In this Chapter, Sian's Pony trekking venture starts to take off by offering brief respites and trekking holidays to disadvantaged chilodren. Meanwhile Beverly suffers a harrowing inquisition by the Social worker who is bringing the business to Sian.

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As we sat on the patio watching the children playing in the dammed up stream, Dorothy reminded me of our earlier conversation.

“So Beverly, may I call you Beverly?”

I nodded as she continued.

“What is it that’s so unusual about your setup here?”

I had already run this issue past Sian, Margaret and Angie and they had given their consent to my revelations.

“Well, the truth is that it’s quite complicated,” I confessed. Chrissie was rescued from a high risk situation because of her sexual dysphoria clashing with her parent’s transphobic reaction.
Her father was extremely violent towards her and attacked her. The child had to be found a secure place. Dorset Social services were at their wit’s end and when they heard about our having rescued the poor kid they were more than grateful to have her placed here.”

“Go on,” pressed Dorothy as the other social workers sat listening.

I proceeded to give them chapter and verse about Chrissies brief history, then myself and my transvestism. Next I related the saga of Beatrice and Jennifer’s experiences with the pirates, the part of my ship and crew’s part in their rescue, and finally the discovery of Angie, her recovery and her reunification with the girls, Beatrice and Jennifer who were her daughters. After I’d finished, Sian explained about Martina’s probable transexualism and next Sylvia explained how she found sanctuary at the stables after a troubled puberty and painful realisation of her lesbianism. Finally Chrissie, who had left the younger children splashing in the stream to join the adults, added her side of her story.

The evening shadows had lengthened considerably by the time our stories were over and the Birmingham social workers sat silent until they realised our explanations were finished. Dorothy spoke first.

“My God! Beverly, you’ve all walked some pretty long roads.”

I shrugged. To have elaborated might have somehow looked as though we were looking for sympathy. What had happened had happened.

“Well it’s all water over the dam now. We have to look to the future.”

“Talking of dams, replied Dorothy, those kids need rounding up.”

Angie poo-hoo’d their concerns.

“Don’t worry, it’s not dark yet. They’ll come when they realise they can’t see much and they have to find their way back.”

“Aren’t you worried for them?” Dot wondered.

“No. The girls have finished their home work and there’s little danger up here on our remote farm. They’ll come home like Bo-peep’s sheep.”

“In fact they’ve started back now,” added Margaret as she stood overlooking the patio and stared down the fields. She turned towards us and smiled.

“Yes Angie’s right, that’s the nice thing about this place. There’s little to worry about except perfectly natural dangers like falling or something. No inner city dangers here.”

“Unless some thug comes looking,” added Chrissie.

“Well yes.” I confessed quite readily, “that was unfortunate. We should have anticipated something like that. Hopefully that issue has been resolved.”

“Well there are now two men here to provide support if it repeats itself between now and Sunday morning.” Added Andrew one of the male Social Workers who had accompanied the Birmingham children. “Anyway, I think it’s time to get these kids to bed. I’ll go and start the suppers”

He stood up and the adult chat was over. Duties called as the kids appeared in the yard, covered in mud but blissfully happy. Apparently the ever imaginative Chenille had dreamt up some sort of game combining tag with ‘mud-sliding’ into the pool and a riotous time had been enjoyed by all. My heart sang as I watched all the children squealing with delicious shock as they hosed each other down at the bottom of the yard to remove the excess mud. Dot turned to Sian and me as she smiled.

“Well they’ve enjoyed themselves. We’re getting good value for money here.”

“Thanks,” replied Sian, “so you’ll be using us again then?”

“So far yes, and recommending this place to other authorities.”

“Well that’s great news!” Sighed Sian with evident relief, “word of mouth is often the best advert of all. What are your future plans for your authority in Birmingham?”

Dot looked thoughtful. “We-ell, there doesn’t seem to be a problem with younger children like these. The thing is these kids are pretty okay kids. Given a decent chance with good foster parents, they should make it out of the hole. They are our easiest kids to manage for they haven’t been in care for long and most of them are here because of unexpected calamities in their families. The trouble is, we’ve got literally dozens of really disturbed kids in our care homes and I just don’t know how this set up would work.”

“So it’s small steps and slowly,” Sian suggested.

“Very much so. Would you be prepared to try some older kids next time?”

“Well I’d have to say yes and trust to your judgement.”

“Well being as we’re still feeling our way, I’ll try it with some twelve to fourteen-year-olds next time.”

“Will they be ‘nice kids’ like these or more disturbed kids?”

“Well they’re bound to be more disturbed, the longer they’re in care, the bigger their sense of rejection and failure.”

Sian sucked her tongue thoughtfully.

“Well we can only try. I’m in your lap a bit with this. Please treat us gently, cos’ I’m new to all this.”

“Well the best thing is perhaps for you and Beverly to come up to Birmingham and we can introduce you to some of the kids; that is the ones we’re considering.”

Sian turned to me and raised her eyebrows, “what d’you think Bev?”

I felt a cold shiver tingle down my spine and hesitated before wagging my head and refusing.

“No, you go Sian I‘ll have to pass on that one.”

Dot turned to me and just caught the last traces of my nervous expression. I have to give the woman credit for she picked up on the undertone immediately.

“Oh. Is there any particular reason you can’t come? I mean the kids are not that bad. Perhaps I’ve painted too bad a picture. When all said and done, we manage them okay, it’s not as though they’re locked in cages or anything.”

I searched around frantically for an excuse and finally chose the reason that I was off to Morocco shortly on business.

“But we can arrange a date around that,” offered Dot.

I tensed as I anticipated a gulf opening up in front of me, fortunately Sian intervened.

“Well, Dot, it’s not as easy for Beverly as that; she’s no idea when the Moroccan’s will call. There’s a lot of stuff hanging on her deal.”

“Very well then, I’m sorry you won’t be able to come, so it’s just Sian then.”

“Well maybe Angie might like to come. I’m sure Sylvia and Margaret can look after the girls.” Sian added.

I nodded with relief. Angie had been looking for some sort of roll to fill and providing extra supervision when needed might fulfil a niche. She was a very caring woman and even after bestowing what seemed to be unlimited love on the girls, she appeared to have love to spare. I nodded and agreed with Sian’s suggestion then indicated that I thought it best if Sian ran it by Angie. Paranoid as I was about causing Angie to ever think that I might be trying to come between her and her daughters, I thought it best if Sian suggested that Angie might be asked to somehow dissipate her love and spread it more thinly.

Sian; ever sensitive to my fears, agreed.

Once again Dot picked up on the undertones. My God, she was sharp!

“Is there some hidden agenda that I’m missing?” She asked.

“Not here, not now, Dot,” Sian replied as I literally flinched.

Terrified of somehow giving more of my private issues away, I turned to Sian.

“Well, I’ve got some stuff to finish on the Moroccan project. I’ll be in my study if anybody wants me.”

Sian smiled and turned with Dot to attend to the children’s preparations for their first night.

Later as I was tapping away productively on my laptop there was a soft knock on my study door. It was Dot. I sensed that she wanted explanations and motioned her to sit in what had become known as ‘Chrissie’s thinking chair;’ namely the old stuffed, comfy, excuse for a sag-bag that slouched in the bay window space.

When she wanted quiet, peaceful companionship, Chrissie would curl up and just watch me silently working while only asking the very occasional question. Conversely, Dot sat right back into the chair with her legs crossed and her hands draped over the arms. I finished my current calculation, switched off my laptop and looked at her as she spoke.

“Sian’s told me.”

“About?” I prompted.

“About, your childhood, the time in care.”

“It’s no secret, all the adults here know nearly all about it. Even Chrissie knows about it.”

“Was it that bad then?”

“You could say that,” I replied huskily as I struggled not to let my emotions betray me yet again.

“It’s not like that anymore,” Dot continued, “the conditions are infinitely better.”

I was tempted to reply that ‘Auschwitz’ would have been better’ but I bit my tongue. That would have been a flawed answer at best and might have sounded too extreme. It was certainly not true anyway, but I had seen children ‘snuffed out’! The main difference was ‘numbers’. The world holocaust of the 39/45 war amounted to millions. My private, childhood holocaust amounted to two or three, I think, I could not remember exactly, (Who would want to?) because lots were brutalised and I rarely saw the end result. I could not be sure how many had died. I based my childhood estimates on the ones I personally knew and who suddenly ‘disappeared’.

I had to be careful here. What Dot was looking for here was reasoned, balanced responses. If I came across as some sort of ‘crazy person’ it might compromise the way forward with Sian’s venture.

Nobody would believe the full story anyway. Yes the others knew a lot, but only as much as Sandie could garnish from the learned papers and then extrapolate for me to confirm to the others. The murders I had never mentioned and never would. Naturally there was no record of those and it was pointless to waste breath trying to broadcast the story. Nobody would believe me anyway and the victims were older boys who had bullied me unmercifully. They had obviously failed to find a survival strategy and fallen foul of the murderous brutes. I had used my transvestism to make myself more attractive to less vicious abusers; well at least, ones who didn’t kill. There wasn’t much else they didn’t do.

I’d survived and that was cause enough to be thankful. Cause enough to hang onto sanity. Finally, and this was the worst pill to swallow, I had no idea where or if there were any graves. Without graves there could be no evidence and therefore no accusations. What price the word of a sexually dysphonic misfit from care against the word of a judge, or a doctor or whoever else had used my juvenile body over forty years ago?

The silence became oppressive as I debated what would be the correct response. Dot spoke again.

“You said ‘nearly all’.”

“Did I?”

“Yes. You said the others knew nearly all about it.”

“Yeah, well maybe some bits got lost in the transmittal. It was a long time ago and memory fades.”

“Or you try to forget maybe?”

“If I do, maybe it’s some sort of subconscious thing to keep me sane?”

“Do you think you’re sane?”

“I have to don’t I? How can anybody think they’re mad? That’s a catch twenty two question.”

“Granted, but if what you say is true then there may be serious questions.”

“Well if there are questions about my sanity I can only answer that I’ve got to my sixth decade without falling apart and that after all the stresses of commanding ships and now, even running a shipping line.”

She changed tack. Obviously the sanity question was taking her nowhere. There was obviously no material evidence in my past adult life to suggest instability. I waited as she prepared her next line of inquisition.

“Is it your childhood memories that prevent you from wanting to go to see a children’s care home?”

“Yes.” I replied.

“And would you care to elaborate?”

“Uuhhm; what is this, a psychiatric interview?”

“I’m just trying to establish the situation. It’s the kids I’ve got to worry about.”

“Yes, granted; I agree wholeheartedly.”

“So you still have fears about care homes.”

“Yes.”

“But this cottage; this place is virtual care home. You’ve got; what is it; - two toddlers, four girls, one of whom is probably a transsexual, a teenaged transsexual girl of fourteen and a lesbian girl of just turned nineteen.”

I finished her summation for her.

“And two lesbian adult mothers, and a lady who is still recovering from the trauma of a couple of years rape and abuse in a pirate’s lair and finally to cap it all, a heterosexual transvestite who has transsexual leanings that are so strong, she has grown breasts.”

“Yes; exactly, I don’t understand you. You’re a conundrum.”

“Inside a riddle, wrapped up in an enigma,” I finished. “Of course I’m a conundrum, enigma; riddle; call it what you will.”

“So why are you afraid of coming to one of our care homes?”

“Precisely because I am that conundrum. All the parts don’t add up to the whole.”

“So you admit that you’re flawed.”

“Me; flawed! Hell! Yes! That’s possibly one of the few certain, solid truths about me. I’d have thought that was obvious.”

“D’you think the flaw will split open one day?”

“What? Do you mean like the San Andreas fault or the Giant Rift Valley?”

“Well they are certain to fail one day.”

“Yeah, one day, let’s hope my flaws are like those faults and only fail after I’m dead.”

“Do you worry about your faults?”

“Not any more, just like I don’t worry about the Giant Rift Fault or the San Andreas Fault.”

“So you’ve accepted your condition?”

“Hey! Come on, Dot. I would have thought that was obvious. What you’re looking at is what I am. I haven’t spent the last forty odd years struggling to get where I am now without knowing exactly what I want to be, without knowing exactly where I want to go. I ain’t changing back now, just to please you, or any other conformist. That is if you are conformist.”

“Good!” Dot replied. That was what I was hoping to hear.

“How is that so?” I asked bemusedly.

“You’ve been honest.”

“I’m always honest. At least about what I am; maybe I sail close to the wind in my business dealings but what entrepreneur doesn’t? Might I refer you to Polonius’s advice to Hamlet?”

Dot smiled. She obviously knew the text and repeated part of one of the final lines.

“Yes, to thine own self be true, and so on.”

“Yeah. The TG Gospel.”

Dot fell silent and shifted in the saggy arm chair. Her discomfort was apparent so I tried to ease the situation.

“So did I pass your inquisition?”

“Oh it wasn’t that, I just wanted to make sure.”

“Well it sure felt like the inquisition from this side of my desk.”

“D’you know; you’re weird. On the one side you determinedly live your chosen lifestyle which, if you’ll not be too offended, is incredibly contentious by society’s standards; and yet you’re hypersensitive when people wonder about it and try to understand you.”

“Call me a private person.” I shrugged.

“Aren’t we all?” Dot riposted.

“Yeah but it’s dangerous for me to let people in until I really get to know them. You can never tell if there’s a secret transphobe lurking under all that veneer of apparent friendship. Hence I put up the wall.”

“So I’m outside the wall then, -“Dot sighed.

“I’ve only known you for a day, and already you’ve taken it upon yourself to subject me to the great inquisition. Who’s being the invasive one here? I’ve got nothing to do with the running of Sian’s trekking business. So what gives you the right to dig?”

Dot fell silent. My remarks had suddenly brought her back to earth.

“Yes. Well I suppose that’s true, but you’re still close to the operation.”

“What? Physically or financially?”

“I don’t know about your financial connections.”

“No. Exactly and as for proximity; well any child anywhere can meet a transgendered person any time on the street, or find themselves sitting next to one on the bus. My proximity to your children is only an accident of geography. D’you see me as a threat then?”

“Well, no; not really, but I’ve got a confession to make; I was a bit wary of you at first. You’ve chosen a bizarre lifestyle, I ......”

I interrupted; something I very rarely did, but this time I felt threatened.

“Correction, Dot, I live an alternative lifestyle.”

“Well, - yes; I suppose that’s the politically correct term.”

“It is, and much though I’ve got little time for political correctness I find it a useful term; a term that makes others stop and think. That is if they’re capable of thought.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You’d be better off asking Chrissie that. Her dad is a perfect example of those incapable of thought. He’s a virtual brute and an unthinking brute at that.”

“Yes. I heard about that. Sian told me they’d even brought a lawyer.”

“And they might have got away with it if her brute of a father hadn’t gone at it like a bull at a gate. The moment it got violent he landed his transphobic lawyer crony right in the shit. Apparently the man claims he was only intervening with Sian because she was running towards the house with intent. He says he just stuck his hand out to try and block Sian from entering the house, a house she had every right to enter.”

“But it turned out alright.”

“Only because the stupid idiots went racing down a narrow lane and crashed into my builder’s truck. Fortunately Mr Price is a well respected local builder and he was able to add corroborating evidence otherwise we all know the lawyer’s word would have been accorded more weight than ours in the court. He would have said we were the ones who started the violence and got away with it.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re all ‘gay or transgendered misfits’ except for Angie so that usually makes us unreliable witnesses; leastwise in the eyes of most judges, - unofficially of course.”

“Do you believe that of the judges?”

“Yes. Just remember your own words a moment ago. You described me as ‘bizarre’!”

“You don’t trust anybody do you?”

“That’s neither true nor fair. I trust Margaret and Sian; I trust Sylvia, I trust Mac and Billy they are two gay partners who command one of my ships. I am beginning to trust Angie. If you want my trust you have to earn it.”

“Just like you’ll have to earn mine.” Dot countered.

“Exactly! I’ve no argument with that. Now we each know where we stand, can we move on?”

“Move on to what?”

“Well dinner for starters. I’ve got a meal to cook and the others will be wondering what I’m up to.”

She glanced at her watch and frowned. It was late and the Birmingham children would have been put to bed by Andrew and the other social workers.

“Dammit. I might even have missed my own supper.”

“You can eat with us if you want, if you’re certain I won’t poison you.”

“Touché,” she smiled ruefully. “Do you cook a lot for them?”

“I do my fair share. Angie’s very good. In fact she’s probably started the meal while you’ve been holding me hostage here. Chrissie tries hard though she’s a novice but she’s learning fast. Margaret works all day in town and she often works late, she get’s home tired. Sian and Sylvia work in the stables so it usually falls to me or Angie especially on days like this when Sian and Sylvia are really stretched.

Dot stood up and nodded.

“I suppose I’d better let you go then.”

I smiled and went into the kitchen as she crossed the yard to see how her charges were doing. She returned after having missed her own dinner and apologised for presenting herself for dinner.

“Andrew assumed I was dining with you and he gave my portion to a couple of the boys. Greedy little buggers.”

“They’ll be growing boys, it won’t have gone to waste,” offered Sian as she carved the joint while Chrissie ladled out the vegetables. I took another plate and placed it beside the others. Chrissie frowned slightly.

“Now what?” I grinned at Chrissie knowing full well that she had set aside a bit in the pans to give her self a second portion. Chrissie was a growing teenager as well and the day spent helping with the horses had given her an appetite.

“I was hoping for seconds,” she sighed softly.

“Don’t worry kid. You’ll never go hungry here, you can have my pudding.”

She grinned again and stepped around the table to hug me tight.

“You’re just fab mum.”

Dot looked on and nodded approvingly as she asked Chrissie.

“D’you like it here?”

“Yeah. It’s brill! Angie and Mummy Bev are really kind.”

I turned to Dot and frowned.

“If you wanted to ask her questions like that, shouldn’t you do it in private?”

“No it wasn’t like that Bev. Chrissie’s actions in hugging you told me much more than I needed to know. Anyway, I wasn’t looking for anything. Don’t be so defensive. I was only making conversation.”

I stared at the floor.

“Yeah. Maybe I am being a bit paranoid.”

“Huh a bit!” Remarked Angie as she portioned out the lamb and nodded to Chrissie to carry on stirring the gravy.

Chrissie released me from her arms and stirred the gravy before following Angie around the table ladling it out on to each plate. Dot smiled again.

“You’ve got it well organised Chrissie. How do you know what everybody likes?”

“Hah, that’s easy, everybody likes everything here. Bev and Angie are good cooks.”

I grinned and nodded. “No dirty plates left here unless somebody’s sickening for something.”

As I finished speaking Chrissie called the girls over.

“You can take the food through.”

Our girls didn’t let me down. They got up from the drawing room table immediately where they had been playing scrabble and each took a plate. We adults followed carrying two plates each and soon dinner was in full swing. As the chatter reverberated around the table I could see that Dot was impressed and I felt a secret glow of visceral satisfaction. Soon the scrape of cutlery on china announced that all the plates were clear and Angie produced a pudding of ‘spotted dick’ and custard. Chrissies eyes lit up as I motioned my head and offered my portion to her. It wasn’t a large portion for Angie always made sure the children got well fed and I ate sparingly anyway. Nevertheless there were howls of protest from the girls about ‘fair shares’. I confessed to having invited Dot at short notice and messing up Chrissie’s servings. Dot then apologised and offered to quarter up her pudding for the girls. This embarrassed them a bit and their protests subsided after the promise of something extra for supper.

Chrissie grinned like a Cheshire cat.

When dinner was finished she left with Sylvia to watch DVDs in Sylvia’s flat while the girls washed up then went to play on their laptop computers. Dot had to attend to her paperwork and returned to join her team in the warden’s flats next to the children’s dormitories.

We others did the usual thing and slobbed out in the drawing room. As the night overtook us we eventually made our individual ways to bed. As a special treat for the children Angie and I shared the bedtime story. Angie had patiently highlighted the dialogue in different colours so that she and I read different parts of ‘Little Women’. The girls were enchanted and their joy doubled ours.

As I prepared for bed Angie came to me.

“Are you up to sharing tonight?”

I fell silent then nodded slowly.

“OK. We can try it but bear with me if I have a nightmare or something.”

That’s a promise,” she reassured me.

As I emerged from my bathroom, Angie was already in my bed and she smiled softly to reassure me.

“I got in first thinking that part of your problem is having somebody get into bed after you’re in it; you know; the invasion of your body and space thing. I thought if you got into a bed with somebody already there, it might just help to address stuff.”

“Thanks Angie. You’re sweet,” I sighed as I slid onto the bed and burrowed under the duvet.

Soon we were spooned together with Angie pressed up to my tummy. Angie’s idea certainly seemed to be working. I didn’t feel so stressed with somebody in front of my. I felt as I was somehow ‘in the driving seat’ and there was no brutal assault coming up from behind.

Later as I savoured the soft steady rise and fall of Angie’s breathing I heard the soft click of my bedroom door. A vague shape appeared beside the bed. I knew who it was as her whispered question identified her.

“Is Angie in with you? She’s not in her own bed and she’s not with the children.”

“Yes Chrissie. Angie’s here, d’you want to come in?”

“D’you mind?”

“No. Not at all get in next to Angie.”

“Can I get in with you?”

“Well I’d rather you slept by Angie.”

Our whispering disturbed Angie who muttered irritable.

“Oh let the poor little bugger squeeze in between us. That’s where she likes to sleep anyway.”

Reluctantly Angie and I parted and a slender, bony, ice cold body slid between us. Angie and I both squeaked as icy feet inveigled themselves between our four legs.

“Bloody hell, you little bloody minx,” cursed Angie affectionately, “get your bloody feet off! You’re freezing! Tell this girl Bev!”

I was also chilled by Chrissie’s cold feet.

“You heard Angie. Next time make sure you’re warm coming to bed! Better still, bring a hot water bottle!”

“Or even Better,” added Angie, “come to bed at the same time as us. What sort of time d’you call this?”

“Sorry. Sylvia and I got carried away. She’s got a fabulous collection of DVDs and stuff.”

“Yes. Well that’s as maybe, but in future young lady, let us know when you’re having a stop-out with Sylvia. She’s leading you astray.”

“Okay mummies, oh; and by the way. Thank you.”

“For what?” Chorused Angie and I in perfect synchrony.

“For letting me know there’s going to be lots of next times.”

Being as I was behind Chrissie I gave her a sharp smack on the rump and she squeaked with amusement as she wriggled her butt into my tummy and giggled. The slap hadn’t hurt through her silky sleep suite and Angie scolded her.

“Go to sleep now. We are tired even if you’re not.”

Having been suitable admonished, Chrissie settled down and like most young people when tired, she was off almost immediately. Angie soon followed and I was last again to enter the land of nod.

I still slept through until six and that was a good five hours sleep which meant I woke lively and refreshed. It was the clink of Sylvia’s coffee-making that had woken me and I joined her as always, in the kitchen for a few quiet moments before the stampede. As we were both finishing our second mugs of coffee, we smiled as we heard the thunder of the -‘now not so little’- feet stampeding down the landing to my bedroom. Angie and Chrissie would soon be awake. Sylvia grinned.

“You should be up there savouring those kids.”

“Oh I get plenty of fun with them. Let Angie and Chrissie enjoy for once. Chrissie needs to know what it’s like having loving siblings.”

“Yeah. D’you know, Bev, that’s the nicest thing about our setup here. I love having the kids around.”

“Yes, they bring me lots of pleasure as well. D’you want a hand with the horses this morning? I’m up and it’s too early for breakfast yet.

“Yeah, that’ll be nice. If you can lay out the saddles and tack on the learner rail. I’m planning to teach them to saddle the horses in the ring instead of in the looseboxes.”

Each set of tack was named and identified to its horse and it was a simple job for me to set them out as Sylvia got on with the feeding.

Once the animals were feeding, we returned to the kitchen to Find Sian and Margaret preparing breakfast.

“Up early again, Bev?” Margaret remarked.

“You know I only usually lie in on Sundays. I’ve been helping Sylvia.”

Margaret nodded, poured out my porridge, added the milk and honey then micro-waved it. As I sat to the breakfast bar the others trickled down in dribs and drabs. First the children then Angie and finally, rubbing her eyes and yawning, Chrissie. Sylvia grinned.

“You’d better get a good breakfast down you sis, full day today.”

“Wha-assit?” Chrissie yawned again.

“If the kids progress satisfactorily, we’ll be taking them for a short treck on the Dumplin.”

“Ugh. It looks as though it might rain.” Chrissie suggested hopefully.

“Rain or not,” Sian added. “If you want to become useful at the stables, you’ll have to get some trekking under your belt.”

Chrissie turned to me looking for support.

“Do I have to Mummy?”

“Well what do you want to do? You haven’t restarted school yet and you can’t just sit around all day being idle. You’ve got to earn your keep. Has anything come of that job at the hair salon in Bournemouth?”

“I’m waiting for an answer.” She replied.

“You don’t wait for them to come to you young lady. It’s only a Saturday job. There’ll be dozens of kids trying for it. Be proactive and go chasing for it or return to school and try for some qualifications. It’s about time you restarted school anyway.”

Chrissie gave a shudder and I realised I might just have gone too far as tears started to flow. The poor kid was terrified of going anywhere until she stood some chance of passing as a girl. Her hair was still far too short and she was desperate for Sandie and her medical colleagues to finalise her medical status, namely that of pre-operative transsexual. I softened my attitude and reached around her shoulders to cuddle her to me.

“Look darling, I know you’re frightened but you can’t just sit around moping all day. Helping with the horses will get you out of yourself a bit and earn you a bit of money. Now I suggest you do as Sylvia suggested, and get a good breakfast inside you. When are you seeing Sandie again?”

“Next week and Betty as well.”

“Well that mean’s I’ll be seeing Betty as well. I want to know when the foster hearing is coming up.”

“Will you be my real mum then, like all legal and everything?”

“It depends what the judge decides. Nothing’s certain yet.”

Chrissie frowned but continued eating her breakfast. I remained silent as I realised she had taken Sylvia’s suggestion to heart.