“Hey honey. How was your day?” my Mum called back.

I headed straight into the lounge, where my Mum was sat in the middle of the sofa, with her laptop open on her lap, and a series of papers spread on the two empty seats beside her. I took a seat in one of the adjacent armchairs.

“Great, thanks. James took us out for a drive to Broadsbury; it was really pretty.” I smiled across to my Mum.

“His car got you all the way there? Didn’t you say his door was falling off, or something?” my Mum asked, with some concern.

I laughed, “No. He borrowed his dad’s Range Rover. And the door isn’t falling off; quite the opposite, actually. It doesn’t open that well!”

“Ah. I wondered who was driving that grey Range Rover, when I had seen it parked across the road this morning,” my Mum realised, “I hadn’t clicked that it was James. I thought Alan still had that Porsche Cayenne. I saw it on their drive the other day?”

“I told James he can park on our drive next time, I hope that’s okay? And I think his Mum has got that Porsche now.” I suggested.

“Yes, of course, that’s fine. Does this mean you expect him to be visiting more often?” my Mum enquired, with a cheeky smile.

“Maybe. I do hope so.” I smiled, my Mum smiling back.

My Mum looked distracted, “Sorry, I’m just imaging Emma driving that Porsche now. Bet she looks lost in that big car; amazed she can even reach the steering wheel, she’s barely five foot tall!” we both laughed. “I think I probably need to have a catch up chat with her. We’ve not seen each other since your cup final game at Easter.”

“Do you have a few minutes free now?” I asked. “For us to have a chat? You look pretty tied up with stuff,” I said, gesturing to the papers my Mum was working on.

“Yes, of course, honey. I’m due a coffee break anyway,” as she put the laptop to one side, stood up, and gestured for us to head into the kitchen.

“There you go,” I said, placing a cup of coffee in front of my Mum, where she sat at the kitchen island.

“Thanks, you’re a star,” my Mum said, wrapping both her hands around the warm mug. “I got a message from Eve Abbott about an hour ago. Are you okay?” she asked

“Yes, I’m fine. What did the message say?”

My Mum took her phone from her jeans pocket, “I’ll read it for you, ‘Hi, long time no speak. Sorry to have to send you this, but Dave and I saw your beautiful Sam out with her boyfriend, and Dave was less than polite. I apologised to Sam, but just thought you should know, if she were upset. Sorry again.’ What happened?”

I explained to my Mum that it wasn’t really a big deal, and after hearing all the details she seemed to agree.

“He always was a bit of a prat,” my Mum suggested, “Guess I was right though, sounds like James can look after you very well. How did that make you feel?” she asked

“Well, it’s about how I’m feeling about stuff, that I wanted to discuss with you,” looking towards my Mum, for encouragement to continue.

My Mum smiled, and nodded. “Yes, I thought so. So, what exactly is on your mind?”

I explained to my Mum how happy, content and comfortable I had felt over the past few days. How I had found myself having thoughts, feelings and experiences that had not previously even entered the furthest reaches of my imagination. I had explained, as well as my words allowed, how incredible it felt when James held me, kissed me and even just looked at me. Thinking of him was so exciting, and I couldn’t currently imagine not being with him. I had felt feminine and soft, but cared for and protected. I tried to explain how I did not want to go back to how I was before.

My Mum had not interrupted me, she had just smiled and nodded. When she sensed that I had said everything that I wanted, “No one is saying you need to go back to anything, are they?”

“No. But...” I paused

“Go on,” my Mum patiently encouraged. “You just say what you’re thinking. You’ve got nothing to about here.”

“Okay,” I took a deep breath, “I don’t want to wear boys clothes. I don’t want to put on my school uniform tomorrow. I don’t want James to see me as a boy. I want to be his girlfriend. I want to keep being like this,” gesturing towards myself.

My Mum, still continuing to smile, replied, “Okay. How much of this is about James? And how much is about you?”

I frowned, “I’m not sure I follow. How do you mean?”

“Well,” my Mum said, “If you try and imagine that James isn’t part of this equation, that you’re not going to see your new boyfriend at school tomorrow, that he or any other boy isn’t going to kiss you, or do any of the other things you enjoyed last night, do you think you’d still feel the same?”

I paused. “Still want to go on being a girl, you mean?”

My Mum nodded.

“I don’t feel like it’s about James, no. I do have very strong feelings, I mean, erm, you know, sexual feelings towards him,” I was so embarrassed, “I love him, and love how he treats me, and how being with him makes me feel. But there’s so much more to it than that. I love how I feel, beyond all of that stuff.”

“Sam, you’re coming to terms with lots of new feelings and emotions. That must be difficult. I can’t pretend to know what that must be like. I have so much respect for you, for being so honest with yourself. Especially as I know you’re not finding this easy. So, you’re wanting to live full time as a girl, is that it?” my Mum asked

I just nodded.

“Have you had chance to reflect upon what that means, what it might mean? Or are you just thinking of next week at school?” she asked

“I’ve thought lots about it. All of it. I get a bit anxious thinking about it all. The immediate future is, however, a bit of a concern, I’ll admit.”

“Yes, I can see that. If we could forget about school; so that you don’t need to worry about going in your school uniform or going to a boys school as a girl. What else have you thought about?” My Mum went on.

“I’ve thought I’d maybe finish school somewhere else. I have pictured myself going to university as a girl, and then, well, living as a woman after that. I’ve thought about whether this means I might actually be a girl, rather than just what I guess must be a gay boy dressing as one. Does it?” I asked

“I don’t know that, Sam. I do, however, know there is no yes or no answer to that question. There are no rights or wrongs, either. Yes, of course, some people born as boys realise that’s not what they really are. Each woman who has that realisation responds in their own unique way. I suppose there is a spectrum from denial to acceptance, and it’s up to each to decide what’s then right for them, given their own circumstances. Then, of course, there are boys that just feel more comfortable or enjoy presenting as women; again, there are as many reasons for this, and ways of living their lives. I think you might need some help to figure some things out.” my Mum suggested.

“Help?” I queried

“Yes, just like your sister had after her, erm, after her... my Mum paused, before bursting into years, and burying her face into her hands.

I jumped up from the stool I was sat at, and rushed around to comfort my Mum. Her twisting on her stool, to lean into me for a deep hug.

“Sorry, Sam,” said my Mum as she regained her composure. “I don’t think I’ll ever come to terms with how badly I let Claire down. Me not knowing she was struggling so badly, and needing so much help, before it was almost too late.”

“Don’t be silly Mum, you can’t blame yourself,” I tried to reassure, “You were in hospital yourself, and couldn’t have known Claire wasn’t coping with things. I didn’t spot it, either.”

“Shush. You were only fourteen years old, Sam. I’ll tell you this, I won’t let my children struggle with their own thoughts, feelings or emotions ever again. Let’s make an agreement,” said my Mum, drying her eyes with a tissue that I had passed her.

“What kind of an agreement?” I wasn’t sure what my Mum was suggesting.

“How about we make your short-term concerns go away, and take you out of school; on the condition that you agree to work with Dr Adam’s, or a specialist she recommends, to find out what might or might not be going on. Deal?” my Mum reached out her hand.

I shook her hand. “Thanks Mum,” before giving her another hug.

“Taking you out of school isn’t second guessing that you’re not a boy, it’s just giving you a bit of thinking space. Okay?” my Mum reinforced

“Yes. Understood. So, what about my exams? What do you think?”

My Mum paused, “I’m guessing you’ve thought about this?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I think I have a plan. We only have a couple of weeks of new study material left. I could self-study all of that. My coursework would all be completed by then, too. As it’s the same exam syllabus, I could take the revision courses at the college and sit the exams there?”

“Yep, sounds like a good plan,” my Mum nodded. “That’s as long as you don’t put yourself under too much pressure. I know it’s an important year, but not so important to make yourself unwell. Your whole life doesn’t revolve around the next few months, despite what tour teachers might tell you.”

“No, you’re right. I’m not worrying about school work and exams though. I think I’ve got that under control.” I fed back

“I wasn’t sure if you were going to suggest moving to St Joe’s; thought you’d look cute in their uniform!” my Mum teased.

“Ha, bloody, ha!” I replied, with a smile.

“Sorry, Sam. I couldn’t resist. I don’t need to tell you that you would though! But, I do have to tell you to call your sister. She’s been trying to get titbits of gossip out of me all day!” advised my Mum, as I got up to leave, and she started typing on her phone.