Jane has a big secret to impart; fate has been practicing throwing wrenches

Part 21 of 25 — The Endocrinologist

Meanwhile, I went to see the endocrinologist at Winchester. Doctor Peter Brookfield was a tall, medium-built man in his mid-forties. He had a shock of mousy brown hair that seemed to defy all attempts to tame it. His 3-piece pin-stripe suit, lilac shirt and yellow bow tie didn’t seem at all out of place and I thought that he looked like a typical consultant, whatever his qualification.

After the introductions, he said, “Doctor Ruskin has sent me the results of her tests and, knowing how thorough she is, I’m prepared to base my initial assessment on her results. Her tests indicate a problem with the way your body processes testosterone. Basically, it hasn’t. By your appearance, and the contented look on your face, am I to deduce that you are not entirely displeased by this?”

I smiled and replied. “I’ve been female in my mind ever since I was a toddler and I am delighted that my body has, at least to some extent, reflected that. I never wanted to be male; as far as I am concerned, I never was male. I just want to get the outside of me to match that which is inside my head and get on with my life.”

“Well, that seems fairly succinct. Tell me what you’ve done so far.”

When I’d finished relating my history, he said, “I have a note from Sally about the oestrogen, the dosage and dates. I’d like to take another blood sample, so that I can get an idea of progress since you saw her, and before you start on a proper dose of hormones. Your body has been in a state of limbo since your early teens and needs to be kick-started one way or the other. Seeing the way you’re dressed, and the contented look on your face, do I need to ask if you want to be female or male?”

“As I’ve always been female, albeit with a birth defect, I would like hormones and surgery to complete the job. Regarding Sally Ruskin, my GP, I am aware that you and she are related,” I smiled, as I took off my jacket.

“Yes, she’s a good GP by all accounts.”

“She gets full marks from me so far,” I confirmed.

He laughed, swabbed my arm and took a blood sample. “I’ll send my results on to Sally, along with my recommendations,” he told me as I got up to go. “By the way, you look very good; no one would ever know.”

“Thank you, that’s the idea,” I replied, before closing the door.

Jane had asked about the visit and I told her about Doctor Brookfield’s comments. “I knew it,” she said, with glee. “I knew there was no way I could fall in love with a man, even a pretty one. It’s nice to know that I was right — again! Come here, gorgeous!”

I gave in, not that I had a chance of resisting anyway. That’s assuming I’d want to — which I didn’t.

~ O ~

Jane was busy that weekend and I told her to go easy on herself and to call frequently to reassure me. I was still concerned about her health although she assured me that she was now fully recovered. Severe retribution was threatened if she felt below par and didn’t let me know.

The weather forecast for the next few days was favourable, so I took a half-day’s leave on the Friday afternoon and set off to do battle with the traffic. The new toy box seat for the children was cluttering up the car, so I decided to deliver it personally. It was at least a three-hour journey for me and I left early enough to ensure that I would arrive in daylight.

I’d already resolved that, as soon as winter arrived, I would give up driving altogether and sell the car. I only learned to drive because I was fed up with the constant put-downs and prophesies of my inability to achieve anything of note. Although I could see well enough with my one eye to pass the driving test, my sight was unlikely ever to improve and traffic levels were never going to reduce. I didn’t have the confidence to make long journeys and there was no point in having a car simply for local shopping. With insurance, road tax, depreciation and maintenance, it now cost at least a hundred pounds a month just to keep the thing outside the door — and that’s before I put fuel in it and drove it anywhere.

I arrived in Leamington Spa at about six o’clock in the evening. Having alerted Peter to my imminent arrival, the gates were open so I could drive straight in. I got out of the car, grabbed my bag from the back seat, ran to the door and greeted them all. The children were especially excited and settled down only when I promised to read them a bedtime story. They were allowed to stay up a little later on condition that they didn’t bother me while I ate my dinner. After settling the children in bed, I went back downstairs and asked Peter if he could help me to unload a package from the car.

He walked out, intrigued, lifted the boot lid, and then grinned as he spotted the picture on the side of the box. “You are naughty; you shouldn’t have done this.”

“Well, my excuse is that I missed the twin’s birthday and this is a belated present.” I smiled up at him.

He put his arm around my shoulder and gave it a squeeze, then carried the box into the house

Geena looked at him, then at the box, then at me. I put my finger to my lips and said, quietly, “Can we sneak it upstairs when they’re not looking? It would be fun to put it in the playroom and to see their faces when they go in there tomorrow morning.”

Geena smiled. “We’ll wait until later, when they’re sound asleep. We have a gift tag that you can tie on it. I doubt that we’ve a piece of wrapping paper big enough, though.”

Peter chuckled as he opened the box and prepared to assemble the unit.

We all sat on the settee in the living room and, armed with suitable after-dinner drinks, I was instructed to give them a blow-by-blow account of events since we met for my birthday.

They weren’t too surprised by the results of the endocrinologist visit but were excited by the idea of the house-move and wanted to know all the details. Peter agreed with me that it was early days. I thought that a lot depended upon finding a buyer for my flat; without that, the whole thing might fail.

I phoned Jane and confirmed that I’d arrived safely. She seemed to be coping well and I was somewhat relieved that her previous illness appeared to have cleared up. We chatted for about 15 minutes until someone called her and she had to go, at which point we exchanged endearments and ended the call.

The journey had really tired me and I was soon yawning. The other two packed me off for an early night and, despite my other half being some miles away, I slept very well in their guest room until woken by what sounded like a herd of elephants charging into the room at about seven o’clock the next morning.

~O~

I slowly opened my eyes just enough to see two shapes. They were whispering to one another and trying to decide whether or not I was asleep. Suddenly I lunged forward and, grabbing one of them around the waist, started to tickle it. It shrieked loudly, as did the other one. A couple of minutes later, the door was thrust open and their mother walked in.

“What on earth is all this noise?” Geena asked, feigning indignation. “Some of us are trying to get some sleep.”

“I’ve been invaded,” I said, slightly sheepishly, “and I decided that they ought to be taught some respect for their auntie.” So saying, I relinquished my hold on Rosalind and, making a highly successful grab for Geoffrey, pulled him onto the bed and started to tickle him, resulting in a really infectious giggle.

“I swear you’re as bad as those two are; you’re supposed to be twenty three, not three years old.”

“I never had much of a childhood and, for much of it, I didn’t have a brother,” I said, “So I’m catching up, big time.”

Geena suddenly looked a little contrite. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think of that.” She turned to the twins. “Now you two, just pop into the playroom and quietly come back and tell me what you find.”

They scampered off and, within seconds, there were shrieks of delight, and the invading force returned and clung to their mother, their eyes bright.

“Well, what did you find?”

“We found a present,” they both chorused.

“I think you should go and give Auntie Jenny a kiss and thank her properly, don’t you?”

They rushed over to my bed, one on either side, and I laughingly cuddled them while they flung their arms around my neck and kissed me.

“Thank you Auntie Jenny, it’s beautiful,” said Rosalind.

Her brother agreed. “Thank you, Auntie. It’s brill!”

I was in tears and this wasn’t lost on Rosalind. She asked, “Why are you crying, Auntie?”

“I am crying because I am so happy. I am happy to be here with you this weekend and so grateful to your Mummy and Daddy for letting me stay with you all.”

Geena sighed, theatrically. “I suppose as we’re all now wide awake, we might as well have breakfast.”

We all got ourselves ready; it was amazing just how much noise two five year olds could make in the process, but eventually we were all gathered around the breakfast table.

Geena asked, “What shall we do today?”

Peter had another business meeting involving long sticks, little white pellets and large expanses of grass littered with obstacles.

The twins both jumped up and down and said, “Mummy; Can we go to the park, please?”

I was content just to be where the children were so agreed with Geena’s suggestion that we take a picnic and go to Stratford-upon-Avon, where the children ran around to their heart’s content while we sat, talked and just watched the River Avon idle its way to wherever it was going.

In the evening, I asked, “How long since you two had an evening out without the children, just you two and not counting my birthday party?”

“Some time,” admitted Geena.

“Right then; I’ll stay with the children and you two can go for a drink or something.”

“But.…” Geena started to protest that it was my mini holiday but I insisted. And so it was that I settled down to play with the children until bedtime, supervised their nightly routine, read them both a bedtime story, settled them into bed and tucked them in with a kiss goodnight, promising them that I would still be there in the morning.

Geena and Peter were grateful for the opportunity to have an evening off together and made the most of it, returning just about midnight. Over a hot chocolate drink, they attempted to thank me for my help but I just waved it off and said that Auntie Duties were an absolute pleasure.

~ O ~

I mentioned my interest in the existence of a God. None of the family had been brought up in any particular religion, but Peter and Geena surprised me when they told me that they started to attend church just after they were married. They had shopped around for quite a while before finding one with which they were comfortable. Since settling in Leamington Spa, they attended a local house church where the whole family had all been made welcome; the children especially enjoyed going to meet with their friends and they all found the atmosphere quite relaxed.

Geena regaled me with some of their early explorations into so-called Christianity. She wryly told me of churches where they couldn’t understand anything that was going on, or where the preacher was so heavenly minded that he was no earthly good, or even where she was expected to do nothing but make cakes and arrange flowers. She also told of places where Peter received some black looks because he found the proceedings so boring that he fell asleep. Finally, she said that there was even a church where they had been told not to bring the children because “they were disruptive” or where “they should sit at the back so as to not disturb everyone else”. Needless to say, the family voted with their feet.

The church that they now attended was a small congregation that met in a school hall about half a mile from where they lived, and they invited me to accompany them. I’d initially been concerned about my status but Peter told me quite firmly that I was his sister and that, if the church had a problem with me, then they would answer both to him and to Jesus Christ. The children also insisted that I go with them; they dragged me to the car and sat on either side of me in the back.

On arrival, Nathan, the pastor, greeted us. He was a very tall, broad and bald man in his mid-forties and looked as though he’d be more at home on a Harley-Davidson. I, as a visitor, was quickly surrounded by a group of other women who wanted to know all about me. They wanted to know where I lived, what I did for a living, where I purchased my skirt and shoes — all manner of important details. They admired my jewellery, especially the engagement ring, and of course wanted to know what my fiancé did for a living. I neatly sidestepped that one by telling them that my fiancée was a police officer. As the pronunciation of the male and female forms of the word is the same, I wasn’t telling an untruth; then again, neither was I giving anything away. Geena eventually had to rescue me so that we could go and sit down; the service was about to begin.

The service was a mix of traditional and modern worship, and everything - service sheets, hymns and songs - was displayed in large print on a huge projector screen. I didn’t know any of the songs but joined in as best I could. After about twenty minutes the pastor handed over to Sam, a slightly built man with spectacles whom I’d seen before the service and had dismissed as simply an ordinary member of the congregation. I was very wrong.

When Sam started to speak he appeared to grow several inches in height and I was mesmerised by his powerful voice. He read from chapter 12 of Paul’s letter to the Romans.

Then he spoke of his childhood, the pain of being a small child with poor eyesight and a total ineptitude with anything to do with sport. He was dyslexic and had found academic subjects difficult. He’d struggled to make friends. I winced in sympathy when he told of his suffering at the hands of various bullies and wondered how on earth he had coped. Geena leaned over after his talk and whispered that Sam was now head teacher of the school where the church held their meetings.

He then shared that we all have gifts that may not, initially, be obvious and which need to be brought out and nurtured. He said that Jesus, unlike many humans, looked past the superficial and into the inner being; He cut through all society’s restrictions and tick-boxes and went straight to the person within. Everyone was valuable: all were gifted, but some gifts were well hidden. Sam then brought his wife and children onto the stage and they all prayed that each person’s unique gift would be recognised, nurtured, valued and employed for the good of all.

I was moved by the whole thing and felt close to tears on several occasions. I had been so wrapped up in my own problems that I hadn’t thought that others might also have suffered in a similar way. I felt sure that very few people understood the pain of rejection as I and the preacher had done, and made a point of speaking to him after the service. I found him to be a modest man, easy to talk to, clearly at ease with himself at last, and very much loved by both his family and the fellowship.

I was tempted to tell him a little of my own struggle but common sense prevailed, so I kept the conversation to a discussion of the gifts of the Spirit. He asked me what I thought were my gifts and I was somewhat thrown by this. Geena sidled up to me and heard the tail end of the conversation as she handed me a cup of tea.

“That’s easy,” she said to Sam and his wife, Josie, “My sister-in-law here is a wonderful friend and great fun. My two children love her to bits; she is patient, generous, thoughtful, gentle, kind and loves unconditionally.”

I went red with embarrassment. Just then the two children in question ran up to me and flung their arms around me.
“Auntie Jenny! Cuddles!” they chorused in unison.

I laughed, sat down and proceeded to be hugged by two excited children who hadn’t seen me for twenty minutes or so.

“See what I mean?” Geena laughingly questioned. Sam and Josie smiled and then moved on to talk to others.

On the way home, Peter asked me, “Well, what did you think?”

I took a few moments to think about my reply. “I never thought that going to church could be such fun, yet be so draining. That preacher was something else; he had me in tears as I identified so much with what he’d been through as a child. Seeing him confidently standing there, so obviously loved by both his family and everyone else, made me realise what a lucky girl I am and how different things could have been had Jane not found me — and my family not accepted me. I would definitely like to go back to that church, although I suspect that commuting from the South Coast every Sunday could be very exhausting.”

Geena laughed and asked what time I would have to leave them.

“Oh, I think half-past two should do it,” I responded. They knew that I didn’t like to be driving in the dark and that future visits would almost inevitably be by train — unless, of course, my personal chauffeuse and bodyguard happened to be available.

After a joyful lunch, tearful farewells and promises to the children that I would see them soon, I headed homewards. I was, of course, looking forward to seeing Jane again and cheered my journey with that thought and some of Chopin’s preludes.

~ O ~

I called Jane’s mobile. “Hello, love, I’m at the services South of Oxford,” I said, delighted to again speak with my fiancée. “Good weekend?”

Jane grumbled. “It’s okay for you, swanning around the countryside: some of us were working.”

“Oh dear, what a shame!” I responded, giggling. “Have you eaten?”

“You call a sandwich at lunchtime a meal?” Jane retorted. “I suppose you’re stuffed with roast dinner and all the trimmings.”

“Very true,” I giggled again.

Jane made more grumbling noises and started talking about neglect.

“There’s spag bol if you’d like; there’s a tin and some pasta in the top left-hand cupboard. Just boil some water…”

“I do know how to cook,” Jane indignantly interrupted me. “I just don’t usually see the point as you do so much better. I’ll sort out the spag bol.”

“Okay.” I blew her a kiss that, of course, she didn’t see. “Love you lots, see you in about an hour and a half.”

“Love you more, drive carefully, I’ve got withdrawal symptoms.”

I laughed, and then rang off.

~ O ~

The reunion was everything I expected, and more. Jane, having arrived home, eaten the spaghetti bolognaise and washed up, pounced on me as I entered the apartment.

“Come here, you,” she said, gruffly.

I giggled as she relieved me of my little case, and then grabbed me around the waist. “Hey, let me get inside the door first!”

“I am impatient and am not good at waiting.” With that, she swept me into a hug and proceeded to kiss me senseless.

Very soon, we adjourned to the bedroom where we undressed each other and made up for a lost weekend. The action took much longer than the telling; then again, we were in no particular hurry.

~ O ~

Over breakfast the next morning, I gave a blow-by-blow account of the weekend. Jane listened intently, chin on hands, as she heard of the various antics of the children and the tiring journeys involved. She was also interested in my first experience of a church. I then broached the subject of my driving.

“I’ve decided that, next week, when British Summer Time ends, I’ll sell the car,” I said as we cleared the breakfast things. “I’m finding it more tiring and stressful as time goes by and traffic levels get worse. There are a number of stores that deliver groceries, the bus service is quite good and there are always taxis if I want to go somewhere like the railway station.”

Jane agreed. “I obviously have a vested interest in your health and safety; if you don’t feel confident enough to drive, then you should give up.” Then she continued. “By the way, things on the housing front have moved on a bit. I’ve had an offer to lease Masefield House; would you believe that one of the senior officers at work is interested in renting it? We’ve also received a pile of paperwork for Wroxall Gardens; they didn’t hang about. How do you feel about my staying here meanwhile?”

“You live here all the time anyway. And, if you didn’t, I’d want to know who else you were spending time with.”

“Only you, my darling, only you,” she soothed, then held me close for another kiss before I tidied my makeup and headed out of the door in the direction of work.

~ O ~

A few days later, Jane and I were discussing the proposed house move. She’d been asked to go to the solicitor’s office to look over and sign the draft contract.

I said, naively, ”I assume that you can afford the mortgage on Wroxall Gardens; with that expensive car you run, I shouldn’t think there’s a lot left over at the end of the month. Obviously I’ll help with the mortgage when I’ve sold this place but I can’t do anything until then, I’ve hardly any savings; every penny went into this place.”

“You can keep this apartment; I’m not buying Wroxall Gardens with a mortgage.”

“Wh…H…?”

“I’m buying it outright.”

“Oh, I didn’t know. I thought it was only the deposit that you were paying cash.”

She sighed. “I need to tell you a few things about my finances before we go into the solicitor’s office to sign all the papers.”

I didn’t really like where this might be going; I still had a sneaky suspicion that some of her money had come from illegal sources. Then what she said finally sank in.

“Hold on; what do you mean? When we go into the solicitor’s office?”

She sighed again and took my hands in hers. “I told you that my grandmother left me some money. My parents were furious when they found out; they’d already gone through the roof when they knew I’d changed my name, despite the fact that it was their fault. It was mainly my stepfather, although my mother just seemed to accept his behaviour. They tried to contest my grandmother’s will.”

“Did they succeed?”

“No, they didn’t. Other than a few small items, you are my main beneficiary if anything happens to me.”

This was too much.

“But why?”

“You’re my fiancée and yours is the only family I’ve got, other than my Aunt Sophie. My sister is dead and I don’t count my mother and her bastard of a husband.”

“So if anything happened to you, I’d inherit Wroxall Gardens?”

“No, you’ll already be the joint owner of Wroxall Gardens; you can’t inherit something you already own.”

I was having trouble processing all these revelations. I’d seen the asking price on the advertising flyer that Philip had given us — that house was valued at several hundred thousand pounds.

“You said I’d be the main beneficiary of your will. Why?”

“I told you; you’re my fiancée and I love you very much.”

“And that’s in addition to Wroxall Gardens?”

“Yes; you wondered how I could afford Masefield House and a Lexus?”

I nodded, numbly.

“When she died, Grandmá¨re left me a lot of money; the actual amount isn’t important, but it’s well into seven figures.”

I was stunned; it felt like I’d been kicked in the stomach. Didn’t she trust me? I asked, angrily, “Why didn’t you tell me before? I’ve been so worried.”

“I’m running late; I’m on duty at twelve o’clock. I need to go; I’ll speak to you later.”

I shouted at her. “YOU OBVIOUSLY DON’T TRUST ME AND I CAN’T COPE WITH THE HALF-TRUTHS AND DECEIT!” I was running on pure anger.

She tried to kiss me on the cheek but I turned away - numb. Her shoulders sagged as she left the room. I heard her rooting around in the spare bedroom cupboard. Then she walked out, the front door shut and her steps faded as she walked away. She hadn’t said a word before she left.

I did what I usually did when I was overwhelmed — I sank to the floor and burst into tears. I, like my anger, was exhausted.

I didn’t eat; I wasn’t hungry. I eventually went to bed, but I didn’t sleep. I tossed and turned all night, cried and felt wretched. Why had I lost my temper? I accept that I was angry, shocked and frightened, but had I broken our relationship beyond repair?

I didn’t want to get out of bed; I just wanted to die. I got up when my bladder threatened to burst. I quickly returned to bed but that didn’t help; it was empty. Had Jane finally had enough of me? Was she fed up with my not trusting her? I thought of trains again, and then told myself off for being so selfish. I don’t know what time it was but I made myself get up and shower.

Running the minutes before she left through my addled brain, I realised that I’d thrown her out. I was so mixed up that I didn’t know what to do. All I knew was that I wanted Jane. Oh, how I wanted Jane! I was still wearing my engagement ring. I kept looking at it and touching it and months of happy memories crowded into my mind.

I burst into tears and wailed, “J… Jane; I’m s… so ssoorrrryy!

I wanted to feel her arms around me, cuddling me, making me feel safe and holding back the world. But she wasn’t here; there was just this… nothing.

End of part 21