The legal stuff.
This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright, in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically. Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Permission is granted for it to be copied and read by individuals, and for no other purpose. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited, and may only be posted to free sites with the express permission of the author. If you enjoyed it, then please Email me and tell me. If you hated it, Email me and lie.
I will always welcome contact.
Every Little Girls Dream
Book One
This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental.
I have based the tragic incident in the first chapter on a real event, and I salute those public servants and volunteers who worked so hard to manage the event, from every angle. My heart goes out to those directly and indirectly involved in the whole horrible affair, and I hope that I can, in some small way, pay homage to those who sought to bring relief and help.
Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.
The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone. If you wish to take offence, that is your problem.
This is only a story, and it contains adult material, which includes sex and intimate descriptive details pertaining to genitalia. If this is likely to offend, then don't read it.
Synopsis.
Tom Stewart is a rough, tough, seasoned, twenty-nine year veteran Police Inspector. Used to command, he is a popular, dedicated family man, on the eve of his half-century and facing the end of his career. He has lived with a secret for most of his life, successfully managing it. With retirement, he stands to lose the major factor in that success and he is very uncertain about how he will control the hidden urges.
Jenny Adams, a sixteen year-old schoolgirl, has her whole life ahead of her. She is bright, sensitive and pretty, she has everything going for her. She is returning from a day's shopping with her mother on a train.
The train is derailed in tragic circumstances. Jenny's mother is killed while Jenny sustains serious head injuries and is in a coma.
Inspector Stewart is aware of the incident, but not directly involved. Time, however, is perhaps up for Tom, as he is rushed to the same hospital in which Jenny lies on the brink of death.
One of them survives, but which one?
Join me in a voyage of true discovery.
Chapter Thirteen.
Contact.
“Jenny, phone!” Dad yelled.
I switched off the Genesis CD and picked up my extension. The music had been so loud that I hadn't heard the phone ring. It was the Wednesday in the first week of holidays. Christmas was a week away.
“Hi?” I said, half-expecting Tim, even though we'd spoken only a couple of hours ago.
“Jenny, it's Annie Stewart.”
“Annie, hi.”
“How are you?”
“Brilliant, things are settling down really well. I played drums in a concert at school last week.”
“Cool. How's the memory?”
“Still not a lot. Little snatches, but nothing concrete.”
“Look, I've spoken to my mother. Would you and your Dad like to come over to our house for lunch this Sunday, the 19 th ?”
“What about my brother? He's home from his school now.”
“I forgot about him, of course, bring him too.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Positive. I told Mum that you were the girl from the crash that I nursed. I didn't mention what we'd discussed.”
“It sounds a bit potty now.”
“You think so?”
“It sounds potty, but I'm convinced of it. I just don't talk about it with anyone else anymore. I used to, just to keep myself sane, but I know Dad was upset and my boyfriend gets all worried about me. It's best just between us, I think.”
“I agree. I've spent a lot of time on Dad's computer, so now know what troubled him. He actually wrote a story, but it was never finished.”
“What kind of story?”
“I'll Email it to you. Please delete it when you've read it. I don't want any of this getting out. Mum is completely ignorant of the whole thing, and I don't ever want her to find out her husband was a transsexual.”
“He was?” I asked, excited, as this could explain so much.
“I should say so. The story was semi-autobiographical in parts, and was a real cry from the heart. It shows how strong he was to carry it with him for as long as he did and never let anyone see what an enormous burden he carried.”
“Okay. Are you living with your mother?”
“Yes, I'm staying at home now. I sort of moved back after Dad died as I'm not happy leaving Mum alone. I was sharing a house with two other nurses, and they're cool about it. It won't be forever, so if I could get you over, then I could show you what I've found. Also, you never know what memories may be triggered when you see the house.”
“You do believe me?”
“I honestly don't know, Jenny. As you said, it sounds potty, but then how come you suddenly play the drums?”
“Exactly, and there are loads of other things I feel are lurking beneath the surface.”
I told her about the motorcycle and my dealings with Samantha.
“Dad's bike is still in the garage, it's a Honda Goldwing. He and Mum used to go touring on it a few years ago. I called it his ‘Menopause Moped'.”
I chuckled.
“I'll ask Dad, hang on,” I said, and went down and found him in his study.
“Dad, we've been asked out to lunch this Sunday.”
“Who by?”
“Do you remember Annie, the nurse?”
He frowned.
“Which one was that? There were lots of nurses.”
“She was the one who looked after me that first night.”
“I remember, tall dark girl, looked Spanish or something.”
“Her grandfather was Italian, yes, that's her. She's asked us all for lunch on Sunday, what do I say?”
“Do you want to go?”
“I suppose so, yes.”
“Then that saves us cooking. You do know Richard's here?”
“I know, I've told her that.”
“I've no problem with that. Is it just her, or what?”
“Her and her mother. Her Dad died the day after I got taken in - a heart attack.”
Dad frowned and looked at me suspiciously.
“Are you match-making?”
I laughed and shook my head.
“No, Daddy, I've never met her Mum, so I don't even know what she looks like.”
He smiled.
“Alright then. What time?”
“I'll find out.” I went back to the phone.
“We'd love to,” I said.
“Great. Twelve o'clock?”
“Fine, see you then.”
“Bye.”
I hung up and wondered what implications this visit would have on my already confused life.
Dad took us into Reading to do some Christmas shopping. It was tough, as we could see so many married couples and mums with their children. Dad became very melancholy and as a result, we came home early. It was only four in the afternoon, but was already dark and gloomy outside.
An air of depression hung over the house. I'd decorated a tree, and tried to decorate the house the best I could, but it seemed empty somehow. The tinsel, cards and lights seemed a sham. The hollowness and desolation of our grief was too great.
Dad sat in his chair in the sitting room, staring at the sketch I'd drawn.
Richard slumped onto the sofa and for the first time I really missed my mother. Christmas was a time of joy and family togetherness and we were missing an essential ingredient. No amount of tinsel and phoney snow could replace whom we'd lost.
“I don't think I want Christmas lunch here, I'm sorry,” Dad said.
“Neither do I!” said Richard.
I stared at my sketch, hoping for some sign that she was watching or something.
“Would you mind, Jen?” Dad asked.
I shook my head. I didn't trust myself to speak, as I was getting choked up again.
Dad stood and came and gave me a cuddle.
“I'm sorry, sweetie, I'm not being very strong at the moment.”
I shook my head, hugging him back. I buried my face in his shoulder, breathing in his scent. He smelled of father - a strong and homely smell, of Sandalwood and sweat, a secure smell.
Richard joined us, so we wept together. The season of joy didn't seem to permeate our home this Christmas time.
I cooked supper, with Richard, for a change. He was taking Mum's death harder than I was. I still half-expected my memories to return and suddenly to be swamped with over-bearing grief. Richard actually noticed that I was doing most of the chores and helped me without being asked.
I couldn't remember how we got on before the crash, but I couldn't wish for a nicer brother. Dad implied that our relationship had changed beyond all measure, this observation being backed up by my diary. I read countless entries where I had had enough of Richard, and referred to him as a ‘pain', a ‘little sod', a ‘menace' and many more even less flattering.
Tim was another real blessing. We'd spend a lot of time together, just listening to music, talking or even jamming a little. He had a small drum kit at his house, so we'd just tinker away, passing the time. His parents were bemused at how casually domesticated we were together. I'm not sure what they expected, more intensity, I suppose.
Tim asked me if we wanted to have Christmas lunch with his family.
“I know what a hard time this must be for you. We've family coming from Hertfordshire, but if you three want to join us, Mum is more than happy.”
“I'm not sure, Tim. It's a lovely thought, but I don't know what Dad wants to do. I think the sights of happy couples may be too much for him. We may just go out to a restaurant, or something. Can I get back to you?”
“Of course.”
The Email from Annie arrived and I read it. The story made me cry. It was very sad and yet had a happy ending. I was about a teenage boy who wanted to be a girl. He was good at sport and did everything that was expected of him. One day he found an old charm bracelet, and he took it home. His father told him to hand it in to the police, as it could be valuable.
Being an obedient boy, he did just that, filling out his name as the finder. No one claimed the bauble and he found himself intrigued. After the statutory time, he went and claimed it. Taking it home, he cleaned it up and was surprised at how nice it really was. Idly he put it on, but the bracelet locked onto his wrist and wouldn't open.
He tried everything, but it wouldn't budge. In the end, he gave up and went to bed. He woke up in the morning and had the shock of his life. He was now a girl.
Dashing out of his room, he bumped into his mother who behaved as if nothing was wrong. She treated her daughter as if she had always been a daughter, and life went from dreary to wonderful. It ended with the girl marrying a wonderful man and expecting their first child.
Tom Stewart obviously wanted to finish it, but had never got round to it. Tom appeared to me as being a man who had desperately wanted to be a girl from his earliest recollection, but was forced to be a square peg in a round hole.
Sunday arrived and we all had a nice lie-in. Dad hadn't been to church since the funeral. He just felt that God wasn't really there for him. I didn't know and Richard wasn't really into religion in any case. I dressed in a black woollen dress. It was one of Mum's. I tended to wear more of her clothes than my own. I preferred the cut and style of the slightly more mature woman to the teen fashions that everyone expected me to wear.
Dad managed to blackmail Richard into wearing a jacket and tie. I thought Dad was looking really hunky in his navy double-breasted blazer, cavalry twill trousers and silk shirt. He'd made an effort and I smiled. I wondered whether Annie's mother would appreciate the trouble he'd gone to.
The drive into Shiplake-on-Thames was odd. Even now, the roads around my home were still unfamiliar to me, but as soon as we turned down the lane towards Shiplake, I suddenly felt as if I knew where I was. The shape of the trees, the gaps in the hedges and landmarks arrived as I expected them to.
I said nothing, but was able to point to a house when we arrived in the village,
It was quite a modern house, almost American in style, with the garage as part of the house and a bedroom above it. It reminded me of many American TV shows and still it was strangely familiar. Built in red brick, with white UPVC cladding and white windows and doors. There were pansies in winter hanging baskets, the open plan garden looked neat and cared for. A Renault Clio was in front of the double garage. Dad pulled up next to it.
I felt a weird anticipation and slightly nervous. It was more like coming home than my real home.
Annie opened the front door and came out to greet us, along with an enthusiastic Labrador. The dog came up to me and wagged its entire body, not just its tail.
“Hallo Goldie,” I said and Annie looked sharply at me.
“Hi, you made it then?” she said, giving me a hug and a kiss.
Dad kissed her cheek.
“I remember you. You were so kind to me that first evening. I don't know what I'd have done if you hadn't been so wonderful!” he said and she chuckled and put a hand on his arm.
“Just doing my job. You must be Richard?” she said turning to my brother.
We followed her inside. As soon as I walked in the house, it hit me. I stopped in my tracks. It was like being hit with a sledgehammer and I almost couldn't breathe. The dog was still fussing at my knees.
“Jenny, are you alright, sweetie?” Dad asked.
I looked about me and concentrated as I nodded. I knew this house. I heard footsteps approach from where I knew the kitchen was. I turned and looked at Annie's Mother.
Now I'd seen photographs in the papers, but as she stood in front of me, wiping her hands on a tea towel, a jumble of memories came bursting in on me. I knew this woman better than anyone else in the world.
“Mum, this is Jenny Adams, her father – Robert, and brother Richard,” Annie said, introducing us. “This is my mother, Maria.”
My first reaction was that she was taller than I thought I remembered. Then I realised that her husband had been taller than I, so all things were relative. Her eyes had the same lost and sad expression that Dad's eyes reflected. She looked tired. My heart gave a lurch as I realised how much her husband had meant to her.
Maria came and gave me a hug. Even her smell was familiar. I yearned to hold her for longer, but knew I couldn't. She shook Richard's hand, aware, probably, that teenage boys don't like being hugged by strange middle-aged women. She was dressed in a dark skirt and sweater, which emphasised her figure and suited her darker colouring. She still didn't look anything like her forty-seven years, with a fresh complexion, and wonderful mane of full dark hair.
She took Dad's right hand and looked up at him. He very slowly bent forward and kissed her cheek. He was so slow and shy that I smiled.
“I'm so pleased you all could come, Mr Adams.”
“Please, call me Rob,” Dad said with his best smile.
We went into the living room and I stopped again. The fireplace, with candlesticks, carriage clock and strange mug sat there, exactly as I recalled from the hospital. Now I was certain.
Annie was watching me like a hawk. I met her eyes and nodded ever so slightly. She smiled and then offered everyone a drink. Richard saw a collection of police hats in a corner so he went and looked at them.
Once we all had a drink, Annie excused herself to go to the kitchen, so I volunteered to help her.
That left Dad alone with Maria, which was a bonus. Annie checked the oven and then turned and stared at me.
“Well?”
“I've been here before, it's so familiar.”
“Okay, what's in there?” she asked, pointing to a door.
“The utility room, and then a door to the garage. The motorcycle is near the door, and a Vauxhall Omega is next to it. There's a deep freeze along the back wall, with a tool chest and shelves next to it. An old pair of water-skis are….”
“Okay, I'm convinced. How?”
I shook my head.
“It just keeps flooding back. That clock, the one above the window, we bought that in Austria the year you were born. I remember…”
“Jenny, stop, please. I'm happy that you remember, but think, what does this mean?”
“I'm not Jenny?”
“No, you are Jenny, but somehow you've some of my Dad in there with you.”
“I know that, but how much?”
She shook her head.
“Come with me.”
I followed her out of the kitchen and to the small study. There was a computer on the desk. It was reasonably up to date, and had a plasma screen.
She opened up the files, showed me the stories, the sites and everything her father had looked at. Everything was to do with transgender issues and they reinforced what the story had told me about him.
“I liked the story,” I said.
“Did you?”
“I think something magical like that has happened to us.”
Annie looked at me.
“Us?”
“It's like I'm two people, wiped clean like a video cassette and made into a new one.”
“This is so weird. To think that you could be my Dad!”
I smiled.
“I'm not though. I might have been once, or part of me was. I'm me, Annie. I'm a sixteen year-old girl, with a family and a future. I can't be your Dad, he died. I am standing here with snatches of his past.”
“Help me with the veg,” she said and we both put on aprons.
We dished up, and Richard wandered through.
“Dad and your Mum are getting on well,” he said to Annie.
“Thank God, I hoped they might. Mum has been so miserable since Dad died. She's refused to socialise at all. She only agreed to this as I made her feel sorry for you.”
“Sorry for us?”
“Jenny, you've had it really rough. It made Mum feel that she was not as badly off and that's why she agreed to have this lunch.”
We carried everything through to the dining room, and this was as familiar as the rest of the house. It was so hard. Although Annie knew what I was feeling, I couldn't tell anyone else.
Maria placed Dad at the head in Tom's old place and she sat at the other end. Try as I might, I couldn't identify myself as being Tom. I was Jenny now and for all I knew always had been. I had some weird memories as Tom, but they weren't of the ‘me' of here and now. They were as alien to me as anything I had learned of Jenny from before the crash.
The meal was roast turkey roll, with loads of roast potatoes, veg and gravy. This was followed by cream-filled profiteroles and chocolate sauce. Annie poured a pleasant red wine and I had one glass. Richard drank Coke.
It was a very happy time. I wasn't really able to contribute much, as I was constantly receiving a barrage of confusing and conflicting memories. It was hard to keep alert to what was going on around me and to keep track of memories that flitted through my consciousness at the same time.
After lunch, we all went for a walk with the dog.
Maria was amused at how well the dog related to me.
“Goldie seems to have taken a real shine to you, Jenny. She was very much Tom's dog and she's been so miserable since he died. It's really wonderful to see her as frisky as this.”
The dog hardly left my side except to pick up the occasional stick, retrieving it for me to throw for her. I noted that Dad and Maria were deep in conversation, with both of them smiling and even laughing quite a lot.
Goldie let Richard throw the stick, as she discovered he could throw it further than I could. We walked past some really big houses on the river, returning over the railway line through some fields back to the lane behind the house.
Annie walked beside me.
“Are you okay?” she asked, with a hand on my shoulder.
“Yup, so far. I don't feel so alone any more. I just wish I could tell Maria.”
“I don't think that would be a good idea. She's coming to terms with Dad's death and it would screw her brain something rotten if you announced you were Tom.”
“But I'm not! I might have been once, but look at me! Do I look like your father?”
Annie smiled.
“Shh, gently. No you don't. This is so weird!” she said, giving me a hug.
“It must be odd for you too, I'm sorry.”
“It's okay. Odd yes, but interesting.”
“What was your Dad like?”
“He was everything a father should have been. He was strong, funny, fun, helpful, loving, caring and committed. He was a loving father and a wonderful man. I miss him so much, Jenny!”
It was my turn to hug her back.
“I'm sorry. This can't be easy for you.”
“I'm not the one with strange things floating around in my head. Are you happy, Jenny?”
I thought for a moment, and then grinned.
“Yes, I am. More than I thought possible. I adore being a girl, and I can't complain about my looks or my body. I have a super Dad, a bearable brother and a wonderful boyfriend. Materially, it seems my family is relatively secure, so I have a lot going for me.”
I frowned.
“What?” she asked.
“I'm not sure. It's just a feeling I have. It's as if something bad is missing. It's as if a feeling of not belonging has gone. It's like that everything has now been completed and I have been set free. Does that make sense?”
“Remember Dad's story?”
“Yes.”
“Imagine you are now the girl who used to be a boy, but you remember it all. How would you feel?”
I though about it for a few seconds.
“Like everything was complete and I was set free?” I tentatively asked.
“Bingo! I think that maybe a greater power has allowed something wonderful to happen and that we shouldn't worry too much about the how or why. Why don't we just accept things, and say a very quiet, thanks?”
She was right, and so we both looked into each other's eyes, and said, “Thanks!”
We stayed for tea, reluctantly leaving at nearly six o'clock. For me, it was a wonderful experience. I'd found out a lot about who I might have been and found it didn't matter at all. It was as if I was able to draw a thick line under everything that had happened, so was now able to look forward with clear vision for the first time.
Dad was quiet on the way home, but he was humming. This was unusual, as he only ever hummed when he was in a super mood.
“You sound pleased, Dad,” I said.
“He's in love!” said Richard with a leer.
“Shut up, Richard!” Dad said, but his voice belied his stern words.
“I thought they were nice,” I said.
“Hmm,” said Dad.
“Did you like Maria, Dad?” I asked.
“Course he did, he's in love!” said my brother.
Dad ignored him completely.
“I thought she was very nice. Not at all what I expected.”
“It's so sad losing her husband like that,” I said.
“We were able to help each other quite a bit.”
“Do you think we'll se them again?” I asked.
“Well, how do you feel about spending Christmas day with them? We've nothing planned, but it makes sense, seeing how we've both lost our spouses and everything.”
“You've already discussed this?” I asked, surprised.
“A bit. As I said, nothing definite is planned, but I think it would help her, poor girl.”
“Dad, she's forty-seven, she's hardly a girl!” said Richard.
Dad just smiled and started humming again.
“I'll tell Tim that we won't be taking them up on their offer?” I asked.
“Their offer?”
“Daddy, I told you, Tim asked us all to join them for Christmas. He did say they've got some family coming down from Hertfordshire, but we are welcome to join them.”
“You'd like to spend Christmas with Tim, wouldn't you, sweetie?”
“I see him every other day, so you guys can choose. Put it this way, I'm not sure if I want to see a large extended family with all the mothers organising things,” I admitted.
“Richard?”
“I'd rather go to Annie and Maria's,” he said.
Dad smiled. The humming started again.
Tanya Allen
Copyright 12.10.05