Ride On 63

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CHAPTER 63
I walked out into the middle of the floor and looked around.

There were four civilian support staff, Den, Sam and, emerging from the yard as I screwed up my courage, Costello and Murphy, the latter giving a very quiet ‘fuck me’ as his eyes made what sense of things his mind was capable of.

Deep breaths. This is me, boys and girls. “Well, the rumours have been going about for a while, and some of them are true. Some of them are utter bollocks, of course. Let me introduce myself: the name is Annie, to my friends, Sergeant Price to the rest of you. What you see is real, no padding, no plastic. The situation is a simple one: I am every cliché you can use, a woman who was born with the wrong naughty bits, it just took me a bit too long to start sorting it out.

“Well, here I am. WYSIWYG, as they say, and all I can add to that is that I am still me, I have just altered my wardrobe when off duty. Now, those rumours. No animals were harmed in the production of my partner’s wardrobe, except for the leather that went into his shoes. Yup, I am a straight girl, so anyone worried about leather queens and dykes on bikes–yes, you two in the corner trying not to blush---can forget it. I am also spoken for, if the word ‘partner’ didn’t register.

“It is a simple thing, really, just a new girl at the office, one who has a nice bloke to go home to, and a fondness for having friends round for dinner. If anyone has a problem with that, well, tough. The Job has been my life for far too long to walk out now, and be honest, you’d miss having the bike in the yard to trip over, aye?

“For good or bad, this is me. Anne Jessica Price. Get used to it, because today Adam Geraint Price died and was buried. I intend to hold a wake for him next week, at the Rising Sun in Charlwood. Anyone who wants to send him on his way will be welcome. Pass the word, and, as the saying goes, move along now, nothing to see”

I stepped out with Sam and Eric just before the shakes hit. Eric was there, of course, so all was well, and he was followed into the office by Den, who joined Eric in squeezing me.

“That wake, that was unplanned, like, wasn’t it?”

I nodded to him past Eric’s shoulder. “It just came to me. Get them sociable, get them pissed, get our friends round us. Let them see me happy and normal, aye? Then we can get on with the rest of the shit, because I am sure there will be some”

Den was nodding. “Rub their faces in it, will work for some. Trouble is there will still be one or two who don’t get it”

“Aye, but they will be surrounded by those who do”

Eric was nodding in turn. “Would you be looking at a Monday night, then? The session?”

I grinned back at him. “Oh yes. Get the music going, perhaps have Steph get hairy, as Geoff puts it, they see Annie and not Adam, and as I will be playing I don’t have to answer stupid questions, aye?”

Den started to laugh. “Eric, marra, are you sure you fancy this lass? She is so devious it scares me, so you should at least have second thoughts!”

Eric in turn started to chuckle. “You are seeing that little soup-dragon, and you warn ME off?”

That was a moment I will always remember. The man who let me see how I really was, laughing with the man I loved, both of them comfortable with each other, both taking me not as I really, physically was, but as I needed to be, and Sam, lovely man, just sniggering at it all. The day’s fears almost–almost–evaporated.

Back outside in the lemon sunlight of the Indian Summer of that year, I took Eric’s arm and squeezed, and he simply smiled at me, no words being necessary on his part. I tugged him back towards the surgery while pulling out my mobile.

“And?”

“And I have.”

“Just the name, or more?”

“Sal. You are a bloody mind reader”

“I get paid for it. What else?”

“Well, announcement at work, and a piss-up on Monday, Rising Sun. Beer and music…you up for it?”

Her voice softened. “Of course, Annie, we will be there”

I hung up after a few more words and turned to Eric. “One or two more calls, then we go and see Darren. It has to be done.”

The phone was picked up on the third ring. “Woods residence”

“Hello, Naomi”

“Annie! How are you, my dear? Do you have a pleasant reason to call, or is there something we need to know?”

“Both, Naomi, but the emphasis is definitely on the ‘pleasant’. I have taken the plunge, and we need to arrange the best way to let young Darren into things”

“He is at school at the moment, obviously. Would you care for tea? If you leave it till four o’clock I can prepare him. How was work?”

“Not too bad, though there are a couple of areas that may cause a few hiccups. I have changed my name now, formally, and I will be clearing my wardrobe. What I have planned is a descent on the music night at the Sun, if Steph is around”

“Good thinking, my dear. Four o’clock, then?”

“Four o’clock”

The phone rang a little longer on the next call.

“Better be fucking good news, Annie, I am on nights”

“Kate, Adam is now gone”

I could almost see her sit upright in bed as the news hit her.

“Any problems?”

“Possibles, but then we knew that before I set out on this one. I have a few things to tell you, but face to face, aye?”

Once more I detailed the plans for the Monday, and I could feel her grin down the phone.

“Spare bed for us?”

“Course!”

“Beer, and music, and mad musical women. We will bring popcorn!”

“Monday then?”

“Ooooooh yes! Ginny will be chuffed. See you then”

I put the phone away into my handbag, which was rapidly becoming second nature to carry with me, and took Eric’s hand.

“We have tea with Naomi at four, and she will prepare the ground for Darren. We have time to look at some houses, if you want”

He smiled again, and it was very nice. “I want”

Four o’clock came, and ten minutes later we rolled up to the Woods’ front door, which opened to reveal Naomi and a surprisingly neat Darren, in a school uniform only a little too long in the trousers. I had a sudden thought: how much money were the Woods spending on him? That was another bright moment of understanding, that other people had their own unfulfilled needs, needs they thought would never be met, could never be assuaged, and Albert and Naomi had perhaps matched theirs with Darren’s. I looked him in the eye, seeing the doubt there, and decided to try a joke.

“Hiya, Darren, shat on any beds recently?”

The grin started slowly, as he realised. “Na, Sarnt Price, got nobody to do it for anymore, lahk. Smy bed too, innit?”

“Your bed?”

He nodded, and then I realised he was swinging towards tears, and suddenly he was at me, and in my arms. Through the sobs he tried to explain.

“Mrs Woods lahk told me you are doing the sex change thingy, an I don’t care, you got me out, you got me out and I don’t care. Nobody, nobody never did things like that, not since my ma went. Sarnt Price, you do what you need, yeah, Darren Eyres has got your back, he is your man, yeah?”

Naomi was smiling, gently, but there was a tear in her eye too.

“I took a while to explain how things were, my dear. Darren has a remarkable ability to adapt. Goes with his history, I suppose. Tea? Albert will be home in an hour, and dear Stephanie is waiting on her husband, but she is keen to hear your news, so shall we save the details till all are here?”

I nodded, and to my amazement Darren took my hand and looked at his foster mother for approval. She nodded, and he led me through the door and upstairs to a small bedroom plastered with Crystal Palace FC posters.

“Smy room, Sarnt Price, no crapping in here. Look!”

From under the bed he pulled a box, to reveal a pair of football boots, clearly used.

“I don’t want nobody to think I is here just for the stuff, yeah, but this is what they done for me. I got my own things, not borrowed, not nicked, lahk, an they makes me work for them. Makes the stuff mine, yeah? Makes it real”

He paused, and looked at me from under his brows, and then spoke again, very quietly.

“Makes me real too. I never had that before. Got a home now, got my own people. Can’t lose that, yeah? Can’t go back. You got me, Sarnt Price?”

“Annie, Darren. My friends call me Annie”

“You my friend, then?”

“You mine?”

“Please. You know, thassa word I never used, yeah? But here, lahk, is right, innit? They don’t always say yes, but they never say ‘no, because’, yeah? Always give me a real reason for it. And these boots…they is not the best ones, yeah, but I don’t have to give them back to nobody, and this room, it has a lock on the door that is on MY side, yeah? That a big thing, Annie, a really big thing”

“It’s called trust, Darren. Trust. When someone returns trust, they are being what people should be. You are doing so well, you make me proud I was able to trust you myself. Now, save the rest for later, aye? There is tea down there, with my name on it, and we have a lot to tell.”

He hugged me once more, with real passion

“Thank you, Annie. That’s the other thing they tell me to say. Thank you”

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Comments

Trust?

"When someone returns trust, they are being what people should be."

Wow.

Maeryn Lamonte, the girl inside

Maeryn Lamonte, the girl inside

Thanks Steph,

ALISON

'you continue to write an incredible story that just keeps my attention and and is so real.
Real situations,real people,and what a joy is Darren.

ALISON

Darren

joannebarbarella's picture

You made me cry with the exchange with Darren. Two wounded souls who filled a hole in the other with understanding.

And that Eric....and Den....What great guys,

Sniffle,

Joanne

You said everything

I was just feeling reading this chapter Joanne including the sniffle. You touched my heart down deep this morning Steph, absolutely stunning.

Thanks for this.
Bailey.

Bailey Summers

Yes

kristina l s's picture

Made me cry too. Lovely stuff.

Kris

I'm with all of the above

ditto. double ditto. got no words that ain't been said above, but they come from the heart.

Dorothycolleen

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Ride On 63

I can see Darren becoming a police officer to honor Annie. He is a bit rough around the edges, but now he has a chance to become the young man that any parent or guardian would be proud of. And no doubt about it, Annie is proud of him, just like Naomi.

    Stanman
May Your Light Forever Shine
    Stanman
May Your Light Forever Shine

On his side of the door!

A lock on HIS side of the door. That is the final freedom, the final badge, the final recognition of one's privacy, one's dignity, one's very self ... one's very being!
In my story 'Mindful' I wrote several paragraphs at length about Iona/Ian realising he/she had control of the lock and the sense of genuine peace that gave her/him. A sense of escape, of freedom even though she was still living in a children's home. It was all importantly, the freedom to decide when and where and vitally, who could enter her room!

That 'gift' is a massive badge of approval, a tectonic shift in one's sense of worth. It may seem like a totally inauspicious issue to those who've never lived in fear of the door opening in the middle of the night, (or indeed at any time,) but to those who've been their Steph, it is a major, major issue!! Some might even say the biggest single step up!

Thanks. Just that single remark at the end of this chapter gives the whole chapter a value few can understand unless they've been there or somewhere like it.

Thankyou, thankyou, thankyou.

Bev!

Growing old disgracefully.

bev_1.jpg

That simple thing...

Makes all the difference in the world. To know that, come what may, you at least have a few moments to run if the lock is violated...

That simple thing kept me alive, in a very harsh environment. I very much know where Darren is coming from, and Annie is a true gem, a pearl of great Price!

You made me weep, and I thank you for it.

Valentines_face_crop.jpg

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It continues

To be a wonderful, heartwarming tale. Thank You.

Joani

Dance, Love, and cook with joy and great abandon

Darren Eyres has got her back!

Andrea Lena's picture

...You just made me cry in a public library. Well, that's not true. I made me cry in a public library, but it's your fault. This story just keeps getting better and better. Thank you!

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Dio vi benedica tutti
Con grande amore e di affetto
Andrea Lena

  

To be alive is to be vulnerable. Madeleine L'Engle
Love, Andrea Lena

Thank you all.

Darren is one of the people I cry at writing, if that doesn't sound pretentious. Bev in particular has picked up on what I wanted to get across, the idea of earned respect, trust...your own private space that you control access to and that you learn doesn't need locking.
What I am learning from this story is that Things don't need to Happen to keep it interesting, at least for the writer. What I almost always strive for is realism, with some small licence. You comment that I have the doubts and fears well understood. Hmm. That is where I feel a much lesser writer than others. I am writing from memory, from experience, and that makes it easy. The feelings are there for me, sitting in my heart or that same memory, and compared to someone writing a 'foreign' story, I am having an easy ride.

Thanks again, the comments are the thing.

Absolutely just wonderful

You're right that things don't need to happen to keep the story vibrant. I mostly read serials, not shorts because it is the characters and the way they grow that moves me.

I just gotta say, please don't write things like "Sweat and Tears" anymore. The adventures of Steph and Annie have been so wonderful and wonderfully written that I had to read the rest of your ouvre and "Sweat and Tears" gave me nightmares for more than a week! ...it wouldn't be so horrific if you didn't write things that ring soo true.

I love this story of yours so much that I am hungry for each installment. I read it even before Bike!

Hugs and admiration,
-- Mischief

Little moments like this...

“Mrs Woods lahk told me you are doing the sex change thingy, an I don’t care, you got me out, you got me out and I don’t care. Nobody, nobody never did things like that, not since my ma went. Sarnt Price, you do what you need, yeah, Darren Eyres has got your back, he is your man, yeah?”

Illustrate how amazingly soulful, and emotional your writing is. They lift my heart and let me think I can feel and maybe hope.


I wear this crown of thorns
Upon my liar's chair
Full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair

Thank you

Darren is part of the soul of this story. He is very real to me.

The Magic Of Late Comments

joannebarbarella's picture

Made me read this again and made me cry all over again. "Shat on any beds recently?"

I can even forgive the Crystal Palace posters, seeing I used to be silly enough to support Brighton & Hove Albion,

Joanne