Julian - Part 10 free porn video

For Bea. The master. 'Owwwhh, you're hurting me!" "Well I told you to stay still," Sara replied, wooden hairbrush in one hand and a mass of my hair in the other, "see, I told you this would happen if you didn't tie it up nicely. It's full of tangles." She took the brush once more and made a stronger attempt to work it through the knots that had formed in my new hair extensions. Sara had decided that I needed new ones before going back to school, a decision which had caused yet another argument in the long, hard summer that was now, finally, coming to an end. Not that the summer coming to an end was a cause for celebration. Anything but, in fact. I'd spent most of the last week look glumly at the Jake Simpson calendar on the wall, trying to comprehend how I, Julian, a 26 year old man, was about to go "back to school'. And not just back to school, but back to primary school. And not just back to primary school, but back to primary school as a school girl. The calendar had been a gift from Sara, after she'd found out that Ellie had developed a devotion to some irksome singer. So now, Jake Simpson's boyish grin and quaffed hair was one of the first things I saw every morning, looking at me from next to the vanity. It had been Bethany who had circled the date of September 4th, encircling it with bold red pen and no little glee, while mocking her new little sister. "Only 8 days to go now," she'd say, with a sadistic grin. "You're being too rough," I complained again to Sara, feeling like my scalp was being pulled off, but she was half through her task now and had no intention of stopping. She loved moments like this, where I was left to complain like any other pathetic 9 year old girl would. Like Ellie would, at the hands of her "Mummy'. Or like Maggie did, when she suffered some perceived injustice, like having to turn her music down or having to go to bed before the TV programme ended. The summer had been ghastly. For one thing, it had been too hot. It had reminded me of the summer after Fran and I had got married, which had been boiling from June right through to mid September. We'd spend most of that summer outside on our patio, in the garden set that Fran's sister had bought us, with Fran often wearing a silver bikini that I'm sure the neighbours appreciated while I made my way through the John La Carre set that Fran had bought me for my birthday. When I shut my eyes even now, I could still hear the faint hum of a lawnmower down the street and Fran breathing softly as she sunbathed, and feel those La Carre books in my hands. In the afternoon, she'd ask me to re-apply her sun tan lotion, and I vividly remembered thinking that life didn't get any better as I made my way all over her perfect body. How I'd have killed for such luxury now. My week so far had consisted of a play date with Maggie on Monday, when Maggie's Mum had taken us "girls" to the park and then to the cinema to see some terrible animated film about annoying aliens, and then a trip to the swimming pool with Ellie on Tuesday. Going swimming was still particularly mortifying even after a few visits, and I could never decide whether I was relieved that no one could tell there was nothing strange about the blonde girl in her purple one piece swimsuit, or if it made me want to kill myself. "I've left your clothes on the bed," Sara told me, finally finished brushing through my hair. She was still in her nightie, and looked tired. I guessed it was because she'd been out the night before, I'd heard her leave around 9pm, but I had no idea who with. I'd listened out for either Ian or Mr Lindegaard's voice, but heard neither. I inspected the clothes she'd left out. She'd left me the white knickers with the heart print which annoyed me, because I'd told her that I didn't like them as they were a touch too small and the waistband itched when I sat down. For a moment I thought about asking for a different pair but the act itself seemed too girlish, so I just slipped them on followed by the white white and pink polka dot knee length leggings and a pink dip dye shirt with a large butterfly embossed on the front. I'd seen the leggings before but not the top, and wondered once more just how much money she was spending as I pulled it on. I didn't even need to look in the mirror to know what I looked like. She turned me into the daughter she'd always wanted, a soppy, pathetic, tweeny girlie girl, and I had no idea how to stop it. I sat in the front room glumly while waiting for Sara to get ready, swinging my legs off the end of the sofa and looking at my white and pink Converse bouncing off its leather exterior. It was the same sofa I'd sat on only months before when Fran and I had visited on the fateful night. The same sofa I'd been sitting on when Bethany had challenged me to an arm wrestle, the arm wrestle that had started this never-ending slide from manhood to girlhood. I even had ID now, as ridiculous as that sounded. I still had no idea where Sara had got it from, although I assumed from all the time she'd spent on her laptop that she'd found it on some dark part of the internet, and still couldn't quite believe it. She'd shown me it excitedly. The birth certificate, on which I'd traced the word Julia with my varnished fingernail and which told the world I'd been born only 9 and a half years ago, but had a 10th birthday coming up in October. "We're going to tell people, if they ask, that you're my sister's kid but that I've adopted you now," was the concise explanation that Sara gave me, "I've even got adoption papers to prove it." Whether the documents would stand legal scrutiny I had no idea, but they'd clearly been powerful enough to persuade Mr Lindegaard to let me return to the school. Sara had only grinned when I'd asked how she'd done that, patting me on the head and winking. I hated the passport the most though, with the picture of the meek little girl staring back at me from its red-bound pages confirming my situation with a terrifying finality. In many ways, it felt apt. Passports usually just let you into other countries. This was letting me into a whole new world. What was the end now? Was I really stuck as her daughter forever? "Don't forget your little bag sweetie," Sara said, looking around for her keys with her normal flustered and disorganised air. With an inward groan, I put the sparkly purple cross body bag over my shoulder. Sara liked me to carry a strawberry lip balm, some hairbands and a little mirror, further enforcing my role as a feminine girl, and she'd always make me accompany her to the ladies, where I stand next to her putting on my lip-balm while she fixed her make-up. The women walking by always thought this was very cute, of course. I also stuffed my latest book in the bag, which Sara didn't like me doing. I was reading about a girl spy at the moment, which while a million miles away from La Carre and that hot summer on the sun loungers, wasn't all that bad. It had quite a bit of adult humour in it and fairly clever story lines, and I'd raced onto the third book already. In fact, I was keen to get the fourth from the library, if Sara allowed it. Problem was, even asking a question now required a descent into childish humiliation. It had started when the four of us, Anna, Ellie, Sara and me, had gone to the cinema and Ellie had pestered her Mum for the large tub of sweet popcorn, rather than a medium sized one. "Please Mummy," she had said, "please, please, please......" She hopped up and down as well of course, and had pouted when Anna had said no. I had watched Sara watching the scene, and knew I was in trouble. So the rule now was that, if I asked a question, it had to be either start or end with the word Mummy. However, if I really wanted something, like that trip to the library or to stay up to watch the end of a film, I had to be enthusiastic and desperate about it because, as Sara had pointed out, that was how little girls asked for things. If I didn't do this, Sara simply ignored me. "Mummy," I began, tugging at her arm just a little, "can we go to the library please? I want to get the next Freda the Spy book out, and....." "No, we don't have time," she shot back, not even looking at me. This seemed unfair, "but I asked nicely," I racked my brain for what else might help, "and I'll be good today, I promise." "You should be good today anyway. You were naughty enough yesterday at the pool, sulking because you had to take a shower." "But I'll be extra good today," I felt my stomach churning at the childish pleading, "I promise." Sara stopped rummaging through her bag and looked at me, her eyes narrowing slightly. She looked nice, with her dark hair pulled up into a high ponytail and the flower print dress showing enough of her tanned legs to cause just a frisson of ridiculous arousal in me. "You'll be a good girl, you promise?" I nodded, but knew that wouldn't be enough confirmation. "Well, say it then." "I'll be a good girl." She lifted her bag, "well, we'll see. Anyway, we need to get moving. We're meeting Anna at ten." But as she began for the door, her phone started to vibrate. Rather than answering it though, she just looked at the number and put the phone back into her bag, rolling her eyes as she did. I could only imagine it was Ian, and just the thought of him sent a little chill down my spine. She'd been vague on our activities for the day, and I soon learned why. We picked up Anna and Ellie first, with Anna making a big fuss about my pretty outfit as she climbed into the front passenger seat and Ellie sat herself in the back seat next to me. She was wearing her Jake Simpson t- shirt again, and I wondered how long it would be before I had a t-shirt like it. "We've had a fun morning," Anna told the car, pointing at her daughter, "little miss moody here has been on at me all morning to let her have a smartphone. We've had tears and everything." "I didn't cry," Ellie responded indignantly, "anyway, it's still not fair. Amy has one, and loads of the other girls in our class......" "Julia doesn't," Anna replied, "and I know Maggie doesn't either." "Yeah, but we should have," Ellie continued, "how are we supposed to send each other pictures otherwise?" "Well, you're too young little miss," Anna said, and that ended the conversation, with Ellie sinking into a pout, arms crossed across her chest. I knew that Ellie was already upset that Amy had been spending time with Ruby and Hayley all summer, the two horrible girls who had tried to goad me into a fight last year, and she looked a bit heartbroken at the realisation she'd been usurped in her best friend's attention. At the swimming pool, she'd handed me a purple friendship bracelet, asking if I'd be her new best friend. I'd taken the bracelet and nodded, wondering what Maggie would think of the arrangement. It was hard to believe this was my life now. A thought that was driven home even further as we pulled up outside the school supply shop. "Oh no," I groaned, almost in unison with Ellie, which made me feel silly. "Sorry girls, we have to get your stuff," Sara said, smiling at Anna, "school starts next week." I suppose the enormity of the situation hadn't quite hit home yet, but it started to when we entered the shop to be faced by a sea of school greys, blacks and reds. The shop was small with barely enough room to pass through the racks of clothing, a feat made no easier by the three other sets of parents and kids in the cramped space. Behind the till an Asian man in a turban was sat on a stool, hammering his pudgy fingers into a calculator and only looking up when one parent brought a handful of purchases up to to counter, a pair of chirpy pre-teen boys in tow. Ellie, perhaps remembering her status as my new best friend, clasped onto my hand, "let's look at the pens," she said, "I want one of those glitter pens, you know, like Rose had last year." "Not so fast girls," Anna said, "we need to get your uniforms first, then we'll worry about stationary." A humiliating half an hour followed, as Sara picked out a seemingly non- stop array of items. Two grey pleated skirts, a pack of white blouses, two red and white gingham dresses with matching hair scrunchy and three packs of red and white school issue socks were quickly added to the basket, and I looked at the chirpy boys at the till enviously as each item was thrown in. I thought about what an alien species girls had seemed to me at junior school, with their giggling and strange games and doing each others hair, and wondered how I had become one the alien species. We bought my PE kit too, a white t-shirt with the St Margaret's logo at the breast and a pleated red games skirt, which caused another lurch in my stomach as I considered having to play netball and do dance with all those girls again. And I wouldn't even have Miss Bradley to stare at any more, with her breasts heaving against her top as she showed us how to shoot for goal. When I complained about the whole buying process taking too long, Sara quickly reminded me of my promise to be a good girl, if I wanted to go the library. After that, Sara and Anna "treated" us to a manicure at Anna's favourite salon, although I suspected it was merely a way of Sara and Anna getting to have a facial. Ellie loved this though, and excitedly told the young girl who was painting our nails how I was her best friend now, and about how brilliant the Jake Simpson album was. The girl asked if we wanted matching colours, which Ellie quickly agreed to, leaving us both with sparkly pink nails. "Do you want to see something?" Ellie asked me in a whisper, as we sat in the reception area, waiting for Sara and Anna to finish. With her sparkly nails, she produced a small glittery book from her own cross body bag, which she'd decorated with lots of hearts. She looked a little red in the face as she passed me the book, as though she was embarrassed, "it's boys I like," she confided, "Jake Simpson mostly, but others too." I was a little shocked, and thought back to what Sara had said about how the girls would start to like boys soon. I hadn't thought it would start in year 5 though! How on earth was I supposed to take part in these conversations? It was one thing to feign interest in nail polish and Jake bloody Simpson songs, but another altogether to talk about boys in that way. On the first page of the book, in flowery pink letters, Ellie had written exactly that, "Boys I Like'. "He's so perfect, isn't he," Ellie said, pointing at a picture of Jake Simpson with his shirt half undone, "do you like him too?" "I guess," I replied, the words coming up from the pit of my stomach and burning my throat like bile. "I like Toby too, he's a boy that lives over the road. He's a year above us though, so I don't think he likes me." I had to change the subject, "hey, what are we going to say to Maggie about these friendship bracelets. Are you going to give her one too?" "I hadn't thought about that," the little girl replied, taking back her "boy" book, "but maybe she can be best friends with Rose. She's a bit babyish anyway, isn't she?" "I don't know, I'd never really....." Ellie had already moved on, "Mummy says you're coming round my house tonight. We can try some of my Jake Simpson dance routines." "Great," I replied, tried to hide my sourness. The reason for the visit to Anna's that evening was grimly predictable. Sara had a date, I assumed with Mr Lindegaard, and with Bethany staying at her Dad's, so I was being packed off to Anna again. A nine year old girl can't stay at home on her own, after all. The only bright spot was that Sara, who obviously wanted the time alone to get ready, finally agreed to let me go to the library. I'd had to plead again, telling her that I'd been a good girl as promised and bugging her until she grew tired of me, but she had finally given in. She'd let me walk there alone too, which was a real treat. It was nice to have the later afternoon sun against my back and almost possible to forget my desperate situation as I made my way down the high street. I could pretend I was Julian again, wondering down to the library to get a good book to read, rather than 9 year old Julia with her pink nails and sparkly cross body bag, going to get the latest Freda the Spy book. "Hello sweetie pie," Mrs Alderman, the old librarian chirped as I entered. She'd come to know me quite well in the last few weeks and had even taken to recommending books. They were generally based on books her granddaughters liked to read, but even so, it was nice of her. I wished her hello, feeling strangely happy. The old downside was that those knickers I didn't like had really started to bite into my waist now, exacerbated by the hot sun perhaps, and I made a mental note to tell Sara I didn't want to wear them any more. But even that couldn't stop me feeling a little surge of excitement as I handed Mrs Alderman back a couple of books and talked about how hot it was. The children's section sat near the entrance and was reached through a colourful archway, which had been decorated by drawings of famous book covers by boys and girls "my age" and younger. Mrs Alderman had suggested I draw one too, but it felt too ridiculous an idea to consider. How should I sign it? Julia, aged nine and a half? The area was split into three sections, with young children's books at the front and teen/young adults books at the back. My section was in the middle, informally called the tweens area by Mrs Alderman, and was only three racks long. I'd read quite a few of the books already, finding even the most boring or childish book a diversion from my situation. I generally read before going to sleep, in the half an hour between bedtime and lights out that Sara afforded me, resting my head on the large white teddy bear Sara made me keep on the bed and laying on the covers, not wanting to get under the sheets until Sara made me, on account of the heat in the room. I don't think Sara was a fan of my reading, she didn't think it feminine enough perhaps, but perhaps she realised I needed something to keep my mind occupied. As I made my way through the young children's section I passed a young mother with a toddler in a buggy. She was taking up most of the walkway, so I paused for a moment so she could shuffle over slightly. To my horror, as she looked up, I realised it was Lindsey Pugh, who'd been in my year at school. I'd sat next to her in Mr Finn's year 10 English class! I froze to the spot, with my head spinning and ice water flowing through my veins. We'd been fairly friendly, well, as friendly as I'd been with any girl in high school, and I'd definitely fancied her a bit. Crazily, my mind wondered back to evenings in my bedroom as a teenage boy, laying on my bed, thinking of glimpses of her bra and the short skirt she wore, wondering if Mum could hear the creaking of my bedposts as I worked myself silly. I was certain she was going to recognise me, after all, I recognised her straight away. She looked a little older and she had dyed her brown hair a auburn-red colour, but I'd known it was her. I'd heard she'd had kids, two in fact, and knew she'd ended up marrying my best friend from school, Darren Byrne. I hadn't seen Darren in years, and quickly wondered with more than a little terror if he was here too. It took what felt like an age for Lindsey to stand up fully, and when she locked her eyes onto me I felt like my head was about to explode. My first instinct was to turn around and run away, but my feet clearly didn't want to move. Terrifyingly, Lindsey's eyes narrowed. Fucking hell! She did recognise me! So this was it! I knew it would come eventually. The moment when I was outed. Crowds would form. People would murmur. God, what was Mrs Alderman going to think? I decided to strike first. Hell, what choice did I have? I'd tell her what had happened, perhaps she could help me. Perhaps she'd understand. "Lin......" "Are you OK pet," Lindsay asked, mercifully cutting me off, "you look a little lost. Do you want to get past?" I felt a surge of relief, and warm blood started to circulate again. Of course she didn't recognise me. Why on earth would she think the blonde girl in front of her was really her year 10 English desk mate? "Thank God," I whispered, inaudibly. To break the tension even further, a energetic little red head girl of no more than six or seven ran to Lindsey's side, and started pulling on her arm, "Mummy, I've seen a book I want." I thought about Darren, and how everyone had teased him for his ginger hair. But I didn't need the hair to tell me this was his daughter, because she just plain looked like him. Same saucer eyes, same freckles. "Just hang on Dani, this little girl wants to get past first." It took me a moment to realise she was referring to me, but thankfully my feet worked this time and I managed to scurry through. To my chagrin, I noticed that little Dani was wearing polka dot leggings very like mine. I could hardly concentrate as I stood in front of the tween racks, still trembling from the shock. Darren, my best friend in the whole world when I was at school. God, I hadn't even thought of him for ages. Feeling like my legs wouldn't support me for much longer, I sat down on one of the small plastic chairs in the middle of the room and then started to feel very sorry for myself once more. That could have been my life. I should be the one with the kids, I shouldn't be the kid. Darren had Lindsey, but I had Fran. At least, I did have Fran. I could have had Lindsey too though. I always thought she'd liked me, just a little. Suddenly, the idea of reading Freda the Spy seemed ridiculous. I couldn't just let myself fall completely into the girlie world Sara had created for me. I had to fight it, somehow! I couldn't let her turn my brain into tweeny mush. I couldn't just become Bethany's little sister without some kind of plan to get out of it. But what was there now? With Ian watching, I couldn't just leave. And I didn't even know where Fran was, anyway. But I knew one thing, I wasn't going to read another Freda the Spy book. No fucking way. Hearing Dani and Lindsey heading my way to collect the book the girl wanted, I ducked into the young adult section, and then round the back into the main library. It was a delight just to be in there, surrounded by all the proper books with their proper covers, not the lurid pastel covered rubbish I had to put up with. I was in row with true crime books to my right and political books to my left, neither which would normally interest me, but after looking around to see if Mrs Alderman or any other adult could see me, I picked up a old hardback about a serial killer in Missouri. Frankly, it looked a bit unsettling so I put it back. But on the next rack, I found the mother-load. Spy novels, my favourite. With a beating heart, I shuffled halfway down where the John La Carre books were located and luxuriated in their presence. I remembered a few from that hot summer on the sun loungers. Fran called them silly books, and couldn't work out why anyone would be interested in old Russian and German spies. But she read chick-lit, so what did she know anyway? I needed to read a proper book. I wasn't going to leave the library without one. But how? I couldn't exactly bring a spy novel up the desk for Mrs Alderman to check out. She might even call Sara and tell her I was trying to take out adult books, for which some punishment would certainly be metered out. I looked down at my cross body bag, bouncing against my dip dye t-shirt, and then knelt down as low as I could. Who was it hurting? I'd bring it back. Heart still thumping, I stuffed a book into the bag, one I knew I hadn't read. I felt exhilarated, like William Wallace in Braveheart. You can take my freedom, but you cannae take my spy novels! That would show them! Hardly able to walk straight from the buzz, I made my way back into the young adult section and then through the kids" section, back to the main desk. "Not taking anything out today sweetie?" Mrs Alderman asked. I clutched the bag close to my chest, and offered a cheery "no'. As I left the library, I watched Lindsey walk away in the other direction. She had her daughter holding one hand and was pushing the buggy with the other, and she didn't look back at the blonde girl who she once knew as someone very different. Life was very confusing. The house was quiet when I returned, with only the soft hum of Sara running the shower filling the emptiness. I raced quickly to my bedroom, feeling every inch the naughty child as I clutched my precious contraband close to the chest. I was no longer allowed to close the bedroom door at anytime, that was a new rule that Sara had implemented after she'd found me reading a "grown up" newspaper, so I needed to act quickly to hide the book before Sara got out of the bathroom. It wasn't easy though. My first idea had been to hide it under the bed, but I quickly realised that Sara would find it when she changed my sheets. I also debated stuffing it in the back of my wardrobe or in the bottom draw of my cupboard, but with a sinking heart, realised that Sara would find it there too. Putting it on top of the wardrobe was a non starter, because I couldn't reach that high. I slumped onto the bed, trying to think of another solution and cursing my lack of privacy. "Little girls don't need privacy," Sara had told me as she implemented her open door rule, which was the same day as she'd hung the Jake Simpson calendar on my wall, the one I stared at now. I thought about Ellie's "boy book" as I stared at his teeny bopper face, and felt a surge of shame. Suddenly the book, and its link to the adult world, seemed more important than ever. I had to find a hiding place for it. The solution was nearby. Very nearby, in fact. I saw it through a sea of blonde hair as I leaned back to rest my head on my pillow, a fluffy white savour with a yellow bow around its neck. I don't know how Mr. Bear felt about having his zipper undone and a book stuffed inside, but he didn't make any outward complaint and I felt proud of myself for such ingenious thinking. No way Sara would think to look inside the bear, not even she was that crazy. "Julia, are you home?" Sara called, "can you come here for a minute?" Leaving Mr. Bear with his new secret, I made my way down the hallway to Sara's bedroom, where she was sitting at her vanity, wrapped in a large pink towel. Her hair was wet and hanging loosely around her shoulders, "be a good girl and help me brush my hair out, will you? The brush is over there." I made to complain, but then stopped. What was the use, after all? And it wasn't unpleasant to see Sara in just a towel, even after all the horrors she'd put me through. She smelled gently of her peach body lotion, and looked pretty and youthful without make-up. For a crazy moment, I thought about slipping my hand inside her towel, and how her breasts would feel against my touch. God, it had been a long time since I'd had real relief, apart from the sporadic and embarrassing wet dreams. Fran and I had had sex at least once a week, normally on a Friday night when she'd had a couple of glasses of wine. I probably hadn't been the world's greatest lover, but I could normally make her orgasm. I felt my poor, forgotten penis surge pitifully against its prison walls as I brushed against Sara's shoulder. I closed my eyes tightly, trying to will such unhelpful thoughts away. "What's the matter?" Sara asked, noting my wince. The evil bitch knew what she was doing, I was certain of it. This was just another way of showing her power over me, like the lion tamer who taunts his animal with a flash of meat before taking it away. She proved this beyond all doubt when, after she'd made me brush her hair for an absolute age, she casually dropped her towel and walked over to her wardrobe. "Which dress do you think Mummy should wear?" She asked, holding up a little black dress and a grey and white striped knee length number, both of which I'd seen her wear a few times. The black dress was particularly low cut, but the grey and white one was tighter and showed off her curves more. Not that I was thinking about that though, in the face of her blatantly naked body. "Isn't this fun," she continued, making the decision to go with the black dress, "you helping me get ready like this? This is what Mum's and their daughters should do. Do you want to paint Mummy's toenails for her?" I didn't of course, but accepted my task anyway. My penis was raging now though, with images of Sara's naked body replaced by memories of Friday night with Fran. There was something about the air of the bedroom and being so close to Sara's naked body that reminded me of those evenings, those special nights that seemed so far away now. "Where are you going tonight?" I asked, wanting to take my mind off other things, like the memory of squeezing Fran's breasts together, making her groan in that way she did. "Just out," Sara replied. She had put on her underwear, a matching set of French knickers and bra, both in black and both bursting with lace, "with a friend." "Which friend? Mr. Lindegaard, or Ian?" I doubted she was going to answer, she had a desire to keep all "adult" things from me, but she didn't get a chance to anyway because her phone started to vibrate, causing us both to jump a little in fright. Just like earlier in that morning, Sara looked at the number and put the phone back down without answering. "Are you trying to avoid Ian?" I put the bottle of dark purple nail polish down, "is that a good idea? I mean, I don't like him either, but I don't think....." "Julia! You're smudging it everywhere!" Sara cried, pointing at her big toe, "do you want to help me paint my nails or not?" "I was just wondering...." I began, before trailing off. It didn't really matter anyway. It was obviously Ian she was avoiding, because I knew she really did like Mr. Lindegaard and definitely wouldn't ignore his calls with such disdain. I knew she liked him because I seen her reading that love letter he'd written for her a couple of times, the one she kept on top of her cupboard. She had me help her into her dress, zipping it up at the back and removing any creases. She also made me pick her earrings, and offered gushing praise at my choice of purple droplets, which I placed gently into each of her ears as she held her long brown hair to one side. To any onlooker it would have been a very sweet scene to see the girl help her Mummy get ready. I just wanted to cry. "So, how do I look?" She asked, twirling around. She looked great of course, painfully so, and I told her as much. "No, say it properly. Like Ellie would, if Anna looked nice." "C'mon....," I replied, "isn't it enou....." "Julia, don't spoil it now. You've been such a good girl, helping me get ready." That was my lot in life now, and it hurt. Mr. Lindegaard was going to get to take her out and have a nice dinner with her, touching her hand as they sat at the table. He'd probably give her his coat when they left the restaurant, a chivalrous act to warm her bare shoulders, and he'd kiss her plump, dark lips goodnight. Perhaps Darren was doing the same with Lindsey that evening too. They'd pack the kids off to bed, and then he'd screw her like a man should. Like I used to with Fran. Like I'd never do again. Now, while Sara and her boyfriend had their romantic date, while Darren and Lindsey touched each other, while Fran was God-knows where and with God-knows who, I'd be in Ellie's bedroom, making up dance routines to Jake-fucking-Simpson, wearing my pink nightie. Talking about her "boy book'. Talking about going back to school. "Earth to Julia," Sara said, softly. It was getting darker outside now, and her lip gloss shone in the dusk, "I'm waiting." "You look really pretty Mummy," I said, looking down at the ground. "Oh, you can do better than that," Sara laughed, "try it again with enthusiasm." Yes, this was my life now. "You look sooo pretty Mummy," I said, giving her a hug. Touching her didn't illicit a surge of excitement from my penis this time though. Clearly, it had realised how useless it was. Sara returned my hug with an even tighter squeeze. So tight that I could feel her breasts pushing against my chest, and so close I could hear her breathing, even before she spoke, "thank you princess," her voice dropped to a whisper, "my princess. My little madam. The next few months are going to be fun, I promise. Just you wait and see." My dreams, when they came at all, had descended into a mixture of the bizarre and the terrifying. I was a girl more often than not now, and most of the time the dreams involved me trying to hide who I really was. That generally meant running. Running until I could feel sweat dripping from my pores, even in a state of slumber. And I was running from the strangest people. Like Mr Finn, my year 10 English teacher who had a big bushy beard and a lisp that meant he couldn't pronounce his R's properly. I assumed he'd entered my subconscious because of the chance meeting with Lindsey at the library so at least that made a little sense, but how to explain running from Father Rocastle, the black priest who'd married Fran and I? That fucker had thrown a bible at my head. I'd also dreamt about Harry, Maggie's older brother. In that dream, he'd tried to kiss me. Again, I made to run away, but he was quicker than me and kept saying, "but you're just a girl. You can't outrun me." It didn't sound like Harry though. The voice was deep and dark, and it scared me. I kept crying out that I wasn't really a girl, that I was a boy like he was. I ran as hard as I could to get away, for so long and so far that my lungs began to burn. All the while, Harry kept perfect pace to my right, laughing at my pathetic attempts to hold down my skirt as I ran. "See, you are a girl," he said, "you're worried about your skirt blowing up!" I tried to keep running, but eventually my energy ran out and I doubled over, crying from the exertion. I expected to feel Harry kiss me at any second, and readied myself for the sensation, but it never came. Harry just kept on running, his back slowly turning into a shadow. Then I was in the school playground with Ellie. She was telling me that I had to put Harry in my "boy book', because the dream obviously meant that I fancied him. I told her that it was preposterous, but she kept singing that silly song about Julia and Harry sitting in a tree, k-i-s- s-i-n-g. She even handed me one of her glitter pens for me to write in his name in. Mercifully, as I started to move the pen to the page, with her song still ringing in my ears and my face burning from the shame of it all, I woke up. But even waking up wasn't much of a relief, when you found yourself waking up in a pink nightie, surrounded by a fluffy teddy bear and a Jake Simpson calendar that informed you, cruelly, that you only had two days before you had to join the massed ranks of St Margaret's school girls again. By this time, Sara had even hung my gingham dress on the wardrobe, all ready to go. Two days, before my new life really started again. I had solace in the form of the John La Carre book, and I was treasuring it. It had been a struggle to find opportunities to read it, another humiliating side effect of being the little girl of the house, where people felt they could come into my room at a whim. Necessity is the mother of invention though. My solution was to rip pages out of the book and insert them carefully into which either tweeny book Sara thought I was reading. In fact, the Jake Simpson annual she'd bought me at the supermarket worked particularly well for this task. I just had to put up with Bethany's mockery every time she saw me reading it. "Oh, look at little Julia, reading her Jakey book again," she'd sneer, "I bet you want to marry him when you grow up, don't you?" Bethany and Sara had been fighting a lot. They'd always argued a bit, but in the last few weeks it had intensified to new levels. At first I'd put it down to normal mother/daughter stuff (and then felt a pang of disgust that my arguments with Sara were now mother/daughter arguments), but now I wondered if they were just that. The last one, just the night before, had ended with Bethany screaming that she didn't want to live with "us" any more," and that she hated this "freak-show," and most worrying that "Dad will work it out eventually, you know." I didn't know how the argument had started, I'd already been packed off to bed, but those words had frightened me. "She's a moody teenager," Sara said, as we ate breakfast together. Bethany had already stormed out to meet her friends but I'd noticed as she left, with no little surprise, that she was wearing a skirt. It was the first time I'd seen her in anything but jeans or school trousers. "I think she's got a little boyfriend," Sara added, a notable lack of interest in her voice, "she's very sensitive about it. I saw the pair of them outside the supermarket. He looked a scruffy oik to be honest," she let out a sigh, "typical. Anyway, don't you wind her up about it madam. I know how you like to get her riled up." "No I don't!" But I'd already stored it up, ready for the next time she tried to embarrass me. The day was spent with Maggie and Ellie, at the bowling alley. Maggie's mum had arranged it as a going back to school present, with Harry and two of his friends in the lane next to us. It felt weird seeing him and his bright ginger hair, after he had invaded my dreams the night before. He didn't pay any attention to me though, or Ellie or his sister for that matter. To him, I'm sure we were just three silly girls, pests to ignore. I was never much of a bowler, even as a man. I could remember going once with some friends at school, I assumed Darren had been there, and everyone had laughed at my feeble attempts to even get the ball to the other end of the lane, never mind hit the pins. As a girl, I quickly found I was even more useless than I had been as a boy, my ball dribbling sadly along the lane and bouncing off the bright orange gutter guards that us girls had, but which the boys didn't. After a few throws I was in a distant last, with even timid Maggie managing to acquit herself with more gusto. I was in a bit of a mood anyway, Sara had lumbered me with the knickers that I didn't like again and a denim shirt dress and grey leggings that I didn't much like either (I didn't like any girl clothes of course, but some were more uncomfortable than others). So I wasn't much bothered when the consensus was reached between us that bowling was boring, and as Ellie said, "for stupid boys'. The three of us instead just sat on the benches in front of the lanes, with the conversation quickly turning back to going back to school. I could tell Maggie was stung by the friendship bracelets Ellie and I were wearing, and I'd tried to make her feel better by saying we'd make one for her too. At this point, Ellie had given me a dig in the ribs. "Maybe," the girl said haughtily, "but they're really only meant for two people to share." "But we're all friends," I said, trying to comprehend how I'd sunk to such a scenario, "equal friends." "It's fine," Maggie said softly, "I don't want a bracelet anyway." The conversation moved on to Ellie's biggest worry, her lack of a mobile phone. "We'd could call each other and share pictures and stuff," she said, grumpily, "I know that Ruby and Hayley have Facebook accounts and everything. It's soooo unfair." "That would be cool," Maggie said, twisting her mousey hair around her finger. I got lost a bit at this point, suddenly snapped out of the girlie exchange by a lightning bolt of any idea. I knew Fran had a Facebook account. If I could get onto that somehow, it might tell me where she was. I might even be able to send her a message! I didn't know what I'd say, but at least I could talk to her again. But how to get onto Facebook? As a man it would have been easy of course. I'd have just fired up my laptop, my trusty old Toshiba with its Greenpeace logo sticker on the front and the first three series of The Sopranos on the hard drive. I'd never had a Facebook account personally, but I was sure it didn't take much to set one up. Now though, what was the answer? Sara often left her laptop laying around but I had no idea when I'd get the chance alone to use that. Bethany had a tablet and a smartphone, but there was no way she'd let her "little sister" on there. I'd found that out when I begged her to let me read the news ('just play with your Barbies instead," she laughed). I needed a smartphone! "No way," Sara said, as she tucked me in that night. I'd waited until bedtime to ask, not wanting Bethany to hear my pathetic request. "Please! Apparently lots of the girls in the class have them already, and it will look silly if I don't." "Not a chance sweetie. I didn't let Bethany have a phone until she was 13, so you're nowhere near." I wanted to scream at her that I was 26 years old, but I knew it wouldn't do any good, "I promise I'll look after it," I continued, "and I'll only go on the things you allow me to," I took a deep breath, "please Mummy?" "I said no already," Sara laughed, "now don't get all worked up before bed. You'll never get to sleep." "Can I use your laptop then? Just to look at some websites and stuff? Please?" "Well, you definitely can't use Mummy's laptop, that's for certain," she kissed me on the forehead , "and I've got a password on there, so don't even try madam." Slowly but surely I could see another opportunity, another chance at a window to my old life, disappear, and I felt angry, "it's not fair. Everyone else is going to have a phone but me, and you don't even care," I was on a roll of injustice now, "and why did you have to give me those knickers again today, the ones with the hearts on them? I'd already said they were too small! God, you never listen!" My voice had gone pretty shrill by this point. "And....." Sara had had enough, "stop it now. You're being a silly little girl. A silly, tired little girl." "I'm not tired," I spat back, "and I'm not a little....." "I'd stop before you finish that sentence Julia. Stop and think hard about it." "I just want a phone," I said, angrily but softly, knowing I'd been defeated by now and turning my thoughts to other opportunities to get online, "it's soooo unfair!" "Get to sleep now," Sara replied, turning off the light, "you'll be happy again in the morning." That seemed unlikely. Especially as old Jakey on the wall was telling me that I only had one more day to go before "back to school'. That last day passed in a blur, filled with packing my new purple rucksack and a particularly embarrassing bath with Sara, where she washed me to within an inch of my life, paying admirable attention to behind my ears and my neck. When she'd finished, I smelled of strawberries. I smelled like a girl. Spanish Girl. That was the Jake Simpson song I hated the most, and the one Ellie loved with all her heart. "You can be my Spanish Girl, my se?orita," his hormonal voice warbled, "we can walk on the sand, you'll be my sweetheart, baby." Ellie had shown me the video, which was basically old Jakey walking down the beach behind some tanned girl, desperately trying to look like he could play an acoustic guitar. It had this sort-of catchy middle eight, a Spanish guitar solo that I sometimes woke up with swirling around my head. In fact, it was swirling around my head when I woke the next morning. A perfect accompaniment perhaps, to my new life. I'd never felt more terrified and depressed. The morning was dark and rainy, the summer already becoming a distant memory and autumn, school time, becoming the present. For a few minutes after I'd brushed my teeth and hair, securing my blonde locks with the red scrunchy hairband that matched my uniform, I could only stand and hold the gingham dress in my hands. I held it very carefully for some reason, as though I was handling a new born baby, as I thought about what it entailed. The beginning of the end, or the end of the beginning. Who could know? I hated how it felt when it was on. My old summer dress had been humiliating, but at least it had become lived in and comfortable. This was starchy and new, with the skirt of the dress rubbing against my bare legs with an unfair gusto. Even the socks, with their frilly fold down trim and red piping, felt new and strange, and the less said about my buckle up shoes, the better. They pinched in at my toes in a way that left me wondering if I'd be able to walk by the end of the day. "It's just all new, that's all," Sara said when I complained, "by the end of the day you'll have forgotten all about it." "No," I whinged, "I'm telling you, this dress is too small. I can feel it nipping at my waist." But Sara didn't care of course. No-one did. Not Bethany, who gave a wicked smile and then rushed out the door in her new Year 10 uniform, nor the old woman who slowly made her way across the zebra crossing as we drove to school and made Sara worry that we might be late. The thought hit me with a sudden and brutal force as we passed the school gates. This is really fucking happening. "Good luck sweetie-pie," Sara said, after walking me to the entrance. Lots of girls were buzzing around, some of who I recognised and some I didn't. Most were wearing summer dresses like mine, but with winter coats on top to guard against the rain. My own coat, a purple duffel coat with fiddly wooden buttons, suddenly felt very heavy. "Please don't do this to me," I said, squeezing Sara's hand in desperation, "I can't do this again. I can't be stuck here again. Please!" I was crying now, but didn't care. I was just desperate not to take that step inside the doorway. That step into the cheaply lit hallway and tiny plastic seats. That step into corridors decorated by childish drawings. That final step that confirmed me, Julian, once and for all, as a 9 year old school girl. "Oh sweetie," Sara replied, moving us away from the door and kneeling in front of me. For a crazy moment I thought we might be going back to the car, but instead she took a spot twenty feet or so away from the entrance, away from everyone. "I know you're scared," she said eventually, "but we don't have a choice. You have to do this. For me. For you." She wiped away my tears with her hankie, "you're a girl now, and that's it. You're a nine year old girl now, and that's it. You're my daughter now, and that's it. We don't have any alternative." "Please Mummy," I said, pathetically, "please. I want to go home." "I'll be back later to pick you up sweetie. We can go home then. You have to go to school now though," she stood up and patted me on the head again, "look, here's Maggie. You'll feel better once you're with your friend again." I cried a little harder at this, which caused Maggie no end of concern. Maggie's Mum only looked on with a little smile on her face, a look which commiserated with the girl who didn't want to go back to school from an adult who'd never go through it again. As the two adults walked away, back to their cars and adult lives, I let out one final sob. "Hey, don't cry," Maggie repeated. She'd grabbed me firmly by the hand, "it'll be fine, I promise." I suddenly felt very stupid, not helped by the people walking past who were all stealing glances at the blonde girl, crying. I forced myself to stop, but I was still red-eyed as we stepped inside the entrance, and into that new world. "I don't have time for silliness. I don't have time for gossip. I don't have time for bullying. I've been teaching girls your age for 30 years. I know all the tricks. I'll know when you pass notes to each other. I'll know when you're not working hard. I'll just know." I found myself stood against the wall of the corridor, roughly half way along a line of girls who were as stunned as me by grey hair woman who was walking up and down the line, like a drill Sargent. Maggie was too my left and Ellie to my right, all three us of still in our winter coats and with our backpacks on our shoulders. "I can be fun too, and we'll have fun. But only if we get the work done. Do you understand, girls?" A polite mumbling was offered as response. "Wakey wakey girls. Let's try that again. When I say do you understand girls, you all say, "yes, Mrs Francesco." This time the response was louder, with my own squeaky voice lost amongst the noise. I looked down the line. I was still the tallest, but a few of the other girls were catching up fast. Like Hayley, who'd shot up over the summer and now offered an even more intimidating presence She had sneered in my direction as she'd passed, perhaps noting my red eyes. A few of the girls were wearing trousers, Hayley and Amy included, and a couple were wearing grey skirts, but most were in summer dresses too. This made me feel a little relieved. It's hard to put into words just how small and pathetic I felt as I marched into the classroom with the other girls. I was a little bit nervous too, not knowing how the seating arrangement was going to work. Maggie looked crestfallen as Ellie, herself stung by being ignored by Amy who sat with Hayley, pulled me into the seat next to hers. Maggie ended up next to Sanjula, on the desk in front of ours. We had to start by writing our names on the front of each of our new workbooks, "and do it neatly girls," Mrs Francesco warned, already prowling around the room like a zoo keeper. Taking one of my new pens, I carefully inscribed my name on the first six before disaster nearly struck on Geography book when I almost added an N to Julia. It was an acceptable mistake, after all I'd had 26 years of being Julian, but I had no idea how I'd explain it to Mrs Francesco. She'd already looked at me strangely on a couple of occasions, which had left me more than unsettled. "She's horrible," Ellie said at first break, as we perched against the wall on the side of the playground, "Mrs Francesco I mean. I wish we had Miss Bradley back." As the girl complained, she shot a look over at her old best friend Amy, who was standing with Hayley and Ruby and looking in our direction and laughing. "Just ignore them," I said. I had no interest in a playground squabble at any time, not least on the first day. But I could tell Ellie was badly hurt by this first snub in her life. Maggie was hurt too about the seating arrangement, and the atmosphere was generally tense. This continued into lunchtime when, as we sat on the grass eating our packed lunches, Maggie had suddenly started crying and ran off the toilets. As if it wasn't hard enough, just being cast back down amongst the world of soppy schoolgirls, I thought glumly. It all felt different to last year somehow, as though I'd simply been a guest before but was now a permanent fixture. But other things were more noticeably different too, like the work itself. It was a little harder now, especially the maths lesson we had on the second day when I'd been flummoxed by the request to simplify equations. Mrs Francesco, still prowling around the room , warned us it would be tough, but that she didn't believe in sugar coating lessons, particularly maths. Even using all my brain power, I'd only managed 6 out of 10, the same score as Ellie. After a few days I realised the girls were different too. Not hugely so, but evolved iterations of the girls I'd left behind in July. For example, I'd noticed bra straps peaking out from under a couple of their blouses (Hayley of course, was in this in number). When I mentioned it to Ellie and Maggie at break they said they'd noticed too, but that they both thought they were probably training bras, rather than "real bras'. "Maybe we should start wearing them too," Maggie said. My heart sunk at the mere suggestion, but also raised a bigger question. If it was horrifyingly possible that Sara was going to keep me like this for a long period of time, what was going to happen when these girls hit puberty and I didn't? A padded bra? Would that be enough? As they do, hours became days, and I started to settle firmly into my routine. In history class we started a project on the Tudor kings and queens which I found quite interesting, I'd read a book about the period a few years before but had forgotten most of it. In geography we started to learn about volcanoes and types of soil, which Ellie and Maggie thought was "super boring" but which I found quietly entertaining. Those were the good lessons. The bad ones were maths and science, which we had on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and of course PE, which we had on Friday mornings. Maths and science I just wasn't very good at, easily in the bottom third of the class embarrassingly, but PE was terrible in every way. What could enforce the reality of my new situation further than having to change into a pleated games skirt and white t-shirt and learn the fundamentals of netball with Mrs Francesco barking at us. "Anticipation, anticipation, anticipation. You girls know what anticipation means, don't you?" We offered a chorus of yesses , "good then. You see, being a good netball player is all about good anticipation. A player who anticipates is already a step ahead of her opponent. She can be smaller and slower than her opponent, and still make her look silly, " Mrs Francesco stopped for a moment and looked around. Her eyes settled on Hayley, who was standing with Amy and Ruby and looking unimpressed at the teacher's pep talk. "Hayley, come over here and stand by the net, good girl." I hated that girl. I knew it was girlie and pathetic of me to do so, she was just a mean and childish 9 year old girl, but I couldn't help it. I hated how she smirked at me all the time, and how she whispered behind my back. It wasn't fair that she'd taken such a dislike to me. "Julia, you come over too, and stand next to Hayley." "Fuck it," I thought. I had been in a good mood before that. It was Friday for one, my first week back at St Margaret's out the way without any real disasters and the prospect of getting to read more of my La Carre book looming on the horizon, although truthfully, I'd started to struggle a little to keep up with the plot. Best of all Bethany was going to be staying at her Dad's again, so I wouldn't have to put up with her either. "Hayley, I want you to be the attacker and Julia, you be the defender," Mrs Francesco continued, taking a ball from the bag on the floor, "you both need to watch the ball as I throw it, and try to guess where it's going to end up. And don't be afraid of hassling each other to get to the ball either. Good hassling is good netball." I had never wanted to do anything less in my life. Ball sports, just like bowling, had never been my thing. Any thoughts of me having an advantage because I was really a man had been quickly dispelled in Miss Bradley's class the year before, when I'd shown absolutely no ability to catch, run or pass a ball of any description. Still, Mrs Francesco threw the ball hard in our direction. She threw it a bit harder than I would have liked though, and too firmly at in my general area, so at the last moment I ducked out of the way. To my horror, I also squealed just a little as I waited for the ball to hit my chest. It didn't hit my chest though, because Hayley had dipped in front and caught it. "Terrible Miss Tyler," the teacher roared, and every girl laughed. To add to my misery, Hayley managed to elbow me in the ribs as she returned to her original position for another try. This time wasn't much better. I didn't jump out the way of the ball, but I didn't get anywhere near it either. By the third try, Mrs Francesco had replaced me with Sanjula, who proved a better match for Hayley. Mrs Francesco called me over just as the lesson came to an end, "you don't have any confidence in yourself girl! You should be the best player in the class with your height." "I'm sorry miss," I replied, just wanting to get away from her. "What's the matter? Think netball is stupid? I bet you're one of those girls that thinks sport is only for boys, aren't you? "No miss," I said. I was useless as a boy too, I thought. "We're going to turn you into a good player girlie. Just give me a few months." Then she gave me that strange look again, the one I didn't like. "Who wants to be good at netball anyway," Maggie said later, while we sat on grass at lunchtime, "I hate it." She was putting a strand of my hair into a plait, "and who cares about Hayley laughing at you. She laughs at everyone." "She's so mean," Ellie agreed. She was standing behind Maggie, putting a strand of Maggie's hair into a plait while Maggie did mine, "anyway Julia. How are you getting on trying to persuade your Mummy to buy you a smartphone? If you can get one, I bet we'll be allowed one too." "No luck yet. She's being so unfair," I had tried again on most nights after school, pleading with added vehemence each evening, and promising more and more in return. Like how I'd do my homework as I soon as I got in from school, or how I'd do the dishes every night. I tried to pretend as best I could that I wanted it to send Maggie and Ellie pictures and flowery messages, but I was sure Sara could see through that. She wasn't stupid. She was a bit like that North Korean dictator, what's his name? - the one who doesn't let his people go on the internet. "What are you talking about?" Ellie asked, when I made this comparison, "where is North Korea? And what's a dictator?" I was beyond happy when the bell rang on Friday to signify the end of my first week. Two whole days away from the classroom and Mrs Francesco and Hayley! So happy in fact, that I couldn't even stop myself from joining Maggie and Ellie in their skip/run toward the gate, even thought I knew how girlie I must have looked. But when I looked for Sara's four wheel drive, it wasn't there. This was very odd, she always parked in the same spot of the car park, just to the right of the main gates. A tiny sense of panic washed over me. Where was she? How was I going to get home? I didn't have any money for a bus (and I didn't even know if a bus went in my direction). I didn't like this at all, "she could at least have the decency to get here on time," I thought angrily, watching Ellie and Maggie drive away with their Mums. I stood against the stone wall that lay beyond the gates, wondering what I was supposed to do. Perhaps I needed to go back inside and get someone to call her. But how pathetic was that? "You're being stupid," I thought sternly, "she may have stuck you with the life of a nine year old, but you're still a grown man. Just start walking home!" It was take about an hour I reckoned, based on the time it took Sara to drive, and I was sure I knew the way. I'd have to walk down the high street though which was busy with cars and people, and also down the Kingsway Road, which everyone knew was rough and where someone had been mugged a few weeks back. "Fuck!" I said, under my breath. "This is what she's done to you! You're frightened of walking home by yourself! How pathetic!" I clutched my backpack closer to my chest and felt my breathing start to quicken. "And now you're panicking! What a stupid little girl you are! Pathetic little Julia, scared to walk home by herself! No wonder Fran left you! You deserve to be a little girl. You deserve to be standing outside your primary school, trembling with fear because your "Mummy" hasn't come to pick you up! "No!" The other side of my brain countered, "it's not a safe walk for anyone. Even if you were still Julian, there is no way you should walk down Kingsway Road! What if someone stabs you? No, just calm down. I'm sure Sara just got stuck in traffic or something." "What if she's been in a car crash!" The other, darker side of my brain came back with, "what happens then, girlie? Where are you going to go? Back to Fran, all dressed nicely in your cute little school dress? I wonder if she'll wash your PE kit for you, or help you with your homework? Perhaps her new boyfriend will help, the one she sleeps with now while you're tucked away in your nightie with your teddy bear, I started to cry again. I really didn't want to. I really hated myself for doing so. But it all so unfair! I just wanted to get home! Why had everyone abandoned me like this? "Hey Julia, what's the matter?" Through my sobbing, I turned to find Miss Bradley. "She hasn't come to pick me up," I replied, still crying, "I don't know how to get home." "Oh petal, don't worry," she put her arm around my shoulder, "let's go back inside and call your Mummy, hey?" I nodded pitifully, trying desperately to ignore my second fit of tears in a week. It felt so nice to hold her hand as we walked back to the entrance, and she looked as pretty as ever in a soft pink dress and with her blonde hair in a ponytail that rested over her right shoulder. And her breasts of course, bouncing so enticingly under the neckline of her dress as we walked. Now I was getting aroused again! What the fucking hell was I? One minute I was weeping because "Mummy" hadn't come to pick me up, and the next I was lusting after Miss Bradley! As she called Sara with a soft and caring grace, I wondered what it would be like to rip off that pink dress she was wearing and screw her right there, in the hallway. Fran and I had often just done it in the hallway. My penis throbbed again. Miss Bradley was the kind of woman I wanted to be with, after all this Julia nonsense was over. She leaned over and touched my hand softly, "there's no answer Julia. Let's go and see what Mr Lindegaard thinks we should do, hey?" Perfect. Let's involve Sara's boyfriend in all this! Miss Bradley knocked softly on his door, still holding me by the hand. We found him sitting behind his desk and looked annoyed the interruption at first, but quickly became interested when we told him the problem. "I haven't been able to get hold of her either, not for a couple of weeks," he blurted out, his eyes widening straight away as he realised his error. "You haven't been able to get hold of her?" Miss Bradley repeated, "what do you mean?" "Err," he looked around nervously, "....for the PTA meeting agenda of course." A couple of weeks? Then who had Sara been talking to on the phone all this time, and who was she going out with? My heart sank once again. Ian! Out the corner of my eye I could see Miss Bradley smile a little. Clearly she didn't believe Mr Lindegaard's story about the "PTA', she wasn't stupid after all. I guessed old Mr Lindegaard had a bit of a reputation for activity with school run Mums. "I don't mind driving her home," Miss Bradley offered, "it's on my way." Of course, I thought glumly. She probably had some stud of a boyfriend at home, waiting to tear that pink dress off. We were half way to her car, my hand still in hers, when Sara swerved dangerously into the car park. "I'm so sorry," she said, "I got stuck in the worst traffic and my phone was dead." She hugged me. I could smell wine. "Oh, I feel terrible." "That's alright," Miss Bradley replied, "it happens." "Are you OK sweetie-pie? You didn't get scared?" "I'm fine," I hissed, feeling my face go red, remembering my tears. What the hell must Miss Bradley have thought of me? As if I was ever going to get to screw someone like her ever again! "Where the hell were you really?" I asked Sara angrily, as she drove us home, "and don't give me all that stuck in traffic nonsense. I know you've been drinking. Did you use to pick Bethany up from school half cut too?" She tutted, "I had lunch with a friend, OK? And I only had one glass of wine." "Which friend? Ian?" "What? What's wrong with you sweetie-pie?" "Stop calling me that! It's so embarrassing! Why did you have to call me that in front of Miss Bradley? I know you've been ignoring Mr Lindegaard, because he just told us. That's whose phone calls you've been avoiding. So you must be going