KAI

For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring.

I stared blankly at the GCSE exam past paper on the desk in front of me, then at my watch for perhaps the fiftieth time this lesson, then out of the window where the sun was streaming down onto the tarmacked playground below. Only a few minutes to go now, a couple of hours to kill at the library, and I could go home and escape. For a few hours anyway. I’d been planning it for weeks. My stomach had been turning butterflies all afternoon in anticipation.

Eventually, the bell rang and I raced the ten minutes or so it took to get to the library down the road at the end of the High Street. The row of PCs at the back of the main reading space was empty, and I sat down at my usual one and logged in to YouTube. I’d seen the tutorials a thousand times now and felt like I could do them in my sleep, but tonight would be the first time I’d be trying them for real and it wouldn’t do any harm to run through them one last time. Where usually I’d lose myself in them and hours would go by without me noticing, this time I was nervous, looking up at the time in the corner of the screen every few minutes until at last it showed 19.30 and I figured it would be ok to go home. My mum would be safely out of the flat now – out with her friends in the West End until who knew when. Sometimes she’d be home in the early hours with a man in tow and they’d spend the rest of the weekend locked away in her room; sometimes she’d be away all weekend and I’d not see her again until I was back from school on Monday evening.

I headed back to the estate. Zee nodded at me briefly as I walked in and for a second I thought he was going to ask me to run an errand and my plans for the evening would have to be shelved. But he let me continue. I pushed through the doors into the entrance lobby of the block. The lift was still broken and I turned into the staircase, trudging up the seven flights to our floor, along the dingy corridor and into our flat. I called out to check if my mum was home. No answer. I took a deep breath, dropped my schoolbag to the floor, put the chain on the door and walked through to the bathroom.

It would have been nice to be able run a long, deep bubble bath and lie soaking in there for a while, but there was no chance of that in this flat. I boiled a kettle and added the hot water to half a basin full of the cold that was all we could get out of a tap. I wiped the condensation from the mirror above and took a last look before I got undressed. I was not much to look at – a skinny half caste boy dressed in a scruffy oversized school uniform that I was supposed to have grown into by now but never had, which was complemented by an equally scruffy and oversized beanie that I wore every waking hour to conceal what I’d been cultivating beneath. But all that was going to change tonight.

I stripped off the beanie. A thick mass of tight caramel curls sprang out. Spreading beyond the full width of my shoulders and down past the nape of my neck, with shorter bangs handing over my forehead, they framed my face like a mane. The effect was transformational. I hurriedly pulled off my uniform. Now, for what I was doing, my underdeveloped teenage body was a positive. I dipped a razor into the warm water and shaved my pits and pubes. Everywhere else, thankfully, I was still soft and smooth.

Reaching down I carefully slid the panel below the bath out of its position just enough for me to reach in and grab the bag that I kept hidden there. Over the past few weeks I’d been putting together a collection of my own make up – I’d realised as soon as I’d started experimenting with mum’s that her colouring just didn’t work for me. I say ‘putting together a collection’ – what I really mean is I’d carefully researched online what I’d need and then shoplifted it from several different venues one or two items at a time. But I’d not worn any of it yet – I’d stopped myself from trying until I had everything I’d need to make a full transformation. I smiled - I’d got some nice brands, and some brushes too, and just last weekend I’d nicked a gorgeous red satin bra and panty set that I knew would go with the dress that I wanted to wear tonight.

I slipped into the underwear and padded softly into mum’s room. As usual it was a tip, with clothes strewn all over the floor and every other available surface. She’d worked in fashion retail for as long as I could remember, and came home almost every night it seemed with a bag of ‘discounted’ clothes. Considering we often didn’t have enough money to both eat and heat the flat it felt like an indulgence, but one that at least now I could take advantage of. I knew almost every inch of her wardrobes. She still dressed young - she was only just past thirty - and I’d worn almost as many of her clothes as she had. She had a pretty jungle print short satin robe that I’d decided would be ideal for me to wear whilst I did my make up.

Based on the tutorials, contouring my foundation was going to be the most difficult bit, I’d decided. I’d assembled several different shades, and I experimented with them on the back of my hand before selecting a couple – one ever so slightly darker than my natural café latte colouring and one slightly lighter. I spread the lighter shade across the top of my cheekbones, the bridge of my nose and my temples, and the darker elsewhere, and then blended them carefully. It took a couple of goes, but eventually I got it looking how I wanted. Eyeshadow was next. Also a bit tricky blending a pale gold on the front of the lid and brow with a deeper copper colour in the socket. Then some big fluttery fake eyelashes that took quite a lot of concentration to get glued in place. After that, everything else was fairly straightforward – lots of eyeliner, my brows drawn in carefully, lips lined with a dark brown pencil and infilled with a natural colour and gloss. I teased my hair out and applied lots of hair spray to give it even more volume, and then stopped to check out the results. It was way better than I could have imagined!

The dress I planned on wearing was still in the same spot I’d found it in when I’d tried it on last week. The shoes I’d worn at the same time were also in the same place, part of a pile of what must have been more than fifty pairs strewn under the bed. I pulled them out. There’d be no way of putting them back in exactly the same spot, but my mum would never notice, such was the disarray there. I stepped into the dress and pulled it up into place, reaching behind to close the zip. It was a fire engine red sequinned number, with long sleeves and a hem that stopped some way short of mid thigh. The shoes were also bright red patent with a four inch heel. My heart was racing. I took a deep breath and studied myself in the full length mirror on the back of the wardrobe door. I felt like for the first time in my sixteen years on the planet I was myself. I longed to be out partying like my mum, but even going outside for a walk was impossible – Zee or one of his gang would see me and want to know what a strange girl was doing on the estate. So I contented myself with walking around the flat, imagining myself dancing with a group of girlfriends, being approached by a cute boy asking for a dance, and then swaying gently in his arms to some cool, sultry R&B. And every time I imagined the cute boy, he had the face of Mr. Duncan.

Monday morning dawned, and I was back in my baggy school uniform and beanie hat. Mum still hadn’t shown up since Friday. Even though she’d done it so often, I still worried about her. I kicked myself – she wouldn’t have given a single thought to me all weekend. Although Friday had been great, I knew I couldn’t carry on much longer the way I had been. I needed to start being honest about who I was – both to myself, and the people around me. At some point I’d have to tell mum she had a daughter, not a son. I often wondered if she’d have loved me more if I’d been born a girl. Maybe if I told her I really was one we could build some kind of a relationship?

Despite being back at school after the weekend, Mondays in general weren’t too bad. We had English Lit in the afternoons, and rehearsals for the school play in the evening. I loved English. When I wasn’t watching make up tutorials in the library I’d be working my way through Jane Austen or the Brontes. I managed a smile to myself – not only had I been born into the wrong body, I’d arrived in the wrong century as well. The school play I was in was Romeo and Juliet. I’d been cast as Mercutio, and I was really enjoying the role. He seemed to me like someone who used his quick wit to cover up for the fact that he wasn’t who he seemed to be, and I could relate to that. But maybe the main reason I enjoyed both the lessons and the play was Mr. Duncan, our English teacher. He’d joined the school a couple of years ago straight out of teacher training, although he’d taken six months of that as compassionate leave after his wife had sadly died in a traffic accident. He was Scottish, with a fantastic accent that I could listen to all day long and a beautiful head full of tousled curly chocolate brown hair that I longed to run my fingers through. And he seemed to like me too – not in that way of course, but I had a gift for acting which he recognised, and I felt a warm glow pass through me whenever I was the object of his praise.

Rehearsals had gone really well, and we were just wrapping up for the night when Mr. Duncan mentioned that we’d be doing some costume fittings the following week.
“So Kai, We’ll need to get you something glam for your drag show scene at the fancy dress party.” He grinned.
For a second I felt like a rabbit trapped in the headlights. I swear that he could see right through to my soul and if I’d been white I’d have blushed down to my socks. I mumbled something and he moved on. I remembered that he’d mentioned weeks ago that we’d be basing our version of the play on Baz Luhrmann’s film but somehow, distracted by everything else that was going on in my life, I’d forgotten about the drag scene. I glanced back at my him, looking for a sign that he’d picked up my discomfort, but couldn’t see anything.

I walked home after the rehearsals deep in thought. I just didn’t think I could pull off doing drag – it was too close to home, too close to the real natural me and I wouldn’t be able to hide that, no matter how good an actor I was. My mum would be back now, too, probably. Another week of tiptoeing around her moods before I could be myself again on Friday. As much as I loved acting in the school play, the acting I was doing 24/7 to my mum, my teachers, the other pupils at school, was slowly killing me; eating me up inside. Better, surely, to just come clean and live with whatever the consequences were. I walked laps around the estate, playing out the scenarios in my head until after it went dark, then slowly plodded up the stairs and into the flat. An empty pizza box lay on the living room floor. My mum was home. I walked tentatively to her door and knocked quietly.
“Mum, It’s me. Can I come in? I need to talk to you.”

Parting is such sweet sorrow

“OK Guys, who’s going to start us off? How is it that parting with someone can be sweet?”
I looked around the classroom for a volunteer to start off the conversation. Kai would usually be first with his hand up, but this was the third week now he’d not been in school. I looked across at his empty desk. I was worried about him. I couldn’t remember him taking time off before, and we hadn’t had a sick note as far as I knew. He’d also been missing rehearsals. We’d manage with the play – his understudy was doing a great job – but it was out of character, and he’d been that way for quite a while now. Tense, and on edge. Drugs was the obvious thing that sprang to mind. I hoped not. He was the best actor I’d come across since I first got into theatre as a schoolboy myself – by a mile. And he ‘got’ English literature in a way most students never did. We had that connection that sometimes comes between a teacher and a student when they share a love of the subject. I resolved to get his address from the school secretary later and call around tonight to check whether everything was ok.

I’d knocked three times and was about to give up when the door opened on the chain and a bleary eyed blonde woman a few years older than myself peered around the jamb.
“What do you want?”
I gave my best attempt at a disarming smile. “I’m Stephen Duncan, Kai’s English teacher. He’s not been coming in to school. I just wanted to check he’s ok?”
“He’s not here.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s gone.”
“Gone? Gone where?”
“Fucked if I care.” The door slammed. I knocked again.
“Look, just leave me alone, alright? Stupid little bastard comes up to me and says he wants to be a girl. We had a row, alright? I kicked him out. He’s gone. Leave me alone.”

The door slammed shut once again and I stood there in shock for a moment. That explained his behaviour over the last few months! At least it wasn’t drugs I thought but, fuck, how can anyone cope with being in that position and having your mum just turf you out? I walked slowly back to my car and sat in it, trying to imagine myself in his position. Where would I have gone? No money, no home, no friends that I knew of. I remembered when I’d first moved down to London for teacher training and met Julie, my future wife. She was a local, and we spent hours just walking around London every weekend. One time we were near Piccadilly, and she pointed out the young men hanging around, loitering in doorways. Rent boys, she’d said. I was such a naïve thing, fresh off the train from rural Scotland, I had to get her to explain what that meant. I wondered…

I’d criss crossed the streets around Piccadilly several times and it was getting late. I was starting to worry about my car getting stopped by the police and was about to give up and go home when I spotted Kai’s beanie in the distance. I pulled alongside and wound down the window.
“Kai! It’s me, Mr. Duncan. Get in!”
He looked awful. Even skinnier than usual. His clothes looked like he’d been sleeping in them for weeks, which is exactly what I imagined he had been doing. But when he heard my voice he looked up and a flicker of hope passed briefly across his face, before dying back into sullen submission.
“Kai! Get in, quick!”
“I’m not coming. Go away!” He walked away from the car, and I nudged it back into gear again to follow him.
He turned back to me. “I’m not going back home. Leave me alone!”
“I’m not taking you back home.”
He stopped walking.
“Listen. You can come back to mine. Have some food. A shower. If you want to, you can stay a few days, but that’s up to you. Until you get yourself straight.”
He hesitated for a second, and then opened the door and climbed in. “My stuff’s in an alley in the next street. Can we get it on the way?”

“The bathroom’s upstairs, first on the right. You can leave your clothes outside the door and I’ll put them in the washing machine. I’ve a spare dressing gown you can borrow.”
He reappeared half an hour later, my white towelling robe hanging off his shoulders and trailing on the ground as he walked. It was the first time I’d seen him without his beanie and he’d tied his hair back in a ponytail. I thought back to what his mum had said. Out of his uniform and with his hair on show, he could easily pass for a girl, I thought.
“Toast and tea?”
He nodded. I made him a couple of slices, which he wolfed down with them barely touching the sides, so I made him another couple, and then another. I didn’t want him to feel like he was being interrogated, so I let him eat in silence. As he finished off the last slice, he cleared his throat.
“How did you find me?”
“I went to your mum’s.”
“She wouldn’t have known where I was.”
“She didn’t. But she told me what happened between you. And after that it was a lucky guess.”
“She told you what I’d said?”
I nodded.
He started to cry, noiselessly, the tears cascading down and dripping onto the crumbs on his plate. “I’m sorry. I’ve really messed things up, haven’t I? I’m sorry about the play…”
“The plays going to be fine, don’t be daft…”
“What am I going to do?”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ve made a bed up in the spare room. You can stay here as long as you need to.”
He sniffed and wiped his eyes. “Thanks. For the bed. And the food. And thanks for coming for me tonight.”

The following morning I knocked gently on his door and poked my nose around. He was not quite awake, his hair flowing over the pillow, one eye half opening as I asked him how he’d slept.
“Great, thanks.”
“I’m off to school now.”
“OK.”
“I’ll see you later.”
“Oh, have you got my clothes?”
“Shit, sorry, I forget to put the washing machine on last night.” I paused. I wasn’t sure whether to say it or not. “There are some clothes in the wardrobe that might fit. They were Julie’s. I’ve been meaning to throw them out. I mean, there are trousers and stuff in there too, depending, you know, what you want.” I hesitated, not knowing whether I’d said the right thing. “Or you can just keep the dressing gown. Until the washing machine’s finished. Whatever. See you later.” I left, before my foot went any deeper into my mouth.

I was distracted all day at school – my teaching was all over the place. I thought about driving home at lunchtime to check up on Kai, but then decided that was too much. I didn’t know whether he’d still be there when I got back. As soon as lessons finished I bypassed the usual staff room chat and headed straight home.

A delicious smell of home cooking greeted me as I opened the front door. I called as I went inside, and Kai met me in the living room. She, for there was no doubt now that I needed to use that pronoun, was wearing a cocktail dress – one shoulder was bare and the diagonal slash of the neckline from shoulder to chest was mirrored in an asymmetrical hem that ran from knee level to lower calf. It was in a kind of ruched satin material, the folds of the cloth clinging to her body. It must have been one of Julie’s but I’m sure I’d have remembered it if I’d seen it before. Her hair was full, and her make up made her look incredible.
“I hope you don’t mind.” She smiled.
“Mind? I…”
She smiled again. “Here, let me take your coat.” She glided across the room, took off my jacket, and handed me a glass of red wine.
“I made some food. It’s only something simple. I wanted to say thank you. It’s nearly ready. You can come through and talk to me whilst I finish it off. How was your day?”
I opened and closed my mouth a couple of times before I could get any words out. “Kai, you look…I mean, that dress. And your hair. And…”
She beamed.
“Kai…I mean, I…is it still Kai? Or should I call you something else?”
“It’s still Kai. It’s the one bit of the old me that I want to keep. It can be a girl’s name too. I looked it up in the library once. In Navajo it means ‘willow tree.’”
“I like that. It suits you.”
“What about you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Mr. Duncan.”
“Ah, yes, well, I suppose it’s ok for you to call me Stephen now.”
She smiled, and chinked my glass with hers. “Pleased to meet you Stephen.”

So we ate, and I found myself rambling on about growing up in Scotland, and she’d laugh at the stories I told her about some of the things I’d got up to at university, and then we talked about books, and films, and acting. And she went into the kitchen to fetch dessert and I marvelled at how naturally she moved, and how confident she was compared to the scared creature that I’d brought home the previous night. And we talked some more, like old friends, until it was late and we’d finished off the wine and I said I had to go to work tomorrow and I’d help her with the dishes. And as I was carrying two handfuls of washing up into the kitchen she came out and met me in the doorway, and came between my laden arms, and stretched up, wrapping her arms around my neck and kissing me deeply. I dropped the plates and pulled her into me and kissed her back and she smelt amazing and tasted incredible and I knew I had to stop.
“Kai! Kai. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” I pulled away from her. “We can’t. I’m your teacher, for fuck’s sake. And I’m taking advantage of you. After everything you’ve been through. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be doing this to you.”

I took her hand and we sat on the sofa and she said she’d move out. And I told her what I’d been thinking about that afternoon at school. About my sister, who taught at a drama school in Paris. And how Kai had the talent to be an actor, and how I might be able to get her an audition there, and how she might start a new life.

For never was a story of more woe
Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.

The applause of the audience was still ringing in my ears as I collapsed exhausted into the chair in the relative calm of my dressing room. It had gone better than I could have imagined and I’d enjoyed every second of it. Much as I’d loved the tv work I’d done over the last year or so, it was fantastic to be back on stage again. This was where my heart was. The only negative was that Stephen hadn’t been there. I’d scanned the audience from backstage looking for his face. It had been a longshot, I suppose. I’d had an invite sent for the opening night to him at my old school, but I didn’t even know if he still worked there. Five years on from last time I’d seen him. He’d probably forgotten all about me, even if I’d never stopped thinking of him.

Five years. It had felt like five months. I’d got a place in Paris, and a scholarship too. Three years at drama school, during which I’d completed my transition. A year of small roles, in provincial productions around France, and some small walk on tv parts. And then a few months ago I’d been invited to join the most prestigious theatre group in France, who were planning to take a tour of Romeo and Juliet across Europe. Life was good. I shared a small but stylish flat in Paris with a couple of girlfriends, and I had enough money left over to indulge my developing taste for French fashion from time to time. And here I was, living my dream, playing Juliet on opening night in the West End.

I stripped off my costume, put on my robe and gently began removing the stage make up from my face. It being opening night there was a party to head off to, and I’d brought along a bag with something to change into – some new lingerie and a gorgeous Chanel little black dress that I couldn’t really afford. I’d not seen her for five years either, and never had anything of a relationship with her at the best of times, but there were still some things I’d inherited from my mother. I arranged my hair into a loose up-do and started on my make up. Jean Paul, who was playing Romeo, pushed his head around my door and told me to get a move on as the party was going to start in a few minutes.

The buzz of activity backstage began to drop as people left. I finished my make up and slipped into my Loboutins, another unaffordable indulgence. Ever since I knew we’d be playing in the West End, I’d had this crazy romantic notion that Stephen would come to watch, and he’d come backstage afterwards, and we’d be together at last. It was ridiculous, I knew, but I’d give him a few more minutes, just in case. I pulled a cigarette from the box on the dresser and took a long draw, blowing the smoke back into my reflection in the mirror. Five minutes more. I thought about that night at his house, the taste of his kiss, and the feel of our bodies pressed up close. It was madness; I needed to move on. I stubbed out the cigarette, grabbed my coat and stepped out of the stage door.

It was quiet outside, the audience having long ago dispersed, and I could hear the click of my heels as I walked along the deserted pavement of the narrow street down the side of the theatre. I heard a car approach and pull alongside, but I kept my head down and ignored it – I was well practised in dealing with that kind of behaviour back in Paris. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the window wind down, a voice called out and suddenly I was transported back five years to a street not far from here. He hadn’t changed – still the same mop of unruly curls, but with perhaps a few flecks of grey beginning to appear around the temples.
“Kai, is that you?...I’m sorry, I only just got the invite… it went in the wrong pigeonhole at school…long story…you look amazing, by the way…Juliet in the West End, eh?...it was the caretakers fault, he’d been cleaning in the school office…”
I smiled inwardly, remembering his habit of talking too much when he didn’t know what to say. I stopped and turned to face him.
“There’s an opening night party. I’m just heading there now…”
“Oh.” He paused. “Well, I can’t compete with champagne and canapes, but I do a mean line in tea and toast.” He grinned and reached across to the passenger door to open it. “What do you say?”

FIN