s proof immigrants are a danger to our liberal values.”

I collapsed back in my chair unable to speak. Matt looked like all the colour had drained out of him.

“This is the same man who didn’t think a gay judge should be allowed to make a ruling on Brexit?” Fiona’s voice was calm and measured, while her eyes looked like she was ready to burn everything to the ground.

“The good news is that the court will keep Matthew’s name out of the press. He still counts as a minor in these circumstances. But you will have to be prepared. People, especially people who know you, have a way of figuring these things out.”

I thought of Matt’s school, which was more than half BAME. How would they feel about Andrew Hall supporting Matt?

“Good news,” Matt muttered. Fiona took his hand and squeezed.

Matt was quiet during the drive home. He only spoke to ask if we could have the kale and goat's cheese pizzas that had become his favourite.

“Of course we can Matty,” I said with rather more force than was necessary.

---

I woke at 4am that night, needing to pee. Nothing unusual there. But as I padded down the hallway I heard a noise coming from the living room. I nearly jumped out of my skin, thinking it was burglars.

As I calmed down, I realised the sound I heard was crying. I moved as quietly as I could to the half open living room door. Peering through I saw Matt curled up on the sofa. In front of him was a scrapbook.

“Matty are you OK?”

The poor boy nearly jumped out of his skin.

“It’s OK Matt, you don’t have to be embarrassed,” I could see his wet cheeks glinting in the moonlight, “What have you got there?”

Matt didn’t say anything, although he did shuffle along to make space for me.

I picked up the scrapbook and began turning the page. He still didn’t speak, his breathing shallow.

The book was full of pictures of men, footballers mostly. Steven Gerrard featured prominently.

“I used to keep this under my bed, in an old shoe box,” Matt muttered. I stayed silent. “In the old days. Before, you know, I came ‘out’ I used to look at it. I’d wish I could be more like them.”

I smiled. I could remember having heroes as a kid. Although this was something more than heroes.

“Once Dad found it. Well you know how useless mum is at cleaning so Dad used to do it.” I held Matt’s hand as he started crying again, “I don’t know how he figured it out, but he told me it was OK if I was gay and that he would love me anyway,” Matt put his head on my shoulder. I could feel the thin material of my t-shirt becoming damp almost straight away. “Do you think it was bad that I didn’t tell him the truth? That I wanted to be like them. Do you think he would have accepted me?”

I held him close, “Matt, I think John was a wonderful man. I knew him for more years than you’ve been alive and I am absolutely, 100% sure he would have felt nothing but pride for you. And as to it being wrong not to tell him, would you say you knew the truth back then?”

He thought for some time, “On some deep level yes, but I didn’t know what to call it.”

“So how could you have said something if you didn’t even know the words?”

He nodded and we embraced. In the morning Fiona found us cuddled up on the sofa.

-------------

Three days later, all hell broke out.

I was in the kitchen, trying to decide what to cook for dinner, when Matt came home. He walked in, shoulders slumped and looking miserable. He came over and gave me a kiss on the head, “Hey, O.M.,” and then he leaned down to my belly, “Hey, Eddie.” Lately, he had started to doing that, mostly to jokingly say things like, “Hey, Eddie, stop so she can make dinner,” or “I know you want to get here, but take your time.”

I smiled, “He kicked,” I lied. “He loves the sound of your voice. What’s up? Where’s Saff?”

He sat down in a chair, slumped over, legs sticking out. “She’s at Ruth’s today.”

He clearly wanted to say something but wouldn’t do it first. Like his mother, he didn’t want to be seen as dumping his problems on you. By asking, you let both of them feel like they were being polite by responding. Whatever. “Is something wrong? Did something happen?”

“Andrew fucking Hall happened, excuse me,” he said, fumbling in his bag. He handed me an article from “Hall of Justice,” Andrew Hall’s website entitled, “You Can’t Beat Africans, but They Can Beat You.” Oh bloody hell, I thought. You can’t come up with a better headline, you five-times married fuckwit. Five fucking times. Apparently, I was, by virtue of not marrying him alone, at least six from the bottom when it came to the smartest woman in England. I scanned the article, ‘now I’m not necessarily a fan of the whole LGBTQXYZ movement,’ (thanks, arsehole, real fucking nice) ‘but at least I act in a civilised manner (yes, by whipping your mouth-breathers into protesting equality and screaming at their MPs like brain damaged children)’ and ‘these savages are bringing over their “values” and thinking they can just beating a poor “boy” (nice quotes, fuckface) to death because “he” (again) and “his” girlfriend want to hold hands. What’s next - allowing honour killings because it’s their ‘culture’ and who are we to judge? (OK, after what happened, this last one gave me pause, sorry)

I sighed and handed it back to him, “Where did you get this shite? Hall of Justice? Hall of Shame, if you ask me?”

“Someone taped it to my locker,” he said.

Oh god, I thought, it’s starting. “Do you know who?”

“No. It doesn’t matter. And this was the best part of my day. I went to sit at my usual table at lunch,” Matt sat with Saff and a mixed group of other kids, “and Aqib told me to fuck off. Told me I wasn’t welcome.” Aqib was a short kid whose grandparents came from Pakistan. Had one eyebrow and looked like he had to shave at lunch. He was a nice kid though, very polite. Always called me Ms. Cooper, even when I told him to call me Kelly.

“I thought you were friends,” I said. “I mean he was here last week. What happened?”

“He saw the article. He asked how I could do it…”

“Do what? What did you do?”

He started to rub his neck again. “That’s what I said. I said that I didn’t agree with it...and then he said well if I didn’t agree with it, I should say something.”

Great moments in teen logic. By not vehemently denouncing something, you agreed with it. “Did you tell him that’s not really possible?” I started to get agitated. Edward started to kick. I sat down. “Does he not understand that you were the one who got hurt, not,” and I took a deep breath, “them?”

“I thought he did.”

“What did everyone else say? What did Saff say?”

He looked down at the table, “Nothing. They didn’t say anything. They just all looked away.”

My heart ached for him. I remembered what it was like in high school. Everyone likes to think that they were the hero, the non-conformist. Sure, they were non-conformists. Just like everyone else. “What about Saff?”

“She tried to defend me, but then Cassy asked how she could defend Andrew Hall.” I never liked Cassy. I knew girls like her at Uni. They were all in favor of the poor and oppressed, so long as they stayed over there and so long as they showed sufficient gratitude.

“What the bloody hell?” I said. “So what did Saff do?”

“She got up and went to the library. She looked like she wanted to cry. I feel horrible. I made this happen,” and he started to tear up.

I held him to my chest. “YOU didn’t do anything. THEY did this to you. And you certainly didn’t ask,” and I held the article by two fingers, “for this. Screw Cassandra and Aqib. You don’t need them.” Matt looked at me in disbelief. When you’re an adult, you forget how limited in your life is in high school. These are the people you see. This is who decides your social life.

“I know. And now Alan and Stephen and all the other pricks all think I’m their friend,” he sneered. “Like I wasn’t a ‘freak’ before. Now, I’m their hero. I’m helping keep England safe for arseholes. Great.”

His phone rang. I could see on the table that it was Saff. He looked at me, took a deep breath, “Hey Saff,” and walked to his room and closed the door. I stood by the door. I couldn’t hear much beyond, “You know I didn’t want this,” and “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Your mum….”

----------------

It had been a long day at work and I just wanted to sit and have a cup of tea.

I went into the kitchen and Matt was looking through the cupboards. "Hey Matt, how was practice?"

"I don't want to talk about it! Don't we have any fucking crisps?".

I held out the bag that I had picked up on my way home. "Here. ". I was not happy with his attitude but decided to let him cool down. "What happened?"

"I said that I don't want to fucking talk about it. Do you not understand that," he snarled.

Edward started kicking. I needed to be calm. "I'm going to go to the other room. When you're ready to be civilized, I'll be here.". He didn't say anything. He just sulked.

After twenty minutes, I went into his room. He was starting at the ceiling. His football kit was in the garbage. I picked up his jersey. "Something happen?"

"Yes," he sneered. "Something happened. What happened was I was asked to leave the team. The coach said that I was a distraction. He said with everything with the trial and Andrew fucking Hall, I was a distraction, so I should leave for a while. Said I could come back next year. Fucking arsehole doesn't even realise I'm graduating," and he started to cry.

"How the hell could he say that?"

"Because it's fucking true. It doesn't fucking matter. I hate this fucking trial. I'm tired of it. I'm a fucking freak and the coach knows that."

"You are not a freak, Matt. Would Saff be with a freak? A beautiful girl like that has her choice and she chose you. "

"Well, that doesn't matter. I broke up with her."

"What? Why?"

"She doesn't need all this shit. Look at what I did to her. She needs a real guy."

"You are a real guy.". My heart was breaking for him until...

"That's fucking hilarious coming from you, Kelly."

You ungrateful little bastard. You impudent horrible little shit. "Excuse me?"

He didn't look me in the eye, but said, "you heard what I said."

I took several deep breaths and said, "If you meant to hurt me, you've succeeded admirably.". I started to tear up. I waited for his apology but, after a minute, when I realised none was forthcoming, I said, as calmly as I could, "I am leaving. When your mother comes home, tell her she can reach me on my mobile, if she wants.". I put on my coat and waited at the door for him to come out, to say something, to acknowledge our relationship, my humanity but there was nothing by silence. So I left.

I walked the green near the house and began to cry. I was hurt and I was angry. I wanted to speak to someone. I couldn't call Fi. She had enough to deal with already. I couldn't call Jeremy. This was, however close we had become, way beyond the bounds of our friendship. I wouldn't call James. I picked up the phone and called Bill.

He heard my sobs and said, "Is everything OK?"

"Can I stay with you for a while?"

"What happened?" After I related the story, he said, "You're not welcome here. Not without Fiona and Matt.”

“Are you fucking serious, Bill? You won’t let me stay there? Thanks a fucking lot.”

“I’m as serious as a bloody heart attack, Peggy. Yeah, you heard me right. You don’t get to fucking leave. Not now.”

I started to get angry, then confused. “What the fuck Bill?”

“You’re that boy’s mum. Maybe it’s not what you would have chosen and maybe it’s not where you thought you’d be, but you’re there. And mums don’t leave. Mums can’t leave.”

I looked at the ground, “He doesn’t think I’m his mum...”

Bill laughed, “Are you that fucking stupid, Kelly? Have the bloody hormones sucked out your brain - ow, fuck, sorry, Julia just hit me. That boy is in pain with everything that was going on.” With Fi and Matt’s consent, I had told him Matt’s story. I didn’t want him figuring it out from the news. When I told him, he laughed and said, ‘no fucking shit, She-lock. I knew Fi had a daughter before.’ “And what do you do, you run away. Am I going to find you in twenty years married to a car dealer?”

That hurt. “Fuck you, Bill,” I laughed.

He laughed and then got serious. “He hates you, now? Guess what? You better get fucking used to it. No ice cream for dessert? I hate you. You can’t watch the same videos for seven hours straight? I hate you. That’s part of the job description. Get over it, princess. You’re going to be a mother and you better be a mum while you’re at it.”

“I’m really angry,” I mumbled. “I can’t go back and pretend something happened.”

“I hope to god it’s the fucking hormones, because otherwise you’re too stupid to have a kid. No one said that you had to pretend nothing happened. But you better get your arse back there now, young lady,” he laughed.

“Sod off, arsehole.”

“Yeah, whatever, sis. Next call from you better be that you’re in labour.” He laughed, clearly pondering that last bit. “Bloody hell.”

“Thanks, Billy. Tell Julia to hit you again for me.”

I hung up and the phone and walked back home.

Matt was still sitting in his room, staring at the ceiling. He had his earbuds in. I yanked them out. “Fuck are you doing?”

“Listen to me, Matthew. You are angry. I am angry. But, guess what, you don’t get to treat me that way.” He started to talk and I said, “Shut up, Matthew. I will speak my piece and then, if I feel like it, I’ll listen to you. I am not some circus freak that you get to knock around. I am a person, the same as you. You wouldn’t take it if someone said what you said to me to you, and you damn well better not think that you can say those things to me. Because whatever you think of me and what you think I am, I will tell your mother and we can both agree that she will not be best pleased. Am I making myself clear, Matthew?” He stared at me dumbly. “I asked you a question. Am I clear?” He nodded. “Good,” I said. “I will be in my room, if you want to speak with me.”

I sat in bed, staring at the ceiling. I turned the television on and off five times. I didn’t want to hear the noise. After a half an hour, I heard a knock. “May I come in,” Matt said quietly. He held his hands behind him and shuffled his feet.

“What?” I said, more hurt than angry.

“Yeah, well, about before. Do you mind if I sit?” He looked like he was about to cry.

I wanted to hug him and choke him at the same time. I patted the bed. “Is there something you want?”

“I...I...I can’t take it anymore,” and he started to cry. “All I wanted to be was normal and then it happened and now there’s the trial and Andrew Hall and everyone hates me. I walk down the halls and everyone is staring.”

“No, they aren’t,” I lied. It was high school. Every little thing was magnified and this was no little thing.

“Yeah, they are. And all I had was football. That’s all I ever wanted. Was to be on the football team. To be one of the guys and now I don’t even have that. I don’t know why I ever thought I could do this,” I started to cry. “I wish I wasn’t like this. Why did I do it? They’re fucking right. I should’ve known better…” and he bawled.

I took in my arms. I knew he was in pain but I didn’t know how much. He was such a strong kid that I forgot how vulnerable he was, we all were. I rubbed his back and let him cry. I didn’t say anything beyond, “shhhh.” We sat there for I don’t know how long. I only knew that my leg had fallen asleep and that I would’ve sat there until my body fell asleep if that’s what Matt needed.

Eventually, he broke off. “I didn’t mean it.”

“I know,” I said, wiping away my tears. He didn’t say he was sorry, but I could tell he was.

“I shouldn’t have said it.”

“No, you shouldn’t.”

“You didn’t choose the suit. It chose you.” I realized that I could’ve said the same to him. He kept going, “I love you, O.M. You know that, right?”

“Yes,” I said, with a smile.

“Do you still love me,” he said, sounding like a little kid.

I gave him a hug. “Matt, I will always love you. I may not always like what you do, but I will always love you. That’s my job.”

He smiled, hugged me and just said, “Thanks,” then, “can we maybe not tell mum about everything?”

---

“Fi, I promise. I will be careful. Nothing is going to happen.” I was going to meet James. I shouldn’t have. The trial and pregnancy hormones were overriding my rational thought.

“I just..I don’t know Kells. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t stop you. They still are Edward’s parent too.” She had adopted “they” as the pronoun. I think it provided her with some comfort. It made James that much less real in our lives. Then she added, “I suppose.” She looked disappointed and sad.

We’d chosen a smart little restaurant in Primrose Hill. It was near where I’d met a client that morning and close enough to our old flat in Camden. In fact it wasn’t near at all, but it was less harsh than I could have been.

My meeting finished early so I was about thirty minutes early. I had brought a book with me but, between Fi and James, I was too nervous to focus. Instead, I went to the newsagents and picked up a magazine. I started flipping through it and saw the bloody advert. This time, the much thinner me was slung over the shoulder of one of the male models, smiling at the camera. The tagline read, ‘Be the Catch of the Day’. I really needed to find out who wrote that and kick them in the balls. James walked in. They were wearing a tight jumper that showed their muscles. Had they been working out?

They came in and gave me a kiss on the cheek. They didn’t even try to kiss my lips. “Hi, Kelly,” they said. “How are you feeling?”

I pasted on a fake smile. “Huge. How are you? You look well. Have you been working out?”

They laughed. “I’m up for a new role. In a Netflix show. It’s a police procedural, and I’m supposed to be the rugged detective,” they laughed, “if you can believe that.”

I thought about Jamie, the old Jamie. She had tried to be the ingenue, then the smart best friend. Apparently, they had found their niche - as a rugged detective. I had to laugh. “Good on you, James. I hope you get it.”

“Thanks,” they said. “It means alot coming from you.”

“Yeah, well.” I looked at their face and thought about everything Jamie had been through. This had been her dream, to be a working actress.

They looked down at the menu, “Yeah, well. How are you?”

I hadn’t told them about the book. We had spoken, but I kept it from them. Fi once asked why and I couldn’t answer. Did I want to punish them? Not want them to gloat about how they were right? I didn’t know but it was going to be coming out soon. If Rich was to believed, I’d be in the window at Foyle’s and Waterstone’s, so I couldn’t hide it. “Well, I have a book coming out.”

They looked genuinely happy. “Seriously?” They got up and gave me a hug and a kiss. I missed that kind of hug and kiss from them. “That is great news! What book? What’s it about?”

“It’s the one you submitted. The one…”

“About the au pair they find in the dry lake bed? I knew that would be the one! You never believed me, but I always said it was your best! See?”

They were so enthusiastic that I almost felt bad about what I said next, but it needed to be said, “Why did you do it, James?”

“Why did I do what?” They knew what. I could see it in their eyes.

“For an actor, you’re a terrible liar, James. You know what. Ms. Kelly Rogerson.” They slumped in the chair. “And the nanosuits. When did you order them?”

"What?". They seemed surprised.

"I asked when you ordered the suits." I was surprised at how calm I was about all of this.

"You know when. It was after you blew yourself up at work.". They were acting upset. I knew they weren't just that they were acting like it.

"James," I said calmly. "You may have stripped the account bare, but I could still access the account information."

"Oh?" Their eyes betrayed the impassivity of their face. I hoped they did better on set.

"Yes. I was fired 20th February. There's a payment to NanoByte on 27th January."

Now, they were genuinely upset. "Kelly, I cannot believe you. After all these years..." And they started to tear up.

"James," I said. "Enough. If you want us to have any relationship, partners, parents, friends, bloody enough."

"Excuse me?"

"I don't want James. And I don't want Jamie the actress. I want you. I want honesty. I deserve it.". I rested my hands on my stomach. "Don't tell me what you think the answer is supposed to be or what you think I want to hear. Tell me the truth. Tell me why you did it."

"I didn't want to go through another cycle. It was hopeless and painful, and I just couldn't face it again. I'm sorry, Kelly."

"I actually understand that now," I said. “Between the weight gain and the constipation and the leaking from here, there and everywhere, I get that now," I said with a laugh. They were laughing too until I said, "that doesn't explain why you ordered the surrogate suit for me."

Then they got indignant. "That is a lie! I cannot believe you would accuse me of that!"

I looked at them and pushed myself up, slowly. "Goodbye James," I said. "We can work out a custody arrangement or let the lawyers do it. My goal is to have you in this child's life. I know what it's like to have just one parent and I wouldn't do that to my child but please leave me alone. Thanks." I waddled to the door, picking up my coat as I left.

"Wait," they said. "I can explain."

I turned around. "If I think you're lying, I will leave and never speak to you again. We'll do handovers in car parks outside McDonald's and all that."

They slumped. "I'm done lying. Except for work," they said, with a smile.

I was angry. "Don't try and smile your way out of this," I said. "I'm not interested in charm now. Speak now. Why?"

"I couldn't face it again. I didn't want to. And I didn't want to try, even in the suit."

"Why didn't you say something to me?"

They started to cry. No, Jamie started to cry. The real Jamie started to cry. Not James. Not the actress playing the role. Jamie did. "I..uh... I..uh.. I don't know. I just don't," they said, slumping in their chair.

I felt bad but wasn't ready to forgive them. "Why me? Why did you do this to me?"

"Do you mind it," they asked, still sobbing. "You don't seem to."

"That’s not the point and never was. I felt violated. I still do," I said, calmly but forcefully.

"That's a little dramatic. I'm sorry for not asking you but that's dramatic."

"What do you call impregnating someone against her will?"

They briefly smiled at ‘her,’ then said, "I didn't think of it like that. I guess I just thought..."

"What," I interrupted them. "You thought what?"

"I was facing down forty. The end of my career, such as it was," they said, with a mirthless laugh. "You were miserable, I was miserable."

"So you thought you would trick me."

"No," they said. "I can't explain it. I was sitting around feeling sorry for myself. It was after that audition for the Chekhov play, remember?". I remembered. It was a shitty little reinvention of the Cherry Orchard. It was supposed to be set in some majestic pile in the Midlands, an original idea if ever there was one. The director told Jamie she was too old for Charlotta and that, to be honest, she should consider another career. I nodded and they continued, "I was feeling sorry for myself and I started looking at your old manuscripts. I was reading one and I thought, 'holy shit, Kelly gets women. He thinks like a woman."

I smiled in spite of myself, "Thanks." I thought about what Alex said. And Hannah. And Susan.

They smiled, a sincere smile. "I meant it as a compliment. And I knew about the blog. And I thought we're both so bloody miserable, we should do this. We can reinvent ourselves." She was so proud of herself.

"That's all well and good, but you didn't ask me." They started stammering. I continued, "Worse yet, you put this child at risk."

They looked shocked. "How?"

"When we were in Iceland. All the drinking. My first trimester. Do you know how important that it is for fetal development?"

They started to cry. Real tears. "Oh my God, Kelly. I’m so sorry. If there is anything wrong, I will kill myself."

"Dr. Patel says we should, fingers crossed, be Ok. Why did you do that to me? Why didn't you tell me?"

They looked down. "I don't know."

"Were you resentful?"

"What?"

"It's totally normal, by the way. All the books say to expect your husband to be jealous," I said, laughing.

"I deserve that," they said, laughing.

"The difference is, in the books, the woman knows she's pregnant. What you did is borderline abuse, you know that."

"I know. I don't blame you for hating me." Their eyes were rimmed red.

"I'm done hating you, James. I'm just focused on this child right now."

“Thanks. So am I,” they said. I knew they believed it, even if I didn’t. I excused myself to go to the bathroom. After I was done, I splashed some water on my face. In spite of myself, I found myself remembering all of the good times. Remembering not the man who screwed me over, but the woman who cared.

When I came back, a woman was talking to James. She had long blond hair that ran down the length of her back. She was wearing a peasant top (thanks, TK Maxx), jeans that looked like they were painted on and black ankle boots with a 3” heel (I was helping Otty and Liv on a TopShop campaign). She was beautiful but she had an over made-up face. She and James were laughing. I looked over at James. I could tell their defences were back up.

I walked over and said, “Hello, I’m Kelly.”

The woman turned white, “Oh, hello. I’m, uh, Alyssa” She looked at her wrist. “Oh, it’s 3:00 PM. I have to head back to the hotel for the, uh, press thing. I’ll see you at the premiere, James. Very nice meeting you, uh, Katy,” and she left abruptly.

“Who is that,” I spat. The people at the next table turned around.

“She’s no one. An actress from the film,” they said, looking at the expensive watch on their wrist. “Besides, what do you care,” they said. I could feel them returning to acting mode.

“I-I care because you’ve been telling me you want to get back together. Another lie!” I kept my voice low but the couple at the next table were staring.

“I’m not lying. Not this time,” They reached out across the table. I didn’t take their hand, “Alyssa’s just staying in London. For the film premiere.”

“So you are telling me that you two aren’t sleeping together,” For a moment, I felt uncertainty. What with the pregnancy mood swings and Matt’s situation, I couldn’t completely trust my emotions.

“No, we aren’t,” they sighed heavily. They looked older than I remembered, even with the body suit, “But we were. During the filming.” I was speechless. “You left me. You didn’t call or even email. I was a mess. I needed some comfort.”

I felt like my head was spinning. If you told me you saw steam coming out of my ears, I wouldn’t have been surprised. “I. Left. You.”

“Yes you did, carrying my child,” If looks could kill them, they and the half of the restaurant behind them would have been dead.

“You tricked me,” I stammered.

“I know what I did was wrong, but you hurt me as well.” Again with the shared blame.

A waitress, possibly with a death wish, chose that moment to come over. James ordered for the both of us while I fumed. They ordered me a fruit smoothie. They knew I hated those things.

“We’re going to play the ‘we hurt each other game,’ now, really? How did I hurt you?” I sneered.

The waitress lingered for a second, probably not knowing what to do, then left. “You. You and Fiona.” The way they spoke her name made me madder than anything else.

“What about Fi and me? She took me in after you took all of our money. I had nowhere to go. No, we had nowhere to go. Me and your baby. The one you seem to care so much about all of a sudden.” I crossed my arms. The effect was probably more comical than I intended given my swollen belly. “Anyway, we haven’t slept together. Unlike you and Alyssa.” Pow, take that, I thought.

They looked at me. “You may not have done anything physical, but you did something. Something worse. You fell in love with her. You're in love with her." I started to say something. They put their hand up. "I don't mean the stupid way you were at Uni. I mean real, true love. Like we used to have. Like I thought we maybe we could still have. With the one person you knew would hurt me most." I just stared at the floor. She was right. She laughed a little. "Well, she got what she wants. What she always wanted."

"What does that mean?" I knew what they meant.

"You were always a girlfriend to her. You loved her but she saw you as a girlfriend. She never saw you as anything but that. And now she has that. Tell her congratulations. I hope you two are happy. I really do. I know we're through but I hope you'll be ok with that. With never having what we had." They paused and and tossed a £50 note on the table. “I made mistakes. I fucked up. But, I was never unfaithful. Let me know when the baby is born, I guess,” they said, just as the waitress returned with our drinks. James pushed past her and out of the door.

The waitress looked at me, I didn’t know what to say. “I-I need the loo. Excuse me,” I got up desperately fighting back the tears. I couldn’t look at anyone. I knew they were all judging me.

Somehow I found my way into a cubicle and sat on a seat. My head was in my hands and tears were flowing freely. I looked up suddenly when I heard a gentle knocking on the cubicle door.

“Hello, Ms. Are you alright in there?” It was the waitress.

“I-I’m fine,” I just about got the words out in the midst of blubbering. I clearly wasn’t fine.

“You shouldn’t let him upset you. My ex was just the same, nothing was ever his fault.”

I stopped crying. I wasn’t sure what was happening. I walked out.

“My name’s Zoe by the way.”

“Hi,” I said meekly. “Kelly.” Please don’t tell anyone what a mess I am.

“So he left you pregnant then?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What a bastard. We ‘wronged’ women need to stick together.”

I laughed. The way she accepted me as a woman me feel a little better. I thought of Fiona, how stupid I’d been to even come here.

The waitress smiled at me, she held up the £50 note, “Here, take this. The least he can do is pay for a taxi home.”

Again I laughed, but I pushed her hand away, “You keep it. They can pay for your tip,” she started to say something, “Honestly, I have plenty of money. I don’t need them for that.” And I didn’t. Not really. I’d been holding on to some idea of what we had, but was it worth it?

“Do you want to come sit down for a bit. I’ll get Silvio to make you one of his specials?”

“No. Thank you. You’ve been really kind,” I gave her a little hug, “but there’s something I need to do.”

I went outside and called a taxi. I needed to get home. To see Fiona.

The whole ride home I cried. James’ words rang in my ears. I loved Fiona, I knew that. But I couldn’t shake what they said. I had known Fi for seventeen years and spent the ride home remembering our relationship. The way we talked about our problems. The way she laughed off my passes. The way she talked to me about her boyfriends, telling me how “I knew just what I (she) should say.” I had the taxi let me off a short walk from home.

I walked in the door, my eyes rimmed red. Fi came over to hug me and I pushed her away. I went to the spare bedroom, sat on the bed and began to cry.

I heard a knock on the door. "Kells? Can I come in?". I almost said no but realized that was unfair to her. I had spent the evening lecturing Jamie on being open and honest and needed to practice what I preached.

"Sorry. Come in."

She sat on the bed. "What happened? What did they do to you?"

I took a deep breath. "What am I to you?"

"What?"

"What am I to you? What do you see me as?"

"Kells? What are you talking about? What did they say?". She was getting agitated, as well she should.

"They said something. They meant it to be cruel but it hurt because it hit close to home. They said that I was fooling myself. That I loved you but that you never saw me as a man, but more like a girlfriend. Is that true?". She stared past me, out the window. "Don't bullshit me Fi. I've had enough for one life tonight. Is it true?"

She took a deep breath and exhaled. "No but yes. You were my friend, my male friend, but no I never saw you romantically. Not before."

I felt gut punched. I had always known that but to hear it verbalized hurt. "Thanks for that, I guess," I said. "I'll get my things from the bedroom."

"Please don't, Kells. I love you!"

"Stop it, Fi! Please!". The agitation made Edward kick. "Whoa," I said. "I have to sit. He's kicking up a storm."

She put her hand on my belly, leaned over and said, "Shhhh, Edward. That's it.". The baby started to calm down. She looked me in the eyes and said, "I love you Kells. Maybe I didn’t that way before and certainly not in the way that I would have ever expected, but I love you and Matt loves you. And I thought you loved us."

I wiped away a tear. "I do."

"Then what does it matter what happened before? I wait for every doctor’s appointment, every sonogram. I love that baby like he's inside me. When you were away, I couldn't sleep because I've grown used to you next to me blowing gas in my face..." We both laughed and she continued, "you've been the best thing that's happened to Matt, to me since John. I love you Kells and I don't want to lose you. I don't want to be Aunt Fi, who comes around on holidays. I want to see the baby take his first steps, hear his first words. I want you, I need you here everyday."

I was now bawling. "I want to be here everyday but..."

"But what? You want a word? We're a family, Kelly. You, me, Matt, that baby, we're a family. "

I paused. "But..."

"But what? But passion? But heat? Whatever you and them had? News flash Kells - that boy in that room, in there, is a fire extinguisher" and then she put her hand on my belly, "and that one in there that's a bloody fire hose," she laughed. “If you think you’re having sex on the beach at Ibiza any time soon, you’re not. And you won’t want to. You’ll watch Edward splash in a wading pool in the garden and it will be the best time you’ve ever, we’ve ever had. We’ll be going to Legoland and Warwick Castle. I love you Kelly. And I can tell you that I don't want anyone else in my bed but you. If that's not love..." and she kissed me.

"I love you Fi."

"I love you too, Kells,” she said, holding me in her arms and stroking my hair. What happened?"

I smiled. "It doesn't matter.". It didn't.

---

That night we had sex. I’d love to able to say it was amazing, mind-blowing sex. That trains went into tunnels, rockets launched and it all ended with fireworks in the sky. For the most part, it was awkward. There were lots of ‘does this work…’ and ‘am I doing it right…” But, when it was over, we lay there holding each other and I knew we would make it. It wasn’t how I’d imagined it back at Uni. But it was real, and that was better.

I woke up the way we did most mornings. I was the little spoon. I could feel her breath on my neck as I watched the grey light coming through the window, but it felt different, better today. I watched Fiona’s phone willing the alarm to never come. Could I persuade her to bunk off work for the day?

But eventually it did come. I hated that harp jingle. Fiona reached across me and hit snooze. I turned my head slightly, not wanting to leave this position.

“Hey,”

“Hey,” she murmured sleepily, nuzzling into the back of my neck.

“Why don’t we go away somewhere? Just you, me and Matt?”

She linked her leg around mine, “It’s Thursday.”

“I know that, but tomorrow after work. For the weekend.” I felt her pulling away as the second alarm went off. She climbed over me, grabbing her phone.

“I need a shower,” she grumbled. She had never been much of a morning person.

By the time Fi was out of the shower, I was waiting for her in the living room. Armed with coffee.

“Thanks,” she muttered, “Maybe we could go someplace. I guess it could be one of the last weekends before Eddie gets here.” She glanced towards the hall, “And it’ll take Matt’s mind off the trial next week.”

“Great,” I beamed, “because I’ve been looking.” I turned around my laptop. There were a number of windows open all with holiday cottages and B&Bs. “Hey Matt,” Matt had staggered into the living room, “You fancy going somewhere this weekend?”

“Huh, like where?” He took after his mother when it came to mornings.

“Just somewhere in the country. We can go for walks,” he grunted, “Maybe stop off in a country pub or two.” He perked up at the mention of pubs.

“Can I have scrambled egg with chorizo, O.M.?”

“That’s a yes,” I said triumphantly, “You take after your mum when it comes to negotiation.” Matt smiled at me before staggering off to the shower.

Fiona reappeared fully dressed. She looked good in her business suit. Again, I wished she could bunk off for the day. She handed me something, “Here, take my credit card. Book us somewhere, you choose.” She turned to leave but thought better of it, “Just not too far away. I don’t want to spend the weekend driving.” She paused, “And by the sea. I fancy the sea.”

“Yes ma’am,” I joke saluted

“Ma’am,” She smiled wryly, “you can drop that, but keep the salute.” She kissed me on the lips then left.

In the past I would have protested about taking her card. After all, I had that £50,000 coming my way. But now it felt right. We were a couple, a team. There would be plenty of chances for me to repay her.

---

I’d spent most of Friday packing. I knew Fi would tell me off for over packing but I wanted to make sure we were prepared for every eventuality. Sun, rain, wind, flood and famine. Matt got home first and tossed his iPad on the top of the bag I’d packed for him. I’d hoped he’d leave it behind. Ever since leaving the football team and breaking up with Saff, he spent most of his time moping around the house staring at that thing. What he was looking at I didn’t know, but I did double check the parental controls.

The traffic was bad coming out of London but we had expected that. Then it rained most of the rest of the way. It rained so much I wondered if we’d made the right decision. I sat there watching the the street lights going by, glowing through the rain. While Fi’s face focused on the road, I looked back at Matt, his face lit blue-white by his iPad.

With the traffic and weather, it was nearly midnight by the time we reached our rented cottage, on the edge of the New Forest. According to the internet it was by the sea. It seemed like the sea had come to meet us, from above. Fiona sent me inside to make tea while they brought the bags in. One of the fringe benefits of being a pregnant woman, I thought as I watched Matt running to and from the car boot.

Finally we were in. There was a large fire that the owners had stocked it with a couple of logs. I got to sit on the sofa watching Fiona and Matt squabbling over the best way to get it lit. In the end, I went and found a lighter and some old newspaper in the utility room.

We ate cheese on toast and drank wine in front of the fire. We’d tried to keep an eye out for a supermarket on our way, but in the rain the best we could find was a little Tescos Metro connected to a petrol station.

Afterwards, Fiona and I snuggled on the sofa watching the flames slowly rising, claiming the wood, while Matt lounged in the chair searching on his phone. I wondered if he was looking up Saff and his friends on social media. I made a mental note to check in with him some time soon.

We sat there silently enjoying not having anything to do. After about half an hour, Matt got up and announced he was going to bed. He kept his phone in his hand glancing at it as he spoke. We were left alone. I lay there, my head in her lap as she stroked my hair. The only noise was the crackle of the fire and the occasional sound of Matt moving above us.

The fire had nearly burnt down when Fiona announced it was nearly 2am, “We should go to bed,” She touched my cheek gently.

“Ummm,” I turned over so I was looking up at her, “I think we should,” I said, in what I hoped was a seductive manner.

In the middle of the night, I felt Fi shake me. “Kells, Kells.” I felt her wipe the sweat from my face. “You were crying. Did you have the nightmare again?”

“Yes,” I said, shaking and leaning into her arms.

“It’s going to be OK.” Lately, I had been having a nightmare where, while giving birth, they peeled back the skin of the nanosuit revealing my old male self underneath. “Dr. Patel told you that everything is going to be OK.” At the last appointment, we told her about the nanosuit. To her credit, she said nothing beyond, ‘I would never have guessed,’ and ‘well, then, give me the company’s information so we can see what we have to do.’ I can only imagine what she said in the staff meeting though. “She said it’s a normal C-section and you will be fine.”

I cried a little. “What if they’re wrong? She said I wouldn’t need to take the suit off, didn’t she,” I spoke the words carefully, like I was discussing a clause in a contract.

She pulled me closer and stroked my hair. “You will be fine. It will be fine. Dr. Patel said you were her best patient and not to worry.”

“Promise?” I hated being so scared, but happy that Fi was here to comfort me.

“Yes, I promise, Kells.”

The next day, the rain eased but didn’t stop. After a breakfast of cereal, Fiona and I decided to attempt a short walk. It was all I could manage these days. Still, despite the cold and the damp the fresh air smelt amazing after the city. Sadly, Matt took one look outside and decided not to join us.

“Don’t you want some fresh air? It’d be good for your training,” I was cautious not to mention football explicitly, knowing how sensitive he still was.

“Nah,” he shook his head, “it’s just trees and stuff, seen one, you’ve seen them all.” A Londoner born and bred.

Fiona and I walked in silence for the first ten minutes. I enjoyed the sensation of her hand squeezing mine. Mine now being the smaller. My head was filled with so much. What had come before between us, what was to come. It frightened me thinking of how much I now had to lose.

“How is it?”

“Huh?” Fi’s mind had been elsewhere.

“The… birth.”

She laughed, having answered this many times before. “Well magical and painful,” she squeezed my hand, “But mostly painful.” She must have seen my expression because she added, “But you don’t have to worry about that.”

“I hate that I’m going to miss it,” I said.

She laughed, loudly enough that the two other fools walking nearby turned. “You want to know what it’s really like? I read this somewhere. Take your lower lip and pull it...over your head. I wouldn’t trade the experience for anything, but I wouldn’t want to go through it again either.”

“Sorry I woke you again last night.”

She smiled, “That’s OK.” Then she took her voice down to a whisper, “you more than made up for it this morning.” I looked around, half expecting to find a family of shocked German tourists covering the ears of their children.

“I just,” I took a deep breath, “I just don’t want to go back. Ever.” I had never said it out loud. I’d hardly even let myself think it. The air felt cold and still as I waited for her to speak.

Fiona stopped and took me in her arms, “You don’t ever have to, baby.”

I played with a button on her coat, “Promise?”

“Yes,” she said, half exasperated, half affectionately. “Now let’s get back, before Matt can do too much damage.”

Her suspicion turned out to be well founded. Although perhaps not in the way she had expected.

The kitchen was a disaster area. It put me in mind of a WWI front line medical centre, during the Somme.

“What the hell?” I looked at Matt, his innocent face dripping with sweat. On the hobs were two pans. One was half full of water bubbling away. The whole contents of a packet of spaghetti sticking out. The half in the water had gone soft, the half out hadn’t, their ends somehow burnt. The inside of the larger pan was coated with something burnt black that had once possibly been red.

“Spag Boll?” I guessed.

“Sorry O.M. I wanted to do something special for you both,” He ruffled his hair in that way that used to transfix Saff.

Fiona hugged him, “It’s a lovely thought Matty, but I think from now on we should leave the cooking to Kells.” They both smiled at me. Bastards, wonderful bastards.

I tried to rescue what he made, thinking maybe I could fry up the spaghetti and meat. My dad always said frying makes anything palatable, except this. Half an hour later, we were all squeezed on the sofa in front of the fire, eating Tomato and Cheddar soup (using the last of both).

Matt looked at his soup, embarrassed. Fi smiled, “It’s the thought that counts Matty, but why would you try Spag Boll?”

He blushed. “I mean I’ve watched O.M.,” not well enough, I thought, smiling, “And I know I haven’t been easy to live with lately,”

“Not at all love,” I said. They both laughed at me. “Well, yes. But much less than you could have been. You’ve handled everything. The trial. The break up, the…”

“You can say football,”

“… the football. You’ve handled it like a man. And I mean that as a compliment, truly.”

He smiled at me, then took a deep breath, “Well that’s just it. I’m ready to transition. Properly. My body, I mean, not just tying down, these,” he pointed at his chest.

I looked at Fi, wondering how she’d take it. I’d begun rehearsing arguments for taking it slowly in my head when she spoke, “I think that’s wonderful Matty.” Her smile was genuine. “Are you sure?”

He nodded. We both exchanged glances. I doubt he thought it would be this easy.

“It wouldn’t be sudden. I’ve looked it up. I can get the surgery on the NHS when I turn 16 but they ask that I attend regular counselling sessions beforehand. Look, I’ll show you.” He jumped up, nearly knocking over the remainder of his soup.

While he was out of the room I turned to Fi, “So that’s why he’s been on the iPad all the time.”

She nodded.

“You had an idea?”

She nodded again.

I smiled, “You’ve been checking his internet history?”

“Shut up.” She hit my arm. I knew I’d caught her out.

That night, as we got ready for bed, we talked.

Fi looked at the ceiling. “Thank god for the book. Between Matt’s transition and Edward, we need all the money we can get.”

I couldn’t think of a better use for the money but said, “I thought Matt can get it all free on the NHS?”

Fi smiled. “You have so much to learn, Kells. With kids, nothing ever comes free. There will always be other costs.” She leaned next to my belly. “But, they’re all worth it,” and then she kissed me.

Nine Months

--------

8 lbs. 1 oz. 20 inches long

------

Month Nine

Fiona paced backwards and forwards. I tried to join her but Eddie was making that more difficult with each passing day.

“So, tell me again what will happen if we agree to the plea bargain?” I asked Mr. George.

This was the fourth time one or other of us had asked him this question, yet his calm, courteous manner never changed. I think he knew how difficult this was for us. He said, “He’ll plead to ABH, assault occasioning actual bodily harm. The Section 146 charge (hate crime) will be dropped. He’ll accept a sentence of twenty-four months at a secure training centre…”

“Two years? He almost killed Matt and all he’ll get is two bloody years?” Fi yelled, not for the first time. I saw Matt hunch up. “At a bloody secure centre. Get job training and counseling, the poor dear, so he can figure out why he thinks it’s OK to beat someone near to death…”

“Fi,” I said, rubbing her leg, “let Mr. George finish.”

“I understand, Ms. Walters, I do. But he will be in custody, have no doubt about what that means.”

“But, he won’t be deported,” I said.

Mr. George sighed, “No. There’s no guarantee he will and there’s no guarantee he won’t. I’m sorry I can’t give a better answer than that.”

“What happens if we go to trial?” Matt asked.

Mr. George took a deep breath and looked directly at him. “He’s facing six years at a Youth Offender Centre. He could be out in three years but he will be deported.”

“So what do you think we should do? What would you do?” I looked up at Mr. George as I spoke.

Mr. George took a deep breath and said, “I can’t tell you what to do.” We all looked at him and he continued, “I mean that two ways. First, I can’t tell you because it’s against CPS policy and I will lose my job which I can’t afford right now,” and he gave me a smile. “If you’re asking me what David George, parent, would do, I can’t say either. I’ve been doing this job for fourteen years and what I’ve learned is, for families, you don’t know what you’ll do until you have to do it.”

Fi growled, “You’d want his head.”

Mr. George smiled and said, “Probably, but that’s not what this is about. I can tell you that I think this is one of the stronger sorts of these cases that I’ve had. Matthew and Saffron have consistently told the same stories, the police report and hospital records are consonant with that. This is no fight that got out of hand…”

“But,” Fiona stopped, turned and looked directly at him. Sitting next to me Matt seemed deep in thought.

“But, it’ll be a tough trial. This man has a great defence team and,” he looked directly at Matt, “they will come after you. They will try and destroy your credibility. They will use every resource at their disposal to destroy your credibility. They’ll use anything they can find to show that you provoked them. Facebook posts, tweets, statements from witnesses about anything you might have said to them about you and Saffron...”

I saw Matt blanch. “So, you think we should agree to the plea bargain?” Matt’s voice was quiet.

Mr. George leaned back in his chair, pressing the ends of his fingertips against themselves, “I didn’t say that and wouldn’t. This is your decision. It’s not mine and it’s not your mothers’. I am ready to try this, if that’s what you want.” Matt looked down, his expression was grim.

Back at the flat, we sat around the kitchen table, nursing mugs of tea (decaf for me, obviously)

“So, if he accepts the plea bargain, he has to testify against his friend, correct?” Matt said. I nodded.

Fiona said, “But he won’t get what he deserves and he likely won’t get deported, is what I heard.”

I reached across the table and took his hand, “What do you want Matt?”

“Well, for it to never have happened, for starters, O.M.,” he laughed. He took a sip of his tea, “but I think we should agree.”

Fi did not look best pleased. No, she looked angry and crossed her arms. “I don’t understand, Matthew, why you would want to let him do this.” I reached for her hand to console her and she begrudgingly accepted it.

Matt took a deep breath, “I’m tired. I’m tired of everything. I want this to be over already. It’s all well and good for you to be out for blood, mum, but I’m the one who has to deal with it.” While Andrew Hall had moved primarily onto other topics - how Brexit was the best thing for Britain since “bloody Poles won’t be taking jobs anymore” (I’d love to see his face the next time his boiler broke down) - the kids at school hadn’t let it go, he confided in me. “If this goes to trial, it’ll be all over the news and I’ll be the one to deal with it. Not you or you, me. And, for what, another three years? It doesn’t matter anyway. Two years, five years? What does it matter? I’ll be on my gap year for Uni anyway when he gets out.” Fi gave me a look and a smile. This was the first either of us had heard that he was considering FE college, much less Uni.

Fi started to speak and he held up his hand. “And all this will do is hurt Saff and her family more.”

Fi laughed, a sharp, angry laugh. “Why does that matter? Her mum caused this…”

“Stop, mum! Whatever she did or didn’t do is not the only point. Saff didn’t do anything. Mr. Mitchell didn’t do anything. And they’re getting dragged through this with me. They’re a family, the same as us. I don’t want Saff to have to testify so you can taste blood…”

I took his hand. “Matt, that’s not fair,” I said. “We’re just worried.”

“I know. Sorry, mum. I looked into it. Youth Offender Centres are horrible places. Kids get beaten and raped there.”

Fi stared at him and said, “So what Matthew?” I had never seen her this vengeful. I understood why but was getting worried for her. “Did he care when he beat you? What does it matter?”

Matt shook his head and said, “What does it matter? If he gets beaten, will it take away my scars? Will it go back and take me from hospital? Do you think he’ll hate me less at a YOC? He’ll be away long enough. Maybe he’ll get the help he needs. Maybe he’ll learn something…”

I hadn’t spoken. We were a family, but Fi was his mum. I was O.M., but she was mum. I spoke quietly, “He’s going to get out and probably stay here, in England, I mean.”

He looked at the both of us. “Mr. George didn’t say that. He just said that he won't be deported automatically. Please let's just be done with this. Please.”

“Matthew, please go to your room,” Fi said. He started to protest and she said, “You’re not in trouble. I just want to discuss this with Kelly.” He walked off, mumbling, “it’s my life.”

We heard the door close and Fi said, “What do we do here, Kells?”

I sighed. “I think we agree with the plea bargain.” She looked annoyed. “Hear me out. It’s Matt’s decision. He’s the one who’s had to live with this, who will have to live with it. He’s the one everyone talks about. Amadou will go away for two years and his friend for a lot more. Matt’s right. What does it matter, two years or five? He’ll be locked away. We can just be done with this. Let Matty get on with his life.”

“I hate that he won’t be deported,” she said. “It seems so fucking unfair that he gets to stay.”

“Who knows if he will, Fi? But, come on, let’s let Matty get his life back.”

---------------------------------------------
We met with Mr. George the next day.

“So, the defence has agreed that, upon release, he cannot live within 20km of wherever Matty is living then?” I asked. I had proposed this as a solution to him returning here.

Mr. George smiled, “That was one of the more unusual requests I’ve received but, yes, they agreed. It will constitute a violation of the terms of the plea if he does it. Apparently, he has family in Cardiff he can go to.” He smiled at Matt, “Not planning on living in Cardiff, are you?”

Matt smiled, “No, sir. Thank you, sir.”

He shook Matt’s hand. “You’re a brave young man. I wish you the best of luck.”

We waited in the hallway outside the courtroom while Amadou entered his plea. We asked whether we could see him do it - we wanted the finality - but Mr. George said that, given the delicacy of the proceedings, “her honour has said no.”

I would swear I heard the gavel fall. The door opened and Ellen and her brother walked out. They wouldn’t even look at us, but it didn’t matter. Amadou had been taken to a centre and his friend was in jail awaiting trial. It was agreed that neither Matt nor Saff would have to testify, that Amadou’s testimony would be enough. I was pushing myself up off the bench when Mr. George came over to me.

“A word, Ms. Cooper?”

I walked down the hall with him. “Thank you for everything, Mr. George.”

“You’re welcome. Now that this is over, I can tell you. As a parent, I would’ve accepted the plea.”

“Really?”

“Yes. That boy has been through enough and a trial is an inherently risky endeavour. His attacker will be away for long enough. You all deserve to move on. You will have,” and he gave me a huge smile, “more than enough to keep you busy for the foreseeable future. Best of luck.”

I smiled, “I wish the same to Mrs. George.”

He smiled and shook my hand, “Thanks, I may need it,” and he walked away.

----------------------------------------

The café was next to a park in Dalston. We used to stop here for ice cream when Bill and I were little. I could remember the cold ice cream melting down my fingers as I tried to lick it. They still had the old post box Bill kicked that time his Rocket Lolly broke in half. Now Fiona and I were sitting, looking out at the grey skies as we waited. I could see something was playing on Fiona’s mind.

“Penny for them?”

“Huh? Oh, I was just wondering if we did the right thing…”

I knew what she meant. “I think we did.”

She made an attempt to smile and looked down at her coffee, “What if he attacks someone else’s son, or daughter and we could have stopped it?”

“We’ll never know. What if he was sent down and killed in a fight with an inmate? We just don’t know. We did what was right for Matt at the time. You can’t second guess that.”

She smiled more genuinely, “I guess so.”

I took her hand, “We just have to move on.”

At that moment, the bell above the door rang and we turned around. There they were, two faces I hadn’t seen since Iceland.

“Kelly,” her voice trembled slightly.

“Siggy,” she relaxed as soon as she saw me smiling. I could feel Fiona tensing in the seat next to me. I did my best to get up and hug Siggy and Egon. Fiona waited behind me.

“This is Fiona.”

“I’ve heard lots about you,” Siggy went to kiss Fi on the cheek.

I could see Fi tense up a little. “I’m sure you have.” We all laughed nervously, realising who would have done the telling. I wondered what James would have said.

While Egon and Fiona went to the counter to order drinks, Siggy and I sat down. There were two women with prams in front of them. The prams were massive things that looked like they were made for war, or off-roading.

“Wow you look great! How are you?” Siggy gushed.

“I look like a beached whale in dungarees, but thanks,” I laughed. As hard as I tried to ignore it, the flattery worked. I’d caught an eye of my silhouette in a car window the other day. I could have been a loveable Mr. Men character, Little Miss Spherical.

“Is everything OK with the pregnancy and everything?”

I looked at her open face. The bright, almost glowing skin that made her look younger than her age. Those blue eyes as clear as a glacial ice pool. I remembered her own tragedy. After all that, and after I had everything I wanted, I still had mixed feelings towards her. On the one hand, she made James tell me. On the other hand, she knew and didn’t. “It’s fine, touch wood,” I said, tapping on the side of my head. “The C-section is a week tomorrow.”

“My god, Kelly. How are you feeling about it?” She took my hand. It must have been an automatic gesture as the look on her face was as surprised as I felt. She went to take her hand away but I held it there, squeezing gently.

“I feel great actually. I mean terrified. Obviously. Everything is going to be so different.” I felt her rub my fingers. I hadn’t realised it till that moment, but I’d missed her.

That moment, Fiona and Egon returned with our drinks. Egon placed one of those fruit smoothies I hated so much in front of Siggy. By the way it looked, it was at least part grass. I sighed audibly when Fiona gave me my liquorice tea, only a week to go.

“You in town for the premiere?” I asked Egon, knowing that he was.

“We got back last week for some final edits,” he said. “But that as well.”

“The reviews have been good,” Fiona added. She watched the pair closely as she brought her cup up to her mouth.

“To be honest, I’ll be glad to move on to the next project. Iceland was amazing,” he spoke carefully. I watched Siggy’s face but it gave nothing away, “but it was a logistical nightmare.”

“Not to mention all the other on-set drama going on,” Siggy said, as she took her partner’s hand.

Egon talked for a while about the various falling outs and squabbles. Fiona, despite herself, quickly became engrossed in the conversation. For all of her professional success, I’d still catch her reading OK or Grazia at my doctor’s appointments. My mind wandered. I watched a young mum taking her two sons into the park. I tried to imagine Eddie, how I would dress him, what he would be like. It may be a cliché but I was anxious to meet him. After ten minutes or so of watching them play, I began looking around the table.

Fiona and Egon now seemed like the best of friends. It helped that Egon was careful to avoid any mention of James. Occasionally, he’d bring up spoiled actors and Fiona would beam at him. Siggy was being unusually quiet. I started to look at her closely. Her face. How quiet she was. The smile, content just to listen…

“Oh my god!” Everyone looked around. I clasped my hand over my mouth. I took Siggy’s hand. She seemed unsure what was happening. Perhaps she thought I was about to attack her. “You’re pregnant, aren’t you?” Siggy went bright red, but the smile on her face told me I was right. “How long?”

“It was three months last week.” There was a lot of hugging.

With Egon and Fiona back at the counter, Siggy leaned over and whispered, “You won’t tell James, will you?”

“Why would I tell them? We hardly speak,” I couldn’t hide my annoyance at hearing their name, “Haven’t you said anything?”

She shook her head. “I’ve stopped trying to. He’s running around with a different crowd now. Egon won’t speak to him anymore.”

“Because of what happened? Fiona is going to like them even more.” We turned and watched them laughing with the waitress.

She shook her head again. “That was the start. Then, he began hanging out with a different crowd.”

“Alyssa?”

She looked at me shrewdly, “She was a part of it, yes. The actors, well they are often very self-centred. It goes with the job. They come to expect star treatment. Put them on top of a glacier in the middle of the Arctic Circle and you can imagine how well they took to it.”

We talked and talked. The sky turned from grey to night and the street lights came on. Eventually it was Fiona who brought things to an end. ‘I’m going to need to get Kelly home,’ she told us. ‘Aw mum,’ I replied to laughs.

Fiona was quiet for most of the drive home. When she could, she rested her hand on my knee.

That evening we lay on our bed watching old comedies on iplayer. Matt was out with his friends. He and Saff had come to terms with each other. I could feel Fiona holding me from behind and see the overnight bag we already had packed for the following week. It all seemed so real. But my mind refused to stay quiet. I kept replaying over and over the last meeting with James. How they had made me feel bad for ‘cheating’ on them with Fiona.

James and I had exchanged emails since then, but they had been practical, about dates, money etc. It all left me feeling somehow empty.

-----

It was three days before I was scheduled to go in hospital for the C section.
“Fi, come in here! Please!” I was in the kitchen, searching the cupboards for something to calm my stomach. I don’t know if it was the baby or the anxiety, but in the past few days, Priscilla and her reflux had come back with a vengeance.

Fi came rushing in, “What’s wrong, Kells?”

I pointed at the puddle on the floor. “I’ve had enough! I can’t wait for Eddie to get here. I’m tired of this.” In addition to my ankles swelling to the same size as my calves, sleeplessness and reflux, I had added incontinence to my list of ailments as well. While Fi and all the websites told me this was normal, I had still had enough.

Fi knelt down, stuck her finger in it and smiled, “Your water broke.”

“How is that even possible,” I asked. “How? I mean, the suit and all? That’s why I’m having a C section, right? That makes no sense.”

The smile never left her face. “You’re a woman, Kells. A beautiful pregnant woman. You saw him in the amniotic fluid, sweetie. This just means Eddie’s ready to come,” she said, giving me a kiss and seating me in a chair. She said later that the look on my face was one of ‘utter incomprehension. Adorable utter incomprehension.’ She went to the door and got my shoes and coat. She knelt down, put on my shoes and tied them like I was a toddler, put on my coat and said, “come on, Kells. We’re going to hospital now.”

Then she called Matt, who was at Saff’s Aunt Ruth’s house, studying. Richard had told me that Saff had begun spending some nights at home. Ellen had agreed that her brother was not allowed in the house as long as Saff was there. Her brother was extremely unhappy but, as Richard had put it, ‘she’s realised what’s most important. I can’t say I miss him.’

“Matt, Kells is in labour. We’re off to Whipps Cross.” She told me that she heard him and Saff cheering. “Tell Saff and Ruth thank you,” she said, laughing. “Put Ruth on. Yes, yes, she is. Thank you. About as well as a girl that age can be,” she said, with a laugh, presumably referring to me. “Well, I apologise for the short notice, but can Matt spend the night with you? Thanks.”

Just then, I felt my abdomen clench very tightly. The best way that I can describe it is, if your abdomen was a wet towel, it was like someone wringing it dry - in an industrial class wringer, I screamed, “Ow, fuck! Goddammit! Fuck!”

Fi smiled, “Yes, Ruth, someone just had her first contraction. I remember it too.”

I glared at her and said, “Get off the phone now!”

She laughed, “I will let you know and thank you.”

She led me to the car, gently rubbing her finger in my palm, “It’s going to be OK, Kells. That just means Eddie wants to meet his mum.”

“It hurts like bloody fucking hell, FI!”

She buckled me in the passenger seat. “I know, sweetie.”

“Sorry,” I said, feeling embarrassed.

“Every mum in labour feels that way,” she said. “And soon you’ll have a beautiful boy. We’ll have a beautiful boy.”

I relaxed for a second thinking about that. “Did you call Dr. Patel yet?”

She smiled, “I called from the flat. I got her messaging service.”

I got nervous. “She has to be there. What if she’s not there? She knows what to do,” I said quickly. I felt my pulse race.

Fi smiled, “I’m sure she will be there.” She told me later that she only hoped she was, that she wouldn’t know what to do if she wasn’t.

“Did you call them?” I asked.

It took her a second. She took a deep breath. “I will.”

“Sorry. They’re the father. They should at least know I’m in labour.” Under her breath, I thought I heard say, ‘least father, right.’ “Please, Fi, I love you but they’re the father. You wouldn’t like if the places were switched.”

She smiled at ‘I love you,’ then laughed, “I would have been thrilled to switch places with John, had it been possible.”

We drove to the hospital quickly but carefully, FI’s hands at 10 and 2, like she was taking her driving test again. I didn’t feel another contraction but kept taking short breaths, three puffs out, one breath in, like I had seen women on the television do it. For whatever reason, it relaxed me like counting sheep to fall asleep.

We pulled up to the emergency entrance and left the car. Fi walked me in and said to the receptionist. “Hi, my wife is in labour.” I smiled at ‘wife.’ Obviously, we weren’t married yet but somehow that felt right. Ms. Fiona Walters and Ms. Kelly Cooper. “She’s due for a C section Friday, but someone decided to come a little early,” she said with a smile.

The receptionist gave the briefest of smiles. I didn’t begrudge her, as I was sure that she saw everything and was thinking about the end of her shift. “Right,” she said. “Do you have your NHS number, National Insurance or post code will do, luv? Backup after the hacking incident,” she said to me. “It’s going to be fine.”

“Please,” I said. “Can someone make sure Dr. Patel - Dr. Priyanka Patel - knows I’m in labour? She’s the one who’s doing my C section?”

The clerk said, “You will be fine. Dr. Richardson is on staff tonight. He’s excellent.”

I wanted to say something about the suit and how I didn’t want to go back but was afraid they’d throw me out. Instead, I had a contraction. I let out a banshee wail. “MOTHERFUCKER!”

That got a smile from the receptionist and the other women in admittance, including a mum with a five year old boy. The clerk turned to Fi and said, “How far apart?”

“About twenty-five minutes. This is only her second contraction.”

“OK, love. Someone will be along shortly.” She handed Fi a placard. “Put this in your window so you don’t get a ticket. We’ll take you in triage shortly,” she said, laughing.

“Fi, please don’t leave,” I said. “I need you.”

She gave me a kiss on the lips, the rest of emergency be damned. “I will be right back,” she said. “I promise.”

The other mum in the room said, “Is this your first, dear?” I nodded. “I was in labour with Nicholas for forty hours,” she said. ‘Is this supposed to help?’ I thought. She took my hand. “What’s your name, darling?” ‘Kelly,” I squeaked “You are going to be fine, Kelly. Your wife will be right back and in the meantime, I’m right here. OK?” I was petrified of another contraction and couldn’t speak. I nodded again and choked out, ‘thank you.’

“So, do you know what you’re having,” she said, sweetly.

“Yes, Eddie. Edward. A boy. For my father. I mean he’s named after my father. I’m having a boy,” I babbled.

She smiled and ruffled Nicholas’ hair. “There’s nothing like a boy,” she said. “Special bond between a boy and his mum,” she said. “Here comes your, er…”

“My wife,” I said, smiling, as Fi sat down.

The woman offered her hand. “Melanie Stoneham,” she said, “congratulations. She was a bit scared.”

Fi smiled. “Thank you. I’m Fiona Walters and this is Kelly Cooper. Thank you for sitting with her. It’s her first, my second” to which they both smiled and nodded. I hated being on the outside but wasn’t ready to be on the inside.

The nurse took us into triage. The word conjured up images of war movies, of soldiers being brought in on stretchers, suffering from gaping wounds. Instead, I was put into a reclining chair with stirrups attached. A doctor came in, a tiny red haired woman. She looked like Livvy, far too young to be a physician but then I realised that, to her, I probably looked far too young to be a mum. “Hi,” she said, looking at my chart. “I am Dr. Connell. I take it you’re Ms. Cooper,” she said.

Fi looked at her and said, “I’m sorry, Dr. Connell, but are you actually a physician?”

She smiled, the smile of someone used to being asked to prove her credentials. “I am, ma’am,” she said, emphasizing ‘ma’am.’ Fi hated ‘ma’am.’ Every time a clerk said it, she called it her ‘daily ma’am-o-gram.’ “I’m in my second year of residency here. Don’t worry though. Dr. Richardson is on tonight. I am, however, qualified to examine Ms. Cooper.”

“Sorry,” I said. “She’s nervous. I’m nervous. We’re nerv…..COCKSUCKING SON OF A BITCH, I FUCKING HATE HIM.” I forgot if Tourette’s was a symptom of labour. “Sorry.”

She laughed, “You’ll have to repeat yourself. I seem to be hard of hearing,” which got a laugh from Fi. “OK, well, Ms. Cooper, you appear to be about 4 cm dilated and seventy percent effaced.”

“Which means?”

She smiled. “It means you’re in labour. It means, and we don’t know for sure, that this baby is coming soon.”

“But, but, I’m scheduled for a C section. There are….complications that they said require one.”

She looked at my chart and said simply, “Oh. Oh yes.” She went over to the phone and said, “page Dr. Richardson to triage, please.”

“What’s oh?” Fi said. “Dr. Connell, what does oh mean? You’re scaring her.”

Dr. Connell said, “I’m sorry, ma’am. It doesn’t mean anything. You asked me whether I was a physician. I am but this is for one of the senior staff. That’s all.”

We sat there for an eternity. The clock said it was only seven minutes, but the clock was wrong. At the end of eternity, an older gentlemen, about 55 years old, with salt and pepper hair came in. He looked out of central casting. I hoped this was a doctor and not an orderly. He looked at Dr. Connell and said, “Doctor, it’s your job to take care of this part. Why are you calling me in? What is so special about this patient?” She wordlessly handed him the chart, he reviewed it and said, “Ah, I see.” I felt mortified and wished I could crawl into a hole. Fi sat next to me and said, stroking my hair, “it’s OK, Kells.”

The older gentleman smiled and said, “I’m Dr. Richardson. So, I see we have a case of tennis elbow, Ms. Cooper.”

I laughed in spite of everything. “It has been bothering me terribly, doctor.”

He turned to Dr. Connell and said briskly, in a manner I only thought was on the telly, but then again I had never been in labour before, “So, what do we have, Doctor?”

“The patient, a female, 25 years old, no prior births or pregnancies. I examined her and she appears to be about 4 cm dilated, with 60 percent effacement. The patient is scheduled for a Caesarean section since she’s, uh…”

“Since she’s what, Doctor? Out with it!”

“Well, the pregnancy is due to a nanosuit and the patient was born male and…”

“And what, doctor? In the time you’ve been fumphing around, there could have been complications. Bloody hell. I apologise, Ms. Cooper.” He looked between my legs and said, “You appear to be about 5 cm and 70 percent effaced now, Ms. Cooper. How do you feel?”

“Scared. Embarrassed.”

He said gently, “Whatever for?”

“The nanosuit. That I’m not what I appear to be. That Dr. Connell is uncomfortable.”

“Dr. Connell is uncomfortable because Dr. Connell knows she should have known better,” he said, glaring at her. “As far as what you appear to be, you appear to be a woman in labour which is good, because that’s what you are, no?”

I smiled, “Thank you, doctor. When can I expect Dr. Patel?”

He let out a laugh. “For what?” I saw Fi stifle a giggle.

“She’s supposed to do the C section? No offence.”

He turned to Fi and said, “Bloody millennials, always so smart. Well, it’s been awhile since I’ve given my CV in here, but I’ve been a practicing OB-GYN for 30 years. I did my training at Cambridge and my residency in Newcastle. I was chief of obstetrics here for 9 years until I decided I was tired of administrative duties. Is that satisfactory, Ms. Cooper?” he said, flashing Fi a glance. She no longer stifled the giggles.

“Yes, doctor,” I said, ashamed of myself. “Sorry.”

He smiled, “Don’t be. As Dr. Connell well knows,” by this point, she was hiding in a corner, “we discussed your case in the departmental meeting. Even if,” and he chuckled, “Priyanka’s not here, I hope you’ll trust me.” Then, he turned to Dr. Connell and said, “Get this woman up to a labour room immediately. Can you do that at least?”

WIthin five minutes, I was in a labour room. Dr. Connell apologized for ‘anything I might have said before about, well, you know. I mean, well. Well, anyway, Dr. Richardson will be along shortly.’

Five minutes later he came in, “How are you Ms. Cooper? Comfortable?”

Just then, another contraction came. Each was more painful than the last. The closest description I had to this was when, in seventh year, I told Violet McIntyre that New Kids on the Block were gay and she kicked me in the groin, while wearing pointy boots. She was on girls’ football. OK, this pain was that if delivered by Wayne Rooney. I screamed, “I AM GOING TO CUT HIS FUCKING DICK OFF!”

He and Fi laughed, while she fed me ice chips. “So, I take it the answer is no.”

“I’m glad you two find this so funny!” I screamed.

FI stroked my arm, “I’ve been there, Kells.”

Dr. Richardson joked, “When my wife was with our first, she threatened to cut my...well...cut it off and feed it to a dingo. I pointed out the lack of dingoes in Newcastle and…”

Fi laughed, “I’m beginning to doubt your qualifications, Doctor.”

He smiled and said, “It was early in residency.” He came over and said, “You’re about 7 cm dilated and 80 percent effaced now.” He turned to the nurse and said, “Call anesthesiology. I need someone up here to give an epidural now, unless you want to go naturally,” he said.

Fi and I both looked at each other and then him. Fi spoke first, “Um, doctor, we’ve discussed the nanosuit.”

“I’m aware of that,” he said. “I’ve done my research as well. Ms. Cooper, you are a woman. You have a uterus, a cervix and a vagina. If you so choose, you can deliver vaginally. Dr. Patel called for a Caesarean section to avoid complications but, given your age and health record, I see no reason why you can’t deliver vaginally, if you so choose.”

I looked at Fi and then him, “And Eddie will be OK? There’s no risk?”

He smiled. “Every delivery has its risks but you’re no more at risk than any other woman.”

I smiled, thinking that I could give birth naturally. That I could experience the full miracle of childbirth.

Whoever called it the full miracle of childbirth has never been through it.

Twelve hours later - “I can’t bloody fucking take this!” I said, squeezing Fi’s hand. She had passed out and woke up to say, “and breathe, 2, 3, 4!” After moving along like gangbusters, my labour had slowed to a crawl. I was still only 8 cm dilated and 85 percent effaced. “Fuck fuck fuck,” I screamed. I looked at my stomach and yelled, “Get out here already!”

Fi smiled, “It’s going to be OK, Kells. Eddie’s on his way. Soon, sweetie.”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP! HE’S NOT HERE YET AND THIS FUCKING HURTS!”

“Do you want the epidural yet?” she asked. I, like an idiot, had decided to do this naturally. Later on, after conversations with other women, I realised that was my male brain. As my friend Beth put it, ‘you know why the women in the rice paddies in Asia don’t get eipdurals? Because they can’t. If they could, they would.’

“YES! NOW! I WANT IT NOW!” The nurse smiled and called anesthesiology. In fifteen minutes, a doctor came up and gave me the epidural. I wanted to kiss him.

Every hour or so, Dr. Richardson came in, “How are we doing, Ms. Cooper.” I thinked he asked out of amusement because I said, after fourteen hours -

“WE ARE GOING TO GET OUT OF BED AND RIP YOUR HEAD OFF, DOCTOR,” then, “sorry, doctor. This really really hurts,” I’d cry.

Fi looked at him and said, “I threatened to castrate my husband. Via his mouth. With a rusty spoon.”

The nurse smiled. “I told my husband I’d kick him so hard his father’s balls would ache.”

Dr. Richardson laughed. “WIth our second, I was told that she would, and this is a quote here, ‘shove a football down my throat and make it come out my arse,’ excuse the language.” Then, he examined me and got serious. “Get an ER prepped, now.”

I started to shake, “What? What? What’s wrong?”

He took my hand and said, “There’s nothing wrong. He’s wrapped up in the cord. We can’t do a vaginal delivery. We’re going to need to do a caesarean.”

“Will he be OK? Will Eddie be OK?” I started to cry.

“He will be fine. This happens all the time,” he said. “He will be fine.” He looked at the nurse, then Fi. “Get Ms. Cooper’s wife a set of scrubs. I assume you’re coming.” She nodded. She looked pale. “OK, take Ms. Cooper in. Ms., uh….”

“Walters. Fiona Walters.”

“You’ll wait in the hall, while we prep her and then you can come in.”

“Fi, don’t leave me,” I cried. “Please.”

She came over and gave me a kiss. “I love you, Kells. It’s going to be OK.”

I lay in the operating room and faded in and out of consciousness. I only had the epidural, which numbed my lower half, but I was so afraid of what could happen and was wondering where Fi was that I could barely focus. I heard, ‘lateral incision above the pubis,’ and ‘pull back the uterine wall.’

Fi came in what I was told was five minutes later. She stroked my hair and said, “It’s going to be OK. It’s going to be OK.”

Just then, I heard Dr. Richardson say, “OK, now reach in and gently pull the cord over his head. OK, here we go.” Fi relayed all this to me after the fact. My lower half was covered by a surgical drape. That and, between the epidural and my own anxiety, I was somewhere off in the stars. I only heard, “And here we go. Ten fingers, ten toes. Everything where it’s supposed to be.” Fi said he suctioned the air out of the baby’s mouth and he let out a cry, My Eddie let out a cry, which was good. Because it drowned out mine.

Fi cut the cord and they went to weigh and measure Eddie. 8 lbs. 1 oz. 20 inches long. Perfectly healthy.

Fi walked him over and sat down. “Here’s mummy, Eddie. Here’s your son, Kells.”

I smiled and looked over at Fi holding him, “Our son.”

After 45 minutes of delivering the placenta and sewing me up, they took me to recovery. They gave me enough painkillers so that, when I see the picture of Eddie and me, I have no recollection. We joked that Fi put a cake in my hands and then photoshopped in the baby.

The next morning, I was lying in bed, feeling the effects of the surgery. I wouldn’t have traded a second of it, but it was still abdominal surgery. They had cut a hole in my abdomen and I was told it would take several weeks for me to recover. I had looked on my iPad to see if the nanos would somehow work their magic. They wouldn’t. I was just another mum with a C section.

A nurse came in, “How are you feeling, Ms. Cooper?” Fi was sitting in a chair next to me, holding my hand. Matty was downstairs getting me a bag of Maltesers. I had been so nervous in the days up to the delivery that I had been afraid to eat anything much. When the painkillers wore off, I wanted something sweet.

“It hurts. A lot,” I said.

She smiled, “I understand. Do you feel up to walking?”

“It really hurts,” I whimpered.

Fi smiled, “The sooner you walk, the sooner they can take the catheter out.” Did I mention that, as part of all of this, they had to catheterize me so that I could go to the bathroom. Yet, more proof that god was a man. Or the devil at least. “Come on, I’ll walk right next to you.”

I was negotiating my way to a sitting position when Matt came in. “Is everything OK?” he said.

I smiled, “I’m fine. I’m just getting myself up and out of bed for a walk.”

He came around and offered his hand. “Let me help. Seems a fair trade,” and he gave me a kiss. “I walked past the nursery. Eddie is the best looking baby there,” he said, with a smile. “There’s a baby girl at the back who can’t take her eyes of him. Breaking hearts already.”

We walked down the hall, slowly but surely, Matt and Fi each holding an arm. We walked past the nursery and looked in the window. In a bassinet next to Eddie was a baby that dwarfed him. The card said he was 10 pounds, 3 ounces. Matt said, “Look at him. What is he, six years old?”

I started laughing, which gave me sharp pains. You don’t realise it until they cut you open but you really do use your stomach muscles to laugh (the term ‘belly laugh’ is no lie.) “Bloody hell, Matt,” I said. “You can’t do that to me.” I felt Fi tense up. “What’s wrong?” She just looked down the hall.

That’s when I saw them. Striding along, all confidence, with a bouquet of flowers and a stuffed bear.

They approached. “I got here as soon as I could. I was in Paris doing press. Is everything OK? Is Edward?” I turned to the nursery and pointed to his bassinet. He laid there peacefully. “That’s him? That’s our son?” They were beaming and gave me a kiss. At ‘our son’, Fi tensed again. She glared at them. This was not their son, this was our son.

“Hello, Fiona,” they said.

Fiona stood next to me, guarding me like a Valkyrie. “Congratulations, James. Everything went according to plan.” Left off was ‘not that you were here. Not that I cared that you weren’t.’

James glared back, both of them oblivious to me. “Thank you, Fiona, for being there. You must be Matt,” they said, grinning. “Do you still have that My Little Pony Gymkhana set I bought you for your tenth birthday?” They tried to joke.

Matt shrugged, “I play with it all the time Aunty Jamie. Some things never change.” I wanted to kiss him (and then punch him for making me laugh again)

I had discussed Matt with them last time we spoke, in preparation for just this circumstance. They were surprisingly even-keeled about it, asking only whether John had known.

Matt held out his hand. “Congratulations, I suppose.”

They had become no better at dealing with children since the last time they had seen him. “Thanks. So, how is school? Taking your GCSEs, I suppose? What do you want to study?”

“Yes. I don’t know. Maybe psychology or something,” Matt mumbled, falling into the pattern since time immemorial of adults and teens. How long do I have to stand here before I can leave?

“Uh, that’s terrific. Do you mind if I walk with Kelly a bit,” they asked, as if I were a child to be led.

Fi glared at them and I looked at her, pleading that she at least not make a scene in the hallway. “Fi, I will be fine,” I said. She was not best pleased, but pointedly gave a me a kiss and walked away, looking back the whole time.

They took my hand and kissed my cheek. “So, how are you?”

“In pain,” I said. “Massive pain. But, otherwise, fine. Thank you for coming,” I said.

They looked at me in disbelief. “This is OUR child,” they said, emphasizing ‘OUR.’

I softened a little, realising why they were upset. “He is.” We shuffled back to the nursery and looked in the window. “He’s beautiful, isn’t he?”

James smiled, a genuine smile, the sort I hadn’t seen since long before all of this. “He really is. Can I see him?”

Part of me didn’t want to let them but I realised that was unfair to Eddie. This was his father, after all. “Sure, let’s go back to the room and I’ll have him brought in.” We slowly shuffled back. They were shocked when I told them that I had gone through fourteen hours of labour.

“I thought that...well...you said it was a C section because of…” they said, in a low voice and looking around. I couldn’t decide whether they were stammering because they couldn’t understand or because they were afraid of being embarrassed.

I smiled. “So did I, but no, I could deliver vaginally.” They winced at my matter-of-fact attitude. I wanted to look at them and say, ‘get over it. I have a vagina. Thanks to you.’

“So, what happened?”

“He was tangled in the cord,” I said. They looked concerned. “Apparently, it’s fine. He was getting oxygen through the umbilical cord. I just couldn’t deliver naturally is all. After all that, and I still had the C anyway.”

“I’m sorry,” they said.

‘For what,’ I thought. ‘For tricking me? For leaving me broke and pregnant? For not being here when I gave birth? Which part?’ I chose to deploy a precision weapon. “It’s fine. Fi was here,” I said, with a smile.

They parried back. “I have to thank her for that.”

We shuffled back into the room. Eddie was in his bassinet, having beaten us here. Fi was in the chair, reviewing work e-mails, I presumed. Matt looked at James and me, and then Fi. “Mum,” he said, picking her up by the arm. “Let’s go. Let’s give them some time alone.”

I smiled and gave Fi a kiss. “It’s OK, Fi. We’ll be fine.”

She and James continued their staring contest. James smirked. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for Kelly, Fiona. I’m so grateful.” They were a six foot tall, 180 pound man but, underneath, they were still a bitch.

“That was unnecessary,” I said.

“What? I am grateful for what she’s done in my absence.”

“You know full well what I mean, James. That was not about your absence. It’s about her presence. In my life.”

They sneered. “She’s been a presence in OUR life forever. It’s always been about her. And now it’s impacting OUR life. OUR family.”

I took a deep breath before speaking which was not smart. I winced from the pain in the surgical area.

“Are you OK?”

“No. I am most definitely not ok. I just had abdominal surgery.” They looked confused and I continued, “Yes, I gave birth but it was still surgery. Abdominal surgery. Major fucking abdominal surgery.”

They took my hand and sat me in the chair. “Should I get the nurse?”

“Give me a second,” I said. Just then, Eddie started to cry, hoarse little squeak that sounded like nothing so much as a kettle at full boil. I put my arms on the chair and said, “Hang on a second, Eddie. Mummy’s right here.”

They smiled and said, “Sit. I’ll get him.”

“Do you know how to lift a baby?”

They smiled, “One day as a mum and she’s already decided your dad’s an incompetent, Eddie.“

I laughed. “Stop! It hurts to laugh.”

They smiled. “Yes, I know how to lift an infant,” they saId, carefully lifting him and making sure to cradle his head. “Here’s mum, Eddie,” they said, tenderly.

He kept crying. He didn’t feel wet. “Can you wheel the cart over? I need to make him a bottle,” I sighed.

“What’s wrong?”

I paused for a second, wondering if I should say something. “Nothing. It’s stupid.”

“Nothing could be stupid,” they said. “What is it?”

“I want to breastfeed but I can’t. As good as this suit is, I can’t,” and I started to cry.

They put their arm around me and I remembered the way they comforted me when my father died. Then I looked at Eddie and remembered who he was named for and I cried some more. “It’s OK, Kelly. I’m here,” they said. “I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to be here for you and Eddie.”

For some reason, that snapped me out of my sadness. “Please,” I said. “You can’t promise that and I don’t want you to.”

“What? Our son is not even a day old and you’re saying that? How could you?” They said angrily.

“I don’t mean it that way. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. You’re Eddie’s father. I want, no I expect, you to be a big part of his life. What I meant was this is your life now. You’ve worked your whole life for this and you’re getting everything you want, everything you deserve.”

“It’s everything WE worked for, everything WE deserve, Kelly. Remember how we used to talk about this? We’d sit on the roof of our old building and talk about my BAFTA and your Man Booker,” they said.

I smiled. “I remember.” I looked at them and realised that my heart no longer leapt. For years, whenever I saw them, my heart would leap with joy at how lucky I was. I no longer felt that way. “And maybe we’ll both get there still. But it’s not going to be together.”

“Stop it! I don’t know what she did but we are still married, dammit. Your place is with me!”

‘MY place is with you?’ The surgical site started to throb which, paradoxically, made me focus even harder. “Just stop it, Jamie. Stop it right bloody now,” I said, as I lifted Eddie to burp him. He made this tiny belching noise that was the funniest thing I ever heard. “I’ll humour you though. How do you see this playing out? You’ll be on set somewhere and Eddie and I will be where exactly?”

James looked at me, with all seriousness and said, “You’ll come with me. He can see the world. Think of the experience.”

I held back from laughing in their face. “Like Iceland?”

“You left,” they snapped at me. “You didn’t have to.” I could see the hurt in their eyes behind the anger and bravado.

“That’s actually not what I meant, James. What I meant was you’ll be on location and we’ll be in a hotel. Maybe come visit you on set sometime. Is that your grand plan?” I said icily.

They looked confused. “It won’t be that way this time. We’ll see everything. Just think of what he’ll get see, that we never saw.”

“And he can do that on holidays and summers, but he needs to be around other children. Not on set being a cross between a pet and an unwanted intrusion.”

“Fine. I won’t take jobs anywhere outside of England.”

I smiled. “That is utterly ridiculous. You told me you were up for a Netflix series in Los Angeles. If you did that, you’d only come to resent us.”

“Fine, but that doesn’t mean you can’t come with me.”

“What about me? What about my career?”

“You can write anywhere,” they said. “Think of what you’ll have to write about.”

I laughed. “Right, caring for my son without my family around.”

They looked at me and said angrily, “I’m your family.”

“No, you aren’t. Not anymore. Fiona and Matt are my family. You’re Eddie’s father and I will always love you but they are my family now.”

“STOP IT! THEY ARE NOT YOUR FAMILY! I AM!” I saw a vein bulge out of the side of their head.

“Lower your voice,” I hissed. “There are women here who just gave birth. They don’t need your drama.”

They lowered their voice. “What can I do to prove it to you? I will give you a check for what I took right now,” they said, fidgeting with their watch and scratching their hand the way they used to, when they were nervous or lying.

“Is that what you think this is about? Money? If you want to return what you took, that would be grand,” I said. “But that’s a symptom of a problem, not the problem itself.”

“You resent me for what I did. Fine, we can take off the suits. We’ll go back to the way we were, before. Will that show you how serious I am?”

“No. All that will do is make you resent us more. You have everything you’ve worked for, James. You’re a successful actor. The reviews were wonderful, congratulations. If you go back to the way you used to be, you’ll just come to hate us. I’ve had one woman in my life who left because she couldn’t deal with being a mum, I will not allow a second.” They started to protest and I held up my hand. “You know I’m right,” I said.

They wouldn’t let it go. “If you don’t agree, you’re leaving me no choice.”

Now I was angry. I put Eddie back in the bassinet. I took care to swaddle him as the nurse showed me. You were supposed to wrap them up tight so they felt like they were still in the womb. Matt took one look and called him ‘burrito.’ I finished and said, “Oh really? What do you plan to do?”

“I will go to court and fight. For full custody,” they smirked.

“On what grounds?”

“You’re an unfit mother. You’re not even a mum,” they said.

If I could have, I would’ve leapt at them and choked them. Instead, “that may be the cruelest thing you have ever said to me, ever. It may the cruelest thing I have ever heard from anyone, you bastard.” I choked back tears and continued, “If that’s what you think you need to do, go ahead. Drag this through the courts. The fucking Sun will have a bloody field day. The great actor’s actually a ‘bird.’ Perhaps you can do a very confusing Page 3 shoot. That’ll do wonders for your career, you fucking arsehole.” I hoped Eddie wasn’t absorbing the hate in the room. I wanted to call for the nurse to take him, to save him from this.

They smirked and looked towards the hospital. “Trans is very in, haven’t you heard?”

I thought about Matt lying in hospital, the tubes running from his nose. And Saff and her mum. And Andrew Fucking Hall. I took a deep breath, pain be damned. “Well, sexual assault isn’t.” I was proud of myself for not yelling.

“Oh, we’re back on that again, are we?”

I smiled. “We are. And more importantly, you’re not that fucking important,” I almost said ‘yet’ but didn’t want to offer anything that might sound encouraging. “Do you really think a studio wants the bad publicity that comes from having an actor who pulled this shite? Maybe I look like a fool for going along, but do you see women falling for an actor who basically conned his poor girlfriend. Who do you want to be, Ben Affleck or Casey Affleck?” All my Grazia reading was paying off.

“His poor GIRLFRIEND?” They said, rolling their eyes.

“Yes,” I snarled. “Girlfriend. You can take off the suit if you want, but this is me. This is who I am. I am not going to yell, I am not going to scream. But I will fight you tooth and nail for that boy,” I said, pointing at Eddie, who thankfully slept peacefully. “And you know what? If you don’t care about me, if you don’t care about you, care about OUR son. Do you want to drag him through the mud? Make him the unwitting star of your little sideshow? Is that really what you want? Think before you speak.”

They slumped. “I want us to be a family.”

“James,” I said, putting my hand on their shoulder. “Is that really what you want? Really? Or is this about Fiona?” They started to talk and I stopped them again. “Seriously, you need to think about what you really want. Do you really see yourself as an everyday dad, changing nappies now and again and nipping off to the store for milk and ‘hi honey, I’m home!’”

They paused. “Do you see yourself as mum? Up all night with the sick baby, making lunch for school and oohing and aahing over some shite mug he made in art class?”

“Yes,” I answered immediately. “Unequivocally yes. I can’t wait,” and I couldn’t hold back my smile, “to get some scribble on a piece of paper and proudly put it up on the refrigerator. Did you notice something, James?”

“What?”

“I answered immediately. You answered my question with your own question. Does that tell you something?” They were at a loss for words. “I love you, James and will always love you. But, do you really see a relationship working that’s based on a threat, do you? Are we going to be Sandra and Lionel?” Those were her parents. Their marriage was, as my aunt Priscilla used to say, ‘made a few steps shy of heaven.’ Priscilla was a caustic old bat, that’s why I named my reflux after her. “Is that your goal?”

“I hate this, you know,” they said quietly, letting down the mask. “I hate that we’re not us and I hate that it’s her. Are you happy now?”

“No, I’m not, Jamie,” I said. “I’m really not. If you want to only work in London, that’s your decision and I’ll support it unequivocally. You can see Eddie as much as you want then, he can stay over every other day if you want, you’re his father. But, we are not getting back together. We’re done.”

“Why won’t you give us another chance?”

I almost laughed in their face. Then I looked at them again and saw that they were sincere. Utterly narcissistic and misguided, but sincere. “If you had asked me six months ago, it would’ve been because I didn’t trust you, but…”

“How can I regain your trust? I love you Kelly.”

“And you probably believe that,” I said. I saw the pain in their eyes and knew I had achieved my goal. “But as I was saying, that’s not it anymore. I love Fiona, I’m in love with her and, like you said in the cafe, not in that stupid moony way I was at Uni. That wasn’t love, that was lust and puppy love and something else. But, I love her. And she loves me, as I am. I don’t expect you to accept that now but I hope that you will someday. And I want you to have that love too.”

They put their head down and started to cry. “I did,” they said. They looked at me. “I don’t know who you are,” they said, “but I used to know a Kelly Cooper and I loved him. And he loved me.” I felt awful. I tried to convince myself that they were manipulating me, but knew they weren’t. I held them in my arms and let them cry.

Fi walked back in and looked at me. I just shook my head. They looked up and looked at Fi, “Congratulations. Treat her right.” They walked over to the table where the teddy bear was and put it in Eddie’s bassinet. They leaned over and gave him a kiss. “Daddy loves you, Eddie. Be a good boy for your mum and Fiona. Try not to bother your brother too much.”

I started to cry. “James, please.”

They looked at me, wiped their eyes and smiled sadly. “I’ll call you and we’ll set schedules. You’ll let me know what days and times work. Don’t worry. I won’t do to him what she did to you,” and he left the room. I wanted to curl into a ball and cry, but then Eddie started crying. I needed to be his mum first.

---

I wanted everything to be perfect. Fi had laughed at me, telling me that Eddie would have no idea what Christmas was for at least another year or two. I didn’t care, this was going to be the best Christmas ever. By the time I was finished, between the decorations and the baby stuff the flat was full.

On the day, we had the morning to ourselves. Bill, Julia and the boys were driving up but wouldn’t be here until afternoon. The rest of the guests would be getting here around 2.

As was tradition in the Walters household, we took it in turns to open our presents going around in a circle one at a time. Matt started, a biography of Bill Shankly from Fi. Then Eddie, sitting on my knee got his first ever Christmas present. A Sophie the Giraffe, again from Fi. I unwrapped it for him and watched as his little hands tried to hold it. His eyes squinted trying to focus. Never before had someone so completely held my attention. Not Jamie/James, not even Fi.

We continued along the same line for the next hour. Fi made us all a bucks fizz, even that small amount of alcohol made my head spin after months of abstinence. Matt clearly enjoyed being allowed to drink in front of his mum.

The only downer was Matt’s present for Eddie. A tiny replica Liverpool kit.

“I hope you kept the receipt, Matt. There’s a misprint. It should say ‘Fly Emirates,” the Arsenal kit.

“Remind me again, O.M., how many European trophies have the London clubs won? Added all together?”

“Hmmm,” I crossed my arms.

After we finished, Fi pulled me away into the kitchen. Matt was playing with Eddie. I watched him suspiciously as he showed Eddie his Bill Shankly book. I wondered what Eddie would make of a legendary Liverpool manager from before I was born. I wondered what Matt made of him. A manager who was a self-professed socialist and who had made his team share their sandwiches with supporters. A different world to today’s premiership.

“I wanted to give you this.” Fi looked nervous.

“You didn’t have to spend anything, “ I could feel my forehead wrinkling. We had agreed on a maximum budget for each other, saving our money for the boys.

“Just let me get this out,” her face had gone pale. “Kelly, when you came into my life again, I was…” she held out a little box. A ring sized box. It was my turn to turn pale. “I was lost Kelly. I didn’t think I could ever be happy again.” We were both crying.

“F-F-Fi, you don’t have to thank me. You’ve done so much for me…” I could hardly breathe, let alone speak.

“No Kells, I do need to thank you. You’ve saved me. Saved us. I don’t know what I’d do without you. It terrifies me to think what Matt and I would have done without you this year. I love you. Should I get down on my knee for this?” I was crying and grinning like an idiot at the same time. I shook my head ‘no’.

She opened up the little box, “Kelly Cooper, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”

I laughed at the formality of her language. I hugged her close. Much closer than I could have a month ago.

“Is that a yes then?” Fi said half laughing.

I kissed her then nodded.

“About bloody time, mum,” Matt walked in carrying Eddie. He’d make a great dad sometime. “Welcome to the family properly O.M.” He handed me the baby, “I think he needs a change.” Thankfully, fatherhood was still a few years off.

“Right,” I said, holding Eddie up and watching him gurgle, “Leave us alone you two. We have a Christmas dinner to cook.”

I don’t know what possessed me to cook for eight people less than a month after giving birth. Ten if you counted Eddie and me. In future years I’d look back and wince. I guess I just wanted him to be surrounded by lots of people who loved him.

Bill, Julia and the boys were the first to arrive. Bill and Julia came to greet Eddie and me in the kitchen. They both looked tired. Through the dividing bookshelf, I could see the boys tearing about the living room, re-creating a space battle for Matt.

“You look tired Billy boy,” I gave him a hug and a kiss.

“Try spending three hours in a car with two boys high on Christmas chocolate.” Julia laughed, then she jumped, “Kelly! What’s that on your finger? Is it what I think it is?”

I blushed. I smiled. I laughed and cried a little.

“Hey you,” Bill said to Fi as she came in, “Are you finally making an honest woman out of my little sister?”

“Well, you know how I like to help out a fallen woman.” She put her arms around me from behind, as the other two chuckled.

“Stop picking on her,” Julia intervened on my behalf, “Can I help Kelly?” Sweat was dripping of my brow.

“No, no,” I said unconvincingly, “Everything is under control.”

“Right,” Julia said, rolling up her sleeves. “You two take Eddie next door and keep an eye on the boys. We’ve got work to do.”

With a practiced movement, Uncle Bill picked up his new nephew and turned to Fi, “Five boys for Christmas. I hope Lloyd’s gave you a deal on insurance?” Fi laughed, then looked worried.

Half an hour later, while I was checking on the sprouts and bacon, I heard the doorbell ringing and Matt running to get it. Ten minutes later Richard and Saff stuck their heads into the kitchen.

“Hi Kelly,” Richard looked tired but happy.

Saff’s eyes were drawn to my finger. She took my hand and demanded, “Let me see. Let me see.” Laughing, I showed her the ring. “Wow, it’s beautiful! How much did it cost do you think?”

“That’s not important,” Lots, I was sure.

“Congratulations.” They both gave me a hug.

“Right, give us some space. We’re nearly ready. Tell Fi twenty minutes.” That wasn’t entirely true. All that was left to do was to keep an eye on things so Julia and I relaxed with a large glass of white each.

Fiona, Matt and Bill had cleared the living room and set up a large table surrounded by every chair we owned. Including the two plastic chairs from the garden. Bill’s boys were barely able to sit still and, I figured, were heading for a big sugar crash in about hour or two. I suspect that was Bill’s plan, hoping that they would sleep in the car home.

As per Cooper family tradition, we were all wearing the worst Christmas jumpers we could find. Mine had a badly knitted snowman. Bill had a reindeer who’s nose lit up and Matt had a blue and white Doctor Who themed jumper. Apparently the idea the main character could change his (potentially ‘her’) physical appearance had struck a chord in the young Matt.

As we sat down, I watched Matt and Saff sitting at the opposite end of the table. They were crushed in together, arm to arm. Every now and then Saff would lean her head on his shoulder. I also noticed Bill’s eldest glancing in Saff’s direction. They grow up so fast. ‘Give me a few good years first’, I silently prayed to Eddie who, in reply, sicked up a little of his milk onto his bib.

During the break between the main meal and dessert, I noticed Richard slipping into the garden with Bill. I followed them.

“Is that what I think it is?”

Richard smiled, “It’s for my back pain your honour.”

“Sure. Now give me a drag.”

“Aren’t you breastfeeding?” Bill enquired.

“We’re doing bottle. Remember, the thing, Bill?” I couldn’t keep the disappointment and envy out of my voice. He smiled and nodded. “I take it Julia is driving.”

Bill smiled broadly, “that’s the deal.”

“One plus side of having a religious wife,” Richard grinned, passing Bill the joint.

From inside, I could hear Julia, “I don’t care what you think. This is a hallway, not a Formula One track.”

Bill sighed, looking at the joint like a man in the Sahara eyeing a bottle of Evian, then passing it to me, “No rest for the wicked. You’re going to find yourself stringing together all sorts of words you didn’t know went together. A zebra is not a weapon, for example.” He walked in and I heard him yell, “Do we put your brother’s shoes on the bookshelf, Alex?” Richard laughed and then handed me the joint.

I took a drag. “Matt and Saff are getting along well.”

“He’s a good kid. Ellen knows what he did for Saff. She says thank you.” His voice trailed off.

“Really?” I said, perhaps more sternly than I had meant to. “Sorry, that’s not fair.” I handed the joint back to him, “So what do you think the chances are for them getting back together?”

Richard took a drag, “You don’t know?”

I shook my head. “I’ve been a little busy lately,” I laughed.

“She’s already dating another boy. A spotty urchin called Chris, on the rugby team. I didn’t know when I had it good. I think I prefer the boyfriends who have to get their testosterone from the chemist.”

“Does Matt know?” I looked through the window. I could just see Matt sat in the armchair, Saff perched on the armrest as they unwrapped their presents to each other.

“They hang out all the time, so I guess so. I did hear Matt’s seeing some Jewish girl from Clement Attlee Academy. Has he not said anything?” Again I shook my head accepting the joint off him. “I wouldn’t worry. They’re always secretive at that age. Matt’s a very mature boy. You can trust him.”

I knew he was right. “Jewish, hey? Between us, we’re a Labour council’s wet dream.”

After they had left Matt wandered off to his room and Fi and me crashed on the sofa. Bill and Richard had helped us put the table and chairs away. The rest we’d have to deal later. I lay with my head on Fi’s shoulder admiring my ring.

“So, I chose well?”

“It’ll do,”

“Cheeky cow.”

That moment Eddie started to cry.

“I’ll get him,” Fi kissed the top of my head. “Rest. Everything was lovely.”

“Thanks, husband,” I replied.

-----------------

“Happy birthday, dear Eddie. Happy birthday to you,” everyone sang. Eddie laughed along, even though he had no idea it was his birthday, his first. He was just happy to have people around.

“OK, now, Fiona and Kelly, get in close to him, 1-2-3, smile,” said James. He had flown in from Los Angeles. He had got the Netflix series, a police procedural with overtones of horror and maybe a little Sci-Fi. There had been a lot of rewrites and his character had gone from ‘rugged’ to a recovering alcoholic looking for a group of kids who went missing in a forest. When I’d asked him about it, he’d made a big deal about how much more complex and satisfying to play the character was now. I knew he missed the thought of playing the hero though.

I told him that he didn’t need to fly in special, that Eddie would be happy to see him no matter when and he laughed, saying, “it’s my son’s first birthday. I can’t miss this.”

James took the picture and Fi said, “Switch places, James. Let’s get a picture of Eddie and his mum and dad.” James knelt down next to Eddie, who kept pushing on his face. James had moved to California when Eddie was four months old. He called on Skype almost every day, but Eddie was used to us tapping on the iPad so he, ‘can see Daddy.’ Eddie assumed that this was just a bigger iPad and kept tapping on him to see what happened. James played along and made silly noises or faces whenever he did it, which made him laugh.

“OK, now who wants cake?” Fi said, cutting into the chocolate cake I had baked the previous day.

I smiled and held Eddie. “Do you want cake,” I said sweetly. “Do you, my little man?” He gave a big smile. “Dr. Cromwell,” our pediatrician, “gave the OK, right sweetie?”

“Yes,” Fi said, shooting Bill and Julia a look that can best be described as ‘new mum,’ “Eddie can have cake too.” He reached his hand in and happily smeared it all over the new outfit I had bought him for the party, little blue shorts and a white shirt. Well, now brown and white.

Bill and Julia had come up for the day with the boys. Alex and Mikey tried to play with Eddie for about three minutes before looking at him like he was an educational videogame and an uninteresting one at that. They spent most of their time pestering Matt to show them XBox.

“Yes,” Matt sighed, for the tenth time. “We can play. FIFA or NBA 2K17?”

“Call of Duty,” Alex yelled. Mikey seconded, “Call of Duty! Call of Duty!” He had no idea what it was, other than his older brother wanted it.

“NBA, it is,” Matt said, with a smile. He had begun taking testosterone shots in preparation for his surgery. It had the effect of deepening his voice and increasing his muscle mass. He now looked like a shorter, younger John which, although she wouldn’t say it aloud, made Fiona sad. I asked her about it once, and she tried to deflect. “That was then,” she said, kissing me on the lips, “and we are now.” I wanted to tell her she could be then and still be now too, that I was willing to share, but she didn’t want to hear it.

On the plus side, Matt had let his hair grow out. On the minus side, as Bill put it when he came in, “have you taken the boy to the doctor yet, get that growth on his face checked?” Yes, Matt had grown what he called a beard. At its thickest, he looked like he had a small mangy animal crawling on his face.

While Alex and Mikey ignored Eddie, Issy and Lisa were all over him, especially Lisa. Looking at them both, I was reminded of that picture of Peggy dad had kept in his drawer. The one taken at the seaside. As I pondered how alike they looked, Issy turned and smiled, while her little sister edged forward on the carpet towards Eddie.

“Come here, Eddie,” she said, as he blissfully played with a ball that lit up and made noise. The box said it helped with cognitive development, so I bought it. It improved our cognition. Every time it made noises at random, we thought about what a mistake it was to buy it. Lisa scooped him up, under his armpits, and carried him around. He didn’t cry, just looked confused.

Perry had brought Lisa and Issy down this morning. Peggy was supposed to come but, as he said, not acknowledging but not denying reality, “she said she’s under the weather. Sorry,” he shrugged, handing us a present. She had knit Eddie a jumper, baby blue. She still had yet to see him in person which didn’t bother me. It was what I expected. I didn’t care. My sisters were here, Eddie’s aunts. His 15 and 12 year old aunts.

About an hour after cake, I saw Eddie start to zone out, getting what we called ‘nil face.’ As he was most days, he had been up since 6 AM, ready to play.

-----

“Bloody hell,” I said that morning, when I heard his cry. I looked at the clock. “It’s 6 AM. On Saturday,” I said, getting out of bed. I slept in an old t shirt of mine that James had sent over when he moved to the States. It was sort of absurd. Over time, before the bodysuit, it had become tight on me. I had blamed the laundry. The owner had smiled and said, ‘it’s funny. When my customers eat right and exercise, I don’t shrink clothes.’ Now, it swam on me. I walked into his room and took him from the crib. “Who is mummy’s little man? Who is? Who is? Who is mummy’s little vampire,” I cooed.

-----

As Eddie started to fall asleep, I picked him up and said, “I am going to change the guest of honour and put him down for his nap.” I gave him a little kiss on the forehead, I did that at least twenty times a day. He laid his head on my shoulder which, even after a year, made me feel good. It gave me a physical pleasure.

“Mind if I join you?” James asked. I looked at Fi who was deep in conversation with Lauren, James’ new girlfriend. She was a redhead, a script supervisor on his show. She came in with a puzzle for Eddie and a bottle of wine for us, which endeared her to Fi.

“Of course not,” I said. We went into Eddie’s room, with its murals of circus animals on its blue walls. A crib sat where the guest bed used to be and a changing table opposite it. I put Eddie up on the table, making sure to rest my arm lightly on him, so he didn’t fall off. He wasn’t walking yet, but he was crawling and pulling himself up. Fi laughed and said, ‘we need to stop that. Leg sweep him if you have to.’

James smiled, “So how have you been?”

“I’ve been great. Busy but great.”

“I saw the pictures on Facebook of you at Jeremy’s wedding. That was a beautiful dress.” It was a pale green chiffon dress with a jewel neck. “You looked lovely,” he said with a grin.

I smiled back, “Thanks.”

He laughed, “Bloody Jeremy. Married. I would never have guessed that, in a million years.” I told him the story of how he and Victoria met. “Bloody pregnant wingman, bloody brilliant,” she laughed. Eddie started to fall asleep in my arms. I went to get up to put him in the crib and James said, “May I?” I smiled and handed Eddie’s limp little body over. James walked over, singing, ‘who is daddy’s favorite boy? Eddie is. Eddie is.’ He laid him in the crib. I walked over and we both watched him sleep, on his back with his arms stretched out in a ‘goal’ pose. I dreamt of sleeping that peacefully. James put his arm around my waist, not in a sexual manner but that of two people who shared a history. “We did something right,” he said, with a smile.

“We did a lot right, James. We just came to the end. Last chapter, credits roll. But don’t discount what we had.”

He smiled, “Thanks. That means alot coming from you.”
I smiled, “I mean it. The good times outweighed the bad. We just ran the course is all. How have you been?”

“I’ve been great,” he said. “Busy as all get out, but great.”

“That’s terrific. I really like Lauren by the way. She’s really wonderful,” I said. I decided to tease him, “I saw her playing with Eddie…”

He laughed, “Nice try, Kelly. Nah, my therapist made me realise that you were right. I’m not cut out to be a full-time dad, I’m too selfish.”

“Your therapist? What sort of Englishman are you,” I laughed. “What happened to alcoholism and sublimation? It built the empire, you know!”

He laughed. “You and Fiona are doing a great job. He’s a lucky boy to have two great mums. Hell, you and I would have killed for one. Between us.”

“Thanks.”

“It looks good on you,” he said. “You seem really happy.”

“I am.” I could see he was trying to decide if he should apologise again for how we ended up here. I had long since moved past blaming him. We were a movie that had come to its logical end. Did the characters live happily ever after? Time would tell. “Thanks.” I left the rest unsaid and was thankful for it.

“I can’t believe the book. We were in LAX and there’s my Kelly on a giant display. ‘This season’s hot new thriller,’” he said, in a stentorian voice.

“Stop it,” I said, blushing.

“There’s talk about the movie of it. Everyone wants a role. I’ve heard Alyssa’s aiming for it,” he said, with a smile. “She’d make a great corpse.”

“Ouch,” I said, laughing. “So what happened exactly?”

He smiled. “Ah nothing really. She turned out to be a Class A, what did you call them, entitled little millena-twats?”

“Hey,” I said, lightly punching him. “I think I’m one of them now.”

He pulled me closer, “Nah, not you,” he said. “I looked at the book. Thank you.”

“For what?”

“You know what.” I knew what. I had dedicated the book to ‘Fiona and James, the two loves of my life, without whom this book would never have been.’

“I meant it, James. I mean it.”

He smiled, “Yeah, well, thanks. Let’s let Eddie sleep. Everyone’s probably wondering where we are, you know?”

I gave him a hug and a peck on the cheek. We turned out the lights and left the room.

------

I watched Kelly from the sidelines. Next to me was the producer and a 20 something with a clipboard. I could see the back of her head. Her ponytail bobbed up and down as she took a swig of her water.

“Ms. Walters,” the 20-something spoke to me, “would you like something to drink. Tea, coffee?”

I shook my head. I felt so nervous for Kelly I was sure I would vomit anything straight back up.

The screens above us were lit up. On it I could see the face of the presenter, Lucy Macintyre. Looking in front of me, I could see Ms. Macintyre bathed in the studio spotlight. Kelly’s chair was in the dark.

“Hello, today I’m going to be speaking with the hot new crime writer Kelly Cooper. Kelly’s debut novel The Danelaw has been winning rave reviews from almost everyone and there’s rumours Hollywood are sniffing around the film rights.” Hollywood and James. Lauren had let it slip at Eddie’s party.

The presenter turned and the lights revealed Kelly sitting in a chair, with one leg crossed over the other. It reminded me of how she sits when she wants to get me into bed. She thinks her legs are her best assets. They are, or at least one of them. She was wearing a smart blue sheath dress that only added to the effect.

“Kelly, welcome,”

“Thank you Lucy,”

“It’s been twelve months since the release of your debut novel. Have you been surprised by the response?” The presenter speaks with a pleasant Edinburgh burr.

“Very. And delighted. I originally wrote it for myself. I never expected Ingrid to be taken into the hearts of so many.” She tugged the hem of her skirt over her knee, smoothing the fabric down.

“What do you think is behind it?”

“You tell me,” Kelly leaned back, pausing for a moment, “I think readers, especially women, want to see strong female characters. I also think there’s something to say about family. As women, it often falls to us to be the bridge between generations. We are often the holders of the family secrets, the ones who keep things together when everything else is falling apart. Ingrid’s journey is one of self-discovery, but it’s also a journey into her family’s past.”

“Intriguing. Would you say there’s a separation between women’s crime fiction and crime novels written by a man?”

Kelly leaned forward, pushing her fringe out of her eyes, I remembered teaching her how to make her eyes up like that. “Yes. And no. It’s too easy to generalise, there are many male writers who can write complex female characters. As novels, Anna Karenina and Madame Bovary spring to mind. What I’d say is that, when you get down to it writing is about empathy. Good writing at least. It’s about putting yourself in someone else’s shoes and figuring out what you would do under the same circumstances. Once you start writing, the character leads you.”

“So men can write better female characters?”

“No, of course not. This all comes with the caveat that women have been marginalised for centuries and that we need more women with voices, not less.”

“The right wing commentator Andrew Hall has said that your book glories in the status of victimhood. He says he longs for novels that explore the extraordinary rather than get bogged down in the mundane.”

I saw Kelly smiling to herself; I wondered what she was thinking? “I think that’s rather a lot of syllables for Andrew Hall.”

Lucy laughed. I could see her warming to Kelly, the way most people do.

The conversation changed. Who does Kelly currently rate, what authors is she reading. I tuned out a little. I already knew the answers. What I did do was watch her mouth moving. The soft pink lips. The slight blush in her cheeks from the heat of the studio lights. You could hardly see that shy boy with the crush on me at Uni. But he was still there. The same smile, the same joy when they talked about writing.

I remembered, when I was a student, how I used to work in warehouses over the summers. Standing in line with a group of middle-aged women. All wearing white coats and hairnets.

One summer, I worked at a place that made frozen garlic bread. The sort you can buy in supermarkets anywhere. There were two sizes, the larger one for the deluxe brand, and the smaller one for the ‘economy’.

The same dough went into both. It was the hole it went through that decided its identity.

The interview finished before I realised. The lights on Kelly switched off, plunging her into darkness as Lucy talked about next week. A review of the biography of Florida senator Jessica Silverman and an interview with the northern playwright Jack Sheppard.

I wasn’t really listening. Instead I watched Kelly sitting there, looking forward to when she would return to my side.

A strange girl appears in the dead of night. She can’t speak or remember where she has been, what could her secret be?

Fantasy, horror and humour in Brexit Britain. Oh, and more than a little TG.

Thanks as always to Robyn and Chris for their input and support. Please post comments, they help me continue writing and improve as I do so.

Unseen People

Chapter 1

Ben and Molly both stared at the little screen of light on Molly’s iPhone.

“What’s your top score?” Ben asked his schoolmate. Molly just grunted. Ben looked into the darkness. The brick bus shelter gave some protection, but it did not keep out the night’s chill fully. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. He looked back to see the bright colours of his friend’s iPhone jump about.

“Nothing ever happens in Alfsdale,” he sighed. In front of them, past the road was a steep drop to the lake. Not that they could see it in the dense fog.

“Do you think we’ll ever leave here?” Again he spoke more to himself than her.

“What do you mean?” Molly surprised him; he had not realised she was listening.

“It’s just symbolic isn’t it,” he gestured at nothing in particular. Looking at his friend he realised he needed to elaborate more. “We spend every evening here, in a bus shelter, when there are no buses after seven. It’s like our lives, we’re going nowhere.”

“Kirsty’s right, you are a strange one,” Molly pressed pause. “Where would we go anyhow?” She shook her head. “We’re fourteen.” He sighed, she didn’t understand.

“We could go to New York, or Europe. I heard Iceland was amazing…” his voice trailed off and she looked at him funny.

“Iceland? Look in two years we get to go to college,” she paused, looking for the words, “Maybe even in Manchester?”

He laughed loudly, “Manchester! Do your dreams really start at the end of the tram line?” They both laughed. It all seemed so far off. Two years was like a life sentence when you were fourteen.

“What’s that?” Molly pointed down the road in the opposite direction to town.

“A light of some sort?” Ben was unsure. “Doesn’t look like a car.” They looked down the road. It looked like someone was shining a powerful torch somewhere deep in the fog. The light was being disturbed by something, something that cast shadows. The shadows moved oddly, looking like the legs of a giant spider.

“Hello!”

Ben’s heart stopped, he had not been expecting Molly to call out. There was no answer but the spider legs got closer.

“Hello!” Molly called out again, “Who is it?” She turned to Ben and in a quieter voice said, “It’ll be someone who broke down.” He thought she sounded uncertain.

Peering closer he thought he could see something behind the spider legs. What, he was not sure. A figure emerged. Through the glare they could make out arms and legs. Molly kept calling out ‘hello’ but the figure didn’t respond.

It took only minutes, but it seemed longer. The figure was a woman, a naked woman. Her hair was cut short, not in a fashionable, designed way. It looked like it had been hacked away by someone with scissors and very little time. She reminded Ben of a picture from his history book of a girl who had just been hit by napalm in Vietnam.

Her eyes were wild. Ben had the feeling that she did not quite believe she was there. Her movement was awkward, like she had only just learnt she had limbs. A few feet away from them she collapsed. As soon as her skin struck the rough ground the light behind her went out. Molly called out and ran down the road a little. For a moment he lost her in the fog. All he could see was the glow of the torch app on her phone.

“Hey you!” Her voice rang out; in the fog it echoed strangely. It sounded like it was coming from all around him. Ben looked down at the woman, everyday he dreamed of seeing a woman naked, but now he was faced with one he had no idea what e was supposed to do or say. He was not even sure she was aware of his presence.

“Hey you!” there was a pause, “Hey fuckers!” Molly’s voice rang out. He looked down at the woman, she was breathing like a hunted animal that had just been cornered. It looked to him as if she was angry with the air itself.

“Hey you!” Molly’s voice was fainter now and he could no longer see the glow of her phone torch. He wanted to run after her and bring her back. The night was black and starless. The thin arc of the new moon hidden by cloud and mist.

The woman let out a deep guttural moan. She looked up at him as if it was the first time she had seen him. She did not speak but her eyes pleaded for some sort of help. For a moment he froze, he was not used to someone depending on him.

“Oh shit,” a thought occurred to him. He pulled off his coat and draped it over her. He could feel her muscles heaving with every breath. Something about the gesture calmed her down. Slowly she sat down, her legs crossed underneath her. She pulled the coat around her, looking like a tent with a head popping out the top.

“What’s up, how’s she doing?” Ben was crouched down rubbing the woman’s back when he heard Molly’s voice. It's what he remembered his mother doing for him when he was upset or ill. He did not know why it worked, but it always did for him.

“I have no idea. She won’t speak. Did you find anything?”

“No, nothing. But it's almost impossible to see anything. They could have been standing two metres away from me.”

The woman watched them as they spoke. She looked from face to face like someone watching a very confusing game of tennis.

“Who do we call? Ambulance, police?” He considered it.

“Both.”

“Both? Can you do that?”

“I think you call the one number and then they tell both,” He was thinking of what he had seen on TV. Was that right? They make up a lot on TV.

“I can’t get any bars,” Molly held up her phone. She walked in the direction of town.

“They don’t mean anything,” he shrugged; he heard that on TV as well.

-----

“Inspector, there’s been a call,” Wren looked up from her desk. Mark was a middle-aged man with a neat and tidy beard and an expanding waist line. He once showed her the book he’d written on local folklore and poetry. Apart from that she knew very little about him.

“Who would call this time of night? It’s not teenagers in the high street again?”
Marks face was smiling but his eyes said he was ready for home. She thought of the bottle of wine she bought at lunchtime. It was still sitting in the boot of her car. She wouldn’t be on until late the next day. She was going to down it while watching back to back Harry Potters and eating take-away Chinese. The only takeaway in town that stayed open past ten was shit, and it was quarter past nine now.

“Two kids have found a woman up on the King’s Road. Sounds like she’s been in an accident, or maybe assaulted.”

“She didn’t say which?”

“The kids say she isn’t talking, perhaps it’s shock?” She could see Mark desperately wanted to give her the piece of paper and get back to watching Netflix. The night shift was usually slow, most people used it to read, watch telly or occasionally catch up on their paperwork.

“Okay, give it to me. Are the ambulance boys on their way?”

“They should be there now.” She nodded. Wine, cheese on toast and just one Harry Potter it was.

Her car was a Toyota Corolla. What it lacked in romance it more than made up for in reliability. Despite the frost beginning to form on the window it started first time. Her hands were cold against the steering wheel. It reminded her of when she was little and she used to ride her bike to school in bad weather. It would take ten minutes before her hands warmed up.

The Hob’s Hill road rose out of the little town and then followed the side of the hill towards Rochdale. Behind it was the lake. Alfsmere was not the most impressive lake. It always looked too dark and cold for anything to live in it.

The blue lights of the ambulance loomed out of the fog. The Toyota’s brakes screeched as she brought the car to an abrupt stop. As ever they didn’t let her down.

“What do we have?” she recognised the paramedic but did not remember his name.

“Young female, suffering hypothermia and some sort of shock.” His accent had a trace of Eastern European in it. He looked back towards the ambulance where the woman sat, her shoulders covered by a silver blanket.

“Has she spoken at all?” Wren asked. She could see her face. It looked pale. Her eyes were wild, not quiet focusing on anything in front of her.

“No, not a word. If you asked me to guess I’d say she’s on something.”

“Any guesses as to what?” she asked hopefully. He just shook his head. The flashing blue light intermittently and regularly illuminating his face. He’s good looking she thought; however the light made him look tired.

“And she had no ID?” she sighed, it didn’t look like she would be escaping into that bottle of wine anytime soon.

“She had nothing, not even clothes.”

“Any signs of assault,” she took a deep breath, “anything that would suggest sexual activity?” His eyes were sad, they both know what this looked like.

“Nothing obvious but they’ll be able to do more tests at the hospital.”

“There were witnesses?” The paramedic points to the two teenagers sitting at the bus stop. Wren looked at Ben as she walked over. She had seen him around before.

“You’re Andy Keegan’s son, aren’t you?” she asked him. Andy Keegan was a criminal defence lawyer who sometimes represented suspects she had to question. He was a good lawyer, honest and conscientious. She knew much worse.

“Ben,” he nodded.

“You and your friend found her?” she turned to the girl.

“Molly,” she introduced herself. “She found us really.” The girl pulled her coat tightly around herself. “What do you think happened to her?” They all look over at the woman who was now being given something to drink by the paramedics.

“That’s what I want to find out.” She looked at them both. There was no teenage bravado, they looked spooked.

“I need to take statements from you both but first I’ll call your parents and get them to come and pick you both up.” The two teenagers mumbled their thanks. Wren headed over to the woman.

“Hello Ms,” the woman turned her head towards Wren, there was a faraway look in her eye. At least they were a little calmer now. “Can you understand me?” The woman just continued looking at her. She didn’t move or in anyway indicate she understood what was happening. Wren decided just to keep going, “Do you know where you are?” .The woman moved her head fractionally from side to side. Wren decided to take that as a ‘no’.

She looked over at the paramedic she had spoken to before, wishing she had some support. “Can you tell me your name?”

The woman opened her mouth, but barely a sound came out. Wren knelt down and shuffled closer. She took out her note pad and carefully placed a biro in the girl’s hand

Jack the girl scribbled. It was barely readable; she could not be sure she got it right.

“Does that say ‘Jack’?” Wren looked into the woman’s eyes.

Jack nodded ever so slightly. Her mouth twitched upwards as if she was just learning to smile.

Great, was Jack short for Jacqueline, Jackie or a nickname? Not much to go on.

The paramedic spoke, “We need to get her to the hospital now.” She felt like she should not let Jack go but knew she needed to be looked at.

“That’s okay, but I’ll need your details as well.” She looked at the paramedic feeling awkward. “You know, in case I need to follow anything up,” she clarified. Why did she feel so embarrassed? It was a fair request.

“The name’s Ted,” the paramedic pulled out a piece of paper and scribbled something down. “You can reach me here.”

---

Five am was the only time of the day Andy Keegan got to write. By six Ben would be up and the house overwhelmed by the usual chaos. At first he had tried to write after the boy had gone to sleep, but the pull of wine and TV was usually too powerful, anyway In the evenings his brain was dull and uncooperative.

His usual companion was Jess the cat. Jess would be coming back from her hunting missions just as he was getting down to work. This morning Jess had not yet returned. Never the less, Andy refilled her drinking water and cat biscuits before settling down on the sofa with his laptop.

The short amount of time forced him to write without editing. He poured it down first, then came back. At least, that was the theory. By six forty-five he was wondering where Jess was. He kept writing a sentence and then deleting all or most of it. His mind just would not settle. With five minutes to go he stood up and went to look through the French window. He half expected to see Jess’s sleek form crossing the garden, but there was no movement at all.

Upstairs he heard the muffled electronic melody of an alarm followed by Ben rolling over in bed. He looked at his watch, he would give it another ten minutes before he went and hurried him out of bed. A few minutes later the flushing of a toilet told him he wouldn’t need to bother today.

Last night had been a strange one, his heart had leapt into his mouth when he got the phone call from the police. Thankfully nothing had happened to Ben. He thought of Ann, Ben’s mother and how quickly she had faded. Some wounds you never recovered from.

He slipped on his gardening trainers and pulled open the French windows and stepped out. It was cold and fresh. He could smell snow on the wind. He scanned the sky but could not see the dark clouds yet.

The garden was still and seemed empty. There was still no sign of Jess. Andy lifted his coffee mug up to his mouth and took a sip. Where was that cat?

---

Another alarm went off. Wren reached over to her phone. She groaned when she saw there were three missed calls, all from her boss. Her head was swimming from tiredness and the wine. She should have just left it. She had not got back from work until past one am.

“Something happened at the hospital last night, your Jane Doe tried to run away.” Wren rubbed her temples with her free hand, hoping it would ease her headache. She listened as the Inspector, Jacobs, told her to get down there right away. Then she looked at the clock on her phone. Twelve minutes past nine; so much for her morning off. She texted Jacobs back saying she was on her way, then she dragged herself into the shower.

The hot water and steam helped a little. It took an act of great will power for her to get out of the shower. She cleaned her teeth twice and made a mental note to buy Polos from the corner shop. She spent ten minutes examining her face in the mirror. She hated the bags under her eyes and how limp her hair looked. There was not much she can do about it.

The hospital was the single biggest employer in the town and the largest building. She parked a couple of streets away not wanting to have to pay the car park prices and had to walk against the wind. She could feel snowflakes against her exposed skin.

Inside the hospital was much like any other. The ceilings were strangely low and she wondered for a moment if there was a medical reason for this. At each door she stopped and squirted the antiseptic gel on her hands, massaging it in. Eventually she reached the desk she was looking for.

“I’m here to speak to the Jane Doe we brought in last night,” she flashed her ID Badge to the twenty-something black male nurse. His own badge read ‘Isaac’.

“Sure,” he typed something into his computer, “I’ll take you through.” As they walked she talked to Isaac.

“I hear you had some trouble with her in the night?”

“You could say that,” the man pulled back his sleeves, indicating scratches.

“She did that?” Wren was surprised. She remembered a slight, frightened girl not much older than twenty by her guess.

“It took four of us to subdue her,” the nurse said. “She gave one of the paramedics a nasty bruise.”

As they reach the door of a private room he held out an arm stopping her going any further. Wren was a little taken aback.

“What ever happened to her, it scared her shitless,” the nurse warned Wren. The room had just one bed. It was one of those hospital beds that could be wheeled about and raised into different positions without disturbing the patient. Jack was sitting up in bed staring through the blinds that covered most of the window. Wren followed her line of vision.

“Looks like a storm’s heading our way.” Jack looked at her but remained quiet. She seemed calm but her arms were restrained on either side of the bed.

“Do you remember me from last night?” Wren kept her voice soft, like she was speaking to a child. Now they were not fogged by whatever drug was in her system she could see that Jack’s eyes were bright green. Her skin was soft and very pale; like she had just walked off an advert for skin cream, or lived in a dark hole the last few months.

“She can’t speak,” Isaac told her. “We don’t really know why. Possibly shock. We couldn’t find anything physically wrong with her.”

“Thank you. Would you mind leaving us alone?” He looked relieved and exited quickly.

“Jack, can I ask you a few questions?” Jack nodded very faintly.

“Did someone do something to you?” She watched her very closely. After a moment Jack again gave the faintest of nods.

“Was it someone you know?” There was a faint little shake of the head. Well, that would have been too easy. Wren took a deep breath, she hated the next question.

“Look, there’s no nice way of asking this, did they take advantage of you? Sexually, I mean.”

Tears appeared in the corners of Jack’s eyes, but she shook her head, more clearly this time. Wren tried to get more information about the attack or abduction, but Jack seemed to be drifting off again. Eventually she gave up and asked for a full name and address. Jack looked at her again.

She rummaged around in her purse and pulled out a pen and a notebook. She placed the pen in her hand and the notebook down nearby. It took a while, her hand movements are painfully slow, but Jack eventually wrote something. When she had finished Wren picked it up. The handwriting was poor but the name, Jack Sheppard, and the address, somewhere in Hernsbridge in the west of the town.

“Thank you Jack,” she squeezed the girl’s arm. “Do you have any loved ones you want me to contact?” But Jack had returned to staring out of the window again.

She looked down at the address. Well it would have to be enough for now. Outside the room she spoke to Isaac.

“Will she get to see a specialist?” He looked down at his notes.

“She’s booked to see Dr Devi later today.”

“Can you give the doctor this,” she handed him her card with her number on, “and tell the doctor I’ll be in contact later.” Isaac nodded. “Which paramedic was hurt?”

“Tom Nowak. That’s Nowak with a ‘W’ and a ‘K’,” he watched her writing the name in her book.

---

Jack woke with a start. Snow was falling outside the window. It was hard to tell the time from the light outside. He tried to move but his arms were still restrained. Even without that he doubted he could move by much. Every part of his body hurt.

He looked at how thin his arms were. He had lost weight and a lot of muscle. He shook thinking about what could be wrong with him. He had to slow his breathing to avoid a panic attack.

What happened? He could only remember fragments. Being alone on the road, that kid with the coat. The detective woman asking him questions. From the view out of the window and the accents he heard he could tell he was somewhere in North Manchester. Funny, the last thing he remembered was being in a nightclub in the city.

The nurse came in, the one called Isaac. He smiled at Jake but his eyes looked concerned. Jack tried to speak but wasn’t surprised when only air came out.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” Isaac said in his soft Caribbean accent. Jack raised his arms indicating the restraints on his wrists. Isaac smiled, he didn’t seem so bad when he smiled.

“Sure. I’ll just go check with the doctor. I am sure we can do something about them.” He turned and left. Jack went back to looking out the window. The snow was coming down more heavily now.

Isaac left the door open. Beyond it Jack could hear the sounds of the hospital. Two voices, probably nurses, discussed a patient. He could not hear much but just the music of their voices added a pleasing normality. He rested back on the bed trying to make himself comfortable.

“Hello Jack,” Isaac returned with a middle-aged Asian man, “How are you today young lady?” The middle-aged man looked down at his notes. “My name is Doctor Devi.”

“Mmmm,” was the only noise Jack could make. Did he say ‘young lady’? Jack’s head spun, aching like it was filled with flu.

“Do you mind?” The doctor showed him one of those ear thermometers. Jack nodded tensely. The doctor presses it against his ear. “Is that a little cold?”

“Mmm,” he replied, just wanting it over.

“OK, you have a temperature. We are going to need to monitor that.” He made a few marks on his clipboard. “But I think we can dispense with these,” he pointed at the restraints. Isaac came over and began removing them. Jack was struck by how much larger Isaac’s hands were than his own.

“OK Jacquie, do you think you could try standing for me?” The doctor smiled down at him. Again Jack’s head swam. When he regained control he nodded agreement. He wanted to get better soon.

“OK then, Isaac can you fetch another nurse?” Isaac came back with a small black woman somewhere in her mid-thirties. Her badge said ‘Jenny’. Between them they helped Jack off the bed. At first he was unsure and almost toppled backwards. With more help he was able to hobble a few steps away from the bed. For a few moments the two nurses let him go and he was able to stand. Slowly but surely he gained confidence. He was not sure he could walk, and he did not want to try, instead he stood there wobbling slightly. His arms were stretched out, like a tightrope walker resting halfway.

From the corner of his eye he spotted a young woman in a hospital robe similar to his own. She looked painfully thin and gaunt. Her short sandy blond hair was pressed against her skull. Everything about her was pointed, from her sharp cheekbones to her knees and elbows.

He blinked and at the same time the girl blinked her bright green eyes. He felt his face burning bright red and his head spinning. One moment he was standing there, the next he was falling backwards. The urgent cries of the medical staff seemed so far away. Somewhere, even further away, he could hear a strange song playing.

---

The night was sweaty and the air thick. Jack danced energetically surrounded by his mates. His trainers would be ruined in the morning thanks to all the beer being spilt and the general grime on the floor. 42nd Street student nights were amongst the cheapest in the city. They were also the perfect place to cop-off, or so he had been told.

The crowd cheered as the Stone Roses’ ‘I am the Resurrection’ began playing. It was Manchester after all. From the corner of his eye he spotted a girl watching him. She looked unusual, with her hair died green. Her cheekbones look like they could cut glass. As the song reached its climax the woman headed over. She walked like a cat who had spotted a trapped mouse.

“Hey, how are you?” he leaned towards her. It did not really matter what he said, the music was too loud. A large guy in a rugby shirt bumped into his back pushing him close to the green haired woman. He was mortified, but she placed her hands on his hips. She began to move him, making him dance. She crushed her body into his then pulled back.

The music changed, this time ‘Groove is in the Heart’ by Deee-Lite. The lights were flashing and his head was swimming. The girl stood on tiptoes and whispered something in his ear. He couldn’t quite make out what but then the room seemed to disappear. His whole body felt like it was falling backwards...

---

Jack woke up in his hospital bed. The room was dark and silent. Next to the bed was a tray with food on it, nothing touched. Outside the window he can see it had stopped snowing. The lights of the parking lot reflected off a thick covering of snow. It must have fallen for hours. In the distance he could see the flickering lights of town and behind them the dark silhouette of Hob’s Hill.

Slowly, with his eyes closed, be began exploring his body. His face felt smooth, like before he had begun shaving. His shoulders felt slimmer, although he couldn’t be sure. Similarly his arms lacked muscle and definition. All this could be incidental he told himself. He had heard the doctors saying he had been inactive for a long time. Perhaps he had been in a coma or something? That would explain everything right?

The next part was more telling. They were only small, at least in his admittedly restricted experience, but there was no mistaking breasts. They felt soft and pliable. He gave a small, soundless gasp when he tried to squash them. His headspun What had happened? Who had done this?

It took him ten or more minutes to compose himself. He had one last place to check. Again he kept his eyes screwedshut, slipping his hands down underneath the sheets. There it was, or more to the point, there it wasn’t.

He lay there rigid with shock. How had this happened? Was it even possible? Had that green haired girl slipped something into his drink? His mind reeled with the possibilities. Forced surgery perhaps? But why would anyone do that outside of a cheap horror flick?

Eventually it all began to overpower him. His body, whatever shape it was in, had little or no reserve of energy. His head began to swim with tiredness. Maybe he had imagined it all. The weight on his chest said no but his brain refused to accept it.

Yes, that was it. This must be some crazy sort of a dream. He looked out at the black silhouette of the hill above the town. Something about it fascinated him. He didn’t even remember closing his eyes, but in moments sleep came.

---

The pub was loud and noisy, Ash was hanging beside the quiz machine as he watched his friend Mitchell hammer away at buttons.

“What’s the capital of Peru?” Mitchell looked at him expectantly.

“Huh?” Ash had been miles away. He pushed his dark brown fringe out of his eyes.

“Come on you lanky beanpole, help me. The capital of Peru, is it Santiago, Lima or Mexico City?” As he spoke Mitchell’s face was lit up by the light from the machine.

“Well it isn’t Mexico City is it?” He took a gulp of his beer; Mitchell just looked blankly at him. “Because Mexico City is in Mexico.” He cursed silently as he spilled a little beer on his shirt. That was his best shirt.

“Oh,” Mitchell looked a little hurt, “I thought it might be a trick question.”

Ash sighed, “No, it’s not a trick question, the answer is Lima.”

“Really?” Mitchell hits a button, after a pause the machine flashed and made a sound that indicated success. “Good call mate, where do you know this stuff from?”

Ash shrugged, “School I guess.”

“So you were paying attention during geography then? I thought you were too busy with that little Wilson girl.” Mitchell paused a moment to look at the new question in the screen, “The one who wore the short skirts.”

He hadn’t thought of Sally Wilson in what, two, three years? Not since they left high school.

“What happened to the girls?” Ash looked away from Mitchell as if he had spotted something fascinating by the entrance to the poolroom. He played with his bottle of beer, peeling away the label.

“Girls? You mean Sally Wilson? I think she works for Asda over Oldham way.”

“No, not her. You said your sister and her mates would be here,” Ash looked at his friend, an edge of annoyance in his voice.

“Oh yeah, by ‘mates’ do you mean Alana?” The Quiz Machine hid Mitchell’s face, but Ash could tell he was smiling. “They might be along later.”

Later didn’t happen. After half an hour Ash became fed up of watching his friend lose money to the Quiz Machine and went and waited at the bar. He’d first seen Alana in the same pub two months ago. She wasn’t like Mitchell’s sister and the other girls, who were all hair and noise. She was quiet, not in a mousey way; you could tell she was listening. Two weeks ago they had sat next to each other when the football was on. He had meant to ask for her number then but had lost his nerve. There were too many people around that knew him. Since then he hadn’t seen her. As last orders were called he decided to leave, he didn’t fancy walking home with Mitchell and the others. He’d take the towpath and kick a few cans into the water.

The towpath was quiet at that time of the night. Despite the risk of slipping on ice Ash liked walking along this way. The cold air kept his mind clear. Normally when he was in college or working at Alabama Fried Chicken he would feel foggy and slow, like he could physically feel his life ticking away. On a night like this however he felt exhilaration, like anything in life was possible.

Snowflakes fell on his face. One landed on his nose. He used his tongue to lick it off. He pulled his hood up further so he could enjoy the soft and warm feel of the lining. Behind him he could hear the noise of the pub. It disappeared slowly as he got further away and within ten minutes he couldn't hear anything at all, not even the road.

As he came to a little bridge the street lamp above him started to blink on and off. It hummed loudly and Ash wondered what was wrong? As he came to the opening of the bridge it went off altogether.

For two or three minutes he just stood there in the darkness. The only light came from over the bushes where he could see the faint glow of the city beyond it.

As suddenly as it turned off the light came on again, no longer buzzing or flickering. He nearly jumped out of his skin. Standing in the shadows under the bridge was a small figure. From its size and general shape Ash got the impression in was a little girl of maybe six to eight years old.

Ash composed himself, "Are you OK? Did you get lost?"

The figure seemed to shake her head.

"You shouldn't be out this late at night," he stepped closer to her, "Look at you,” he still couldn’t quite make her out, “Do you even have a coat? Does your mummy know you are out like this? Does she live near by?" There were no answers to his questions.

The shadow shook her head. She kept her face pointing to the floor as if incredibly shy. Ash kneeled down to try and see the girl's face better. “Hey, can you understand me?”

"Now!" barked the girl. Her voice frightened Ash, there was something animalistic about it.

He didn't have much time to think as someone came from behind and pulled a thin cloth bag over his head.

Ash screamed, but it was muted by the fabric of the bag. Somehow its thin material seemed to eat sound. Every time he took a breath the fabric was sucked down his throat. Through the bag he could just make out the little figure standing over him. He wanted to leap up and grab her, but from behind two small but powerful hands griped his wrists.

He tried to struggle but it was like he was caught in a vice. He continued to struggle but all it achieved was to hurt his arms and tire him out. He could feel his breathing, deep and shallow. What the fuck was happening? He started to panic again as he felt rope begin to bind his wrists.

“Who are you?” he called out, “Why are you doing this?”

“We are your friends,” The voice was a little girl’s, but behind it he could detect the trace of animal fury he had noticed before, “We want to play.”

As he passed out he thought of Alana and how different things could have been if he’d only asked her out.

---

Wren was in the office early. She was trying to track down the address Jack gave her on her street map but couldn’t find a Churchill Street anywhere in Hernsbridge. Every time she Googled it she got a link to black and white photos of Hernsbridge on local history blogs. She looked at the writing on the note. Jack’s handwriting was erratic to say the least; perhaps she had read it wrongly? She tried to unfocused her eyes, to see what Jack meant. She heard a light cough behind her. Turning she saw Mark waiting patiently.

“Can I help?” She was a little annoyed at the intrusion.

“I’ve found something on the Jane Doe,” he paused, looking unsure, “it’s a little strange though.”

“What is it?” This felt like pulling teeth. He handed her a printout and a photo.

“What am I looking at?”

“Well, you asked me to look into missing person cases that might be our girl. At first I drew a blank so I started looking further and further back. I sort of got carried away, then I found this,” he pointed at the document he gave her, “from 1998.”

She looked at what he had handed to her. Stupid really, the girl she met would have only been, what, three, maybe four at a push in 1998. But her eyes lingered on the photo. It was an old one, and she had long hair, but it was her. Or maybe a sister or a twin? They would have to be near identical.

She read the text; Jacqueline ’Jack' Sheppard, age 21. Went missing climbing on the hills with friends. Her friends lost sight of her when a mist descended suddenly, no body was ever found. Even the address checked out.

“This can’t be her. Not unless she was cryogenically frozen,” She turned the piece of paper over, half expecting to see ‘April Fool’ written there.

“I know,” Mark scratched the back of his head, “But if it isn’t, it is one hell of a coincidence.” They both stood in silence looking at the piece of paper. Mark was the first to break the silence.

“There a relative,” he pointed at a line near the bottom of the paper, “the mother. She’s still with us. I checked”

“What would I say to her?” Wren said, mostly to herself. Mark just shrugged.

“Maybe ask if she had any other relatives who have gone missing.”

It made no sense. There seemed no point in getting some elderly woman’s hopes up over nothing. She looked at the photograph. It was black and white but still the resemblance was uncanny. It could have been taken just a couple of days ago.

After a while Mark disappeared muttering something about telling him what she finds out. She just stared at the photo unable to see any difference between it and the girl in the hospital. Eventually she picked up the phone and dialled the number Mark had given her.

“Hello, am I speaking to Mrs Sheppard?” She waited, hearing cracking on the line.

“Who is this?” the voice was elderly but clear.

“Mrs Sheppard? This is Inspector Donnelly of Alfsdale police. Can you confirm who I am speaking to?”

“It’s Ms Rees now dear, I haven’t gone by Sheppard for years. That was my married name.”

“My apologies Ms Rees. I believe you registered your daughter, Jacqueline as missing in 1998?” There was silence on the phone. When she spoke again Ms Rees’s voice was even quieter. Wren can almost feel the pain.

“Is it the body? Has someone found the body?”

---

Tom grasped the styrofoam cup of coffee close in his hands. He waited as its warmth revived his fingers, protecting him against the night. Tully came over and sat next to him.

“Cold night, huh?” she said sipping her tea. He looked up at the stars in the sky.

“It seems like the snow has stopped, for now at least.” Bad weather always brought more work for the paramedics. Alfsdale’s proximity to the M6 and other motorways made it a centre for trucking companies. Many of their drivers were overworked, on tight schedules and eager to get home to their families.

From the cab of their ambulance they could hear the radio crackling. As yet there were no calls.

“Perhaps everyone decided to stay in,” Tully mused. As if in answer to her the radio crackles into life.

“We have a call from Kingsway. Is there anyone near?”

“That’s us,” Tully sighs. Tom was always impressed with how well the petite South Asian woman handled the large ambulance. She could weave in between the traffic at speeds that turned his knuckles white. The roads were mostly empty but it still impressed him how she took such tight corners without tipping the whole vehicle over.

The house was a small semi-detached on the edge of what used to be a council estate and was now mostly privately owned. Tom knocked on the door while Tully waited a little back from him. He watched as a light turned on inside, and a distorted silhouette getting larger as it came closer.

“We had an emergency call? Mrs Beck?” Tom says. For a moment he was worried this was another crank call.

“You were quick,” the woman composes herself, “Our Bryony was attacked.”

“Can you show us where she is?” Tom had an image of a drunken fight in his head. He prayed glass wasn’t involved.

“She’s in the kitchen drinking hot cocoa.” The woman did not wait for his reply, she turned and walked down the hall.

The kitchen was small and the colour of old tea. On the walls were kids finger paintings. A youngish woman, probably in her late teens sat at the table. Her hair was dyed silver, almost grey. It matched the grey of her jumper-dress. The mug she holds seemed too big for her hands.

“Are you okay?” Tully asked her. “Can you tell us what happened?”

“Some pervert tried to grab me,” Bryony’s words sounded tough but her voice shook.

“Are you hurt?” Tully took a seat next to the girl.

“My ankle,” the girl said simply, “and I got a bump on the head.” As Tully checked Bryony for concussion Mrs Beck busied herself making them all tea.

“Do you think it might have something to do with that business they had over in Hayward?” she whispered to Tom.

He knew she meant the taxi drivers who kidnapped and raped young women. The taxi drivers had mostly been South Asian and the victims mostly white. It had caused a great deal of tension across the borough.

“It doesn’t sound like them. They waited till they got the girls in their taxis. This sounds too random for that.” I hope not, he thought, glancing at Tully. Their ambulance had been bricked several times that year.

“Bryony seems fine, just a little mild concussion,” Tully came over to join them. “You should come in if she gets a headache or if things get worse. Apart from that she just needs rest.”

“Thank you,” Mrs Beck handed her a mug.

“Have you reported this to the police?” Tom asked. She snorted, she didn’t think much of that idea.

“What happened?” Tully turned to Bryony, who took a sip of her cocoa.

“Someone grabbed me from behind.” She shuddered. “He had a powerful grip but I kicked him in the balls.” She said the last bit with some pride.

“Where were you?” Tom asked.

“I was coming back from the King’s Head. I took the lane behind the golf course.” Tom knew it well. He had cycled down the muddy little lane on his mountain bike many times.

“Dark this time of night?” suggested Tully.

“The lights from the golf course are enough.”

“Do you think somebody followed you from the pub?” Tom wondered if he should report this.

“Maybe,” she shrugged. “You get some funny sorts.”

After they had finished their tea they made their way out. As they reached the front door Tom turned to Mrs Beck.

“You should report this. Other young women might not be as lucky.”

“The way I figure it,” she crossed her arms, “after our Bryony finished with him I don’t think he’ll be trying it again soon.”

---

Marge was not a close friend, she was married to a colleague, Jeremy who made up part of her pub quiz team. She did however run the local Hearts for Heroes charity shop on the high street.

“Thanks for letting me in,” Wren spoke through the scarf wrapped around her neck and lower face.

“No worries. Who was this for?” Wren could see that part of the deal was exchanging a favour for gossip.

“A girl, she was found on the Hob’s Hill road last night. She hasn’t been fully identified so we need some clothes for her,” Wren looked through the racks not knowing quite what to buy.

“Not that taxi business again?”

“We don’t think so, not the same MO.” She wanted to keep control of this conversation, there were too many dark places it could go. “We don’t really know what happened yet.”

Maybe it was Jack’s short hair but Wren thought she’d be a tomboy. She picked out a couple of pairs of jeans she thought would fit, two t-shirts, a blouse and a couple of small jumpers. They were easily covered by the petty cash Jacobs had given her.

“Do you need any underwear?” Marge asked her. Wren looked at the grey and fading assortment of bras and pants in a big tub.

“Er, no thanks. I’ll just stop off at C&A.”

---

She was surprised to see Jack sat up when she arrived. The girl was sitting on the edge of the bed playing cards with the nurse from earlier. Isaac was sitting in a plastic chair, his legs spread wide in a relaxed pose. Jack smiled when she saw her. Wren thought how much the smile changed her face. She was quite pretty.

“How did you sleep?” Wren asked. Jack held up a small notebook.

‘Hello,’ read the first page. She flicked through a couple of pages. Wren waited patiently as Jack wrote something. ‘Fine thank you. Isaac found this for me.’ She looked at Isaac who shrugged and smiled.

“Good plan.” Isaac nodded his thanks and Wren turned back to the girl, “I brought some clothes for you.” She held up a plastic bag. She had disposed of the charity bag and put everything in the C&A one. Jack showed her a page with ‘Thanks’ written on it, but her expression was wary.

“I thought you might be up to walk to the canteen?”

“Sounds like a good idea,” the young man said. He moved slowly but purposefully up from the seat. Turning to Jack he spoke.

“My shift finished an hour ago.” He stretched and turned to leave. Wren noted the disappointed look on the girl’s face. Recovering well?

“I’ll be back to check on you at the start of my next shift, if that’s okay,” Isaac’s smile was bright and wide. Jack nodded. She turned and looked at Wren with suspicion.

Wren put the bag on the bed; Jack cautiously peered in.

“Come on,” Wren said with forced cheerfulness. Jack sat on the bed looking up at her. Her expression reminded Wren of a kid on her first day of school. “Look, do you want to stay in that,” she indicated what Jack was wearing, “with your arse sticking out all day?” Jack blushed red and then slowly nodded agreement.

Her movements were slow and painful, more like those of the old and infirm than a twenty something woman. Wren watched as she ran a hand slowly through her hair.

“I could get a hairdresser to come in if you like?” Wren asked, the girl just nodded and smiled weakly.

“You seem close to Isaac,” Wren played a hunch. The girl shrugged her bony shoulders but couldn’t look her in the eye.

It felt to Wren like she was dressing an oversized toddler but she was pleased with the purchases. The jeans legs were a little too long, pooling around Jack’s feet, and the jumper sleeves covered her hands so they both need a little turning up, but she had seen worse.

Wren was a little jealous of how good Jack looked, even in cheap clothes. Jack walked tentatively leaning on Wren. She weighs nothing, Wren thought. What happened to her?

---

Jack knew something was wrong. On route to the canteen he kept trying to form the words to tell Wren that he had some how ended up in the wrong body. That he wasn’t supposed to be female, however, every time he tried to formulate the words they slipped through his fingers. It was like he was trying to construct his sentences out of alpha-spaghetti.

After getting out of the elevator Jack saw something he thought would explain it all. A maintenance man was changing the sign on the men’s toilet. Jack grabbed Wren’s arm as tightly as he could, pointing forward.

“What is it?” The detective asked.

Jack pointed again, this time with more force.

“Do you know this man?” Wren looked at the maintenance man, who for his part looked confused.

Jack shook his head. It made him slightly dizzy to do so. He could feel the fog descending it felt a little like being drunk.

“Do you want your notebook?” Jack nodded. Wren passed her the notebook.

Jack tried to compose the words he needed on the paper. He forced himself to focus, like a drunk trying to get his key in the door.

He wrote slowly and with great effort. At times he needed to think just to remember the shape of letters and words. Eventually he finished and looked down at what he had written:

‘I need the toilet.’

As Wren read it Jack let out a silent scream.

Unseen People

Thanks as always to Robyn and Chris for their input and support and a special thank you to all of you for your kind comments and messages for Chapter 1. Please continue to post your comments, they help me keep writing and improve as I do so.

Chapter 2

Freddy Malins had been a regular at the King’s Head for nearly thirty years now. There was a stool at the place where the bar bent around the corner; the worn red leather of the stool had an imprint that matched Freddy’s bum exactly. If you were to look closely you’d see the faint lines, like the rings in a tree, where his buttocks had grown, inch by inch over the long years.

Freddy prided himself on knowing all the customers of the little pub. He knew the other regulars like family, and the casual drinkers better than any work colleague. The man he was looking at was neither. He couldn’t quite put his finger on this one. The stranger’s face was smooth and boyish. He looked young, apart from the fatty jowls and slightly receding hairline. The suit he wore was new, but also baggy and ill shaped and ill fitting.

“You new to the area?” Freddy asked, taking a sip of what was left of his pint.

“Just passing through,” Freddy guessed from the stranger’s accent that he was from London.

The stranger stopped and turned to look at Freddy, “I’m doing some research into this girl who reappeared a couple of nights ago.”

“A journalist?”

The stranger nodded slowly, “You could say that I dabble.”

“Who do you write for?” Freddy looked longingly at the nearly full, cold pint in front of the stranger. Lager wasn’t usually his drink, but right now he’d be glad of anything.

“I’m freelance. You wouldn’t know anything about this girl would you? The barman said you work in maintenance at the hospital.”

Freddy watched the stranger's face. It was soft and smooth. He could be forty something and lived an easy life, he could be in his twenties and over indulged.

“What’s your name, stranger?” Freddy felt uneasy, he knew he wasn’t supposed to talk about patients.

“Peter,” Peter held out a hand, “Nice to meet you Freddy. Let me buy you a pint.”

Freddy didn’t remember introducing himself, must be all the booze he thought. It’s time to cut down on the daytime drinking. Well, nearly time.

Peter gestured for the barman to come over. The barman didn’t look too happy about it.

“Get my friend a pint. Whatever is his pleasure,” The barman shot Freddy a glance. Freddy didn’t think he wished him any pleasure.

“Anything else?” The barman turned back to Peter.

“I am going to guess my new friend here has an unpaid tab?” Peter said cheerfully pulling several crisp twenty pound notes out of his wallet.

“You could say that,” The barman replied not looking at Freddy. Freddy knew it was past the £200 mark. How much higher he didn’t want to know.

“Well my friend Freddy and I,” Peter slapped Freddy on the back, “We are going to the snug. If he tells me something I want to hear then I’ll be paying off that tab.”

The barman looked back at Freddy. From his expression he didn’t think Freddy had anything to say that anyone wouldn’t be interested in.

Peter led Freddy away, “What’s your full name?” Freddy asked.

“Peter Pan,” Peter smiled a mirthless smile.

Freddy tried unsuccessfully to suppress a laugh, “Your parents had a funny sense of humour?”

“No parents, I was raised by fairies.”

---

A couple of flakes of snow hit the glass of the canteen window. Jack watched them melting as they slowly slipped down the window.

A girl sat with her father at a table across from them. Both her arms were in bandages and her father had to carefully feed her soup. Jack’s eyes followed the spoon up and down, as they did so her scratched his arms. Nerves sent signals to his brain telling him this soft skin was now his.

“Jack, can you tell me any more details about yourself?” Wren’s voice cut through his thoughts. Jack turned back to the detective and shook his head. Jack picked up her pen and wrote something on her note pad.

‘Parents are dead. I go to Salford Uni. I could give you a list of my friends but I can’t remember their names off the top of my head.’

He wanted to ask how his body had changed, why he now appeared to be female, but when he tried to form the questions in his head he found himself becoming distracted. He looked up seeing the father wipe his daughters mouth with a napkin before he started writing again.

‘There’s an address book at my home, I keep it next to the phone.’

Wren took the notebook, turned it around to face her and then read it twice, “I am sorry Jack but we haven’t been able to find the address you gave us.”

Jack wrinkled his forehead and twirled the pen in his hand. He could feel the extra weight on his chest rise and fall with every breath. It was disturbing, none of this made any sense. It was like someone had sneaked in and moved everything in his life two feet to the left.

Wren must have seen the look of distress on his feminine face, “Dr Devi thinks you maybe suffering from some form of amnesia.” She took Jack’s hand in hers, stroking its smooth, soft skin. Jack could feel how much greater the strength in Wren’s hand was than his. He felt like he was made of rice paper. “The doctor thinks it could be your mind’s way of dealing with the trauma.”

Jack shuddered. It made sense, but he didn’t want to confront what could have been so terrible that it had fried his brain.

“Do you remember anywhere, anything that could help us?” Wren squeezed tightly. For a moment Jack worried that she would crush the bones in his fingers they felt so fragile.

He concentrated, trying to put back together the pieces of his memory, like a jigsaw puzzle. Blurred images, sounds and smells. He pulled the notepad back to him and wrote something down, passing it back to Wren.

‘Castle Irwell Student Halls.’

Wren nodded but didn’t say anything. Castle Irwell had closed down the year before and the building itself had been destroyed this year by fire.

---

Ben woke with a start; he had heard the rattling in his dream. At first he lay there listening for any sound. Somewhere in the distance he could hear the hum of traffic where the A road met the motorway. It was only very faint, during the day it would be completely covered by the everyday noises of the house.

He lay in bed for a full fifteen minutes wondering if he had only dreamed it. Then he heard it again. He looked outside and saw the trees swaying in the wind. Maybe a window had been left partially open? The rattling came again, this time he could tell it was coming from beneath him. Underneath his bedroom was the kitchen. Perhaps the cat flap was letting a breeze in?

When he heard it a third time he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep until he had investigated. He crept down the stairs careful not to wake his dad.

When he reached the kitchen his first instinct was to flip the light switch, but something stopped him. He knew once a light came on the half of his brain that was still in sleep mode would be awake. Then it would take him hours to find sleep again.

He crept through the dark kitchen trying to identify the source of the noise. The room had been transformed by moonlight from the normal and everyday to the transient and dream-like. He looked out through the window; the moon looked much larger then normal.

At the end of the kitchen there were the large French window doors. Through them he could see a fresh layer of snow had fallen. It must have been some time before as the sky above was clear and full of stars.

Reaching the French window he looked up, he had never seen so many stars in his life. Was it his imagination or did he see a shooting star? He could almost see the colours of the giant gas clouds from which solar systems were formed.

Suddenly, he heard it again. Only this time the rattle was right next to him. He looked down to see a face staring back at him, the face of young girl. He jumped back startled, nearly tripping himself over. He ran to the back of the kitchen running his hand along the smooth surface of the wall until he found the switch. His heart beat against his ribcage.

The instant he flicked the switch his eyes were dazzled. He stood there, facing away from the French windows. He knew he had to turn around but couldn’t bring himself to do so. He told himself that there would be nothing there, that it had all been in his imagination, but then the rattling started again.

One… Two… Three, he turned slowly and had to force himself to keep his eyes open. When finally he faced the door he sagged in relief. There was no one there. He moved towards the door, comforted by the normality of his surroundings. There was the cornflakes packet, left out next to an empty bowl, crumbs and discarded flakes all over the counter. It told him his dad had been down for a snack earlier.

As he reached the French doors he noticed the frost patterns covering the outside glasspane. Intricate lines meeting together creating what looked like the map of a frozen city. He looked out onto the back garden. The snow lay crisp and untouched save the tiny footprints of a robin. OK, he thought to himself, he had let his imagination run wild. That moment he heard the glass in the windows rattle with the wind. That must have been it, he told himself. Deeper in his mind he though, that is a different rattle, but he rationalised it as his mind playing tricks on him.

He decided he needed to do something, to keep his mind from inventing things. He brushed up the crumbs from his dad’s midnight feast and put them in the compost bin. Then he returned the cereal packet to its cupboard and put the bowl and spoon into the dishwasher. As he left, turning off the light switch he couldn’t help but feel like someone, or thing, was watching him. He turned quickly, but saw nobody.

Suddenly there was a tapping at the window, making Ben nearly jump out of his skin. He flicked the lights back on expecting to see the girls face again, but there was nothing.

Tap, tap, tap. Ben couldn’t see where it was coming from. Then he saw it, a tiny little bird sitting on the windowsill. Tap, tap, tap, it banged its beak against the glass. It probably had no idea what the window was thought Ben. It’d be like one of us finding an invisible force field in the middle of the shopping arcade.

Not really knowing why, he went over to the window. He places his finger on the spot where the birds was tapping. He could see that the bird was a robin, its red breast showed up starkly against the white backdrop. Tap, tap, tap the bird rapped on the glass. It turned its head so it was looking directly at Ben. He thought its eyes looked sad. Tap, tap, tap the bird went one last time, then it flew away.

Ben was left looking at the garden. It was empty all the way to the line of trees that separated it from the gully and Hob’s Hill behind it. He thought of Jess, the cat, and wondered how long it had been since they had seen her. Maybe twenty-four hours now. He decided he’d help dad look for her before school and headed up the stairs. The clock in the hall said 4:20. Probably too late to sleep now. He’d put his headphones on and listen to podcasts until it was time to get up.

---

Jack lay listlessly back on top of the bed. He still had on the clothes Wren had given him earlier, although they now looked wrinkled from lying there for hours. They were mostly fairly boyish, although tailored to fit a young woman. What he had the most trouble with was the bra. He couldn't get used to how it pulled on his shoulders and back. He didn’t even want to think about the extra weight he felt there when he moved his body.

Even sitting felt strange with the extra padding on his bum. Most of the time he chose to lie, but he could only lie for so long before he noticed something like the extra weight on his chest, or the absence between his legs, and he had to move.

On the bedside table was a pile of magazines, mostly fashion ones and celebrity gossip. Jack hadn’t touched any of them; all he wanted to do was stare out of the window. He wished they could give him something more asexual. Perhaps something on music or film. The problem was when one of the nurses came in he found himself becoming listless, unable to form the words on his notepad.

He had watched the young female nurse called Jill as she changed his bedding. He stood there wobbling slightly as she bent over tucking sheets in. She was pretty, tall, long legs and red hair. Normally he’d have felt something, even when sick, but this time there was nothing. Well, not quite nothing, he did feel something. It had hit him about half an hour after she left. He had been feeling jealousy. The elegant way she moved, and the fact that it all seemed so effortless for her.

He knew he should be more agitated. He hated it when Wren and the others referred to him as a girl. Worse still he kept thinking of himself as a ‘she’. It all seemed odd to him, like he was driving someone else’s car. He knew how everything worked but the windscreen wipers and the indicator switches were on the wrong sides and clutch was over sensitive.

Worse of all was Isaac. He was smart enough to recognise how he was feeling around him. That slight lightness in his head, and the butterflies in the stomach. The way everything he did seemed clumsy and ill thought through when Isaac was near. Sometimes he was glad he couldn’t speak. Even the thought of some of the foolish things he would have said in his presence made him blush. Jack had never fancied another male before, but now he couldn’t stop thinking about this boy.

---

Wren waited on the platform of the Rochdale Town Centre tram stop. The strong wind was blowing the smell of samosas from the little van on the edge of the market space. Wren heard her stomach rumble, damn the diet.

As the tram rolled in her phone buzzed. Wren called the number back.

“Hi, I’m on the platform!” She surveyed the crowd disembarking the tram. “I’m the one wearing the blue coat.”

A woman’s voice replied, “I can see you,” it didn’t seem as old and tired as Wren remembered. She tried to hide her surprise when the woman stepped out in front of her. She didn’t look much over fifty, Wren had been expecting older.

“You were expecting someone older weren’t you?” Ms Rees, the mother of the girl who went missing in the 90s smiled knowingly.

“No, not at all,” Wren lied. “I didn't really know whatto expect,” she pulled it back a little.

“Well I am here now, what do you want from me?” The woman said smiling a little.

As they drove to Alfdale hospital Wren explained as best she could.

“I don’t know how but there seems to be a link between this girl, Jack and your missing daughter Jacqueline. It maybe that she knows something.”

“You think she’s trying to impersonate my little Jackie?” The woman looked out of the window, not at Wren.

“I don’t think so,” Wren had been going over this in her head, “She seems genuine. And if it is a lie it’s a transparent one,” She looked over at her passenger, “We could easily disprove it. But the doctor thinks she’s suffering from some form of amnesia.”

“She doesn’t know who she is?” the mother interjected.

“Not quite. According to Doctor Devi amnesia doesn’t make you forget your name, that’s only in bad science fiction novels. He thinks something traumatic happened to her and she has constructed a false identity to protect herself. But that leaves open the question of where she heard about your daughter.”

Wren looked over at Ms Rees. She was clutching her handbag close to her. Wren could see the whites of her knuckles.

“Can I ask you a question?” Wren had decided to risk it.

“Sure, I can’t promise I’ll be able to give you an answer.”

“What happened to Jacqueline’s father?”

Ms Rees gave a mirthless laugh, “Oh he’s in Australia somewhere. He works for one of the oil companies out there.”

“He left you?” A car pulled out in front of Wren forcing her to come to a sudden halt. She had to restrain herself from swearing in front of her passenger.

“Oh, I don’t really blame him. Those years after…” her voice trailed off for a moment, “Well, after Jackie went missing. They were hard on us.” As Wren started the car again she noticed Ms Rees looking at her intently, “The hardest thing was the hope. It was very hard to let go.” Her voice was so quiet Wren almost didn’t hear what she said.

They met Doctor Devi outside the ward. Wren watched as he introduced himself to Ms Rees. She watched as Ms Rees’ head bobbed along to every word he said. She had no idea what was going on in there? Doctor Devi explained that the young woman had been through a traumatic experience and that if he felt this was too much for her he would pull them out.

“Inspector, can I have a quick word with you before we go in?” He took Wren by the arm and directed her into a corner of the room.

“Sure, what’s up?” She resisted the urge to end the sentence with ‘doc’.

“As I mentioned we’ve been running some tests on Jack’s vocal cords to see what the problem is.”

Wren nodded, “You said you thought it was psychosomatic?” she noticed the worried look on his face, “Have you found something?”

“That’s just it,” he looked sheepish, “we’ve found nothing.”

“Well, isn’t that a good thing?” she replied uncertain where he was going with this.

“You misunderstand me. We found nothing, as in there are no vocal cords.” He held up an x-ray for her, she had no idea what she was looking at.

“Is that rare?”

“Very. Unless it was a birth defect, which is very rare indeed, then it would had to have been done by surgery.” He looked her in the eye, she could see fear, “That’s some pretty tricky and extensive surgery.”

Wren pondered this. So she was looking for someone with a professional background, probably a surgeon. She thought of all those books she had read on Jack the Ripper back when she was doing her training. She looked over at Jack’s mother; she seemed so small on her own. Who would go to all the trouble of removing a young woman’s vocal cords and why? That thought alone made her shudder.

“Are there any uses for vocal cords. Rare medicines, something like that?” She watched as the doctor shook his head.

“None that I know of. Possibly organ transplant for someone without vocal cords,” Wren looked at him in disbelief, “I’d have to do some research, see if it has ever been done successfully. It isn’t really my area of expertise.” He trailed off at the end.

“Well thank you doctor, let me know what you find.” She looked over at Ms Rees who sat nervously on a plastic chair watching them. This was indeed perplexing but it would have to wait.

“OK, I think we can go through now,” she took Ms Rees by the arm. She looked up at her as if she was about to say something, but nothing came out.

Jack was sitting up on the bed, wearing the same clothes she had brought her that morning. Isaac the nurse stood beside the bed. She noticed he was holding the girl’s hand.

“Ms Rees, this is the woman we…” Wren had only started speaking when she felt the woman beside her go. Wren had to strain to hold her up as she let out a guttural wail. She sounded more like a wounded animal than anything human.
Wren felt like she was going to be pulled over before Doctor Devi rushed to her side and helped her carry the woman to a chair in the corner. Wren tried to reassure her but she wept openly and uncontrollably. After a few minutes the woman calmed down enough for Wren to understand her.

“Jacqueline, it’s my little Jackie,” she said through huge sobs. Sobs so big they seemed to shake her whole body.

“Inspector, Doctor, I think we need some help here,” Wren turned. She had been so fixed on the woman she had momentarily forgotten about Jack. The girl was sitting on the edge of her bed shaking visibly, silent tears rolling down her cheek. Reassured Devi had the mother she rushed over to Jack putting her arms around her.

“Are you OK sweetie?” She tried to hold her but the shaking was violent and almost totally out of control.

Jack reached out for something. It took Wren a few moments to realise she wanted her notebook and pen. Wren passed them to her.

My mother, wrote Jack pointing across the room at the woman in the chair. Wren nodded, she didn’t know how it could be true but she believed her. How was she going to convince Chief Inspector Jacobs?

Jack was trying to write something else, but her hand was shaking too much. Isaac reached out gently steadying the girl’s hand. After a few minutes Jack was able to write again.

She died three years ago

Wren looked into the girl’s terrified green eyes. They seemed to be begging her for help. Something struck Wren; she put her hand on Jacks arm trying to steady her.

“Jack love, this might seem like an odd question,” she took a deep breath, “but what year do you think it is?”

The question seemed to jolt Jack. So much so that she stopped shaking. She looked from Isaac face to Wren and then wrote something down. Wren took the notepad from her and looked at what she had written:

1998

---

The ambulance arrived just after the police. There was a crowd of people standing around. Tom and Tully were used to this. They often had to fight their way through onlookers to get at a casualty. From inside the group Tom could hear screaming. He pushed past as quickly as he could.

A young looking policewoman stood there trying to keep the crowd back. Next to her, her male partner was trying to restrain a man who was screaming blue murder.

“What’s happening?” He said to the policewoman who looked happy to see him, “Who is the casualty?”

“That’s what we want to know,” The policewoman sounded like she was having a bit of a day.

“They took her, the bastards took her!” screamed the restrained man. Tom noticed a small man in a postman’s uniform kneeling on the pavement, blood pouring from his head. Tom indicated to Tully and she went to help him.

The first man flailed out an arm that caught the policeman on the side of his chin, knocking him backwards. Tom was aware that some of the teenagers in the crowd had taken out phones and were snapping pictures. In a second both police officers were on the man. He was knocked to the ground, the policeman held him while the policewoman struggled to handcuff him.

The man seemed to realise he had made a mistake and stopped thrashing about. Tom turned to the policewoman and said, “You get rid of the crowd, we’ll look after him.”

The policewoman looked uncertain so Tom continued, “You aren’t going to get anything out of him until he has calmed down.”

The two police officers nodded and started to push the crowd back. With Tully’s help Tom took him to the back of their ambulance. As he looked at the cut on the man’s forehead he spoke to him.

“What happened?”

The man didn’t look at him, “Jenny was calling me from the front garden,” Tom looked over at the muddy patch of grass in front of the house. There were still patches of snow covering most of it. In the next garden was a small snowman with no eyes and a tatty little scarf. “She shouted something about the Brownies selling biscuits.” His big chest heaved, “By the time I was half way around the house I could hear her screaming,” he bowed his head and looked into his large open hands, “She was gone before I got there.”

“And what about this guy?” Tom gestured over at the dazed postman Tully had helped up. She was walking him around holding his arm around her shoulder.

The man’s voice became small, “I think he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

They waited with the police and the two men. Tully sat in the ambulance with the postman, whose name was Alan, while Tom sat on the curb with the man whose wife had gone missing, Keith. While the police left the cuffs on Keith, Tom at least had put a silver blanket over his shoulders. The sky was turning grey. It wouldn’t be long before the snow started again.

Tom was sitting in the staff canteen when he saw her enter the room. He watched Wren as she walked over. Without her big coat on he noticed she had long, slim, legs. She was probably in her early thirties, Tom guessed. Her auburn hair was tied back into a high ponytail. It looked like it had been a long time since she had been to the hairdressers. Not that Tom was much of a judge.

“You again,” Wren said to Tom. “Always causing trouble.”

“That’s me,” he smiled at her, indicating for her to take a seat at his table. His shoulders and back ached, it was only when he sat down that he noticed.

“I’m going to need to take your statements,”

“Tully will be back soon, she has just taken Alan to the hospital for a check over,” he took a big sip of his coffee.

“Alan being the postman?” Wren took her notebook out and wrote something.

“You’re an inspector aren’t you?” Tom looked at the ID badge Wren had just put down on the table.

“Yup,” Wren kept her head down flipping through her notes.

“Does your Chief Inspector ever come down for things like this?” Tom watched her as she lifted her head.

“Jacobs? No not often. Not unless there’s some bigwig involved. Why do you ask?” She looks at him in the eyes. Hers were brown and searching.

“I just wondered how seriously the police are taking this. There seems to be a lot going on.”

“How do you mean?” She kept her eyes on him. Her gaze wasn’t unfriendly, but it was intense. It made him want to twitch.

He shrugged, “There just seems to be a lot happening at the moment. Strange things.”

He watched her as she put her note pad away. She licked her lips before speaking again. “When do you finish your shift?”

“In about an hour,” he glanced up at the clock, it was just a little under.

Wren kept her eyes down, “Do you want to talk more? Over a drink I mean.”

At first Tom didn’t realise what had happened. He thought she wanted to question him some more. “You want to go for a drink?”

“Yeh. it‘s been a mad day.” She looked up at him again with those same searching brown eyes. Only this time they seemed to contain a flicker of vulnerability.

Why not? His love life was pretty none existent. The only women he met were work colleagues or the injured and sick.

“OK,” he said, smiling at her, “Do you know the King’s Head?”

---

Jack slept uneasily. The day had been filled with more emotion than he could cope with. Through wriggling around he had wound the sheets around him with only his bare feet poking out at the bottom.

Something woke him, a sense that he wasn’t the only one in the room. He could see little through his sleep filled eyes. He noticed that the room temperature was low. Outside the window the moon looked huge in the empty sky. Its light was all he had to see by.

As he became accustomed to the light, or lack of it, he saw something that made him nearly jumped out of his skin. There were two figures standing at the bottom of his bed. Not able to call out all he could do was reach for the light switch.

It took a moment for his eyes to get used to the artificial brightness. Standing there were two girls, probably not much older than twelve. The tallest cocked her head to one side, looking at Jack. Her long blond hair reached down past her shoulders. Her shorter friend had brown hair cut into a short bob. Both wore Brownie uniforms with little black hats and yellow sashes.

Jack reached for her note pad and showed them the first page, I can’t speak, I am mute.

“Yes,” said the taller girl, “We know.” It was a firm statement.

Jack waited a moment to see if they would say anything more.

The smaller girl raised up a box to show Jack, “Will you buy our biscuits?”

I am sorry, I don’t have any money on me. Jack leaned forward to show the girls what he had written. How had they got in here? Surely it was too late for kids their age.

The girls divided and walked to either side of bed. Jack looked from one to the other, not knowing what was happening.

“We don’t want money silly,” This time the tall girl spoke. Jack watched as she undid her yellow necktie and wrapped it around her hand.

“We want you,” said a quiet little voice. Jack whipped around to see the other girl also had her yellow necktie in her hands. Up this close she thought they no longer looked like little girls, but more like miniature adults. Before Jack knew what was happening the two girls had pounced and grabbed her arms. Jack tried to struggle but the girls were surprisingly strong. Within moments they had tied her wrists to the rails either side of the bed.

Jack struggled to break free. He couldn’t speak of course, all he could do was thrash his legs about. A cold shiver ran down his spine when he saw the tall girl jump on the bed. Jack began thrashing about even harder when he saw the smaller girl pass her friend a pillow.

“You had to run away didn’t you,” The tall girl’s face was contorted into a mocking sneer. “But if we can’t have you, no one can,” she leaned forward pressing the pillow against Jack’s face.

Jack tried to fight back but again he was overwhelmed by the girl’s inhuman strength. He could feel strong little hands holding his legs still. The pillow seemed to be pressed against him for hours. His lungs burned and his chest felt like it would explode. Eventually he could feel the strength leaving his arms. What a way to die! Then everything turned black.

Jack woke with a start, his body desperately trying to suck air into his lungs. After a few moments of animal panic he calmed down. He realised his arms were free, they must have untied them. Had they thought him dead? The light was off again so he grabbed around for the switch. In his panic he hit something with his hand; he heard the sound of a plastic cup bouncing off the floor.

Light came back into the room. Jack looked around and was comforted to see the girls were gone. He must have passed out and the girls had left thinking they had succeeded.

---

It was Friday and the King’s Head was packed. Wren craned her neck to try and spot Tom in the crowed. She looked down at her phone; his text said he’d found a quiet spot. Looking around she couldn’t see anywhere that fitted that description. She took another look around the bar to see if she could see him.

She spotted old Freddy in the corner, it looked like he’d been drinking all day. There had been a number of times when Wren had let the old soak sleep it off in the cells. He was harmless enough, although that didn’t mean he couldn’t cause trouble. Only that he did it more by accident than design.

“Hey Wren,” she turned around to see Tom sitting at a little table near a window. He gestured down to show he had bought two pints. His was already half empty.

“Hey,” she said sheepishly, not sure what the proper etiquette was. They both leaned forward to kiss a cheek, only they went for different cheeks and ended up brushing each other’s lips. Wren felt a little tingle.

“Halloween this weekend,” Tom nodded towards the different costumes in the room. At the table next to them a vampire had left half his make-up on his pint glass.

“You not dressing up?” Wren said, glad of the subject as her mind had gone blank.

“Halloween isn’t my thing really,” Tom shrugged, “I guess in my line of work you see too few people rise from the dead.” Tom looked embarrassed, “Sorry, that’s a bit dark to start with.”

“No,” she instinctively reached out and touched his hand, “You don’t have to worry. It is the same in the police. If you didn’t laugh you’d have to cry and all that.”

Tom took a big gulp of his beer and then smiled at her. She could feel a werewolf’s tail brushing against the back of her head, she leaned closer to Tom. “So, what is the maddest thing you’ve seen on duty?”

As time went on the crowd in the pub began to thin out. Some headed into Manchester for the clubs and bars. Couples headed to restaurants or takeaway in front of the TV. Tired singles slunk off for quiet nights or to meet friends.

All along Wren and Tom kept talking. She found him easy company, like they had been friends for years. Wren told him about the man she found not wearing trousers in the middle of the shopping mall. Tom told her about the different things people had got stuck up their bums. With each reel of laughter they each felt their burdens lighten slightly.

Eventually Wren had to get up to go the toilet. She had been dreading it for a while. There was a long line outside the Ladies. Wren was stuck between a sexy nurse and a sexy zombie. She was surprised they had managed to make a zombie sexy.

After finally getting a stall and relieving herself she elbowed her way to the mirror. She really wished she’d found time to get to the hairdresser. It was unfair. Men could pop in for half an hour and be done. For her it was a daylong event. Seeing as she only got two days off a week, she resented wasting half that time on something which should surely count as work.

She spent ten or so minute trying to tease her fringe into something that might look asymmetrical and cool. In the end she was happy to settle for just covering the lines on her forehead.

Walking back to the table she saw a sexy chainsaw victim chatting to Tom. She didn’t like the way the fake blood covered her exposed cleavage.

“Bugger off girly,” she flashed the sexy-chainsaw-victim her ID badge, “or I search that bag of yours.”

“I was just chatting,” the bloody boob owner protested.

“I know what you were just doing,” she nodded at Tom, “he’s with me.”

The chainsaw victim staggered back to her friends. Wren was sure she heard her saying something about being ‘frigid’.

“I think that might be an abuse of power Ms Inspector,” Tom smiled wryly at her. “Does that come with handcuffs?”

Wren sat down and tried to change the subject, “Do you want another pint?” This would be their fourth.

“How about a curry? I know a good place not far from here.” Tom reached for her hand, touching it gently.

“How about we go to my place and order takeaway?” Wren tried her best pout, a look that had served her well in her younger dating days.

---

It was early morning before Jack decided to make his move. His mum, or whoever she was, had left some clothes for her in an old duffel bag. Jack rummaged through them looking for something suitable. He found a pair of dungarees and a long-sleeved T-shirt. They would have to do.

He had spent much of the night planning his move. He knew he couldn’t stay in the hospital, it wasn’t safe, but he needed help. He couldn’t trust the police, they had been supposed to be keeping a guard. The hospital was similarly worrying. Had someone on the staff led the girls here? Then there was his mum. He was the first person he had thought of running to, but how could he trust the fact she had been dead and was now alive? Where had he been for the last three years? Or, if he was to believe the inspector, the last twenty or so years.

There was one person he thought he could trust, but how to get to him and get out of here? After getting dressed, no easy feat with his whole body aching, he tiptoed to the door. Looking out, the corridor seemed empty. The policewoman who was supposed to be on guard had wandered off for a moment. Picking up the duffel bag and the black coat Wren had bought he opened the door as silently as possible.

A toilet door had been left open. The door had a mirror. For several minutes Jack was caught by his reflection. He stared at the girl looking back at him. Her chest moved up and down in time with his own. Short blond hair, pale white skin and a small pouting mouth. She could easily be one of the girls he used to see in the clubs in town. Eventually he pulled away, there was too much to process.

The corridors were silent, this was good. He wanted a head start before anyone knew he had left. The plastic soles of his Adidas trainers squeaked on the floor as he walked. He wished he had some way of silencing them. There was a front desk to the ward, but it was only staffed by one woman. Jack stood out of sight, watching her for ages. He was beginning to panic he’d be caught when the phone rang. As the woman answered it Jack slipped away around the corner.

It took Jack a while to find all the things he needed. First he had to find a hiding place for later, then some supplies. He stole some fruit off a food cart that had been left outside a private room and found an old newspaper and magazine he didn’t recognise. He placed them in the duffel bag, squashed in with the clothes. When he was finally ready he made his way to the staff changing rooms.

He felt strange breaking into the male changing rooms. Like he was breaking into his old bedroom after someone new had moved in. Jack moved as silently as he could, thankful there was nobody about. The smell of a male locker room should have been normal to him, but it smelt strange slightly fogging his mind. Had it always smelt like this, had he just not noticed?

Finally he found Isaac’s locker. It was near the back. He took his notepad out of the pouch in the front of his dungarees and scribbled something down.

‘Please help me! It said. I’ll be hiding in the store cupboard on the top floor, next to room 508, J xx’

He hadn’t planned on putting the kiss at the end, but there it was. He was considering chucking the note and starting again when he heard the door opening and two men talking. Quickly he folded the note up and slipped it through the crack at the bottom of the door into Isaac’s locker. He then hid behind another bank of lockers and waited till the men had passed where he was. Slowly he slipped out of the door and back into the corridor.

Jack hoped his hiding place was a good one. There was no light in the room so he had to keep himself as still as possible. It reminded him of playing hide and seek as a young boy. He used to hide for ages in places like airing cupboards and elsewhere. He had hidden himself behind several boxes of cleaning fluid. All he could do was sit, knees under his chin and take stock. He was now in a strange body, like his own but different in a few fundamental ways. If what he had been told was true, he had missed the millennium and most of the first two decades of the new century, but he hadn’t aged. On top of everything now he couldn’t speak and two crazy strong primary school kids had tried to kill him.

He tried to think what might have happened, and where all the missing time had gone, but nothing came, only a sense of dread.

A couple of times the door to the storeroom opened. Thankfully both times the janitor had found what he was looking for near the door and he hadn’t been discovered.

The third time was different. “Jack, are you in here?” asked a quiet voice.

Jack instantly recognised it to be Isaac, but he didn’t leap up to great him. He watched him for a while making sure he wasn’t with someone else. Once he was reasonably sure Isaac was alone, and fearing he would leave Jack stood up, silently waving.

“Jack, what are you doing? Everyone’s going crazy looking for you.” Isaac’s voice sounded worried, but not unkind.

Jack blinked as the Isaac turned the light on. He showed him his notebook, he had already written out what he wanted to say. ‘Someone attacked me last night. They tried to kill me.’

Isaac looked her up and down, for a moment she was worried he wouldn’t believe her.

“Who?”

Jack started scribbling, ‘I don’t know,’ he took a deep breath, ‘they looked like little girls but I can’t be sure who they were.’

He looked up, Isaac looked confused but he was still listening to him.

‘They tied my arms to the sides of the bed and then tried to suffocate me with a pillow. I must have passed out and they thought they had killed me.’

Isaac was close to her now. Gently Isaac took hold of both of his arms, “We have to get you out of here,” he said pulling him into an embrace.

He didn’t know what to do with his hands and arms so he just laid his head against Isaac’s chest. He told himself Isaac was just being a good friend.

---

It was early morning and Andy was up writing again. He’d had a short story accepted for an anthology in America a few months ago and he was determined to develop it into a whole novel. It wasn’t that he hated his job, and he certainly didn’t hate being a single father. All he knew was that he needed something that was just his. Something he could retreat into, if only for an hour or two each day.

The fog outside was thick, almost like smoke. The grey of the fog merged into the crisp white of the snow. The only thing that made the view out of the French Windows differ from a modernist painting in some corporate London office were the occasional spots of green grass. That and the red toy truck Ben had used to pull his sister around in when he was younger.

Try as he might he couldn’t help but be distracted. A red robin landed in the garden. It came up to the glass and started chirping something. It was almost as if it was trying to get his attention. He tried to ignore it and returned to his writing.

The empty screen just stared back at him. He knew he just needed to write something, anything. Get a few lines down and, at some point, he would be away. But nothing came. Perhaps it was the extra large glass of wine he had last night. Or perhaps it was the report he had to get finished for Monday.

Instead of returning to writing he decided to finish the ‘have you seen this cat’ posters for Jess. When Ben was up they would walk around the neighbourhood putting them up. He had stopped off at Staples on his way home last night and purchased a box of clear plastic folders. He hoped they would protect the poster from this weather.

He had decided to go make a cup of coffee when something caught him his attention. There was something in the garden. It had moved too quickly for him to see what it was. Could it be Jess? He went and fetched his keys and coat. The keys sat in a little plate Ben had made at summer school when he was six. Next to the plate was a photograph of Ben’s mum. She looked so young in the picture. What would she have been? Twenty-seven, maybe twenty-eight? If the girl in the photo had seen him now she’d have thought he was an old fart.

She was surrounded by some of her friends; it had been taken when they had all gone to Greece on holiday. What had it been for? Someone's wedding or birthday? He couldn’t remember which. Still it made him smile every time he saw it.

Pulling his coat and wellingtons on he made his way to the back door. Out in the garden everything felt still, all sound deadened by the snow and the fog. Did you normally get fog with snow? (yes!)He couldn’t remember ever having seen it before. The air was cold but fresh, hurting his lungs slightly whenever he took a deep breath.

Again from the corner of his eye he saw movement, a flash of black and white. Could it be Jess? He headed in its direction. All there was at this end of the garden was the old shed. He only really used it for storing stuff nowadays. He wondered how many garden hoses had met their end in there, coiled in a death grip around various lawnmowers and other long forgotten implements.

He heard the unmistakable sound of running tiny feet. He remembered when Ben was two and had just learnt to walk and run. He’d speed off around the house, excited to have the freedom from his parents. The unrestrained joy in his face only matched by the worry in Andy’s.

The noise seemed to be coming from behind the shed. Perhaps Jess had got herself trapped there? Andy decided to investigate. Down that side there was a pile of earth left over from the time he had dug out the little pond. He had always planned to get rid of it sometime. He had a half baked idea of giving it to some charity like a city farm of something. Once it had gone out of sight however, it had gone out of mind.

There was something rummaging around in the dirt. Perhaps it was Jess. How funny to think she had been out here all the time. As he got closer he was shocked to see a little face looking up at him. At first he thought it was a mole or something, but the face looked too human.

The what ever it was jumped up and ran away. Getting a good look at it Andy thought it looked like a garden gnome. At least a garden gnome that had been animated for some 80s horror film.

“You scared him,” Andy jumped; the voice had come behind him.

Standing there were two girls in Brownie uniforms. Not the modern more colourful uniforms girls wore today but the old brown ones he remembered from his youth.

“How did you get in here?” Andy asked perplexed. Had they seen the Missing Cat posters he put up in the local supermarket?

“We said, you scared him,” both the girls said in unison.

“Well he scared me.” Andy leaned forward, “Is that a Swiss army knife? I used to have one of them when I was in the…”

The movement was swift and deadly. The smaller girl leaped up and with one powerful arch of her arm slit his throat. It only took Andy a few moments to die. He just had to hope Ben would be safe.