Part 6

“Please allow me to introduce myself
I’m a woman of wealth and taste
I’ve been around for a long, long year
Stole many a man’s soul to waste”

I’ve never sung in front of a crowd before, not as the lead, and I feel strange. It seems impossible that I’m hitting all the right notes. I channel Mick Jagger and Sandy Shaw, swinging my hips and holding the mic in what I hope is a seductive rather than stupid manner.

I have time to watch the crowd. I see many faces, mostly from school. It’s odd to have their attention and to feel in control, it’s the opposite from how I normally feel when at the centre of a crowd. It isn’t me they’re staring at but this new person I’ve created - and no one knows more about that than me.

Poppy’s house is completely packed. I’m surprised so many people have come. Her dad banned her from advertising on social media but there’s still a good turn out through word of mouth. Aside from our gang I was expecting Poppy’s arty friends, but there are also various others, including a few of the popular kids. As we finish the song in shambolic style, one face surprises me the most.

“Did you see her too?” Poppy whispers. I know exactly who she means - Jessie. I see her standing near the back looking nervous with Pui. Poppy is off, straight through the crowd. She pushes aside her older cousin Phil, who is here to keep an eye on things. She reaches Jessie before Esse and I are even halfway there.

“What are you doing here,” she demands, “after the shit you gave Emma and me?” She clenches and unclenches her fists and I worry she’s about to punch her. From the look on Jessie’s face, she is too.

“Hey Pops, don’t worry about it,” I start.

“Don’t you defend her,” Poppy cuts me off. I think of Jessie standing with her mother outside the art block. I think of her mother shaking from the alcohol and how Jessie looked after her. Jessie’s looking at me with a strange expression on her face and I wonder if she’s remembering the same thing.

“She’s just not worth it, Popsicle.” I turn to Jessie and Pui. “You’re not going to cause any trouble are you?”

Pui shakes her head and protests that they wouldn’t. Jessie doesn’t say anything but her eyes are downcast and I almost expect her to start crying. Neither girl is enjoying being at the centre of attention, both are out of their depth. I decide I don’t need to hear Jessie’s apologies. She’s on my territory now; the fact she’s come here shows she’s beaten.

The party gets going again and we lose Jessie and Pui in the crowd. We stand with Peter and Ian discussing the songs we played. We just about got through Sweet Jane by the Velvet Underground and House of the Rising Sun, both easy three-cord songs. From a professional point of view we were terrible but others kept saying how great we were. Esse’s voice and Peter’s guitar playing both have something, or could have something with a lot of practice.

The music’s loud and all consuming. “You should slow down a bit,” Esse yells into my ear. I shake my head and down the rest of my bottle of beer. I’m thinking about the letter we received saying the New Body Company will have a legal representative at my hearing. What would happen if they want me to pay for Emma’s body? There’s no way we could afford it. I head off to the kitchen looking for another beer to shut down my mind.

The party goes on until 1am. Poppy’s Dad has told us he will come back at 1:30 so we have to clear everyone out. He has agreed that I can stay over. Although it hasn’t been said, I know Poppy’s hoping we will have sex.

Poppy and Esse talk excitedly about everything that’s happened tonight. Peter wonders if anyone saw Jessie leave, but no one cares that much. I only caught a few glimpses of her through the night. Pui looked bored, playing with her phone. I guess they left a while ago. As Phil slowly but surely moves people out I fidget, pulling the label off my bottle of beer. The alcohol has relaxed me until now. Peter and Esse are the last to leave, and I notice they are holding hands. Poppy has her arm around my waist and is pulling me close.

Eventually it’s time. Poppy takes me by the hand and leads me into her room. My nerves have completely burnt off the alcohol and my brain is alert. I feel my hands shaking as Poppy takes them in hers.

“Are you okay?” she asks me. I just nod, almost hypnotised.

I can hear Poppy’s Dad and Phil talking in the kitchen. Poppy goes and closes the door. Then she comes over and pushes me onto the bed. All my resistance has gone. It feels like electricity is shooting through my whole body. If I close my eyes I can see my nerve endings on fire. I feel parts I’ve hardly been able to acknowledge come alive. My mind’s full of a thousand and one things; is this right? Am I betraying Julia? Am I killing Mark? Do I want to be Emma forever? Then she kisses me and everything fuses into one.

An hour or more later we lie next to each other. Poppy runs her hand over my smooth body. A body that feels renewed.

“I have to tell you something.” I say this without thinking; I know if I do I’ll bottle it.

“Huh?” she whispers.

“I told you this body was given to me by Witness Protection.” I look at her wishing there was more light in the room so I can read her reaction better. Even in the gloom I see her smile.

“I know... that makes you my sex-bot.”

“I didn’t tell you everything.” She’s silent. “My old body…” I take a huge deep breath, “I was a boy.”

“A boy?” She doesn’t sound angry, but I can’t really tell for certain. “What was your name?”

“Mark,” I say, my stomach in knots. I want to shake her, make her tell me it’ll be alright.

“Mark...” it sounds almost like she is tasting the word. “Do you want to be a boy again?” It takes me a while to reply.

“Sometimes, yes.” I feel her going tense. “I didn’t choose to change sexes. It was forced upon me. But I’m happy, with you and everyone. I feel more and more like Emma now. I couldn’t leave her behind.” Poppy goes silent for a while and eventually I have to say something.

“So, do you think I am a freak?” She pulls herself closer to me. Now I can see her face; she’s smiling.

“I guess you are, Emma – but you’re my freak.” We hold each other close until we’re both asleep.

Hours later I wake up feeling like there’s someone else in the room. I hold myself up for a few minutes waiting to hear the telltale sound of movement but nothing comes. The house is completely still. Through Poppy’s window I can see the weak light you get just before dawn. I don’t look at the clock. I don’t want to make myself more awake. I notice the door has swung open a little. Thinking of Poppy’s dad, and not wanting him to see me lying with his daughter, I get up and pad over to it, closing it carefully so as not to wake up Poppy. Somewhere in the distance I hear sounds, perhaps next door getting up early? The effort of standing up makes my head go all woozy. I go back to the bed and drop down onto the cool sheets feeling the cold all around me. Somewhere in the house I hear the boiler turn on. Minutes later I’m asleep.

I had been expecting something close to the courtroom dramas on TV. I’m disappointed to find myself sitting around a large table in what is a bland but comfortable meeting room somewhere in the depths of the Manchester & Salford Magistrates’ Court building.

I notice the low hum of the central heating that seems a little too high, making my mind feel cloudy and slow. The judge sitting at the head of the table is dressed in a smart business suit. He’s leaning in to one of his subordinates and, although I can’t hear what he is saying, I can make out his Welsh accent. I don’t know why but it relaxes me. I’ve always liked the Welsh accent.

“Well,” he begins, “given that this is a civil matter involving a minor I want to keep this from going to a full trial. To that end, I’ve called for this tribunal to see if we can come to some agreement.” He looks down at his files. “As I see it we have three main areas to decide upon. Firstly, the official identity of Mark Healey/Emma Riley/Chloe Livingston.” Chloe Livingston? I haven’t heard this name before. I look at Julia who motions for me to remain silent.

“The second matter is the ownership of Mark Healey’s estate, in particular his shares in Decimation Records. And finally, the guardianship of Emma Riley/Chloe Livingston, depending of course on my ruling on the official identity of Mark/Emma/Chloe.”

My head is spinning, I can’t take it all in. I’m aware of the judge introducing everyone in the room. Julia, Richard and their colleague Kelly, who’s acting as our lawyer. Then there’s Steve, my old partner at Decimation Records and his lawyer, a thin man called Phillips. Finally, there’s a middle-aged couple referred to as Mr and Mrs Livingston. I know they’re something to do with the New Body Company. I find it hard to look at them, there’s something about them that makes me feel queasy.

The judge asks them a few questions that are answered by a third man. He’s overweight and wears an expensive suit; I guess he’s their lawyer. He speaks to the judge like they’re old friends and I’m pleased to note the judge seems uncomfortable with this. Neither of the Livingstons look at me. I get the impression it takes a great effort for them not to.

It takes me a while to figure it out but I slowly begin to see a reflection of my own features, Emma’s features, in their faces. Mr Livingston’s hair is auburn and wavy like mine when it was long. Mrs Livingston has green eyes like my own; although her hair, greying now, shows signs it was once a dark red. At one point, when I lose the thread of what’s being said, I look over at her and it strikes me that I’m seeing my own future. As such I become very interested in her. She’s an attractive woman; from what’s been said she’s somewhere in her 50s, but she could pass easily for early forties or even late thirties. Like many wealthy women, she’s been able to avoid the rigours of time.

They must be the couple who commissioned Emma’s body. I shudder despite the warmth coming from the heater. Only when the judge asks them about the moment they heard about my body being requisitioned by the Witness Protection Programme does the age show on Mrs Livingston’s face.

“Of course,” she says, her accent clipped and patrician but not without feeling, worry lines spreading out from her mouth like the map of a busy city as she speaks, “it was hardest on poor Timothy...” She stops, holding a hand to her mouth, like she’s trying to stop the very words from escaping her.

“Timothy would be Chloe’s, I mean the original Chloe’s, twin?” the judge asks, his voice soft and kind. Mrs Livingston just nods in response. A twin? I never knew. While I have no intention of pretending to be this woman’s daughter, I feel a heavy weight on my shoulders. I know I jumped the queue to become Emma. I hadn’t asked to but I did. Now I’m beginning to see the repercussions.

The proceedings move on. Kelly reminds the judge that the law recognises New Bodies as legal persons, with the right to self-determination once they can prove independent thought and self-awareness, that I had clearly passed the test set down by law and had clearly expressed my wish to remain a part of Julia and Richard’s family. She’s eloquent and to the point. I’m reassured by her no-nonsense tone.

“I’d like to remind the judge that in all cases where personhood has been awarded, all of the control procedures have been ended and yet in this case this has not happened.” The Livingstons’ lawyer interjects; I can see sweat patches on the expensive material of his suit, but his eyes are sharp. When he looks at me I have the feeling of being a small fury thing hiding in the long grass that’s just spotted a hawk looking at it.

“However, as this case is about a minor,” Kelly continues urgently, “where normal procedure is to keep some controls in place, those precedents are inapplicable. I’d remind everyone that Ms Riley only survived her kidnapping ordeal because the tracking controls remained in place.” I notice that both the Livingstons’ faces have drained of all colour.

The proceeding move on and I feel my head spinning. I feel like crying and throwing up when Mrs Livingston tells the room that the genetic material for my body was taken from one of her eggs. The judge asks for more details about the controls working on me and I remember the incident with Noah and how I’d allowed myself to be led so easily. I also think of Julia and Detective Deepa talking out of my hearing. Sometimes, when I’m looking elsewhere, I can feel Mrs Livingston’s eyes on me. I try not to look at her.

A break is called for lunch. I go with Richard and Julia to the canteen. Julia and Richard talk but I don’t speak. I look at the goat cheese and caramelised onion ciabatta in front of me but I can’t eat.

“Are you okay, Emma?” Julia asks me. Her voice is quiet and it quavers as she speaks.

I want to shout at her, beat her with my little fists and make her feel the pain I’m feeling; I’m angry with her but I don’t really know why. Then I want to throw myself into her arms and have her comfort me and tell me this is all going to be okay.

“Umm, yeah. I’m okay,” I say, “I just need the toilet.”

I get up and leave the table, not wanting to see their expressions. I move quickly heading to the corridor and leaning against the wall breathing deeply. The women’s toilets are to my right. I don’t really need them but at least I can be on my own. As I enter the large, brightly lit, almost futuristic, conveniences I almost bump into Mrs Livingston. I can see different emotions in her eyes. Fear, hope, maybe something else? Determination, perhaps.

“I, I,” I stammer, “I am sorry about your daughter,” I say in a small voice. I see tears forming in her eyes, but she fixes me with a penetrating stare. She clutches my arm, her grip both desperate and firm, “I’m not going to give up on you, Chloe...”

When she’s gone I sit in the stall quietly crying. I’ve never felt so bad about myself, nor have I ever felt so scared. Eventually I hear Julia’s timid voice outside the cubicle.

“Emma...” she stammers, “are you in there?”

I must have opened the cubical door because the next thing I know she’s in there with me, her arms around me. I sob as she shushes me.

“Oh, Emma,” and she’s crying as well now, “I’m so sorry. Can you ever forgive me?”

The afternoon goes by in a blur. I don’t follow much of what is said, my emotions are too loud and cancel out what is being said. I do understand that Steve is protesting that I am not truly Mark and therefore can’t inherit / transfer ownership of my half of the company. Thankfully the judge is sensible. He states that if we can agree that Mark is deceased and that, as such, my half should go to Mark’s wife, who of course is Julia. Julia thanks the judge and agrees with his suggestion to give Steve two months to buy her out and to sign over the proceeds to me to be put into a trust until I reach twenty-one.

I enjoy watching Steve squirm, the bastard. This brings the judge to the matter of my legal age. Now it’s my turn to squirm in my seat. If he decides I’m legally thirty-six it will have serious repercussions on my relationship with Poppy. Could I even end up going to jail?

“I have received depositions from Doctor Fields, Detective Deepa and the New Body Company. I have also spoken to Mr Dixon and Mr Hulse from Emma’s school,” - maybe I’m grasping at straws but I feel relieved that he uses the name ‘Emma’ - “given what I have been told about the biological age of her body, and of how her teachers feel it will be hard for Emma to reach her full potential at GCSE this year, I feel ready to set Emma, or Chloe’s” - Damn! I think - “age at thirteen as suggested by the Livingstons.”

Wait, what? “You can’t!” I shout out.

“Ms Riley, please control yourself. Although this may not be a courtroom, these are legal proceedings and you will only talk when asked. Do you understand?” I nod my head numbly. There must be some way to appeal, surely?

“We’ll appeal,” Kelly says, voicing my thoughts.

“You are certainly welcome to put in an appeal on behalf of your client,” the judge says calmly, “but for now in the eyes of the law she is a thirteen year old girl.”

My mouth gapes open. In just a few sentences I have lost two years and the better part of the life I have created for myself over the last few months. I think of Poppy and our relationship. What will I tell her? The ride home is silent. I sit in the back holding my phone in my hand. On the screen are three messages from Poppy.

Poppy: How did it go today? Xxxx

Poppy: When u free? Wanna do smthn? :-D xxxxxx

Poppy: Smthn sxy? ;-) ;-) xxxxxxxxxxx

She knows of course that I was in court. I told her that we were settling some of the legal issues around my new life. I haven’t told her the rest. How can I tell her that I am now legally a thirteen year old?

“How about we pick up a takeaway?” I realise Richard is talking to me.

“Ummm, sure,” I reply. My stomach is in knots, I can’t think about food. I am aware of Julia and Richard talking in the front of the car, something about the twins and who is looking after whom.

“How about we sleep over at Richard’s tonight?” Julia asks looking at me. I can see how guilty she feels. Good! Then I feel bad for blaming her.

On one hand I don’t know how I feel, why didn’t Julia predict this was going to happen? On the other not being alone sounds good. I don’t think I can face Poppy and the gang. How am I going to tell them I am no longer going to be in the same year as them? I imagine the face of Jessie laughing at me.

“Oh God!” I exclaim.

“What?” Julia turns around looking fearful.

“You can’t make me go back to the same school,” and I feel myself shaking. “I’ll be a laughing stock.”

I see Julia sag in relief, “No one is going to make you go anywhere, not if I can help it.” These last six last words are spoken with great fierceness. For a moment I feel better, knowing she is on my side not plotting against me. Then the knot returns to my stomach. We stop off at our place while Richard goes to pick up the twins. Richard will collect take away from my favourite Indian restaurant and we’ll meet him at his place.

I’m in my room packing my Hello Kitty pyjamas into my overnight bag when I notice Julia waiting nervously.

“What?” I say, perhaps a little more sharply than I planned. Still, I am in no mood to let her off the hook.

“I...” I can tell she is struggling to get the words out, “I want to apologise for not telling you about the control settings.” I see her deflate as she gets it out.

“Why didn’t you?” I control my anger, hoping to be dignified.

“Deepa said it was procedure for minors, it wasn’t meant to be for long but then you kept getting yourself into trouble. I was worried what you would do.”

“How many different controls where there? You should have told me,” I say, getting straight to the point.

“Yes,” she says in a small voice, “yes I should have. I’m sorry for that.”

“You wanted to feel like you had some power over me,” I say. I’m not angry and my voice is steady.

“I suppose I did,” and she deflates even more. “I suppose subconsciously I wanted to get back at you.”

“Get back at me! What for?” There is anger in my voice now.

She looks me in the eyes and she’s no longer contrite, “For all those nights when you were out with God knows who, doing God knows what.”

I am taken aback. “I never cheated on you!”

“I know that… at least, I do now,” and there is sadness in her voice again, “but it wasn’t really about that.”

“What was it about then?” I look her in the eyes; there’s no malice but I feel like some old wound is being reopened.

“It was about you controlling me. Keeping me away from part of your life so I could never know you. I wonder if anyone ever really knew the whole Mark.” I turn away from her unable to look at the expression on her face and I feel her hands on my shoulders.

“But I want you to know, I really did love Mark,” - I feel myself sobbing and she pulls me to her - “and I love you, Emma. Not in the same way, of course, but just as powerfully.” She pulls me to her, my body shaking with the tears.

Later that night all five of us, Julia, Richard, the twins and I sit under a duvet on Richard’s huge sofa watching the first Ghostbusters movie. Oscar, who has taken a shine to me since Christmas, lays his head on my lap and I stroke his hair. The gentle movement calms me.

“Why is Emma sad?” His question is directed at his Dad. Richard looks at me. I just smile back weakly wondering what he is going to tell the boy.

“She’s sad because some judge has decided that she is thirteen, not fifteen like we thought.” I’m impressed with how truthful Richard is. I don’t know if I can be that brave. Oscar sits up suddenly.

“Can they do that?” Both twins are staring urgently at their Dad.

“They can try,” he says, “but we aren’t going to let them,” he says.

“Why not?” the twins ask in unison.

“Because Emma is part of our family,” Richard says bluntly. The twins go back to watching the film, reassured that their Dad has everything in hand and that all will be right in the adult world. I notice Julia is smiling, but with tears running down her cheeks. Then I notice that there are warm tears running down my own face. I have a family, but for how long?

I wake up on the sofa covered in the duvet. I can hear Richard’s voice as he whispers to the boys not to wake me. Then I hear him disappear upstairs dragging Alfie to the bathroom. A few minutes later Oscar pads into the living room. He is carrying a bowl of cereal that sloshes from side to side as he walks.

He turns the TV on, sits down on the floor next to the sofa, takes the remote and expertly navigates to the kids’ programmes.

“Morning,” I say. He turns looking up at me with a cheeky grin. He knows he’s contravened his Dad’s direct rule. He also knows he’s going to get away with it.

I ruffle his hair and then swing my legs off the sofa. As Mark I’d occasionally sleep on our old sofa; usually if I’d been recording late and knew Julia had to be up early for work. Back then my back would ache for the rest of the day, now I feel fine. Something to thank my smaller, younger body for I guess. All this makes me think of Steve and how he has fucked me over. Because of his selfishness I have to accept ‘Mark’ is dead and gone to get my half of the business, but by accepting I am no longer Mark, I become a child and lose my independence.

I pull out my phone and write an angry text to Steve, calling him all the names under the sun. I sit for a few minutes listening to the clinking of Oscar’s spoon against his bowl, then I hit send. For a moment I feel better, then I start to question myself. Just as I am praying there’s a delete message sent button Julia comes in the room. Her hair is all messy and she is clinging for dear life to a mug of coffee.

“Oscar,” she says and he pretends not to hear. “Oscar, your Dad wants you in the bathroom.” Oscar only grunts.“Can you go and help him please, I want to have a word with Emma,” Julia pleads. He turns around to look at me and I give him a weak little smile. With a boy’s natural fear of difficult emotions he gets up and runs out of the room.

“How did you sleep?” Julia asks, running her fingers through my hair. I guess it must be pretty tangled.

“Not great,” I sigh. “To be honest, I kept waking up.”

“Bad dreams?” Julia asks.

“I guess so,” I fidget with my hands, “I don’t really remember them.” I have a vague memory of being trapped in a giant playpen with Jessie trying to put nappies on me.

“I’m going to take the day off and keep you company. Is that okay?” I’m not sure why she’s asking my permission. I don’t seem to have much say in things these days.

“Sure,” I say, “that’d be nice.”

She goes away and I sit watching kids programmes, while in the background Richard is getting the twins ready for school. When they’re at the door I hear Alfie and Oscar protesting that they can stay home and keep me company as well. After they’ve left, the house goes silent. I hear my phone buzzing to tell me that I have a new text. My heart leaps as I remember what I just sent to Steve. I have to take a deep breath before I check.

Greta: Just heard what they did to you! Coming bk at wkend. Stay strong!

She must have heard what happened through Richard. I clutch my phone to my chest feeling strangely giddy that I have another friend out there. It passes in seconds but I find myself reading and re-reading the text several times. On the last read I notice I have another text, this time from Poppy.

Poppy: You not going to school?

Shit, I forgot to tell Poppy and Esse that I wont be in today. They must have waited for me!

Emma: Soz Pops, not feeling great. Didn’t sleep then feel asleep in morning and forgot to txt xxxxxx

It feels bad how easily I lie to her. I feel worse moments later when she replies.

Poppy: No worries! Get well soon baby girl ;-) xxxxxxxx

Her instant forgiveness in the face of my lies makes me feel terrible. Julia comes back into the room and asks how I’m doing. I don’t respond but she must have seen the look on my face. She comes and sits next to me putting her arms around me.

“Poppy texted,” I say by way of explanation. “What am I going to say to her?”

Julia holds me while I cry. I hear her muttering something about her understanding if I talk to her, but I know there’s no way. Eventually I calm down and Julia suggests we go back to our place. Julia goes to get her stuff together and I pull a jumper and coat on over my pyjamas. I’m thinking about Poppy; I know the only thing I can do is sort this mess out. There must be some way to get myself re-classed as fifteen. I can’t believe I’m fighting to be a fifteen-year-old girl again, but what choice do I have?

I am curled up on a sofa again, this time ours. Poppy and Esse have been texting me all day with the gossip from school. At the end of the school day Poppy sends me a blurry photo of Peter and Esse kissing. I send a half hearted text back saying that’s great but surely we are the best couple. It seems to please Poppy as she sends me a text full of kisses. For a moment I feel light hearted again, but it passes when I realise my next hearing isn’t for two weeks and I wont be able to return to school before then.

At five thirty the doorbell rings. I assume it’s going to be Richard and I’m surprised when Julia brings Mr Hulse into the living room. I’m glad I changed into jeans and a t-shirt a while ago but I wish Julia had warned me so I could have showered.

“Hi Emma.” He seems a little sheepish and I feel my face burning, realising he must now know my whole story.

“Err, hi Mr Hulse,” I stutter, wondering what he must now think of me.

“How are you holding up?” it seems funny to see him outside of school. He’s taken off his tie and rolled up his shirtsleeves. He could be anyone else in the street.

“Can I get you anything… coffee, tea?” asks Julia.

“No thanks, I can’t stay too long,” he smiles at Julia and then turns his attention back to me, “Emma I wanted to say how sorry I am about what has happened to you. You must be going through hell.”

I just nod my head, worried that I’ll start blubbing again.

“On a personal level I want to apologise to you both.” Julia sits down next to me. “When Mr Dixon asked me for a report on how you are doing at school I sat down with your teachers and wrote a detailed report.” I feel that knot in my stomach again and he continues.

“I had to be honest and say there are areas where you are behind, such as course work, which you have less of for obvious reasons.”

“This was the report the judge saw?” Julia asks, her face grim.

“Yes, I’m afraid it was. Or at least part of it.” There is a pause and Julia and I look at each other... part of it?

“I am afraid Mr Dixon took out the conclusion at the end where I and all your teachers agreed that you are a very capable young woman. And that, with some extra help, we didn’t see any reason why you couldn’t have done well at your GCSEs.” I am stunned. It feels like I’ve been hit by a ton of bricks; I don’t know if I should be happy or angry. Julia steps in for me.

“This is outrageous, how could he do something like that?”

“Well I agree with you,” he looks sheepish, clearly not enjoying telling tales on a colleague, “but I think he would say the school doesn’t have the resources to give Emma the extra help she needs.” Julia folds her arms in a defensive manner but doesn’t push it further.

“Well thank you for telling us about this, Mr Hulse.”

“Please, call me Owen, Ms Riley,” he tells her.

“Thank you, Owen, but I don’t know if this helps Emma any. She has a court ruling saying her age is now thirteen thanks to some dodgy editing.” I can tell she is extremely annoyed. Owen reaches down to the shoulder bag he has been carrying and pulls out two files; one red, one blue.

“I think your lawyer should see these.” he says. Pointing at the blue file he says, “This is the full report with our recommendations,” then he taps the red file, “and this is the changed report, although I assume your lawyer already has a copy.” I see Julia’s eyes focused on the two folders and I know she must have an idea.

“Thank you, Owen,” and I can tell she’s warmed to him, “I know you must be breaking school rules giving us these.”

“Indeed,” he smiles at me, “I’d do the same for any of my students, but I have to admit Emma is something of a favourite,” I blush, I must be bright red. “Don’t go telling the others, Emma,” he adds.

Julia extends an arm to him, “Thank you so much, Owen! I’ll pass this on to Kerry, it may help.” He goes on to tell us that the school are telling everyone that I’m off sick. He’ll let it be known that I have something contagious so have been ordered off for two weeks, which will give us time for my second hearing.

“After that we’ll hopefully have you back with us,” he says. His optimism warms me. I’m also grateful for the contagious sickness excuse as it will give me an alibi for Poppy and the gang. My only regret is the thought of what Jessie will make of it.

Owen/Mr Hulse stays a while taking me through all the course work I will need to complete while I am off. I can’t believe I have to do homework! As ever, he’s patient and kind which makes me feel a little better. As we work through the tasks I can hear Julia in the kitchen preparing tea. After he leaves Julia comes and gives me a hug.

“Feeling any better?” she asks.

“A little,” I sigh. “At least, less like a freak.” She nods.

“I spoke to Kelly, she says we should go over to hers tomorrow with the files. Do you fancy another sleepover? We could go walking in the country.” Kerry lives in Todmorden, up in the hills that surround Manchester. It’s really only a village but it has a reputation for having vibrant artist and LGBT communities.

“Sure, sounds like fun,” I say. I like the idea of being somewhere where I wont be recognised for a little while. Julia goes to fetch our food. Looking down at my phone I notice two new texts from Poppy. I sigh again; I’m not sure a contagious disease is enough to keep her away. In a hidden part of my brain I silently hope it is not.

The sun is out and the wind is blowing on my face. We race along the towpath beside the little canal in Todmorden. The bike I’m riding is a ‘girl’s’ mountain bike. At least it isn’t too girly, being mostly white and black. On the bike I’m as fast as anyone, if not faster, with my young legs. I have to keep stopping to allow Julia and Kerry to catch up. We don’t cycle too far but the cold winter air revives me and for a moment I am free of my worries. After a circle around the town we end up back at Kerry’s terrace cottage. It has a long garden at the back and a conservatory extension that allows us to sit in its warmth while enjoying it.

My good mood comes to an end when I spy a text from Poppy asking how I am and if she can come and visit. I slouch at the table just staring at my phone’s screen. I have no idea what to reply. In the end I just give up and put it away. As Kerry and Julia talk, I zone out watching a cat prowl through the garden. It has spotted something of interest in the hedge and squats down in a pouncing position. It looks comical the way it wiggles it arse and tail in the air. Something Julia says catches my attention.

“So, do you think we have a chance?” When I look back the cat has gone.

“Maybe. It depends how much importance the judge puts on the original report,” Kerry smiles at me, “but at least it gives us something. I’ve scheduled a meeting for Monday; if he accepts this as new evidence, at least we’ll have a fighting chance.” I nod, feeling slightly less gloomy than before. Hope springs in my heart. I could be back in school by the middle of the week. Am I really excited about the prospect of high school?

I think of the John Cleese quote from the film Clockwise, “It’s not the despair, Laura. I can take the despair. It’s the hope I can’t stand”

Julia goes to the front room to call Richard and tell him about Monday. Kerry asks if I’d like more tea and I shake my head. My little body can’t take much caffeine.

“How are things at school?” she asks from the kitchen.

“Okay I suppose, so long as I don’t have to go back as a Year 8!” I reply in a sulky voice. She re-enters the room.

“Julia was telling me you have a girlfriend?” I nod. Thinking of Poppy makes my stomach churn with angst.

“I’m impressed that you are out at fifteen, I know I didn’t have the courage at your age.” Kerry lives with her partner Danielle. I just shrug. It isn’t really brave, it just is. I do appreciate her keeping to my being fifteen. Just to think, only a few months ago I would have done anything not to be thought of as a fifteen year old. Now it’s my best option. How much worse can things get?

“Are you worried about not seeing her again?” Kerry asks, her voice kind and soft. I’m not exactly sure why I start crying. I didn’t feel close to it before. I guess it is the acknowledgement of my situation, the tacit understanding that I could lose Poppy. Kerry hugs me and I feel a little better. Julia returns and sees us hugging. Without a word she joins in.

My phone buzzes again making us all laugh. It is only a momentary release of tension. I look at the text; it’s from Greta saying she’s in Manchester and looking forward to seeing us tomorrow. I sigh once more; it’s good to know I haven’t being deserted.

We are in a different conference room this time. This one is smaller and has a smaller table, but other than that and the view from the window it is much of a muchness. After about an hour of legal talk that slowly saps my will to live, Kerry makes her play.

“So, as you see, the educational report had a significant part left out,” she says, pushing forward copies, although I guess the judge and the other legal team already have their own.

“I’d like to move that this evidence is inadmissible,” says the Livingston’s fat lawyer. The way his fat, sausage-like fingers pull out several sheets of paper creeps me out. His assistant, an attractive blonde lady somewhere in her mid to late twenties passes the sheets of paper around. I don’t get a copy and have to peep over Kerry’s shoulder. It’s a letter of some sort.

“On what grounds?” the judge asks.

“Proof of authorship,” the fat lawyer answers quickly.

“My lord,” Kerry begins, “I have already shown authorship with written accounts from Mr Hulse and several other of Emma’s teachers.”

“Not relevant.” I have here signed letters from the deputy head and head of the school, plus a further one from the educational authority standing by the original report.” Only when Julia puts her hand on me to restrain me do I realise how angry I’m becoming.

“But that’s not fair! Owen’s telling the truth!” I shout out. Immediately I know I’ve said the wrong thing. I can see the judge raising his eyebrows, clearly shocked by my calling my teacher by his first name. The fat lawyer sees this and pounces.

“I am sure ‘Owen’ means well, Ms, but we have no evidence he is qualified to make this judgement. He may have an axe to grind,” he pauses than goes in for the kill, “or personal reasons to keep you in his class.” I feel dreadful. One of the few people to stick his neck out for me and I’ve gone and let him become a target for insinuation and innuendo. Kerry, the fat lawyer and the judge continue arguing points for another twenty minutes but I know it is a lost cause. Finally the judge brings proceedings to an end.

“Clearly Emma / Chloe is a remarkable young woman, and the fact she has the memories of an older man gives her a unique perspective.” I wait for the inevitable.

“However, based on the biological report supplied by the New Body Company, and
Doctor Field’s testimony that Emma / Chloe only started her period in the last six months I am willing to stand by my original decision.” He turns and addresses me directly. “Emma, you are in a unique position, and I know it must feel like I am being wilfully cruel to you. This is not the case. You find yourself in a new body, one you don’t understand and have no experience of, both physically and in the way others react to you.”

I just nod my head gloomily; does he really think he’s telling me anything I don’t know? He continues.

“I do have to say I admire you; you have dealt with some terrible things over the last few months, more than many will have to deal with in a life time.”

I feel a tiny bit better, but it’s a small flower in the massive wasteland of my fate.

“However,” now he gets to it, “in light of expert medical opinion, and how recent events have highlighted your vulnerability, I am minded to err on the side of caution. From this point forward you will be classed as a thirteen year old girl. I’ll speak to your school and to the education authority. I think the best thing maybe to find you a new school, do you agree?”

I nod my head; the only thing stopping me from breaking down is the shock. Will I ever see Poppy again?

I stand in the corridor with Julia’s arms around me. We are both crying a little.

“Erm,” I look up and see the twenty-something legal assistant to the fat lawyer standing there, “I’m so sorry but my boss was wondering if we could have a little word?”

“How dare you!” Julia’s voice is full of fury. “Can’t you see what you’ve done?”

“It would be in your best interest...” The legal assistant’s voice is small; she almost cowers from Julia.

“Is this a deal?” Kerry has come over and joined the conversation.

“I can’t say, but it is in her best interest,” Ms Legal Assistant’s voice is a little clearer now.

“She won’t come alone, we’re coming with her,” Kerry answers for us. The legal assistant agrees and leads us into a little room where the fat lawyer is sitting with a laptop.

“Thank you, Emma,” he begins, his voice sounding kind, although I’m suspicious. “I know today must be hard for you.” I just nod, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. He doesn’t blink an eyelid. “I want to say I am personally very sorry about what I am going to show you. Revenge porn and so called ’slut shaming’ are terrible things I totally disapprove of,” His sympathetic voice doesn’t quite hid his excitement at nearing the kill, “but what we have found does raise some serious questions.”

He turns the laptop around and shows me. It’s a web page, not a very well put together one by the look of it. The top of the page says ’Lesbian Sluts’. What’s underneath makes me want to throw up. Looking around at Julia and Kerry I see they are in shock as well. Most of the photos are stupid, just badly taken pics of Poppy and me holding hands, hugging and in one or two kissing. The ones further down however are much worse. They are pictures of us in bed together, doing a lot more than kissing. There are couple of pictures that capture our faces making who we are indisputable. Someone was in Poppy’s bedroom with us. Fucking Jessie! I’ve never felt such pure hatred of someone.

“I don’t understand,” I say, “I’m legally a kid now so I didn’t do anything wrong.” I shake my head, not sure why Julia and Kerry have frozen in fear. Julia is way ahead of me.

“That’s fucking evil,” she rasps. I’m frightened she is about to jump across the table and lamp him. Kerry puts her hand on Julia to restrain her, but her own voice is only a little less angry.

“So you’re proposing to blackmail Emma into living with the Livingstons or you’ll prosecute her girlfriend.” The bottom falls out of my world.

“I am acting in the best interest of the child. Clearly she is not in a safe environment.” There are so many reasons for me to throttle this prick; the fact he’s talking like I’m not in the room is just another.

“If Emma is happy to come live with the Livingstons as their daughter Chloe, which in my view she legally is, then I don’t see any reason for us to bring this to the attention of the judge or police.” I desperately want to smash his fat nose across his stupid, grinning face. It’s at that point that I realise that I’m in love. Hopelessly, madly and completely in love. I know what I have to do. There’s no way I can go on living as Emma if it means Poppy suffering, even for one moment. The fat lawyer continues.

“Of course, the Livingstons are happy to arrange visiting rights for Ms Riley,” he nods at Julia, “say one weekend a month. Plus we would agree not to wipe Mark’s memories from Chloe, with certain conditions of course…” Julia is about to say something but I interrupt her.

“I’ll do it,” I say. “Where do I sign?”