I was fast asleep when suddenly I was jerked out of my deep slumbers by the sound of the front door being slammed shut.
I snuggled deeper under my covers as I heard my father’s heavy steps go down the hallway into the sitting room at the end of the passage.
Then the shouting and screaming started as my parents had another one of their rows. I could hear it all clearly through the thin walls of the tiny flat where we lived on the twenty-second storey of a tower block of flats that was just one step away from a slum.
My heart was beating fast, as all feelings of sleep left me to be replaced by the fear and dread that had become all too normal for me.
I had a small bolt on my door and I had bolted it at bedtime, as usual. I didn’t want anyone, let alone my dad come in and find me wearing a nightie.
I jammed a finger into each ear, trying to cut out the awful row going on just down the passage. Then when that didn't work, I started humming Jingle Bells to myself to cut out the noise.
I could still hear them.
I was thirteen years old and a kid of my age, or any age, shouldn’t have to go through all this. Alright, I had gender issues as they would call it on the chat shows, but that didn’t mean that my life should be the living hell that it was. I had an alcoholic, violent father and a mother who hadn’t the strength or will to protect me or herself.
My name is Michael Jeffers (my secret name Samantha or Sammi), we live in London, Kilburn to be exact. Parts of Kilburn have been taken over by people with lots of money and the cost of houses and flats have hit the roof (sorry about that). But there are still some crappy high rise tower blocks run by underfunded housing associations that should have been knocked down years ago.
So, you may ask, why do I wear girls clothes when I can?
Its a question that I often asked myself before I realized that I wasn’t really a boy and had never been one. Okay, I had a penis, but that was just used to get rid of waste, it had no other function as far as I was concerned. It wasn’t only that. From a young age, I always wanted to be like my sister. She was lovely and had a wonderful smile. She was into skirts and dresses and was the girliest girl imaginable. I envied the fact that she could wear such lovely clothes and I had to dress and act like a boy.
I missed my sister terribly.
Dad, what should I say about him?
Dad used to take me to football and go fishing with him. He wanted me to be a man just like him, but all attempts failed. I could not play football, as I had two left feet and I hated fishing as it meant being cruel to fish.
I think that Dad wrote me off after his attempts to make me “man up”. He thought that I was some sort of weirdo sissy and after a bit, any love that he ever showed me, which was rare anyway, went out of the window.
We had been moved to tower block when our old house had been sold by the landlord and we weren’t wanted or needed as tenants. A young couple who worked in the City had moved in at four times the rent that we had been paying.
Mum couldn’t work because she had heart problems and other issues. She could barely walk up the stairs without getting totally out of breath, let alone go out to work. When the lifts weren’t working, which was quite often, she had to stay in and I had to do the errands for her, like get the shopping. Fancy the housing association placing her in a high rise tower with her medical problems.
Dad was fit enough, that is when he wasn’t drinking and developing an impressive beer gut. He had no job since getting sacked by the hospital, where he had been a porter. I never did find out why he had been fired, but I suspected that it was due to the fact that he didn’t always turn up to work after a night on the binge.
Our family was on benefits but much of the money was taken by Dad and he used the cash to feed his drinking and gambling habits. I supposed that he must have been an alcoholic as he drank morning, noon and night, but I’m no expert. We had been threatened with eviction several times due to the fact the rent wasn’t being paid, even though it was subsidized and we had to pay a reduced amount. Then Mum somehow made sure that the money for the rent was given directly to the housing association rather than given to us.
Dad didn’t like that and he hit Mum. He usually hit Mum and me when we did something that he didn’t like, which was almost anything and everything.
What about Rachel? You ask.
My elder sister Rachel had died the previous year whilst we were in our old house. She fell down the stairs and broke her skull. Everyone said that it was an accident, but I wasn’t so sure. Dad had been home with her and said that he was asleep at the time, but I wondered then and I still do, whether he had something to do with her death.
Things had never been okay since Rachel died. A little bit of Mum died and my dad’s drinking and violent behaviour gradually got worse. I lived from day to day, hoping that things would improve but they never did.
My thoughts suddenly came to the present when I heard screaming. It was Mum.
She never screamed like that, even when he hit her, she never, ever screamed like that.
I grew angry. I was rarely angry but when I was, a sort of red mist came over me and I said and did things that I didn’t know that I ever could.
Shaking, I got out of bed and went over to the door and unbolted it. My Mum was in pain and I couldn’t stand that. I left my room and went down the hall, opening the door, I went into the lounge. At the end of the lounge was the door that led into the kitchen. I could hear Mum’s whimpering and then she went quiet. Dad was shouting and swearing and making no sense at all. In a dream, I walked across the lounge and into the kitchen.
Mum was on the floor, blood seeping from her head.
Her eyes were open and she wasn’t moving.
Dad had a bottle of whisky in his hand and he was drinking deeply as if it was water.
He was swaying about.
Mum wasn’t moving.
‘What the fuck are you wearing?’
He was looking at me but I didn’t care. I was worried about Mum, she still wasn’t moving and her eyes were open and I was sure that she wasn’t breathing.
I went over to her and kneeled down, my bare knees cold on the lino.
The colour had drained from her face and the blood that had been seeping from the back of her head gradually stopped.
‘Mum, MUM!’
She wasn’t breathing.
I could tell at that moment that my Mum was dead.
Suddenly I was yanked to my feet, spun around and then slapped on my cheek.
‘You’ve killed her!’ I cried.
His face looked contorted with fury.
‘I said what the fuck are you wearing. I fucking nightdress, you little shissy!’
He slapped me again and I landed on the floor, banging my hip and making me cry.
‘Your Mum’sh ashleep, lazy cow. She hit her head when she shlipped on the floor. Now get up, you little panshy.’
He swayed before me and I got up gingerly. All I could see out of the corner of my eye was Mum, unmoving.
My knees were literally knocking.
He took off his belt and I knew what was coming. He took another huge swig out of the half empty bottle of whisky.
He didn’t seem to care that Mum was dead. All he cared about was getting at me and hitting me again. I could see that he was beyond any sort of reason and I was so scared that I felt a trickle of pee going down my leg.
He came at me and I dodged out of the way. He fumbled and dropped his belt.
‘Come ‘ere you little panshy.’
He swayed a bit, his unsupported trousers sliding slightly down off his beer gut.
Then he picked up a kitchen knife from the table and suddenly came at me.
I raised my arm to my face as he slashed at me. I felt a dull pain in my arm. Without thinking, I grabbed something from the table to protect myself and lunged at him.
He stopped, gasped and then dropped the bottle and looked down at his chest. He still had the knife in his other hand and he was waving it about feebly. I thought that he might come for me again.
With horror, I could see that there were the kitchen scissors sticking out of him at an upward angle. His grubby t-shirt had an ever-widening area of red on it. He looked at me with a puzzled expression and then sank slowly to the ground and collapsed into a heap, by the side of my Mum.
I knew he was dead.
Just like my Mum.
I had killed my Dad.
There was a silence.
No one had knocked on our door at the sound of screaming and shouting. It was that sort of place. Everyone minded their own business. Arguing was common where we lived and what if there was screaming, it wasn’t anyone else’s business. The police rarely got involved when there was what they called “a domestic”. If there was a drugs raid or someone suspected of fencing stolen goods, that was different.
I went out of the kitchen and quietly closed the door. Going into my room, I sat on the bed.
Feeling numb, I looked down at my nightie. There were specks of blood on it. My arm had a rivulet of blood going down it where my dad had cut me with the knife. The cut was shallow and was about ten centimeters long. It was funny, I had felt no real pain before, but now it was throbbing. It was then that it finally sunk in.
My Mum had been killed by my Dad and I had killed him.
I went into the bathroom and washed my arm and then grabbed a towel, wrapping it around my arm to stop the bleeding.
Then I went back into my bedroom and once again, sat on the bed. I was feeling very shaky, frightened and totally bereft.
I broke down and sobbed into my pillow.
I woke up. I had somehow fallen asleep. It was still nighttime and I saw on my bedside clock that I had only been asleep for about half an hour. It seemed much longer.
Sitting up, I suddenly remembered with awful clarity all the terrible events in the kitchen.
How could I have fallen asleep when so much had happened?
The towel was still wrapped around my arm and I gingerly took it off. The cut had dried and it didn't seem too deep.
I got up and went out of my room, along the passage, through the lounge and into the kitchen. I had to know if I had been having a nightmare, even though my nightie had spots of blood on it and my arm throbbed slightly from the cut, I just had to confirm things.
Maybe, Mum was alive and Dad just injured?
I slowly opened the door, for some reason I noted that the door still had that squeak. I would need to oil it, Dad wouldn't do it…
What was a thinking!
They were there, just as I had left them – both dead, Mum’s arms flung out and Dad too, still clutching the kitchen knife that he had tried to hurt me with. They both seemed to be looking at me, disapprovingly.
I shivered and it wasn't just from the cold.
It was a nightmare, a living one, only I was the only one left alive.
I shut the door on the horrors in the kitchen and went back to my bedroom. I had to think. Should I call for an ambulance? No point, they were dead and there was nothing hospital could do.
‘I should call the police,’ I thought, ‘I must ring the police.’
I went over to the phone and picked it up. No dialling tone. Then I remembered the phone had been cut off due to non-payment.
This was all too much.
I noticed then that I was dirty and damp down below, so I went into the bathroom, shed my soiled nightie and had a shower. I tried to rub off the dirt and filth and blood and scrubbed as hard as I could, but I still didn’t feel clean. I suppose I was on auto-pilot, still shocked at what had happened and I didn’t have the sense to just get dressed and go and ask for help from one of my neighbours. But then again, I knew what would happen to me when the police were inevitably called, I would be arrested for murder, even though my Dad killed my mum and then I just tried to protect myself. Even if they believed me that it was self-defence, I imagined that I would be put into custody for God knows how long and then either sent to prison if I was guilty or to a home for kids if I was innocent.
I needed time, time to think and decide what I should do.
I went over to the medicine cabinet and opened it. There were plenty of things to deal with wounds. We had a lot of wounds to dress in our household. Go figure.
Distractedly, I put a large plaster on my wound; it just covered it. It was shallow luckily, so I didn't think that it needed any stitches.
I shivered, the heating wasn’t on. On the back of the bathroom door was Mum’s pink towelling dressing gown. It was long for me, but I put it on anyway, as it was warm. I could smell her scent on it.
Going back into my bedroom, I sat down and then, of course, I started to cry again. It was all too much. I was only thirteen, why did I deserve all this? And Mum, she was dead and I missed her already. Dad, well I had stopped loving him years ago, but Mum, I wanted her to be alive and then we could make a new life together and she would let me be a girl and I would take the pills to stop me from growing into a man and then, when I was old enough, I could have an operation to make me into a true girl.
After a long while, I decided what to do. It helped as it took my mind off the loss of my Mum.
In Mum and Dad’s room was a computer, it was an old one, but it worked. No internet, that had been cut off with the phone, but it had a printer.
I switched the computer and printer on. While I waited for everything to load up and start, I went back to my room to get my digital camera, it was cheap one, a Christmas present from two years previously and it took reasonably good photos.
I messed about with the settings on the camera and then placed it on my chest of drawers, propped up with an old Lego box.
Taking Mum’s dressing gown off. I pressed the button to take a picture and then stepped back, waiting for the ten-second timer to take a photo of me.
I did that several times and then taking the camera back to my parent's room, I looked at the results on the computer and saved them to a memory stick that had some of my homework on.
I had taken photos of my face, which had a bruise on my cheek from when Dad had hit me, then another one of my back, where the marks of a belting last week was clearly visible; one of the wound on my arm finally, my bruised hip where I had fallen on it during Dad’s attack.
The photos weren't brilliant, but they would do and they were date stamped too, which was useful.
I opened the Word program and started typing.
My name is Michael Jeffers,
This is what happened tonight…
I put down all the facts, exactly as they happened but didn’t mention the fact that I was dressed as a girl as I didn’t want to complicate things.
I printed the note and put it down on mum’s dressing table together with the memory stick of the photos I had taken of myself showing the injuries that my dad had caused. I hoped that they would believe that I didn’t kill him on purpose, as I had grabbed the first thing that I could lay my hands on and was just trying to protect myself.
Then I went into my room and went over to my closet. Inside at the back was a suitcase. It was my sisters one, pink obviously, and in it, I had some of her clothes. After she had died, Mum had cleared out Rachel’s closet and drawers and had told me to take all her things to a charity shop. I hadn’t and had kept the case hidden in the back of my wardrobe ever since. As I was responsible for cleaning my room, it had never been found and when I could, I dressed up in her clothes. It wasn’t often, but I had relished those times. At first, her clothes were bit big on me, but after a growth spurt, they fitted pretty well.
I had another pang about my lost family, even Dad loved me once, even though he was a bit of a prick at times and nothing like the monster he turned into.
I took some clothes out of the case and laid them on my bed. After a bit, I chose what I should wear. It was cold outside, icy really and some forecasters were saying that we might be in for a white Christmas.
Rachel had more skirts and dresses than things with legs, you know, jeans and stuff, but she did have one pair of jeans and some rather thick leggings that could be worn under a skirt. It took me ages to decide what I should wear and I decided that it had better be the jeans, I didn’t want to get too cold and where I was going, I could get caught out in some nasty weather. The jeans were obviously girl’s ones, very tight and with close fittings legs and with flowers embroidered on the pockets. She had a nice thick white jumper with sparkly bits on it and I chose that. Underneath, I wore a short silky cami to stop any itchies from the jumper and white panties and some black tights, I was determined to stay warm. I had a navy blue coat of Rachels at the bottom of the closet and I pulled that out too. I was going to need it.
I went and got my rucksack and put some of Rachel’s, now my clothes in it together with my small makeup bag. I didn’t have much makeup, but what I had was okay, but very cheap.
Then, I decided that I should put some makeup on so I took the bag out, took it into the bathroom and used a bit of foundation to hide the damage to my face and then did my eyes and lips. I didn’t want anyone mistaking me for a boy.
I suppose that I was doing this in a sort of dream state. I was numbed by what had happened and no doubt suffering from shock. Everything that I was doing seemed kind of logical to me. I felt that I had no choice in the matter. All the time I was aware of the horrors in the kitchen and I tried my hardest to blank that out and try to think of other things, otherwise, I believe that I would have gone mad.
I had just finished my lippy and there was a knock on the front door.
I stopped what I was doing and listened.
There was another knock.
‘Bill, you in there? We are goin’ down the pub again, Fred’s having a lockout.’
A lockout, I knew, was when a landlord has illegal after-hours drinking. That was why Dad normally came home very late.
I stayed quiet. After a moment, I heard some sworn mumblings and Dad’s so-called friend went away.
I breathed a sigh of relief and put the cosmetics back in the makeup bag.
Soon, I was all packed. There was only one other thing to do. I had to go back into the kitchen.
I put on my shoes. I had one pair and they weren't that pretty, but they were black with a low heal and they were comfortable and more important, good to wear in cold weather. They were bought from a charity shop, the one and only time that I had plucked up the courage to go into one. Any other self-respecting girl would probably sneer at them, but beggars can’t be choosers.
I went into the kitchen, avoiding the bodies of my parents whilst trying not to cry, and then over to the welsh dresser. In the bottom cupboard, behind some plates, was a tin. I took the tin and then swiftly left the kitchen, closing the door quietly behind me, as if I didn’t want to wake anyone up.
Back in my bedroom, breathing heavily, I opened the tin and took the money out. It was the emergency fund that Mum had. Dad knew nothing about it, which was good for me because if he had, it would have used for his drinking and gambling and the tin would have more likely been empty.
Counting the money, I was surprised, as it £190 pounds. How my mum had managed to save that much, I would never know, but that would, I hoped, be enough to get where I needed to go.
Before I left the flat for the last time, I went into my parent's bedroom and over to Mum’s bedside drawer. In it was her address book and I took it out, flipped through the pages and confirmed the address I needed. There was a photo of my family, including Rachel on the dressing table. I took the photo out of the frame and took it together with the address book into my bedroom and put both in my rucksack. One final look around and then after putting on my coat, I left my bedroom and then the flat. I would never go back there again.
The lift wasn’t working, no surprise there, I walked down the stairs, my nose wrinkling at the smell of urine and other unpleasant unmentionables. Luckily, no one was around. It was getting late now, almost midnight, and I hoped that I would be able to get away without anyone wondering why a thirteen-year-old girl was out late at night all by herself.
As I walked out of the block of flats, I could see over in the corner of the car park, several people. There was a row going on and it looked like the row might turn into a fight. ‘More drunks or druggies,’ I thought as I hastily moved away unnoticed.
Luckily, the tube station was a short walk from where I lived, in fact, the line ran past my block of flats and the trains often kept me awake, as they ran until the early hours of the morning.
In the station was a ticket machine, it was one of those stations that had no staff. That was good for me as I didn’t want to be questioned.
A few people were out and about but minding their own business. This was normal for London as no one particularly cared about what others were doing. We were all in our own little worlds.
I waited for about ten minutes on the platform for the train to come in. There was one other person on the platform, an old man and I kept well away from him, nervous that he might be a threat or something.
The train finally came in and a few people got off as I got on. The train was quite busy as late-night travelers were on their way home. I was able to grab a seat and I just sat there not looking at anyone, wondering if I passed okay as a girl. I knew that I was a girl, but I had no confidence in myself and I was, to say the least, feeling fragile and scared.
I lost count of the number of stops the train had to go through, but eventually, I arrived at Victoria Station.
Once again, I was able to get a ticket at the machine, rather than talk to anyone who might wonder why I was there by myself. The ticket cost £22.00 and I pocketed it and then went over to the huge board that told people about the times of train departures and arrivals.
The last train was departing in twenty minutes and was on platform 10. Just then, I saw a policeman looking at me inquisitively and I hastened away to the platform, went through the barrier and got myself on the train. Looking out of the window, I saw to my relief, that there was no sign of the policeman and I sighed with relief.
Maybe I should have gone over and spoken to the policeman.
Maybe.
Being the last train, there were quite a few people on it. No doubt some were late night party goers and a few were a bit rowdy. I stayed away from them and made my way down the train there were a few families with kids; I assumed that they had been up to town to see the Christmas lights or something.
Thinking myself to be quite clever and scheming, I thought that it might be an idea to sit close to one of the families. Maybe people might think that I was with them rather than by myself.
As soon as I sat down a girl roughly about my age or a bit younger looked at me and pointed.
‘Mum, that girl’s wearing makeup, why can’t I. I’m nearly twelve now and my friends...’
I sunk down lower in my seat. This was all I needed.
‘Shut up Sharon, don’t be rude. We’ll talk about it later.’
The woman looked at me.
‘Sorry love, my daughter doesn't know when to shut up.’
I smiled weakly.
‘By yourself dear? You are very young to be on your own.’
‘Erm, Mum’s down the carriage, we had a row.’
‘Oh dear and this being Christmas too.’
As if that had anything to do with it. Did that mean that you aren't allowed to have rows at Christmas?
Just then, her young son started to bawl and that was good, as I didn't want to have any sort of extended conversation with an inquisitive woman.
The girl who made the remark about my makeup looked at me and scowled as if it was my fault that she couldn't wear makeup.
At least she hadn’t mistaken me for a boy, so that was something.
There was the sound of a whistle, blowing from outside and then, slowly but surely, the train left the station and then after, it started to speed up.
I was on my way.
It was quite dark outside as we left London behind and soon I felt sleepy. It had been a long, harrowing night. How I could even think of sleeping was beyond me after all that had happened. I kept on having flashbacks about the violent deaths of my parents and the fact that they were still in the kitchen, cold and stiff. I was so upset that I didn't have the time to say goodbye to Mum. The last thing she said to me was that I had to get up early to go and get some milk and bread. Hardly a loving thing to say, but at least we hadn't rowed the last time we spoke...
I awoke with a start. Looking at my watch, I could see that I had been asleep for almost an hour. The lady with the kids was asleep, as were two of her three children. The girl, the one who didn't seem to like me, was engrossed in doing something on her phone and seemed to be in a world of her own. I was glad of that as the last thing I wanted to do was to have a conversation with a girl with attitude.
Just then, I heard a click from the speaker and then the announcer said that the train was about to arrive at Worthing.
The kid looked up and then touched her Mum’s arm.
‘Mum, Worthing.’
Then there was a lot of toing and froing as she, her family and other passengers got ready to leave the train. Luckily, they were all more interested in getting bags and kids organised than they were of little me. Although, as they went down the carriage, Attitude Girl turned to me and stuck her tongue out.
Charming, I thought.
I didn't want to sit by myself as questions might be asked, so I picked up my rucksack, moved down the carriage and into the next one, where more people were. I sat opposite a man and woman who were asleep, despite all the noise around them. Judging by the smell, one that I knew well, it looked like they were sleeping off a good night out. I hoped that anyone passing might think that I was with them.
The train moved off and I looked out of the window as we went through Worthing and out into the country again.
Soon it was all dark outside. I stared out of the window but just saw my reflection. I had longish hair as I always resisted having my hair cut. I had brushed it as well as I could into a girls style with a middle parting and a slight fringe. It looked a little bit girly, I thought, but it could do with a decent cut and blow dry so that I could feel a bit more comfortable with it. My features were more like Mum rather than Dad. I always looked a bit of a girl, or so my so-called classmates said. Not that I had ever had any real friends at school. The only “friends” that I had were just ones who picked my brains when homework was needed. I am quite intelligent and I have had to hold myself back in class, as it would never do to be seen to be too clever.
Dad had never stuck up for me when I came home after being bullied at school. He just told me to man up and give as good as I get. Mum was too afraid of going against his wishes. The fight had been knocked out of her years before.
Why did we stay with such a monster? Mum said that she still loved him, despite everything.
I could never understand that.
Rachel had rowed with Dad when we lived in our old place and I was convinced that he had something to do with her death, although the coroner said that it was accidental...
‘The next station is Goring-By-Sea.’
My stop.
I picked up my rucksack, walked down the carriage and joined the few people getting off.
Outside the station, I looked at my mum's address book and noted the address that I needed.
There were three taxi’s waiting outside and I peered into each of them. One driver was a woman.
I knocked on her car window.
‘Hi, can you take me to South Drive?
‘In Ferring?’
‘Yes.’
‘What number?’
I told her.
‘I’m not in front of the queue, but the men won't mind me picking up a young girl. Get in the front then.’
I did as I was told and was pleased that the car was warm, it was freezing outside.
She started the car and then drove off.
‘So, you are out late.’
‘Yes, I had a sleepover but it went all wrong as my friend had to go to the hospital, appendix, I think. Dad couldn't pick me up ‘cos he’s at work and Mum can’t drive, she said to get a taxi from the station and don’t speak to any strange men.’
She laughed.
‘Sounds like you’ve had a night of it.’
‘You can say that again,’ I replied.
Little did she know.
Ten minutes later, we pulled outside a rather large house and I had to pretend that I had come home.
I paid her ten pounds and another one as a tip.
‘Thanks love, now you get inside before you catch cold.’
‘I will, thanks.’
I shut the car door and walked up the drive. The lady waited for me to arrive at the door and then drove off.
I had expected to see the house in darkness and I dreaded knocking anyone up, but the house was ablaze with light and I could hear music coming from inside.
My heart thumped and I felt a bit sick as, with a trembling finger, I rang the doorbell.
I shut the car door and walked up the drive. The lady waited for me to arrive at the door and then drove off.
I had expected to see the house in darkness and I dreaded knocking anyone up, but the house was ablaze with light and I could hear music coming from inside.
My heart thumped and I felt a bit sick as, with a trembling finger, I rang the doorbell.
And now the story continues…
After a second, the music stopped.
I was shaking with fear and didn't know whether I should stay or just make a run for it.
‘This is a bad idea.’ I thought as panic threatened to overwhelm me.
I was just turning away to make a run for it when the door suddenly opened.
With my heart in my mouth, I looked back.
Trembling I just said, ‘Erm, hello Auntie Rachel.’
She looked a bit like Mum, but a bit younger, less worn out. I almost couldn't believe that she was Mum’s twin sister.
I had never seen her before. They, that is Mum and my auntie had had an almighty row when I was a baby. It was over Dad; it had always been about my Dad.
She looked at me with a puzzled expression on her face and then she looked closer.
‘My God, Michael?’
I nodded.
‘But you look like a girl.’
I burst into tears.
My Aunt had never seen me, but I did know that Mum and she were in regular contact with letters and the occasional photo of me before we lost our internet, and of course email access. I had not spoken to her but I knew that she was happily married to Brian and they had one child, Megan, funny name that, a bit Welsh, but then again, Brian came from Wales and I supposed that that was the reason for the name. Megan was about my age, maybe a bit older by a month or two.
Somehow, I found myself in a nicely furnished lounge with a lovely warming log fire. The whole place was decorated for Christmas, with a tree in the corner with twinkling lights and all sort of decorations everywhere.
But at the time, I barely noticed that as I was in the arms of my auntie, bawling my head off.
All the pent up pain and anger was coming out of me. I could not control it or say anything coherent.
I somehow sensed the man's voice.
‘What’s up Rachel pet and who is this?’
‘It's my nephew, erm niece?’
Looking up, through the tears, I could see a nice looking man, quite tall and well built. He had a kind, but puzzled face, nothing like my Dad...
It took a few more moments before I could compose myself. Auntie Rachel helped me take my coat off and my Uncle thrust a mug of hot chocolate in my hand.
They sat opposite me and watched as I sipped the drink and winced slightly as it was very hot. They didn't ask me anything for which I was grateful. I knew that I needed to explain myself and I was trying my hardest to pull myself together. To say that I was nervous would be an uderstatement.
After a bit, the heat from the drink somehow gave me courage and after a moment I looked up.
‘Auntie, Uncle, this is very hard. I didn't know what to do. I had to get away. I was scared stiff and didn’t know where to go. Then I remembered you lived near Brighton and I thought that you might help me.’
‘Why are you dressed like a girl?’ asked Auntie gently.
‘I am a girl, I always have been.’ I replied.
She looked at me with a slight frown and then suddenly smiled.
‘Your mother always said that there was something different about you, but could never pin it down. She did say that you were a very gentle loving child despite everything...’
She broke off.
I smiled slightly.
‘Was it that sod of a father that made you run away?’ asked Uncle Brian, his Welsh accent even more pronounced.
‘Stop it, Brian, we didn't know why she ran away yet, do we?’
My heart warmed slightly when she said ‘she’.
‘What do you like to call yourself, not Michael dressed like that, I bet?’
‘Samantha or Sammi for short,’ I replied.
‘Samantha, that's a nice name. Well Samantha, does your mum know where you are?’
I just had to stop leaking those tears it wasn't helping. I needed to get my act together and explain things. Would they believe me?
They were looking at me expectantly. I was trying to hold myself together. I took a sip of my drink.
‘You’ll probably need to ring the police in a minute,’
‘Why?’ asked Auntie.
‘Let her explain Pet,’ said my uncle quietly.
I sipped my drink again, noting that my hands were trembling slightly.
‘Dad came home from the pub drunk again. I was in bed with my door bolted. I didn't want to get beaten. He did that sometimes when he came home drunk. I was safe if he came in singing, but more and more he was violent and loud than happy.’
‘Oh, honey!’ exclaimed my Aunt.
‘Anyway,’ I said, looking at my mug as I spoke, ‘tonight he came home in a temper. I...I stayed in bed and I heard him go down the passage, through the lounge and into the kitchen. Then the shouting started and some banging and then, despite the fact that I had my fingers jammed into my ears, I heard Mum scream. I had never heard her scream like that before, even when he hit her and then the scream shut off, just like that. Dad was shouting something and then I heard a moaning noise and another thump.’
‘Without thinking, I got up went over to the door, unbolted it and then ran down the passage. I didn't worry about the fact that I was wearing a nightie and the fact that Dad would go mental if he saw me dressed in that. I was only concerned about Mum. I went into the kitchen and then, then... I saw them...’
I hesitantly explained to them what had happened. I broke down and cried a few times as I told them about Mum just lying there dead and Dad’s attack on me with the knife and what had happened afterwards.
‘Strangely enough, there wasn't much blood on his t-shirt after I stabbed him with the scissors. But at the time I was more horrified about what he had done to Mum and what I had done to him. I stood up, crying my eyes out. I couldn't stay in there, I had to get out. I went to the phone to ring the police, but the phone had been cut off due to non-payment a few days before and I just didn't know what to do.’
I looked up at them then and saw the horror on their faces.
I took another sip of hot chocolate and then ploughed on.
‘I...I had the blood of my parents on my nightie and from the knife cut that Dad caused and I felt very dirty, so I got undressed and had a shower, I still don’t feel clean.
‘I know that I should have asked for help from a neighbour, I should have somehow got to a phone and ask for the police. But then I was frightened of what the police might do and I didn't want to face them alone.I had seen in the past the way the police dealt with problems on the estate and it wasn't nice or very friendly. They tended to lock people up and ask questions later. My dad had had several run-ins with the police and I knew that I could have problems with them believing me about what had happened.’
They were saying nothing and I still looked at my now empty cup as I told them everything else that led me to their door in the middle of the night just a few weeks away from Christmas.
In the end, I had nothing else to say. I was drained out and so very tired.
My Auntie came over, stood me up and just hugged me.
“I will phone the police now,’ said Uncle Brian, ‘Don’t worry Samantha pet, we will sort this out.’
He left the room.
‘What will they do with me, Auntie?’
‘If we have anything to do with it, nothing,’ replied my Aunt who was almost in the same state as me. I had lost my mum but she had lost her twin.
We just hugged each other for a while and then my uncle came back in.
‘Right, the police will be here in a few minutes, and it's not going to be easy or nice for you, but we will be with you and I won't let them get away with anything.’
Just then, I remembered that he was a solicitor and that made me feel slightly better. Maybe this had been a good idea, after all.
The next few days were hard, very hard. I was taken to the hospital where I was examined by who I found out later, was the police surgeon and photos were taken of my injuries past and present. The nurse tutted at the scars on my back from the regular beltings that I had experienced and the doctor said a few choice swear words that made the nurse blush. Then I was taken to the police station where I was questioned at length about what had happened. I was so pleased that Uncle Brian was there with me to make sure that I wasn’t bullied or harassed by the police.
Over the next few hours, the police went over and over what happened and I think that they were trying to trick me into changing my story. However, Uncle Brian knew about all their tricks and he didn’t let them harass me too much and then called a stop to the questioning after saying either arrest me or let me go.
I didn’t like the arrest me bit, but luckily, my uncle knew what he was doing.
Reluctantly, I was released under caution, whatever that meant, to the care of my aunt and uncle while my case was referred to The Crown Prosecution Service as to whether any charges would be brought against me. I was told that that might take weeks. The police and Social Services did not object to being with my aunt and uncle as they were my only known relatives and, in any case, had been foster carers to local children for a number of years and well respected in the community.
It was the early hours of the morning that I returned to my aunt and uncles house. Auntie had stayed at home as Megan was in bed and could not be left alone. I vaguely remember myself being put to bed by Auntie and feeling very tired. I fell asleep almost the instant my head hit the pillow.
‘Wake up sleepyhead,’ said a voice from a long way off.
I struggled to wake up.
‘Come on Sammi, it's nearly breakfast time, well its past that actually, but as its the weekend Mum and Dad let me and you lie in, but we need to get something in...’
The sound of the girl's voice became insistent and I cracked an eye open.
‘Hello.’ said the girl, smiling.
‘Megan?’ I croaked.
‘That's me. Do you like my nightie?’
‘What?’
‘Your nightie, or rather my one. Mum pinched it out of my drawer last night. You don’t remember?’
‘Sort of, it was a bit... nasty last night.’
I felt tears smart my eyes.
‘None of that, we can’t have you crying now. You need to get up and have some breakfast. Mum’s bacon and eggs are worth getting up for. Mum says to wear the clothes you want but she did put some on the chair over there. Of course, they were all wrong so I changed them for things that were more with it and age appropriate. Well, she is ancient and does not have any dress sense.’
‘Do you know about me?’ I asked as I dragged myself reluctantly out of bed.
‘The fact that you had some horrid things happen to you at home, and that you are theoretically a boy, well physically anyway, but that's just quibbling, ‘cos you are really a girl and a pretty one at that, you cow!’
‘Cow?’
‘Yes, I wish I was half as pretty as you. Just dragged herself out of bed and still looks lovely. Mum says I always look like something the cat brought in in the mornings.’
I rubbed my eyes and yawned. I wasn't into conversations about our relative prettiness, especially after what I had been through in the last twenty-four hours. I liked the slight Welsh lilt to her voice though, much better than my ‘gor blimy’ North London accent.
It didn’t take me long to have a shower, wearing a shower cap to keep my hair dry, and then get dressed in a pink top and nice black skirt. Underneath I was wearing some white panties and black tights from unopened pack’s of Megan’s. I was too shy to ask for a bra, my chest was a bit sensitive, to say the least lately. My hair was in a bit of a mess and needed some serious styling, but I had managed to coax it into some sort of feminine style and as no-one screamed in horror, I assumed that it looked okay and fairly presentable.
It was strange sitting around their kitchen table eating some cornflakes like any normal sort of family. Only things weren't normal. Apart from the fact that no-one batted an eyelid about what I was wearing, I felt a bit strange and unreal. Occasionally, I shuddered and felt nervous. I had been welcomed into their home, but with everything up in the air, I had no idea when the axe was going to fall and I would possibly be dragged off to court to answer for my deeds. Did they still do hard labour?
Then again, it took a lot for me not to break down in tears over the loss of my mum. I had no feelings for my dad and hadn't had any for all the time I could remember.
It was slowly dawning on me that I was an orphan and I had no idea what the future might bring. Uncle Brian said that he would be very surprised if any charges would be brought against me, as I acted in self-defence and my actions were justifiable given the circumstances and his words gave me some comfort, but not much.
Megan was as chatty as anything, but to this day, I can’t remember what she actually said. She had a bubbly personality and could talk for England or rather Wales as she considered herself to be at least half Welsh. I wished that I was like her, without any real worries other than the normal things that kids go through as they grow up. She was quite sporty and liked riding her bike; she was a member of the local club. She also had a pony called Bunty which was stabled just outside town.
‘How are you feeling?’ asked Auntie Rachel as I helped dry up the breakfast things.
Uncle Brian had gone off with Megan in his car to the stables, something to do with exercising and mucking out, whatever that was. They had asked if I wanted to go, but I wasn't up to going outside at that point. Megan looked very nice in her riding gear, although, looking at the weather outside and the threat of snow, I did not think that she would get much riding that day.
‘I’m tired, scared and want to cry all the time. Auntie, is that normal?’
‘Very normal after what you have been through. After Christmas, we will get you to see a specialist that can help you with your problems.’
‘A psychiatrist?’ I asked.
‘Yes and we also need to get a referral from the doctor about your gender issues sooner rather than later.’
I accidentally dropped a plate and it shattered on the flagstone floor.
Looking at my hands in horror and then at the mess, I started to cry.
‘I...I’m sorry, sorry, I didn't mean it...’
Auntie hugged me tightly.
‘There, there sweety, don’t worry, it’s only a plate.’
‘D...Dad would have b...belted me for doing that,’ I sniffed.
If anything, she hugged me even tighter.
‘No one is going to hit you in this household honey, that's a promise. I didn't know why your mum married that awful man, she said that she was in love, but he was bad when I first met him and he stayed bad until the end. The only good thing about the marriage is that you are here with us now.’
‘What about me being a girl?’ I asked.
‘You are what you feel inside. Everything else doesn't matter. You are lucky that your male hormones haven't kicked in yet. The doctors will tell you what your options are but according to the internet, if you can believe it, there are pills you can take that stop your body changing before you decide if you definitely want to stay as a girl.’
‘I am a girl.’ I said emphatically as we sat down at the kitchen table and had yet another cup of tea.
‘Looking at you honey, I would certainly agree with that, but once again according to the great God Google, kids do change their minds and the last thing you want is to make the wrong decision. Whatever you do decide, we will be with you all the way.’
‘If they don’t send me away, can I stay for a while?’
‘You betcha kid!’
I giggled.
It took me a day or two to get used to being with my Auntie and Uncle, not forgetting Megan. It was very strange living with a family that was actually loving rather than one that was confrontational and violent. The impending approach of Christmas was in full swing in the house but I didn’t feel much like celebrating as I had too much on my plate. However, I tried not to be a party pooper and at least appeared to be cheerful and enthusiastic while Megan gradually got more excited as the days went by. You would have thought she was a kid of six waiting for Santa to come down the chimney rather than a teenager, all be it a new one.
What can I say about my cousin Megan? She accepted me for who I was, indeed she encouraged me to try on almost everything in her extended wardrobe and was very generous with her praise. She treated me as a sister, not a bickering type of relationship but a nice and friendly one. I looked at her as the friend I never had and I think she felt the same as me. Megan, being Megan, had loads of friends who were always popping in. I was drawn into the circle and I liked most of the girls very much.
On one of our dressing tryouts, we wore very similar clothes and stood next to each other looking in her mirror.
‘You look quite a bit like me,’ she said.
I had to agree, we could be sisters, we were so much alike.
‘I always wanted a sister,’ she said quietly, ‘Mum and Dad can’t have any more babies, plumbing problems or something.’
‘Well,’ I said, ‘you have got a cousin and that’s the next best thing.’
She smiled.
‘Let's try on something else Cuz,’
I laughed.
Being a minor, news of my involvement in my parent’s deaths had not been broadcast. My home was far away and due to the fact that murders in London were unfortunately fairly common, the news never really got reported locally. Until after the inquest and my possible trial, the bodies of my parents were not to be released for burial. It was just another thing for me to be concerned about. I just wanted everything to end so that I could get on with my life. Auntie called it closure.
None of Megan's friends knew much about me except that I was her cousin staying with her family for a while because of problems at home. Everyone assumed some sort of marriage breakdown or divorce situation and they were nice, as they did not press me about what was actually going on. One problem was that I was not allowed out of the house without the supervision of my aunt or uncle, this was one of the conditions of my staying with them and not some sort of secure home while my fate was being decided for me.
The reason for me not going out was given as a slight case of agoraphobia caused by the trauma of the problems that I had had at home. It wasn't much of an excuse, but it was accepted at face value. I did want to go out, if only for a breath of fresh air, but I knew that that would cause me all sorts of problems and I was happy enough to bide my time and wait for the outcome of the investigations.
I made friends with one girl in particular, Chloe. She went to Megan’s school and was a bit on the quiet side, like me. I vividly recalled a conversation I had with her in my bedroom just a few days before. The others were watching a film on the TV in the lounge.
We were sitting on my bed, flicking through a couple of girlie mags and making comments about how good or bad this or that girl looked. It was nice to have my own bedroom, the house was quite large and had several. My one overlooked the pretty garden and was next to Megan's.
‘It’s a nice bedroom this,’ said Chloe looking around.
‘Yes, it is. I like it anyway.’
‘Its much bigger than my one and has a nice view,’ she said, ‘how long are you staying here?’
‘I don't know, everything is up in the air at the moment.’
‘It must be horrible to be in your situation. I didn't know what I would do if my mum and dad broke up.’
I flicked over the pages of the magazine and felt tears well up in my eyes. It was all so very hard. I tried to forget for just a few moments what had happened but it didn’t take much for me to relive the horrible night when my world fell in.
It was no good trying to hold it in, I just started to cry and I couldn't stop. Over and over again, I relived the death of Mum and Dad and it was as if I was still there, in the kitchen and all the blood and violence...
Things got a bit sketchy then, as I sort of fell apart.
The next thing I knew, I was tucked up in bed and it was much later. Auntie was sitting in the chair by the window and she looked up when I made a slight movement.
She got up and came over.
‘How are you feeling Sammi?’
‘Tired and floaty,’ I replied yawning.
‘You don't remember what happened?’
‘I...I threw a wobbly when Chloe was in here. Oh, Auntie, I didn't frighten her did I?’
‘No, she has a sensible head, that one. She called me and I called the doctor. He gave you something to calm you down. Tomorrow morning we are going to see someone about the horrible things that have happened to you. We were going to leave it until after the holidays but Doctor Robinson suggested that we start to get you help sooner rather than later. He was surprised that you held yourself together for so long.’
‘Does Chloe know about me?’ I asked.
Auntie smiled.
‘She heard it all from your own lips. You rather blurted it all out when you were crying on her shoulder. But she’s a nice girl and has said that she will only tell her parents.’
‘Did I tell her about my, erm girl-boy thing?’
‘Yes, but she doesn’t care. Her brother is gay and she and her parents are very supportive. She didn't bat an eyelid. She still likes you a lot and even though she hasn't known you for that long, she considers you to be a close friend and wouldn't do anything to harm you.’
‘Where’s Megan?
‘At school, it’s the last day before the Christmas break. She wanted to stay home to look after you and generally be a pest, but I told her that she was better off at school. The last thing you want is a hyperactive Megan hanging around.’
‘I am the one that’s the pest,’ I said, ‘I have caused you all nothing but trouble.’
‘Rubbish, look you are family and families should help one another. The fact that you have had a rotten time lately is not your fault. We love having you with us and I hope that we can make your Christmas as happy as possible. I know that you grieve for your mum and even maybe your dad, but you have to try to make the best of it. When we see the doctor tomorrow she will hopefully help you cope with all your problems. Now, I can see that you are still sleepy and you need to rest up. We’ll speak later, okay?’
She got up and went over to the door.
‘I’ll bring you up something to eat a bit later. If you need me, just holler, okay?’
‘Okay, thanks Auntie.’
‘No problem.’ She replied with a smile so like my mum’s that I almost thought that it was her standing there.
The next day found me in the waiting room of the psychiatrist with my Auntie along for moral support. Uncle Brian was at work; he had wanted to come, but was in court that day and couldn't get out of it. Megan was at a friends house although she had wanted to come too, but was told firmly that it was not appropriate.Chloe had rung me before we left to wish me good luck and she made me promise to ring her later. It gave me a warm fuzzy feeling that so many people cared about me.
I was wearing a fluffy pink woolly top that was very warm, a black knee length skirt with thick black tights and short black boots. I could have worn jeans, it was a cold winter’s day, but I was revelling in the fact that I could dress as girly as I liked and it made me feel a bit better about myself. The black hooded puffa jacket and woolly scarf were Megan’s and it was nice that I was even allowed a little bit of lippy and it tasted nice and strawberry flavoured on my lips.
That didn’t mean that I wasn’t nervous about the appointment, but it all helped, just a little.
I had taken my jacket and scarf off and hung them on a hook and then waited with Auntie while the doctor finished seeing another patient.
All too soon a boy a bit older than me came out with who I took to be his parents. He looked upset and that didn’t bode well for me and the parents looked a bit grim. After a few minutes, we were asked to go into the consulting room. A lady stood up from behind a desk and walked over to us. She was pretty, about thirty I would say and she had a sunny and friendly smile. On first looks, I liked her. Whether I would like her in an hour or two’s time was another matter.
We said our hello’s and I found myself sitting on a sofa next to Auntie with Doctor Norris sitting opposite.
‘Wel, Samantha, I have some notes from your GP, Doctor Robinson. You have been through it a bit haven’t you?’
I nodded, not knowing what to say.
‘Don’t be nervous, I don’t bite.’
I smiled erm, nervously.
‘Now I want to find out from your own lips what exactly has been happening to you. You can take your time, this is a double appointment.’
I took a deep breath and told her everything. It sounds easy that, but it wasn’t. At first, I was hesitant and then I was upset. For a few minutes, I had to stop and have a bit of a cry. We had a cup of tea and some nice chocky biscuits and then I continued.
As I recounted my experiences, the doctor asked me the occasional question like when I first thought that I was a girl and what I felt about my father now that he was dead.
The first one was hard to answer as I had no exact time when I realised that I was a girl, it sort of just crept up on me unawares but the second one was easier to answer.
‘I don’t, I mean didn’t love my dad and I can’t remember when I ever did. He was always distant to me and didn't want to know about what I was getting up to. He was more interested in being down the pub with his cronies than with his family. Oh, he did try and make me a man by playing football with me over the park and once asking me fishing with him, but once he could see that I wasn't that interested in those sort of things, I think that he wrote me off as a little pansy as he liked to call me.’
‘Did he ever catch you dressed as a girl?’
‘No, it came close. One day I was home from school at lunchtime. The school had a power cut and sent everyone home. He came back early from the pub, he normally spent a lot of time at the pub, he preferred it to home. Anyway, I heard the front door slam shut. I was in the bathroom wearing a skirt and blouse. I had locked the toilet door and he tried to get in. He said he was dying for a jimmy, that's Jimmy Riddle, slang for...’
‘I know dear, carry on.’
‘Anyway, luckily I had a pair of pyjamas in the wash bin and I changed into them quickly, putting the girl's things in the wash bin, then I flushed the toilet and came out quickly. He gave me a cuff around the ear told me to get out of the way and then rushed into the bathroom. He didn't ask why I was at home or wearing pyjamas, so that was lucky,’
‘How did you manage to get some girls clothes?’
‘They were my sisters mainly but a few things I got from the charity shop.’
Then I had to explain about my sister and the ‘accident’ that had caused her death.
Auntie got a bit upset at hearing about that and left the room to powder her nose. Girl talk for going to the loo. She returned after a bit, but I noticed that her eyes were a rather red.
After a few more minutes talking about why I felt as if I was a girl and the doctor asking personal questions as to whether I got a thrill out of dressing, I think that I managed to persuade her that my feelings were genuine and that I really did consider myself to be a girl.
The searching questions about the death of my parents were even harder to recount. I was re-living the horror yet again; as if I hadn't done that time after time since it all happened. There was another bout of crying and I had to stop for a while but eventually, I finished. I was physically and mentally drained and I had cried myself dry. There were no more tears and I felt strangely empty of emotions. I didn't know how long that would last but that was the only good thing about the situation.
All this time Auntie was sat beside me, holding my hand reassuringly. I could see that she was very upset too and had tears in her eyes. She looked at me and smiled comfortingly as the doctor made copious notes.
I was so pleased that she was helping me through all of this.
The doctor finally finished writing, put her pen down and then looked at me.
‘Well Samantha, you certainly have had a terrible time of it. I am sorry if I grilled you a bit but I needed to get to the bottom of what you were feeling and I think that I get the gist of what has been happening. I will need to see you again to go into things far more thoroughly.On the medical side, I understand that Doctor Robinson has taken some of your blood for testing and the results should be in in a few days. While you were unconscious, he gave you an examination, with your guardian's consent. He says that he noticed a few things of concern. Firstly, that you are possibly anaemic. He also noticed that your testicles have not descended; a condition known as cryptorchidism, indeed he could not find evidence of testicles anywhere that he could examine. You will have to have scans to find out what is going on inside you and then a course of action can be decided.’
‘Am I sick?’ I asked.
‘We think that you have a few problems, but they can do things about those, so do not worry about that now. Doctor Robinson also noted whilst examining you, that you have early signs of developing as a female, particularly in the hip and breast areas. This could be connected to cryptorchidism. ’
‘Is that why my nipples itch a lot and my chest looks a bit puffy?’
‘Possibly, but you may have what’s known as Klinefelter's syndrome or extra X chromosomes, that's why we needed a blood test, but don’t worry about any of that now as it’s pointless to speculate until the results of your tests come through. Now moving on to the terrible deaths of your mother and father. You have seen and experienced things that no child should go through. Men and women who go to war see things that affect them deeply. Anyone who has experienced deep trauma can be affected. It’s called PTSD or Post-traumatic stress disorder. It is a mental health condition that's triggered by a terrifying event — either experiencing it or witnessing it. Symptoms may include flashbacks, nightmares and severe anxiety, as well as uncontrollable thoughts about the event. I think that you have been experiencing these things, am I right?’
I nodded. It was almost as if she had been inside my head.
‘Well, like your other problems, we are here to help. It won’t be easy and there isn't a quick fix, but with the support of the medical team and your family, we will get you through this, okay Samantha?’
I nodded, not knowing quite what to say after all the revelations that I had heard.
She carried on talking for quite a while and frankly much of it went over my head. It appeared to me that I was a complete mess physically and mentally. But she did reassure me that there would be lots of support and that I would get through it all, eventually.
I nodded, maybe there was a small light at the end of the tunnel, but I thought that it was a very small light and a very long tunnel.
That night my emotions were up and down. I was in bed thinking about all that occurred earlier. I had been allowed to search the internet about the conditions that the doctor had talked about. I must admit that I was feeling around my scrotum and couldn’t feel anything in the sack. My penis was small and unlike the stories that I had heard from boys at my school, I had never experienced a stiffy as they liked to call it.
It was funny, I had never thought about what should or shouldn't be in there, down below. I knew no different. It wasn't as if I went around looking and feeling other people’s erm, private parts.
Then I felt my chest where the nipples were. They did feel puffy and the nipples itched a lot. Auntie gave me some cream to rub in, but it didn't seem to help much. Maybe it took time to work?
Evidently, Auntie was going to take me shopping the next day for some bras. That sounded like fun (not). Mind you anything to stop that annoying itching was okay in my book.
It looked like my body was maybe trying to tell me that I was a girl. I would like that, no I would love that!
I fell asleep dreaming that I would be the girl I wanted to be and all my problems might, at last, be over.
I felt my chest where the nipples were. They did feel puffy and the nipples itched a lot. Auntie gave me some cream to rub in, but it didn't seem to help much. Maybe it took time to work?
Evidently, Auntie was going to take me shopping the next day for some bras. That sounded like fun (not). Mind you anything to stop that annoying itching was okay in my book.
It looked like my body was maybe trying to tell me that I was a girl. I would like that, no I would love that!
And now the story continues…
The very next morning we had a caller.
The doorbell rang just as I was passing the front door. I had opened the door without thinking and my heart did a sort of flip-flop when I saw a policewoman standing in front of me.
She smiled.
‘Samantha?’
I nodded.
‘Is your aunt or uncle in?
I hadn't noticed but Uncle Brian came up just then.
‘Hello Inspector, can I help?’
‘Yes, is it okay if I come in? I have some news for you.’
Uncle ushered the inspector in and in a few minutes, we were all sitting in the kitchen, even Megan, who had somehow crept in. She stood in the back, keeping very quiet about it.
There were tea’s all round and it all seemed quite friendly. Surely I wouldn't be arrested if the inspector was having a cuppa and bickies with us?
I glanced outside and felt a tiny bit of relief when I saw that there was no large van with bars on it outside…
‘I thought that it would be best if I came and visited you rather than drag Samantha here down to the station. As you know, we visited the crime scene shortly after being told about the incident. Everything that Samantha told us was corroborated in what we found there. We did refer the matter to The Crown Prosecution Service who have ruled that in their opinion, you were only protecting yourself in circumstances where you were in imminent danger of losing your life. Normally these things take longer to process, but due to the trauma that you are obviously experiencing and the fact that you are a minor, your case was expedited and fast-tracked.
‘I have to tell you that if he had lived Samantha, your father would have been charged with at least manslaughter for killing your mother. It wouldn't have been considered as murder as it wasn't premeditated. Charges would have also been brought regarding his knife assault on you, probably grievous bodily harm. As far we are concerned, no charges will be brought against you and you are free from any restrictions’.
I looked at the inspector and then at everyone else.
‘I...I’m not going to be charged and not sent away then?’
As you can tell, what she had said hadn’t truly sunken in.
‘You are as free as a bird,’ said the inspector smiling.
Of course, I did the girly thing and burst into tears. But that was alright as I wasn't the only one to shed a tear that morning. Even the hardened inspector's eyes seemed to glisten a bit!
So, I was free from the worry that had been gnawing away at me. What with the flash-backs and horrid dreams that had kept me awake ever since that awful night when my world fell apart, I had had the dread of being charged with manslaughter. Now I could get on with my life.
Me, being me, I still worried a lot. What would happen to me now? My Aunt and Uncle said that they would look after me, but I had no idea if that would be temporary or permanent. I had no other relatives that I knew of. Auntie had told me that there were a few relatives, but they were spread far and wide and that she had very little contact with them other than the occasional Christmas card.
After the inspector had gone, I went to my room to think. I wasn’t alone for long.
‘Hey Sammi,’ said Megan as she burst into my room without knocking, ‘isn't it brilliant? You aren't going to prison. No breaking rocks or sewing mailbags for you. Do they still do that? We had a lesson about prison conditions and it didn't sound very nice. Anyway, what are you up to?’
I shrugged, trying to keep up with her changing subject, mid-stream.
‘Not much, just having a think.’
‘Don’t start to do that, you get all mopey when you start thinking.’
‘I am not mopey.’ I replied indignantly. ‘I might be sad sometimes and maybe a bit down but mopey, never.’
She shrugged.
‘Have it your own way. Anyhoo, Mum said that it's about time you had your own clothes.’
‘I have some clothes.’
‘Puh-lease! Do you call those rejects that you brought with you the right clothes for a teenager?’
‘Whats wrong with them and anyway, I’m wearing some of your cast-offs at the moment.’
‘They are not cast-offs they are loaners and I have you know that I have wonderful dress sense, all the girls say that.’
‘I haven't heard one of them say that you dress sensibly.’
I haven't told you, but Megan liked colourful things, all the colours of the rainbow and not necessarily matching. Sorry, brown and blue don't really go together and as for pink and orange...
At that moment, I was wearing a pink Angora sweater and a black skirt. I liked them because they were pretty and very much what I considered to be “my look”.
I had to fight tooth and nail to get her to let me wear clothes that didn't clash. It was hard work, I tell you!
She sniffed.
‘What do they know anyway.’
I giggled and then gave her big hugs. Girls do that you know and no-one thinks that its silly. If I was in boy mode, she would have probably slapped me. Correct that, she wouldn't because she was a nice person and as far as I was concerned, regardless of my gender, she was my BFF.
It was strange how Megan and I sort of gelled so quickly. We always seemed to be on the same wavelength and we finished each other's sentences more often than not. All this after only knowing each other for a few days. Auntie said that it was very much like my mum, her twin sister and her. When they were young, they used to be exactly the same.
Looking at Megan and me together, we looked so much alike, not twins, but close. Mind you with her slight Welsh lilt and my more London English accent, I could see that people might get a bit confused about us.
That afternoon found me, Megan and my aunt in Brighton doing a “shop” as Megan called it. For some reason, Uncle Brian couldn't come. He mumbled something about sorting out his stamp collection, but as I found out later that he never collected stamps, it was a bit of a whopper of a lie. Why didn't he just say that he hated shopping for clothes, especially girls clothes?
Auntie just said that we were better off without his whinging and whining while we tried out clothes. Who was I to argue?
It was refreshing to be able to forget my problems for a while as I enthusiastically tried on countless clothes. Before we left home, I did have a quiet conversation with Auntie.
‘I can’t afford to buy anything.’ I said quietly.
She looked at me with an expression that I had seen on a number of occasions. It was quizzical and kindly, but firm.
‘Now don’t be silly Samantha. You have had years and years where you didn’t get any birthday or Christmas presents from us and we are just making up for lost time. Anyway, we are not poor, to be frank, we are well off, what with Brian’s job and the fact that we inherited a very large sum from Brian’s grandfather. A few hundred pounds spent here and there will not break the bank. Now tell me that you are going to enjoy yourself.’
‘Yes Auntie,’ I replied, grinning.
Churchill Square Shopping Centre in Brighton was where we headed first. It was large, bright, full of people and had plenty of shops for us to go into and try as many clothes on as possible.
I lost count of the shops we visited and the things that I tried on. Of course, Megan had to get in on the act and she was as enthusiastic as me.
At first, I was shy about trying things on. I was always aware that I might be found out and thrown out of this or that shop for going into ladies changing rooms and getting undressed. But I needn't have worried, as none of the changing rooms were communal and I could easily get away with it.
You might think that I was scared of being clocked as the expression goes. I was, but after a while, when I saw that no-one was pointing at me and shouting ‘boy in a dress!’ I gradually relaxed and started to enjoy myself, just a bit.
I had a nagging tummy ache but managed to avoid thinking about it too much as I got swept up in the moment.
Steadily, the number of bags we carried grew and grew and I started to get a bit anxious. The Christmas music that was being piped in all the shops was starting to get on my nerves. The whole shopping centre was heaving with people trying to buy last-minute bargains. I wasn't used to this even when I presented as a boy. I hated big crowds, they made me nervous.
Walls appeared to be crowding in on me and I started to hyperventilate.
Auntie could see that I was getting stressed out and she took us out of the shopping centre, dropped our bags in the car and then took us to a relatively quiet restaurant on a narrow road.
As soon as I was out in the open again, I started to calm down and not sound like an asthmatic sheep. In a few moments, I was more or less feeling normal again, apart from the nagging ache in my tummy…
Megan started talking excitedly, nothing unusual there! She was full of herself. She had managed somehow to get almost as many clothes as me. I had winced at her colour choices but who was I to criticise? I still wasn't one hundred percent sure of what look I was going to go for and as such I chose a variety of colours and styles, from ultra-girly to almost (but not quite) Goth.
I had bought dresses, skirts and blouses, formal and casual. Undies that made me blush and also some that were a bit staid and boring, for school, whenever and wherever I went. Two coats, one red one black, several pairs of shoes, some for school and others for other times and even a pair of high heeled stilts recommended by Megan, only three inches but two inches higher than I had ever worn before.
I loved the fabrics that I could now wear. No more boring drab boys clothes and hiding what light I had under a bushel.
In the restaurant, I had some sort of salad, it was nice and light and it made a change from burgers or fish and chips. Auntie had the same and Megan had...you guessed it, a burger and chips. I did make up for it by having a scrumptious cream cake for afters, despite my tummy. Now that is what I would call a balanced meal!
It was nice sitting in the restaurant having a nice meal and chatting with two people that I was growing to love. All this was in distinct contrast to my previous life just a few days before. It was all a bit unreal like it was just a dream. A dream that I might wake from at any moment. If it was a dream, I never wanted to wake up!
All too soon we finished our meal and we had to move on.
Auntie said that I needed a haircut and told me that she had made an appointment for me at her salon. I was worried about that. Whenever I was told go to the barbers, Dad always said come back with a short back and sides. The fact that I had managed to keep my hair long was because I told the barber to just do a slight trim. I usually got a clip round the ear for my trouble from my ever-loving father, but to be honest, Dad was more interested in himself rather than me by that time, so I always reckoned that I got off lightly. Mum didn't mind me having slightly longer hair, she always said that I had nice soft hair and that somehow it suited me. I did wonder if she really wanted a daughter rather than a son. If she could only see me now...
I took my mind off thoughts of Mum and the fact that I was missing her so much, as I sat in the chair with a pink robe thing on and Sandra, Aunties hair stylist got to do her magic on me.
And magic it was. At first, I was a bit concerned as I seemed to be losing so much hair, armfuls of it. I was told not to worry and that I should wait and see. Auntie and Megan were over to the side reading old magazines. I wanted to shout out that I didn't want short back and sides, but then I thought that I was being silly and that Auntie wouldn't let Sandra do anything that nasty to me. I did wonder though if I could get a wig or something...
So I sat back, closed my eyes and waited for the result. I was a bit tired and light headed as I hadn't had much sleep lately.
I must have dropped off and I woke up with a start when someone tapped me gently on the shoulder.
‘Whah, what?’
‘Wake up sleepyhead. Want to have a look at yourself?’
Sandra stepped out of the way and I could see someone in the mirror and that someone was me!
Or rather it was a version of me that I had never seen before. Somehow, my face had makeup on and my eyes looked huge, almost Bambi-like. My lips were fuller and very, very pink. But it was my hair that really took my attention.
It seemed longer and fuller and just touching my shoulders, had a middle parting but with a small fringe. With the makeup, it made me look even more girlie than I thought that I could ever be. I had always had this nagging doubt about looking like a boy in a dress, but this vision was one hundred percent feminine.
I put my hand up to my hair and noticed that somehow I had bright pink nails to match my lips. How long had I been asleep? I wondered.
‘Well?’ asked Sandra, ‘What do you think?’
‘I...I look lovely?’
‘Yes, you do honey and don’t let anyone else say otherwise. Now, do you want to show the others what we’ve done?’
I nodded, not really into speech at that moment.
Auntie and Megan were over in the waiting area and they both looked up when I went across to them. I could see them both do a sort of double take.
‘Wow Sammi, you look great!’ exclaimed Megan.
They both stood there open-mouthed.
‘God, Samantha, you look just like your Mum when she was your age. You are so pretty!’
‘Well as you were Mum’s twin, you were pretty too and you still are!’ I replied, choking up slightly but trying not to cry as I did not want to have racoon eyes or whatever it’s called.
We all sort of had a group hug and then I gave Sandra a hug too as I thanked her profusely. These girlie showings of affection were okay by me!
Before we left, Auntie asked if I wanted my ears pierced. It was something that I had always wanted and I just nodded.
A few moments later and after two tiny screams, my ears had tiny gold studs in them. My ears throbbed a bit, but I could accept that, as a girl has to suffer for her appearance!
We arrived home sometime later. As we passed through the town, It had been nice to see all the houses with the Christmas lights up and twinkling away. Our house (I called it our house because until it was decided what they would be doing with me, it would be my home) had some nice blue lights around the windows and door and there was actually a Christmas tree in the front garden, also with those bright blue lights on it.
‘Very pretty,’ I thought.
Megan was super stoked about Christmas but I wasn’t. My future still hung in the balance and I wanted a bit of certainty in my life. My Aunt and Uncle weren't saying much about what lay in store for me in the new year except that they wanted the medical side of things sorted out and that they were trying to find out the legal side of things regarding custody. I was hoping that I could stay with them and Megan sort of assumed that that would be the case, but I wasn’t holding my breath.
My confidence had been knocked sideways due to all that had happened to me and I wasn’t about to raise my hopes about anything.
That night, I was very tired after all that we had done that day. Also, I still had a slight tummy ache that wouldn’t go away, probably due to the large piece of cake that I consumed, or is that gorged, in an unladylike manner. I didn't say anything because I didn't want to make a fuss. So I just went to bed. It was nice to be able to wear one of the new nighties that I had just bought. It was sky blue in colour and was satin and felt very nice against my hairless skin.
I had a strange dream. I was up to my neck in water and it was very dark, probably because I couldn't open my eyes. My tummy felt like it was on fire. I tried again and again to open my eyes and I even called out for help, but the water started lapping over my face and I felt myself sinking deeper and deeper and then everything just stopped...
Dad was coming at me with a knife, Mum was on the floor covered in blood.
He backed me up to the wall and then he stabbed me in the tummy.
It hurt so much that I screamed...
‘Sammi, wake up!’
‘Sammi, come on, wake up!’
I opened my eyes and then immediately closed them. The light was just too bright.
‘Samantha, come on girl, open your eyes, please!’
That was Auntie, what did she want? I was so tired and I just wanted to go to sleep; at least my tummy had stopped hurting...
But I was so thirsty, why was that. My mouth felt all fury and I had a sore throat, maybe I had a cold or something.
I slowly opened my eyes and blinked, everything looked so bright. Funny that, I had shut the curtains in my bedroom and had turned out the lights. Maybe it was morning again.
My eyes snapped into focus. Auntie was leaning over my bed and looking very concerned.
‘Hello Auntie, is it time to get up?’
‘How are you honey?’
It was then I realised that I wasn't in my bedroom. It looked suspiciously like a hospital room!
Auntie was by the side of me and Megan was at the end of the bed, looking at me with a worried expression.
I also started to feel some pain, first in my arm and then down below, where I was feeling a dull ache.
I looked at my arm there was a tube coming out of it that led up to a bag on a stand thingie.
Down below, I felt a stabbing pain.
‘Ouch,’ I cried.
‘I’ll call a nurse,’ said Megan, leaving the room in a hurry.
‘Why am I in hospital?’ I asked, trying to ignore the pain which had now gone back to being a nagging throb.
‘You screamed out in pain and we rushed into your bedroom. At first, we thought that you were having a nightmare, but we couldn't wake you up. You were all hunched up in bed and moving about and it looked like you were in pain. We called 999 and luckily an ambulance was nearby. As soon as the paramedics saw you, they knew that there was a problem. They took your vital signs and realised that they had to get you to hospital urgently. They had no idea what the problem was. I came with you in the ambulance and Brian followed in the car. Megan stayed at home with a neighbour to look after her. She wanted to come, but we didn’t think that it was wise as we didn’t know what was going on.’
‘What is going on?’ I asked.
Just then a nurse came in followed by an out of breath Megan.
The nurse came over and smiled.
‘Hello Samantha, I’m pleased to see you back with us. Are you in pain?’
I nodded biting my lip.
‘Right, hang on a mo.’
She did something to my drip and a few seconds, miraculously, the pain went away. The problem with that was that I started feeling a bit sleepy and out of it.
I was struggling to stay awake. I wanted answers and I wanted them now but I was fighting a losing battle.
Auntie loomed over me.
‘Don’t worry honey, just rest. I will make sure you know all you need to when you wake up and aren’t in so much pain.’
With that, I sort of zonked out and knew no more.
~*~
When I woke up again it was daylight outside and I didn’t feel anything like as uncomfortable as I was before. I yawned and stretched but stopped stretching as I could feel a slight pulling sensation coming from down below and also my arm was hooked up to a drip.
No-one was in the room but me and I wondered how long I had been there. I wondered even more as to why I had landed myself in hospital and what had happened to me. I was wearing one of those unflattering hospital gowns that was open at the back. I lifted up the covers and looked under. It looked suspiciously like I was wearing some sort of nappy with a tube coming out of it. I assumed that it was a catheter and I wasn’t too happy about that.
I should have been more cheerful about not having much pain anymore, it was there, but it was a dull ache in the groin and that was about it. I could feel the needle of the drip in my arm and it scratched a bit, but it wasn’t that uncomfortable. I had a theory that if something hurt in one place and if you were hurting somewhere else, then it would be overlooked by the body…. Well, I know what I mean.
I stared at the ceiling for a while and soon got bored. I was in a room by myself and I wondered why I wasn’t in a ward with ill people. Then I saw that this room looked a bit posh for National Health. Nice carpets on the floor, actual wallpaper, expensive looking prints on the walls, 32 inch TV on the wall and from my bed and I could actually see trees outside the window. Also, it was quiet. NHS hospitals were noted for their noise with bedpans crashing, people walking past, their heels clicking and clacking on yucky lime green lino floors, you get the picture. It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to deduce that I was in a private hospital room. I thought that it must be costing Auntie and Uncle a fortune to have me in there. I wondered if the meals would be nice. I was beginning to get hungry and I would have killed for a nice juicy burger…
I still wondered what had happened to me as I had annoyingly zonked out before Auntie told me all about it…
The door suddenly crashed open and Megan came in, she was sucking on a straw, it looked like she was drinking coke or something.
‘Hi Sammi, you’re awake.’
‘I know that.’ I snapped, my mouth watering at the prospect of having a coke or anything tasty for that matter. My mouth felt like sandpaper and my throat was as dry as the Gobi Desert.
‘Ooh a bit tetchy today, aren’t we?’ she replied, sitting down in a chair by the side of the bed.
I winced slightly at her choice of colours today, green and pink didn’t go. Didn’t she have any fashion sense? I let it go, I had more important things to discuss.
‘Meg, what happened?’
She looked strangely cagey.
‘Erm, I’m not allowed to talk to you about that. Mum said that she would do nasty thing to me if I did.’
‘Come on cuz, tell me pleeeeeease?’
I batted my eyelashes and tried to look all sweet, innocent and vulnerable.
‘Yuck, don’t do that, I’m not a boy you know. I’m immune to that sort of thing.’
I sighed.
‘Oh well, I tried. Can I at least have a suck of your coke?’
She looked shifty again.
‘Sorry, we were told not to give you anything not cleared by the doc’s. You can evidently have water though. Want some?’
I nodded, feeling very hard done by.
She poured me some water from a jug and handed the glass to me…
‘Look Sammi, I’m sorry I can’t say anything. Mum’s went home a while back to have a wash or something, she’s been here for two nights and had started to pong a bit. Dad’s around somewhere but made it clear that I have to behave myself and not tell you anything about what happened. The doc is coming…’
She paused and looked at her watch.
‘…in a few moments, so you have to hang in there. It’s good that you are awake, as they want to talk to you about things.’
‘What things?’
‘Erm…’
Just then the door opened and a lady doctor in a white coat came in, together with a nurse. The doctor smiled, then looked at Megan and frowned.
‘Hop it Megan.’
Megan gave me the thumbs up and left, not before poking her tongue out at the back of the doctor while the nurse tried to repress a smile.
‘Well Samantha, how are you feeling?’
‘Not too bad, It’s a bit uncomfortable down below though.’
‘Yes, sorry about that, we had to do a few things down there…’
Just then, the door opened and my aunt and uncle walked in. Megan tried to follow, but she had the door closed in her face. I smiled as I heard her curse. I didn’t know that she knew that word!
After the usual, ‘how are you’s?’ from Auntie and Uncle, the doctor continued.
‘You probably want to know what happened to you. You were found unconscious in your bed. An ambulance was called and you were rushed in as the paramedics were concerned about your vital signs…’
I won’t go over the details too much, it was a bit technical and somewhat yucky. Long story short, I had internal bleeding and they stabilised me. Then they did various scans and tests while I was still out of it. It turned out that I had some interesting girly bits inside me and not much in the way of boy bits and I had started to ovulate and having periods, hence the internal bleeding. The doctor said that I was intersexed, which meant that I was part girl and part boy, but much more of a girl than boy, if you know what I mean. The girl bits were hidden inside me and what pathetic boy bits had were not functional. My little willy wasn’t much of a penis, more an outsized clitoris, which is a very girly bit. I didn’t have any testicles, but did have a uterus and ovaries which were slightly underdeveloped. I was told, that now that they had sorted out my plumbing, that I might and they stressed the word might, be able to get pregnant.
So, the reason why I had started to bleed inside was that I was having my first period. Yes me, supposedly a boy, having a period! But I wasn’t really a boy and had never been much of a boy. The doctors had suspected that I had Kleinfelter syndrome, but it turned out my alphabet spaghetti was not XXY but 46XX with bells on. This bit went over my head, but the long and the short of it was that I was for all intents and purposes, near enough a girl.
I had been operated on and an opening had been found at the base of my false penis where my labia, whatever that was, had evidently been fused. The surgeons had sorted everything out and now I had a vagina, although it was evidently rather short... It was all a bit too much information for me and I wondered what I would look like when the tubes were taken out and the bandages were taken off.
Talk about being grossed out!
‘Anyway,’ concluded the doctor, ‘you are progressing well and will soon be up and about again. The catheter will be removed tomorrow, as long as you show no signs that are contra-indicated. If you are well enough and there are no signs of infection, you will be allowed home tomorrow. The stitches will probably be taken out next week.’
He talked a bit about dilation and the fact that I would have to stick things into my newly exposed lady bits to stretch me. Evidently I needed to increase the size of my vaginal space…
Eventually I was left alone as I was sleepy and a bit confused about what I had been told. Auntie and Uncle kissed me goodbye and promised to be back the following morning.
Megan, being Megan shot into my room as soon as everyone had gone.
‘So Sammi, you are a real girl after all. I knew that you was, but no one listens to me. Anyway, Mum and Dad are outside and said that I only had one minute. That isn't enough and it certainly isn’t fair, but you do look a bit sleepy and washed out so I’ll see you tomorrow.’
She kissed me on the cheek and before I had a chance to say anything, she was gone.
It was quiet in the room after that and although I was dead tired, I couldn’t fall asleep. Too much information in a short space of time. I suppose that it didn’t really hit me until about an hour after everyone had gone. I had had something to eat and drink and was finally trying to settle down for the night.
I shut my eyes and was just starting to drift off when it finally hit me. I was a girl, a real life genuine girl and I would be one forever and no one could ever, ever, take it away from me.
I went to sleep happy and for the first time in a while, I had no nasty dreams.
Epilogue.
I did go home the following day and, being young, I soon healed from my operation, although I was a bit sore for about two weeks. It was weird not having that “thing” flopping around down below, it was small, but I had had it all my life and it felt for a short while as if something was missing!
Christmas was, for me, the best one that I had ever had. The rows between my mum and dad and the poisonous atmosphere Dad created wasn’t exactly conducive to festive revelries.
Auntie and Uncle were traditionalist. We had all the usual thing at Christmas; massive turkey meal and lots of sweets and treats during the day. A walk around the local park to help the dinner go down followed by crashing out in the lounge watching cheesy Christmas movies. Megan and I had a fit of the giggles when the old’s fell asleep and started snoring in unison. They both swore that they never snored, but Megan had taken a video of them on her brand new mobile phone and so they were guilty, as charged!
The day after Boxing Day, we had a meeting. Auntie, Uncle, Megan and I sat in the lounge and discussed the future. I was very apprehensive as I didn’t really know what my future was going to be. I had been made vague promises about staying with them, but nothing had been definite.
Megan was unusually quite and that was a bit off putting to say the least!
I was having kittens, wondering if they were just going to say that I couldn’t stay or that I was going to go to a kids home or farmed out to foster parents. I had grown to love this family and I knew that I would be heartbroken if I had to leave.
Auntie did the talking.
‘Well Sammi, have you liked being with us?’
‘Yes Auntie, its been lovely, you have all been great.’ I replied, not being able to stop the slightly shaky voice.
She smiled.
Megan had a poker face, I didn’t know that she could do that. My uncle looked serious and my fears and worries started to increase rapidly.
‘We have loved having you here. Now we have to talk about the future. What would you like to do?’
That threw me a bit. I didn’t know what to say. I had had so many disappointments in my life. If I said that I wanted to stay with them, would they just say that I couldn’t? I could not stand the rejection. They all looked at me; waiting me to say…something.
I shut my eyes and swallowed. I had to reply. I had to tell them what I felt, no matter what the consequences would be.
With my eyes still closed, as I didn’t want to see their faces, I answered her question.
‘C…can I stay with you. I love it here and, and love all of you. Please don’t make me go, I…I…I.’
I broke down in tears.
Suddenly, I was being hugged by three people.
Megan was talking but I couldn’t take what she was saying in. Then through everything I heard my Aunt saying in my ear.
‘Don’t cry honey. You can stay with us. We want to adopt you. You are part of our family and always will be.’
So, Auntie and Uncle adopted me and I was now officially Megan’s sister. My legal name was changed to Samantha Laura Jones, Laura being my mum’s first name and Jones, my new parents’ name. I did not want to keep my father’s name for obvious reasons and I was certain that Mum wouldn’t have minded that.
I went to my mums funeral with my new family; we all held hands and cried a little. It was a sad time and I was glad when it was over. I missed her a lot and always would do but I knew that she would be happy for me now that I had a new family who gave me love and support.
I did not go to my fathers funeral.
As for the future, well, I was going to Megan’s school as soon as the paperwork was sorted out. I would miss the first two weeks of term, but I was a bright kid and I knew that I would soon catch up. It was a girls school and they had a uniform. I was looking forward to wearing it despite Megan’s protestations that the colours were boring!
I was still under the psychiatrist and would be for some time, but the nasty dreams were getting less and less and I hoped one day to be free of them. In the mean time I tried to enjoy my life to the full and with Megan’s help, I would try to be as much of a pest to my new parents as she was.
Just joking!