‘I’m looking for a cottage, but as I’m an artist, I need a room I can use as a studio; so it needs to have good light.’

Changes

Chapter 10

By Susan Brown

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Previously…

‘Well, Jo, what can I do for you?’ Millie asked.

‘Not me, Samantha here; she’s looking for somewhere to rent.’

She looked at me.

‘Okay, I’m your girl. Do you want short or long term?’

‘Long term, I think, but I’m not sure if you can find exactly what I want.’

‘Hang on a mo,’ she looked around and caught the eye of a waitress.

‘Connie, love, may I have a coke please?’

‘Okay, Millie, with or without ice?’

‘With please.’

‘Coming up in a mo.’

Millie returned her attention to me. ‘Right, I’m all ears, what exactly are you looking for?’

‘Well…’

And now the story continues…

‘I’m looking for a cottage, but as I’m an artist, I need a room I can use as a studio; so it needs to have good light.’

‘Well, there aren’t many places for rent just now. By the way, do you want to stay in the cove?’

‘Yes, if that’s possible.’

‘Right. Let me make a few calls and I’ll get back to you. May I have your mobile number?’

I gave it to her.

‘I may be changing my ’phone; I keep getting nuisance phone calls.’

‘That’s a bummer; I got that for a while, some creep who was into heavy breathing. Anyway if you do change your number, let me know.’

‘So, do you think that you can find something for Samantha, Millie?’

‘I hope so; it’s just that at this time of year a lot of the properties are holiday lets.’

‘I’m sure you’ll do your best,’ I said.

We lingered there for a little longer, Millie trying to tap me for more information about myself, but I wasn’t giving much away. Then her mobile rang and with a mouthed ‘goodbye’, she shot off down the quay.

‘What do you think of her, Samantha?’

‘She seems nice, but a bit nosey.’

‘I know what you mean, not like me.’ We looked at each other and laughed.

‘I wonder how Mr Potts is doing with my car?’

‘Well, I think he said a few days for the part to come in, but we could ring him.’

‘Can you? I don’t speak-a-da-lingo.’

‘Er’s a praper maid right enuv.’

‘Pardon?’

She just laughed and then pulled out her ’phone.

‘Hello, Mr Potts? It’s Jocasta…the vicar’s wife…that’s right I’m ringing up about my friend’s BMW…Yes, okay right….mmm. Okay, thanks, I’ll tell her.’ She pressed the off key. ‘The car will be ready tomorrow afternoon as long as the part arrives when it was promised.’

‘Oh good, not that I need it just at the moment.’

‘Right-oh, what next?’ She looked at me expectantly.

I fished out my list and a pen, crossing out a few things; then took a deep breath.

‘A solicitor, do you know one?’

‘Erm…right; is this about your marriage?’

‘Yes, but I feel that we need to talk; let’s go for a walk and find somewhere quiet.’

She cast a puzzled look in my direction, then, after paying the bill, we got up and made our way towards the far end of the beach where there were some rocks. As we walked, I thought about what I would say to her.

I had realised for some time that I couldn’t live a lie. I wanted people to accept me for what I am, a girl–but born with the wrong bits. I know I had said, even to myself sometimes that I was just a cross-dresser and that I had no inclination to go any further. But I had been kidding myself. I wanted to be a woman and not just dress like one. I realised that I had these feelings, even as a child, but they were suppressed when I was young and this continued into my marriage. Olivia had said that she had needs–well so do I; I had the need to draw a line under my previous sham of an existence and move forward.

We found a pleasant spot and, sitting on the sand with our backs leaning against some smooth rocks, we made ourselves comfortable. There were quite a number of people on the beach but, fortunately, none within earshot of us.

‘Well, Samantha, as I said before, I’m here for you. I know I haven’t known you for long, but I consider you as a friend and friends help each other. I’m a bit of a gossip, but never about personal things, so anything you say will stay between ourselves, unless you want me to talk to, say, David about it.

I took a deep breath, my heart was pounding.

‘I…I’m not as I seem.’

‘What do you mean? Are you a mad axe murderer or something?’

‘Not quite, but you might not want to know me in a few minutes.’

‘I don’t–’

‘Please let me speak before I lose my courage. I—I—I’m t—transgendered.’

‘What! I don’t understand…I mean, why would a pretty thing like you want to be a man?’

‘You’ve got it wrong, I am–well physically anyway–a man.’

There was a sharp intake of breath and for once Jocasta was dumstruck. I stood up and looked down at her. She seemed bewildered to say the least.

‘I’ll go and pack,’ I said. Turning away, I began to make my way towards the back of the beach, my eyes stinging with tears.

‘WAIT!’

I found myself being grabbed by my arm. ‘Where are you going?’

‘Well, I had to tell you and now I know.’

‘Know what?’

‘How you feel about me.’

She pulled at me.

‘Don’t be a silly girl, come and sit down again–please.’

Reluctantly, I allowed myself be dragged back to the rocks; sitting down, I waited for Jocasta to speak.

‘You’re a cow.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ I said looking at her frowning face.

‘You–I should hate you, how is it possible for someone born a male to look so pretty?

‘I’m not pretty.’

‘Yes you are, and if you don’t realise it, just take the word of someone who would die to look as attractive as you. Being a vicar’s wife doesn’t make me not want to be beautiful. I wasn’t brought up in a nunnery, you know. I was a school teacher before I married David; plain Jane I used to be, and things haven’t got much better. I wear mumsie clothes and try to be a pillar of the community–as the good vicar’s wife should–and there’s you, with lovely legs, nice body and a beautiful face. If you wore a sack you would still be pretty.’

‘Jocasta, you are pretty; I must admit that you dress a bit old, but that could be changed and I bet you don’t go to the salon much. Look I must get my hair done in the next few days–come with me and we’ll have David drooling over his cornflakes–anyway, sorry.’

‘What for?’

‘Assuming that I was the only one with issues.’

‘We all have issues, my dear. Now, tell Auntie Jocasta everything: what has been going on, exactly?’

I related the story of my life with Olivia, the job with her father and the strains and cracks that had been appearing prior to the collapse of my marriage.

‘So, let me get this straight; Olivia married you, knowing full well about your cross-dressing and then gradually began to pressureise you, making you do things that you didn’t want to. Then to add insult to injury, she brought a man into your home and made love to him on one of your beds?’

I nodded, too distressed to speak. Talking about it had opened up some rather unpleasant wounds.

‘So, have you come here to escape?’

‘No’, I sniffed, ‘I came here to begin a new life. What do you think, then?’

‘About what?’

‘Me: should I go or should I stay?’

‘Stay, of course. If I have to go to a salon I’ll need someone braver than me to hold my hand, I’m not going in there by myself!’

We talked some more. It was wonderful to get things off my chest and Jocasta was as good a listener as she was a talker. Then came the thorny issue.

‘Should I tell anyone else?’

‘About what?’

‘You know,’ I waved my hand over my body, ‘about me.’

‘It’s up to you, but looking as good as you do, people won’t believe it. I’m not going to make your mind up for you but if I were you, I would stay. As far as I’m concerned you’re a girl, regardless of what's between your legs. We are pretty broad minded here anyway, you have to be when you see some holidaymakers–grown men in long baggy shorts and their bottoms hanging out when they bend over–now that’s a sight for sore eyes, I don’t think! Why is it when people go on holidays, all dress sense flies out of the window?’

I smiled weakly at that.

‘Then there’s Miss Silverton.’

I stared at her blankly, trying to keep up with her change of direction.

‘Miss Silverton has lived in the village all her life. When she was born, she was a he.’

‘So she’s like me?’

‘Sort of, she’s a hermaphrodite and was brought up as a boy until she was 14. It had become obvious by then that she didn’t look much like a he, I think the growing breasts were a bit of a give away, and so tests were done and her life changed, as it were.’

‘How old is she?’

‘She she must be in mid thirtees now. Never married and lives for her twelve cats. She has a cottage up at the top of our lane. We have to be careful not to run any of her cats over when we pass and, naturally, our dogs have a problem with the moggies.

‘Then there’s Stuart and Michael,’ she continued.

‘What's wrong with them?’

‘Oh they’re the gay couple who run the tackle shop; you couldn’t find a more loving and devoted couple.’

‘Tackle shop?’ I queried, my mind on the verge of boggling.

‘Yes, fishing tackle, what other tackle is there?’

‘Mmmm, well anyway getting back to the subject; I don’t quite get your drift.’ I said, not quite understanding what she was getting at.

‘What I’m trying to say is that we’re a tolerant community, the only two species we can’t stand are double glazing salesmen and people who give out parking tickets.’

I laughed at that.

‘So you don’t think that I’d be drummed out of Penmarris?’

‘Not a chance. Look, I think it might be an idea if we tell David and the girls. Then you can gauge the reaction of others before you fully out yourself as it were. What d’you think?’

What did I have to lose? Either the folk of Penmarris would accept me for who I am or it wouldn’t be worth living here.

‘Okay,’ I said, making up my mind and being decisive for once. Just then, my phone chirped.

‘HI, Samantha, it’s Millie. Look, I may have found a place for you, it’s old Mr Mogg’s place. He’s gone into a home now as he can’t do much, poor old chap. Anyway, my sister’s best friend knows one of the carers at the home and she mentioned that Mr Mogg is worried that no one is living in his cottage. So it might be all right for you to stay there. Do you want me to make enquiries?’

‘Yes please.’

‘All right; if I get the go ahead I’ll ring you back and make arrangements for you to view.’

‘That would be fantastic. Thank you for all your help.’

‘That’s okay, see you.’

The phone went dead. She seemed to be a bit of a live wire, that Millie!

‘Good news?’

‘Yes, Millie said that a Mr Mogg has a cottage that might suit me.’

‘Albert Mogg; yes, he’s 85 and has moved into care because it’s closer to the Crab and Lobster’

‘Crab and Lobster, What's that, a restaurant?’

‘No the local pub the other side of the quay,’

‘Right; so does everyone know about everyone here?’

‘Pretty much; we look out for each other but give people privacy if they want it. Now old Mrs Tyler, no one knows what she gets up to. The kids think she’s a witch, but that’s because she has a black cat and grows herbs.’

‘This place is seriously weird, but I love it!’ We both laughed and then, noticing the time, stood up. I still had things to do.

‘So,’ I said as we walked back up the beach, ‘do you know of a good solicitor?’

‘Well you could use Phillip Jenkins, but he’s more into your wills and probate. His daughter Katie is the one to see. She’s the divorce queen.’

‘Are there a lot of divorces here?’

‘Two in the past year.’

‘That’s not many.’

‘It is for around here. Look, let’s go and see if she’s in her office.’

We made our way along the quay and up the little High Street. I call it High Street, but it was only slightly wider than the other roads in the village. It had a butchers shop, a bakery, a paper shop, the post office and, above the undertakers, the solicitors–Bentley, Bentley, Letwynd and Fartworth–worth a bit of a smile, that one.

Sadly they were closed.

‘Never mind, you can ring them later.’

‘Okay.’ I replied, ‘I’m not that concerned, I was married for years I’m sure another few days won’t make much difference.’

‘That’s the ticket. The way you’re going, you’ll be as laid back has the rest of us soon.’

‘True,’ I laughed.

I had wanted to sort out another mobile, but as that would have meant a trip into the nearest town and the fact that I was car-less, meant that another of the items on my list went on the back burner.

We had lunch in the Crab and Lobster, a ploughman’s lunch and white house wine, a nice combination, then it was back to the vicarage because Jocasta was having a young wives meeting there.

Not being a young wife, I went up to my bedroom and checked my list. I was able to cross off a few things, but not many. I wasn’t that concerned as there was always another day. My life up to now had revolved around lists, appointments and schedules–another thing that obviously needed changing.

Just then my mobile chirped.

I picked it up and didn’t recognise the number, it was a mobile one. I just shrugged and pressed the go button.

‘Hello, Tom, it’s Nigel.’ Oh my God, Olivia’s Dad!

‘Hi, Nigel.’ I replied, hesitantly.

‘What the HELL is going on?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Don’t sorry me. I get a phone call from Olivia, and she says that you’ve run off somewhere. HR informed me that you were sick. So, I repeat what the hell is going on?’

‘It’s private. I need some space.’

‘Space–you can stuff your space. Olivia is angry with you and so am I. You have responsibilities, young man, and you need to get your arse into gear and get back to your wife and work. I don’t pay you good money to fuck off whenever you want. I don’t run a holiday camp here, you know. If you want to get on with me, you will get back home, apologise to your wife and start behaving like a man and not shirk your responsibilities.’

I had come to the boil slowly while he was speaking and I surprised myself as I replied; ‘Nigel, I have no intention of coming back..’

‘What the fu–’

‘You’ve had your say, so listen to me. Did your precious daughter tell you why I left? She was having sex in my house on one of my beds, not with me, but with another man. The only reason I worked for you was because it made Olivia happy for me to have what she termed a proper job. She busted up this marriage, not me. I resign with immediate effect and you can tell your daughter that I am commencing divorce proceedings citing her adultery as the cause. Oh, and by the way, I have an excellent photograph of her having sex with her lover on my ’phone so if you want publicity, tell her to contest–goodbye.’

I threw the ’phone out of the open window and fell on the bed, sobbing.

It had been a strange day–and yet somehow liberating.

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To Be Continued...

Please leave comments...thanks!
My thanks also go out to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing and pulling the story into shape!~Sue