GAMBIER TERRACE

There are places I’ll remember
All my life though some have changed
Some forever, not for better
Some have gone and some remain

All these places have their moments
With lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life I’ve loved them all

1

Gambier Terrace, Liverpool. Twenty-odd years ago, it had been the home of my hero, John Lennon, when he’d been a student at the nearby School of Art. For me, searching for a place to live in the ‘for rent’ section of the local paper, the name had jumped out of the page. By all accounts, back then it had been a scruffy and run-down place that he’d occupied with his best friend Stu Sutcliffe. Looking around now, it didn’t look as though things had much improved. Once the grandest of the Georgian terraces in the city, years of decline had rendered it the architectural equivalent of Miss Havisham.

The room I was enquiring about renting was a few doors down from John and Stu’s. A young woman answered the bell. She was tiny next to the huge, panelled hall door, but her smile was as wide as the Mersey. I liked her straight away.
“You must be Jude? About the room?”
I nodded.
“Come in. I’ll show you around. Then you can meet my flatmates. I’m Fee, by the way. Short for Fiona.”
The hall smelled of prolonged damp, the floor cracked and curling linoleum, but the staircase up to the flat at first floor level would not have looked out of place if Scarlett O’Hara had swept down it in a ballgown. I followed Fee up. She was about my age, dressed in ex-army combat trousers and an enormous baggy woollen jumper that stretched almost down to her knees. Spiky purple hair was held in place with a bright floral bandana. Thick hiking socks and Donald Duck slippers completed the look. In my brand new jeans and freshly pressed shirt, I suddenly felt very conscious that I was entering a new world of studenthood – living away from home for the first time.

The room available for rent wasn’t quite as awful as the hallway – bigger than the one I was used to at home, and generally clean, even if it was a bit neglected in terms of decoration. There was an old boarded up fireplace on one wall, almost buried beneath layers of chipping paint, a 1970s chipboard wardrobe running the length of one wall and a window overlooking a weed filled back yard. The wallpaper was peeling in several places, but nothing that couldn’t be covered up with my posters. It would be fine. Along the landing at the front of the house in contrast the living room was spectacular – at least 12m long, maybe 4m high with a glass chandelier and three huge sash windows overlooking the Anglican cathedral opposite. As we entered, two guys who had been sat there rose to greet me. Fee made the introductions.

Jim and Andy were, like Fee, art school students, but where she was studying fashion they were both painters. Jim was tall – well over six feet – and almost as wide, with a mane of ginger hair, a matching bushy beard and an enthusiastic handshake that almost crushed my fingers. Andy seemed quieter and content to let Jim and Fee lead the conversation. We made small talk for a while. I explained that I was about to start chef school at Liverpool College.
“Wow, I’ve heard that’s pretty good – a mate of mine that works in a restaurant in town tried to get in, but didn’t make the grade…”
“Yeah, it’s tough to get in to. I was really lucky. We had to prepare a specific meal for the entrance exam and it was one of my favourites…”
Jim grinned. “We’re all crap at cooking here. Spend far too much on takeaways, as you can see.” He patted his belly. “I don’t suppose you’d be needing to do much homework, then?”
I smiled back. “HaHa. Yeah; I’d probably need to do quite a bit of practice at home. And if somebody wanted to make sure the food didn’t go to waste…”
Fee intervened. “Honestly, Jude, don’t let that big ginger slob bully you into making his dinner every night…”
“No, it’s ok. I’d love to. I mean, not necessarily every night of course, but…”
Jim grinned again. “Sorry. Fee’s right. Don’t feel like you have to. But it would be great to have some proper home made food once in a while.”
We talked and laughed for almost an hour – about food, art, fashion, football, music. I found myself getting on with them all really easily. But there was something I needed to tell them before they decided whether they wanted me as a flatmate or not. I’d rehearsed what I was going to say several times, but it still felt awkward.
“Listen. Before you guys decide whether you’d like me to move in or not. There’s something I need to tell you.”
“He’s a serial killer” Andy deadpanned, and Jim burst out laughing. Fee gave him a look and he quietened. “Sorry mate.”
I continued. “I promised myself I’d be upfront with anyone I was going to move in with. It’s that, well, I like dressing up. Cross dressing. As a woman.” I paused, staring at the floor.
There was silence for a split second, and then Fee shrieked “Yes! That’s so cool! I bet you look amazing too. I can’t wait to see you!”
I looked up towards Jim.
“Cool by me mate. We’re all art students here. Go for it. So do you just like dressing up or do you want to be a girl?”
“Jim!” Fee interrupted. “You can’t ask questions like that! Don’t be so personal! Jude, ignore him!”
“No, it’s ok, honestly. I’d rather you asked, and we can be straightforward about it rather than beating around the bushes. The honest answer is I’m not sure. I’m trying to work through things at the moment.” I stared down at the carpet again.
Fee was next to speak. “It takes guts to come here and say that Jude when you barely even know us. For me, I’d love you to come here and move in with us, and if I can help you with anything you’re wrestling with then I’ll try my best.”
“Me too.” Jim added. “Sorry, I can be a bit blunt at times, but Fee will tell you my heart’s in the right place. It would be great to have you here as well. Andy?”
I looked up from the carpet to catch their flatmate’s eye. He hadn’t said much the whole time I’d been sitting there as Jim and Fee dominated the conversation. He certainly wasn’t extroverted the way they were. For some reason George Harrison came to mind - happy to let John and Paul hog the limelight, but just as important to the dynamics of the group. I could tell from the way Jim had asked for his opinion that Andy was equally essential to him and Fee. He returned my gaze, silently, for what felt like ages. I was sure he was going to disagree with them, to say he didn’t want me moving in. I was about to mumble an excuse for why I wouldn’t be able to take the room myself in order to avoid the rejection when he turned away and nodded towards Jim. “Cool by me.”
Fee shrieked again “Yes! This is going to be great!”

It was about a month after moving in. We’d finished our evening meal and I’d retired to my room with a volume on nineteenth century French cuisine to digest in addition to the food. Fee knocked on the door with a mug of tea whilst Jim and Andy dealt with the mountain of washing up I gleefully left for them every time I cooked.
“Hey – how’s it going?”
I put the book aside and took the tea. “Great, thanks.”
“You all settled in now? The room’s looking good, by the way.”
“Thanks.” I’d brought some new bedding along from home, together with a couple of rugs to cover the worst bits of the carpet, and a couple of posters – of John Lennon and Marilyn Monroe respectively – to cover the worst bits of the wallpaper.
“How’s the course?”
“Great. I could do with more cooking and less reading, though.” I pointed at the book.
“Listen. I hope you don’t mind me asking – tell me to mind my own business if you want, but you know when you told us about cross dressing when you came to look at the room for the first time?”
“Ah! You’re going to ask how come you haven’t seen me…”
Fee nodded.
“I suppose…I mean…” I sighed. “I probably need to tell you the story from the beginning.”
“Are you ok with that?”
“Yeah. I think it’ll help talking about it.” I took another sip of tea and a deep breath.

“So. I grew up the youngest of four. Three older sisters and my mum – my dad had left when I was a baby. One of the first memories I have must have been when I was around three. My sisters were always playing dress up and this particular day they were all princesses whilst I’d had a cowboy outfit set aside for me. I remember squealing that I wanted to be a princess too.” I looked at Fee and she was smiling at the image. “I don’t think I particularly wanted to be a girl or anything, I don’t know. I think it was more just a case of thinking I was missing out on something my big sisters were having. So anyway, after that, every time they dressed up as princesses I was one too, and I was very happy with that. And we’d play dress up a lot – most of the time I was home from school I became pretty much a fourth sister. My mum didn’t seem to object – she was busy just trying to be a single parent and I was happy, so why interfere I suppose. And that’s how it went until the girls got too big to be interested in playing any more, by which time I was more or less secondary school age. Puberty came and went without having much effect. I was still small and skinny and smooth skinned and my sisters joked that I was the prettiest one of them all. But other than that my teenage years were fairly normal – I was a good footballer - in the school team - so that saved me from the bullying that my looks might otherwise have attracted. And then two years ago my mum died. All my sisters had left home by then – either at university or working away. There was usually at least one around most weekends - I think they made sure between them that there was always someone keeping an eye on me to check I was ok – but most of the time during the week after school I was on my own. I don’t know – they say grief can make you do strange things, but I remembered the times we’d had when I was little and found comfort wearing my sisters’ things. There were wardrobes full of the stuff they’d left behind when they moved out, and all of it fitted. I spent hours trying it all on, teaching myself how to do make up and styling my hair, which I’d always worn anyway. The more I did it, the more I wanted to do it. Pretty soon I was living as a girl full time from leaving school until going back the following morning, every weekday. And then I came here.”
“Shit, Jude. That’s a tough childhood. I’m sorry about your mum.” Fee reached over and placed a reassuring hand on my knee. “Do your sisters know about you dressing?”
“Yeah. Lucy – she’s the youngest – came home midweek one time and caught me. I don’t think they were surprised, not after everything we’d done when we were kids. They were pissed off at first that I’d been wearing their things without telling, but they gave me a bunch of clothes and make up that they didn’t use anymore and made me promise not to touch their other stuff. That was just a few weeks before I came here.”
“So how come you’ve not dressed here then?”
“I don’t know. Cold feet, maybe. I think also when I got here I thought a change of scene might reduce the desire to dress a bit, you know? Like I was moving on? So I left it awhile to see how I’d feel.”
“And how do you feel? Do you still want to?”
I nodded. “Uh huh. But its been six weeks since I moved in, and I thought maybe you’d all forgotten about me mentioning it, and I felt awkward raising it again..”
“Oh, Jude!” she reached across and wrapped me in a big hug. “You should have said!”
I lay there quietly, comfortable in her embrace.
“Would you like me to tell the boys that you’ll be showing up dressed at some point?”
I nodded again.
“Cool. When would you like to try?”
“Tomorrow?”
She grinned. “That desperate, huh?”
I laughed, quietly. “Yeah…”
She smiled reassuringly “Can I help you at all? Getting ready? I used to be a hairdresser you know before starting here. I’ve been itching to see what you look like ever since you mentioned it! I think I’m almost as excited as you are!”
I laughed again. “Sure. That would be nice! I raised my mug of tea in a toast. “Tomorrow, then?”

The next day I was so nervous I almost didn’t make it into college. It was a half day at chef school and I ran all the way back to the flat as soon as we’d finished, my stomach a mass of butterflies. The others were all out and I knew I’d have the flat to myself for a couple of hours at least, so I ran a bath and carefully shaved my legs and washed and conditioned my hair. By the time Fee came home later that afternoon my skin was smooth and moisturised, my damp hair wrapped up inside a towel, and I was sat at my desk in front of an illuminated make up mirror that I’d purloined from my mum’s room at home, wearing my favourite black lace bra and panty set and a short satin robe. I’d always found putting on my make up to be a kind of meditation and it was several seconds after she first knocked that I realised Fee was outside my door, with a stage whisper. “Jude? You ok? Are you in? Can I come in?…”
She entered with her characteristic beaming smile. “Wow! Look at you! Look at those legs!”
I beamed back.
She sat down on the end of the bed. “You know my friend Estelle lived here last year, but she dropped out and went home in the summer. I was hoping we’d get another girl to move in, but this is even better! We’re going to be such good friends! What are you going to wear? Oh, and I forget - do you have a girl’s name, or?…”
“Jude kind of works both ways I suppose so you can still call me that. And yeah, I’ve a dress I was planning on. Here.” I got up and opened the first set of wardrobe doors to reveal hangers packed with dresses, skirts and blouses.
Fee’s eyes bulged. “Shit! Are all those yours? You’ve got more clothes than I have…”
“Well, that’s what having three sisters does I suppose.” I opened the next set of wardrobe doors and there was more of the same.
Fee got up from the bed and walked over, taking a full length strappy satin evening gown off a hanger and holding it up against herself. “I’ve got like one full length dress like this and you must have, like, what, ten? What size are you?”
I smiled. “Ten usually. Sometimes twelve.”
“Damn. I’m too small for all of it too.”
I grinned. “Well, you’re welcome to try anything just in case.”
She hung the evening dress back up and pulled out another one. “I can’t believe it; you’re so lucky. I’ve got two older brothers - all I got is that huge woolly jumper I wear around the flat when its cold…” she laughed. “So what are you wearing then?” She pirouetted, the static in the gown making it cling as she spun. “Something slinky and glamorous?”
“Well. I was tempted, I must admit. But I thought something a bit simpler and less OTT. I just want to look like a regular eighteen year old girl. Here, what do you think?” I pulled out a short black knitted woollen dress; off the shoulder, fitted, with long sleeves.
“Ooh, that’s nice! You’ll look cute in that! And you’re right, that’s more the sort of thing you’d see someone wearing out in town on a Friday night!”

By the time the boys came home I was dressed and Fee and I had carefully arranged ourselves in the living room on the sofa, artfully reading some of Fee’s fashion magazines, awaiting their reaction. Fee had done my hair into what she called a stacked bob - she’d straightened it and curled it under at the ends so at the front it framed my face, whilst at the back it was shorter, just at the nape, but with more volume. I was equal parts excited at being dressed for the first time in weeks and nervous at Jim and Andy’s reaction, but I tried my best to appear nonchalant when Jim burst in, panting from climbing the stairs.
“Hi Guys! Sorry; I know it’s my turn to cook tonight but I only remembered ten minutes ago so I’ve picked something up from the takeaway. Hope that’s ok.”
“No surprises there!” Andy grinned, coming in behind him.
Jim dropped the food on the table and collapsed into a chair. “Honestly, you’ll never believe what happened today…” And he launched into a long story about the art school whilst we helped ourselves to the Chinese food. As Jim told the tale, Andy embellished the details and Fee chimed in with suitable reactions. I sat there quietly, my food untouched. As soon as he’d finished eating Jim got up. “Sorry - need to crack on. I’ve an essay to finish tonight.” No sooner was he gone than Andy left as well, out to meet another friend for some drinks. Barely half an hour after I’d entered the room, filled with trepidation, it was quiet again. I looked across at Fee.
“Is that it?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I’d kind of expected a bit more of a reaction, you know.”
“Welcome to womanhood. You’re not the first to have got all dolled up and then have the man in her life not make any mention of it.” She laughed, and then seeing my look of upset she continued. “Its probably my fault. When I spoke to them last night, I said they should try to act normal so’s you didn’t feel awkward.”
“Well, that was definitely them being their usual selves…”
“You didn’t want a long discussion about gender or anything, did you?”
“God no!”
“Or them telling you how beautiful you are”
“Ugh, that would be creepy!”
“So there you are. Normal.”
There was silence for a second. “I suppose. It just feels a bit of an anti-climax.”

That ‘normal’ first night extended into a normal few weeks. Jim and Andy were as good as their word. If they were at all fazed by my dressing they didn’t show it, and their acceptance increased my confidence. I’d change most evenings when I got home. The feminine mannerisms and gestures that I’d unconsciously absorbed as a child and then carefully practised during my time at home alone became more natural; to the point that I was having to concentrate hard not to fall into them at college. Fee had become a huge support, encouraging me to take my first steps out, going to the cinema and out shopping one Saturday, although I wasn’t yet brave enough to go out to a pub or club where I might have to deal with boys. Even Andy had come out of his shell a little - he’d declared an interest in learning to cook and started coming home early to join me in the kitchen once or twice a week. Away from Jim and Fee he was more talkative and open, and his dry sense of humour made our time together something that I’d started looking forward to each week.

A couple of weeks before the end of term Fee said she had an idea she wanted to talk to me about. She sat on the end of my bed with her mug of tea.
“So we’ve got our Christmas show on the last Friday before we break up. It’s not as big a deal as the end of year show in summer when we have a full runway set up in the school and we have to present a whole collection, but we’re showing two designs - a new evening wear piece based on a theme of Autumn, and what they call a technical precedent, where we’re supposed to demonstrate our skills in dressmaking by recreating a piece of fashion from the past. I’ve been playing around with the idea of making a big ballgown from autumn leaves for the main design, and it looks like it’s going to be amazing, but I didn’t know what I wanted to do about the technical thing. I wanted something that might go with the autumn idea, but it was only a couple of days ago that I knew what.”
“So where do I come into it?”
“It was you that gave me the idea. Or rather your room.”
“What?”
She nodded across over my shoulder to the Marilyn poster on my wall. It was the classic photo of her, hands behind hips, leaning toward the camera, wearing the gold lame gown with the plunging neckline from the ‘Gentlemen Prefer Blondes’ film.
“Its such an amazing dress, and quite tricky to make, what with all the pleats and stuff, so if I get it right I should get loads of marks. And the gold goes really well with my autumn theme.”
“Glad I could help. It’s certainly an amazing dress.”
“Yeah.” She grinned. “And I’d like you to be my model for it, too.”
I coughed into my tea. “What?”
“I mean, come on, don’t tell me you’ve never looked at that poster and wondered what it would be like to wear that dress.”
I didn’t reply.
“And I thought seeing as you kind of gave me the idea, it would be cool if you wore it.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, why not?”
“Fuck! You’re right! Why not?” I almost burst with excitement at the idea. “That would be fantastic!” I jumped up and gave her an enormous hug. I was so happy - my decision to be open with my flatmates about my dressing had generated friendships that I couldn’t have imagined just a few weeks ago. And here I was, about to become a model; and wearing that dress, too. Everything seemed to be clicking into place.

The days leading up to the show were a blur. During the day I was flat out at chef school working on dishes for a Christmas banquet and in the evenings I’d rush over to Fee’s studio in the Art School for dress fittings. Fee and her colleagues had teamed up with some students from the hair and beauty course at my college for the show. One evening all of them ganged up on me to get my hair dyed blonde. “After all,” Fee had said “there’s no point recreating the dress without trying to recreate Marilyn as well.” In truth, I was so excited with the whole thing I didn’t need much persuasion.

The show was to be held in the Roxy nightclub in the town centre. It was one of the smarter less student-y clubs, with a big double height dancefloor overlooked by balconies where an audience of guests, including Jim and Andy, could sit. There was a state of the art lighting and sound system. The show would start early evening and there would be time for a small drinks reception to celebrate afterwards before the public came in for the regular clubbing.

The day of the show I headed off to the hair and beauty school after lunch with an arrangement to meet Fee at the club at six and get changed there. Those few hours at the college salon even now rank as one of the most enjoyable afternoons of my life. I’d never been in a proper salon before. Jo was my hairdresser and Sue my beautician and between them they made it a magical experience. Transforming me into a blonde was the first step, whilst Sue started on my nails, giving me a full manicure and pedicure as the dye did its work. The smells of the peroxide and the nail varnish were new and exotic, the feel of the foil in my hair and the sight of my long, buffed, luscious nails against my smooth, pale skin all assaulted my senses in ways I hadn’t experienced before. Jo took the foil out and my hair was rinsed and a new parting made. Tight curls were formed and held in place with pins. Then it was Sue’s turn. She’d managed to find in the college library an old magazine article by Whitey Snider, Marilyn’s make up artist, and she placed it next to my chair, consulting it carefully as she progressed step by step. She talked me through what she was doing as she worked. There were ‘peaks’ made by plucking and defining my eyebrows, to make my forehead look wider. There were ‘swoops’ made in chocolate brown pencil eyeliner at the corner of each eye, which were then further defined in a black pencil, and then a liquid liner. There were five different layers of lip liner and lipstick in subtly different shades to highlight and gloss my lips. For someone for whom, up until that point, eyeliner was either black or brown, and lipstick one coat with maybe a liner or gloss if I was being really fancy, it was all a delicious sensory revelation.

My make up finished, it didn’t take long for Jo to take out the pins from my hair and then brush and tease it into place before applying a final coat of hairspray.
“There.” She pulled down the towel that she’d earlier placed over the salon mirror to stop me peeking. “What do you think?”
I stood silently staring at my reflection for several seconds. There was only one way I could express what I felt. “Fucking Hell!”
For a moment the girls looked worried but as a broad smile broke on my face they both laughed and that made me laugh too, and we hugged, and laughed some more.
“This is going to be amazing!”
We got ready to leave for the club, and then Jo stopped. “Shit! Nearly forgot!” She rummaged in a drawer, and pulled out a couple of small boxes. “You’ll need these. The latest thing. Just in from America.” She opened one up and took out a jelly like flesh coloured blob. “Breast forms. For mastectomy patients. You can stick them on with surgical tape. You’ll not be able to wear a bra with your dress, remember.”
It was my turn to swear again. “Shit! I’d not thought of that!”
So I peeled off my blouse and my bra, taking out the water balloons that I filled it with, and they carefully taped the forms into place. “There. How does that feel?”
I gave them a small exploratory shake, feeling quite ridiculous. “Okay, I suppose.”
“They don’t feel like they might fall off?”
“I don’t think so.”
I laughed again. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation!”
The girls grinned. I got dressed again, and we left for the club.

The Roxy was already a hive of activity by the time we arrived. Outside there were a couple of transit vans at the entrance, offloading racks of clothes. Inside, the main dancefloor was empty save for a couple of technicians setting up the lighting, but off that the private party room had been commandeered as a backstage area and it was packed - a riot of noise and colour, and some of the most extraordinary outfits I’d ever seen. It took us a while to navigate our way through the throng, but eventually I spotted Fee’s autumn dress at the far end of the space. Fee was kneeling on the floor with her back to us next to a huge pile of leaves as though she’d just finished raking the garden. Chloe, the beautiful Nigerian student in the year below Fee who was modelling the dress, and who I’d met at one of the fittings, was wearing an exasperated look but she broke into a big smile when she saw us approach.
“Hi guys! How are you doing? Wow, Jude, I didn’t recognise you, you look amazing! You guys did a fantastic job.”
Fee spun around. She looked tired and stressed, but stood up and gave me us all a big hug. “Great work, girls. Jude - your dress is there on the rack.” She pointed back across the room. “There’s a bag on the hanger with some shoes and jewellery. Can you manage yourselves? - I just need to finish sewing these last leaves into place. Honestly, if you ever take up fashion design, take my advice - never make anything that can’t be fastened with a zip.”
I laughed and gave her another hug. “It’s going to be amazing - don’t worry. Your dress looks incredible.”

With all the prep we’d already done at the salon, it took us only a couple of minutes to finish dressing. I slipped the dress on, Jo zipped me up at the back and Sue helped me into a pair of strappy gold patent sandals. I clipped into place two long pendant earrings, matching the ones in my poster at the flat. And that was me ready. I’d worn the dress only a couple of days ago at the last fitting but now, with my hair dyed and curled, my nails shaped and polished, and my lips painted and glossed, it felt completely different. The swooping back line and the plunging neck line combined to expose more flesh than I’d ever done before and the gentle caress of the fabric over the legs I’d freshly shaved that morning felt delicious.

Like the dressing, the show itself was over far too quickly. The technical outfits were to be shown first, and I was the last of fifteen models. I emerged onto the dancefloor runway in a blaze of photographic flashes and sashayed down to the far end of the floor and then turned, posing for a moment in a recreation of the poster in my room, hands behind hips. Another blaze of flashes. In the corner of my eye, up on the balcony I could make out Jim and Andy cheering wildly. Then it was back across the floor again and a final turn into the main space, knees together and slightly bent, hands together with palms facing outwards, fingers raised upwards directing the gaze to my neckline. The second classic photograph of Marilyn from the same session as my poster, I’d practised the pose a hundred times. Then, backstage again, a hug for Fee. And for Chloe, and Sue and Jo. And then back into the main room, to stand on the sidelines to cheer as the main dress designs were paraded up and down. And finally one last entrance, as each of the students, accompanied by their models, took the applause of the audience. It had been an absolute blast, and I was intoxicated with excitement.

Jim and Andy came down to join us just in time for the first glass of bubbly. After a final round of photography, Chloe had disappeared to get changed out of the leaf dress - it looked fantastic, but it must have been incredibly scratchy to wear. For me, I felt like I wanted to stay in my dress for the rest of my life. Overall, the show had gone brilliantly and the vibe in the room from all the student designers was joyful. With all the audience and friends now joining us, we spilled out from the backstage area into the main club. Someone put the music on and we started to dance. And before we knew where we were the club was in full swing, open to its regular Friday night punters, packed to the gills.

Dressed as I was, I was attracting a lot of attention. Lots of girls came over, asking where I’d got the dress, or how I’d done my hair. And even more boys; trying their luck asking for a dance. If I was honest, I was enjoying the attention. I’d never experienced anything like it before and, on top of the adrenaline and bubbly, it was giving me a real buzz. But I wasn’t so high that I couldn’t be careful, and I kindly declined all of their offers. There was one time with a particularly persistent boy that Jim had to raise himself up to his full height and tell him to clear off, but apart from that, there hadn’t been any problems.

It must have been well past midnight. Fee had gone to the bar to get drinks. Jim and Andy were away with some of the other students. Sue and Jo and myself were sat at a table resting our feet when the guy that Jim had warned off earlier came back.
“Come ‘ed. We’re goin’ dancin’.”
I smiled politely. “I’m just waiting for a friend.”
He grabbed my arm and pulled me up from my chair.
“Ow! That hurts! Let go!”
He ignored me and continued pulling me towards the dancefloor whilst I tried my best to resist. But he was twice my weight, and in heels I had no purchase on the floor, and I couldn’t stop him. I was looking anxiously back towards my friends when Andy suddenly appeared from nowhere.
“Leave her alone, mate. She’s already said you’re hurting her.”
“And who the fuck do you think you are, eh?”
He let go of my arm and swung a punch at Andy, connecting with him square in the face, and he fell to the floor. After that, things happened quickly. A couple of bouncers appeared from nowhere and dragged the guy off, protesting. I knelt next to where Andy had fallen as he sat up, one hand on his face, blood running from his nose. And then hands grabbed me again. More bouncers dragged Andy and me out to the side door of the club, where earlier that day vans had been delivering the outfits for the show. They pushed us unceremonially outside, and the door slammed shut behind us.

“Fuck!” I banged on the door, but there was no reply.
Andy was sat on the floor leaning on the wall, head forward between his knees, one hand clamped over his nose. There was blood on his shirt and jacket, and on the asphalt between his feet.
I knelt down next to him. “Are you ok? Here, let me take a look”
“I’m ok.” He raised his elbow so I could see his face whilst he still kept his nose pinched between thumb and forefinger. I touched it gently, just on the bridge.
“Does that hurt?”
“Ow! Yes!”
“Hmm. I’m not an expert, but it doesn’t look broken. Are you feeling dizzy? Do you know where you are? What year is it?”
“Hollywood 1953 I think”
“Haha. Very funny. So you’re probably not concussed then.”
He grinned. “I’ve had harder slaps than that from old girlfriends.”
“Yeah, okay. No need to brag.” I smiled back. “Listen. Thank you. Though you shouldn’t have got involved. I can look after myself.”
“It looked like it…”
“Yeah, well…I was just giving him a chance before I started my kung fu on him.”
He grinned again. “Hmm. That would have been something to see.”
I stood up and offered him an arm.
“I don’t know about you, but I’ve no bag, no keys, no money…”
“I’ve keys, but I spent up in the club.”
“Looks like its a walk home then.”

My feet were already ruined from dancing all night in heels, so we didn’t get far before I had to stop and take off my sandals, hitching up my dress so it didn’t trail on the floor. By the time I’d done that I was shivering, so Andy wrapped his jacket over my shoulders and we held hands, clinging tightly together as we made our way back up the hill to Gambier Terrace. We must have looked a sight, but once clear of the town centre it was quiet and we got home without further incident.

I left Andy on the sofa and grabbed a cloth and a bowl of hot water from the kitchen.
“Let me have another look at you.”
He sat quietly as I gently dabbed the blood from his nose and lips. I was only inches away from him, concentrating hard on being as gentle as possible. I could feel his gaze resting intently on me as I worked and became conscious of how I was sat, my bare leg, protruding from the slit in my dress, straddling his, my free hand resting on his chest suddenly aware of the pounding beneath it. I traced the cloth slowly over his lips to remove the last of the blood and met his gaze and he stretched forward, his lips brushing mine, gently at first and then, finding no resistance, more passionately. He pulled me closer to him and I moaned softly as his hand traced the contours of my thigh. And then my brain took over from my heart and told it how ridiculously it was behaving, and how this could never work. And my body responded to my brain, pushing Andy away and saying “No. No. I can’t, I’m sorry.” And my heart tried to resist but it was too late. My brain called for my legs to run, and all my heart could control now were the tears pouring from my eyes. And before I knew it I was in my room, on the floor, my back to the locked door. Andy on the other side asking me why. But I couldn’t say. I didn’t have the words. And even though our bodies were only separated by a few millimetres of timber panelling, I knew he’d gone now, to a place where I couldn’t be with him. That was the way it should be, my brain told me. But my heart still made the tears flow.

I sat there for hours, leaning against the door. At some point Fee came back in, and she knocked gently, asking if I was alright, but I didn’t answer. Eventually, as the first rays of light rose over the slate roofs opposite my window I crawled into bed, but I still didn’t sleep. I knew Andy was leaving early in the morning to travel home for Christmas but when I heard Jim and Fee saying their farewells I still didn’t get up. The sun had sunk again by the time I finally rose. The flat was dark and cold. A small flicker of light came from the tv in the living room. Fee was waiting for me there. A news bulletin was on the screen, with a picture of John Lennon. Fee looked across at me, her eyes red from crying.
“He’s dead, Jude. Someone shot him. Last night. In New York.”

2

We sat in the dark, hand in hand. The whole city was silent, the usual background hum of traffic on Duke Street was gone. Outside the window, the cemetery that we overlooked at the back of the cathedral felt closer than usual, as though we could fall directly into it from our flat. It was Fee that spoke first.
“Jude! Fuck, what a shitty twenty four hours. Andy told me what happened at the club. That must have been horrible!”
I shook myself out of the thoughts I’d fallen into to answer. “He told you what happened at the club?…”
“Yeah. He’s got a fat lip this morning and a swollen nose, but he’ll be ok. It’s a shame you couldn’t see him off…”
“Oh Fee! That’s only half of it. I’ve fucked absolutely everything up. I don’t know what to do.”
She pulled me in close, my head on her shoulder. “What’s the matter?”
I looked up. “Andy kissed me last night.”
“He kissed you?”
“No, no, I mean we kissed last night. I wanted to. Well, I thought I did. I mean, I like him, Fee. He’s funny and he’s kind of cute and we walked home last night and I felt so close to him and we’ve been cooking and…” my voice trailed off. “And then when I was kissing him it felt amazing and everything, but a little voice popped up in my head and said ‘You can’t do that’ and ‘You’re a man’ and all that stuff and I got confused and pushed him away and I think I’ve really upset him and he’s never going to speak to me again. And it’s all too complicated and I wish I was just a man and it was straightforward and people wouldn’t get into fights and get hurt because of me.” I paused and took a breath. “And now John’s gone, too.”
Fee was quiet. She pulled me in tight and it felt like she was about to say something, but I interrupted.
“I’m a fucking man, Fee. It’s as simple as that. I just need to get on with it. I can move out. Make a fresh start somewhere new…”
“You’re not a fucking man, Jude!” I don’t think I’d ever heard her raise her voice quite as much, and I sat up bolt upright.
“It doesn’t matter what’s between your legs, it’s what’s in here that counts.” She pounded her breast with her fist. “Tell me. Honestly. Have you ever been as happy as you were yesterday, before that prick showed up trying to get you to dance?”
I shook my head.
“And all this talk of going back to being a man again, full time. Does that make you happy thinking about it?”
“Well, no, but…”
“Never mind the buts, you’ve got to listen to what’s in here.” This time she prodded me hard in my chest. “Not here.” I flinched as her finger met my temple. “What if The Beatles had given up when they got turned down by whoever it was before they signed their first contract?”
I sighed. “I’m sorry I…”
“Don’t apologise. There’s no need.” She paused for a moment. Her tone softened. “Listen, Andy’s a nice guy. Just have a chat with him when he gets back next term. I’m sure he’ll understand.”
I nodded, and she went on.
“I don’t know about you but I wasn’t planning on going home for a few days yet?”
“Yeah, me too.”
“There’s a vigil for John tomorrow in town. We could go.”
“Yeah, that would be good.”

I slept through until mid afternoon the following day. In the evening we went into town along with several thousand others to pay our respects. Then, with term over now for both Fee and myself, we spent a few relaxing days together before she had to go home. We didn’t particularly do anything special, but after all the trauma of the last few days, it was good to get up late and go for long walks through town visiting the galleries and spending hours chatting in coffee shops. We spent a whole day with Fee trying on all the contents of my wardrobe, eventually finding some clothes that fitted - a couple of skirts and a slinky cocktail dress that I gave her as a Christmas present. And on the last evening before she left I cooked her a special meal as a thank you for everything she’d done for me. By the time she left to go home for the holidays I was feeling much better. I’d decided to stay in the flat by myself over Christmas. I had an invite from one of my sisters, but her boyfriend was a jerk and I didn’t feel like I wanted to get into everything that had gone on over the last few weeks with them. So I spent the holiday week snugly ensconced under a duvet watching festive telly, eating nice food, and playing scenarios in my mind where Andy would come back, we’d talk and set everything right, and then afterwards have the most fantastic make up sex ever.

Jim and Fee were both back at the flat shortly after New Year, but I had to wait until the Sunday before the start of term for Andy to return. We’d been relaxing watching tv when we heard the front door go and Andy’s voice: “Hi Guys, anyone home?”
“In here!” The door to the living room swung open and Andy stood there. Next to him was a pretty blonde girl, smiling nervously at us as Andy introduced her. “Hey you lot. This is Tracy. We hooked up over the hols - her mum and dad live a couple of streets along from mine. She doesn’t start uni ’til next week, so I said she could stay for a few days. Hope that’s ok.”
I looked across at Fee. She was staring back at me, anxiously.

Andy’s return hit me like a sucker punch. All of the positive energy I’d built up over the Christmas break drained out of me completely. Monday morning came, and I couldn’t face going in to college. Neither could I face staying in the flat and letting Fee see me being so pathetic - not after everything she’d done for me. So I turned out at my usual time and wandered aimlessly in pouring rain down into town, eventually finding myself in the library where at least it was warm and dry and I could stay without anyone bothering me. I pretended nothing was wrong when I came home again - I’d become adept at hiding my true self over the last few months and it was surprisingly easy to act as though everything was fine.

I didn’t go into college at all that week, or the next. On the Monday of the following week I was sat in the library staring blankly into the day’s newspaper when Jim flopped himself down suddenly into the seat opposite me at the table.
“Boo!” He grinned cheerily. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in college?”
I looked up at him. He could tell straight away that something was wrong and his smile disappeared instantly. “You okay, Jude?”
I sat there, blinking like a rabbit in headlights. My first instinct was to try maintain the charade, but I was a terrible liar and knew that the game was up. When I didn’t answer, he continued, more softly. “Fee told me about you and Andy. I’m sorry - it must be really difficult you both being in the same house and all.”
“It’s not that. Well, not just that.” I looked up at him. “I’ve not been in chef school since the start of term, I just can’t face it. Having to go back to being a boy every morning. It’s doing my head in. I can’t do it anymore.”
I’d been squirming in my seat as I spoke. Jim took my hands in his and squeezed them gently. Like the rest of him, they were huge. Warm and calloused, with paint engrained below his fingernails.
“Maybe it’s time to stop changing back.”
I groaned. “I know. You’re right. But it’s hard, Jim, you’ve no idea how hard. I miss my mum. And now I’m fucking up chef school as well and they’re probably going to kick me out ‘cause I’ve not been showing up. And then there’s John, too. Even though I never met him, it’s like he was my brother that I never had. Shit, I’m sorry.” I was crying now. I pulled my hand away from his to wipe my eyes but placed it carefully back afterwards, comforted by his touch.
He squeezed them again. “I’m sorry. I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re feeling. But we’ll try to help you as much as we can, Fee and me.” He paused, and we sat quietly for a few seconds. “Shall we go home?”
I wiped my nose and nodded. We stood up to leave, and he gave me one of his huge bear hugs. And we walked back up to the flat hand in hand. The rain had stopped, and a tiny chink of spring sunshine pierced the cloudy sky.

I made an appointment with our school head the following day. Jim, bless him, insisted on coming along as support. I’d had no idea what to expect, but the school couldn’t have been more supportive. A lady from welfare attended, as well as the head and my personal tutor. They told me about all the support and counselling they could provide through the college and also gave me details for other organisations that might be helpful. And to my great relief they were happy with my assurances that I could catch up on the work that I’d missed, and so I wouldn’t need to go back and resit the whole year.

It felt like a huge weight had been lifted. I plunged myself back into the course with renewed enthusiasm. I knew I’d been doing okay over the autumn term, but now it was like I’d discovered a whole extra gear. No longer stressed by shoehorning myself into a masculine persona for my classes, my creativity soared. Inspired and happy, my grades steadily began to rise.

Life at the flat had settled back down as well. One evening I’d been preparing dinner in the kitchen, headphones on, humming along to a song on my Walkman when Andy had appeared. I’d barely spoken to him since Christmas beyond everyday necessities.
“I was, er, wondering if I could give you a hand?”
I slipped the headphones temporarily from my ears to answer. “Yeah, I suppose.” I gestured across to the worktop opposite. “There’s vegetables there need peeling.”
The rhythmic tap of his knife on the cutting board added a percussive layer that was out of synch with my music. I turned it off and removed my headphones again. He looked across.
“I, er, I wanted to say. About when I came back to the flat at the start of term. With Tracy.” He paused. “I shouldn’t have brought her. I was showing off. After what happened with us. I wanted to make you feel bad. I’m sorry.”
I put down my knife and turned to face him.
“Yeah. Well, it worked.”
He opened his mouth to say something and then stopped. He looked genuinely contrite. I couldn’t be angry with him.
“Ah, I’m sorry too, Andy. It’s not you that needs to apologise. I’m still mortified about the night of the show. I didn’t…I was so confused. I couldn’t put it into words at all. I should have talked to you. But then the holidays happened, and then you came back with Tracy. And my head’s been all over the place…”
“No, thats ok. I understand, I think. You look good. I mean, you look happy. Jim told me you’ve sorted stuff out at college. And you’d decided about, well, you know, going full time and that.”
“Yeah, things are going better.” I smiled and reached over to the chopping board. “Touchwood! How about you?”
“Yeah, I’m ok. Me and Tracy finished.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to be - there was never anything in it.”
We stood there in silence for a second or two.
“Friends, then?”
“Friends.”

The remainder of spring term passed mercifully free of drama. Andy and me slipped back into our routine of cooking together a couple of nights each week. His experiences over Christmas had, if anything, only increased the sharpness of his humour and the kitchen would often ring to the sound of me helplessly giggling away at his stories. Fee had started planning what she was going to do for her final summer show and Jim had been asked to show some of his paintings in an exhibition in London and had travelled down to help set it up. Spring was always a great time of the year in Liverpool. As the temperatures rose, excitement in this football mad city mounted with their team’s progression to the last stages of the European Cup competition. The mood in the city was mirrored within our flat. Although I didn’t play anymore, I was still a huge Liverpool fan, and Jim and Andy were both season ticket holders. Jim was devastated when he found out that his exhibition meant that he’d miss the European semi final, and even more so when the tickets that they’d applied for weeks ago, and weren’t sure they’d get, arrived in the post a few days before the match.

“So you fancy coming instead of Jim, then?” Andy stood at my room door with the match tickets.
“Yeah, that would be amazing!” I’d never been to watch Liverpool before. Jim and Andy had both said they’d take me last term, but with one thing and another it hadn’t happened.
“Great!” He spun round to head back to his room but I called him back.
“Andy?”
“Yeah?”
“Just friends, yeah?”
“Yeah, of course - why?”
“Nothing. Just wanted to, you know…it’s not a date, or anything.”
“Course not. Absolutely not a date.” He grinned, his eyes flashing, and almost indiscernibly my pulse fluttered.

We caught the bus across town to Anfield, Liverpool’s ground. I’d dug out a Liverpool football shirt that I’d had when I was sixteen and wore that tucked into a pair of my sister’s jeans, with another sister’s leather jacket over the top. I had butterflies again. I was excited about the game, but I’d also taken extra care with my hair and make up, and, at the last minute before we turned out, dabbed on some perfume, despite hardly ever wearing any. The area around the ground was packed with fans, and Andy grabbed my hand as we stepped off the bus. “Just so we don’t get separated.” He grinned. “Otherwise we wouldn’t be holding hands. Unless we were on a date. Which we’re not. Of course.”
“Of course!” I smiled back, wrapping my fingers around his, allowing him to pull me in closer as we negotiated the crush on the way into the ground.

The atmosphere inside the ground was electric. Liverpool were 2-0 down from the first leg, needing three goals to progress to the final. Standing in the middle of the famous Kop, the home supporter’s stand, was like being adrift in a big sea. Andy had me positioned carefully in front of him, and he would hold my shoulders so that I didn’t trip or fall as the crowd rippled up and down the terracing in response to the action on the pitch. As the fans swayed and chanted, I’d be pressed back against him and our contours would align for a brief moment before separating again as the movement ebbed. As the match progressed, Liverpool pulled a goal back and then equalised. Finally, with almost the last kick of the game, they scored the winning goal. I turned to Andy, arms raised to celebrate, and we were pushed tightly together as the crowd went wild around us. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him, and he kissed me back, and we stood, entwined together, until the last of the fans had left the ground, the singing and rejoicing had faded into the distance, and the stadium lights eventually clicked off and plunged us into darkness.

We walked home slowly, hand in hand, stopping every few yards for another kiss, basking in the warm glow of love and happiness that radiated through the whole city that night. Eventually, we got back to Gambier Terrace and I leaned against the stone column at the entrance to the house whilst Andy kissed me for the hundredth time. From one of the upper flats of the terrace, possibly the very one that John and Stu had occupied all those years ago, The Beatles rang out timelessly into the still spring night.

But of all these friends and lovers
There is no one compares with you
And these memories lose their meaning
When I think of love as something new

Though I know I’ll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I’ll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more

Andy took my hand. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

THE END