Chapter 19 describes Sissie's assimilation into the group and subsequent experiences. This is my first effort at getting stories uploaded from my laptop. Please be patient. There's a lot of stuff going on in my personal life at the moment. Nothing serious.

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Monday found me up early again and ready to leave before the rest of the household was up except for Sylvia. She always rose early to check her beloved horses. I always admired the girl’s dedication. Sian had been really lucky to discover Sylvia. For an eighteen-year-old girl, she had proven to be reliable and conscientious, not to mention keen. I had grown to like Sylvia.

The moment she saw my kitchen light on she knew it was probably me up early for yet another sojourn to London. She finished checking her horses, made sure they all had access to the paddocks and food then stepped across the yard to share the coffee.

“When will you be back?” She asked as I handed her a mug.

“Friday, but I’m on my mobile if there are any problems.”

She nodded and cupped her mug in her hands as I finished off my toast and grabbed my laptop and overnight bag.

“Look after Chrissie while I’m away. She likes your company.”

“Yeah. Talk about hero worship. I mean I’m just a lezzy but you’d think I was some sort of wonder woman as far as she’s concerned.”

“Yeah well indulge her. A week ago she couldn’t even wear a pair of knickers under her jeans without those ghastly parents punishing her. What with that and the beating on the train, then the attempted suicide, the kid’s been through a lot.”

“Yeah, she really must think she’s in heaven now. I know I did when I started here. We all love you, you know.”

“Well thanks Sylvia. That’s really nice. You’ve made my day!”

I gave her a kiss, full on the lips and she grinned then swilled down her coffee as I made to leave. Her words had put me in a good mood for the rest of the day. Even the rush hour crush could not dampen my spirits.

The meetings with the Moroccans went, as expected, - slowly; but by Wednesday we had made enough progress to prepare a contract. On Thursday most of the business was complete and provisional contracts were written up and verbally agreed subject to the Moroccan minister of transport agreeing to it. At noon on Thursday I left their commercial attaché’s office with the provisional contract in my laptop case. The rest of the day was mine and I repaired firstly to Janet’s shop to buy some assorted off-the-peg lingerie for all the girls, then I went to my favourite club. If the contracts were honoured when I met them again in Morocco then it would have been a very rewarding week.

In the club I met my old friends again but the younger ones did not visit that evening. I suppose with the slow liberalisation of London, they could almost visit any nightclub they wanted. Still it was enjoyable just to be to sit amongst my own and chat at length. I retired early that evening. I was looking forward to seeing the girl’s faces when they received their presents.

The early morning train and Sian’s Landrover brought me to the cottage by eleven and I gleefully handed out the delicious garments to everybody except the younger girls who were now back at school. There were smiles all around and I received ecstatic hugs from Chrissie as she fingered them appreciatively then slipped up stairs to try hers on.

At eleven thirty, Betty arrived on schedule and joined in the preparations for lunch. Just before twelve Margaret heard the car in the lane and turned to me.

“I think Mr Price the builder is here with his foreman.”

I looked out of the kitchen window and failed to recognise the car.

“I don’t think that’s his car. He usually uses his truck for site surveys and stuff.”

“No it’s not,” replied Margaret, “and that’s not Mr Price either.”

“I double checked and my heart missed a beat as I recognised the truculent, aggressive glare. It was Chrissie’s father with Chrissie’s mother and another man! They did not appear to making a social call.

“Shit! How did they find out about my cottage?” I gasped.

“They look like trouble,” gasped Margaret, as she slipped a vegetable knife inside the belt of her jeans.

I swallowed nervously and warned her to put the knife away but she was obviously determined to protect whatever she held dear. With my heart thundering with dread I stepped out into the yard to confront the trio.

“What do you want?”

“You know very well what we fucking want,” snarled the father, “where’s that sicko son of ours?”

“If you mean Chris,” I replied using the gender neutral name to avoid inflaming the situation. “The child is in the house.”

“Go and get him or I’ll come and fetch him.”

“I’m not allowing you in my house. That would be breaking and entering with aggravated assault.”

He lurched forward and slammed me against the low garden gate post as he forced his way past me. I felt a sharp stabbing pain in my back ribs and I collapsed to the floor. As I sat with blood starting to froth from my lungs I heard shouting and screaming coming from the house as Betty and Margaret tried vainly to prevent the demented man from finding Chrissie. Angie had thoughtfully slipped into the dining room to call the police. Sian also heard the commotion and she and Sylvia ran across the yard to investigate. The other man stepped forward and punched Sian viciously in the mouth and she slumped sideways as Chrissie’s mother shouted.

“You’re all bloody perverts. What are you doing to our son?”

I tried answering but the pain in the back of my chest was too severe and more blood just bubbled and flowed down my blouse. There was a lot of shouting and cursing as the man rampaged around my cottage searching for Chrissie. Then the screaming rose to a crescendo as Chrissie’s father finally located her upstairs in her underwear. Eventually he emerged bellowing out of the house with Chrissie being forcibly dragged behind him in her frilly underwear whilst screaming and crying in terror.

Betty the social worker was following behind and hanging on as she furiously remonstrated with the man and threatened him with every penalty at her disposal. It was to no avail, the man tore Betty of his back then flung Chrissie into the back seat of his car before the other two clambered in either side to jamb Chrissie in. Then he span the car furiously and headed off down the lane. Angie rushed to check me over as Betty frantically dialled again for the police and ambulance.

By now I was in no fit state for anything but all was not lost. Suddenly there was a blast of horns down where the lane was narrowest and then a rendering crunch as metal struck metal. There followed a violent shouting match and Sylvia immediately grabbed a horse and galloped bareback the lane to see what had happened.

The escaping car had met Mr Price’s the builder’s truck head on in the narrowest part of the lane, namely the little bridge over the stream. The car had slammed into the much heavier truck and then ricocheted off the single lane bridge into the mud of the stream. Mr Price, his foreman and another man, his quantity surveyor, had stormed angrily out of their truck to remonstrate with the lunatics who had come storming recklessly down the lane. By the time Sylvia arrived at the scene the violence was over. Chrissies father sported a black eye and swollen jaw whilst the other man was cowering sheepishly in the hedge. Mr Price’s foreman was a man used to dealing with troublesome brickies and assorted other tradesmen. Chrissies mother was badly shaken up by the impact but Chrissie was unharmed and just sobbing with unmitigated relief.

Sylvia let out a wail of relief and quickly explained to Mr Price about what had just happened up at the house. The builder glared at the trio then nodded his head towards the almost naked Chrissie as he spoke to Sylvia.

“You’d best get her up to the house. Have the police been called?”

“I think so but could you just check?”

He flipped out his mobile and quickly started phoning around. First the police and ambulance and then he phoned me. Betty heard my phone ringing on the ground by the wall where it had landed as I was flung backwards. She picked it up.

“And you are?  ¬ ¬------- Oh the builder, Mr Price. ----- What! They crashed! ----- You’ve got them! ----- Oh thank God!!”

She turned to me as I looked up weakly.

“They’ve been stopped! Your builder, ---.”

“Yes, I heard.”

More blood bubbled up from my lungs and Margaret told me to stop talking.

As I slowly lost consciousness Sylvia arrived with a distraught Chrissie who screamed when she saw me lying with my eyes closed and blood still frothing from my mouth.

“Oh no! Is she going to die?”

“Not if I can help it.” Retorted Angie. “But you mustn’t upset her. Help me lay her down on her tummy with her head down and feet up.”

“Is that the best thing?” Wondered Betty.

“I don’t know, but I’m thinking mechanics here. At least the blood won’t fill up in her lungs. It should drain out.”

“Seems logical to me,” replied Betty. “How’s Sian?”

“I’m OK, I think,” replied Sian. Just dizzy but no bones broken, leastways none that I can feel.”

“That’s a nasty bruise on your jaw.”

“I’ve had a lot worse plenty of times when horses have thrown me. Is that the police or ambulance?”

The feint wail of siren announced the approach of the police so Sylvia mounted her horse again and galloped bare-back again down to the bridge to confirm the truth in case the attackers concocted some pack of lies. Eventually, Mr Price’s builder’s truck appeared at the top of the lane followed by two police cars. There was a small scratch on the truck’s solid bumper bar where the car had bounced of it. The situation was soon in hand and then Sylvia returned all the way to the bottom of the lane still riding bareback and leading the ambulance from the road to the cottage. Quite the little hero was our Sylvia. Still coughing and gasping, I was despatched into the ambulance with Sian and Angie while Betty and Margaret gave chapter and verse to the police. Betty’s words counted strongest as she made full use of her social worker’s power and authority.

In the ambulance I finally passed out.

‘Loss of blood they said.’

I knew nothing else of the affair until I woke up in intensive care with stitches and a long scar burning into my back. I was condemned to lie on my stomach for several more days. Apparently one of my ‘floating ribs’ had been badly broken and it had pierced into the back of my lung. The doctor determined that as I had landed downwards on the gate post it had broken the rib and then bent it upwards into the pleural cavity.

“Your sorted now sir, or should I call you Miss?” Declared the surgeon when I finally came around.

“Miss please. I think of myself as a woman.” I croaked as each breath still seemed to burn into my chest.

“Yes, well I’m sorry about the pain. We’ll give you as much painkiller as we dare but I’m afraid that sort of injury is invariably painful. The wound is always moving as you breathe.”

“I was tempted to say that I ‘bloody well knew that’ but I might only have antagonised the doctor and invoked some unwanted label being placed on my notes, like - ‘uncooperative patient ‘ - or something equally counterproductive! I just whispered ‘yes’ and breathed as slowly and as slightly as I could. He left and I was grateful for the peace. Later on a nurse came in and asked me if I was hurting. A stupid question but once again I stifled my sarcasm and simply nodded slightly. I felt a slight prick in my bum and did not wake up until the morning. I was stiff and aching when I finally came around and was desperate to defecate. I could not reach the bloody call button because it hurt to move and shouting was out of the question. In the end I managed to ‘accidently’ dislodge my water jug and the crash brought a nurse running from the nursing station.

“Sorry,” I faked as I suppressed my anger at having had to attract attention in such a stupidly destructive way. “I wanted to defecate and I was trying to reach the call button.”

She seemed to get the hint and relocated the button within easy reach then produced a bedpan to add insult to injury. At least she had the thoughtfulness to draw the curtains.

The pain was now worse than the previous day. She gave me another shot of pethedine and I returned to a sleepy dreamy state. Thus it went on for several days until I was able to breath without the need of the pain-killers. Slowly I was achieving some degree of peace and eventually I enjoyed a fairly peaceful night’s sleep. However there’s no peace for the wicked; my peace was rudely broken one late afternoon when the tribe were finally allowed to see me and they came to visit.

Fortunately, Margaret had the sense to keep everybody quiet and the girls simply stood by the bed and wished me a speedy recovery. Angie chatted with the ward sister and confirmed that I should be out in couple of days.

“They expect to have you up and about tomorrow morning.” She grinned knowingly for she knew exactly how patients felt when they were forced to resume activity after a serious trauma. Yes, it was good for the patient, but it was bloody painful. Eventually, after each girl gave me the mandatory kiss, (no hugging!) they left and I was glad of the peace. My gender dysphoria had compelled them to put me in a single bed ward and the routine hospital clamour was slightly muted through the door. Now my biggest enemy became boredom.

The following morning I was relieved to feel that the pain had reduced considerably. The surgeon told me this was what he had expected. - (I wish he’d bloody told me, I had been anticipating more days without sleep and being stuck on my belly staring at the sheets.) -

I was able, with some assistance from the therapists to turn over and carefully sit up. I favoured my uninjured side and ate my first food since having entered the hospital. After eating, they removed the intravenous drip then had me stand up and walk.

I was mildly surprised to find that this was less painful than lying down provided I didn’t twist my torso and I was soon carefully edging my way to the lavatory where one of the nurses had the compassion to help me sit down and complete my needs. It was a pure relief to be able see to my own toilet.

Within another three days I was released and Angie drove me slowly home. To my astonishment, one of the first things to greet me was a police-car. Apparently they needed a statement from me despite the plethora of witnesses who had seen the assault. Talk about tick boxing, - (Did I say that? It must be the pethedine. I meant box ticking,) -.

The next thing was the ‘no hugging rule’. None of the children enjoyed this rule but it was abundantly obvious that they were overjoyed to see me home. The only downside was that Chrissie now felt even less secure. She was terrified that her brutish father might turn up again and there would be nobody there to save her. I decided to use my back-door to the judicial process and discreetly let Elizabeth know just how traumatised Chrissie had been by the incident. It seemed to me that the kid had suffered nothing but violence from men ever since she had ‘come out’. That first night home Chrissie came to my bed and tearfully begged me to let her share my bed. She just felt desperately nervous at the thought of being alone during the night.

“What if they come for me at night mummy?”

Her calling me mummy sent a tingle of uncertainty down my spine but I decided I wouldn’t be sleeping much anyway. My rib still hurt and they would not prescribe anymore pain-killers. I eased myself out of bed and tapped on Angie’s door. She answered the door and returned with me to my bedroom. Chrissie had apparently been sleeping with Angie whilst I was away but her first loyalties were towards me. Why I don’t know, after all Angie had done as much as, or even more than me for the poor kid since she had been attacked on the train.

We decided on a compromise. I would sleep on my good side on the outside then Chrissie could sleep between me and Angie. At least nobody was therefore sleeping behind me which is where I had always felt the biggest threat to come from during my childhood. That is adults sneaking into my bed as I curled up in terrified anticipation. Besides, I didn’t anticipate much sleep.

With the arrangement agreed, Angie switched off the light and Chrissie fell asleep almost immediately. Angie whispered occasionally to me but soon she drifted off and I was left lying in the dark. Eventually I actually drifted off and surprised myself when I woke at first light to find the other two still fast asleep. Carefully I extricated myself from under the duvet and slipped silently down stairs. There, as I sipped my coffee and sleepily watched the sun coming up, I contemplated my bravery at addressing my primordial fears of the night.

‘You done well Bev,’ I told myself. ‘I wonder what it was that calmed your fears?’

Occasionally I had to ease my back but by and large I spent a comfortable and peaceful half hour in my favourite chair before Angie appeared.

“Have you been here all night darling?” She asked concernedly.

“Eh, no. Only since the sun came up.”

“So you managed to sleep then; with us in the bed I mean.”

“Yeah. For a short while I did; I think I surprised myself.”

“So why d’you think that is?”

I had to think for a moment but I honestly couldn’t think of a reason.

“I just don’t know. Maybe it was sleeping on the outside, I just can’t say.”

“Or maybe it was three in a bed. Like having one to protect you if the other tried something.”

I stopped sipping my coffee and stared thoughtfully at Angie.

“D’you think that could be it?” I wondered.

“Well, did you ever do three in abed when you were a kid?”

I tried to hark back to those days of despair and failed ever to recollect sharing a bed with two others. Sometimes my warden-cum-pimp might have stayed in the room until I was beaten into compliance but eventually it always ended up just me and whoever had bought my body. At least that was how I seemed to remember it. I knew I could not trust my memory and I shivered with revulsion at the fractured recall, but I managed to hold onto Angie’s idea.

“D’you know Angie. You might be onto something. I cant ever remember three in my bed.”

“No that sounds plausible. I’ve spoken a lot about your childhood with Sandie and she seems to think that paedophiles are a bit like rapists. It’s about wielding power and they would probably not like to share you with another adult; like it would somehow lessen the feeling of domination they had over you.”

“So what about gang rapes? They share the victim there?”

“That’s about reinforcing the gang loyalty and camaraderie by sharing their domination. Paedophiles tend to want to do it alone, you know, there is a slightly more sexual element and they want to satiate their urges.”

“Yeah. Well that’s enough psychobabble for one morning, uuurrgh!”

“Sorry Bev. I didn’t mean to keep on.”

“No. It’s me that should be thanking you. You’ve given me some food for thought. I mean I actually fell asleep for a few hours around two or three o’clock, right through until dawn.”

“OK. D’you think you’d want to speak to Sandie about it?”

“Not as a therapy session, no; but like I’ve just spoken to you now; well, maybe yes.”

“Well that’s a step forward girl. Now you’re really being brave.”

With that our reflections were disturbed by Sian and Sylvia coming over to prepare breakfast. It had become a routine that my cottage kitchen was where most of the cooking was done. We joined them as Margaret brought the two babes over and they eagerly clambered up into their high chairs in anticipation of food. The ensuing clamour brought the four girls down but Chrissie remained firmly asleep. We let her lie in. She obviously needed it. Then the girls wandered down the lane to the bus and I called Sandie to tell her of my achievement.

“You mean you actually slept.”

“Yes. As in Bo-peep. Go bye-bye’s.”

“Well done Bev. I’m impressed. Any ideas why?”

“Well Angie suggested it was because there were three in the bed; Chrissie, her and me. You know; a sort of ‘safety in numbers’ mindset.”

“Hhmm. It might be plausible. Are you going to try it again?”

“We’ll see. Chrissie seems to need it. Angie says she slept like a log last night for the first time since her father came up here.”

“Well that might just be because you were there.”

“Yeah. Maybe, but why did I sleep?”

“Did you feel threatened or afraid?”

“Not as I’d call it that. I was a bit tense but that may have had as much to do with my sore ribs as the company. I was afraid they might have pressed my ribs or something if they tried to cuddle me in their sleep. Nevertheless I slept for a good few hours; four maybe even five.”

“Well. If you’re happy with it. Try again tonight.”

“Mmm, I suppose so.”

“Good girl. Now is there anything else?”

“Not that I can think of.”

“Right; I’ve got a lot on this week including Chrissie’s second assessment. I’ll see you on Wednesday for that and I’ll see you Saturday when I bring Mary up for riding lessons. Would you believe she now wants to have a pony, ‘Just like Jenny, Bea, Chenille and Martina,’ as she puts it.”

“Well what little girl doesn’t want a pony?” I smiled to myself.

“Do you do livery?”

“For you, as a friend, I’m sure Sian could see her way. Though the cheapest way would be to allow your pony to be included in the trekking work. Then it’d earn its corn and get the exercise. D’you want to speak to Sian, or shall I?”

“It would be easier if you spoke to her. I’m snowed under with work here.”

“OK. I won’t keep you anymore. See you Wednesday, ten o’clock.”

“Bye Bev.”

“Bye Sandie.”

I put the phone down and crossed the yard to speak to Sian. The commotion in the yard announced that she had her first party of deprived kids from a care home. They were only coming on a three day visit as it was Sian’s first enterprise and the social workers were equally as nervous. The kids were young, aged eight to eleven thus more easily managed. Nobody was ready yet to try mixing teenagers with horses until some experience had been garnished by all parties. Instead of asking Sian about a pony for Mary, I realised Sian could do with an extra pair of hands. I slipped back into the house and unusually stepped into a pair of stretch jeans and chequered work shirt.

As I was changing, Chrissie woke up. She spotted me immediately, yawned then smiled then wished me a ‘good morning’.

“Good morning sleeping beauty. So’ you’ve seen fit to join us I see.”

“Thanks mummy. I love you. You’re just so kind. Angie explained a bit why you’re afraid of the bed thing. You’re ever so brave letting me sleep with you.”

“You and Angie,” I qualified her statement. “I might not have made it through the night without Angie being there as well. “

She slid across the bed and made to hug me but I anticipated her enthusiasm.

“No! Not the ribs! They still hurt!”

She paused then stood up as I was sitting on the bed buttoning my shirt. I looked up and she swooped down to embrace my shoulders and plant a smacking great kiss full on my lips. I let it linger. There seemed to be no sexual overtones and eventually she parted and smiled again as she sighed softly.

“Thanks again mum, thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Well thank you as well darling you’ve brought us a lot of pleasure; a lot of worry but a lot of pleasure. Now if you want to earn a bit of money, come and help Sian with the horses. She’s got her first school party.”

Chrissie’s eyes lit up and she was dressed in no time. By the time I was downstairs and putting my stable boots on, Chrissie had wolfed down her breakfast and joined me in the porch. I smiled at her for I couldn’t resist those big doe eyes then I nodded towards a harassed looking Sylvia.

“Go and help Sylvia with those bags. I suppose the kids have gone straight to the horses for Sian’s induction talk.”

Chrissie was gone in a flash and soon she was laughing with Sylvia as four hands made short work of the bags.

The care home was well organised. Bags were colour coded pink for girls and blue for the boys and each one clearly labelled. They stacked the bags in the relative dormitories and left the kids to sort out their own sleeping arrangements that evening. Then Chrissie accompanied Sylvia to the saddling enclosure to help get the horses ready. Sylvia later told me between chuckles.

“She’s keen and willing but needs a lot more instruction yet. She didn’t realise just how tight the girth straps had to be.”

Throughout that first day the farm rang with laughter and tears as each of the poor kids slowly became accustomed to his or her own horse. I could see now, why Sian had been so rigorous in her selection of ponies.

As a treat, Sian let Chrissie join in the riding lessons. It was also her first time on a horse. As I watched Sian playing ‘Master of Ceremonies’ one of the Careers came up to me.

“Is that child a boy or a girl?” She asked quietly so as not to give anything away.

“She’s probably a pre-op transsexual, but were waiting on tests.”

“Is she yours?”

“No Chrissie’s a placement. The lady who’s preparing lunch that is my partner Angie and I plus two male friends saved her from being beaten up one night. Later the girl almost succeeded in committing suicide because she was so terrified of her father’s brutality. Dorset social services had nowhere safe to put her. Now she lives here as a full time girl, although as you can see she’s not commenced hormone therapy yet. She’s still under psychiatric assessment and they won’t put her on hormones until the doctors are happy.”

“Well isn’t she the lucky one.”

“I’d like to think so. She’s certainly smiling now. Just look at her!”

“Yes, she’s got a genuinely happy smile. I’ve managed several care homes and it’s a nightmare for any sexually dysphoric kids. We get a lot of them in Birmingham.”

“You’re not hinting are you?”

“Hinting what?”

“Sending them down here. I couldn’t manage any more, honestly. Besides it would make it like a ghetto and I don’t want that.”

“Any more!” Gasped the Social worker. “My God, how many have you got?”

“Oh. I thought you knew. Sian hasn’t explained everything then.”

“Well only about the riding facilities, and very pleased we are too, but she’s mentioned nothing about anything else.”

“Oh. Well, I’d better run it by my partners before I tell you everything, though it’s only right we should tell you everything. After all you’ve got enough headaches with your own kids. I hasten to add that there’s nothing unsavoury and I can assure you that your kids are perfectly safe. Both Devon and Dorset S.S. have checked us out.”

“Yes. I know, we had to contact Dorset County Council before we invaded their patch.”

“OK then. Look, I’ve got to go and help Angie with the food. Will you excuse me.”

She smiled, nodded and resumed watching her charges walking around the exercise ring under Sian and Sylvia’s watchful eyes.

After a successful day with the ponies the Birmingham kids met our girls as they returned from school and pitched in with the de-saddling and putting the horses to bed. There was much chattering and laughter as the children got to know each other then our four took the kids on a tour of the estate. They ended up building a dam on the stream below the bridge in the lane and being as it was a hot evening they changed into their bathing costumes and spent the long summer evening splashing frenziedly in the icy water of the spring fed stream.

The pool behind the dam wasn’t deep enough to swim in but with another evening’s labour it might have become so.

We adults watched from my conservatory and the patio as we fell to discussing the setup at my cottage.

AUTHORS NOTE

I'll be coming back to this later THERE'S SOME PROBLEMS WITH MY INTERNET CONNECTION AT HOME