You meant it for evil - 15 by Maeryn Lamonte CAUTION: This chapter contains a short description of police photographs which may be unsettling “I'm sorry Miss Raeburn. We did everything we could, but it just seemed like she gave up.” I nodded. A fresh tear trickled down my cheek and I brushed it away. I'd thought I had run out of them. “There's another thing. The police are here. I'm afraid they want a word with you.

-oOo-
Detective inspector Chubb was a heavy-set man with a humourless face and blank eyes. Not the sort of man you'd want to play poker against although, with his manner, it was hard to imagine him doing much in the way of recreation. His suit was rumpled and his tie and collar loose; signs of a long day, with signs of many others etched into the lines of his face.

“Miss Elizabeth Raeburn.”

It was a statement rather than a questions, but then it wouldn't take the greatest detective in the world to recognise me after the previous week. Still I nodded nervously in acknowledgement.

“It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I've wanted a word for a while now, but until this moment lacked a pretext for approaching you. I wonder if you would be good enough to accompany me to the station. I believe you will be able to help in our enquiries.”

I've often wondered if the police are issued with a little book clichés when they join the force. I mean the stereotype is expected in TV programs and films, but when they start using them in real life? I suppose it may be tied in with the way the law works. Rigid, unbendable; as long as you stick to the same old words that have been used successfully in the past there's no chance of anyone questioning your methods.

“I left some things in the room.”

He held up the carrier bag with the former contents of my purse. Just to show, not to return. Not yet anyway.

I shrugged. There was no reason to say no, although deep in the pit of my stomach a cold void was forming.

Mike made a move to accompany us but the detective inspector had other ideas. He raised an eyebrow at the man standing beside me

“And you are, sir?”

“Mike Paston. I'm er...”

“He's my fiancé.”

I gave Mike a look with an apologetic smile. It had been his idea earlier and now it didn't seem so daft.

“I don't see a ring.”

“It's kind of a recent thing. The ring's being sized.”

Stop digging. Keep it simple. Why did you say that anyway? I mean lying to a police officer, what are you thinking?

“Well sir, perhaps you wouldn't mind coming down to the station a little later. For now we would like to talk to your... fiancée... in private.”

“It's alright love. I'll be fine. I'll call you when we're done.”

I moved in for a long overdue kiss then, as he pulled me into a close hug, I whispered in his ear.

“Call Sharon. Tell Clive that Emily is dead.”

DI Chubb was frowning at us when we separated. He'd probably heard me whispering, but I was pretty sure he hadn't heard what. I gave Mike one last kiss then let go his hand to follow the inspector.

-oOo-
Empty room, frosted glass, one table, two chairs. Paintwork a neutral grey-green. Not the décor to inspire comfortable reflection.

I'd been shown to the room as soon as we arrived at the police station and had spent the last fifteen minutes sitting in one of the chairs nervously playing with my finger nails

The door opened and DI Chubb stood in the entrance talking in quiet tones to someone just out of sight.

“Any chance of a cup of tea?”

DI Chubb glanced my way briefly then went back to his conversation. A minute later he walked all the way into the room, the door swinging shut behind him, and sat in the chair opposite. In his hands he had a thick manilla folder and a Dictaphone. The latter he placed in the centre of the table and turned on. The former he placed on the table beside him before going through the process of dictating the date, time and associated details of our interview in a bored voice.

When he was done, he sat for a while looking at me with his blank expression, then he reached into the folder and pulled out a photograph which he slid across to me. It was of Darren/Emily lying peaceful in death on her hospital bed. He held his silence waiting for me to volunteer some information. It was a good technique.

“Her name's Emily. She's my twin sister.”

The silence dug deeper, clawing at me, demanding more.

“She, er, she ran away from home. I came to London looking for her.”

Where the hell had that come from? Come on Liz, lying to a police officer again? on record this time? This isn't clever.

He reached over for the recorder, letting go of a long, drawn out sigh. The red light went out.

“I suppose under the circumstances I might try to make something up too.”

What? What was this?

Just then there was a gentle knock on the door and a WPC entered carrying two steaming mugs. She set them down on the table, nodded at the detective inspector and withdrew.

“You won't know about me Miss Raeburn, but I have something of a reputation in the police. My own fault, sort of. Product of my own success. I'm the guy they go to when something really unusual crops up, and they give me quite a lot of leeway with my investigations. You know, get the results and we won't ask to many questions as to how?”

That sounded ominous.

“I'm not sure what you're trying to say detective inspector.”

He raised his arms to the room around us.

“Well take this interview for instance. SOP would dictate that there be two police officers present and, since you are a young lady, either one of them should be female or at least an additional WPC should be present. Because of the unusual nature of the investigations I am given, it usually works out best for all concerned if I decide what information goes into the official record. So this...”

He held up the Dictaphone and pressed one of the buttons on the side.

“This goes in the bin and you get to try again.”

He reached into the folder and retrieved a stack more photographs.

“I am most dreadfully sorry miss, but some of these are going to be rather unpleasant.”

He placed more photographs on the table, side by side next to the one already there. The second was similar to the first. Different surroundings, but a girl looking exactly like Emily and me. The third — the inspector winced as he put it down — was a photograph taken by the river. The face of the dead girl bloated and deformed by her time in the water, but still recognisable as my twin. There were two more like that, different locations, similar appearance to the body. One of them... No let's just say she'd spent more time in the water than the others.

The next four were different again. Squalid rooms, emaciated, almost skeletal forms, but still recognisably like me. One of them, the syringe was still in her arm. I felt bile choking my throat and hot, acid tears stinging my eyes.

The last two photographs showed living people, living copies of me. One curled into a foetal position in the corner of a room, the other straight-jacketed and screaming.

He left them there for effect and I couldn't tear my eyes away from them. When he noticed me shaking he gathered them swiftly together and tucked them away out of sight, then strode swiftly across to the door. A second later the WPC was beside me, her arms around me as I found voice for the horror I had seen and poured anguished tears into her shoulder.

It took a while for me to cry things out. The mug of tea was definitely off the boil by the time I retrieved it from the desk, but I gulped it down gratefully even so. When I felt settled again, the WPC drew her arms back form me and looked at me with kind eyes.

“I'll be right outside of you need me love. Just holler.”

Again she withdrew leaving me alone with my interrogator, my torturer.

“I'm sorry about that Miss Raeburn, but there wasn't a gentler way. You see you and — well for the moment we can call her Emily — are re the eleventh and twelfth persons we have encountered looking like, well you.

“Now to my certain knowledge, the largest number of surviving multiple births is eight and, since those were as a result of IVF, not necessarily identical. It would ease my mind immensely if you were able to give me some explanation as to why there are twelve of you. At this stage you can see why I would be prepared to entertain, shall we say, unusual explanations. Off the record until we can decide what should be reported that won't upset the status quo too much.”

My mug was empty. I put it down on the table and stared at it.

“I could do with something a bit stronger than that.”

He smile ruefully.

“Couldn't we all love. I can offer you one with sugar in?”

I nodded and he went to the door to arrange it.

“I'm still not sure you would believe what I have to say on this matter.”

He sat back down opposite me. His face was as blank as it had ever been, but there was a glimmer of warm sympathy to his eyes.

“You let me worry about that Miss Raeburn. As I have already intimated, I have an unusual aspect to my job. A number of colleagues, who are to some degree in the know, already call me Mulder. The reason why I tend to end up with the unusual ones is that I don't discount the impossible, at least until there is firm evidence.”

“His name was Darren.”

“The girl last night?”

I nodded and he reopened his folder full of horrors to withdraw another set of photographs.

Seeing me flinch he paused.

“Miss Raeburn, you have my word there will be no more photographs like the first. Three of the young girls were alive when we first found them. One, sadly, took her own life the night we took her into custody. The other two, well from the photographs you can see they are not well in mind. They did, however, all identify themselves by name as young men when they were first brought in.”

DI Chubb laid out a eleven photographs of young men in their twenties and early thirties, most of them from parties, showing smiling, laughing individuals. He indicated three photographs as being those of the survivors, then pointed at a fourth.

“This is Darren Smallwood. Disappeared about three months ago. Now please tell me how the girl lying in the mortuary is the same person.”

I checked the Dictaphone, still lying on the table, still off from the lack of red light.

“There was a girl. Mary, her name was, I'm sorry she didn't tell me her surname...”

-oOo-
“So do I get my own padded cell now?”

DI Chubb had been sitting in thoughtful silence for ten minutes since I stopped talking. My second mug of tea had been sickeningly sweet but had gone a long way to calming my nerves. It stood empty beside the first.

“Perhaps I could use the bathroom? Freshen up?”

“What? Oh yes, I suppose so.”

He walked me to the door where the WPC was waiting patiently. It didn't take long. The various cups of tea I'd been drinking through the night departed my body swiftly having long overstayed their welcome and without the contents of my handbag — still in police custody — there was only a limited amount I could do about my appearance. On the way back to the interview room I caught sight of a couple of familiar faces.

“Mike. Clive.”

I broke away from my chaperone and ran to them, so grateful to see them. The WPC caught up with me and took my arm gently.

“I'm sorry Miss Raeburn, the Detective Inspector hasn't finished yet. You're friends will be waiting when you're finished.”

“Actually, I'm Miss Raeburn's solicitor, and I rather think I would like to consult with my client in private, if you would be so kind.”

Oh Clive I could kiss you.

“Perhaps you'd better come along to then.”

Mike went back to waiting as Clive accompanied me back to the interview room. The WPC ducked her head in first.

“I'm sorry sir, Miss Raeburn's solicitor is here. We bumped into him on the way back from the toilets.”

Clive preceded me into the room, his shoulders stiffening as he took note of the irregularities of the interview. DI Chubb rose to his feet and fired the first salvo.

“Before you say anything, may I point out that Miss Raeburn has not been accused of anything, nor is this an official interview. She has been most helpful in volunteering background information to an ongoing investigation, all off the record but extremely useful.”

“So she is not being charged with anything? We can leave?”

“There are a few more questions I would still like to ask, but I have no authority to hold you if you wish to leave.”

Clive took me by the arm and made to guide me out, but I put a hand on his chest.

“Detective Inspector Chubb, I wonder if I might have a word with my solicitor alone?”

He thought for a moment then gathered his things.

“I'll be right outside miss.”

I quickly brought Clive up to speed on what I'd told them, which hadn't included anything about his involvement as yet, and on what they already knew.

“I think I'd rather get this cleared up completely. I trust this DI Chubb. I think he's just doing the best he can with a very tricky situation. Besides there are two others like me who are still alive and in desperate need of help they're not going to get unless I can get to them.”

“I'm not sure Liz.”

“Please Clive. You didn't see the photos.”

“Ok, but I'm staying with you for the rest of the interviews.”

“If you do that, he'll know you know the whole truth.”

“If I don't I wouldn't be doing my due diligence. It can't be helped Liz.”

“If you're sure.”

“I can be as stubborn as you in my own way.”

I gave him a grateful hug then went to the door.

In the end it was as well Clive stayed. I would have been far too open and trusting about giving out information. The DI wanted to know who I had been in case I came up in a missing person's report, Clive told him that wouldn't happen. How had I come by my new identity — through legal and acceptable means. How was it that I had coped so much better with the transition than the others. That at least was one I could answer.

“I think it's because I've always been something of a girl inside.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Most of Mary's victims were intentionally strongly male. I mean not just men, but men who displayed the strongest masculine characteristics. I'm different. I've never really been one of the lads because part of me, deep down, always wanted to be a girl.

“I've spent most of my life learning to be something I'm not, pretending to be something I'm not, fitting into a life I never wanted. It's hard. What Mary gave me was a way out of, well not wishing to be dramatic but, hell. What she did to the others was effectively throw them, without warning or preparation, into a very similar, and possibly deeper, hell.

Imagine yourself as one of the lads — well you probably don't have to — imagine that is — but I do. You're sporty, fit, competitive. You enjoy everything about your life. You're cocky, independent, I don't know what else but you get the picture. Then without warning, after something as innocuous as a kiss, you're changed into... this.”

I indicated my body.

“What for me was a coming home, so welcome that it has me feeling whole for the first time in my life, was for them more like being marooned on a harsh alien planet with no hope of rescue.”

Both Clive and the DI stared at me in stunned silence. It looked like the horror of the situation was sinking in. Time for the cherry.

“Now imagine being stuck like that, and surrounded by people who could and might help, only none of them believes you. Not one of them can bring him or herself to do so because your story is so fantastic.

“There's not much can be done for those who are dead, except possibly tell their next of kin and keep the bodies hidden, but for the two who are still alive, at least to have someone who believes them, who's ready to help them whatever it takes.”

“You want access to the two who are still alive?”

DI Chubb was quick. I nodded. He sighed.

“I suppose something can be arranged. Rather than twins, it seems you are triplets.”

“What about the rest of it? All that?”

I pointed at the folder.

“You're sure there'll be no more? I mean this Mary is gone?”

“She's gone but the character who set it all up isn't. Mind you the way things turned out with Mary I'm not sure he'll be ready to try the same thing again soon.”

“Let's hope so. Alright, I suppose that just leaves for me to clear up this mess.

“The official story is that you've been looking for your two sisters since you came to London. You received some information last night which led you to the girl you found. Sadly she wasn't who you were looking for, even more sadly she died from complications following her miscarriage. I met you at the hospital and invited you down to the station to look at the two unknown girls, who you identified as your sisters. We'll need paperwork for them.”

Clive coughed, apparently he'd decided to trust the detective inspector after all.

“There are already documents for an Emily Raeburn. No reason why by, say, Monday there couldn't be additional documentation for...”

“How about Charlotte? At least one of them will be able to go with Charlie then.”

“Charlotte. Two Brontes out of the three then. I wonder what Anne did to get looked over.”

The light had been dawning in Chubb's eyes.

“Would I be addressing the legal and acceptable means? No don't answer that, I neither need nor want to know. Ok I'll assume the documentation's taken care of then. That leaves my paperwork over there which will go into a locked filing cabinet in a dark room somewhere, and I think we're done.”

“And that's it?”

“Well what else could there be? No good can come of telling your story to the world in general. It's going to be hard enough for the mothers of those lads to find out their sons are dead without telling them they were turned into tarts first.”

He offered me my carrier bag of things back then stood, inviting us to follow suit, and led us back to the waiting room where Mike was wearing holes in the carpet.

“This has been a most unusual evening Miss Raeburn, but highly productive. I wish you every success with your venture and will be in touch soon with arrangements for you to visit Charlotte and er, Emily wasn't it?”

“Thank-you detective inspector. You had me worried for a while at the beginning, but on the whole I'm glad I could be of help.”

Mike took me home, Clive having excused himself with urgent business to attend to. At silly o'clock on a Saturday morning that could only mean doing for Charlotte what he had already done for Emily. Mike wanted to know everything and I did try to humour hum, but I was just too tired after a long day and an even longer night. I was fast asleep long before we arrived back at the flat.

I did rouse long enough to hear Mike grumbling quietly about doing things back asswards as he carried me across my own threshold. I was asleep again before he lay me on my bed, or at least I assume so because I have no memory of the event.

-oOo-
I woke to an incessant ringing which I eventually identified as my phone. I checked my clock. Who rings anyone at ten thirty on a Saturday morning? I mean I thought we were supposed to be civilised.

I hauled myself off the bed, no shoes but otherwise fully clothed, and staggered over to the source of the disturbance, grabbing it from its stand and burying it in the bramble patch that passed for my hair first thing in the morning. This had better be good.

“Hello.”

At least that had been the word I'd been going for. I think it came out more as “mweurgh.”

“Elizabeth Raeburn? This is Dr Chancery at St Thomas's. We met briefly last night.”

My blood ran suddenly cold, bringing me to instant alert status. Calls from the hospital generally didn't usually happen so quickly unless the news was bad.

“Yes doctor I remember.”

“I didn't have the chance to offer my condolences on the passing of you sister. I'm really very sorry.”

Yes, yes, get to the point.

“Thank-you doctor.”

I wasn't going to give him a chance to turn this into a conversation. He took the hint.

“Anyway, the blood work we did on Emily came back. There is no indication of AIDS or hepatitis or anything else you might be concerned about. You'll receive a letter next week sometime once the wheels have a chance to turn, but I thought you'd like to know sooner. I er hope I didn't worry you.”

Just nearly gave me a heart attack thanks.

“Not at all doctor, it was very kind of you to call.”

It was as well. I could feel muscles in my back unknot at the news. I hadn't realised how worried I'd been 'til then.

“Well my shift just ended so I'm off to bed. After your night last night I'd recommend you do the same.”

I couldn't help but laugh. I mean the guy wasn't being in the least ironic, or if he was he was hiding it very well.

“Thank-you doctor, I may do just that.”

Having hung up the phone, I headed straight for the shower. It didn't take long to wash last night's grime off me. I padded back to my bedroom carrying the clothes I'd been wearing but otherwise naked, grabbed my nightdress and climbed into it and back into bed.

-oOo-
I woke to the sound and smell of shallots frying. It was gentle and welcoming and so much better than being jarred awake by the telephone. I did my shambling hedge impression as far as the kitchen where I found Mike cheerfully doing something wonderful with the aforementioned, some button mushroom s and scrambled eggs. He turned with a cheery smile and leaned over to give me a kiss. Time for a warning.

“Danger, bad breath.”

He didn't care and kissed me anyway.

“There would be coffee as well, only I don't understand your evil device.”

I set about showing him that it was simple enough I could even do it on auto-pilot.

“You know, you have a wonderful view from this flat of yours at times.”

The cogs whirred and clanked, knocking off the previous twenty four hours worth of rust and gunk. It eventually dawned on me what he was talking about and I felt a deep beetroot blush rise up my body.

“Oh shit, you were here?”

“Too tired to go back home. Figured you wouldn't mind me crashing on the couch. If I'd known you were that comfortable in your skin, I might have risked undressing you a little further.”

“Well I'm grateful for your gentlemanly manners, and horribly embarrassed by my little display. If I'd had even the first idea you were there...”

“I know, I'm only teasing. What did the doctor say?”

“You were listening in on my telephone conversation?”

“Again I couldn't help it, the telephone woke me up as well. Even so, 'yes doctor, no doctor, thank-you doctor' didn't tell me much more than who you were talking to.”

“It was the doctor at St Thomas's. They did a blood screen on Darren as part of the post mortem, and since I managed to get myself covered in his blood, he did me the courtesy of letting me know she tested negative for all the nasties.”

“That was thoughtful of him. Seems I may have another rival.”

It was a sentence to derail the conversation. We both knew that the last we'd talked about us, he'd walked out, if you didn't count the half hearted attempt at the hospital the previous night. It wasn't something that could just be picked up again as though nothing had happened and we were suddenly both of us very aware of the fact. Fortunately Mike had more courage than me.

“Do you blame me for walking out last time? Do you hate me for not believing you?”

Hate you? Never in a million lifetimes Mike.

“No Mike, and no. I've never hated you. Got frustrated with your pig-headedness sometimes perhaps, but never anything remotely like hate. As for blaming you? Mine's a crazy story that has no business existing in an otherwise normal world. So far I have six people who believe me. Two family and two close friends who know me well enough that they can see a little bit of who I used to be still, and two others whose minds are as brilliant as they are open, and them only because they hunted out enough evidence convince them to accept the improbable.”

“And what if you could add a seventh now? Someone whose mind is probably as dull as it is closed off from the wonders of the world, but who's seen enough now to be able to believe?”

He slid a plate of calories over to me. I could feel the tears scratching away at the backs of my eyes, like early morning cats a the door, eager to be outside. I fought them back. Not now, no this early. Not before coffee. I bit on a forkful of egg and mushrooms and started chewing deliberately, giving myself time to think.

“Mike, there were a number of reasons why I told you. The first and most important was that I didn't want there to be any secrets between us. A relationship is built on trust and for as long as I was hiding something from you, there wasn't complete trust. No hear me out please. The second reason was that I was, and still am, reasonably sure that this is going to come out at some awkward times in the future. You would have found out about it sooner or later and I wanted it to come from me. More than that, I need you to believe me so that whenever it does come out, you're ready to stand beside me. I need your strength in this Mike.”

He reached across and took my hand in his. You can actually read love and acceptance in a person's eyes. I know because I saw it in Mike's then. There was one last thing to say though, probably the hardest.

“The last reason I wanted to tell you was so that you knew who I once was. I've been a man, sort of. I have an idea of how it might feel to find out that your girlfriend used to be a dude and I know it's something that most men would find difficult to accept. I'm hoping that it counts for something that I've always been a girl on the inside, that I didn't actually choose this change — regardless of how glad I am to have been given it — and that the change is complete. You know with hormones, mood swings, ovaries and the prospects of becoming a mother at some stage in the future?

“I know the whole story has been difficult to accept. I also know that my once having been a man is also likely to be difficult to accept. I'll never blame you or hate you for walking away from this. Hell if I were still Ken and the girl I was dating told me this lot, I'm not sure I'd react much differently from you. What I do need though is someone who will stand by me no matter what, someone who will love me regardless of the impossible story I've told about my past, regardless of the fact that I used to have a dick between my legs.

“I'm not strong enough to go through another break up, so think carefully about what you want and what you're prepared to give before you decide what you say to me next.”

My breakfast was getting cold. One major problem I'd noticed about myself since becoming a woman was that I just couldn't shut up. I turned my attention to my food, partly to give Mike a chance to think. Mainly because I had to distract myself from what he might say, what a part of me was still afraid he would say.

The coffee machine, having mocked the seriousness of my words with its comically unpredictable noises, was silent. My next distraction once my plate was empty. Mike withdrew his hands from mine. Why was it every time I ate with this guy recently had felt like the condemned prisoner's last meal?

Mike stood slowly. Was that a bad sign? It felt like a bad sign. God, please don't let it be a bad sign. He walked over to the coffee machine and poured out two mugs. No fair, what was I going to do when I'd finished those last two mushrooms? One of the coffees appeared in front of my down-turned eyes.

“I've already done my thinking. Everything you've just mentioned has occurred to me and I've given it all the consideration it deserves. I had loads of time to do so down at the police station yesterday and again early this morning. I've come to a number of conclusions.

“One, I believe you. What I saw and heard in the hospital last night took away any doubts. I'm ashamed that it took something like that to convince me and I rather suspect that the next time you have something unusual to tell me, I might be a little more receptive.

“Two, whatever, whoever, you used to be, I have no problems accepting because it went towards making you who you are today, and I wouldn't change a single thing about the beautiful, considerate and loving girls I see before me.

“Three, the way I've felt this past few weeks, I can't imagine living any more of my life without you so, whilst I had a slightly more romantic setting in mind than your kitchen with you in your nightie and wild hair...”

He settled onto one knee and took my hand in his. One last thought occurred to me and I held up my other one to pause him.

“There is just one more thing I need to tell you. I have two identical twin sisters, both of them in the loony bin.”

Mike lost his balance and fell over backwards, dragging me on top of him and laughing helplessly.

“What? What did I say?”

Mike was too far gone so I was left to replay my words for myself. It didn't take long for me to join him.

-oOo-
Mike got his romantic setting, but he made me wait two weeks for it, wondering nervously all the while if I'd mistaken his intentions. Still it was good enough that we were back together and so much better because of my new found certainty that he knew me for exactly who and what I was and still loved me. He did have his chat with Phil about me; by then it wasn't necessary but it helped him solidify his new-found belief in the impossible.

That same day I had gone shopping with Sharon and we'd stopped by a jewellery shop where she had asked to check her ring finger size, confiding in me that she meant to drop hints with Phil sometime soon. She persuaded me to check mine too and somehow I didn't think any more of it.

It seemed that Mike managed to conscript all my friends into his little plan. It was two weeks to the day and as evening came round, I was anticipating another Saturday evening on my own with Mike in his restaurant as usual. The first of the buildings for the new foundation was just about finished, thanks largely to Aaron and his friends who had pitched in enthusiastically with the redecoration and had already taken up residence. We had set a date for the inauguration for the following Friday with invitations being prepared for the individuals we felt would most benefit from being the first into the building. There was an enormous amount of work to do and I had decided that I was going to spend the evening with Mr Pinkie ploughing my way through it all. Sharon had other ideas. At half past five she breezed into my flat and closed the computer screen down on my fingers.

“You have spent far too much time on this pet project of yours. It is Saturday night and, Mike or no Mike, you and I are going out on the town.”

She grabbed me by the wrist and dragged me bodily into my room. I was accustomed to her taking liberties with my wardrobe, but this evening she chose for both of us. It had been nearly a week since my last public appearance and, after a week of jeans and sweatshirts, I found I was rather looking forward to having some fun. The paperwork could wait.

We did the whole helping each other get ready thing with Sharon insisting that I, at least, wear something completely new. For herself, she chose the same black dress she had borrowed from me before. I'd only worn it the once and still thought it looked better on her. I told her as much and, since my wardrobe was already bulging with the extra clothes Karen had brought me, I suggested she'd be doing me a favour by keeping it in hers. She didn't take much persuading.

For me she laid out a light blue, high necked, sleeveless dress in some sparkly wonder-of-modern-science fabric. It looked very slightly oriental which, so Sharon told me, made me look mysterious and exotic; even more so when I picked out a pair of distinctive vari-coloured tights to go with it.

“Can we take your car?”

Earlier in the week, following Karen's suggestion that I acquire a means of travelling around the country to the various shows and events she was lining up for me, I had splurged on a three year old Smart Roadster in yellow with black stripes. It was neither the fastest nor the most practical of cars, but it looked pant-wettingly good, had excellent fuel economy and, with retractable roof, lifting doors and a satisfying amount of sportiness given its seven hundred cc engine, it was a lot of fun to drive. Since I'd bought it a couple of days previously Sharon had been pestering me for a ride.

“Yeah, why not? Do you have anywhere in particular in mind?”

“You leave the navigating to me. I'll try and find us a few fun roads between here and where we're going.”

It was still too cold to drive with the roof down, especially now the sun had gone to bed, but that didn't stop us from having a lot of fun. Sharon guided me away from the more built up neighbourhood and into a rural setting where we found some meandering roads with the speed limit set at an ambitious sixty and I drove my new toy to the point of feeling the rear wheels twitch in the corners. Odd how as Ken I would never have driven so aggressively and now, without so much as a drop of testosterone in my body, I was pushing things to the limit. Maybe it had more to do with peace of mind than aggression. I was at home in my own skin and reaching out more freely and with more abandon than I would have imagined possible as Ken.

Sharon was crafty with her directions, managing to turn me just once too often and leave me with no idea where I was almost right until we reached out destination.

“Hang on, isn't this...”

We turned one last corner and there was Mike's restaurant, the car park considerably less full than usual.

“Why don't we pop in and say hello since we're here.”

Sharon couldn't pull off the little miss innocent with any amount of conviction, but if this was the plan, I'd hate to be the one to ruin it for everyone. One or two of the cars looked familiar, but I chose not to say anything. Just pulled up next to Phil's BMW and climbed out pretending not to notice.

Sharon linked arms with me and led me through the entrance where we were greeted by the cheerfully cries of welcome from all my friends, some of my family and several people I didn't recognise. The restaurant had been decorated with Chinese lanterns and most of the furniture pushed together to form one large banqueting table in the middle.

I was led to a vacant seat by the head of the table where Mike offered me a glass of champagne in greeting. As soon as I was seated, with Sharon opposite, next to Phil, Mike stood and indulged in the time honoured tradition of calling for silence by tapping his glass with a fork. The room fell silent and Mike started his address.

“Ladies and gentlemen, family and friends. Tonight marks a milestone in my life as this is possibly the first Saturday evening I have taken off in over three years.”

This brought a rousing cheer, loudest from those who had been here longest and enjoyed more of Mike's wine than the rest of us.

“This does unfortunately mean that my long suffering assistants, Sandy and James, will be solely responsible for preparing the food we are all about to eat, so I shall be requiring you to sign an indemnity agreement declaring that you will not hold this restaurant or its proprietor responsible for any consequences that might arise from our celebration here tonight.”

This garnered a smattering of laughter and not a few cries of 'shame' and 'boo'.

“This evening further marks my discovery that there can be nothing finer in this life than surrounding yourself with the ones you love and sharing with them some of your good fortune.”

And the cheers were back.

“Most significantly though, this evening marks the moment in which I fully realised the depth of my love for one person in particular and how very much I want to live the rest of my life with her. So, with all of you as my witnesses and because I am too terrified to wait another moment...”

He turned to me, settled onto one knee, dropped his voice to almost a whisper.

“Elizabeth Raeburn, would you do me the unmatchable honour of becoming my wife?”

The entire room fell into complete silence. Everyone waited with bated breath and, for a moment, even the cars stopped driving past. My own breath caught in my throat as I looked down at a ring perched on its cushion waiting for my answer. Had I any reservations this would have been an impossible situation, but Mike knew as well as I that, had I not so magnificently ruined that moment in the kitchen, I would have already said yes.

I wanted something witty to say, but my mind was shocked numb with the unexpectedness of the moment. Hot tears flooded my eyes and, before I lost the power of speech completely, I managed to squeak out a yes, nodding my head in case anyone, Mike especially, hadn't heard me. The room erupted into a roar that receded into some distant part of my awareness as I fell into my fiancé’s embrace.

I could have stayed like that all night, but there were guests to feed and Mike's knee probably wouldn't appreciate to much longer on the hard, wooden floor. We withdrew from one another, eyes promising more later, and Mike deftly slid the ring onto my finger.

It was a perfect fit and I looked over at Sharon — decidedly the cat who got the cream — as realisation dawned on why she had suggested I have my finger measured. I gazed back down at the ring on my finger. A sapphire and two diamonds winked back at me. The tears wouldn't stop and I had to bite my lip from moaning, the emotion too raw, too powerful to contain. Mike nodded a signal to his minions and, with everyone else distracted by the confusion of food coming to the table, took me in his arms once again. This time we didn't come up for air for a very long time.

-oOo-
The evening was wonderful. So many people I knew were there. Clive and his wife Sandra, Pastor James and Marion, Karen, Andrew the photographer and Charlotte my comrade on the catwalk, Mary and Cassie, accompanied by Mary's husband and Cassie's brother, Mike's cousin Katie, Geoff, Glen and Lisa had brought Gemma and Abby with them, evidently pre-warned and eager to meet their new aunt. Glen apologised for Mum and Dad's absence, evidently they still couldn't come to terms with the idea that they had an eighteen year old daughter now, and I couldn't blame them. Any reconciliation with Mum and Dad would have to be slow for their sakes.

The rest of the guests, and there were quite a few of them, were Mike's friends and family. Geoff did a great job of introducing me to a lot of them; apparently he hadn't been the only person to benefit from Mike's generosity.

The food was fantastic putting a lie to Mike's earlier comments. He did grumble once or twice, but over small things and on the whole even he had to admit that it was close to the standard he strove to maintain.

“So now you have no excuse for not taking an evening off every now and again. I shall expect you on my arm the next time I have to attend something here in London; no, no objections or maybe I shall have to let Tarquin charm me into his arms.”

“You wouldn't dare.”

“No I wouldn't, but you never know what the newspapers will start saying if they see me in public with him again.”

He shook his head woefully.

“It's going to be like this from here on isn't it?”

“You'd better believe it. I still have to get you back for springing all this on me, and don't think that's going to be easily forgiven.”

“What do you mean? I thought you'd love this.”

“What if I'd had any doubts Mike? What if I'd needed to think about things.”

“But you didn't did you? I've never been more sure of something in my life and two weeks ago I know I saw the same certainty in you.”

He was right. I wasn't going to let him off though.

“I still don't get to tell all my friends though, since you invited them all here.”

I managed a pout, but it wouldn't stay on my face long enough to convince him.

-oOo-
The following week fell into something of a routine, Mike joining me for breakfast then the two of us going grocery shopping for the restaurant. About mid morning we'd go down to the newly converted shelter and make sure everything was running smoothly. Aaron had proved to be a good choice in heading up the homeless people's involvement as he was a natural leader and perhaps as determined as I was to see this succeed.

Friday's inauguration was perfect, the press back in evidence and offering me a place in front of the cameras again. Yes I was excited to see things coming together. Yes it was pretty much as I'd planned, especially now that I had my first offer of someone to help train those who came along. Mike did his spiel about how cooking was a life skill from which anyone would benefit, even if they didn't go on to make a living from it, so the training he would be giving these young people would serve more than one purpose. He finished with a plea for more small businesses to come forward and offer training.

The other charities made their presence and support known, cheering as I did the ceremonial thing with the giant scissors and ribbon, and several hundred young people officially moved into their new home. It was exciting and wonderful to see a dream turned to reality, even though I suspected it wouldn't all be such plain sailing.

By the end of the afternoon, the media had packed up and gone home, Mike had gone to open up his eatery and I was left with a tired last round of the building, to make sure everyone was settled and everything in order, before heading home myself. I wasn't long through the door when the phone started ringing.

“Hello?”

“Miss Raeburn, this is detective inspector Chubb. I caught something of your official opening on the telly this afternoon and may I say it was a most impressive showing.”

“Thank-you detective inspector, it's kind of you to say.”

“I only tell it as I see it Miss Raeburn. Speaking of which, I was over at the institute where your, er, sisters are being treated. I spent some time chatting to the doctors responsible for their care, suggested that you might be able to help. It seems they agree. They were wondering if you might be free to visit tomorrow.”