.

Marc’s mother has left his father. Much to Marc’s relief his two abusive brothers have remained in London with his even more abusive father. Marc has gone to live with his mother near the border with Scotland whence his mother originated. Marc has admitted to his mother he is ‘girly’ and found she was already aware of it. She proved to be supportive and took Marc to see their family doctor. Marc has taken his first steps on the long path that is transition.

Where necessary or possibly helpful to some, there are notes at the end on word usage.
.

To Marc’s surprise, most of his school year mates, and the older boys and girls too, at Penmarleigh High had no issues accepting him. He had grown his already long hair longer and before term started his mum had taken him to have it trimmed and styled at Salon Françoise where she had her hair done. He enjoyed feeling and looking girly, and his speech and persona became those of a girl, without becoming in any way camp.

He told his mum, “I can’t believe how easy this is, Mum. Sure it’s scary sometimes, but it’s not hard like I thought it was going to be. Most of the time I just don’t even think about it. The kids at school treat me like a girl and the odd one or two kids who had a problem with it got sorted by a couple of big boys in year eleven(1a) that I don’t even know.”

“I know, Love. I had my suspicions when you were three or four. By the time you were eight I knew you were different, but suspected you were gay. Since moving back up here I haven’t seen you as a boy at all. You behave like a girl, but that’s not surprising. As soon as we moved up here you made friends with the village girls who accepted you immediately. That’s because most of your friends were girls, so you’d know how girls behave, and trust me you’re a natural. I should have left your Dad years ago. I’m so sorry, Love.”

She was crying as Marc hugged her and asked, “What are you sorry for, Mum?”

She picked up his right hand and pointing to his mutilated fingers said, “This. Your dad made you so afraid the fear drove you to it. I’m so sorry.”

Marc kissed her cheek and said, “Yeah well. That’s over, Mum. Everything will be ok now. I feel like a girl and you’re here to make sure I do it right. School is great. Just the rest of the world next.”

They laught together and his mum told him to prepare the vegetables for the shepherds pie.(1b)

His first day at school had been, like for the rest of his year group, intimidating, for it was big school, and the three hundred and sixty eleven year olds had all been at much smaller schools the year before. Marc went for a drink in the canteen at break, unlike most of his peer group he wasn’t fond of carbonated drinks and preferred tea. There were only three of them in the queue for tea, a teacher, himself and a slim brunette of his height with blue eyes, a fringe and a ponytail whom he recognised from the year seven assembly as being new too. The girl smiled and said, “Hi, I’m Pauline, but I get called Pol.”

“Hi, Pol. I’m Marc.”

They had taken their tea back to a table which had several other eleven year olds sitting at it, and two empty chairs next to each other. As they were sitting down a big girl eating a doughnut, whom it would have been kind to describe as chubby, laught, pointed to them and said, “Two freaks together. Looks like the ugly duckling’s found a friend at last, even if it is only a ginger tranny.”(1c)

Pol was blushing and had tears in her eyes. Marc, without thinking said quietly, “I can’t speak for Pol, but I don’t mind being a freak though I’d hate to be a fat, spiteful freak.” The rest of the children at the table laught and the now bright red girl ran away.

“We went to the same primary school,” Pol explained. “Paula always was a bully, Marc, but she’s sensitive concerning her weight.”

“Well, if it bothers her she should stop stuffing her face, and either stop being nasty, or learn to handle it when it comes back,” one of the other girls at the table said before adding, “I’m Stella, and you’re not ugly nor a freak, Pol.” Stella then added, with a touch of envy in her voice, “Bet your hair costs a fortune to keep it looking that cool, Marc.”

“Yeah, and those shoes are triffic.(2) I’m Gemma,” a really tall girl said.

Marc’s shoes were black, patent leather, court shoes with a three inch block heel, had small bows on the front and ankle straps that fastened with a small gilt buckle which were mostly hidden by his trousers. He said, “Thanks, Gemma. Mum wasn’t sure if I’d be allowed to wear them at school, but they were on the ‘Back to School’ rack with loads of really smart ones and the woman in the shop asked which school I was going to. When I said Penmarleigh she told us they’d be ok here, cos(3) the uniform code is pretty modern, and I’ve seen loads of older girls wearing much more fashionable ones than mine. I saw a group of older girls wearing open toed shoes a bit like mine as I came in this morning.”

“They’ll be warned they’re a safety risk, cos some of the boys, especially the boys from the farms, wear heavy boots. A letter will be sent home saying if they get their toes squashed by a boot the school is not responsible, but they’ll be allowed to wear them,” Gemma said. Then seeing puzzled looks she added, “One of my older sisters is in year ten, so that’s how I know.”

“Where did you get them from, Marc?” asked a girl who introduced herself as Wilhelmina.

“The shoe shop opposite Gregg’s(3a) cake shop. The Gregg’s with the tables outside on Mesne Street.”

“That’s Williamson’s. Penny my oldest sister got a pair of knee high, red and black, lace up women’s Docs(4) from there. She wears em with a red leather mini so short you can see her knicks(5) even when she’s standing up straight and a matching, laced up, red leather bustiere that barely covers her girls.(6) Dad went ballistic when she came round last Saturday, but she does look good, cos she’s even taller than me and it suits her. She’s nineteen and getting married next year. She lives with her fiancé, Ronnie, and they want a family. She told Dad she was wearing what she wanted whilst she still could before she fell pregnant.”

Gemma pondered a bit before adding, “My guess is she’ll wear the same sort of stuff no matter how big she gets when she’s pregnant. It’s not that she’s trying to shock any one, she just wears what she likes, and Ronnie loves the way she dresses cos he’s a bit of a Goth. He’s an electrician, and his mates think it’s really funny that he has a dead sexy girlfriend who’s six inches taller than he is without heels. Dad can’t say anything about them really, cos Ronnie’s on top wages and already put a deposit on their new house. As soon as it’s finished they’re moving in. Penny’s works at the shirt factory sewing, and she’s making all the curtains and stuff.”

A boy who had previously introduced himself as Paidin asked, “You always worn girl’s stuff, Marc?”

Marc realised the question was from interest and not trying to make him feel bad. “No, only since Mum and Dad separated and Mum and I moved here. Dad would have hit me. Mum was born and grew up in Longtown. She says, ‘You are what you are.’ She bought me these socks.” Marc shewed his socks off. They had a frill round the top and were patterned with kittens.

Stella said, “Those are really little girlish, but so cute you have to love em. Well I think so anyway,” she added defensively.

There was a chorus of me toos, including Marc, but Paidin said, “Fine for you girls, but not for me. I got Superman on mine, and on my boxers and vest.” After everyone had shewn off their socks the bell went and it was time to go. It was only later that Marc realised Paidin had included him in ‘you girls’ without in any way being judgemental or derisory, and it was nice to just be accepted as he was.

As a result of Marc’s defence of Pol and his putting Paula to rout, the two became friends. Pol later admitted to him she knew she wasn’t ugly, but she didn’t think she was pretty either, and she’d been given a hard time at primary school, mostly because of Paula. His dispassionate confrontation with Paula resulted in Marc being highly regarded by their year group, and he was amazed to discover that having his hair done at Salon Françoise was considered to be cool even by the year elevens,(7) which he thought helped his acceptance too. No one even mentioned his hair slides, except Pol when she said, “Here let me put them a bit further back, so they stay put, Marc. You got any longer ones, cos these aren’t really big enough to hold that much hair?”

“Yeah, I’ll wear them tomorrow and see if I can buy some more.”

“Try Dean’s. They sell all sorts of stuff like that.”

“Dean’s the newspaper shop near my house?”

“Yeah!”

Marc bought some animal shaped slides from Mr. Dean, who again referred to him as Miss Harman, and was wearing the kittens the following day. All that was said was, “Cool, Marc.”

Like all the boys and most of the girls he wore black trousers and a white shirt at school, it was the school uniform, but with his mum’s approval and help, he had chosen clothes tailored for girls and all his shoes were girls’. Since he was slender his clothes looked appropriate and were a good fit. The main difference being the currently-fashionable closer fit of the girls’ trousers and blouses. The girls’ blouses also had round collar ends and buttons on the left whereas the boys’ shirts had square collar ends and the buttons on the right.

Unlike the boys, the girls didn’t wear ties, but no one had bothered Marc for not wearing one. Pol, who had become a close friend of his, they had confided all there was to know of each other, had giggled when he’d speculated as to why he’d not been pulled up for not wearing a tie and said, “Since all the kids are ok with you, prolly cos you’re so up front, most of the staff prolly(8) think you’re a girl, Marce, seeing as those lashes of yours make you sexier looking than most of us. If you could stop biting your nails you’d really be something to look at you know, specially if you got poshed up(9) in a frock.” The pair giggled at that but for weeks Marc couldn’t stop imagining what it would be like to be poshed up in a frock.

Marc’s fingers were still bitten down to the quick, were raw and bleeding in places, and he admitted they hurt. He looked at them and said, “I’ve bitten them for ages. It’s nerves. I started when I became worried my Dad and brothers would find out I wasn’t a boy. I was probably five, and now I just can’t stop. I wish I could. There’s a self help group for self harmers, but I’ve always been too scared to go. Maybe I shall one day.”

Black skirts were part of the school uniform, and some of the girls, like Pol, wore the ankle length skirts which were currently in vogue, and thinking of Pol’s remarks, which had somehow felt pleasant in ways he wasn’t entirely sure he understood, Marc wondered what wearing one would be like. He knew he would like to wear one, and he and Pol had joked of it from time to time, but it was a step too far for him.

They often went to each other’s homes to do homework together and eat, and one day he had gone to Pol’s house after school to do some chemistry homework. Though both in the top set, neither of them were good at chemistry. As always, so as not to disturb her dad who almost lived in his study which was downstairs in the large two storey extension at the back of the house he’d had built to house his study and library and provide a fourth bedroom, a master bedroom with en suite facilities, they had been working upstairs in Pol’s bedroom, and after half an hour they knew they’d done everything they could, and still neither of them had any clue as to what valency involved.

As they put their homework away seemingly out of the blue Pol had asked, “Why don’t you try my school skirt on, Marce? I know you would like to. You really are a girl you know, you’re much girlier than me any way, and I’d like you to see yourself in a skirt. It’s safe here, and you know I won’t say anything.” Marc and Pol were best friends now, so because he trusted her and he wished to he was happy to try her skirt on.

As Pol took her skirt off Marc saw her knickers had Disney princesses on them and he said, “Snap,”(10) and took his trousers off revealing the identical knickers. “You got the crop top too, Pol?”

“Yeah, wearing it. They were sold as a set in M&S. Where did you get yours from?”

“Don’t know, cos Mum got them, but probably M&S cos she shops there a lot.” When he put Pol’s skirt on he stated to cry as looking at himself in the wardrobe door mirror he realised how much he wished to be the girl he knew he really was.

Pol had realised what she had done, and she hugged him saying, “I’m sorry, Marce. Maybe I shouldn’t have suggested it, but you do look really good. Walk a bit, make it swish and get the feel of it. You may as well enjoy it seeing as you’ve got it on.”

“No, don’t be sorry. At least now I know where I wish to go. Even if it takes me years to get there.” Marc walked from Pol’s bedroom to the stairs and back and encouraged by Pol exaggeratedly swayed his hips to make the skirt swish. He said somewhat tearfully, “That feels so good that I’d like to never wear trousers again, but that’s not going to happen for years. Thanks, Pol, and I’m really glad you’re my best friend.”

Pol had hugged him again, and a little tearful herself said, “Yeah, me too. I never ever thought I’d have a pretty friend who knew as much bout(11) clothes, fashion and stuff as you and who would share it with me. I used to get teased a lot, not just by Paula, spose(12) that was bullying too really, for the way I dressed and how I looked at primary school, but nobody teases me now. Some of the girls are jealous I’m your best friend, cos they know we talk bout make up, clothes and stuff and you know so much bout them.

“Mum knows bout you cos we’ve talked, and she says you have to take your friends as they are, and if you’re my best friend she’s just glad I have one, cos I never did before. She’s going to take me to Salon Françoise to get my hair done and have hers done at the same time, cos she says if yours is anything to go by they do a better job than where we go now. Dad says he’s glad you’re my best friend too, cos I’m doing so much better at school work now we help each other, and he doesn’t care bout anything else.”

Pol hesitated a little before continuing, “I had a reason for suggesting you try my skirt on you know. Denise Mum’s best friend is a lingerie designer, they were in the same form at school, and she’s given Mum four tickets to the international lingerie trade fair at Thulstone this year. It’s only sposed(13) to be traders and designers and their families allowed to go. Mum’s going with her friend Margery, and she said I could ask you if you wished to go too.” Pol hesitated even more than last time before continuing, “I told you Mum knows bout you, and she said you could dress any way you like.”

There was a long pause as Marc, still coming to terms with his joy at Pol calling him pretty, considered the implications of what her Mum had said. “Does that mean what I think it does, Pol?” Marc asked nervously.

“Yeah. If you go dressed as a girl, Mum is cool with that. She works with people who cross-dress, actors and artists. I don’t think its any big deal with telly people, and no one will know you in Thulstone will they? But if you do, I ain’t going with you in my school skirt, so we’ll have to do some shopping, or you can try some of my stuff on. What cho think,(14) Girl?”

With tears running down his cheeks Marc reached for Pol and managed to choke out, “Yeah!” Both happy at the new level their friendship had reached they spent two hours whilst they both tried on everything Pol had in her wardrobe with a view to selecting a pair of outfits for their proposed shopping expedition. They laught, they cried and they groaned whilst he did.

Pol’s mum, hearing the girlish squeals, came in at one point to discover what all the noise was for and to tell them they had half an hour before dinner was on the table. When she came in she saw the pair down to their knickers and crop tops with Pol’s wardrobes and drawers all emptied of their contents which were in piles over a foot high on her bed. Marc was looking at a blouse before trying it on and she held her hands to her mouth to stop her laughter and said, “No, Marc! No! Definitely not that yellow! Not with your hair!” She reached for a green blouse held it against Marc and said, “Much better.”

She stopped for a few minutes whilst Marc tried a variety of skirts with the blouse, but she concluded there was nothing that went with it. Pol always wore it with black jeans. “Pauline, I’d better go and explain to your dad what all the noise is due to before he comes up to rescue me. I suggest you come down to eat and finish what you’re doing afterwards.”

After she had gone, Marc said, “Your mum is really cool isn’t she, Pol?”

“Yeah, she’s all right. Well, I like her any way.” That made them both giggle. After eating and helping Pol’s mum with the washing up, Marc dried and Pol put things away, they rushed back upstairs. At the end of it all they had an outfit for each to wear when they went shopping that weekend. The girls were both going to wear a knee length skirt with warm black tights, identical patterned blouses and a warm jacket. A shoulder bag and a pair of high block heeled shoes completed their outfits.

For the first time Marc slept over at Pol’s on Friday night in a spare room, and early the following morning, with Marc wearing Pol’s clothes with his own shoes, Pol’s mum drove them to the train station where they bought cheap one day shoppers’ return tickets to Weork, a city ninety miles away, and went shopping. Marc had told his mum what they were going to do, and happy he was beginning to enjoy his life she’d given him a sizeable sum with which to buy new clothes. She told him to make sure he bought a couple of pairs of shoes, one with a higher heel than any he had, and some pretty undies too.

Pol’s mum had given her a similar sum, and the pair of them discussed their plans on the train, much to the amusement of the three older women in their compartment who on being reminded of being that age enjoyed the girls’ conversation. Pol and Marcy, Pol and many of their friends as well as Marc’s mum and Pol’s dad had been calling Marc Marcy for a long time, had an enjoyable day, especially on the street market and in the shoe shops, and returned home to be met by Marcy’s mum at the station. Pol slept over at Marcy’s house for the first time on a camp bed in Marcy’s room, they hadn’t a spare room. The pair were broke, happy and anticipating a fashion parade for his mum the following day.

The pair nervously modelled every thing they had bought, including undies, for Julia, Marcy’s mum, the following morning. That she approved of their taste relieved them greatly, and after having lunch at Marcy’s they felt considerably easier when they did it again for Pol’s mum that afternoon.

Pol’s dad, who’d drifted in and out from his study to the kitchen from time to time, said, “You look like a pair of nicely turned out young women. I admit to start with I had feared you would return with clothes that would make you look like a pair of trainee tarts, but I did you both a grave injustice and I apologise. Marcy, I had been concerned with the influence you may have had on Pauline for which I do not apologise. I am her father, and it is right I monitor my daughter till she is old enough to do so for herself, but I am proud my daughter has at last found the wit and lack of prejudice to chose a friend so wisely, for some of her previous so called friends were not wise choices on her part.”

Then he disappeared with his cup of tea and a buttered Eccles(14a) cake. Marcy only realised days later that she had not even thought of, never mind been worried by, Pol’s dad seeing her, and Pol too, in their undies, for he’d long treated them indulgently as a pair of daughters. As a result her respect for Pol’s dad was considerable, and she was grateful to have Professor Munro’s acceptance.

After Pol’s dad left the room, her mum said, “John is a clever and perceptive man, but not an easy man to persuade, so Marc, you can take it you are welcome here as a girl or a boy and we shall both be happy with that. Now to much more important things, have the pair of you decided what you are going to wear next weekend? Pauline, your dad has said he is willing to drive us there in the people carrier. He wishes to visit Thulstone library for something, so we don’t have to go on the train, or be cramped in my car, but it does mean we have to have all prepared in advance, you know what I mean I know, so make sure Marc does.”

They went to Pol’s room where Pol explained to Marcy what her mum had meant, “Dad is very, very, clever. His work at the university is to do with maths and logic. I don’t get the connection, nor does Mum, and he’s far too clever to help me with homework. He’s autistic and has a thing called Asperger which I don’t understand, cept(15) I know everything has to be literal and precise. If you tell him you will be ready for eleven minutes past ten he will go mental if you are not ready till twelve minutes past, so we have to be completely sorted before we tell him we shall be, ok?”

“Yeah. That’s cool. When do we decide what to wear?”

“You can leave your new clothes here, and if you come home with me on Thursday after school I’ll get Mum to help, ok? You better sleep over Friday and Saturday so we don’t wind Dad up Saturday morning as it will be an early start to get to Thulstone for nine, and too late for you to go home when we get back. Better still, if you can get your mum to let you sleep over Thursday as well?”

“I don’t know Mum will agree to three nights. Tell you what, Mum knows what’s happening, but I think she feels a bit left out. Why don’t you sleep over at my house tomorrow or Tuesday, and we can explain it all to Mum. Then she’ll be ok with Thursday too. I don’t like upsetting her. My life wouldn’t be worth living without her, she’s sorted school for me a few times…” Marcy faded away before continuing, “I love her and…”

“It’s ok, Marce. I understand. You do what you have to. Your mum’s ok, and I’ll do whatever she’s cool with, ok? There’s no need to cry, cos I understand.” Despite Pauline’s words both of them were crying, but the tears were tears of acceptance and relief.

Pol slept over at Marcy’s on Tuesday, and instead of the camp bed her mum had bought another single to put in Marcy’s room and paid the delivery men to assemble it. She insisted the pair took loads of photographs on Saturday so she could share the event which was no hardship to either as they had intended to do that any way. Before they ate they did their homework prior to reorganising Marcy’s room around the extra bed. They spent the evening with Marcy’s mum poring over magazines looking at teen fashion, especially undies, and speculating on what they would see at the fair.

Unknown to either of them Pol’s mum’s friend Margery couldn’t go, and Pol’s mum had rung Marcy’s mum on Wednesday when they were at school to ask if she would like the fourth ticket. She had been delighted, and when asked said she would love to eat with them on Thursday. The two mums decided to surprise the girls, and they said nothing to them concerning that part of the arrangements.

On Thursday night, both the youngsters were surprised when the door bell rang, and Pol’s mum said, “That will be your mum coming for dinner, Marc, so let her in will you?” After introductions, explanations and dinner, and Pol’s dad had retreated to his study, Pol’s mum said, “Ok, you two, let’s see what you’re going to wear if we’re going to be seen in public with you.” Marcy went with Pol to her room, and they returned twenty minutes later dressed for the fair.

“I truly don’t know why that rather quaint frock looks so elegant on you, Miss Harman, when it is positively dated, but you have exquisite taste, Love, even if you are reminiscent of some one in an old fashioned sepia photograph.”

“Pol said it was really old fashioned, but I liked it. It’s silk and feels fabulous. Seeing as it was only two-ninety-nine including the petticoats which are silk too, Mum, I bought it because I thought I could get shoes, tights and a shoulder bag to go with it.”

“Two-ninety-nine! Where from?” asked Pol’s mum in surprise.

“We got it and a blouse for me with a load of undies too on one of the street market stalls, Mum. I don’t think the lot came to ten pounds between us, even with the patterned tights. The frock and the blouse were on the ‘Pre-Loved’ rail,” Pol replied putting a leg forward to better shew the patterns on her tights. “That was the stall where the man thought we were sisters, cos we were dressed similarly. Marce was right though. The whole outfit does look good on her. I think it’s her hair and eyes that do it. I tried it on and it looked dreadful on me, even with the shoes.”

The biscuit coloured leather shoes Marcy had bought to go with her frock had blunt, rounded toes, four inch stiletto heels and large, polished and lacquered steel buckles.

“Very nice. Very nice indeed. Proud of you girls. Like the shoes, Marce,” said Pol’s dad, who had emerged for a cup of tea. He left to return to his study.

Embarrassed by her husband’s reference to girls, because, though Marcy like Pol was wearing a frock and heels, and like Pol he had referred to Marcy as a girl for a long time, it had never been discussed with her mum, Pol’s mum said, “Marc—”

Marcy’s mum put her hand on Pol’s mum’s arm and said, “It’s ok, Lydia, isn’t it Marcy?”

“It’s ok, truly, Mrs. Munro. I know I’m a freak, but this is how I see myself, as a girl.” Marcy had tears in her eyes. Pol hugged her and her mum, her moist eyes, did too, and kissed her cheek.

Marcy’s mum said, “Stop it, Marcy. I don’t care what you are, but no child of mine is a freak, so don’t miscall yourself so, and stop feeling sorry for yourself when there’s no need. Ok? You’re a big girl now, not a toddler.”

“Ok, Mum.”

“Life must be really hard for you, Marc,” Pol’s mum said with a look of great compassion on her face.

“No. Not really,” Marcy replied, holding her mum’s hand. “Mum loves me and is prepared to fight any one who gives me a hard time, even me. I’m accepted by the other kids at school, even the older ones, and all the teachers I have anything to do with call me Marcy, including the head who teaches us history. My form teacher has me as Marcy on the main school computer register now, so not even supply teachers can make things difficult any more. Pol and I are best friends, and that you and Professor Munro accept that is really good. I can’t help the way I am, and I should love to have been born with a body that matched what’s in my head, but I have the best life I can till I’m older when with medical help I will have the body I ought to have. Thanks for worrying, Mrs. Munro, but if you and Pol’s dad treat me like a girl I have no problems with that because it’s how I see myself, and it’s nice. And I really like dressing like this because it feels right.”

Marcy’s mum nodded, and said, “And that’s fine with me too, because it’s how we go on at home.” She laught, and telt the tale of their first trip to the news agent’s which made them all laugh. “Frank Dean asked for a quiet word with me the other day. He telt me that some of the village kids were referring to Marcy as he. Not his niece Clarissa he hastened to add. He didn’t know what lay behind it, but thought I should be aware in case it was a serious matter of bullying. I told him that there was some justification for it and Marcy was seeing a gender specialist. He nodded and said. ‘I see. Should I use she or he? Because I’ve always called her Miss Harman. I don’t want to say anything offensive.’ He was much relieved when I told him Miss Harman, Marcy and she were fine and preferred by Marcy.”

Pol’s mum maekt one more cup of tea before Marcy’s mum went home and said, “Marcy, Pauline, take John his tea and a slice of parkin(16) too please, girls. And round up the cups he’s doubtless been collecting in there and take them back to the kitchen too will you?”

Mrs. Munro liked Marc, and Julia too now, and knew Marc was a much better influence on her daughter than some of the so called friends she’d had in the past. His identity issues didn’t bother her, and she now thought it would be easier for herself, Pauline and Marc if she not only treated him as a girl, which she’d been doing for some time, but referred to him as a girl too.

She’d overheard any number of conversations between Pol and Marcy, a few of an intimate female nature and some concerning Marcy’s future plans for gender reassignment procedures, and had never heard Marcy respond as anything other than a rather girly girl. One evening she’d overheard Pol on the phone to Marce telling her she’d nearly run out of tampons and could she get some for her for school tomorrow from Dean’s before they shut as there wasn’t any where still open near where they lived.

It was clear both Pol and Marcy considered Marcy to be in every way a girl, and neither had any problem with her hearing their conversations, so she decided she should refer to her as Marcy in the future like her husband did. He had never explained how he first knew Marcy was called that at school, but may be Pol had telt him, or more probably he had heard Pauline refer to her as Marcy or Marce and realising it was reality for the girls used the names Marcy identified with. She knew her husband was much cleverer than she and he recognised reality better, and though he was not always able to explain his thoughts she concluded since he had decided a long time ago that Marcy was a girl that was probably the closest to the truth of the matter it was possible to get.

That Julia was obviously fine with that, evidenced by her use of Marcy, female pronouns, even referring to her being ‘a big girl now’ when telling her off, and her explanation to Frank Dean, and she had undoubtedly had much more to come to terms with to accept it than herself, made it all comfortable.

Pol’s parents knew the girls had shared a room at Julia’s house, and her dad had said to his wife, “I’ll put another bed in the Pauline’s room so the girls can enjoy chatting when they’re going to sleep.”

His wife had considered that for a minute and eventually said, “We can use the single from over your old study, Dear, and I’ll order a double to replace it. If you move the bed now the girls can make it up whilst I ready the front spare for Julia on Saturday night.” She kissed him and said, “You really are a very nice man, John, and I was lucky to catch you.”

Her husband flushed and said, “There wasn’t exactly a lot of competition beating a path to my door was there, Love.”

“Perhaps not, but still I was lucky. Now you move the bed, and I’ll find the bedding.”

Lydia had had to make all the running in her courtship of her husband who was incapable of handling most social interactions, but she had never regretted her decision to pursue, propose to and marry him. Her only regret had been her inability to provide him with further children after Pol’s birth, for he could interact with children, in many ways socially he was a child. Marcy’s arrival in his world she considered to have been a godsend, for in Marcy he recognised a child with problems of the order of his own and helping her to deal with life gave him a purpose outside the narrow confines of the prison that his affliction had built around him and which academia had made worse.

The two girls had even bullied him to go to the local corner shop with them a number of times, and she had cried the first time when through the front window she had seen him desperately clutching their hands, for she was aware of the terror he was feeling, and it had made her very proud of the girls as well as her husband.

When the girls went to bed Pol asked, “You want to borrow a nightie, Marce, stead of wearing those PJs?”(17)

“What you got, Pol?”

Pol already in bed replied, “Third drawer down in the unit by the window. Have a ratch(18) and wear what you like. There’re loads in there, baby dolls too, but I don’t wear them any more, cos they ruck up and wake me up in the night and I can’t get back to sleep again. If you like em you can have the lot. It’s either that or the charity shop.”(19)

Marcy chose an ankle length, long sleeved, flannelette nightie with an embroidered teddy bear on the front and a broidery anglaise collar, “I like this one. It’s cute and looks comfy and it feels warm. I never thought to buy any nighties at Weork. I’ll have a look on the computer some time.”

“Looks good on you, Girl, but don’t spend any money till we look through mine. I’ve far too many. Night, Marce.”

“Night, Pol.”

Notes on Word Usage

1a Year elevens, fifteen and sixteen year olds, last year of compulsory education in the UK.
1b Shepherds pie, minced (ground) mutton or lamb fried with onion, carrot, celery, peas (vegetables of choice) put in an oven dish topped with mashed potato and finished in an oven. A traditional dish with many variations found in various guises all over the world. Other meats are used but in the UK shepherds pie is made with sheep meat and in cottage pie the sheep meat is replaced by beef. Or turkey, venison, quorn, TVP, I'm sure you get the picture. Minced meat + veg topped with mashed potato (or mashed other veg). Having said all that I like it with minced hare and onions with mashed swede on top (swede is rutabaga). And please, I'm too old for jokes about hare pie.
1c Ginger tranny, red haired transvestite. Both words used thusly are pejorative.
2 Triffic, adolescent slang, terrific, cool, fashionable.
3 Cos, slang for because.
3a Gregg's, a national chain of bakers. Some larger towns have several of them.
4 Docs, Doctor Martens. An iconic English footwear and clothing brand known particularly for their boots. Here the reference is to boots.
5 Knicks, girls’ slang for knickers, panties.
6 Girls, used thusly by girls to denote breasts.
7 Year elevens, fifteen and sixteen year olds, last year of compulsory education in the U.K..
8 Prolly, slang for probably.
9 Poshed up, English vernacular phrase meaning dressed up, looking posh.
10 Snap, expression derived from a children’s card game requiring identical cards to be paired, When a match is achieved one says “Snap.” Snap is more widely used as an expression to indicate a match has been achieved.
11 Bout, used thusly slang for about.
12 Spose, slang for suppose.
13 Sposed, slang for supposed.
14 What cho, slang for what do you.
14a Eccles cake, An Eccles cake is a small, round cake filled with currants and made from flaky pastry with butter, sometimes topped with demerara sugar. Eccles cakes are named after the English town of Eccles, historically part of Lancashire, but now in the City of Salford, Greater Manchester. They do not have protected geographical status so may be, and are, made anywhere. The first I ate was bought in Eccles in a packet of four labelled 'Genuine Eccles cakes' but it said 'Product of France' on the packet! Their history goes back to 1793.
15 Cept, slang for except.
16 Parkin, a variety of ginger cake containing oatmeal, molasses treacle and ginger popular in northern England and southern Scotland often associated with Yorkshire: Yorkshire Parkin.
17 PJs, pyjamas.
18 To ratch, to rummage or search for something. A ratch, a look, a search.
19 Charity shops, also known as thrift stores.

Ch 3 Macy comes to terms with being seen as a girl in public