Buyer’s Remorse Chapters 19-20 by Maeryn Lamonte Copyright © 2023 Bad language returns a bit here. Double posting as a gift for Easter, plus this has a slightly better cliff hangar

-oOo-

Chapter 19

They settled quickly enough, hugs and kisses all round, then I made a few online purchases for next day delivery and settled down for an early night myself.

The following morning dawned bright and cheerful. I roused the boys earlier than usual, and with much grumbling on their part. Then, while they were stumbling about, I found something summery to wear, that would go with flats as I had no intention of wearing heels with the amount of walking I'd be doing.

We were breakfasted and out of the house in record time, which meant we made it to the school just as a police car drove in through the gates. Michael ran off to play with one of his early bird friends under the watchful gaze of whichever member of the primary school staff had drawn the short straw this morning, and I steered Steven towards Mrs Nullis’s office to face the first challenge of the day.

The cybercrime officer turned out to be atypical for a nerd. Pretty and petite, she was just the sort of girl my former self would have been attracted to, all the more so when she opened her mouth and demonstrated both her eloquence and intelligence. She was thorough and efficient, reviewing the data Mrs Nullis had kept before deleting it and making sure it was erased from both server and backup. She had a quiet word with Steven and the girl who’d helped him, leaving them subdued and introspective as they headed off to their lessons. She finished by addressing the remainder of those who’d been involved.

“No real harm done,” she said with a quick smile. “They’re not really the kind of pictures that cause us a great deal of concern, and I doubt your son will be doing anything of the sort again in a hurry, Mrs Shaw.” She turned to Mrs Nullis and Mr Todd. “You may want to keep a tighter leash on the other one though. She’s very bright. I mean your security setup is pretty good here, but there’s always one or two who can’t resist the challenge of trying to poke holes in it. You may want to get her on your side and see if she can come up with ways of stopping anyone else from getting through your defences.” She turned her attention back to me. “There’s a possibility you’ll get some texts through from hate groups and religious fundamentalists. If that happened, you may want to change your mobile number.”

“I already ordered a new SIM,” I said.

“Good, then I’m pretty much done here. Anything crops up, give me a call.” She handed cards around with her contact details and let herself out.

It wasn’t yet quarter past nine. Time to make a few calls.

“Maximilian Andrews.”

“Hi Max, it’s Sandra Shaw.”

“What do you want?”

His sour tone acted as a reminder. I found the voice recorder on my phone and started it recording.

“Just so you know, I’m recording this and plan to record every conversation we have from now on.”

“You’re calling me so you can record our call?”

“No, the recording is incidental. I just wanted to make sure there’s nothing essential happening in the next couple of days. Next deadline I think is Monday and I don’t recall there being any meeting requests you wanted me online for today.”

“No, nothing. Why?”

“Because I need to take a day off.”

“You really want to request a personal day on the day after you were given a written reprimand?”

“Since I’ll be contesting the reprimand, I don’t see why not. You know as well as I do that it was unjustified. I explained that I had an unexpected visit from social services that took most of the morning to clear up, after which I still managed to meet the external deadline and only missed the internal one by ten minutes.”

“I gave you my response to that earlier.”

“Yes. You said a deadline is a deadline and refused to give me an answer when I asked you to explain the ramifications of my being ten minutes late on the internal one.”

His silence wasn’t quite an admittance of wrongdoing, but it went in my favour.

“I now have something else I need to take care of and, since there’s nothing urgent that requires my immediate attention, I’m informing you of my intention to take a day off between today and tomorrow.”

“You’re required to give twenty-four hours’ notice.”

“Except in exigent circumstances as is the case here.”

“What exigent circumstances?”

“One of my son’s posted something he shouldn’t have to the Internet from one of the school’s computers. The police are sending someone to deal with it.”

I silently thanked Steven for giving me a verifiable excuse. Okay, so she’d already been. Why should that mean I couldn’t benefit?

“You must be really proud of your children.”

“I am actually, yes. If you're really going to insist I work today, I could let the police know you wouldn’t give me time off. They did say they needed to see me before the weekend though, so this could be my twenty-four hours notice to take Thursday and Friday off if you prefer.”

“You said one day.”

“Yes, I can squeeze all I need to do into the one day if I do it today. If I need to go to the police station, it’ll take longer.”

I knew I had a planning meeting on the calendar for Friday, so it came as no surprise when he authorised my leave for the day.

I saved the recording and dialled through to a local taxi company. With the amount of stuff I needed to buy, I wouldn’t be able to manage it all on the bus. Certainly not with my diminished size and strength. I put together a list of shops to visit, and while I was waiting for my ride, I called through to each of them to ask for the things I needed to be set aside.

“Taxi for Ms Shaw?”

I turned to find my carriage awaiting me.

“That was quick,” I said.

“Regular drop off this time of day,” he said. “Where we going?”

I gave him the first address and we set off on the round robin.

The longest stop was at the material shop. It took me fifteen minutes to find everything I wanted. In all, the complete round trip took an hour and cost more than I’d have liked, but money was no object here, right. He helped me unload the car and earned his tip for doing so. I’d just close the door when there was a knock.

It was Hilary Blunt, and she wasn’t happy.

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting?” she asked, her voice rising in pitch.

“I would guess between an hour and a half and two hours. Which surprises me, because I seem to remember you saying you were busy.”

Her face coloured an apoplectic puce.

“If you’d called, I would have told you I had errands to run this morning, and I’m really busy right now, I don’t have time.”

“Can I suggest you make time Ms Shaw. Two visits in two days doesn’t bode well.”

“One minute.” I called through to Charlotte’s office.

“What is it now?”

“I have Hilary Blunt on my doorstep again, unannounced. Do I have to see her?”

“What’s it about?”

I passed on the question.

“About a certain website with photographs of a certain person’s son dressed in a certain way?”

“Oh, that’s already been dealt with. The site came down as soon as I found out about it and Steven has been spoken to, both by the school and the cybercrimes division.”

“The fact remains, you allowed him access to a digital camera and computer to make the site.”

“Computer access was at school. The only computer I have at home is a work machine, which my boys are not permitted to use, nor could they if they tried. As for the photographs, I’m not sure what to say. Do you have children, Miss Blunt?”

“No, I do not.”

“They need trust to grow. Sometimes they abuse that trust and there have to be consequences. Steven earned my trust back after our last confrontation, and everyone who has spoken to him since this incident believes he had no malicious intent. I plan to talk to everyone who contributed to his portfolio, so to speak, and make sure that it won’t happen again...”

“That’s all very well Ms Shaw, but this matter needs to be investigated.”

“Let me talk to her,” Charlotte said. I’d all but forgotten I had her on the phone.

I offered Miss Blunt my phone. “My lawyer wants to speak to you.”

I didn’t hear much other than Miss Blunt’s side of the conversation, but she wasn’t winning. She eventually handed the phone back.

I held it up to my ear. “Your too nice,” my friend told me. “She doesn’t have the right to barge into your life without warning, or to make the threats she has. I’ve arranged for you and her to have a sit-down next Tuesday afternoon at my place. Until then she’s welcome to follow up with the school and the police. If you’d let her have contact details for both, she should leave you alone. If she doesn’t, let me know and I’ll file harassment charges.”

“Okay.”

I let Charlotte go then dug out the police officer’s card, which I photographed for my records and passed over.

“You already know where the school is, don’t you?”

“Er...”

I remembered the difficulty she’d had finding her way back, so I sketched a rough map and added Mrs Nullis’s name and number to it.

“Well, alright then. I’ll see you on Tuesday. Don’t be late.”

I shut the door and put the kettle on, then took a bit of a comfort break. The tea helped settle my nerves, but it was a while before I found that creative space inside me that helped me back to the ideas I’d formed while talking to my client.

Over the next couple of hours, I put together the basic design. Long full skirts of shimmering emerald satin held out by multiple petticoats, which flashed glimpses of their lace hems when the skirt swirled about. A high waist of brocade in matching green and champagne, and a silk blouse above that with just a hint of champagne in it. Instead of a collar I put in a wide-open neckline that would show a hint of clavicle but wouldn’t drop far enough to suggest any non-existent cleavage. Full length sleeves that puffed out enough to hide any overdeveloped muscles. I cut slits into them and sewed in flashes of the emerald material. By lunchtime I had the basic form of it, rough and unfinished around the edges, and could go no further till the Amazon delivery driver turned up.

After a light lunch, I put in a few hours work for C and S. I mean I’d said I was taking a day off, not that it would all be within the same twenty-four hours. Oh the joys of flexitime.

Amazon turned up just before three and delivered the matching pair of his and hers tailor’s dummies I’d found on offer. They’d not been cheap, but quality tools meant quality products. I had just enough time to set the male dummy to my client’s estimated measurements and dress it with my morning’s efforts. A few moments’ refection to decide what I needed to do next, then out the door for a brisk walk to the school.

Steven had cheer practice, then we had to sort food, but I had an hour to kill, which I chose to spend chatting with the other mums. For the most part, I found them a little parochial and didn’t much care for their careless prejudices, but I’d learned that the person underneath the outward actions was often worth getting to know, so I made the effort.

I let Michael loose on the swings and roundabouts while Mr Gibson organised all the running and jumping. Michael, more or less as predicted, had lost interest in joining in with the cheer squad after only a couple of weeks, which left me dodging a stream of remarks about allowing my older son to appear in public as he was currently dressed. I tired of the comments after a while and decided they only deserved so much effort.

Barbara joined me as I made an excuse and went to check on Michael.

“Give them time,” she said. “It wasn’t long ago I was a bit like that, do you remember?”

I smiled. A bit? Still, she was right. She’d turned out to be a good friend. I wondered how the others would respond to my giving them a piece of my mind.

We chatted and watched the cheer practice – they were really getting quite adventurous with it – until Mr Gibson’s whistle called a halt to it all. Michael heard and ran over.

“Hey precious.” I said to him. “How do you feel about Chinese again for tea tonight?”

“Can’t we have sausage and chips like usual?”

“Shall I count that as your vote then? We can ask Steven once he’s changed.”

Which he didn’t. He grabbed his bag from the changing room and jogged over to us. I raised an eyebrow.

“The guys on the team get weirded out having me in the changing room dressed like this, and I doubt the school would let me share with the girls.

“It’s okay. I mean, it’s not as if I’ve never wandered around the neighbourhood looking like this.”

I shrugged. “Chip shop or Chinese?”

Which meant chips again.

With the kids fedded and bedded – something I remember my mother from my other life saying occasionally – I turned my attention back to my creation.

All the edging needed finishing, which meant cuffs, neckline and the fairly extensive hem. Parts of the bodice needed taking in, albeit possibly temporarily. I had some appliqué to add to the hem of the skirt and the breast pockets – not yet attached – and the flashes of colour in the sleeves needed tidying up. More work than I could manage in one evening, in fact probably more work than I could easily manage in the spare time I had between now and Friday night, but the thing about big jobs is that once you break them down into smaller ones, they become a lot more manageable.

I set myself the goal of finishing the neckline and cuffs before bed and did them both quickly enough that I had time to sort the appliqué as well.

The following morning I gave over entirely to hemming the dress. The material was too delicate to trust to the machine, so it meant a lot of painstaking hand sewing. My new body possessed a greater dexterity and capacity for neatness than I’d had before, which meant that, time consuming as it was, the final results were really pleasing.

Thursday meant Steven had an appointment with Doctor Marsh in the afternoon, so after the usual tasty but moderately unsatisfying salad for lunch, I stuffed my laptop in my cavernous bag, made a short diversion into the boys room to pick out something for Steven to wear for his interview with Doctor Marsh – should he choose to wear it – and I was out the door in time to pick him up and catch the relevant bus.

He elected to remain in his school uniform, which pleased the doctor immensely. Pippa was busy typing things up, so I used the time to catch up with my proof-reading work.

Doctor Marsh appeared at the door with a beam on his face. Steven was smiling as well.

“I think we’re done, he said.”

“Right. So same time next week?”

“No, I mean done, done. There’s always more that you can do, so you have to be prepared to draw a line somewhere.”

“Did he tell you about his website?”

“Oh yes, and the bollocking he got for it. Perhaps not the wisest thing he could have done, but it demonstrates he has no qualms about letting that side of him out in the open, and your response was measured and proportional, which tells me he's in very good hands. He tells me you brought something for him to change into.”

I pulled out a yellow and orange dress that one of the other girls had made for him. I remembered him really liking it.

“And yet he chose to remain in his uniform, which tells me he’s aware of this side of his personality as well. He’s adjusting well and doesn’t need me to tell him what to do.”

“So where does that leave us?”

“Well, I was hoping you’d join me for a meal next Friday. There’s a pub over the other side of town I’ve heard does really nice food.”

Steven’s looked said, ‘Say yes,' and I almost certainly would have in any case.

“I’ll have to organise someone to look after the boys...”

“Of course.”

“But assuming there’s no problem...”

He scribbled on a piece of paper. “Call me when you know.”

“Alright.”

“I mean it. I’d hate to have to be forced to break ethics and use your patient records to get back in touch with you.”

I laughed shyly. He always seemed to have a way to make me laugh. The piece of paper ended up safely tucked away in my bag.

“You are going to call him, aren’t you, Mum?”

“Oh, I think so.”

“He’s really nice.”

“He is. You’d be okay if Charlotte and Jake came round two Fridays in a row?”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s something I have to do tomorrow night. I’ll be back in time for football on Saturday.”

“Good, ‘cos Mr Gibson’s asked me to sub in for Mitchell. He sprained his ankle.”

“What about the cheerleaders?”

“Ann can lead them for a week or two.”

“Cheerleading losing its appeal?”

“Maybe a little. You don’t mind, do you, Mum?”

“Not at all. You have to find your own way in life, sweetheart. If this is only for a while, then so be it. If in the future you want to go back to it, that’s okay too. What matters is you feel free to be yourself.”

We made it back to school in good time to pick up Michael, giving me space to let reception know I wouldn’t be taking Steven out of school on Thursday afternoons anymore.

This time we did pick up some Chinese for tea.

Early bedtime with a story left me with several hours to sort out the sleeves and make the last fiddly adjustments I needed to the gown. It amazed me how easily I could turn my hand to the work. I suspected there was more than a little muscle memory working for me, but most of the rest was tips I’d picked up on that one Sunday afternoon and my own brain helping me to come up with new ideas. I felt like it had always been in me, and now it had a way out.

As midnight approached, I reached the conclusion that I’d done as much as I could. Paul’s comment about drawing a line somewhere must have registered. I packed away my machine and kept my hand sewing kit out for the inevitable last-minute alterations I’d need to do.

I also hunted out a dress for myself for the following evening. I didn’t want to upstage him, but I didn’t want to look a mess either. I settled on the expensive dress Charlie had bought me on our first shopping expedition.

…

Friday morning turned into a trial from the moment I arrived at the office. Max hadn’t much cared for the way I’d stood up to him on our previous phone call and sought to pester me into submission with petty little criticisms of everything I did, including when I turned on the voice recorder of my phone. I didn’t respond but added it all to my bank of evidence.

Morning break saw him hovering over my desk, staring pointedly at his watch. I took a photograph and copied it onto the thumb drive I was sending to HR with my complaint form.

Lunchtime came as a relief. I left my desk at one o’clock precisely, the instant the second hand crossed the twelve, with Max hovering nearby to make notes. The flexitime policy meant there were no real restrictions on when you could take your break, but the unwritten rule was not before one.

Rather pleasingly, every single female worker in our little cube farm stood the instant I did and followed me out.

Our eatery of choice was just a couple of minutes away and they were used to us descending on them en mass, though not quite like this. Between us we stripped the food display bare like a swarm of locusts and stood about waiting while they hustled to fill our drinks orders.

It gave the girls a chance to offer their support with a gentle caress here and a sympathetic comment there. I was in tears by the time I was seated, and more from the show of solidarity than from the stress of the morning.

“I’m not sure how I’ll be able to keep going if this continues,” I told a very attentive audience, eliciting more supportive murmurs.

“I don’t know why he’s doing it,” one girl said. “I mean he’s always been a bit of an arsehole, but this is extreme, even for him.”

“I think it may be unofficial pressure from above,” I sniffled, not really having the appetite to eat the sandwich I’d bought. “You all know I made a bit of a fuss over the company’s pay policy with respect to women, and I think they’re worried I’m stirring up dissent among the rank and file. I think he’s been told to persuade me to leave before I incite rebellion.”

“It’s too fucking late for that, don’t you think girls?” I couldn’t see who said it, but from the reaction it didn’t really matter.

“It’s okay, you guys. I appreciate the support, I really do, but you don’t want to stir up trouble. You need your jobs, even if they are fiddling the system a bit, and they need you to keep the company afloat. You rock the boat too much and it’ll sink. With all of you in it.

“I may have something else lining up anyway, so don’t be surprised if I hand in my notice next week. If I do, it’ll be because I’m moving on to something better, not running away from this shit.”

“Yeah, well if there’s any space for someone else in whatever that is, let me know. I mean if they can do this to you, they can do it to any one of us, right?”

More murmurs of agreement. They pressed me for more details, but I wasn’t ready to commit to anything, though I did suggest they watch a certain chat show that evening.

We arrived back at the office at the stroke of two, equally en mass. I don’t know if the show of support scared them, but Max left me alone for the rest of the day. Not that there was much of it remaining with me leaving at three.

Charlie and Jake turned up at about five. Jake was visibly relieved to find both boys in trousers and ran upstairs with them to play. Charlie joined me in the kitchen where I was putting together dinner for them all. I put the kettle on to boil while she whistled her appreciation of the gown I’d left hanging in the corner of the room.

“What’s the occasion?” she asked.

“That is,” I replied. “It’s not for me. I mean do you think I could fit these in there?” I indicated my substantial pair of boobs which had progressively come out of hiding as I’d lost weight.

“Then...?”

“A commission. For a television appearance this evening. You might want to have ITV on at nine.”

“You want the boys to watch?”

“I’m okay with it if you are. It’s after the watershed so no guarantee it’ll be age appropriate, and Steven has football in the morning. Your call.” I turned the bolognaise down to simmer and added hot water to a French press preloaded with coffee. “I do need to ask if you can do this again next Friday.”

“Another commission?”

“No, a date.”

“Oh, do tell!”

I handed her a coffee and gave her a ten-minute introduction to Doctor Paul Marsh.

After that, I was hustling to get ready and was just taking care of the finishing touches when there was a knock on the door.

I hurried down to answer it, expecting it to be my driver. Instead...

“Oh, I wasn’t expecting you to come yourself.”

“Your place was kind of on the way, so it seemed a sensible thing to do.”

Charlotte appeared behind me in response to our exchange.

“You’re...”

“I am. Pleased to meet you.” Then to me, “Can I see it? I have to tell you, I can’t remember the last time I felt this excited.”

I led him through to the back room.

“Wow!” he breathed. “That is... beyond perfect.” Semantically impossible but pleasing as compliments go. “Can I try it on?”

“Since you’re here, why not? It’ll give me an idea what alterations I need to make.”

He was already pulling off his sweatshirt. I took the dress off the dummy and unzipped it for him.

The kids must have had their sixth sense working or something, because they came thundering down the stairs a couple of minutes later to find me adding pins here and there. I’d judged pretty well given that I’d had no access to my model ahead of time, but I still had quite a bit of hand stitching to do before it would be ready.

“Hey, I know you!” Steven exclaimed, “You’re...”

“Yes, you’re right. And you have to be Steven. Here, I’ve got something for you.”

He reached for his jeans.

“Please keep still,” I grumbled around my mouth full of pins.

He apologised and pulled a small leather picture frame out of his pocket. It held a selfie of him with his computer behind him and Steven’s website showing on the screen. At the bottom he’d written, ‘To Steven Shaw, who inspired me to be brave’ and then his signature.

“Wow! This is awesome! Thanks!”

“Thank you, and your mum. I mean what do you think?”

He did a twirl which put me on my backside, protesting loudly but laughing.

He kept still long enough for me to finish, then reluctantly changed back. I grabbed my bag, sewing kit and the dress and we hurried out to the limousine which had been blocking the road for the last few minutes.

Mrs Harris stood at her front door with her usual disapproving expression, which faltered when she recognised who I was with. I smiled at her but didn’t have time for much else.

It was an astonishingly smooth ride, but it wasn’t until we were on the motorway that I felt comfortable enough to get my sewing kit out. He watched me work for a while, but evidently wasn’t used to long silences.

“So, like I asked before, how much is this going to cost me?”

I told him how much I’d spent on materials – including the taxi fare I’d incurred collecting them and the dummies, and asked him what he thought was fair.

He doubled the amount and added a zero on the end which put it well into the four-figure range.

“You’d really pay that much for this?”

“Are you kidding? Hand crafted, one of a kind, with the personal attention of its creator. I thought I was pitching a bit low. If I was you, I’d hire someone to do your negotiating for you.

“You did mention you had something else in mind.”

“I haven’t thought it through yet.”

“We have a couple of hours. Why not do the thinking out loud? I mean you’re going to pitch it to me eventually, aren’t you?”

“Alright. You know I don’t do this for a living, don’t you?”

“You ought to.”

“And I would like to, but I could really do with a partner. A business partner,” I emphasised, feeling the blush rise up from below. “I don’t know how much you’d be prepared to get involved. Getting a bank loan might be a challenge for me since I have pretty much zero credit rating, and given the rather unusual line of products I’m planning to sell, but if I could show them I had someone like you as both a customer and a sponsor, I’d find it easier.”

“Or I could fund you. I mean how much are we talking?”

“I haven’t given it much thought, but I’d guess a couple of hundred thousand if I was going to do it properly.”

He whistled. “What do you mean by properly?”

I talked about the vague plans I had forming in my mind. They were ambitious, I knew, but between manufacturing, storage, marketing and all the other things that went into making a business work, my estimated start-up costs began to look a little shy of the mark by the time I’d laid it all out.

Silence returned to our little carriage, allowing me time to focus on the alterations. I’d done most of what was needed to make the top part fit better when we reached the end of the motorway and started the slow crawl through London. I put my work aside for the time being.

“Alright,” he said, “I’m in. I’ll fund you setting up, but I’ll want fifty percent of the profits, and I’ll want something bespoke from you whenever I have a big event to go to. This,” he pointed at the dress, “is not part of the deal. I’ll pay you for it.” He pulled out his chequebook and wrote down a figure that was double the one he'd mentioned earlier. “Don’t decide now. Get some advice, come back to me with a counteroffer.”

“Are you trying to improve my negotiating skills?”

“Well, if we’re going into business together, I wouldn’t want to be saddled with a partner who accepts the first offer every time.” He handed me the cheque. “I’m also learning a bit from you, like if you find someone you want to be in business with, then you show them you’re not just in it for the money.”

The driver twisted slightly in his seat. “I’m sorry sir, the traffic ahead is considerably worse than usual. I’m estimating we’re going to be half an hour late in arriving.”

“Is that going to give you enough time to do what you need to?” he asked me.

The only thing I had left to alter was the hem, but there was a lot of it, and I wouldn’t be able to do such a good job in the limited time.

“I may not have to do that much,” I said. “It depends on how good you are in heels.”

We phoned through to Television House and arranged for a selection of shoes to be available in his size. We arrived thirty minutes before he was due to walk on. I gave him a packet of new tights to wear along with a pair of boy cut underwear. It most likely wouldn’t make much difference under the full skirt, but I knew he’d feel better with the full package.

We settled on a pair of court shoes with a comfortable two-inch heel and I had five minutes of last minute tweaks to do before he went into makeup.

“I’ve reserved you a seat in the audience,” he said. “You’ll be able to slip in during the commercial break just before the show starts.”

I let myself be led away and into the seat in the middle of the front row, where I apologised to the people either side of me in true British fashion.

He was the second guest on the show, coming on fifteen minutes in, which meant I probably would have had time to re-hem the dress. As it was, the heels made more of an impression. They weren’t obvious until he sat down and crossed his legs, but they then became as much a part of the discussion on his clothing choice and what it meant to him to be gender fluid. I was singled out by a spotlight as the designer of his gown and blushed furiously under the audience’s applause.

He remained very much a focus of attention through the remaining interviews with a lot of complementary remarks, particularly from the female guests who followed, and he ended the set by singing his latest song. Not so much his usual teen angst, but a truly uplifting song called, ‘Now I’ve found the real me.’ I had very real tears in my eyes by the end.

He continued to wear the dress after the show and insisted I join him for the after-show party – not that I had a great deal of choice since I was relying on him to get me home.

I was introduced to quite a lot of people, many of whom were interested in having me design something for them. Most of them were women, which suited me fine as there were a lot of patterns around I could adapt, although most of the requests were for something evidently made for a woman but with a masculine feel to it, which wasn’t something I’d spent much time considering. I took a great many contact details and made just as many promises. I also drank a little more than I should. My capacity for alcohol had never been great, but now it was all but non-existent.

The party ended in the small hours of the morning, which was as well since my companion was determined to be the last man standing. Eventually both the booze and the company thinned enough that I could persuade him to leave, and we made our way unsteadily towards the limo.

He was considerably less drunk than me, despite the amount he had consumed, but there was a sense of euphoria in his eyes that went way beyond anything alcohol could bring. It was a feeling I remembered from younger days when I’d still looked good in a dress, and rather incongruously I found myself envying him.

Not so much the looking good in a dress, because I now had that well and truly down. Rather the heady adrenaline rush that I remembered from when I’d worn one. In my new form it was just ordinary. Good ordinary with a sense of rightness to it, and occasionally better than ordinary, but none of that breathless, almost orgasmic pleasure I remembered.

We were both too far gone to be able to make a sensible effort at conversation and without something to stimulate our minds, the gentle, quiet motion of the car soon sent us to sleep.

I awoke a couple of hours later to find my head resting on his chest. I moved away from him, feeling an odd mixture of pleasure and guilt.

“Don’t feel you have to move,” he said quietly. “I was kind of enjoying it.”

I had been too, but he was a bit young for me. Besides, there was Paul. Not that we’d actually started anything. My head felt muzzy and confused.

I looked out the window at the familiar streets of my hometown. We couldn’t be more than ten minutes from home.

“What time is it?”

He glanced at his watch. “Just gone three.”

“Did I sleep all the way?”

“I don’t know, maybe. I think I slept for most of it too. Woke up maybe ten minutes ago. Didn’t want to wake you in case you decided to move.”

I smiled. He was sweet in a boyish way, but he reminded me too much of my kids.

“I have a rule.” I realised I was slurring my words slightly. “Issa rule that I shouldn’t make important decisions when I’m drunk.”

“That’s a good rule. What important decisions?”

“Whether I should snuggle inna back of a limo with my soon to be maybe business partner.”

“That is an important decision. So what are you gonna do?”

“Watcha mean?”

“Well, you are a bit drunk, and you have to decide.”

“No I don’t.”

“If you choose not to decide you still have made a choice.”

“You... are too young to be a Rush fan.”

He smiled his dazzling, boyish smile and I felt my resolve crumbling. “I will choose a path that’s clear. I will choose freewill,” he sang.

Freewill. My choice. I could choose him or...

The limo eased round the corner onto a street lined with cars on both sides. I recognised my house before we started to slow down.

...or I could choose to go home to my kids.

“I’ll call you next week, once I’ve had a chance to listen to some advice.”

“You could invite me in for a coffee.”

“I could, but there’s nowhere to park, and I’m sure your driver wants to get home.”

“And there I was, thinking I was irresistible.”

“Very nearly. It was an amazing night. Thank you.” I kissed him on the cheek.

At least I intended to. He turned at the last moment and I found my lips on his.

Very abruptly I was back in my bedroom with my husband’s flab spreading over me like a sickness.

I jerked away, my heart racing.

“Was it really that bad?” he grinned, oblivious to the turmoil he’d caused.

“No, it’s just... I’m sorry, I have to go.” The adrenaline shock had done an amazing job of sobering me up.

“So, do I get that coffee?”

“Oh, I think that can be arranged.” I climbed out of the limo then leaned back in, directing my words towards the driver. “Your boss would like a coffee. There has to be an all-night Starbucks somewhere around here.”

“I’ll see what I can find Ma’am.” He couldn’t quite keep the smile from his voice. “Goodnight.”

I watched the car glide silently down the road, all the while fighting to regain control of the turbulent emotions inside me.

Chapter 20

Charlotte had fallen asleep on the couch, but she roused when I turned on the lights.

“Oh sorry!” I half whispered. “I thought you’d be in bed.”

“Well, the show ended at ten, so I thought I’d wait up for you. What time is it?”

“Nearly half three,” I said wincing slightly. “There was a party after the show and he didn’t want to leave. Sorry.”

“No, it’s cool. We were going to stay over anyway.

“So how was it? That last shot of you crying over his song was really sweet, by the way. Like a mom crying at her baby’s first performance.”

“I am not that old!”

“Well maybe so, but he’s definitely too young for you.”

“Too young to be a business partner?”

“Hello, this is new.”

“I asked if he’d consider funding me to, you know, make and sell clothes professionally.”

“Clothes like the dress he was wearing toni... last night?”

“Yeah. I mean women fought for the right to wear trousers, what, sixty odd years ago? Isn’t it time guys had the option to wear a pretty frock if they want?”

“’If they want’ are the operative words. I think you may be overestimating your market a little.”

“I’m not so sure. It’s kind of cool to be trans in the younger generation. Besides, if I can design dresses for guys, I can definitely do it for girls. I made a lot of contacts at the party, so I won’t be short of customers for a while.”

“What exactly did he offer you?”

“Two hundred thousand to set up for a fifty percent cut, plus I make him something new for each major appearance that he makes, but he said I should get some advice and make a counteroffer.”

“Too damn right you should. I know a guy you should talk to. I’ll call him later and see if we can set something up for Monday.”

“So soon?”

“Offers like that don’t stay on the table for long. If you take too long deciding, he may think you’re getting cold feet.”

“I have work...”

“Where your efforts aren’t appreciated, and your bosses are looking to rubber stamp your departure. This could be your way out. If it bothers you that much, use the weekend to get ahead.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Damn straight I am.”

“Besides, I’m too drunk to argue.”

“Drink. As much as you can.”

“I already did.”

“Water, you dumb broad. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

“You should get to bed.”

“You get to bed. I’m too comfortable to move.”

“Did you let the kids watch? What did they think?”

“You can ask them in the morning, assuming you wake up before noon.”

“I have to. Steven has football.”

“Best set an alarm then. Turn the lights out, would you?”

She snuggled back down onto the sofa. I doubted I’d be able to shift her, so I hunted out some blankets. She was asleep by the time I draped them over her.

I followed her advice and drank glasses of water till it felt like the stuff was running out of my ears, then I went and got ready for bed. This was one of those times when brush teeth and bed would have been great, but I knew I’d end up with zits if I didn’t do something about the war paint, which took enough time that a significant amount of the water made it through to my bladder before I was done.

The next morning I woke to a gentle knocking on the bedroom door and the welcome aroma of coffee.

“Mmm?” I asked eloquently.

Steven came into the room wearing a dress and bearing a mug of ambrosia.

I took a sip and felt the cobwebs clear a little.

“I thought you were done with this for now.” I nodded at what he was wearing.

“Yeah, me too. Then last night happened. You were so cool, Mum.”

“I didn’t do anything but blush.”

“Well. You were pretty cool anyway. Could I have a dress like that?”

“Like mine, or like his?”

“His of course, silly.”

“I may have enough material left over. You’ll have to take proper care of it though. It’s dry clean only. What time is it?”

“Quarter past nine. Charlie says you’ll have to hustle if we’re going to make football.”

“You too kiddo, unless you intend playing in that.”

The rest of the water I’d drunk the previous night wanted out anyway. I put my coffee to one side and took care of business. Pit wash then jeans and sweatshirt and a quick brush through the hair. Who said women couldn’t get ready quickly.

“We’re gonna be late!” Steven called.

I checked my watch and somehow it was quarter to.

Charlie swapped my empty coffee mug for a slice of toast and gave me a once over. Somehow, she had all three kids dressed and ready and she looked fresher than me.

“You’ll do,” she declared and led the charge out the door.

We made it in time for team selection. With the junior league over for the year, the school’s ran what they called mix and match friendlies where the coaches would select their teams from whoever turned up, the only proviso being that they weren’t allowed more than half their usual players. Quite often there were enough players to run two games. More often they’d end up with as many as fifteen players a side. It was usually good fun and helped mend any broken or bruised relationships. Steven managed to wangle both himself and Jake onto the same team. They didn’t see much of each other during the game, but between Jake keeping the ball out of their goal and Steven setting up chance after chance for his team mates to put one in their opposition’s, they were five nil up by Half time.

I still had enough of a morning after going for me that I was a little subdued in my cheering. Charlie understood and kept her own noise level in check.

“I spoke with my friend,” she said. “He can see you at nine thirty on Monday.”

“So, you think I should go for this business thing?” I asked.

“It’s mostly your idea, isn’t it? I mean you pitched it at him, not the other way round.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t expect him to go for it.”

“Why the hell not? You’re his only source for man-dresses.”

“Oh no!” I shuddered. “Let’s not call them that. You can’t make anything seem more masculine just by putting 'man’ in front of it.”

“So what then?”

“Just dresses. Dresses for men if you have to be pedantic.”

“Okay, so you’re the only person who makes what he’s looking for in clothing. He’s kind of invested in your success.

“When you pitch back at him, pitch low. He wants this at least as much as you.”

“You think so?”

“I thought you were there last night. Didn’t you see his face shining? I envy you; I really do. If I could make even one person that happy...”

“You’d be surprised at how happy you’ve made me. I’m just not great at showing it.”

“This ain’t what it’s starting to look like, is it?” she asked, backing away with a look of mock horror. “’Cos, you know, I ain’t into girls.”

I smiled. My head hurt too much for much else. “Date next Friday remember? Handsome doctor? Male doctor. My feelings for you are purely platonic, just massively grateful.”

“Well, maybe you should be a little cautious around your boytoy. I don’t think he knows the meaning of the word platonic.”

“All the more reason to keep things professional between us. What do I need to do before Monday?”

“Not much, but try and give a clear idea on what you want to achieve and what you’ll need to get there. It doesn’t need to be complete. He’ll fill in the gaps soon enough, turn it into a business plan and tell you what your bottom line is, then he’ll tell you what you should be aiming to get out of the deal.”

“How’s that?”

“The more risk of failure, the more your investor will want a cut of any success. It’s like any bet you place. The longer the odds, the better the return. You just need to be able to show you’re a sure thing.”

“How much is this going to cost me?”

“Don’t worry about it; it’s covered.”

“You know, I’m going to have to buy you a beach house in the Bahamas when I get rich off this?”

“What makes you think I don’t already have one?”

“From one of your other clients you’ve made as happy?”

She smiled at me. “I’m so glad I met you.”

“Hey, this ain’t what it’s starting to look like is it?” I did a passable impression of her at her most American which set us both laughing hard enough to attract the attention of the other mums. They didn’t look particularly happy that we were enjoying one another’s company.

“You never did tell me what you did to end up in the pariah patch.” I said.

“Me? I had the temerity to turn up with the wrong coloured skin.”

“Please tell me your joking?”

“I wish I could.”

“They don’t deserve us.”

“Yeah. That’s what I thought too.”

The final score ended up at eleven nil, which earned Steven and Jake a shedload of compliments, mainly from their proud mothers.

Charlie let me make lunch for everyone then she insisted we spend some time putting together a business plan. I misappropriated work facilities to type it all up, then set myself up a free email account and sent the working document to both her and me. She promised a printed copy for me if I dropped by on the way to my meeting on Monday.

Later in the afternoon we took the boys down to the park to kick a football around, with Steven grumbling because I made him change out of his dress before going. We’d just about talked out all options we could think of regarding my prospective venture into fashion, so we flitted about a number of topics, one of them inevitably being my ex.

“He hasn’t tried to contact you since the settlement, has he?” Charlie asked a little too casually.

“No, not that I’ve noticed. Why?”

“Oh nothing.”

“It doesn’t look like nothing.”

“Okay, maybe nothing. I’ve been keeping a casual eye on your ex’s lawyer and there are a few things he’s done recently that have raised some flags of a reddish hue.”

“Like what?”

“He’s been looking into the laws relating to child support and child custody.”

“And that’s unusual because?”

“Well, in and of itself, it’s not that strange. Simmons doesn’t usually deal in that kind of law, but that’s the point. The only one of his clients I can think of who’d be interested in that area of law is your ex.”

“Why would that be? He gave up any rights to custody and I don’t want anything from him. He barely gave us a thing while we were living with him, and I really don’t need him to start now.”

“That’s all very well, but the law doesn’t see it that way.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, despite your having full custody, he is still Michael and Steven’s father, and the law expects him to contribute to their living expenses.”

“Even if I don’t want him to?”

“Look, I get it, you’re a lot happier now the sumbitch is out of your life, and you want to keep it that way, but I don’t know if we’re going to be able to.”

“Why not? I do not need his fucking money! I’m earning enough for the three of us.”

“Yeah, but for how long?”

“You’re asking that after arranging for me to meet your friend on Monday?”

“Yeah, I’m... Look Sandy, this is coming out wrong. Say your ex knows about how things are at your work.”

“How would he know that?”

“You’d be surprised what you can find out if you put your mind to it. Say he knows. Say he expects you to get canned any day now.”

“I’m sure he’d be thrilled that I can’t fucking get by without him.”

“No, he wouldn’t. ‘Cos if you lost your job, I’d advise you to apply for income support or child support. Something to tide you over till you find something else.”

“And?”

“And they’d most likely agree to give you something, but they’d expect George to be paying his way. They wouldn’t offer you enough to live on and you’d most likely have to threaten him with legal action to get him to pay you what he should already be paying you.”

“Okay, so he’s screwed too.”

“Not exactly. There may be a way he can wriggle out of it.”

Something about Charlie’s body language sent a cold trickle of fear down my back.

“Tell me.”

“If he can have you declared an unfit mother, your boys will be taken by child welfare and neither you nor he will be responsible for them.”

“Fuck-shit-bugger-fuck! It’s just the kind of dick move he’d try. How...”

“Hilary Blunt. It’s bothered me that she’s been showing so much interest in you.”

“What does she have against me?”

“Well, you let your boys wander around in skirts for one thing.”

“And that’s not okay in this day and age? This is the fucking twenty-first century.”

“You know, you get really foul mouthed when you get stressed?”

“Fuck you.”

She smiled at that. “Hilary has a reputation as a Bible thumping fundamentalist, so her standards come from at least a couple of centuries back. After her first visit, she’d be primed and ready to listen to any poison Simmons or your ex can find to drip into her ear. All they need now is a like-minded judge...”

“Aren’t we supposed to be meeting her in Tuesday?”

“She cancelled, which is another alarm bell. It kind of suggests she has something else lined up.”

“What the fuck am I going to do?”

“Well, our best bet would be to discredit him as a witness. There’s no doubt he will perjure the shit out of himself if he’s given half a chance, so we need to be able to show something pretty convincing to persuade the judge not to trust his testimony. I don’t suppose you have anything like that?”

For some reason my mind flashed to my dream of George doing his accounts and Mrs Nullis.

“Maybe,” I said. I pulled out the photographs I’d taken of the headmistress’s invoices. “There’s something hinky about these, but I don’t know what.”

“Hinky? I must be wearing off on you worse than I thought.” She turned her attention to the photographs, zooming in on them and studying them. “Fuck me!”

“Hey, I’ll do it if you can get me out of this ton of shit.”

“No. I mean... I might be able to. Are there more like this?”

“What?”

“Invoices. I don’t suppose your ex kept his books in the house?”

“If he did, I’ve not found them yet.”

“That’s a shame.”

“But he’s done work for just about everyone in the neighbourhood. I’m not sure if they’d be ready to help me though. I still don’t have much of a reputation around here.”

“Right!” She stood and called for the boys to come. “We have a new job this afternoon. We’re going to canvass your neighbours.”

“And say what?”

“Show me to a house where your husband did some work, and I’ll show you what to do.”

I chose the house immediately to the right of mine. I’d continued to provide him with an occasional home cooked meal, so he’d likely be better disposed to us than most.

“Hello Mr Peters.”

“Oh, hello, er... yes. I’m sorry, I’ve been meaning to bring your plate back to you. That was very tasty. Erm...”

“Don’t worry about the plate Mr Peters. This is my friend, Charlotte. She has something to ask.”

“Hello Mr Peters. I understand you had some plumbing work done by Sandy’s ex...”

“Cheating bastard – pardon my French.”

“That’s quite alright. I’ve met the man, so I understand how you feel. Would you like to get some payback? All I’d need would be to take photographs of the invoices he sent you.”

Once I knew what Charlie was after, we divided the street in two and went up and down its length. A lot of the neighbours hadn’t needed a plumber in all the time we’d lived there, but there were enough, and all were keen to help if it meant screwing with George.

Including Mrs Harris who happened to be on my allotted side of the street.

“What do you want?” She gave me her best shrivelling glare, which I returned with my brightest smile.

“I want my ex-husband to get what he deserves. My friend thinks she can deliver that, but we need evidence. Would you be prepared to let us take pictures of the invoices he gave you?”

“Will you be able to get me back some of the money he stole from me?”

“I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t know what she has planned, but she seems to think it’ll work, and that’s not good news for George.”

It turned out to be incentive enough

It was getting on for six in the evening when we finished, so I cooked for us again while Charlie made use of my computer to compile and collate the information we’d gathered. She seemed quite excited about it. She and Jake left once they’d eaten.

“Leave this with me,” she said on the way out. “And don’t worry about what I said earlier.”

“You’re sure?”

“Have I let you down yet?”

“No. But there has to be something I can do.”

“Yeah. Get yourself ready for your meeting on Monday, get ahead with your work if you have to, and leave this with me. It may take a while, but it’ll be worth it.”

Sunday was more typical for British weather. It chucked it down making the boys fractious. I’ll admit I gave in and let the TV do the childcare while I worked hard getting ahead on my assignments. I’d done enough to put myself a day ahead by the time the credits were rolling at the end of the third film. I turned the box off and chased Steven to do his homework.

Just to make it seem a little less unfair, I had a go at setting Michael some simple maths problems and helping him to work through them. It was still early when we were done with everything, and the kids were bored with televisual entertainment, so I ran them a bath, then we played a game until bedtime.

Monday started with a phone call from Hilary Blunt informing me that she planned to come to my home for a meeting after the school run, to which I responded apologetically that she would find no-one in as I had an appointment in the town. I would, however, be in during the afternoon if she cared to come back then. This, it turned out was not convenient for her, so I was spared another unpleasant encounter with the bullish woman.

My meeting with Charlie’s business advisor, armed with the printout of the business plan she’d promised, was a resounding success. He offered to represent me and sent through a counter offer I felt was insultingly low. I’d never have dared ask for it, but it worked as the return counter-counter offer landed very much in my favour.

“He’s accepting twenty-five percent of the profits for his investment and has agreed to limit his demand for bespoke garments to three per year. I was expecting to get you a thirty percent deal so we’ve done better than anticipated.”

“Wow! So when do I get to start this grand new venture?”

“It’ll take time to get the papers drawn up, but I expect you’ll have the funds at your disposal on Friday.”

I dropped in to Charlotte’s afterwards to tell her the good news and to ask her to lunch, but she was way too distracted by something, so I allowed myself the afternoon off hunting around for something suitably spectacular for Friday’s date. My dress size had stabilised at about a twelve, which looked good on me. Curves without looking too skinny and of course a sizeable pair of assets out front.

This, I felt, had to be the time to go hunting for that little black dress. I indulged myself trying almost everything in a couple of boutiques and eventually settling on one with a price tag that genuinely supported the truism that less is more. I considered it money well spent, given how well the absence of clothing seemed to draw eyes from all over the room. Low cleavage, hemline around mid-thigh, backless, it was a wonder there was enough material in it to count as a colour.

Not that black is a colour of course.

Except maybe the hint of a sparkle in the material might count.

Maybe.

I also bought myself a casual pair of slacks and blouse. Very much the girl equivalent of chinos and polo shirt. Smart casual with the emphasis on the casual.

Tuesday saw me turn up at Clark’s in my new laid-back attire. Max inevitably intercepted me on the way to my desk.

“What the hell is that?” he waved vaguely at my attire.

“Smart casual,” I said pointing at the poster that described quite clearly what was meant by it.

“You could make more of an effort, like the rest of the girls.”

“You’re right,” I replied, pitching my voice loud enough to be heard pretty much everywhere. “I just thought it was time to make a point about the double standards in this place. You pay us less, yet you expect us to spend more on the clothes we wear to work. I dare you to deny it after your comment just now.”

He ground his teeth at me. “Mr Clark wants to see you in his office.” He offered me a smile which was more of a snarl. “Given your recent track record, I’d have made an effort to keep on his good side. I doubt this will do it.”

I smiled back, perhaps a little tight lipped, but I’d long since run out of patience with the man.

I knocked on Mr Clark’s door and let myself in when he called. He glanced up from whatever he was writing – usual power move. Let the proles see you working and that they were interrupting something evidently more important than themselves. This time he paused at my appearance and put his pen down, steepling his fingers and giving me a less than friendly look.

I took out my phone and set the record app running, showing him the phone so he could see exactly what I was doing.

“After that stunt you pulled on Friday, I’m surprised to find you still making waves, Mrs Bush.”

“The name is Shaw, Mr Clark. I’m sure there would have been a memo, and exactly what stunt did I pull on Friday?”

“That show of force. That mass walkout you staged. Call it what you will. I will not have that sort of insubordination in my office.”

“I’m quite sure I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mr Clark. I simply went on my lunch break.”

“And the fact that every woman in the place stood up and followed you out, I suppose that had nothing to do with you?”

“No, it probably did have something to do with me, but I didn’t stage anything. I suspect my friends wanted to show me a little support after the morning I had.”

“What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“Well sir, far be it from me to criticise, but I did find the amount of attention shown me by Mr Andrews on Friday rather distressing. It turns out my friends did as well.”

“Well, I find it highly unlikely that something like that would happen without a little prior organisation. I see you already have two written reprimands against your name and this will count as your third. I’m sorry Mrs Shaw, but it seems we are going to have to let you go.”

“You are aware that I’m challenging the reprimands? That I put my own complaint into HR on Friday?”

“I wasn’t, no. It seems it hasn’t been processed yet. And now it looks like it won’t be needed. Thank you for coming in Mrs Shaw. You may leave your laptop and any other equipment at the front desk. I wish you well in your future endeavours, but I wouldn’t ask for a reference if I were you.”

“May I ask if you have any problems with the quality of my work, sir?”

“It’s not your aptitude, Mrs Shaw, but your attitude. We gave you a chance, despite your lack of qualifications, and you repaid us very poorly.”

“Well.” I pulled the envelope with the letter of resignation I’d written the previous evening out of my back and carefully tore it in two. “Thank you for making this so much easier than it could have been. You’ll be hearing from my solicitor in due course.”

“Oh? More threats Mrs Shaw?”

“Not a threat, Mr Clark. I’m grateful for the opportunity you gave me, but not so much for everything that’s followed.”

I turned and walked out of his office.

“Get back to work. What do you think you’re doing?”

I turned toward the commotion, and once again all my friends were on their feet, reaching for bags and coats.

I tried handing in the laptop to the receptionist, who was also in the process of collecting her bag and coat.

“Please don’t,” I said.

“We’re not going to let them screw you Sandy,” one anonymous voice said.

“Yeah, if they screw one of us they screw us all.”

“Speak for yourself. I don’t want to be screwed by any of this lot.”

Laughter and general noises of agreement.

“It’s our turn to do the screwing.”

“Yeah, screw them.”

“Please. I don’t want to be responsible for you all getting sacked too.”

“Don’t then. We’re all responsible enough to get in the sack by ourselves.”

“Yeah, where better to get screwed?”

I gave it one last try. “No-one’s going to believe that I didn’t organise this somehow. Please, just let it be for now. I’ll be in the usual place for lunch at the usual time. Come find me there if you want, but don’t do this, please. Not now.”

It worked. They returned to their cubicles albeit with a degree of reluctance. The receptionist signed for receipt of my laptop and I managed to leave without causing a major incident.

My first stop was Charlotte’s office.

“I heard,” she said as I walked in.

“How? I came here straight from there.”

“There’s a modern invention you may have heard of called the tel-e-phone.”

“I didn’t think Americans understood sarcasm.”

“Yeah, but eight years living in this country is like a masterclass. So what now?”

“I don’t know. I was paid a fairly enormous sum of money for Friday, so we should be okay for a couple of months.”

“That sort of fairly enormous sum? You can afford to buy me lunch today then.”

“Glad to. I could do with something to do between now and then though.”

“Well, chances are, if I heard about you losing your job, then so did Simmons, so I’d expect him to make his move very soon. That being the case, you could have a go at coming up with ways of showing you are, in actual fact, one of the best moms I’ve ever met.”

“Thanks for saying so.”

“I’m only saying it because it’s true. Only just being true won’t help. You gotta lose that British reserve and go out there and blow your trumpet. If I can learn to be sarcastic, you can learn to brag about your achievements.”

“I’ll give it some thought.”

“You’ll do a damn site more than that!” She threw a pad of paper at me. “If I’m breaking my ass over this, then you’d damn well better be too. Write stuff down. Even if you think it’s stupid, write it down. We’ll review at lunch.”

“Okay. I told the girls I’d be in the diner across from Clark’s at one. If we’re going to be working over lunch, then either twelve or two would be best.”

“Twelve then, and there’s a bistro a couple of hundred yards this side of the cafe. Better food and quieter.”

“I’ll pop in and reserve us a table. See you at noon.”

With so much time on my hands, and given the level of stress I was carrying, I decided I deserved a bit of pampering. There was an up-market salon in the high street that always seemed to have empty seats. I’d suspected this to be because it set its prices too high, but being flush for a change, I decided to find out. It turned out not to be so bad as I thought and, since they did happen to have space to fit me in, I sat back for an hour and let someone do something creative with my hair while someone else tidied up my finger and toe nails.

I then spent twice as much again on a silk blouse and linen trouser suit because otherwise I’d have looked too good for my clothes.

I still had an hour spare by the time I was done, and since the bistro didn’t take reservations, I camped on one of the tables, drinking enough coffee to justify my being there. Twelve o’clock approached and I ordered crab salad for both Charlotte and myself, along with a pot of tea. It all arrived at the table just as Charlie stepped through the entrance.

“You know me so well,” she said, picking up a fork. “You look good, by the way. It’s about time you spent some serious money on yourself. So, tell me what you got.”

She was right of course. Looking like a million dollars meant I felt much the same, and that amount of self-worth gave me insight after insight into what made me worthwhile.

She scanned through the list, nodded her approval and tucked it away for whatever nefarious purpose her formidable lawyer brain had in mind.

With that apparently taken care of, we turned the focus of our attention to my business venture, and in particular to where I planned to set it up. The recession had hit quite a few local businesses hard enough to cause them to fold, leaving a good selection of empty premises around town, several of which had high street shop fronts, and all at bargain prices. I was spoilt for choice, which meant setting up viewings. By the time we’d finished eating, I had a half dozen lined up for the following day.

One o’clock was looming though, and we each had things to do. Less than five minutes walking took me to the usual Friday lunchtime haunt which, at just a couple of minutes past the hour, was already heaving with girls from Clark’s.

They all wanted to know what had happened, to offer their sympathy and outrage, to swear allegiance to whatever plan I had for retribution. It was heady stuff to feel so cared for.

I bought myself another cup of tea and gave myself over to answering their questions as best I could, while I mulled over a sort of inner moral dilemma.

Clark’s left me with a range of conflicting emotions. They’d been a good employer for most of the time I’d worked for them, but then again, I’d been a man for most of that time too. They’d offered me a job despite my lack of qualifications, or maybe they’d seen talent and an opportunity to exploit it. At the bottom line, there was a double standard about the place that only managed to stay legal by some fairly creative interpretation of the equality laws. It was deliberate too. I’d raised the matter hoping they’d address it, and their response had been robust and aggressive.

I decided I didn’t owe them a thing, so I didn’t try to make any excuses for them.

Once I’d shared with my friends the details of my dismissal, they wanted to know about my future plans.

So I told them.