Sometimes it is more important to listen to your inner voice than those around you. Honey Bunny Chapter 24 by Louise Anne Smithson Copyright © 2015 Louise Anne Smithson All Rights Reserved.

Over the next few days I saw nothing of either Mum or Aunt Emma on board, due largely to the fact that all concerned were seeking to avoid one another in the hopes that things might cool down. I did, however, learn from my aunt (via Carol) that my father had emailed my mother back to say that he was in the midst of an important project at work and couldn’t just drop everything and fly to the UK. Apparently he didn’t say anything about my news other than that he trusted my mother’s judgement where I was concerned and would support her in whatever she decided to do. That was fairly typical of him - to seek to avoid any family situation or confrontation where feelings and emotions might become involved. On this occasion, though, it was to my advantage as it was now just a question of getting my mother to see reason. The absence of any other message from my aunt over the next few days was a confirmation that this might be easier said than done.

Monte Carlo was our next port of call after Corfu where most of the passengers went ashore to look round the town or visit the famous casino. However, most of the entertainment staff had been given additional duties on this occasion so we would only have been able to go ashore for a couple of hours, at most. In return, though, we were assured that the Bucks and the Bunnies would be given a full-day off when we reached Barcelona. This new arrangement suited me as I’d no particular wish or resources to visit any casino and didn’t want to come face-to-face with my mother in public, if I could avoid it. George and I also used the opportunity for an additional choir practice as we felt that everyone was doing well.’

‘Do you think they’re now good enough to perform in public?’ I asked George after we finished our rehearsal.

‘I think so. Maybe we could include a fifteen minute slot for them in the show on the last night of the cruise, he replied.

‘Could we use the performance as an excuse to collect any unwanted Euros or other currencies from the audience for a charity helping the Ebola crisis?’

‘I don’t see why not but we’d have to clear it with Frank Johnson first. Tom is planning to phone him on another matter when we get to Barcelona. I’ll ask him to make sure there would be no problem as far as he’s concerned.’

‘Thanks.’

‘There will be a midnight sailing when we leave Barcelona so we won’t be required to do an evening show that night. We’ll have a full day and the evening free so I wondered if you have any plans for the day, Ally?’’

‘It doesn’t now look as if my mother is particularly anxious to spend any time with me, so the answer is no. Maria did say something about a Magic Fountain which operates in the evenings after sunset, but I’m not sure that I’d want to walk back from there on my own in the dark.’

‘What’s that?’ he asked.

‘It’s called the ‘Font Magica and is some kind of water show with coloured lights and music, at the base of Montjuic Hill. Apparently it only operates at, or soon after, sunset but it’s only a kilometre away from the ship. There would be plenty of time to get back in time for the sailing, if you’re interested in taking me?’

‘Yes I’d love to,’ he replied enthusiastically. ‘I went to the top of Montjuic with the others when we visited the Olympic Stadium in May; there are some nice gardens and great views of the city from up there. There’s also a museum dedicated to the painter Joan Miró but the others aren’t too bothered about the visual arts so we didn’t visit. I don’t suppose you'd be interested in spending some time there during the afternoon and then having dinner with me before we go on to look at the magic fountain?’

‘It’s a deal,’ I replied, smiling. ‘I don’t know much about Miró, so you’ll have to explain his paintings to me.’

Maria’s suggestion of a visit to the Font Magica light show also went down well with the remaining Bucks and the Bunnies, especially as it was free of charge. Carol, Beth and their respective boyfriends, and the two other Bucks had all made different plans for the day but we agreed to meet up at the entrance to the Espanya metro station at quarter to nine and make our way there together. Even Maria, who was now regarded by everyone as an honorary Bunny, expressed a wish to come along even though she had seen the spectacle many times before.

The morning after we left Monte Carlo I had to remove my breast forms for a while as my own breasts were beginning to feel quite tender underneath. I examined myself in the mirror and noticed the areola around the nipples had grown darker and there was a tiny lump underneath my left breast, but no trace of anything under the right hand one. I’d been warned that it would be months rather than weeks before my breasts began to grow to any noticeable extent.

‘Maria, when your breasts began growing, did they do so together?’ I asked anxiously.

She smiled.

‘In my case yes, but I had a friend with one breast growing much larger than the other. Do not worry, it is quite natural and in the end they will be equal. I am afraid that they will feel uncomfortable sometimes and perhaps even a little bit painful. Also you will find that they do not grow evenly, but will stop and then start again.’

‘We would refer to that as ‘growing in fits and starts’,’ I said, beginning to examine other aspects myself more closely.

The skin on my face and arms definitely felt softer than previously. Fortunately I’d never had much beard growth but it had been several days since I’d last needed to shave. Likewise I’d never been particularly muscular but I seemed to have lost some muscle from my upper arms. I’d already noticed that I tended to feel more emotional than before. The hormones I’d been taking every day for the last fortnight were definitely beginning to have a small effect on me.

It was a two-day voyage from Monte Carlo to Barcelona, with a brief stop in Ajaccio in Corsica on the way. During this time nothing out of the ordinary happened: we held one afternoon and two evening performances and one Bunny Hop before arriving in Barcelona, late in the evening, ready for a twenty-four hour stopover. I’d seen no sign of Mum nor of Aunt Emma, which slightly saddened me, but at least Mum wasn’t seeking to make things difficult for me at work. However, the morning after our arrival in Barcelona I was sitting at a table in the front of the theatre with a queue of passengers in front of me. I was ticking off names on lists for the various excursions and allocating them to the different coaches waiting on the quayside. I noticed the next in line was my aunt.

‘Hi Aunt Emm, where’s Mum?’ I asked as I took the two tickets from her.

‘She’s waiting for me in the back row; I’m afraid she still doesn’t want to talk to you.’

I sighed, but wasn’t particularly surprised.

‘How are things between the two of you?’

‘A lot better now, thanks, Ally. I’m doing my best to get her to see reason about you, but it isn’t easy.’

‘I appreciate that,’ I said. ‘Thanks for all your trouble.’

Then, changing the subject, I said: ‘I see you’ve both booked for the Gaudi day tour, what are your plans for this evening?’

‘We’ve been advised to find a tapas restaurant in the El Poble-Sec district.’

My aunt looked a little uncomfortable, and I was aware of the queue of customers standing behind her.

‘I’m trying to help but it’s probably best that I did not spend a lot of time talking to you now,’ she said.

‘Of course; I understand. Have a nice day together.’

George and I had a very nice day together. We took the funicular railway from near the Paral-lel metro station up Montjuic and made our way to the Fundació Joan Miró where we spent more than two and a half hours looking at the paintings and sculptures. George was always more interesting company on his own rather than in a group and he was both witty and informative without seeking to show off. He explained to me about Miró’s development as an artist and his influences. He also encouraged me to seek to understand what the artist was trying to do with the more abstract pieces and give my own interpretation of them.

‘What do you think of that one, Ally?’ he asked.

He was referring to one of the sculptures on the roof, the lower half of which consisted of a bright red, but otherwise naturalistic, pair of woman’s legs (perhaps taken from a tailor’s dummy) whilst the upper half of her body was largely abstract in form. The torso was in bright yellow and blue and the red head looked up to the sky (there is a photograph at the Wikipedia entry for Joan Miró).

‘I think I know how she feels,’ I replied with a smile.

He laughed and we walked on, but my response wasn’t entirely in jest as the sculpture somehow seemed to sum up how I felt about myself as a woman – as yet only partially formed - although I didn’t say so to George. I came away determined to find out more about Miró and indeed Antoni Gaudi when I had the opportunity to do so as it now appeared that I was going to be a regular visitor to Barcelona.

We spent a pleasant lazy afternoon walking through the terraces of the Laribal gardens on Montjuic Hill or else sitting on one of the benches and admiring the view. I was wearing a lemon yellow summer dress that I’d bought in one of the outlet stores in Portsmouth and white shoes. I’d gone for a simple, natural look, without too much makeup, which seemed to suit both my surroundings and also my mood on that day.

‘Do you have any plans for after the summer is ended?’ asked George at one point.

‘I don’t know really, Carol and Beth will be returning to University so I guess I’ll have to look for a job.’

‘What sort of job?’

I shrugged.

‘Anything, just so long as I can continue working as Ally, whilst I apply for university next year.’

‘So Ally is here to stay.’

I nodded but didn’t want to get into a discussion about hormones with him at this stage if I could avoid it.

‘The guys and I are planning to ask for a meeting with Frank to see if there's any chance we could continue working after our current contract expires. If he agrees to keep us on, we’re still going to need a decent singer, so would you be interested in doing so as well?’

‘As a soloist?’

‘We all think that you’re good enough.’

‘I’m not sure George. Being one girl out of three has been an easier introduction for me, but as a soloist I would inevitably have a higher profile.’

‘Well, have a think about it and let us know before the end of the voyage.’

‘OK and thanks for the invitation.’

‘By the way, I never did get to ask you how are things working out with your mother and your aunt?’

‘My aunt is fine, but the fact I’m with you today is an indication that my mother is far from being reconciled to having me as a daughter.’

‘I suppose it must have come as quite a shock to her.’

‘Yes but it now feels so right for me to be living as a girl. I know that there’ll be many difficulties facing me in the future but I’m sure that I’m doing the right thing.’

He looked at me and then smiled.

‘I think so too,’ he said as he put his arm around my shoulder and kissed me on the cheek.

I don’t think that either of us imagined that there might be any long term relationship between us but he was now accepting me as a woman and that was all I asked of him. At that moment I left all of my concerns about my parents and my future behind.

Spaniards tend to eat their evening meals rather late, often after ten o’clock at night, but they do have a great culinary tradition of serving tapas (hot or cold appetizers or snacks), which are ideal for tourists who are more used to eating earlier. At five thirty we made our way back to Paral-lel and began to explore the Gothic Quarter (Barri Gòtic) of the old city, looking for a tapas bar where we could sit outside and watch the streets gradually fill up with people after the afternoon siesta. Then at eight thirty we made our way along the Aviguda del Paral-lel to meet our friends at the Espanya metro station.

Maria and a colleague from the salon, named Anna, together with Tom and Jim from the Bucks were already waiting for us when we arrived. I was surprised to see that Maria and Tom were holding hands. I knew that he had a long-standing girl-friend back in Portsmouth, but maybe this was no longer on. It was time Maria relaxed and enjoyed herself a bit more - as long as it was just a fling and didn’t get too serious. I would have to find out more when we were next alone together.

‘Hi George, Ally, what have you two been doing all day?’ asked Jim.

‘Nothing much, we’ve been to an art gallery and some gardens,’ my escort replied.

‘But we’ve been having a great time,’ I added.

Maria asked if she could have a quiet word with me; I was anxious that she might be about to tell me that I’d made some basic error with my dress or appearance that might give myself away.

‘No Spanish woman would wear her bag on the shoulder like that; it would be too easy for someone to steal it. Put it round your neck,’

‘Alright, but aren’t you being a little paranoid as we each now have a guy to look after us,’ I said with a smile.

‘Ally, I know my city much better than you do. Barcelona is safe from serious crime but it has the highest rate of minor crime in Spain and the Mediterranean. It used to be the local drug addicts but now there are gangs who come here from Eastern Europe just to steal from the tourists during the summer. They can earn more in a few weeks here than they can in a year working at home.’

‘Why don’t the police do something about it?’ I asked.

‘Most thefts from tourists do not get reported to the police, those that do get reported are usually not investigated. The victims are only visiting for a few days and do not wish for any more trouble. Both the thieves and the police realise that. If they are convicted the thieves will be sent home but will be back after a few weeks.’

‘But why don’t the tour companies put pressure on to the police? After all, tourists bring a great deal of business to the city.’

‘They do not do anything because it is in the interests of the tour companies to say that the city is not safe for visitors to go out and explore on their own. Then they can make even more money by organising excursions for them.’

Soon afterwards we were joined by Carol and Beth and their two boyfriends, who had been on the cable car over Barcelona's Port.

‘The Font Màgica is at the end of Avinguda Maria Cristina, it is only a short walk from here,’ said Maria, pointing in the direction of the twin Venetian towers.

By the time we got to the fountain, there was already quite a crowd, waiting for the show to begin.

‘Please be careful with your handbags and wallets, everybody. There are many gangs of pocket pickers who come to this area for the evening shows,’ said Maria.

The daylight was just beginning to fade when the music started with Beethoven’s ‘Ode to Joy’ and the fountains and coloured spotlights sprang into life. It got progressively darker over the half hour of the show and the light and water effects became more impressive as a variety of popular classics including Strauss waltzes and the ‘Polovtsian Dances’, were played to create different visual effects.

As we stood admiring the display, with George’s arm over my shoulder, I had a strange feeling that I was being watched. I turned and saw that Mum and Aunt Emma were standing about thirty feet away. Aunt Emma appeared not to have noticed us, but Mum had done so and I could feel her disapproval.

‘George,’ I said quietly.

As he turned his head to face me I kissed him on the lips.

‘What was that for?’ he asked with a smile.

‘Because we’ve had such a great time together today,’ I replied with a smile and placing his arm over my shoulder once again.

‘Yes we have, haven’t we?’

I surreptitiously looked to see how Mum had reacted, but she’d now turned her back to me and seemed to be suggesting to my aunt that they move on to get a better view of the display.

Once the show had finished we all agreed that it was well worth the trouble of attending, and were happy to remain for a second half-hour performance, although conscious that as soon as it was over we would have to begin walking back to the ship. Fortunately Maria knew the old city well and proceeded to guide us through various back streets until we eventually came out at the Plaça de les Drassanes, on the seafront, not far from the cruise terminal. By this time our group had joined quite a few others who were all walking back towards their respective ships. In fact I caught sight of Mum and Aunt Emma walking a few yards ahead of us. They were just negotiating their way through a group of teenagers who appeared to be half blocking the footpath.

Suddenly, one of the group roughly pushed Aunt Emma out of the way and a second one grabbed Mum’s handbag from her shoulder, pushing her forcefully to the ground as he did so. Both my mother and my aunt cried out in surprise. It all happened so quickly.

‘Hey, stop him, someone; he’s a thief! Bolsa de ladrón’ I shouted as I ran to their assistance.

But I was too late; by the time I’d reached the thief he’d already got hold of her bag and tossed it across to an accomplice on a bicycle who had started to pedal away.