CHAPTER TWO

Day 2

Pete, Ash, Drew and myself convened over breakfast on day 2 to discuss what we could do about our situation. Taking a look around seemed like an obvious first step. The others had all come to just hours before I did yesterday in rooms similar to mine on the first floor. A sweeping staircase (the one I’d walked down with Chris) leads down from there into a double height main hall, timber panelled with a huge inglenook fireplace and enormous two storey bay window. There are various rooms off that, each built in a similar style – a sitting room, a formal dining room, a room with a grand piano and a billiard room. The kitchen where we met last night is off a side corridor together with a suite of other rooms that remind me of some of the ‘below stairs’ scenes in period dramas on tv. Except there are no servants – there appears to be no one else here apart from us. The kitchen has a huge wood fired range, behind it a back boiler which I assume provides the hot water for the bathrooms. There is no electricity. No internet, no computers. No telephones. No clocks. No way that we can see of making contact with the outside world. No way of knowing the date, or the time. There is a large library full of books, both reference and novels, but none of them that I can see are any more recent than the 1970s. We searched for a map that showed an island called Aeaea near Bermuda, but found nothing.

Externally the kitchen wing sits at right angles to the main house to create a sheltered south west facing walled garden, which is packed with vegetables and fruits of all kinds. A larder next to the kitchen is also filled with a variety of vegetables, together with sacks of wheat, oats and barley. Whatever lies ahead of us, we aren’t going to starve. The front of the house, and all the first floor bedrooms, face east onto a more geometrical decorative garden with lawns beyond, falling in elevation as they stretch away from the house. Woods of oak, pine and birch flank the house on the north and south sides. Considering we were a day’s sail north of Bermuda when we’d run into trouble, the whole scene is incongruous; more reminiscent of an English country house than a tropical home.

We haven’t seen Chris all day. There is no evidence of a room that might be hers either, although there are still parts of the house we haven’t made it to yet – there’s a whole extra floor above our bedrooms that we’ll investigate another day. Considering there’s no sign of anyone the house is clean, the garden well kept and the larder full – enough there to occupy several staff I’d have thought. Just one more thing to add to the weirdness about the place.

Day 3

I suppose spending several years at sea on a relatively small boat equips you with a mentality that doesn’t panic when things go wrong. Things have gone monumentally to fuck since we left Bermuda but I feel like I’m managing to stay reasonably calm all things considered. Don’t get me wrong, I’m completely weirded out by the situation, but I feel like I can ride it out for a while and see if there’s a way we can get things back to normal. Being in a different body, a woman’s body, is impossible to describe. It wants to do things that my brain doesn’t. It’s like the way I walk and move and talk all default to the way a woman would walk, or move, or talk. And I’ve got to somehow try to establish my control over that, as a man, by forcing it to do those things in different ways. And then my body feels awkward being made to walk with a bigger stride, or sit with my legs apart, and I trip up, or say something weird.

Ash and Drew in contrast seem to have slipped right into it. They look totally natural, like they’ve always been girls. Pete, on the other hand, seems to have taken to the change much worse than the rest of us. He’s angry about it. He’s desperately trying to be as manly as possible. He’s not taken at all well to A&D seeming so comfortable with their femininity and takes every opportunity to criticise. I feel like I’m caught in the middle, trying to keep my crew balanced and happy.

Day 4

Pete and I went for a walk to explore the rest of the island. It was a chance to get him away from A&D as well. We took a paved path that led from the main door down through the front garden across the lawns and out via a wrought iron gate into a rougher field beyond. Here the path was a gravel track, maybe ten feet in width. We could see goats grazing in the field on either side and they approached us as we walked, perhaps expecting food. The track continued for around a mile or so, the field narrowing until the woods on either side merged. We walked on, the path dropping gradually as we moved further away from the house. It was a fine sunny day, although the temperature was more akin to an English autumn than Bermuda. I was still wearing the same clothes I’d picked out 3 days ago, but with a long woollen coat and leather boots I’d found in my closet. The boots were more for fashion than for walking, and even though the heel was modest, I found my gait, if I didn’t concentrate, unconsciously adapting. Pete noticed, and made a comment about me ‘walking like a girl’. I blushed, and tried to lengthen my stride.

About 3 miles further on, the woods gave way to a narrow sandy beach framed by rocky promontories on either side to create a small natural harbour. A timber jetty ran out into the water from the sand, but there were no boats. We stopped, ate a picnic lunch comprising hard boiled eggs, some cheese and some bread, still warm, that Ash had baked earlier. Pete grumbled all the way home – his feet hurt, the wind was blowing his hair in his eyes, his legs ached; just about everything you can think of. I had to tell him to shut up. He was in a huff when we got back to the house. I need to be careful – he’s not in a good place at all right now, which isn’t like him at all. Ash and Drew have each other, but there’s just me for Pete, so I need to be more supportive, even if he’s been a complete pain in the arse today.

After we got back there was still plenty daylight left so I went out the back of the vegetable garden – there’s an open field out there that stretches for a hundred metres or so before the land drops down via steep cliffs to the sea.

Day 15

I’ve not written for several days – there hasn’t been much to report. Still no sign of Chris – so much for what she said about ‘being there for me’. We’ve fallen into a kind of routine – breakfast together in the morning, followed by chores. Ash and Drew have taken charge of the kitchen, which I’m happy about – at least we are eating well. We worked out that the goats that Pete and I saw in the field at the front of the house were domesticated, and our source of milk (and cheese and butter, although we’ve not tried our hand at making those yet). I volunteered for milking duties. Despite having absolutely no experience I’ve actually been enjoying it. It’s hard to describe, but building a kind of relationship with the goats has helped my mood. I’m less stressed and feel a bit more grounded. For the first time since we got here I woke this morning without my stomach lurching as soon as I realised where I was. In the afternoon Pete and I will usually go for a walk. Ash and Drew seem happy around the house. We’ll eat together in the kitchen in the evening and then light a fire in the sitting room and read a book, or in my case, write my diary.

Pete’s mood, on the other hand, hasn’t improved at all. He cusses his way through the chores we’ve given him and at the slightest opportunity bites the head off Ash or Drew. It feels like we’re tiptoeing around him, all doing our best just trying not to upset him. I’ve tried speaking to him about it but he just complains about me picking on him, and says I’m ganging up on him with ‘the girls’ (as he’s taken to calling Ash and Drew).

It all came to a head this morning at breakfast. Pete and I were up first, wearing the same tops and trousers we’d worn since we’d arrived. We were both used to wearing the same clothes at sea for days on end and I couldn’t face the thought of choosing something different, in amongst all those dresses and lingerie. Ash and Drew appeared after we’d started eating. They paused at the opposite end of the table. Both of them were wearing short sleeveless dresses; Ash in lime green and Drew in a pale blue. Their blonde hair had been curled in matching styles and they were wearing lipstick and eye make up. Pete went apoplectic - I won’t repeat here the names he called them. After venting verbally he swept his arm across the breakfast table, crashing the bowls and plates to the floor, and stormed from the room.

There was silence for a few seconds.
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologise on behalf of him, Dave.”
Silence again.
“I mean sorry I haven’t been there for you. Both of you. I’ve been spending all my time with Pete because I’ve been worried about him, without even asking how you guys were coping with…everything. If I’d known…I mean…”
Ash and Drew stood facing me, quietly. Ash’s hand reached out and took Drew’s.
‘We’re ok, Dave.”
“Yes, but, I mean…” I gestured weakly towards them.
Drew responded. “What if we’re going to be here, like this, for years, Dave? What if we’re meant to be like this?”
I replied quickly “Yes but what if we can fix things? Don’t you want to be as we were?”
Drew was about to reply again, but Ash interrupted. “When you’re sailing, and the wind direction changes, you sometimes have to change your course. It’s a shit metaphor, but maybe it’s kind of like that. We don’t think we should fight it. We want to try and find something positive in it.”
I stood up. They looked small and vulnerable in the wreckage of the kitchen. Both of them were only 18, just a couple of years older than me when I’d left England. “Look, if that’s the way you want to tackle things, well, I’ll try to support you as much as I can. Don’t let Pete get to you. I’ll have a word with him.”

Pete didn’t appear for the rest of the day. I made my excuses after dinner and went up to my room early. I thought about what Ash had said. All the time I’ve been on the island, especially when I’ve been with Pete, it’s felt like I’m fighting my body, trying to make it behave in a more masculine way. Maybe Drew is right, maybe I should just be going along with it. I shivered with the thought. I looked up from my writing towards the bedroom door. A coat hook on the inside face held a long, burgundy coloured satin nightgown and matching robe. I stood and walked to it, taking the material in my hand and held it to my cheek. I turned the key in the lock and stripped quickly, then took the gown and pulled it over my head. The material flowed like a wave down my body, leaving the skin behind it goosebumped, like the ripples left in sand by an outgoing tide. I shivered again, my hands tracing the satin over my contours. I walked slowly about the room, immersed in the sensation of the material cascading over my legs.

In the adjoining dressing room I sat at the table and pulled the rubber band from my hair. I took a brush and swept it gently down the length of my tresses which fell softly now over my bare shoulders and down my back. I stopped, and looked back at my reflection in the mirror. Opening the drawers either side of the table I found an array of cosmetics, neatly divided by type - lipsticks, eyeshadow, mascaras. On the other side 3 drawers of jewellery similarly catalogued. I took out several of the lipsticks until I found one in a shade that matched the nightgown, and slowly and carefully applied it, then stopped again to look back at my reflection. My heart was thumping in my chest. My free hand had unconsciously moved up to my breast and was caressing it gently through the lace of the nightgown. I slipped my other hand down to the hem of my gown and pulled it to my waist, my finger slipping into the wetness between my legs, sliding into the slit and up and down across its engorged lips and then up, over the surface of my clitoris. Convulsions engulfed my whole body. I clung to the edge of the table, gasping out loud as wave after wave ran over and through me. Eventually, they subsided and I lay down, my head on the table, catching my breath.

I’m writing this now with a mixture of guilt and shame and anxiety and uncertainty. I can’t do what Ash and Drew have done. I just can’t. It would finish Pete off for good. And even if Pete wasn’t here, I don’t know whether I want to anyway. It feels like we’re trapped in time here, things are balanced on an edge. I don’t know what’s going to happen, and it feels like I’ve no control over it anyway.

CHAPTER THREE (Caution. -Things get a bit darker - temporarily- in this chapter)

Day 16

I got up early as part of what’s becoming my usual routine and went to milk the goats. They’ve all got names now, and they come to me as soon as they see me appear out of the house. I’m sure that’s because I’ve usually got a bucket of scraps and peelings from the day before, but I like to think its because they’re getting to like me too.

We all appeared for breakfast as we had yesterday. Pete mumbled an apology, but made no further comment on how Ash and Drew were dressed. He ate quickly and left the table without saying anything else. When I finished eating I went after him and caught up with him in the library. He was sat in the window seat. Rain had arrived and was tumbling down the pane.
“You ok?”
“Not really.”
‘Want to talk about it?’
“No.”
I paused and tried another tack. “Want to go for a walk?”
“Look at it. It’s pissing down.”
“We’ve got waterproofs.”
He didn’t answer.
“Look. I know this is difficult. Christ, it’s a fucking nightmare. For all of us…”
“Not those two fucking queers…”
“Pete! Look, I know you’re not yourself…”
He snorted derisively. “Fucking look at me. Course I’m not my fucking self.”
“We’ll get through this better if we stick together.”
“Dave?”
I took a step toward him. “What is it Pete? You know you can talk about it with me.”
“Fuck off.”

The rain went off in the afternoon so I headed out by myself. I walked into the woods on the north side of the house and after a while came across a beautiful big old oak, with a buttressed trunk that created a niche just wide enough for my shoulders to fit in when I sat leaning against it. There was a squirrel, a red one, with a slight kink in its tail like it had been dislocated at some point, collecting food for hibernating. I watched him for a while and he stopped and looked back, as though to acknowledge my presence, before continuing.

In the evening I stayed late in the sitting room, after all the others had gone to bed and the fire had died. My eyes adjusted to the dark and I went upstairs without a candle and climbed straight into bed. The nightgown was hanging on the back of the door. I couldn’t see it in the dark, but I could feel its presence. I lay tossing and turning for an hour or so, but eventually I could stand it no longer. I got up and repeated what I had done last night.

Day 40

I haven’t written for almost a month. I haven’t been able to bring myself to it. I haven’t been able to confront this life of deceit that I’ve been leading. I’m lying to Pete. I’m not being truthful with Ash and Drew about how I’m feeling either. I’m supposed to be their skipper, but how can I lead them when I’m lost myself?

The only time I feel authentic is when I’m with my goats. They at least accept me for what I am. They aren’t interested in whether I’m a man or a woman, old or young, black or white. I sit with each one as I’m milking, resting my head on her flank, feeling the strength of her heartbeat, trying to reciprocate through my touch the quiet, undemanding gift from her of her milk. And I walk in the woods, and rest up against the old oak, feeling the embrace of her trunk, sheltering me. Sometimes I think that I can feel her spirit, ancient and filled with wisdom, acknowledging the passing of the seasons and the changes in the weather, but unaffected by them. Rooted, and indomitable.

But then I have to return to the house, and an atmosphere I can slice with a knife. As winter approaches, it seems like everyone’s mood has declined with the weather. Apart from their kitchen duties, Ash and Drew have been pretty much keeping to themselves. When it’s just the three of us it’s fine. It’s impossible to think of them as anything other than two teenage girls now and they seem, if not happy, at least content. But when Pete appears I can see them stiffen. They’re afraid of him. He’ll lose his temper about almost anything these days and, try as I might, he’s becoming impossible to live with.

And every evening I’ve been retreating to my room, with its secrets. It’s become an escape for me, a place where I can get out of my own head. I’ve been exploring the contents of my dressing room, trying on all of the different outfits and lingerie. Then I’ll sit at my dressing table and make up my face. It’s become a kind of ritual – like a zen mantra, it occupies my brain enough so that I don’t have to think about anything else. I’ll brush my hair out and stare deep into the mirror at the girl who is in there. She’s pretty, and over the last few weeks I’ve got good enough at doing my make up to bring out her features – her blue eyes, her full lips, her cheekbones. A couple of weeks ago I realised I wasn’t ashamed any more. Not about the dressing. The more I dressed the more I knew that this was who I was now, that Ash and Drew had been right, that I needed to accept that and move on. But I could never tell that to Pete. And I couldn’t admit it to A&D either, in case either of them let it slip. It feels like we’re in a kind of limbo, the four of us, like a circus balancing act, straining, hanging on, but knowing that at some point it will all come crashing down.

Day 53

Everything came to a head 4 days ago. After weeks of rain, the skies had cleared briefly and I’d managed to persuade Pete to come out for a walk. Instead of pondering our current situation I’d steered the conversation onto some of our sailing adventures, the parties we’d had afterwards and the girls we’d met there. He was visibly brighter when we got back to the house and for the first time since we’d got here I was optimistic that at last we were making progress.

Perhaps it was that optimism that led me to be careless and forget to lock my door when I went to my room that night. I’d just finished my make up and was sat at my dresser wearing the burgundy nightgown and robe when there was a knock at the door. Before I had time to answer, Pete was in my room.
“Dave!...What the fuck?...”
Pete, I…”
“Jesus! You as well. After everything…After walking with you today. You’re just like those other two! I thought you were with me, Dave, I thought you were on my side…”
Before I could say anything he’d walked out and slammed the door behind him.

I sat there stunned for a few seconds. My first reaction was to rush after him and try to explain things. But he wouldn’t have anything to do with me, dressed as I was. I should go and get changed back into trousers, wash my face, and try to talk to him then. But the cat was already out of the bag now, why keep perpetuating the lie I’d been living over the past weeks; perhaps I should just come clean with him now? But how would he react to that? I was frozen. Incapable of making a decision.

A couple of minutes passed. Fuck. No point going back to where we’ve been ever since we arrived here. I need to come clean and take the consequences. I took a deep breath and went to his room. Knocked. No answer. I opened the door, gingerly. It was dark inside. A single candle burned on a dresser, casting a flickering pool of light onto a sheet of paper next to it. Scrawled across it I read “I’m sorry. I’ve had enough. I can’t take this any longer.”

I ran out of his room, screaming for Ash and Drew to follow me. Downstairs a door banged in the kitchen and I ran through the hall towards the sound. The door into the vegetable garden was open, swinging on its hinges. Winter had arrived with a vengeance, thick snow already depositing itself on the stone kitchen floor, driven by a strong westerly wind. I could hear the waves crashing against the base of the cliffs beyond the end of the garden. I stepped out, just in time to see the gate there pulled open and a figure pass through. I shouted and ran on. Through the gate, out across the open field at the back of the house towards the cliffs. I stumbled, my bare feet struggling for grip on the icy grass, but I could see him now, and I was gaining on him. I got to my feet, my gown matted against my body by the driving snow, and called after him again. He was only around 20 metres away when he stopped at the cliff edge. He turned to look at me. I paused. I thought I saw him nod briefly; a kind of final acknowledgement, and then he stepped back and dropped out of sight. I screamed, and fell to the ground, unconscious.

CHAPTER FOUR

Day 53 continued

Ash and Drew had heard my calls as I’d run through the house and they’d followed me through the garden and across the field, calling back, but without reply. They’d seen what had happened, found me where I’d fallen and somehow managed to get me back to the house.

The next three days were a blur. I developed a fever from the chill and drifted in and out of consciousness. I remember the sensation of diving deep down in a black and freezing cold ocean, each stroke taking away the energy I’d need to swim back to the surface, but I kept on, further and further into the cold and gloom. And just when my lungs were about to burst and I would surrender myself to the deep, Chris’s face appeared, and she took me by the hand, and pulled me back to the shore. When I eventually awoke, earlier this morning, she was there sat by my bedside. She hadn’t left for the three days I’d been ill.

The storm had abated, and a thick covering of snow lay on the window cill, reflecting a bright golden glow from the dawning sun into the room. I blinked and took a deep breath. Three days of crying for Pete. Three days of desperately trying to lift him back from the ocean floor, or join him there. He was gone. I knew what I had to do now.

Ash and Drew came running into the room like two small puppies and threw themselves onto my bed, enveloping me in the biggest hug I think I’d ever had. I held them tight, feeling their warm flesh against mine, the smell of their hair.
“We were so worried about you! It’s so great to see you ok!” and then, more quietly “And we’re so sorry about Pete.”
I hugged them tightly again. “Listen. I owe you an apology.” We sat hand in hand, Chris looking on, as I told them how I’d been behaving over the last few weeks. We hugged again.
“So things need to change. I need to change. You were right, Ash. I need to go along with what’s happened instead of trying to ignore it.” I paused. “I’ll need a new name. You can’t go on calling me Dave anymore.”
There was silence for a moment, and then Chris spoke. “Susan. Your name should be Susan.”

“OK you two.” Chris nodded at the girls. “I’m sure Susan is tired. We should leave her to rest.”
Ash and Drew nodded and dutifully left the room. It had been so wonderful to have them hugging me, to feel their warmth and to enjoy their laughter; it felt like the room was colder and darker without them.
“You should sleep.”
“I want to get up.”
“It’s better for you to rest.”
“Says who?” I was starting to get irritated now. Partly that was because I really was tired but didn’t want to admit it, and partly it was because I’d never liked being told what to do. But there was something else that I couldn’t quite yet put my hands on about Chris.
“What’s the matter?”
“Who says anything’s the matter?”
“You’re answering my questions with another question.”
“What if I am?”
Chris’s eyes flashed for the tiniest fraction of a second, the reflected gold of the sun, before her serene expression returned.
I continued. “What gives you the right to tell me what to do? You’ve been looking after me whilst I’ve been ill. Fine. Thank you. But you turn up when we haven’t seen you for weeks…when we’ve needed you here to explain what’s happening to us…when my best friend…” I’d started sobbing now. “You said when we got here that you’d be here for me. Right there.” I pointed. “At the top of the stair. And then we saw hide nor fucking hair of you for weeks…we needed you then, Chris. It’s too fucking late now. Too fucking late…”
She stood quietly, absorbing everything that I could throw at her. Eventually my rage quietened.
She sat at the end of my bed. “I’m sorry. I can’t give you the answers Susan. I really can’t. I wish I could. You have to be able to work this out for yourself. And I’m sorry about Pete. If I could have done anything to stop that you have to believe me that I would.”
“But just being here. With me, with Pete. It would have helped. It might have stopped…”
Chris interrupted me. “I’ve been with you Susan. That’s what you’ve got to understand. I was there when you rested your head on my flank when I gave you my milk. I was there wrapping my trunk around you when you rested in the wood. I know you felt it Susan, I know you felt it. And I know you saw me, down in the depths of the ocean. And that I held your hand, and guided you back here. You need to understand Susan. We’re more connected than you think, and we have been for longer than you can imagine.”
She reached out a hand and placed it gently on my cheek, and then stood, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Day 54

We held a short service for Pete today. I found a black angora sweater dress in my closet and paired that with some tall boots. Ash and Drew held a hand each and we walked out together with Chris, through the back garden, stopping to pick some snowdrops, and then over the field to the cliff where he’d fallen. I said a few words, all totally inadequate to describe the friend who’d saved my life when I was twelve. We came back to the house, had some food and sat in front of the fire for the rest of the evening whilst I recounted some of escapades we’d got up to in our time sailing.

Day 55

Chris is still around. I’d half expected her to have disappeared again, but no. She asked me to go for a walk with her after breakfast. My head was full of questions again after what she’d said two days ago, but I didn’t learn anything from the answers she gave. Who was it who said that thing about ‘a riddle inside a mystery inside an enigma’? That’s Chris. I don’t know her any better despite bombarding her with questions all morning. But the weird thing is that I didn’t get frustrated with her. We’d been walking for a while before I realised she’d taken my hand in hers. And when I did notice I left it there. It felt secure. Comforting. Calm. She’s serene – that’s a good word to describe her. Even when we’re walking it’s like she’s gliding along, whilst I’m slipping and sliding next to her in the snow. Honestly, I almost had to check at one point that she was even leaving footprints at all. And when there was a gust of wind and my hair blew into my eyes and I had to brush it back out again, how come that never seemed to happen to her? And she’s beautiful. That almost goes without saying. Cool, and elegant. But not cool like an ice-queen. She’s cool, but she’s warm as well. I remember the glint of humour in her eyes the day I arrived here when she teased me, offering me the bra…Like I say; an enigma.

In between my questions about everything she tried to show me things we passed on the walk. There were footprints of different animals in the snow, and she’d tell me what they were. The trees in the wood, the berries on the bushes, the bird of prey flying so high above us I could barely make it out at all – she knew all of them. Maybe I’d have been better paying attention to that instead of planning my interrogation.

When we got back to the house, the girls were waiting for us, hiding behind the wall of the front garden. As we came through the gate, they started pelting us with snowballs. We had a huge fight until all 4 of us were soaked through, and laughing so hard we couldn’t carry on. It was wonderful. I haven’t laughed like that in months.

CHAPTER FIVE

Day 60

i went walking again today with Chris. I tried a different tack this time, and didn’t pester her with questions. We walked mostly in silence. I stopped one time to admire the snowdrops and she said “Yes, they’re pretty, but have you ever really looked at them properly?” And we dropped to our knees and she told me their Greek name, Galanthus, and we studied the bell shape of the flower and the gentle corrugations and heart shaped green pattern on the petal, and she told me how they rely on ants to carry the seed from place to place, and countless other things that I’d never have known or even been interested in before, but now made the flowers and the wood that they lived in seem even more alive and vibrant.

When we got back to the house we went upstairs. There was a small door at one end of the main corridor that I’d not noticed before and Chris opened it to reveal a narrow winding stair that led up into a large attic space that ran the full length of the main wing of the house. It must have been fifty or sixty feet long, with low walls on either side no more than six feet high containing small square windows, and a steeply pitched timber boarded roof that sprang from the top of the wall, with huge oak trusses spanning the full width of the space every twelve feet or so. Resting on the bottom ties of the trusses and spanning between them were dozens and dozens of rolls of material of every conceivable colour and pattern. Several rolls were also partially unfurled across a huge table sitting in front of us. And at the far end of the room was an elaborate timber structure the size of a small room containing regularly spaced lengths of bright emerald thread which itself was partially woven into a plane of shimmering green fabric emerging from the structure on one side.
Chris stretched an arm out for me as I stepped inside. “Welcome to my favourite room in the house.” She walked over to the loom. “And this is my most treasured possession.”
“It’s beautiful!”
“I’d like to share it with you.”
“Me? Why?”
“I think you’d like being here. I like weaving. I wondered if you’d like to try dressmaking?”
“Well, I’d never really thought about it, but…” I picked up one of the pieces of fabric on the cutting table and held it to my cheek. “This is gorgeous! Are you sure you want to let me loose on something as wonderful as this?”
She smiled in that enigmatic way of hers “I’ve got a feeling that you might have a gift that you aren’t aware of.”

We spent the rest of the day settling on a design for a simple A line skirt that would be a good starting piece for me, and I chose the stunning emerald green fabric that Chris was currently weaving to make it from. There was an old fashioned pedal operated sewing machine next to Chris’s loom and she showed me how it worked, and let me try it out on a few scraps of cloth.

This evening, when I joined up with Ash and Drew again in the kitchen to help prepare a meal, I’m no wiser in having learnt who Chris is, or how she came about to be here on this island that doesn’t appear on any maps I’ve ever seen, but I feel closer to her in a way I haven’t before, so perhaps I’m making some progress after all.

Day 120? (I think.)

I’ve lost track of time. Well, perhaps not ‘lost’ but instead ‘let go’. Keeping track of the days seems unimportant - I’m not interested in what has gone; and I’ve no idea what is to come, so I’ve no choice but to live wholeheartedly in the present, and maybe that’s a good thing. Days have settled into a pattern - up early to milk the goats, then breakfast with Ash and Drew. Most mornings I’ll walk - sometimes with Chris and sometimes solo. I’m no closer to finding out any hard facts about her. When she’s here she has become something of a surrogate mum for me; a reassuring presence. But she comes and goes, and can sometimes be away for several days at a time. When I’m by myself I’ll walk over to the beach at the far end of the island that I first visited with Pete. I’ve been making a memorial for him there - it’s just a simple cairn, about six feet tall, made up of pebbles I’ve been gathering from the beach. It faces the sea, and the jetty, so it’s kind of appropriate I guess. It gives me a chance to think about him. As he was. In his element, on a boat. I hope he would have forgiven me for what I’ve become.

Afternoons are for dressmaking. Chris was right - maybe not about me having a gift because I’ve still got an awful lot to learn, but it’s become a bit of an obsession these last few weeks. I finished my first skirt and was so happy with it that I must have worn it for about a week solid. Since then I’ve made another skirt and a gorgeous navy blue silk summer dress. In the evenings we’ll eat our main meal and then, depending on how we feel, we’ll stay in the kitchen where it’s warm, sitting around the table playing a board game or cards; or we’ll retire to the music room, light a fire, and Drew will play the piano whilst we listen and sometimes sing along. It’s always just the three of us - I’ve never seen Chris eat anything, or even go into the kitchen.

It’s Spring now. The woods are magical - carpeted with a thick layer of bluebells. This morning I went for a walk by myself and ended up sitting leaning against my favourite old oak tree, nestled between her roots. The squirrel that I’d seen back in autumn, the one with the kinked tail, must have emerged from hibernation and stopped no more than a few feet away to stare at me. I had a piece of flapjack that Drew had made in my bag so I broke off a corner and held it out. I’d expected that he’d have been too shy to take an interest but not only did he take the crumbs, he stood happily on my outstretched palm for several seconds whilst he ate them. Chris has been telling me the names of all the plants and animals that we see on our island walks, and how everything is connected. Like the snowdrops and the ants, my squirrel will take an acorn to store for hibernation and forget where he’s left it, and it will root and grow in a new part of the wood. Almost all of the oaks here are relatives of my oak - she’s the grandmother tree, Chris says, and she looks out for all the others, communicating with them through tiny threads of fungus that run right through the wood. If I sit really still with my shoes off and wriggle my feet through the mulch on the forest floor I swear I can feel a tingle in my toes like the whisper of a soft breeze across bare skin on a summer day.

Day 148? - 4 weeks since my last entry

Ash burst into the kitchen today whilst Drew and I were eating lunch waving a bottle of red triumphantly in each hand. For several weeks now she’s suspected the presence of a wine cellar through a door in the oak panelling beneath the main stair, and today she’d found the key. We hadn’t had any alcohol since we’d arrived on Aeaea, and she was about to grab a corkscrew when I stopped her.
“Wait!”
“What?”
“I mean, rather than just glug it, and fall down drunk, why don’t we make a special night of it?”
Ash didn’t look convinced, so I tried enrolling her companion.
“Drew, you were saying only a few days ago that we should have a Girls’ Night In - a chance to dress up; have some fun. What do you say?”
“OK. Sounds good. But let’s open one of the bottles now, and drink it whilst we get ready.”
I turned to Ash and she acquiesced. “All right then. But here’s the rules.” She turned to Drew and grinned. “We get to decide what you wear. And dress you.”

By the time I was stood in my room, waiting for Ash and Drew to choose something for me to wear from my wardrobe, I was already slightly tipsy. We’d had a glass of wine in the kitchen before coming upstairs, and then another glass whilst the girls had sat me at my dresser and done my hair and make up. I wasn’t used to drinking, and whilst a couple of glasses of red would barely have touched the sides a few months ago, my new body clearly didn’t have the same capacity. The sensations of having someone else do my make up had been new and enjoyable, and along with the feelings of having my hair gently styled the warm alcoholic glow was starting to make me feel horny. Giggling, Ash had tied a long chiffon scarf over my eyes - so I didn’t get to see what they chose until I was fully dressed, she explained - and I stood there, otherwise naked, each slight twist of my head teasing the loose ends of the material softly over my breasts, my nipples engorged by the attention.

I felt hands clip a suspender belt around my waist and then each foot was lifted in turn and stockings eased softly up each leg. I suspected the girls knew exactly how I was feeling and made the most of teasing me, their fingers brushing the soft skin on my backside, giggling as they caused me to gasp when, clipping the stockings into place, a hand ran across the hair at my groin. I stepped forward and felt a cool fabric lifted up my legs to my waist and then over my breasts. Laces at the back pulled the bodice in tightly until I could barely breathe. My feet were lifted again and slipped into tall heels. The chiffon scarf was untied and I blinked in the daylight. Ash and Drew beamed in front of me and, taking a hand each, led me to the tall mirror. The dress was jet black in colour; a thick silk taffeta. The bodice was unadorned, but with a ‘v’ shaped décolletage framed by triangular geometric shapes either side that peaked at the shoulder blade. The skirt was a full floor length A-line, the hem rippling in and out in a series of eight or nine large loops around the circumference. When Ash had pulled the scarf away my initial feeling had been one of disappointment that my pampering had ended, but now it was replaced with excitement at what I was wearing. They had changed too - like me, they had full length gowns with corseted bodices, in their case both skirts were tulle. Drew was in pink and Ash in pale blue.
“You look gorgeous!” I gave Drew a big squeeze. “And you!” I added, pulling Ash in as well. They squeezed me back. “So do you! Did you enjoy your pampering?”
“I did! But you forgot something.” I leaned in slightly tipsily towards them and, with a stage whisper, added “I’ve got no panties on!”
Ash grinned back at me. “Oh no, we didn’t forget anything.”

After we’d finished eating it was Ash that had asked the question.
“Do you ever think what it would be like to have a boyfriend?”
She’d caught me by surprise and I was flustered, looking across at Drew for support, but she said nothing.
“I, err…I mean…” I went quiet and stared into my wineglass, then looked back up at Ash again, and nodded.
She grinned. “Go on then. Carry on! We’re not letting you off that easily! What’s he like?”
I couldn’t help smiling back. “Ooh, I don’t know. Tall, I guess. And strong…” I tried to turn the tables. “What about you?’
Ash looked across to Drew. “Should we tell her?’
Drew looked mystified. “What?’
“About Phil?”
Drew coughed, and nearly sent a mouthful of wine across the table.
I was intrigued now. “Who’s Phil? You haven’t got a man hidden up in your room have you?”
“Erm, well, not exactly. Shall we show her?”
Drew shrugged, and Ash disappeared and came back with her hands held behind her back. “Hold your hands out and close your eyes.”
I did as instructed. When I opened them again I was holding a large, realistic looking dildo which looked like it had been carved from a wax candle. I shrieked, and nearly dropped it. Ash and Drew were both in fits.
‘Phil, meet Sue. Sue, this is Phil.” Ash could barely get the words out for laughing. “Well at least give him a kiss to say hello!”
I was laughing now as well. I raised ‘Phil’ to my lips and gave him a gentle peck on the end.
“Aww, that’s not a kiss. This is a kiss” Ash took the dildo from my hands and raised it to her mouth. Looking me directly in the eye, she ran her tongue around the perimeter of the glans for a few seconds and then took it into her mouth.
I felt a tingling in my groin and my breathing quickened.
“Have you ever thought about giving your tall, strong, boyfriend a blowjob?”
I nodded.
“Have you thought about having him thick and hard inside you?”
I nodded again, my breathing even quicker now.
“Would you like to try with Phil?”
I nodded a third time.

Ash slid slowly down her chair and disappeared under the table. A second later I felt the hem of my skirt lift and fingers trace up the length of each of my legs, stopping where the tops of my stockings met bare flesh. I was so wet now, and panting. I felt Ash’s hair slide along the inside of each thigh as her hands gently pushed my knees apart and her tongue made a first exploratory touch of my labia. I gasped and squirmed in my seat, but her hands held me firmly. Her tongue came back now, parting my lips; inside me. I gasped again, my hands gripping the sides of my chair for support. She licked up and down the length of my vagina several times and then, finding my clitoris, licked around it, and over it, up and down, taking it inside her mouth, gently sucking on it, then licking it again and again as I almost screamed with the surges of pleasure coursing through me. At length I felt Ash’s mouth withdraw and something colder and firmer take it’s place between my thighs. Phil slid inside me and I gripped him tight as he moved in and out, his angle changing so that with each outward stroke he rubbed against my clitoris. It only took a few seconds before I was spasming, almost squeezing the life breath out of Ash as she knelt between my legs.

This morning I woke up with the absolute mother of all hangovers. I lay in bed recollecting the events of last night. I shouldn’t have allowed myself to get carried away like that with Ash and Drew; I felt a responsibility towards them; they’d been my crew. But so much had happened since then; our world had been turned inside out. I didn’t like admitting it, but I’d enjoyed it, even if I felt slightly guilty now. Ash and Drew would be fine, and so would I. We could talk about it when I got up.

I lay in bed for a while longer and fell asleep again. When I awoke I wasn’t sure if I was dreaming or not. There was something not right, out of place; I couldn’t put my finger on it. And then I realised what it was. Through my window I could hear Ash and Drew talking in the garden below. And a male voice talking back.

CHAPTER SIX

Day 149? - the next day.

I leapt out of bed and peered out of the window, trying to see who was in the garden. But though I could still hear them, they were out of sight. I called down, but neither Ash nor Drew answered. I grabbed my robe and ran down the stairs into the hall. Chris was waiting for me when I got there.
“What’s going on Chris? Did I hear a man’s voice outside?”
“We need to talk, Sue. Come.” She took my arm and led me off into the dining room.

“His name’s Dwight Pennington. He works on the garden.”
“He works on the garden?” I emphasised the word ‘work’. “You mean he’s been here a while?”
She looked at me for a while before answering. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to find out like this. Yes. He’s been here two years.”
“Two years? How come I didn’t know? How come you didn’t tell me? How come I never saw him?…”
“It was too soon for you. Too soon after your transition. If you’d been around a man, you might not have adapted so well as you have. And we made sure he was never around when you were outside.”
I was fuming now, and in danger of losing it completely. “For fuck’s sake, Chris! Am I some kind of experiment here? Don’t I get a say?”
“Like I say. I’m sorry. If there’d been another way…”
“And we made sure?” I emphasised the ‘we’. “You mean Ash and Drew knew as well?”
Chris nodded. “Please don’t blame them though. It’s not their fault, I made them promise…”
“Fuck’s sake, Chris. How can I trust you when you’ve lied to me like that? How can I trust the girls? I don’t know, Chris. I really don’t. Fuck! I need some time! I need some time to think about all this.”
I got up from my chair and ran back upstairs to my room. I was already crying by the time I slammed the door behind me and turned the key. Throwing myself onto the bed I wept and wept until eventually, all cried out, I fell asleep.

I was woken by a gentle but insistent knock at my door. It was Ash and Drew.
Ash hopped from one foot to another, biting her lip, looking worried. “We wanted to say sorry for last night. We kind of got carried away. We didn’t mean things to go that far.”
“And we hope you’re not upset.” Drew added.
I beckoned them in.
“I think we all had a bit too much to drink.” I replied. “And once upon a time I was your skipper, so it’s my fault more than yours. I should have said no. But there’s no harm done. And if I’m totally honest, I quite enjoyed some of it.” I found myself blushing a little. “Though I don’t think we should make a habit of it!”
Ash giggled and looked up at me. She reminded me of a puppy that had over-excitedly chewed a favourite cushion to pieces and was being told off by its owner. I couldn’t stay angry with them, although there were other things I needed to understand, especially since talking to Chris earlier.
“But there’s something else.”
“What’s that?” From having relaxed a moment ago, the girls were suddenly tense again.
I paused for a moment. I hadn’t quite got my own thoughts straight, but since speaking with Chris this morning I was more sure.
“You’ve been here before, haven’t you?”
They looked at each other, and back at me.
“What do you mean?”
“Aeaea. With Chris. There was always something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. You adjusted to being girls so easily. And you seemed comfortable here when Pete and myself were going crazy with what had happened to us. And this morning, I heard you with the gardener. And I spoke to Chris.”
“What did she say?”
“Enough to make me realise the truth.”
Ash started to cry. “Oh Sue, Sue, we’re so sorry. We never meant to hurt you. We love you to bits. You’re like our big sister now…”
She was sobbing now, and Drew continued for her.
“We just wanted to help you with the change. To make you comfortable with being Sue.”
“But you knew all the time that the gardener was here.”
They nodded. Drew was crying now as well. “C…Chris s…said it would be best…” she sobbed. “If…if it was just us girls…until…until…you got used to things…”. They stood in front of me, holding hands, wiping their eyes and sniffling. In all the time I’d known them, after everything we’d been through, I’d never seen them so upset, and it broke my heart.
“Oh, come here!” I beckoned them into a big hug. “I love you guys as well, you know? And I’d be so proud to be your big sister…”
We stood there for a while, the three of us, in our embrace.
“So this gardener friend of yours then. When do I get to meet him?”

He was in the kitchen garden at the back of the house, digging. As we walked across to him , our footsteps crunching on the gravel path, he turned to face us. He was tall, maybe a shade over six feet, with a slim build, wearing a khaki t-shirt and a well worn pair of chinos. He thrust the spade into the soil and turned to face us. He wore a pair of Rayban Wayfarer sunglasses and my first thought was how incongruous they looked - too American and urbane for the setting we were in and besides, it was a cloudy day.
“Hi Penn.”
“Hey Ash, Drew, how’s it going?” He flashed a broad smile, beaming white against his chocolate skin.
“We’d like you to meet Susan.”
He raised himself up straight, almost to attention. “Dwight Pennington Jr. at your service, miss. But all my friends call me Penn.” He smiled again, and held out a hand. But the hand was directed about a foot or so to my left. And he was not looking directly at me, but somewhere off over my shoulder. I understood the sunglasses now. He was blind.

I must have had a million questions to ask him, but before I had the chance he proffered his hand again.
“Would you like me to show you my garden?”
I looked at the girls. They smiled and shrugged. “We need to get back to the kitchen. We’ll see you later.”
I looked back at Penn. “Sure. That would be nice.” I took his hand, and he led me along one of the gravel paths that criss crossed the vegetable beds.

We must have walked for over an hour - I lost track of time. We stopped at each different plant and Penn would break off a piece of leaf and hold it for me to gauge the scent. I have to confess at first a lot of them smelt all the same to me, but Penn would describe the subtle differences and by the end of our walk I was beginning to pick them up myself. He looked in his element here - a love for the plants and the garden radiating from every pore. His blindness didn’t seem to impair him at all - if anything his enhanced sense of smell allowed him to engage with the plants in ways a normally sighted person couldn’t. His movement through the garden was elegant and effortless; he was clearly intimate with every square inch that he tended. I’d not even asked a single question of him when Drew appeared at the gate to let me know that the evening meal was ready. I turned to Penn.
“It was lovely to meet you. Thank you for showing me your garden. It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you.” He beamed with pride. “And it was lovely to meet you too.”
“We, err, I mean, it feels like there’s lots of things I’d like to talk about with you. If that’s ok.”
“I’d like that.”
“Tomorrow, then?”
“That would be perfect.”
It was only as I walked back to the house that I realised that he’d had hold of my hand the whole time that we were walking. I raised the hand he’d held to my face. It smelt of earth, grounded and solid, but full of the promise of new life.

Day 150? - the next day.

I was woken by the sun streaming in through my window. It looked like a beautiful day outside. I jumped out of bed in a markedly contrasting style to how I’d risen yesterday. Today definitely felt summery enough to wear for the first time the navy blue silk dress I’d made, and I couldn’t wait. I’d barely finished my breakfast coffee before I was out in the garden, where Penn had already made an early start.
He smiled as I approached. “Looking good! I like that blue dress you’ve got on!”
I blushed. “Oh, thanks! I made it my…hang on, how come you know what I’m wearing?”
He laughed. “Drew came out and told me a couple of minutes ago. Thought we’d catch you with that one!”
“Ah! I’m going to have to be careful with you, Mr. Dwight Pennington Jr. at your service…”
He grinned again.
“I was wondering if you’d like a walk? We can chat as we go?”
“Sounds good. Let me change out of my gardening clothes.”
We walked across the garden to the side opposite the kitchen wing. There was a small wooden door in the wall, almost hidden in ivy, and Penn went through it. On the opposite side, concealed from the garden by the height of the wall, was a small cottage, no bigger than a couple of rooms, its front porch framed by timber posts enveloped in wisteria.
“So this is where you’ve been hiding yourself away! I’d no idea this was here. It’s so pretty!” But then I remembered what Chris had said about Penn needing to be concealed from me so we didn’t meet. “I feel kind of guilty, though - I mean, we’ve been rattling around in that huge house and you’ve had to live here, just because I arrived?”
“No, it’s cool Sue. I never stayed there, even before you got here. I can’t see myself in a big grand house like that. This is plenty big enough for me. Besides, it must take you guys all your time just keeping the damn thing clean!”
He showed me inside. There was a kitchen with a small pine table off one side of the porch and I sat there whilst Penn disappeared into the other room, emerging a few moments later wearing a pair of chinos similar to the ones he’d had on, but minus the gardening stains, and a clean white t-shirt.

We set off walking as Penn told me his story. He’d been a sniper in the US army in Afghanistan and had been captured by the Taliban, who had tortured him and taken his sight. I took his hand as he spoke. I could feel him tremble as he recounted what had happened and I asked if he wanted to stop, but he insisted on continuing. Eventually he’d been freed and he’d ended up on a hospital ship, travelling back to the States, where he’d jumped overboard in an attempted suicide. When he’d come to, he was here on Aeaea with Chris. She’d looked after him these past two years, nursing him through his PTSD. He’d found some comfort and peace in looking after the garden. When he finished I didn’t know what to say so I just put my arms around his neck and held him tightly until his trembling subsided.
“Oh, Penn. I’m so, so sorry!”
He took a breath. “It’s ok. Thanks for listening. It’s not a nice story. I hope I haven’t upset you.”

We’d reached the glade in the wood where the grandmother tree lived. I sat him down against her trunk in between the roots and squeezed in next him, still holding his hand. We sat quietly for a while, listening to the sounds of the trees. After a moment he put a finger to my lips, and whispered.
“Listen. A squirrel.”
I hadn’t heard anything but a moment later my old friend with the kinked tail appeared in the clearing. He took a couple of bounds toward me and then, noticing Penn next to me, stopped.
“It’s ok, little fella. He’s friendly.” I held out my hand. I didn’t have any food for him today, but he took another couple of steps in my direction, then stopped and looked back.
“There’s two.” Penn whispered.
Sure enough, right on the edge of the clearing perched another squirrel, smaller than my friend. He held a tiny paw out towards her, as though beckoning her to join him, and she nervously stepped up alongside. They stood just a couple of feet away from me for a few moments, looking from me to Penn and then back again, before bounding back into the wood.
I giggled. “I think he’s just introduced us to his girlfriend.”

We sat quietly for a few moments.
“Penn?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you know my story.”
“Yeah. Kind of. I mean Chris would talk about you from time to time. I hope that was ok.”
“Did she tell you about what I was before I came here?”
“Yeah.”
“It doesn’t freak you out or anything. I mean, that I used to be, well…”
“No.”
We were silent again for a while. This time it was Penn who spoke.
“Sue?”
“Uh-huh?”
“Do you ever miss it? What you were before? Would you go back? If you had the chance?”
“No.” I surprised myself at how quickly and definitively I’d answered his question and felt the need to go on. “I mean, I was living what a lot of people would think was a great life. Sailing all day. Partying all night. But it was superficial. Literally. I was skimming around on the surface of the water, never putting any roots down, always on the move, always agitated, always running away from having to stop and think. I knew things weren’t right. I just wasn’t sure how. But now I feel a lot calmer. And more rooted, I guess.”
Penn nodded.
“Speaking of being rooted, if I don’t get up now I never will!” He grinned and pulled himself to his feet and then reached down to help me up too. He kept hold of my hand for a second after I’d stood.
“Sue, can I tell you something? You’ve got a beautiful voice. I love that English accent! I could listen to you all day.”
I laughed. “No-ones said that to me before!”
“And you smell pretty good too.”
I giggled. “Good job I had a bath this morning!”
“But I don’t know what you look like. Can I?” He held his hands toward me. “I mean, do you mind?…”
“No, it’s ok. Go ahead.”
I took his hands in mine and raised them either side of head.
He gently ran his fingers through my hair from my temples and over my ears.
“What colour is it?”
“Brown. Like an acorn.”
He laid his fingers softly on my forehead and across my brows. I closed my eyes and he traced the profile of my eyelids and lashes.
“What colour?” He whispered.
“Blue. Like the sky on a spring morning.”
Down my cheeks he went, across my lips, over my chin and down the side of my neck to the strap of my dress.
I found myself longing for him not to stop - to slip his fingers under the straps and ease them over my shoulders so that the dress would fall to the ground, and to continue his tactile explorations down the rest of my body, but his hands rested on my shoulders and I slowly opened my eyes.
“Thank you.” He whispered softly.
I took his hand and raised it up to my cheek, and kissed him gently in the palm, and we walked slowly back to the house.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Day 151? - the next day

We went to the beach today. Not the one at the east end of the island where I’ve been making Pete’s memorial, but another one I didn’t know about. It was on the south side. We walked through the wood opposite Penn’s cottage and then a narrow path led down the side of the cliff to a tiny cove where big Atlantic breakers pounded on to a small strip of white sand no more than a hundred yards or so long and maybe twenty yards wide from the high tide line to the foot of the cliff. I couldn’t believe how surefooted Penn was, given his condition. It was like he carried a map of every square inch of the island around in his head. I clung tightly on to his hand as he led me down, my sarong fluttering in the breeze, Penn calling out for me to be careful where there were patches of loose gravel as though I was the one who couldn’t see the path.

Penn dropped the rucksack carrying our picnic at the high tide line and hurriedly pulled off his shoes, followed by his t-shirt and chinos.
“Come on! Be quick! I’ll race you to the sea!”
His body was lean and toned from his work in the garden, and the high midday sun picked out the contours of his six-pack. I suddenly realised that I could look at him without him knowing, and I smiled to myself. I didn’t hurry my own undressing.

We played in the sea, jumping as each incoming wave swept us up off our feet, laughing as occasionally one or other of us would misjudge and be momentarily submerged, coming back up coughing and spluttering and blinking in the sunlight. We body-surfed - paddling out to catch the largest waves and then swimming furiously to keep up with them as they cast us back to the shore. A particularly large wave swept us faster and higher than the others. I landed on my back giggling with the exhilaration. A split second later Penn crashed alongside, laughing. I felt the water recede, flowing back from my neck across my breasts and stomach, and down my legs; a final drip from the tip of my toe. The warmth of Penn’s body replacing the cold of the water, matching my contours with his, his elbow alongside my cheek. And then he bent, and kissed me. Softly at first and then, as my tongue responded to his, more passionately.

After months of wondering what it would be like, and how I might react if I ever found myself in this situation, everything happened so naturally, as though at some subliminal level Penn’s body reacted directly to the wishes and desires of mine, and vice-versa, without needing to think or speak. He slid inside me and I pulled him tight, wrapping my legs around him, our bodies almost merging into one pure mass. When I came it was like nothing I’d ever experienced before. For a moment the intensity was such that I thought I might die. Penn slumped against me, spent, and I kissed him softly and we lay like that, the surf caressing our ankles, until the sun sank behind the trees on the cliff at the end of the beach.

I’m back in my room now, writing this sat in my window. It’s a beautiful clear sky and the stars look incredible. Penn’s been neglecting his gardening because of me these last couple of days, so we’re not seeing each other tomorrow during the day. But it’s ok, because he’s invited me over to his cottage for dinner in the evening. I’ve already decided what I’m going to wear - I’ve been working in the attic on a gorgeous slinky silver satin long dress. It’s not quite finished yet, but I should have time to do that tomorrow. Yikes! I’ve just re-read what I’ve written. I’m such a girl now, but I love it!

Day 152? - the next day

I got up early today, to get my chores out of the way so that I’d have as much time as I needed to finish off my dress. I had to explain to Ash and Drew why I was slinking off to the attic earlier than usual, which meant that I ended up telling them what had happened yesterday. Of course they made me spill every last detail, and ever since they’ve been teasing me mercilessly and calling me ‘lovergirl’. They insisted on helping me to get ready tonight, and it was so good having them there, laughing and joking as they did my hair and make up, and polished my nails. After our chat a couple of days ago I think I love them even more than ever. For the first time in my life I have a family.

The dress is only the third thing I’ve made, but I’m definitely starting to get the hang of it now. It’s really simple, with a cowl neck and a low cut back with diagonal spaghetti straps. It’s bias cut, so the satin drapes really beautifully, and it feels amazing as I move, like a caress over my whole body, every step giving me goosebumps. Ash found me some strappy silver sandals to go with it, and a chiffon wrap. I’m still barely used to wearing tall heels, and I tottered precariously along the garden path to Penn’s cottage. Penn was wearing a blue suit with a crisp white shirt and a matching blue tie. He complained half heartedly that he’d be much more comfortable in his old gardening clothes but I think he was secretly really happy when I told him how handsome he looked. He’d moved the pine table out from the kitchen and laid it on the front porch, in amongst the wisteria. The woods in front of us were bathed in a beautiful summer’s evening glow.

We’d been talking about the island, and how both of us felt that here we were living closer to nature than anywhere we’d experienced in our previous lives.
“So I’ve got this theory.” Penn was saying. “It’s not very scientific, so don’t shoot me down in flames, but you know how we’re all made up of atoms, right? And atoms are made up of the nucleus, with protons and neutrons, and then there’s a big gap to where the nucleus is orbited by an electron, right?”
I nodded.
“So we’re a big collection of atoms, and most of the atoms are just the space between the nucleus and the electrons?”
I nodded again.
“So what if, when I’m gardening, say, some of those atoms or electrons or whatever kind of gets rubbed off in the soil, or some of the soil’s atoms get rubbed off on me? Then I’m walking around with some of the soil in me, and the soil has a little piece of me left behind in it. And every time we touch something, or interact with it, another exchange happens. So every time you sit down with your back to your grandmother oak tree, you take away a little bit of her and she gets a little bit of you. And the more you do it, the more bits you get. Until she’s become a part of you.”
“I like that! I like the idea that she’s part of me. I think about her a lot. And that maybe I’m part of her too. And we’re all connected…”
“Everything IS connected. You can feel it here. On Aeaea. In ways I couldn’t before.”
He reached across the table and took my hand. “Have you ever read any poems by ee cummings?”
I shook my head.
“He wrote one called “I carry your heart with me’. It kind of reminds me of the same things. That when you fall in love with someone you carry a piece of them around with you. Forever.“ He cleared his throat.

“I carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)”

I leant across the table and kissed him gently. “I think that’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”
The sun sank below the treeline and I shivered, drawing my wrap up and around my shoulders. Penn took my hand. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

He pulled me in to him, his hands around my waist, his fingertips playing around the threshold where the low cut satin at the back of my dress met my bare skin. My arms were wrapped around his neck and we kissed, our bodies swaying gently together. I felt his hardness against me, and it excited me that I could have this effect on him, and I pulled him tighter. His hands followed the line of the boundary between my dress and my bare back. Up, and over my shoulder to my collarbones, where he eased his fingers under the straps of my dress and slid them outwards. My dress cascaded to the floor and I gasped as the satin flowed over my contours, leaving me standing in front of him naked but for my heels. He grinned and, even though he couldn’t see me, I instinctively crossed my arms over my breasts and pouted in mock indignation.
“That’s not fair! You’ve still got your suit on!”
He grinned again, and held out his arms, and I slid the sleeves of his jacket over them and loosened his tie, desperately trying to concentrate as he kissed his way down my neck and over my breasts. I unfastened his trousers and they fell to the floor. Reaching inside the waistband of his boxers I took hold of him, and it was his turn to gasp and mine to grin. I kissed him, panting now, and leant in to his ear. “Let me try something…I’ve never done this before.”
I kissed my way down his chest, kneeling as I passed his waist, easing his boxers down with my free hand as I continued to grip him, pumping slowly up and down along his length, with my other. His penis was in front of me now. I paused; took a breath; blew out gently over him; gave him another stroke; listened to him groan. I’d never been this close to another man’s penis before. Holding it there in my hand, my lacquered fingernails wrapped around him, feeling the power I had as Penn groaned and flinched with each movement of my wrist, was turning me on more than I could have imagined. I eased back his foreskin, and licked gently along his tip, and then around his glans. Then, taking him into my mouth I washed my tongue over him as my hand squeezed up and down. I could feel him tense and I would ease off momentarily and then pick up again, gripping him ever so slightly more firmly; licking him ever so slightly more roughly. At length, I felt him tremble and I closed my mouth around him as he began to explode inside. He cried out; his whole body rigid, his back arching, his hands gripping my shoulders tight. At length the tension eased from his body. I eased away from him gently and stood to face him. He was panting. “Seriously?…” he panted again and grinned “You’ve never done that before?…”

We made love all night. I awoke in the morning still nestled in his arms, the sun streaming in through the window, cuckoos calling in the woods outside.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Day 153? - the next day

I tried to sneak back into the house without anyone seeing me, but of course Chris was there as I tiptoed towards the main stair. My dress crumpled, my hair a mess and my make up, which I’d not been able to clean off before we fell asleep, all over everywhere. She very diplomatically didn’t mention anything, but I caught a smile as she let me go upstairs to wash and change. Although I wanted nothing more than to take to my bed for another couple of hours, she’d asked that we go for a walk, and I knew that there were still things we needed to discuss.

I met her in the front garden, and we set off down the main gravel path leading eastwards away from the house. As was our habit, we walked hand-in-hand. My head was still fuzzy from lack of sleep and Chris, despite appearing to have had some urgency when she requested that we walk, was also quiet. I’d walked this way myself many times in the last few months when I’d been building Pete’s cairn. The path ran predominantly through woodland but, just as we approached the beach, there was a bend in the path and the woods thinned, giving a view of the rocks on each side of the beach and the jetty which ran out from the shore. As we walked through the final few trees I thought at first it was a birch with an unusually straight trunk, but when we rounded the corner there was no mistaking it. The mast of a yacht, tied up on the jetty.

I called out. “Chris, we must have visitors!”. She smiled enigmatically and I dropped her hand and broke into a run towards the jetty. The yacht was around forty feet in length with a single mast, a gleaming navy blue hull and freshly oiled teak decks. She was a real beauty - as pretty as any I’d sailed. But there was something odd about her. If someone had sailed her here, I’d have expected to see the mainsail furled around the boom, and the foresail reefed at the forestay. But the boat wasn’t rigged at all - the mast and boom were completely bare. I walked around to the stern. There was no flag; no name. No sign of where the boat had come from. No sign of any crew. The boat looked brand new and unused. As I was trying to understand how it had got here Chris arrived alongside.
“I don’t understand” I said. “Whose is it? Where are they?”
She smiled. “It’s yours.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“It’s yours. Yours to name. Yours to keep. The sails are all inside.”
“But I still don’t understand”
“She’s a gift. From me. You can take her and sail away from here.”
“My god! Chris! I mean…she’s beautiful. She’s the prettiest boat I’ve ever seen. My god!…” I had a vision of skimming along the waves, salt spray crashing over the bows. “You mean, she’s mine?’
“Yes!”
I ran my hand along the smooth gunwale, tracing her curves and then stopped, abruptly.
“You want me to go? To leave Aeaea?”
“I didn’t say that. But you’re free to go if you wish.”
“And what if I don’t want to?”
“Then you can stay.”
“She’s beautiful, Chris. And no-one’s ever given me a gift anything like as generous. But….but…” I was trembling now, and tears were rolling down my face. “Ash and Drew are my sisters. I can’t leave them now. And I think I’m falling in love with Penn. And then there’s you! I never knew my mum, or my dad. I never had any brothers or sisters. You make me feel like I’m home, Chris. Aeaea is my home!”
She held out her arms and I fell into them. That comfort that I’d felt that first day, when she’d laid her hand on my back as I lay retching on the floor of my room, was still the same. I knew now what it was. It was how you felt when you had a mum.

We walked home slowly, hand-in-hand, along the gravel path. Chris spoke softly as we walked.
“Many, many years ago, longer now than I can almost remember, a man came to Aeaea like you, after travelling lost for years at sea, trying to get home. I took him in. Nursed him back to health. Gave him love. I wanted him to stay, but I knew he had another who was waiting for him, so I let him go home. He told me that one day another would come, like him, but I have waited so long. I am too old now to give you the kind of love that I gave to him, but I will be proud to be your mother if you will have me.”

This is going to be my final diary entry. My story ends here. For now, anyway. Maybe in the future we will have other strangers that arrive here on Aeaea, or places like it, that need a place to call home, and it will be for me to help them find it. Tomorrow I will take my diary to the yacht, and set it and her adrift. Who knows - maybe someone will find it and read it and learn something from it.

Life is simple now. I know that all I need to do is to love Penn, and Ash and Drew, and Chris, and my goats, and my squirrels and the grandmother oak and all her grandchildren, and all of the plants and animals and rocks and pebbles and soil and dirt that is Aeaea. For all of it is me, and I am all of it.

I re-read the opening page of the diary that I started a lifetime ago. ‘I am David Sydos’ it reads. I chuckled softly to myself. There is only one way now that I can finish.

I AM SUE SYDOS. I AM HOME.

THE END