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Hare and Hounds. By Tanya H. A skirt, hung on a wardrobe. Not a proper wardrobe either; a budget hotel wardrobe - a skeletal, open plan structure of veneer and chipboard with a short rail and the kind of two-part coat hangers you can't steal. And a skirt hanging there - a plain, utilitarian skirt; black, a-line, box-pleated, knee length. A challenging skirt. 'Step into me,' it warned. 'Leave this room in me and life changes.' "That bus has already left," I said to it. "Who are you talking to, babe?" called Fe from the bathroom. "Myself. Talking to myself again." "Are you making sense?" "I think so." "You only think so? Worrying. If you don't make sense to yourself..." The toilet flushed. Water ran in the sink and she hummed a little tune - Let It Go by the sound of it. Our anthem. I identified with Elsa and Fe envied icicles. She appeared in the bathroom doorway, still drying her hands. When I'd first met her she'd been painfully thin, gaunt limbs and big eyes, but now she just looked willowy, athletic maybe. She probably did exercise too much and ate too little, but she was my Venus and sight of her usually lifted a smile from me. I had never been so in love. There were shadows around her eyes, but neither of us had got much sleep last night. Lipstick added a little colour and an Alice band of mine, in a lively plum colour, kept her her fine, dark hair from her face.. "You are clearly trying to move that skirt from its hanger to a proper position around your waist by the power of thought." "Tell me again this is a good idea." Her hands fell on my shoulders, warm minted breath tickled my neck. "It's your night." "The skirt?" You've already done the tights. Or did you telekinesis those on? Did they ambush you and wriggle themselves on while you were distracted?" She brushed her fingertips down my back, along my shoulder blades, over the slight curve of my waist to rest them on my hips. A kiss brushed my neck and made fine hairs lift over my skin. "That isn't helping." "It's not all about you, baby," she murmured. A sigh whispered from me as her fingers slipped under my shirt and followed the line of my tights's waistband. When they centred on my navel, she gave a gentle tweak to the jewel looped through my skin. "I'm scared." "Scared? Like that's ever stopped you doing anything." She divided her attention, one hand went south - skilfully infiltrating my tights - and the other headed up until it rested intimately against my left breast's underwire. I leant my head back until it rested on her. Heat stiffened my nipples and made me tremble. "We haven't time for this," she said and I felt the shape of her mouth move from kissing to smiling. "Tease," I said breathing out. "Get dressed, gorgeous. Time's running out and I haven't done your make up yet." "But, the skirt!" I protested as she drew away, but not before she'd stretched out the tights's waistband and let it snap onto my tummy. "First - it's part of your uniform, seeing as you turned down trousers to go with your tunic, schoolgirl error by the way. Second - you haven't bought a civvie suit and third - you wear skirts all the time. More than me. More than most women I know." To emphasise the point she gestured eloquently along her elegant, grey trouser suit. All colours suited Fe; some wonderful Mediterranean genes from way in her past had gifted her a gorgeous, all-season tan. Next to her, my my flaxen hair and translucent skin were those of some almost extinct, cave-blind creature. "The women you know are a peculiar lot." "Says you!" "Besides, I have years of wasted time to make up." "Either put it on, or go in just your tights, or we'll sack the whole thing and go down the pub." Option C appealed most. Having been away from this town for two years there were a couple of pubs where nostalgia pints would have been fun, but Option C meant surrendering to ghosts and fear. Option B? I was going to be spectacle enough without presenting in my underwear so I stuck out my tongue at Fe, and stepped into the skirt. "It's armour," Fe said as we weaved around puddles in the hotel car park towards her Mini. Her heels rang in the cool evening air, eight inches of them in total. The flatter clumping of my parade shoes was no competition! In flats I was just over 5'6 and she was a rangy 5'9 so when she went full stiletto and held my hand I sometimes felt like a girl going out with her Mum. "Armour? This should be good." "It would be obvious to one of my Elite Detectives, but as you're a Bog Standard I'll have to explain. That skirt tells the world that not only are you secure enough in your gender that you'll wear a skirt in public, but that by wearing such an ugly one you're confident enough to carry it off." Eighteen months since my first public expedition in a skirt and what a roller-coaster that had been! Exultation - here I am, look at me! Fear - please don't stare. Despair - what have I done to myself? Belligerence - fuck it. We stopped by her car, she held the door open for me, like I was royalty, so I played princess by swinging inside with knees demurely together. Neither of us said much at first as we left the city centre. Fe put some music on, Foxes I think, and I watched the passing shops and businesses and houses. "Signposting?" she said. Memories crowded every street and she must have noticed the sudden interest I showed in a pair of pleasant, leafy houses just beside a roundabout. "First murder," I said and pointed, though Fe was busy driving. "Domestic, hammer job - messy. Poor cow. Me and my mate were first on scene; Jimmy Tollerton, good lad - puked up, he did. CSI and SIO were most upset having some half-digested kebab to contaminate the job." "My first was a drugs debt," said Fe conversationally. "Stabbing, in the guts. Lingered for a bit before he gave up. Stupid business model, lend people money then kill them when they get behind with payments. Knob." "Loss leader?" I suggested. "Bet the money rolled in after that." "While the useless twat was getting bummed in the Big House?" "Your fantasy, not mine." She laughed. Fe had a good laugh, full of tone and depth and I loved the way her eyes crinkled at the corner and how she bared her little, uneven teeth when she was having a proper guffaw. "Stop staring at me," she said, through the last of her chuckles, and pushed at my face, to try and turn me away, but I just leant back out of reach. "You're beautiful, I can't help it." "You're mad in the head." "Beautiful." "Stop it!" Her thigh felt good under my hand, the way her muscles moved as she changed gear reminded of how they would feel under her skin when I was breathing deep of her arousal and tickling it with my tongue's tip. As if sensing my thoughts, she dropped a hand onto my knee, made fingertip circles around it then infiltrated my hem, tingling my inner thigh through the nylon. "Like you in a skirt," she murmured. "Suits you. Suits me when I want to touch you." "We could turn around. Glass of wine and hotel sex?" "You sweet talking bastard," she said with a smile, squeezing my fingers between her thighs. "Got to show off my girl at the posh do first." I loved it when she called me that, her girl. A little spill of guilty pleasure always ran through me at the words. She'd been the first person I'd ever come out to, and that within five minutes of speaking my first words to her. It must have been something to do with her big, brown eyes. "Phoebe," she'd said, by way of an introduction. A pause in which she held me in her big, beautiful eyes. Then, "I'm fighting bastard induced anorexia." "Are you winning?" I'd said. Her cheekbones were prominent, her jawline stark. When we shook hands I could feel every fragile bone in hers. We were at a lovely big house on the outskirts of Harrogate, a place where broken and twisted police officers went to be straightened before returning to duty. On our first night and after the orientations and briefings were done Phoebe and I had seemed to be the only ones not grouped or paired off. "Now I've divorced the malignant twat," she'd said. "What about you, what are you here for?" My right arm was a puckered, blotched mess of healed burns, but the shoulder damage from the same incident was what had taken me there. I hadn't mentioned that though, not at first. It must have been her deep, serene eyes, or the slight smile or the fact that she was a perfect stranger and I was a blank canvas to her, but it had seemed natural to come out to her. "Liam. I'm fighting my gender." Not a flicker of surprise crossed her face. "Liam's a shit name for a woman," she'd said. We were close now, the indicator clicking as she turned opposite the sign pointing to County Police HQ. Moisture gathered under my shirt and I prayed silently for my deodorant's staying power overcoming it. I was wringing my hands together in my lap, until I noticed and I made them stop. Then they started again. I probably hadn't been this apprehensive approaching this building since the first time I'd walked through the main entrance with an interview ahead of me. "It's not too late," I muttered, squeezing my hands so tightly together knuckles cracked. "Knob." It was fully dark now, January and miserable. Only a few lights were showing in the ugly main building, the car park looked desolate with puddles glistening under the bad lighting and dead leaves heaped in shadows. "Coming, chick?" Fe asked, holding open my door and letting the cold in. "Two hours, tops, then we can go back to the hotel and get wine and orgasms." "Easy for you," I said, resolutely not moving. "Nobody knows you here." "Correct," she said briskly. "And nobody actually knows you either." "But they think they do." "Fuck them. What's the shittest job you ever got sent to? You know, the proper, "oh fuck, am I going to get hurt here," shit job?" "Oh, God knows. Pub fights, football match." I took a deep breath. "That house fire." Before I could stop myself I was rubbing my right arm, feeling the bumps and ridges on my skin even through the tunic's thick sleeve. "And you wanted to turn around and run away from every one didn't you?" She squatted beside me, held my hands tightly. "And never did. Come on." The wintry, damp wind teased my skirt, stirred some of the wisps straying from my bun. I set my hat with a hint of jauntiness and found Fe's hand as we crossed the car park, mounted the main entrance's and found inside welcoming smiles from a pretty police cadet and a plump civilian. "Here for the awards?" asked the civvie. Commendably her smile didn't falter when she saw Fe and I were still holding hands. A combination of hospital treatment, rehabilitation, physiotherapy and then transition - all while transferring to the Greater Manchester Police - meant I was about two years late for my commendation. I'd assumed it had been gathering dust at the back of some cupboard and the email inviting me to this event had come as a real surprise. "Annette Kelso and Phoebe Arthur," I said, pointing to our names on the list she proffered. "Super," she said brightly - there was lipstick on her teeth. "It's being held in the Tennyson Suite. Do you know the way?" "By the canteen?" "Super," she agreed. "If you'd like to go and find a seat, they'll be starting in about ten minutes." "Were you ever based here?" Fe asked as we headed into the evening- quiet building. "It's a bit shit." Worn carpets, a faint musty smell, scuffed walls - only the latest crime prevention posters added any colour. It could have been any police building across the country, the nick where Fe and I worked was no better. "Did my firearms course here, the usual bollocks training as well. Too many pretentious dicks working here for my liking." "Usual headquarters shite," she agreed. I tugged her hand into a corridor running away to the left, went down another flight of stairs heading deeper into a past I had been trying to shrug off. Through double fire doors, beneath a sign reading Learning and Development, we stepped into a long passage - doors to classrooms and offices each side - and the walls lined with rows and rows of photographs. It took only a minute to find the one I wanted to show her - two rows of constables in tunics like mine and headquarters as a backdrop. "There," I pointed out a pale head on the back row. I was the only woman in the row, the other three girls in our class of recruits had been placed in the front row. "You were a good looking lad," Fe said, peering in. I didn't have many pictures of Before - my battered iphone with all its contacts and pictures had been smashed beyond use, by my hand as I burnt bridges. I wouldn't have taken any other human being to this class photograph in this corridor, but Fe had been there at the beginning and she had held my hand throughout. "And now you're a good looking lass," she said, and kissed my mouth. Pure heaven poured from that kiss. More than handsome, less than pretty - good looking was a happy medium I was comfortable with. Thanks to the genes all my family's women carried with them, my hormone treatment had awoken in me a respectable chest, I'd laid down extra layers of smooth, female curve around hips and bum and thighs which went some way to disguising my boyish pelvis. Best of all was when my eternal, military buzz-cut grew out and I found my pale hair had a graceful curl to it. Now it was long enough to cape my shoulders I loved wearing it down and wild around my face. Sadly, when in uniform, I had to fight it into a bun. "Thanks for showing me," she said when the kiss was done. I tapped the photograph again, to the darker, taller lad next to me. "That's Jake." Once my best mate, Jake and I had been inseparable, to the point that there had been some piss taking from classmates and later colleagues that we were lovers. "If you actually believed that for a minute," Jake had once said, laughing along, "You wouldn't dare take the piss." Fe had once made a barbed dig about a supposed best mate's rejection when I went Annette, but in fairness to Jake I hadn't allowed him, or any of my mates here, the opportunity to turn his back on me. We went back up the stairs. I had been up and down them many times when I'd been here during various courses; in civvies, patrol uniform, PT kit, firearms kit - never in a uniform skirt. It swished around my legs as we went down, the cool whisper of the satin lining across my tights reminding of why I enjoyed a skirt. Even this one. Even here. And why was I here? To make a point, to stick my finger to the establishment? Because I'd been invited? I bet they never thought I'd come, assumed that PC Kelso wouldn't dare to show her face after what she'd done to herself. I squeezed Fe's hand. She squeezed back. It was ballsy of her to be here with me - she'd been through her journey, her own wounds from coming out were barely scabbed over and now she was loyally holding my hand as I stepped towards my past. "Closure," my therapist had said. "Draw a line under it. The fire and your transition." "Good idea," I'd said. "But I can't get underneath either of them at the moment." "Heads up, shoulders back, keep smiling," Fe advised holding open the door for me, a gentleman to me, the lady. A warm wave of polite conversation rolled out around us. Trying to look everywhere at once, old habits, in I went. Don't pause in the opening, don't make yourself a target. An aisle made between two rows of chairs went before me to the stage where once I'd sworn an oath to become a Constable. Seats were mostly filled with men and women, uniforms and best clothes. "I feel like Daniel in the lions" den," I murmured, half looking for somewhere to sit, half searching for a face I knew and dreading the look of recognition, or confusion, that might sweep their features if they saw through me. "You, my lovely, are a lioness in a den of Daniels," said Fe firmly and, stooping slightly, kissed my cheek." There! Adrenaline spilled. Amongst the few faces that turned at out entrance was Greg Porter's, all frowned up - trying to see, trying not to stare. Then, nudging the woman sat next to him - Lisa Ford - both of them in tunics like mine, though theirs had Sergeant stripes on the sleeves. He'd only been a PC like me when I'd seen him last. Lisa stared, her eyebrows went up and then they were bent towards each other like a pair of gossip columnists. "Busted," I said heavily, pulling Fe towards a couple of empty seats near the back. "Who?" "Couple of sergeants over there." Smoothing my skirt under me I dropped to a seat and crossed my legs, my cheeks were hot. "He was on an opposite shift to me, on the cars. Bit of a knob, not too bad. I worked with her, on division. Fancied her a bit." Fe craned her neck to have a look. "Wouldn't have said she was your sort. Not tall enough." "I shouldn't have come," I whispered earnestly. "This was a bloody stupid idea. Should have let them send the commendation through the bastard post." "Chill,chick," she instructed. "We're here now and don't forget the executive buffet they promised." My stomach was clenched so tight I wouldn't be able to eat anything this side of breakfast. I had a big sigh, looked down at the floor so I wouldn't have to see anybody else. There was my leg, my calf and ankle, poised and feminine and revealed by this stupid skirt. Staring at the close woven nylon shading my calf, not too sheer and not too opaque, I thought of simple pleasures; shaving my legs a couple of nights ago, for no other reason than because I could, warm in the bath while Fe sang tunelessly in the kitchen downstairs; painting her toenails after she had done mine; clothes shopping together even when we didn't actually buy anything; trying on the snowflake earrings she bought me for Christmas. "Heads up. Here come the grownups," she whispered. Three of them; Chief Constable - portly, greyed, brisk; Police and Crime Commissioner - wiry, gaunt, composed; Assistant Chief Constable - younger, keener, eager. The room fell quiet as they took their places on the stage, beside the insipid looking staff officer who had the order of march for them and had been nervously tweaking the arrangements of awards on the table at the back of the stage. Mine would be in there somewhere, mixed with the long service medals and citations. Jake's commendation would have been handed out ages ago. Neither the Chief or the PCC had been in post when I worked here, but the ACC I knew - a thrusting high potential accelerated promotion whizz kid. "All blokes again," Fe murmured disrespectfully. I didn't hear much of the speeches, busy going through plans and contingencies and what to say and what to do. Their words were bland offerings, full of buzz words taken from the principles of policing and standards of professional behaviour. Only when I got a bony elbow in my ribs and heard something from the Chief about a burning house, firearms deployment and murder did I realise I was going first. Fuck. "PC Ann Kelso?" the staff officer said, looking around the room hopefully. "Got your name wrong, babe," Fe said, giving me a supportive push. "Go and punch the twat." God, just walking along that aisle was bad enough. Fifteen metres tops from my seat to the stage, seconds to cover, but my determined walk felt mired in super high-definition, digitally enhanced slow motion. People stared, disgusted. Look at her, look at IT! Mocking us, disgusting! Taking the piss; ruining our awards night. Almost ground to a halt under their contempt. Almost turned and ran, but Fe was right - I'd never run from anything. Except myself! Half the reason I was there. Concentrating on the steps, on the pulse thudding in my ears I was up on the stage before I realised the room was filling with applause. That did halt me, right there almost on the stage with one foot in the air like there was an extra step nobody else could see but me. Fe jerked her head in the direction of the grown ups and I remembered to keep going as the clapping died away. "Good of you to come, Ann," said the Chief reaching for my hand. Close up, the buttons were straining on his tunic, his teeth were too perfect - very white. Keep your voice soft, girl. "Annette, sir," I corrected gently. His grip was very firm. "Annette? Sorry. Can't get the staff, you know." A bleak look went the staff officer's direction before the smile resumed for me. "Very very good work, unsung heroes, and heroines, in firearms. Really impressive what you and PC Jacklin did that night, in the highest traditions of the service. How are your injuries?" Mere mention of them made my arm itch again, like those raw streaks really hadn't scabbed over and healed up. "Back to normal, thank you, sir." "Good, good. It was your last day before you transferred to the GMP wasn't it? How are you finding Manchester?" I could smell smoke again, and burning hair; the catalyst of my awakening. Talking about it to anybody was hard, Fe included, never mind this complete stranger. "Great place to be a cop, sir." "Still working in firearms there?" "They didn't really get what they were expecting, boss," I said with a little smile. Greater Manchester Police had welcomed me and my dynamic skill-set with open arms, they hadn't been so sure how the firearms role would mix with hormones and transitioning after I'd outlined my plan to live as a woman for the rest of my life. Two years as a response cop, to make sure I suffered no unforeseen effects had been recommended. Realisation of what I was talking about slapped him soundly about the face and his mouth snapped shut. The smile came again, but he was a politician at heart like every other senior manager in the police. "Congratulations, PC Kelso," he said and shook my hand again. "The police needs people like you." I wasn't sure of the sincerity of that last comment, but I was clearly being passed along the line to the PCC whose job it was to shake my hand and present my framed commendation. A small, gold crucifix pinned to his jacket lapel made me wary and suggested he wouldn't be having much to say. "Very good work," he said. His voice was resonant, good for pulpits and public meetings. "I hope you are recovered from your injuries." Finally the ACC, all puppyish enthusiasm, taking my hand to shake and then sandwiching it between both of his. "Really pleased to see you back here, Annette," he enthused with his plummy voice. "We're all really proud of you." He had a rainbow badge pinned to his lapel and made a bit of a pantomime with his eyes and facial gestures to make sure I had seen it. "Really admire what you're doing, what you've done." Thanking him, wondering what point he was trying to make, I wondered absently when I was going to get my hand back. When I was finally able to disengage I almost ran from the stage so I could go and hide at the back with Fe. She gave me a squeeze, in both arms, that was as genuine as it was heartfelt. All the air went out of me and despite the people all around I wanted to melt into her. "You were amazing," she whispered, but I felt like I'd run a hundred miles with a pack of dogs after me and hardly noticed any of the others who went up for their awards, though I clapped dutifully - they'd have been more worthy than me. Fe and I found a quiet corner of the adjacent conference room where the buffet was laid out. We shared a plate, she didn't like to eat with people watching, and kept to ourselves. A few looks were thrown our way, particularly from Lisa Ford and Greg Porter as they mingled through the group. Protocol demanded that we stay until the Chief Constable had left, but as I wasn't part of this force any more I was prepared to spit in protocol's eye and leg it as soon as our shared plate was clear. With this in mind I was just heading to stack my plate, no sense in making extra work for the cleaners, when I was cornered by the Chief and ACC - like some kind of coordinated ambush I should have seen coming. Fe had seen it and practically teleported across the room to stand beside me, but we'd been sharing strength for ages now and I felt taller to have her there. "Can I introduce Phoebe, sir? She's a DS from Manchester." Hands were shaken. "I'm Annette's girlfriend," she said in her blunt Lancashire voice. The ACC looked smug, no doubt bonded to us (in his mind) by his rainbow badge. I knew for a fact that he was married to a homely vet and they'd had a couple of ruddy-faced kids together; of course, in these modern times such a thing could be a cover. If it were I'm sure he wouldn't be doing anything as overt as wearing his rainbow badge. "How are you finding Manchester?" the Chief asked. "Love it, never a dull moment," said I, remembering to keep my voice light. "Very diverse communities there," The ACC nodded knowledgeably. I wondered if he'd ever sipped a beer along Canal Street. "Spent some time there, boss?" "Sadly, no," he said pulling a face of regret. Fe and I tended to avoid it too, being a lesbian was as new to her as womanhood was to me, though we'd conscientiously painted rainbows on our cheeks and held hands along the route of the Pride Marches in Manchester and Liverpool. "Are you hoping for a return to firearms?" said the ACC smoothly, swilling his orange juice in its plastic cup. "In between burns and everything else I put myself through, they decided I'd be better off on response for a bit - until I'm settled." "And are you?" "Do I look settled?" He inclined his head, maybe acknowledging my point, maybe not. "We'd have you back," the ACC said quickly, with a glance at his boss. "Any time. We can swing your firearms permit back too, get you back doing what you're good at." "She's good on response," Fe put in. She had the good detective's disdain for any speciality not her own and for firearms officers in particular. "You have a unique set of skills we could use," said the ACC with a smooth, encouraging smile. "She does tick a lot of boxes," Fe agreed and I wanted to hug her. "No, I didn't mean that," he back-pedalled. Even the Chief looked mildly amused. "Email me," he urged and pressed a business card on me, which I duly tucked into my handbag for future reference. With that offer still making me wonder I made my excuses and practically dragged Fe from the room. And blundered straight into another ambush. Between the conference room and the most convenient exit was a spare corner, close to the canteen's coffee machines, containing a few pot plants, some easy chairs and a water cooler. Draped across four of the chairs, bored, were four of my former colleagues; Doc, Stan, Jules and Andy. I hadn't seen them for ages. Since the hospital. I'd cut my ties from there, knowing they'd want nothing more to do with me. Jules was the first to spot me - a giant of a man with arms like my legs and a neck like my waist who boasted hobbies of women and football. "Fuck me, Liam. You've got some balls coming back here." His voice was like the slow grinding of millstones together. His laugh was deep, always from the belly. "See what I did there? Balls? Gettit?" "Fuck's sake," Fe muttered. "Did we just go through a timewarp?" "Fuck's sake, Jules!" That was Doc. I had faced guns, knives, swords, disorder, dismemberment, beer, curry and everything in between with these guys, but never had I faced them. I stood there in my best uniform, my female uniform, carrying my female issue hat; my female shape, my hair in a bun, the mascara and lipstick Fe had overseen and I know that as they watched me they were looking for Liam Kelso - actively hunting for him. "He's wearing a fucking skirt!" Jules protested. "You don't like my legs then?" I asked, concentrating on keeping my voice soft and the anger, fear, resentment tucked deep. It was how I'd always dealt with abuse - go along with it. Fe wasn't as good at that as me. "Annette," she said, the anger in her voice practically crackled. "Her name is Annette." I knew what she was doing, I knew she meant well. God knew she'd stood up for me before, as I had squared up alongside her, but at that moment I just wanted out of there. My life was not here anymore, these were not my people. Jules looked sick at the thought of looking at my legs bared by the skirt, but he did look. "This is me," I added and used my free hand to emphasise it. "I don't need your approval." "Fuck's sake," said Doc again. He was the Sergeant, the one who ran the shift - tall, long boned, pot bellied and with a proud, silver-grey bouffant of a hair style. "Jules, shut the fuck up for a minute." He faced me and stood up, spread his hands. "Heard you were coming back, Annette. We've just finished work, going for a pint. Wanted to know if you fancied one." Which stunned me into silence, whipped away the thoughts of just walking past them with my nose in the air. "How've you been?" Andy asked, he was looking at the tiles just in front of my shoes and I knew my changed gender could be hard to confront: some days, early on, I had hated everything about the way I looked and the way I was. I was better now, I looked better, I was happier - much happier - but all their memories of me were in those pictures in the Whatsapp banter and the Facebook posts I had deleted myself from. "How've I been?" I repeated softly, checking that was what I'd heard and not, "How the fuck do you expect to carry that off?" "Yeah. How are you?" I glanced at Fe, she shrugged. Jules scratched his head. "I'm good," I said slowly. "Not bad, thanks. How have you guys been?" Stan said, "Same shit." Doc smacked his lips together theatrically. "Coming then? Hare and Hounds? I'm gasping here." "Where's Jake?" I asked. Now Doc looked at the floor. "Couldn't come." "Couldn't?" He shrugged and we both knew the answer. Jake Jacklin - my best friend. We'd been through recruit training together, then our firearms courses. We went into that house together and he dragged me out when I could hardly see and I carried the boy who was almost dead. "Pint?" Andy said. "For old time's sake?" said Doc. Fe shrugged again when I turned to her. The idea of going back to the Hare and Hounds with these, my old mates from before, was as intoxicating as it was unexpected. I saw her look at each of them, her level gaze lingering on Jules - who held her eyes with an arrogant tilt of his head - and then Doc, the undisputed leader, and the warm rush of love I felt for her, for all she'd done for me, brought a lump to my throat. "Just like my ex," she muttered. "Leave me at home while you go down the pub." The idea was wilder than coming back here in the first place. "It won't be for long," Andy promised. "You're bloody right it won't!" She turned to me. "If you're going to do this, babe. I'll come and pick you up. Two hours, tops." Fe had worked on a couple of kidnappings, nasty ones, so she was thinking ahead, but this lot weren't going to bundle me into a boot and drive me onto the moors. "We'll be done by then," Doc assured. "I'm on a promise." He rolled his eyes in hopeless resignation. "Ms Doc is demanding acts of penetrative romance from me tonight." My legs were trembling. Hopefully nobody could see, one of the few disadvantages in skirt wearing - no hiding shaky legs. Was this really happening? "I'll just go back to the hotel and drink wine until I get picked up by some gorgeous stranger," Fe said, but there was no substance to her words. She gave my hand a squeeze, reassurance. "Are you going to talk with these boys about guns and velcro and shiny things and big cars?" "I'll need to get changed," I said, a meagre protest. Jeans and a loose top would be easier than my tunic, skirt, parade shoes and medals. But, by the time I'd gone back to the hotel, showered and changed the moment would have passed and I'd have forgotten Doc, Andy and Stan - all I'd be thinking of would be Jules and I'd talk myself out of the whole ridiculous, amazing idea and heave another load of regrets onto my creaking shoulders. "Swap your tunic for my coat in the car. Easy," Fe said. She wasn't so much taller than me that we couldn't share clothes. "Good plan," said Doc. "Off we fuck." Minutes later Fe and I were back in her car. She sat for a moment staring straight through the windscreen, one had gripping the wheel and the other on my thigh. "Bloody hell, baby. I honestly thought we were going to have a punch up there. Me and you doing Custer's last stand against that lot." "Reckon we could have had them?" "Are you really going to do this?" I lifted her hand and kissed it, held it to my cheek. "I don't like to leave you alone in the hotel." "That bit is cool, I'm a big girl after all. You are what I'm worried about. I mean, that big twat? If he gets some beer in him and starts laying into you! It'll put you back a year." "Jules? I can handle him. He doesn't drink. His Mum was an alcoholic, beat him and his sister all the time, chucked his Dad out and drank herself to death after he joined the Paras." She sighed heavily. "What a perfect collection of fucked-up people we all are." "Not me and you. We're perfectly normal." "Too right, baby. Let's do it then." The Hare and Hounds was a big, country pub on the edge of the next village from HQ. Once it had been the favourite drinking spot of bomber crews from the nearby airfield that was now an industrial estate and was liberally decorated with memorabilia of that long gone war. Faded photographs of young men who had once taken to icy, flaming skies to wage war looked down on their descendants and every time I had drunk in there I'd toasted them. I was intent on raising a glass to them again; I don't think I would have been allowed to be who I was without the empowerment and society those men and women had brought back. Fe's last kisses still warmed my cheeks and lips as I walked back in, holding her coat tight around me as though it really could protect me from what might be coming. She was going to give me a few minutes, just in case, and head back to the hotel. I'd fallen in love with her a little more as she'd let me go. A few diners were enjoying their meals in the dining area, a few drinkers clustered near the bar, but my eyes were drawn instinctively to a bay in a deep corner of the pub. Almost three quarters of it was lined by a circular bench seat with worn red upholstery, while a single battered, round table, stained by generations of pint glasses and burns, looked lonely in the centre. A few loose, wooden chairs completed the circle of seating around that table. How many nights had I sat on that bench seat with my mates? The landlady of the day had joked about us being her knights at her round table and I'd never thought I'd ever be welcome there again. Plenty of pictures had been taken of me and the rest of the shift around that table, so many I could see my ghost there, but more substantial this evening were the unmistakable forms of Rochelle and Rob. They had both been experienced cops on the shift when I'd arrived from my firearms course. As close as siblings and almost inseparable at work, they had consistently laughed off any suggestion of a sexual element to their relationship and maintained their own marriages and families in the face of depressing police divorce rates. Rob saw me first, he did the classic appraisal any man would give to a woman walking into the pub and turned back to Rochelle. After a comedy double take she was on her feet and rushing across the pub with her arms wide and her shout of "Oh My God!" still ringing around the room. For a moment I assumed she must have seen somebody else follow me in, or the lads I'd seen at HQ had arrived, but her impact nearly knocked me over before I was whirled into a stampeding, circling embrace. Then she pushed me to arms length. "Oh my god, you came!" She was a little taller, much older and broader than me, going to seed around her waist and hips and managing her hair colour artificially, but still the Rochelle I remembered; as much at home and competent dealing with a mashed casualty on the side of the road, lost child or over-belligerent drunk. "Hiya, Rosh," I said. "Good to see you." "Oh my god. Look at you. God, you look great. Really great. What do I call you? I'll punch you if its Liam or Liamella or something shite like that." "Annette." "Annette? Great name, really pretty, bit exotic. It is good to see you, Rob's going to buy us a drink and then you can tell me how much you like Manchester. Oy, bellend! More drinks here. Come and say hello to Annette?" Rob dwarfed me, almost as broad as Jules but much lighter on his feet, with cropped ginger hair and rosy cheeks. He shook my hand and Rochelle pushed me onto that circling seat. "Alright, Hobbit," he said in his big voice, "Still dressing like a girl then?" Which rocked me into silence. Surely none of them had known about my cross-dressing. I had thought to have kept it from them as I had kept it from everybody, even my girlfriend. Had they all known all along? Had they been laughing at me behind my back? "Too soon then?" he asked casually. "I'm already over it. How are you?" It's just Rob, I said to myself. We'd used to say that a lot. He was blunt, but without malice. Of course nobody knew about the women'c clothes, that had been the whole point - and half the problem. "Sorry. It's not too soon, I'm off balance. This is a bit of a surprise." "Daft twat. How do you think I feel?" He grinned and gestured towards my boobs. "Still drinking pints or do you sip wine and shit like that now?" A pint sounded good, something pale and golden. I asked him for a Doombar and he nodded approval. He had just got to the bar when the rest of them crowded in with noise and confidence and in seconds I was surrounded. Back in the times before I transitioned, I had nightmares where I'd be out in public, with mates and dressed in woman's clothes. Normally, in those dreams, nobody would say anything, but I'd know they'd seen, that they were sniggering behind my back and for the first squirmingly awful five minutes awake in the Hare and Hounds I was back in that nightmare. Because they all knew, they could see me there without any pretence or camouflage; my black-shaded calves bared by Fe's coat, my long hair netted into a bun, the studs in my ears, mascara on my lashes and colour on my lips. I made myself fell like a transvestite again and if I hadn't been pressed onto that bench seat with Rochelle on one side and Doc on the other, drawing patterns in the condensation on my glass, I'd have run. Nobody knew what to say for a moment or two, when the flurry of drinks had been produced and a selection of crisps spread across the table and I didn't want to be the first to say something, in case I said the wrong thing. I felt the sprog again, too intimidated to speak. "Why Annette?" Rochelle said. "Somebody you knew? What your Mum wanted." "Nothing to do with her," I sipped my drink, like I could hide behind it. "She pretends I'm dead." "Bitch," said Andy. I shrugged. Keep your voice soft, Annette, don't let them hear how much it still hurts that your own Mum won't acknowledge her only daughter. "Annette was random. Generated using a dartboard." I waved at the one on the pub's wall a few metres away. "With my first dart I hit a one, that meant an A. Then I stuck up a list of female names beginning with A. Annette was the first one I hit." The exercise had been Fe's idea, only a couple of days after we met. The same method got me Rose as a middle name. At the time I'd been delighted - Annette Rose was wonderfully feminine, everything I aspired to be. Now, was too stupidly self-conscious reveal the delicate name, even to Rochelle. "Dartboard? Cool." Rob snorted. "Damn silly name, though." "What would you have picked, Rob?" Doc grinned. "Good question. I'd have picked something robust. something sturdy. Gertrude! That'd be me." "Gertrude!" That was Stan. "Look at my hands," Rob laughed. "What about you, Jules?" Andy asked. "I'm easy, Andrea, what would you go for?" "Easy Andrea?" Rochelle said. "Easy Andrea gave me a blow job once," said Stan. "Come on, Jules?" Andy pressed. "Fuck off!" "Ooooooooh," they all said, almost in unison, making gestures of hiding behind a handbag. "Priscilla," said Rob. "Queen of the Desert?" said Doc. "You were out in the desert, weren't you, Jules." "Fuck the lot of you," he snarled. "I'm going for a smoke." "Good idea," Andy said, rising with him. "Don't go away." "He's so in denial," Doc said, still smiling. "Gay as you like." Then he remembered me. "Oops!" Though I'd never been in denial. I'd known forever I was female, I'd been fighting myself about what to do about it. "Coming, Annette?" Andy asked, with a nod towards the beer garden. I shook my head. "It'll kill me. Mixing nicotine and hormones, makes blood clots." I drew a finger across my throat. Smoking had been a thing I'd picked up as a kid, from Mum and Dad. Breasts or nicotine? I'd considered it for seconds. Jules furrowed his brow at me, he had a cigarette already cocked at the corner of his mouth and I could almost read what was passing through his head. "What the fuck!" he snapped. "I mean, Liam? You were good, spot on. I trusted you with my back in any shit. But, look at you?" He waved a hand dismissively towards my body. "Chill..." Doc started to say, but I raised a hand to quiet him. "I'm still all of that," I said - keeping my voice soft, breathing even, my eyes fixed on his. "Why do the skirt and tits make any difference? Bloody hell, Jules, I wasn't a bloody prince before so why would I be a princess now?" "Good line," said Doc. "Great line," agreed Rochelle. "Thanks. Just came to me," I said, without looking away from Jules. "Might use it myself," said Doc. "If I decide to grow my own la-las." "Have you sucked a cock yet?" Jules sneered. The Landlord looked over at the tone and volume, but Doc gave him a thumbs-up. I remained calm, crossed my legs and adjusted the drape of my hem across them. "No. Have you?" He said I was something beginning with C that I won't repeat and stalked off with Andy following - Andy was grinning over his shoulder at me. Long breath, my shoulders went down - I hadn't realised how wound up I'd been. "He's okay really," said Rochelle, her hand warm on my knee. "I know." He really was okay, we'd always got along - both of us had been soldiers, in different regiments. When he had been jumping out of aeroplanes I'd been riding stripped down Land Rovers looking for the enemy. My old regiment didn't welcome me at reunions any more - they still hadn't admitted women into their ranks. Apart from me, but I'd been hidden behind my own biology. "Heard it all before," I shrugged. "No bother." Truth and a lie. People always want to know about sexuality and genitals - neither is anybody's business. I'd have thought Phoebe might have been a giveaway though. The conversation went onto steadier ground when discussing the comparison between my current big city, glamorous force and the unsung heroes of this county. Then I was updated on two year's worth of shocking, breathless gossip. Police stations, like any other close collections of human beings, are hotbeds of illicit relationships, failed marriages (because of the former relationships) and criminality. What surprised me most was that Doc had managed to keep the old shift together in the time since I'd seen them last. Around my hospital bed. I wondered, as I was updated, how the news had broken about me. I hope they got more OMG and entertainment from my transition than I did. As if she had been reading my mind, Rochelle asked if the Greater Manchester Police had been surprised when they got an Annette instead of a Liam. "Superficially they couldn't have done more," I admitted. I was getting down to the bottom of my first pint by then, the Doombar smoothing some of the emotional spikes and growing my confidence. To be here, surrounded by friendly ghosts of my past, was something I could never have predicted. I'd imagined that I would have been back in the hotel with Fe by now, sobbing in her arms. "They're very modern over there." I shrugged. "Couple of women got mardy sharing the loos with me at the first nick I went to: like I was going to be sitting on their knee in a cubicle or something, but you know how folk are. Got some piss-taking, nothing I couldn't handle." Crude cocks drawn on some of my kit had been the worst of it. A picture of some buff film star with some other model's huge tits cut out and pasted on his chest tacked to my locker door had been almost funny. My survival strategy had been the one that had served me in the army and when I'd first joined the police; head down, work hard, be friendly and not cocky, always offer to help, never moan. After a few months even the most cynical, unsympathetic cops had come to admit I was alright. I knew I'd made it when, one evening after work, I overheard a conversation where some bantering, borderline offensive, comment had been made about a transwoman in the force control room. "Watch it, knobhead," one cop had said, "can't say dodgy shit like that. Annette's about!" The other had laughed, a blokey laugh I knew. "She don't mind, got a sense of humour she has - and some balls, not actually. She's one of the boys." And then they'd both laughed about how I wasn't, not physically anyway. Bastards. I could have slunk off - head down, teeth gritted - but I walked around the corner and gave then my best smile. "See you tomorrow, boys," I'd said cheerfully. "That lot's got to be worth at least 10k at a tribunal." They'd both laughed, after all Annette's one of the boys, but there'd been some nervousness in their laughter. I finished my pint and managed to get to my feet. Jules glowered my way, but at least he hadn't said anything else. "Now I'm going to buy you all a drink," I announced, starting to step around Doc. "Bollocks are you!" he said. "Only fair that I do. Least I can do," I made a circular motion to encompass them all. "For this." "You never had a leaving do." I held his eyes. "And whose fault was that?" He inclined his head. "Guinness then." While waiting to be served, there were a few more people in the bar now and only one lad behind the bar, I messaged Fe a quick update in case she was worried enough to be wearing out a strip of carpet in our room. Her reply was almost immediate - I love you x x x. Proud of you, baby x x x. Something of my old wariness made me do a shoulder check the gang while the barman sorted my tray-load of beers, but they were leaning across that old table and laughing about something. Maybe a year ago I'd have assumed they were laughing about me, It, but I'd been beating the insecurity more and more. And if they were, well maybe it was a bit funny that the Liam they had known had come back as a woman. As long as it was funny-friendly. As long as they were starting to see that all the things they had liked about me were still me. The close feel of bodies and laughter, the open fires and hot food made me slip off Fe's coat and lay it over the back of a free chair. With white shirt, black skirt and plain, flat shoes I looked very much like the off-duty cop - or a waitress as I distributed the drinks. Jules got his last; he hadn't asked for one, but I remembered he was the only person in this universe who enjoyed Becks Blue lager, so I placed a dewed bottle before him. The slight tilt of his head was all the thanks I was likely to get, but that didn't matter. Making my excuse, I headed for the loo. Secure in a cubicle, skirt around my waist - tights and panties pushed down, tinkling persistently I stared at the cubicle door and marvelled at how the evening had turned out. Fantasies of coming back, of being a firearms officer again tumbled my thoughts. What about Fe? Would she transfer here with me? How would she feel about leaving the city. This might be the arse end of nowhere to a city girl like her, but lesbian couples weren't world shattering news even here. The cheerful version of "Let it Go," I whistled on leaving the cubicle died on my lips when I saw Jules's bulk filling the washroom beyond. One of his slab feet was firmly holding shut the door out to the safety. "Something on your mind, Jules?" I said, forcing casual - keep your voice soft, Annette. Stepping to the sink I washed my hands carefully, trying to keep him in my peripheral vision. My phone was in my handbag with Fe's coat. In this confined space a fight, if Jules really were intent on such shit, would be short and one-sided. I needed space to defeat a lump like him. "Shut up," he snapped. When I opened my mouth he held up a hand, like commanding a truck to stop. "Don't speak, do not speak." Mouth dry, hands wet; I dried them on my skirt and made a peaceful gesture. "I look at you," he said and his voice thrummed with tension, his teeth were practically clamped together. "I look at me. Fuck!" His fists clenched and I contemplated how it would feel too slowly come to in a hospital bed with Fe gripping my hands. "And I'm jealous as fuck. Of you." The penny dropped. Then a pirate's treasure chest full of pennies got dumped over me. "Oh, Jules..." A thick finger speared the air towards me. "This never fucking happened. Understand?" I shook my head. "Sorry for being a cunt." Moving too fast for my stunned reactions he clamped my shoulders between his two hands and an image of me being lifted, feet kicking helplessly, took me. Instead he just held me and then, so quick I could almost imagine it never happened, he kissed my cheek. The door slammed shut behind him as he ran from the loo leaving me dazed and alone, absently rubbing the place where he'd kissed me. Rochelle was hurrying along the passage towards me when I floated out a few moments later. Worry creased her face, subsiding into relief when I appeared apparently undamaged. "What just happened?" she asked, touching my arm. Brushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear I shook my head. "You okay? Jules just stormed out, not a word to anyone." A nod. "It's good. All good." But tears spilled and as I wept I blushed furiously to be so exposed before her. Her arms went around me in an instant, squeezing me hard. "He don't mean anything," she murmured while I sniffed hard and got myself boxed up again. "Things line up differently in his head," she said, but I was only too painfully aware of how certain things must line up in there. "He came to say sorry," I sniffed, wiping at my eyes and finding Fe's mascara wasn't waterproof. "Honestly, he apologised, for earlier." Rochelle turned compassion into surprise. "Our Jules?" Another nod. "Wow! Wait "till I tell the others." I gripped her wrist as she turned away. "Don't. Please. Me and Jules are cool. Leave it at that." "Oh! You're sure?" "Positive." "Your call." She gave me a grin. "Need some help fixing your eyes?" Another couple of assurance messages went Fe's way. Sat amongst my old mates, no - my mates, I never wanted the night to end - I wanted to be here with them again. The ACC's business card in my handbag burnt a hole in my consciousness like it really would be that easy to drop Manchester and head back over here. Tall stories were told. Almost every other speech started with the warm, comfortable phrase "Remember when." Christ, I'd laughed with these people - I laughed now, tears running, shoulders shaking, at the things we'd done, we'd seen: all the stupid shit we'd got away with. I felt transformed; not Annette, not Liam - not a transwoman, not a man, not a woman. Just a person, and best of all, One of Them. I belonged. I found myself with my back to the bar, atop a stool with another Doombar on that old, wonderful table before me; warm, comfortable - happy. Me. Fe had taught me poise and carriage and even then, with beer inside me, I was all she'd taught me; if there were any mixed gender messages broadcasting from the way I looked these would not be bolstered by my body language. My back was straight, hair still tidy, knees crossed demurely at the knee and while I wished I could have been there in some other, more feminine outfit my skirt was still my skirt and I made the best of it. Until a sudden, awkward silence stopped Andy's mouth in mid description of a well trodden story. Until a familiar and strange voice filled the quiet and I went cold. "So there's my Best Man." Jake Jacklin. There he stood, just a couple of metres away, legs apart and hands thrust into jeans pockets, a leather jacket loose about his frame. I might have been there alone for all the notice he took of Doc or Rochelle or Rob when they said their helloes. His eyes were all for me and the cold contempt scarring his looks was made for me. He swayed slightly, his eyes were pinked, and a sheen over his dark skin made me think he'd probably been drinking already. "Hello, Jake," I said slowly. Should I stand, offer my hand? Leave the room and leave them all behind. Jake Jacklin - we'd joined the police together, been sent to our first nick together, did our firearms courses together. I'd stood beside him when Maddy walked down the aisle towards him, handed him the ring that sealed their marriage, their Mollie was my Goddaughter and now he hated me. "This is very cosy," he said and now he was seeing the others. "Can't believe you went through with it." "Past is passed and this is now," said Doc. "Thanks for the lecture," Jake said, baring his teeth in some kind of pained grimace as he did. "But I thought more of you." "Then you thought wrong. You and her," he stressed the pronoun and nodded slightly my way. "You've got shit to sort out. Go sort it." "Who said you get to be Ban Ki-Moon?" Jake sneered. "Don't be a dickhead," Doc said smoothly. "Dickhead." Some of the swagger dropped from Jake's shoulders then - Doc was Doc after all. I found I was wringing my hands again when Doc caught my eye. "Go on then." He gestured towards the door, outside. Rochelle smiled. "Have you lot set this up?" I asked. She shook her head. "Targets of opportunity." Deep breath, Annette. I stood and indicated he should go first. "Well!" he snapped, when we were out in the car park. He folded his arms, stuck out his chin towards me. His pose, his fighting stance, touched something deep in me that hadn't really sparked since the fire. "What gives you the right to "well" me?" He took a step closer, but I held my ground. "Not a word. Not one fucking word!" "Here's some words for you then. Spat - my own brother spat at my feet when I told him. And dead, how about that for a pretty final word? Because my Mum, my own bloody Mother, tells anybody who cares to listen that her Liam is dead." "They're just family," he said, jabbing a finger towards me to make the point. "Or Claire? You remember her? You bloody well introduced us! Claire who persuaded me to go with her to bloody Manchester? Love of my my life Claire? She laughed in my face, laughed right into my face when I told her. See what kind of benchmark I had to work with when I was coming out!" "After everything we went through, did. Fucking hell, what a fucking thing to do to me!" Some paunchy lad stepped out of the pub at that moment, heading towards the car park or smoking area. He turned to me with a frown. "You alright, love?" "Don't fucking waste a "love" on that!" said Jake. "It's a fucking male." My saviour just looked confused at that, shook his head, made a dismissive, apologetic gesture and, forgetting whatever had brought him outside, went back into the pub. "Well, that was a cheap shot. Did anybody order a cunt, because one just turned up!" "Lucky for you I don't hit women!" he almost snarled. "Well, what is it to be, Mr Tough Guy? Am I a man or a woman? One or the other, make your mind up?" His punch was drunken and clearly signalled; anybody would have seen it coming. I had plenty of time to step aside. I seized his wrist and elbow as his fist went past me, forced his arm out straight and used his momentum to spin him around. Sticking out my right foot took him off balance and I had him face down in a ground-pin position before he really knew what was happening. Jake lay still. For a moment I thought I'd knocked him out somehow, then I felt him sigh. "Forgot how good you were at that shit," he mumbled into the gravel. When you're only a slightly shorter than the average lad you have to pay attention in the control and restraint classes. When you become an average sized woman, policing a city like Manchester, knowing how to get bigger, drunker, more aggressive people on the floor efficiently is a life-skill. My right knee pressed down on his right shoulder, his right arm was straight at an awkward angle and pinned tight to my chest while gravel pricked my left knee; his chest heaved making his breath hot on my ankle. "I shouldn't have called you that," I said after a moment, when I'd decided I wasn't going to have to fight him any more. "You aren't one of them." "I can see up your skirt," he muttered. "Don't look then," I said, but didn't move. More breaths, more heartbeats; words jumbled and sentences reconfigured through my head. "I should have spoken to you." His voice softened. "I thought we were closer than that." "You get so used to lying to people, by the time I stopped lying to myself I didn't how to tell the truth." "It was the fire, wasn't it?" That last day before I went to Manchester was my last day crewing an armed car with Jake. It should have been a day of cakes and touring the county to say goodbye to people and places. What we hadn't reckoned on was a husband's plan to cut his wife's and son's throat, to burn the house and kill himself. We'd crashed through a patio door into an ordinary house stinking of blood and petrol to find her amongst her own gore, neck opened, while she made her last, faltering act that of directing us towards her son. "I was already female," I whispered. "Can I get up now?" We stood slightly apart from each other, adjusting our clothing, brushing gravel away - I'd torn my tights, mud stained his jeans. Noticing my breath steaming brought the cold night to my awareness. My nipples ached and made prominent points through my shirt; Jake glanced at them, but he was only a man. "Do you want to go in." He nodded towards the pub. I shook my head. "Not yet." He steamed a deep breath towards the stars. "I shouldn't have said you were male." A shrug. It happened. "Suits you. I mean it." "Thanks." I got read less and less nowadays. Somedays I even forgot I'd pretended maleness for 26 years. Spying a wooden bench a few metres away, on the edge of the darkness swamping the beer garden, I sat and crossed my legs, poked at the white skin showing through my torn tights. A little blood was oozing. A moment later Jake sat too, a body's distance between us. The chill raised goosebumps over the bared skin on my left arm, but my right was too scarred for body hair. I'd got petrol splashed on it as that desperate man had reacted furiously to our meddling in his righteous self-destruction. Even after Jake had shot him twice he'd managed to ignite himself. "I'd wanted to be a woman as long as I could remember," I said, staring at the winking stars. "You never said." "How could I? Remember the way you took the piss out of her from human resources when she transitioned?" "Little Don Parker?" "Donna Parker!" "You did too!" "Peer pressure. Terrified of showing out." "I wouldn't have... I would have..." "What? What would you have done?" I asked and now memories choked my voice, tears made my cheeks colder. Fe had held me, loved me, walked with me. Fe's love had gone above and beyond with that hateful dilator when the pain had made me beg her to stop. "Don't answer," I said and sniffed, wiped my eyes and ruining Rochelle's good work. "I lay in that hospital bed, off my tits on painkillers, staring at the wall and all I could think of was dying in that fucking house. I'd have been buried as a liar, a ghost of what I should have been and that's when I decided I was going to be me, I was going to be a woman. But I couldn't think of anyway to share it with you or anybody here. I was on Manchester's payroll by then and that just made it easier to put distance between all of you and Liam and me." "Fuck!" he exhaled. "I hated that you hadn't thought I was good enough to tell, that you thought I'd have told you to fuck off. I hated that you were all alone." "I wasn't alone. And you could have tracked me down." "Claire told us what you did. She told as many people as she could, pissed a load of us off with what she said, but she was perfectly clear that you didn't want any contact. Particularly from me." "It's bloody freezing," I said into the silence that followed. "Want to go in?" Another head shake. "Not yet." It was almost intoxicating to be alone with Jake again. I could smell him - aftershave, beer and man. "I missed you," I said quietly, closing my eyes. Liam wouldn't have been able to say that, but he'd gone in the flames. His leather jacket creaked as he shifted. "Lean forward," he said and when I did I felt a weight settle around my shoulders and his warm scent wrapped me even closer. When I realised his jacket was now draped around me I nearly laughed with surprise and delight that he could do something so wonderfully old-fashioned as put his coat around a girl's shoulders, particularly for this girl. "Me too," he murmured. "Mollie still asks after you." "How is she?" I breathed in his smell, pulled his jacket close. "Seven going on eighteen. Got me and her Mum right where she wants us." "And Maddy? She's still too good for you?" "Still too good for me." "You're so punching above your weight with her." He laughed. First time I'd met her I'd shaken my head and told her she could do so much better than Jake. "How about you? Got somebody special?" "I'm punching well above my weight, mate." Opening my eyes at the sound of light footsteps I saw a lean figure silhouetted against the car park lights. "You're about to meet her." "How long have you been here?" I asked when Fe was standing beside me. I felt like I hadn't seen her for decades and her waist under my arm was more soothing that a fresh drawn bubble bath. "All the time," she said. "Just in case. Have you gone all hetero on me?" Another laugh. "After what I had done to the last cock I had access too, I don't think that's a good idea. Phoebe, this is Jake." I tilted my head to kiss her cheek. "I thought he might be, when you threw him across the car park." "Phoebe is the wind beneath my complicated wings," I said. He stood to shake her hand. "Without her I'm just wind," she said. "Like a fart." "Good to meet you," said Jake. "Thanks." "For what?" "Being there for her." "I wouldn't be without her. Ever." She laid her arm across my shoulders and I leant into her. Jake watched us a moment, his eyes moving from me, to Fe and back again. He bit his lip absently, then nodded to himself as he appeared to come to a decision. "You're staying in town?" "The Premier Inn, near the station." "You'll come and see us tomorrow? There's a cafe around the corner, The Orchard - you remember it? Great sausage baps, the best. Come and join us for breakfast; me, you, Maddy and Mollie and Phoebe. Jesus," he looked at me. "Four girls and me, carnage." We had been planning an early start, get on the road, find a diner or a Maccy-D's on the way, but I looked up at Fe who laughed. "Who could have seen this road trip working out so well? It's a date," she said. *** Even though we lived on the edge of a city of tramways, bus routes, railways lines and taxi hordes, Fe loved to walk. Even though we had a long drive across the Pennines to get home that morning, Fe stopped the car some distance away from The Orchard Cafe and we walked in. It was a fine, clear morning - crisp and wintery, but fresh and vigorous and our breath rose in clouds. Walking with Fe was not some leisurely stroll - she marched with purpose and that purpose was to eliminate as many calories as possible as part of her enduring war on corrupted body image. I'd never met her ex-husband, but if I ever did I was going to punch him - preferably more than once for the way he'd exploited her. The minor issue of the stiletto heeled boots I was wearing was not enough to slow her down either; not that I could complain much as she was wearing hers of the night before. Apparently more calories were destroyed by a brisk walk in heels than in flats. A long, heavy, winter skirt of autumnal colours swirled around my legs, I was buried in a thick, turtle-necked jumper and short jacket, my hair was down and streaming in our wake while snowflake earrings brushed my neck with every step. I used to wonder if people would think I was trying too hard, as I chose to wear skirts or dresses as much as possible. I'm always understated and ultimately the clothes I wore were my choice and away from work I dressed to please only me. And Fe, of course. Fe was wearing a short, tight mini-skirt and thick tights with her boots. Her legs flashed most attractively as they burst through the opening of her long coat. I couldn't help myself and kept looking over to her as we rampaged along - her cheeks glowed with the exertion and the chill, her gleaming lips were parted and her eyes shone so happily I fell in love with her a little more. "Do you want to come back?" she said as we turned a corner to see the cafe just ahead. There was a little girl in a red coat and blue jeans waiting outside, pacing as she looked up and down the street. I nearly stumbled with surprise to see her standing there waiting for me. I wondered what Jake had told her. What was she expecting? "You can never go back," I said. "Look, there's Mollie." "I'm not talking about that kind of going back. Look at you? That back is only a bad dream. If you were working here again that would be a kind of going forward." The ringing sound of our heels must have caught Mollie's attention, I could almost feel her staring at us. "I wouldn't go anywhere, kind of forwards or backwards, without you." "I wouldn't let you," Fe said. "I think she might have recognised you." "Aunt Annette!" the girl shouted and waved, jumping up and down. The cafe door opened and a bell tinged. A compact, dark woman with her hair in corn plaits and wearing a lovely purple top leaned out and looked our way. "She's been well briefed," I said, but couldn't help smiling. "See, going back and moving forward at the same time," said Fe squeezing my hand. "All options are open, but right now I'm starving."