You meant it for evil - 03 by Maeryn Lamonte There was nothing left to say. She looked so alone and vulnerable I wanted to reach out to her, but that wasn’t going to happen now. With a slowness born of reluctance I gathered all my clothes and put them into my bag; it didn’t take long even so. I put the door key on the coffee table and looked up at her stiff and unrelenting pose. It was already dark outside and cold enough that a wet snow was falling. I had no idea where I might find shelter at this time of the evening, but I had no more welcome here. I couldn’t blame her for that, I mean what had happened to me was farfetched. I gave the friendly tabby a last scratch behind his ears and headed for the door and who knew what.

-oOo-
I pulled the front door open to find Phil standing there with an arm full of flowers and his free hand raised to knock. He was just as surprised to see me.

“What the f@*! are you doing here?”

Sharon spun round at his voice, her anger finally broaching the dam.

“As if you don’t f@*!ing know you complete and utter sh*!.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Phil stepped into the room and I slipped past him into the corridor. I didn’t like to leave Sharon on her own with him but she had made it abundantly clear that my presence wasn’t welcome. Their raised voices followed me down the stairs.

“You and that tosspot friend of yours trying to yank my chain. I mean who is she anyway? Some bimbo off the streets you persuaded to help you in your sick little scheme?”

I winced at that and upped my pace to get away from the hurtful words.

“What the hell are you talking about woman? That’s the little bitch who accused me of soliciting and caused this row in the first place. And now I find she’s been staying with you! What kind of poison has she been dripping in your ears?”

“The kind that only you and Ken would have been able to tell her. The kind that leaves me wondering just what kind of sickos you two really are.”

“I have no idea what you’re going on about you silly cow. I haven’t seen Ken all week.”

I reached the main entrance and stepped out into the cold, glad to be away from the bickering. I had a long walk ahead of me and I could already feel winter’s icy fingers reaching up through the thin soles of my shoes. The snow wasn’t settling which meant it probably wasn’t too icy. I pulled my jacket close around me and set off walking fast to fend of the chill.

After about half a mile the snow turned to sleet then to rain. On the plus side that meant the night wasn’t going to be as cold as first promised, but on the minus my jacket wasn’t water proof. I broke into a run looking for some protection from the elements, well one element in particular, and found it in the form of a bus shelter. Graffiti, cracked glass and the ever present smell of stale urine, but at least it was dry.

Time drags when you’re miserable and I spent the next hundred years hopping up and down blowing into my hands. My tights were soaked from the short run through the rain and my legs were suffering badly from cold by the time a double decker appeared making its unhurried way down the road. I put out my hand and it pulled in alongside. The doors hissed open and I looked up hopefully at the driver.

“Are you going anywhere near Portland Place?”

My teeth were chattering so badly even I could hardly understand myself. Fortunately he was experienced in deciphering such incoherent babble, either that or he was used to young girls like me trying to get to the YWCA.

“Tottenham Court Road’s as near as I go love.”

“That’ll do, can you tell me when we get there?”

“One eighty then love. Sit yourself behind me and I’ll give you a yell when we arrive.”

The bus was about half full but the front row was empty. I sank gratefully into the indicated seat, all the more so when I realised one of the bus’s heaters was just next to me, blowing gentle warmth up my legs and skirt. I peered out of the grime encrusted window at the traffic going by settling into a deep melancholy.

-oOo-
“We’re here sweetheart.”

The bus driver’s voice called me back to the real world; another minute and I’d have been fast asleep. I thanked him and stepped off the bus looking around for clues.

“Up that way to Goodge Street then it’s about half a mile down on your right.”

I thanked him again and started walking the way he’d pointed. The rain had eased to a light drizzle, but even so I was wet through and freezing by the time I arrived at the Y.

“I’m sorry dear but we really have no room.”

I couldn’t believe they would actually turn me away on a night like this.

“Look I don’t care about a room, just let me stay indoors. I’ll find a patch of floor in a corridor. I won’t be any bother.”

“Sorry dear, it’s not so much the space as the numbers. Fire regulations you know. They won’t let us go above the number of people we already have and they’d shut us down in a heartbeat if they knew we went over the limit.”

“So just because some bureaucratic jobsworth sets an arbitrary limit on the number of people who are allowed in this building, you’re going to send me back out into that to die of hypothermia?”

I was near tears, but I knew they wouldn’t help. British bureaucracy is the archetypal immovable object; you can bang your head against it ‘til its bloody and still see no result from your efforts apart from the bloody smear.

“I’m sorry dear.”

The smile was sympathetic, the rest of the face implacable. She gave me directions to a few other shelters that might be able to help and showed me the door.

A few hours later I found myself wondering if the main purpose of all the shelters was to keep people like me moving through the night so that they didn’t freeze. Each one was oversubscribed; all apologies and no help whatsoever. I eventually ran out of shelters and wandered aimlessly for an age until a bright, friendly light caught my eye.

It seemed to be coming from a building on a quiet back street and, like a moth drawn to a flame, I went to investigate. The sign read ‘Café — open twenty four hours’ so I leaned on the door and went inside. The place was grubby and empty apart from a bulky man in a shirt and trousers that may once have been white before time and neglect turned them a dingy grey. He heaved himself to his feet, the underside of his amply fed beer-gut showing in the gap above his belt, and stepped behind the counter.

The look he gave me as I read through what he had on offer left me feeling naked. With a growing sense of discomfort I pulled my jacket close around me and put on a far braver face than I thought possible given the feelings swirling around inside me.

“Mug of tea please.”

I paid and sat at a table near the door, warming my hands on the hot mug. I sipped at the brew and made a face. It was too strong and stewed, but it was hot and it bought me permission to be here. I added enough sugar to make it drinkable and eked it out as long as I could then bought another, then yet another. The café owner kept eyeing me over his newspaper, making me all the more nervous.

The words of a song drifted through my mind.

In the all night café
At a quarter past eleven,
Same old man is sitting there on his own
Looking at the world
Over the rim of his tea-cup,
Each tea last an hour
Then he wanders home alone

It described me perfectly, apart from the bit about being the same, being old, being a man, having a home to wander to alone or otherwise.

A wild hysterical laugh rose abruptly from deep inside me and I only just managed to contain it. It scared me because I don’t think I’d have been able to stop laughing if I had started. Now it was the café owner’s turn to look at me nervously. I went up for my forth mug of tea.

“I think you’ve had enough.”

What the hell?

“It’s tea. I very much doubt that you can overdose on it.”

“Even so I think you’ve stayed here long enough, I think you should leave.”

“Why? Because you want to shut your twenty-four hour café? Or maybe because I’m disturbing the rest of your clientele?”

I waved an arm around at all the empty tables.

“No, because you’re disturbing me.”

I blinked back tears; I was not going to give this loathsome creature the satisfaction of seeing how easily he could upset me. This was quite possibly the most disgusting, sleazy, unwelcoming establishment I had ever been in and I was about to be thrown out of it by a greasy little wart of a man just because I was disturbing him? But it wasn’t worth fighting over. I shook my head, as much to clear it of my momentary anger as to indicate my disbelief.

“Fine. Do you mind if I use your loo before I go.”

“What so you can shoot yourself up and quite possibly leave me with a dead body to explain to the cops? I don’t think so.”

Anger flared again, this time I couldn’t hold my peace.

“No, so I can pee. In case you hadn’t noticed I’ve managed to drink my way through three mugs of what passes for tea in this establishment and I need to go. Now would you rather I did it in your facilities or on your doorstep?”

He weighed this for a second or two then relented.

“Ok, but you leave your bag here.”

“And if I need something from my bag?”

“There’s a dispenser in the toilet.”

I wasn’t in a position to argue. I dropped the bag beside the counter and followed his directions to a small and filthy bathroom. With some distaste I used some of the cheap toilet paper to wipe the seat down before sitting to relieve myself, then cleaned myself up and left as quickly as I could.

The zip on my bag wasn’t completely closed when I picked it up and the man behind the counter couldn’t quite hide a lascivious smirk. I gave him a dirty look, my patience with this guy at an end.

“Sniff anything you liked, pervert?”

His mood turned abruptly dark and I left hurriedly before the gathering storm broke.

-oOo-
The weather had turned cold and clear forcing me to tuck my hands under my arms to stop my fingers dropping off. Despite its questionable flavour, the tea had warmed and revived me, putting a spring back into my step. I picked a direction and started walking, keeping to the better lit streets and thankful for their emptiness. Around me the city murmured in its sleep, the sounds of the occasional street sweeper or police siren echoing confusingly down the narrow streets and alleys.

I don’t know how long I ambled along after that, but in time I found myself down by the river. On the opposite bank the London Eye stood out against the skyline, tall and proud, waiting in silent stoicism for the next day.

I turned south towards the Houses of Parliament and the Westminster Clock Tower standing out from the surrounding shadows in the brilliant yellow glare of their spotlights. The shattered remains of a half-moon shimmied in the turbulent waters of the Thames and the great Westminster Clock chimed the hour, Big Ben doling out five deep well spaced chimes.

A peace settled over me as though the city wanted to share its relief in the quiet moments before dawn heralded the noise and chaos of another day, and I drifted slowly onward, embracing the ethereal otherness of the place. The path alongside the river ended at the parliament building and, wishing to avoid the added cold of crossing Westminster bridge, I turned west, away from the river and towards St James’s Park.

There was a rustle of dried bushes and furtive movements in the shadows. I desperately hoped who or whatever was there was as shy of being noticed as me and I hurried on past keeping my eyes to the ground, listening hard with growing dread for sounds of pursuit. Thankfully they didn’t come.

Thoughts of my father drifted into my mind; he’d never cared for London much.

“Too many people too wrapped up in their own needs to see those of others around them.”

His words echoed in my mind and for a moment I saw something of the place through his eyes. The thing is there were good people here — like the bus driver, like the sergeant the other day, like Sharon — but they faded into the background, overwhelmed by the all too frequent less pleasant encounters like my earlier experiences with the café owner, like my fears of whoever might come bounding out of the dark intent on robbery or worse.

I wandered down the road, still keeping close to the streetlights, until I came to a paved path leading into the park. The half-moon was high overhead, picking out enough detail in its silvery light that I could follow it quite clearly. The trees along the road were close and oppressive. I felt a growing need to be in the open so, steeling myself against whatever half imagined night terrors might be waiting, I crossed the empty street and entered the park.

My shoes clacked hollowly against the pavement, the bare trees around me breaking the sound up into confusing echoes. I almost faltered but pressed on, held by the promise of open parkland ahead. Less than a minute later the star spangled sky opened up above me and I breathed easier. A long lake stretched either side of the path, and in the east the sky was stained pink, bringing the London Eye in to stark silhouette. There was a bench and, captivated by the unfolding beauty, I sat down to watch

“Would you mind if I joined you?”

I sat up startled and turned saucer eyes to the man standing at the opposite end of the bench. His features were oddly clear in the dim light; black hair and beard streaked with grey, falling in unkempt waves; skin like deeply tanned leather and deep dark eyes that seemed somehow to sparkle. His coat was old and patched, his trousers faded, his shoes scuffed. I sat transfixed, all too aware that I had no means of defending myself should he choose to force himself on me.

“Don’t be afraid.”

They were only words, but somehow they acted like a balm, washing away all my fears. I continued to stare it him for an age until he cocked an eyebrow with an easy smile and I realised with some embarrassment that he was still waiting for me to answer his original questions.

“Oh, not at all. Please sit. It’ll be nice to have some company.”

I was overcompensating and we both knew it. His smile deepened, the skin around his eyes falling into well-worn creases. He sat at the other end of the bench keeping enough of a distance to further ease my mind. We turned together to watch the sunrise.

The stars went out one by one as daylight gently spilled a flood pastel pink across the sky. Wisps of mist drifted slowly across the mirror smooth surface of the lake, bordered by frosted reeds glistening as though sprinkled with diamond dust. Weeping willows, until recently hidden in the shadows, faded into view like inconsolable ghosts, their pale green branches contrasting with the dark, twisted fingers of the surrounding trees, deep in their winter slumber.

It was so beautiful it hurt, a fresh wonder revealed each time I wiped away a tear.

“I come here every time I need reminding.”

I looked over at the strange man sitting beside me.

“Reminding of what?”

“That God’s in his heaven and all’s right with the world.”

In the gathering dawn his face showed signs of long exposure to the harsh elements. I wondered at what his life must have been like. The only hardship I’d ever known had been in the previous week and of that I had only suffered the scorn and disdain of the people around me for less than twenty four hours. How many years had he seen his own worth diminished in the eyes of those he met every day?

“You shouldn’t judge people too harshly you know? Most don’t know any better than to live by the limited standards they were taught. It’s a rare person indeed who is able to look past the surface and into the soul of a man.”

He was looking directly at me as he spoke and in his gaze it seemed that he could see my every thought, my every feeling. He smiled his reassuring smile.

“In a world where a man can be turned into a woman by a single kiss, are you still so easily amazed?”

Amazed yes, but oddly not frightened. It was as though his earlier words were still having a calming effect on me. What was going on here?

“What is going on here is very unusual; incredibly rare. You see it’s not often that the enemy acts so overtly, and in your case it has given us the unique opportunity to set a few things right. Of course there can be no birth, or even rebirth for that matter, without pain but your ordeal is very nearly over. You only have a few more things to do, and if you carry on the way you’ve been going you should have no trouble with those.”

I found my voice. This talking in my head was getting a bit too weird.

“I don’t understand. What you’re saying doesn’t make sense.”

“Perhaps not at the moment, but in time when you look back on this it will. When everything’s over you might like to find yourself a Bible and look up Genesis chapter 50 and verse 20. Just the one verse, but it might help to make things clearer.”

Hang on a minute I thought the Bible had a major hang-up with people like me, as much as the people who read it.

He smiled and waited, allowing me the opportunity to voice my concerns, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear what he had to say on this particular topic so kept quiet. He looked at me with sad eyes for a moment then spoke anyway.

“The Bible is a marvellous book. Inspired by God, but written by men with all their shortcomings and failings. A lot of people have trouble understanding that; religious people you might call them. They like to have their truth handed to them in black and white so they prefer think of the Bible as infallible. It saves them having to think for themselves, and following rules is so much easier than thinking. The ironic thing is that the Bible is filled with warnings against people who do just that, as well as numerous examples of what God is really looking for.”

What was this guy saying?

“I’m saying that God looks at the heart. He knows what you’ve been through, how hard you tried to fit in, to be ‘one of the lads’. He knows how hard you struggled with your differences. More importantly he knows how you care about others. He knows you have a kind and gentle soul, that you put yourself in other people’s shoes before deciding how you should act and when you act you try to do so with other people’s best interests at heart at least as much as your own. You understand and exercise love as an act of will and when you get that right, how can God help but love you back?”

The man stood up and stretched his back.

“Wait. What, that’s it? You just came here to give me a pep talk?”

He smiled his wrinkly smile.

“You needed encouragement.”

“And what about these things I still have to do? Can’t you give me any help there?”

He shrugged.

“What’s the point in having free will if you don’t get to use it? Look, don’t worry. Just do what comes naturally and things will work out alright.”

“And you’re not going to give me any hints whatsoever?”

“Well I suppose there is one thing. Sometime soon you’re going to have to choose a new name for yourself, and if I might make a suggestion…”

He leaned forward and whispered in my ear, as if her were afraid that someone might be listening. When he’d done, he stood up straight again.

“And now I think you have a friend who needs you over in that direction.”

I turned to follow the direction of his finger. He was pointing across the lake behind us at nothing obvious. A little confused I turned back to ask for clarification and… well it’s a bit cliché, but it sent shivers up and down my spine all the same. I mean there was no-where he could have gone in those brief seconds.

I stood up and walked out of the park heading north, glad of the movement to ease the stiffness in my legs. I had no idea where he might have been pointing and decided that my only hope of finding it would be to zigzag back and forth in the general direction he had been pointing.

-oOo-
I had that early-morning-after-an-all-nighter feeling. You know where everything seems a little detached, like your body isn’t quite your own and it’s almost as though you are watching yourself from the outside. I don’t know if it was the lack of sleep or my strange encounter with the mystery man. Whatever it was I knew I wasn’t firing on all cylinders. I meandered up and down deserted streets breathing in the early morning freshness of the air and looking for something to give me my next clue.

I almost missed it. My mind was so preoccupied with all the things the old man had said — trying to remember them, trying to believe them — that I walked right past Sharon’s car. Fortunately my subconscious was a little more awake than the rest of me and a nagging feeling pulled me up short. I turned, but even then stared blankly down the length of the road for several seconds before realisation dawned and I walked back to check the registration.

The introduction of congestion charging in London saw an end to the shortage of parking spaces in most parts of the City, but not to the need to pay for them. My brain was now working overtime to make up for its earlier mistake and in short order I noticed that her parking metre had expired and that there was a traffic warden ambling slowly down the road towards me.

I rummaged in one of the pockets of my bag and pulled out a fifty pence piece, which I then deposited in the metre. The warden gave me a black look, my having reduced his morning quota, and I offered him a sweet smile in return before casting around for my friend. I spotted a café on the other side of the road and crossed to look.

She was there, the solitary customer sitting with her back to the window and looking utterly miserable with her hands cupped round a steaming mug and her shoulders hunched. I eased the door open and walked up quietly behind her.

I must have been in her light or something because she turned to look at me, then an instant later launched herself out of the chair and threw her arms around me.

“Oh, Ken I was so worried. I’ve been looking for you all night. I’ve been such an idiot and I’m so very sorry. Can you ever forgive me?”

The words were bubbling out as fast as her tears and I held her gently, stroking her hair and making soothing noises. There was nothing to forgive. I would probably have done the same thing had I been in her position, but she needed something more, something to help her believe it.

I let her babble for a while then eased her away from me, looked her calmly and directly in the eyes.

“I don’t blame you for what you did; you had every reason to be upset. As much as you need me to forgive you, I forgive you. I’m only sorry that I hurt you too.”

And she was crying on my shoulder again. The café owner was looking at us oddly and I gave him a reassuring smile.

Sharon was suddenly all nervous energy.

“You must be starving. Do you want anything to eat or a drink maybe? Sit down I’ll get you a coffee and, and…”

“Some toast would be nice?”

I said it as much to the café owner as to Sharon and he nodded and set to work. In just few minutes I could feel life flooding back into me. The coffee was strong and fresh, the toast dripping with hot butter. I could afford the calories having missed dinner the other day.

I smiled at the odd thought, strangely alien for Ken yet just as strangely right for who I was becoming. I looked across at Sharon, still unsure, still eager for any sign of acceptance.

“So what changed your mind? About me I mean.”

“Oh, that was Phil. He may be a class A tosspot but he’s never been very good at lying. It took me a while to notice, being so angry with him and you and Ken — well you know what I mean, but eventually it registered that he was speaking the truth. He hadn’t seen Ken and he didn’t know you.

“He wasn’t a lot of help to be honest; all he wanted to talk about was how things were between him and me. When I pressed him about your disappearance, I mean Ken’s, sh@! this is confusing, he said you could look after yourself and couldn’t we talk about us. Well he used slightly stronger language than that, but you know what I mean.

“In the end I kicked him out, threatened him with the police if he didn’t leave, but not before I bullied him onto giving me your, Ken’s, phone number. I spoke to your flatmate and he said he hadn’t seen you since Friday. He figured you’d finally ‘hooked up with some hot babe’ and didn’t have a reason to come home yet.

“I asked him if he knew where you worked, which he surprisingly did, and I phoned them. They hadn’t seen you all week and were getting worried.

“I mean what you told me yesterday is unbelievable, but everything else checks out and as Sherlock Holmes once said, ‘When you’ve eliminated the impossible…’”

Silence settled between us again, punctuated only by the occasional crunch as I made short work of the toast. Eventually, with both of us staring into our coffees as though looking for the answer to some deep mystery, I broached the next question.

“So… Where do we go from here?”

She wouldn’t look at me, too afraid of my response.

“Well, you’re still welcome to come and stay with me until you figure out the next move. I’ll help as much as I can…”

I reached out a hand to squeeze hers and she raised moist but hopeful eyes towards me.

“You don’t think this’ll be a bit weird now that you know who I am?”

She gave me a weak smile and shook her head.

“Whoever you are and whoever you were, you’re not the Ken I knew. I don’t know maybe you are, I mean — don’t take this the wrong way or anything, but you really are Ken still. It’s just that you seem to fit so much better into that body.”

I shrugged.

“You’re right.”

Uncertainty gave way to confusion to curiosity and she cocked her head, urging me to go on.

“I’ve always felt different; never just one of the lads. I don’t’ know how to describe it. It’s like when we go out for a few beers, they’re all swilling down pints like it’s a competition and all I want is to drink and have a conversation. They’re all talking about sports and I’m bored out of my mind. There’s a game on and they’re all cheering together and I can’t see the point. A pretty girl walks past and while they’re all saying things like, ‘look at the jugs on that!’ all I can think about is that’s a pretty top she’s wearing, and I like how she’s done her hair.

“When I’m around girls I feel nervous, like there’s something I’m supposed to do but I don’t know what or I don’t have the nerve. There’s a part of me that wants to sit, waiting for the complement. In my mind I know it’s supposed to be me who makes the first move, but I can’t face the risk of rejection; I can’t shrug it off like other guys. There’s other stuff as well but it all adds up to the way I feel on the inside: it’s like I’ve never really been a man at all…”

I petered out under Sharon’s intense stare.

“Like you were a girl inside all along?”

I nodded. It still seemed a shameful thing to admit even now that I was a girl on the outside too.

“Well girlfriend, what do you want to do now?”

I looked up into her smile. It was so sudden and bright, I couldn’t help matching it.

“Right now what I would really like to do is take a hot shower and go to bed.”

Sharon paid our bill and we went back to the car. The metre still had a couple of minutes to run though she didn’t notice. I thought I spotted the traffic warden peeking round the corner as we climbed in. I didn’t say anything; the warm glow of satisfaction was enough.

The drive back to Sharon’s was quiet and uneventful, her driving far more sedate than usual. As soon as we were in through the door she pushed me towards the bathroom and I gratefully stripped off and stepped into the stream of steaming water. The previous night’s experiences, both good and bad, receded as I settled back into the familiarity of the place. I managed to keep my hair more or less dry and stepped back into the living room wrapped in a towel.

“I called in to tell my boss I had a family emergency. I’m owed a few days off for overtime so they really can’t complain.”

“You didn’t need to do that for me. I get the feeling I’m going to spend at least all of the morning sleeping in any case.”

“Yeah, me too. In case you forgot, I was out all night as well.”

She went suddenly shy.

“I er, I changed the sheets in my bed. It’s, I mean I’m not that way inclined at all, but then we’re friends and friends can share a bed without things getting awkward, and my bed’s big enough for two and the couch isn’t really all that comfortable so I was wondering if…”

It was a wonderful gesture. I wanted to hug her, but in light of what she had just said I didn’t want to give her the wrong signals.

“Thank-you.”

She looked up uncertainly, but assumed that I had accepted her offer.

“S-so er, so which side do you usually sleep?”

From my hunt for the hair drier I remembered the nightstand on the right being filled with her stuff.

“I don’t think I have a preference. I should be ok on the left.”

She nodded and eased past me into the bathroom. I headed for the bedroom where I found a fresh nightie laid out for me; bunnies this time. I changed into it and slid beneath the crisp clean sheets. The feeling was exquisite against my smooth skin and I snuggled down with a warm glow of belonging growing in my chest. I was asleep before Sharon came to join me.

-oOo-
I awoke to the sound of clattering plates just before something soft and heavy landed on me and wriggled itself into a comfortable position. Somewhat blearily I pushed the duvet out of the way and stared uncomprehendingly at the world through a tangle of hair. I mean don’t get me wrong, I love my hair, I love the way it looks, the way it feels, the weight of it hanging down my back, but right now if I had a pair of scissors or even a razor…

A sing-song voice came through the door, followed closely by Sharon with a tray full of food.

“Hello sleepy-head. Oh come on Toby, shift your carcase. You know you’re not supposed to be in here.”

The somewhat affronted tabby jumped from his recently acquired perch and stalked out of the room twitching his tail at us with disdain.

“Winter vegetable soup with sage and chestnuts and a slice of tomato bread: Just the sort of lunch to set you up for an afternoon’s shopping.”

I managed to claw the hair out of my eyes and rake it into a slightly more manageable shape before taking the offered tray and breathing in the delightful smells with a genuine look of rapture on my face. The soup was hot but oh so tasty. My brain slowly caught up with my body.

“Where are we going shopping?”

“I thought we might head back to the precinct we went through on Sunday and have a look around while the shops are open just for a change.”

I thought about my meagre funds, now further depleted by a week’s job hunting and a last night’s adventures. My face must have told a story.

“This’ll be my treat. You know for being such a bitch yesterday.”

I swallowed another mouthful of soup and looked over at her with a determined look.

“You don’t have to do that and you weren’t any sort of bitch yesterday. I told you I would probably have done the same if the situations had been reversed, I mean I did give you a lot to chew on.”

“It was still no excuse to throw you out onto the street, especially on a night like last night. Besides if you’re going to hang out with me you’ll need a little more in your wardrobe than a couple of dresses from a charity shop.”

She was trying, with limited success, to hide a grin and there was just a hint of mischief in her eyes. Ok, I’ll play along. I picked up her pillow and threw it at her, making her squeal.

“Alright now you’re being a bitch.”

“So you’ll let me treat you then?”

I didn’t know what I was letting myself in for otherwise I probably wouldn’t have nodded.

“Aren’t you eating anything?”

“I already did. You were so far gone I thought I’d give you another half hour, but if we’re going to make anything of today we’re going to have to move pretty soon.”

“Why the sudden rush?”

The tomato bread was fantastic and the soup was just too good to hurry.

“Well I’ve been doing some thinking since I woke up. I have a few ideas on what we can do next to help you out, but first I think it’s kind of important for you to confront the person who did this to you, to try and understand exactly what happened and why.”

I wasn’t too keen on the idea, I mean that last note had been pretty nasty. The reluctance was written all over me and Sharon was reading it.

“Ok look, it’s my turn to do the tough love thing. You were right about Phil and I’m pretty sure I’m right about this.”

“And what has this got to do with buying clothes?”

“Well for one you’ll feel a lot better about yourself if you look good; no trust me I’m right about this. For two, I don’t suppose you could find the flat she took you to could you?”

I had a vague idea where it was, but I remembered there being a lot of buildings that looked similar. I shook my head.

“Which means that our best bet for catching up with her is to go back to the place you first met, and since it’s Friday today, what do you think are the chances that she’ll be at the Meet Market tonight?”

“You’re not just a pretty face are you?”

“Nope, but you’ll need a little bit more than yours if you want them to let you in tonight. So new outfit and a makeover, what do you say?”

I downed the last of my soup and handed her back the tray.

“I say lead on MacDuff.”

“It’s actually ‘Lay on MacDuff.’”

“Sorry?”

“The quote is actually ‘Lay on MacDuff’. The other is a misquote and I’m a bit protective of my Shakespeare.”

“I stand corrected.”

And I climbed out of bed to put truth to at least half the phrase.

It was two o’clock by the time I had taken my second shower of the day and put my red dress. Looking in the mirror I could see that it was a little old fashioned and had distinct signs of wear that would have me withering beneath the scorn of any woman I was likely to come across at the nightclub.

“Ready?”

I picked up my borrowed purse, adding my remaining cash to it, grabbed my jacket and followed her out through the door.

The early morning sky was making good on its warning and dark clouds were looming as we hurried down the road towards the nearby shopping precinct. Sharon looked at my jacket speculatively.

“It looks like we’re going to have to get you a coat better suited to the weather as well.”

I started to protest but Sharon held up a hand to stop me.

“If it bothers you that much, you can pay me back when you’re rich and famous, but right now this is my money and I know what I want to do with it.”

With no open avenue to pursue on that particular topic we walked on in silence until something she had said earlier tickled my memory.

“You said you had a few ideas on what to do next. Would you care to explain?”

That nervous look crept over her again and she gave me a sidelong glance before replying.

“I have a couple of friends I’d like you to meet, people who might be able to help. They’ll be at church on Sunday if you don’t mind coming along. I mean I could invite them to lunch afterwards if you’d prefer, it’s just that they may be busy.”

This had happened to me before; a friend inviting me to church and looking that nervous. It was almost as if they were embarrassed to be doing so. I mean ok, church doesn’t exactly sound like a party, but I doubt there’s anything to be ashamed of. Time to be reassuring again.

“No, I’d like to come. It’ll give me a chance to say thank-you to him upstairs for finding me such a good friend.”

Her expression was unreadable after that and I left her to her thoughts.

This shopping trip was a little like the previous Sunday’s — same shops, same displays — but there the similarity ended. Sharon moved around the shops like a tornado, picking up skirts and dresses seemingly at random and dragging me into a changing room where I soon disappeared beneath a maelstrom of clothing. I tried to push some things on her, but she had become an elemental force bent on the sole purpose of filling the vacuum that was my wardrobe. I got really worried when the bill topped triple figures and carried on climbing and I tried to get her to stop, but she gave me the same ‘it’s my money’ routine before pulling me into a boutique to have my ears pierced.

She even dragged me into one of the high end fashion shops we’d been laughing at on Sunday and had me try on several outfits, getting me to pose while she took shots with the camera on her phone. That lasted until the manageress decided that she was unlikely to make any commission from us and asked us to leave.

The afternoon was a blast. We ended up with so many bags that our only hope of making it home with all our spoils intact was to call for a taxi, and even then they were piled so high in the back with us that the driver could hardly see through his rear view mirror. Eventually we fell, almost literally, into Sharon’s apartment, laughing and exhausted.

I recovered first and made my way to the kitchen and the coffee machine, stopping only briefly on the way.

“You know there is one question that springs to mind?”

Sharon was preoccupied keeping Toby and co out of all the new purchases.

“Oh what’s that?”

“Where are we going to put all this stuff?”

Sharon followed me through the door with a double arm full of tabby who, for the moment, seemed content enough to be carried and stroked.

“We’ll sort something out. I have way too many clothes anyway, so if you help me thin out my wardrobe a little tomorrow, I may let you use some of the space we free up.”

I handed her a coffee and Toby made a break for it; seeking further adventure in the living room.

“So what are you going to wear tonight?”

“I hadn’t really decided yet. It has to be something with trousers or leggings though. I mean don’t get me wrong I’m a sucker for a pretty dress, but these past few days I have had my fill of cold legs.”

She cocked her head and looked at me, her eyebrows knitting together a little.

“You know I’m amazed I didn’t see it before, but you are such a girl. I mean looking back on it the signs were there before you changed, but you are so natural I find it so strange to think that you ever were a man.”

I shrugged.

“Whatever I was physically I always struggled to fit into the mental and emotional patterns of a man. I’ve read that gender has a lot more to do with how your brain develops than anything else and the suggestion is that my brain developed a more feminine structure than masculine. I’m not entirely sure how I feel about that, but I suppose there has to be some truth in it. After my transformation it felt like I was waking from a bad dream, that I was fully able to be me for the first time ever. Even in the worst moments of the past week, I still felt more right. It’s so much easier to be me now, does that make sense?”

Sharon’s thoughtful face involved a rather comical pout and I couldn’t keep a straight face for more than a few seconds as she tried to wrap her mind around my rambling, and before long we were laughing again.

“Ok so back to the original question. How about that first outfit I suggested to you last Sunday?”

“What the orangey top and red leggings? You think that’ll be dressy enough?”

“I think it’ll do fine, I mean it’s only a nightclub, not a black tie and ball gowns kind of thing. Come on we don’t have forever, you need to shower and wash your hair while I dig out some clothes for both of us and make us something to eat. We’ve only got a couple of hours so we should get cracking.”

She shooed me into the bathroom, intent on turning me into a prune, while I was still pondering the concept of needing two hours to get ready.

In the end it wasn’t far short. I mean the clothes didn’t take much arranging, but my masses of hair took forever to dry and brush out as usual and after we’d each bolted down a quick sandwich Sharon insisted on sitting me down in front of her dressing table to learn how to use the new makeup kit she’d bought me. It was a steep learning curve which proved too steep for the available time. After watching my bodged attempts for ten minutes, Sharon took control and gave my face a serviceable going over.

I transferred my money into my new purse which I then put in my new handbag, along with a few additional items Sharon suggested I needed, and slipped my new winter coat over my new outfit. The feel of the makeup on my face would take some getting used to, but the effect as I looked in the mirror was astonishing. This was me, this was right. I great bubble of wonder grew inside me until Sharon pushed past and burst it.

“Come on princess, time to give your adoring public the opportunity to admire you. If we hurry we’ll just make the seven o’clock bus.”

So we did, and we did.

-oOo-
It was the same bus driver as the previous night.

“Evening ladies. Evening miss, glad to see things have improved on last night.”

I felt an urge to lean over and kiss him, but managed to subdue it. I flashed him a brilliant smile instead and even that seemed almost too much for him.

“Thank-you for looking after me, you were very kind.”

“Oh it wasn’t nothing miss. As I say I’m glad to see a smile on your face tonight.”

He was actually blushing as we handed over our fare and Sharon quickly pulled me down to the back of the bus before steam started to appear from beneath his collar.

“You incorrigible flirt!”

She hissed out the exclamation but was struggling hard to supress a giggle.

“Why, what did I do?”

“I am in presence of a monster. Girl you need to learn to dial it down.”

“I still don’t know what you’re going on about.”

“Well if I can put it this way. You just gave that poor driver such a stiffy that I wouldn’t be surprised if he misses his next few gear changes.”

Realisation dawned and my face flushed.

“You have new and powerful weapons now sweetie. You can turn men into gibbering wrecks with that smile and you need to learn how not to do it to every one you meet otherwise you are going to end up in serious trouble.”

Fortunately the driver managed to retain enough of his faculties to put his hands on the right stick and the bus rolled away smoothly into traffic. We chatted the rest of the way into the city, Sharon seemingly an unending reservoir of small-talk with me joining in as and when. I played with my hair absent-mindedly until I noticed most of the male passengers and even one or two of the female ones giving me sideways glances. I dropped my hands into my lap and studied my nails with a terrified intensity.

“See what I mean?”

“But I didn’t do anything.”

“Yes you did. You put on some pretty clothes, brushed your hair out and made an effort with your makeup. It’s kind of like putting a pair of antlers on your head and hanging up a sign saying open season.

“My advice? Don’t make eye contact, at least not until you find a guy who interests you.”

“Sharon!”

“Or a cute girl. Sorry I keep forgetting you used to be a guy. I hope you don’t turn out that way though; it would be such a waste with looks like yours.”

“Sharon, stop it. I… I’m not ready for this.”

She finally recognised that her teasing was scaring me and lay a sympathetic hand on my own.

“I’m sorry sweetie. Look you’ll be fine. I’ll stick with you and if anyone bothers us just let me do the talking ok?”

I nodded, but kept my head bowed and my face hidden behind my hair for the rest of the journey, her attempts at reassurance not quite sufficient to rebuild my self-confidence.

We hopped off the bus in Soho with me giving a somewhat toned down smile to the driver’s ‘you take care now’. The streets were crowded with people looking for amusement and we joined them. The night was turning cold again and I gave out a silent thanks to whoever was listening for the warmth of my new clothes. We reached the Meet Market and joined the line of customers waiting to go in. I hated the idea of forking out such a large chunk of my dwindling assets to get into the club, but after all Sharon had spent on me that afternoon it would have been churlish to refuse.

We hadn’t been waiting long before a guy in a tuxedo walked down the line and gestured at me.

“What… wha…”

“Perks of the new look sweetie.”

Sharon took hold of my arm and pulled me out of the queue. The man looked quizzically at Sharon and realisation finally dawned.

“She’s uh, she’s with me.”

He shrugged and waved us to the front of the line where another man, similarly attired, held the door open for us. Inside yet another man at the cashier’s desk waved us past with a smile and before I knew what was happening, we were checking our coats in at the desk. I turned to Sharon, only half comprehending.

“That hardly seems fair.”

“Whoever said life was fair? Look it’s worth it for these places. Once the stunningly beautiful — such as yourself — and the strikingly handsome learn that they can get in here for free, they will come in larger numbers, which means in turn that the ordinary population will line up around the corner for a chance to get in and try their luck, or just stand at the bar and drool over the lovelies.”

I was dumbstruck and she had to tug gently on my arm to get me moving.

“Just one more thing you’re going to have to get used to. Come on kiddo, let’s duck in here and freshen up before we make our big entrance.”

The ladies was nearly empty this early in the evening leaving us ample room to stand in front of the long mirror and work on our looks. I brushed my hair out — my own brush, one of the few things I’d succeeded in buying for myself that afternoon — and made a passable attempt at freshening my lipstick. Sharon fussed with her eyes a little then turned to me as the room emptied.

“On the life’s not fair theme a word of advice, any time in the evening you get the urge to go, don’t wait. In another half hour there will be a queue for these facilities to rival the one outside the club and it will only get longer as the evening wears on. You will be busting to go by the time you get in here.”

We finished our repairs and, feeling more out of my depth than I had all week, I followed Sharon out onto the battlefield.

We emerged into the same loud music and flashing lights that I’d hated the previous week; something that being turned into a girl hadn’t changed much in me it seemed. We made our way past the tables of the hopeful to the dance floor and bar. The whole room was a swirling, gyrating mass of humanity and I looked around in the confusion for a familiar face. When I found it, the blood ran cold in my veins.

Sharon sensed my sudden stillness and leaned over to shout in my ear.

“Did you find her?”

I leaned back. This wasn’t going to be easy. I raised a finger to point.

“Yeah. Er, I er… She’s over there. Talking to Phil.”

-oOo-