by Beverly Taff
This story just came to me. Out of the blue. I suppose I could have expanded it and divided it up into chapters and there's huge scope to take different threads to various ends but for now it's a stand alone. Each of the 'threads' leaves tantalising potentials for further stories. I might come back to different threads if and when I've hit a dry spot or summat'
Enjoy.
Beverly.
The Rescue.
I’d just completed a ‘sixty-miler’ that Friday afternoon and I was wheeling my bike up the garden path with a sense of some satisfaction and well-being. As I reached back into the built-in ‘bum-bag’ of my unitard to dig out the keys to the side gate I heard the first scream coming from the street.
“God! These kids seem to get noisier every year,” I thought to myself as the lock unlatched and I gently pushed the gate open with the front wheel of my road racer bike. This time it was some school girl bursting her lungs at what I presumed was yet another schoolgirl tiff on the way home from school. The screams and noises in the street when the school let the kids out for home-time had become a regular afternoon chorus of disruption for our street. The main school gates formed the end of a cul-de-sac and the only way out for the whole school was down our street. The school had one of the worst catchment areas in the city and the daily mayhem had become a regular ordeal for my neighbours. The kid’s behaviour seemed to deteriorate year on year.
Cars in the street got scratched, garden shrubs got broken and a veritable cascade of rubbish and litter followed every ‘home time’.
I knew my neighbours were sick and tired of the problems but the only woman on the street who had tried to instigate a campaign to address the situation had ended up getting her car trashed and her windows smashed. Now the local residents, who were mostly single mothers themselves or elderly couples or widows, simply closed their doors and watched to try and make sure that their particular property wasn’t targeted and then they silently offered up a prayer of thanks after the last child had passed.
‘Where were the police?’ Do I hear?
Dream on, this is Britain circa 2010.
I was the only single guy on the street but I kept myself strictly to myself. Besides, if a grown man touched a kid in politically correct Britain these days, well; he was done for.
Every agency in the country would be down on him for molesting one of the little bastards no matter what the little thug had done. I worked nights as the maintenance engineer from Monday through to Thursday at a large bottle factory.
I rarely saw my neighbours except to check in daily on Mrs Todd next door ,or chat to Harry who backed on to my house, and then offer the odd ‘hello’ to the other immediate neighbours on Fridays and weekends when I got my bike out in the mid morning and peddled off into the clear, blue yonder. Out of town the smoke and smells from the local steel works gradually faded to rural insignificance. I used to choose my cycling destinations based on wind direction to avoid the smoke and smells of the steel-works. A couple of miles out of town, there were rural bicycle trails that offered mile upon mile of traffic free peace and rustification.
The school kids were not much of a problem for me. As a working guy with a steady salary I had been able to ‘Case Harden’ my house against most forms of antisocial behaviour. The whole of the front garden had been concreted over thus there was nothing in the front that could be vandalised. The side gate was a substantial steel plate and frame that complemented the high boundary wall that surrounded my end-of-terrace back garden except for the large double garage with the automatic steel doors that housed my car, my transit van and my bicycles. Even though my house was nearest to the school, its high walls and steel security furniture ensured that ‘Fort Beverly’ was virtually impregnable whilst also ensuring that nobody could see into my garden or garage. As a final ‘back-stop’ I had installed ‘hidden cameras’ at critical positions around my house, Mrs Todd’s house and Harry’s garage behind me. Harry was happy to have a camera checking over his garage and his precious pigeons whilst also checking out our mutual side lane entrances. Short of smashing my windows in, (and so far that hadn’t happened to me,) I was fairly safe from the mayhem. I kept a low profile normally going out on my bike in the early afternoon on Mondays to Thursdays then returning in the evening after the school herds had passed through. Fridays was the only day I was likely to meet the kids when I came home from cycling early to get prepared for my weekends. I usually did a much longer ride on Fridays, leaving in the early morning and returning about three to fourish.
This Friday had been just like hundreds of others except for the hysterical screaming in the street. I sighed angrily as I locked my bike away and the screaming was still persisting.
Blocking my ears to the familiar refrain, I stepped inside my back door and glanced through the front window to see a crowd gathered on the pavement directly outside my low garden wall. Then I saw the reasons for the screaming.
The fight was now spilling over the wall onto my concrete forecourt and I could readily see several boys kicking the daylights out of a single kid who was trying desperately to escape. The screaming girl was desperately trying to stop the beating but was having little effect. The boy’s face was a mass of blood and bruises while his blood-stained shirt and tee-shirt were ripped to shreds. It was only then that I noticed the torn bloodied remains of a bra under the kid’s clothes.
With the fight now firmly entrenched by my waist high front wall, the problem had become mine. I cursed as I was forced now to take some sort of action. If the crowd of ‘onlookers’ now spilling into my property got any bigger there was a possibility of damage to my stuff like a window being pushed in or something. Knowing how things had deteriorated in latter day Britain if a kid fell onto my window and cut himself, I, the householder would probably be held accountable. I was now forced to act. Even as I stepped into the hall there was a furious hammering on my door knocker.
“Mister! Mister! Help!”
The screaming girl was now trying to get protection for the boy. Lots of school-kids knew I lived right next door to the school. I was the only adult man on the block! Plenty of kids had seem me cleaning my car or sweeping my front forecourt of the rubbish in the mornings after I got home from work and before I took a sleep before going cycling.
I flung my door open angrily and demanded to know what the f--k was going on. It was a rhetorical question but my shout momentarily startled the attackers and they hesitated. The boy grabbed his chance and literally crawled over my wall onto my forecourt.
The attackers followed him over the wall but they promptly desisted as I sprang out of my door and made as if to grab one of the sods. I actually collared the biggest kid and flung him violently off my forecourt before one of the others pulled a knife.
It was his biggest mistake for now my adrenaline was pumping and I was still in my cycling gear including the shoes with the metal clips on the soles. The Lycra unitard enabled me to move freely and the boy received a vicious kick before he had realised what I was doing. He let out a squeal of pain as the metal clip paralysed his wrist and he dropped the knife as he lurched fearfully to the sanctuary of the street. With that the whole gang ran and I was now confronted with the bloodied mess staining the concrete of my forecourt. The victim was in a bad way and the girl was sobbing over him. Firstly I had to clear the puerile mob of onlookers who were still sniggering even as the beaten kid appeared to be bleeding to death. In a rage I swore at them and made another token grab at one of the larger boys to emphasise my disgust.
They scattered from my forecourt, which was exactly what I wanted them to do, but they still hung around on the pavement outside as they continued staring at the bleeding wreck on my forecourt. As I bent down to examine the kid the girl was already dialling 999 on her mobile. She asked for an ambulance and I had to remind her to also ask for the police. Then I took the phone from her hysterical grasp and relayed what details I could to the emergency services.
“Yeah, severe bleeding from the ears and mouth, extensive bruising all over, concussion apparently, it’s pretty serious, - yes, upstairs in my back bedroom, you’ll find a blanket, - no I’m not moving him. Yes, No 1 School Street, Sandhills, and they’ll need a forensics team, there’s a knife lying untouched on my forecourt.
I was indirectly talking to several people at once here, the ambulance service, the police and the girl who I presumed to be the boy’s friend or even his sister. Once the emergency services were sorted I gave the girl her phone back and carefully continued checking the boy out. Unfortunately he was out cold so I had no way of even beginning to assess his condition.
There were no obvious broken long bones but his ribs were badly bruised and his head was swollen like a pumpkin. I was afraid for the kid. All I could do was make sure he wasn’t deteriorating. The girl started to phone her parents.
“Hello Mam, - yes. It’s James; they’ve had another go at him. It’s serious this time. - Yes, were in this man’s garden, James is unconscious and bleeding. _Yes, of course we’ve called an ambulance, - and the police. — Cos that Bastard David Evans pulled a bloody knife!
No, nobody’s been stabbed, the man disarmed him. — Yes he’s here now.”
The girl handed her phone back to me. “My mam wants to speak to you.”
“Hello. Beverly Taff here.”
The mother was distraught.
“Oh thank God. Is it serious, my boy, - James”
“Uhm, I’m not sure. He’s unconscious and he’s bleeding from the ears. That’s not good.”
“I’m coming over straight away.” Is my daughter Candice okay?”
I asked Candice by name if she was okay and she nodded as I advised her mother.
“You’d best go straight to casualty. I can hear the ambulance now. I’ve got to go.”
I shut off the phone and handed it back to Candice as I realised that James was arresting. Despite the blood being smeared all over his mouth and lips I had to give him cardiac massage and mouth to mouth. Candice became hysterical and started screaming at the crowd that they had killed her brother. Her cries brought old Mrs Todd out from next door and she immediately started shooing the crowd of on-looking children away. I wanted to stop her but I was too busy trying to give mouth to mouth to a boy whose breath was frothing with blood. I was coughing and spluttering from having accidently inhaled some of the froth myself as first the police car arrived followed immediately by the ambulance. The crowd now dispersed immediately for no-one wanted to be implicated. Candice swore at them and cursed them while Old Mrs Todd hobbled into my forecourt to comfort the girl as the police immediately sorted the kids out. The paramedics arrived and I blessed them as they immediately took over my task with infinitely greater expertise. I stood up with my face and cycling unitard covered in blood as I wiped the blood from my lips before pointing out the blood-stained knife to the police.
“That’s got finger-prints. You’ll need it.”
The copper nodded and looked around but all the kids had now dispersed.
“Has the boy been stabbed?” He asked me.
“I don’t know, I don’t think so.”
“No he hasn’t,” Candice offered. “The bastard only pulled it when this man kicked their arses.”
By this time more police cars were wailing down the street and the crime scene was being isolated. The paramedics proved magnificent as a defibrillator shocked the boy back to life and they declared the boy James had a pulse again and that he was breathing. I sagged with relief as they carefully secured his head then gently eased him onto a stretcher.
It was all very ‘high-tech’ from then on as the hoist lifted him ever so gently into the ambulance and they set off for the hospital. Candice squealed that she wanted to go with him so a Police woman joined her in the ambulance to get an early statement while things were still fresh in the girl’s mind. Meanwhile one of the other officers asked me for my statement. By now the police numbered about a dozen I guess, plus the police woman who’d gone in the ambulance
We’d like to take some photographs of your appearance then I’d like a statement.
“What, here or inside my house?”
“Best here in the forecourt if you wish, it will better show the state of the scene here. D’you mind that?”
I shrugged. The only issue I had was that my activity unitard was actually a woman’s unitard but not many people would have known that and anyway it was now almost unrecognisable for it was now covered in blood, - James’s blood. I stood in various positions as the forensic officer took a series of pictures then the police officer spoke to me again.
“Shall we go inside? They’ll be dealing with the crime scene now.”
I nodded then pointed to my blood stained cycling shoes.
“Yes, but please! I’ve got white, deep pile carpets. We’ll both have to remove our shoes.”
“Yes, quite.” The officer agreed as he slipped them off in the porch. I followed suit and I noticed his eyes widen slightly as he noticed the passionate red nail varnish on my toes. I don’t wear socks when cycling in the summer. I led him into the kitchen where I had to remove my blood stained unitard and his eyes widened further at my bra and panties, especially my size B to C breasts. Normally the bra band of the unitard tends to compress them and disguise them. My breasts weren’t an issue for me though; in fact I had grown them of my own volition. I regularly met with Sergeant Williams, the community, hate-crime police officer at a monthly transgendered venue that I attended so I had lost all reservations when dealing with the police. However I didn't 'shove it in their faces.
“I’ll go and have a very quick shower. It’s just there in the utility room extension. Make yourself a cup of tea or coffee and I’ll be out quickly.”
He nodded and I slipped into my downstairs shower. I emerged in minutes having only shower-gelled myself all over and rinsed off the blood. I dug out some clean lingerie from the pile (I don’t have any male underwear.) then slipped on a tee-shirt and jeans. In the mirror, by breasts showed quite noticeably under the tee-shirt and ordinarily I’d have also slipped on a loose fitting shirt but here I was in my own home. Carefully I picked my way around the blood stained unitard and we settled in my front room to watch the crime scene officers busy on my forecourt. As he produced a notebook and tape recorder we settled in my comfy armchairs and settee.
After relating everything I could remember he nodded with satisfaction then looked pointedly at the outline of my bra under my tee-shirt.
“I noticed that James had a bra on. Does he know about you?”
“No. Not as far as I know. If anybody around here knew they’d probably make their feelings known pretty graphically; you know, graffiti and all that.”
“He wasn’t trying to find sanctuary or something?”
“No but his sister Candice came hammering on my door. I’m pretty sure she didn’t know either; I think it was just a panic stricken cry for help. She probably knows a grown man lives here. Most of the kids have seen me washing my car and stuff in the mornings.”
“Well that’s good. I don’t think we need dwell any further.”
“Thanks and please keep my tranny thing under your hat. I own this house from when my mother and I bought it under ‘right to buy’. When my dad was killed in the Steel-works she used the compensation money to buy the house. I don’t want to have to leave if people find out.”
He nodded understandingly as I elaborated.
“Sergeant William’s the hate crimes officer knows about me, so it’s no secret to the police.”
“Do any of the neighbours know?”
“Not to my knowledge. The only person I regularly speak to is Mrs Todd. I check in on her every day. Her old tom-cat Rastus regularly gets trapped in my back garden because of the high walls. He’s getting too old to climb so it’s a nice bit of good neighbourliness when I take him round and she gives me a cup of tea by way of thank-you. I help her with man stuff around her house as well and the health visitor does her cleaning while I do her shopping.”
“That’s very neighbourly of you, especially for a bloke.”
I smiled then grinned as I fingered the noticeable out line of my bra and gently squeezed my breasts.
“Not wholly a bloke officer. There’s a lot of girly in me. Besides I owe it to Mrs Todd, she looked after me as a kid when mam had to go out to work after dad died then she helped my mam in the latter years.”
“Yes. Am I right in supposing your walls are so high to give you a bit of privacy?”
“Exactly but I put the story around that it’s to keep undesirables out; which they do. I’m the end of the row so my high walls lend protection to everybody from burglars. You’ll see that there is no back lane so the guy Harry, who ‘backs on’ to me did the same with his walls by also building a garage and his pigeon loft. Now the whole of this end’s back gardens are safe from burglary."
He nodded and sipped his tea.
"Well thanks for the tea. We’ll be getting in touch and Sergeant Williams will be calling later this evening.
“I was thinking of popping around to the casualty unit, to see how the kid is. I’ll be able to reassure the mother about the boy wearing a bra. She’ll feel a little safer once she knows there’s somebody else looking out for her kid.”
“D’you think that’s wise?”
I smiled patronisingly at the officer.
“The kid’s going to need support. I was where that kid was many years ago and then some. Besides, Sergeant Williams knows all about me, he knows I’m not a child abuser or something. Oh, and don’t worry I’ll be turning up in ‘drab’ at the casualty unit.”
“Drab?” He frowned uncomprehendingly.
“Male mode.” I clarified for him. “It’s tranny-speak as in the opposite of ‘Drag’ Nobody will know I’m wearing a bra and panties under my jeans, shirt and jacket.”
The officer grinned and shook my hand.
“You did well out there. Not many people will tackle a bunch of yobs these days. By the way, I'm sorry I'll have to ask you to give me that cycling thing. It's evidence of the extent of the boy's injuries.”
"Be my guest. I've got several unitards."
"Oh. Is that what you call them?"
I nodded as he repeated.
You were brave out there. It's good to see somebody stop these kids.
“Yeah, tell that to the neighbours they go in mortal dread around here at school times.”
“Have you thought about a neighbourhood watch scheme?”
“Speak to Sally Hopkins at number seven, she’ll tell you what happened to her when she tried.”
“Oh yes, the window smashing incidents.”
“And the threats and intimidation. She’s a single mum with kids in that very same school. She’s had a nightmare.”
“But that’s been cleared up.”
“Only inasmuch as the kids that year have all left. Now there’s a new crop of thugs.”
“Aren’t you intimidated?”
“No, though I keep myself to myself. You already know why. My house is like ‘Fort Apache, but that you also know. The only way they can get at me is smashing my windows unless they go for vandalism big time. Besides, I’m at home when they come out each afternoon. I work night shifts three and sometimes four nights a week.”
“You’d be ideal for neighbourhood watch.”
“No way. I don’t ask for trouble. I watch out for myself, oh, and Old Mrs Todd, - and her cat Rastus. She was awfully kind to my mam during her final years. I return the favour now. She’s very frail now but a good hearted old dear. You’ll note that she had the courage to come out once she saw me and felt safe enough.”
“Yes. She’ll be an excellent witness.”
“Sweet little old lady; yeah, I expect that’ll be better than ‘The crazy, cycling tranny’ in the girly unitard.”
“That’s not fair Mr Taff. You’re putting yourself down. You’ll get all the support we can offer.”
“Tell that to the defence barrister when they show the pictures of me in my unitard with boobs.”
“Oh they’re not that obvious. I didn’t really notice until you took the unitard off and I saw your bra.”
“No, the unitard squeezes them to give support when I’m cycling but you can bet those barristers will out me if they realise it’s a girly unitard.”
“If they do, you might be able to sue them for transphobic abuse.”
“Chance would be a fine thing. Besides once I’m outed the neighbourhood abuse is bound to start.”
“I’ll speak to Sergeant Williams about that. The DPP might be able to rein the barristers in if this gets as far as crown court.”
“It will. That boy with the knife; I heard James’s sister Candice name him as David Evans. In Welsh David is Dewi. I think he is the son of a scumbag called Dewi Evans or David Evans; - his father is a big noise hereabouts, councillor and all that. I noticed the similarity straight away after Candice had named him.”
“Oh! That Dewi Evans.”
“Exactly.”
The police officer frowned. Councillor Dewi Evans was a pretty shrewd and mean operator. He never actually broke the law but he sailed pretty close to the wind and he had a lot of people in his pocket including most of the other councillors. If the boy with a knife was the son of the scum-bag councillor, things could get difficult for me. I decided to check out my secret security cameras after all the hoo-hah had died down. If they showed what I hoped they showed, I was home and dry.
For the moment though there was little I could do so I left the police to their forensics and explained to the interviewing officer that I was going to the Casualty unit.
“Good luck Beverly. Take care and don’t disclose your transvestism unless it’ll serve some useful purpose.”
“Thanks officer,” I replied as I eased my car out of the side lane that gave my end of terrace house space to have built my garage and protect my car and transit van at least from the vandals. The lane also served to give me a very private access to and from my house. It was an unadopted short cut to a small winding lane that led to the trading estate. The other side of the lane was the huge blank brick wall of the school science bloc forming the other boundary. Harry; the other householder who backed onto me had by tacit agreement, joined with me to usually leave one of our cars or more often my transit van in the side lane to prevent commercial vehicles using the illegal shortcut. During the day it was not easy to see me or him coming and going and by night it was virtually impossible. The arrangement perfectly suited my secret comings and goings when dressed. Harry also worked shifts in the steel works so the lane arrangement also suited his irregular comings and goings. Neither of us ‘disturbed’ the neighbours. Our cars could just squeeze past each other and my van if and when we wanted to use our own private short cut.
The interview officer watched me discreetly ease my car past my own van down our shared private egress and I could see his mind working out the logistics. I could leave the house dressed without being noticed, especially at night and more especially if I used the van with no rear and side windows.
My back-to-back neighbour Harry was happy about my van for he had availed himself of its carrying capacity several times. Thus I kept him sweet without getting too friendly or familiar. We rubbed along well and we saw each other regularly when his rotating night shifts coincided with mine but otherwise we rarely had cause to talk for we had nothing in common. I didn’t breed pigeons and Harry didn’t cross dress.
I arrived at the casualty unit and explained my visit to the reception. They wouldn’t tell me anything because I was not a relative but they told Candice that I was there. She came out of the emergency rooms with red rimmed eyes that told of her distress.
“What’s the news?”
“He’s going to live but they’re going to keep him in a coma until the brain swelling goes down. It might be up to a month or even more.”
“He’s had a bad beating then.”
“Yes and thank you ever so much for saving his life. I didn’t know what to do.”
“Is your mum in there?”
“Yes. She’s talking to the Casualty consultant.”
“Okay. I’m going for a coffee, can you tell your mum I’d like to speak to her and do you want a coffee?”
She nodded as tears started again so I gave her shoulders a squeeze and slipped away to get the coffees.
I found that doing something was so much better than just waiting around so the coffee thing was to occupy my mind. When I came back with three coffees and a plastic tray with some scones her mother was there looking even more distressed than Candice.
“So what’s the prognosis?”
“They can’t say yet,” replied the sobbing mother, “there may be permanent brain damage”.
I tried to reassure her.
“They’re usually pessimistic about these things. We’ll just have to wait and see.”
She slumped into a plastic chair that almost broke with the impact and continued crying in loud explosive sobs. Candice joined her and I had to endure a loud wailing contest for a solid five minutes. Finally the mother recovered her composure and turned to me.
“Candice says you saved James’s life.”
“Well, I’m not sure about that. The ambulance arrived in only a couple of minutes. The ambulance station is just down the road from my house.”
“Even so, the consultant said in James’s case those few puffs of air made all the difference.”
“Well I’m pleased to have been of some use.”
She smiled wanly and seemed to be struggling with something else. I guessed what it was. Eventually she spoke again.
“James isn’t a big boy or a strong one. He’s small for his age.”
“How old is he?” I asked.
“Fifteen.”
“Oh yes, then he is small for his age.”
“Candice says you know about his uuhhm, his uuhhm, his little problem.”
“I couldn’t ignore it; I had to rip the bra off to give him cardiac massage. The under-wiring had been torn from the cup and it was sticking in his chest. Not deep mind, but I couldn’t leave it there whilst thumping hard on his ribs.”
“You don’t seem angry or upset by it.”
“I had no time to be upset, James had arrested.”
“I know, Candice told the surgeon and me everything. I can’t thank you enough. You’ve just saved my son and you haven’t said anything about the bra thing.”
“And now here I am buying you coffee. Samaritan or what?” I smiled my widest smile to reassure her again.
“Doesn’t it bother you?”
“What?”
“The, - the cross, - the cross dressing stuff.”
“No.” I replied quite firmly to emphasise my view.
She studied me for long minutes as I fiddled with the tiny paper sachets that brought me endless frustration. I love my coffee milky and sweet so when I bought one in places like the casualty unit I invariably had to take about six little plastic containers of milk or cream and about twelve sachets of sugar. Making my coffee to my liking was always an irksome fiddle. It mattered not that I had a sweet tooth cos the cycling easily burned off excess calories.
“I wish my husband had been as easy about it as you.” She sighed.
I glanced at her over the rim of my plastic coffee cup but said nothing. I was thinking of the police officer’s advice. ‘Don’t reveal it unless you think it’s going to do some good.’ So far nothing constructive had revealed itself worthy enough to induce me to ‘come out’. The mother continued staring at me thoughtfully.
“What’s your name by the way? Candice didn’t tell me.”
I hesitated. I called myself Beverly Taff but that wasn’t actually my real name though it served perfectly well for the vast majority of issues. Beverly is both a boy’s and a girl’s name in Britain so the shortened version of ‘Bev’ gets by for me. The only person who knew my real name was Old Mrs Todd. She had known me all my life because we had been neighbours all my life. However, although she had no idea why I used the name, she was happy to let it ride and when other people referred to me as ‘Beverly’ Mrs Todd didn’t bother to correct them. What was more important to Mrs Todd was having a thoughtful caring neighbour who also treated her beloved cat Rastus with care and affection. I decided the name Beverly would work equally well with James’s mother.
“Beverly Taff. What’s yours?”
“Madge. Short for Margaret; Margaret Beckinsale.”
“That’s not Welsh,” I smiled.”
“No it’s Yorkshire. My husband and I moved down here from Yorkshire when the new steelworks rolling mill opened.
I nodded agreeably and took the first sip of my milky coffee.
“My husband left me only this May.” She added.
Again I said nothing. There seemed nothing that I could say. Commenting on other people’s partners was always a minefield.
“Are you married?” Madge asked.
I lowered my eyes and wagged my head. I was just past thirty six but despite having had several brief entanglements, I had avoided the trap. It didn’t do for trannies to get married and my recent forays into the internet directed world of transvestite associations had only served to reinforce my conclusions. Nearly all the T Girls I had met at various tranny functions had suffered traumatic divorce experiences often leaving them broke financially and bitterly disillusioned. I was really lucky to have escaped that particular catastrophe, mainly because I suppose I was a coward. I was just a ‘middle thirty something’, had a reasonably secure, fairly well paid, pensionable job, where I was more or less my own boss. I owned my own house and had a tidy sum put by. By today’s standards I suppose that would make me ‘comfortably well off’.
I had no stress in my life except for the school kids’ home-time issues but that had hardly affected me up until today. Any stress I might accumulate during the week was invariably dissipated by my trannying at weekends. All in all I led a pretty contented life.
Sometimes I visited a regular prostitute called Barbara whilst dressed but that was far away from my home. Hey who said I was a goodie-goodie?
The girl Barbara appeared to own her own home and she seemed fairly happy about her situation. There didn’t seem to be a pimp in her life so I couldn’t be accused of contributing to some woman’s enforced misery. Because I passed fairly well, she even came shopping for clothes with me and that entailed all day Saturday in Birmingham or Manchester. A pimp might have forced her to simply ‘put out and pay up,’ not waste time shopping all day Saturday. Whatever, I didn’t ask her any questions and she didn’t volunteer. Our arrangement worked.
On learning I was not married Madge became curious.
“Have you been married?”
“No.” I replied monosyllabically, “never.”
She looked at me silently and I could hear the gears whirring in her brain. My hair was longish and well cared for, my nails were neat and then she noticed they were shining slightly. She peered closely and realised I was wearing clear varnish nail protector. Finally the penny dropped and her jaw sagged slightly. For long moments she hesitated as she was obviously wondering how to put the question then she whispered softly, so softly that even Candice wouldn’t hear.
“Are you like James; - are you the same as my son?”
I glanced at my smooth, shiny, well manicured nails and nodded silently.
“Possibly.”
“You, - you’re transsexual!”
“No,” I corrected her, “I’m transvestite.”
“Isn’t it the same?”
“No. Not at all. Is James a transsexual then?”
She nodded shamefacedly but I gently took her trembling hands.
“Hey, come on now. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s how God made him or more correctly’ her. I’m how God made me.”
“Oh. You understand then?”
“Not fully. I’ve never met James except to kiss him.”
For a moment she looked shock so I mimed cardiac massage and mouth-to-mouth then she grinned with relief.
“Oh; - of course, - the respiration thing. You’re funny.”
I smiled and sipped my coffee again as I stood up.
“Well. I’m sorry I’ve got to go. I work shifts. Will you be staying here all night?”
The shifts thing was a little white lie insofar as it was Friday but I wanted to get on. There was a big event planned at ‘The Butterflies’ and I didn’t want to miss the start. I usually helped out with the preparations in Sandie’s house then I helped serve drinks and food. I’d already phoned her to explain why I would be late.
Madge confirmed that she was staying then she looked at Candice and back at me.
“Will you give Candice a lift home? She’s going to get some clean underwear. You’ll understand.”
For a moment I didn’t follow then I realised. James was cross-dressing full time underneath. Candice looked at me questioningly then her mother caught her eye.
“Mr Taff understands about James. You’ll be okay.”
Candice’s eyes widened slightly then she wolfed down her scone, finished her coffee and followed me out. In my car she opened up.
“What did mum mean when she said you understood?”
“I understand about James and her transgenderism. When is she starting transitioning?”
Candice’s eyes stared with surprise as her jaw sagged.
“How d’you know all about that?”
“Let’s just say I understand. Has James decided on a femme name yet?”
Her eyes widened again as I slowly intimated my familiarity, understanding and all importantly, my acceptance of transgenderism. With each sentence I was drip feeding Candice with confidence boosting information. Then I asked her bluntly.
“Are you happy with James’s transgenderism?”
“Of course. He can’t help what he is. Besides, I’ll get to have a sister.”
“So what is his femme name going to be?”
“We children were thinking Jamie but mum prefers Janet. “
I grinned as we pulled out of the hospital car park.
“Parents usually get to choose their children’s names; it’s one of the few privileges left to them these days.”
Candice smiled again them asked me.
“Which do you think is the better name?”
“Oooh,” I sighed with a smile, “I’ll not be drawn into this one. Either way I’ll upset you two children or your mother. I’ve got enough complications in my life.”
“Like what?”
“Haven’t you worked it out yet?”
Candice’s jaw finally reached the floor as she realised what I was driving at then she let out a gasp and squealed with joyous relief.
“Oh my God! Oh my bloody God! You’re the same, - the same as Jamie!”
“No. Not quite Candice. Your mum says Jamie is a transsexual, I’m a transvestite but don’t spread it around.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Oh my God girl how long have you got?”
“Is it complicated then?”
“Sometimes, let’s just say Transvestites dress because they need to, transsexuals are not cross dressing, except if they are forced to wear the clothes of their apparent birth gender. James wearing the boy uniform at school is technically cross-dressing. As a girl, which is what she is, she should be wearing a skirt when attending school.”
“Yeah and then.”
She shrugged to indicate reference to the beating her brother had just received.
“Exactly. I understand Candice. It was me that rescued her, remember.”
“You keep saying her or she. That’s nice.”
“If she’s transsexual then I’m presuming she’s a transsexual girl. I suppose you’ve had it explained to you. James is a girl with the wrong plumbing.”
“Yeah. That’s how she explained it to me. Dad went ballistic and left us. He’s even changed jobs and now works for the same company up north. You turn right here.”
I parked the car and waited outside with the offer to run her back. She accepted and reappeared quickly with a bag of assorted girl stuff. We chatted some more on the way back then rejoined Madge in the casualty unit. Finally I had to make my excuses. I had other commitments and responsibilities to Sandie at ‘Butterflies’.
On the way out I bumped into Sergeant Williams.
“Oh I’m glad I met you Bev. How is he?”
“He’s just come round but he’s in intense pain. They’re going to put him back into a coma to ease the trauma effects.”
“Damn! Can he talk?”
“I don’t know. You’d best see the doctors.”
“Okay. Can I see you tomorrow?”
“Yes but make it in the early afternoon. I’m going to Butterflies at Sandie’s tonight so I’ll be sleeping in.”
“So was I until this. I was going to give another talk.”
“If Jamie’s in a coma there won’t be much you can do. Shall I tell Sandie?”
“I’ll phone her once I know the situation here. I might see you at Sandie’s, if not, see you tomorrow Bev.”
“Bye.”
Back home I visited Mrs Todd with my usual duty, returning Rastus. We talked about the trouble then I made my excuses. I was an hour late getting to Sandie’s but Sergeant Williams had already phoned ahead. The Saga of Beverly and the attack on the transsexual girl was already known amongst my friends at Butterflies. I spent half the evening playing maid and the other half trying to play down the heroine title.
Sergeant Williams managed to make it late and gave his talk then we chatted at length about the situation. I still hadn’t revealed that I had video footage because I wanted to use that as a last resort and backup. I knew the Evans family well, and knew what sort of tricks they pulled. Councillor Dewi Evans had a lot of pull with the higher-ups in the local police. I trusted Sergeant Williams but if I let everybody know that there was a video there was no knowing what stunts might be pulled by Evan’s cronies. Best to let sleeping dogs lie; for now at least. Butterflies started to run down by three o’clock and I drove home to bed after copying the video footage onto several memory sticks.
At lunchtime I was preparing lunch with Mrs Todd when her daughter Jennifer arrived from London. Jennifer was a successful Barrister and QC at the tender age of thirty five. She had heard about the incident and had come down to offer her services while simultaneously checking up on her mum.
Mrs Todd had always held secret hopes of Jennifer and me getting it together but Jennifer was lesbian and I of course had my own issues. Mrs Todd had some idea about Jennifer’s sexuality and it was the only disappointment in her long life. Nevertheless Jenny and I still hit it off. We chatted at length about legal issues and I described my concerns about the Evans’s. Jennifer also knew them well for we had grown up together as next door neighbours. Mr Todd, her dad had had several run-ins with them before he died.
When Sergeant Williams arrived later that afternoon, he was surprised and pleased to meet Jennifer. Our chat lasted into the evening before he left and Jennifer and I were left to our own devices.
“So Here I am Beverly, a single girl down from the smoke, at a loose end in a huckster one-horse town on a Saturday night. What are we going to do?”
I cursed silently for I had another club night organised with Sandie and a couple of the other t-girls. We were going to a gay and transgendered club up in Cardiff. I debated coming out to her for it seemed more and more people were getting to know. After making a cup of coffee I sat her down for a chat.
“Listen Jen,” I started, “I had a night out planned tonight with some friends. How broad-minded are you.”
“Oh Come on Beverly, may I call you Bev?”
I nodded as she continued.
“You must have worked it out by now Bev. Why d’you think I left huckster town?”
“Yes. I had realised. Long ago in fact. That’s why I’m sounding you out now. Would you like to come with me on this night out; - and no funny business.” It’s in Cardiff, all very anonymous.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a sort of gay club.”
“No! You’re pulling my chain! You? Gay!! Oh this is just so precious!”
“Uuhhm, I’m not gay Jenny.”
“Oh. So why the gay club?”
“It’s not entirely a gay club; it caters for alternatives as well.”
“Ahh! So now the truth is revealed. Go on Bev.”
“I’m an alternative life-styler.”
“What sort?”
“I’m a tranny.”
Jennifer hardly reacted at all.
“Well thank God for that. So you’ll be going out dressed tonight.”
“Yes. Shall we meet about eightish? We can use my van. Nobody can see much.”
“Aahh! Of course! The Van, the tranny van. Oh that’s a bon motte if ever there was one.”
“Yes Jenny, old joke. D’you want to hear any jokes about Holland?”
She fell silent then nodded ruefully.
“Yeah. Okay, point taken and yes I’d love to come with you. I couldn’t think of a better night out. So this weekend hasn’t
been a total waste.”
“Surely you don’t think that of your mum. She’s not a waste! She’s lovely.”
“Yes. She is, except she can’t accept what I am. She doesn’t mind the sexuality thing it’s the idea of no grand children.”
“So have a kid. You’re rich enough to afford a kid and you’re pretty enough to get a man for the biology.”
“Oh you put it so nicely. Thanks; a backhanded compliment if ever there was one.”
“D’you want a kid?”
“Yes. And my clock’s ticking.”
“Well it would be Jen, you’re thirty five. You can’t lie to me about your age you know.”
“D’you know Bev, if I have a kid, I think I’d like it to be yours.”
“I would have thought you’d have wanted one of those ‘high-flyers’ in London.”
“Come off it Bev. You’re bright, we were at school together, remember. I know about your exam results. You were brilliant. I always wondered why you never went to uni. Is it because of the tranny thing?”
“Partly. Besides, I’ve probably done better than a host of graduates. Just look at them today. More business study degrees than you can shake a stick at and the only business they’re studying is the Mac ‘Donald’s cash till.”
“Yes,” Jenny mused thoughtfully. “It’s even getting like that in Law.”
“Okay then see you at eight.”
Jenny hesitated then smiled shyly.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“I’ve got no need to dress, I can go like this; all I have to do is change into a pair of tailored designer jeans.”
“So? It’s going to take me all of an hour, what with shaving and showering.”
“That’s what I was thinking. Can I watch you getting ready?”
“Uuhhm, d’you think that’s a good idea?”
“You’re quite safe, I’m just curious that’s all.”
“Well you’re over sixteen, I suppose it’s legal.”
Jenny smiled and nodded knowingly.
“You bet girl. Now up those stairs and let’s see you shine.”
“Uuhhm my shower’s down stairs in the utility room. Less problems with leakage through the ceilings.”
Jenny nodded knowingly.
“Wise girl. I had that problem with my old flat at Uni.”
I slipped into the shower and emerged to find Jenny nosing through my wardrobe upstairs. She was trying on my tops.
“You’ve got some nice stuff here. I could fancy this top myself.”
“D’you want to borrow it for tonight? I usually wear it with a pair of leggings or tight fitting jeans.”
“Can I? We’re pretty much the same size aren’t we?” She replied as she slipped off her skirt as well.
I nodded as I turned to get my hair dryer and commenced combing my hair. Jenny watched me and I caught her smiling in the mirror.
“Penny for your thoughts.” I observed.
“I was just remembering how we used to play up here as children.”
“And do our homework.” I added.
“Yes it was weird that. All the times we lay innocently on the bed and swapped notes, I don’t ever remember you ever once trying it on.”
“I respected you too much I suppose.”
“Or was it the tranny thing?”
“Probably; or was it the lezzy thing?” I riposted.
“Touché’ I suppose I gave out vibes even then.”
“Maybe I did as well,” I agreed.
She pulled a wry smile and grinned.
“So here we are now two mature adults, one in her bra and knickers and the other in only a bath towel.”
“Yeah but it’s two women isn’t it. I’m getting into girly mode now.”
Jenny giggled.
“Hey, Bev, helloo-oo; it’s me you’re talking to, don’t forget, I’m a lesbian.”
“Oooh shit! I forgot. You’re not tempted are you?”
I glanced uncertainly at her in the mirror and she wagged her head in bemusement.
“I don’t know what to think Bev. With those tits you’re quite attractive. I wish I’d known about you when we were in school.”
“And yet still we remained chaste,” I smiled at her in the mirror.
As I switched on the hair dryer all conversation was lost so Jenny simply searched through my wardrobe to occupy herself. By the time my hair was ‘femme’ she’d chosen her outfit and she was debating what to choose for me.
“What’s this club like, it’s not fetishist is it?”
“Not tonight. That’s Tuesdays and Thursdays. Tonight it’s LBD for us trannies. You girls dress how you like.”
“What’s LBD?”
“Little Black Dress you Muppet.”
Oh. Good,” she giggled as she slid the mirror doors of my wardrobe across to reveal my more formal clothes.
She wagged her head and smiled.
“My God you girls indulge yourselves don’t you? You’ve got a better selection than I have. Look at all these ball gowns. When do you ever go to the ball?”
“Just you wait until Christmas and new year girl. Come and see me then!”
“I just might,” she grinned. “Looks like you know how to indulge yourselves.”
She held up a tight-fitting strapless number and raised an inquisitive eyebrow. I smiled appreciatively. I rarely wore it unless I had somebody to do up the zip. Fortunately my boobs kept the top up and it exaggerated my cleavage. However first I slipped on a small ‘merry widow’ to give me a better waist and followed up with a strapless bra and a pair of ‘cache-sex’ panties. Then, once the LBD was on Jenny’s eyes widened.
“My God girl you can really pass! Even I’m tempted. You’ve got nice legs as well.”
“Why thank you kind maid. You know just how to make a T-girl happy.
I slipped on my panty-hose and chose my shoes before sitting down to my dressing table. By the time I was finished with my makeup, Jenny was gob-smacked.
“Bloody hell! I just can’t believe it. You’d better be careful girl or I’m likely to rape you!”
“Come on girl, we’re late for the ball. I’m picking Sandie up tonight as well.”
We slipped out of the back door straight into my garage then stepped out through the single side-door of the garage directly into the transit van. Nowhere had I been at risk of exposure. Jenny grinned.
“Hmmm. No wonder nobody has ever found out. You’ve got it well set up here. The back lane is nice and private and all the units on the trading estate are closed at this time. Clever girl, I’ve got to admire you.”
I smiled as we picked our way down the lane and soon we were picking up Sandie. In the club we rendezvoused with the rest of our gang and Jenny had no trouble fitting in. It was an enjoyable night and well past four before we got home.
“D’you think I should disturb mum.” She whispered as I parked up in my prearranged spot, for Harry; he was mornings.
“It’s up to you love. There’s a spare bed at mine.”
“I’ll take it if you’re okay with that.”
Having agreed the arrangement, we slipped back into my house and Jenny went straight to bed. I followed her up after finding Rastus stuck in my yard, yet again. He’d set off the security light and camera because he’s learned how to get up close to the sensor. I put him in my utility room and gave him some food. He’s even got his own basket in my utility room. (That cat; I dunno’!) He’d still have to wait until tennish in the morning before I took him around to Jenny’s mum.
Just before noon Jenny emerged saying the smell of bacon and eggs was too much to resist.
“Where’s Rastus?”
“He’s back with your mum. What time were you thinking of going back to London?”
“Haven’t made my mind up yet. I was thinking of talking to the family of the boy who was attacked.”
“Professional expertise; well I heartily commend you to that. Oh by the way, James is starting transition soon. God alone knows what that will mean for her schooling but her family and I refer to her by feminine pronouns. You’d do well to start that as well if you’re going to represent her. Her sister Candice almost kissed me when I did it. She’s very supportive of her newfound sister.
“Oh. Thanks for the tip. You seem to understand this stuff then.”
I gave her an old look.
“Come on Jenny! More than half my friends are transsexual; pre and / or post op. I’m very sympathetic. You’ll have noticed these.”
I cupped my breasts and Jenny nodded.
Jenny smiled and asked.
“Has he got a femme name?”
“Not yet. The two girls want Jamie and their mum Madge wants’ Janet.” For now I would use a term of endearment like darling or something when addressing her. However, that’ll be a while. She’s being kept in coma until the brain swelling goes down. I’ve got her mum’s mobile number if you’d like to speak.”
Jenny nodded so I called the number and handed Jenny my phone. I was immediately impressed by her sudden change of tone and demeanour. From the brusque, efficient lawyer, she was suddenly all compassion. When she finished I asked her.
“Was that an act?”
“No Bev. I am actually quite compassionate and passionate; that’s what motivates me in court. The hard-headed intellectual arguments I save for case preparation. Now I’m going to chat with my mum and perhaps we can all go up and visit James’s mum in casualty. She must be exhausted. We can use my car.”
She left and I cleaned up before going next door. Mrs Todd was sat in her front room already dressed to go out. Jenny was just tidying up. I sensed Mrs Todd’s good mood and squinted at her questioningly as I unfolded her wheel-chair.
“Would you like to explain; your smile that is.”
Mrs Todd grinned and nodded towards her daughter Jenny as she made herself comfortable in the wheel-chair. Early mornings were the hardest for Mrs Todd when her rheumatism played up. Later in the day she was pretty okay on her feet.
“Ask her.” Mrs Todd replied with a grin while motioning towards jenny with her head.
I glanced questioningly at Jenny and she blushed as I manoeuvred the wheelchair down the hall.
“It’s been like the inquisition. You’d think I was fourteen again.”
“And?”
“Mum more or less accused me of sleeping with you.”
I bent over Mrs Todd’s shoulder and met her frown as I explained.
“I did not sleep with your daughter Mrs Todd. She slept in the back bedroom.”
“Huh. Mores the pity.”
“What d’you mean by that!?” Jenny and I both chorused with astonishment.
“I might get a grandchild then!”
Then we both blushed. If Jenny’s mother only knew.
It was a bit of a palaver getting both Mrs Todd into the car and her wheelchair into the boot but soon we were at the hospital. I bumped into Candice who was taking some underwear in for her mother Madge. After introducing Jenny and her mum to Madge I did my
usual cowardly, impatient thing and went to get coffees. I hated waiting around. I sensed Candice was like me cos she joined me and we chatted as we sorted the coffee and Welsh-cakes. Naturally Candice wanted to know all about my transvestism. Fortunately the area was empty and we found a quiet place to chat.
“You were brill on Friday. Thanks for everything.”
“What they were doing was utterly wrong. It’s in the hands of the police now.”
“Are you okay with the police?”
I shrugged.
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“You know; the clothes thing.”
“They know about me Candice. It’s not illegal.”
“Do they, like, abuse you or persecute you or victimise you; - that sort of stuff.”
“Not at all, the police have come further than most of the other professions on this. I suppose it’s cos they have to pick up the pieces. They see the hurt and the damage, as do the ambulance medics.”
“So why do arseholes like David Evans have to be such pricks?”
“It’s the way he’s been brought up; his father’s an arsehole as you so succinctly put it.”
Candice frowned as we made our way with the cakes and the coffee. But she said no more. It was obvious that she was feeling her way and the learning curve had been quite sudden and steep. Firstly her brother had ‘come out’ as transgendered then the macho man (in her eyes anyway,) who had saved her brother had turned out to be some sort of strange guy who wore women’s clothes. Her world had been turned upside-down and a whole new vocabulary had been thrust upon her. She sat silent and thoughtful as Madge explained the medical strategies to Jenny and Jenny explained how they should go forward legally.
“You’ve got three excellent witnesses Madge and the police are keen to prosecute. There could be substantial damages for James.”
“But what good is that if my child is brain damaged?” Madge wept.
Jenny the barrister could not answer that; none of us could, but the barrister simply took Madge in her arms and hugged her. I was impressed by Jenny’s sincerity; she obviously cared. I had always thought of lawyers as money grabbing gold — diggers. With that the casualty consultant appeared unexpectedly and deviated from his work to chat to us. He gave Madge no assurances but expressed hope that he thought James might not be brain damaged after all. The CAT Scans had shown plenty of activity. All they could do was wait and see. It was just so frustrating to not know. Finally, we persuaded Madge, with the consultant’s support, to go home and rest. There was very little anybody could do except let James’s natural healing processes go to work while he was kept unconscious. Jenny agreed to drive Madge home while I said I’d walk. I wanted to think. Candice decided she wanted to accompany me, I suspected she wanted to find out more about the whole TG thing. James hadn’t been very forthcoming and their family had only learned of it in the past few months of the spring and summer.
We had a long chat as we walked. My explaining things to her and answering her questions also helped me to sort my own thoughts then I felt Candice tense with fear. I looked up to see the same school gang approaching just as we were passing some open ground by the enterprise park. They were crossing the open ground and hadn’t noticed us yet.
“Oh shit!” Candice cursed.
I was much more alert for I had suffered similar abuses before.
“Get your mobile ready kid. Has it got a camera?”
“Yes.”
“Right get yourself into those bushes and be ready to record. Then u-tube it immediately.”
I followed Candice into the bushes then gave her a leg up into a tree. From there she had a panoramic view of the pavement and open ground. When I emerged from the bushes the gang were only fifty metres away and they finally recognised me without my cycling unitard. I noticed there were also some bigger, older boys so this time I was not going to get off without a beating. I promptly called the ‘quick-dial’ local police hotline for transphobic attacks and thanked God when Sergeant Williams himself answered.
“My God! It actually works,” I thought thankfully as I quickly described my location.
The problem now was could the police arrive in time.
It’s a strange thing with gangs they are like predators when they unexpectedly discover what they perceive to be prey. First they stalk, only for a few seconds perhaps but seconds count. I stood still, making sure that Candice had me in camera shot. I couldn’t run anyway, that would have left Candice in danger. Then the gang charged.
I stood with my back to the densest clump of bushes to avert attacks from the rear then I prepared myself for a beating. Candice whispered from her perch.
“I’ve got a good view of you from up here.”
“You’re going to need it.” I replied. “By the way, if I don’t make it out of this, there are video camera images on my computer of
the attack on your brother. Nobody knows about them but I’ve got hidden cameras all around my house and Mrs Todd’s. Now keep quiet and no screaming, they don’t know you’re up there. Just keep filming.”
With these last words, the gang were upon me and I was soon overwhelmed. I went down fighting but after a few blows my world started to spin. The last thing I remembered was a kick to my head and then everything went black. I didn’t hear the wail of the police sirens as several cars came screaming from both ends of the road. Fortunately the gang hadn’t had time to finish me off and a tremendous fight occurred over my curled up foetal body as the police struggled to arrest the main ringleaders who they knew well.
Eventually order was restored and an ambulance arrived to rush me to hospital. As the police were securing the main ringleaders
Candice finally called from up above in her tree.
“Can you help me down please?”
Sergeant Williams looked up with astonishment and gaped stupidly.
“Candice! Have you been there all the time?”
“Yes,” she replied as she gleefully brandished her mobile phone and confirmed her video record.”
“A huge grin spread across the sergeant’s face. That’s brilliant girl. ‘Bang to rights, a witness and a video record to boot’.”
In casualty I eventually came around but my head felt as though a trip hammer was crashing away inside. After checking what was broken, (I had long ago learned to curl up into a tight ball during transphobic attacks, - Why did they always have to kick us?) they splinted, plastered and bandaged me up before sending me up to the I.C. wards for observation. Three days hospitalisation followed to make sure there was no serious brain damage. After lunch and the police interviews, the women entered my ward and filled the chairs around the bed. Everybody expressed joy that I was conscious for the doctors had explained the issues.
This time the police had the courts place the ringleaders on remand. Candice’s video evidence had been ‘u-tubed’ even while Candice was up in the tree and although the police were not too happy about it and Councillor Dewi Evans was furious about it, the evidence was allowed by the judge at the remand hearing thanks mainly to Jennifer’s legal skills. Five days later I limped painfully out of hospital on crutches and my boss from the bottle manufacturing factory came around to see me. He had bad news.
“We won’t be able to hold your job open for you unless you’re able to return to work immediately. We’re installing new plant at the factory and it’s imperative that you maintenance guys are present when the manufacturers commence start-up; especially the new furnaces. They’re very high tech.”
“But I can’t go back yet. Just look at me. I’m bruised all over, some of my ribs are bust and there’s a fracture to my Scapula! My jaw’s broken and my ankle’s bust! How the hell can I come back to work!!? The doctors say four to six weeks minimum!”
My boss looked crest-fallen and I knew he was not happy. I had an impeccable work record. As a tranny running the daily risk of being ‘outed’ I just couldn’t afford to have any black marks against my name at work and I knew I didn’t. My record was spotless. I sensed there was something else going on. I asked him bluntly.
“What’s going on here? I’ve just been discharged from hospital; you can see the state I’m in. If I need to know about these new furnaces I can always read up on the literature when I get back. Besides, it would do no harm to send me to Germany when I’m better so that I can train on the same models at their factory. Come on. You owe me for all the extra turns I’ve worked for you over all those Christmases when other guys wanted to be with their families. I’ve been doing it for years! Who do you always call on when there’s a problem? Who constantly works nights to get you out of a hole? I work single handed at night when the furnaces play up and I’ve virtually kept them going with my own efforts. That’s why you’ve had to install new ones. Those old bloody furnaces must have cooked The Last Supper. So what’s going on?”
He couldn’t look me in the face and I began to suspect something. The facts needed investigating but I was house- bound. He made his excuses and left looking very sheepish while I cursed as I slumped down off my crutches into the arm chair. If I lost my job I was well fucked.
My problem was that I had kept myself to myself around our street and neighbourhood. I had no friends in the town for my only friends were other trannies who I met at Butterflies. What the hell was I going to do? Who could I call on to get to the bottom of this?
I was sitting at my computer later that afternoon when Mrs Todd hobbled around to see me.
“Glad to see you’re out love. When do the doctors think you’ll be back in work?”
I frowned angrily and replied that I might not be going back to work unless I could return virtually immediately. Mrs Todd wagged her head.
“They can’t do that Bev. You’ve worked there for years. They’ve got to give you sick leave. That’s the law! If they sack you, it’s constructive dismissal and they’ll have to compensate you.”
“I know! But that’s no good to me Mrs Todd. Even if they paid me a hundred grand in compensation I’ve still lost a job that should have taken me to sixty five, or six, or seven or whatever. That’s another thirty odd years of work. That glass factory is the safest place in Wales after the steel works. I know for a fact it’s got solid contracts with suppliers all over Europe for ten years.”
She frowned thoughtfully.
“So why are they dismissing you?”
“Well they haven’t yet, but if I can’t get in to participate in setting up the new furnaces, they reckon I won’t be qualified to work on them and maintain them. It’s a result of all the new health and safety rules. The German manufacturers have to issue certificates of competence to each maintenance engineer.”
“That’s rubbish. They could send you on a maintenance course to Germany or something. That’s what most companies do. In fact that’s the correct way to do it. Something stinks here.”
I had to agree with Mrs Todd. She may have been frail and old physically but she still had a good head on her shoulders. Before she’d married she’d been a graduate English teacher until Jenny was born then birth complications had weakened her and she gave up work to devote herself full time to rearing Jenny and in passing, rearing me as well. In those days she used to virtually feed and water both Jenny and me after school for the whole of our mutual childhoods while my mum worked because Dad had died. Mrs Todd wasn’t stupid; just old and frail.
As I sat there trying to think where to begin, she telephoned her daughter Jenny and quickly explained my dilemma.
That very night Jenny was knocking on my door. The next Morning Sergeant Williams came visiting. They explained their parts.
Jenny could prepare a powerful case against the factory using unfair dismissal as the primary charge. Sergeant Williams was going to do a bit of discreet digging into Councillor Evan’s background to see if he had a hand in it. We all knew we would have our work cut out because Evan’s really was a very shrewd, cunning operator.
Until I was fully mobile, there was little I could do but I had not counted on little Candice. She had a whole circle of friends at school and while most were kids from the rougher parts of town they by and large tended to like Candice, - she was a very popular and pretty girl. Lots of the girls were even sympathetic about her ‘brother’ James for Candice explained it very well.
Apparently David Evans, (the boy with the knife,) was not very popular with the girls and while he was locked up on remand for his part on the gang attack against me they, felt free to work against his sinister influences around the school. Slowly little titbits of information began to emerge and I kept passing them on to Sergeant Williams who whilst being the local ‘Hate crimes’ co-ordinator, still had his ‘day job’ as an ordinary copper with ordinary police sergeants responsibilities. Sergeant Williams was both amazed and excited by the quality of material that Candice’s friends kept dredging up and when he cross checked the facts with other incidents on the police computers the case against Evans and his vicious sons just kept mounting up and gaining credence.
Three weeks after my attack Sergeant Williams came calling.
“Where are you getting all this stuff from Bev?”
“I’d rather not say sergeant. I think the sources might be a bit reticent about telling the police.”
“So it’s coming from low places,” he grinned.
“Some of it,” I replied.
“Would that be your TG Friends?”
“Actually no. The supply of information is far wider than you’d think.”
“So it’s a much larger network.”
“I’d rather not say much more than that. They’re not that reliable.”
Sergeant William’s grin widened.
“You’d be surprised Bev. It’s like painting by numbers. We can see the outline but filling in each little piece gives us a much better picture. We’ve got quite a case against our Councillor now.”
“Is it him having anything to do with my dismissal?”
“I’m beginning to think it is but I need some solid stuff. I wish, I wish I could speak to your sources.”
“Well not just yet Sarge. I’ll have a chat with my contacts.”
Sergeant Williams smiled at my calling him ‘Sarge’.
“You sound like one of my officers when you say that. But yes. Yes, please do. Now I’ve got a couple of scenarios here concerning events that have happened around the borough this last twelve months. I’ll leave you a list of dates and places. If your source can come up with anything on these events, I’d really be getting somewhere. And it’ll work for you TG People as well.”
“How.” I wondered.
If I intimate to my superiors that gaining the trust and co-operation of transgendered people has advanced the case against our dear Councillor then they’ll keep the ‘hate crimes’ post open. I’m sure you know about the ‘government cuts’ well it’s affecting us as well.
I felt compelled to ask.
“Does this Evans really have pull with the police?”
“Frankly Bev. Yes. He drinks with the same crowds in the same bars. Superintendants, Assistant Constables, nearly everybody with any pull.”
I guessed what the sergeant was hinting at but he was being very diplomatic. Then it clicked.
“Except of course with our esteemed Chief Constable, - ‘el supremo’.”
“Exactly Bev. She’s above suspicion. She doesn’t drink with the boys.”
“I wonder why,” I smirked as I hinted at a ‘funny handshake’.
“That as well Bev.” The sergeant smiled wryly.
I said no more but the sergeant’s words got me thinking. ‘That as well.’ I’d seen our esteemed chief constable years earlier cruising the gay bars usually under the pretence of ‘patrols’. However she also had a husband who was a successful builder and two kids living in large house outside a posh country market town outside the county.
The cliché ‘don’t do it on your own door step’ sprang to my mind. I couldn’t condemn her for that for neither did I. Anyway, if she was bi or whatever, I could count it as an advantage to me. I needed all the allies I could get.
Sergeant Williams left me with a printed list and I put it away under my computer. I had plenty of time now to create a file and cross reference all the other stuff that Candice and her inner circle of friends had dug up from all the kids in the school. I may be housebound but I wasn’t helpless.
The next week, James came out of his / her coma much to the relief of both Madge and Candice. Sadly, James had retrograde amnesia and couldn’t remember anything about the attack. Apparently the incident had started just outside the school gates and the school’s security cameras hadn’t recorded it. As to how and why the incident started and who started it was now a matter of conjecture, or at least that’s what everybody thought. Sergeant Williams visited me after speaking to James.
“It’s a bloody nuisance. Nobody can corroborate James’s version or they are afraid to because of that Evans brat. The gang can more or less say what they like about who started it.”
“But surely the attack. There are plenty of witnesses to that. Three excellent ones that I know of.”
“Yes but none of you saw the start. The gang could say that James threw the first punch and that started the incident.”
“Oh come off it, have you seen the size and build of Jam,-“
“Yes! I know, I know,” Sergeant Williams agreed, “he’s a tiny effeminate kid! But it’s still his word against theirs and he
can’t remember a thing.”
“But you can still get them for the GBH stuff surely?”
“Yes, but they may not get commensurate sentences and they could be out in a couple of months.”
“Swaggering and strutting their stuff all over town.” I added.
“And reinforcing the Evan’s reputations as untouchables.” The Sergeant finished.
I fell silent. I needed to talk to Jenny about my video stuff. One of the several secret cameras I had around my house was directly focussed on the school gates, for that was the primary source of the trouble. Once the bad kids knew they were ‘invisible to the school’s cameras they created mayhem. I asked sergeant Williams to contact Jenny about the dearth of solid evidence about the initial part of the incident. Three days later, (he was a busy man,)he came to me with a letter addressed to him from Jenny giving a Q.C’s opinion.
“She reckons six months in young offender’s institute tops.”
“But the bloody knife. Three of us saw that and it’s got his prints.”
“He claims it was self defence. When he realised you were a grown man he became frightened.”
“And like, I wasn’t. Facing a bloody gang of, - like, - thugs!” I was so angry I lost my grammar momentarily. I used the detestable word ‘like’.
“It’s got merit in court.” Sighed the sergeant. “I wish those bloody school cameras were better positioned.”
I fell silent. I had to find out about the law and my cameras. Would they be permissible now that the case was being progressed?”
Sergeant Williams finished his coffee and left feeling somewhat disheartened. Every day he saw thugs literally getting away with murder while he and his colleagues were hamstrung by the law. I watched his shoulders sloping dispiritedly as he climbed into his car. I had to speak to Jenny.
Her response on her personal private mobile was everything I could have dreamed of.
“What!!!” She shrieked joyously. You’ve got video, - of the whole incident.”
“Yes, the whole thing. Right from when they gathered outside the gates to wait in ambush until the police had finished their site inspection. On different cameras as well.”
“Oh Joy of joys. I’m in court all this week. Can you possibly email them to me but not just yet?”
“Are you going to disclose them?”
“Not yet.” Jenny replied, hardly able to suppress her delight. I’ll wait until we receive their sworn affidavits then we produce your film as a ‘discovered document’. I’m expecting their affidavits tomorrow. I’ll phone you quite legitimately once I’ve received their affidavits then we wait a few days and you suddenly accidentally, manage to recover the material from your files where you thought you’d lost it. And you’re certain; it’s genuinely the whole dammed incident.?”
“Yes, I’m looking at it now, - the whole show and on two sometimes three of the cameras.”
“Oh Beverly I could kiss you! That will show they were moving to pervert the course of justice. Now we’ve got em’! You’ve made back-ups I hope!”
“Give me credit Jen, even Sandie’s got a copy tucked away in her overly large knickers. Should I tell sergeant Williams?”
“Not yet. Not until I get the copy and preferably the original sticks. Once the police learn of it, they’ll be bound to seize your computers for evidence. They have to. You haven’t got anything illegal on there have you?”
“No, but there’s some pretty interesting tranny stuff.”
“Are you worried about it?”
“Not for me anymore. I seem to be caring less and less each day. But there are other names on my email lists.”
“Get them off. You don’t know who’s looking at your computer once it gets to the station.”
I took Jenny’s advice and transferred all the sensitive info to memory sticks after Candice had been to the computer shop for me. Then I drove away to Sandie’s house and hid some more of the sticks with her. James and Candice also kept ‘write-protected, copies with password protection to prevent tampering while copies were recorded privately and password protected by me to be distributed amongst my TG friends. By the time the police officially impounded my computer I would appear to be a sweet, simpering, good little tranny. If my transvestism then surfaced in the courts the defence would have hell’s own delight trying to protect themselves from charges of malicious, transphobic abuse. That weekend, Jenny came down from London again and after receiving my ‘discovered material’ she took considerable delight in telephoning the police explaining my naivety and inexplicable temporary loss of such important evidence. Sergeant Williams gleefully made a point of coming personally with the police computer expert to impound my computers. Happily the guy proved to be gay for sergeant Williams had deliberately chosen the ‘sympathetic’ individual from the Police HQ. He proved remarkably helpful in ensuring there was no embarrassing material left on them. Our case was getting tighter and tighter.
On the following Tuesday, Jenny was able to belatedly advise the defence counsel that ‘discovered evidence’ had been located and the shit really began to hit the fan for the affidavits and statements had been lodged and recorded down at the courts. The preliminary hearing had to go ahead and probably even the trial. Jenny and Sergeant Williams were quietly hugging themselves with satisfaction. James’ retrograde amnesia now had no consequences for the outcome of the trial.
Even if the attackers pleaded guilty and the trial was cancelled at the behest of the defence counsels, there was still the matter of sentencing for the statements and affidavits clearly contradicted the video evidence. The attackers, (particularly David Evans and the knife incident,) had quite clearly attempted to pervert the course of justice. The thug’s affidavit was such a tissue of lies that even the judge was left speechless.
By the Friday the defence’s case had collapsed and all the accused were compelled to plead guilty.
“Round one to me and my computers,” I sighed that Friday evening. “So what now?”
“They have to be arraigned before the court and plead next week.” Jenny advised. “They’re pleading guilty so the jury is just a formality.”
“And what will happen to them?” Candice demanded.
“Can’t say.” Jenny replied. “This judge tends to be fairly lenient with sentences but he was not best pleased with all the time wasting subsequent to the video evidence. The defence should have dropped the pleas immediately but Dewi Evans tried to bully them into doing something. The defence council is pretty pissed off as well. Evans tried to ‘strong arm them. I do know this judge tends to view stuff like perverting the course very severely. Something went on way back when he was a recorder and he got pilloried when new evidence came to light.”
“So the Evans brat might get more than his cronies.”
“Most definitely. There’s a minimum sentence for knife crimes. The judge’s hands are tied on this one. Your video shows he definitely pulled the knife and even though he didn’t have a chance to use it, he definitely threatened you with it. Candice’s reaction is clearly visible, her scream is clearly audible and she’s cowering behind you. She was obviously convinced and terrified and she knows the boy of old. You only have to confirm that you were convinced he was going to try and use it and the case is cut and dried. The video says it all. That was a ferocious attack on poor James.”
“Yeah. Thank God for cameras and computers.” I mumbled uncertainly as I contemplated any consequences, like abuse from his cronies if he got sent down. Then I had a thought as I looked at James squatting painfully on the settee while his sister sat with her arm loosely draped around him. If James decided to go for transition he might need money to help him through the SRS and any subsequent life changes. I asked Jenny.
“Will James get compensation?”
Only the standard criminal injuries awards.
“How much?”
“A few tens of thousands. Thirty maybe forty thou.”
“Is that all, I’ve heard with some industrial injuries the claims run to hundreds of thousands.”
“Yes but the companies have got insurance policies. That only happens if there’s money, -“
“To be sucked out by the lawyers.” I finished cynically.
Jenny shrugged.
“That’s the reality Bev.”
“Dewi Evans is pretty well feathered. It’d be nice to see him plucked.”
“It’s his boy that the claim would go against. How much money has the boy got?”
I shrugged. Nobody except perhaps his father could answer that. At that Candice perked up.
“He’s got shares. He’s always bragging about having shares.”
“Shares in what?” Jenny asked eagerly.
“Dunno, but he brags about them all the bloody time. He pretends he’s some sort of bloody tycoon.”
At this James sat up painfully.
“They’re shares in his dad’s company. I remember when we were doing history and the funny story about Budd Flanagan or one of the crazy gang or a comedian anyway, advising King George the sixth to put the empire in his wife’s name after Dunkirk. Everybody laughed then Evans told us that’s what his dad had done. Something about protecting the company assets or something. I’m not sure what.”
Jenny’s eyes widened with pleasure and she dug out her phone. Within seconds she was talking to some colleague in the company law section of chambers. He was at home enjoying a quiet supper with his girlfriend. After a brief legal exchange about company registers or something, Jenny smiled with satisfaction.
“We’ll soon know how much the little toe-rag is worth. Mike’s got twenty-four-hour computerised access to companies’ house.”
Then I had another thought, - ever the pessimist me.
“Can this David Evan’s be held legally liable for damages he’s only just turned seventeen hasn’t he James?”
“No. He’s the oldest in the class. He’s eighteen. He was held back a year cos’ he’s a thicko. I’m the youngest in my class only just turned sixteen. That’s why I’ve had to wait for SRS stuff.”
“This get’s betterer and betterer,” Jenny grinned. “We would have some difficulty swinging it if he was only sixteen or even seventeen but he’s eighteen. You’re right James. He’s been a right dumb-arse, he is a thicko! As you so succinctly put it.”
I watched Candice give her older brother an excited hug and he winced. I also wanted to hug both kids but I had to restrain myself. Trannies are ever alert to accusations of paedophilia and shit. Instead I stood up, walked over to Jenny and kissed her on the forehead.
“What’s that for?”
“For being so clever girl. For being so clever.”
“I haven’t had to do anything yet.”
“Maybe not but it’s been reassuring to think that things have moved so quickly and there’s yet more potential just because you’ve handled stuff.”
Jenny looked up thoughtfully then spoke mainly to James but for all our benefits.
“D’you really want to sue for damages?”
James nodded and we all sensed the anger in his eyes. I studied his rounded effeminate form and wondered how anybody could hurt such a small, vulnerable, soft skinned kid.
‘Shit she’s still but a kid!’ How could anybody hurt a kid like her?’ I asked myself.
Almost as if James’s prayers were being answered, Jenny’s phone took off. It was Mike, her partner at chambers. We strained to make out the conversation but it was turned down to mute, however we could follow the course of the conversation by Jennifer’s widening smile. Finally she closed up her phone and grinned.
“A huge stonk of the shares are in the son’s names. Technically, both sons are as rich as their dad. Well worth suing or so Mike thinks. The shares aren’t even held in trust! Talk about dumb!”
With this pleasing information Jenny declared she was tired so I offered to run the children home to their mum while Jenny made for bed, - the bed in my back bedroom. I wondered if this was some sort of tacit suggestion.
In the car, James had her first ever chance to speak to me about my transvestism. Candice must have mentioned it at some stage, possibly to reassure her ‘sister’. Candice knew to keep silent as James nervously opened up about the events of that fateful afternoon.
“I was lucky that day wasn’t I Mr Taff.”
“Yes. If I hadn’t stopped them they would probably have killed you.”
“No. — I don’t mean that, I mean the other stuff. My bra and stuff.”
“Go on.” I encouraged, - not yet sure where James was taking this.
“Well that’s it exactly. You simply ignored it. Just like you’re doing now.”
“It’s not an issue for me. It wasn’t that afternoon and it isn’t now.”
“That’s exactly what I mean. My transgender stuff doesn’t seem to bother you. Candice has told me about you.”
“Candice broke a promise then, - didn’t you Candice.”
“No. No that’s not fair!” Candice protested loudly. “James was terrified about your knowing. I had to explain it to him.”
“So why were you terrified about me knowing? Surely it was just as bad that the whole class had found out.”
“Yes but you were the man. The man who seemed to keep order in the mornings. The man who the bullies were afraid of.”
“I don’t follow. How or why were the bullies afraid of me?”
“You’re the only proper man living in that street. All the others are either single mums or old people. The bullies didn’t want to upset you. They’re cowards.”
“Well I’ll go along with that. A dozen thugs onto one little kid.”
James looked at me with a puzzled smile but remained silent. I continued talking.
“And now you’re puzzled that a ‘proper man’ as you call him, actually wears girl’s clothes or more correctly, women’s clothes.”
“Yeah. I don’t get that.”
“I’m a transvestite James. You must have heard of us. When you start to meet up with other transgendered people you’ll meet plenty like me. Just remember that once you’ve ‘transitioned’ and you’re ‘cured’ think of us, the trannies, the ones who can never be ‘cured’.”
“Do you want to be cured?” James smiled softly.
“No, but everybody else wants us to be ‘cured’. That’s the big issue for our kinds of people, it’s other people.”
James replied with a soft ‘Yes’. I wanted to hug her to comfort her, there and then, but we were outside their mother’s home and somebody might have seen us. Instead I wrapped my arm around her shoulders as a father might do to his son and promised her I would always try to be there for her if she needed the support of our kinds of people. Then I gave Candice a kiss on the cheek and told her loud enough for James to hear as she stood outside the van.
“Give that to James and your mum when you’re inside. I’ve got to go.”
Both children teared up and I almost did.
“Thanks Mr Taff.” They chorused in unison.
“Oh don’t be so formal. Call me Beverly or better still, Bev.”
With that James came around to the driver’s side and tapped on my window. I opened it, leaned out to ask what she wanted and suddenly she plonked a quick kiss on my lips.
“That’s my real thank you. Can I see you again tomorrow?”
“What for?” I asked.
“Miss Jennifer said that you go to gay clubs in Cardiff, I’d like to see inside one.”
“I’m afraid that’s a no-no. You have to be eighteen. However I can take you to Butterflies next Friday. That’s a private TG party in a private house. No booze is sold but adults can bring their own. I’d like to speak to your mother first though. I can do that tomorrow if she’s available.”
Again James grabbed my head and gave me another kiss. I was a little fearful and gently prised her off.
Careful James. I’m not fully out yet so I’m still vulnerable. Don’t forget they attacked Candice and me coming home from the hospital. I’m at as much risk as you. Much as you kiss beautifully, it’s still unsafe. James’s eyes saddened but then Candice offered a sort of protection by following her ‘sister’s’ example and kissing me. Fortunately she had the wit to make it a brief snog then she ‘put me down’. As they lingered by my van their front door opened and Madge was standing silhouetted in the hall light. The diesel tick-over of my van had alerted her. She recognised my van and gave me a wave as she motioned to her children. Reluctantly they left me but I was relieved to see them both hug their mum. There seemed to be no acrimony for my having returned them slightly later than we’d previously arranged. Candice had phoned to tell her anyway. Madge waved and smiled as I eased my way through the parked cars.
Minutes found me parking up in the side lane where I met Harry as he was carrying some pigeon boxes from his car boot into his pigeon loft. I fell to chatting with him as I helped him carry the boxes and we lingered in the lane chatting about the recent attacks on James and myself.
“I don’ understand all this transgender business but that’s no reason to attack the kid. Mr’s Price next to me says he’s but a scrap of a lad. One breath and he’d blow away.”
“That’s about it Harry,” I agreed, “that’s all he is or she is whichever way you look at it. When I saw half a dozen of them beating one poor kid up well, it’s no’r on is it?”
I dropped very slightly into the local vernacular to disguise any sympathies I had for James. I didn’t want to raise any issues with Harry. He was a decent bloke and he’d also been good to me when my dad died, but I had no idea how he might take on about me being Trans.
“Yeah, good for you Bev! Anyway, those Evans’s need taking down a peg or two.”
“Cost me though, they got me back. My ankle’s still in this stupid plastic thing.”
“Yeah. I heard about that too. Didn’t the boy’s sister film it or something?”
“Yeah. That was the best bit, - got the older Evan’s boy bang to rights as well. You’ve heard we won the first case for the little un, haven’t you?”
“Aye. Best news round ere' for a while.”
We put down the last box and harry straightened his aching back.
“Well that‘s them birds finished. I’ll sort out their nestin’ arrangements in the mornin’ Thanks for the help. You comin' in for a cup of tea?”
“No. Not tonight. Catch you next time, I’ve got company.”
Harry Smiled.
Well done Bev. Some girl finally caught you has she.
I smiled. Harry knew that I had ‘escaped the trap’ several times.
“No Harry. Mrs Todd’s daughter is down from London to help with the legal stuff for the kid who was attacked. She’s over there at mine now doing the paper-work.”
“Yeah. I’ve heard she’s done really well; Judge or summat isn’t she?”
“Not quite Harry, - not yet. She is a Q.C, though. A top barrister and she could become a judge if she chooses and if she’s called to the bench.”
“Yeah. Her mum can be really proud.”
“Yes. She can. Anyway I’m going over to help her with the facts. She’ll want a cup of tea I expect.”
We parted and I went in via my garage door as the security lights activated. This was followed by a loud plaintive miaoowe and I smiled at the black shadow brushing against my legs, - ‘Rastus’.
He rushed through the kitchen door ahead of me and immediately ignored his basket as he dashed straight up stairs. There was a squeak from Jennifer’s bedroom followed by the inevitable simpering, mothering noises as Jenny realised that whilst the invader of her bed was male he was not human. I grinned as I made a pot of tea to take up to her. Her smile broadened as I knocked softly and she invited me in. I poured her tea and settled into the ‘occasional chair’ by the bed. We chatted at length about the civil case against the Evans clan then she brought the conversation around to children. I sensed where this was going so I did not push any agendas. Eventually Jenny opened up.
“Well. We discussed it last time I was down from London. Are you game? D’you want to become a daddy? D’you want to make my mum a grandmother?”
“A turkey baster child.”
Jenny sniffed irritably.
“I could make a sacrifice, just for you.”
“What you mean, - are you sure? I know how you girls hate that sort of thing. The big hairy man stuff.”
“How do you think you know what any of ‘us girls’ want, as you so succinctly put it?”
“Jen. I meet and chat with your sisters every time I go out to gay clubs!”
“Well this girl’s different. Beside’s it would make mum supremely happy. She always fancied you and me together. This is as close as I could get to making her happy, - your child.”
“Are you absolutely sure. I’m now another unemployed male since yesterday with no job prospects.”
“Not yet you’re not. He’s got a hell of a fight on his hands.”
I smiled gratefully. Jenny was proving to be an excellent ally. Then she proved to be equally unpredictable.
“Well are you going to sit there all night!?”
“I! — I haven’t finished my tea yet.” I replied lamely. (What else could I say?)
“Get in stupid. My God! D’you need instructions or something.”
“Wouldn’t it be better going into my bed? It’s bigger.”
“You’re not sleeping over you know. Once you’ve served your purpose I want my own bed. Besides it’s unseemly for a girl to climb into a bloke’s bed. They’re usually pretty foetid places.”
“I object to that. I’m scrupulously clean.”
“Yeah well that’s the truth; your house is clean, no filthy laundry lying around and all importantly your bathroom’s clean. No filthy black mould in the shower. No disgusting stains on the floor.”
I smiled self-consciously.
“That’s cos I always sit, - well at home anyway.”
“Her eyes widened and she gave a puzzled frown.”
“What always?”
I nodded.
“Of course. I’m a tranny aren’t I? What did you expect?”
“Well that explains a lot of things,” she finished as she patted the mattress beside her.
I hesitated and motioned questioningly if I should get undressed. She smiled, and nodded. Her smile widened as she noticed my matching bra and panties.
“Oh they’re pretty are they from New Look?”
I nodded as I moved to unclasp my bra.
“No. Leave them on. I could almost mistake you for a girl! Those are nice breasts, have you been taking hormones?”
Again I nodded.
“Yes but no blockers. It still serves its purpose.”
“Good. Let’s give it a try then.”
“Very romantic,” I grinned as I slipped under the sheets and gently cuddled up to her.
Jenny rolled over to face me and gently fingered the breasts she had just been admiring. I sighed and twitched lasciviously as she pushed her fingers down the waistband of my panties and whispered to me to do the same to her. She giggled as she felt me growing hard.
“Pity about this. If you cut it off and grew your hair out, you could even pass as a girl in bed.
“Thanks but no thanks.” I giggled as our panties ended up down the bed and she gently slid her thigh over mine.
I was mildly surprised and quite pleased to discover that Jenny was wet and receptive; otherwise, I would have had to spoil the mood and gone to dig out some lubricant from the bathroom. I wasn’t even sure if I had any left it had been so long since a woman had been in my bed.
To my surprise and delight Jenny made all the running. I simply had to lie back quietly while she availed herself of my ‘penetrative, inseminal device’ and achieved her goals. She giggled as my ‘equipment’ did what was demanded of it then she finally rolled off me. We lay for a few moments then I whispered uncertainly.
“D’you want me to go now?”
She grinned contentedly and said.
“No Bev. I’ve changed my mind. You almost pass for a girl. You’ve got lovely breasts, you’re soft and hairless and you’re lovely and slender. Stay with me. Besides, I might want it again later.”
What red blooded ‘girly boy’ could refuse an offer like that? Strangely she rolled over away from me then invited me to spoon her and cuddle her tight. I was taller than her so we ‘fitted together’ perfectly and my breasts pressed into her shoulder blades. She sighed contentedly and soon we fell into a blissful sleep.
We woke that Sunday morning and more or less resumed where we’d left off. Jenny ‘used’ me again then we lay for an hour savouring each other’s embrace until we heard the soft miaoowe calling from down stairs.
“He’s up.” I observed. “I suppose I’d better take him round to your mums.”
“Not like this you’re not. We’re getting showered and dressed first.”
With that she gave a sudden unexpected heave and thrust me out of bed with her feet. I squeaked in protest then started giggling again.
“Get me that dressing gown from the back of the door.” She commanded.
“Yes ma-am, certainly ma-am; anything ma-am says ma-am.”
I threw the dressing gown to her and went to have a shower downstairs. She caught up with me as I was opening the shower door.
“Let’s shower together. Have you got a shower cap?”
“Third drawer down under the vanity sink.”
“Why d’you have a vanity sink in your utility room?”
“Why not? I installed all this, so I did it to my design. Who else do I have to please?”
Jenny shrugged, put her hair up under the cap and stepped into the large cubicle to join me.
“This is big for a shower.”
“It’s a utility room silly. I sometimes rinse down my bikes in here, see, there’s a big filter and a box trap for mud and stuff. That’s why you step up into it.”
“Uugh. All mud and stuff from that mountain bike.”
“So what. Like you said last night. It’s spotlessly clean. The mud goes on the compost for Harry’s garden. He also does mine and we share the veg.”
She looked closely at the drain plug and shrugged.
“Yep it is clean and it’s nice and big for us to share a shower.”
We did and she emerged refreshed and happy. Then she had another problem. I watched as she stood dabbing herself softly with the towel as a thoughtful expression clouded her fresh-faced countenance.
“What’s wrong now?”
Jenny hesitated then confessed.
“I’ve got no clean knickers.”
“Borrow mine.”
She wrinkled up her nose and hesitated, I realised her issues. Girls didn’t like sharing underwear, even newly laundered stuff. I wagged my head and smiled.
“Don’t worry fusspot. There’s brand new lingerie in my panties drawer. It’s the stuff on the right with the labels and price tags still attached. There’s also new bras in the next drawer down. Same arrangement and don’t panic, they are all still in their cellophane.”
“Oh thanks Bev. You’re a perfect ladies’ man, aren’t you?”
I wagged my head as she watched me also dab myself dry and smiled disbelievingly.
“My God you really are a secret femme aren’t you? Sitting to pee, dabbing yourself dry. Next you’ll be wearing panty liners.”
“Just watch it you, - before I change my mind about those panties. Go on. They’re up in my own bedroom beside that so-called foetid cess-pit you call my bed.”
I watched her delicious rear sway out through the utility room door because her breasts were overly large and although my towels covered my breasts and butt, they didn’t quite fit completely over Jenny’s riper curves. She span around and caught me looking and she grinned.
Later, as I went upstairs I heard her giggling and gasping in my bedroom. I knocked and walked in, (it was after all MY bedroom.) to find her studying my underwear collection. She turned to me wagging her head unbelievably.
“My God Bev; this stuff is like a whore’s boudoir! Don’t you have any plain cotton stuff? You know; comfy stuff for everyday.”
I pointed to my wardrobe and said.
“In there, the drawers down the left hand side. Plenty of stuff.”
Jenny nodded approvingly and eventually located a new set of bra and knickers that suited her choice. After stepping into the cotton pants she held up the bra and looked at me curiously.
“Why have you got Double D and E cup bras when you’re only what; big B or a C?”
“Don’ know where the hormones‘ll stop. I could grow to a D or E; I dunno’”
“Bloody hell Bev, you’re well fucked up aren’t you!” Are you boy or girl?”
“I’ve stopped wondering or worrying any more. I’m just Beverly.”
“Are you up to the unfair dismissal battle?”
“I’ve got to be haven’t I? Without that Job, I’m well stuffed. Come on, let’s get dressed. Your mum ‘ll be wondering where Rastus is.”
“And me I shouldn’t wonder.”
“Are you going to tell her you’re trying for a baby?”
“Not quite. I want it to be a surprise when I can tell her I am pregnant.”
“So are you going to stay down here then? I mean, it takes a bit of you know, - regularity to do the deed. Won’t your partner up in London be upset if she learns you’re having sex with me?”
“I’m between partners at the moment. I’ve got a new friend but there’s nothing fixed as it were.”
I nodded sagely and went down stairs while Jenny did her makeup. The smell of scrambled eggs soon produced a hungry guest and she grinned appreciatively as I set out the toast and egg. I knew from way back that she preferred tea for breakfast and I even knew how she liked it. Her grin increased to a huge smile as she recognised the familiar arrangement.
“Gosh! You still remember after all these years.”
“Well I’ve hardly made tea for anybody else since you left, except your mum. Eat your egg it’s getting cold.
As we ate I asked if she wanted me to take Rastus over or if she’d do it.
“You don’t have to carry him, it’s become a routine. He’ll follow you into your Mum’s house.”
Jenny grinned and slipped the greedy feline a spoonful of egg. He mopped it up with his tongue in short order. Normally I wouldn’t have allowed it, and indeed, Rastus knew not to beg but obviously Jenny had spoilt him when she was growing up next door and I for one knew that Rastus had a perfect memory.
By nine we were delivering Rastus and Mrs Todd gave her daughter a knowing look. Jenny just smiled and remarked.
“I’m in my mid thirties mummy. I’m a big girl now.”
Mrs Todd looked at me but I just remained straight faced as I turned to leave. Jenny explained we had to go to the courts and we made our excuses. The rest of the day, Jenny coached me, James and Candice in preparation for the forthcoming ordeals. The more severe the judge was about the criminal case, the better would be our chances of success in the civil proceedings for damages. I asked Jenny why she wasn’t coaching her mother and she explained that her mother only had to tell the absolute truth and state exactly what she saw.
“But shouldn’t we be telling the truth?” James wondered aloud.
“Of course James,” Jennifer replied, “but a bit of theatre goes a long way in court and we are looking for extensive damages for you. Don’t worry, everything will be the truth just put more elaborately.”
That night Madge came down with her ‘daughters’ and Jennifer coached some more. Mrs Todd sat in and wagged her head as she watched her daughter operate. My God darling, but you’ve got your dad’s way about you. He wouldn’t stand for any nonsense either. Jenny smiled at her mum. Her dad had died unexpectedly when Jenny was at University and she missed him dearly. Any little anecdotes about her dad were devoured with relish by Jenny especially stories when she had been at uni. While Jenny was coming to terms with her lesbianism she had more or less broken off relations with her family for fear of censure. When she learned later that her mum was sympathetic she bitterly regretted not having told her dad for Mrs Todd was adamant that her husband would have been compassionate about it too. Mr Todd had always been supportive of my ‘unmanly ways’ insofar as he did not poke fun when I refused to play rugby or football.
“The boy cycles Elizabeth. That’ll keep him fit enough.”
I was chief bearer at William Todd’s funeral and I gave the Eulogy at the tender age of twenty. With having no father of my own through the accident, William Todd and Harry were the main male figures in my young life. Now there was only Harry and my friendship with him really only revolved around bloky stuff affecting our mutual transport needs and security. Harry was okay as a neighbour but not as a friend. My friends were all TG People his friends mostly had feathers.
When the coaching session came to an end Madge took her ‘daughters’ home and Mrs Todd had sufficient wit to make a tactful withdrawal. Jenny and I had another night of ‘clear decks’ to achieve Jenny’s aims. We availed ourselves and Jenny reckoned I acquitted myself well. We didn’t surface until ten the next morning and she hadn’t thrown me out of bed which she assured me she would have done if I’d resembled a bloke.
“Uugh men! Can’t stand em’, huge great hairy things, all muscle and smell.”
I looked at her puzzled but not accusatively. I wasn’t hairy and not much muscled even though I tended to count myself still amongst men. We showered together again and she ‘borrowed some more of my new unopened underwear. As we dressed she grinned at me.
“Just look at you in that delightful sexy lingerie and me in my sensible comfortable cotton briefs and bra. Who’s the little girly one here?”
I grinned gave a little twirl and slipped into my tee-shirt and jeans whilst she dressed in formal black.
In the early afternoon Jenny had more business down at the courts and she returned to tell me that the civil hearing for James was set for Friday. We more or less had the rest of the week to ourselves so Jenny used it to indulge her ambitions to get pregnant whilst additionally advancing a civil claim for me in anticipation of my victory against the Evans clan for the attack against me.
For Candice and James it was a week of enlightenment as they learned more of my transgenderism and Jenny’s lesbianism every day after school at my house. It reassured them as Jenny took everybody through their lines in preparation for the courts. We also demonstrated to James that there could be deep and lasting friendships amongst transgendered people without all the censorious hullabaloo that seemed to accompany heterosexist perceptions of Tee-folk. (Transgendered folk.)
On the Friday we went into court. Because I was still in a plastic detachable leg cast and still covered in bruises the defence actually tried to have me barred from appearing in court but even the judge laughed that one out of court. I was one of the main, material witnesses to James’s assault and it would be impossible to prevent me from giving evidence.
My battered appearance plus James’s bruises convinced the judge that a custodial sentence was unavoidable and David Evans went down for six months, mainly for the knife incident. James also got very substantial damages. More than enough to pay for any SRS when she was ready. Jenny had done her work well.
That Friday evening I took Jenny, Candice and James up to ‘Butterflies’ where they met my transgendered friends. All in all it was a very successful week. They were amazed to find the local community police officer giving a brief talk at Butterflies and it gave James huge confidence to go forward with her life. The poor kid had been contemplating suicide
On the Saturday Jenny, Candice and Madge took James shopping whilst I indulged my other passion, - a one hundred miler on my bike. It’s the best thing in the world for clearing one’s head and ‘putting the world to rights.’ That night Jenny indulged again after taking me out for a meal and we had a ‘lie-in’ on the Sunday, well at least until noon when James and Candice appeared with an invite to go round to their house for Sunday lunch. They sat down stairs while Jenny and I dressed and they were jealous that we slept, showered and ate together.
“You two may as well get married.” James giggled as Candice grinned at us stepping past the living room from the shower downstairs up to the bedroom. Jenny stopped in the doorway whilst wearing one of the new longer bath towels she had bought on the Saturday then she gave them a patronising look and explained that she couldn’t marry anybody with a cock but if I was prepared to sort out that little problem, she would certainly consider me. Both ‘girls’ squealed with amusement as I shouted down.
“I’m not giving up my bits. You lot can do what you like.”
Jenny joined me upstairs then Candice and James asked to come into my bedroom just to continue chatting. By this time both Jenny and I had our bras and panties on so we were respectable. James was fascinated to discover that I had breasts and a small tear came to her eye. At last she realised there were others like her or similar to her and right here in her own town.
As Jenny and I dressed, Candice expressed regrets that Jenny and I would never get it together but Jenny reassured her that we would always be friends and that there would always be a room in her apartment for any of us if we came up to stay overnight or weekend in London. James’s eyes widened at the news, she was already considering leaving our small town to find anonymity and comfort in the big city. It was the usual route for most TG people after traumatic events in their home-towns. A safe room as she found her way would be a vital stepping stone for James as she progressed her transition and transgenderism.
Having dressed and returned the inevitable Rastus to his mistress, we left to have lunch with Madge. After Lunch, Jenny had to leave for London while the children, Madge and I went for a walk around the estate. Several people pointed James out in his skirt and top but nobody gave us any hassle. Indeed two people, both single mothers, (well they were pushing babies in buggies,) came up to congratulate me for ‘having a go’ and to admire James’s outfit.
It was a real epiphany for James and me. It seemed our experiences were news all around the estate and many people hated the Evan’s clan in our particular ward. Councillor Evans had been elected to another ward but his pernicious activities affected the poorer, ‘unemployed’ people of our council ward much more than his own constituents.
We ended up having tea and cakes in a small cafe by the park and watched a game of ladies hockey, - an unusual activity in the poorer parts of ‘blue-collar’ Wales. Again, as we sat chatting, two boys introduced themselves and openly declared themselves to be gay as they looked at me and congratulated James. Candice and James knew them from school. They chatted briefly and swapped anecdotes about David Evans’s bullying. James’s ‘coming out’ had incurred much abuse by the Evans boy and his sycophants.
“You did well Jamie and you’re brave. And thanks a bundle Mr Taff. You’ve stopped a lot of stuff at the school.”
I did a double take. It seemed my reputation was getting ahead of me.
As the pair walked away I distinctly heard one say to the other, “I wish my dad was like him.” Madge and the children also heard it, (I think we were meant to,) and she smiled at me as James repeated the same sentiment.
“Yeah. I wish my dad had been like you Mr Taff.”
“I’ve told you before it’s Bev,” I protested before I realised James was both winding me up and paying me a compliment.
Candice nodded her head and I didn’t know where to look.
‘Steady Bev.’ I thought. ‘Don’t let your ego outgrow your head. You’re still a flippin’ tranny and you’ve just lost your job; - feet on the ground laddie, feet on the ground now.’
We finished our tea and cake and ambled back to Madge’s house. Once they were home, I made my excuses and walked home. It was a quiet evening and I had no trouble. Since the Evan’s clan had met their waterloo, things seemed to have calmed down a bit on the estate. I looked in on Mrs Hobbs and once again rescued Rastus from my back-yard. We shared the usual cup of tea then I went to my house and settled in for the night. It was strange not going to work and sitting there alone at night on a Monday seemed to reinforce my having been made redundant. I decided to dress for the night and this relaxed me a lot. It was nice dressing on a Monday night.
My life fell into that vein for several weeks as I searched for another job but nothing was forthcoming. It seemed Dewi Evans had a hand in everything.
My only consolation was that Jenny had organised the employment tribunal and had assured me that I had a lot of things going in my favour. She had even loaded the charge of transphobia against the company because they knew I had been attacked partly because of my Transvestism. It was not common knowledge but the likes of the Evans’s did not need much excuse to attack a vulnerable person. In the school, Candice had confirmed that several of Evans’s gang had mentioned I was ‘a weirdo’. So the Evans’s knew something.
Each weekend that Jenny came down, we indulged in ‘baby-making’ then she would return to London usually on Sunday afternoon. Those weekends kept me sane as the lack of a job gnawed at what little self confidence remained. Then I got an interview and it went well. I had been short-listed to a company thirty miles away where Evans’s influence did not hold sway. That night I went to bed and indulged my transvestism with new relish.
I woke feeling really good. The short-listing and sleeping in a silky nightie had helped to ease the tensions. As I showered I heard an unusually long plaintive miiiaoowoo at the back door and I stepped out of the shower to let him in. He went to his bowl and looked accusatively at me then sat expectantly while I finished washing. For want of a better idea, although it was a Tuesday I subconsciously followed my Friday Morning routine and finally took Rastus around to his mistress at about tennish, usually just before I went for a bike ride. Unusually she wasn’t up so I made her some tea then slipped upstairs.
Knocking softly on her bedroom door I called quietly.
“Hello-oo! It’s Beverly Mrs Todd. Tea up.”
No answer. I called again but no answer then Rastus appeared at my feet and gave a long mournful miaooow before scratching at the door. I’m not the most sensitive of people but even I realised something wasn’t right. I knocked again a little louder then cautiously opened her bedroom door, - all the time calling her name softly. As Rastus leapt onto the bed I thought she was asleep but when she didn’t respond to Rastus’s pawing of her face a cold sagging feeling suddenly filled my belly. I put the tea tray aside and cautiously bent down to check. I couldn’t hear her breathing nor could I find a pulse. I took a compact mirror from the dressing table and nervously held it close to her gaping mouth. ‘Was that a bit of damp?’ I asked myself hopefully as I dug out my mobile and dialled nine-nine-nine. The response was suitably sympathetic and I settled on the bed to phone Jenny’s office number. The Chambers answered and told me she’d gone to court for a verdict. I told them the situation and asked them to somehow get a message to her. Then I settled down to wait. I was afraid to try cardiac massage, Mrs Todd was very old and frail and I knew that cardiac massage could break ribs. I debated doing mouth to mouth. Fortunately my debate was short-lived. The faint wail grew louder until the blare of the two-tone banshee filled the street. I was out in the road directing them then I had to answer the neighbour’s inquiries as the paramedics did their business. After briefly explaining what I’d found, I went upstairs were I found the medics busy doing their stuff. I waited on the landing in case they had questions but essentially I left them to it. I would only have got in their way. I helped the girl medic at her end in getting the wheelie thing down the stairs then raised a questioning eyebrow as they rested momentarily in the hall and re-adjusted the mask on my beloved neighbour’s face.
“She’s not dead but it’s touch and go. Her pulse is very weak.”
“Heart?” I asked.
The girl nodded and I dashed upstairs to get Mrs Todd’s medications before locking the doors and getting into the ambulance.
“Are you a relative?”
“No. I live next door but I check in on her every morning. Her only daughter lives in London and I’ve left a message at her chambers at the inner temple.”
“So there are no relatives nearby.”
I wagged my head, Mrs Todd had been an only child though Mr Todd had had sisters but they still lived up in Yorkshire and they had never visited. I would have to check back at the house once Mrs Todd was seen to. If I could perhaps find telephone numbers or something.
At the casualty unit I could only sit and kick my heels for over an hour until my mobile finally rang. It was Jenny. The judge had adjourned the hearing early for lunch so she could find out what happened. I explained as best I could and she broke down in tears; more with relief than grief because her mum was still alive, - just. The receptionist heard me talking then she buzzed the emergency team and a sister came out to speak to me and Jenny. I handed her my mobile and eves-dropped the conversation then the sister turned to me and smiled.
“It’s okay. You can come in now. She’s gone up to ward and she is asking for you. You are Beverly aren’t you?”
I nodded and she glanced at the swellings under my tee-shirt. I hadn’t had time to get my shirt and jacket and wondered if an explanation was in order, bearing in mind I was in a very delicate situation. I was only the ‘good neighbour and Samaritan’. Nothing more was said so I followed her up to the ward to find Mrs Todd sitting up with an oxygen mask on her face. She smiled at me and patted the bed gently. I glanced questioningly at the sister and she nodded so I sat on the edge of the bed instead of the low chair for I had to lean right in to explain.
“Jenny will be down early this evening. The case should be wrapped up by two-ish. Rastus is okay, I’ve fed him and I’ll sort him out later. Have you got your sisters-in-law’s phone numbers?”
The old lady wagged her head and tried speaking but I raised a hand to prevent her. It was obvious she was struggling to breathe and she had to save her energy for Jenny later. I sat quietly stroking her hand unsure of what next to do. I was never very good in hospitals. The sister came with a cup of tea and as I sipped it, Mrs Todd’s eyes closed. I checked the monitor and reassured myself she was still alive then I made my excuses to the sister whilst leaving my details.
At two o’clock my mobile went off and Jenny answered.
“How’s mum?”
“She’s alive but very weak. I left her sleeping. I should have been there. She’s got an alarm thing but it had fallen off the bedside table. She’s supposed to keep it around her neck.”
“Okay, don’t blame yourself; meet me at the station at six. The case is concluded, the jury’s come back with the verdict and the judge will pass sentence on Friday following reports.”
I met her as arranged and a very tearful Jenny fell into my arms. At the hospital I stood back and chatted to the ward sister as Jenny spent what was to be her last hours with her mum. They spoke at length, which surprised me; it seemed Mrs Todd had been saving her last strength for her daughter. At ten that night it was over and I took Jenny home to my house. She couldn’t face sleeping in her own bedroom next door. Too many ghosts I supposed. She’d had a very happy childhood, we both had. We sat chatting softly reminiscing about our childhoods and it was only then that she found the strength to tell me.
“I’m pregnant.”
I teared up as my heart filled with joy then I suddenly realised.
“That’s what you were telling your mum wasn’t it?”
“She nodded tearfully and we fell into each other’s arms. Mrs Todd, Jenny’s mum, had died happy!”
On this note I sent Jenny to bed. I did not sleep with her, my job was done. Instead, Rastus slept that night with Jenny and that served to comfort her.
“You’ll look after him won’t you?” She asked when I took her tea and breakfast.
“Of course, why did you need to ask?”
“You’re the sweetest man I ever met. I only wish mum could have lived to see her grandchild.”
Jenny stayed until the funeral and for a few days afterwards until all the affairs were sorted. I drove her around as all the paperwork was sorted and she even came cycling with me one sunny day. She was forced to agree, it helped clear her head and mend her mood.
A week later I was summoned up to London unexpectedly. Mr’s Todd’s will was being read by a lawyer associate of Jenny’s. I couldn’t, for the life of me, work out why I should be asked to attend. I got the shock of my life.
There wasn’t much to the will except of course for the house. This was where I was involved. Mrs Todd had left me half the house! My jaw almost hit the floor and I turned to Jenny expecting to see anger at having her inheritance halved. Instead she smiled and held up her copy as she tapped the back page. I turned over my copy and suddenly realised that Jenny had been one of the signatory witnesses to the will. She had always known I was going to inherit a half share of the house next door! Jenny had helped her mum to write the will! I stared stupidly at Jenny as the lawyer wrapped up the rest of the issues. Everything else went to Jenny, which was exactly what I had expected. She invited me to dinner at Lincoln’s Inn and I filled up with emotion.
“Don’t cry Bev. It’s a thank you for all that you did for mum by looking after her. She loved you dearly you know. The best son she never had. She was overjoyed about my baby especially as you were the father. She died a very happy woman. Oh by the way, you can have all Rastus’s stuff.”
This made me smile. Rastus had already moved in; plate, bowl and cat-food.
I was left with the house clearance, Jenny couldn’t face it. She had taken what mementoes she wanted so the rest was up to me. Candice and James spent the ‘after-school’ periods helping me and they even had a few precious bits of junk jewellery to remember Mrs Todd by. Madge also helped with the cleaning and I had to wait until Jenny came down to discuss what we would do with the house.
Later that month I received the best Christmas present I could have expected. I had not got the job that had been advertised but they had another job because somebody had died unexpectedly. I had come second at the interviews so they offered it to me. It was a factory near Swansea and it involved nine to five hours. That didn’t matter for I could cycle in and out every day.
Madge invited me around for Christmas and I enjoyed one of the best Christmases I’d ever had since my childhood days with Jennifer.
By the New Year I was all set up. The only seeming cloud on the horizon was the anticipated ordeal of the tribunal.
I resumed work on January the third; the factory had just resumed full time working and the death of my predecessor had been a fortunate event for me. Not for his wife and children but it’s an ill wind. That night I was cycling home after work and I had just entered the estate. Traffic was heavy and there was the usual rush-hour jam but on my bike I was hardly affected. I was cycling towards Madge’s house when a fire engine went moaning past. I checked behind me to make sure there were no more and crossed over to the cycle path. From now on it would be much safer. My town’s got some good cycle tracks but in some places they are ‘intermittent’. It was starting to rain so I pushed harder on the pedals. If I could get home without getting too wet it would mean less frapping about getting dry. Then I noticed the fire engine’s blue lights flashing in the street where Madge lived. I contemplated taking a detour but some strange sense of foreboding drew me towards the lights until I realised it was Madge’s house on fire. For a second I panicked then regained my composure as I spotted Sergeant Williams on crowd control and organising the police response. I cycled over to him with the question writ large across my face. He recognised me and motioned with his head to wait while he finished a call, then he spoke to me.
“Hi Bev, it looks like arson. Nobody’s hurt thank God. James and his family are over there talking to the D.S. (Detective Sergeant.) She’s the one taking notes.
I looked at the terrified family then I recognised one of my attackers slinking at the back of the gathered crowd. I was sure it was him. If it was arson, he would be well worth watching. Sometimes, just sometimes, if the perpetrator was stupid, he (or she) would hang around admiring his handiwork. The man who had attacked me with David Evans and his bigger brother had been very stupid for he had identified himself to me and Candice had U-Tubed it. I spoke to Sergeant Evans again.
“Look I can see you’re busy at the moment, and your colleague is reassuring Madge and the children. I’ve just seen something that might be relevant so I’ve got to go. Get a message to Madge if she’s stuck for accommodation tonight, there’s two spare bedrooms at mine. Phone me when you’ve got things in hand here.”
“What have you spotted?”
“Not now Sarge. Your guys are busy; I’ll phone you later if there’s anything pertinent.”
He squinted at me thoughtfully but I was already on my bike. In the darkness, the thug had melted into the crowd but I soon picked him up as he scuttled down the path, away from the scene of the crime. I decided to follow him and loitered at each corner as he walked several blocks. He was making his way to the trading estate which was fortunate for me. There were a lot of unused tarmac roads where factories had not yet been built. The open spaces had been planted with trees for landscaping and the street lighting had been installed for safety until businesses could be attracted in. As the thug made his way towards the area I became both suspicious and excited. It would be much easier to follow him through the tree-lined grid-iron of empty sites. Then I recognised a familiar car. A large dark Bentley was parked up in a cul-de-sac. There was only one man who owned such a posh car in our industrial town. Dewi Evans. The thug was obviously making for it. This would be worth filming, so I raced to the next block, hid my bike, whipped off my hi-vis tabard then dashed back behind the trees to take a position in the bushes right beside Evans’s car. I was in position just as the thug reached Dewi’s car. I was close enough to almost touch them!
Councillor Evans wound down the window and I had the certain delight of being close enough amongst the bushes to both film and record the conversation on my mobile.
“Job done?” Evans asked.
The thug nodded and smiled as he incriminated both of them.
“Yeah. That petrol’s wild stuff though. It burned like blazes.”
“It wasn’t petrol it was Naphtha.” Evan’s replied.
'This was getting better and better.' I told myeself. 'He’s just identified the accelerant and implicated himself.'
“Whatever,” the thug replied, “now have you got the money?”
Evans reached into his glove compartment and produced some twenties. The thug counted them and grinned.
“Two hundred, as agreed. Nice doing business councillor. What about that other bloody weirdo, the one we beat up the other day.”
“Not yet,” Evans replied, “I’ve got other plans for him, he cycles and that makes him vulnerable. Now bugger off before somebody sees anything.”
It was then that the video capacity in my phone filled up but I had all I wanted. I lay perfectly still as the Bentley whispered away and the thug returned whence he’d come. Neither of them would pass my bike but it was well hidden anyway. Once it was safe I phoned Sergeant Evans and messaged him the video. I received a huge ‘THANKYOU!!!’ by text.
I texted back, ‘Smelt accelerant on thug’s clothes maybe some in Evans car!’
Back came the reply immediately.
‘On to it. Thanks!’
Content that my part was done I cycled home to find the Detective sergeant on my doorstep with Madge and her kids. They all smiled as I arrived and followed me inside. I immediately put the kettle on but declared I didn’t have enough food for dinner for everybody. Madge immediately gave James a tenner and we each gave our order for the fish and chip shop. I told her to borrow my trail bike because it had a carry frame on the back but the DS said she’d take James to the shop because James was ‘dressed’. Her police car was unmarked and she reckoned it would be an interesting experiment to see if James experienced any abuse. When they returned we all tucked in to a slap up feed and the sergeant confessed.
“If I ate like this every night, I’d soon turn into a fat pig.”
“Come cycling with me then, you’ll soon lose weight, though you don’t need to.”
She smiled and blew me a kiss as I wrapped up my chip paper and left a little bit for Rastus. The children followed suit and the DS grinned.
“That cat‘ll grow fat if he eats all that.”
“You leave Rastus alone.” I protested, “And don’t call him fat. He’s sensitive.”
“It’s only a one off.” Madge declared. “That cat will be eating sensibly again tomorrow, I’ll be getting food organised. The main problem is clothes. Most of our stuff was upstairs and that what’s got burned the most.”
At that James gave a little giggle.
“Candice and I will be okay for clothes.”
“Why?” The DS asked.
“We uuhhm, we uuhhm, we’ve got some clothes here.
Suddenly James realised she had said too much and she back-tracked but the damage was done. The DS gave me a funny look.
“The rumours are true then.”
“What rumours?” I countered.
“You’re a transvestite.”
I decided I might as well finally ‘come out’. I knew Sergeant Williams had not inadvertently outed me because he had known for over a year. There had been enough ‘incidents’ in the past months to give me away. Besides Dewi Evans and his cronies must have known, hence the attack on me that afternoon coming home from the hospital. I replied quite calmly.
“Yes I am.”
The DS glanced at Madge who sensed the question and answered it before the Sergeant could comment further.
“Yes I did know. Beverly’s been very supportive of my daughter.”
“Oh! Good. So there’re no issues then.”
“None at all!” James snapped. “Bev’s a fantastic guy! Don’t you know he rescued me from the Evans gang?”
“Yes. I knew about that, any decent man would have intervened. Trouble is there are not many decent men around.”
“Well Bev’s decent!” Candice added. “And he’s helped us a whole heap of times. He’s helping us again tonight, so what’s the problem? Anyway, James is seventeen next month! She’s going to need all the help and support she can get! Beverly is one of our supporters! You just catch the bastards who burned us out!”
The DC smiled enigmatically and glanced ever so slightly my way before speaking.
“Oh I’m pretty sure we’ll find out who it was. The problems for your family are the middle term arrangements. The council are going to have to find you a new house. You can’t stay here forever. ”
“They can.” I interjected softly.
This is a follow on from The rescue. It explores what happens to Beverly in the following year of her life.
The rescue 2
Characters.
Beverly Taff. Transvestite
James or Jamie Transgendered kid.
Candice Jamie’s Younger Sister.
Sergeant Williams Hate crime police officer
David Evans Knife-boy. (Son of Dewi Evans.)
Margaret Beckinsale. Jamie and Candice’s mum. (AKA Madge.)
Sandie Beverly’s best Transvestite friend.
Elizabeth Todd Beverly’s next door neighbour.
Jennifer Todd Elizabeth Todd’s daughter. A barrister.(QC.) Beverly’s best female friend & ‘girl next door’ through childhood.
Rastus Elizabeth Todd’s cat (Now owned by Beverly.)
Dewi Evans Bent politician and criminal.
Paul. Beverly’s transvestite Boss.
Calista Pauls Transgendered girlfriend.
Stephanie Jenny and Beverly’s daughter.
Phoebe Paul’s Sister.
Rachel. Jennifer’s new girlfriend. (After Stephanie was born.)
Madge turned slowly as my words sank in.
“Are your serious Bev?”
I nodded just once and pursed my lips thoughtfully before answering.
“Yes. Though I suspect you’ll only want to stay here until your own house is ready again.”
Madge hesitated as she considered my unexpected offer. I hadn’t known that Madge’s own house was a council house until it had been set alight by the arsonist. After having been made homeless under such circumstances, the council would have been bound to supply Madge and her children with alternative housing arrangements. This would have meant her being moved to any house deemed suitable anywhere in the borough. As she considered this scenario I could see her mind clanking away. Even after her original house was repaired, she would be expected to remain in her new home as the council filled her old house with new tenants as per their logistical needs. Provided the council had satisfied their statutory obligations Madge had no legal claim on her old house. She would probably have to stay where she was put.
Madge could find herself on the other side of town; too far to walk to work and the children in another catchment area for another school with all the attendant problems that could bring for Jamie. At least in her current school the transgender issues had now been aired and addressed.
The teaching staff were now alert to the risks to Madge’s child Jamie and there were many parents and pupils sympathetic to Jamie’s situation. In another school in another part of the town Jamie would have to start all over again.
‘Better the devil she knew than the devil she didn’t’, Madge thought.
She asked again to reassure her fears.
“No, - are you really serious Beverly, I mean me living here with both my children?”
“Well, here or next door,” I replied, “You may not know it but Jenny and I inherited Elizabeth’s house and we’re looking for tidy tenants. I’ve been a guest of yours over Christmas and I have to say your house was immaculate. Landlords like tenants that keep their homes clean and Jennie has burdened me with finding suitable tenants. I didn’t know you were council tenants until the fire. I thought you owned the house. Besides, there’s no knowing where the council would re-house you. , I wouldn’t put it past that bastard Dewi Evans to stick his oar in and get you placed in one of the sink estates with all the junkies and criminals.”
Madge looked at me gob-smacked. All council tenants knew where the bad neighbourhoods were and even though our street suffered the daily school mayhem it wasn’t particularly bad in other respects. Her eyes widened with fear as she contemplated how vulnerable she and even more particularly, her ‘daughter’ Jamie would become, walking the streets of one of the sink estates. Councillor Dewi Evans could use his influences to have Madge re-housed in the worst ward in the borough, - the worst street even! My offer now looked infinitely more attractive. The detective sergeant added her observation.
“I’d take the offer Madge but check the rent first.”
I felt a little hurt at this remark. Jennie and I had discussed what to do with the house when her mother’s will had been read in London. We had decided to keep the house and to rent it out.
House prices were depressed at the moment because of ‘the global banking the crisis’ so Jenny was happy to hold on to her half and let the house because she had as good a ‘letting agent’ as she could ask for, - namely me with the other half-share interest in the house.
We had already discussed a ‘ball-park’ figure for rental but we had agreed I could adjust it up or down as I saw fit. Furthermore it meant Jenny also had a ‘room’ at my house in South Wales if she ever found herself advocating in any courts in South Wales. She was finding a lot of work in South Wales because of her bilingualism and her growing reputation. When Jenny came to South Wales, she and her anticipated new child, (our child!) could stay in my spare bedrooms.
“Did you think I would screw Madge for rent?” I asked a little sharply of the detective sergeant for her remark had pierced my armour and wounded me slightly.
She realised that her suggestion had been a little insensitive and apologised with a smile.
“I’m sorry Mister Taff, I didn’t imply that, I was just thinking that Mrs Beckinsale should make sure she gets her sums right. She’s got a lot of unexpected additional expenses to face replacing her stuff and insurance companies are notoriously reluctant to stump up."
“Okay. Sorry, I misread your meaning. Apology accepted and for your information Madge will be paying less than a council rent. Miss Jennifer Todd and I own the house next door outright so there’s no mortgage to cover. Mrs Beckinsale and her children will be safely and securely housed for a very fair rent. Both Miss Todd and I know Mrs Beckinsale to be a good and considerate tenant and they are hard to find. I will be delighted if Madge Beckinsale will rent the house next door."
I saw Madge’s eyes tear up as she turned to give me a hug. Living in Old Mrs Todd’s former home would put her nearer her job and her girls would only have a couple of yards to walk to school. Jamie wouldn’t have to walk any gauntlets because she only had to pass my front door and she was in the school grounds. The logistics for Madge and her children were infinitely better whilst I got a good and friendly neighbour who would continue to maintain the character of the street. Jamie and Candice were beside themselves with joy and they danced a little jig as the woman police officer nodded and smiled. After all the trauma and upheaval of the arson attack, the day had ended as a truly satisfactory day for all of us. It was an ‘ill wind’.
There was another issue in all this upheaval.
At the start of the next academic term, Jamie was starting to ‘Live in the mode’ and she would need all the support and protection she could get. The school and the doctors had decided that starting a new term was the best strategy. From April, Jamie would be attending school as a girl and a very pretty one. She was already wearing girly blouses and sporting a shortish girly hairstyle so the steps to wearing a typical modern-miss micro skirt and black tights would be small ones. Jamie already looked like a girl for her hormones were already kicking in. Her bra was becoming a necessity and was no longer a political statement of wishful thinking.
With our houses being next to the school gates, the few steps past my front door in her short skirt would not expose her to any abuse on the streets and the school was now fully alert to any potential for trouble. They also planned to fit cameras that sighted the street and these would compliment mine. The back-up margin was being doubled.
From the next September, as an upper school pupil, Jamie would be free to use the indoor facilities like the library and upper common rooms during break times where she could readily find safe places with protective friends.
With the housing arrangements sorted out, the detective sergeant left satisfied that the burned out Beckinsales' were safely housed for the night. After she left I called Jenny with the news. Madge also spoke to her and the agreement was sealed. I printed out a tenancy agreement that Jenny had emailed me and by the next morning Madge and her girls were properly and safely housed.
Most importantly, Rastus the cat seemed to approve of the arrangement. That very next morning, Candice had ‘borrowed’ one of his food bowls from my utility room and placed it in the same familiar place that Old Mrs Todd had always kept it. It was the first piece of ‘furniture’ that the Beckinsale's put in the house. Rastus fell into the old routine like an old trouper returning to the stage. I felt slightly betrayed as he forsook my utility room for Madge’s kitchen. God; there’s nothing so fickle as a cat! Mind you he also fell back into the old routine of demanding to be allowed back after getting stuck in my yard so I still found myself visiting Madge every evening to return the old fleabag. The visits however were more than just ‘cat returns’; Madge and I were beginning to hit it off while Jamie had started living full time at home. Well, ‘at home’ was a bit of a misnomer, she spent more time with her sister Candice in my house ‘borrowing’ from my extensive wardrobe and ‘borrowing’ my makeup. In the end I had to be firm with the pair and tell them that it was unhygienic to borrow makeup and we quickly arrived at a ‘compromise’.
Did I say compromise? Well if me being dragged up to Cardiff every Saturday en femme to buy makeup and clothes for two teenaged sisters is a compromise then we reached a compromise. Madge reckoned it was more of a ‘retail mugging’. After the second mugging Madge brought it up as we were driving home.
“Don’t you mind shopping with the girls?” She wondered as Candice and Jamie were comparing purchases in the back.
“I’m a tranny Madge. We’ve got the same ‘retail therapy’ genes as you girls. I probably enjoy shopping for clothes more than you do. The opportunity to be accompanied by a real girl and two teen-agers helps to reinforce my comfort zone. Other women don’t feel so threatened if they see me accompanied by real sisters. I really do enjoy shopping.”
“Yeah, well you’ve got the figure for it,” she replied enviously.
“That’s the cycling darling,” I smiled then added, “though this new job has knocked me back a bit, - plus the Saturday shopping. I don’t get out as much as I like. Anyway you’re one hell of a looker yourself, so what are you envious about?”
Madge visibly ‘grew’ with happiness at my somewhat ‘off the cuff’ remark. She smiled at me and replied.
“Well as summer comes you’ll be able to ride in the evenings,” Madge added, “and one thing, we don’t have much gardening to do. Yours is all concrete apart from the vegetable patch that Harry minds, and mine’s not much more.”
“I confessed to hating gardening. Even my back yard was virtually all concrete except for a few fruit trees standing in their circles of grass surrounded by the concrete yard and the patch right at the bottom that Harry used to grow supplementary vegetables. Madge had a lawn and floral borders at the back but I resolutely refused to be drawn into any sort of gardening.
‘Leave it to the farmers I say, oh, and enthusiasts like Harry.’
Thus we settled into a comfortable existence as Madge and I deepened our friendship and we both realised it was becoming something more. I seemed to be spending every evening over at hers while the girls were more than happy to ‘live’ at mine. I only ever saw them at meal times, Saturday shopping and if they had problems with their homework. Candice and Jamie also realised that Madge and I were getting ‘attached’, they seemed enamoured of the idea but Madge was still technically married. Her husband had moved back to Yorkshire but they had not agreed to a divorce.
On the work front, Madge was happy in her job. Additionally, I had already gained a modest promotion as I demonstrated my skills with a very temperamental furnace by getting it to operate more reliably. The girls at work who prepared the moulds were pleased that there production rates had risen because the furnace was now performing more efficiently and they found the maintenance engineer, - me - to be somebody sympathetic to their concerns like the soot escaping from a leak in the flue and ruining their hair. They had complained about it endlessly but repairs had always proved unsuccessful until I determined the real cause.
The flue balance mechanism was not the correct type and the accelerated flow of overheated gasses caused a hot spot at a bend in the flue where soot kept accumulating and re-igniting. The furnace was losing heat too quickly and the flue elbow joint kept failing, so allowing soot to escape as a fine miasma of fumes and invisible particulates. It made the girl’s hair (and mine) greasy and dirty.
After explaining to the manager we agreed I should come in one weekend and fit the correct flue. That July the new parts arrived and we agreed a weekend during the annual summer ‘down fortnight’ when the factory was closed for maintenance. I went in early Saturday morning and spent the best part of two twelve-hour days with the apprentice getting it right. I even fitted some CO and CO2 detectors plus some thermo-sensors to monitor the flue gasses. The exhaust temperature settings were and always would be critical so my ‘add-ons’ were a welcome addition to environmental controls.
The big boss found me alone on Sunday afternoon with my feet sticking out from under the back of the furnace making some final fittings and adjustments. I had already given the furnace a successful trial run in the morning and sent the young apprentice home. He had a date.
I had not noticed the boss until I slid out from under furnace with a sigh of satisfaction and brushed the ash out of my screwed tight eyes. I sat up as I wiped my face then ran my hands through my long lustrous hair and cursed the filthy soot deposits. I had been forced to take my safety helmet off to scrabble under the back of the furnace and my huge head of hair had escaped from my hairnet. I knew I looked like a chimney sweep crossed with a panda but I was happy the job was done. It was only then that I realised the big boss was looking at me with a puzzled expression then he spoke.
“That hair will need a wash.”
“Yeah. Shampoo and perm I shouldn’t wonder,” I chuckled, thinking I’d made a joke.
“And what about your tights? They’ve got a huge ladder.” He continued.
I felt my stomach churn as my face greyed and I said nothing. I glanced down at my boots and there was no denying it. My overall trouser legs had ridden up and my American Tan tights were clearly displayed. I hadn’t heard him come in to check on the work and my feet had been sticking out from under the furnace for anybody to see. There was nothing I could say; I thought the furnace room would be empty all afternoon. I always knew where my apprentice was cos’ he whistled all the time. It was no bad thing and it always told me if he was around. He was happy to have a ‘boss’ who didn’t keep telling him to be quiet. He had gone home at two so for the remaining afternoon I had finished the job alone.
I had isolated all the relevant circuits, put warning notices on the doors and locked most of them except for the wide double ‘fork-lift’ doors that my apprentice and I had needed left open during the morning to check the pipe-work, electric circuitry and to carry the spare parts with the forklift.
I just had not anticipated the big boss coming down in the afternoon to check. In fact I rarely ever saw him. I usually sorted stuff out with my line manager but my success with the furnace had come to the attention of the board and the chairman had decided to come and meet this new maintenance engineer who had saved the firm so much money and aggro from the female staff.
He continued staring down at my ankles and I debated tugging down my trouser bottoms but decided that would appear ridiculous. Finally he spoke, softly but bluntly.
“Are you a transvestite?”
My heart seemed to stop beating as I swallowed and stared like a paralyzed rabbit at the chairman’s shoes before finally nodding my head.
There was a deafening silence and my head started to spin as I contemplated some sort of referral to collecting my cards. Instead he spoke softly.
“Well thank God for that!”
For a moment I didn’t understand his remark but eventually my brain re-engaged. I looked up nervously as he continued.
“I thought you were one of those bloody hippie types with all that hair.”
I still didn’t get it so he invited me to stand which I did as I ran my blackened fingers through my long filthy hair and sighed fearfully. Then he grinned and I made to speak uncertainly but he interrupted me.
“You don’t get it do you?”
“No.” I swallowed. “I’m sorry sir, I don’t get it at all.”
For an answer he hoisted up his own trouser hems and displayed a pair of black opaque tights or stockings with a diamond pattern that clearly shouted TRANNY!
My heart finally resumed beating again as he smiled and spoke.
“You don’t have to call me sir you know. We’re all sisters under the skin.”
I grinned as tears of relief trickled down my soot smudged face then I finally found my voice as I realised he had made us equal by revealing his, or more properly, our shared needs.
“You bastard! I laughed as he grabbed my filthy hand and squeezed it before replying.
He grinned hugely as we continued vigorously shaking hands then he spoke.
“I’d give you a hug and a kiss but I think you’ll agree Bev, your filthy and this is an expensive suit.”
“Point taken sir.”
“Oh stop calling me sir. My names Paul or Pauline when dressed.”
“How long were you standing there before you spoke?” I asked.
“’Bout five minutes. I couldn’t help smile as I heard you grunting and cursing. Then I noticed your hosiery. Obviously just your every-day working tights I’m thinking. Is it finished now?”
“What, the furnace? Yep. I sent the young apprentice home at lunch time, the back of it was broken. I just need to give it a final run for about an hour or so. While it’s on test, I’ll get washed up and changed. That’s why I sent the young apprentice home early.”
Paul smiled knowingly. It was obvious that I had intended to clean up and shower after the other maintenance men had gone home. The factory was now empty except for us two. He smiled invitingly.
“Good, we can go and have a pint or something after you’ve cleaned up. Can we chat while your changing? D’you mind?”
“So long as it’s just a chat. I’m a hetero tranny.”
“So am I,” Paul replied. I’ve only just started to ‘come out’.”
“What! Don’t you go out, - you know, - to clubs and stuff?”
“No. Do you?” He asked with worry written over his face.
“Hell yes. That’s what we do. I mean since the internet we tee-girls get to meet a lot. I’m going to a friend’s house tonight and I’m taking my new, real girl partner and her two teen-aged children. It’s just a private party and there’ll be about a dozen there for Sandie’s birthday. D’you want to come? Are you able to come?”
He hesitated nervously and I tried to reassure him.
“It’s perfectly safe, we don’t ‘out’ each other and we strictly respect each other’s circumstances. It’s about friendship, support and caring Paul. That’s what us trannies have been seeking for years.”
“Oh amen to that.” Paul agreed. “You don’t know just how right you are! Oh I’d love to come. I can explain why I’ve only just come out.”
“Yes,” I replied thoughtfully, “you can tell us why Pauline has been hiding and where.”
Paul nodded as we stepped into the showers and I started to strip. I felt his eyes studying me then widen with surprise as I removed my quilted, work shirt to reveal a modestly filled bra and matching panties.
“Oh my gosh! You’ve got tits!”
I nodded as I set the shower and started to wash myself down. The filthy soot and ash simply poured off me then he offered to soap my back.
“You’ll ruin that lovely suit,” I cautioned with a grin.
“Stop being silly, I’ll get undressed, I promise not to do anything.”
I rinsed off my face and looked at him trying to make up my mind if it was safe.
“Okay then,” I finally agreed, “but absolutely nothing licentious okay! I don’t do other boys, I’m hetero!”
In a moment Pauline was standing in her own bra, panties and suspender belt supporting her diamond patterned stockings then these quickly came off and she stepped forward to wash my back. As her hands massaged my aching shoulders she sighed.
“You’re lucky; you’ve got very little body hair.” She commented wistfully.
“That’s the hormones,” I replied, “the pity is they don’t destroy the beard.”
“Why don’t you get it lasered?”
“Haven’t got around to it. I suppose I will soon.”
“You should. I’m getting mine done now I’m chairman. Nobody to boss me around anymore. Well not as much anyway.”
I began to get an inkling of Pauline’s dilemma. I knew her dad had recently died and she had finally filled the chairman’s seat as she inherited the business. Her mother and her sister were still alive so I suspected there had been some issue between Paul’s father and Paul’s transvestism. As she soaped my back I decided to ask her bluntly.
“Did your dad disapprove of your cross-dressing?”
“Didn’t he just. He battered me as a kid when they caught me and threatened to hand everything over to my sister if he ever caught me doing it again. From that day until he died I never did it at home.”
“Didn’t you do it at college or something?”
“I didn’t go to college.” Pauline continued. “After high school, my dad put me straight into the business and made me work my way through all the shitty jobs in the factory even though I got good grades at school. His was that old philosophy about not telling a man to do something unless you could do it yourself and had done it. There have been plenty of times when I’ve been where you were today, under that bloody furnace. Neither I nor the old guy you replaced realised the problem with the balance valves and stuff. You’re good. You’ve got my sympathy and you were clever to spot the flue mismatch.
Because my bastard of a father stopped me going to uni I had to do an O.U. degree and that took up a hell of a lot of time. What with working all hours on the factory floor then studying at home and then the fucking socialising with dad’s Round bloody Table and Fucking Freemasonry I’ve never had a decent moment to indulge my own real needs until now.”
“Sounds like shit,” I observed.
“It was. But here I am now, like you in my mid thirties and free to spread my wings. There, that’s your back done.”
“Thanks darling that was pure bliss.”
Pauline smiled at my calling her ‘darling’.
“Is that how you speak to each other?”
“When we’re en-femme darling yes, and you were en-femme before you stripped to wash my back. It’s a tee-gee convention dear.”
“Gosh I’ve got a hell of a lot to learn. D’you know you’re the first other transvestite I’ve ever met.”
“You mean knowingly met,” I joked.
Pauline grinned and stepped out of the shower. I gave my hair one last shampoo then added the conditioner and finally rinsed off. Pauline was already drying herself and stepping into her expensive lingerie. I didn’t mind her borrowing my towel. I had another in my locker and I was only putting on my Lycra slicks anyway to cycle home. Soon we were in the car-park and we decided we didn’t have time for a pint as we both had to get ready for Sandie’s birthday party. Despite his beautiful lingerie he was back in his well cut business suite so he bid me cheerio until later in the evening. We had mobiled Sandie to tell her she had another guest but it was a buffet dance anyway. Sandie was keen to meet Pauline, come one, - come all, was Sandie’s motto.
At home I showered again to remove the sweat from cycling then I really indulged myself and pampered myself before dressing for the party. Candice and Jamie came over as I was choosing my outfit and they eagerly gave me un-necessary advice. Then they raided my wardrobe as always and borrowed some of my stuff. I didn’t really mind for it was a delight to see two teen-aged girls giggling about outfits and arguing about boob sizes. Jamie was really excited to be going once again to one of Sandie’s tranny soirees. She had come to love them and could hardly wait for the third Friday in every month when they came around. This Sunday was a special though, - Sandie’s fortieth birthday. Candice and Jamie had spent all weekend on their own debating what to get Sandie as a birthday present. In the end they bought her her favourite make up.
At six Pauline arrived partially dressed and finished dressing in one of my spare bedrooms. She was also fascinated to learn about Jamie whom I had never mentioned. Jamie smiled at me when she learned that I never talked about my friends outside of my own transgendered circle.
By seven we were all ready and we clambered into my ‘tranny van’. As I drove up to Sandie’s the chatter in the van was like feeding time at the parrot house in the zoo. Pauline was just too excited for words whilst Jamie was in a similar mood. The air hung with anticipation. I actually felt like the ‘old hand’ and I had only been indulging myself for a few years. Leastwise that is outside of the closet. Even Madge and Candice caught the mood for it was after all a party we were going to.
We arrived early because I often helped Sandie with preparations and I parked the van close to her door to let Pauline slip in un-noticed. She was still worried about ‘coming out’ and being seen en-femme for she was still something of a ‘big wheel’ in her local business community what with owning one of the few remaining, successful, manufacturing enterprises in the area. Until she ‘came out’ and she certainly wasn’t ready yet, Pauline had to move with circumspection. We all respected that.
Soon the party was in full swing with Jamie letting her hair down and sharing high junks with her sister Candice in addition to another eighteen-year-old t-girl who spoke of clubbing fun in Cardiff. Both the girls hung on her every word. Sandie and I watched enviously, young tee-gee girls and tee-ess girls were just sooo lucky today.
Pauline was enchanted with the mood and spent the whole evening circulating around our circle of friends and learning as much as she could of the local scene. Sandie and I, being ‘old campaigners’ sat back and savoured the success of her party. At nine Sergeant James the community police officer came and gave a talk about hate crime. We had heard it before but it was refreshing and supportive to hear it again and for others to hear it first time. He stayed until about ten chatting to the ‘girls’ whilst reassuring some that he had no intentions or wishes to know their male identities. He did however make a big fuss about Jamie for Jamie was now well and truly ‘out’. Jamie actually basked in the attentions and particularly savoured sergeant James’s reassurances.
Pauline was relieved at the sergeant’s complete disinterest in male identities for she was not ready yet to come out fully fledged. Sergeant James did not recognise her.
The party ended at one, a little earlier than the Friday get-to-gethers but it was a Sunday and most of us had work in the morning. Pauline chose to stay over at mine for the night and savoured the pleasant hour of chat before we retired to our own beds. She left ‘en-homme’ in the morning and because it was still ‘down fortnight’ I still had another week off. I took the girls up to London and introduced them to some transgendered friends while Madge stayed at home because she was working. It was the first time Jamie and Candice had holidayed without their parents. They also had the pleasure of taking my QC friend Jennifer up on her offer of accommodation so we had free beds right in the middle of the city. A notable saving.
I did not take the girls to any gay clubs because they were under-aged, but Jennifer helped to run an alcohol free, young gay club and they spent most evenings in there. The biggest issue was keeping the drug dealers out, but the club had it more or less in hand. The club was right next door to a major London Police station and that helped deter the dealers. The many in-club cameras and extra street cameras outside the busy police station also acted to deter.
We also took in a couple of shows including ‘The Rocky Horror’ and the girls howled with delight at my indulgence by dressing in my black and red basque. Jamie and even Candice could not resist copying me and they were hugely impressed at the laissez faire attitude of the West End.
A week’s ‘clubbing’ in the big city did wonders for Jamie’s confidence. She came home even more determined to get good grades for college and choose a London University. A few weeks after returning Madge remarked to me one evening in her living room as the girls were next door studying in my spare room and probably raiding my ward-robe, - again!
“I don’t want to know too much of what went on in London Bev but Jamie’s work has shown a marked improvement. She’s really found a purpose for studying and going to college. Up until now she was really apathetic about studying.”
“I just showed how it can be for kids today. We didn’t do anything seriously risky and most of the time Jennifer chaperoned us in the evenings.”
Madge smiled.
“That doesn’t say much does it. She’s lesbian as well isn’t she?”
“Yes, but she’s also a thirty-five-year-old QC and a mother-to-be. Your daughters were safe and yet able to enjoy themselves whilst safely letting their hair down. Jamie needs to gather some confidence; her earlier problems with her transgenderism has knocked her self esteem for six. That week did her no end of good. If her improved academic endeavours reflect that then let’s be thankful.”
Madge sighed and smiled then leaned across to plonk one on my lips. It was her first ever approach and I was slightly taken aback until she sat back. We had hugged quite frequently and occasionally she had lain on the sofa with her head on my skirted lap but this was the very first time she had been so forthright. I looked a little askance at first then she explained.
“My husband has sued for divorce.” She held up a large envelope and smiled. “Here are the papers.”
“Does this mean you’re going for it?” I asked as hope sneaked into my heart.
“I’ll have to ask the girls first. Until Jamie’s transgenderism manifested itself, they both loved their dad; he simply could not accept the situation.”
“If he reconciled himself to Jamie’s needs would you take him back?”
Madge frowned and nodded apologetically as she confessed.
“He was a lovely man until all this stuff blew up. Jamie was stunned and distraught when he reacted so badly. It smashed Jamie’s confidence. Candice was broken hearted when her dad left.”
Madge’s admission that she still had feelings left me confused and uncertain. The tiny shoot of hope died again and I slumped dejectedly on the sofa. Then I got up to make a cup of tea. There seemed little else I could do. Madge sensed my disappointment and picked up her mobile. I knew who she was calling and the familiar voices of the girls answered from next door.
“Girls, can you come over here.”
“Do we have to mum?” Candice whined. “We’re undressed.”
“Well get dressed, it’s important.”
Madge was not usually curt or short with her girls and thus they got the message, something big was brewing. We heard the backdoor unlock followed by the girl’s footfall. They appeared in the drawing room just barely dressed. Their mother’s tone had conveyed urgency.
“What’s wrong mum?” They chorused.
“Sit down girls; we’ve got some serious talking to do.”
“Are you getting married?” Candice asked bluntly.
“No. Well not yet anyway but that’s part of the issue.”
“Is that dad’s divorce?” Jamie asked nervously as she demonstrated her more astute maturity and recognised the legalistic envelope.
Madge held it up and tapped it with her finger.
“You’ve got it in one darling. He says he thinks it’s better if we formalise the separation.”
“Do you want to?” Jamie persisted.
Madge looked at her transgendered daughter and smiled as a tear leaked from her eye.
“In truth darling I’m not sure what I want, - but I want to know what you want.”
“Will I still be able to see him?” Candice asked.
“Of course! I don’t see any reason why not, you’re nearly fifteen and you never had any issues with your father. I presume you still want to see him.”
“Yes and go to stay with him, he’s my dad.”
“If he’s agreeable to that then so am I. Now Jamie, what do you feel?”
“Will he ever accept me? As a daughter that is, as a girl?”
Madge sighed regretfully for she had no answer.
“I just don’t know Jamie. He might become more mellow or accept you once you’ve transitioned but I honestly can’t answer that question.”
“He hurt me that day he hit me. He’d never hit me before. If he still hates me enough to hit me, I dunno.”
“So is that a no or a yes?” Madge pressed.
“It’s a ‘don’t know’ mum. I just don’t know. He never listened to a word when I tried to explain. He never even went to speak to the specialist in London. He left it all to you and then he just walked out. I never thought dad would be like that. You and he had a good thing going and then I went and ruined it, broke it, smashed it! It’d be better if I didn’t exist.”
“Don’t say that, don’t ever say that. You’re my baby and I still love you; - love you like only a mother can.”
Jamie turned to me and asked softly.
“Did your dad hit you Auntie Bev?”
“Uuhhm, no Jamie, he didn’t; but he never found out. He was killed when I was only five and I didn’t really start until I was six. My mum didn’t find out until I was twelve, at least that’s what I think. When she did find out she put it down to my dad dying but I know now it’s something I’m born with, something innate within my head; something that I’ll take to my grave.”
“Was she angry with you?”
“No; - more disappointed than angry but she allowed me to dress up in the house.”
Jamie nodded her understanding then explained further.
“Dad tried to stop me but it didn’t work, finally he was forced to accept the doctor’s letter and that’s when he left. He couldn’t or wouldn’t handle it. I don’t care if he never comes back but I feel sorry for mum. If mum wants a divorce I’m not stopping her.”
Jamie turned to her mother and spread her hands helplessly.
“I just don’t want there to be any more hurt mummy. I’ve put you through enough already.”
Madge reached her arms around her oldest daughter and squeezed her tight.
As always in emotional situations, I felt inadequate, just like the times in casualty, so I resumed making the tea. Candice joined me in the kitchen obviously looking for advice.
“Will I be able to go and see him even if mum says no?”
“You’re mum‘ll never say no darling. She’s already spoken about access and discussed it with me and Jenny. You heard her say you can see your dad whenever you like and stay with him if he’s agreeable.”
“What about keeping his name, he’s a Beckinsale and so am I.”
“That’s no problem darling. Your name is on your birth certificate nobody can take that away from you except you.”
“You mean even if you and mummy got married?”
“Your name is your name Candice. As I said, you decide, you’re old enough and your legal identity is not an issue.”
At these words Candice took her mother the tea. She had been worried and nervous about her relationship with her dad and her hands had been shaking when she carried her mother’s cup. The cup had rattled on the saucer. When she returned to collect her own I dissuaded her and I took the tray with the remaining cups and the biscuits. We all settled on the comfy chairs and drank silently as each of us mulled our thoughts. Finally Madge took the bull by the horns and called for decisions. Firstly she expressed her own thoughts and also revealed more of the letter from her husband.
“He says he’s found a new partner and he’s keen to get a divorce. That’s hurt me and I’ll be happy to separate. He’s prepared to pay the divorce costs and pay maintenance for the girls; at least he recognises his responsibilities to them.”
His finding a ‘new partner’ shocked both the girls. Candice felt angry and betrayed for she had secretly harboured hopes of her parents getting back together. Jamie simply shook her head and stared at the floor. She still felt guilty for precipitating the separation. I simply kept silent, for whatever I said might be deemed to have an ulterior motive. Madge realised we had reached an impasse as far as discussing anything so she called for a vote.
“Divorce or not?” She asked bluntly. “You go first Candice.”
Candice was in two minds. On one hand she wanted her parents to get back together for she still loved her dad but she had also been wounded by the letter. She thought her dad still loved her mum. Tearfully, as the confusion tore her up, Candice reluctantly voted for divorce but it was something she didn’t want. She just wanted to support her wounded mum.
Jamie wanted to abstain but Madge demanded a vote. She voted for a divorce but she hadn’t wanted to demonstrate her anger and hurt towards the man who she felt had abandoned her. No daughter likes to be abandoned by their dad. That was two in favour of divorce.
Madge then turned to me.
“You get a vote as well.”
“Why,” I wondered, “I’m not part of the family.”
“No but it affects you doesn’t it?”
“Does that mean, -“ I asked as she nodded vigorously and interrupted.
“Yes it does. And the girls like you.”
I glanced at the girls who were both studying me with anticipation and expectation. When they caught my eye they both smiled and nodded encouragement.
I hesitated and shifted a bit nervously in my chair. If I voted yes it was tantamount to my proposing. If I voted no it would sound like a rejection and it was obvious that the girls would be disappointed. I tried to wriggle out of it again.
“Are you sure you want me to vote? Won’t it sway your decision?”
“That’s immaterial,” Madge persisted, “the girl’s votes have already affected my decision.”
“Yes but I would be acting selfishly if I voted in my own interests.”
“Duh!” Madge scorned my hesitation. “What are you afraid of?”
“The next step.”
“Which would be?”
“You and I getting spliced, - if the girls agree.”
“Are you prepared to consider that?”
I fell silent. Twenty years of circumspection concerning my transvestism had left its mark. Getting married at thirty six was a huge step for a transvestite, leastwise, I thought so. Madge sensed my reason for hesitation and smiled as she reassured me.
“Helloo! Beverly! This is a wake-up call! I do know you cross dress you know. You almost live in this house cross dressed! My daughters and I’ve been shopping with you cross-dressed for heaven’s sake!”
“Yes,” I paused again, “but are you fully aware of where it goes; into the bedroom and stuff. I sleep in a nightie and I don’t have any male underwear. I might even dress full time in later life, stranger things happen in transvestite’s lives.”
“I’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Look at you; you’re dressed now, by the time you want to dress full time, stuff will probably have moved on. People probably won’t bother. You almost pass now, and your hair’s beautiful. If you lasered your beard and had your face surgically feminised, you’d definitely pass. Besides Beverly, I’ve seen your tits! If I can accept those, there’s not much else that can shock me.”
This last remark decided it for me and I voted for the divorce. Madge smiled and made the vote unanimous. Her husband’s finding another partner in less than a year had seriously hurt her. Her life had been in limbo until the divorce letter.
With the vote decided the mood changed to one of celebration. The girls dialled out for a take-away and I slipped to my own house next door to collect a couple of bottles of wine. When I returned the girls looked hopefully at the bottles and Madge grinned knowingly.
“If you think those are going to loosen my knickers, you’re probably right.”
“Mummeeey! Both Candice and Jamie shrieked with shocked protest, aghast that their mother could be so forward.”
“What?” Madge demanded. “D’you think your mother’s too old for a bit of fun?”
“But Mum!” Jamie cried half embarrassed and half amused at the idea of her mother still indulging in sex. To the seventeen-year-old Jamie, her thirty five year old mother seemed ancient. Far too old for ‘that-sort-of-stuff’. To Candice it seemed even more anachronistic. She had just turned fifteen and the very idea of her mother indulging was just unbelievable. Like her sister Jamie, she also saw her mother as ‘old’! Madge saw me grinning and she quickly turned the tables as she spoke to her daughters.
“D’you see Beverly as too old?”
I knew both girls had something of a crush on me. My beard was light and I looked quite young for my thirty six years. They turned as one and wagged their heads allowing Madge to destroy their pre-conceptions.
“Right you little minxes, if Beverly’s not too old at thirty six, why am I too old at thirty five?”
This completely stumped the girls and they fell silent. She gave me a secretive nod and motioned discreetly with her head towards her bedroom. I frowned and wagged my head. It seemed a bit crass for us to simply abandon the girls and plunge straight into bed. Then Madge frowned and glared at me. I finally realised that the invitation to the bedroom was not for sex, so ‘what else’ I wondered. I followed her upstairs and she cornered me on the landing.
“We’ll sneak over to yours and I can have a make-over. You’ve got far more stuff than me and I’ve seen just how well you scrub up. If you can work magic like that on yourself, you can do something special for me. Are you up to it?”
I hesitated then agreed but qualified my reply.
“I think I can do it. You don’t need much anyway. Your complexion’s in pretty good nick.”
She smirked at me and punched me playfully on the arm.
“Cheeky cow. It’s not as though you’re rebuilding Caerphilly castle or something. Come on, change my look or something. I haven’t put any on since showering this morning."
I was up for this. Madge hardly ever wore slap and I had honed my skills to enable me to pass. Madge and I were fairly similar colours and complexions so I could easily break out some of my unused stuff. (I hated sharing makeup!) Besides, some of her daughters’ slap was lying on the spare bedroom dressing table and they had almost identical complexions to their mum. We sneaked back down stairs and slipped out of the back door over to mine. By the time Madge was ‘done’ the ‘take-away’ was arriving and we joined the delivery boy at the front door as he knocked.
The girls answered to be surprised by their mother holding the take-away box. They were also impressed by the way their mum scrubbed up. I paid the delivery boy and followed Madge into her house. Jamie and Candice were ooohing and aaahing over their mother’s make-over.
“Oh my God mummy, you look fabulous! Jamie squealed as Candice looked at me.
“Did you help her Bev?”
I nodded and smiled.
“It didn’t take much you know. Your mum’s really beautiful or hadn’t you noticed?”
With that Madge almost melted into my arms but I wasn’t finished and I remarked to the girls.
“That’s where you two get your looks from.”
I felt Madge tense a little as she squeezed me a little too hard and muttered a warning.
“All right Casanova, don’t over-egg the pudding!”
The girls grinned and leaned across their mother’s arms to each kiss me on the cheeks. I savoured the pleasure then declared that the food was getting cold. The thought of food will usually grab a healthy teen-ager’s attention, even a girl’s; and the pair were soon sorting out the various portions. The rest of the evening was spent eating and chatting while both daughters kept glancing disbelievingly at their mother. I had to agree, Madge looked a picture and her confidence had been boosted no end.
That night I claimed my willing prize and Madge claimed hers.
In the morning the girls knocked discreetly and Madge allowed them into her bedroom. They sat on the bed and chatted as we devoured the tea and toast they had brought. All in all it was a lovely morning, (it had been a beautiful night.)
After we had showered, I was down stairs when the phone rang. It was Jennifer with information about the Evans’s trial for arson and attempted murder. (Yes, the Police were going for it. It was only by the grace of God that a neighbour coming home had spotted the arsonist running away as the flames from the naphtha bomb had just ignited in the hall.)
“Next Monday. Okay,” I replied, "will I be required to attend all the time?”
“No. You’re an important witness though and you might be called several times if the arguments get complicated.”
“I thought it was an open and shut case, the u-tube evidence and everything.”
“Nothing’s open and shut when somebody like Evans is on trial Bev. He’s a dangerous and powerful man. Take care Bev,” Jenny persisted, “especially on that bike of yours. I still remember the dirty tricks he played on my dad.”
I thought back to the threats Evans had talked about to the arsonist about involving me in an ‘accident’ with my bike. Cyclists were hopelessly vulnerable. I debated going to work in my van for the duration of the trial. After I put the phone down I discussed the issue with Madge. She was adamant; I must use the Van until the man was behind bars.
Monday came around and I attended the first day of court. Evans had used his contacts in the police, the council and the freemasons to avoid being held on remand. He saw me talking to Jennifer and I caught his glare of pure malice. If his threat about ramming me off my bike carried as much certainty and conviction as the hatred in his stare then I had been wise to avoid using the bike. At the break for Lunch, Jennifer emerged to tell me I wouldn’t be needed until the Wednesday at the earliest so I phoned my Line manager to tell him I’d be in that afternoon and for Tuesday as well. I had a brief lunch in the courtroom restaurant with Madge, her girls, Jennifer and her junior then I made my excuses. From my van I didn’t see Evans on his mobile as he spoke slowly and softly with his hand over the mouthpiece.
‘Yes. A transit van, registration number CP 55 OHU. See to it!’
When I got to work, Paul was chatting to my line manager and they both turned to ask how the case went. I told them I hadn’t seen anything and they wanted me in court for Wednesday. Paul nodded and the manager gave me a list of small jobs that needed attention. An easy afternoon’s work. I was outside checking some pressure gauges when Paul rolled up behind me in his ‘other car’ a royal blue Aston-Martin with a stunning dolly bird in the passenger seat.
“Hello Bev. I’d like you to meet Calista my new girlfriend. She’s coming with me to the next Butterflies meeting.”
“All right for some,” I grinned to hide my envy whilst thinking; ‘some people had all the luck, - born with the old silver spoon and also a beautiful girlfriend who seemed to accept Paul’s transvestism.’
He repeated his thanks for my work on the furnace and told me there would be a bonus at the end of the year for my efforts.
Then he drove off with the engine growling leaving me with some compensation for my feelings of envy. At four thirty my jobs were finished and I chatted briefly with my line manager about Tuesday’s programme, then I set off home not noticing the dumper truck pulling out from the line of parked cars. I was on the Jersey Marine roundabout when the attack took place.
The Ford Focus in front was going slowly so I signalled to pull out then realised the dumper truck was blocking my pull out. I cursed because I was forced to slow down to the car’s low speed. For the next half mile I had to trundle along in the traffic queue boxed in by the twat in front doing fifty while the dumper truck struggled to overtake. Then at the turn off for the motorway the Ford Focus suddenly switched lanes and pulled out into the fast lane in front of the dumper truck. That in itself didn’t affect me but then the car slowed down suddenly in front of the truck and forced it to take avoiding action. The dumper truck swerved to the left straight into my van and forced me off the road straight into the cycle underpass approach ramp. My van was tossed over the parapet and flung easily down into the ten foot drop before slamming into the right-angled bend that took the cycle path under the road.
I was out of it. The lorry then swerved back across the road and came to rest across the two carriageways. The driver clambered out of the cab and originally looked as though he was going to see if I was okay but instead he realised the driver in the royal blue Aston Martin behind him had already pulled up short and stopped easily without tailgating into the truck. (High performance cars have high performance brakes as well as high performance engines. If any ordinary family car had been following it would have most certainly tailgated the truck.)
My good fortune was that both the driver and the passenger of the Aston were already clambering over my van before the driver could arrived to ‘Finish me off’ seeing that the job was botched he turned smartly round and climbed into the waiting Ford Focus and sped away, no doubt cursing his luck. I was screaming in agony and hardly recognised Paul as he struggled to free me. His girlfriend also pitched in but it was to no avail, my foot was firmly jammed under the pedals and the bent steering wheel was rammed hard against my ribs. My nose was bleeding but my belt had saved me from flying through the windscreen into the concrete revetment that supported the cycle tunnel. Paul was already dialling nine-nine-nine. I continued whimpering and crying like a baby (I’m a physical coward at heart and I hate pain.) so Paul’s passenger, the beautiful Calista, continued to try and calm me. Fortunately it’s a diesel van so there was no risk of fire and she was able to sit with me as Paul returned to the road to consult with the line of cars backing up behind the truck. Some wanted to move the truck because it seemed okay but Paul was adamant that it was a crime scene and nothing was to move until the emergency services arrived which they did in short order.
Ten minutes found the fire men busily cutting and bending the remains of my precious van free of my broken body while the ambulance men attended to my wounds and the police took Paul and his companion’s statements.
Nobody got the number of the nondescript silver focus. If Paul and his companion had not arrived so quickly the truck-driver’s intention had been to smash me in the head with a metal bar and make it look as though I had struck something solid in the crash. It would have looked like an innocent accidental fatality caused by careless driving and the truck driver would have stayed at the scene making a pretence of remorse and contrition. These butchers obviously knew their stuff and only Paul’s unexpectedly quick intervention had inadvertently saved my life.
The paramedics had given me a powerful sedative and I knew little more until I woke up in hospital yet again with the same casualty consultant turning to look at me as I groaned. He smiled sympathetically.
“This is getting to be a habit.” He grinned.
I grimaced as I tried to scratch my nose and he called the nurse. The effort to move my arm sent sharp pains through my ribs. They moved me gently, very gently and he explained my injuries as the nurse wiped where I asked to ease the various itches.
Now you’ve broken the same ankle that was injured last time. You’re going up to orthopaedics in the morning. You’ve broken several ribs but you’ll no doubt know that. Are you up to talking to the police?
I nodded and hurt my neck and the surgeon grinned again.
“Fortunately there are no serious head or neck injuries but there’s some serious bruising to that neck. Your nose has been gashed but that’s not broken either. You must have struck the soft moulded plastic of the dashboard.”
He turned and ushered in Sergeant James and a woman PC. Sergeant James wasn’t smiling much. I suspected I knew why.
“Have you caught the bastard?”
“No. Did you get a look at him?”
“Only a brief glimpse.” I confessed apologetically.
Sergeant James nodded slowly without showing any disappointment as he introduced the rather attractive WPC.
“Well, this young lady is an excellent artist. She’s not an official identi-kit artist but Charlotte and I have worked well together before. Can you tell her what you remember?
I nodded and she smiled encouragement as I started hesitantly. Firstly she drew a simple oval shape and then made a few suggestions as to where a man’s face might differ. I nodded comprehendingly and described what I could remember. Her hands carefully applied my suggestions and she looked up to show me the picture at every few strokes. I studied it made some suggestions and after several repeats she looked up at me slightly puzzled.
“You’re doing very well, - for a man. Normally only a woman would give this good a description. If you don’t mind me saying so, you’ve got a woman’s eye for detail. You’re good and it makes my job easier.”
I glanced at Sergeant James who simply stared off towards the window and said nothing. His silence told me he had not been tittle-tattling and I silently applauded him for that. I felt a secret thrill that my ‘girly side’ had advanced my case. For once if had given me an advantage and empowered me. Then I ‘came clean’ to the policewoman.
“Uhm, young lady do you not know about me?”
She looked up unconcernedly with the pencil poised ready for the next few strokes as she wagged her head.
“Uuuhmm no. Why is there something I should know?”
“Uhm, yes. I’m partially transgendered. My brain is as much female as it is male, - I think.”
“You think? Don’t you know?” She wondered as she squinted curiously at me.
I was mildly surprised and pleased by her response. She hadn’t reacted with shock or disgust. Simply a direct, logical ‘follow-on- question conceding her legitimate confusion about my ‘partial transgenderism’. It also indicated that she had at least some understanding of the issue. As I hesitated in preparing some sort of description of my condition she shrugged her shoulders.
“Ah well, I suppose it takes all sorts. At least we’ll empathise better now. Can you improve upon the eyes? That’s where us girls get it best.”
She held up the portrait and I smiled my silent thanks. She had included me in the sisterhood even though I was something of a ‘half-between’; - a freak. I made a final suggestion and she smiled with satisfaction as she added the final adjustment. Then having got a reasonable facsimile she took a new sheet of paper and some coloured chalks as she smiled with evident satisfaction and she added.
“This is something extra stemming from your transgenderism. I wouldn’t normally try this with an ordinary man only somebody who was an arty type. However, with your woman’s eye you’ll have a better appreciation of colour, a woman’s appreciation. Let’s try the hair first.”
We repeated the process with the coloured chalks and she finally held up a pretty good impression of what I could remember. Then she surprised me.
“This is very good. Would you like to see what Paul and his partner gave me? They saw him turn abruptly and run away from the scene of the accident.”
I nodded enthusiastically and compared the images. They were good. Sergeant James sat on the bed beside me and nodded with evident satisfaction.
“Excellent work Charlotte. We’ve got something solid to work on here. We’ll bring some mug-shots and photo-fits in tomorrow and see if anything jogs your memory further.
“Yes. I’d like that. D’you want my statement now.”
“Oh Constable Charlotte can take it. I’m keen to get these copied and put about. See you both tomorrow.”
I turned to the young police woman and smiled as she took out of her brief-case a large A4 notebook with numbered pages. I grinned as she placed it on the bedside table.
“What ever happened to the pocket notebooks?” I asked
She grinned.
“I’m not on patrol. I work more and more with Sergeant James especially since my art skills revealed themselves. So shall we?”
Her dedication impressed me and I gave her as detailed a statement as I could remember especially emphasising that it was my firm conviction that it was not ‘an accident’ but that it had been very cleverly staged to look like one. She eyed me sympathetically but offered to discuss it after I’d finished the statement. That done she went away and brought a tray of tea and biscuits to discuss any other issues. I explained how the Focus car had deliberately manoeuvred to obstruct the lorry but the pull-out had been totally un-necessary. She sighed sympathetically.
“There’s no witnesses to support that. Paul and his girlfriend Calista were behind in the Aston and they couldn’t see. To them it had all the appearance of a genuine attempt by the lorry to avoid the Focus car.”
I cursed and sipped my tea however Charlotte had better news.
“He’s guilty of leaving the scene of an accident though, and the Focus driver is guilty as well. It stopped and then scarpered after picking up the lorry-driver. That’s strong evidence of some sort of collusion and that supports your suspicions. However it’s not proof positive.”
I looked at her and tried to keep my cool.
“Oh come on. Any jury would agree they were colluding. Once the bastard realised he couldn’t kill me he was in a jam. He had to get away and his crony in the focus enabled him. It’s an open and shut case.
“Maybe to you but not necessarily a jury. Lawyers can make hay with the term ‘reasonable doubt’!”
I frowned and stared at my injured foot. The bastards had definitely tried to kill me and would probably try again. Charlotte had started packing away her stuff when Jenny appeared in the doorway accompanied by Madge, Jamie and Candice. After reassuring themselves that I appeared to be ‘going to survive’ Jenny started in with the questions. As she was busy recording my answers Paul and Calista arrived with a bouquet of flowers and some chocolates. It gave Jenny an excellent opportunity to compare our statements. She was already preparing to use the new events surrounding the ‘accident’ in the current trial to demonstrate Evans was not only using ‘witness intimidation’ but also ‘witness execution’, to win his case. I discussed the seemingly accidental collision but Jenny did not seem unduly concerned about proving it to be attempted murder, it seemed she was well experienced in persuading juries. Even Charlotte smiled as Jenny explained several alternative strategies she might adopt to win that particular argument. By ten that evening they left with two armed police officers guarding my ward door. I was exhausted and fell asleep after the night nurse finally administered the powerful sedative to knock me out.
Morning found me awake early and on my way down to surgery on my ankle and foot. Noon found me back up on the ward. Madge and the girls visited that afternoon while Paul and Calista came that evening. Calista left to get me some more magazines and it was my first chance to speak to Paul alone since learning of his new partner.
“Well you’re a dark horse. How long has she been around?”
Paul smiled and gave me a secretive little look that suggested ‘confession’.
“Not long,” he replied, “only a couple of weeks after you took me up to Butterflies.”
“She’s a stunning looker and a lovely personality.” I observed, -adding, “She was nice to me when you were sorting out the traffic jam. She’s very caring.”
Paul’s smile widened as he savoured my compliment about his girl.
“She’s had a tough life.”
I nodded as my foot throbbed and I shifted to relieve the pressure. Paul helped me get more comfortable just as Calista returned.
“Here, let me help,”” she offered as she plonked several magazines on the bedside table.
“Thanks,” I replied once I was sitting more upright. “So you’re Paul’s new girl?”
“I’m his first girl,” she replied as she turned to Paul with a smile to confirm her words; “aren’t I darling?”
Paul nodded and squeezed her around the waist as he explained.
“As I said that day by the furnace Bev, My dad tried to map out my life. Now I make my own choices. Calista is my choice of girl.”
I nodded as Calista turned and kissed her boyfriend.
“So will we be hearing wedding bells? I can supply two lovely bride’s maids.”
Paul grinned and a shadow flickered across Calista’s beautiful features. I realised I might have touched upon a delicate subject.
“Uhm, marriage would be some ways off Bev, there’s stuff to sort first.”
Another shadow flickered across Calista’s face followed by a slight frown, She did not seem happy with Paul’s remark. I grinned uncomprehendingly then put my foot firmly into ‘it’.
“Oh family is it. But you’ve said it yourself. You’re your own boss now.”
“Uhm not quite Bev. The deal is this I own forty percent of the family firm and my divorced sister owns thirty percent. My mum owns fifteen percent but the bank still has the remaining fifteen percent holding. It was the original loan that dad started out with and as the firm grew Dad left it to lie as more share issues were opened up to the family. Mum and dad bought them and left some of them in trust until my sister and I reached our majorities. If I offend mum she could make it difficult for me by giving her remaining fifteen percent to my sister.”
“So how would you offend your mum?”
Paul swallowed and glanced at Calista who looked particularly nervous.
“Calista can’t have children. We’ll have to adopt.”
“Oh.” I grasped the significance. When I had first started to work for the company I had learned that with both Paul’s parents it was always about family and the family business.
Paul nodded as a tear escaped Calista’s eye. I quickly reached for a tissue from my bedside table and offered it to her. She took it and quickly mopped it away delicately to avoid messing her immaculate makeup. I smiled reassurance and told her softly that she looked okay. She still checked her compact mirror then agreed with me and smiled as I continued.
“But if Calista can’t have children your sister’s already got two daughters. There are your nieces to leave the business to.”
“Yeah, but Mum wants to see the family name continue in the director’s chair. It was dad’s greatest wish, - you know, - the dynastic thing. It’s all family, family, family with her just as it was with dad. That’s why they were so upset by my transvestism. She wants me to have a son.”
“Then she’s being greedy and selfish, - I want’ can’t always have,” I observed a little crassly for I little realised that Calista would have loved to have children as well.
Paul looked at me then looked at Calista who had started to cry and it was only then that I realised how insensitive I had been.
‘Shit I could be thick sometimes!’ I thought, ‘well not just sometimes it seemed like all the bloody time!’
I apologised to Calista and extended my hands to offer a hug.
“I’m sorry Cally! I’m so, so sorry. I meant that for Paul’s mum not you. She’s a bitch.”
At first she seemed too distraught and gave me a look of pure despair. Then finally she glanced at Paul as though seeking reassurance. Paul smiled, nodded vigorously so after taking a huge breath, Calista explained.
“I can’t have children cos’ I’m not a real girl, I’m still a b-, boy!”
Her declaration might have exploded like an atomic bomb in any other man’s head but in mine it fell directly onto receptive fertile soil. Months of helping dear little Jamie had long ago inured me to any shocks from the so called ‘gender-bender’ quarter. I found the very expression ‘gender-bender’ utterly offensive. Instead of reacting with some sort of expression of surprise or disbelief, my demeanour did not alter at all. I was both proud and pleased that I had not shown any reaction for it gave Calista courage to go forward. I continued extending my arms and with a single nod, I invited her into my embrace. Calista recognised ‘acceptance’ then gave a loud sob of relief and fell into my arms. Paul looked at me through his own tearful eyes and mouthed a silent ‘thank you’ as Calista broke down in a torrent of sobs and tears. So much so that the Staff Nurse came in to check on everything. Paul and I reassured the nurse while Calista continued emitting explosive sobs of pure relief.
“Are you sure she’s okay. She looks very distraught to me.” The Staff Nurse persisted.
“It’s all right nurse,” I repeated, “my friend is just relieved that everything’s okay. She was desperately worried but now she knows it’s okay.”
The nurse studied Calista with some disdain. Everybody knew that my injuries were pretty much ‘run-of-the-mill’ and I had not been in any danger. The nurse obviously thought that Calista was over-reacting to my injuries. I didn’t pursue the issue. My words had not been lies; Calista had been ‘worried about the situation’! It was just a different situation and a bloody sight more important.
I motioned my head to the nurse and asked if Paul could get a tray of tea. She quickly agreed. It was something practical and constructive and I already had this particular nurse down as a ‘doer’ not a touchy-feely empathiser. She was brusque and efficient and that suited me fine. I never wanted for anything when she was on duty. She took Paul away to the little kitchen and organised a pot of tea and biscuits while Calista slowly recovered her composure in my arms. Finally as the sobs subsided she whispered to me.
“You’re nice, now I see why Paul likes you so much. You’ve been good to him by introducing him to the others. Paul’s come on in leaps and bounds and he still talks of your club.”
“It’s not my club Calista, I just help Sandie to organise the soirees.”
“Yes but he talks of it a lot. I’m coming with him on the next night.”
“That’ll be a week Friday. I’m afraid Paul will have to drive my transit van if you want to come up with us. This ankle will be out for eight weeks the doctor said.”
“If he can drive an Aston, he can drive a van!”
“But not like an Aston, I hope.”
We both giggled at the idea and that is how Paul and the nurse found us when they returned with the tray.
“Well you’ve sure recovered quickly young lady.” The nurse observed.
“Yes miss,” Calista conceded, “everything’s going to be okay.
The nurse tut-tutted and left us to our own devices. Paul sat on the bed as Calista poured the tea.
“So what d’you think of her?” Paul asked
“Who? The nurse?” I responded uncomprehendingly.
“No silly, - Calista. D’you approve?”
“Now that’s a silly question Paul. You know all about Jamie so how could I not approve of Calista?”
“Who’s Jamie?” Asked Calista as she handed me my tea.
“She’s another Tee-Gee kid, younger than you; she’s only seventeen. I rescued her from a serious beating.”
“What, there’s another one like me in Swansea?”
“She lives with me in Port Talbot. You’ll meet her next Friday. She comes regularly now.”
“Oh my gosh! Isn’t she too young?”
“No. Sandie runs it as a private party in her own home. No booze is sold and anyway her mum and sister come as well.”
“Crickey It sounds like a family affair.”
“No. It’s not a knitting party. We have a bloody good time, dancing and chatting and stuff.”
“Can’t wait. Are there any other transsexuals?”
“Usually. Out of about fifteen to twenty there are sometimes as many as three or four TS Girls. Sometimes Billy comes up as well, he’s an MtF.”
“Sounds like a really lively bash.”
“It is, but it’s also a support group.” I finished.
“Paul’s my support,” Calista turned and kissed him. “I was just so alone until we met.”
I turned to Paul.
“Yes Paul,” You never did say how you met.”
Paul smiled and blushed.
“I’ve got you to thank for that as well. After Butterflies I got bolder and more confident. It was a Friday night and I was in a gay club in Bristol, cross dressed and feeling very brave but sticking out like a sore thumb. Calista came in alone and it was love at first sight. I went up to her and asked her for a dance, she grinned at me then agreed; - couldn’t believe my luck. We just hit it off straight away. By the end of the evening we were an item. She missed her train so I paid for her taxi and she gave me her phone number.”
Calista now took up the story.
“I left the club knowing I could trust him cos’ he didn’t offer to drive me home or anything like that. He was telling me his intentions were honourable by paying for my taxi because it was his fault I missed the train. We were too engrossed dancing and talking until I realised I had missed my train. It had been one of the best Friday nights of my life.
He phoned me the very next morning. It was lovely, none of this ‘will he — wont he?’ phone stuff. Then he arrived at lunch time to take me to Cribs Causeway Shopping Mall and he turns up in his bloody fabulous, royal blue Aston. What girl could resist that?”
I grinned and hugged myself. It was the sort of love story nearly every tranny dreams of. I added my own few-bob’s-worth.
“And I’ll bet you’ve never enjoyed yourself so much as Saturday shopping with a male partner who enjoys it as much as you.”
Calista’s smile spread into a huge, face-splitting grin.
“He’s lovely. We so love each other.”
“Well I’m very happy for you I, -“
“Right ladies and gentlemen, it’s eight o’clock, visiting is over. Some of the patients need to sleep.” The Staff Nurse interrupted me and smiled as she added. “And you’ll be out in a couple of days. More clubbing I suppose.”
“Not for a while,” Paul added, “that ankle will certainly cramp his style.”
The staff nurse grinned and peeled back the sheet to expose my uninjured foot.
“With nail varnish like that on your toes, I say ‘her style’.”
I grinned and shrugged it off.
“Each to their own staff nurse Thomas, each to their own.”
She smiled then shooed Paul and Calista out of my ward whilst wagging her head and grinning.
The following morning Jenny arrived with Madge and the kids in tow. The judge had suspended the case until I was fit to attend. Jenny and the defence lawyer had spoken to the judge and she was furious at the turn of events. The facts surrounding the ‘accident’ were to be allowed into the case and both sides had been given a week to prepare while I could recover enough to attend as a prime witness. Sergeant James also appeared with Charlotte and some photos plus the good news that they had found some useful DNA on the metal bar on the verge. The idiot hadn’t even taken his tools of intended murder home with him. There was also loads of DNA in the cab of the truck. He had sneezed at some juncture and small gobbets of snot picked off the windscreen corresponded to the DNA on the metal bar. I didn’t envy the forensic team their job.
I studied the identity photographs and identified two probable faces, quite similar enough to please Sergeant James. He nodded with satisfaction and bid farewell. If one of the faces matched the DNA, they had a perfect identity.
One of the faces did. My attacker was picked up in Birmingham before the weekend. He still had a nasty cold and the snot samples taken from his handkerchief matched the samples from the wind-screen. Uchaf fi! Even the microbes matched. Hooray for modern science, I say. More work for Jenny and she was pleased because it got her better known.
She and the police were going for a separate case of attempted murder and hoping to link it to Dewi Evans who was now held on remand. The judge was fairly certain that Evans’s suspected hand in the ‘accident’ had probably broken the terms of his bail to stay away from me. Jenny seemed happy with progress.
I have to hand it to the police. Once they get their teeth into something they won’t let go. When the lorry driver was arraigned before the preliminary hearing one of the court officials vaguely remembered somebody resembling him talking to Dewi Evans outside the courthouse on the first Monday of the trial. She mentioned it to the clerk of the court who promptly reported it to the police. As I have said before, Britain is the world capital for CCTV street coverage and a trawl through the street camera records eventually produced an image of Evans and the driver’s brief meeting. Yet more evidence of possible if not probable collusion. It was all adding up.
A week later when the court re-convened, Jenny was pretty confident. The original jury was recalled and despite the defence objections to possible Jury tampering, the judge had already begun to lose patience. Her whole schedule had been messed up for the rest of her circuit.
The verdict was everything we could have hoped for. The arsonist got five years for attempted murder and Evans got seven with three of them suspended for conspiracy and supplying incendiary materials. The judge had also taken into consideration that it was probable that Evan’s had encouraged his sons and the gang to beat me up earlier. Both his sons had already been ‘sent down’ for their earlier trial. All in all it was a pretty satisfactory conclusion especially as Dewi Evan was automatically excluded from becoming a Councillor for a long time and even then he would have to win his re-election.
Jenny left the courtroom with her reputation enhanced and she smiled at me over the privacy of my dining table when we got home. Madge and the girls were next door preparing something of a celebratory meal while Jenny took her ideas forward. She had some notes for me to study.
“Are you happy with the result of this case?” She asked me as she opened her computer and fetched up the case notes.
“I’m more relieved than happy to tell the truth. Now I can go back to cycling in peace once this foot it better.”
“Now, talking of that foot, you’ve still got damages to claim for the beating you received.”
“I thought the judge addressed that at the sentencing of the sons earlier.”
“That was mainly the criminal injuries award. There’s still civil damages for the so called accident and the lorry-driver’s trial and criminal damages award from that. You’ve got a fair few bob coming to you.”
I smiled and leant across to kiss her and was pleased that she did not withdraw with distaste. Then she patted her swollen belly and smiled.
“Hopefully baby will be born before the next hearings.”
“Then you’ll have to take maternal leave.” I cautioned her.
“I’ve got some good news for you. Madge, Jamie and Candice will be helping with the mothering and you’ve got some fathering to do. I’ll be able to handle the cases. Besides I’m getting cases offered to me from all over South Wales. Now she’s due in a couple of weeks so it’s all about preparations. This house will be an ideal first home for our baby.”
I savoured the term ‘our baby’ and bent down to kiss Jenny again. She gave me an affectionate peck which told me clearly that she really liked me but there was no other attraction there. I felt a little sad but at least I would be sharing fully with the fathering. On the romance front, it looked as though Madge and I might be moving forward while Jenny lived for long spells next door when she was fighting other cases in the various South Wales high courts.
“This is turning out to be one of the best arrangements I could have wished for.” I sighed.
Jenny smiled and nodded.
“And I’ll have two devoted part time helpers in the girls. They treat it as if they’re getting a new sister already. Oh and you’ll be pleased to learn that Calista wants to act as a carer as well. I’ll be paying her full time.”
“Gosh that’s a surprise.
“Why? She’s a girl; you should know that better than anybody.”
“No I didn’t mean it like that, I mean Calista’s set up for life anyway, - what with Landing Paul as a catch.”
“Oh that! Well it’s not all about money Beverly. Calista desperately wants to be a mum and looking after our daughter is a useful first step. You know; - learning mothering skills and stuff.”
And so it came to pass. Jennifer Todd was delivered of a girl child some several weeks later and Calista moved into my house as a live-in adult carer. Paul expressed his concerns suggesting that I might be tempted with having such a stunningly attractive woman about the house but Madge put him right on that score.
“Beverly’s mine Paul,” she told him in no uncertain terms, “and I’ve got two excellent spies to keep tabs on them as well.”
I expressed hurt at the idea that Paul didn’t trust me but Jenny pointed out that it was really a ‘back-handed’ compliment to Calista. In any ‘normal’ situation, a girl as stunningly beautiful as Calista would have really been the cat amongst the pigeons if she lived in another man’s house.
When Calista came to stay and look after baby Stephanie the conduct of the older schoolboys changed dramatically when they lumbered past our house. They already fancied the very attractive Jamie despite it being generally known that she was 'still a boy’, but now there was a new goddess on the block, - Calista and nobody knew of her transgenderism. Seventeen-year-old boys used to loiter and drool hoping to be able to meet Jamie and somehow accrue the aura of glamour that Calista brought to the neighbourhood. Just for Fun, Calista would chat with Jamie each morning just before Jamie stepped the ten yards to the school gates. It was a delight for Jamie and Calista to exercise their magic over the knuckle-rash. Yes, behaviour on the street improved enormously.
I did not see a lot of those improvements for the first few weeks. I tended to be housebound with the complex injuries to my foot. However my immobility served to anchor me to the two houses and that ‘lumbered’ me with many baby-care duties. I certainly earned my stripes. Whenever anybody needed to go out for whatever purpose, old ‘peg-leg-Bev’ could be relied upon to hold the baby, - my own baby, - my own daughter, and she was beautiful!
Eventually, my foot healed (as injuries tend to do,) and I was mobile again. I returned to work regretfully because I had grown so fond of my daughter Stephanie.
Calista had developed a frenetically tight bond with Jamie as both girls lived their female rolls and anticipated their transitions. Each girl gave the other immense mutual support and it was a delight when we drove up to Butterflies in the van to see them sharing their joys. They were more like sisters than Jamie and Candice, indeed Candice once confessed to me ruefully that she seemed to be losing touch with her only sister. I found myself that weekend as Jamie and I shared the baby-sitting, suggesting to Jamie that she should not neglect her younger sister.
After all, Calista was only a baby-minder for a few months until the big issues were passed or more probably when she was scheduled for transition. Calista’s date had not been set yet for she still had some time to live in the roll. She often criticized the medical profession for causing this delay in her life. Calista knew who she was and what she was. She had known almost since she was cognisant of the gender divide. She often fell into long chats and discussions with Jennifer about the seemingly untrammelled powers of the doctors and how they could so destroy a child’s life by delaying transition until sixteen. Jennifer, for all her immense legal acumen once confessed to me it was bloody difficult arguing the case with Calista who had the inside track whilst able being able to call on the undivided support of Jamie. Every time Jennifer found herself straying from the legal straight and narrow to touch upon medical conventions that had so shaped that law she found herself hopelessly outgunned by two sharp witted ‘experts’ with an infinitely more complex and sophisticated understanding of transsexualism than a whole battery of heterosexist physicians.
“Honestly Bev,” Jenny once confessed to me, “those two should be arguing in the house of commons.”
“How would two transgendered girls get themselves elected?” I wondered cynically.
“Oh all right then, the house of lords.”
“Shit, there’re enough misfits, weirdoes, eccentrics and alternative lifestylers in that place without adding transgendered people to the list.”
“Tut, tut, Bev. That’s just pure prejudice.” She scolded me.
I shrank guiltily from her venom. She was absolutely right. The way I had said it came out all wrong. It was something I often seemed to do, - say it the wrong way around.
“No I meant it would only add to the burden of any TG Representative to be saddled with the title lady or lord. People outside of parliament don’t much respect the upper house or its occupants. They’d be constantly making snide remarks about whether a Tee-Gee person is Lord this or Lady that.”
“I see what you mean. But you don’t half get it arse about face sometimes.”
I shrugged. I’d said enough wrong already. ‘Holes and stop digging’ sprang to mind. Jenny smiled and wagged her head as Stephanie guzzled at her breast. Yes Baby Steph was on the breast and Jenny expressed milk during the day then gave it to her at night or Calista fed her with it the following day. I often saw the envy in Calista’s eyes as she prepared and reheated the milk. We even talked about it. I found Calista easy to talk to and envied Paul his companion. Each evening Paul would arrive to collect her and it was obvious they were deeply in love. I could gauge Calista’s mood almost to the minute when Paul texted her to say he was on his way. From a girl envious of Jenny and her motherhood she became the girlfriend anxiously waiting that special someone. There was also the glamour of having her partner pick her up in a glamorous sporty ‘supercar’. Young boys used to loiter at the end of the ‘cul-de-sac’ just to see the car growl purposefully past.
For Calista born in a sink estate in Nottingham then persecuted for her transgenderism through her childhood and youth. It was one huge step up and she had to keep pinching herself that she had found a man, a wonderful man who actually loved her for who she was and not what she was.
After a few months, my foot was healed and I resumed driving the van every month to Butterflies. Despite owning an Aston, Paul and Calista still accompanied us in the van because it added to the occasion as we journeyed collectively and entertained each other. Once or twice even Jenny joined us and brought baby Steph to the party. All the trannies and tee-gee girls went goo-goo over her. The poor girl spent all night in somebody’s arms but she seemed wholly contented. No tears ever escaped her lips when she was in the arms of somebody. Steph was obviously a girl who would grow up to enjoy company and parties.
I mention company because after another year Jenny began to get broody again. I anticipated the call again but it didn’t work out like that. Jenny simply wanted a sibling for her daughter because she had grown up an only child just like me but we had each always hankered for a baby brother or sister. Being childhood friends all the way through school was the nearest Jen and I had ever got to having a brother or sister.
However, I’m getting ahead of myself here, back to events after the Evans’s arson trial.
In the following trial concerning my ‘accident’ Jenny wove her usual Advocacy magic and persuaded the jury that the driver of the Ford Focus had colluded with the lorry driver to cause my crash. The lorry driver got five years for attempted murder while the Focus driver got three for aiding and abetting. My injuries award came to a substantial sum and I was by now a pretty wealthy bachelor. What with owning one and a half houses, an index linked pension from my previous job after nearly twenty years of contributions, plus substantial savings because of my bachelor existence and now the considerable injuries awards and civil damages against the Evans family. I could lay hand to a quarter of a million. No mean sum. Additionally, I had a job.
Once I was fully ‘back in harness’, I bought a brand new van and the girls had tremendous fun helping me fit it out. This time I bought a hi-top because I was tired of stooping while changing. You live and learn. The girls Jamie and Candice were hysterical with amusement when Tony and I tried the changing facilities out whilst parked in a lay-by on the way to butterflies. It says a lot that a fifteen and seventeen year old pair of sisters felt safe changing in the back of a van with two transvestites and a pre-op transsexual. Lawyers and social workers might have had a field day painting some obscene picture of abuse but the truth was the girls were safe and they felt safe. Candice and Jamie treated Calista and Paul like older siblings whilst Jamie felt additionally closer to Calista because of their mutual transgenderism. For me I sometimes drifted into tears of happiness when I saw how happy and gregarious the once reclusive Jamie had become. She and Calista had become virtual sisters and the shopping expeditions to Cardiff now involved three girls, me and Madge. Naturally Jenny accompanied us when she could, which was most weekends. She had three, more than willing helpers to handle baby Stephanie and Calista found as much joy shopping in Mothercare as she did in the Next or New Look. Madge and I just stood back, held each other side by side and wrapped our arms around each other’s waists as we watched our newly formed family indulging themselves in the thing we girls do best, - Retail Therapy. Those times were some of the happiest in my life.
Then as I mentioned earlier Jenny became broody again. She had also met a new partner in Cardiff, - a lawyer who had just been made a partner in a firm of solicitors. She was home with me one Friday afternoon with her girlfriend and they fell to chatting about babies. It was having babies that had brought them together. The girl Rachel was fascinated to meet Stephanie and me for she had been debating how to get herself pregnant. Jenny had suggested me as a safe father who participated in the fathering whilst recognising and accepting the mothers sexuality. Jenny was busy finishing up some notes while I changed Steph’s nappy, cleared away the mess then washed myself up before I fed her. Rachel observed me critically then turned to Jenny.
“He even does the laundry then. You’ve got a good bargain here Jen, he does it rather well. I think he’ll do as the father.”
I grinned and made a pretence of protest at Rachel’s assumptions.
“Hey girl! I’m not just some sort of sperm donor. I have issues with care and access to my kids.”
Jenny chuckled.
“What d’you mean kids? You mean kid don’t you?”
“Yeah,” I grinned provocatively and then smiled at Rachel coquettishly, “but I’m going to have more I hope.”
Rachel grinned and thumped me affectionately on the arm.
“You’re awful but nice. Yeah, you’ll do.”
With that Paul happened by with Calista in preparation for a butterflies night. They came in as we were discussing the preparations for getting both Jenny and Rachel pregnant.
Calista, sharp witted as even and desperate to have a baby she could nurse and call her own suddenly had a brainwave. She hi-jacked me in the kitchen as I was cleaning Stephanie’s baby food spillages off her tray.
“Bev. Does this sound like a bad idea to you?”
“Well I haven’t heard it yet darling, fire away.”
“You know the issues with Paul and his mother about the family lineage and all that crap.”
“Oh don’t I just. Is she still making issues about it?”
Calista nodded and bit her lip before venturing her idea.
“Would Jenny be prepared to have Paul’s baby instead of yours?”
My hands paused over the dishes and I stared out of the window for a moment.
“You mean give Paul an heir to continue the dynasty as it where?”
“Yes. But I want to run it by you before I run it by Jenny. Do you have any objections?”
I had another think as a million thoughts whizzed through my brain. I could see no biological objections, it really depended upon Jenny. I could afford to be magnanimous, Rachel had already agreed to my becoming a father of her child. If Paul had a child by Jenny then it would still be a half sibling to Stephanie as Jenny’s second child. As to Calista bringing the child up well she almost brought Stephanie up as her own already. She virtually lived in my house rearing Steph as Jenny whizzed about the country going from trial to trial. It would be the same scenario but to a lesser degree with Rachel’s baby, my second child. Rachel often accompanied Jenny when clients approached her firm to represent them at court. The cases would be addressed in county courts and high courts all over England and Wales. Having an adult babyminder who was devoted to the children suited Jenny and Rachel’s lifestyle perfectly. I turned and nodded to Calista my provisional agreement if Jenny was agreeable. Calista gave a soft whoop of joy, gave me a passionate kiss on the cheek and immediately presented her idea to Jenny who was sat with Steph on her knee while Rachel sipped her tea with Paul at the dining table. Calista had something of an audience and she was desperately nervous. I half listened from the Kitchen sink.
After a couple of minutes I heard Jenny chuckling. It seemed the idea hadn’t been rejected out of hand. This seemed an ideal time for me to appear.
As I entered the dining room from the kitchen Jenny looked up at me and smiled.
“Are you happy with this?”
“Well in truth I’d prefer to be the father of your second child because I still like you, in fact I love you but that can never be in a carnal way because I respect your sexuality.”
“But you were carnal with me last time when we had Steph.”
“Yes, and I enjoyed it every bit as any man would make love to a woman but I knew you were essentially just giving me a baby and giving yourself that same pleasure of having a baby. You had no feelings towards me as a wife to a husband. You and I have known each other a long time Jenny. I know and understand you. Your heart is with Rachel. Our mutual love is for Steph.” Jenny teared up and Rachel came to hug her as she whispered.
“If that’s the sort of man he is, I definitely want him as the father of my child.”
“Are you going to sleep with him?” Asked Jenny.
Rachel looked at me and pursed her lips before observing.
“He’s not bad looking, just a bit girly. What do you think? Would you be jealous Jen?”
“A bit.”
“You slept with him.” Rachel protested with a knowing smile.
“I was a single girl then. Now we’re an item.”
“You could supervise; you know, in bed, make sure it’s just sex and no emotion.”
Jenny snorted with amusement.
“Bev’s always emotional; she’s on hormones for heaven’s sake.”
I blushed. It was true. I was often very lachrymose and these days, now the spectre of the Evans clan was gone, it was nearly always because of something happy.
Calista now revealed her hopes and wishes.
“You could always go for a turkey baster baby.”
Paul put the mockers on all our musings.
“It would have to be a proper medical thing. They would have to separate the sperm to make sure it was a male child, to please my mum.”
“Oh that’s just plain bloody sexist darling,” I objected to Paul. “Your mum should be happy to just have a child, boy or girl.”
“Yeah,” Paul sighed ruefully, “just try telling the old trout that.”
Calista nodded agreement to emphasise Paul’s dilemma. Jenny frowned then added.
“Are you suggesting a test tube baby with my own egg and all that palaver?”
“Well there’s a clinic in India that separates the sperm and inseminates with an eighty percent chance of the right sex child.”
“And I suppose that would be a boy child with those chauvinistic, sexist Hindu and Muslim primitives.” I added.
Paul shrugged apologetically.
“I’m afraid your right Bev but please don’t knock it too hard. Their chauvinism is my best hope.”
“So you’re saying we have to go to Mumbai.” Jenny frowned.
“Uuhhm no, Calcutta.”
“Jee’ze, that’s even worse isn’t it?! Stuck miles up the Ganges with no sea breezes to cool the city.”
“No the Hooghli actually. It’s one of the main channels of the Ganges delta.” I added.
“Well whatever,” Jenny grinned. “It’s still hot and sticky.”
“The whole of India’s hot and sticky,” Paul added, “especially at this time of the year. But the private hospitals are scrupulously clean. You won’t get better treatment anywhere in the world.” Paul reassured her.
“Well; if it means a holiday I’m sure I can find my way to a trip to India. Best we go for the months of June and July. Those are the best months for holidays for the law.”
“And the hottest months before the monsoon breaks.” Paul cautioned again. “Best time is after the monsoon, October or November.”
“Sorry. No can do," Jenny sighed, "the courts are often at their busiest then. Hot and sticky it’ll have to be.”
“Well don’t say I didn’t warn you. But at least you won’t be heavily pregnant.”
Jenny wagged her head and smiled.
“God! The things you have to do for a bloody boy child. Men! Honestly! All this just to satisfy some old biddy of a mother! I’m glad I’m a bloody lesbian and not marrying into the family.”
Jenny let her observations hang, inviting argument then suddenly realised there was nobody taking on the case. Of the ‘men’ in the room, two were transvestite and already signed up to ‘women’s lib’ while the other two ‘men’ had long since ‘crossed the floor and joined the opposition.’ Jenny suddenly chuckled at herself as she realised she was preaching a Greek sermon.
Paul grinned like a Cheshire Cat. Jenny had tacitly agreed to have his son.
Things moved quickly after that. Paul told his mother of the plan and she rather sniffily conceded that it was better than no grandson at all. The rest of us just could not believe the crass hypocrisy of the woman. She was prepared to sacrifice everything that was precious to her son, just to beget a grandson.
Having learned that the supposedly surrogate mother was a barrister and a queen’s counsel no less, she tried to inveigle Jennifer to her home and then persuade her to marry her son. Jenny gave it to her with both barrels and told her bluntly that she was a manipulative monster. The woman took umbrage and firstly tried to persuade her son Paul that the womb he had chosen belonged to an unsuitable woman.
When this cut no Ice she tried to report Jenny to the Bar Council for unprofessional behaviour. There seemed no end to the woman’s meddling. Having failed at all else she finally offered two thirds of her fifteen percent of the shares to her divorced daughter in some brutal attempt to bully her supposedly wayward son into submission.
Unfortunately she did not know that Calista’s beautiful personality had already won Paul’s divorced sister Phoebe around to Paul’s point of view.
Calista had unknowingly met her future Sister-in-law totally by accident at a coffee shop in Cardiff. She had taken baby Steph for an outing to Mothercare and Jamie had accompanied her. They were quietly finishing their coffees and waiting for Jenny, Madge, Candice and me to meet them. Quite coincidentally, Phoebe happened into the same cafe and saw the baby then went all gooey-eyed. Without a ‘buy-your-leave’ she loomed over Calista and begged to have a closer look at the baby.
Naturally, Calista was very wary at first. She was a girl from the mean streets of Nottingham and she had little understanding of the friendliness of the Welsh. As a transgendered kid her formative experiences had been those of condemnation, censure and subsequent aggression. Reluctantly Calista extended her arms with baby Steph ever so slightly and tipped the wink to Jamie to beware of any sudden moves, if the woman attacked the baby. Jamie grasped Calista’s meaning and cautiously re-arranged her position to be able to block any sudden attack on the infant. Phoebe suddenly found herself able to peer down into the baby’s bright smiling eyes but could get no closer. She sensed the primordial caution in the older ‘mother’ whilst noticing the more obvious protective move by the younger girl and it pained her slightly. Phoebe had only wanted to admire the child but these two women obviously had issues. She decided to try another ploy.
“She’s a beautiful baby. Oh she’s just so pretty. D’you want a cup of coffee? D’you have the time.”
Calista had plenty of time, her stylish heels were not the sort of shoes to go shopping and her feet were hurting. She had gone for coffee to rest her feet and the shoe-conscious Jamie had joined her for much the same podalic reason. The rest of our shopping gang would not be showing up for another half hour.
Calista exchanged a glance with Jamie and then glanced at the door. They had chosen an open seat by the big front window in order to make it easy for us to find them when we came in. Now Calista felt too close to the door and it would be easy for this seemingly friendly Welsh woman to snatch the baby and run. Neither Jamie nor Calista would ever have been able to catch her in their stylish heels. Calista's sharp mind quickly thought through an inoffensive solution and she agreed diplomatically to the coffee invitation.
Calista avoided every chance to cause offence, her transgendered childhood had long ago sensitised her to people’s feelings and subsequent reactions.
“Why yes thank you. A coffee would be lovely. Shall we move away from the door if we’re staying longer? The draught you see, - on the baby’s head.”
“While Phoebe went to purchase the coffees, Calista and Jamie organised the shift of baby-buggy, changing bag, and Baby Steph to a booth deeper inside the cafe where a ‘Snatch’ was virtually impossible. It was one of the ‘booths’ with a table and two high backed seats that sat six people or even eight at a squeeze. Normally teenagers commandeered them but this one had just been vacated.
By the time Phoebe returned with a tray of coffees and some sweet pastries, Calista had organised the seat to allow the woman access to Stephanie whilst having to sit deep in the booth. This forced Jamie to sit on the outside and able to block any untoward move the woman might use to try to snatch the baby. Calista was painfully street wise and very suspicious of a woman being so familiar. She had no idea of how friendly the Welsh could sometimes be, especially when it concerned babies.
Phoebe could now touch, and even hold the baby nestled comfortably in the corner of the booth but she was ‘hemmed in’ by Jamie beside her on the outside seat of the booth while Calista sat opposite with the buggy and bag inside her. Phoebe sensed the wariness of the ‘mother’ but let her offence pass.
She concluded; ‘The woman was not from ‘round—eare’ and obviously unused to Welsh familiarity. She was also very smartly dressed though and obviously not your ‘run-of-the-mill’ unmarried mother.’
“So how do find Cardiff?” Phoebe asked thereby declaring that she realised Calista wasn’t Welsh.
“Well. Friendly, I have to say. People don’t normally walk up to you and offer you coffees.”
“Oh that’s because of the baby. She’s just so-oo beautiful. Just look at those big blue eyes. She’s going to break somebody’s heart when she’s older.”
Calista sensed that the woman was not a threat but she gave Jamie a cautionary glance as she offered baby Steph to be cuddled. The woman couldn’t contain herself and explained that her two were with their grandmother and she was shopping for birthday presents. As Phoebe held the baby in her arms the two quickly fell into conversation. Jamie just kept quiet and only spoke when spoken to. She was itching for the rest of us to join them so that Candice she and I could go clothes shopping on our own.
Finally we arrived en-masse and Calista handed baby Steph back to Jenny explaining that Jenny was her real mum. The seating arrangements were quickly changed as Candice Jamie and I took off to the shops to indulge our retail therapy while Jenny and Madge took their turn to nurse baby Steph. Was that kid ever spoiled! She now had four adult women going daft over her.
A week later Jenny described the events to me as Calista had described them to her.
“Phoebe had suspected that you were ‘not normal’ and she tried to break the subject delicately. Calista gave it to her with both barrels. She’s so in your face these days. Her relationship with Paul has brought her on leaps and bounds.”
“Go on.” I encouraged Jenny.
“Firstly I have to say that by the time we arrived Calista and Phoebe were almost firm friends. You didn’t stop long enough to find out because Jamie wanted to finish shopping. Phoebe only reluctantly surrendered Stephanie to me after Calista explained that I was her real mum. By this time you and the girls had already buggered off. We had only been talking for five minutes after you left when Phoebe intimated her concerns.”
“That older woman, the one who’s just gone off with Jamie. She’s uuhhm very masculine isn’t she?”
Madge and I said nothing but Calista jumped straight in.
“Yes Phoebe,” Calista declares, bold as brass, “that’s Beverly, she’s transgendered.”
I smiled before Jenny continued. Then I interrupted.
“Well it’s no secret is it? I’ve more or less come out.”
Jenny nodded thoughtfully then added.
“Well to tell the truth I didn’t think it was Calista’s part to reveal your transgenderism but I have to give Phoebe credit where it’s due. She didn’t over-react.”
“So what did Calista actually say?”
“Well after bluntly declaring you to be a T G girl she waited for Phoebe to make a remark. Phoebe sat silent for a few moment digesting Calista’s words then she observed that it wasn’t a big deal.”
“Did she mention her own brother Paul? After all she’s known about Paul’s transgenderism since the family rows and beatings when Paul was a young kid.”
“No. There was no mention of Paul that’s why Calista failed to realise that Phoebe and Paul were sister and brother.”
“So what happened next?” I pressed, eager to hear the outcome.”
“Nothing happened right then. They chatted about you as Calista delicately sounded out Phoebe’s views. Once she realised that Phoebe wasn’t judgemental about transgendered people they became quite friendly though Calista never mentioned her own transgenderism.”
“Well there’s hardly a need to is there?” I observed, “Calista passes for s girl on every single count and she’s a very pretty one to boot.”
Jenny gave me a knowing look before continuing.
“Anyway they even agreed to meet up again. They would meet back in Swansea because they had declared they both lived there. They organised a date and time and everything. I didn’t intervene, nor did Madge, we neither of us knew of the connection. Well you know the rest.”
I did indeed know the rest of the saga.
The following Friday afternoon during half term, Phoebe and her young daughters met Calista with Steph in Swansea and they enjoyed a delightful afternoon shopping and going to the Vivian Art Gallery. Then Paul arrived to pick up his girlfriend Calista at four o’clock. Imagine the shock to Phoebe and Paul when he arrived as arranged to pick up Calista and baby Steph only to find that Calista’s new-found friend was his own sister.
It was then that Phoebe realised that Calista was the T G girl about whom her mother had been having all the rows with Paul.
After Jenny had told me that same Friday evening, both Paul and Calista later gave me their versions but they were pretty similar.
When they met that first time, Phoebe’s jaw had sagged to the floor because she had completely assumed that Calista was a real girl working as Stephanie’s full time nanny. At first she was stunned, then apologetic for her own mother’s treatment of Calista then finally supportive all in the space of a few minutes chatting on the pavement while Paul wondered if he would get a parking ticket. It seemed that Phoebe’s take on Paul’s choice of partner had been much more liberal but she had kept her counsel to avoid conflict between her and her domineering mother.
Now that Phoebe realised what a wonderful person Calista was she became fully supportive. So much so, she even offered her young daughter’s services as bride’s maids. As they drove away from that first encounter, Calista told me she had filled up and Paul had to stop to hug her and reassure her. I remembered that Friday with remarkable clarity for Calista had arrived home with red-rimmed eyes. She’d been crying with happiness but she wouldn’t say why until she had spoken to Jenny. That was when Jenny had told me.
The upshot was that when Paul and Phoebe’s mother had tried to drive a wedge between them by offering Phoebe ten percent of the company shares Phoebe had, for the first time in her adult life, stood up to her mother and told her where to put the shares. She even scolded her mother for being so cruel to her brother about his choice of partner. Their mother had been thunderstruck. Her last ‘Ace in the hole’ had been played to no effect. No more would she have dominion over her children. Her tactic of playing brother against sister, son against daughter was finished. Both Phoebe and Paul had Calista to thank for their new-found freedom and unity. Board-room meetings were never to be fraught with tension again.
The only remaining tension between Phoebe and Calista was when would Calista transition? Phoebe’s daughters, just like all little girls, were impatient to be bride’s-maids. Calista decided she would transition after Paul’s sperm had made Jenny pregnant and I had impregnated Rachel via the ‘traditional’ turkey-baster route.
While the babies were ‘incubating’ Calista reckoned she could have the op and recover within six months. Then be ready and able to take over the additional care of two newborns. Calista was nothing if not capable but additionally she had the support of a large extended family. She would only have total care of the babies for the school hours and even then, both Candice and Jamie would make the short step from the school gates during lunch hour to see if their ‘Auntie Cal’ was okay. They both ate at home anyway and usually prepared the meals. They were a pair of excellent ‘additional mothers’.
So our gang’s plans went forward. Paul happily paid for a mass exodus to India during July, immediately after the girls broke up for the summer holidays. Even Phoebe and her daughters came.
‘Who would miss a ride on an elephant and look at tigers?” The little girls declared excitedly.
Copyright by Beverly Taff. 2011.
This chapter explores the issues surrounding hijras in India. (Kolkata) and the steps Paul and Beverly take to help a few of them.
The Rescue 3
Characters.
Beverly Taff. Transvestite
James or Jamie Transgendered kid.
Candice Jamie’s Younger Sister.
Sergeant Williams Hate crime police officer
David Evans Knife-boy. (Son of Dewi Evans.)
Margaret Beckinsale. Jamie and Candice’s mum. (AKA Madge.)
Sandie Beverly’s best Transvestite friend.
Elizabeth Todd Beverly’s next door neighbour.
Jennifer Todd Elizabeth Todd’s daughter. A barrister.(QC.) Beverly’s best female friend & ‘girl next door’ through childhood.
Rastus Elizabeth Todd’s cat (Now owned by Beverly.)
Dewi Evans Bent politician and criminal.
Paul. Beverly’s transvestite Boss.
Calista Paul’s Transgendered girlfriend.
Stephanie Jenny and Beverly’s daughter.
Phoebe Paul’s Sister.
Rachel. Jennifer’s new girlfriend. (After Stephanie was born.)
Jalina Sha. Indian Engineering graduate (Now Hijra.)
Preparations for the holiday/operations took up most of early July. Candice and Jamie had finished their final year exams while Phoebe’s younger daughters were just six and eight years old; still in primary school. There is a hiatus in Welsh schools between finishing the last exam and waiting for the results. This is the time of idle summer days for the older pupils except for sports competitions and such like. Living immediately next door to the school enabled Jamie, Candice and a bunch of their closest friends, to regularly come home during class hours to consider what the girls were going to wear and do on the holidays. Meanwhile in Swansea, Phoebe’s daughters simply got more and more ‘cited’ at the idea of an elephant ride through the jungle.
Paul was also using the trip as a business opportunity. He had some ideas surrounding his own factory that would mutually benefit both his own factory and any entrepreneur in India who was prepared to share investment. India was a growing market and Paul could spot an opportunity. Even Paul’s father had confessed before he died that his wayward transvestite son had a better business head on his shoulders than anybody else in the family. Paul could spot an opportunity and most importantly, Paul could sell! He could sell snow to the Inuit and sand to the Bedouin.
The busiest of all however, was Jenny who had to advance some casework whilst retarding others to fit her holidays into the allotted month, yes, month not fortnight. Paul had been generous with the holiday funding and it was his way of saying thank you to all of us who had so helped him with his transvestite life. We were to spend a month in India part of which would be the start of the monsoon. This was just to let those who had never experienced a genuine monsoon downpour, get the opportunity to experience one. That meant all of us, for none of us had ever been to India before except Paul.
Eventually after much anticipation and some successful exam results to boost Jamie’s hopes of university, a crowd of excited, eager travellers found themselves at Heathrow Airport.
The flight seemed to take forever with a stop-over at Tehran and we finally arrived in the bright early morning sunshine at Calcutta. The heat hit us like a furnace and the girls squealed as they immediately removed their fashionable jerseys and dashed for what they hoped was the air-conditioned arrivals hall.
It wasn’t, or at least it hadn’t been switched on yet. After asking, Candice discovered that it wasn’t yet deemed hot enough to waste electricity on the air conditioning. That would come on automatically at eleven o’clock.
“We’ll be through and gone by then,” Candice gasped, “I hope.”
“Not by the looks of this crowd, there must be thousands!” Observed a travel-worn Calista who had shared the main burden of baby Stephanie’s care during the flight.”
After an interminable couple of hours queuing in the sweltering heat we finally got to the immigration booths. Calista and Jamie got some long looks from the immigration because their appearances did not match the gender on their passports. They were invited into a side room to explain but the doctor’s letters finally settled the immigration officer’s concerns. India’s a pretty tolerant country anyway and the girls later expressed their relief.
“We thought they were going to give us medical examinations,” Calista declared, “but they didn’t.”
“I wouldn’t have minded,” Jamie added boldly, “I’m used to flipping doctors poking around me these days. There’s not much to see anyway.”
“Uuhhm, I think that’s enough information thank you,” Madge advised her daughter, “onwards to baggage recovery."
We arrived to get our first experience of an Indian baggage scrum and shook our heads at the mayhem. Paul and I had to literally fight our way to the belt while the girls had to literally form a circle to guard our cases as Paul or I recovered them and fought our way back to our little corner of India.
Jenny smiled at our brave efforts as I emerged from the ‘pack’ like a scrum half fighting for the rugby ball.
“We could do with one of those elephants the little ones are so keen to ride.” She grinned as we stuffed the case into our ‘human fort and I returned to the battle. Meanwhile Candice and Jamie had located a couple of trolleys. A dozen women, babies and transvestites don’t do ‘travelling light’. We finally cleared customs just as the air conditioning started to whirr into life nearly an hour late.
You have got to admire the patience of the Indians and their courtesy. Our hotel minibus had been waiting since the plane first arrived and he had brought some tasty titbits to assuage our hunger. We loaded the minibus and nibbled on the sweet pastries and mint tea as he picked his way through the traffic.
Did I say ‘Pick his way’?
Boudicca in her chariot could not have cleared a way through the jam; it would have taken a ruthless general with a division of tanks to do that. That general may have been our driver’s father for he used the minibus more like a battering ram than a car. I realised now why the thing had ‘bull-bars’ back and front not to mention scratch bars on the sides. There’s only one rule for traffic in India or more particularly, Calcutta, ‘If it’s bigger than you, give way to it’.
Eventually after a deafening cacophony of horns and shouts sometimes followed by shaking of fists and the odd curse, (not all Indians are courteous and they often have good cause not to be,) we finally made it to the Grand Great Eastern hotel on the corner of Old Courthouse street and British India Street. Candice and Jamie couldn’t believe that the same old street names existed but their eyes widened at the hotel. It had recently been extensively renovated and we found it to be a superb base in the centre of the bustling city. Well not so much bustling as log-jammed and manic. It’s impossible to see how the city actually works.
An excellent example was the journey from the airport to the hotel.
The aircraft landed just after dawn about sevenish but we did not get to hotel until mid afternoon about fourish. How can a society function like that?! We concluded that even the suffix ‘ish’ did not really convey the chronological chaos that was business appointments in India or at least, down-town Kolkata. By the time we got to the hotel foyer and settled into an Oasis of peace and calm (but not much silence because of the all intrusive traffic noise,) we were hysterical with amusement and incredulity at the nature of the ‘traffic’. (If you can call a solid column of static metal, ‘traffic’.)
As Jamie observed when she turned to Paul and me in one of the interminable traffic jams.
“One thing’s for sure Auntie Bev. Whoever invented the wheel, it wasn’t the Kolkatans. Where would they use it?”
“Well not on their cars,” I replied as we stared incredulously at a huge limousine trying to hack its way through a wall of ‘duk-duks’. It had absolutely no hope. The taxis, duk-duks, and motorcyclists refused to yield to some rich bugger in a chauffeur driven limo. At least everybody on the streets was equal; they all suffered equally from the permanent traffic jam.
Yes, our introduction to India was to say the least, frenetic and we were supremely glad to finally reach the calm of the hotel. We were also more than pleased that the best rooms had been triple glazed to keep out traffic noise as well as the insufferable heat. Paul had booked three suits of several bedrooms and taken over virtually a quarter of one floor. We had what was virtually a whole multi bed-roomed apartment to ourselves. Candice and Jamie were beside themselves with delight and we adults were pretty chuffed as well.
Even Calista was able to relax once she and Jenny had assured themselves of the quality of the baby-minding service. Baby Stephanie probably had the best deal of all.
After luxuriating in our showers and changing to more suitable light cotton clothing, we met for dinner then decided to go for a stroll in the nearby bazaar and Muslim souk. We decided Shanks’s pony was the best form of locomotion and we left baby Steph with the baby-care service. Eleven people would have just sat all night in the traffic jam if we’d taken taxis. Additionally, such a large party of pale-skinned Europeans would have been an open invitation to all the street traders in Kolkata to pester us. At least by moving on foot through the crowds we managed to ignore the constant attentions of the street traders. We weren’t trapped in the back of a static, traffic jammed taxi!
Naturally poor old Calista, Jamie and Candice got the most attention. In the souk, western women with pale skins, uncovered heads, bare arms and legs were still something of a novelty; especially when the legs obviously went ‘all the way up’.
Miniskirts and hot pants were still something of a rarity in the more conservative areas of Kolkata and the Grand Great Eastern is pretty close to the business quarter.
We didn’t buy anything and we didn’t eat anything because we had deliberately left all our money and possessions in the hotel safe. That way we couldn’t be tempted to buy and we couldn’t be robbed. We just toured the souks and bazaars with jaws agape and fixed grins wrapped across our faces. We would return at the end of the holiday to buy when we were marginally more au-fait with the city and its customs. Kolkata comes alive with the cool of the evening.
On the Saturday morning Paul and Jennifer had their first appointment with the selective insemination service at the fertility clinic. The specialists explained the risks and probabilities then invited them to return on Monday. We spent the weekend on our first tour. A short circuit of temples and old colonial buildings while the driver described the history of Calcutta newly returned to its old Indian name of Kolkata. Candice and Jamie expressed regret that all the old British Street names were being changed making it ‘harder to remember names and find their way about’ as they explained it. Strangely the post-war Soviet street names had in some places stuck despite those same names having lost credibility in Russia. We returned to the hotel on Sunday afternoon, where the adults lounged around the pool while Calista, Jamie and Candice went back into the souk. They had inexhaustible supplies of energy.
They had arranged to be back for dinner and we were secretly relieved to see them returning on time. However, we were perplexed to find them with a couple of very pretty Indian girls in tow. Being all of the LGBT spectrum ourselves except for Phoebe and Madge, we all eventually ‘read’ the girls but still we welcomed them to our group and after a brief conversation to reassure the hotel night manager, Jamie and Calista invited them to join us at a hastily re-arranged dinner in a private room just off the main dining room. The hotel was terrified that other guests would be scandalised by seeing hijras dining in the main dining room. A large folding screen was stretched across the alcove and one of the hotel doormen was placed to prevent any nosey snoopers seeing behind the screen. We westerners were shocked by the maltreatment handed out to the two Indian girls.
That night, the conversation flowed like a river as the girls told us their life stories and we told them ours. They were stunned and excited to learn about Calista and Jamie and they insisted that the girls accompany them around the city for the days that Jenny, Paul Rachel and I were being sorted by the ‘fertility clinic’.
I smiled at the expression ‘fertility clinic’ in India; - judging by the birth rate, what they really needed was an ‘infertility clinic’. They had them actually. There are many government sterilisation and vasectomy clinics in India to try and reduce the explosive population growth.
Madge, Phoebe and her daughters went to various tourist venues suitable for children while baby Steph was spoiled rotten by the carers in the hotel crá¨che.
Each evening the girls came back with the Hijras to join us at our extended meal table. Paul and I noticed that the hijras had risen to four but the ‘girls’ were amusing and intelligent so we savoured their attendance at our table. They were discreet and courteous for they realised they had their work cut out to convince the hotel staff that they were not a threat or a security risk. The hotel staff knew that Paul was there in India on business so they treated him with respect; - money talks.
It was whilst chatting to the hijras that we learned of their backgrounds which were as varied and distressing as one could ever wish to hear. Calista described her distressing childhood while I could vouch for the hurt and abuse that Jamie had suffered. There were many mutual tears around the table during those evening meals but it’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good.
Jalina was the prettiest of the four beauties and the youngest, that’s why she spoke last about her origins and that’s why I was so late finding out about her childhood. Even then it was during a private chat, not a general discussion around the dinner table. Jalina was painfully embarrassed by her former life and she only revealed it to me in private.
While the rest of the girls were chattering away in main living suite Jalina was talking softly to me as we lounged in the comfortable armchairs of the smaller annex up in our vast suit of rooms. She described her home life in Kolkata before she finally resolved to leave the oppressive and humiliating climate of her numerous siblings. Despite being the eldest son, she had been bullied and beaten for being small and effeminate. Her father had disowned her a couple of years after her university graduation as an engineer because she had been caught ‘cross dressed’. Her father had taken into the garden and publically whipped her in front of all her younger siblings.
I listened with revulsion to a familiar tale and gave her a hug as tears started to run down her cheeks. Finally I released her as the sobs eased and asked Candice to bring us a cup of tea. Candice was about to suggest I not be so lazy and to come and get my own tea, then she saw Salina’s tear stained face and quickly realised there had been another epiphany. Later, as we sipped our teas Jalina fondled the luxurious material of the arm chairs and sighed.
“I remember these; we had chairs like this at home.”
“Oh, they’re good quality chairs and look pretty expensive to me. You must come from a fairly prosperous family then.”
“Yes, I did. I ran my father’s business for a couple of years after university and I was supposed to inherit until I finally had to ‘come out’ as Hijra. I couldn’t live a lie anymore. Despite all the work I did modernising the factory and winning more orders for the business in these hellish times, he still disowned me and sacked me. That’s when he whipped me in the garden in front of my brothers and sisters. From successful factory manager to slum-bitch in a few unbelievable minutes. Now my younger brother runs it and he’s already incurred losses. But he’s a ‘proper man’," Jalina continued bitterly, "and that counts with my father. He cast me out for being Hijra and I’ve never been back.”
I wagged my head not in disbelief but disgust. The whole sorry saga was so-oo, so-oo familiar. Jalina continued.
“My father owns a small machine tool factory. While I managed it the factory made a reasonable living until my stupid brother took over. He’s not even an engineer, he’s a bloody lawyer. That’s why he can’t sell in the engineering field.”
My ears pricked up at the word ‘machine tool factory’.
“Oh. What company is that?”
Jalina gave me the name of the company and her father’s name, Pradjit Sha.
It immediately rang bells in my head for I was sure I had heard Paul mention the company name and Pradjit Sha whilst coming over on the flight. For a moment I fell silent but my brain immediately went into overdrive. I stood up and told Salina to stay put and stay silent as I hurried from the suite.
I went to find Paul who was down in a business conference meeting some representatives of the local round table. He was looking for a potential partner in India to open his new factory in Kolkata supplying electronic control components to the main factory in the UK. The business would be quite high-tech so the local business community were dancing attendance like sycophants. Every man attending was hoping to get a slice of the action.
Jalina’s father’s name ‘Pradjit Sha’ kept ringing in my head as I remembered the conversation on the plane. I rushed from the lift and dashed across the foyer into the conference room where Paul was meeting with the Indian round tabler’s. I walked in unexpectedly and all faces turned to study the casually dressed European who had just invaded their meeting. One well dressed ‘suit’ approached me.
“Excuse me sir. I’m sorry, this is a private meeting.”
I answered as courteously as I could.
“I understand that sir but I know the gentleman with whom you’re having discussions. Mr Paul Whitworth, the British manufacturer looking for a partner firm in Kolkata.”
The ‘suit’ hesitated uncertainly at my having mentioned Paul by name but Paul had already heard my voice and recognised me across the room. He turned from the group he was talking to and excused himself.
“Hello Bev. What’s up?”
“I think we need to have a chat Paul.”
“What about?”
“About one of the potential business partners you mentioned on the flight over.”
“And which one would that be?”
I looked around and whispered.
“One called Pradjit Sha. The machine tool manufacturer.”
“Oh yes. He looks like one of the most likely candidates. I opened the sealed bids before the meeting. His was probably the best. It offered the most opportunities and his factory obviously has the scope to handle the technology. It was doing extremely well over the last three years but the last year they’ve hit a few temporary problems. Mr Sha assures me the issues are purely temporary.”
I hauled Paul by the arm into a small private room for a chat.
“That tallies up exactly with what I’ve heard. This is not a temporary glitch, the man they’ve got running the factory is not the man who made those profits before. The man running the show now is Pradjit’s second son. A lawyer.”
Paul knew all about family values out in Asia and he raised a curious eyebrow.
“So what happened to the first son?”
“That’s just it; the first son was a brilliant engineer. But the boy is a hijra. It’s Jalina sitting upstairs as we speak. You know what these families are like; - shame on the family and stuff.”
Paul nodded as I described Jalina’s story and he frowned thoughtfully. Being a transvestite himself, Paul knew all about such family issues. He’d walked a virtually identical walk himself though the final outcome had not been so brutal. He smiled conspiratorially as he assimilated my information.
“Leave it with me Bev. I’ll dig out the facts. His bid includes the company figures for the last five years to enable my accountants to access the risk of investing over here. I’ve had a brief look at them and what you say seems about right. His bid is on the table next door. I’ve got to sort a short-list and come back to the Department of commerce meeting in this same room on Thursday. Most of these guys will also be there, it’s just like back home, all about networking. When I’m out of here in about half an hour, we can run these figures by Jalina and if she’s what she says she is, she can prove her story. I hate bigots!”
“Amen to that Paul,” I agreed wholeheartedly. “Besides, Phoebe can check the figures can’t she. That’s her job on the board isn’t it?”
“Well she’s very sharp on that side of things but she and I will still have to run the figures by Arnold the company accountant back in the UK. What I want is Jalina’s explanations of where things started going wrong in the last twelve months."
We separated again, me back up to the top floor and our extensive suite while Paul returned to the conference. He rejoined us later that evening where Jalina and I were agog waiting for the news. In his briefcase he had the three best bids as he thought. All the other bids were in a larger cardboard file that would not fit into his overstuffed briefcase but Paul had taken them with him nonetheless to avoid raising any false hopes or fomenting undue speculation.
Once ensconced in one of the comfy armchairs he went over Pradjit’s bid with his hijra child Jalina. She came up trumps. Time and again she gave valuable insight into some figure or contract or order that had been lost as she explained often angrily as red spots grew in her cheeks.
“Look. This order for lubrication rings and rotor shafts for the alternators in the new Plata cars. I won that, it was one of my first successful bits of expansion. The review and renewal date was six months ago. Six months after I was sacked. They’ve lost the order and I know why! The team I dealt with were primarily engineers, I could talk to them, - in our own language; - they were sick and tired of being fed bullshit by accountants and salesmen who didn’t know shit about engineering. I knew they were planning on upgrading when we first won the order.
I would have kept on top of that order because Plata cars are doing well, they were expanding and upgrading and that meant bigger alternators. I would have kept in touch with the boys in their back-room to follow up on the improvements required. I even had a provisional plan to manufacture the whole alternator and they were listening to me!
My stupid brother didn’t and it’s obvious they’ve lost the order. His heart isn’t in the manufacturing, he really just wants to ponce about in wig and gown and make theatre in some high-falutin courtroom. The company’s going bust just look at the monthly bottom lines. I give it a year before the Bank pulls the plug. Daddy will be bankrupt but he refuses to see it.”
Jalina slumped on the settee and sighed then started crying. Between the sobs she explained in halting words.
“I was — b-building the — the business up; i—it was growing, n-now look at it. That fucking stupid Sanji, he’s, - he’s useless with anything mechanical.”
I gently massaged Jalina’s slender back while Paul double checked the accompanying bank statements. Jalina was right, the company was heading downhill and it was hurting the girl. For all the abuse she had suffered at her family’s hands, she didn’t want to see her family destitute. She was already there and knew fully of the bitter cup of poverty in India.
Paul set out his plan without telling Jalina. It would be a wonderful surprise for her.
We put the four hijras into a taxi and that very night Paul went to work. All Wednesday morning he spent telephoning the UK then he studied all the favoured bids in depth. Every which way he looked at it, despite the balance sheet, Pradjit Sha’s factory looked the best bet. By the Thursday Paul had his plan set up.
At the board of commerce meeting he finally declared the three favourites to their committee and reserved his final decision for another three months. His explanation was he had to run his figures by his board and then visit each Indian factory in turn to study the set up. That Thursday night, Paul briefly explained what I already suspected but he was too tired to explain. On the Friday morning he elaborated.
“The Sha enterprise is by far the best fit but I spoke to Pradjit’s son Sanji last night after that Board of commerce thing. Sanji’s a total twat and doesn’t know the first bloody thing about engineering, he’s all pomp and bloody law. When I go around his factory I’m going to give it to the old man straight. D’you fancy another trip out to India?”
“What? Me!”
“I’ll want another supposed ‘expert’ to look as though we’re inspecting the factory minutely. You know your way around machinery, and I know you do, - bloody well as a matter of fact. I’ll be too busy organising my other strategy.”
“And that is?” I added half knowing the answer.
“Put a competent person back in charge, an engineer.”
I nodded and smiled.
“Jalina.”
Paul returned my smile.
“We’re on the same wavelength darling. Now to find Jalina.”
“It’ll be best to speak to the girls about that.” I observed.
He nodded then called Calista,and Jenny into the annexe.
The girls appeared with curiosity writ large on their faces.
“Can you go and find Jalina darlings.”
Calista nodded eagerly they had planned on meeting her and the other hijras that afternoon anyway. Picking up Jamie and Candice they sped off purposefully into the slums. Paul and I returned to our sheep while Madge, Phoebe, Rachel and the little ones lounged by the pool.
At one o’clock the girls returned with Jalina and we lunched by the pool. Jalina looked beautiful in her best royal blue sari. Calista and Jamie envied Candice her freedom to wear the skimpiest bikini while they could not yet dare to reveal their secrets to the other bathers. However Calista was too busy working with us under the large parasol as we explained the deal. Paul had checked with the Indian bank and confirmed Jalina’s story, she had dealt with the bank before descending into disgrace. The signatures on the cheques for the previous two years confirmed Jalina’s successful control of the company during her stewardship.
As we sat under the huge parasol with documents and briefcases all over the table, Jenny, Calista, Paul, Phoebe, Jalina and I looked every inch the business group doing exactly that. Striking a deal that Paul explained.
“Now Jalina, we have already put you on our books for a modest wage just to tide you over until we sort this business out. The plan is this.
Your father’s factory exactly matches what I’m looking for. I couldn’t have found a better fit. It jigsaws into our factory just perfectly. Jenny, Rachel, Phoebe, Beverly and I will be coming out again around November and we will strike the deal then but with one major provision, that is the old manager who ran the company before your brother, namely you of course, will have to be re-employed.”
Jalina smiled and was invited to ask questions. Her questions were deep, searching and demonstrated that she really was a shrewd operator and gave us some wonderful tips to progress our ideas. She also explained the best strategy to shoe-horn a hijra, one of the ‘despicables’ (Possibly even lower than an ‘untouchable’.) into a position of such power and responsibility. It would involve some tremendous culture shocks for many of the current employees. Jalina hoped she would be able to ride that particular storm but she warned us there might be objections. We promised her all the support we could offer.
She also pointed out that the new manufacturing process would be more high-tec and involved much clean, sterile bench work. Work ideally suited to women (and hijras).
Paul and I just smiled knowingly and Jalina’s eyes widened with hope.
“You mean I will be able to employ hijras?”
“On merit, yes,” Paul confirmed as Jalina gave a whoop of joy.
Being a hijra she then gave us a spectacular, celebratory dance exhibition that brought the pool area to a standstill. Jamie, Candice and Calista sat gob-smacked then immediately demanded to be shown the moves after Jalina finally calmed down to a deafening round of applause. We finished lunch on a high with Jalina bound to secrecy. She left with her temporary contract of employment held tightly to her newly developing bosom and ecstatic with delight. For the rest of the month, the four hijras treated the three girls to the most delightful stay in Kolkata. Rachel finally fell pregnant to me by artificial insemination, but more importantly, Jenny was made pregnant to Paul. It only remained to confirm the baby was a boy and this was done successfully when we returned in November.
This chapter simply carries the story along as the friends work out their lives back in the UK before returning to India to forward Pauls ambitions to help Hijras in India.
The Rescue 4.
Characters.
Beverly Taff. Transvestite
James or Jamie Transgendered kid.
Candice Jamie’s Younger Sister.
Sergeant Williams Hate crime police officer
David Evans Knife-boy. (Son of Dewi Evans.)
Margaret Beckinsale. Jamie and Candice’s mum. (AKA Madge.)
Sandie Beverly’s best Transvestite friend.
Elizabeth Todd Beverly’s next door neighbour.
Jennifer Todd Elizabeth Todd’s daughter. A barrister. (QC.) Beverly’s best female friend & ‘girl next door’ through childhood.
Rastus Elizabeth Todd’s cat (Now owned by Beverly.)
Dewi Evans Bent politician and criminal.
Paul. Beverly’s transvestite Boss.
Calista Paul’s Transgendered girlfriend.
Stephanie Jenny and Beverly’s daughter.
Phoebe Paul’s Sister.
Rachel. Jennifer’s new girlfriend. (After Stephanie was born.)
Jalina Sha. Indian Engineering graduate (Now Hijra.)
Three days before the end of the holiday in Kolkata, the monsoon broke. There is no word to describe the amount of water that falls. It’s impossible to believe that much water can be held in the clouds. Virtually all activity ceases for the first couple of days as the subcontinent adapts to the onslaught. Then, slowly, after the first ecstatic raptures of relief and anticipation fade, India settles down to face the ensuing months of rain, and floods and downright torment. We arrived at the airport to have our homeward flight delayed for over an hour as the water just dumped on us. For us the three day introduction had proven to be breathtakingly invigorating as the heat was washed out of the ground and the sky. The second morning of the monsoon proved to unbelievably clear and refreshing before the next onslaught overtook us. Between the deluges the air was as clear as crystal and the country was already growing greener. Indeed, during the calms between the onslaughts we felt we didn’t want to leave; only to have our euphoria smashed again as the next water-war arrived.
As our plane sat like a waterlogged albatross on the tarmac, the pilot could only give us a running commentary as to the nature and disposition of the clouds that would be fatal to any plane daring to enter them.
The tropical cumulo-nimbus clouds scale to 20,000 metres and the forces within them would rip any plane stupid enough to enter them into aluminium shards and the human cargo into ‘jelly’. Finally that particular wall of clouds moved on towards the Himalayas and we took off for home. The pilot picked his way between the clouds until we were finally free of the titanic forces that were the Indian Monsoon. It was a sobering experience.
Once we were home, Paul wasted no time in processing the plans for his expansion into India. Like every other manufacturing business, Paul had to take advantage of the lower labour costs of the emerging nations to compete amongst those emerging nations.
For several weeks Paul’s life ran smoothly except for his mother constantly nagging him about providing a ‘male heir’ and his ‘disgusting relationship’ with that ‘pervert’ Calista.
“She’s just a sterile pervert boy. Surely you can find a real woman or something. Or is this something to do with your own perverted little peccadillo?”
“Listen mother. I suffer your constant sniping and I only stay in this house because you would be lonely and bitter if I went to live permanently with Calista. You’ve tried to come between me and Phoebe with your shares card and that back-fired.
Calista simply proved to Phoebe what a wonderful girl she is and that actually brought Phoebe and me closer together. You’ve lost the battle mother. Phoebe and I run the company now. You’ve shot your bolt so give it a rest!”
“She’s not a girl though, she, - she’s, - she’s something in-between, some sort of half thing. Something ungodly! It’s disgusting!”
“Oh fuck it,” Paul cursed as he’d never done before in front of his mother. “That’s it, I’ve had enough. I’m sick of your bloody bigotry and cruelty. I’m off out!”
And in a furious rage he stormed out of the door. Something else he had never done before.
When he arrived at Calista’s flat she was surprised and excited to see him.
“So what brings you here darling?”
“I’ve just had an almighty row with that bloody mother of mine.”
“Give her time Paul. She’s that age group.”
“Oh I know what age group she belongs to, the Spanish inquisitors.”
“Come to bed. I know it’s not much compensation but we can cuddle.”
Paul smiled at his stunning girlfriend.
“How much longer is it?”
“Only a month now. Be patient.”
“It’s still a stupid rule. Anybody can see you’re a girl and beautiful one at that. Why do these fucking doctors have to make such stupid rules?”
“Just promise me you won’t try and you know. I want it to be virginal when we do it. I want it to be the right way.”
Paul pulled Calista into his embrace and squeezed her tight. She just melted into his ‘wrap-around’ and savoured the sense of protection. Calista just couldn’t believe her good fortune. They fell across the bed and started slowly undressing each other until she lay in her matching lingerie while Paul sat with just his pants and trousers. It was a tacit way of declaring there would be no intimacy yet. Even Paul was excited at the prospect of a ‘virgin bride’. The idea gave their relationship an extra dimension, a target and a goal to achieve. Calista slipped under the sheets while Paul stepped out of his pants and trousers then reached into his own wardrobe and slipped on a pair of panties and tights. The tights had a double function.
They acted as a sort of chastity device to reassure Calista while at the same time satisfying Paul’s transvestite needs. Thus their relationship held together. Under the sheets Calista whispered.
“When we get married, you won’t be able to wear tights; they’ll stop us consummating our union.”
Paul grinned. He had already anticipated that issue and he slid his silky leg over Calista’s slender thighs.
“On our honeymoon night I’ll be wearing suspenders and stockings as I do when we go out clubbing. Then it’s just off with my panties girl. Don’t you worry about consummation darling. It’ll be a very special night. I can wait!”
Calista squeezed up to Paul and savoured a long passionate kiss before they eventually fell into a spooned cuddle and sleep overtook them.
Paul never slept over at his mother’s again until after he and Calista were wed. She was dying to be the one to break the news about Paul and Jennifer’s baby to Paul’s mum. That was a treat that Paul and Jenny had promised Calista. She would be the primary carer of the baby.
For that month, the relationship between Paul and his mother was to say the least strained. He only went around on the Friday mornings to hand over a cheque and even then they hardly spoke. His mother tried inveigling her way between her daughter and her ‘perverted’ son but Phoebe had at last recognised where her issues had been born. Phoebe also agreed that her mother was a bigot. Phoebe’s friendship with Calista had become set in stone and she flew into a rage with her mother one afternoon in Swansea when her mother had suggested that it wasn’t safe to leave the little girls with Calista.
“For God’s sake mother. Calista’s got both Jenny’s little daughter Stephanie and my two down at Scamps as we speak, just so that you can indulge in some uninterrupted shopping. Even the kids love Calista more than they love you and you’re their Nan. You should be ashamed of yourself. Calista’s a lovely girl!”
“Huh I don’t believe it. You're lying.”
“I’m not mummy. They were dreading coming out with us shopping today because you’re always scolding them. When I told them
Calista was coming over they screeched with joy. It’s you mother, your attitude is the problem. Now loosen up or lose your grandchildren altogether.”
The familiar red spots appeared on her mother’s cheeks but Phoebe couldn’t care less. The war between her mother and Paul was also getting Phoebe down but she remained firmly on Paul’s side. She couldn’t wait to see if Jenny was having a baby boy and they could shut her mother up once and for all.
They shopped in a few more stores and then her mother finally opened up.
“When are you meeting this so called girl?”
“After I’ve driven you home and I pick the girls up.”
“Can I have a look at her? Without her knowing that is.”
“Why? Why on earth do you want to spy on her, she’s not some sort of circus freak show. She just a perfectly ordinary but very attractive woman.”
“She’s not a woman, she’s a man, she’s got, -“
“Stoppit right there mother. Calista’s a girl. Inside her head she’s a girl and we are what’s inside our heads, all of us!”
“Well can I see her?”
“If you see her, she and the girls will see the car.” The girls will want to know why you drove past instead of stopping to pick them up. Calista will realise what’s going on and she won’t be pleased. It’s a very threatening sensation for a girl to feel she’s being stalked!”
Phoebe’s mother frowned.
“So it’s meet her or nothing at all.”
“She’s not some sort of ogre Mummy! She a perfectly sweet girl. How can you even think evil of her when you’ve never met her? D’you know, I’m sorry I ever told you about her. Paul was furious with me when he found out.”
“Well why didn’t he introduce her to me?”
“Because he knew you’d react exactly as you have reacted. Like a true bigot. You go to Church every Sunday but Godly you ain’t. You’re not even Christian.”
“The bible says, -“
Phoebe almost spat out the next words.
“Mother. You can stuff your bible where the sun doesn’t shine.”
“That’s a wicked thing to say. You’ll rot in hell for that. It says in Leviticus, -“
“Bugger Leviticus. It’s nothing but a bunch of Jewish lawyers on the make. Just stick with Moses and the ten. That’s a good enough code for any bugger to live by. Jew, Christian or Muslim. Everything else is just the nodding and the bobbing. Now that’s enough, I’m tired of this argument, you go over the same ground every flipping week.”
Phoebe’s mother sniffed angrily while Phoebe sighed and flung the car door open for her mother.
“What’s it to be then. Straight home or meet Calista with your grand-daughters?”
“I’ll go home. I’m not going to be bullied into doing something I hold evil.”
Phoebe bit her tongue. If the argument got any worse she could see a schism opening up that would be impossible to heal and despite hating her mother’s bigotry she did not want her girls to miss out on having a Nan. What angered her most was that she recently found herself liking her ex mother-in-law more than her own mother. The divorce had been cruel and messy but at least her ex mother-in-law loved the girls and was kind to them. Although her ex husband had little to do with his daughters, his mother doted on them and Phoebe was determined she wouldn’t suffer for her son’s waywardness.
Even Calista had met their ‘other Nan’ once when she dropped the girls off because of a timing hiccup. She had found her to be a kind compassionate woman and Calista told Phoebe so that same evening.
“She knows I’m a Tee-Gee girl but it doesn’t even seem to bother her. We went to the leisure park and she shared in most of the rides. The girls dote on her. It’s such a pity about your mum.”
Phoebe gave Calista a hug as she reassured her.
“Don’t worry about it Cally. When the day comes that you present Paul’s baby to her, she’ll change her tune.”
“To tell the truth I’m not that bothered. I’ve got Paul, - and you.”
Phoebe filled up at Calista’s words. During Phoebe's marriage most of her local friends had been her husband’s golfing mate’s wives and when they had divorced the women had stuck with him. Phoebe hadn’t liked them anyway. Most of them were social climbers and snobs.
Calista was the only true local friend she had. Phoebe had gone to a private school away from Wales so she had no local school friends. All her other friends were college friends and living away. She saw them quite often but except for Calista she had nobody to call upon locally at the drop of a hat. Calista had become Phoebe’s lifeline to escape from the drudgery of single motherhood and domestic life. Since Calista and Phoebe had got to know each other, Phoebe had blossomed, recovered from her divorce and learned to stand up to her domineering mother.
Paul watched the metamorphosis and smiled with affection. He had got his sister back as well as a girlfriend. Calista had found a new family, a loving, caring, soon-to-be husband and sister-in-law not to mention a circle of affectionate, supportive friends amongst our local Tee-gee community.
As Calista entered upon the final step towards transition she reflected upon the friends she had back in London who had faced such an ordeal with little or no support. Even on the morning she went under the anaesthetic she went with a smile despite her nerves. Outside the theatre a veritable circle of friends stayed with Paul to await the outcome and it was a desperately relieved man who finally smiled upon his beloved girlfriend as she slowly emerged from the anaesthetic. Even Jennifer and Rachel took time out to be there for Calista when she emerged. Jennifer had a rare day between court cases and Rachel was always able to rearrange her diary.
As Calista slowly came round she was relieved and delighted to find such a large circle of friends and supporters. Then, after all the congratulations and expressions of love and support had been expressed a hundred times over; the nurse reluctantly shooed them away. Calista needed calm and rest before she started her exercises the very next day. Only Paul stayed with her overnight while Phoebe and the girls stayed at Jenny’s apartment. Madge, Candice, Jamie and I stayed at Rachel’s house out in Hampstead. Only twenty to thirty minutes away by tube.
The following morning the surgeon attended to the dressings but explained the dilation exercises would not start until later. As Calista hobbled painfully around the bed pushing her medication rack with the catheter bags and intravenous medications suspended from it; Paul lovingly supported her. The nurse remarked.
“You’re a lucky girl Calista; many girls come in here totally alone.”
“Don’t I know it nurse,” Calista replied as a single tear of joy preceded the flood of relief moments later.
Paul helped her back into bed and spooned her first ‘solid’ food before Calista returned to a drowsy state of Euphoria. She settled sleepily despite the pains beginning to grow in area that had been her ‘battlefield’ for nearly her whole lifetime save for the four earliest years before she had become aware of the differences between boys and girls.
Paul let her sleep as the nurse adjusted the pain-killing medications then turned to Paul as they left for the nursing station to share a cup of tea.
“D’you know this girl is just so lucky to have you here. These girls are normally so lonely. Usually, if it’s anybody at all, it’s a transgendered friend who has been through it or yet to transition. She’s really lucky to have a real man and a loving one.”
Paul smiled as added the milk to the large mug of tea. He glanced over the rim of the mug and gave the nurse a knowing look. The nurse, long accustomed to the varied and often desperate lifestyles of her transgendered patients stopped writing and met his gaze with curiosity escaping her normally professional mask. She asked him softly.
“D’you want to tell?”
Paul took a sip, hesitated then explained.
“There’s not much to tell really. I love her, I’ve always loved her since we met, she accepts my transvestism and I understand her transsexualism. Inside our heads, - and our hearts,” he added hastily, “we’re a perfect match. She’s a fabulous girl and I love her, totally and utterly.”
The nurse couldn’t restrain her smile as a tear escaped her hard-bitten demeanour.
“Well’ that’s just about one of the most beautiful ways I’ve ever heard it put. Here have a biscuit to help with that tea.”
Paul took the proffered titbit and relaxed as the nurse sat back with her hands behind her head. The notes could wait. Her posture invited Paul to open up and slowly he told the story. Finally the nurse expressed her feelings.
“So you’re a transvestite; that explains your honesty with Calista; that explains your understanding of her condition. You will be patient with her now won’t you? Don’t start anything physical too soon. She’ll be at least six to eight weeks before she can try anything.”
“Yes, don’t worry. Doctor Cottee’s told us. We won’t be doing anything like that until we’re married. I’ve already started the legal stuff to sort out her registration as a woman. Tomorrow I’m bringing the forms around and the registrar is a friend of Jenny’s, you know the Barrister who was here yesterday. So the registrar will be attending personally. Doctor Cottee has already confirmed he’ll be here with the necessary medical confirmations.”
The nurse’s eyes widened with acknowledgement.
“Oh yes, Jennifer, now there’s a formidable lady. She struck me as very forthright and very combative. It wouldn’t surprise me if she bullied the registrar into attending personally instead of Calista having to hobble to the registry office.”
Paul smiled apologetically.
“Yes. Jenny does come across as combative but if she’s your friend you couldn’t wish for a more supportive or sweeter person. I count her as more than my friend now.”
“Is there something I’m missing?” The nurse asked.
Paul nodded then shrugged.
“There’s more to the story but it’s not my part to reveal it. That’s up to others and it would be indiscreet of me to reveal stuff prematurely. It’s nothing serious anyway. More of a ‘love story’ if the truth be told.”
The nurse smiled and Paul returned to his cot beside Calista’s hospital bed.
A few days later she was discharged and they returned home to South Wales. For five weeks Calista was accorded all the privileges of an invalid. She stayed with Madge and we all danced attendance upon her as she patiently exercised and dilated daily.
Sometimes she looked quite wan and on a couple of occasions she was about to give up altogether on achieving the right dimensions to please Paul as she desperately wished to do. Then on the sixth week she finally achieved the aimed for dilator size. She let out a squeal of joy on that auspicious evening when she was sitting in the warm bath gently working the instrument of what had been torture to that date.
With a whoop of delight she demanded that we call Paul immediately as she inserted the next grade of keeper painlessly into her new sex and tears of joy ran down her cheeks. Carefully she slipped on her control panties and waited for Paul to dash over from Swansea. He was originally set to come over anyway but when I told him the news it seemed as though the growl of the Aston appeared on Madge’s forecourt even before I’d put the phone down.
Paul dashed up stairs whilst flinging the keys to Jamie with instructions to ‘park it straight’ on the forecourt. Then he hammered on the bathroom door and Calista flung it open with a shriek of joy as she announced for the whole house to hear.
“It’s in! It’s all in, - and it doesn’t hurt. I’m whole! I’m a girl; a proper girl at last!”
Silence descended on the bathroom while Candice, Jamie, Madge and I exchanged beaming smiles. Then the bedroom door clicked shut softly.
We all smiled again as we sat expectantly sipping tea and trying to concentrate on the television soap. Calista had achieved her physical target two weeks before their scheduled wedding. An hour later the pair descended the stairs with beaming smiles and Calista looking rather flushed. Madge raised a questioning eyebrow and Calista smiled bashfully.
“Don’t worry, we didn’t ‘do it’, I’m still a virgin in that respect.”
“So?” I inquired curiously.
Calista blushed some more then murmured self consciously.
“I, - I’ve, - I’ve just had my first girly orgasm and mmm-mmmm!”
Madge and Candice blushed knowingly but Jamie frowned jealously. I smiled and my cheeks dimpled with amusement. Paul stared at the floor as Calista flung her arms around his neck and snogged him furiously before declaring.
“This guy’s tongue is fantastic. I’m going to give him the ride of his life two weeks tonight.”
“Will that be tonight here or tonight Kolkata?” I asked.
Calista grinned and shook her head.
“I’ll introduce Paul to the ‘five-mile-high’ club if that’s what it takes.
I giggled as I pointed out.
“Now that might be a first. The first post op TG girl to do it up there and genuinely lose her virginity on her honeymoon.”
Jamie sniggered and we turned questioningly to her.
“Alright, out with it. What’s so funny?” Madge demanded.
“You’d better watch out for the Himalayas,” Jamie continued, “the mountain turbulence might give you a bumpier ride than you expect.”
Paul and Calista burst out laughing
“I can promise him bumpy!” Calista cackled and we settled down to the meal Madge and I had been preparing.
This chapter deals maily with Jalina's ascent from the grinding despair of transgenderism in the Kolkata hijra community and her restoration to her former position.
The rescue 5
Characters.
Beverly Taff. Transvestite
James or Jamie Transgendered kid.
Candice Jamie’s Younger Sister.
Sergeant Williams Hate crime police officer
David Evans Knife-boy. (Son of Dewi Evans.)
Margaret Beckinsale. Jamie and Candice’s mum. (AKA Madge.)
Sandie Beverly’s best Transvestite friend.
Elizabeth Todd Beverly’s next door neighbour.
Jennifer Todd Elizabeth Todd’s daughter. A barrister. (QC.) Beverly’s best female friend & ‘girl next door’.
Rastus Elizabeth Todd’s cat (Now owned by Beverly.)
Dewi Evans Bent politician and criminal.
Paul. Beverly’s transvestite Boss.
Calista Paul’s Transgendered girlfriend.
Stephanie Jenny and Beverly’s daughter.
Phoebe Paul’s Sister.
Rachel. Jennifer’s new girlfriend. (After Stephanie was born.)
Jalina Sha. Indian Engineering graduate (Now Hijra.)
Prdajit Sha Jalina's father.
Calista’s wedding went ahead as planned. It was a simple civil ceremony held in Cardiff and Paul’s mother refused to attend. That hurt a lot for Paul but he hid his pain and after a small reception and celebration we headed off that evening to the Airport Hotel at Heathrow. Unfortunately Calista still had to travel on her old passport declaring her to be male. Naturally she carried all her other documents including the medical documents confirming her new status. The British Passport office gets progressively slower and more expensive in serving its people. It cannot, in 2 months supply a new passport dealing with the simple matter of changing one small entry from male to female. They needed an unwarranted amount of information which bordered on the ludicrous like having to re-declare her date of birth. They already had it! If it hadn’t been so stupid it would have been funny. Was Calista suddenly only a couple of months old!!?
Fortunately we had the dates of our previous visit endorsed on the same visa because our 6 month visas had not expired. It saved endless complications for Calista for the previous entry still carried the hand written immigration note concerning her ‘sex change’.
She hadn’t had a sex change of course, just had her plumbing corrected to match her brain which had always been female. We arrived in the dead of night after the Plane had been delayed in Kuwait City.
It was nothing serious just an engine to be changed! Eighteen hours! For most of the British passport holders this meant a brief stop-over in Kuwait. Brits don’t need a visa to visit Kuwait they simply have to register at the main police station or the airport police station when they arrive. Not so of course for Calista. Kuwait is primarily seventy percent Sunni and Sunni Muslims are pretty intolerant people. They don’t accept transgendered people. Instead of being able to leave the airport and travel into Kuwait city like the rest of the passengers, Calista was detained in an immigration transit suite until the plane was ready to leave. Fortunately, Jamie had not come with us.
Paul swore that he would never travel to a Muslim country again if that’s how the supposedly so called religion of peace and compassion treated people described in some medical cultures as disabled. I didn’t entirely agree with him but I must confess I was saddened by Calista’s treatment; - so much for Islamic hospitality and munificence, or at least the Sunni version. Sadly, Wahabism and its vicious misinterpretation of The Koran pervades the whole of the Arabian peninsula like an evil cancer.
Fortunately Kuwait is not as bigoted and oppressive as Saudi Arabia. Calista at least had a decent suite of rooms and her husband was allowed to visit her, even stay with her. I rationalised these oppressive Sunni views with the fact that fundamentalist Christian Churches could be just as bigoted and cruel.
We were glad to leave Kuwait and arrive in Kolkata even if it was two o’clock in the morning.
Early December was much cooler and the three a.m., immigration queue was non-existent. To our joy Jalina was there to meet us. We apologised for being late but fair play to the airline, they had provided drinks and food for anybody waiting to meet passengers. Jalina had her own car now. Nothing spectacular, just a modest, non-descript, Indian model that didn’t draw attention to her appearance or even her very existence. During our four month’s absence Jalina had embarked upon transition.
She had not yet had re-assignment surgery but she had had facial feminisation surgery. Indian medicine was every bit as sophisticated as Thailand but Jalina had gone to Bangkok to remain anonymous. The retainer that Paul had paid her, allowed her to take out a loan but when Paul saw her face he agreed to pay off her bank-loan. If Jalina had looked beautiful before, she looked stunning now and the voice surgery had made her unidentifiable as the one time Jitendra Shah oldest son of the Shah family. Paul and Calista squeezed into Jalina’s little car while the rest of us followed in a taxi with the remainder of the luggage. She took us out into the suburbs where her original hijra friends were sharing the modest house and we ate breakfast with them before finally booking into the Grand Great Eastern hotel again. Staff recognised us and made a huge fuss of Jennifer and Rachel who were beginning to ‘show’. I felt a little sorry for Calista and Jalina as they glanced wistfully at the girls’ swollen tummies.
We took over the same suite as before but used fewer rooms and by eleven, we were all napping to recover from our jet lag. Even though the journey had taken eighteen hours longer than expected, we were still all out of synch with our circadian rhythms.
The following day we became civilised and we booked Jalina into our suite for there was now much that Paul and I had to do.
Firstly however Jenny and Rachel needed to check out their babies.
The clinic were past masters at checking foetuses and the results were as we’d hoped. Jenny was expecting Paul’s baby boy and Rachel was expecting twins, they thought it was one of each but couldn’t be one hundred percent sure. What they were sure about was that all the foetuses appeared healthy. Calista grinned at me when she learned the news.
“Just fancy Bev, I’ll be looking after four babies. Stephanie, Paul’s son by Jenny and your twins by Rachel.
“You won’t have much time to be a wife Cally,” I grinned, “you’ll be too busy being a mum.”
She punched me on the shoulder playfully and went to join the girls by the pool while Jalina, Paul and I got on with preparing for the factory inspections. Naturally we left the Shah factory until the last.
All the factory owners were impressed with Jalina’s seemingly infinite knowledge of engineering and yet none of them recognised the one-time Jitendra Shah, eldest son of the Shah family who had brought disgrace and shame on the family by coming out as hijra. Jalina’s facial feminisation surgery had been supremely successful. The supreme test came when we finally had to visit the Shah establishment. Jalina was nervous but we reassured her that nobody had ‘read’ her during the previous inspections and we met her whole family at a restaurant for lunch before commencing our inspection.
Jalina had long prepared us with all the information so we were thoroughly genned up. Over the meal we gave Sanji the factory manager a grilling over the past year’s performance then Paul accompanied old father Pradjit Shah to the lavatory where he gave it to him straight.
“Mr Shah, your factory is an ideal fit to mine back in the UK. We’ve got excellent links into Europe and I can see some excellent business to be shared here. How do you feel about the deal?”
“Yes, yes Paul, may I call you Paul?”
Paul nodded, after all Pradjit Shah was much older and Paul had the good grace to respect the man’s age. Besides he actually found himself liking the guy. They briefly discussed ideas for expansion as they walked alone into a beautiful private garden belonging to the restaurant while Sanji kept fretting to join them.
“Look at them. My father is too old to be plotting with that youngster. I should be there helping him. There are so many laws he could be breaking in dealing with a foreigner without advice.”
I was about to say something but Jalina intervened.
“I am quite sure Mr Shah that our lawyers will make sure the agreements and arrangements are perfectly legal. Now about these production processes. The solid state chips from China. Surely we can make those in India, after all that’s the Main reason that Mr Paul Whitworth is here; to save labour costs and increase profitability. What are your ideas about production costs and the finally assembly process? Do you think the present factory is a suitable site or would it be better to relocate to the technology park? The air is cleaner there and easier to filter. Your present factory is ideal for the mechanical production but quite smoky; the chip manufacture has to be an absolutely sterile process. Have you got any set up costs to hand?”
Sanji looked somewhat askance and blustered.
“Oh, I’ll have to have one of my floor managers look at that.”
“We want answers this afternoon Mr Shah. That’s why we’re here. Beverly and I don’t have the time to wait on you calling up your floor manager. We’re going out to your present factory later and then we expect to discuss relocation.”
I watched Sanji blanch visibly before my eyes as even his own mother wagged her head. Even the younger sisters realised Sanji was not handling the grilling at all well. If their father did not manage to pull something out of the fire, their hopes of expansion into electronics looked like going down the pan.
Their eyes blazed with fearful resentment as this unknown but exceedingly beautiful ‘slum bitch’ put their older brother through the mill' and the millstones were grinding exceeding small. The factory profit disaster had already been brutally exposed and that’s why their father had invited the British entrepreneur to a private chat. Back in the garden Paul had already made his play.
“Yes Mr Shah. I am more than keen to go into partnership with you but your last operating year has been a financial disaster. I realise now that there was a change at the helm and your son Sanji took over last January. The man operating the factory for the previous two years seemed to have a firmer grip. If you could find him and head-hunt him back, then it’s deal. I’ll provide the investment and buy the components for onward assembly and sales in Europe and the Americas while you concentrate on South East Asia and Australasia.”
“What about China Paul, that’s the fastest growing market of all.”
“We can look at that jointly. I’ve got excellent contacts there and the Chinese are keen to adopt my equipment into their truck and other commercial vehicles. If you do the private car side, I’ll do the commercial. How does that grab you?”
Pradjit could see huge potential for growth and wealth and this English man did not seem greedy. If he was prepared to share the huge private car market in China then it was a done deal. Pradjit was almost salivating at the prospects except for the one serious problem. He sucked very nervously on his tongue as he debated explaining the issues about the previous manager who had been sacked. Paul sensed his opportunity and struck.
“Tell me Mr Shah. Why was that previous manager sacked? He seemed to be doing an extremely good job. The figures can’t be denied.”
Pradjit hesitated nervously. He had heard that western people were getting more liberal about homosexuality but he was still fearful of explaining the full truth. For long seconds he debated silently then concluded it was ‘shit or bust’ time. The factory was on its last quarterly loan and in April it was a certainty that the bank would pull the plug. The last year under his second son Sanji had been abysmal. And he had his older daughter’s wedding coming up. There just wasn’t the money to pay for it.
With tears threatening to break through Pradjit finally admitted the truth. He revealed the whole sordid story and finally wagged his head as he confessed that his one-time older son was now a transsexual and probably lost in the endless slums of Kolkata. Paul listened without showing any rancour or expression until the man slumped in his chair and wagged his head despondently.
Now Paul had his chance.
“So this hidj, this, - what d’you call them?”
“Hijra. It’s a Muslim word but it’s become common throughout India and Pakistan.”
“So this hijra. He could be anywhere.”
“Uuhhm, she could be anywhere; we refer to them as she.”
Paul nodded then pulled a wry expression.
“If we found this wo, - this individual, would you take the individual back. She seems to have had her finger on the pulse and she certainly grew the business in those two short years. She was your own flesh and blood.”
Pradjit wagged his head and tears still persisted as he explained.
“But the shame. Our family would be crucified. Everybody would know!”
“But she’s got the head for it, you must admit. Her body surely does not matter.”
“How would she deal with customers? Men don’t like dealing with hijras.”
“Why. They deal with women every day.”
“Yes but this is a man’s business, engineering.”
“Yes, I know all about that Mr Shah, I’m an engineer myself and I do business every day with engineers. Some of them, especially in Russia and China, are lady engineers. Even in Europe now about ten percent of the people I deal with are lady engineers. If India’s to move with the rest of the world, then India will have to deal with it.”
“We have plenty of lady engineers but no hijra engineers.”
“Then you take the first step. This previous son of yours was obviously a bloody good manager. These figures show it.”
“But how would she manage the work force? Many men wouldn’t take orders from a hijra.”
“Sack them. Or better still let her sack them.”
Paul knew that nobody in India who had a job would dare risk losing it. Jobs were rarer that rocking horse dung. Pradjit shrugged.
“Well we’re still going to have to find him. For all I know, he could be dead and his body lying on one of the many rubbish tips in Kolkata.”
Paul felt anger boiling up as he remembered his own parent’s maltreating him.
“And doesn’t that bother you, your own son. Try asking your wife what she feels.”
“She hasn’t forgiven me. We sleep apart now. The marriage is just a sham, a face to look successful and respectable.”
“Yes. I must confess I sensed that.” Paul replied.
Can we do a provisional deal? If we can find this hijra son of yours, would you be prepared to let him run the new factory? You don’t have to accept him back into the family and nobody need know he was your son.”
Paul realised he had come perilously close to giving the game away by alluding to Jalina’s appearance. Nobody should know what she looked like. Fortunately Pradjit was so distressed he didn’t notice. He was more concerned with getting his factory and the family fortunes back on track. He nodded distractedly and called the hovering waiter over for more tea. Paul added to the order.
“Make that order three cups please or better still a large pot with some milk and sugar. I’ll have mine English style while I have to discuss arrangements with my advisor. Oh; and please, ask the lady Jalina to come and join Mr Shah and me here please."
The waiter smiled, grateful that the English gentleman had been kind enough to say ‘please’ at both requests and also entrust him with a responsible message giving him entitlement to enter the main restaurant. Every single nuance of status was savoured in a country were status and rank counted so highly amongst the less skilled and less educated. He stalked off purposefully and felt his status rise as he strode across what was normally not his ‘territory’ and conveyed the message to the stunningly beautiful Indian lady that every waiter’s eye had been feasting on.
Jalina excused herself from our table then rose with a newfound grace born of hard practice and envious eyes watched her follow the waiter as she swayed seductively across the main restaurant to join the two important gentlemen in the garden. More importantly, the English gentleman actually stood as she approached the garden table. All the staff concluded that this must be a lady of some rank. Even Pradjit’s eyes widened appreciatively as Jalina slid gracefully into the seat that the waiter had hurried to produce before scuttling off to collect the order for three teas.
Paul turned to Jalina and smiled.
“So Jalina what did you and Bev learn from Sanji?”
Jalina smiled at Paul then turned respectfully to her own father who still had not recognised her.
“Now Mr Shah, firstly I must ask what your feelings are about your business. Are you happy with recent events and developments?”
Pradjit sighed and wagged his head despondently.
“Well young lady, you’ve seen the figures, would you be happy.”
“franly Mr Shah, no.” Jalina responded with a finality that said it all. “You’ll be bankrupt by April.”
Pradjit turned to me and nodded.
“You’ve got a dammed shrewd analyst in this lady Paul. I could do with somebody like her in my factory. Where did you find her?”
Jalina and Paul exchanged knowing smiles but they managed not to burst out laughing. Paul had to admire Jalina’s restraint.
Paul continued.
“Miss Jalina will be protecting my interests until the deal is set up and we can find a suitable manager. I’d still like you to find this hijra son of yours. He would know all the wrinkles of the previous successes and he certainly knows how to run the factory. Are you prepared to give the boy another go if I find him?”
Pradjit frowned and hesitated so Paul added.
“If he can pass as a lady, there is no need for anybody to know she’s hijra.”
Pradjit’s eyes narrowed as he considered the idea.
“That could work. Only I would know.”
“And perhaps your wife.” Paul added. Jalina tells me your wife suggested that she was missing her son.”
Jalina nodded to confirm Paul’s information and explained how she found out.
“Your wife used to help you when you were starting out; keeping the books and things before you expanded and the children came along. She certainly doesn’t want to see the business fail, she still considers it as much her baby as yours. She spoke to me at length in the ladies powder room. She’s missing her oldest son.”
“Oh don’t I know it. Frankly I regret it now but I was so upset and ashamed at the time. What’s worse is that two of the other bidders have offered me a pittance for the business, just the buildings mind. They can see the writing on the wall. Lost orders and stuff.”
“Are you serious Mr Shah?” Paul pressed. “You’re saying you’re contrite.”
The old man nodded and sank his head into his hands as the tea arrived. The waiter was all attention.
“Does Mr Shah want some water?”
“No thank you,” Jalina replied as she rested her delicate hand on Pradjit’s arm.
The waiter scuttled away to stand respectfully out of earshot as Jalina nervously pressed her suit.
“Would you really employ a hijra Mr Shah? Are you that desperate?”
Pradjit looked up tearfully and nodded as Jalina swiftly took a delicate, beautiful, lace handkerchief from her clutch bag. She handed it to him as he explained.
“My daughter’s wedding. It’s all arranged but there just isn’t the money to pay for it. I’ll be the laughing stock.”
As he plunged his face into his hands again Jalina looked at Paul. Paul nodded. Jalina rested her delicate slender hand onto her father’s and landed her bombshell.
“It’s alright father, I’ll return to the business and save it; for you and my mother, - and my little sister’s wedding.”
This chapter simply describes the developing plan and Jalina's new life. Things get a bit hairy at the end.
The Rescue 6.
Characters.
Beverly Taff. Transvestite
James or Jamie Transgendered kid.
Candice Jamie’s Younger Sister.
Sergeant Williams Hate crime police officer
David Evans Knife-boy. (Son of Dewi Evans.)
Margaret Beckinsale. Jamie and Candice’s mum. (AKA Madge.)
Sandie Beverly’s best Transvestite friend.
Elizabeth Todd Beverly’s next door neighbour.
Jennifer Todd Elizabeth Todd’s daughter. A barrister. (QC.) Beverly’s best female friend through childhood.
Rastus Elizabeth Todd’s cat (Now owned by Beverly.)
Dewi Evans Bent politician and criminal.
Paul. Beverly’s transvestite Boss.
Calista Paul’s Transgendered girlfriend.
Stephanie Jenny and Beverly’s daughter.
Phoebe Paul’s Sister.
Rachel. Jennifer’s new girlfriend. (After Stephanie was born.)
Jalina Sha. Indian Engineering graduate (Now Hijra.)
Pradjit Sha Jalina’s father.
Kansha Sha Jalina’s mother
Sunita and Sundala Jalina’s younger sisters.
Pradjit Sha stiffened and Jalina tensed nervously, poised ready to whip her hand away and dive for cover if her father reacted violently. Even as a boy she had always been smaller than her father and brother and always vulnerable to unduly harsh discipline. Long childhood years of being the smallest weakest boy had instilled in her lightening reactions to the slightest nuance of threat.
She caught Paul’s eye and he nodded very, very discreetly as he clenched his fist to indicate that he would protect her if the elderly Asian man reacted untowardly. Paul was quite a powerful man. Jalina slowly sat back and waited, watching, like a cat watching a dog; wondering which way the foe was going to pounce. Paul watched her discreetly hitch up the skirt of her beautiful Sari with her other hand just in case she had to make an unseemly dash for cover. Nevertheless she bravely left her fingers elicately touching, but only just touching her father’s arm while her father’s face remained buried in his hands.
Then she felt the sinews relax and she tensed for flight before her father’s hand carefully reached and ever so gently touched her slender fingers. Paul watched like a cat watching a mouse, ready to seize Pradjit’s arms if he moved suddenly or in anger. His eyes were fixed, mesmerised on Pradjit’s hands while Jalina adjusted her legs and half rose from her chair ready to fling herself away if her father did rear up in anger. Then her father raised his tearful face from his other hand and noticed the tension; - Paul poised to seize him while the girl, - the lady, - his own son, - the hijra no less, crouched poised for flight.
Pradjit realised the stunning beautiful woman who had caused heads to turn at almost every instance at the meal table was afraid; -afraid of him, Pradjit Sha, one of the most respected men in Kolkata. The old man began to feel guilty.
‘Could anybody think so ill of him?’ He wondered. ‘Had it come to this?’
He looked first at Paul before speaking very softly, - almost in a whisper.
“I’m not going to hurt her.”
Paul, unsure of how to address the older man in such an emotional circumstance, said nothing. He had no idea of how to step across the culture gap and reach the man, how to communicate without causing offence, how to enable the man to keep his ‘face’, - his self respect. Instead he simply stared as compassionately and kindly as he could simply raising his eyebrows with a questioning expression then casting his gaze towards Jalina.
Pradjit realised his fingers were still resting on Jalina’s wrist so he turned to look at the beautiful hijra, - ‘No he thought, - the beautiful girl; for girl she was. Every male head had spun to stare at her when she first entered and nobody had realised what she really was.’ Then he realised the significance of Paul’s earlier words. ‘If she can pass as a woman,’ and he realised.
”You knew, didn’t you?”
Paul nodded and spoke equally softly.
“I’ve known for months Pradjit. I’ll not lie. Since we met at the Round Table meeting on the second occasion and then the department of commerce conference I have known about Jalina.”
“But how. How did you, a prestigious business man even get to meet with a hijra? They are the lowest of the low, lower even than the beggars.”
Paul shrugged. There was no need for Pradjit to know of Paul’s empathy with transgendered people from across far continents. Instead he stonewalled.
“I move in many different circles Pradjit. It is useful to try and reach deep into another society’s culture. I met the hijras because of some friends I brought with me. Their daughters met them and invited them back. They knew nothing of any risks to inviting a hijra into our hotel, nothing of the cultural strictures, conventions or blunders. But because the young girls had invited them, it would have been rude or crass of me to refuse them at our table. However, if you will remember, the hotel manager was very distressed so we elected to dine privately and other guests thought we were being insular and rude. We were not; we were respecting their cultural mores for it was they who would have been offended to be seen dining in the same room as a hijra.
They, the four hijras were intelligent, amusing, smart and pretty; indeed one of them was beautiful. This lady is that beautiful one, this lady was once your son.”
Pradjit stared uncomprehendingly as Paul continued.
“Now, Jitendra may to your eyes, have gone through a spectacular metamorphosis but I know better. Her brain has not altered, her wit and intelligence are all that I deem valuable and she has consistently proved me right to employ her as I have. She has been a priceless asset to advancing my endeavours. Boy or girl, man or woman, she is above all to me an engineer and a damned good one. This lady is the one, I believe ideally suited to taking your side of our partnership forward. So much so that if you refuse her that, - how shall I put this, - yes she is your oldest child so I will put it as I would see it, - her right! If you refuse Jalina her right then the deal is off."
Pradjit turned to Jalina still gently fingering the girl’s wrist. For long moments they stared at each other and the silence prompted Paul to speak again on Jalina’s behalf.
“You know she’s capable Pradjit; she proved that over the previous two years. All you and I need of this girl is her brain and that is unchanged.”
Pradjit glanced slightly guiltily in Paul’s direction before turning to Jalina again and playing with her slender fingers in his old gnarled hands. Finally he spoke, still keeping his voice soft to avoid unwanted attention from other people coming into the garden as they finished their meals.
“Can you do it girl? Could you get the business back on track?”
Jalina was ecstatic that he had called her ‘girl’ as she replied.
“I’ll try daddy, I’ll try with all my might. With Paul’s involvement, we can get the business ‘back on track’ as you say.”
She took his calloused hand in both of hers and kissed it gently, demonstrating daughterly respect and affection. Pradjit was both surprised and relieved. He had expected outright resentment and even some degree of aggression. This girl was obviously as beautiful inside as she was outside. He brought his other hand to smother hers and returned the kiss. This in itself was a remarkable sign of acceptance and Paul sensed the magnitude of the moment. As the two continued kissing each other’s hands Paul became a little presumptuous and called the waiter over again. Both father and daughter turned uncomprehendingly as Paul pushed a high denomination note into the waiter’s unexpectant top pocket. He winked at the pair as he instructed the waiter.
“Please go and invite Mrs Sha from our table to this one. Then keep everybody out of earshot for what I have to say is confidential.”
The waiter’s eyes widened with appreciation as he just caught sight of the colour and therefore the value of the note, then he scuttled of to comply. When Jalina’s mother arrived at the table all three occupants stood respectfully, Pradjit for his wife, Paul out of good manners and Jalina out of respect for her elderly mother. The old lady smiled graciously and stared wonderingly at her husband’s tears.”
“Are you all right Pradjit” His wife asked.
“Never better darling, never better.”
“So what have you been crying about? You know what the doctor said about stress, - the business, - the -.”
“Quiet Kansha darling. Sit down and calm down. I’ve got some news that you will truly enjoy.”
Kansha Sha sat down, adjusted her Sari and turned with a nod inviting Jalina to sit beside her. She then nodded to her husband who took the opposite chair while Paul waited for his ‘instruction’. The older lady looked up wonderingly.
“Are you going to stand there all evening Mr Whitworth?”
Paul smiled as he sat down saying.
“I was waiting for your permission young lady.”
Jalina’s mother grinned then squinted appraisingly at Paul.”
“You flatterer. That could get you anywhere.”
Then she noted the waiter bringing a large tea trolley with tea, coffee and cakes. He left it between Jalina and herself before starting to stretch a courtesy rope around the corner of the garden. The older lady realised there was to be something of import announced.
“Am I missing something?”
“On the contrary Mrs Sha, I believe you’re about to find something.” Paul announced softly.
“And what would that be,” she responded as she leaned expectantly into Paul’s space.
“I have learned that you actually have four children, two sons and two daughters.”
The old lady’s smile faded to uncertainty as she looked to her husband for comfort before answering nervously.
“Well, I, - I did, but unfortunately, my son, - my uuhhm oldest son, he left the family, - I uuhhm -.”
“You don’t know where he is.” Paul finished her sentence.
“I, - uuhhm, - I uuuhmm, - well no, sadly I don’t know where he is.”
So saying, Kansha Sha shot a baleful glance at her husband then cast her eyes downwards. Jalina took her cue from her father and repeated her earlier touch. A delicate two-fingered touch that offered support and understanding whilst simultaneously avoiding an invasion of her own mother’s private grief.”
“That must be very sad for you Mrs Sha.” Jalina offered very softly.
Her mother glanced at Jalina then glanced momentarily at her husband again with another angry flash. She was obviously struggling to contain her hurt and anger. Jalina decided enough was enough; she nodded discreetly to her father then smiled at Paul before declaring herself.
“D’you still not recognise me mother?”
The old lady was more alert to words than her husband and her head span sharply at the word ‘mother’. She peered deep into the hijra’s eyes before finally recognising the grey green eye colour of her long lost son. In a woman’s paler narrower face the eye colour had not been so dramatic under Jalina’s surgically enhanced eyelids and Kansha had not actually noticed them because of Jalina’s beguiling smile that had always served to distract.
Kansha continued staring disbelievingly as she studied the slender jaw with the rounder lighter curve of that jaw below and in front of Jalina’s delicate, trimmed ears. Jalina’s brow was smooth with no ridge and Kansha just could not see the person who had any right to call her mother. Then, as the dawning recognition of those eyes pierced their way into Kansha’s brain she let out a desperate sob.
“Jitendra? Is that really you?”
For an answer, Jalina folded back the sleeve of her top and turned her arm outwards to reveal the tiny horse-shoe shaped scar high up her under-arm where a sharp twig had once pierced her arm as a toddler when she had had stumbled while running in the garden. Nobody else knew of it for her mother had told nobody because she was ashamed her old mother-in-law might accuse her of being a bad mother.
In those early days, Kansha Sha had been a long way from home and Indian brides could have a hard time of it if their mothers-in-law did not approve. Such had been Kansha’s fate. She had hidden the boy’s injury for a week until the scab had hardened and nobody noticed. Only Kansha actually knew of the little scar until Jitendra had noticed it in his early teens tucked away just below the arm-pit. He and his mother had often joked that it was their secret sign. Now the scar had actually done exactly that. Raised her arm and fingered the scar precisely. Kansha stared stupidly as she recognised the distinct horse-shoe shape.
“Oh God! It is you Jitendra, but you have changed, - changed so much.”
Kansha ran her fingers along Jalina’s slender jaw and fingered her cheeks as she searched for any other form of identity. There were none. The face had completely changed. She shook her head disbelievingly.
“What did you do?”
“Surgery mother. Bangkok. If you look just under my hairline you can clearly see the still angry scars. They’re fading all ready though. A year and they’ll be almost invisible.”
Her mother searched like a mother chimp grooming it’s young as she probed Jalina’s hairline. She finally found the fresh angry red line and understood as Jalina explained.
“It’s like that all around my face but it’s cleverly hidden. He almost peeled my face off.”
“Was it painful?”
“Of course it was painful mother! It hurt like hell, - but nothing like the hell I suffered when you rejected me.”
“So where did you get the money. Not,-!”
“No of course not. I would never sink to that. I took out a bank loan.”
“How did you do that? Banks don’t throw money around. How have you persuaded them to lend.”
“I’ve got a job mummy, a proper job!”
“Where. Hijra’s don’t find jobs!”
Here Paul intervened.
“They do with me Mrs Shah. Westerners can sometimes be more tolerant and compassionate than Easterners. Jalina has been my representative here in Kolkata since we last visited. I can spot a good one when I find them. Your daughter is a good one.”
“You mean my son!”
Paul looked askance as he stared meaningfully at the stunningly beautiful figure of femininity and said no more. Kansha was forced to concede that the figure beside her was a woman.
“Alright then, my daughter!” She turned abruptly and demanded to know.
“Have you, - you know, had the other stuff done?”
“No. Not yet.” Jalina answered back boldly.
Kansha and Pradjit gasped simultaneously as Kansha squealed.
“So you’re, - you’re thinking about it.”
“Not thinking mother. I’ve decided. I started hormones almost immediately I got the job. I’ve already had an orchiectomy.”
She turned to Paul and flashed a dazzling smile that oozed femininity and gratitude. Kansha turned on Paul.
“What the hell’s an ocrhi,- an orchetomy.”
“An orchiectomy is castration Mrs Sha. Jalina has chosen to have her testicles removed.
Jalina’s mother cursed at both Paul and Jalina.
“Dammit! Do you realise what you’ve done?”
“Yes,” Jalina replied angrily, “I’ve chosen to be happy. I’m getting where I want to be.”
“And where is that.” Demanded Kansha matter-of-factly.
“On your side of the fence, the female side, the woman’s side.”
“You can never be a woman. You can never have children.”
“Thank you mother. Thanks for that.” Jalina snarled.
She would have fled the scene there and then except Paul had the sense to anticipate the hurt. He had seen Calista’s hurt when the same brutal barb had been flung at her. Gently he hugged Jalina to her and she burst into tears as she beat her fists on his chest. It was only then that Kansha finally began to get an insight as Paul demanded to know.
“Would you have said that to a genetic woman who was naturally sterile?”
Kansha was about to add another barb then bit her tongue as she realised just how much she had hurt the woman who was holding out the lifeline to the business; the business that had given her a particularly pleasant lifestyle; - the business she had slaved so hard to get up and running as a young bride. She stared fearfully as she realised she might just have brought the whole deal crashing down but she had reckoned without Pradjit, her husband. He flew at his wife metaphorically but spoke softly to emphasise his disgust with his wife.
“You cruel woman! How can you speak to our own daughter like that?”
“Huh! You might see her as a newfound daughter; all I see is a lost son. My eldest son.”
Once again Paul had to intervene.
“There have been enough harsh things said today. I think we should all calm down and drink another round of tea.”
“Bloody good idea Paul!” Pradjit hastily agreed as he reached to separate Jalina from Paul’s embrace and hug her to himself.
Jalina allowed her father to squeeze her and savoured something she hadn’t had from her father ever since she was a toddler; - a genuinely emotional hug. Eventually she settled back at the table but repositioned herself to avoid her mother’s gaze and place Paul between her and her mother.
Kansha realised she was being given ‘the cold shoulder. It gave her time to reflect and plan a strategy of recompense for she realised too late that she had seriously overstepped the mark. She started pouring the tea as a way of averting her embarrassment while Paul took out a copy of the contract as he saw it and gave it to Pradjit for consideration. Pradjit settled back into his chair to read the contract through. Jalina took some notes from her file and started to occupy her time while her father trawled through the contract that she and Paul had helped prepare.
Jalina’s notes were a bulky file containing her earlier analysis of her father’s bid for the partnership with Paul. There were several items that had bothered her but with going to Thailand for her feminisation and sorting out her modest little house in the suburb Jalina had been too busy to study the annotations she had made previously. Now she could study them at length as her father studied the contract.
As Jalina sat silent while tapping furiously away on her exciting new laptop Kansha watched and realised that her oldest son had gone forever. Unlike her husband who had almost had an epiphany and now considered Jalina to be a faithful, loving daughter, Kansha felt she had simply lost a son and nothing had been gained. The individual sitting by Paul was just a piece of flesh and blood; admittedly her flesh and blood but nothing with real potential; that was the potential to give her grand-children. That was the loss, the theft that Kansha felt and it was a woman's loss. Jalina had stolen Kansha’s right to have grand-children by her eldest son Jitendra.
For long minutes Jalina rattled away on her laptop and Kansha had to wait. Eventually she became impatient and made her excuses to join the main table where I was being entertained by the younger sisters. Sanji had left in a sulk at being excluded from the meeting between Paul and his father. The daughters kept pumping me about my assistant whom everybody in the restaurant kept staring at.
“Where did you find her?” Sunita, the oldest daughter asked.
“I didn’t. My friend’s daughters found her and introduced us to her in the grand Great eastern.”
“You mean those two young school girls who came with you last time.” Sundala, the youngest girl pressed.
I nodded as our waiter filled up our fruit juices and decided to remove my tropical white jacket. The restaurant was becoming warm and sticky as it filled up. Both girls’ eyes fell upon my thin cotton shirt or more correctly what was under my shirt. My skin tone bra. The swellings of my breasts were quite obvious and the daughters exchanged surprised looks. They had the grace to say nothing, obviously having attended etiquette lessons, they knew not to embarrass hosts but I hadn’t missed their startled glances. They excused themselves and left for the lavatory while I sat alone. I took my itinerary from my own briefcase and casually checked a few details until Kansha returned to the table. As I stood she asked where her daughters were. I told her and she frowned.
“They should know better than to leave a guest hanging around.”
“I think I rather shocked them.” I confessed.
“Oh how.”
“I forgot about my medical condition and removed my jacket.
Kansha looked at me and finally noticed my bra.
“Oh. I see. While the girls aren’t here then it might be the right time to ask. Are you like my son Jitendra?”
“Jitendra? Who’s Jitendra?” I asked.
Kansha sighed and corrected herself.
“Oh alright then, Jalina. The hijra who accompanies you two.”
“Uuuhmm, not quite. Jalina is transsexual, I am transvestite.”
“Do you and she, you know?”
“No. I have a partner, she’s back in England. We’re here on business this first fortnight. She and the girls and my daughter will be joining us and we’ll spend Christmas here in Kolkata. Paul’s sister will also be coming with his two little nieces.
“So you are not, - how do you say it, homosexual.”
I smiled as I poured Kansha some juice from the large jug and signalled to the waiter for some more.
“No Mrs Sha, I am not a homosexual but I am sympathetic to them and supportive. I empathise with your beautiful daughter Jalina.”
“That’s why you like her then, because she’s homo-“
“Let’s clear up that misunderstanding ma-am. Your daughter Jalina is not a homosexual. She is a woman born with the wrong equipment, the wrong plumbing if you will. She is now moving to address that flaw in her body. Once she transitions completely she will be as whole a woman as she ever can be. She will feel much happier and contented even though it hurts her hugely that she’ll never become a real mother. Has she mentioned to you that she might adopt. There are plenty of young girls in the orphanages around here.”
“Is Mr Whitworth attracted to her then?”
“Oh Kansha,” I smiled and wagged my head affectionately as I rested my hands in hers below the table level so that nobody could misread my behaviour. “Every red-blooded man in India is attracted to Jalina just look at her. Look at her now, look at Paul’s eyes filled up with admiration and dare I say it attraction. Even your own husband is behaving like an enamoured man towards her and that’s his own daughter. Jalina has been supremely successful and will be more so when she takes over the new factory. Be proud of your new daughter Mrs Sha. She may not be able to give you grand-children and that hurts her cruelly but she will give you everything else a daughter can and much, much more. That girl will turn the family business around.”
“She will have to work miracles. I’ve seen the books. Pradjit is desperately worried.”
“Be assured Kansha, Jalina already has a contract or two in her pocket, or should I say her purse.”
“What! Already!”
“Yes. To begin with she has our contract. Even if your husband decides not to go ahead, we intend to open a factory. Jalina will be its managing director. That’s already fixed. If your husband agrees to come in with us, Jalina will have a large slice of her own shares in the new expanded venture. Believe me Kansha, Jalina is something special when it comes to business. Take her back to your bosom as a daughter and your rewards will be almost as good as your other daughters.”
Kansha turned again to watch her ‘daughter’ laughing with Paul and her father and a tear escaped her eye. In any other scenario it would have been a mother’s dream arrangement. A beautiful daughter entertaining her future husband laughing at the table with her father. Kansha thumped her lap and suddenly stood determinedly.”
I hurried to my feet and asked where she was going.
“To do what I should have done earlier.”
I watched uncertainly as Kansha stalked back to the garden then leant over Jalina’s shoulder and kissed her unexpectedly right on the lips. I realised there had been true reconciliation. Jalina struggled out of her chair as Paul and Pradjit repeated my action earlier and hurried to their feet. Then she fell into her mother’s arms and hugged her furiously. I left them there and motioned to the waiters to bring our belongings to the garden table while I waited for Sunita and Sundala to redirect them to a larger table further inside the garden and overlooking the Hooghly.
Before they returned, Jalina asked her parents if her sisters should be told. I did not condemn them when they agreed to Keep Jalina’s identity a secret from the rest of the world. If the daughters found out then Sanji would invariably have to be told and Sanji had already shown his true nature as a jealous man. Sadly, Jalina had also discovered from the books that her younger brother was also a thief though she had not yet told her father.
The successful meal continued in the garden until midnight and then we went our separate ways, the Shas to their home, Jalina to her modest suburban house and us to our hotel. The girls were still waiting up for us when we returned and they naturally pumped us for information. Paul and I were glad of our beds. Madge joined me while Calista gave her new husband a good ‘seeing to’. Jenny and Rachel also indulged their rights.
After signing the contracts events moved forward quickly. Jalina proved to be a superb organiser and within a few days we were going around looking at different sites on government sponsored enterprise zones outside the city. The rest of our families came out over Christmas and the Shas fell in love with our children. Once again Jamie, Calista and Candice fell in with Jalina’s friends and we rarely saw them but at dinner when we had more or less taken over the smaller conference room at the Grand Eastern. Jalina, Paul and I lived in a whirlwind of activity sorting out various agreements but by the time we came to leave India things were well in hand,
Pradjit and Jalina bid us cheerio at the airport but not before organising ten year business visa’s for Paul, Phoebe and I. The Indian government were really keen to attract foreign investment as they eyed The Republic of China’s industrial growth. Paul’s small contribution was most welcome and everybody could see the growth potential. We left knowing the enterprise was in good hands with Jalina back at the helm.
We had not reckoned with a jealous son though. The sticky circumstances arose with Sanji’s discovery that he had been sidelined from running the new factory. He was furious when he learned he had been replaced by a hijra, a piece of vermin lower than an ‘untouchable’ who didn’t even appear to be connected to the family. There was one almighty row in the Sha household but Pradjit and Kansha held on to their secret about Jalina’s identity. Sadly, the tension did nothing for Pradjit’s health and to our despair he suffered a heart attack. It was not fatal but it severly restrained any further participation in the developments.
Jalina found that Sanji was moving heaven and earth through the courts to get his father declared incompetent so that he could inherit the business.
Because of his legal background and because of his contacts in the courts, he succeeded but to his frustration and rage he only then discovered that the original family business was owned jointly by his father and his mother. He only learned of this when he tried to call a board meeting and somehow use his new share holding to bulldoze his way back to the helm. The company secretary was forced to inform an incandescent Sanji that he didn’t have control of the majority shareholding. His mother held the other half, still. It was stalemate.
When Pradjit and Kansha had married, Kansha’s father had provided Kansha with a large traditional dowry with the proviso that the bulk of the money be invested in the venture they had started on their wedding day.
Unlike some Asian arranged marriages, Pradjit and Kansha’s marriage had been a true love match. Originally when Pradjit had gone against his own family’s arrangements and wishes there had been turmoil but eventually they had reconciled themselves to his union to Kansha. Kansha however had always suffered from some resentment from her mother-in-law but Pradjit’s father had grown to like her very much when she proved to be so competent at administering and helping to grow Pradjit’s business. The young couple had worked hard before the babies arrived and then Kansha, in typical Asian tradition, had to take more and more of a back seat.
Pradjit had failed to write a will but only his half of the business could ever go to probate for as soon as the rest of the family realised what Sanji was about, Kansha had immediately written a will and set about getting her husband declared competent again. Pradjit was frail and confined to a wheelchair but he was not mentally incompetent. To add to the family anger, Jalina had felt forced to tell her mother of Sanji’s theft after they learned of his duplicity.
Kansha was doubly wounded by the apparent loss of both her sons, - her oldest Jitendra to his sexuality and her youngest Sanji to his duplicity. It hurt her further to realise that she was now compelled to go with her transgendered older son.
Jitendra or as Kansha now had to think of her, Jalina had at least proven to be honest. For Kansha it felt strange to be surrounded by daughters but the real pain was realising she might never see her younger son’s children, her only grand-children, unless there was reconciliation. Furthermore Kansha had really liked Sanji’s wife and that connection was broken.
Fortunately the new enterprise was only one third controlled by the Sha family holding, Paul had invested the larger two thirds sum and then agreed to offer Jalina an option to buy half of Paul’s investment.
Jalina had naturally snapped it up for two reasons. One was to secure a genuine stake in her life’s ambitions and the second was to ward off any further machinations by her evil younger brother. Paul helped Jalina organise a bank loan to fund her option to purchase and the Indian government underwrote it. They saw the enterprise as more ‘Indian’ if it was two thirds owned by Indian citizens. The new expanded enterprise now had a three way equal split, one third the Sha family, one third Jalina and one third Paul. Sanji had been effectively neutralised.
Neutralised but not stopped.
Realising he could not regain control by any legal shenanigans, Sanji set about using more permanent means. A few weeks before the enterprise was set to open, Jalina disappeared.
On the Monday morning she failed to turn up at her new office and there were important contracts to be signed. Paul and I arrived before eight then Sanji arrived and finally his mother but of Jalina; - nothing.
By ten o’clock we were getting worried. The City representatives would be arriving soon and the contracts needed all the director’s signatures.
“Where is she?” Kansha wondered aloud.
Paul and I shrugged. We had only just arrived that Sunday night from London and we had been mildly surprised that Jalina had not met us at the airport as she usually did. We had already phoned her several times but there was no answer.
Now we were beginning to worry. We took Kansha aside and expressed our concerns but Kansha was already ahead of us. She had stepped outside the office and phoned the police. Hijras lived pretty dangerous lives and there was no knowing what might have happened to her transgendered daughter. As she held the phone to her ear she beckoned to Paul. He joined her outside the office while Sanji and I stood inside looking at them through the glass partition.
“Do you know where Jalina lives?” Kansha asked Paul.
“No. But Calista does. She’s been around to her house.”
“Phone her please and check. The police need to know.”
Paul dialled Calista who promptly gave the address, despite Jalina having once beseeched her to keep her address a secret.
Having travelled the mean streets of Kolkata slums, Calista had long ago learned of the abuse Jalina often suffered when sneaking home to her old home in the slums. It was Calista who had suggested that now she had a job and an income, she move to somewhere safer. Now Calista cursed herself for giving this advice. At least in the slums, surrounded by her own, Jalina had enjoyed a sort of massed mutual protection even if she had lived in dire squalor. Out in the suburbs even though she now shared her house with three hijra friends, she didn’t have that same crowded protection. Paul began to get a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. So did Kansha.
As Calista revealed the address, Paul repeated it to Kansha, by the time he had closed his phone Kansha had already told the police.
“D’you know where it is?” He asked her.
She nodded gravely and they called me over to Kansha’s chauffeured car. We were there in twenty minutes to find the police swarming all over the place. Bodies had been found.
Two of Jalina's friends are murdered while she and Greeta, (her third hijra friend,) are kidnapped to be sold into prostitution.
The Rescue 7
Characters.
Beverly Taff. Transvestite
James or Jamie Transgendered kid.
Candice Jamie’s Younger Sister.
Sergeant Williams Hate crime police officer
David Evans Knife-boy. (Son of Dewi Evans.)
Margaret Beckinsale. Jamie and Candice’s mum. (AKA Madge.)
Sandie Beverly’s best Transvestite friend.
Elizabeth Todd Beverly’s next door neighbour.
Jennifer Todd Elizabeth Todd’s daughter. A barrister and Beverly’s best female friend through childhood.
Rastus Elizabeth Todd’s cat (Now owned by Beverly.)
Dewi Evans Bent politician and criminal.
Paul. Beverly’s transvestite Boss.
Calista Paul’s Transgendered girlfriend.
Stephanie Jenny and Beverly’s daughter.
Phoebe Paul’s Sister.
Rachel. Jennifer’s new girlfriend. (After Stephanie was born.)
Jalina Sha. Indian Engineering graduate (Now Hijra.)
Pradjit Salina’s father.
Sanji Sha. Salina’s younger brother.
Kansha Salina’s mother
When we pulled up at the police cordon surrounding Jalain'a little house Kansha became hysterical with fear. She dashed to the most senior ranking uniform and demanded to be allowed in. The sergeant just turned and shook his head telling her to go away. The police were waiting for a forensic team and even as Paul and I emerged, a van appeared. A woman and an inspector arrived and entered the house. Kansha became demented with distress and demanded to know what the situation was in the house. The officer just ignored her until he noticed two Europeans; Paul and I step out of the car. Suddenly he was a lot more amenable. He approached us and asked us in a much more civilised manner what we wanted. Paul explained that we were the people who had reported the missing person and we were simply here to learn as soon as possible if the woman we had reported missing was amongst the corpses reputed to be lying in the house. He nodded and agreed to check.
Another inspector emerged from the house to speak to us, he did not seem unduly concerned but I supposed he saw this sort of thing probably on a daily basis in Kolkata.
“There’s nothing to worry about; both of them were hijras.”
“Just two of them.” Paul reaffirmed.
“Yes. As soon as the forensics team have gathered some evidence we’ll be removing them to the morgue. I don’t suppose anybody will miss them.”
“What d’you mean? Nobody will miss them!”
“They’re hijra’s. They’ll probably have no next of kin. Sadly the poor bastards have usually lost all contact with their families because of the shame. We’ll keep the corpses for the required time in case somebody wants to identify the bodies.
Then we’ll burn them.”
“Just like that.” Paul gasped.
“They’re hijras." he replied almost apologetically as he explained further. "We find dead ones almost every week. Usually on the rubbish heaps.”
I shuddered. The man just seemed a bit insensitive. Tactfully I asked if we could check the identities of the bodies when they were being removed from the scene. He agreed and we waited a further half hour whilst all the time Kansha became more distressed. Paul and I took turns to hug her and we persuaded her not to tell Pradjit. He already had a heart condition and until we were certain one of the bodies was Jalina it would be premature to call him.
Eventually two men emerged carrying the bodies under white sheets. As the inspector had promised, they lowered the bodies to the ground and we checked them. A wave of relief surged over us. Neither of them was Jalina but they were two of our friends. I had to step behind a wall to be sick and Paul joined me. Kansha simply rejoiced that her child was not among the dead. After confirming where the bodies were being taken we spoke to the forensics officer.
“Have you any idea how many were living here?” She asked.
“Four normally.” I replied.
“That corresponds to our findings. There’s no blood on these two so they must not have put up any resistance. There is blood on the walls in two other rooms so the other two must have fought.”
“Any other ideas? I asked. “Where they might have been taken.”
“Well they were probably alive when they left here. There’s blood in the hall that appears to have been caused by more violence. Resistance probably. They were alive when they went out through the door.”
As she said this she spotted some more drops of blood on a stone and swabbed it as she spoke.
“This is fresh so they were probably alive when they left the scene. It looks as though they were taken away in a vehicle.”
“So they may still be alive.” The forensics girl finished.
“It’s possible." The inspector added. "I saw one of their passports in the main bedroom. One of them was very pretty. She might have been kidnapped for prostitution.”
“Have you still got that passport?” I asked the forensics officer.
“The evidence officer has got it but I’ll
go and get it.”
As good as her word, she sent a uniformed junior up to the front door and he returned bearing the passport in an evidence bag. After fumbling with the pages inside the bag, we confirmed it was Jalina’s passport. Kansha gave another cry of hope tempered with despair and the scene of crimes inspector appeared from the house.
“We think the other two have been kidnapped. Were they hijras as well?”
We all nodded and he frowned.
“They must have another reason for kidnapping them. They’ve stolen money but if they killed two of them why did they take the other two?”
We repeated the Forensic officer’s hypothesis and he nodded agreement as he studied the passport again.
“Yes. That’s very possible, she’s very pretty.”
We agreed to give them statements and reinforced the importance of finding Jalina. Paul, being much more sensitive to the cultural mores of Hindu India, suggested that if they found her alive, there might be a reward. Not money but perhaps a job or two for their relatives when the new factory opened. The scenes of crime inspector nodded agreeably. He was honest enough to refuse a direct bribe of cash but the more genteel offer of a possible job for one of his unemployed kin was an offer he could, he felt, legitimately contemplate.
‘Crikey,’ Thought Paul. ‘An honest cop, well sort of.’
Paul’s ‘suggestion had the desired effect and suddenly the radio was alive with instructions and orders as we settled down to give them as much background information as we could.
It was past noon before we were finished and excuses had already been passed to the government officials. When they learned of the situation things began to hot up. By the time we got to the police station, several high powered politicians were there full of apology and remorse that an esteemed business man should have had to endure such a traumatic experience.
Paul and I took it in our strides while Calista and the girls Jamie and Candice joined us.
“So what do we do now?” I wondered.
“Well we could go and visit their friends in the slums.” Calista replied. “They’ll have a better idea of what happens to kidnapped hijras than the police, they’ll also have a better idea of where they might have been taken if they’re not dead.”
We all agreed and soon we were deep in the maze of narrow streets as Calista guided the duk-duks unerringly to Jalina’s old home in the slums. When we got there the news had already arrived and about thirty hijra’s were gathered at the house.
We were glad they weren’t crying and wailing. They were inured to sudden death but this time they had powerful figures searching on their behalf. Calista, Paul, the two girls and I started taking down suggestions and ideas from the hijras and because they knew the girls, the hijra’s were very forthcoming. They told us stuff they would never have entrusted to the police. Locations of brothels, names of pimps, names of gang leaders, all sorts of priceless information. By the evening we had a search strategy in place and an army if hijras ready to go looking.
For a pound or a dollar a slum-dog child would search the rubbish tips all night and all day! That’s just what happened. A few hundred pounds sterling brought out a whole army of knowledgeable searchers to scour the whole city. By the following dawn we were fairly certain Jalina and her remaining friend were not lying dead on some tip or in some gutter. Somebody wanted her alive for some reason. Kansha and all of us had the same suspicions.
The slum kids did not give up their search. Jalina’s story had become folk-lore amongst the poor of Kolkata and everybody hoped against hope that they would find her alive. Their persistent efforts finally brought a result.
Jalina had been kidnapped by a gang who thought they knew a good deal when they saw one. When Sanji had discreetly made it known amongst the Kolkata underworld that there would be a substantial reward for Jalina’s removal, the murder gang had initially set out to simply kill her. Then they would kill any witnesses that might be able to turn evidence. However, when they finally located her they were impressed by her stunning looks. They decided it would be just as easy to kidnap her and sell her on as a prostitute. This they had done several times so the original reason for the kidnap had been garbled between the criminals. Now nobody knew exactly who Jalina was. To them she was just one more anonymous hijra ripe for kidnap into prostitution.
Her living in a suburb enabled them to drive a large car right up to the garden gates. On the poorly lit street at the dead of night it would be easy.
If she had still been living in her slum home, they would have been unable to drive a car into the three-foot-wide lane and they would have had to attack on foot. In the crowded slum there would have been countless witnesses to a kidnap and that would probably have meant killing her as per the contract. The gang became greedy when they realised they had a very marketable commodity. They captured the hijras easily then concluded they didn’t have enough room in the car to take all of them so they chose to kidnap the two prettiest and killed the other two in front of the survivors, Jalina and Greeta. The murder of their closest friends had completely traumatised the remaining survivors but they tried to put up a token resistance. This simply elicited a brutal pair of beatings and the girls quickly succumbed in terror. They were told their fate and it seemed infinitely better than the brutal fates their friends had suffered. Both Jalina and Greeta had concluded that while there was life there was hope.
Kolkata has a myriad brothels catering for just about every taste. They exist in just about all parts of the sprawling city and they are supplied by a veritable avalanche of girls kidnapped, sold, trafficked or trapped by drugs but they nearly all have one thing in common; - they are usually forced unwillingly into the trade. Thus it was for Jalina and Greeta.
They arrived at the auction site the following day after having been beaten and abused into total submission. Even Jalina’s indomitable will could not survive the battering her beautiful body suffered. However the kidnappers, ever alert to the marketability of their ‘goods’, had avoided leaving permanent marks on their faces. If further force might be needed at a later date, that would be down to the brothel owners who had purchased them.
Both girls had been drugged so at the ‘slave market’ they appeared compliant and willing. Such was the beauty of both girls, that the bidding quickly shot up to ridiculous heights, so much that the news of the prices quickly spread beyond the auction house. Within minutes it was travelling like wildfire through the back streets and then the slums of Kolkata. The slum children were alerted and within half an hour, Paul and I were on our way.
The auctioneers had made a blunder. They had auctioned off the beautiful Greeta as the very first sale to generate interest but they had held Jalina until last, the prize that every customer was slavering over.
A high class illegal slave auction can take all day. It is not like a cattle auction where the auctioneer streaks through the bidding in an almost unintelligible stream of babbling just to get through the sheer numbers.
There is much money to be made on each trade and the auctioneer’s tactic is to get the mood of the floor excited by the visions of flesh and temptation available for sale. Traders sit in groups discussing the merits of the victims and drinking tea or sometimes even something stronger, (But not often, it pays to have a clear head at an auction.) They watch each other like hawks trying to gauge the mood and work out which are the ‘best buys’.
It shouts volumes about the effectiveness of law enforcement in Kolkata that these auctions seem to take place with impunity.
However, little did the criminals know it but this auction was going to turn out differently. The traders had already worked out ‘the best buy’. A stunning beautiful hijra could command astronomical prices in a specialist brothel. No risk of pregnancy, and if the surgery was well performed there was less risk of diseases being transmitted. If the intercourse was confined to a blind, unlubricated vagina, there was less chance of fluids being exchanged. The hijra could be made to douche after every session and if no damage had occurred to her female parts there was a reduced possibility of infection.
All these observations of course allude to the perception that the hijra in question was little more than a slab of meat, a marketable commodity that had high value until or unless it was no longer sexually attractive. Then, when it no longer ‘earned its keep’ it was disposed of by the most cost efficient method possible. Usually a swift, brutal death and the remains dumped on one of the myriad rubbish tips. Both Greeta and Jalina knew this was their eventual fate and as they stood waiting for the auctioneer’s hammer to fall neither of them could see an escape. As the auction progressed, Greeta was forced to wait at the back of the stage while the auctioneer slowly progressed the sale. She could only hope and pray that the rich brothel owner who had bought her might also buy Jalina.
Paul and I finally found the nondescript building where the auction was being held. The slum kids had always known where it stood and known what days the auctions were usually held. On other days honest markets and auctions were held trading in legitimate commodities but this was just a blind to hide the most lucrative and inhumane trade. Ordinarily the slum kids would never have told the police when an illegal auction was being held because the kids viewed the police as the worst of enemies.
Fortunately, Paul’s munificence amongst the slum kids was now legendary.
A few months earlier, Paul had organised a free school with some of the educated hijra and now hundreds of slum kids could attend a free school with a single meal at noon. Now the beneficiaries of that school and it’s vital free meal were prepare to both show and tell! That meal, although just a simple cheap stew, was also a godsend to some of the less fortunate hijra. It had become a vital survival lifeline for hundreds of homeless kids.
Once the kids had told us of the place and that there was an auction planned that day; we had quickly decided that the event was worth investigating. We contacted the police and to our delight, the same ‘scenes-of-crime’ inspector took charge of the raid. Our efforts had been rewarded; we now had ‘back-up’. One of the slum kids had crawled under the stage in the auction hall and confirmed from a photograph we showed him that Jalina was indeed still being held as last for auction.
Our original plan had been to simply burst in with a police escort but the wiser young police inspector restrained us as we sat hidden in an unmarked police van.
“Patience Mr Whitworth. I have a plan that will bear better fruit.”
Paul turned to listen uncertainly. The inspector was the very same ‘scene of crime’ officer who we had met at Jalina’s house. We seemed at last to have found an honest policeman so he sat back as the young officer explained.
“I am new to these parts and unknown. I shall go and attend the auction as a new buyer and purchase some meat for my new brothel.”
“Go on.” Paul encouraged him. “How? If they don’t know you they may not allow you in.”
“They are greedy Mr Whitworth. If they see the colour of my money they’ll sure as hell let me in. First I have to dress the part, wait a moment.”
As we sat and waited in the back of the van, the inspector quickly changed in front of us and soon resembled a typical streetwise Kolkata spiv. He turned to us and grinned as his accompanying policewoman modestly crouched behind a small screen and soon emerged as his madam. They both slipped none regulation guns into their discreet shoulder holsters and he turned to Paul and me.
“We’ll need money to bribe our way in and prove our credibility. How much are you carrying?”
“Not much but I can get some more while you’re in there.”
“Good. Give Surala here your money and go and get some more.”
“Hold on a minute. How do I know this isn’t some sort of scam?” You could just bugger off with the money and I’m left looking stupid.”
The young inspector looked wounded and pointed out.
“You have a police van and a driver sitting here and four more police vans on the other side of the block. You saw me checking out the scene of crime yesterday, surely you trust me. What more proof do you need?”
“Let me take your photographs.”
The inspector shrugged and struck a pose. He wasn’t best pleased but he admitted to understanding our fears. We were after all strangers in a foreign land.
I took out my mobile phone and took several pictures of him and the police woman Surala. The inspector continued to frown as he asked.
“Are you happy now?”
Paul exchanged a nervous look with me and shrugged. There seemed to be no other plausible plan. He did however ask exactly what the plan was.
“I want to buy Jalina and then we have hard evidence of the slave auction. Also, if she’s unharmed, she will be able to give us a mountain of evidence. We might even be able to trace the kidnapper back to whoever planned it.”
Paul and I exchanged knowing glances as we chorused.
“Sanji!”
“I didn’t say that Mr Whitworth.” The inspector smiled knowingly.
We replied with wry smiles and the plan went ahead. The only reservations the inspector had was that he wished he had more undercover backup. The auction was obviously organised by a pretty powerful organisation. The inspector also wished he had more time to get his team into place.
Two police officers met us at the bank and the bank manager confirmed them as two of the regular patrol officers for that district. We drew out a large sum and hurried back to rendezvous with the police woman. To our surprise, Kansha was also waiting for us.
“What are you doing here?” Paul asked. “It’s dangerous around here.”
“I found out what you were doing.”
“How?” Paul pressed.
“I’m not totally living in an Ivory Tower Mr Whitworth. I have lived long enough in Kolkata to have my own contacts in the lower stratas of society as well. I know this young police woman. Surala is a daughter of a friend of mine. She told me what was going on; I decided to find out for myself. She told me what you said to the inspector about running off with the money. I can vouch for this girl, she is an honest, respectable girl and here is the proof.”
Kansha nudged the policewoman’s elbow and she dug into her purse. Surala actually gave Paul a receipt for the money and smiled gratefully.
“This is good Mr Whitworth, you have given the inspector and me more time to organise more back up.”
With these words she returned back into the auction house.
Kansha scolded us for being so suspicious but there was no venom in her censure. She eventually wagged her head and smiled as we clambered into the back of the van to await events.
As we twiddled our thumbs and waited I became impatient and I turned to Paul.
“D’you think we should try and go to this auction?”
“Don’t be daft Paul. They’ll never let Europeans in.”
“They might if you adopt the same disguise as the inspector did.” Kansha interrupted.
“How? We haven’t got a madam to pretend we own a brothel.”
“What do you mean?" Kansha demanded. "I can be your madam. "You could pretend you’ve heard the buzz that this very attractive hijra is up for auction and you’d like to try and bid for her. Tell them you want to traffic her back to Europe or something.”
“It’d never work.” Paul snorted.
“If you spread some story about having a huge sum of money I’ll bet they’ll become interested. They’re just greedy thieves at heart.”
“Funny. That’s exactly what the inspector said.” Paul replied.
“To them it’s just business Mr Whitworth. Now if you need a local representative, an agent as it were. I’m your girl. She is after all my daughter.” Kansha finished.
“It might muddy the waters of the inspector’s plan.” I interjected.
“No. The news is already flying thick and fast all around this neighbourhood. One more interested bidder will only add to the party as they see it. They think they’ve got the local police sown up but this young inspector is out to make a name for himself. Surala told me this and she's riding on his coat tails. Your plan will simply make him look more plausible and it will give him time for the back-up to be put in place.”
“Ah well, in for a penny, - in for a pound.” Paul sighed. “Beverly. Try and look hard, like your my minder or summat.”
“Oh yeah, - like!”
“Come on, we can only try, besides, I’m curious to see what a real slave auction is like.”
I wagged my head and followed the pair as they strode boldly up to the door. Kansha babbled away in Hindi and waved her arm at Paul and me. The two thugs on the door looked suspiciously at us then one of them went inside. He returned with another man who spoke briefly in Hindi to Kansha then he spoke English to us.
“I want to see the colour of your money.”
“I haven’t time. I’d have to go to the bank and get it.”
“I’ll make time. I can delay the auction. If you’re back here in forty minutes with at least fifty thousand pound sterling you can join the auction.”
Paul frowned then asked.
“Will you want it in Rupees or Pounds, or dollars?”
The suit’s law sagged. He had quoted such a huge sum to frighten the European off but when the idiot bluntly agreed to such a huge sum his eyes widened with pure greed. He was so greedy he didn’t even consider the possibility of something odd going down. Paul told Kansha to ‘hold the fort’ as he repeated the trip to the bank. He returned as agreed, ridding pillion with the cash in a strong shoulder bag and accompanied by two huge minders also on motor bikes that the bank had insisted he used.
I must confess I was shocked that the bank was prepared to release the money and I was glad of the minder’s company as well. Even Kansha’s jaw sagged when Paul opened the bag and showed her the crisp new notes. He told me later that he told the bank he needed the cash to lubricate a few political palms and they believed him. Some things never change.
After we were allowed in, a buzz of nervous anticipation hummed around the hall as the news spread. A rich European was going to bid for the beauty. We sat down next to the Police inspector as we took the remaining seats at the back of the hall. We did not acknowledge each other, we simply exchanged the normal courtesies and commenced sipping our tea as the auction for the lesser beauties resumed.
It shouted volumes for the basic lawlessness of Kolkata’s crime scene that such an event could continue, - but continue it did. The auction firm obviously still believed they had the police in their pocket. They were in for a rude awakening.
This chapter deals with Jalina's rescue. Bullets fly.
The Rescue 8
Characters.
Beverly Taff. Transvestite
James or Jamie Transgendered kid.
Candice Jamie’s Younger Sister.
Sergeant Williams Hate crime police officer
David Evans Knife-boy. (Son of Dewi Evans.)
Margaret Beckinsale. Jamie and Candice’s mum. (AKA Madge.)
Sandie Beverly’s best Transvestite friend.
Elizabeth Todd Beverly’s next door neighbour.
Jennifer Todd Elizabeth Todd’s daughter. A barrister. (QC.) Beverly’s best female friend & ‘girl next door’ through childhood.
Rastus Elizabeth Todd’s cat (Now owned by Beverly.)
Dewi Evans Bent politician and criminal.
Paul. Beverly’s transvestite Boss.
Calista Paul’s Transgendered girlfriend.
Stephanie Jenny and Beverly’s daughter.
Phoebe Paul’s Sister.
Rachel. Jennifer’s new girlfriend. (After Stephanie was born.)
Jalina Sha. Indian Engineering graduate (Now Hijra.)
Pradjit Sha Salina’s father.
Sanji Sha. Salina’s younger brother.
Kansha Sha Salina’s mother
Surala Woman Police Constable. (WPC)
The auction got underway again and the bidding proceeded at its same (to my mind,) leisurely rate. A girl or hijra would be paraded on the stage. Bidders would step forward and ‘examine the merchandise’ by feeling the poor individual, checking their teeth, smelling their breath and then probing into their most intimate parts. It was obvious that some of the bidders were getting their rocks off by the inspections. Paul and I were sickened by the process but we managed to maintain our composure. We even had to step forward ourselves along with the police inspector, and make a plausible show of checking out the merchandise.
As we persevered with the revolting procedures the Police inspector pointed at us and made a loud objection. Claiming we were destroying the freedom of the other buyers to make their preferred purchases.
Paul and I couldn’t understand his tactics but I managed to see him wink as we stood facing each other with some apparent pugnacity. He demanded that the auctioneer bar us from the remainder of the auction. The auctioneer was determined to get his maximum commission from the sale of Jalina and he ruled firmly that his was an open auction with open shouts. The Europeans were entitled to bid. Paul wagged his head as we finally settled back in our seats and then Kansha pushed a grubby little note into my hand with a murmured instruction not to open it immediately. I kept my fist closed around it as I slipped into the lavatory to read it. It was from the inspector’s policewoman partner Surala.
‘My boss only fomented the incident to make both of us look more credible. By causing an argument he was made to look like some peevish Indian spiv who was watching his main chance pass him by. He looked as though he was trying to do all the other traders a favour at the auction by getting rid of you and letting them have a fairer crack of the whip. Suddenly he is perceived as ‘one of them’ and you are the intruders. This will suite his plan.’
‘So, he’s got a plan,’ I thought ruefully. ‘Hope it doesn’t involve us getting shot or something.’
I folded the note up and left the lavatory just as the last but one girl was stepping out onto the stage. She was very pretty and the bidding was brisk. It seemed that a lot of the buyers had given up any hopes of buying the beautiful Jalina so they were bidding for ‘second best’. The inspector ended up ‘buying her’ and smirked resentfully at Paul while making a pretence of chagrin that he would not be able to match Paul’s purse when it came to bidding for Jalina. The news of Paul’s huge fifty grand ‘nest-egg’ was now well known around the auction-room.
The auctioneer made a huge show of finally coming to the big prize for the evening namely Jalina. The inspector forced his ‘purchase’ to sit at his table and caused something of a commotion amongst the other buyers who normally left their purchases to wait fearfully in a coffle before they were taken away after the show was over. The buyers usually socialised after the auction was over and it would appear unseemly to socialise with whores and untouchables. Such was their perverted view of themselves that they actually considered themselves a ‘cut above’ their traumatised victims. The inspector had deliberately brought his ‘slave’ to their table to cause a commotion and in that commotion Surala slipped me another note.
I read it under the table and slipped it to Kansha who read it and passed it to Paul. Surala had written; -
‘My boss believes several of the richer whoremongers are banding together to out-bid you. If you need to, go to whatever it takes to recover Jalina. His SWAT team are in place and we have more funds to cover the purchase. If things go pear-shaped and bullets start to fly get under a table and leave it to us. Some of the other bidders are not happy about you being here.’
Paul and I exchanged knowing looks as he read the last sentence. We knew full well that we Europeans were not welcome amongst these criminals.
Eventually there was a murmur of anticipation around the hall. All eyes turned to study the lithesome beauty as she swayed seductively onto the stage and finished centre stage with her jaw set determinedly. Jalina was doing her utmost to hold herself together as the auctioneer invited prospective buyers to step up and check out the merchandise. Paul, Kansha and I deliberately stayed back until last. We were at the back of the hall anyway and the last to enter the auction so it behoved us to keep as low a profile as we could. From the well lit stage, Jalina could not recognise us in the shadows at the back of the hall.
By mutual agreement, between the Police Inspector and us, he lingered at length around Jalina until he got the opportunity to whisper a warning in her ear.
“Help is at hand girl. Don’t act surprised or excited.”
Jalina is not stupid and she realised something was afoot. She recognised us as Paul and I stepped up to the stage and I had to admire her stoicism. Once she recognised us she quickly realised the meaning of the inspector’s words. I had to admire her acting ability, after that single fleeting glance as she recognised us, she resumed her defeated posture.
The auctioneer now set to the bidding with gusto. The time for tantalising and temptation was over. It was his intention now to somehow foment an atmosphere of frenzy to panic the bidders into ridiculous bids. Paul and I sat motionless as the bidding quickly rose into the thousands and the auctioneer kept looking towards us. It hadn’t yet reached ten thousand; the figure which Paul deemed a suitable point to enter the bidding.
For a while the bidding stuck at seven thousand so Paul put a bid in just to prompt the sale. Immediately a counter bid came from across the hall for seven — five. The bidder was very canny and used his familiarity with the auctioneer to give his secret signals while maintaining his anonymity. As Paul bid again I caught the inspector’s eye and he surreptitiously tapped his watch to indicate his trap was set.
The counterbid came back so Paul upped the ante and bid ten thousand. It was met with fifteen thousand. Somebody in the hall was really moving the goalposts.
“Have you seen who’s bidding against us yet?” Paul asked me.
“No.” I replied. “It’s too dark over that side of the hall. Somebody had deliberately dimmed the lights.”
With that I felt a hand tap my arm, it was Kansha.
“I’ve got to go to the loo. Tell Paul to slow it down. Make it look as though he’s having second thoughts.” She whispered.
“What’s up?” I whispered back.
“I’ve just had the eye-eye from Surala the police woman. She's got some more info for me.”
I nodded and Kansha slipped away.
Women were held in such low esteem by the scum who attended these auctions that little attention was paid to Kansha.
She slipped into the shadows and I lost sight of her as Paul put in another bid for twenty five grand. As he lowered his hand after the auctioneer’s acknowledgement I tugged at his sleeve. He turned to me.
“Have you spotted him yet?”
“No. But Kansha’s up to something with the police woman. Slow down your bid. Look as though you and I are arguing or something. The police might have a message for us.”
The anonymous bidder upped to thirty thousand and Paul did as I suggested. In truth we really were a bit apprehensive; the previous ‘slave’ had only gone for three thousand. Jalina’s sale had entered a different league. We chatted at length and fell into discussion, so much so that the auctioneer prompted the bidding.
“Are there any more bids?”
Paul waved his mobile phone and made a pretence of organising some more funds in case his known fifty thousand wasn’t enough even when supplemented by the inspectors contribution. The auctioneer recognised Paul’s ploy and hesitated. Paul turned to me and whispered urgently.
“After my fifty and the inspectors ten we’re out of funds unless the auctioneer accepts a check.”
“Ask him?” I replied.
“Can’t do that, it might reveal my hand.”
“I’ll take him a note asking him. He can only say yes or no.”
Paul frowned and quickly opened his briefcase to pull out a noterbook and pen. Several eyes spotted the money in the case and another murmur went around the hall. Paul had just reinforced his credentials as a very serious bidder but now the whole hall knew that there was ready cash floating around, easy pickings for a robbery. Quickly Paul scribbled a note and put it in my hand with instructions to take it to the dias. I objected vociferously.
“I can’t leave you alone, here at the back of the hall. You could get robbed if you stay here. People have noticed the money. Follow me to the front of the hall and make a big kerfuffle about it. The more obvious we are, the less chance of us getting mugged right here inside the hall.”
Paul could see my logic so he stuck to me like glue and his two minders from the bank backed him up. The four of us eased our way to the front and in passing the Inspector quietly joined us. His lady constable had just returned from the lavatory where she had spoken to Kansha about the police intelligence. As we approached the front and stood under the bright light, Kansha spotted us and rejoined us. I reached up and passed Paul’s note to the auctioneer then I turned to meet Kansha. She told me the news and I relayed it to Paul in an even softer whisper.
“She’s just spoken to the police woman who’s spoken to the inspector’s sergeant. They think they’ve spotted who the other bidder is. He’s a pretty nasty piece of work and he’s got his cronies located around the hall. There could be a hit if he doesn’t like the result. The police want to know how far are you prepared to go. Their plan includes you winning the bidding.”
Paul shrugged and looked up as the auctioneer nodded affirmation. He would accept a cheque! Both Paul and I were slightly amazed. I mean by any stretch of the imagination, this was, after all; an illegal auction.
‘Just how corrupt could Kolkata be?’ I wondered.
Paul obviously wondered the same thing as he looked at me and shrugged. We could go all the way now. The sky was the limit. He immediately put in a bid for forty thousand. The auctioneer’s eyes widened with greed as he turned immediately to the anonymous bidder. There was a moment’s hesitation at the back of the hall and some activity as a small group of men shrank below the heads in the crowd and fell into discussion. This was exactly what the police had been waiting for. Now they had a fix on the big fish, the leaders amongst the bidders, the cabal who were ganging up against Paul. This in itself was not illegal but it gave the police extra ammunition when they sprung their trap. They now had visual identities and a couple of the inspector’s spies were busy pretending to be on their mobile phones whilst actually videoing the group.
For now the inspector bided his time as the delayed response came back, - fifty thousand!
Paul immediately bid sixty and we settled back expecting some sparks to start flying soon.
We sensed the tension in the hall increase as the dispute within the group (who had now betrayed their identity by their own internal wrangling,) - spilled over into audible debate. We learned later that ‘Mr Big’s ego had taken over and he was determined to show his power and status by bidding for the beauty.
The contention was raised by more level heads amidst his circle of cronies who argued, correctly that if they got stuck with the hijra they would never make their money out of it. There was no way a hijra prostitute would ever recover the sort of sum being bid. They were not prepared to throw good money after bad by massaging Mr Big’s ego.
The sparks were not long coming. Mr Big bid seventy thousand and one of his coterie finally fell out.
There was a loud argument followed by a curse and the dissenter stalked out. We couldn’t understand his Hindu but we didn’t need to. They were obviously at loggerheads. Paul glanced slyly at me and we deliberately hesitated before raising our bid to give the brothel-owning cartel time to fall further apart. I couldn’t help reflecting with a smile that there was no honour among thieves.
As the tumult at the back of the hall grew to a crescendo the Inspector slowly ‘drifted’ through the punters as they thinned out nervously. Those who had not been successful at auction were beginning to sidle away as they sensed some sort of trouble brewing. This was not the usual auction they had been used to with sensible sums being bid. The Inspector instructed his SWAT team to let them pass. They were mostly small fry and indeed, had not actually broken any laws if they had not actually ‘purchased’ a hijra sex slave. The successful buyers had to stay to collect their property and pay the auctioneer. As the hall thinned out I began to understand the inspector’s strategy and I was also beginning to sense the dangerous mood.
Finally, Paul bid eighty thousand and then the shit really hit the fan.
The cabal finally fell apart as the maths became clearly apparent to the rest of the group. They could never make a profit if they got stuck with the bitch.
They turned as one and fell to arguing with ‘Mr Big’ who gave a loud curse and conceded defeat. The auctioneer sensed the limit had been reached, (it would have been impossible not to,) and he raised his hammer for the first time.
Mr Big gave a loud curse and bid ninety thousand. Paul immediately topped it and the thug screamed his rage. He pulled out a pistol and pointed it at Paul. There was a tremendous bang and the bullet split my ear before it perforated Paul’s upper outer arm and finally smashed into the auctioneer’s dais. I squealed, Paul screamed, the auctioneer cursed and the inspector blew hard on his whistle. Plain clothed police appeared at every door with their guns levelled at the crowd. Nobody was going anywhere.
A second bullet crashed into the woodwork at the back of the stage and showered Jalina with wooden splinters and broken plaster. It was Jalina’s turn to scream but her cry was drowned out by a fusillade of shots all aimed at Mr Big. Immediately several dozen’s of pairs of hands shot skywards as everybody in the hall got the message. Whoever had surrounded the auction hall meant business.
There was a loud bellow of ‘Police!’ on a bull horn and order was restored. The inspector’s SWAT team had been well trained and they all knew each other well. Despite his being in the middle of the crowd and dressed like a Spiv from the Kalabangan slums his men instantly recognised him as ‘The Governor!’
The arrests followed immediately and Jalina dashed across the stage to grab her friend Ganshai. Kansha and I scrambled up the steps onto the stage and joined them as they gave a wail of relief. Jalina pointed to my dripping ear and blood stained shirt. Kansha turned to look at me and gave a shocked curse as she noticed my wound for the first time. She pulled a handkerchief from her bag and scolded me for being so silly.
“Just look at you. You’re a frightful mess. There's blood coming from your ear and all down your shirt. You should be with Paul getting your wound seen to. I’ll look after my daughter.”
With these words uttered in the heat of the moment, I realised that Kansha was now truly reconciled to Jalina’s condition. There was no need for me to stand by the crying hijra as her mother cuddled both Jalina and her erstwhile friend. With some relief I stumbled off the stage and ended up sitting on the stage steps as a medic treated my ear. Paul sat on one of the dining tables getting his arm seen to.
I had to admire the Inspector’s preparations; he even had a paramedic team standing by. As I winced while the nurse disinfected my wound the inspector came over.
“Job done Beverly, you and Paul played your parts perfectly but next time; discuss your part with me first.”
I glanced at him ruefully as I touched my ear gingerly and grinned.
“Yeah Inspector, I’ll remember. This’ll remind me every time we meet.”
He chuckled as he went back to check Paul’s wounded arm then he started organising the arrests. This was for him and Surala the most rewarding part.
I couldn’t hide my disgust when the auctioneer was dragged past protesting his innocence and saying that his was an honest auction house. The shit-head actually thought that because he was honest about the running of the auction and the open shouts with no floor cheating his auctions were honest. He had absolutely no concern at all for the tragic commodity he was dealing in, namely sex slaves! I actually saw the inspector thump him really hard to shut him up. Then Surala joined us.
“Any of you ready to give statements?”
“Can we give them in the morning? It’s getting late.”
“I’d prefer them now. While your memories are fresh.”
“The paramedic says I’ve got to go to hospital. The bullet nicked the bone.” Paul advised her.
Surala shrugged and turned to me, Kansha and Jalina.
“You first then Jalina. Right from when they kidnapped you.”
“We’ll be here till the morning.” Jalina protested.
“Alright then. A skeleton to hang the story on tomorrow. Events, times and places mainly. A history for us to organise our forensic research.”
Jalina sighed and gave Surala a long list of events with the occasional comment. I did the same, as did Kansha and we returned to the hotel with our money intact. The real business of statements and reports would start on the morrow.
Soon after breakfast the police cars arrived at the hotel to ferry us down to the police station for full statements then drive us to the previous locations where incidents had happened. This took two whole days and it was extremely traumatic for Jalina and her remaining surviving friend Ganshai, for they also had to identify their two dead companions. Kansha and I accompanied Jalina and her friend and many tears were shed as we returned to locations where the two beautiful hijras had suffered beatings and assaults.
The more Kansha and I heard and saw, the angrier we became and the more determined we became to help Jalina in her plan to provide some work for some of the oppressed hijras.
Each night we visited Paul in the hospital as he recovered from the surgery on his arm. After four days our lives returned to some semblance of normality and we reorganised our schedule.
It was on the fifth day as we discussed Sanji’s probable part in the kidnapping that we gave the police a major breakthrough.
More correctly, Jalina gave the police the crucial evidence. Jalina and her friend were staying with us at the hotel now for their own safety until the trial. We were sat at the breakfast table discussing past events and I raised the issue of proving Sanji’s complicity.
“I’m pretty sure he’s tied up in it because he hates you Jalina.”
“But how can we prove it?” Paul wondered as he gently massaged his wounded arm.
“Well,” I frowned, “he didn’t seem to turn a hair that morning in Jalina’s office when the report of your kidnap came through. In fact he just wasn’t bothered. When we three took off in Kansha’s car he simply stayed at the office.”
“He had no need to. He doesn’t know I’m his sister.” Jalina shrugged. “He never did care for other people.”
We talked at length around the table until Jalina called a halt.
“I think I’ve heard enough. The whole issue is getting to me and upsetting me.
We digested Jalina’s words as her mobile rang. It was the new factory. Jalina listened to the message as her face darkened. Finally she snapped her mobile shut and spoke.
“Speak of the devil! That was my brother. He’s in my office now pretending to be in charge. I’d better get back there before he fouls up the whole operation.”
I looked at her and wondered. Her office would have all sorts of reminders of events leading up to her kidnap but Jalina seemed to be recovering faster than any of us. There was no doubt about it. Jalina was a tough cookie but then she must have had indomitable courage to come out as hijra. She stood up as she sipped her last cup of tea and turned to face us.
“Well are we off then? I’ve got that office to face and there’ll be a mountain of stuff for us to get through. The work doesn’t stop just because I was kidnapped.”
We exchanged glances and quickly finished our breakfasts. Jalina was one tough cookie.
We arrived at her office to find Sanji occupying Jalina’s desk and lording it over a new girl that Jalina did not recognise. Sanji had taken her on to replace the girls who had been murdered. To say Jalina was annoyed put it mildly. The familiar red spots appeared on her cheeks as she ‘ever so quietly’ suggested that Sanji vacate her chair. For a moment he seemed to ignore her then as she leant across his view and blocked his vision of the paperwork he had been addressing he finally got the point.
“I thought you might have stayed off a little longer, - to recover from your ordeal.” He observed.
Jalina said nothing but continued leaning obstructively across his hands until he was forced to acknowledge her intentions. He frowned and slid Jalina’s executive chair back to evacuate it. Jalina looked up at him as she quickly occupied it and looked daggers at her arrogant brother. Finally she spoke.
“I hope you haven’t made any alterations around here apart from this young lady.”
“There were some papers that needed signing.” He offered lamely.
“You could have waited or called Mummy.”
Even as she said it Jalina cursed. She had been addressing Kansha as ‘Mummy’ throughout her recovery at the hotel and she had used it automatically.
Sanji squinted at her but fortunately Jalina recovered herself.
“Your mummy that is, Kansha.”
“Sanji picked up on a completely different tack.”
“Who do you think you are referring to my mother as ‘Mummy’? I’m not her mummy’s boy and you should show her respect. She’s Mrs Sha to you.”
Jalina flashed an angry glare at Sanji but let his remark pass.
“Thank you Sanji. I’ll remember that in future. Now if you don’t mind, Mr Whitworth and I have business to discuss.”
“I should be attending then. I’m still a shareholder.”
“And I’m the managing director, the chief executive so, - leave us.”
Sanji cursed and beckoned to the girl to accompany him. Jalina motioned to her to stay. The girl now knew who the real boss was. She poised to leave but Jalina spoke.
“Stay here. I need to speak to you. What’s your name?”
“Prati Miss.” The girl was frightened.
Jalina rolled the name ‘Prati’ softly around her tongue as Paul and I waited. We fully expected Jalina to dismiss her out of hand for she had only been employed by Sanji since Monday. After all Jalina had a perfectly competent secretary in Ganshai her last remaining hijra companion. Prati stood petrified as she waited for ‘the axe’ to fall. Jalina looked up at her.
“So Prati. What qualifications have you?”
“I, - I graduated out of Kolkata university last year Ma-am. English and History. A two, - one Ma-am. I have my certificate in my ca,-”
“Oh. Upper second eh.” Jalina interrupted. “Hmm; so you’re not just a pretty face then; something Sanji fancied, - eye candy to feed his ego.”
The girl flashed a fleeting look of resentment then stared hard at the floor to hide her anger. Paul and I had seen that mood a hundred times, usually in the eyes of an intelligent girl who was only being judged for her good looks. In India this circumstance was even more prevalent than in Europe. Jalina also knew it for if anybody had walked such a walk, it was Jalina.
Being sold as a prostitute because of her beauty, - ‘Could it get any worse?’ I asked myself.
Jalina studied Prati for a few more seconds as a tense silence descended then she spoke to the girl in Hindi. (Here I translate for English readers.)
“So what do you think of that Idiot Sanji?”
Prati remained silent wondering if some sort of trap was being set.
“Come on. Out with it girl, what d’you think of him?”
“He, - he, - he’s always pestering me.” Prati stuttered with terror.
Jalina nodded sagely.
“Yes. That figures. Can you type girl?”
“Yes Ma-am and I do shorthand.”
“Oh, so you’re doubly useful, good. Maybe I can find some use for you. We will be taking on many more staff shortly and I could never trust that fool Sanji as a personnel officer. His brain’s too close to his dick.”
Prati let out a snort of suppressed, embarrassed laughter. She couldn’t help herself. Jalina’s remark had both shocked and amused her. Prati came from a poor but respectable family and she had worked her way into college on a hard earned scholarship. She had rarely heard a woman express herself so vulgarly.
She raised her eyes respectfully to find Jalina’s eyes twinkling with amusement as she explained.
“You’ll hear worse language that that in here young lady. I deal with men in this office and European men at that.”
Prati’s brow wrinkled.
“Are they worse than Indian men Ma-am?”
“Sometimes, but these two are perfect beauties. Mr Whitworth is the other major shareholder in this new venture. He owns one third, I own one third and the Sha family own the remaining third between them. Mr Whitworth and Mr Taff are gentlemen and they are scrupulously fair. They both know I am hijra but they treat me with the utmost respect. They are good men. India could do with a few more like these two.”
“Yes Ma-am. Would they like a cup of tea?”
“You will not be employed to make tea. I usually make my own; however it will be your job to keep my stock replenished. You’re main job will be as my secretary. My hijra friend Ganshai acts as my girl Friday. You will share an office with her. Have you any objections to working with a hijra?”
Prati hesitated for a moment which demonstrated her honesty. She came from a modest rural village further up the Hooghly and the stories she had heard about Kolkata’s hijra had been nearly all derogatory. Jalina had been the very first hijra she had ever knowingly met. That in itself had been an unnerving experience at first. Then Prati considered her first encounter and decided it had been a not unpleasant one. Indeed had she not known of it beforehand thanks to Sanji’s cruel tongue, she would have truly mistaken Jalina for a lady and an attractive one at that! Prati considered her first few minutes in the presence of a hijra and decided she had not felt in the least bit threatened or revolted. Indeed the experience had been positively pleasant compared with the lascivious Sanji’s constant attempts to sexually exploit Prati’s vulnerable position.
If this Ganshai was as feminine and seemingly fair as Jalina, Prati felt she could see her way to working with her. She replied cautiously.
“I think I can do it Ma-am. I will give it a try.”
“Well that’s an honest answer. Very well girl go and organise yourself a desk in the outer office and don’t take the space by the window. I don’t know who rearranged the furniture in there but Ganshai's desk used to be there.”
Prati smiled gratefully, said ‘thank you Ma-am and retreated into her new office. Jalina turned to us and resumed speaking English.
“Well that’s the issue of my secretary sorted. So Paul shall we get down to business?”
We spent the rest of the day discussing plans and arrangements as Jalina addressed the mountain of paperwork that had accumulated on her desk in the few days she had been gone. She tut-tutted many times as she opened a simple letter and swore.
“Just look at this. A simple letter inquiring about supplying lighting and that lazy arsehole of a brother cannot even sort that. Look there are several more bids by reputable firms all around Kolkata. He hasn’t even begun to compare the bids. He’s a lazy twat! How could he possibly be trusted with an executive position? I think it would benefit us all if he went back into law.”
“It would be better still if we could connect him to the kidnaps.” I observed.
Paul and Jalina both nodded thoughtfully.
We finished the day happy with the ground we’d covered and we retired to our hotel.
This chapter deals with the initial indictment of Sanji for his part in his hijra sister Jalina's kidnap and it addresses the first part of Jalina's eventual reconciliation with her younger sisters.
The rescue 9.
Characters.
Beverly Taff. Transvestite
James or Jamie Transgendered kid.
Candice Jamie’s Younger Sister.
Sergeant Williams Hate crime police officer
David Evans Knife-boy. (Son of Dewi Evans.)
Margaret Beckinsale. Jamie and Candice’s mum. (AKA Madge.)
Sandie Beverly’s best Transvestite friend.
Elizabeth Todd Beverly’s next door neighbour.
Jennifer Todd Elizabeth Todd’s daughter. A barrister. (QC.) Beverly’s best female friend & ‘girl next door’ through childhood.
Rastus Elizabeth Todd’s cat (Now owned by Beverly.)
Dewi Evans Bent politician and criminal.
Paul. Beverly’s transvestite Boss.
Calista Paul’s Transgendered girlfriend.
Stephanie Jenny and Beverly’s daughter.
Phoebe Paul’s Sister.
Rachel. Jennifer’s new girlfriend. (After Stephanie was born.)
Jalina Sha. Indian Engineering graduate (Now Hijra.)
Pradjit Sha Jalina’s father.
Sanji Sha. Jalina’s younger brother.
Kansha Sha Jalina’s mother
Surala Woman Police Constable. (WPC)
Ganshai Jalina’s remaining hijra friend.
Miati and Geeta. Jalina’s younger sisters.
At breakfast the next morning Ganshai rejoined us. She had lived a somewhat happier life as a hijra than her friends for her family had been compassionate about her choices. Ganshai wanted to transition and her father had been understanding about it. Sadly she just didn’t have the money. Now after her release from the slave auction she had a story to sell to the papers and she hoped to get enough to pay for her surgery. She had spent the first night with us at the hotel and then gone to see her parents and reassure them she was alright. She was here to check with Jalina if she was happy with her name being included in Ganshai’s story. Once again Jalina proved how tough she could be.
“Publish and be damned darling. I’ll back you all the way. I don’t need the money but if some good can come to you from this story then tell it all. By the way, are you ready to return to work?”
Ganshai nodded and we fell to eating breakfast as Ganshai joined us at the table. Later as Jalina and Paul went to see some local government agencies to rearrange our meetings, Ganshai and I went to the new factory. There Ganshai met Prati for the first time. I introduced them on Jalina’s behalf then left Prati to sort out mail while Ganshai accompanied me around the empty factory. As Paul’s production advisor for the new venture I would be liaisoning closely with Jalina’s team when she assembled it. Ganshai and I chatted amiably as we worked out the provisional layout of the factory floor. A lot of the new assembly line had arrived but awaited installation. We also had to check the manifests to see how far we were along the road to ‘start-up’.
The building was silent as Ganshai and I worked our way alone around the packing cases.
Suddenly we heard shouting coming from Prati’s office. As one we turned and rushed up the iron steps to see what was wrong. Sanji had turned up and he was bellowing at a cowering Prati who had shrunk into the corner. It was all in Hindi so I could not understand it but Ganshai did and she screamed at Sanji in a rage. Sanji turned to strike Ganshai down but he had reckoned without me. As I appeared from behind Ganshai he suddenly paled and shrank back. He was outnumbered now by two ‘women’ and a man. I could see that Sanji wasn’t about to listen to anything the girls said; he was too macho and chauvinist for that. Now however there was a man in the room and he would have to account for his behaviour and it would have to be in English.
“If you touch me, I’ll sue you for assault.”
“What about your assault on Prati?” I riposted.
“Huh. The word of a reputable lawyer against an office girl.”
“And her office partner and an English consultant engineer.” I added.
“You weren’t here when the trouble started. You are only a partial witness.” He smirked.
“Get out you bloody thug! You’re not fit to clean these girl’s shoes.”
His back stiffened at the insult but he knew better than to try and tangle with three people. He stalked through the door and slammed it so hard the large pane of glass cracked.”
“That should be safety glass.” I remarked for some peculiar reason.
Both girls chuckled at my unwitting transferral. We supposed it was because I was genuinely nervous. Sanji was a big man but a coward.
Ganshai settled into her desk by the window and I made to pour myself a cup of tea to steady my nerves. Prati bolted from her corner and grabbed the pot from my hand.
“I’ll do that!”
“There’s no need, I’ll,-“
“No. Let me.”
I shrugged and turned to Ganshai who smiled.
“It’s different in India Beverly. We women like to spoil our men.”
“What; even brutes like that oaf?” I thumbed towards the door that Sanji had broken.
“Well, only if they’re gentlemen.” Prati added as she remembered how I liked my tea and held out the delicate bone china cup and saucer.
I accepted it graciously and with a smile. Prati smiled back then handed a cup to Ganshai and produced a delicate plate of biscuits. I noted Ganshai’s deep smile of gratitude. By serving Ganshai with the tea and the biscuits, Prati had demonstrated that she was prepared to accept Ganshai, a hijra, deemed by many to be lower than an untouchable, a ‘detestable’.
I settled my butt against the window sill and savoured my tea and biscuit as the two girls fell to chatting in English for my benefit. There are few better ways of demonstrating fraternity or sorority than by breaking bread. Prati turned to me again.
“Thank you for that. Now at least somebody knows what he’s like.”
“Oh we know what he’s like Prati. Jalina hates him. But he’s still a shareholder and he has a right to sit on the board, at least until the next general shareholder’s meeting and we can formally vote him off. It’s just a pity we haven’t got more evidence of his assault. We arrived a bit too late.”
At that Ganshai smiled and motioned to both of us.
“Perhaps we have.”
She had been reconnecting her computer and it was now booted up. With a graceful hand movement she invited us to look at her screen. Curiosity overtook both Prati and I as we leaned forward over Ganshai’s shoulders.
“Is that the office?” I gasped.
“Well it’s Jalina’s office. She was organising the installation of security cameras before we were kidnapped. But look, the door from her office to ours is open. When the door is open, the camera can see quite a bit of our office. As you know, Jalina’s been out all morning with Paul at the meetings while Prati’s been back and forth a lot of times. She’s left the door jammed open because her hands were full. Every time she enters with mail or those files and leaves them on Jalina’s desk, she activates the sensors. The door has been open all morning. Look Prati had to wedge it open.”
As the video ran we all saw Sanji entering Prati’s outer office and when Prati tried to stop him entering Jalina’s inner office. He pushed her violently onto the floor in the corner and started threatening her. That’s when the shouting had attracted us. The last image was of Ganshai rushing in then the screen went dead.
“Where’s the rest of it?” I wondered.
Ganshai tapped a few buttons and sighed.
“That’s it I’m afraid. The memory stick is full. Still we’ve got enough evidence I think.”
“Yeah. Pity you haven’t got the bit with him arguing with me, but still we’ve got him assaulting Prati. That’s a plus. How long does this memory stick last?”
Ganshai shrugged. (It was a very seductive movement in a sari.)
“Oh I’m not sure. They were only installed on the Friday afternoon before the kidnap. Jalina wasn’t here and I forgot to mention it at home on Friday evening. Before I could tell her the cameras were up and running, we were kidnapped. The guy who installed them said the memory banks should last about two weeks of normal use. But there’s been a lot of to-ing and fro-ing what with the police and everything since the kidnap. They were here all weekend checking Jalina’s desk diary and testing phone numbers etc.”
“That’s a huge memory.” I observed.
Ganshai nodded as she continued.
“Yes, they’re big memory sticks about two hundred gigabits or something and they’re piggy-backed. The camera only activates when somebody is in Jalina’s office but it remains on for a fixed period after the office is vacated.”
“I gasped as the significance hit me.”
“So this camera’s been working since before the kidnap.”
“Well; - yes, - I suppose it has. Hold on! Do you,-“
Ganshai’s eyes widened as she realised exactly what I was thinking.
I stepped into Jalina’s office and looked around for the camera. Despite checking it out, I failed to spot the camera then Ganshai showed the tiny lense tucked away like a little stud on top of the tall book case. It was absolutely tiny.
“Jee’ze, it's almost invisiblke!” I wondered. “That’s nifty. Lets run it back from day one.”
Ganshai scampered back to her computer (Gracefully I might add.) and busied herself at the keyboard. Soon we had what I was looking for, a full recording of Sanji’s term of residence during Jalina’s absence right from the moment when we had learned of Jalina’s kidnap. It was but minutes after we left to find out what had happened at Jalina’s house and Sanji was already lounging in Jalina’s chair. In less than an hour, his mobile phone rang.
“Yes. You’ve got them!” —
Inaudible voice on phone.
“You stupid fools. I told you to get rid of them. Kill them!”-
Inaudible voice again.
“No. I won’t agree to that. Kill them both. Yes! Including Salina, she’s a piece of vermin, a bloody hijra. Bloody get rid of them. Kill them.”
Inaudible voice again. And Sanji screams angrily.
“NO! No, you stupid bastards all of them. While that piece of shit is alive, she’s a bloody threat. Kill them all!”
Inaudible voice again. Sanji gets even angrier.
“What! A fucking auction! You stupid cunts. I told you to kill her not fucking sell her. She’s not fit to run this outfit. She just a clever hijra bitch who’s conned my mother and father.
The inaudible voice became more agitated then the line closed. Sanji became incandescent with rage and made several phone calls referring to Jalina. Then Sanji left fuming and the next time the camera was activated it was the police checking up. They had not spotted the camera so the evidence was perfectly preserved. I was reaching for my phone but Prati had anticipated me. She held out her own phone with a victorious smile as she whispered.
“You’ve got him!”
The speaker on Prati’s phone interrupted my thoughts.
“Hello. Hello. Jalina here, who’s that?”
“It’s me Jalina, Beverly. I’ve got good news.
“Go on.”
“You didn’t know the surveillance cameras had been installed did you?”
“No. I’ve been a bit preoccupied as you well know.”
“Well they have, in fact they were, last Friday, before you were kidnapped.”
“Why wasn’t I told?”
“Well Ganshai was a little pre-occupied as well if you remember.”
“Shit! Of course. So what are you telling me?”
“I’ll let Ganshai have the pleasure of telling you. She found it.”
And Ganshai did, and she savoured the celebrations on the other end of Prati’s phone.
“Job done!” I thought.
And it was. We made several ‘back-ups’ of the evidence before returning to the hotel where an agitated Jalina greeted us. After each running a separate copy on their laptops Paul and Jalina let our whoops of joy as Jalina phoned her mother to warn her.
Sanji was arrested that same evening, from his own house and in front of the neighbours. I felt sorry for his wife for she was embarrassed and hurt about the whole affair. She couldn’t face her mother-in-law. I was busy organising the production plans and it was a couple of months later when I had a long chat with Kansha. Paul had gone back to England and I was staying back to supervise commissioning. That particular evening I was alone with Kansha, I had been invited to tea.
I took the opportunity to talk about Sanji’s wife and her fears.
“Don’t go hard on her. She’s not responsible for Sanji’s evil. Look after her and her children. She is very frightened and alone at the moment.”
Kansha looked at me and smiled.
“What sort of monster d’you think I am Bev? Those are my grand-children we’re talking about. I just wish she would come and speak to me.”
“She’s frightened Kansha and worried that Sanji’s behaviour will be projected onto her. I’ll speak with her and tell her you are aching to see her and the grandchildren.”
I smiled and stood up to kiss Kansha’s forehead.
“Tell her to come as soon as she’s able.”
“Yes. I thought that’s what you’d say. I was only checking.”
Kansha smiled tearfully as she squeezed my fingers.
“You’re a good man Beverly. Will you be staying to help Jalina now that Paul’s returned to England?”
“Only as long as it takes to set up the production. You’re hijra child is a competent woman you know.”
“I only wish now that she had given me grandchildren before crossing over.”
I smiled thoughtfully, wondering what I could say that was both kind and constructive. Then I had it.
“Let Jalina have a hand in rearing Sanji’s boys. He’s going to be in prison for a long time.”
Kansha frowned uncertainly.
“But that would mean all the family knowing that Jalina is Jitendra.”
“Not quite Kansha. It would mean the rest of the family knowing that Jalina was Jitendra. Think of it as a new chapter in your children’s fortunes.”
“It will mean big changes for my family. My daughter Miati. Her fiancée might renounce her if they learn she has a hijra for a brother. Her fiancée is from a very respectable family.”
“Is that family so respectable that it knows of no compassion? I would not want my grandchildren to be the children of such a father or such a family.”
“But the man must be told. The contract of marriage, -“
“D’you want me to sound him out. Perhaps if the news came to him from somebody of a different culture, a European.”
“Will you be tactful?” Kansha begged.
I smiled. I was now an old hand at sounding out homophobes and transphobes.
“I will know his opinion even before he knows what I am asking.”
A small tear escaped Kansha’s eye as her teacup rattled in the saucer held by a nervous hand. She looked at me quizzically.
“Tell me Beverly; are all modern Europeans like you? You and Paul have been so, so supportive and kind to my oldest child.”
I debated revealing my true self to Kansha. But first it behoved me to check out Kansha’s true feelings towards all transgendered people, not just her own child. I asked her about her feelings towards Jalina’s friend Ganshai. Kansha frowned slightly but more or less came up positive.
“Well she’s been with Jalina through thick and thin so I have to admire her loyalty and friendship.”
“Yes Kansha, they are like glue now. If you had a friend as loyal to you as Ganshai is to Jalina would you stick with her to the death?”
“Do they, - you know, - do they sleep together? Do they?”
“I don’t know Kansha. Would it matter if they did?”
Kansha hesitated. This was often the true test of enlightenment for heterosexual people. Picturing a gay or transgendered couple in their most intimate, physical moments. Nothing salacious or offensive, nothing revolting just that deep, deep intimacy, the physical intimacy. If a heterosexual person could handle these images and yet still remain supportive and friendly then there was a real chance of an old friendship standing the test of revelation.
In Kansha’s caser however, it was even more poignant, she was still Jalina’s mother and daily getting closer to her newly won daughter. She looked at me and started to weep softly.
I don’t know Beverly. I’ve lost both my sons now. I so want my family back. Do you think Jalina would object to her sisters finding out about her?”
Jalina and I had spoken about this issue several times. We met daily at the factory and as we spent time on the factory floor going over the endless decisions about the layout and production process we often fell to chatting about her situation. Jalina could talk to me because she had learned of my transvestism.
I had once removed my outer shirt as I leant over an assembly ‘robot’ and I had forgotten about my sweat marks. Jalina had spotted the sweaty outline of my bra under my tee-shirt. Naturally it surprised her at first but of course, she immediately understood my explanation. Then her discovery brought her tears of joy and an understanding as to why I was so sympathetic to her. It also gave her another like minded confessor, (Ganshai was her other ‘confessor’.) and from that moment, when we were having our tea-breaks in the privacy of our office, she opened up. I quickly confirmed what I had already suspected, Jalina desperately missed her sisters and even her sister-in-law. She had told this to both Ganshai and me in no uncertain terms and on several separate occasions.
For once I was able to give Kansha a fairly certain answer. I reached out and gently squeezed Kansha’s old and bony fingers as I confirmed.
“Jalina desperately wants to know her sisters again. She always held that it was her family who didn’t want her.”
Kansha burst into tears and slumped in her chair as she ‘confessed’.
“It’s true, we have been the bigots. How could I have been so cruel to my own first-born son? How could I have missed his hurt, - the signs of his hurt?”
“Did you never suspect?” I asked . “When she was younger.”
She paused then slowly nodded her head.
“There were instances. I caught him playing with my Saris a couple of times. He was very young, just four years old then. I had just weaned Sanji and conceived Miati . It was just him, me and baby Sanji in the house as Pradjit worked hard with the business. My in-laws were not much comfort to me. I actually indulged Jitendra the first time thinking it was a childish game then on the other occasions I became alarmed. I told Pradjit and the rest is family history; the beatings, the punishments, the ridicule. Later, as the other children arrived, I could see the envy in his eyes as his younger sisters grew up to wear pretty dresses and then their saris, but I always ‘persuaded’ him to stay with the boy things, if only for his own protection. I should have realised. I was a poor mother. Pradjit’s family always were intolerant.
Even you Beverly, a stranger, a European could see more than I saw. You could see past the hijra. How could I have been so blind and how is it a complete stranger could see Jitendra’s distress better than his own mother? You must be a very special man.”
I was almost tempted to tell her of my transgendered self and explain why I was sensitive to Jalina’s hurt but I avoided that pitfall. One transgendered circumstance was enough for the distressed woman to handle. It would have been conceited of me to project my circumstances onto the Sha family. They had enough problems as it was; what with one son now a hijra and the other son in jail awaiting trial for conspiracy to murder and kidnap. I was able to reassure Kansha of her problem though and asked her.
“Do you want to tell your other daughters, or d’you want Jalina to do it?”
Kansha sucked her lip.
“We’d best ask Jalina.”
“No sooner said.” I smiled as I opened my phone and set it to speaker.
Jalina answered and I could tell she was in a good mood about something. This was an excellent time to break the news.
“What! Are you certain?”
“Of course I’m certain darling, d’you want to speak to her?”
Jalina snorted with derision.
“Of course I want to speak to her. Put her on.”
Kansha had heard Jalina sounding happy and enthusiastic and she beamed at me as I handed her the phone. They agreed to let Kansha break the news then chatted about family and then the business. The good news at the factory was that Jalina’s first production run had been a success. They had the production of the primary component completed and now they could progress the manufacturing run to other smaller components. Then came the final assembly of the complete unit. Both women were supremely happy.
After Kansha put the phone down she smiled at me and invited me to stay until her daughters came home from university. We joined dear old Pradjit Sha in their garden where his carer prepared tea. One they had privacy Kansha told him the good news. Pradjit’s frail hands trembled with joy at the news. He would at least have three of his children around his table that evening.
We were chatting softly and quietly savouring the warm evening sunset when we heard laughter coming from the hall; the sisters had arrived home from college. They immediately joined us in the garden and kissed their frail old dad before sensing that something of import was brewing. Kansha patted the two seats on the swing seat and the girls slid gracefully to sit either side of their mother.
I don’t know what it is but Indian women have a way of dealing with the Sari that makes them so graceful and seductive. The girls smiled knowingly as they caught my eyes following their graceful movements. Kansha took each girl’s hand and squeezed them as she drew a deep breath and glanced nervously at me. I nodded encouragement and she broke the news.
“Girls, you know this hijra who is running the factory?”
“Yes mummy,” they chorused.
“Well I have some news about her.”
Both girls looked expectantly as Kansha paused before digging deep of her courage.
“She is related to us.”
“How?” Asked Miati.
“Is she a cousin?” Geeta added.
“No. She, - she’s closer than that; she, - she, - she’s your older brother, she’s Jitendra.”
“She was Jitendra,” I added to reinforce the circumstance and to give the girls time to gather their thoughts and to ensure the girls understood.
“They looked at me then at Kansha then at their beloved father.”
“Is, - is this true daddy?” Geeta gasped.
Pradjit nodded and smiled. The creases around his tired old eyes betrayed his happiness and relief as he whispered weakly.
“Don’t be angry with Jalina. I have forgiven her and accepted her back into the family. So has your mother.”
Miati turned to her mother as the news sank in.
“But, - but, - she, - she’s so beautiful. She looks nothing like before.”
“That’s because she’s had surgery.” I enlightened them.
“Oh!” Greeta squeaked, “and, - you know, - down there as well?”
I nodded and both girls fell silent for several seconds before Miati looked at me again.
“How do you know so much about him?”
I corrected her with a smile.
“About her, Miati. Jalina is a girl, she always was.”
“Okay then her; but how come you know so much about these hijras. How did you get to know her? - I mean how would you have even met her? When you first came to India, that is.”
“Yes, Geeta added thoughtfully, “I mean a British business man would not normally go into the slums and strike up an acquaintance with somebody deemed lower than the untouchables.”
I replied enigmatically and lied a little bit to protect Jamie’s and Calista’s secret.
“I move in all circles at all levels except criminal ones. It helps me get a feel for a country. You can’t just judge a country by its rich and powerful or the high and mighty.”
The girls seemed to accept my answer so I told them that Jalina was prepared to meet them that night if they wished. Their expressions widened first with surprise, then with hope followed by anticipation and finally joy as it reflected in the tearful sparkle wetting their eyes. They turned to their parents, gazed inquisitively then demanded to know.
“Daddy, how long have you known Jalina was our brother?”
“Your sister;” Kansha corrected as Pradjit nodded.
“Oh, all right then, our sister.” Miati conceded, seemingly irritated with her own mistake.
Kansha answered as Pradjit lay back in his wheelchair. He was tired from all the excitement and the afternoon’s exertions.
“Your father has known since Mr Whitworth and Beverly first came here; the night of the second meeting with the round table and the trade commission.”
Geeta stared at her mother.
“But, - but that was over eight months ago!”
“Yes it was indeed. I only found out about a month or so ago. We were very frightened of you girls and Sanji learning about it.”
“Why?” Geeta demanded.
“Good gracious girl, we are in business. We depend on your father’s contacts and friends to stay in business. What would happen to the family’s reputation if everybody knew about Jitendra becoming Jalina?”
Geeta conceded the point but then Miati expressed her concerns.
“What about my forthcoming wedding to Abhay? What will he think of Jalina? He is bound to find out and his family are very respectable!”
Kansha shrugged.
“I cannot say. Beverly has offered to intercede if you are willing. He thinks that they might be more willing to accept Jalina if Beverly explains to them the western ideas. The idea being that if India wished to modernise then its people must learn to modernise, from the grass roots up. Adopting more tolerant ideas is a good step in that direction.”
Miati frowned. Abhay’s family were one of the most well-known in Kolkata and a cast above the Shas. They had not been very impressed when Abhay brought Miati home the first time but she had worked hard to impress them and her naturally vivacious personality coupled with her beauty had slowly won Abhay’s father to the idea of their marrying. Miati could see all her hopes going down the drain. Abhay’s mother was a terrible snob. The scandal of having a hijra in the family might be one step too far, especially if that hijra was accepted back into the family. Poor Miati was torn in half. She desperately wanted her favourite ‘brother’ back and yet her marriage was at risk. She started to cry.
“What am I to do?”
This chapter deals with the ongoing issues surrounding Jalina's reconciliation and eventual acceptance back into her family's bosom. Beverly also manages to sound out Abhay's views about hijras and finally surmounts the problem surrounding Jalina's return to the family.
The Rescue 10
Characters.
Beverly Taff. Transvestite
James or Jamie Transgendered kid.
Candice Jamie’s Younger Sister.
Sergeant Williams Hate crime police officer
David Evans Knife-boy. (Son of Dewi Evans.)
Margaret Beckinsale. Jamie and Candice’s mum. (AKA Madge.)
Sandie Beverly’s best Transvestite friend.
Elizabeth Todd Beverly’s next door neighbour.
Jennifer Todd Elizabeth Todd’s daughter. A barrister. (QC.) Beverly’s best female friend & ‘girl next door’ through childhood.
Rastus Elizabeth Todd’s cat (Now owned by Beverly.)
Dewi Evans Bent politician and criminal.
Paul. Beverly’s transvestite Boss.
Calista Paul’s Transgendered girlfriend.
Stephanie Jenny and Beverly’s daughter.
Phoebe Paul’s Sister.
Rachel. Jennifer’s new girlfriend. (After Stephanie was born.)
Jalina Sha. Indian Engineering graduate (Now Hijra.)
Pradjit Sha Jalina’s father.
Sanji Sha. Jalina’s younger brother.
Kansha Sha Jalina’s mother
Surala Woman Police Constable. (WPC)
Ganshai Jalina’s remaining hijra friend.
Miati and Geeta. Jalina’s younger sisters.
Abhay Miati’s fiancée
I put my arms around Miati’s slender shoulders and promised to help where I could. Her sobbing gradually subsided and she wiped her eyes as I double checked if she was ready to accept Jalina back into the family home. Pradjit and Kansha had always met Jalina either at our hotel or at the factory. They had never even been to Jalina’s little house. That however, was now up for sale. The memories were just too much for both Jalina and Ganshai.
Miati nodded nervously and after checking with the others I phoned Jalina. Once again I put my phone on voice and Jalina could
see on her little screen that our conversation was audible to her family.
“They’re prepared to meet you here at home Jalina.”
“I’ll be right over. Thanks Beverly. You just don’t know how much this means to me.”
“I do Jalina. If anybody knows, I do.”
“What! Oh, - yes; - of course. Is mummy there?”
“Yes and your sisters — and your dad.”
“What about Nila, Sanji’s wife?”
“I haven’t told her yet Jalina. Small steps girl, small steps.”
“Oh. Yes. Okay Bev. I bow to your longer experience.”
I smiled inwardly. Jalina was laying the groundwork to a step later to come, namely the family learning the real reason I was sympathetic and supportive to Jalina.
“Okay then Jalina, d’you want to speak to your dad? He’s very tired; he’s had a long day what with your sisters learning and everything.
“If he’s tired, I’ll speak to mummy.”
Kansha almost ripped the phone from my hands in her eagerness.
“Jalina. Jalina! Oh my darling. Come quickly, the girls are desperate to meet you, here, - at home.”
I could hear the emotion cracking Jalina’s voice and I glanced at Miati and Geeta. Both had joyful tears. I motioned to Kansha to let the girls speak to Jalina and she reluctantly handed the phone to her daughters. They had not seen their sibling since she had been hounded out of the home. They had seen a picture of her in the newspapers after the kidnap case but had no idea that the victim was their own ex brother, - their own sister.
They squealed with joy as they quickly changed my phone to a video-call and gazed in amazement at the beautiful girl. This was followed by squeals of delight as the girls waved at Jalina and kissed the tiny screen. After some hectic exchanges of undying love they reluctantly handed the phone back to Kansha who frowned as she had to wipe the screen free of lipstick. Pradjit had never approved of the girls wearing makeup but now they were in college and he was frail, the girls had slipped his leash.
Kansha looked at her daughters, frowned then grinned as Jalina spoke again.
“Mummy, can I bring Ganshai?”
Kansha hesitated and glanced at her husband Pradjit who was still nominally the head of the household. He just nodded and sighed. As ill health overtook him and the end of his life approached, Pradjit had mellowed enormously as he began to learn the real priorities. Kansha turned to her daughters.
“Your sister is bringing her partner. Now you must be courteous and kind. Ganshai is also hijra and almost as pretty as your sister but she’s nervous and a bit frightened.”
Miati and Geeta exchanged glances. They had never knowingly met any hijras before and now they had two. One was their sister who was coming to the family home with her partner. Things had moved a quantum leap in one short evening. They made their excuses and dashed upstairs to pretty themselves up. After seeing Jalina on the video link of my phone they were determined not to be out-prettied.
By sunset the girls were waiting expectantly in their drawing room and they tensed excitedly when the bell rang at the garden gate. Kansha was busy with the food so she sent them to answer as the house servant, maid, gardener and carer had been sent home. The family did not want the servants to know just yet or the news would have been all around the neighbourhood
Miati and Geeta had chosen close fitting saris that almost resembled the old fashioned Edwardian ‘hobble skirts’; consequently they minced excitedly down the drive and double checked the occupants of the car before operating the gates at the local control by the gatepost. The remote camera had recently failed and they had not yet got it fixed so they were reluctant to open the gates from the kitchen. They recognised Jalina, squealed with delight, then opened the gates as Jalina swept onto the drive and parked next to her mother’s car. Miati and Geeta teetered towards the car as the driver’s door opened and Jalina stepped out in a very smart, white, linen, two-piece suite with the skirt finishing just above her knee. She wore a soft yellow silk blouse with a ruche front and long floppy collars. In her raven hair she wore a matching yellow scrunchie that tied her long thick tresses in a neat pony-tail high up on her head. This style emphasised her slender jaw and smooth brow that made her face utterly feminine, whilst also completely changing her appearance.
Miati and Geeta stopped in slight shock. They would never have recognised their ex-brother Jitendra. The beauty that stood before them was a stunning ‘western’ woman. The sister’s emotions quickly overcame their reserve and they fell into Jalina’s outstretched arms. There they remained for several minutes while I had to extend the door courtesy to Ganshai who had chosen a beautiful, traditional sari in a matching lemon, white and gold.
Ganshai embraced me and we exchanged familiar kisses for we knew each other well. After finishing our mutual salutations we turned with our arms still around each other’s shoulders, to study Jalina and her younger siblings. Only then did Jalina remember her manners. Her embarrassed gasp broke her embrace with Miati and Geeta.
“Oh! Gosh! Sisters wait a minute.” (Miati and Geeta grinned hugely at the much missed form of address.) “I’m forgetting my manners, this lady is Ganshai; she is my partner and my best friend.”
I released Ganshai from my embrace and she held out her arms to welcome the girls. For one ghastly second I thought the sisters were going to balk at the invitation then they stepped forward somewhat nervously and hesitantly let Ganshai wrap her arms around them. As the girls realised that Ganshai was soft and feminine without the expected manly hardness and musculature, they realised that she was a de-facto girl. Ganshai twisted her head to present her cheek and finally the girls plucked up enough courage to kiss it. The complete lack of any roughness gave them further confidence. Ganshai had been taking hormones and her remaining beard was fairly soft. After a long, slow and very close shave, Ganshai presented as an attractive girl. After the proper courtesies had been extended the five of us entered the house to find Kansha busy with the meal.
“Let me help Mummy,” Jalina offered and the younger sisters stood open-mouthed. They suddenly realised they had another pair of hands to help with the 'women’s work'. To compound their delight, Ganshai also took some dishes into the dining room and returned to help serve out the first course. Kansha sighed with relief, now she could concentrate on the cooking itself while the ‘girls’ set about organising the table. Jalina turned to me and grinned.
“Go and fetch father. Don’t just stand there like some spare piece of furniture.”
I grinned ruefully and did as I was told. Soon I was pushing Pradjit’s wheel-chair into the dining room and then helping him settle into his chair at the head of the table. Kansha took her place at the other end and we five arranged ourselves as it suited us. There was a spare place but that made little difference for it seemed as though Jalina had never been away. Her sisters pumped her and Ganshai with questions and she answered most of them openly whilst Pradjit and Kansha listened with a mixture of pain, or enjoyment depending on the answers Jalina gave. The details of the kidnap horrified the family and I was invited to give my version of the events. All in all it was a very successful evening and it carried on until late into the night. Pradjit fell asleep and had little to do with proceedings after eleven.
While he slept we discussed tactics to discern Abhay’s views on transsexuals.
Finally, at one in the morning, Jalina Ganshai and I took our leave of the family and returned to the hotel. Now that the rest of our friends had returned to Britain, it seemed a bit sombre as we made our way wearily to our rooms; Jalina and Ganshai to their shared bed and me to my lonely one. I was not seriously bothered. I had never had a long-term partner throughout my life. It was only in the last few years that I had begun to find a life that accommodated my transgendered confusion. That night it wouldn’t have mattered if the biggest stars in Hollywood had paraded before me. I was asleep as my head hit the pillow.
I woke to a peculiar tapping on my duvet and I turned over to escape the irritation.
“Are you getting up today?”
For a moment I couldn’t remember where I was and I peeped blearily out from under the duvet. Jalina and Ganshai were standing over me.
“How did you two get in here?” I croaked.
“It is a suite Beverly. The rooms interconnect. Did you check the lock on your side last night?”
“Uuhhm, - nope.” I answered abruptly.
“Obviously. Well it’s time to be up. We’ve got to be at the factory for seven. Come on get up.”
I sat up reluctantly and inadvertently gave both Jalina and Ganshai a perfect view of my breasts. Their eyes widened slightly and Jalina giggled.
“Now I see why you wear a bra. How long have you been growing those?”
I realised what they were ogling and I brought my arms up to cover them like any other woman would. This only caused them to grin wider.
“Oh give it up Bev. D’you think we haven’t seen breasts before?”
Jalina demonstrated by lowering the cup of her nightie to reveal one of her own assets, I could not argue. Their logic was inescapable and I sighed with defeat. I swung my feet out to reveal my painted toenails and frilly pants. They smiled and wondered as Jalina asked.
“Don’t you worry what the maids might think finding frilly panties in your room?”
“Why. They’re my panties.”
“But all the staff in the hotel probably know.”
“Like I care. There’s a couple of pairs of panties and some bras drying in the en-suite right now. Look Jalina, I’m a single person of uncertain sexuality who doesn’t have a long term partner and probably never will have.”
“Are you bisexual?” Ganshai asked.
“Dunno. I doubt it. The only people I’ve ever had sex with have been real girls.”
“My god. You’re one mixed up person aren’t you?”
I shrugged and whipped my panties off to go and shower. There was nothing to hide now. The girls returned to their own bedroom to do likewise and we met again before going down to breakfast. We were on the road by eight heading for the factory. Ganshai started sorting through the mail while Jalina and I went down on the factory floor. One production line had started and the staff were busy serving its demands. I was to supervise the start-up of the second so I changed into my overalls and called the maintenance team together. Jalina was inspecting some equipment that had arrived the previous day when a familiar car turned up in the forecourt it was Kansha with some passengers. Jalina looked up and smiled at her mother and siblings, there was also a tall strikingly handsome man in the car. She signalled to me to come and meet Miati’s fiancée.
Reluctantly I handed the technical drawing to the new superintendant engineer and crossed the floor to meet with the visitors. Abhay immediately latched onto me and seemed to think that I was the manager. I had to enlighten him and his brow furrowed when he realised his mistake. Obviously, neither Kansha nor the girls had enlightened him. I suspected it was a little test set by the girls however he acquitted himself well. He smoothly offered his hand to Jalina and apologised saying he thought the company was a British subsidiary and that it had an English expatriate manager. Having deftly bypassed the faux pas he returned to me.
“So if Jalina is the big boss who might you be?”
“I’m the commissioning engineer. I’m here on secondment until the operation is up and running.”
Having established the ‘pecking order’ he turned again to Jalina and fell to chatting about what the factory was about. As we led him around the factory floor Jalina quickly and deliberately lost him in a welter of ‘techno-speak’ and I watched his eyes start to glaze over. Recognising the signs I tactfully intervened and suggested a pot of tea in the little conference room that also served as my temporary office and a sometimes boardroom. There was a round table that seated about eight and my desk was tucked away in a corner literally buried in drawings and flow charts. We sat around the table and Prati brought us tea before joining us. She had won promotion to personnel manager since Sanji had disqualified himself from the appointment. Abhay quickly realised that the management team was a very friendly and informal group and he was quickly made to feel at ease. After chatting about the forthcoming completion and the subsequent employment opportunities it was decided that I should lead Abhay around the rest of the factory while Jalina got on with some urgent paperwork.
He jumped at this opportunity because his typically eastern nature was not comfortable having stuff, especially technical engineering stuff, explained to him by a very shrewd and forceful woman. After a circuit of the factory we strolled out into the despatch bay where there was nothing being despatched as yet. In the quiet of the truck bay he turned to me and asked.
“I couldn’t help noticing, a lot of those employees were very masculine women.”
I answered as unconcernedly as I thought any liberal minded occidental might.
“Yes; they’re hijra. We find them to be pretty good workers.”
“They’re hijra!” He repeated with bemusement.
I shrugged and frowned deliberately to demonstrate my puzzlement.
“Yes. Is that wrong then?”
I sensed his doubt starting to creep into his demeanour.
“Well, - no; I suppose not but they’re, - they’re usually deemed to be outcasts. Other people normally won’t associate with them.”
I sensed that Abhay was not as anti hijra as the normal run-of-the-mill Indian but it was too soon to declare my hand. I made pretence of being a naive occidental by shrugging again and repeating my puzzled expression.
“Well they seem quite happy to do so here. Mind you I think most of the people so far who’ve got work here are pleased with the conditions. I heard one young person say they’d work with the devil himself. That was at the interview and Prati had to admit to smiling at the remark. It is a nice building.”
“So what are those conditions?” Abhay pressed.
“Well the factory is clean and modern and light and airy. The pay is above average and they have an excellent medical scheme. The personal facilities are good by any standards, showers, lavatories, a proper dining hall and attached to that there’s a large room that doubles as a recreation room or meeting hall. There’s even a crá¨che!”
Abhay’s eyebrows lifted considerably at the mention of a crá¨che.
“A Crá¨che you say.”
I smiled again trying to look apologetic. Abhay wagged his head and explained.
“Indian women usually give up work when they have children and look after the children. The husband brings home the money.”
“What happens if the girl is not married?” I asked.
Abhay expostulated and let out a loud guffaw.
“My God Beverly. If an Indian girl has a child outside wedlock it is a disaster for her. She is pilloried and condemned.”
“And what happens to the child?” I pressed again.
Abhay paused thoughtfully then frowned.
“Well. I’m not sure. It is a bastard and would often end up cast out with the mother.”
“To starve on the streets or end up with the mother in prostitution.”
Abhay fell silent as I pressed my argument.
“And that is India’s biggest shame, the number of desperate beggars on the streets. The girls trying to avoid the prostitution trap.”
He grinned.
“So you are trying to save all the beggars in India.”
“That’s unfair Abhay. I’m not that stupid, you know the numbers, you’ve lived in this city all your life. A million new jobs would hardly dent the surface.”
Abhay smiled and put his arm around my shoulder, (quite a bold move for an Indian man who had only known me for a couple of hours.)
“Well I admire your philanthropy Beverly but your efforts must be likened to dropping a pebble in the sea. It will make waves but so tiny as to have no effect.”
“Yes but one day I might be able to galvanise India to drop a boulder in the pond.”
“Ah, you are a dreamer as well.”
“Well this dream has come true. A factory that produces something everybody wants and helps the poor in passing.”
Abhay paused and stopped at one of the work spaces where a hijra was monitoring the machine and occasionally testing a sample from the production run. This involved plugging the component into a test computer and running a series of small operations. If the results were right the component was sent to the final test bay to be assembled with other tested samplers to ensure the whole unit functioned.
As we watched, the hijra (who resembled a man in a sari,) got up to take the test piece to the main test bay. She fell to chatting and giggling briefly with a real girl then returned to resume her task. When she realised I was watching she hurriedly jammed her safety helmet on and I smiled at the incongruity. I turned to explain to Abhay.
“She should be wearing an overall as well but some safety rules are just plain impractical. Saris are cool and her arms are bare so there are no sleeves to snag the table belt. There’s nothing under the workspace to snag the hem of her sari so she’s allowed to wear it. She’s happy because it allows her to indulge her girlyness without censure or abuse.”
Abhay’s grin widened.
“So the hijra’s are the ones wearing saris and the real girls are wearing those pale yellow overalls.”
“Mostly but it’s the job that dictates the mode of dress. Anybody working in the machine shop or warehouses has to wear overalls. You need both hands and cannot be constantly attending to your dress. The hijras don’t much like the warehouse.”
Abhay chuckled.
“I can imagine. So you keep them happy by giving them girly jobs, light assembly, fiddly and repetitive.”
“It’s their choice. Those are the safety rules and everybody abides. You saw Jalina earlier. She changed from her sari to overalls when she took you on the tour.”
Abhay smiled again.
“Yes, I had to admit, she looked better in her sari. She’s a stunning girl. I’m surprised some man hasn’t snapped her up.”
I pretended to be surprised.
“My God! Don’t you know?”
“Know what?” Wondered Abhay.
“Jalina. She’s not a real girl, she’s a hijra.”
Abhay’s jaw sagged as he stared at me.
“You’re joking!”
“I’m not. She’s had one hell of a life. That girl’s walked the walk, believe me, she could tell you some awful truths about abuse and murder and life in the slums.”
Abhay’s surprise turned to dismay.
“Go on Beverly tell me more.”
I had carefully prepared the story so as not to give away Jalina’s true identity at first. I didn’t pull any punches and I laid it on really thick explaining how we came to discover her and learn of her management skills, her engineering background and how we had found her a delight to work with at distance with her in India and us far away in Britain. I described how transphobic brutes had kidnapped her and tried to sell her into prostitution and Abhay listened with increasing incredulity. Eventually I finished the story by singing Jalina’s praises and describing how our joint venture would never have got off the ground without Jalina’s grit and determination. Everything I had said was true and verifiable. Jalina sat gobsmacked for several moments before asking some pertinent questions.
“So she was an engineering graduate?”
“Yes; and a bloody good one. She’s got a brain like a computer.”
“And then she became a hijra. It’s hard to believe she was a man.”
“She was. Her family cast her out when she came out to them and she was left to starve in the slums. She also lost her job. Go and figure the consequences.”
“Poor bugger, that must have wounded her.”
“Wounded her! It damned near killed her! Good gracious Abhay, did I detect a note of sympathy?”
“Oh please Beverly. Don’t judge me like other Indians. In my social circles if you marry a lower cast it can lead to ostracism. I know that my battle has been nothing remotely as tough as Jalina’s but I’ve had to move some pretty stubborn rocks to get my mother and my aunts to accept Miati.”
“Have they accepted her now?”
“They have to. Otherwise my mother won’t see her grandchildren and I’m the first born.”
“What about your father?”
“Oh he’s always had an eye for a pretty girl. Miati can twist him around her finger. She only has to bat her eyelids and he’s clay.”
“What’s his opinion of your marrying her?”
“Well he secretly admitted to me that he was pleased I had gone outside my cast. He says it’s good to mix the bloods. His grandfather had the same problems a hundred years ago. That’s why my mother is such a snob. Dad is not a full blooded Kshatiyas from way back in the dawn of history. Frankly I think my dad is as sick of the whole caste thing, as am I. We just have to keep the women sweet.”
“The mem-sahibs eh. You sound like some old british colonial.” I grinned recalling the old expressions used by the old British Raj.”
“Oh don’t even go there,” Abhay sighed. “Some of the upper castes have still got a monkey on their backs about the British Raj and how it buggered up Indian society. The truth was that the British let the caste system flourish because it suited them to let Indian society divide itself and thus let itself be defeated. Then they turned the whole thing upside down by employing Shudras and Chandalas in jobs that they created like on the railways and in the post office. Chandala train drivers were earning more than Vaishyas and even Kshatriyas. The high caste Indians didn’t understand what was happening and my great-grandparent’s generation never got over the changes. Consequently they retreated deeper in to their prejudices while India moved towards independence and democracy.
But believe me Beverly, the caste system is still there lurking like a trap for the unwary and it’s the foundation stone of a system of prejudice that still pervades my country.”
“But your generation, surely you’re moving away from that.” I replied as I gently guided Abhay into the issues of the hijras. “Surely you can see that people should get jobs and positions based on merit. That’s what we are doing here at this factory.”
“Oh it often does depend on merit,” Abhay observed, “but caste is still there, lurking in the foetid waters of prejudice and privilege. If a Brahmin class does something unacceptable it’s just ‘tut-tutting’ and muttering but if a Chandala does the same thing then the full weight of censure and law comes down on him.
You won’t believe this, there was a brother-in-law of my maternal great aunt who became a hijra. He was a Brahmin so what happened. He was invited to all sorts of high society functions like weddings and stuff where he was paid handsomely to bring good luck and good fortune. It’s all superstition and stuff but they still do it. Compare that with Jalina’s story.”
“So you feel sorry for hijras.” I added.
Abhay shrugged.
“They deserve to be treated fairly like anybody else.”
“What did you think of that relative you’ve just mentioned?”
“I’m not bothered but my mother and her sisters still won’t talk about it. I only found out by accident at one of my second cousin’s weddings. I was being lined up for some ugly distant relative whom I’d hardly ever met and family connections were being discussed. I refused point blank to be dictated to. Then I met Miati in college. Who could resist a girl like that? She’s my lifeline to finally break with the caste system. My mother and my aunts simply won’t believe that I’m serious about her.
“Are there any other hijras in your family, today that is?”
“Would it matter?” Abhay shrugged. “I think that one is still alive but very old. Would it matter to you or your family if they had a gay or something in the family?”
I smiled and chuckled disarmingly.
“Well; not to me it wouldn’t but then I’m not religious.”
“Well frankly Beverly it’s a relief to hear somebody else say that. What would my future mother-in-law say if she found out about our family’s Brahmin hijra!?”
“I think Kansha would manage it. Have you ever mentioned this to Miati?”
“Hell no! It’s taboo. My mother threatened to renounce me if I ever mentioned it to Miati’s family.”
“What did your father say?”
“He just advised me to not mention it. My wanting to marry Miati was earthquake enough to rock the family’s foundations. Washing dirty linen in public would be the final straw.”
“So does your philosophy work both ways. What if Miati had a secret like that, a murderer in the family or something.”
“Oh I know about her brother trying to have Jalina murdered. It didn’t raise many eyebrows in my family when they read about it in The Kolkata Times. Jalina’s only a hijra, who’d miss a slum-dweller bitch?”
“But surely you don’t think that of Jalina. You’ve met her you’ve drunk tea with her.”
“No! I certainly don’t think that! As I said earlier Bev, don’t judge me by my family. Jalina’s a fabulous person. She’d be an asset to any family. I only wish I had a sister as good as her. My sisters are small minded snobs just like my mother. If it wasn’t for my dad, I think I’d have left my family and emigrated to Britain or America.”
“So you’ve got liberal views on the subject of hijras, just like me in fact.”
Abhay thought for a moment. I had to respect his deliberative mindset then he finally nodded slowly.
“We-eell; I suppose I am really. I often get into arguments with my female siblings and I’m the only boy. I’m going to miss my dad when he goes. I’ll get to be a senior partner in the family law firm, that I can handle. However, I’ll have to be a bloody miracle worker to keep the peace between my mother and my sisters. They are always feuding with their cousins and stuff.”
While I had Abhay in a reflective mood I debated giving him the bombshell.
“Would you consider letting Jalina near your own kids?”
“Why not? She’s a woman; well she looks like one to me. Where is this leading anyway?”
“Well, since Sanji was caught, his wife has moved into Kansha’s household and started work part-time here. It’s clerical work and it helps take her mind off the issues of her husband. It also makes her feel she’s still part of the family, which she is. She often brings her children to the crá¨che and Jalina sometimes goes down to the crá¨che. She loves kids and bitterly regrets not being able to be a mother.”
“So go on; get to the nitty-gritty. Where’s this leading Bev?”
“You’d best prepare yourself for a shock Abhay.”
“Huh. If I’m used to anything it’s shocks. I started enough bloody earthquakes in my own family.”
“Can you keep a secret?” I asked bluntly.
Abhay nodded.
“Yes. There are plenty more skeletons in the family cupboard but I prefer to keep them secret.”
“Good. I’m pleased to hear it. Well here’s another one you’re going to have to add.”
Abhay’s eyes creased with curiosity and he smiled slightly.
“You’ve piqued my curiosity now. Go on.”
“I want your sworn promise that you’ll not reveal it to anybody, - not a soul, - right?”
“You’ve got it. Not a soul.”
“Right. Firstly I was charged with somehow sounding you out and reporting back to the Shas about your views on hijras.”
“Well you know now." Abhay replied, "I feel sorry for them; they should be treated with respect and fairness. Jalina serves to reinforce that view. Though I must confess, she hardly needs my pity.”
“That’s what I wanted to hear.”
“Go on.” Abhay pressed me.
“Well the truth is, and there’s no way to dance around this, Jalina is related to Miati. Jalina was once Miati’s elder brother.”
Abhay sat silent for a moment before a knowing smile grew slowly into a chuckle then a loud raucous laugh. A sat patiently waiting until he recovered his composure and tears of amusement spilled from his dancing eyes. Finally he spoke.
“Oh this is a peach! So the Shas have skeletons as well. We are no different are we; for all the shit about caste and status, Miati and I have more things in common than things different. Can I tell her I know this now? You asked that I told nobody”
“Husbands and wives should have as few secrets as possible.” I conceded. “They wanted to tell you themselves but Miati was afraid she’d lose you. Somehow, I think this news has made your feelings for her stronger.”
“D’you know Beverly, I think it has. Poor Miati must have been terrified.”
“She still is terrified. I release you from your vow of secrecy, at least that is to members of Sha family. Now I suggest you go up to Jalina’s office and let them all know. Miati and Geeta only found out a few days ago about Jalina. Sanji still doesn’t know and it's best he doesn't find out for a long time.”
"He won't," Abhay explained, "I'm a lawyer as well, the judge will not go easy on a lawyer who steps outsuide the law, especially for conspiring to murder. He'll be going down for a long, long time."
"That's what I hoped." I nodded.
“I note you didn’t mention Kansha. Does she know and if so for how long?”
“She’s known nearly a year now; she’s had hell’s own delight keeping it a secret. Her own first-born son Jitendra was the wonder-
hijra that saved their business. So, now I release you from your vow of secrecy at least as far as the Sha women are concerned.
I think you’d better go up there and give Miati the longest hug of your life. She needs it. She is desperately waiting for me to report back but I sensed if I could save the family the turmoil of breaking the news to you themselves. It’ll be that much easier for Miati. She’s a very frightened girl Abhay, go and do something that will cement her love for you even tighter. Go and be kind to her, go and support her, go and tell her.”
Abhay stood, wrapped his arms around me and hugged me tight.
“D’you know Bev; you’ve done me a huge favour. Now I can really demonstrate my love for Miati.”
“Good. That pleases me, now go.”
He released me from his embrace and stepped up the stairs to Jalina’s office. Suddenly I remembered and called to him.
“And don’t forget to reassure Jalina. She’s frightened too.”
“I’ll reassure the whole family!” Abhay called back as he disappeared from my view into Jalina’s office.
“Job done, - I hope.” I told myself.