A Tammyverse Prelude Tom's Revelation

 

How & when did Tom realise he should be Tammy?
 
Now available as a novel

 

 
Please note this is a work of fiction and any perceived references to real people, real places or real institutions are for artistic purposes only!
 
Author's note: This story is set over a year before Tom's Fireworks & Tamara's Début. It is the first story in an occasional series of Preludes leading up to Tom Smart's metamorphosis into Tammy Smart.
 

-o-
 
Tom Smart settled in his Business Class seat as the Boeing aircraft left Doha for the breakfast time seven hour flight East. Right up to the previous evening he'd been expecting to head in the opposite direction but his father had been called to attend talks in KL and Tom had no choice but to travel with him.

It wasn't fair. He was sixteen, nearly seventeen, and had flown by himself across Europe for several years.

"We're not in Europe right now, son."

"Or even Kansas? I know, Dad, but I should be on my way back to London?"

"I'm well aware, but my Chairman assumed you'd still be with me for this meeting and I need your noting skills."

"Don't forget I'm back at school in under two weeks and it always takes me a few days to get ready!"

"I'm sure this will only take a couple of days, then we can head home?"

"Yeah, until we get told to go to Ulan Bator or Ursa Minor Beta?"

"Don't be silly, we don't do any business with Outer Mongolia."

Richard Smart's job as a Senior Director for one of the major London banks often sent him across the planet at short notice and during the school holidays Tom would travel with him, sometimes acting as note-taker or personal assistant.

Back in Doha Tom had been able to attend one meeting with his father, but had otherwise been stuck in their hotel suite for two days. Richard had insisted this was for his safety, but Tom wasn't convinced.

"Look, I'm sorry, but the Qatari Central Bank have insisted on total secrecy for these meetings."

"Can't I at least have a look around?"

"No, I said it's for your safety and I mean it."

"What about the pool?"

"I'll organise a chaperone."

"I'm sixteen, Dad!"

"The laws and customs are different here, Tom. Why don't you do some research then write up your diary? I'll need your help later, regardless."

The previous month or so Tom had been able to wander through the European capitals, and had enjoyed a few glasses of beer or wine with meals: he'd expected something similar in Doha and had been disappointed.

Tom woke as the plane hit Kuala Lumpur's runway but he tuned out as the Captain made an announcement about the local weather: His phone had locked onto a local network and told him it was warm, the plane's window told him it was raining.

There were a few minutes delay before the Qatar Airways 777 finally stopped by an airbridge, and a few more minutes before that was locked onto the plane. The seatbelt sign had already gone out but Tom left it on until the door was open, just in case.

At least the formalities were quick as twenty minutes later they were catching a cab to one of the Kuala Lumpur downtown hotel resorts. Richard checked them in and ensured Tom had a door card once they arrived in their suite.

"So I'm not going to be locked in the room?"

"No, I'm sorry about the last few days, but I've only been to Doha twice before and the official guidance was for females and children to be kept out of sight."

"Okay, accepted. What's here?"

"There's a couple of pools and a fitness centre. Stores and salons are apparently just a few streets away."

"Bars and restaurants?"

"Yes, there's a bar by one of the pools and the restaurant is on the top floor. Don't forget you're still quite pale and can burn easily, so cover up if you're going to be outside for a long while?"

"Sure, but are you certain I'm not going to get kidnapped?"

"Absolutely, Tom."

"Can I have that in writing?"

"Don't try it on or I will ground you!"

"I turn seventeen next week!"

"Indeed, and you start sixth form, so do you need some new suits? I think you've grown since Easter?"

"Yeah." Maybe half an inch, probably less.

"I'll be back here at lunchtime tomorrow, we can go for a walk then. We'll just use the hotel restaurant tonight, did you want to catch a bit of sleep?"

"Not a bad idea, how long do we have?"

"A couple of hours, I have some calls to make."

-o-

They had been originally due to fly back to the UK after just two days in Malaysia but Richard had now been called to represent his bank at further negotiations; the Chairman had insisted.

One aspect of the extended meetings was that Tom had to spend repeated afternoon and evening sessions with his father transferring Richard's jotted meetings notes into a detailed report for his Chairman. Tom's name had also gone on the report and that meant he'd get a 'thank you' gift from the bank a week or so later. Tom didn't mind this work, he'd done it for a few years, but it was the waiting around that he didn't like.

At least Tom could use the mornings to take a walk around the resort and on the first full day had ventured out into the city on his own to find a few clothing stores but none of the off-the-shelf suits would fit him. One of the female assistants had, perhaps jokingly, suggested he tried the Next store for their Petite range. Tom had, however, already been into Next and found that store didn't sell any male clothing and the manager had almost shooed him out of the place. He decided instead to deal with it back in the UK, somehow. What he had noticed, outside of the hotel, was the prevalence of head scarves and full head coverings for many of the females.

On the second full day he'd spent the morning by the outside pool, topping up his tan and enjoying an occasional dip in the water to cool off. Richard had informed him that morning of the extended stay so Tom now had three days to add to his tan, hopefully without burning.

One additional benefit of spending time by the pool was to observe the many and diverse folk who passed by, especially as it bore little resonance with what was apparent outside of the resort. It seemed to Tom that most international hotels contained a microcosm of the world around them and none more so than Kuala Lumpur. This hotel seemingly played host to many of the planet's nationalities but Tom mostly ignored that - his eye had been observing how folk dressed and how they presented themselves.

In essence, the few days he was spending in that hotel had been very enlightening and had opened his eyes to what was happening in the real world. If gender was a spectrum, then Tom wondered if he’d possibly seen all of it in the resort in just a few days? Tom's outlook on society up to that point had been his isolated experience in a private school, whilst during school holidays his vista was city centre hotels and formal bank meeting rooms. Up to this summer, so far as he was concerned, only the binary model of gender existed. He now knew different and it was a visual revelation.

The unspoken truth was that Tom had spent several years knowing he was different, but for much of that time hadn’t known why. His nagging doubts persisted but he really had no idea how to resolve his issues, or even how to put a name to them. Whatever it was, he guessed it wasn’t a subject for discussion in a boys’ school. He knew the system well enough; independent research was difficult as he suspected the local Intranet was monitored whilst the school librarian kept excellent records, particularly for those books on human biology.

Hotel internet connections got around these perceived difficulties, but how can you search for something if you have no idea what the search terms are? What is the answer to the question when you have no idea what the question is?

One of the staff had sat next to him on his last morning there, her English was impeccable but he couldn’t place the accent.

“What’s your name, dear?”

“Tom.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes….”

“You’ve been watching me and the other girls for the last few days?”

“Um-mm, yes.”

“Do you like what you saw?”

“Well….?”

“Did you want to date one of us?”

“No, I mean, I’m sixteen and my father said….”

“So you’re looking for a different reason?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Do you like how we look?”

“Yes.”

“Our faces? Our clothes?”

“Clothes, and your faces, and hair.”

“You like what we wear?”

“Yes, and how you wear it.”

“What about the male staff?”

“No.”

“No?”

“Their clothes aren’t interesting.”

“That’s interesting, so you like the girls’ clothes?”

“Yes.”

“I think some of the outfits would suit you?”

“No, no they wouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Just no.”

“Are you sure? You have some girly looks yourself? I think they would look good.”

“Really?”

“Yes, what’s your full name?”

“Thomas Smart.”

“I know that accent, you’re Scottish? I see you as a Tamara, Tamara Smart?”

“Tamara?”

“Maybe Tammy, yes, you’re a Tammy.”

“Am I?”

“You are. What’s your name?”

“Tammy.”

“Well done, Tammy girl.”

Tom walked back to the hotel room ever so slightly more confused and wrote up his diary. He at least now knew what question to ask.

Their flight was at nine that evening with a short hop to Singapore, then an hour's layover followed by fifteen hours to Amsterdam. The original plan had been to go back the way they'd come but that entailed a six hour, or longer, layover in Doha complete with a de-plane into the terminal.

It was approaching eight in the morning when they landed at Schipol and it wasn't long before they had a flight into Heathrow, followed by the usual 'Welcome to Britain' queue. Richard decided that, after nineteen hours of travelling he could afford to splash on a cab to take them directly home.

Of course there was a pile of mail sitting on the doormat, it had been three weeks since either Tom or Richard had visited the Edgware house. Tom scooped it up, looking for just one item.

"Got it!"

He dropped the remainder on the kitchen table and tore open the Thurso postmarked envelope. Two slips and a covering letter fell out. The letter was dated nine days earlier.

"Based on your GCSE results we can confirm your admission into the Sixth Form. Your parents/guardians should contact the school before the end of August to confirm their son's place."

The slips confirmed what Tom already suspected, nearly top marks in every subject. One side effect of his dedication to his studies was that his efforts had been worthwhile. Tom's plan right now was to head to Cambridge two years down the line, just as his father had done.

"Good news, Tom?"

He passed the contents over. "Looks like it. Can you call the school?"

"Hmmm, you missed the A* in French?"

"The master refuses to teach colloquial French, guess what came up in the exam?"

"Modern language?"

"I had to translate a review of a teen movie. I misread one piece of dialogue and it threw me."

"But your spoken French is excellent?"

"True, but the written language is harder."

"Fair point, what's your plan now, Tom?"

"Firstly a shower then I'm going shopping. You?"

"I have to report to the Chairman, that's going to take all afternoon."

"It's Saturday! The bank's closed."

"I'm meeting him at his club."

"Well, it's my birthday tomorrow and I only have a few more days before I have to head back to Scotland, but please make that call?"

"I will. We'll have to do something tomorrow then?"

"Perhaps you can take me to a pub and buy me a beer?"

"You're not eighteen for another year."

"Yeah, look I really don't fancy mediocre pub food anyway?"

"Perhaps I could order in a curry tomorrow and then you can have a small beer?"

"How about a bottle of wine?"

"Sure."

Tom was back out the door an hour later and walked into the middle of Edgware looking for school clothing. He'd spent much of the past five years in a kilt, some of the time, but as a sixth former he was expected to be suited. He admitted defeat half an hour later and caught a bus to Brent Cross shopping centre. His first stop was the Fenwicks department store.

"Hi, I need a couple of suits for school."

"What colour?"

"Black, charcoal or navy - my school's sixth form demands we wear a suit."

"Right, let's get you measured."

That caused a problem, Tom was slender and under-sized for his almost seventeen years. The smallest sized blazer just hung off his shoulders, badly.

"Don't take this wrong, but the ladies range would fit you better."

"Not you as well?"

"I see. Look, I think we can find you trousers but the blazer will be a problem, let's head over to the other side."

Tom had to admit that the black square cut jacket was a good fit and didn't look out of place.

"Will you be wearing a jumper or a cardigan under the blazer?"

"I'll be in the Highlands a week from now!"

"Okay, in that case we'll go up a size."

Tom was having second thoughts. "Somehow this doesn't feel right, I mean it fits but...."

"Well, clothes don't have a gender, nor an agenda, it's only what folk attribute to them. The alternative is to have a couple of jackets made for you; the time-scale for that is several weeks to a month."

"Perhaps we can order those and send them up to me?"

"Can you get back for fitting?"

"Not before Christmas."

"By which time you may have grown out of them?"

Tom was looking for excuses, even though the jacket felt comfortable on him. The material was lighter than he was used to but it was definitely a good quality. One thing he noted was the lack of an inside pocket, and the breast pocket was fake.

"We'll ask my father what he thinks, can you take a photo of me?"

The positive reply arrived two minutes later, plus a reminder to get some new shirts.

"Oh well, I'll take two jackets and three pairs of trousers. Hmm, five white long sleeved shirts too."

Tom added a new satchel, in black, to replace the well worn tan satchel he'd used for the past few years, given the pocket situation he would be using it more frequently now. The final bill was close to £300, softened slightly with a shareholder's card.

"Thank you Mr Smart, hopefully we'll see you again soon?"

"Christmas, definitely not sooner."

He picked up a filled baguette from a sandwich shop and dropped it into his satchel. Tom's next stop was a barbers for a school-ready cut, which meant joining a queue of boys getting the same treatment. In an ideal world he would have let it grow but, rules were rules and Tom had survived boarding school so far by keeping his head down. He finally made it home at three and was still carrying his lunchtime baguette, having decided against eating it on the bus.

His father messaged him, could he sort himself out as the chairman was taking him out to dinner. Tom booked a pizza for seven - so much for a family life.

-o-

Tom took the Friday night sleeper having seen his father jet off to the States a day earlier. It was only after Richard's taxi had departed that Tom realised he hadn't spoken to his mother even once during the past few weeks. He'd been told she was in Rimini but there had been no message, nothing, since the middle of August when she'd told him it was impossible for Tom to stay with her at that time. His initial thought was that his mother was having an affair - but that seemed so wrong and wouldn't his father have said something? Tom dismissed the idea.

After an uneventful overnight journey Tom's luggage was dumped on the platform at Inverness on Saturday morning and he now waited in the cool air for the diesel railcar to arrive: He'd spent many hours waiting for trains on this very platform but at least it was familiar ground. Breakfast had been several hours earlier and right now he needed a coffee and perhaps a bun?

"Hi Tom."

"Oh, John, I didn't see you on the sleeper?"

"I picked it up in Glasgow. Did you want a drink?"

"Yes, but what about the bags?"

"Come on Tom, you're a sixth former now! Did you put in for prefect?"

"No."

"Never mind, I did."

John Hibbert called one of the junior boys. "Keep an eye on our bags, it'll be worth your while."

"Yes, sir."

John grabbed Tom's arm. "Come on, we still have twenty five minutes before the chug-along gets here."

"What you just did?"

"Didn't a sixth former do that to you a few years ago?"

"Yes, but ... how can you justify it?"

"RHIP, Tom! Rank Has Its Privileges, that's all you need."

"You said it'll be worth that boy's while?"

"That's right, if I'm a prefect then I might overlook a minor issue once, possibly twice."

"I'm not convinced that's right?"

"Come on, it's how things are done. You can buy."

Tom and John had shared a twin room for the past three years so his familiarity wasn't unprecedented but Tom was praying for a single room for the next two years.

A couple of hours later they were finally dropped outside St Andrews by a school minibus and were met inside by one of the Deputy Heads.

"Please sign in, then collect your room keys from your common rooms, don't wait in the lobby, questions can be dealt with later. Any new boys, wait here."

Tom wasn't keen on Common Rooms and had done his best to avoid them but made his way, following John into the wood panelled space. The first thing Tom noticed were the armchairs, low tables and the kitchenette in a far corner. "I've been dying to get in here forever, Tom."

There didn't seem to be any logical order to the room allocation but the former co-habitants had ended up with adjacent rooms. As soon as the key was in his hand, Tom was on his way back out of the common room, he wasn't comfortable in there and, so far, every boy entering the room was taller and broader than him; he didn't want to wait for the first inevitable insult.

His room wasn't far away and it was, at least, recently painted. There was a bar of soap on the basin but it was otherwise familiarly spartan. Tom hoisted his large case onto the unmade bed and started to unpack. For some reason he'd brought his old school blazer back, even though he wouldn't wear it again. It was, however, in excellent condition and might be a good replacement for a junior boy who needed an urgent replacement. It was when he hung his new blazers next to it that he noticed the buttons were reversed.

The buttons were, at least, black so didn't stand out, but it was now a glaring issue for him. Tom pulled off his sweatshirt, the put one of the blazers on, leaving the tags in place. There was a mirror on the wall and he examined his reflection. His school scarf was found and he wrapped this around his neck, letting it fall across the front of the blazer. That would work if he was outside, but what about in school?

He pulled his sweatshirt and coat back on then abandoned his bags. He used his phone to call for a cab into town then made his way down to the entrance lobby.

"Where are you going, Smart?"

"Into town, Sir, my mother seems to have messed up my luggage and I need a few bits."

"I see. The town passes are still locked away, but at least I know where you're going."

"Thank you, Sir."

Shopping in Thurso gave limited options but Tom didn't have the time to head into Wick for a better selection. He decided to be dropped by Tesco and to see what he could get in there. His basket first gained shampoo, which he'd genuinely forgotten, and then he went looking for light scarves, deciding that they looked too feminine for his liking. On a whim he picked several thin jumpers in pastel shades from the womens-wear shelves that would detract from the blazer. The colours might cause some grief with the backward looking masters but Tom couldn't remember any applicable dress code rules.

From a distance he could see one of the history masters, Tom decided to circle around the store to avoid him. Almost immediately he went past the hosiery selection and picked up some thick tights. These were lost in his basket under the pullovers. During the winter months the outside temperature could stay below zero for several days at a time and Tom had wanted to experiment with tights a year before, but his co-habitation had ruled this out.

He reached a self-checkout and ran the items through the scanner; Tom paid then left as quickly he could without looking back. The words of that girl, poolside in Kuala Lumpur, came back to him - had he just taken the first steps towards girlhood?

-o-
 
The next Prelude is Tom's Christmas
 
 
-o-
 
The Preludes stories are also available as a part of Tammy Beginnings, Part 1 is out now

--
Now ten more enhanced Tammyverse titles are also available on Amazon Kindle, plus four Unaccounted Gains books.

Latest Kindle releases
 

Unaccounted Gains Book 4	Tammyverse Book 10

 

December 2021 Christmas Holidays Story Contest Entry

A Tammyverse Prelude Tom's Christmas     Part 1 of 2

 

Is Tammy is ready to step out?
 

Please note this is a work of fiction and any perceived references to real people, real places or real institutions are for artistic purposes only!
 
Author's note: This story is set a year before Tamara's First Christmas. It is the second story in an occasional series of Preludes leading up to Tom Smart's metamorphosis into Tammy Smart.
 

-o-
 

Dr Steven McIntosh stood as breakfast finished on that particular Thursday morning. “For those leaving today, please ensure we have your current contact details before you run out of St Andrews. School is dismissed.”

Almost immediately the bell rang through St Andrews school indicating the start of the 2013 Christmas Break. It wasn't long before the younger boys were gathering at the secretary's office with their luggage to submit their holiday slips and, for many, a guaranteed long trip South.

Sixth former Tom Smart wasn't concerned with his departure from the Highlands’ private boys school, at least not for a while yet. He instead started to head back to his room to brush his teeth and check his appearance before catching one of the later school buses into town. His room was his private domain, it was where he studied, slept, and contemplated his future.

Tom had spent the past few years sharing a room with John Hibbert and they now had adjacent rooms, it wasn’t a surprise to pass John in the corridor where he was dragging his luggage towards the main entrance.

"You'd best get your bags, Tom, if you want to get the early train?"

"I couldn't get a flight from Heathrow until Saturday morning, and I can't see any point in paying for a hotel tonight if I can stay here?"

"Fair point, I'll see you in January. Don't forget that Business Studies project!"

Tom hadn't liked fibbing to John about his travel plans but his father was an important man in international banking and had regularly reminded Tom to take precautions, even if that meant being vague or evasive with those closest to you. Given Tom and John had shared a dorm for the previous five years that ensured they had no secrets between each-other - well, almost no secrets.

Tom had decided to appear as a young executive that morning for his expedition into Thurso town centre so was dressed to impress, wearing one of his business suits with shiny brogues, topped with a fine Argyle wool coat. This went well over the expected dress code for a sixth former but Tom had previously worn the outfit at formal events so it wouldn't look out of place in the school. The thought, however, that passed through Tom’s head was that this was a disguise, making him appear to be someone he really wasn’t.

He made a coffee and waited, his mind drifting over to the project for a business studies class for which Tom needed to come up with an idea; unfortunately this wasn't working. Tom could equally have sat in the common room that the lower and upper sixth shared, but he didn’t mix well and wasn’t respected by certain other sixth formers, that left Tom on his own instead of in company, but that didn’t bother him. He picked up his diary, largely untouched since the summer, and read his entry for that day in Kuala Lumpur when he was given the name 'Tammy'.

"How did she know, how could she know, that I was different? Tamara, Tammy, it seemed right, even if it was so wrong?"

The first buses to Thurso Railway Station had left just before eight, immediately after the early breakfast, together with a fleet of coaches to Aberdeen Airport at nine, so by twelve the number of waiting passengers was waning.

"A Town pass please, Mrs Adams."

"You're not leaving, Mr Smart?"

"Not today, my travel arrangements were booked by my father and I'll leave tomorrow. I'll use the time to get some shopping done."

Tom walked out into the cold air, there was snow on the ground but outside the front of the old school was clear, thanks to the dedicated grounds staff. As he reached the bus he noticed that a junior boy had snagged the seat closest to the door, Tom pointed to the rear and soon had it for himself; rank did indeed have privileges. He turned to speak to the driver.

"Drop me in Olrig Street please."

"Aye."

The chatter around Tom was all about the impending Christmas travel and planned happenings all over Europe. St Andrews was not a cheap school for young gentlemen so a certain family income level was assumed, the sort of level that meant money was no concern - at least not to an eleven or twelve year old.

Tom did however notice one boy who was less than happy about the holiday. Not every student had a choice before being placed at the boys only Highland school, but for some the distance from home was a godsend. It didn't help that the junior boys welfare officer was also a deputy head who simply told them to "man up" and thought nothing of fixing emotional problems by sending the boys around the rugby field in shorts and a T-shirt on a freezing morning, repeated at lunch and at dinner. It was rumoured that this particularly-disliked teacher would be retiring at the end of the school year, but that was still over six months away.

He stepped off the bus and pulled his knitted hat down over his ears, tucking his hair out of the way. There had been a few remarks about Tom's hair length but it had only been the previous week that Tom's form master had finally suggested, partly in jest, that he had "best get it cut before he looked like a girl".

His last haircut had been at the start of September, just before school restarted, and regrowth had been steady. As it grew, however, he used to back-comb it and would use gel to flatten and control it. Tom had time for a trim today but had no intention as yet. He didn't particularly like the local barber's single style of a very short razor cut - one size fits all apparently. A rumour suggested that he was a former St Andrews boy.

Tom had wondered how an old boy had ended up as a barber, when industry, banking, government or military officer were the usual career paths for former pupils, whilst hairdressing wasn't a part of the curriculum or something that the careers advisor would have offered.

His walk was a regular one, he strolled slowly down the narrow streets, pausing outside an independent ladies clothing store. The seldom changing window display tended to be designs for middle-aged to older women but he had seen some of the younger ladies wearing similar styles on his weekly trips into Thurso town. The shopkeeper suddenly appeared in the doorway and caught his eye; he shuffled away, pulling his hat down.

His next stop was a supermarket where he picked up some essentials for the trip South. The only risk to him was if a teacher saw him and asked what he was doing, but many of these had already left town with the remainder still required on site. Tom was walking with a carrier bag towards a hotel bar for lunch when his mobile rang, he reached into his coat pocket for his device.

"Hi Tom, good afternoon?"

"Just in town, Dad, and it's stopped snowing."

"Okay, just calling to confirm your travel arrangements haven't changed?"

"No, but I wasn't going to book the Eurostar seat, just get one at St Pancras?"

"I suggest you book it, there's limited Brussels services and they do get very busy."

"Okay, I should see you for lunch on Saturday, what's your own ETA?"

"I get into Brussels tomorrow night, usual place for lunch?"

"Yeah, it's Tram line three or four?"

"Correct, but you could walk it from Midi station?"

"Okay Dad, I'll send you a text when I've confirmed my own arrival time."

"Sure you don't want to fly?"

"Yes, Dad, I'm sure."

Tom closed the call, conversations with his father were usually short and to the point. A call from his mother would be a rare event when her favourite topic was herself and the apparent wonderful people she kept meeting in her current Swiss lakeside hotel apartment. She wasn't there all the time, though, and could also be found in Rimini or Nice at various times of the year.

Tom wondered why his parents still had a house in Edgware, North London, when his mother was never there and his father was himself only an occasional visitor? Tom would usually stop there at the end of the Summer term to drop his school stuff off and collect it in September on his way back to Thurso, but was also otherwise there rarely.

Christmas this year would be in Lausanne again, for the third year running. Before that it was Geneva, Zurich or Vienna - Tom was convinced that his mother couldn't cook. At least it was difficult for her to interfere in his own life, and that was just fine.

He changed his mind and doubled back to Reids Bakery to pick up a filled roll and a Danish pastry, before calling a cab back to the school. Tom hadn't spent long in town but had ticked most things off his list.

Tom ate his lunch alone in his room rather than making his way down to the refectory; he wasn’t being anti-social but didn’t need any interrogations right now. Once his appetite was dealt with he started to pack his case but some items weren’t dry and he was still waiting for his school laundry to be returned, having submitted it the previous lunchtime.

Dinner at St Andrews that Thursday evening was a formal affair even though the refectory was now sparsely occupied. As one of only two sixth formers remaining in the school, Tom was invited onto the Head's table.

"What are you still doing here, Mr Smart?"

"My father's between cities right now, Sir, I'll meet him on Saturday in Brussels."

"He went into banking, didn't he?"

Tom knew that Dr McIntosh was well aware of Richard Smart's profession but it was not appropriate to say that.

"He's the international director for one of the major banks, Sir."

"Ah, good, I remember him having a good head for numbers when I was in the sixth form here."

One advantage of eating at the Head's table was that plates were brought to you, although this was only the second time Tom had been asked to sit there. The downside was the questioning, as he had anticipated.

"You didn't apply to be a prefect, Mr Smart?"

"No Sir, I wanted to concentrate on my studies. I thought it best to reduce my distractions from that task."

"A sensible idea, but being a prefect is about learning leadership and guidance, rather than being a distraction."

"I'll consider applying when it comes around again, Sir."

"Excellent."

Their first course was approaching the table and his attention shifted to the soup that was being placed in front of Tom.

-o-

Tom’s cleaned clothes were waiting when he left his room for Friday’s breakfast so he moved the laundry bag inside the door to deal with it later.

Only a few boys from each year group had been present for breakfast but by nine the school had really felt empty as many of the remaining boys had now left.

This allowed Tom to plan his shower when it suited him, rather than when he could grab five minutes; the luxury of choice meant he could take it straight after lunch. Before then he took himself to the school secretary and completed his holiday slip with his father's contact information but left the address box vacant.

"No address, Mr Smart?"

"No, Mrs Adams, from what I know I'll be in Brussels for a day or so, followed by several other cities across Europe before we reach Lake Geneva around the twenty third, then it's a working journey back towards here. If I gave you one address, I’d have to list all of the hotels!"

"Christmas on Lake Geneva? That sounds magical?"

"The hotel is lovely, the lake is all dressed up but ..."

"But?"

"My mother will be there."

"Oh. She's never visited the school, has she?"

"No, but I believe she did make it to Thurso once, not that I saw her."

Janet Adams shook her head, as Secretary she was the primary point of contact between parents and the school and knew most of them well, but she also knew which ones never called, never emailed, and just abandoned their child in the school.

"Can you book me a taxi for four o'clock to the station, please?"

"Are you on the half past four train?"

"Yes, for the sleeper connection."

"I'm finishing at four, I'll run you there in my own car,"

"There's no need ...."

"Nonsense. Be here at four."

"Yes, Mrs Adams, thank you."

Back in his room, Tom took his time, making certain he had all his transport booking emails and had printed anything that still required to be on paper. His tablet had been on charge overnight and he knew he could charge it on the overnight train, but doubted if the first service, an old two car diesel railcar set, had electrical or USB points yet, or even a functional heating system?

Lunch was taken in a small side room as very few of the boys, or staff, remained. Tom asked for some fruit for the journey and took this up to put in his satchel.

Tom had been putting off the decision and it was almost driving him insane – his distraction had been noticed that morning; who was to travel South, Tom or Tammy? Getting out of school was one aspect but, as far as he knew, Tom was the only student leaving the school at this time. In the end he chose to make his mind up on the sleeper, but some things needed to be addressed beforehand and it was time for his shower.

Tom had bought a can of hair styling mousse and once back in his room he rubbed then combed this into his wet hair before blow-drying it slowly, trying to put as much body into it as possible. He rarely needed to shave but made an effort to tidy up any areas that needed attention.

Tom wasn't required to wear a school kilt now he was in the sixth form but was planning to wear one for the journey South. Amongst the previous day's purchases had been a box of 'barely there' fifteen denier tights and he pulled these up his legs before putting on his long socks, folded down to give the illusion of bare knees.

Up top he went for a layered approach with a female vest, a thin T-shirt and a woolly jumper. He packed a few more vests, the plain white strappy variety, into his case before packing a selection of clothes on top.

In the freezing Highland air the vests were a great way to keep warm on his Saturday trips into town and he’d managed to order a pack of them shortly after returning to school from an online store. His vest wearing had since become a seven day requirement and a second pack had been ordered.

The vests were a small statement, but only Tom could know that he wore them. This, however, caused a problem as he couldn’t chance putting them into the school laundry. Instead he had to hand wash the vests and hadn't dared wear any other feminine clothing in school against a chance of detection.

There was also the risk, albeit minimal, of a room inspection so any items that were drying overnight had to be put away securely before breakfast. If Tom had wished to live a dual existence then the school was not the place to do so.

St Andrews had never admitted girls into the school and Tom had serious doubts that would be changing any time soon, and the concept of transgender students was totally alien to most of the staff, Tom was an only child and had been sent away at the age of nine to the far North, but he was now also wondering if and when his inner Tammy could be released? The long train rides were an opportunity to push at the boundaries when Tammy could peek out from behind Tom, and there had to be a first time?

He was lost in his thoughts when there was a knock on his door, he found Mr Thompson, Deputy Head outside.

"Ah, Smart, you are leaving?"

"Yes, Sir, just finishing packing. Mrs Adams has offered to run me to the station."

"Good. See about a haircut over the holiday." It wasn't a request.

"Sir."

Mike Thompson turned and left, heading to his next victim.

Tom finished packing, unplugged his tablet and slipped it into his satchel. He had ordered some simple black heeled boots, raising him by under two inches, and slipped his feet into them, zipping the boots up. His long black coat completed the look.

He did a quick look around his room before turning off the light and shutting the door, there was a certain satisfaction to the clip-clop of his low block heels on the hallway floor as he walked towards the stairwell and the secretary’s office.

If Janet had any opinion of Tom’s appearance she kept it to herself.

-o-

When Tammy Smart stepped off her train at Euston the following morning she was pleasantly pleased, nay surprised, that everything had run more-or-less to timetable. Her long coat was now folded, crammed, into her luggage and a thinner fleece top had replaced it for the slightly warmer Southern climes.

It was just before eight on Saturday morning when she walked up the ramp onto the concourse, with Tammy receiving a few positive looks as her kilt swayed above bare legs; the socks had gone and there was now a simple sheen off her legs. Tammy was also wearing limited make-up, virtually none to be honest, but she had used the opportunity to practice the application of a clear lip gloss and a little foundation.

Her travelling was barely half done; she took a cab off the rank to St Pancras, deciding against the simple ten minutes walk along the road, and headed straight to the Eurostar check-ins.

Tom had used the UK’s high speed international trains several times before and knew the system, he could check in with the code on his phone and that was painless. Entry into the departure lounge meant pausing at a passport point and Tammy had taken a chance that the bored officer would just wave her past, based on prior experience. Today, thankfully the officer wasn’t looking too closely but she was convinced she’d be unmasked. Jitters aside, Tammy had to keep her role.

Her service to Brussels was due to leave in just under an hour so she took breakfast in the departure lounge café.

Tammy was now in unknown territory; she needed to use the loo but would she get thrown out of the station if she used the women's rest room? On the train the facilities would be unisex but in the terminal, she had to choose. She was now at bursting point so dragged her case in through the hitherto forbidden door after watching the door for few minutes.

With the immediate need taken care of, she decided to freshen up and was re-applying her gloss when a lady joined her at the vanity - Tammy was certain you could hear her heart racing. She lost the gloss into her satchel and walked back out as her train was announced.

Tom sent his father a text confirming his ETA in Brussels Midi. He had booked a business class ticket and was going to take advantage of the coffee refills. Tom had a clean pair of jeans, short white socks and training shoes in the top of his case so reluctantly changed in the on-board disabled loo as the train made the way across Wallonia, using a small pack of wet-wipes to clean his face.

-o-

A casually dressed Tom Smart arrived in the Belgian capital bang on time and took a tram from outside the station to a stop near the Grand Place, leaving a two hundred metre walk on cobbles. He arrived at one of the many brasseries that surround the square, a typically Belgian bar restaurant. At seventeen Tom didn't have any trouble ordering a beer whilst he waited for his father.

Richard Smart arrived a few minutes after midday.

"Decided what you're having?"

"Moules."

"I could have guessed. How was the ride? You could have flown?"

"It was fine, I'm halfway through a new novel and I didn't have to kick around a terminal three hours before departure just so some idiot in a uniform can inspect my suitcase? I had twenty minutes wait at Inverness and then I had just over an hour in London, but that allowed me to have some brekkie."

"Fair point."

They caught the attention of a server and ordered a bowl of mussels with fries for both.

"What's the plan, Dad?"

"I have a meeting with BNB on Monday so we'll stay until then, do you have your bank ID?"

Tom patted his satchel. "Right here."

"Good, as you'll be in that meeting with me."

Tom shrugged, his father was all business.

"After Monday's meeting?"

"A few days in Paris, we'll make use of the apartment."

"When was it last used?"

"Back in the spring. I've arranged to have a maid visit to make the beds and check the supplies."

"Oh, okay."

"I haven't confirmed any meetings for the end of next week but we will, eventually, have to go to Lausanne."

"Really? Can't we do our own thing?"

"She is your mother."

"Perhaps remind her of that, sorry Dad but I saw her like once all summer. What does she do?"

"I do understand Tom, but for now just humour me?"

"I get it, we'll suffer jointly?"

"Something like that, Tom."

Their hotel was an easy walk from the square and Tom had spent a comfortable night - his father had booked a two bed suite. Sunday was spent walking around the city, with Tom re-acquainting himself of the many buildings. Their destination for Monday's meeting occupied a huge area - Nationale Bank van België - the Belgian central bank operated as a pan-European conduit for funds and had several agreements in place with the major UK finance institutions.

They were back out of the building in time for lunch on Monday.

"Seriously, Dad, why didn't we do that using video conferencing?"

"Banking doesn't work like that, Tom, plus a signature was needed - on behalf of the board of our bank. Food?"

"Sure."

The afternoon took them to Paris on an ICE service and a mad taxi ride completed the journey to 11 Rue Jean Robert. Tom wasn't needed for Tuesday's meetings so decided to do some meandering. The temptation to dress in a feminine way was strong but Tammy couldn't now take the risk of discovery, especially if her appearance didn't match Tom's ID or if Richard returned quicker than expected?

That, however, didn't stop some anonymous shopping in a nearby Carrefour on Tuesday, although Tom first extracted Euros from an ATM so his purchases wouldn't be tracked. In practice he drifted past the various shelves without picking anything up except a bottle of water, for which he only had €20 notes, thereby committing an ethical crime.

Continued wandering took him past various clothing stores but Tom's bravado wasn't strong enough to venture through any doors and the only other stop was a café for a sandwich and a coffee.

By one in the afternoon Tom was back in the apartment reading from his tablet. His phone rang.

"Tom, what formal wear do you have?"

"I have the suit I wore in Brussels but I don't have a clean white shirt until we do some laundry, just a tartan shirt. Why?"

"We have tickets for a ballet tonight, courtesy of a friend at BNP Paribas."

"Who is it?"

"Russian Imperial Ballet company, it's Swan Lake. The soloist is an American apparently."

The shirt had been a spur of the moment purchase on a trip into Wick several weeks earlier when he'd realised that the tartan was very close to the St Andrews design. On this trip it had been planned to wear it on Christmas Eve in front of his mother to remind her that she agreed to send him away, apparently so her only son didn't affect her own dysfunctional lifestyle.

Tom dived into the shower after deciding it wasn't worth trying to go back out in search of a white shirt. The options for clothes were limited, Tom found the apartment's iron and pressed his kilt, the shirt and a vest. He was starting to get dressed when Richard arrived back, shouting a few hellos are he dived into the shower himself.

Tom's hair was the next challenge and, again, he used the mousse to give it body before using the apartment's hair dryer.

Finally he started to get dressed by tucking a vest into the waistband of the kilt after pulling up a fresh pair of tights. The shirt went on but was left loose. Short white socks and his brogues completed the look. Tom had pulled on his black coat and was sat with legs tucked before Richard re-appeared in search of his own jacket. Their cab tooted outside and Tom was halfway down the stairs before Richard noticed the pair of legs.

"Short trousers?"

"Kilt."

"Oh, okay."

Once they reached the Palais Garnier coats were taken.

"Bonsoir M Smart, et votre fille."

Richard replied with the appropriate "Merci." before being led to their seats.

"Tom, are you mad?" He whispered.

"I had limited choices and no time, sorry but I'll do some laundry tonight."

"He said you were my daughter!"

"I heard him, but didn't think it was appropriate to correct him."

"It looks like you're in a dress, or at least a co-ordinated outfit."

"An unfortunate match."

"Indeed, not a word to your mother - right?"

"Not at all, Daddy."

Richard missed the comment. "Please don't wear the same combination again. Oh, hold the laundry, we're due in London tomorrow. Find an M&S and buy a pack of white shirts."

A collective "Shhhhh" came from around them as Richard had become louder.

Tom had sat through several major ballet performances as his father's plus-one, given his mother, Tara, was never in the same city as the performance. This would be the first time that Tammy had made her presence known at such an event, but she knew she couldn't use the same subterfuge again.

-o-

They took a Eurostar back to the UK the next morning, followed by a tube ride back towards the family home. Richard's London PA had ensured the heating was on and there was milk in the fridge.

"Grab lunch out, I need to go to my office, and don't forget those shirts!"

Tom was already loading the washing machine and set that going before grabbing an Oyster card, his wallet and a jacket - somehow it now felt colder in London. A Northern Line tube took him to Brent Cross Shopping Centre but this meant there was a good walk to get into the shopping centre itself. Christmas Day was now a week away and that meant the place was busy, really busy. Tom picked up a few shirts, as instructed, but found himself in the ladies-ware section looking at tartan skirts. One, in particular, had a small kilt pin but was fitted with a side zip and the underside was lined; close up there was no denying this was a skirt. A kick pleat added to the illusion.

"Can I help you, Sir?"

Tom went heavy with his Highland accent. "My sister and I are attending a Ceilidh next week, I have a kilt, of course, but she needs one and we don't have time to order one from my usual supplier."

"What size is she?"

"A twelve, the same waist as myself, she's just an inch taller."

Tom sent thanks to internet sizing charts and the deity responsible for clothing tape measures. The assistant found the right size and held it against Tom.

"Would you like to try it on?"

"Oh no, she'll try it back home when she finishes work. She'll need a white or cream blouse too?"

That took a few more minutes as Tom examined the racks before making a selection. He finally made his way to a checkout and parted company with sixty or so pounds.

At some point he needed to get his mother a gift, but it would be something nonsense given she wanted for nothing. He did however need a card store and was several pounds lighter after that purchase. Finally he settled in the Fenwicks restaurant for lunch. He caught a member of staff as they passed by.

"Do you know if the salon has a gap for me this afternoon?"

She scurried off and was back two minutes later.

"There's a cancellation and I've reserved it for you. You have fifteen minutes."

"Thank you."

The salon was in store but this would be a new experience for Tom.

"What would you like done?"

"I need a tidy up, I would like it to look shorter without removing too much length?"

"Understood, is there a style you fancy?"

"Whatever works best with what you have here!" He pointed at his head.

"Let's get you to a washing station and we'll take it from there."

It was nearly an hour later when Tom re-emerged, thankfully getting a shareholder discount on the trim. The main change was that she'd brought it up at the back and had fixed his fringe so now it would grow evenly - the ragged mess was gone. She'd also added some layering so it laid flatter if dried gently.

Tom liked it, Tammy liked it, but would it pass muster at school or even with Richard? As for Tara, neither Tom nor Tammy could care one jot. He visited John Lewis for patterned tights and nightwear, ending the day's shopping with a total bill of several hundred pounds.

He took a bus from outside M&S to Hendon Central and picked up the tube from there, avoiding the long walk to Brent Cross underground station.

Richard hadn't returned so Tom tried the skirt and blouse on before placing the feminine items in the bottom of his case, being careful not to crease them. The shirts were unpacked and would be washed and pressed before being worn. The washing machine had finished so Tom transferred the contents to the drier and set that going. It wasn't very green but outside it was already getting dark and Tom did not like the idea of hanging washing out overnight, not that he was an expert on the matter.

The final purchase items had been a new onesie, replacing an older one that had been tight in August, plus a pack of two long sleep T's in a neutral print. He showered and shaved, being careful not to disturb his new hair-do, then slipped into a sleep T and the new onesie before curling up to finish the current book.

Richard phoned around five asking what Tom wanted for dinner.

"Order in a curry, I fancy a Ruby Murray."

"Can you do it? I'll be back just after six."

Tom made the order for delivery at 7pm, in case Richard's timings didn't always work out. What happened, however, was Richard was quite late but the curry was early so the timing was perfect. Once they sat to eat, Tom was doing his best not to get any sauce on his new lounge-wear, whilst Richard was still sending messages on his phone.

“I’m convinced there’s a whole team in New York who forget we’re five hours ahead!”

Tom got the remaining laundry through the machine early on Thursday and again used the dryer so the new shirts were dry before midday. He then took the tube into central London and walked around the Embankment, checking the Christmas decorations. At times it felt very peaceful but that was punctuated by the sounds of sirens.

He crossed the river on London Bridge, walked through Borough Market and started towards the London Eye, contemplating a ride. The queue put him off so he kept walking along Bankside. Tom picked up the tube at Waterloo and rode up to Camden Lock for a walk through the warehouses. He stopped at a stall selling tie dye cotton skirts but was due to meet his father for dinner in the City and didn’t have the means to hide any purchases. He made a mental note to revisit as soon as possible.

-o-

Part 2 is coming (& so is Christmas!)

-o-

The Preludes stories are also available as a part of Tammy Beginnings, Part 1 is out now

--
Now ten more enhanced Tammyverse titles are also available on Amazon Kindle, plus four Unaccounted Gains books.

Latest Kindle releases
 

Unaccounted Gains Book 4	Tammyverse Book 10

 

Tom's Project

 

This story is set ten months before Tom's Fireworks and is the continuation of the preludes story.

Tom's back at school after the Christmas Break but is under instruction to decide what he can do for his Business Studies long-term project. We finally learn how Tammy meets Sarah Bonney.

Part 2 is now available on Kindle but the story will be serialised here in late 2022 or early 2023.

US Amazon https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BFC46VJ6
UK Amazon https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0BFC46VJ6
Aus Amazon https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B0BFC46VJ6
Can Amazon https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B0BFC46VJ6

Parts 1 and 2 are also available as a single book (Kindle & paperback)

US Kindle https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BFHT5WGK
UK Kindle https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0BFHT5WGK
Aus Kindle https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B0BFHT5WGK
Can Kindle https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B0BFHT5WGK

US Paperbook https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BF9L5C7H
UK Paperbook https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0BF9L5C7H

www.shirazbooks.co.uk