Ceri was looking forward to a long summer lazing around after finishing junior school but what is on the piece of paper that threatens his future? A Piece of Paper (Part 1) by Alys

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A Piece of Paper (Part 1)

The end of term

The end of my time in school.

I turned round as I walked through the gates of Ysgol Glan Aber, my junior school, for the last time.

“Bye Mr Jones, bye Miss Williams bye all you teachers,” I whispered.

I turned to my mates and arranged to meet them later in the park for a game of footy and then jogged down the path to my flat.

Ten minutes later I reached the front door. I was a little out of breath as I’d ran up the stairs to the second floor rather than wait for the lift.

I was so excited. Six whole weeks ahead without school. I’d been planning all week with my friends what we wanted to do over our holidays.

Number one priority was have a good kick around in the park and then hopefully manage to scrounge some money to go to the fair.

I opened the door and rushed into our small two bedroomed flat.

“Mum is it OK if I go to the park before tea.” I called as I made my way to my room to dump my schoolbag and to fetch my ball.

Usually my Mum would respond with either an immediate “alright love” or “tea’s at six” but today there was a pause and then a quiet, “Ceri can you come in here please. I need to talk to you.”

Her surprising words stopped me in middle of making my way out.

“Can’t it wait Mum, I promised everyone I’d be there with the ball in five minutes.”

“Please Ceri, this is very, very important I need to talk to you now.”

There was some emphasis on the ‘now’ and so I knew this wasn’t something I could put off.”

I opened the door into the little kitchen diner. Mum was sat at the table looking older and wearier than she had in a long time.

I stood in the doorway “What’s up?”

My mother indicated the other chair next to her. I hesitated.

“Please Ceri I need you to sit here when I tell you this.”

“Alright, but I hope this won’t take long,” I said grumpily as I sat down.

Mum paused and took a deep breath before speaking quickly, “Ceri I have to tell you something which is going to seem a bit strange. Please listen carefully before you say anything.”

I looked up and studied her pensive features. This was so out of the ordinary that I started to worry about what was coming. Had I done something that bad? Was Mum really ill, well apart from hardly being able to walk after the car accident.

She continued, “ After I’ve finished you’re going to have a make decision and depending on what you decide you’ll either be going to a really nice school in September or you’ll probably be in foster care by September.”

I stared at my mother trying to process the strange sentences coming out of her mouth. It all made no sense. What decision could I have to make and how might it mean being taken from the family home.

“I don’t understand,” I ventured timidly, “What’s going…….”

She held her finger up to interrupt me, “Your great aunt Eleri died today.”

“Oh, that’s sad,” I said at the not unexpected news. She had been ill for a while, I wasn’t sure what with but Mum hadn’t taken me to see her for over a year so it must have been very serious.

As if to echo my thoughts Mum continued, “Yes, it was a relief in the end. She was completely out of it these last few months.”

I wondered what these words meant. Although she’d been friendly enough as any 70 year old could be to someone my age, she had been very eccentric every time we’d seen here, usually someone’s birthday.

“I had a call from her lawyer after you went to school this morning. He told me she passed away last night.”

“OK”

“I had to go and see him after the phone call. He had something really important to tell me. Here it is,” she indicated a piece of densely typed A4 size paper on the table.

I looked at it but the number of words and long sentences made it impossible for me to understand although I noticed the word ‘Will’ as part of the title and our names in bold letters further down.

“What does it say, Mum?” I asked.

“Well, it’s not the official document just a summary of the contents of Aunt Eleri’s will. Mr Smithers thought I needed to see it though, although I wished I hadn’t because…..well we have a big problem now.”

She continued by reminding me of how we had been supported by my great aunt financially since my father and grandparents were killed in the car accident that had severely injured my mother herself.

“Well you remember about four years ago she started to get a bit confused about your name and thinking you were a girl.”

I remembered indeed. The embarrassment of her confusing the English girl’s name Kerry with my gender neutral Welsh Ceri.

“So are we going to have some money for a holiday now Mum?”

“Unfortunately that’s the least of our problems.” she sighed.

“So, what’s going on, can you tell me so I can go out before tea.”

She looked at me with a strange caring but resigned expression, “Right there’s no easy way of saying this so I’d better get straight to the point.”

She took another deep breath, “Aunty Eleri left all her money and her nice house in Swansea to me with a trust fund for you to access when you’re eighteen.”

“Wow, that’s great!”

“But only if you go to the school of her choice until you’re eighteen. Otherwise all her money will go to Cat’s protection and we won’t even have her monthly payment that keeps this roof over our heads”

“Well, I’ll miss my friends and….”

“It’s a private school.”

“Oh, that’s a bit weird, will they all talk posh and everything? But I suppose it could be fun”

Mum sighed again and then spoke slowly and deliberately, “It’s a private all GIRL’s school.”

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To Be Continued

End of Part 1

Ceri has to go shopping for a dress. How will he cope with this experience? A Piece of Paper (Part 2) by Alys

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A Piece of Paper (Part 2)

We walked into the department store. I looked around to see if everyone was staring at me and pointing. I noticed a few girls my age. I wondered if one of them would know me from school and shout out, “that’s not a girl!”

“Stop trying to hide behind me,” Mum said as she used her stick to slowly make her way to the girls’ clothes section.

“You know why we’re here. The sooner we’re done the quicker you can take those clothes off.”

I’d be so glad to take off my mother’s denim skirt and flowery blouse. She’d insisted I needed to look like a girl to go shopping for something to wear for tomorrow’s appointment and unfortunately for me she managed to find something of hers that more or less fitted me.

“Sorry, Mum,” I said as I moved back to walking by her side.

I felt so exposed as my skirt swayed with my walk, while the feeling of tights on my legs was so alien. How do girls put up with them I wondered.

We reached the children’s section and Mum gratefully followed my lead to the chair and sat down.

“Thanks love,” she said, “now do you remember what size you need to look for?”

I nodded my head.

“OK, now go and choose a pretty dress for tomorrow and one that’s mostly black for the funeral.”

I turned and looked at the clothes racks. An hour ago agreeing to go along with the need to appear as a girl for the next few weeks to keep staying in the flat had seemed like an easy but nebulous decision.

Now, the reality of maintaining the subterfuge with real people around was frightening.

I hesitated and whispered, “What if someone notices?”

“Don’t be silly, you look great, even if the clothes look too old on you….and remember don’t smear your lipstick.”

Was she a mind reader? I had been so tempted to sneak into the toilets and wipe the weird stuff off my lips.

“Now, go along we don’t have very much time before the shop closes,” she said and give me a gentle push towards the clothes.

Without another word of protest I made my way to the first rack. I found the dresses with the right size and looked at my options. There was just so much choice, how could I decide?

“Hi”

I started and looked to my left, “..oh hi.”

The girl about my age smiled, “Are you going to a party too?”

I hesitated before squeaking, “Party?”

“These are party dresses, you know. My friends and I are going to a birthday party in the Star club tomorrow, we’re having a DJ and everything,” she burbled.

“Wow,” I responded, even though I had no idea what or where the Star club was.

“Yes, it’s great and we can even wear make-up. I love your lipstick, I wish my Mum would let me wear it in the day. Where’s your party?”

Felling a little overwhelmed by the verbal onslaught I responded, “Oh..I’m not going to a party, Mum said I need something to wear for the doctor.”

“You want that aisle,” she responded pointing to a collection about 2 metres away.

I thanked her and moved over to a new set of clothes and more bewildering choices. Luckily for me there didn’t seem to be too many in my size and within a few minutes I’d chosen a pretty and not too frilly dress and another darker more subdued one.

Feeling triumphant I walked back to where my Mum was sitting. Maybe there’d still be time for a knockabout later after we’d bought the clothes and as long as the traffic wasn’t too bad.

“Good choices, Ceri,” she commented as she held them both up.

I smiled at her approval and turned towards the shop sales counter.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“Don’t we have to pay?”

“Of course.”

“Do you want me to carry them to the counter?” I asked.

She laughed, “Nice try. You have to try them on before we leave. I don’t want to have to come back tomorrow and have to change them.”

“Oh Mum,” I whinged.

As if she could read my mind and knew my hopes for the evening she continued softly, “I’m sorry Ceri, we still have to buy you some other things to wear for tomorrow, you won’t have time to see your friends tonight.”

She noticed the sad expression on my face at hearing this and reassured me that there’d be time for me to play the next day.

Two hours later, after a longer than expected journey because of various unexpected roadworks, we arrived home exhausted.

If I thought walking around the shop in girls’ clothes would be a bad enough experience. It had been nothing compared with the terror I’d felt as I’d gone to the changing rooms to try on the dresses for my mother.

Every second as I waited for a cubicle to be free I expected to be outed as a fraud. It had been such relief to finally escape into the changing room. The rest of the time in the shop had been a bit of a blur as we bought the dresses, underwear, shoes and various other items necessary for basic girlhood.

“Can you hang the dresses up, love,” Mum asked as she sat down in the kitchen with her reviving cup of coffee.

“Have a shower and go to bed after, we’ll need to get up early tomorrow, we’ll need time to get you ready.”

I didn’t protest as the shopping experience had been both mentally and physically tiring.

“You can go in now,” the young receptionist said to Mum and I, indicating the office door to her left.

A middle aged man in a pinstripe suit looked up as we walked into the large, fairly spartan office.

“Good morning Ms Jones,” said Mr Smithers my great aunt’s solicitor, “please have a seat.”

As we sat he turned to me, “You must be Ceri, your great aunt often talked about you. I’m pleased to me you”

I smiled and wasn’t sure what to say in response. Fortunately he turned to Mum and continued.

“Thank you for coming in this morning. As I mentioned we have rather a difficult situation regarding the will. I’m hoping we can agree a resolution today so that everything is settled before the funeral on Saturday.”

“What exactly is the problem Mr Smithers?” my mother asked guardedly.

Mr Smithers glanced at me before replying, ”Ms Jones, as you are aware your great aunt was diagnosed as suffering from dementia for the last two years of her life. After her diagnosis she arranged that I would have power of attorney in case she became incapacitated”

“Yes I understand all this but why does this affect the will……”
“Please Ms Jones let me explain…”

At this stage I had began to zone out. I wasn’t sure how all this discussion would affect me. I was much more aware of how exposed I felt in the the short dress, how weird the makeup felt on my face and how my new shoes were pinching. I just wanted to get this nightmare over and return to normal. I was still hoping that I could salvage the rest of the weeks with my mates.

I heard my name and focused on the conversation again.

“.......therefore I arranged for an interview for Ceri with the headteacher of Ysgol Santes Dwynwen* for next week. Clearly I’ll need to cancel now.”

“And why is that Mr Smithers? Asked Mum

Again he glanced at me, this time a rather probing and embarrassing stare.

“Ms Jones, I was misled by your great aunt regarding Ceri’s gender when she drew up the will. I’m sorry but despite Ceri looking very fetching in HIS new dress this morning I’m afraid he’s not a GIRL and this is an all girls’ school.”

*Saint Dwynwen school (Saint Dwynwen is the Welsh patron saint of love - see wikipedia)

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To Be Continued

End of Part 2

It seems likely that Ceri will lose a home and probably a mother. But could a google search come up with a solution. A Piece of Paper (Part 3) by Alys

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A Piece of Paper (Part 3)

“What are we going to do Mum?” I asked as I very carefully ate my brownie in the nearby Starbucks.

I was surprised at the care I was taking about eating my brownie. There was clearly something about wearing a pretty dress and makeup which had changed my usual habit of rapidly scoffing sweets and cakes.

“I don’t know love, he didn’t leave us a lot of options,” Mum replied as she sipped her Americano.

Earlier Mr Smithers had been adamant that even if Mum could get documentation that I was possibly trans, which was the purpose for the clothes and the doctor’s visit later on, he was not prepared to try and argue for a deed of variation for the will.

In the end he had been quite apologetic, “I’m sorry but the wording is very clear, unless Ceri attends the all girls school stated, that is Ysgol Santes Dwynwen, then all of your great aunt’s assets will pass to Swansea Cat’s Protection.”

“Maybe we should take the deal about the mortgage and forget about the school interview.” Mum suggested sorrowfully.

Mr Smithers, clearly concerned about our imminent financial plight, had even offered to personally pay our mortgage for the next three months to give Mum chance to sort out possibly getting some state benefits and finding somewhere new to live.

“Will you be able to get a job, Mum?” I asked as I licked my fingers of the last of the sticky cake.

“Who knows, maybe there is something I could do without having to walk much, but the unemployment benefit office seems such a nightmare,” she answered, “..remember my friend Jenny...that was so sad.”

We sat in silence for a few moments and I thought about Mum’s friend who had had such a terrible time trying to receive the benefits she was entitled to, with endless interviews and then harsh sanctions when she’d missed appointments because of late buses. Her suicide had even made the local TV news.

To distract myself from the sadness I was sharing with Mum I took out my phone and, after connecting to the Starbucks wifi, googled the school. All the discussion about it and I knew nothing about the place Aunty Eleri had wanted me to go to.

While I waited for the school webpage to load I asked, “Mum why did Aunty Eleri want me to go to Ysgol Santes Dwynwen anyway?”

She looked at me and a sad smile appeared on her face, “That’s the irony, it wasn’t so much she wanted to send you to this school, she just wanted you to have a private education.”

“Why?”

“She was convinced it was better than state education and she knew I was opposed to private schools in principle.”

“Why, Mum?”

She looked at me and then explained for maybe the hundredth time her arguments about private schools perpetuating privilege and inequality. The same point of view I’d heard many times when she’d discussed the issue with Aunty Eleri. I’d never really understood it before and I wasn’t quite sure if I understood it now. I did know though that I’d liked my Junior school and I’d liked going to the same school as all my friends in the area.

I wondered what they were all doing now. I looked out of the window at the beautiful summer sunshine and imagined them in the park having a great time playing six a side or cricket.

Then a new thought struck me, “But why a girls’ school, why not a mixed one?”

“Yes, that would have been so much simpler, I’m not sure maybe…..”

Suddenly I noticed something on the school website and interrupted, “Mum, look!”

She took the phone from me and read the short paragraph I’d noticed, “That’s interesting. Maybe…..maybe there’s a chance.”

“What do you mean, Mum?”

“Ceri, do you trust me?”

“Of course, why?”

“We need to do a little bit of shopping before this afternoon and then we need to have a long chat.”

**********************************

Three hours later we were walking from the cark park to Swansea Nuffield Health clinic. If I had felt odd before in my dress and girl’s shoes I now felt even stranger. The new training bra Mum had bought was like a strap across my chest, the clip-on earrings were pinching my ears and the pink hair ribbons were tickling my cheek.

We approached the front door and I could see my reflection in the sun drenched glass window. I looked a very, girly girl and it was a completely weird experience to realise that this pretty person coming towards me was in fact a reflection of myself.

We approached the reception and after confirming the details of payment for the private appointment we were ushered into the waiting room of Doctor Jason Williams the gender consultant.

The only other people in the waiting room were a young boy with very short hair and an older woman who was clearly his mother.

“He’s running a bit late,” said the woman as we sat down.

“Oh dear,” Mum replied, “have you been here long?”

“About a quarter of an hour, our appointment was ten minutes ago.”

The two women began a conversation about travelling problems and the weather.

The boy came over to sit next to me.

“That’s a nice dress,” he said.

“Thanks.”

“I’m Alex.”

“Ceri.”

“You trans too?” he asked.

“Yes,” I lied.

“I want to get puberty blockers.”

“What are they?” I asked without thinking how such a question would expose my ignorance.

He gave me a strange look and continued, “Don’t you know? To stop having puberty and everything. Half the girls in my class are wearing bras now, yuck.”

“Oh, OK,” I muttered in reply, not completely comprehending who he was. He looked so much like a boy so why did he want to be a girl if he hated the idea of wearing a bra?

Oblivious to my confusion he continued, “I wanted to play football with the boys but the school said I could only play netball with the girls.”

“That’s not fair,” I responded, “I’m on my school football team.”

He gave me a searching look, “How do you play football? Girls can’t play on our team, nor trans boys like me.”

I suddenly realised who or what he was and how I was undermining my carefully constructed image as an authentic transperson. I racked my brain to think of some sensible way to respond. Then I had an inspiration, “We have girls and boys football in my school.”

“Lucky you,” he said.

I was saved from any further uncomfortable probing by the door to the doctor’s office opening and our two waiting room companions being ushered inside.

I waved Alex goodbye and then turned to Mum and whispered, “I didn’t know there were girls who wanted to be boys.”

She explained what she knew about the various aspects of being transgender and then we both sat silently waiting for the appointment. I was beginning to get very worried about how the story Mum had coached me with would stand up to a doctor’s probing. I’d already almost revealed myself to a teen trans boy just in a casual chat. I wished Mum had never had the piece of paper, I wished I was out with my mates, wandering the high street, buying some sweets and just having a laugh.

Then I thought about losing my home and maybe losing my Mum and I felt a new resolve and knew that I had to do my best and try and convince Dr Williams.

Just over 30 minutes later it was our turn to see the doctor.

Dr Williams was a friendly looking man of medium height, possibly slightly overweight maybe in his late forties or early fifties. I always found it hard to estimate the age of adults but he definitely looked older than Mum.

He was wearing a slightly rumpled pinstripe suit and was looking a little tired. He took a sip of coffee as we walked in and gestured us to the two chairs in front of his bit wooden desk.

“Good afternoon, both, so sorry about the delay, we had to squeeze in an extra appointment earlier, a bit of a personal crisis, family rejection and everything, all very sad.”

He took another gulp of coffee and then continued, “Would either of like some refreshments, tea, coffee, coke?”

Mum indicated that we were both fine and so the Doctor continued.

“It’s so nice to see supportive parents coming to me with their children, so let’s make a start. Now when did you make the appointment, when was it?”

He looked at his computer screen and raised his eyebrows a little, “Only yesterday, that is rather recent. I see we only have the few sketchy details so I’m going to need to ask you quite a lot of questions.”

“That’s fine of course,” responded Mum.

“So this is Ceri,”

Mum and I nodded.

“And Ceri is…” he checked his screen again, “..biologically male.”

Mum assented.

“Do you mind if I ask Ceri some questions directly Ms Jones?”

“That’s fine, of course.”

Doctor Williams swiveled a little in his chair and looked at me, “So Ceri, can you tell me how long you have wanted to be a girl?”

I looked at his probing eyes and remembered the answer that I’d been coached to make to this exact question, “I don’t just want to be a girl, Doctor Williams, I am a girl.”

He smiled at me, “Yes, of course, I must apologise for my choice of words. Thank you for your answer.”

He turned back to Mum, “Now if you can give me details of Ceri’s childhood.”

They spoke for maybe ten minutes going over the details of my real upbringing and a fake one that Mum interweaved into the history. She then moved onto how the possibility of me attending a girls’ school had suddenly come up and how I was hoping to transition while at school. The sound of the computer keyboard and the murmur of the adults voices was quite sleep inducing and I felt my eyes beginning to close.

Luckily Mum noticed and while the doctor was distracted typing she poked me hard in the thigh. I jerked up in my chair to find the doctor looking at me once again. He turned back to Mum.

“Yes, there is clearly a lot of evidence in Ceri’s life so far of gender dysphoria and today’s presentation is a very clear, unambiguous statement of Ceri’s preferred gender.”

I noticed a slight smile on Mum’s face, which disappeared in an instant. She was clearly very hopeful.

“So Ceri how do you feel about being able to live as a girl all the time?”

I summoned up as much fake enthusiasm as possible, “That would be great.”

“So I will need to have at least another three appointments with you and your Mum before I can make a clear diagnosis.”

“Then Ceri you’ll be able to have some puberty blockers to stop all that horrible facial and body hair developing.”

I could the disappointment developing on Mum’s face. We couldn’t wait for another three appointments.

“The usual protocol for cross sex hormones is 16, so that would only be a few years for you to wait to feminize your body, develop your breasts and everything.”

I couldn’t stop myself and uttered an almost involuntary “16?”

Doctor Williams took my response as one of disappointment at having to wait too long to get breasts rather than one of horror that it would have to happen before I finished school and escaped from this whole nightmare.

“Well, don’t be too disheartened it’s very likely that the protocol will be amended in the near future and 14 or even 13 might be possible.”

At this stage, before the potential nightmare worsened, I was grateful for Mum interrupting and asking, “I was wondering if you might be able to give us some sort of diagnosis today. We really need something to show the school at Ceri’s interview next week”

Doctor Williams sat back in his chair paused before replying, “Ms Jones, it would be completely unprofessional to make such a life changing diagnosis on the basis of one short interview.”

My mother blushed in obvious embarrassment, “I’m sorry Doctor Williams I didn’t mean to suggest that, but it would really help us if you could find a way to…..”

Mum realised that the doctor was staring at her and faltered in her explanation.

There was a moment’s pause and the Doctor Williams spoke, slower than before, each word being delivered with gravitas.

“In addition, Ms Jones, I find the fact that until today there has been no medical involvement in Ceri’s life to be a little unorthodox if not a little suspicious. I wonder if someone is trying to pull the wool over my eyes, so to speak.”

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To Be Continued

End of Part 3

Ceri and Mum have arrived home. Is there any chance for them after the doctor’s appointment? A Piece of Paper (Part 4) by Alys

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A Piece of Paper (Part 4)

The traffic out of Swansea was heavy and the M4 motorway was very crowded and so it was almost two hours later until we reached our flat in Glan Aber.

Mum had been subdued driving the car and I hadn’t wanted to talk either after the stress and emotions of the meetings during the day. She’d put some of her favourite 90’s tracks on while I semi-dozed on the way back.

Before I got out of the car Mum and I checked to see if anyone was around as I didn’t want news of my apparent gender transformation to become a topic of gossip for the residents of the block of flats.

It was early evening and there seemed to be a lull in the usual streams of people either returning from work or going out for the evening in the town.

“Good timing love,” said Mum, “it looks like most people are having tea, saves you having to change here.”

I helped her out of the car and we made our way slowly to the lifts.

Ten nerve wracking minutes later we were in the sanctuary of the flat.

“Can I go and change now Mum?” I asked, eager to de-feminise as soon as possible. Now I’d fully woken up from the car journey I was hopeful of some time hanging out with my mates after we’d had our evening meal.

“Just a minute Ceri, I need a coffee and we need to talk about what happened today.”

“OK, why don’t you sit down and I’ll make it for you.”
Mum sat down at the kitchen table and I put the kettle on. I felt strange doing familiar domestic things in my dress and other female accoutrements. However despite the oddness of the new slight restrictions on movement I’d soon made a cup of coffee for my mother. I took out a cold drink from the fridge and sat opposite from her at the table.

After taking a sip from her cup Mum looked at me, “Ceri, you were amazing in the doctor’s office.”

“Thanks.”

“Where did all that emotion come from?”

I really didn’t know how I’d summoned up a sudden full-on emotional outburst three hours earlier. Somehow the stress of the day and impending failure of all of Mum’s plans had burst a dam holding back some very strong feelings.

It had taken Mum ten minutes to calm me down and in the end Doctor Williams had agreed to write a letter, for us to take to the school, outlining his strong opinion that I was likely to be suffering from Gender Dysphoria, while not committing himself to a final diagnosis until after further consultations.

“I don’t know Mum but I couldn’t bear to lose you, not after Dad and Granny and Grandad.”

She put her hand over mine, “I know love, and I promise I’ll do my very best to keep us together.”

I squeezed her hand, lost for words.

“Come on, let’s get your makeup off and what about if we have fish and chips for tea from the chippie?”

Thirty minutes later I was walking out of the shop ‘Scod a Sglod Glan Aber’* with a bag of freshly cooked fish and chips.

I heard a shout behind me, “Wait up Ceri!”

I turned to see my friend Dewi jogging towards me carrying a small plastic bag.

“Hey Dewi, what’s up?” I asked as he came alongside me.

“Beans on toast for tea, had to get some bread, we ran out, you got fish and chips?”

“Yeah”

He looked enviously at my bag, “Lucky you, where were you today? We called round but there was no answer.”

I described how I’d had to go to Swansea to see the lawyer about Aunty Eleri’s will, I didn’t mention the other visit.

“I might have to move as well,” I added.

“How come?”

“Mum won’t get any money unless I go to some posh school in Swansea,” I explained.

“That’s stupid. What’s the name of the school?”

We’d reached my block of flats by this time and so I answered, “Santes Dwynwen” before saying ‘bye’ to Dewi and promising to meet him and the rest of our mates in the park the next morning.

Fifteen minutes later after hungrily eating my meal I sat at the kitchen table. My mother was sitting opposite me, eating her food more slowly and obviously in deep thought about something.

“Mum, will I have look like a girl all the time if I go to Ysgol Santes Dwynwen?” I asked.

She looked up from her food and paused for a few seconds before replying, “I think you will, I’m sorry, but remember what it said on the website, you won’t have to wear skirts.”

“How come, the picture on the website shows all the girls in skirts.”

She opened her laptop and launched a browser window, “I noticed there was something after the bit you showed me this morning.

She brought up the school’s website and underneath the link I’d noticed previously about ‘gender variant pupils’ there was small section about a ‘new school uniform policy’.

“That’s cool,” I said but then another worry came to mind, “what about all the hormones won’t they turn me into a girl with tits and everything?”

She smiled and responded, “You’d be OK for the first few years, the blockers only delay the onset of puberty and anyway you’re only eleven, boys don’t usually start until fourteen.”

“But I’d get tits…..”

“Ceri, boobs is a nicer word.”

“But I’d get BOOBS in the end.”

Mum put her fork down and wiped her face with the tissue. “Listen love, I don’t want you to have to go to this school at all, but there’s no way out at the moment if we want to stay together.”

“But I promise, if you can stick it for a year it’ll give me a chance to get some sort of work and then you can go to an ordinary school and be a boy.”

“OK.” I said, feeling somewhat reassured.

I helped Mum clearing up and washing the dishes and then I decided to go to bed. I was so tired after the stress of the day.

The next morning I was up early and after eating a quick breakfast I was in the park before nine o’clock. Before I’d left Mum had promised to give me some money to go to the open air swimming pool in the afternoon if the weather stayed fine.

As I dribbled the ball around the football pitch I felt so happy not to have to worry about looking like a proper girl or whether we would be homeless. I was going to enjoy myself in the fine summer weather and have fun with my friends.

About fifteen minutes later Dewi, another early riser arrived, and we proceeded to practice scoring and saving penalties, taking turns in goal.

After three goes each in goal we went to sit on a nearby park bench to wait for the rest of our friends.

“What did you do yesterday” I asked.

“Six a side, cricket in the afternoon, usual stuff.”

“I wished I’d been here.”

“You know I googled the school you said yesterday.”

I had a sinking feeling in my stomach, why oh why had I given him the name of the damn school. I waited for the inevitable question.

“So how come you’ll be going to a girls’ school then?”

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To Be Continued

End of Part 4

Ceri makes a new friend but there is a big shock for her at the school interview A Piece of Paper (Part 5) by Alys

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A Piece of Paper (Part 5)

For about the millionth time I pulled down the hem of my short, black dress and managed to cover an extra millimetre of my legs.

The pews in the church were uncomfortable and the funeral had been going on for almost an hour so far. It seemed my Great Aunt Eleri had been an important person in her life, a cutting-edge scientist, a successful businesswoman, a patron of the arts and of course a lover of cats. This was clear from the series of eulogies that were delivered to the large congregation.

Finally the last prayers were said and we all traipsed out into the cool, damp summer afternoon for the interment. As the closest living relatives my mother and I were to be the first to cast a handful of soil from the prepared pile onto the coffin below.

As I stepped forward it seemed like hundreds of eyes were boring into me waiting to expose my subterfuge. However not a word was spoken and, after my few grains had thudded onto the casket below I walked away and was replaced by the next mourner.

Half an hour later I was sipping a glass of lemonade sat next to the only other teenager in the wake, in the next door golf club.

“I’m Danni,” the girl said after a few minutes sitting together in silence.

“Ceri,” I responded and looked a little more carefully at my companion. She looked to be a year or two older than me from her height and from how much she had developed.

“Did you know her?” she asked.

“She was my great aunt, what about you?”

Danni paused for a second, “I didn’t know Mrs Jones at all but...it’s my mother you see.”

“What about your mother?”

“She’s runs the school.”

“What school?” I asked.

“Didn’t you know? It’s the school that Mrs Jones was the chair of the governors of, the one she donated such a lot of money to.”

I was curious, there hadn’t been a mention of my great aunt’s involvement in the governance of a school, or maybe there had been and I’d not being paying attention to whichever of the older adults had mentioned it in their eulogies.

“So what school is that then?”

“It’s called ‘Ysgol Santes Dwynwen’, it’s pretty posh too.”

I almost knocked over my glass of lemonade when Danni named the school. I managed to catch it before it spilled its contents over me, the table and the floor.

Unfortunately Danni had noticed my reaction, “What’s up? Have you heard of the school?”

Some lemonade went down the wrong way and I coughed hard before replying a little croakily, “I’m supposed to be going there in September.”

She smiled, “Me too, I’m really looking to it?”

I raised an eyebrow, “How old are you then or are you starting in year 9 or 10?”

“I’m thirteen, fourteen in November,” she replied. She noticed my questioning look, “I had ME*, I was off school for almost two years, but I’m a lot better now.”

“So you’ll be in the year seven class then?”

Danni explained how she’d only been strong enough to keep up with some subjects during her time off school and that she’d be with year 7** for some subjects but in year 9*** for others.

She asked me what primary school I’d gone to and I explained I’d gone to Ysgol Glan Aber but we were now moving to Swansea because of my aunt’s will.

“What was your favourite subject?” she asked.

I thought for a moment, “Well we used to have great art lessons and most of the rest were great too and games was great.”

“What did you do in games? I used to love sport before I got ill.”

“Everything, football, cricket, rounders, athletics, rugby…..we had a great playing field,” I replied, “..although they’re selling it now, Mum said it’s the cuts or something.”

“Wow, you were lucky, we only had rounders and dance. Our school was old fashioned, you know, ‘not lady like’ to play football or rugby.”

I laughed at Danni’s pretend posh English ‘not lady like’.

“I was captain of the team,” I stated as I remembered the fun and excitement of the matches we’d played.

“Captain? What team?” asked Danni, in surprise.

“Football,” I replied.

“It was a mixed team,” I hastily added as her expression became more inquiring. This had been true although very few girls had ever been interested in playing. There had been the occasional one over the years though.

“Wow, that’s great,” she exclaimed, “I’ve been badgering Mum about having a football team but she keeps saying no-one knows how to play, wait till I tell her about you.”

We continued to chat about our schools and she told me a little more about her illness. I forgot all about my earlier feelings of being a fraud in pretending to be a girl and began to enjoy Danni’s company.

Finally the wake began to wind down and so, after exchanging social media contact details, I said ‘bye’ to Danni and rejoined my Mum. She looked upset but she wouldn’t tell me why. She whispered ‘later’ and so I stood quietly next to her as she accepted the final condolences of the departing mourners.

It was such a relief to take off the black dress and the itchy bra and tights once we got to what had been Aunt Eleri’s house later on.

However my relief at removing signs of femininity was short-lived after Mum insisted I put on another dress from my meagre collection.

“You have to become comfortable with wearing girls’ clothes, you know, for the interview,” she explained referring to our proposed visit to Ysgol Santes Dwynwen the following Monday.

“You know how important that is going to be to both of us.”

I nodded my understanding and was at least grateful that the casual dress I was now wearing was loose and had a much longer hemline.

We ate our take-away meal silently for a while and then Mum put her fork down and looked at me, “I spoke to Mr Smithers in the wake, Ceri.”

I wondered what my aunt’s lawyer had had to say, from the state of Mum, nothing good I was sure, “What did he say, Mum?”

“He was actually quite pleasant. He upped his offer for the mortgage,” she replied.

“What was it?”

“He offered to pay a whole year if we gave up on the idea of you going to the school.”

“That wouldn’t be long enough would it Mum?” I asked.

“No, it’ll take me at least three years to do the office skills course for disabled people. Maybe we could be OK on benefits for a couple of years.”

“Where would we live, when we lose the house after the mortgage payments stop?

“I spoke to the council yesterday and they said the only options were either one of their remaining one bedroomed flats in the ‘Cae Brwnt’**** estate or a room in a bed and breakfast.”

I was a bit surprised about our limited housing options but Mum explained that the only other accommodation that the council could offer was a three bedroomed house but because of the ‘bedroom tax’***** our benefits wouldn’t be enough to pay the rent.

“There’s only one choice then Mum,” I said with more resolve than I felt, “I’ll have to go to Ysgol Santes Dwynwen until you can get a job.”

Mum reached out to hold my hand, “You have to be sure about this, you’ll have to take puberty blockers, it might delay you developing, you know, into a young man.”

I hesitated before replying, “Yes Mum, I have to otherwise they’ll take me away from you.”

She moved forward to hug me and tears began flowing freely down her cheeks. Soon I was sobbing quietly into her shoulder. Thoughts of food were forgotten as we held each other for what seemed like a long time.

At ten o’clock, Monday morning, we were sitting in another waiting room. This time outside the office of Mrs Lowri Pritchard, headteacher of Ysgol Santes Dwynwen. Mum had spent ages on my clothes and my make-up, constantly reminding me of the the importance of first impressions. Finally she had been satisfied and we’d had to rush to get to the school on time.

Soon we were ushered into the large expensive looking office.

Mrs Pritchard was a trim, well dressed woman in her mid-forties. She rose as we came in and directed us to two chairs in front of her large oak desk.

After a preliminary offer of refreshments and a general enquiry about Mum’s health Mrs Pritchard clasped her hands in front of her and her voice took on a more serious tone.

“I’m afraid this meeting is a waste of time for both of us.”

I was stunned by Mrs Pritchard’s words.

“Why?” my mother asked quietly.

“I spoke to Mr Smithers at the wake of our former generous benefactor last week. It seems this application is a farce. I’m so sorry to have wasted your time, but I felt, for the sake of your aunt’s memory, I owed you a personal explanation.”

“I don’t understand,” I said in a tiny voice.

Mrs Pritchard turned slightly to look at me directly, “I’m sorry Ceri, it seems that your aunt was confused about your true gender when she arranged for you to have a place with us. This is an all girls school and only girls are allowed to attend.”

“But I am a girl,” I countered becoming indignant that we were about to be turned away with all the probable consequences for our future.

Mrs Pritchard paused before continuing in a tone that was kindly but also dismissive, “Ceri, I understand that you may wish to become a girl in the future, but the truth is that at present you are a boy and therefore ineligible to become a pupil at Ysgol Santes Dwynwen. I’m so sorry to disappoint you, also thank you so much for talking to my daughter at the funeral she was really pleased to meet you.”

She turned to my mother, “Now there just remains for me to apologise for your wasted journey and to ask my secretary to…….”

“Perhaps you’d like to look at this,” interrupted my mother as she handed over our letter from Doctor Williams referring to a likely diagnosis of ‘Gender Dysphoria’.

Mrs Pritchard took the letter and read it quickly before looking up, “Yes, I can see and it’s obviously a good thing that Ceri is getting professional help but I don’t see how it affects our admission policy…….”

She was stopped mid sentence by my mother giving her a copy of the page from the schools’s website about its admission policy. She had highlighted the sentence ‘....admission of gender variant pupils undergoing medical treatment at the discretion of the governors’.

“But that was meant for…….” she began and then I could almost see the cogs whirring in her mind as she processed the implications.

Mrs Pritchard smiled and then looked up from the pieces of paper, “I see we were careless in drafting this policy. I’m sure you realise that this refers to the very occasional girl who is questioning her gender identity while attending the school. I think we have two at the moment, one in year 10 and one in year 12.”

“Yes, but Ceri is a gender variant pupil who is undergoing medical treatment.”

Mrs Pritchard turned to her computer, “Just give me a moment to check something.”

A few seconds later she turned back to us, “This could get quite sticky for us legally, since Ceri already has a place at the school allocated on the basis of your aunt’s strong recommendation.”

She paused for a second and then seemed to come to a decision, “Right I’m willing to take a chance on this, I’m sure I can square it with the parents but it will take some delicate public relations.”

I felt a weight fall off my shoulders and I noticed Mum smiling again.

Mrs Pritchard typed a few things on her keyboard and then turned to me, “Well at least I won’t have to disappoint Danni.”

“Why?” I asked.

“She’s so set on a having football team now that she can do sports again and hearing that you were captain of your school team has redoubled her efforts to persuade me to try it out.”

She turned to Mum, “Obviously Ceri will need to be taking puberty blockers before the start of school in September.”

“Yes, that’s in hand,” said Mum.

“What is the current protocol for cross sex hormone?” asked Mrs Pritchard.

“Doctor Williams said it was sixteen years of age at present,” responded Mum.

I was grateful that she hadn’t added Doctor Williams suggestion of lowering the age in the protocol.

“Oh dear,” said Mrs Pritchard, “that could be a bit awkward. Let me phone someone I know in Harley Street in London.”

She picked up the phone and dialed a number. She had a brief conversation giving an outline of my situation as she understood it and then listened for a few minutes as the other person on the line was clearly explaining something. Finally with a smile she expressed her thanks, put down the phone and turned to us with a smile on her face.

“Some good news, it seems that it will be possible for Ceri to start taking estrogen on her 12th birthday, when is that again, let me look at your file, oh yes October 20th, only 3 months away.”

My heart felt like it was sinking through the floor as the full implications of her comment sunk in.

I’d be turning into a girl in only three months!

*https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chronic_fatigue_syndrome
**UK year 7 = USA grade 6
***UK year 9 = USA grade 8
****cae brwnt = dirty field
*****The bedroom tax reduces the benefits of any household with a ‘spare’ bedroom and has created a housing crisis for many low income families.

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To Be Continued

End of Part 5