“Martin, you of all people should know our equality policy here.”

“It’s Martha now, Colin.”

“Sorry, Martha, force of habit. So Monday’s the day then?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to put a notice out?”

“No, human resources all know and I’ll just take it as it goes with the rest of the staff, most of them don’t know Martin anyway—to them he was just a voice on the ’phone.”

“True. I’ll see you Monday.”

“’Bye.”

Martha Wilson walked back to her desk in the open plan HR office. She’d worked here for five years and had the respect of her team. They had known Martha longer than her manager had known, they’d treated Martin as one of the girls although technically he was the token male.

Martha knew it had to be this Friday afternoon to make her decision. Her management had known of her intentions for several weeks but this was the last day Martin would be at work and she had to inform Colin. Of course there had been questions but the new non-discriminatory policy, recently renamed the equality policy, had given them no choice other than to be supportive.

Martha, however, had secured her last promotion because of that revised policy, it had been her project nearly two years ago.

Despite all this she had found today to be un-nerving, and almost put it off, again.
She made her way to reception taking Martin’s briefcase with her; the usual security guard was on duty.

“’Bye, Mr. Wilson, see you Monday.”

“’Bye, Frank.”

Martha headed for Stratford station and took the Docklands Light Railway to Canada Square; her flat was a only short walk away. Once inside she threw the briefcase into a corner, and dropped on to the couch.

She began to cry, and was unable to stop; she wasn’t sure she wanted to, because tonight Martin would die.

That’s where her sister found Martha when she arrived home an hour later. She had fallen asleep but her eyes showed she had been weeping.

Tina went straight to the kitchen and made a pot of tea, then hung her jacket in the hallway, kicking off her shoes at the same time, before returning to the kitchen to pour the tea.

“Martha, wake up.”

“Hmmmm.”

“Martha?” Tina shook her sister until she stirred. Martha sat up slowly; her clothes were crumpled—but as they were Martin’s clothes, did that matter? She took the proffered cup of tea and sipped it carefully.

“Martha, what’s the matter?”

“I don’t know, I mean I do—but I don’t want to.”

“You’re not making much sense. Look, did you tell Colin today?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“And nothing. It was fine.”

“So that’s not the problem. I guess whatever it is started when you got in.”

“Yes.” Martha took a tissue from a box on the coffee table and dabbed her eyes. She’d not worn make-up today, in case of this, but even so was careful not to ruin her non-existent mascara.

She picked up the cup again and took another sip of tea, it was still the best pick-me-up. Tina moved over to the sofa and held her hand.

“Look, Martha, why don’t you take a long shower and freshen up. We’re going out tonight, or had you forgotten?”

Martha wanted to argue but kept it to herself. Standing, she crossed to her bedroom where she slowly removed Martin’s clothes, deliberately hanging the suit up. Next she took off Martin’s shirt and the very plain camisole before she unbound the bandage restraining her breasts. The rubber band in her hair was removed so her hair hung loose, she gave it a shake then picked up a fresh towel and walked into the shower room in just a pair of knickers.

Tina found her sister sitting on her bed half an hour later. Martha had put on fresh underwear, but little else. She was staring into space, lost in her own thoughts, clutching the silent hair dryer. Tina sat next to her and put an arm around her.

“Come on, Martha. We have to be at the O2 Arena in one hour. Sort out your face and I’ll find a frock for you. Don’t forget I’ve got to sort myself out too.”

Martha did not feel up to going to a concert, but they’d had the tickets for months. It was just bad timing that it had to be this weekend. She sat at the dressing table and put on her make-up. Tina had chosen a red dress for her that didn’t know the word ‘subtle’, that meant putting a coat of red on her nails, fortunately she already had two coats of clear from this morning’s five minute manicure.

They made it to the Arena with only minutes to spare. Thankfully their tickets gave them good seats which were easy to find. They sat down just as the support act started. The main act—a girl who actually wrote her own songs—came on stage a fashionable fifteen minutes late, meaning the show finished just before eleven.

Martha hadn’t had anything to eat since lunchtime, and even then only had a simple sandwich and a mineral water. Her diet had helped her slim to a size twelve—the hormones had also helped—even so she was hungry.

Tina was tempted to get a take-away Chinese or Indian but Martha resisted. Instead she decided to make an omelette once they arrived home.

Martha had landed her dream job five years earlier. She was now head of HR at a company supplying services to the main contractors on the 2012 Olympics site to the East of London. She’d left a job in central London when the first major contracts were announced, her small house in north London had been comfortable but was too far by tube from the new job.

When Tina announced she had landed a job at a major new development near London Bridge, they opted to buy a flat in London’s Docklands. They finally bought an apartment very close to No. 1 Canada Square, which was then London’s tallest building. That title would soon be taken by The Shard, the Qatari owned building site that was Tina’s new project.

Over the previous few years Martha’s house had become worth many times the purchase price. Although Tina had been renting, she now had a better salary and could justify buying. By pooling their resources they could look for a better apartment in Docklands than either could afford independently. This arrangement suited them both. They’d moved into the flat just two months after starting their new jobs.

Tina had had been aware of Martha’s existence for some time; she probably knew even before her elder brother knew himself. However, she’d said nothing before Martin had left for University, two years before Tina herself left their parents’ home.

Only when Tina had moved in with Martin did she realise that Martha was still much more than a minor part of Martin’s existence. Of course, it took months before Tina confronted Martin and the whole story came out.

By then, Martin had become Martha on a part-time basis, although only at weekends and at first only in the flat. Tina helped Martha but was trying hard not to encourage her, this had to be Martha’s rite of passage.

Of course, when Martha finally worked up the courage to see her GP, she was brushed aside as an attention seeker, and it was Tina who had to pick up the pieces.

Martha withdrew herself but that left an insecure Martin. He used his job as an anchor to stop himself going adrift and concentrated on writing the new anti-discrimination policy when it had become clear that the existing one was obsolete.

By the time this project had been cleared by the directors, Tina had found a different GP for her sister. This time the referral had been painless but there was a four month wait for the first appointment with the shrink.

Martha was now buoyant and her love for life had returned. Her employers thought this was because they’d won more contracts and the whole company was doing well, the staff bonus scheme certainly helped improve morale.

Martha knew different, but just kept a smile on her face most of the time. When she was given a promotion, none of the girls in the team were jealous; ‘It was deserved,’ they’d said. Martha got on well with them, and joined them for evenings out, she thought it was because they wanted to involve Martin, but afterwards wondered whether they had worked things out about Martha.

It took a year of appointments with the shrink before HRT was authorised, Martha found herself being a pin cushion owing to the number of times blood was taken, both before and after she started the pills.

It was another six months before any changes were really noticeable. Tina saw them first, but soon Martha was having to put the elastic bandage around her growing bust. Even so, spending eight hours a day in close proximity to your female work colleagues meant that discrete questions were finally asked. Eventually they had a meeting with Martha outside the office.

Today was the first anniversary of starting the HRT. Tina had decided that Martha had to declare herself at work and start her Real Life Test—something the shrink had been suggesting for several months. Somehow changing gender at work on a Friday didn’t seem right, so Monday had been chosen.

“How long are you going to be in that bathroom?”

“A few more minutes, why?”

“It doesn’t take that long, Martha. Look, get yourself out here, I’ve poured us each a glass of wine. I need to get in there myself.”

Martha re-appeared in the lounge in her nightwear, she sat on the sofa and curled her legs under herself, taking the glass of red wine in her right hand. Tina joined her in the lounge a few minutes later. It was gone midnight, but neither wanted to turn in for the night, not yet.

“What’s your plan for the weekend?”

“I’ve got some letters to write, I have to delete Martin from the records, as if he never existed.”

“I thought you’d done that already?”

“Not quite, there’s a few I still need to do.”

Tina wanted to ask her sister if she was certain, but they’d had that conversation several times before and the answer of late had been the same every time.

The last time they’d disagreed was at their parents’ funeral. Both had died a few days apart, their mother of cancer and their father of a broken heart. Martha—as Martin—had walked from the churchyard wondering if she was desecrating her parents’ memory. Tina had argued that as long as Martha was happy with herself, their parents would have accepted her. It took a few weeks more before Martha finally re-emerged.

That was over a year ago.

Tina glanced at Martha who, by now, was barely awake. The wine glass, set down on the coffee table, was now half empty. Tina helped Martha up and sent her to bed. She then went to her own room.

Saturday morning should have been a lazy day but Tina didn’t want Martha to dwell on any silly ideas. She had organised a full day, starting late morning with a ride into London Bridge station and a stroll around Borough Market.

Martha suggested lunch in the Royal Oak, on Borough High Street, but Tina was feeling a tad naughty and directed her sister to the Market Porter. The noise of the Kent mainline passing overhead made it difficult to hear at times, of course the cacophony of the market stallholders didn’t help either.

Once inside the traditional pub, Tina guided Martha to the rear bar and the wooden seating. They passed a crowd along the main bar, a mix of suits and jeans. Tina figured that if Martha had any second thoughts about Monday she’d get them here, in a very male-centric London boozer.

“How come you know this place Tina?”

“My building is just around the corner, sort of. The guys like to get here on a Friday after work, to let off steam. You should try it, it’s almost all suits and they spill out the door into the market. I sometimes pop in in the morning after breakfast as well.”

“Breakfast? What time does it open?”

“Six ’til eight-thirty during the week, then eleven ’til eleven. The breakfast is excellent, but coffee only for me, you’re not allowed on site with alcohol on your breath. That’s why I leave the wine alone on a Sunday, if you recall.”

They looked at the menu for a minute before settling on a hot chicken salad each. Tina ordered them both a J2O at the same time, the apple & mango variety. The food arrived as they took the next pair of bottles off the bar.

The talk was mostly gossip about Tina’s colleagues. There was a high turnover of staff, mostly contractors, on the project. Very few stayed for more than three months.

“Hello, Tina.”

“Hi, Robert, what’re you doing here today?”

“I live down there,” he waved his arm vaguely towards Elephant & Castle, “and this is a great pub. Do I need another excuse?”

“No, of course not.”

“Anyway, who’s the lovely lady?”

“This is my sister, Martha.”

“Hi, Martha, Tina has talked about you constantly. Do you mind if I sit?” Robert put his pint glass on the table before either lady replied then lowered himself carefully on to a bench seat.

“Robert, if I said we wanted to be alone, would you take the hint?”

“There’s no way I’d let either of you sit here without male company, you never know who might want to bother you.”

“Indeed.” Martha was beginning to like the guy but still had reservations.

“So, Martha, do you have a man in tow?”

“No, Robert.”

“What’s your job?”

Martha was being targeted, and she knew it. She just didn’t know how to deal with it. Tina was smiling, starting to enjoy the scene.

“I’m the head of HR for Turner's Consulting in Stratford.”

“You’re kidding?”

“No, why should I?”

“I’ve just signed for Abbots Construction.”

“They’re one of our customers. Oh.”

Tina was becoming a little concerned, “Robert, does this mean you’re leaving?”

“Yes, the revolving door caught me. I finished on Friday. Didn’t you know?”

“Plainly not. So what’s the deal?”

“I get the Media Centre on the Olympics site, it has to be up and running by next Spring.”

“That’s over a year before the games start!”

“Yes, that’s why they need me, Robert Taylor—troubleshooter.”

“Are you insecure, Robert?” Asked Martha.

He laughed, despite the poor attempt at humour. “No, but keep talking.”

Robert reached across and gently took her hand before she could respond. Tina quickly became concerned.

“Leave her alone, Robert.” Robert was looking into Martha’s eyes, Martha into his. Neither heard the remark.

“Martha, we’re leaving?”

“Hmmmmm.”

“Martha!”

Even though the bar was busy, most heard Tina’s voice, or the noise as she slapped the heavy wooden table.

“Sorry Martha, it looks like your sister is trying to say something.”

“I need the loo, come with me, Martha.”

The two girls disappeared into the ladies, returning ten minutes later. Tina was plainly not happy.

Martha walked over to the waiting Robert, who stood. She gave him a kiss and accepted the business card he was holding. Tina was less than pleased and tugged her sister’s arm as they headed for the nearest exit.

“You amaze me.”

“Me? Why?”

“A few of us tried to chat up Robert and failed. He meets you and he’s smitten.”

“I don’t know what you mean?”

“And your first day fulltime, as well.”

“So?”

They walked around the market, it was now gone two so they picked up some supplies before heading back to the station for the ride home.

Tina was not good company for the rest of the day, especially when the phone rang.

“Robert, how did you get this number? No, you can’t. Bye.”

She put the phone down as Martha came from the bathroom. “Did I hear the phone?”

“Yes, a wrong number.”

Tina said that so abruptly that Martha knew she was lying, but decided to say nothing.

Then she changed her mind. Martha sat on the couch and waited for Tina to do the same.

“We sort this out now. Come on, what’s your problem?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t give me that crap. Out with it.”

“You snared that very eligible engineer without trying.”

“So, it’s jealousy?”

Tina said nothing, she didn’t need to.

Martha continued, “Tina, dear, I’m really grateful for your help. I wouldn’t have gone anywhere near the Borough six months ago, let alone get chatted up. Martin was too scared and Martha too insecure.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s thanks to you that I sat there without freaking out. So what’s he like at work?”

“He’s kind, thoughtful and a professional. I hate him.”

“No you don’t.”

“Okay, I hate you.”

“That’s not true either. Come on let’s have a glass of that Chablis then I’d get some dinner organised.”

Monday morning came too soon, way too soon. Shortly after six Martha exited the shower and started to choose the right suit for the day—one of Martha’s suits. She didn’t bind her breasts this time and vowed never to do so again.

Just before eight Martha walked into the offices of Turner’s Consulting.

“Good morning, Frank.”

“Good morning, Miss Wilson.” Martha pondered on the question of how the security guard knew who she was but dismissed the thought.

“By the way, there’s a Mr Taylor waiting for you. Julie’s looking after him.”

“Thanks.”

Martha walked up the two flights to her floor. Her life was changing in more ways than one.