“Arse, bollocks, shit and cack!”

Jen wanted to throw the laptop out of the window at that point. Whichever site she tried, it was the same answer. She had even resorted to the two last resorts of Google Maps and the Good Beer Guide, but they all returned the same answer: no room at the inn.

It had been such a simple idea, initially. After delivering the project slightly ahead of time, she had been given the most marginal of bonus payments, and with a few days off for the start of the following week, as well as the last few months remaining on her discount rail card, she could slip the surly bonds of Crawley, or however that went, and spend three nights somewhere nicer. That word was open to interpretation, of course, because her mind had fixed firmly on Weymouth. Where else could she find a town that not only had a decent bird reserve right in the middle of town, but also another one, right next door to a Premier Inn? Autumn, migrating wildfowl, a beach, and an onsite pub, what more could a woman ask? All it had really cost her was the loss of her soul to Powerpoint for the rest of eternity.

Pity about the rest of the town.

The trouble was that no matter how she slid her proposed three nights across weekend and week-beginning, the place was either full up or priced well above what she could justify. It looked as if she was going to end up doing what she almost always did on her days off, heading off to the big supermarket for a couple of crap DVDs and a three-litre wine box. Speed-dial for takeaway delivery, and she would be living the high life indeed.

She zoomed out on the maps screen, casting her eyes around the coastline for inspiration. Anywhere coastal with a decent rail link and a birding site that didn’t need a bloody car to get to, and some decent pubs, and maybe a folk club, and…

Decent pub. She zoomed in once more, and yes. Not a big reserve, but it had reedbeds and lots of water, and by god she knew there were pubs there. A quick trawl, and then open another window for live music, and yes!

As long as she cut the corner on the slow train to Reading, avoiding the price hikes for London or Clapham connections, there was a hotel near the station, and that was a folk club on the Monday evening, and… It was a little more expensive than she had planned, but sod it. She could squeeze enough into the medium rucksack, and there was enough of her prescription left (just about a week’s worth) before she would have to argue with her GP again. Get the card out and snap it up.

The number 100 took her from Three Bridges to Gatwick, where she took the lift up into the terminal to grab some supplies from Boots before heading for the building site that was the station her train started from. One an hour, that was all, and as ever, she was running at least an hour earlier than the one the ticket site had specified. Mr and Mrs Moore had raised no stupid daughter.

Technically, of course, they hadn’t raised any daughters at all, but never mind that for now. The little three-carriage antique rattled in, she grabbed a window seat facing backwards, and then it was off, shaking its way up to Redhill, where it changed direction for the line through Reigate and Guildford to the Pearl of Berkshire. She plugged in her MP3 player as the students started to board in the first few stations, on their way to the universities in Reading and Guildford, and as always, she blessed her foresight in buying noise-cancelling headphones.

She hadn’t quite lost the will to live by the time they were on the last leg to Reading, but that was only because of the increasing number of red kites that had started to appear, skimming over the fields and even some of the housing estates they were crawling past. She never tired of seeing them, remembering her childhood when less than three hundred were left, and only in Wales.

Or had it been three hundred pairs? No matter. Off the train now, and search for the destination board. On time, and an hour and ten minutes to wait for her reserved train. The sandwich was gone, and it was going to be a while on the train. There was a coffee shop in the concourse, and a Marks, so she sat for a while nursing a large Americano, with a carrier bag of sweets and more sensible goodies sitting on top of the rucksack.

Finally, her train came in on time, and she blessed the platform signs that had put her at the right spot to board her carriage. Sod the reserved spot, there was a seat with a table that said ‘available’, so she grabbed it, set up her laptop, and waited for the departure. Nobody sat next to her, nor opposite, but a young girl grabbed the one diagonally across from Jen. That’ll do, she thought. Not that long a run.

Hours later, as they rolled through Chepstow, she cursed not checking for maintenance work, and of course the work in question had been the Severn Tunnel, so that they had been diverted all the way to Gloucester and back down. Yes, the Cotswolds were pretty, but it was raining, and she was down to her last fruit sherbet, only wine gums left to follow them with, and it looked as if she would have to splash out on a tea-flavoured drink from the buffet.

Cack.

“Where are we?”

It was the girl across the table.

“Sorry, love. Miles away. We’re coming down the Severn from Gloucester. Be going past the old Severn Bridge in a bit, and then Chepstow, I think. Must have the Tunnel closed. Where are you off to?”

“Back home. Swansea. You?”

“Ah, Cardiff”

“That home?”

“No, not really. Worked there a few times, but I’m from Cardigan, originally”

“Don’t sound it. Sorry, bit rude”

“Dim ots. Been living in England far too many years, me”

“Ah. Just a visit, then?”

“Aye. I wanted to have a few days by some wetlands, do some birdwatching, chill out before starting work again”

The girl snorted.

“Wetlands is a default in this country! Hotel stay, then?”

“Absolutely. Some other bugger can make the bed for a couple of days. Hang on; there’s the old bridge”

“Ooh! Never seen that!”

The rain was blowing against the inland side of the carriage, but the cloud was high enough to see the once-white towers of the first bridge, before the train turned inland, working its slow way down to Newport and a very, very muddy Usk. The tide was clearly well out. They picked up a little bit more speed before the last miles into the capital, and Jen craned her head for landmarks.

“What are you looking for, Miss?”

“The Zombie Chimney”

“The what?”

“Old brewery. Got ‘Brains’ written down the side”

“Oh, that! Why zombie, though?”

Oh dear. “From what zombies are supposed to want to eat. My stop, love”

“Have a good one. Don’t get too wet, or at least no wetter than normal for Wales”

Jen gave her a little wave before struggling between the seat backs to the exit. The map showed her hotel as being on the north side of the station, so she turned left on the subway for the ticket barrier, only to walk straight into a crowd, several police officers in attendance. She raised a hand to call one.

“Can I help you, Madam?”

“Just curious. Do I need to go out the other side? Something to avoid?”

“Ah, no. Just that wizard school railway thing again. Kids everywhere”

“Thanks. Not my thing at all. I can get through, though?”

“Aye, no worries there. Just stick your ticket in there”

The crowd thinned quickly as she headed for the middle doors, but people were packed around the eastern end, where someone was handing out robes, scarves and sticks, camera flashes going off in a steady rhythm. Jen emerged onto the wasteland that was steadily being rebuilt, and looked to her right, spotting her hotel, almost opposite a chain pub. Avoid the queuing saddoes, find the actual door to the hotel, and up to reception.

“How can I help?”

“I have a booking, for three nights”

“In which name?”

“Moore”

“One second… Jennifer?”

“That’s me!”

“Three nights, bed and breakfast. That’s all confirmed, and paid for already… where is your car at the moment?”

“I’m on the train”

“Fine. Your room is number 002, which is downstairs. The lift is over there, and breakfast is from…”

The receptionist rattled off a practised spiel about times and places, wifi and late entry, and then Jen was into the remarkably small lift and finally dumping her bag onto the large and comfortable-looking bed. There was a courtyard outside her window, and as she looked up into the rain, she realised she could see the overhead power lines for the railway at the top of the wall. That close. Good job she had her little foam ear plugs with her.

The bathroom was actually a wet room, and she realised she was in a disabled bedroom. No matter; the shower looked more than reasonable, and, well, a long journey, longer than planned, and…

She felt great after the shower, but rather worse when she woke from what had been meant to be a ‘short nap’. Arse, bollocks, shit and cack indeed. She dressed quickly, grabbed the lift and crossed the road to the pub. Burger and chips, or curry?

Curry did the trick, along with a couple of pints of ale, and the bed was just as comfortable second time round.

It was still raining in the morning, and the huge street-level windows in the dining room did little to hide the discomfort of the passing commuters. She took her time over breakfast, before wrapping herself in hat and waterproof jacket, her bins and book in the smaller sack she had fitted into her main bag. It was only water, skin’s waterproof, etc. What she hadn’t banked on was that the City, in its wisdom had chosen to pave the immediate area in the smoothest and most slippery of flagstones, and getting to her bus stop on Canal Street was more a matter of skating than walking. The bs wasn’t long in coming, as the rain got heavier, and by the time she hopped off at Stuart Street, it was hammering down. Onto Windsor Esplanade, and an interminable walk alongside a wall until she could see two things she sought, the first being the mesh ‘ship in a bottle’ sculpture, and the second a great patch of blue in the western sky.

She found the little jetty she sought, almost as slippery as the flags in the wetness, and ambled down to its end, listening hard for anything calling. All she could see were house sparrows and feral pigeons, and then there was a rattle as a blackbird shot across the path. So much for the wetlands, she thought.

It was very different at the end of the boards, as the blue sky took over for a little while, and there were coots, several types of gulls, a collection of different ducks and multiple grebes of both common types. Together with a grey wagtail and some reed buntings, it left her starting to feel happier. Occasional passers by and dog walkers did their little there-and-back on the jetty, and a couple of other birdwatchers passed the time of day as well as some news of other sightings, one of them a round little man with an explosion of white hair for a head and face.

“Not the way it was, love. Used to be one big mudflat, this, good for waders. You’d have been better down at the Usk wetlands, down to Newport. Mind you, if you follow the path, by the pond dipping place, there’s a Cetti’s calling, and some Goosander round past the little circle thing with the pile of stones in the middle. When you get there, just follow the white railings”

“Ta! Getting time for a brew, anyway”

He just laughed, showing her a well-used vacuum flask.

“Can do you a cup, if you like!”

“Thanks, really, but I fancy something hot and tasty. Going to the Jenks, if it’s still going”

“Eli Jenkins? Absolutely. Beer garden’ll be shut, though, in this weather”

Jen laughed at the idea.

“I like both my tea and my ale without added cold water, love!”

A hearty laugh from the little old man, and she was off, feeling so much better about the trip. Enough decent birds to please her, but more than that, it was the simper things, such as the sigh of the wind in the reeds. It wasn’t anywhere near as good as Lodmoor or Radipole would have been, but it was more than adequate.

The goosanders were exactly where he had told her, and she managed to get a few shots of them before the rain started again. She followed the path around to some terraced steps, where she sheltered for twenty minutes or so before snapping some shots of a magnificent rainbow that seemed to stretch from Millennium Centre to Norwegian Church, and then, stupidly, fought her way through the crowds past some giant plastic dragon to find the front door to her pub.

Tea. More tea. Fish and chips, and then through the beer garden to her bus stop, a local woman and her child already there, and that was not exactly fun, as both of them were clustered with her in the little shelter and neither mother nor son appeared to have made any acquaintance with soap. Noise-cancelling headphones were a thing, but smell-cancelling was not yet an option.

They took an earlier and different bus, thankfully. Jen took another shower.

Another afternoon nap ensued, and then it was time to make her way over the river to the arts centre she had spotted. Everything was just as she expected, from the odd pair of silly trousers and pewter mugs to the cheerful man with the lockable cash box and book of raffle tickets at the entrance.

“Sh’mae, love! Faint fydda’e? Yr un?”

At last. She slipped into the old tongue with gratitude, confirming that yes, it was just her.

“You come far, then? New here, you are”

“Aye. Living in England for far too long”

“Where you from? Cardy girl?”

“I am that. From Aberteifi itself, but left when I was about fourteen. Just a short break here. What’s on tonight?”

“Ah, no act tonight. Just the club, floor spots. You want one?”

“Me? Can’t sing, can’t play”

“You sure you’re Welsh?”

There was a grin there, no malice, and after paying for her ticket, she settled herself down for the standard folk-club experience of more-or-less well-played instruments and decent stabs at songs. She bought some strips of raffle tickets, and was lucky enough to win a CD, and when the whole club joined in what was obviously their traditional finale of ‘Yma o Hŷd, she was yelling along with the rest of them. The bus ride back was enlivened by a few drunks, but she was a happy Welshwoman when she settled once more into the embrace of the huge bed. One more day to go.

She spent it walking around the Pierhead and Waterfront area, with a ‘Bay Cruise’ on the rather scruffy boat that also served as the Penarth ferry, breaking the trip with a walk along the Barrage to look at the Scott of the Antarctic memorial. Nothing seemed to push her into Doing Something that day, and she understood that she had finally found what she had been looking for, a chance to relax. She spent two hours sitting watching birds pass her, Steep Holm and Flat Holm lumpy in the distance under a mostly blue sky, and the small picnic she had collected in the Mermaid Quay Tesco leaving her satisfied in far more ways than a cheese and onion pasty and a chicken sandwich would normally have done. The ‘cruise’ back was as pleasant as could be, the sky promising far better things than it had offered her arrival. Another shower, another nap, and then the final act of her holiday, and the one that she was least certain about.

Into the chain pub for a simple meal, and then back onto the street, the warm trousers and trainers she had travelled in replaced by a skirt and some two-inch heels. Memory of the slipperiness of the wet pavement had left her indecisive for a while, but she had finally decided to go all out, even applying a little of the make-up she so rarely used. It was a short walk to the next pub, her heels sounding far too loud, but as she observed the wide range of near-nudity that made up Cardiff Youth Fashion, she started to relax. This would be her first time going ‘Out’ out in years, and as long as she kept her expectations down, she was reasonably certain she would be fine. She had, after all, spent more than a few hours on her research.

It was a sizeable place, a couple of burly and moustached men smoking outside, each of whom seemed to be wrapped in most of a cow, they wore that much leather. She hesitated at the sight, wondering whether it was a man-only venue, but faint heart, et cetera. Tick-tock to the entrance, and one of the men moved aside to let her pass.

“Evening, love! Not seen you here before”

Heart straight to mouth.

“Not local, me. Just visiting”

“Well, don’t turn into a pumpkin, unless asked very nicely”

His friend slapped his arm before turning to Jen.

“He’s been trying that one out on everybody he meets, love. Just ignore him”

The first one arched an eyebrow.

“Well, it IS Hallowe’en, and I would certainly suggest that a pumpkin joke is far nicer than ones about pet shopping!”

“Well, in turn! If it was good enough for Neil and Chris, it’s good enough for me!”

“Oh, get him, comparing himself with bloody royalty. Anyway, love, there’s a quiz on tonight, so you might want to avoid the Powell Bar, unless that’s your thing”

“Ta. Just really here for a sit and read, me. Quiet night”

“Then turn right as you go in. Lots of rooms here, find what you like”

She thanked them and stepped through the doorway. From the end of a short corridor she could hear some sort of disco playing, and to her left was a partly-glazed door with a small plaque over it: ‘Elaine Powell Bar. Probably the best bar named after a policewoman in the world’. She caught the tail end of a loud and remarkably caustic comment through the door, so followed advice and turned right, into a small room with a pretty standard and old-fashioned pub layout of tables, bench seats and chairs. A small bar at one end clearly connected to the other room, and as Jen laid her coat across the back of a chair, a woman in her forties or fifties, dark hair cut in a flat top, called over to her.

“Looking to order, love?”

“Please! What can you offer?”

“What’s your poison? Ale, lager, wine, girly-girl drinks, something soft?”

“Ale would be nice. What can you suggest?”

“How about a horny goat?”

“Sorry?”

“Local brewery, silly names a speciality. Not a bad pint”

“Go on, then”

The woman disappeared, returning in a minute with the promised pint.

“First time in the Smugglers?”

“Aye. It that obvious?”

“A little. Nervous?”

“As you say, a little. You normally that direct with strangers?”

“When they come all the way to this place, then hide in a corner with a Kindle, yes. I can see it from here. I’m Lil, by the way. Not Lily, not Lilith, just Lil”

“Um, Jen. Short for Jennifer”

“Right, Jen. This place is going to stay quiet, so you might want to move into the Powell. Hallowe’en quiz night, good for a laugh”

“I’m not sure…”

Jen found herself stumbling over her words, but Lil held up a hand.

“Jen, love, nobody here cares that you’re gay. That’s sort of the point of this place”

Heart thumping, Jen still fought the lump in her throat.

“It’s that obvious?”

Lil nodded, her head tilting a little to one side, then put a hand on Jen’s arm.

“Not a problem here. Just like what you were called when you were born. Yes, I can tell that as well, and if I’m wrong, well, just slap me and your drinks are on me”

Suddenly, she burst out laughing.

“I mean, I don’t want your drinks on me physically, just that I’ll pay for them if I’ve stuffed up!”

All Jen could do was laugh in turn; it seemed impossible to dislike the woman, who suddenly turned far more serious.

“I have a reason for asking this one, Jen. Have you had shit over your transition?”

“A bit”

A bit of all of her family, friends, former job and wife, but hey, no biggy.

“Right, then. Not here. Any shit, the shitter leaves. The owner is a bit direct and uncompromising or something like that. Tell you what—I’ll set a stool at the bar. If you change your mind, I’ll keep it free for you. Enjoy the pint, and ring this bell if you want another”

Lil was gone, and Jen took her pint and settled onto the bench seat at her chosen table, picking up her Kindle to try and find a little calm, and after a very few words of her seventieth attempt at reading that Melville book, she had her decision. Up. Drain last of her pint and collect her coat. The empty glass went onto the bar in the other room, next to the bar stool with the ‘reserved’ sign on it.

Lil grinned at her.

“Same again, or try a different one?”

“I am all yours, woman”

Seven feet of drag queen leant across from the other end of the bar.

“Do NOT fucking say things like that in my bar or someone will take it the right way. Right way for them, that is, even if it is the fucking wrong way for you. Or is that wrong fucking way? Or maybe wrong way fucking? Whatever! Marlene does NOT swing that way, so put those hopes away and wipe your chin!”

She or he or whatever stepped over to a shelf to gather a microphone, and after a rather good rendition of ‘My Way’, but with lyrics that would have left Sinatra running for cover, ‘Marlene’ announced the evening’s schedule.

“You filthy lot have forty five minutes to get fuelled, and then it is no fooling. Our Hallowe’en quiz is on the app on the big screen, so download it if you want to play. Prizes are beer vouchers that you can exchange tonight only in the Smugglers, and a grand prize of some for this weekend. So download the app and give your team names to the bar. Yes, Marlene is fully fucking aware that the names will link to the app, but she wants a pound for every fucking team member, and she does not want multiple fucking log-ins!”

Lil winked at Jen, and she looked around the room as various people started to file up with cash and team names. There was no pint in her entering, but it seemed a popular event. One tall woman in fleece and jeans sitting with an even taller man in a similar rig, a chubby lad in his twenties or so and a rather plain girl of similar size, ambled over to register ‘Baker’s Third of a Dozen’. Two studenty boys behind Jen called themselves ‘Pobol Not of the Cwm’. Other names were less printable, including ‘Gusset Typists’, ‘Let’s Get Leathered’ and ‘This Microphone Smells of Cock’.

That last one brought a reaction from Marlene, who pointedly sniffed the item in question.

“No it fucking doesn’t!. Marlene knows exactly what a cock smells like, and tastes, and she does NOT mean anything involving chicken, even though some may be fowl”

Jen was laughing happily at the dreadful pun when a different smell hit her nostrils with more than a little violence.

“This stool free, love?”

He was about fifty, in an extremely tight pale blue polo shirt and equally tight jeans, and was already settling himself onto the stool next to Jen’s. He had the sides of his head almost shaved, with a gelled quiff rolling back from the top of his forehead like some odd cross between Morrissey and Tintin. His smile showed reasonably white teeth, which looked a bit too even, but that wasn’t his salient point, which was his aftershave. She had no idea what it was, whether Brut or Denim or Lynx, but it had an impact more akin to phosgene or mustard gas.

Jen shrugged, deliberately turning away as the man lowered a rucksack which gave a definite clink of bottles, and found herself looking straight at the two student-looking boys. The black one gave a little head shake— ‘No’, mouthing the word ‘Chaser’.

Tintin was still talking, as if Jen had somehow offered herself up for his personal attention.

“Not seen you here before. You local?”

She found her instinct to be courteous overriding her hindbrain’s danger signals, so replied as politely as she could.

“No, just visiting”

“What hotel you staying in?”

He had to be joking, she thought.

“A local one”

“Do I know it?”

“Haven’t a clue. Quiz will be starting soon”

“Yeah, it’ll get busy here. Want to go next door and get a table?”

The realisation was sudden and absolute. Sit at a table with Mr Gas Warfare, and get groped? She might only have seven years thus far of the Real Life Experience of living and working as a woman, but she was certainly not that stupid daughter Mr and Mrs Moore had never raised.

“No thanks, I might have a go at the quiz”

“Do you fancy women or men, love?”

Lil was staring hard from the other end of the bar, eyes slightly narrowed, and as she served the white studenty lad, she whispered something to him, and he nodded. Once he had passed his drink to his boyfriend, he gave the lad’s shoulder a squeeze and turned to Jen with a smile.

“Want to join us, love? Just the two of us, we’ll be shit at this otherwise?”

She turned to the lads with a far more genuine smile, blessing Lil’s protectiveness.

“I’d love to. Any idea of the theme?”

“Horror films, apparently. Know anything about them?”

She couldn’t help herself, and started laughing, remembering her need to explain the chimney to the young girl on the train.

“I may just know a little bit… No, sod that. How’s that phrase go? Hold my coat!”

As she turned away from the bar, Tintin slithered off his stool with a last question, almost but not quite whispered.

“Have you still got your cock?”

Doing her best to control the urge to shudder, she concentrated on the two lads in front of her, the teeth gleaming in the face of the black lad, who looked as if he Somali heritage, so typical of parts of the City. Both pairs of eyes flickered, and then the white boy said, “He’s gone. Did he just ask what I think he did?”

She sighed.

“If you heard something about willies, yes”

“Fuck’s sake! He’s gone, but his bag’s still there. Watch your back. Oh, and I’m Scott, and this is Omar. Where are you from, love?”

“Cardigan”

Omar grinned his startling flash of white teeth again.

“Aberteifi, byddwn I dweud”

Before she could say more than a couple of words back, Scott was shaking his head.

“He does, properly, me just a bit”

Omar looked at him archly.

“I am taking him in hand, though. Linguistically as well”

She sat there for a second or two, trying not to burst into laughter.

“Is everybody like that in this place?”

Scott shrugged.

“What? Gay? It’s a pink pub, love, but no, not everyone. Those four over there are all straight, but they’re fine. More than fine, in fact. We get other straights in, but they know whose place it is”

A quiet voice came from behind Jen.

“It’s my place, love, and if that twat won’t take the appropriately negative comment, I am happy to apply further instruction and enlightenment for his elucidation as to how far he can fuck of to and the succeeding places that he can continue fucking off to after he gets there. These two are safe, that’s why Lil pointed them at you, and if he doesn’t stop being a turd, I have any number of my regulars who can explain it more directly”

Jen’s eyes went straight to a couple of the leather boys, and Marlene started to laugh.

“Not them, love! They couldn’t pull the skin off a rice pudding. I meant HER!”

She pointed directly at the tall woman in the fleece jacket.

“Trust me, and do not piss that one off. And your glass is fucking empty, which is rude in my bar. LIL!”

The quiz was fun, all the questions multiple choice, so it was a cruise for Jen, starting with the first question, a list of four films as possible answers to their connection with the ‘Slaughtered Lamb’ pub.

“C”, she whispered, “American Werewolf”.

The answers were flowing after that: Overlook, Child’s Play, Vincent Price in a wax mask, Esmerelda, Nosferatu, Mircalla (Now THAT was an obscure one!), David Soul and a pig called Jerusalem, and so on. There were bonus points for speed in submitting the answers, and it wasn’t until the quiz was done and dusted that Jen realised she hadn’t had an empty glass throughout despite not buying anything.

They were second, behind the Bakers, and when Jen pointed to her glass and raised an eyebrow to Scott, he shrugged.

“You were busy almost winning!”

“Well, my round, then”

She had seen what they were drinking, and turned on her heel to get said round in, coming face to face with Tintin.

“Hiya, love. You fancy walking over to Caroline Street, and then going back to your hotel and watching some telly? We could share a doner kebab!”

Breathe, then turn back to her new friends. Switch to Welsh.

“Can we stay in this for now? Might help get rid of him”

Omar nodded.

“Yes, but I think Marlene might just have that one in hand already. Three, two…”

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing bringing booze into my pub? You want to drink here, you fucking well buy it from me! Now take your bag and your bottles and fuck right off out of my bar, out of my pub, and out of my fucking sight! And do NOT let Moi see you in, around or near this place again!”

Several of the customers were sitting very upright in their seats, including a couple of men Jen hadn’t spotted earlier, whose manner just yelled ‘copper’, and she remembered the little plaque over the door. Tintin seemed to clock them at the same time, and suddenly, after a last plaintive “You could have offered to buy me a drink!”, he was out of the door, and Marlene was seamlessly swinging back into the quiz results, after a last acerbic comment to Jen.

“Romance isn’t dead, then, the silver-tongued charmer. Half a kebab from Chip Alley—how could any girl resist such an offer?”

As she read out the results, Omar and Scott received vouchers for thirty pounds, for that evening, and of course they ordered a bottle of prosecco, and then its friend, which was shared by a number of other customers who just happened to stop by the table, and once again Jen found that her glass seemed to be on permanent refill mode.

“Lads…”

“If we don’t spend it tonight, we lose it, love! Drink up!”

“Yeah, but I need to sit down properly or I might sit down improperly. Or something”

Scott waved towards the two coppers, who were now standing, pulling their jackets on. As the boys towed Jen across, Omar in charge of the bottles, the larger of the two policemen, a scar livid on his face, raised his eyebrows at her in a clear unspoken check that she was okay, and Jen simply smiled and nodded. The two were off then, and to no little surprise on her part, she saw that they were holding hands, Omar caught her line of sight, and smiled.

“Two of ours, they are, in more ways than that. Here’s Lil with your pint”

“Oh shit…”

She slumped into one of the chairs, Scott settling onto the bench seat with an arm stretched along its back for Omar to rest against in turn. That lad raised a glass to Jen.

“Cheers, Jen! Most successful night we’ve ever had here!”

Scott was grinning happily.

“Yeah, especially as the Bakers were in. Even if it was only the four of them. No—especially as it was only those four. They split up when they all come, and then we are stuffed. Now, I think Omat’s feeling nosey, and so am I, so tell us who you are, what you do, any juicy gossip!”

“Um. What do you want to know?”

“Where you’re from, what you do, usual stuff. For starters, anyway”

Omar slapped his arm.

“Behave! She’s from Aberteifi”

“Yes, but she doesn’t live there. I bet she’s an…accountant”

“Definitely not a lumberjack, in those shoes”

As they worked deeper into obvious Monty Python references, Jen found herself laughing again, and held up a hand.

“Enough! Okay, no need for the soft cushions. I live in Crawley”

Omar snorted.

“Sounds like a skin disease!”

“Feels like it too, sometimes. It’s half way between London and Brighton. I do stock control in a plastic mouldings factory. Don’t even think about dildo jokes”

Definitely getting a bit pissed, she realised. Time to be careful. Omar was still pushing, though,

“Why Cardiff, thobut? Why not London? Or Brighton, that’s supposed to be very pink, isn’t it?”

She talked through her first thoughts about birdwatching, describing what she had done over her two days, and she caught Scott staring at her as she finished.

“Jen, pardon me if I being really personal, but that is fuck all for a city break. You’ve spent half the time in your hotel room. What’s up? No--- let me try this way. Shit at work?”

She nodded, and Omar took her hand, as Lil collected some empties nearby. His voice was astonishingly gentle.

“How long have you been out, girl?”

“Seven years, I suppose. I…”

The dam that had held so much pain back fractured and burst in one explosive moment, and as the debris surged, so she found herself gushing.

“I was in another job then, still stock control, but at one of the big supermarkets, in Haywards Heath. Town a few miles away from Crawley. I was… I made a mistake, trusted a friend. Sort of confessed how I was, and it turned out they weren’t really a friend, and they spread it all round the office”

Omar’s voice was still as soft, and she found herself wondering where he found his own obvious strength and calm.

“And you had to leave?”

She shook her head.

“No. Not right then. I just got leant on by them all. So much… I didn’t see any choice apart from starting what they call a social transition. Mixture of over-excitement at finally being out, and so many people egging me on, right up until the management started laying down rules about the bogs. Got very nasty after that, so I jumped ship. New place isn’t as bad, and they knew who I was when I joined, so, well, known factor. Keep myself to myself. Don’t go out”

“You’re out now, both senses”

She grimaced.

“Yeah, but, well, first night here I went to the pub over the road from the hotel. I was working on the basis that if I needed a wee, I could just cross back to my hotel”

“Loos here are unisex, Jen”

“Oh, I noticed that right away! Absolute godsend, they are, Tell me, what do you think women do in the ladies’ loos?”

Scott snorted once more.

“Number ones and/or number twos, I suppose”

“Yes, and touch up their faces, or just sit on the throne in my case, till everyone else clears off and I can come out again”

“They gave you grief?”

“Yes, along with the occasional White Knight dickhead anxious to make sure his property wasn’t being perved at. Had a few thumpings, I have”

Scott and Omar shared a look, something deeply unpleasant passing between them, and this time it was Omar’s lips that quirked.

“We know a thing or two about nice men with legitimate concerns, Jen. How serious did it get?”

“A couple of trips to Casualty. Not that bad. Cuts and bruises; couple of stitches to an eyebrow”

“Bastards”

“Yes indeed. Left me a bit reluctant to go out locally”

Scott took her other hand, as her pint sat untouched before her.

“This is the place you really came for, isn’t it?”

She sighed, long and deep.

“I suppose so. I wanted some birdwatching, and if I had gone to Weymouth, it would have been two full days of it, and that would have been fine. No room at the Premier Inn, like I said, so I remembered the Wetlands, and then thought about the music, and that was fine. Folies aren’t like ordinary people, are they?”

Scott looked quickly across to the Bakers, and all but giggled.

“That is bloody true, love! So: you looked this place up on the net?”

Lil chose that moment to set down another pint and bottle of the Italian fizz on their table, before sitting down in the remaining chair.

“Well, if she’s picked this place off the net, I think she ought to tell us why she did. God’s teeth, nice to be off my feet for a few! Go on, Jen”

She found that she couldn’t answer that one immediately, so took a long sip of the fresh pint, wondering where the previous one had gone, Lil calling over her shoulder to Marlene for a spare glass. The queen duly appeared, holding two of them, and tugged over another chair.

“Pour the minion and Moi glasses, serfs! We have a little while before we have to clean up, so we shall relax. Lil?”

“Yes, Boss?”

“Do not talk rubbish about sore feet when one of us is in DMs and the other in five inch bloody heels! Come on, woman: why DID you choose my bijou little place?”

Jen looked around the group, seeing nothing but reasonable friendly interest mixed with concern, then turned directly to Marlene.

“Do you listen to everything anyone says here?”

“As best I can, love. I do my best to look after my boys and girls and enbies, and sometimes a good heads-up is useful. Like your trisexual chaser earlier”

“Trisexual?”

“Word I got from someone in Manchester once. Look around you, us three: what do you see?”

“Lots of gay people?”

“Not quite right. Debbie over there, and her friends, all of them are absolutely straight. That man with the scar and his husband, these boys here, all absolutely gay. Aren’t you, boys?”

Scott burst out laughing.

“Well, if this one isn’t, he’s a bloody good actor!”

Marlene waved a dismissive hand, then pointed at a couple of young women on the other side of the room.

“Taller girl there, I assume is bi. Doesn’t matter, cause her and Lisa are absolutely loved up”

Lil had a hand up.

“Point of order before I go and serve that twink. Lexie might be pan”

Jen had never heard that term before, so Marlene explained it as best she could.

“Pansexual. It sort of means that they fancy the person rather than focus on their bits. Like bisexual, but more inclusive. You’re gay, though, aren’t you?”

Marlene’s grin changed into a much softer expression.

“I use ‘trisexual’ to mean ‘try anything sexual’, and what that normally means is all down to what feels good to whichever wanker is involved. That tosser Tintin is a trisexual, and it’s all down to what makes his cock feel good. What Lil called pan is all about people, not parts. That’s what you came here for, isn’t it?2

“Not… not so much. I just…”

Christ, she was far more pissed than she had realised.

“I just wanted a chance to be seen as me, that’s all”

The towering queen rose to her declared five inch heels, and turned back to the bar, calling over her shoulder as she swayed off.

“Job done, then. Drink up, and I’ll sort you a cab”

Light was leaking around the edges of the long curtains, and her bladder was a little insistent, so she slid out of bed, leaving the light off. Job done, hands washed, she spotted her nighty on the floor and went to pull it on.

“You can leave that off, woman! Filled the kettle?”

Some ambush memories can be devastating. The ones that hit her just then were entirely the opposite, and an initial blush was followed by a much happier smile. After setting the tea set ready to go, she climbed back into bed, Lil pulling her into yet another cuddle.

“Better than half a kebab?”

She kissed her new lover, no shame, no more hesitation.

“You want salad and chilli sauce with that, or just milk and sugar?”