“Two pints of the Skull Attack, a Guinness, a Carling and a Carling top”

“Lemon or lime?”

“Lime. You new at this, son?”

Always the same shit. I clamped down on a giggle as the old acronym reworked itself in my head: same shit, different drunk. Never mind; every little bit helped, as the supermarket ad went. I was just a pity that the pay was exactly that and not a larger bit. Not going home for the Christmas break was offering me not so much mixed blessings as a mixture of said blessings with an awful lot of curses, but it was still better than being at home. In particular, I didn’t have to lock myself down and pretend to be that other person that, in my view, had existed only in my parents’ minds.

“Card or cash?”

He held out some plastic, so I held the terminal out to him..

“Thank you…that’s gone through. Who’s next?”

When I said ‘little bit’, the other benefit of the holidays was that they were busy, I still had my room in Hall at Cardiff Uni and with no courses, I could work lunchtime shifts as well as evenings, so the actual income wasn’t too bad. Pity about the hours, and the load on my feet. The temping company had treated me fairly, as well, even though I was bouncing round from pub to pub, so I didn’t really get time to build up any connection to the regulars. The upside of that was the simple fact that by the time they started to look at me more closely, I was usually somewhere else.

That evening’s pace was indeed ‘somewhere else’ as it was a choice establishment. By ‘choice’, I don’t mean somewhere I would have chosen: a beer-swilling place, big screen sports, and men who knew how to be Men.

My metaphorical dance card was filled with a lot of pubs like that for the simple reason that a shithole would never, by its nature, be that good at attracting and retaining staff. Thank god I was indeed settled in at Alwyn Court; I had been upstairs in the current place twice, and the smell of old dogs, cigarettes and socks was definitely an acquired taste, one I had no plans to acquire in any way if I could help it.

My phone did its little dance in my pocket, and I took a quick peek: text from the agency.

Monday start 1030 Clifton in Adamsdown. Reply soonest if you want it. Lunchtime and afternoon only. Evenings subject to landlord approval

That was the usual play, where a pub landlord vetted his temps before risking his prime earning opportunity with them. I was already fed up with the place I was in, so texted back a positive answer before pulling the next round of lager, lager, lager top and lager. I could feel my own taste buds lining up at the edge like lemmings ready to jump.

The advantage of a zero-hours contract meant that I didn’t need to take every job offered, with the slight drawback that if I turned one down I might never be offered another. Adamsdown couldn’t be any worse than Taff’s Mead, could it? Not like they were sending me to bloody Newport. That brought a chuckle as I served the next lad.

“Something funny, butt?”

The tone didn’t suggest a challenge, so I smiled.

“Just got another pub to temp at, and I was thinking thank god it’s not in Newport”

“Bloody Twilight Zone over there!”

“Na; sun set there decades ago”

That brought a genuine laugh from him, my first of the evening, and he raised a glass and winked in salute. The highlight of my time there, oh dear. I pedalled back to my digs shattered and late, grateful I had Sunday evening off. Five minutes on my laptop found the new pub, plus directions and distance, and to my pleasant surprise it was half the distance. It was a cold night, as New Year approached, so after I had settled the bike in one corner of my room, I changed into my longer nighty. Thick, warm and about as alluring as a fertiliser sack; it was a good job I wasn’t out to lure, allure, attract, entrap, whatever. A slap in the face can offend, but so can the series of punches that had followed when one dickhead had misread my smile but not me.

I was in Clifton Street bright and early on Monday morning so that I could scout the place out, and no way was I wearing a skirt on the bike--- surgery would have been unnecessary in that weather. Bloody freezing, literally, and I spotted a café just across from my provisional workplace. They did breakfasts, the sign said, and I couldn’t decide whether it was the weather pushing or the Full Welsh pulling, but either way I was in lovely warmth as soon as I had chained up the bike. The young woman behind the till waved me to a table.

“Sit where you like, love. I’ll bring you the menu. Drink?”

“Tea please!”

“Cup, pot for one or pint mug?”

“Ooh. Pot for one”

“Blend?”

“Oh, just tea. White, no sugar”

“I’ll do you the Irish Breakfast, then. Makes a proper brew. Come far?”

“Near the Uni”

“It not closed?”

“Ah, I’m staying over. Not really much to go home for, so I save on the faff and travel. I’m actually temping over the holiday. Pub work”

“Where are you from, love?”

“I’m Alwen. From Swansea, me”

“Hello Alwyn, I’m Kim”

“Alwen, not Alwyn. Close enough to confuse the postman---I live in Alwyn Court”

Kim stared at me quite hard for a second, then smiled.

“Are you down here to temp in Harry’s place?”

“If that’s the pub over the road, yes. Start at ten thirty. Thought I’d come down early and scope it out”

She chuckled.

“My Nana used to run student digs just down the road, so if you were at Uni a few years ago, you might have had it as your local. Decent crowd, great landlord. It’ll be closed over Christmas, but we won’t. Hang on—food?”

“Don’t need the menu. Full Welsh?”

“How hungry are you?”

“Self-catering, me. Need you ask?”

“Anything you don’t eat?”

“Anything bigger than my head?”

“Got a right one here… you’ll fit right in. I’ll bring your tea and then get the food done. RUTH? GUTBUSTER!”

She was back in a couple of minutes with the pot, cup and a mug of coffee, and to my surprise took a seat at my table.

“Quiet for a bit, so nice to have a chat. Crimble opening, my idea. Some people don’t have anyone at Christmas, so we give them a warm space, some chat, and they give us money. There’s also people who have to work the day, so it is actually a decent day for trade”

She was a slim girl, with a mass of dark curls, an engagement ring on the appropriate finger, and I noticed her stare at me more than a few times, before she coughed, sounding a little nervous.

“Should be used to this by now, me. Is this why you don’t go home? Wen not Wyn?”

Read before I had even entered the pub, deep joy and happiness.

“If you are asking if I have changed my name, then yes. And I suspect you have worked out why, so yes. You are correct, thank you. Well done”

To my surprise, she burst out laughing, which rattled more than angered or shamed me. As I rose to leave, pulling out my purse to pay, she was waving me to sit back down, still snorting out half-strangled noises before she could get her speech back together.

“No, Alwen! Not laughing at you”

“That will be a change”

“Just, well, half my friends are like you. Like us!”

Sitting back down was rather abrupt.

“Sorry?”

“What I meant was that where I used to live, it was a shelter. Only for… you get it?

I was literally lost for words, and she put a hand on my forearm.

“I understand not going home, Alwen. So do my friends. One of them… No. Not going there. I’m sorry if I got it wrong, if I overstepped. I can change the subject if you--- Ruth, ta. Just having a natter”

An older woman set a well-filled plate before me, along with a knife, fork and spoon wrapped in a paper napkin.

“Quiet at the moment, Kim. No rush. Who’s your new friend?”

“This is Alwen. She’s doing replacement bar work over the holidays. Starting at Harry’s in a few”

“Oh. Your mate not need staff for the big night?”

Kim looked at me once again, with a sneaky grin this time.

“I don’t know how easily shocked Alwen is. Anyway, I won’t be there, of course. We have… alternative arrangements”

Ruth’s laughter was clearly genuine.

“Doesn’t get any more alternative, Kim my girl!”

“That’s why we love it. Be at Marlene’s for Crimbo, though”

She adopted an awful Mockney accent.

“Stradishunal, innit, John?”

Ruth’s “Leeeve it aht!” was even more painful, but the food was excellent, and while Kim steered well clear of any more personal stiff, her anecdotes about bikers and mountain walking kept me chuckling as I ate.

“So I didn’t know where to look, but I did look, and they do it every year!”

“Naked? On grass? What if there are ants?”

“Well, cause they’re staked out they can’t move, apart from wriggling which makes… Well, Nana loves birdwatching, and there are red kites there, so if they’re wriggling it might attract a hungry one… Note to self: take a pot of jam to the next Welsh Coast do”

“Are you always this, I don’t know? In your face?”

She suddenly turned serious.

“Alwen, sorry, but… Nana found me on the street, sleeping rough. Not far off pneumonia, I was. In your face? She was trying to help, and I called her a nonce and told her to fuck off. Fought her, or tried to. So, yeah, I can be blunt. Said sorry, though, once I was able to understand. Anyway, ten thirty, you said? Time to move and shake. Lock your bike inside the pub, I would”

Ten fifteen. Arse! I mopped up the last of the bean juice and settled the bill before receiving a solid hug from Kim, and then I was over the road and ringing the bell I had been told to use.

“You Alwyn?”

“Alwen”

“Sorry, love. I’m Harry. That your bike? I saw you go into the Grove; bring it here and I’ll put it out the back”

Once the bike was secure, he simply sat down with me and talked me through my experience and history behind a bar.

“Pull me a Guinness, love, then a pint of that Carling piss”

I did as he asked, and he nodded, before holding up the lager.

“You drink this?”

“I don’t drink when working, or riding, and certainly not that stuff”

“Good answer! I’ll take your work with a beer engine as read, the way you poured the treacle”

He carried the two pints over to the kitchen area before sitting down with me once more.

“Guinness goes into a couple of our pub meals”

“The lager?”

“Straight down the sink. Not going to drink it at this time of day, or any bloody time of day, to be honest. Now, the till’s like this…”

He talked me through the usual stuff such as mixer pricing, ice policy (“I will NOT put ice in a single malt—let them pick some out of the bucket and ruin their own drink themselves”) and so on. At eleven, he opened the door to the public. At two-thirty, as Mark the afternoon barman arrived, Harry put a hand on my shoulder and smiled.

“Just what I needed, love. Want to stay on for the evening shift?”

“If you’re sure”

“Sorted, then. See you at six, if that suits. I’ll let the agency know”

“It does. Can I leave the bike there for now? Want to do a bit of shopping, and locking it up is a pain”

“Not a problem”

The bus stop was a couple of minutes’ walk away, and I was soon in the pedestrian area. Primark had a skirt I had my eye on, long enough to keep my legs warm as the weather went downhill, and I really needed to find a card for my parents. I had decided ages ago that even though I wasn’t that welcome as myself, there was no sensible outcome in burning the rest of my bridges. Anodyne, conventional, perhaps even twee, but I would still be signing the card in my own name, and not the one they had given me. The Chinese street food place was open, so I wolfed down, or rather slurped up, some noodle soup after my little spending spree before heading back to the pub. I slipped the envelope into a post-box for its trip to Swansea and stepped into the pub. Harry noted the shopping bags, and waved at the storage room where my bike was waiting.

“Stick them in your panniers or saddle bags or whatever you call them, grab a seat and Mark there will do you a cuppa. Mark?”

That man looked across, and made a T shape with his hands; I nodded. Five minutes later, and I was slowly warming my fingers on a mug of strongly brewed tea, which felt like the very stuff of life after the miserable cold outside. At six, I settled myself behind the pumps, ready to not rock the malts. The pub filled quite quickly at first, and then the numbers held steady for a couple of hours. It was a real local in its clientele, quite a bit older in age range than the last place, and the demand was a lot steadier as they all seemed to prefer sitting and sipping rather than standing and throwing it down while shouting at their friends or their phone, or both.

“Pint of Brains, son”

An older man in a flat cap, offering his used glass. Harry’s hand came down on my shoulder.

“How many you had, Ted? This is a girl, not a lad. Something you been meaning to tell us? I mean, we already know about that ewe out by Pentyrch”

Harry turned to me.

“You know what the say about Valleys girls, love? That you can take the girl out of the Valleys, but you can’t take the Valleys out of the girl? Well, Ted here is a Valleys boy. Well, old boy. Very old. And you can take the boy out of the Valleys, but you can’t keep him out of the sheep. That right, Ted?”

It was all said so smoothly that it was clearly a well-practised joke with a well-known friend, and Ted himself laughed.

“That’s Barry, and you know it!”

“Fewer sheep in Barry, so there’s always a queue. Ten sheep tied to a lamp post, that’s Barry leisure centre, that is! This is Alwen. She’s from Swansea. Be working here some of the holiday period, so be nice and don’t break my staff”

I poured him the bitter, and he managed an awkward apology before drifting back to his table and turning his gaze back to the football match on the big screen.

At eight thirty, there was a burst of noise from the door, and Kim appeared, hand in hand with a young man, together with another girl of about my age.

“Hiya Alwen! This is Phil, my fella, and our friend ‘Licia”

Yet again, I felt eyes on me, and realised Kim had clearly briefed them about me. Apart from pouring drinks for them, though, and some anodyne filler conversation, they said nothing of any substance until I went for my break. Harry pointed to a spare table.

“Pie and mash do you, love?”

“That would be great, thanks”

“Just reward. Doing well tonight. You happy staying on the rest of the week? Regular staff will be back then, so I can’t justify the extra, but till then you can have all the hours you want. And sorry about Ted”

Rather than make a speech, and open a wound, I simply shrugged. Once I was sitting, however, three younger people descended on my table, Kim coming straight to the point.

“Alwen here is from Swansea, or Abertawe as Frank would say. Girl, three of us here on your bus”

My gaze went straight to Phil, and Kim laughed.

“No, not him—I would have noticed if he were. No: you, me and ‘Licia. Didn’t want to swamp you, but, well: stuff. Family, yeah?”

I shrugged.

“Did what I normally do and sent them a card. Best I can manage”

‘Licia shook her head sadly.

“Both the same mindset?”

I nodded, and she smiled, sweetly.

“I was luckier. Not boasting, but my Mam, well. Dad was different”

Kim reached out a hand to shush her.

“Alwen’s not got much time for a chat, girl. What ‘Licia was going to do was rhapsodise about her Dad, so I’ll just say he’s a lovely man, and once he saw her, met her properly, he’s been an absolute diamond. Main thing we wanted to get across, and sorry to rush this, but it will get really busy in a few. Main things, rather. First is that this woman is also at your Uni, so if you need someone… Shit, you tell her”

Alicia, as I assumed her name really was, smiled once more.

“Kim’s told you what sort of place we met in?”

I nodded.

“Shelter, with a, um, specific entry qualification?”

“Exactly. You know what the best thing about it is, and shush because I am going to tell you: it’s realising that you are not alone, that it isn’t just you, that there are others who can really understand. It can be a life saver, it really can. How many of us do you know at Uni?”

Where did that urge to cry come from? I wrestled it back down, shaking my head.

“That mean you don’t want to tell us, or that you don’t actually know anyone?”

I grimaced.

“I don’t really socialise. Study, do the bar work, that’s it. My parents, well, they don’t exactly shower me with largesse, if you see what I mean”

Alicia waved a hand at her friends.

“That stops, then. We are, well, there’s a few of us. Wrote out a list of numbers and e-mail addies before we came out, some notes as to where we are, and some addresses that might be useful. Not alone, Alwen. It can feel like that, but it isn’t true, and never was”

Phil raised a hand, his own smile in place.

“I’ll do my little bit as the token bloke, then. What are you doing for Christmas and New Year’s Eve?”

I shrugged.

“Same as last year. Planning to stay in on the first, cause the pubs are shut, so no work. The other one’s a hard shift, but pays well”

“Well, my beloved here has a friend who runs a pub, and they open for Christmas, as well as New Year’s. We go somewhere else for that one, but Christmas is usually at the pub”

“Why are they open on Christmas?”

Kim looked horribly weary as she answered my question.

“Because many of those who are there don’t actually have any other family, of any kind. Right: Harry’s looking expectant, so we’ll leave you to it. Catch you through the week”

They finished their drinks, and I received a hug from each as well as a couple of folded sheets of paper before they were off out the door, and I wiped my lips, realising that the pie had somehow managed to pass from plate to my stomach without me noticing. I finished the shift, and rode back to my near-namesake hall, hung up my purchases, showered and pulled on the long nighty again.

The night passed slowly, because all I could think of were Alicia’s words. Not alone. Never have been. I thought of exactly how many names there had been on those sheets of paper, and wondered where I had gone so wrong for so many years.

The week passed quickly, helped along by Harry’s seemingly inexhaustible stock of filthy humour and frequent visits from one or more of my new friends, as well as newer friends, friends that they shared with me. Halfway through my time with Harry. The text came from the agency.

Merry Xmas in advance. Work available Xmas Day and NYE if you want. You have been requested by name. something we should know? Reply ASAP if available. Walking distance from your home. Visit premises when free to confirm with landlord if yes

There was an address, and it was indeed close by. Between shifts at Harry’s, I caught the bus once more and followed my phone’s directions to an older building of quite some size. The sign outside read ‘Smugglers’; solid double doors banged shut behind me as I entered, and the place was like a maze, several bars, a function room or dance floor or something through one door. I found what looked like the main bar and waved at the bar…person. Purple hair, nose ring, flat chest and heavily tattooed arms, and a clear soprano voice.

“Can I help?”

“Here to see the landlord about some temp work. Agency sent me”

“Right. MARLENE!”

Seven foot tall at least, if I included heels and hair, with striking make-up and in a sparkly long dress.

“Yes?”

The bar person waved a hand my way.

“Says they’re temp staff”

“Ah. Would you be Alwen?”

I nodded.

“Just going up to my lattie for a natter, Ox. Intercom if you need me”

I followed her through a side door and up a flight of stairs to a spacious flat, dresses and wig stands everywhere, and Marlene waved at an armchair, settling into another with a sigh.

“Take a load off. Kim gave me the SP, so no BS. How far are you in your transition?”

“Does Kim go about telling everyone’s private business to random strangers?”

Marlene’s painted eyebrow rose a little.

“No, love. She goes around doing what her Nana did for her, and what Marlene here has done for any number of confused boys and girls, as well as fucking ABused boys, girls and whatevers, and she tries her fucking hardest to not see them get over their fucking heads in the shit that too many concerned fucking citizens and bottom-feeding cunts want to throw about. Like those bastards who murdered that poor bastard next to the castle”

She raised both eyebrows.

“Shall we start again? I need bar staff for the two big nights. Kim tells me you are competent and experienced. She also tells me you are in what a pretentious arsehole would term as Marlene’s target demographic. Marlene is a worshipper at the shrine of business efficiency, so killing two birds with one stone appeals to her”

She shrugged.

“Of course, Marlene also loves to kneel at the shrine of Adonis, and his friends, but that’s not business, as long as they do the business, and—where was I? Oh yes. Hard men are good to find, and so are decent bar staff on those nights, so here’s the offer. Full shifts on Christmas Day, from eleven until one in the morning. I will sort you a taxi home”

“It’s walking distance”

She shot me a very hard look.

“It’s getting the shit kicked out of the fairy distance, darling. Same for New Year’s Eve. Are you up for that? Premium pay rates, of course. Your new friends will likely be here in numbers for Christmas, but they’ll be up the satanic kitten-eaters’ place for New Year”

She clearly caught my puzzled look, and smiled.

“Back patch biker clubhouse, Alwen. Long story”

She settled back into her chair, the bitchy persona laid aside for the moment.

“Little Kim said she’d explained why we open up for Christmas. This is the only family a lot of our people have, and I know that you are in much the same place. Kim and the rest, they’ve made their own family, and fucking proud of them I am. Alicia said she’d given you a list, and my number is there. Even if you don’t take the gig, remember where we are, okay? You up for it, then?”

I nodded.

“Hard sell seems to work with me”

Marlene grinned again.

“Hard ALWAYS works with Marlene! So where are you, transition wise?”

“Well, been on HRT for about a year. That’s it, really. Not much to show for it”

“Itty Bitty Titty Club? Dress size? Shoe size?”

“Sixteen, and seven and a half”

“Lucky girl, with those sizes. Many girls… I have a friend, Kim and the rest, we have a friend, girly as a girly thing, and size eleven feet. Her fiancé doesn’t seem to mind, but she’s going to need Marlene’s help for their wedding! Now, off and do your next shift, and see you on Crimble Day”

I did my last shift with Harry on Christmas Eve, and he insisted on giving me a cash bonus and a demand that I stop by as a customer when I could.

“You okay working the days before New Year?

“If you like”

“I like. Kim would tell me off otherwise. I’ll let the agency know”

I spent that night almost sleepless, imagining Santa whizzing around and finding no chimney to my room.

No loss. I hadn’t had a Christmas present in two years, and for most of my life I hadn’t wanted the ones I had received.

Yes, in reality it was a loss, but water under bridges and all that guff. I ended up falling asleep at about three, and only just made it to the Smugglers in time for my shift. Marlene was behind the door as I entered.

“What the fucking hell are you fucking wearing in my fucking bijou establishment?”

I looked down at myself.

“What I normally wear for work”

“Well, you look like some fucking amateur drag king, and that will not fucking do. Mary? Off to sort this apparition out”

Once more she led the way to her flat, and once through the door turned to face me, her manner softer than I had yet seen.

“Got some stuff for you, Alwen. You don’t have to, but, well, I suspect you need to. Think of this as a mixture of our present to you. Going to leave you to change, or to let me know if you don’t want to. Up to you, but, well. I’ll be in the living room”

There was a black dress that came down to my knees hanging on the back of the door, a pair of ballet flats on the floor beneath. On a side table was a pack of black tights, a plunge bra and a couple of gel chicken fillets. As I stared at them, Marlene’s voice came through the door.

“Assumed you’d be happier in your own knickers, love. I’ll do your face, if you want”

It took me a long time before I could gather the courage to descend the stairs. Marlene was at my shoulder.

“Not alone, Alwen. Sometimes, you just have to take that first step in hope and in faith. You’ll meet several people tonight who did just that. Courage, love”

I took that first step.